Kivinaisia Chapter 2

Barrentor
Barrentor, Kingdom of Moha'anan
14th day of Midsummer, Year 3817

The next two days were a blur of sorting, packing, purchasing and tears.  I needed to buy a mount and a pack beast, food, arms, stout clothing and the sort of tools and supplies one needs when on campaign or long journeys.  I also needed to explain to Elyssia what her new property was worth and how to best make use of it whether she chose to let it out to another craftsman or to sell the tools and property.  She's a sweet girl, but years under the thumb of a man (if I'm being charitable) like Thoma Magor limited her experience with money and business.  I also pressed upon her the importance of the property being hers, not Arne's, should they marry and the importance of refusing Arne unless she was certain that they were good together.  I would not see her unhappily wed after I'd gone to so much trouble to free her from one poor match.
	I'd a fair amount of shillings and pfennigs hidden away and more on account in the counting house, but even my modest wealth wasn't enough to buy a good horse.  I detest camels and llamas, the filthy creatures, and so decided to purchase a pair of asses.  After more than an hour of looking over asses, mules and hinneys, I found a man, an itinerant horsebreeder, selling a quartet of peculiar looking beasts.  Each was striped in variegated shades of browns and grays, with ears like an ass, the body of a horse but the legs of a mule.  And each was at least 15 hands at the shoulder.
	After inquiring, the man Chep, said that they were the get of a Jackstock he kept for stud and some wild zorse he'd found in his travels.  The zorse he claimed, to have been untamable, but the offspring were so striking and sturdy, that he found buyers in most major towns and metropolises.  Unfortunately he was unable to find buyers this far from the hinterlands specifically because they were so striking.  I examined the animals and tested their temperament, and finding them both hale and biddable, we haggled.  I think I did well, paying only fifteen shillings and four for each animal, and that with tack for all four and a riding saddle thrown in.  Another 5 shillings bought me a spare set of tack and three packsaddles.
	My list of goods and gear was tediously and laboriously worked over and chosen with care.  I did not know what my living situation would be like with the Kivinaisia, but as it was to be in the mountains or on on campaign I expected the worst.  Heavy woolen and fur blankets, a stout oilskin tent, many skin jugs for drinking as well as several barrels and buckets, my leatherworking tools, several bolts of canvas and linen as well as thread, a few dozen steel needles and an assortment of cooking utensils, five weight of salt as well as a large iron pot, a kettle, spit and an iron grate were all included.  An axe, splitting maul, several bow-saw blades and a bow, some basic woodworking tools, and several hundred feet of stout hemp rope were added to my supplies as I did not know what sort of accommodations I would find, and if nothing else, I thought the Kivinaisia were not going to be experienced makers of dollhouses.
	To further outfit my wardrobe, I dipped into my shop's goods for a pair of knee-high hobnail boots that I'd been trying unsuccessfully to sell for the last several months, a wide belt set with a number of pouches and pockets, and a wide-brimmed leather hat with a low crown.  An assortment of heavy, well-tailored shirts, breeches and a woolen cloak with the lanolin still in the fibers would shed almost any amount of rain or sleet and completed that portion of my checklist.
	Additionally I purchased a plain, but quite serviceable, basket-hilted back-sword that was sharpened for a foot behind the point, and a fine, steel-faced buckler.  It had been close on to two decades since I last soldiered, but I expected that with a bit of practice it would come back to me.  I hoped.
	The most expensive purchases by far were the harness and a rifled carbine and a smoothbore pistol, both with the new flintlock action that had proven itself superior to the temperamental wheelocks and springlocks of my youth.  I purchased, at the ruinous cost of a shilling per weight, a stock of gunpowder and frizzen powder and for a more reasonable price several pounds of lead balls, each as wide as my thumbnail, and a similar quantity of steel shot.  Linen patches, a tool kit and a small cask of grease completed the purchase.
	The harness was something of a quandary.  In my youth as a soldier, we wore a steel cuirass with articulated cuisse and brassarts, but that was many years ago.  It did not help that the armorer wanted better than 3 golden marks and a month to build me one.  He did however have on hand a split-tail mail hauberk that was just a little short on me, and if I am completely honest, was built for a man several inches thinner than I was.
He agreed to alter the width of the suit, sow it into a canvas jack for me and then cover it with another canvas jack, this one make from undyed oilskin with small steel plates riveted to both sides of it.
