John Carr - Siege of Tarr-Hostigos

The chain gangs all seemed bound for Hostigos Square, which Phidestros found already half-filled with slave pens bursting with Hostigi prisoners. The palace itself was garrisoned by Guardsmen standing practically shoulder-to-shoulder, with Investigators darting in and out like rats from a half-eaten corpse. Phidestros led the Iron Band toward the palace, ignoring the curses and threats of Styphoni brusquely pushed aside.

The Iron Band replied only with silence, and occasionally with a hand rested lightly on a pistol butt. Before the Iron Band reached the palace, the Styphoni were giving way without protest.

As Phidestros dismounted, he knew one thing. He'd be damned if he billeted any of his men in this nest of temple-rats! He'd say that the siege demanded all his attention and find quarters elsewhere. Otherwise the Iron Band would start the war against the Investigators here and now, and he'd be lucky to end up back commanding a company of every other captain's leavings!

Danar Sirna's first thought on waking up was to wish that she hadn't. Being dead or at least asleep seemed the best solution to quite a number of her problems, starting with her crashing headache.

The first thing Sirna saw clearly was a dead man. Beyond him lay two more dead men, one with half of his face blown away. Was she in what passed for field hospitals on Kalvan's Time-Line?

She was lying on a straw pallet, with a wood-beamed roof over her, whitewashed plaster walls around her and a window in one of those walls. The warped wooden shutter was ajar; through the gap she could see what looked like a cobblestone street in Hostigos Town.

She must have been picked up and brought in by one side or another and put in here because she looked dead or dying. The whole left side of her head not only throbbed horribly but felt caked and stiff with dried blood. A scalp wound like that could make you look dead to people in a hurry.

Who had pulled her from the farmhouse? And where was Chief Verkan and the Paratime Police-they wouldn't abandon her, even if her colleagues at the University would? In her mind's eye, she could still see Aranth Sain slipping out of the farmhouse. Had Sain come back and rescued her? Or was this a holding pen for the Investigation?

Sirna had just decided that sitting up was a bad idea when a board creaked behind her. She decided to face her visitor sitting.

She struggled upright, groaned, and turned to see a woman well past middle age. With a woman in attendance, this must be a Temple of the local Mother Goddess, Yirtta Allmother. Any temple to Dralm would already be pulled down and burned to the foundation.

"So you're alive," the lady said.

Sirna nodded.

"You've been laid out like a corpse for over a moon-quarter." The lady pointed to a squat girl in a loose shift. "If it hadn't been for Cryissa there, we'd have tossed you into the lime pits days ago. Those dead soldiers are waiting for a proper send off to Galzar's Great Hall."

"Yeah, and we pay good coin for you to keep the bodies," said one of the soldiers angrily.

"Hey! This is our work; we minister to men in life and in death."

Sirna tried to say her thanks to the squat girl with ringlet curls, but the only sound she could make came out like a frog's croak. Cryissa brought Sirna a wet cloth and let her squeeze some watered wine into her mouth. She tried to thank the lady with her eyes, but they felt too heavy…

It was evening when Sirna awoke the second time. Cryissa called the older woman over the moment she opened her eyes.

"They call me Menandra. What's your name, sweetheart?" The voice was gruff and coarsened by alcohol, but not unfriendly.

Better say something. Sirna didn't dare nod, but her mouth was still so dry that only a croak came out.

Menandra bawled something in a voice that would have rallied a cavalry regiment. Sirna winced. One of the house women appeared with a jug and a cup.

"Drink this."

Sirna rinsed her mouth out, and then swallowed. It went down, heavily watered wine with some herbs in it. When she thought it was going to stay down, she said, "My name is Sirna. Thank you."

The woman who called herself Menandra looked embarrassed, as if she wasn't used to kind words. "Praise Yirtta Allmother, it was She who brought you back from Regwarn!"

"Are you a priestess?" It was surprising how ignorant she still was about Zarthani religion, but religious inquiry had been squelched by the Study Team as detrimental to their cover as craftsmen. However, Sirna did know from her studies at the University that in some cults the priestesses engaged in ritualized prostitution.

Menandra laughed so loudly the walls rang. "I minister to men's needs, not their spirits. But thank you kindly for asking! What accent is that?"

"Grefftscharrer. I was working at the Royal Foundry as a patternmaker when Styphon's Red Hand came."

"Say no more-they're demons in human form, the red bastards! You can't walk down the street without being kidnapped by Styphon's Guardsmen."

Sirna took another drink and asked, "What's been happening since Ardros Field?" She realized she was very lucky to be alive.

Menandra looked at the ceiling as she spoke. "Well, King Kalvan is on his way west with what's left of his army. Prince Ptosphes is holding the castle, to let him get away. We're playing host to Captain-General Phidestros' Iron Band. Does that answer you, girl?"

"What's Phidestros doing here?" Sirna asked.

Menandra's reply was a hoarse whisper. "I hear that the Captain-General's not too pleased with how Roxthar's Investigators are tearing up this town. He's supposed to be staying over there at the big headquarters in what used to be Prince Ptosphes' palace. But he spends most of his nights here or over by the siege works." She grinned. "Once he sets eyes on you, he won't be staying anywhere else."

Sirna strangled another groan. Menandra shrugged. "War's like that. Now, the next question is, what do we do with you now? Some peasants picked you up, thought you fit for selling. They ran you on into town on a cart; face down on top of a load of squash with your skirt up to your arse. They brought you here, thinking to earn some coppers. But when I saw how ill you were I sent the peasants on their way with a good buffeting."

"With my skirt up?"

The picture made Sirna giggle, then laugh. Once she started laughing she couldn't stop, although it made her head hurt worse. It also shook her stomach, which finally rebelled.

When Sirna stopped retching, Menandra was still standing over her, trying to look stern but not entirely succeeding. "Nothing but bile, girl. Cryissa, make some turkey broth for Sirna here."

She nodded her thanks.

"As I said, what about you, girl? You're a long way from Greffa and your friends at the Foundry are either dead or run off, the true gods alone know where."

The sounds of gunfire and screams in the Foundry quarters came rushing back. "Run off?"

Menandra couldn't give many details, but what she said told Sirna very clearly that the survivors of the University Study Team had left her for dead. It took all her self-control not to cry. She not only felt sick, she was frightened.

"Not good for you, the more so since the Styphoni will be looking for people from the Royal Foundry. Outlanders especially. I can probably protect you here at the Gull's Nest, if you're willing to work."

This was more than Sirna could digest in one gulp. It suddenly dawned on her that Menandra was the owner and Madam of the Gull's Nest (and why that name, this far from the sea?) and was quite willing to let her earn her keep, sick or not.

"No!"

"It's how I started out in Agrys City, girl. More years ago than either of us wants to think about. There's worse things than making a living on your back. Gives you a new view of the world, you might say."