Storm Rising

to worship—' and so on.' Tremane smiled slightly. 'I don't see the harm so long as they understand there won't be any ritual fasting without special permission, and if they want to undergo any prolonged dream quests, they'll have to apply for and use their leave days to do it.'

The officer sighed and looked relieved. 'That was the one thing I was worried about, sir, and using leave-days takes care of the problem. Very well, sir, I'll tell them. I doubt they'll have any trouble with it.'

'I certainly don't have any difficulty with it,' Tremane told him. 'And if we get multi-day storms like this all winter well, I might even make concessions on the leave-days. If you're cooped up in the barracks, you might as well send your spirit out for a little stroll, hmm?'

The officer laughed. 'May I tell them that, too, Commander? I think it would appeal to their sense of humor.'

He shrugged. 'I don't see why you shouldn't. If they know I'll let them have their proper rites, it'll probably keep them more content.'

The officer saluted and headed back down to return to his men. Tremane toyed with a pen and wished he had an outlet for pent-up energies for all of his men that would match the Horned Hunters' dream quests. If this storm went on for too long, there'd be fights as the men got on one another's nerves. While many commanders did not like having the odder, shamanistic cults going on among the men, Tremane had never minded; provided you made an effort to understand what they wanted and see that they got it, they were generally easier to please than the 'civilized' men.

There was something to be said for diversity, though it sometimes did complicate matters.

Once all of his officers had reported in, he relaxed. Now, no matter what came up, he knew where all the men were. He tried to think of ways they could fill in long days of being snowbound once the insides of the barracks were finished.

Well, now I wonder. The Emperor's Guard has their Guard Hall all hung with captured banners and painted with murals of great battles of the past, and those were all done by the men themselves. So—what about seeing if we can't dig up a few men with some artistic talent, then let each barracks decide how the inside of their place should be painted? The lad with the talent can rough things in, and the rest of the boys can color it. We've paint enough for a thousand barracks. That would encourage division pride, camaraderie—

Should he let the Horned Hunters do their barracks with religious symbols? Yes, but only in the sweat lodge area. That would work. And if there was another cult that wanted to do up a small shrine, he'd let them build that, too. Better standardize a size, or they might get greedy and take over half a barracks.

'Sir!' His aide Nevis interrupted his train of thought. 'Men from Shonar with an emergency, sir!' The young man didn't wait for permission to bring them up—which was quite correct in an emergency—he had the group with him. Tremane didn't recognize any of these people, but their expressions told him they were frantic. He recognized their type, though; farmers. Rough hands, weather-beaten faces, heavy clothing perfectly suited to working long hours in harsh winter weather—they were as alike as brothers. That, and their expression, told him everything he needed to know.

And they came to me instead of to Sandar Giles or Chief Husbandman Stoen.

'You've got people lost in this, outside the walls, right?' he said before they could even open their mouths to explain themselves. 'People you sent out with herds? Children?'

The one in front, delegated to be the spokesman most likely, dropped his mouth wide open in surprise. Clearly, that was a correct guess. Tremane seized his arm and led him over to the map table, clearing the surface with an impatient brush of his arm, seizing one particular map from the map stand. Nevis scrambled to pick up the discarded maps while he released the man and spread out the map of the countryside around the town his men had finished just before the first snow, anchoring it with candlesticks so it wouldn't roll up. He glanced at the man, who still hadn't spoken, and who still looked stunned.

'Shake yourself awake, man!' he snapped. 'What else could have brought you here? Now show me where these people were supposed to be; the sooner we get out there, the better the chance of finding them before the damned boggles do!' That seemed to bring the man around, although it took him more than a moment to orient himself to the map. Evidently, he'd not seen a map before with symbols on it instead of rough sketches of landmarks.

When he finally did open his mouth, his accent and vocabulary betrayed him as the rough farmer Tremane had assumed he was. 'We didn' send 'em out too fur, sor,' he said apologetically, 'Kep' em within sight uv walls. We niver thought lettin' 'em take sheep out tedday would—'

'Of course not, you wouldn't have sent them out into danger, I understand, now just show me where they were,' Tremane interrupted. 'You can apologize later. Show me where they last were. Frankly, man, as fast as this storm blew up, they could have been within sight of my men on the walls and be lost now. You can't have known that would happen.'

The farmer stared at the map, his companions peering over his shoulder, and poked a finger hesitantly at the white surface. 'Here—there's three chillern with sheep. Here—Tobe's eldest with cows. Here—the rest uv the sheep with Racky Loder—'

'That's five children, in three parties.' Tremane signaled Nevis. 'Go to the barracks; explain what's happened. Call for volunteers to meet me in the armory, then go get kits from the chirurgeons. I'll lead the party going out the