	The brigandine was heavy, breathed abominably, after the first hour of wear it smelled like a wet horse and was not as protective as the slabs and articulations of plate steel I was used to, but I had to admit, it was flexible.  It also helped that I convinced the armorer to have his apprentices enamel the outer set of plates in several shades of brown.  The end result made me look like a not very convincing birch tree trunk.  Perhaps more like a burl, than a trunk really.  It had been a while since I'd been a-soldiering, after all.

***

Double checking my packs and saddles and going over my lists of gear again to ensure I'd forgotten nothing I made my farewells to Arne and Elyssia and again to Butler and Captain Dunleavy.
	“Be sure to call up the levy NOW and get them kitted out and used to practicing again.  You may not get a chance to do more than a little drill before you may be forced to defend the walls.” I said lowly.  “The Kiviniasa have agreed to help, but have not said they could stop the Highest's army on their own.  And it would be helpful Captain, if the Rangers could give us some better idea of what we're facing and when, if at all possible.”
	“Aye.” Said Dunleavy, gripping arms with me.
	“We'll get them called up today.” said Butler, likewise gripping arms with me.  “Take care of yourself now Geremiah Stonebender.” his smile was weak, but genuine.
	“I'll do that little thing for you Geoffrey Butler.” I chuckled wryly
	Having nothing left to say, I turned on my heel, stepped up onto my mount and led my little caravan of banded equus to the stockyards.  There I turned over a writ from the council to an anvil of a man who sneered at it in the predawn lamplight as though it owed him money and then had three of his stockmen cut out 50 beeves from his herd and we set off away from town on the road to Torgreen.
	Riding drag behind a herd of beef cattle  is not a pleasant experience.  Dust, noise and the aroma of fresh shit enveloped me even before leaving town.  The ride was too slow to be enjoyable, as the cattle were in no great mood to run anywhere, not that we wanted to run them.  Moving too quickly for too long would run the weight right off them.  I suspected that the Kivinaisia would be unpleased if I delivered scrawny cattle to them.  By the time the sun rose we were out of sight of Barrentor and I was already bored and disgusted.
	I rode to the stockman who had the unfortunate luck to be leading the remounts for the party behind him, and tied my Zackstock to the string.
	“I'm riding out to survey the course and find a trail to the bench.  I should be back before suppertime.”  He nodded and grunted his acknowledgment.
	The road itself was 20 spans wide and made of a thick, packed, sandy soil over a deep rubble roadbed with elevated stone walkways on either side.  This shed water easily and prevented the roadway from becoming a morass during rains as the local soil was better than half clay.  The sandy soil had to be imported from one of the southern provinces or over near the coast several weeks ride to the west.  I was glad that this was not one of the larger graveled or paved roads as they would have been hell on the beeves' and horses' hooves.
	I rode out at a trot and admired the forest around me.  Primarily birch and towering pole-pine with the occasional scrub oak fighting for space, the countryside was awash with white, green and dark, dark brown.  What lay behind the screen of trees I wondered.  Mountain lion?  Bear?  Bluemen from over the mountains?  I knew their savage empire spanned the highlands from the other side of the escarpment, all the way down to the sea.  Were there outriders from the Highest's army seeking intelligence to use against my former civikanen?
	Rounding a bend in the road I sighted the bench, high up on the shoulder of the mountain.  Tying my spare neckcloth to a tree branch, I dismounted and urged my mount onto and then over the walkway and remounted.  Sighting on the road behind me and the bench, visible only through occasional breaks in the forest, I began my scout of the mountain.
	After an hour of riding the slope began to rise far to quickly for cattle to make an easy trek of it, so I veered to the west, following the contour of the land.  Another hour or so of riding led me to a slope devoid of trees, covered in rich green foliage and a carpet of blood-red flowers; crimson clover.  This slope was gentler than the one behind me and the clover would make for an excellent meal for the beeves.  Making a survey of the slope I found a tiny stream, less then a foot wide, but filled with clear mountain runoff from the melting peak above.  Food and water would be a perfect resting point for dinner, assuming we could shift the beeves before the second hour after midday.
	I rode straight back towards the road, marking my trail with judicious use of the hatchet strapped to my saddle.  The way was reasonably terrained, being mostly birch duff and scattered acorns between moderately spaced trees and not unduly steep.  When I encountered the road I could just make out the crimson of my neckcloth perhaps a third of a mile down the road.  Cutting a final blaze, I stowed the hatchet and trotted down the sandy way towards the herd, retrieving my neck cloth as I rode.
