Jill looked out past the towering rocks to the dark waters of the wide Mirianic, great swells rolling lazily, then breaking fast against the rocks two hundred feet below her. The rhythm continued, through the minutes, through the hours, through the days, the weeks, the years. Through all eternity, Jill supposed. If she were to return to this place in a thousand years, the waves would remain, rolling gently and then crashing against the base of this same rocky rise.

The young woman looked back over her shoulder at the small fortress that she called home, Pireth Tulme. In a thousand years, the scene would be the same, she decided, except that this structure, with its single low tower, would not remain, would be taken by time, by the wind and the storms that swept into Horseshoe Bay with disturbing regularity.

She had only been here for four months and she had witnessed a dozen such storms, including three in one week, that had left her and her forty companions, all members of the elite corps known as the Coastpoint Guards, soggy and sullen.

Yes, those were the words, Jill decided. "Soggy and sullen," she said aloud, and nodded, thinking that a fitting description of all her life.

She had been given her chance, the one opportunity that most people, particularly women in the patriarchal kingdom of Honce-the-Bear, never had. Jill closed her eyes and let the ocean sounds take her. back to another shore, a gentler shore on the banks of the Masur Delaval, to the city of Palmaris, the only home she remembered. How fared Graevis and Pettibwa? she wondered. And what of Grady? Had her disaster with Connor Bildeborough destroyed the man's attempts at entry into the high society?

Jill laughed and hoped that it had. That would be the one good thing to come of the tragedy. Nearly two years had passed since her "wedding night," but the pain remained vivid indeed.

She looked around again, then up at the sky and noticed that many of the stars had disappeared. A moment later, a light rain began to fall. "Soggy," she said again, shaking her head. No matter how many times she witnessed it, Jill could hardly believe how quickly the rain came on in Pireth Tulme.

Like the rain that came into her life, first in that frontier village, when the goblins came, then in Palmaris. She could hardly remember that first incident, but she knew that her life had gradually grown wonderful. And then, in the snap of fingers, in the space of a single kiss, it was all gone, all taken away.

How much more could she have hoped for above the wedding in Palmaris? She had been married in St. Precious, considered by many to be the most beautiful chapel in all of Corona. And Dobrinion Calislas, Abbot of St. Precious and thus the third ranking priest in the entire Abellican Church, had performed the ceremony himself! What young woman would not swoon at the mere thought of such a day? And then the night, spent in the mansion of Baron Bildeborough!

A shiver traced Jill's spine as she remembered the grand room, the change that had come over Connor, and then the look on his face, first feral and then, with the side of his nose and one cheek burned and blistering, even worse. His expression had softened only a bit the next morning when he and Jill had gone again before Abbot Dobrinion. Of course, since it had not been consummated, the marriage had been annulled immediately.

A snap of old Dobrinion's fingers.

There was still the matter of Jill's crime, though. Her assault on a nobleman, one that might well have left the handsome young man permanently scarred, was no minor matter in Palmaris. By right, Connor could have demanded her execution. Short of that, there was the very real possibility that Abbot Dobrinion would bind Jill into indenture to Connor, perhaps for the remainder of her life.

But Connor had been merciful, and ever was Abbot Dobrinion long on forgiveness. "I have heard of the incident with three rogues on the back roof of Fellowship Way," the old priest had explained, a warm smile coming to his face. "One with your skills should not be wasted serving at tables: There is a place for a woman of your talent and ferocity, a place where such wild anger is assuaged, even applauded." Thus the old abbot had bound her over into the service of the King of Honce-the-Bear, as a foot soldier in the Kingsmen, the army. That moment remained very clear to Jill: Dobrinion's words spoken sympathetically, while she looked back over her shoulder at Pettibwa and Graevis. There was no anger showing on the faces of her adopted parents, no hint that Jill and her irrational actions of the previous night had cost them, too, so much just a most profound sadness. Pettibwa had neatly burst apart at Abbot Dobrinion's decree, at the notion that her Jilly would be taken from her. There was little joy that night at the Way; where Jill said her good-byes.

Soon after, with Palmaris behind her, Jill had come to see the wisdom of the abbot's decision. Indeed she had thrived; initially, at least, in the military. She started as a common foot soldier, "fodder walkers" they were called, but soon enough worked her way into the more elite cavalry group. There were no real enemies to battle: Honce-the-Bear had been at peace for longer than anyone could remember. But in the weekly sparring contests, Jill released enough enemies from her memories to carry her through with a ferocity that had astonished her superiors. One by one, her sparring partners had been dispatched, usually painfully, until clot a man or woman in the unit desired to go against her. Her notoriety had made her more than a few real enemies, though, and so she had been moved about, from one fortress to another, serving a variety of functions, from castle guard to cavalry patrol.

