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"Of course she is. Helga and I are best friends."
"But you drugged her and tried to kill her!"
"Oh, nonsense. Drugged her a wee bit, aye, but that's all in the game. I knew it wasn't Helga, the minute
I saw that lance wobbling about. I thought she was snoring in her tent, and somebody had tied a stuffed
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dummy up there on her horse."
Stuffed, perhaps, and far too frequently for someone on a perennial diet; but Waldo was no dummy.
"There's a big tournament coming up on Ceres," Flora went on. "I'd like you to be there with me."
I could not talk any longer. A buzz of activity at the front of the room announced that Judge Solomon
had entered and Duncan Whiteside was already stepping toward him, an anxious expression on his face.
I ran for the steps, calling over my shoulder, "Go there, and do what?"
Ithink that Flora, behind me, said, "Read my fine print." But it sounded an awful lot like, "Be my fine
prince."
Patterns in the Chain
Steven Piziks
Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo.
A shadow drifted across the mouth of Mother Berchte's cave. She waited and rocked, careful to keep
her tail away from the stone rockers of her chair. White sparks snapped from her needles.
Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo.
The shadow drifted closer, and Mother Berchte lost patience. "I see you," she growled. "Get in here."
The shadow froze.
"Yes, I mean you. Move it."
Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo.
The shadow hesitantly stepped into the light thrown by the fireplace. The girl was young, not yet twenty.
She held a short sword before her with a farily competent air, though her grip was so tight Berchte was
sure she was leaving permanent fingerprints on the hilt. The girl's red-blond hair had recently been hacked
off. Probably with a blunt dagger, if Berchte was any judge.
"Well?" Mother Berchte prompted in her harsh voice. "What's your name, girlie?"
Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo. Berchte's needles glowed like angry volcanos. The girl tried not to
recoil, and Mother Berchte grinned. Berchte knew full well she was an imposing sight, almost eight feet
tall with horns on her head and fangs in her mouth and claws on her fingertips. And a tail, of course. The
latter was a bitch if she wasn't careful with the rocking chair.
"Jeweline," the girl said timidly. "My name is Jeweline."
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Of course it is,Mother Berchte thought. "And?" she said aloud. "You didn't climb all the way up here
just to tell me your name."
Jeweline took a deep breath. Although the inflation of her chest did nothing for Mother Berchte, it
earned an admiring snort from Nassirskaegi in his corner. Jeweline's head snapped around and her eyes
widened for a split second before she could school her features back into impassivity. Berchte awarded
her silent points for quick recovery. Many people reacted badly to giant goats the size of horses, but few
hid their surprise so quickly. Nassirskaegi yawned, revealing yellow teeth.
"Um . . . r-raiders attacked our holding," Jeweline said. "My parents were slain, my brothers murdered.
My sisters were taken. I need to rescue them."
"With that?" Mother Berchte pointed scornfully at Jeweline's sword with her chin. Her knitting needles
flashed through another row, and the swiftly growing shirt clinked in her lap.
"With your help," Jeweline said. "If you'll give it."
Mother Berchte nodded and rocked, knitting without answering. Jeweline shifted uncomfortably. A drop
of sweat trickled down her face.
Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo.
"Well, why not?" Mother Berchte said at last. "That's a hell of a climb, and you deserve something for it.
Choose one."
Jeweline peered about the dimly-lit cave. "Choose one what?"
Mother Berchte blew at the fireplace. The flames blazed up, throwing the cave into almost painful
brightness. Dozens of mail shirts glittered and sparkled from every wall, each with a unique style and
design. Different types of wire knitted artfully into the weave created patterns and pictures. This one
showed a silvery dragon breathing copper fire. That one portrayed an exquisitely-rendered griffon leaping
into a star-flecked sky. Another twisted the eye with a fractal pattern of falling red-gold leaves.
Jeweline gasped and lowered her sword. "You made all these?"
Mother Berchte grinned with crooked teeth and briefly held up the half-finished hauberk in her lap
before returning to work. The needles sparked and flashed. Friction and torsion softened the wire,
making it easier to work.
Jeweline whistled under her breath, sheathed her sword, and went over to examine the mail shirts.
Mother Berchte watched her until the girl's eye fell on a shirt hanging in a corner half hidden by a stout
wooden wardrobe. The shirt was old and rusting. It looked like moths had been at it, though what kind
of moths would go for solid steel even Mother Berchte didn't care to think about.
Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo.
Jeweline put out a finger to touch the old hauberk, and a sly smile stole over her face. Mother Berchte
narrowed her eyes and kept on knitting. The girl had obviously heard some of the old tales. Either that or
she had been down to the river talking to Father Fluss. Slobbery bastard. And Jeweline was just the type
to set him slobbering.
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"What about this one?" Jeweline asked, holding up the rusty shirt.
"You don't want that one, girl," Mother Berchte replied evenly. "It's old and poorly made."
"I don't want to be greedy," Jeweline said in a modest voice. "I'll take it."
Mother Berchte shrugged without missing a stitch. "It's your life."
Jeweline pulled the hauberk over her head, leaving wide streaks of rust in her hair, and hurried for the
cave's entrance. At the last moment she turned back. "Thank you," she said sincerely, and left. Mother
Berchte watched her go.
Nassirskaegi bleated once.
"Sunrise, I expect," Berchte answered.
* * *
Something clinked and clanked at the mouth of the cave. Jeweline entered, sword at her side, battered
mail revealing more than it probably should. She was covered with cuts, scratches, and bruises, and her
movements were stiff. Behind her, the sun was chasing the last of the stars away from the pale blue sky.
"Didn't work, did it?" Mother Berchte said mildly. Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo.
"You tricked me," Jeweline cried. "This shirt is worthless! If Father Fluss hadn't given me flashflowers to
blind the bastards, I would have been killed."
"I told you not to take it, girl," Mother Berchte growled. Jeweline opened her mouth to protest, but
Berchte cut her off. "Let me guess. You thought that the best shirt in the bunch would be disguised as a
rusty piece of junk. You thought this was some stupid fairy tale to put the kiddies to sleep."
Jeweline snapped her mouth shut and set her jaw. "I just want to get my sisters away from those . . .
men."
"Then do something sensible," Mother Berchte scoffed. "The first lesson you have to learn is never settle
for less than the best."
Jeweline squared her shoulders. "All right." She shrugged out of the rusty mail shirt, marched over to the
wall of mail, and chose another, one tightly knitted from the stoutest steel, yet light enough to wear easily.
A two-headed eagle glowered defiantly in the design, and the shirt gleamed softly in the firelight as
Jeweline pulled it on. Mother Berchte watched with interest.
Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo.
"Thank you," Jeweline said curtly, and left.
Nassirskaegi bleated a question.
"Sunset," Berchte replied.
* * *
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