Tectonic

[Aldridge Moor]

One day, chained to the roof of a wagon.

Two weeks, walking alongside the slaver caravan, waiting at various points for teams of the blue-jerkinned beasts to break off and return half a day later with yet another squirming, furious prisoner.

Aldridge had become used to the sight of the vole trotting around with her book and quill, taking notes on every beast. She was in the end a fascinating creature. She did not change her temperament in any situation, for any beast, for any reason? for as long as she was awake. He had heard the name ?Black Widow? thrown around a lot, but didn?t believe a word of the rumour. Really? A vole who would eat her husband? No. She carried herself with far too much regret for that. Every twitch and affectation was buried under ten lifetimes of dust.

The many beasts of Madder Barrow had quickly reached the conclusion that they would not try to run, or break the slave train. They had clubbed together to build a complete picture of the armaments of the caravan, and they had determined several things. First, that with only two exceptions, the villagers had all been brought down with a single bolt of the Blue Beasts? normal tranquiliser. Second, that there were much stronger tranquilisers, meant for the boars - it was these that had brought down Ennis and Tevar. Third, that the caravan beasts were always armed - blowgun, brace of sedative darts, short sword or dagger. Fourth, that the great stinking beast that drew the third wagon squealed at the smallest disturbance in the night. There were great stinking beasts on the other five wagons too, it was just that particular great stinking beast that also happened to serve as a very loud warning bell. Fifth, that the provisions were actually quite good - especially when the leader of the guard relented and allowed Tanra, then Aldridge and Aera, to join the evening hunting parties. And so in the light of the facts that the youngsters and oldsters had escaped safely, they weren?t being unduly abused or starved or even left wanting for clean water, they decided only to see what happened next.

The terrain changed around them by degrees. The buds of new leaves disappeared. There were no more flecks of green in the canopy, only damp mud on the ground, rotted all the way through from the last autumn's mulch. The caravan carved and churned a thick track through the cold black mud. It would be un-navigable for days to come.

Then the frost started to form in the night. On the grass for the first few days, then creeping onto fur and clothes. Blacksmith Ulrich grew frustrated with this and hurled a length of the chain attached to him and nine other villagers into the fire. Nobody entirely understood what was going on until the next morning, when his chain-line had to be roused from their surprisingly comfortable sleep in a large pile of woodlanders and warm chains.

Nobody was willing to try the same with the boars. The great beasts barely seemed to notice the hoarfrost on their heavy coats.

The to-ing and fro-ing had stopped now. Sixteen days, Aldridge had counted, since he had woken up on the wagon roof, and now there were no more parties leaving or rejoining the caravan. Scuttletail said they?d acquired the Monster of Mossflower Woods. When Aldridge had heard this one, he?d looked the large grey rat over for a moment and then immediately ruled him out in favour of the female otter, forelimbs riddled with old wounds, doting over her daughter with more fierce protectiveness than he'd ever seen.

The caravan stopped at a waystation of sorts. A long dead tree with scraps of canvas stretched between the branches. The marteness hopped down from her perch on the foremost wagon, pulled a huge iron key from her jerkin, slotted it carefully into a fold in the bark and opened up the store. As the tree unfolded into a mass of cupboards, bins and shelves all held together by smooth iron hinges, the seven members of the village who devoted their lives to woodworking kept jostling for a view, stepping on each other's footpaws, generally causing trouble until the marteness beckoned them forward. She seemed to understand that it would keep them happy, having the chance to examine every detail of the way that this massive old tree fit together.

Ten minutes after they?d finished reloading the food wagon, she wasn?t as understanding. She reached into the unfurled structure - all shelves and hinges and compartments - and hauled Luthier Droven out by the scruff of her neck.

The vole stared evenly at the marteness. ?I wasn?t finished,? she said, flat.

The marteness stared back. ?Watch your tongue, woodworker.?

The vole?s ears drooped, then she looked back up with the most pathetic hopeful look on her face. ?A quarter-hour more??

?Five minutes.?

Droven was clearly still disappointed, and somehow had the guts to push her luck even further. ?Ten??

The marteness huffed and scowled. ?Fine. My feet hurt anyway.? She put the vole back in the space behind the grain-bin to keep trying to work out how it stayed dry.

?But? you?ve been on the wagon all day?? One of her seconds tried to be helpful.

?Shut up.?

Another half-hour later, they were under way. Most of the wagon train was now consumed with creatures chattering about the mechanical genius of where-ever they were going (Northvale, was it? Yes, Northvale! I hear they?ve planted a whole forest of their own, just to grow the best wood!), and how they hoped to see all of the wonderful inventions such a new place might have before they inevitably escaped, or were rescued. Aldridge didn?t have the heart to agree with what Ulrich was saying, loud and quite irritated, to any beast who dared to talk to him about all of this. Rescue was nigh unfathomable, escape just as unlikely.