All in all, it had been a boring year; castle guards were no more than showpieces, and the worst incident Jill had seen in four months with the cavalry patrol was a fight between two peasant brothers, when one' had bitten the other's ear off. And so it was with great expectations and hopes that Jill had received the news of her appointment into the second most elite unit, behind only the Allheart Brigade, in all of Honce-the-Bear: the famed Coastpoint Guards. These were the legendary fighters who had in ages past turned away a powrie invasion, the fearsome warriors who had tamed the region known as the Broken Coast, thus widening the domain of Honce-the-Bear's King.

She didn't get what she expected when she arrived at the small fortress of Pireth Tulme, overlooking Horseshoe Bay and the wide Mirianic. Pireth Tulme was but one in a series of keeps dotting Honce-the-Bear's coastline. Like all of its sister fortresses, Pireth Tulme was secluded, far from any large settlements, but strategically located to watch the waters for invasion. Pireth Tulme guarded the southern passes of the Gulf of Corona, while Pireth Dancard held post on the five small islands centering the gulf, and Pireth Vanguard watched the northern way.

To Jill, their mission seemed paramount, a stoic existence protecting the welfare of all the kingdom. It didn't take her long to realize that she was alone in her convictions.

Pireth Tulme, and apparently all the other Coastpoint fortresses, were far from the stoic bastions of their reputation. The partying had hardly slowed in all the four months Jill had been there. Even now, later into the night as she walked her watch along the low walls, she could hear the revelry -- the clink of glasses lifted high in one toast after another, the bawdy laughter, the squeals of women pursued or pursuing.

The guards were forty in number, with only seven of them female. Jill, whose only experience with a man had been so very disastrous, did not like the odds. She shook her head distastefully as she walked her watch this night, as she did every night.

A short while later one haggard-looking soldier -- a man of forty years by the name of Gofflaw, who had spent more than half his wretched life in the Kingsmen, including a dozen years in the Coastpoint Guards shuffling from one lonely outpost to another came staggering out to the wall, making his way toward Jill.

She gave a sigh, resigned to the reality about her. She wasn't particularly afraid; she didn't think the drunken slob would even get to her before he fell off the narrow walkway, dropping the eight feet to the fortress's small courtyard. Somehow, bouncing against the blocks of the outer wall with each step, he got near the woman.

"Ah, me Jilly," Gofflaw slurred. "Walkin' again in the rain."

Jill shook her head and looked away.

"Why don't ye go inside and warm yer bones then, girl?" the man asked. "Quite a row this night. Go on with ye. I'll take yer watch."

Jill knew better. If she accepted his outwardly gracious offer and went inside, Gofflaw would soon follow, leaving the walls empty. Even worse, for him to be out here fetching her, there was likely a conspiracy inside. The long, low main house of Pireth Tulme was not large, only three medium-sized common rooms, each surrounded by a dozen anterooms, each barely large enough for the pair of cots and two footlockers it held. Most of the structure was underground, the main house being three identical levels but appearing as only one story from the courtyard. If Jill ventured into that tight place, if this man was out here to lure her in, she would likely find, herself in grabby quarters indeed.

"I will keep my own watch, thank you," she replied politely and started away.

"And just what're ye watching for?" the soldier demanded, his tone suddenly sharp.

Jill spun on him, her blue eyes narrow and glaring. She knew the routine and even agreed that it seemed very unlikely that any enemies, or anyone at all, would approach the fortress or sail past it on their way into the Gulf of Corona. But that wasn't the point, not in Jill's estimation. If one invasion came every five hundred years the Coastpoint Guards, the elite of the elite, must be prepared for it!

"You go to your party," she said evenly, her jaw clenched. "I choose to walk to honor the uniform I wear."

Gofflaw snorted and wiped a greasy hand down the front of his own red jacket. "The better of it, yell learn," he said. "Just ye wait until the days become a year, and then two and three and four and --"

"I believe that she understands your reasoning, Gofflaw," came a solid, unwavering voice. Jill looked past the drunk, who turned as well, to see Warder Constantine Presso, the commander of Pireth Tulme, approaching along the wall. By all appearances, the man was impressive -- tall and straight, mustache and goatee neatly trimmed, his red-trimmed blue overcoat tailored straight and proper, black leather baldric crossing right shoulder to left hip and sporting an impressive sword, a family heirloom. He was in his late twenties and had earned his position by defeating three bandits who had slipped into the house of a nobleman one evening. When she had first arrived at Pireth Tulme and had met the warder, Jill's hopes had soared with a sense of greater responsibility.

She had soon learned, though, that the ready appearance of the fortress, on that day when the Kingsmen's regional commander had taken her out to the isolated outpost, had been no more than a temporary show, and that Warder Presso, for all of his regal appearance, had long ago fallen into the same trap as the rest of her companions.

