Credits: Many thanks to BlueTrillium, beta reader.

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Chapter 7: War Council

"No need for that, Sergeant Hammerhelm," Alef de Elazard chuckled, leaning casually against the desk.

"Alef!" the aged Sergeant snarled, relief giving way to exasperation. "You had better have a very good reason for this. When did you learn to pick a lock?"

"I didn't," the Chief Commander of Duke Jeida's Royal Guard replied, inclining his head toward the back wall where Wei was quickly switching his men's apparel for the brown shift. "You are so very thorough about your securities that I had to have Wei here sneak in so he could open the window for me."

The Sergeant glared at Wei, who had turned around. The young Gray Bird smiled innocently. "It was a very good lock, sir. The thief lords would have to hire a very good lock breaker to open it."

"Humph. And here I was hoping Alef was the only rascal I'd have to deal with." Jul stalked to his desk and, seating himself with dignity, frowned. "But how in the world did you even know I would come here? And how did you get up to that window? We're on the second floor––no, never mind. Just tell me what you're here for."

"I knew that after reading my note you would want to talk to Izark somewhere where no one could hear you." Apparently, Alef had chosen to ignore his mentor's negation of the first question. "Finding the interview room to be below this standard, I sought out your office."

"So you wormed your way into the interview room first, then broke in here," Jul growled sourly. Privately, he was barely succeeding in covering his wonder at these accomplishments, and the ex- royal guard was extremely glad that he knew Alef's loyalties. Both the slender man–– woman? … and Izark would have made extremely dangerous enemies, but he knew he could trust that anyone Alef allowed near the Duke's family would have been checked and double checked.

Abruptly, Izark spoke. "Only the four of us are close enough to hear anything we say. I would tell you if it were otherwise."

The old man's bushy eyebrow came up as he turned to Alef. "Is he psychic, as well?"

"Practically. Shall I explain why we are here, sir?"

"First you must introduce––this one," said the Sergeant, jabbing his thumb at Wei.

"This is Wei Iulia Akash, a Gray Bird Tribesman in the service of the Dr. Clairgeeta you will have heard about. He arrived yesterday with Izark and some others. May we get down to business?"

"Go on."

"Thank you. Jul, you need help." Alef did not make it a question, but a statement of fact. If he was hoping for some kind of response, he did not get it. After a pause, he went on laying down the hard truth. "Right now, you have just twenty-seven men filling three shifts, when they are all healthy, and several of them are working through debilitating injuries. The twenty that are guarding the trial are volunteering their off hours. That means that at any given time, you have fewer than ten guards on the street for all of Market District when the current situation calls for twenty or even thirty for every shift." Again, Alef paused, inviting comment. "You're trying to gather the forty or so that you need, but every time you find someone who wants the job, they wind up with broken legs or ribs or heads, and all the while your guards are getting beaten up and killed and made examples of––"

"Damn it all, I know this!" the old man snarled, rising from his seat to pace despite his limp. "That should be clear, as you've obviously been reading my documents! I––" he stopped, fighting to get his voice under control. "I am aware, lad, but my options are limited. As it stands, the central government here is being of no help at all; they're too busy getting the nobles countrywide to cooperate to give any attention to the common folk in one little district. That's why they put me in charge; they're hoping I can hold the fort while they get organized. And I will. I'll hold the fort. I just wish I could do it without losing half my command in the process." He sat again, his wizened face looking older for his frustration.

"Gaya says you've only been here a month." Izark commented softly.

The old man nodded. "That is true."

"She implied that all the efficiency and professionalism I saw out there in the training yard is your doing."

A grunt. "Yes. It was I who re-assigned posts and shifts, demoted, promoted, and dismissed. It was I who scrapped the old training program and instituted the existing one. All this is of no account if I do not have enough guards to even defend each other, let alone the city."

"You need time to build up your ranks, and the gang bosses know it. So, you need a supplemental force." That was Wei, inspecting the various weapons hung on the walls.

"I already told you." Jul's voice was tired. "I have asked the central government for help––higher salaries to entice recruits; soldiers to keep peace while we recover. I have received nothing."

