The next two days passed slowly. As they traveled northward, more and more of the wilds were carved up into patchworks of farms and fields. Such land was the same everywhere—a mess of fences delineating whose field ended where, farmhouses with pens for animals placed haphazardly across the landscape, and the occasional granary. Strangely, nothing was built with stone. All wood. It was a sign of how backwards everything beyond the borders of civilization was. What would they do if the house caught fire? Even the demons built with stone, and they were barely people at all. But not these Kelthuars. Full humans, not even cousins like beast-men, and they couldn’t cut stone.

  “Boys. Question. Do you Skythanders call the people up here stone-men even if they don’t build with stone?” he asked.

  Flower said, “Ya. You’re stone-men because of your little ears and no tail.”

  Pepper added, “And you look like you’re made out of stone. You just have flat skin everywhere and no fur.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m hairier than both of you put together! Haven’t you noticed the beard?” said Androkles with only partially feigned indignance.

  “But that’s because we’re just little! We’ll have all our fur when we grow up and then we’ll look normal instead of bald,” said Flower. He sounded a bit miffed.

  “And besides, stone-men are just called stone-men. That’s just what you call them,” added Pepper matter-of-factly.

  After a moment of thought, Androkles realized that having the boys around seemed normal now, and a blessing besides. They liked his stories, and they were as obedient and pleasant as anyone could ask for. As they recovered and more of their true selves emerged, it seemed almost like discovering hidden treasure. Nikon had always said that little boys were obnoxious and rebellious, but Androkles wasn’t seeing it. No wonder Della had cursed him for their lack of children. She must have known what they were really like.

  Near the end of the second day, the road grew almost crowded with Kelthuars carrying goods in baskets and on the occasional cart, and soon he arrived at the village. It was somewhat small, perhaps only a hundred buildings, and encircled by walls made out of rough-hewn tree trunks. The road ended at a gate more evenly carved that the rest, which swung open on enormous hinges like a door. All trees and brush had been cut away perhaps two hundred cubits in every direction, and the area wasn’t farmed, which seemed like a waste, but he supposed they had their reasons.

  The rickety wooden walls were completely underwhelming. Beyond keeping a stray bear away, they wouldn’t protect anyone from anything. If Androkles marched here with the great army of the Glories, the village would fall in a day or two. Set fire to the walls, and that would be that.

  The locals wore clothing as shoddy and poor as the village walls, to Androkles’s eyes. Mostly shirts and pants of undyed wool, although some had leather vests or coats, also mostly plain and cheap-looking. Some of the clothing had embroidery, but it could only be described as half-hearted. Did they not have proper needles?

  He and the boys in their bright yellow robes with the red cloaks about their necks stood out like paint on marble in this brown, grimy, uncivilized village. All the way up the final stretch of road, people stopped and openly stared, and despite his exhaustion, he walked tall as he pulled the cart, doing his best to make it look easy and give them a good show.

  Only a single guard stood before the leaning, creaking wooden gate to the village. He wore leather armor, cut like the armor the riders had worn the other day, and an unpolished, conical bronze helmet. His roundish, unintimidating face certainly did not suit his station, and his arms didn’t look particularly strong. He was a bit taller than most of the locals, but not nearly as tall as Androkles. When Androkles approached, the guard took his long spear from where it rested against the gateway and planted the butt in the ground.

  “Welcome, traveler. What’s your business in Basket?” the guard asked.

  Basket? The village was named Basket? That was more than undignified, it was silly. Androkles sighed and considered for a second before answering; he had been ready to announce he had some orphans to give to a good home, but all of a sudden he had second thoughts. It would be prudent to look around a bit first and make sure the village was suitable. He had no inclination to leave the boys somewhere awful. He said, “I’m looking for an inn where I can stay for a few days, and plenty of beer, if you make any here.”

  “We have beer, and it’s excellent, but we don’t have an inn. That looks like a merchant’s cart, and you don’t look much like a merchant. No offense. So what are you, exactly?”

  “How do you not have an inn?” Androkles asked crossly.

  “It burned down with the master inside, and no one cares enough for strangers to build another one and run it.”

  “I see,” said Androkles, displeasure plain in his voice. He had been looking forward to sleeping indoors.

  “So are you here to trade, or not?” asked the guard. “Because if not, you might have to convince me to let you in.”

  “No, I’m not here to trade. Just passing through, but it’s been a long road and I was hoping to rest my feet for a day or two. We got caught out in that rainstorm a few days back.”

  “It didn’t rain much here. If you’re not here to trade, then why should I let you in?” asked the guard.

