Gone A-Courting

Sniveling little punks.

Yes, I said it, what are you going to do, try to take me to court again, and try to fine me of my hard-earned money? Good luck, after today's judgement.

Oh, you didn't know I was involved? Did my armor not give it away? How many official girl-mercs do you get down here on the plains, anyway?

Hunh. And suddenly this whole bar's silent. Want the story, do you? I'm not drunk enough yet. Well, line up some tankards here, that's what it'll take me to tell it. And I'll also take a whip-round for the bardic fee, thank you. And if one of you's a reporter - and I'm sure one of you is - I'll take an exclusive fee as well. This blasted money-hungry city takes a cut of everything, doesn't it? Well, those percentages go both ways. Money up front, please, I didn't fall off the donkey cart yesterday.

All right. First of all, there's me. You heard my name often enough with the court case, I don't need to repeat it. I earned my title and the leathers and sword that go with it. I'm an honest merc, there are a double handful of us girls in the trade, and we work hard for our honest coin. You can hear which word I'm repeating. And anyone who thinks otherwise of us had better watch their dangling bits. We follow the old laws in the mountains, which is where we like to stay. Less chance of mistaking us for whores in leather, shall we say.

So. The mountains. I grew up in them, daughter of decent merchant caste folk. Earn their coin honestly too, don't cheat people, pay their taxes on time, slowly built up a nice holding in a valley. Well defended, though there aren't a lot of brigands up there anymore. And the ones stupid enough to stick around, the likes of me and my fellow mercs like to carve up on the routes. A few other families moved in, and before you know it, we're a tiny baronial steading. Da made sure to check the paperwork, with all the rules and fines and shi-stuff. He knows his rights, and he taught the rest of us as well.

Me and my brother..... well, we were probably switched at birth. He's kinda girly in his traits, and it shows. Likes clothing, and making it. With Da's contacts, has a shop here in town that sells for him, so he don't have to deal with city import crap. No, I won't tell you which one, they don't need that kind of scrutiny. They're legit, and that's fine with all concerned.

But that means Da and Ma took a few hard looks at us, and switched our tutors. I learned swordfighting, he got archery. I got tactics and martial administration and command, he got household administration and domestic skills and diplomacy. He'll get the official baron title when Da's gone, and that's fine by me. We get along really well, and he says that if I want to be commander of a garrison up there, the job's mine. If I live that long, he'll build it for me.

See, here's what you city folk have forgotten, living inside "civilization" too long. Mithras gives His gifts. It's up to you to use 'em or not. It doesn't matter what stupid rules people make, then claim it's the God's will. Horsecrap. They're just uncomfortable with a God who won't be bound by their stupid rulings. My Da, he knows to play to a person's strengths, knowing it's Mithras who put those strengths there for us to recognize and develop.

Can you imagine the disaster this whole thing would have been, if my parents had been stupid and insisted on "traditional" roles for their kids? A whole lotta people would be dead, including those two brats, and you'd have people dying up there in the northeast pass for a good fifty years, and not knowing why.

All right, you want to know what happened, up there in the pass?

I earn my coin knowing those mountains as well as I do. The weather up there, it's fickle, man, and turns on a sester. If you take a guarding contract, not only do you get your money up front before you leave so you can keep it safe, you'd better know how to protect your caravan from all sorts of hell. Weather, brigands, wild animals, it's all part of each trip. But, this is what the best ones know - most of the time, you have to protect those damn caravaners from themselves.

So. Three caravans trying to get through the pass around the same time, each coming from a different path, and we got to one of the pinch points right when a nasty blizzard whips up. They happen from time to time, and though it's uncommon this time of year, it's known. My caravan comes prepared when I'm in charge, and I made the caravan master pony up for extras just in case. He whined about it and was probably gonna try to refuse, but the merchant leader of our caravan grabbed him by the ear and ordered him to obey me. My eyebrows went up, but I didn't look the gift horse in the mouth. And since I noticed his insistence, I made sure I gave him full value for what he paid, and that those supplies were packed where we could get to 'em in a hurry. I caught the idiot caravan master three times trying to ditch the extra weight and goods, and since I'd already signed the contract, I had him whipped and tied up so he couldn't interfere any longer. It's my job to make sure we're as safe as possible in those mountains. It's his job to figure out where to put it all, and how to distribute the supplies and hire the carters and carts and food for man and beast and cook and all. The merchant master's in charge of the goods being sold on the far end, and those goods include the people that sign up for travel. The merchant leader later had the caravan master locked in one of the covered carts and took over. That usually spells trouble, but not this time.