"And if a supplemental force were to volunteer?" asked Alef.

Izark looked up sharply. "I never said anything about volunteering."

The Duke's guard commander groaned. "Here it comes: the old woman penny pincher inside the dashing warrior, emerging only when Izark is asked a favor. What is he saving for, I wonder?" A wicked smile stole across Alef's face. "You know his Grace would be more than willing to give you a parish, so there's no sense in buying a house. Noriko and Glo––"

Izark cut him off, and Jul was interested to see a slight flush rising in the swordsman's chiseled features. "If you recall, Alef, I never collected on that last bonus I was supposed to receive for that stunt show in Stenny three years ago. Besides," he continued, catching Jul's eye and holding it, "it would be more effective if you hire me. I'll accept a regular recruit's salary," he informed the old man, "and with your permission, I will give you the time you need."

Jul sat forward, leaning on his desk. "Explain."

The warrior smirked, his brows slanting in a way that promised ill for whoever made him smile so coldly. "I wasn't toying with that big lug out there because I wanted to correct his form. He'll go straight to his boss to tell him that I need to be gotten rid of, and fast."

The Sergeant raised his lone eyebrow (he was doing that a lot today). It was true. "You were trying to scare them."

"And he succeeded." Wei did not turn around, but one could hear a sly grin in his words. "Soon every criminal in Selena Guzena will know about the mercenary that hired on to the Market District Guard."

"If so, then every gang boss in the city will be out for your blood." Jul directed his comment at Izark, his brow resettling into its accustomed scowl. "And you're happy about this?"

"Of course," the swordsman replied, slowly and evenly. "They will all be after my blood. And while they are all hunting my blood, you will have time to gather recruits and train them. Of course," he mused thoughtfully, "you may want to take some guards off street duty to watch the jail. They'll send their best after me, so anyone that I catch trying to kill me should be well guarded."

The Sergeant's eye narrowed. "What makes you so sure they will focus everything on you? What if they simply learn to avoid you?"

"In that case, they'll be so busy tiptoeing that they won't have time to harass your Guard. But I am confident that I know how they will react." Seeing that Jul still looked a little skeptical, Izark sought to convince him. "On my résumé, the cities of Calco and Ennamarna are listed as past employers. The bandits I brought down in Calco came after me because I beat their boss, and they were afraid I could make an end to them. In Ennamarna, I fought a man who had been hunting me for over a year just because I was the only person who had ever defeated him. The motivations were different; the actions were not. They'll come after me. They always come after me." The humorless smirk was back on his face with the last words.

Jul thought. He did not like the idea of using anyone, even someone as seemingly invincible as Izark, as bait. However, his own words came back to him––his options were limited. Finally, he sighed.

"It's risky, but then so is all the work we do here at the Market District Guard Station. I'm willing to give it a try. However, it does not solve the problem of keeping our current recruits alive and well. I've offered every group that comes through, but no one wants to sleep at the Garrison until it's too late." He looked at Alef. "Got something to fix that?"

It was Alef's turn to pause, frowning thoughtfully. Abruptly, his eyes brightened with an idea, and he grinned. "Perhaps…"

VII VII VII VII VII

When Izark and Jul emerged from the building, it was to find the other recruits in various attitudes of boredom. The impromptu council had taken a full two bells, and the sun was well past its zenith. As the warrior took up his old position at the edge of the group, Jul called, "Orne Maninka Garhos."

The ex-prizefighter followed him out, casting an uneasy glance over his shoulder at Izark. By the time he returned, looking much relieved, Godana and Kess were back to hanging off the warrior's shoulders and talking about misfortune.

"Ashre of the Tazasina Kilahb."

Izark sensed Orne's approach and looked up. Unfortunately, the drunks noticed this and followed his eyes.

"Hey, hey! So'd ya get the job, or what?" Kess' voice was too loud.

"Go stick your head in a barrel, wino," was the curt reply. "You and your buddy both."

