Chapter 7: Face your Enemy

I've been polishing on this for too long. I hope anyone interested hasn't given up altogether. I will try to pick up the pace again from now on - work and life permitting. If you need to read up on what has happened in previous chapters, check out the filter on the right side. Do leave a comment. I appreciate feedback. To those who have waited patiently for this - enjoy.

The Thing hall was a large, solid construction of a stone and wood frame and a high roof. It had gables carved with horse heads and other wild beasts.
Joana had been taken to the stables where the horses of the royal guests were also kept. Evidently the men that had brought her here, Grimrun's henchmen, were under strict orders not to harm her. Their sidelong glances spoke an entirely different language. They carried an intense mixture of resentment, scorn and ... fear? Why, Joana wondered. Why would these strangers feel so strongly towards her?
In a stall at the very back of the dusky building they had tied her to a ring in the wall. The smell of horses and horse dung was strong in her nostrils. Once in a while one of the animals in the other stalls stamped or snorted. Other than that it was quiet. A guard had been set outside the booth. He spent his time leaning against the back wall of the building watching her every move with a weary expression. With no more curses and hardly any voice left Joana had slumped against the wall onto a pile of straw and resigned to staring into space. The rope around her wrists did not give her enough slack to even reach the front of the stall. In fact, it hardly allowed her to lie herself down fully on her bedding.
That smug grin on his face! It seemed to hover before her eyes in the dimness of the building. Her last attempt at vanquishing her opponent had failed. She might have frightened him for a moment, true, but in the end she had stood no chance. He had prevailed. And how satisfied he had looked when they had dragged her away. At least she had not given up when she had still been free to choose! Vucara had been right.
But now the wolf was gone, too. Quietly as usual Vucara had disappeared. That much she had gathered from her captors' conversations on her way here. The wolf had escaped but a lot of men were searching for her. She prayed that Vucara had made it out of Tramir to the relative safety of the forest. There did not seem to be much left she could have achieved by staying. In broad daylight and without the element of surprise Grimrun's armed henchmen would not be easy to overcome. And whether the dogs of Tramir would help again after they had felt the men's clubs and axes was doubtful.
Joana tried to rest while there was time. To steel herself for whatever fate awaited her. Despite the fatigue, however, her thoughts kept grinding round and round like the wheel of a mill. Walking into Grimrun's trap had been stupid. Yet she could not have ignored the suffering of those wolves. Grimrun had exploited that. Then what, if anything, could she have done differently? How could an enemy be brought down that did not shy away from using any means necessary? Was she too soft for such a contest? She was reminded of the grim satisfaction of slaying the men at the camp in the woods. She had triumphed then. And how about the innkeeper today, a brute like him, had he not deserved his fate? Had it not felt good to deliver his judgement to him, to become the hand of Tyr? But had she really intended to? This time there had been no need to slay him outright. And had it been up to her at all? Had father not tought her that only his God, had the right to judge? Now she was at the mercy of Grimrun's judgement, regardless of what monster he was. So the thoughts kept orbiting her mind like mosquitos their sleeping victim. And above all of them, closeby yet untouchable, hovered that face with its sharp nose and its piercing eyes, and that voice that had taken away hers.
Joana spent most of the day like this, staring morosely at nothing in particular. She hardly noticed that the guard's relief arrived, how the men spoke in hushed voices, shot her glances as you might a beautiful but vicious animal. As time passed that relief was then relieved in turn. She hardly noticed that nobody brought her any food and she was only dimly aware of her hunger. When the third relief arrived and she could see the sun was setting outside the girl began to stir. She tried to call out to the men as they chatted but words would still not come to her. Then she tried the other ones. Those came easier. Before this morning she had never used them on other humans. They stared at her. She could see from their eyes that they understood. The looks were not entirely those of men confident they dealt with a helpless girl. They made hasty signs of warding off evil. What had Grimrun told them, Joana wondered. She called again, more demanding this time.
"Shuddup", one of the men slurred in return. There was threat in his voice but also a tremor of something else. "Master Grimrun said not to talk to yer, so talk we won't."
She called again, demanded to eat. Hunger was beginning to sting after a whole day of fasting and exertion. They made more signs and retreated to the front of the building where she could not see them. She shouted for them angrily, challengingly a few times but received no more reply. She sank back onto her bed. Had Grimrun resolved to let her starve after all his troubles?
Joana guessed the sun had gone down completely when she became aware of raised voices outside the door. The stable was entirely dark. Her wrists and shoulders ached from being tied up all day and her hands had gone numb. And not only her hands. She was stiff all over and felt utterly exhausted but, what was more, the fury of the morning had given way to lethargy. Whoever it was that wanted to see her, whatever they wanted to do, it hardly mattered to her anymore.
Then the door was opened and the voices became clearer.
"She's dangerous, Master Grimrun says", the guard warned. Joana could almost see the simple man making another warding sign. "The Master says not to let anyone see her."
"I am not anyone", the other voice replied sternly. That voice. Had she not heard it before? "I can handle myself. You just keep guarding the door."
Of course, she knew that voice. The slightly haughty tone of someone used to command. She had heard it first in the forest years ago. Over the cooling carcass of a grey wolf. Never had Joana imaged she might ever less than detest the voice and its owner should she hear it again.
"Bring a light", Prince Toben called out. "Black as Hel in here."
There were hasty footsteps and flickering, redish light licked at the darkness surrounding her. A few moments later the prince stepped into view in front of her. Joana squinted at the sudden brightness of the flame of the torch he was holding. The other hand carried a wrapped bundle. He had taken off the armour he had still worn in the morning but was wearing a fine vest and his travelling cloak against the chill of the evening. His sword was now strapped to his belt.
Without a word he laid the bundle down, slipped the torch into an iron wall mounting. He drew a dagger from its sheath at the hip. Without knowing why she recoiled at the sight. He knelt next to her. Her eyes were still fixed on the blade. When he brought the blade up it was to cut her bonds. She was not sure what she had expected.
"Hold still, silly girl", he muttered with a hint of amusement in his voice, "I haven't made this long way to hurt you."
When she was free he motioned to the oilskin bundle. "You'll need your hands for that."
He sat back against the wall and let her unwrap the bundle. It held half a loaf of bread, nuts, cheese and a few scraps of smoked meat. She began eating hungrily though she never took her watchful eyes off him. He regarded her for a while from his position across the stall from her. When she began to slow down he finally spoke.
"How have you been treated?"
Whatever Grimrun had done to her still denied her the words in the tongues mother and father had taught her. She was getting more used to using True Speech, however, and those words came easy enough breaking through his enchantment.
"Worse than a prisoner waiting for her execution but better than the wolves you saw on the square." She squeezed the words out between mouthfuls. In her state they did not sound as sarcastic as she had intended.
He nodded. It was working behind his face, she could see. He was trying to make sense of what he was hearing. There was no apprehension as with Grimrun or his men. It was more a kind of wonder that showed on his features. Being the man he was he did not acknowledge it. Especially not to a girl like her. Instead he tried to sound encouraging: "To be honest, some have demanded your execution but they have not prevailed yet."
She had expected as much but there was still a sting of fright at the word "execution". Suddenly there was a hard lump in her throat and she no longer felt so hungry.
After a pause he went on: "My name and my word carry surprisingly little weight here. So I am unsure whether it was my protest or their Oracle Grimrun's silence that has stayed their hand for now."
The name made her grimace. "He plays them well", she whispered darkly, as much to herself as to him.
Toben's stare became intent. "Is it true? Did you kill that man?"
"Did you come here to interrogate me, my lord?"
Taken aback he frowned. Then the frown dissolved and he even smiled to himself. "I forgot who I am talking to. The girl with the tongue sharp as a knife." He looked her in the eye then and to her surprise she found no mockery in his gaze. "Frankly, Joana, I have been told some monstrous tales about you and about what has transpired this morning. I have come hoping to learn the truth. Because I refuse to believe that the daughter of Iacobus would kill a man, much less so without good reason."
She turned a gnawed off chunk of bread in one hand as if comparing it to a similar lump of cheese in the other. Despite his words he had not given her a knife to cut off slices. Over these two items she studied the prince. He appeared genuine. There was no sense of deceit around him. His gaze rested on her easily now without staring but also without straying. Then again what did she know of Grimrun's capabilities? Or what of Toben's intentions?
"They beat them to death, the wolves." She shuddered at the memory. Her voice dropped to hardly more than a hoarse whisper. "It was terrible. I wanted to make them stop. I threw the spear. I meant to scare the man, not kill him. The spear went further than I expected." As she spoke the scraps of memory seemed to slide into place. The scene had been playing in her head scores of times but now it made sense.
"Wolves again", he mused. "How is it that every time we meet a wolf is involved?" There was a twinkle in his eye. Joana did not smile, just stared at him coldly for a while. His jest had taken away much of the warmth she had felt at his coming.
His smile faded. After a pause he pursed his lips looking pensive for a while. "An accident won't be easy to explain to an enraged Thing. Tell me, Joana, how came you by the spear in the first place? You disappeared from your father's tent and now I find you here, dressed and armed like a warrior, accused of having slain a man, even rumoured to be the accomplice or consort of a -" He gestured vaguely.
Joana sank back against the wall of the stable. She felt that helpless anger rise up again. Grimrun's lies had gotten to the prince, as well. Then again, what had she expected? She stifled a curse.
"Do you believe what they say, my lord", she eventually replied with bitterness.
He shrugged a little helplessly. "Everybody here believes it. They would swear by it if they had to. Your father is a man in good standing with the king. Then again simple folk will believe many things. Even I must concede, however, you associate more with beasts than with men."
He trailed off.
"The truth will be harder still to believe, my lord. You would only laugh at me and call me a silly girl again."
"Let me be the judge of what I believe and what not", he returned. There was the cocky young prince again who had claimed to have rescued her.
She nodded. "As you wish."
Then she began cautiously recounting the events of the last two weeks. Had it only been a fortnight? It seemed to her as if a lifetime had passed since the beginning of her journey. She felt like an entirely different person now. Each step of the way had left its mark on her - inside or out. Haltingly she began at the sacking of Kremitz and her escape. She tried to describe the leader of the attackers in detail but at that point details seemed blurry already. Had she really gotten a good lock at him? She had been so sure his features resembled those of the new oracle of Tramir. But now ... Could she have been mistaken? She clenched her fists. Slowly, with each word of True Speech the images became clearer. Was he messing with her mind? Had he the power? With sheer effort of will she pushed forward. At the encounter with Vucara she hesitated. Something inside cautioned her to omit it. In a low voice she related the encounter watching his face intently. There was no mirth in his eyes. He was listening carefully. When she came to her abduction from her father's tent he looked grim and nodded to himself. Father ... Finally, she arrived at her meeting with Berengar, their fight against Grimrun and his men, her desperate flight and, at last, her capture in the morning. There was a silence as he visibly took in her words, digested them.
"You have quite a story to tell." He shook his head in bafflement. "I'll tell you, if any man had related me a tall tale like this and expected me to believe it I would have called him a liar or worse for insulting me and thus abusing my trust."
Joana just stared at him. She had sunk back against the wall, feeling exhausted and empty. Her tale was out. At least, for that she felt relieved. He had listened and she could expect little more.
"I warned you it would be hard to believe. That does not make me a liar."
The prince studied her in the gloom. The torch had burned low. His face was serious now. Thoughts were still sinking in. Not for the first time Joana found herself caressing her mother's ring. Eventually the prince broke his silence. His voice seemed far away.
"I dare not say you are. Something tells me there is more to you than meets the eye." He hesitated. "I have seen what you are capable of. And I have not forgotten."
She remembered the look he had given her then when the wolf had answered her.
"That wolf companion you speak of - I think they are looking for it."
Hope flared up in Joana's heart. If they were still looking that meant that there was a chance that Vucara had eluded them again and was still alive.
"You worry about this wolf a lot", he observed. Still there was no amusement in his voice now.
"What about my father", Joana broke her silence. The question had been on her mind since she had thought about his tent.
The prince regarded her gravely. "After you disappeared he was not the same. He is hardly seen eating or leaving his tent of late. Apateus is in charge of the build now. He is the only one your father speaks to. Apateus says that grief has made him ill."
A blade to the heart could not have hurt more. Joana stared at him numbly. She was clutching the ring on her finger - the only thing left of her family.
"Gods damn him", she whispered, "he'll have destroyed father, too."
"Rest assured, Joana, I will send word to Iacobus that his daughter lives and will be taken home safely. And if we can find proof of what you say of this Grimrun then the traitor and murderer will be brought to justice." His intentions were honest, she realised. He said what he believed was expected of him. From the way he said the words with a confident smile across his features they sounded like something he had heard from a story. He had also never asked whether she wanted to be taken home.
"I thank you for your kindness, my lord", she answered politely.
"Thank me when it is done. I will speak to the Thing on your behalf. Until then I will forbid them to lay hands on you."
She smiled weakly. Maybe he meant well. But he failed to realise that Grimrun had had ample chance to harm her. That was something that had come to her in the quiet dimness of this day in the stable. His henchman had told her Grimrun wanted his prize unspoilt.
"I think he wants me for something, my lord", she uttered her thoughts, "he will suffer noone to lay hands on me."
He frowned considering this. When he spoke again there was a hint of disapproval. Was he offended that his protection was not needed?
"Have you any idea what he might want you for? Surely in a man his age the carnal desires should have subsided."
She almost laughed at him. Was it so difficult for men to see a woman other than an oracle as anything else but an object of their lust? Still, the truth was she did not know for certain what Grimrun wanted her for. She could only guess it had something to do with her new-found abilities.
She replied: "For now I can only guess, my lord. But if Berengar is right about what Grimrun really is then who among men may understand his true motives?."
He snorted. A little haughtily this time he said: "I am not yet prepared to resort to ancient local supestitions. If he did what you aledge then he is merely a dangerous madman. And small wonder: There's something unnatural about a man sorcerer anyway. No need to make him a spawn of Loki."
Joana bit her tongue. There was no point in arguing. The prince had not seen Grimrun the way she had. He had in fact no reason to believe anything she had said. It was a small wonder he had listened to her this far.
Satisfied that his self-appointed charge was safe and fed the prince took his leave. They would be waiting for him. He called the guard outside and commanded him in harsh words to tie the prisoner but give the rope more slack so she could rest. After some grumbling the man obeyed. Then with the promise to return soon the prince made his exit and Joana was left alone in the dark again. Occasionally one of the horses stamped or snorted in its dream. For her sleep was still a long way away.