  “Why would you not let me in? What kind of town is this?” asked Androkles. He could feel his temper starting to rise, and he pushed it down. Killing a bunch of locals would make it hard to do any of the things he came here for. “Do you not have anywhere for me to stay?”

  The guard thought about that for a moment, then said, “Oh, I didn’t say we don’t have anywhere for you to stay. I said we don’t have an inn. What we have is not for just anyone who comes along, though. You’re a big man with a lot of scars, and frankly, I wouldn’t turn my back on you to run out of a burning house. These are not times to trust strangers. No offense. I’ll need something to make sure you’ll behave.”

  “How much trouble do you think I’m going to cause with a cart full of goods and two skinny little Skythander boys?” said Androkles. “Maybe you think I’ll pick it up and run away after stealing your wife’s virginity?”

  The guard scowled at that. “Then where’d you get the boys?”

  “They’re my slaves, and it’s none of your business. None of my business is your business. What under Thuellos Sky-god’s dangly manhood is your problem?” Androkles reconsidered keeping his temper under wraps. The guard could probably tell, because he gripped his spear more tightly.

  “My problem,” said the guard, whose voice became serious; he was beginning to radiate a killing intent, although it was laughably weak, “is roads full of Mari’s vicious brood, bandits, and slave-stealers. My problem is our people being taken before they can bring in the harvest. If you stole those kits or the cart, I don’t want to have to deal with whoever is coming to kill you. You’re an armed giant covered in scars. I can’t just let you in for nothing. And if you don’t like it, you can get taken by crows!”

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  The guard was either tremendously brave or foolish to try and bar Androkles’s way; the man had to know how a fight would end. But he did have a point. The roads weren’t exactly safe these days. Androkles considered which he’d rather have just at the moment: the pleasure of cowing a weak fool, or somewhere to leave the boys while he travelled onward. And a large pot of beer, and somewhere to sit down. Warm, frothy beer, and good food. Maybe a woman, if they had any here for travelers and he could find somewhere to stuff the boys.

  And maybe, just maybe, if the guard thought Androkles to have a somewhat passive personality, he’d be stupid enough to gamble tonight, and Androkles would leave with all the man’s money tomorrow morning.

  With a sigh, Androkles made a show of slumping his shoulders and looking defeated. “Master Guardsman, I know how I look, but I’m a just man, and I’m on honest business. It’s been a hard road, hauling this cart in the rain, and I’ve had to deal with wolves and worse. I haven’t gotten proper rest in weeks, and neither have my poor boys. Look how skinny they are!” With this, he walked back and pulled up Pepper’s sleeve to show how thin the kit’s arm was. “If anyone in town has room for us, I’m paying good silver. Even if there’s no room, I could use a pot of beer like you wouldn’t believe, and the boys could use some warm food before we move on.”

  The kits both looked perfectly nervous and pitiable; they probably didn’t understand what was going on here, and believed Androkles was being sincere. They must be shocked, seeing humility from him.

  Flower even ventured to beg, “Please, master guardsman, please let us in. Master Androkles is the best stone-man there is.” The boy’s voice was weak, unsure, unsteady, and pitiable. It was perfect. Androkles had to try very, very hard not to smirk. Perfect.

  The guard looked unsure, but his demeanor changed. His killing intent faded, and his posture became more relaxed.

  “Oh by the goddess, Kemen, you dumb bastard!” said a woman behind them. “He doesn’t get that you’re asking for a bribe, and you’re too greedy to notice. You’re holding up the line with this pissing stupid nonsense.” The men and boys all turned to look behind them in surprise. A woman stood there, short and plump with her drab brown hair pulled into a knot. She had dried mud caked onto both arms, and dirt on her forehead as well, and she held a large box full of some kind of tan vegetable against her stomach. The grime made her age hard to pin down, but he supposed she was a bit older than he was.

  Androkles’s jaw dropped at her boldness, but no one else seemed to care.

  The guard crossly retorted, “I have perfectly legitimate concerns about his appearance! Don’t interrupt us.”

  The unbelievable woman snorted and said, “If you do, you’re dumber than I thought. You ever see a bandit dressed like that? And if those slaves were stolen, they’d be in chains, you short-rodded moron. He’s honest, the slaves are staying put because they want to, and you’re wasting everyone’s time. Mine in particular.”

  The guard, whose name was apparently Kemen, said, “If I let them in, I have to give them guest-right. What happens when armed men come looking for him?”

  “Then you can haggle with them at the gate for bribes, like you do for everyone else.” She turned to Androkles and said, “Just give him a silver and get it over with. You know he’s just after your money, right? He does this all the time.”

  “I was going for five, you stupid scorpion! This guy looks like he might really be trouble!” The guard knew he had lost the argument, however, and he tapped his foot impatiently, not quite looking at Androkles.

