Flight or Fight, Chapter 9

Dalibor ducked his head to make sure his hat cleared the door-frame of the crew car, and was greeted by the other two brothers inside. Once Brother Lucian closed the door, he announced, “Brothers, this is now a confessional.” Dafi gasped, and the brother held his hand up, “We do not need to know your mission, but if anything should slip, we are required to not reveal it.”

“Tenks for you caution, Brodder. Hy hope ve vun’t need hyu protected dot vay.” Dalibor dropped his packs to the floor. “Kommender, if Hy ken help?” he eased Dafi’s pack from her shoulders.

Luckily, Dafi caught the clue, “Thank you, Sergeant. We will only need assistance in getting into Prahova.” Dal held his breath, but she did not tell the brothers they were headed for Tânărăjugul. “Beyond that, I do not wish to inconvenience you.”

Brother Lucian nodded, and one of the other brothers opened a cabinet under the window bench, “Your gear should fit here.” After helping fit their packs into the cupboard, the brother locked it and handed the key to Dafi. “Understand that the owner of the contents of that cupboard has the key, and I am unable to open it.”

Dafi’s eyebrows went up, but Dalibor understood, “Hyu get zearched at de border?” he asked, not quite keeping the growl out of his voice.

Brother Lucian nodded, “That started year before last. Before that, it was only an occasional thing, and generally, it was the Baron’s soldiers, when there was a dangerous experiment loose. Now...” he shrugged, sighing. “These days, it is as likely that the soldiers are bored as anything.”

“Or they think they can get away with confiscating something they want by calling it ‘contraband’,” the youngest of the trio snorted. To Dalibor’s estimation, he looked just old enough to have taken his vows. “Everyone knows Duke Gavril has not publicly announced additions to the proscribed list, but getting a complaint to him...” The tall and lanky monk held up his hand, “Wait, grab on to something...” and the kabuis jerked violently.

At Dafi’s look of alarm, “The engine hit the grade change, that was normal.” The shortest of the brothers explained, “The train’s change of speed caused the cars to shimmy down the line. Probably a good reason for both of you to sit whenever possible. Give me a few moments to recalculate for the stop and your weights, and I can give you an idea how long the trip will be.” He sat at the little desk with a compact analytical engine bolted to the top.

“If hyu are boarded, iz dhere anodder cabinet dot Kommender vould fit in?” Dalibor caught a twitch in Dafi’s mouth, but the others might not have noticed. “Hy could probably jump off und run around de blockaded area...”

“Not a great idea, Sergeant. The farmers here are under pressure to report everything. Being blind is not an excuse.” Brother Lucian shook his head, “We can hide both of you, I think. That would be a better idea.” Then he climbed up into the cupola, watching both the train and the surrounding area with a spyglass.

The analytical engine announced the solution with a soft chime barely audible over the sound of the singing rails, and the brother at the desk grunted, “Not a big difference, if we take advantage of the next downhill.” He passed the card up to Brother Lucian, “Do you think we can risk it not being noticed, since the crossing has been quiet the last few weeks?”

Tall-and-Lanky laughed, “Not likely. I’d say let the driver know, your next trip up the cars. Not that we have passengers, just that the extra stop was for cargo,” he tapped the cabinet with the toe of his boot, “to explain the compensation.”

Dalibor cocked his head; the monk’s accent was passing familiar, and the attitude seemed to fit, but he was not quite sure about him yet. Instead he asked, “Hyu do not truzt a long peazeful schpell?”

The monk shook his head, “It means it’s more likely the guards are bored, and will harass us because they can get away with it.” He shrugged with a resigned air, “The duke has been paying less attention to the local soldiers since he started gallivanting with the rest of the Fifty full-time.”

Dafi said quietly, “You speak as someone who has been here, not just passing through.”

Tall-and-Lanky nodded, “I was one of the locals, before I got a vocation.”

“More like hyu’re from Moviloraş, Hy’d zay.” Dalibor watched the young man’s reaction.

The reaction was a little chagrined, “That means I need to watch my accent. Not many recognize it.”

~=*=~

“Being from the capitol city is a problem?” Dafi asked. Dalibor shook his head at her, and she subsided. More questions than answers in the past few minutes, so she watched the scenery roll by. This was a picturesque area, and roughly defensible. Searching her memory, she sifted through what every child who went through formal schooling learned about the sovereign states of Europa. Movilă was noted for sheep and goat herding, so villages were bound to be few and far between.

The capitol, however, was wrapped around a mountainside (a small one, by Dafi’s standards) with the ducal seat perched just under the summit. The river in the valley was deep enough to make trade profitable, and the town itself was a series of highly defensible walls. Why someone would want to hide the fact they were from the capitol was lost on her, though.

The brother who had the conductor’s watch on his belt stood from the desk, and retrieved the card from Lucian, “I had better let them know about the time. We did not stop long, so I shall give them the option of making up the time or not.”

When he left, Dafi thought about it a moment, and Dalibor murmured, “If it izn’t impawtent, it iz op to de pilot to make it op or not?”

“Driver,” she corrected, then nodded, slowly. “Hm, that makes sense. Makes it less noticeable, if it is not given more weight.” She shifted her position in the window seat on top of the cabinet. “I ought to have brought something to read”, she muttered, looking out the window, and hoping she did not sound as petulant as the thought in her head felt. She heard a soft chuckle, and a well-thumbed groschenroman landed near her seat.

She looked up at Lucian, and he grinned, putting his gaze back on the horizon with the spyglass. “We find those on the train every trip we have a passenger car on this route, sometimes more of them than the Heterodyne Boys books.”

Dalibor craned his head around to read the title, then grunted in disgust and turned his attention outward to the countryside. Dafi, curious at his reaction, picked up the cheap paper book and began to read about Third Son and the Paper Tigers.

Within the first chapter, she knew this would be one of the implausible stories Dalibor had warned her about. She thought she could see places in the narrative where the author might have embroidered events. By the time she reached the middle of the book, she spotted several events that were obviously created out of whole cloth. The mad chase scenes, with the Third Son hunting the counterfeiters through the printing houses of Vienna with a pride of clockwork predators made from origami was howlingly unbelievable.

There were a few things that stood out for Dafi, though. The hero was never named anything other than Third Son. Though it was never explicitly stated, there were broad hints that the hero was a construct. What sort of construct was rather vague, but comment was made that he had the strength of a dozen men and was able to run through a duchy in a day. Towards the end of the story, the phrase “a man apart from men” caught her eye.

She finished the book in a few hours, and accepted a cup of tea from the flagman. “I wonder if the writer ever was in the military. I do not think so.”

“At least this one got the geography right.”  The young monk passed a cup to Dalibor as well. “Some of the wilder ones we leave in the passenger car rubbish bin to get confiscated. Most of them are produced locally, but rumor has it some are coming in from England.”

Dafi ignored Dalibor’s snorting into his cup, and asked, “How can you tell?”

The conductor chuckled, “Most of those are easy to spot, because they are the stories that make Baron Wulfenbach the villain of the tale and are generally stories nobody has heard of before. Sometimes, there are subtle hints that the author is someone who is used to writing in another language. There are some others that you can tell the writer was uneducated, but they are comfortable with the local language. Ten years ago, the scholars generally agreed there were six to eight established writers of Third Son stories, based on their styles.”

Dalibor choked on his tea. “Dot menny?!?” he asked when he caught his breath.

“Oh, undoubtedly!” the conductor chortled,  warming to his subject, and possibly not noticing Dalibor’s distress, though it was obvious to Dafi. The brother continued, “there were dozens of one-off print runs that did not match the styles of the more prolific writers, and likely there might have been more authors to add to the list by now.”

“You seem to be very knowledgeable about this, are you studying folk-tales as an hobby?” Dafi asked.

He grinned, “Commander, I once taught the subject at Beetleburg, and the maths were my hobby. When my last paper was not well favored, I was... encouraged to take a sabbatical. It was Providence that I did take it, for while I was travelling and collecting more of the oral traditions, I found myself in the company of the Brotherhood more often than not.” The conductor nodded his thanks to the flagman for his tea. “Though many scholars among us might disagree, it has not come to blows over the varied disagreements. That which cannot be proven by mathematics and physics is still considered open to interpretation.”

Dalibor left off his muttering (Dafi had picked up the words “prolific” and “six-to-eight authors” mixed in with words soldiers used a great deal, but generally not in confession) and asked, “De schtories are getting more popular? Dhey aren’t dying out?” Dafi thought his tone was rather desperate.

The conductor-professor reassured him, “Oh, more popular than when I was teaching the subject, undoubtedly!”

Dafi likely thought it was not the reassurance Dal sought. His next question made her think it might be for good reason. “How long haff dhey been gaining popularity?” Was it her imagination, or was Dal’s accent losing its Mechanicsburg weight, becoming smoother?

The flagman answered gravely, “It has been a steady climb, as long as I can remember, but we started seeing a spike in the novels appearing in the passenger car a year after the young Duke ascended.” He and Dal exchanged a look, and Dal nodded.

The conductor finally twigged to the fact the stories had an upsetting aspect for Dalibor. “Oh, I see now - the patterns from the past! These stories gain popularity when unrest is on the horizon.” He frowned thoughtfully a few moments, then set his cup in the holder on his desk, rummaging through the file drawer, “I think I know what markers the statisticians would recognize for the next estimation of anarchy in the duchy...” he was selecting reports, noting the number and date on a scrap of foolscap.

Lucian explained, “We will not have all of the indicators in our reports, but the dates should match reports for other problems. The brothers at the Abbey of St Blaise specialize in this sort of thing.”

The conductor was still making notes, “I will not have everything ready by the time of the border crossing, but by the end of the run I should have a full report to file with the Abbot.” Then he turned the Dal and Dafi, rubbing the side of his nose with a grin, “and I am not all that careful about scrap paper, since the dates and document numbers aren’t useful to anyone who does not have access to the Central Station Records.”

“Heads up people, “ Lucian said from the cupola. “Looks like an inspection team around the next rise, signaling for a stop.”

Dalibor scanned the area, “No chancez of getting off de train unseen, here.” Dafi noted what he saw, the terraced slopes of farmland, with naught to provide adequate cover.

The conductor gestured for them to stand up, and pulled another key from the neck of his tunic, unlocking the bin they had been seated upon. “Right, in you get, sergeant first, I think.” Dalibor looked at her and shrugged, then folded himself into the space, curled on his side. “Quick now, lass,” he handed her in, with Dal’s help, to curl into the remaining space, then covered them with a dark blanket. “Cover up completely after I hand you the key.” Then he closed the bin, locked it, and then lifted the lid as much as the lock would permit, and slid the key through the space afforded. Almost as an afterthought, three of the groschenroman were slipped in as well.