	We managed to shift the beeves in good time and settled down for a meal of cheese, well-smoked ham and bread rich with eggs, light and fluffy with a crust like an assault sergeant.  The beeves enjoyed their clover and cold water, as did the mounts.  Between the fouth and fifth hours after midday we started the final climb onto the bench.
	The bench itself was covered with crimson clover, meadowfoam and wildflowers and commanded an impressive vista that spanned the lower valley with it's farmsteads, hamlets and village leading to the opening spans of the rolling hills to the south, that led to the rest of the kingdom.  Tilled fields and the wide river of blue-black water, deep and cold that men called the Aquamortis as it gently unDoolahted its way through to join the Bruin River as it ran south across Bruinpoole and eventually the sea.  I heaved a sigh as I bade farewell to my home for so many years, then turned my mount and trotted off after the herd.
	Shortly before dusk we topped the slope, breaking through a thin curtain of pole pines that screened the bench from the slope. A large pond, perhaps 20 feet wide and fed by a trickle lay near the western edge of the bench, hidden from view from the valley.  The beeves homed in on it as though it as bees to a hive, lowing and standing hock-deep to drink their fill.
	I was at a loss as to what to do now.  I guess wait was all I could do.  I dismissed the stockmen and sought out a suitable place to pitch my tent.  Even in the summer heat, the altitude and the mountain wind made is noticeably cooler than down in town.  I had just selected a good location to lay out my camp when Monaruru's voice came floating, surging rather, on the breeze.
	“Halloo blood-sib!  I see you brought us dinner!”
	The beeves lowed in alarm and my Zacks give out a whinneying bray as ten huge figures, the smallest of which was 36 hands if a finger, strode from the dense forest upslope of me.  Monaruru stood in front, but was neither the tallest, nor the broadest of them.  All ten of them were definitely female though.  I stood aghast at the sheer weight of killing prowess I beheld.  For I made no mistake that they were doughty warriors no matter their sex.
	Each was clad in tunic, hose and boots overlain with plate greaves and vambrace, a brigandine jack,  a bell-shaped shield and a barbute helm.  Each carried a sword or axe and several carried spears or pole-arms as well.  The jacks and boots were all dyed the same uniform blue as Monaruru's and their tunics were all the same granite color as well, their hose were all the different colors of the rainbow though.
	All but two of them, Monaruru and the tallest of them, spread out to watch the perimeter of the bench while Monaruru sat with a rather unlady-like “thump” and her companion, whom I assumed was her second in command, stood behind her shoulder.
	“How was your march, Monaruru?” I called, unsure of the proper mode of address.
	“Well, Geremiah.  Not many beasts wish to tangle with one of the Kivinaisia, much less an entire  file of us.  There was game, though not much and mostly small and fleet.  It is good that you have brought us food for we were fair famished from the trek.  Build two fires and we will roast our dinner and discuss the lay of things among us, for you must have many questions.”
	I rose with creaking joints to begin preparing the fires and asked “Will you ask some of your...file, to fetch deadwood and to slaughter two of the beeves?”  I went to one of the Zinnies and calmed her and her brethren before unpacking some of the bivouac kit I had brought.
	“Keeaye, fetch some dead wood.   Doola, take three of the beeves into the wood and slaughter them.”  She said loudly enough to be  heard across the clearing.
	I fetched a spade and in a few minutes cut enough sod to clear two large squares and a smaller square off to the side.  I then gathered a number of rocks to build a ring around the smaller bare space two hands high.  By this time Keeaye had returned with a deadfall birch.  An entire one; limbs, crown and trunk.  I peeled some of the bark and knocked it with my axe, listening for the dull thud that meant it has gone rotten, but found only the bright solid “thunk” of seasoned wood.
	Keeaye looked on curiously.  She'd slung her helm from her swordbelt and I could see her face, soft and guileless as a child’s with grey eyes and honey-blonde hair that fell in ringlets about her countenance.
	“Keeaye, if it please you, would you bring me a pole pine twice tall as you are and a living poplar of your height?”
	She blinked as though she did not expect me to address her, then her wide mouth turned up at the corners and she nodded shyly.  Turning she sprinted towards the windward side of the mountain, her tremendous stride eating up the distance dizzyingly.
	I used the saw to trim several of the smaller branches and limbs to make the firebeds with and then sawed a number of the larger limbs into span lengths to build the fires proper with.  By then Doolah had returned carrying three skinned and slaughtered beeves.  The smell of blood made the other beeves nervous.
	I brought her one of the coils of rope from my gear. “String them up by a hock from yonder birch, so they may hang for a bit before cooking.”  As she turned, nodding, I added “Doolah, what did you do with the hides?”