Nonetheless, the marteness smiled a couple of times that day, when she thought nobody was looking.

The wagon progressed. Four more days passed, and on the morning of the fifth, the marteness addressed them all.

?A runner has been sent ahead with details of all the beasts present, and recommended classifications for all beasts from a tribunal of myself and my seconds. When we arrive, you will be separated from each other. The majority of the ex-residents of Madder Barrow have been flagged as excellent workers; your details are being used to assemble an auction house and take advance bids on you all as we speak. You will be owned by beasts and businesses within the city of Northvale, a short distance from the Crater, which is where your fighters and some of your craftsbeasts will be kept. Carpenters, metalworkers, healers and weaponsmiths of all kinds will likely be retained and put to work by the Crater. I tell you this so that you can say your farewells over the rest of today. It is usual for somebeast or another to try to escape at this point; I can only tell you that those beasts who try will be caught, either by us or by the frost. Those caught by us will be retained in solitary confinement for two days upon our arrival; those caught by the frost will be dead. Those of you who successfully took the lives of any of the beasts under my command will also be retained in solitary confinement, until you have been interviewed and any danger you present has been assessed. Are there any questions??

There were none.

Aldridge did not look forward to the idea of solitary confinement, but there was an upside. The journey would end soon, and his footpaws could finally rest.

Everybeast?s voices were subdued, for the whole day. As the guard towers passed overhead, Aldridge saw beasts break, crushed under the certainty that they would never see Madder Barrow again. He saw beasts draw themselves up to full bearing, resolution clear on their faces and in their demeanour. He saw Komi Banton, who had been resolutely ignoring him for the entire journey, becoming more and more agitated. He saw Adeen Tullus, writing everything down.

The guard towers grew better maintained as the sun dropped to the horizon. Soon enough, the caravan drew to a stop in a holding pen of sorts - a huge wood and stone structure, watched over by four guard stations built high into the wall and with four large entryways.

?All beasts, halt! Slave lines, to entrance four and through onto the Arena floor! Boars and handlers, unhitch and pen up in entrance one! Wagon handlers, take the wagons through entrance two for provision checks, rotation and replenishment! We?re home for four days, let?s make the most of them!?

Ninety-six beasts in chains shuffled to the last of the four entrances, watching as the holding pen staff got to work. The caravans and boars disappeared within a few minutes, and then the marteness appeared again, with a great cat by her side. He grinned, as cats were wont to do, and gave them a long and ridiculous speech.

And then he became a little more dangerous.

A kit was separated from the group after a ruck and a great deal of intimidation, and then the cat stepped back, ran his eyes over the slaves like claws on silk. ?Seven murderers!? he bellowed, in his finest announcer?s voice. ?Seven murderers, to be held in solitary confinement until they have been interviewed and assessed. Step forward when your names are called. You will be escorted to your cells. And just to get us all in the gladiatorial mood, by your kill count shall ye be known!?

An uncomfortable silence. Nire extended a scroll, and his voice cracked out again.

?The beasts whom no poison shall fell, with three heads taken per each! Please put your paws together for the Venomous Voles, Dragon Ennis and Milgram Tevar!?

A smattering of nervous clapping from the villagers, manacles clanking along. Nire?s glare amplified the applause significantly. The two voles sheepishly stepped forward, proffering their wrists. As new sets of restraints were fastened around them and they were led away, the cat began to announce the next.

?Ladies and gentlemen! We all understand, don?t we, that appearances can be deceiving! Why, I have two dead guards who?ll attest to that! It is my pleasure to present to you the source of all those awful stories! My remaining guards call her The Ornery Otterwife, but you and I know her as The Monster of Mossflower Woods!?

There was another round of applause, slightly less weak. It seemed everybeast was being infected, just a little, with the cat?s showbeastship. The otter Minerva stepped forward, meeting the marteness? gaze with a growl. She was manacled and dragged away.

?Next on the roster with another pair of kills, when you see her you?ll be just as confused as I was, ladies and gentlemen! A youngling who, begging your pardon miss, has taken two lives far too early in her pretty little life. The miniature malicious murder mouse, Foxglove Aera!?

Medic Aera?s daughter stepped forward and received her new manacles, the beginnings of a sneer on her face. Aldridge knew that look; it was the same one she'd worn when Ulrich had dragged three dead weasels into the village on a broken cart. It was the look she'd worn when he told the village of the eight mouse slaves the weasels had been keeping. And even as he had begun to cry because he had never wanted to take another life as long as he lived, the mousemaid had snarled joyfully at the tale of the weasels' demise. The applause was almost consistent by this point, and the resentment on the assembled beasts' faces was starting to wear away under Nire's threatening presence. Aera pretended to bite at the face of the beast who was putting her new manacles on, and he jerked back in surprise, and there was laughter and jeering and more applause. Making the rest of the beasts feel good about the kills she'd scored. Her mother would have done the same in her place, Aldridge thought with a fond smile.

