Curious gazes filled all windows, and balconies groaned under the weight of my audience. I concentrated on keeping my back straight and chin up.

  It was the first time I rode sidesaddle in a gown. I made sure to go slowly, not only to avoid the embarrassment from falling off, but also to make myself seem more reassured than I was. The tardiness gave the onlookers time to goad themselves into joining the band growing behind me.

  A few of the men came forth to question my goals.

  "The will of the gods," was my answer, though I never eborated, which deities I meant.

  In a ravine of tall houses, a horn rang. Lightly armoured men in a mixed formation hurried to block the street. Their heavy halberds and long pikes created a hedge of sharp steel, between which the matches of their handguns glowed ready. If they thought me a feral serpentist, bringing firearms wasn't particurly wise.

  Their leader held high a gold-studded baton: the symbol of a reeve. "In the name of the Prince of Vonir and other peoples, y down your arms and submit to capture and fair trial."

  The crowd behind rumbled their dissent. Sulme lifted his hand for silence and turned his horse to hamper any sudden surges from the rabble.

  "On what charges?" I asked. The deaths of these Ekran militiamen wouldn't serve me. The fmes of their matchlock guns had been wrought with no wrath and barely any force. I concentrated on that pitiful passionless fire and mouthed the words of cinder. As the matches extinguished with no effort from me, I had to stifle my guffaw.

  "On the suspicion that you are a proscribed serpentist possessed by a foul spirit, or a swarm of them," the reeve said.

  "Oh. In that case..." I grinned. "You should shoot, before my uncontrolled wrath blows up your guns."

  The matchlock in the hands of a boy-soldier ccked, and the rest of handgunners triggered their weapons to no effect.

  Anger stirred the crowd.

  "Stay back!" Sulme barked a command at the restless townspeople. The worst tumult subsided enough to allow unshouted discussion.

  "Now do you see, dear reeve." I rode forward. "The charges that I am an unbridled serpentist are quite preposterous. First, as you must witness, I am a woman, not a soldier of the Fulgurite Prince. Second, if I was not in control, right this moment my fmes would coax out your screams."

  The reeve gripped his baton with two hands to stop them from shaking. "Then what are you?"

  "In me is the spirit of this nd," I lied. "And I need brave soldiers. Which you must be, barring my way thus." My horse wasn't willing to walk near metal spikes, so I had to stop a little further than I would have preferred. "Except of course, unless you are too foolish to understand the situation. Are you bold or unwise?"

  I stared into the reeve's fred eyes and did my best not to show, how precarious my own situation was. If the soldiers in Attisa sided against me, my revolt died before its birth.

  The reeve gnced at the mob behind me. I smiled wider.

  "Very well." The reeve bowed, and his soldiers hurried to reproduce the gesture with their unwieldy weapons. "We will do your bidding, my dy."

  "That is good. My first order is that you arrest the tyrant freedy, so she can be judged by the assembly of free Attisans. Afterwards you will keep the peace as my highest representative in this fine town."

  Light glinted in the reeve's eyes. Inside his head, the fear of death must have turned into hope of personal gain. He bowed again. I turned to gaze at the boy, who had tried to shoot me first. He stiffened but didn't avert his eyes.

  "I will take this one as my page," I said. "He shows courage, but cks discipline."

  The reeve nodded. "Karsa, go to your mistress."

  The boy pushed out of the ranks and jogged to me. He was a long-legged d, and carried his stubby but heavy handgun effortlessly. His clothes were freshly dyed in deep red, but he wore no other signs of wealth.

  I offered my hand. The d needed a few moments, before he realised, what he was supposed to do. He took my hand and kissed the air next my knuckles. A wary smile flickered on Karsa's lips. He took my reins and held them loose to dispy that I was in control.

  The soldiers lifted their pole arms. I rode to the reeve, who repeated the show of submission. He was my creature now. At least until my revolt faltered, and he figured a way to show his loyalty to the Prince by betraying me.

  Surrounded by the militia detachment, I rode through the ancient gatehouse. Chattering townsfolk crowded the churned field next to the the moss-covered town wall.

  In the distance, under the shade of huge rowan trees, was a group of steel-cd men and their horses.

  "Are they the freelord's men?" I asked my reeve.

  "Yes. About all who stayed behind, when the freelord left for the war." The reeve chuckled. "Dotards and bairns, the lot of them."

  "Still, they seem equipped in shining steel," I said. "Send a word that I want to speak with their leader."

  The rumours, which circuted among the townsfolk included my exceptional spiritual status. I was asked for blessings. Instead of pretending divine providence, I encouraged them to pray to their ancestors, while I kept my eyes at the Vonir men-at-arms. Young boys and old men they might have been, but an armoured charge could easily scatter even a huge mob of barely armed commoners.

  From the group, rode a tall man on a horse twice the weight of mine. His fully enclosing armour had been blued deep purple, and the nce he held was a bit too long for even his stature.

  "Come forth," the rider bellowed in the tones of a brash youth. "You heathen and rabble-rouser. May we tilt nces to determine the true will of the kindly gods."

  I rode forward. Sulme moved to accompany me, but I gestured him to stay. He obeyed, but his expression cked approval.

  "Does your honour permit duelling with an unarmoured woman?" I cried, as I took my horse next to the Tamsi leader.

  The young knight wore a wispy attempt at a moustache on his robust face. Yet young age didn't indicate the ck of skill or physical prowess. Based on his affluent equipment, he had to be the son of the freelord. Being left out of the war must have galled him, a slight on his honour, which he would enjoy patching by stomping on a revolt.

  "Ekran wench! Do speak in the nguage of your lords."

  "Fine," I changed into Vonish. "My tongue cannot be tainted further by this speech."

  The scion gave me a thorough examination with his bright eyes. "Who are you? I sense no sorcery, foul or otherwise, in you."

  Using the name Ryymi seemed inappropriate in more than one way.

  "My name is Umu," I said.

  "I am Hatriv of Isso, son of Otsik son of Vemelin. Now, I encourage you to stand down for trial. My blood does not bear to fight a woman such as you."

  "That is fine. A duel is unnecessary. We are hundreds, while you are three dozen."

  Hatriv snorted. "The thunder of our hooves will turn that throng into a flock of flighty hens."

  The knight was likely correct. In a battle over open field, a host of untrained commoners was more of a bane than a boon. Even the town militia wouldn't handle the pressure of seeing the surrounding masses unravel out of fright.

  "Say, are you a singer?" I asked.

  "Am I? Of course! Poems of potency and songs of renown fill my memory and slip off my tongue as easy as water." Hatriv squinted his eyes. "Are you suggesting we test our mastery in that lofty business?"

  "Yes. It would preserve honour, pride and blood."

  "I would not suggest such a contest to a feeble-minded woman... But your fall will cut short any belief in your powers. Very well. Let us chant."