《Soot-Steeped Knight (LN)》 Volume 1 - CH 1.1 Lilies. Lilies-of-the-valley, as far as the eye can see. Little bells abloom, all in a white tapestry. Long have I loved these flowers. They promise no pageantry of brilliant blossomings, but in their unmistakable downcast dangle do I sense their particular beauty¡ªone that I struggle to put to words. And lost was my gaze in them, just as my wits were to the sword so set upon me. A glance at the blade betrayed a slight quiver in its tip, its master¡¯s hand perhaps well aware of the sheer valley between our prowess. But I paid it no mind and left it to shiver ever more, for instead I drowned myself in the sea of lily bells once again. Perhaps I should take one home with me. They seem the sort to be content with life in a pot. A broadly-built man well on his way home, stark-sable sword at his hip, a potted white flower embraced to his bosom. A silly sight, I admit, sure to garner a good chuckle or two¡ªsmiles I would like to see, laughter I would like to hear. As these fancies, for battlefields ill-befitting, filled my mind, I took in the scenery once more. Ah, yes. Lilies like these bloomed, too, upon that hill, on that very day. ? ¡°You were incredible, Rolf! I could scarcely believe it!¡± Emilie rejoiced, her azure eyes wide and fixed upon mine. We were there on that hill, enrobed as it was in bell-bedight lilies and Emilie herself serving as its crown, with sunrays scintillating through her flaxen hair and a hearty smile upon her fair visage. ¡°You and I both; Lady Luck merely smiled my way, that¡¯s all it was,¡± I responded, impressed by Emilie¡¯s bursting joy. ¡°And Sir Simon wasn¡¯t giving it his all, I¡¯m sure.¡± I had partaken of sword training earlier that day. A spar was held, where I somehow eked out a victory against a full-grown instructor. At a mere fifteen years of age, my body was already both the height and build of an adult man, and so was not wanting of physical strength. Though, the same could hardly be said of my technique, and I very well stood to lose because of it. That I won at all was owed purely to the fates and my instructor¡¯s own reserve. ¡°¡®Twould seem Lady Luck has an eye for talent, then! Sir Simon was a lieutenant for the 1st Order, you know!¡± returned Emilie, hopping about happily. All through to our earliest days, she had always celebrated whatever good fortune found its way to me, as if they were her very own. The eldest daughter of House Mernesse, she was. While a small, yet ennobled family, they held no domain of their own, and it was decided earlier on that she would be wedded to House Buckmann. Though both houses were headed by barons, the one that owned land was the latter¡ªthe Buckmanns, my own family. To put it simply, laying on the horizon was the promise of marriage between us. ¡°To think, my beloved husband-to-be is this strong already,¡± Emilie said after a giggle, ¡°why, I¡¯d burst with pride if I was any prouder!¡± A girl of affection most assertive¡ªthat was the kind of soul Emilie was. And here was I, flustered in receiving it. ¡°Emilie¡­¡± began my modest answer, ¡°¡­you¡¯re very kind.¡± For some time now, I had thought to more fully embrace Emilie¡¯s love, but the right words would always escape my lips. We were both fifteen, then. While arranged marriages are a long-held tradition amongst the nobility, it is no strange phenomenon to harbour contempt in having one¡¯s prospective spouse be chosen by others. For her part¡ªand by her own admission, no less¡ªEmilie was pleased to have me as her future husband. I suppose I should have confessed how thankful I was of her feelings. Failing to do so was surely an insult to her, but my own words fumbled all too easily. A coward, I know. Not the prodigy that others saw me to be. I wonder what it was that convinced them of such, speaking of which. Yes. That¡¯s right. ¡®Rolf Buckmann, the boy prodigy,¡¯ they¡¯ve always said. A wunderkind, brave and wise, excellent in myriad things¡ªor so it seemed. At the very least, I thought my own courage to be rather scant. ¡®Emilie! I, too, am proud! To see your smile with such intimacy is my sole privilege¡ªwhy, I might go door to door just to boast of it!¡¯ If I was brave as they say, then surely these words would have been most enthused to leap from my lips. While such thoughts thundered through my head, my betrothed continued to gaze intently upon me, and it was then that a voice echoed from a ways behind us. ¡°Brother!¡± ¡°Felicia!¡± I called back, turning about. ¡°How goes it?¡± There she was: Felicia Buckmann, my younger sibling. Her locks were long, and like mine, deep and dark like the night. Our eyes differed, however: where mine were as onyxes, hers were as regal rubies, and the face they bejewelled was an even match for Emilie¡¯s in its beauty. A most charming sister, if I do say so myself. ¡°A berry pie to celebrate your triumph, dear Brother!¡± said Felicia, settling down beside Emilie and I before unveiling from a basket a pie replete with assorted berries. With deftness, she proceeded to slice out a few wedges. ¡°One for you as well, Emilie.¡± ¡°Oh Felicia, it looks wonderful!¡± exclaimed Emilie, her eyes sparkling with joy. ¡°Celebrate my triumph, you say?¡± I asked. ¡°I¡¯ve heard you bested Sir Simon in a spar. ¡®A dynamic strike from the high guard!¡¯ they all said,¡± Felicia recounted. ¡°Did they now?¡± I returned. ¡°Well thanks anyway, Felicia.¡± Against my own heart, I dared not downplay the achievement at that moment. After all, Felicia was in the habit of baking sweets to commemorate my every deed, little or no. Not long before, our governess was most taken aback after I discovered an error in a heraldic tome. For that occasion, Felicia presented to us a plate of gaufres¡ªah, delectable they were, indeed. Though the berry pie before me was even more so. ¡°A fine pastry you baked for us, Felicia! The aroma alone is a treat,¡± I complemented. ¡°Truly!¡± Emilie echoed. ¡°I made it with Staffen rum. Orla told me it works wonders for a pie,¡± explained Felicia. She had often found herself in the kitchen indulging in pursuits of pastry production, and in the process got along very well with the maids and cooks, Orla included. ¡°My stomach growls for more. Spare me another slice, Felicia?¡± ¡°And me!¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad it¡¯s to your likings both,¡± my sister softly giggled. ¡°Here you are, then. Oh, we mustn¡¯t forget the tea.¡± Up the bell-lily hill billowed a balmy breeze. The three of us were sat there, shoulder to shoulder, our faces beaming from the sour-sweetness of Felicia¡¯s berry pie. Silly chatter and conjoined laughter chimed through the air. ¡°Brother, won¡¯t you regale us with another tale?¡± my sister requested. ¡°A tale? Hmm, a tale, eh¡­ How about something I read in a book recently¡ªone on the relative densities of heavy metals found in knights-wear.¡± ¡°R-Rolf! That¡¯s more a lullaby than a legend,¡± Emilie poked. ¡°How about something more thrilling, let¡¯s say?¡± The land, washed white with lilies-of-the-valley. The sun, shining softly down upon the three of us. ¡°Hmm¡­ right, how¡¯s this? From the chronicles of a southbound excursion: a creature most rare and riveting. Does that tickle your curiosities?¡± ¡°It does! Tell us more!¡± ¡°It¡¯s settled, then. Let me tell you of a southern specimen¡ªa critter they call the ¡®hippo¡¯¡­¡± Our childhood brimmed with bliss, and this was but a scene from its last day, one ever enthroned in my memory. Volume 1 - CH 1.2 ¡°Tomorrow¡¯s the big day. Your nerves must be frayed, Brother!¡± said Felicia, in the midst of our family supper. ¡°Not yet they are, thank you. After all, I can¡¯t do aught but let the chips fall where they may,¡± I responded. Upon the fifth month of his fifteenth birthyear, the ordinary Londosian attends a particular ceremony officiated by the church. Such is tradition in this kingdom of Londosius, and most do partake in it, for none are turned away on account of status. The ¡®Roun of Orisons,¡¯ as it is called¡ªa rite from which one attains ¡®odyl,¡¯ or the spring and store from which magicks are drawn. A priest presides over its proceedings, during which, it is said, one would commune with the Deiva, Yon¨¢. Thereupon, one¡¯s soul would be bound to Her, and through this bond, She would share her grace: the gift of odyl. How much is shared differs between each person, and to be given a generous amount all but guarantees success in one¡¯s future endeavours. Little wonder as to why so many find themselves gripped with anxiety on the eve of this ceremony. ¡°I, for one, have little doubt that our very own Rolf will be blessed with a veritable mountain of odyl,¡± my mother boasted. ¡°A great service he¡¯ll do for the Order! Won¡¯t you, Rolf?¡± ¡°Now hear, my love. It won¡¯t do for our boy to sooner buckle under a mountain of expectations, now would it!¡± my father quipped. ¡°Already, he is prodigious in matters of book and blade both. Nevermind a mountain¡ªjust a mound will do, and he¡¯ll flourish just the same.¡± My parents¡¯ faces were fast abeam as they showered their praises upon me. ¡°Listen well, Rolf,¡± said my father, turning to me. ¡°No doubt the generosity of Yon¨¢¡¯s gift will prove crucial, but do not be so taken by it. Of greatest account is that through the Roun of Orisons, you commune with Yon¨¢ Herself, and thereby with Her, birthing a new bond. Keep this in your heart!¡± ¡°Of course, Lord Father,¡± I answered. ¡°Hm, very good. And while you¡¯re at it, why not brush up on the Rounic scriptures?¡± my father continued. ¡°You¡¯re well-read in them, I know, but oft is there something to be gleaned from re-treading a trodden path, especially that of a saint¡¯s.¡± ¡°That I will,¡± heeded I my father¡¯s counsel. And once supper was done with, I dutifully headed over to the manor study. ? Six centuries past, there lived a saint by the name of Rakliammelech. From the empyrean on high, he received the Revelation, and thereupon was enlightened of the Roun¡ªa miracle most hallowed, the workings of godly hands and godly thought. Through it could the souls of Man be bound to Yon¨¢, and by Her grace attain the gift of odyl. A story known to any and all in this kingdom, recounted in the book I now took to hand. Scriptures telling of the lore of the Roun of Orisons¡ªin the corner of the study, I opened its familiar pages, and, by my father¡¯s earlier insistence, committed myself to reading through the familiar tale. ? Rakliammelech was then a youth in his prime, and most compassionate. He cared for his mother¡ªfrail-legged, she was¡ªand together they lived in a settlement nestled within the vales. Once upon a time, under the light of the noon sun, young Rakliammelech was busy afore his home, tending to his field. It was at that moment that into the settlement, they came¡ªthe ¡®Nafilim¡¯. His mother, weak of legs as she was, could hardly suffer a hasty flight, and so Rakliammelech, gripped with desperation, took hoe in hand and went to scatter the invading Nafilim. Try as he might, however, the young man¡¯s bark was worse than his bite. No sooner was he skewered with spears and left to prostrate whence he once stood. Hours wound by. Rakliammelech lifted the lids over his eyes. By some miracle was his life spared¡ªbut as he would come to know, it was a miracle ill-shared. Before him was his mother, hewn to pieces, her human shape far forgotten. A death of unspeakable cruelty, handed down to the only blood relation he had on this earth¡ªthe very sight of it sent the son into a howling fit of despair. His wounds unwound themselves, basting his body in blood with whom he no longer shared. From then on, poor Rakliammelech committed much of his days to prayer. He tended to the fields, but only to reap the least of what would sustain him. Any other hour found him beside a great tree, praying to the gods. In those olden days, Yon¨¢ was not worshipped as the sole deity, for throughout the lands, men practised each their own native faiths. For his part, Rakliammelech was ill-apprised of the gods, and knew neither to whom he should pray nor how. Nonetheless, he could not bear the thought of leaving his mother¡¯s soul to linger on unsoothed. Was she given to this ¡®heaven,¡¯ as they called it? Or did her destination lie elsewhere? The answers were lost to Rakliammelech, but what wasn¡¯t was his desire to bring about a peace where none would have further need to suffer. And he could no longer deny the great yearning for grace with which to smite the Nafilim and undo their coil of misery. For they were Unreason itself, with lightning immediacy trampling those who aspired to little more than living their lives in harmony. The meek must resist, and do so without fail¡ªof how, he wished to know. So it was that day by day, Rakliammelech persevered in his prayers beside that great tree, the most magnificent of all the trees he knew and within which he envisioned a godly presence. ¡®Better to rise up in arms than wallow in prayer,¡¯ rebutted none, for in their despair against the terrible might of the Nafilim, men had made cowards of themselves. What was left to Rakliammelech, then, was nothing but prayer. Through days of snow swollen high, he prayed. Through days of screaming storms, he prayed. Through days of seething heat, he prayed¡ªon and on, unmoving and unbending, prayers bereft of their erstwhile serenity. Scarcer numbered the days that found him upon the field. Prayer became his life, consuming him for days on end, during which he eschewed all sleep and sustenance. His figure paid the toll, now too frightful to be rightfully that of a saint¡¯s, it was said. ? Having read up to that point, I pried my eyes away from the text on a whim, finding Felicia coming into the study. ¡°There you are!¡± she called. ¡°Found me, I see. Here am I to indulge in the scriptures again, just as Father bade me do.¡± ¡°And I bid you retire soon for the night, dear Brother,¡± she said. ¡°You have such an important day tomorrow, yet I was worried you might still be cooped up in the study, as you are like to do for hours on end.¡± ¡°You¡¯re very kind, Felicia. Thank you,¡± I returned. ¡°And good night.¡± ¡°Oh¡­ Yes. Good night, dear Brother,¡± she said, taking leave of the study. It would seem Felicia wished to chat a while more, and if so, I¡¯ve done her a disservice. But it was in believing it would not do to interrupt her brother¡¯s literary duties that she left with such immediacy. Warmed by my sister¡¯s thoughtfulness, I turned my eyes back to the book. ? And then one day, at long last, came the Revelation. In the recesses of Rakliammelech¡¯s mind, there spoke a voice, intermittent, but infinitely warm and profound. ¡°¡­cheth¡­ thi¡­ Hail, dost my voice reacheth thine ears?¡± Right away, the young man sensed it to be the words of the divine. He knew not why, only, his conviction had convinced him so. ¡°O son of Man, by thy Mercy so gaol¡¯d in durance of Prayer. Lo, by my god-some name, Yon¨¢, this Roun, veil¡¯d myst, thou art receipt.¡± Rakliammelech then felt an unknowable flow coursing into him, and in that moment, there took form within him knowledge by which to link one¡¯s soul to the Deiva Herself: the ¡®Roun¡¯, as She so called it. ¡°To thine own kin, pray bequeathest this Roun¡­ To the Wicked, dread-lorn¡­ barest thy Fangs¡­¡± The voice then began to wane. ¡°O son of Man¡­ pray, by Strength of thy kin, redeemest the World¡­ of Ages Pass¡¯d¡­¡± Quietude returned. At the foot of the great tree, Rakliammelech slowly rose. He felt then how alike the divine voice was to his late mother¡¯s own. From then on, the saint, enlightened as he was, wandered the various lands, conferring the Roun to his fellow man. Through it, the folk employed magicks to protect both their homes and their own lives. Rakliammelech was shown deep gratitude, indeed, and was even offered coin and titles, but abstinently did he refuse them all. By his words, thanks should be given to Yon¨¢, for he was merely Her messenger and mediator. The saint eventually came into Death¡¯s embrace, and thereafter those who loved both him and the Deiva founded the Yonaic faith. Knowledge of the Roun, itself the rites by which to commune with Yon¨¢, was preserved in earnest, and the nascent Yonaic priesthood devoted itself to conferring it to the kin of Man. It was then that these rites came to be known as the Roun of Orisons. The priesthood, on account of the burden borne of having one¡¯s soul bound to a god, also ruled that the Roun of Orisons be carried out for those at least fifteen years of age. So it was that the priests continued to confer it to the kin of Man all throughout the lands, granting them strength. In time, resistance against the Nafilim came to be institutionalised. Cities were built. Realms were born. Of note was Rakliammelech¡¯s own homeland, whereupon the foundations of the kingdom of Londosius were laid. What grew from it would become the grandest of all the realms of Man. And so, as they say, the rest was history. Volume 1 - CH 1.3 ¡°¡­Well, that¡¯s that,¡± I sighed, closing the book. The Roun of Orisons was to receive me on the morrow. There, I would attain odyl, the power to fight the Nafilim¡ªthey who so bear ill intent towards and commit ill deeds upon our kind. They, who from birth are each instilled with powerful odyl of their own. It is said that in ages long gone, men were bereft of odyl and could do little against the Nafilim but be overrun by them. Rakliammelech¡¯s feats six hundred years past, however, brought odyl into the hands of men at long last. With it, they faced the Nafilim¡ªan effort that continued on through the centuries. Here in this kingly realm of Londosius, any who are received at the Roun of Orisons are also qualified to enter into the service of the Chivalric Order. Nobles in particular are keen on this, with no small number conscripting into the Order as soon as they are able. The kingdom itself is founded upon the congregations of resistance against the Nafilim. As such, the nobles see themselves honour-bound to join the fight. Emilie and I were no different¡ªwe both planned to join the Order together. It is scarcely the case that the sons and daughters of nobility are sent to theatres of war deemed perilous overmuch. Serve the Order for a number of years, receive the rites of investiture, gain a degree of combat experience, and then return home to one¡¯s domain¡ªsuch is the career laid out for us young nobles. To those of our station, there is otherwise little reason to join the Order. But I thought differently. For as long as I could remember, the legends of chivalric gallantry were a great fascination to me, so much so that I came to harbour dreams of becoming a knight myself. It was for that very reason that I honed my swordsmanship more doggedly than any other I knew. The time would come someday when I would take the reins of this patch of territory, though thankfully, my father was yet hale in his health. Knighthood was my ambition, and it was my aim to remain a knight for as long as I could. And of course, there was Emilie. I dared not leave her out of the picture. Apparently, there are nobles who¡¯ve wedded during the course of their military service. Comforted by this precedent, I intended to propose to her sometime before the barony was to pass to me. And after fulfilling my dreams and becoming a man that even I can be proud of, I would set out for my homecoming. Such was my wish. Such was my hope. ? ¡°Today¡¯s the day, Rolf! Let¡¯s give it our all!¡± Emilie cheered, her hands clenched with determination. ¡°I¡¯m afraid our ¡®all¡¯ amounts to little, Emilie,¡± I remarked. ¡°Kneel before the Reverend, close our eyes¡ª¡®tis done before we know it.¡± And rightfully so, for the one officiating the Roun of Orisons was the priest, after all. It was his shoulders that bore the work. ¡°But wouldn¡¯t it be nice to let Yon¨¢ know of the ardour in our hearts? Surely She¡¯ll answer in kind!¡± my fianc¨¦e countered. ¡°I say Emilie has a point, Brother. I¡¯ll be coming to watch your heroic performance myself, so pray give your all to earn Her grace,¡± said Felicia, with a firm mind in accompanying us to the church. But with so heavy a word like ¡®heroic,¡¯ I feared my own mind was aught but firm. ¡°Performance, you say? Well¡­ if you insist, Felicia,¡± I relented. ¡°For you, I¡¯ll put on my best act.¡± ¡°One worthy of ovation, I would hope!¡± said Felicia. ¡°After the curtains close, it will be long before we next meet. It would please me to have one more memory of you for the while, Brother¡­¡± Emilie and I had arrangements to enlist in the 5th Chivalric Order very soon after the Roun of Orisons wrapped up. The base of operations for the 5th was located in the march of Norden, a territory neighbouring the royal capital, and our departure for the march was scheduled on the day after the ceremony itself. A trip between the Buckmann barony where we were and the march of Norden was not in and of itself a particularly long journey, but it was also one not to be taken at leisure. ¡°But you¡¯ll be enlisting yourself, won¡¯t you Felicia? In the coming year, that is,¡± I asked. ¡°We¡¯ll keep a seat warm for you.¡± ¡°Yeah, Felicia! A year passes before you know it!¡± ¡°My hope that it will. I¡¯ll be right on your heels, you two!¡± Warm smiles were shared between us. ¡°And how about you, Rolf?¡± Emilie asked, turning to me. ¡°Knighthood is right on the horizon, at last!¡± ¡°¡®Tis the same horizon we both look upon, isn¡¯t it Emilie?¡± ¡°That¡¯s true, but I¡¯m hardly the one who¡¯s been dreaming of it for, what, ten years now, it¡¯s been? The wait¡¯s almost over, Rolf!¡± ¡°I share in Emilie¡¯s thoughts, Brother. For such a momentous occasion, you seem the tree unswayed by the merry winds.¡± That my dream alone gave spark to these girls¡¯ gazes was most endearing. ¡°A year of swainhood comes first; we¡¯ll be as saplings toiling against winds of a different temperament, I¡¯m afraid. Once we¡¯ve taken root, though, we must ply ourselves till we¡¯ve earned our investitures,¡± I explained. ¡°I¡¯ve no doubt it¡¯s on the horizon, but the distance spans more deeply than we¡¯d like.¡± ¡°Oh Brother, you have but to receive your accolade right as the second year opens. Then, you¡¯ll be a proud knight by the time I¡¯m a swain myself!¡± ¡°Felicia¡¯s on to something! We should celebrate both milestones at once! Together, of course!¡± ¡°Now, you two. Didn¡¯t I just say it wasn¡¯t going to be that easy¡­?¡± A shade of anxiety hung in my heart, I admit, but thanks to the girls, I felt its mists lift as the trip went on. ? Solemnity draped the church more palpably than usual. Forgathered within were children from all corners of the Buckmann barony, each having celebrated their fifteenth birthdays this year. A shared tension was written upon each of their faces as they lined down the aisle. Further in was a statue of the Deiva, Yon¨¢. Framed by a pane of stained glass from behind, She cast a grave gaze down upon us all. At Her likeness¡¯ base stood the priest, flanked by a pair of knights¡ªpersonnel from the 5th Order, the same we were to enlist in. Their twofold charge was to act as the priest¡¯s bodyguards and to survey the odyl of prospective recruits. ¡°Well met and congratulations, all of you,¡± greeted the priest. ¡°Fifteen years have safely brought each of you here today.¡± What followed was a narration of the story of St. Rakliammelech. How he suffered the ill deeds of the Nafilim, realised the cruelty of the world, and communed with Yon¨¢¡ªall passionately recounted to us so gathered. ¡°To that end, only for that which is good and just must you employ the gift of odyl¡ªthe same to be bestowed upon each of you on this day.¡± Everyone present had their eyes and ears fixed to the priest¡¯s sermon in great earnest. Glancing over, I found Emilie¡¯s profile to be no less taken by the solemnity. ¡°Henceforth shall we commence the Roun of Orisons. Pray mind your order.¡± Our nerves collectively frayed further. Up ahead, a boy was summoned forth. The steps he took on his way to the priest were clumsy and ill at ease. Once there, he received a translucent quartz crystal from the holy man, wrapped it in both his hands, knelt down, and closed his eyes. The priest, for his part, raised a palm towards the boy¡¯s forehead, and with a sonorous voice, began to chant. ¡°O Yon¨¢, Deiva Supr¨¥ma, Aegis of Man from the Empyrean on high. Here, we adjureth Thee, Most Divine, of Thy Grace, that we may stayeth the march of the Wicked, and answereth the entreaty of sons and daughters of Man set adrift.¡± As the psalm finished, a deep blue glow sighed from the quartz in the boy¡¯s hands. In turn, he opened his eyes slowly and gazed at length into the crystalline light. Once it faded away, the priest spoke. ¡°It is done. May Yon¨¢¡¯s blessing find you, my son.¡± The next person stepped up as the boy returned to the line. Despite having received odyl, he seemed visibly dejected, and rightfully so. The measure of odyl bestowed is decided by the depth of the quartz-light¡¯s blue colour. To put it simply, the paler the light, the more odyl one is bestowed, and it is said that a light of sky-blue hue was a most excellent result, indeed. For the boy, his was of a deep blue shine, indicating that odyl of no appreciable amount was given to him. His drooping shoulders, then, seemed quite justified. The Roun of Orisons proceeded further without trouble, granting odyl to each of us one after the other. The reactions were mixed¡ªsome radiated with elation for their results, others slumped in defeat. ¡°Next: Emilie Mernesse. Pray come forth.¡± ¡°Y-yes, Reverend! R-right away!¡± she stuttered, before turning to me. ¡°Rolf! Off I go!¡± ¡°Calm your nerves first, lest your feet stutter as well,¡± I returned. Taking her turn, Emilie made her way to the priest. Like the others before her, she took up the quartz crystal, knelt down, and held it close to her heart. Her fingers were clasped tightly about it, almost as if it embodied the whole of Yonaism itself. The priest¡¯s palm then reached out towards her forehead. Emilie herself kept both eyes squeezed shut, betraying in them a slight quiver. ¡°O Yon¨¢, Deiva Supr¨¥ma, Aegis of Man from the Empyrean on high. Here, we adjureth Thee, Most Divine, of Thy Grace, that we may stayeth the march of the Wicked, and answereth the entreaty of sons and daughters of Man set adrift.¡± A glimmer began to enshroud the quartz, as if on cue. Emilie opened her eyes nervously, but instead, found it impossible to look¡ªthe quartz was as the sun itself, luminous and dazzling in its pure white refulgence. The priest and both knights were taken aback, their faces stretched in shock. I glanced at the spectators situated further back, finding the same reaction in each and every one of them. Felicia herself was frozen in utter astonishment. Upon the light¡¯s eventual calm, the priest and knights regained their wits and broke into discussion. ¡°Reverend¡­ That light. Was it not wholly pale just now¡­?¡± observed one of the knights. ¡°If memory serves, such brilliance would mean the fullest measure of odyl has been given©`¡®Aureola¡¯, the halo-light, as it were?¡± ¡°It¡­ It would seem so! Many years have I officiated this solemn ceremony, but this be the first mine eyes have beheld such a light!¡± exclaimed the priest. ¡°Miss Emilie, yes? Oh! Bless your soul, child! Yon¨¢ embraces you with Her most profound love!¡± ¡°Emilie Mernesse! Do tell: you mean to join the Order, yes!? Surely!¡± ¡°Y-yes, sir. I-I do.¡± All eyes in the church were trained upon Emilie. ¡°And you felt the odyl manifest within you, yes?¡± asked the other knight. ¡°I-I did, yes. From within my chest, I noticed something¡­ something tinged with heat, come coursing in.¡± ¡°In all the history of the 5th Chivalric Order, none till today have produced the Aureola! Be proud, for you hold the greatest odyl of any recruit to this very moment! We welcome you, Emilie Mernesse! We welcome you with open arms!¡± ¡°Th-thank you, good sirs!¡± After enduring a long while of exaltation from the knights, Emilie came back my way, her cheeks fully ablush. ¡°R-Rolf¡­!¡± she gasped excitedly. ¡°Congratulations, Emilie!¡± ¡°Th-thanks! Good luck to you too, Rolf!¡± ¡°Next: Rolf Buckmann,¡± called the priest. ¡°To the fore, if you may.¡± Volume 1 - CH 1.4 ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Summoned so by the priest, I made my way to the front. Receiving the quartz crystal, I knelt and closed my eyes. Once more, his psalm resounded through the church. ¡°O Yon¨¢, Deiva Supr¨¥ma, Aegis of Man from the Empyrean on high. Here, we adjureth Thee, Most Divine, of Thy Grace, that we may stayeth the march of the Wicked, and answereth the entreaty of sons and daughters of Man set adrift.¡± Silence. Nothing. There manifested nothing at all within my bosom. The quartz, too, remained wholly unchanged. ¡°¡­O Yon¨¢, Deiva Supr¨¥ma, Aegis of Man from the Empyrean on high. Here, we adjureth Thee, Most Divine, of Thy Grace, that we may stayeth the march of the Wicked, and answereth the entreaty of sons and daughters of Man set adrift,¡± the priest repeated diligently. Try as he might, no change came about the crystal. ¡°Reverend¡­ What¡¯s this¡­?¡± whispered one of the knights. ¡°I¡­ I know not. This should not be possible,¡± returned the priest. ¡°¡­O-oh Yon¨¢, Deiva Supr¨¥ma, Aegis of Man from the Empyrean on high! Here, we adjureth Thee, Most Divine, of Thy Grace, that we may stayeth the march of the Wicked! And answereth the entreaty of sons and daughters of Man set adrift!¡± A third attempt. A third failure. ¡°¡­What preposterousness¡­!¡± our Reverend relented. ¡°Young man. I fear Yon¨¢, the Deiva Supr¨¥ma, has graced you not of Her gift of odyl.¡± Upon hearing the priest¡¯s words, the knights were seized by a surprise of a different sort. ¡°Has there ever been such a thing, Reverend? To be given naught?¡± ¡°¡­Writ in our history, it is not, I¡¯m afraid. Though Her grace of odyl varies in scope, it is heretofore a gift always given.¡± ¡°Then what explains this, Reverend?¡± A shake of the head. ¡°I¡­ I have not the answer. Were it merely that the light was unthinkably faint¡­ but this too, I fear, was not the case. While truly incredulous, I can only surmise¡­¡± the priest reasoned, his brows furrowing at me as if he was beholding something most alien, ¡°¡­that this young man has been denied Her blessing.¡± Immediately, I took in the weight of those words, and so rose up and turned back. There, I was met with Emilie and Felicia, struck and silent beyond measure. ? ¡°¡­Rolf Buckmann¡­ the man ungraced¡­¡± I was back home in my room, letting free such utterances from my lips. A look through the window revealed evening skies more drab and dreary than those of days past. Not a single word was spoken between Emilie, Felicia, and I in the carriage during our trip home from the church. I normally pay no mind to such airs of silence, but abiding the two¡¯s reticence today required some tangible effort. From time to time, the girls looked my way, their eyes darkened with both worry and sorrow. It seemed they could not find the right words to console me with. To be bereft of odyl is clearly an aberration. Its absence brands one as being nigh powerless in battle. A stigma, no doubt, for we kin of men have long been¡ªand still are, to this very day¡ªat war with the Nafilim. Though they be our enemy of many centuries, they are unlike us humans in scant ways. Indeed, aside from the tawny colour of their skin, they possess the same manner of appearance as we do. They have a culture of their own, and even share our language. However, the most striking difference is found in our disparate strengths: odyl is instilled within them from the moment of conception, whereas we humans must attain it through divine ritual. With such odyl, they arm themselves with frightful magicks, earning their place as, to us, a most terrible enemy. Fighting fire with fire was the chosen path for men¡ªwe, too, came to wield the same odyl against the Nafilim. A magicked defence is required to ward off a magicked offence. Similarly, only a magicked offence can break through a magicked defence. Without such magicks, men are as lambs left to the slaughter. The Chivalric Orders themselves are founded upon this very basis. Those who lack odyl lack the means to fight the Nafilim. It follows, then, that such impotence would be most unwelcome in the Orders. Of course, for a man to be ¡®odylless¡¯ was heretofore an unthinkable occurrence, but there was no doubt in my mind that such a man, powerless as he is, would find any comfort wherever he may wander. Always have I longed to become a knight. But the grace of odyl has spurned me. I am that ¡®odylless¡¯ man, lacking that which the knights held to be most precious: the power to fight. What was I to do, then? ¡°¡­Rather vain, I admit, to ponder on like this,¡± I muttered again. Right. I would join the Order, just as planned. Knighthood forever eludes me otherwise. No matter how meagre my chances, so long as the light of luck itself is not snuffed out, so long as I yet had the will to keep pursuing my knightly dreams, I can do little else but cast the dice. Besides, there are other avenues to apply my mettle in battle, even without odyl, such as the extermination of the behem¨®t vermin. What is more, the Order is hardly the only place in these lands that measures the worth of men by their odyl. Thus the barony itself affords no safe haven for an aberration like me, who has no odyl to begin with. And with things as they are, inheriting the estate is out of the question. Here on the barony, or there in the Order¡ªwhat my future lacks in choices, it brims with blame and censure. ¡°¡­Such friction might be the least of my worries, I fear¡­.¡± Of course, to be denied odyl is to be denied by the divine. Yon¨¢¡¯s forsaken child, as it were, for whom awaits nothing better than despisal, derision, and discrimination. What foul a turn my life has taken¡­ Only¡ª ¡°I yet have my sword.¡± I held up the blade, my one companion through all of my training. Used through and through, its iron was riddled with scuffs and scratches, yet by my unfailing care, the weapon was kept most serviceable. Yes. The sword may yet avail me. I can still wield it, ungraced as I am. I would further ply my technique in the Order, and fight by the sword. And then, I would become a knight. This I swore upon my very heart. ? The hour for supper struck. My chair was nowhere to be seen in the dining hall. My parents, meanwhile, spared me not even a single glance. Felicia had, for her part, but just once, and only before immediately turning her gaze downward. One of our servants approached me. ¡°This way,¡± he said tersely. I obeyed, and was led to the kitchen. There, laid unceremoniously on the counter was a meal of black bread and a bowl of soup conjured from vegetable scraps. The servant then pointed to the food and went about his way without a word. Before the counter was a wooden box¡ªin lieu of a chair, it seemed. ¡°A meal with all the trimmings. Fancy that. More than I could have hoped for, if I¡¯m honest,¡± I muttered to no one in particular. Sat upon the box, I grabbed the stiff black bread and tore off a morsel. Into the soup it went before I endeavoured a bite of it. Not too terrible. Who could¡¯ve imagined that the combination of cold, hard bread and nigh-flavourless soup was a match made in heaven? This sort of treatment was to be my reality from now on. That¡¯s to say nothing of the Order; I would sooner rouse some magicks of my own than be treated better than a cur there. A man unloved by the Deiva. An intruder upon Her cherished land. An alien ailing Her flesh. A mistake within Her machinations. A good-for-nothing to be disdained¡ªthat was I, Rolf, the ungraced. I resolved to make myself comfortable with such treatment. For meals even, I would partake of aught I can get, no matter how crude the selection. If not, my body would be stunted and surely fail me in the heat of battle. Silently, I brought another scrap of bread into my mouth. ? Supper was done. I remained seated there, wordless, arms folded, gaze turned up to the ceiling. My thoughts went to my family, now fractured by the day¡¯s happenings. That I would be treated this way fell well within my expectations, but one small matter had not: I sensed little in the way of anger or sorrow from my parents. Come to think of it, the depth of our familial bond was, from the start, not exactly that deep at all. That Mother and Father only ever saw me for my potential and not as their son was an epiphany that came murkily, yet inevitably. Of course, it is most natural and expected for any parent to consider their child with at least an eye trained upon their future promise. Only, the eyes of my own parents were bespectacled by the lens of ¡®self-interest¡¯, as it were. Who they needed was not Rolf, but an able heir to House Buckmann¡ªa cold conclusion, to be sure, but one I somehow arrived upon regardless. ¡°No¡­ Perhaps I read too deeply.¡± Or perhaps this situation had taken its toll, and my thoughts couldn¡¯t help but turn to negativity, turbid as they were with cowardice, self-resentment, and resignation. Living through discrimination would likely rob me of chances to nurture my own character. To foster self-growth, one can hardly avoid the all-encompassing influence of one¡¯s environs. This country holds the age of fifteen to be the dawn of one¡¯s adulthood, and it is at this same age that one can enlist in the Order at the earliest. But let there be no doubt that one¡¯s heart is yet immature, having lived only fifteen years. Thus, even upon reaching adulthood, the heart must be allowed to mature further yet. The Order, too, exists for that purpose. Let there also be no doubt, then, that to live in such a place, where one is so harried by malice from others, one would be impaired by no small degree. Those who are hurt time after time eventually come to fear all too much the thought of being hurt yet again, and so does the integrity of their character begin to shrivel. They fret over the words and conduct of others, cannot take action as their hearts so desire, and cannot bear to look others in the eyes. All too often, I¡¯ve witnessed this for myself in others. And now, the fates deigned to count me amongst such poor souls by throwing me into the same misery that produced them. This, I cannot stand for. To that end, I would have to keep as much of myself together as possible. ¡°Through discipline, temper thyself,¡¯ was it now?¡± I said to myself. My lips bent into an exasperated simper. I realised then that fifteen year-olds are of the sort to feign wisdom. Shaking my head, I rose up to make my way back to my chambers, only to find a figure standing at the kitchen doorway. ¡°Dear Brother¡­¡± came the quiet, quivering words. Volume 1 - CH 1.5 ¡°Felicia,¡± I called to my sister. A look was upon her face¡ªone that I¡¯d seen her make never once before. A face filled with unbearable sorrow, made in light of things one can ill-do aught about, I reckoned. I then too, came to share in that sorrow, as one who caused his own sister such suffering. And it was behind that sister of mine that my parents appeared. ¡°Felicia,¡± Father said. ¡°Do not concern yourself with that thing.¡± ¡°Do heed your father, Felicia dear,¡± added Mother. ¡°Consort with traitors to the Deiva and you are like to share in their filth.¡± To such sharp words, Felicia did little but quietly set her eyes downward. Seeing the futility of any conversation to be had, I strode past the three without a word. ¡°Hold,¡± my father threw at my back. ¡°The one to claim lordship over House Buckmann shall be Felicia. Know this, and keep it.¡± ¡°Aye,¡± was my curt answer. I continued on to my room without sparing them a look back. ¡°Felicia will not be made to suffer your presence from this day forth,¡± warned my mother. ¡°Understood?¡± ¡°I do.¡± It was one thing to be branded a man unblessed by the Deiva. It was another to be a son who betrayed the single most important hope of a noble house: succession. As such, the words uttered by Mother and Father alike oozed with both enmity and discontent. ? That next day¡ªthe day of our long-awaited departure. Emilie and I were to set off by carriage from the Buckmann abode. Her parents and servants all were gathered to send her off. Long possessed of a magnetic personality, Emilie had gotten along well with even her servants. To point, a veritable crowd had come to celebrate. Among them was a very young handmaiden of House Mernesse by the name of Maria, whom Emilie thoroughly adored. The little girl had her hands clasped about Emilie¡¯s, prattling to her mistress with youthful eagerness. Baron Mernesse and his wife, for their part, then held their daughter in a tight embrace. Word had already spread of the Aureola, indicating Emilie¡¯s receipt of the fullest gift of odyl, and her parents naturally were well apprised of this. Their eyes, reddened from shedding tears, were brimming with pride. The same could not be said of the Buckmanns. While present for the departure, Mother and Father kept silent, sparing me only looks bitter and cold. It seemed they meant not to see me off, but rather to make sure I had well and truly left. I proceeded to board the carriage, but then, for the briefest moment, stopped. Fifteen years, I lived on this estate. Fifteen years, each filled with bliss. Nothing but fond memories comprised the collective childhoods Emilie, Felicia, and I shared together. How unfortunate that the day I took wing from the nest would be this dreary. I could not see myself ever returning. With such turbid emotions roiling within me, I looked up at the Buckmann manor, spying in one of the windows a lone figure. Felicia. From high up in her room, she watched on. I returned a look of my own, as if to say ¡®sorry¡¯. After all, a new burden was now on her shoulders, what with the heirship of the Buckmann estate having been suddenly passed to her. My sister, however, is an exceptional individual. Light work will she make of this new trial, I¡¯m sure. A sharp, dry sound rang through the air¡ªone of Mother slapping her son across his face. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare even look at Felicia,¡± she said. ¡°The heir to House Buckmann need not suffer the filthy gaze of the profane! Have you no shame!?¡± ¡°¡­My apologies,¡± I replied. ¡°How could a son like you ever¡­ ever¡­!¡± Her voice quivered as tears welled from her eyes. Dearly and tenderly had she loved her son, certain in the brilliant days ahead of him. But then came that son¡¯s betrayal. At the very least, that was how she and Father must have felt. Nay. Certainly, given the common sense of this kingdom, anyone else would have felt the same. Father then embraced Mother by her quaking shoulders. ¡°Felicia enters the Order in the coming year,¡± he began. ¡°You will not meddle with her in the slightest. Do you understand?¡± ¡°Yes, I do,¡± I answered, boarding the carriage. ¡°Be well, then.¡± A farewell unreturned. As I thought. Soon after, the carriage departed in earnest. Emilie and I were now well on our way to the 5th Chivalric Order¡¯s headquarters. ? ¡°You were¡­ you were disinherited!?¡± ¡°That I was.¡± In the course of the trip, Emilie and I had spent a long while in silence. But perhaps unable to bear it any longer, Emilie nervously spoke out to me. The stammering conversation that ensued centred on the happenings of the night before. My future claim to the Buckmann estate had been revoked¡ª¡±disinherited¡±, as it were. Emilie was left in shock upon hearing of the ill tidings. ¡°Are¡­ are you sure that¡¯s what your father meant?¡± ¡°Clear as day, his words were. ¡®The one to claim lordship over House Buckmann shall be Felicia¡¯,¡± I confirmed, earning her baffled reaction. ¡°Emilie. I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Why do you apologise¡­?¡± she asked. ¡°Our engagement¡ªit¡¯s gone the way of the wind. And I fear your life has been upturned along with it.¡± For an instant, a look of paralysing hysteria flashed across her face. ¡°What do you mean, our engagement is¡­ But¡­ why!?¡± A question asked with a voice wishing to scream. ¡°It pains me to admit, but that¡¯s the way of it.¡± Such a circumstance was a forgone conclusion the moment I was disavowed of my family. That Emilie could not realise it herself until now was symptomatic of just how disarrayed her thoughts had become. She had felt aught but shock in the past few moments, after all. ¡°You were to wed the coming master of House Buckmann,¡± I reiterated. ¡°Now that I¡¯ve lost the claim to that title, well¡­ it goes without saying, the arrangement itself is lost, too.¡± ¡°B-but that¡¯s¡­! You and I¡­ we¡¯re¡­!¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Emilie. I was given no odyl, and now it¡¯s come to this¡­¡± ¡°Rolf¡­¡± Emilie¡¯s eyes quickly teared up. How astonished I was. Ever the choirgirl to the Yonaic faith, my dear Emilie. Yet here she was, daring not even to disdain me for what I had become: a traitor to her deity. I could not have felt any more thankful for such compassion. Only, I also felt deep remorse at having roused her tears¡ªa remorse that far outweighed the shame of having betrayed my parents¡¯ hopes. Volume 1 - CH 2.1 Into vivid view emerged the headquarters of the 5th Chivalric Order. As our carriage passed through the main portcullis, a vast training field spanned before our eyes. This stretch of land supposedly also served as a staging area for the entirety of the 5th; an appropriate purpose, for the field reached far and wide indeed. Encapsulating it was a winding wall, generous in its circular embrace. Facing the field was a grand edifice, the headquarters proper. As bastions of the kingdom, the five Chivalric Orders are numbered according to their power and prestige, with the 5th being the lowest. Yet in spite of this, the headquarters¡¯ construction was most impressive and imposing, clothed as it was in brilliant arrays of brickwork. Situated before us recruits, now assembled, was a speech platform, onto which stepped a man of little more than thirty years of age. ¡°Hail and well met, little lions! As Knight Mareschal of this esteemed 5th Chivalric Order, I, Bartt Tallien, welcome you, one and all!¡± The knight mareschal¡ªa military commander to the Order. Quite young for the position, this Bartt Tallien. But a rarity? Nay. The 5th functions on the side as something of a college, where the sons and daughters of nobility descend to earn their investitures and build their aristocratic careers. It is also host to commonborn personnel; while it has its fair share of long-serving veterans, great in number, too, are those choosing to abide the coming of other more fruitful opportunities. Thus a quick turnover here was not at all strange, even amongst members of the top brass. That the knight mareschal himself was relatively early in his years for his station, therefore, solicited no surprise. ¡°Joyous am I overmuch! To give salute to you all! And as equals henceforth, to join swords with you that we may bolster the aegis of our kingdom!¡± I had heard this Mareschal Tallien to be a noble. His manner of speech certainly fit the part, to say nothing of the ornate armour that encased him, silver as it was just like his tongue. Silver: the most excellent of all odyllic conductors. Arms and armaments forged of this metal can be made extremely effective once infused with odyl. Within the Orders, only those ranked lieutenant or higher were fitted with such equipment. Beyond its functionality, the argent gear is also beautiful in both shape and craftsmanship, and is surely the subject of much admiration from officers lesser-ranked. Of course, such things were little more than trivialities to one void of odyl like myself. ¡°We shall smite the foul Nafilim whence they fester!¡± Mareschal Tallien continued. ¡°That is our solemn duty, to which we pledge our very lives! For king and country! For our families and our fellow man! From this day henceforth till the hour of your last breath, my little lions, deign not to forget this!¡± Thus marked the end of Mareschal Tallien¡¯s opening speech. What followed was a rundown of the headquarters¡¯ facilities. At ground level were numerous training areas and offices for each of the brigades. Further furnished with bathhouses and a mess hall, much of a knight¡¯s time was to be spent here, from the looks of it. The second floor housed rooms for conferencing and the storage of reference materials, as well as communal barracks shared by the officers. Private quarters for Order members of lieutenant rank and up were located on the third floor¡ªany other officer required authorisation to step foot upon this level. Facilities other than these, such as the smithy and a simple shop, were located in separate buildings, it seemed. I¡¯d wager one could scarcely leave the headquarters¡¯ grounds and still live in comfort. An order was then announced: we were to assemble in the training field at the next light of dawn. With that, we were given free reign for the rest of our first day at the Order; the next was to be the official entrance ceremony. ¡°Well¡­ that¡¯s it, then,¡± said Emilie. ¡°We should meet again later, Rolf. In the mess hall, let¡¯s say.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll see you there.¡± With a new promise of a supper to be spent together, Emilie went off on her way to the women¡¯s barracks. The promise did not stand, however, for later that night, I found her missing from the mess hall. ? The skies wheeled to the next morning. Assembled upon the training field were us recruits, just as ordered. Only, here too, Emilie was nowhere to be seen. The entrance ceremony was about to begin, and later in its course, the brigade assignments themselves. It bears reiterating that one does not become a knight upon joining a brigade. Recruits start life at the Order as swains: underlings in attendance of a senior knight, from whom they learn the particulars of knighthood. With the ceremony commencing in earnest, a stately, well-built man stepped onto the speech platform¡ªone Marquis Norden, master of the eponymous march upon which the 5th Chivalric Order¡¯s headquarters itself was situated. As lord seneschal, the charge of the 5th¡¯s operations fell to him, and consequently the budget for such flowed through his coffers. It seemed he paid visits to the headquarters a number of times throughout the year. The annual entrance ceremony was one such occasion, during which he would give his briefing. This year was no different. Thankfully, it appeared the marquis was not a man of many words, and so kept the briefing short. What followed after was supposed to be the brigade assignments, but the under-mareschal handling the ceremony¡¯s proceedings instead spoke words that none expected. ¡°We shall now commence the rites of investiture!¡± The marquis then took the opportunity to put in a word himself. ¡°Justly do I host the many of you, subjects of this Order so entrusted to me by His Majesty. And all the more so, should you avail us with excellency of service. Indeed, the worthy amongst you shall ever be accorded that which is your due. Of this, I entreat you all to know, and know well.¡± At the knights¡¯ signal, a girl joined the marquis on the platform¡ªEmilie. ¡°Here stands the Lady Emilie Mernesse, newly inducted on this day. By way of the Roun of Orisons, she has been graced with extraordinary odyl¡ªthe most, mind you, in all the written annals of this Order. Duly and solemnly do I pay reverence to her power, and so on this day shall I confer to her the honour and duty of damehood.¡± The recruits hummed with whispers and rustles. This was unheard of¡ªa new officer, not only skipping the toil of swainhood, but being knighted right at the start of her first year. ¡°¡­I see. So that was the way of it,¡± I thought aloud. I understood then why Emilie had been absent: she was informed that a coming rite of investiture was to receive her, and had been preparing for the accolade from night till dawn. In the evening before one¡¯s knighting, the body must be bathed and purified. Thereafter, one must suffer a sleepless night with a sword ever-clasped in both hands. Such is the custom of this kingdom¡¯s Chivalric Orders. Emilie was stiff in her expression, as if arrested by anxiety. She then knelt before the marquis and offered up her sword. The nobleman received it, unsheathed the blade, and presented it skyward. Then, with the flat of the blade, he tapped Emilie¡¯s shoulders three times. Standard procedure for an accolade. In days past, it was a simplified rite of investiture carried out on the battlefield. However, it was retained for use in more peaceful circumstances, as per the Orders¡¯ conviction that a knight¡¯s battle with the Nafilim endures ever more. Recalling such details, I watched on as Emilie took back her sword and rose to her feet. There was a tinge of worry on her face. She peered through the lines of recruits, as if looking for someone. Then, hanging her head, she affixed the sword to her hip. Emilie was made a dame. The dream I long held¡ªrealised in the blink of an eye. At that moment, I felt something of a distance growing between us. Where we once peered at the horizon together, I now stood alone, looking on as Emilie faded further into the reach. ? With Emilie¡¯s accolade done, the under-mareschal returned to the platform and raised his voice. ¡°We shall now announce the brigade assignments!¡± One by one, the recruits were then told of which brigade they would serve. Cavalry, infantry, sorcery, support, logistics, and so on¡ªthe Order has no shortage of specialised brigades. Each is further split into three by number, and to which a recruit is assigned is determined by aptitude. Joy turned to anxiety for each of the recruits as they received their assignments. ¡°Next: Rolf Buckmann!¡± ¡°Here, sir!¡± ¡°You shall henceforth go with the Owlcrane Brigade!¡± ¡°Aye, sir!¡± A stir erupted amongst those present. The Owlcrane Brigade: a unit under the direct supervision of the mareschal. In his time, St. Rakliammelech was said to have a fondness for birds, especially so for owls and cranes, hence ¡°Owlcrane¡±. Operational in all the five Orders, this brigade comprises only those truly capable. But therein lies the rub: what designs would a brigade of such import have for someone void of odyl as I? The whole of it escaped my understanding, but what didn¡¯t was the ill foreboding that began to gnaw at me. Volume 1 - CH 2.2 The recruits each headed off to the offices of their respective brigades. These offices are not individual buildings in and of themselves, but are instead each housed in different sections of the headquarters proper. Large spaces they are, but for its part, the Owlcrane Brigade has no office of its own. The Owlcranes are a cut above the other brigades in terms of rank. Though only a select few comprise it, the elite brigade¡¯s members are each considered executive officers in their own right, and have private quarters of their own. As with the mareschal, the Owlcranes are often occupied with administrative duties, and thus are not ones to while away in the confines of an office. All fine and well, but there was one matter: I knew not of where to report. I relayed my situation to the under-mareschal, who then proceeded to beckon to a man nearby. ¡°You there, Gerd. The Owlcranes move to flock as well?¡± ¡°They do, sir. I go to join with them myself,¡± confirmed this ¡°Gerd¡±. Well-groomed and well-shaped of hair and nose, he was, by all accounts, the image of a dashing young man. ¡°Take this fledgling along then, will you? He¡¯s one of yours now.¡± ¡°Him? Will do, sir.¡± Gerd turned his eyes to me. ¡°Come.¡± ¡°Aye, sir,¡± I answered, before trailing him on his way. From the sound of it, he also belonged to the Owlcrane Brigade. And befitting of that executive position, silver armour covered his entire body. ¡°So, what¡¯s your deal?¡± Gerd asked along the way. ¡°Deal, sir?¡± ¡°Heard there¡¯s nary a wisp of odyl in you. Can hardly believe it, though. What¡¯s up with that?¡± Gerd¡¯s eyes made no attempt to hide their scorn. ¡°It is my lot, sir¡ªcast by the Roun of Orisons.¡± ¡°You mean to say there¡¯s no odyl in you? At all?¡± ¡°That is correct, yes.¡± ¡°Yon¨¢, Almighty.¡± The very idea of an odylless soul seemed incredulous to Gerd. ¡°So, She¡¯s gifted you nothing, has She?¡± ¡°It would seem so.¡± ¡°And what¡¯s up with that? How can a bloke like you even walk this earth?¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know either.¡± A man ungraced. He who should not walk this earth. To such a man¡ªdeviant of the world¡¯s order¡ªGerd showed his unbridled disgust. ¡°So, a mistake like you intends to join our ranks. Why¡¯s that?¡± ¡°To become a knight, sir.¡± ¡°Look here, you.¡± Gerd twisted around and seized me by the collars. ¡°We¡¯re not here to frolic and make merry, yeah?¡± he said in a low voice, seething with ire. ¡°This place look like a banquet to you? Huh? ¡®Here to serve nobles their helpings of fiefs and titles¡¯; think that¡¯s all we¡¯re for, do you? Well, sorry to say, lad, that¡¯s not the way of things here. Serious business, it is¡ªday in, day out.¡± The grip on my collars strained with pure force. ¡°Sir, I am not come for decorations,¡± I clarified. ¡°Knighthood is what I seek; that is no lie.¡± ¡°What are you playing at, hm? A defect dreams to become a knight; how¡¯s that going to happen? Huh? Can you fight, even?!¡± ¡°I can, and I will.¡± With a scornful click of his tongue, Gerd threw my collars from his restraint. Turning about, he resumed on his way. ¡°Nevermind the lack of odyl¡ªsounds like you¡¯ve not even the wits to figure out your damned place here. Scum, the lot of you.¡± ? Gerd¡¯s destination lay within the third floor of the headquarters building. ¡°As I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve been told, don¡¯t step foot on this floor without the proper permission,¡± he warned. ¡°Understood, sir,¡± I answered. ¡°Oh? Did you, now? Really? You sure it isn¡¯t just odyl that Yon¨¢ Almighty forgot to give you?¡± It seemed Gerd took no small umbrage from having to show me through so consecrated a section of the headquarters. ¡°Nothing is amiss on that end, sir. I shall request permission for entry as needed.¡± ¡°Hmph¡­¡± Following him further along, we arrived at a door adorned with a title plate. ¡°Chamber of the Knight Mareschal,¡± it read. Gerd gave a knock and proceeded inside. I followed, finding the room occupied with four other knights. ¡°Gerd Kranz, reporting,¡± saluted Gerd at one of those present further in: Bartt Tallien himself, Knight Mareschal of the 5th Chivalric Order. ¡°Come, have you? Our parliament of four is assembled, then,¡± said Tallien. Those present numbered six in total; it would seem the commander did not count himself¡ªand myself, for that matter. ¡°Behold Emilie: the Owlcranes. My personal guard, and your assigned brigade.¡± Just as Tallien said, Emilie was also here. The new silver armour enshrouding her figure ill-matched the melancholic and apologetic look she gave me. ¡°Introductions, then. First, we have Gerd Kranz, the spellblade,¡± started Tallien. ¡°This lad is eldest amongst you all. That being said, he is still very much the hatchling, as I¡¯m sure you can see. Gerd, I forget your age.¡± ¡°Twenty, sir,¡± said Gerd. ¡°A pleasure, Emilie. Gerd is my name. ¡®Tis an honour to have you.¡± ¡°The pleasure and honour are mine both, thank you,¡± returned Emilie. The two then shook hands. Twenty years of age. Enough to be the eldest in this unit. While the 5th is already known for its high turnover, it seems especially so for the Owlcranes. Then again, being twenty also meant being in the sixth year of service¡ªcertainly not the tenure of a novice. ¡°Next, we have Raakel Nyholm, warrior of magicks, and our surgien, Sheila Larsen,¡± Tallien continued. ¡°Raakel, that be I,¡± the warrior greeted. ¡°Already caught word o¡¯ ye, I have¡ªthe one with the er¡­ ¡®Aureola¡¯, were it?¡± ¡°Th-that¡¯s right. The particulars escape me, but yes, that was what the Roun of Orisons appraised of me, it seems,¡± Emilie confirmed. ¡°Another ace in us ranks, ey? Chuff¡¯d to hear it. I reckon ye¡¯ll be doin¡¯ fine service fer us.¡± Hands were shaken once again, and another was offered forth. ¡°Miss Emilie, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Sheila. The crossing of our paths is surely the charity of Yon¨¢, Deiva Most Divine. For this, I am most thankful.¡± ¡°The pleasure is mine, Officer Sheila,¡± Emilie returned. ¡°It is my sincere hope to work well hand-in-hand with the both of you.¡± These two new women seemed younger somewhat than Gerd, by no more than a couple years perhaps. Raakel was the larger of the two, tall of figure and crowned with red hair. Her toned, yet supple muscles were apparent even through her uniform. Rather than a swordfighter, she was classified as a warrior, a fact made clear by the silver war-maul slung at her lower back. The other, Sheila, seemed the opposite, with long, dark hair tinged with blue hues. Being capable of mending magicks makes one an indispensable asset in combat, but it seemed that Sheila also possessed an immense degree of odyl, befitting of her position as an executive officer. The seeming portrait of a surgien, she held her choice weapon, a silver staff, with both hands before her chest. ¡°You are amidst the mighty, Emilie. And like you, they are all hatched from ennobled nests. Let¡¯s get along, shall we?¡± said Tallien, before moving onwards to elaborate upon the Owlcrane Brigade¡¯s purpose. ¡°At its core, this unit serves as my protective retinue¡ªa group of bodyguards, if you will. However, be not so eager to seek battle, for any situation that calls for my direct intervention is¡ªwell, it¡¯s nothing short of an ¡®operational misadventure¡¯ by that point, isn¡¯t it? Nasty business, it is, one this unit should never be forced to deal with, simply put. Do you understand this, Emilie?¡± ¡°Er¡­ yes, I do.¡± ¡°Yet the bodyguards for a commander such as I must needs be no less than the very best. And so it is with this unit. Thereby must you always hone both skill and coordination with your fellow officers. To that end, I ask that you steel your resolve and fulfil your duties to the very best of your ability.¡± ¡°Y-yes, Mareschal! I will!¡± Emilie affirmed nervously. ¡°I suppose it won¡¯t do to work you so, today being your first with us and all. Emilie, you are dismissed. Spend the rest of the day as you please,¡± said Tallien. ¡°Hah, I jest! Let us not make roost-whilers of ourselves. Come now! We fly to the training grounds. I must needs measure how boldly your talons bite, Dame Emilie.¡± ¡°Y-yes, sir!¡± With the war against the Nafilim having settled into an unceasing state of conflict, even the 5th Order¡ªknown, as it was, for being solely where the sons and daughters of the nobility came to earn their investitures¡ªcould ill-afford to stagnate into but a band of knights who idle about, awaiting their reckoning. The Owlcranes themselves were no different. Their faces were stern as they headed off to the training grounds¡ªfaces that spared not a single glance upon me. That is, except for Emilie. ¡°Um, Mareschal, sir¡­¡± she called to Tallien, whilst glimpsing sporadically at me. ¡°Hm? Ah¡­¡± This would be the first time the mareschal and I made eye contact. But the moment lasted no more than an instant before Tallien¡¯s glance broke away. ¡°Come,¡± he commanded, devoid of any interest. ¡°Aye, sir.¡± Orders, clear and concise. I expected no less from an order of knights. Volume 1 - CH 2.3 On we went, winding our way to the training grounds. In those moments, not infrequently did Emilie turn to me tellingly, as though there was a matter teetering on the tip of her tongue. Yet to indulge was a luxury none of the others would have allowed, and so with not a word shared between us, on we went to our destination. Upon arrival, Gerd went ahead and pulled out a sword from a weapons rack nearby. ¡°The arms on these grounds, you can use as you like. Don¡¯t worry: they¡¯re feders, rounded proper, you see. The ones over here that number fewer¡ªthey¡¯re of the silver sort,¡± Gerd explained, then handing to Emilie the sword he had picked up. ¡°Here you are, then.¡± ¡°But an iron one will do just fine, I think¡­ ¡®Tis what I¡¯m used to.¡± ¡°Now, Emilie. You count amongst the ranks of the Owlcrane Brigade. That makes you an executive officer, by rights,¡± Gerd reiterated. ¡°Protocol compels you to make use of argent gear such as this.¡± Raakel and Sheila both saw fit to further persuade Emilie, who yet seemed hesitant. ¡°No virtue in playin¡¯ the mousy milquetoast now, Emilie, least not when it comes to arms. Top blades fer the top brass, they always say. Look here, me maul¡¯s no diff¡¯rent¡ªaglint with silver, she is!¡± ¡°You must understand, Miss Emilie. The people look to us leaders of the Order to answer malice with might, and a mere miser of arms ill-avails them. The Order¡¯s strength grows all the more should you brandish only the finest of weapons.¡± ¡°Yes¡­ I suppose I should. Thank you, Officers Raakel, Sheila,¡± Emilie relented. ¡°An¡¯ fettle that too, while yer at it,¡± said Raakel. ¡°F-fettle?¡± ¡°Ranks, titles, all that prim an¡¯ prissy tongue waggin¡¯, we don¡¯t need aught o¡¯ that here. Ain¡¯t that right, Gerd?¡± ¡°Right you are, Raakel. We Owlcranes, we¡¯re all compeers. Well, Sheila¡¯s a mite different¡ªwon¡¯t give up that polite talk no matter what. But you can relax round me and Raakel at least, all right Emilie?¡± ¡°Yes, si¡ªah, I mean, al-all right.¡± Nodding with satisfaction, Gerd proceeded to give his lecture. ¡°Good. Right, we¡¯ll start with the basics, then: channelling odyl through silver.¡± ¡°Got it, Offi¡ªum, Gerd.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll get the hang of it,¡± Gerd chuckled. ¡°Having said that, the basics of weaving odyl are well-put in that pate of yours, I take it? When the odyl was imparted to you, that is.¡± ¡°They are. That knowledge¡ªit came along with Yon¨¢¡¯s grace.¡± For someone forsaken by the Deiva Herself, this was news to my ears. ¡°Channelling will be child¡¯s play to you, then. And with a bit of practice, you¡¯ll be able to use all sorts of magicks in no time,¡± Gerd assured. ¡°I must admit, I¡¯m quite the cat taken with curiosity in seeing what heights you¡¯ll reach, Emilie¡ªor should I say, lady of the ¡®Aureola¡¯? Well, here¡¯s hoping you¡¯ll give us a nice show of it, eh?¡± ¡°Er, right, I¡¯ll do my best!¡± answered Emilie. From there, the training session stretched on for another two hours or so, by the end of which Emilie found success in channelling her odyl through silver. There she stood, her argent equipment properly suffused with the magickal power. Raising up her feder, she found its blade most mesmerising to the eyes. ¡°Gerd, have I¡­ have I done it?¡± she said, unable to pry her gaze away from her achievement. ¡°That you have, Emilie. And a job well done at that; look, odyl flows clean through your gear,¡± examined Gerd. ¡°And your blade is made more keen withal. Can you tell?¡± ¡°I, I can. When the channelling finished, it felt as though my feder became something else entirely,¡± Emilie confirmed, her voice aloft with high spirits. ¡°Mine eyes had not fooled me, then,¡± Sheila observed. ¡°As with Mr. Gerd, it would seem you bear talent as a spellblade, Miss Emilie.¡± ¡°An¡¯ a mighty fine one, at that!¡± lauded Raakel. ¡°Though, I were wishin¡¯ fer a warrior chum, if I¡¯m honest.¡± ¡°It¡¯s just as well. She¡¯s long-practised in swordplay, from the looks of it,¡± said Gerd. ¡°What of your armour, Emilie? You feel a paling all about your body, I take it?¡± As if to confirm Gerd¡¯s words, Emilie placed a hand upon her chest. ¡°Y-yeah, I feel it. As though my whole being is well protected.¡± ¡°Paling emanates from silver armour and wraps round the body whole. As you are now, neither unmagicked blade can scratch you, nor unmagicked spear prick. You are as a fortress to them, as it were,¡± Gerd explained, before turning to me. ¡°You. Go fetch yourself a feder and come here.¡± ¡°Aye, sir.¡± His abrupt order came at the tail end of some hours spent being wholly unattended to. The only one to pay any sort of mind to me was Emilie, who had been glancing my way from time to time. But I suppose in reality, I hadn¡¯t been entirely invisible to the rest. What an honour. With an iron feder fresh from the weapons rack, I made my way to Emilie and Gerd. ¡°You, go ahead and attack Emilie with that weapon of yours,¡± commanded Gerd. ¡°Emilie, you need not lift a finger. Stay where you are and enjoy the show. Got that?¡± ¡°I-I got it,¡± answered Emilie. ¡°All right, Rolf. Shall we, then?¡± ¡°We shall. Let¡¯s get to it, Emilie.¡± ¡°Hold!¡± barked Tallien. ¡°Mind that tongue of yours, you churl! It¡¯s ¡®Lady Emilie¡¯ to you! A proper dame and your superior officer, she is! Know your place!¡± ¡°Pardon my offence, lord Mareschal¡± I corrected myself. ¡°Lady Emilie, by your leave.¡± ¡°¡­What¡­¡± Emilie was left utterly aghast. Well, let¡¯s not pretend this sort of thing was never on the horizon. I had suspected as much the moment I discovered Emilie and I to be in the same brigade. The leadership of the Order were made well-privy to the particulars of each and every one of us recruits, that much is certain. Something in their designs compelled them to have me play as a servant to Emilie, my former fianc¨¦e of all people. After all, they fancied themselves just in tormenting an ungraced man such as I. What looks Raakel and Sheila were giving was not known to me, but I spied a slight smirk leaking from Tallien¡¯s lips. And for his part, Gerd¡¯s face was twisted with animosity in one moment, then relaxing to one of disdain in the next. ¡°Now have at it,¡± he ordered after a scoff. ¡°Aim where you please, it matters not.¡± ¡°Aye, sir,¡± I complied. ¡°Commencing attack.¡± I rushed forth and swung my sword down in a diagonal arc, targeting the tip of Emilie¡¯s shoulder. But in the course of it, the blade stopped just a digitus shy of its mark. I see. So this was the ¡®paling¡¯ Gerd was harping about. In my hands, however, my sword felt not as though it had struck any paling in the material sense. Rather, it seemed as if a pliant force, like a cushion, had wrapped about the blade and stopped its course. Feeling for myself this unseen armour through my weapon, I realised it then: there was no way I could penetrate such protection. Then in that same moment, I was thrown back without warning, clear through the air. ¡°Gah¡­!?¡± I hacked, crashing and tumbling violently. ¡°Rolf!?¡± Emilie screamed. ¡°Hah¡­ hagh¡­ gah, agh¡­!¡± I was laid low, face down, flat on the ground, hand clenched to chest. Air left my lungs erratically as I struggled to rectify my breathing. Meanwhile, heat and pain wove together and gripped my entire body¡ªa feeling of having my nerves uprooted and laid bare. My vision dizzyingly convulsed, but with some effort, I managed to point it forth, that I may discern what exactly had assailed me. There, I found Gerd, half-turned in my direction with a sword dangling in his left hand. He had merely swung his weapon whence he stood, without so much a change in his stance. This motion¡ªsimple, trifling almost¡ªwas enough to blow me back like some toy. ¡°You see that, Emilie?¡± said Gerd. ¡°Gerd! Rolf, he¡¯s¡ª!¡± ¡°Listen, Emilie,¡± Gerd interrupted. ¡°No speaking¡ªnot when I¡¯m explaining.¡± That¡¯s right, Emilie. Listen to his next words. I must know as well. That¡¯s what I came here for: to attain strength worthy for battle and become a knight. ¡°That fellow¡¯s sword just now, it stopped before it even touched you. Why, you ask? Well, you¡¯ve the paling to thank. Silver armour affords this magicked protection even to parts of your person that the armour itself does not cover. That is its very purpose: to provide an all-encompassing bulwark.¡± With his sword now resting upon his shoulder, Gerd continued on in dramatic fashion. ¡°On the other hand, a magicked sword against an unmagicked mark yields the sorry farce before you¡ªscant more than a flick of my sword-wrist showed us how well the clown cartwheels!¡± Gerd spoke the truth: his unannounced interruption was hardly what one would call an ¡°attack¡±. Yet even then, I was sent hurtling back¡ªeasily so. Were his sword not dulled, that moment certainly would have been my last. ¡°Now Emilie, a quick quiz,¡± Gerd continued. ¡°What happens, then, if magicked sword met magicked armour?¡± ¡°W-what¡­? I¡ª¡± Emilie was on the verge of tears, her gaze darting back and forth between Gerd and I. Truly, a kind soul she is. How badly did she wish to forget the training and just have me seen by a surgien, I wondered? Unfortunately, this was a luxury she could ill-afford, as she stood to lose more than she could gain in choosing me over her duties. What was fortunate, however, was that her worries were unwarranted: I had escaped with only cuts and bruises, and my bones were yet sound. ¡°Fret not, Emilie. I made sure not to end him,¡± said Gerd. ¡°But the hourglass flows, and I would hear your answer.¡± ¡°Er¡­ I, I don¡¯t know.¡± Such would depend on the prowess of each party, I silently assumed. ¡°The side that yields the most odyl wins, Emilie. But one does not win purely by strength of odyl, no. Train enough and you¡¯ll soon find yourself weaving greater magicks for both attacking and defending. Understood?¡± ¡°Y, yeah¡­¡± ¡°Having said that, at the end of the day, your reserve of odyl is the hand that plays the checkmate. Now, do you see why you are as a king-piece to us, Emilie?¡± So, a gap in prowess can be bridged through sheer output of odyl. I see. The odyl one attains at the Roun of Orisons is forever immutable in its capacity. It follows, then, that to be gifted with a large store of it affords one a vast and unmistakable advantage. ¡°Right then, be sure to take to heart all I¡¯ve taught you, Emilie. We quit here for the day,¡± said Gerd. ¡°Your very first training session and already you¡¯ve come this far¡ªquite impressive, I must say.¡± ¡°Thanks¡­ Gerd.¡± ¡°Apply yourself well, Emilie,¡± remarked Tallien. ¡°I expect wondrous things from you.¡± ¡°Thank you, Mareschal. I will.¡± ¡°And eh¡­¡± trailed Tallien, turning to me, ¡°¡­¡¯Rolf¡¯, was it? I name you Emilie¡¯s swain. Serve her well from here on out, will you?¡± As I thought. ¡°Aye, sir.¡± I was now somehow back on my feet, with my breathing settled enough to form a coherent reply. ¡°What!? Wait¡ª¡± exclaimed Emilie. ¡°Why Rolf? And why a swain, for me?¡± All recruits start their lives in the Order as swains to more senior knights¡ªthat is, if they aren¡¯t anomalies like Emilie. At the same time, the knightly population naturally outnumbers the recruits¡¯, so it would be untrue to say that all knights have a swain of their own. That a fledgling like Emilie be allowed one, however, was a worthy warrant for suspicion. ¡°¡®Tis the knight¡¯s duty to show his swain the workings of chivalry,¡± Tallien began explaining to a confounded Emilie. ¡°As for you, young lady. What better swain for a fledgling dame such as yourself, than a flightless chick like him?¡± Truly, words most vacant of subtlety. One would be justified in asking why Emilie be allowed a swain to begin with¡ªbut the effort would have proven fruitless, I¡¯m afraid. That didn¡¯t stop Emilie, however. ¡°Th-then, sir! With all due respect, would that not mean a swain for me is needless trouble? For his part, Rolf stands to profit more as swain to ano¡­ another¡­¡± Emilie¡¯s voice trailed into silence. It seemed the realisation finally set in: under a different knight, what awaited me was nothing better than unmitigated oppression. Only, I would not have hesitated to suffer such a fate if serving Emilie proved a strain upon her heart. But alas. ¡°¡­Nay¡­ I see now. Pardon my outburst, Mareschal,¡± she surrendered. ¡°You know each other well enough, yes? See to it that he doesn¡¯t stray from his corral,¡± sneered Tallien, then turning to me once more. ¡°And I trust you have no qualms? I made myself loud and clear¡ªenough that a wastrel like you should understand.¡± ¡°I have none, sir,¡± was my immediate and unquestioning answer. ¡°You will maintain her equipment, tend to her steed, keep tidy her chamber, and¡ªwell, the list goes on,¡± explained the mareschal. ¡°Do devote yourself to her and your duties, will you?¡± ¡°Aye, sir.¡± ¡°Rolf¡­¡± Sorrow shaded Emilie¡¯s face. And so it was that I was assigned to the Owlcrane Brigade as swain to my former fianc¨¦e. Forgive me, Emilie. There¡¯s nowhere else I can go, nothing else I can do but suffer this place and wager my lot upon my sword. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Volume 1 - CH 2.4 My days as Emilie¡¯s swain were now in full swing. I would leave bed before the first light of day, and with sword in hand, make my way to the rear of the headquarters building. There, I would commit myself to some training before the day¡¯s duties begin in earnest, as they occupied much of my daytime hours. Loath was I to make use of the training grounds, for those that would take umbrage to that very notion were not few in number. Vertical swings, downward, upward. Horizontal swings, leftward, rightward. Diagonal slashes. Leaping cleaves. With each swing of the heavy iron sword, I would further refine the arc of its travel. The other officers tended not to trouble themselves with these sorts of drills. For my part, I felt it of special import to assimilate these techniques as much as I could, thus I¡¯ve committed to this training unfailingly since my earliest days. The sun would peek above the horizon to find both beads of sweat dotted all about my body and my arms weary of raising themselves any further. With the new dawn¡¯s light signalling the end of morning practice, I would wash up by the well before proceeding to the stables. There, I would groom Emilie¡¯s horse and prepare its breakfast of grasses and other ruffage. Afterwards, a walk round the equine corral is in order, and as well as a cleanup of the horse¡¯s stall. With that job done, it came time to finally head to Emilie¡¯s chamber. Punctuality is paramount: I would stand ready there by her doorstep on the hour of her awakening. ¡°A good morrow to you, Lady Emilie,¡± I greeted as she opened the door. ¡°Oh, g-good morning, Rolf,¡± Emilie stumbled. ¡°Right¡­ here, if you may.¡± She held out a sheathed sword¡ªa spare, different from the one slung at her hip. ¡°As you wish.¡± Carrying it was the duty of a swain, which I obliged. From there, Emilie¡¯s own daily commitments would commence, with me ever at her side, whether it be behind her during meetings, or standbying at the fringes of the training grounds during her practice sessions. In times when she was out on horseback, it would be my charge to pull the mount afoot. ¡°S-say, Rolf! You¡¯ve been on your feet all this while. How does a breather sound?¡± Emilie suggested from atop her horse. ¡°One in the shade under the trees yonder, perhaps¡­¡± ¡°My feet are yet sound, my Lady,¡± I declined. ¡°Our docket dictates that we should finish inspecting the western war-front by no later than nightfall, after which we are to return to base. If taking respite is not itself an order, then I should like to continue on as we are.¡± ¡°All¡­ all right. Let¡¯s keep at it, then¡­¡± Handling documents also counted amongst Emilie¡¯s duties. Here, too, at her desk in her chamber, I would standby at her side. As she was a freshly knighted officer, her workload was purposefully light, with filing simple reports comprising the brunt. However, the other side of the proverbial coin has her minted as an executive officer, and thus did she busy herself in browsing through papers related to sundry aspects of the Order¡¯s administration. It seemed much of what was written therein would escape her comprehension, if her peppering of quizzical questions was aught to go by. In response, I would offer both explanations as needed and insight on how best to approach various subjects. ¡°For this particular case, the mareschal must be informed that budgetary documents are to be sent back to the commissariat, whereupon discrepancies in the listed values are to be corrected,¡± I elaborated. ¡°But from what I could tell, didn¡¯t the previous budget have the same discrepancies, just about?¡± questioned Emilie. ¡°The Order is currently in the midst of settling its accounts; it won¡¯t do to go about it this time as we did last, lest we risk affecting the draft proposals to be sent to Central.¡± ¡°Uh¡­ mm¡­ so, in other words¡­?¡± Emilie was in the habit of making troubled faces and fretting about aught she couldn¡¯t wrap her head around. But a dose of digestible explanations, patiently administered, was all it took for her to figure it out in the end. Taking care of Emilie¡¯s equipment was also one of my duties. Her sword needed sharpening only once in a while. Her armour, on the other hand, proved the greater nuisance. As needs demanded, I would repair any dents along the plates, reupholster the leather, or apply oil to the entire set. ¡°R-Rolf, the parts around the belt end up scuffing themselves rather quickly,¡± Emilie observed. ¡°It must be tiring, replacing them so often. I won¡¯t pay any mind if you ease up on their care.¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid that will not do, Lady Emilie. Armour must be kept in the best possible condition at all times. Your life may depend on it.¡± ¡°I¡­ I suppose you¡¯re right.¡± When the day¡¯s duties were done with, I would request permission from Emilie to receive her the next day upon her awakening, as per usual. No paperwork was involved¡ªmere verbal permission sufficed. Nonetheless, this step was indispensable if I was to do my job properly. And for good reason: her chamber was housed within the main building¡¯s third floor. It was there that the leadership resided, a place forbidden to any lower officer who had not the requisite allowance. As Emilie¡¯s swain, asking for permission ahead of the next day¡¯s duties was in itself a part of the routine. ¡°May I receive you at the same time on the morrow, my Lady?¡± ¡°Yeah¡­ I don¡¯t mind¡­¡± It was during these moments, upon giving me permission, that her eyes were always downturned. ? The day was finally over. Tasks fulfilled and with sword in hand, I headed to the rear of the headquarters building. One more training session, just like the morning¡¯s. ¡°Hah¡­! Hah¡­! Hah¡­!¡± Arcs of swung iron glinted under the moonlight, one after the other, over and over, on and on¡ªmovements I¡¯ve repeated since childhood. By now, they must¡¯ve totalled in the hundreds of thousands, if not millions, each executed with the whole of my being. Out of a thousand swings unbalanced by uncertainty, ten would be steeled with surety. From those precious ten come a thousand more, each as adamant. With my heart set along the blade up to its very tip, I continued cutting at the air. The sword arc would meander upon the slightest distraction that threatened to steal my thoughts. When such faults arose, I would start over right from the beginning. In my mind, a moon mirrored within the water¡¯s surface¡ªthrough the reflection, my sword sailed, disturbing the waters not in the slightest. Once again, under a tree amongst flurries of falling leaves¡ªthrough the trunk, my sword sliced, touching not a single leaf. Yet again, within a vociferous storm¡ªthrough the gales, my sword sang, deafening the wind-howls. ¡°Rolf,¡± came a voice behind me. The sound of approaching footsteps reached my ears¡ªit was Emilie. ¡°Do you always train here? All on your own?¡± she asked. ¡°I do, my Lady.¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± Silence settled between us for a while until Emilie spoke again. ¡°Y-you know, Rolf! The mareschal praised me again! ¡®Another well-writ report,¡¯ he said!¡± ¡°Is that so?¡± ¡°And just the other day, I pointed out a problem in the operations protocol,¡± she continued. ¡°¡®Quite the eagle-eyed tactician,¡¯ I was told!¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear it.¡± Emilie fell quiet again, her eyes turning down until their long lashes almost met. Another wordless moment grew between us. ¡°¡­¡®Twas all thanks to you, Rolf,¡± Emilie started again. ¡°I made sure the mareschal knew of this, but he¡­ he wouldn¡¯t have any of it.¡± ¡°A fool¡¯s errand, Lady Emilie. You only risk imperilling your own position.¡± ¡°Still! ¡®Tis by your counsel that I accomplish the things I do. Even though you¡¯re the one truly deserving of the merit¡­ ever and always.¡± ¡°By rights, a dame shares in the merits of her swain,¡± I reiterated. ¡°I merely gave my thoughts, nothing more¡ªthe one to put them to practice was you, Lady Emilie.¡± Once more, she fell silent and hung her head sullenly. After a moment, she seemed to muster up some courage for her next words. ¡°¡®Lady Emilie¡¯¡­¡± she said softly. ¡°You call me that, even now.¡± ¡°As I must.¡± ¡°Must you really? When it¡¯s just the two of us¡­? ¡®Twould ease my heart if we can share warmer words like we used to.¡± ¡°The walls may have ears, I fear.¡± ¡°I know¡­ I know that, but¡­¡± Sorrow veiled Emilie¡¯s face¡ªan expression I¡¯ve witnessed more times than I fain to admit ever since we¡¯ve joined the Order. And I was the cause of it all. Emilie, once my fianc¨¦e, whom I once gave the promise of happiness¡ªa promise now paid instead with sadness, from whose purse but my own. ¡°Rolf¡­ The other swains don¡¯t address their knights with such ceremony. Why is it only you that must do this¡­?¡± ¡°The Order compels me so.¡± ¡°Compels you so¡­? We¡¯re not in want of stablehands, yet you¡¯re made to groom my horse! We¡¯re in no battlefield, yet you¡¯re always burdened with my spare sword! Why is that!? None of it makes sense! Does it sit well with you, Rolf!? Surely it can¡¯t¡­!¡± Emilie¡¯s eyes, lovely as they were, issued tears one after the other. Beneath the moonbeams, they brimmed blue. I came up close to her, and with a hand placed upon her cheek, wiped her tears away. Her azure gaze was wide as I stared resolutely into them. ¡°Emilie. It doesn¡¯t¡ªnot in the slightest. I am bitter of it all, as well. And more than aught, I could not bear to make you cry.¡± ¡°Rolf¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Emilie. Truly. I¡¯ve troubled you to no end, whether by our broken betrothal or the daily hardships of our new lives here.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not¡­ I¡­¡± ¡°But you must know: there¡¯s nothing left for me, not anymore. Naught, save a dream of knighthood.¡± Without averting my eyes from her, I quietly, yet resolutely continued on. ¡°Emilie. No place would dare suffer an ungraced man. I can do little else but stay here and endure, on and on, till trial¡¯s end someday far away, when I¡¯m made a knight¡ªjust like I¡¯ve always dreamed. And when that day comes, I¡¯ll be vindicated at last; this, I believe. These are selfish words, I know¡ªto you, words empty of solace, but full only of sorrow. Yet as it is, I can do nothing else.¡± ¡°Rolf¡­¡± ¡°Emilie¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡± Upon my apology, she rubbed her face with the backs of her hands, and then looked up to me. ¡°No¡­ I¡¯m sorry, too, Rolf. After all, you¡¯re¡­¡± Yet, those eyes, once freed of tears, now flowed with them once more. ¡°¡­You¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re the one¡­ who¡¯s been suffering the most¡­¡± Emilie wept. Through the moonlit emptiness, her cries echoed¡ªa sound that wounded me more deeply than any abuse from my superiors ever had. Was a man ungraced incapable even of bringing a smile to a girl¡¯s lips? I searched up to the benighted sky, haunted by a hounding feeling that has shadowed me ever since my arrival at the Order: how I resented myself for being so callow. Volume 1 - CH 2.5 ¡°Rraah!¡± The iron blur of a sword rushed straight at me. A horizontal slash¡ªavoiding it in lieu of defending would put me in prime position for a reprisal. I backed off by half a pace. The incoming sword swept across the front of my chest, slicing only air. Immediately afterwards, I swiftly closed the gap between myself and my opponent. ¡°Ach!?¡± His attack patterns up to this point have betrayed a habit: often would he fall back to a midrange position and re-assume a high guard. And now faced with an abruptly shortened distance between us, such was likely his next course of action: a back-right retreat to renew his stance. Anticipating this, I stuck close to him, planting my left foot down where he meant to put his right. ¡°Wha!?¡± His posture crumbled once his footwork failed him. At such close quarters, a fight often devolves into a struggle of securing positions of advantage. To gain the upper hand, one could effectively control the opponent¡¯s own footwork by denying him useful ground. And with my own opponent in disarray, I rammed the hilt of my sword into his abdomen, sending him tumbling into the ground. With him now defenceless and flat on his back, I trained the tip of my blade to his neck. ¡°¡­I yield,¡± he scowled. The onlookers stirred. ¡°Bloody hell, that ungraced bloke won again, can you believe that? Against Nicolai, no less!¡± ¡°Still your steed, won¡¯t you? ¡®Twas but a fluke, surely!¡± ¡°You don¡¯t pull off flukes with finesse of that sort, I¡¯d say. See how he moved?¡± ¡°Eh, well. A man scarce needs Her grace to wag a sword, anyhow.¡± A whole year has passed since I¡¯ve joined the Order. Still a swain, I had joined with members of another brigade for sword practice that day. None of the other Owlcranes were present. Even without odyl, it was here that I can prove my prowess. Overwhelming opponents as I just had was earning me some recognition; scant though it may be, it was recognition nonetheless. My opponent, this ¡®Nicolai¡¯, got up and returned to the wall of spectators. In his place, another man appeared. ¡°My turn to measure swords with you,¡± he said. ¡°¡­As you wish,¡± I accepted. If memory serves, this man was the lieutenant of the 2nd Cavalry Brigade. As proof, he came equipped with silver armour and a snide smirk on his face. ¡°Now¡­ begin!¡± ¡°Ssah!¡± I roared right upon the referee¡¯s call, bolting straight into the lieutenant¡¯s midst. My blade sailed up from a low guard, its arc intent upon his shin. ¡°Mm¡­?¡± he muttered, unable to react. Only, the attack failed¡ªthe blade stopped short of his shin. I plucked my weapon back and wound my way to my opponent¡¯s side. ¡°Dyah!¡± came my full-spirited shout, right in line with an oblique downward swing. This, too, was stopped from striking its mark. The lieutenant hardly ever looked at my sword. I pulled back. In the next sliver of a moment, I closed right back in with a thrust of my blade, its tip imbued with the momentum of my entire being. ¡°Yyagh!¡± The same result: the sword tip halted just before the lieutenant¡¯s chest. He glanced down. ¡°Heh.¡± Next came his own attack: a rising slash from his lower right. I skirted it by a wide margin. The lieutenant clicked his tongue, disappointed. I quickly rushed back in again. From the high guard, I propelled my sword into an exact cut down the centre. With it again stopping short of its destination, my opponent answered with a horizontal swing of his weapon. Immediately, I tugged my blade back to guard against the attack. Only, forged of silver like his armour, the lieutenant¡¯s blade was charged with odyl. Our swords met. A burst of ethereal force drove into my body. I was blown back, crashing onto the ground and tumbling two, three times. ¡°Gegh¡­ hah¡­ khagh¡­!¡± my lungs reeled from the impact. ¡°Too busy panting to call your own defeat, eh cur?¡± he fleered. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll leave you to lick your wounds, then.¡± Back into the crowd he went. Quite satisfied with himself, I suppose. ¡°Kh-hach¡­ hah¡­ hakh¡­!¡± Ungraced flesh wrung taut by odyl. A body entirely assailed by heat, pain, and vertigo. Organs shuddering, as if they¡¯d been twisted and rearranged¡ªall sensations I have the sole privilege of knowing. I writhed there, flat on the ground, agonising. Jeering laughter wormed its way into my ears. ¡°The pup sure barked his hide off, I¡¯ll give him that. Begs the question, though: doesn¡¯t he realise his sword¡¯ll never reach its mark, at least?¡± ¡°Realise? Hah! I¡¯d wager he¡¯s too muscle-pated for the arduous thought!¡± ¡°Vacuous of odyl lore, he is, perhaps? Certainly a possibility with an ungraced, I would think.¡± ¡°Whoa©`! Aha hah ha! A mite too sad an¡¯ sorry, if that be the way of it!¡± In the midst of burgeoning chuckles and chortles, I dragged myself up to my feet with the support of my sword. Before me stood yet another man. ¡°Why ¡®allo there, mate! Er, ¡®Molf¡¯, was it? I¡¯m next, if ye don¡¯t mind!¡± he said. There was silver in his armour, as well. ¡°Look ¡®ere, it¡¯s Max! Oh, this¡¯ll be a sight!¡± ¡°Max, it¡¯s not Molf¡ªit¡¯s ¡®Holf¡¯. Come on, now!¡± ¡°Well, weren¡¯t we a saintly lot, helping ungraced here with his training an¡¯ all. Oi! Holf! Better thank us proper, y¡¯hear?!¡± Submerged in their ceaseless heckling, I suppressed the pain throbbing through my entire body. ¡°Kuh, hah¡­¡± My breathing had yet to stabilise. Nevertheless, with sword in hand, I readied my stance and faced my new opponent. ¡°¡­En¡­ en garde.¡± ? ¡°Right, lads and lasses. Training¡¯s over. Suppertime nears; get moving to the mess hall for your share.¡± The crowds started to empty upon the call for training¡¯s end. I was down to my knees, battered and bruised all over, as fellow officers strolled on by, busy in their jeering and jabbering. Now left alone, I somehow climbed up back to my feet and began trundling my way out of the training grounds. That is, until I found standing before me a girl I knew well. Hair of flowing night, eyes of quiet roses¡ªmy younger sister, Felicia. ¡°Dear Brother¡­¡± she softly called. Unlike myself, Felicia had received a proper share of odyl from her own rites of the Roun of Orisons. A rather astounding amount, if I recall, though not as extraordinary as Emilie¡¯s. And just as promised, she had enlisted in the Order earlier this year. ¡°Felicia,¡± I called back. ¡°You were watching, I gather?¡± ¡°I was¡­ Brother, you¡¯re hurt¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m quite all right. You needn¡¯t be so glum, Felicia. The wounds sting less than they look,¡± I assured my sister, forcing a smile. A futile one, for her spirits remained unbrightened. ¡°Would that I were capable of mending magicks, then¡­¡± she lamented. ¡°No need to be hung up on that, Felicia. You¡¯ve already committed yourself to the battle magicks, anyhow. Am I wrong?¡± If I recall, Felicia was assigned to the 1st Sorcery Brigade, distinct from its other two counterparts for its focus in the attacking magicks. A perfect match, as I had heard Felicia to be highly attuned to such spells. At one point, the Order was abristle with rumours that she had¡ªupon learning the Globus Igneus spell during her very first training session¡ªproduced a fireball no less than thrice the girth that of her instructor¡¯s own. Little wonder, then, that her outstanding talent often astounded her peers during practice. ¡°A matter, Brother, if I may?¡± she asked. ¡°What is it, Felicia?¡± ¡°Those¡­ spars earlier. You were so adamant in cutting down your mark. But¡­ why, if I may ask? Had you assayed a different course, surely you would have emerged less harmed¡­¡± It seemed even my sister found my methods wayward. Who could blame her? Repeatedly slashing at my opponents with all my might, knowing full well that none of the swings would land¡ªwhat came of such efforts, other than ire and mockery from my peers, and the injuries now riddling my body? Nevermind that. I even had the gall to pick myself back up time and again, earning fresher scorn and opponents alike, only to be sent tumbling and turning once more. My sister was right: had I tempered my efforts and yielded where I could, I would not seem the sorry sight as I was now. Only, such was never my intent. ¡°Felicia. I give myself to my sword as you do to your magicks,¡± I explained. ¡°Only through each and every devoted swing can my technique improve. Had I yielded even in this, what meaning, then, is there in training?¡± ¡°But to go so far¡­ that you are hurt so¡­!¡± ¡°Hurt I am, of course. But look: I¡¯m bigger than most, yes? And all the tougher for it. You needn¡¯t worry,¡± I reassured her. In the year since I¡¯ve joined the Order, I¡¯ve grown taller still. Being incapable of magicks afforded me precious free time, which I devoted to physical training¡ªnot only in technique, but also in building bulk. By now, I already possessed the largest figure in the entire Order. ¡°Is there¡­¡± Felicia started. ¡°Hm?¡± ¡°Is there meaning, then¡­? In going as far as you do?¡± she asked carefully, eyes shaded, with a voice that verged on fading into a whisper. Such a question was formed in pure earnest¡ªwrung from a troubled heart left utterly spent at the end of much deliberation and anxiety. Felicia¡¯s words, though faint in sound, were flush with intent. The Nafilim cannot be fought without odyl. That much is undeniable. Bereft of it, a sword will never reach its mark, no matter how swiftly, how strongly, how keenly it is wielded. Why was it, then, that I continued to brandish my sword until I was beaten and brought low? Why keep upon a path leading nowhere? Where was the meaning in it all? This was Felicia¡¯s secret, precious worry for her own brother, whom she could not bear seeing so hurt. Doubtless she was told by our parents to never come near me. Only, like Emilie, she was a daughter most kind and sincere. ¡°Of meanings¡­ I¡¯m afraid I know none, Felicia. In fact, I feel it very likely there to be none, even. But I also feel, Felicia, that in brandishing the blade to the very end, it¡ªI can reach someplace, someday. There¡¯s nothing left to me save this one belief,¡± I explained to Felicia, staring unwaveringly into her eyes. ¡°But of certainties, I know one: if both my blade and I were to stop, we would reach nothing and nowhere at all.¡± ¡°But, Brother, that¡¯s¡­¡± Likely, my answer gave Felicia no solace. I must admit, I, too, feel myself beyond all help. But such was my lot and my resolve. Though I may be made a laughing stock or a pariah, there was little else I could do but have faith that there was meaning in nurturing that resolve. ¡°Let it be for now, Felicia,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s almost supper. Shouldn¡¯t you be on your way?¡± ¡°Y¡­ yes, I suppose I should,¡± replied Felicia. ¡°Will you join me?¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t. Supper comes later for me. Go on ahead and tuck in with your brigade mates, Felicia.¡± ¡°¡­All right.¡± There was peril in consorting like we did. I knew not how rife the Order was with the eyes and ears of our parents, and so for the longest while, I had been keeping my distance as well as I could. Little did I care of what ill would befall upon me should the worst transpire, but for Felicia¡¯s sake, I was loath to chance casting any shadow upon that bright future of hers. ¡°I¡¯ve done little but hurt you, haven¡¯t I, Felicia¡­?¡± I whispered to myself, looking on as my sister walked sullenly away. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Globus Igneus (Original name: ¡°Fireball¡±) Fire-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of a sphere of flames, conjured and lobbed at a target. Explodes and scorches on impact. Volume 1 - CH 2.6 Soot-Steeped Knight ? ú ¤Þ ¤ß ¤ì ¤Î òT Ê¿ Volume I Chapter 2 ¨C Part 6 Written By Yoshihiko Mihama Translated By Vagrant ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ At day¡¯s end, I would throw myself into bed and simply let my thoughts sink into the deep dark. Sleep comes to me like death, abyssal in its fathoms, where even dreams are undone unto naught. But this night was a peculiarity. Out of that bottomless eigengrau of slumber came a vision¡ªa murky moment from my younger days. Within that dream, I was yet a tiny boy, drowning myself in a stack of books at the Buckmann manor study. A pastime of mine in those distant days, to steep myself in that palace of books and lose myself to literature. And of all the stories I devoured, the most palatable were the tales of knights. Souls with sword in hand, wagering their very lives for king and country¡ªfrom that vivid image was I enlightened of my raison d¡¯¨ºtre, one that emboldened me by no small degree with its sheer palpability. Humouring myself with notions of life¡¯s purpose was indeed quite precocious of me, I admit, but that was, unabashedly, the kind of kid I was. I¡¯ve spent my life fenced in by the expectations of my family as they groomed me to be their next master. Perhaps it was in that confinement that I simply longed for a reason of being. Not that it really mattered anymore¡ªthose fences now lay in shambles, after all. But within that dream, I was mesmerised in every sense of the word as I quietly read a particular book: this one a collection of sonnets, penned a few decades ago by a courtly poet, singing of the knight¡¯s heart and human condition. Of a different sort it was from my favourites, but I indulged in it hungrily nonetheless. I¡¯ve also partaken well of works rich with war stories, and by their influence, came to consume as much as I could manuals and historical records of the military sort. But in the end, it was genuine chivalric literature that most sated my cravings. ¡°How about¡­ you¡­ then!¡± I reached for another, having just finished the poems. But for the little boy that I was, retrieving books shelved ahigh was an olympian trial in and of itself. Up the ladder I would go, stretching and stretching as far as I could to take my next target. ¡°Oh! Well hallo there, friend!¡± Freshly caught was a copy written by a beloved author of mine. Truly just what I was hoping to chance upon: an authentic knightly tale. With great enthusiasm did I crack open its pages. ¡°¡­Whoa¡­¡± A story that sang a spring shower of praises upon a certain knight¡¯s way of life¡ªto it, I gave myself, letting slip from my mind the passing of the hours. The words wove visions of a man of magnanimous yet lonely pride, who parted his homeland with sword in hand, was knighted in the far courses of his path, and fought for his folk with his whole soul. Such a storied life I lived for myself from the warmth and comfort of that manor study. Finishing the fable, I flew to my feet and snatched a feather duster from a nearby bookshelf. The puffy thing was now my sword, keen and ready to sail through the air, which I eagerly obliged. ¡°Yah!¡± A slash and a swing of the feathered sword here and there, over and under. I was a knight, a tenacious and noble-hearted swashbuckler of a knight. ¡°Rrah! Yyah!¡± As the duster dusted about, that runt of a Rolf made an oath: to study and serve the sword. But of course I did. Mastering the sword to perfection was part and parcel of being a knight, and the story I¡¯d just read spoke no differently. In it, the knightly warrior bolted straight at his opponent, striking the latter¡¯s forearm with his blade. Inspired, I tried to do the same. ¡°Dyah!¡± But I was overmuch the clumsy and fumbling little fool. Try as I might, I could not become just like that storied knight. Annoyed, I twisted and twirled that duster of a dirk once more, over and over. ¡°Yah! Hya¡­ Eh?¡± With my wits back in their roost, I noticed a little girl standing right by my side, bright with her beaming smile. ¡°¡­E-Emilie!¡± Embarrassment struck like lightning, and I quickly hid the duster behind me¡ªbelatedly so, of course. ¡°You weren¡¯t here for long¡­ were you?¡± ¡°I was! Since you started on that book!¡± ¡°What! Could¡¯ve said something, you know!¡± ¡°Maybe, but I wanted to watch you some more,¡± Emilie smiled further, warmly and with hale. In the face of such mirth, I could hardly help but smile myself. And just like that, the dream drifted away. Without a word, I continued laying there upon my bed, staring up at the cavernous ceiling of the Order barracks. After whiling for a moment, I got up. All the other men around me were still deep in their slumber. Taking my sword, I quit the sleepy place, heading outside for my morning training. Yet another day was about to start. ? ¡°Dyah!¡± With a shout, I bolted straight at my opponent and struck his forearm with my blade. Yielding a low yelp, he left his own sword to clamour upon the ground. ¡°¡­I give.¡± A quiet resignation, accompanied by a scowling gaze thrown my way. The onlooking officers buzzed. ¡°Bloody ungraced won again, boys!¡± ¡°They did bugger-all but flap their feders. What were you expecting, man? If magicks entered the fore, he¡¯d be squashed like a roach, he would!¡± ¡°The bloke¡¯s no slack with the sword, you have to admit. Could do to learn a thing or two from ¡®im¡­¡± ¡°Yeah, bright idea there, mate. Perhaps he can teach you how to sew shut that wayward mouth of yours too, eh?¡± Like silver, iron could be infused with odyl. But make no mistake, for these two metals can¡¯t even compare¡ªsilver, at the end of the day, is foremost amongst all metals as a conductor of odyl. A magicked strike from an iron blade is something I could easily chance guarding against, as I would not be blown away so inequitably by it. But just the same, it was not a risk I could indulge indefinitely. Though little, odyl yet courses through such strikes, and given enough of them, injury is inevitable. Likewise, a paling could be formed through iron armour, albeit with gaps and blind spots. By repeatedly striking against such protection and finding its weaknesses, it is possible for my blade to bite its mark. I could therefore put up a fight through my swordsmanship, so long as my opponent is a regular officer, donned with nothing better than iron arms and armour. I¡¯ve thus far claimed victory in all of my spars for today¡¯s training. But the taste of victory is as sweet as it is short-lived. And as if to answer my unease, an executive officer clad in silver emerged from the crowd. ¡°Your next dance is with me, lad.¡± ¡°Oh! Been waiting for this!¡± ¡°All bets on the lieutenant! Whip ¡®im till he whimpers, good sir!¡± ¡°¡®Ey! Ungraced! Fun time¡¯s over, y¡¯hear!? Now¡¯s when the big boys show you how we really play round here!¡± That last line came from none other than my prior opponent. As expected. It was clockwork at this point, really. Yon¨¢¡¯s cherished children, laying down the hand of judgement upon the cocksure man She¡¯d forsaken. Poetic justice at its finest, one sure to entertain the gathered officers, riled and foaming at the mouth, as they were. ? A shower of sneers and snickers rained down upon me as I laid flat on the ground, defeated. The image of a man ungraced, blown away like a leaf upon a gale¡ªsurely an exotic delight served only from the kitchen that is the 5th Chivalric Order¡¯s school of swordsmanship. But no matter how many times I was laid low, now matter how terribly the pain throbbed, my sword never left my grip. To them, it was a sight of unfettered stupidity, one that merely spurred their inner sadists. ¡°What¡¯s this, now? Look there, still clingin¡¯ to his sword, he is.¡± ¡°He¡¯d sooner part with a sword of a different sort, I¡¯d wager. What point is he trying to make, really?¡± ¡°What¡¯s wrong, lad? Licking the dirt brings that sweet a taste to yer tongue, is it? Well, quit it an¡¯ get up, why don¡¯t ye!?¡± Against the hail of hecklings, I managed to get back on my feet and stand ready with my sword. ¡°My turn now, mate. Let¡¯s have a bit o¡¯ fun, shall we?¡± said another silver-armoured challenger, coming to the fore. Stuck to his face was the look of sheer glee. ? After training was brought to a close, I washed my wounds by the well. Today, too, saw me terribly torn up. The moment brought to mind a peculiar memorandum, one I had found long ago in the study back home at the Buckmann estate. It was penned by a baron of a foreign land who had developed a taste for suffering¡ª¡¯masochism¡¯, was it? Pain of both mind and body turned instead to pleasure for this baron, and the memorandum told of his life in high society as he bore for his own perversion a secret shawl of shame. It scarcely held my interest then, and so I read only the beginnings of the story. Thinking about it now, perhaps I should have delved deeper. I would have liked to learn a thing or two from this baron, of how suffering might be of some avail to me. As I ruminated on profitless thoughts, a voice chimed from behind. ¡°Rolf.¡± By that point in my time in the Order, I had been conferred the honourable epithets of ¡®ungraced¡¯, ¡®addle-pate¡¯, and ¡®scum¡¯. One soul, however, yet called me by my name. ¡°Emilie, my Lady.¡± ¡°Those wounds,¡± she pointed out. ¡°Are you all right?¡± ¡°I am. It is no cause for concern.¡± ¡°¡­I see.¡± A silent pause followed. By its end, Emilie forced a clumsy smile. ¡°Say, Rolf. A long while it¡¯s been since last we dined together, isn¡¯t it? Won¡¯t you join me for supper?¡± ¡°Yes, my Lady. If I may.¡± Volume 1 - CH 2.7 ¡°Why, Emilie! Fine work today, eh?¡± ¡°Ey up, Emilie!¡± ¡°We make for the mess hall. Come and dine with us, Miss Emilie, if it pleases you.¡± As Emilie and I made our way to the mess hall, we chanced upon the other members of the Owlcrane Brigade: Gerd, Raakel, and Sheila. ¡°R-right. I¡¯ll take you up on that.¡± Joined with new company, we resumed on our way, with Emilie surrounded by the other three and myself following behind by a few paces. ¡°Congratulations on your promotion, Lieutenant Emilie.¡± ¡°My thanks, Gerd. Only, I must say, ¡®tis an honour wasted on the freshest newcomer.¡± ¡°Easy on the modesty there, m¡¯love,¡± said Raakel. ¡°Gotten a gander o¡¯ that grand spellblade o¡¯ yers, we have. Ye be the strongest o¡¯ us, an¡¯ if I¡¯m honest, havin¡¯ ye lead us is a no-brainer, ain¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t disagree there,¡± said Gerd. ¡°And that¡¯s to say nothing of your tactical wits¡ªthe best amongst us, mind you. Planning, organising¡ªthe mareschal doesn¡¯t hold back his praises when he sees how sharp you are when it comes to managing our operations.¡± ¡°Y-you know, I¡¯ve tried telling the mareschal for who knows how many times by now, but Rolf¡¯s been the one charitable enough to give me these insights all this time¡­¡± Emilie admitted with an uneasy smile. ¡°Miss Emilie. Honour given is honour earned, no matter how much you¡¯ve leaned upon your swain for the merit,¡± Sheila corrected. ¡°S-still! That we needed a lieutenant to begin with was Rolf¡¯s own suggestion¡­¡± ¡°Come now, Emilie,¡± said Gerd. ¡°Thinking dearly of your swain¡ªa fine play of virtue, sure. But I¡¯ll be frank: you coddle that man more than he deserves, and that doesn¡¯t sit well, not with me, at least.¡± ¡°How could you¡­¡± Emilie then turned to me, giving flickering glances with those troubled eyes of hers. It does you ill to seek my help, Emilie. I count myself amongst those that see you fit for the lieutenant¡¯s cape, after all. The 5th¡¯s Owlcrane Brigade heretofore did not have a lieutenant position. Seeing this, I expounded to Emilie a number of reasons as to why our brigade stood to benefit from having a chain of command of its own, which she relayed to the mareschal himself. Thus was the lieutenant¡¯s role born, and Emilie the first to assume it. ¡®And you¡¯ll take up the charge, yes?¡¯ Tallien had said, as if it was custom to thrust responsibility upon the proposers of ideas. But if we were to consider it with an eye for aptitude, Emilie seemed the perfect candidate. Gerd¡¯s faculties of reasoning were slightly wanting; the man played by the book, so much so he lacked the flexibility to think beyond its cover. Sheila, on the other hand, possessed the composure to view things broadly, but her nature lacked the magnetism to draw others in. And Raakel¡­ well, let¡¯s just say she was more the chess piece and less the player. For her part, Emilie had a potent charisma about her, nurtured by an innately charming temperament that earned her no small measure of admiration. A vital asset for a commanding officer, to be sure. In fact, I measured her to be capable of someday leading a large host of her own single-handedly. Not to mention she possessed a strong affinity for the levin magicks¡ªEmilie would often command the attention of others during training with her dazzling displays of lightning-ensorcelled swordplay, coupled with her winsome looks all the while. In pondering such things, the mess hall now stood before us. Wafts of aromas, sure to rouse the stomach, had long greeted us down the corridor before our arrival. My nose predicted stew, the sort bedight with cuts of lamb. A feast, I was sure, one most welcome on a cold day such as this. ¡°Proper nitherin¡¯, ey!¡± complained Raakel, as if on cue. ¡°Cold¡¯s been bitin¡¯ these days. Ye feel it too, don¡¯t ye loves?¡± ¡°I fear this winter shall not come gently,¡± Sheila confirmed. ¡°On mornings of late, I oft find my staff frozen to the fingers¡¯ touch¡ªoh! How it startles.¡± ¡°Bloomin¡¯ ¡®eck, the mess hall¡¯s no better!¡± Raakel continued. ¡°Weren¡¯t always this nippy here, ye think?¡± ¡°Is it now?¡± questioned Sheila. ¡°I think it warm quite enough.¡± Where people gather, they make words of the weather. I suppose there was some truth in that. By no particular fancy, I found myself lending an ear to the girls¡¯ gossip. ¡°Ye pullin¡¯ me leg, Sheila? Come on, I can¡¯t be the only one shiverin¡¯ here!¡± ¡°Raakel might have a point,¡± Emilie chimed in. ¡°¡®Twas warmer here up till recently, I feel.¡± ¡°Hmm, can¡¯t make two ways about it myself,¡± Gerd added. ¡°You sure it¡¯s not just the faeries tricking your fancy?¡± ¡°Well, Miss Raakel has barely a scant of fat about her,¡± Sheila observed. ¡°It would explain why the cold bites her more bitterly, perhaps.¡± ¡°Ah Sheila, ever the unwitting jester,¡± said Gerd. ¡°Your japery jabs no less bitterly than the rimey mistrals, what with how unscanted your udders are.¡± ¡°Tempt my wrath, do you?¡± Sheila snapped. ¡°How about you, Rolf?¡± Emilie asked, turning to me. It seemed charity compelled her to count me in on their conversation. ¡°Soot¡ªit chokes the hearth,¡± I observed. ¡°Left as is, I¡¯m afraid it ill-avails us from the chill.¡± ¡°Er, so when soot builds, the hearth warms less generously. Did I get that right?¡± ¡°Yes, my Lady. Soot causes the burning of firewood to scantle.¡± ¡°Well then, ungraced. Be a good yeoman and go clean it right up, will you?¡± Gerd said nonchalantly. It seemed the lamb stew would have to wait. ¡°Wait, why?¡± questioned Emilie. ¡°Rolf is joining us for supper.¡± ¡°Housekeeping¡¯s best done before the hour grows late,¡± Gerd answered. ¡°Ungraced here has more chores early on the morrow, I¡¯m sure.¡± ¡°But why Rolf, then?¡± Because I¡¯m a swain who can¡¯t fight, of course. ¡°Why not? He¡¯s a swain.¡± ¡°It¡¯s no job for a swain! You know that!¡± ¡°Then what is? This bloke¡ªcan he fight? No? Well then, there¡¯s the rub. Let¡¯s make him useful, why don¡¯t we? Give him a job he can do.¡± ¡°R¡­ Rolf is my swain and mine alone. You have no right¡­¡± This will not do. We were drawing more eyes than needed. A shouting match between these two would make Emilie seem the lieutenant over-eager with her newfound authority. ¡°I¡¯ll have it done, Lady Emilie,¡± I interjected. ¡°Honoured Owlcranes, I bid you all a pleasant supper.¡± ¡°Oho! We¡¯ll be eatin¡¯ warm tonight,¡± said Raakel. ¡°Ta fer that, muscle-pate!¡± ¡°But, Rolf¡­¡± ¡°Lady Emilie. I pay it no mind, really. Besides, I mislike the lamb this time of year; it chews not as tenderly,¡± I assured her. ¡°I¡¯ll be on my way now, my Lady.¡± ¡°Ah¡­¡± Turning about, I exited the mess hall and made way to the cleaners¡¯ closet. Perhaps speaking ill of the lamb was foolish of me. A fox once mocked a cluster of grapes for their sourness, purely on account of it being beyond his reach. In recalling that fable, I surrendered a slight grin. ? Levity and conviviality suffused the mess hall as those within partook of both hot meals and hale chatter. Divorced from the merry backdrop was I, about to partake instead of some hearth-cleaning. Such menial tasks are hardly a chore, I feel. In fact, since my earliest days, I¡¯ve been quite taken with them. In times when my mind was mired in doubt or worry, I would unfetter my heart from the weight of it all and simply give in to a nice round of cleaning. At the end of it, I would find both my heart and my room as a clear sky after a passing rain. Wondrous satisfaction, it was. People get on in their lives, each taking comfort in a routine that frees them. Some let loose in culinary pursuits, others simply take a stroll. For me, keeping things tidy fits the bill. Having said that, this would be my first time cleaning a hearth. Lacking experience, my thoughts turned to the servants back at the Buckmann manor, and all the times I¡¯ve watched them busy in their business. Soot-sweeping, too, was their duty, their methods of which I proceeded to mimic. First came clearing out the larger pieces of burnt debris. I left the ashes for later, once they¡¯re in the company of the soot to be scraped from up the chimney. I then crept into the hearth, taking along a lantern to illuminate the vertical interior. There, I found layers of soot stuck to the chimney¡¯s inner walls, though they had yet to extend to the portions higher up, thankfully. Cleaning the lower walls would do just fine, it seemed. After shoving my body further into the chimney, I began brushing off the hanging soot. Clumps and crumbs of the black stuff dislodged and trickled down. Quite gratifying, oddly enough. With a longer brush in hand, I gave the same treatment to the middle portion of the chimney, bringing my lantern up from time to time to check my progress. Areas yet sooted earned themselves another scrubbing. Before long, the chimney found itself well tidied up. Worming my way out of it, I turned my attention to the hearth, freeing it from its own fair share of the caking soot. And when the muck was mostly cleared, I reared out of the hearth to inspect its condition. Well done so far, if I do say so myself. A little more brushing, and my job would be finished after removing the soot and ashes collected at the bottom of the hearth. By then, the others in the mess hall had mopped up the last of their meals, whiling away the remaining time with tea and chit-chat. ¡°¡­Look there, hey? An alga, he is¡­¡± one amongst them whispered, earning a round of resounding laughter. Alga¡ªthat is, the ¡°soot-steeped¡±. An unsavoury epithet for the indented who earn their living clearing out soot, and in the process, finding themselves absolutely dusted in the dark silt. Truth be told, I must have seemed the part, soot-steeped as I was. My face, too, was likely smeared and shaded all over with the stuff. The giggles and guffaws failed to relent in the slightest. One of the onlookers was unabashedly in stitches, clapping and tearing up from the hilarity. I began to wonder how Emilie felt in witnessing all this. Her probable expression was an easy guess; likely she would turn away in sorrow were our eyes to meet. Knowing this, I made sure that they didn¡¯t. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Alga (Language: Latin; plural: algae) Something worthless. Originally a word referring to seaweed and other freshwater plants. Volume 1 - CH 2.8 8-10 minutes 21.07.2022 Soot-Steeped Knight ? ú ¤Þ ¤ß ¤ì ¤Î òT Ê¿ Volume I Chapter 2 ¨C Part 8 Written By Yoshihiko Mihama Translated By Vagrant ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Supper was over. The hour had waxed overlate. As usual, I found myself behind the main building, swinging my sword under the stars. In the midst of the rigour, there appeared Emilie, holding a loaf of bread. ¡°Rolf¡­ here,¡± she said, handing it to me. That I had nothing to eat for supper seemed a fact not lost upon her¡ªtoo busied I was, scouring the soot from the mess hall¡¯s hearth. ¡°My thanks.¡± ¡°Can you spare a moment¡­?¡± she asked, looking to the building wall. Sensing her intent, I followed her, and we were soon sat side-by-side against the cold brickwork. ¡°¡­Forgive me, Rolf¡­ for earlier. It¡­ it shouldn¡¯t have happened,¡± she spoke as I began helping myself to the bread. ¡°I¡¯m not troubled, my Lady,¡± I assured her. ¡°You¡¯ve just been made a lieutenant. ¡®Tis a precious time; shielding me would be a waste of it.¡± ¡°¡­¡¯Twas by spending time with you that I was promoted. Was it not?¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid you see not the way of it. You¡¯ve been promoted precisely because you are fit to play the part.¡± ¡°Still¡­¡± After that word, there stretched a silence between us. I had finished the last of the bread, but sensing it brusque to resume training¡ªfor it yet seemed Emilie had much on her mind¡ªI remained by her side, biding the quietude till her next words. ¡°Say, Rolf?¡± came the broken silence. ¡°Yes, my Lady?¡± ¡°You spend your nights like this? Deep in this training of yours?¡± ¡°I do.¡± Morning and night both, to be accurate, but I left it unsaid. ¡°Is there¡­¡± she began to ask carefully, ¡°¡­is there some purpose to it¡­ I wonder?¡± Her words carried the same echo as that of Felicia¡¯s on an evening not so unlike this. ¡°I believe there is, yes.¡± ¡°Rolf¡­ I know you to be wise beyond your years. Forming strategies, managing operations¡­ the sort of affairs that can change the Order from within¡ªyou¡¯d be well off in them, I think. Just like when you recommended the whole lieutenant deal to me.¡± ¡°Yet yours are the only ears that will listen to those recommendations. ¡®Tis not writ in the stars for me to have a hand in administrative affairs, I feel.¡± ¡°The mareschal may not have an ear for your counsel, but for mine, he may¡­¡± ¡°You are like to find favour in your superiors, my Lady, but I¡¯m afraid the mareschal nurtures none for me.¡± ¡°Th-that¡¯s not so! If we can all join hands and spare an ear for each other¡¯s words, then surely¡­!¡± Emilie insisted. It was clear to me by then that she was truly, dearly worried about me. ¡°Rolf¡­ ¡®Tis not a weakness to set aside the sword, you know. You can fight your battles from the war-table¡ªit heeds little of odyl, after all. Am I wrong?¡± You¡¯re not, Emilie. Not in the slightest. But there was the rub: who in the Order would be gracious enough to leave a seat for an ungraced at that war-table? Emilie was most kind to believe in my capabilities, but I¡¯m afraid any other person here wouldn¡¯t have dared to entertain the mere thought of it. Perhaps this truth was lost to her. But what¡¯s more, I had no intention of throwing down the sword. ¡°Lady Emilie. Matters of strategy and administration comprise a knight¡¯s duties, that much is true. And I am glad indeed that my counsel for such has been of some avail to you. But¡­¡± I explained, searching for the next words. ¡°¡­Ever and always has the sword given me purchase. It is my bedrock; my heart ails to give it up.¡± ¡°Rolf¡­¡± Emilie said softly. Her next words, strained, came with great deliberateness. ¡°¡­¡®Tis a comforting thought, isn¡¯t it? That the sword you¡¯ve brandished in days yester will avail you in days yet to come. Perhaps¡­ too warm a comfort for your heart to part with? Is that not simply it, in the end?¡± ¡°You may be right. But not so comforting a thought for my sword, perhaps, to be smitten by so troublesome a man,¡± came my attempt at levity. ¡°¡­I see,¡± she responded quietly. Another silence followed. The both of us, for the next wordless while, stared up to the sable skies. A familiar scene it was, together as we were, taking in the tapestry of the stars. We had often indulged in such moments back in our time at the Buckmann barony. Only, it now all seemed but a distant memory. ¡°Rolf¡­¡± Emilie started again. ¡°My father¡­ He¡¯s sent word¡­¡± I looked to her. ¡°Of what?¡± ¡°¡­of a new fianc¨¦ he¡¯s chosen for me.¡± For this, I had no words. Emilie continued on. ¡°¡®Kenneth¡¯ is his name¡ªeldest son to Lord Albeck. Perhaps you know of them?¡± ¡°I do. A mere twelve years of age, isn¡¯t he? And his father holds the Albeck viscounty, next to the march of Norden, where we are.¡± ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s them¡­¡± she said. Again, I found myself lacking words. ¡°I wonder, Rolf¡­ if you were made a knight, to everyone¡¯s pleasure¡­ then, perhaps¡­¡± Then perhaps things would be as they once were. And as planned, I would succeed House Buckmann, and we would wed each other to a happy ever-after. An impossible fancy, that. Such optimism bordered on madness, even. But the sudden sorrow of realising this for myself broke my heart in half. Only, Emilie was desperately clinging on to that same fancy, and by its wiles was she beckoned here on this night, that we might discuss any other path that may lead to its fruition. What could I say to her? If she were to find happiness at any end, then I would be most content. Yet, that can¡¯t be the way of it. I would be a fool to brush it off with a simple ¡®I pray for your happiness¡¯. I knew such words would be wrong. I knew it too well. Yet, I also knew not the right words to say to her. Not once have I ever harboured shame in being denied of odyl. Where shame is to be found is in these moments, when I am empty of any and all words. Let us ask any other young man, both betrothed and sixteen years of age¡ªcertainly, he would have an answer prepared. Any answer at all. But after scouring my memories, I found none that may be of some avail in this moment. Having exhausted all of my faculties, I gazed intently at the sombre side of Emilie¡¯s face and left my lips to say what they may. ¡°¡­Ever the crybaby, you are. Even as lieutenant.¡± She turned to me. ¡°¡­I¡¯m not crying.¡± ¡°But you are.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve shed not a tear.¡± ¡°Yet you cry.¡± To this, Emilie fell quiet. How cruel can this world be? If I am to be made a man unblessed, then at the very least, make me also the sole harbour to this fleet of sorrow. I¡¯d find some way to bear the berth, no matter the enormity. Why in the name of all that is good must anyone other than myself be gripped with such grief? ¡°My Lady. You measure my worth with great generosity, but I¡¯m afraid the world shares none of it¡ªnot for an ungraced man like me,¡± broke I this silence, my eyes firmly fixed on Emilie. My words were admittedly misshapen, but it was preferable to no words at all. For her part, Emilie, too, gazed deeply back at me. ¡°I know little of what lies ahead, but of this I can say: even should I be knighted, inheriting House Buckmann is forever a fleeting fancy.¡± ¡°¡­Yeah¡­¡± ¡°But perhaps the path we tread wends to someplace worthwhile. We have but to follow and see where it leads. And perhaps you may be right. Perhaps swinging this sword over and over again is but a fool¡¯s errand.¡± To this, Emilie stayed quiet, listening intently. ¡°Yet, somehow¡­ of this, I¡¯m certain: the point I let go of the sword and renounce my means of fighting back, is the point where that path severs,¡± came to Emilie words from deep in my chest. I felt then that with these words I was also confronting myself¡ªmy weak, pitiful self. ¡°As you said, there is comfort in brandishing the blade as I always have, hoping it attains to its purpose someday yet to dawn,¡± I continued. ¡°Whether such will come to pass, I cannot know. But brandish it I must¡ªthis, my heart tells me. And for as long as its voice stays true, I can¡¯t do aught else.¡± Her lips remained unmoved. ¡°Flimsy maunderings of a fool, I know. But it¡¯s all I have, my Lady,¡± I admitted. ¡°And so it is¡­¡± Emilie nodded. ¡°If that¡¯s what your heart tells you, Rolf, then I¡¯ve but to join you in heeding its words.¡± ¡°Lady Emilie¡­¡± I said. ¡°Forgive me.¡± ¡°How silly,¡± she remarked. ¡°We¡¯ve done little but seek forgiveness from each other as of late, haven¡¯t we?¡± ¡°¡­That we have.¡± The two of us gave strained smiles to each other. Were they well-given? Well-received? This I wondered, and of another matter as well: on this very night, what was it exactly that I chose to believe in? Which path was it that I chose in the end? Sadly, though it all pertained to my very being, my very soul, I was left with not a single answer. ¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T Chapter 2 ©¤ End ? Volume 1 - CH 3.1 ¡°Reinforcements? For the 1st, my Lady?¡± I asked. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± answered Emilie. ¡°Even now, they¡¯re battle-locked in the waters of the Erbelde¡ªthey¡¯ve called for aid, and we¡¯re to answer.¡± Two years have passed since Emilie and I enlisted in the Order, and we now stood at the precipice of our first real battle. To go this long without any action was apparently not too uncommon an occurrence here at the 5th, known as it was for being rather sheepish about getting its hands dirty. Regardless, Mareschal Tallien himself and the leadership were quite thrilled about this new development¡ªthe boredom had finally taken its toll, it seemed. As such, it was by then a certainty that most of the 5th would be mobilised for this mission. At present, the 1st Chivalric Order and the Nafilim horde were staring each other down at the Erbelde Broadrun, a prominent river snaking through the kingdom¡¯s eastern reach. To the Nafilim, it was a line they meant to jealously defend, and thus were dug in their heels trying to ward off the invading knights of the 1st¡ªno easy task, given the latter¡¯s distinction as the cr¨¨me de la cr¨¨me of the kingdom¡¯s military menu, as it were. The knightly host, for its part, was charged with breaking through the enemy line and securing the fertile river basin from which the Erbelde flowed¡ªa foray that the 5th now wholly tasked itself to assist. ¡°And when do we leave?¡± I asked further. ¡°In three days hence,¡± Emilie confirmed. ¡°Quite the hurry. Though if the 1st saw need of reinforcements, time would be precious, I presume.¡± ¡°I¡¯m told the 1st¡¯s numbers count greater than the enemy¡¯s, actually. Winning there shall prove most lucrative; ¡®twould seem they won¡¯t settle for aught less than a certain victory. That¡¯s where we come in.¡± Where we come in, she said? I see. It would seem our kingdom deemed the potential boon too precious to give up. Our role as reinforcements was to make certain this victory they so sought¡ªmeaning a spark of opportunity had at last been found at the end of much struggle. ¡°A month and more it¡¯s been since the 1st moved to retake the Erbelde. If they¡¯ve been stalled by a stalemate that entire time, then they¡¯ve called for reinforcements to try and pierce the impenetrable¡­ or is it that the fates have revealed an opening, my Lady?¡± ¡°They have, from the looks of it. And the 1st means not to squander their newfound fortune.¡± Put another way, failing to capitalise on this opportunity would likely mean a return to the dreaded stalemate. No wonder our kingdom was bending over backwards to settle the battle once and for all. ¡°Rolf, let¡¯s give it our all!¡± Emilie smiled. ¡°My all, I will give,¡± I returned. ¡°Though pray tell, who draws the plans for our march?¡± ¡°The mareschal does, with the commissariat under his wing. But I¡¯m afraid all the haste has whipped them into quite the fevered flock.¡± ¡°The march will be no birdwalk, let alone the coming battle itself,¡± I observed. ¡°If the Erbelde is our destination, cutting through the Belithas Steppe is sure to save us time, but I fear the midsummer sun¡¯s glare dares to sap us of our strength and spirits both. I say we must needs march through the Sewell Wealdlands instead©`the air is cooled by the trees there, and with waters running aplenty, our men need not worry of thirsting along the way.¡± ¡°Se-Sewell, you said? Hmm¡­ You do have a point,¡± said Emilie. ¡°Right, I¡¯ll be sure to take up this matter to the mareschal.¡± From then until the day of departure, the 5th was aboil in its busied bustling. All within were in high spirits, but each also found himself itching with unease. Training was officially held off till departure as well, but defying this, I resumed my own regimen as usual. The coming mission was all the more reason to continue honing myself. On the benighted eve of our departure, I peered up at the eastern sky, having just finished sword practice. Would I be of some use, odylless as I am? Will I find some part to play in the looming battlefield? These, I need only to find out for myself. Somewhere beyond the eastward horizon, the knights of the 1st were mired in the heat of battle¡ªto them, I sent these uncertain thoughts. ? ¡°Rolf! Forgive me!¡± were Emilie¡¯s first words right upon the day of our departure. I¡¯ll hazard a guess: I¡¯m to remain here as a watchdog. Or perhaps the marching scheme remains unchanged? The only one to be troubled would be myself, were it the former. The latter, however¡­ ¡°¡®Twas no good: the mareschal¡¯s settled on the route through Belithas. I insisted on Sewell, but my words fell on deaf ears,¡± Emilie explained. ¡°I see,¡± was my sunken response. ¡°My Lady, did you perchance mention that I had aught to do with the Sewell proposal?¡± Emilie twiddled her fingers in regret. ¡°I¡­ did.¡± ¡°Would that you hadn¡¯t.¡± ¡°Th-the other leaders, they sought speed over all else! A march through Belithas would take seven days, and Sewell nine. ¡®Detours are not for reinforcements to take,¡¯ they said,¡± Emilie elaborated. For why, I could not know; there was little point in it now. ¡°Yes. You are certainly right, my Lady,¡± I resigned. ¡°We must move with utmost dispatch. It won¡¯t do to keep the 1st waiting.¡± ¡°Right,¡± Emilie replied. ¡°We leave soon. I trust you¡¯ve made ready?¡± ¡°I have, my Lady.¡± Hence marched the 5th Order to the eastern fringes of the realm, where ran the Erbelde¡¯s embattled waters. In spite of the occasion, however, my spirits failed to match themselves to the surrounding excitement. ? Five hours had gone by since the morning of our departure. We Owlcranes marched alongside the Mareschal Tallien on horseback, save for myself, of course: the entirety of the trip so far saw me afoot, pulling Emilie¡¯s mount along. ¡°Rolf¡­¡± she called to me from upon her saddle. ¡°How are you faring?¡± ¡°Well enough, my Lady.¡± A look around revealed the 5th¡¯s officers quietly bearing themselves under the sweltering sun, the toil having stolen the mood for idle chatter. Many were not given a steed of their own, such as my fellow swains and officers whose specialisations eschewed the luxury. Regardless, they all suffered the heat just the same, as their furrowed faces and laborious breaths indicated. ¡°Heard you came up with the Sewell route, eh ungraced?