There's a local baron at the pinch point, has a nice winter-safe mansion up there that doubles as a tax assessment center. That pass is the official boundary between kingdoms, and you know how our delightful government feels about getting its rightful due, no? Everything's checked, coming in or out. We mercs all know that it's also the best place to ride out bad weather - if you're stuck, high-tail it for his place, he'll put you up for a very reasonable small fee. Believe me, it's well worth it for food and shelter in the mountains!

I saw the clouds the day before, so I didn't even consult anyone, I just made for the place like it was paradise come to ground. My guards didn't even blink at the pace; they know me very well. Normally decisions like that - hustling fat merchants and their caravan keepers - would come out of my personal pay, but the merchant master, he just shut up the caravan master yet again and plunked down the sanctuary fees on top of the assessed taxes for the major-domo without blinking at the insistence that we stay till it blew over. My eyebrows went up again. What merchant is that casual with spending extra money they usually think isn't worth it, especially when you've already paid for emergency supplies we could use instead?

The baron and his family weren't home, they were visiting cousins across the border for the month. Some kinda love-match winter wedding or summat. No problem, the staff was well trained to deal with caravans showing up in his absence.

So, we got settled in. We got rooms, even had a bit of heat, and three meals a day. Our horses were stabled with food, and our supplies packed safe in one of the storerooms. Nice, huh? The rain started as we'd come in, which quickly changed to icy rain, then a nasty blow, then snow, while we were eating dinner in their great hall.

Then the second caravan came sliding in.

They were a mess. Even the guards were panicking - seems like they had to strong-arm their whiny charges into even coming in. Like they were actually going to avoid the taxes? That would be fun to watch! But I got my guards to shore up theirs, then used some of those communication skills I learned from my tutors, and they were settled in the courtyard as best they could be. Only a few of them got rooms, though my people were already three to a room.

Then the runners from a third caravan came screaming into the courtyard, and we scrambled our guards and theirs and a good chunk of the forester servants for a rescue mission.

It was a frigging mess, and if it were up to me, I'd citify myself enough to fine that whole frigging whoreson crew, those motherless dipwits. See, I'm watching my language, I know there are children here, though what they're doing in a bar at this hour is beyond me. Better hope there aren't any fine assessors in the crowd, no? Anyway. We got most of them back. Lost some of their horses and goods down a ravine, a bunch of broken bones, we did what we could and got them back to be patched up best they could. They were vague with how many people were actually in that caravan, and once I figured it was a tax evasion problem, I left it to the major-domo to sort out. Not getting involved in a mess I didn't contract for, right? I grabbed their guard master and tried to figure out if anyone was missing.

See, we mercs all know each other. If not by sight, then definitely by reputation. And there ain't that many female mercs, and none of them have my name, only me. So they just don't mess with a name they know who happens to also carry tits and the title of caravan guard leader (with all legal appurtenances thereto) and a pretty badass reputation, if I do say so myself. Who's mountain bred, mountain trained, and has killed quite a few people in her time who really deserved it.

So, when some ill-bred townie comes bouncing over to a serious gabfest between all the guard masters, the caravan masters, and the merchant masters, and says "Who's the bitch, then?" and slaps me on my ass, well he should be grateful that all I did was break his arm.

I wasn't even fined. And they fixed him up, eventually. After everyone else was tended to. Long after. They might have even had a nap first.

Turns out that was one of the asshole punks you've been hearing so much about. They were in the third caravan, and trying their damndest to take over from all three masters. Bribing everyone they could, one was bragging about how this was Daddy's caravan, the other bragging about whatever rich man whelped him, both trying to prove what big men they were now that they barely reached majority. They'd barely reached something, that's for sure, and it certainly wasn't their own cocks! So I and my guards slung our arms real friendly-like around their guards, and had some nice quiet chats in corners of the feast halls. About broken contracts, and the seriousness of taking bribes, and ruined careers, and fines that their children's children would pay off. My caravan master suddenly had a change of heart about me, seeing which way the wind was blowing, had a chat with the second, and they ganged up on the third to get him all straightened out. Same with the merchant leaders, apparently the third had been tying himself in knots trying to figure out how to keep the caravan safe with those two jackasses proving their manhood by acting like the biggest babies ever.

