The Tall Men A Tale of the Ironwood Duty is the worst kind of punishment.

Ivans commander had said that to him once, and Ivan had almost laughed in his face. Standing at the palisade with his shoulders hunched and his fingers deep in his armpits, sucking in each breath to keep the winters cold from reaching his chest, Ivan was inclined to regret not having listened. Flogging was bad, sure, but at least it was quick. Exile was freedom, or the hope of it. Execution - hanging, or the headsmans block - was a nasty way to see things settled, but it settled them right enough. Ivans disgrace had put him beneath the lot. They sent him to the Ironwood instead. The elves had lived there once, drawn to the magic in the Irontrees. It had been a long time since any man had seen an elf. Not since Ivans grandfather had been alive, and even then he suspected they had already been little more than a memory. Men had lived there, too. Dwellers, theyd called them, and there wasnt a child born under the Ironwood that wasnt born changed for it. They were gone, too. They picked the wrong side in a war that saw them hunted from the world. The army had spent a summer laying siege to the forests western border, burning and cutting what paths they could and destroying every trace of the Dwellers they could find. When the autumn came, they felt the sour chill rising and declared the work done. A string of guard-posts were built to dissuade settlers and loggers, and the Ironwood was forgotten. Not quite forgotten. It was a vast, silent presence, and Ivan could feel its attention on him, as though the darkness beyond the trees held something ancient and awake. He could not see any of the Irontrees, not from the guard-post, but still he knew where they were. He could feel them out there, the weight of them, as though the land tilted in towards them. The guard-posts had not been built to keep people out.

Theyd been built because the Ironwood was not done with them. That thought was enough to keep Ivan from sleeping, and from dreams of revenge. There was nothing for him now but the bitter turn of the season, and the Ironwoods cold regard. Maybe this is it, he thought. Maybe this is what hell is like. Something moved in the tree line. Ivans breath caught, and he fought down the urge to straighten up. Instead, he let his eyes coast along the forests edge and waited for it to show itself again. There. Standing almost straight across from his position on the pailsade, a figure crouched among the trees. Hed shrouded his face but left his hands uncovered, and the moonlight picked them out like two pale rags. Ivan let his gaze wander a little longer, but could see noone else. Just the one, then. He thought of the others inside, of big Yuri and Iosif hunkering close to the fire, shouldering the other men out. Not much point in telling them. Knowing his luck, hed lose his mark in the Ironwood and theyd spend the winter making a joke of how hed gone chasing after shadows in the forest. Maybe it was one of the Tall Men, Ivan, come to steal you away! Ivan made a show of getting his sword ready and climbing slowly down from his post. If he was lucky, whoever it was would scurry off into the shadows and he could go back to fending off the chill with the simmering weight of his discontent. No such thing as luck. As he stomped across the clearing to the forests edge, the figure stood and unwound the scarf from about her head. She was as tall as he was, but thin as a birch. She wore a patch over one eye, a crude wad of cloth held in place by a second strip tied round her head, and a long knife at her waist. You shouldnt be here, she said. I know, Ivan thought. He felt uneasy, here on the edge of the Ironwood. Hed come to challenge her, but now he was down from the guard-post, it felt as though she belonged. She was watching him,

waiting for him to say something. I was sent, he said. It was all he could manage. You cant go back now. She turned and started walking, heading deeper into the trees. Come. Ivan followed her, stumbling and cursing through the undergrowth. She seemed to have an easier time of it, as though walking along a clear path between the trees, but as closely as Ivan matched her step he could not find it. He knew where they were headed, though. They were walking straight towards an Irontree. The forest changed when they reached it. Three times the thickness of a normal tree and twice as high again, the Irontree stood alone in a perfect circle of emptiness ten steps across. Nothing grew on the ground by it; no leaves fell there. Only Ivan and his guide dared trespass. He looked up and felt dizzied by the towering height of it. Close up, it was not so much a tree as a single, perfect shaft, rising clean out of the ground like a needle. Ivan didnt even notice his hand rising towards it until the woman caught his wrist. Do not touch it. Dont even look at it, if you can. She turned him, dragging his arm round, and nodded towards the darkness of the forest. Watch the trees. There was something else out there in the darkness. It took Ivan a moment to notice them. They were not silent, but they moved with such softness that he had thought it a breeze at first, picking through the leaves. They were tall, angular things, with long arms that hung with black, ragged membranes. Claws glinted in the darkness, and Ivan saw their heads turn as they passed, presenting the wide green-blue circles of their eyes and long fangs that clicked impatiently. Ivan remembered his sword, and put his hand to it. More eyes appeared in the forest, eager and unblinking. Do we fight them? He pulled an inch of the blade free to make sure it would draw cleanly. As one, the creatures in the forest crouched,

ready to spring. No. The woman reached out and stayed Ivans arm, pressing the sword back into its scabbard. They will not come near the Irontree. Ivan sighed in relief. It protects us, he said. The woman laughed, a dark sound that did nothing to hearten him. No. Theyre just not stupid. Ivan looked out into the forest, but could see or hear nothing. The creatures had passed. What are they? Nyctimene. Tall Men, youd call them. The elves made them, she said. Messengers and guardians, servants and protectors. They were never pretty things, but they werent always like this. What happened? No-one knows. The elves died out, or their creations turned on them. It doesnt matter. They would walk free of the Ironwood, were it not for the offering. The offering? Where do you think they are going? The womans face was a shadow, her voice a winter wind. By morning your garrison will be empty. All of the border garrisons will be. The men who die tonight die to keep this border safe another year. Ivan felt his stomach churn. He could imagine the creatures bursting in through the doors, snatching men up with their too-long arms, their claws sinking in before any of them could get to their feet or draw sword. Duty is the worst kind of punishment. They sent me here to die like that? They did. She offered him a thin smile. But the Tall Men wont worry about one man missing. He wanted to ask why, but before the question could form on his lips he already knew the answer. Hed spent too long at his watch, his stubborn, simmering vigil on the forests edge stretching on well past

sunset. No-one had come to relieve him, and it was only his own angry pride - the gnawing bitterness of his fall - that kept him from abandoning it to the warmth. But if the whole garrison ran- -it would be a different story, she said. I brought you here to keep you from raising the alarm. Who are you? The woman ignored his question and walked to the edge of the clearing. Stay here until first light. Dont leave the circle, and dont touch the Irontree. Once the sun is up, go find a new life for yourself. As far as your old one is concerned, you died the moment you were sent here. She stepped into the undergrowth, and Ivan started towards here. Wait, Ivan said. What about the Tall Men? Wont they come for you? She laughed as she melted into the shadows. No, she said, her voice no more than a whisper. Theyre not stupid.