"And now, the beasts resting on their laurels at a mere one kill, with a great deal left to prove! Are they brown? Are they white? They never can make up their minds, can they, these stoat types! I give you first the Herald of the Horde, she who flung insults at the Abbey Gates themselves and lived to tell the tale - Komi Banton!"

Komi stepped forward, and Aldridge remembered her cutting her way through at least two of the Beasts in Blue as she tried to escape the village. The applause ebbed a little: she showed no sign of playing along with Nire, and the beasts of the Barrow neither knew nor trusted her yet. He found himself desperately wishing she'd opened up more along the way. She was shackled, and led away.

?They say he can put an arrow through full-plate armour from two hundred paces! Well, he'll certainly need that bow arm here in the Crater, won't he, ladies and gents? We have for your viewing pleasure, from the distant village of Madder Barrow, the Dealer of Distant Death, Aldridge Moor!?

He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a breath he hadn?t realised that he?d been holding. He stepped forward, met the marteness? eyes, nodded once as his manacles were put on. And... then he took a page out of Young Aera's book, and he turned to the watching beasts and raised his manacled fists with a snarl of a grin on his face, and the applause and cheering swelled again. Give them a show. Make them proud of what they'd done so far. Remind them that the slavemasters were mortal after all. He was pulled away, and Nire began to announce the next beast.

?Also coming in at one kill, a blacksmith so grumpy I?m surprised it wasn?t just with a glare! You citizens know him well, so may I present the Blacksmith, Riemann Ulrich!? There was laughter mixed in with the applause again; as he held out his wrists, Ulrich certainly seemed to be trying to kill Nix with just his eyes. Aldridge lost sight of him and of Nire?s next announcement as he was dragged down the corridor by a large rat who did not in fact look like he was moving at all - more as though he were a rat-sized pile of fabric and old food that was in a permanent state of collapsing in whatever direction it was that he seemed to want to go.

The motile pile of rubbish spoke, and even tried to get a rise out of him: ?The voles got three kills each an? yer only got one? Ain?t much?v?a stoat, are yer??

He didn?t reply.

Trash-Rat apparently didn?t have anything else lined up, because he dragged Aldridge the rest of the way to his cell without any further attempt at provocation.

It seemed he was to be quartered opposite Minerva. Her guard had just locked her cell, and was now unlocking her manacles through the cell bars. That was a surprising but welcome accommodation.

Aldridge allowed himself to be shoved bodily into the cell; the cost, he supposed, of not rising to Trash-Rat?s barbs. He pulled himself to his feet as the lock clicked shut, thanked various spirits as Trash-Rat beckoned him over to have his manacles unfastened.

How long would he be locked away, down here? What was an ?interview?? How long until his was ready?

None of these questions could be answered. He had seen guard towers, a loading pen, a shrewd marteness, the great boars, Nire himself, and now the inside of a cell. Nothing stood out - nothing he had seen at any point told him enough about the situation they were in to tell him exactly what would happen next. What he had seen so far didn?t mean anything without mannerism or tradition to attach them to.

In his youth, he had served under a very different master in a very different place. All sorts of odd cultures had washed up on their shores or worked their way through the populace. One set of teachings had stuck with him since he had first encountered them, all that time ago.

He sat, crossed his legs, emptied his mind, and began to breathe.

Guards came and went. Cells were opened and closed. Three beasts were dragged away for their interviews, each dragging separated by about five hundred heartbeats. The draggings started from the cells closest to the entrance, and switched from side to side as they moved closer to him.

Adeen Tullus came and went, but for her he opened his eyes. She did not have any news for him.

Eight hundred heartbeats later, there was an awful banging on his cell bars. He opened his eyes to find that Trash-Rat had come to take him away, even though by his reckoning the otter should have been next. The weight of the manacles slipped back into place with far too much ease; like putting on an old uniform or a favourite hat.

He followed the rat to the end of the tunnel of solitary cells, up some rough-hacked stone steps, and up, and up. Five flights all told, all bearing down on his legs especially hard after the weeks on the slave train.

The rat dragged him into a large? working space, of sorts. It looked like a cross between a the offices of a quartermaster and a general. Nire sat at the other end of a long table. A metal hoop was buried in the surface of the table at Aldridge?s end; it was not a surprise when Trash-Rat attached his chain to the hoop with a large padlock, and stood back.

?Thank you, Kilgrun. You may leave.? Trash-Rat left. His smell did not.