Dafi took the key and twitched the blanket to cover them both. She whispered in between the squeals of the brakes, “I am not happy that they had to learn to smuggle people like this. Especially this efficiently.”

Dalibor gently covered her lips with his fingers and breathed in her ear, “Hy know. Later.”

She nodded, and they began the wait for their own personal siege.

~=*=~

Dalibor was glad he had chosen to put his feet toward the engine when he had climbed in the bin. The force of the train braking to a rapid stop would have been uncomfortable on his neck, and might have actually caused Dafi problems. Of course, she was causing him problems by her proximity, but she could not help it. She was just a wonderful armful.

He turned his attention turned to the new voices approaching. The accents were not right. These men were not local, not by leagues. A few flat-lander accents here and there, but for the most part, the accent was from the mountain ranges to the far south and west. These soldiers were mercenaries, and very far from their home. He concentrated on combing out what he could hear outside the train.

What was said in the local language was innocuous enough. Bored soldiers kvetching about being stuck in the back-end-of-nowhere and not a bar within two day’s hike. Two low-ranking soldiers, speaking some variant of Castillo, complaining about pulling the short straw and having to crawl under all the cars looking for “the officer’s shopping list”. Then the group of non-coms muttering in Napulitano, about the “girl-knight”.

Dal tensed, and stretched his hearing as best he could, catching only a few bits about the search for this person, when someone pounded on the door of the kabuis. “Open op! Time for l'ispezione!” Dafi stilled in his arms, and a protective instinct made him curl over her.

He heard the sound of the door opening, Brother Lucian greeting the then a shuffling of boots as the mercenary entered. Dalibor thought it sounded like the soldier had forced his way in, unnecessarily shoving the brother out of the way. Then another set of footsteps entering from outside, and the sounds of the doors of the cabinets being opened. Sounds of someone casually rummaging through the items, then the slam of a door.

This repeated through half the car until someone jerked on the lid of the bin they were in. “Oi! Wassamatta wit’ dis’ pict’cha?” This was the same voice that had demanded entry earlier. “Ispezione mean ev’vyt’ing!”

Dafi moved a fraction, putting her hand in his... and the keys between their palms. “This is a secure shipment.” said the voice of the shortest of the monks that had hidden them. “The owner of the items has the key.” Even in dire straits like this, she was making sure the monk did not commit the sin of lying. He froze as the lid was jerked up again, but not slammed. With the blanket over the both of them, he could not see, but he guessed someone was peering in. Luckily, the soldier apparently did not have a sword to poke in the gap.

Much the same conversation occurred at the next bin, the one with their packs in it. The soldier was getting less intelligible with each calm response from the professor-turned-holyman. The search continued, the sounds of rummaging becoming more pronounced, sounding more like someone ransacking the cabinets than carefully searching them.

Apparently the final straw came when the soldiers found a third locked cabinet. This time there were no questions, only an enraged shout from the soldier, and the sounds of a scuffle followed. Someone landed heavily on their bin, and the soldier called the monks several biologically-impossible things in Napulitano. The soldiers stomped out, and eventually the train started moving again.

~=*=~

A low mutter came to them, “We will be able to let you out once we are out of sight of the soldiers, give us a little bit.” Dafi was worried about the sounds outside, but she was willing to wait. Dal had begun to shake when the fight started, and she did not think it was fear that fueled it, but rage.

Oddly enough, being locked in a trunk with an angry Jäger did not call up fear in her, only worry for his well-being. She felt a twinge of something that she rationalised into concern for a fellow soldier - she told herself it was the reflexive consideration of a commander. Dafi turned her head, so that she could keep her voice low, “What is it?”

Dal muttered something about the Duke either losing control or losing honor, but his anger made the growling statement a mix of accents, difficult for her to decipher. She touched his shoulder gently, and murmured, "We will take the report to the Baron. We can make sure that something is done to make things right for the people here. Whether it is the Duke being unaware or...” she paused, not wanting to malign the Duke unfairly, “...having lost his way - we can see to it that something is done."

Flight or Fight, Chapter 8

Dafi returned to their rooms to find Dalibor reading through the papers they had brought. He nodded for her to lock the door, “Ve might haff more trouble in de next villagez. Toma pazzed on zum newz dot de duke’z new friendz are cauzing trouble.”

“We really do not need to borrow more trouble on this mission.” Dafi shook her head and began to sort out the damp clothing she had hidden. From the looks of the room, her guess was someone had slipped in here to straighten up while they were at supper. She was glad Dal had insisted on keeping the papers with them.

Dal grunted, “No need to borrow, zinze it came to uz anyvay. De vun name dot Toma could giff me vaz ‘Chancy’. Too cloze to de name in de letterz for it to be coinzidenze.” He handed her one of the documents she had spirited away from the courier. “Read dot - Hy tink de Duke dhey talk about haffing in dheir pocket might be de young Ierboaze-Movila.”

She read the letter, and covered her mouth in shock. “Oh, no... I think you are right. Wait...” She handed him the letter and pulled her document tube out of her blouse. “...something  about having several hooks in him...” She shuffled through, and found the letter she remembered, “Here, where they talk about his gambling debts - he was already in some debt before they set him up for more.”

“Ja, Hy mizzed dis vun...” Dal frowned, “Dheze are de only mentionz of him, Hy tink. Bot schtill - it makez travelling in de area more dangerouz. If any of de t’ree are local, oddz are dheir heaviez know vot hyu look like."

Dafi frowned, “I am torn - we need to get these papers to the Baron as quickly as possible, but if we were able to gather any more information....”

Dalibor cut her off sharply, “No! Nut if ve put hyu at rizk. Ve need hyu to schtay alive, zo dhey dun’t get de fortrezz. Hy juzt dun’t know how ve are going to get hyu to de next duchy ofer, in zecret, und get to de air courier schtation before de next run.”

“I have an idea.” It had hurt to be put back in her role of Dama so quickly, but she did understand the need. “When we leave here in the morning, I want to take a look at the map at the station. I do not want to say anything more about it until I can see that.” She gave a little jerk of her head to the door.

He shook his head, and murmured, “Dhere’z nobody nearby, bot goot idea on keeping it qviet. Dun’t vant any of de youn’unz to dezide to be heroez before dhey’re ready.”

“Following in the footsteps of their hero, Third Son?” At his grimace, she said, “I am sorry, I did not realize you did not care for grand tales of heroism.”

“Pfui. Load of codzvallop, dot.” The sergeant began packing the documents away. “At leazt dot vaz vun of de schlightly beliefable vunz.” 

Dafi perked up, “There are more tales with this hero?”

“Ja, und dhey are about az veird az de Hetrodyne Boyz talez. At leazt de Boyz vere Schparkz.” Dal made a face, “De Thord Zon talez make him out to be a zaint.”

“You know better, I take it?” she said casually, hanging her damp clothing near the fire.

“Dafi, madboyz und monzterz are all men onder de schkin. Dis idiot getz put op on a pedeschtal for helping out a village, und zuddenly he’z tvelve feet tall vith a sword of flamez.” Dal was clearly uncomfortable with this subject. “Juzt unnat’ral, it iz.”

“I am just glad the story they told here does not have the Third Son as the monster that ate the madboy.” Dafi giggled.

“Heh, nah - madboyz ain’t koscher.” He stretched, and said, “Hyu vant de bed? Hy can take de floor if hyu like.”

“There is only one bed?” Dafi blushed slightly, “I-I suppose they think we are shield-mates, or that we would sleep in shifts...” She stopped to arch an eyebrow at him, “You were about to keep watch all night again.” The set of her mouth was not quite a frown.

He smiled crookedly, and shrugged, “Zort of. Ve haff a zecure location, und de chair iz goot for dozing. Dot’s goot enough for tonight, ja?”

“As long as I am not putting you out.” Dafi paused at the door to the bedroom, “Do you have everything you need?”

He looked as if he were about to say something, then shook his head, “Hy’ll be hokay. Rezt vell, Dafi.”

There was no window in the inner sleeping room, and the cupboard bed was built onto the back of the fireplace. A small night-lamp had been left on a shelf beside the bed with a carafe of water and a small plate of sugar biscuits. The bed had been turned down, and looked very inviting. A portion of her mind suggested the bed was just big enough for the two of them to share, but she sighed and resolutely put that thought away. The sergeant had been friendly, but apparently knew where the limits were. Darn it.

Not that she was going to cross the lines, either. The rules for girls were stricter, and even more so as Dama. It was stupid, but she was expected to be inexperienced when presented to her future husband. Whoever he might be. She really hoped the Baron would not need her for an alliance marriage to some stupid twit in the noble set, at least not right away.

Mourning for her father, once this mission was completed, might keep her insulated for a little while, but not forever. She folded that pain away for now, as she took off her boots. As she undressed, she considered her options. There were no contracts for her that she knew of, and if there were no alliances the Baron needed, she could make the argument that a veteran was better suited to the post than an aristocrat. Being in an unfamiliar place, she did not blow out the lamp, but did dim it as much as she could without extinguishing it. Slipping under the covers, a grain of a plan settled in the back of her mind.

~=*=~

He watched the door a few moments after Dafi had gone. She had latched it, but not locked the door. It was not an invitation, no matter what his baser instincts insisted. He toyed with the thought of telling her to lock it, but she might have another nightmare.

When he had returned from leaving the great hall the last time for the evening, his inspection found no untoward surprises. He had checked his pack when he had gotten his parachute, and found that someone had gotten the clothes he had worn before the bath. He hoped the ones who were on laundry duty could get the gear to them before Dafi roused in the morning. Even if there was not a window in her room, he did not expect her to sleep much past sunrise.

He glanced at her delicates hanging by the fire, and chuckled. Much like her, they were functional with a slight nod to being feminine. She seemed unused to blushing, as if she had not had much practice. He thought she probably wasn’t ticklish, or had trained herself out of that as soon as anyone pointed out it was a weakness. The thought made him frown again. It seemed that her father had trained her to be self-sufficient, a patrol member, and a commander, but not that she could have a partner.

Not really his business. But it did make him sad for her future.

~=*=~

Sunlight on the clouds, but now she felt the wind cutting through her jacket. The hand on her wrist was joined by a strong embrace. She could hear screaming... and woke up in Dal’s arms. “Ve’re zafe, Dafi... vake op, iatagandraga...”