"Hey, watch your mouth!" Godana slurred. "You've no right to be rude! If you was in our position, you'd––"

"If I was in your position, I'd treat this guy with a bit more respect," Orne interrupted, nodding at Izark. "And I wouldn't come to a job lineup smelling like booze. Go entertain each other with your sorrows, and leave him be."

Godana's red face grew redder, and he seemed about to object. Fortunately, Kess was slightly less inebriated, and dragged his friend away.

Izark watched them go. "You could have done that more politely," he murmured.

Orne assumed a rest position, also watching the drunks cross the yard. "I could have, but that would have taken too long. Besides, they won't make it in this city if they don't sober up." He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "Thank you for not mentioning to the Sergeant how you know me." And thanks for saving my neck, I guess.

The warrior shrugged. "He probably already knows. He's a retired captain of Jeida's royal guards. If he hired you, it's because he thinks you've learned your lesson. If there are so many arenas to fight at, why do you want to be a guard?"

Izark could hear the sneer in Orne's reply. "There aren't. Prize-fighting is going out of fashion. More and more people are calling it barbaric. No one is coming to watch, so no one is betting, and if no one is betting, then no one is making any money, and if no one is making any money––"

"I get it."

"––then only maniacs choose to fight." The ex-gladiator looked down. "I need a real job. I could stay on at an arena if I trained to be an athlete, but there's no guarantee that I'd be any good. Fighting's what I know." He paused. "You think the kid will get hired?"

Again, Izark shrugged. "They're short of guards, especially in a time like this. I don't know his views on female warriors, but I'd say she has a fair chance."

"But he's just––she?"

"That's what I said; she, and I've never been wrong before. Ashre of the Tazasina Kilahb is a girl. A natural fighter, too. A friend of mine will be overjoyed to meet her." The warrior looked directly at Orne. "Where are you planning to stay tonight? It would be wise to stay at the station."

Though surprised by such an abrupt and personal question, the soon-to-be market guard answered, "I already paid for a room. No sense wasting my money."

"In that case, you are invited to supper at the Seer Zena's residence. Someone will meet you outside, to show you the way." Izark said this quietly. Seeing Orne's incredulous look, he added, "Hey. Free food."

Orne closed his mouth, considering. "I'll be there," he said finally.

"Good."

The remainder of the interviews lasted until late afternoon. Ashre came back wearing a look of satisfaction. The expressions of the drunks ranged between triumphant and irritated; they explained to all within earshot that they were hired on the condition that they must lodge at the garrison until Jul believed them responsible enough not to drink while on duty.

"My wife'll kill me if I don' come home widout tellin' 'er why," Kess whined.

"Master Kess, I don't want to hear another word until you can say it without slurring," the by now very grouchy Sergeant snapped. "A messenger has already been sent to your homes, both yours and Master Godana's." To everyone, he said, "You will receive your training schedules and assignments tomorrow. Be here no later than third bell, or I'll rethink your wages." The old man stumped back into the building and was gone.

Exiting the gateway between the training yard and the street, Orne looked around for Izark but the warrior had vanished. The Kilahb boy––girl, he corrected himself––was gone as well.

"You are Orne?" queried a melodious voice near the man's shoulder. He jumped, and turned to meet the eyes of a tallish young woman with a pleasant face and a charming smile.

"Uh––that's right."

Wei nodded, still smiling. "I am an acquaintance of Izark. I'm to escort you to your lodgings."

VII VII VII VII VII

Ashre of the Tazasina Kilahb trotted briskly down the street, golden eyes peeled for the alley where she had stowed her belongings earlier. Finding it, she swerved, dodging a cart and earning a curse from the driver.

"Outta the way, brat!"

Brat? Who's he talking to? In my clan, I'm an initiated adult, the young warrioress thought somewhat bitterly as she scrounged in a pile of scrap lumber. Dragging out her pack, she looked up and down the alley. Now, where'd Ronan get to? We need to be outside the city gates before dark.

A large hand gripped Ashre's shoulder. "Best not take that chance."