Eighty heartbeats passed, as the cat finished writing something down. He put the paper to one side, looked up, smiled with too many teeth. ?Aldridge Moor, of Madder Barrow.?

Aldridge gave him a curt nod. ?Aye.?

?Welcome to the Crater. I have some questions for you.?

?Ask them.? A small movement out of the corner of his eye. Aldridge glanced across when he was sure the cat wasn?t looking, and sure enough, mostly concealed at a second desk behind a curtain divider, a paw holding a quill, poised to write in what was very clearly Adeen Tullus? notebook.

?Very well. You have not offered any further resistance since your capture. Why is that??

Aldridge detailed the observations that the villagers had made about the slave caravan. Adeen?s paw did not move.

?As I suspected. Another question, then.? The cat held up a piece of paper. ?This letter explicitly requests that yourself and another prisoner from your train, one Komi Banton, be pitted against each other in the Crater. How can it be, that neither of you have been fully processed and yet I have a letter here that identifies you both by name??

This was a less simple question, and Aldridge took a moment to answer. ?The beast who brought your blue-tuniced abductors to our village - her name was Jossia. She fancied herself successor to her brother Galleran in all things. I believe that it would suit her temperament, to watch two past acquaintances of her brother fight to the death.?

?Interesting. Now please note, before answering this next question, the contents of this cage.? He leaned to the side and pulled up what had until that moment been a featureless lump of canvas in the corner. Inside, Medic Aera?s daughter, reduced in stature from her manacled, triumphant earlier self, bound and gagged and wide-eyed with terror.

Everything stopped.

Aldridge's mind reached out in fury, looking for any way to end the cat's life here and now. A black cloud mustered and crackled behind his eyes, and he saw everything.

   Weapons.
   Mounted on the walls, several different weapons - an axe, a scimitar, a plain kitchen cleaver. None within reach.
   A small knife, intended for opening letters. Too far away. Useless.
   The manacles would stop him from doing anything useful.
   The manacles, then.
   No signs of rust. 
   A small amount of dirt baked in to the burn-joints between the chain and the manacles proper. Not enough.
   The padlock holding the chain to the table, barely rusted and certainly not breakable.
   The hoop in the table, bolted all the way through the timber and held down with some kind of resin.
   The table itself, hefty beams of thick pine, deep scratchmarks on the stone floor betraying it as far too heavy to move.
   ...nothing.

The world began to move again. Aldridge made eye contact with the Apprentice Bowyer, and smiled as best he could. She managed a contortion of a smile as Nire began to speak. ?You killed one of my staff when we first took your village. Would you do it again??

Yes, he thought, as acts of barbarism flickered behind his eyelids. The wildcat, paws crushed, chained to his own table and left to starve to death. Abandoned in the frozen forest with the cords of all his paws cut. Strung up and gutted in front of his own boars, watching with his last breath as they feasted on the viscera. Clamped down and being carved up by one of the old Southern Horde's most brutal torturers...

?No,? he answered, his voice perfectly level.

?Why?? Nire looked at him over a fresh brace of papers, eyebrow lifted in what might have been surprise.

An answer. Something that Nire would believe. It wasn?t long coming.

?Why would I keep killing? My home is lost, my kinsbeasts scattered across your colonies, and the ones that matter most to me can be taken away with a single command from you. I will not promise you love or respect, but I will promise you obedience...? And then he couldn?t resist the need to bite back at this predator who thought he had complete control. ?...for as long as you last. Why, you must have all the armies of the South itching to bring a war to your doorstep.? No reaction? That was odd. An experiment, then. ?Not to mention those of the Nor-?

?Pah!? There! Nire?s ears flickered, his eyes narrowed in... concern? Anger? His voice came out tense, a little higher-pitched than usual. ?What armies? There is nothing of import further north than us. Nothing.?

Adeen?s paw finally moved. From the corner of his eye, Aldridge caught the movement of paper and the flurry of the quill, and she made a little more sense to him.

Apparently he had allowed a sign of triumph to show on his face, because Nire stood up and stalked toward him. ?I could tell you that your friends will all be dead tomorrow, and your only response would be to start plotting my death. You refuse to let yourself be cowed, don?t you? Very well. Tullus, delay the next interview. This stoat might not fear me, but by Hellgates themselves I?ll make sure he fears the dark by nightfall.? He took a key from his belt, and detached Aldridge?s manacles from the table. He wound the chain into his huge paw and dragged Aldridge out of the chair, knocking it to the ground. He didn?t stop for fallen furniture, a snarl written across his face as he hauled Aldridge faster than the stoat could walk.

Ten or twenty of Nire?s paces later, Aldridge managed to find his feet. He loped along beside the cat, trying to keep his freshly-banged shins and ankles from having to move too much as he was dragged along.