“ergh...’m here... did I wake anyone else?” Dafi asked, not quite awake yet, and rubbing her forehead against his chest.

“Nah, hyu voke op before hyu got too loud. Hy tink dhey haff uz by ourzelvez, bezidez.” He held her a few moments more until she straightened up. “Do hyu need to talk about it dis time?”

Dafi shivered, “It begins to feel like a memory, only it is so unreal. I was young enough I wasn’t in uniform, so I was younger than eight. I was not wearing a heavy coat, but the wind was cold...”

He nodded, “Dot zoundz like a high-flying airschhip. It can get bitter coldt abuff de cloudz, zumtimez, efen in high zummer. It vould alzo egzplain de bright zunlight.” He reached behind him and snagged the carafe of water for her.

“That is odd - I don’t remember being on an airship before the one where we met.” She drank a few sips of water until her hands stopped shaking. “What time is it?”

“Hy dunno. Hyu get zum more schleep, Hy’ll vake hyu vhen breakfazt iz cooking.” He replaced the carafe and tucked her under the covers. He paused, as if were going to say more, but turned to leave.

Dafi snaked her hand out quickly to catch his, “Dal? Thank you.”

He smiled and lightly gripped her hand, “Schleep vell, Kommender.” Then he was gone, back to the sitting room.

She had had to suppress the impulse to pull him under the covers with her. Part of her brain told her impulse that she was a big girl now, and could sleep alone. However, the impulse had not been a childish one.  Waking up in Dal's embrace was getting to be a habit. True, in the tree, there had been little choice. It was also not an unpleasant way to wake up, but there were other concerns at hand. The nightmares could cause them trouble if they had to bivouac in unsecured territory. She turned the thoughts over in her mind, not realizing she had drifted off to sleep until the sergeant woke her the next morning.

~=*=~

The laundry had been delivered by one of the younger girls, just as they were finishing packing. “Mistress Charlot bids me invite you to join her for breakfast, please, if only to replenish your journey-rations.” She curtsied at Dalibor’s nod of thanks, left the stack of laundry on the chair nearest the door and closed the door after her.

Dal sorted through the clothes, removing his from the stack before taking them into the bedroom. “Hyu heard de invitation?”

“Yes, and after last night, I doubted they would let us go without making sure you were properly taken care of.” Dafi quirked a half-smile up at him, “I suppose I am grateful that their care for you spills over to me.” Her smile faltered at his expression, a fleeting succession of surprise, apprehension and sadness. “It is the same with aunties everywhere, I think.” She took the laundry and finished packing. But they do not name their children after an occasional visitor, she thought.

Breakfast was a much subdued affair, with less than half the people who attended supper in the kitchen. Dafi found the mistress of the house had a table to herself, away from the fire where the old aunties and uncles had gathered with their morning tea. One of the older children, kitted out for kitchen work, brought tea and scones to them as Dafi and Dalibor sat. Another of the kitchen helpers brought jam and butter, and Mistress Charlot murmured, “I was hoping you were able to rise early. Most of the active children are working in the barns before breakfast. In an hour, they will be trooping through the laundry for a wash-up, and you might be able to get away without tag-alongs.”

Dafi smiled, “I thank you for your discretion. I did not wish to have to tell a youngster that we cannot slow down for them. That usually leads to them being lost in the woods when they try to prove different.” Dal grunted, and nodded, watching the cook’s helpers warily.

“Not to worry, the ones on duty this morning are apprenti, and well suited to their tasks,” Mistress Charlot said.

“And quite happy to find a place here at the inn that suits us as well,” a lanky young man said as he placed a plate of sausages on the table. Dafi had the impression that the youngster would be a giant by the time he grew into his hands. “Some of us are just homebodies,” he said with a grin, before turning back to assist the cook at the huge iron stove.

“My youngest, Costica,” Mistress Charlot said fondly. “His older brother, Neculai, I told you about last night. We hear from him about once a month unless the Baron has his patrol out on the borders of the Empire.”

Dal grunted again, “Need to teach dot boy how to schtage letterz zo he dun’t giff avay vhen he iz out dhere. Hy’ll write to him about it.”

“Thank you, you are always a great help to the ones in the services,” Mistress smiled into her cup as another apprentice brought out the omelets with a plate of cucumbers and tomatoes. “Now, as this is the end of the season, and we have a store of hunter’s journey rations, more than we generally use over the winter. I do hope you will stock up before you leave.”

~=*=~

Dalibor managed to convince Charlot that they would only need enough supplies for a week, and he hoped they would not need more than that. As it was, it was impossible to get away without the kitchen aunties pressing another sack of provisions on them. Dafi would try to turn down another loaf of bread and one of the others would slip more packages of mortadela & cheese in her pack. He would have laughed if it didn’t slow them down.

Only the fact that Costica was watching the crews headed in from the barn and could warn them that the younger kinder were washing up let them get away in time. The rush to get away before the adventurous sorts got out of the wash house made the auntie’s goodbyes less disturbing - even if it did feel like they were saying goodbye to a pair of newlyweds.

The carriage drive was a little less than a kilometer from the inn to the train station, a nice stroll along the lake. Dafi seemed to be moving much better, and using the train tracks as their path would be faster, but the track went through towns, which they should avoid. This was without dealing with the duchy guards posted in each town. He was still puzzling over it when Dafi studied the map and schedule in the tiny station. There was no ticket booth, only a sign on the wall saying tickets could be purchased from conductors on regular passenger trains.

“Yes, here we go - good timing, we only have to wait ten minutes at the most.” Dafi was reading the fine print of the winter schedule.

“Goot, ve can crozz de bridge after de train, und not get caught in de middle. How ve are getting t’rough de townz, though...” Dalibor made to leave the building when he noticed she was rummaging through the bins. “Dafi, vot are hyu...”  

“Aha! Thought they would have these. Now signaling should not be a problem.” She took out two small semaphore plaques from a cabinet. “So we do not excite questions, we signal for a non-urgent message. If they are on an emergency run, they speed on through. If not, they stop and we see if we can negotiate a quiet ride.”

“Hope hyu know how to uze dose tingz. Hy ken zignal airschipz, bot if it iz different for trainz, Hy dun’t know.” Dal shrugged. The Corbettite monks were autonomous, and did not answer to the local authorities. This could be the best way to get around the problem of getting to the border, and at a good speed.

Dafi’s smile was dazzling, and he could not help smiling back at her. She said,  “It is close, but there are some differences. We might even get a crew that is willing to get us there without ‘seeing’ us, if we find the right people.” Then she turned, hearing the triple whistle from down the track.

The train was perhaps a half-kilometer away, coming around the bend to meet the lake when she began to signal. It looked a bit like the same sort of signal one would give to an airship to tell the pilot there was a mail pick-up. The answer came as a squeal of brakes and a whistle pattern of one long, one short, and another long whistle. Dafi nodded, signaled “received”, and then stowed the paddles back in their cabinet.

Dal was a bit confused when the locomotive seemed to pass them by, but the precision was aimed at placing the kabuis right in front of the station. The conductor stepped off, blessed them with the sign of the square and began, “How may we assist y- wait, Hynter? What are you doing out of your mountains?”

Dafi sighed, and gave a hand signal that was as old as Dalibor’s days at the academy, “Brother Lucian, my companion and I have Dire Need for Great Assistance, in the Service of Peace.” Dalibor managed to keep his jaw from hitting the floor when the brother gave the return signal. The old clubs were still active at the academy? And Dafi was part of the Bergrisar?

“Get on board, we’ll talk while moving,” Brother Lucian motioned them into the kabuis, and signaled to the driver. The locomotive started pulling away, all within moments of Dafi’s original signal. Dalibor almost could not wait until they were alone to ask her what form the supper clubs had taken in her years there. If the hand signals and verbal cues were still the same, were the goals the same as well?

Flight or Fight, Chapter 7

    Dafi counted herself lucky that it would not be as noticeable at the supper-table that her black hair had been braided up wet. Also lucky that their rooms had a fireplace where she might be able to get her uniform blouse and her delicates to dry during her watch tonight. She hoped the aunties would not be offended that she had washed them herself in the bath, but she only had one spare set with her, and the opportunity was not one to be wasted.

    She guessed the sergeant was hungry, and wanting to clean up before dinner with the assembled staff, by his haste to enter the bath. The polish he had put on her boots was quite fine, but he apparently had not had time to work on his own. The opportunity to return the favor was not lost on her. She settled in, and her mind wandered to the last time she had polished papa’s boots for him...

    She wrenched her mind away from the fortress and the recent memories, when the sun caught the rail lines, making them blaze in the last light of the day. That started her mind down another trail of thought. The Corbettite order had traditionally been neutral, to the point that no one was quite sure which of the seven Popes they owed obedience. However, they were known to assist those who favored benevolent order. Though the Baron was not always seen as benevolent, but he did see to it that the Peace was kept, and allowed the trains to run on time. Perhaps the next train through might have one member of the order that could see things that way. Something to think about, to help make up for the lost time in the tree.

    The time was not entirely lost, to her mind. Tactically, yes it was a frightful loss of time - but the rest had done her leg good, and they had not slept the entire day away. Where their wakefulness overlapped, they had been able to discuss how classes at the academy had changed over the centuries. From there is was a step to favorite tacticians, and then on to some favored authors that were not entirely military in their applications. She hoped Dalibor could write, and might be willing to correspond after... it was rare to find someone with similar tastes to hers when it came to books. So few “gentlemen” of her set thought women were able to comprehend military history or the great philosophers, much less discuss them intelligently.

    Vigorous splashing from the bath-house and memories of the rain uncoiled a series of  thoughts a well-brought-up young lady should not have. True, she was not as well-brought-up as some of her classmates had been but she knew she should not be imagining what his tawny-gold skin would feel like against hers. She absently polished the boot in her hand in lazy circles, wondering what it would feel like to have been snuggled skin-to-skin. His hands had been gentle when he had treated the wound on her leg, and comforting her after the nightmare. She blushed as her imagination took his hands up her legs, or around her shoulders down to her hips, causing the most un-lady-like feelings to stir all over. Feelings she could do nothing about, unfortunately.

    She realized she was caressing instead of polishing his boots, and straightened up, finishing the job just as he exited the bath-house.

~=*=~

    Supper was a homey affair, and luckily for Dafi’s mood, nothing like that to which she was accustomed. Meals in the fortress were done in shifts, as eating was rarely a focal point of celebrations, unless they were at the village at the foot of the pass. Here they were brought into the kitchen itself, and seated with Master Toma’s family at one of the several tables in the brightly lit preparation area. Another difference was here the children ate with the adults, though their laughter and loud conversations were only a part of her confusion. The kinder were up and down, running for things from the warming ovens, taking pitchers around the tables, it was chaos - and lovely.