Joana could not tell how long she had spent in uneasy slumber. Had she dreamed? A deep rumbling voice seemed to resound in her head. Something had startled her. From the utter darkness and silence that surrounded her she guessed it was still night outside. What then had awakened her? She could hear the deep breathing of the animals. But there was something else. Joana gave a start when she noticed the two shimmering pin pricks piercing the night. They were similar in kind to Vucara's eyes but their colour was that of a deep red sunset. They winked. Involuntarily Joana shrank back further against the wall.
"Who's there?" The girl tried in vain to hide the slight quavering of her voice.
There was a rustling of heavy furs. The points of light seemed to settle a little nearer.
"Are you afraid, Speaker?" His harsh rasp of a voice cut through the silence not so much like a knife but like an axe. Or was it that the throat that uttered the words was not fit for the sounds it produced? There was a palpable presence in the room with her that exceeded that of a man. Of course, she recognised the voice. Its sound had etched itself into her memory. She was afraid of this man-beast. Her heart beat like a drum, so loud she was sure he could hear it any way. But she would not give him the satisfaction! She swallowed but her mouth was dry.
"What do you want? Have you come to admire your prize when I'm bound and helpless? Are you afraid to even strike a light?" Her voice was still not fully under her control. So her taunts came out as a hoarse whisper.
He chuckled. It sounded like shaking rocks in a bucket. "You're a feisty little one", he rasped in the inky blackness, "but you will soon learn some respect for your masters."
In a tone almost too deep to hear Grimrun chanted a few syllables. With a chill Joana realised that he was using a crude form of True Speech. His accent was awkward and the snippets made no sense to her but they were True Speech nonetheless. As he chanted there was a scratching sound and suddenly the scene was lit by a glow as of smouldering ambers. The light emmanated from the rune S scratched into the earth.
He was perched opposite her on a stool huddled in his furs. His hood was cast back and a wolfish smile, teeth bared under narrow lips made his features appear even sharper. His eyes still gleamed reddish in their sockets. That hated face looked just like it had lit up by the flames of burning Kremitz. Joana clenched her fists. No fear, she told herself. He did not deserve it.
"If you've come to kill me then just get on with it and make it quick. I will not beg you for your mercy."
Her defiance made his smile draw wider making it nearly reptilian.
"I will not kill you. You have not exceeded your usefulness yet. I wanted to see the girl that has killed so many of my warriors and who they have begun to fear as the 'Tamer of Beasts'."
"Are you satisfied, Zmeu?" She poured all her disdain into these words. "Will you now finally tell me what you want from me?"
"Zmeu?" His voice was raised in wonder and amusement. His gaze never left hers, probing her. "Who put that into your head? Berengar?"
"He told me enough. He told me what you really are", she spat. Rising anger made he voice quaver now. He was merely toying with her.
"That ignorant child", came the reply with a disdainful snort, "has lost his mind and knows nothing of what he speaks. He's wrong, so wrong. Fortunately, he is no longer able to spread his nonsense any further. You really do seem to understand nothing", he mused. "I wonder if you really are as clueless as you let on. What he sees in you I do not know. You certainly do not look so mighty from up close."
"I am neither mighty nor powerful", Joana returned through gritted teeth, "but I am not alone."
"Oh yes, your four-legged friends out there." He looked concerned for a moment, then the smirk returned. "Rest assured, Speaker, I have not forgotten them. They will be dealt with like the others. There are plans in motion whose scope by far exceeds the significance of your little 'family' - or even you."
This time Joana struggled furiously against her bonds. Her voice came as a low growl. She was trembling with pure anger now.
"Gods damn you! You will pay for what you have done! I will destroy you!"
His eyes narrowed at this and the smile left his face. "Shout your threats now", he spoke as if her curses had slid right off him. "When he is through with you, you will see things differently." He rose to leave.
Joana was seething. "I don't care what kind of monstrosities you throw at me, Grimrun. I will have your head!"
There was a choking sound from her enemy. The red eyes widened. He steadied himself with a quick step. When he spoke again his voice seemed shaken though he made an effort to control it.
"You", he snarled. "You will do nothing of the sort. You will remain silent until spoken to."
Joana felt the tendrils of his command creep up on her. They extended into her mind. The back of her neck, where he had scratched her, grew warm. Again she felt the words drain away from her as if the groping fingers of his will had pulled a stopper. The blanket of his mind was suffocating. Then she thought of the words she used to speak with Vucara. Like a fresh breeze they blew at the settling whisps of fog. In her mind she pushed back wrestling with the imposing thoughts. They were slippery, however, and wafted back quickly.
"Get out ... of my head." She forced out a furious scream.
He gasped. This time her enemy's voice sounded shaken but dripped with contempt.
"Uppety brat. You think you have power because you can break a simple command. When we don't need you anymore you will end the same way Berengar did."
With a swipe of his foot he erased the rune and darkness poured back.
"Slain by cowards in the night", she shot back blindly in his direction, "like Kremitz?! Because you were scared to face them alone?"
She heard a rustle of heavy furs as he turned. Then retreating footsteps.
"Come here and face me like a man, you monster", Joana shouted after him. "Do you fear a mere woman?"
The door crashed shut. He was gone. Joana slumped back against the stable wall. She tried to adjust her position so as not to put too much weight on her aching arms. Her heart still hammered out the quick pace of a war drum in her chest but her thoughts were galoping in her head. Had she really shaken him off? She could not utter a word in her mother's tongue but for the second time he had failed to silence her. What had Vucara likened True Speech to - a force of nature itself? Could this be the tool - the weapon - to destroy her enemy? And Berengar had said something, too. Had he not told her to ask about the power of - what? And even the dream! She had dreamed about a terrifying adversary. It had spoken to her. What had it said? She tried to remember. Like most dreams it now seemed so remote and indistinct and difficult to grasp. It had said ...