One good thing about that third caravan. Of course the brats wouldn't let them spend the money for proper outfitting. They pocketed the money they should have spent on blankets, ropes, shovels, snow tents. So we, who had rooms, sold some of our equipment to the ones who had to sleep in the courtyard. For a steep profit, of course, coming out of their personal pockets. We made sure that no one was turfed out for the two brats, also made sure they had a nice tent in the corner where the winds collect. We slept four or five to a room to let the ones with broken bones have a quieter place to relax.

Each caravan collects a few worker caste people who are traveling here or there, and just want to do it in relative safety. We had some, and the others did too. We didn't think much about the argument first, some wife or another berating her husband for being too rough with her the night before, him denying even trying anything. But the next night, it was another warrior woman guard, Phaedra - see, we all know each other - who complained that another guard who should damn well know better tried to get her in bed, and she kicked him so hard his grandchildren hurt. But the guard she accused was the decent sort, and he'd been doing patrol at the time besides. So then we suspected one of the brats, but they were walking upright with no trace of a limp. Weird.

The next night, he went after the virgin.

Yes, I still call her that. I was the one that insisted she go to trial with the green stripe still on her tunic. See, I know the difference between rape and sex before you're officially married. So don't give me no shit about her being a woman or being soiled or tainted. If I pull out my sword and stab you, I'm the one who gets fined. So why doesn't a person get fined heavily for stabbing a woman where she doesn't want him to be?

Anyway. This time, she blamed me.

Now, I proved to the court rather conclusively that I'm a full woman. I've got no quarrel with people who've lost parts, willingly or no. Or weren't born with 'em. Or got extra ones. But I don't have the equipment to do the things she said I did. Don't even carry the leather ones, and they turfed my gear to check that too. I'm not interested in that kind of play, really. And, again, I was gambling from after dinner till almost the next morning. In front of lots of witnesses.

So, who thinks about a shapeshifter in the middle of a blizzard in the mountains in a baron's mansion? We sure didn't, but you've heard the trial, so I'll cut the suspense short.

It took us a bit to put our heads together and puzzle it out. All the masters, the major-domo, even the head forester. From a few things the virgin said, we figured his body type was a bit different than mine, which explains the merchant's wife complaining that first night. All we could do is check body types, match them to faces as best we could, and make sure the women were as guarded as we could. Searched the whole place twice for a gimp. Two guards, each from different caravans, to shadow any woman. Servants, too.

That worked a few nights. Then Phaedra turned up dead.

I was pissed. Phaedra was all warrior woman, if you know what I mean. We couldn't tell if it was because the shapeshifter tried again after she nailed him in the nuts the second night, or if something went wrong, or she recognized him, or what. We had lots of guesses, and no real facts to stick 'em to. She was one of the best, people. Raise your glasses high to one who fell, and died living the life she chose.

We didn't know if the shapeshifter actually changed his face, or if he just, like, got in your mind and got you to supply a trusted face for him. And we were running out of time. The blizzard was over, and we were going to start digging out soon, and he'd get away again.

Then the priest spoke up.

See, all kinds of castes travel with caravans. This guy seemed pretty okay for a priest, not one of those holier-than-thou maggots. Turns out, this one was from another kingdom - didn't say, and I didn't ask - where they use magic. And he thought he knew a spell to pull the shapeshifter out in the open, maybe to trap him.

What did we have to lose?

One of the merchants donated a length of very pretty silk ribbon. You know, the type that's woven, with those ripples that shimmer in the light? I think they make medal ribbons out of it. I try to ask questions of merchants when we're around a campfire, sometimes ask to see the rare and expensive stuff they're transporting, just so I know what all the fuss is about. But we were pinched for time here, and I didn't get to do it. Comes in handy, when they need extra guards when they do their selling. Anyway. The priest got his mitts on it, and snuck off to a room to put his magic on it. When he came out, his hands were covered, and he told me to take it and play with it all day, with my bare hands, then tie it to my wrist. People would ask for me to give it to them, to buy it off me. I was to refuse, but be nice about it. Don't let anyone touch it. The one who would reach out to just take it from me, that was my shapeshifter.

