The central square of the outpost was at most fifteen thousand square feet, but probably less. Twenty-five hundred of that was the platform on which the Waystone stood. When Ana left Administration, the square was almost empty, cleared of stands and with only a handful of early-comers waiting around. A small podium stood empty and alone where it had been raised in front of the Waystone, awaiting the impending meeting.

  Soon Pirta came out, towering above everyone else. She didn’t step up to the podium but stood nearby, speaking with Drisa and some others as the square slowly filled. People arrived singly or in small groups. Ana wondered how the word had gone out, how they’d reached everyone, because it really did look like everyone was showing up. Everyone inside the outpost, that was; besides everyone with the expedition, Rayni came to mind. She’d gone out alone. But there was nothing Ana could do except hope the Huntress stayed safe, and instead of worrying uselessly she kept her eyes mostly in the direction of Renvi the jeweler’s shop, heading over when she saw Messy and her employer arrive.

  “Master Renvi,” Ana said as the man greeted her with a wave.

  “Miss Cole! Strange days, aren’t they? I’m sorry that you’ve arrived in times like these; this place has been peaceful since the day I arrived.”

  Messy ignored the exchange. She simply closed the distance and wrapped her arms around Ana. “How are you feeling?” she said into Ana’s hair.

  “About the same as two hours ago,” Ana said, giving Messy a squeeze then pulling back. “Less hungry. How are you?”

  “Nervous as all hell. I didn’t want to let on before. Touanne said she’d tell you what was happening, though, so… Dammit, Ana, I hate this! I hate not knowing if anything’s going to happen!”

  “Yeah,” Ana agreed. “The uncertainty sucks. But knowing that an attack is coming would probably be worse, so enjoy it while it lasts.” She gestured to the sword and dagger Messy was wearing on her belt. “You’re prepared. I like that.”

  Messy forced a smile. “That’s good to know. Does it help my chances?”

  Ana grinned, putting some levity into her voice. “Stay alive and we’ll see.”

  Renvi cleared his throat. “Ladies, as sweet as you both are together, it looks like Captain Pirta is taking the podium.”

  Ana looked around. Pirta did indeed stand at the podium, waiting calmly for the susurrus of the crowd to peter out. The square had filled; Ana stepped up on the protruding cornerstone of the closest building and estimated that there must be about four hundred people there. Not exactly packed tight, but they filled the square well enough.

  Finally the crowd quieted, and Pirta spoke.

  “Guild members! Thank you for coming. For those of you who have never met or even seen me, I am Captain Pirta, administrative captain of this splinter.” She paused for the inevitable murmur. “I expect that you have all heard at least something about the situation we find ourselves in. I have called you here to tell you what we know, and what steps we will take to ensure the safety of this outpost.” Another pause for another, more worried wave of noise. “I ask you all to keep your questions and comments to yourselves until I finish, because I’m sure that you will have many. The situation is this: the outpost is surrounded by a poorly understood enemy. There appear to be hundreds of them, along with an indeterminate number of demons. Most of our strongest combatants are out with Captain Falk’s expedition and have not been heard from for several days. We cannot leave the outpost, nor can anyone currently out of the outpost easily return. Nor can we use the Waystone to evacuate. For these reasons, I am declaring martial law and forming a militia, effective immediately. Every combat-capable member currently in the outpost, or who might somehow make their way in, should consider themselves conscripted. This means anyone with a combat or hybrid Class, and anyone else with at least one weapon skill or magical Craft with direct combat applications.”

  The noise of the crowd swelled with anxiety and outrage, but Pirta simply raised her voice, her slender chest driving a voice loud enough to drown them out.

  “Volunteers will also be accepted. Now, some of you have not fought for a long time. Some of you have never killed. The vast majority, perhaps all of you, have never killed another sapient. And make no mistake: our enemy is human. Beyond feral, but human. For this reason, you will be trained. You will be organized into teams, each one led by a temporarily appointed guild officer. Each team will report to the guardhouse training yard according to a schedule, and there you will be instructed in how to defend yourself against an unarmed human opponent, and how to kill them if needed. I know that this is hard. I know that you are not, and will not be happy about this. I know that this will weigh heavily on you even if you never need to put this training into practice. But those who have been conscripted will report for their assignments, because these are the facts: we are under siege. Some of the farms have already been breached. Their inhabitants must be presumed dead. The outpost may be next. And if our wall is breached, as we are, most of you will die. In order to prevent that, we must all sacrifice.”