¡± Gerd hissed. ¡°Thought we¡¯d be better off sauntering under the cool canopies, now did you?¡± ¡°I did, Lord Gerd.¡± ¡°Hah! Reinforcements¡ªout on a jolly, wooded safari, taking their sweet time along the way. What folly!¡± struck Gerd. ¡°Hurrying through hell, only to be paralysed with exhaustion¡ªa fool¡¯s errand any reinforcements should avoid, I would think,¡± I countered. To this, Gerd audibly clucked and made ready to shout. ¡°What¡¯s that, now? Sharp be his tongue the hound who but tugs the master¡¯s steed till his own exhaustion! Don¡¯t think for a second that our ranks suffer aught should you drop dead, ungraced!¡± ¡°Oi, mickle-berk. Quite the softy, aren¡¯t ye, fer a giant?¡± Raakel chimed in. ¡°Don¡¯t ye go beefin¡¯ on us when it gets proper maftin¡¯, ey!¡± ¡°My words were misplaced. Forgive me, Lord Gerd, Lady Raakel.¡± We soon took and finished our midday meals. The march resumed under the unrelenting glare of the sun, which conjured up from the ground a veil of mirages, wriggling and seething. Through them, the 5th¡¯s footfalls dragged, heavily and heavier still. Two, three hours crept on by. The march¡¯s momentum noticeably slowed all the while. Even those mounted have all but ceased their utterings. Each and every one of our throats begged for water, but they could scarcely be slaked: unlike the Sewell Wealdlands, abound with runnels and rivulets as they were, the steppes of Belithas afforded no source of water by which our stores of it could be replenished. We could only partake according to a strict regimen, though that unfortunately had not stopped our water supply from running low. Merciless was the screaming sun in searing away our stamina. Haggard breaths scratched against the air all around. Some soon even found their eyes meandering from all the strain. ¡°¡­Oi. Ungraced,¡± muttered Gerd. ¡°Yes, my Lord?¡± ¡°A break. That¡¯s what you want. Isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Nay. I can keep the course.¡± ¡°Hah. You traitorous lot. Brew your lies to taste, I see,¡± Gerd retorted. ¡°Too bad. No break for you. Not for a long while yet.¡± He was right. There would be no breaks, not where we were: Belithas lacked not only water, but also aught that could spare even a sliver of shade. And raising tents each and every time we were to take rest was simply out of the question. ¡°I¡¯m well aware, my Lord.¡± ¡°Hmph.¡± ¡°Hardly do I see your course being kept for much longer, dear swain. Already, you have quite the shimmer of sweat about you,¡± Sheila remarked. ¡°I understand you long to pretend the paragon, but if knighthood be your aim, you had best lay down your lies.¡± ¡°Nay, Lady Sheila,¡± I began to rebut. ¡°I will keep my course. This much sweat warrants no worry. If there is a concern to be had, it should be of lacking salt.¡± ¡°Salt, you say?¡± Sheila wondered aloud. Veritably so. The summer months saw coal miners and their ilk regularly partake of salt. But it was vain to expect the others here to know of this, pampered princes as they all were. ¡°Was that why you insisted that we lick some salt, Rolf? During lunchtime?¡± asked Emilie. ¡°Indeed, my Lady.¡± ¡°Suckle on salt as though it be a teat o¡¯ water¡ªyer brightest idea yet, ye twiny-twonk!¡± heckled Raakel. Such hollow conversations continued on as we marched east. The skies sank into twilight, but that did little to abate the heat. Our formations had by that point dissolved into disarray. Those mounted resigned themselves to hanging their gazes down onto the backs of their horses, silent all the while. In spite of the sheer toil, the 5th somehow managed to arrive at the first day¡¯s designated destination. Everyone was all but spent, eager only to quit. For their part, the leadership were gathered around the mareschal, discussing plans for the overnight camp. ¡°¡­Make sure all goes as planned,¡± ordered Tallien. ¡°Emilie, the nightwatch proceeds as we¡¯ve arranged. Go ahead and confirm the particulars with the other lieutenants.¡± ¡°Right away, Mareschal.¡± ¡°Permission to speak, Lady Emilie,¡± I interjected. ¡°Oh?¡± she said with a startle. ¡°Yes, go ahead, Rolf.¡± Apparently, the others still had the vigour to show their unbridled disgust towards an ungraced, whose sole role in the meeting was to stand idle by Emilie as her dutiful swain. But I couldn¡¯t let their livid looks stop me. The situation was dire; it was now or never. ¡°Requesting a change in plans,¡± I began proposing. ¡°We should finish supper without erecting the tents, and resume marching through the night after a short break. This, I believe, best serves our interests.¡± ¡°¡®Cover ground whilst the sun is sunk,¡¯ is what you¡¯re saying, now?¡± Tallien summarised. ¡°That is correct, Mareschal.¡± ¡°And you best mind your tongue, ungraced,¡± Gerd cut in, his voice low and lethal like a knife upon the neck. ¡°We¡¯ve not trained in night-marching, and you would have us leap into a trial by fire? Spent as we are?¡± ¡°It is hardly an affront to common sense as you may believe, Lord Gerd. Marching by cover of night in the midst of summer is a measure frequently undertaken, as our military annals would gladly attest,¡± I rebutted. ¡°Furthermore, the lay of Belithas is both level and open, and lies firmly within friendly territory. I believe we scarce imperil ourselves were we to proceed as I¡¯ve outlined.¡± ¡°There¡¯s little comfort to be had in a ¡®scarce peril¡¯, ungraced!¡± Gerd yelled. ¡°We have been quite conservative in our consumption of water, Lord Gerd, and yet our stores of it already find themselves depleted two-tenths beyond projections. At this rate, many of our men will be forced to withdraw before ever reaching the 1st¡ªall on account of severe dehydration.¡± ¡°Dam that tongue of yours, you bloody wastrel! Don¡¯t you dare speak as though you know aught!¡± Well, this is going rather swimmingly. Gerd had all but surrendered himself to his emotions, and they were to him as a horsewhip set upon the horse, lashing to be beat of my every word. Talk of the Sewell route earlier that day must have been crossing his mind, in spite of his thorough mocking of it. That we hadn¡¯t chosen the wooded route precipitated the sorry state the soldiers of the 5th now found themselves in, and in light of this reality, Gerd was moulding his shame into fresh anger with my name writ large upon it. But as it stood, the march itself was in dire straits in every sense. ¡°Mareschal Tallien. I support Rolf¡¯s idea,¡± came Emilie, cutting in. ¡°Had we marched according to his design, we would not find ourselves in such circumstances as we are now. I believe we should change our marching scheme while we are yet able, just as he had described.¡± ¡°Ach!¡± Gerd groaned bitterly. Emilie¡¯s words were as oil doused upon a flame. Glad was I for her support, but with the mention of routes worming into his ears, Gerd was at that point right about to explode. Emilie speaking to the mareschal instead did not help in calming the Owlcrane¡¯s fuming temper, either. It was then that reinforcements of a different sort arrived. ¡°An¡¯ ye best quench that flamin¡¯ tongue o¡¯ yours, Gerd. I see yer worry¡¯d ¡®bout this ¡®scarce peril¡¯, but what with the likes o¡¯ us, it be child¡¯s play, no? Besides, runnin¡¯ dry o¡¯ water¡¯s a mite tough, if I¡¯m honest. Why not treat us selves to a nice mooch under the stars? Save some water along the way, ey?¡± ¡°Mr. Gerd, I must confess: I, too, am agreed with the Misses Emilie and Raakel.¡± Rational thought still had a home in Raakel and Sheila, it would seem. Gerd very much seemed the brat being coddled by more calm and collected souls. That he did not take offence spoke of the long years the two women had suffered his company; indeed, by now, they¡¯ve become quite deft in dealing with that firebrand of a man. ¡®I, too, am agreed with the Misses Emilie and Raakel.¡¯ Likely a phrase not carefully contrived, but one that slipped quite naturally from the lips. Well said, Sheila. Leaving me out of the picture and agreeing instead with the other girls was rather tactful. ¡°Gerd, you¡¯re one of our prized aces, aren¡¯t you? ¡®Twould be a great ease to us all to have you in tip-top shape for the coming battle, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± Emilie followed up with a smile, one that seemed to seal the deal to no small effect. ¡°¡­I would,¡± Gerd relented with a coarse sigh. ¡°Fine, then.¡± The other brigades found no reason to doubt the Owlcranes¡¯ will, seeing as the latter were their superiors in rank. Things were beginning to look up, at last. ¡°All who oppose?¡± Tallien inquired, looking all along the other lieutenants. Their collective silence signalled consent. ¡°None. Right, we resume marching tonight. Leaders, finish supping and tell your men to rest. Meet back with me once that¡¯s done. Adjourned!¡± Disgust and contempt twisted the faces of the leadership as they dispersed¡ªTallien included. Compromise was a bitter medicine indeed, but one they were compelled to swallow. It was settled: we would march by night. Our troubles were sure to continue, but nonetheless, Emilie couldn¡¯t help but smile amongst the sea of frowns. Volume 1 - CH 3.2 Resting at day under the canopy of canvases, treading at night under the canopy of constellations¡ªwe, the 5th, slowly but surely made our way to the banks of the Erbelde Broadrun. Our progress was ever in the company of sweltering temperatures and nagging fatigue, but it was undoubtedly preferable to the hell that was the first day¡¯s march. In accordance with the leadership¡¯s revisions to the logistics guidelines, we¡¯ve offloaded extraneous supplies and equipment along the way. With our burdens cut down to the barest minimum, we were able to maintain a slightly more expedient march. Our collective fatigue mounted as the days wore on, but on the seventh, at long last our perseverance carried us beyond the fringes of the Belithas Steppe. We rested under the shade of our tents, waiting for the sun to set. The hour of departure was soon upon us. By my estimation, we would reach the Erbelde in the dead of night. It was by no small miracle that we¡¯ve gotten as far as we did. Even then, such a miracle afforded little succour for the worn and weary officers. Despite the progress made, their faces were masked in grim shadows, for each and every one of them were fully aware of the boiling battlefield that loomed at march¡¯s end. ¡°Commence the march. We arrive tonight. Stay sharp, little lions!¡± ordered the mareschal. His words were of paltry power and pluck¡ªthe gravity of the situation was not lost to him either, it seemed. Nevertheless, we picked ourselves up and hoofed the last stretch of the journey to the Erbelde Broadrun, where awaited both our friends of the 1st and our Nafilim foes. ? Through the thick veil of night, I continued to pull Emilie¡¯s horse along, my lips long parted from any mood for unprompted words. For their part, the Owlcranes yet retained the strength for the battle to come, from the looks of it¡ªable-armed professionals, just as one would expect. ¡°Emilie, love,¡± Raakel called out from the darkness. ¡°There be a meetin¡¯ with the 1st straight away when we arrive? We Owlcranes have to plant us bottoms fer it too, ye reckon?¡± ¡°Not just us Owlcranes; everyone¡¯s showing up,¡± Emilie confirmed. ¡°Be on your best behaviour, all right Raakel?¡± ¡°Bloomin¡¯ ¡®eck¡­¡± winced Raakel. ¡°Aye aye, m¡¯lady Lieutenant.¡± ¡°Miss Emilie, what do you suppose of the operation¡¯s design?¡± Sheila¡¯s question earned a troubled face from Emilie. ¡°I¡¯ve¡­ not been told of it much myself, to be honest. Though I¡¯m sure the 1st would have us hear of it to our heart¡¯s content.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t mean to say the 1st will snag the reins over us Owlcranes, do you Emilie?¡± came another inquiry, this time from Gerd. ¡°Not at all. Our other brigades will fall under the 1st¡¯s command, of course, but the reins of the Owlcranes remain in my hands.¡± ¡°Fine with me, then.¡± It would seem Gerd¡¯s palate held no savoury impression of the 1st, shelved highly as they were in the hierarchy of Orders. The kingdom¡¯s sharpest sword, the mightiest Order of them all¡ªI, for one, cannot see their power with my own eyes soon enough. ¡°Rolf,¡± Emilie called, turning ahead to me. ¡°What sort of battle awaits us, do you think?¡± ¡°One that has us fording the river, my Lady,¡± was my answer. ¡°What¡¯s that now, mud-wit? Fordin¡¯ the river, ye say? The Des Ailes Greatbridge is where we¡¯re headed; why swim as fish when we¡¯ve a proper foothold to cross upon?¡± Raakel quipped. ¡°Our fins will sooner avail us than our feet, Lady Raakel,¡± I responded. ¡°Neither side holds claim to the bridge, hence why the past month has seen nary a budge in the Erbelde line.¡± Control the bridge and one controls the banks both. That such hasn¡¯t happened thus far attested to the stone-solid stalemate petrifying that battlefield. And for as long as it remained unbroken, one crosses the bridge at great peril. More likely than not, the two sides were dug in their heels on opposing sides of the bridge, staring each other down. ¡°My silly swain, is that not our purpose, then? To temper the spear that pierces that line?¡± Sheila probed. ¡°Nay, my Lady. The Des Ailes Greatbridge lives up to its namesake, true, but it can only harbour so many soldiers upon its berth, wide though it may be. To chance forcing our way through, 1st and 5th combined, would prove a fool¡¯s wager.¡± ¡°The Erbelde¡¯s namesake be not too shabby either, muscle-pate. Even a fool has the wits not to wager a wade through the Broadrun o¡¯ all rivers!¡± Raakel retorted. And she had a point¡ªone that no longer stood ground, that is. ¡°And yet the 1st saw need of reinforcements¡ªa shift in their fortunes, they¡¯ve glimpsed.¡± I reminded her. ¡°That much is true. What could it mean?¡± Emilie wondered. ¡°A drought, no less. It takes a long-spanning bridge like the Des Ailes to connect the Erbelde¡¯s banks, but the river itself is rather shallow¡ªall the more so with the current dry spell. Such thinned waters should expose ample purchase, enough for a large host to ford upon.¡± ¡°Hold there, ungraced,¡± Gerd broke in. ¡°A hound should know to wag his tail and not his tongue. How does a cur like you know of all this?¡± ¡°At the time of the bridge¡¯s construction, surveys of the area were carried out by the royal geographers. Their findings were well-documented¡ªyou can have a look yourself in the headquarters¡¯ library.¡± Findings from forty years ago, albeit. But that the bridge stood to this day was proof enough of their trustworthiness. To that, the Owlcranes could find no fault. ¡°And I¡¯m to believe you stuck your nose that deep into the books? All within the last few days?¡± prodded Gerd. ¡°The ink on my nose would attest to that belief of yours, yes, Lord Gerd,¡± I confirmed. ¡°I had merely wished to come prepared for battle.¡± ¡°¡­A battle you¡¯re useless for,¡± Gerd cut under his breath. ¡°Well done, indeed.¡± A look up found the moon in a march of its own, crossing past its zenith. Soon, I thought to myself, and just as I did, there rose spirited cheers from the vanguard¡ªwe¡¯ve arrived at last, from the sound of it. As we marched further, little lights twinkling in the distance revealed themselves from the darkened landscape. The 1st¡¯s garrison, it looked like, and from its direction came rhythmic hoof-falls¡ªthose of three mounted knights, I gathered. They eventually appeared from the murk of night, aglimmer with argent armour. The standards borne by our ensigns, indicating our mareschal¡¯s presence, must have done their duty in beckoning the flying knights from their roosts. ¡°Forgive me for hailing from horseback. I am Erik Lindell, Lieutenant of the 1st Order¡¯s Owlcrane Brigade. The march must have been long, yet you have all answered our call nonetheless; glad we are, and most grateful,¡± saluted the knight at the head of the greeting party. He seemed almost thirty in his years, and was stately in his appearance with rich brown hair and a virile visage. ¡°I would lead you to the Mareschal Tiselius, but I must needs seek audience with the Mareschal Tallien first. Is he present?¡± ¡°Well met, Sir Lindell. I am Lieutenant Emilie Mernesse, also of the 5th Order¡¯s Owlcranes,¡± she introduced herself. ¡°I see no need for such an audience. May we proceed towards the garrison as we are?¡± ¡°This audience, I¡¯ll entertain,¡± the mareschal called out. ¡°Worry not, Emilie. Erik and I are well-acquainted.¡± ¡°Pardon my conduct, Mareschal. Sir Lindell, as well.¡± ¡°Nay. ¡®Tis no matter.¡± Our mareschal then emerged from the gathered ranks. ¡°Erik Lindell. How many moons has it been? You seem sprightly as ever.¡± ¡°And I have Her grace to thank for it,¡± cordially returned this ¡®Erik Lindell¡¯. ¡°Yet I must apologise, Mareschal Tallien, seeing as you have all just arrived, but we would have you attend the war council right away.¡± ¡°As you would. Lead the way, then.¡± ¡°Aye, sir!¡± With Lindell¡¯s guidance, we were led into the 1st¡¯s garrison. At last, we¡¯ve arrived at the appointed battlefield. ? Preparations for the war council were underway, but with even the largest pavilion scarcely able to accommodate the combined leaderships of both Orders, the venue was summarily moved outside. Chairs and tables were set up by the swains of the 1st and¡ªby Tallien¡¯s orders¡ªmyself. The other Order was loath to include me in the elbow work, seeing how spent the 5th was from so taxing a journey, but I insisted it was of no account¡ªour seven-day march pales in comparison to the sheer drudgery of their month-long standoff, after all. With the venue set up, the two leaderships were summoned in. Our side consisted of the mareschal, under-mareschal, the Owlcranes, the brigadiers all, and their lieutenants. For their part, the 1st¡¯s side consisted of the same, save for their lieutenants currently engaged in combat. Their mareschal also appeared to be absent. ¡°My apologies, sir. The madame will not be long,¡± Lindell informed Tallien. ¡°Duly noted.¡± Moments after the exchange, there emerged a woman in her mid-twenties. All those present promptly rose to their feet to hail her arrival. ¡°Pray forgive my late return!¡± rang her voice. ¡°I am Tiselius, mareschal to these men. I must thank you for suffering the long march here.¡± A blazing presence she was, crowned with flowing fuchsia-blonde curls, gentle in their undulation. Her figure¡ªone passus and twelve digit¨© in height, thereabouts¡ªscintillated with slates of silver, and was cloaked in a crimson cascade. A heated sigh was teased out from a soul amongst the 5th, whether by her sublime beauty or the reputation that preceded her. Estelle Tiselius, Dame Mareschal of the 1st Chivalric Order. A hero known by every Londosian through every corner of Londosius¡¯ reach, she was esteemed as the mightiest amongst all those knighted in this realm. ¡°Mareschal Tiselius, a great pleasure after so long a while,¡± greeted our own commander. ¡°A while indeed! The pleasure is mine, Mareschal Tallien,¡± Tiselius returned. ¡°The 5th¡¯s arrival puts us at no small ease. My deepest gratitude is yours.¡± At her urging were those present seated, save for us swains¡ªthree from the 1st and myself, the only one from the 5th¡ªwho remained on our feet a ways back. I looked all through the ranks of the 5th, settling upon the seat reserved for the head of the 1st Sorcery Brigade¡ªfilling it was none other than Felicia. Supported by her impressive stores of odyl and a future filled with promise, Felicia had well-answered the expectations of her peers and superiors both. Such blossoming talent earned her the station of lieutenant in just a year from her enlistment. And with it, of course, came the title of dame. The sorcerers make no use of horses on the usual, but for an executive officer like herself, Felicia was furnished with a mount for the march. Perhaps it was in thanks to this that she was not overly exhausted by the seven-day trek, from what I could make of her condition. Our eyes met for an instant before she turned hers away. It was then that Tiselius¡¯ voice rang forth, steady and sincere in its timbre. ¡°Let us begin the war council now, shall we?¡± Our first battle, upon our first battlefield, for Emilie, Felicia, and myself. Our breaths were bated as the proverbial curtains drew open. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Digitus (plural: digit¨©) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the width of a finger. 1 centimetre is equal to 0.5405 of a digitus. A digitus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 2 centimetres. Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Volume 1 - CH 3.3 Mareschal Tiselius, hero-dame of our kingdom, looked all through the forgathered leaderships of both the 1st and 5th Orders. Her lips then parted once more to address them. ¡°Our sovereign has deemed control of the Erbelde river basin to be a national interest of utmost imperative,¡± she began. ¡°The Des Ailes Greatbridge attests to our capture of this region forty-five winters ago, but our dominion lasted not twenty-five before it fell back into Nafilim hands. The situation remains unchanged to this very moment, yet Londosius ill-abides the shame any longer. The basin must needs be retaken. Failure is not an option.¡± The leadership lent their ears with grave sincerity. Emilie and Felicia, for their part, were tense of visage, sitting with their backs both straight and taut as they paid their fullest attention. ¡°The Greatbridge measures seventeen pass¨±s wide and spans eighty-one long,¡± the 1st¡¯s mareschal continued. ¡°Generous, true, but deeply wanting if we intend to field the numbers needed to force our way through. My men assay to push into the enemy¡¯s shores as we speak, but I fear our efforts have long overspent their momentum.¡± She then paused for but a moment, giving a glance to our side. ¡°Thankfully, the 5th has come to our aid; with them, we plan to breach the shores yonder by fording the river itself.¡± Given both spotlight and revelation, the 5th was roused to a whirlwind of whispers and worries. It wasn¡¯t long before one of our brigadiers raised both hand and inquiry. ¡°Fording the river¡­ madame? How might we achieve this feat?¡± ¡°Of that, Under-Mareschal Behrmann will explain,¡± answered Tiselius, before turning to the side. ¡°Francis, if you shall.¡± On cue, there rose the so-named gentleman, white-maned and seeming of five decades in age. With a firm and purposed timbre, he addressed us all. ¡°The 1st Order proposes to ford the drifts of Erbelde by foot, and thereby directly penetrate the enemy banks.¡± ¡°Afoot? Sir, the Erbelde is tremendous; is such a manoeuvre even possible?¡± the brigadier pressed further. ¡°Quite it is, good soldier. A lingering drought has sapped this region¡¯s waters by no small degree. We estimate the Erbelde to now measure no more than ten to fourteen palm¨© at her deepest. She flows gently meanwhile; you need not worry of being whisked away by her wiles.¡± ¡°And pray tell, from where exactly might we ford from, Lord Behrmann?¡± another question, this time from Sheila. ¡°Direct your eyes to this map, if you may. The fording points are four in number. Teams at each will embark in tandem. From here¡­ and here. On the other side, two more, as marked.¡± The under-mareschal was earnest in his explanation, but as his finger pointed to each of the red-marked fording points, his words were met with only further commotion from the 5th. Gerd¡¯s voice sailed above the noise, his face now sallowed with doubt. ¡°S-sir! Those points, they stray not seventy pass¨±s from the bridge itself! The enemy will have clear eyes on the forders¡ªthe drifts will be a killing field! You don¡¯t suppose we make easy pickings out of our own men for the Nafilim artillery?¡± ¡°Your worries are warranted, but I¡¯m afraid our choices face a drought of their own,¡± answered Behrmann. ¡°Acceptable fording points number few and precious. To begin with, the entirety of the basin ever bristles with Nafilim patrols, each overeager to capture our men, should they stray too far and thin from the main battlefield. Our best option, then, is for our bridge-stationed forces to provide the forders with cover as they brave the waters.¡± ¡°But sir¡­ that¡¯s¡­¡± At a loss for words, Gerd shifted his gaze elsewhere. ¡°Emilie, what think you?¡± ¡°Me? Well, let¡¯s see, then¡­¡± Emilie blinked. ¡°We reinforcements now give the 1st an even greater advantage in numbers. The better course of action, then, is to make full use of our resources and commit to a focused attack, rather than scattering our forces away from the bridge to far-off fields.¡± Exactly that, just as the both of us discussed prior. ¡°To be more precise, we execute an unrelenting offence via the bridge, forcing the enemy to answer in kind,¡± Emilie went on. ¡°Meanwhile, our fording teams make their way to the opposite bank, where they will all simultaneously tear holes in the enemy defensive line. They will then press their offence till the enemy response can no longer keep up¡­ is what I¡¯ve gathered of the whole plan.¡± To me did Emilie turn, and I returned the gesture with a subtle, silent nod. ¡°And you gather it well!¡± praised Behrmann. ¡°I¡¯ve gleaned nary an error in your explanation, good miss.¡± ¡°Under-Mareschal,¡± spoke our commander. ¡°With our resources being precious as they are, am I correct to assume that the boats will be tasked to more pressing purposes, and our men left to cross the river unassisted?¡± ¡°You would be correct, yes, Mareschal Tallien. Though the skiffs may be employed to transport the wounded of the forders back to our banks.¡± ¡°Hmm¡­¡± Tallien ruminated. ¡°And what of command?¡± ¡°At this point, we invite only trouble by tinkering with the chain of command, I¡¯m afraid. The 1st, thusly, will continue to oversee operations upon the bridge, as well as comprise one of the fording columns. Charges for the other three, we shall leave in the 5th¡¯s hands.¡± Our leadership responded with looks and turns at each other. In the seeming anxiety, Felicia raised her hand. ¡°May I ask, sir, what are your designs for the defence of the forders?¡± ¡°Water-borne as they are, the forders will, before their departure, be bestowed with succouring magicks as a bulwark against lightning attacks. Furthermore, a sorcerer will be placed at every three pass¨±s along each line, his charge it is to sustain the paling over others less protected. In addition, the vanguards will be outfitted with greatshields to bear the brunt of the enemy¡¯s aggression.¡± ¡°Thank you, Under-Mareschal,¡± Felicia responded, before turning to Tallien. ¡°Sir, I request that minor adjustments be made to the 5th¡¯s fording columns. How wide a paling can be unfurled is a factor that varies between each of our individual sorcerers. It is my intent to account for such margins of safety and optimise our compositions accordingly.¡± A most reasonable proposal from Felicia. In response, Tallien turned to the hero-dame. ¡°Mareschal Tiselius. You shall not mind this, I take it?¡± ¡°I shall not, of course.¡± ¡°Lieutenant Buckmann,¡± Tallien called, looking back to my sister. ¡°We leave this matter in your hands.¡± ¡°As you will, Mareschals both,¡± Felicia bowed. Further questions and elaborations followed, at the end of which the operation¡¯s details were reviewed. To such, our mareschal confirmed there to be no remaining objections, and seeing this, his counterpart from the 1st gave one last glance through the gathered personnel. ¡°¡®Tis settled. We execute as planned on the morrow¡¯s noontide. Officers of the 5th, I bid you all take ample rest in the meantime,¡± announced Tiselius. ¡°The war council is adjourned. Dismissed!¡± With that, the seated leadership rose and went about their ways back to their respective tents, including those from the 5th, whose canopies were by then erected in full. In the middle of that clamorous dispersal, Tiselius approached our commander. ¡°Mareschal Tallien,¡± she called. ¡°I must thank you once again for your aid.¡± ¡°You are most welcome, madame. Rest assured, we shall spare naught to see this battle through to its rightful end.¡± ¡°Your men seem more in need of rest than I, lord Mareschal. To arrive so soon from the winding woodpaths of Sewell¡ªI can scarcely imagine what an arduous march it must have been,¡± she observed. ¡°Pray take a well-earned respite for the night.¡± ¡°Ah¡­ yes, the march,¡± Tallien hesitated. ¡°¡®Twas not woodpaths we crossed, but flats¡ªthose of Belithas, that is.¡± ¡°Belithas, you say?¡± came Tiselius¡¯ surprise. ¡°A feat, to be sure. And not a single soul lost, no less!¡± ¡°B-but of course. I¡¯ve the fates to thank; they saw fit to have us fare unscathed.¡± ¡°They did, indeed!¡± The 1st¡¯s mareschal¡¯s voice was tinged deep with amazement, from the sound of it. And while watching their exchange, I was soon to be engaged in one myself as Emilie came up from behind. ¡°Rolf. Are you busy still?¡± she asked. ¡°Not at present, my Lady.¡± ¡°You must be sore all over, having been afoot these past seven days. Why not rest for the night?¡± ¡°Nay, it would appear I cannot just yet.¡± She gave me a look. ¡°Wh¡ª¡± ¡°Emilie!¡± our commander interrupted. ¡°Have your swain tidy up this place, will you?¡± ¡°Oh y-yes, right away, Mareschal!¡± Emilie¡¯s eyes gleamed with guilt as she turned back to me. Time to get back to work, it looked like. Besides, it certainly wouldn¡¯t do to leave all the menial drudgery to the 1st. ¡°My Lady. It seems a bit of housekeeping is in order,¡± I said. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t keep the 1st¡¯s swains waiting.¡± ¡°Yeah¡­ Sorry, Rolf.¡± ¡®By your leave¡¯ had scarcely left my throat before another interruption beset us. ¡°The Lady Emilie Mernesse. May I have the pleasure?¡± ¡°Why, Lieutenant Lindell,¡± answered Emilie, turning about. ¡°Yes, of course. The pleasure is mine as well.¡± ¡°Pray be at ease. And do call me Erik, if it pleases you.¡± ¡°Sir Erik it is, then. Likewise, just Emilie will do.¡± ¡°But of course, Miss Emilie,¡± Lindell smiled. Emilie had garnered no short supply of attention from the members of the 1st ever since we entered their garrison. This Lindell fellow seemed to be the boldest amongst them, meeting her face-to-face as he did. ¡°Much ado have I heard about the ¡®Aureola¡¯ of the 5th, but now I see the vaunted title speaks more of her brilliant beauty before aught else,¡± Lindell sang. ¡°What¡¯s more, ¡®twas a sparkling display of acumen you have shown us here at the war council. Yes, most illustrious indeed!¡± ¡°Ah¡­ ahaha¡­¡± Emilie smiled back tensely. The young woman he so lauded was very much taken by a pending engagement, but Lindell seemed not the type to be unwise to this. I would even go so far as to say, he was not the man to be constrained by such ¡°inconveniences¡±. Pondering such, I took my leave of the two and got to clearing up the meeting space, working hand-in-hand with the 1st¡¯s swains to put away the tables and chairs. We siblings of menial toil soon indulged in a bit of chatter, where I learned they had all not been swains for more than half a year. ¡®Really now?¡¯ was their response as I told them of my two-and-a-half year tenure. No further words were exchanged between us thereafter. I found Felicia looking on from a ways back as I silently continued to clear away the furnishings. Till now, she had witnessed my bruised and battered state after training, witnessed me veritably steeping myself in soot as I swept the hearth, witnessed me attain to no more than servitude under Emilie¡­ and at this moment, witnessed me busied with dull chores as a pivotal battle loomed on the morrow¡ªher dear brother¡¯s shameful lot had stolen the hopeful shine from her eyes, a loss hardly lost to me. I suppose disappointing her was preferable to disheartening her, at least. Such pathetic thoughts chafed about in my mind as I finished up my charges. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Palmus (plural: palm¨©) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of the palm. 1 centimetre is equal to 0.1351 of a palmus. A palmus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 7 and a half centimetres. Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Volume 1 - CH 3.4 Well worn-on was the night, but I would not retire to the tents just yet. Through the 1st¡¯s garrison I walked, and a short while of the stroll took me to the foot of a hill, to the top of which I climbed. There splayed before me in the moonlit landscape was the object of my egging interest: the Des Ailes Greatbridge. It arched over the barely babbling Erbelde, not terribly far and below from the high slope whence I stood. Seventeen pass¨±s wide. Eighty-one pass¨±s long. A latticed mass of timberwork, ponderous in its girth. Arrays of campfires dotted both ends, illuminating the long-sworn foes as they gnashed their teeth at one another. I continued observing the war-torn scene for a few more whiles. The Nafilim¡ªthis would be the first time in all the years of my life that I¡¯ve laid eyes upon them. And just as I had heard, they were inseparable in appearance from us humans, their sole distinction being their tawned complexion. Our warring methods differed little as well: with weapons and magicks they fought, all under the guidance of codified chains of command. Adept were their movements. Intriguingly so. Unfortunately for them, the men of the 1st were steps ahead. Their knightly deftness was a thing of awe, sure to raise many a brow. This battle saw our kingdom¡¯s forces as the aggressor, seeking to secure the opposite banks that the Nafilim defended with no small jealousy. Reason dictates that the latter should simply demolish the bridge, and for their part, the Nafilim seemed to agree, if their movements were anything to go by. But in the face of the 1st¡¯s masterful tactics, that goal remained beyond reach. The Nafilim were not fain to blow up the bridge, not as long as their own ranks were stationed upon it. Ever were the 1st wise to this, fighting in such a way as to leave their foes with little choice but to permanently maintain a presence upon that great wooden span. At any point when the Nafilim pulled back, the 1st would push forth, preserving both distance and formations all the while. And when the Nafilim pressed forth, the 1st would fall back, shields and palings rigidly raised. A veritable tug-of-war, one that the 1st partook with unbroken concentration. Only by alternating their active brigades and optimising the employment of their surgiens were the 1st¡¯s hosts able to sustain themselves through so long a struggle. On occasion, the 1st would unleash a fierce offence, full-keen on shattering through the embattled line. Well-timed, these tactics were, let loose whenever the Nafilim had already fallen far back, and the sheer aggression acted effectively in keeping our foe constantly on their toes. In beholding such cunning warcraft, it was readily apparent that the 1st held within their numbers commanders of superb prowess, even amongst their intermediate ranks. Here were the Nafilim likely reminded of a grave truth of war: retreating from such a formidable force would surely come at a dear and deadly cost. ¡°Ey up, mickle-berk!¡± came a call as I observed the battlefield. From further down the slope climbed Raakel, with Gerd and Sheila in tow. ¡°What ye faffin¡¯ up here ¡®bout, ey?¡± ¡°I thought to have a look at the bridge, no less,¡± I answered. ¡°To see with your eyes the state of affairs, I take it?¡± guessed Sheila. ¡°My sweet swain, ever the eager schoolboy, you are. I doubt you¡¯ll glean aught, but the effort certainly earns mine admiration.¡± ¡°Such words, I am not worthy,¡± I humoured her. ¡°Are you all here to observe as well?¡± ¡°Why else? Unlike you, we have need of knowing the goings-on of the battlefield¡ªat all times, of course,¡± Gerd quipped. ¡°Oh? Surprised am I to find company up here,¡± spoke a shadow. ¡°Hasn¡¯t the march taxed you all enough? I think it best to retire for the night, honoured knights of the 5th.¡± Up the slope emerged Erik Lindell, Lieutenant of the 1st¡¯s Owlcranes. ¡°And rest we shall. We are merely come to glean a glimpse of what awaits us on the morrow,¡± Sheila replied. ¡°I, too, bid you a sweet slumber tonight, Lord Lindell.¡± ¡°As sweet a slumber a battlefield will bestow. But before I retire myself, I would like to have a word with this young fellow, if I may,¡± Lindell returned, shifting his gaze to me. ¡°The fair lady Emilie spoke highly of you, my young yeoman. Particularly of how instrumental you were in the success of the Belithas march. A laudable deed for a mere swain, I will admit.¡± ¡°I am humbled, good sir.¡± ¡°I take it you are well-versed in matters of military strategy? Where might have you honed that keen ken of yours, my good man?¡± ¡°My teacher is but myself. Books have long been a fancy to me.¡± ¡°Ah, and so they have. A marvellous man indeed!¡± Lindell¡¯s face was aloft with the glow of surprise. ¡°Yet to be made to fight in so far-flung a fringeland¡­ The fates never spare an inkling of ease for fresh swains nowadays, do they?¡± ¡°By your measure, I would be quite the pickled swain, sir, for I now serve in my third year,¡± I corrected. ¡°¡­Third year, you say?¡± ¡°I am but an inept and unblessed swain, shamefully so to this very day.¡± If there ever was an unmistakable example of befuddlement, it would be Lindell¡¯s face at this very moment. ¡°His is but a soul to which no measure of odyl has been granted, Lord Lindell,¡± Sheila began explaining upon seeing the lieutenant so puzzled. ¡°Yon¨¢, Deiva Supr¨¥ma, has spurned him of Her holy grace. What was given to him was only Her silence.¡± ¡°S¡­ so the rumours rang true¡­ that such a man loitered within the ranks of the 5th¡­ I see. It was you.¡± The quizzical astonishment that once misarranged Lindell¡¯s features crumbled into quaking animosity, twisting his face into one of reddened wrath. ¡°Unholy hound. What foul business have you with the Order? Hm? What make you of us knights, that you would consort with us so for your own merriment and mockery?¡± seethed Lindell, his voice grating with unfettered anger. Drawing up dreadfully close, the lieutenant threw forth his hands and seized me by the collars. ¡°Speak! Why oh why must I share a battlefield with this¡­ this half-souled heathen!? Come to play now, have you!?¡± ¡°Nay, it is neither my intent to idle nor play, sir,¡± I tried to answer calmly. ¡°A godless dreg such as you shall not be suffered here! For this battle reckons both the holy and the profane!¡± ¡°And I reckon that it does not, sir.¡± ¡°Y¡­ you!¡± fumed Lindell, before forcing me to the ground. Impressive was his strength, befitting a knight of his high stature. With it, he dropped down upon my torso and wrung up my collars once more, before jerking my face up to his, that he may scream into it with full fury. ¡°Misbegotten wastrel! Feign to stand by her side, do you!? Do you, now!?¡± Ah. I see the way of it. Behind the storming curtains of rage and contempt for the ungraced was a smitten heart beating out the fair name of Emilie Mernesse. I figured as much, given his honeyed manner whilst conversing with her earlier, when the war council had ended. The dame of the ¡°Aureola¡±, veritable jewel of the 5th, beautiful and breathtaking in her brilliance¡ªand a lieutenant of the Owlcranes to boot, just like him. Simple to see, then, how this man might have been so utterly taken with her. And what name would sooner sing from her lips than that of ¡°Rolf Buckmann¡±¡ªmy own, and as he just discovered, the name of the notorious ungraced. Erik Lindell was not one to suffer such a farce. ¡°I am but a swain, and to the Lady Emilie, nothing more,¡± I attempted to explain. ¡°Of damned course you are! Don¡¯t you dare wet my ears with that obvious drivel!!¡± It would seem I had driven him past the burning brink. Still sat upon me, Lindell proceeded to hammer at my face with his two fists, their vehemence clearly bent on taking my life. I shielded myself with both my arms, but to inadequate avail: blood was shed, darkly drenching Lindell¡¯s coiled hands. ¡°Heretic! Cur-bastard, you!¡± he screamed. For all things a person of passion he was, whether in courting a mistress or killing a man. Crossing his path was a fell misfortune, one that earned my untarnished displeasure. ¡°S-sir! Stay your hand! You mean to murder him!?¡± came Gerd, rushing in to part us two. ¡°I do! We ought to gain from his immediate death! Here! Now! This trash has stayed unburnt overlong!¡± ¡°You speak madness! He¡¯s one of us! Shog off, will you!?¡± With heaving effort, Gerd tore the lieutenant away. ¡°That bastard¡­ belongs not by her side¡­ belongs nowhere at all¡­!!¡± Lindell coarsely hissed, his eyes crazed with rage as he trained them upon me. But even if I were to heed his wailings, I could not just up and vanish before his eyes, all to simply soothe his nerves. I got back on my feet, in the while wiping away the blood coursing from my cut lips. In time, the dust settled, and the ire in Lindell¡¯s eyes cooled to a smoulder. Collected once again, he looked to us all. ¡°¡­You will forgive me for the ruckus,¡± he said. ¡°Owlcranes. My leave, I take.¡± Words reserved only for the other three. Turning on his heels, Lindell left the hill. We watched on in silence till he faded from view. ¡°Lord Gerd, you have my thanks,¡± were my honest words. Had I given in to resisting the lieutenant¡¯s raining fury, Lindell likely would have flown further into a frenzy¡ªfrom there, who knows what might have transpired? ¡°If you think I stopped him for your sake, you thought wrong,¡± Gerd corrected before returning to the garrison. ¡°That Lindell fellow¡ªby gum, a loose bag o¡¯ bolts he be, eh?¡± Raakel commented. ¡°Right then, I should go hit the sack meself.¡± ¡°My poor swain,¡± spoke Sheila. ¡°You had best treat those wounds on your face soon, lest they harry you in the heat of the morrow¡¯s battle.¡± With that, the remaining two left for the tents themselves. Sheila had not the epiphany of soothing the wounds of an ungraced, it seemed, surgien though she was. But what she lacked in inspiration, she made up for with consideration, at the very least, even if all she offered were words. She was right, though. I had better wash and salve the wounds, lest my eyes swell or somesuch. After one last look at the bridge, I descended the hill and made way to the medics¡¯ tents. ? ¡°Rolf! Your face¡­! What¡¯s happened!?¡± Morning had come, and just as expected, Emilie was aghast at the sight of my sudden injuries. ¡°I kissed the ground too enthusiastically, my Lady,¡± I tried to pass off the situation. ¡°You mean you tripped? No trip would wound you so, Rolf!¡± Of course not. Let¡¯s not fool ourselves here. While I anticipated that Emilie would respond as she did, I had not the wherewithal to come up with a proper excuse. More than anything, I wished to avoid sowing in Emilie any seedling of doubt towards the 1st, this very hour being the eve of an important battle and all. But knowing her, she might have deferred to Gerd had I kept silent. ¡°Lieutenant Lindell of the 1st,¡± I let slip from my lips. It was no use hiding it now. ¡°It would seem I¡¯ve earned his disfavour.¡± ¡°Sir Erik? But why?¡± ¡°Because I am ungraced, my Lady.¡± ¡°What? All because of that¡­!?¡± And because he yearned for your affection, and in so doing, lost himself to his base emotions and precipitated the situation before you. This, of course, I chose not to reveal. Had Emilie known of such, she most certainly would have partly blamed herself for it. But to read of Lindell¡¯s fancy for her just from his manners, and see the jealousy that sprouted from such feelings¡ªit would seem I¡¯ve grown enough to discern delusions of dalliance when I see it, if I do say so myself. Would that I was more so, perhaps I could have showered Emilie with honeyed words of my own affection while we were yet betrothed. Whether or not the fates would have torn us apart anyway, at the very least I felt shame in not having done for her aught befitting of a fianc¨¦. Be that as it may, I could not let Emilie be taken by her own emotions. She would surely try to declare a protest to the 1st at the earliest, but I foresaw only trouble in doing so. ¡°Lady Emilie. We can ill-afford to stir up strife between the Orders now, not when we¡¯re to join arms in the battle to come,¡± I stated calmly. ¡°Victory comes first, before all else.¡± ¡°I know that, all too well, yet¡­ You cannot expect me to just sit idly by, Rolf!¡± ¡°It will be dealt with once the battle settles. But at present, more pressing matters demand your full attention, my Lady.¡± The mired moment that followed found her roiling in silence. ¡°Lady Emilie?¡± ¡°¡­Fine, then,¡± she consented with no small reluctance. Too much hinged on this day. The fording operation sure to decide the battle, the knights who would wager their lives to see it through¡ªnow was not the time to debase the gravity of it all with a play of finger-pointing. Fortunately, such was not lost to Emilie. And at the heart of the garrison was Mareschal Tiselius, giving a briefing on the fording operation to come, one that would decide the fate of the month-long struggle for dominance over the Erbelde basin. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Volume 1 - CH 3.5 From ahigh, a hill overlooked both the Des Ailes Greatbridge and the fourfold points of deployment leading into the Erbelde¡¯s waters. Upon that perch were Mareschal Tallien and his Owlcranes gathered, looking on as far below, Mareschal Tiselius herself took position upon the embattled bridge. Such was necessary to fully dictate the battle there, but alone she was not, for her own Owlcranes stood ready by her side. Amongst them could be seen Lindell, a sight not lost to Emilie. Her eyes cut a gashing glance at his distant form before swiftly turning away. It would seem she cleared the hurdle, one of putting her emotions aside for the battle at hand. Below our overlook at the riverbanks, the columns of forders were already assembled at their respective starting positions. Four points, four columns: one composed of the 1st Order, the remaining three of our own, the 5th. Our boats were finite. They could not rightly avail the whole of our fording efforts. But by going afoot instead, we could commit to the operation an unrestricted number of forders. From their starting positions, it would take nearly seventy pass¨±s of river wading to reach the enemy banks. Such unassisted toil is not a strange occurrence for folk who live in bridgeless lands, so long as the rivers themselves are calm. There are labourers, too, who earn their living like so. Without boats, they brave the waters whilst carrying passengers upon either their shoulders, or wooden boards as a makeshift litter. The Erbelde seemed at present just the kind of river for such folk: its currents were calmed, and at their deepest, the waters reached no higher than the hips. Fording it would be a simple chore. But this was no pastoral scene¡ªit was a battlefield. Our foes were fain to commit every arrow and every spell available to them to stop our charge. The forders, for their part, had palings and greatshields to defend with, while upon the bridge, the 1st would commence a constant offensive to draw in the foe¡¯s aggression, pulling it away from our vulnerable forders as much as possible. The whole of the operation hinged on this tactic, and upon the shoulders of none other than Mareschal Tiselius was borne the responsibility of its command. But from the vantage of this hill, I discerned not a tinge of ardour upon her expression. Estelle Tiselius: the master of blades and the whisperer of armies¡ªnot even a decisive battle like this could dare shade or sallow the hale hue upon her face. But our own Mareschal Tallien shared not in her mountainous resolve. Though abundantly divorced from the battle upon his high perch, he could do little to free himself from the anxiety now writ boldly upon his visage. The 5th Order he so commanded had little combat experience to call their own, and now they were to be let loose, to gingerly ford a river so dearly defended by a vehement foe. Of course, that was to say nothing of the 5th¡¯s fatigued condition, or of the fact that some amongst their ranks have never beheld a Nafil before this day. The forders stood poised to begin crossing the river. The reality of it all began to sink in for some as they silently questioned why they were even there to begin with; after all, they were careerist passers-by, not personages of courage. Yet it was also true that the 5th stood much to gain from this conflict: to answer the 1st¡¯s call for aid in a month-long battle they could not win alone, and emerge victorious at the end of the day, itself presented no small degree of potential prestige. Those who thought as much, and those who thought little of it¡ªboth ventured their first steps into the river. The battle had begun. ? Mareschal Tiselius¡¯ industry was a marvel to behold. Under her command, the knightly offensive upon the bridge was as an unceasing torrent, shearing off droves of the foe¡¯s numbers in its course. The Nafilim were left to perpetually refill their bridge-stationed ranks, thinning out their efforts to stall our forders below. All was going according to our designs. The 1st¡¯s mareschal herself commanded the battle from all the way up to the midpoint of the bridge¡¯s span, verging on the fiery edge of the frontlines. This was clearly not the stage upon which a commander should play her part, but Tiselius was a hero unbound by conventional wisdom¡ªthis stage was made for her. Indeed, Tiselius¡¯ performance saw her rushing headlong into the frontlines, fire-ensorcelled sword in hand. With but a blazing swing of her weapon, hellfire flashed forth, blasting a ghastly hole through the enemy ranks. But it would not remain unfilled for long, for the Nafilim restocked their stations and pulled their fallen back for treatment, all immediate and without a single wasted effort. Our foes were fain to have their fair share of the spotlight, it seemed. Yet even for them, their surgiens were limited in count. And of those precious few who could treat the grievously wounded? None. As such, the Nafilim¡¯s numbers upon the bridge were unable to sustain themselves, and more were called in from elsewhere to fill the void. All this culminated in the diminishment of aggression upon our forders. Only arrowfire, scarce and scattered, greeted their approach, but with greatshields to deflect the bolts with, the columns of river crossers made slow but steady progress. Mere iron comprised these hulking shields, yet enough odyl coursed through them from their vanguard wielders to be effective in their purpose. And further bolstered by arrow-repelling palings, not even the foes¡¯ ensorcelled arrows could bear any teeth. Our forces were faring well. By this point, the tangible progress of the forders found them reaching the midline of the Erbelde¡¯s drifts. ¡°They might as well hand over us laurels already, why don¡¯t they?¡± spoke Raakel. ¡°A mite shame we¡¯ve tasted not a lick o¡¯ the action, eh loves?¡± ¡°Indeed,¡± Sheila responded. ¡°The enemy shores are soon be breached, Yon¨¢ willing.¡± We held the advantage, that much was true, but I could not, with clear conscience, match my mind to the sentiments of those two. ¡°Looks like we¡¯ve a ribbon to deck our first battle with, right Rolf?¡± said Emilie with high spirits. ¡°Ribbons better to tighten our boots with, I¡¯m afraid,¡± I doubted. ¡°We can¡¯t count our laurels just yet.¡± ¡°Oh? Why¡¯s that?¡± she asked. ¡°Victory is only certain once the winning cries resound, my Lady.¡± ¡°What¡¯s it now? Don¡¯t ye go waggin¡¯ that tongue like ye know what¡¯s up, me good ninny,¡± Raakel pricked. ¡°A bit smart ye were, sure ¡®nough, gettin¡¯ us through that maftin¡¯ march like ye did, but that¡¯s naught to be full o¡¯ yerself with!¡± ¡°I merely voiced a generality, Lady Raakel. But what¡¯s more, the 5th¡¯s forders are slow in their pace¡ªmoreso than Mareschal Tiselius would like, I fear.¡± A closer look at the riverbourne 5th betrayed their ill-endeavoured movements. As I thought, the march¡¯s toil had exacted from them a toll too steep, and that price was neither lost to Tiselius as she both commanded the battle and checked the progress of the forders below. Sensing this unevenness, orders roared from her lungs to Under-Mareschal Behrmann back at the bridgehead. The old soldier heeded this at once, and after relaying the mareschal¡¯s words down the ranks, the forders of the 1st slackened their wade to match that of the 5th¡¯s. ¡°¡­Slow on account of exhaustion, you mean to say?¡± Tallien¡¯s inquiry dripped with resentment. Choosing the wrong route was a wound to him, and it would seem my words had unwittingly salted that bitter seam. ¡°There is that, yes. But there are yet many within our ranks whose eyes have never laid upon a Nafil¡ªnot till this very moment,¡± I presented of a different view, for I was not reckless enough to injure our commander¡¯s pride any further. ¡°That their deeds could ever hope to match the 1st¡¯s expectations was never in the cards.¡± A deflection, I admit, but one that spoke the truth. Tallien offered only a disinterested scoff in hearing it. Turning to Emilie, I continued on. ¡°Moreover, for more than a month, the Nafilim host has managed to keep at bay the 1st Order, of all armies. Not once has our foe ceded the bridge, and here they yet hold the line. They are able beyond our liking¡ªI cannot fathom they will yield so easily.¡± And as if waiting for my words to finish, a growl of a boom hammered the air. The origin: the bridge. Looking down, another hole had opened through the ranks¡ªthose of the 1st, that is. The work of a Lancea Cal¨­ris spell. It would seem the Nafilim saw fit to bring their magi to the fore. The timing was conspicuous: they had waited till Tiselius backed off, and with the frontline threat abated, ran the knightly ranks through with a magicked pillar of fire. The 1st¡¯s forward press was halted. Meanwhile, the Nafilim formations regrouped. Their ranks now optimised, more of their number was reassigned to dealing with our forders, who for their part, had come into range of the enemy¡¯s spellfire¡ªwhat was pummelling the river crossers now were not arrows, but powerful magicks. ¡°Ach!¡± groaned our mareschal as he beheld a forder collapsing into the waters. Solid shards of bloodied ice protruded from that poor soul¡¯s abdomen¡ªthe work of a different spell, the Gl¨¡rea Pru¨©nae, fired straight through a crack in the column¡¯s protective paling. That column being one of the 5th¡¯s. The nearby forders scrambled to get the wounded soldier into a boat, covering it with another paling as it was pulled back to friendly shores. A valiant effort, but with a horrid wound like that, a doomed one. Elsewhere, another mighty spell, the Flagrum Grandinis, was unleashed upon a fording column, this one, too, belonging to the 5th. A reaching tendril of water snapped across the air, landing a direct hit upon three forders. In the wake, a head was ripped off its neck. Instant death, no doubt. ¡°That Tiselius! Why does she tarry!? There¡¯s a massacre upon our men! A massacre, damn it all!¡± came Tallien¡¯s outburst. But the sheer artistry of Tiselius¡¯ actions was all but lost to his eyes: down upon the bridge, the hero-dame wagered her own life to minimise casualties upon the knightly forces, while in tandem dictating their every movement. The Nafilim by all rights should have held the advantage, being the defenders in this contest, but by Tiselius¡¯ valour alone, such advantage and more were firmly in our hands instead. Once again, the 1st re-persisted in their push through the bridge. Meanwhile, an engorged gale slammed into the enemy shores, utterly hewing down a trio of Nafilim soldiers to their deaths: L¨±str¨¡ns Ventulus, an aeolian magick, woven by one amongst the fording 5th. ¡°¡­Felicia!¡± Emilie cried out with delight. ¡°That was Felicia¡¯s!¡± A lieutenant and commander of the 1st Sorcery Brigade. The keenest spear, as it were, of all the forders. My sister, Felicia Buckmann. From her staff flew forth two more swordwinds, unmitigated and unrestrained by their master¡¯s unsteady foothold, up to her waist in water as she was. Her marks avoided the spell by the skin of their teeth, but the effort was useful enough as suppression. The foes backed off, re-erecting their own palings. With enemy aggression lessened for the time being, the forders continued their advance. From up high, I could not make out Felicia¡¯s expression, but the determination instilled within her movements was to me as clear as day. Perhaps out of disdain for our Nafilim foes was she so freed from the fear of losing her own life. ¡°Good going, Felicia!¡± Emilie cheered. ¡°This tides well for us!¡± ¡°Hah. Oi, ungraced. You pretend well the touting pontiff,¡± Gerd started, shooting a look at me, ¡°but too bad your words were as hollow as your mitre, eh?¡± ¡°Was that not your sister, my silly swain?¡± Sheila observed. ¡°How sweet that a superb sibling as she would assay so, that her beloved brother might know a moment of relief.¡± Only, there was none. A flicker of foreboding fell upon me. The scene below. I peered and peered. Something was amiss. But what? ¡°Dearest swain? Have you no words?¡± ¡­It can¡¯t be. The fates conspire! ¡°Lady Emilie! Mareschal!¡± I yelled with sudden thunder. ¡°Pray pull back our forders! Right away!¡± ¡°R-Rolf!? What are you saying?¡± asked Emilie, startled. ¡°The river! It rises!¡± ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Ensorcell (Original name: ¡°Enchant¡±) The act or state of being enchanted by magicks. Flagrum Grandinis (Original name: ¡°Hail Whip¡±) Water-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of a long tendril of pressurised water, made to lash through several targets. Rends and dismembers on impact. Gl¨¡rea Pru¨©nae (Original name: ¡°Frost Gravel¡±) Ice-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of shards and/or stumps of ice, directed towards a target at high speeds. Pierces and/or pummels on impact. Lancea Cal¨­ris (Original name: ¡°Heat Lance¡±) Fire-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of a long spire of flames, shot towards a target at high speeds. Pierces and explodes on impact. L¨±str¨¡ns Ventulus (Original name: ¡°Breeze Glint¡±) Wind-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of a shrieking galeburst, directed towards a target at high speeds. Slices and dismembers on impact. Volume 1 - CH 3.6 ¡°¡®Rises¡¯¡­ ye say? The river?¡± said Raakel. ¡°What¡¯s this ¡¯bout, muscle-pate? Waggin¡¯ that tongue ¡®gain, are we?¡± ¡°Nay!¡± I shot back. ¡°We cannot tarry! Our men, they must fall back immediately! Lest they¡ª!¡± ¡°Rolf! Tame yourself¡­!¡± Emilie soothed with urgency. ¡°None here can issue such an order. You know that¡­!¡± ¡­She was right. Absolutely so. Losing my composure was ill enough. Losing it here, upon a blasted battlefield of all places, however¡­ Little wonder that Rolf Buckmann, addle-pated prodigy, remained yet a swain, a cur-pup pouncing at shadows. With a deep chestful of air, I stilled the storm inside. ¡°My Lady. The waters have risen by half a digitus. Little, true, but it won¡¯t stop there¡ªno, it only rouses the currents all the more. The forders will soon find themselves fighting the flow rather than our foes. Left as they are, the waters will surely claim them.¡± Just having water up to his knees is enough to sweep a man off the ground. The forders were no different. The river had crept up to their rear guard¡¯s thighs. And the front? Up to their waists. I had no doubt: they would surely be rooted in place, resisting the rising depths, and when the waters surge at last, they would be left to vanish into the murky rapids. And along with them? Felicia. ¡°If there¡¯s any meat to your maunderings, then I would have you explain yourself at once,¡± Tallien hissed. ¡°The proof lies in the risen waters,¡± I answered. ¡°Sir, the tributary¡ªit¡¯s been dammed.¡± The mareschal¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡°¡­Dammed?¡± ¡°I must away!¡± ¡°Wait, Rolf!?¡± I bolted from the Owlcranes¡¯ company and slid down the hilled overlook¡¯s slopes, tumbling as I went. Landing at its base, I bolted forth once again. My destination: the Des Ailes Greatbridge. The war council. The map. I should have realised it then. Also drawn upon it was a tributary cutting away from the Erbelde and running through Nafilim territory. Damming it would feed the main river, fattening its girth and flogging its flows into a frothing frenzy¡ªa foul manoeuvre that would pen the end to the tales of Felicia and her fellow forders. The bridgehead. Behrmann was there. Under-Mareschal Francis Behrmann of the 1st. Relaying the situation to him won¡¯t do. Time was scant. Only the head of the whole knightly host could suffice. Mareschal Tiselius¡ªwith her direct order, the forders would surely pull back, no questions asked. This was it. After sprinting with great dispatch, I arrived at the bridgehead. Death and desperation reigned here, damning every soul into an unceasing whirlwind of violence¡­ ¡­and voices. Voices demanding coordination. Voices requesting treatment. Voices reporting situations. Voices screaming for the vulnerable wounded. A palpable, heated cacophony, one that immediately struck and offended each of the senses. The frantic fighters here¡ªonly a moment before was I speaking of them from so high and safe a perch, as if they were curious little ants to be fancied. ¡®You pretend well the touting pontiff.¡¯ Truer have Gerd¡¯s words never been, and they now bit all the more balefully. How ashamed I was. But shame greater still awaited me were I to tarry any longer. I threw myself onto the veritable wall of knights, forcing my way through their bristling ranks. ¡®Sorry¡¯ wasn¡¯t enough for intruding upon their life-wagering war like I did. Yet those same wagers, and those of each and every forder, had fallen to my very hands. ¡°Yield the way! Yield!¡± I yelled over the tumult. ¡°The mareschal! I must speak with the mareschal! An urgent matter! Urgent!¡± Through the bridge I struggled, pushing aside the knights of the 1st. Where my way was shut, I pried them from whence they fought and squeezed my way through¡ªat no worse time could the inconvenience of being so large a man rear its ugly face. Bathed in the growls and gripes of the victims of my haste, I somehow alighted at her presence: there she was, Tiselius, fresh from stepping back from the frontline, her blushing platinum hair a rare splash of beauty against the death-drab of battle. Her voice was raised high, dictating the next movements of the frontline fighters and handing orders down the ranks further behind. ¡°Damned waif!¡± came a bitter roar. ¡°This is no playground!¡± Lindell. Paying him no mind, I raised a roar of my own. ¡°Mareschal Tiselius!¡± Her gaze darted to me. ¡°You¡­ why, you¡¯re the swain from the 5th!¡± said the hero-dame, puzzled but for the slightest moment. ¡°Leave it for later!¡± A suitable reaction. Who could blame her? The surrounding war-storm demanded her fullest attention at every instant. There was no time to coddle this cur of a swain. But this time was like no other: it was an emergency. ¡°Later is late overmuch! The river, Mareschal!¡± ¡°¡­What?¡± ¡°It surges! Soon!¡± Her eyes widened. ¡°Spare us your fanciful spitting! Any more and I¡¯ll cut you!¡± came Lindell yet again with a gashing threat. The river¡¯s climb had clearly eluded his ken. Even now, it was rising. Steadily, but higher still¡ªa full digitus since I last inspected. But Lindell was not alone in his unknowing. Far from it. It wouldn¡¯t have been strange for even the forders themselves to be oblivious to the creeping peril. Yet no moments were left to spare before the straw would break the camel¡¯s back. Water is fickle. Rivers even more so. In the blink of an eye, a slender snake of a stream can swell into a surging, sundering serpent. Such was not lost to Tiselius, who peered down to the Erbelde. Fright then flashed across her face¡ªshe saw, and knew. ¡°The enemy has dammed the tributary! There¡¯s no time; the forders must retreat!¡± I loudly pleaded again, and her sword answered. Up it rose, high, for all the 1st to behold. From her lungs to her lips erupted pure thunder, a voice more vast than her figure could seemingly conceive. ¡°Forders, all! Heed me now! Withdraw at once! I repeat, all forders! Withdraw at once!¡± Shock beset the entirety of the river crossers, their eyes stretched round in light of the sudden order¡ªTiselius¡¯ vociferous command had reached them, it seemed. The exigency in her voice impelled them to action: the 1st¡¯s forders initiated their withdrawal, with the rest soon following suit. For her part, Tiselius wasted not a grain of the hourglass. Her mind back to the battle, further orders flew from her lips. ¡°6th Squad, onward! 4th Squad, pull back and recover! 3rd sorcerers, make ready! The paling must return upon the next shift!¡± Yet those same lips would be lightly bitten, an expression betraying the question that now roiled within her: ¡®Why hadn¡¯t I noticed sooner?¡¯ But time was up. The fates sneered upon us. The Erbelde¡¯s grip was fast about the forders¡¯ legs¡ªthey could move no further. The columns¡¯ rear guards, once wading through the shallows, also found themselves barely able to budge, for the shallows were shallow no more. Only a scant few minutes prior were these souls making headway across the river. Now, they were all of them halted, with their swords and staves thrust into the riverbed for support, to better bear themselves against the burgeoning flow. Unease seized their faces, but the tide, teeming and teeming still, spared them no solace. The forders were now trapped. To be washed away was inevitable, should they choose to stay and resist the river. But what else was available to them? They could not move. And now the Nafilim were keen upon their plight. Arrows and magicks were made ready as scythes, and the forders were as wheat for the coming harvest, for they could neither raise their shields nor wave their wands in resistance any longer. The yield was bloody and bountiful. The mere sight of it left the bridge-stationed brigades aghast. For half a minute, they stalled, struck. These knights of the 1st were all valiant fighters, unebbing in their efforts to hold the line for so long a time. And so to stand there, bewildered as they were, was a blunder soon to be unforgiven. The end of that fleeting, frozen moment found the Nafilim presence thinned upon the bridge. Time slowed to a crawl as I witnessed all that followed. The foes began to fall back from the frontline. None of ours endeavoured a pursuit. In the wake of our enemy¡¯s retreat were crates. Crates of wood. A whole array of them, sitting upon the bridge. I pushed through the knightly crowd, and to the frontlines began a desperate sprint. ¡®Spellwaters, to the front,¡¯ I heard. Tiselius. She was close behind, equal in her haste, yelling, yelling. Too late. Our foes have all fled the bridge. Arrows flew aflame, aimed straight at the wooden boxes. My feet neither halted nor turned heel. Rather they took me further, over and past those crates, pushing me further into the unmanned span. Ardent arrowfire formed a glowing canopy overhead. With all of my strength funnelled to my legs, I rushed under and past it. There were others behind me with the same idea. Tiselius amongst them, of course. Of the others, I could not discern. There was no time to look back and know. And the crates. Thinking further of their purpose was useless. Their contents were no mystery either. Black powder. Serpentine. Quickfire. The boxes were explosives. All of them. The air coughed. The sound of flaming arrows finding their marks. My ears heard. My heart sank. Thinking further of what would follow, too, was useless. Eternity shrank into an instant. An instant stretched on infinitely. An explosion. From behind me flashed an ear-splitting sound, a rush of heat, a wall of air. ? ¡°Gwagh!¡± I catapulted through the air, thrown like some ragged toy, only to land upon where else but the enemy banks. Chips and splinters of timber showered down upon my entire being¡ªpieces of the Des Ailes Greatbridge. Bites and stings harried every nook and corner of my body. A creature by the name of ¡®pain¡¯, but it was no carrion bird¡ªnot yet a corpse was I. Death had not taken me. If this be his mercy, then there was still much to do. My body quivered all about in my laboured attempt to get back on my feet. This was the opposite bank, the den of our foes. No good would come from just lying about. I scanned through my surroundings, finding little, hearing less. I was in the thick bowels of a great shroud of dust, and an incessant ringing screeched at my ears. Nothing could be gleaned. Desperation took hold as I rose and wiped the blood coursing over my eyes. Disoriented, I peered across my environs once more, my glances wending every which way. Just then, there appeared for an instant a break in the occluding dust. Through it was revealed a vista¡ªone that I dreaded the most. The bridge was no more. Shattered. Unmade. The brave souls of the 1st that once fought upon it were now as vagrants, vanquished and left to scatter to the four winds. The floundering forders were yet fixed against the riverflow¡¯s fury, their fate it was to be either swallowed by the waters or shot to pieces by our enemy. The knights of Londosius. Utterly crushed. None could feign a look upon the scene and so much as whisper any doubt that the day was lost. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Digitus (plural: digit¨©) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the width of a finger. 1 centimetre is equal to 0.5405 of a digitus. A digitus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 2 centimetres. Volume 1 - CH 3.7 Dust billowed about in boundless ubiquity, content in its continued suspension. The veritable depths of an earthen sea, where teemed my foes, and I, their lone prey. I was unseen, but I could not remain so forever¡ªI had to spring to action and quit the place soon, before the dust could settle. Steadily did the ringing in my ears begin to fade, and in the meanwhile, I searched about for some particular necessities. The demolition unit responsible for the Des Ailes¡¯ undoing¡­ they still had to be here somewhere¡ªlikely not far from the foot of the bridge itself. I waded through the dust in that direction, soon coming upon a Nafilim group. Their gear betrayed their purpose: archers charged with firing hot arrows into the explosives that ended the Des Ailes. Yet they were restless. Fracted and fraught. The scope of the prior explosion must have soared beyond their expectations, and its dusty aftermath was proving too much to deal with. In fact, their chain of command might have been paralysed in the time being, for in the murky air, there appeared a Nafil loitering alone, separated from his unit. Visibility was already poor, but the blasting and bellowing tumult of the battle further provided the perfect mask for my footfalls. No slinking was needed to get up behind my mark. Once there, I swiftly lunged at his back. ¡°Uagh¡­!?¡± Grounded, I curled both my legs about his arms, restraining them, and wrapped my right arm about his neck in a chokehold. With my free hand, I seized and wrung the back-left of his collar, and pressed against the side of his neck. No more blood would reach his brain at this rate. ¡°¡­kh¡­!? ¡­gk¡­ dh¡­!¡± Words, let alone sounds, were failing to leave his constricted throat. I maintained the hold for another moment till all strength and strain left my victim¡¯s body. Quickly then, I divested his limp person of its arrow-quiver¡ªjust what I was looking for. But I wasn¡¯t done yet. I peered about. It had to be here somewhere. Next to the bridge? ¡°¡­There you are.¡± Wooden crates. These things¡ªexplosives, to be sure¡ªtended to be overstocked in their number, and for good reason: one could scarcely predict just how many would be needed to get the ¡°job¡± done. They were all stacked in a pile, in the shadow of which I hid the unconscious Nafil¡¯s body. I next hoisted up one of the crates to my shoulder. Quite heavy, this. A third of a passus on each of its sides, reaching up to the knee if put to the ground. Certainly not something for a man to carry all on his own. Its edge sank and bit into my shoulder, rousing incredible pain, but I could ill-afford to tarry about and complain. Now, a horse. Before the explosion, mounted personnel had trotted up and down the banks, their charge it was to coordinate the artillerymen in dealing with our forders. Those same commanders should still be in the area. I strained my ears, listening through the ruckus of war for any telltale sounds. There. Beyond the dusty haze. The rhythmic thump and thud of hoof-falls. Cautious ones, I might add. Awfully so, on account of the occluded visibility. I waited, just long enough that a break in the dust plumes revealed my next victim¡¯s whereabouts. Spotting him upon his horse, I crept up to his side. It was all or nothing¡ªI sprinted across the remaining distance and threw myself upon him, crate and all. ¡°Aagh!?¡± yelped the now dismounted Nafil. No time to waste. I wrangled the horse and climbed up to its saddle. Taking its reins into my free hand, I kicked the critter into a full gallop, leaving behind the barks of its former rider. With newfound speed, I shot out of the mountainous plumes of dust at last, and drove upstream along the bank. The Des Ailes. When the flaming arrows struck the explosives in that dreaded moment, the bridge was all but doomed. Utter defeat loomed, but the day was not yet decided¡ªthere was still one more wager to make. And it was this very wager that had compelled me to run past the explosives like I did, that I might somehow end up in the enemy¡¯s lap and there cast the deadly dice. But those same dice had yet to leave my hands. For that, I headed to a new destination: the tributary. From the fraught mire of my mind emerged the map from yesternight¡¯s war council. The Erbelde Broadrun. At a fork further up that river, the tributary veered off and slithered into Nafilim territory. Reaching that fork would not take long¡ªless than three m¨©llia-pass¨±s separated it from the bridge proper, a punctually closable distance if I made haste. From what I recalled of the map, the tributary¡¯s breadth hardly compared to that of its mother stream, but it was nonetheless well-endowed in its own right. If dammed, its diverted waters would engorge the Erbelde into a raging tide. Why in the name of all that is good had I not noticed this sooner? Whilst envisioning the fording operation, whilst scrutinising the strategy during the war council¡ªnot few were the times when I could have scried this one fatal detail. What¡¯s more, I had not even entertained the possibility that our Nafilim foes might have foreseen our willingness to cross the river afoot. If I myself could predict that the 1st would hazard such a risky operation, then surely Nafilim minds would have been capable of the same prescience. That they crafted a contingency plan to answer our foolhardy ploy was painful proof of this. Cursing my own ignorance, I stirred the steed to its fullest speed. Felicia. Her fellow forders withal. Were they all yet holding on? They must be. They have to be. This, I trusted, for there was nothing else left to trust. Forcing the enemy into funnelling their forces onto the bridge was now all but a tactic lost in its purpose. But the explosion, the chaos of their own creation, had left the Nafilim chain of command broken along its links. Thus if the forders could just regain their footing, they may yet survive, whether they then choose to pull back or make for the enemy shores. The tributary now came into view, and with it, the Nafilim engineers stationed in its vicinity. They were poorly defended¡ªtheir strategists well-predicted the fording operation, but perhaps they were too prideful to imagine that any of our number would come up this far. Arrows whistled past. I ducked closer to the saddle, maintaining my speed and course both. Taking it easy here would avail me nothing. ¡°Gegh¡­!¡± An arrow ate into my left shoulder. Pain shrieked inside my head. My vision rattled dizzyingly. Yet I pressed on. Nevermind that my right shoulder was in no better shape, it, too, being eaten, but by the sheer weight of the wooden crate instead. Just a little further. A little further! Upon steeling myself with those words, my steed let out a horrible neigh¡ªan arrow had dived into its body. And just like that, the poor animal collapsed, throwing forth its own body into the midst of the Nafilim engineers, who all dispersed in every direction to avoid the downed beast. Torn from my mount, I quickly collected myself and sprinted toward the tributary. Further pain raged through my body. The trauma of falling off the horse must have exacted its price of broken bones. Reaching the riverside, I peered down. By my estimation, the tributary was almost three pass¨±s wide, about the arm spans of two large men. Its waters were stilled: sacks of sand had been piled high upon it, stilling the flow. Swords were drawn¡ªthe engineers were in fast pursuit. Bracing myself, I leapt down onto the damming mound, the crate of explosives still on my shoulder. ¡°Agh!¡± I groaned upon landing. Or perhaps ¡°landing¡± is too graceful a word. I was, by that point, beaten and battered to pieces. But I dared not stop, not while in my head flashed visions of Felicia and her fellows holding fast against the fury of the river. My heart begged them, each and every one, to bear the Erbelde, if only for a while longer. Dropping the crate of quickfire upon the mound, I drew an arrow from the stolen quiver slung about my back. Coiled about the base of the arrowhead was paper laced with flammables, while yellow phosphorus coated its striker. Classic Nafilim weaponry. Glad was I to have ¡°stuck my nose¡± in the books before the march. Sudden friction upon the phosphorus was all that would be needed to get the thing going. Indeed, with a strike against the sole of my boots, the phosphorus gave a sharp gasp, and the arrowhead was soon wreathed in flame. I looked to the wooden crate¡ªhow fills the explosives within it? If packed to the fullest, no doubt the thing would flash into a ruthless fireball the very instant I jammed this flaming arrow into it. But if there was some space within, I may yet be afforded a moment¡¯s mercy. What of the bridge explosion? Was there any time between it and the sound of the flaming arrows striking the explosives? I wondered further, but failed to recall. How pitiful. But no matter. The black powder filling the crate was to be this fire-arrow¡¯s next meal, and nothing else was on the day¡¯s menu. A look up found the engineers arrived and gathered at the riverside. They were frozen with fright, their eyes fixed upon the ignited arrow in my hand. ¡®Fancy some fireworks, my good fellows?¡¯ I could have taunted, but I quickly purged the thought. Perhaps a fine line to utter if it were my foes that would be blown away, but here, I stood to be the victim instead. No more distractions. I jammed the arrow into the crate. The sound of splintered wood. The arrowhead was in. At once, I leapt from the mound and into the murk of the tributary. Right as I hit the water¡ª ¡ªa roar of pure fire. The newborn shockwave, being so close, rammed through my submerged body with tremendous force. A pall of heat pounded the water¡¯s surface, while fierce winds whipped the river¡¯s flow into a frenzy. Within those merciless whirls was I, taken along like some discarded rag, utterly helpless against their ferocity. The mound, now unmade, spewed its innards into the water, filling the depths with thick plumes of sand. But now the river was freed, and its renewed flow propelled the sand forth into a veritable landslide. Like a raging bull, it charged clear into my back, throwing my body about like a leaf made to dance against a sudden gale. Or was it my stomach that was struck? No longer could I know. The torrents wrung me in one instant, and threatened to tear me to pieces in the next. What position was my body in? Which way was I facing? Were my limbs even there anymore? These, too, I could not know, just as I could not breathe. Not even my eyes dared to open: all that they would have seen was a sandy gloom too incomprehensible for my brain to process. Fiercely and fiercer still, the tributary surged with waters making their violent homecoming, and I was but a pebble kicked every which way by the stampede as we both rushed downstream. But in those fiery flows, there was comfort. Comfort in knowing the ploy had worked. My sorry state attested to it. The string that was my very life threatened to snap at any moment, but my duty was done: I had destroyed the tributary dam. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Mille-Passus (plural: m¨©llia pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans; known as the ¡°Roman mile¡±, it spanned 1,000 pass¨±s in length. 1 kilometre is equal to 0.6757 of a mille-passus. A mille-passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half kilometres. Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Volume 1 - CH 3.8 ¡°Gwugh! Gaegh! Gaugh!¡± Coughing. Gagging. ¡°¡­Haa¡­! Haah¡­!¡± Washed upon the rivershore further downstream, I hungrily gasped for air. How long had I been drifting through the tributary? Beyond the shore stretched fields parched and plain, while overhead hung the searing sun. Life seemed all but lost in the land; one could mistake it for purgatory and be rightly forgiven. But purgatory this was not, for I yet drew breath¡ªthe pain eating away at every corner of my body was proof aplenty of it. Where it was most ravenous was my left shoulder, run through with an arrow as it was. A parting present from the Nafilim engineers back at the tributary. Little remained of its shaft. Well-broken, both it and I, fellow farers through that merciless ¡°swim¡± down the river. But this was where we would part. I clenched the broken arrow in my right hand, and with sudden force¡­ ¡°Geaagh!!¡± Tossing it aside, I laid there on my back, spent, lungs heaving up and down from the turmoil. My mind turned to my beaten body. Arms. Legs. Still sound. Or rather, still ¡°attached¡± is more the word. My left arm was broken. Hands¡ªthe little finger of each shared the same fate. Beyond the puncture wound in my shoulder, many more riddled my body in the form of cuts and bruises. My legs¡­ their bones were yet whole. A sprain was in my right ankle, and a great pain blared from it, but I could still walk. And a rib bone was broken somewhere. Perhaps more than one. ¡°Haa¡­ heagh¡­¡± Even still, I was alive. A miracle, or close to one. Generous enough for a man so scorned by the Deiva. If it was not by Her will that I survived, then by what? No answer. I lay there, face-to-face with the full sky. Not a single part of my body did I think to move, not even the tip of a finger. I was tired. Drowsy. Dreadfully so. Without a sound, I closed my eyes. My mind¡­ I should just let it take flight. Be free. Yes. Perhaps I will. My thoughts thinned like a mist before the rising sun. My body melted into the soft dark¡­ ¡­ .. . . .. ¡­ ¡°¡­Not yet¡­ Not like this.¡± Hands on the ground, I pushed myself up. Not once in my life did waking up require so mountainous an amount of willpower. Back on my feet, I read the arc of the sun. ¡°The Erbelde¡­ there yonder, is it¡­?¡± ? Through the wasteland I walked. Not a single soul haunted the place. The hour of eventide loomed, but the sun cared not in its scorching glare. My gear, once woefully waterlogged, was now as dry as any pebble I stepped upon. My armour. Half of its leathered portions were in shambles, which I tore off to fashion a crude splint for my broken arm. The ragged rest, I tossed. Shedding such a burden greatly lightened my body, yet it still laboured forth as if its flesh were of lead. Sweat seeped from every pore, worming over my wounds and searing my senses with sharp pain. Though my ¡°trip¡± down the river had me swallowing more water than I would have liked, my throat was now coarse and sticky with thirst. My breaths gasped and grated against the heat, but with every try, my broken collarbone cried out in agony. My right ankle, sprained as it was, complained no less. The arrow-hole in my shoulder sighed excruciatingly. A wound upon my head unwound, letting blood trickle down my face. Horribly harrowed and hurt as I was, I yet walked on, for walking was my only choice. ¡°This day¡­ I¡¯ll mark¡­ on every calendar I cross¡­¡± As I should. Few are they who could boast of having survived an explosion from behind. Twice. On the same day. ¡°This tale thrilling enough for you, Emilie¡­?¡± But I could scarcely imagine a third. Surely the fates should know to let jests run their course. Though I suppose I owe them thanks for letting me live this long, what with all these wounds, and all the battering and tumbling through the barbed throat of the tributary, tiny as it was compared to the Erbelde. Felicia. The forders. Were they saved? I wondered. Not much time elapsed between the destruction of both the bridge and the dam. Less than three m¨©llia pass¨±s separated the two, a distance I had crossed at full gallop. Freeing the tributary should not have taken long, either. All in all, not more than a few minutes. Yes. I should have made it in time. Or at least, I¡¯d like to think as much. If they had managed to weather the enemy¡¯s attacks, then surely they must be well. They must be. ? For how long have I walked? The skies darkened with dusk. Only the vapid vestiges of twilight spared any illumination¡­ ¡­as well as the braziers bespeckling an encampment. Off ahead in the yonder, tents and pavilions peeked out of the evening gloom. Of course. It was only a matter of time before I would meet the enemy¡¯s heart: the tributary wormed through Nafilim lands, and having emerged from it and trundled my way towards the Erbelde, it was natural that I would cross the foe¡¯s garrison at some point. What¡¯s more, my approach had brought me right to the backdoor, as it were. I slinked my way closer, ducking behind bushes along the way. A fence. I climbed over, my falling feet placing me squarely within the enemy¡¯s dominion. But where were the enemies themselves? Passing strange. Only a scant smattering of their number was I able to glean. A high hill cast a shadow over the encampment from the latter¡¯s rear face. Sidling up to the summit, I gave a peek, spotting the Erbelde Broadrun in the distance, coursing through the landscape in a great brushstroke. Peering down, I found the entirety of the Nafilim garrison splayed before me¡ªand a sight that stole my breath. A raging battle. Already, the knightly host had broken into the enemy base. It would seem the forders had found their footing and crossed the Erbelde. Met with this flood of knights, the Nafilim were pouring each and every one of their number into resisting the teeming tide. No wonder there were so few loitering about their garrison¡¯s rear. The bridge explosion had certainly toppled the gameboard and the knights along with it. But destroying the dam had reset the pieces, and the two sides now found themselves locked squarely in battle. Yet this was the Nafilim¡¯s heart of operations, and they spared neither their pawns nor their princes in mustering a fierce resistance. Indeed, the knights had their hands full and more: their entire offence threatened to buckle under the foe¡¯s defiance should a single step be yielded. What was left for me to do, then, was to thin out the Nafilim aggression by drawing their number away from the fore of the fighting. In other words: a bit of deception and disorder. I scanned about, discovering four horses reined together. Perfect. Now I required fire. I searched for braziers, an easy task given that dusk had already dimmed the area. The Nafilim fashioned their night-fires in the form of torches thrust into an iron basket of sorts. Kicking over one such contraption, I helped myself to four of the lit torches, bringing them over to the horses and tying them to the saddles. The animals jerked and jostled at the idea, but their worries found no warrant: after such an eventful day, I knew a thing or two of pain, and was loath to impart it upon another so wantonly. Freeing the horses, I goaded them into running wild, to which they obliged, frightened by the fires on their backs. Across the encampment they galloped, spreading flames throughout the tents they barged through. After seeing them off, I stole into an unmanned tent, therein finding quivers packed with arrows, the same sort I used back at the tributary. Taking one of them along with a bow, I returned to the overlooking hill, and from there let loose a one-man show of flaming shots. With my broken arm did I bear the bow, hence the imprecision of my arrows. But my marks were mere tents¡ªthey would certainly not sprout legs of their own to flee the shots, imprecise or no. Just setting them aflame well-sufficed my purpose. The aim was to sow chaos, after all. And indeed, the harvest was bountiful, with fires cropping up through the corners of the garrison posterior. The sight inspired disorder within the Nafilim fighters at the frontline. It would seem they guessed a flank attack had befallen their domain. Well, they weren¡¯t exactly wrong. Only, it was but a broken-armed bloke who solely manned the entire ¡°charge¡±. The knights, for their part, capitalised on the confusion and moved to smite the enemy full sore. Even from high upon the hill, I could make out the figure of a certain cherry-blonde dame as she braved the raging fray. Mareschal Tiselius¡ªeven to this hour and to this point so deep in enemy lands was she fighting upon the frontlines. Veritable infernos fumed and flew from her spellblade, mowing through the enemy formations to their despair. But there was one more within that royal host that caught my eye. A dame of flaxen hair. From her silversword pealed and cracked webs of lightning, and with just a swing of the blade, laid low the foe¡¯s number. ¡°¡­Emilie?¡± I wondered aloud. The Owlcranes are ever at the mareschal¡¯s side. By Tallien¡¯s own words, they need not seek battle so eagerly. So what was Emilie doing all the way out here? As doubt danced about in my mind, a shower of sharp ice slammed into the Nafilim horde¡ªthe Gl¨¡rea Pru¨©nae spell. From where it sprung, there stood Felicia with her silverstaff held high. ¡°Felicia¡­ Thank the fates. You were saved,¡± I sighed loudly, relieved beyond measure. My broken collarbone throbbed painfully at the gesture, but I cared little. My sister was still alive, good tidings to which my heart brimmed with gladness. The battle was becoming more precarious¡ªa checkmate was close at hand. The knightly host shattered through the Nafilim line, now thinned by my earlier diversions. ¡°Right¡­ time to make a move.¡± I heaved my body into motion, throbbing as it was with pain from every possible part, and made my way down the hill. Fires fluttered all about the encampment in myriad folds and fingers. Painted red in their heated glow was my wound-riddled face, scanning about the complex with utmost caution. Nafilim detachments now coursed about the garrison rear, fooled by my fiery feints. I eluded their eyes, quietly shifting from shadow to shadow. I then laid low, searching for my next mark: a mounted Nafil, preferably armed lightly and well-separated from any other Nafilim soldiers. ¡°No, not him¡­ or him.¡± I continued searching, uncompromising in my criteria, until at last, one fit the bill: a cavalier from a detachment of four, lagging a ways behind the formation. ¡°¡­Today¡¯s your lucky day, my man.¡± Through the shadows, I sidled my way up close. The day has already seen me stealing a horse only hours before. I shouldered a burden of the explosive sort then, but this time found me with hands empty and free. Things should go swimmingly. Or so I should hope. For however less burdened I now was, my body complained with pain and broken bones. But it mattered little. I had only to do what I set out to do, for ¡°doing¡± was the only thing left to me at this point. Corroborating myself with such thoughts, I rushed up to the cavalier¡¯s side. Our eyes locked. His face wrung in shock as he instinctively swung his spear down upon me. But it was overlate¡ªalready, I was within arm¡¯s reach of him. His swing struck me upon the right shoulder, but with the shaft rather than the spearhead. With the attack unsuccessful, I seized the Nafil and pried him from his steed. ¡°Aaugh!¡± came his wild whimper, of which his comrades took heed. I hastily mounted the horse, turned it about, and whipped it into a full gallop. ¡°You! Stop there!¡± one of the Nafilim barked as I quickly quit the place. ¡°That went well enough,¡± I muttered in the heat of the moment. ¡°Practice makes perfect, does it now?¡± Merely repeating my first attempt earned me another steed. I admit I had the element of surprise on my side, but if that cavalier had been armed with a sword instead, this tale might have ended differently¡ªand abruptly. A bit of caution was in order for my next attempt, whenever that may be. I continued driving forth my newfound horse, with Nafilim cavaliers giving chase from behind and the main battle bellowing in the distance ahead. At last. The frontlines. The blazing tip of the sword that was Londosius¡¯ foray into the Erbelde basin. Just a little further now. With a good kick, I urged the horse onward still, straight into the enemy ranks. No doubt my previous diversions had placed the Nafilim on high alert for further attacks from the flank, but it seemed they failed to anticipate a mounted rush at the rear. I ducked low, goading my horse to its fullest speed. We cut a path through the deceived Nafilim forces, effectively splitting them in half. None from the knightly host trained their arrows or spells my way. And with the enemy horde already dispersed between two points within the garrison, I successfully broke through the Nafilim formations and rode back into the midst of friendly forces. There I found both Emilie and Mareschal Tiselius, to whom I approached. In my attempt to dismount the stolen steed, I found my legs too spent to endure the simple task, and so landed roughly upon my knees. ¡°What¡¯s this¡­? Man¡¯s come from the other side, he did!¡± ¡°The lad¡¯s beaten and bloodied all over. What hell harried him on the way here¡­?¡± Out of the din of battle came utterances from fellow Order fighters, surprised at the sudden sight of my return. Emilie was amongst them, but in lieu of words, there was only utter amazement writ upon her face. ¡°¡®Twould seem you¡¯ve earned our debts¡­¡± said Tiselius, ¡°¡­Rolf Buckmann.¡± The hero-dame knew of my name? Perhaps Emilie apprised her of it. No. None of that mattered. My thoughts were tangled, but one thing was clear: I had made my way back to the Order. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Mille-Passus (plural: m¨©llia pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans; known as the ¡°Roman mile¡±, it spanned 1,000 pass¨±s in length. 1 kilometre is equal to 0.6757 of a mille-passus. A mille-passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half kilometres. Volume 1 - CH 3.9 ¡°Rolf!¡± Emilie gasped. ¡°Good grace, you¡¯re hurt¡­!¡± ¡°My Lady. I¡¯m well,¡± I tried to calm her. ¡°You needn¡¯t worry.¡± ¡°Not to mine eyes, you are,¡± came Tiselius¡¯ arrow-shot of an observation. And its mark was true: no man so bloodied and broken of bones could rightly be well. Yet such a man must have quite the tale to tell, and for this particular moment, one most exigent. ¡°I¡¯m well enough, madame. But enough of me,¡± I said, now with more urgency. ¡°Mareschal Tiselius, pray draw back the left wing.¡± ¡°What¡¯s this now?¡± ¡°Vermin! You wormed your way out of the woodwork, and now you dare pretend the tactician!?¡± Lindell cut in, his wrath-filled voice clapping against the air. It would seem the short-fused lieutenant of the 1st¡¯s Owlcranes had also managed to cross the Erbelde. But I did not back down. ¡°The enemy¡¯s sole line of retreat traces from our left wing up to a hill, and from there exits the encampment proper¡ªthis, I¡¯ve seen for myself upon that same hill ere my return.¡± ¡°Then all the more reason to press the offence!¡± yelled Lindell. ¡°Why draw back when we can cull the curs right then and there!?¡± ¡°Nay. Deny our foes their retreat and we only make cornered beasts of them. They would bare their fangs all the more bitterly and make prey of our own men in return. We cannot chance this; if the enemy seeks retreat, we must yield it to them.¡± ¡°Then yield it, we will,¡± said Tiselius. ¡°Boris! Reign in the left wing! Have the 2nd Squad circle back to the centre; the rest reforms at the rear!¡± ¡°Right away, madame!¡± The mareschal of the 1st, Estelle Tiselius of all people, not only agreed with my counsel, but acted upon it¡ªswiftly and resolutely so. This shook and shocked me by no small degree, as I watched this ¡°Boris¡±, the mareschal¡¯s deputy adjutant, summarily pass down his madame¡¯s orders to the ranks of the left wing. For their part, Emilie and Lindell both were taken by the same surprise. Only, much to the latter¡¯s chagrin. ¡°Mareschal! Pray lend not an ear to that vagrant¡¯s guile! He is sodden-witted¡ªan ungraced!¡± ¡°Erik. Our foes are well-honed and well-positioned. I¡¯ll not hazard their extermination if it means our losses run overhigh. We whip them till they whimper on their way, and in their retreat find our victory,¡± spoke Tiselius with adamant calm. ¡°This matter is settled. I¡¯ll not hear further of it from you.¡± ¡°¡­As you will, my Mareschal,¡± Lindell lowly folded. With her errant Owlcrane grounded, Tiselius raised her silverblade high and proclaimed her next order. ¡°Centre brigades, all! From here we strike the enemy full sore! Give them no quarter; onward, now!¡± ¡°Ooouuh!¡± a bright chorus of battlecries bellowed in answer, and the knights were off at once. With her forces let loose, the hero-dame turned next to Emilie. ¡°The left wing joins with the centre; the frontlines won¡¯t find our numbers wanting,¡± Tiselius explained. ¡°As for me, I make for the entrance of this encampment. Lieutenant Mernesse, I would have you join me¡ªand your swain in tow.¡± ¡°Aye, Mareschal,¡± Emilie saluted before looking to me. ¡°Rolf, let¡¯s fall back. We should have the surgiens see to you quickly.¡± ¡°Yes, my Lady.¡± Closing wounds, stopping blood loss, restoring a measure of stamina¡ªthese and more are possible with mending magicks, but it would take a surgien of superb skill to fix broken bones and grievous injuries. As such, I saw little point in being seen to, to be frank, so dreadfully cut up as I was, but more pointless again was turning away Emilie¡¯s consideration and concern. ¡°Boris, I leave the rest to you,¡± commanded Tiselius. ¡°Exhaust the enemy. Herd them to their route of retreat.¡± ¡°By your will, my Mareschal!¡± ¡°As for you, Rolf Buckmann,¡± the hero-dame continued, now facing me, ¡°after the day is won, I mean to hear much from you.¡± ¡°Yes, madame.¡± With that, Emilie and I followed the 1st¡¯s mareschal as she began making her way back through the Nafilim encampment, accompanied by a retinue of knights under her command. ? ¡°Lady Emilie,¡± I called out in the midst of our withdrawal. ¡°What brought you here to the enemy fields, if I may ask?¡± ¡°Why, you ran off with such haste, I couldn¡¯t help but chase after you!¡± she smiled. ¡°¡­Chase?¡± Ah yes¡ªthe moment when I first spied the Erbelde¡¯s burgeoning waters. I broke away from the Owlcranes and made a mad dash off to the bridge; apparently, Emilie was hot on my heels when I did. And when the explosion happened, she, too, flew over to the enemy shores, along with Tiselius and myself. ¡°I am your superior, you know!¡± Emilie reiterated, beaming and brimming with pride. ¡°Were it not for your bravery, Miss Emilie, I fear we would not have wholly delivered the forders like we did,¡± Lindell slithered in. ¡°Ah, to behold the beauty of your spellblade in the flesh! And to stand shoulder to shoulder with you upon the battlefield¡ªtruly am I unworthy of such a benison. Praises all to Yon¨¢!¡± ¡°¡­I¡¯m glad to find you so pleasant, Sir Erik.¡± A rather skewed exchange between Owlcranes, this. One looking upon the other with a gaze engrossed in passion. The other¡ªdisimpassioned in return. By his words, it would seem Lindell followed his mareschal right before the Des Ailes was undone. From there upon the opposite banks, he, Tiselius, and Emilie worked to suppress the enemy artillery, thereby protecting our forders. Truly a feat no mere trio can rightfully call their own, but include amongst them Emilie and Tiselius, the keenest blades in the 5th and all the kingdom respectively, then such a feat would not seem so much a fantasy. With the explosion having frayed the enemy¡¯s chain of command, no doubt the three capitalised on the chaos and confusion to safeguard our forders, all in the short time leading up to the tributary¡¯s liberation. By their bravery were Felicia and the river crossers able to reach the enemy banks, albeit not without casualties. And through cunning use of the resources available to them, the forders pushed into enemy lines, bringing the battle all the way up to the foe¡¯s camp. While discussing such details, our group arrived at the mouth of the foresaid encampment, finding and joining with the knightly forces stationed there. ¡°Lieutenant Mernesse, Owlcrane Brigade, 5th Order,¡± Emilie saluted them. ¡°I come requesting treatment for my subordinate, Officer Buckmann.¡± ¡°My my¡­ whose cat did you cross, lad?¡± remarked a surgien team member. ¡°Right then, come along now.¡± But not another step was taken before a spire of magicked flame shrieked across the evening air¡ªa Lancea Cal¨­ris, aimed straight at Tiselius. Impact. A boom blasted through our ears. An eruption of feathery fires, illuminating the twilight. But as those fires faded, there remained a light of a different hue: a paling enshrouding the mareschal, one swiftly erected by her sorcerer subordinates just in the nick of time. ¡°Enemies!!¡± roared Lindell, drawing his sword. ¡°On the fore!!¡± To the dusk¡¯s shadows he trained the tip of his blade. All eyes followed: lurking in the murk was the Nafilim horde. ¡°This, I did not foresee¡­¡± Tiselius muttered, teeth clenched, ¡°¡­has my mind¡¯s blade been blunted?¡± ¡°Nay, Mareschal. Our steps fall squarely on the enemy¡¯s haunt. ¡®Tis as you¡¯ve said: the lay of the land spans wholly in their favour!¡± ¡°An ill excuse, that!¡± Tiselius countered, brushing aside Lindell¡¯s consolation. Our present forces totalled a meagre score and a half. The enemy, double that. What foul odds. But it would seem things had not gone as planned for our foes as well: these ambushers themselves must have intended at first to initiate a flank attack upon the frontlines once our knightly host had pushed deeper into their territory. ¡®The first contact with the enemy heralds the first casualty of battle: our plans.¡® Fewer words ever spoken more truly. I had the injuries and the day¡¯s happenings to attest to that. Tiselius raised her voice. ¡°Surgiens, pull back! I¡¯ll handle th¡ª¡± Instinctive caution shot through us all like lightning. I sensed it: a looming presence. Terrible. Immense. And from the dark, it sprang, unseen and straight into our ranks. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Digitus (plural: digit¨©) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the width of a finger. 1 centimetre is equal to 0.5405 of a digitus. A digitus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 2 centimetres. Lancea Cal¨­ris (Original name: ¡°Heat Lance¡±) Fire-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of a long spire of flames, shot towards a target at high speeds. Pierces and explodes on impact. Volume 1 - CH 4.1 The seasons have wheeled a cycle since the Battle of Erbelde. Three full years have passed from the day I first enlisted in the Order. The Mareschal Tallien was no longer to be found in the 5th, having retired to consummate his heirship to the title of viscount. The under-mareschal, too, had left the 5th¡¯s halls, returning to his homeland upon news of the untimely death of his elder brother, to whom was due the succession of the family name. That left the role of mareschal to none other than the lieutenant of the Owlcranes: Emilie. To be promoted to such an esteemed position at so young an age was most unusual, indeed. Central itself had taken great heed of the ¡°Aureola of the 5th¡±. And more fervently still did the officers of our Order revere her very presence. Fresh still in their minds was her valiant figure, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the hero-dame Tiselius at the banks of the Erbelde, her silvered thunderblade rending asunder the fell droves of Nafilim. A veritable idol, whose resplendent reputation was, by this point, set deep in stone. As for the Owlcranes, the role of lieutenant was passed to Gerd. And on another front was Felicia with a promotion of her own: no longer was she lieutenant to the 1st Sorcery Brigade, but brigadier to the three Sorcery Brigades altogether. Her phenomenal flair for the magicks had rightfully earned her the esteem of being the 5th¡¯s foremost spellweaver by far. And there was I, yet a swain¡ªEmilie¡¯s, of course. But if being swain to a mareschal, up from that of a lieutenant, was anything to go by, then I suppose one could say I¡¯ve moved up in the world. Only, both my duties and my daily life at the Order had gained no greater prestige. Sword training, horse-tending, gear-caring, housecleaning, and sword training yet again¡ªmy routine had hardly changed at all. I was, at the moment, tidying up the mareschal¡¯s chamber. Emilie herself was sat upon a leather chair before a grand desk, flanked by decorative standards. In her hands were many papers, to which she gave a glance over. And a glance upon this newly appointed mareschal herself would reveal in her a newly assimilated mien of majesty, as it were. A recent development of character, perhaps one precipitated by the rigours and expectations of her current station. ¡°Rolf, we¡¯ve drawn up plans for the next operation,¡± Emilie said. ¡°Come and have a look, if you can?¡± A rather prideful glow was about her face as she held out the papers to me. ¡°Plans, my Lady?¡± I blinked. Taking them, my sight fell upon the cover page. ¡°Classified materials¡ªare you certain?¡± ¡°I am.¡± Writ large was the line ¡°Operations Manual for the Recapture of the Godrika Minery¡±. The march of Norden, home to the 5th¡¯s headquarters, also held within its southern reaches the foresaid mines of Godrika. Well-known for their warrens of well-endowed deposits these mines were, but equally so were they feared for their depths that bristled with the behem¨®t: malicious fiends of myriad forms, all imparted with odyl of their own. And the manual I held in my hand was symbolic of our kingdom¡¯s craving for the recapture of such a bedevilled place. I thumbed through the pages. Immediately apparent was the scope of the operation. By no means was it a meagre one. These days had often found Emilie locked behind closed doors till the late hours, immersed in meetings within which no swains were suffered. That¡¯s not to say such meetings are a rarity at all in a place like the Order, but it seemed their purposes of late were tasked specifically to the planning of this operation. A report within the papers indicated that, at present, the threat levels within the mines were on a downward trend. So much so, in fact, that it was very much possible for just the 5th to barge in and clean house. The strategies and tactics required to do so were outlined to granular detail further on in the papers. From group compositions to logistics, all was accounted for; even the march to the minery itself was not spared of its fair share of attention, a clear lesson learned from the failures at the Erbelde this past year. All in all, it was a manual written and considered with exhaustive care for every aspect of the operation, no matter how large or little. This, I judged, but what I also judged was the spectre of underestimation: inadequate thought was given to the difficulty in deploying troops into so confined an environment as a web of underground tunnels. Not to mention that the plans themselves called for too wide and thin a dispersal of troops at every level of the operation. But beyond such details, there was one matter that cast a deep shadow over the entire affair¡­ ¡°My Lady,¡± I began, looking up from the papers. ¡°I believe these plans are in need of some reassessments.¡± ¡°¡­Reassessments?¡± Emilie blinked. ¡°Where, exactly?¡± ¡°¡®Where¡¯, might not be the word. If I may be blunt, this operation¡¯s actionability itself must needs be reexamined.¡± ¡°¡­What? How can you say that!?¡± Emilie gasped, clearly taken aback. But within her voice, there also smouldered a tinge of anger. I could tell that much and more went into the creation of this manual. In fact, it was, beyond anyone¡¯s doubt, an exemplary and scrupulous piece of work. A product of untold toil, moulded precisely at every seam and corner by a girl bent on fulfilling the obligations of her high office, despite her tender age of eighteen. To be met with dissent may have proven too much for such a soul to bear. Yet I could not with good conscience support this plan. Emilie spoke once more. ¡°Rolf, need I remind you of all that our kingdom stands to gain should we capture these mines?¡± She did not. The success of this operation had far-reaching consequences for this kingdom¡¯s war strategy going forward¡ªthat, in itself, augured much ill. ¡°We would gain much, true, but I believe that there loom losses greater again,¡± I reasoned. ¡°Godrika offers us only silver, my Lady¡ªnothing else.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fully aware. But ¡®tis the sheer bounty of the silver itself that is more the point, Rolf!¡± Londosius ever craves silver, but not for want of filled purses and packed coffers. The metal¡¯s uses are strictly determined and regulated within our borders. So it is that even by digging up vast volumes of this argent commodity, not a speck of it would be tasked to the enrichment of the life of any citizen in this kingdom. ¡°Silver is a resource most precious to our military pillars, my Lady, one that our kingdom forbids the export of. All that we extract from Godrika goes into meeting the demands of the war effort. Put simply, we stock our store of silver and our armies shall swell along with it.¡± Let it be made absolutely clear that Godrika¡¯s depths are deeply engorged in ore deposits. Obtaining this seemingly boundless bounty would likely be nothing short of a historic vicissitude for Londosius, one that would usher in an exponential expansion of its military might. ¡°Listen, Rolf. Suppose for a moment we capture Godrika, and put silver arms and armour into the hands of all of our officers. You must know just how tremendous of an advantage that avails us in our fight against the Nafilim?¡± Emilie¡¯s attempt at persuasion was not without reason or merit. That much silver would surely turn the war heavily in our favour. However¡­ ¡°Think of all the comrades-in-arms we can save!¡± Emilie continued. ¡°And our families! Our loved ones! But more than anything, it brings us so much closer to ending the Nafilim once and for all.¡± That was where she strayed. ¡°Nay, my Lady. Godrika only portends a greater need of gravestones for our comrades.¡± ¡°And why¡¯s that!?¡± ¡°The battles we bear at present are plenty enough, yet Central seeks to stretch the lines of each of these battlefields all the more. The burdens upon them will weigh heavily and heavier still should we arm and sharpen ourselves further¡ªburdens Central is overeager to heave upon us.¡± Gain a greater advantage, and troops will be made to fight ever more ferociously. And the harder they press on, the wider and more bloodsoaked the battlefields will become¡ªthe momentum of war is as an avalanche, unrelenting, all-consuming. ¡°Burden? The only burden I see is the one upon your shoulders,¡± Emilie countered. ¡°Proof, Rolf! Have you any at all? That Central would be so insatiable!?¡± ¡°None, my Lady.¡± But of course. All I¡¯d spoken of thus far was circumstantial in nature. ¡°Then why speak against it so!?¡± yelled Emilie, taken with an unusual bout of anger. Against such roaring emotions, I did my best to keep calm as I continued on. ¡°Furthermore, I cannot see the need to bring an end to all Nafilim.¡± ¡°Rolf¡­!?¡± A remark tending slightly towards treason, I admit. After all, Londosius dearly tasks its every sword and sinew towards the annihilation of the Nafilim. Yet I could not relent. ¡°My Lady, it betrays reason to expect that we may ever bring about the extinction of any kind.¡± ¡°¡®Tis precisely why we toil away in our duties, is it not!? That we might usher in some chance to an impossibility?¡± Emilie rebutted. ¡°Rolf, we have momentum in this war! Were we to stay the path at all costs, then surely the day would come! The day when the war is done at last¡ªand the Nafilim along with it!¡± That, right there. All within this kingdom are taken with this belief¡ªa zeitgeist, binding every beating heart of every living soul within this realm. It is the core of the country, a policy in and of itself, absolute and immutable. But I was shaken from those shackles. The Battle of Erbelde. I had fought her then, that child Nafil. As we measured blades together within the Nafilim encampment, my own heart began to beat to a different belief. She, too, gambled all and more in that battle. But why? She stood steadfast upon that battlefield, her life wasting on with every wager and every peril faced, while her own heart blazed with a desperation most dear¡ªsuch was what I gleaned from her as she frantically flourished those daggers of hers. A soul that readily risks everything to protect something¡ªcould such a soul truly be evil? I could not know. Not then. Not now. But what I did know was that to be ¡°done¡± with the Nafilim was folly most foul. That genocide would see this conflict to its proper end was something I could not accept. ¡°¡®Tis naught but a path of pure carnage you would have us walk, my Lady.¡± ¡°You speak nonsense, Rolf!¡± By this point, Emilie was all but boiling and livid. What¡¯s done is done, as they say, thus at risk of fanning her flames further, I ventured forth in voicing yet one more reason to this unreasonable conversation. ¡°Moreover, I cannot abet the soundness of this operation, if it executes on grounds that the threat within the mines is thinned.¡± ¡°Threat? Threat, Rolf? ¡®Twas none other than you who came up with the calculations for measuring such threats!¡± Indeed, it was. Threat levels: separate a given theatre of operations into a set of distinct areas, and thereafter calculate the perceived danger based on the observed number of hostiles present within each. This was what I recommended to her previously, and to this day was a method yet employed. In fact, it was by these very same means that the threat levels within Godrika were determined to be in decline. One could even say that it was by my own hands that this operation came to be in the first place, however directly or otherwise. But the numbers written in the manual whispered to me of a somewhat¡­ ¡°unusual¡± stir within the mines. ¡°I believe the behem¨®t may have vacated themselves rather too asudden. Why this came to be bears much needed consideration and scrutiny,¡± I explained. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°I mean that, as an example, a menace of a behem¨¢ may have made itself home in the mines, and by its ruthless nature, has been weeding out its weaker kin.¡± ¡°What¡¯s this? A ¡®menace of a behem¨¢¡¯, you say? Your fancies have taken a flight too far, Rolf!¡± Emilie may have been right. I merely wished to elucidate any and all potential risks, but in my wanton efforts, I may have seemed overmuch the feeble-witted fowl pecking at too large a ground for too meagre a meal. ¡°Perhaps they have, my Lady. Perhaps there is no such specimen. But just as well, it simply may be that our scouts have not discovered it as of yet.¡± To this, Emilie deeply sighed¡ªlikely an attempt at calming her own errant emotions. ¡°Rolf. I understand well that your place here may become all the more perilous should we avail our armouries with more silver. But I¡¯m the mareschal of this Order now. Much injury and injustice it has done you, I know. Yet with me as its commander, I¡¯ll make certain that you¡¯ll not be ailed by such abuse any longer.¡± Her words were as resolute as her unwavering gaze upon my own. ¡°I am ever and always your ally, Rolf,¡± Emilie went on. ¡°But just as I would give my all for you, I need you to do the same for me¡ªto think upon yourself, of what it means to be a knight, of why we fight with so much desperation. Won¡¯t you do this for me?¡± Knighthood¡ªmy dearest ambition. What is a knight, really? For what, and for whom do we fight? Had I known the answers to such, would I have long been a knight myself? A man worthy of respect? Perhaps not to the same measure as Emilie, of course, but at the very least, someone to whom any soul would be glad to treat with a tinge of regard? Certainly, no man could hope to be knighted were he to voice overmuch his dissent towards the will of the Order, or to nurture within himself the notion that his own beliefs were more righteous again than the Order¡¯s own. Yet¡­ What is to be said of an Order that is so quick to quell a man¡¯s wish to live virtuously? Does a man not choose to don his armour and defend his fealty that he may be as honourable a soul as his lot would allow? I could not for the life of me make myself an abettor of this operation, not for as long as I spied within its success the temptation to let loose the leashes upon Londosius¡¯ lions of war. The moment I knew myself to be ungraced was the moment I resolved to never be constrained by cowardice. This, I had sworn upon my very heart. A man who becomes a knight by betraying his own constancy for his own convenience, who but wavers when his better wits beg him to be unwavering¡ªsuch a man, to me, is no knight. And that was exactly why I could not put upon my lips the words that Emilie so wanted to hear. ¡°Even still, my Lady. I am opposed to this operation,¡± I reasserted. At once, all hale was sapped from Emilie¡¯s face. And after a lamenting sigh, she spoke these next words. ¡°Rolf. This is what the Order itself has decided upon. Such strategic matters shall neither heed nor abide dissent from a mere swain.¡± ¡°¡­My apologies, Mareschal.¡± With that, I resumed my chores. For her part, Emilie leaned back deeply into her leather chair and turned up to the ceiling, eyes brought to a full close. The compromises we make. The compromises we forsake. Those who are changed. Those who are yet the same. No boy or girl can remain so coddled in the cradle forever. Such a doubtless and unspotted truth this was, but for the fool who could neither accept it nor ever let go of the treasures of his childhood, what could he do? Naught but stay silent and keep cleaning that cold room. Volume 1 - CH 4.2 The Godrika Minery¡ªits fallowed fathoms slept beneath the southern region of the march of Norden. Well-known it was for, amongst other things, its wealth of unexploited veins of silver ore. Forty winters ago saw its discovery by an exploration team, and shortly after were picks and shovels sent to strike away at the shafts, with tunnels spreading from them like roots. But a mountain sat above it, already a veritable menagerie of boundless behem¨®t. By their beastly vehemence was Londosius¡¯ hold on the mines broken, and the vacated underground labyrinth soon found itself festering with the vermin. Not one year wheeled by before all mining ceased. The campaign undertaken to recapture that wicked warren was met with misery. Securing the surface was painless enough, but it was the tunnels that proved to be the salted sore, for their depths were rife with behem¨®t of the frustratingly dreadful sort. And that was to say nothing of the size of the tunnels themselves, too narrow in their girth to support the infiltration of any substantial force. As a result, Godrika¡¯s prized silver veins yet remained beyond the grasp of Londosius¡¯ war-itching hands. The last few months, however, saw the shrinking of the behem¨®t¡¯s numbers, and so were the threat levels of the place deemed to have diminished. It was in this trend that Emilie spied an opportunity. Thus the newly appointed mareschal saw fit to cast her own lot into the recapturing campaign, with the entirety of the 5th Chivalric Order arrayed and ready behind her. Erbelde this was not. The Godrika Minery, being in the same region the 5th itself was based, was reached with a relatively short and well-planned march, and our arrival saw us wholly untroubled by the trip. ¡°Oy, just givin¡¯ that map another gander¡¯s got me all mither¡¯d,¡± Raakel complained. ¡°What¡¯s up with it, ey? Looks more a maze than a mine, the damn¡¯d place.¡± At the foot of the looming mountain was the 5th¡¯s leadership, gathered around under a pavilion. There, they were in the midst of strategic discussions, their eyes fixed upon a full-splayed map. ¡°I¡¯d say turning the place into a proper mine wasn¡¯t the first thing the diggers thought to do, what when they arrived here all those decades ago,¡± Gerd observed. Indeed, gold rushes were an unchecked affair¡ªthough ¡°silver rush¡± might be more the term here. From what my ears gathered, during those mad grabs for the glitter, it was by no means uncommon that spades and spells were blindly made to carve out the earth, backed as they were by nary a warrant or a word of coordination. And Godrika itself seemed no different: another victim of Man¡¯s ardour for his metals. ¡°Yea, an¡¯ now thanks to them ol¡¯ delvers, there be crags every which way, all ready to crumble down on us heads, innit?¡± the warrior shook her head. ¡°By gum, the ballocks o¡¯ some folk!¡± ¡°Well then, Raakel, you¡¯d be pleased to know that our surveyors have found the very stopes likely to cave in: here, here, and over here as well,¡± said Emilie, moving her finger along the red-marked map. ¡°Let it be known that engaging in combat at any of these stopes is strictly prohibited. This is especially true for the southern quadrant¡¯s third sector; if our reports are precise, then that area is ready to collapse at the feather¡¯s touch. All brigades, please be advised and execute your offices with ample caution.¡± To this, the 5th¡¯s leadership collectively nodded. Emilie continued on. ¡°Once noon is passed, we will proceed as planned: each squad will enter the tunnels, in order and as arranged. They¡¯re to clear out all behem¨®t within their assigned routes and return to camp immediately. If all goes accordingly, we¡¯ll be done by sundown in two days hence.¡± With the plans confirmed, Emilie then looked all through the gathered personnel. It was then that her gaze shifted suddenly to me. ¡°Rolf. Do you still object to this operation?¡± It was not in her policy to accord me any sort of special treatment, even as her direct subordinate. Aught otherwise would have proven unfair to the Order¡¯s other swains. Thus was it beyond anyone¡¯s imagination that she would inquire upon my opinion so, here at a war council of all occasions. And to be clear, I was not sitting in the meeting as any sort of official attendant, whose opinion and counsel would have any bearing. The very fact that she was now glaring into my eyes, trying to tease out the truth of my heart, may have betrayed some trouble in her own, apprehensive of my dissent as she was. ¡°Nay, Mareschal. I am not in objection,¡± was my answer. Our troops were right about ready to commence the operation; voicing my disapproval of the whole deal now would be profitless. ¡°Yet I hear nary a word that you are in agreement with it, either,¡± Emilie observed. ¡°¡­I will exhaust any and all faculties available to me to see this operation through, Mareschal,¡± I confirmed. ¡°But there is one matter, if I may.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°The deployment intervals bear some reconsideration. I request that slightly more time be given between the deployment of each squad.¡± ¡°You beg for scraps overmuch, hound!¡± Gerd shouted, but a raised hand from Emilie was all it took to silence him. ¡°Rolf. I would hear your reasoning.¡± ¡°There looms the possibility that the gangways will be overpacked with personnel. Should this occur, our men stand to jostle against one another and impede each other¡¯s manoeuvrability. In other words, they¡¯ll be bottlenecked,¡± I explained. The squads were being made to infiltrate the tunnels in sequence, with little regard given to how many would be inside at once¡ªtherein lay my worries. ¡°¡®Tis no matter. Our plans make certain that such will not be a factor.¡± ¡°Nay, Mareschal. These plans ill-account for unforeseen contingencies. Were our men to be made to retreat, for example, their return paths will each be tangled up to much mayhem.¡± ¡°And were we to entangle ourselves in talk of contingencies, the sun shall set before we¡¯ve sent in a single soldier, Rolf.¡± ¡°Any and all contingencies must be accounted for, Mareschal. This, I believe.¡± A cloud of irritation then misted over Emilie¡¯s gaze. My conduct ill-became that of a swain, I admit, but the current plans tempted much injury unto the Order, and so long as they did, I had to make them known. ¡°To begin with, is there so pressing a need to deploy so many groups into the tunnels at once?¡± I continued. ¡°Would we not avail ourselves further still were we to divide the minery into disparate areas, deploy each squad in shifts, and secure each area one after another?¡± ¡°Rolf, you must know that doing so will extend the length of the operation. Our days here are numbered; we cannot abide such deliberateness,¡± Emilie rebutted. ¡°And for that same reason, the deployment intervals cannot and will not be extended.¡± Prolong the operation, and its expenses balloon with it. With great repetition and meticulousness did Emilie scrutinise such costs. As they were, the projected expenditures had Marquis Norden¡¯s approval after much negotiation. It was his coffers that funded not only the operation, but the whole of the 5th¡¯s administration itself. His word in this matter was final, and he would not be made to go back on it. Thus it surely must have grated Emilie¡¯s gears to even hear mention of ¡°giving ourselves more time¡±. I was keenly aware that it would, yet I pressed on. ¡°We stand to lose much should we operate beyond our allowance. This, I understand very well. But I also understand that any loss of personnel far outweighs it.¡± ¡°By gum, do ye hear yerself, muscle-pate?¡± Raakel came cutting in. ¡°Whimperin¡¯ like a panick¡¯d pup! We¡¯ve not even started an¡¯ already yer yappin¡¯ on ¡®bout this ¡®chance¡¯ an¡¯ ¡®losses¡¯ rubbish!¡± ¡°I¡¯m agreed with Raakel,¡± said Emilie. ¡°Mistake cowardice for caution and we do ourselves no favours.¡± No good in the end, I see. Going on any further would but beleaguer so set an issue. ¡°Understood, Mareschal,¡± I relented. ¡°Do you really, Rolf? Have I your word?¡± ¡°Aye.¡± There was no choice but back down here. I¡¯ve apprised the mareschal of the potential flaws in her plans, given my reasoning for them, and presented possible solutions¡ªI¡¯ve all but done my duty, and if by her will my counsel was not to be heeded, then what was left to me was only to support her resolve. ¡°Then the war council is adjourned,¡± Emilie announced, returning her gaze to the other leaders. ¡°Squads all, please execute your offices as planned.¡± ¡°Yes, madame!¡± came their collective salute, and so ended the pre-operation meeting. The brigadiers and their lieutenants then dispersed and made way back to their own groups, with many of them offering me their cutting glares. ¡°Rolf, pardon the trouble, but can you return to the Owlcranes¡¯ pavilion and make ready my gear?¡± Emilie requested. ¡°Right away, Mareschal.¡± With that, I went about my own way, but was soon called upon by another leader. ¡°Brother,¡± she said. ¡°My Lady.¡± Felicia Buckmann, brigadier and commander of the entirety of the 5th¡¯s Sorcery Brigades¡ªand as well, my sister. Knighthood itself is not counted amongst the Londosian peerage, like a duke or a marquis. Rather, it was an occupation, and at times a title in the strictest sense. Yet for a swain, every knight is a senior to whom proper respects must be paid and with honorifics must be addressed. Myself especially¡ªor rather, myself specifically. Heretofore have I been addressing all knights and dames by ¡°lord¡± and ¡°lady¡± respectively, a remnant of Tallien¡¯s authority. When Emilie took up the mareschal¡¯s mantle, she had the rule repealed. Still, vestiges of the practice remained as a custom, for even now, those of the leadership were addressed with the appropriate honorifics. Felicia fell squarely onto such a pedestal, having¡ªat the end of her first year at the Order¡ªreceived her rites of investiture and attained the rank of lieutenant. From that point on, she was clearly beyond the stature of an ordinary dame; a leader, a superior, a paragon who should rightfully be referred to as ¡°the Lady Felicia¡±. And as a lowly swain, I was obliged to follow suit. ¡°Your words earlier,¡± my sister began. ¡°Yes, my Lady?¡± ¡°They seemed not the speech of a man who knows his place.¡± ¡°Perhaps not.¡± Felicia¡¯s attitude was hardly unjustified. After all, her brother was an ungraced who writhed in the dirt at the end of every training session, who was assigned to little else but mundane chores, and who had yet to escape the yoke of swainhood after three full years of service in the Order. In thinking of him, surely she felt only deep remorse. ¡°Did you think to make a savant of yourself, Brother? Abetting for abundant caution like you did?¡± Felicia continued. ¡°To the eyes of the leadership, you sooner seemed the ill-abled soldier quaking in his boots amongst his calmer counterparts.¡± ¡®My eyes included,¡¯ she seemed to imply. ¡°Please pardon my indiscretion,¡± I apologised. ¡°And by your words, you would ¡®exhaust any and all faculties¡¯ for this operation¡ªwhat exactly are these ¡®faculties¡¯, Brother? What is it that can you do for us?¡± ¡°All that I am able, my Lady.¡± ¡°Polishing armour, pulling horses, you mean?¡± ¡°If such be my charges, then yes.¡± For a moment, Felicia fell silent upon hearing those words, her fair face besmirched with bitterness. ¡°¡­Why are you like this¡­?¡± she whispered to herself. ¡°¡­Would you were more of yourself back then¡­¡± With pursed lips and downcast eyes, Felicia then parted my presence. Certainly to her, my state of affairs was a grave betrayal, and nothing else. ¡°Awfully sorry to see you so scorned, my sweet swain,¡± came Sheila. ¡°So steeped in sin be he the man ungraced¡ªwhy, your very presence inspires naught but disappointment in those about you. Even in ones you hold dear and close.¡± ¡°Yes. Sadly so.¡± Sheila Larsen¡ªan unassuming smile bent her lips. The very image of a saint. And befitting of it was her sympathy, which, despite her words, was genuine by any estimation. Or rather, ¡°pity¡± might seem more the word: pity for the poor man yet unwilling to accept his lot as an unloved and unwanted lamb of Yon¨¢. ¡°Yet one scarcely needs any odyl to make battle with the behem¨®t, no? After all, there are amongst the beastly vermin those that may be slain with but swords and spears,¡± Sheila explained. ¡°Even a man like you may serve this purpose well enough. I wonder why you did not think to remind your dear sister of such?¡± ¡°It bears no thought¡ªI won¡¯t be joining the battle.¡± Soft laughter sang. ¡°¡®Won¡¯t be joining¡¯? My poor swain, so deep in your own deception. A little bit of honesty goes a long way, you know? ¡®I¡¯m not allowed to join¡¯¡ªnow that sorts more squarely with your heart, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± A piercing reproval, rendered with both refinement and a jarring gentleness. ¡°Then I¡¯ve misspoken. Pardon me, my Lady.¡± ¡°O Yon¨¢, Deiva Most Divine¡­ Had She not disowned you so, what manner of man would you have made of yourself, I wonder?¡± she prodded on. ¡°What man could ever know the manner of ends he¡¯s been denied? For my part, I¡¯ve given mine not a thought.¡± ¡°Really now? You¡¯ve not dreamed of all that could have been your due? A beautiful wife, an adorable and loving sister, a vaunted career as a knight most valiant, an entire barony to call your own¡ªso many fancies to fill your many whiles.¡± ¡°Yet fill them, I haven¡¯t. Not once.¡± Pondering upon paths untrodden. Dreaming of the destinations they wend their ways unto. What folly. If a man had the time for such idle indulgence, he had best put them to better use for his own future. Say, like swinging a sword. ¡°My, how dimmed you are,¡± she sighed. ¡°Dimmed?¡± ¡°Indeed. Almost as if¡­ as if your human light is all but snuffed out.¡± Nothing more was said from the surgien as she walked away. I very well thought myself to be quite the model human¡ªmore so than any other, no less. Immured in such introspection, I stood there, looking on as Sheila¡¯s parting figure disappeared from view. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Gangway In mining, an underground tunnel connecting two different rooms. Tracks are laid into the ground to facilitate the use of rail carts for transporting material. Shaft In mining, a passage bored into the ground, typically vertical or inclined, and used for the transportation of materials to and from the mines below. A ¡°mine shaft¡± may also generally refer to a narrow tunnel leading from the surface into a mine. Stope In mining, an underground chamber dug out once a mineral vein has been found. The scope of the chamber increases as more ore is mined from its walls. Material may be cleared via manual labour or explosive means. Stopes may be backfilled, that is, refilled with the unneeded material mined from it, to keep it from caving in and weakening the mines¡¯ structure. Volume 1 - CH 4.3 ¡°Next: 15th Squad! Commence entry!