    Dafi sat quietly, letting the waves of conversation swirl about her, picking up information here and there. Master Toma’s wife, Mistress Charlot, was catching Dalibor up on who had stayed, who had taken up service, and who had passed since his last visit, some seventy years ago. It was certainly an eye-opener. It seemed that he had an investment in the village, as there were perhaps a child in each generation named for him - but oddly, it did not feel as if this was his home village. She could not put her finger on the clue that triggered that supposition, that he was an honored family friend, but not family.

    While Dafi was unsuccessfully refusing a second helping of apple pie from a nonagenarian auntie, she heard Dalibor ask if the great hall was still open, as he wanted to repack his parachute. Immediately, the children gathered about, asking if they could help. Dalibor gave a small, pained smile, when Dafi casually asked Master Toma, “Would the children prefer a story from my home county?” A dozen or so young heads swiveled about, as it was the first time she had spoken up in the large group. She suspected her accent marked her as “interesting”, and if inn children were like military dependents...

    “Commander knows new stories?” a little girl in the back piped up. Dafi smiled at the girl, who was as fair as Dafi was dark, and shrugged.

    The master of the inn leaned back and scratched his chin, “Hm, I don’t know, the load of them should be helping the kitchen staff clean up...” and suddenly the children were everywhere, clearing the tables that were empty, sweeping the floor, gathering plates for the scullions and putting away the cleaned cooking implements while the cooks finished their tea, smiling fondly at the bustle of activity. In the confusion, Dalibor gripped her shoulder in gratitude as he and Master Toma slipped out.

~=*=~

    “We likely have the better part of an hour before the kitchen aunties let them go,” Toma told Dalibor as they left the kitchen. “Meet you in the great hall - I have some news for you.” Dal nodded and swiftly retrieved his parachute pack from the room, finding Toma building a fire in the great hall fireplace, with rush-lights burning in the stands. Ostensibly, to casual observers, Toma was assisting in laying out the parachutes. In reality, he hadn’t the faintest idea what these were, but held a lamp for Dal to see, and quietly asked, “You make reports to the Baron, yes?”

    Dalibor nodded as he walked out the lines from the canopies, “Ve all do, but hyu got zumting dot maybe needz schpecial eyez on it, neh?” He kept his voice low, out of habit.

    “We still trade with the neighboring villages, for local things, and get freight in from the Brothers when we need anything else.” Toma walked beside Dal as he paced the lines and making sure they were straight, and teased out the tangles. “South and east of here is still all right, but north and west, there have been a fair number of grumbles.”

    Dal nodded, “Ho? Und vhy iz it needing zumvun’z schpecial attention - tingz haff been bad before, und tingz schtraightened out.” Satisfied that the dead-man chute lines were good, he began folding it into its pouch.

    Toma adjusted his position so the lamp gave better light, but he was not treading on the other lines. “Trouble it is, but it ain’t all home-grown this time. Lightning bless his pointed little head, the baby dukeling has been picking up some strange friends. The loan-sharks we’re used to after three generations. These are a new brand of sinister.”

    Dalibor was silent as he wrapped the static line around the metal loop at the top, hooking it into the primary chute’s lines. He frowned when he finished and looked up at Toma, “Hyu got any namez yet?”

    Toma shook his head, “They go about insisting on the honorifics, but not the names - I think that one of them might be English, they have been calling him ‘Chancy’ or summat.”

    Dal frowned inwardly as he began the process all over with the main chute, repeating the name silently in his head. It was too close to be coincidence. “No odder namez hyu haff heard?”

    “None you say in polite company. I was getting worried that we might have to send one of the game-keepers to the Baron, quiet-like, to get the word out.” The inn-keeper shook his head again, “I really don’t like the noises I hear from the direction of the capital town, and riots are bad for business.”
 
    Dal finished folding the main chute, and sighed, “Lightning blezz de pointed leetle headz of de houze of Ierboaze-Movila, becauze Hy tink dhey finally gotten full-op of schtupid. “ He stood up, shouldering the parachute pack in one easy movement, “Hy’ll do vot Hy can, und hyu let dhem know to keep an eye out.”

    “You know, we actually had some improvements, when Gavril took the seat. Not startling changes, but it looked like more were coming.” Toma put the lamp on the mantle and stared into the fire. “Then rumor has it he started running with a fast crowd on the edge of the Fifty, and these hangers-on showed up. So there are rumblings that he might could be salvaged.”

    “If dhere’z ought to zave, de Baron’z de vun to try.” Dalibor grinned, “Hyu know de zaying, ‘Baron knowz de right monzter for de job’, neh?” He clapped his host on the shoulder and headed off to the room to stow the parachute where at least *little* hands would not get into it. So, the Ierboase-Movila house was involved, at least peripherally. Things just got a little more personal.

~=*=~

    Fast as the children moved, they still were not finished in time to Help The Sergeant, which caused quite a few long faces, but Dafi had an idea of how to turn about the mood. “Do you know the story of the fowler’s son and the crow?” When the children shook their heads no, Dafi scanned the adults quickly. Only one old uncle seemed to recognize it.  She quirked an eyebrow at him, checking to see if it was all right, and he nodded for her to continue.

    Dafi smiled and straightened her spine to imitate the old baba that had told the stories to her and the other children at the fortress, “Hearken and attend, for I tell a tale of spirits and princes! Long, long ago, there was an old fowler living in the woods with his son. The young man had not wanted to learn his father’s craft, content that the old man would do it forever!” Here there were giggles and sidelong glances to a young man off to the side being smacked in the back of his head, by either his mother or older sister, by the looks of them. Dafi outwardly ignored the interaction, but grinned inwardly. There was one in every village.

    “Thus it came to pass, when the old fowler died, the young man had to fend for himself, and he tried to set his father’s bird snares. He became despondent when after months, he had caught nothing, and the stores laid by were growing thin. Many snares were ruined or stolen, and with the last of them he carefully set the snare on a tree. At that moment a crow flew down upon the tree, but as the snare was finally properly laid the poor bird was caught. The youth climbed up after it, but when he had got hold of the bird, the crow spoke, begging him to let her go, promising to give him in exchange something more beautiful and more precious than herself. The crow begged and prayed till at last he let her go free, and again he set the snare in the tree and sat down at the foot of it to wait. Presently another bird came flying up, and flew right into the snare. The youth climbed up the tree again to bring it down, but when he saw it he was full of amazement, for such a beautiful thing he had never seen in the forest before.”

    Dafi then caught sight of Dal’s golden eyes reflected in the firelight from his spot in the shadows and nearly swallowed her tongue. She recovered quickly, and continued the story of how the young fowler was aided time and again by the crow until the Padishah rewarded his vigilance with the position of minister, and the Queen of the Peri released her punishment on the crow, who was once again a beautiful maiden, permitted to marry the fowler.

    The youngest ones were beginning to nod off when the story was completed. Then the old auntie that had insisted Dafi was too skinny (and kept adding more food to her plate) said it was time for bed, and instantly every youngster in the hall was wide awake and insisting on another story. Dafi asked, “It might be a familiar story to you all, but I would like to hear the tale of how your village came to be running an inn.” She regretted asking almost immediately, catching Dalibor’s  flinch out of the corner of her eye. “If it is not an imposition?”

    But the children were enthusiastic about sharing their history, and proceeded to tell the tale themselves,  “Long-long-long time ago, before even the oldest uncle and aunties here were born, we lived underwater!” “NONONO! The village was in the valley, but the water wasn’t there!” “An’ the only one in this house was the madboy!” “He made weird animals, which is why we don’t go out in the woods by ourselves!” “He got in a fight with anudder madboy, who couldn’t hit the broad side of barn, but made things that went BOOM!”

    Here all of the children provided sound-effects, and one of the older children said when things quieted down, “We don’t know what the fight was about, but there used to be a mountain south of here. That’s the south end of the lake, now.”

    The old uncle who had recognized Dafi’s tale took up the thread. “We were not the target, but as usual, we took the damage. Luckily, this was in high summer, and the river was low, so there was time to salvage what we could. We had no place to go, other than another village and start over, when the Third Son came to see what the explosion was.” The children cheered what was evidently a favorite hero. Dafi had not heard this version of the tale, and was her curiosity was piqued by the way the old man named the hero. “He saw that the mountain had shifted, and also saw that the river would fill the valley in a year or two, but that the first of our housen would be flooded by Yule. Now, since the madboy that was living in this lodge was the favorite of the Duke-that-was-then, we could not take our grievance to his court.” The children quietly hissed. “The Third Son helped the Mayor, the one that was young Toma’s great-great-grandfa, put together a plan. They lured the madboy out of his lair with tales of a new monster in the area, one that he did not build. The madboy did what all madboys do, he had to go take a look. And whaddya know, he did find the monster.” Here the old uncle chuckled ruefully, “or rather, the monster found him... delicious.”

    Now all of the children chimed in with a well-rehearsed, “EEEEEUGH, Yuck!” with snickers and gasps.

    The old woman sitting beside him smacked his arm, and when the children had settled again, she said, “That set us up for the winter, but come spring,  we would need to pay the tax-tithe. The harvests could be got in for that year, but what of the next? The town council met many nights in this very hall, trying to decide our next move. For if we could not pay the tax, all of us would be taken over as land-serfs. In those days, there was no way out of that sort of debt. The Third Son had heard the monks were building that rail line and sent word to them that we might need their help. The surveyors came, and found the north end of the valley to be a good route, and they could do something once the lake had found its level. We had found a warren of rooms built back into the mountain, enough that we could comfortably keep the village here, and still have grand rooms left. Then someone mentioned that it might make a nice inn if the lake settled properly.”

    “It was a scary few first years, according to my great-great-granfa’s journal, but once the lake was stable, the railroad came through, we have been able to make our tax-tithe, and still make a profit,  every year since.” Master Toma concluded. “It was due to the Third Son’s help that we were able to get back on our feet, which is why we honor his help by aiding others of his kind,” and then he bowed to Dafi, “the travelling lone soldier, and their like.”