Instantly reaching for knife hilt, the fourteen-year-old barely managed to bite back a war cry as the soft deep voice continued, "Or haven't you heard what happens to prospective guards? No, best not wander around alone tonight." With that the assassin, for that is what the young traveler took Izark to be, steered Ashre out the other end of the alley. The clan-born girl felt panic rise, but forced it down; forced herself to think. Why is this man––Izark––here? What does he want? How do I escape? Is escape even possible, from someone like him?

Izark marched his new acquaintance forward, ignoring the waves of fear the teenager emitted as he adjusted his plans. He couldn't leave this kid by herself, not when he knew what it was to be attacked by grown men with swords when you were a green youth. Besides, he added, feeling sharp bones under his palm and remembering the hollows in the girl's triangular face, she could use a free meal.

Ashre had decided. She took a breath.

Izark heard the breath. He expected something, a retort or refusal of some sort, perhaps even a shout for help. Even so, he was taken aback by the pitch and loudness of the whistle that followed.

A large gray blur flashed passed them to plant itself firmly in the way, and the young man found himself confronted by the biggest, most savage looking dog he had ever seen.

The canine-like animal was at least ten hands tall at the shoulder, with thick dust-gray fur that only added to its imposing size. If Izark had not been concentrating on those wicked teeth, he might have been able to appreciate the handsome long legs with their matching black stockings; the deep athletic chest; the elegant dark ticked ruff and matching plumed tail. He did manage to notice a proud dark crest and small, shapely, black-edged ears, both aggressively erect and seeming almost to serve as accents for the long, nobly sloped muzzle. For just a moment, the man stared into the beast's face, fascinated by flame blue eyes set over a death grin snarl. Noriko had said that the Sky Demon's eyes were pale blue. Was that how he looked when he lost control? Feral? Menacing?

"Ronan, hold boy," he heard Ashre say, taking longer than usual to grasp her meaning due to the thick northern brogue with which she spoke.

"Friend of yours?" the warrior inquired with quickly recovered calm.

"Ronan is very well trained," the Kilahb girl responded, trying to put cool honesty in those words. "He will not bite until I release him, but if I ask him to, he will tear you apart. Let go of my shoulder." If I scare him, maybe he'll let me go. But I don't want to have to use Ronan. This man could kill him with his bare hands. Hold Ronan, hold!

Izark turned the girl around, placing his other hand on a second thin shoulder, and stooped to look the child full in the face.

"I am not your enemy," he stated straightly.

"No, you're mad," was the shaky reply. "There's a dog over there that will rip your guts out when I tell him to, and you still haven't let me go!" Damn, I should have known a killer wouldn't be a coward.

The warrior's reaction could not have shocked the young northerner more.

Releasing Ashre's shoulders, the young man walked up to the snarling Ronan—who began to make a noise like several rockslides—and crouched down, his nose a foot away from the dog's and his eyes just lower.

An insane doubt crept into the Kilahb girl's thoughts then. What if this man was sincere? After all, he had come to that man Orne's rescue in the training yard. Suddenly she feared that Ronan would forget the order to hold and savage the brave fool who placed his neck in such easy reach of those crushing jaws.

Ronan, however, was plainly as shocked as his mistress. Uncomfortable with having his eyes above a human's, the dog immediately backed up a pace and lowered his head. The corners of his mouth relaxed slightly as Izark spoke, his voice quiet and soothing, to both the beast and its keeper.

"An animal tamer once told me that dogs can smell ill intent," he said. "Ronan, was it? Well, Ronan, do I smell like a liar to you?"

"Enough." The Kilahb girl's heavily accented voice came from behind him, sounding less defensive but still thick with wariness. Perhaps following a hand signal, the huge gray dog sat back on his haunches and ceased to snarl. "What do you want?"

The man did not reply immediately, choosing instead to stand up slowly, apparently thinking through a pertinent reply.

"Nothing, really, but trust," Izark said finally, testing the wind to make sure that it did not carry his words to the lookout he sensed some way behind the youth.

"And what person in his right mind would trust a headhunter?"

"I am fully aware of my appearance, thank you very much," was the warrior's clipped retort. "Dressed as you are, I would have thought you knew that it's a false step to judge by appearances." He turned to face the Clan youngster. It had never occurred to Ashre that dark eyes could be so disconcerting. Then again, the warrior-girl had never seen such intense eyes––and that included her own–– nor been observed so fixedly.