¡± Late afternoon. We had erected a command post by the mouth of the adit leading into the mines, and it was from there that Emilie dictated the operation. By her orders were squads sequentially sent down into the haunted depths¡ªgroups composed of an assortment of knights from the disparate brigades, namely of the infantry, sorcery, and support. ¡°2nd Squad, reporting! Five droll-hounds slain, madame! No damage or casualties incurred!¡± Already were the first-sent squads making their way back to the surface, having completed their twofold charges of setting up minelights and exterminating the behem¨®t lurking along their assigned routes. By all accounts, the operation was advancing smoothly. ¡°Have the 16th Squad made ready?¡± Emilie asked. ¡°¡°They have, madame. Brigadier Buckmann and the rest are poised to deploy,¡± answered an officer. ¡°Have them standby at the adit. They¡¯ve twenty minutes till entry.¡± ¡°Right away, madame!¡± A veritable river of orders streamed on and on. Brigadier Buckmann¡ªthat would be Felicia. The next squad to infiltrate the mine would do so under her command. The squads were by no means large hosts in and of themselves, and so to facilitate their dampened firepower, a number of executive officers were personally joining the fold. ¡°3rd Squad, reporting! We¡¯ve slain one lockbird, three droll-hounds, and four zlatorogs! Reporting one light casualty! Equipment damage is minimal!¡± ¡°Very well. Have the injured¡¯s gear checked again,¡± ordered Emilie. Echoes of the report reached the ears of the leadership stationed at the command post. A stir then simmered amongst them. ¡°Lockbirds¡¯ve shown their ugly faces, eh?¡± one of them muttered. ¡°So it¡¯s true what they say. Godrika¡¯s no walk in the park,¡± another commented. ¡°¡®Tis quite the sparse park, by my measure. Not as many of the damned critters inside as I¡¯d thought,¡± a third observed, with whom I found agreement with. The behem¨®t were not as teeming as expected¡ªunnaturally so. Could my prior predictions have come true? That a monstrosity had made its way into the mines? That by the beast¡¯s menace the other behem¨®t had been culled? Such worries and more wormed about in my mind. ¡°The 16th Squad is next. Deploy them at once,¡± came Emilie¡¯s next order. ¡°Aye, madame!¡± ¡°5th Squad, reporting! We¡¯ve slain three jaculi and two acid-lizards! One light casualty reported! Minimal damage to equipment!¡± Emilie paused. ¡°The 5th? What of the 4th? Have they not returned?¡± ¡°Not as of yet, madame!¡± ¡°¡­Understood.¡± An ill report. It would seem the operation¡¯s weave had begun to fray. ? ¡°Mareschal! The 14th Squad has returned!¡± came another report. ¡°Where¡¯s the 12th? And the 13th for that matter?¡± Emilie asked. ¡°No word yet, madame!¡± An embittered shade washed over Emilie¡¯s face. By now, no less than six whole squads were absent in their return. An ¡°unforeseen contingency¡± this was, if there ever was one. ¡°My Lady Mareschal, if I may¡­¡± approached an executive officer, with a voice quiet in its worry. A well-warranted bout of concern. Any seasoned officer would be stricken with the same unease, knowing his comrades have yet to show their faces from the depths of those infested tunnels. Emilie had scarcely opened her lips before shouts filled the air¡ªabrupt activity bristled amongst those gathered at the adit, who had been worriedly awaiting the absent squads¡¯ return. Perhaps their patience was rewarded? Yet their shouts had nary a jump of joy in them. At once, Emilie rose from the war-table and made her brisk way towards the adit. I followed close behind. ¡°What¡¯s happened?¡± she inquired upon arrival. ¡°M-Mareschal! The 15th Squad, they¡¯ve¡­ they¡¯ve returned,¡± came a hesitant reply. Indeed, ¡®they¡¯ve returned¡¯ was hardly appropriate, for the squad that emerged from the tunnel was composed of but a single, shambling man. An arm of his was pressed unusually flat, broken and bent beyond its every joint. Grating wheezes escaped his blood-spewing mouth, his lungs desperate for air. ¡°Have him up on a stretcher! Bring him to the tents! Medics, hurry!¡± Emilie¡¯s orders, livid and lamenting roars as they were, filled the mountain sky. ? Within the largest pavilion available, a camp bed was unfurled and formed, upon which the injured knight was gingerly laid. Treatments, both manual and magickal, were given to him, and by their effects did he somehow recover enough to be able to speak coherently. As a rule, those treatments should have continued till his condition had stabilised, but this was a grave emergency¡ªwe had to know what happened in those tunnels, and this poor soldier was the sole soul that could tell the tale. The forgathered leadership looked on, each and every one of their faces curdled with consternation. They all knew¡ªfrom the man¡¯s mouth would come no merry report. Indeed, his first words were none sought by any of their ears. ¡°¡­¡¯Twas a greathorn. A greathorn¡­!¡± A pother boiled up from amongst the shocked leadership. The greathorn¡ªa behem¨¢ in the likeness of a bull, burgeoned in its looming bulk, for the combined heights of two full-grown men cannot not hope to peek over its hulking withers. Its tempestuous temperament fuels the sheer violence of its assaults: a single charge from this monster is enough to send many a body flying like mere shreds of paper tossed to the wind. And as per its namesake, from its head protrudes ponderous horns: dread spikes fraught with odyl, hardened to such excess that they would scarcely suffer a scratch in goring straight through a soldier, bones and armour all. And of defences, the greathorn is not lacking in the least, with a hide nigh impervious to extreme heat and cold both. But like a betrayal to its erstwhile form, this bovine beast feasts not on flora, but flesh¡ªthat of men and behem¨®t alike. ¡°Fates be fickle¡­ What¡¯s a devil like that doing down there?¡± ¡°Its kin are like to loiter ¡®bout the mountainsides, no? Perhaps it beds in the tunnels¡ªnay. What if it¡¯s turned the tunnels into its own feeding trough?¡± ¡°No wonder the scouts hadn¡¯t spotted it, then. We are come to seek silver but unearthed madness instead. What foul luck¡­¡± At wit¡¯s end, the leaders grumbled and groaned. The returned soldier, for his part, stared distantly at the ceiling. ¡°¡­The 4th Squad¡­ and 6th¡­¡± he resumed reporting. ¡°We found ¡®em dead¡ªall massacred¡­ so we thought to surface, but there¡­ There, we crossed the greathorn¡¯s path¡­¡± As his words went on, the marred man¡¯s face furrowed and furrowed still. It was most apparent to any lookers-on that his most woeful wounds were the memories flashing before his eyes. ¡°So we retreated¡­ quick as we could, but we¡­ we weren¡¯t the only ones, y¡¯see¡­¡± he continued on, gasping here and there. ¡°Four other squads¡ªoh, bless ¡®em¡­! All crammed and crazed in that gangway, riled in their own retreat¡­ But then¡­ the greathorn¡­ ploughed through ¡®em all¡­¡± Sat by the camp bed, Emilie gave me a glance. The irony of the report was not lost upon her. But what a hell it must have been for the poor souls. Godrika¡¯s tunnels are overall generous in their width, enough to easily host the wicked wendings of a three pass¨±s-tall greathorn. Yet the same can hardly be said of hosting large numbers of men. To be trapped in those gangways in the midst of a toppled and tumbling stampede, only to be trampled flat by a beast so vast and vicious¡ªsurely, it was no less than a living nightmare. ¡°We packed our arses and ran¡­ and somehow made it to sector three, in the southern quadrant¡­ There was a¡­ an abandoned stope that we came into. By then, only a few of us remained¡­ but our luck dried up. The greathorn¡ª¡¯twasn¡¯t far behind¡­¡± His voice now quaked piteously. ¡°I was clinging to my greatshield¡­ hadn¡¯t let go of it once the entire way. I raised it¡­ to save my soul from that monster¡¯s charge¡­ but I was¡­ bashed and blown away, shield and all¡­ That beat me up real proper, it did. And then¡­ and then I ran away¡­ and made it back up somehow¡­¡± A true trauma, to be so overcome by fright and powerlessness, even now in safety. It was bad form for a man of the military to utter such frail words as ¡°run away¡± in lieu of more palatable euphemisms as ¡°retreat¡± or ¡°withdrawal¡±, but who could blame him? Emilie certainly did not. ¡°You did well to come back to us,¡± she said softly. ¡°Now are we enlightened to the situation, and we¡¯ve you to thank, brave sir.¡± ¡°Mareschal¡­ forgive me¡­ please!¡± the man pleaded, lips atremble. ¡°I¡¯ve lost my comrades all¡­ And my sword and shield¡ªI threw them down¡­ and ran like a dog¡­ Oh! My shield¡­ my poor shield¡­ Saved me at the Erbelde, the dear thing did¡­¡± ¡°That I¡¯m sorry to hear. It well-warded off the Nafilim arrows, but ¡®twas an ill-match for the greathorn. Yet it has saved you once again, for you are alive before us all,¡± Emilie quietly consoled the soldier, her hand caressing his quivering cheek. Whimpers welled up from his throat, and it wasn¡¯t long before he began to weep brokenly. Emilie then rose to her feet and turned to the other leaders. ¡°I¡¯m going in.¡± Confusion coursed across their faces. ¡°Mareschal!? Y-you musn¡¯t!¡± A most appropriate reaction. ¡°The greathorn¡¯s hide yields to my levinblade. I¡¯ll have it laid low myself,¡± Emilie swore. ¡°The situation is ill-resolved by our original plans. And as long as it remains so, we¡¯ve no other choice than to strike down the beast with our mightiest swords.¡± The leadership did all but wince in the face of their mareschal¡¯s resolve. Yet what lurked beneath the moxie of her words were shades of shame and regret. Several squads, each sharing the same path of retreat. When the dreadful time comes that they would all withdraw, wild in their despair against a terrible and unforeseen threat, they would surely find themselves tangled and tumbling over each other in those tunnels¡ªpossibilities that I clearly apprised Emilie of on the eve of the operation. But her ears were deaf to my warnings, and the price for such pride was paid by her men with what else but their own lives, if not grievous scars upon their flesh and bones. Emilie¡¯s heart. What a storm must be surging within it right now. Never was she the sort to so easily accept a dreadful truth as that of droves dying by her own judgement. But she was a mareschal now, a commander of no small renown, and she must answer the situation at hand¡ªthere was no time to wallow in her woes. Plans were needed. Responsibilities had to be assumed. The chaos must be cut through with some semblance of control. Thus did she decide to wrangle the plight with her own hands. But it was a decision perhaps also founded upon another exigency: the nagging need to punish herself for this dear failure. ¡°Gerd, Raakel, and Sheila shall accompany me! My swain as well!¡± Emilie announced emphatically. ¡°Under-Mareschal, you shall remain here and take command in my stead! If we do not resurface in quarter-day¡¯s time, then take us for dead and return to headquarters immediately. And there, assemble a commission for inquiry into this incident. Any questions?¡± The visibly petrified leadership gave their consent with all but their stunned silence. ¡°Mareschal,¡± I called out to her, to which she nodded and looked back at the injured soldier. ¡°My good sir. By your precious words, the 4th and 6th Squads were wiped out, yes?¡± Emilie asked him. ¡°What of the other four? The ones killed in their retreat. Do you know of their assignments?¡± ¡°Madame¡­ they were the 9th and 10th Squads¡­ and the 12th and 13th, as well,¡± he answered with much difficulty. Emilie turned about and nodded to me once more. Each and every departed soul of each and every one of the six total massacred squads¡ªall of them had family and loved ones, to be sure. And none amongst those left behind would welcome the news, whether true or erroneous. Emilie and myself, included. Yet I kept a candle lit by the window sill of my darkened heart. Of the ruined squads named, the 16th went unmentioned. There was still one dear hope. Somewhere, down in those tunnels, she was still there¡ªmy sister, Felicia. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Adit In mining, the ground-level entrance leading into a mine, taking on the form of a horizontally inclining tunnel. Gangway In mining, an underground tunnel connecting two different rooms. Tracks are laid into the ground to facilitate the use of rail carts for transporting material. Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Stope In mining, an underground chamber dug out once a mineral vein has been found. The scope of the chamber increases as more ore is mined from its walls. Material may be cleared via manual labour or explosive means. Stopes may be backfilled, that is, refilled with the unneeded material mined from it, to keep it from caving in and weakening the mines¡¯ structure. Volume 1 - CH 4.4 Down through the depths of Godrika we wended. The widths of the tunnels varied here and there, though not a soul may doubt their overall generosity: about four pass¨±s was the girth of the gangway we were passing through at present. But the situation would devolve to our great despair were we to face the greathorn here, for little around us availed any means of cover or escape. However, the tunnel network itself was dotted through with a number of hollowed-out rooms: ¡°stopes¡± from which ore had been extracted. If a battle were to break out, we should best bring the brunt of the chaos to any one of such spaces. ¡°Tch¡­¡± A click from Raakel¡¯s tongue echoed through the dark. As the vanguard of our group, she stood up ahead, halted and vexed. The focus of her attention fell upon the rows of bodies strewn through the gallery¡ªknights, silent in their eternal sleep. Thus did we find ourselves in the infamous tunnel: four entire squads, frantic as they funnelled into this bottleneck, only to tumble upon each other and make themselves ready for their own slaughter. One body was so bent at its spine that the back of its head met with the back of its heels. Another was disembowelled, the guts gruesomely agape. None of them escaped a cruel end¡ªthey were all of them run over and crushed in some way. Emilie bit at her lip. To be presented with her stilled subordinates, dead in their duty so assigned by her command, all but stole the words out of her. It was her fists that spoke instead, clenched white as they were, and quivering. ¡°I do find it rather curious that a greathorn would make its way into the tunnels so,¡± Sheila thought aloud. ¡°Why now, I wonder?¡± ¡°No need to wonder. One of the leaders said it; didn¡¯t you hear, Sheila? Turned the tunnels into its very own feeding grounds, the bloody beast did,¡± Gerd reminded her. ¡°I suppose it hit the mark, though. These driftways were as larders stocked full with fodder, whether fresh or foetid.¡± Fodder indeed. These mines had once bristled so bountifully with behem¨®t that no man dared to venture into its vicinity. But to the greathorn, Godrika was a dinner platter piled high with all sorts of palatables, and it was not just behem¨®t that composed its endless meal. ¡°And we very well find our names writ large on the menu,¡± I observed. ¡°Quit that yapping, will you, ungraced? Any half-pated spelunker can figure that out, what from the look of this bloody place. See here?¡± Gerd snapped, flicking his chin up at one of the corpses. The sight earned a shake of his head. ¡°The bloke¡¯s stomach¡¯s all eaten off. Yon¨¢, Almighty¡­¡± ¡°By gum¡­¡± Raakel seethed. ¡°Grass be what a cow gobbles, not¡­ not this.¡± ¡°Miss Raakel. Need we remind you? ¡®Tis not the work of a cow we witness here, but a behem¨¢¡¯s,¡± Sheila pointed out, and as if her words were as a signal, there flickered in the dark ahead of us a series of flashes¡ªillumination of the magicked sort. ¡°¡­Tonitrus! Someone¡¯s incanted a Tonitrus!¡± Emilie broke her silence. ¡°There¡¯s a battle up yonder¡ªwe must hurry!¡± And at once, we all rushed deeper into the tunnel. It¡¯s all right. Felicia¡¯s all right. She has to be. She¡¯s strong, after all; the brigadier to our sorcerers, no less. A greathorn should hardly be a match for her. Such faint wishes whispered in my head as I sprinted down the dark corridor. It wasn¡¯t long before we all emerged into an open space, only somewhat wide in its total area. And there she was. My sister, standing before a towering, heaving, bull-like behem¨¢. Dwarfed by the beast, Felicia breathed laboriously, her staff trained forth at her opponent. Blood¡ªthere was deep red upon her person, all in a great stain across her chest, clotted and terrible. And upon her face was pure despair. One of her knees gave out. Down she collapsed, perhaps having spent her spirit overmuch in the course of the long struggle. Seeing this, the mad beast became but a blur, charging straight into her. ¡°Felicia!!¡± I screamed, breaking into a dash. At once, I took her into my arms and lunged forth, missing the behem¨¢¡¯s hewing horn by a hair¡¯s width as it skimmed across my calves. ¡°Brother!?¡± Felicia gasped. It was then that sharp cackles stung the air and drummed tangibly against my ears. Emilie. She bent down low, her silverblade drawn and shrouded in shrieking electricity. Then, like an arrow, she bolted straight at the greathorn, meeting it face-to-face. My face twisted at the sight. ¡°Emilie! No!¡± ¡°Ferum Fulgur!!¡± The warning did little to halt her assault: a wide slash of the sword, like a horizon of lightning, pealed across the beast¡¯s body. With her mark struck, sparks crackled and forked in great flashes through the subterranean air. Behind that blinding veil of light, the greathorn loomed¡­ ¡­unscathed. ¡°How¡­!?¡± Emilie muttered in a gasp, a moment of surprise presented before a beast much fain to seize it. And so it did. The demonic bull heaved its deadly weight unto a wide-eyed Emilie. ¡°Radi¨¡ns Aulaeum!¡± chimed Sheila¡¯s voice, and there welled up before Emilie a pall of light, into which the beast¡¯s lethal horns crashed. For but an instant, the attack was stopped, but it was all that Emilie needed. Her wits recovered, she darted away, with Sheila¡¯s shining shield shattering into nothingness in that same moment. ¡°Wh¡­ what¡¯s this!?¡± Emilie doubted aloud as she renewed her stance. ¡°No greathorn should resist lightning! And my sword¡ª¡¯tis left nary a scratch on the beast!¡± Of course not. It was natural that nothing in Emilie¡¯s arsenal could harm the beast before us, whether it be strikes of sharp silver or lightning. ¡°Lady Emilie! That¡¯s no greathorn¡ªwe face a catoblepas!¡± ¡°¡­Wha?¡± My words warped the others¡¯ faces with immediate dread. ¡°Aoouhhrraahh!!¡± balefully bellowed the behem¨¢, before charging straight at both Felicia and me. At once, I leapt out of the way with my sister still in my arms. ¡°Eagh!¡± I cried. My shoulder tore open¡ªthe bull¡¯s gnashing horn had met its mark. ¡°B-Brother!¡± wailed Felicia. ¡°Everyone! Over here!¡± Emilie shouted from a ways off, pointing behind herself. ¡°We descend below! Hurry!¡± The tunnel system also splayed vertically into several levels; where Emilie indicated was an incline shaft sinking almost fourteen pass¨±s down, about the height of a five-storey building. Nay. With a drastic slope like that, a ¡°winze¡± seemed more the word: a steep, vertical passage connecting disparate tunnels, like an underground cliff. I let Felicia off, and together we ran to it. ¡°Bloody hell! Here goes!¡± Gerd winced, sliding down the precarious drop with the rest of us not far behind. ¡°D¨¥fend¨¥ns Sp¨©ritus!¡± came another incantation from Sheila. A wall of winds, meant to deflect incoming arrows and like projectiles, awoke and whirled upon our landing spot. Yet it was oriented in reverse¡ªright before our feet could crash into the ground, the gales billowed and cushioned our fall. A safe landing¡ªthe deft work of a dame, exceptional in her practice of succouring magicks. Looking up, we found the catoblepas looming over the edge of the winze. It returned a gaze of its own, its eyes veritably ablaze with a fell light. It would seem it held no delusions of peace between us. ¡°Ye cow-faced guffer! Gawp down on us, do ye!?¡± roared our red-haired warrior. ¡°Tame your taunting, Raakel,¡± Emilie appeased. ¡°Sheila, pray see to Felicia¡¯s wounds. Rolf¡¯s shoulder, as well.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± our surgien obeyed, before turning to my sister. ¡°Miss Felicia, where are you hurt?¡± ¡°My rib¡­ it may be broken,¡± Felicia answered. ¡°I¡¯m bleeding as well, but not very much.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call the stains on your bosom ¡®not very much¡¯, Brigadier Buckmann,¡± Gerd observed. ¡°Might we know what¡¯s happened?¡± My sister¡¯s gaze fell at once, her spirit lost. ¡°¡­This blood¡­ is not my own¡ª¡¯tis my officers¡¯.¡± ¡°Officers?¡± Emilie blinked. ¡°Felicia. What¡¯s happened to the 16th?¡± ¡°My squad¡­ I¡­ I¡¯m the only one that¡¯s left¡­¡± Emilie¡¯s shoulders sank. ¡°I see¡­ The terror. It must¡¯ve been dreadful,¡± she quietly condoled. Her eyes then went to me. ¡°Rolf. This catoblepas¡ªare you certain?¡± ¡°I am,¡± I nodded. ¡°It well-pretends the greathorn, but the hue of its hide and the shape of its horns betray its true nature.¡± Like the greathorn, the catoblepas is a bull-like behem¨¢, but unlike the former, it is further classed amongst the mythoferae: creatures more at home in legends than in the living world. The dread bull brims with odyl at every bend and span of its body, affording it great protection against nearly every known elemental magick. And its azure-night hide is as a skin of iron, rejecting the bite of any blade sent against it. And nothing stops its sundering charge. What such violence leaves in its wake are piles of the dead, men and behem¨®t alike. Filed away in the knightly records are reports of but a single catoblepas felling an entire fortress, manned by no less than members of the Order itself. Make no mistake: the greathorn pales in comparison to the catoblepas, and we now had the misfortune of being the mark of such a monster. ¡°Emilie, we must act,¡± Gerd pressed, and the answer he received was immediate. ¡°That we shall. But by Rolf¡¯s ken, ¡®tis not a greathorn we grapple with. And if so, we¡¯re in dire need of another plan.¡± ¡°Emilie, if I may,¡± Felicia spoke up. ¡°What if we were to seal off the tunnels? That way we may starve the beast to its death, should we wait long enough.¡± Emilie then turned to the rest of us. ¡°Everyone. What think you all?¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather we bray its brains in, if I¡¯m honest,¡± Raakel shrugged. ¡°Yet these tunnels make an ill host for such a pitched battle, I think. That behem¨¢ holds too great an advantage,¡± Sheila reasoned whilst weaving her mending magicks. ¡°I see much merit in Miss Felicia¡¯s idea. Time may yet be our keenest weapon here.¡± ¡°Time?¡± Gerd cocked his head. ¡°And how many swings this of ¡®weapon¡¯ need we endeavour till that bloody bovine bites the dust, eh?¡± He¡¯s right. A siege against a host of men this will not be; such a beast can make a fast ally out of time itself. ¡°The catoblepas¡ªit is ranked highly as a mythofera,¡± I began explaining. ¡°Accounting for all the odyl it has built up in that body, I¡¯d say it can last several months, at least. And if the fates have fed it well, perhaps a year and more.¡± That option¡¯s off the table, then¡­¡± Emilie relented. Maintaining a seal upon the mines would require personnel, but with every coin in the operation¡¯s coffers already reserved for some purpose, a siege¡ªmonths-long at minimum¡ªwas a failure in feasibility. ¡°In any case, we¡¯ve succeeded in securing our sole survivor. ¡®Tis best we withdraw for the time being. Sheila, how fares Felicia?¡± ¡°Well enough. The mending¡¯s finished,¡± the surgien confirmed. ¡°Miss Felicia, are you yet in pain?¡± ¡°Nay. I can move now, I think. Thank you.¡± It bears another mention here that the mending magicks are generally tasked to closing wounds, stopping blood loss, and recovering a measure of spent stamina, for that is the usual extent of their effects. But to repair bones, like those of Felicia¡¯s broken ribs, in so short a span of time spoke volumes of what an extraordinary healer Sheila was. ¡°Pray see to Rolf¡¯s wound as well, Sheila, if you can,¡± Emilie requested. I shook my head. ¡°Nay, Mareschal. We¡¯ve no time. Let us quit the place before the beast finds us again.¡± ¡°Bugger, the thing¡¯s gone off!¡± Raakel groaned as she squinted at the winze edge above. ¡°It be comin¡¯ after us, ye think?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve no doubt,¡± I confirmed. ¡°The catoblepas is a creature whose spite is as keen as its horns. I¡¯ve read reports of a platoon charged with slaying one of its kin. They were routed and thought to retreat¡ªonly, the beast had other ideas. For the next three days and nights, it pursued those men. And now we share in their ill predicament; we¡¯d best assume it¡¯s hot on our tails.¡± My words were unwelcome news to all that heard them, for their faces now furrowed with fear. A winding detour to the adit awaited us from the lower levels where we now found ourselves in. With such a long trip ahead of us, it wouldn¡¯t betray reason to assume that the catoblepas would catch up to us at some point. ¡°Right then. Let¡¯s be off,¡± commanded Emilie, and at once, we were on our way. What foul fortune. I should have realised long before. To point, it is outlandish to think that a greathorn could mow down four whole squads with such frightening ease. And furthermore, the thought hadn¡¯t even occurred to me that there existed some possibility that our menace might not have been the greathorn it ought to be. My mind turned to the battle at the Erbelde. It was only after the river began swelling that I realised some diablerie was at work upon the tributary. Nevermind the fact that the tributary itself was clearly drawn upon a map, so splayed out for us all to see during the war council on the night before. Am I at fault? Or is it conceited overmuch to even think that I have some say in all of this, mere swain that I am? Nay. That¡¯s not it. Not at all. I am a party to this operation, an actor within this woeful play. And so long that I am, I share in the responsibility of noticing such fatal details. The moment my myriad counsels were unheeded by Emilie was the moment I had given up¡ªthe moment I convinced myself that my duty was all but done. I deceived myself, dusting off my hands and thinking that the rest should be shouldered by Emilie, mareschal of the 5th as she was. How mistaken I was. I would do ¡®all that I am able¡¯¡ªwere those not my words? Spoken so resolutely to my sister after the war council? Racked by such thoughts, my eyes turned themselves to Felicia, who, noticing me, parted her lips. ¡°Oh, B-Brother¡­ I¡­¡± she stammered softly. My brows raised quizzically at her. ¡°Th-thank you¡­ for saving me earlier.¡± My eyes went back to the way ahead. ¡°Nay. Let it not trouble you,¡± I returned, ¡°Lady Felicia.¡± She pressed not the exchange any further, falling silent and casting her gaze down sorrowfully. Emilie, seeing this for herself, couldn¡¯t help but share in my sister¡¯s grief. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ D¨¥fend¨¥ns Sp¨©ritus (Original name: ¡°Shield Breath¡±) A succouring magick. Accretes together a collection of convective winds, forming a veil that repels projectiles. Ferum Fulgur (Original name: ¡°Fierce Volt¡±) A levin-elemental bladespell. The sword is imbued with a shroud of electricity. When swung, a fan of lightning is thrown forth, burning and electrocuting targets caught within. Mythofera (plural: mythoferae) A cryptid; that is, a creature of legend or myth. A rarity amongst rarities, they are implied to be behem¨®t of the most dangerous sort. Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Radi¨¡ns Aulaeum (Original name: ¡°Gleam Curtain¡±) A succouring magick. Remotely manifests a luminous paling that shuts down the momentum of incoming attacks. Volume 1 - CH 4.5 ¡°Bloomin¡¯ ¡®eck¡­ Ye sure we goin¡¯ the good way, m¡¯loves?¡± fretted Raakel. ¡°Bugger¡¯d if we get lost, eh? What with that murder-cow comin¡¯ after us.¡± ¡°Your nagging has got me proper buggered already, Raakel,¡± Gerd quipped. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, yeah? We walk the right path.¡± Briskly did we stride on our winding way to the adit, never knowing when that demon of a bull would burst out of the gloom to gore us from behind. Raakel¡¯s grumblings were well-grounded: the tunnels were all in a tangle, an unschemed skein that led our return every which way. By then, we¡¯d both scaled up and slipped down many a layer, and were now closer to ground level than we were upon our first encounter with the catoblepas. Only, our worries seemed to have no end in sight¡­ ¡°There are stray paths here, ones unmarked upon the map,¡± I observed while on the move. ¡°Heed their wiley wendings and we risk going astray with them.¡± ¡°Rolf, you mean to say the maps were mistaken?¡± Emilie asked. ¡°I do. Lord Gerd said it himself at the war council: the mad rush for silver of forty winters past led to a blind expansion of the tunnel system. Unfortunately for us, the cartographers¡¯ diligence was no match for the old miners¡¯ zeal.¡± None of the returned squads had reported the presence of such unmarked paths. Perhaps it was in being so fervent and focused upon finishing their own part of the operation that they failed to pay a mind to any tunnel beyond the route assigned to them. ¡°Haa¡­¡± came Sheila¡¯s exasperation. ¡°The murk of these mines are as the muds of a marsh¡­ I dearly hope we¡¯re well on our way to the exit.¡± ¡°Another worrywart, eh Sheila? Well, you can hang up your mudboots; we trace the 8th Squad¡¯s footsteps as we speak, and as far as I know, they themselves were untroubled on their way back up to cam¡ª¡± ¡°¡­Hhrroooohhh¡­!¡± As if to jeer at Gerd¡¯s attempt at consolation, a beastly bellow broke the air from a ways behind us. ¡°Tch!¡± clucked the eldest Owlcrane. ¡°Bloody quick for a cow, this catoblepas!¡± ¡°Emilie, up ahead!¡± Felicia pointed. ¡°An emptied stope awaits! Just a bit further!¡± ¡°Right!¡± our mareschal nodded. ¡°I suppose that¡¯s where we¡¯ll dance the long waltz, then.¡± With our hearts steeled, we ran further in our course till our emergence into the stope: an expansive cove of burgeoned breadth, greedily gutted of all its ore. ? The six of us were huddled behind cover in that gaping hollow, hastily forming a strategy as per Emilie¡¯s instructions. Gerd, Felicia, and Emilie herself were to standby near the mouth of the gangway, from where we were certain the catoblepas would emerge. Their duty was to dole out a coordinated ambush, one aiming to have the beast buckle down to its hocks and knees. Raakel and Sheila, for their part, were to wait a ways off, their charge it was to execute the catoblepas in its collapsed state. Our warrior readied her maul, with the whole of its head and haft emboldened by our surgien¡¯s succouring magicks. ¡°Where our blades fail, we leave it to Raakel,¡± Emilie chanted. ¡°Let¡¯s hope you¡¯re fit for the leading part!¡± ¡°Aye, an¡¯ it¡¯ll be a play ye won¡¯t soon ferget!¡± nodded Raakel. ¡°All me odyl¡ªright here in me silvermaul, it is!¡± With that, we all scurried off to our positions and waited with bated breath. I had the unfortunate pleasure of being positioned in the far rear. Disappointing, to be sure, but this was not the time to pout; an ungraced would prove to be of small avail here. Our ears perked. From the gangway echoed the catoblepas¡¯ panting, deep and gust-like. The sound stiffened us all. Down our cheeks rolled beads of sweat. Electricity cracked and snapped about Emilie¡¯s silverblade, while tongues and tendrils of flame seethed about Gerd¡¯s own. Sheila quietly conjured up another succouring magick, a spell to further bolster Raakel¡¯s sinews. The lurid breathing loudened. Closer now, and closer still. Felicia raised her silverstaff. Raakel clenched her silvermaul. Another moment, and the catoblepas trundled its way into the chamber. An unnerved soldier might be apt to ambush the beast right this instant, but none amongst us were so foolhardy. Our patience stayed us all; only till the catoblepas was squarely within the stope proper would we pounce. Further. Further still. Now the baleful bull was wholly in our view. Then, like a thunderclap, the three sprung to action. ¡°Aci¨¥s I¨±nct¨±rae!¡± ¡°Annihiland¨­!¡± ¡°Gl¨¡rea Pru¨©nae!¡± Emilie and Gerd lunged upon the catoblepas¡¯ forelegs, bringing down their ensorcelled blades upon the bulky limbs. Meanwhile, a frosty pall conjured up by Felicia appeared before the beast, blowing a shrieking gale of sharp ice straight into its face. ¡°Gghhoouuhh!¡± A combined offence, executed by some of the mightiest champions in the 5th¡ªeven a monstrosity like a catoblepas could not help but founder before such fury. But the moment would not go unseized: already was Raakel rushing into the fray. ¡°Ey! Up!!¡± A crack. No mortal body should ever produce such a sound. But produce it did, from where but the beast¡¯s brows as it was struck by a swing of the silvermaul. ¡°Ooggh¡­!¡± the behem¨¢ groaned. ¡°Rruuaaahhh!!¡± howled Raakel, dissolving into a violent blur of scarlet and silver, her maul thrashing every which way as it rained hammer-strikes upon the catoblepas¡¯ countenance. The air shattered against the cacophonous cudgelling, unfettered and unrelenting. ¡°Aahhrr¡­! Gghoohhou¡­!¡± the bull bleated before couching down upon its belly. A prime opportunity¡ªRaakel retracted and raised the savage silvermaul for one more swing, to seal the deal and end the enemy. A flicker. We saw it, each and every one of us. A wicked light roused from the catoblepas¡¯ foul gaze. It wasn¡¯t couched in defeat. No, it was making ready: a low springboard of a stance, from which would follow a deadly charge. ¡°Raakel!¡± shouted Emilie, and just as she did, the catoblepas kicked off. Such mammoth flesh had no right to move with the speed of a loosed arrow, but the beast betrayed all convention as it thrust its murderous mass straight at Raakel. ¡°Tch!¡± ¡°Eah!¡± Our warrior tore away from the charge in the nick of time. Felicia jumped out of the way as well, having found herself in the perilous path. ¡°Ghhooaaahhrr!!¡± roared the behem¨¢, unceasing in its advance. Those lamp-like eyes trained upon a new target: me. ¡°Bloody¡ª!¡± I dived to the side to avoid the crazed catoblepas, but with affrighting agility, it wound about and commenced another charge right at me. ¡°Globus Igneus!¡± rang Felicia¡¯s incantation, and in the darkened air, there bloomed a billow of flame. At once, it constricted into a fiery orb and shot straight into the catoblepas mid-charge. From the ensuing explosion emerged the beast, hindered not in the slightest. Its path was unchanged¡ªit was keen to finish me off. Perhaps it was wont to wipe its plate clean of any ungraced morsels before moving on to the main course. ¡°Vvhooohhh!¡± ¡°Ach!¡± I ducked out of the way. It looped and charged once more. This exchange repeated for but a few seconds of deadly eternity. At the end of it all, I was cornered. Opposite of the gangway leading into this stope was another winze, a veritably gaping gulch leading down to the lower levels. And there was I, standing at its edge. ¡°Rolf!¡± screamed Emilie, dashing straight to me. But the beast was faster. With vaunting vehemence, it smashed its way right into my midst. ¡°Eehhgh!¡± An all-consuming impact¡ªwhat incredible power. Fortunate enough was I to avoid being gored by its horns, but that was where my luck ran out: its rampaging snout struck me squarely. Such force threatened to snap the very arms I used to defend with, but it instead sent me flying into the sighing shaft. But I wasn¡¯t alone. The catoblepas, too, parted from the cliff edge, unable to mitigate its own momentum. Together, man and beast abandoned all footholds and plunged into the deep. In that fall, a dear echo met my ears. ¡°¡­Brother¡­!¡± ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Aci¨¥s I¨±nct¨±rae (Original name: ¡°Juncture Edge¡±) Levin-elemental bladespell. Envelopes the sword in a cloud of electricity. Its peculiars are unknown as of yet, but presumably produces a blast of lightning upon each blade strike. Annihiland¨­ (Original name: ¡°Annihilation¡±) Fire-elemental bladespell. Ignites a raging flame about the sword, imbuing each swing with a hammer-strike of fire that continues even if the blade is blocked. Gl¨¡rea Pru¨©nae (Original name: ¡°Frost Gravel¡±) Ice-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of shards and/or stumps of ice, directed towards a target at high speeds. Pierces and/or pummels on impact. Globus Igneus (Original name: ¡°Fireball¡±) Fire-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of a sphere of flames, conjured and lobbed at a target. Explodes and scorches on impact. Volume 1 - CH 4.6 My body tumbled through the dark¡ª ¡°Ahgh!¡± ¡ªand slammed against some solid surface. Crash and cry both bookended the dive the catoblepas and I took together from the winze edge above. A trail of dust smoked off of the cliff face, tracing my descent. I had not flown clear through the air, but like a coiled woodlouse, rolled and skidded instead against the steep rock wall on my way down. A fall of almost fourteen pass¨±s, was it? ¡°Hha¡­ haa¡­!¡± My breathing was in disarray, but I had to get up¡ªimmediately. I groped about, finding a wall. Leaning against it, I laboured my way up to my feet and hastily scanned the environs. The gaping hole the beast and I fell through¡ªit was no winze as I had thought it to be, but a vertical stope: a veritable void where once existed an edifice of silver ore. This hollowed stope continued down further; at its far bottom, there now loomed the catoblepas. ¡°Hhuogh¡­! Ghuogh¡­!¡± The blasted bull peered up straight at me, eyes moiling with murder. It would seem it suffered a longer fall than I had, and ended up on a level lower than mine. Our staring contest did not last long, however: the catoblepas carried off, likely on a beeline right to where I was. ¡°¡­Rolf¡­!¡± came echoes from above. ¡°¡­Ro¡ªlf¡­!¡± Emilie. She was calling out to me. ¡°Em¡ªkhuh¡­! Kha-hah¡­!¡± My lungs were shook and battered. Answering back was a firm impossibility; what should have been my voice was but an itching wheeze. Not long remained before the demon-bull would find its way to me, and find me it will: it would seem the damned thing thinks of little else once it¡¯s settled on a nemesis, a part I had the ill-starred pleasure of playing. I needed a plan. Calming my frayed mind as best I could, I gave the surrounding area another look. Next to me was a rail cart¡ªthe ¡°surface¡± I had crashed into earlier, soon after landing. ¡°Khagh! Ha¡­ haa¡­¡± My breathing had yet to find purchase. Pain throbbed throughout my body. I gripped my chest and attempted to rectify my respiration. The beast knew the mines well. Its wits were keenly whetted¡ªno detours would be taken on its way here. But how long till it arrived? My mind drew up a blank. Nonetheless, I had to start planning. The cart. Should I hop in and ride it to safety? But where to? Where was it safe, even? Fates be damned. My thoughts were threadbare. ¡°Haah¡­! Haa¡­!¡± I inhaled loudly and deeply, ignoring the pain erupting from my every pore. My head was bereft of oxygen, and given the situation, I was fatally obliged to give it all it craved. Was there aught around me that could be of some use? What of the terrain? Could it avail me in some way? I had to think of something, anything at all, lest I be gored to pieces by that behem¨¢¡¯s horns. A proper look around revealed the level to be quite expansive. The ceiling was unsupported; all of its stulls were either rotted away or resting in pieces. Just a ways off were bodies of knights, strewn unceremoniously across the dirt. The quieted remnants of the 15th Squad. The injured soldier had recounted the last moments with his group thusly: in their retreat from the massacre in the choked gangway, they emerged into an expansive stope¡ªthe third sector, in the southern quadrant. This was where they encountered the catoblepas, and their final moments with it. From the looks of it, three exits led off from this level. A discrepancy from the map, which had shown only two. The odd one out was the leftmost gangway. Near it lay a disused rectilinear object, wooden in construction and half a passus in length, thereabouts. A bellows, is it? Must be. ¡°Haa¡­ haa¡­¡± Busied overmuch was my brain, taxingly processing the myriad pangs of pain sent from every corner of my body. I wiped the mental table clean of the noise and funnelled as much of my faculties to the situation at hand. This impasse had to be overcome, and soon. I looked down at my feet to glean the immediate terrain. Where I stood upon was an embankment, which sloped gently down to the wide and level ground below. A rail track ran down this very slope, likely once used to carry down loads of ore via some mine carts. The one next to me was such a contraption, its wheels halted in place by braces on the rail itself. A lever was nearby. Pulling it would ostensibly release the braces and let the cart free to run down the slope. That is, if it weren¡¯t sooner stopped by forty winters worth of rust. No. The rail itself was damaged and decayed at several points. No doubt the cart would derail if left to run along its course. ¡°Ha¡­ haa¡­¡± I attempted to settle my lungs once more. Tackled by a cantankerous catoblepas, tumbling down a fourteen pass¨±s cliff¡ªglad indeed was I to yet draw breath. Wounds were all about my body, ones that might demand immediate medical attention, but in spite of them, I could still move. I suspected the fates have yet to tire of toying with this fool. Faint glimmers about the ground caught my eye. Silver ore? Specimens of assorted sizes were scattered all about. I took one to hand. Always had I thought silver to be a gaudish affair, but a subtle glitter riddling the coarse ore did give the metal the charm of twinkling stars. I saw for myself then why enthusiasts clamoured in droves for such curios. Another upon the ground grabbed my attention, this one long and sharply tapered in shape. Why not stick this into the beast? Right where it stings the most? Be done with the damned demon once and for all, let¡¯s say. Such foolery frolicked in my mind as I took up the serrated stone and slid it inside a breast pocket. A sigh left my lips. Foolery indeed. That I was indulging myself in them was proof that my powers of concentration had not yet made their return. What could this simple stone achieve that an all-out attack from the Owlcranes could not? A strategy¡ªnot a stone. That was what I needed. One with which to bring down the beast. If I were to use these stones, plentiful as they were, certainly there had to be a more cunning employment of them. I drank another lungful of air, cleared the clutter in my mind, and gave my surroundings one last check. Right. Having set myself straight, I went to work gathering up the scattered ore and tossing them into the mine cart. Already was it loaded midway; filling it up to its fullest did not take long. I wiped the sweat from my brows. ¡°Good. That should do it.¡± ¡°¡­Ghwagh, gwafh¡­¡± Like an unsought answer to my mutterings, down through the room echoed the catoblepas¡¯ heaving breaths. It was here. My hand went up and rested on the rail lever. ¡°Come on¡­ A little more. I¡¯m right here¡­!¡± My knuckles tightened into a fist about the iron bar. Sweat seeped from my palm. My chest drummed and drummed. Off in the distance, the hounding hoof-falls found their way into the room. The beast locked its eyes onto mine. A strike against the ground¡ªoff it jolted into a charge. I pulled the lever. At once, the ore-engorged cart shrieked down the tracks. My mind raced¡ªif memory serves, a cubic digitus of silver is little more than two d?ellae in weight. I glanced at the cart. Fifty-five by eighty by forty-five¡­ almost two-hundred thousand cubic digit¨©: the cart¡¯s total capacity, now heaped with silver ore. From what I¡¯d espied earlier, the ore here was pure by about a third; Godrika truly is generous. Now accounting for negative space and the weight of impurities¡­ ¡°Nine-thousand l¨©brae, just about?¡± The heft of the exotic elephant. Quite the punch. But exactly how much of one? My mental calculations stopped there; not even our arithmeticians have figured out how to run such numbers yet. But the cart now rolled down the slope with considerable speed; the momentum should add more than thrice its weight to the total. Its iron wheels clanked and clattered as it cruised down towards the charging catoblepas. By now the beast was bounding its way up the embankment straight for me, but the sight of the speeding iron box should surely startle it. Nay. This fiend was no fool. These mines were its home. It knew the character of these carts, that they cannot run beyond the rails they were set upon. And so the beast simply swerved out of the way. ¡°Gwoufh, gwoufhh!¡± it seemed to jeer at me, its fiery eyes fixed upon mine. Seemed? Not anymore. The feral mocking was genuine¡ªthe beast absolutely bristled with bedevilled delight, comforted in knowing that victory was in its grasp. How curious. There truly is no end to the intricacies of behem¨¢ behaviour. ¡°I see Man¡¯s not the only creature taken with treat-giving!¡± I taunted, before breaking into a sprint¡ªright towards the beast. ¡°You¡¯ve shown me a year¡¯s worth of wonders today, ugliness! Now here¡¯s a treat of my own!¡± Certainly it would¡¯ve been best had the cart crashed into the catoblepas, but to think that it would was pure na?vet¨¦. Plan B. I knew it would come down to this. The ¡°buffoon¡¯s plan¡±, more like, but I had naught else up my sleeve. Past the catoblepas, the cart left the slope and levelled on flat ground. Only, the rail curved immediately from then on, and where it did, the track was already greatly deteriorated. Met with this sudden turn, the overloaded cart jumped¡ª ¡ªthe sound of screaming iron. The iron wheels cut through the rusted rounding rails, and further off the cart shot, its elephant-like weight lunging into the rock wall. The air boomed. The mines bellowed. From a memory whispered Emilie¡¯s voice. ¡°¡­that area is ready to collapse at the feather¡¯s touch¡­¡± The war council¡ªher finger hovered over the map. Sector three. Southern quadrant. Red ink slashed across it, forbidding all combat within its perimeter. Confusion flickered across the catoblepas¡¯ maw and brow as the ground quaked and groaned. And off to the beast¡¯s side was I, but for only an instant: mustering all might into my legs, I dashed past it, my eyes fixed upon a different destination. Its hatred unfaded, the behem¨¢ pivoted violently about and attempted to catch me with a swipe of its horns, but in its own eyes rolled the reflection of a greater force: boulders. Boulders upon boulders upon boulders. Bountiful and ubiquitous, a mountain falling down. Stones once composing the very ceiling of this far-reaching room. A new cacophony crashed through the cavernous air. Rocks rained and rained, fully flooding the entire area. A great boulder with a girth half that of the catoblepas¡¯ own body dived right into the back of the beast. But no time was given for its victim to let out so much as a single cry of pain, as the monster was soon immured under a growing mound of stones. Unceasing were the quakes and roaring rumbles. The boulders pelted the scene, each intent upon pressing and pulverising all caught within. Lifeless objects, mercilessly stamping out all signs of life. And their mission of massacre continued on for a while longer yet. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Digitus (plural: digit¨©) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the width of a finger. 1 centimetre is equal to 0.5405 of a digitus. A digitus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 2 centimetres. D?ella (plural: d?ellae) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, with the diminutive meaning of ¡°little double (sixths)¡±, referring to its purpose as a ? subdivision of the ¨±?ncia, another unit of measure. 1 gram is equal to 0.1095 of a d?ella. A d?ella, therefore, can be roughly equated to 9 grams. L¨©bra (plural: l¨©brae) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans; also known as the ¡°Roman pound¡±. 1 gram is equal to 0.00304 of a l¨©bra. A l¨©bra, therefore, can be roughly equated to 330 grams or ? of a kilogram. Stull In mining, woodwork that is erected against walls and ceilings as a protection against collapses and errant stones. Volume 1 - CH 4.7 ¡°Rolf! Where are you? Rolf!¡± ¡°Brother!¡± Across the rock-flooded chamber echoed Emilie¡¯s and Felicia¡¯s desperate calls. From the gangway, the girls emerged into the broken, byzantine scene, with the rest of the Owlcranes cautiously in tow. Their way was unhindered enough; fortunately, the gangway¡¯s mouth was left unbarred by the cave-in. ¡°Rolf! Answer us! Please!¡± Stones pressed against me from all over. My chest and diaphragm were constricted¡ªI could not answer the girls¡¯ pleas. For that, I must first crawl out of this cage of rubble. Finding myself laying upon my side, I roused my every sinew to push and part away the rocks. ¡°Rolf!¡± Emilie cried, spotting me as I slid out from my lifesaving canopy: a greatshield. Dented all over it was, but it well-withstood the pummeling rock-rain. ¡°Ey up, muscle-pate! Ye look the gormless turtle there, eh? Hidin¡¯ under that greatshield from the rockfall an¡¯ what not. Jammy ye found it here o¡¯ all places!¡± ¡°It would appear even impious turtles are fit for the mercy of the fates. Indeed, this day sees their full smiles upon you, my silly swain. The catoblepas¡ªit is swallowed. We have much to be thankful for.¡± ¡°Hah! The cave-in¡¯s the work of his cunning, more like. Couching beneath the shield like that¡ªI¡¯ll bat not an eye if that, too, was writ in his schemes.¡± The collective commentaries from the other Owlcranes. Back on my feet, I caught a glance of Gerd¡¯s displeased demeanour. But his words had the right of it. The sole survivor of the 15th Squad¡ªby his account, it was in this very stope where he last encountered the catoblepas. With his greatshield did he survive its lethal charge¡ªthe same shield that had carried him past the hail of arrowfire at the drifts of the Erbelde. But the brunt of the beast¡¯s attack proved too overwhelming, and it was here that the poor soldier parted with his dear protector. Just as he had said, the slab of iron was waiting here all this time. I had found myself in his same predicament, but with his beloved shield did I defy a hail of a different sort. Though, had I found myself under a boulder as enormous as the one squarely suffered by the catoblepas, that certainly would have been the end of me. That I stood here now, beholding the Owlcranes and my sister, was fortunate proof of the contrary. Sheila was on the mark: I had the fates to thank. But just as I had the thought to do so, the hairs on my nape stood on end. Electricity ran through my senses¡ªsomething, somewhere, wished to kill. ¡°Oh, Brother¡­ your wounds. We must see to the¡ª¡± ¡°Stay back!¡± My thundering bark stayed Felicia in her approach. Right after came a rumble. Off in the distance, boulders rose. From under them emerged the beast. ¡°Gwfaah¡­! Goufh¡­!¡± that bull-demon breathed, heatedly, heavily. Its eyes twitched across their every corner about before freezing in their seething stare©`upon me. And only me. Nary a mind was paid to the others present, their faces affrighted. No, the catoblepas freed itself from its live burial and commenced another charge straight at its ungraced enemy. Stones flew from the beast¡¯s rampaging path. I joined them as I dived off to the side. The escape found me untouched and the behem¨¢ beleaguered by both its wounds and the sheer maze of obstacles barring its way¡ªdulled now were its erstwhile violence and vigour. But no advantage was gained: this was a stalemate, through and through. The other five here were champions of the 5th Order, and neither their combined assault nor a gigantic falling boulder were able to put an end to this beast. What then, could? There was little time. I searched for an answer. Off to the side, a mouth in the wall¡ªanother gangway leading out. Next to it, the bellows I had noted before. ¡°Rolf!¡± yelled Emilie. ¡°All of you, stay away!¡± I shot back. ¡°I¡¯m its mark¡ªno one else!¡± Time for Plan C. I bolted off, only to be immediately paralysed by pain now striking my every nerve like lightning. Perhaps in being flooded in all this agony were the throbs of broken bones drowned out. ¡°Egh!¡± I winced furrowingly. No time to tarry and whimper. Death was coming. I forced one foot forward after the other and gained speed down the gangway, all the while sensing behind me the frenzied behem¨¢ tearing down the same path. ¡°Gaufh! Haufh!¡± it fumed, the beastly breaths searing my back like sirocco winds. But I pressed on, whipped into a fevered pitch by a primal fear, one of being gruesomely gored from behind. Pain nagged away even now, ever so audible in its screams throughout my body. And so I muffled them from my mind, focusing solely on flying down the darkened tunnel. Water¡ªif there is one dilemma that any and all mining ventures could name, underground water would be the first to be aired. Strike the wrong rock and the entire minery could be inundated if left unchecked. To deal with it, bellows are sent in to syphon the water away. That one such contraption lay back in the caved-in stope meant that further ahead slept a wellspring. Or at least, I hoped so. But if true, then a sizable body of water must have built up in the course of these last four decades. That would be my next destination, and if the fates remained kind, the catoblepas would be a fool to this fact. ¡°Oufh¡ª!¡± I yelped, stopping dead in my tracks. The gangway terminated¡ªno more ground lay before me. There I stood, upon the edge of another cliff. Before me sighed a shaft, like a great tower of shadow. Far down below was its sump, now as an abyss of black waters¡ªjust as I had predicted. While murky, I could yet glean that it spanned far and deep. A veritable lake, this was. I swivelled around and locked eyes with the beast as it rampaged down the gangway. Wrath writhed through its every sinew. The wounded catoblepas, now but a creature bent upon the kill, set its course straight for me. Standing firm, I peered through the thick dark to discern the behem¨¢¡¯s features once more. The thing was but a mass of muscle and bones. Clearly an illusion, for how else could blades merely bounce off its hide, and hammers and falling boulders scarcely slow its cruel career? Nay, it should certainly be a specimen of steel, elephantine and insurmountable. And that was precisely why it would not swim. Neither could the ¡°hippo¡±, waterborne critter of the southern lands as it is. No, any creature, even with lungs of its own, would sink if heavy enough¡ªthe same should hold true for the beast before me. ¡°Come¡­ This race is run, my friend!¡± I tempered my resolve, gulped down all the air my torso would allow, and bent low to readiness. The catoblepas and I, how battered and bruised we were. This would be the last exchange between us, the end of our game of cat-and-mouse. One final, fierce moment. Ten pass¨±s. Five pass¨±s. One! I leapt backwards, right before contact could be made. My hands rushed up to catch the incoming horns, keeping them from running me through. ¡°Eaagh!¡± I groaned behind clenched teeth. My arms trembled against the sheer shock of having absorbed the catoblepas¡¯ charge¡ªthough injured, my foe¡¯s fury fueled the attack plenty enough. Pain once again rattled my entire body; I felt as though my flesh had begun to unravel at its every seam. There we fell once again, together, through the shadowy shaft. I had avoided death by goring, but now another predicament loomed. My back pierced the water. Thunder slammed against my eardrums. Then, all was muffled. Behind the curtain of bubbles, man and beast melted into the watery black. Within it, our battle was broken. From the hulking horns were my hands freed. Confusion arrested my wits, but they found purchase soon enough. I squinted, scouring the turbid dark for the beast. There it was¡ªright beside me. Then, softly, it sank. I was right. The thing could not float. Not with an ungainly body like that. Something went right at last. Relief began to set in. But the fates were conspiring. Only a fool would fall for relief¡¯s feint upon so cruel a place as a battlefield. The catoblepas had till now walked through mountains and valleys of corpses of its own making. Certainly many amongst those dead were taken by the same relief before their own ends. Delicious opportunities, they must have been. And the beast was not about to let another go unseized. ¡°Bwafh¡­!¡± Precious air plumed from my mouth. Sharp pain erupted from my left ankle. Giant teeth were eating into my leg. The catoblepas funnelled the last of its strength into its maw, all in a bid to share a grave with its final foe. Down. Down. Down, into the deep I drifted, pulled along by spite incarnate. But my leg was yet whole¡ªthe beast was soundly spent, its maw firm but mild in its bite. Were it any other day, just a mere twitch of its jaw would have torn off a man¡¯s limbs like wet paper. But that was all well and fine for the beast. There was no need to tear aught. Not anymore. Pulling me down sufficed. A piece of paper is just as doomed at the dark bottom of a flooded sump, after all. Ye shall savour naught a scrap o¡¯ vict¡¯ry. By my shadow I¡¯ll shut out the sun o¡¯er all your future days, I will. Your days, and only yours. I spied such thoughts in the beast¡¯s eyes, vindictive ruminations that were as kindling to the conflagrations in its scarlet stare. Eyes by whose fell light stabbed the darkness. Eyes that craved murder, committed through any and all means. Eyes that would shoot horror and hysteria into the faint of heart. Eyes portending so much calamity¡ª ¡ªgored through with a shard of ore. ¡°Vfwagh¡­!?¡± frothed forth the final breath from the beastly lungs, freeing my leg from the bite of the slacking maw. The ghostly sun in its eye was shut out by the silvered stone, a souvenir I had availed myself during my dazed planning. Thus did the now half-eyed beast drift quietly into the deep. Yet the other half¡¯s gaze remained unbroken upon me, still and intent. I stared back, watching as the beast was swallowed up by the abyss. The thing had dealt death to droves of our knightly number. No doubt it was our nemesis. Yet it was we who had encroached upon its dwelling. To curse it was foul duplicity and blatant bigotry. Nay. I admired its heart instead. Curiously so. The heart of the defiant, fixed upon the battle at hand, one fought to the end of all ends. No matter the manner of the moment, that behem¨¢ struggled on and on. With every bone and sinew and thought in its mind and body tasked to the fight, it failed in only one respect: to, at any point, relent before its last moment. What look had I upon my face, I wonder? The face of an ungraced, a man ever at odds with his fellow men. A man that has now come to revere not his brethren, but a beast. What was the look upon the face of such a man, witnessing that same vaunted creature vanishing beyond the verge of all knowing? As if the thought to do so had just occurred to me, I began my swim back up, leaving the lifeless empty below. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Sump In mining, the very bottom of a vertical shaft. A pit in which collects waste material, and at times, drainage water. Volume 1 - CH 4.8 The catoblepas was slain. With Godrika free from its menace, the 5th Chivalric Order resumed their efforts to secure the bloodied depths. The knights¡¯ diligence proved fruitful, for at just past sundown on the second day, the final squad emerged from the adit and gave the bookending report: the tunnels were at last emptied of their erstwhile inhabitants. The Godrika Minery was back in Londosius¡¯ hands, and the monolithic veins of silver with it. But candles were kept lit, for the work of the knights was yet undone. Many a time was the hourglass turned till late into the moon-crowned night, where adjourned a meeting on the stationing of troops at the mines, as well as the repatriation of the dead therein. Yet again were we to camp under the stars; only on the morrow would we make our way back to headquarters. Through the miracles of mending magicks were my wounds mostly sealed up, though my bones were left in their broken state. The silver lining? I was yet able to walk this time, a thankful convenience compared to the aftermath of Erbelde, where I was left bedridden for days on end. And so I availed myself the opportunity. Sword practice. The daily rigour. The daily comfort. There was I, alone in a benighted grove. Hands clasped about the hilt, I turned my eyes up to the moon. Pain ran through me in an unceasing cycle, but by force of will, I pushed it from my mind. I raised the sword and swung. ¡°Egh¡­!¡± I winced. This won¡¯t do. The pain was the better opponent, sharp and sudden, leading my sword astray in its sailing. ¡°No good¡­ And no choice, either,¡± was my muttered relent. And so I settled into the centre guard, blade forward. If I could not swing with my body, then I would swing with my mind. I emptied my lungs of their air, and purged from my head any remaining distinction between my hands and my blade. Now I had but to repeat the same once more, this time between my consciousness and the ambience itself. In my mind¡¯s eye, the vision of a swung sword. Then another. And another. Downward. Upward. Left. Right. Aslant. In my corporeal eyes, the sight of a stilled sword. Moonlit. Motionless. For countless times more, I continued to swing the sword with not a single budge from my body. Each instance of the blade arc, carefully corrected. Each swing, imbued with the whole of my soul. My brows furrowed. Even in my mind, the blade began to meander. For there before me, that beast awoke. A foe never to be forgotten. The memory of the mines surfacing into the moment. A harrier upon my heart. The envisioned sword was swung many times more, but its course proved uncorrectable. Bent it was in its travel, dull in its cut, slow in its fall. Tonight would be another wasted night. The distractions have won the bout. I closed my eyes, finding there in my heart the blackened waters stirring once more. In its depths, the eyes of the sinking catoblepas¡ªeyes brimming with the brilliance of battle, bright and burning, till they were as embers stamped out by the cold abyss. Those very eyes had shown me what a valley there was between their master and myself. Of how unconquerable the catoblepas¡¯ spirit was. Of how dwarfed my defiance was. I had won the game of life and death, but lost the war of wills. ¡®I am without odyl. If victory is not in the cards, then I have but to fold.¡¯ Somewhere, somehow, I had fooled myself into believing such, that this would be the way of things from here on out. And so I lost, and continued to lose, till the battle came whereupon my very essence was to be judged. There, too, I lost. The odyl of which I lacked, the world in which I lived¡ªneither were factors in this fight. Only my spirit was the participant, and by the end, it was beaten and brought low. How pathetic. Eyes open, I gave a deep breath. With renewed determination, I clenched the hilt of my sword. Back to the beginning now. Till there rang a voice I knew very well. ¡°Brother.¡± Long has it been since I¡¯ve failed in sensing someone¡¯s approach before their call. Another defeat¡ªhow many more must I endure before the light of dawn? ¡°My Lady Felicia,¡± I answered. A brooding mien shaded her fair face. ¡°¡­I am yet your ¡®Lady¡¯, now of all times?¡± ¡°As you must be.¡± I knew well what she wanted to say, but breaking custom here would have done neither of us any favours. This was not simply a matter of paying the requisite respect to a superior. No. Felicia would gain only grief in consorting with me so congenially, ungraced as I am. What¡¯s more, House Buckmann had forbidden even the sharing of words between us. Were it to fall upon the ears of our parents that she yet harboured any warmth for her wayward brother, then surely a shadow would loom anew upon her future prospects. For her part, Felicia must have been well-apprised of this by now. Yet to her, knowing and accepting were hardly two sides of the same coin. Such a troubled soul stared on at me, sullen. ¡°If I may ask, what is it that you¡¯ve been doing here?¡± she said dispiritedly. ¡°Training, my Lady,¡± I returned. ¡°My daily practice.¡± ¡°Yet those hands have hardly swung the sword even once, in all the time that I¡¯ve watched you,¡± Felicia observed. ¡°Is it that your wounds have gotten the better of you?¡± ¡°Nay. One may yet swing a sword that cannot be swung, as it were.¡± ¡°I¡­ see. I think¡­ Were this training only as constructive as it is cryptic.¡± Lost upon my own sister, I see. I couldn¡¯t blame her. Not least because our disciplines were worlds apart. ¡°Well? How may I be of service to the Lady Felicia?¡± I asked, to which my sister began parting her lips for words that would surely issue with no small difficulty. ¡°¡­I¡­ I owe you much and more¡­ for your bravery.¡± For having saved her from the catoblepas, perhaps? There was a tone of gratitude in her voice, certainly, but I also sensed some regret couched in that timbre. ¡°And my words after the war council¡ªthey were bitter overmuch,¡± she continued. ¡°¡®Twas an undue slight that I¡¯ve let slip.¡± ¡°One I pay not a mind to,¡± I dismissed. ¡°But¡­¡± ¡°What left your lips was not so out of line. But be that as it may, some biting words here and there are well and fine, I¡¯d say,¡± was my admittance. ¡°We¡¯re family, after all. You and I.¡± Anew upon Felicia¡¯s lips: a faint smile. She then let her gaze fall, and there our company sat still for a quiet, moonlit while. At its end, she looked up again. ¡°¡­Brother¡­¡± she softly started, ¡°¡­you¡¯d slain that behem¨¢ all by yourself, hadn¡¯t you? That affrighting catoblepas¡­ murderer of all our men¡ªwith just you alone was it felled¡­¡± ¡°I was hardly alone,¡± I corrected. ¡°Yet hardly had I and the others done aught. ¡®Tis certain: we were¡­ we were of no avail¡­¡± Her voice trailed off to quietude before another joined our midst. ¡°Rolf, Felicia. You two¡¯ve been here all along, I see.¡± Felicia turned up. ¡°Emilie¡­¡± Our young mareschal came into the moonlight. Her timbre, too, was void of its erstwhile vigour. ¡°¡­Even on a day like this, you won¡¯t rest from your training, Rolf?¡± Emilie asked flatly. ¡°Yes, Mareschal.¡± ¡°I see¡­ But do temper yourself.¡± Her regard had the look of complete exhaustion about it. We had won the day, but only upon the bodies of the vainly departed¡ªthose of none other than her own subordinates. I could not imagine what a crushing burden it must have been upon her heart. ¡°Your counsel, Rolf. It portended much¡­ hadn¡¯t it?¡± Our point of contention. Silence was my answer. ¡°The behem¨¢ menace, the tangled routes of retreat, the casualties¡­¡± Emilie resumed. ¡°Had I heeded your warnings, certainly the day would¡¯ve sung a different tone.¡± ¡°The day is ours regardless,¡± I reaffirmed dispassionately. ¡°¡­I suppose it is, in the end.¡± ¡°Emilie¡­¡± Felicia gently spoke up. ¡°Are you unwell?¡± The two girls were as sisters to one other. That Felicia would show such concern for the visibly haggard Emilie was most natural, for between them was shared a sympathy nurtured since their earliest days. ¡°Unwell? I¡­ Yes. I am unwell, I admit,¡± said Emilie. ¡°Felicia. Not long ago, I bade your brother seek a different path¡ªone of strategy and planning, perhaps, things of that sort. He¡¯s a wise one, as you well know. And that¡¯s why I thought he¡¯d find some purchase, were he to sheathe the sword for good¡­¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± ¡°Yet¡­ ¡®twas that same wisdom that I took ill-heed of. Only yesterday did I reject his counsel outright, and now¡­¡± Emilie shook her head. ¡°¡­Now we¡¯ve got graveyards to fill. Families to condole.¡± ¡°But Emilie, ¡®tis not¡­¡± ¡°You had your reasons,¡± I asserted. ¡°And they were valid enough. To say you rejected my proposals outright is a bit much.¡± ¡°Yet the losses we¡¯ve suffered were both unreasonable and overmuch; no excuse or comfort now can bring back all the dearly departed,¡± Emilie insisted. Her lips then slowly bent into a smile¡ªa weary, lightless smile made to mock none other than Emilie herself. ¡°¡­When I¡¯d heard the 15th¡¯s report, I couldn¡¯t contain my shame: I had to enter the mines myself and settle the matter with my own hands. ¡®Twas witless of me, looking back on it now¡­¡± ¡°Oh, Emilie¡­¡± Felicia consoled. ¡°¡¯Twas a greathorn we all thought the beast to be, no? Were that the case, certainly your levinblade would have felled the fiend.¡± ¡°¡­You thought to punish yourself, didn¡¯t you?¡± I elucidated. ¡°Atonement, tempered by regret¡ªimpetus enough to send yourself into the tunnels, where you might right your wrongs.¡± ¡°Yes¡­ that sorts well, I must say. What a fool I was,¡± Emilie confessed, her eyes drifting off to some memory. ¡°And the Mareschal Tiselius¡­ I admit again, I see something of a rival in her. She often fights on the frontlines, doesn¡¯t she?¡± Estelle Tiselius. Dame Mareschal to the 1st Chivalric Order. I had not thought her name would come up in this conversation, but here we were. Widely reputed for her valour upon the frontlines she was, but I could not comprehend why that would stoke within Emilie the fires of competition. ¡°The Mareschal Tiselius is a hero-dame of our realm, that much is certain. But the Lady Emilie is hardly wanting for merits of her own,¡± I observed. ¡°Am I wrong? I see no reason why you must be compelled to play the rival so.¡± ¡°¡­You¡¯re right¡­¡± Emilie relented, letting her gaze fall. Yet another matter remained uncertain in her heart, one she brought to voice after much struggle. ¡°Rolf. About what you said before, of how our kingdom means to expand its military might, should we take back these mines¡ªwill it come to pass, do you think? Now that we¡¯ve done just that?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve no doubt.¡± Silver. Londosius¡¯ dearest fodder for its lions of war. Godrika was at last the kingdom¡¯s own, and eager were its royal hands to reach into the purified bowels and snatch up all the silver it so coveted. And not to the crafting of coins or crowns would the precious metal be tasked. No, every molten droplet of the argent would fill the moulds in which would form the pride of Londosius: silver weapons and silver armour. Nothing else. And certainly, many wills within the kingdom¡¯s legislative halls were long bent upon seeing this through¡ªCentral, in particular. Indeed, the administrative canopy over the five Orders was as an aviary aplenty with war hawks, each itching and impatient upon his perch. Our success here at the mines would doubtlessly see that fiery flock flourish. ¡°We¡¯ll be showered with decorations for what we¡¯ve achieved today¡­ won¡¯t we?¡± Emilie wondered aloud with furrowed brows. ¡°Likely.¡± Many souls here were lost. And many amongst them again were the dear issue of the aristocracy. The 5th, after all, is a grand gathering of ennobled sons and daughters all seeking to start their decorated lives. The implication here cannot be understated. But another implication, one of a newfound source of silver¡ªa seemingly endless supply of it, one could imagine¡ªis overshadowingly monolithic by comparison. Londosius was changed forever. An able commander is he who knows best how to kill his own soldiers, that his own ends might be given furtherance. A cruel and cutting truth, one that undeniably manifested here at the mines, much to Emilie¡¯s chagrin. But I suspect Central would have fained to agree with frightening immediacy. ¡°¡­My heart tells me to step down as mareschal, that I might answer for my failings,¡± confided Emilie. ¡°It¡¯ll hardly atone for all we¡¯ve lost, only¡­ I cannot see myself keeping the mareschal¡¯s mantle for much longer. Yet¡­ yet stay, I must¡­¡± Tears fell from the young mareschal¡¯s eyes. ¡°House Mernesse¡­ my poor, poor family¡­ We¡¯re so small, so faint, I fear¡­ I fear we are as a raft upon the fickle seas¡­ ready to founder against the slightest wave¡­¡± she wept. ¡°¡­This victory¡ªhow I detest it so¡­ yet I need it, if only to keep my family afloat¡­¡± Mernesse. A noble line fallen upon hard times. With but a few servants and no land to call its own, House Mernesse was like to fade as a bubble set loose upon the barbed winds of aristocratic society. Yet Emilie¡¯s fortunes gave it the purchase it needed to survive. Though, just the same, its heavy fate now rested solely upon her young shoulders. But for her family to persist with any certainty, a further arrangement must be consummated. ¡°¡­And House Albeck¡­¡± Emilie continued. ¡°¡­If I¡¯m to honour the engagement, then I¡¯ve no choice¡­ none save remain in the Order¡­¡± House Albeck¡ªits son and heir to whom Emilie was now betrothed. It would seem her station as an elite within the Order gave substance to the engagement. The shackles of aristocratic life, as it were. I¡¯ve since been freed from them, for better or worse. Yet here, Emilie remained indelibly bound by them. Never would these worries have harried me had you found the grace of Yon¨¢¡­ Words that Emilie dared not utter. But they spoke the simple truth. Were we yet betrothed and to be blessed with a happy ever-after, she would not have known the misery that now mired her so. On and on, she sobbed. Felicia, helpless, did naught but look on to great sorrow. The night after a hard-won victory. The victors¡ªnot amongst them was shared a single smile. Volume 1 - CH 5.1 Two winters have wheeled by since the day we recaptured the Godrika Minery; five from the day of my enlistment here at the 5th. At twenty years of age, my charge yet remained as Emilie¡¯s swain. From the time of her promotion to mareschal and onwards, Emilie had been taking the liberty of nominating me for the rites of investiture. A gracious gesture, to be sure, but ultimately a futile one, for it seemed the Marquis Norden was no man to wax philanthropic for an ungraced. Thus has my daily routine changed little over the last two years, whether it be in the daily plying of the sword or my menial duties as a swain. Yet the same could not be said of the world around me, wuthering as it was against the winds of change. There was no doubt in any mind that Godrika hid within its bowels a bounty of silver ore. More doubtless again, however, was that none amongst them could have expected so colossal a yield. The argent boon was subsequently meted out to all members of every Order in the form of silver gear. Rank had little say in the matter: whether he be a seasoned officer or a fresh swain, each and every member of the Order was armed and dressed in that garish metal. Save, of course, for the lone ungraced. As such, I was the drab dot in a sea of silver, fitted as I was in banal iron. The reasoning was simple. Why bequeath to an odylless soul the greatest odyllic conductor of all materials? Obvious again was the answer, and so too was my unsightly presence¡ªmore so than ever before. ¡°Well, if it ain¡¯t our good ol¡¯ alga. Next sword-waggin¡¯ session¡¯s with me, lad!¡± the knights would often gaggle, as they raised their feders at me. And at the end of each training session, I would be found down on the ground, laid low, brought low, and thoroughly beaten. There was a time when I could handily hand the common knight his defeat in our play of swords. But those days have long since dusked. With silver armour aplenty to deploy their palings with, the knights were now forever beyond the reach of my blade. No longer was there a single opponent to whom I could bare any teeth. ¡°Oi alga. Alga! Have these feders filed and tucked away, will you?¡± ¡°We¡¯ve some more here as well, Ser Alga.¡± New jeers have joined the jesting these days. The second voice: that of a springtide swain. And in those jeers, there prevailed the pinching term. Alga. The ¡°soot-steeped¡±. It was not long after my enlistment that I was branded with the nefarious byname, conceived as it was from my soot-stained appearance as I emerged from the newly cleaned hearth, upon that cold eventide years ago. But now was it eagerly and openly aired in full disdain against my person. Indeed, even from the lips of the greenest swains came mouthings of much scorn. Emilie was quick and thorough in her reprimanding of such discrimination. By her quill was signed the command that forbade the ill behaviour, an unprecedented motion, most certainly. Yet for however unprecedented or imbued with goodwill that it was, the motion was one made in vain. But that was not to say that the knights themselves had it easy. No longer could their days be whiled away in daydreams or petty pursuits. To our misfortune, my fears have flowered: Londosius¡¯ lions of war have been let loose, for our sovereign sought battles more than ever before. The battlefields grew in both number and proximity, and many of the soldiers of the Orders soon found themselves practically living on the frontlines. The days before Godrika seemed almost halcyon by comparison. ¡°Y¡¯heard what¡¯s happened to Victor, eh? Went and got his right leg lopped off proper. And not more than two days ago, either.¡± ¡°Yea¡­ the poor lad. ¡®Twas from his thigh on down that got butchered. Took it and ran off, the Nafilim did.¡± ¡°Well he¡¯s alive, at least. Not like Lucas¡ªgot his whole heart ripped out of him, that sorry bastard. Yon¨¢ have mercy on us all¡­¡± A conversation not uncommon within the tired mess hall. Roused was the once-sleeping sword of war, trained now upon battlefields of burgeoning ferocity. The Orders could do little else but oblige, and so sent their great number to certain death. Officers¡ªall of them¡ªwore their fatigued faces with a constant dread. And there was Mt. Godrika. Yes, dreaded Godrika, woeful site of our dear sacrifices two years past; Central apparently took heed of our enumerated dead, and ordered that adjustments be made to the 5th¡¯s organisational structure. Likely an attempt at distancing the precious offspring of the aristocracy from the most belligerent of battlefields. But by now, it was evident enough that those pampered princes and princesses could only remain sheltered from the flames of war for so long. And so it was that the 5th lost its lustre as a calm strait, through which the more careerist-minded recruits found safe passage to the waters of opportunity, once upon a time. Indeed, the nobles have all but lost their haven. The battles numbered overmany, stretched overfar, and craved overmuch. Or perhaps it was even before Godrika that the signs were scrawled in the sand. Yes¡­ Erbelde¡ªat its foundation, that battle was little more than a foray into the lands of our foe, all to seize the fertile basin flowing therein. The kindling for the great war-fire was already smouldering by that point. And now we stood, witnessing before us its full ardour. These days, nary a year wheels by that an officer finds himself unsent to the frontlines. Little wonder, then, that on the daily, the soldiery of the Order was so spent of spirit and burdened of body. The stress, the anger, the frustration¡ªwho better to take it out on than an ungraced? ¡°Want-witted wastrel! What¡¯s your business, ah!? Weakest of us all, an¡¯ here you¡¯ve the nerve to yet draw breath! Whilst our mates file out and make battle!¡± Another scene, one upon the training grounds: a knight berating me with both voice and fist. ¡°They come back to us in coffins, I¡¯ll have you know! Coffins! Samuel gave his life, he did! All that you might housekeep behind the comfort of these walls!¡± It would seem he lost a comrade in a prior battle. The anger it roused proved too great a burden on his heart, and so he sought to share the load, as it were. A tiring bout of violence, all but for a moment of precious equilibrium. ¡°Sinning scum!¡± he spat, kicking my back as I lay in the dirt. And as the strike landed, so too did the noontide bell. ¡°Training¡¯s over, lads and lasses. Hurry up and get your lunches over with, yea?¡± ordered the instructor. A member of the leadership in his own right¡ªbrigadier to the Cavalry Brigade. The other officers heeded him well, for they then dispersed in droves. ¡°Ey, alga,¡± he looked down to me. ¡°Make yourself useful, at least, eh? Keep getting laid low right quick like that, and soon even the shite under my shoe will fetch a finer reugol than you.¡± With those cutting words, the instructor himself quit the training grounds. The only soul left was I, spread upon the dirt like an old rag. ? Noon passed on an ordinary day. There, I was met with a most unordinary visitor. ¡°Lord Rolf,¡± she greeted brightly. Maria¡ªthe young maidservant of House Mernesse. I was merely sat in a corner of the mess hall when I found myself in her company. ¡°I am pleased to find you well after all these winters.¡± Long has it been since I¡¯ve last been addressed so highly, must less spoken to with such deference. It was almost enough to whisk me off my chair. ¡°Likewise, dear Maria,¡± I returned. ¡°You¡¯ve grown¡ªhow old are you now?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve turned fourteen not a long while ago.¡± She carried herself with the air and conduct of an adult, yet retained a juvenile vestige upon her face. Indeed, though she had waited upon Emilie since her tinier days, those accumulated years still found Maria to be a child at her present age. If memory serves, the last I¡¯ve seen of her was on the day I departed the Buckmann barony for good. She stood there at Emilie¡¯s side amidst a gathering crowd, clasping dearly to her mistress¡¯ hands. The look upon her little face told of an innocent sorrow at seeing off her beloved Emilie, so ready as the latter was to embark upon a new path at the Order. The two were precious to one another. Maria adored Emilie with the whole of her heart, while for her part, Emilie lovingly doted upon the little girl. ¡°You¡¯ve come here on business, I take it?¡± I asked, cognizant of the conspicuous timing. ¡°I have, m¡¯lord, as complice to a herald from Master Mernesse. He meets with the Lady Emilie at present,¡± Maria answered eloquently. ¡°I see. To discuss the engagement, no doubt.¡± ¡°¡­Yes, m¡¯lord.¡± The past few days have found our young mareschal to be torn of spirit. Emilie was fracted, brooding¡ªa bird beset by skies of rain, as it were. What¡¯s more, she¡¯d given me leave of two days from my swainly duties. For what reason? Hard to say. Something about wishing to hole up in her chamber and devote more of her energies to her obligations. Not too straining a stretch to say that her engagement was the culprit of her recent character, what with a herald flying here straight from the perch that was the Mernesse estate itself. After all, her betrothed, Kenneth of Albeck, was to turn sixteen this year. The hourglass had finally run its course, it seemed. My formerly betrothed, now off into the arms of another. The mere thought of it was as thorns wound tightly about my heart. ¡°Very kind of you to come and congratulate Emilie, Maria,¡± I said, in the midst of such ruminations. ¡°You always were the one smitten with her.¡± ¡°Your words are ever warm,¡± Maria smiled faintly, now sat across from me. ¡°Though I am come today not for m¡¯lady, but for you, Lord Rolf.¡± ¡°For me?¡± I blinked. ¡°Yes¡­¡± fell Maria¡¯s voice. Her words then ceased, a flow seemingly dammed up in her own heart, for moments passed before she could gather the courage to speak further. ¡°¡­The Lady Emilie¡­¡± Maria began again, shaking her head, ¡°¡­she must not¡­ she must not be made to marry¡­ Not to the young lord of Albeck.¡± ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Alga (Language: Latin; plural: algae) Something worthless. Originally a word referring to seaweed and other freshwater plants. Reugol (plural: reugoles) A standard currency of Londosius. Volume 1 - CH 5.2 ¡°Maria,¡± I began carefully, my ears yet reeling from her most unexpected words. ¡°What¡¯s this, so asudden?¡± Her answer came neither immediately nor matched to any rhythm of conversation. Rather, she sat there, shrunk and shivering in silence, her shaded regard distantly drifting down to the featureless table. ¡®She must not be made to marry the young lord of Albeck.¡¯ Her words of moments before. It was unthinkable for a servant to air even a whisper of dissent against her mistress¡¯ betrothal. But to say outright that the arrangement must not come to pass? This was grave. Certainly no small degree of bravery was needed on Maria¡¯s part to show her heart so. Thus did I refrain from forcing the matter, according her all the time she needed to continue. ¡°¡­Eight winters past¡­¡± she said, almost in a whisper, to which I nodded. ¡°¡­I lived here in Norden. My parents passed asudden, and so I was given to my uncle¡¯s care.¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± ¡°He partook of the bottle from the light of one morrow to the next, and dallied in debt-making wherever he went.¡± Pity left me quiet. Maria resumed. ¡°Till one day¡­ visitors were come to our home¡ªfrightful ones. And there, they soon came to quarrel with Uncle.¡± ¡°Visitors of the vicious sort, I take it?¡± I asked. ¡°Indeed. The moneyers¡¯ men, to be precise¡­ ¡®We¡¯ll take her as payment,¡¯ they said. And then¡­ th-they¡­ they bagged me up¡­ but not before¡­ k¡­ k-killing Uncle¡­¡± Now did her quivering begin to infect her words. It was painfully apparent to me by then that it was not the table that her downcast eyes saw, but a scene¡ªsore and sorrowful, a memory never meant to be treasured. ¡°¡­They kept me locked in some dark place. Besides myself, there¡­ there were two others. One, of about thirty years of age. And the other, twenty, thereabouts. Both were women¡­¡± Her voice now tearfully ebbed. I had a mind to stay her from recounting the hurtful memory any further, but chose to stay myself instead. This was Maria¡¯s resolve. Long was the journey her words took to reach my ears. There was naught to do but listen. ¡°I¡­ I could not tell the manner of the day¡­ All the walls were windowless¡­ But ¡®twas perhaps three days¡­ And in all that time, I was trapped there. At the end, we had visitors, both well-attired¡­ A man in his thirties, and¡­ and a boy, not much older than I was.¡± ¡­A boy? What ill. ¡°T¡­ to us, they looked¡­ a-and said¡­¡± ¡®Well now, what a winsome waist this one has. The eldest bint of the bunch, hm? Ah, yes, truly¡­ alluring, I must say.¡¯ ¡®What of these other two, daddy? Can I have them?¡¯ ¡®No no, my boy. The little one is mine.¡¯ ¡®Mmm, fine then. Little ones last too short a while, anyway.¡¯ ¡®Try not to kill your share so soon this time, will you?¡¯ ¡®But I can¡¯t help it, daddy. Slicing ¡®em up¡¯s such fun¡­¡¯ ¡®The slicing¡¯s best left for their last days; how many times must I remind you, my boy? Savour them softly now, and they may yet keep for a good year.¡¯ ¡­was Maria¡¯s harrowingly meticulous account. No memory so deeply engraved by the chisel of fear could be so easily worn away by the plane of time. What now echoed in Maria¡¯s ears was undoubtedly the vulgar glee of the man and his son. ¡°¡­They shackled us to each other¡­ and had us boarded up on a canvased carriage,¡± Maria went on. ¡°¡­I¡­ I was tr¡­ trembling¡­ all the way¡­¡± Her youthful face wrinkled heartwrenchingly. I looked on, silenced by her emotion. ¡°W¡­ we wended our way up a mountain pass¡­ There, a pack of droll-hounds waylaid us. In their fright, the men¡­ they threw me down from the carriage¡­ ¡®A bait for the beasts,¡¯ they said. And then¡­ and then they left.¡± It was my dearest intention to listen as calmly as I could. But before I knew it, I found my hands clenched white, nails digging into my palms. ¡°I watched the carriage drive away¡­ thinking this was my end, to be eaten up by the beasts¡­ But ¡®twas not to be. A bullboar happened asudden upon the pack and attacked them. The hounds darted away, and the bullboar gave chase¡­ And then¡­ I was alone.¡± The solitude¡ªhaunting, even now. ¡°I had no one left¡­ no place to go¡­ and so I wandered the road¡­ till I crossed paths with a passing caravan. The merchants there helped me¡­ kind they were,¡± Maria¡¯s face softened. ¡°A search was sent out later on for the man and his son, as well as the other women¡­ but ¡®twas all for naught.¡± Naught¡ªon account of a cold trail? Or was the probe barred by the powers that be? A hateful reality that it was likely the latter, I suspected, for ¡®well-attired¡¯ was Maria¡¯s assessment of the wretched duo. Likely again was their aristocratic status, a caste of customers fain for the cruel trade. ¡°¡­Thereafter, I was given to the orphans¡¯ workhouses, and put through a program for us lost children, where we might find some humble employ in the estates of high society. ¡®Twas by that path that I was made a maidservant to House Mernesse.¡± ¡°I see¡­ so that is your story.¡± ¡°Ever and always has the Lady Emilie treated me preciously, low-born though I may be. In my heart, she is a dear sister to me¡­¡± Maria faintly smiled, but the mirth quickly faded away. ¡°¡­And ¡®twas why I could scarcely draw breath when not a few days ago, we were visited by m¡¯lady¡¯s betrothed and his father, the viscount of Albeck.¡± The dots aligned. ¡°Father and son¡­ It was them, I take it?¡± I asked quietly, yet firmly. ¡°You¡¯re certain of this, Maria?¡± ¡°Yes, m¡¯lord. My eyes knew their faces at once. The man and the boy; no doubt they were the Viscount Albeck and his eldest son, the young Kenneth¡ªm¡¯lady¡¯s betrothed.¡± What nightmare is this? Nay. To Maria, this was a crushing reality, one that was upheaving her world right as we spoke. A word as flimsy as ¡°nightmare¡± could not hope to preface her poor fate. ¡°Have you spoken of this to anyone else?¡± I asked again. ¡°What of the baron? Is he apprised?¡± ¡°Nay, m¡¯lord. You are the first to hear of this,¡± Maria answered clearly. ¡°Master Mernesse¡ªhe can ill-endure so dire a blow as another annulled engagement for his dear daughter. Given his fraught circumstance, I fear he¡¯ll lend not an ear to my accusation, grounded as it is in a memory of eight winters past.¡± ¡°And one from a child not more than six years of age at the time, no less. Indeed, there¡¯s not a viscount in this realm that would suffer such a slight¡­¡± ¡°Yes. My fears exactly,¡± said Maria, before nervously wending her eyes back up to meet mine. ¡°But¡­ would you¡­ would you trust in my words, Lord Rolf? ¡®Tis of faint substance, I know, bu¡ª¡± ¡°I would, Maria.¡± ¡°¡­R¡­ really¡­?¡± My immediate answer had earned an honest surprise from her tear-shaded face. An expression of childlike innocence, the first she has shown me all day. ¡°M¡¯lord¡­ I am ever grateful.¡± ¡°Listen well now, Maria. I¡¯m the only soul you¡¯ve sought to tell of this; let it stay that way. This means leaving Emilie out of this affair. I¡¯ll handle the rest,¡± I whispered strongly, leaning in. ¡°I should apologise. For now, you¡¯ll just have to bear with keeping a secret from your dear mistress.¡± ¡°Not at all, m¡¯lord,¡± she shook her head. ¡°I¡¯ll put my fullest trust in you, just as you¡¯ve put yours in me.¡± Trust? How warm a word. One I was most glad to receive. My days as a disdained ungraced had long dulled me to the goodwill of others. But through Maria was I reminded of how immeasurably precious it was to be so trusted by another. A flicker in the heart. My resolve was set. Maria¡¯s trust¡ªI would not betray it. ? Into the 5th¡¯s library the both of us went, and through its collection of almanacks we combed. An annual on the affairs of the aristocracy¡ªwithin it, we discovered the particulars of the Viscount Albeck. Many times was he wed. And of the wives, not less than five were deceased. ¡°Death by accident¡±. Each parted spouse, unceremoniously written off by those three words. No doubt the fangs of foul play were at work here¡ªfangs now bared to Emilie herself, unbeknownst. Perhaps for this occasion, they would file off their hedonist fangs for good? But even then, allowing Emilie to enter the den of such a fell family did not sit well. Not with me. Something had to be done. Only, Emilie must not be apprised of this foul affair. At least, not till this gameboard had run its course. She was the queen piece, but to move her would prove an immediate blunder. Most certainly, she would endeavour to dissolve the engagement were she wise to the nature of her betrothed, but therein lay the rub: we had no proof. Breaking off the betrothal on unsubstantiated grounds would backfire upon House Mernesse with irresistible force, and the wound would prove fatal: Emilie and her family, forever as pariahs in the aristocratic sphere. And that¡¯s to say nothing of the blood, sweat, and tears Emilie had shed to faithfully carry out the office of mareschal, that House Mernesse might endure. Were she to be shunned by the nobility, all of it would be as nothing. ¡°Yes¡­¡± agreed Maria, after I sorted aloud the potential situation. ¡°That seems most reasonable to me, as well.¡± The gameboard was set, then. We now knew our play. Find palpable proof. Report it to the authorities. Bring forth an indictment. There was no other way. But House Mernesse must not be made to involve itself in the indictment. This was the catch, and to play along with it, I would have to act alone and in the shadows. The days till the wedding ceremony were numbered. Against the trickling hourglass, I steeled my resolve all at once. ¡°Dear Maria,¡± I kneeled before the young maidservant. ¡°The way is set; I make for the viscounty of Albeck at eventide.¡± ¡°Yes, m¡¯lord,¡± she nodded. ¡°For my part, I¡¯ll be staying here through the night, and on the morrow make my return to the Mernesse residence.¡± ¡°Right.¡± I rose back to my feet, and urged her thusly. ¡°And just so we¡¯re clear: not a word is to reach Emilie¡¯s ears. Promise me this, Maria!¡± ¡°I do promise,¡± she answered with a bow, after which I began my brisk way out of the library, but not before hearing from behind me Maria¡¯s voice one last time. ¡°Pray, do be safe, Lord Rolf.¡± Volume 1 - CH 5.3 By steed, I sped through the starry evenlight, the dusking roads pointing me to the edge of Norden. Beyond it loomed the neighbouring viscounty of Albeck. Twilight darkened into moonlight. Far up the highroad emerged a gatepost, manned by guards and brightened by braziers. A border check. I¡¯d suspected the main paths would be barred so. Not yet had I left the march of Norden, but already was I met with measures against any interlopers of untoward intent. Such stringent security was typically a luxury employed by some of the more esteemed peers of the nobility¡ªcounts and higher up, namely¡ªbut House Albeck hung on a lower rung of that social ladder. Unusual, but given their criminal character, not unreasonable: doubtless there were many shadowed things that the lord of Albeck wished to hide behind bristling ranks of men. I veered off the highroad and drove instead into the valley¡ªcautiously. Time was of the essence, and the night would only wane from here on out, but I had little choice: braving the less-beaten paths was preferable to drawing suspicion from the viscount¡¯s men. Fortunately, the benighted empty was flush with moonglow, thus was I able to gallop through the darkened hours unhindered. The detour proved the right path. By the next morrow¡¯s noontide, I found myself clear within the viscounty. A town. Through it I went, along the way learning from the folk of the way to their lord¡¯s manor. By their words, it was situated not far from the locality itself. I awayed at once. The open country led to a patch of hilled woods. Riding through the shaded evergreen, I soon spied a manor distantly peeping through the canopy. The viscount¡¯s lair, no doubt. I cantered off to the side and up a hillock, from the summit of which I surveyed the residence. Its grounds were nestled within a trimmed and tended clearing. And it was well-guarded: walls encircled the entire premises, whilst men kept watch about its gatehouse. Breaking into the mansion, making off with some evidence of the cruelties indulged within¡­ Certainly the most expedient way to go about things. Only, the ¡°how¡± of it was the rub. Perhaps I should approach from the back? In the course of my cogitation, I scanned through the area. Movement. Far off in the veiled distance: a convoy of carriages coming up this way. Horse-drawn wagons, to be exact, each with their loads canvased. Goods for the good lord, perhaps? Might prove useful. Dismounting from my steed, I stooped low, then scurried through the shrubbery and down the slope, creeping closer to the wagons¡¯ path. A distraction was needed, something to anchor the drivers¡¯ eyes with. I glanced about for options, finding a large tree nearby, snapped from its stump and lying flat upon the foliage. This, I¡¯ll use. Working quickly, I heaved and turned the tree till it was parallel to the manor-bound highroad. Low again, I waited. The hoof-falls and wheel-dragging loudened. As the procession of wagons approached, I kicked the tree. Down the hillock it tumbled. The escorts blared their voices at the scare, taking it to be some work of banditry or connivery. No time to waste. In the commotion, I slinked away from the scene and made my way around to the opposite side of the hillock before descending the slope there. Through the bushes, I wound about in a half-circle to the procession¡¯s rear. Up to the last of the wagons, I approached. With the eyes of the escorts firmly trained away from me, I then thought to steal a peek into the wagon¡¯s contents. Foodstuffs? Naught but a ¡°banal¡± affair to be found here, as it were. I had a mind to chance upon some evidence, but it would seem my stint in espionage won¡¯t be ending soon. Yet the foodstuffs¡ªcertainly not too valuable a load. It well-explained the wagons¡¯ smattering of escorts and their relative lack of apprehension. Despite the load¡¯s meagre worth, it was thanks to it that I was able to sneak my way to the procession¡¯s midst, an invaluable opportunity in and of itself. Should I hide in one of the wagons? Nay¡ªtheir decks will all be checked at the gatehouse, to be sure. There¡¯s no helping it. I crouched down low and slid beneath the wagon. To its underside, I clung tightly: arms braced about the rear axle and legs wrapped around the reach. A painful position, to be sure, but this was no time to complain. Before long, the wagons went about their way once more, their escorts having deduced the fallen tree to be nothing more than a fluke, and the area to be absent of hostiles. Only, they neglected to check their shadows, for a stowaway now clung along for the shaky ride. ? ¡°The usual grub, eh? Right then, bring ¡®em all in.¡± ¡°Aye, ser.¡± The wagons were wheeled into the manor premises, the requisite load inspections having been completed without a hitch. Merchants and men of the manor both were locked in conversation. From here on, the foodstuffs would be brought into the residence. The guards then sauntered back to their posts; the merchants commenced their labour. I waited under the wagon, and at the moment I suspected all eyes were turned away, I quickly crawled out. With caution shrinking my gait low, I slinked towards the manor proper and into the nearest entryway. No one in sight. ¡°So far, so good¡­¡± I mouthed. Obtaining proof of the Albecks¡¯ offences would require infiltrating the very spot in which they were committed. After all, there wouldn¡¯t be something so conveniently damning as a ledger lying around. The viscount and his son were involved in trafficking¡ªif there was proper proof to be had, it would be in the victims themselves. Should any such poor souls still be in the premises, it¡¯d be best to rescue them and gain their testimony. This, I reasoned in my head, whilst the rest of my body had already begun making way further into the mansion. But there was something¡­ ¡°odd¡±, about this place. A drawing room in the eastern wing was where I ended up, but its layout differed from what I had gleaned from my survey of the manor. From the outside, the room appeared to be deeper by about two pass¨±s, yet here the missing depth was walled off instead. I glanced and glared all about the facade, till my eyes spied an unassuming notch. ¡°A dent¡­?¡± I whispered, feeling the small feature with my fingers. ¡°No¡­ a handle.¡± The ¡°wall¡± was but a sliding panel, and so with a hand on the handle, I had it opened. Beyond it was a sunless space. ¡°Mmm?¡± mumbled a sleepy voice. A guard, taken by a bout of drowsiness, looked up from his nodding half-nap. ¡°Me shift¡¯s over already?¡± ¡°It is now.¡± Before our eyes could meet, my fist flashed through the side of his jaw. The resulting concussion had him crumpling to the floor. Working with all speed, I unravelled his belts, and with them had his hands and feet bound tight. The last, I saved for his mouth. ¡°¡­rrh¡­! ¡­mmrh¡­!¡± came his muffled slur, till silence took him entirely. Quickly again, I relieved his person of a conspicuous key, and with it, passed through a door looming further in. Behind it was revealed a set of stairs, the steps diving down into the dark. ¡°Tch¡­¡± There at the bottom was I beset by an evil scene. Anticipating signs of sinning was one thing, but beholding them in the flesh was another: the bedevilled sight before me earned an immediate and involuntary click from my tongue. Besmirching the stone floor were washes of dried blood, as well as an array of torturous implements scattered about. Ledges lined the walls, each appointed with all manner of blades, needles, and whips. But there was one wall that wasn¡¯t, for instead it was composed of iron bars spanning from floor to ceiling. A gaol cell. Inside it lay women, left with not a single scrap of clothing upon their bare skin. I stepped closer. ¡°Ha¡­ah¡­!¡± whimpered their low, hopeless voices, and at the sight of me, they shrank back to the wall. The women numbered three¡ªeach wounded pitifully all throughout their bodies. ¡°Easy now. I¡¯ve come to help,¡± I assured them, undoing the lock and swinging the iron bars open. ¡°Ah¡­! Aah!¡± Yet none of the victims therein ventured a step towards their freedom. With no other choice, I entered the gaol myself and approached them. ¡°N¡­ no! P-please¡­ no¡­!¡± one of the women yelped, who then began flailing her arms and legs about. The desperate effort to keep me away was tangible. ¡°Ach¡ªeasy, I said,¡± I tried to soothe, taking a blow to chin and cheek both. ¡°I¡¯ll not hurt any of you, I swear it.¡± ¡°Aaah!¡± My words were of no avail. The sands of the hourglass flowed dearly. I would have liked very much to at once liberate these women from this little corner of hell, but to take them by the hand, unwilling and untrusting as they were, ran the risk of injuring further their frail persons. The bewildered woman¡ªI braced my face against her pitifully flailing hands, gazed with calm into her eyes, and attempted again to allay her fears. ¡°Listen. I¡¯ve come to expose the viscount¡¯s crimes; I would have him unmasked for the fiend that he is, but know that saving you here serves not only that purpose,¡± I spoke as steadily as I could. The sorry struggle ceased in answer. ¡°Your loved ones. They¡¯re all waiting for you back home, yes? I¡¯ll see to it that you are returned to them¡ªsafe and sound.¡± Slowly, the woman¡¯s eyes met mine. ¡°Ah¡­ aa¡­¡± ¡°My name¡¯s Rolf,¡± I continued. ¡°Have you all families? Friends? Anyone at all that may worry over your absence? If not, then at least take comfort in this: I, myself, wish to see you all freed and well upon your paths. And I say again: I would have it done.¡± A heavy quiet grew between us all. ¡°It¡¯s all right, Ina. He¡¯s not one of them,¡± rang a voice from the corner. ¡°See what he wears? Different, isn¡¯t it?¡± From the murk stepped forth the third woman. Curls of carrot-hue hung to her shoulders, and with large, dazzling eyes and a gracefully slender figure, one would be forgiven for mistaking her presence for that of a cat. ¡°Quite the courageous one, aren¡¯t you?¡± her eyes narrowed at mine. ¡°I am naked, in case you¡¯ve not noticed.¡± ¡°Apologies. You seem lithe¡ªexceptionally so. I took you for a sword-adept; one who earns her coin by the blade, no less.¡± ¡°And you took me right,¡± she smiled. ¡°The name¡¯s Frieda, a freelance from ¡®round these parts. I came by commission of the authorities, seeking proof of the viscount¡¯s criminality. Didn¡¯t turn out as I¡¯d hoped, as you can see,¡± she shook her head. ¡°¡®Rolf¡¯, was it? You have my trust, big lad.¡± ¡°And you have my thanks. I take it your employers have briefed you on the situation. That saves us time. We leave now,¡± I said, then turning to the two other women before me. ¡°You¡¯re Ina, yes? And what of you, miss?¡± ¡°C-Carola, good ser,¡± the second woman stammered, before looking to the first. ¡°Ina, he¡¯s not one of the viscount¡¯s villains. See? It¡¯s all right.¡± ¡°Aah¡­¡± Ina began to speak brokenly. ¡°Y¡­ yes¡­ I¡­ I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± ¡°You¡¯ve nothing to be sorry about, Ina. But we must leave, and quickly,¡± I said, softly yet assuredly. ¡°Pains me to say, but I¡¯m dim to the mending magicks¡ªhow fare your injuries? Can you all walk?¡± ¡°That I can.¡± ¡°As can I,¡± Carola nodded. ¡°Ina?¡± ¡°Y-yes, I-I think.¡± The trio were weakened from their many wounds, but by their words, they were well enough for the escape ahead. I gave a nod myself and left the gaol. The rest followed, but before we began our climb up the stairs, a peculiarity piqued my eye. Across from the gaol cell spanned a long shelf, upon which rested a row of countless skulls. Frieda followed my gaze. Her voice bit with bitterness. ¡°Long-lost offerings, they are¡ªto the lord and his boy.¡± Regret seemed to sigh from the skulls¡¯ many sockets. Beholding them, I darkly clenched my teeth and stepped towards the stairs. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Volume 1 - CH 5.4 ¡°Tr-trespasser, is it!?¡± A gasp from another guard greeted us as we surfaced from the stairway, this one leaning over his concussed and belt-bound colleague. Likely just arrived to relieve his mate of watch duty. And right as he caught sight of me, the sentinel scrambled to unsheathe his sword. I acted in tandem, charging up the stairs with a freshly drawn blade of my own. Naught but a hidden room this was, dark and confined: my opponent¡¯s blade rose, only to bite the low ceiling. A moment of clumsiness. Seizing it, I brandished my own blade in a precise arc. Iron sharpness flew through the tight quarters. The air whistled. A thumb then spun through it, cleanly severed. ¡°Hyeh!?¡± the guard whimpered, letting his sword fall from his bloodied hand. But not before a hand of my own caught his face. With the full weight of my body, I rammed his head into the stonework wall. An immediate knockout: the guard collapsed completely, joining his comrade on the ground. ¡°Wh¡­ oi! What¡¯s that, just now?¡± Frieda whispered loudly from behind, her mouth agape. ¡°Where¡¯d you get chops like that, eh?¡± ¡°Chops?¡± I blinked, before turning instead to salvage the guard¡¯s sword. To our mercenary it went. ¡°I chopped his finger. What of it?¡± ¡°Not that ¡®chop¡¯¡ªnevermind,¡± Frieda interrupted herself, taking the blade. The four of us then emerged into the drawing room proper and sidled up against the wall near the doorway. With an ear pressed upon the surface, I listened. ¡°¡­next lass¡­ her ready¡­¡± ¡°¡­sellsword¡¯s next too¡­ young master Kenneth¡¯s had his fill¡­¡± Vague conversations yonder. Six voices, was it? Perhaps more. I couldn¡¯t tell; not from here. Nonetheless, our options grew scant. Dire straits awaited were we to be met with magicks from any of those men. And forcing our way through with Ina and Carola in tow, vulnerable as they were, was to beckon the fates¡¯ foul humour. ¡°The way is barred,¡± I whispered, shaking my head. ¡°We search for another.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry. None of us knows the exact lay of the mansion,¡± Frieda confessed. ¡°How do you reckon we quit this place?¡± ¡°The front bristles with guards at the gatehouse, from what I¡¯ve seen¡­ We ought to flee from the side, but not through the east where we are now. No¡ªthe west. There¡¯s a stable and a small gate there. That¡¯s where we¡¯ll aim. What think you all?¡± ¡°Fine enough for me,¡± Frieda nodded. ¡°The first floor, though¡­ ¡®Tis a pinch too perilous for us to snoop about here, I think. Best we move up to the second. Chances are, there¡¯s a window in the west wing we can drop from.¡± ¡°The second floor?¡± Carola shivered at the thought. ¡°Is¡­ is it safe up there?¡± ¡°¡®Safer¡¯ is more the word, but it¡¯s no guarantee. Both Frieda and I will keep you two from harm, that much I can promise,¡± I assured. ¡°Viscount Albeck¡­ I¡¯ve a hunch that he¡¯s not a man to suffer the low-born upon the higher floors. We can expect fewer guards up there.¡± ¡°My thoughts exactly,¡± said Frieda, looking to the other girls with a soothing smile. Nods of agreement from each of us. I then listened further for activity, and hearing naught, cracked the door open and peeked through. No guards now in sight; the prior men must¡¯ve moved off. But by Frieda¡¯s words, the first floor should be teeming with more of the viscount¡¯s varlets. An upward stairway loomed not far off; that would be our immediate destination. Carefully, but with hearts drumming, we exited the drawing room, scurrying to and up the stairs. At the top, we found ourselves at the eastern wing of the second floor. Our next destination awaited at the very opposite side of the mansion; a gruelling prospect, to cross so uncertain a distance. Our group stepped to it. Frieda manned the rear, and I the front. We soon came upon our first turn of the corridor. To the corner wall we congregated. Slowly, I chanced a glimpse at the adjoining hall¡­ A guard. He sauntered our way, oblivious. I signalled to the others to stay where they were before pressing myself up against the wall. There, I waited with bated breath. Unhurried footfalls neared. Fear frayed Ina and Carola¡¯s nerves in the meanwhile. But a comforting hand from Frieda alighted upon their shoulders, and looking up, they found upon her face both a faint mirth and a reassuring nod. A well-steeled woman she was, despite suffering her own fair share of horrors in this hell-house. Just then, the guard began to turn the corner. I lunged at him, seizing his collars and jerking him towards me. Then with a twist of my shoulders, I sent his scalp straight into the corner wall. ¡°Agh¡ª!?¡± he yelped, before fading into silence. ¡°Showy, are we?¡± came Frieda¡¯s comment. ¡°¡®Lucky¡¯ is more like it,¡± I sighed in relief. ¡°And looks like we guessed right¡ªonly the more esteemed guards are to be found here.¡± ¡°True, if our ¡®lucky¡¯ lad here is any indication,¡± said Frieda, eyeing the embroidered mantle and cape enshrouding the downed guard¡ªraiments of great luxury in our moment of need. Hastily, I undressed the man, and then handed the mantle and cape to Ina and Carola. ¡°Th-thank you.¡± ¡°My gratitude¡­ Ser Rolf.¡± The two then donned their bare bodies with the boon of clothes. It wouldn¡¯t have been wise to take the window curtains for this same purpose; the men outside surely would have sensed something was amiss. And that I was able to disable the guard without a single swing of the sword was most fortuitous indeed. Ina and Carola had suffered enough; to drape them in blood-drenched fabrics would have teased from their hearts recollections too wretched to bear. ¡°Right. On we go¡ªsoftly now,¡± I whispered to the others, but not before binding this guard too with his own belts. To the shade was his limp body tucked, and then down the corridor our group crept, caution guiding our course. My hunch proved true: the second floor really was empty of the manor¡¯s sentries. The guard earlier was the only soul we¡¯ve crossed thus far. Hence were we able to reach the west wing without further trouble. It was there that we soon found ourselves gathered about a double doorway, beyond which was the lord¡¯s study. But convenience was a contrivance of the fates, for here ended our ease: whiling within were multiple men. Slowly, I cracked one of the doors open, just enough to let the voices inside seep out. ¡°¡­then, dear daddy. I trust the good messenger from Mernesse makes his way to the 5th?¡± ¡°You trust well. The Order should have welcomed him no more than two nights ago. And I made certain that he is well-apprised of the wedding¡¯s day and time, details ready to meet your fair lady¡¯s ears.¡± Hearing such, I turned to the others. Frieda simply nodded, but the other two had all hale sapped from their faces. The fear in their eyes implicated the voices as being none other than their oppressors¡¯: the Viscount Albeck and his heir, Kenneth. ¡°Oh, my loins! Afire they are!¡± sang the son. ¡°My bride-to-be¡­ a mareschal, she is! You don¡¯t suppose she¡¯d expire too soon were I a bit¡­ rough with her, do you daddy?¡± ¡°Not at all, my boy. She is the vaunted Lady Emilie Mernesse, no less. Liberator of Godrika, whisperer of the levinblade¡ªher strength is attested, I can assure you. Why, they say she is the dame to succeed Tiselius herself!¡± ¡°Vaunted, indeed!¡± cackled Kenneth. ¡°Ah, such a winsome woman¡­ all mine! Oh, if only it were the wedding night!¡± ¡°A fine wife I¡¯ve chosen for you, if I do say so myself,¡± the viscount said smilingly. ¡°I¡¯ll not stay your hand from breaking her to pieces, but do be a bit more gentle, will you? She may yet please you for a longer while, my boy.¡± ¡°You¡¯re hardly one to speak of treasuring toys, daddy!¡± the adolescent giggled again. ¡°But I¡¯m afraid her limbs won¡¯t stay on for long; I¡¯ll savour their sweet severing as soon as I¡¯m able. Yes¡­ nipped from the knees and elbows down. A barking bitch, I¡¯ll make of her! Leashed and collared! Oh! And for her abode: not a dungeon, but a doghouse!¡± A sneer from the lord. ¡°Your fidelity is moving.¡± My blood boiled. Anger pulsed through my arteries and straight into my head. No. I couldn¡¯t. This was a battlefield in and of itself. There were hostiles about, victims to rescue¡ªsurrendering all composure was tantamount to admitting defeat. Deeply, I filled my lungs and slowly exhaled. Stilling the storm inside, I then took a peek through the cracked doorway. A large desk. There, the viscount was seated. Across was his son, Kenneth, flanked by a guard on each side. Cajoling jeers were plastered on the grunts¡¯ faces as the nobles¡¯ sinful talk slithered into their ears. Four in total then. Manageable. We¡¯ll break in and cuff them up. Simple enough. Frieda stood vis-¨¤-vis, taking in the scene for herself. Our eyes met; we nodded. The guards would be mine to deal with, while Kenneth would be Frieda¡¯s target. The viscount, being the furthest from our reach, would be dealt with last. By hand signs were such details relayed to Frieda, who gave another nod. The lion¡¯s share of the ambush would be mine to shoulder, but this was for the best. By any measure was our mercenary exceptional with the sword, but loath was I to burden her any further than her tired and tortured body could bear. She was as much a victim as Ina and Carola were. This, I could not ignore. Many souls in her line of work have I met during my outings in town. All were imbued with the same iron-will; no doubt they would have turned their noses up to such a plan as this. Indeed, those soldiers of fortune would be most fain to shoulder their fair share of the work, proud of heart as they were. Yet I found agreement from Frieda without so much as a twinkle of discontent in her eyes. She understood well the situation at hand, whether in regards to our foes¡¯ numbers, or the spent state of her own body. In her, I found a complice deserving of utmost trust as we stood face-to-face against the doorway. One last look was shared between us. Our wills were steeled. The doors boomed open. ¡°Mm?¡± the viscount murmured, during which I was already in motion. A tall cabinet stood beside the doorway: with a mighty heave, I toppled it over onto the left-standing guard. ¡°Wagh!?¡± the grunt yelped. An oaken crash. The floor rumbled. The impelled piece of furniture was heavy indeed; he would not escape unscathed. The other guard was quick to reveal his sword. To me he sprinted, intent upon running me through with it. This, I predicted¡ªtoo close was he to Kenneth, his charge, and so could not dare to swing his sword broadly. With a twist of my body, I let the blade pass through, and pouncing into his midst, I then thrust my elbow deep into the guard¡¯s face. ¡°Bwugh!!¡± Air and spit spilled out of him as the full momentum of my body smashed right into his nostrils. Down to my side he collapsed, and from his person, I purloined a dagger. It would not remain mine for long: at once, I wound about and hurled the little blade. ¡°Gagh!?¡± Deep into the thigh of the first guard it bit, who, after freeing himself from the downed cabinet, had thought to unsheathe his own sword. Kenneth was left stunned, but the chaos continued. Already was another blade sailing through the air, one in the hands of Frieda. A ribbon of blood flew from the adolescent¡¯s left arm. ¡°Hyeh!?¡± he yapped, stumbling from the fresh wound not longer than a mere thumb. But it was one produced with astounding precision, a slice of the sword purposed to do no more than suppress the youth. Yet the energy of the mercenary¡¯s actions would not cease there: Frieda¡¯s body breezed about and bounded right back into Kenneth¡¯s midst. The movement, brilliant in its use of her slender, featherweight form, ended with a heel diving straight into the adolescent¡¯s knee. ¡°Yiiuugh!!¡± A cheap scream that concealed the sound of a broken kneecap. The boy then fell to his bottom. Not far from him was I, leaping onto the lord¡¯s desk. My sword free from its scabbard, I drove its pommel into the viscount¡¯s visage. ¡°Uogh!?¡± The noble clamoured back, chair and all. I dropped down, and standing at his side, trained my blade to his neck. Frieda followed suit, bringing hers towards Kenneth¡¯s nose. So far, so good. But the lord¡¯s son was not one to stay quiet: he shrank back and opened his foul mouth. ¡°Wh-what¡¯s this!? Why are you here!?¡± Kenneth barked, pointing to Frieda. ¡°A toy! That¡¯s what you are! A plaything should know well to stay in the playpen!¡± Fiery redness fumed from Frieda¡¯s countenance. Long had she shown composure in the course of our escape, but Kenneth¡¯s ill words had at last unlocked from her heart a secret rage. But the anger amounted to nothing more than an opening. It was certain: for the briefest moment, Frieda¡¯s judgement was blinded. For his part, Kenneth seemed not the sort to concoct such cunning. Frieda was but a doll to him, made for his pleasure and delight. And so to weep and whimper in the face of her defiance was most unbecoming of him. Yet that was his exact plight, and so what issued from his lips were merely words wrought wretchedly from the irony of it all. The knife he then issued from his breast pocket was clearly not the kind for combat. No, it was a dainty little thing, used only to cut up his ¡°toys¡±, none of whom could¡¯ve done more than let him have his way. Up into the air it went, amidst the pathetic tears and screams of its wielder. A knife, by chance imbued with precision. A thrust of its blade, aimed at a chance opening. To Frieda¡¯s flank, it flew. A cruel course closing in on her unguarded flesh. Then¡ªa sound, like a thundering thud. Before thin iron could bite bare skin, the knife¡¯s wielder was struck down whence he stood by whom but two more of his ¡°toys¡±: in their bid to save Frieda, Ina and Carola had flown into the room, and with what might they could muster, threw themselves upon the depraved youth. The sound of it all was like a bell to the mercenary, for the light of reason then returned to her eyes. Once more, her blade bounded through the air¡­ ¡°Nngyaagh!!¡± ¡­and with it, Kenneth¡¯s ear and weeping wails. Frieda stepped up to him. Her next words were as cold as her steel, trained once more to the screaming, sobbing mess of a lordling. ¡°Still that tongue. Or lose it.¡± ¡°Hah¡­ ah¡­!¡± Ten seconds. Not more than ten seconds had passed since the doors were first flung open. The fight was finished. The nobles were captured. Volume 1 - CH 5.5 From the window of the west wing flew the lords of Albeck, father and son both. Onto a haystack below they fell, for the most part unharmed by the landing, but being bound as they were, they could not flee. Not that they had a mind to¡ªtheir unceasing gripes had compelled Frieda and me to cudgel the wits out of them. The four of us followed close behind. With Ina on my back and Carola on Frieda¡¯s, we climbed out of the window and descended by way of rain spouts. At the bottom, we found ourselves right before the stables. Just as planned. Off into the shadows we scampered, and from there peered at the west gate over yonder. The flanks of the manor were thinly surveilled, as we¡¯d anticipated: not more than three men manned the secondary exit. ¡°Rolf, ¡®twon¡¯t be long ¡®fore the lackeys catch a whiff of the stench we¡¯ve cooked up in the manor,¡± whispered Frieda. ¡°Best we blast our way out ¡®fore they¡¯re sore fierce on our tail.¡± ¡°Then we move now.¡± The longer we tarried about twiddling our thumbs, the more the fates were fain to have us fail in our flight. Unflinching fearlessness was needed, with perhaps a pinch of recklessness: unlike my infiltration of the place, breaking out with a bang was a card I could now afford to play. We helped ourselves to three steeds from the stable: one for Ina and I, another for Frieda and Carola, and the last for the Albecks. Our captives were tied to their mount, the reins of which I held from afar. ¡°Ina, Carola. Hold on tight,¡± I cautioned lowly. ¡°Worry not. You¡¯ll all be free before you know it. Arrows, magicks¡ªthey¡¯ll not harry us. Our noble hostages here make for a fine shield.¡± ¡°Home¡¯s on the horizon, loves!¡± soothed Frieda. ¡°Let¡¯s move!¡± Sudden hoof-falls filled the air¡ªthe gallops of three horses gunning for the west gate. ¡°Wh¡ª!?¡± ¡°B-b-b-bloody ¡®ell, they ¡®ave us lords, they do!¡± Blindsighted by our brazen escape, the guards did little but stand agape as we sped through their midst. The getaway was as painless as it was successful. We were free at last from the viscount¡¯s haunt. The west-side stables would provide our pursuers no avail, for we rode the only horses kept at them. Whomever had a mind to wind about to the front and call for aid would have found the effort futile, for by then we will have long disappeared beyond the horizon. ? Our mounted escape carried us a few m¨©llia-pass¨±s from the manor. There, we stopped and dismounted on the banks of a brook running through the bottom of a verdant valley. The sun was sunk below the mountains. The skies blushed a wine-shade; night was falling. ¡°My thanks, Rolf,¡± said Frieda, looking up to me. ¡°The authorities¡¯ve kept the viscount¡¯s villainy in their sights for a long while now, but this devil¡¯s kept his tail tucked away a bit too well, y¡¯see.¡± ¡°And I trust you¡¯ve enough to have him stand before a tribunal?¡± ¡°Plenty. Our testimonial will be grounds enough for a good scouring of that mad manor. And the torture chamber¡ªwell, our viscount here¡¯ll sooner don the monk¡¯s frock ¡®fore that place sprouts wings to fly away with. It¡¯ll clinch our case quite nicely, I reckon,¡± Frieda smiled. ¡°Our princely paraphiles are tied up tight. They won¡¯t be going anywhere.¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± My thoughts turned to the torture chamber. ¡°The skulls. Give them a proper burial for me, will you?¡± ¡°You have my word.¡± ¡°And my name and face are to stay secret¡ªI¡¯ve your word on that as well?¡± I carefully requested. ¡°¡®A bystander in a helpful mood, gone after the escape¡¯. That¡¯s my meagre part in this play. It¡¯s hardly a lie, at least.¡± ¡°Scandals of the aristocracy are as tangled skeins; I¡¯ll not blame you for wanting to keep clear of the mess. But do you truly mean to part with not a merit to your name?¡± ¡°I do,¡± nodded I. ¡°Consider them all yours.¡± As they should be. My actions heretofore were to be as divorced from Emilie¡¯s involvement and knowledge as much as possible. Even were House Albeck to be found full-guilty of its transgressions, if it came to light that I had a hand in the matter, all but ill awaited Emilie. Indeed, it would all be seen as an underhanded inquiry by the young mareschal to force an annulment of her own betrothal. And who was it that did the snooping? Why, no less than a member of the 5th, her very own Order. ¡®¡¯Twas but a bit of scrutiny upon my husband-to-be.¡¯ None amongst the aristocracy would dare brook such an excuse. Penned at the end of such a scenario would most certainly be the humble name of House Mernesse, forever tarnished, and Emilie¡¯s many toils in keeping her family afloat¡ªall as whispers set to the four winds. I could not allow such to come to pass. ¡°Right then,¡± Frieda nodded back. ¡°But don¡¯t you forget: we owe you much for your deeds on this day, Rolf. Thank you.¡± ¡°And I, you.¡± Our hands met and shook. I knew then what it was like to have a friend-in-arms. Gladly so. ¡°Back to town with you, is it? To rendezvous with your employers?¡± ¡°That¡¯s the plan. ¡®Twon¡¯t do to keep these girls cut up for so long, anyway. I¡¯ll have them seen to.¡± ¡°You¡¯re no less cut up either, Frieda.¡± A gentle chuckle. ¡°I suppose not.¡± ¡°I must return before the morrow¡¯s light. We part here,¡± I announced. ¡°Apologies. I would escort you all to town, but the luxury¡¯s lost, I¡¯m afraid.¡± ¡°Pay it no mind. The sun is set; our pursuers¡¯ll be blind to our whereabouts,¡± Frieda smiled again. ¡°We¡¯ll be all right from here on out.¡± ¡°¡­oah¡­ mmrgh¡­¡± came a slobbering murmur. ¡°¡­Wha¡­ where¡­ where is this¡­?¡± Verily had we beaten the nobles unconscious, but it would seem the viscount was spared of a fist too few, for his wits now returned to him. ¡°¡­F-fiends! W-what is the meaning of this!?¡± he squirmed. ¡°Look and know, fiend,¡± Frieda fired back. ¡°You, your boy, House Albeck¡ªyour ends are nigh.¡± ¡°Q-quit your mummery! Y-you are all but sheep bleating for the milk of my poppy! And you would for shame bare your teeth at me!?¡± ¡°You sooner seem the bleating sheep than I, shameful master.¡± ¡°S-silence! Silence, you! You dare speak of shame!? Hoh! Shame! ¡®Tis but a base shadow before the brilliance of House Albeck! We are foremost amongst the nobility, we are! Our lands are holy! None other than the St. Rakliammelech himself sojourned within these vales!¡± the viscount vaunted. ¡°I was made steward of this land by His Majesty¡¯s grace¡ªI¡¯ll not be brought low by the likes of you motley rabble!¡± To this, Frieda offered little more than a smirk. ¡°High words! From a worm.¡± ¡°Aaach!¡± the lord redly fumed. His eyes were crazed. They searched about in twitches, settling upon Ina and Carola. To them rushed his railing spit. ¡°You there! Wasteful wenches both! Free me at once, will you!?¡± ¡°Aah¡­!¡± they shrank back. ¡°Stay your whimpering! Hie now! Have me unbound! Why, I¡¯ll have you all cut up and served, I will! For that¡¯s all you¡¯re good for!!¡± ¡°Ah¡­! N-no¡­ aa¡­ aah!¡± ¡°That¡¯s enough from you.¡± A nerve of mine was finally struck. I came up to the viscount and summarily had his mouth muffled with whatever was at hand. ¡°¡­mmmgh¡­! Mmrgh¡­!¡± his indignance erupted further. ¡°Aaaaah! Aah! No¡­! No!!¡± ¡°P¡­ please¡­ mercy upon us¡­ please¡­! Ah¡­ aaah!¡± Yet to Ina and Carola, their oppressor¡¯s silence proved to be of little succour, for the nightmares that howled up from their hearts hounded them beyond all bearing. ¡°My loves, you are safe!¡± came Frieda, taking them into her arms. ¡°The pain is ended¡ªyou are freed! All is well now!¡± But despite her sincerest efforts, the poor souls could not be calmed. ¡°Ina, Carola both. Look to me,¡± I said, gentle yet firm. ¡°Aa! Aaah¡­!¡± ¡°Look,¡± I repeated, with as much heart as I could muster. ¡°I beg of you.¡± ¡°Ah¡­ aah¡­¡± A fragile moment of stillness. This was my only chance. ¡°You¡¯ve all been affrighted and aggrieved too much, far beyond my knowing. I cannot even begin to share nor salve your pain, and that tears away at me to no end.¡± ¡°¡­Ah¡­ au¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry to say, but the wounds you bear¡ªthey would sooner heal many times over before you¡¯re freed from the nightmares. Till then, you must brave the many sleepless nights that await you.¡± A frightening realisation, to know that the hurt shall not end today. The weight of it left the two quieted. ¡°But, you have each other, and together you may remember this day of all days; this, I hope. The day you stood up. The day you fought your fears. The day you saved Frieda from Kenneth¡¯s feint.¡± Their brows unfurrowed, as if the adventure was relived in their minds. ¡°Were it not for your courage, would we not be lost in this moment?¡± I knew well the answer. As did Ina and Carola, perhaps, whose quiverings lessened at last. ¡°There is strength in you both. A solace to grace you against the demons set upon your hearts. Of that, I am certain.¡± ¡°¡­a¡­ ah¡­¡± ¡°Fear is a mighty foe. But you can fight. This very moment attests to it.¡± ¡°¡­S¡­ Ser Rolf¡­¡± ¡°I¡­ I¡­¡± A spark returned to their eyes. I knew gladness then. ¡°You¡¯ve shown me valour worthy of a storied knight. To have met you all is a treasure I¡¯ll forever cherish. Thank you.¡± ¡°¡­N¡­ no¡­ I¡­ Tha¡­¡± ¡°Hic¡­ Ser Rolf¡­ Ser Rolf¡­!¡± Through the benighted valley, their cries echoed. As they did through my heart, for I then found myself wishing upon every star I could see for but one simple hope: that the victims here would find peace in their days henceforth. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Mille-Passus (plural: m¨©llia pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans; known as the ¡°Roman mile¡±, it spanned 1,000 pass¨±s in length. 1 kilometre is equal to 0.6757 of a mille-passus. A mille-passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half kilometres. Volume 1 - CH 5.6 ¡°Well, we¡¯d best be off ourselves,¡± said our mercenary. ¡°Right,¡± I nodded whilst readying one of the horses. ¡°¡­Frieda. Will you be well?¡± ¡°A lifetime¡¯s worth of whippings, I¡¯ve survived. But I think I¡¯ll manage. Fear¡¯s a foe to be fought, isn¡¯t it?¡± she grinned. ¡°It is, indeed,¡± I chuckled. ¡°By the way¡­¡± ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°The hour wends to dusk, and we¡¯re well in the wilds¡­¡± Frieda broached rather roundaboutly. ¡°Butt-bare have I been to every eye since our escapade began; I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯d keep me waiting for something to wear?¡± ¡°Ah¡ª¡± came the lightning realisation. ¡°R-right.¡± Now that she mentioned it, Frieda had indeed been wholly unclothed from the time I first saw her in the gaol cell. Somehow, the thought hadn¡¯t occurred to me to accord her the same comfort of clothing as Ina¡¯s and Carola¡¯s. ¡°I took you for the sort that cares little of it. It was shallow of me.¡± ¡°And to me, a shock!¡± she prodded. I scratched my head. ¡°M-my apologies. Er¡­¡± After a glance down upon myself, I doffed my breastplate and gambeson, and then struggled my way out of my shirt. Free of the fabric, I handed it to Frieda. She blinked. ¡°What? I¡¯m to dress in front of you, now?¡± ¡°S-sorry.¡± Hurriedly, I wound about behind her and hung the shirt over her shoulders. ¡°¡­¡¯Tis more a cloak than a shirt, this,¡± she observed, ¡°but it well-covers a smaller body, doesn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Th-that it does.¡± Frieda turned to me, cheeks red with mirth and a gentle beam upon her lips. As she held the shirt tight to her bosom, Ina and Carola watched on with smiling giggles. ? ¡®Fare you well. Let us hope we meet again someday.¡¯ My last words to the three before I drove off upon my steed. The path before me wound now to a new destination: my return to the 5th¡¯s headquarters. ¡°The deed is done¡­¡± I said to myself, before turning my next words to the full-bright moon. ¡°¡­May you all find solace in your slumber.¡± A lone prayer for the vainly sacrificed, who so suffered in the dark face of torture. But the hands that dealt the depravity were at last caught and cuffed: this day witnessed the end to the tragedies of House Albeck¡¯s making, at long last. ? War-like was the tumult, just now ceased. The dust finally began to settle. Trimmed and proper were the training grounds of the 1st Chivalric Order, but in this moment, it seemed more a scene of massacre, for strewn about it were bodies, either bent or prostrate. They numbered no fewer than a score, yet they were hardly corpses, though one would be forgiven for mistaking them so. Proud knights of the 1st they were, only, they had not the spark of pride in them, defeated of body and spirit as they were. But that was most expected, for standing squarely amidst their moans of pain was their mareschal. ¡°Ha¡­ ha¡­¡± Estelle Tiselius, commander to these esteemed fighters. Hers was a face most fair, now scintillating with sweat, and her shoulders gently rose and fell as breaths breezed from her lips, unhurried, unharried. It was all but a training session. She had done her duty in hosting the rigorous practice, but it was as much for their benefit as it was for her own. Indeed, Estelle was wont to join in their regular rigours, in each session purposefully pitting herself¡ªand only herself¡ªagainst the knightly droves. That¡¯s not to say they were easy fodder, no. Each was the cr¨¨me de la cr¨¨me of the kingdom¡¯s finest fighters, yet it was the unspotted truth that at the end of these training sessions, this would be the sorry scene presented: knights of high gallantry, beaten and bruised, but amongst them, Estelle, standing tall with nary a spot upon her body struck by any blow. ¡°Let us break for the day,¡± she announced with an even voice. ¡°Officers all, pray take ample rest.