The walls changed, from wood and stone to only stone. The torches in their brackets were less frequently replaced here; they were deep down one of the support tunnels.

?Nix!? Nire?s voice was swallowed up by the half-lit tunnel. ?Where are you? Nix!?

A shadow coalesced, and the marteness from the caravan was there. ?Aye, Nire? Food for Bessie??

?Not food. Aldridge here has come to learn? perspective.? Nire yanked on the chain and Aldridge fell to his knees in front of a set of heavy metal bars filling the entryway to an unlit cave that smelled? wrong. The cat leaned down, held the chains of Aldridge?s manacles against the bars, and locked them to each other.

?When he?s stopped screaming, take him back to the slave pen. Clean him up, feed him and let him sleep - if he can. Tomorrow, we find out what he's capable of.?

Nire threw the key to Nix, and padded away.

?What did he mean?? Aldridge looked at the marteness, who merely shrugged. He found himself afraid, and before he could stop himself he asked again. ?What did??

Rustling movement from the cage
As a mass of limbs and eyes awoke
And unfurled itself
And came to see what was going on

He turned to loo-

EYES
words 
   left him
the ability to reason 
   left him
a pitiful quantity of water and bread 
   left him
      and spattered on the floor
         a hundred yards away 
         right in front of him
EYES
his mind
   SHEARED
thoughts fell apart
replaced with nothing 
   but
      run
run
   RUN
but it would move too quickly
if he ran
   he knew
LIMBS
      TOO MANY LIMBS
they would carry it faster than any night terror
   he knew
too many joints
too fast
too quiet
too
      WRONG
   EYES
            FANGS
      LIMBS
WRONG

Felt himself shuddering, soaked in sweat.
Heard himself screaming and begging and praying - he had never prayed in his life.
Watched himself trying to scrabble away from the abomination, whimpering whenever a paw came too close to the creature of eyes and limbs and fangs.

It came as a great relief when everything dissolved into hissing grey, and he felt the sharp thump of his head hitting the ground, and he surrendered completely to the void.



The world came back into focus, and thankfully it was somewhere new. Beasts were waking up all around him - ah. He hadn't been put back in solitary, then. He sat up, still shaking and empty from the previous day?s exertion, and looked around. The morning?s rousing call was coming from a half-rotten weasel in the middle of the pen, ringing a tiny bell and yelling in some incomprehensible accent. A beast stopped and helped him to his feet. It took a moment to identify him, but when Aldridge had, he said simply ?Thank you, Not-The-Monster-Of-Mossflower.?

He focused on himself for a little while. He tried to brush some of the pen-floor muck from his side, but the muck just smeared on his tunic and into his paw-fur. One shaking footpaw in front of the other, over and over again, following the bulk of the slaves along interminably long tunnels until the smell of mud and filth was washed away by the overwhelming smell of decent food.

Ah. A mess hall.

He looked up for long enough to work out where the smell was coming from, and tracked his way over to it. The scent woke him up a little - bread and cheese, nuts and berries, fish. He took one piece of each with trembling paws, but then noticed that other beasts were taking more - and being actively encouraged to do so.

He took a little more cheese, and a lot more fish.

He was on his second round, and finally feeling like the abomination wasn?t about to burst out from somewhere and eat him alive, when a beast stopped in front of him.

He looked up to see the marteness from before, a look on her face somewhere around resignation. ?You?re to come to the archery range with me.?

Aldridge swallowed. ?Can I finish my fish??

She nodded, and he did.

He stood, chewed the last mouthful as she led the way, then spoke. ?Thank you.?

?For what, slave?? She looked away into the distance.

?For letting the carpenters enjoy themselves one last time before we got here.?

She shrugged.

He didn?t try to strike up another conversation.

Various walls drifted past. The smell of fresh air grew stronger. They walked out into the sun, and Aldridge didn?t realise how much he?d missed it. Light washed away the feelings of staleness and pushed the memory of that abomination out of his immediate thoughts.

Then he was handed a badly-made shortbow, and his day was freshly ruined.

?Whoever made this,? he remarked drily, ?needs to be shot with it. Actually, no - it wouldn?t even kill them. Bludgeoned, then.? He tossed it from paw to paw, utterly fascinated with the quality of the work. ?It?s not balanced. The nocks are all wrong. The grip is in the wrong place. Look, Commander. It doesn?t even bend right. In fact??

He turned, as though he were about to fire at the targets downrange. Raised the bow, paw to string, pulled back exactly as he would to place an arrow in a beast two hundred paces away.

The bow snapped into two lumpen chunks, and fell to his feet.

He kicked the pile of wood and string away, and turned back to her.