He thought. We hoped. But no one had any other better plan.

And I would let no one else be bait. So I talked with people, and I played with that ribbon, and it seemed to catch everyone's eye. Walked around all day playing with a small fortune of shiny color in my hands. Coulda bought Da's whole steading with that thing, title and all, with some left over for a dowry or two. The kids were the worst at wanting to touch it, but luckily they were scared of the bitch in leathers. A few glares and a stare or two with raised eyebrows was enough to send most scuttling, and low growls took care of the braver ones. They didn't dare each other to take it like I worried about. The adults would follow it like they were cats and I had a bit of yarn. I almost saw the shape of what the priest was setting up, to fascinate the fascinator.

It was tricky to tie it on my own wrist, but I managed. With a double knot for security, and a big old "come get me, you stinking bastard" bow.

When he finally came for it, I only saw him out of the corner of my eye. A blur, racing towards me, reaching for my arm. Well, that was a mistake. Reach for a trained merc's arm, even if it's my off hand? My knife was already in my other hand and I was swinging for his stomach when he grabbed the ribbon and yanked.

Lots of things happened all at once. My knife punched through - he wasn't wearing armor. It was a clean gut shot, if you can call it that. Blood and other stuff came leaking onto my armor and arm. The ribbon - look, I swear that thing came alive, and went racing up his arm like it was a snake and alive. It wrapped around his whole arm, around his throat, whipped around again, and bit him on the far side of his neck. Look, that's what I saw! I swore this in Mithras' court, and I'll swear that's what I saw till my dying day! That freaking ribbon turned into the fastest snake around, and attacked him!

And that bastard screamed when it bit. The ribbon - snake - look, I don't know what it was, okay? - the spell looked like it was burning him, and he shrieked some more in my face and let go of me. I got in a few punches, but really, it was nothing compared to a knife wound in the gut and that whatever-you-call-it biting and burning him. He turned and ran, and damn he was still fast. We didn't have time to chase him. Some tried, but he was gone. We found tracks and blood leading right out the keep's door and into the deep snow, and we couldn't follow.

We spent the next few weeks making ourselves into snow clearing gangs, and hitched up the horses to help us open the roads. Carefully. We had enough injuries that the third caravan would have to pay for in their carelessness, and I'd heard mutterings that it would be coming out of the personal pockets of the two brats. Some swore to take it out of their fathers that foisted this whole shitshow on us. Sure, a few crews followed the bloody tracks for a while, but they kept going on and on, and we had roads to clear.

We hadn't forgotten about the assholes. Through this whole thing they'd tried to interfere, have me arrested for the rape charge, mess with the baron's servants, take over all three caravans. We'd have tied them in their tent and let them freeze, if we thought we could get away with it. Instead, we set up diversions - had the merchant masters fawn over them in a side room, let them hold court, come up with all sorts of entertainments "worthy of a baron's guests if he were here," but do nothing. We weren't guests. We had begged for succor; we were owed nothing else but bare shelter and basic food. The servants helped with planning glorious feasts, then would inform them that the ingredients just weren't there. Strawberries? In late autumn? Forcemeat, sure, but made of boar's meat? In these mountains? Eagle eggs? Do you know what the fine is for taking them illegally? The servants agreed that the brats could hurl abuse all they wanted, but if they got physically violent, all bets were off. I put four of the other caravan's guards on them to enforce that fragile contract. By that point, all the caravan guards were looking to me as de facto leader, and their guard masters were learning a heckuva lot from me and my guards.

So we were heartily sick of those two brats taking credit for the "destruction of the evil shapeshifter" when we could finally get through the pass and get where we needed to go. Separate ways, thank Mithras, once we were over to the next kingdom. And we thought that was that.

Till we returned, laden with new supplies, to a rage-filled major-domo and a summons for all of us to appear in the highest court in the city. All of us. Three caravans of people now scattered to the four winds, and an entire baron's household, in winter, just ordered to pack up and march to the city and abandon all duties and oaths and obligations and appear in court. Abandon a major pass-through to the next kingdom, and all those legally owed taxes. Abandon a building to anything that could claim and occupy it. The major-domo wasn't mad at us, he was furious at the summons.