  Pirta continued for some time, answering questions and outlining the implications of the state of emergency and martial law being declared: conscription, possible seizure of property without immediate compensation, rationing if increased deliveries through the Waystone weren’t possible. Ana didn't pay much attention to that part. She did listen up when Pirta read out the list of temporary guild officers. Tellak was on it, as were Petra and Tarkan, the man who’d trained Ana in hammer work the previous morning. And, of course—

  “Ana? Did I hear that right?” Messy said beside her. “Petra I understand, but why are you being made an officer?”

  Ana smiled at her sadly. Maybe she could have put this off for a day or so, but Messy would have found out when her team came to train. It had been a nice couple of days, but she might as well tell her and get it over with. On an impulse she hugged her, then put her hands on Messy’s shoulders and held her at arm's length.

  “Ana?” Messy said, looking at her with trepidation. “Why? Do you know?”

  “Because I’m a killer, Mess.”

  Messy quirked her head. “Ana. I know what you had to do, but—”

  “No, Mess, listen to me. I’m not just a person who had to kill. I’m a killer. And right now, this outpost needs killers. Those classes Pirta talked about? I’m the instructor.”

  Perhaps she’d been excessively flippant in how she said it. It didn't matter. The effect would be the same.

  Here it comes, Ana thought as Messy looked at her with that familiar mix of anxiety and incomprehension. But Messy didn't follow the script. She didn't step back. Her look didn't turn to disgust or fear. Instead, to Ana’s total surprise, Messy pulled her in again and wrapped her arms around her, one hand going up to stroke her hair. Ana stood stiff and silent, utterly bewildered, as Messy said, “There is so much more to you than that, Ana.”

  Ana didn't know how to deal with that. She didn't cry. She felt like she might, but it was neither the time nor place for it. But she did start to think that maybe, just maybe, the old friends that she had lost over the years just weren't very supportive people.

  “You’re not freaked out?” Her voice was steady, if a little thick. The stupid urge to cry was still there, and though she had it under control it wouldn't go away.

  “I stayed despite your ‘favorite dress’ speech, didn’t I? But I’m worried. Are you gonna be okay?”

  “I mean… yeah?” She’d meant to sound confident, but it came out as a question.

  “You looked like you expected me to run away,” Messy whispered into her hair, and Ana’s gut clenched. “That can’t be a good feeling.”

  “It’s not,” Ana whispered back.

  “Has that happened to you a lot?”

  “Yeah.” Her nose was stuffy, and she sniffled, then found her eyes burning. With sheer willpower she pulled herself together. “Yeah,” she said, a little more clearly. “More times than I care to remember. It sucks.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Messy said, ruffling her remaining hair. She gave Ana an extra squeeze then backed off so they could look each other in the face. “So, you’re going to be my trainer?”

  “Yours and everybody else’s,” Ana confirmed.

  “And you’re going to teach us how to kill… people?”

  “I’m going to teach you how to fight people, and how to kill them if you have to. Mostly I’m going to focus on how to avoid getting hurt.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Messy nodded pensively.

  Captain Pirta had finished her speech. “That is all for now,” she called out. “However, if you belong to one of the conscripted groups, please remain for your team assignments. If you do not believe that you belong to such a group but wish to volunteer, please speak to Mistress Drisa. Officers, to me.”

  “That’s me,” Ana said, giving Messy’s shoulder a squeeze before approaching the podium. There were ten others there; Petra was the only non-combat Classer, but Ana had been told that her Custodian Class was a hybrid, like Rayni’s Huntress, with both combat and non-combat abilities. Tellak and Tarkan were there, of course, as was Sira the Peacekeeper. Tellak was the highest level, at 20.

  Ana stood next to Tellak and leaned in. “Touanne and Jancia?”

  “They should be fine. I convinced Touanne yesterday to let me put a latch on the door, and she promised to keep it closed while I’m away. She hates it, but Jancia's still… unpredictable.”