She was climbing a steep slope. The ground was rocky with patches of thin-bladed grass. Moss clung to the rocks here and there. She felt it soft between her fingers as she steadied herself with her hands on the way. The air was silent. Not even bugs buzzed here. Looking around in the light of a countless multitude of stars, she beheld lands that were vast and empty, devoid of any signs of inhabitants. Craggy mountains with bare slopes similar to the one she was on surrounded her as far as the eyes could peer. The sky was ablaze but earth was shrouded in shadows. No wind stirred her hair or chilled her ascent. She could hear herself breathe, could almost hear her own heart pound in her chest. Then Joana scaled the top edge of the incline. The scene that panned out before her was enough to silence her breathing, as well.
The mountain slope levelled out at this point and formed an open plateau. At the far end gaped the enormous maw of a cave entrance, lined with sharp stalagtites like teeth of stone. It was not the scenery, however, that gave Joana pause. All around the flatened space animals of all sorts - both known and unknown to her - had gathered. They sat on the rocks above the cave and on the slope leading up and even on the level ground hidden behind rocks. Joana spotted creatures as small as a finch and as big as a stag. She spotted wolves cowering alongside wide-eyed deer and birds perched on the back of a lynx. None paid her any heed but gazed intently toward the centre of the natural arena. At the same time they all seemed on edge as if prepared to jump for cover and hide at any time. She had unwittingly stumbled upon an unusual battleground. Two unmatched opponents faced each other off as the creatures looked on without a sound. On her side, glittering white in the moonlight was a beast of the stature of a horse but much more slender and taller. Its limbs seemed unnaturally long but still its every movement radiated strength and grace that were not of this earth. Its mane and tail flowed and rippled as of their own accord like cascades of liquid silver, sparkling under the stars. And there was stuff like feathers on its ancles. Opposite this fragile thing towered a monster with the body of a serpent and the squat legs of a lizard. Its bulk, pressed close to the ground, was so long it covered almost the whole breadth of the plateau and its tail ended just short of the pitch blackness of the cavern. Its eyes glowed deep red like smouldering coals and its jaws were lined with sharp teeth that shimmered slickly. Slowly the two circled each other. Joana had never seen a horse move like a predator, with such smooth elegance, cautious yet tense, ready to spring. All the while the great serpent's head turned and its body heaved and coiled to face its opponent with its terrifying gaze and teeth while at the same time presenting it with the armoured flanks of its bulk.
When the silvery creature's face came into view Joana's breath caught in her throat for the second time. The features were long as that of a horse or an ass, its ears long and cupped with feathery tufts at their ends. On its forehead the creatures bore a single horn that curved ever so gently backwards. Joana stared at this apparition with her eyes and mouth agape. The Romans had believed it existed, her father had even seen it mentioned in his holy scripture. Still, to see one standing there was a different matter. The unicorn flowed around its titanic adversary and the serpent turned with it, their eyes locked. Sometimes one or the other would flinch or quiver as if a fierce struggle was going on unbeknownst to the onlookers.
The serpent made the first move. Its head shot forward and around its opponent and from its mouth roared forth a stream of fire, blindingly bright in the darkness around them. Joana could feel the searing heat even where she was cowering. The unicorn sprang clear and to the side. Following, the flames swept the ground but again the unicorn evaded them with ease. The dragon reared its head sucking in a new breath, rekindling the abating flames. Now the unicorn charged. Its hooves beating out its fierce challenge, its horn lowered like a footman's lance it covered the distance that separated the two. With a crack the horn broke through the dragon's scales and dug itself deep into its shoulder. The lindwurm shuddered, recoiled but uttered only a deep growl that Joana could feel rather than hear in the pit of her stomach. The lindwurm snapped at the silver beast's fragile form but it quickly retreated out of reach. Again and again the dragon gave blasts of flame chasing the unicorn this way and that across their battleground. And again and again the unicorn charged piercing the great body of its opponent with its gleaming horn. It was like trying to bring down an ox with pricks from a knitting needle. The lindwurm bled from dozens of pricks leaving a trail of dark splotches but the injuries seemed to only increase its wrath. With fire and teeth it cornered the unicorn. The attacks had been feints, Joana realised, when a wide sweep of the dragon's tail caught the unicorns flank with a thud. The slap sent it hurtling through the air. Still, with the nimbleness of a cat it flipped around in midair and landed on its cloven hooves just short of the steep slope. It came to a skidding halt not far from where Joana was hiding, scattering scraps of moss, earth and broken rock.
That moment the unicorn turned its long head and looked straight at the only human onlooker. Time seemed to halt. Its eyes, in contrast to the rest of its appearance, were utterly black like two shiny orbs of jet. Watch closely, the eyes said to her, she could almost hear the words form in her head. The battle you face is no less terrible than this. Joana was bewildered. The intensity of the gaze and the meaning it carried were nearly more than she could bear. Despair gripped her heart with its cold questing arms. How could she succeed where even this mythical, magical creature was beaten down? She quickly looked away. The unicorn had not stirred. The lindwurm was lurking behind it motionlessly. Had there not been pillars of carved stone lining this space, Joana wondered. She was not sure where the thought had come from. The more she looked the more familiar the place seemed to her. Joana, daughter of Iacobus! The unicorn stamped a hoof and a rock underneath was split cleanly in two. It knew her name. Fear is the whetstone of the spirit but desperation is a constricting snake. Fear your enemy but let it not strangle you. Ere the end your power will be greater than his.
Just at that moment a round full moon emerged from behind the horizon, dimming the stars around it with its radiance. This moon seemed larger than Joana had ever seen it. In the light of its beams the unicorn shone and sparkled bright like the heavenly body itself. It reared up on its hind legs. The dragon tensed, its tail flicking excitedly. It drew a deep breath. Then the unicorn spoke. In a voice as clear as a mountain spring yet as hard as the chrystals in the mountain's bowels it spoke words that were swallowed by the thundering of its hooves. It charged. The dragon hesitated, seemed to deflate, lowered its terrifying head as if in resignation. Like a blazing bolt of lightning the unicorn covered the distance between them. They met with a crash. The lindwurm's head was flung around and back. Then its entire body sagged to one side. The unicorn stood firm. Its horn was embedded full length in the soft spot beneath the dragon's jaw.
When the lindwurm's body had stopped twitching the unicorn withdrew and its opponent's head slumped to the ground. Joana had expected the animals, all the watching creatures, to show some reaction at the monster's demise. They did not. None even came forward to acknowledge the victor. They simply, quietly scattered, creeping away into the night. The unicorn paid them no heed. It was again looking straight at its human spectator. You are not alone, the eyes intoned. I am watching you.