The brats, of course.

So, I said I know the rules. I know my rights. And I happen to know a really, really good jurisconsult. Know several, in fact. We hired the top five, and set them to work. Meanwhile, we sat down with the baron's servants and figured out who would really have to be there. The major-domo sent his second, along with the chief forester. That's all that was needed.

In our caravan, myself of course. The caravan master, and the merchant master. We made sure the rest of the group slipped away along our route and weren't even there by the time we neared the capital. Hired a few others on the way, let them know what snake's nest they were falling into, they had their proofs to show they weren't even there when the shit went down.

We even got word out to the other caravans, and our jurisconsults took over for them too. Both caravans. Even the brats'. They were willing to throw those two under the donkey cart if it meant getting rid of them for good.

So of course we were all arrested when we arrived at the caravan's end. And our jurisconsult appeared out of nowhere and put a stop to that, reading the police the riot act in the middle of the street. Then he summoned the head of the local police, and read him the riot act, and went after his superior. Lots of fines against the police that day, and a few were fired on the spot for taking bribes from the brats. The new hires loved the front row seats, took their pay, and took off.

So, how much of the trial itself do you know? We all arrived in a nice donkey cart to court, and were promptly arrested again as I was telling that poor virgin to not protect me, do not protect us, you tell exactly what happened to you as best you remember. Quite simple girl, really, didn't deserve what happened to her. Luckily her parents kept her, treated her well. I couldn't donate to her bride price - would have looked too much like a bribe - but all the guards pitched in and covered it instead. Not just my caravan's guards, all three. I know her parents got some marriage proposals from some guards, but I'm not sure if the parents took 'em seriously. Nice girl, couldn't cook for squat.

Now, remember, I said we were all arrested when we got there. All of us. Our jurisconsult included. He was furious, but had an evil little smile on his face, so he allowed us all to be led in with ropes on our wrists. And we were sat in the accused block, instead of the witness block, and his evil smile got a little bigger.

See, the consults need to be there early to set things up. They get some preliminary work out of the way, argue about the rules of the trial, other weird shit that would drive me mad and get me looking for a skull or two to cleave. Then the judge comes out, and they get down to the serious business. But with our consult in the accused block, staying silent, it left the other guy looking rather pissed that his opponent wasn't there on time. Well, he'd broken the rules by having us arrested, so let him stew in it!

Their consult was in a snit and a half when the judge finally came out, started bitching before the poor guy sat down! This was the Highest Arbiter, by the by, not some bumpkin judge. Though I gotta say, our "bumpkin" judges are pretty damn smart, they can smell a rat coming.

Well, when the judge called if our consult was in the room, and he stood up with the ropes still on his wrists, I thought the asshole consult would pass out! The judge exploded. You probably heard it here. From there, it was really easy to get him arrested for our own false arrests - both times - and the corrupt police, and a few idiot administrators who really should have known better.

So. Our consult and us finally un-arrested, apologized to, some of the fine money sent our way for the trouble, another hastily appointed consult pulled in, sworn in, and the consults agreed to the rules. The judge listened in most carefully, let me tell you! He kept looking at us, now properly seated in the witness defense block.

And just as we get under way, all the witnesses for their side stood up and marched over to us. Sat down with us.

We did hear a pin drop, some matron in the audience lost a hair clip on the stone floor in the silence. Then the assholes started swearing and shouting, and it took some time to get them settled and fined for their outburst. Charges? Yeah, usurping the assholes' rightful authority. Yeah, that's what I said, what the hell authority? Master gallivanter and chief rapist wannabe? All three caravan masters, all three merchant masters, all three guard masters agreeing they weren't even in charge of their own dicks. I think it was their own caravan master who said they could bring in the boys' fathers to testify if they didn't believe us, and I guess our consult saw the assholes react to that, because that's when he got that dangerous look on his face.

So, we laid out what happened. What we figured out, and when, and what we did to defend ourselves and make amends. And how we protected everyone, not just our own caravan, which was legally our right. The idiot assholes kept trying to get their consult to make accusations and objections and shit, and he wisely kept silent.