¡± ¡°A-aye, Mareschal,¡± they all made sure to answer, however brokenly. Thus did they lend shoulders to each other on their way out. Many amongst them would find tonight to be a sleepless night, for pangs of pain and humiliation were sure to harry them well till dawn. Against the flow of the departing officers came a man: Francis Behrmann, their superior, and Under-Mareschal to the 1st. ¡°Why, mademoiselle,¡± the old knight began. ¡°¡®Twould be a great ease to our officers were you to abate your hand, if even a little. With such wantonness do you sunder their spirits. ¡®Tis certain!¡± ¡°Ease?¡± To him, Estelle looked. ¡°Say now, dear Francis. A fair while since we¡¯ve last measured swords, yes? Why not give ease to our officers and spar me in their stead?¡± ¡°Hoh!¡± Francis wagged his hand in protest. ¡°Perish the thought, my Lady! These bones are sore brittle for such excitement, you should know!¡± ¡°And you should know you¡¯re hardly of the age for brittle bones,¡± Estelle quipped whilst wicking away the sweat from her face with a flannel. A faint smile bent her lips, one warm with honesty, but rare to the sight of any other soul besides Francis. Yet to contrast it, the old knight¡¯s face furrowed troublingly. ¡°And I say, mademoiselle, a lady of your age should know well to yearn for another by more tranquil means. Wistfully gazing out the window, or reciting sonnets, let¡¯s say,¡± he argued from out of the blue. ¡°Yet here you are. You sooner think to brandish a blade than you would a bouquet¡ªindeed, you long for your man in the queerest of ways.¡± ¡°The tongue in your cheeks is cheeky overmuch, Francis!¡± Estelle shot back, before turning away. ¡°I¡¯m not yearning.¡± The mareschal of the exalted 1st¡ªtaken by a fleeting bout of flustering. Yet the under-mareschal could only shake his head. After all, it was his earnest wish for none of the 1st¡¯s dear officers to be so caught up in the maelstrom of asperity that was Estelle¡¯s special training. For her part, the hero-dame was loath to entertain the slightest compromise. In fact, she gave herself wholly to this pursuit of perfection. Thus was it inevitable that for every training session of which she was party, her knights would be left struck and sapped of all strength to even stand. But it was not always this way. No. This immuring impulse of hers was conceived at the climax of the Battle of Erbelde not three years past. There, she witnessed it. That swing of a sword, too beautiful to behold. That brilliance of a battle, too sublime to shut away. A vivid vision that from time to time would rewind itself in the recesses of her heart. And each time that it did, she would throw herself into the throes of arduous training. But each time that she did, she would know despair, for there were none here that could match her blade. Estelle was not a woman to so easily forget her gratitude for her yeomen. They were all of them knights most exemplary and true. A sincere evaluation, one she made certain they were wise to. Even against those of the other Orders, her soldiers shone no less brightly in their bountiful excellence. They were each talented in their technique, tempered in their temperament¡ªproud paragons in their own right. Yet they were not enough. And neither was she. No matter how much she moiled in polishing both mind and body, that very thought would always well up from the depths of her heart. And in pondering those shared inadequacies, her thoughts would turn¡­ to him. Would that he were here with me. Then mine unease might know a moment of solace. Warm air rolled from her lips. ¡°¡®Tis unsightly to sigh so openly, my Lady,¡± Francis poked again, seeing this. ¡°Lest you mean to sigh away your youth.¡± ¡°That¡¯s ¡®happiness¡¯ that one sighs away, Francis,¡± Estelle pouted. ¡°So wont you are to warp our dear adages for your own merriment¡­¡± For one as fair as the hero-dame of Londosius, even her wistful sigh was worthy of a portrait. Yet her truest desires were nowhere to be found in the illustrious title or any such panderings to heroism. ¡°Well?¡± Estelle said anew. ¡°You¡¯ve read the report, I take it?¡± ¡°Indeed, my Lady. A most riveting read, it was!¡± Francis nodded, stroking his chin. What they spoke of was none other than a fateful operation of two winters past: the recapture of the Godrika Minery, completed via the sore sacrifices of the 5th. The report was penned by the 5th¡¯s hands themselves, sent up to Central for review. Estelle had merely meant to have a look of her own upon the vaunted vicissitude, one that had sharpened anew Londosius¡¯ dulling sword of war. The proliferation of silver, the expansion of the frontlines, the quickening of bloodshed¡ªall was owed to this operation. But the report¡­ Therein was writ the record of a battle that betrayed the imagination. A catoblepas, a creature most foul, was discovered within the tunnels. What should have necessitated the collective struggle of whole brigades was achieved by but a single soul. Yet to that officer the merit was denied, for Central saw fit to turn the eyes of honour elsewhere. The matter demanded much thought. Thus was Francis bade to make use of some back-channel connections, that more light may be shed upon it. And there it was found that he was in opposition to the operation right from the outset. What¡¯s more, he had openly expounded on the dangers of acting upon the recapture. That such an ambitious battle would sow the seeds of today¡¯s fell fruits of war was likely what his keen ken had prevised. And yet, against the counsel of his own heart did he step onto that battlefield. There alone, through all the desperation and determination that he could muster, did he bring an end to that bloodshed¡­ ¡­to the recognition of none. What foul irony. Once again, from Estelle¡¯s lips blew a pensive sough. Certainly, he would be one to get caught up in such unrequited recklessness. Perhaps even now may he be found fighting another profitless battle. The title of ¡°hero¡± certainly sorted more squarely with that unseen and unsung soul. This, Estelle knew. This, her heart spoke. ¡°My my, dear mademoiselle,¡± Francis broke the silence. ¡°Taken to sighing for a pastime, have you? ¡®Tis a hobby for ladies more verdant, I¡¯ll have you know. Say, of the maidenly sort.¡± ¡°¡­I am yet a maiden.¡± A pouting reply. And an unreasonable one, perhaps, yet Estelle aired it anyway. Then, half-mocking herself with a wistful smile, she shook her head and parted the training ground. Even now, she dearly wished to bring him under her wing here at the 1st. That such a fancy would never take flight was a future Estelle could never have presaged. For not even the hero-dame herself can see all ends. Volume 1 - CH 6.1 Volume I Written By Yoshihiko Mihama Translated By Vagrant ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Through the quiet night, I drove my steed unimpeded. The hour-sand was flowing fast, but at last I arrived at headquarters before the break of dawn. There, I made my way back to the barracks and savoured but a scant few hours of slumber. Today, the routine would start anew. I got up, had a change of clothes, and prepared to set out for morning training, just as the half-light of the waking skies peeked through the windows. The door banged. Fierce knocks, one after the other. ¡°Rolf Buckmann!¡± came a muffled shout. ¡°Come out at once!¡± Rather urgent at such an hour¡ªwho could it be? I opened the door. ¡°Yes¡ª¡± finding three leaders, ¡°¡ªsirs?¡± No familiar faces here. ¡°Buckmann, is it?¡± the frontmost leader glared. ¡°These past two days¡ªwhat¡¯ve you been up to?¡± ¡°Sir. The mareschal gave me two days¡¯ leave,¡± I began explaining. What ill. ¡°I left for town at ereyesterday¡¯s eventide, and returned not till the late hours of yesternight.¡± Nothing about my escapade at the Albeck viscounty could be revealed here. I had no other choice¡ªspending my days off in town would be my excuse. It was sound enough. Members of the Order are free to do as they please upon given leave, after all. Curfews, staying the night elsewhere¡ªno such limitations confined them. Thus my dallying in town should not have set off any bells. The leaders exchanged looks. ¡°Come,¡± was their terse response. ? Following them, we wound briskly through the halls before emerging out into the open. Before long, I was led to the stables. Only, there was something odd about the scene here. The early-bird stablehands were stopped in their duties. All was quiet. I looked across the stalls. One of them was empty¡ªa stall that I was very familiar with. ¡°What do your eyes tell you, ey?¡± one of the leaders pointed. ¡°The mareschal¡¯s steed¡ªit is gone. The same mount as your charge, none other.¡± ¡°Yet it was here ereyesterday, when last I¡¯d checked,¡± I countered. ¡°As I¡¯ve said, I was not present at headquarters till my return late last night. In that time, responsibility for the mareschal¡¯s horse should¡¯ve fallen to the stablehands.¡± ¡°Those same stablehands attest that they¡¯ve not caught sight of the horse. Not as of yesterdawn,¡± another leader said. ¡°What¡¯ve you done with the horse ereyesterday? Tell us!¡± ¡°I¡¯d done just as I¡¯ve always done on that morning. I groomed the horse, fed it, and took it for a walk.¡± ¡°And then what? Your numb wits got the better of you, did they? You forgot to send the steed back to its stall!¡± a leader raised his voice, shaking his head. ¡°Gutter-scum ungraced! A scarecrow makes for a better stablehand than you, it does!¡± ¡°Nay, sir. I made certain to return the horse back to its place,¡± I confirmed. ¡°Once more did I check ere my evening departure for town¡ªthen, too, was it right here in this stall.¡± ¡°And we¡¯re to believe your muddied account, eh? The words of an addle-pated alga. Trustworthy indeed!¡± scoffed another leader. They were all livid, more so than usual. But they had good reason to be: Emilie¡¯s steed was a most special one. ¡°The mareschal was bequeathed that horse by none other than His Majesty. You know where it has gone. Tell us!¡± ¡°Any soul would be frayed of nerves to care after so dear a horse, ¡®tis certain. But to let it run off? Spineless overmuch, are we!?¡± ¡°That steed fetches more coin than you¡¯ll ever be worth, ungraced! Don¡¯t tell us you hadn¡¯t realised even that!?¡± They spoke true. The vanished horse was one given to Emilie by the king of our land, a boon for the 5th¡¯s successful recapture of the Godrika Minery two winters past. The steed was invaluable indeed, and to Emilie and our entire Order both, it was an emblem of great honour. It need not be said that to lose such a precious prize was a grave matter. There was fear mixed in with the anger of the leaders before me, one of earning the displeasure of our king, all by the fault of an ungraced foolish enough to let the horse escape. A heated sigh. ¡°That does it. We speak with the mareschal,¡± a leader relented as he began making his way out. ¡°Come!¡± ? A doorway. Upon its face, an engraved plate. ¡°Chamber of the Dame Mareschal,¡± it read. And past the door was I, standing before Emilie as she was sat at the command desk. Flanking her were the three executive officers, their eyes fixed upon me in their fury. ¡°I believe I¡¯ve heard enough,¡± Emilie said calmly. ¡°Yet Rolf has made it clear he returned my horse to its stall, did he not?¡± ¡°My fair Mareschal Mernesse,¡± one of the leaders addressed most deliberately. ¡°With all due respect, surely you¡¯ve not fallen for the words of this fellow?¡± ¡°Not once has he failed in his office. I see no reason to doubt him so.¡± ¡°Fail, madame?¡± another leader raised his eyebrows. ¡°He is a toothless ungraced, unfit for battle. He but whiles away the days scrubbing armour and sweeping up our places. Perhaps he is unspotted in his menial duties¡ªbut what of it? ¡®Tis neither here nor there, I¡¯d say!¡± ¡°You have known him since your earliest days,¡± the third thought to air his mind, ¡°that, we understand very well. But madame¡ªyou are Mareschal to our Order.¡± Part well your private affairs from your public office, coddle not this cur-dog of an ungraced¡ªthe thinly-veiled implications of the leaders¡¯ words. It was no secret that some amongst our ranks maintained a particular misgiving: that Emilie was insufficiently impartial in her consortion with me. Yet my eyes saw differently. Emilie was ever fair in her interactions; it was the others that were taken with partiality in their flagrant displays of discrimination. But of course, they thought otherwise. The doubts they harboured for their own mareschal were heretofore unaired to any open degree, for like a fine mist before the rising sun, such unease was quick to dissipate before Emilie¡¯s sheer charisma. Yet was I always the thorn jabbing their jealous hearts, an ungraced ever by the side of their dear mareschal. It was only a matter of time before such spite spewed forth into the open. Emilie was fit to be the next hero-dame. That much they saw, and eager were they to crown her to such effect. But the coronation, as it were, could not continue on account of who else but myself. A disease in their flesh, a flaw in their machinations. To enthrone Emilie, they felt the pressing need to fling me as far from her side as possible. ¡°My leaders. Calm, please,¡± Emilie soothed the leaders, before turning to me. ¡°Rolf. Might I hear from you of your whereabouts over these last two days?¡± ¡°Aye, Mareschal,¡± answered I. ¡°Verily was I told to take rest from my duties by none other than yourself. A rest spanning two days.¡± ¡°Yes. ¡®Tis certain those were my words to you.¡± ¡°Only, the stablehands were not apprised of this. Not immediately, at least. So it was that on the morning of ereyesterday, I took it upon myself to care for your horse.¡± ¡°Indeed¡­ I did put you on leave rather asudden. A deed done in the late hours three nights past. ¡®Twas my fault. I neglected to notify the stablers.¡± ¡°As per usual, I fed and walked the horse, returning it to its stall after tidying up the place.¡± ¡°There! That¡¯s when you let it loose, is it!?¡± barked one of the leaders. And like heated hounds, they were all of them foaming from the corner of their mouths. ¡°Nay, sir,¡± I shook my head slightly. ¡°As I¡¯ve said time and again, I made certain to bring the horse back.¡± ¡°Then where is it gone, ay!?¡± ¡°Tame yourselves, will you please?¡± Emilie hushed the leaders once more. ¡°Rolf. Go on.¡± ¡°Yes, Mareschal,¡± I nodded. ¡°Given leave, I thought it best to also take rest from my training. I handed in the proper papers, and thus was the leave made official for that day and the next. I then browsed the library till dusk loomed, and from there headed off to town.¡± ¡°What followed?¡± Emilie pressed. ¡°I but remained in town till my return to headquarters very late last night.¡± ¡°Ah, so you stayed the night,¡± an officer jeered instantly. ¡°Over at a bawdy-house, was it? Had your way with a whore, you did!¡± ¡°What?¡± Emilie¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°That¡¯s nonsense! Right, Rolf?¡± A thick silence. One of the leaders pounced at the opportunity. ¡°Certainly, there are men amongst those awaiting war who are¡­ well, compelled to part with a pretty coin for a whore only half as pretty. For our part, war is our duty, one that has us wager away our very lives. Thus even knights such as we have need of ¡®comfort¡¯¡ªnot least in the hours before our reckoning,¡± the leader expounded, not once breaking his glare upon me. ¡°Our ungraced here finds no place in our battles. Yet he thought to bed with a harlot, as if to spite our good sacrifices. Oh! For shame.¡± ¡°R¡­ Rolf?¡± said Emilie, visibly shaken. ¡°You were in town¡ªwhat were you doing there?¡± Indeed, Rolf Buckmann. What were you doing? Give away any particulars, lie or no, and the Order will be quick to question the locals for any corroboration. There, they will find just as quickly that you were never really there at all. This must not come to pass. They must not know. You must¡¯ve been there, but as no more than a shadow that nary a soul would pay a mind. What, then, will be your excuse, Rolf Buckmann? ¡°Difficult to say,¡± I stated, unblinking. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I downed one too many bottles to remember.¡± Anger flashed through the veins of the leaders. ¡°The nerve! Dare you jest before your Mareschal!?¡± ¡°Look at this stain upon the escutcheon of our Order!¡± ¡°Wait! Wait, please! Still your steeds, everyone!¡± Emilie shouted, having risen from her seat to soothe the livid leaders. Afterwards, she looked at me earnestly. ¡°Rolf. I shall hear from you in greater detail on the morrow. Till then, pray be on your best behaviour,¡± she said, as calmly as she could. ¡°Please, Rolf. Collect your thoughts. You have my ear¡ªso long as you speak the truth, I will hear aught you have to say.¡± So it was that the indictments made against me were to be brought to full bear on the next morrow. The leaders all fired their glares at me, as if their very eyes were as weapons made to kill. For her part, Emilie was taken not by anger, but by anxiety. To me she looked, her face sullenly writ with the many questions she dearly wished to ask. ? The following day. The thick rustle of shuffling feet filled the air as the leadership filed into the Order conclave¡ªa large conference space, one that I found myself standing squarely in the centre of. Before me was a U-shaped table, great in length, at which the leadership all took their seats. The panel consisted of the entirety of the 5th¡¯s executive officers. Not one was missing¡ªnot even Felicia. Gathered at the behest of the three leaders from yesterday, I suspected. The palpable ceremony of it all spoke clearly of the Order¡¯s intent to take up the matter with utmost gravity. At the very middle of the panel sat Emilie. Her erstwhile dawn-like face was sunk with a dusked expression. ¡°Gathered are we here today to solemnly deliberate upon the failings of one Rolf Buckmann,¡± one of the leaders announced full-throatedly. It would seem they mean to make judges of themselves. How garish of a gathering, really. Shawl their shoulders with the mantles of magistrates and this could very well look the legitimate tribunal. ¡°A steed of the Reuscher breed has been reported missing from its stall as of ereyesterday. It bears mentioning that this same steed was no less a gracious gift from His Majesty to our honoured Dame Mareschal, the Lady Emilie Mernesse, for her decisive deeds in the recapture of the Godrika Minery,¡± the leader presented at length. ¡°Rolf Buckmann, swain to the Mareschal herself, finds amongst his menial duties the care of the selfsame horse. This hearing commences on action of inquiry concerning his culpability in this grievous affair.¡± A peculiar mien was upon the face of that leader. One of elation, or ecstasy even. The enthralling delight of declaiming the sins of the ungraced, from the look of him. For my part, I stood ready before them all, set in my coming assertions, resolved in my rationality. First things first. The matter of the missing horse¡ªbefore aught else, it is but a foul fabrication. Over and over had I reviewed my actions of that day, thinking that I may have been remiss somewhere. But nay. My memories all point to one conclusion: on that morning, I had returned the horse to its stall, and at evenfall, found it there yet again on my way out of headquarters. As for the happenings in the Albeck viscounty, I certainly will not utter a single word of it, all things considered. Chancing otherwise would invite a grave wound upon the whole of House Mernesse, and the inflicting hands are not ones to be stayed so easily. The night we liberated Godrika. I remembered it all too clearly: Emilie wept, on and on. Her tears were pure regret itself. ¡®My heart tells me to step down as mareschal,¡¯ she had confessed. Yet two entire winters ago that was. In all that time, she had been toiling away at her duties as our commander, that her family might find a foothold against the fickle turbulence of aristocratic life. For House Mernesse, she would surely stay the course¡ªas the shining mareschal to the 5th, as a devoted and loving daughter to the Mernesse family. How sorrowed and pitiful she looked on that night. It remains, to me, a vision unfading. Her very soul itself seemed to be sobbing away. Only, her misery is unabated. Her thoughts are still ravelled. Yet Emilie endured on and on to this day. I dare not let it all come to naught. But there was one pricking truth: keeping a tight lip about the Albeck incident and falsely admitting to losing the horse are two acts not mutually exclusive. Were I to endeavour both, certainly I would be allowed to stay in the Order. Emilie would make sure of it. I had heretofore hung on to life here at the Order, that I might someday be knighted. A childhood dream. A soul-defining ambition. The aspiration to become a figure of gallantry, just like in knightly tales of old. The path illuminated by such prose and poetry all impelled me towards one conclusion: to affirm my faults and say my sorries. Show them the sincerity of my remorse. Await the coming of their good graces. All to have my shoulders tapped by the sword. All to be called a knight. ¡­But is that truly becoming of a knight? To admit to a crime uncommitted? To apologise for faults unfounded? Were I to be made a knight upon a foundation of falsity, then just what is a knight? The many meetings I¡¯ve been graced with, the hard-fought battles I¡¯ve won¡ªall have over the years sparked the candle of change within me. A meagre, lone candle of a change, but a candle that burned nonetheless. The Mareschal Tiselius. Warmly did she shower me with praise for my actions on the battlefield. Yet what was it that she saw in me, really? The cruel and cunning catoblepas. Defiantly did it fight till its very last breath, a battle that shook me to my very core. Yet what was it exactly that crossed my heart as I witnessed its final moment? The trio I met at the Albeck manor. Bravely did those women endeavour their first steps to gentler days ahead, after enduring so long and lamentable a nightmare. Yet what was it that I gleaned from their hopeful eyes? What¡­ What manner of man did I wish to make of myself? A question I had asked myself over and over and over, through the many restless hours of an entire day. The end of that durance of self-inquiry found me now standing in the midst of this conclave. My will is steeled. My soul is set. Volume 1 - CH 6.2 All stray shufflings fell silent as the leaders settled at their seats. Their eyes, a score and more, sent their stares all to me. ¡°Rolf Buckmann. Testify before us all of what actions you took on the day of the steed¡¯s vanishing.¡± A demand from one amongst the leadership: namely, the chairman charged with moderating the hearing. ¡°Sir,¡± I began. ¡°I was given official leave for both that very day and the day prior to it. On the night of the latter, I went to town, and stayed there till my return in the dark hours of the former.¡± ¡°My my. Stayed overnight, did he¡­¡± ¡°Sorts rather well for an ungraced, doesn¡¯t it? To put up some coin for a corner girl?¡± ¡°Look at him. Thinks himself the lucky lad to have laid with a whore.¡± Murmurs from all through the panel of leaders. Veritable spit made only to wet the air. The faces that produced them were as a circle of sneers around me, twisted and reddened with ever greater scorn. I stole a glance at Felicia, finding her regard wide with shock in one moment, and furrowed from disgust in the next. ¡°Rolf Buckmann,¡± the chairman resumed. ¡°You make the claim that the Reuscher horse was indeed in its stall on the day preceding its reported disappearance. Explain yourself in full detail.¡± ¡°Yes, sir. On the morning of that day, I cared for said horse as per my routine. At the end of it, I had the horse returned to its stall; this, I am certain of. On the evening of that same day, I checked the stalls once more before heading out to town. Then, too, was the horse in its proper place, and this, also, I am certain of.¡± ¡°And what of your exact whereabouts in town?¡± the moderator pressed further. ¡°Mind! We are well-vested with the authority to gather testimony from the citizenry. Speak the truth, and only the truth.¡± ¡°I cannot recall. I¡¯m afraid I partook too many a mug of mead during my outing,¡± I stated flatly, stirring up a mixture of misgivings, impetuous incredulity, and venomous vituperations from the panel. The commotion thundered clear through the conclave. For their part, Emilie and Felicia were both seized with a look of despair. ¡°And you would have us accept such incredibility?¡± the chairman charged. ¡°I believe such is irrelevant. This hearing deliberates my agency in the disappearance of the horse, not my doings in town,¡± I charged back. Veins vaulted on the moderator¡¯s face. ¡°We test your testimony precisely that we may deliberate¡ªwith any justness¡ªthe extent of your agency, swain! A man inebriated, muddied of memory¡ª¡¯innocent,¡¯ he insists of himself. Tell us: what right mind would believe such folly!?¡± ¡°What right mind would meander from the matter at hand?¡± I challenged yet again. A wave of leaders leapt up from their seats. ¡°Foul insolence! This cur-bastard had better tame his tongue!¡± ¡°Your arrogance is but a brazen abuse of the mareschal¡¯s trust in you, ungraced!¡± A carousel of criticisms, replete with pointing fingers. The conclave was thoroughly choked with airings of anger. ¡°Calm! Calm, please! Everyone! We must have order!¡± Emilie raised her voice, bringing quiet to the hearing once more. She then looked to me, and with clarity and carefulness both, brought forth her own inquiry. ¡°Rolf¡­ You must know, ¡®tis quite difficult for me¡ªor anyone, really¡ªto believe in something so absurd as a loss of memory from having too hard a drink. Pray tell us all. What¡­ what was it that you were up to?¡± ¡°I do not remember.¡± ¡°Rolf¡­ Do you truly mean that?¡± ¡°I do.¡± Her brows sank. Sorrow, irritation¡ªsuch was the shade upon her face. ¡°¡®Tis certain,¡± she continued, ¡°I¡¯ve not forbidden our officers from fraternising with the brothels. Yet¡­ yet I cannot think that you would buy yourself a woman on a whim, Rolf. Just the same, I cannot think that you, of all of whom I know, would drink yourself to an amnesiac stupor. Tell me, Rolf¡­ What am I to believe?¡± ¡°As I¡¯ve stated before, Mareschal, my actions in town are not pertinent to the purposes of this hearing. Neither have I let the horse loose, nor has any evidence been brought to bear that abets otherwise. This is the simple truth of it.¡± ¡°But Rolf¡­ You well-recount having returned my horse to its stall, yet you also claim that you cannot recall what transpired in town. Wouldn¡¯t you say that¡¯s rather¡­ convenient?¡± ¡°No, Mareschal. I would not.¡± ¡°¡­Rolf¡­¡± Her face foundered again in sombre. The leadership around her, however, were quick to pounce on her plight. ¡°Madame. ¡®Tis clear as the summer sun that you neither believe Buckmann to be culpable, nor see him as the sort to commit this fault. Yet we of the leadership bear a position that is quite the contrary.¡± ¡°Agreed!¡± another leader cut in. ¡°Trustworthy he may have been in your childhood, but such verdant days have long since dusked. He stands as an ungraced before us all¡ªan ungraced good-for-nothing of an alga, no less!¡± ¡°Why¡­ Sirs!¡± Emilie turned to them, vexed. ¡°You speak beyond your boun¡ª¡± ¡°To begin with,¡± I interjected, ¡°I was freed of my swainly duties during the time of my leave¡ªa time that includes the day the horse disappeared.¡± Verily did Emilie try to shield me¡ªsincerely and sonorously so¡ªbut more verily again did she require shielding of her own. Her position was at stake; she verged right on the cusp of being doubted by the leaders for placing our intimacy above the integrity of the Order. Something had to be done before she took one step too far. ¡°It stands to reason, then: on that day, responsibility for the horse was not in my hands. To charge me so in spite of this is injustice,¡± I deflected their indictments, once again rousing the panel into a riot. Their gripes filled the conclave air, more so than ever before. ¡°What gall! Are you fain for contempt, ungraced!?¡± ¡°You insist upon your own innocence, yet dare blame us all in the same breath!?¡± ¡°You all! Tame yourselves! We must maintain order!¡± Emilie attempted again to soothe the seething leaders, whose collective anger and enmity was fast reaching a rolling boil. ¡°Emilie, love,¡± Raakel called in the midst of the chaos. ¡°That mickle-berk¡¯s gone an¡¯ done it, I really reckon. But look at ¡®im. Pretends the turtle tuck¡¯d in his shell, he does, afear¡¯d we might ¡®im out fer the hangdog hyaena what he is. So, his next plan o¡¯ action? A thin chelpin¡¯ ¡®bout how he can¡¯t recall¡ªa stinkin¡¯ lie, it is, fresh from his arse.¡± ¡°Indeed. We would do well to sooner trust our noses than his words,¡± Sheila said disinterestedly. For his part, Gerd kept his lips sealed tight. ¡°My fair Mareschal. This Buckmann fellow, he seems too stubborn to rightly say his sorries. His farce tarnishes the sheen of our esteemed Order¡ªwhy, I say we ought to oust him from these halls. ¡®Tis our only course out of this circus,¡± suggested one leader, with whom the others hungrily joined in. Their mareschal stood silent, her eyes shut away from the scene. But before long, she looked to me once more. ¡°¡­Rolf,¡± Emilie started quietly. ¡°Pray speak the truth. I beg of you¡­¡± I but breathed as my answer. Felicia, seemingly fed up, shook her head at my reticence. In contrast, Emilie kept her patience and pressed on. ¡°¡­We¡¯ll not thrust you into the streets and allow your return only once you¡¯ve retrieved the horse¡ªthat¡¯s not our intent. We but dearly wish to know the truth of it all, and to hear from your own lips a proper testimony. That¡¯s all we want from you, Rolf. Truly.¡± Even then, I did not budge. ¡°Rolf. Is this really too much to ask of you?¡± Even then, I stood firm. ¡°¡­Brother.¡± A call from Felicia, small but steeled of timbre. A single word that egged me on to apologise at once. Only, I did not. ¡°You¡¯ll become a knight one day, won¡¯t you Rolf?¡± Emilie continued, her voice dark with desperation. ¡°No knight can keep himself so unspotted along the long toils of his path; certainly, he may err somewhere along the way. But when he does, he makes certain to accept his faults, that he may reflect upon and hone himself further. This is what a true knight is¡­ isn¡¯t it? At least, I should like to think so.¡± ¡°¡®Tis as the good Mareschal says!¡± ¡°You might do yourself a great favour to heed her words, ungraced!¡± ¡°How about you show a smidgen of decency for once!? Set a good example for all your fellow good-for-nothings out there, eh!?¡± The leaders arduously echoed their sycophancy for Emilie¡¯s pleas. But this time, she made no effort to silence them. Rather, she loosened her grip upon their leashes, that they may continue their barking fits for the while. When all was settled again, she spoke once more. ¡°Rolf. You shall apologise at once.¡± Words, clear and calm, conveyed with her azure regard fixed straight upon me. The leaders were quiet. Her mighty mien had stayed their instinct for interjection. ¡®Yes. I admit to the loss of the horse. For that, I am deeply sorry.¡¯ Were I to utter those words, this entire ordeal would be done and dealt with. That much was certain. The leadership would no doubt be insatiate from so insipid an ending. But equally doubtless would be Emilie¡¯s unceasing efforts to protect me from their ire. And just like that, all would return to as they once were. I would remain by Emilie¡¯s side, striving day by day on the path towards knighthood. Days, each spent in her dear company. Yet, my soul was set. Set upon the words that must be said. Set upon a resolve that must be revealed. ¡°I will not.¡± The ensuing silence was as a fog falling upon the conclave. Emilie was astonished. Unmistakably so. The words that left my lips were to her as unforeseen as a bolt of lightning on a clear summer day. ¡°Rolf¡­?¡± Her small voice echoed. Yet mine did not answer. ¡°W¡­ were we not clear¡­ perchance? Rolf, if you refuse to accept your faults and apologise before us all, then I¡¯m afraid we¡­ we have little choice¡­¡± Her voice waned. Yet mine was unwavering. ¡°I¡¯ll not bend the knee¡ªnot under the weight of odds so stacked against me. To coerce me so is a grave folly.¡± ¡°P¡­ please, Rolf. Weren¡¯t you striving all these years to become a knight¡­?¡± Silence. ¡°Was it not your dearest dream¡­?¡± Silence, yet again. ¡°Why¡­!? Why will you not yield!? You have only to apologise and this will all be over!¡± It will indeed. The leadership craved an ending no less than she, albeit one woven of a different thread, of which they were quick to expound upon their mareschal as they roused themselves once more. ¡°Mareschal! We are decided! We find this fool ill-fitting of our Order!¡± ¡°Madame! Your verdict!¡± ¡°Rolf! Please! Apologise and I will forgive you here and now! Just¡­ apologise¡­!¡± Emilie raised her voice clear in my direction, half-drowned out by the leaders¡¯ fit of snarls. ¡°Mareschal! See how he spurns the olive branch! Such contempt is never inculpable!¡± I have always known. Always. That there would come a time when Emilie and I would go our separate ways. The day I found myself to be ungraced was the day our futures forked apart. Yet amidst such misfortune was a blessing. Small, but cherished all the more: five years. Five more, of her company. Five more, by her side. To see her. To hear her. To help her. But now, our time together is spent dry; the hour-sand, silenced of its flow. I¡¯ve supported her, given her counsel, and taught her aught and all that could avail her. House Albeck, the haunt of hedonists that sought to consign her to a foul fate, met its own by my hands. I have done for her all that I can. No longer will she have need of me. From here on out, she has but to ply her fame, and the fortunes she fights so hard for will surely be hers. ¡°Rolf¡­¡± ¡°This hearing is all but heard, Mareschal. We are decided. We are resolute. Condemn him!¡± ¡°Please¡­ Rolf¡­ This isn¡¯t¡­ this isn¡¯t how¡­¡± ¡°Madame!¡± This was it. The fates have played their hand. I was but a pawn cornered by their cunning, but having seen the game for what it was, I knew no good would come from wavering now. I¡¯ve made my peace. ¡°Mareschal,¡± I called firmly. ¡°I, too, am resolute.¡± ¡°But¡­ but, Rolf¡­ It can¡¯t end¡­ not like this¡­¡± There was confusion in every facet of her bearing. And for Felicia, naught but disbelief, to be forced to witness her woeful brother at the centre such a storm. We looked at length upon each other, Emilie and I. And in so doing, quietude returned to the conclave. The leaders, one and all, turned to their mareschal, waiting with bated breath for her words. Emilie¡¯s eyes. Large and crystal blue, veritable jewels I¡¯d beheld since the time my heart first began taking shape. Those same eyes now quivered with sorrow. ¡®Why?¡¯ they seem to ask. But I could accord them no answer at all. Were I able, I would have liked very much to thank her for filling my days with both brightness and beauty. Yet to do so in the livid company of the leadership was to fan an unforgiving flame. Not that this day could have suffered such luxury, anyway. The time for warmth and honesty had long passed us by. And that was precisely why I only looked on. On and on, upon those same eyes. Perhaps there was nothing left in me to tell her. In spite of it, I could not help but keep my gaze fixed upon hers. ¡°Rolf¡­¡± I could not answer. Within me was found nothing that could be said. And so another silence grew again between us. A silence heralding the end to our halcyon days. We stood face to face. Nothing more. Nothing less. Even then, my determination remained undulled. To part from Emilie was painful, most certainly. Yet this was a wound I chose to bear. There was no turning back. No more second thoughts. At the end of that enduring silence, Emilie shut her eyes. Before long, they were revealed once more. Eyes free from the bitterness and bafflement of her heart. The eyes of the ¡°Aureola¡±, the Lady Emilie Mernesse, Dame Mareschal to the 5th Chivalric Order. ¡°¡­Rolf Buckmann.¡± She called with deliberateness. Setting her eyes upon mine, she moved her lips once more, slowly, to intonate her next words with nary a spark of spirit in their timbre. ¡°I hereby discharge you from your service, and exile you from our Order.¡± Volume 2 - CH 1.1 It was done. The 5th Chivalric Order saw fit to expel me from its halls. A wingless fledgling to be flung from the nest¡ªonly, not immediately so. No, the Orders are each a military organisation, composing the arms of the vast royal army. Not even the process of purging one of its own could escape the burden of bureaucracy. And though I¡¯d lost affiliation with the Order, let alone my meagre lot as a long-serving swain, I was yet a soldier of Londosius. And where else would a soldier be sent but a battlefield? In our lands, it is custom for a fallen knight to be driven off to the frontiers, where the fires of the frontline burn fiercest. A knight I was not, of course, but it betrays neither reason nor reverie to think that the same fate awaited me. Life in a faraway fringeland¡­ But which, exactly? Even now, the top brass were deliberating upon it. A whole ten days it would take, during which time, I was to be put under house arrest. A rather toothless sentencing, to be frank. I had not a house, much less a room of my own to be arrested within. And so I spent my days dallying in the library. Despite being warned to venture not a step outside the headquarters building itself, I routinely left its confines for my usual morning and evening training. Not even this sad situation could deter me from the daily rigour. That was the pattern, really. Perhaps it was in the comfort of knowing that I¡¯d be gone for good that the other officers were generous¡ªor indifferent, more like¡ªof my blatant rule-breaking. Luckily, not a soul thought to question my actions the entire time. Yes. Lucky indeed. ¡°¡­Lucky? I¡¯m an exile, and wrongfully so, no less. What am I, if not shrivelled up and dried of all luck?¡± Such words I would put to the wind as the uneventful days dragged on by. On the tenth of that span, I was told at last of my destination. Balasthea Stronghold¡ªin the border province of Str?m the fort stood, and it was quite the distinguished one, at that. Infamous for the extreme rate of fatality amongst its soldiery, Balasthea guarded a hotly contested territory, one rightly labelled as being amongst the most murderous killing fields in the entire realm. Balasthea itself was manned by the Fiefguard of Margrave Str?m, who managed the fort via funds and support from Central. No vestige of the Orders were to be found on his land; all that I¡¯ve grown accustomed to over the years would likely stand in stark contrast to the folkways of that frontier. The very thought of it was enough to fray my nerves. And if I¡¯m honest, the last ten days were a strain upon my heart. A shadow was cast upon it, darker again than I could ever have imagined¡ªa dusk born from having to part from Emilie¡¯s side. I harbour no regrets in making that fateful decision. But pain does what it does, and wounds are wounds in the end. I¡¯ve known Emilie ever since my mind could know aught, from the day the light of awareness first dawned upon me. She was the one woman to whom I promised a life of love and happiness. So many years¡­ ¡­and now to ponder upon forgetting them all. The heart is not so simple a thing, I¡¯m afraid, to be able to sever asudden so dear a bond. But the past forever dies, the present is forever here, and the future forever awaits. Unbending truths for the kin of Man, and so I must forge ahead. My destination is decided. I can ill-afford to wallow in my woes much longer. Death is where my way wends; it would not do to meet him without my head held high. ? The official day of my exile. Unspotted and infinitely cerulean the morrow-skies were, as if to rain blessings upon my departure. Were that truly so, then I suspect whoever wields the weather must be quite the dim-witted deity. After all, what good comes from exalting an exile as he sets out upon so perilous a path? There I stood at the main portcullis, where five years past I passed through with Emilie as we started our new lives here at the 5th. Never did I think that I would leave it under such sullen circumstance. The life of a man is truly uncertain, if nothing else. Gracious were the fates indeed to have garnished my lot with such an assortment of surprises. I should thank them. Though the gesture might feign too brave a face, I feel. ¡°Word has been sent to Balasthea Stronghold,¡± spoke one of two leaders standing before me. ¡°Hand them the papers when you arrive.¡± ¡°Keep that nose of yours on the grindstone this time, yea? And try not to get yourself kicked out again,¡± the other droned. In fact, I¡¯d say the both of them seemed rather bothered, to be left with the unenviable chore of officiating my disposal. ¡°Hah. Whom am I kidding? Wouldn¡¯t put it past an ungraced to get the boot twice.¡± With those words, the leaders then went about their business, hasteful in getting me out of their sight as soon as possible. Of course, no horse would be furnished to me. I was to travel to town by foot, and there make use of stagecoaches for the rest of the way. Not that I was troubled much by it. My sword, a smattering of sustenance, and a trusty waterskin I¡¯d been using for the longest while now¡ªbeyond these, I carried little. The air thudded. Hoof-falls clopped close. I looked, finding a formation of mounted knights cantering in. They were all of them leaders, and foremost amongst them: Emilie. This was the first time I¡¯d laid eyes on her in the ten days since the hearing. ¡°Madame!¡± greeted one of the prior leaders. ¡°Come to send off the ungraced for good, I presume?¡± ¡°¡­I suppose I have,¡± she answered. There, from high up on her steed, did she look down upon me. Our eyes met. A heavy while, kept wordless throughout, till I turned my back. ¡°Be well.¡± A simple goodbye from my lips, one unrequited from Emilie¡¯s own. Her silence was sustained as I stepped through and out of the portcullis. And thus was executed my exile from the 5th Chivalric Order. ? Reaching Str?m was in and of itself a journey. But of course it had to be. The brand of ¡°border province¡± was hardly for show. Given the kingdom¡¯s sheer breadth, no less than seven days passed between my departure from the 5th¡¯s grounds to my arrival at the frontier. Through Londosius had I gone, faring by one stagecoach after the other. At times, it would stop at a stage station for a change of horses. Other times, I would transfer to another service entirely, and resume on my horse-drawn way. Countlessly did this occur, and by the seventh day of that long chain, I at last crossed into the hilly, evergreen stretches of Str?m. Disembarking from my final stop, I then spent another full day afoot, trekking alone through the treacherous spans till I found the fort looming before me. Balasthea Stronghold. The redoubted redoubt. A veritable edifice facing the Naf¨ªlim lands squarely on. Solid stonework composed its ramparts, while the fort proper was oaken in construction. A rather drab and dreary place compared to the grandeur of Order architecture. And intact it was not: Balasthea was riddled with scars, reminders of blistering, bygone battles. Beyond it were the Naf¨ªlim territories, an expanse strewn with woodlands that blanketed the base of a cragged mountain. The lay of this immediate land was such that no Naf¨ªlim host could venture an offensive without being funnelled through a single geographical point. But the same could be said of Londosius¡¯ own forces. And so what did such men build upon that imperative point but Balasthea itself? Not too far from the fort spanned the fiefburgh of Arbel, the urban administrative centre of the Str?m frontier. And in that burgh-city stood the residence of the margrave himself. To be sure, Arbel was well-defended in its own right, but if bereft of Balasthea¡¯s shielding shadow, then it might as well be a sheep shuddering alone in a wolven wilderness. No wonder, then, that the Naf¨ªlim were utterly fierce and focused in their offence, a seed of violence that sprouted Balasthea¡¯s repute as a deathtrap battlefield some years past. The margrave himself was not one to stay his hand in answering such aggression, as evidenced by occasional incursions of his own into the Naf¨ªlim lands. But the men composing the margrave¡¯s military were of a sort different than those stationed in Balasthea. Make no mistake, the soldiery of Str?m was all the margrave¡¯s own: the Fiefguard. Yet a distinction must be made between those stationed at Balasthea and those that the margrave directly commanded: the former were charged strictly with the defence of the fort, their very flesh made as shields to guard against its fall. And that selfsame fort was to be my new place of employ. ¡°Hail!¡± I called to the guardsman at the gate. ¡°I am Rolf Buckmann, a transfer from the 5th Order. The vice-commandant is wise to my arrival, I take it?¡± ¡°That he is,¡± he answered. ¡°This way, ser.¡± The gates groaned open. The guard then guided me through the fort grounds. We soon entered the keep, and after winding through its corridors, emerged in a room where waited but one man. ¡°Ebbe¡¯s the name. Vice-Commandant o¡¯ this here fort,¡± he introduced himself. A bony man of about thirty years of age, this ¡°Ebbe¡± was given to maintaining a constant, sarcastic furrow upon his brows. ¡°Quite the long way you¡¯ve come, eh?¡± ¡°Rolf Buckmann,¡± came my own curt introduction. ¡°A long way indeed.¡± ¡°Fortunate we are t¡¯have you, good Commandant. Let us hope you¡¯ve not come all this way for naught,¡± Ebbe returned, already bothered by my arrival. ¡°Acting Commandant,¡± I corrected. That¡¯s right. I was instead charged with a position of leadership, spared from the dread and drudgery of soldiering. The men of the fort were each in the employ of the margrave; none, and nothing, had anything tangible to do with the Chivalric Orders themselves. Yet by the laws of Londosius, Balasthea and all other forts like it are subordinate to the knightly institution. Intimate is the link between Central and the Orders, for better or worse. In contrast, the forces of a fort are fairly divorced from the kingdom¡¯s grip, being composed of only common soldiers from the surrounding region. But this land, by rights, belongs to the king himself, and the margrave is merely its steward. All under the latter¡¯s purview, then, are subject to the will of Central, and by extension, the Orders themselves, cruces of the royal military that they are. This naturally includes the dictation of human resources and staffing¡ªand the handling of my exile. But that was not all that undergirded my charge here. Balasthea¡¯s actual commandant was beset by a chronic ailment, and so was put out to pasture for the time being. It was there that Emilie herself saw an opportunity to make me acting commandant to this fort. Her designs were undimmed: no doubt she thought I would die both immediately and unceremoniously were I made a regular grunt upon so lethal a battlefield. The soldiers of this fort all hailed from the common citizenry. Thus was it entirely reasonable to assign an aristocrat from the Order to fill the commandant¡¯s seat. That was a bill I snuggly fit: despite having never rose beyond swainhood, and having been denied inheritance of the Buckmann barony, I was yet a noble hailing from the Order. Given how so many pieces of the puzzle fell into place, it was easy to see why Emilie was so impelled to place me in this post. Though if I¡¯m honest, to be exiled straight into a position of power was itself enough of a seed for a strange tale. It was my hope that Emilie had not stepped on too many toes to get this affair approved. Thankfully, this was to be the last. Never again would she have to imperil her position. Yet it was very likely that she¡¯d accrued a hounding debt to Central in the process¡­ all just for my sake. It was clear as day, then, why Ebbe¡¯s behaviour was so briared upon our meeting. A second-in-command such as him is certainly whom one would expect to take over the duties of an absent commandant. Yet here was I, an ennobled¡ªand exiled¡ªnewcomer, suddenly snatching away the selfsame privilege. The very sight of me must¡¯ve stung him sore, I¡¯m sure. ¡°And how fares the erstwhile commandant himself?¡± I asked. ¡°Oh, he fares. The afterlife¡¯s busy rolling out the red carpet for the poor master, you¡¯d be glad t¡¯know,¡± Ebbe answered dismissively, before turning a pair of sneering eyes to me. ¡°But here¡¯s another Commandant right in this room, and he piques the whiskers o¡¯ Ebbe, the curious cat¡ªa question, sir!¡± My eyes narrowed. ¡°What tickles you?¡± ¡°Your expulsion. What else?¡± Ebbe smiled as he continued. ¡°A comely kick it was what sent your arse all the way t¡¯this neck o¡¯ the woods. What tickled the knee, hmm?¡± ¡°An itch you should know well of.¡± ¡°The one upon the horse¡¯s hind! Ahah!¡± The vice-commandant¡¯s grating giggles filled the room. ¡°Y¡¯hide quite the hoof-mark on your haunches, don¡¯t you, my aching Commandant! Not a cutpurse nor a turncoat you are! No no! A stablehand too ¡®handy¡¯ in his handling o¡¯ a horse, I¡¯d wager! And now the steed¡¯s a runaway, whilst you¡¯re the stun¡¯d castaway! Hoh! No more slapstick a shtick there¡¯s ever been!¡± ¡°Slapstick indeed.¡± My flat humouring all but goaded a goatly grin from Ebbe¡¯s bony face. If his unceasing chuckles were anything to go by, I¡¯d say he was having a grand time at my expense. ¡°How now, good knight! Cheer up!¡± he squawked. ¡°Or should I say, ¡®good swain¡¯?¡± ¡°Then you¡¯ve said right.¡± ¡°Good swain! Such a short time with the Order it must¡¯ve been!¡± Ebbe bellowed with arms wide, before tucking them in akimbo. ¡°No more than half a year, was it?¡± ¡°Five.¡± ¡°Mm? What¡¯s that? Five? Five years, y¡¯say?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve read my records. Why play this farce?¡± ¡°I¡¯d misplaced my reading glasses, y¡¯see!¡± he smiled, more toothy now than ever with delight. The man was certainly revealing himself to be quite the articulated puppet to his own emotions. ¡°Come now, Commandant. Do tell. Five years, was it? As a swain? What kick¡¯d off that career, eh?¡± ¡°You well-know why.¡± ¡°Be not so cold, Commandant! Come. Let us hear it. Straight from the horse¡¯s mouth!¡± he squealed with restrained laughter. ¡°I can¡¯t scratch this itch myself, ey! Your secret, sir! Your secret! How does a man simmer the swain-stew for five long winters? Oh, do enlighten me! I beg o¡¯ you!¡± With the theatrics of a thespian, Ebbe shrunk and leaned in, hands clasped together imploringly. Yet his face remained ever ugly with its jeer. ¡°Play the japing jester all you want, Ebbe. I care little,¡± I shot back. ¡°But even a jester has an office he ought to serve well, and I will have you serve yours¡ªproperly.¡± From the vice-commandant¡¯s throat came a roaring laugh, like a saw eating into a tree. ¡°¡®Office¡¯, y¡¯said!? Ah hah! I¡¯d say you¡¯re quite the clown yourself, Commandant! A blind and bumbling bloke has but t¡¯lift his finger t¡¯be told he¡¯s served his office better than you, my good man!¡± With those words, the ghoul-like grunt¡¯s guffaws echoed on and on. Volume 2 - CH 1.2 The fortyards. Drumming through the air were grunts and clanks, the stamping and sliding of heavy feet, the huffs and hisses of swung weapons. For there was gathered the soldiery, busied in its exercises at my behest; before all else, I needed to measure the might of these men¡ªor lack thereof. ¡°What think you, Commandant?¡± asked Ebbe, his face strained with a great grin. ¡°The men are meagerly armed, but they move well enough¡ªeach on his own, that is. A flock of headless chickens coordinates better than they.¡± ¡°¡®Coordinate¡¯! Hah!¡± Ebbe snorted. ¡°Eagle-eyed, are we, Commandant? Tell me, how sweet ¡®pon that beak o¡¯ yours was it t¡¯squawk such lordly words, hm?¡± ¡°This soldiery is oddly sorted, to start with,¡± I continued, unheeding of the vice-commandant¡¯s vitriol. ¡°And the platoons¡­ I see too great a difference in prowess between them each.¡± Whoever organised these men had long abandoned any notion of balance. Clearer than the summer sun was the intent to match the strong with the strong, and leave the weak to wallow on the wayside. A warped piece of wood this was, one in need of some honest planing. Left lop-sided as they were, the men would remain incapable of coordination, even if their lives depended on it. ¡°Do you, now?¡± Ebbe sighed. ¡°Sing t¡¯me more o¡¯ this lullaby, my dear balladeer.¡± ¡°You first, Ebbe¡ªthose men over there. What are they?¡± I asked, flicking my chin off to the side. There in the distance was gathered another group of men, a score and a half in number, each encased in argent armour. Just by the look of them, I could tell they were the standouts of the soldiery: well-armed and well-trained. ¡°Why, they¡¯re mine, o¡¯ course. Guardsmen o¡¯ the Vice-Commandant, yours truly,¡± Ebbe explained, but seeing my unimpressed response, he blinked. ¡°Hmm? Are they not mete with your measure, my man?¡± There is no fault to be found in surrounding a commander with a group of select soldiers, highly-skilled and made separate from the rest of the pack. The Orders¡¯ Owlcranes attest to this. No, the problem laid elsewhere. ¡°Not in numbers, they are. Why so many?¡± I inquired keenly. ¡°Because many¡¯s what I require,¡± Ebbe answered with pomp. ¡°What? Your eagle-eyes failing t¡¯espy why, now are they?¡± Well, let sleeping dogs lie, as they say. Balasthea was a fort, defence being its primary charge. Were a battle to break upon its walls, certainly these men under Ebbe could prove useful as reserves, sent to match swords with any overly ambitious aggressors. Besides, leaving but thirty men at the rear would not necessarily amount to a tactical flaw of any substance. It was readily apparent that Ebbe¡¯s personal guards were a point of pride to the man; in exchange for turning a blind eye to them, I would have the vice-commandant himself consent to another matter. ¡°Fine, then. They¡¯re your men; I¡¯ll not shuffle them about,¡± I relented. ¡°But of the others¡ªall of them¡ªthey¡¯ll be mine to reorganise as I see fit.¡± ¡°Yes, yes, almighty chessmaster. Play with your pieces however you like.¡± As I thought. Ebbe is a man jealously protective only of that which is his own. Aught else is trivial as rags to him. Right then. Changes for the good were on the horizon at last, with not a peep from Ebbe to bar their implementation. ¡°Good. You¡¯ll be briefed on the results once the re-sorting¡¯s done with.¡± ¡°Oh, do take your time, Commandant,¡± Ebbe waved off disinterestedly. A dim grin remained on his face, its corners propped up by contempt. ¡°Ebbe, I¡¯ve said this once already: you¡¯re free to mislike me as you like¡ªprivately. You all well-risk life and limb to defend this fort, I know, and know very well. That your commandant¡¯s seat was unceremoniously re-suited for the Order¡¯s designs is certainly something to scorn. Howev¡ª¡± ¡°Well now, kind hawk o¡¯ a Commandant! Is that an olive branch I spy in your talons? Hm? A fort is but a sprig sprouted far from the Order¡¯s boughs, oh certainly. T¡¯be taken over by a noble¡ªdisgraced and rotted fruits, the lot o¡¯ you¡ªis not so rare a sight, yea?¡± That simper of his wrinkled deeper as he continued. ¡°Yet Balasthea is an aegis essential t¡¯Londosius¡¯ defence. But you? What¡¯re you but a broken, knightless blade, ill-pair¡¯d with the pavise o¡¯ Balasthea? And you would have me respect you. How precious.¡± ¡°Precious indeed, respect. A man pays it to whomever he pleases, sure,¡± I conceded, before turning a glare to Ebbe. ¡°But I am your superior officer, and I will not brook insubordination.¡± ¡°Well! Yon¨¢ be merciful¡ªoh! The squawk o¡¯ this hawk! How it affrights my meek soul!¡± the farceur squealed smilingly, shrinking back and clutching his shoulders to great theatricality. ¡°Yes, yes, Commandant. Tuck ¡¯way your talons! I shall heed your every word.¡± What a pain in the arse. Further troubles would surely follow with this pierrot snapping at my heels at every turn. But no greater good was ever achieved without much toil: Balasthea¡¯s situation must be turned around, lest it remain a graveyard ever-piling up with the vainly deceased. Reform. That was what this fort needed, and what I resolved to bring about. ? One grey day led to the next. Under the dull and misted morrowlight, the platoons were assembled in the fort outskirts. The air of the early hour was broken by barks from whom but Ebbe¡¯s men themselves as they paced here and there, proud in their silver armour. ¡°Wot¡¯s it now, eh!?¡± screeched one of those elites. ¡°4th Platoon: late in settin¡¯ out fer patrol! 5th Platoon¡­ no¡¯ yet done fettlin¡¯ the bloody rampart! Ye wankers, can¡¯t even do a ¡®andyman¡¯s work, is it!?¡± ¡°S-sir, right ¡®bout t¡¯set off, we was,¡± bleated a platoonsman of the 4th. ¡°But y¡¯see, we then got ¡®anded orders asudden, t¡¯patrol some other place, an¡¯ er¡­¡± ¡°We ain¡¯t got many ¡®ands fer the job, sir,¡± a 5th platoonsman chimed in. ¡°We should like t¡¯fix up the rampart right ¡®an proper, only command¡¯s not ¡®eeded a word o¡¯ us request fer more men, see.¡± ¡°Excuses! All I ¡®ear is wet excuses! Whimperin¡¯ windfuckers, the lot o¡¯ ye!¡± ¡°A-a-apologies, s-sir!¡± On and on, this went. A pitiful repetition of lambastings from the high-ranks, answered with naught but sorries from the low. ¡°Ebbe,¡± I called, watching with not a wisp of warmth. ¡°What¡¯s with this nonsense?¡± ¡°Morning assembly. What, can¡¯t tell, good Commandant? Eh? What¡¯s it look like t¡¯you? Tea at dawn?¡± yawned Ebbe. ¡°We gather ¡®em all up, y¡¯see. Drill into them all they did wrong yesterday. That way, they know the proper thing t¡¯do t¡¯day and t¡¯morrow. A try¡¯d and true tradition, if I do say so myself.¡± A self-important summary. It would seem he was the very culinarian who cooked up this sorry stew of an exercise. ¡°Tried, yes. True?¡± I shook my head. ¡°No, Ebbe. No more of this farce from here on out.¡± The grin vanished. ¡°¡­What? How¡¯s it a farce, ey?¡± ¡°How¡¯s it not a farce, is more the question. You but line these men up and drown their ears with the queerest quibbles. Why, I¡¯d wager you do all this just to stroke your egos against your subordinates, to drill into them instead of who¡¯s high and who¡¯s a hound,¡± was my bitter assessment. ¡°Naught but a tree that ill-bears a single fruit is all this is.¡± ¡°Oi you! Think t¡¯make us yer hounds, is it!?¡± came a shriek, one from the veiny throat an Ebbe-elite. From the look of him, he seemed the youngest of that guard: a trace of childishness yet lingered on that fuming face of his as he stamped his way closer. ¡°Thass quite the tongue fer an Actin¡¯ Commandant, yeh!¡± he went on wildly. ¡°An¡¯ proper swollen! Bit it bold on yer way down, did ye? When they kick¡¯d yer arse off the Order¡¯s saddle! Well, ye can clam it up f¡¯good, ye¡¯ll be glad t¡¯know! Fer Master Ebbe be the one runnin¡¯ the show ¡®round ¡®ere!¡± ¡°Karl, my boy. Show a bit o¡¯ pity for the man, will you?¡± Ebbe soothed the youth with uncharacteristic calm. ¡°Pity? Wot¡¯s this ¡®bout, Master Ebbe?¡± blinked this ¡®Karl¡¯. ¡°Us good Commandant here is ungraced. A sad and sodden-wit¡¯d lad who knows not left from right on the battlefield.¡± ¡°¡®Ungraced¡¯? Wot¡¯s that then, eh?¡± ¡°Spurn¡¯d o¡¯ Yon¨¢¡¯s good graces, as it were. The man has got nary an iota o¡¯ odyl in ¡®im, see. A full slap t¡¯the arse was all he got from Her, I reckon.¡± A revelation that inspired a stunned silence from both Karl and the other elites. But another moment, and they were all of them in stitches, laughing their lungs out. ¡°W-wo¡ªhwaha! Wot¡¯s this!? ¡®ows ¡®e even alive, eh!?¡± ¡°Thass a proper bit o¡¯ kiddin¡¯ there, Ebbe! An¡¯ look¡ªgot sent t¡¯this ¡®ellhole o¡¯ all places! A sad lot fer this sad lad!¡± Through the midst of that commotion cut the sound of an unsheathing sword. Gripping it was Karl, who then trained its tip to me. ¡°¡®ow ¡®bout it, Commandant? Spare a lil¡¯ spar for good ¡®ol Karl? I promise I¡¯ll be easy, yea!¡± the foul youth smiled, his threat rousing a ruckus from the elites. ¡°Bwahah! Ye teach ¡®im a stinkin¡¯ lesson, Karl! Show ¡®im wot a stellar schoolboy ye be!¡± ¡°Come on, Karl! Stand down! Ye makin¡¯ the commandant cry!¡± ¡°Ahah! Ahahah!¡± The Ebbe-guards continued their guffaws, clutching their bosoms from the hilarity of it all. My duty it was indeed to scold their nonsense, but it was painfully apparent that they had not a mind to heed their ungraced commandant. What other duty was left to me, then, was but to produce results. Decisively so. ¡°No more morning assemblies from this day forth,¡± I announced sharply. ¡°And the 5th Platoon¡¯s short on hands¡ªtoo short to shore up some stone walls. That in itself calls for a thorough restructuring of every platoon. I¡¯ll see to it myself that it gets done over the next couple of days. That is all. Dismissed!¡± With my motive made clear, I left the ever-laughing scene. ? Less than a week later found me standing in the command chamber, eyes fixed upon some papers in hand. ¡°Ebbe. This report¡ªwhoever penned it certainly wasn¡¯t in a hurry. Not in defining the gap between both projected and verified damages, that is. Why¡¯s that?¡± ¡°Why the hurry t¡¯go nowhere?¡± shrugged Ebbe. ¡°Knowing just the actualities well-suffices. You split hairs, Commandant!¡± ¡°I split hairs that we might survive another day, Vice-Commandant,¡± I shot back, lifting not an eye off the report. ¡°You and your men. I would have you all be more thorough from here onwards.¡± A snorting scoff. ¡°¡®Thorough? What¡¯s this now?¡± ¡°Make certain that you write in your reports both projected and actual results,¡± I elaborated firmly. ¡°And while you¡¯re at it, go and inform the platoons that henceforth they are to include in their reports the reasons for such disparities.¡± Balasthea well-lived up to its name: a facet of Londosius¡¯ vast frontlines such as this had its fair share of skirmishes over the last few days. Par for the course, but what had changed was the number of fatalities, lesser now than before my arrival. I pulled out all the stops: platoons were reorganised, chains of command were recomposed, posts were repositioned, shifts were rescheduled. Much ado it was, but the results were unmistakable. Balasthea saw its silver lining at last, and it was a vivid one, at that. Only, Ebbe¡¯s attitude towards me had not improved in the slightest, as our conversation sadly attested. ¡°Come now, Commandant! We are warriors! Men o¡¯ battle! Not miserly bookkeepers!¡± he whined. ¡°You might¡¯ve made yourself a more whetted warrior had you learned how to keep a book, Ebbe. Your years of service yet find you dim to following orders¡ªnow¡¯s a good time to learn, I¡¯d say.¡± ¡°¡­Hmph. Fat talk for an ungraced¡ª¡± Ebbe¡¯s snide remark drowned in the bellowing air. I glanced up from the papers. The warning horns were sounded¡ªan attack was upon us. I sprang up and went to the window, finding men scrambling about in the fortyards below. Before long, a platoon captain burst into the room. ¡°Commandant! We¡¯ve enemies at the gate! They strike from the east!¡± ¡°Their numbers?¡± ¡°Us surveyors be countin¡¯ t¡¯this moment, but the Naf¨ªlim number the same as yesterday¡¯s, from the looks o¡¯ it!¡± ¡°Can¡¯t deploy the 1st¡­ their wounded have yet to recover,¡± I thought aloud. ¡°Have the 2nd and 3rd Platoons defend the west gate! The 6th goes to the east!¡± Unwelcome words to Ebbe. ¡°Have you got wax stuff¡¯d in those ears, Commandant?¡± he quipped, taken aback. ¡°The devils¡¯ve come t¡¯the east gate, the man said. What good¡¯s it do t¡¯guard the west so thickly, eh?¡± ¡°We do ourselves much good to sniff out ruses wherever they rustle. Yesterday¡¯s attack¡ªthe Naf¨ªlim struck the east gate then, too. A trick to train our noses there, that we might not catch their scent coming from the west today,¡± I reasoned. ¡°A bait-and-switch. We best be on our toes.¡± Yet again, Ebbe snorted in scorn at my words. Paying no mind to his subsequent giggles, I turned to the soldier. ¡°Captain. You have your orders.¡± ¡°Right away, sir!¡± he saluted, and quickly quit the room. Gearing myself up, I followed him soon after. It won¡¯t do to idle by, safe and divorced from the struggle; I would dictate the battle right in the thick of its throes. Balasthea Stronghold¡ªthe fatal fort and veritable mound of the war-dead. No longer would it be so dreaded. This, I swore. But for now, I would see to it that starting on this day, not a single soul would be lost to the fighting. Volume 2 - CH 1.3 13-16 minutes 03.11.2022 Desktop view is recommended for reading this content. Soot-Steeped Knight ? ú ¤Þ ¤ß ¤ì ¤Î òT Ê¿ Volume II Chapter 1 ¨C Part 3 Written By Yoshihiko Mihama Translated By Vagrant ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ The clank and clamour of battle burgeoned. But its crescendo now crested from a direction different from the outset: just as I¡¯d thought, the Naf¨ªlim¡¯s main forces flooded in from the west instead. By my orders, we had our defensive ranks reinforced accordingly before the clash. The preparations bore fruit: our men met the foe, unmoved by their ruse. ¡°Keep the ranks filled!¡± came my command to a captain. ¡°Maintain our numbers and we maintain the upper hand!¡± ¡°Aye aye, sir!¡± A facet of my reforms saw the formation of a new platoon of sentries, their charge it was to observe the battle from the high safety of a watchtower. There, they would glean any gap in the numbers of both our forces and the enemy¡¯s own. This precious information would then be reported and relayed down to each captain, who would then dictate his platoon to the demands of the battle. A veritable heart, the pulsing arteries of which allowed our numbers to swiftly shift between different sections of the fort as needed. Such would not have been possible without disciplined coordination. To achieve it, open communication was fostered at the organisational level, after which the platoons themselves were revised and reassembled. From then on were each subject to stringent drills and exercises, all meant to make keen their coordinative capabilities. The results were unmistakable: no matter where the enemy fell upon us, our men were able to meet them head-on with ample numbers in tow. The erstwhile lack of flexibility and swiftness had regrettably begat no small number of soldiers left to twiddle their thumbs in the thick of battle. And who could blame them? They were situated in the wrong places at the wrong times, after all, on account of a complacent command. All that was changed. Now, Balasthea¡¯s men were as blades honed anew, with not the smallest span of their edges left untended. The battles breaking upon our bulwarks began to lose their teeth as my reforms bore further fruits. In the midst of this heartening trend stood I, judging today¡¯s clash to soon be another success. ? Three turns of the hourglass later. Victory was ours. ¡°The foes¡¯re fallin¡¯ back!¡± a captain reported. ¡°Might we give chase, sir?¡± I shook my head. ¡°Leave them.¡± ¡°¡®Leave ¡®em¡¯!? Fer wot now, ah!?¡± came Karl crashing in. ¡°Why, we ough¡¯ t¡¯cull ¡®em curs ¡®ere, ¡®fore they come chompin¡¯ at us arses ¡®gain!¡± ¡°A butcher earns no coin cutting meat that flees fast from his knife, Karl. Besides, we¡¯ve more pressing issues on our hands,¡± I sternly returned, before looking to the others. ¡°Check for casualties! Report to me your findings!¡± ¡°Tch! Yellow-liver¡¯d chick¡¯n, you!¡± lashed Karl¡¯s tongue, after which both he and the rest of Ebbe¡¯s men made themselves absent from the scene. Keeping the side of my glance upon them, I hastened the efforts to count the casualties. But there would be none on that day, a fact found out not long afterwards. ? An hour had sailed by since I hurried from the fort on horseback. The end of the rush found me in the Arbel fiefburgh proper. Night had set in; the pubs were full-lit and alive. I pushed open the door of one such establishment, quickly finding in its rowdy innards the shrill of a certain youth. ¡°Git this! They ran! Wit¡¯ them tails tuck¡¯d under them bollocks like the curs they are! Then I came t¡¯cut ¡®em all down, I did!¡± Karl. There the youth was, with a tankard of ale in hand, thrust high in the air. Surrounding him were Ebbe and the elite guards, to all of whom he sang of his feats earlier in the day. Feats from pursuing the Naf¨ªlim in their retreat. ¡°Got one o¡¯ ¡®em good, I tell ye!¡± he tattled on. ¡°Biggest o¡¯ ¡®em bastards thought t¡¯stay b¡¯hind an¡¯ let ¡®is beefin¡¯ brothers run off! Nice fellow wit¡¯ a giant axe, ¡®e was! Then I gave ¡®im a good scratchin¡¯ on ¡®is back fer the noble deed, I did! ¡­With the keen side o¡¯ my sword, tha¡¯ is!¡± The air swelled thick with laughter. ¡°From the back!¡± an Ebbe-guard wheezed from the hilarity. ¡°Karl the Coward, cutter o¡¯ hindquarters! Git a cockscomb an¡¯ a wattle on him an¡¯ he¡¯ll look the proper poultry! Haha!¡± ¡°Yea, wag that tongue all ye want, brother!¡± Karl quipped. ¡°This be war, ey! Fuss ¡®bout the champs an¡¯ chick¡¯ns ¡®mong us an¡¯ ye¡¯ll be on the butcher¡¯s block soon ¡®nough, ye will!¡±¡± ¡°Oh¡ª! Then I¡¯ll be hangin¡¯ with the ham-hogs right soon, eh!? A charmin¡¯ cut o¡¯ charcuterie, I¡¯ll make! Hwahah!¡± ¡°Big ol¡¯ butcher¡¯s shop¡¯s all it is, innit! War! Ahahah!¡± A soldier I¡¯d inquired back at the fort was right on the money: Ebbe and his brutes were wont to patronise this pub straight after a battle. There they all were, pissed out of their wits, bellies bulging with downed bitters. I had not a mind to join them. No, grilling these men was precisely why I came to this watering hole in the first place. To their tumultuous table I went, and raised a matter with one of those seated. ¡°You¡¯ve got something to spill, Ebbe?¡± I growled at the vice-commandant, who was sat quiet and content, soaking in Karl¡¯s gloating. ¡°¡­None, Commandant. Not from this empty cup o¡¯ mine,¡± he deflected. ¡°¡®Leave them,¡¯ I said,¡± came my cutting reminder. ¡°Only you didn¡¯t.¡± A shrug. ¡°What I do with my men is up to me, Commandant.¡± ¡°And what you do is up to me, Vice-Commandant. Not least when we¡¯re in the midst of battle. I promised only to keep your guardsmen out of my reforms. Nothing else.¡± My words seemed to sting Ebbe¡¯s ears as he forced out a sore sigh. ¡°Commandant! Commandant!¡± barked Karl from the side. ¡°Give us a break, will ye? Right jigger¡¯d we be from ¡®avin t¡¯cut an¡¯ kill the devils, all whilst ye sit comfy on yer ungraced arse!¡± ¡°Insubordination¡ªthat¡¯s what you¡¯ve committed, Ebbe,¡± came a bark of my own, sparing Karl not a moment of my mind. ¡°Report to my chamber first thing on the morrow.¡± Pressing the matter any further here was futile. With my command firmly given, I turned from the men and made for the door, catching a click from Ebbe¡¯s tongue. ¡°Oh, wot! Come on, Commandant! Where ye be ¡®eadin¡¯? ¡®ave a gulp wit¡¯ us, yea? Why, I¡¯ll even throw in a free lecture: ¡®ow t¡¯swing a sword all proper-like!¡± Again, I ignored Karl¡¯s drunken drolling as I parted from the buzzing pub. ? The next morning. I stood within the commandant¡¯s chamber, having received a particular guest from Arbel. ¡°Buckmann,¡± said he, a man none other than the lord of this land: the Margrave Aaron Str?m himself. ¡°The very first of our meetings, yes?¡± ¡°And one overlate; my sincerest apologies, Your Excellency,¡± I bowed. ¡°My hands were tied in turning the fortunes of the fort; I hope your generosity sees me fit for forgiveness.¡± ¡°Fit or no, I care little. Even my generosity can be tested in having to humour an ungraced. I¡¯m a busy man, you see,¡± he brushed off, with a smile bending that moustached mien of his. He seemed not much more than an ennobled bourgeois: conventional to a fault, with not a speck of scrupled inspiration in his eyes. ¡°You find Ebbe¡¯s actions to be lacking in ¡®lawfulness¡¯, I take it?¡± the margrave went on. ¡°He is quite the capable commander, I¡¯ll have you know. You¡¯d do right to learn a thing or two from a man like him.¡± To that, I had no words. The margrave¡¯s smile faded. ¡°Do not deign to discipline him for his deeds,¡± he warned. ¡°Have I made myself clear, Commandant?¡± ¡°¡­Yes, my liege,¡± I yielded. I was but an exile of the Order, a soldier bound to this borderland; disobedience would be not brooked by its lord before me. ¡°And you are come for other business, as well, I presume?¡± ¡°I am, indeed. A send-off, if you will.¡± To the window, he pointed. The view from the commandant¡¯s chamber encompassed the gate leading to Naf¨ªlim lands. There, I found a conspicuous congregation, its constituents neatly lined up. Two-hundred men and more they were, freshly deployed from the fiefburgh. My eyes narrowed at the sight. ¡°They move to attack? My liege, I¡¯ve heard naught of this.¡± Balasthea was but a bulwark, the shield of Str?m and nothing more. Thus it stands to reason that the force formed before me was not the fort¡¯s own, but the margrave¡¯s: the Fiefguard. ¡°I¡¯ve given speed to the schedule,¡± the margrave remarked. ¡°The fort is well-defended of late, and the Naf¨ªlim seem content to lick their wounds and wallow in their cowardice. Not least in thanks to yesterday¡¯s pursuit by Ebbe and his men; ¡®twas a fruitful routing they¡¯ve accomplished.¡± In the outside view, a peculiarity caught my eye. ¡°Your Excellency. A matter, if I may?¡± ¡°Speak it.¡± ¡°The covered wagons,¡± I pointed out, gaze locked upon the vehicles below. ¡°Rather large, are they not? Yet they bear nary a load upon their decks. What is their purpose?¡± ¡°Even one as dim as you ought to know.¡± I turned to the margrave. ¡°¡­To pillage, my liege?¡± My words earned a turn of his own to me. There was puzzlement plastered on his face, but it soon congealed into a look of pity. ¡°I see the grace of wits has also been denied to you, Buckmann,¡± he softly scoffed. ¡°Frightful indeed, to be abandoned by so warm a mother as Yon¨¢. Oh, mercy!¡± ¡°I fear I do not follow.¡± ¡°Buckmann¡­ poor and pitiful Buckmann! We do not pillage the Naf¨ªlim, no! Hoh! Your pate has parted too many a pass¨±s from its tracks, my dear and derailed cart of a Commandant!¡± The margrave¡¯s words were far from uncoupled. It was common sense itself, whether within Londosius, or in the mind of Man. We are at war with the Naf¨ªlim. To plunder their property or their person is not an act to be lambasted, but one to be lauded instead. After all, our enemy¡¯s extinction is this war¡¯s very aim. Mind not whether they be of the soldiery or the citizenry, an infantryman or an infant, a grim garrison or a humble home. All is to be spoiled. None are to be spared. Of course, such would not be suffered between nations of men. It would be labelled as a ¡°crime¡± or an ¡°injustice¡±, an affront to human dignity. But the tone swiftly turns were the Naf¨ªlim the target, ¡°baneful barbarians¡± as they are branded. This is the collective conscience of Man, his unbending and unchallenged truth. But it is one that I cannot, for the life of me, fathom nor affirm. Why must we maraud the meek? And that is to say nothing of the citizens we seize and send to who knows where. This is our ¡°justice¡±, a holy banner raised for our own convenience, its weave unstained by the spit of dissent. Those covered wagons¡ªempty they were now, but certain to brim with riches upon their return. And included in those spoils? Slaves. Labourers to be damned to enduring indenturement. This, too, is ¡°just¡±, acts whose barbarism Man is blissfully blind to, for they bring to him boons of too much benefit. But my eyes were unclouded, and they could not bear the sight. ¡°Your Excellency,¡± I said sternly. ¡°With all due respect, I find it meaningless to sully so hard-won a prize as peace. Pillage, and we but vilify ourselves beyond all vindication. Such vices ill-become the lordly name of Londosius¡ªeven should the victims be the Naf¨ªlim.¡± The margrave¡¯s face furrowed. ¡°¡®Pillaging¡¯ the Naf¨ªlim ill-becomes the term itself, Buckmann. The subtlety escaped you, has it?¡± ¡°¡®Virtue¡¯ is what has escaped from all of this, my liege,¡± I returned. ¡°None is to be found in taking from those who cannot fight back. Yet say the victims are of a different sort, a different blood, and you would not only praise the act, but partake in it yourself. Surely the sophistry is not lost to you?¡± ¡°Buckmann!¡± barked the margrave. ¡°¡®Tis the Naf¨ªlim we speak of here! The nemesis of Man! The kin and kindred of crawling beasts! Our sworn foes from the days of fair St. Rakliammelech himself!¡± Even in the face of much fury, I could not back down. ¡°Your Excellency, pray give ear to these humble words: accustom ourselves to wanton rape and robbery, and we debauch our hearts in the act. We are men of war; it is our lives we wager on the frontlines, not our morals.¡± ¡°Hmph! Sophistry, indeed! I see the sophist before me!¡± he seethed, stamping his foot and thrusting a finger to me. ¡°To rape and rob the devils is morality itself! You would do well to remember that, you want-wit, you!¡± ¡°Victory can be ours without this villainy, my liege! That much is certain!¡± ¡°Commandant!¡± frothed the lord¡¯s lips. ¡°Their labours, their luxuries¡ªwe make them all our own, that their brethren¡ªour foes¡ªmight flounder and we, flourish! For every prize we procure, for every devil we indenture, another of our meek and misfortuned might be spared the pale hand of Death! Sear these words into your ill-starred soul! For I am long drained of all generosity to further discuss so evident a truth!¡± ¡°But, my liege!¡± ¡°Enough!!¡± ¡­How futile. Reason cannot reach him. I could scarcely see myself being in the wrong here. No matter how painfully I peered. No matter how much I mulled. Yet all that I aired were as the howls of a heretic, words long parted from Man¡¯s wicked wisdom. And that was why the margrave and I could not see eye-to-eye. Realising it, I found myself silent, hands and teeth clenched hard. Afterwards, the margrave made his return to Arbel, whilst the Fiefguard funnelled through the gates and marched into Naf¨ªlim lands. I stood there in solitude. Overpowered by powerlessness, I watched on as the covered wagons wheeled close behind. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Volume 2 - CH 1.4 Silver sunlight blessed fair Redelberne, city of splendour and capital of Londosius. Its impearled walls and promenades glinted with the seeming glow of royal authority itself. The march of Norden, home of the 5th Chivalric Order¡¯s headquarters, neighboured this bastion of Man. And so it was not at all strange that Redelberne found a rather regular visitor in the vaunted Lady Emilie Mernesse, Dame Mareschal to the knights of the 5th. Only, such trips were not partaken for pleasure. No, no, not at all. Business called her, and it was a busy caller indeed. Many a Londosian would love to lavish themselves with a visit to the marvelled and marbled city. But the Lady was different. Where she wished to go, where she yearned to be, were all found elsewhere. Certainly, any soul aspiring to greatness would jump for joy, to so receive a summons from Central. Not an opportunity to be left unsavoured, this. Yet what Emilie aspired to was not fame and fortune, but her own humble share of happiness. The girl that once smiled so brightly upon the bell-lily hill was now a lady, listless in her stroll through the unsought streets. Indeed, she was tired. Tired of the meetings with the ministers and magisters of Central. Tired of fraternising with the cloistered courtiers of the royal palace. Tired of the feints, the facades, the faux smiles. But Emilie was a young woman set upon tackling the challenges of her office head-on. Hers was a soul of sincerity, a magnet of much trust from all those around her. A meteoric mareschal. A hero for the new age. Who wouldn¡¯t want to forge a fellowship with the fair Lady? Only a scant few, if any, to be sure. In the enthralled droves were to be found not just adults, but children as well, such as the ones encircling her at this moment. Their eyes sparkled with fascination as they beheld before them a dame of much distinction. For her part, Emilie had grown accustomed to such baby-faced phenomena. This particular occasion¡ªone of many¡ªwas begot at the behest of the little ones themselves. They had enough pull for it, children and grandchildren of high officials as they were. A longing to witness the wondrous dexterity of the dame was their excuse. An innocent one, if not frequent. Strangely enough, the children were already afforded the luxury of their own instructors, each distinguished and outstanding in his tutelage. Suffice it to say, the little ones were hardly in want of instruction in the ways of the sword. Emilie was wise to this, of course, but also to her own shortcomings as a teacher. Indeed, that same humility had driven her to turn down the very opportunity to meet with the children. But the storm of insistence was unceasing. In the end, the young mareschal could only relent. And though she saw the redundancy of the situation, she did not, at first, discern the true desires of the children themselves. The blade of the Aureola was surely show-worthy, but the little ones were hardly here for a fencing lesson. Why, they simply wished to meet her, for she was, in the springtide skies of their hearts, a star of much awe and admiration. But in indulging them so, Emilie at last saw the idolatry in their eyes. Their enthusiasm being born from a wish to behold her blade-dance was, in fact, merely a misunderstanding on her part. The summertide skies of her own heart blushed upon the realisation. Yet their excuse was aired anyway. ¡®A swing of your sword please, madame.¡¯ And so Emilie obliged, a humouring to hide her embarrassment, perhaps. Pillars of lightning pealed and flashed, painting in pure white the wide breadth of the training grounds. A moment, and amazement buzzed through the young crowd. Before long, a pair of adolescents approached the mareschal, eyes upturned and hearts curious. ¡°P-pardon us, madame,¡± inquired the boy of the two. ¡°Might you have a moment to spare?¡± ¡°The Roun of Orisons,¡± began the girl. ¡°Is it true what they say? That you¡¯ve been blessed with the Aureola from the rites?¡± A slight pause. A slight smile. ¡°¡­As true as can be, I suppose.¡± The conversation continued, during which the pair revealed themselves to be but fourteen years of age. The Roun of Orisons was to receive them in the following year, an upcoming occasion that surely inspired expectation and anxiety alike in their hearts. ¡°What was it all like?¡± the boy asked. ¡°I can scarcely imagine the spectacle, let alone the nerves!¡± ¡°Hmm, I wonder myself,¡± Emilie looked off in the distance. ¡°¡®Tis been a long while¡ªtoo long, really.¡± ¡°The both of us, we mean to give it our all and more, that Yon¨¢ might be generous in Her grace,¡± the girl gushed. ¡°Enough that we might fight for our families, our fellows¡ªfor all the good people of this good kingdom!¡± ¡°Knighthood¡¯s my aim,¡± the boy chimed in. ¡°Big and strong is what I¡¯ll become, and I¡¯ll do all it takes to be knighted!¡± To that came Emilie¡¯s mirth, gentle, fragile. ¡°¡­You most certainly will, love.¡± ¡°¡®Cause if I can¡¯t, well, worrywart here¡¯ll get her tighties all in a tangle.¡± ¡°W-who¡¯s a worrywart, now!¡± How warm they were to one another. Emilie couldn¡¯t help but beam broadly. Yet the tinge of sorrow therein all but escaped the youthful pair¡¯s knowing. ? A brief lesson on the basics of bladework was given thereafter. To be sure, Emilie was, by then, fully aware that this truly was not what the children wanted, but to end the meet-and-greet then and there with just a demonstration of her levinblade would¡¯ve been poor form. Fortunately, she wasn¡¯t alone. The Owlcranes accompanied her on that day, and they certainly proved helpful¡ªGerd and Raakel in particular. Numerous were the practice sessions they hosted back at the 5th, and so to instruct wide-eyed children was, to them, not too towering a task. Soon enough, the sun went to slumber. In the evanescing evenlight, the mareschal and her Owlcranes parted from the training grounds, their ears yet tingling from the lively gratitude of the children. Through the starlit streets of Redelberne they then strolled, until the warm conviviality of a pub beckoned their patronage. There, they reflected on the day¡¯s happenings over glasses of golden ale. ¡°I¡¯m truly sorry for dragging you all to the capital today,¡± broached Emilie. ¡°A big bother, I know, but just the thought of having to handle it all alone was enough to fray my nerves.¡± ¡°No need to fret over it,¡± Gerd assured. ¡°We saw much and did even more. It was time well-spent.¡± ¡°Yea, Gerd¡¯s got the right o¡¯ it,¡± Raakel added. ¡°Teachin¡¯ ¡®em bright-eyed bairns a thing or two¡¯s quite the honour, if I¡¯m honest.¡± ¡°My, Miss Raakel. How unlike you to be so honourably honest. What has softened that sauciness of yours, I wonder?¡± ¡°Eh, shut it, Sheila.¡± Yet it was certain, just as Emilie¡¯s self-reproach had revealed: this kind of outing hardly required the attendance of the entire Owlcrane Brigade. The day¡¯s function was founded more in politics and high society sweet-talking than aught else. The Owlcranes were soldiers, after all, souls who earned their living laying their lives on the line. And Emilie was very much the sort to blush with shame in dragging them so far from their place of employ. But between the commander and her combatants, there was camaraderie, one fostered for years now¡ªbosom buddies, they were. Thus did the Owlcranes quickly answer Emilie¡¯s call in her time of need, confident in knowing she would have done the same for them. ¡°And I owe you a special apology, Sheila,¡± Emilie continued. ¡°They insisted that I might as well bring the entire brigade if I was to bring anyone at all, you see.¡± ¡°There is naught to be sorry for,¡± the surgien softly giggled. ¡°But if another such occasion comes along, I should certainly like to savour a chance to teach more magick-minded youths.¡± Smiles, all around the table, brightened further by the brimming bitters in their cups. To them, a waiter came, bearing samples of exquisite cuisine. ¡°Now here¡¯s the stuff! Roasted venison, tender an¡¯ juicy!¡± Raakel salivated. ¡°Can¡¯t come home from the capital without me tummy full o¡¯ this grub!¡± ¡°Good grace, Raakel,¡± Gerd shook his head. ¡°Came along just to stuff your cheeks with those deer chunks, did you?¡± ¡°Hah! What ye been takin¡¯ me fer, Gerd? I ain¡¯t a saint, y¡¯know!¡± Loose lips japed and chuckled in concert. An atmosphere drunk with jolly and joy. As their merrymaking went on, so, too, did the late hour wax on, all within the benighted bosom of fair Redelberne. Volume 2 - CH 1.5 ¡°¡­Phew¡­¡± A warm breath, blown from flustered cheeks, aglow as they were from many a sip of ale. The night breeze, cool and crisp, coursed against them to much welcome. Emilie took in the pearl-dusk cityscape, having taken a moment from the pub to sober up. It was quiet. The streets were asleep. To be sure, Redelberne¡¯s thoroughfares and promenades were no less packed even in the dead of night. But Emilie¡¯s was a face too famous around those parts. So it was that the considerate Owlcranes had chosen instead an establishment well off the beaten path, that they might while away the moonlit hours in relative peace and privacy. It was but a hole-in-the-wall, this pub, humble and quaint, but it brimmed with both brightness of light and levity. Even outside, Emilie¡¯s ears could faintly make out the merrymaking. She found the moment to be most romantic, in a way, to behold such liveliness from so tranquil a perch. ¡°Haa¡­¡± How delightful, this night. Yes. Delightful, indeed. To brush off a bothersome workday, and then with friends in tow, eat, drink, and mingle till the moon fancied a bit of slumber itself¡ªit was nothing, if not delightful. If not¡­ If only¡­ Emilie was quiet as she peered up into the everdistant sky. A sky that arched on and on, well into the borderlands beyond. She recalled then of the boy and girl she¡¯d met earlier that day. How excited they were, with but a year till their own reckoning at the Roun of Orisons. They had asked her of her own experiences at the rites. She did not recall, was the simple sum of her answer. A little lie, that was. Emilie remembered. All too well. Of how her heart swelled with anticipation. Of how thoroughly she thought that from then on, there awaited only days of hope and happiness. An era of innocent dreams for an innocent future. Only, that future never came. Leading up to the rites were bygone days blessed with bliss, each and every one. Yet the Roun of Orisons was a door that forsook it all. Emilie had crossed it, beguiled, and when it slammed shut, she found herself ever longing for all that was lost behind its lock. And for that reason, the rites, to her, were not a welcome memory. But they were a memory she well-remembered nonetheless. A memory she could never forget. Oh, if only she could. ¡°Emilie love.¡± A voice rang through the thick marshes of her thoughts. Emilie turned, finding Raakel coming close. Upon her face, too, was a fluster from bingeing too many bitters. ¡°Raakel,¡± Emilie returned. ¡°Come to sober up a little, too, I take it?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t help it,¡± the warrior grinned. ¡°That Sheila¡¯s got a friggin¡¯ well fer a stomach, whilst Gerd¡¯s a fool fer tryin¡¯ to keep up. I call¡¯d it quits fer a bit, see.¡± A quiet laugh. ¡°¡­Of course.¡± Silence suffused the nightscape. Against such enormity, the dames were as two blades of grass swaying contently against the starlit breeze. The air was delicious, and Raakel was happy to partake. After a lungful, she exhaled, and motioned her lips once more. ¡°So.¡± ¡°Mm?¡± ¡°Ye be thinkin¡¯ ¡®bout ol¡¯ muscle-pate ¡®gain, ey?¡± ¡°Oh, I¡­ I have been, yes¡­¡± There was little avail to be had in hiding it now. Emilie was well-aware: many a sigh had left her mouth of late, after all. Perhaps even her countenance was conspicuously clouded, a gloomy pall for all to wonder and worry over. But they were not fools. To them, the source was clearer than uncoloured crystal. ¡°Bet ye both could¡¯ve been a fine couple; the talk o¡¯ the town, even,¡± Raakel admitted, ¡°were he ord¡¯nary like the rest o¡¯ us, odyl an¡¯ all, that is.¡± To this, Emilie was silent. It was, by now, a world she had dreamt of far too many times to count. A world where Rolf was given his due. From Yon¨¢ to him, a measure of odyl not more than a common man¡¯s. Nay. Even less would have sufficed. So long as it wasn¡¯t naught at all. Were he blessed so, however meagerly, then maybe¡­ Just maybe¡­ How fruitless and fallow a fancy it was. But to Emilie, it was one she could not have gone long without humouring, if even to her own sorrow. ¡°Well, the fates won¡¯t bless a man an¡¯ woman both just ¡®cause they be warm to each other, ye should know. Life be a mite more fickle than that, I¡¯m ¡®fraid.¡± ¡°¡­What do you mean?¡± ¡°I were warm to one meself, once upon a time,¡± Raakel confessed, faintly forlorn. ¡°A man I thought was me destiny. Truly.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°A dozen winters between us, it were. But I loved him. I really did. Couldn¡¯t think o¡¯ me future days without him bein¡¯ in the same picture.¡± That such soft words could ever issue from Raakel¡¯s lips was a whelming wonder to Emilie. Certainly, the mareschal measured the Owlcrane warrior to be youthful and fair in her own way. But Raakel was a soul who sought¡ªand found¡ªpurpose in battle, and nothing else. That was Emilie¡¯s long-held estimation of her, though admittedly one shaded with shame for how shallow it was. ¡°He were a bastard son, y¡¯see. A viscount¡¯s, no less. There was naught at all what could¡¯ve stopped us from bein¡¯ happy together¡­ well, that¡¯s what I thought, anyway,¡± Raakel recounted, uncharacteristically quiet. ¡°His half-siblings¡ªheirs, all o¡¯ them¡ªdied, one after the other. So his pa suck¡¯d it up and call¡¯d him home. Made him heir an¡¯ all that.¡± ¡°I¡­ I see. And so¡­ he was given a bride, then.¡± ¡°That he was, yea. Wedded to some dainty gentlelady. I weren¡¯t a good pick. Not noble ¡®nough, see.¡± ¡°And¡­ what did he say?¡± ¡°Well, the whole deal was a bite to his arse, ¡®course, but thass aristocracy fer ye. Couldn¡¯t do aught ¡®bout it, really.¡± Raakel blinked slowly at the stars. ¡°We had one last moment together. Hug¡¯d, an¡¯ cry¡¯d fer a long while¡­ an¡¯ that was that.¡± The Owlcrane warrior¡ªin her frailer years, tight in the arms of a man, her tears telling of the painful parting to come. Hardly a fanciable scene, certainly, but there was a look on Raakel¡¯s countenance, one of softly distant eyes and a smile ready to fade at any moment. Seeing it, Emilie knew then that what her friend recounted was the bare and unblemished truth. ¡°Things¡ªthey hardly turn out. An¡¯ that be the gist o¡¯ it.¡± ¡°Oh, Raakel¡­¡± ¡°Yer the same, ain¡¯t ye, love? The Lady Emilie Mernesse, Dame Mareschal to the 5th Chivalric Order. Ye¡¯ve got yer family to protect, an¡¯ knights to lead withal. All the trappings o¡¯ a trap, chain¡¯d to yer ankles both.¡± Resigning from her vaunted post was a frequent thought in Emilie¡¯s heart, but it was never to be. Not while she had yet to find a foothold for her family. Not while there was a betrothal to consummate. What¡¯s more, her responsibilities as mareschal of late had ballooned along with Londosius¡¯ whetted appetite for war. Thus the time to run away from it all had long since left; to even entertain the notion was vain. These troubles and more were never spoken of to the Owlcranes. But deep down, they knew. After all, they were each, by now, roostmates too intimate with their mareschal to not notice. ¡°Life be a bunch o¡¯ things we can¡¯t do aught ¡®bout, things what go the way we never thought they could. Innit?¡± For King and Country. For thine own Family and fellow Man. Feudalism is the foundation of this society. To renounce one¡¯s Duty is reckless. To defy the Ways is death. A most natural course, like the ebb and flow of the tides, the arc of the sun and moon, the comings and goings of the seasons. Such was the meaning in Raakel¡¯s words. But to air them so was not easy, for she was certainly not the sort to engage in intimate talk. Only with the help of many helpings of ale was Raakel able to work up the will to console Emilie. None of this was lost to the mareschal; upon realising it, she couldn¡¯t help but smile. ¡°So¡­ I guess you¡¯ve had your own fair share of heartbreak, haven¡¯t you?¡± ¡°No beatin¡¯ ¡®round the bush here, Emilie,¡± Raakel smiled back. ¡°Beat around what bush, now?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t see me in a gorgeous gown, can ye? I were a prim an¡¯ prissy princess once, ye know. Well, shy an¡¯ shelter¡¯d, more like.¡± ¡°¡­You¡¯re right. I really can¡¯t see you in a gown.¡± Maul in hand, a whirlwind of a woman©`Raakel the ruffian. As she was now, there was indeed nary a wisp of her princely past. A look at her and one would be forgiven for believing she was born with a battleaxe wrapped in her babe-fingers. Emilie certainly had, and doubtful she was alone in making the mistake. ¡°With baggage like that, I thought to put it all behind me. So, I cut me ties. Came to the Order,¡± Raakel went on. ¡°Was all pain at first, to be frank, like I were punishin¡¯ meself fer me past follies. I fought an¡¯ fought, on an¡¯ on.¡± There are those who saw the world for what it was, and despaired at the sight. The sorry souls would oft consign themselves to life in a convent, cloistered from the goings-on beyond. But another path can be found, one that wends into the bowels of battlefields. Not few are they who chose it instead. Yet never could Emilie have guessed that Raakel counted amongst them. One can never truly know another, she thought. ¡°An¡¯ thass how I forged me new motto. Strength be ev¡¯rythin¡¯. Fightin¡¯ be ev¡¯rythin¡¯. Naught else matters.¡± Raakel shook her head, as if to silence the echoes of a past she¡¯d long since left behind. The two stood there for another while, deep in thought. ¡°Thass why¡­¡± Raakel began again, low, but firm, ¡°¡­thass why I hate him, an¡¯ all whimperin¡¯ wimps like ¡®im.¡± Words of resolve. A resolve by the name of ¡°wrath¡±. For Raakel was a woman who relinquished everything to seek but one thing: strength. Emilie was a mareschal, unequalled in all of the 5th. But not only that, she well-fulfilled the duties of both her office and her societal obligations in tandem. Such was strength, Raakel concluded, and for that, Emilie was surely someone to be respected. And then there was Rolf. The man ungraced, a weakling who chose to flee rather than fight. For him, Raakel knew naught but anger. But weakness was not the only crime he committed. Indeed, he was a cowardly cur most unwilling to confront even that selfsame weakness. Such a mien of sallowed meekness was the very thing that Raakel detested, and thus did Rolf earn her scalding scorn. ¡°Raakel¡­ I¡­ I never knew.¡± Things none can do aught about. Things that turn out not as they ought to. These were Raakel¡¯s own words. Defiance was cheap in a world so unforgiving; this, too, she understood well. Even so¡ªor, perhaps, it was precisely so that she sought strength on the battlefield, the one place unfettered from the shackles of society. To be strong was to be human. To fight was to be human. This was the compass of Raakel¡¯s conscience, of a woman who saw battle to be life itself. Rolf is weak. Emilie is strong. He who is feeble, who is not fain to face his own faults, is so to the sorrow of she who is mighty. Yes. The weak weave sadness for the strong. The ill irony could not find acceptance in Raakel¡¯s heart. ¡°¡­We put us lives on the line, don¡¯t we? To bring the world back to how it were, like the scriptures say,¡± Raakel began to reason. ¡°Thass why I say strength be whole and holy, an¡¯ weakness be naught but a vice, a sin. But look at ol¡¯ mickle-berk. All that muscle an¡¯ he can¡¯t be arsed to stand up to his own weakness. That¡­¡± An impalpable pang ran through the cold night air. Emilie shivered, sobering before the sombre of the moment. ¡°¡­Thass the sort o¡¯ sin I won¡¯t pardon¡ªever.¡± A feeble fledgling who but flew the coop. That was Rolf, the fool fowl. To worry over him was worthless. Time was precious, to be spent elsewhere¡ªanywhere, really, so long as it wasn¡¯t on him. That was the essence of Raakel¡¯s message. As Emilie lent ear to it, she found herself frozen by its undressed animosity. In her own heart, there was anger over Rolf, of course. But it was but a candle before the conflagration that was the world¡¯s own ire for the man ungraced. Of it, Emilie was reminded anew, whilst behind her speechless person, the tiny tumult in the tiny tavern clamoured on quietly through the night. Volume 2 - CH 1.6 Three full moons I¡¯ve counted, since my arrival here in the province of Str?m. In that time, the fatality rate amongst the fort¡¯s soldiery had plummeted. It was done: Balasthea had at last lost its place amongst the realm¡¯s most notorious killing fields. Reporting to Margrave Str?m of such trends and goings-on numbered amongst my many duties. Today, too, found me fulfilling that office, as I stood before the lord at his Arbel residence. ¡°¡­Very well, then. Keep the course, Commandant,¡± he said, turned away to the window. ¡°Yes, my liege.¡± I saluted him, ending what had been quite the concise report. With no further business there, I summarily left the manor. Perhaps it bears little mention that the margrave was ever ill of mood upon our meetings. Yet it was beyond all doubt that my deeds delivered to him much avail: Balasthea stood more firmly than ever before, and with its casualties curtailed, so, too, were the margrave¡¯s military expenses. For that reason, despite my reviled repute as an ungraced, not once did he attempt to dispose of me. Equally doubtless, I suspected, was the indignance surrounding my assumption to Acting Commandant of Balasthea, whether harboured by the margrave or Central itself. Likely they thought the ungainly ungraced would slip up soon enough, given so prestigious a post. A shame their ¡°expectations¡± were betrayed. Yet verily I was, to them, a rather convenient pawn as commandant, one better left upon the gameboard till his moves were spent. A bitter medicine of truth for their throats, sure, but one they swallowed nonetheless. And from the look of things, it would be a daily taste upon their tongues. Speaking of tastes, it was made apparent to me that the fort commandants of other provinces were oft treated to fetes hosted in the pleasure of their lords. Just the thought of such wining and dining was a surfeit too sour for my palate. Thus one can say I shared in the margrave¡¯s convenience, though not so uncomfortably: our interactions were strictly business¡ªquick and curt¡ªand when such business was done and dealt with, I was more than happy to quit his quarrelsome company. These thoughts I humoured as I made my way home. Well, ¡°home¡± in this case was a residence officially furnished to the commandant of Balasthea. Being also within the confines of Arbel, the commute was none too terrible. And perhaps ¡°official residence¡± is a term too high-brow for what was nothing more than a rather small cot. A home fit for but one, it was ostensibly stayed in by the many commandants before me. My predecessor, taken ill as he was, had returned to his homestead elsewhere, thus was the cot allotted to me. It was by no means a freshly founded home. But even its dusty spaces were preferable to the sweaty barracks at the 5th. Curious indeed that my standard of living improved only upon being exiled. Today, however, was to be the beginning of many more curiosities, for I found myself stopped before the high street leading home. Closed off, it was. The forgathered townsfolk told of a flame burning further ahead, and of the firemen barring traffic to keep passers-by away from their dangerous work. Thus by this pure coincidence was I compelled to take a detour down an alley outside of my usual commute. ? Through the shadowy alleyways I wended. The sun had long set, and the sky above was a fading fuchsia, cut down to a soaring strip by the jumbled and jostling roofs. Hence did I brave this veritable labyrinth with a lantern in hand. Yet it was not long before I stumbled upon a middle-aged man, standing hunched, haggard of breath, his own hand gripping a knife¡ªone adrip with blood. The drops pitter-pattered upon neither dirt nor cobblestone, but more of its red self. For at the man¡¯s feet was another figure, younger, yet placid and prostrate upon a pool of flowing crimson. A look at the collapsed fellow found etched about his ankle a telling tattoo. I raised the lantern for a better look. ¡°¡­That lad there a slave?¡± was my guarded question. To me the man turned, growling. ¡°Yea. An¡¯ a bloody criminal,¡± he drawled. ¡°Shog¡¯d off ¡®is shackles, ¡®e did. An¡¯ tried t¡¯take me knife, so I show¡¯d ¡®im the pointy end o¡¯ it, heheh. Well, I jests, but the bloke¡¯s dead, an¡¯ me profits ¡®long with ¡®im. An¡¯ that ain¡¯t a joke.¡± Shackles, profits¡ªa slaver, the man was. I then found him bent over, wiping his knife clean upon the fresh corpse. Sheathing it, he turned to me again, face half-furrowed. ¡°¡­Wot? Think me the villian ¡®ere, is it? Ye be glad t¡¯know then, this sinner snuff¡¯d out two souls ¡®imself in ¡®is time. Got wot¡¯s comin¡¯ to ¡®im, I says.¡± A rather defensive tone. It would seem he spied an air of condemnation upon my face, my brows having bent bitterly without my knowing. It must be said that the laws of Londosius deem slavery a sound practice, so long as it is purposed for manual labour. But those same laws also decree that none save felons and ¡°fruits of war¡± may be subject to the shackle. The former¡ª¡±criminal slaves¡±, they¡¯re called¡ªare typically those whose sins are judged to be grave, though not enough to warrant an execution. The corpse before me was of this unsavoury sort, if the slaver was to be believed. ¡°I¡¯ll not blame you for the deed. Only¡­¡± I said, pointing behind him, ¡°¡­that one, too, be a ¡®sinner¡¯?¡± Indeed. Another slave stood upon the scene. Silent. ¡°Hah! Can¡¯t ye tell, lad? A war-slave, this one is. The worst o¡¯ the worst. Evil incarnate!¡± he smiled, but with a look at the foresaid slave, the bitter grin vanished into the dark. ¡°Eh, I takes it back. ¡®Evil¡¯ ain¡¯t ¡®nough t¡¯judge this devil.¡± War-slaves¡ªpersons dragged from the fires of battle and into chains of iron. In other words, captive Naf¨ªlim. The one I pointed to was a clear example, and also the first of whom I¡¯d seen beyond the bounds of a battlefield. Only, this Naf¨ªl was but a little girl. I then recalled the quarrel with the margrave three months past. Most certainly, it is the common creed of Man, shared amongst the sons of his many realms, that the Naf¨ªlim are to be spared from no cruelty, whether it be of violence or imprisonment. Nevermind whether the Naf¨ªlim victims themselves are combatants¡ªor otherwise. I had made my case to the margrave then, and it stood unchanged now: this creed found no home in my heart. The girl before me attested to the ¡°why¡± of it: none, not even a Yonaistic devout, could feign a look upon her and say with right mind that aught about her became that of a ¡°combatant¡±. No. She was just a small girl, maybe ten in her years, no more than twelve. Behind her black, soiled, and unkempt hair were amber eyes, both of which did naught but gaze at the ground, as if bereft of any and all spark of spirit. And clothing the light tenn¨¦ of her skin were nothing more than meagre, threadbare rags. She stood there, still. Oh so very still. As if she¡¯d given up on everything¡ªeven life itself. ¡°Awfully young for a slave,¡± I cuttingly observed. ¡°Yea? An¡¯ wot ¡®bout it?¡± the slaver cut back. ¡°A Naf¨ªl, it be.¡± ¡°¡­Of course she is.¡± I turned to her once more, lighting her lightless mien with my lantern. No response was to be found. She merely stood, soundless and downcast, her bare and shackled feet planted upon the cold cobblestones. ¡°Look at it,¡± the slave shook his head. ¡°All glum an¡¯ gloom-like. Can¡¯t sell it off fer the life o¡¯ me. Bah! Bloody alga¡­¡± ¡°Alga?¡± ¡°Yea. ¡®Alga¡¯ be wot I calls it. Shiverin¡¯ in a stove, it were, when the snatchers came a-snatchin¡¯. They drag¡¯d it out an¡¯ found it all steep¡¯d in soot, they did.¡± Alga¡­ How curious a connection. Was it the whispers of the fates I heard just now? Or something felt from deep in my heart? A stirring within, welling up to leave my lips. ¡°I¡¯ll buy her.¡± Volume 2 - CH 1.7 From my lips left those words, simple, yet urged by neither imagination nor motivation. To be sure, not once before have I humoured the thought of buying a slave for myself. And yet, here I was. ¡°B¡­ buy, ye said?¡± ¡°I did.¡± What was it that scribed my words? That put them to air? That steeled my resolve? Was it sympathy? Empathy? A defiant cry against the caprice and cruelty of this world? Perhaps a pang of compassion for the poor girl, who so suffered the scorn of others, just as I had? Or was it guilt? The heavy burden borne by a man of battle, whose very words and deeds compelled the creation of these war-slaves? ¡°A million reugols. An¡¯ two-hundred thousand more. Thass me price,¡± said the slaver, fingers raised. ¡°¡®ow ¡®bout it? Yer purse fat ¡®nough, lad?¡± ¡°It is.¡± Not cheap, but not beyond my means either. While my time at the Order had earned me all but a regular pittance, I was also quite the penny-pincher. Add to that the salary from my post here at Str?m, with which I¡¯ve done little but let pile up, and no lie was to be found in my curt assurance to the slaver, whose face brightened as his ears drank it up. ¡°W-well then¡ªoh, but er¡­ a word o¡¯ warnin¡¯ ¡®fore we settles the deal,¡± he said, now lowly. ¡°Don¡¯t ye go tellin¡¯ it yer name, eh?¡± I blinked. ¡°And why¡¯s that?¡± ¡°This one. It¡¯s got a knack fer magicks¡ªthe covenantal kind, that is. Can¡¯t make a slave out o¡¯ weavers o¡¯ battle magicks, thass certain. But not so with this one. Well, I says that, but covenants be proper wicked in their own way, yea?¡± I see. Fair enough. To consummate the purchase of a slave, a sort of covenantal magick must first be woven, binding bondsman to master. A ¡°thrallspell¡±, as it were. This, too, is decreed by Londosian law. Yet one who, from the outset, is gifted in or knowing of covenantal magicks may, naturally, overwrite the essence of such thrallspells. To do so, only the name of the other party is needed. Hence the slaver¡¯s warning: if the master¡¯s name is known, the so-gifted slave may turn the tables, and make himself master of his own master. ¡°So er¡­ we gots a deal still, good lad?¡± ¡°We do.¡± ¡°Hah! Chuff¡¯d t¡¯hear it, I am!¡± the slaver gleamed with glee. ¡°Phew. Here I thought, t¡¯day be ¡®nother stinkin¡¯ day, wot with that one dead an¡¯ burnin¡¯ a hole in me pocket. But fates be fair, t¡¯bring me a buyer fer this one¡ªall in the same moment, no less! Hwahah!¡± After a toothy cackle, he turned to the girl. ¡°Oi, alga. Sold ye off t¡¯this kind ser, I did. Good on ye, ey?¡± Silence. ¡°Tch. Oi, ¡®ow ¡®bout a smile, at least, ah?¡± ¡°Has she got a name?¡± I asked. A shake of the head. ¡°Damn¡¯d if I know. ¡®Alga¡¯ be all I calls it. An¡¯ ye should too, if it pleases ye. If not, well, call it aught what suits yer fancy then, heheh.¡± Never in the uncaring course of the slaver¡¯s words did the little girl budge by the tiniest bit. ? The next day. With my duties done at Balasthea, I returned to Arbel at twilight. There, I finished off one more duty for the day: paying the million and more reugols, having the thrallspell incanted for the Naf¨ªlim girl and me, and so on. All were handled by the slaver of yesterday, whom I made sure to inquire of eschewing that shackling spell. But as expected, he was quick to expound to me the illegality of the very notion. It couldn¡¯t be helped. I was not wont to break any laws, thus, pressing the issue no further, I sealed the deal and soon found myself at home. There in the sitting room did we stand, the girl and I. I certainly had the manners to offer her a seat to rest her sore feet, but it was for naught. The girl merely stood and stood, silent and stolid of soul. And so I knelt before her. With my eyes level with hers, I then asked my first question. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°¡­¡± No answer. A sorry surrender anchored her vacant stare to the floor. ¡°Right. Names come later. We should get you washed up first,¡± I relented. I then went to warm up some water, with which I filled a large basin. After setting it beside the girl, I knelt before her once more. ¡°Look¡ªI¡¯ve left a flannel right here,¡± I said, pointing to a washcloth hanging upon the rim of the basin. ¡°You can wipe yourself down with it. Will you do that for me?¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯ll not hurt you. Don¡¯t worry,¡± I assured her. ¡°Well, I might not seem like it, I admit, having just emptied my coffers for a slave, but¡­ I do mean it.¡± ¡°¡­¡± First and foremost, some understanding was needed between the both of us, but as I feared, my words fell flat. In lieu of answering, she went on watching the wooden floor, eyes empty of emotion. ¡°¡­I¡¯ll not hurt you. Truly.¡± Another try. The same line, admittedly. How vacuous a vocabulary I had. A damn shame; even I was exasperated at myself. I searched and searched within, but the right words all escaped me¡ªones with which to reach her heart. Helpless. That was what I was. Helpless. Was there aught I could do for her? Battlefields demand deeds, of which I would readily oblige. But words were needed here. Wait. Deeds? Perhaps action might avail me here? To communicate to her what words cannot? It was worth a try. Too much of a tongue-twisted want-wit was I, when it came to sensible things to say. And so I slowly reached out a hand to her. A deed decided, deliberate and delicate. She seemed the frailest of figures, one who might shatter at the slightest nudge. But were either of us to remain fearful of the intimate touch, then certainly the day could never come. The day when our eyes can gladly meet¡ªand our hearts along with them. Gently, and gentler still¡­ ¡­my callused hand set upon her soft cheek. And for the faintest moment, I sensed a quiver in her eyes. For however much she seemed a soul surrendered of all life, there was yet warmth welling up from that cheek of hers. Thus I stayed as I was, surrendered of all words. A long lull stretched on. In it: silence, save for the breaths rolling from our lips. Yet how long of a lull exactly? Where we but faced each other, connected by a simple touch? I could not know, but by its eventual end, the girl¡¯s eyes slowly, oh so slowly, searched up to meet mine. Our gazes locked at last. I remained there, returning my regard, with not a thought to utter a word. Instead, I tried a bit of a smile, albeit a clumsy one. I never could trust myself to smile with any grace. A fumbling affair, it¡¯s always been. Her own regard, an amber-gold stare, fixed itself upon my onyx-black own. Indeed, hers were round and heartfully fair¡­ only, they cast a most heartbroken glint. A reflection, hollow of any hope for tomorrow. With all I could muster, I set into my gaze a simple promise. A promise to never hurt her. And as I did, I wished dearly that it reached her heart. By the end of those many moments, my hand left her cheek just as gingerly as it had reached out to it. ¡°I¡¯ve some shopping to do,¡± I said at last. ¡°Food, clothes, whatnot. Be good while I¡¯m gone, will you? And wash yourself up for me.¡± With that, I rose and left the house. ? The soft evensky began to twinkle as I walked down the thoroughfare leading to the markets. Yet I had not the mind to take in the dusking townscape. My thoughts were trained elsewhere. I knew not of what impelled me to purchase the girl like I did. And I knew even less of what I wished to do from here on. Did I truly believe that I could avail her in some way? Am I even capable of forging for her¡ªor anyone, for that matter¡ªsome semblance of a future? Me? An ungraced? A muscle-pated pawn who knows little beyond a smattering of swordplay? What could I accord her? What could I teach her? What could I do for the poor girl? She seemed utterly lost¡ªa soul that had given up. And yet, I knew not even her name. I knew not by whom, and through what dark paths she was led to arrive in this place. Of where she once lived. Of the life she once had. Of what she cherished. Of what she dreamed. Of the people she knew. Of the family she loved. ¡­And of what circumstance that made her into what she was today. ¡°¡­¡¯Won¡¯t know till you try,¡¯ they say,¡± I thought aloud. Night was falling. A darkness not unlike the murk of the alleyway where we first met. She did all but stand there, empty of aught¡ªeven of fear for her slaver, for the bloody knife clenched in his hand, for her fellow slave then lying dead on the ground. Witless as I was, I knew wholeheartedly of one thing: to just leave her there was never a choice. The life of a war-slave is crushing. Excruciating. Ruthless. Yet for however much they suffer, their numbers are far from few. Saving the girl does naught to change that tragic truth. Saving the girl was naught but a self-serving solace. Yes. Most certainly. And yet¡­ More certain again was that I did what I did because I believed it the right thing to do. I saved her because I wanted to. And simply that. ¡°Wayward vagrants, you and I. A glad thing indeed if we can get along.¡± The vague hope, upon a half-hale voice, vanished into the night sky. Volume 2 - CH 1.8 There once lived a little girl. A Naf¨ªlim girl. Tender and bright. A child of much love. Her mother was fair as a flower, and famed for it. And from her did the daughter inherit a gaze of amber and locks of obsidian. Eyes, large and lovely. Hair, long and lustrous. Over the coming moons and winters, she was sure to bloom into a shimmering belle herself. Six was her family. Her father, giant yet gentle. Her mother, beautiful yet benevolent. Her brother and two sisters¡ªelders to her, all of them¡ªwere each copious of ken and principled of personage. And the girl¡ªa springtide sprout, ever smiling. Smiling, smiling, amidst the sunshine that was her family. In it was warmth. In it was serenity. In it was happiness. But over yonder whirled the wheels of war. Every which way. At every corner of the continent. A great war waged with Men. Her mother and father did their best to keep its tidings at bay, that their dear daughter might know not a moment of worry. A difficulty, for beyond their home-forest spanned the fields and halls of Man. And from time to time from such places, Men in their arms and armour would sally, with greed in their eyes, with grim in their hearts. Of this, the girl knew. Despite the pains of her parents, she knew. Her people fought back. Indeed, they fought back. Unbroken. Unafraid. Only, a fearsome fort confounded their way. And so, their retreats repeated, on and on. And so, the fort endured, on and on. Once upon a night, the girl was sound asleep. But then by a tickle was she roused awake. In her sight was the hand of her father, large and reliable, gnarled and knobby, the fingers of a proud bough. ¡°Awake?¡± he whispered. ¡°Forgive me.¡± There her father sat, beside her bed, quietly caressing her head. ¡°How precious your face, when asleep. What father cannot adore it?¡± A smile upon his lips. Half sorry. Half bittersweet. Yet instead of forgiving him, the girl held her father¡¯s hand with both of her own. Tiny hands, clasped tightly about callused fingers. The daughter¡¯s grip could not hope to encircle the father¡¯s. But a smile was upon her lips, too, as she drew his hand closer. Fast in its warmth, she closed her eyes. Gladly, quietly, her father watched on, till once again his daughter sang the sounds of slumber. How dearly she loved her father. How dearly she treasured the surety of his hands. How dearly she would come to miss him. ?¡ß? Off her father went into the mists of dawn. A woodcutter, he was. But also a warrior. So it was with all the brothers of the village. Indeed, each of them bore his own burden of battle. For days, the home was without its father. On the third, he should be back. Only, he wasn¡¯t. ¡°A little late, your father. But do lighten up. Before next sundown, he¡¯ll be home with us again.¡± To her children at the supping table, the hope-woven words of the mother. Trusting them, the girl sipped her stew. Oh, what a favourite it was. But then a thought occurred. And so to her mother, she smilingly said thus. ¡°Mama! Let¡¯s make Papa¡¯s favourite tomorrow! Warm, warm lentil soup!¡± Yes. Let¡¯s. The smiling answer of her mother. The smiling agreement of her siblings. But miring their mirth was unease. One the girl was yet too young to sense. The sun woke again, and so did she. Up from her bed she sprang and through the house she flew, so eager to find her father home again. Only, he wasn¡¯t. To the kitchen she came, where her mother busied herself with making breakfast. Bread was baking. The soft scent of rye. ¡°¡®Morning, Mama!¡± ¡°Good morning, my little flower.¡± A sunny smile from her mother. Warm. Assuring. Just as always. Soon, her siblings were gathered as well, and the family of five then sat at the table, to begin the day with filling their bellies. ¡°Many thanks for this meal.¡± ¡°Many-many thanks for this meal!¡± Words of grace from the family. Brightly so from the little girl. The wisdom of thanksgiving, given to the children by mother and father both. With measured manners, the girl took to hand a fluff of bread and nibbled upon its pillowy crumb. ¡°Papa not home yet¡­¡± She yearned aloud. But hope was hale in her. Tonight, five will be six once more. A happy six, all supping together. And so, again, did she brave her father¡¯s absence. The girl then knitted away her morning hours. Quilting was a craft best left to the artisans. Certainly not something the fellow village children were capable of. But her mother and sisters were skilled with the skein. Loving them each and everything they do, she long mimicked them. Those many moons of diligence had imparted to the girl some deftness in the art. A hat. What was, days ago, just a thread of yarn, would soon be a crocheted crown for her mother. Father¡¯s share was already finished. A present for her parents. To be given when they are together again. Socks were what the girl wanted to make at first. But a bit too difficult it might be, her elder sister said. How about a hat, she then suggested. That same sister now watched the girl warmly. The tiny hands tamed the needle as the hat took shape. Such a sight to smile upon. But also a secret to be kept. Not till the presents were complete could either parent know. So requested the girl of her sister at the start, answered with giggling acceptance. A promise protected till this day. Noon came, and at last, the final thread was threaded. Two hats together, graceless of form, but filled with gratitude. Two messes of yarn, but to the girl, two masterpieces. ¡°Lovely hats, lovingly made. Mother and Father will be most glad!¡± Her sister¡¯s seal of approval. How happy they would be, mother and father both. Dreaming of the moment, the girl beamed brightly. A little later, a villager visited. Mother met him at the door. Words were shared for a while, and taken by a bit of unease, she left the house. To her children, a promise to return by dusk. Till then, the two sisters gave their time: an hour or two of play with the girl. Suppertime was setting in. Mother was sure to be home by now. Only, she wasn¡¯t. ¡°Lentils, lentils! Warm lentil soup for supper!¡± The girl sang with excitement. Tonight, and together, they would all be gathered, to give their father his favourite, and enjoy it themselves in his sorely missed company. A warm and lovely time it would be. One the girl looked forward to. And then came a buzz about the whole village. Brother looked rather grave. But the eldest sister could not bear it any longer. To her feet, she rose. ¡°The orphanage¡­ I must go look,¡± she said. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I won¡¯t be long.¡± Charitable, her eldest sister was. Ever a lender of helping hands for the orphanage, where lived children of parents lost to tragedy. There was concern upon her face as she left the house in haste. Not once before was there any warrant for worry. What could it be? The girl thought. An hour went by. Neither mother nor sister were returned. By now, the village was veiled in some tumult. Brother worried quietly. His face was furrowed. His heart was heavy. A bellow. From beyond the safety of home. Angry. Echoing. The elder sister held the girl tightly, picking her up. Brother sprang to his feet. His eyes darted about. The stove. A hearth of much happiness, earthen, large. Enough to cook for their family of six. To it, he pointed. To it, the sister rushed. In it, she hid, with the girl wrapped in her arms. ¡°Be still! Be silent! Stay in there¡ªno matter what!¡± Brother¡¯s whispers of warning. To them, the sister nodded. Cold beads of sweat sailed down her cheeks. For an instant, they glinted. In them, a reflection of the brother¡¯s unbound blade. Then by his hand, he sealed the stove. Turning, he stepped towards the entrance. But before he could emerge outside, into their home barged unsought visitors. Three. Three kins of Man. Cold swords in their hands. Cold armour binding their bodies. Bellowing blurs of iron they became, sending steel to the brother. There, he met them with his own sharpness. The sound of clashing swords. A first for the girl¡¯s ears. Her home, once filled only with happiness, now echoed with the throes of war. Tightly and tighter still, the sister held her with bated breath. Verily did she try to turn the girl away from the violence outside. But to no avail. The stove was too cramped inside. How sad, then, that the girl could gaze through the grates, and see for herself the battle beyond. She beheld in those gaps the sight of her brother brought down in cold blood. Skilled he was with the blade, but not enough to fight three at a time. And so the brother fell, cruelly cut. And so the sister knew woe. But keeping the scream from leaving her lips, she held the girl ever more tightly. ¡°Peh. Right pain in the arse, the scrawny scoundrel.¡± ¡°Ey. Ye think there¡¯s more?¡± ¡°More? Well I don¡¯t see¡­ wait¡­ ¡¯ear that?¡± The cold words of Men, whetted sharp. ¡°¡­uu¡­ hic¡­¡± The warm tears of the little girl, wetting her sister¡¯s bosom. Happiness was all she knew. And as well, the delightful days spent with her warm and loving family. Such innocence was ill-prepared to bear the sight of it all breaking to pieces. The lid flew open. The sickening smiles of Men. ¡°Well well well. Wot we ¡®ave ¡®ere, ey?¡± ¡°Hah! Look at ¡®em! Steep¡¯d in soot, the devils!¡± Cold hands reached in. Girl and sister both were dragged out. By rope the two were tied up. To the village square they were led down. ¡°Uuaah! Aaaaah!¡± The screaming sobs of the little girl. The unceasing sorrow of her sister. The sadistic smirks of the Men. At their destination was found the villagers, bound and brought together. Surrounding them were the soldiers of Men, jeering. ¡°Thass all o¡¯ them.¡± Said a Man, bringing the girl and her sister before the others. Then, with a sharp shove to their backs, he sent the two tumbling down into the dirt. ¡°Aeck¡­! ¡­hic¡­ uu¡­¡± The girl continued to cry. And there, echoing across the air, were their names. A familiar voice. The voice of their mother, vaulting, desperate. To her the girl looked. Mother, too, was bound amongst the villagers. ¡°Oh? Wot¡¯s this, now? Those two brats be yers, is it?¡± ¡°Yer good pa¡¯s come ¡®ome, ¡®e ¡®as! But ¡®e be doin¡¯ a lil¡¯ ¡®ide an¡¯ seek! Why don¡¯t ye¡­ be a good mam, yea? Tell yer kiddies where the pa be ¡®idden!¡± Sinful words from sinful smiles, said to the mother. Choosing not to obey, she but shook her head. ¡°Ey. Ey! I said, tell ¡®em! Ye bitch, you!¡± ¡°Why ye gots t¡¯be a big boot in the arse, eh? Bloody Naf¨ªlim. Devils, the lot o¡¯ ye!¡± ¡°Well thass all right, then. We¡¯ll tell ¡®em fer ye, we will. Oi. Which one¡¯s their pa, ey?¡± ¡°Should be eh¡­ in that pile, methinks. The one with all the run-aways from yesterbattle.¡± ¡°This one ¡®ere, yea?¡± The uncaring conversation of the Men. ¡°No! Don¡¯t! Stop! Sto¡ªp!!¡± The nigh-crazed cries of the mother. There, a wagon sat, covered. Then, by the hand of a soldier, it was covered no more. At first, the girl could not comprehend what her eyes saw. For they saw a heap of heads. Each and every one of them, a face she knew. And amongst them, a face she loved. A face she missed. The face of her father. Her breath was wholly stolen. The cold grip of the fates seemed to clench at her heart and lungs both. Next to her was her sister, seized by the same shock. Down and down, slowly and soundlessly, the girl¡¯s gaze fell. ¡°C¡¯mon now. There¡¯s yer pa!¡± Called one of the Men, who then snatched the girl¡¯s chin with his iron hand. Back to the horrid heap he then made the girl look. ¡°See ¡®im? Nice smile on ¡®is face, eh? Heheh!¡± ¡°Sto¡ªp! Sto©¤©¤©¤p!!¡± The wuthering wails of the mother. But the girl had stopped crying. Her eyes. In her eyes was no longer the light of her heart. ¡°Yea, yea. Playtime¡¯s over, ye wankers. Back t¡¯work!¡± ¡°Right right. Ey, ye devils! Get in ¡®ere, the lot o¡¯ ye!¡± And thus the Men had the girl, her sister, and some others make their way to another covered wagon. But the girl budged not a bit. ¡°Ey, runt. Get movin¡¯.¡± A Man¡¯s command. Yet the girl¡¯s feet were unmoving. ¡°Tch. Oi, look ¡®ere, you! Get in, I says!¡± No avail. In his frustration, the Man called to another, who then held a blade to the mother¡¯s neck. ¡°Oi, ye bloody brat! Get a move on with yer sis! I¡¯ma count now, an¡¯ if ye ain¡¯t in the wagon by three, why, I¡¯ll ¡®ave yer mam join yer pa, I will!¡± Oh, dearest daughter. How the mother cried and cried. Seeing the sword set against that neck, the girl slowly started moving. Such pain and sorrow upon the sister¡¯s face, as she picked up the little girl. Quivering caresses were given. Then, onto the deck they boarded. Sister knew well where the wagons would go. To where else but sunless suffering? Yet even then, she thought only to comfort her little sibling. ¡°Right. Got ¡®em all loaded up now. Let¡¯s move!¡± With a signal, the wagons were off. ¡°Oi, brother. Wot ¡®bout these ones, ey?¡± ¡°Eh, ferget ¡®em. They¡¯ve got battle magicks, they do. Can scarce make slaves o¡¯ ¡®em. Bugger.¡± A cruel conversation amongst Men yet in the village square. ¡°Rubbish, they be, eh? Oi! Off with their ¡®eads now, yea!?¡± Orders given. Swords swung. The Naf¨ªlim folk, bound and defenceless. Each was felled. One after another. Home. Now distant. Forever distant. The girl¡¯s last sight of it was not to be forgotten. The sight of her mother¡¯s final moment. Held tight in her sister¡¯s arms, the girl lost all strength. Something lingered on her cheeks, and now ran down. ¡°¡­hats¡­ Mama¡­ Papa¡­¡± Her amber eyes dulled. Now empty. Oh, so empty. Volume 2 - CH 1.9 Whither the wagons whisked the little girl was a city of stone. From the idyll of the fields and forests, and into the metropolitan maw of Man; there in the fangs of the fiefburgh was she caught, her fate it was to be made a slave. But not immediately so, no. Deals had to be done. Prices had to be promised. Not yet was she set and sold. In the meantime, she was instead shackled and sent to the cages of a concentration camp. A cold and unkind place where her kin and kind were kept, to await whatever ill reckoning may come¡ªwhether it be death by cruel treatment, or a life of enslavement. Meagre scraps of food were afforded to her. But it was beyond the girl¡¯s broken will to muster up any sort of appetite. Yet ate she tried, for fear of being served a meal of a different sort. One of fury, of foul affronts. Certainly, the soldiers there were loath to keep even one Naf¨ªl alive. Only, their pay coursed from margrave¡¯s coffers, which filled all the more fully as he cashed out the captives to the slavers. Thus was the girl not a cur to be culled, but a commodity to be kept intact¡ªto the barest adequacy, that is. With their wages on the line, the soldiers spared this ¡°product¡± of her early death whensoever they had a mind to punish her. In times when she ill-stomached her meal, they would whet her appetite with the whip, livid lashings sent to slash her back. It was not long before they found her to be attuned to the covenantal magicks. The discovery threw the soldiers into a flying fit of rage, for to be so ungainly gifted was injurious indeed: her prospective price was now but a pittance. As punishment, fists and feet were driven into her belly, till she collapsed onto the cold stone floor, vomiting what little sustenance she had ably swallowed. But to do so was alike to not having eaten it at all. Thus another punishment was in order. The Men, with their wrath unravelled, thrust torches onto her thighs. There, she writhed. She screamed. She cried. A sight most sorry¡ªostensibly enough to soften the soldiers¡¯ veins, for they soon quit the cell. In it, she was then all alone, left to weep the days away. A gaol most dark, where echoed the girl¡¯s grief forevermore. But there was a soul within the soldiery who acted not like the others. One of many turnkeys keeping the peace in the prisons, the guardsman seemed the sort to sympathise with the girl¡¯s plight. ¡°Well, er¡­ Yer sis be alive still, yea?¡± he revealed quietly, ¡°¡­¡®ang in there, if not fer the lass, at least.¡± With that, he went about his way. The Man, forty in his years, perhaps, apparently kept the girl¡¯s elder sister, too, under his watch. Hence any occasion where he crossed the girl¡¯s cell was also an opportunity to glean from his yet lukewarm heart the condition of her sister¡ªof the sole vestige of her dear family. By his words, the sister was haggard and unhale, a young woman wasting away. Only, she yet had the will to partake of her meals, and that was hope enough. The moment the girls first entered the concentration camp was the moment they were torn from each other, to be locked up in separate cells. By then, the little girl had lost all strength to raise even a whisper of protest. So it was that she could do naught but shed tears, watching on as the soldiers sent her sister away. The days since then were a long and enduring darkness, empty of aught but pain and punishment. And of worry. Indeed, much of the girl¡¯s waking hours were spent deep in thought for her sister. In the mire of such uncertain circumstance, what could she do but worry? And so worry she did, on and on, of what might befall upon her dear sibling. This was always so for any member of her family. In each of them was instilled a selfless sympathy for the other. Perhaps truest for the girl, ever a child who thought more of her family than of herself. More than once did such compassion compel her to speak to the soldiers, but their answers were always of cold violence. The sole exception being the foresaid guardsman. In him, she sensed some possibility of discourse. Thus she mustered up what meagre courage remained in her heart, and inquired him of what fate awaited her sister. And sure enough, what moved were not his fists, but his lips, quietly. ¡°Same as ye, methinks. A war-slave, she¡¯ll be, made t¡¯do ¡®er master¡¯s biddin¡¯.¡± A thoughtful silence followed, in which was found the Man with his eyes cast wistfully. ¡°I¡¯ve got a lass o¡¯ me own, I do. Weren¡¯t more than ten ¡®fore she went t¡¯serve a lord,¡± he spoke again. ¡°Mm¡­ ¡®ow many years it¡¯s been, eh¡­? I¡¯ve not seen ¡®er since. She be doin¡¯ all right, I wonder¡­?