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touched the horizon and turned the clouds a brilliant scarlet. "You told me not to settle for less than the
best. Now look at me!"
The mail shirt was bloody and torn, and new scratches tore angry lines down both her arms. Mother
Berchte bared her teeth and growled low in her throat at Jeweline's tone of voice, but Jeweline stood firm
and matched Berchte's glare. After a moment, Berchte nodded approval.
Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo.
"Let me guess," Mother Berchte said. "Father Fluss gave you blastberries to let you get away this time."
Jeweline stared at her. "How did ?"
"I'm not stupid, girlie," Berchte snapped. "But you are. Start paying attention to the pattern and maybe
you'll win."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Jeweline snapped back. "There isn't any pattern."
"Of course there is. It's why you haven't rescued your sisters yet."
"You're crazy as a cat in a violin shop." Despite the angry snarl in her voice, Jeweline had edged forward
until she was right next to Mother Berchte's rocking chair. Her head barely reached Berchte's chest, even
though Berchte was seated. Nassirskaegi admired her from his corner and nibbled a bit of hay in an
extremely suggestive manner.
"Look for the pattern." Mother Berchte's needles clicked faster and faster until her fingers were a blur.
"I've already given you the first lesson: never settle for less than the best. The second lesson is that
everything happens in threes. You've had your third visit with Father Fluss, if that pouch at your waist is
filled with sleepyseed like I think it is. This is your third visit to me. And in a moment you'll be making
your third try to rescue your sisters."
"What about the armor?"
"You've already destroyed two sets, girlie," Berchte grumped. "You're on your own there. I don't knit
this stuff for free."
"Is it true that you take your goat to bed with you?" Jeweline asked abruptly.
Berchte stopped knitting for a moment and lashed out a hand. It caught Jeweline squarely across the
face. She cried out and stumbled backward to the mouth of the cave.
"Don't be rude," Berchte told her mildly. She tried to pick up her knitting, but ended up staring down at
her lap in puzzled astonishment instead.
"Over here," Jeweline called.
"Shit," Berchte muttered into her lap.
"You're good at guessing," Jeweline continued. "I'll bet you can guess what I want next."
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Berchte glared across the cave to the entrance where Jeweline was brandishing the missing knitting
needle. "Maybe I'll take up crocheting."
"Yeah, right. Come on you know what I want. Three lessons, three meetings, three rescues. And three
shirts."
Berchte met Jeweline's eyes for a long moment. Then she nodded once and jerked her head at the old,
rusty hauberk Jeweline had abandoned on the stony floor. It was still rusty, but when Jeweline picked it
up, the holes vanished and the rust fell away, revealing glowing chain links that crackled and hummed
with power. Jeweline tossed the needle toward Berchte's chair. She snatched it out of midair and slid it
back into her knitting.
Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo.
"I'd have given it to you anyway, you know," Berchte said.
"Uh huh." Jeweline shrugged out of the ruined shirt and into the good one.
"Like you said," Mother Berchte told her, ignoring the sarcasm, "three visits, three rescues, three shirts.
All part of the pattern. You also have to make a third choice."
Jeweline blinked. "What were my first two?"
"To try rescuing your sisters and to seek the help you needed."
"And my third?"
"Whether you want to stay in the pattern or not," Mother Berchte said. "Whether you really want to
rescue your sisters."
Jeweline narrowed her eyes warily. "What makes you think I don't?"
"You're the youngest. You're probably the prettiest. And they picked on you all your life because of it,
didn't they? Now you're going to show your sisters once and for all that you're the smartest, the bravest,
and the most resourceful. Do you honestly think your sisters will be grateful and pile affection on you?
That they'll kiss your fingers and beg forgiveness for all the nasty things they've done?" Mother Berchte
spat into the fireplace and the flames flared green. "I guarantee you they won't. They'll blame you for the
raid. They'll blame you for your brothers' and parents' deaths. And they'll blame you for not rescuing
them earlier. Oh yes, girlie they will."
"I have to rescue them. They're my sisters," Jeweline said stoutly, though there was doubt in her voice.
"And sisters can be the cruelest of all," Mother Berchte said. "They made fun of you for learning
swordwork from your brothers, didn't they? They called you names and gossiped about you and spread
rumors that you handled your brothers' blades as well as their swords, didn't they?"
Jeweline flushed and looked away.
"Meanwhile," Berchte continued, knitting needles still clicking on her lap, "you have a man waiting for
you in the river at the bottom of this mountain. And maybe if you kiss him, you'll see he isn't as ugly as
you thought."
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"He isn't ugly," Jeweline said quickly, then blushed again.
Berchte gave a knowing nod. "The fool likes you, girlie. He never gaveme blastberries and sleepyseed.
So choose: your ungrateful sisters or him. Or walk away entirely. No one's forcing you to complete the
pattern."
"You're a bitch," Jeweline said. "A horrible old bitch."
"Life's the bitch, girlie," Mother Berchte said affably. "That's your third lesson. You can leave now."
Jeweline gave Mother Berchte once last look, then spun and marched out of the cave. Berchte picked
up her knitting again. Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo.
Nassirskaegi bleated a question.
"She's going to rescue her sisters, of course," Berchte replied gruffly. "But I don't think she's going to
stay with them. Not anymore."
Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo. Wire unwound steadily from Berchte's cable spool and Berchte
allowed herself a heavy sigh. She had gotten a young girl to start thinking for herself, and that was nice.
But she was really going to miss Father Fluss.
Arms and the Woman
Nancy Kress
The hour after the third-year class in Advanced History of Armor Styles was supposed to be my
research time, but a tyro knight had asked to see me, and of course tyros are so sacred that we mere
loremasters must drop everything and counsel them, no matter what valuable papers might miss the
Loremaster Quarterly deadline. To make it worse, the apprentice turned out to be Tyro Marigold. I
have little patience with stupid people; it is my only fault. Marigold is the stupidest apprentice that Castle
Olansa has ever had. By far.
"Loremaster Gwillam, I'm beinghaunted ," she said, sitting on the edge of the wooden bench in my
study, her blue eyes perfectly round. The emblem on her breastplate was upside down. I reached over
and twisted it to its locked and upright position.
"If you're being haunted, then go get a spell from Father Martin."
"I can't, because "
"Don't tell me you `can't.' You know tyros are exempt from hauntings during all of training except vigil
week." Although probably she didn't know. Certainly I hadn't been able to teach her much about
chivalric lore. Why should Father Martin have been any more successful teaching her about death duty?
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"I can't see Father Martin about this because "
"Don't tell me `can't,' girl! Just do it!"
" the ghost is my aunt, First Dame Cecilie of Castle Thlevin!"
That, of course, put a different cast on the situation. I leaned forward and scrutinized Marigold carefully.
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