?Nire thought you would at least try to fire a few shots with it. Suppose I win that bet." The marteness was holding something vastly superior, and proffered it to him. "This bow is different. The beast who owned it passed only a few weeks ago, and it?s been kept away from steam and water since then.? It was stained dark green and covered with patterns of ivy and moss.

It was a fraction of a paw?s length too short for him, but that wasn?t a problem for Aldridge. He drew, gingerly at first and then with more confidence. ?Much better,? he murmured. ?Arrow.?

Nix handed him one without complaint. Aldridge briefly considered putting it through her eye - but somehow, even though she had been the one to take his whole blasted village captive, he couldn?t bring himself to do it.

He breathed in, held. Drew, sighted the closest target, released? and missed.

Two more misses, and then he was used to the bow and his muscles had woken up and things were starting to feel alright again. He stuck five targets with arrows and when he turned to receive the sixth, was met with an almost entirely unexpected beast.

The big cat raised a brow, handed him six more arrows. ?Feldoon!? he bellowed. ?The moving targets, if you please!?

Dust shimmered in patterns on the floor as old machinery, apparently neither well used nor well maintained, clattered to life. A cloth figure lurched up from the ground and staggered across the range, followed soon by another. Aldridge put arrows in their heads without thinking. The third was missing a head, so the arrow bit deep into where its heart should have been. Three more heads, and Aldridge turned for more arrows.

Nire raised his paws wide, exaggerating the fact that they were empty. ?Keep the bow,? he said. ?I?m not convinced that any other beast here would use it or treat it so well as you will.?

Aldridge put his left foot through the bow, rested the bottom tip against his right foot, pulled down ever so gently on the top curve until the string denocked itself. ?It?s a damn shame nobody thought to destring it before now,? he said, somewhat reverently. ?I?ll have to re-cure it, and leave it to stand straight for at least a month to undo the damage. It?s a beautiful piece?? A moment of thought. ?Princess Revana didn?t run away with her bodyguard after all, did she??

Nire looked genuinely impressed. Aldridge didn?t care.

He didn?t pay much attention to the words flowing out of his mouth as he held the bow, looked it over again, savoured every detail. ?Between the vine patterning, there are areas of exposed wood. The front and back of the bow have exactly the same rings. Most longbows are made from elm or yew, but those would have variation from front to back. This one is made from mulberry wood, which grows only in the warmth of the south. As for the rest - the bow is entirely regular. No compensation has been made for knots or twists in the wood. That means one of two things - this bow was made by a lousy tradesman, or it was the one perfect bow in a brace of a thousand that was given to the Royal Family by the maker. And since it shoots as well as your arrows will let it, the tradesman was not at all lousy.?

Nire actually chuckled. ?Nix, please throw our bowyers in the Crater the next chance you get. Moor and his Apprentice will be stationed here from now on.?

Aldridge?s ears snapped back. ?What??

?Revana and Theros did not produce any children, though we hoped they might. Nor did they pass their knowledge on to any of my staff - or rather, my staff could not stand to work with them. She was haughty, he was silent, they were both just as ornery as the worst of our boars. She never broke, either. The first fight after he died, she realised I had no leverage over her any more.? Nire gazed out to the horizon, paw lifting to touch a small nick in his left ear. ?She remained a spectacular shot to the very end. Their portraits rest in the Hall of the Great. I?ll have to show you sometime. For now though, congratulations. You?ve got the job.?

Aldridge?s ears had not moved. ?I meant the previous staff. You?re just going to? throw them away like that??

Nire looked him dead in the eye. ?You?d argue they deserve to stay alive, when you destroyed one of their bows without even firing it? No. It?s either that or feed them to the abominations in the Fell Wing. I know which death I?d prefer.?

Aldridge had to concede, he had a point.

Nix unlocked the archery range?s storage room, and they ducked inside. As Nire talked, Aldridge found a bolt of linen, folded the greenbow carefully up in it, placed it flat on a high shelf.

?You know what I?m seeing, Nix? I?m seeing fire! Night-time shows! Wicker balls, soaked in oils and flammables. One archer at the very centre of the arena, twenty four fire arrows. His first few targets are easy enough, but as they get more complex, will he hit them all? Imagine the whoops and cheers from the audience as machinery sweeps a wicker ball past them, and the archer takes aim, and oh my! Will his arrow land among the spectators? But although his shot is lazy and traces fire behind it, BOOF! The wicker ball catches and the spectators are bathed in a burst of light!"

They set on their way back to the communal pens - he had heard beasts referring to the general area as The Drag.

"Tell me, stoat - how?s your shooting under pressure? Eight beasts with javelins - how would you fancy your chances? For that matter, how about your apprentice?s? Eh??

