Dream time

She clambered onto the parapet wall and looked down, eighty, ninety feet, to shadowed stone. She took a deep breath, and jumped. Oh shit I'm falling I'm going to die! Her body clenched from groin to throat. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't throw up. I did it wrong why did I trust him I'm sorry I'm so sorry help me oh God please help me--

And then her wings opened and caught the wind.

Thank you, thank you....wow.

She tossed her head back and thought Up! and the wings beat, lifting her. She thought about landing on the roof she'd just jumped from, at least long enough to steady herself--she was still shaking, and nauseous--but the owl man cried "No, don't land! Rise up, rise up!" She rose, suddenly weary, and followed him.
As they floated over the city's towers, he named them for her. The one that looked like a half-melted white candle was the Tower of Art. The slim brown one, atop which sat a man with a long sword laid flat across his wrists, was the Pillar of Autumn Mandolins. Soldiers paced on the dark square walls of the Fortress of Night.

Dream time

She fell sleep in her tight little bedroom, to a long steady drumming rain. She woke slowly, drifting up from the depths of a dream. Her eyes opened and she saw the moonlit white wall for a long time before consciousness crept in and she remembered her room's walls were beige, not white. And her ceiling wasn't that high. And....there was a man sitting on the end of her bed, perched on the footboard, watching her, with only the faintest motion of his chest to show that he wasn't a statute carved. "Who are you? And where am I?"

"You know who I am," he said quietly. "You called me out of shadow. You are in the Tower of the Distant Lover, in the Dream Quarter of Umbalek, the city of a thousand spires." He smiled suddenly. "Eight hundred ninety-two spires, last time I counted." He rocked forward and backwards and was suddenly standing upright in the center of the room. "You have come to find my place. Come up with me."

He walked out of the room without looking back, and it was only as he passed through the arched doorway that he realized he wasn't wearing anything. She couldn't think of him as naked, or nude; he seemed to be wearing what he usually wore, which happened to be nothing. When she got out of bed, she realized she wasn't wearing much more. She'd gone to sleep in jeans and flannel shirt and wool socks. What she had now was a sideless tunic, or tabard, of thin natural linen, its border intricate with Celtic knotwork in burgundy thread, and a gold chain belt low on her hips. There was no other clothing in the room that she could see, no slippers or underwear or robe. She shrugged and followed the man.

Outside the room, stairs spiraled up the tower to a broad flat roof eighty feet in the sky, encircled by a parapet of quartz. The man dipped his fingers in cinnamon and pollen and painted symbols on her brow and eyelids, forearms and feet. He gave no explanation, working in silence. When he was done, he put a feather cloak on her shoulders, although the night was warm. The wind smelled of wood smoke and the sea. The horizon beyond the parapet showed towers, in all directions, stone spires white or grey or dark under the moon. He took two quick steps and dove over the edge of the parapet. An icy shock went through her, but before she had time to gasp, he spread his arms and his shape changed to a cloud-colored owl. He dipped and rose in the wind and circled to hover over her, wings tilting. He spoke, and his voice was still his own. "You are robed in swan's wings. Rise up, and come with me."

Vignette

Grey came in, saw Silver Woman waiting, and took a chair at her table with his back to the wall. He ordered a bleu cheese burger with water, no ice. Silver Woman was stirring her drink, toying with the straw. He turned to her and asked, "How was your date?"

"Fine." She looked up. "Quite nice, actually. He took me to the Blue Sea Grill, and we had seafood. He got a bottle of wine, and we drank that and talked. And then he ordered another bottle and we drank and talked, and then we had something to drink. I'm pretty sure he has a drinking problem." She sighed. "Of course, it's not like anyone gets to forty-five without some kind of scars. Except you," she added.

He shrugged. "Nobody knows about mine. I listen to people, they don't listen to me." He stopped, distantly curious to see if she'd pick up on that, but she went on about her date.

Iron mage

He walked into the battle and men of both sides pulled back, not daring to come close. Away from him the battle still raged, but around him, a silence fell. He stepped over a dead man, and the fallen soldier's iron flowed like a serpent and came to him. His armor was black, and it writhed and bubbled.

White Knight's Lament

Mack shrugged and said, "I guess I'm just a white knight. And," he added with a grin, "the white knight gets the girl."

Aaron spun around and snapped "You know what that is? It's a damned lie! In real life, the unlikely but plucky hero does not get the beautiful girl. The girl doesn't even give him the time of day! She says 'I'm meeting someone' or she gives him a bogus phone number or she says 'let's just be friends.' She ends up with the college quarterback, the lawyer, the arrogant guy in the two thousand dollar suit. And maybe she's not happy with him but that doesn't matter, because whether she is or she isn't, you are never going to get a chance with her!"

Posleen

This is set in the Posleen War universe, created by John Ringo. The Posleen are a horde of carnivorous aliens who are invading Earth.

Garnet Turman started getting out of bed, which took a while. First thing in the morning, every joint ached and every tendon popped, but he wasn't getting old, exactly--just older. Once he got to moving, he'd be good enough.

Stella must have finished her morning prayer time, because he could hear her rustling around. He stepped into his slippers and ambled out to the kitchen. "Good morning, doll baby," he said. He came up behind his wife, gave her a good morning kiss, and patted her bottom. "Got anything special for me?"

"Garnet don't-make-me-break-out-that-middle-name Turman, you behave yourself," she said, smiling.

"Honey lamb, I was thinking about breakfast. Any bacon?"

I know what you were thinking! But bacon isn't good for your heart. Once I get my tea, I'm making oatmeal." He scowled. "With brown sugar," she conceded. Her phone rang. "Hello? Hello, Angie. It's Angie," she told him, and then her face went white. Anything their daughter could have said to make Stella go pale like that couldn't be good. Most likely Angie was expecting--she didn't have the sense God gave a duck, and that boy she was seeing was no better. Garnet waited while Stella said "Oh no" and "What then?" until she hung up.

"That was Angie. The Posleen are coming. They made it up the mountain."

Garnet lifted an eyebrow. "How'd they do that? There's just the one road, and the Guard unit is there, supposed to be. All they'd have to do is cut a few trees to make a block, and drop mortars where they're bunched up. Couple of snipers for the God Kings, that should be all it needs."

"I don't know what happened about that. Ida Mae said she was at the market past Vesta and--"

"Meeting that boy Reefer, I expect."

"--and the Posleen just came over the rise, about a hundred she said. She heard some shooting and she just got in her truck and drove off as quick as she could. They shot through her windshield! She's lucky to be alive!"

"And Reefer?"

"She said Randall was at the market but he isn't answering his phone now. This is...just..."

"Well, I don't know whether to be pleased or sorry about that. If the Posleen ate Reefer, he'll likely give them indigestion, and that'd be the best thing he's done in the last four years."

"Garnet Turman! That's a mean thing to say."

"May be. Doesn't mean it's not true. Well, if the horses are up the mountain, someone will have to do something about it. I'll get out my rifle. Darling, you call Junior Nestor and Roy Goad and Jed Quesenberry and tell them what Angie said."

"Oh," Stella said, and stopped. She forced a smile. "I'll make a good breakfast. Pancakes and scrambled eggs. And bacon."

Ewetopia

The Ewetopian forces drew up their line: the great war-palanquins in the center, gaudy with paint and gilding, sixty feet long or more, with armored bearers and rams on their prows; to the flanks, the lighter fighting palanquins, unarmored but swift and bearing ready archers; and ahead, a cloud of two- and four-bearer litters carrying skirmishers and scouts. All eyes were upon the general's craft; the black banner waved, with one voice the warriors roared their war-cry, and the force surged forward across the plain.