Even that poor little virgin, so confused, told the exact truth. What she thought happened, and how we dismantled it by proving the deception. Yes, I did strip naked in court. Eh, I'm not ashamed of my body, and of course I keep in shape. I've had to do worse on the road. I am a woman, I have to deal with the monthlies just like any other, don't squirm that way, it's the way Mithras made us. I don't have the equipment to do what she says I did, and I don't have the body hair she described anyway, not even the same body hair color, and I was still down in the hall winning a substantial haul that night. The chief forester's second came and testified to that last, even though I cleaned out his wages and profit for a whole year.

Somehow our consult even got a magic expert or something to bear witness, and what we were describing fits exactly into a shapeshifter who either doesn't know what he's doing, or a magic user who's doing something all wrong. He praised the priest - safely away from this mess two kingdoms away - for his quick thinking. The priest himself would have testified, but he could only send a sworn written account. Something about a God-binding oath to be a mendicant for a few years, wandering a particular circuit. Didn't understand that part. Magic stuff is far beyond me.

And, yeah, that whole secret we'd been holding that whole time, it slipped out. One of the treasures we were shipping disguised as a merchant caste was really a weather foreteller. If those assholes had found out, what would they have pulled? Well, our caravan -- those who knew, which weren't a lot - were sworn to secrecy, but one of 'em let it slip on the witness stand. So there we were, in Mithras' own highest court, telling some of the highest muckity mucks in the kingdom to sod off, since we broke no laws. Yeah, we don't like magic, and we don't want it around, and I sure as hell don't unnerstand it. But in the mountains, you'd damn better believe that a weather foreteller's worth their weight in gold. Mebbe more. See, even drunk as I am, you canna get me to say their name, or if they're man or wommin. They're that precious. We coulda burned that whole damned building down, with all of us in it, and it would still be worth it to keep that one person alive. That's how valuable a weather-teller's in the mountains. How do you think I knew that damned blizzard was coming? No damned clouds told me, though that's how I tell it. No, the merchant master'd been warned, and he told me at the beginning of the trip. Caravan master dint believe 'im. Later, when we'd cleaned all the suckers out at gambling and he and I had a quiet drink in his private room, he trusted me enough by then to tell me the secret. It's one of the reasons we told the virgin to tell the truth - if she'd lied, there was a way her testimony would have exposed the weather-teller, and we'd rather be found guilty and pay all the fines rather than have that poor thing's life become a living hell. I gotta say, if the virgin ever figured it out, she was smart enough to keep it to herself. I don't think so, though. Good girl, I hope she has a nice life somewhere.

So, things were wrapping up, and we all knew that those little assholes were gonna lose. They knew it too, were pissed as hell about it. Couldn't bully their way out of this one, though. And that's when our consult pulls that thunderbolt outta his ass, about how the scions of some of the highest caste members were basically using the courts to shake down lower castes, making up charges and taking honest people to court to scare them into just paying fines, to build up their nest eggs when us adults reach majority and get kicked out of our households to make it on our own.

Well! If I'd lobbed some of them mountain hornet nests into that room, it would have been kinder! Our sneaky consult had found some lawful police in the city, tracked down names in his own time, had them make some careful arrests, and suddenly they were falling all over themselves to spill their guts to the court. The first confessors got amnesty, the second ones just got heavily fined, the rest got hammered. Including our two little assholes, who will be working in the mines for years and years to work off their fines. Papers were seized in various homes, the stupid cockers left a glorious paper trail. It'll be followed for years. Our consults are set for cases for life. They're looking at how many generations this graft goes back. Suddenly there are a buncha high mucks running for their country estates, and I don't think they're commin back to town voluntarily, ya know?

Me? I've got a safe room after I'm done with this drink, and some trusty guards here to make sure I get there safely. Tomorrow, I'm outta here, with another caravan. If anyone's dumb enough to follow me up to my home mountains to rob me or my caravan, well, I think they're in for a rather nasty surprise.

'Sides, I have a score to settle. There's a rapist shapeshifter still on the loose, and I aim to finish that fight. We did warn everyone and their brother what to look for, but so far, nothing. Dunno if he lived through that snow pack, or if he survived what should be crushed danglies and a killing gut wound, not to mention a magical burn that I'm pretty sure won't go away so easy no matter how quick he heals up, but you'd better bet that my ear's to the ground up there. And my eye on the sky, too. Weather changes fast up there, gotta stay on your guard. Heh.