At this point, Aldridge took a page from Ulrich's book and tried very hard to glare Nire to death. ?She is still a child,? he said, voice flat as the Crater floor.

?Ah, is that so? Very well, hint taken! Aldridge Moor, the Archer Alone! Can shoot an apple off the head of your lady love at fifty paces! How are you in close quarters, boy??

?Ha!? Aldridge choked on the laugh as soon as it had escaped. ?I?ll have forty seasons under my belt soon enough. Boy indeed. Close quarters, I fancy I can hold my own.?

?Very good, very good.?

Aldridge wondered for a moment if Nire even remembered the rage of yesterday, or the sounds of his screams from the other end of that 'Gates-forsaken tunnel.

?You will be sent for, Bowyer.? He had a twinkle in his eye now, and Aldridge found himself very glad of that. He also found himself back in the mess hall, and as Nire and Nix walked away, Nire animated and booming about fire and spectacle to every beast who got within range, he realised that the damn cat had made a very good start on breaking him.

A slow wave of fury tried to build up inside him but he found he did not have the resolve to stoke it. His anger passed.

He sat down, trying to take stock of the last couple of days. His claws scratched patterns in the table he was sitting at, sometimes hesitating, sometimes changing direction, as he watched beasts wandering to and fro. Some were doing exercises - running on the spot, press-ups, what-have-you. Pairs were walking in from the training area, laughing off fresh bruises and promising to get each other back. Some of the smiles were visibly false; beasts trying to make the best of this new and terrible deal. Some of the smiles were real.

If he looked away too quickly, some of their tails looked like... limbs.

He stopped scratching at the table, brushed away the dust, and stood. The training area could at least prove to be a diversion. He stomped on a discarded spoon on his way to it, and found himself in front of a table arraigned with weapons of all kinds.

Blacksmith Ulrich stood on the other side of it, glaring at everybeast and acknowledging Aldridge with the same glower. ?Bowyer,? he said. ?They?re all blunted.? He gestured to the various wooden and metal weapons on the table.

Aldridge hefted a few experimentally, finding one that suited him. His eyes meandered, surveying every inch of the table - every knot in the wood, every scratch in the varnish, every weapon in its place. ?You?ve arranged them by the age of their design,? he said.

Ulrich looked a little proud. ?Aye. Gives a beast like me a little pleasure in this awful place. What you?re holding there, while a shortsword to you, is a Marlfox skirmish knife. Note the irregular double-edge, clearly inspired by the shape of a leaf. Hold it one way, and the broader edge is perfect for slashing. Switch your grip, and it becomes a piercer. It?s been perfectly blunted - you?ll leave nothing but bruises on any beast you hit with it. Even more interesting, they?ve come up with a metallurgical technique that makes the blade all but impossible to ever resharpen. But they have at least one live-blade for every dulled blade here, so whatever your preference, you?ll be able to fight with the real thing when the time comes.?

Aldridge nodded, then remembered something. ?The vole told me about Philpott?s? fevers. How is he doing??

The mouse?s eyes hardened, inasfar as that was possible. ?He hasn?t eaten since we arrived. Screams whenever food?s put in front of him, can?t understand that it?s not riddled with bugs. Same reaction to water, though at least he?ll drink from the wash-house sluice. He loved the forest, and these monsters took it away from him, and now he?s broken and there?s nothing that any of us can do about it, save Aera.?

Aldridge looked into Ulrich?s eyes and saw exactly what he feared. Anger, sadness, the beginnings of resignation. For a moment, he imagined driving the Marlfox blade into Nire?s gut. The satisfaction of the thought immediately disappeared when he pulled the knife out and instead of blood, that damned abomination started to force its way out through the hole.

He shook his head, hard.

?I?ll do what I can. Even if it?s only avenging him.?

He bit down on the fear and the rage threatening to bubble over, and he turned to the training area. Easily a score of beasts, trying their skills on each other. He watched for a little while, gathering himself. He felt that old battle-ready electricity start to crawl through him again as he watched, noticing the swings that went too far, the moments where a beast lost control of their weapon, the footwork that could exploited for a cheap win.

A female ferret in blue raised a short sword to him from across the area, and he nodded. As he moved closer to her he took note of her stance - feet placed as though she would be fencing, sword down but ready to strike in any direction, startling blue eyes firmly locked on him. ?Ability?? she asked.

The lightning was rushing now, memorising every line of tension in her body as though she were another bow to be mastered. ?Bowyer first, unarmed second, short blades third. You??

She nodded. ?Short blades first, long blades second. Your short blade trainer??

Aldridge noted the lilt in her voice, the adjustment of her left footpaw, the tightening of her paw around the short sword she held. ?A beast somewhere between a cat and a bear, twenty seasons hence. Yours??