    This time, the call to bed was not to be ignored, Mistress Charlot chivvied the children out of the hall, “I’ll not have you burning daylight tomorrow, we still have an inn to winter up.” The good-natured grumbling was brief, and the adults began straightening up the great hall and extinguishing the rush-lights. Master Toma banked the fire as Dafi headed back to their rooms, wondering when Dalibor had left. She also wondered at the omissions the sergeant had made to the tale he told. A hero named the “Third Son” made her think of the order of precedence in a House of the Fifty.  And yet, the kindness was specifically to a lone travelling soldier?  Why was this Third Son, if he was noble, a lone soldier? Considering the supposed animosity towards nobility, the reverence of a Third Son, without naming his house, made a little sense. How to get the the story behind that, without letting them in on her own scant nobility? She’d be asking more questions later, when she knew what to ask.

Flight or Fight, Chapter 6

The rain stopped as swiftly as it started... thirty hours later. After a day and night of rain pounding on their little cocoon, the sudden silence brought Dafi out of sleep with a jolt. The weak light filtering around the edges of the tarp told her she had overslept for her watch. “Dal, you were supposed to wake me at midnight.”

“Nu? Hyu needed de rezt. Not like anyting vaz travelling in dot mess, und our scent treck vaz muddled for everyting bot anodder of de ‘kin after de firzt full day of rain.” Dal shrugged. “Hy got enough schleep de day before vhile hyu vere on vatch, anyvay.”His grin was evident in the low light, and she thought the better of arguing the point with him. What was done was done.

Getting out of the tree was not quite so harrowing for Dafi, as she had other distractions this time. Dal lowered her quickly, and started sending the packs down as she toyed with the idea of a fire, and tea. No, best get back to the trail, as we have lost a day already, she thought to herself. She did have to admit, after stretching out, her leg felt much better. Dal had helped her change the dressing before they left the treetop bivouac, and she could see the rest had done some good. The lost time was worrisome, though.  

~=*=~

Dalibor scowled at the raging rapids the mountain stream had developed with the rainstorm. “No way we can cross that here,” Dafi said, resignedly. “Not without a few waterproof map-cases to protect the documents. Even then, I can swim, but trying to ford here would be suicide.”
   

“Hy can climb, bot schvimming... iz not zo goot for me.” He disliked admitting there was something he had not gotten around to learning, yet. Scanning up and down the river with disgust, he muttered,  “Dis *uzed to be* de zafezt plaze to ford for a day’z march in eidder direction.  Hy vaz hoping to pass de next duchy by on de zouthern border, bot it lookz like ve follow de schtream north.” Dalibor kept his reasons for not wanting to go North to himself. Still, it had been almost a century since he had passed through the duchy, perhaps he could get away without being recognized.

~=*=~

Dafi nodded, turning to the tree-line. “What is the next duchy to the north? I was turned around after the jump.” Was it her imagination, or had Dalibor winced at the thought of crossing the border?

“Ve are headed into de Movila territory. Not vun of de conschpiratorz, bot at de zame time not vun of de Baron’z supporterz.” Dal grimaced again, “My information iz a leettle old on de duchy, bot ve schould reach Lacul Rateu by nightfall.”

Dafi thought a moment before she asked, “I think I might have heard of that one, is that the lake created by a Spark battle a couple hundred years ago?”

Dalibor grunted, “Demfool pet madboy of de eediotz running de duchy getz in a fight vith anodder demfool madboy dot couldn’t bloody aim, und the villagerz paid for it. De hunting lodge vaz a big enough plaze, und de git schtill couldn’t hit it. Bot he did manage to take out part of de ridge to de zouth, und de rock-schlide vaz enough to take vun of de mountainz down to hill schtatuz. Dot much rubble vaz too much to be cleared, zo de river vaz blocked. Dhey only lost de church schteeple und de mill in de attack, bot de valley vaz floodink out.” Then he chuckled. “De madboy ran, und de villagerz made do vith vot vaz left.  Hy tink dhey turned de plaze into an inn.”

Dafi winced inwardly, an inn? The story behind the lake matched the one told by one of her classmates, concerning the favored vacation spot for her family. If it was the same place, Dafi hoped she would be able to cover basic soldier’s accommodations for two there. Perhaps Dalibor could convince the kitchen aunties to let them bunk in the cellar overnight. She knew she was not carrying enough for the normal guest fees. Sybaritic and elegant were words often used for the hunting lodge, and a wide range of game available in the area. At that reminder, she began to watch the underbrush a bit more closely as they continued on. “Staying with people, though...” Dafi murmured quietly, “will we not get them into trouble, will we?”

The sergeant grunted, “Not zo hyu’d tink. De Movilaz believed de madboy’z report dot de village vaz deschtroyed, und pretty moch ignored de area ontil de vord got out about de inn. By dhen, de militia had become game-trackerz und zuch, bot dhey hadn’t forgotten how to fight. Vhen de monks backed them op, de greedy baztardz zettled for levying a gouging ‘entertainment’ tax on dheir profitz.” Dalibor’s growling assessment slid into a chuckle, “Zo dot getz pazzed onto the Fifty vhen dhey schtay, vith everyting clearly written out in de bill.” At Dafi’s surprised giggle, he nodded, “De market vorkz both vayz, und it eventually evened out. Juzt de zame, Hy dun’t tink ve had better let on hyu iz a Dama.”

~=*=~

They reached the top of the centuries-old shifted ridge as the sun just touched the mountains to the west. The forest had taken over the rubble, softening the edges. Dalibor breathed deeply, scent triggering memories of the previous times he had been here. Prior to the battle, the wide valley had been good for limited farming, and the hillsides supported goat herds. Now the valley was under water. The old hunting lodge had been about 600 verst up the trail, and the lake had risen to within a couple dozen sazhen of the lodge. He paused to convert the old measurements to the new ones the Heterodyne Boys had encouraged and the Baron enforced - the town square was likely 500 meters under the water’s surface. Far off in the distance he could just make out the reflection of the sunlight on the rails of the Corbettite line just up the shore from lake, with the rail-bridge crossing the rambunctious mountain river that filled the lake.

The monks had waited to see how stable the lake was before laying out the final route for their railway. The station was new since his list trip through the area, though. While he had been lost in memories, his companion had been scanning the area with the eyes of both a Dama and a soldier. Her quiet comment, “Not much activity about tonight” brought him out of his reverie.

“Ja, Hy tink it iz cloze to de lazt of dheir evening chorez, goot timing for uz.” He sniffed the wind for clues, “Might be getting zupper ready for de schtaff, it schmellz more like traditional cooking dhan dot fanzy new schtuff.”

Dafi nodded, “Think we can convince someone to let us bunk in the stable?”

Dalibor chuckled and clapped her shoulder, “Juzt leave dot to me, Kommender.” Rather than following his nose to the kitchen, he led her to the front doors, calling, “HO! der Haus!” as they mounted the stairs.

A youngster poked their head out of a window to the side of the entry, and waved, “Ho! Welcome Travellers! Imma get the keeper!” and the child shut the window, but not before they heard the shout of, “Get Granfa! We got live’uns!”

Within moments, one of the grand doors opened, with two stocky men warily scanning the area. When the older of the two spotted Dalibor, he laughed, “Ha! Figured it was about time to see you again, Corporal!” Dalibor recognized the facial structures related to the past innkeeper, but counted back years to guess the name of the current one.

“Toma?” At the man’s nod, he laughed, “Ja, been a vhile, lazt time Hy vaz here hyu vere schtill hall-boy. Ve all change, Hy made Zarchent a vhile beck.” Friendly greetings taken care of, he turned to bring Dafi forward. “Kommender und Hy vere looking to find a plaze to bivouac.”

“Ho, no problem, we can put you up for the night!” The innkeeper greeted their request with a grin, beckoning them inside the great hall. “We’re getting ready to close up for winter, but the bath house is open all year round, what with the hot spring.”

“Hot spring?” Dafi asked. Dalibor chuckled inwardly at her hopeful tone. She went on, “If it is no trouble, could we add use of the bath house to our bill?”

“Pfft, your sergeant dinna tell you? Your money’s no good here.” Toma chuckled with a small bow. “Soldiers what protect us in this world and priests that armor us for the next we take care of. Fair exchange, my great-great-grandfa thought when he set up the policy.”

“That... could be a problem for you, could it not?” she asked doubtfully.

The innkeeper chuckled as he showed them to their rooms, “Ah, but we are isolated enough the trouble-makers rarely find us. Besides, we don’t spread it about, ye ken?” he said, scratching the side of his nose.

She nodded solemnly, “You have my pledge that my hands will protect your information as well as your housen.”

Dalibor raised an eyebrow at her phrasing, wondering if it was rooted in a traditional house greeting for her county. Then he was distracted by the arrival of a mob of the old aunties, who had been young brides in his last visit. They clucked and fussed over the room, depositing linens, laying a fire in the fireplace and making a big fuss about how he only visited once a generation. Then Toma ushered the aunties out, mentioning “The bath house is in the same place, and that basket has soap under the towels. You can take your time, we have about another hour before dinner.”

~=*=~

Master Toma had barely shown them the room,  Dafi guessed it was a suite from the door beside the fireplace, when they were overrun by the old women, who scolded and petted the sergeant by turns as they bustled about. Dafi was unable to get a clear count of them because they seemed to be everywhere at once, with armloads of linens and baskets of apples for the table with a vase of late roses appearing on the mantle. Then Master Toma was herding the aunties out, giving them a chance to breathe. Dafi stared at the closed door a few moments before murmuring, “So, your intelligence from this area is a bit stale, is it?”

He chuckled, “Ja, Hy tought it had been longer zinze Hy lazt pazzed t’rough here.” He dropped his packs with a double thump, and began rummaging in his patrol pack. Dafi followed suit, picking out unworn patrol uniform pieces and spare delicates.

She turned at the crinkle of paper, and saw he was removing the documents from his pack and shuffling them out of sight in his bath bundle.  “You think they will go through our packs?” Dafi asked him in a harsh whisper.

He nodded, and murmured back, “Hy know dhey vill, bot only to take our clothez to de laundry. Hy tried hiding my packz de lazt few timez Hy vaz here, de auntiez schtill found dhem.” Then he chuckled, “Eidder my schtuff schtank dot much, or mamaz get Jäger nozez for dirty clothez. Schtill, ve dun’t vant  dhem zeeing zumting dot might put dhem at rizk later.”  

A moment of hesitation, and then Dafi started going through her pack as well. “Flip you for first bath?” She said when she had gotten all of her papers hidden in her change of clothes.

“Nah, hyu schouldn’t schtrezz you leg dot much, hyu can go forzt.” Dalibor laughed, and Dafi giggled to join in on the joke. “Hy vill schtand guard outzide. No vorriez dot anybody vill take notize, dot’z been schtandard for any group Hy’ve been vith here.”