  “One silver it is, then,” said Androkles, digging out his coin-purse. He carefully opened it behind his cloak, where the guard couldn’t see how much money he had.

  Then he tossed the silver to the man, who caught it and said, “Go on in. I wasn’t kidding about the inn, though. You’re on your own, and don’t let me catch you sleeping on the street like a vagrant.”

  “I’m a civilized man, and civilized men don’t sleep on the street. Or ask for bribes,” said Androkles, somewhat irked that he’d forgotten about barbarians and their penchant for bribery.

  He took hold of the pull bar and started heading in when the woman smacked the back of the cart and said, “Wait for me, stranger. I’ll show you around.” He nodded and leaned on the cart.

  She dropped the box at Kemen’s feet and crossed her arms. The man sighed and pulled out a roll of cheap vellum, making a tally of the vegetables she had brought in. Once he had counted them all, he said, “Put these in the second granary. I want to split the harvest so we don’t lose everything if one of them burns down like last spring.”

  “Got it,” she said. Then she set the box on his cart, knocked on the wheel, and said, “Alright, stranger. Let’s go.”

  Androkles could not shake his shock at her behavior. He had never seen a woman behave like this in public. Never, not even slaves or prostitutes. Arguing with men, and using rude speech? And winning? He loved it. That would never fly in the Glories, where the honor of a woman was her virtue and purity, but it was merry and then some in a place like this.

  “Lead on, then, woman. Where are we going?” he said.

  “Second granary. Then I’ll show you somewhere you can sleep for free and Kemen can’t piss on a wall.” Androkles wasn’t quite certain what she meant, but he was amused nonetheless.

  The interior of the village looked a bit better than the walls, Androkles had to admit. The village was arranged in a large ring around an ancient-looking stone circle, perhaps ten arm-spans in diameter. At its very center, a plain wooden altar had been erected to some god. No part of the circle compared with the temples of the Glories, of course. The villagers kept it unpainted, although they decorated with wreathes and flowers. A few old women stood around outside the circle peddling wares of various kinds, and inside, some younger children were playing a game involving painted balls of wood.

  Small, circular buildings of roughly-stacked and mortared stone comprised most of the architecture, all with conical rooves of thatch. Many of the houses had decorations made from dried harvest plants tied into patterns, and some were painted. The ground was mostly dirt, but the main road through the village was paved.

  The people wore long clothes of thick wool in plain colors, even the children; however, many of the women had jewelry, some of it gold, in their hair and around their necks. Their general appearance was tidy and clean, which was a relief. He didn’t want to leave his boys somewhere no one bathed.

  “Town’s name is Basket because of the stone ring,” the curious woman explained as they walked. “They say it’s been there since the gods made the world, and our first parents walked right out of it on the first day. I think that story’s worth a pot of spit, but don’t tell anyone I said so. Anyway, now it’s sacred to Mari, the goddess of the wilds. The altar is hers. Only god we have around here. I’m sure you heard the wolves running all over? It’s because she’s got her hair in knots at something. By the way, the name’s Agurne. What was yours, again? I’ve forgotten it already. Wasn’t particularly memorable.”

  “Androkles son of Paramonos. And your name sounds like ‘a groan’ so don’t mock mine,” he said with a smirk.

  “Ha! Where you from, Androkles?”

  “From the Glories, far south of here. My City is Dikaia.”

  “Arrogant southern assholes, I’ve heard. Call yourself the glories and everything, like you don’t stink if you miss a bath,” she laughed.

  “It might be arrogant if our lands weren’t the greatest and best of everything. But they are, so it’s more descriptive than hopeful,” he said, playing along. Gods, if only his friends in the army could see him now, bantering with a woman in public. They wouldn’t have known whether to gape or laugh.

  “Do they grow all their men so tall down there? Or are you a freak?” she asked, appraising his appearance. She took particular notice of his arms, so he subtly flexed them for her with a smirk.

  “I’m taller than most of them, too. And stronger, and faster, and more handsome,” he said.

  She grinned approvingly and said, “I’ve been waiting for someone like you to come stir things up. Make sure you don’t leave without making a mess first.”

  At the far end of the village, fairly close to the north gate, Agurne stopped and gestured at a house with no door. “This here’s the traveler’s house, and it’s what we have instead of the inn. Kemen probably didn’t want me to show you, so here we are. That petty little man can get taken by crows, for all I care. You can stay as you please, but you’ll have to make room if any other travelers show up. You can leave your cart out front here. No one here will steal anything. You won’t need that sword and shield, either. We’re harmless folk unless you kick our cookfires or spit in the beer.”