?Well, for as long as we?re giving an idiot?s answers??

She swung at him. The tip of her sword came up from his lower right, aiming true for his throat. He dropped his paw, caught her blade on the flat of the Marlfox knife and pushed it upwards. To her credit, she pulled her arm back almost immediately, affording him no opportunity to strike while she was overextended.

He swung at her, a strong blow that came in from her left, level with the ground. She took a long step back and that was all; it was exactly the right thing to do.

?Who was your tutor?? he asked.

She stepped back in, right footpaw skidding round to keep a second point of contact with the floor. She held the short sword like a rapier for a moment, at a slight angle but unmistakably headed straight for his chest.

Aldridge grabbed her paw, placed his thumb on the knuckles of her smallest claws, forced them up and around. The unexpected line of tension jostled the short sword from her grip and careened down her arm, twisting her shoulder in sympathy and pushing her down to one knee.

Both weapons clattered to the ground.

They stayed there for a moment, then Aldridge released her paw. She stood up, massaging it slightly. ?I trained under Harrogale Khor, who served here for fifteen seasons. Never saw anything like that, though. Doesn?t even hurt.?

Aldridge picked up both swords, and handed hers back to her hilt-first. ?Like I said. Bowyer first, unarmed second. Lines of tension are all the same, whether they be in the wood, the cord, the flesh or the bone. And no, it?s not meant to hurt. Just to destabilise, and disarm.?

?...show me again.?

Her blue tunic stopped mattering. He was teaching someone something new, something that they were interested in. He showed her the motion five times slowly, all on her own arm, then invited her to try the same on him. They traded notes on their teachers and their combat history as she worked out all the details of the lock, and when she successfully executed it on him, he was as proud as she was.

It was good, to have someone his size and strength to train with. Even if they were technically the enemy.

This was time well spent, Aldridge realised. He was bringing himself back to centre again, remembering who he was, losing his concerns in the lightning mindset of the fight, learning, teaching, being. He found himself looking forward to starting work proper on the archery range.

And then he thought of Cricken, losing his mind somewhere nearby. And he thought of all the villagers who had been ripped away from their parents, and from their children. He thought of the oldsters and the dibbuns, by now long since settled into a new home, wondering where their relatives had gone. He thought of the Squirrel Princess Revana, last of her line. He thought of the Crater?s now-ex-bowyers, due to be thrown onto the altar of Nire?s ambitions.

He realised that every beast here would be thrown there before too long.

He turned back to the blue-eyed ferret, who had been watching him as he stared at nothing, and let out five long-suffering words.

?I really need a drink.?

"Aye, that you do." The blue-eyed ferret met his eyes. "First few days here, aye? Makes anybeast tense! Come on, I'm buying. Nire pays his craftsbeasts, even when they're slaves. Gives 'em a little something to work for, an' scuttletail says you're the new bowyer - you'll be able to repay me soon enough."

There was a Winners? Lounge, which was apparently reserved for not only the Winners but also for the Crater staff.

The ferret asked him about life down South in the olden days as a little dig about his age, and he asked about life up North in the olden days as a little dig about hers. The evening slowly disintegrated in a pleasant, uncontrolled fug. At some point they realised it was past curfew, and they staggered back to their respective sleeping quarters. She made some excuse for him at the entryway to The Drag, and he barely noticed the smell as one of the guards dragged him down into the dirt and the filth and shoved him into the male half of the sleeping pen.

The night was filled with sleeplessness and unwanted thoughts. The hellspawn abomination. The helpless Young Aera. The screaming Young Cricken.

Madder Barrow burning.

Nix came to collect him from breakfast again the next day. She did not comment on his bedraggled appearance, nor upon his apparent sensitivity to sound and light. She took him back to the archery range, and unlocked a different door this time. Inside was the bowyer's workshop, and Apprentice Bowyer Aera. They hugged, and Aldridge felt a prickling around his eyes. But he wouldn't let Nix see that, so he let go with a fake chuckle and started to tell her about all the beasts he'd encountered and the things he'd seen.

Nix interrupted. ?I?ll tell you now that Nire expects this place to be up and running in a few days. You will be paid a small retainer for your services; here is the first week?s.? A small pouch of coins hit the worksurface closest to the door with the dusty half of a metallic thud. ?I wish you luck in your endeavour.?

She left without another word.

Young Aera looked up at him, and whispered. "Everything's gone." And she started to cry, and he couldn't keep himself from doing the same.

An hour later,
   when the last tear was shed, 
   when they had finished telling each other all of the awful things that happened since their arrival, 
   when Aldridge had finished apologising for her treatment at Nire's paws,
   when she had finally convinced him that it wasn't his fault,
   when they had finally hammered it into each other's heads that there were still true friends around them,
they got to work.