"I am Ebek."
Joana was once again startled from sleep. In the gloom of the building she was still unable to discern if dawn had finally arrived outsite. Then who had spoken? She backed against the wall. Her wrists and shoulders stung at the smallest motion and her hands felt huge and swollen, each finger as supple as a turnip. Her whole body was stiff and ached.
"Who's there", she mumbled.
Had her nemesis returned to taunt her further?
There was a little tug at bonds. It was followed shortly by another one.
Then a voice squawked above her head: "But I've told you already. How many times are you going to ask?"
She ducked involuntarily. How could this somebody be above her? The image of Grimrun scaling the wall like a huge, bloated spider shot past her mind's eye. There was no telling what powers her opponent might have to top the ones he had demonstrated. But as the words echoed in her head the voice did not match. It was higher, raspy but not harsh and where Grimrun felt large this one was somehow a small voice. What had it said earlier? She tried to clear the cobwebs of drowsiness out of her mind. Ebek? She voiced the question.
"You certainly are the first creature I have met that can hold a conversation in her sleep", quipped the other.
There was another series of quick tugs. Joana twisted around while at the same time trying to feel with her hands what it was that was manipulating her bonds. There was a noisy flapping of wings and a sudden whiff of air brushed her hands.
"Hold still, will you", the voice croaked a little vexed. "This is not easy work even without you fussing around."
Joana's apology came out by itself. She had never been rebuked by a bird, for bird it must be, she figured. Furthermore, if the little creature had wanted to harm her it had had ample time for that while she had been sleeping. More pecking at her wrists followed but Ebek kept quiet for a while until he finally muttered: "Curses, where's a set of sharp teeth when you need one?"
He went on labouring for a while in silence, then: "For crying out loud, how do you even make these things this hard. Tearing at a dead sheep is easier than this."
Joana did not respond. Exhaustion was upon her again. She was sure that she had dosed off a couple of times while Ebek hacked and clipped and muttered indignantly. When had been the last time she had just lain down and slept a whole night? It sure felt like ages ago. A few more nights like this and she might just surrender to Grimrun whatever it was he wanted from her.
"There. Pull." She had fallen asleep again and started at something hard and cold tapping her hand. Was that a sliver of morning light that pierced the gloom? Joana pulled at the ropes though she felt there was not much strength in her. Nothing happened.
There was a croak above her like from a crow. Several sharp pecks and jerks followed. She gave a yelp when something nipped at her skin but Ebek took no notice. Then: "Now pull harder."
Joana gave it everything she had left. The rope snapped and she rolled forward on the straw. Blood rushed back into her hands and arms. They prickled and stung as if set upon by a swarm of angry bees. For a while Joana just lay there rubbing her limbs back to life. Finally, she rose to her feet unsteadily and staggered the three paces to the end of her stall. She had been right, shafts of grey dawn feel through cracks in the door. It was just enough to outline a large black blotch surely the size of a chicken perched on a beam above her. It stirred.
"So, what's the plan?"
Joana hesitated. Somewhere in the fog of her mind she realised that she did not have one. Would the door be bolted? Surely it would be. And there had been guards.
She haltingly picked her words: "How many are there outside?"
"Many", came the bewildered answer, "a whole town."
Joana swallowed the impatient reply. He was not human. How would a bird know that two men outside the door were guards while other people living here had nothing to do with her. Instead, she said carefully, pointing at the door: "Out there. Did you see anybody outside this house that may be guarding it?"
Ebek seemed to give this some thought.
"Two."
Two guards, bolted door and a whole town that would be on the lookout for her. Joana slumped against the support beam next to her and swore under her breath. She wished her head would clear up. One day in the future a herbalist would concoct a potion that cleared your head of fatigue and she would live on it.
"Is there another way out of this building?"
The shade that was Ebek cocked its head.
"Not for someone your size that can't fly."
Joana had not expected so. If Tramir lacked a dungeon they had surely chosen this place to imprison her in for a reason. She stumbled back to her bed of straw and sank down on it. The gates would be closed, too, it occurred to her. Even if she did manage to break out of her immediate prison the town of Tramir was just another, albeit larger, confinement. A thought began to take shape. She shrugged her shoulders - it was as good a plan as any. It might even work. She told Ebek.
"Wait 'til somebody comes in here by themselves, beat the living daylights out of them, run like the wind", he summed it up. "It's not exactly a fox of a plan but you might survive it."
Good enough. The bird had no better suggestion to offer. It sounded like a better chance she had had in a while. At least now she had time to think about it. In the waxing light of morning Joana quietly searched the stalls around hers. The one opposite was completely empty. The one adjacent to hers held a large, powerful horse, the kind to put to work on a field or ride into battle - she could not tell which. A saddle rested on the dividing wall to the next stall. The animal was sleeping or at least made no move when she inspected the stall. She dared not extend her search closer to the door for fear of being surprised by a guard coming in. Even from where she was now mens' voices could be heard outside. So, the guards were awake though she could not make out what they were saying nor how many there were. More than one for sure.
There was nothing that could be used as a weapon. The only movable items she could reach were the saddle and the iron shod bucket the guards had set grinning into her stall. It would have to do. There was only this one chance.
Joana rubbed her eyes. Rest would be the logical thing to do but her heart beat with anticipation like a war drum. Ebek fluttered and ruffled his feathers. The bird was restless, too.
"Why are you helping me", she asked the bird half out of interest, half to while the wait away.
Ebek looked down at her from his perch, cawed.
"You are the chosen one, the Truespeaker, the Wyrdvoice", he replied as if this was already reason enough. Then he continued: "You fight a great evil, fight maybe for the fate of all creatures. Is it not our duty to take sides?"
Joana shivered at the bird's fate-laden speech.
"Am I really the one? How come I don't feel like a chosen one?" The questions came from her heart almost without thinking.
Ebek cocked his head. She could feel his eyes on her.
"No chosen one ever felt that they were but they were nonetheless. And we hear many stories. It's what they say. You are a master of the ancient tongue. You speak with ease to all creatures whether they walk, swim or fly. Your spirit is indomitable, no command can silence you. With each sign there is less doubt."
"There are more signs?"
Ebek knocked his beak against the wooden beam three times, a gentle tapping. Joana nearly jumped thinking somebody was at the door.
"You are just beginning to discover your destiny. Great is the power of the Wyrdvoice but no two are alike." Ebek's tone was now grave as if he was reciting some unknown tome of knowledge. "Destiny and heritage form the powers for which the Wyrdvoice is merely the vessel. No telling is there when or how the power is released but when it comes to pass Wyrdvoice shall grow and wax like the rising sun and gain in force like the descending avalanche." Meekly in the small bird voice again: "You'll know when it happens."
A force of nature, Vucara had said in her simpler words.
"Have you ever met another one-" Joana hesitated to admit the obvious, acknowledge what everybody had told her recently. "-like me?"
"No", the bird responded promptly with no room for doubt, "we carry the memories of many notable deeds and events with us but none quite like you." He continued in his reciting voice: "Only one there ever is that may call himself Wyrdvoice, no more, and lonely is his way."
Joana gazed at the large bird with growing wonder.
"How is it you know so much about my destiny?"
The bird seemed to shrug. "I told you, we hear many a story from all kinds of creatures. Ever since the days of old we have watched and we have listened. And we remember."
"What else can you tell me about -" She hesitated almost timidly this time. Not out of false pride, however, to fill such large shoes but out of a sense of foreboding. "-about my destiny?"
What had started out as an escape, an unorganised hunt for revenge had now grown into an altogether different shape. Huge and daunting destiny spun by the unfathomable Norns loomed over her. What did she know about destiny?
"I am no oracle", Ebek returned after a pause. "If I was I'd predict violence, great deeds, a name rising above the others in the face of danger and against the odds, a tale worth telling."
Joana tried in vain to gulp down the rising anxiety. "If I am this one you say I am, this Wyrdvoice", she ventured, "is this the only path I have now? What if I don't want it? Is there no way back?"
Now Ebek's reply came like the blaring of trumpets heralding her doom. "You are not who I say you are. You are who you are. It just took you until now to find out. To deny it now - nevermore."
A heavy silence fell like a shroud. Cutting through this silence came the sound of the bolt being thrown back crashing louder than a battering ram. A quick fluttering of wings meant Ebek had already disappeared into a shadowy hiding place among the rafters.
"The board is set, Speaker", he cawed ominously, "your move."
The door swung open. A bright rectangle of morning light was cast along the floor almost all the way to Joana's stall. A man's shadow stepped into the frame. Where were the others? Joana tried hard to calm her hammering heart, her breathing, so as not to give herself away. She took a firm hold of the only offensive weapon she had: the waste bucket. Pressing her back to the divider to the next stall the girl waited. She flexed her muscles as she watched the man's shadow grow taller as he approached the stall. Each heavy step was the echo of two of her heartbeats. Overhead Ebek cawed once, twice, tapped his beak against the wood. As the man turned the corner Joana hefted the bucket and, with a loud grunt, swung it around and up. Then his face came into view. It was Toben. Her blood went cold. She stumbled forward trying to wrench back the heavy container. Too late. Toben flinched, twisted his head aside. The bucket connected with a fearsome crash. Its vile contents splattered a wide radius. A bowl of gruel Toben had been carrying went flying into a dark recess of the building. Toben toppled backward with a cry holding his hands to his face. Joana, struggling for balance, nearly collided with another man that had been following. Joana swore loudly, ducking his grip. It was one of the local warriors.
"Now that ain't language for a woman", he growled with a wide yellow-toothed grin, "c'mere, you ain't goin' nowhere, lass."
He spread his hands. Joana's heart sank. Empty-handed, without the element of surprise she stood little chance against the tall man. Suddenly a large, black shape swooped down from the rafters. It landed right in the man's face, pecking and clawing. He cried out, batting at the large, black bird, trying frantically to ward off its attacks. Joana grabbed hold of the bucket again. The man was struggling to pull the bird away from him. Then just as quickly Ebek broke off his assault. The bucket, now empty, swung around and found its mark on the man's temple with a sharp crack. He collapsed with a sigh.
"You could have told me there were two of them", Joana snapped at the bird.
Ebek, who the morning light from the door releaved as the largest raven she had ever seen, spread his wings and hopped excitedly.
"Couldn't well have shouted, now could I", he returned. "Would have been a dead give-away - no pun intended."
Joana swallowed the retort. He was right. Then she remembered the prince. The girl whirled back around. Toben was still lying where he had fallen, holding his head. Blood was trickling down between his fingers. She kneeled beside him.
"Forgive me, m'lord. I didn't see it was you." She carefully pulled his hand away from the spot where she had hit him.
"You have a mean swing, Joana daughter of Iacobus", he groaned. "And what's that smell?"
She could feel the blush racing up her neck. Joana took a deep breath - but was cut off.
"Don't move, sorceress!"
The man was standing behind her. The tip of his spear hovered only inches from her neck. The horse beside him had woken up and snorted uneasily.
"Get up! Speak no-" The movement was so sudden that Joana jumped back with a yelp. The man stood no chance. Two hooves found their mark at the same time. Ebek gave a squawk and fluttered up to safety. Like a rag doll the man was flung into the opposite stall. Almost fearfully Joana peeked around the corner into the stalls. The large horse shook its mane and neighed. On the other side lay the guard with his neck twisted into an unnatural angle. The horse neighed again.
"Come .. away, Speaker." Its voice was deep and melodic. At the same time there was an edge and a crudeness that Joana had also noticed in the dogs that were not used to using True Speak.
With effort the horse repeated: "Come away. Ride. I carry you."
Joana was still speechless. "You ... why do you help me?"
"I hear ... you talk", came the halting reply. "You are the Speaker."
"Big. Strong. Fast. Not too bright", Ebek evaluated dryly, "you might stand a better chance on him for now."
The horse did not react. Joana turned back to the prince who had sat up unsteadily. There was true awe in his eyes.
"So you are truly what they say", he muttered.
I don't know who I am, she wanted to reply, I wish I knew.
"Time to go, Speaker", Ebek called from the door. "There are people coming."
Joana eyed Toben's injury uneasily. The bleeding seemed to have ceased. But what about the dirt. Many a man had died of sore brand, not of the blade that cut him. He nodded wearily.
"Go. Quickly." Then with a smirk he added: "Don't let the burning in my eyes be in vain."
She blushed again, nodded. The horse stamped impatiently when she tied him loose and led him out of the stall. A proud rust coloured steed, a horse of war. She thought she heard Toben call out when slipped on the creatures shiny back. Just then two men appeared in the frame of the door.
"The Beast Tamer is loose!"
"Close the doors!"
"Hold. Tight", the horse growled. Joana promptly obeyed, reaching as far around his muscular neck as possible, bracing herself.
"Who are you?"
The steed's reply began low but rose in volume into a mighty battle cry as it reared onto its hind legs: "I ... am Wailach!"
Like a battering ram Wailach burst forth from the stable doors. Men were flung out of his way left and right. There were four Joana could make out. Wailach never slowed but sped straight on. Down the lane, across the town square. People leaped out of his path. Shouts and curses were aimed at horse and rider but were soon lost in the hammering of hooves. Joana held on for dear life. She had never ridden bare-back. The beast's muscles rippled underneath her. Wailach tossed his head.
"You still there?"
"Can you find the way out of the town", Joana shouted. A large black shape swooped low.
"Not very subtle but effective! Follow me!" And he soared heavenward again, a dark siluette clearly visible above the houses of Tramir.
"None will stop us", the horse roared and seemed to bound forward with even greater speed.
They flew down some more streets. Carts toppled, children were snatched to safety. Then they were on the main street with the gate ahead. Wailach skidded onto the street among a flock of clamouring chickens and their owner. Then with a whinny the horse lowered its head and took up speed again. The guards jumped up from their resting place - the same one Joana had surprised them in two nights before. Their eyes grew wide as Wailach charged the gate. One had the sense to grab his spear. Then Ebek was upon him. The man let out a frightened scream. The weapon clattered to the ground. He stumbled right into the horse's path. Joana dug her fingers into the horse's mane. She hardly felt the collision when it happened. The man simply disappeared under the whirring hooves. Then they had reached the gate. The path was clear but Wailach halted once more. He reared on his hind legs and brayed triumphantly. Ebek was circling overhead like a hawk.
Then the steed and on it Joana turned their backs on Tramir and were off down the road in a flash.

... to be continued ...

Chapter 6: In the Maw of the Beast

I meant to get this chapter done a lot earlier. Even before the New Year. Then life got in the way, as it tends to do. Now I'm glad I can call it finished before the end of January - if barely so. I'm not entirely satisfied with it this time. In the end I decided to let it loose on the world and see where it leads me next. To Joana who taught me a lot and still does. I hope you enjoy it.

