The spring rain kept the patrons under a tarp, huddled around the open fire, but it also kept the smoke hidden from view.

“Hoy, Nil!” one of the men shouted. “You think this haunch is ready to turn?”

“Yar,” Nil called from the makeshift bar. He was a squat, ugly man; some thought he was a goblin, but you didn’t say that aloud unless you wanted him to spit in your beer. Or worse. Cold and damp never bothered Nil, and he was content to keep his distance from his customers—mostly coastal raiders. There were a few squatters around Old Stolevan and upriver, and they traded their hunt and harvest for Nil’s beer. “You louts ready for another round?”

Nil’s question was answered by affirmative grunts and waving of empty mugs, so he shouldered a small keg and sauntered out to the fire.

“Where are the girls?” one of the men asked.

“Out watching,” said Nil, tilting the keg to let some of the dregs slide into the idiot’s mug. “You want them Dacians catching us unawares?”

“I think they’re staying for a while,” said the Shipmaster. His fastboat was hidden in the old canal, under the ruins of a collapsed boathouse. “Looks like they’re gonna settle into the Great Keep.” He took a deep drink. “We’ll have to row outta here after dark, best if it’s cloudy, and hope we don’t run aground in the channel. More?” He held out his mug, and Nil turned to refill it. “Too bad the girls are standing watch. They’re a lot better lookin’ than you.”

Nil spat, but the shipmaster was ready, and moved his mug to dodge the missile. “Ya want to stand out in the rain and watch yerself, ya can send one of ‘em back,” the taverner snarled, and stomped back to his bar.

• • •

Standing in the inadequate shelter of a crumbling building, Korti crossed her arms and glared through the rain, back toward the tavern and her employer. A piece of oilcloth kept most of the rain off her; but after several hours, she was soaked and cold anyway. “Better than tending to those louts, though,” she grumbled. Times uncounted, she wondered why she stayed here in the ruins of Stolevan, enduring the catcalls and groping of men with bottomless thirsts for beer and women. But where else could they go? She and Martia had talked about it many times. Upriver was little better, and it was too far to consider traveling to the cities—

Voices. The patrol. Korti cursed herself for her inattention; they were too close for her to dash back to the tavern and warn the others. Too bad; Nil and his patrons could do with a good soaking. She risked a peek through what was once a window, and suppressed a gasp. Two women, wearing some kind of uniform, carrying crossbows. Women?

Korti ducked back, her back pressed into the crumbling wall. She counted slowly, until the patrol passed her window. If they stumbled across the tavern, it would be two against two dozen. Soldiers or not, Korti knew they would be overtaken. And then… Korti refused to allow what would happen next, even if it cost her life.

“Hoy!” she hissed out the window, and the women whirled about. “Wait! Peace and harmony!”

“Come out!” one of the women snapped, and Korti obeyed, arms out. “Are you alone? Sheera, check it out.” The woman held her crossbow pointed at Korti’s feet. “Who are you? Where are you from?”

“Korti,” she said. “I live here.”

“It’s clear,” said the other woman—Sheera. She held her crossbow straight up, and gave Korti a friendly look.

“You live here? In Stolevan?” the first woman asked.

Korti nodded. “There are a few of us. Everyone’s laying low until you leave.”

Sheera laughed. “They’ll wait forever, then. We’re staying.”

“But why?”

“Stolevan is Captain Rietha’s domain. So she’s leading an expedition to resettle it.” The women all looked at each other. “The Captain will want to talk to you,” said Sheera. “It seems these sweeps weren’t a waste of time, after all.”

“Wait! My friend is… let me lead you to her. She needs to know, too.” Korti took them the long way around, away from the tavern and its filthy patrons.

• • •

An hour later, Korti and Martia had dry clothes, and were warming themselves by a fire in the Great Keep. Around them, women and men bustled about, exploring and cleaning. To their surprise, they were brought food and wine—neither of them had been served before, and they were not sure what to make of it.

The women from the patrol returned, with a third woman, broad-shouldered and competent, wearing a helmet with a silver plume. She seemed… regal, somehow. Korti and Martia stood to greet her, wondering if they should bow.

“Welcome,” the helmeted woman greeted them. “Or perhaps, you should welcome me?” She grinned. “I’m Captain Rietha. I expected to find squatters here in the Keep, not in Stolevan proper.” She waved around them. “The Keep is surprisingly intact, after so many centuries of neglect.”

“Raiders camp in here, sometimes,” said Martia. “But not even raiders vandalize the Keep, though. They’re afraid they’ll awaken something that should sleep on. Nil says if someone wanted to trap you in here, it’s too easy to close off the exits.”

“Who is Nil?”

Korti sighed. “He’s our… our master, I suppose.”

Rietha scowled. “No longer,” she said. “There is a new order in Stolevan. Here, a woman has no master. And any woman mistreated, anywhere on Termag, may find sanctuary here.” She gave them a wry smile. “And yet, I did not expect that the first women offered sanctuary would live in Stolevan itself.”

Martia and Korti looked at each other. “Sanctuary?” Martia repeated.

“If we have no master, who rules?” Korti asked.

“We do!” Rietha laughed. “And if your Nil does not like that, he is free to leave.”

“We?” Martia and Korti looked at each other again.

“Welcome to the Stolevan Matriarchy,” said the Captain. “We have much to talk about. First, would you be willing to tell me what you know about the city, and who lives here?”