  She fell silent as Pirta spoke up. “Thank you all. I know that this is a sudden and unwanted responsibility, but you all have combat experience, and your leadership may be essential to the survival of this outpost. The expedition may return tomorrow to relieve us, but it is far better to prepare and not need it than the opposite.” She brought out a stack of papers and started handing them out. “Here are your assigned teams. We have tried to balance your groups first, and match you with people you’ve been known to associate with second.”

  Once Petra received her list she chuckled. “I’d say. This is just most of Irry’s casuals’ group with a few extras.”

  “As you say. You will notice that the ‘extras’ are a small group of low-level combat Classers. They’re a party, and have been known to cause some small amount of trouble. Do not let them disrespect you or bully your other teammates! Inform one of the other officers if they give you trouble and will not listen. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am. But I think I’ll be able to keep them in line.”

  The last paper was handed out, and Ana was left empty-handed. “I don’t get a team?”

  “No,” Pirta said. “You will be far too busy training the others. I want each team to have a session with you every day for the foreseeable future, starting tomorrow. This,” she produced another sheet of paper, “is the schedule. The rest of you have your time slot with Miss Cole on your team roster. I want you to make it clear to your team members that these training sessions are mandatory, as is any other training you choose to put your teams through, on pain of detention and possible expulsion from the Guild and the outpost.”

  There was a murmur at that. Expulsion from the outpost at a time like this was just an indirect execution. Pirta, towering above them, nodded solemnly. “Drastic, I know, but we can ill afford poor discipline at a time like this. Now, gather your teams. Get everyone acquainted with each other, and make sure that they know where to meet. Get them kitted out if they aren’t already; the exchange’s stores are open until further notice. Take what you need, but please make note of what you’ve taken, and who has it, in the ledgers. The guild will need that equipment back when this is all over. Finally: Miss Cole, would you be able to hold an introductory training session for your fellow officers tonight?”

  Would she? Ana wondered. That evening or the next morning, the time didn’t matter. Could she hold a class like this?

  She’d done some instruction in her martial arts classes, helping the actual instructors with the newbies. Would this be so different?

  Fuck it, she thought. I’ll wing it. And fuck ‘em if they don’t like it.

  “Yeah, sure,” she said. “Just tell us when.”

  Ana’s first class was an hour after sunset. She faced ten people, half of whom she recognized, across a torchlit training yard. Everybody had shown up, which was gratifying; she'd wondered if some would have refused based on her level, apparent Class, and how recently she’d arrived. If any of them had considered it, they must have taken Pirta’s warning about consequences seriously.

  Though the officers were all there, most of them looked at her with some degree of skepticism. She didn't fault them for that; they had no more idea what she was capable of than she had of them. When she’d instructed her juniors in martial arts there had been an automatic respect that came with having a higher grade than them, and them having seen her sparring. There was little of that here. So, she'd have to establish some credentials.

  “Good evening, everyone,” she said in a firm, authoritative voice. “My name is Anastasia Cole. As you know, Captain Pirta has tasked me with instructing you and everyone else in the militia on how to fight and, if necessary, kill an unarmed human opponent.”

  That’s as far as she got before a ruddy, compact man, a [Human Hammerer (17)], asked the obvious question: “How’re you qualified to do that?” The interruption was rude, but there didn't seem to be any malice behind it. He didn’t sneer or anything; he just genuinely didn't see what she could teach a bunch of Delvers almost twice her level.

  “What’s your name, guy?”

  “Halmer.”

  “Thank you for volunteering, Halmer. Come here, please.”

  The guy didn't seem at all surprised at her request. He must've seen enough training sessions to know that opening your mouth was the same as volunteering for a demonstration.

  Ana took a position a few steps away from Halmer. “Besides the regular demons, we face humans infected with some kind of disease, possibly created intentionally through a ritual. At least that's what we think is going on. The victims are worse than feral; they behave like demons, throwing themselves at you without any regard for their own safety. We think that the disease spreads through bites and scratches, but you should try to avoid any and all contact to be safe. That goes double for any mages among you; I don’t know if you’ve heard, but this disease tanks your Connection. With that in mind: Halmer, please try to hurt me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Try to hurt me,” Ana repeated. “And I don't mean a slow, demonstrative attack. I want you to try to kick, punch, scratch, or bite me. Whatever you need to do. Don't worry. I’m tougher than I look, we have several health potions right over there, and Touanne, the midwife, is on standby at her shop. Now, try to hurt me.”