¡± And with those words, the girl was left alone once more. ?¡ß? At the end of many sunless days, it was at last decided where the girl was to be handed off. Not more than a week now till a slaver would come to collect her. News of unknown portent, most certainly. On-duty during the night it was given was none other than the pitying turnkey himself. ¡°Not sure if this¡¯ll brighten yer day or wot, but¡­¡± he broached, before relating to the girl of further news: that she and her sister were to be reunited and sold off together. A light, then, the girl felt. A light within all the dark. Faint, yes, but one lit at last. No day was without pain. No day was without suffering. No day was without sorrow. But her sister was still alive, and that was reason enough to endure them. To keep the family¡¯s memory. To breathe the life given to her. For her one and only remaining bond. For her warm and loving family. So dear. So dear. She had lost enough. No more could she bear. ¡°¡­Sister¡­ Sister¡­¡± Whispers within the dark. Tears within the solitude. Ones different from before. Oh, to be together again. Only two now, but together nevertheless. ¡°¡­Well. Good on ye, eh?¡± From beyond the iron bars, a warm smile. ?¡ß? ¡°Oi, alga! Out with ye!¡± Alga. An epithet earned from the peculiarity of her captivity. A soot-steeped girl, hiding in the earthen hearth of her home, only to be dragged out by the hands of Man. The air still rang from its utterance as Men dragged her out yet again, this time from her sunless cell and out to the sunlit grounds. A morning scene to herald her purchase. The girl wended the way barefoot, with shackles at her ankles and wrists, and naught but rat-eaten rags as her raiments. To the camp¡¯s service gates was she led, pulled along by chains at the hands of the soldiers. There, she would have to wait. The slavers had yet to arrive. Restless was her gaze as it glanced about. Her sister was nowhere to be found. In the midst of the confusion, she spotted the Man of pity. Their eyes met, and so she thought to speak to him. ¡°uh¡­ um¡­¡± ¡°Shut yer trap, runt!¡± howled her chain-handler. ¡°Now now, brother, s¡¯all right. We talk¡¯d ¡®bout this,¡± soothed the gentle guardsman. ¡°Ah? Wot, she the one, then?¡± Knowing looks. Knowing nods. The Man then turned to the girl. ¡°Worry¡¯d ¡®bout yer sis, yea?¡± ¡°y¡­ yes¡­¡± ¡°Look.¡± The Man thrust forth his thumb, pointing to a corner of the concentration camp. A hollow was dug there. At its edge was something set to be thrown into its depths. ¡°A grave pit, that is,¡± the Man explained. ¡°Jailbirds that¡¯ve ¡®broken their wings¡¯¡ªwell, that be where they fall, the lot o¡¯ them.¡± No eye could mistake it for aught else. A mass grave, with not a gravestone to mark it. And the ¡°thing¡± to be thrown into it¡ªnaught but a corpse. The corpse of her sister. ¡°Burial¡¯s a mite late©`perish¡¯d a long while ¡®go, she did. The pneumonia got ¡®er right good. Never got better, ¡®course.¡± ¡°¡­a¡­ ah¡­¡± The girl trembled. ¡°Wot? Not that nither¡¯d out ¡®ere, is it? Oh¡ªyer sis? Hah. Yea, ¡®er bein¡¯ well ¡®nough, an¡¯ gettin¡¯ sent off with ye¡ªa funny lil¡¯ lie, is all it were.¡± ¡°¡­¡± She stood. All but stood. ¡°Can¡¯t ¡®elp meself, ey,¡± the mummer of a Man smiled. ¡°Gaol-watchin¡¯s bugger¡¯d an¡¯ borin¡¯ work, it is. Gots t¡¯do somethin¡¯ t¡¯pass the time, yea? Thass why me an¡¯ the lads, we like t¡¯prank ye prisoners sometimes, heheh.¡± ¡°Hah! Hahah! Oh, always the cruel one, ain¡¯t ye, brother!¡± ¡°That some mighty fine mumm¡¯ry it were, man! If I were more a fool, why, I¡¯d say ye was quite the lonely pa! Wot with all that ¡®daughter¡¯ rubbish!¡± ¡°Yea, me: a bastard bachelor o¡¯ a ¡®pa¡¯! Hah!¡± ¡°Ahahaha!¡± Their japery. Their jeers. All but a faraway fuss to the girl as she stared at what was once her sister. Just a single glance. A single one. And she knew then and there the immovable truth. That the body no longer harboured within it a wisp of life. Her sister was ever fair, with her complexion of pastel tawn, and a warm smile ready at a moment¡¯s notice to brighten the girl¡¯s day. Always had she given time for talk and play. Always had she listened with a gracious grin. Always was she a loving sister. Until that moment, where she was but a limp and lifeless figure, blackened by a ruthless blight, silenced by dreamless sleep. Until that moment, when she was tossed into the dim of the pit. ¡°¡­ah¡­¡± The world was then shadowed. The girl¡¯s heart was then broken. Volume 1 - CH 3.10 Was it mere murderous intent? Nay. A sheering, gnashing assault fast approached us, naked in its violence and ferality. A blink of an eye, and already was this ¡°bestial¡± force thundering through our ranks¡ªand straight for me. In a slice of a second, I drew my sword with my yet unbroken right hand. Through the darkened air, my sword sailed forth, till in the midst of its cutting arc, there appeared before its glinting edge a Nafil. ¡°Wha¡ª!?¡± came the assailant¡¯s yelp. Shock overcame the thought-speed bearer of the ¡°bestial¡± force as my blade neared its target: the neck. But the steel would find no flesh, for its wielder was but I, a man ungraced: there, my weapon was fully halted, little more than a digitus away from meeting its mark. And in another slice of a second, there came Tiselius, discerning the situation. The hero-dame¡¯s silverblade flashed forth. ¡°Syah!¡± ¡°Tch!¡± The ¡°bestial¡± Nafil pulled away, avoiding the mareschal¡¯s sword-strike by no more than a hair¡¯s width. With a leap back, our assailant was immediately rejoined with the other Nafilim. ¡°A keen blade, they have¡­¡± rang the Nafil¡¯s voice¡ªa girl, ¡°¡­but how?¡± Suspicion sallowed her words as she glared straight at me. This girl seemed quite young, more so than Emilie and I, seventeen years of age as we were. It would not be a stretch to call her a child even, whose twin daggers she so held ill-befit her image. Yet, it was this same image, this same child that had attacked us with swiftness unimaginable. ¡°Rolf! You¡¯re not harmed, are you!?¡± Emilie exclaimed, coming up to my side. ¡°Not any more than I was, my Lady,¡± I assured her. ¡°Such speed. That Nafil¡ªhas she bolstered her own body with odyl?¡± ¡°She has, and frightfully so,¡± Tiselius confirmed. ¡°Take her for a damsel and she¡¯ll take you to the dead.¡± With those words, the mareschal summoned forth wreaths of flame about her silverblade, the fires snarling thunderously in their spiral motion. ¡°Igne¨­ Tr¨±dend¨­!!¡± roared Tiselius, and with a thrust of her firebrand, hell itself spewed forth in a fell line, blasting a hole through the Nafilim ranks. ¡°Ooaagh!¡± they screamed from within the inferno. ¡°There breathes Tiselius, our mark! Spread and smite her down!¡± one amongst them commanded. ¡°Tarry not! Or a pyre she¡¯ll make of us all!¡± It was heeded with all speed, for in another moment, Tiselius was beset on both sides by Nafilim fighters. ¡°Not on my watch!¡± Lindell interjected, and at once, both he and the other knightly underlings of Tiselius clashed with the ambushers, their weapons biting bitterly against each other in sharp symphony. ¡°Ggrrgh!¡± groaned the knights in their outnumbered and increasingly futile struggle. ¡°Sir Erik! Away!¡± Lindell quickly shrank back, and then in his place was Emilie, rushing in with her blade taking wing through the embattled dark. ¡°Ferum Fulgur!¡± But dark was it no more: lengths of lightning fanned forth from her sword, flashing through the Nafilim. ¡°Ggaaagh!¡± The struck handful of foes were together laid low by the lethal levin. Elsewhere, the Nafilim magi readied their spells, but were swiftly set upon by Tiselius¡¯ sword. ¡°Seh!¡± her voice cut the air, answered by death-screams in quick succession. ¡°Eaahh!!¡± Already had the hero-dame sundered deep into the midst of the belligerents, having at once seen that Emilie and Lindell were perfectly capable of handling the enemy vanguards. There, her silverblade flew in flowing flashes, finding and felling her foes one after the other. ¡°Surround her at once! Strike in concert!¡± grated the voice of another Nafil¡ªorders boiling with agitation. But they were followed nonetheless, and Tiselius soon found herself encircled with blades all around, closing in quick. Yet this did not stir her in the slightest. Indeed, she was the eye of tranquillity within a hurricane of chaos, and with neither wasted effort nor delay, she then swept wide her sword, as if to trace a ring through the air itself. ¡°Levis Crematio.¡± Immediately from about the mareschal, there arose a towering whirl-fire. ¡°Ggeeaaahh!¡± so wailed the foes that fell into its flaming walls, both their bodies and their screams fading into ashes. Such strength. Dreadful, yet majestic. By her blade alone, thirty Nafilim were slain here. I knew it then. The Des Ailes Greatbridge, from the dawn of the month-long battle till this very day, was never victim to the fury of her firebrand on account of but one fact: the mareschal had heretofore been holding back her flames. Estelle Tiselius¡ªthe mightiest amongst all Londosian knights and dames. Her swordskill was of another plane, like a living legend, beautiful and fatal. Tell any that Tiselius, along with just two other souls, had managed to defend a legion of trapped forders, and an undoubting nod would surely be returned. But upon the face of that same Tiselius, there flickered a grim regard. A danger was sensed. One that I shared. I quickly brandished forth my sword into the seemingly empty air once more. This time, again, its slashing course was stopped before the neck of the female Nafil. ¡°Hah¡­!!¡± she gasped, before backstepping away with immediacy. ¡°¡­My blade¡ªhow can you see?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve my eyes to thank,¡± I quipped. ¡°¡­So you should,¡± she returned, ¡°but why still your steel?¡± ¡°The thing stills itself.¡± ¡°Mayhap it needs more thanking!¡± Lightly then did she lunge forth, intent upon another attack. Deftness haunted her daggers, guiding them into an unbroken flourish. That speed, no less phenomenal now than it was prior. But I saw through it. And avoided it. Only¡ª ¡°Aagh!!¡± came my clenched howl. Ungraced flesh ill-resists magicked fury. Even if I could avoid the blade, the odyl fraught within it would find me without fail. As proof, my chest burst open with a gash, a long line clear across my pectoral muscles. ¡°Rolf!!¡± Emilie shrieked. The wound was shallow enough that it did not cross any bones, but much blood was made to course from its ghastly depths. I yet had this much blood within me? An honest surprise. And now a haze was filling my vision¡ªnot good. ¡°What¡¯s this, now¡­?¡± the Nafilim girl muttered, taken with doubt. But I shared none of it in guessing she¡¯d never before crossed paths with an odylless soul such as I, not in her entire life. Just then¡­ ¡­strikes upon a gong. One. Two. Three. Three resounding rumbles from the heart of the encampment. At once, the female Nafil¡¯s face furrowed in frustration. ¡°¡­Curses!¡± ¡°Looks like the curtains are coming to a close,¡± I pointed out to her. ¡°¡®Twas a play too-brief,¡± she remarked. ¡°Now¡¯s a fine time to exit stage, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± ¡°Will we meet again?¡± ¡°The playwrights willing.¡± To this, she fell silent, but in the next moment, vanished right before my eyes. At the same time, I crumbled to my knees. This was my limit. Not another step could I endeavour. The other Nafilim were now scurrying away. Looking further across the encampment, I spotted the enemy horde flowing past the overlooking hill. They were retreating. The day was ours, it seemed. ¡°Rolf! That wound¡­ so much blood¡­!¡± Emilie wailed, rushing to me. ¡°Surgiens! Surgiens, please! Over here!¡± From just a little ways off, there stood Mareschal Tiselius, turning my way. To her flew an arrow of fire. Just one. A vengeful present from our parting foes, perhaps? But it was ill-given, as it struck not the mareschal, but the tent situated just behind her. Through the canopy the flame-ensorcelled bolt went, landing somewhere within. The other knights, seeing this, breathed a sigh of relief. The foe¡¯s final attack, all but a failure, they thought to themselves. But it was a thought eager to betray them. Of course the arrow would not find Tiselius. The Nafilim archers knew as much. That was precisely why it was made to find another mark: the tent itself. I peered through the distance and into a tear within the pierced canopy. Hiding there were crates. The sort with which I was painfully acquainted. And it was not a meagre few that the tent concealed. There were many. Too many. A whole hill of them. I screamed. ¡°Estelle!!¡± Off to her I bolted at once. A look of menacing horror wrung my face, a dot of desperation within a sea of relief. But Tiselius saw it and knew. Eyes wide, she turned to the tent, the target of my attention. There, she shared in my realisation. With all the might her legs could muster, she erupted into a dash towards me. Her silver armour. The paling it provided would save her from an explosion. But not from its heat. Not from its shock waves. And being so close to such a monstrous density of explosives, she would not escape unscathed. Not in the slightest. Tiselius, rushing to me. And I, to her. In my eyes flickered a reflection most foul¡ªcrates, all aflame within the tent. This was it. The fates have played their hand. Knowing of the hell that was to ensue, I took hold of Tiselius from behind right as we passed each other, at once bringing her to the ground and shielding her body with my own. How small she was, more than I ever imagined. As the ill-placed thought bubbled up in my mind, there burst an ear-breaking boom, bellowing all throughout the encampment. An unseen force flashed through the air, slamming onto my back with the weight of a giant¡¯s falling foot. And then¡­ ¡­blackness. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Digitus (plural: digit¨©) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the width of a finger. 1 centimetre is equal to 0.5405 of a digitus. A digitus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 2 centimetres. Ferum Fulgur (Original name: ¡°Fierce Volt¡±) A levin-elemental bladespell. The sword is imbued with a shroud of electricity. When swung, a fan of lightning is thrown forth, burning and electrocuting targets caught within. Igne¨­ Tr¨±dend¨­ (Original name: ¡°Blaze Thrust¡±) A fire-elemental bladespell. The sword is wreathed with intense flames. With a thrust, an abrupt blast of fire is shot forth. A veritable shaped explosion, incinerating and blowing away targets caught within. Levis Crematio (Original name: ¡°Levia Cremate¡±) A fire-elemental bladespell. The sword is swung laterally in a circle. From the ring-like blade arc erupts a well of fierce flames, instantly incinerating outside targets that make contact with it. ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Volume 1 - CH 3.11 The River of Lorn Fates. At waters¡¯ end, I would there be judged. At long last¡­ or so I had thought. I yet drew breath, and by no small fortune, woke to find myself lying in bed. The medics¡¯ tents¡ªa familiar sight, this place. Already had I paid it a visit, namely after drawing Lindell¡¯s ironfisted ire on the eve of the battle. ¡°Oh? Up now, are we?¡± spoke a nursing aide, peeking in. ¡°Stay put, will you? I¡¯ve got someone to fetch now that you¡¯ve awoken¡ªorders and all.¡± ¡®Someone¡¯? Who exactly? I wondered. As I thought to ask, I found the aide already gone from the tent. Likely she had found out who¡ªor what¡ªI was, for all gentleness was stolen from her mood, a contrast to my prior visit. A still moment dragged by, till another soul came briskly into the tent: the Dame Mareschal Tiselius herself. ¡°Rolf! Oh gladness, you¡¯re awake!¡± ¡­¡¯Rolf¡¯? ¡°My Lady, Mareschal Tiselius,¡± I saluted, as I began bending up from the bed. ¡°At ease, now. You¡¯ve toiled enough,¡± said the mareschal, staying my attempt to get up. She then alighted upon a chair right beside me. An odd¡­ blush was about her face¡ªthoroughly tired from the battle, she must¡¯ve been. ¡°How fare you, Rolf? Are you in pain?¡± she asked. ¡°I feel something of a fever, perhaps from broken bones. Otherwise, I fare well enough,¡± I answered. ¡°What of you, madame? Were you wounded yourself?¡± ¡°Nay, thankfully. You did well to protect me in that moment, bringing me down and covering me like you did.¡± ¡°I see. Then I am most glad.¡± ¡°Yes¡­¡± Her voice faded into quietude. Curious. I yielded a blink of puzzlement before she continued. ¡°¡­Do you remember calling me? By just my name?¡± That I did. If memory serves, I had spotted a flaming arrow piercing a tent behind her¡ªone crammed with quickfire crates. The scream I let out to warn her was but of a single word: ¡®Estelle¡¯, her naked name. ¡°¡®Twas an ill offence I¡¯ve committed in the heat of the moment. Please, forgive my insolence,¡± I entreated her. ¡°And you held me close as we were both bent down upon the ground,¡± Tiselius went on. ¡°You recall that, as well, I take it?¡± ¡°A-again, my deepest apologies, madame.¡± ¡°Ah, so you do remember.¡± ¡°I-I¡­ yes.¡± A soft laugh. ¡°¡­I see,¡± she said, before reaching up to stroke her own shoulder¡ªthe same I held during my bid to shield her from the explosion. ¡°It pleases me to see you up and lucid, anyhow. ¡®Twas a whole day you¡¯ve slept through, I¡¯ll have you know.¡± Her lips curved up tenderly. Was she the sort to smile when incensed? ¡°Madame,¡± I started, my mind turning to matters more urgent. ¡°The battle¡ªwhat became of it?¡± ¡°Our foes committed to their retreat, just as predicted. Some amongst our number insisted on giving chase, but I stilled their steeds,¡± she explained. ¡°And that was the end of it¡ªthe battle was won.¡± I let loose a deep sigh of relief. It was finally over. ¡°Your sister and senior officer both are faring well, I should add,¡± she said. More relief. With this, Emilie, Felicia, and I had a victory to decorate our very first battles with. And from that battlefield, we would make our return, unbroken and unscathed, heads held high. Well, I can¡¯t exactly say I escaped unharmed from it all, but regardless: we lived to tell the tale. ¡°Your solace is much appreciated, madame,¡± I responded. Tiselius paused for a while before speaking up once more. ¡°¡­That moment, mere seconds before the bridge was undone. Do you recall?¡± ¡°I do.¡± ¡°You realised something then, and bolted off to the bank yonder¡ªall in an instant.¡± ¡°As did you, Mareschal.¡± ¡°Right. I¡¯m well aware of mine overeagerness, but I must admit, rushing headlong to the other bank like I did¡ª¡¯twas most ill-becoming of a commander,¡± she confessed, shaded with remorse. ¡°My body betrayed the better of my wits. Before I knew it, I¡­ found myself sprinting for the enemy shore. But had I not, ¡®twould¡¯ve been the final day for our dear forders.¡± ¡°Nay, madame. I believe your judgement was most sound. No commander of right mind would fain to have her own troops be made as scrap-feed for the fishes.¡± ¡°Thank you. Your words are succour most welcome,¡± she smiled. ¡°Yet you thought¡ªand did¡ªas I had, am I wrong? Sooner than I, no less. And further on, you took quick action on the enemy banks before making for the tributary.¡± ¡°You saw?¡± ¡°Indeed I did. Upon stolen steed, you raced to the tributary, bearing a full-packed explosive upon that shoulder of yours,¡± she recounted. ¡°I saw you then¡­ and resolved to wager our fortunes upon your enterprise. Thus till the dice revealed their tally did I commit to safeguarding the forders.¡± ¡°A bet you took along with Lieutenants Lindell and Mernesse, yes? I gather they were able to cross over to the enemy banks as well?¡± I asked. ¡°That¡¯s right. For some minutes, the three of us harried the enemy artillery, that our forders might know of some relief. We heard it then¡ªan explosion from upstream, like a most unexpected drum-strike. Not too long after, calm returned to the Erbelde, and the forders found their footing once more. ¡®Twas a gamble of much gain.¡± ¡°But not one without its losses. What of that end?¡± ¡°¡­Till that time, a third or so of the forders were lost¡­ whether to the waters or to the ire of our enemy. A search scours the river for their whereabouts as we speak, but to this moment, we¡¯ve turned up naught.¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± I said lowly. So it came to be that our forces suffered no small number of casualties. But perhaps that was the best we could have hoped for. After all, with the Des Ailes destroyed, there was little else that anyone could have done to draw the foe¡¯s fury away from the forders. In spite of it, the mareschal could only wring out embittered words from her heart. ¡°Would that I were keen enough to previse the Nafilim¡¯s designs in damming the tributary¡­ ¡®Tis a deep regret that ill-relents,¡± she said, her topaz eyes downcast as they recalled that fateful scene. ¡°The forders all, they were teetering at their limits. Any longer, and¡­¡± And all would have been lost, our forders as pieces wiped away from the gameboard. Though that thankfully did not come to pass, by Tiselius¡¯ account, it truly was down to the wire. Paying no mind to the enemy engineers like I did, charging through without a moment¡¯s hesitation¡ªall had been sound decisions. The fates would not have forgiven me had I tarried for a moment more. ¡°Were it not for you, our defeat would¡¯ve been writ large upon the history books¡ªdisdainfully so,¡± Tiselius admitted. ¡°I cannot thank you enough.¡± ¡°A thanks misgiven, I fear,¡± I proceeded to give my own admittance. ¡°It was we, the 5th, who were slow overmuch in wading through the waters. The toll of an ill-planned march was weighing woefully on our backs. Had we lightened ourselves with a sounder scheme, the day would have been ours and all¡ªere the bridge was blown to bits.¡± ¡°That, I wonder. Would the 5th have arrived at all were you not there to suggest marching under moonlight?¡± she reasoned. ¡°Nevermind that¡ªwas it not you, Rolf, who vouched for the better route from the very beginning?¡± ¡°You¡¯re well-informed, madame. How, if I may ask?¡± ¡°I had Officer Kranz apprise me of it all.¡± ¡®Kranz¡¯? Our Gerd Kranz? That¡¯s¡­ quite the surprise. The mareschal pressed on. ¡°Pray tell. What became of you after the waters were freed? By what fortune did you end up so deep behind enemy lines?¡± ¡°I was¡­ swallowed up by the tributary itself.¡± ¡°When the dam was destroyed?¡± ¡°Yes. The fork was appointed with enemy engineers¡ªI had not the luxury to detonate the charge in safety, not on their watch. And so I broke through. I destroyed the dam with as much haste as I could muster, and in the aftermath, I was whisked off by the waters.¡± ¡°¡­Quite the foolhardy one, aren¡¯t you? ¡®Tis a miracle you¡¯re yet of one piece.¡± ¡°This fool¡¯s flesh is nothing if not hardy, madame,¡± I admitted. Perhaps I owe my parents some thanks for it. Though, they hardly seem fain to lend even an ear to the son they so disavowed. ¡°And from there, you infiltrated the enemy camp from behind, played a ploy to pull their numbers away from the battle, and made your return to the frontlines.¡± ¡°That I did, yes.¡± ¡°Such valour¡ªone most worthy of praise.¡± ¡°¡­Pardon?¡± I asked, puzzled. ¡°Your actions as recounted¡ªall taken while severely wounded. Even then, what we have reaped from your pains is undeniable. For such bravery on the battlefield, you¡¯ve earned mine applause and admiration both.¡± ¡°Y-you¡¯re very kind, my Lady.¡± A rosy glow then sang upon Tiselius¡¯ cheeks. Never could I have imagined her to be the sort to so warmly laud a swain of another Order. I saw further then why she stood so prominently within the knightly echelons. ¡°But of another matter, I would ask,¡± she began again. ¡°Another matter, madame?¡± ¡°Your sword¡ªwith such sleight do you wield it. How did it come to be, pray tell?¡± ¡­What¡¯s this now? ¡°¡¯Sleight¡¯, madame?¡± I blinked. ¡°I fear I do not follow.¡± ¡°The technique you so employed upon that Nafil,¡± she elaborated. ¡°I had merely swung the sword twice¡ªwith but a single hand, I must add,¡± I answered plainly. ¡°The other was broken, you see.¡± ¡°So you say. But mine eyes saw both to be unthinkably superb. No less than some millions of swings before them could have forged such swordsmanship.¡± ¡°Millions¡­ Yes. Thinking of it, that number would be more on the mark.¡± ¡°I-I see,¡± she stammered. If there was one thing I could be proud of, it was in not skipping a single day of sword practice since my earliest days. Of course, that long chain was broken by this adventure of a battle. For that, I would have to step up my regime once I return. ¡°One more matter,¡± Tiselius continued. ¡°Yes, Mareschal?¡± ¡°Why did you brandish your blade against the Nafilim? No doubt full-knowing that it would never reach their flesh in the first place?¡± ¡°Ah, that¡­¡± My hands instinctively clenched the sheets. ¡°I wanted to convince myself. I wanted proof. That my blade would not reach them. Of course, I knew that it wouldn¡¯t, most certainly. But knowing wasn¡¯t enough. I had to feel it for myself, with my very own hands.¡± An explanation met with silence. ¡°A fool¡¯s fancy, I know, but I¡ª¡± ¡°Nay¡­¡± Tiselius interrupted. ¡°¡­Yes. I see now. Of course you had to. What else was left to you otherwise? ¡®Tis hardly a fool¡¯s fancy that guides your heart, Rolf.¡± Such soft sympathy, conveyed with a voice most tender in its timbre. I felt glad then¡ªthat my wayward ways were not lost to the mightiest amongst the kingdom¡¯s knightly court. The mareschal then straightened herself up. Turning to me, with both graveness and a shade of sorrow upon her mien, she began her next words. ¡°Rolf. By rights, I cannot infringe upon the 5th¡¯s handling of honours.¡± ¡°But of course,¡± I affirmed. ¡°The deeds you¡¯ve displayed in this battle are truly without equal. Yet, I fear they will ill-bear you any boon to which you are rightfully due.¡± ¡°I would not think otherwise.¡± ¡°¡­Your lot. I cannot fathom how difficult it must be for you.¡± ¡°You are most gentle, madame. But I enjoy myself quite well.¡± ¡°So I see¡­¡± Tiselius smiled lightly. Any expression upon her face would be worthy of a portrait. ¡°¡­Rolf. Suppose I bid you join me in the 1st. What say you?¡± Words I never expected. In pondering the point of her proposal, there came another voice from behind her. ¡°W-wait! Rolf is my subordinate!¡± A voice I knew very well¡ªEmilie¡¯s. Volume 1 - CH 3.12 Tiselius turned to the tent¡¯s entrance. ¡°Why, Lieutenant Mernesse! You¡¯ve come to visit too, I see.¡± ¡°I-I have, yes! When I¡¯d heard Rolf was awake, I came running as soon as I could,¡± Emilie explained herself before bowing to the mareschal. ¡°Forgive me, madame. I did not mean to eavesdrop.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve done no wrong. There¡¯s hardly a door under this canopy to knock upon, anyhow,¡± Tiselius pardoned. ¡°Nay, I must beg for forgiveness myself. You are his superior, and yet I could not help but have a few words with him before you¡¯ve had your chance. I must¡¯ve broken a rule somewhere in mine eagerness.¡± The mareschal then bade Emilie forget any need for apologies, after which she rose up from her chair. ¡°Oh, and speaking of forgiveness,¡± said Tiselius. ¡°Again, I must apologise to you two for Erik¡¯s ill-conduct. He¡¯s been handed a censure, if ¡®tis any comfort.¡± ¡°A censure, madame?¡± I asked. ¡°For how he madly mistreated you the other night, Rolf,¡± Emilie explained. ¡°I told you I¡¯d protest to the 1st, had I not?¡± ¡°Come to think of it¡­¡± Indeed, Emilie was most incensed upon seeing me so cudgelled on the eve of the battle. Telling her to put it aside till after the dust had settled was all I could do to appease her, so keen as she was on taking up the matter to the 1st. But to think she actually followed through on it. It would seem Lindell¡¯s pursuit of her heart had met a dead end. I felt sorry for him, really. Well, almost. ¡°Ever the wolf shrouded in a sheep¡¯s fleece, that Erik,¡± Tiselius confided. ¡°Though I confess, never could I have imagined the man would bare his claws so capriciously¡­¡± ¡°¡®We ought to gain from his immediate death,¡¯ were his words, which he howled whilst acquainting me with his fists, no less,¡± I recounted to them. With Lindell¡¯s censure made official, I thought to capitalise on the opportunity and air a warning of this man. A fellow furtively fraught with malice¡ªeven barring our little tangle, such a truth remained unfaded, one that deigned to be but a blight upon the Order. ¡°If he¡¯s a wolf as you say he is, Mareschal, then I¡¯d reckon further that he¡¯s of the rabid sort. A most dangerous one at that, to be frank.¡± ¡°Hmm¡­ Yes. I¡¯ll heed your measure of him. Only, he wears the orator¡¯s jerkin just as well as he does the knight¡¯s cuirass; that wolf is well-practised in rousing the packs to his purposes, you see. That he got off with a mere censure is proof enough of his cunning,¡± the mareschal revealed. ¡°His punishment was vain overmuch. I am sorry.¡± ¡°N-nay, madame¡­!¡± Emilie said, flustered. Violence against a fellow Order member comes with it grave consequences. But the exception here is that the target was me, an ungraced. Little wonder then as to why Lindell¡¯s sentence was as feckless as it was. In spite of this, Tiselius did indeed task herself faithfully in punishing her own subordinate, something none could deny. ¡°You¡¯ve done more than enough for us, fair Mareschal. We are most grateful,¡± I assured her. ¡°Hearing that frees me greatly,¡± Tiselius smiled. ¡°I¡¯ve kept you two long enough. ¡®Tis time I took my leave.¡± With that, the mareschal made way to the tent¡¯s exit, but not before offering up some last words. ¡°Be well then, Rolf.¡± ¡°I will, madame. Thank you,¡± I returned. The exit flaps billowed and swayed as Tiselius disappeared behind them, at which Emilie looked on for a while with silent intent. ¡°¡­¡¯Rolf¡¯, she called you,¡± Emilie started. ¡°That she did.¡± ¡°And since when have you two gotten so cosy, might I ask?¡± ¡°From when I awoke, my Lady. The Mareschal Tiselius is in the habit of calling her yeomen by their first names, you should know.¡± ¡°And you should know that you¡¯re no yeoman of hers, Rolf,¡± Emilie asserted. ¡°¡­You¡¯re mine, after all.¡± Passing strange for her to say that. ¡°But of course, my Lady,¡± I confirmed. To have my name known and so remembered by the keenest blade in the kingdom filled me with delight. But delight was all it was, really. ¡°¡­You were awfully desperate to save her when you did. Why was that?¡± Emilie inquired. ¡°The Order cannot abide losing any of its commanders,¡± came my obvious answer. ¡°She was wearing armour, you know. I scarcely believe she would¡¯ve needed another set¡ªone as big as you, at least.¡± ¡°Nay. Were she not low to the ground, not even her armour could have saved her from the blast wave.¡± ¡°But¡­ nevermind,¡± Emilie desisted. A peculiar look had been on her face, one rather¡­ ¡®unbecoming¡¯ of her, if that¡¯s the word. ¡°¡­That reminds me, Rolf. The 1st shall remain here for a while longer yet, but the 5th heads home on the morrow.¡± ¡°I thought as much.¡± What occurred in this battle, feats and faults all, would have to be recorded and re-investigated with great scrutiny. Drafts for the Des Ailes¡¯ reconstruction would also have to be drawn up, after all details concerning its destruction and the damage to the surrounding area were collected. Once that¡¯s done, troops would have to be organised and stationed throughout Erbelde basin. ¡°Cleanup¡±, as it were. The Chivalric Orders are all effectively the military wings of Londosius. Fighting is but a facet of a knight¡¯s office¡ªhe must hone his acumen for such mundane business just as much as he does his own blade. The 1st would remain busier yet for the time being. But the 5th, with no official obligations to the river basin themselves, were free to return home, now that the curtains had fallen over the hard-fought battle. ¡°Except for the injured; they¡¯re to remain till they¡¯re well again,¡± Emilie explained. ¡°That includes you, Rolf. Be good and get well soon, all right? And then come back when you¡¯re able.¡± ¡°I will, my Lady.¡± ¡°I¡¯d like to stay if I could, but Mareschal Tallien wouldn¡¯t heed my request.¡± ¡°It won¡¯t do to tarry here just for me,¡± I reasoned. ¡°You needn¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll return soon enough.¡± ¡°If you say so,¡± she answered. ¡°I should get going myself. There¡¯s a meeting for the return march soon. Take care, all right? And no swinging that sword of yours till you¡¯re well again!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll give it my all, my Lady.¡± With that, I rested my head deep against the pillow, looking at Emilie from the side of my eye as she made her way out of the tent. Before she made herself absent, however, I found her halted by the exit. There she stood, taken with a wordless and unmoving while, after which she turned to me. ¡°Rolf¡­¡± she called softly. ¡°¡­Um¡­ About what Mareschal Tiselius said earlier¡­ about joining th¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere,¡± I interrupted, purposeful in my discourtesy. ¡°¡­Even if she approached you again?¡± Emilie re-inquired. ¡°Yes, my Lady.¡± ¡°¡­I see.¡± Her visage softened. ¡°Right then, off I go. Come back soon, Rolf!¡± And with a smile, she left the tent. For as long as I can, for as long as I am allowed, I would stay by her side. This I resolved to do, and with the decision made, I let my eyes fall to a close. Volume 2 - CH 1.01 It was done. The 5th Chivalric Order saw fit to expel me from its halls. A wingless fledgling to be flung from the nest¡ªonly, not immediately so. No, the Orders are each a military organisation, composing the arms of the vast royal army. Not even the process of purging one of its own could escape the burden of bureaucracy. And though I¡¯d lost affiliation with the Order, let alone my meagre lot as a long-serving swain, I was yet a soldier of Londosius. And where else would a soldier be sent but a battlefield? In our lands, it is custom for a fallen knight to be driven off to the frontiers, where the fires of the frontline burn fiercest. A knight I was not, of course, but it betrays neither reason nor reverie to think that the same fate awaited me. Life in a faraway fringeland¡­ But which, exactly? Even now, the top brass were deliberating upon it. A whole ten days it would take, during which time, I was to be put under house arrest. A rather toothless sentencing, to be frank. I had not a house, much less a room of my own to be arrested within. And so I spent my days dallying in the library. Despite being warned to venture not a step outside the headquarters building itself, I routinely left its confines for my usual morning and evening training. Not even this sad situation could deter me from the daily rigour. That was the pattern, really. Perhaps it was in the comfort of knowing that I¡¯d be gone for good that the other officers were generous¡ªor indifferent, more like¡ªof my blatant rule-breaking. Luckily, not a soul thought to question my actions the entire time. Yes. Lucky indeed. ¡°¡­Lucky? I¡¯m an exile, and wrongfully so, no less. What am I, if not shrivelled up and dried of all luck?¡± Such words I would put to the wind as the uneventful days dragged on by. On the tenth of that span, I was told at last of my destination. Balasthea Stronghold¡ªin the border province of Str?m the fort stood, and it was quite the distinguished one, at that. Infamous for the extreme rate of fatality amongst its soldiery, Balasthea guarded a hotly contested territory, one rightly labelled as being amongst the most murderous killing fields in the entire realm. Balasthea itself was manned by the Fiefguard of Margrave Str?m, who managed the fort via funds and support from Central. No vestige of the Orders were to be found on his land; all that I¡¯ve grown accustomed to over the years would likely stand in stark contrast to the folkways of that frontier. The very thought of it was enough to fray my nerves. And if I¡¯m honest, the last ten days were a strain upon my heart. A shadow was cast upon it, darker again than I could ever have imagined¡ªa dusk born from having to part from Emilie¡¯s side. I harbour no regrets in making that fateful decision. But pain does what it does, and wounds are wounds in the end. I¡¯ve known Emilie ever since my mind could know aught, from the day the light of awareness first dawned upon me. She was the one woman to whom I promised a life of love and happiness. So many years¡­ ¡­and now to ponder upon forgetting them all. The heart is not so simple a thing, I¡¯m afraid, to be able to sever asudden so dear a bond. But the past forever dies, the present is forever here, and the future forever awaits. Unbending truths for the kin of Man, and so I must forge ahead. My destination is decided. I can ill-afford to wallow in my woes much longer. Death is where my way wends; it would not do to meet him without my head held high. ? The official day of my exile. Unspotted and infinitely cerulean the morrow-skies were, as if to rain blessings upon my departure. Were that truly so, then I suspect whoever wields the weather must be quite the dim-witted deity. After all, what good comes from exalting an exile as he sets out upon so perilous a path? There I stood at the main portcullis, where five years past I passed through with Emilie as we started our new lives here at the 5th. Never did I think that I would leave it under such sullen circumstance. The life of a man is truly uncertain, if nothing else. Gracious were the fates indeed to have garnished my lot with such an assortment of surprises. I should thank them. Though the gesture might feign too brave a face, I feel. ¡°Word has been sent to Balasthea Stronghold,¡± spoke one of two leaders standing before me. ¡°Hand them the papers when you arrive.¡± ¡°Keep that nose of yours on the grindstone this time, yea? And try not to get yourself kicked out again,¡± the other droned. In fact, I¡¯d say the both of them seemed rather bothered, to be left with the unenviable chore of officiating my disposal. ¡°Hah. Whom am I kidding? Wouldn¡¯t put it past an ungraced to get the boot twice.¡± With those words, the leaders then went about their business, hasteful in getting me out of their sight as soon as possible. Of course, no horse would be furnished to me. I was to travel to town by foot, and there make use of stagecoaches for the rest of the way. Not that I was troubled much by it. My sword, a smattering of sustenance, and a trusty waterskin I¡¯d been using for the longest while now¡ªbeyond these, I carried little. The air thudded. Hoof-falls clopped close. I looked, finding a formation of mounted knights cantering in. They were all of them leaders, and foremost amongst them: Emilie. This was the first time I¡¯d laid eyes on her in the ten days since the hearing. ¡°Madame!¡± greeted one of the prior leaders. ¡°Come to send off the ungraced for good, I presume?¡± ¡°¡­I suppose I have,¡± she answered. There, from high up on her steed, did she look down upon me. Our eyes met. A heavy while, kept wordless throughout, till I turned my back. ¡°Be well.¡± A simple goodbye from my lips, one unrequited from Emilie¡¯s own. Her silence was sustained as I stepped through and out of the portcullis. And thus was executed my exile from the 5th Chivalric Order. ? Reaching Str?m was in and of itself a journey. But of course it had to be. The brand of ¡°border province¡± was hardly for show. Given the kingdom¡¯s sheer breadth, no less than seven days passed between my departure from the 5th¡¯s grounds to my arrival at the frontier. Through Londosius had I gone, faring by one stagecoach after the other. At times, it would stop at a stage station for a change of horses. Other times, I would transfer to another service entirely, and resume on my horse-drawn way. Countlessly did this occur, and by the seventh day of that long chain, I at last crossed into the hilly, evergreen stretches of Str?m. Disembarking from my final stop, I then spent another full day afoot, trekking alone through the treacherous spans till I found the fort looming before me. Balasthea Stronghold. The redoubted redoubt. A veritable edifice facing the Naf¨ªlim lands squarely on. Solid stonework composed its ramparts, while the fort proper was oaken in construction. A rather drab and dreary place compared to the grandeur of Order architecture. And intact it was not: Balasthea was riddled with scars, reminders of blistering, bygone battles. Beyond it were the Naf¨ªlim territories, an expanse strewn with woodlands that blanketed the base of a cragged mountain. The lay of this immediate land was such that no Naf¨ªlim host could venture an offensive without being funnelled through a single geographical point. But the same could be said of Londosius¡¯ own forces. And so what did such men build upon that imperative point but Balasthea itself? Not too far from the fort spanned the fiefburgh of Arbel, the urban administrative centre of the Str?m frontier. And in that burgh-city stood the residence of the margrave himself. To be sure, Arbel was well-defended in its own right, but if bereft of Balasthea¡¯s shielding shadow, then it might as well be a sheep shuddering alone in a wolven wilderness. No wonder, then, that the Naf¨ªlim were utterly fierce and focused in their offence, a seed of violence that sprouted Balasthea¡¯s repute as a deathtrap battlefield some years past. The margrave himself was not one to stay his hand in answering such aggression, as evidenced by occasional incursions of his own into the Naf¨ªlim lands. But the men composing the margrave¡¯s military were of a sort different than those stationed in Balasthea. Make no mistake, the soldiery of Str?m was all the margrave¡¯s own: the Fiefguard. Yet a distinction must be made between those stationed at Balasthea and those that the margrave directly commanded: the former were charged strictly with the defence of the fort, their very flesh made as shields to guard against its fall. And that selfsame fort was to be my new place of employ. ¡°Hail!¡± I called to the guardsman at the gate. ¡°I am Rolf Buckmann, a transfer from the 5th Order. The vice-commandant is wise to my arrival, I take it?¡± ¡°That he is,¡± he answered. ¡°This way, ser.¡± The gates groaned open. The guard then guided me through the fort grounds. We soon entered the keep, and after winding through its corridors, emerged in a room where waited but one man. ¡°Ebbe¡¯s the name. Vice-Commandant o¡¯ this here fort,¡± he introduced himself. A bony man of about thirty years of age, this ¡°Ebbe¡± was given to maintaining a constant, sarcastic furrow upon his brows. ¡°Quite the long way you¡¯ve come, eh?¡± ¡°Rolf Buckmann,¡± came my own curt introduction. ¡°A long way indeed.¡± ¡°Fortunate we are t¡¯have you, good Commandant. Let us hope you¡¯ve not come all this way for naught,¡± Ebbe returned, already bothered by my arrival. ¡°Acting Commandant,¡± I corrected. That¡¯s right. I was instead charged with a position of leadership, spared from the dread and drudgery of soldiering. The men of the fort were each in the employ of the margrave; none, and nothing, had anything tangible to do with the Chivalric Orders themselves. Yet by the laws of Londosius, Balasthea and all other forts like it are subordinate to the knightly institution. Intimate is the link between Central and the Orders, for better or worse. In contrast, the forces of a fort are fairly divorced from the kingdom¡¯s grip, being composed of only common soldiers from the surrounding region. But this land, by rights, belongs to the king himself, and the margrave is merely its steward. All under the latter¡¯s purview, then, are subject to the will of Central, and by extension, the Orders themselves, cruces of the royal military that they are. This naturally includes the dictation of human resources and staffing¡ªand the handling of my exile. But that was not all that undergirded my charge here. Balasthea¡¯s actual commandant was beset by a chronic ailment, and so was put out to pasture for the time being. It was there that Emilie herself saw an opportunity to make me acting commandant to this fort. Her designs were undimmed: no doubt she thought I would die both immediately and unceremoniously were I made a regular grunt upon so lethal a battlefield. The soldiers of this fort all hailed from the common citizenry. Thus was it entirely reasonable to assign an aristocrat from the Order to fill the commandant¡¯s seat. That was a bill I snuggly fit: despite having never rose beyond swainhood, and having been denied inheritance of the Buckmann barony, I was yet a noble hailing from the Order. Given how so many pieces of the puzzle fell into place, it was easy to see why Emilie was so impelled to place me in this post. Though if I¡¯m honest, to be exiled straight into a position of power was itself enough of a seed for a strange tale. It was my hope that Emilie had not stepped on too many toes to get this affair approved. Thankfully, this was to be the last. Never again would she have to imperil her position. Yet it was very likely that she¡¯d accrued a hounding debt to Central in the process¡­ all just for my sake. It was clear as day, then, why Ebbe¡¯s behaviour was so briared upon our meeting. A second-in-command such as him is certainly whom one would expect to take over the duties of an absent commandant. Yet here was I, an ennobled¡ªand exiled¡ªnewcomer, suddenly snatching away the selfsame privilege. The very sight of me must¡¯ve stung him sore, I¡¯m sure. ¡°And how fares the erstwhile commandant himself?¡± I asked. ¡°Oh, he fares. The afterlife¡¯s busy rolling out the red carpet for the poor master, you¡¯d be glad t¡¯know,¡± Ebbe answered dismissively, before turning a pair of sneering eyes to me. ¡°But here¡¯s another Commandant right in this room, and he piques the whiskers o¡¯ Ebbe, the curious cat¡ªa question, sir!¡± My eyes narrowed. ¡°What tickles you?¡± ¡°Your expulsion. What else?¡± Ebbe smiled as he continued. ¡°A comely kick it was what sent your arse all the way t¡¯this neck o¡¯ the woods. What tickled the knee, hmm?¡± ¡°An itch you should know well of.¡± ¡°The one upon the horse¡¯s hind! Ahah!¡± The vice-commandant¡¯s grating giggles filled the room. ¡°Y¡¯hide quite the hoof-mark on your haunches, don¡¯t you, my aching Commandant! Not a cutpurse nor a turncoat you are! No no! A stablehand too ¡®handy¡¯ in his handling o¡¯ a horse, I¡¯d wager! And now the steed¡¯s a runaway, whilst you¡¯re the stun¡¯d castaway! Hoh! No more slapstick a shtick there¡¯s ever been!¡± ¡°Slapstick indeed.¡± My flat humouring all but goaded a goatly grin from Ebbe¡¯s bony face. If his unceasing chuckles were anything to go by, I¡¯d say he was having a grand time at my expense. ¡°How now, good knight! Cheer up!¡± he squawked. ¡°Or should I say, ¡®good swain¡¯?¡± ¡°Then you¡¯ve said right.¡± ¡°Good swain! Such a short time with the Order it must¡¯ve been!¡± Ebbe bellowed with arms wide, before tucking them in akimbo. ¡°No more than half a year, was it?¡± ¡°Five.¡± ¡°Mm? What¡¯s that? Five? Five years, y¡¯say?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve read my records. Why play this farce?¡± ¡°I¡¯d misplaced my reading glasses, y¡¯see!¡± he smiled, more toothy now than ever with delight. The man was certainly revealing himself to be quite the articulated puppet to his own emotions. ¡°Come now, Commandant. Do tell. Five years, was it? As a swain? What kick¡¯d off that career, eh?¡± ¡°You well-know why.¡± ¡°Be not so cold, Commandant! Come. Let us hear it. Straight from the horse¡¯s mouth!¡± he squealed with restrained laughter. ¡°I can¡¯t scratch this itch myself, ey! Your secret, sir! Your secret! How does a man simmer the swain-stew for five long winters? Oh, do enlighten me! I beg o¡¯ you!¡± With the theatrics of a thespian, Ebbe shrunk and leaned in, hands clasped together imploringly. Yet his face remained ever ugly with its jeer. ¡°Play the japing jester all you want, Ebbe. I care little,¡± I shot back. ¡°But even a jester has an office he ought to serve well, and I will have you serve yours¡ªproperly.¡± From the vice-commandant¡¯s throat came a roaring laugh, like a saw eating into a tree. ¡°¡®Office¡¯, y¡¯said!? Ah hah! I¡¯d say you¡¯re quite the clown yourself, Commandant! A blind and bumbling bloke has but t¡¯lift his finger t¡¯be told he¡¯s served his office better than you, my good man!¡± With those words, the ghoul-like grunt¡¯s guffaws echoed on and on. Volume 2 - CH 1.02 The fortyards. Drumming through the air were grunts and clanks, the stamping and sliding of heavy feet, the huffs and hisses of swung weapons. For there was gathered the soldiery, busied in its exercises at my behest; before all else, I needed to measure the might of these men¡ªor lack thereof. ¡°What think you, Commandant?¡± asked Ebbe, his face strained with a great grin. ¡°The men are meagerly armed, but they move well enough¡ªeach on his own, that is. A flock of headless chickens coordinates better than they.¡± ¡°¡®Coordinate¡¯! Hah!¡± Ebbe snorted. ¡°Eagle-eyed, are we, Commandant? Tell me, how sweet ¡®pon that beak o¡¯ yours was it t¡¯squawk such lordly words, hm?¡± ¡°This soldiery is oddly sorted, to start with,¡± I continued, unheeding of the vice-commandant¡¯s vitriol. ¡°And the platoons¡­ I see too great a difference in prowess between them each.¡± Whoever organised these men had long abandoned any notion of balance. Clearer than the summer sun was the intent to match the strong with the strong, and leave the weak to wallow on the wayside. A warped piece of wood this was, one in need of some honest planing. Left lop-sided as they were, the men would remain incapable of coordination, even if their lives depended on it. ¡°Do you, now?¡± Ebbe sighed. ¡°Sing t¡¯me more o¡¯ this lullaby, my dear balladeer.¡± ¡°You first, Ebbe¡ªthose men over there. What are they?¡± I asked, flicking my chin off to the side. There in the distance was gathered another group of men, a score and a half in number, each encased in argent armour. Just by the look of them, I could tell they were the standouts of the soldiery: well-armed and well-trained. ¡°Why, they¡¯re mine, o¡¯ course. Guardsmen o¡¯ the Vice-Commandant, yours truly,¡± Ebbe explained, but seeing my unimpressed response, he blinked. ¡°Hmm? Are they not mete with your measure, my man?¡± There is no fault to be found in surrounding a commander with a group of select soldiers, highly-skilled and made separate from the rest of the pack. The Orders¡¯ Owlcranes attest to this. No, the problem laid elsewhere. ¡°Not in numbers, they are. Why so many?¡± I inquired keenly. ¡°Because many¡¯s what I require,¡± Ebbe answered with pomp. ¡°What? Your eagle-eyes failing t¡¯espy why, now are they?¡± Well, let sleeping dogs lie, as they say. Balasthea was a fort, defence being its primary charge. Were a battle to break upon its walls, certainly these men under Ebbe could prove useful as reserves, sent to match swords with any overly ambitious aggressors. Besides, leaving but thirty men at the rear would not necessarily amount to a tactical flaw of any substance. It was readily apparent that Ebbe¡¯s personal guards were a point of pride to the man; in exchange for turning a blind eye to them, I would have the vice-commandant himself consent to another matter. ¡°Fine, then. They¡¯re your men; I¡¯ll not shuffle them about,¡± I relented. ¡°But of the others¡ªall of them¡ªthey¡¯ll be mine to reorganise as I see fit.¡± ¡°Yes, yes, almighty chessmaster. Play with your pieces however you like.¡± As I thought. Ebbe is a man jealously protective only of that which is his own. Aught else is trivial as rags to him. Right then. Changes for the good were on the horizon at last, with not a peep from Ebbe to bar their implementation. ¡°Good. You¡¯ll be briefed on the results once the re-sorting¡¯s done with.¡± ¡°Oh, do take your time, Commandant,¡± Ebbe waved off disinterestedly. A dim grin remained on his face, its corners propped up by contempt. ¡°Ebbe, I¡¯ve said this once already: you¡¯re free to mislike me as you like¡ªprivately. You all well-risk life and limb to defend this fort, I know, and know very well. That your commandant¡¯s seat was unceremoniously re-suited for the Order¡¯s designs is certainly something to scorn. Howev¡ª¡± ¡°Well now, kind hawk o¡¯ a Commandant! Is that an olive branch I spy in your talons? Hm? A fort is but a sprig sprouted far from the Order¡¯s boughs, oh certainly. T¡¯be taken over by a noble¡ªdisgraced and rotted fruits, the lot o¡¯ you¡ªis not so rare a sight, yea?¡± That simper of his wrinkled deeper as he continued. ¡°Yet Balasthea is an aegis essential t¡¯Londosius¡¯ defence. But you? What¡¯re you but a broken, knightless blade, ill-pair¡¯d with the pavise o¡¯ Balasthea? And you would have me respect you. How precious.¡± ¡°Precious indeed, respect. A man pays it to whomever he pleases, sure,¡± I conceded, before turning a glare to Ebbe. ¡°But I am your superior officer, and I will not brook insubordination.¡± ¡°Well! Yon¨¢ be merciful¡ªoh! The squawk o¡¯ this hawk! How it affrights my meek soul!¡± the farceur squealed smilingly, shrinking back and clutching his shoulders to great theatricality. ¡°Yes, yes, Commandant. Tuck ¡¯way your talons! I shall heed your every word.¡± What a pain in the arse. Further troubles would surely follow with this pierrot snapping at my heels at every turn. But no greater good was ever achieved without much toil: Balasthea¡¯s situation must be turned around, lest it remain a graveyard ever-piling up with the vainly deceased. Reform. That was what this fort needed, and what I resolved to bring about. ? One grey day led to the next. Under the dull and misted morrowlight, the platoons were assembled in the fort outskirts. The air of the early hour was broken by barks from whom but Ebbe¡¯s men themselves as they paced here and there, proud in their silver armour. ¡°Wot¡¯s it now, eh!?¡± screeched one of those elites. ¡°4th Platoon: late in settin¡¯ out fer patrol! 5th Platoon¡­ no¡¯ yet done fettlin¡¯ the bloody rampart! Ye wankers, can¡¯t even do a ¡®andyman¡¯s work, is it!?¡± ¡°S-sir, right ¡®bout t¡¯set off, we was,¡± bleated a platoonsman of the 4th. ¡°But y¡¯see, we then got ¡®anded orders asudden, t¡¯patrol some other place, an¡¯ er¡­¡± ¡°We ain¡¯t got many ¡®ands fer the job, sir,¡± a 5th platoonsman chimed in. ¡°We should like t¡¯fix up the rampart right ¡®an proper, only command¡¯s not ¡®eeded a word o¡¯ us request fer more men, see.¡± ¡°Excuses! All I ¡®ear is wet excuses! Whimperin¡¯ windfuckers, the lot o¡¯ ye!¡± ¡°A-a-apologies, s-sir!¡± On and on, this went. A pitiful repetition of lambastings from the high-ranks, answered with naught but sorries from the low. ¡°Ebbe,¡± I called, watching with not a wisp of warmth. ¡°What¡¯s with this nonsense?¡± ¡°Morning assembly. What, can¡¯t tell, good Commandant? Eh? What¡¯s it look like t¡¯you? Tea at dawn?¡± yawned Ebbe. ¡°We gather ¡®em all up, y¡¯see. Drill into them all they did wrong yesterday. That way, they know the proper thing t¡¯do t¡¯day and t¡¯morrow. A try¡¯d and true tradition, if I do say so myself.¡± A self-important summary. It would seem he was the very culinarian who cooked up this sorry stew of an exercise. ¡°Tried, yes. True?¡± I shook my head. ¡°No, Ebbe. No more of this farce from here on out.¡± The grin vanished. ¡°¡­What? How¡¯s it a farce, ey?¡± ¡°How¡¯s it not a farce, is more the question. You but line these men up and drown their ears with the queerest quibbles. Why, I¡¯d wager you do all this just to stroke your egos against your subordinates, to drill into them instead of who¡¯s high and who¡¯s a hound,¡± was my bitter assessment. ¡°Naught but a tree that ill-bears a single fruit is all this is.¡± ¡°Oi you! Think t¡¯make us yer hounds, is it!?¡± came a shriek, one from the veiny throat an Ebbe-elite. From the look of him, he seemed the youngest of that guard: a trace of childishness yet lingered on that fuming face of his as he stamped his way closer. ¡°Thass quite the tongue fer an Actin¡¯ Commandant, yeh!¡± he went on wildly. ¡°An¡¯ proper swollen! Bit it bold on yer way down, did ye? When they kick¡¯d yer arse off the Order¡¯s saddle! Well, ye can clam it up f¡¯good, ye¡¯ll be glad t¡¯know! Fer Master Ebbe be the one runnin¡¯ the show ¡®round ¡®ere!¡± ¡°Karl, my boy. Show a bit o¡¯ pity for the man, will you?¡± Ebbe soothed the youth with uncharacteristic calm. ¡°Pity? Wot¡¯s this ¡®bout, Master Ebbe?¡± blinked this ¡®Karl¡¯. ¡°Us good Commandant here is ungraced. A sad and sodden-wit¡¯d lad who knows not left from right on the battlefield.¡± ¡°¡®Ungraced¡¯? Wot¡¯s that then, eh?¡± ¡°Spurn¡¯d o¡¯ Yon¨¢¡¯s good graces, as it were. The man has got nary an iota o¡¯ odyl in ¡®im, see. A full slap t¡¯the arse was all he got from Her, I reckon.¡± A revelation that inspired a stunned silence from both Karl and the other elites. But another moment, and they were all of them in stitches, laughing their lungs out. ¡°W-wo¡ªhwaha! Wot¡¯s this!? ¡®ows ¡®e even alive, eh!?¡± ¡°Thass a proper bit o¡¯ kiddin¡¯ there, Ebbe! An¡¯ look¡ªgot sent t¡¯this ¡®ellhole o¡¯ all places! A sad lot fer this sad lad!¡± Through the midst of that commotion cut the sound of an unsheathing sword. Gripping it was Karl, who then trained its tip to me. ¡°¡®ow ¡®bout it, Commandant? Spare a lil¡¯ spar for good ¡®ol Karl? I promise I¡¯ll be easy, yea!¡± the foul youth smiled, his threat rousing a ruckus from the elites. ¡°Bwahah! Ye teach ¡®im a stinkin¡¯ lesson, Karl! Show ¡®im wot a stellar schoolboy ye be!¡± ¡°Come on, Karl! Stand down! Ye makin¡¯ the commandant cry!¡± ¡°Ahah! Ahahah!¡± The Ebbe-guards continued their guffaws, clutching their bosoms from the hilarity of it all. My duty it was indeed to scold their nonsense, but it was painfully apparent that they had not a mind to heed their ungraced commandant. What other duty was left to me, then, was but to produce results. Decisively so. ¡°No more morning assemblies from this day forth,¡± I announced sharply. ¡°And the 5th Platoon¡¯s short on hands¡ªtoo short to shore up some stone walls. That in itself calls for a thorough restructuring of every platoon. I¡¯ll see to it myself that it gets done over the next couple of days. That is all. Dismissed!¡± With my motive made clear, I left the ever-laughing scene. ? Less than a week later found me standing in the command chamber, eyes fixed upon some papers in hand. ¡°Ebbe. This report¡ªwhoever penned it certainly wasn¡¯t in a hurry. Not in defining the gap between both projected and verified damages, that is. Why¡¯s that?¡± ¡°Why the hurry t¡¯go nowhere?¡± shrugged Ebbe. ¡°Knowing just the actualities well-suffices. You split hairs, Commandant!¡± ¡°I split hairs that we might survive another day, Vice-Commandant,¡± I shot back, lifting not an eye off the report. ¡°You and your men. I would have you all be more thorough from here onwards.¡± A snorting scoff. ¡°¡®Thorough? What¡¯s this now?¡± ¡°Make certain that you write in your reports both projected and actual results,¡± I elaborated firmly. ¡°And while you¡¯re at it, go and inform the platoons that henceforth they are to include in their reports the reasons for such disparities.¡± Balasthea well-lived up to its name: a facet of Londosius¡¯ vast frontlines such as this had its fair share of skirmishes over the last few days. Par for the course, but what had changed was the number of fatalities, lesser now than before my arrival. I pulled out all the stops: platoons were reorganised, chains of command were recomposed, posts were repositioned, shifts were rescheduled. Much ado it was, but the results were unmistakable. Balasthea saw its silver lining at last, and it was a vivid one, at that. Only, Ebbe¡¯s attitude towards me had not improved in the slightest, as our conversation sadly attested. ¡°Come now, Commandant! We are warriors! Men o¡¯ battle! Not miserly bookkeepers!¡± he whined. ¡°You might¡¯ve made yourself a more whetted warrior had you learned how to keep a book, Ebbe. Your years of service yet find you dim to following orders¡ªnow¡¯s a good time to learn, I¡¯d say.¡± ¡°¡­Hmph. Fat talk for an ungraced¡ª¡± Ebbe¡¯s snide remark drowned in the bellowing air. I glanced up from the papers. The warning horns were sounded¡ªan attack was upon us. I sprang up and went to the window, finding men scrambling about in the fortyards below. Before long, a platoon captain burst into the room. ¡°Commandant! We¡¯ve enemies at the gate! They strike from the east!¡± ¡°Their numbers?¡± ¡°Us surveyors be countin¡¯ t¡¯this moment, but the Naf¨ªlim number the same as yesterday¡¯s, from the looks o¡¯ it!¡± ¡°Can¡¯t deploy the 1st¡­ their wounded have yet to recover,¡± I thought aloud. ¡°Have the 2nd and 3rd Platoons defend the west gate! The 6th goes to the east!¡± Unwelcome words to Ebbe. ¡°Have you got wax stuff¡¯d in those ears, Commandant?¡± he quipped, taken aback. ¡°The devils¡¯ve come t¡¯the east gate, the man said. What good¡¯s it do t¡¯guard the west so thickly, eh?¡± ¡°We do ourselves much good to sniff out ruses wherever they rustle. Yesterday¡¯s attack¡ªthe Naf¨ªlim struck the east gate then, too. A trick to train our noses there, that we might not catch their scent coming from the west today,¡± I reasoned. ¡°A bait-and-switch. We best be on our toes.¡± Yet again, Ebbe snorted in scorn at my words. Paying no mind to his subsequent giggles, I turned to the soldier. ¡°Captain. You have your orders.¡± ¡°Right away, sir!¡± he saluted, and quickly quit the room. Gearing myself up, I followed him soon after. It won¡¯t do to idle by, safe and divorced from the struggle; I would dictate the battle right in the thick of its throes. Balasthea Stronghold¡ªthe fatal fort and veritable mound of the war-dead. No longer would it be so dreaded. This, I swore. But for now, I would see to it that starting on this day, not a single soul would be lost to the fighting. Volume 2 - CH 1.03 13-16 minutes 03.11.2022 Desktop view is recommended for reading this content. Soot-Steeped Knight ? ú ¤Þ ¤ß ¤ì ¤Î òT Ê¿ Volume II Chapter 1 ¨C Part 3 Written By Yoshihiko Mihama Translated By Vagrant ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ The clank and clamour of battle burgeoned. But its crescendo now crested from a direction different from the outset: just as I¡¯d thought, the Naf¨ªlim¡¯s main forces flooded in from the west instead. By my orders, we had our defensive ranks reinforced accordingly before the clash. The preparations bore fruit: our men met the foe, unmoved by their ruse. ¡°Keep the ranks filled!¡± came my command to a captain. ¡°Maintain our numbers and we maintain the upper hand!¡± ¡°Aye aye, sir!¡± A facet of my reforms saw the formation of a new platoon of sentries, their charge it was to observe the battle from the high safety of a watchtower. There, they would glean any gap in the numbers of both our forces and the enemy¡¯s own. This precious information would then be reported and relayed down to each captain, who would then dictate his platoon to the demands of the battle. A veritable heart, the pulsing arteries of which allowed our numbers to swiftly shift between different sections of the fort as needed. Such would not have been possible without disciplined coordination. To achieve it, open communication was fostered at the organisational level, after which the platoons themselves were revised and reassembled. From then on were each subject to stringent drills and exercises, all meant to make keen their coordinative capabilities. The results were unmistakable: no matter where the enemy fell upon us, our men were able to meet them head-on with ample numbers in tow. The erstwhile lack of flexibility and swiftness had regrettably begat no small number of soldiers left to twiddle their thumbs in the thick of battle. And who could blame them? They were situated in the wrong places at the wrong times, after all, on account of a complacent command. All that was changed. Now, Balasthea¡¯s men were as blades honed anew, with not the smallest span of their edges left untended. The battles breaking upon our bulwarks began to lose their teeth as my reforms bore further fruits. In the midst of this heartening trend stood I, judging today¡¯s clash to soon be another success. ? Three turns of the hourglass later. Victory was ours. ¡°The foes¡¯re fallin¡¯ back!¡± a captain reported. ¡°Might we give chase, sir?¡± I shook my head. ¡°Leave them.¡± ¡°¡®Leave ¡®em¡¯!? Fer wot now, ah!?¡± came Karl crashing in. ¡°Why, we ough¡¯ t¡¯cull ¡®em curs ¡®ere, ¡®fore they come chompin¡¯ at us arses ¡®gain!¡± ¡°A butcher earns no coin cutting meat that flees fast from his knife, Karl. Besides, we¡¯ve more pressing issues on our hands,¡± I sternly returned, before looking to the others. ¡°Check for casualties! Report to me your findings!¡± ¡°Tch! Yellow-liver¡¯d chick¡¯n, you!¡± lashed Karl¡¯s tongue, after which both he and the rest of Ebbe¡¯s men made themselves absent from the scene. Keeping the side of my glance upon them, I hastened the efforts to count the casualties. But there would be none on that day, a fact found out not long afterwards. ? An hour had sailed by since I hurried from the fort on horseback. The end of the rush found me in the Arbel fiefburgh proper. Night had set in; the pubs were full-lit and alive. I pushed open the door of one such establishment, quickly finding in its rowdy innards the shrill of a certain youth. ¡°Git this! They ran! Wit¡¯ them tails tuck¡¯d under them bollocks like the curs they are! Then I came t¡¯cut ¡®em all down, I did!¡± Karl. There the youth was, with a tankard of ale in hand, thrust high in the air. Surrounding him were Ebbe and the elite guards, to all of whom he sang of his feats earlier in the day. Feats from pursuing the Naf¨ªlim in their retreat. ¡°Got one o¡¯ ¡®em good, I tell ye!¡± he tattled on. ¡°Biggest o¡¯ ¡®em bastards thought t¡¯stay b¡¯hind an¡¯ let ¡®is beefin¡¯ brothers run off! Nice fellow wit¡¯ a giant axe, ¡®e was! Then I gave ¡®im a good scratchin¡¯ on ¡®is back fer the noble deed, I did! ¡­With the keen side o¡¯ my sword, tha¡¯ is!¡± The air swelled thick with laughter. ¡°From the back!¡± an Ebbe-guard wheezed from the hilarity. ¡°Karl the Coward, cutter o¡¯ hindquarters! Git a cockscomb an¡¯ a wattle on him an¡¯ he¡¯ll look the proper poultry! Haha!¡± ¡°Yea, wag that tongue all ye want, brother!¡± Karl quipped. ¡°This be war, ey! Fuss ¡®bout the champs an¡¯ chick¡¯ns ¡®mong us an¡¯ ye¡¯ll be on the butcher¡¯s block soon ¡®nough, ye will!¡±¡± ¡°Oh¡ª! Then I¡¯ll be hangin¡¯ with the ham-hogs right soon, eh!? A charmin¡¯ cut o¡¯ charcuterie, I¡¯ll make! Hwahah!¡± ¡°Big ol¡¯ butcher¡¯s shop¡¯s all it is, innit! War! Ahahah!¡± A soldier I¡¯d inquired back at the fort was right on the money: Ebbe and his brutes were wont to patronise this pub straight after a battle. There they all were, pissed out of their wits, bellies bulging with downed bitters. I had not a mind to join them. No, grilling these men was precisely why I came to this watering hole in the first place. To their tumultuous table I went, and raised a matter with one of those seated. ¡°You¡¯ve got something to spill, Ebbe?¡± I growled at the vice-commandant, who was sat quiet and content, soaking in Karl¡¯s gloating. ¡°¡­None, Commandant. Not from this empty cup o¡¯ mine,¡± he deflected. ¡°¡®Leave them,¡¯ I said,¡± came my cutting reminder. ¡°Only you didn¡¯t.¡± A shrug. ¡°What I do with my men is up to me, Commandant.¡± ¡°And what you do is up to me, Vice-Commandant. Not least when we¡¯re in the midst of battle. I promised only to keep your guardsmen out of my reforms. Nothing else.¡± My words seemed to sting Ebbe¡¯s ears as he forced out a sore sigh. ¡°Commandant! Commandant!¡± barked Karl from the side. ¡°Give us a break, will ye? Right jigger¡¯d we be from ¡®avin t¡¯cut an¡¯ kill the devils, all whilst ye sit comfy on yer ungraced arse!¡± ¡°Insubordination¡ªthat¡¯s what you¡¯ve committed, Ebbe,¡± came a bark of my own, sparing Karl not a moment of my mind. ¡°Report to my chamber first thing on the morrow.¡± Pressing the matter any further here was futile. With my command firmly given, I turned from the men and made for the door, catching a click from Ebbe¡¯s tongue. ¡°Oh, wot! Come on, Commandant! Where ye be ¡®eadin¡¯? ¡®ave a gulp wit¡¯ us, yea? Why, I¡¯ll even throw in a free lecture: ¡®ow t¡¯swing a sword all proper-like!¡± Again, I ignored Karl¡¯s drunken drolling as I parted from the buzzing pub. ? The next morning. I stood within the commandant¡¯s chamber, having received a particular guest from Arbel. ¡°Buckmann,¡± said he, a man none other than the lord of this land: the Margrave Aaron Str?m himself. ¡°The very first of our meetings, yes?¡± ¡°And one overlate; my sincerest apologies, Your Excellency,¡± I bowed. ¡°My hands were tied in turning the fortunes of the fort; I hope your generosity sees me fit for forgiveness.¡± ¡°Fit or no, I care little. Even my generosity can be tested in having to humour an ungraced. I¡¯m a busy man, you see,¡± he brushed off, with a smile bending that moustached mien of his. He seemed not much more than an ennobled bourgeois: conventional to a fault, with not a speck of scrupled inspiration in his eyes. ¡°You find Ebbe¡¯s actions to be lacking in ¡®lawfulness¡¯, I take it?¡± the margrave went on. ¡°He is quite the capable commander, I¡¯ll have you know. You¡¯d do right to learn a thing or two from a man like him.¡± To that, I had no words. The margrave¡¯s smile faded. ¡°Do not deign to discipline him for his deeds,¡± he warned. ¡°Have I made myself clear, Commandant?¡± ¡°¡­Yes, my liege,¡± I yielded. I was but an exile of the Order, a soldier bound to this borderland; disobedience would be not brooked by its lord before me. ¡°And you are come for other business, as well, I presume?¡± ¡°I am, indeed. A send-off, if you will.¡± To the window, he pointed. The view from the commandant¡¯s chamber encompassed the gate leading to Naf¨ªlim lands. There, I found a conspicuous congregation, its constituents neatly lined up. Two-hundred men and more they were, freshly deployed from the fiefburgh. My eyes narrowed at the sight. ¡°They move to attack? My liege, I¡¯ve heard naught of this.¡± Balasthea was but a bulwark, the shield of Str?m and nothing more. Thus it stands to reason that the force formed before me was not the fort¡¯s own, but the margrave¡¯s: the Fiefguard. ¡°I¡¯ve given speed to the schedule,¡± the margrave remarked. ¡°The fort is well-defended of late, and the Naf¨ªlim seem content to lick their wounds and wallow in their cowardice. Not least in thanks to yesterday¡¯s pursuit by Ebbe and his men; ¡®twas a fruitful routing they¡¯ve accomplished.¡± In the outside view, a peculiarity caught my eye. ¡°Your Excellency. A matter, if I may?¡± ¡°Speak it.¡± ¡°The covered wagons,¡± I pointed out, gaze locked upon the vehicles below. ¡°Rather large, are they not? Yet they bear nary a load upon their decks. What is their purpose?¡± ¡°Even one as dim as you ought to know.¡± I turned to the margrave. ¡°¡­To pillage, my liege?¡± My words earned a turn of his own to me. There was puzzlement plastered on his face, but it soon congealed into a look of pity. ¡°I see the grace of wits has also been denied to you, Buckmann,¡± he softly scoffed. ¡°Frightful indeed, to be abandoned by so warm a mother as Yon¨¢. Oh, mercy!¡± ¡°I fear I do not follow.¡± ¡°Buckmann¡­ poor and pitiful Buckmann! We do not pillage the Naf¨ªlim, no! Hoh! Your pate has parted too many a pass¨±s from its tracks, my dear and derailed cart of a Commandant!¡± The margrave¡¯s words were far from uncoupled. It was common sense itself, whether within Londosius, or in the mind of Man. We are at war with the Naf¨ªlim. To plunder their property or their person is not an act to be lambasted, but one to be lauded instead. After all, our enemy¡¯s extinction is this war¡¯s very aim. Mind not whether they be of the soldiery or the citizenry, an infantryman or an infant, a grim garrison or a humble home. All is to be spoiled. None are to be spared. Of course, such would not be suffered between nations of men. It would be labelled as a ¡°crime¡± or an ¡°injustice¡±, an affront to human dignity. But the tone swiftly turns were the Naf¨ªlim the target, ¡°baneful barbarians¡± as they are branded. This is the collective conscience of Man, his unbending and unchallenged truth. But it is one that I cannot, for the life of me, fathom nor affirm. Why must we maraud the meek? And that is to say nothing of the citizens we seize and send to who knows where. This is our ¡°justice¡±, a holy banner raised for our own convenience, its weave unstained by the spit of dissent. Those covered wagons¡ªempty they were now, but certain to brim with riches upon their return. And included in those spoils? Slaves. Labourers to be damned to enduring indenturement. This, too, is ¡°just¡±, acts whose barbarism Man is blissfully blind to, for they bring to him boons of too much benefit. But my eyes were unclouded, and they could not bear the sight. ¡°Your Excellency,¡± I said sternly. ¡°With all due respect, I find it meaningless to sully so hard-won a prize as peace. Pillage, and we but vilify ourselves beyond all vindication. Such vices ill-become the lordly name of Londosius¡ªeven should the victims be the Naf¨ªlim.¡± The margrave¡¯s face furrowed. ¡°¡®Pillaging¡¯ the Naf¨ªlim ill-becomes the term itself, Buckmann. The subtlety escaped you, has it?¡± ¡°¡®Virtue¡¯ is what has escaped from all of this, my liege,¡± I returned. ¡°None is to be found in taking from those who cannot fight back. Yet say the victims are of a different sort, a different blood, and you would not only praise the act, but partake in it yourself. Surely the sophistry is not lost to you?¡± ¡°Buckmann!¡± barked the margrave. ¡°¡®Tis the Naf¨ªlim we speak of here! The nemesis of Man! The kin and kindred of crawling beasts! Our sworn foes from the days of fair St. Rakliammelech himself!¡± Even in the face of much fury, I could not back down. ¡°Your Excellency, pray give ear to these humble words: accustom ourselves to wanton rape and robbery, and we debauch our hearts in the act. We are men of war; it is our lives we wager on the frontlines, not our morals.¡± ¡°Hmph! Sophistry, indeed! I see the sophist before me!¡± he seethed, stamping his foot and thrusting a finger to me. ¡°To rape and rob the devils is morality itself! You would do well to remember that, you want-wit, you!¡± ¡°Victory can be ours without this villainy, my liege! That much is certain!¡± ¡°Commandant!¡± frothed the lord¡¯s lips. ¡°Their labours, their luxuries¡ªwe make them all our own, that their brethren¡ªour foes¡ªmight flounder and we, flourish! For every prize we procure, for every devil we indenture, another of our meek and misfortuned might be spared the pale hand of Death! Sear these words into your ill-starred soul! For I am long drained of all generosity to further discuss so evident a truth!¡± ¡°But, my liege!¡± ¡°Enough!!¡± ¡­How futile. Reason cannot reach him. I could scarcely see myself being in the wrong here. No matter how painfully I peered. No matter how much I mulled. Yet all that I aired were as the howls of a heretic, words long parted from Man¡¯s wicked wisdom. And that was why the margrave and I could not see eye-to-eye. Realising it, I found myself silent, hands and teeth clenched hard. Afterwards, the margrave made his return to Arbel, whilst the Fiefguard funnelled through the gates and marched into Naf¨ªlim lands. I stood there in solitude. Overpowered by powerlessness, I watched on as the covered wagons wheeled close behind. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Volume 2 - CH 1.04 Silver sunlight blessed fair Redelberne, city of splendour and capital of Londosius. Its impearled walls and promenades glinted with the seeming glow of royal authority itself. The march of Norden, home of the 5th Chivalric Order¡¯s headquarters, neighboured this bastion of Man. And so it was not at all strange that Redelberne found a rather regular visitor in the vaunted Lady Emilie Mernesse, Dame Mareschal to the knights of the 5th. Only, such trips were not partaken for pleasure. No, no, not at all. Business called her, and it was a busy caller indeed. Many a Londosian would love to lavish themselves with a visit to the marvelled and marbled city. But the Lady was different. Where she wished to go, where she yearned to be, were all found elsewhere. Certainly, any soul aspiring to greatness would jump for joy, to so receive a summons from Central. Not an opportunity to be left unsavoured, this. Yet what Emilie aspired to was not fame and fortune, but her own humble share of happiness. The girl that once smiled so brightly upon the bell-lily hill was now a lady, listless in her stroll through the unsought streets. Indeed, she was tired. Tired of the meetings with the ministers and magisters of Central. Tired of fraternising with the cloistered courtiers of the royal palace. Tired of the feints, the facades, the faux smiles. But Emilie was a young woman set upon tackling the challenges of her office head-on. Hers was a soul of sincerity, a magnet of much trust from all those around her. A meteoric mareschal. A hero for the new age. Who wouldn¡¯t want to forge a fellowship with the fair Lady? Only a scant few, if any, to be sure. In the enthralled droves were to be found not just adults, but children as well, such as the ones encircling her at this moment. Their eyes sparkled with fascination as they beheld before them a dame of much distinction. For her part, Emilie had grown accustomed to such baby-faced phenomena. This particular occasion¡ªone of many¡ªwas begot at the behest of the little ones themselves. They had enough pull for it, children and grandchildren of high officials as they were. A longing to witness the wondrous dexterity of the dame was their excuse. An innocent one, if not frequent. Strangely enough, the children were already afforded the luxury of their own instructors, each distinguished and outstanding in his tutelage. Suffice it to say, the little ones were hardly in want of instruction in the ways of the sword. Emilie was wise to this, of course, but also to her own shortcomings as a teacher. Indeed, that same humility had driven her to turn down the very opportunity to meet with the children. But the storm of insistence was unceasing. In the end, the young mareschal could only relent. And though she saw the redundancy of the situation, she did not, at first, discern the true desires of the children themselves. The blade of the Aureola was surely show-worthy, but the little ones were hardly here for a fencing lesson. Why, they simply wished to meet her, for she was, in the springtide skies of their hearts, a star of much awe and admiration. But in indulging them so, Emilie at last saw the idolatry in their eyes. Their enthusiasm being born from a wish to behold her blade-dance was, in fact, merely a misunderstanding on her part. The summertide skies of her own heart blushed upon the realisation. Yet their excuse was aired anyway. ¡®A swing of your sword please, madame.¡¯ And so Emilie obliged, a humouring to hide her embarrassment, perhaps. Pillars of lightning pealed and flashed, painting in pure white the wide breadth of the training grounds. A moment, and amazement buzzed through the young crowd. Before long, a pair of adolescents approached the mareschal, eyes upturned and hearts curious. ¡°P-pardon us, madame,¡± inquired the boy of the two. ¡°Might you have a moment to spare?¡± ¡°The Roun of Orisons,¡± began the girl. ¡°Is it true what they say? That you¡¯ve been blessed with the Aureola from the rites?¡± A slight pause. A slight smile. ¡°¡­As true as can be, I suppose.¡± The conversation continued, during which the pair revealed themselves to be but fourteen years of age. The Roun of Orisons was to receive them in the following year, an upcoming occasion that surely inspired expectation and anxiety alike in their hearts. ¡°What was it all like?¡± the boy asked. ¡°I can scarcely imagine the spectacle, let alone the nerves!¡± ¡°Hmm, I wonder myself,¡± Emilie looked off in the distance. ¡°¡®Tis been a long while¡ªtoo long, really.¡± ¡°The both of us, we mean to give it our all and more, that Yon¨¢ might be generous in Her grace,¡± the girl gushed. ¡°Enough that we might fight for our families, our fellows¡ªfor all the good people of this good kingdom!¡± ¡°Knighthood¡¯s my aim,¡± the boy chimed in. ¡°Big and strong is what I¡¯ll become, and I¡¯ll do all it takes to be knighted!¡± To that came Emilie¡¯s mirth, gentle, fragile. ¡°¡­You most certainly will, love.¡± ¡°¡®Cause if I can¡¯t, well, worrywart here¡¯ll get her tighties all in a tangle.¡± ¡°W-who¡¯s a worrywart, now!¡± How warm they were to one another. Emilie couldn¡¯t help but beam broadly. Yet the tinge of sorrow therein all but escaped the youthful pair¡¯s knowing. ? A brief lesson on the basics of bladework was given thereafter. To be sure, Emilie was, by then, fully aware that this truly was not what the children wanted, but to end the meet-and-greet then and there with just a demonstration of her levinblade would¡¯ve been poor form. Fortunately, she wasn¡¯t alone. The Owlcranes accompanied her on that day, and they certainly proved helpful¡ªGerd and Raakel in particular. Numerous were the practice sessions they hosted back at the 5th, and so to instruct wide-eyed children was, to them, not too towering a task. Soon enough, the sun went to slumber. In the evanescing evenlight, the mareschal and her Owlcranes parted from the training grounds, their ears yet tingling from the lively gratitude of the children. Through the starlit streets of Redelberne they then strolled, until the warm conviviality of a pub beckoned their patronage. There, they reflected on the day¡¯s happenings over glasses of golden ale. ¡°I¡¯m truly sorry for dragging you all to the capital today,¡± broached Emilie. ¡°A big bother, I know, but just the thought of having to handle it all alone was enough to fray my nerves.¡± ¡°No need to fret over it,¡± Gerd assured. ¡°We saw much and did even more. It was time well-spent.¡± ¡°Yea, Gerd¡¯s got the right o¡¯ it,¡± Raakel added. ¡°Teachin¡¯ ¡®em bright-eyed bairns a thing or two¡¯s quite the honour, if I¡¯m honest.¡± ¡°My, Miss Raakel. How unlike you to be so honourably honest. What has softened that sauciness of yours, I wonder?¡± ¡°Eh, shut it, Sheila.¡± Yet it was certain, just as Emilie¡¯s self-reproach had revealed: this kind of outing hardly required the attendance of the entire Owlcrane Brigade. The day¡¯s function was founded more in politics and high society sweet-talking than aught else. The Owlcranes were soldiers, after all, souls who earned their living laying their lives on the line. And Emilie was very much the sort to blush with shame in dragging them so far from their place of employ. But between the commander and her combatants, there was camaraderie, one fostered for years now¡ªbosom buddies, they were. Thus did the Owlcranes quickly answer Emilie¡¯s call in her time of need, confident in knowing she would have done the same for them. ¡°And I owe you a special apology, Sheila,¡± Emilie continued. ¡°They insisted that I might as well bring the entire brigade if I was to bring anyone at all, you see.¡± ¡°There is naught to be sorry for,¡± the surgien softly giggled. ¡°But if another such occasion comes along, I should certainly like to savour a chance to teach more magick-minded youths.¡± Smiles, all around the table, brightened further by the brimming bitters in their cups. To them, a waiter came, bearing samples of exquisite cuisine. ¡°Now here¡¯s the stuff! Roasted venison, tender an¡¯ juicy!¡± Raakel salivated. ¡°Can¡¯t come home from the capital without me tummy full o¡¯ this grub!¡± ¡°Good grace, Raakel,¡± Gerd shook his head. ¡°Came along just to stuff your cheeks with those deer chunks, did you?¡± ¡°Hah! What ye been takin¡¯ me fer, Gerd? I ain¡¯t a saint, y¡¯know!¡± Loose lips japed and chuckled in concert. An atmosphere drunk with jolly and joy. As their merrymaking went on, so, too, did the late hour wax on, all within the benighted bosom of fair Redelberne. Volume 2 - CH 1.05 ¡°¡­Phew¡­¡± A warm breath, blown from flustered cheeks, aglow as they were from many a sip of ale. The night breeze, cool and crisp, coursed against them to much welcome. Emilie took in the pearl-dusk cityscape, having taken a moment from the pub to sober up. It was quiet. The streets were asleep. To be sure, Redelberne¡¯s thoroughfares and promenades were no less packed even in the dead of night. But Emilie¡¯s was a face too famous around those parts. So it was that the considerate Owlcranes had chosen instead an establishment well off the beaten path, that they might while away the moonlit hours in relative peace and privacy. It was but a hole-in-the-wall, this pub, humble and quaint, but it brimmed with both brightness of light and levity. Even outside, Emilie¡¯s ears could faintly make out the merrymaking. She found the moment to be most romantic, in a way, to behold such liveliness from so tranquil a perch. ¡°Haa¡­¡± How delightful, this night. Yes. Delightful, indeed. To brush off a bothersome workday, and then with friends in tow, eat, drink, and mingle till the moon fancied a bit of slumber itself¡ªit was nothing, if not delightful. If not¡­ If only¡­ Emilie was quiet as she peered up into the everdistant sky. A sky that arched on and on, well into the borderlands beyond. She recalled then of the boy and girl she¡¯d met earlier that day. How excited they were, with but a year till their own reckoning at the Roun of Orisons. They had asked her of her own experiences at the rites. She did not recall, was the simple sum of her answer. A little lie, that was. Emilie remembered. All too well. Of how her heart swelled with anticipation. Of how thoroughly she thought that from then on, there awaited only days of hope and happiness. An era of innocent dreams for an innocent future. Only, that future never came. Leading up to the rites were bygone days blessed with bliss, each and every one. Yet the Roun of Orisons was a door that forsook it all. Emilie had crossed it, beguiled, and when it slammed shut, she found herself ever longing for all that was lost behind its lock. And for that reason, the rites, to her, were not a welcome memory. But they were a memory she well-remembered nonetheless. A memory she could never forget. Oh, if only she could. ¡°Emilie love.¡± A voice rang through the thick marshes of her thoughts. Emilie turned, finding Raakel coming close. Upon her face, too, was a fluster from bingeing too many bitters. ¡°Raakel,¡± Emilie returned. ¡°Come to sober up a little, too, I take it?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t help it,¡± the warrior grinned. ¡°That Sheila¡¯s got a friggin¡¯ well fer a stomach, whilst Gerd¡¯s a fool fer tryin¡¯ to keep up. I call¡¯d it quits fer a bit, see.¡± A quiet laugh. ¡°¡­Of course.¡± Silence suffused the nightscape. Against such enormity, the dames were as two blades of grass swaying contently against the starlit breeze. The air was delicious, and Raakel was happy to partake. After a lungful, she exhaled, and motioned her lips once more. ¡°So.¡± ¡°Mm?¡± ¡°Ye be thinkin¡¯ ¡®bout ol¡¯ muscle-pate ¡®gain, ey?¡± ¡°Oh, I¡­ I have been, yes¡­¡± There was little avail to be had in hiding it now. Emilie was well-aware: many a sigh had left her mouth of late, after all. Perhaps even her countenance was conspicuously clouded, a gloomy pall for all to wonder and worry over. But they were not fools. To them, the source was clearer than uncoloured crystal. ¡°Bet ye both could¡¯ve been a fine couple; the talk o¡¯ the town, even,¡± Raakel admitted, ¡°were he ord¡¯nary like the rest o¡¯ us, odyl an¡¯ all, that is.¡± To this, Emilie was silent. It was, by now, a world she had dreamt of far too many times to count. A world where Rolf was given his due. From Yon¨¢ to him, a measure of odyl not more than a common man¡¯s. Nay. Even less would have sufficed. So long as it wasn¡¯t naught at all. Were he blessed so, however meagerly, then maybe¡­ Just maybe¡­ How fruitless and fallow a fancy it was. But to Emilie, it was one she could not have gone long without humouring, if even to her own sorrow. ¡°Well, the fates won¡¯t bless a man an¡¯ woman both just ¡®cause they be warm to each other, ye should know. Life be a mite more fickle than that, I¡¯m ¡®fraid.¡± ¡°¡­What do you mean?¡± ¡°I were warm to one meself, once upon a time,¡± Raakel confessed, faintly forlorn. ¡°A man I thought was me destiny. Truly.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°A dozen winters between us, it were. But I loved him. I really did. Couldn¡¯t think o¡¯ me future days without him bein¡¯ in the same picture.¡± That such soft words could ever issue from Raakel¡¯s lips was a whelming wonder to Emilie. Certainly, the mareschal measured the Owlcrane warrior to be youthful and fair in her own way. But Raakel was a soul who sought¡ªand found¡ªpurpose in battle, and nothing else. That was Emilie¡¯s long-held estimation of her, though admittedly one shaded with shame for how shallow it was. ¡°He were a bastard son, y¡¯see. A viscount¡¯s, no less. There was naught at all what could¡¯ve stopped us from bein¡¯ happy together¡­ well, that¡¯s what I thought, anyway,¡± Raakel recounted, uncharacteristically quiet. ¡°His half-siblings¡ªheirs, all o¡¯ them¡ªdied, one after the other. So his pa suck¡¯d it up and call¡¯d him home. Made him heir an¡¯ all that.¡± ¡°I¡­ I see. And so¡­ he was given a bride, then.¡± ¡°That he was, yea. Wedded to some dainty gentlelady. I weren¡¯t a good pick. Not noble ¡®nough, see.¡± ¡°And¡­ what did he say?¡± ¡°Well, the whole deal was a bite to his arse, ¡®course, but thass aristocracy fer ye. Couldn¡¯t do aught ¡®bout it, really.¡± Raakel blinked slowly at the stars. ¡°We had one last moment together. Hug¡¯d, an¡¯ cry¡¯d fer a long while¡­ an¡¯ that was that.¡± The Owlcrane warrior¡ªin her frailer years, tight in the arms of a man, her tears telling of the painful parting to come. Hardly a fanciable scene, certainly, but there was a look on Raakel¡¯s countenance, one of softly distant eyes and a smile ready to fade at any moment. Seeing it, Emilie knew then that what her friend recounted was the bare and unblemished truth. ¡°Things¡ªthey hardly turn out. An¡¯ that be the gist o¡¯ it.¡± ¡°Oh, Raakel¡­¡± ¡°Yer the same, ain¡¯t ye, love? The Lady Emilie Mernesse, Dame Mareschal to the 5th Chivalric Order. Ye¡¯ve got yer family to protect, an¡¯ knights to lead withal. All the trappings o¡¯ a trap, chain¡¯d to yer ankles both.¡± Resigning from her vaunted post was a frequent thought in Emilie¡¯s heart, but it was never to be. Not while she had yet to find a foothold for her family. Not while there was a betrothal to consummate. What¡¯s more, her responsibilities as mareschal of late had ballooned along with Londosius¡¯ whetted appetite for war. Thus the time to run away from it all had long since left; to even entertain the notion was vain. These troubles and more were never spoken of to the Owlcranes. But deep down, they knew. After all, they were each, by now, roostmates too intimate with their mareschal to not notice. ¡°Life be a bunch o¡¯ things we can¡¯t do aught ¡®bout, things what go the way we never thought they could. Innit?¡± For King and Country. For thine own Family and fellow Man. Feudalism is the foundation of this society. To renounce one¡¯s Duty is reckless. To defy the Ways is death. A most natural course, like the ebb and flow of the tides, the arc of the sun and moon, the comings and goings of the seasons. Such was the meaning in Raakel¡¯s words. But to air them so was not easy, for she was certainly not the sort to engage in intimate talk. Only with the help of many helpings of ale was Raakel able to work up the will to console Emilie. None of this was lost to the mareschal; upon realising it, she couldn¡¯t help but smile. ¡°So¡­ I guess you¡¯ve had your own fair share of heartbreak, haven¡¯t you?¡± ¡°No beatin¡¯ ¡®round the bush here, Emilie,¡± Raakel smiled back. ¡°Beat around what bush, now?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t see me in a gorgeous gown, can ye? I were a prim an¡¯ prissy princess once, ye know. Well, shy an¡¯ shelter¡¯d, more like.¡± ¡°¡­You¡¯re right. I really can¡¯t see you in a gown.¡± Maul in hand, a whirlwind of a woman©`Raakel the ruffian. As she was now, there was indeed nary a wisp of her princely past. A look at her and one would be forgiven for believing she was born with a battleaxe wrapped in her babe-fingers. Emilie certainly had, and doubtful she was alone in making the mistake. ¡°With baggage like that, I thought to put it all behind me. So, I cut me ties. Came to the Order,¡± Raakel went on. ¡°Was all pain at first, to be frank, like I were punishin¡¯ meself fer me past follies. I fought an¡¯ fought, on an¡¯ on.¡± There are those who saw the world for what it was, and despaired at the sight. The sorry souls would oft consign themselves to life in a convent, cloistered from the goings-on beyond. But another path can be found, one that wends into the bowels of battlefields. Not few are they who chose it instead. Yet never could Emilie have guessed that Raakel counted amongst them. One can never truly know another, she thought. ¡°An¡¯ thass how I forged me new motto. Strength be ev¡¯rythin¡¯. Fightin¡¯ be ev¡¯rythin¡¯. Naught else matters.¡± Raakel shook her head, as if to silence the echoes of a past she¡¯d long since left behind. The two stood there for another while, deep in thought. ¡°Thass why¡­¡± Raakel began again, low, but firm, ¡°¡­thass why I hate him, an¡¯ all whimperin¡¯ wimps like ¡®im.¡± Words of resolve. A resolve by the name of ¡°wrath¡±. For Raakel was a woman who relinquished everything to seek but one thing: strength. Emilie was a mareschal, unequalled in all of the 5th. But not only that, she well-fulfilled the duties of both her office and her societal obligations in tandem. Such was strength, Raakel concluded, and for that, Emilie was surely someone to be respected. And then there was Rolf. The man ungraced, a weakling who chose to flee rather than fight. For him, Raakel knew naught but anger. But weakness was not the only crime he committed. Indeed, he was a cowardly cur most unwilling to confront even that selfsame weakness. Such a mien of sallowed meekness was the very thing that Raakel detested, and thus did Rolf earn her scalding scorn. ¡°Raakel¡­ I¡­ I never knew.¡± Things none can do aught about. Things that turn out not as they ought to. These were Raakel¡¯s own words. Defiance was cheap in a world so unforgiving; this, too, she understood well. Even so¡ªor, perhaps, it was precisely so that she sought strength on the battlefield, the one place unfettered from the shackles of society. To be strong was to be human. To fight was to be human. This was the compass of Raakel¡¯s conscience, of a woman who saw battle to be life itself. Rolf is weak. Emilie is strong. He who is feeble, who is not fain to face his own faults, is so to the sorrow of she who is mighty. Yes. The weak weave sadness for the strong. The ill irony could not find acceptance in Raakel¡¯s heart. ¡°¡­We put us lives on the line, don¡¯t we? To bring the world back to how it were, like the scriptures say,¡± Raakel began to reason. ¡°Thass why I say strength be whole and holy, an¡¯ weakness be naught but a vice, a sin. But look at ol¡¯ mickle-berk. All that muscle an¡¯ he can¡¯t be arsed to stand up to his own weakness. That¡­¡± An impalpable pang ran through the cold night air. Emilie shivered, sobering before the sombre of the moment. ¡°¡­Thass the sort o¡¯ sin I won¡¯t pardon¡ªever.¡± A feeble fledgling who but flew the coop. That was Rolf, the fool fowl. To worry over him was worthless. Time was precious, to be spent elsewhere¡ªanywhere, really, so long as it wasn¡¯t on him. That was the essence of Raakel¡¯s message. As Emilie lent ear to it, she found herself frozen by its undressed animosity. In her own heart, there was anger over Rolf, of course. But it was but a candle before the conflagration that was the world¡¯s own ire for the man ungraced. Of it, Emilie was reminded anew, whilst behind her speechless person, the tiny tumult in the tiny tavern clamoured on quietly through the night. Volume 2 - CH 1.06 Three full moons I¡¯ve counted, since my arrival here in the province of Str?m. In that time, the fatality rate amongst the fort¡¯s soldiery had plummeted. It was done: Balasthea had at last lost its place amongst the realm¡¯s most notorious killing fields. Reporting to Margrave Str?m of such trends and goings-on numbered amongst my many duties. Today, too, found me fulfilling that office, as I stood before the lord at his Arbel residence. ¡°¡­Very well, then. Keep the course, Commandant,¡± he said, turned away to the window. ¡°Yes, my liege.¡± I saluted him, ending what had been quite the concise report. With no further business there, I summarily left the manor. Perhaps it bears little mention that the margrave was ever ill of mood upon our meetings. Yet it was beyond all doubt that my deeds delivered to him much avail: Balasthea stood more firmly than ever before, and with its casualties curtailed, so, too, were the margrave¡¯s military expenses. For that reason, despite my reviled repute as an ungraced, not once did he attempt to dispose of me. Equally doubtless, I suspected, was the indignance surrounding my assumption to Acting Commandant of Balasthea, whether harboured by the margrave or Central itself. Likely they thought the ungainly ungraced would slip up soon enough, given so prestigious a post. A shame their ¡°expectations¡± were betrayed. Yet verily I was, to them, a rather convenient pawn as commandant, one better left upon the gameboard till his moves were spent. A bitter medicine of truth for their throats, sure, but one they swallowed nonetheless. And from the look of things, it would be a daily taste upon their tongues. Speaking of tastes, it was made apparent to me that the fort commandants of other provinces were oft treated to fetes hosted in the pleasure of their lords. Just the thought of such wining and dining was a surfeit too sour for my palate. Thus one can say I shared in the margrave¡¯s convenience, though not so uncomfortably: our interactions were strictly business¡ªquick and curt¡ªand when such business was done and dealt with, I was more than happy to quit his quarrelsome company. These thoughts I humoured as I made my way home. Well, ¡°home¡± in this case was a residence officially furnished to the commandant of Balasthea. Being also within the confines of Arbel, the commute was none too terrible. And perhaps ¡°official residence¡± is a term too high-brow for what was nothing more than a rather small cot. A home fit for but one, it was ostensibly stayed in by the many commandants before me. My predecessor, taken ill as he was, had returned to his homestead elsewhere, thus was the cot allotted to me. It was by no means a freshly founded home. But even its dusty spaces were preferable to the sweaty barracks at the 5th. Curious indeed that my standard of living improved only upon being exiled. Today, however, was to be the beginning of many more curiosities, for I found myself stopped before the high street leading home. Closed off, it was. The forgathered townsfolk told of a flame burning further ahead, and of the firemen barring traffic to keep passers-by away from their dangerous work. Thus by this pure coincidence was I compelled to take a detour down an alley outside of my usual commute. ? Through the shadowy alleyways I wended. The sun had long set, and the sky above was a fading fuchsia, cut down to a soaring strip by the jumbled and jostling roofs. Hence did I brave this veritable labyrinth with a lantern in hand. Yet it was not long before I stumbled upon a middle-aged man, standing hunched, haggard of breath, his own hand gripping a knife¡ªone adrip with blood. The drops pitter-pattered upon neither dirt nor cobblestone, but more of its red self. For at the man¡¯s feet was another figure, younger, yet placid and prostrate upon a pool of flowing crimson. A look at the collapsed fellow found etched about his ankle a telling tattoo. I raised the lantern for a better look. ¡°¡­That lad there a slave?¡± was my guarded question. To me the man turned, growling. ¡°Yea. An¡¯ a bloody criminal,¡± he drawled. ¡°Shog¡¯d off ¡®is shackles, ¡®e did. An¡¯ tried t¡¯take me knife, so I show¡¯d ¡®im the pointy end o¡¯ it, heheh. Well, I jests, but the bloke¡¯s dead, an¡¯ me profits ¡®long with ¡®im. An¡¯ that ain¡¯t a joke.¡± Shackles, profits¡ªa slaver, the man was. I then found him bent over, wiping his knife clean upon the fresh corpse. Sheathing it, he turned to me again, face half-furrowed. ¡°¡­Wot? Think me the villian ¡®ere, is it? Ye be glad t¡¯know then, this sinner snuff¡¯d out two souls ¡®imself in ¡®is time. Got wot¡¯s comin¡¯ to ¡®im, I says.¡± A rather defensive tone. It would seem he spied an air of condemnation upon my face, my brows having bent bitterly without my knowing. It must be said that the laws of Londosius deem slavery a sound practice, so long as it is purposed for manual labour. But those same laws also decree that none save felons and ¡°fruits of war¡± may be subject to the shackle. The former¡ª¡±criminal slaves¡±, they¡¯re called¡ªare typically those whose sins are judged to be grave, though not enough to warrant an execution. The corpse before me was of this unsavoury sort, if the slaver was to be believed. ¡°I¡¯ll not blame you for the deed. Only¡­¡± I said, pointing behind him, ¡°¡­that one, too, be a ¡®sinner¡¯?¡± Indeed. Another slave stood upon the scene. Silent. ¡°Hah! Can¡¯t ye tell, lad? A war-slave, this one is. The worst o¡¯ the worst. Evil incarnate!¡± he smiled, but with a look at the foresaid slave, the bitter grin vanished into the dark. ¡°Eh, I takes it back. ¡®Evil¡¯ ain¡¯t ¡®nough t¡¯judge this devil.¡± War-slaves¡ªpersons dragged from the fires of battle and into chains of iron. In other words, captive Naf¨ªlim. The one I pointed to was a clear example, and also the first of whom I¡¯d seen beyond the bounds of a battlefield. Only, this Naf¨ªl was but a little girl. I then recalled the quarrel with the margrave three months past. Most certainly, it is the common creed of Man, shared amongst the sons of his many realms, that the Naf¨ªlim are to be spared from no cruelty, whether it be of violence or imprisonment. Nevermind whether the Naf¨ªlim victims themselves are combatants¡ªor otherwise. I had made my case to the margrave then, and it stood unchanged now: this creed found no home in my heart. The girl before me attested to the ¡°why¡± of it: none, not even a Yonaistic devout, could feign a look upon her and say with right mind that aught about her became that of a ¡°combatant¡±. No. She was just a small girl, maybe ten in her years, no more than twelve. Behind her black, soiled, and unkempt hair were amber eyes, both of which did naught but gaze at the ground, as if bereft of any and all spark of spirit. And clothing the light tenn¨¦ of her skin were nothing more than meagre, threadbare rags. She stood there, still. Oh so very still. As if she¡¯d given up on everything¡ªeven life itself. ¡°Awfully young for a slave,¡± I cuttingly observed. ¡°Yea? An¡¯ wot ¡®bout it?¡± the slaver cut back. ¡°A Naf¨ªl, it be.¡± ¡°¡­Of course she is.¡± I turned to her once more, lighting her lightless mien with my lantern. No response was to be found. She merely stood, soundless and downcast, her bare and shackled feet planted upon the cold cobblestones. ¡°Look at it,¡± the slave shook his head. ¡°All glum an¡¯ gloom-like. Can¡¯t sell it off fer the life o¡¯ me. Bah! Bloody alga¡­¡± ¡°Alga?¡± ¡°Yea. ¡®Alga¡¯ be wot I calls it. Shiverin¡¯ in a stove, it were, when the snatchers came a-snatchin¡¯. They drag¡¯d it out an¡¯ found it all steep¡¯d in soot, they did.¡± Alga¡­ How curious a connection. Was it the whispers of the fates I heard just now? Or something felt from deep in my heart? A stirring within, welling up to leave my lips. ¡°I¡¯ll buy her.¡± Volume 2 - CH 1.07 From my lips left those words, simple, yet urged by neither imagination nor motivation. To be sure, not once before have I humoured the thought of buying a slave for myself. And yet, here I was. ¡°B¡­ buy, ye said?¡± ¡°I did.¡± What was it that scribed my words? That put them to air? That steeled my resolve? Was it sympathy? Empathy? A defiant cry against the caprice and cruelty of this world? Perhaps a pang of compassion for the poor girl, who so suffered the scorn of others, just as I had? Or was it guilt? The heavy burden borne by a man of battle, whose very words and deeds compelled the creation of these war-slaves? ¡°A million reugols. An¡¯ two-hundred thousand more. Thass me price,¡± said the slaver, fingers raised. ¡°¡®ow ¡®bout it? Yer purse fat ¡®nough, lad?¡± ¡°It is.¡± Not cheap, but not beyond my means either. While my time at the Order had earned me all but a regular pittance, I was also quite the penny-pincher. Add to that the salary from my post here at Str?m, with which I¡¯ve done little but let pile up, and no lie was to be found in my curt assurance to the slaver, whose face brightened as his ears drank it up. ¡°W-well then¡ªoh, but er¡­ a word o¡¯ warnin¡¯ ¡®fore we settles the deal,¡± he said, now lowly. ¡°Don¡¯t ye go tellin¡¯ it yer name, eh?¡± I blinked. ¡°And why¡¯s that?¡± ¡°This one. It¡¯s got a knack fer magicks¡ªthe covenantal kind, that is. Can¡¯t make a slave out o¡¯ weavers o¡¯ battle magicks, thass certain. But not so with this one. Well, I says that, but covenants be proper wicked in their own way, yea?¡± I see. Fair enough. To consummate the purchase of a slave, a sort of covenantal magick must first be woven, binding bondsman to master. A ¡°thrallspell¡±, as it were. This, too, is decreed by Londosian law. Yet one who, from the outset, is gifted in or knowing of covenantal magicks may, naturally, overwrite the essence of such thrallspells. To do so, only the name of the other party is needed. Hence the slaver¡¯s warning: if the master¡¯s name is known, the so-gifted slave may turn the tables, and make himself master of his own master. ¡°So er¡­ we gots a deal still, good lad?¡± ¡°We do.¡± ¡°Hah! Chuff¡¯d t¡¯hear it, I am!¡± the slaver gleamed with glee. ¡°Phew. Here I thought, t¡¯day be ¡®nother stinkin¡¯ day, wot with that one dead an¡¯ burnin¡¯ a hole in me pocket. But fates be fair, t¡¯bring me a buyer fer this one¡ªall in the same moment, no less! Hwahah!¡± After a toothy cackle, he turned to the girl. ¡°Oi, alga. Sold ye off t¡¯this kind ser, I did. Good on ye, ey?¡± Silence. ¡°Tch. Oi, ¡®ow ¡®bout a smile, at least, ah?¡± ¡°Has she got a name?¡± I asked. A shake of the head. ¡°Damn¡¯d if I know. ¡®Alga¡¯ be all I calls it. An¡¯ ye should too, if it pleases ye. If not, well, call it aught what suits yer fancy then, heheh.¡± Never in the uncaring course of the slaver¡¯s words did the little girl budge by the tiniest bit. ? The next day. With my duties done at Balasthea, I returned to Arbel at twilight. There, I finished off one more duty for the day: paying the million and more reugols, having the thrallspell incanted for the Naf¨ªlim girl and me, and so on. All were handled by the slaver of yesterday, whom I made sure to inquire of eschewing that shackling spell. But as expected, he was quick to expound to me the illegality of the very notion. It couldn¡¯t be helped. I was not wont to break any laws, thus, pressing the issue no further, I sealed the deal and soon found myself at home. There in the sitting room did we stand, the girl and I. I certainly had the manners to offer her a seat to rest her sore feet, but it was for naught. The girl merely stood and stood, silent and stolid of soul. And so I knelt before her. With my eyes level with hers, I then asked my first question. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°¡­¡± No answer. A sorry surrender anchored her vacant stare to the floor. ¡°Right. Names come later. We should get you washed up first,¡± I relented. I then went to warm up some water, with which I filled a large basin. After setting it beside the girl, I knelt before her once more. ¡°Look¡ªI¡¯ve left a flannel right here,¡± I said, pointing to a washcloth hanging upon the rim of the basin. ¡°You can wipe yourself down with it. Will you do that for me?¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯ll not hurt you. Don¡¯t worry,¡± I assured her. ¡°Well, I might not seem like it, I admit, having just emptied my coffers for a slave, but¡­ I do mean it.¡± ¡°¡­¡± First and foremost, some understanding was needed between the both of us, but as I feared, my words fell flat. In lieu of answering, she went on watching the wooden floor, eyes empty of emotion. ¡°¡­I¡¯ll not hurt you. Truly.¡± Another try. The same line, admittedly. How vacuous a vocabulary I had. A damn shame; even I was exasperated at myself. I searched and searched within, but the right words all escaped me¡ªones with which to reach her heart. Helpless. That was what I was. Helpless. Was there aught I could do for her? Battlefields demand deeds, of which I would readily oblige. But words were needed here. Wait. Deeds? Perhaps action might avail me here? To communicate to her what words cannot? It was worth a try. Too much of a tongue-twisted want-wit was I, when it came to sensible things to say. And so I slowly reached out a hand to her. A deed decided, deliberate and delicate. She seemed the frailest of figures, one who might shatter at the slightest nudge. But were either of us to remain fearful of the intimate touch, then certainly the day could never come. The day when our eyes can gladly meet¡ªand our hearts along with them. Gently, and gentler still¡­ ¡­my callused hand set upon her soft cheek. And for the faintest moment, I sensed a quiver in her eyes. For however much she seemed a soul surrendered of all life, there was yet warmth welling up from that cheek of hers. Thus I stayed as I was, surrendered of all words. A long lull stretched on. In it: silence, save for the breaths rolling from our lips. Yet how long of a lull exactly? Where we but faced each other, connected by a simple touch? I could not know, but by its eventual end, the girl¡¯s eyes slowly, oh so slowly, searched up to meet mine. Our gazes locked at last. I remained there, returning my regard, with not a thought to utter a word. Instead, I tried a bit of a smile, albeit a clumsy one. I never could trust myself to smile with any grace. A fumbling affair, it¡¯s always been. Her own regard, an amber-gold stare, fixed itself upon my onyx-black own. Indeed, hers were round and heartfully fair¡­ only, they cast a most heartbroken glint. A reflection, hollow of any hope for tomorrow. With all I could muster, I set into my gaze a simple promise. A promise to never hurt her. And as I did, I wished dearly that it reached her heart. By the end of those many moments, my hand left her cheek just as gingerly as it had reached out to it. ¡°I¡¯ve some shopping to do,¡± I said at last. ¡°Food, clothes, whatnot. Be good while I¡¯m gone, will you? And wash yourself up for me.¡± With that, I rose and left the house. ? The soft evensky began to twinkle as I walked down the thoroughfare leading to the markets. Yet I had not the mind to take in the dusking townscape. My thoughts were trained elsewhere. I knew not of what impelled me to purchase the girl like I did. And I knew even less of what I wished to do from here on. Did I truly believe that I could avail her in some way? Am I even capable of forging for her¡ªor anyone, for that matter¡ªsome semblance of a future? Me? An ungraced? A muscle-pated pawn who knows little beyond a smattering of swordplay? What could I accord her? What could I teach her? What could I do for the poor girl? She seemed utterly lost¡ªa soul that had given up. And yet, I knew not even her name. I knew not by whom, and through what dark paths she was led to arrive in this place. Of where she once lived. Of the life she once had. Of what she cherished. Of what she dreamed. Of the people she knew. Of the family she loved. ¡­And of what circumstance that made her into what she was today. ¡°¡­¡¯Won¡¯t know till you try,¡¯ they say,¡± I thought aloud. Night was falling. A darkness not unlike the murk of the alleyway where we first met. She did all but stand there, empty of aught¡ªeven of fear for her slaver, for the bloody knife clenched in his hand, for her fellow slave then lying dead on the ground. Witless as I was, I knew wholeheartedly of one thing: to just leave her there was never a choice. The life of a war-slave is crushing. Excruciating. Ruthless. Yet for however much they suffer, their numbers are far from few. Saving the girl does naught to change that tragic truth. Saving the girl was naught but a self-serving solace. Yes. Most certainly. And yet¡­ More certain again was that I did what I did because I believed it the right thing to do. I saved her because I wanted to. And simply that. ¡°Wayward vagrants, you and I. A glad thing indeed if we can get along.¡± The vague hope, upon a half-hale voice, vanished into the night sky. Volume 2 - CH 1.08 There once lived a little girl. A Naf¨ªlim girl. Tender and bright. A child of much love. Her mother was fair as a flower, and famed for it. And from her did the daughter inherit a gaze of amber and locks of obsidian. Eyes, large and lovely. Hair, long and lustrous. Over the coming moons and winters, she was sure to bloom into a shimmering belle herself. Six was her family. Her father, giant yet gentle. Her mother, beautiful yet benevolent. Her brother and two sisters¡ªelders to her, all of them¡ªwere each copious of ken and principled of personage. And the girl¡ªa springtide sprout, ever smiling. Smiling, smiling, amidst the sunshine that was her family. In it was warmth. In it was serenity. In it was happiness. But over yonder whirled the wheels of war. Every which way. At every corner of the continent. A great war waged with Men. Her mother and father did their best to keep its tidings at bay, that their dear daughter might know not a moment of worry. A difficulty, for beyond their home-forest spanned the fields and halls of Man. And from time to time from such places, Men in their arms and armour would sally, with greed in their eyes, with grim in their hearts. Of this, the girl knew. Despite the pains of her parents, she knew. Her people fought back. Indeed, they fought back. Unbroken. Unafraid. Only, a fearsome fort confounded their way. And so, their retreats repeated, on and on. And so, the fort endured, on and on. Once upon a night, the girl was sound asleep. But then by a tickle was she roused awake. In her sight was the hand of her father, large and reliable, gnarled and knobby, the fingers of a proud bough. ¡°Awake?¡± he whispered. ¡°Forgive me.¡± There her father sat, beside her bed, quietly caressing her head. ¡°How precious your face, when asleep. What father cannot adore it?¡± A smile upon his lips. Half sorry. Half bittersweet. Yet instead of forgiving him, the girl held her father¡¯s hand with both of her own. Tiny hands, clasped tightly about callused fingers. The daughter¡¯s grip could not hope to encircle the father¡¯s. But a smile was upon her lips, too, as she drew his hand closer. Fast in its warmth, she closed her eyes. Gladly, quietly, her father watched on, till once again his daughter sang the sounds of slumber. How dearly she loved her father. How dearly she treasured the surety of his hands. How dearly she would come to miss him. ?¡ß? Off her father went into the mists of dawn. A woodcutter, he was. But also a warrior. So it was with all the brothers of the village. Indeed, each of them bore his own burden of battle. For days, the home was without its father. On the third, he should be back. Only, he wasn¡¯t. ¡°A little late, your father. But do lighten up. Before next sundown, he¡¯ll be home with us again.¡± To her children at the supping table, the hope-woven words of the mother. Trusting them, the girl sipped her stew. Oh, what a favourite it was. But then a thought occurred. And so to her mother, she smilingly said thus. ¡°Mama! Let¡¯s make Papa¡¯s favourite tomorrow! Warm, warm lentil soup!¡± Yes. Let¡¯s. The smiling answer of her mother. The smiling agreement of her siblings. But miring their mirth was unease. One the girl was yet too young to sense. The sun woke again, and so did she. Up from her bed she sprang and through the house she flew, so eager to find her father home again. Only, he wasn¡¯t. To the kitchen she came, where her mother busied herself with making breakfast. Bread was baking. The soft scent of rye. ¡°¡®Morning, Mama!¡± ¡°Good morning, my little flower.¡± A sunny smile from her mother. Warm. Assuring. Just as always. Soon, her siblings were gathered as well, and the family of five then sat at the table, to begin the day with filling their bellies. ¡°Many thanks for this meal.¡± ¡°Many-many thanks for this meal!¡± Words of grace from the family. Brightly so from the little girl. The wisdom of thanksgiving, given to the children by mother and father both. With measured manners, the girl took to hand a fluff of bread and nibbled upon its pillowy crumb. ¡°Papa not home yet¡­¡± She yearned aloud. But hope was hale in her. Tonight, five will be six once more. A happy six, all supping together. And so, again, did she brave her father¡¯s absence. The girl then knitted away her morning hours. Quilting was a craft best left to the artisans. Certainly not something the fellow village children were capable of. But her mother and sisters were skilled with the skein. Loving them each and everything they do, she long mimicked them. Those many moons of diligence had imparted to the girl some deftness in the art. A hat. What was, days ago, just a thread of yarn, would soon be a crocheted crown for her mother. Father¡¯s share was already finished. A present for her parents. To be given when they are together again. Socks were what the girl wanted to make at first. But a bit too difficult it might be, her elder sister said. How about a hat, she then suggested. That same sister now watched the girl warmly. The tiny hands tamed the needle as the hat took shape. Such a sight to smile upon. But also a secret to be kept. Not till the presents were complete could either parent know. So requested the girl of her sister at the start, answered with giggling acceptance. A promise protected till this day. Noon came, and at last, the final thread was threaded. Two hats together, graceless of form, but filled with gratitude. Two messes of yarn, but to the girl, two masterpieces. ¡°Lovely hats, lovingly made. Mother and Father will be most glad!¡± Her sister¡¯s seal of approval. How happy they would be, mother and father both. Dreaming of the moment, the girl beamed brightly. A little later, a villager visited. Mother met him at the door. Words were shared for a while, and taken by a bit of unease, she left the house. To her children, a promise to return by dusk. Till then, the two sisters gave their time: an hour or two of play with the girl. Suppertime was setting in. Mother was sure to be home by now. Only, she wasn¡¯t. ¡°Lentils, lentils! Warm lentil soup for supper!¡± The girl sang with excitement. Tonight, and together, they would all be gathered, to give their father his favourite, and enjoy it themselves in his sorely missed company. A warm and lovely time it would be. One the girl looked forward to. And then came a buzz about the whole village. Brother looked rather grave. But the eldest sister could not bear it any longer. To her feet, she rose. ¡°The orphanage¡­ I must go look,¡± she said. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I won¡¯t be long.¡± Charitable, her eldest sister was. Ever a lender of helping hands for the orphanage, where lived children of parents lost to tragedy. There was concern upon her face as she left the house in haste. Not once before was there any warrant for worry. What could it be? The girl thought. An hour went by. Neither mother nor sister were returned. By now, the village was veiled in some tumult. Brother worried quietly. His face was furrowed. His heart was heavy. A bellow. From beyond the safety of home. Angry. Echoing. The elder sister held the girl tightly, picking her up. Brother sprang to his feet. His eyes darted about. The stove. A hearth of much happiness, earthen, large. Enough to cook for their family of six. To it, he pointed. To it, the sister rushed. In it, she hid, with the girl wrapped in her arms. ¡°Be still! Be silent! Stay in there¡ªno matter what!¡± Brother¡¯s whispers of warning. To them, the sister nodded. Cold beads of sweat sailed down her cheeks. For an instant, they glinted. In them, a reflection of the brother¡¯s unbound blade. Then by his hand, he sealed the stove. Turning, he stepped towards the entrance. But before he could emerge outside, into their home barged unsought visitors. Three. Three kins of Man. Cold swords in their hands. Cold armour binding their bodies. Bellowing blurs of iron they became, sending steel to the brother. There, he met them with his own sharpness. The sound of clashing swords. A first for the girl¡¯s ears. Her home, once filled only with happiness, now echoed with the throes of war. Tightly and tighter still, the sister held her with bated breath. Verily did she try to turn the girl away from the violence outside. But to no avail. The stove was too cramped inside. How sad, then, that the girl could gaze through the grates, and see for herself the battle beyond. She beheld in those gaps the sight of her brother brought down in cold blood. Skilled he was with the blade, but not enough to fight three at a time. And so the brother fell, cruelly cut. And so the sister knew woe. But keeping the scream from leaving her lips, she held the girl ever more tightly. ¡°Peh. Right pain in the arse, the scrawny scoundrel.¡± ¡°Ey. Ye think there¡¯s more?¡± ¡°More? Well I don¡¯t see¡­ wait¡­ ¡¯ear that?¡± The cold words of Men, whetted sharp. ¡°¡­uu¡­ hic¡­¡± The warm tears of the little girl, wetting her sister¡¯s bosom. Happiness was all she knew. And as well, the delightful days spent with her warm and loving family. Such innocence was ill-prepared to bear the sight of it all breaking to pieces. The lid flew open. The sickening smiles of Men. ¡°Well well well. Wot we ¡®ave ¡®ere, ey?¡± ¡°Hah! Look at ¡®em! Steep¡¯d in soot, the devils!¡± Cold hands reached in. Girl and sister both were dragged out. By rope the two were tied up. To the village square they were led down. ¡°Uuaah! Aaaaah!¡± The screaming sobs of the little girl. The unceasing sorrow of her sister. The sadistic smirks of the Men. At their destination was found the villagers, bound and brought together. Surrounding them were the soldiers of Men, jeering. ¡°Thass all o¡¯ them.¡± Said a Man, bringing the girl and her sister before the others. Then, with a sharp shove to their backs, he sent the two tumbling down into the dirt. ¡°Aeck¡­! ¡­hic¡­ uu¡­¡± The girl continued to cry. And there, echoing across the air, were their names. A familiar voice. The voice of their mother, vaulting, desperate. To her the girl looked. Mother, too, was bound amongst the villagers. ¡°Oh? Wot¡¯s this, now? Those two brats be yers, is it?¡± ¡°Yer good pa¡¯s come ¡®ome, ¡®e ¡®as! But ¡®e be doin¡¯ a lil¡¯ ¡®ide an¡¯ seek! Why don¡¯t ye¡­ be a good mam, yea? Tell yer kiddies where the pa be ¡®idden!¡± Sinful words from sinful smiles, said to the mother. Choosing not to obey, she but shook her head. ¡°Ey. Ey! I said, tell ¡®em! Ye bitch, you!¡± ¡°Why ye gots t¡¯be a big boot in the arse, eh? Bloody Naf¨ªlim. Devils, the lot o¡¯ ye!¡± ¡°Well thass all right, then. We¡¯ll tell ¡®em fer ye, we will. Oi. Which one¡¯s their pa, ey?¡± ¡°Should be eh¡­ in that pile, methinks. The one with all the run-aways from yesterbattle.¡± ¡°This one ¡®ere, yea?¡± The uncaring conversation of the Men. ¡°No! Don¡¯t! Stop! Sto¡ªp!!¡± The nigh-crazed cries of the mother. There, a wagon sat, covered. Then, by the hand of a soldier, it was covered no more. At first, the girl could not comprehend what her eyes saw. For they saw a heap of heads. Each and every one of them, a face she knew. And amongst them, a face she loved. A face she missed. The face of her father. Her breath was wholly stolen. The cold grip of the fates seemed to clench at her heart and lungs both. Next to her was her sister, seized by the same shock. Down and down, slowly and soundlessly, the girl¡¯s gaze fell. ¡°C¡¯mon now. There¡¯s yer pa!¡± Called one of the Men, who then snatched the girl¡¯s chin with his iron hand. Back to the horrid heap he then made the girl look. ¡°See ¡®im? Nice smile on ¡®is face, eh? Heheh!¡± ¡°Sto¡ªp! Sto©¤©¤©¤p!!¡± The wuthering wails of the mother. But the girl had stopped crying. Her eyes. In her eyes was no longer the light of her heart. ¡°Yea, yea. Playtime¡¯s over, ye wankers. Back t¡¯work!¡± ¡°Right right. Ey, ye devils! Get in ¡®ere, the lot o¡¯ ye!¡± And thus the Men had the girl, her sister, and some others make their way to another covered wagon. But the girl budged not a bit. ¡°Ey, runt. Get movin¡¯.¡± A Man¡¯s command. Yet the girl¡¯s feet were unmoving. ¡°Tch. Oi, look ¡®ere, you! Get in, I says!¡± No avail. In his frustration, the Man called to another, who then held a blade to the mother¡¯s neck. ¡°Oi, ye bloody brat! Get a move on with yer sis! I¡¯ma count now, an¡¯ if ye ain¡¯t in the wagon by three, why, I¡¯ll ¡®ave yer mam join yer pa, I will!¡± Oh, dearest daughter. How the mother cried and cried. Seeing the sword set against that neck, the girl slowly started moving. Such pain and sorrow upon the sister¡¯s face, as she picked up the little girl. Quivering caresses were given. Then, onto the deck they boarded. Sister knew well where the wagons would go. To where else but sunless suffering? Yet even then, she thought only to comfort her little sibling. ¡°Right. Got ¡®em all loaded up now. Let¡¯s move!¡± With a signal, the wagons were off. ¡°Oi, brother. Wot ¡®bout these ones, ey?¡± ¡°Eh, ferget ¡®em. They¡¯ve got battle magicks, they do. Can scarce make slaves o¡¯ ¡®em. Bugger.¡± A cruel conversation amongst Men yet in the village square. ¡°Rubbish, they be, eh? Oi! Off with their ¡®eads now, yea!?¡± Orders given. Swords swung. The Naf¨ªlim folk, bound and defenceless. Each was felled. One after another. Home. Now distant. Forever distant. The girl¡¯s last sight of it was not to be forgotten. The sight of her mother¡¯s final moment. Held tight in her sister¡¯s arms, the girl lost all strength. Something lingered on her cheeks, and now ran down. ¡°¡­hats¡­ Mama¡­ Papa¡­¡± Her amber eyes dulled. Now empty. Oh, so empty. Volume 2 - CH 1.09 Whither the wagons whisked the little girl was a city of stone. From the idyll of the fields and forests, and into the metropolitan maw of Man; there in the fangs of the fiefburgh was she caught, her fate it was to be made a slave. But not immediately so, no. Deals had to be done. Prices had to be promised. Not yet was she set and sold. In the meantime, she was instead shackled and sent to the cages of a concentration camp. A cold and unkind place where her kin and kind were kept, to await whatever ill reckoning may come¡ªwhether it be death by cruel treatment, or a life of enslavement. Meagre scraps of food were afforded to her. But it was beyond the girl¡¯s broken will to muster up any sort of appetite. Yet ate she tried, for fear of being served a meal of a different sort. One of fury, of foul affronts. Certainly, the soldiers there were loath to keep even one Naf¨ªl alive. Only, their pay coursed from margrave¡¯s coffers, which filled all the more fully as he cashed out the captives to the slavers. Thus was the girl not a cur to be culled, but a commodity to be kept intact¡ªto the barest adequacy, that is. With their wages on the line, the soldiers spared this ¡°product¡± of her early death whensoever they had a mind to punish her. In times when she ill-stomached her meal, they would whet her appetite with the whip, livid lashings sent to slash her back. It was not long before they found her to be attuned to the covenantal magicks. The discovery threw the soldiers into a flying fit of rage, for to be so ungainly gifted was injurious indeed: her prospective price was now but a pittance. As punishment, fists and feet were driven into her belly, till she collapsed onto the cold stone floor, vomiting what little sustenance she had ably swallowed. But to do so was alike to not having eaten it at all. Thus another punishment was in order. The Men, with their wrath unravelled, thrust torches onto her thighs. There, she writhed. She screamed. She cried. A sight most sorry¡ªostensibly enough to soften the soldiers¡¯ veins, for they soon quit the cell. In it, she was then all alone, left to weep the days away. A gaol most dark, where echoed the girl¡¯s grief forevermore. But there was a soul within the soldiery who acted not like the others. One of many turnkeys keeping the peace in the prisons, the guardsman seemed the sort to sympathise with the girl¡¯s plight. ¡°Well, er¡­ Yer sis be alive still, yea?¡± he revealed quietly, ¡°¡­¡®ang in there, if not fer the lass, at least.¡± With that, he went about his way. The Man, forty in his years, perhaps, apparently kept the girl¡¯s elder sister, too, under his watch. Hence any occasion where he crossed the girl¡¯s cell was also an opportunity to glean from his yet lukewarm heart the condition of her sister¡ªof the sole vestige of her dear family. By his words, the sister was haggard and unhale, a young woman wasting away. Only, she yet had the will to partake of her meals, and that was hope enough. The moment the girls first entered the concentration camp was the moment they were torn from each other, to be locked up in separate cells. By then, the little girl had lost all strength to raise even a whisper of protest. So it was that she could do naught but shed tears, watching on as the soldiers sent her sister away. The days since then were a long and enduring darkness, empty of aught but pain and punishment. And of worry. Indeed, much of the girl¡¯s waking hours were spent deep in thought for her sister. In the mire of such uncertain circumstance, what could she do but worry? And so worry she did, on and on, of what might befall upon her dear sibling. This was always so for any member of her family. In each of them was instilled a selfless sympathy for the other. Perhaps truest for the girl, ever a child who thought more of her family than of herself. More than once did such compassion compel her to speak to the soldiers, but their answers were always of cold violence. The sole exception being the foresaid guardsman. In him, she sensed some possibility of discourse. Thus she mustered up what meagre courage remained in her heart, and inquired him of what fate awaited her sister. And sure enough, what moved were not his fists, but his lips, quietly. ¡°Same as ye, methinks. A war-slave, she¡¯ll be, made t¡¯do ¡®er master¡¯s biddin¡¯.¡± A thoughtful silence followed, in which was found the Man with his eyes cast wistfully. ¡°I¡¯ve got a lass o¡¯ me own, I do. Weren¡¯t more than ten ¡®fore she went t¡¯serve a lord,¡± he spoke again. ¡°Mm¡­ ¡®ow many years it¡¯s been, eh¡­? I¡¯ve not seen ¡®er since. She be doin¡¯ all right, I wonder¡­?¡± And with those words, the girl was left alone once more. ?¡ß? At the end of many sunless days, it was at last decided where the girl was to be handed off. Not more than a week now till a slaver would come to collect her. News of unknown portent, most certainly. On-duty during the night it was given was none other than the pitying turnkey himself. ¡°Not sure if this¡¯ll brighten yer day or wot, but¡­¡± he broached, before relating to the girl of further news: that she and her sister were to be reunited and sold off together. A light, then, the girl felt. A light within all the dark. Faint, yes, but one lit at last. No day was without pain. No day was without suffering. No day was without sorrow. But her sister was still alive, and that was reason enough to endure them. To keep the family¡¯s memory. To breathe the life given to her. For her one and only remaining bond. For her warm and loving family. So dear. So dear. She had lost enough. No more could she bear. ¡°¡­Sister¡­ Sister¡­¡± Whispers within the dark. Tears within the solitude. Ones different from before. Oh, to be together again. Only two now, but together nevertheless. ¡°¡­Well. Good on ye, eh?¡± From beyond the iron bars, a warm smile. ?¡ß? ¡°Oi, alga! Out with ye!¡± Alga. An epithet earned from the peculiarity of her captivity. A soot-steeped girl, hiding in the earthen hearth of her home, only to be dragged out by the hands of Man. The air still rang from its utterance as Men dragged her out yet again, this time from her sunless cell and out to the sunlit grounds. A morning scene to herald her purchase. The girl wended the way barefoot, with shackles at her ankles and wrists, and naught but rat-eaten rags as her raiments. To the camp¡¯s service gates was she led, pulled along by chains at the hands of the soldiers. There, she would have to wait. The slavers had yet to arrive. Restless was her gaze as it glanced about. Her sister was nowhere to be found. In the midst of the confusion, she spotted the Man of pity. Their eyes met, and so she thought to speak to him. ¡°uh¡­ um¡­¡± ¡°Shut yer trap, runt!¡± howled her chain-handler. ¡°Now now, brother, s¡¯all right. We talk¡¯d ¡®bout this,¡± soothed the gentle guardsman. ¡°Ah? Wot, she the one, then?¡± Knowing looks. Knowing nods. The Man then turned to the girl. ¡°Worry¡¯d ¡®bout yer sis, yea?¡± ¡°y¡­ yes¡­¡± ¡°Look.¡± The Man thrust forth his thumb, pointing to a corner of the concentration camp. A hollow was dug there. At its edge was something set to be thrown into its depths. ¡°A grave pit, that is,¡± the Man explained. ¡°Jailbirds that¡¯ve ¡®broken their wings¡¯¡ªwell, that be where they fall, the lot o¡¯ them.¡± No eye could mistake it for aught else. A mass grave, with not a gravestone to mark it. And the ¡°thing¡± to be thrown into it¡ªnaught but a corpse. The corpse of her sister. ¡°Burial¡¯s a mite late©`perish¡¯d a long while ¡®go, she did. The pneumonia got ¡®er right good. Never got better, ¡®course.