Presso eyed Jill directly -- he was often doing that. "And I believe that she declines," the warder said.

"I do," Jill agreed.

Gofflaw muttered something under his breath and started past Presso, but the man stuck out his arm, blocking the way.

"But it grows late," Presso said to Jill, "or should I say early? Your watch surely is ended."

"I take the night."

"What part of the night?"

"The night," Jill snapped. "No one else will come up here. They view the setting of the sun as the end of their duties, what little duties they do bother to perform during the day."

"Calm, lass," Presso said, patting his hand in the air. Perhaps he was trying to be the levelheaded commander, but to Jill, it came off as condescending.

"I am well read in our rules of conduct and operation," Jill continued. "Our watch does not end with the setting sun. ever vigilant, ever watchful,' " she finished, the motto of the once proud Coastpoint Guards.

"And for what are you watching?" Presso asked calmly.

Jill's face screwed up incredulously.

"Would you see a powrie ship, or even a raft full of goblins, if it glided past us into the gulf, barely a hundred yards from our shore?"

"I would hear them," Jill insisted.

Presso's snort fast became a full-blown chuckle. "Dawn is not so far away," he said. "Pray you go inside now and get the rain out of your bones."

Jill started to protest, but the warder cut her short. He set Gofflaw up as sentry, then took Jill by the arm and pulled her in front of him, pushing her gently toward the tower door.

They went in together, and in truth; Jill was glad to be out of the rain. At the bottom of the tower stairs, through the small hallway that led into the main house, the pair passed a partly opened door. From the sounds emanating from within, it was quite obvious what was going on in there.

Jill hurried down the hallway and entered the common room of the upper level. A dozen men were in there, along with two women, all nearly falling-down drunk. One man was up on the tables, dancing, or trying to; and removing his clothing to the jeers of his male friends and the hoots of the women.

Jill looked straight ahead as she made for the door to the stairwell that would get her down to her room. Warder Presso caught her just as she reached that door, grabbing her by the shoulder.

"Stay with us and enjoy the rest of the night," he said.

"Are you commanding me to do so?"

"Of course not," replied Presso, who was really a decent sort. "I am merely asking you to stay. Your watch is ended."

"Ever watchful," Jill replied through gritted teeth.

Presso, gave a great sigh. "How many months of boredom can you tolerate?" he asked. "We are out here alone, all alone, with nothing but time ahead of us. This is our life, and each of us must choose whether it will be pleasant or wretched."

"Perhaps we have different views of what is pleasant," Jill said, subconsciously glancing back across the room to the hallway and the partly open door.

"I give you that," Presso replied.

"May I go?"

"I could not order you to stay, though I truly wish that you would so choose."

Jill's shoulders sagged. Presso's conciliation somehow seemed to take the strength from her more than any order he might have issued. "I was put in service to the Kingsmen by a magistrate, the abbot of Palmaris," she explained.

Presso nodded; he had heard as much.

"I did not choose to enter, but once in the ranks, I came to believe," she said. "I do not know what it was -- a sense of purpose, a reason for continuing."

"Continuing?"

"To live," she answered sharply. "My duty is my litany -- against what, I do not know. But this --" She held her hand out to the revelry, to the half- naked dancer who, as if on cue, tumbled from the table. "This is no part of my duty nor my desire."

Presso touched her arm gently, but still she recoiled as if she had been slapped. The warder immediately raised both his hands unthreateningly.

Jill understood his concern to be both defensive and compassionate. On the very first night after her arrival, one of the men had tried to get too familiar with the fiery woman. He had limped for a week, one foot swollen, one ankle and both his knees bruised, one eye closed and a lip too fat for him to drink anything without it dribbling down the front of his shirt. Even without the very prominent evidence that she could defend herself, Jill believed that Presso would not try anything. Despite his acceptance of the behavior within Pireth Tulme, Jill recognized that he was a man of some honor. He had his way with the other women, probably all six of them, but he would not infringe where he was not invited.

"I fear that Gofflaw's reasoning was sound," the warder warned. "The months will wear on you, day after boring, lonely day."

"Indeed," remarked Jill, gesturing with her chin across the way. Presso turned to see Gofflaw entering the room. The warder sighed audibly, then turned back to Jill and merely shrugged. He really didn't care that the walls were unmanned.

Jill swung about and left the room, but as soon as the door was closed behind her, she veered down a side corridor and back out into the rain. She moved to a ladder and climbed to the seacoast wall, then sat on its outer edge, dangling her legs over the long drop.

There she stayed for the, rest of the night, watching the stars return as the storm cloud raced away into the gulf. As the day brightened, the pillar-like rocks in the wide bay came clearer, standing tall and straight like sentinels, ever vigilant, ever watchful.

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