She frowned doubtfully as they left the room, and Dal led the way through the halls. “They do not feel insulted by a watch on the door?” They had been welcomed so warmly, Dafi did not want to find they offended their hosts so soon.

“Pfft, nah - juzt common zenze. De bath houze iz a leettle vay op de hill, vith de laundry, bot schtill far enough avay dot critterz zumtimez get curiouz.” He opened a door to a walled garden, and led her past the raised beds of ornamental flowers, cold frames latched over some of the more tender plants already. He pointed up the mountain-side to the cluster of buildings a couple hundred meters away. “Dhey pipe vater in for zum of de roomz, bot it izn’t az hot. Bezidez, zum pipple like de privacy.” Dafi was glad he was leading, and could not see her blush.

Hiking up in silence, he stopped her at the door, “Leave you bootz out here, no need to track dort und make mud on de inzide of de bath-houze.” Dafi nodded, and wobbled a bit trying to get her boots off by herself. Dal snorted and pushed her gently to the bench by the door, and removed her boots. Handing her the basket, he casually took the sheaf of papers out, putting them under his clean clothes on the bench.

Dafi wished she did not feel so much like a young child being sent off to bathe. “Thank you, I will try to be quick.”

“Na, hyu might vant to zoak de leg a bit, ‘z allright.” Dalibor said as he shooed her into the bath-house.

~=*=~

Soon as Dafi had pulled the door shut, Dal lifted the seat of the bench to look in the bin. As he had remembered, the brushes and boot polish were still kept there. He got to work with the mud-scrapers on Dafi’s boots first. They would likely have to go through mud at least once more before getting to the Castle, but it would not hurt to polish up a bit, at any rate.

He had just settled in to the task when a pair of giggling girls left the inn with their arms full of laundry. Dalibor sighed, waving to them when they sighted him, thinking the aunties likely had waited just out of sight of their door, and raided their packs for their laundry. He hoped they hadn’t gotten the parachute out - that was new gear since his last visit. Come to think about that, the great hall might be big enough to properly repack it, if there was enough light available.

His hands busy with the task of cleaning boots, he kept a watchful eye out for things out of the ordinary. It was early autumn, so it was unlikely that there would be anything out there willing to risk the inn grounds for hunting yet. At least nothing normal. That left any number of escaped things that could be on the loose, the sort of things that the bourgeoisie paid good money to hunt.  

Not to mention the things out there that could be hunting for the two of them and the papers they carried. It had taken them three days to cover forty kilometers, and over 200 more to Tânărăjugul, all in three days if they were to rendezvous with the Baron’s main forces in time. Finished with the mud from both pairs of boots, Dalibor got to work polishing Dafi’s boots. No brilliant ideas were coming to him, and the faint splashing sounds coming from inside the bathhouse were not helping his concentration.

There had not been that many times that he had been at ease while bathing, but he could distantly remember how it felt to handle soft curves made slick with soapy water. Remembering more recently the tracing of scars on Dafi’s calves, and the feel of her skin under his hands, Dalibor just managed to finish polishing her boots when the sounds inside indicated she was out of the bath, and his imagination switched to toweling her off. He had made a half-hearted attempt at polishing his own boots when she opened the door, saying “All yours!”

He managed to catch himself before his instincts could take her up on her unintended “offer”, and ducked into the bath-house himself with a grunt of thanks. Not that he needed the hot springs at this point.

 

Flight or Fight, Chapter 5

Dalibor allowed himself to be lulled into a sort of half-sleep, cradling Dafi, listening to the rain on the tarp. At this point, the only reason to have someone on watch would be to make sure there was no ponding on the roof or the lines had not stretched out. But he had made sure the tarp was properly angled, and there were no pockets forming. The lines he used were some madboy’s idea of spider silk, and would not have stretched if the entire patrol was suspended from one of them.

Besides, Dafi fit so well in his arms... and that thought brought him sharply awake. He just barely managed to keep from tensing up, and waking her as well. Dangerous thoughts, especially when he needed to remember she was his responsibility, not his mate. He would get her to the Baron, they would make their reports, and that would be it. He might see her at the court proceedings, if things got that far, but after that... she was the Dama of her county. There would not be any reason for them to even see each other when this was over, much less share anything else.

No matter how much he might wish it were different.

~=*=~

Dafi dreamed of dangling over the clouds again, but it was only a moment before she was pulled into strong arms. She woke up with tears on her cheeks, and Dal gently hugging her, murmuring, “It’z only a nightmare, schh, hyu’re right here, ve’re all right...”
   
“I-I-I’m... awake, thank you,” she said, shakily. “Sorry, I do not know why I am so...” Dafi sniffled, and Dal put a handkerchief in her hand.

“Hyu’re onder schtress, und better for it to come out now dan out on de trail.” He patted her shoulder, “At leazt hyu’re not haffing a fighting nightmare, not egzactly enough room in here for dot.” A few moments more listening to the rain drumming on the tarp before he said, “Do hyu need to talk about de nightmare?”

    She tucked the handkerchief into her sleeve, “I am.. not sure. I do not know what is making it a nightmare. I am not prone to them, and it is not a repeat of the battle.” Dafi hesitated, then laid her head back on Dal’s shoulder. “This is a little embarrassing, having night terrors of sunlight on puffy clouds.”

    Dal gave a short chuckle, “It’z a leettle schtrange, ja. Of courze, it’z not az bad az de guy in my firzt patrol who vaz afraid of botterfliez und mothz.” When she lifted her head in confusion, he patted her shoulder, “He tought it vazn’t fair how dhey could schneak op on him.”

    “Oh, dear... that would be a problem. Did he ever overcome his fear?”

    “Ho, ja - bot only efter ve had to clean out dot cave of vempire Luna mothz.” He shrugged, “Hy dun’t know how ve vould go about finding floffy cloudz for hyu to keell. Bot if Hy get an idea about it, Hy vill tell hyu.”

    Dafi finally laid her head back on Dal’s shoulder and sighed, “Thank you, I appreciate that.” Though she did not speak any further, sleep eluded her. She had been with Dal less than two full days, and she already felt she could trust him. Part of it was that they were in service to the Baron, in their own ways, but there was more.

    Then there was the point that he had treated her with the respect due a fellow soldier, nearly from the beginning. He had plenty of opportunities to take advantage of the situation, yet he had not. Even now, huddled together in the rain, he was being comforting without being salacious. At first, she had thought it was because he did not find her attractive, that he did not think of her as anything but a soldier. But there were subtle hints that he might have an interest in her.

One not-so-subtle hint was occasionally nudging her hip. That did not mean anything, true - he could be thinking of another. For all she knew, he could be married, and missing his wife. It still seemed early in their association to ask such personal questions, but this was an odd situation. The rain showed no intention of abating, and they were stuck here until it let up enough for them to descend. Though it was a delicate question to pose in their current position, she still felt the need to ask it. In a quiet voice, she asked, “Dal? Are you married?”

“Pfft, who vould haff me? Nah, Hy’m not married, Hy’m not a keptain.” He chuckled at the old joke with her. “Vhy, did hyu vant to introduce you boyfriend to my vife vhen dis iz done?”

Dafi chuckled ruefully, “No one wants to court me. They want...” she sighed, losing the brief flash of humor, “The ones that have showed an interest were looking for an alliance. I could be a boot-faced sow for all they cared. They never tried to meet me, much less talk with me, just sent inquiries to Father.” She frowned to herself, wondering if the Baron would be using her as a marriage pawn, now that Father was gone. She hoped that if it was necessary, it would not be horrid. “I understand the need for alliances, but would it have hurt to at least try to get to know the woman behind the title?” she mumbled into the darkness.

She would do her duty to the Peace, as she was taught. Papa had instilled those values in her well. Though he admitted he had not met her mother before they had been presented to each other at the altar, he did come to love her. That may be why he had not remarried after the accident. Or perhaps he thought he did not have time for more family. He worked hard to carve out and defend the hour or two after supper to spend with her in the evenings. At first it was story-time before she went to bed, but in later years, it had developed into his debriefing of what had happened in the day, the things yet to be done, and asking how her day had gone. She would miss the closeness of those evenings....

After her time at the academy, she no longer held fast to the romantic notions that the traveling players spouted in their shows. Many of her fellow students were resigned to their alliances, some of them begun when the prospective partners were still in the nursery. Some were putting a good face on it, studying the finer points of their prospective mate’s holdings if they could not find any shared interests. 

While in her last year, one case caused a bit of an uproar. After a year of negotiation, one of the Alpine border counties announced a generations-long feud was to be resolved with a wedding, even though the bride and groom both had established companions. The elders had taken it into consideration, and had even arranged to have the couple’s respective consorts join their court, making for an interesting ceremony.

There were other tales, of those who gave up their titles for love. Those were usually tragedies, which is why the players did not present them often. However, the history books gave the dry details of the various ways things went wrong for the people who owed fealty to the ones that left their posts. Truth be told, there were some happy endings, but they were the extremely rare exceptions to the rule.

The playwrights also did not seem to understand that with the title came heavy responsibilities. She was taught that abandoning your post, when there was no-one suitable to take it up in your absence,  was cruel to the people you had sworn to protect. It might not be so for others - for all she knew, the Fifty might have a reversed view of things. However, Dafi knew she could not ethically leave her post. There were too many families that relied on her family to keep them safe. She finally drifted off to sleep, with her oath at her confirmation as Dama and her father’s heir replaying in her memory.

~=*=~

Dalibor waited for Dafi to continue her questions, but it seemed she slid into an fitful doze. So, she knew the problems she faced. With her father gone, there would be those who would insist she be married immediately-if-not-sooner, either because they did not trust a woman to know how to run a fortress, or because there needed to be an heir. The first worry was absurd to anyone who knew her record, Dalibor thought, but he also knew how few people actually got to know their rulers, or their neighbors. The second problem was a real issue, especially on the borders.

Dafi had not mentioned her father remarrying after her mother’s death, nor had she mentioned any siblings. Early days yet, but being the Dama implied the eldest, if not the only. The title alone meant she was important enough that his role as bodyguard was of primary concern. Considering the plan detailed in the documents they carried, there was a good chance the conspirators would want Dafi married or buried, preferably buried. So, since his assignment to her would be until the Baron released him to other duty, it looked like he might have to steer them clear of churches as well as ambushes.