"After her!" Grimrun's harsh voice bellowed in a rage. His words still seemed resonate in Joana's head when their sound had already been swallowed up by the general ruckus. "Bring her to me! And find me that wolf!"
Joana ran and stumbled half-blind down the dark street. Bright shapes were still dancing in front of her eyes from the flash of whatever alchemical trickery Berengar had hurled at their enemy. The noise of the fight was dying down behind her as she covered more ground. But so far there were no footsteps to be heard in pursuit.
Her thoughts, like the houses she passed, were a blur: That had been her enemy right there! And she was running away. Again! But she also remembered the groping spider legs inside her mind, the hold he had somehow had on her. It had cost her all her strength to make her body move again and obey her will. His might was daunting even when he had been focused on Berengar, not her. It was a presence that was still palpable now. Still, all she had done so far and all she could do now seemed to be flee and flee again. How could such an enemy be overcome?
Thick clouds were hiding moon and stars. Some of the shadows were black as pitch. She had followed the road straight on along the town wall and came to the crossing with main road. The gate was on her right - but it was closed and bolted. Two guards in vests of hard leather sat huddled in their cloaks around a small fire next to the ramparts. They were armed with swords and a pair of long spears leaned nearby. Apart from them the street was deserted. They watched her approach with obvious suspicion until Joana skidded to a stop in front of them.
"Your sorcerer, Gramps", she panted, "he's in trouble. There's people want to kill him." She pointed in the direction she had come. A slowly rising cloud of smoke hung over the town around the bend where the house must be. A flickering reddish glow, which did not bode well, outlined it against the dark sky from below. Occasional flashes of brightness flared up like contained lightning. A few shouts still echoed but most of the noise of the fight was out of earshot - or had died down. A lone dog still barked and fell abruptly silent. Joana swore under her breath. Vucara, where as she? The only comforting thought for now was that Grimrun's men had also been looking for her. She must have kept out of sight.
"Sorcerer business." The man made a hasty warding sign. There was unease in his voice. "Doesn't concern us."
"There's almost a score men with torches wanting to kill a single, harmless, half-witted old man", Joana gasped incredulously, "on your watch! How's that not your concern?!"
"What's dun's dun with the approval of the elders", grumbled the other man with a sidelong glance at his companion. He spit something he had been chewing on into the fire which hissed and crackled in response. "Prob'ly ridding Tramir of a dangerous madman. Go 'ome."
"How can the elders approve of this", Joana protested with mounting frustration. "To drag a man out of his house in the middle of the night, killing him without trial by the Thing. Is there no law in this town?"
"The elders are the law", the man growled with a hint of threat in his voice, "if you're un'appy with their decision you can bring up the issue at the next Thing. Until then get lost."
Joana ground her teeth. "A fine pair of guards you are."
"We do our job", the guard returned thrusting out his bearded chin, "we might ask what a young woman is doing outside at this time o' the night, dressed like a man, running around as if you'd lost your mind and makin' wild accusations. That'd be our job."
She could have slapped herself. Over the fight and the run and the obvious indifference of these men she had completely forgotten her disguise. Her cloak was on her hiding her figure but she had left her helmet behind in Berengar's hut. And her voice was shrill like that of an excited girl. The conversation had taken a turn for the worse. And now she noticed the approach of rapid footsteps from the direction she had come. There was no need to look around.
"There, that's 'er", a voice shouted.
Joana managed a smile. In her sweetest, girly voice she said: "I think I need to go now."
"You stay right 'ere", the guard growled and made to rise to his feet.
He never finished his motion. With a single step Joana was next to fire and kicked the burning cinders right into his face. A shower of sparks and burning ashes rained down on the little camp. Within a moment a dozen flames had blossomed on the guard's cloak. With a howl he threw himself on the ground, clapping his hands over his face. The other guard had dodged aside but was scrambling to his feet. Not losing another moment Joana turned her back on them and ran toward the town center. A single glance down the way she had come told her there were three of them and they were gaining fast.
Down the main street she sprinted. Curses and shouts could be heard behind but still the street ahead was deserted. At the first corner she turned in and followed a narrow lane between two long houses. As she came out between them Joana stumbled over some stacked baskets and nearly fell. Something wooden clattered noisily to ground. Nearby a dog began barking loudly. Joana stifled a curse. She ran zigzagging between dark houses and some in which light was still burning. Several times there was shouting behind her. She bumped painfully into a few more unknown things in the dark. Still, she refused to slow down, praying they would not bring dogs. Finally, when she felt that a good few houses and crossings separated her from her pursuers, she sank to the ground in a dark corner between two houses. Her sides stung and she felt close to being sick. A long while passed as she tried desperately to keep her panting quiet.
At some point she thought she heard hushed voices nearby. Scrambling backward further into the shadows she ended up behind a pile of wood. Just at that moment the light of a torch fell into the farm yard. Joana pulled up her legs trying to make herself as small as possible. They were talking quietly but she could make out no words. Only once it seemed one of them was giving a call like for a lost cat. The girl dared not breathe. After what had seemed like an eternity they passed down the lane and light and voices faded away.
Joana breathed again - very carefully. Her heart was still (or again) pounding like a smith's hammer. It sounded at least that loud to her. Where to go now? The wisest choice was probably to remain in her hiding place until dawn. The risk of bumping into one of Grimrun's henchmen at night was too great. And now she had even lost Vucara.
A wave of despair swept over her. Maybe this foe was beyond her. Maybe the best course was just to surrender and hope he would spare her life. Were those her thoughts? How about the recollection of a ruined village several days' journey from where she was and a row of low mounds of earth? Her callused hands still remembered the labour. The screams still rang in her ears and cold iron flashed in the firelight before her mind's eye. If she gave herself up those spectres would go on haunting her for the rest of her days. Even now they clamoured for justice. Or was that her own pride and defiance? Her anger returned but she was too exhausted for resolve. She would need more than that. She would need a plan. But now she could hardly think straight.
Clenching her fists Joana tried to stop her hands from shaking and keep herself from nervously transplanting her mother's ring from one finger onto the other. It was becoming a bad habit. One day she'd loose it and never forgive herself for it.
With her treasure firmly jammed onto her middle finger she got to her feet and staggered further behind the house. Behind it, under an overhanging part of the low thatched roof, firewood had been stacked for the coming cold season. Here she wrapped herself in her cloak but closed one hand about the hilt of her dagger. Then, leaning against the slope of the piled up logs and the wall of the house, she allowed herself to relax a little. Next to her, beyond the sheltering roof, big drops of rain began to fall.

She was standing atop green hill. It was bitterly cold as a chill wind blew over her. Surrounding her stood tall, silent stones. Great pillars of grown rock they were that formed a ring of spikes around the flat hilltop like a crown on a bald king's head. This was when Joana realised it was not at all a hilltop but a plateau overhung by cliff. In front the ground dropped away to unfathomable depths shrouded in mist. Behind gaped the huge entrance to a cave. The passage it opened into was lost in twilight. Sharp stone needles hung down from this looming lip, growing out of the living rock infinitely slowly as water dripped from them one hollow splosh at a time. Joana was standing in the wide open maw of a tremendous beast of stone. The ring of pillars loomed up like broken molars while the sharp fangs at the ceiling seemed ready to close down on her. The girl shivered.
As Joana turned surveying her surroundings in wonder and growing foreboding there came a sound - the first she had heard in this place except the moaning of the wind. It was a scraping of something huge and hard being dragged lightly over rocks. Then she saw movement. What she had taken for a rocky fold of the mountain began to turn and slide forward. A ridge of sharp spines came into view and what had looked like broken boulders faded into oblong, pointed, overlapping scales. They glinted rusty in the low sun. Joana staggered back but the movement was all around her now. The coils of a great body came undone.
Suddenly right before her the beast's head reared up until it towered above her high as a tree. Its maw was large enough to swallow a cow whole and lined with sharp teeth. A wide crest flared around the neck on strong spines. Smoke or vapours curled from its wide nostrils. A malevolent gaze bent down on Joana out of eyes that gleamed with the light of smoldering coals. The monster opened its mouth and bellowed forth a challenge that shook the massive rocks around her.
Joana drew her bow. The motion was as one long practiced. It happened without thinking. She was wearing a coat of mail whose scales shone bright in the sun as she moved. Her yew bow was in her hand and a quiver of fine arrows suspended from the belt at her left hip. In one sweep she knocked an arrow to the string and let fly. Before it had even struck its target she already reached for a new one. Like a great serpent the monster's head shot down at her, jaws open wide. With a crunch the teeth came together where Joana had stood. She had rolled behind one of the standing stones and loosed the arrow on the creature's neck. The monster snapped at her curling its huge neck around the stone but Joana was not there anymore. Again and again she let fly and no arrow missed its mark. Yet each of them bounced off the monster's scaly neck and tumbled back to the ground in shattered splinters.
With another mighty roar the creature now bounded fully onto the plateau outside the cave. The long neck was followed by a pair of squat legs that angled outward from its body. Each talon on its feet was as long as the blade of a sword. The monster gave an angry snarl that Joana could feel in the pit of her stomach. She tossed the bow aside. From its place strapped to her back she drew her spear. The sharp edge of its slender point gleamed as if by its own light. For a moment they faced each other: the monster whose forefeet now rested nearly in the middle of the circle of stones and the girl in shining armour taking shelter behind a stone on the opposite side of the ring. The monster's chest swelled in a deep breath. Joana tensed.
A stream of fire sprang roaring from the creature's maw. It bathed Joana's world in searing heat even as she dived out of harm's way. She tumbled to the ground, rolled, nimbly regained her feet. Even here, yards to the side, she felt as if trapped in a smith's furnace. Forward she charged with a loud cry of her own, holding the spear firmly in both hands, pointed ahead like the prow of a boat. The wyrm snapped at her but she ducked sideways. Then she was under it. Right between its taloned feet she stormed and drove the spear with all her strength into its chest.
The spear head connected with the dragon's scales but it went no further. With a sharp crack the shaft snapped below the head and bounced out of her hands. The dragon reared up and before Joana could retreat she was lifted off her feet by a sweep of its great paw. She was airborne for a several heartbeats. Then her flight was stopped abruptly by one of the standing stones. All wind and much consciousness were knocked out of her. She slid to the ground in a daze but before she could even collapse the dragon was upon her. It pinned her, standing back to the stone, immobile between its long talons like in a living cage. The dragon's head loomed above her while the smoldering gaze seemed to bore through the backs of her eyeballs right into her very soul. Then the dragon laughed. The sound was like thunder, like the rumble of an earthquake. When it spoke its voice rang out like the deep grinding of rocks in a landslide.
"Thy arrows fit not between my scales. And thy spear cannot pierce my hide. Mighty warriors beyond count have I devoured. My age is measured in ages of the world. I am invincible."
It seemed to sneer down at her triumphantly.
"Now thou, too, art mine."
It drew another breath. An irrepressible wrath boiled up in Joana's heart then - anger at her failure, fury at her helplessness, rage at the sheer arrogance of the monster's claim. She screamed up at the dragon's face.
"Never!"
A wave of recollection washed over her that moment and she knew what her enemy was. And suddenly it was her own voice that seemed to make the very ground beneath her tremble.
"You do not rule my fate! Fafnr!"
The blaze appeared to die in the dragon's maw. Even the glow of the fiery eyes faded. It uttered a terrible shriek. Its tail thrashed, its body writhed. The standing stones tumbled and a crack echoed through the cavern. One of the sharp fangs of rock broke off the ceiling and came hurtling down. It struck the dragon in the back of its neck and slammed its body down. Before the long head hit the ground the tip of the rock needle had dug its way out of the underside of the neck dripping black with the creature's blood. As the grip of its foot slackened the dragon's head came to rest next to the stone Joana had been pinned against. The great eye of the monster still stared at her with - was that spite or was it awe? Dark blood ran from its jaws and pooled under it on the rocks. Its breaths came flat and gurgled in its throat. Joana still stood rooted to the spot, paralysed by the dreadful creature's demise.
"The word-" Its voice was still deep but now had turned hollow like the echo of a vast cavern. "The word is mightier than-"

