Earl was no expert on the Nontie, but he knew they came from the áettar race. He'd heard the same selected facts as everyone, if there was one thing where Agalians better than most it was at making tall tales taller. The stories about the Dim áettar running around stark-naked were a particular favourite. Something the ale-house codgers found both wicked and titillating, mostly the latter one, since it involved things of that nature. As far as he knew, the Nontie wore at least some leather coverings.

  Satisfied with the least amount of care he could give his weapons, he hung them back up by the door. If there was a chore his sense of duty had a hard time convincing him was worth the effort, it was caring for things he barely used.

  "I wonder if the Nontie have any special leather care methods?" He'd once considered getting a hide hat, but even that seemed risky with the local attitude towards leather clothing.

  Earl knew better than to put his trust in rumours, yet there were a couple of things said about the áettar he believed. The first was that Dim forest was dangerous. Anyone dumb enough to put that to the test never came back. Not that going beyond the stakes into Frel was safe, only safer by comparison. Which led him to the second thing: wherever áettar lived, they preferred to be left alone.

  But everything else was hearsay and gossip. He'd never even met anyone claiming to have spoken to a Nontie first-hand. It was always, 'My brother's friend heard from his second cousin,' and so on. What he'd always found interesting, however, were the descriptions of their ability to sneak up on you and then disappear without a trace.

  "You don't find the áettar, they find you," Earl mumbled.

  That phrase was in almost every story. Not that repetition made it true, but something non-titillating like that, retold often, he reckoned could be true.

  It was pure luck that no one'd realised the p-word might be an áettar. Some would use it to fan the flames of old resentments, such as the snake in the last light church. If Earl had his way, the bad reverend would spend all his days in a soundproof cell. Muke stole from people's sense of charity and acted like he was doing them a favour. A Nontie thief would play straight into the preacher's rantings about human superiority, and worst of all, most of the townsfolk would listen. Not just because they had a complicated history with their neighbours, but because Muke was the one shouting the loudest.

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  The popular opinion nowadays was that the only good Nontie was a dead Nontie. But it was mostly talk, there hadn't been a casualty on either side in longer than anyone remembered. Their tribes stayed out of the settled areas, and Agalians stayed out of Frel. Their shared history was best described as the slowest war ever fought.

  As for Dim, if it weren't for the sorcerers road into the forest, it'd be impossible to tell if anyone was even in there. Young men, testing their courage, sometimes went right up to the edge to peer into the unknown. The well-kept stone road that led into the tauntingly empty woods, looked nothing like the cattle trails on the Agalaland side. Going right up to the edge was safe enough. But if they were smart, they never took the last step onto the road kept by unseen hands. Rarely, if ever, was anyone seen using the road. But there were rumours of black robed figures sometimes emerging from the dark forest.

  If there were áettar in Dim, they hadn't come out to help their kin against the Agalians. Their conflict had heated up with a skirmish some two hundred years ago. According to folklore, the Nontie had attacked Stagna without reason. But Earl knew he couldn't trust eyewitnesses. People had trouble remembering what they saw five minutes ago. Which wasn't much of an endorsement for generations of hearsay.

  The fighting was supposed to have lasted less than a day. Once over, the hanged twenty-three captured Nontie as part of the centennial celebration of Stagna's founding. To make the sentences nice and legal, Bench Cedent had been appointed as Agalaland's first judge. That started the cedent-era of judging, and with it, the marshal districts. Still, Earl felt there may have been more justice pre-cedent.

  The tales about the skirmish had always bothered him, because they never mentioned any deaths on the Stagna side, while at the same time claiming that the Nontie were all bloodthirsty savages. It made no sense. There were no graves, not even one little memorial plaque for their fallen heroes. After the skirmish, everyone who'd been even part áettar got themselves out of Agalaland. For their own good.

  "So, why would a Nontie be stealing food now?"

  There was only one answer, and it wasn't a good one.

  "They wouldn't," he sighed.