  Halmer looked her in the eye, and she could tell that he knew exactly what was about to happen. The look he gave her said, “I’m going to hate this, aren't I?”

  Ana grinned at him, and he attacked.

  The guy was fast. Fast enough that if Ana hadn't been warned by her danger sense and bonuses kicking in, she probably wouldn't have reacted in time. It was an abject lesson in how you couldn't judge someone by how they looked; Halmer carried a lot of weight, and even if Ana knew that she should know better, she just didn't expect him to move with the speed and agility that he did.

  But her danger sense did warn her, and her bonuses did kick in. And a second after he lunged, Halmer was eating dust, one arm raised behind him and the other pinned straight out to the side under Ana’s knee. She had a practice dagger pressed point first into the base of his skull.

  “Ow,” he groaned. He did so very clearly, though. Ana suspected he might be exaggerating.

  “There’s my credentials.” The attack had been simple, and easy to defeat. Almost suspiciously so. Halmer had lunged for her collar, probably intending to pull her off balance and then try to control her arms. She'd grabbed him by the wrist, stepped outside his line, and put him down. To anyone watching, unless they had really good perception and acuity, it might have looked like he’d thrown himself in the dirt.

  She got off and helped him up. “Let’s do that again, slower this time so everyone can see. That was a really good example of how the crazies attack, by the way.”

  “How do you know?” a very short, thin woman asked.

  “I’ve fought them. Killed three, possibly four,” Ana said matter-of-factly, and that ended that.

  “This is for a worst case scenario,” she explained after demonstrating again, slowly and step by step. This time she had her knife to Halmer’s throat. “Practically unarmed and unarmored in a situation where you can’t run away. I don't expect any of you to learn to pull it off perfectly, but I want you to grasp the principles. Avoid the attack, control them so they can't follow up, then kill or disable. Ideally this will never happen. You’ll have weapons with some reach, and armor— though they got through Jancia’s. It’s better not to let them touch you in the first place.”

  The same short, thin woman clapped her hands once, her face lighting up in an “Aha!” The woman was a Demi-Fae Kineticist (19), the same one Ana had seen in her first day at Petra's. “You're Knife Girl! I thought I recognized you. You’ve changed your hair!”

  “That’s me, yeah.” Ana considered the woman. At four foot nothing and maybe forty pounds, if one of the crazies got their hands on her this woman was, in a word, dead. Technique could only do so much, and they didn't have the years it would take for someone so physically small to learn to survive in close quarters with a rabid zombie.

  Ana rubbed the back of her neck, recently shaved all the way to where it ended and the skull began. “Fire, being ground into the dirt too much, you know how it is. You’re some kind of mage?”

  “Craft of Force, yeah. Simt.”

  “Simt? That's your name?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay. Since you’re level 19 I’m going to assume that your size hasn’t held you back much—”

  “Damn right!”

  “But, everybody, get a good look at her. Simt, there is nothing I can teach you in the time available that would let you defend yourself from an attack. And that brings me to the most difficult part of what I’ve been asked to teach you. In the next few days, all of you will need to be prepared to kill.”

  “We’ve all killed before, though,” a tall, surly-looking man said.

  “Not like this. I call them crazies, but they're human. There is no doubt in my mind. Their nails are perhaps a little sharper, judging by how they got through Jancia's armor, and I don’t know about their teeth, but they’re human. People. Has any of you killed a person before?”

  No one spoke up.

  “Has anyone here tried to kill a person? Have you intentionally injured someone, or been in a fight where you truly wanted to hurt the other person?”

  Only one of the officers, a rotund, balding man in his early twenties, raised his hand. When Ana looked at him silently he said, “I beat a guy up for mugging my brother, once. I hurt him pretty bad.”

  “And what was that like?”

  “It felt right when I did it, but I felt kinda bad after.”

  Ana nodded. “That's normal. Most of us do not want to hurt others. That’s why I’m here. I am going to teach you to strike to kill.”

  She got another round of skeptical looks, and again she couldn’t blame them. She knew very well that she couldn’t make them into killers. All that she could do was to teach them the mechanics, let them spar, and hope for the best.

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