Except, she realized, he's not looking at me. He was looking past. Quickly she turned her head, and was rewarded with a flicker of movement around the corner of the alley.

That settles it, Ashre thought grimly. Mad or no, killer or no, the unreadable, imposing warrior was more predictable than shadow people. Looking back at him, the girl nodded ever so slightly. I'll trust him. For now.

Izark returned the nod curtly and strode off, the Kilahb and the dog following.

VII VII VII VII VII

"[Ah. Found you.]"

Noriko looked around to find her mother standing in the doorway of the workroom. She glanced to the side. "[I was helping Rottenina. This is the last room they need to refurbish.]"

Yuri studied her daughter, then sighed. "[No. You were avoiding me. You skipped the noonday meal to avoid me. It's the same as after you didn't get into Meiyo Academy.]" When Noriko did not respond, she continued. "[Sweetheart, I haven't seen you for four years. Can we please spend some time together?]"

Silence met her request. Then, "[Of course we can. What would you like to do?]"

Yuri smiled, relieved. "[Meet your friends, I suppose. But I can help you finish this.]" She picked up a damp cloth hanging off the side of the basket, and sniffed it. "[They use vinegar and water here, too?]"

Noriko smiled shyly, but relaxed a bit. "[I don't know. They are out of boiling sand, which is what they usually use, so I suggested… what you taught me.]"

There was an ironic note in Yuri's voice as she responded, already busy with the mirror that her daughter would come to last, so that they could work toward each other. "[Well]," she said, "[At least that's something.]"

"[You also helped me learn to sew]," the young woman added. "[I'm learning to hand stitch. Katarina has been teaching me. It takes a lot of time when you don't have a sewing machine, but I remember some of that book you gave me in elementary school, the one about clothing construction, so mostly it's just a matter of practice.]"

"[You actually read that?]" Her mother giggled. "[I hadn't thought you did. What else?]"

"[The first aid training I got at day camp has been helpful,]" Noriko mused. "[So have Ojii-san's history lessons, in a way. I've never had to navigate on my own yet, but I think I remember what Otou-san taught Nii-chan and I when we went camping. And]"; it was her turn to giggle; "[I know how to shop. I still can't bargain like Izark, though.]"

"[About Dr. Clairgeeta's writings. Your father said you were translating them?]"

"[Yes. Dr. Clairgeeta taught me to read and write. Translating helped me to learn.]" Yuri could hear the smile in the young woman's voice. "[Being literate makes things easier.]" There was a thoughtful silence. "[Izark taught me how to drive a cart, and I can sort-of ride aherne.]"

"[Aherne?]" her mother repeated, then, "[Oh, those things you called horses in your diary. So, what else is Izark teaching you?]"

By now, Noriko had entirely forgotten her earlier worries. ["Lots! I mean, he helped me learn Midland, and now it feels like I've always spoken it. He taught me the customs, too, and the money system—though those are different from place to place. And he knows ever so much about medicinal herbs and living off the land. He lets me experiment when we cook together.]" In the reflection of the mirror, Noriko's mother saw her make a face. "[Some of it turns out pretty bad, but there's this one grain that cooks up just like rice, and there's a seed that tastes like ginger. Oh, and there's an herb called kumrig that's like soy sauce if you mix the powdered root with water. And–]" She stopped talking abruptly.

"[And?]" Yuri asked, but the young woman did not respond.

Finally, Noriko turned and went to the door, explaining, "[I have to find Anita and Rottenina. Sorry, Mama.]"

"[Why, what for?]" The woman wanted to know, setting down her cloth and following her daughter down the stairs.

"[Izark says we're going to have guests. More guests.]" She glanced back at the doorway to Zena's workroom. "[I think we'll have to put that on hold for a little while.]"

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Author's Note: I've decided to keep it at ten double spaced pages per chapter, give or take. Otherwise, I'm afraid I would end up rambling. Please review!

~Muse