Joana had not intended to sleep. Now she awoke startled and bewildered. The last words of her dream still rang in her mind. It had been so real! The creature's hot breath still lingered on her face and her back still ached from slamming into the standing stone.
Then as her senses cleared she found her back ached from cowering against the pile of logs. The gurgling turned into the sound of rain rushing down. The hot breath belonged to a canine face that was staring at her out of eyes that gleamed pale in the dark. The girl gave a start and tried to scramble away. It was Vucara's worried voice that gave her pause.
"It is I", she said quickly and soothingly, "do not be alarmed. I tracked you here but you did not wake even when I licked you. I feared you were dead."
Joana sank back against the logs with a sigh. She felt light-headed from the fright. It had been dangerous to let her guard down so completely. She did not know if the owners of the house would be so friendly if they found her. Her exhaustion and the pitter-patter of rain drops had apparently got the better of her in the end. Then forgetting all respect she slung her arms around the wolf's neck. Vucara let it happen.
"You can't imagine how glad I am to see you, Vucara", she whispered into the fur.
Vucara seemed to smile slyly when the girl asked her what had happened back at Berengar's hut.
"Let us say the dogs of this settlement were reminded that it was a Speaker they faced this day and now remember who their allegiance belongs to."
Then Joana told her companion of her conversation with old Berengar. His claims who and what their enemy was. At that Vucara fell silent.
"Whether your opponent this night was or was not a creature such as you name I cannot say. But I did sense a mighty presence there." After a pause she added: "Are you certain you still wish to continue pursuing him? If you do it may well be the death of you."
Vucara was repeating her own thoughts. Joana still did not know the answer. Or did she? The vengeful ghosts of the past urged her on against all caution while the living - including herself - merely fuelled her doubt. Being stuck inbetween angered her. "How could I not", she snapped gesturing wildly, "my mother and my friends and all their families lie dead. Murdered by a band of cowards in the night. Slaughtered like animals!" She hesitated at the last word but with words came memories that burnt like fire in her heart. "You've seen what they did to them. Their screams and dead faces haunt my dreams every night. Their spirits cry for revenge and I have done nothing so far! Except run away. At every point, wherever I turn, enemies chase me and leave me no peace. I don't even know why! But this Grimrun-" She spat out the name with a grimace. "-he knows the answers. He hunts me for a reason. I swear, if I can I will wring them out of him." She shook her fist in the dark. "And if he is responsible then, by all the gods, I will-" She ranted herself to silence. The sound of hatred and bitterness in her own voice startled her more than she had expected. "He must die", she finished the sentence much more quietly.
Vucara's eyes seemed to glow like amber in the night as the wolf studied her from her resting position just under the eaves of the roof.
"If our opponent be what that man says it be then we truly face a great evil. It would make a just cause and maybe the stuff of legends. Still, even that creature's death will not bring your mother back nor your friends nor any of their families", she warned.
"Only through its death I will find peace, Vucara. From their cries - and from those that hunt me-"
Vucara interrupted her. Something she did not do often.
"Understand me, Speaker. I do not doubt that this opponent deserves to be brought down. I merely caution you to do it for the right reason. Anything less will only bring you more sorrow."
Joana's shoulders sagged. Why was this so important to her companion?
"I don't know if I can give you that kind of reason", she answered with a tired shrug, "I just know - justice or no justice, evil or not - in the end I'll be too tired to run any further. And then they still get me and have their way."
"How about your father? Why not return to him and ask his help? Surely he would want to protect you."
Joana shook her head sadly. "Yes, but he won't help", she replied. "He wouldn't even allow me to seek help elsewhere. The grief has broken him. Now the fear of loosing me, too, paralyses him. He'd make me stay and I'd be even less safe. No, we are ... alone in this."
"I will stand by your side, Speaker." Vucara's voice was matter-of-fact. She was not uttering a vow but merely stating the obvious. "And fear not, a just cause will find allies along the way. You may even find them in places you would never expect."
Suddenly Joana smiled into the black of the night. She had certainly never expected to share this journey with a wolf. It felt like the sagas of old already.The wolf remained serious.
"Few of us these days receive the chance to honour the tradition of being the companion of a Speaker. Fewer yet even remember it."
There was more. Joana could almost smell it. It mystified her.
"Why are you really doing this", she mused while studying her companion's eyes in the darkness. There was not much to see but depending on the angle at which you looked they seemed to give off an amber glow. The two of them could converse easily enough but there was no way she could get a handle on what the wolf was thinking. When Vucara made no reply she continued: "Murmarn said something before we left, didn't he? He said something about undoing what was already history. Undo what?"
Vucara lifted her head a little. Their gazes met. The wolf was first to look away. She stared off into the night as she spoke.
"It is a great shame we carry, my kind and I, and have been for long ages. Though it happened long ago and far away, where winters are always dark and cold and summers don't see a sunset, it burdens us here just as much. Some say it is for this reason that the old trust between your kind and mine is crumbling and why you made dogs no more than your servants when in the past you used to name your sons and daughters after us."
"We still do that", Joana objected remembering the blacksmith in Kremitz was called Adalwulf.
"You also hunt us and slaughter whole packs with all the cubs." There was no reproach in Vucara's voice, only a vague sadness and resignation.
Joana drew a quick breath but her voice faltered. There was no denying Vucara was right. They had seen proof only the previous day. Words failed her.
"It is the way it is, Speaker", Vucara went on gently, "this is not your burden to bear. You have enough already. Here, I have brought you something you may need in your struggle."
She bowed her head and lifted something long, rigid and slender between her teeth. When the girl closed her hand around it she felt the texture of wood but embedded at one end there was a hard, cold tip of iron. A spear.
"You proved great courage when you hurled this at an opponent of such power", Vucara intoned, "he did not expect this from you and payed in blood for his mistake. It still clings to the end of your weapon. That may prove useful."
Joana held the simple weapon in grim satisfaction. She had struck him then. But who knew if she would get such a chance again?
The wolf interrupted her thoughts: "Rest now, Speaker. The night will last only a little longer and you will need your strength again when the sun rises. I will keep watch over you."
Presently Joana nodded though she was still not sure her companion understood the gesture. Hugging her spear she settled back against the stacked wood. An owl hooted. Somewhere nearby a large animal stirred. Far off she believed she could hear indistinct voices. Still, with Vucara by her side the night around her did not seem quite as menacing.