	She hesitated for a second then spoke in a high, clear soprano “With the offal I did leave them,  bal-mah-cour.”
	I frowned “That will never do.  After you've hung the beef, go and fetch them.  I'm no longer a leathersmith, but I'll not see that much leather go to waste.  If the Kivinaisia have no use for it, I'm sure I can sell it with no issue.”
	“Oh, we have use for it, but we are so far from home,” she said “I did not think it would survive the journey.”
	“Do you not scrape the hides?” I asked.  It was the practice of the tanners in the Kingdom to scrape all flesh and viscera from hides before tanning or curing them.
	“Yes, but we have no urok to do the scraping...” she trailed off.
	“Roll the hides inside one another and bring them to me.” I commanded in my “I am the master and you are the apprentice” voice.
	“Yes, Bal-mah-cour.” she squeaked and fair lept to string up the beeves.
	I laid three fire beds in each of the large pits and one in the small.  I then lit them using a flint and my belt knife; after I was sure they were well lit, I began laying larger branches over them and then the span-length logs I'd cut from the limbs.  Soon the fires were high and blazing merrily.
	Keeaye returned with the trees I'd asked for just as Doolah returned with the hides.
	“Strip the limbs and bark from that one, would you please Keeaye?” I said pointing at the poplar.  “And will you strip the limbs from the pine as well Doolah?”
	Both Kivinaisia set to their tasks forthwith as I considered the problem of the skins.
	“That was fair done, Geremiah.” said Monaruru quietly.  “Have you commanded troops before?”
	“No.  But I was a corporal in the king's army as a lad, before I mustered out to start my real life.” I replied as I unrolled the skins.  They were not so large as some of the bullhides I used for bootsoles or shield linings, but they were of a goodly size.  I was no tanner, but I could make do, as every leathersmith worth his tools learned a little bit about the foul-smelling trade.  I decided that what they needed was scraping and drying.
	When the trees were denuded, I took saw and axe to them creating man-high stakes with sharpened points as thick as a man's bicep from the pole pines and a log of a fairly uniform diameter about as thick as a man's thigh a good fifteen spans long.  I had Keeaye drive the stakes into the earth forming three crosses at either end and the middle of the two large pits, then lashed them together with the remains of the rope Doolah used to hang the beeve carcasses with.
	“Doolah, take these hides and lash them between those trees over there.  They must be stretched in place fairly tightly.  Use the rope here and from the carcasses after you bring them to me.  Keeaye, take this pot “ I indicated the knee-high bulbus container ” and fill it from the pond.”
	“What can I do to assist you Geremiah?” asked Monaruru.
	“You could get someone with an axe to spatchcock those carcasses for me and then trim the spines in three places.” I said smiling.
	She nodded to her companion “Reeai, see to it.”
	Her companion drew a handaxe as large as a human war-axe from her belt and intercepted Doolah before she lugged the three beeves all the way over.  I used the break to check the fires and finding them satisfactory I topped the small one with the grate from my stores and fetches a weight of salt and a handful of the large spikes I'd brought with me for carpentry purposes.
	“What's your intent Geremiah?” inquired Monaruru.
	“I intend to nail these beeves to this poplar that we may use it to roast them Monaruru.” I said, I was losing the light and the thought of being stuck in the dark with so many hungry predators made me nervous, blood-sib or no.
	“Among ourselves we use the blood names that our mother's gave us at birth.  Call me Ohmuh.”
	“Alright, Ohmuh.   I have no blood name to give you, but as a lad, my friends called me Hob.”
	“Hob? “ she asked, trying the name out.
	“Yes.  I was the only boy in the town who had hob-nailed boots.  The rest wore lapped shoes or went barefoot.  Even the noble's get wore slippers or smooth-soled boots.  Only woodsmen or footmen in the army wore hobs.”
	Reeai brought the first carcass and held the side in place on the bole as I drove two spikes into it, the large flat heads gripping firmly into the still bloody flesh.  The work progressed rapidly and soon all three carcasses were affixed to the pole.
	Keeaye returned from putting the beef spines in the pot and I had her set it off to one side before allowing her to sit.  Doolah reported that the hides were lashed in place and I allowed her to sit as well.  I asked Ohmuh to detail three of the others to scrape the hides clean with what little light remained while I rubbed handfulls of salt on the meat.  I cut a span-length section from each of the primals and set them aside for my own use., then ordered the tree-cum skewer to be set upon the pine braces.  The lashings groaned and settled a bit and the smell of roasting beef began to fill the clearing.