She was young - he guessed Dafi to be just entering her third decade, but still so aware of what was expected of her. When had she found out she might have to spend her life bound to a stranger? She seemed resigned to it, now. That was one bit of luggage he was happy to drop, when his family abandoned him to the Jägercorps. There had not been any boot-faced sows in the pack of young ladies presented to his elder brothers, but none of them had displayed an inclination beyond fashion and gossip. The ones that had been rejected by his older brothers were beginning to hunt him, when the Heterodyne had attacked.

He had been a different sort of person then as well. His focus had been on being his brother’s military hand, and had breathed a sigh of relief when his eldest brother had wed. Dalibor had no interest in ruling, but had a keen interest in in protecting the family. That was why he was in the forefront of the commanding officers. It had not mattered, all of the commanding officers had been captured, as the Heterodyne had needed new stock for the experiments. He had no idea why of all his brothers, he was the one to survive the Jägerbrau. The Heterodyne had found it “interesting”. But no answers were forthcoming then, or after.

His interest in philosophy had not fully emerged until his second century, with the raid on Odessa and the library there being brought back. What did not further the current Heterodyne’s studies was left out for anyone to pick up. By then there were a number of the Jägerkin that could read, though they generally did not do so in public. The Jägermonsters’ secret library was overseen by an old monk that had been given the Jägerbrau, at the perverse whim of the Heterodyne. The monk, who had taken a vow of silence before his capture, and maintained it after his transformation, had never trained to be a soldier. However, he could be counted on to further the studies of anyone who braved the cellars of the castle. Safe to say Dalibor was a much different man, in many ways, than the one who hid in the salle from the twittery ladies.

Dalibor chuckled inwardly, thinking that if Dafi had been among the girls in the marriage market at the time, he would have been more put out about the approach of the armies, rather than glad for an excuse to escape the salons. Of course, the way his uncle had treated the one sister-in-law he had, after his brother’s deaths were reported, was horrendous. Would Dafi have allowed the old goat to shift her off to a nunnery, even if she was pregnant? He rather thought not.

Of course, one of the old auntie’s saws of “might-have-beens won’t fill the bean-pot” filtered past his memories. Dalibor, for all his philosophical bent, was practical enough to stay grounded in the present. Even so, he lightly stroked Dafi’s hair and wistfully imagined a few servings of might-have-beens.

Flight or Fight, Chapter 4

Even with her vigilance, Sgt Dalibor still managed to surprise Dafi, suddenly appearing out of the underbrush in the center of her field of vision. He did not seem to disturb the shrubs as he passed, something she noted with a flash of envy. "Ho! Hy got lucky und found anodder pair of Moztly Rebbitz!" Dal had field-dressed them as soon as he had caught them, apparently. It was a good move to leave the offal away from camp, if he had, in fact, left any. While the Sergent set the coneys to roast over the fire, she worked her boot off and carefully peeled her sock back. There was a bit of blood on the sock, but it had dried already. He did not offer to help with the dressing, and Dafi was not sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

He waited until she had gotten her boot back on before saying, "Hy di'nt find tree-spikes in hyur gear. Hy don' got none eidder. But Hy di'nt find any cavez vhile hunting. Schtill, treetop vould be safezt."

Dafi kept her face calm as she packed away the med-kit. "Tactically, I agree." She waited a few moments more before she sighed, "I do not like it, but with our limited resources, I will just have to deal with it."

The sergeant nodded and took a few moments to gather their packs, strapping them on. "Hyu watch out here while Hy get set up. Hyu schtill remember de school signalz?" Dafi chuckled, thinking she was the one to use them more recently. He grinned and said, "Hyu have trouble, let me know, Hy back hyu op." He took the ropes, flinging one end of the loop around the trunk of a nearby tree, "Hy might take a vhile to get to de branchez, but Hy ken haul hyu op after ve iz done mit the fire and it'z out, right?"

At her nod, he was walking up the huge trunk, hitching the ropes up as he ascended. He was soon hidden among the branches several dozen meters up, and Dafi kept her eyes on the surrounding landscape. Though sunset was not far off, she did not feed the fire any further, allowing it to die down as she pulled the coals together, turning the meat until it was almost done. Keeping an eye out on the gathering gloom, she wrapped the rabbit in the greens she had gathered by the stream, then in a trail kerchief, putting them in the now-empty water bucket with the cooling kettles of tea. She then spread the coals of the fire on the rock outcropping, kicking the sandy dirt about trying to disguise how recently a fire had been here, and of what type.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon when she heard the trill that had meant "ready" when she was at school, and the rope descended to her level. Dali had tied a rescue loop in the end, and Dafi was tired enough to accept it without being offended.

~=*=~

In spite of all the internal arguing, Dalibor had managed to secure their gear in the mid-range branches and arrange their bivouac. "Nest" the animal at the base of his brain called it. He told the animal to shut up. He would have gone higher, himself. However, Dafi had been uneasy with the minor turbulence in the airship. Even with the gentle night breezes his weather skills told him they would have, the movement of the branches up there would be more than he guessed Dafi could manage.

She needed to rest, and honestly, so did he. He had dozed a bit the night before, but it was that light sleep that let him hear everything within a hundred meters. Useful when in uncertain territory, but more than a few nights of that a week was not wise. Especially when they had to cover as much ground as possible in that week. Especially when his patrol consisted of a crazy woman who tranced out so she would not feel pain and slow them down.

Especially when that doze let him hear her murmurs when she was dreaming. He did not think she had woken up from the nightmare, when he had touched her shoulder. It seemed to break the nightmare's hold on her, though. Going back to the mouth of the cave was harder with his instincts trying to pull him back to curl up with her. Actually, his instinct was trying for a lot more than that, but his sense of duty kept smacking the instinct down with the rules and regulations.

He was old enough to know better, but it had been a while since he had tired of tumbling with the barmaids. Sure, it was all in fun and commerce, but they often couldn't read, and had a limited grasp of current events, much less political theory. Dafi's quick grasp of the situation had excited him more than the sighs she gave in her sleep or the graceful curve of her calves. He traced them in his memory, gilded in firelight - one with an old scar from a sawtooth cat, the other with the new bullet graze. She was a soldier, and as far as he had seen in their limited contact, a good one. If she had been just a soldier, he would have begun courting her already, but she wasn't.

Though he did not call her by her title, he had not forgotten it. For that matter, he knew that tone of voice she had used when she had given her Proper Name, and remembered an echo of that tone spoken in centuries past. He had left his own heavy load of luggage behind when he had been captured by the Heterodyne and given the Jägerbrau. The Heterodyne had not been hunting ransom, but fresh meat. Though it had not kept him from being captured, the training he had received at Mustafa-Svilin had served him well in keeping him alive and away from promotions. His family had given him up for dead, and when they found out he was not... well. His uncle had been the ranking survivor, and preferred to keep it that way. Dalibor had not been back since.

Through this storm of emotions and memories, he managed to string up his shelter-half as part hammock and part shelter, in case he had failed in his weather-reading. After a moment's hesitation, he mirrored the arrangement with Dafi's gear close alongside his, nearer the trunk for her peace of mind. He adjusted packs and tension lines for the better part of an hour, before he realized he was delaying dangerously long, noting that Dafi had already cleared the camp below and was policing the area for further signs of their passage.

He pulled her up to the level of the bivouac, and she carefully hung the camp bucket from a broken branch. "Rabbit in the kerchiefs, tea in the kettles and water in the cook-pots," she said tersely. He could tell from her body language that Dafi wasn't angry, she was scared stiff. He was glad he had placed her hammock against the trunk of the tree, and helped her into it. He climbed into his hammock, and being more comfortable in their surroundings, served dinner. Not much on greens himself, he left over half of his share in her dinner bundle, as he settled in with his share of the meat. "Nize vork on deze, de greenz aren't too bad thiz vay."

Dafi seemed to be concentrating on Not Looking Down, and huddled in her hammock. "I-it is better with spinach, but the watercress was a bit... bit overgrown. The steaming helps with tougher greens." She consumed her dinner neatly, mechanically, and drank the bitter tea straight from her kettle. When she had finished, tidying her kit together she said, "I think I might take first watch tonight." It was not a request, but it was also not an officer giving an order. Then she was at a loss for what to do with the bones from supper.

Dalibor simply took the bones and flung them out into the darkness. "Tenkz, Hy could uze zome schleep tonight." He tied his kettle of tea to a handy branch for later. "Vake me at midnight und Hy vill take ofer." He settled into his hammock with the intention of sleeping no more than four hours. Not that he believed she would fall asleep at her post, but instead wanted to make sure she would sleep at least part of the night.

~=*=~

Three hours later, Dafi was debating if she should wake the sergeant up. She had been trying to convince herself that she was just nervous, and the wind was not picking up across the ridge to their west. "Just your imagination, silly girl," she muttered to herself.

"Mrr?" Sgt. Dalibor came awake, to her chagrin. Dafi murmured to him, "Still an hour yet, g-go back to sleep."

From the sounds, Dafi guessed the sergeant was shifting about in his hammock. The clouds had rolled in an hour earlier, cutting off the light of the waning moon. "No, zumting'z wrong. Vot iz vorrying yhu?"

"I was listening to the wind. It is starting to sound like a big blow is headed our way, and I...." Dafi paused, embarrassed by the admission, but you did not lie about your observations when on patrol, "...I was trying to decide if I was getting colder, or just scared."

"Hyu're right, de vind haz shifted." With a grunt, he got out of his hammock and balanced easily on the lower branches. When he stood, he casually wrapped an arm around her shoulder and breathed deeply. After a few moments, he said, "Ve rilly don't haff time to get to ground und shelter in. No goot placez for it dot Hy saw on de hunt, eidder. Vill hyu trust me on keeping uz zafe op here?"

Dafi's mouth went dry, but she nodded. "Yes, what do you need me to do?" His answer was to pick her up and settle her in his hammock with one swift movement.

"Truzt me, und keep an ear out for de vind. De rezt Hy can manage." Dafi got the sense of swift movement, and her bedroll landed around her shoulders. "Hy can keep uz dry und secure, but it vill be close qvarterz."

She stayed still and quiet, occasionally holding packs for him, and noting the rising whine as the wind hit the ridge. "Dal? I think we have maybe five minutes..."

"Ja, tenkz. Almozt ready for de lazt part." He lifted her out of the hammock, setting her on a sturdy branch, "Got you balanze for a leettle bit? Juzt a few more minutez." More sounds of movement, and finally, "Ready for hyu, Dafi." He pulled her into his arms and climbed into the cocoon he had constructed from their tarps. There was no way to have a line of sight, and their packs crowded in at the sides, but this construction did not sway in the wind as the separate hammocks had.