The sky was rose-coloured when Joana awoke. A tender, almost fragrant light bathed her surroundings. The rain had ceased and the clouds had torn open. Everything was wet and the air smelled clean. She felt stiff and groggy as if she had hardly slept at all and, she discovered, an uncomfortable puddle had formed around her sitting form. This time at least she remembered no disturbing dreams.
Her companion was resting her head on her fore-paws with her eyes closed but she looked up immediately when the girl stirred.
Better to leave before the owners of the house woke up to stop her or ask questions. Joana rose and stretched. She could almost feel various bones in her back slip back into place. Then the two of them quietly made their way around the house which turned out to be one of the thatched long houses with a barn or stable next to it. They encountered nobody but the girl could feel eyes on her from behind the blinds nonetheless. Eyes wide with awe or terror. Had they heard two voices in the night while now they could only spot one speaker? After the fighting the day before Joana was glad they let her be.
At this time only few people were in the streets of Tramir. Here a woman tossed a bucket of water into the street, there a worker was plodding off to his daily labour, tools bouncing on his shoulder. The town was sleepily dragging itself out of bed. Nobody seemed in a hurry.
They made their way around cautiously flitting between buildings. The ground was soaked and large puddles dotted the surface of the roads. Every step made a belching sound. Joana feared they would run into the men that had chased her last night. Would they have given up the search by now? What with the gates closed and guarded they could be sure that she was still in town. They should not linger for long but there was one place Joana was still drawn to.
By the time they reached Berengar's hut the sun had emerged from behind the horizon and hovered just above the ramparts. They had made a detour to avoid the gate and the main street. Now they came upon the site from the opposite direction Joana had fled the night before. Only the hut had ceased to exist. Where it had huddled against the ramparts only a pile of charred wood remained. A foul smell lingered in the air even where Joana was standing in the shadow of another house. Vucara snorted disapprovingly. Joana was nothing short of dismayed. Gazing upon the blacked ruins left no more room for doubt as to Berengar's fate. The desperate hope she had been clinging to all morning, that Berengar had prevailed and somehow fended off the attackers, was now dashed. Two armed men with scarves wrapped around mouth and nose flanked the rubble but did not look too happy about it even at a distance.
The girl slumped against the wood and clay wall leaning heavily on her spear. A bird chirped nearby as if in defiance to the unhappy scene.
"Did you see what happened to him", she asked continuing to stare across the street. She had not dared to ask the night before.
The wolf hesitated. "He disappeared into a cloud of foul vapours where we could not follow. When several of the dogs were down we broke off our attack. We ... did not see him emerge again."
Joana nodded darkly. The old man's demise filled her with more helpless anger. At the same time she felt close to tears and ready to scream.
"He did not deserve this, Vucara." She clenched her fists around the shaft of the spear until her knuckles stood out brightly white. There was nothing and nobody to thrust it at.
"He was a strange old man maybe but he was kind and generous. He never asked for anything in return."
"What do we do now, Speaker?"
Joana had not heard. "He showed me kindness and I brought him nothing but bad luck. The worst kind. The same goes for mother. And even for you." She heaved a heavy sigh.
"You are not to blame", Vucara intoned with a note of strictness now. "We all stood by you for different reasons but we all chose to do so ourselves. It was our decision to make. This human man surely knew what helping you would mean. I certainly do. I never had any doubt - now that I know what we face even less so."
"Alefa had doubts", the girl replied darkly, "maybe he was right."
"You doubt yourself", Vucara intoned, "nobody else does. What is life but a series of choices that you can only make the best of? If you now loose faith in yourself and those choices you've made then your opponents have already won."
Joana nodded more mechanically than out of conviction. The bird was still chirping excitedly. She spotted it, a slender blackbird, perched on the post of a fence. It fluttered its wings and ruffled its feathers when her gaze met its pearly, black eye.
"Sing your happy song somewhere else", she said to it darkly. "This is no place for merrymaking."
The bird hesitated a moment but then went on with renewed vigour. Joana frowned. She made a menacing step in its direction, even stamped her foot but the blackbird merely hopped away a pace and continued. Vucara watched their peculiar dance as if watching rabbits. Only when Joana gave the fence a frustrated kick she made an almost dog-like yelp. Joana froze. The wolf's fur was bristling.
"Would you hurt that poor creature that cannot fly for your own sorrow's sake?"
"Cannot-" She watched the bird hop and flutter its wings ineffectually. Suddenly a distant howl broke the morning's quiet. It was indistinct but clearly full of pain - and not human. It was followed by a great clammour of voices. Joana's blood went cold from one moment to the next. Vucara gave a muffled whine. They stared at each other with wide eyes. The bird was forgotten. The clamour surged again like waves lapping at a far-off shore. And again. Sometimes they thought they could hear more howls over the din. Like one being they started running.
Towards the center of town they hurried. Their foreboding grew as the voices grew more distinct. Voices shouting in fierce excitement, cheering some spectacle. As she followed the noise toward its source other people rushed past her in the same direction. She tried to call out to some of them but they continued on without turning. Finally, by several twisting lanes they came upon the large square on which the tavern also lay. A sizable crowd had assembled there staring at something taking place with the tavern as its backdrop. Above the shouts and exclamations from the crowd she could hear a man's voice shouting from the front. The howls had been silenced.
"I have a bad feeling about this", Vucara murmured. "It smells of death."
For the first time apprehension was clear in her voice. But Joana was already pushing through towards the front. The sight that greeted her when she reached there was enough to make her stomach lurch. Vucara gave a snarl behind her that if she had been human would have been called a sob. Sleek, grey bodies dangled from their necks from a scaffold that had apparently been hastily pulled up outside the inn. They looked mangled even without looking too closely. Blood and fluids had congealed under them, collecting in puddles mixed with clear rain water. Some was dripping from various openings. Their fur was matted and sticky. Eyes squeezed shut or dully staring into nowhere. Joana desperately tried to imagine them being wind chimes of a shaman or fish hung out to dry. Anything, just not wolves.
The man shouting in front was the inn keeper from the day before. He had obviously worked himself up into a fury. In his right hand he was brandishing a heavy club. More similarly armed men were standing about the scaffolding.
"-will not go on", he bellowed shaking his meaty fist at the carcasses. "We will no longer let them threaten our women and children? We will no longer let them prey on our livestock! I tell you, no longer!" There were grim cheers of agreement. "They've had what they deserve. We've cowered before their teeth and claws, before their evil eyes, long enough. Now let them cringe at the very sight of a man! Let them fear our clubs and axes and spears!" He shook his club triumphantly. Joana noticed the dried blood sticking to the weapons in the men's fists. A sickening image came together all by itself before her mind's eye. She recoiled in horror. The pain. The blows. The jeering onlookers. She fought down the urge to gag. They had come too late.
"Let us make our lands safe", demanded the speaker, "we tolerate no robbers and that's all they are!"
One of hanging bodies twitched and the innkeeper dramatically raised his club, took a step in its direction.
"STOP!"
The fat man froze. His chest had suddenly sprouted the shaft of a spear. As if time had become the same sticky mass that clung to the wolves pelts the man's eyes unfocused, the club dropped from his hand and he slowly keeled over. The mud greeted his fall with a smacking sound. A roar went through the crowd. The people nearest to her drew back. Her dagger in hand Joana stepped forward onto the stage the innkeeper had just vacated. For now his accomplices seemed reluctant to approach her. Instead they formed a wide circle.
"Get back!" She was screaming so loudly her throat hurt. She did it once more. Indeed the other men retreated a few steps. Casting them vicious glances she approached the stuggling body. A whine escaped its mouth.
"What have you done?!" Tears blurred her vision now. Her hand sought the broken body yet dared not touch it.
"Forgive me", Joana whispered in True Speech. "Forgive me, I came too late."
The body twitched again.
"Kill her", came Vucara's toneless voice. Then more clearly: "To let her die with a little dignity is the only thing you can do for her."
Joana nodded numbly. With a trembling hand she felt the chest for the place the heart had to be. Holding her breath she aimed the blade, squeezed her eyes shut and pushed forward. There was not much resistance. It just went in. When she opened her eyes the body was still, its eyes dull.
Only now she noticed that silence had fallen around her.
"How can you want this", she screamed at the muted crowd, pointing an accusing finger at the lifeless bodies. She was trembling. "They were our brothers and sisters once! Our children bear their names. They used to mean our strength, our speed, our wit and our courage! And now we publicly butcher them? Leave them hanging like the lowliest of criminals? Have you all gone mad?!"
Somewhere a bird chirped. Then behind her a pair of hands started clapping slowly. Nobody else joined in. The crowd remained silent. Joana spun around. A figure in robes as dark as oaken bark was standing in the doorway of the inn. The shadow of his hood concealed his face. Only a pair of eyes sparkled cunningly out of the cavern. He stepped forward into the open but still no light fell on his features.
"You!" The exclamation was a breathless gasp. Two steps and Joana was beside the body of the fallen innkeeper. With a twist and a yank she recovered the spear. She turned on her opponent then. A fire seemed to burn in her chest.
"Murderer!" The word rose from her chest like a roar of a lion.
"Sieze her!"
She made to charge the few steps that separated them, spear clutched firmly in both hands. Time seemed to slow again. A man appeared on her right holding a club. She side-stepped and was out of his reach. Another pace and she was almost within range. Grimrun had not budged. She let out a furious cry and thrust the spear forward. Something heavy collided with her, knocking her down. Joana fell heavily on her side, the wind out of her. The man that had rammed into her came to a halt with his feet planted on both sides of her body. Grimrun had stumbled back a pace at the last moment and his hood had slipped.
That bald head. The hawk nose. She could see the face again lit up by the fires of burning houses. For a heart beat she just stared at him and he at her. Was that fright on his face?
Without thinking she drove her foot upward between the man's legs. It was a trick the healer of Kremitz had let her in on once - just in case, she had said, Joana should ever have trouble with a man. The healer was dead now. This here was trouble. A tight-throated gasp escaped the big man's lips. Clutching his nether regions he folded forward but she rolled out from under him before he hit the ground. She snatched up her spear and with a snarl dove toward her nemesis. Grimrun tried to retreat another pace but his back was against the wall of the inn.
This time several pairs of arms materialised around her. A strong hand grabbed her spear arm and broke her grip on the weapon. It tumbled in front of Grimrun's feet. So close.
"Sieze her! Hold her, damn you!" This time there was fear in his voice. The little tremors made Joana's blood boil.
"Murderer! Gods damn you!" Her voice cracked at the strain.
He had regained his composure as he readjusted his hood. This time the men had secured their hold on the furiously struggling girl. Tears of frustration were streaming down her cheeks as she raged and screamed and threw curses at him. Murderer, again and again. He regarded her coldly. Then in a quick motion he slapped his hand across her face. There was a ring on his finger and it dug into her skin as he drew it across her cheek. She could feel warmth trickling forth from the place but she could feel no pain. Still, it silenced her. A smirk stretched his lips.
"A bold accusation from one who has just wrenched a spear from the chest of our beloved innkeeper." His voice rose over the square like the harsh and triumphant caw of a carrion bird over a fresh carcass. Quietly he added in her direction: "I'm glad you have come to show us all who is the murderer here."
He had been waiting. The realisation hit Joana worse than the slap in the face. And she had walked right into his open arms.
To one of the men he hissed: "Find the wolf. It must be around still. Bring it here. Dead." The man nodded grimly and withdrew.
To the crowd Grimrun continued in his loud croak: "And is it any wonder what she has done." He made a dramatic pause. "I give you the monster Berengar's apprentice."
Howls and shouts broke from the crowd now. Curses and derisions swept over her. Cheers at Grimrun's victory. The sorcerer's voice could just be made out above the noise.
"His apprentice, his follower and who knows what else."
That brought forth an uproar even louder.
"Take her away!"
Her captors marched her around but now the men hesitated. Joana looked up and saw why. Newcomers had entered the square. Three men on horseback wearing travelling cloaks, swords strapped to the saddles, two carrying spears. The other man's cloak was richly adorned. They rode through the crowd and people made way, falling quiet around them.
"Who are you and what is your business here", demanded Grimrun.
Then the leader threw back the hood of his cloak. He revealed a flood of hair that shone with a hint of gold in the morning sun. A braided beard. A piercing gaze. Joana had seen the face before. The rider's voice rang out loud and clear like a trumpet call.
"Toben, son of Baldrik. Who are you and what is your business here? What is the reason for this gathering?"
Joana could see the gleaming cracks under the hood narrow. Grimrun's jaws were working.
Then, having made up his mind, he gave a little bow and parted his lips into a wolfish smile.
"Your humble servant, my lord Toben", he intoned. "This girl here is accused of murder and other more uncouth crimes. Be not troubled, my lord, we will deal with her accordingly."
"Liar! Treacherous snake!" Joana seethed.
The prince brought his horse about right in the path of the girl's captors and swung himself out of the saddle. Recognition showed in his gaze at last and for a moment his eyes widened.
"Hold it", he exclaimed. "I know this girl. She is the daughter of the king's loyal servant, a man of impeccable honour. Bring forth your accusations and we can surely prove them false."
Joana could see the prince trying to make sense of the scene. He had noticed the dead wolves, the innekeeper's corpse, the bloodied spear. Then his gaze came to rest on her. There was a questioning intensity in these eyes that Joana now noticed were green with the colour of pine needles. The people were pressing around but the noise had died down to a hum. Everyone was trying to catch a glimpse of this "lord". Behind him Toben's two bodyguards remained on their horses and surveyed the square attentively.
Grimrun had evidently regained his confidence when he said: "My lord must be gravely mistaken. This cannot be an honourable man's daughter. Dressed like a man, a homeless vagabond on the road, accompanied by wild animals. And as to my - our - accusations: That poor man there is proof already. Did she not stab him in front of our very eyes?"
There were shouts and murmurs of agreement from the nearby folks. Toben's features remained unmoved like a mask but the questions in his gaze grew in urgency. Is this true, they demanded. And: What has really happened here?
"I see a dead man", he returned cooly, "I see not how this came to happen or why."
"What reason may there be? And what does it matter? It was a heinous crime committed in cold blood." Grimrun was speaking to the crowd as much as to Prince Toben. He was not giving up his stage.
"You-" Joana had no more curses left for the man. None of them came near what she felt. She twisted around in her captors' grip and launched a gob of spit that landed on Grimrun's robe.
"You are the murderer! What about my mother and all the village of Kremitz? What about Berengar? What about these poor creatures? The monster is you, zmeu!"
She could not make out his face but this time there was a perceptible pause before Grimrun replied. Then he was suddenly right next to her, one hand painfully squeezing her neck.
"Silence, girl", he hissed. "Noone can make sense of your babbling." Then she felt his fingernail, sharp as a talon, dig into her skin, breaking it. When she realised he was drawing something Joana pulled her shoulders up, trying to twist out of his grip. At the same time she felt his will bend down on her like a muffling blancket. The words were seeping out of her. But there were still others.
Between grinding teeth she pressed forth each word in True Speech: "You - have - no - power - over - me. I - will - kill - you!"
His gleaming eyes widened under his hood. Then his voice came loud and, she imagined, a little shrill.
"Enough! I'll have no more of this mockery. Take her away. We'll deal with her later."
Toben did not move. He had watched closely. Stricken dumb as she was Joana tried to catch his gaze again but he had focused on Grimrun.
"She is a free woman and will be treated with dignity until her guilt is proven. The case needs be discussed before the Thing. I shall speak on her behalf."
She could hear Grimrun smirk again when he spoke in his false, submissive tone.
"As my lord wishes. The law shall be served."
Toben stepped aside and let the men march Joana off past the grumbling crowd. Just when she thought he would simply turn away from her he gave a brief, hardly perceptible nod.

... to be continued ...