¡± ¡°¡­a¡­ ah¡­¡± The girl trembled. ¡°Wot? Not that nither¡¯d out ¡®ere, is it? Oh¡ªyer sis? Hah. Yea, ¡®er bein¡¯ well ¡®nough, an¡¯ gettin¡¯ sent off with ye¡ªa funny lil¡¯ lie, is all it were.¡± ¡°¡­¡± She stood. All but stood. ¡°Can¡¯t ¡®elp meself, ey,¡± the mummer of a Man smiled. ¡°Gaol-watchin¡¯s bugger¡¯d an¡¯ borin¡¯ work, it is. Gots t¡¯do somethin¡¯ t¡¯pass the time, yea? Thass why me an¡¯ the lads, we like t¡¯prank ye prisoners sometimes, heheh.¡± ¡°Hah! Hahah! Oh, always the cruel one, ain¡¯t ye, brother!¡± ¡°That some mighty fine mumm¡¯ry it were, man! If I were more a fool, why, I¡¯d say ye was quite the lonely pa! Wot with all that ¡®daughter¡¯ rubbish!¡± ¡°Yea, me: a bastard bachelor o¡¯ a ¡®pa¡¯! Hah!¡± ¡°Ahahaha!¡± Their japery. Their jeers. All but a faraway fuss to the girl as she stared at what was once her sister. Just a single glance. A single one. And she knew then and there the immovable truth. That the body no longer harboured within it a wisp of life. Her sister was ever fair, with her complexion of pastel tawn, and a warm smile ready at a moment¡¯s notice to brighten the girl¡¯s day. Always had she given time for talk and play. Always had she listened with a gracious grin. Always was she a loving sister. Until that moment, where she was but a limp and lifeless figure, blackened by a ruthless blight, silenced by dreamless sleep. Until that moment, when she was tossed into the dim of the pit. ¡°¡­ah¡­¡± The world was then shadowed. The girl¡¯s heart was then broken. Volume 2 - CH 1.10 Into the hands of a slaver she went. No Man of this trade, to wit, would dare purchase for his own wheelings and dealings a slave with an affinity for the covenantal magicks. But of affinities, the mercantile sort seemed spurned from this slaver. Indeed, he was bereft of both clout and acumen, a tradesman of no repute in his trade. Thus upon this fool was forced the purchase of the ungainly girl, and the Fiefguard¡¯s traffickers were, by no means, wont to abide complaint. A slave, in whom was instilled the potential to turn her master into her own slave. What foul fortune. To be damned with such dead stock, with so defective a product, was, to the slaver, a hounding headache. ¡°Oi. Alga,¡± he growled at her. ¡°Bloody ¡®ell. Even yer mouth be broke, is it? Eh?¡± Often were the times when her reticence ignited his rage. Often did her silence precipitate a beating by his hands. But it was nothing worth caring about. Not to the girl. Not anymore. The half-week of this hell was in no hurry to hie by. At its end did the girl find herself stepping through a sunless alleyway, tugged along by the slaver. Across the cold cobblestones her naked feet coursed, chains jangling with every pace, each as empty of speed as her lips were of speech. Then, a gale of motion. The fellow slave before her, a felon in his time, somehow shed off his shackles and assailed the slaver. ¡°Wot¡ªb-bastard, you!¡± A glint in the dark. The draw of a knife. The two Men struggled and strained against each other. A brawl as brief as it was bloody, for when the dust settled, the aggressor was laid low. His bosom bled. His days, numbered. ¡°¡­Bloody shite!¡± A stamp of the foot. A spit upon the corpse. The slaver, livid at the loss of his merchandise. It was then that a light illuminated the alleyway. Another Man arrived at the scene. The lantern in his hand revealed his towering figure and the youth of his features. ?¡ß? The slaver set the price, and the young Man paid up. A deal sealed and settled; henceforth was the latter her master, and the girl his slave, in law, lot, and life. The next evening, she was neither in the clogged alleys nor out upon the cold, scorning streets, but in the quaint quarters that was the young Man¡¯s home. But of homes, fear found none in her. Beatings, burnings, or whippings. Derision, deceit, or wrath. The girl knew not of what was to come, but come what may, it mattered not. For pain was no longer painful. Yet the young Man said something rather peculiar. ¡°I¡¯ll not hurt you.¡± Peculiar indeed. To be pained was now her purpose. For why else was she here? This, the girl thought. But what the young Man endeavoured next further escaped all reason and expectation that the girl¡¯s wit could muster. His hand alighted upon her cheek. Delicately so. And there, stayed for many a moment. The girl had lost all care and curiosity for the world, and she certainly nurtured none for the young Man. Hence why she had hitherto given him not a single glance. And hence, why she could not comprehend how it came to be that her empty gaze, in the course of that long lull, gingerly made its way up to meet his. Then and there, a smile upon his rugged regard. At the end of those innumerable moments, the young Man made himself absent. Out to the streets he went, to¡ªby his words¡ªbuy some food and clothes. An errand rather abrupt. Perhaps he had missed a meal during the day. Perhaps he had not a change of attire for business on the morrow. The girl could not know. And truth be told, she had not the heart to care. And for whatever reason, the young Man had left home not thinking to set chains upon her, slave that she was. Instead, words were said. That she was to ¡°wash herself up¡±. Sure enough, a basin of bathwater had been prepared and placed beside her. An order from the young Man, perhaps? Yes. Orders are to be obeyed. A teaching verily beaten into her during her time at the concentration camp. Her heart may be too broken to act upon it, but her body recalled well enough to move by its own accord. Off her battered body was her ragged raiment slipped off. Then, with flannel in hand, into the basin she slowly went. Sat in the bath, she began washing herself. ¡°¡­¡± Water most warm. A comfort not felt in three moons. Warm? Ah, yes. Warm, as well, was the young Man¡¯s hand. A gentle and deliberate warmth, set upon her cheek. To that same spot the girl¡¯s own hand went, the caress of her fingers coursing across it. ? With a sack in hand, filled with food and a set of clothes, I returned to the residence. Opening the door revealed the Naf¨ªlim girl all but standing there, stark naked, having just finished her bath. Keeping my composure as best I could, I quickly handed to her both a garment and a set of smallclothes. ¡°Here. Wear these,¡± I said, before turning away. Soon enough, the rustling of fabrics met my ears. Not till its ceasing did I think to turn to the girl once more. There she stood, shrouded in a simple chemise, plain and white. Of course, no soul such as I could feign a feel for the intricacies of women¡¯s fashion, thus I had I gone with the safest selection of clothes. And glad was I that I did, for it seemed my sense was not mistaken. The white fabric matched most splendidly with the fair tawn of her skin, uniquely Naf¨ªlim in its warm hue. ¡°It well-suits you.¡± My concise conclusion, met with no overt response on the girl¡¯s part. Only, our eyes did meet at that moment. Face-to-face as we were, I realised then that, though she was yet quite young, her visage was verily lovesome to behold. Not before could I have perceived such grace, soiled as it was from her prior hardships. I continued to gaze into her eyes, giving my all to find even the faintest wisp of emotion in them. And in the course of trying to bridge our minds as best I could, I found her lips slowly parting open. ¡°¡­I¡­ I¡¯m¡­ Mia¡­¡± At last. ¡°Mia¡±. Her name. And a charming ring upon the ears, at that. There was gladness in my heart. To hear her name. To hear her voice. Thus I could not go for long without some words of my own. ¡°Good to meet you, Mia.¡± ?¡ß? And then there was mirth upon the young Man¡¯s face. A smile made with mustered sincerity. For it was not in his nature to smile much. And his life of late gave little to smile about. But a smile it was, nonetheless. The gladness of a large Man glowing upon a little girl. For her part, she had earned it by doing little but looking back at length and airing her name purely out of politeness. Yes. A politeness, long ago once taught, now remembered. ¡°¡­Now, Mia¡­ First, your name¡­ to whomever you meet¡­¡± Remembered, from within the mists somewhere deep down inside. A voice most dear, and dearly departed. And that was why she told him her name. And only because of that. Yet, the moment it met the young Man¡¯s ears was the moment his heart welled with warmth and cheer. For to him, it was a momentous moment, indeed. A bond was born between them at last, he felt. His gift of the white garment glimmered upon her person, breathing back the merry light of the hearth nearby. But upon the young Man¡¯s own person were spans of leather and plates of iron. Attire not unlike the sort donned by the Men who marauded her home. Thus he was, beyond any doubt, a Man of war-waging. And what awaited him from here on out would certainly be more battles to come, burning and burgeoning evermore. The young Man kneeling before her¡ª ¡ªat whom shall he bare the blade? And for whom shall he swing the sword? The answers¡ªnone, could the little girl have known. Volume 2 - CH 2.1 6-8 minutes 01.12.2022 Volume II Chapter 2 ¨C Part 1 Written By Yoshihiko Mihama Translated By Vagrant ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ ¡°Good to meet you, Mia.¡± Glad was I to hear her name at last. And for such an occasion, common sense dictates that I return the favour in kind. Only¡­ ¡°I hear you¡¯re attuned to the covenantal magicks. And that, well, ¡®ill¡¯ awaits me should I tell you my own name. Though¡­ I certainly would like to, truth be told.¡± My words proved to be of little avail, for upon hearing them, Mia but shook her head fleetingly. ¡°¡­Master¡­¡± she murmured, ¡°¡­your name¡­ please don¡¯t¡­¡± Hmm¡­ ¡°Master¡±, is it now? The ring of it sat rather unwell. Indeed, I much preferred to be called by name, but alas. Well-known it was that a thrallspell could be thwarted by one capable with the covenants. But to a soul enslaved like Mia, there was also danger: were it discovered that she knew and spoke the name of her master freely, then she would surely be disposed of with all haste. Not by my hands, of course, but by those clad in iron¡ªnamely, that of Londosius¡¯ legislature. Thus, more so for her sake, I could not give her my name. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll think on it, then,¡± I relented. Yet indeed were our eyes met, and her name heard. There was light at the end of this tunnel, however faint, however far. But there was little hurry in reaching it. Softly now, one step at a time. ¡°Right. Let¡¯s have supper, then,¡± I said, rising up to my feet. ¡°Mia. How about you make yourself comfortable while I cook something up?¡± I pointed to a chair at the dining table. Mia¡¯s eyes followed. Only, her feet didn¡¯t. Not for a while. During that lull, she stared at it, until at last, she slowly stepped forth and took her seat. Satisfied at the sight, I stepped forth myself¡ªinto the kitchen I went. It would be a dire lie to say that Mia was in good health. I knew not how long she¡¯d been captive, but doubtless it must¡¯ve been a most trying time, to say the least, during which none gave thought to her care and comfort. Thus for her supper, a bowl of porridge, warm and gentle to the stomach. Just the other day in the markets did I happen upon a pumpkin, sound in its size and scent. And there was milk available. On the daily, no less. It¡¯s settled, then. For Mia, a meal of mild sweetness: rice pudding, bedight of milk and pumpkin. With a bold knob of butter melted in, it was sure to be a delight. Resolved, I set out a pot and went to work. ? Wisps of sweet steam swirled through the air as I brought the bowls to the table. One for Mia, set right before her, filled with rich rice pudding. Sure enough, it caught her attention, though her stare seemed empty as ever of emotion. ¡°Mia. Let¡¯s eat,¡± I said, sitting myself down. Yet even then, I found her unmoved. ¡°¡­Mia. A meal lifts the spirits just as well as it fills the belly, you know. Don¡¯t be afraid. Have at it.¡± ¡®Cheer up¡¯ was the gist of what I wanted to say¡ªbrash overmuch of me, perhaps. Certainly her sullenness was not something to be solved with so little effort. But Mia needed to eat, and that was the simple truth of it. Only with a body healed can the heart itself start its mending. Before long, Mia moved her eyes from the bowl and looked to me. ¡°¡­supper¡­¡± she began, vanishingly. ¡°¡­Master¡¯s suppertime¡­¡± ¡°Nay, Mia,¡± I shook my head. ¡°It¡¯s our suppertime. Yours and mine both.¡± ¡°¡­table¡­ same table¡­ why¡­?¡± Words of doubt. How could a master ever suffer a slave at the same table, and upon the same supper-hour, no less? For Mia, this was surely a situation most unthinkable. That any goodwill would ever come her way was evidently a hope long lost to her. And yet¡­ ¡®¡­why¡­?¡¯ ¡­there was hope, to be found in that one word, verily uttered. To ask ¡®why¡¯ is to express a need for knowledge; there yet remained in Mia a wisp of wonderment for the world. In other words, she still had the will to live. Buried beneath her bosom, it smouldered on, tiny and dim. And it would be my duty to seek it out and have her awaken to its warmth. ¡°Supping at the same table means we¡¯re friends, Mia,¡± was my answer. ¡°¡­but I¡­ I¡¯m a slave¡­¡± she reasoned. ¡°And I¡¯m the son of a noble house¡ªdisavowed, that is. And a soldier of a fort nearby, as well. Ah, and I live by the blade and like to indulge in books,¡± I told of myself at length. ¡°What about you, Mia? What sparks your fancy?¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Right. A topic for another day, then. Come. There¡¯s your supper. Eat up.¡± ¡°¡­proper food¡­ not scraps¡­¡± she observed. ¡°¡­I can eat it¡­? ¡­really¡­?¡± ¡°Of course you can, Mia,¡± answered I, with mildness. ¡°Carefully now. It¡¯s quite hot.¡± Soon enough, she very gingerly took up her spoon, dipped it into the rice pudding, and brought the spoonful into her mouth. And¡ªfates be gentle¡ªshe repeated it, at last partaking of the pudding, little by little. I looked on intently, or perhaps in wonder. But as I did, a question crept up from within: why, exactly, did I buy her? Mia is a war-slave. By the throes of war, waged between Man and Naf¨ªlim, she was made to bear the manacle. And myself? What else am I but a kin of Man? A willful participant in that war, duty-bound to fight Mia¡¯s own kin? Indeed, within all that I¡¯ve wrought may be found some inconspicuous deed, now the provenance of her pitiful plight. Did I buy her, thinking to atone for it? I very well should¡¯ve known¡ªalways, even¡ªthat for as long as war was my livelihood, my actions would beget many others not unlike Mia: sufferers of fates most forlorn. But knowing ill-amounts to beholding. Was the burden made unbearable only after I had seen for myself where led the long course of my deeds? If so, then I was but a wayward waif, a fool blind to his own folly. Or¡­ Was this revenge? A hateful strike against a hateful world, so willful as it is in rejecting my very being? An act of vengeance, veiling itself as compassion for a little girl, who so suffers the same scorn that I do? Should that be the way of it, then Mia, to me, would merely be a means to an end. Incorrigible, yes. Dreadfully so. And yet, I could not bring myself to wholly deny it. On and on I set upon my soul these confounding questions. Moments mired in self-doubt as I watched over Mia taking a pudding-decked spoonful to her mouth, slowly on in silence. ? Volume 2 - CH 2.2 ¡°¡­is there¡­ anything¡­ I can do¡­?¡± A fruit born from much effort. With pluck and persistence had I been sharing my words with Mia, that she may, given time, share with me more of her own. Though to be precise, it was more a one-way flow, for she was yet given to timidness and quietude. But the progress made was undeniable, as evidenced by her innocent question, asked upon the morrow of our fifth day together. A request for something, anything at all, to do¡ªsurely it must¡¯ve grown unbearable for her by then, to have so little to fill her days with besides idle dilly-dallying. Perhaps I would give her just that. The timing seemed right. Mia was, by nature, a child imbued with an independent spirit. Pure conjecture on my part, of course. But of late, the feeling was always there: though she yet said very little, I saw in her something of a sprout, slowly, ever so slowly beginning its bend towards brighter rays. As such, giving her something to do for the mere sake of it wouldn¡¯t have sufficed. Instead, I would have her do something for me. A lesson in tandem, to teach her that she was still a soul of value: someone who was needed, someone to be relied upon. And so, to her, a duty all of her own. A simple, but vital bit of housekeeping was sure to fit the bill. Truth be told, a humble, standalone home such as this was hardly in need of a housekeeper. But I cared not. The ¡®what¡¯ of her job should matter less than the ¡®why¡¯, after all. Housecleaning it was, then. To be done in the sunlit hours. I would be away at the fort from morning on, till my return at dusk. In the meanwhile, Mia¡¯s charge would be to tidy up the house. And once she has grown accustomed to conversation, I mean to rely upon her some more. Perhaps with a bit of laundry and the like. ¡°¡­no chains¡­?¡± A question asked asudden. But of course I wouldn¡¯t chain her up. I do admit that I had reservations, to leave Mia all alone during the day. Spending those many hours in solitude was sure to ail a growing child like her, but my choices numbered few. Arbel was a bastion of Man, after all, and bringing her along with me to Balasthea was certain to beckon trouble beyond my arbitration. Therefore, the best I could do before my daily departure was set aside some lunch for her. A meal of bread, assorted fruits, and such. And speaking of meals, two a day was the common custom, whether it be for the kin of Man or Naf¨ªlim. For my part, I favoured three, and partook accordingly even during my time in the Order. So it was that I had Mia follow suit. Three meals a day for the growing girl. Though truth be told, the mere thought of her having lunch all alone upon that dining table was disheartening enough. But more disheartening again was providing her too little at so paramount a time: her heart and body both were yet healing, and ample sustenance was key to their corroboration. To make up for it, I went well out of my way to ensure we shared our breakfasts and suppers together. And of course, each occasion was an opportunity for conversation: included with every meal were earfuls of prattle on my part. Stubborn, yes, but it was for her own good. Yet in all things there are limits, and the same holds true for words. I knew this well enough, and so endeavoured upon her a touch from time to time. Certainly, no lady should suffer an unpermitted stroke of the hand upon her person. But Mia was a special case. Her heart was woefully broken, and my wits well-convinced me that warm contact was just the remedy needed for its mending. All well and fine. Albeit by most measures, my figure was a towering one. Indeed, I myself had grown into a rather rugged and looming mould by this age of twenty. And so to Mia, I might¡¯ve seemed the imposing presence. Hence with all caution paid, with as much meekness of mirth as I could muster, to Mia I would give a tap upon the shoulder, or a touch upon the cheek. Gestures of gentleness, given upon entrusting some duty to her or thanking her for fulfilling them. And of course, all with a smile, without fail. ¡°¡­¡± Even then, there would be little of what one would call a ¡°response¡± on her part. Only, she would often look up to meet my gaze. And in those amber eyes, I would discover a candlelight of emotion, tiny, quivering, and vanishingly faint. And there was the hug. A step above the gestures before, but one I could not commit to. Somehow, I had the uneasy feeling that an embrace would unearth from her a memory fraught with misery. To stay myself for her sake. To task all tact to her consideration. Kindnesses, these were. Yet ones only skin-deep. Ones I wished never to retreat to. Intimacy is most frightful indeed, but I could ill-afford to be fettered by such fear. The part of the pale-livered pansy, who paints himself the prudent man by mistaking distance for discretion, was a role I was resolved to reject. An ill-abled ungraced, a fool of an exile flung to the far fringes of the kingdom¡ªthese I may be, but a coward? Nay. I cannot and will not entertain cowardice, whether in my conduct or my conscience. Yet there I was. Frozen. The moment: when I was first fain to give Mia an embrace. But as I came close, a vision stopped me in my tracks. One of glass, at once whole yet frail, and then fracted into many fragments. In the end, I relented, petrified. Once again, I realised that there were still many a hurdle to overcome, and over the coming days, a veritable mountain of dilemmas to deliberate. ? ¡°¡­welcome¡­ home¡­¡± Mia¡¯s meek greeting as I opened the door, now home from my duties at the fort. Such etiquette likely resulted from the education of the slaver himself. Still, it was one Mia acted upon by her own free will, a fact none could deny. And the deed earned no small gladness from me, for it was the first time I¡¯d heard the greeting from her lips. Already, it¡¯s been two weeks since I¡¯d taken her in; perhaps the frail bud that was her heart had begun to bloom? If even by just a little? ¡°Mia. It¡¯s good to be home.¡± Grateful, I reached down and ran my fingers lightly through her locks. And then a thought struck me. Indeed, Mia¡¯s hair was fine and fair, flowing like glossy strands of gossamer¡ªso much so that I suddenly saw myself boorish to touch such a delicate thing without reservation. Of course, I was yet committed to reacquainting Mia to the gentle touch. But a woman¡¯s own tresses were to her a treasure most cherished. And so to lay a hand upon Mia¡¯s own so freely was perhaps reckless of me. Whelmed by the epiphany, I found myself frozen yet again as a silent lull stretched on between us. ¡°¡­¡± Meanwhile, Mia¡¯s gaze was pointed up, firmly fixed upon mine. ¡°¡­Master¡­?¡± ¡°Ah¡ªsorry, Mia. Your hair, it seemed like silk. In a good way, I mean, soft as it is and all,¡± I stammered. ¡°And er¡­ its black strands shine well. Beautiful, really.¡± My words, rushed though they were, echoed my honest sentiments. Truly, her sable hair was as silken satin, though I certainly should¡¯ve been more artful in articulating aloud my measure of it. To be frank, the failure might¡¯ve made me seem vain, if not vulgar. ¡°¡­thank you¡­¡± And yet, Mia was gentle enough to offer those very words in return. What an oaf I was. A trusty laughingstock of the fates, to be sure. ? ¡°Dear Commandant! A matter!¡± ¡°What¡¯s it now, Ebbe? Not come to pitch your proposal again, I hope?¡± Balasthea Stronghold. There I was in the command chamber, my gaze dug deep in some organisational charts, till its upheaval by Ebbe¡¯s arrival. Of course, this wasn¡¯t the first of such unannounced intrusions. Ebbe had been bent of late on a plan to deploy the fort¡¯s forces into Naf¨ªlim lands. A counteroffensive, to be exact, one he saw promising much profit, now that Balasthea¡¯s fortunes were quite favourable, and what with our men presently able to repel the Naf¨ªlim aggression to little trouble. And he wasn¡¯t alone in his bloodlust. Many others in the fort echoed Ebbe¡¯s call for belligerence, seeing the sound state of affairs. That¡¯s not to say their sentiments were fresh. No, Balasthea¡¯s plight prior to my arrival, dreadful and deathly as it was, yet burned bitterly in the men¡¯s minds, and they meant more than ever to pounce vindictively upon this newly arisen opportunity. ¡°How now, Commandant! Pray unclog thine ears an¡¯ lend ¡¯em to unclouded reason!¡± Ebbe resumed his theatrics. ¡°The enemy wanes an¡¯ wavers in this while, thus we must strike! Come! While the iron glows hot, ey!¡± Our foe was waning indeed. But that¡¯s not to say victory was at hand. ¡°Cool those veins along with that iron of yours, Ebbe. Need I remind you¡ªagain¡ªthat this here is a fort, and its defence is our sole charge?¡± I stated firmly. ¡°Balasthea is our bedrock. What good does it do any of us to abandon its walls for some foolhardy foray?¡± It was the margrave¡¯s men, the Fiefguard, who swung the sword of Str?m, whilst we of the fort shouldered the shield. This must be emphasised, for apparently it wasn¡¯t in Ebbe¡¯s blunted pate. To merrily sortie our defensive ranks and leave empty the ramparts of Balastheat¡ªpurely on account of a newly held advantage¡ªis naught but a filth-stain of a strategy. ¡°Well then, I ¡®spose I¡¯ll fare off on this ¡®foolhardy foray¡¯ on my own¡ªwith my unit in tow, that is,¡± Ebbe shrugged. ¡°Worry not, Commandant! Our swords¡¯ve sang in Naf¨ªlim air no few times ¡¯fore, they have.¡± I shook my head. ¡°You but drove those swords into the backs of our foes as they fled, Ebbe. Yet here, you are intent upon invasion¡ªanother manoeuvre entirely, one that demands numbers you well-lack.¡± ¡°What¡¯s this now, ey? You think Balasthea some cradle, Commandant? An¡¯ we its babes, scarce able to eke out a vict¡¯ry without its coddling walls? I think not!¡± ¡°The only babe I see here is you, Ebbe. One drunk from his rare bottle of victory, babbling and bumbling after the bait of ¡®invasion¡¯. Time and again have Londosius¡¯ finer forces fumbled on that familiar path¡ªto their own regret. Rather than wending down where their feet and flesh once fell, you might do yourself some good to grow up. Trade that bib of yours for a burgonet, why don¡¯t you? And tighten its straps all the more tautly should you ever find the lulling taste of victory sweet upon your viper-tongue.¡± ¡°Tch¡­!¡± Anger twitched on his face. ¡°Fine then, Commandant. I¡¯ll bow t¡¯your spirit, I will. But tell me this first, yea? Our plans for the headwaters¡ªwhy strike it down, hm?¡± The headwaters¡ªa springpool spied by our scouts not more than a few days past. Located in the woodlands behind enemy lines, we surmised it to be a source of fresh water to the Naf¨ªlim, and the more ruthless amongst our ranks proposed we poison it. Corroborating tracks were found in its vicinity, ones that indicated its use by Naf¨ªlim civilians. Thus to befoul the waters would beget their widespread waste and woe. Such was what was reported to me. But in the end, I rejected acting upon it. ¡°A gainly gambit, it is, fraught with only a little danger to us forces,¡± Ebbe continued. ¡°Why, we once had it done t¡¯great effect, ¡®fore your arrival! So I ask again: why?¡± I remained silent, staring back at Ebbe only to see in his own eyes a speck of savagery. ¡°No¡­ That look on your face. I spy a tongue well-ready t¡¯spew the same nonsense as ¡®fore. Some spit ¡®bout staying us hands from the civilians. Say it ain¡¯t so, Commandant!¡± My brows furrowed. ¡°¡­Befouling this fair land is our last resort. We owe much to the earth, to its winds and waters. We cannot be so wanton in laying waste to it, not least when the war-momentum already wheels in our favour.¡± A smile. ¡°Ah, then you do admit, ey! That it be very much a plan worthy o¡¯ action, given a pretext with a price t¡¯match!¡± ¡°¡­I do.¡± ¡°Hmph. Well an¡¯ good. Well an¡¯ good, indeed¡­¡± he said fadingly, ¡°¡­for now.¡± ¡°Ebbe,¡± I called to him as he turned his back. ¡°I¡¯ll say it till it is seared into that pate of yours. Do not act upon any plan that has met my rejection. Next time you get out of line, and there won¡¯t be a ¡®next time¡¯ for you.¡± A nail driven in, just in case. Once before was this man insubordinate, taking his lackeys along to pursue the Naf¨ªlim in their retreat¡ªafter my express orders not to do so. Only by the margrave¡¯s intervention was he let off the hook. But never again. ¡°¡®Course, Commandant. I am a soldier, after all. Obeyer o¡¯ orders, subject t¡¯the rule o¡¯ law,¡± Ebbe leered and sneered. ¡°But orders have their limits. Rules have their exceptions. Oh, let¡¯s say¡ªwere my dear Commandant too ill-abled and dim-wit¡¯d t¡¯do his office, for example.¡± ¡°And what does that make you, Ebbe? So able-bodied and bright-witted a babe you are, to think only of tearfully tattling to your margrave,¡± I shot back. ¡°Only after I assumed command were the fort¡¯s fortunes turned ¡®round. Your dear lord knows well of this¡ªand of my irreplaceability.¡± ¡°¡­Graceful words from an ungraced. But you¡¯re no less a babe than I, Commandant. Be not too tipsy off your own bottle o¡¯ milky merit, hm? Lest you find the mornin¡¯ after a mite much for you t¡¯stomach.¡± ¡°Ebbe. Your plan to poison the headwaters is dead. You shall not act upon it. Do I make myself clear?¡± ¡°Oh, you very well do, Commandant,¡± he smirked, making for the door. ¡°You very well do.¡± A deed to be done, must be. Even when harried by hesitation. Even when left with lingering questions. As long as I believe it must be done, so shall it be done. This, I found myself pondering as I glared at Ebbe¡¯s parting presence. Volume 2 - CH 2.3 Now that the breaches brought upon Balasthea had been stilled, and the fort spared of its fate withal, I¡¯d been finding myself freed from my daily duties rather regularly. Well, ¡°regularly¡± being the word here, for on this particular day, work had piled up, and my hours at the fort alongside it. Thus was I home not a minute sooner than midnight. At the porch, I unlocked the door and began my way in, but took not more than a step further before my body jolted, startled. For there, standing in the sombre gloom, illumined only by the light of my lantern, was Mia. ¡°¡­welcome home¡­¡± came her quiet greeting. ¡°Mia,¡± I returned, somewhat breathless. To her I went, kneeling down and setting the light upon the floor. ¡°I¡¯m glad to be home. Gladder still had you not waited for me, not on nights like this. But then again, I¡¯ve not told you so before, have I? I¡¯m sorry.¡± Despite my words, Mia did all but stand there. The lantern-lit amber of her eyes were locked in their look upon me, amidst the orange murk of our otherwise unlit home. ¡°My work takes up my time however it pleases, for better or worse,¡± I went on. ¡°I¡¯ve been home rather early as of late, I know, but there¡¯ll be days of the contrary, just like today. So don¡¯t you worry about waiting for me. Whenever you¡¯re done with your duties, you can retire to your room as you like. Can you do that for me, Mia?¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± With that, I picked myself up and set alight some oil lamps, filling the house with their humble glow. ¡®Retire to your room as you like.¡¯ ¡®Light the lamps as you need.¡¯ That it had slipped my mind to tell her such meant that Mia knew to do little else but stand here in the dark, waiting, waiting, waiting for me through the many silent whiles. ¡®Think for yourself and do as you will.¡¯ This, I certainly could not say. Were it so simple, but alas. Mia was a child whose every privilege was plundered; not without consent could she even dare to do aught. We have within all of us freedoms most fundamental¡ªthat goes for Mia, as well. Especially Mia, more like. Of this, she must be enlightened. But till that time comes, I must do my part and guide her with all due diligence. How witless of me indeed to not realise this sooner. ¡°The lamps¡ªI¡¯ll show you how to light them later,¡± I said, coming back to Mia¡¯s side. ¡°And as for supper, well¡­ I¡¯d like nothing more than to sup with you whenever possible. But should my work keep me late, I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ll have to sup alone. Bear with me, all right Mia? I¡¯ll be sure to leave bread and bacon out for you to eat as you wish.¡± ¡°¡­all right¡­¡± she answered softly. ¡°Very good. Right, time for supper then. Wait a while for me, will you Mia? I¡¯ll cook something up right quick.¡± With the matter settled, I immediately went about preparing our meals. ? Having set out the victuals, I joined Mia at the dining table. The freshly cooked food was deliciously asteam, yet my dinner-mate¡¯s eyes were ever empty of emotion as they stared on at her dish. Seeing her so still¡ªsurely she must¡¯ve been just as quiet whilst awaiting my return through those many slow hours. Diligently so. And where else but in the dusked and unlit loneliness of our home? The mere thought of it was enough to awaken an ache upon my heart. And anger withal¡ªanger, to be given to none else but myself. I wished only to take good care of Mia, yet it seemed my fate to fail whenever and wherever it mattered most. Indeed, it well-explained why I was exiled in the first place: always was I one to falter in forming and nurturing meaningful bonds with those around me. No farmhand can reap aught from unsown fields, after all. How I resented myself so at this moment, to find that I¡¯d not grown one bit over these past few months. ¡­Nay. I mustn¡¯t be given to regret. No good ever comes from so corrosive an emotion. Reflecting upon one¡¯s past faults for the betterment of future deeds is a habit most fruitful, to be sure. But to regret? Naught but a seed for foul fruits, regret. A coward¡ªthat was I. A coward from the start, uncouth, hapless in giving help to a girl in dire need of it. For that reason, Mia¡¯s heart remained yet unreached. A carpenter, then. This coward shall be as a carpenter, free from his shackles of shame. A bridge he¡¯ll build, to cross the chasm at last and reach the girl so abandoned. The same girl who now sat across from me at this very table. ¡°Sorry, Mia. Wasn¡¯t as quick as I¡¯d promised,¡± I spoke at last. ¡°Right then, let¡¯s eat.¡± ¡°¡­many thanks¡­ for this meal¡­¡± she said, and I followed suit. ¡°Many thanks for this meal.¡± Spoon in hand, I helped myself to the late-night meal of lentils¡ªa warm and hearty stew bedight with the lovely legume. Ah, yes. Legumes, and peas and beans besides, simple yet superb. Veritable bricks and mortar for the growing body, a meal sure to be of great avail to Mia¡¯s health. Why, I¡¯d even heard that the cuisine of her own kin makes a staple of lentils and the like. Bolstered by the thought, I looked to Mia, ready to vouch for the virtues of our meal. Only, I found her frozen in her seat. Her dish of lentils remained undisturbed as she stared down upon it, unblinking. ¡°¡­le¡­ lentils¡­¡± she murmured, almost in a whisper. ¡°¡­Mia?¡± The moment remained unmoved. But then came a change, for there upon Mia¡¯s cheeks was the glimmer of tears¡­ ¡°¡­uu¡­ hic¡­ auu¡­!¡± ¡­and the sound of her soft sob. Emotion¡ªthe first I¡¯ve seen of it from Mia. What ailed her, I wonder? What words might I comfort her with? Such worthless thoughts never crossed my mind. No. A fool I was, but by this point, wise enough to not be halted by hesitation. At once, I left my seat and rushed to Mia¡¯s side. There, I took her into my arms and clasped her close to my bosom. ¡°¡­u¡­ uu¡­ auu¡­¡± Into my chest, her heartwrenching hiccups and cries echoed. On and on, Mia wistfully wept, and after a while, she wound her own arms about me. In her little hands was a pained strength as they clenched dearly at my shirt. ¡°¡­uu¡­ uaaah! aaaah¡­!¡± What was once a whimpering weep now grew into a wail wild with tears. Met with it, I summoned forth some strength of my own, to hold her closer still. Now, there was no thought, no fear that flickered in my mind that I might shatter her frail person from so strong an embrace. No. I gave all of myself to Mia this one hug, whole in its hale, filled with but a simple wish. A wish that she would know in this moment that I was here for her. ¡°¡­uu¡­ hic¡­ auu¡­¡± On and on, Mia snivelled and sobbed. On and on, I held her close upon my bosom. A vigil for her lament, kept till her vaulting voice settled to a soft stir and her tears were tamed at last. ? Deeper now was the benighted hour. Supper was had. I now found myself in my own room, sat at my own desk, skimming through some reports. The day¡¯s work at the fort had overflowed; some of it, I had to bring home with me. Yet try as I might, the words and letters were dammed at the very papers they were scrawled upon, for not even a trickle of their meanings made their way into my mind. Instead, in my heart was the memory of moments before, of Mia¡¯s pitiable weeping. ¡°¡­Haa.¡± I sighed, dropping the papers on the desk. My eyes looked up to the ceiling, seeing there a vision of Mia once more. My ears yet rang from her sobbing. My heart was yet sore from the weight of her suffering. ¡­knock. ¡­knock. A rap upon my door, soft of sound, one I might¡¯ve missed were my wits any more occupied. To the door I went, and upon opening it, found Mia standing there in her sleepwear. ¡°Mia,¡± I said. ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± ¡°¡­um¡­¡± she wavered, looking up at me. ¡°¡­I¡­ um¡­ s¡­ sorry¡­¡± Hesitant words. At their end, Mia seemed to give up, and so turned to leave. ¡°Mia,¡± I called. She halted. ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Couldn¡¯t sleep, I take it?¡± ¡°¡­I¡­¡± ¡°Not many can, I¡¯d think. Not after recalling so sad a memory. Not while alone, afraid of being swallowed up by something unseen. Am I wrong?¡± ¡°¡­¡± To me, she turned. A silent surprise was writ on her face. Having met foes mightier still than myself, whether deep in their bristling garrisons or the bloodied bowels of their lair¡ªI knew something of fear. More so than most, at that. ¡°It¡¯s all right, Mia. Come.¡± Words said welcomely, only, they inspired all but stillness in Mia. Thus was I the one to venture forth. Not asudden, but with softness in my steps, as if threading through a narrow bridge, precarious in its span between us. At its end were we met again. Her amber regard gazed up to me. As if peering for some purchase. As if to ask, ¡®can I depend upon you?¡¯ Not by words would I answer. Instead, I took her into my arms and picked her right up. ¡°¡­ah¡­¡± Into my room we went, and then with all gentleness, I let her alight upon my bed. ¡°¡­oh¡­¡± With no further care for the reports left on the desk, I snuffed out the lamp and laid myself beside Mia. The bed was humble and for but one, furnished along with the rest of this little residence. And so to share it with me, burly as I am, was surely a snug affair for Mia, but it would have to do. Only, there was but a single pillow upon this bed. I certainly thought to let Mia have it all to herself, but then sensed she might have pitied me had I done so. Indeed I surmised as much, what with her emotions now making their steady return at last. And so with a little lift of her head, I let my arm serve as her pillow. ¡°¡­um¡­?¡± ¡°Sorry, Mia. There¡¯s just one pillow here. My arm¡¯ll have to do.¡± ¡°¡­oh¡­ all right¡­¡± Timidly then, Mia leant herself upon me, and there I felt the gentle weight of her head. ¡°¡­stars¡­¡± ¡°Hm? Ah. That¡¯s right. Nice view, isn¡¯t it?¡± In the ceiling just above us was the skylight. Through it was revealed the veil of night, unclouded and richly starred. A sight, brilliant to behold. From the cramped comfort of the bed, we quietly admired it together. Some celestial peculiarity then seemed to pique her sight, the wonder of which moved her lips. ¡°¡­St?hr¡­¡± ¡°Good eye, Mia. St?hr¡¯s Sternbild, right?¡± I echoed, finding what she found. A sequence of stars, forming something of an image¡ªSternbild, as the Naf¨ªlim called it, and the one in question depicted a famed figure of many fables. ¡°St?hr¡ªbelle-maiden of bygone days. She¡¯s well-recounted in Naf¨ªlim tales, isn¡¯t she?¡± ¡°¡­oh¡­?¡± I then sensed Mia¡¯s gaze turning to me. What emotion filled them, I did not find, but fair enough to say, it was likely naught else but awe. ¡°Naf¨ªlim lore. I¡¯ve read a thing or two on it in my spare time.¡± ¡°¡­books¡­ you like books¡­ you said¡­¡± ¡°Remembered, I see. That¡¯s right. I¡¯m a bit of a bookworm.¡± ¡°¡­St?hr¡­ what¡¯s she called here¡­?¡± ¡°Nothing at all, in fact. The Men of this land aren¡¯t given to naming stars, you see.¡± ¡°¡­oh¡­¡± ¡°¡®Oh¡¯ indeed. It¡¯s a shame, really. Gazing far up¡­ giving your thoughts and dreams to the night sky¡­ A wonderful thing, I¡¯d say. And poetic, too, to name stars after things most dear.¡± ¡°¡­I like St?hr¡­¡± At last. This would be the first favourite I¡¯ve known of Mia¡¯s. To yearn to know more of another, and then to hear of it from her own lips¡­ What an honour. What a blessing. ¡°Fairest St?hr. Belle-Maiden of the Hinternorth,¡± I recounted aloud. ¡°And a saviour, at that¡ªone who led thousands of Naf¨ªlim folk on an exodus to lands more fertile. A myth to move the heart. And no less moving are her tales with Riddari Aur¨¦l.¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­ I admire her¡­ very much¡­¡± said Mia, with a tinge of mirth in her timbre. Taken with it, I pointed up. ¡°Look. The Sternbild next to St?hr¡¯s. There¡¯s Gweil¡¯?rr, my own favourite. The great gamalldrekin¡­ They say his fiery breath turns even steel to ash.¡± ¡°¡­dragons¡­ boys like them¡­ a lot¡­¡± ¡°We do, at that. Dragons¡­ welcome figures in our fancies, they are.¡± In uttering those words, I myself turned to look upon the side of Mia¡¯s mien. There, I found the familiar amber of her eyes, once utterly empty of aught, but now beautifully brilliant, for reflected in them was the sea of stars soaring above. A precious moment. A precious time. One filled further on with wondrous conversation between us, till at last the lids of Mia¡¯s eyes hung heavily, and the songs of sleep began to breeze from her lips. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Gamalldrekin (Language: Old Norse) ¡°Elder dragon¡±. Gweil¡¯?rr (Phonology: reconstructed Old Norse) The ¡°?¡± is a rounded ¡°o¡± sound, pronounced with a cross between the ¡°o¡± sounds in the words ¡°on¡± and ¡°old¡±. The ¡°rr¡± is pronounced with a trilled or rolling ¡°r¡±. Sternbild (Language: German) ¡°Constellation¡±. ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Volume 2 - CH 2.4 A new dawn. Silver skies, scented with rain. In them, the clouds roiled in a fine curtain, and wrung from themselves a gentle drizzle. A wet pitter-patter was all about, like an airy hum, intersected by the swish-swash of a sword swung many a time over. One last slash. The steel stopped. The rain resumed. With the morning training done, I stepped inside from the backyard, body and blade both steeped in rain, which I summarily wiped down. Indeed, even in exile, I yet swung the sword without cease. Now dry and with a change of clothes, I began preparing breakfast, one a bit more elaborate than usual. A day-off this was, after all. I had time and more to spare. It was in the course of my cookery that I noticed Mia standing beside me. Her eyes seemed tightly taken with my hands as I prepared the ingredients. ¡°Mia,¡± I said. ¡°Want to lend a hand?¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± To her were handed a grater and a peeled potato. ¡°We¡¯re having pancakes for breakfast. Of the potato sort, that is¡ª¡¯tattie fish¡¯, they¡¯re called ¡®round these parts. Not a fish in them, though. But to make them, we first need some grated potatoes. Think you¡¯re up to the task?¡± Nodding, Mia took tool and tuber both, and steadily went to work. Albeit the kitchen counter was rather high compared to Mia¡¯s humble height. She stood against it, as though to peek over it. An uncomfortable position, to be sure, and one that convinced me of the need for a stepping stool henceforth. ¡°¡­huff¡­ huff¡­¡± With innocent industry did Mia work away, giving her all into grating a potato larger than the hand that held it, so much so that I couldn¡¯t help but watch over the precarious pluck of her efforts, earnest though they may have been. ¡°Careful now,¡± I reminded her. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want grated fingers in with the potatoes.¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­ Master¡­¡± Content, I went to work myself, mincing an onion before setting out some flour and a frypan. The rustling rain washed away the quietude in the kitchen as Mia and I immersed ourselves in making breakfast together. Before long, her toils bore fruit: the potatoes were all perfectly grated. ¡°A job well-done, Mia,¡± I remarked. ¡°Right. Now, salt. There¡¯s some on the shelf there. Can you fetch it for me, Mia?¡± ¡°¡­oh¡­ I¡¯ll try¡­¡± Elbow grease was what¡¯s needed for the preparation, and finesse and a fine eye besides, for next came the cooking. The batter was done: a mixture of minced onions, grated potatoes, and flour, seasoned with salt. Into a hot frypan it went, the ensuing sizzle delicious to our ears. And apparently to Mia¡¯s eyes as well, mesmerised in their stare upon the enticing sight. ¡°Heat¡ªthat¡¯s the key,¡± I broached over the singing batter. ¡°Fry the tattie fish well and they¡¯ll turn right crispy. If not, you¡¯re in for a sad meal. That¡¯s why a bit of boldness goes a long way: cook them like you mean to burn them. Well, almost, anyway.¡± In the midst of my explanation was Mia, looking intently up to me, her head nodding and bobbing to my babbling words. Right. For next time, a lesson, then, on how to handle the hearthfire, to complement her new stepping stool. ¡°And they¡¯re done. Can you set out the plates for me, Mia?¡± With the ¡°fish¡± fried to perfection, we then moved to the dining table. After plating up the potato pancakes, we sat ourselves down across from one another. But we wouldn¡¯t dig in yet: into our mugs, I poured a hearty helping of hot milk. To be sure, the bovine beverage is not a common accompaniment upon the dining tables of Londosius. Instead, many amongst the disparate provinces find milk more fitting in a potion than a potation. The Buckmann barony, however, bucked the trend, for its folk indulge in the drink with fair frequency. For my part, I, too, partook of it no less fervently, as it was pleasing indeed to my palate. Perhaps this burly body of mine owed much to the miracles of milk. The assumption seemed sound enough: the nutrients therein well-nurtured the growing body, after all. And as luck would have it, here in Str?m was milk a common commodity. Often did I offer coin for it in my visits to the market; more so of late, even, for I made certain Mia had her own good share of it on the daily. ¡°Many thanks for this meal.¡± ¡°¡­many thanks¡­ for this meal¡­¡± With our usual graces given, we dug into breakfast at last. Into my mouth went a morsel. Ah. Delicious. The crispy crust: toothsome and aromatic. The centre: roundly rich and creamy. No doubt the perfect breakfast for a grey day such as this. ¡°¡­yummy¡­¡± A compliment from cheeks chock full of potatoes. ¡°Think so, too?¡± I echoed. ¡°They¡¯re like velvet on the inside. And it¡¯s all thanks to you, Mia. A fine job at grating the potatoes, you did.¡± ¡°¡­next time¡­ I fry, too¡­¡± ¡°Ambitious now, are we? Glad to hear it.¡± Down her gaze went. ¡°¡­I¡¯m sorry¡­ for having you cook, Master¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s quite all right, Mia. Cleaning and washing on the daily¡ªyou do plenty enough ¡®round here already, I¡¯d say. It certainly doesn¡¯t sit right with me to ask too much of you. Besides, like aught else, cooking doesn¡¯t come easy.¡± ¡°¡­cooking¡­ I want to learn, too¡­¡± ¡°Then you¡¯ve some lessons to look forward to,¡± I grinned, gladdened by her spirit. ¡°Ah, Mia. Don¡¯t forget your milk.¡± ¡°¡­oh¡­¡± Thus went our breakfast, served and savoured to our greatest satisfaction. Thereafter did the both of us go about our disparate duties: Mia with her foresaid chores, and myself with the work I brought home. The hour-sand flowed by till nigh-noontide, when I found Mia coming into my room. ¡°Hm? Oh, right. My thanks, Mia,¡± I said, taking her offer of tea, the brewing of which she¡¯d taken up just recently. ¡°¡­Ah. A fine cup, this is.¡± And as I sipped away at the scarlet brew, my eyes wandered to the window, discovering the morrow¡¯s rains to have receded. Indeed, splashes of cerulean skies now peeked from between the parting clouds. ¡°Mia,¡± I started again, inspired by the sight. ¡°How about we go for a walk?¡± ? Across avenues and through the thoroughfares we walked. Wet cobblestones snooped conspicuously above the pools and puddles of rainwater, like bales of turtles tarrying about a pond. And as we stepped through them, there was roused in the air the perfume of rains now passed. The soaked streets themselves were as a speckled mirror, reflecting the silver-blue mottle of the skies above. Flanking the footpaths were the shops and stalls, their eaves and awnings collectively adrip with the drizzle¡¯s dew, each drop a gem bedazzled by the silver sunbreak. The beauty of boulevards, fresh from a rain¡¯s farewell¡ªif memory serves, there once lived a particular playwright who penned songs of high praises for idyllic scenes such as this. An effort well-inspired, I¡¯d say, for I shared in his admiration. And amidst it all were Mia and I, just now nearing the town centre, where awaited the marketplace. I should say, Mia was free to venture off outside as she pleased. Of this I¡¯d apprised her well before, though truth be told, it was not so simple a matter. While she was lawfully a slave, she was yet a Naf¨ªl, and the fates were ever fain to rain misfortune upon a soul of her kind, were she all alone in her wanderings through the warrens of Man. And that¡¯s to say nothing of Mia¡¯s mind itself, fraught as it was with fear for the mere presence of my own kin. For that reason, it¡¯d been my earnest intention to take her along on such a stroll were the opportunity to ever arise. And today, it finally did. ¡°Hmm,¡± I wondered aloud as we browsed through the grocers¡¯ stalls. ¡°Next¡­ we¡¯ll get some sausages. And a head of cabbage, too¡ªgood for a pickled side-dish, it is.¡± After a trip to the butchers and the green-grocers, I found my purse a bit less burdened, but my hands all the more so. ¡°¡­can I carry, too¡­?¡± ¡°Ah, right. Here you are, then. My thanks.¡± Not this colossus of a cabbage would Mia hold. To her, a pack of dried apricots instead, sure to be a delight in meals to come. As if knowing this, she held the pack with all preciousness, till there came a stillness in her stare, fixed as it was upon some stalls further ahead. ¡°First time seeing them, Mia?¡± A nod. If my readings ring true, then it¡¯s certain that open-air markets such as this are also a convenience common in the Naf¨ªlim cultural sphere. Though looking at Mia, it would seem none of theirs offer the sort we Men like to call ¡°street food¡±. A perfect chance, then. There¡¯s a first time for everything, as they say. ¡°Right. Looks like lunch is in order, and I know just the menu for us.¡± And off we went to the foodstalls, where greeted us sights and scents delicious enough on their own. A moment later and a few coins lighter, we came away with lunch in tow: two skewers of pork, grilled and glazed with sauces both sweet and savoury. Then, upon a nearby bench we sat ourselves, having set down our purchases. ¡°Here¡¯s yours, Mia.¡± ¡°¡­thank you¡­¡± After taking her share rather clumsily, we were then ready to eat. ¡°Many thanks for this meal.¡± ¡°¡­many thanks for this meal¡­¡± Shoulder-to-shoulder, we began nibbling away at our lunch. A tasty one, at that. For however divorced Arbel was from the coasts of the continent, it more than made up with its illustrious livestock industry. Hence could one scarce go wrong in selecting any of this province¡¯s myriad samples of pork. Why, Mia herself seemed quite taken with it, for her share was soon all but polished off. Albeit a bit too quickly, perhaps. Was it a meal too meagre? One more visit to the foodstalls it was, then. It wouldn¡¯t do for naught but meat to compose her meal, anyhow. My mind turned to menus more filling¡ªperhaps a sausage roll on a stick would do the trick. Pondering such, I scanned about for any foodstall that might offer the treat, till my eyes spotted Mia staring off to the near distance. For there in her view was a family. One of four, filled with warmth and felicity. Mother and daughter, hands clasped. The son, seated upon his father¡¯s shoulders. Within the waxing sunshine, their smiles, their laughter, beaming, brimming. ¡°¡­¡± Down did Mia¡¯s gaze turn. A heavy gloom then veiled her visage. Even from the side of her face was it painfully apparent. And so did my hand alight upon her head. ¡°You all right there?¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± A reply most quiet. ¡°You know, Mia. Sorrow¡¯s not something to be suffered alone,¡± I broached. ¡°Share it with a friend. You might find it a lighter burden than before.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Sharing¡ªthat¡¯s what friends do. Whether it be food or fun. Happiness or hardship. Or laughter and lament,¡± I went on. ¡°That¡¯s why, I¡¯d be very glad if you would share with me your burden, Mia.¡± Her languishing look, once fallen, then wended its way up to me. Slowly, but without surety. ¡°¡­you¡¯re¡­ my friend¡­?¡± ¡°Aye. That I am.¡± ¡°¡­even though¡­ you¡¯re my Master¡­?¡± ¡°¡®Master¡¯? Not really, I¡¯d say. By the covenant, sure. But of the bond between us, well¡­ I¡¯d like to think we¡¯re warmer than that.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°How about it, Mia? I¡¯ll lend both ears to aught you have to say, if you have the heart for it,¡± I said as softly as I could. ¡°Your story. Might I hear of it?¡± ¡°¡­¡± For a mired moment, Mia looked fixedly at me. Her eyes had not the empty and soulless quality of before. No. In them was emotion. Quivering emotion, steeped in sorrow. I thought to free her from that deep dolour, a paralysis upon her heart as it was. Perhaps then, with her bosom unburdened, might her true and erstwhile nature find the spirit to sprout once more. Before long, after a while of looking upon each other, Mia at last parted her lips with all quietness. ¡°¡­Master¡­ I¡­¡± What followed was indeed her story. Her journey. Her struggle. Told most timorously, her words waxing and waning with the hurt in her heart. Then was it known to me that Mia was once one of six. Six souls, bound by both blood and love¡ªa family. Her father was a lumberjack, carving out a living for his dear family. But with the times as war-like and uncertain as they were, so, too, was her father a serving soldier. ¡°¡­Papa¡­ Papa was the strongest¡­¡± Mia recalled, ¡°¡­no one else in the village¡­ used a big axe like him¡­ and he¡­ he often went¡­ into battle with it¡­¡± ¡°A battle-axe? Impressive. No common man can wield such a thing,¡± I remarked. ¡°¡­but¡­ but one day¡­ Papa didn¡¯t come home¡­¡± What came instead were the rank and file of Londosius, there to ravage and rifle her village. Mia continued on with her tale, her voice at times wavering and broken. Indeed, a voice of a most gentle and endearing quality, made to relate details most jarring and dismal. Of how her brother bore himself against the soldiers assailing their home, only to be cut to his death. Of how her father had returned as a war-fallen corpse, only to have his head presented as proof of his death. Of how her mother was bound up and left to scream for her children, only to be struck to her death. Of her two sisters. One, left to an unseen fate. The other, captured along with Mia herself, only to quail to her death. The tragedies upon her family, all told with appalling particularity. Only, Mia said very little of herself, and even less of what she had suffered in captivity. I knew then, more than ever, that Mia was indeed a child who cherished her family more so than she did herself. But it need not be said: this child, too, was victim to viciousness and cruelty, more so than the mind can conceive. That much, I was certain of. ¡°Mia¡­ You¡¯ve been through much. Truly.¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± There we sat, the weight of the past pressing upon our spirits. After sorting in silence all that she had said, I spoke once more. ¡°¡­Mia. What¡¯s done is done. None amongst us can ever hope to change that. All the hurt, all the suffering¡­ The pain of the past never goes away,¡± I said heavily. ¡°But you know, Mia. The future is different. It can be changed¡ªand by my hands, I will see it done.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Your days yet to come¡ªthey¡¯ll all be free of sorrow. And I¡¯ll make sure of it. I promise.¡± ¡°¡­Master¡­¡± In my bosom I then embraced her. The ensuing while, long and wordless, was filled with her weeping. What those tears portended, I could not know. But for her, some comfort, at least, to shed them in the company of another. ¡°Tell me one more thing, if you can, Mia?¡± I asked upon seeing her sobs subsided. ¡°The day your village was attacked¡ªwhen was it?¡± ¡°¡­seventh¡­¡± she answered against my chest. ¡°¡­the seventh¡­ of Visdrekm¨¢nuer¡­¡± ¡°¡­That long ago, was it?¡± Of late, a certain possibility prowled about my mind. Only, something unspoken in my heart stayed my lips from speaking of it. Visdrekm¨¢nuer. A month of the Naf¨ªlim calendar. That would be four moons ago from this moment. That meant only one thing. Mia was taken¡ªnay, abducted, on whose watch but my own. Rolf Buckmann, Acting Commandant of Balasthea Stronghold, allowed this to happen. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Visdrekm¨¢nuer (Language: Old Norse) ¡°Month of the Wise-Wyrm¡±. The ¡°e¡± is pronounced with a voiced ¡°th¡± sound, as in the words ¡°this¡± and ¡°there¡±. ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Volume 2 - CH 2.5 That night. Once again was Mia asleep upon my bed. Not long ago was the supper we shared of lentil stew. I remembered all too well of how she broke down in tears so asudden then. Only thereafter was it known to me that her father well-favoured the foresaid legume, and that a meal of it was to be had with the whole family upon his return. A tragedy, then, that such would never be. Forever was he lost to war, and with him, the happiness of a family supping together with their dear father. This was what Mia recalled. The sorrows, unearthed. The tears, roused. In the bedtime that followed, Mia had thought to visit my room, too shaken as she was by the awoken weight of the trauma. It was then that I shared my bed with her, and together we stared at the stars till our sound slumber. From then on, every so often would Mia visit me in like fashion, when the memories were a reminder too vivid, when the solitude of the night proved too affrighting for her heart to handle. Earlier today, in the course of our outing did Mia at last relate to me her plight and past. The gentle persuasion to do so was founded in my simple desire to lighten the burden of her sorrows, if even by a little. But just as before, to reminisce upon misery of such might was a tax too dear upon Mia¡¯s mind. So it was that again, she now slept by my side. Serenely so. Her slumbering breaths were unabated. It would seem her dreams had found some peaceful purchase. But the same could not be said of my heart. For the tragedies that befell upon her¡ªnot least her captivity and indenturement¡ªall transpired only after I had assumed my post as acting commandant of Balasthea. Of course, that possibility was hardly a thought unvisited in my mind. But to think earnestly upon it only now¡­ Yes. In the end, I may have been merely afraid to confront so cold a truth. By her words, Mia¡¯s village was violated four moons ago. Visdrekm¨¢nuer. Within the first days of that fateful month. A time I recalled too well. One that found me yet unaccustomed to my new life and duties here. One that found me in friction with the margrave. Indeed, the words and ideals we exchanged were as a clash upon a battlefield. Yet neither of us yielded in the end. The margrave went ahead and sent his men through the gates of Balasthea, their hearts steeled with the singular aim of pillaging all that they would find in the Naf¨ªlim domain. Whether it be trinkets and treasures, or innocent souls to be sold as slaves for a pretty coin, nothing was to be spared from their eager grasps. Oh, did I sue for the staying of those hands. But my reasonings were alien in these lands as they were to the margrave¡¯s mind. So it was that we could not find accord with one another. So it was that I could do naught but look on, powerless to stop the rape and ransacking that ensued thereafter. An ease upon my heart, were Mia¡¯s abduction an affair well-transpired before my charge. Needless to say, I wouldn¡¯t dare fancy such folly. Even then, there lingered in me some indelible lament or misgiving that left me breathless. Like a stone of solicitude set squarely upon my bosom, to press upon my lungs till their beleaguerment. Why was I so wrung? Well¡­ There was but one reason. Not more than a few days after my argument with the margrave did I find his Fiefguardsmen returning from their greedy excursion. Across the fort they coursed, their carts and carriages packed with plunder. Across my presence they passed, homebound to the bowels of Arbel. And within one such wagon was surely Mia, her sister withal. Fresh from the massacre of their family. Their hearts, fracted. Their fates, forever shadowed. The both of them passed right¡­ ¡­right by me. What now welled up within my heart, I knew not the nature of. Whether it be self-resentment. Or whether it be sympathy for those blameless victims. But what I did know of was the shallow extent of my grasp. The true worth of a man utterly powerless. Now, more so than ever. The Naf¨ªlim are a kind to be killed, if not imprisoned and enslaved. Nevermind whether they bear arms or amity. Such is the creed of Man, common throughout all his realms. This, I knew. That the wagons passing under my watch were possibly bedecked with prisoners¡­ ¡­this, too, I knew. Yet it was not till a living example was presented before me that the weight of that truth was first and full-impressed upon my conscience. An example by no other name than ¡°Mia¡±. Indeed, not till our chance encounter did I ever realise what my actions exacted from my victims. Of what plights my battles precipitated beyond their boundaries. ¡®¡­no one else in the village¡­ used a big axe like him¡­ and he often went¡­ went to battle with it¡­¡¯ Of her war-dead father, Mia spoke as such. Words, passing familiar. The day before the Fiefguard¡¯s raid. Sternly did I turn down Ebbe¡¯s wantonness for pursuing our routed Naf¨ªlim foes. Yet in spite of this, he sallied out with his men and did just that. Karl. The greenest youth of Ebbe¡¯s unit. Verily was he inebriated amongst his like-sodden mates, celebrating the fruits of that selfsame pursuit within one of Arbel¡¯s pubs. His rambunctious ramblings rang clear to me, even now. ¡®¡­Git this¡­! They ran¡­! ¡­Wit¡¯ them tails tuck¡¯d under them bollocks like the curs they are¡­! ¡­Then I came t¡¯cut ¡®em all down, I did¡­!¡¯ ¡®¡­Got one o¡¯ ¡®em good, I tell ye¡­! ¡­Biggest o¡¯ ¡®em bastards thought t¡¯stay b¡¯hind an¡¯ let ¡®is beefin¡¯ brothers run off¡­! ¡­Nice fellow wit¡¯ a giant axe, ¡®e was¡­! ¡­Then I gave ¡®im a good scratchin¡¯ on ¡®is back fer the noble deed, I did¡­! ¡­With the keen side o¡¯ my sword, tha¡¯ is¡­!¡¯ In cold blood did Karl cut down Mia¡¯s father. The dots certainly lined up. I was commandant to these men. Yet command them, I could not. Thus did they give in to their grim bloodlust. Thus did they kill Mia¡¯s father. Men. Naf¨ªlim. War was what bound these two together. And so long as that fell fetter was uncut, so, too, would continue the cruelties. The losses. The tragedies. Man and his kin were also culled in grievous numbers. That, none can doubt. And for that very reason does he take up sword and magick, to dam the tides of turmoil. To him, the sword is keen not just for the killing. With a swing of it can he protect those dearest to him. With a strike from it can he defend his beloved homeland. Such a man, bound to battle as he is, finds himself obligated to his country, and only his country. To engender generosity towards his foe, to be derelict in his duties to his lord and land, amounts to naught but treason. What he shall protect must ever and always be none other than his dear neighbour. One does not err, to think so. One is not deceived, to believe so. And yet¡­ ¡°¡­¡± To Mia¡¯s slumbering face, I looked. The face of a child, innocent, faultless in this bloody affair. What¡­ What must I¡­? ? The following day. Work resumed. Thus was I back at the fort, sat within my chamber, nose deep in the records of four months prior. Included were copies of the Fiefguard¡¯s operational reports, shared by its commander. Begrudgingly so, that is, but with my insistence that Balasthea¡¯s defence would only benefit were I privy to all of Str?m¡¯s military activities, he could but comply. The Fiefguard¡¯s raid. Their warpath had wended through the northwestern span of the woodlands yonder, past which laid a Naf¨ªlim village. There did the men massacre any Naf¨ªl ill-suited for enslavement; the rest were captured and carted away. Treasures, coins, and commodities¡ªthese, too, were plundered. The village itself, structures and all, were then deemed non-essential, and thus left no more destroyed than they already were. At present, the village stood as a mere memory of itself, a den without its denizens. With the reports read, I began piecing together all that I¡¯d learnt with what Mia had related to me. Not more than half a week before the fateful raid, her father had set out with his fellow Naf¨ªlim on a campaign to breach Balasthea¡¯s walls. A short-lived endeavour, for at its end awaited defeat, and in their retreat, the Naf¨ªlim assailants were pursued by Ebbe¡¯s unit. It was then that Mia¡¯s father was felled. The Fiefguard¡¯s foray commenced the day after. But in the waning light of the afternoon, a few hours before the Fiefguardsmen¡¯s arrival, Mia¡¯s mother left their home. Not long after did her eldest sister follow, to check upon the orphanage where she oft gave a helping hand. As evening came, so, too, did the Fiefguard. Soldiers set upon Mia¡¯s home, and her brother, dire in his deed to protect both it and his sisters, was cut down. With no less than three men did he measure swords. ¡­A brave lad. Would he were yet alive. I certainly would like to meet him. Indefensible, Mia and her elder sister were dragged out and taken to the village square. There were the befouled remains of her father presented, and her mother later killed. After that ordeal came another: the two girls were brought to Arbel. To wit, a concentration camp therein, where the elder sister ailed till her last breath. I dug my face into my hands. Truly, a tragedy. And such strength there was in little Mia. To survive it all. To retell it. And it was thanks to her strength that there lingered one untended truth. The eldest sister. Not yet was her ill end established. The Fiefguard¡¯s findings recount no more Naf¨ªlim left in that land. A right mind would reason that the orphanage, too, was attacked, and Mia¡¯s eldest sister along with it. Indeed, to re-tread this bloodied path would surely do naught but invite new nightmares to Mia¡¯s haunted heart. Yet, at the end of this unravelled thread may be hope, however faint. And so long as there was, I thought it a worthy endeavour to seek it out and know its nature. And espy whether it portended some semblance of solace. Or despair. ? ¡°¡­A conundrum, this.¡± I pondered, homebound. Not without visiting that eviscerated village could I, or anyone, know the fate of Mia¡¯s remaining sister. Indeed, four full moons have wheeled by since the coming of the raid. Odds are, naught would be found. Naught would be known. But suppose I did find someone. Not by my faculties would I be able to tell Mia¡¯s sister from that of a mere stranger. And that¡¯s to say nothing of leaving Mia alone for however many days the trip would take. Mia is key in this. I must take her along. Yet the way is not without its dangers; such woods are wont to host in their shadows any manner of beasts or behem¨®t. And to begin with, I am a kin of Man. To wander unguarded into Naf¨ªlim lands is tantamount to suicide. It bears no mention here: those territories are hostile now as they ever were before. What¡¯s more, I have my position to consider: as acting commandant of Balasthea, I am beholden to my men just as much as I am to Mia. Am I a fool, then? One sodden with the idea of deserting his office, all to protect a pitiful little girl? An ungraced, chivalrous not by occupation, but by delusion? A white knight¡ªsyndromically so? What foul jest. Steeped in such thoughts, I found myself arriving at my porch. With the door opened, Mia came forth to greet me. ¡°¡­welcome home¡­¡± ¡°Glad to be home, Mia.¡± To her, I looked. The very subject of my worries¡ªwhat did she herself think of all this? No optimism was to be found in her words when she recounted to me what had befallen upon her family. None, even for her missing sister. No. It was by that same tragedy that such pessimism was conceived. Mia was made to surrender all hope she had for the world. Of late, her emotions were reawakening bit by bit, sure enough, but her heart remained fracted. Not yet had it found an anchor. Not yet was it ready to believe in aught. Thus had she given up on the very idea of stepping foot once more upon her homeland. There¡¯s no escaping this realm of Man, she likely thought. Not anymore. So it was that to Mia, to ponder upon the simple possibility that her sister might yet draw breath was naught but a seed of fatigue for a heart already fatigued through and through. But in that same heart. At its very core. At its very bottom. Was therein any hope that it still nurtured? For a dear sister so unaccounted for? Did it yet have the strength to set forth into the unknown? And make known the fate of her last family member? Knowledge that can only be found in her homeland, the hearth of tragedy itself? What must be done? By my estimation, the chances that her sister still lived were exceedingly low. But ¡°exceedingly low¡± was not ¡°nought¡±. Though, truth be told, my conjectures, my considerations¡ªall were based on this fragile fancy. One ready to shatter unto shards set upon our hearts, were we to find not what we hoped for. ¡°¡­Haah¡­¡± A heavy sigh from my languished lungs. My mind did all but ail as of late, ever since hearing Mia¡¯s story. Rolf Buckmann. A man as much a giant as he is a want-wit, ever and always wavering when it counted most. And true to his nature, not on this night, like so many other nights, would he find his resolve. ? The dawn of another morrow. The beginning of another work day. With a check of my boots, I started off on my commute to the fort. ¡°¡­be safe¡­¡± ¡°I will, Mia. I¡¯ll be home at the earliest.¡± Mia, of late, has been given to venturing beyond our doorstep just to see me off. There she stood upon our porch, looking quietly on as I stepped towards the road. What prompted such courtesy, I could not say for certain, but I¡¯d like to think it was a sign of our warming bond. ¡­Was the course of my thought, till at that moment, a one-horse wagon happened to wheel down the road. ¡°¡­ah¡­¡± Mia¡¯s meek voice, heard as I watched the wagon pass by. Her eyes were turned to a different matter, for in their view was a flower. A lily-of-the-valley¡ª ¡ªcrushed into the ground. The dainty bell-flora were given to growing in great beds with their brethren. Thus was it passing peculiar for a specimen to sprout upon an unceremonious wayside¡ªnot amongst its kin, but all by itself. An ill-starred solitude, then. To grow upon a path that would one day be driven over by a wagon, and in the wheels¡¯ unwitting wending, be laid low. Flattened¡ªa smear of white and green upon the fresh furrow. ¡°¡­little flower¡­¡± There was sorrow upon Mia¡¯s mien. A deep sorrow for the death of a flower. Though she herself was victim to tragedies more grim and graver again, she had yet the heart to pity a flower. To it, she went. And then upon it, her caressing fingers. Gently then, she began to stretch up its stem, that it might stand once more. Only, it could not. The bell-lily was forever broken. ¡°¡­poor¡­ little white flower¡­¡± The Naf¨ªlim. The cunning curs. The nemeses of Man. An evil to be extinguished. Who was it? That first aired such curses? A thrall of the Deiva? Some sainted servant of Yon¨¢? I should like to meet him. And end his wicked wiles. For I¡¯ve made a promise. A promise to Mia. ¡®¡­But you know, Mia¡­ The future is different¡­ ¡­It can be changed¡­ ¡­and by my hands, I will see it done¡­ ¡­Your days yet to come¡­ ¡­they¡¯ll all be free of sorrow¡­ ¡­And I¡¯ll make sure of it¡­ ¡­I promise¡­¡¯ Am I ungiven to honouring my promises? Of course not. I keep my promises. Down at Mia¡¯s side I knelt, and put upon her shoulder a hand unwavering. ¡°Mia. We must talk.¡± ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Volume 2 - CH 2.6 ¡°Ebbe. Come next month, I¡¯ll have myself some time off.¡± ¡°Oh? A ligging lackadaisy, are we now?¡± Balasthea Stronghold. There was I, in both my chamber and the ever-sardonic company of the vice-commandant. ¡°The fort¡¯ll be in your care while I¡¯m gone,¡± I went on, brushing off his guff. ¡°Quiet of late as it is, I don¡¯t suppose aught ill should come this way any time soon. But if come it does, then I expect you to do your office some justice, and well-take heed of our captains¡¯ counsel.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll fulfil my office well ¡®nough, Commandant. That much, I promise.¡± ¡°And you promise, too, not to re-sort the soldiery? Nor to pursue our foes in their flight? Or to stay yourself from sallying from these walls that you might sate that bloodlust of yours? I¡¯ve forbidden these actions, you know.¡± ¡°Hmph¡­ Yes, yes, Commandant. I know,¡± Ebbe groaned, throwing his gaze up in annoyance. ¡°Bless me, you sound more the uninspired parrot with each passing day.¡± ¡°And you¡¯ll suffer more of my squawking till you¡¯re inspired yourself, Ebbe, to obey the orders you¡¯re given,¡± I retorted, turning away from him. ¡°I¡¯ll brief you further in the following days.¡± I peered through the chamber window. There in the yonder, beyond Balasthea¡¯s bulwarks, spanned the Naf¨ªlim territories where I intended to take Mia, that we may search for the whereabouts of her remaining sister. A quest for comfort¡­ or a cruel closure. Nonetheless, it was one I¡¯d been preparing for, right to this very moment. ¡°Commandant!¡± With a salute, a soldier stepped into the chamber. ¡°From Central, sir.¡± To me he handed an envelope. The wax seal thereupon was most familiar indeed. ¡°Right. Thank you.¡± After sending off the soldier, I unsealed the envelope and unfolded the letter therein. What was scribed, never could I have expected. ¡°Well, Commandant? Care t¡¯enlighten ol¡¯ Ebbe o¡¯ what the scribbles say?¡± asked Ebbe, his eyes keenly seeking something from my own. This, I did expect at the very least, for he was very much a man given to ambitions of authority. So surely were the sent words of Central, of all institutions of power, a quick interest to him. ¡°A recruitment notice,¡± I answered plainly. ¡°The 5th Order has need of a chief adjutant, from the look of it.¡± The recapture of Godrika, and the burgeoning of Londosius¡¯ military might that followed, precipitated many an adjustment to each of the Orders at the organisational level. Roles were revised, charges were changed. And for some of the Orders, new posts were conceived, with ¡°chief adjutant¡± being one of them. The role was heretofore missing from the 5th¡¯s roster. A very recent development it was, then, that its leadership decided now, of all times, to avail themselves of it. None of this was out of turn, truth be told. What was, however, were the criteria scribed in the missive. They were writ as follows: ¡­Applicants must have served no less than five years in the Order beforehand. Prior experience in field command is also required; Applicants seeking frontline service shall also be accepted; Neither past deeds done nor offences justly disciplined shall be of any account¡­ ¡°¡®Five years in the Order¡¯, eh? Bugger. None o¡¯ my business, then.¡± The words of a listless Ebbe. ¡°Though this cat be curious still¡ªno account for ¡®deeds done nor offences¡¯, were it now? Well that sorts right proper with you, doesn¡¯t it, my criminal Commandant? The war hawks at the 5th be cooing for your triumphant return. A shame an¡¯ a waste both, t¡¯not answer ¡®em.¡± ¡°Eager to see me gone, are you?¡± ¡°Hah! Dear Commandant! I wouldn¡¯t dare.¡± The missive¡ªsent from Central, but likely scribed by some clerk from the 5th itself. And the mind behind the peculiar criteria? None other than the Dame Mareschal herself: Emilie, my once-betrothed. Much hearsay of the esteemed Aureola of the 5th had reached even the ears of folk here in Str?m, far-flung frontier though it may have been. Indeed, of late the levinbladed battle maiden¡¯s repute only crescendoed, and not just in the hearts of the knightly, but also in those of the gentry and common citizenry. And much to my surprise, the royal sphere saw fit to afford her a fief: a province of her own to preside over. Ostensibly, House Mernesse was left as-is; under Emilie was a new, ennobled family formed. And with it, a new name. ¡°House Valenius¡±, was it now? Emilie Valenius. Her name, her station, reforged anew. A halo-winged hero-dame in Central¡¯s good graces, one whose soaring regard knew no bounds. And that very same hero-dame was now summoning aspirants from every corner of Londosius to join her in the 5th as its chief adjutant¡ªprovided that they met her conditions, that is. And what curious conditions they were, indeed. The first was rather run-of-the-mill, admittedly. The second, however¡­ ¡®Applicants seeking frontline service shall also be accepted.¡¯ My thoughts turned back to a certain night, of what felt like ages ago. Then, like now, was I devoted to sword training on the daily. To such a soul immured in what, to her, might¡¯ve seemed like some profitless drudgery, Emilie very well suggested that another calling in life be considered: to fight not upon the battlefield, but from the war-table instead. To ¡°set aside the sword¡±, by her words. Her reasoning was rational enough. To ill-weave not even a wisp of odyl was to bare the dullest of teeth to the Naf¨ªlim, after all. But even in the face of such sound sense, I turned down her suggestion. For the sword, to me, was, and ever is my bedrock, one that I brandished to this very day. Emilie herself must¡¯ve recalled that same night, and say, in her own way, that one need not forsake the sword in assuming the post of chief adjutant. If I am not overmuch the self-conscious sap, then I daresay this: Emilie was calling out to me. The third condition, then. ¡®Neither past deeds done nor offences justly disciplined shall be of any account.¡¯ This, too, was passing strange. An admission that even exiles would be eligible. Of course, to say that such heavy history would absolutely be of no account is far-fetched. The 5th is a conglomeration of knights, men and women to whom honour is life itself. So it is that an aspirant so stained with the brand of banishment would not be suffered lightly. So it is that the exile would be made to apologise. What a thundering theatre it must¡¯ve been, when the mareschal proffered such preposterousness before her knightly leaders. Rolling out the red carpet for the return of an exile? And next seat him in a post of such import as chief adjutant, no less? Not a mere fancy to fan the flames with this was, no. The possibility was real, penned right upon the missive in my hands. That such ink was dearly set to parchment spoke volumes of Emilie¡¯s authority. Closing my eyes, I saw it again: her face. Unfadingly fair, as though it were only yesterday since I¡¯d last seen it. ¡°The 5th¡­¡± A wistful whisper upon my lips. The grounds. The chambers. The halls. The knightly institution within which I spent five years alongside Emilie. Felicia, too, served it for nearly as long. Though I was spurned and scorned as an ungraced by all within its premises, never did I think my days there were without their own merits. Perhaps my return would be met with some pleasure? Not as some swain, but as an adjutant? Were it so, perhaps then would knighthood finally be within my reach? A heavy moment. Made no lighter with my eyes open again. I¡¯ve set my resolve. A path chosen is a path to be walked. A promise made is a promise to be kept. ¡°So, what¡¯s your mind, eh Commandant?¡± Ebbe broke the silence. ¡°Feeling homesick, I reckon?¡± ¡°¡­Nay. Not at all.¡± Those words aired, I laid the letter to rest upon the desk. With one last look at it, a whisper welled up in my heart. Sorry. ? A few days went by, filled with my work and duties as commandant being passed along to my subordinates. At the end of it, I began preparing in earnest for the journey ahead. Mia¡¯s village¡ªor what¡¯s presumably left of it¡ªlaid in the northwest, beyond a stretch of forest. By no means was it far away, nor the woodland itself too large. A day¡¯s trek on horseback would carry us through, given haste. But no matter how thickly they grew, the trees could not hide one simple fact: their roots ran through Naf¨ªlim lands. And to avoid encountering any of Mia¡¯s kin¡ªbelligerently unwise to our peaceful purpose, they surely were¡ªa winding route was inevitable, one that necessitated overnighting out in the wooded wild. In other words, Mia and I would be camping under the canopy of both stars and swaying trees. And for the errant behem¨®t that might prowl upon our path, there was some comfort in knowing that breathing amongst them were none of their particularly dangerous brethren©`the sort to brim with odyl, that is. Well, comfort enough, I suppose. Many a march through those woods have the Naf¨ªlim taken on their warpath to Balasthea; what¡¯s safe for them should prove safe enough for me with Mia in tow. As for Man himself, not upon the remnants of Mia¡¯s homeland would his overt presence be found. Indeed, Str?m¡¯s stock of able-bodied soldiers was still unreplenished, for the wounds of Balasthea¡¯s repute as a death-field were yet fresh¡ªenough that breaking ground for a new garrison behind enemy lines was logistically wanton. It was for that very reason that those reaches were left utterly abandoned after their ravaging. And strangely enough, my men had yet to report any activity that would suggest the Naf¨ªlim¡¯s intent on reclaiming the lost lands. That¡¯s not to say the lull could last for long, and there still remained some chance that we might run into them in our course. But kept it must be, our course. For how else would we find Mia¡¯s sister? Not till this far into my preparations did I realise that this would, in fact, be my first journey. There were the marches in my time with the 5th, yes, as well as the trip I took here from Norden. But this would be a journey taken by my own accord, on my own terms, not a march made in the myriad company of others, nor a voyage by way of stagecoaches. Were I alone in this endeavour, I might¡¯ve gone about it rather freely, with care scant and curiosity unconstrained. But care is a stern criterion, for this shall be a journey undertaken entirely with Mia. And that¡¯s to say nothing of the camp we must make amongst the elements and all of its dangers. The mere thought was enough to put my preparations into disarray. What exactly was needed? How much was enough? Of these, I knew very well for myself, but for a child like Mia? Aimlessly did I gather together rations, blankets, and all the like for her. Before I knew it, I had accrued too much to put into our pack. Just an overnight stay in the forest this would be. We should pack as lightly as we would tread. It won¡¯t do to be so weighed down as we wend through the woods. They should be parted from as soon as possible, that we might reach the village remnants at the earliest. On and on did these worries whittle away at me as I sorted out our luggage for the coming journey. ? The dawn of our departure. I emerged from the porch and into a vista of silver, sunbroken skies. A horse idled upon our yard, to whom I went to stuff supplies into its saddle-packs: food, a smattering of camping comforts and tools, and my trusty waterskin. I turned back to the porch. ¡°We leave now, Mia. Have you made ready?¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± Mia¡¯s nodding answer, given from the depths of her deeply hooded cloak. I then picked her up and placed her upon the saddle, catching nary a glimpse of her gaze, before mounting the horse myself. What roiled and rumbled in her heart, I could not know. After all, she had given but a nod then, too, when I last told her where we would be going. To where her happiness stopped, and all the hurt began: her homeland. Certainly, she was never one to refuse a word I say, for better or worse. Thus was I ever unwise to the true mien of her mind. What she thought. What she felt. All were behind some mist. ¡®Mia. Let¡¯s find your sister. What truth awaits us might be of no solace at all, but at the very least, we may, at last, lay this uncertainty to rest. Alive or no, just knowing her fate could be the first step to moving on.¡¯ This, I had told her. To these unclouded words, too, had she given but a nod. Perhaps I¡¯ve overstepped my bounds. Perhaps I¡¯ve played too ardently the self-righteous samaritan. Even so, I believed that Mia deserved to know. Too long had she stood still. Too long had she stayed silent. Though with all honesty, I did hope that she would be alive. Dearly so. ¡°Eva¡±. The name of Mia¡¯s eldest sister. Let us go, then. Let us search for Eva. I gripped at the reins, steeled anew by this resolve. The steed¡¯s hoofbeats broke the morning quiet as we headed off. ? Leaving the walls of Arbel behind us, we galloped upon the highroads and through the open country. By the time the dewy mists of the morrow had faded away, we found ourselves at the foot of Balasthea. With neither ado nor delay, I cantered our steed into the fort and straight for the gateway facing the Naf¨ªlim horizon. ¡°Commandant, sir!¡± A salute from two soldiers manning the portcullis. ¡°At ease,¡± I addressed them, halting the horse. ¡°I make for Naf¨ªlim territory; a bit of reconnaissance is in order. I trust that you¡¯ve been apprised?¡± ¡°That we ¡®ave, sir. Workin¡¯ on yer ¡®oliday¡ªa solace it is, to ¡®ave a commandant right committed to ¡®is office, ey!¡± prattled one of the men. ¡°Morten¡± was his name, a bloke given to facetious flattery, even to a man ungraced like me. Yet did I spy within his eyes a snickering flicker, a gaze ever ensconced with a simpleton¡¯s scorn. ¡°Committed indeed,¡± I returned detachedly, earning a jeer from the other soldier as he wheeled a winch. Slowly, the great iron lattice lifted, till there, beyond the now gaping gate, was revealed the fields immediately beyond Str?m¡¯s breadth. And further again, the forests to which our wishes were tasked. ¡°Ye all right wit¡¯ just one drudge, sir?¡± asked Morten, tilting his head at Mia, who did little but stay quiet and concealed under the drooping fabric of her hood. ¡°I am,¡± I answered. ¡°I¡¯ll have just a little look around. The foe-lands are close enough; I won¡¯t be long.¡± ¡°Oh! But o¡¯ course! I reckon even ¡®alf a drudge be ¡®nough for ye, eh dread Commandant! Heheh! Why, just a gander ¡®pon ye, an¡¯ the devils¡¯ll be kickin¡¯ their sandals off fleein¡¯ from ye, they will!¡± The other soldier snorted with laughter at Morten¡¯s sneering words. A grand time, they must be having. ¡°Sandals make a fine souvenir for a man like you, Morten,¡± came my halfhearted humour. ¡°I¡¯m off, then.¡± With that, we passed under the shade of the archway, and as soon as our horse¡¯s hooves met the wild grasses, we galloped off. Through the Naf¨ªlim skies rumbled the rhythm of our haste. ¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T Chapter 2 ©¤ End ? Volume 2 - CH 3.1 Ever was Rolf our paragon. To everyone, the model Londosian, all the way since his greener days. If aught could be known, he would know of it. In aught he endeavoured, he would succeed in it. Amongst his peers, his sword abided no rivals. In his spars with the grown-ups, they, too, would know humility on occasion. And as with the sword, so Rolf was with the book. Not even the most cryptic essays on provincial governance were spared from his curiosity. And ¡®twas not such a rare sight to catch him in wordly discourse with our fathers, barons though they were. He was perfect. As a budding nobleman. As a treasured son. House Buckmann¡¯s prospects seemed all but ensured. None within its halls dared gainsay this. They had scarce reason to. And to such a prodigy was I betrothed. There was promise between us. A horizon we both looked fast to. In those shining reaches awaited a happy ever-after. A time we would share with all certainty for years, and years, and years to come. To be at his side, from now till evermore¡ªhow blessed I felt. How proud I was. The many days we spent in each other¡¯s company. The many more days we would herald, together. All seemed so brilliant. Till there loomed a spot of darkness. One by the name of the ¡°Roun of Orisons¡±. The day we were received at the divine rites was the day we found Rolf to be ¡°ungraced¡±. He but knelt there before the Reverend, his bosom cold of Yon¨¢¡¯s odyllic warmth, the quartz in his hands unbrightened by Her light. And ¡®twas so on that very same day, that the very same black spot yawned agape, like a maw beneath my feet, to swallow me whole. ¡®Twas then that I knew darkness. ¡®Twas then that I saw shadows growing upon the horizon we shared. Ours is a society bent on war upon the Naf¨ªlim. No matter how studious and wise one may be, no matter how deft and marvellous with the sword, to be empty of odyl was to be empty of promise. How dearly I believed that Rolf would¡¯ve made it all work out somehow. That he would¡¯ve been able to defend his honour. That he would¡¯ve made due and more with his ill-starred lot. For a wunderkind like him, it surely could¡¯ve been so. That is, were he graced with even the faintest sliver of odyl. But he wasn¡¯t. He had naught. None¡­ none at all. And without it, he was but fodder to be cast to the Naf¨ªlim. Magick can be overcome only by greater magicks, whether in offence or defence. For Rolf, this was a forgone conclusion. He could not attack. He could not defend. He could not know victory when it matters most. He could not thwart defeat even if it spelt his own end. Odyl is, to begin with, a blessing endowed to each kin of Man by Yon¨¢, our Deiva Most Divine. ¡®Twas through the holy Revelation shown to St. Rakliammelech that he conceived the Roun of Orisons: rites by which to commune with the Deiva, then disseminated to all spheres of Man. From Her is gifted the grace of odyl, and there is not a soul that She has turned away. Just as a child would be given flesh and blood from mother and father both, so, too, should we lambs of Yon¨¢ receive from Her our odyl. How rooted in certainty this was. But Rolf was as a fledgling of a different nest. An apple fallen too errantly from our tree. The black sheep of the herd, abandoned even by Yon¨¢, our one shepherd. We Londosians are ever bound to our odyl. Its measure is our worth. And so for someone like Rolf to be void of it, naught but ill and disdain awaited him. Rolf Buckmann. Not a prodigy, but half a man. Not a model for us all, but a ¡°defect¡±, through and through. This was what Londosius had deemed of him. Adamantly, no less, as though ¡®twere the sacrosanct word of Yon¨¢ Herself. And that was why Rolf was disavowed by House Buckmann. Why the ink was washed away from our deeds of betrothal. Parchment, now full-white as they were the day they were bleached. But in the face of such misfortune was I, accorded a lot most can only dream of. Attaining the highest distinction of ¡°Aureola¡± from the Roun of Orisons, I enlisted into the 5th Chivalric Order to great fanfare, for it happened that, of all the uncountable knights and dames to have ever joined its halls, I was foremost in my store of odyl. By that alone, the powers that be made me not a swain in my first year, but a dame, knighted with all haste and ceremony. Yet their indulgence seemed unending, as I was then made to stand amidst their high echelon: a member of the leadership, one under the direct command of the mareschal in his personal unit. Breathless as I was, the fates were keen to toy with our fortunes ever more. Yes¡­ How appalled I was to find Rolf as a swain to none other than myself. ¡®Tis expected¡ªand indeed, the usual course of things¡ªthat a recruit of the Order must first endure the toils of swainhood. But for Rolf himself to be made mine? No less a fledgling in my own right, vacuous of the office of a dame? I sensed then, and now, some foul hand at work in all of this. Was there some humour to be found? A savoury note in this bitter irony? To so make a ¡°defect¡± a swain to his former betrothed? I could not know, but I feared there were many who did and indulged in it just the same. And thus did I know sorrow. To see Rolf, burly and proud of figure as he was, pitifully hunched over as he tended to my armour. To see the prodigy, gentle and full of promise, left to such drudgery as tugging my horse along on foot. To be addressed by my once-betrothed with all deference, but cold of the warmth of our more innocent days. I made sure to give him the freedom to speak to me as he always had. Only, to him, ¡®twas a liberty too fraught. I realised then, that somewhere in the course of this whirlwind, we were separated. Farther from each other now than ever in our lives. And yet¡­ I also knew happiness. Happiness in being yet by his side. Our prospects for marriage may have been undone, but my feelings? Nay. I still very well wished for a life spent together with him. Dearly and more dearly again, no less than before. Because to be with him was as to breathe. The wheeling of the sun, the blowing of the winds, the coursing of the rivers©`these were, to me, no less natural than Rolf¡¯s company. ¡®Twas so, then, that beside Rolf Buckmann was where I belonged. I, Emilie Mernesse. ? Within a year of my enlistment, I was made lieutenant to the Owlcranes. And not long before did Felicia herself join us in the 5th. Hers was a fate most contrary to her brother¡¯s, for at her own rites did Felicia receive a ponderous store of odyl. So much so that she was considered for a seat in the Sorcery Brigade¡¯s leadership. But she was no less astounded than I, upon seeing for herself the ill treatment exacted upon Rolf. Astounded, and disheartened. For his part, Rolf was yet a swain. Though in spite of his hardships, he never faltered in his training: his swordplay was as sharp as ever. But to the members of an institution so steeped in the practice of magicks, there was, at least, some measure of contempt for pure swordsmanship. Nonetheless, ¡®twas this art that Rolf continued to ply with great assiduousness. He was, most apparently by this time, of a physique most imposing in the entirety of the 5th¡¯s ranks, with strength of arms matched by none else. In spite of it, the others¡ªall of them, really¡ªwere quick to disparage his usefulness against the Naf¨ªlim. But ¡®twas during physical training with him that they were quieted to some degree. Though that changed most asudden whenever he faced any of our leaders, for ¡®twas they who were donned with silver armour, wonders of odyllic conduction that they were. Try as he might, never could Rolf reach them with his sword, and without odyl of his own to defend with, the sparring matches were ever cruel and one-sided travesties. Of course, it never occurred to those leaders to contend on equal grounds. Their silver arms and armour stayed on at all times, as they were taught to do by both instruction and the rigours of the battlefield. And so to keep the gear on was, in and of itself, a form of training. Sportsmanship, then, was to them a poor excuse to take it all off. But just the same, practicality was their own ill excuse, to beat and deride Rolf as they pleased, all from the security of their argent raiments. The grins roused upon their lips was proof enough of their sadism. That¡¯s not to say Rolf went the entire way without some respect paid to his skill. There were those that acknowledged him, surely, but they were as droplets in a sea ever roiling with disdain for him. I recall a day when I was yet a lieutenant. A day that saw Rolf grievously injured by a spell during what should¡¯ve been mere sword practice. From what I¡¯d heard, the offender was overwhelmed by Rolf¡¯s strength, and on the verge of defeat, resorted to magick to turn the tables. That same opponent was none other than a member of the Sorcery Brigade, joining sword practice on some whim. The blade was naturally not his forte, but the thought of losing to a ¡°defect¡± was evidently more than his pride could handle. Apprised of what¡¯d happened, I raced to the infirmary at once. ¡°Rolf! Oh, the wounds¡­! Are you all right!?¡± ¡°¡­I am.¡± An unhurried, unbroken answer from Rolf, reclined as he was upon a bed, dressed in head to toe with bandages. Mottling them was blood, freshly red. My worries unabated, I pressed the physician nearby for answers. ¡°Sir, his injuries¡ªhow do they fare?¡± ¡°Well, let¡¯s see then,¡± he responded methodically. ¡°Multiple lesions he¡¯s had, and internal haemorrhaging to boot. Took a while of mending magicks to patch him up, but the wounds should be nicely sealed now. I shouldn¡¯t expect any sequelae to harry him henceforth.¡± Hearing those words was a relief. Though what the physician uttered next stoked my ire. ¡°Though truth be told, this sort of thing could¡¯ve been easily avoided, even with the most basic of palings.¡± ¡°¡­Why, sir,¡± I returned, unaware of the sharpened quietness of my voice. ¡°¡®Tis his fault, you mean to say?¡± ¡°Not my place to say, of faults. I don the doctor¡¯s coat, after all,¡± the physician countered. ¡°And as per my station, I say this: treatments do not come cheap, you should know.¡± A response that earned my irritation many times over. Yet I hadn¡¯t the patience to humour him further. ¡°Your opponent,¡± I said, having turned back to Rolf. ¡°What madness was in him!? To spit out magicks in a sword spar! His superiors should hear of this!¡± With that, I very well had a mind to burst out of the infirmary and protest against the incident to the other leaders. But I was stayed by Rolf¡¯s curt words, delivered as he did nothing but stare at the ceiling. ¡°It¡¯s useless.¡± ¡°Wh¡ª! Why¡¯s that!?¡± ¡°They¡¯re not the sort to lend an ear. Not to trifles such as this.¡± Never did Rolf do aught but quietly suffer the injustices dealt upon him. Not even when he was injured so. Whatever grievances he may have nurtured, never were they aired. That stolidness of his racked me horribly. ¡°No. They shall,¡± I replied with spirit. ¡°This won¡¯t stand, Rolf. I¡¯m going!¡± True to my word, I flew out of the infirmary and alighted upon the offices of the Sorcery Brigade. ¡®Twas there that I found the lieutenant and superior of Rolf¡¯s opponent, to whom I complained fiercely. And ¡®twas there that I knew the meaning of Rolf¡¯s words. ¡°Had your swain the odyl to resist it, surely he would not have suffered what he did.¡± An echo of the physician¡¯s own insolence, aired with hollow interest. ¡°The problem, then, lies with him, does it not?¡± I struck his desk. ¡°Enough of your nonsense!!¡± ¡°¡­Lieutenant Mernesse,¡± he sighed, ¡°I mean all the respect in the world, I do. But to sink our standards for the comfort of a ¡®defect¡¯ is, itself, nonsense. Injurious to our Order, even. Pray understand, my Lady.¡± We were of like rank, he and I. But seeing as I was of the Owlcranes, perhaps this lieutenant felt compelled to pay deference to me. Though he certainly hid none of his prejudice for Rolf. Not in the slightest. ¡°Tch¡­!¡± By then, I¡¯d lost all patience. Heated, I went to the Mareschal Tallien himself and broached the very same matter, only to be met with the very same complacence. The same apathy. The same hatred. A sentiment shared by all in the Order¡ªnay, in all of Londosius, for a man who lacked only in odyl. Rolf spoke not a word against it. And I could do naught but accept it. How it pained me so. ? Another memory, then. Here, too, was I lieutenant to the Owlcranes. A time haunting even to this day. Rolf and I were to spar one another. Not by choice, but by an order from the Mareschal Tallien himself, to¡ªin his own words¡ª¡±hammer my swain into shape.¡± Emphatically did I insist upon at least doing so with the same equipment as Rolf¡¯s, but like the many leaders below him, the mareschal brooked none of my words. I wonder. What look was upon my face? As Rolf and I measured swords? As iron and silver coursed against one another? A paling, unseen to the eye, breathed from my armour to inwreathe every seam and length of my body. And ¡®twas this paling that dammed the force of Rolf¡¯s sword. No matter where he aimed, no matter how quickly or strongly he swung, not once did his blade reach my person. A denial most absolute. He who is unmagicked cannot defeat one who so is. Just as one added to one becomes two. Whether calculated a hundred times over or a million, the outcome remains the same. ¡®Twas so, then, that Rolf¡¯s blade was stayed by the paling. Absolute indeed, as if the hand of Yon¨¢ Herself were there to stop it. And ¡®twas not for a lack of trying. In Rolf¡¯s grip, the iron sword flowed scythingly. With more quickness than the senses could follow would his blade race to my vitals©`accurately so, as if driven there by the gales of his will. Only to be stilled no further than a hair¡¯s width before its mark. But of my own blade, the story couldn¡¯t have been more different. None were the times that it landed where ¡®twas aimed. And yet all about Rolf¡¯s body were injuries, accruing more and more. Where he evaded, the odyllic stream would find him and tear away at his flesh. Where he defended, the odyllic blast would strike him and lay low his body into the ground. However one-sided it may have been, the mareschal was loath to end the match, let alone mitigate it¡ªnot while Rolf and I yet stood. ¡®Twas more a farce than a spar, and to my great dismay, one prolonged beyond all reason. But never did Rolf let up. His were movements of daunting precision, ever minimising the severity of the wounds inflicted upon him. His was a mind of steeled focus, keeping him always on his feet. Though his sword was humbled with every swing, never reaching me in its unseeable career, Rolf fought on. On, and on, and on. For as long as his body yet had the strength to move. And ¡®twas never in him to play at frailty and willfully couch in defeat. Always did he accept derision and scorn from others, but the moment a sword was put in his hands, Rolf was a man transformed. An avatar unrelenting, defiant of aught and all set against him. How it broke my heart. To see him yet afoot, bruised and thrashed, bloodied to great waste, whilst I suffered not a graze upon my skin, to say nothing of the untouched silver reams of my armour. Ever was he our paragon. Strong, more so than anyone. Dependable, more so than solid ground. How I long dreamt of standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him in our fight against the Naf¨ªlim. A dream I thought was within reach, so long as I applied myself, that I may keep up with him. Why was it, then? That we were so fraught as we were? That Rolf had become so pitiable a man? Further and further still our spar went, till Rolf lost all consciousness and foundered into the dirt. Volume 2 - CH 3.2 My third year with the Order. ¡®Twas then that I was made one of its high commanders: Emilie Mernesse, newly appointed Dame Mareschal of the 5th. The reasons were as simple as they were sudden: Bartt Tallien, my predecessor, and the under-mareschal both retired to their respective provinces to assume mastership of their estates. All whilst my deeds at the Battle of Erbelde were given no small recognition. To great exaggeration in truth, for I very well knew that Rolf¡¯s own merits towered by comparison. Even then, turned to those same merits were naught but blind eyes. And though ¡®tis certain that the 5th¡¯s leaders come and go as quickly as the seasons pass, ¡®twas something of a miracle, to be given the mareschal¡¯s cape not more than three years into one¡¯s stay at the Order. But ¡®twas no less exceptional for a swain to remain so three years into his own tenure. That¡¯s right¡ªRolf was yet my swain, my housecleaner, my hostler, my armourer¡­ my servant. All was as when he first enlisted. Whilst for her part, Felicia was made brigadier at the same time. Her ascent, too, was no less astounding in its speed. But as their stations differed more and more, so too did Felicia¡¯s view of her brother muddy with disillusionment. Since the dawn of their lives, Rolf was ever the focus of his dear sister¡¯s unquestioning admiration. Little wonder, then, as to why Felicia found it a Sisyphean task to accept her brother¡¯s lot. ¡®Twas heartwrenching, to look on as their sibling bond ailed like it did. Heartwrenching again, to be of no avail to them in the slightest. Even as mareschal. Even as their most intimate peer for all of their lives. I very well did what I could to free Rolf from the yoke of swainhood. To be granted a knightly accolade was a surefire way, and ¡®twas in my power as mareschal to nominate him for that exact honour. The Marquis Norden gathered such requests not less than twice a year¡ªopportunities that I seized with great proaction. Our foul fortune, then, that each and every time, Rolf¡¯s was the lone nomination to bear no fruit. The Marquis seemed adamant in his scorn for the ungraced, and so by his cold heart was Rolf made to remain my swain. Of course, status was but one avenue to afford him the respect that he deserved. As mareschal, I was vested with authority over human resources in the 5th. Thus was it always in the back of my mind to perhaps make Rolf a swain to another knight. But in the end, ¡®twas a fancy never acted upon. By that time, I¡¯d grown somewhat adept at suppressing my more¡­ unsightly feelings. Those of¡­ no longer wanting to see Rolf tend to my horse. Of pitying my once-betrothed, whose hands, once destined for gallantry, seemed of late more acquainted with steed-reins than a sword grip. Though perhaps the choice was long since lost. After all, no mareschal would be suffered were hers an authority exercised for her own interests. And ¡®twas a fact that the Orders were fervent in their observance of hierarchies. To blatantly ignore the status quo and move personnel about as I pleased was to betray the expectations of my office. Hence did I surrender the thought. ? Upon a day of that same year, I¡¯d brought back a reconnaissance report to my chambers, and there, skimmed through its contents as per usual. Our patrollers here at the 5th follow a certain protocol. Any region subject to their watch would be divided into a number of areas, and the hostiles discovered therein would be tallied¡ªbe they Naf¨ªlim, behem¨®t, and the like. The results are next juxtaposed to past observations, and through some arithmetics, what we¡¯d coined the ¡°threat level¡± for the region would then be calculated and any notable trends recorded. This was hardly fruitless ado, for it very well served to guide where we might more effectively allocate our resources. ¡®Twas none other than Rolf himself who devised it all in the year prior, and I who brought it to Tallien¡¯s desk when he was yet mareschal. Then, too, did I insist that ¡®twas all of Rolf¡¯s design, but Tallien¡¯s were not ears receptive to praises for a man ungraced. As for the report itself¡ªupon one of its sections did my eyes linger. If the patrollers saw true and the calculations were sound, then ¡®twas certain: over the last few moons, the threat levels at Mt. Godrika had been waning. And markedly so, at that. A mountain, hiding in its bowels whole monoliths of silver ore. Or more a haunted lair, for whilst Londosius once called the place its own long ago, the mountain and the tunnels beneath it soon became the stamping grounds of the behem¨®t. But as with all things, this, too, changed. Behem¨®t themselves are as varied of forms as they are fickle in their migrations. And like their more mundane counterparts, they are prone to interspecies conflict, whether for territory or sustenance. All this can culminate in rather sudden fluctuations in their disparate populations. Possible, then, that the thinning of their numbers at Godrika was but a part of this temporary pattern. Possible again was the arisen prospect of cleaning them out altogether. Were we to strike while the iron is hot, Godrika would be ours again. And then, into the eager armouries of Londosius would go its mounds and mounds of silver. I thought then¡ªstrongly, albeit na?vely¡ªthat this must needs be acted upon. Inspired, thereafter did I summon the leaders of the 5th and broached to them a plan to recapture the Godrika Minery. The waning threats within the region, the opportunity newly unveiled¡ªall was related to much detail. And once their ears had their fill of my vouching, the leaders¡¯ enthusiasm was unanimous. Untold prestige would be bestowed to the 5th, were we to succeed. This, we all believed. This, we were all taken with. We were of the 5th, after all. For ¡¯tis by Londosius¡¯ own decree that the Orders are numbered as befits their strength, with the 1st being the most capable by far¡ªto say nothing of its mareschal, in her own right a sword unmatched in all the kingdom itself. And what of the 5th? The bottom of the barrel, to put it one way, where gathered the coddled issue of the aristocracy, there only to idle their days away till brighter prospects fell upon their laps. And fall one did, to all of our laps: Godrika. Recapture its depths, and our wayward lot might attain distinction far greater than any of the other Orders¡¯ ever had in the last few years. How fevered we were then, goaded by dreams of medals, decorations, and titles, as we worked to bring it all to fruition. Almost a month of preparations followed, riddled with meetings with the leadership. We sent scouts to peer through Mt. Godrika with a fine-toothed comb, to reassess the behem¨®t¡¯s numbers to greater accuracy. Then did we rally the brigades, brief them on their duties, and establish a chain of command specific to the operation. Forming the rest of the plans was a charge I was keen to shoulder alone. Whether it be devising the logistics, charting out our marching path, selecting the ideal location to erect our camp, all and much more I sleeplessly handled over those few weeks. By the end of it, I was sapped and wearied. But the plans were, at last, complete¡ªperfect, even¡ªand drawn to my wholehearted satisfaction. How long had it been since I¡¯d last felt such fulfilment? I wasn¡¯t alone in the effort. The leaders, too, were spent, but no less aglow with pride in their work and excitement for all that was to come. ? Again was I sat at my desk, thumbing through papers of a different purpose: the operation plans, full-writ to the tiniest detail. My magnum opus, one could say. Just looking upon it warmed my face to a smile. ¡®Twas then that I broached to Rolf of it, who stood nearby, busied with cleaning. ¡°Rolf, we¡¯ve drawn up plans for the next operation. Come and have a look, if you can?¡± ¡°Plans, my Lady?¡± Rolf turned to me, and then to the papers I held to him. ¡°Classified materials¡ªare you certain?¡± ¡°I am.¡± His doubt was warranted. To willfully draw the eyes of a swain to the plans of an operation¡ªupon the eve of its announcement, of all times¡ªno doubt breached many protocols. But I could scarce help myself. Dearly did I wish for Rolf to see it: the first set of plans drawn by my quill since assuming the post of mareschal. An operation produced from mountainous toil, to be executed on a scale hitherto unseen. And perhaps¡­ I wanted to see the look of surprise on Rolf¡¯s face once again. For ¡®twas certain: I count in years since last I saw any brightness upon his mien. The shuffling of paper. The quietude of his perusing gaze. In that eternal moment, my heart raced. But when words most unexpected parted from his lips, I very well felt my own face turn to stone. ¡°My Lady,¡± he said at last, looking up from the papers. ¡°I believe these plans are in need of some reassessments.¡± ¡°¡­Reassessments?¡± My heart stopped. ¡°Where, exactly?¡± ¡°¡®Where¡¯, might not be the word. If I may be blunt, this operation¡¯s actionability itself must needs be reexamined.¡± ¡°¡­What? How can you say that!?¡± The disbelief almost left me breathless. ¡®Twas indeed blunt of him, to put it lightly. ¡°Rolf, need I remind you of all that our kingdom stands to gain should we capture these mines?¡± ¡°We would gain much, true, but I believe that there loom losses greater again. Godrika offers us only silver, my Lady¡ªnothing else.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fully aware. But ¡®tis the sheer bounty of the silver itself that is more the point, Rolf!¡± ¡°Silver is a resource most precious to our military pillars, my Lady, one that our kingdom forbids the export of. All that we extract from Godrika goes into meeting the demands of the war effort. Put simply, we stock our store of silver and our armies shall swell along with it.¡± Rolf spoke right. Were we to avail ourselves with all the silver Godrika had to offer, ¡®twas very likely that not a single knight in any of the Orders would go unfitted with argent gear. But that was hardly a prospect to dread. ¡°Listen, Rolf. Suppose for a moment we capture Godrika, and put silver arms and armour into the hands of all of our officers. You must know just how tremendous of an advantage that avails us in our fight against the Naf¨ªlim?¡± Such an obvious matter this was. That Rolf himself seemed dimmed to it sparked some irritation in me. ¡®Twas by no means a swain¡¯s office to consider things well beyond his grasp, and from them make decisions more sweeping than he can imagine. Yet that was hardly what I expected from him at the moment. I strove to much exhaustion to see this through. Could he not see that, at least? ¡°Think of all the comrades-in-arms we can save!¡± I went on. ¡°And our families! Our loved ones! But more than anything, it brings us so much closer to ending the Naf¨ªlim once and for all.¡± ¡°Nay, my Lady. Godrika only portends a greater need of gravestones for our comrades.¡± ¡°And why¡¯s that!?¡± ¡°The battles we bear at present are plenty enough, yet Central seeks to stretch the lines of each of these battlefields all the more. The burdens upon them will weigh heavily and heavier still should we arm and sharpen ourselves further¡ªburdens Central is overeager to heave upon us.¡± ¡°Burden? The only burden I see is the one upon your shoulders! Proof, Rolf! Have you any at all? That Central would be so insatiable!?¡± ¡°None, my Lady.¡± ¡°Then why speak against it so!?¡± Before I knew it, my voice had grown hoarse. How long ago was it that I began sharing in Felicia¡¯s feelings? Of being frustrated with Rolf? With his plight? His conduct? Perhaps much further back than I¡¯d like to admit. Only, the whole time, I was wont to blind myself from it. A riling annoyance, once bottled up, but now ready to burst into the fore. This, I felt. And yet, there Rolf was, unmoved by it as he continued on. ¡°Furthermore, I cannot see the need to bring an end to all Naf¨ªlim.¡± ¡°Rolf¡­!?¡± An utterance I wished were an illusion upon my ears. Ours are days filled with battles. Ours: the good people of the good realm of Londosius. And for what? Peace for all of Man. Surety for all our futures. Both and more forever slips from our grasp, so long as the Naf¨ªlim are left unextinguished. ¡®Tis grave folly to deny it. Was it, then, that in the course of too many days of too much grief, and surrendering himself to meekness and servility, that Rolf began to look where the rest of us dared not? ¡°My Lady, it betrays reason to expect that we may ever bring about the extinction of any kind.¡± ¡°¡®Tis precisely why we toil away in our duties, is it not!? That we might usher in some chance to an impossibility? Rolf, we have momentum in this war! Were we to stay the path at all costs, then surely the day would come! The day when the war is done at last¡ªand the Naf¨ªlim along with it!¡± ¡°¡®Tis naught but a path of pure carnage you would have us walk, my Lady.¡± ¡°You speak nonsense, Rolf!¡± By now, I was forgetting myself. My head was aboil. For never could I have imagined that Rolf, of all people, would so spurn our reason to fight. ¡®Tis true that he himself faced no meagre spurning. Yon¨¢ had denied him of his due. Of Her grace, of the odyl we all hold so dear. And its lacking was as a mark of sin upon his head, there to rouse groundless enmity from any lamb of Yon¨¢ that might spy it and know its meaning. Still, ¡®twouldn¡¯t do for anyone, even for one as misfortuned as Rolf, to be derelict in this holy battle against the Wicked. What good does it do him, to be so cowed? To give up fighting in the name of our Deiva for want of Her love? He is born a kin of Man. And so must he fight for those he holds dear, for all his fellow Men, and for the world itself. So simple and pure a truth this was. Yet, why couldn¡¯t Rolf, in all of his wisdom, understand it? ¡°Moreover,¡± he spoke again, ¡°I cannot abet the soundness of this operation, if it executes on grounds that the threat within the mines is thinned.¡± ¡°Threat? Threat, Rolf? ¡®Twas none other than you who came up with the calculations for measuring such threats!¡± Verily. ¡®Twas his own counsel that birthed it. Ironic, then, that it played so vital a role in bringing to fruition an operation he so opposed. ¡°I believe the behem¨®t may have vacated themselves rather too asudden. Why this came to be bears much needed consideration and scrutiny,¡± Rolf explained. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°I mean that, as an example, a menace of a behem¨¢ may have made itself home in the mines, and by its ruthless nature, has been weeding out its weaker kin.¡± ¡°What¡¯s this? A ¡®menace of a behem¨¢¡¯, you say? Your fancies have taken a flight too far, Rolf!¡± ¡°Perhaps they have, my Lady. Perhaps there is no such specimen. But just as well, it simply may be that our scouts have not discovered it as of yet.¡± Not a step would Rolf yield in this matter. That much was clear to me by then. And so did I take a deep breath, to soothe my quivering veins. ¡°Rolf,¡± I began anew, ¡°I understand well that your place here may become all the more perilous should we avail our armouries with more silver. But I¡¯m the mareschal of this Order now. Much injury and injustice it has done you, I know. Yet with me as its commander, I¡¯ll make certain that you¡¯ll not be ailed by such abuse any longer.¡± With my eyes locked squarely upon Rolf, I delivered those very words. With a wish that this sincerest thought of mine might be conveyed to him, I delivered the following. ¡°I am ever and always your ally, Rolf. But just as I would give my all for you, I need you to do the same for me¡ªto think upon yourself, of what it means to be a knight, of why we fight with so much desperation. Won¡¯t you do this for me?¡± Were even our greenest knights to be donned with silver gear, no longer would Rolf know victory, not even in sword practice where he dominated so. This ill prospect hardly escaped me. But hardly again could I, mareschal to this Order, abort this operation, just to secure what precarious standing Rolf had in these halls. ¡®I would give my all for you.¡¯ With no frail will had I uttered those words. The operation must go on, but in return, ¡®twas my full intent to do all I could to mitigate the abuses trained upon Rolf. My most intimate resolve, one that Rolf seemingly disregarded with his next words. ¡°Even still, my Lady. I am opposed to this operation.¡± A chill through the body. A freezing of the blood. A sapping of the humours. Felt then. Remembered, even now. Thereafter did I take another deep breath, and with all emotion killed from my heart and timbre both, I spoke again. ¡°Rolf. This is what the Order itself has decided upon. Such strategic matters shall neither heed nor abide dissent from a mere swain.¡± ¡°¡­My apologies, Mareschal.¡± Thus did Rolf return to his chores. Thus did I lean back heavily into my chair. A richly leathern chair, made to complement a grand desk of mahogany wood. How frigid it felt against my skin, that leather. And how distant I felt from Rolf. Though we were right in the same room. Though he was right beside me, doing his duty of housecleaning. Oh, how I wanted to run away from it all. But left with nowhere, I merely shut them from my sight. Volume 2 - CH 3.3 Volume II Written By Yoshihiko Mihama Translated By Vagrant ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ The operation was a success. Godrika was retaken. And yet, the spirit of cheer found no home in me. For just as Rolf had prevised, there indeed lurked in that subterrane a behem¨¢ more savage than our imagining. Our eagerness stirred the monster below: a catoblepas, dread fiend of myth, one that tore through the 5th¡¯s ranks in their frantic escape. ¡®Twas a folly that exacted from us a price too heavy to bear: droves upon droves of our number, dead. And none deserved the blame more than I. To Rolf¡¯s counsel did I turn my back, only to then face the families of the lost. To condole them. To answer for my indiscretion. And how ironic again, that ¡®twas not our knights that had slain the catoblepas, but Rolf himself. And only himself. Where my levinblade and all of our magicks failed, Rolf¡¯s wits and daring succeeded. Yet for however dear and vain our sacrifices were, the prestige accorded to the 5th was unmistakable. A ceremony followed, wherein medals were bestowed to the participant leaders, as well as the knights distinguished in their feats. I had the honour of officiating the solemn affair, but not the honour of giving Rolf his rightful due. For ¡®twas not vested in me to decide who earned what, but in the Marquis Norden himself. Verily had I nominated Rolf, but in the end, he was a hero left unsung. ¡®Twas perhaps something we both expected. Hardly a sigh issued from our lips. ¡°Rolf¡­ I¡¯m sorry,¡± I had said to him. ¡°I made especially sure to bid the marquis you be honoured, but¡­ I¡¯m afraid he¡­¡± ¡°Pay it no mind, Mareschal.¡± That was his answer. And all he ever said of it. A man ever trudging up the Sisyphean hill to knighthood. But never a man to despair at every tumble he took to the bottom. A man by the name of ¡°Rolf Buckmann¡±. ? A scant two years from Godrika, and the myriad ranks of the Orders were each and all fitted with silver. Even the swains themselves were bedight with the argent, for it happened that Godrika hid veins of it far more bountiful than any could¡¯ve foreseen. Ironic, then, that what I had foreseen was soon realised: Rolf no longer knew the taste of victory, silvered as his sparring partners now were. Hence did I exempt him from all requisite training. There was little meaning in them if what awaited him were naught but injury and derision. But that hardly stopped him. On and on did he brandish his sword, its blade never reaching its mark. On and on was he beaten down into the ground, left with naught to do but writhe and gasp for air. Gone were the scant inklings of awe for his prowess. To all the others, he was a rag doll to be torn and broken day after day. And not just a rag doll, but a blotch of iron in an ocean of silver. True, swains were themselves also afforded the shimmering gear, but Rolf was an exception: in the entirety of the 5th, he was the only one left unfitted. This, too, was a development beyond my wildest dreams. More astonishing was the influence of silver on the minds of the officers themselves. Their argent gear: effective in battle, splendid to behold, and now, a status symbol of no small degree. Parading about in their newly given shine had fattened their conceit to the fullest. And along with it, their scorn for the yet iron-clad Rolf. Apprised of the situation, I ordered the quartermaster to also have made for Rolf a suit of silver armour to call his own. ¡°Madame, I¡¯m afraid I fail to see the point in this,¡± the quartermaster tilted his head. ¡°What purpose might silver serve a man of no odyl?¡± ¡°I would have the whole of the 5th be in full lockstep, a purpose silver should serve well enough,¡± I answered firmly. ¡°Deprive him of it and we but mark him the black sheep of our herd, do we not?¡± There was no lie in what I¡¯d said. My reasoning should¡¯ve proven sound enough. Even then, the quartermaster was oddly given to resistance. ¡°Pardon me, madame, but is it not the hobbling sheep of a man himself that keeps our herd out of lockstep?¡± ¡°Just do as I¡¯ve requested, will you now? A suit of silver armour for Rolf, please and thank you.¡± Words of my own, spoken by my own, then echoed up in me. ¡®¡­I¡¯ll make certain that you¡¯ll not be ailed by such abuse any longer¡­¡¯ A promise I¡¯d made to Rolf. A promise I meant not to betray. ¡°I fear I¡¯ve not the final say in this, madame,¡± on did the quartermaster resist. ¡°Silver equipment was once the privilege of the executive officers, accorded only by Central itself. Theirs is an authority that stands, even now. To receive any at all, I must needs first inform Central of the number we require, and thereafter gain their approval.¡± ¡°Then why not do just that? Tell Central to include a set for Rolf in the next shipment. Is that so difficult?¡± ¡°My Mareschal. It bears no mention that silver is soft amongst the many metals. Have an odylless soldier wear it, and he might as well wear paper.¡± A sigh. ¡°With all due respect, could you, with clear conscience, so poorly outfit one of your own, just that he might match more merrily with his peers? By my measure, you but imperil this man, good-for-nothing that he is.¡± Had this officer omitted that last remark, I might¡¯ve thought him half-considerate of Rolf. But in them was laid bare the way of his heart: he believed Rolf to be most undeserving of silver gear, magnificent of power and beauty as ¡®twas in his mind. ¡°¡­I¡¯ll hear no further excuses. Get Rolf his share. Do all that you must.¡± A conversation severed by my own irritation. That same ire further harshened my steps as I quit the quartermaster¡¯s presence. Yet ¡®twas the sullen truth that no consent would come from Central. There was no avail in sight for Rolf. How nagging, how unendurable ¡®twas. And so tugging my horse along now was the same man, of the same towering physique, clad in the same iron. A man that sooner seemed a manservant than a swain. By that point, there were indeed those that¡¯d begun to treat Rolf as such. What was once ¡°abuse¡± was now flagrant persecution. I made a point to request again a suit of silver for Rolf during a summons to the royal capital. But there in Redelberne was I met with the same excuses as the quartermaster¡¯s. There, my hopes were dashed yet again. The officials observed anew that a suit made to match Rolf¡¯s large figure would require a custom fit. Reasonable, if not for the tone of scorn laced in their timbre. ? The bitter winds sent against Rolf only crescendoed from there on. But I did not stand idly by; with quill set to parchment, I decreed to the whole of the 5th that all members strike from their conscience any discriminatory misgivings for another, based whether on capability or equipment. Though in the end, like so many of my prior efforts to shield Rolf, it amounted to naught. In the course of those heavy days, an incident unfolded: a horse of mine had gone missing from the stables. The leadership boiled with panick: the steed was a gift from none other than His Majesty, King Londosius. As my swain, ¡®twas Rolf¡¯s duty to look after the horse©`a responsibility hardly forgotten by the leadership, for they all then pounced upon him, so eager to lay the blame upon a lapse of his wits. Some secret malice was at work, a design to set the horse loose and brand Rolf the culprit¡ªa design to have him expelled. I found it hard to believe that the very Order I commanded could be so insidious, yet the suspicion remained a ghost haunting my thoughts. Nevertheless, nary a spot of proof was ever brought to light that could substantiate those doubts. I quickly attempted to calm the situation, but the effort was more quickly again washed away, for Rolf¡¯s ensuing defiance was as salt upon the leaders¡¯ angered blister. And yet, for however much he refuted the accusations brought against him, ¡®twas a dark curiosity that Rolf couldn¡¯t explain his activities in town, taken on the very same day of the horse¡¯s vanishing¡ªall on account of insobriety. When pressed, he but pursed his lips shut like a child loath to admit to the virtues of the apology. Were he more of himself of our bygone days, surely Rolf would¡¯ve confessed to his ill actions and made proper amends. But he was changed. The long years of discrimination seemed to have left him thoroughly sallowed. Of course, I grieved for his situation. His pain, his troubles, all were suffered unjustly. Yet I also couldn¡¯t bear the thought that he could be so changed, so withered of his former valour. Thus, to much of my own grief was I dashed by his sunken conduct. ¡®Twas the truth that a single horse was all that was lost. A slight against His Majesty, to neglect his royal gift, sure. But ¡®twas not as though I or the Order saw a heavy sin upon Rolf¡¯s head. No, that head of his was yet steeled against the temptations of spite and treachery, that much I knew. ¡®Twas but an innocent slip of his hands that freed the horse, no doubt, were the fault truly his. Indeed¡­ a simple mistake. One that could¡¯ve been settled just as simply. An apology. With but a single word, he could¡¯ve earned my immediate forgiveness. With but a single utterance, this commotion could¡¯ve met its swift end. And yet, Rolf refused. ¡®Twas in parallel that the matter of my betrothal to Kenneth of Albeck was given speed. A development that clouded my spirits and had me weary of any hope for the future. Set against those troubles was this tangled knot of a scandal, doomed to be left no less coiled. I saw no other choice¡ªI had Rolf exiled. Why? Why did it come to this? Why didn¡¯t Rolf have it in him to apologise? Oh, the countless times I asked myself so. In the following days of processing his expulsion. In the following days of listening to gleeful lips sing of his punishments. At their end, my heart knew no answer. When it finally came time for him to leave, I had set out to meet him. However small, there was yet hope. Hope that he might have some words. Hope that he might see the worth of the apology. This, I nurtured to the very last moment. A simple yet sincere ¡°sorry¡± would¡¯ve been all it took for me to wipe his sentence clean. The retraction, at so late an hour, surely might¡¯ve riled every corner of the 5th to no small vexation. But I cared not. My own end loomed near. To be wedded off to some son of a viscount. To hang up the mareschal¡¯s cape and quit the halls of the Order forever. Would Rolf at last be wise to his faults? To realise what relief a single apology could accord him? Met now, as he is, with the reality that soon would we go our separate ways? His erstwhile self has ever and always done the right. Surely, then, there is in him the spark to do the same here. These thoughts rumbled in my heart as I looked intently upon him. And Rolf, standing on the verge of departure, looked back. ¡°Be well, then.