She waited for him to put her down, and then realized there was no other spot for her in the cocoon; she would need to spend the night curled up with him. The electric shiver up her spine at that idea had nothing to do with her fear of heights. "You did say close quarters. Is this... are you going to be all right?"

Dal chuckled, "At leazt now Hy will know hyu vill not go schleepvalking. Anodder bright schpot to dis iz even if ve are schtuck here ontil de schtorm passez, it iz onlikely anyvun elze vill be out tonight." He shifted a little, snugging her into his shoulder. Then the heavens opened up, pounding their tree-sling with a wall of water. "Schleep, Dafi. Hyu need to rezt." Dal tucked the blankets around them, seemingly unconcerned with her weight or proximity.

Dafi wondered if she should be concerned, but the rain, along with the warmth and solidity holding her, lulled her to sleep.

Flight or Fight, Chapter 3

Dalibor had a brief moment of panic when the girl started to cry, but what was more worrisome was the way she clamped down on herself almost immediately. "You are right - we will make them pay. Until then, I do not have the luxury of grief." Watching her gather herself, he wondered when her control was forged, and if it was tempered.

"Hyu need rest, Dafi. Dis plaze iz secure, und hennyvun coming in vould make enough racket to vake a rock. Since Hy em a light schleeper, Hy vill take de vatch tonight." He buried the instincts of what to do with a half-dressed handful, and helped her put the documents away. With some regret, he tucked her into the parachute as if she was a small child. "Tomorrow iz anodder chance to bring dem down."

Cat-footed, he moved towards the mouth of the cave. With the double curve of the entrance and the heavy brush nearby, he was not worried about the fire being seen, but he still wanted to check the area. He sat in the niche of the opening, and scanned the ravine, letting his instinctive mind take the evaluation. His conscious mind was not on the terrain, but the girl. He had seen that sort of control in some of the human officers assigned to his squad, and it worried him. They usually either broke under the pressure, or burned out - and in either case, it could mean the difference in winning or losing a battle. Usually, the Jägerkin won, but it often meant the officer did not survive.

Not a pleasant thought - he knew she needed to survive long enough to make a report to the Baron, and possibly long enough to testify in court. Having her burn out in a berserker raid would be as bad as getting herself killed. "De tings Hy do for de Empire," he murmured quietly in the darkness.

~=*=~

Dafi woke in near darkness, with full awareness. The fire of the night before was coals, almost out entirely. Her hand closed around the grip of her hunting knife as she heard a footfall against the rock. She was forestalled on drawing by the dry chuckle of the Sergeant, "Hyu iz avake, goot." He carefully set the oilcoth bucket where it would not overturn, and used his hunting knife to pull her small trail-cookery pot and kettle from the fire. "De journey-porridge should be ready, und de tea. Bit ov a luxury dis morning, because ve did haff de fire, und hyu need de extra to replace you blood lozz. De bramble berriez haff not been entirely picked ofer, but neidder vere they completely gone."

She nodded as she spooned up the porridge on her knife blade, "Good - so no predators to hunt out the berry-eaters completely, but also likely no villages in a half-day's hike." She made a slight face at the strength of the "tea", which was made from the tablets in the ration packs. Still, when she saw the sergeant pull his kettle from the dying ashes, she drank it all, knowing she would need the additives the tablets contained. She hoped the water in the bucket was potable, to wash down the last of the horrendously strong stuff. "Sergent Dalibor, where have we landed, and do we dare take the roads when we find them?"

"Ve are 'bout t'irty klicks from de main trade road, five hundred from outpost vere you boarded de courier, und about half dot avay from vhere ve can safely meet op vit de Baron'z Kestle." He refilled his kettle from the bucket and drank before continuing. "Ve are cloze enough to de ambusch zone dot ve should schtay out of zight az moch az possible. Me, running alone, could mek it in a few dayz, bot even if hyu vere not injured, Hy haff yet to zee anyvun not of de 'kin to keep op vit vun of uz. Horzebeck, ja, bot getting a horze out here vould mean trading, or schtealing."

Dafi followed his example with the dose of water from the bucket. It was clear and cold, not overtly tainted. "Trading would leave a trace for them to follow, and stealing would make life difficult for the one who lost the horse. Not so many out here that any are 'extras' by a long shot." She noted he relaxed when she said that, and continued, "Can we pack the parachute properly, even after using it for bedclothes? I would hope we do not have to abandon it."

The sergeant shrugged, "Hy vould not let somevun else jump vit it until Hy could repack it proper, but ve can repack it for travel, it haz been uzeful. No need in giffing de traitorz confirmation dot ve vere de vunz to kemp here lazt night." He pulled his first-aid kit out of his pack and lit a small candle-lantern, "First, Hy have to check hyur bandagez for travel." In the light of the lantern, she saw that she had not dislodged the bandages. When she tried to remove them to change the dressing, he lightly swatted her hand away and gave her the lantern to hold. "Hy gotz it, de beck of de leg is hardt to treat by hyuself."

She distracted herself from the feel of warm, gentle hands on her skin by inspecting the wound. "Not an angry red, and well-clotted - you do good work, Sergeant."

He tossed the old bandages on the dying coals, causing them to flare before consuming the gauzes. "Goot ting hyu is ha mountain gorl, hyu heal fast." He spread the pungent unguent on her wound, causing her shiver at the sensation. He looked up, "Dot hurt?" When she shook her head, he bandaged her leg, and then gently eased her sock over the bandage. "Dot schould be all right vit de bootz. Hyu get de rezt of de vay dressed, ve should schtart moofing soon."

~=*=~

Dalibor busied himself with repacking their gear while Dafi dressed. He thought to himself as he cleared the area of evidence of their presence, this is a really bad idea, without focusing on why. His conscience kept quoting the rulebook to him, and in the past that had kept him from too much trouble, but there was a subconscious animal in his brain, reminding him of the feel of her skin under his hands, though he currently held a rough canvas rucksack.

When Dafi moved from the parachute to put on her boots, he packed it as best he could without the benefit of space to straighten the lines. It would have to be a pretty damned desperate jump for him to use the 'chute in this state, but at least it would not be damaged further. He surreptitiously watched her packing up and removing traces of their presence, telling himself he was just evaluating her movements for signs of strain, but the animal knew better.

Still, he pummeled the animal with the trip calculations. He knew he would have to slow his usual pace down to hers, and they had to stay out of sight while travelling. In this terrain, if she were one of the human troopers he had been been with in the mixed patrols, he estimated they could make 25 kilometers a day. However, with her injuries, they might be lucky to make half that. Yes, she could walk without limping right now, but he had seen muscle fibre at the base of the graze track. He was going to have to stroll when his training told him to run.

~=*=~

Dafi dressed carefully, knowing there would be a long hard trek ahead of them. She would be slowing him down, there was no help for it, but she could at least make sure she was the least hindrance possible. There was one way, something she would not have dared alone, but as part of a tracking patrol, it was possible. When she had finished dressing, she reached for her pack at the same time the sergeant did. "Excuse me?" she exclaimed as he began pulling out her things.

"Ve need to make schure hyu do not schtrain youzelf," he said, setting aside the basic survival gear, first aid kit and her hygiene case. "Hy vill carry de heavy gear, bot in caze ve are zeparated, hyu haff de basicz on hyu."

Dafi thought a moment, and pulled the document tube out of her blouse, "We need to hide at least part of these in an unexpected place or three, let me have a few pairs of socks."

He nodded shortly, "Hy vill giff hyu some of de documentz Hy haff - if eidder of uz iz caught, dhey vill get some of de obviouz placez bot not all of dem." He redistributed his pack and parachute bag to accommodate her gear.

While his back was turned, Dafi rolled three of the key letters in with the flannels in her hygiene case. She hoped the trek would not take longer than her cycle. She repacked her gear with one of his memos in her spare socks, and tucked a few more in odd nooks and crannies in her reduced pack. She kept a few documents in the tube, and noted that the sergeant was doing much the same. When he had tucked the document folio in the waistband at the back of his trousers and tucked his uniform shirt, it was rather obvious, but with his pack over all, she could not tell it was there. She exhaled deeply and tucked the document tube into her riding corset. A sweeping glance over the cave indicated someone had stayed here last night, but unless they had tracking dogs, one could not tell who.

~=*=~

"Dafi... time to schtop." Dalibor had to physically stop her shambling walk. This is not good at all, he thought. She's using the long patrol trance to keep going when she should have asked to rest. He frowned with an irritated scowl as she came out of her trance. "Hyu schould not do dot before hyu heal op!"

She wobbled a bit, and asked, "H-how... how far?"

"Tventy klickz, about. Ve schtop now, Hy can schmell blood."

"That is pitiful, and there is still another hour of daylight. We got a late start because of me. Let's go," then she stumbled.

"Ho, dot'z enough for today," he said as he steadied her. Dalibor scanned the area, and muttered, "Notting zo comfy az lazt night nearby. Hope hyu like treez."

Dafi scanned the trees in the area, and paled. "I am not sure I could climb that high."

"Not yet, bot before nightfall." He pointed to a rocky area. "Ve can make a schmall fire for de tea, und get hyu bandaged op before ve zettle in. Hyu can handle de fire vhile Hy hunt, ja?" He jogged over to the outcropping, dropped the pack, then loped off into the woods.

Running helped a little, and dropping into hunt mode did as well, but there was still the annoying animal instinct that nagged him about what he should have done last night. Then something scuttling in the underbrush caught his attention and his instincts gave over into the hunt.

~=*=~

It was a silly fear, Dafi told herself. Not that it helped much, as she busied herself with filling the canvas bucket at the stream down hill and gathering firewood. As long as she had the solid rock beneath her, she could handle heights. Airships and trees could fall, but rocks she trusted. Not in the least bit logical, as many rockfalls as she and her patrol had dealt with, but fear was rarely logical.

The parachute drop had opened a whole new box of memories. Some had coloured her dreams the night before - at least she thought they were dreams. A strong hand holding her wrist, while her feet dangled over clouds. She been a child in the dream, and had not been in uniform, so she must have been younger than eight years old. Rubbing her wrist absently at the memory, she scanned the woods again.

She was loathe to take off her boots and start re-bandaging her leg until Sergeant Dalibor came back. She could handle herself alone in the woods, but injured prey was fair game. She did not want to give any further indication of weakness without backup. She sat by the tiny fire, with their kettles heating water, and sharpened her knife. The illusion of calm, while watching the gloom creep down the valley wall, she felt better with a weapon in hand.