Thorn’s Chronicle Wake of ! White Witch’s Wra" Waning quarter moon of the Deep Snows (on or about Kaldmont 21, 997AC)! 2 Eve of the Chimerids (on or about Kaldmont 23, 997AC)! 16 First night of the Chimerids (on or about Kaldmont 24, 997AC)! 44 Second night of the Chimerids (on or about Kaldmont 25, 997AC)! 137 Last of the Longwinter"s Year (on or about Kaldmont 28, 997AC)! 169 Waning quarter moon of the Deep Snows (on or about Kaldmont 21, 997AC) The trip must have taken a mere step, the time it takes to draw a breath and let it go, and yet it seemed to stretch for much longer than that, as if I were dreaming it. There was no sound, nothing to see save the blinding blue-white light and the gut-twisting sensation of falling headlong off a cliff. And then everything came back all at once: A roaring of thunder (thankfully with no demonic echo); the sound of water slapping at the sides of a boat; shouts muffled by the surge of water. I flailed my arms and legs, found the movements heavy, sluggish. I tried to draw breath and instead got a mouthful of cold water. Fresh water, not salt. There was no sensation of anything below me but more water. I struggled as my head went under again, flailing back to the surface. Water still stung my eyes, sheeted down my brow. Rain. Cold rain. Not cold enough for snow, or even sleet. Cold enough, though, that I dared not wipe my eyes clear, or risk another dip into the near- freezing water. I could barely feel my fingers as it was. “There’s another one!” A gravelly voice shouted, from somewhere distant, vaguely above and behind me. “Quickly lads, fetch another net! You two! Heave, unless you want to join them in the drink!” As I tried to cough the water from my lungs, something heavy landed about me with a dull splash, and then a great weight settled over my shoulders. I had but a single gasp of air before the waters closed over my head. Lightning, blue-white, blurred by the surge and froth of water overhead, was the last thing I saw before the darkness claimed me yet again. A heavy hand slapping at my back brought me around, and I rolled from my side nearly onto my stomach, coughing and sputtering. I could feel the water coming from my lungs, but it was lost amidst the lashing of rain that already soaked the deck beneath me. It was good to know that the pitching and tossing was not merely a product of my disorientation. “That’s it, son, keep coughing. Think you nearly swallowed half the lake, you did.” The gravelly voice, hoarse from shouting, but quieter. It spoke Traladaran. I tried to get my hands beneath me, to rise, but the heavy hand was at my shoulder. “No, son, lie still. Don’t want you standing up just to go over the rail and back into the drink. Lie still. Rest. We’ll be aground in a moment.” As he’d said, moments later, there came a grating from below, the dull scrape of rocks upon hollowed wood, followed by a confusing babble of many voices and much shouting back and forth. Many pairs of steady hands gripped me, for the deck was slippery, and somewhat canted to one side. “Mind the rise,” murmured one of the men, and I picked my foot up higher, was guided down a steeply slanted gangplank to a pebble-strewn beach. I was beginning to think that the Immortals from the Sphere of Thought had it in for me, as I nearly turned an ankle stumbling through the slashing rain, the rocks smooth and slicked beneath my shoes. I was passed to more pairs of hands, these smaller, free of callouses but still worn by age and work. “Come along, let us get you to the hall, where you can warm yourself.” The hall turned out to be a heavy-thatch roofed great hall, heavy wooden planking sided halfway up with rough-quarried stone. Cavernous though the room was, several fires, both in pits and as well as two hearths kept the worst of the chill from the air. Many pairs of dark eyes lifted as I was guided into the room, and turned just as suddenly back to steaming cups, or trenchers, or menial tasks. A pair of dark- haired girls glanced up again from work they were doing repairing a net, only to giggle and hurriedly look away. I was led over to the smaller of the hearths by the hall’s far wall, and the huddled figures there moved aside to make room for me on the long bench. “That makes four,” a familiar voice said, and a hand emerged from beneath the woolen blanket to tug back the makeshift hood. Gilliam smiled, and the other two figures turned as well, Ana and Varis’ familiar features lit by smiles as well. “You look well,” Varis said. “All things considered.” He brought a steaming cup to his lips, and sipped. I caught the heady mix of mulling spices and the sharpness of warmed wine. I cleared my throat, found my voice harsh from the coughing. “I am glad to see you all again.” I gratefully accepted the warm earthenware cup that was presented to me by a tall gray-haired woman. I sipped, coughing again as the wine burned all the way down. Gilliam raised his mug. “Here’s to fishermen, and the best wine kopecs can buy.” I’d made my way through half the cup when the quiet murmur of conversations buzzing through the hall grew still. I turned to see a group of men troop in, bearing tarp-wrapped nets between them. They were followed by a trio of girls, two tall, one much shorter, huddled in dripping blankets. I recognized two heads of golden hair Several more men followed them, but had to wait while the gray-haired woman hustled the girls aside, getting them fresh blankets. I saw her speak to the two taller girls, and wasn’t surprised when they did not seem to register what it was the older woman said. Being from northern Glantri, the weavers would have had very limited exposure — if any at all — to the language of the natives of the Grand Duchy. The smaller girl translated, and the posture of her taller companions eased. Their backs were to the rest of the room, though, and they would not have eased nearly as much if they’d seen the dark looks directed their way by those in the hall close enough to overhear. “They must have been picked up by the boat behind yours,” Gilliam said, as the gray-haired woman led the three girls towards our spot by the fire. Our reunion was interrupted by the gray-haired woman and a broad- shouldered man who’s iron-hued beard still dripped. I recognized his voice as the man who’d fished me from the lake. He introduced himself as Ion and the woman, his wife Deitra. “Well,” he said, drawing deeply from a tankard, “these are strange days. Never in all my years have so many of my prayers to Protius and Zirchev been answered. I pray for warmth for my clan and village, and this Great White Wolf loses her teeth. I pray for a bountiful catch, and this is what I get. I should have been more specific when I asked for Protius to fill my nets.” “Your faces are not familiar to me, and I think I would remember such a handful of striking young ladies.” Deitra slapped her husband across the shoulder, not entirely playfully. There was more flash to sparkle in her eyes. The older man sighed. “Pardon my husband,” the woman said. “What he means to say is—“ “What I mean to say is I know your faces as well as I know your business. Men in the water amidst a sudden lightning storm isn’t so strange.” He sat forward, lowering his voice. “But for there to be no flotsam? What was your vessel’s name? Where are her captain and crew?” His light brown eyes moved to each of our faces. He sat back with a barely perceptible nod, as if confirming his unspoken thoughts. Gilliam drew a breath, but Ion held up a broad, callused hand. “No, I will not ask your business, now that I know you haven’t brought ruin to any of my clansmen or fellow fishermen. I am not interested in your troubles, and do not want to involve me or mine in any of them.” He pushed himself to his feet, and Dietra rose as well. He turned to leave, but rather than go with him, Dietra planted her hands on her hips. Ion drew a deep breath, looking over his shoulder at us. “ Immortals alone know we’ve all had troubles enough this season. Give me any more, and I’ll cast you back into the lake.” The older woman tapped a finger on her hip. The fisherman gave a gruff sigh. “I can offer you little more than beggar’s hospitality. We’ve been lucky to catch enough for our own families, let alone have any to share, these past few weeks.” He trailed off, glancing again from face to face. He frowned at the blank expressions that met his gaze. “I’m afraid the wine and warmth are about all we can spare.