¡± His last words before he set out. Words, terse and clean. A sword cutting the ties between us. I but remained there on horseback, utterly aghast, drained of all strength and inspiration to leap off and run to his side. On and on, I stared at his vanishing figure. He had but to bow his head. He had but to bend the knee. And all would be as before. Why hadn¡¯t he, then? Again, the questions cackled away at me. Again, the answers remained silent. Rolf was ever at my side. From our earliest days. From our most faded memories. From when we were wide-eyed babes, scarce able to keep a running stride through a world we barely knew aught about. When there was joy, we rejoiced together. When there was sorrow, we rued together. A party dress. My very first. Gifted with it, I frolicked all through the room in elation, twirling with haphazard steps. Then did I take Rolf¡¯s hands, and together we danced and danced, till I was a spent and breathless mess. A canary. My very own. Dear little Thibaud, filled with pluck and song. But on the day silent of his last vitality, I wept on and on, till came Rolf to my side. And there he stayed for the rest of the day, quiet and condoling. Never could I have imagined that Rolf would be gone. Ever and always would he be here with me. This, I believed. For the longest, longest time. But ¡®twas not so. ¡®Twas never to be. ? To a border province goes he so branded a knight-exile. ¡®Tis a rule writ in neither stone nor law, but in precedence, one that curtailed my efforts to select for Rolf a closer destination. What was chosen instead was Balasthea Stronghold, sat in the yonder province of Str?m. Nary a soldier or banner of an Order would be found there. Protecting those lands in lieu of our knightly presence were the presiding margrave¡¯s own men. The same held true for Balasthea. Thus was there no direct connection between the fort and any of the Orders themselves. But ¡®twas a plain fact that we knights compose the royal military. Hence did the margrave¡ªhimself appointed and funded by the Londosian royalty¡ªfind his army subordinate to our own, by rights. Were a post in his ranks vacant, ¡®twas well within my authority to fill it, an opportunity I quickly seized for Rolf¡¯s sake. ¡°Seasoned noble serviceman¡± was to be his official status upon employment at Balasthea. Admittedly, a ¡°serviceman¡± whose entire tenure was spent as a swain, and a ¡°noble¡± who was all but disinherited¡ªcaveats that would be most difficult to hide, I¡¯m sure. Yet the technicalities bore little weight in the end, and ¡®twas thanks to this very designation that the transferral went through at all. Rolf¡­ No matter the cost, he must not be made to fight. From now on would he live in a land straddling the terrible den of the Naf¨ªlim. A land that my protective hand ill-reached. For him, to step into the frontlines would be to step through death¡¯s door itself. ¡®Twas a fate he could not defy. And for why but that he was weak? Not even I could deny that sad truth any longer. And ¡®twas neither for his lack of odyl nor his defeats at the end of every spar of late. Nay¡­ ¡®Twas simply that he was no longer one to confront his faults. Admitting to weakness. Aspiring to strength. Virtues most absolute in their necessity, honoured by all who wager their lives on the battlefield. Virtues, now lost to Rolf. There, on that same battlefield, would the fates send every arrow and spell to pierce him in his tragic flight. And there¡­ there, would he die. I could not let that happen. Heretofore have I constrained myself and silenced the beggings of my heart, that I might not give to Rolf any undue favour or treatment. But to set him loose to his own end? Such was a mercy stroke, not constraint. I¡¯ll not hide my reservations, my despair for his changed conduct, but to have him suffer a senseless death was something I could not, for the life of me, allow. A bittersweet fortune, then, that the commandant of Balasthea was taken ill, whose now-vacant seat I gave to Rolf. ¡®Twas not at all an arrangement met warmly by Central, but through my sheer persistence were its magisters convinced. Likely they thought him one most wont to fatally slip up somewhere, but I thought otherwise. After all, for however much he lacked teeth in battle, he excelled in dictating it. From the war-table, then. Donned with the title of Acting Commandant would Rolf thrive. This, I believed. With him safe from the maw of the frontlines, I at last knew some measure of relief. Yet it did little to fill the void in my heart. Volume 2 - CH 3.4 Moons had passed. The season had turned. A span of days empty of Rolf¡¯s company. The emptiest, then, of all the days I¡¯d lived. But in it, some solace from the fates: the unmaking of my betrothal to the son of House Albeck, on account of a scandal unveiled in his manor. ¡®Twas nothing less than a cause for celebration, to be sure. Only, the one with whom I wished most to celebrate was now long gone. There was, however, a spark in these sullen days. Meagre, yes, but a source of mirth nonetheless: of late, I found myself keen on reading the reports. Of course, such reports¡ªin their many reams¡ªwere hitherto quick to earn my daily dread just as they were to pile upon my desk. And pile they did, for we mareschals of the disparate Orders are duty-bound to share amongst one another the tidings from the many battlefields of Londosius. Especially so from the border provinces, foremost bulwarks as they are against the Naf¨ªlim tide. Indeed, nary a frontline goes unheard on the daily. My ears had heard their fill too long ago, to be quite honest. The reports were as birds teeming into my columbarium of a chamber to great bedlam; just the sight of them flocking on my desk was enough to turn my stomach. But in the last few months, there was, amongst the irksome bundles, a line of reports that brought colour to these grey days. Namely, tidings from faraway Str?m. A fringeland where stood Balasthea Stronghold, Rolf¡¯s place of employ. ¡®Twas there that he alone turned their fortunes: the soldiery, reorganised; the tactics, revised; the battles, won at last. The fort was now a distant cry from the hungry coffin that it once was. Why, ¡®twas that very same ill-repute that so enticed the 5th¡¯s leadership to send Rolf to the terrible fort in the first place¡­ ¡­and what drove me to save him. Given the mantle of commandant by my decree, he was safeguarded from the obligation of frontline fighting. Imagine the throbbing veins on the leadership¡¯s temples as they learnt of Balasthea¡¯s turnaround, all thanks to Rolf¡¯s command. The reports were well worth the reread, for I found great joy in recounting his deeds. Yet, sallowing those moments was the shade of discontent. Had he done for the 5th what he did for Balasthea, perhaps Rolf would¡¯ve long been made a knight. True; he never was given the breadth to spread his wings. And neither was his circumstance ever blessed to much degree. But always had I wished for Rolf to apply himself more than he did. And then. An idea. ¡­Circumstance. Yes¡­ Given proper circumstance, it may yet be possible to bring Rolf back from exile. I sat more deeply at my desk, clothed in thought. ¡®Tis certain that he was cast away from the 5th¡¯s halls on account of faults he dared not admit to. But perhaps his fruitful time in Str?m has scraped off that stubborn patina. Perhaps he may yet become a man willing to confess to his mistakes. Perhaps¡­ someone with the strength to confront his weaknesses. And then, were he to reflect upon himself with all sincerity¡­ And apologise with all due gravity¡­ Whilst irrefutably decorated with his merits at Balasthea¡­ Then, perhaps his return to the 5th might be within reach. It didn¡¯t have to be now. He may take his time. But given it, the possibility may be born anew upon the horizon. And with my betrothal to Kenneth now undone, my tenure here at the 5th should continue well into the foreseeable future. If so, I¡¯d very much like for Rolf to be here beside me along the way. ¡°Rolf¡­¡± Is he changed? Nay¡­ Is he back to his past self? Has he abandoned the servility nurtured in these dark years, for the former gallantry of years more blissful? To the window I looked, where spanned the far skies of the fringelands. There, my once-betrothed yet drew breath. And for him, I yearned. ? ¡°Well, if it isn¡¯t our star! Heard the big news, we have, Emilie. Why, I¡¯d be a plump and happy man were pride a treat to be savoured. This calls for a celebration: to a baroness reborn!¡± ¡°O-oh, you shouldn¡¯t, Gerd. But thank you.¡± ¡°Hold, now. Not a promotion, were it? What¡¯s the diff, then, ey?¡± ¡°It was no promotion at all, Miss Raakel. Our dearest mareschal here has instead been accorded a fief all her own.¡± The collective rejoicing of the Owlcrane flock. ¡®Twas celebratory enough, really, to see them so aglow with merriment. Smiles were all about¡ªeven upon my own lips. ¡°And headship, as well, to a new family,¡± Sheila went on. ¡°¡®House Valenius¡¯, if I am not mistaken?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve the right of it,¡± I confirmed. ¡°Though I should admit, the name plays much at pretension. Airing it alone flusters my cheeks.¡± It all began with the Albecks¡¯ wrongdoing. When I¡¯d been given the news, that the engagement was off the table asudden, I¡¯d assumed the cause to be of the usual affair: embezzlement, infidelity, the sort of cunning that the nobility were so wont to indulge. Appalling, then, that ¡®twas more nefarious again than anything I could¡¯ve imagined. For the sinful natures of Viscount Albeck and Kenneth were laid bare: both were paraphiles to an extreme, hedonist princes who derived fleshly pleasure from the violence and humiliation they inflicted upon women. Such victims were kidnapped, gaoled, and made to suffer all manner of atrocities. The evidence astounded no less: below the Albeck manor were discovered the skeletal remains of countless souls lost. And amongst them were the remnants of none other than the viscount¡¯s prior wives, all once falsely assumed to have perished by accident. There was I, well on the verge of joining them. Kenneth himself was apparently quite¡­ ¡°taken¡± with me, and from testimonials gained, he had tasked much thought to our ¡°honeymoon¡±. When the foul particulars were revealed to me, I well-remember being sickened to abrupt nausea. No family, even decorated with such historical repute as the Albecks, could dare endure in the face of such travesty. And so, House Albeck knew ruin. Their land as well, the eponymous viscounty, was beheaded of its lord. And now, filling that vacancy: myself. That¡¯s right. The Londosian royals saw fit to pass the Albeck territories over to me as a fief. House Mernesse was to remain untouched, whilst I was to be made founder to a wholly new family: House Valenius. The Lady Emilie, Dame Mareschal to the 5th Order. And now, mistress to the Valenius barony. The arrangement was one of convenience. I was originally to involve myself in the affairs of that province anyway, as wife to Kenneth and future viscountess of House Albeck. And I had prestige enough to warrant the wedding: namely, my hand in the recapture of Godrika, the Battle of Erbelde, and so on. The puzzle pieces were already in place, so to speak. But of course, the solving hands had a motive of their own. The Lady Estelle Tiselius, Dame Mareschal to the 1st Order¡ªhers was a fraught relationship with Central, if the gossipers were to be trusted. Indeed, the illustrious hero-dame was more a thorn in Central¡¯s side, though one too ingrained to be extracted by the pliers of political artifice. And so the magisters saw need of a new hero. Someone whom they could groom with gifts of prestige and clout. A seed of their own choosing, from which would sprout their next idol. And as the fates would have it, I was the one selected from amongst the many specimens, meritious and folk-favoured as I was. For that reason, I was kept from undertaking the rigours of my new office as baroness of Valenius. Central espied much use in me as a mareschal, thus was I to continue my duties here at the 5th, whilst a Central-appointed consul was to preside over the province in my stead. ¡°Hah. Well, fair Baroness of Valenius,¡± poked Gerd. ¡°You are yet our mareschal, and for that, I should like to make a toast: to many more years of your leadership!¡± ¡°Oh, stop that¡­¡± I felt friction, then. Of being celebrated when I had not the spirit for it. Of being called a baroness, when I had not a baron to be by my side. There were, however, those that celebrated my situation for a different reason: I was, apparently, the first in all of Londosian history to be both a serving mareschal and the sitting head of a noble family. Such was hitherto seen only in bedtime fables, what with princesses or dukes not rarely taking up the sword to make battle. That the trope of legend was realised, here and now, caused quite the stir amongst the knightly ranks and common folk alike. ¡®Twas blind revelry, really. I was no princess nor duchess, but a mere baroness, one whose provincial charges were relinquished to a faceless steward, no less. And yet the people of this realm still lionised me as some swashbuckling mistress. I had gratitude for their affections, certainly, but of late their zeal was stoked by naught but half-falsities. ¡®Twas very much a development that had me ill at ease. ¡°Come now, Emilie love! Yer high an¡¯ mighty now, yea? Have a bit o¡¯ fun, why don¡¯t ye! Throw yer weight ¡®round like a real noble! Why, if I wore yer heels, I¡¯d have that miser o¡¯ a mess hall rebuilt proper¡ªbig, an¡¯ roomy-like! Oh, an¡¯ a roof fer the trainin¡¯ grounds ain¡¯t a bad idea either, innit?¡± A bit of tomfoolery from Raakel, met with laughter all around. But she had a point¡ªa rather convincing one. An epiphany, actually. My mind raced. Loath though I was to admit, I had in fact gained no small sway. My voice reached many ears, and just as many were fain to listen, even to requests of unreason. Like, let¡¯s say, of welcoming back an exile. ? I perused through the desk-strewing reports once more. It was quiet; nary a peep sounded in my chamber, save for the occasional shuffling of papers and parchments. Balasthea¡ªnot yet has its stream of merits let up. What once saw nigh-catastrophic casualties on the daily now sees nearly none at all, a development clearly following Rolf¡¯s instalment as commandant. ¡®Tis a turnaround that impresses no less with each reread. Not long ago at all was Balasthea a veritable killing field. Miraculous, to be so transformed into a steeled bastion, where casualties have been made a rarity. Such an achievement paved more boldly the path to Rolf¡¯s return to the Order, a possibility waxing to probability with each passing day. But an impasse well-stunts its fruition¡ªto bridge it, I need a plan. While true that my words now carry great weight, heavier still is the stigma of Rolf¡¯s exile, a stain that cannot be so easily wiped clean through meritous service alone. In dire need of a hint to unravel this skein, I rummaged through the other reports. ¡®Twas then that a certain word caught my eye. ¡°Chief Adjutant¡±. The skein revealed a loose thread at last. Over the past two winters, Londosius¡¯ war-waging had expanded in both scope and vigour, a trend sparked by my costly success at Godrika. To cope with the belligerent demand, each of the Orders underwent changes to its regime. Not least of which was the birth of the chief adjutant role, for ¡®twas swiftly understood that we mareschals might require a close advisor to better manage the new rigours of our office, in light of the burgeoning scale of the battles. Of the Orders, the 2nd had already commissioned an adjutant of its own, and to that moment, the post was serving its purposes well. Certainly none would protest were I to avail the 5th of the same. And just as the 2nd had done, I should open the position to all aspirants¡ªthat is, regarding little if they hold any present affiliation with the Order or no. But to match the acumen required of an adjutant, they must have some years of prior service in the Order under their belt. And to pair with it, some experience in field command as well. Ah, that¡¯s right. ¡°Applicants seeking frontline service shall also be accepted¡±¡ªa condition I should not do without. A chief adjutant minds warcraft more than he does war-waging, true, but ever the connoisseur of the sword, Rolf would inevitably find himself close to the action. ¡®Tis certain: once in the near past did I bid him throw down the sword and brave anew the path of the strategist. ¡®Twas an earnest suggestion that he ultimately refused. ¡®Tis certain again, however, that he did admit strategy as being amongst the pillars of chivalric duty. His heart, then, was that he simply wished not to give up the blade. This I should not deny him of, regardless of the erstwhile nature of the adjutant role. Now, one more condition. ¡°Neither past deeds done nor offences justly disciplined shall be of any account¡±¡ªthe one line of greatest import. In other words, Rolf¡¯s exile shall be a matter wholly unenquired of. ¡­Oh, were it so simple. To regard that very line, with nary a worry for its implications, would surely be a failure of my office. As a mareschal, as a superior, this was the one facet I could not leave uncut. Nevertheless, I have hope. Hope that Rolf will answer my veiled call. Hope that he will come back. And when he stands before me at last, an apology is what my ears must first hear from his lips. Only¡­ Were I to find him fast believing that all is forgiven¡­ ¡­were I to find him forgetful of all that has come before¡­ ¡­then what¡¯s left to me is to abandon him once and for all. But ¡®twill be all right. I believe in him. From his deeds at Balasthea, I can rightly tell: back in his heart is his once-lost strength. The strength to admit his faults. The strength to confront his weaknesses. The Rolf I¡¯ve always known. The Rolf who would gladly apologise. Had this strength found him during the hearing, certainly he would be right here with me in this very chamber, at this very moment. Once more, then. Just once more will I accord him a chance. Taking it, he shall unfurl his sail of remorse. Seeing it, I will call my winds of mercy. And then, together, shall we resume our voyage anew. A voyage upon seas of a different temperament, for no longer am I a hare ensnared in an unsought betrothal, but the head of House Valenius. I feign no doubt that Central will infringe upon matters of my marriage. But I¡¯ll not brook their gall. Not one bit. No matter how viciously they come to bite and tear us apart, I¡¯ll stay them by their leashes, one way or another. And then¡­ ¡­And then, I will marry Rolf. And together, we will be lord and lady of Valenius. A future long-faded. A dream long-deserted. Now renewed. Now within reach. Oh, how my heart raced. Volume 2 - CH 3.5 And still did my heart race. From morning till this moment, for today was the long-awaited commencement: to be held was the official screening for the post of Chief Adjutant of the 5th Chivalric Order. But ¡®twas more an intimate affair, held in a small conference room in the headquarters proper. Gathered were the top brass of the 5th: myself, the under-mareschal, the Owlcranes, and the brigadiers, including Felicia herself. And together, ¡®twas our charge hereupon to meet with the aspirants one-by-one. To enquire of them, to know of them, through and through. Yes¡­ Long-awaited, indeed. Months now, it¡¯s been, since I¡¯ve last laid eyes on Rolf. To see him again¡­ The thought was as a fresh wind billowing upon my dour sails. But I¡¯ll not forget my office, of course. The screening must be carried out with all fairness. To that end, I mean to spare Rolf not an inkling of leniency. To earn back his place amongst us, and my side as chief adjutant besides, he must prove himself more worthy again than all others of like ambition. A knock upon the door. In peeked a knight, one charged with the day¡¯s clerical duties. ¡°Madame,¡± he called, ¡°we¡¯ve a fair gathering of aspirants at present. Shall we start soon?¡± ¡°Ah, yes,¡± I answered before yielding a deep breath. ¡°Right. Let us begin.¡± ¡°As you wish. The first shall appear shortly.¡± The wheels were turning at last. And with them, the fraying of my nerves. A bit silly, really. ¡®Tis not I that¡¯s being screened, after all. Nay¡­ There¡¯re worries aplenty to be had. The leaders, gathered here to judge the aspirants alongside me¡ªthere¡¯s no doubt in my mind that they would resist full-fervent Rolf¡¯s very presence, let alone the idea of selecting him for so notable a position. But Rolf himself has done many an outstanding deed in Str?m. Deeds that none here can overlook. And with a show of sincere remorse for the incident of months past, as well as my ensuing support, the pieces of the puzzle are sure to fall in place. And when they do, the way shall finally be unbarred: the way towards a future, together. ¡°Pardon.¡± With a knock, the first aspirant entered the room¡ªa man seemingly in his forties. ¡°Good morning, ser,¡± I greeted him. ¡°Pray have a seat.¡± ¡°Thank you, madame.¡± And there in a lone chair did he sit, one vis-a-vis us leaders, sat as we were in a single row. Intimidating, to be sure. ¡°¡­You¡¯d have done well had you been first¡­¡± A murmur from Felicia, verging on a whisper too faint for an unattentive ear to catch. And who else were they for but her own brother? Truth be told, she spoke the words writ also in my own heart, for I, too, wished Rolf had been the first to cross that door. But alas. I yet had my duties as a mareschal to fulfil, and any aspirant passing through the doorway must be accorded my fair and earnest judgement. With my spirits set, I looked to the gentleman before me and commenced the assessment. ? The screenings went on uninhibitedly. ¡®Twas on the eve of noon that we were sat afront our fourth aspirant. ¡°¡­¡®Tis writ here that you¡¯ve assumed command on the field. To wit, on the southern fronts of yesteryear,¡± I said, looking at the papers. ¡°Is that so?¡± ¡°Indeed I have, madame,¡± nodded the aspirant. ¡°There we were, cornered, disadvantaged. My men were fraught and affrighted, and our foe saw victory on the horizon. But by my wits did we wear them down with nary a hole in our stores. And on the seventh day of that long struggle, we drove them off and snatched victory¡ªright from the front of their noses!¡± ¡°Faith! ¡®Twas your hand that checked that game, good sir?¡± gasped one of the leaders. ¡°Why, we hardly talked of aught else when we¡¯d read the reports! And justly so; ¡®twas a fine manoeuvre, sir! Standing steadfast like you did!¡± ¡°Good man! Glad am I to be so warmly remembered,¡± our aspirant beamed. ¡°Oh verily, the moment bears my proudest mark. No other soul in that battle could¡¯ve hoped to match my merits, I dare say!¡± ¡°Thank you, sir, for that glowing account,¡± I said. ¡°Right. I believe we¡¯ve heard enough. We shall apprise you of the results in the coming days.¡± ¡°And with bated breath shall I wait,¡± he returned, rising and bowing. ¡°Though you should know, madame. I am quite the steal, if I do say so myself. Hm hm!¡± ¡°That you are, sir. Thank you.¡± With that, the fourth assessment was concluded. As for the aspirant himself, he made certain not to leave without looking straight my way and airing another expectation of a good tiding. ¡°My¡­¡± Sheila sighed. ¡°Our aspirants thus far¡ªwith such spirit do they sell themselves. To some success might they pitch the selling of this very kingdom for a coin, were they to try.¡± ¡°I likes it well ¡®nough, their spirit,¡± Raakel chimed in. ¡°Shows motivation, passion.¡± The words of the two rang quite true. The aspirants certainly imbued ardour in their persuasion. And as if that weren¡¯t enough, some amongst them belonged to the higher Orders. I had wondered of what compelled them to apply to the 5th, the lowest of the bunch. ¡®Twas then that Gerd offered an answer. ¡°Hah. Likely the work of the ¡®Emilie effect¡¯, as I like to call it. All riled and ready to fight alongside our new hero-dame, they are. As they should be!¡± Loath though I was to admit, he spoke the grain of truth. ¡°¡­Whatever the case, we break here,¡± I said, standing up from my seat. ¡°Let¡¯s reconvene in an hour hence.¡± With that, the leadership collectively shuffled and stretched, whilst I promptly exited the room. To the knight clerk I went. ¡°Pardon. How many remain?¡± I asked him. ¡°Twelve, madame. They wait in the parlour as we speak. We expect more to arrive as the day waxes, however.¡± ¡°Is that right¡­¡± ¡°More again have answered your call than any could¡¯ve imagined. I¡¯ll bat not an eye if our work continues well into the night. Stringent indeed were the criteria, but they have done little to abate the flood of aspirants drawn to your beacon, madame.¡± ¡°H-have they now¡­?¡± I yielded, somewhat afluster. ¡°Right. Let¡¯s keep at it then. There¡¯s much ahead of us.¡± Parting from the clerk¡¯s company, I went down the corridor, stopping just before the entrance to the parlour. There, I took in as deep a breath as my lungs allowed, and oh so slowly exhaled. Hand upon my heart, I calmed my nerves. Then, with perhaps too much caution, I peeked inside. Within were twelve, all of different ages. And amongst them¡ª ¡°Emilie.¡± ¡°Hya!?¡± ¡ªa voice prodded me from behind, teasing a silly yelp from my lips. I swivelled about, finding Felicia standing near. ¡°Has the man shown himself yet?¡± she asked, surely referring to Rolf himself. Of late, she¡¯d ceased speaking of him with any warmth. It must be months now since I¡¯d last heard the word ¡°Brother¡± from her mouth. ¡®Twas a change, I gather, precipitated by his silent incapacity for apology at the hearing of months past. A change that only darkened her despair for her once-beloved brother. ¡°N-no, not yet, from the look of it.¡± ¡°The nerve¡­¡± she sighed. ¡°Such a boon that awaits him. And he had but to be the repentant earlybird to claim it. How clouded be his eyes, that so simple an appeal is lost to their sight?¡± How biting they were, the words of a sister for her own bloodkin. Yet in faith, her heart was willing to forgive him. This I knew very well. She was amongst those I had privately consulted of putting together this very affair. A conversation, in which course, found her immediately wise to its true intention: to give Rolf another chance. Even then, in spite of her bitter demeanour, she aired nary a breath of disapproval. Indeed, the will to forgive Rolf was yet hale in her. Or perhaps, the desire. ¡°He sees well enough, Felicia,¡± I attempted to assuage her. ¡°¡®Twon¡¯t be long before he arrives, I¡¯m sure.¡± ¡°And you should sooner give up on coddling him so, dear Emilie,¡± she said, softening upon addressing me. ¡°There¡¯s no need to humour him if he intends to keep playing the pouting toddler. We otherwise chance slighting the other aspirants.¡± ¡°Yes, Felicia, I know. The assessments shall be done in full fairness, I swear,¡± was my assurance to her, after which I gave one more glance through the parlour. Not less than five years of service in the Order¡­ Field experience in military command¡­ The souls I saw inside were all mete with those conditions. And as such, they were each a tempered knight, full-fledged and full-ready to tackle the burden of chief adjutant. But Rolf will be just fine. He has to be. By none of them would he be outshone or overshadowed. This, I kept pondering. And thus, did I keep yearning for our reunion. ? Four hours had gone by since we reconvened for the afternoon session. Titian noonlight sighed through the windows. ¡°Thank you, honoured knights all. I shall await the good word.¡± The aspirant dame before us curtsied, and summarily left the conference room. ¡°She, too, is quite the star, I must say,¡± said one amongst the leadership. ¡°That she had a hand in the Rossantine defence is most assuring.¡± ¡°Yes¡­¡± I remarked. ¡°It certainly is.¡± Truly, the dame¡¯s deeds were not wanting. Just as true, however, was that the stronghold of Rossant was not especially fraught in its plight. A pale comparison, really, to the deathly circumstance of Balasthea, made deathly no more by Rolf. ¡®Twas his deeds that I found to be more vaulting, miraculous even. I looked to the clerk at the doorway. ¡°How many more?¡± ¡°Four in the parlour, madame. The stream of late arrivals looks to be drying up, too, from the look of it.¡± ¡°I see. Thank you.¡± I rose from my seat once more. ¡°Everyone, let¡¯s break for now. We reconvene in twenty.¡± A rustling rose from the leaders once more as I left the room. Met with fresher air, I gave a stretch. ¡°Haah¡­¡± How tiring. Even as mareschal, I yet ill-take to measuring others with such stringency. ¡­Nay. That wasn¡¯t it at all. ¡®Twas the hours of disappointment. Of welcoming in aspirants to the assessment, one after another, to see not Rolf¡¯s face, but only unacquainted ones. A repetition ever-wearing away at my nerves. By now, there nagged in me the itch of annoyance. But casting it off with a shake of my head, I went and peeked into the parlour once more. ¡°¡­Mm¡­¡± Rolf wasn¡¯t there. Why? Felicia¡¯s prior words rang through my mind. More clearly, and truly now, as I pondered further of them. ¡®Twas to Rolf¡¯s utmost benefit to show up at the earliest and make plain his remorse to us all. Yet to instead have us sit in grating anticipation¡­ ¡®twas passing strange. The rumination did little but tinge my annoyance towards anger. But in the course of that reddening, a new concern was awakened in me. One I felt was beyond all possibility. And yet I found myself unable to silence the foreboding. ¡­Could it be? That Rolf¡¯s not coming? No. What in the world am I thinking? ¡®Tis Rolf¡¯s long-lived dream to become a knight. And so it is that here, the Order, honoured hall of chivalry and esteemed service, is where he truly belongs. Admittedly, he has erred along his path. But I am here. Here to give him another chance. Here to let him retrace his steps and tread anew the right way. Here to welcome him back to my side. He will come. I know he will. But in knowing such did I feel every minute and second drag on grindingly. How tiring, indeed¡­ More so than I¡¯d anticipated. With a deep breath to renew my spirits again, I wound about and began to make my way back to the conference room. ¡®Twas then that I found Gerd approaching from down the corridor. ¡°There you are, Emilie,¡± he called. ¡°Why, Gerd. We reconvene soon. You should head bac¡ª¡± ¡°Still waiting for that ungraced, aren¡¯t you?¡± There was a flatness of tone in his timbre. A clouded guardedness from which nothing could be gleaned. ¡°The criteria¡ªtailor-made for him, weren¡¯t they? No point in hiding the tale now, Emilie. These eyes of mine are hardly the sole pair that¡¯s seen through the smoke.¡± ¡°¡­I¡¯ll not forget fairness in my duties here.¡± ¡°And so you won¡¯t. Not that I had any doubt, of course.¡± With those words aired, Gerd went and had a glance through the parlour himself. ¡°Hm. The man of the hour¡ªnowhere to be seen.¡± ¡°Nowhere indeed.¡± An answer of mine, dammed by as much reticence as I could muster, for I felt then that committing to aught would¡¯ve soured the moment immediately. ¡°Tell me, Emilie,¡± Gerd said, turning back to me. ¡°Have we real need of him? That ungraced.¡± ¡°¡­I should think so,¡± I returned carefully. ¡°You¡¯ve heard of what¡¯s happened at Balasthea, haven¡¯t you?¡± ¡°That I have.¡± ¡°And Erbelde, Godrika¡­ You saw with your own eyes. We all did. How lost we would¡¯ve been, were it not for him.¡± ¡°I know that full-well, sure.¡± ¡°Yet still you brand him an ¡®ungraced¡¯?¡± Remaining non-committal was my intent in this conversation, but in its course did I find my words smouldering more and more redly. ¡°As I ought to. That¡¯s what he is. That¡¯s what he¡¯s been denied.¡± ¡°And to be denied is too profane a stigma, in your eyes?¡± ¡°Profane enough. For me, and for many, many others,¡± Gerd answered, before stepping past me and beginning his way back to the conference room. ¡°Still, you have my trust, Emilie. And my ear, and my sword. As well as everyone else¡¯s, I¡¯m sure.¡± Words from his parting figure. I stood there, somewhat whelmed by it all, before I thought to follow him back. Volume 2 - CH 3.6 More turns of the hourglass. The moment found us done with our twentieth assessment. ¡°Hoo¡ªah,¡± Raakel stretched. ¡°Ay, I¡¯m shag¡¯d. We¡¯ve met, what, a full score o¡¯ them so far, ey? By gum, had even got pensioners back from their pastures, we did.¡± A sentiment hardly hers alone. By now, the nightly hour and the other leaders both were weary and wearing on. ¡°How many left now?¡± I asked. ¡°All but two more,¡± the clerk answered. ¡°The finish line¡¯s in sight, madame; let¡¯s have this race run.¡± Two¡­ More and more were my doubts given reality, as that very number dwindled with Rolf absent from its count. Felicia, too, had clearly lost much hopeful softness from her face. Yet however taxed we were, the clerk relented little in showing in our next aspirant. A bow. ¡°My fair Mareschal Valenius. How long has it been?¡± This man. I knew his face. With him did I brave the Battle of Erbelde. With him did I often meet in the halls of Central¡ªmore times than I care to admit. Nevertheless, I gestured for him to take his seat. But no sooner did Gerd begin to mutter with some sharpness. ¡°¡­Erik Lindell.¡± Indeed, ¡®twas Sir Erik Lindell¡ªknight of the 1st, leader to its Owlcranes. My warm impressions of him were scant, if not wholly vacant. Of Lindell, I recall foremost the pummelling vehemence he exacted upon Rolf on the eve of the Erbelde operation. The bruises shading my once-betrothed¡¯s face were as clear in my mind as when I saw them three years past¡ªjust as clear as the vaulting words with which I then protested to his mareschal. And that¡¯s to say nothing of his advances, however subtle and unsettling they may be. Yes. There was in Lindell a fixation upon me, the nagging capstone to my dim opinion of him. ¡°That I am¡ªErik Lindell of the 1st Chivalric Order,¡± he bowed again. ¡°At your service, gentles all.¡± No few amongst the leadership were then roused with awe. ¡°Why, in faith! ¡®Tis the lieutenant of the 1st¡¯s Owlcranes!¡± ¡°Mareschal Tiselius¡¯ bosom-blade! Here in the flesh! What earns us this pleasure, now?¡± ¡°My good knights!¡± Lindell heartily laughed. ¡°Oh! You lionise me doubly-half than I half-doubly deserve!¡± Byzantine modesty, concealed by a honeyed smile¡ªthe other leaders were quick to revere the lieutenant, but I myself shared none of their enthusiasm. But then did Sheila part her lips with a gentle blade of a question, as if to air my very thoughts. ¡°Lord Lindell. A matter, if I may?¡± ¡°Hm? Ah, the fair Dame Sheila Larsen, yes? Most certainly, my Lady.¡± ¡°The illustrious lion of the 1st seeks to join the 5th¡ªcurious, I must say,¡± she began with not a break in her mild smile. ¡°Oh, Yon¨¢ be merciful: are those puppet strings mine eyes espy? Dangling from the hands of Central?¡± There were some amongst our leaders in whose ears Sheila¡¯s words rang with uneasy meaning. In their faces now were smiles fading against some throbbing suspicion. ¡°Come now, my dear Lady. You but espy a fancy from the faeries, I¡¯m afraid,¡± Lindell returned, his visage wholly unstruck by the turn of the moment¡¯s tone. Yet in spite of his denial, there was weight to Sheila¡¯s observation. Friction was what¡¯s immediately found between Central and the Mareschal Tiselius. And ¡®twas this very friction that compelled the administrative grasp to swipe from her the mantle of hero-dame, and with it, drape my shoulders instead. Thus was there cunning afoot, to wear away at her influence and fame, and pedestalise me in the same stroke. Lindell¡¯s intent to join our ranks seemed but a tendril stemming from those shadowed designs. Little corroboration was to be found, then, in Lindell¡¯s rebuttal, for our collective suspicion faded not in the least. Once more did he then speak, as though the scent of doubt was rank to his nose. ¡°But suppose for a moment that there is, indeed, some of Central¡¯s puppetry at play. What matter? The 5th shall suffer no ill from it, I¡¯m sure.¡± ¡°Nay, Sir Erik. I, for one, see much ill and more in meddling with politics. And thus do I ill-take to it.¡± ¡°Oh, my fair Lady Emilie,¡± simpered Lindel. ¡°Your worries, I understand full-well.¡± Your nonsense, I pity full-heartedly, his mind might¡¯ve said. Averse to politicking, in such circumstance as I am now¡ªin his ears, I perhaps sounded more the bellyaching child than a prudent leader. ¡®Twas then that I recalled his mareschal¡¯s very words. A man on whom fits the orator¡¯s jerkin just as snugly the knight¡¯s cuirass; a wolf well-practised in rousing the packs to his purposes¡ªnot even from the hero-dame was Lindell¡¯s love of political knifery hidden. Lightly, then, must I tread whilst in his company. ¡°Right,¡± I spoke anew, cutting the tension. ¡°In any case, you sit as an aspirant, and we as judges. Let us proceed, shall we?¡± Thus did another assessment commence¡ªnow with much caution. ? ¡°Well then, good leaders all. Do judge me gently,¡± Lindell bowed after rising from his seat. ¡°And so we shall. You will know our resolve in the coming days,¡± I answered flatly. ¡°Ah yes, resolve. I must say, though there burns in me both reverence and adoration for my mareschal, the Lady Tiselius, more brightly aflame is my own resolve, to lend both hand and heart in ushering in the new age. My hope, then, that you will accept it.¡± With those slithering words did Lindell finally quit our presence. How serpentine he is, thus we ought to treat him accordingly. Though truth be told, the moment found me caring little of it, for another matter pressed me more exigently. I looked to the clerk. ¡°The next shall be the last, I take it?¡± ¡°That is correct, madame.¡± ¡°Are you certain? There remains none in the parlour?¡± ¡°Very certain. One more and the day is done,¡± he nodded. ¡°Your endurance astounds, madame. Just a little more, now.¡± Then did the clerk leave to summon the next¡ªand last¡ªaspirant. The door shut, and at once, my nerves frayed altogether. Sounds, all of them, seemed to pull away into a weighty silence. In that ensuing hollow were but two: the heaving of my breaths and the quickening of my heartbeat. ¡®Tis all right. Rolf is most certainly here. When that door next opens, ¡®twill be him that I see. Him, and no one else. The stars are aligned. The stars of our futures, intertwined anew. Rolf will soon be home again. Home, by my side. And together, we¡¯ll fight the Naf¨ªlim. Together, we¡¯ll start a new family. And then, we¡¯ll walk towards tomorrow and on¡ªtogether. Time then seemed to tarry. Water would¡¯ve flowed like winter honey. A blink would¡¯ve spanned a whole moment. In that slowness, leashed taut by suspense, did the door creep open at last. A man. Half-greyed. And not less than twice my age. Rolf¡­ ¡­did not come home. ? The good mister left naught to be desired. His history found him well-noted: six years in the 4th Order, some spent at the helm of a brigade, and a transfer to Central for a long tenure in its halls. Eloquent of wit and manner, sagacious and gentlemanly¡ªhe was the ideal candidate, truth be told. ¡°Mareschal Valenius. Gracious leaders withal. I pray for patience to endure the long deliberation¡ªand the good news to come.¡± Thus did he bow and exit, and in his place then came the clerk. ¡°Most excellent, everyone. The screening is ended.¡± Breaths exhaled from all around, as if a pent-up wind was released from everyone¡¯s lungs. Relief, weariness, cheer, corroboration¡ªall were expressed and exchanged. Yet in its midst¡­ ¡°¡­why¡­ why¡­?¡± A poor whisper from Felicia¡¯s lips. Upon her brows, a grave furrow. But in her eyes, an emptiness. To any other, such a mien might¡¯ve seemed too fraught a book to read. A mist enshrouded her heart, turning away all empathy. But she is as a sister to me, and so did my own heart know full-well what ailed hers: disbelief, pure and dark, in the face of this newly unveiled reality. A disbelief I shared. ¡°Is this¡­ is this truly it?¡± I asked the clerk. ¡°We¡¯ve no more aspirants to meet?¡± ¡°Indeed, madame.¡± ¡°W¡­ what of late arrivals? For them, we can wait, perhaps¡­¡± A slightly quizzical look. ¡°The cutoff is passed, madame. I¡¯m afraid not a soul more shall show up at our doorstep.¡± ¡°The kingdom¡­¡± I pressed on, ¡°¡­to all corners of the kingdom have I opened recruitment. Sure enough, we¡¯ve met some today hailing from the far reaches. There may yet be one more making his way here¡ªfrom too far a corner, perhaps, to make it in time. For him, we can wait, if even for just a little while.¡± We souls of Man are wont to lose our better wits, when afront a reality we cannot bear. How painfully this resonated, as I aired words unreasonable to any other ear. ¡°Come now, Emilie,¡± spoke Gerd. ¡°If ¡®he¡¯ did like the rest, he would¡¯ve arrived the day before, and stayed the night at some inn, no less, as any right-minded travel-folk should do. Rules are rules, and being on time is one we¡¯ve set. Bend them, and we forget fairness with full-intention.¡± Gerd¡¯s words rang too true. But I felt in me a wall of denial, shutting away all calls to rationality, just to protect an empty hope. Rolf must be coming; that he would not was simply inconceivable. ¡°B¡­ but¡­¡± There did I begin to gainsay Gerd¡¯s argument. Try as I might, however, what left my lips was but silent air. The moment that followed, then, was just as quiet. The leaders, all of them, turned their eyes and ears to me. Yet to them, I must¡¯ve seemed more the forlorn damsel than a hero-dame, as with my own eyes did I look all through them, seeking their counsel, their corroboration. Only, their lips remained unmoving. Justly so, for ¡®twas mine that were being begged for motion. And in the stretches of that muted lull did I finally recognise an aching truth: my dreams, my desires, all that felt so close at hand coursed through its fingers like fine sand. Just to be blown away by the winds. ¡°¡­Nay¡­¡± I surrendered at last, ¡°¡­you¡¯re absolutely right. We end here.¡± Yes. From here on would we, the leadership, deliberate all that we¡¯ve gathered today, and in due course, select the 5th¡¯s new chief adjutant. One whose name will not be ¡°Rolf Buckmann.¡± ? I looked all along the parlour, alone. Here once waited a score and more aspirants. But the marbled and embroidered room was now dim and empty, even of sound. Not a soul waited in the lonely space, no matter how much I searched. ¡®Twas overlate. The leaders have all retired for the night. Through the entryway would come not another person. Not Rolf. Not anyone. A thought, simple as ¡®twas crushing. ¡­Why? How resolved I was in forgiving him. How eager I was in reaching out my hand to him. How certain I was in thinking he¡¯d take it. Yes¡­ Certain. How certainly did I believe that he would come racing home from the faraway frontier. That he would reflect upon his faults. That he would apologise for them. That he would then, from his own lips, say how much he longed to be with me. The path was all laid out. I would welcome Rolf into House Valenius as my husband. Then with the new name would we start a new family and a new life. A fancy that filled my many whiles. A path that should¡¯ve been unbarred. But Rolf isn¡¯t here. He never came. The path is vanished. Was it my fault? Had my judgement erred somewhere? Had I unwittingly chosen for myself a world without Rolf? I stood, and stood, and stood. All alone, in a soulless parlour. A sight, a scene, a figure ill-becoming that of a commander of knights. A lauded prodigy. A star of Londosius. Emilie Valenius. Hero-dame for the new age. ¡­What a seed for laughter. Volume 2 - CH 4.1 Evergreen verdure blurred on by as we galloped fast to Mia¡¯s fallen home. Our path was that of a Naf¨ªlim marching route, laid for its leniency of travel: the trees sprouted spaciously from one another, and so was our horse-speed haste unhindered. A haste for which awaited only trouble with the waning of the noon-hours in this woodland. Thus did we stop and make camp as the last sunrays buried themselves beneath the horizon. Smoke soon rose; our fire for the night was made. Between us it burned as we sat ourselves upon sundered tree-trunks. I then went about preparing supper: slices of hard cheese and hearty ham. Their aromas quickly wafted against the warm glow of the fire, but I did not keep Mia waiting for long. To her, I handed a generous share. ¡°¡­thank you¡­¡± Yet wait she did, seemingly loath to have a morsel in her mouth before one could be had in mine. Table manners¡ªlikely instilled in her not by the callous hands of the slavers, but the wisdom of her parted parents. Seeing this, I sliced up my own share in a hurry, and supper was soon set. ¡°Many thanks for this meal.¡± ¡°¡­many thanks for this meal¡­¡± Whilst chewing the cheese, I gazed into the flame, finding in it a beckoning for reflection. All has gone as well as I¡¯d hoped. Our journey is mostly trodden¡ªonly a bit further now till we should find ourselves at the village proper. An early morning arrival, I reckon, were we to set out again at the break of dawn. My eyes turned up from the fire on a whim, finding Mia quietly helping herself to her meal. ¡°Here, Mia. Some water,¡± I said, handing her my waterskin. Taking it, she then attempted to untie the cord locking its nozzle, but it proved too Gordian a knot for her dainty fingers. ¡°Stubborn, is it? Let me.¡± ¡°¡­oh¡­ yes¡­¡± I summarily undid the cord, and handed the whole thing back to Mia. ¡°¡­thank you¡­ Master¡­¡± ¡°Not at all. It¡¯s an old one, that waterskin. The cord¡¯s gone stiff,¡± I confessed as Mia sipped away. ¡°Been with me for a decade and more it has, ever since my days back at the barony.¡± To the waterskin she then looked. Her eyes glinted with thoughtfulness. ¡°¡­it¡¯s¡­ precious to you¡­?¡± ¡°Precious? I suppose so. Very much so, in fact.¡± I knew then some relief. Mia¡¯s heart was finally on the mend, enough to join in on some idle chatter. Steeled by the thought, I looked to her once more. Mere chatter could not remain so for long. Not when much weighed upon her frail shoulders. ¡°Mia. It¡¯s my whim that¡¯s brought us here. And it¡¯s tomorrow that¡¯ll bring you your answer, ill or no,¡± I broached, gazing at her flame-illuminated face. ¡°¡­Are you afraid?¡± With all softness of motion did she shake her head. ¡°¡­you¡¯re right¡­ Master¡­¡± she answered. ¡°¡­not knowing¡­ hurts¡­¡± Of course it would. In her heart: a hurting, burning question, quenchable only by an answer from her sister, Eva. Whether it be the embrace of a warm reunion, or the silence of a cold corpse, the truth must be known, that little Mia might at last move on. To her resolve, I nodded. ¡°We come on another errand, as well,¡± I went on. ¡°Mia. Our covenant, the thrallspell¡ªI mean to have it undone.¡± Mia and I, we were slave and master respectively, a bond writ in the thrallspell woven upon the day of her purchase. The laws of Londosius forbade the breaking of it, and so I thought to have the deed done elsewhere. Namely, in Naf¨ªlim lands, by Naf¨ªlim magicks. ¡°Should prove a task easy enough, even for a run-of-the-mill wi??a. Only, I know of none. Do you, Mia? ¡°¡­wi??an¡­ there lived some¡­ in my village, I think¡­ but¡­¡± she recalled, only to turn to the campfire. ¡°¡­maybe¡­ not anymore¡­¡± And then, a small lull, filled with the crackling of the fire, the rustling of the foliage, the chirps and drones of distant critters. At its end, Mia looked to me again. ¡°¡­Hensen¡­¡± she said anew, ¡°¡­maybe in Hensen¡­¡± ¡°Hmm¡­¡± The f¨®lkheimr of Hensen. A large settlement, like a capital, where sat the jarl: chieftain and ruler of the Nafilim of these parts. I¡¯d committed to memory the markings of a map, which, if it serves, situated Hensen a full-day¡¯s horseride from Mia¡¯s village. My eating slowed as I ruminated further. Of Hensen. Of the journey ahead, now prolonged. Of cutting the chains between us. But in so doing did I notice her looking intently upon me. ¡°¡­Master¡­¡± her lips parted. ¡°¡­you don¡¯t need me¡­ anymore¡­?¡± My brows raised. But a thought, and I then found them furrowing. ¡°¡­Mia. I take pains to be as sympathetic a friend as I can. But a word of nonsense, and even I can be moved to anger,¡± I explained calmly. ¡°Friends need one another. And you, Mia: you¡¯re my friend.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°What¡¯s not needed is the thrallspell binding us. That¡¯s all.¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± she said, gazing down again. ¡°¡­I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± ¡°Very good,¡± I nodded. ¡°And just the same, you can be rightly angry should you ever hear silliness from my own lips, Mia.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Silly indeed, my lips. I oft speak ill or out of turn, especially to girls such as you, Mia. I tread ¡®round needles, ever afraid I might air some folly.¡± ¡°¡­it¡¯s all right¡­ Master¡­¡± What is, I wonder? Much of what I say of late has only ever earned me misconstruance or scorn. Thus have I found myself given to misgivings about my speech. Worrying whether or not I¡¯ve adequately communicated my point. Worrying whether or not I¡¯ve aired unwise words. Worrying if I¡¯m none the wiser in spite of it. But I suppose worrying is in itself warrant enough to how prone my faculties of speech were to the faux pas. A troubling thought, truth be told. Though another weighed more heavily to tear me away from it. I took a breath. ¡°Another matter, Mia. One I must make plain. Should we find your sister alive and well¡­¡± I broached again, pausing, ¡°¡­then it¡¯s by her side where you belong.¡± ¡°¡­¡± Mia sat silent. Words unsought, perhaps, but none that could be rebutted. She had lost everything. But if, by chance, there remained aught at all, then she ought keep it, and dearly. ¡°Come now, Mia. Get some sleep while you can. We leave at dawn.¡± ¡°¡­all right¡­¡± With a spirit seemingly unsettled, Mia obliged, wrapping herself in a blanket and laying down upon the warmed grasses. ? The night waxed. The forest slept. Under the canopy of foliage and far-flung stars was Mia¡¯s slumbering face. Her features flustered in the dancing glow of the campfire as it popped and crackled quietly on. I poked the flame, stoking its embers. Its airy hum, its spittle and sparks¡ªthere was a romance to the sound, one I well-liked. No doubt an unmatched complement to a benighted scene. Our journey¡ªit has gone well. Taking Mia along demanded a milder route, an account I heeded with much care. And thanks to my efforts, our travels have been untroubled thus far. Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow shall we know the worth of our quest. ¡°¡­mm¡­¡± Mia rustled in her blanket. Her eyes awoke. And to me they looked as she sat up. ¡°I know, Mia.¡± It would seem she had in her a sensitivity to the presence of others. Perhaps born from some innate magick¡ªor from long fearing the fury of Men. Whichever the case, she sensed something nearing anew: the stirring of beasts. I might¡¯ve been too comforted by the easy course of our journey. Comfort the fates oft find too fresh a hare to harrow for their own humour. And I was to them a mark of much worth, for it seems that with but a fancy of relief do I well-tempt their wiles. ¡°Stay beside the fire. I¡¯ll handle them.¡± ¡°¡­yes, Master¡­¡± I rose and readied myself. Afore, far in the dark, emerged our bestial visitors. Wood-wolves. A pack of four, each a half-passus and more from head to haunch. No behem¨®t were they, but such was of little solace in the face of their uncanny wit¡ªuncanny enough to rout Men and savour their flesh, a meal they would partake in with their packs from time to time. Now, being one of them. A shorter blade serves more soundly than a full sword, at this rate. Thinking so, I took up my knife nearby and faced the wolven prowlers. They crept closer and closer still, deliberate in their pace. My eyes left them not once as I gripped and tore a blanket with my blade, the shreds of which I then wound about my left forearm. Patience possessed each of their paws as they edged in. Their eyes sharply measured the distance to our camp as they continuously calculated the best time and position to strike. Uncanny wit, indeed. Fortunately, the forte was found also within me. They all intended to pounce and strike in concert; I intended to disallow them the opening. Thus did I step forth at an angle, abruptly breaking the equilibrium and placing me closer to two of the beasts. The move ignited some spark: at once, the two lunged forth. Divide and conquer was the name of the game. When faced with many, fight them afew. The first two¡¯s instinctive attack proved their blunder; it was they that would be dealt with first. Just as quickly did I raise my left arm, wedging its wrapped length in the flying maw of one wolf. The jaw snapped shut. Pain was absent: wolven fangs are long and keen, but not enough to pierce so layered a protection. A chance. In my right hand, the knife. From below, up it shot, deep into the throat of the arm-biting wolf. Air and blood spewed. Life left its lungs. But thereafter did I immediately stoop down low. Where my windpipe once was, now was surrounded by another set of enclosing fangs: the second wolf, taking the split-second chance to leap and snap at my throat. Only, I had the same idea. In that slice of a second, I glanced and gleaned its flying form from below. My knife flashed up. Its blade bored into the beast¡¯s jugular. Blood and bones gurgled and cracked. Taking on the wolves as they dart about the dirt would¡¯ve proven too unfavourable a fight. It is only when they take to the air that they are unguarded. Thankfully the tactic worked: not more than two seconds in, and already two of their number were ended. But now the knife was lost. Too jammed was its blade in folds of hide and crevices of bone. Hesitation would herald my own end, and so I abandoned the thing altogether. Two down. Two left. To them, I faced. As if noting the loss of my knife, the wolves made winds of themselves and gusted my way. But I knew their course: in anticipation did I align with their warpath, that the two could not assail me both at once. The third was closer; the fourth trailed a ways behind. Seeing this, I focused on the former and thrust forth my left hand, straight into its lunging maw. Right as its snout snapped shut, I clenched my fingers into a fist, for in them was now its tongue. A wood-wolf¡¯s bite is a terror to behold, but its licker can only lick. And of things to behold, the power of my grip is my point of pride. The beast knew for itself why, for as its tongue was clutched without mercy, it found its jaw incapable of closing. I followed the wolf¡¯s leaping trajectory and threw it to the ground. My full weight was imbued into my knee as I then slammed it into the side of the beast¡¯s jugular. Here was it weak of hide and muscle, and so did I give one final heave of my weight. A crack¡ªmuted by flesh and fluids. The wolf¡¯s spinal cord was crushed. Yet the moment was unfinished. Already was the last wolf sailing straight at me. I ducked, missing my assailant by half a hair¡¯s breadth. I then rebounded, ready to meet another attack, only to find the beast¡¯s momentum unturned. In that instant, I knew. This pack¡ªit was well-practised in harassing our upright species. The wolves learnt early on that we tallfolk kept our bags bedight with all manner of earthly delights. What the last of the pack picked, then, was not our flesh, but our rucksack, laying near the fire. To it, the wolf rushed, rousing fear in our steed nearby. The horse neighed wildly and retreated, leaving Mia alone. I screamed. ¡°Mia! Away from the sack! Now!¡± But my words went unheeded. For whatever reason, Mia herself ran towards the rucksack. Through it she then rummaged. The wolf lunged. I followed, dashing in. There, taking something into her hands, Mia fell aside, beholding the beast as it snapped and tore away at the baggage, scattering our rations. In another instant did I myself lunge, bringing my entire body down upon the wolf from behind. My arms locked fast around its neck, and with all mustered might, squeezed and constricted it. The wolf writhed with rage under my weight. A struggle stretching on for three minutes and more, during which I relented not a single bit in denying its lungs of air. Slowly, slowly, slowly, its wrath faded, along with its life. And then¡­ Serenity, once more. The crackling of the campfire. The whispers of the trees. The chirps and trills of nocturnal fauna. Breaths yet quick, I released the wolf and rose. After making certain that it was, indeed, now a carcass, I turned and went fast to Mia¡¯s side. There she sat, right beside the ravaged rucksack. And upon her person, no wound or graze that I could glean. ¡°Mia¡­¡± I said, relieved. ¡°¡­M¡­ Mas¡­ ter¡­ I¡­¡± she quiveringly murmured. ¡°¡­y¡­ your¡­ precious¡­¡± Clasped tight in her arms was my waterskin. Verily did she save it from the wolf¡¯s violence. A deathly wager, all for the old, ¡°precious¡± bag of water. Should I rebuke her for such recklessness? Nay. Down to her I knelt. Into her eyes, I gazed. ¡°Mia. Thank you.¡± ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ F¨®lkheimr (Language: Old Norse) ¡°Folk-home¡±. In Soot-Steeped Knight, a large, central Naf¨ªlim settlement where resides the jarl of the region¡¯s dominant clan. Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Wi??a / Wi??e (Old English; plural: wi??an) A witch. In Soot-Steeped Knight, the Naf¨ªlim equivalent of a sorcerer. Wi??a and wi??e are male and female respectively; wi??an is the plural form, used for both sexes. The ¡°??¡± consonant is pronounced ¡°ch¡±, as in ¡°chair¡± or ¡°charge¡±. Volume 2 - CH 4.2 On and on, the night whispered by. The campfire yet crackled and breathed between us. Mia sat across, bound up in a blanket, but seemingly scarce of the spirit of sleep¡ªnot after so wild a wolven invasion. It was then that she unshrouded herself of the warming cover, and with it in her arms, stepped over to my side. ¡°¡­Master¡­¡± she said, ¡°¡­here¡­¡± An offering of her blanket, perhaps out of pity, for my own was unmade in the midst of the struggle. It laid nearby, sundered to shreds, a sight Mia had been fixed upon for some while now. I shook my head. ¡°That¡¯s yours, Mia.¡± Her shoulders drooped. ¡°¡­all right¡­¡± Never has Mia insisted against my word. The same held true here, and so with a visage veiled in sorrow, she slowly began her way back. ¡°Mia,¡± I called to her. ¡°Come.¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­?¡± On her return, I took the blanket from her arms. Enshrouding my shoulders with it, I then held up Mia herself¡­ ¡°¡­ah¡­¡± ¡­and sat her down right before me. And after enclosing my arms around her, we watched the fire together. A rare moment of gladness for the sheer girth of my body, for it well-sheltered her small figure. Comforted by the thought, I then more snugly surrounded us both in the blanket. ¡°It¡¯s coldest now till dawn. We¡¯ll be warmer this way.¡± ¡°¡­yes, Master¡­¡± A murmur of an answer, accompanied with a nod. The fire popped and pittered on, its pall of warmth waxing and waning under the weight of the night sky. ¡°You were brave there, Mia,¡± I broached, ¡°saving my waterskin like you did.¡± ¡°¡­no¡­ I¡­¡± ¡°But you should know. Both it and you are precious to me.¡± A pause, and a shake of the head. ¡°Nay¡­ You, more so. Be not too reckless from here on, will you Mia?¡± ¡°¡­I will¡­¡± ¡°Very good. Still, you have my thanks,¡± I said, before patting her softly on the head. ¡°A tad thrilling for a night, wasn¡¯t it? Can¡¯t catch a wink now. Not with these frayed nerves.¡± ¡°¡­me, too¡­¡± A lull. With tired intent, we gazed into the fire, our faces aflush from the redness of the rising sparks. ¡°Say, Mia. You¡¯re attuned to the covenants, yes?¡± I began again. ¡°Which sort, exactly? I¡¯d like to tell you my name, if its nature permits.¡± ¡°¡­that¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­¡± Indeed. Even now, Mia knew not my name. The covenantal magicks confer upon their recipients some influence, the manner of which are as myriad as the stars above us. By her words, Mia was not yet wise to what she was able. It follows, then, that controlling it was a forgone conclusion. ¡°¡­bad things¡­ might happen¡­¡± she went on, ¡°¡­so¡­ I can¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°Can¡¯t know my name,¡± I finished for her, sighing. ¡°¡­Of course not.¡± Our little fire sputtered on, spilling up its sparks from time to time. How quiet the benighted woods were. Quiet enough that had I let my mind drift off for long, I might¡¯ve thought Mia and I were the only ones under the bountiful boughs. A peaceful moment. And thus, the perfect moment. ¡°¡­Mia,¡± I said heavy-heartedly. ¡°¡­I must confess.¡± ¡°¡­yes, Master¡­?¡± ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m a commander in this war. I give orders. I make decisions. It¡¯s my livelihood.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Your father, he¡­ he was killed by one of my men,¡± came the words I dreaded most to air. ¡°¡­It was during a pursuit. One I well-forsook. But the soldiers lent no ear. So they instead chased down your father and his brethren, and¡­ and¡­¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°¡­It¡¯s all my fault, Mia. I couldn¡¯t reign in my own men. I couldn¡¯t stop the killing. I couldn¡¯t save your father.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°And all that¡¯s happened to your family, your friends, your home¡ªmy hands, too, are bloodied with them, I think.¡± With those words, I found my fingers clenched in a fist. ¡°¡­I came to this land. Took up the post. Turned things ¡¯round. That¡¯s when the war here began to change. Enough to give Men more daring than before. Enough to birth a massacre.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°I¡­¡± And then, upon that fist, warmth. The warmth of Mia¡¯s little hand, alighting upon my own. ¡°Mia¡­?¡± ¡°¡­there is blood¡­ on both sides¡­ everyone¡­ has something precious to protect¡­ that is war¡­¡± she spoke at length. ¡°¡­this¡­ Papa said to me¡­¡± ¡°¡­He did, did he¡­¡± ¡°¡­when I saw them¡­ the Men¡­ I knew¡­ they would have come for us anyway¡­ whether next month¡­ or next year¡­ no matter what¡­¡± A point most certain. Even before Balasthea¡¯s fortunes were turned, the Fiefguard had ventured no few forays into these Naf¨ªlim grounds. To attack, to pillage¡­ Indeed, Mia¡¯s village stood well within the path of that flood. It was, perhaps, only a matter of time before its flows would come washing through. An inevitable tragedy, then. A consolation of rationality. But one that ill-salved what sore misgivings I yet harboured for it all. Oh, what a fool I am. Numb-witted. Wasting on with my follies. Fumbling at every turn. What good does it do? To point the chiding finger? Whether to myself or others? Blood on my hands or no, our beloved lost are forever beyond all finding. And suppose the fault lies not with me. Suppose the fates had the tragedy jealously scribed into their fell script. What of it? Would accepting it prove to me the long-sought salve? Nay. To those dearly departed, whether from Mia¡¯s violated village or in more massacres to come, these worries¡ªthey are all as whispers set the wind, for the dead, though solemn in their silence, see more clearly than the living ever can. This, I know. All too well. But this barb upon my bosom pricked no less painfully. Had I not come to this land, would Mia and her family have fared a different course? Would they yet be whole and happy? Together? A hurting thought. A haunting woe. A visitor in all my waking hours. ¡°¡­Master¡­¡± A gentle voice. Like a hand, lifting me from the mire of my lamenting mind. Mia¡¯s voice. Mia¡¯s hand. Small, yet strong. Indeed, there was strength in her little fingers as they held fast my own hand. More strength than I ever knew was in them. And to know it only now was enough to have me taken aback. ¡°¡­it¡¯s not your fault¡­ it¡¯s not¡­¡± she said softly. ¡°¡­please¡­ don¡¯t be sad¡­¡± ¡°¡­Did I seem sad?¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­ always¡­¡± ¡°¡®Always¡¯¡­¡± Never have I thought the brand of the ungraced to be a burden. Never have I let myself sink into sorrow in my time at the Order. But since coming to this land, since meeting Mia¡ªthis entire time, I¡¯ve been in pain. This entire time¡­ ¡­I¡¯ve been sad. ¡°Mia¡­¡± Long have I held back the tears. Long have I denied them their due course. On what account but some paper-thin pride. And yet, I¡¯ve been weeping away this whole time. Weeping. On and on. Mia¡¯s hand was upon mine. And so upon it did I place my other. And upon it did Mia do the same. Our hands¡ªall together. ¡°¡­finally¡­ finally¡­ you¡¯ve opened up¡­¡± In her voice was tenderness. Vast, and warm. ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯ve only ever wished to hear more of you¡­ but somewhere along the way, I forgot to return the favour.¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± ¡°Rather selfish of me, I admit.¡± ¡°¡­can I hear more¡­?¡± ¡°¡­Of course, Mia,¡± I relented. Looking up to the long dark, I let out a deep sigh. ¡°Right. Where to begin¡­ Well. For starters, it was my dream to become a knight.¡± There, before the flickering fire, did I begin to tell my tale. A tale of a cherished childhood. A tale of an aggrieved ungraced. A tale of many battles, fraught and hard-fought. Nothing was hidden in the telling. All was laid bare. Unsung happenings, untold thoughts¡ªthese and all were reminisced to Mia in the warmth of a wavering flame. ? ¡°¡­and that¡¯s how I ended up here,¡± my voice carried through the wood. ¡°An unknighted coistril, exiled to these far reaches.¡± ¡°¡­your¡­ your once-betrothed¡­¡± Mia wondered. ¡°¡­what of her¡­?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve not seen her since. Not once¡­¡± My brows fell. ¡°¡­And perhaps, not ever again.¡± ¡°¡­oh¡­¡± Across my arms then rolled a breath from Mia¡¯s lips. A curious sigh, one of sorrowed sympathy, or seeming security. ¡°¡­your family, too¡­?¡± ¡°Them, too, sadly enough. Our paths are parted. Blood¡¯s our only bond now, really,¡± I gave a sigh of my own. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I must seem the fool to you, Mia. They¡¯re all there, my family. Alive and well. And yet, I¡­¡± ¡°¡­no¡­ not at all¡­¡± It was the cold truth that in all the five years I¡¯d spent at the Order, not a moment of it was set aside to meet Mother and Father. In fact, these feet had not found Buckmann soil in just as long. For her part, Felicia was quite the contrary, having gone back and forth a few times. My sister¡­ For her, I felt remorse. Despite my circumstance, I played the good brother as best I could. The role was ill-starred; I did naught but betray her hopes in the end. ¡°Heroic performance¡± indeed. No wonder why she¡¯s now withered of all warmth for me. ¡°Mother. Father. Thinking on it, neither of them ever had any love for me, really. Of our time together, I scant recall,¡± I continued. ¡°What about you, Mia? Any outings you¡¯ve had with your own family?¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± she answered, tinged with bittersweet brightness. ¡°¡­Hensen¡­ once a year¡­ we all visited Hensen¡­¡± ¡°Hm. Warm memories, I wager.¡± ¡°¡­there¡¯s lemonade¡­ made only in Hensen¡­ my family¡­ we all loved it¡­¡± Family¡­ With the word echoing in me, I embraced Mia a tad more tightly. ¡°Let¡¯s have some, then. Together, in Hensen.¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± Should it be that the fates have denied Mia¡¯s village of any further survivors, then our next course would indeed be the f¨®lkheimr of Hensen. There would we seek out a wi??a to unchain the thrallspell binding Mia to me. Though, entering the Naf¨ªlim bastion would prove the greater toil and, perhaps, my bane. I am a kin of Man, after all. The braves there would sooner welcome me with arrows and magicks than open arms. It must be thought on. I wished not for Mia to remain a slave for a second longer, thus did I dearly hope for a break in the clouds that might shine upon some path forward. But in the meanwhile, Mia and I continued our conversation well through the night. Of us both did we equally share, at times remembering happiness, and others, recalling sore nostalgia. The hours sailed on by, and before we knew it, the skies began to brighten. Volume 2 - CH 4.3 Under the wheeling morrowlight we raced. Evergreen woods soon gave way to wild grasses as our galloping horse hurried us into a new vista: open fields, an ocean of verdure swaying with the whistling winds. Above vaulted the feather-cloud skies, its sun yet to take the noontide throne. And just before us stood our destination¡ªMia¡¯s village, and her harrowed home. Nearing it, I slowed our steed to a canter. Only, my heart drummed faster with dread. Wishes, waning with each moment, were its only mitigation. A wish for survivors. A wish for a friend of Mia¡¯s. Or a neighbour. Anyone at all that might know even just her face. And a wish, dearest of all, for the well-being of Mia¡¯s last sister: Eva. I know. To be enlightened of the truth to this tragedy is enough, even if what awaits may be the discovery of one more loved one¡¯s death. I know. To finally set her first step to tomorrow, Mia must accept the very truth of this ruined yesterday. Of whether her sister waits with a touch as warm as the clearest sun, or one as cold as any stone. I know. All too well. Yet I could not help but hope for the better. Hope, for a long-due measure of happiness for Mia. It was then that we passed by the first fences and fallowed fields. Here, my breaths were bated and broken. But before me sat Mia, and from her petrified portance, I well-espied the anxiety holding her fast in its grip. And with no ceremony, we then arrived at the village sprawl. The withered walls, the wood-hewn houses, the shadowed sheds, the neglected gardens. Mia¡¯s home. We were here at last. ? We dismounted, our feet finding the dirt carpeted with overgrown greenery. Around us, a village, violated and vanished of its erstwhile vitality. The houses sagged, heavy with black wounds burnt into their facades. The fences, screens, and all manner of other buildings stood broken and beyond all recognition of their prior purposes. And absent in all of this: the steps and breaths of any other soul besides Mia¡¯s and mine. The Fiefguard had indeed quit the place five moons past with not a single camp erected. The rubble was barren of banners, a belt buckle or errant armament, or any article once bedighting the marauding Men. Missing, too, were traces of any Naf¨ªlim enterprise in restoring these ruins. It soon set in for us both. The village was all but abandoned. ¡°¡­¡± Mia stood there, still and silent, staring upon the husks of her home. A place once beloved, but now changed forever. What was reflected in those amber eyes of hers, I could not fathom. Yet, I sensed uncanniness afoot. For all the destruction wrought upon it, not one corpse laid upon the village courses. The Fiefguardsmen certainly fostered nary a flicker of compassion for their foes, not even to spare them a pittance of a burial. What explained this, then? No¡­ Could it be? That the fallen folk were buried by their brethren passing by from other places? Or were there truly survivors here? Ones that might¡¯ve done the solemn deed? If so, then there was hope, however faint. ¡°Mia,¡± I called. ¡°Your sister was a well-lent hand at the orphanage, wasn¡¯t she? And it was there where she last went¡ªknow you the way?¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± Her answer, verging on vanishing into the zephyrs. I followed Mia as she went her guiding way, a winding trek during which, too, we found no bodies. A relief, then, that she did not have to meet a cold, acquainted face¡ªnot yet, at least. But my suspicions gained the colour of confidence as we continued on: someone truly had buried them all. Indeed, the contrary seemed the inconceivable course. There yet breathed, then, some surviving soul within these ruins. This, I dearly hoped. Fates be fair, let it be so. At the end of the wishful walk did we arrive at the orphanage. I looked up and all along its oaken countenance, finding its air oddly austere and reticent. It was, in a word, sacrosanct, and of an architecture wholly untouched by Londosian aesthetics. We stopped at the entryway, and glancing upon one another, nodded. Carefully, I cracked the doors open, and calming my nerves with a deep breath, ventured in. My heart raced. Eva¡­ Is she truly alive? Entering deeper, I peered all about. But try as they might, my eyes found not a hint of activity, save for sunbeams brimming in from the mauled and misshapen windows, casting bright bands through the ambient dust. ¡°¡­¡± Mia tiptoed in tow without a word, tugging at my sleeve as she went. Upon her visage was a veil of quiet despair and defeat, her own eyes just as lost as mine at the stillness of this space. Another look, then. With frayed focus, I scanned about. Ore-pine posts stood in succession, great in girth, almost pillar-like, and wooden, as though they were once trees-trunks themselves, bare of their bark and planed with all care. Stairways, too, slanted up from the ground and into the overlooking lofts. And upon the walls, there hung tapestries, delicate in their weave and intricate in their design. These features, all, composed a pall of piety to some higher power, holding in them past purposes for rituals and worship. ¡°Mia, this place¡­ It looks more a fane than an orphanage,¡± I observed aloud. ¡°What is it, really?¡± ¡°¡­it was a shrine¡­ they told me once¡­¡± she answered. ¡°¡­but other than that¡­ I¡­¡± A shrine? The puzzle pieces fit squarely, then. Most realms of Man hold themselves to be herds of lamb for Yon¨¢, their one and only shepherd, as it were. But the Naf¨ªlim walk by a different creed, for they follow not any one deity: theirs is instead a belief that in each and every thing, living or no, there dwells an essential v?ttr. I¡¯ve heard before that where we Men have churches and cathedrals, the Naf¨ªlim have shrines and temples, within which dedications are made and these v?ttir are venerated. This place well-fit the bill. Little wonder, then, why I sensed sacredness within it. Then, my skin was roused. Goosebumps all around; sweat beaded upon my nape. In the spheres of Man, it is not rare that orphans and oblates are brought into the care of a convent. A cultural commonality with the Naf¨ªlim, then, from the look of this establishment. And it is within shrines such as this that subterranes are often constructed below for the storage of ritualistic implements, as well as the brewing of myriad liquors. Knowledge that is naught more than trivia to the churlish minds of the Fiefguard. Indeed, I cannot imagine that any amongst those men would deign to bother with studying the folkways of their foes. And so would the marauders five months past have been oblivious to what might lie beneath our feet at this moment. That meant but one thing: survivors, sheltering out of sight. And perhaps within their number¡ªEva herself. Or perhaps¡­ I presume overmuch. Truly now. Could there really be survivors here? Yet alive after all this time? I snapped back to the moment, finding my breaths thin and hurried. But my feet were already on the move; if memory serves, entryways to foresaid basements are often built behind the main altar. My cautious steps sounded through the shrine, its spaces no smaller than a church¡¯s. At its furthest reaches was the seeming altar itself, stark and stolen of all that Men might¡¯ve espied any value. To it I went, then wound about to its dusty posterior. There, I squinted at the floorboards, finding a faint outline etched into them. A hatch, no doubt, square in shape and quickly discernible only to eyes keen on its discovery. Kneeling, I went to work opening it up. With care, it cracked and lifted open. Just as I thought. And further confirming my suspicion: an unveiled set of stone stairs leading down. ¡°¡­ah¡­¡± A surprise for Mia, too, as she watched on from behind. It would seem the Fiefguardsmen weren¡¯t alone in their unfamiliarity with this feature. ¡°Wait here, Mia,¡± I whispered. ¡°I¡¯ll have a look.¡± ¡°¡­y¡­ yes, Master¡­¡± With Mia staying put, I descended the stairs, finding the flight quite deep: thirty steps and more had me reaching the bottom. The hollow was dim, lit only by the shaft of light from the entrance above. But soft echoes were enough to betray the breadth of the basement space, its generosity earning my astonishment. Spanning further in was a corridor, fifteen pass¨±s forward, thereabouts, with numerous rooms sighing from both sides. And at the end: a ponderous double-doorway, before which I soon found myself standing. Hands upon the doors, I pushed. Slowly, they creaked open. ¡°¡­Aah¡­!¡± Relief. Rapture. A mirthful mix of the two was expelled from my lungs, leaving my lips in a silly yelp. Before me, a cellar of sorts, large and lambent with wick-light. And in the softly glowing space: numerous Naf¨ªlim. Almost a score of them; all children, save for two. And they were alive¡­ By the fates, they were alive! The moment left me numb of words. I but stood and stood, stunned by the discovery. Then, to my dumbfounded figure, a Naf¨ªl. An adult, one of two, hasting forth¡ªa spear, firmly in hand. Hostility, clear as day as it was a damper upon my elation. I was careless; the price was paid with a spearhead piercing where my heart once was. Having backed off into the corridor, I raised my hands forth. ¡°Wait! I¡ª¡± ¡°Eaaah!!!¡± The Naf¨ªl: a young woman. Desperation twisted her face as her spear itself twisted to me once more. A motion of utmost abandon. ¡°Uaaaaah!!¡± ¡°Ach¡­!¡± Her spearmanship was unsharpened. Yet in spite of its dulled delivery, the Naf¨ªl heaved the weapon with the whole of her soul, instilling her very life into its iron tip. Indeed. She well-intended to die if it meant I went along with her. ¡°Stop! Pleas¡ª¡± ¡°You¡¯ll not take us!¡± she screamed. ¡°Not one more! Not anymore! Not¡­!!¡± She fast followed me into the corridor, wielding the spear in unwieldy ways. But awash in her eyes was both a wrath ready to sear away aught and all, and as well, a sorrow set on chilling everything through and through. Far behind her were the affrighted children, trembling in their shared embrace. And to protect them, one and all, she was ready to face purgatory itself. Thus, did she face me with all readiness. ¡°Please! Hear me out!¡± I pleaded. ¡°You killed us! You kidnapped us! But no more!!¡± A wuthering wail from her lungs as she lunged forth with her spear. ¡°Egh!¡± A glancing wound across my shoulder. A blow that should never have landed, dealt by a spear gripped in unhoned hands. But I couldn¡¯t keep up. The girl Naf¨ªl was giving her all, offering her life as tinder to a flame she well-wielded. And there was I, harrowed by its unseen heat. ¡°My dear ones I¡¯ll protect! From you! From all of you!¡± She was no warrior. Nor was there a wisp of odyl imparted into the spearpoint¡ªodyl with which all Naf¨ªlim are born. Were she wise to the odyllic arts, I would¡¯ve long been blown back, clear through the corridor. Yet it was the truth that of those I¡¯ve faced in battle thus far, she stood above them all. And before I knew it, I was pressed against the wall, not far from the foot of the stairs. ¡°I will¡­! I must!!¡± Her soul was set. At me, she stared. Truly, a soldier of abandon. But I could not fight back. I could not kill her. Staring back at her, I knew it then. Hers¡­ ¡°Wait! Listen!¡± ¡­were eyes of amber. ¡°¡­Eva!¡± ¡°¡­Hh¡­!?¡± My whole-lunged call lingered through the dim. My assailant stood, stilled of all forward movement, her body shaken by my words. ¡°H¡­ how¡­?¡± I answered with only a longer look back. The light-shaft above shone down upon her desperate mien. Behind the strands of hair dishevelled in the vehemence, her eyes were indeed bright with amber. ¡°How? Why¡­!? My name¡­ why do you know¡­!?¡± At last. At long last. For Mia, happiness. At long last. My efforts were not vain. Finally could I return Mia to someone who yet yearned for her. Thank you, Eva. For being alive. For never giving up. For being our hope. ¡°Mia told me,¡± I revealed. ¡°She¡¯s here. With me. We¡¯ve been searching for you.¡± ¡°¡­Wha¡­?¡± Her amber eyes widened. ¡°¡­What is this you¡­ speak¡­?¡± The spear rattled. A weapon weeping. Its wielder¡¯s hands, quaking and quivering. I turned to the flight of stairs and raised my voice. ¡°Mia! Come!¡± Then, a pitter-patter. Timid footfalls from above, making their way down. Mia looked at me along the way, eyes locked till she alighted at the bottom. Only then did she turn to the corridor. Only then, did she find the figure standing there, transfixed. Amber eyes met. ¡°¡­ah¡­¡± A quiet gasp from Mia¡¯s lips. But with it, a welling of tears. Ones shared with her sister. ¡°M¡­ Mi¡­ a¡­?¡± trembled the sibling voice. ¡°Mia¡­? Is that you¡­?¡± ¡°¡­Sis¡­ ter¡­¡± The spear fell. The sister flew forth. A flight taken, too, by Mia. Then were sisters reunited, locking in an embrace. A torn weave, now rejoined of threads. ¡°Mia! Oh, Mia!¡± ¡°Eva! Sister¡­! Siste¡ªr!¡± A dim basement, brightened by their cries. ¡°Mia¡ª!!¡± ¡°uaaah!! E¡­ va¡­! Sister¡­! waaaah!!¡± Together, they wept and wailed. Together, they shed their shared tears, one after another. Together in arms, an unending embrace many moons in the making. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. V?ttr (Language: Old Norse; plural: v?ttir) ¡°Spirit¡±. In Norse mythology, can also refer to all beings supernatural. In Soot-Steeped Knight, they are to the Naf¨ªlim what kami are to the Japanese in their own mythology. Volume 2 - CH 4.4 Night fell. Well within the cellar were we all sat together: myself, Eva, and another Naf¨ªl, a woman unhurried in mien and manner, and long in her years. The start of our quiet conversation carried through the cavernous space as the children, nigh score in number, slumbered away a ways off, sound in their assorted blankets. Joining their dream-filled susurrations was Mia, cradled in her sister¡¯s arms. The hours of weeping and familial consolation have left the little girl all but spent, and what left her lips now were little besides the sighs of sleep. ¡°I must say again. Through long courses have you come, son of Man. Your toils, we thank you for,¡± the elderly Naf¨ªl spoke. ¡°I am Irma, matron of this orphanage. And Eva here, you have made acquaintance with, I am sure.¡± ¡°Well met, Matron. It is an honour,¡± I bowed. ¡°I am¡ª¡± ¡°We have no ears for Mennish names.¡± A sword-cut of an interjection from Eva, earning a mild chiding from this ¡°Irma¡±. ¡°Come now, gentle Eva. Have warmth for him. Through wooded ways has he wended, all to bring little Mia back to our embrace.¡± ¡°I¡­¡± Eva began to rebut, before looking down to her long-lost sister. ¡°For that, I thank him. But¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s quite all right,¡± I brushed off. ¡°Your feelings are fair enough.¡± ¡°Fair¡± and more. No red carpets would be rolled out for a kin of Man like me¡ªnot after what¡¯d befallen upon this place. That they gave me a chance to chat at all was well-worth a thousand of my own thanks. ¡°More importantly, this orphanage¡­¡± I broached anew. ¡°The both of you have kept the children safe all this time? Here, underground?¡± ¡°¡­We have. What remained here in the village has sustained us,¡± answered Eva. ¡°Though not for much longer¡­¡± ¡°To yonder, we make ventures for water. But not too far. And not too often,¡± Irma added. ¡°For wary are we of another coming of the War-Men.¡± My thoughts turned to the surface¡ªand what its spans lacked. ¡°And yet, the remains of the other villagers. It was you both who buried them, no?¡± ¡°Yes. We mourned them with fire-rites, as is our custom,¡± Irma sighed. ¡°A trying trial of many days, of course, but ours was a humble village, and I had my magicks to help¡­¡± ¡°Our dear ones were defiled¡­ What choice had we¡­?¡± The voices of the two were awash with sorrow. I could imagine why. But what had bellowed in their bosoms, when they re-emerged into their devastated village and wandered its beloved yet broken spans, was beyond my knowing. To say nothing of what they must¡¯ve felt when, with fire, they bade farewell to their fallen family and friends. ¡°¡­My condolences are of little solace, Man that I am. But¡­ I am sorry. Truly,¡± I said solemnly. ¡°Eva, as well. What befell your family, it¡­ I¡­¡± ¡°I have heard¡­ from Mia,¡± said Eva. ¡°¡­Poor Hanna¡­¡± A quiver was in her quieted voice. ¡°Hanna¡±¡ªthe middle sister amongst Mia¡¯s siblings. To Eva, another younger sister, just as cherished, and now, all the more missed. For it was this Hanna that Mia was captured with, and the one the fates saw fit to hand a dark end in Arbel¡¯s concentration camp. ¡°Mother¡­ Father¡­ Brother¡­ I found them. But not Hanna and not Mia. Not them, yet¡­ Yet, by then, I had no more hope¡­¡± A recollection, brokenly recounted by Eva. What a mountain of will this young woman had in her, to lose everyone and everything dear¡ªand in spite of it, find the strength to give care and succour to all the children here in this room. ¡°Were my sisters even alive, no warmth would welcome them where they went. Only cold cages, far, far away. Forever far from where I wait for them,¡± Eva went on. ¡°So¡­ it is a miracle now. To have Mia here in my arms¡­ Like a dream, it is¡­¡± ¡°Son of Man. Know you the weight of your plight? From Mennish halls have you spirited away a slave, to where but the fields of your foe. A deed undone even in our oldest myths,¡± Irma spoke of me. ¡°Might my ears hear of your will?¡± I opened my palms, looking at them in a brief pause. ¡°¡­I wear the commander¡¯s coat for the kingdom. This tragedy has transpired under my charge, my watch. I fear these hands are stained with the blood spilt here.¡± ¡°And forced your bloodied hand, that fear has? To fare through the wood, all to return a foe-child to her family? Or¡­?¡± ¡°¡­Think you this washes clean those hands? The saving of my sister?¡± ¡°That, I don¡¯t know. Perhaps you have the right of it. Perhaps I play at valour too vain. Perhaps this stain is too heavy a sin upon my soul,¡± I said, pained. ¡°Be that as it may, I believed Mia deserved to know. A deed to be done, must be. And so I obliged.¡± ¡°Son of Man. You have heeded your heart.¡± ¡°Heeded¡­ my heart?¡± I thought aloud, looking to Irma. ¡°I should like to think so¡­ Yet my heart is ever lost. I feel myself a fool to heed it.¡± ¡°Oh, child. Before me sits no fool,¡± the elderly Naf¨ªl smiled. ¡°Son of Man. You are most gallant.¡± Irma¡¯s eyes were as gems of gentleness in her vouching of me. I knew then of the immeasurable depth of her own heart, and of the sea of magnanimity that filled it. Can such charity be found upon my face, too, were I in her place? ¡°Irma, wise Matron,¡± said I. ¡°You hold no hatred for me? A Man?¡± ¡°Hatred?¡± Irma blinked. ¡°What hatred for the hero of little Mia? I have said: not before has this deed been done. A slave, returned. Two sisters, together again. For this, I know no hatred. Only happiness.¡± The matron then turned. ¡°Gentle Eva here has the same heart.¡± Mia¡¯s sister gave a strained mien. ¡°¡­I¡­ I hate not Man and his kin. I make bigotry, were I to judge by his blood and not what beats in his bosom. This, I know. I know, yet¡­¡± She looked away, and embraced Mia all the more tightly. ¡°¡­I need time. To think. To forgive.¡± ¡°Time¡­¡± I was shaken then, as if struck with the feeling of defeat. Eva¡­ It was her wish to forgive me, however painful it might prove. It was her will to feign not the folly that was unfounded hatred for all of Man. A far cry from his own creed, that so sees virtue in villainising and eviscerating Eva¡¯s kind: the Naf¨ªlim, our so-called ¡°nemeses¡±. ¡°The both of you,¡± I spoke again at last, ¡°what will you do from here on?¡± ¡°Our stores empty more by the day; to Hensen we look,¡± Irma explained. ¡°But too long and lorn is the way, I fear. Not one horse we have, and to make journey with many children in tow is a danger.¡± By my estimation, it would take a day of haste upon horseback to reach Hensen from here. Not too terrible a distance, but to escort a veritable crowd of children through the open fields would no doubt prolong the trek to their peril. A danger indeed, lightly put. ¡°To the braves of Hensen I yearn to bring word of the War-Men¡¯s whetted blades, but¡­ beside the little ones must we remain¡­¡± Irma added. My brows rose. ¡°Hold there. The Fiefguard marches for Hensen? How are you certain?¡± ¡°These ears remember well,¡± the matron began to recount. ¡°¡®Next is Hensen¡¯; so spoke the mouth of a Mennish chief. This, I have heard from the shadows whence I hid as the village was invaded.¡± Plausible. Gravely so. Just as this village stood beyond the northwestern mere of the forest, so, too, did Hensen at the northeast. It had heretofore proven too bristling a Naf¨ªlim bastion for the tastes of the Fiefguard, and so was the latter loath to set foot in the f¨®lkheimr. But that has changed. The balance of power here was shifted of late; mighty was the momentum now found in the lunge of Londosius¡¯ lions of war, for the Nafilim numbers were well-withered. It betrays no reason, then, to believe that the Fiefguard would next train its myriad swords upon Hensen, the very seat of the jarl. A tide of blades I can prove no protection against, even as commandant of Balasthea. The tragedy of Mia¡¯s village now threatened to reprise its thunderous throes upon Hensen itself. The sole solace being that the f¨®lkheimr had the manpower to mount a resistance. Nay¡­ For as long as Balasthea, the bulwark of Str?m, yet stood, for as long as the Fiefguard, the very fangs of Str?m, yet drew breath, there was scant solace to be had in the hearts of the Naf¨ªlim here. A pressing upon my own heart, then, to realise this. And in doing so, I looked to Mia¡¯s slumbering visage, a sight that brought to mind another matter: the other half of our journey¡¯s designs. ¡°Matron,¡± I began again after the long thought. ¡°You are versed in magicks, you said?¡± ¡°That I have said, yes. Meagre though my prowess may be.¡± ¡°Might you incant ¡®Dispellend¨­¡¯? Between Mia and I is a thrallspell¡ªI wish to have it gone.¡± ¡°¡®Dispellend¨­¡¯? Yes, that is simple enough. Very well. Your wish, I grant.¡± With that, Irma raised both of her palms: one to me, the other to Mia. ¡°Hmm¡­ Yes. This thrallspell I well-sense. Then shall bonds bind no more.¡± ¡°At your will, Matron.¡± Faintly did a glow next glimmer from the flats of Irma¡¯s hands. The odyl-lights then condensed and coursed their way into Mia and me. ¡°Dispellend¨­.¡± In my ears: a peal, much like the links of a chain sundered asudden. ¡°The manacle is unmade,¡± Irma confirmed. ¡°Freedom now, for you and Mia both.¡± ¡°Good Matron,¡± I bowed, ¡°you have my deepest gratitude.¡± For her part, Mia slept on with nary a disturbance in her peace. Yes¡­ peace, indeed. At long last, a peaceful end to her lot as a slave. ¡°The laws of my land forbid the breaking of thrallspells, you see,¡± I explained. ¡°Had I not found a wi??e like you here, it was my intent to take Mia with me to Hensen, and there try our luck.¡± ¡°You intended well,¡± nodded Irma. ¡°But having spoken with you both, it¡¯s clear to me now: Hensen is where I must go, no matter the circumstance.¡± ¡°It is your will to warn the jarl, or¡­?¡± ¡°It is.¡± The matron¡¯s mien wrinkled with trouble. ¡°You are sure of this? Of another attack by the Mennish host, I have spoken, yes. But five moons it has been, and nothing. The possibility yet looms, of course, but Hensen watches and listens with many eyes and ears. Its braves might be wise to it, I think.¡± ¡°They watch and listen, but have they moved?¡± I doubted. ¡°My men also watch the woods, and of late, they¡¯ve espied little. I cannot think, then, that the lions of Hensen have evacuated their citizenry. They must know the full peril of their plight, and I¡¯m the only free hand here.¡± To the children I looked, and then to the sisters. ¡°I must go, if only to spare even one child from the same tragedy as Mia¡¯s.¡± ¡°¡­Why is it you do this? Turn to Hensen, and you turn against your king,¡± Eva warned. ¡°A just act it is in our eyes, yes, but in those of Men, it is the doings of a traitor.¡± ¡°Let them look. I know something of their scorn,¡± I said, sternly then, and softly next. ¡°Besides, you, Mia¡ªyour whole family went there once a year, yes? Mia¡¯s told me. To her, it¡¯s a place of many memories, all precious.¡± ¡°And to me, no less precious. But what of it?¡± ¡°The lemonade they make there is a treat, I hear. One well-loved by your family.¡± Brows furrowed. ¡°It is¡­! ¡­It was¡­! So what of it!?¡± ¡°In other words, Eva¡­ I will heed my heart.¡± Firm in those words, I rose to my feet. Awe was in Irma¡¯s face as she watched, but it faded fast into a smile, calm and knowing in its glow. Mild hills and sky-bearing flats were what spanned between here and Hensen. A lay-of-the-land gentle enough for journeys by carriage; with the moon hanging high and unhazed, I foresaw little trouble in galloping the whole way on horseback. ¡°You go now? Without a word to little Mia¡­?¡± the matron asked. ¡°I¡¯m no good with goodbyes,¡± I confessed. ¡°A word to her now will be a wound too deep for me.¡± ¡°Those words¡­¡± spoke Eva, ¡°¡­to my ears, they sound a farewell bade to my sister.¡± I paused. ¡°¡­We knew this moment might come, Mia and I. It¡¯s by your side where she belongs, Eva, should we find you alive and well. And indeed, we have¡­¡± I explained. ¡°We are worlds apart. She, an innocent child. And I, a Man steeped in war. Were I to keep her in tow for too long, the stain will be hers as well one day, and to our woe. What Mia needs from here on is healing and happiness. That, I leave to you.¡± ¡°¡­I see.¡± And by then, I well-knew. Mia¡¯s was a mind most keen. No veil could hope to hide the heart from those amber eyes of hers. Mine especially, and so were we to share words now, I doubt my resolve could escape her ken. A resolve to lay my life on the line for what¡¯s to come: the safeguarding of innocent lives, and as well, Mia¡¯s very future. A promise made is a promise kept, after all. But to see me as I set out to certain death would surely slash another scar upon her own heart. No, Mia has had her fill of misery. Thus did I choose to be on my way without a word. She¡¯ll be all right from here on. Eva stands with her now. A young woman, strong of will, with prudence aplenty and, more than anything, a whole-souled sisterly love for Mia. This was my measure of her, gleaned from just this conversation. A measure that has unmade a mountain of my worries. I can go now, unburdened by its weight. In the midst of these thoughts, I watched Mia sleep on peacefully in Eva¡¯s arms. Kneeling, I then caressed her head, to which she stirred most softly. ¡°¡­mm¡­¡± Thank you, Mia. For saving me. Gratitude given from the depths of my heart. Steps taken as I began to set out. ¡°Son of Man. May fair winds find you.¡± ¡°¡­Be safe.¡± Irma¡¯s and Eva¡¯s words, heard as I parted from their company and their home. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Dispellend¨­ (Language: Latin; original name: ¡°Dispel¡±) Magick of unstated type. Nullifies the influence of another magick on the target. Jarl (Language: Old Norse) A highborn noble or warrior; also, an ¡°earl¡± who rules a region for a monarch. In Soot-Steeped Knight, a jarl is chieftain to a Naf¨ªlim clan. Volume 2 - CH 4.5 It was the untarnished truth that Ebbe, vice-commandant of Balasthea Stronghold, harboured a smouldering hatred for his newly installed superior, the Acting Commandant Rolf Buckmann. Ah, yes. Rolf Buckmann, a pus-blister carbuncle of a man! An ungainly ungraced, untempered of blade and untested in battle, Buckmann! His is a company undeserving of aught warmer than wintry scorn! To say nothing of his wits, dumb as they are to the dullness of his fangs. Yet with finical and fiery tongue does he tattle out his orders to Ebbe and them¡ªtruly a spectacle of fierce and flagrant foolery! That was the thundering thought of Ebbe, and why he so rejoiced when Rolf Buckmann bumbled off on some break out-of-the-blue. This was the moment, then. The fresh and fruiting opportunity. A meanwhile where Ebbe would be in charge of the fort. Indeed, in the absence of that absurd addle-pate did the vice-commandant intend to accomplish much and more. Already were the cogs of his contriving wiles wound and ready to wheel. Fast in these fancies, a froggy chuckle escaped his bony throat. But the daydream lasted not long, for at the fort was come a most unexpected visitor. It was past noontide on the same day of Rolf¡¯s respite, when Ebbe, sat smugly in the commandant¡¯s seat, received this guest. ¡°A pleasure¡ªer¡­¡± he began, knowing not what to make of the occasion. ¡°¡­Brigadier, lady, eh¡ª¡± ¡°Of the Sorcery Brigade,¡± the ruby-eyed visitor confirmed, before presenting some proof. ¡°Here. My hatchment.¡± A squint at the filigree crest. ¡°Ah¡­ From the 5th, are we¡­¡± Ebbe¡¯s brows bent from flabbergastment. The 5th Order¡ªwhat else but the very nest whence the wingless Rolf Buckmann was flung. Balasthea¡¯s prior commandant was put out to pasture for the time being, on account of a chronic malady. So it was that a replacement was needed. Ebbe had well-thought himself to be up to the task. He was, after all, the vice-commandant, the second-in-command, the right hand of the fort¡¯s frontman all this time. But alas. Upon the commandant¡¯s seat was sat instead some transfer from the 5th. The bloke¡¯s title? Acting commandant. And ¡°transfer¡± was a sweet kindness: the man was but an exiled good-for-naught. Balasthea was, at the time, a fort much fraught, dealing with death on the daily. Yet on the whim of silver-spoon bureaucrats were its dire defences left to the direction of this toothless and silver-tongued tumbleweed. Oh, the despair. The indignance. Ebbe was lost, livid. He chalked it up to some scheme or squabble amongst the aristocracy, as was wont to happen in lordly Londosius. That¡¯s not to say that Ebbe himself was rebellious of the nobles. No, he was very much a beneficiary, for the good graces of Margrave Str?m were well-trained upon the vice-commandant. As such, he savoured quite sweetly the favours of the nobility, but when the taste turned any bitterly, Ebbe was a babe quick to curse his benefactors behind their backs. In any case, the bony man nurtured no good impression of the Order that so graced him with the ungraced fool. An irony of the fates, then, that he would entertain on this day a dame from the selfsame knightly lot¡­ ¡­one with a name swiftly grating at his good mood. ¡°Felicia Buckmann,¡± she curtsied. ¡°Dame Brigadier to the Sorcerers of the 5th Chivalric Order.¡± ¡°Curious,¡± Ebbe remarked. ¡°Tell me, miss, what¡¯s the commandant t¡¯you, eh?¡± ¡°A brother.¡± The fleer upon his face. ¡°¡­Ah. A doting sister, t¡¯have come t¡¯the keen edge o¡¯ the kingdom for her beloved brother.¡± Venomous was the vice-commandant¡¯s viper-eyes upon the young woman. The very fact she had aught to do with the rat-bastard Rolf Buckmann was reason enough to earn her no welcome in Ebbe¡¯s company. ¡°I wish to speak with him. Is he present?¡± this ¡°Felicia¡± asked firmly. Once in the past was her life saved by her brother, from what but the horns of a harrowing beast, bedevilling denizen of some death-marked minery. It was then that she thought to think differently of him, to cast upon his profile the long-lost light of their warmer years. How coldly the mistrals came in its stead. Argent arms and armour were soon bedecked upon the entirety of the Order¡¯s ranks, a development that denied her brother any chance of victory in his spars. All he knew from then on was defeat after defeat, and wet scorn spat upon his prostrate person. A prodigy, her brother once was. And so she knew his wits to be well-whetted. Enough to devise some way to swim against the many tides turned against him, to make due even as he lacked the magicked luxury otherwise accorded to all kin of Man. But he hadn¡¯t. Instead, he merely swung his sword about, set upon his ways against all prudence, only to be pounded into the ground by his peers. A sight seen by Felicia¡¯s eyes, time and again. What foolishness, insanity even, to repeat futility and expect aught more than failure. And of course, there was the hearing of months past, convened to deliberate his exile. There did he reveal to her what a pig-pated and pouting child he had become, so obstinate in refusing both his faults and the saying of his sorries. The performance earned naught but annoyance from his sister, by then long-dry of all adoration for him. Still, Rolf was her brother. And she, his little sister. Never could she be soured so, that she would dare abandon him. Hence her voyage of no few days: she had come to this fort to ask of him of the cold shoulder he had turned to Emilie¡¯s call, and to discern whether he was so withered of wit to be unwise to the mareschal¡¯s favour for him. ¡°Your dear brother¡¯s on break, love,¡± Ebbe shrugged. ¡°A gadabout o¡¯ an ungraced, off on vacation. Hoh! The ballocks o¡¯ that bloke!¡± Fain was the vice-commandant to unveil his enmity. Insulting Felicia¡¯s brother was too enticing upon his tongue to pass up, even if it meant earning the much-vaunted brigadier¡¯s own enmity. To his surprise, none of the sort was espied from his guest. ¡°On break?¡± Felicia said. ¡°A whole fort in his charge, and yet freely does he set aside duty for dalliance. ¡®Twould seem he¡¯s still not risen to his office as a soldier, I see.¡± ¡°Oh? That¡¯s quite the slighting tongue for a sister, my dear miss,¡± Ebbe half-giggled. ¡°But who could blame you? A brigadier sister; a banish¡¯d brother. Hah! O, Yon¨¢! Mercy!¡± ¡°Mercy for my nerves, if only,¡± she sighed. ¡°He¡¯s dulled into a coistril of a cadet, that brother of mine. ¡®Twas my hope he would hone his blunted blade here, if even a little.¡± A knock upon the door. In then came a footman. ¡°Vice-Commandant,¡± he saluted. ¡°The margrave¡¯s arrived.¡± ¡°Very well.¡± Felicia blinked. ¡°The Lord Str?m is come? Here, at the fort?¡± ¡°That he is,¡± Ebbe beamed bonily. ¡°Follow, fairest Felicia. If you mean t¡¯meet him, I¡¯ll show you the way.¡± ? Balasthea¡¯s embattled ramparts stood auburn against the sunset. And outside its gates agape at the plains of Naf¨ªlim dominion, there was congregated a great army. Ranks upon bristling ranks of soldiers, assembled and set for battle. Billowing in the wind over them: the Fiefguard flag. The Margrave Str?m strolled afront his filed fighters before stopping beside Felicia. ¡°Well. A Brigadier of the Order, here in my humble homeland,¡± he began. ¡°And of the 5th, no less. Fair lady, you are high-born, I take it?¡± ¡°I am. From House Buckmann I hail.¡± The margrave stared on. ¡°Buckmann?¡± ¡°M¡¯liege,¡± Ebbe spoke from anear. ¡°Our young miss shares blood with the ungraced¡ªthey be siblings.¡± Lordly laughter boomed. ¡°How now! What strength of arms this dainty damsel hides! To have toiled in leashing her hound brother all these years!¡± Toils, indeed. But for such toils, and her own talents, the young brigadier brimmed with pride. True, though, that it was scarcely seldom for Felicia to suffer the grating guffaws of others. She was sister to an ungraced, after all: her brother¡¯s stigma was too large a stain, for Felicia, too, came to share in some of the unholy shame. The sneers and jeers reserved for Rolf, then, would often overflow in his sister¡¯s direction. But the margrave¡¯s slight was not to be silenced. And so did Felicia clench her teeth and ask him thusly. ¡°Your Excellency, you gather many men. To what purpose, if I may ask?¡± ¡°Hm! Need it be said? They shall do what military men all do: march, and make battle.¡± From here would the Fiefguard foray, was the margrave¡¯s implication. Fair enough; though Balasthea was not more than a minute¡¯s walk away, they all well-stood upon Naf¨ªlim soil. They: the militants of Man. And therein lies the rub. Not lightly should the military breath ever blow upon Naf¨ªlim fields. For such a dear undertaking, prudence was paramount, to say nothing of planning and preparation. Whether or not the myriad men were assembled after such considerations sparked much doubt from Felicia, for missing from the scene was a key and keen mind for command. ¡°Yet I¡¯m told Balasthea¡¯s acting commandant is absent,¡± she observed. ¡°Has he spoke aught on this matter?¡± ¡°I should sooner lend ear to pigs¡¯ slaughter than the slithering words of that ungraced,¡± the margrave brushed off. ¡°This matter demands little heedance from him and his men. They busy themselves with defence; my men mean to attack.¡± ¡°Worry¡¯d, fair Brigadier?¡± enquired Ebbe. ¡°Come, rest easy! Valiant Ebbe joins the margrave¡¯s men with his own! Lo! the vaunted guardsmen o¡¯ the Vice-Commandant, yours truly!¡± Felicia swept her eyes to where Ebbe pointed. Formed a ways off were files of silvered soldiers, thirty and more in number, mounted high on their horses. The youngest amongst them returned a look of his own, lustful in its leer. Paying him no mind, Felicia pressed on. ¡°Your Excellency. The vice-commandant and his unit are themselves counted amongst Balasthea¡¯s bulwark-men, are they not? Their duty is defence, by your words; how are they made to march without their commandant¡¯s consent?¡± ¡°I give consent.¡± Sharpness from the margrave. To have amassed such multitudes of men, with many reams of gear and supplies in tow¡ªthe scale of this expedition certainly spoke of deals and decisions made well in advance. Ebbe, too, was surely privy to the margrave¡¯s designs, ones that called for the participation of the vice-commandant himself, along with his herd of elite grunts. What gave it away was the easy eagerness in the bony man¡¯s gait as he stood amidst the mighty enterprise. Doubt clouded Felicia¡¯s heart ever more. Could it be that these men, prince and pawns alike, mean to move without a single word to her brother, commandant as he is of the very fort from which they would sally? ¡°But, Lord Str?m¡­¡± ¡°My dear Brigadier. Is it more than blood you share with that ungraced? He well-gainsays the slaying of innocents¡ªeven should they be of Naf¨ªlim stock,¡± the margrave revealed, then emboldening his stare upon Felicia. ¡°Are his words yours as well?¡± ¡°That man has aired such ill¡­?¡± Felicia thought aloud. ¡°Nay, my Lord. He and I are same of blood, but not of mind. ¡®Twas simply that I couldn¡¯t espy why so many men should sally from his fort, on what occasion but his own absence.¡± ¡°Of minds, I pay none, to whether he curses us with his company or no,¡± the margrave remarked. ¡°But ¡®tis certain he should raise a reeking stink were he here now. So I say, all is well and good that our noses are spared of his stench.¡± A grin then grew upon the lord¡¯s lips, one caked with confidence and piety for his self-proclaimed justice. ¡°By the grace and godly name of Yon¨¢ shall my men at last march to Hensen, and there smite the unholy Naf¨ªlim hell-nest that it is. And bring back to us much boon and bounty besides¡ªslave-captives, and coffers each filled with coin and exotica,¡± the margrave announced at length. ¡°Be not worried, Brigadier. Such riches shall enlarge the larders of Londosius. This, I assure you.¡± ¡°¡­As you will, my Lord.¡± None of the margrave¡¯s words inflamed Felicia¡¯s ears. Right and just were his ambitions, a bedrock of surety for the longevity of Londosius. Why, she even measured him to be rather proper to an extent: not often does a lord leave the comforts of his manor to personally see off his military men to their march. It was but a spark of surprise that shook her from the moment. Surprise for the deployment of Ebbe¡¯s unit, fort-defenders though they were, as well as the endeavouring of an entire foray into Naf¨ªlim lands, on what day but the very day of Rolf¡¯s absence. Ah yes. Rolf. For her brother, Felicia knew only despair and disappointment, deeper now with his secret exclusion from this expedition. A fine time to take leisure, whilst the world is on the move. Despair, indeed. ¡°Right then, love. We be off now,¡± Ebbe bowed passingly. ¡°A mite shame your brother has t¡¯sit out this crusade. Be a dear an¡¯ console ¡®im for us, will you?¡± ¡°¡­Of course,¡± returned Felicia, ill-able to rebuke Ebbe¡¯s rabblerousing. Writ boldly now upon her agenda was this very matter, of which she meant to take up fully with her brother. But such was only a footnote to the crux of her coming to this province of Str?m: to press Rolf on why he let slip Emilie¡¯s gracious hand. This was the brigadier¡¯s resolve. To set herself upon her brother as he couches in his cowardice, and teach him of what path he ought take. It was late, but not overly so. Thus was Felicia resolute on returning to Arbel, all to pay a visit to Rolf¡¯s residence. Off to her side was the margrave, speaking anew with one of his commanders. ¡°It is time. Hie now, and bring word of Hensen¡¯s fall! Yon¨¢ be with you!¡± Saluting, the commander turned to the arrayed army, and raised high both sword and voice. ¡°Heed, men! We go north past the woods! And from there, turn to pierce Hensen whence rises the sun! Hold fast your blades and steel well your souls! For in this battle shall we strike the devils full-sore! Back to the pits of hell whence they hail! March! March now! Onward! Onward!¡± ¡°Ooooouuhh!!¡± ¡°To victory!¡± ¡°Holy Grace be our Guide!¡± The host of Men swelled with sound, thundering into the unblemished skies. Then, under the watch of their margrave, they slowly commenced their march. Thousands of earth-thudding steps, paving a path to Hensen, from the denizens of which these kin of Man would hew dominion over this land. Volume 2 - CH 4.6 I gunned the horse to a gallop, cutting through the moon-cold plains. The night howled all around as I huddled low against the saddle: no Man would survive for long were he caught out in the open so. That very reason found my face and form shrouded fast from outside sight, in not a hooded cloak, but a blanket. Caution duly paid, though to little profit: it seemed this stretch of land northwest of the woods was wholly unmanned at this dark hour. All the better; with my way free of waylayers, I kept my eastward course. Night later blushed with dawn. Up and up, the sun soared to its high-noon perch, whereupon I stopped atop a row of hills overlooking the lively sprawl of Hensen. West afront the f¨®lkheimr proper was a gate, guarded by two standing soldiers. Right. The hourglass waits not. I cantered down the slope and to the vicinity of the entrance. There, I dismounted before undraping myself of the blanket and unbuckling my sword. Holding it up, I began my approach. ¡°¡­Mm!?¡± grunted a squinting soldier as he roused to action. ¡°A Man! A Man at the gates!¡± ¡°You there!¡± the other echoed. ¡°Not a step closer!¡± Spears were speedily trained upon me, in spite of the surprise. A honed reaction: these two were well-drilled. ¡°I am Rolf Buckmann! Acting Commandant to the battlements of Balasthea!¡± I returned, tossing my sword to the ground. ¡°I am come craving admittance to your jarl!¡± ? ¡°Humph. Balasthea¡¯s commandant be broad of shoulders, my scouts say. You match square their descriptions,¡± so spoke an enthroned Naf¨ªl: the Jarl Alban. No less than fifty winters have buffeted this lion of a leader¡ªwinters of war-waging, stitched together to a shroud shading his dread and giant frame. ¡°But your coming be a run cutting against the flow. Here you are¡ªa commander naked of army, a Man alone from kinsmen. What queerness has come before me?¡± ¡°Queerness, indeed,¡± I answered. ¡°That a jarl would grant so quick an audience to his foe¡ªit affrights reason.¡± Till now, much of my thoughts were racked by how I might meet with this jarl, or at the very least, some like authority with an ear for the heavy matter to come. That all it took was to present myself at Hensen¡¯s doorstep baffled me well into this moment. Where was I but the palatial jarlsh?ll itself. An edifice of oak, of but one level yet large upon the land where it laid. And though its scope impressed, more so did its air: the timbers, the adornments, the design, all were thoroughly aged as a home to Hensen¡¯s many former lions. Into such a hallowed abode had I, a Man and foe both, been let through. Not a single binding was set upon my body; an earnest check about my person well-sufficed to have me presentable before the jarl¡¯s presence. Easy enough, yet the air was stifled here in the wide atrium-yard. Noonlight cascaded down from the open skylight and shone whitely upon my shoulders. Watching on from the cincturing shade were the many furrowed eyes, figures solemnly filed and flanking my left and right: the seeming h¨²skarlar, men and women, leaders in their own right, each of sworn service to their jarl. It bears mentioning that, as my past readings suggest, the Naf¨ªlim are not a united people. Indeed, rather than nest together in a single nation, they are dispersed in disparate clans in disparate lands, each headed by a jarl. And it is a fact that though the folk of a clan be of a clan, they are not all bloodkin; what binds them instead is a free yet collective spirit, a community congregating under a common banner. Beholden to them is the jarl, who earns his place upon the high-seat not by heirship, but by his deeds and deeds alone. For Hensen¡¯s part, as well as other settlements proximal to it, its denizens are of the V¨ªly clan¡ªthe V¨ªlungen¡ªpresided over by the Jarl Alban: the very same soul before me, whose eyes stabbed with their stare. ¡°Audience? Yes, there is audience,¡± he retorted, then turning his gaze to the forgathered h¨²skarlar. ¡°Them, I let see your face before your head I hew: the fate of a commandant corner¡¯d in the home of his foe.¡± Back at me, the jarl looked. ¡°You are come on a sotted whim? Or have you in your heart some death-wish? That, I shall grant you, bastard of Man.¡± His voice, deep like an earthquake and well-matched to his mountainous mien and muscle. But in that same voice ran veins of vehemence for Men and the jarl¡¯s readiness to erupt from his seat and smite them with any blade at hand. ¡°He the one, Sire?¡± asked a h¨²skarl amongst the file. ¡°Not some mummer sent to our midst? Nor some scheme of Mennish minds?¡± Doubt was thick in his words. Justified, I admit. After all, even a dream of mighty imagination could scarce paint a commander traipsing alone into the maw of his foe. Not least in a war like this, with both sides so viciously at each other¡¯s throats. ¡°Those Mennish minds know much vict¡¯ry of late. Such schemes are now a savour long-surfeited on their tongues; they ill-indulge a ruse on us, I think. Our jarl spoke true. Onyx eyes and soot-black hair: this Man looks as reported. And his body besides¡ªlo! strong it is, a stoutness rare even amongst Men. He is who he says, I say.¡± ¡°Oh? Then I say, quite courageous, this commandant! He is but one, yet quivers not!¡± Remarks from two h¨²skarlar standing right beside the jarl. They evidently numbered amongst the top echelons¡ª¡±war-chiefs¡±, as it were, direct commanders to the martial cohorts of Hensen. The first was Volker, calm and composed in his calculation of this unprecedented occasion. Little more than thirty in his years, there was a dour glint of intellect in his gaze, whilst his figure was slender of frame, though not from frailty, no: I espied in this Volker not just the the sharpness of a strategist, but the strength of a seasoned swordsman. The other was Berta, a woman of frankness and forty years of age, thereabouts. Her figure seemed the complete contrary to Volker¡¯s, replete as it was with rotundness as it swayed with her every gesture. And crowning it was a countenance of both gentleness and bravado, beaming with the smile of a long-lived mother. ¡°Courageous¡ªand keen, and cunning besides,¡± Volker went on. ¡°Sire. Never were Balasthea¡¯s blades more whetted and walls more unwavering till this commandant took to the war-table. My measure of him: anathema, he is. To our plight, to our people.¡± A most cutting commentary, if not complimentary. The keenness in Volker¡¯s stare, too, was no less unwavering in the course of his words. ¡°I¡¯m but an acting commandant, you should know,¡± I corrected. ¡°So you say, yet our eyes see you no friendlier a foe for it. A foe to be fell¡¯d.¡± ¡°The war-chief well-convinces, Sire. Uproot the sprout, and we spare ourselves the willow of wandreth.¡± The other h¨²skarlar steamed with assent. In the prongs of their hearts were set the red jewels of ire for Men and their ilk; the grim glimmer shone unsullied through their eyes. ¡°Come, rest your brows, all. Our ¡®foe¡¯ here has something for our ears, from the look of him. Let us lend, yes?¡± soothed Berta. The scene all but affirmed the roles of these two war-chiefs for their jarl. Hearing their words, a nodding Alban broke his silence. ¡°So be it. Speak, foe-guest.¡± To him, I looked. ¡°First things first: some of your far-off folk need aid,¡± I broached. ¡°Two women, sixteen children; survivors of an attack on their village five months past, northwest beyond the bourne of the woods. They hide in cellars beneath an orphanage. Hide¡ªand wait for succour. Will you not go and give it to them?¡± A silent instant, and the h¨²skarlar were then aroar, their rancour resounding all throughout the atrium. ¡°These things he speaks¡ªhow can he know!?¡± ¡°A folly! A foul trap!¡± ¡°Our lands you breach¡¯d, our people you pillaged! Now you mean to parley!?¡± ¡°A massacre wrought by the mammon of you Men! There is no doubt!¡± That last line¡ªlikely the clarion most clearly revealing their sore sentiments. Some amongst the h¨²skarlar clenched their teeth, others their fists to raw and quaking tautness. Though it was their eyes that shared a stinging stare upon my person. Amidst their mad thundering, the jarl rose from his high-seat. Quiet returned. The air stilled. His steps stamped their way to me before large fingers lunged forth and seized my collars. ¡°¡­Your ears have heard our woe,¡± Alban began. ¡°Your hands have stolen our treasures. Your swords have hewn our folk. Now, what says that mouth of yours?¡± Arms, boulder-like in all their burliness, set every sinew to wringing and raising my collars. Strength of much awe, and wrath no less awful. But I could not afford to falter before such power; unflinching, I fastened my sight to his. ¡°This, it says: I¡¯ll not apologise for aught we Men have sown in battle.¡± Lids flared. ¡°There is fire on your tongue. A Man-foe for true¡­!¡± Pouring into his grip was grim power greater still. Veins swelled along his massive arms, boughs bulging with the anger of the earth. Upon them I laid my own hands, and next exerted a defiant grip of my own. The jarl¡¯s voice seethed. ¡°¡­And a fool besides!¡± Furrows flashed across his face. I came here neither to gloat of my own strength of arms, nor to submit to the might and misery of these proud people. No, the jarl must know that I be a soul with words worthy of his ears. Thus did I sink my fingers further into the flesh of his forearms. ¡°Mgh¡­!¡± ¡°The fire upon my tongue is but a wick-light to the world-flames of war,¡± I said back. ¡°Without aim nor ailment have they burned both sides. But not by steeping ourselves in hate shall they be quenched.¡± The jarl narrowed his eyes. ¡°Think you the wiseman? That the spittle of your speech might drown what flooding centuries of war could not quench? Speak! O, wiseman!¡± ¡°I am no wiseman. Nor has there ever been, who so plies his wisdom to the withering of this war. For it rages more than ever, and his absence aches us all.¡± ¡°Ache indeed, mine ears! From the hollow wiles of the wiseacre before me!¡± came Alban¡¯s volcanic voice. ¡°The ¡®wisdom¡¯ of your fellows and forebears sees rightness in the sightless slayings of our innocents! Yet hastily from their blood-halls are you come to our pillaged place! Our pain¡¯d presence! To what!? Wallow in our wounds with your salted words!?¡± Pained, indeed, the jarl¡¯s own words, if not palpably wroth. A pain wrought by the reasonless slaughter set upon the more peaceable amongst his people. Friends and family all, meek and now vainly lost. A war-wheel turning with the momentum of centuries¡ªmore losses alike, then, were sure to follow. The resentment born from such a realisation was, in fact, a wound upon the leader of these lost people. How deeply it ran forever escaped my ken. My hands relaxed and released, moved by the thought. ¡°Again, I¡¯ve no apologies for what¡¯s transpired in battle,¡± I reiterated, looking away not once. ¡°But putting innocents to the sword¡ªthat is not battle. Not at all. For such tragedies do I apologise to you, one and all. Truly.¡± My words earned a silence from Alban as he elected to, with all slowness, free me from his own grip. Yet his anger gained no softness in the while, and that stare of his was as solid and searching as ever. ¡°Overlate¡ªvain¡ªbe your apology, Man-foe,¡± the jarl spoke again. ¡°Think you our slain babes and elders make return to us? With just that apology of yours?¡± ¡°¡­Would that my words were empowered so. How freed would we be, to reunite with all we¡¯ve lost. But I¡¯ve no such power. None amongst us do. Those who¡¯ve left us behind¡ªthey can never turn back. The pain echoes through you all, just as it does through me.¡± I knew. All too well. To them, my apology was but a meaningless remedy. But against all reason do the forlorn yet yearn only for the return of their dearly departed. This, too, I knew. Though the enmity in their eyes was unwaning, there was then a concrete quietude in all the h¨²skarlar around me. The Jarl Alban unfurled his fist before yielding a long breath from his lips. ¡°¡­You do not sound the mouthpiece of Man¡¯s mind.¡± ¡°Indeed. These are my thoughts, and mine alone.¡± Once more did the veins vault upon the faces of Alban and his vassals. Anger again, but now bedight with bewilderment at my unveiled will. Man only ever saw his Naf¨ªlim neighbour as a nemesis to be massacred unto nothingness. And so for these same Naf¨ªlim to hear an apology from the lips of one such Man was surely a shock to their wits. Alban gave greater weight to his glare, as if to seek out the truth in my soul. Then, with an unmuddied timbre, he asked anew. ¡°In ravaging our kind does the heart of Man know revelry and release. Why does yours steer from this course?¡± ¡°Because it¡¯s wise to what perhaps lies beneath the world: a machination unseen.¡± ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ H¨²skarlar (Language: Old Norse; singular: h¨²skarl) The house-carls, or retainers, to a jarl. In Soot-Steeped Knight, they are thus members of the Naf¨ªlim upper echelon. Jarlsh?ll (Language: Old Norse) The ¡°jarl¡¯s hall¡±. The j consonant is pronounced with a y sound, as in the words ¡°yes¡± and ¡°yawn¡±. The ? vowel is a rounded o sound, pronounced with a cross between the o sounds in the words ¡°on¡± and ¡°old¡±. In Soot-Steeped Knight, refers to the palatial residence of a jarl. V¨ªlungen (Schemed language: Old Norse/German; singular: V¨ªlung) The V¨ªly clan. Adhering to the naming scheme of Norse clans, ¡°V¨ªly¡± is converted to the more formal ¡°V¨ªlung¡±, while it then follows German declension (as Old Norse declension is reserved for more ancient terms). Thus, ¡°V¨ªlung¡± refers to a single member of this clan, while ¡°V¨ªlungen¡± refers to multiple or the entire clan itself. Volume 2 - CH 4.7 ¡°The world? The machinations beneath?¡± The jarl¡¯s brows cocked. An action surely shared by all the room. Indeed, they heard right: a machination. A device of deception. A contrivance about which the world was coiled and controlled. The unseen currents of an unseen maelstrom, which I¡¯d sensed from winters before, only now given words for the very first time. Alban shook his head slightly. ¡°Your words are as a warren. Speak what you mean.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve a tale that speaks of it aplenty,¡± I answered, ¡°but one to be told another time; the village survivors wait and waste to this moment. Pray lend them your aid, and soon.¡± A heavy moment. ¡°¡­Below the orphanage, was it?¡± The jarl nodded to one of his h¨²skarlar, whereupon the latter summarily left the atrium. ¡°Your defences, as well: they must needs be bolstered,¡± I went on. ¡°Lest the survivors find your f¨®lkheimr no less a ruin than their village.¡± ¡°You scry swords set on Hensen?¡± ¡°I do.¡± The jarl squinted with slow relent. Is this all really a ruse? Or a rebellious spark from the flames of Man? Whichever his conclusion, I then continued on revealing the veiled motivations of the margrave for Hensen, and in addition, my strategic counsel as a commandant: that the Fiefguard very well means to march on this f¨®lkheimr. None of the Naf¨ªlim muttered a single word as I gave them all of mine. A sound surprise; I fully anticipated plugged ears for aught I had to say. Certainly they were not paying their collective attention without due caution, but due more so was some propriety for the lone foe meandering into their midst, to tell them what he dared not in the company of his kin. Such was the resolve that I gleaned from them as my words went on. ¡°¡­The Fiefguardsmen have you fixed in their sights. All one hundred-score of them and more,¡± I concluded. The h¨²skarlar hummed uneasily. There is much credence to the commandant¡¯s counsel, they must¡¯ve thought, but equal cause for concern, if so. Two-thousand soldiers set on sacking Hensen was threatening enough¡ªtoo much a threat for the f¨®lkheimr¡¯s present defences, most likely. Fielding a large force against Hensen was heretofore a fraught stratagem, what with the woods in the way of an easy march. All Londosius had endeavoured to this point were mere skirmishes. It was my work as commandant that proved the vicissitude: Str?m¡¯s soldiery suffered less, whilst the local Naf¨ªlim all the more. With dwindled numbers, Hensen could ill-afford to waylay the Fiefguard¡¯s wooded march and field its own defences in the same stroke. The margrave well-reaped what I¡¯d sown, and I surmised he would soon amass as large a host as could cross the forest. Hence my prediction of a force of at least two-thousand Fiefguardsmen, a number that weighed heavily on the h¨²skarlar¡¯s hearts. ¡°¡­A weapon, your words are, turned upon your own kingdom. You mean to tread a treasonist?¡± Lowly aired words from the jarl¡¯s already low timbre. From his barbed leer upon me, I yet sensed an ire for more foolery that might issue from my lips. ¡°Londosius is yet my homeland, ruesome and rotted though it may be. I mean not to nock an arrow aflame against its spans, but just the same, I could not stay myself from warning you all of the reckoning to come.¡± ¡°What moved you?¡± he asked. ¡°Weariness. What else but weariness? The innocent and faultless, divested and sent to their deaths. Families, taken and torn asunder. These, I wish never to see again.¡± ¡°¡­¡¯Again,¡¯ you say.¡± A hint of sorrow from Alban¡¯s eyes as he nodded mutedly. I saw then the severity of his mien thinning at last. ¡°The intelligence, I should thank you for. But long-wary are we of an attack aimed at our walls.¡± ¡°Not wary enough, by my measure,¡± I was quick to point out. ¡°The Fiefguardsmen are unfit for battle in the forests. They mean to sally straight northward from Balasthea, and once past the wood, wend eastward into Hensen. You must meet them with a force of your own, stationed not amongst the trees, but out in the plains west of your walls.¡± ¡°Mm¡­¡± ¡°Indeed, had you soldiers enough, harrying the Fiefguard in their wooded march might¡¯ve proven more profitable. Yet ¡®enough¡¯ is neither what I see, nor what I¡¯ve heard from my own reports. A phalanx to bar their entry is your soundest option.¡± ¡°¡®Enough¡¯ my braves once were,¡± the jarl uttered, ¡°till you sat at the war-table.¡± ¡°I sat there that Balasthea¡¯s battlements might not break. As I¡¯ve said before, your braves who¡¯ve met their end upon those walls earn no apology from me,¡± I reminded him. ¡°That aside, your citizenry must needs be evacuated; the west district residents firstly, to wit. But they must be willing to part with their coin and treasures¡ªthe Fiefguardsmen lust for lucre, you see, and even a battle raging ¡®round them ill-dulls their greed. Let them tarry and rummage, I say. It buys your forces time more precious again than what bait the Fiefguard might bite.¡± ¡°You strategise as keenly as you criticise, Man of the fort,¡± Alban remarked. ¡°¡­But to let your kinsmen maraud? You must know, my people are meagre of means. I do not see your way. Did you not come to stall the pillaging? Or?¡± ¡°It¡¯s more an insurance, should the western defences crumble,¡± I assured the jarl. ¡°Were the Fiefguard to enter the f¨®lkheimr, expect torches to be laid upon the houses. But that¡¯s fine enough. Homes can be rebuilt, expenses can be paid for. Snatch victory from the Fiefguard¡¯s hands, and you just as well snatch back all they¡¯ve stolen. It¡¯s your people that must be kept from harm; they are themselves treasures irreplaceable, after all. Let them know of this, and surely they¡¯ll follow your every word.¡± Sacrifices were needed. A woundful reality, evident so long as Hensen lacked soldiers enough to stay the Fiefguard¡¯s tide. So long as Hensen was, to the Naf¨ªlim here, a home to be protected no matter the price. Of course, no stratagem would be suffered that so feeds the meek and innocent to the maws of war. Thus did I table any tactic that, at most, sacrifices that which can be sown again. My counsel continued. Of the Fiefguard¡¯s composition, its formations, its manoeuvres¡ªaught I knew, the jarl and his h¨²skarlar now knew, as well. This much divulgence was flagrant treason, surely, but a crime gladly committed were it to save even a single citizen of this f¨®lkheimr. Still, sins are sins, and this one my shoulders bore no less heavily. Though it were thoughts of Mia and those of like fate that convinced me of the weight¡¯s worthiness. ? The jarlsh?ll loomed behind as I left its ancient halls. Adjourned was the audience with Alban; with the warning relayed, I began my way back to the west gates whence I first entered. Noonlight was fast fading. Already from the far horizon was the mirk of evening growing. ¡°I thought I¡¯d spend the day chained and gaoled, truth be told,¡± I said. ¡°Fresh air seldom smelled so sweet.¡± ¡°As it should,¡± Volker remarked, walking beside me. ¡°Your safe return might sow the seed of peace between our peoples. This, the jarl has surmised.¡± ¡°Peace, you say¡­¡± A pensive murmur from my lips, punctuated by glances and stares upon my person from the surrounding populace. In their myriad eyes were curiosity and caution. Some were sallowed with fear. A few glared with anger. ¡°Impossible, perhaps,¡± the war-chief went on. ¡°This, too, the jarl knows. As do we. But even a broken seed must be sown, for whether it sprouts, none can know for true.¡± Would that Londosian soil were more nurturing of such a precious sprout. But alas. The kingly realm brims and billows with war-winds ever bent on the snuffing of the Naf¨ªlim flame. That much I knew for certain. How humbling, then, that it were the Naf¨ªlim themselves that could not completely spurn the seed of peace. ¡­Nay. Perhaps theirs was the right heart to have. It was, to begin with, baleful and bewildering to so wish for a wasting war, one that wants no end before whichever party first reaches its reckoning. ¡°Generous be our clan-sire; were his hands mine, you would die by them whence you stand,¡± Volker continued. ¡°Much good it do you to have thanks for him.¡± ¡°I¡¯m plenty thankful, just as I am for leaving my sword at the gates. You don¡¯t seem the sort to slay a man unarmed, after all. Not to my eyes, at least.¡± ¡°¡­Hmph.¡± The war-chief was as much a richly-witted man as I first measured him to be. That¡¯s to say, any arrow he lets loose, earnest or no, is an arrow that finds its mark, as it were. Yet for however whetted his wits were, he was equally a warrior of unmistakable mettle. Courtesy moved his compass¡ªnot by his blade would an unbladed soul be laid low. ¡°I¡¯m right glad you all lent ear to my words, in any case,¡± I confessed. ¡°And with rather cooled veins, no less.¡± ¡°We are a people of principle. We judge for what a heart beats, not what blood courses through it¡ªeven should it be the heart and blood of a Man.¡± ¡°The heart, is it¡­¡± ¡°Still, we know well of doubt and fear. The same we have for you¡ªand enmity besides, steeled by the hard-fought centuries between our forebears both.¡± ¡°That, I¡¯ll not gainsay.¡± The Jarl Alban. His h¨²skarlar withal. It was cold decorum and discretion that craved the lending of their ears for the words of a Man. And as well, whatever gleanable advantage that might avail them against the attack to come. Yet Volker revealed the right of it¡ªundercurrent to their calculated tolerance was enmity, to be sure. A current pushed by past partings with their comrades-in-arms. And it was certain: not few amongst the h¨²skarlar have also lost family and loved ones in the waging of this war. All things told, their judgement found my admittance just, even as their hearts howled with hate for the Man before them. The staying of their readied blades was solely for whatever brighter days this strange occasion might herald¡ªnot on account of some fancied forgiveness for me or my kinsmen. Hm¡­ My kinsmen¡­ How might I have carried myself, I wonder? Were I saddled with the same sorrow, the same animosity as the h¨²skarlar and their people? And in light of their losses, what¡ªand who¡ªhave I myself to lose? Emilie, Felicia¡ªthey and others make for an unequal comparison. After all, fighting is their livelihood. War is their art. Long have they made peace with their own mortality. Nay¡­ Suppose I have for myself some dear and gentle soul, who waits beyond the bounds of the battlefield for my safe return. Suppose further that she be deprived. On a day like any other, deprived asudden of her dignity, of her very life. What would become of me? Of Rolf Buckmann, as he stands amidst the ruins of aught and all he once cherished? ¡°¡­I can scarce imagine.¡± ¡°Mm? What is it you mumble, Man?¡± ¡°Ah¡ªno, it¡¯s nothing.¡± Indeed. ¡®I can scarce imagine.¡¯ Such would be my only answer in this matter. Those who know loss. Those who know tragedy. Whirling within the depths of their hearts is both resentment and rancour well beyond the imaginations of those who know not. Thus do these sufferers suffer further. Their pain begets pain. And thus have I learned never to feign shallow sympathy, for it be only salt upon their open wounds. But staying the salting hand, recognising the pointlessness of pity¡ªthese were my sole recourse, and what poor recourse they are. Silence be of little solace and succour. What, then, can I do? ¡°Chief!¡± A voice, tugging me from the thorns of thought. Its master, a lad with lividness in his visage, veered to Volker, having just passed by the both of us in our westward walk. ¡°What¡¯s this about?¡± he pressed Volker. ¡°Why does a Man walk within our walls!?¡± The war-chief raised a palm. ¡°Calm, Kunz. There is reason enough.¡± ¡°Calm? Calm!? He¡¯s a Man, Chief! A foe in our f¨®lkheimr!¡± yelled this ¡°Kunz¡±. With blunt briskness did he then brush aside Volker and step straight to me. His hands sprang forth, shoving me back. ¡°¡­Murderer! Why are you come!? Whose end seek you now!?¡± I stood my ground, wordless. Seeing my silence, Kunz came up once more to catch my collars. ¡°Speak, enemy!¡± he howled up at my face. ¡°You savour much of our blood! How much more till you¡¯re sated!?¡± Even then, I kept quiet. ¡°Speak, I said!¡± ¡®I came not to kill¡ªnot you, not your dear ones. Not anyone.¡¯ This, I could not give air. Whether from knowing well they¡¯d be words most unsought by Kunz, or from being left speechless in the face of his fury. For there were tears running down the cheeks of this lad. The eyes that shed them were as daggers piercing my bosom. What pain. What wrenching, piercing pain. Ever was this so. When met with the lament of those stricken by loss, their pain was as my own. One that seemed to bore holes in my heart. ¡°Kunz. Calmness. Let him free,¡± Volker soothed the lad, laying a hand upon the latter¡¯s shoulder and pulling him gently back. Kunz relented and released me from his clutches, but not from his stabbing stare. Volker spoke on. ¡°Explanations enough I have for you to hear. But for now, go. And give rest to your veins.¡± The lad had little mind for heedance. He glared on and on at me, tearfully frowning and furrowed to the fullest. ¡°Kunz. You have heard me.¡± ¡°¡­Yes. Calmness,¡± Kunz broke his silence. ¡°I¡¯ve wounded the winds. Forgive me, good Chief.¡± With that muttered, the lad left our presence, but not before giving me one last gouging glare. I looked on at his awaying shoulders, spiritless as they were. ¡°¡­He¡¯s lost someone, hasn¡¯t he?