Scapegoat Reloaded

We have had another incident. Many will have seen at least a little about it. The young murderer climbs into a school armed with two pistols and a rifle. He starts shooting and kills 20 children, six adults and himself. I've been loosely following the media coverage and lo and behold: a familiar pattern emerged. Some atrocity occurs, the populace demands answers - why and how mostly - political activism ensues. I've written about this before and there were follow-ups #1 and #2. It's been a while since then but things haven't changed much.
This time two major issues have become the focus.
The first is practically an old friend of mine: violent video games. In Germany dubbed the ominous "killer games" (no English definition - use google translate). Now even high profile American politicians start using similar terms and pointing fingers. A comprehensive discussion on slashdot is what prompted me to post again. The perpetrator in the Newtown shooting - I will not call him "gunman" because someone like him doesn't qualify as a man - played games like Call of Duty and StarCraft. Do games like that make children more violent? Videos like these #1 or #2 surely make it seem so and scare parents. But are these reactions brought on by the content of the games (World of WarCraft in #1 and Unreal Tournament in #2, in case you missed it) or were the kids just not alright in the first place? Are the games rather the catalyst for some pent up frustration? Indeed there are similar videos completely unrelated to gaming. This man is not playing Call of Duty but apparently has a bad day at work - a stressful job or some other reason that's not obvious. Office workers have turned violent on their colleagues. I don't see the government ban stressful jobs. Now you may say: if you're unhappy with your job, talk to your boss. If the boss is not receptive to your issues the situation will deteriorate. The same goes for kids and their parents, only that kids often cannot express what's on their mind. I get the impression too many parents don't take an interest and just buy their offspring a TV, a console and whatever game they want just so they'll shut up and stay in their room. TV programs like Supernanny (UK) show that children misbehaving doesn't have to be related to video games. In fact, from the times I watched the show I remember crying and screaming and "freaking out" but I don't remember video games ever being involved. I also remember that the nanny didn't place much emphasis on what exactly the kids played but on the role of the parents in their children's everyday life. In Munich right now there is an ongoing campaign for parenting. The tag line says: "sometimes annoying - always important: to be parents". Do note that once again in the case of the Newtown shooting the perpetrator came from a dysfunctional family and also that his own mother was his first victim. Classmates describe him as a loner and "socially awkward". Not all introverts are potential killers but this may be another piece in the jigsaw. It also suggests to me that there is more behind this guy than a kid that just played video games too much.
I certainly agree that 10-year-olds should not be playing games like Doom or Bulletstorm. Still, I don't think that banning or censoring these titles will change anything. Parents have to get actively involved. There's so much material available online, so spend 10 minutes watching some gameplay trailers, checking out some reviews, then decide what's best for your child. With age ratings the government can provide a guideline for parents and a suggestion but they cannot be in everybody's home (and thank God for that!). It's up to parents to enforce the guideline. It's up to parents to teach their offspring right from wrong.
If you still think banning works take a look at binge drinking in the UK: laws governing the minimum drinking age are very strict - under-age youths are not allowed to buy alcohol. Still you read on the news about 14-year-olds getting wasted in the street. And from the age of 18 everybody goes to the pub on Fridays and Saturdays and drinks as if there was no tomorrow. The strict law achieves ... nothing really. Some say on the contrary. So if the whole culture kids live in goes one way they'll be affected for sure. Is there maybe a whole culture of violence in the USA?

The slashdot discussion - as the current media coverage - also goes into great depth on the other issue that keeps rearing its head in USA: guns. The Newtown perp had three of them - two pistols and a rifle. Now - not for the first time - the US government seems to be serious about introducing stricter regulations. These plans are not new. With every incident the issue was rolled up again but often to little effect (take a look at the time-line). It was mainly due to the powerful gun lobby that only few of the plans were ever even near being put into practice.
At first glance the activism here seems similar to the restrictions on video games. According to recent statistics there are some 75 firearms for every 100 US citizens. The vast majority of these gun owners are law-abiding people. Unfortunately, in the US restricting gun ownership quickly escalates into a discussion about curtailing constitutionally assured civil rights. Interestingly, even German readers left comments along these lines. One reader even attributed the rise of Hitler and the Nazis to an earlier disarming act.
Now this is roughly where I fail to follow the reasoning. During my short time in the army I got acquainted with various firearms. I admit I did enjoy our trips to the shooting range. I also learnt to respect firearms as the dangerous killing instruments that they are. They are not toys and should not be trifled with. It's bad enough that soldiers everywhere kill each other with guns and other more deadly things but that's an entirely different argument. I fail to see how it helps a citizen to have the means to do the same - unless they actually do plan a revolution. Of course, the beautiful institution called NRA (National Rifle Association) has the answer to that question: "The only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun." To be honest, if I were living in the US this kind of John Wayne-style statement would do a lot more to scare me than to reassure me. It suggests that the answer to gun violence is ... more guns. It also suggests that the solution to a problem involving a gun is another gun. Fighting violence with more violence. An eye for an eye. We're going back to the world of the Old Testament - striking evil down with great vengeance and so forth. But then who's to say who is the bad guy? And who's the good guy? You could read that statement in such a way that everybody with a gun can decide it for themselves. Shoot first, ask questions later. This article I stumbled upon shows how that can end. Furthermore, if I could easily acquire a gun to protect myself then the "bad guy" can do so just as easily, so he (or she) will most likely have one, too. And they would have less to loose than me by using it. Now that's already pre-Biblical - cavemen arbitrarily beating each other over the head with a club.
Sure, there are countries with fairly liberal gun laws that do not seem to produce incidents like the one in Newtown. Switzerland gets mentioned a lot. We should not forget, however, that even in Europe Switzerland is a special case. It is a small country with few people. As an aside, it is actually one of the few true democracies in the world where occasionally every single citizen gets involved in the lawmaking process. Try to implement that in the US or even in Germany. It wouldn't work either. Both in Germany and the US we take pride in living in constitutional democracies. Free rule under the law. Then shouldn't we have more faith in our government and law enforcement to keep the peace? Do we need guns in our homes to keep them at bay? Call me naive but I strongly believe the above statement should at most read: "The only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a police officer with a gun. As a last resort."
Some slashdot members argue - correctly so - that restricting or even banning firearms will not prevent violence. User Charliemopps relates that a friend of his/hers killed somebody with a hammer. In fact, an incident that got a lot less worldwide media coverage but occurred at almost the same time as the one in Newtown was reported in China where owning guns is very strictly regulated and mostly banned. A man attacked - again - primary school children with what Western media translated wrongly as "knife" but was actually the kitchen hatchet that is common in China. 22 children and one adult were hurt - some badly so. Still, the news article itself makes an important point. "Everyone survived." It is much harder to kill with a hatchet or a hammer than with a gun. A popular quote sums it up well: "I've got six little friends that can all run faster than you can."

What is the point of all this rant? What is the message?
First of all, I am sick of seeing such atrocities blamed on music, films, games, the Internet. It happens all the time but I fail to see a causal link. I've said in my previous post that this scapegoat has evolved over the course of the 20th century and most likely before that. It's always some third power that makes the perpetrator do something horrible. In the Middle Ages they would have claimed the Devil whispered it to him or blame witchcraft and find a witch to burn.
As a matter of fact, I believe the reverse is true. Somebody with an inclination toward violence - like our Newtown killer - may find himself particularly attracted to violent video games and live out his fantasies in the game. Until that does not satisfy him any longer. Then they move on to the real thing.
The real thing leads to point two. To carry out his fantasies a would-be killer needs a real gun and real bullets. As a society I think people do have to think about how easily those should be available. Proponents of liberal gun laws have argued that criminal minds will always figure out a way to get their hands on weapons. While that is true we are not talking about organised crime here. In fact, the majority if not all the cases that I've read about were committed by people - youngsters - who already had easy access to firearms. That was the case in this shooting (mum had guns at home) as well as the last one in Germany (the kid's father was in a local gun club). Kids don't usually have the necessary connections to buy stuff on the black market. And interestingly, the incidents don't tend to happen in areas where they might have them, like in big cities, but in small, "well-adjusted" communities.
This brings me to my next point: a "killer game", no matter how realistic it is, will not prepare anyone for firing a real gun. You cannot just play lots of Battlefield 3, buy a gun and go shooting. The game does not account for the weight of the gun, its recoil or the whole routine of motions it takes to aim or reload. You can only practice that with a real gun. I speak from experience here.
Video games may be disturbing. Some may reward violence or glorify certain aspects. Still, I maintain: for a game (or a movie for that matter) to affect your character or your mind in such a way as to blur the border between in-game fiction and reality, to make the player want to carry out the same actions in real life, they have to have been pretty disturbed to begin with.
Finally, I've mentioned culture and the NRA attitude of facing guns with guns. The latest news, which happened while I was writing this, do suggest that there is a culture in USA that a conflict is easily solved with a gun. How convenient for NRA-types. But if verbal abuse and provocation quickly escalate to lethal force then shootings like in Newtown shouldn't come as a surprise.
I think all this points in a clear direction: limit access to guns. Not only in the US. I'm sure gun laws could also be revised in Germany. (Strangely these two countries seem to be the most affected.) Restricting gun ownership will not disarm crime syndicates. It will not prevent violent crimes. Stabbings in China, rapes in India or beatings in Germany don't require guns. At least it will prevent any idiot with a little money from acquiring a deadly weapon. It would mean that not every odd family has a gun at home that children might pick up - be it to go on a killing spree or be it to play with and injure someone by accident. Sure, guns are not the root of all evil either. "Guns don't kill people, people do." (NRA again) But if you take away their guns those people will have a considerably harder time doing it. Even if someone is already prone to violence it’s a lot harder to kill someone with a music CD or a game controller.

Attack of the Clones

Have you seen them?
They are everywhere. They ride planes, trains and automobiles. They occupy and populate meeting rooms all over the world. Face frozen in a professional smile, half amused, half interested, all keen, they don't go for lunch - they build relationships. They don't chat - they network. And the network grows ever vaster..
They are an army bred for a single purpose. Armed and equipped with laptops, iPhones, iPads and Bluetooth head sets they sit at the ready. Of course, they never just sit. They are never idle, though utilised capacity is never at 100% either. That would mean they weren't up to the challenge, out of their depth, overworked, getting too old. In that case they might not be happy to take on just that extra task. With a smile. With pleasure and right away. Put it at the top of the TODO list.
Whether the battlefield is Oulook, WebEx or the white expanse of a flip chart they are trained to engage their audiences. Their ammunition crates are loaded with buzzwords to flatten their opponents and impress their superiors. Difficulties are challenges, confused becomes thrilled and stress turns into excitement as they leverage the power of the latest cutting-edge, bleeding-edge technology and methods. Ammo types are Word, Excel and, most effective of all, Powerpoint. With tried and tested tactics acquired in boot camp rapport is established, feedback incorporated and results delivered to the point. They come in teams or are deployed as solo commando units. They require neither rest nor sustenance to meet the target but their breath reeks of the performance enhancers they inhale or consume.
A true clone army they even look alike. Like the instances of a template, like the multitude of Agent Smiths they come from the same mould. Black suit, sometimes even with the black Ray Bans on. Shoes polished, clean shaven, slicked hair. They fit in, yet they stand out; they are cogs in the machine, yet they alone, each of them, make the machine run smoothly. Each is responsible.
They achieve, they succeed, they enhance and optimise or curtail and reduce. You add your own noun, they make it happen. Pick your character based on the stats displayed. Profiles are always up to date and guaranteed to be accurate. Customisation is possible in the next step. More resources will be available soon.
Sounds like science fiction? I see them every day - the army of suits, the work force, the resource pool. Proud of the title "consultant", they wear it like the Iron Cross or Purple Heart. Like the emperor's new clothes. They polish their profiles as they polish their shoes. They compare projects like little boys compare their peckers.
And I am afraid. Afraid I could one day turn into one of them.