	I unpacked the Zacks and rubbed them down quickly, tying them to a line strung between two trees so they could graze but not wander.  I normally would not have placed them so far from my camp, but with this many kivinaisia present, I had no thought that there would be lesser predators about.
	Returning to the fires with a skin of wine I asked Monaruru “What is this discussion about the lay of things?”  One of the Kivinaisia, I think her name was Zeeluh, flipped the beeves and I slashed them with a fruity red from the skin.
	“We must decide how to proceed against your people's enemies.”
	“Not my people.” I interrupted “I am blood-sib to the  Czerhun'bal sept of the Kivinaisia.  They are my people.”.  The Kivinaisia looked stunned, either at my temerity or my words, I was unsure which.
	Into the silence that followed Monaruru laughed, her head thrown back.  “It is a clever man who can take such a change in his world in stride and make it his own so quickly.”
	I shrugged.  “A man who cannot adapt to a changing battlefield, is a dead man more often than not.  And I learned early that life is most definitely a battlefield.”
	Now all of them were grinning.  The three who had been scraping hides returned and made inquiries of their kin.  I could not understand their tongue, but I know the tone and inflection.
	What's so funny, sis?
	Zeeluh blurted out “The  Bal-mah-cour thinks like a woman!” then looked sheepish at me from the corner of her eye, as though ashamed by her outburst.
	The returnees laughed and eyed the roasting meat hungrily.  “Good” said one.  “How long for the food?” Asked another.
	“Soon” I said.  Perhaps another half-hour.  I motioned for Zeeluh to flip the beeves again and wine and fat sizzled in the coals.
	“So, what intelligence have you on the Highest's Army?” I asked as I set aside the skin and began to slice slabs off the tenderloins I'd claimed as my own; once sliced, I lay them out on a large rock nearby.
	“None.” came the reply.
	I paused, my head turning to stare at the huge woman.  “None?” I asked slowly
	“None at all, at all.” she said.  “We were hoping you could tell us of them so that we could form a strategy.”
	In the fire-lit darkness I fumbled for a rock.  Finding one slightly bigger than my fist and flatish I poured a bit of wine over the flat side and then, gripping it with both hand I brought it smashing down on the sliced beef.  Over and over and over I took my heightening fear out on the beef, grunting with effort.
	I dropped the rock as the assembled Kivinaisia stared and I sprinkled salt on the flattened meat then dropped it on the grill to sizzle and steam over the coals.  I sat back, looked at Monaruru and took a long pull off the skin of wine.  Then I took another.
	“None.” I said flatly and could not keep the look of disgust from my face as I said it.  Things never change in the army.  In any army.
	“Well, our best guess is that there's about three hundred of them, probably all infantry, most probably they'll have cannon and perhaps some light cavalry for screening and as skirmishers.  They fight in columns by preference, but will form ranks if an engagement becomes protracted.  Their jezail tend to be fairly light for firearms, with a smaller bore than kingdom arms by half, but longer, making them more useful in unit melees and against cavalry.  Less wieldy in individual melees though, so they usually drop them in favor of scimitars or falchions and round-shields quite a bit bigger than my own, usually two span across.  They wear scale or mail armor and conical helms similar to yours.”
	There were murmurs as the warriors digested what I had said and I motioned for the spit to be turned again and I sloshed wine over the meat one last time.
	“Leaders?”  Asked Reeai?
	“Officer-priests.” I replied. “They wear large surcoats with the symbol of their god-king on them, a red sun, in his splendor, with a black crescent on the forehead, the points upward.  Their orders are supposedly absolute and though they are chosen for their zeal as much as their martial ability, there are few fools among them.  Well, except for the whole “We worship a man who is a god, but can die and be reborn as himself” thing.”  I flipped my steaks, splashed some wine over them and then took another pull from the wine.
	Durandahl's horns, I must be a bit drunk to throw that in there.  Best to lay off the wine. I thought and put the skin away for good. I motioned for the meat to be pulled from the fire and the beef was quickly ripped from it's moorings and passed out with some organization I knew not the manner of.  I did notice that Monaruru and Reeai got the choicest portions though.
	“They use a lay-sergeant to directly control the men and to pass orders, but they use larger cohorts than the kingdom does; five, ten man files rather than four and four cohorts to a company rather than three.”
	“So they've more troops, but a weaker command structure?” said one of the Kivinaisia that had been detailed as a scraper, a pretty, black-haired one with an olive complexion and dark eyes.
	“That's correct...what was your name?” I responded pulling my steaks off to the edge of the grill and skewering one of the smaller ones with my dagger so I could tear a mouthful from it.
	She smirked and glanced at her companions “Ayleeuh, Bal-mah-cour.” she stared at me boldly.
	I was somewhat unnerved.  Had she been a human woman, I'd have thought she meant to trip me in a haystack, but this was...just unnerving.  How would that even...  I shook myself and ripped off another mouthful of flavorful beef.
	“So then if we can kill or drive off the officers, it will do them a mischief that they may not recover from, yes?” She continued, looking at her chief sidelong.
	Monaruru nodded sagely.
	“Good plan, unfortunately even their officers are mounted, so you'll have to either take them by surprise or run their horses down like coursers after a hare.”  I said, eating the last of my steak and picking up another with my fingers now that they'd had a chance to cool somewhat. “Do the Kivinaisia not use bows or rifles?”
	They looked abashed somewhat and I even saw sparks of jealous anger in one or two visages. “No.  We have not the knowing of their crafting.” came the muttered reply.
	“Hmm...well, I can craft a hunting bow.  If we could find something to string them with....bah.  It takes years to learn to be a decent archer that's for the future, not now.  Can you throw your spears, not just thrust with them?”  I was definitely feeling the effects of the wine.  Glad I'd put it away before things really got out of control, I continued to tear into the beefsteaks.
	“Every Kivinaisia can throw the spear but we haven't many among us.  None of us have been willing to pay the helveðinta for more.”  said Monaruru quietly, her eyes averted and downcast.
	I ate in silence for a minute as I wondered what could make a twenty-span warrior in harness and with sword balk at acquiring more weapons.  Whatever it is it must either be horrible or terrifying.  I was halfway through the steaks and I knew I was done.  Without the ability to mount ranged attacks in any great number, we were going to have to rely on much more dangerous ambushes and raid.  Which while no single or even two or three humans were a match for a single Kivinaisia, Even the gigantic women would be hard pressed to escape from the melee unharmed against an entire file of the Highest's infantry.  The fire of the jezails alone would pose a serious issue at close range, since the heavy lead balls could penetrate all but the heaviest of armors and the shields, as huge as they were, could only guard one front at a time.  A full cohort could surround one at range and disable or kill her without too much trouble if they became decisively engaged.  If only they had rifles or cannon.
	I set the issue aside for now, I'd need to think on it to come to any conclusions worth voicing.  “What about cavalry? I asked
	“Usually we drive into them, relying on our armor to turn their lances.” said Monaruru.
	“And when they've turned them, we give 'em the boot!” laughed Doolah. And the others chuckled as well.
	I could imagine the horror and surprise a cavalryman might experience as he and his mount were sent together, flying through the air like a ball in a children's game.  How far would two hundredweight of man and a tonne of horse go if kicked full-force by these giant females?  Fifty span? A hundred?  Glarus take it, it would be like being thrown from a ballista or a catapult.
	Ballista?  Catapult?  Trebuchet!
	 Suddenly I had the solution to our lack of ranged weapons.
	“Ohmah, do Kivinaisia throw rocks as children?” I asked excitedly
	“Of course they do Hob, I think all children do no matter the people.” She replied.  “Why?  Thrown rocks will not seriously harm an armored woman.  It's why we wear armor.”
	“They may not do much damage to an armored Kivinaisia, but to a man, it would be as though struck by a siege engine.  A well-thrown rock could disable or kill as many as a score of men before it came to rest.”
	That brought a murmur from everyone.
	“Hmm...we shall have to gather a great many rocks, and we shall have to practice for a bit first. “ Reeai said, contemplatively.
	“Indeed, but that's for tomorrow.  Tonight we should sleep for we rise early on the morning and must cover some ground before we bivouac and can manage to practice.  We'll also need scouts to seek intelligence of our foe and his disposition.”
	Everyone nodded and we laid much of the rest of the cut firewood on the fires and banked the coals.  I had the file crack the long bones and added them to the pot and then had the whole thing nestled into the banked embers to simmer until morning.  As each of us settled in for the night, the Kivinaisia curled up against each other for warmth and comfort and I into my sleeping fur and woolen blanket.   It had been a long day and the wine and good beef had taken it's toll as well.  As I looked up, I could see a multitude of stars.  They looked brighter than I could ever remember seeing them.  I wondered why as my sight dimmed and I drifted off to