¡± I observed. ¡°That he has. A bride-to-be. As one, their hearts were, from their greenest days,¡± Volker revealed, walking forth once more. ¡°The wedding was soon.¡± A betrothed, torn from Kunz¡¯s side. Our lots, his and mine, could not be any more different. Surely he could¡¯ve given his bride-to-be a life most blissful¡ªwere she yet alive. Still, we¡¯re the same, he and I. Surely so. Sadness is in him, thus he sheds tears. Anger burns him, thus he bellows and lays blame. What are these but the same pains suffered by Men? The very same. In a Naf¨ªl is life. A will. A heart. What separates us, then? Naught. Kunz¡¯s tears enlightened me anew to this truth. He loves what is beautiful, and loves little what is otherwise. Of this, I am certain. Beyond a window, within billows of auburn leaves, a tree in its autumn dress. Cackling and crackling in a hearth, a humming fire, bright and warm. Freshly stretched and tanned, a span of well-made leather, uniquely fragrant. After a day¡¯s labour, a gulp of cold and crisp water for the parched throat. These, too, he has love for. As do I. We are one and the same. And yet, we can scarce live amongst one another. Why? On and on, I looked upon Kunz¡¯s fading figure, whilst the unanswered questions only burgeoned in my bosom. Volume 2 - CH 4.8 ¡°Hold.¡± A word asudden from Volker after much walking since then. I turned to find him halted, even as our destination laid yet a long ways off. ¡°From here to the gates, you walk¡ªalone,¡± the war-chief went on. ¡°Trouble avoids you now, not as earlier.¡± I cocked my head slightly. ¡°Alone? Man that I am?¡± ¡°The folk there are fraught, blind to aught but their own suff¡¯ring. Your presence is little pain, for living is pain enough to them.¡± I then gleaned a glint of gloom in Volker¡¯s gaze. He watched the weighty air falling upon the district in question, as though the place were a panging scar upon the sprawl of the f¨®lkheimr. ¡°That share of Hensen we set aside for the direly destitute. There, they may find succour. Though, woundful to say, they find little of it,¡± he confessed. ¡°We V¨ªlungen scant and scantle on, always with toes upon the cliff-edge to collapse. Indeed our lot is meagre; there be where our frail fortunes lay themselves barest.¡± ¡°A sight the jarl bids me see, I take it?¡± ¡°You discern his design, Man. Just as he does of something in you; something that gives him hope,¡± he said, then looking to me. ¡°Though truth be told, I share little of his sight.¡± Then, after a word of parting, Volker turned and made off on his own way. I watched him with many thoughts, sensing his gait, while tall and proud, walk a mite more slowly than before. ¡®With your eyes, see the state of our society. With your compass, judge what Man¡¯s deeds have wrought upon my people.¡¯ Though he scarce said such a thing, I well-heard Alban¡¯s bidding in my ears. And what a mountainous bidding to oblige it was. But oblige it I will. Straightening myself, I set forth into the destined district. ? I walked upon the dirt paths, delirious as they were with dingy wooden dwellings jutting every which way. Cobwebs of clothes-lines threaded around and all about without aim. And lining the waysides were scatterings of sullen and soiled folk, down on their bottoms, down on their luck, downcast, downtrodden. A shantytown, through and through, made only more dreary by the ever-growing gloom of evening. Hensen was a f¨®lkheimr formerly arising out of little else but oaken abodes of old. A mild majesty permeated it, to be sure, but none of the marvel was to be found here. True to Volker¡¯s words, no eyes gave much of their time to my presence, high-heighted and Man-like though it was. Glances might¡¯ve been given here and there, but the smallfolk¡¯s hearts certainly heeded me not. They were all of them ensnared in their daily desperation, a shared destiny brought upon them by some past tragedy. Seeing the citizenry in their squalor, I thought then how easily Mia herself might¡¯ve ended up amongst them¡ªor worse still. A place of penury, beyond any doubt. The home of the forlorn, fringefolk forgotten by the fates. Nowhere was felt the freshness of life, of vitality, of vivacity. This townscape was wholly sunken in its own sombre air. ¡°Gwagghaaaa¡ª!!¡± And through that very air: an ear-splitting scream. I jerked in its direction, finding a nondescript alleyway. Many of the nearby Naf¨ªlim, too, turned the same way, but, with only misery in their miens, moved nary a limb to go look. Theirs seemed the spirit of surrender, as if knowing that naught in their power could prove a remedy. Yet what darkened my heart most was that the scream was of a child. Unable to remain deaf to it, I stepped into the alleyway, where waiting at its end was a somewhat sizeable home. Its timbers were tumbled, its roof ragged and reclined, and its walls welcomed in the winds. ¡°Ah¡­ agh¡­ aghhaaaa!!¡± From within the abode shrieked the same vociferous voice. The doorway was doorless. Draped over it was some tattered cloth, one I quickly crossed on peril of trespassing. ¡°Ach¡­ hagh¡­ nnnggh!!¡± There, a scene to sunder to the heart. Children, all about¡ªweeping, wailing. ¡°Aaaagh! Uwghaaaahh!!¡± And the source of the screams: a young boy, flat upon a floor-laid mat. His eyes were bulging open, his lungs heaved with every scream, and his limbs were deathly tense as they waved and scratched wildly about. Near him were five other little ones, boys and girls both, clinging tremulously to each other, their cheeks wet with tears. Each was fixed upon the youth, hysterical with a sadness no child should suffer. Yet there was another girl, longer in her years than the rest, but young all the same. ¡°Brother! Oh, Brother!¡± ¡°Theo! Theo! Don¡¯t give up, Theo! Please! Plea¡ªse!¡± ¡°Uuaaah! ¡­Hic! Brother, don¡¯t di¡ªe! Waaah!¡± The collective lament of the children. Amongst them: a little sister, calling out to her frantic and fading brother. Tears coursed and coursed down her snivelling face. Clasped in her arm was a plush bear, threadbare, and poorly patched here and there with ill-matching shreds of fabric. Buttons were its eyes, though only one now remained. Crushed by pity, I but stood there, fast frozen. Rolf Buckmann, feller of the catoblepas¡ªa battle where was witnessed not a pause in his facing of the beast. An unsung merit to my name, yet in spite of it, I could do little but stand silent and stolid aface the suffering of these children. ¡°Gghhwah¡­! Aghhh¡­!¡± the screaming continued, and with it, the wails from the little ones. ¡°Brother! Don¡¯t leave us!! Please! Alma will be good from now on! Please!!¡± ¡°Uuaaaah! Waaaah!¡± ¡°Theo! Stay with us, Theo! Stay strong!¡± There¡ªcorroboration from the adolescent girl as she struggled to still the boy¡¯s thrashing spasms. Amidst her desperation was a sudden swivel of the eyes up to me. In that stare: a look I¡¯d seen never before. A look that pleaded for succour, any at all. A look that fumed with fury for the world and all. A look that was a lightning bolt upon the ice binding me in place¡ªat once, I rushed into the room, as if freshly unfettered. ¡°Clear the way! I¡¯ll hold his legs!¡± I yelled above the clamour, before catching and clamping down the boy¡¯s buffeting feet. ¡°Ughhah¡­! Gghah¡­!¡± On and on, he strained and thrashed, possessed by some demon of a distemper. I looked to the adolescent girl. ¡°Give him a thing to bite! Cloth, wood¡ªaught at all!¡± Heeding me, she glanced hurriedly about before turning to the children. ¡°Kurt! That stick there! Hand it to me! And Romy! The blue box, on the shelf! Bring it here!¡± The trembling children, too, heeded in turn, and tearfully fulfilled the girl¡¯s bidding. About the room they then scrambled in clumsy panick. I watched on, weathering the boy¡¯s wutherings, my heart sinking at the sight of their sniffling and quivering selves. ¡°You¡ªhave him bite this! My hands are needed elsewhere!¡± the eldest girl next said, thrusting the newly retrieved stick to me. With my legs holding down the boy¡¯s own, I obliged. An action fighting to fail, for the boy himself was bursting at the seams with violent strength, as if his very life were ablaze in its last moments. Only with my full and burly weight were his legs held in place. His chin fast in my hand, I then forced open his mouth and wedged the stick between his frothing teeth. ¡°Ouummhh©¤©¤! Mmmgh©¤©¤!!¡± ¡°Theo! Come, bite down!!¡± The adolescent girl, seeing the ailing boy obeying, took to hand a blue box. ¡°Hold him still! Just like that! Kurt! Come help, as well! Don¡¯t let him flail now!¡± Whilst dictating the chaos, the girl took out of the box a porcelain phial. ¡°Ugghh! Ffhhnngg©¤©¤!!¡± ¡°Brother! Brother, please!! Don¡¯t die!!¡± ¡°Theo!!¡± ¡°Oh, Brother!! Brother©¤!!¡± ¡°Waaaah! Aauuaaah!¡± The children cried. On and on, each and every one. No cheek was unflooded with tears. My face furrowed at the scene. Gasping breaths grated their way out of my lungs, as though I¡¯d fast forgotten how to breathe. An unexpected sheen of sweat was upon me¡ªmy mind, my heart, laboured away at a war unlike any I¡¯d waged before. Swimming against the tide of emotions, I continued on holding down the boy with all desperation. ¡°Theo! Be strong!¡± the eldest girl shouted. ¡°You, have the stick gone! He must drink now!¡± I did as told, gripping the boy¡¯s chin before freeing the stick from his gnashing bite. In the same moment, the girl leant in and poured into the boy¡¯s mouth a liquor from the phial. And right as the remedy was emptied, I swiftly wedged the stick back in. ¡°Gghhnnnngghh©¤©¤!!¡± A guttural groan from the boy, punctuated by a crack from the stick between his teeth. It was for the best; without it, he might¡¯ve very well bitten off his own tongue. ¡°Gghh¡­ nngghh¡­ hhghh¡­¡± And then, a peace, setting in piecemeal¡ªthe boy¡¯s mad flailing finally began to abate. If only the same were true of his eyes, which remained wide open, twitching here and there. Unsure of his condition, I continued keeping him still as best I could. ¡°Gh¡­ urh¡­¡± The moments released their tension, for at last, the boy¡¯s eyelids drew to a gentle close. And once the girl removed the stick from his mouth, all that left it then were the shallow sighs of slumber. I followed suit, freeing a deep breath from my lungs after letting myself off of the boy¡¯s once-bedevilled limbs. The children¡¯s wails had ceased. What remained were only their soft sobs. Volume 2 - CH 4.9 The curtains of night were fast fallen. With not a seam in the cloud-cloaked skies to welcome in the moonlight, the townscape was left awash in grainy eigengrau, cut only by the occasional wick-light. All the district folk had disappeared to their midnight nests. A brisk chill ran through the chirping air. I stood amidst the clean quietude, having left the children¡¯s home, and leant on the bannister by the road. It overlooked a plaza below, a space as gaping as it was lonely. ¡°Well?¡± rang a voice beside me, one belonging to the remedy-giving girl. ¡°What business welcomes a Man in this unwelcome place?¡± It was only after she¡¯d soothed and settled the children down that this girl thought to bring me out for a talk. But of course she would. Doubtless she expected no Man to appear at her moment of need¡ªmore unexpected again that he would sooner be an aid than an adversary. ¡°The name¡¯s Rolf, first off,¡± I began my answer. ¡°As for business¡ªI was come bearing tidings for the jarl.¡± ¡°Hm. Fair enough,¡± she seemed to brush off. ¡°¡®Lise¡¯ be mine. You¡¯ve a pair of helpful hands. My thanks.¡± Not upon the lithe person of this ¡°Lise¡± was there a wisp of fright for the presence of Men. Why, for one such Man did she even deign to thank for helping a spasmodic child. ¡°That boy¡­¡± I broached, recalling that very episode. ¡°The white-coath¡¯s got him, has it?¡± ¡°It has,¡± Lise sighed. ¡°He¡¯s amongst many who were poisoned¡­ not more than a winter ago.¡± ¡°White-coath¡±¡ªa ghastliness afflicting both Men and Naf¨ªlim alike, the symptoms of which were all exhibited by the poor boy. As for the cause, I hazarded a grim guess. ¡°¡­Drank from the forest headwaters, I wager.¡± ¡°You wager well. Yes¡­ Mennish realmers made it a miasma,¡± confirmed Lise, before leering slowly up at me. ¡°Remember you the waters? Fresh and cool?¡± Deep in her sidelong stare sparked embers of spite. ¡®¡­Why, we once had it done t¡¯great effect, ¡®fore your arrival¡­!¡¯ Ebbe¡¯s words. ¡­And Ebbe¡¯s wiles. A ploy to poison the headwaters within the woods, one I was swift to strike down. Only, just as he had hinted, its effectiveness was well-attested. The boy was palpable proof of it, a living and ailing victim. Though, for how much longer¡­ I ground my teeth. Once again has this war reaped from fields far from its waging. By its wantonness did innocents now suffer anew¡­ ¡­and children along with them. Little children¡ªsuffering. I let out a sigh of my own. ¡°Can¡¯t say I do; the poisoning well-happened before my coming to this land. Though¡­ I admit, I¡¯ve known of the deed for some time. And I¡¯m yet a soldier of Londosius, all told. Thus the sin stains me no less heavily.¡± ¡°Mm¡­¡± The flames faded from Lise¡¯s look. ¡°Light enough upon my scale, I say. So long as the deed wasn¡¯t yours, if true.¡± ¡°¡­Quite the generous scale you have.¡± ¡°You prefer a stricter one?¡± Her words seemed a cold dagger, quicker on the cut than on the coddle for the moping, maudlin Man before her. ¡°Nay¡­¡± I relented. ¡°It judges me just fine.¡± ¡°Be glad. Had any more heavily your sin slanted the scale, I¡¯d happily hew the weight from you.¡± Such was no middling attempt at intimidation. Hers were hands well-whetted for war-waging. And bloodied besides, perhaps¡ªfrom felling Men. That much I discerned merely from her portance. But of her heart, I then wished to discern further. Thus, through the dark, I threw my entire gaze upon her visage. And as I did, a cleft in the clouds softly courted in a shaft of moonshine. One alighting perfectly upon Lise. Amidst the luminance came a blush of warm beige about her skin, a complexion unique to the Naf¨ªlim. The fine and fair features of her face, the bright emerald of her eyes, the lily-rosiness of her lips, the gossamer-gold of her hip-length locks¡ªall lovely to behold, but what bewildered me was not that. No, not at all. For the sight of her face was one I once well-thought to be my last. The Battle of Erbelde three years past. Having undone the dam choking the tributary¡ªa Naf¨ªlim construction and counter-stratagem that saw the swelling of the Erbelde¡¯s main waters¡ªI successfully made my return to the Mareschal Tiselius¡¯ regiment. And after reporting to her the weakness in the enemy¡¯s designs, victory seemed all but clenched. Thus was the brunt of our forces ordered to drive our foes to their retreat, whilst the rest of us followed Tiselius in exiting the enemy garrison. Then and there, just as we neared the gates and regrouped with a regiment of stationed knights, we were waylaid from the shadows by a horde of Naf¨ªlim, one of whom I found myself fighting to fatal peril. My opponent: a girl of a Naf¨ªl, younger still than my then-seventeen year-old self. But in her hands was wielded undeniable prowess, daggers of deftness and speedy death. Certainly a Goliath to an ungraced. I can hear it, even now: the thrice-striking thunders of a gong, as blood issued from the slash-wound sailing across my bosom. And then¡­ ¡®¡­The curtains look to be closing¡­¡¯ ¡®¡­¡®Twas a play too-brief¡­¡¯ ¡®¡­Now¡¯s a fine time to exit stage¡­ wouldn¡¯t you say¡­?¡¯ ¡®¡­Will we meet again¡­?¡¯ ¡®¡­The playwrights willing¡­¡¯ ¡­then, did she disappear from my sight. In facing such a foe did I first know mortal fear. ¡°¡­I know you.¡± Simple words said with the very same voice from that memory. A memory, just as fresh in the mind of the girl before me. The passing of three winters now found her a blossomed young lady, betwixt sixteen and eighteen in her years. Indeed, though her facets were now well-refined, she was unmistakably the same storm-child with whom I measured blades on that fateful battlefield. ¡°And I, you,¡± I echoed. ¡°We meet again.¡± To which Lise answered with a long look upon my person, her first cutting sign of caution since my appearance. ¡°Again the curtains rise,¡± she remarked, ¡°to herald the one Man of my defeat.¡± ¡°Hm?¡± I cocked a brow. ¡°If memory serves, the defeat was mine¡ªmiserably so.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± Lise cocked both of hers. ¡°There¡¯s nonsense on your lips!¡± ¡°Nay, I¡¯ve proof enough. Here, look¡ª¡± I insisted, before shedding off my shirt to show Lise the scar of her making. ¡°Wh¡­?¡± she gasped. ¡°W-why do you bare yourself!?¡± ¡°This here. See it?¡± I looked down upon myself. ¡°A scar by your blade.¡± ¡°W-which!?¡± Lise looked away. ¡°Fewer stars line the skies than do the scars on your skin!¡± I pointed at my chest. ¡°This one, the starkest of them. A long, straight lin¡ª¡± ¡°Fine! Yes-yes! I see it! Clothe yourself already!¡± Upon her face fast came a fluster of another hue. A blunder on my part, perhaps, to bare myself so boldly. Warriors that we were, I had well-thought it proper to display the trophy of her triumph hewn into my very flesh. ¡°Apologies,¡± I said, slipping my shirt back on. ¡°I meant to say: you proved quite the sharp opponent.¡± ¡°Hmph¡­¡± Lise crossed her arms. ¡°A silly lie, that. From the lips of one sharper still, who so outsped my ambush.¡± Ambush, indeed. Just the mere recollection of it sent shivers down my spine. Instinct had saved me then. A wordless sense that something sinister¡ªor ¡°bestial¡±, more like¡ªwas shooting straight into our ranks. And it was instinct again that had forced my hand: a draw of the sword, the swing of its blade. At the end of the edge was none other than a Naf¨ªlim girl: Lise, caught in the instant before her blades could catch me, her paling having halted mine. Truth be told, had I hesitated even for an instant, that day, that battle, surely would¡¯ve been my last. ¡°I¡¯m haunted even now,¡± said my former foe, looking to have recollected the same. ¡°Tell me. What gift gave you sight enough to see my strike?¡± ¡°The gift was yours: the raging, bestial sort. I but sensed it, is all.¡± ¡°B¡­!?¡± Lise¡¯s eyes flared wide and greenly. ¡°And yours be a gift for rudeness, I sense!¡± Had she hissed, she very well might¡¯ve seemed the incensed cat. I was convinced: my choosing of words had yet to grow beyond the grace of a gutter-churl¡¯s. ¡°Ah¡­ A-apologies,¡± I scratched my head. ¡°It was a compliment, truly.¡± ¡°What frau finds flattery in ¡®raging beast¡¯, you bumble-wit!¡± ¡°One who¡¯s a warrior besides. Am I wrong?¡± ¡°No! And yes!¡± It would seem we are as cogs uncouplable, Lise and I. Regardless, such was my reunion with an old opponent, with whom I once exchanged swings and thrusts swift enough to sunder the winds. But between us now were stilled breezes and broken moonlight. A miracle of a re-meeting well-earning my joy. Volume 2 - CH extra 1.2 ¡°Oh, perish the thought,¡± the marquis scoffed. ¡°No soul of my stead, be he sire or servant, should deign to divest a child so. Should he, my good yeoman?¡± ¡°No-n-n-not at all, m¡¯liege! S-s-sssorry I am, tr-truly!¡± With but an unblinking glare from the lord of Norden, the runner was made to run. Out the shop he flew, tripping over himself along the way. ¡®Twas a fact that from his bloody-nosed and sweaty-cheeked face was wrung an apology to none other than myself. Misplaced, unfortunately, but ¡®twas clear that such a sorry sight would¡¯ve been unsought by the true victim: the boy. And so I let it be. ¡°My dear Mareschal,¡± the marquis turned to me, ¡°might I know your pleasant business here on my streets?¡± ¡°Central missed me, it seemed,¡± I answered with no warmth. ¡°The chore¡¯s done with, and so am I bound for home. But then I thought to stretch my legs here, along the way. You won¡¯t mind, I hope, dear Marquis?¡± ¡°Oh, not at all, Your Mightiness. This is a merry meeting, indeed,¡± began his doublespeak. ¡°Already an honour and pleasure both to see you at the royal capital, but never could I have imagined a chance to entertain you here in my own lands. Yon¨¢ is ever playful with Her lambs, hm! To Her, a thousand thanks, for I may now boast to my subjects tonight of meeting here the kingdom¡¯s keenest blade.¡± From his words: a noisome whiff of suspicion at mine unexpected visit. This marquis¡ªmore beguiling and cutthroat again than most of his ilk. He was a lion, ever sniffing for the unguarded nape. The iron-stench of a bloodbeast was neither lost to Francis¡¯ own faculties, for his vigilance was reared as he stood guarding the little boy. Theirs was a long-reeking smell, the marquis and the 5th. To mine own nose, right from the outset. Why, make absent the matter of the recent exile, and I would¡¯ve meant no less to seek out the source of their stench. ¡°Your praise is profuse, Marquis. But I¡¯d say of late, blades sharper still have freshly left the anvils of Central,¡± I returned. ¡°If I¡¯m to speak my mind, such praise is best left to said steel.¡± ¡°One by the name of Emilie Valenius, perhaps? Indeed, the Lady has cut quite the impression, to be yielded a fief all her own at so young an age. Yet her edge is¡­ soft, untempered; I should say that amongst blades of late, its bite is blunt compared to your own heroic hew, Lady Estelle Tiselius.¡± A honeyed eulogy, sweet only to the undiscerning ear. ¡°Oh, my oh my, pardon! It was not the 5th¡¯s mareschal you meant? Allow me another guess, then, of one more mete with your measure.¡± There: a grin upon the dread visage. ¡°¡­Ah, yes. What of Brandt? Bo Brandt! Now there¡¯s a beau of a blade!¡± ¡°Nay, good Marquis. I did not mean anyone in particular.¡± ¡°Is that so? Well.¡± Terseness, followed by a lidless stare upon mine own, prowling for some secret or fault to lunge upon. The passing silence, tingling with barbs and briars between us, occupied but a moment, till at last the marquis¡¯ lips cracked open again. ¡°Oh, the hour waxes. Business calls; I must be off. Fare you well, my fair Mareschal. May we meet again upon another pleasant day,¡± ended the marquis, ere stepping to the counter. ¡°Shopkeep, a pittance for the pandaemonium. May it suit your purse.¡± From the marquis¡¯ hand: a gold reugol, now glimmering on the dusty counter. Then did he take his leave. Were it a coin of respect, he would quickly find himself a man bankrupt. Yet ¡®twas the aching truth that the marquis brought no shame to his robe of dignity: to neither the storekeeper nor the boy would he dare wield vain retribution. This I reckoned as the unsought encounter was brought to its well-sought close. ? ¡°H-ha-hallo! Good miss!¡± A bright greeting from the bright-eyed boy. We were all yet in the shop, now liberated from the lord¡¯s company, and up to me did the little lad look. ¡°M-might you t-truly be the Lady Estelle Tiselius, pray tell!?¡± Bright indeed. His glowing timbre was enough to leave me abashed. ¡°That I am, my little prince,¡± I affirmed, bending down to meet his gaze. ¡°You well-know my name! ¡®Tis an honour. And a gladdening one, at that.¡± ¡°Let his kindness be neither forgotten, mademoiselle,¡± Francis observed. ¡°¡®Miss¡¯, he said! Though you scarce match the meaning.¡± ¡°And your mouthing scarce matches the moment, Francis.¡± How blunt, this butler! I am yet a miss. ¡®Twas then, in the midst of mine inner indignation, that the boy spoke again. ¡°M-may I ask somethin¡¯ o¡¯ you, m¡¯lady?¡± ¡°You may, my little master,¡± I said gently. ¡°¡­Have you really got no one in mind? When you said what you did?¡± Ah. My prior words to the marquis. Children certainly are keen of ken at the most unexpected of times. ¡°Oh! Sorry! I-I didn¡¯t mean to pry. Just, it tickled me fancy when I heard your words. You sounded mighty taken with somethin¡¯¡­ or someone. I¡¯d like to know more o¡¯ this special soul, if it pleases m¡¯lady.¡± ¡°¡®Twould very much so, but I¡¯m afraid ¡®tis a name you know nary a letter of,¡± I answered with some heaviness. ¡°But of names, I should hear yours, my love.¡± ¡°C-Connie! Me name¡¯s Connie!¡± ¡°¡®Connie¡¯? My, a charming name you have, Connie! More charming again that you keep your mother so dear in your heart.¡± ¡°Me mum¡­ she works hard ev¡¯ryday; I thought to give her a little somethin¡¯, you know, to put a seldom smile on her face,¡± he described, before a thought happened. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s it! Would you mind if I ask¡¯d one more thing, m¡¯lady?¡± ¡°Not at all, dear Connie.¡± The boy¡¯s shoulders rose as he took in a deep breath, as if to muster up some courage. Then, with earnestness in his eyes, ¡°I want to be big an¡¯ strong when I grows up! So me mum shouldn¡¯t worry ¡®bout me as much. But¡­ I, er¡­ I don¡¯t know how, see. Maybe you can teach me somethin¡¯ secret, m¡¯lady? So I can be strong like you someday?¡± How many times is it now? That mine ears have met this question? More than I care to count, truth be told. Thus do I have a reply always at the ready. ¡®Have conviction. Have humility. Learn from others. Apply thyself.¡¯ A crafted answer for the thousand same questions. ¡°¡­You mustn¡¯t lose.¡± ¡°Ohh?¡± But not today. The one most mete with my measure. The one most deserving of decoration. My words with the marquis had indeed sparked the memory of that ¡®special soul¡¯, and ¡®twas perhaps the pull of Connie¡¯s question that teased it out to the open. ¡°You must never lose. Not once. He who walks the path undefeated shall arrive at true strength. So long as he loses not¡­¡± I answered distantly. Then, as if catching myself, I looked to the boy before me once more. ¡°Hark well, dear Connie. Lose not once, not ever, and strength shall duly be yours.¡± The boyish face wrinkled with confusion. Of course it did. I admit, heady overmuch was mine honest answer for that spring-green mind of his. ¡°But¡­ but I¡­ I can¡¯t,¡± he reflected with difficulty. ¡°¡­Nothin¡¯ goes well for me¡ªever, really¡­¡± A sullen pall then came about him as Connie cast his eyes down, dejected. ¡°The strong are born so¡±¡ªsurely a notion branded into him from the very start, and one that immured him to this moment. ¡°Yet that matters little, Connie,¡± I returned, with firmness uplifting. ¡°So you¡¯ve not won. Yet have you lost? ¡®Tis not so simple. You might be laid low, brought low, on and on, and have nary a soul beside you to say what valour you¡¯ve shown. But that is fine. Rise, and give in not to loss. Then shall you know strength¡ªjust like that ¡®special soul¡¯ I spoke of.¡± ¡°¡­Oh¡­¡± What silliness was this? That slipped from my lips to drum the ears of a small child? What was I? In the wide eyes of dear little Connie? ¡°Worry not, my good Lady,¡± Francis whispered. ¡°Your words have met his heart.¡± Gladness, if so. My faith that they have. ? Thereafter did Connie part from my company, but not ere a shower of many thanks. Out of the dustiness of the shop he went, and into the sunniness of the streets. Secure in his palm: the purchase of the ixora pomade. His mother. How blessed she was. But in turn, how unblessed their lives must be, that she must labour so late into the night¡­ A solace, then. To know that in her heart and home both, there waits a gentle son for her daily return. Waiting, to comfort his weary mother. Not so different, she and I, working women as we were. Only, I had none to confide in. None from whom I might find comfort. Catching myself ensnared in self-pity, I then thought to lift my spirits and treat myself to some trinket. To the display of wares mine eyes turned. And there, displayed upon a lower case, was a comb that piqued my fancy. I bent down and took it to hand. Here, too, my measure did not fail: ¡®twas a modest little treasure, this. Simple, shaped with care, and¡­ ¡­pit-pat. ¡°¡­Mm?¡± A touch or two upon my pate. I looked up. There was I met with the elderly cat, yet lounging upon the counter above, with its forepaw stretched and stroking my crown. From my lips, soft laughter. From the moment, some bliss. ¡°You would comfort me?¡± Thank you. I am most glad. You seem long in your years, yet as wise as you are wizened. Perhaps you¡¯ve caught a glimpse of my thoughts? Then I hope you¡¯ll not mind hearing my heart for this while. Though I seem the dainty damsel, I am quite strong, if I do say so myself. ¡®Tis why I¡¯m rather given to lonesomeness at times. Many are those that would lavish praise and applause upon me, just like that little boy moments ago. Yet of those that would share some care and comfort, I have none. What they have for me is awe and admiration. And naught else. Seeds for solitude, really. What¡¯s this, now? ¡®Sorrow beseems not the strong,¡¯ you say? Why, even the strong are no strangers to woe. Myself, especially. I¡¯ve saved many a soul. In that, I take pride. But who, then, shall save me? Someday¡­ Someday, there shall be a soul stronger than I. A soul that would say: ¡®You did well, Estelle.¡¯ A day I long to reach. Words I wish to hear. A soul I yearn to meet. From the feline sang not a sound. Instead, its gaze was locked upon me, unmoving. Words seemed to flow from its elderly regard. Leavest behind thy childish fancies. Or perhaps¡­ Steelest thyself, to savest thyself. Or even¡­ What ill is there? In holding on to hope? These, it seemed to say. And so to myself, I said: ¡°¡­¡®Hope¡¯, then. For tomorrow and on.¡± Then did I rise again, in my palm not a comb, but a pomade of mine own. An azure vial, brimming with the essence of blue sages, popular as a celebration for the new journey ahead. Indeed. A fair fragrance, filled with jubilation for the future. ¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T ¡°Bliss Upon a Palm¡± End ? Volume 2 - CH extra 1.1 Volume II ¡°Bliss Upon a Palm¡± Written By Yoshihiko Mihama Translated By Vagrant ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Norden air chimed with birdsong as I strolled beneath the green shade. The avenues were swept and clean, but bustled alive just the same. Quite the breath of fresh air from the manicured courts of Central, from which I¡¯d gleefully departed but a while ago. The province laid a ways off the homebound road, of course, but I was hardly here on business. No, suffering the summons from Central was dreary business enough. Rather, I merely thought to have a reprieve ere mine earnest way home. Speaking of homes, ¡®twas in this very province that the 5th was based. Rumours were abound: ¡®twas not too long ago that one within its ranks was made an exile¡ªthe same rumours that piqued mine interest, enough that I¡¯d a mind to delve more deeply. And where better to task mine eyes and ears than the gossiping streets themselves? After all, there are myriad things to be privy to beyond the stifling halls of an Order. ¡°Mademoiselle, ¡®tis clear even to my own well-worn eyes that you mean to stick your nose into the affairs of the 5th¡ªfrom the very start, I should say! You speak of touring the town for a mite of merriment, but no, I know that tongue of yours to be too honest to tell a good lie.¡± Francis¡¯ words, aired with a sigh here and there as he walked in tow. But I brushed them off lightly, for the burden upon my shoulders was aught but light: weighing them down, amongst many other things, was the high charge of Londosius itself. Alas, I could not attend only to mine own Order; I must needs ever set watch upon the goings-on within the realm. Indeed. I most certainly was not here on a whim of the heart. ? The talk of the town was all but warmly aglow for the Dame Mareschal of the 5th. Be they errand-running maids, craft-honing artisans, mischief-making urchins, wheeling-dealing peddlers, or day-wasting gentles, the townsfolk were all enamoured of their new hero-dame. Nevermind that hers was a house of a different province entirely. To be sure, it had come to light that the Lady Emilie was no longer of House Mernesse, but by the grace of Central, she was given both land and a fresh slate for her new start. ¡°Valenius¡± was her surname now, the title of baroness withal. Emilie Valenius. The very portrait of the 5th. Ask of that Order, and hers is sure to be the likeness first upon the mind, for that certainly was the case with all the local folk I¡¯d approached. Curious then, that the Aureola of the 5th herself desired none of this fame. Such an appetite the fates have for irony, if naught else. ¡®Twas then¡­ ¡°¡­Hm?¡± A window. That of a shop I happened by in the course of my thought-filled stroll. Through the linty pane did I spy¡­ it. And so, like a petal drawn in by a lusty gust, I entered the shop. Miscellanies and curios were on full display, but what hooked mine eyes laid further within. There. Lounging upon a counter. ¡°My, what have we here¡­?¡± A cat. Always had I a love for adorable things. Fitting, wouldn¡¯t you say? I am a girl, after all. Oh, but for darling critters, what fondness! The cat in question¡ªhow it strummed my heartstrings so! A closer look revealed the feline¡¯s wizened character. From its body came nary a budge; only when its glower of a gaze met mine did it turn its whiskers away. And most asudden, at that. Ah¡­ What boldness. What pomp. In port and appearance both. Irresistible, I tell you! And so, resist I did not. Mine unsteady hand reached forth, all for a chance to pet the feline¡¯s fuzzy pate. ¡°Hhyehh!¡± ¡°Aah¡ª!¡± My hopes, dashed by a lash of its paw. ¡°Be not so glum, mademoiselle. Come rain or shine, the felines never fail to find yours a foul company. ¡®Tis certain!¡± prodded Francis. Words that bit with much truth. ¡®Twas ever my fate to fawn for critters and be not requited in kind. Just as cats would punch were I to pet them, so would pups flee upon meeting mine eyes. The winged ones, too, ill-took to me, billowing their feathers affrightedly whensoever I drew near. My shoulders sank. ¡°Haa¡­¡± Oh, why¡­? ¡®Twas my wish but to caress the precious thing¡­ ¡°This one please, guv¡¯nor.¡± From beside my pitiable self: the bright voice of a young boy. In his palm was a vial of rust-red pomade, presented forth to the storekeeper. ¡°Right, what we¡¯ve got ¡®ere, ey?¡± Then, after a quick but puzzled look, ¡°Why, that¡¯s some pomade, lil¡¯ master! Not fer a wee lad like ye t¡¯buy, no no!¡± ¡°I-it¡¯s for me mum! She¡¯s off to work ev¡¯ryday, she is. Till long past sundown¡­¡± the boy explained with increasing gloom. ¡°This pomade¡¯s the proper present, innit? For a workin¡¯ woman like me mum?¡± Indeed, it very well was. Distilled from the fragrant ixora flower, the pomade was a trendy pick for women of business. Albeit one scarce worth a pretty coin. Though for his age, the boy surely must¡¯ve pinched many a penny to afford it. And as if to confirm my measure, gripped in his other hand was a smattering of coppers, also presented forth. ¡°Here we are! I founds it!¡± came a shout from behind. ¡®Twas a wide-girthed, coarse-throated man who, with not an inkling of reserve, snatched the vial from the boy¡¯s palm. ¡°This¡ªwhat¡¯s it worth then, eh guv?¡± ¡°That be the last o¡¯ its stock, ser,¡± answered the storekeeper. ¡°Might I int¡¯rest ye in a diff¡¯rent one? This lad ¡®ere was right ¡®bout t¡¯buy it, see.¡± ¡°Come now, good guv! You knows me office well ¡®nough: I purchases from the marquis¡¯ purse, I does!¡± Ah. An errand runner. For who else but the Marquis Norden himself. Not against the very master of this land and his underlings could this unassuming shop do aught but fold. And so was the storekeeper gripped with silence, the up-looking boy with sorrow, and the scoundrel of a runner with self-importance. Indeed, he seemed the exact sort to derive glee from playing the lord himself, what with those lips of his simpering crookedly. ¡°Let the lad have his way, won¡¯t you?¡± I cut in. ¡°Hand that back this instant.¡± ¡°¡­Eh? What¡¯s this, now?¡± the overgrown errand-boy hissed, leaning close. ¡°Wax stuff¡¯d your ears overmuch, love? I¡¯m a man of the marquis, I says again! The lord Marquis Norden! Me vaunted master!¡± ¡°And I say again: hand the poor princeling his pomade¡ªand some coin, while you¡¯re at it, for the shopkeep¡¯s trouble,¡± I returned, till mine eyes narrowed, inspired anew. ¡°¡­Nay. Empty your pockets, lint and all, and wend off on your merry way, why don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°My good Lady, you sound quite the brutish brigand, if any less I knew of you,¡± Francis remarked, whilst firmly resting his hands upon the boy¡¯s shoulders and turning the young eyes away. A consideration for what was to come. Violence. ¡°Hah! Your crowing¡¯s crazed, woman!¡± the runner snorted, ere his brows arched up as he gave my features a harder look. ¡°Ah¡­? Well I¡¯ll be! Aren¡¯t you a flowery face? I¡¯d say you¡¯d make quite the mistress for the marqu¡ªack!?¡± Never had I the charity for fruitless argument. My fist was what settled this one, whipped straight into the man¡¯s slimy face. Up spewed an arch of blood from his nose; down to the ground he crumbled. ¡°Ooufh¡­!¡± And from his gnashing teeth, an uproar. ¡°V-vile vixen, you¡­! Raised a hand ¡®gainst the good name of the marquis, you have!¡± A hand in resistance to unjust authority, that is. Nothing more. Of course, no good would come from striking a man so, on account of farcical conduct. Only, his was farcical overmuch for my tastes. ¡°Oi!¡± he yapped on. ¡°You best looks at me as I¡¯m talking, woman!¡± ¡°What¡¯s all this hubbub about?¡± came a new voice, this one from the shop entrance. ¡°Why upon Her watch must so simple an errand become so¡­¡± Now at the doorway was another man, freshly arrived, as if leashed in by the commotion. His broad shoulders implied a built physique, whilst his raiments betrayed his noble station. And from his words, ¡®twould seem he was the runner¡¯s lord, all this time waiting yonder for the errand to be done. An aristocrat¡ªof such a status that ill-suffers the humble confines of a trinket shop. High hubris, then. Fitting for the master of this land. ¡°M-Marquis! M¡¯liege! This woman¡ª¡± ¡°This woman¡­ is the hero-dame herself,¡± spoke the vaunted marquis as he slid his bleak glance to me. ¡°Dame Mareschal of the 1st Chivalric Order¡ªYour Mightiness, Lady Estelle Tiselius. Quite the pleasant surprise, I must say.¡± Up at me was the runner¡¯s gaze now wide. ¡°Wha¡­ Ti-Tiselius!? Good heavens!¡± Volume 2 - CH 4.01 Evergreen verdure blurred on by as we galloped fast to Mia¡¯s fallen home. Our path was that of a Naf¨ªlim marching route, laid for its leniency of travel: the trees sprouted spaciously from one another, and so was our horse-speed haste unhindered. A haste for which awaited only trouble with the waning of the noon-hours in this woodland. Thus did we stop and make camp as the last sunrays buried themselves beneath the horizon. Smoke soon rose; our fire for the night was made. Between us it burned as we sat ourselves upon sundered tree-trunks. I then went about preparing supper: slices of hard cheese and hearty ham. Their aromas quickly wafted against the warm glow of the fire, but I did not keep Mia waiting for long. To her, I handed a generous share. ¡°¡­thank you¡­¡± Yet wait she did, seemingly loath to have a morsel in her mouth before one could be had in mine. Table manners¡ªlikely instilled in her not by the callous hands of the slavers, but the wisdom of her parted parents. Seeing this, I sliced up my own share in a hurry, and supper was soon set. ¡°Many thanks for this meal.¡± ¡°¡­many thanks for this meal¡­¡± Whilst chewing the cheese, I gazed into the flame, finding in it a beckoning for reflection. All has gone as well as I¡¯d hoped. Our journey is mostly trodden¡ªonly a bit further now till we should find ourselves at the village proper. An early morning arrival, I reckon, were we to set out again at the break of dawn. My eyes turned up from the fire on a whim, finding Mia quietly helping herself to her meal. ¡°Here, Mia. Some water,¡± I said, handing her my waterskin. Taking it, she then attempted to untie the cord locking its nozzle, but it proved too Gordian a knot for her dainty fingers. ¡°Stubborn, is it? Let me.¡± ¡°¡­oh¡­ yes¡­¡± I summarily undid the cord, and handed the whole thing back to Mia. ¡°¡­thank you¡­ Master¡­¡± ¡°Not at all. It¡¯s an old one, that waterskin. The cord¡¯s gone stiff,¡± I confessed as Mia sipped away. ¡°Been with me for a decade and more it has, ever since my days back at the barony.¡± To the waterskin she then looked. Her eyes glinted with thoughtfulness. ¡°¡­it¡¯s¡­ precious to you¡­?¡± ¡°Precious? I suppose so. Very much so, in fact.¡± I knew then some relief. Mia¡¯s heart was finally on the mend, enough to join in on some idle chatter. Steeled by the thought, I looked to her once more. Mere chatter could not remain so for long. Not when much weighed upon her frail shoulders. ¡°Mia. It¡¯s my whim that¡¯s brought us here. And it¡¯s tomorrow that¡¯ll bring you your answer, ill or no,¡± I broached, gazing at her flame-illuminated face. ¡°¡­Are you afraid?¡± With all softness of motion did she shake her head. ¡°¡­you¡¯re right¡­ Master¡­¡± she answered. ¡°¡­not knowing¡­ hurts¡­¡± Of course it would. In her heart: a hurting, burning question, quenchable only by an answer from her sister, Eva. Whether it be the embrace of a warm reunion, or the silence of a cold corpse, the truth must be known, that little Mia might at last move on. To her resolve, I nodded. ¡°We come on another errand, as well,¡± I went on. ¡°Mia. Our covenant, the thrallspell¡ªI mean to have it undone.¡± Mia and I, we were slave and master respectively, a bond writ in the thrallspell woven upon the day of her purchase. The laws of Londosius forbade the breaking of it, and so I thought to have the deed done elsewhere. Namely, in Naf¨ªlim lands, by Naf¨ªlim magicks. ¡°Should prove a task easy enough, even for a run-of-the-mill wi??a. Only, I know of none. Do you, Mia? ¡°¡­wi??an¡­ there lived some¡­ in my village, I think¡­ but¡­¡± she recalled, only to turn to the campfire. ¡°¡­maybe¡­ not anymore¡­¡± And then, a small lull, filled with the crackling of the fire, the rustling of the foliage, the chirps and drones of distant critters. At its end, Mia looked to me again. ¡°¡­Hensen¡­¡± she said anew, ¡°¡­maybe in Hensen¡­¡± ¡°Hmm¡­¡± The f¨®lkheimr of Hensen. A large settlement, like a capital, where sat the jarl: chieftain and ruler of the Nafilim of these parts. I¡¯d committed to memory the markings of a map, which, if it serves, situated Hensen a full-day¡¯s horseride from Mia¡¯s village. My eating slowed as I ruminated further. Of Hensen. Of the journey ahead, now prolonged. Of cutting the chains between us. But in so doing did I notice her looking intently upon me. ¡°¡­Master¡­¡± her lips parted. ¡°¡­you don¡¯t need me¡­ anymore¡­?¡± My brows raised. But a thought, and I then found them furrowing. ¡°¡­Mia. I take pains to be as sympathetic a friend as I can. But a word of nonsense, and even I can be moved to anger,¡± I explained calmly. ¡°Friends need one another. And you, Mia: you¡¯re my friend.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°What¡¯s not needed is the thrallspell binding us. That¡¯s all.¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± she said, gazing down again. ¡°¡­I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± ¡°Very good,¡± I nodded. ¡°And just the same, you can be rightly angry should you ever hear silliness from my own lips, Mia.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Silly indeed, my lips. I oft speak ill or out of turn, especially to girls such as you, Mia. I tread ¡®round needles, ever afraid I might air some folly.¡± ¡°¡­it¡¯s all right¡­ Master¡­¡± What is, I wonder? Much of what I say of late has only ever earned me misconstruance or scorn. Thus have I found myself given to misgivings about my speech. Worrying whether or not I¡¯ve adequately communicated my point. Worrying whether or not I¡¯ve aired unwise words. Worrying if I¡¯m none the wiser in spite of it. But I suppose worrying is in itself warrant enough to how prone my faculties of speech were to the faux pas. A troubling thought, truth be told. Though another weighed more heavily to tear me away from it. I took a breath. ¡°Another matter, Mia. One I must make plain. Should we find your sister alive and well¡­¡± I broached again, pausing, ¡°¡­then it¡¯s by her side where you belong.¡± ¡°¡­¡± Mia sat silent. Words unsought, perhaps, but none that could be rebutted. She had lost everything. But if, by chance, there remained aught at all, then she ought keep it, and dearly. ¡°Come now, Mia. Get some sleep while you can. We leave at dawn.¡± ¡°¡­all right¡­¡± With a spirit seemingly unsettled, Mia obliged, wrapping herself in a blanket and laying down upon the warmed grasses. ? The night waxed. The forest slept. Under the canopy of foliage and far-flung stars was Mia¡¯s slumbering face. Her features flustered in the dancing glow of the campfire as it popped and crackled quietly on. I poked the flame, stoking its embers. Its airy hum, its spittle and sparks¡ªthere was a romance to the sound, one I well-liked. No doubt an unmatched complement to a benighted scene. Our journey¡ªit has gone well. Taking Mia along demanded a milder route, an account I heeded with much care. And thanks to my efforts, our travels have been untroubled thus far. Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow shall we know the worth of our quest. ¡°¡­mm¡­¡± Mia rustled in her blanket. Her eyes awoke. And to me they looked as she sat up. ¡°I know, Mia.¡± It would seem she had in her a sensitivity to the presence of others. Perhaps born from some innate magick¡ªor from long fearing the fury of Men. Whichever the case, she sensed something nearing anew: the stirring of beasts. I might¡¯ve been too comforted by the easy course of our journey. Comfort the fates oft find too fresh a hare to harrow for their own humour. And I was to them a mark of much worth, for it seems that with but a fancy of relief do I well-tempt their wiles. ¡°Stay beside the fire. I¡¯ll handle them.¡± ¡°¡­yes, Master¡­¡± I rose and readied myself. Afore, far in the dark, emerged our bestial visitors. Wood-wolves. A pack of four, each a half-passus and more from head to haunch. No behem¨®t were they, but such was of little solace in the face of their uncanny wit¡ªuncanny enough to rout Men and savour their flesh, a meal they would partake in with their packs from time to time. Now, being one of them. A shorter blade serves more soundly than a full sword, at this rate. Thinking so, I took up my knife nearby and faced the wolven prowlers. They crept closer and closer still, deliberate in their pace. My eyes left them not once as I gripped and tore a blanket with my blade, the shreds of which I then wound about my left forearm. Patience possessed each of their paws as they edged in. Their eyes sharply measured the distance to our camp as they continuously calculated the best time and position to strike. Uncanny wit, indeed. Fortunately, the forte was found also within me. They all intended to pounce and strike in concert; I intended to disallow them the opening. Thus did I step forth at an angle, abruptly breaking the equilibrium and placing me closer to two of the beasts. The move ignited some spark: at once, the two lunged forth. Divide and conquer was the name of the game. When faced with many, fight them afew. The first two¡¯s instinctive attack proved their blunder; it was they that would be dealt with first. Just as quickly did I raise my left arm, wedging its wrapped length in the flying maw of one wolf. The jaw snapped shut. Pain was absent: wolven fangs are long and keen, but not enough to pierce so layered a protection. A chance. In my right hand, the knife. From below, up it shot, deep into the throat of the arm-biting wolf. Air and blood spewed. Life left its lungs. But thereafter did I immediately stoop down low. Where my windpipe once was, now was surrounded by another set of enclosing fangs: the second wolf, taking the split-second chance to leap and snap at my throat. Only, I had the same idea. In that slice of a second, I glanced and gleaned its flying form from below. My knife flashed up. Its blade bored into the beast¡¯s jugular. Blood and bones gurgled and cracked. Taking on the wolves as they dart about the dirt would¡¯ve proven too unfavourable a fight. It is only when they take to the air that they are unguarded. Thankfully the tactic worked: not more than two seconds in, and already two of their number were ended. But now the knife was lost. Too jammed was its blade in folds of hide and crevices of bone. Hesitation would herald my own end, and so I abandoned the thing altogether. Two down. Two left. To them, I faced. As if noting the loss of my knife, the wolves made winds of themselves and gusted my way. But I knew their course: in anticipation did I align with their warpath, that the two could not assail me both at once. The third was closer; the fourth trailed a ways behind. Seeing this, I focused on the former and thrust forth my left hand, straight into its lunging maw. Right as its snout snapped shut, I clenched my fingers into a fist, for in them was now its tongue. A wood-wolf¡¯s bite is a terror to behold, but its licker can only lick. And of things to behold, the power of my grip is my point of pride. The beast knew for itself why, for as its tongue was clutched without mercy, it found its jaw incapable of closing. I followed the wolf¡¯s leaping trajectory and threw it to the ground. My full weight was imbued into my knee as I then slammed it into the side of the beast¡¯s jugular. Here was it weak of hide and muscle, and so did I give one final heave of my weight. A crack¡ªmuted by flesh and fluids. The wolf¡¯s spinal cord was crushed. Yet the moment was unfinished. Already was the last wolf sailing straight at me. I ducked, missing my assailant by half a hair¡¯s breadth. I then rebounded, ready to meet another attack, only to find the beast¡¯s momentum unturned. In that instant, I knew. This pack¡ªit was well-practised in harassing our upright species. The wolves learnt early on that we tallfolk kept our bags bedight with all manner of earthly delights. What the last of the pack picked, then, was not our flesh, but our rucksack, laying near the fire. To it, the wolf rushed, rousing fear in our steed nearby. The horse neighed wildly and retreated, leaving Mia alone. I screamed. ¡°Mia! Away from the sack! Now!¡± But my words went unheeded. For whatever reason, Mia herself ran towards the rucksack. Through it she then rummaged. The wolf lunged. I followed, dashing in. There, taking something into her hands, Mia fell aside, beholding the beast as it snapped and tore away at the baggage, scattering our rations. In another instant did I myself lunge, bringing my entire body down upon the wolf from behind. My arms locked fast around its neck, and with all mustered might, squeezed and constricted it. The wolf writhed with rage under my weight. A struggle stretching on for three minutes and more, during which I relented not a single bit in denying its lungs of air. Slowly, slowly, slowly, its wrath faded, along with its life. And then¡­ Serenity, once more. The crackling of the campfire. The whispers of the trees. The chirps and trills of nocturnal fauna. Breaths yet quick, I released the wolf and rose. After making certain that it was, indeed, now a carcass, I turned and went fast to Mia¡¯s side. There she sat, right beside the ravaged rucksack. And upon her person, no wound or graze that I could glean. ¡°Mia¡­¡± I said, relieved. ¡°¡­M¡­ Mas¡­ ter¡­ I¡­¡± she quiveringly murmured. ¡°¡­y¡­ your¡­ precious¡­¡± Clasped tight in her arms was my waterskin. Verily did she save it from the wolf¡¯s violence. A deathly wager, all for the old, ¡°precious¡± bag of water. Should I rebuke her for such recklessness? Nay. Down to her I knelt. Into her eyes, I gazed. ¡°Mia. Thank you.¡± ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ F¨®lkheimr (Language: Old Norse) ¡°Folk-home¡±. In Soot-Steeped Knight, a large, central Naf¨ªlim settlement where resides the jarl of the region¡¯s dominant clan. Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Wi??a / Wi??e (Old English; plural: wi??an) A witch. In Soot-Steeped Knight, the Naf¨ªlim equivalent of a sorcerer. Wi??a and wi??e are male and female respectively; wi??an is the plural form, used for both sexes. The ¡°??¡± consonant is pronounced ¡°ch¡±, as in ¡°chair¡± or ¡°charge¡±. Volume 2 - CH 4.02 On and on, the night whispered by. The campfire yet crackled and breathed between us. Mia sat across, bound up in a blanket, but seemingly scarce of the spirit of sleep¡ªnot after so wild a wolven invasion. It was then that she unshrouded herself of the warming cover, and with it in her arms, stepped over to my side. ¡°¡­Master¡­¡± she said, ¡°¡­here¡­¡± An offering of her blanket, perhaps out of pity, for my own was unmade in the midst of the struggle. It laid nearby, sundered to shreds, a sight Mia had been fixed upon for some while now. I shook my head. ¡°That¡¯s yours, Mia.¡± Her shoulders drooped. ¡°¡­all right¡­¡± Never has Mia insisted against my word. The same held true here, and so with a visage veiled in sorrow, she slowly began her way back. ¡°Mia,¡± I called to her. ¡°Come.¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­?¡± On her return, I took the blanket from her arms. Enshrouding my shoulders with it, I then held up Mia herself¡­ ¡°¡­ah¡­¡± ¡­and sat her down right before me. And after enclosing my arms around her, we watched the fire together. A rare moment of gladness for the sheer girth of my body, for it well-sheltered her small figure. Comforted by the thought, I then more snugly surrounded us both in the blanket. ¡°It¡¯s coldest now till dawn. We¡¯ll be warmer this way.¡± ¡°¡­yes, Master¡­¡± A murmur of an answer, accompanied with a nod. The fire popped and pittered on, its pall of warmth waxing and waning under the weight of the night sky. ¡°You were brave there, Mia,¡± I broached, ¡°saving my waterskin like you did.¡± ¡°¡­no¡­ I¡­¡± ¡°But you should know. Both it and you are precious to me.¡± A pause, and a shake of the head. ¡°Nay¡­ You, more so. Be not too reckless from here on, will you Mia?¡± ¡°¡­I will¡­¡± ¡°Very good. Still, you have my thanks,¡± I said, before patting her softly on the head. ¡°A tad thrilling for a night, wasn¡¯t it? Can¡¯t catch a wink now. Not with these frayed nerves.¡± ¡°¡­me, too¡­¡± A lull. With tired intent, we gazed into the fire, our faces aflush from the redness of the rising sparks. ¡°Say, Mia. You¡¯re attuned to the covenants, yes?¡± I began again. ¡°Which sort, exactly? I¡¯d like to tell you my name, if its nature permits.¡± ¡°¡­that¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­¡± Indeed. Even now, Mia knew not my name. The covenantal magicks confer upon their recipients some influence, the manner of which are as myriad as the stars above us. By her words, Mia was not yet wise to what she was able. It follows, then, that controlling it was a forgone conclusion. ¡°¡­bad things¡­ might happen¡­¡± she went on, ¡°¡­so¡­ I can¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°Can¡¯t know my name,¡± I finished for her, sighing. ¡°¡­Of course not.¡± Our little fire sputtered on, spilling up its sparks from time to time. How quiet the benighted woods were. Quiet enough that had I let my mind drift off for long, I might¡¯ve thought Mia and I were the only ones under the bountiful boughs. A peaceful moment. And thus, the perfect moment. ¡°¡­Mia,¡± I said heavy-heartedly. ¡°¡­I must confess.¡± ¡°¡­yes, Master¡­?¡± ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m a commander in this war. I give orders. I make decisions. It¡¯s my livelihood.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Your father, he¡­ he was killed by one of my men,¡± came the words I dreaded most to air. ¡°¡­It was during a pursuit. One I well-forsook. But the soldiers lent no ear. So they instead chased down your father and his brethren, and¡­ and¡­¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°¡­It¡¯s all my fault, Mia. I couldn¡¯t reign in my own men. I couldn¡¯t stop the killing. I couldn¡¯t save your father.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°And all that¡¯s happened to your family, your friends, your home¡ªmy hands, too, are bloodied with them, I think.¡± With those words, I found my fingers clenched in a fist. ¡°¡­I came to this land. Took up the post. Turned things ¡¯round. That¡¯s when the war here began to change. Enough to give Men more daring than before. Enough to birth a massacre.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°I¡­¡± And then, upon that fist, warmth. The warmth of Mia¡¯s little hand, alighting upon my own. ¡°Mia¡­?¡± ¡°¡­there is blood¡­ on both sides¡­ everyone¡­ has something precious to protect¡­ that is war¡­¡± she spoke at length. ¡°¡­this¡­ Papa said to me¡­¡± ¡°¡­He did, did he¡­¡± ¡°¡­when I saw them¡­ the Men¡­ I knew¡­ they would have come for us anyway¡­ whether next month¡­ or next year¡­ no matter what¡­¡± A point most certain. Even before Balasthea¡¯s fortunes were turned, the Fiefguard had ventured no few forays into these Naf¨ªlim grounds. To attack, to pillage¡­ Indeed, Mia¡¯s village stood well within the path of that flood. It was, perhaps, only a matter of time before its flows would come washing through. An inevitable tragedy, then. A consolation of rationality. But one that ill-salved what sore misgivings I yet harboured for it all. Oh, what a fool I am. Numb-witted. Wasting on with my follies. Fumbling at every turn. What good does it do? To point the chiding finger? Whether to myself or others? Blood on my hands or no, our beloved lost are forever beyond all finding. And suppose the fault lies not with me. Suppose the fates had the tragedy jealously scribed into their fell script. What of it? Would accepting it prove to me the long-sought salve? Nay. To those dearly departed, whether from Mia¡¯s violated village or in more massacres to come, these worries¡ªthey are all as whispers set the wind, for the dead, though solemn in their silence, see more clearly than the living ever can. This, I know. All too well. But this barb upon my bosom pricked no less painfully. Had I not come to this land, would Mia and her family have fared a different course? Would they yet be whole and happy? Together? A hurting thought. A haunting woe. A visitor in all my waking hours. ¡°¡­Master¡­¡± A gentle voice. Like a hand, lifting me from the mire of my lamenting mind. Mia¡¯s voice. Mia¡¯s hand. Small, yet strong. Indeed, there was strength in her little fingers as they held fast my own hand. More strength than I ever knew was in them. And to know it only now was enough to have me taken aback. ¡°¡­it¡¯s not your fault¡­ it¡¯s not¡­¡± she said softly. ¡°¡­please¡­ don¡¯t be sad¡­¡± ¡°¡­Did I seem sad?¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­ always¡­¡± ¡°¡®Always¡¯¡­¡± Never have I thought the brand of the ungraced to be a burden. Never have I let myself sink into sorrow in my time at the Order. But since coming to this land, since meeting Mia¡ªthis entire time, I¡¯ve been in pain. This entire time¡­ ¡­I¡¯ve been sad. ¡°Mia¡­¡± Long have I held back the tears. Long have I denied them their due course. On what account but some paper-thin pride. And yet, I¡¯ve been weeping away this whole time. Weeping. On and on. Mia¡¯s hand was upon mine. And so upon it did I place my other. And upon it did Mia do the same. Our hands¡ªall together. ¡°¡­finally¡­ finally¡­ you¡¯ve opened up¡­¡± In her voice was tenderness. Vast, and warm. ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯ve only ever wished to hear more of you¡­ but somewhere along the way, I forgot to return the favour.¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± ¡°Rather selfish of me, I admit.¡± ¡°¡­can I hear more¡­?¡± ¡°¡­Of course, Mia,¡± I relented. Looking up to the long dark, I let out a deep sigh. ¡°Right. Where to begin¡­ Well. For starters, it was my dream to become a knight.¡± There, before the flickering fire, did I begin to tell my tale. A tale of a cherished childhood. A tale of an aggrieved ungraced. A tale of many battles, fraught and hard-fought. Nothing was hidden in the telling. All was laid bare. Unsung happenings, untold thoughts¡ªthese and all were reminisced to Mia in the warmth of a wavering flame. ? ¡°¡­and that¡¯s how I ended up here,¡± my voice carried through the wood. ¡°An unknighted coistril, exiled to these far reaches.¡± ¡°¡­your¡­ your once-betrothed¡­¡± Mia wondered. ¡°¡­what of her¡­?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve not seen her since. Not once¡­¡± My brows fell. ¡°¡­And perhaps, not ever again.¡± ¡°¡­oh¡­¡± Across my arms then rolled a breath from Mia¡¯s lips. A curious sigh, one of sorrowed sympathy, or seeming security. ¡°¡­your family, too¡­?¡± ¡°Them, too, sadly enough. Our paths are parted. Blood¡¯s our only bond now, really,¡± I gave a sigh of my own. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I must seem the fool to you, Mia. They¡¯re all there, my family. Alive and well. And yet, I¡­¡± ¡°¡­no¡­ not at all¡­¡± It was the cold truth that in all the five years I¡¯d spent at the Order, not a moment of it was set aside to meet Mother and Father. In fact, these feet had not found Buckmann soil in just as long. For her part, Felicia was quite the contrary, having gone back and forth a few times. My sister¡­ For her, I felt remorse. Despite my circumstance, I played the good brother as best I could. The role was ill-starred; I did naught but betray her hopes in the end. ¡°Heroic performance¡± indeed. No wonder why she¡¯s now withered of all warmth for me. ¡°Mother. Father. Thinking on it, neither of them ever had any love for me, really. Of our time together, I scant recall,¡± I continued. ¡°What about you, Mia? Any outings you¡¯ve had with your own family?¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± she answered, tinged with bittersweet brightness. ¡°¡­Hensen¡­ once a year¡­ we all visited Hensen¡­¡± ¡°Hm. Warm memories, I wager.¡± ¡°¡­there¡¯s lemonade¡­ made only in Hensen¡­ my family¡­ we all loved it¡­¡± Family¡­ With the word echoing in me, I embraced Mia a tad more tightly. ¡°Let¡¯s have some, then. Together, in Hensen.¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± Should it be that the fates have denied Mia¡¯s village of any further survivors, then our next course would indeed be the f¨®lkheimr of Hensen. There would we seek out a wi??a to unchain the thrallspell binding Mia to me. Though, entering the Naf¨ªlim bastion would prove the greater toil and, perhaps, my bane. I am a kin of Man, after all. The braves there would sooner welcome me with arrows and magicks than open arms. It must be thought on. I wished not for Mia to remain a slave for a second longer, thus did I dearly hope for a break in the clouds that might shine upon some path forward. But in the meanwhile, Mia and I continued our conversation well through the night. Of us both did we equally share, at times remembering happiness, and others, recalling sore nostalgia. The hours sailed on by, and before we knew it, the skies began to brighten. Volume 2 - CH 4.03 Under the wheeling morrowlight we raced. Evergreen woods soon gave way to wild grasses as our galloping horse hurried us into a new vista: open fields, an ocean of verdure swaying with the whistling winds. Above vaulted the feather-cloud skies, its sun yet to take the noontide throne. And just before us stood our destination¡ªMia¡¯s village, and her harrowed home. Nearing it, I slowed our steed to a canter. Only, my heart drummed faster with dread. Wishes, waning with each moment, were its only mitigation. A wish for survivors. A wish for a friend of Mia¡¯s. Or a neighbour. Anyone at all that might know even just her face. And a wish, dearest of all, for the well-being of Mia¡¯s last sister: Eva. I know. To be enlightened of the truth to this tragedy is enough, even if what awaits may be the discovery of one more loved one¡¯s death. I know. To finally set her first step to tomorrow, Mia must accept the very truth of this ruined yesterday. Of whether her sister waits with a touch as warm as the clearest sun, or one as cold as any stone. I know. All too well. Yet I could not help but hope for the better. Hope, for a long-due measure of happiness for Mia. It was then that we passed by the first fences and fallowed fields. Here, my breaths were bated and broken. But before me sat Mia, and from her petrified portance, I well-espied the anxiety holding her fast in its grip. And with no ceremony, we then arrived at the village sprawl. The withered walls, the wood-hewn houses, the shadowed sheds, the neglected gardens. Mia¡¯s home. We were here at last. ? We dismounted, our feet finding the dirt carpeted with overgrown greenery. Around us, a village, violated and vanished of its erstwhile vitality. The houses sagged, heavy with black wounds burnt into their facades. The fences, screens, and all manner of other buildings stood broken and beyond all recognition of their prior purposes. And absent in all of this: the steps and breaths of any other soul besides Mia¡¯s and mine. The Fiefguard had indeed quit the place five moons past with not a single camp erected. The rubble was barren of banners, a belt buckle or errant armament, or any article once bedighting the marauding Men. Missing, too, were traces of any Naf¨ªlim enterprise in restoring these ruins. It soon set in for us both. The village was all but abandoned. ¡°¡­¡± Mia stood there, still and silent, staring upon the husks of her home. A place once beloved, but now changed forever. What was reflected in those amber eyes of hers, I could not fathom. Yet, I sensed uncanniness afoot. For all the destruction wrought upon it, not one corpse laid upon the village courses. The Fiefguardsmen certainly fostered nary a flicker of compassion for their foes, not even to spare them a pittance of a burial. What explained this, then? No¡­ Could it be? That the fallen folk were buried by their brethren passing by from other places? Or were there truly survivors here? Ones that might¡¯ve done the solemn deed? If so, then there was hope, however faint. ¡°Mia,¡± I called. ¡°Your sister was a well-lent hand at the orphanage, wasn¡¯t she? And it was there where she last went¡ªknow you the way?¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± Her answer, verging on vanishing into the zephyrs. I followed Mia as she went her guiding way, a winding trek during which, too, we found no bodies. A relief, then, that she did not have to meet a cold, acquainted face¡ªnot yet, at least. But my suspicions gained the colour of confidence as we continued on: someone truly had buried them all. Indeed, the contrary seemed the inconceivable course. There yet breathed, then, some surviving soul within these ruins. This, I dearly hoped. Fates be fair, let it be so. At the end of the wishful walk did we arrive at the orphanage. I looked up and all along its oaken countenance, finding its air oddly austere and reticent. It was, in a word, sacrosanct, and of an architecture wholly untouched by Londosian aesthetics. We stopped at the entryway, and glancing upon one another, nodded. Carefully, I cracked the doors open, and calming my nerves with a deep breath, ventured in. My heart raced. Eva¡­ Is she truly alive? Entering deeper, I peered all about. But try as they might, my eyes found not a hint of activity, save for sunbeams brimming in from the mauled and misshapen windows, casting bright bands through the ambient dust. ¡°¡­¡± Mia tiptoed in tow without a word, tugging at my sleeve as she went. Upon her visage was a veil of quiet despair and defeat, her own eyes just as lost as mine at the stillness of this space. Another look, then. With frayed focus, I scanned about. Ore-pine posts stood in succession, great in girth, almost pillar-like, and wooden, as though they were once trees-trunks themselves, bare of their bark and planed with all care. Stairways, too, slanted up from the ground and into the overlooking lofts. And upon the walls, there hung tapestries, delicate in their weave and intricate in their design. These features, all, composed a pall of piety to some higher power, holding in them past purposes for rituals and worship. ¡°Mia, this place¡­ It looks more a fane than an orphanage,¡± I observed aloud. ¡°What is it, really?¡± ¡°¡­it was a shrine¡­ they told me once¡­¡± she answered. ¡°¡­but other than that¡­ I¡­¡± A shrine? The puzzle pieces fit squarely, then. Most realms of Man hold themselves to be herds of lamb for Yon¨¢, their one and only shepherd, as it were. But the Naf¨ªlim walk by a different creed, for they follow not any one deity: theirs is instead a belief that in each and every thing, living or no, there dwells an essential v?ttr. I¡¯ve heard before that where we Men have churches and cathedrals, the Naf¨ªlim have shrines and temples, within which dedications are made and these v?ttir are venerated. This place well-fit the bill. Little wonder, then, why I sensed sacredness within it. Then, my skin was roused. Goosebumps all around; sweat beaded upon my nape. In the spheres of Man, it is not rare that orphans and oblates are brought into the care of a convent. A cultural commonality with the Naf¨ªlim, then, from the look of this establishment. And it is within shrines such as this that subterranes are often constructed below for the storage of ritualistic implements, as well as the brewing of myriad liquors. Knowledge that is naught more than trivia to the churlish minds of the Fiefguard. Indeed, I cannot imagine that any amongst those men would deign to bother with studying the folkways of their foes. And so would the marauders five months past have been oblivious to what might lie beneath our feet at this moment. That meant but one thing: survivors, sheltering out of sight. And perhaps within their number¡ªEva herself. Or perhaps¡­ I presume overmuch. Truly now. Could there really be survivors here? Yet alive after all this time? I snapped back to the moment, finding my breaths thin and hurried. But my feet were already on the move; if memory serves, entryways to foresaid basements are often built behind the main altar. My cautious steps sounded through the shrine, its spaces no smaller than a church¡¯s. At its furthest reaches was the seeming altar itself, stark and stolen of all that Men might¡¯ve espied any value. To it I went, then wound about to its dusty posterior. There, I squinted at the floorboards, finding a faint outline etched into them. A hatch, no doubt, square in shape and quickly discernible only to eyes keen on its discovery. Kneeling, I went to work opening it up. With care, it cracked and lifted open. Just as I thought. And further confirming my suspicion: an unveiled set of stone stairs leading down. ¡°¡­ah¡­¡± A surprise for Mia, too, as she watched on from behind. It would seem the Fiefguardsmen weren¡¯t alone in their unfamiliarity with this feature. ¡°Wait here, Mia,¡± I whispered. ¡°I¡¯ll have a look.¡± ¡°¡­y¡­ yes, Master¡­¡± With Mia staying put, I descended the stairs, finding the flight quite deep: thirty steps and more had me reaching the bottom. The hollow was dim, lit only by the shaft of light from the entrance above. But soft echoes were enough to betray the breadth of the basement space, its generosity earning my astonishment. Spanning further in was a corridor, fifteen pass¨±s forward, thereabouts, with numerous rooms sighing from both sides. And at the end: a ponderous double-doorway, before which I soon found myself standing. Hands upon the doors, I pushed. Slowly, they creaked open. ¡°¡­Aah¡­!¡± Relief. Rapture. A mirthful mix of the two was expelled from my lungs, leaving my lips in a silly yelp. Before me, a cellar of sorts, large and lambent with wick-light. And in the softly glowing space: numerous Naf¨ªlim. Almost a score of them; all children, save for two. And they were alive¡­ By the fates, they were alive! The moment left me numb of words. I but stood and stood, stunned by the discovery. Then, to my dumbfounded figure, a Naf¨ªl. An adult, one of two, hasting forth¡ªa spear, firmly in hand. Hostility, clear as day as it was a damper upon my elation. I was careless; the price was paid with a spearhead piercing where my heart once was. Having backed off into the corridor, I raised my hands forth. ¡°Wait! I¡ª¡± ¡°Eaaah!!!¡± The Naf¨ªl: a young woman. Desperation twisted her face as her spear itself twisted to me once more. A motion of utmost abandon. ¡°Uaaaaah!!¡± ¡°Ach¡­!¡± Her spearmanship was unsharpened. Yet in spite of its dulled delivery, the Naf¨ªl heaved the weapon with the whole of her soul, instilling her very life into its iron tip. Indeed. She well-intended to die if it meant I went along with her. ¡°Stop! Pleas¡ª¡± ¡°You¡¯ll not take us!¡± she screamed. ¡°Not one more! Not anymore! Not¡­!!¡± She fast followed me into the corridor, wielding the spear in unwieldy ways. But awash in her eyes was both a wrath ready to sear away aught and all, and as well, a sorrow set on chilling everything through and through. Far behind her were the affrighted children, trembling in their shared embrace. And to protect them, one and all, she was ready to face purgatory itself. Thus, did she face me with all readiness. ¡°Please! Hear me out!¡± I pleaded. ¡°You killed us! You kidnapped us! But no more!!¡± A wuthering wail from her lungs as she lunged forth with her spear. ¡°Egh!¡± A glancing wound across my shoulder. A blow that should never have landed, dealt by a spear gripped in unhoned hands. But I couldn¡¯t keep up. The girl Naf¨ªl was giving her all, offering her life as tinder to a flame she well-wielded. And there was I, harrowed by its unseen heat. ¡°My dear ones I¡¯ll protect! From you! From all of you!¡± She was no warrior. Nor was there a wisp of odyl imparted into the spearpoint¡ªodyl with which all Naf¨ªlim are born. Were she wise to the odyllic arts, I would¡¯ve long been blown back, clear through the corridor. Yet it was the truth that of those I¡¯ve faced in battle thus far, she stood above them all. And before I knew it, I was pressed against the wall, not far from the foot of the stairs. ¡°I will¡­! I must!!¡± Her soul was set. At me, she stared. Truly, a soldier of abandon. But I could not fight back. I could not kill her. Staring back at her, I knew it then. Hers¡­ ¡°Wait! Listen!¡± ¡­were eyes of amber. ¡°¡­Eva!¡± ¡°¡­Hh¡­!?¡± My whole-lunged call lingered through the dim. My assailant stood, stilled of all forward movement, her body shaken by my words. ¡°H¡­ how¡­?¡± I answered with only a longer look back. The light-shaft above shone down upon her desperate mien. Behind the strands of hair dishevelled in the vehemence, her eyes were indeed bright with amber. ¡°How? Why¡­!? My name¡­ why do you know¡­!?¡± At last. At long last. For Mia, happiness. At long last. My efforts were not vain. Finally could I return Mia to someone who yet yearned for her. Thank you, Eva. For being alive. For never giving up. For being our hope. ¡°Mia told me,¡± I revealed. ¡°She¡¯s here. With me. We¡¯ve been searching for you.¡± ¡°¡­Wha¡­?¡± Her amber eyes widened. ¡°¡­What is this you¡­ speak¡­?¡± The spear rattled. A weapon weeping. Its wielder¡¯s hands, quaking and quivering. I turned to the flight of stairs and raised my voice. ¡°Mia! Come!¡± Then, a pitter-patter. Timid footfalls from above, making their way down. Mia looked at me along the way, eyes locked till she alighted at the bottom. Only then did she turn to the corridor. Only then, did she find the figure standing there, transfixed. Amber eyes met. ¡°¡­ah¡­¡± A quiet gasp from Mia¡¯s lips. But with it, a welling of tears. Ones shared with her sister. ¡°M¡­ Mi¡­ a¡­?¡± trembled the sibling voice. ¡°Mia¡­? Is that you¡­?¡± ¡°¡­Sis¡­ ter¡­¡± The spear fell. The sister flew forth. A flight taken, too, by Mia. Then were sisters reunited, locking in an embrace. A torn weave, now rejoined of threads. ¡°Mia! Oh, Mia!¡± ¡°Eva! Sister¡­! Siste¡ªr!¡± A dim basement, brightened by their cries. ¡°Mia¡ª!!¡± ¡°uaaah!! E¡­ va¡­! Sister¡­! waaaah!!¡± Together, they wept and wailed. Together, they shed their shared tears, one after another. Together in arms, an unending embrace many moons in the making. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. V?ttr (Language: Old Norse; plural: v?ttir) ¡°Spirit¡±. In Norse mythology, can also refer to all beings supernatural. In Soot-Steeped Knight, they are to the Naf¨ªlim what kami are to the Japanese in their own mythology. Volume 2 - CH 4.04 Night fell. Well within the cellar were we all sat together: myself, Eva, and another Naf¨ªl, a woman unhurried in mien and manner, and long in her years. The start of our quiet conversation carried through the cavernous space as the children, nigh score in number, slumbered away a ways off, sound in their assorted blankets. Joining their dream-filled susurrations was Mia, cradled in her sister¡¯s arms. The hours of weeping and familial consolation have left the little girl all but spent, and what left her lips now were little besides the sighs of sleep. ¡°I must say again. Through long courses have you come, son of Man. Your toils, we thank you for,¡± the elderly Naf¨ªl spoke. ¡°I am Irma, matron of this orphanage. And Eva here, you have made acquaintance with, I am sure.¡± ¡°Well met, Matron. It is an honour,¡± I bowed. ¡°I am¡ª¡± ¡°We have no ears for Mennish names.¡± A sword-cut of an interjection from Eva, earning a mild chiding from this ¡°Irma¡±. ¡°Come now, gentle Eva. Have warmth for him. Through wooded ways has he wended, all to bring little Mia back to our embrace.¡± ¡°I¡­¡± Eva began to rebut, before looking down to her long-lost sister. ¡°For that, I thank him. But¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s quite all right,¡± I brushed off. ¡°Your feelings are fair enough.¡± ¡°Fair¡± and more. No red carpets would be rolled out for a kin of Man like me¡ªnot after what¡¯d befallen upon this place. That they gave me a chance to chat at all was well-worth a thousand of my own thanks. ¡°More importantly, this orphanage¡­¡± I broached anew. ¡°The both of you have kept the children safe all this time? Here, underground?¡± ¡°¡­We have. What remained here in the village has sustained us,¡± answered Eva. ¡°Though not for much longer¡­¡± ¡°To yonder, we make ventures for water. But not too far. And not too often,¡± Irma added. ¡°For wary are we of another coming of the War-Men.¡± My thoughts turned to the surface¡ªand what its spans lacked. ¡°And yet, the remains of the other villagers. It was you both who buried them, no?¡± ¡°Yes. We mourned them with fire-rites, as is our custom,¡± Irma sighed. ¡°A trying trial of many days, of course, but ours was a humble village, and I had my magicks to help¡­¡± ¡°Our dear ones were defiled¡­ What choice had we¡­?¡± The voices of the two were awash with sorrow. I could imagine why. But what had bellowed in their bosoms, when they re-emerged into their devastated village and wandered its beloved yet broken spans, was beyond my knowing. To say nothing of what they must¡¯ve felt when, with fire, they bade farewell to their fallen family and friends. ¡°¡­My condolences are of little solace, Man that I am. But¡­ I am sorry. Truly,¡± I said solemnly. ¡°Eva, as well. What befell your family, it¡­ I¡­¡± ¡°I have heard¡­ from Mia,¡± said Eva. ¡°¡­Poor Hanna¡­¡± A quiver was in her quieted voice. ¡°Hanna¡±¡ªthe middle sister amongst Mia¡¯s siblings. To Eva, another younger sister, just as cherished, and now, all the more missed. For it was this Hanna that Mia was captured with, and the one the fates saw fit to hand a dark end in Arbel¡¯s concentration camp. ¡°Mother¡­ Father¡­ Brother¡­ I found them. But not Hanna and not Mia. Not them, yet¡­ Yet, by then, I had no more hope¡­¡± A recollection, brokenly recounted by Eva. What a mountain of will this young woman had in her, to lose everyone and everything dear¡ªand in spite of it, find the strength to give care and succour to all the children here in this room. ¡°Were my sisters even alive, no warmth would welcome them where they went. Only cold cages, far, far away. Forever far from where I wait for them,¡± Eva went on. ¡°So¡­ it is a miracle now. To have Mia here in my arms¡­ Like a dream, it is¡­¡± ¡°Son of Man. Know you the weight of your plight? From Mennish halls have you spirited away a slave, to where but the fields of your foe. A deed undone even in our oldest myths,¡± Irma spoke of me. ¡°Might my ears hear of your will?¡± I opened my palms, looking at them in a brief pause. ¡°¡­I wear the commander¡¯s coat for the kingdom. This tragedy has transpired under my charge, my watch. I fear these hands are stained with the blood spilt here.¡± ¡°And forced your bloodied hand, that fear has? To fare through the wood, all to return a foe-child to her family? Or¡­?¡± ¡°¡­Think you this washes clean those hands? The saving of my sister?¡± ¡°That, I don¡¯t know. Perhaps you have the right of it. Perhaps I play at valour too vain. Perhaps this stain is too heavy a sin upon my soul,¡± I said, pained. ¡°Be that as it may, I believed Mia deserved to know. A deed to be done, must be. And so I obliged.¡± ¡°Son of Man. You have heeded your heart.¡± ¡°Heeded¡­ my heart?¡± I thought aloud, looking to Irma. ¡°I should like to think so¡­ Yet my heart is ever lost. I feel myself a fool to heed it.¡± ¡°Oh, child. Before me sits no fool,¡± the elderly Naf¨ªl smiled. ¡°Son of Man. You are most gallant.¡± Irma¡¯s eyes were as gems of gentleness in her vouching of me. I knew then of the immeasurable depth of her own heart, and of the sea of magnanimity that filled it. Can such charity be found upon my face, too, were I in her place? ¡°Irma, wise Matron,¡± said I. ¡°You hold no hatred for me? A Man?¡± ¡°Hatred?¡± Irma blinked. ¡°What hatred for the hero of little Mia? I have said: not before has this deed been done. A slave, returned. Two sisters, together again. For this, I know no hatred. Only happiness.¡± The matron then turned. ¡°Gentle Eva here has the same heart.¡± Mia¡¯s sister gave a strained mien. ¡°¡­I¡­ I hate not Man and his kin. I make bigotry, were I to judge by his blood and not what beats in his bosom. This, I know. I know, yet¡­¡± She looked away, and embraced Mia all the more tightly. ¡°¡­I need time. To think. To forgive.¡± ¡°Time¡­¡± I was shaken then, as if struck with the feeling of defeat. Eva¡­ It was her wish to forgive me, however painful it might prove. It was her will to feign not the folly that was unfounded hatred for all of Man. A far cry from his own creed, that so sees virtue in villainising and eviscerating Eva¡¯s kind: the Naf¨ªlim, our so-called ¡°nemeses¡±. ¡°The both of you,¡± I spoke again at last, ¡°what will you do from here on?¡± ¡°Our stores empty more by the day; to Hensen we look,¡± Irma explained. ¡°But too long and lorn is the way, I fear. Not one horse we have, and to make journey with many children in tow is a danger.¡± By my estimation, it would take a day of haste upon horseback to reach Hensen from here. Not too terrible a distance, but to escort a veritable crowd of children through the open fields would no doubt prolong the trek to their peril. A danger indeed, lightly put. ¡°To the braves of Hensen I yearn to bring word of the War-Men¡¯s whetted blades, but¡­ beside the little ones must we remain¡­¡± Irma added. My brows rose. ¡°Hold there. The Fiefguard marches for Hensen? How are you certain?¡± ¡°These ears remember well,¡± the matron began to recount. ¡°¡®Next is Hensen¡¯; so spoke the mouth of a Mennish chief. This, I have heard from the shadows whence I hid as the village was invaded.¡± Plausible. Gravely so. Just as this village stood beyond the northwestern mere of the forest, so, too, did Hensen at the northeast. It had heretofore proven too bristling a Naf¨ªlim bastion for the tastes of the Fiefguard, and so was the latter loath to set foot in the f¨®lkheimr. But that has changed. The balance of power here was shifted of late; mighty was the momentum now found in the lunge of Londosius¡¯ lions of war, for the Nafilim numbers were well-withered. It betrays no reason, then, to believe that the Fiefguard would next train its myriad swords upon Hensen, the very seat of the jarl. A tide of blades I can prove no protection against, even as commandant of Balasthea. The tragedy of Mia¡¯s village now threatened to reprise its thunderous throes upon Hensen itself. The sole solace being that the f¨®lkheimr had the manpower to mount a resistance. Nay¡­ For as long as Balasthea, the bulwark of Str?m, yet stood, for as long as the Fiefguard, the very fangs of Str?m, yet drew breath, there was scant solace to be had in the hearts of the Naf¨ªlim here. A pressing upon my own heart, then, to realise this. And in doing so, I looked to Mia¡¯s slumbering visage, a sight that brought to mind another matter: the other half of our journey¡¯s designs. ¡°Matron,¡± I began again after the long thought. ¡°You are versed in magicks, you said?¡± ¡°That I have said, yes. Meagre though my prowess may be.¡± ¡°Might you incant ¡®Dispellend¨­¡¯? Between Mia and I is a thrallspell¡ªI wish to have it gone.¡± ¡°¡®Dispellend¨­¡¯? Yes, that is simple enough. Very well. Your wish, I grant.¡± With that, Irma raised both of her palms: one to me, the other to Mia. ¡°Hmm¡­ Yes. This thrallspell I well-sense. Then shall bonds bind no more.¡± ¡°At your will, Matron.¡± Faintly did a glow next glimmer from the flats of Irma¡¯s hands. The odyl-lights then condensed and coursed their way into Mia and me. ¡°Dispellend¨­.¡± In my ears: a peal, much like the links of a chain sundered asudden. ¡°The manacle is unmade,¡± Irma confirmed. ¡°Freedom now, for you and Mia both.¡± ¡°Good Matron,¡± I bowed, ¡°you have my deepest gratitude.¡± For her part, Mia slept on with nary a disturbance in her peace. Yes¡­ peace, indeed. At long last, a peaceful end to her lot as a slave. ¡°The laws of my land forbid the breaking of thrallspells, you see,¡± I explained. ¡°Had I not found a wi??e like you here, it was my intent to take Mia with me to Hensen, and there try our luck.¡± ¡°You intended well,¡± nodded Irma. ¡°But having spoken with you both, it¡¯s clear to me now: Hensen is where I must go, no matter the circumstance.¡± ¡°It is your will to warn the jarl, or¡­?¡± ¡°It is.¡± The matron¡¯s mien wrinkled with trouble. ¡°You are sure of this? Of another attack by the Mennish host, I have spoken, yes. But five moons it has been, and nothing. The possibility yet looms, of course, but Hensen watches and listens with many eyes and ears. Its braves might be wise to it, I think.¡± ¡°They watch and listen, but have they moved?¡± I doubted. ¡°My men also watch the woods, and of late, they¡¯ve espied little. I cannot think, then, that the lions of Hensen have evacuated their citizenry. They must know the full peril of their plight, and I¡¯m the only free hand here.¡± To the children I looked, and then to the sisters. ¡°I must go, if only to spare even one child from the same tragedy as Mia¡¯s.¡± ¡°¡­Why is it you do this? Turn to Hensen, and you turn against your king,¡± Eva warned. ¡°A just act it is in our eyes, yes, but in those of Men, it is the doings of a traitor.¡± ¡°Let them look. I know something of their scorn,¡± I said, sternly then, and softly next. ¡°Besides, you, Mia¡ªyour whole family went there once a year, yes? Mia¡¯s told me. To her, it¡¯s a place of many memories, all precious.¡± ¡°And to me, no less precious. But what of it?¡± ¡°The lemonade they make there is a treat, I hear. One well-loved by your family.¡± Brows furrowed. ¡°It is¡­! ¡­It was¡­! So what of it!?¡± ¡°In other words, Eva¡­ I will heed my heart.¡± Firm in those words, I rose to my feet. Awe was in Irma¡¯s face as she watched, but it faded fast into a smile, calm and knowing in its glow. Mild hills and sky-bearing flats were what spanned between here and Hensen. A lay-of-the-land gentle enough for journeys by carriage; with the moon hanging high and unhazed, I foresaw little trouble in galloping the whole way on horseback. ¡°You go now? Without a word to little Mia¡­?¡± the matron asked. ¡°I¡¯m no good with goodbyes,¡± I confessed. ¡°A word to her now will be a wound too deep for me.¡± ¡°Those words¡­¡± spoke Eva, ¡°¡­to my ears, they sound a farewell bade to my sister.¡± I paused. ¡°¡­We knew this moment might come, Mia and I. It¡¯s by your side where she belongs, Eva, should we find you alive and well. And indeed, we have¡­¡± I explained. ¡°We are worlds apart. She, an innocent child. And I, a Man steeped in war. Were I to keep her in tow for too long, the stain will be hers as well one day, and to our woe. What Mia needs from here on is healing and happiness. That, I leave to you.¡± ¡°¡­I see.¡± And by then, I well-knew. Mia¡¯s was a mind most keen. No veil could hope to hide the heart from those amber eyes of hers. Mine especially, and so were we to share words now, I doubt my resolve could escape her ken. A resolve to lay my life on the line for what¡¯s to come: the safeguarding of innocent lives, and as well, Mia¡¯s very future. A promise made is a promise kept, after all. But to see me as I set out to certain death would surely slash another scar upon her own heart. No, Mia has had her fill of misery. Thus did I choose to be on my way without a word. She¡¯ll be all right from here on. Eva stands with her now. A young woman, strong of will, with prudence aplenty and, more than anything, a whole-souled sisterly love for Mia. This was my measure of her, gleaned from just this conversation. A measure that has unmade a mountain of my worries. I can go now, unburdened by its weight. In the midst of these thoughts, I watched Mia sleep on peacefully in Eva¡¯s arms. Kneeling, I then caressed her head, to which she stirred most softly. ¡°¡­mm¡­¡± Thank you, Mia. For saving me. Gratitude given from the depths of my heart. Steps taken as I began to set out. ¡°Son of Man. May fair winds find you.¡± ¡°¡­Be safe.¡± Irma¡¯s and Eva¡¯s words, heard as I parted from their company and their home. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Dispellend¨­ (Language: Latin; original name: ¡°Dispel¡±) Magick of unstated type. Nullifies the influence of another magick on the target. Jarl (Language: Old Norse) A highborn noble or warrior; also, an ¡°earl¡± who rules a region for a monarch. In Soot-Steeped Knight, a jarl is chieftain to a Naf¨ªlim clan. Volume 2 - CH 4.05 It was the untarnished truth that Ebbe, vice-commandant of Balasthea Stronghold, harboured a smouldering hatred for his newly installed superior, the Acting Commandant Rolf Buckmann. Ah, yes. Rolf Buckmann, a pus-blister carbuncle of a man! An ungainly ungraced, untempered of blade and untested in battle, Buckmann! His is a company undeserving of aught warmer than wintry scorn! To say nothing of his wits, dumb as they are to the dullness of his fangs. Yet with finical and fiery tongue does he tattle out his orders to Ebbe and them¡ªtruly a spectacle of fierce and flagrant foolery! That was the thundering thought of Ebbe, and why he so rejoiced when Rolf Buckmann bumbled off on some break out-of-the-blue. This was the moment, then. The fresh and fruiting opportunity. A meanwhile where Ebbe would be in charge of the fort. Indeed, in the absence of that absurd addle-pate did the vice-commandant intend to accomplish much and more. Already were the cogs of his contriving wiles wound and ready to wheel. Fast in these fancies, a froggy chuckle escaped his bony throat. But the daydream lasted not long, for at the fort was come a most unexpected visitor. It was past noontide on the same day of Rolf¡¯s respite, when Ebbe, sat smugly in the commandant¡¯s seat, received this guest. ¡°A pleasure¡ªer¡­¡± he began, knowing not what to make of the occasion. ¡°¡­Brigadier, lady, eh¡ª¡± ¡°Of the Sorcery Brigade,¡± the ruby-eyed visitor confirmed, before presenting some proof. ¡°Here. My hatchment.¡± A squint at the filigree crest. ¡°Ah¡­ From the 5th, are we¡­¡± Ebbe¡¯s brows bent from flabbergastment. The 5th Order¡ªwhat else but the very nest whence the wingless Rolf Buckmann was flung. Balasthea¡¯s prior commandant was put out to pasture for the time being, on account of a chronic malady. So it was that a replacement was needed. Ebbe had well-thought himself to be up to the task. He was, after all, the vice-commandant, the second-in-command, the right hand of the fort¡¯s frontman all this time. But alas. Upon the commandant¡¯s seat was sat instead some transfer from the 5th. The bloke¡¯s title? Acting commandant. And ¡°transfer¡± was a sweet kindness: the man was but an exiled good-for-naught. Balasthea was, at the time, a fort much fraught, dealing with death on the daily. Yet on the whim of silver-spoon bureaucrats were its dire defences left to the direction of this toothless and silver-tongued tumbleweed. Oh, the despair. The indignance. Ebbe was lost, livid. He chalked it up to some scheme or squabble amongst the aristocracy, as was wont to happen in lordly Londosius. That¡¯s not to say that Ebbe himself was rebellious of the nobles. No, he was very much a beneficiary, for the good graces of Margrave Str?m were well-trained upon the vice-commandant. As such, he savoured quite sweetly the favours of the nobility, but when the taste turned any bitterly, Ebbe was a babe quick to curse his benefactors behind their backs. In any case, the bony man nurtured no good impression of the Order that so graced him with the ungraced fool. An irony of the fates, then, that he would entertain on this day a dame from the selfsame knightly lot¡­ ¡­one with a name swiftly grating at his good mood. ¡°Felicia Buckmann,¡± she curtsied. ¡°Dame Brigadier to the Sorcerers of the 5th Chivalric Order.¡± ¡°Curious,¡± Ebbe remarked. ¡°Tell me, miss, what¡¯s the commandant t¡¯you, eh?¡± ¡°A brother.¡± The fleer upon his face. ¡°¡­Ah. A doting sister, t¡¯have come t¡¯the keen edge o¡¯ the kingdom for her beloved brother.¡± Venomous was the vice-commandant¡¯s viper-eyes upon the young woman. The very fact she had aught to do with the rat-bastard Rolf Buckmann was reason enough to earn her no welcome in Ebbe¡¯s company. ¡°I wish to speak with him. Is he present?¡± this ¡°Felicia¡± asked firmly. Once in the past was her life saved by her brother, from what but the horns of a harrowing beast, bedevilling denizen of some death-marked minery. It was then that she thought to think differently of him, to cast upon his profile the long-lost light of their warmer years. How coldly the mistrals came in its stead. Argent arms and armour were soon bedecked upon the entirety of the Order¡¯s ranks, a development that denied her brother any chance of victory in his spars. All he knew from then on was defeat after defeat, and wet scorn spat upon his prostrate person. A prodigy, her brother once was. And so she knew his wits to be well-whetted. Enough to devise some way to swim against the many tides turned against him, to make due even as he lacked the magicked luxury otherwise accorded to all kin of Man. But he hadn¡¯t. Instead, he merely swung his sword about, set upon his ways against all prudence, only to be pounded into the ground by his peers. A sight seen by Felicia¡¯s eyes, time and again. What foolishness, insanity even, to repeat futility and expect aught more than failure. And of course, there was the hearing of months past, convened to deliberate his exile. There did he reveal to her what a pig-pated and pouting child he had become, so obstinate in refusing both his faults and the saying of his sorries. The performance earned naught but annoyance from his sister, by then long-dry of all adoration for him. Still, Rolf was her brother. And she, his little sister. Never could she be soured so, that she would dare abandon him. Hence her voyage of no few days: she had come to this fort to ask of him of the cold shoulder he had turned to Emilie¡¯s call, and to discern whether he was so withered of wit to be unwise to the mareschal¡¯s favour for him. ¡°Your dear brother¡¯s on break, love,¡± Ebbe shrugged. ¡°A gadabout o¡¯ an ungraced, off on vacation. Hoh! The ballocks o¡¯ that bloke!¡± Fain was the vice-commandant to unveil his enmity. Insulting Felicia¡¯s brother was too enticing upon his tongue to pass up, even if it meant earning the much-vaunted brigadier¡¯s own enmity. To his surprise, none of the sort was espied from his guest. ¡°On break?¡± Felicia said. ¡°A whole fort in his charge, and yet freely does he set aside duty for dalliance. ¡®Twould seem he¡¯s still not risen to his office as a soldier, I see.¡± ¡°Oh? That¡¯s quite the slighting tongue for a sister, my dear miss,¡± Ebbe half-giggled. ¡°But who could blame you? A brigadier sister; a banish¡¯d brother. Hah! O, Yon¨¢! Mercy!¡± ¡°Mercy for my nerves, if only,¡± she sighed. ¡°He¡¯s dulled into a coistril of a cadet, that brother of mine. ¡®Twas my hope he would hone his blunted blade here, if even a little.¡± A knock upon the door. In then came a footman. ¡°Vice-Commandant,¡± he saluted. ¡°The margrave¡¯s arrived.¡± ¡°Very well.¡± Felicia blinked. ¡°The Lord Str?m is come? Here, at the fort?¡± ¡°That he is,¡± Ebbe beamed bonily. ¡°Follow, fairest Felicia. If you mean t¡¯meet him, I¡¯ll show you the way.¡± ? Balasthea¡¯s embattled ramparts stood auburn against the sunset. And outside its gates agape at the plains of Naf¨ªlim dominion, there was congregated a great army. Ranks upon bristling ranks of soldiers, assembled and set for battle. Billowing in the wind over them: the Fiefguard flag. The Margrave Str?m strolled afront his filed fighters before stopping beside Felicia. ¡°Well. A Brigadier of the Order, here in my humble homeland,¡± he began. ¡°And of the 5th, no less. Fair lady, you are high-born, I take it?¡± ¡°I am. From House Buckmann I hail.¡± The margrave stared on. ¡°Buckmann?¡± ¡°M¡¯liege,¡± Ebbe spoke from anear. ¡°Our young miss shares blood with the ungraced¡ªthey be siblings.¡± Lordly laughter boomed. ¡°How now! What strength of arms this dainty damsel hides! To have toiled in leashing her hound brother all these years!¡± Toils, indeed. But for such toils, and her own talents, the young brigadier brimmed with pride. True, though, that it was scarcely seldom for Felicia to suffer the grating guffaws of others. She was sister to an ungraced, after all: her brother¡¯s stigma was too large a stain, for Felicia, too, came to share in some of the unholy shame. The sneers and jeers reserved for Rolf, then, would often overflow in his sister¡¯s direction. But the margrave¡¯s slight was not to be silenced. And so did Felicia clench her teeth and ask him thusly. ¡°Your Excellency, you gather many men. To what purpose, if I may ask?¡± ¡°Hm! Need it be said? They shall do what military men all do: march, and make battle.¡± From here would the Fiefguard foray, was the margrave¡¯s implication. Fair enough; though Balasthea was not more than a minute¡¯s walk away, they all well-stood upon Naf¨ªlim soil. They: the militants of Man. And therein lies the rub. Not lightly should the military breath ever blow upon Naf¨ªlim fields. For such a dear undertaking, prudence was paramount, to say nothing of planning and preparation. Whether or not the myriad men were assembled after such considerations sparked much doubt from Felicia, for missing from the scene was a key and keen mind for command. ¡°Yet I¡¯m told Balasthea¡¯s acting commandant is absent,¡± she observed. ¡°Has he spoke aught on this matter?¡± ¡°I should sooner lend ear to pigs¡¯ slaughter than the slithering words of that ungraced,¡± the margrave brushed off. ¡°This matter demands little heedance from him and his men. They busy themselves with defence; my men mean to attack.¡± ¡°Worry¡¯d, fair Brigadier?¡± enquired Ebbe. ¡°Come, rest easy! Valiant Ebbe joins the margrave¡¯s men with his own! Lo! the vaunted guardsmen o¡¯ the Vice-Commandant, yours truly!¡± Felicia swept her eyes to where Ebbe pointed. Formed a ways off were files of silvered soldiers, thirty and more in number, mounted high on their horses. The youngest amongst them returned a look of his own, lustful in its leer. Paying him no mind, Felicia pressed on. ¡°Your Excellency. The vice-commandant and his unit are themselves counted amongst Balasthea¡¯s bulwark-men, are they not? Their duty is defence, by your words; how are they made to march without their commandant¡¯s consent?¡± ¡°I give consent.¡± Sharpness from the margrave. To have amassed such multitudes of men, with many reams of gear and supplies in tow¡ªthe scale of this expedition certainly spoke of deals and decisions made well in advance. Ebbe, too, was surely privy to the margrave¡¯s designs, ones that called for the participation of the vice-commandant himself, along with his herd of elite grunts. What gave it away was the easy eagerness in the bony man¡¯s gait as he stood amidst the mighty enterprise. Doubt clouded Felicia¡¯s heart ever more. Could it be that these men, prince and pawns alike, mean to move without a single word to her brother, commandant as he is of the very fort from which they would sally? ¡°But, Lord Str?m¡­¡± ¡°My dear Brigadier. Is it more than blood you share with that ungraced? He well-gainsays the slaying of innocents¡ªeven should they be of Naf¨ªlim stock,¡± the margrave revealed, then emboldening his stare upon Felicia. ¡°Are his words yours as well?¡± ¡°That man has aired such ill¡­?¡± Felicia thought aloud. ¡°Nay, my Lord. He and I are same of blood, but not of mind. ¡®Twas simply that I couldn¡¯t espy why so many men should sally from his fort, on what occasion but his own absence.¡± ¡°Of minds, I pay none, to whether he curses us with his company or no,¡± the margrave remarked. ¡°But ¡®tis certain he should raise a reeking stink were he here now. So I say, all is well and good that our noses are spared of his stench.¡± A grin then grew upon the lord¡¯s lips, one caked with confidence and piety for his self-proclaimed justice. ¡°By the grace and godly name of Yon¨¢ shall my men at last march to Hensen, and there smite the unholy Naf¨ªlim hell-nest that it is. And bring back to us much boon and bounty besides¡ªslave-captives, and coffers each filled with coin and exotica,¡± the margrave announced at length. ¡°Be not worried, Brigadier. Such riches shall enlarge the larders of Londosius. This, I assure you.¡± ¡°¡­As you will, my Lord.¡± None of the margrave¡¯s words inflamed Felicia¡¯s ears. Right and just were his ambitions, a bedrock of surety for the longevity of Londosius. Why, she even measured him to be rather proper to an extent: not often does a lord leave the comforts of his manor to personally see off his military men to their march. It was but a spark of surprise that shook her from the moment. Surprise for the deployment of Ebbe¡¯s unit, fort-defenders though they were, as well as the endeavouring of an entire foray into Naf¨ªlim lands, on what day but the very day of Rolf¡¯s absence. Ah yes. Rolf. For her brother, Felicia knew only despair and disappointment, deeper now with his secret exclusion from this expedition. A fine time to take leisure, whilst the world is on the move. Despair, indeed. ¡°Right then, love. We be off now,¡± Ebbe bowed passingly. ¡°A mite shame your brother has t¡¯sit out this crusade. Be a dear an¡¯ console ¡®im for us, will you?¡± ¡°¡­Of course,¡± returned Felicia, ill-able to rebuke Ebbe¡¯s rabblerousing. Writ boldly now upon her agenda was this very matter, of which she meant to take up fully with her brother. But such was only a footnote to the crux of her coming to this province of Str?m: to press Rolf on why he let slip Emilie¡¯s gracious hand. This was the brigadier¡¯s resolve. To set herself upon her brother as he couches in his cowardice, and teach him of what path he ought take. It was late, but not overly so. Thus was Felicia resolute on returning to Arbel, all to pay a visit to Rolf¡¯s residence. Off to her side was the margrave, speaking anew with one of his commanders. ¡°It is time. Hie now, and bring word of Hensen¡¯s fall! Yon¨¢ be with you!¡± Saluting, the commander turned to the arrayed army, and raised high both sword and voice. ¡°Heed, men! We go north past the woods! And from there, turn to pierce Hensen whence rises the sun! Hold fast your blades and steel well your souls! For in this battle shall we strike the devils full-sore! Back to the pits of hell whence they hail! March! March now! Onward! Onward!¡± ¡°Ooooouuhh!!¡± ¡°To victory!¡± ¡°Holy Grace be our Guide!¡± The host of Men swelled with sound, thundering into the unblemished skies. Then, under the watch of their margrave, they slowly commenced their march. Thousands of earth-thudding steps, paving a path to Hensen, from the denizens of which these kin of Man would hew dominion over this land. Volume 2 - CH 4.06 I gunned the horse to a gallop, cutting through the moon-cold plains. The night howled all around as I huddled low against the saddle: no Man would survive for long were he caught out in the open so. That very reason found my face and form shrouded fast from outside sight, in not a hooded cloak, but a blanket. Caution duly paid, though to little profit: it seemed this stretch of land northwest of the woods was wholly unmanned at this dark hour. All the better; with my way free of waylayers, I kept my eastward course. Night later blushed with dawn. Up and up, the sun soared to its high-noon perch, whereupon I stopped atop a row of hills overlooking the lively sprawl of Hensen. West afront the f¨®lkheimr proper was a gate, guarded by two standing soldiers. Right. The hourglass waits not. I cantered down the slope and to the vicinity of the entrance. There, I dismounted before undraping myself of the blanket and unbuckling my sword. Holding it up, I began my approach. ¡°¡­Mm!?¡± grunted a squinting soldier as he roused to action. ¡°A Man! A Man at the gates!¡± ¡°You there!¡± the other echoed. ¡°Not a step closer!¡± Spears were speedily trained upon me, in spite of the surprise. A honed reaction: these two were well-drilled. ¡°I am Rolf Buckmann! Acting Commandant to the battlements of Balasthea!¡± I returned, tossing my sword to the ground. ¡°I am come craving admittance to your jarl!¡± ? ¡°Humph. Balasthea¡¯s commandant be broad of shoulders, my scouts say. You match square their descriptions,¡± so spoke an enthroned Naf¨ªl: the Jarl Alban. No less than fifty winters have buffeted this lion of a leader¡ªwinters of war-waging, stitched together to a shroud shading his dread and giant frame. ¡°But your coming be a run cutting against the flow. Here you are¡ªa commander naked of army, a Man alone from kinsmen. What queerness has come before me?¡± ¡°Queerness, indeed,¡± I answered. ¡°That a jarl would grant so quick an audience to his foe¡ªit affrights reason.¡± Till now, much of my thoughts were racked by how I might meet with this jarl, or at the very least, some like authority with an ear for the heavy matter to come. That all it took was to present myself at Hensen¡¯s doorstep baffled me well into this moment. Where was I but the palatial jarlsh?ll itself. An edifice of oak, of but one level yet large upon the land where it laid. And though its scope impressed, more so did its air: the timbers, the adornments, the design, all were thoroughly aged as a home to Hensen¡¯s many former lions. Into such a hallowed abode had I, a Man and foe both, been let through. Not a single binding was set upon my body; an earnest check about my person well-sufficed to have me presentable before the jarl¡¯s presence. Easy enough, yet the air was stifled here in the wide atrium-yard. Noonlight cascaded down from the open skylight and shone whitely upon my shoulders. Watching on from the cincturing shade were the many furrowed eyes, figures solemnly filed and flanking my left and right: the seeming h¨²skarlar, men and women, leaders in their own right, each of sworn service to their jarl. It bears mentioning that, as my past readings suggest, the Naf¨ªlim are not a united people. Indeed, rather than nest together in a single nation, they are dispersed in disparate clans in disparate lands, each headed by a jarl. And it is a fact that though the folk of a clan be of a clan, they are not all bloodkin; what binds them instead is a free yet collective spirit, a community congregating under a common banner. Beholden to them is the jarl, who earns his place upon the high-seat not by heirship, but by his deeds and deeds alone. For Hensen¡¯s part, as well as other settlements proximal to it, its denizens are of the V¨ªly clan¡ªthe V¨ªlungen¡ªpresided over by the Jarl Alban: the very same soul before me, whose eyes stabbed with their stare. ¡°Audience? Yes, there is audience,¡± he retorted, then turning his gaze to the forgathered h¨²skarlar. ¡°Them, I let see your face before your head I hew: the fate of a commandant corner¡¯d in the home of his foe.¡± Back at me, the jarl looked. ¡°You are come on a sotted whim? Or have you in your heart some death-wish? That, I shall grant you, bastard of Man.¡± His voice, deep like an earthquake and well-matched to his mountainous mien and muscle. But in that same voice ran veins of vehemence for Men and the jarl¡¯s readiness to erupt from his seat and smite them with any blade at hand. ¡°He the one, Sire?¡± asked a h¨²skarl amongst the file. ¡°Not some mummer sent to our midst? Nor some scheme of Mennish minds?¡± Doubt was thick in his words. Justified, I admit. After all, even a dream of mighty imagination could scarce paint a commander traipsing alone into the maw of his foe. Not least in a war like this, with both sides so viciously at each other¡¯s throats. ¡°Those Mennish minds know much vict¡¯ry of late. Such schemes are now a savour long-surfeited on their tongues; they ill-indulge a ruse on us, I think. Our jarl spoke true. Onyx eyes and soot-black hair: this Man looks as reported. And his body besides¡ªlo! strong it is, a stoutness rare even amongst Men. He is who he says, I say.¡± ¡°Oh? Then I say, quite courageous, this commandant! He is but one, yet quivers not!¡± Remarks from two h¨²skarlar standing right beside the jarl. They evidently numbered amongst the top echelons¡ª¡±war-chiefs¡±, as it were, direct commanders to the martial cohorts of Hensen. The first was Volker, calm and composed in his calculation of this unprecedented occasion. Little more than thirty in his years, there was a dour glint of intellect in his gaze, whilst his figure was slender of frame, though not from frailty, no: I espied in this Volker not just the the sharpness of a strategist, but the strength of a seasoned swordsman. The other was Berta, a woman of frankness and forty years of age, thereabouts. Her figure seemed the complete contrary to Volker¡¯s, replete as it was with rotundness as it swayed with her every gesture. And crowning it was a countenance of both gentleness and bravado, beaming with the smile of a long-lived mother. ¡°Courageous¡ªand keen, and cunning besides,¡± Volker went on. ¡°Sire. Never were Balasthea¡¯s blades more whetted and walls more unwavering till this commandant took to the war-table. My measure of him: anathema, he is. To our plight, to our people.¡± A most cutting commentary, if not complimentary. The keenness in Volker¡¯s stare, too, was no less unwavering in the course of his words. ¡°I¡¯m but an acting commandant, you should know,¡± I corrected. ¡°So you say, yet our eyes see you no friendlier a foe for it. A foe to be fell¡¯d.¡± ¡°The war-chief well-convinces, Sire. Uproot the sprout, and we spare ourselves the willow of wandreth.¡± The other h¨²skarlar steamed with assent. In the prongs of their hearts were set the red jewels of ire for Men and their ilk; the grim glimmer shone unsullied through their eyes. ¡°Come, rest your brows, all. Our ¡®foe¡¯ here has something for our ears, from the look of him. Let us lend, yes?¡± soothed Berta. The scene all but affirmed the roles of these two war-chiefs for their jarl. Hearing their words, a nodding Alban broke his silence. ¡°So be it. Speak, foe-guest.¡± To him, I looked. ¡°First things first: some of your far-off folk need aid,¡± I broached. ¡°Two women, sixteen children; survivors of an attack on their village five months past, northwest beyond the bourne of the woods. They hide in cellars beneath an orphanage. Hide¡ªand wait for succour. Will you not go and give it to them?¡± A silent instant, and the h¨²skarlar were then aroar, their rancour resounding all throughout the atrium. ¡°These things he speaks¡ªhow can he know!?¡± ¡°A folly! A foul trap!¡± ¡°Our lands you breach¡¯d, our people you pillaged! Now you mean to parley!?¡± ¡°A massacre wrought by the mammon of you Men! There is no doubt!¡± That last line¡ªlikely the clarion most clearly revealing their sore sentiments. Some amongst the h¨²skarlar clenched their teeth, others their fists to raw and quaking tautness. Though it was their eyes that shared a stinging stare upon my person. Amidst their mad thundering, the jarl rose from his high-seat. Quiet returned. The air stilled. His steps stamped their way to me before large fingers lunged forth and seized my collars. ¡°¡­Your ears have heard our woe,¡± Alban began. ¡°Your hands have stolen our treasures. Your swords have hewn our folk. Now, what says that mouth of yours?¡± Arms, boulder-like in all their burliness, set every sinew to wringing and raising my collars. Strength of much awe, and wrath no less awful. But I could not afford to falter before such power; unflinching, I fastened my sight to his. ¡°This, it says: I¡¯ll not apologise for aught we Men have sown in battle.¡± Lids flared. ¡°There is fire on your tongue. A Man-foe for true¡­!¡± Pouring into his grip was grim power greater still. Veins swelled along his massive arms, boughs bulging with the anger of the earth. Upon them I laid my own hands, and next exerted a defiant grip of my own. The jarl¡¯s voice seethed. ¡°¡­And a fool besides!¡± Furrows flashed across his face. I came here neither to gloat of my own strength of arms, nor to submit to the might and misery of these proud people. No, the jarl must know that I be a soul with words worthy of his ears. Thus did I sink my fingers further into the flesh of his forearms. ¡°Mgh¡­!¡± ¡°The fire upon my tongue is but a wick-light to the world-flames of war,¡± I said back. ¡°Without aim nor ailment have they burned both sides. But not by steeping ourselves in hate shall they be quenched.¡± The jarl narrowed his eyes. ¡°Think you the wiseman? That the spittle of your speech might drown what flooding centuries of war could not quench? Speak! O, wiseman!¡± ¡°I am no wiseman. Nor has there ever been, who so plies his wisdom to the withering of this war. For it rages more than ever, and his absence aches us all.¡± ¡°Ache indeed, mine ears! From the hollow wiles of the wiseacre before me!¡± came Alban¡¯s volcanic voice. ¡°The ¡®wisdom¡¯ of your fellows and forebears sees rightness in the sightless slayings of our innocents! Yet hastily from their blood-halls are you come to our pillaged place! Our pain¡¯d presence! To what!? Wallow in our wounds with your salted words!?¡± Pained, indeed, the jarl¡¯s own words, if not palpably wroth. A pain wrought by the reasonless slaughter set upon the more peaceable amongst his people. Friends and family all, meek and now vainly lost. A war-wheel turning with the momentum of centuries¡ªmore losses alike, then, were sure to follow. The resentment born from such a realisation was, in fact, a wound upon the leader of these lost people. How deeply it ran forever escaped my ken. My hands relaxed and released, moved by the thought. ¡°Again, I¡¯ve no apologies for what¡¯s transpired in battle,¡± I reiterated, looking away not once. ¡°But putting innocents to the sword¡ªthat is not battle. Not at all. For such tragedies do I apologise to you, one and all. Truly.¡± My words earned a silence from Alban as he elected to, with all slowness, free me from his own grip. Yet his anger gained no softness in the while, and that stare of his was as solid and searching as ever. ¡°Overlate¡ªvain¡ªbe your apology, Man-foe,¡± the jarl spoke again. ¡°Think you our slain babes and elders make return to us? With just that apology of yours?¡± ¡°¡­Would that my words were empowered so. How freed would we be, to reunite with all we¡¯ve lost. But I¡¯ve no such power. None amongst us do. Those who¡¯ve left us behind¡ªthey can never turn back. The pain echoes through you all, just as it does through me.¡± I knew. All too well. To them, my apology was but a meaningless remedy. But against all reason do the forlorn yet yearn only for the return of their dearly departed. This, too, I knew. Though the enmity in their eyes was unwaning, there was then a concrete quietude in all the h¨²skarlar around me. The Jarl Alban unfurled his fist before yielding a long breath from his lips. ¡°¡­You do not sound the mouthpiece of Man¡¯s mind.¡± ¡°Indeed. These are my thoughts, and mine alone.¡± Once more did the veins vault upon the faces of Alban and his vassals. Anger again, but now bedight with bewilderment at my unveiled will. Man only ever saw his Naf¨ªlim neighbour as a nemesis to be massacred unto nothingness. And so for these same Naf¨ªlim to hear an apology from the lips of one such Man was surely a shock to their wits. Alban gave greater weight to his glare, as if to seek out the truth in my soul. Then, with an unmuddied timbre, he asked anew. ¡°In ravaging our kind does the heart of Man know revelry and release. Why does yours steer from this course?¡± ¡°Because it¡¯s wise to what perhaps lies beneath the world: a machination unseen.¡± ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ H¨²skarlar (Language: Old Norse; singular: h¨²skarl) The house-carls, or retainers, to a jarl. In Soot-Steeped Knight, they are thus members of the Naf¨ªlim upper echelon. Jarlsh?ll (Language: Old Norse) The ¡°jarl¡¯s hall¡±. The j consonant is pronounced with a y sound, as in the words ¡°yes¡± and ¡°yawn¡±. The ? vowel is a rounded o sound, pronounced with a cross between the o sounds in the words ¡°on¡± and ¡°old¡±. In Soot-Steeped Knight, refers to the palatial residence of a jarl. V¨ªlungen (Schemed language: Old Norse/German; singular: V¨ªlung) The V¨ªly clan. Adhering to the naming scheme of Norse clans, ¡°V¨ªly¡± is converted to the more formal ¡°V¨ªlung¡±, while it then follows German declension (as Old Norse declension is reserved for more ancient terms). Thus, ¡°V¨ªlung¡± refers to a single member of this clan, while ¡°V¨ªlungen¡± refers to multiple or the entire clan itself. Volume 2 - CH 4.07 ¡°The world? The machinations beneath?¡± The jarl¡¯s brows cocked. An action surely shared by all the room. Indeed, they heard right: a machination. A device of deception. A contrivance about which the world was coiled and controlled. The unseen currents of an unseen maelstrom, which I¡¯d sensed from winters before, only now given words for the very first time. Alban shook his head slightly. ¡°Your words are as a warren. Speak what you mean.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve a tale that speaks of it aplenty,¡± I answered, ¡°but one to be told another time; the village survivors wait and waste to this moment. Pray lend them your aid, and soon.¡± A heavy moment. ¡°¡­Below the orphanage, was it?¡± The jarl nodded to one of his h¨²skarlar, whereupon the latter summarily left the atrium. ¡°Your defences, as well: they must needs be bolstered,¡± I went on. ¡°Lest the survivors find your f¨®lkheimr no less a ruin than their village.¡± ¡°You scry swords set on Hensen?¡± ¡°I do.¡± The jarl squinted with slow relent. Is this all really a ruse? Or a rebellious spark from the flames of Man? Whichever his conclusion, I then continued on revealing the veiled motivations of the margrave for Hensen, and in addition, my strategic counsel as a commandant: that the Fiefguard very well means to march on this f¨®lkheimr. None of the Naf¨ªlim muttered a single word as I gave them all of mine. A sound surprise; I fully anticipated plugged ears for aught I had to say. Certainly they were not paying their collective attention without due caution, but due more so was some propriety for the lone foe meandering into their midst, to tell them what he dared not in the company of his kin. Such was the resolve that I gleaned from them as my words went on. ¡°¡­The Fiefguardsmen have you fixed in their sights. All one hundred-score of them and more,¡± I concluded. The h¨²skarlar hummed uneasily. There is much credence to the commandant¡¯s counsel, they must¡¯ve thought, but equal cause for concern, if so. Two-thousand soldiers set on sacking Hensen was threatening enough¡ªtoo much a threat for the f¨®lkheimr¡¯s present defences, most likely. Fielding a large force against Hensen was heretofore a fraught stratagem, what with the woods in the way of an easy march. All Londosius had endeavoured to this point were mere skirmishes. It was my work as commandant that proved the vicissitude: Str?m¡¯s soldiery suffered less, whilst the local Naf¨ªlim all the more. With dwindled numbers, Hensen could ill-afford to waylay the Fiefguard¡¯s wooded march and field its own defences in the same stroke. The margrave well-reaped what I¡¯d sown, and I surmised he would soon amass as large a host as could cross the forest. Hence my prediction of a force of at least two-thousand Fiefguardsmen, a number that weighed heavily on the h¨²skarlar¡¯s hearts. ¡°¡­A weapon, your words are, turned upon your own kingdom. You mean to tread a treasonist?¡± Lowly aired words from the jarl¡¯s already low timbre. From his barbed leer upon me, I yet sensed an ire for more foolery that might issue from my lips. ¡°Londosius is yet my homeland, ruesome and rotted though it may be. I mean not to nock an arrow aflame against its spans, but just the same, I could not stay myself from warning you all of the reckoning to come.¡± ¡°What moved you?¡± he asked. ¡°Weariness. What else but weariness? The innocent and faultless, divested and sent to their deaths. Families, taken and torn asunder. These, I wish never to see again.¡± ¡°¡­¡¯Again,¡¯ you say.¡± A hint of sorrow from Alban¡¯s eyes as he nodded mutedly. I saw then the severity of his mien thinning at last. ¡°The intelligence, I should thank you for. But long-wary are we of an attack aimed at our walls.¡± ¡°Not wary enough, by my measure,¡± I was quick to point out. ¡°The Fiefguardsmen are unfit for battle in the forests. They mean to sally straight northward from Balasthea, and once past the wood, wend eastward into Hensen. You must meet them with a force of your own, stationed not amongst the trees, but out in the plains west of your walls.¡± ¡°Mm¡­¡± ¡°Indeed, had you soldiers enough, harrying the Fiefguard in their wooded march might¡¯ve proven more profitable. Yet ¡®enough¡¯ is neither what I see, nor what I¡¯ve heard from my own reports. A phalanx to bar their entry is your soundest option.¡± ¡°¡®Enough¡¯ my braves once were,¡± the jarl uttered, ¡°till you sat at the war-table.¡± ¡°I sat there that Balasthea¡¯s battlements might not break. As I¡¯ve said before, your braves who¡¯ve met their end upon those walls earn no apology from me,¡± I reminded him. ¡°That aside, your citizenry must needs be evacuated; the west district residents firstly, to wit. But they must be willing to part with their coin and treasures¡ªthe Fiefguardsmen lust for lucre, you see, and even a battle raging ¡®round them ill-dulls their greed. Let them tarry and rummage, I say. It buys your forces time more precious again than what bait the Fiefguard might bite.¡± ¡°You strategise as keenly as you criticise, Man of the fort,¡± Alban remarked. ¡°¡­But to let your kinsmen maraud? You must know, my people are meagre of means. I do not see your way. Did you not come to stall the pillaging? Or?¡± ¡°It¡¯s more an insurance, should the western defences crumble,¡± I assured the jarl. ¡°Were the Fiefguard to enter the f¨®lkheimr, expect torches to be laid upon the houses. But that¡¯s fine enough. Homes can be rebuilt, expenses can be paid for. Snatch victory from the Fiefguard¡¯s hands, and you just as well snatch back all they¡¯ve stolen. It¡¯s your people that must be kept from harm; they are themselves treasures irreplaceable, after all. Let them know of this, and surely they¡¯ll follow your every word.¡± Sacrifices were needed. A woundful reality, evident so long as Hensen lacked soldiers enough to stay the Fiefguard¡¯s tide. So long as Hensen was, to the Naf¨ªlim here, a home to be protected no matter the price. Of course, no stratagem would be suffered that so feeds the meek and innocent to the maws of war. Thus did I table any tactic that, at most, sacrifices that which can be sown again. My counsel continued. Of the Fiefguard¡¯s composition, its formations, its manoeuvres¡ªaught I knew, the jarl and his h¨²skarlar now knew, as well. This much divulgence was flagrant treason, surely, but a crime gladly committed were it to save even a single citizen of this f¨®lkheimr. Still, sins are sins, and this one my shoulders bore no less heavily. Though it were thoughts of Mia and those of like fate that convinced me of the weight¡¯s worthiness. ? The jarlsh?ll loomed behind as I left its ancient halls. Adjourned was the audience with Alban; with the warning relayed, I began my way back to the west gates whence I first entered. Noonlight was fast fading. Already from the far horizon was the mirk of evening growing. ¡°I thought I¡¯d spend the day chained and gaoled, truth be told,¡± I said. ¡°Fresh air seldom smelled so sweet.¡± ¡°As it should,¡± Volker remarked, walking beside me. ¡°Your safe return might sow the seed of peace between our peoples. This, the jarl has surmised.¡± ¡°Peace, you say¡­¡± A pensive murmur from my lips, punctuated by glances and stares upon my person from the surrounding populace. In their myriad eyes were curiosity and caution. Some were sallowed with fear. A few glared with anger. ¡°Impossible, perhaps,¡± the war-chief went on. ¡°This, too, the jarl knows. As do we. But even a broken seed must be sown, for whether it sprouts, none can know for true.¡± Would that Londosian soil were more nurturing of such a precious sprout. But alas. The kingly realm brims and billows with war-winds ever bent on the snuffing of the Naf¨ªlim flame. That much I knew for certain. How humbling, then, that it were the Naf¨ªlim themselves that could not completely spurn the seed of peace. ¡­Nay. Perhaps theirs was the right heart to have. It was, to begin with, baleful and bewildering to so wish for a wasting war, one that wants no end before whichever party first reaches its reckoning. ¡°Generous be our clan-sire; were his hands mine, you would die by them whence you stand,¡± Volker continued. ¡°Much good it do you to have thanks for him.¡± ¡°I¡¯m plenty thankful, just as I am for leaving my sword at the gates. You don¡¯t seem the sort to slay a man unarmed, after all. Not to my eyes, at least.¡± ¡°¡­Hmph.¡± The war-chief was as much a richly-witted man as I first measured him to be. That¡¯s to say, any arrow he lets loose, earnest or no, is an arrow that finds its mark, as it were. Yet for however whetted his wits were, he was equally a warrior of unmistakable mettle. Courtesy moved his compass¡ªnot by his blade would an unbladed soul be laid low. ¡°I¡¯m right glad you all lent ear to my words, in any case,¡± I confessed. ¡°And with rather cooled veins, no less.¡± ¡°We are a people of principle. We judge for what a heart beats, not what blood courses through it¡ªeven should it be the heart and blood of a Man.¡± ¡°The heart, is it¡­¡± ¡°Still, we know well of doubt and fear. The same we have for you¡ªand enmity besides, steeled by the hard-fought centuries between our forebears both.¡± ¡°That, I¡¯ll not gainsay.¡± The Jarl Alban. His h¨²skarlar withal. It was cold decorum and discretion that craved the lending of their ears for the words of a Man. And as well, whatever gleanable advantage that might avail them against the attack to come. Yet Volker revealed the right of it¡ªundercurrent to their calculated tolerance was enmity, to be sure. A current pushed by past partings with their comrades-in-arms. And it was certain: not few amongst the h¨²skarlar have also lost family and loved ones in the waging of this war. All things told, their judgement found my admittance just, even as their hearts howled with hate for the Man before them. The staying of their readied blades was solely for whatever brighter days this strange occasion might herald¡ªnot on account of some fancied forgiveness for me or my kinsmen. Hm¡­ My kinsmen¡­ How might I have carried myself, I wonder? Were I saddled with the same sorrow, the same animosity as the h¨²skarlar and their people? And in light of their losses, what¡ªand who¡ªhave I myself to lose? Emilie, Felicia¡ªthey and others make for an unequal comparison. After all, fighting is their livelihood. War is their art. Long have they made peace with their own mortality. Nay¡­ Suppose I have for myself some dear and gentle soul, who waits beyond the bounds of the battlefield for my safe return. Suppose further that she be deprived. On a day like any other, deprived asudden of her dignity, of her very life. What would become of me? Of Rolf Buckmann, as he stands amidst the ruins of aught and all he once cherished? ¡°¡­I can scarce imagine.¡± ¡°Mm? What is it you mumble, Man?¡± ¡°Ah¡ªno, it¡¯s nothing.¡± Indeed. ¡®I can scarce imagine.¡¯ Such would be my only answer in this matter. Those who know loss. Those who know tragedy. Whirling within the depths of their hearts is both resentment and rancour well beyond the imaginations of those who know not. Thus do these sufferers suffer further. Their pain begets pain. And thus have I learned never to feign shallow sympathy, for it be only salt upon their open wounds. But staying the salting hand, recognising the pointlessness of pity¡ªthese were my sole recourse, and what poor recourse they are. Silence be of little solace and succour. What, then, can I do? ¡°Chief!¡± A voice, tugging me from the thorns of thought. Its master, a lad with lividness in his visage, veered to Volker, having just passed by the both of us in our westward walk. ¡°What¡¯s this about?¡± he pressed Volker. ¡°Why does a Man walk within our walls!?¡± The war-chief raised a palm. ¡°Calm, Kunz. There is reason enough.¡± ¡°Calm? Calm!? He¡¯s a Man, Chief! A foe in our f¨®lkheimr!¡± yelled this ¡°Kunz¡±. With blunt briskness did he then brush aside Volker and step straight to me. His hands sprang forth, shoving me back. ¡°¡­Murderer! Why are you come!? Whose end seek you now!?¡± I stood my ground, wordless. Seeing my silence, Kunz came up once more to catch my collars. ¡°Speak, enemy!¡± he howled up at my face. ¡°You savour much of our blood! How much more till you¡¯re sated!?¡± Even then, I kept quiet. ¡°Speak, I said!¡± ¡®I came not to kill¡ªnot you, not your dear ones. Not anyone.¡¯ This, I could not give air. Whether from knowing well they¡¯d be words most unsought by Kunz, or from being left speechless in the face of his fury. For there were tears running down the cheeks of this lad. The eyes that shed them were as daggers piercing my bosom. What pain. What wrenching, piercing pain. Ever was this so. When met with the lament of those stricken by loss, their pain was as my own. One that seemed to bore holes in my heart. ¡°Kunz. Calmness. Let him free,¡± Volker soothed the lad, laying a hand upon the latter¡¯s shoulder and pulling him gently back. Kunz relented and released me from his clutches, but not from his stabbing stare. Volker spoke on. ¡°Explanations enough I have for you to hear. But for now, go. And give rest to your veins.¡± The lad had little mind for heedance. He glared on and on at me, tearfully frowning and furrowed to the fullest. ¡°Kunz. You have heard me.¡± ¡°¡­Yes. Calmness,¡± Kunz broke his silence. ¡°I¡¯ve wounded the winds. Forgive me, good Chief.¡± With that muttered, the lad left our presence, but not before giving me one last gouging glare. I looked on at his awaying shoulders, spiritless as they were. ¡°¡­He¡¯s lost someone, hasn¡¯t he?¡± I observed. ¡°That he has. A bride-to-be. As one, their hearts were, from their greenest days,¡± Volker revealed, walking forth once more. ¡°The wedding was soon.¡± A betrothed, torn from Kunz¡¯s side. Our lots, his and mine, could not be any more different. Surely he could¡¯ve given his bride-to-be a life most blissful¡ªwere she yet alive. Still, we¡¯re the same, he and I. Surely so. Sadness is in him, thus he sheds tears. Anger burns him, thus he bellows and lays blame. What are these but the same pains suffered by Men? The very same. In a Naf¨ªl is life. A will. A heart. What separates us, then? Naught. Kunz¡¯s tears enlightened me anew to this truth. He loves what is beautiful, and loves little what is otherwise. Of this, I am certain. Beyond a window, within billows of auburn leaves, a tree in its autumn dress. Cackling and crackling in a hearth, a humming fire, bright and warm. Freshly stretched and tanned, a span of well-made leather, uniquely fragrant. After a day¡¯s labour, a gulp of cold and crisp water for the parched throat. These, too, he has love for. As do I. We are one and the same. And yet, we can scarce live amongst one another. Why? On and on, I looked upon Kunz¡¯s fading figure, whilst the unanswered questions only burgeoned in my bosom. Volume 2 - CH 4.08 ¡°Hold.¡± A word asudden from Volker after much walking since then. I turned to find him halted, even as our destination laid yet a long ways off. ¡°From here to the gates, you walk¡ªalone,¡± the war-chief went on. ¡°Trouble avoids you now, not as earlier.¡± I cocked my head slightly. ¡°Alone? Man that I am?¡± ¡°The folk there are fraught, blind to aught but their own suff¡¯ring. Your presence is little pain, for living is pain enough to them.¡± I then gleaned a glint of gloom in Volker¡¯s gaze. He watched the weighty air falling upon the district in question, as though the place were a panging scar upon the sprawl of the f¨®lkheimr. ¡°That share of Hensen we set aside for the direly destitute. There, they may find succour. Though, woundful to say, they find little of it,¡± he confessed. ¡°We V¨ªlungen scant and scantle on, always with toes upon the cliff-edge to collapse. Indeed our lot is meagre; there be where our frail fortunes lay themselves barest.¡± ¡°A sight the jarl bids me see, I take it?¡± ¡°You discern his design, Man. Just as he does of something in you; something that gives him hope,¡± he said, then looking to me. ¡°Though truth be told, I share little of his sight.¡± Then, after a word of parting, Volker turned and made off on his own way. I watched him with many thoughts, sensing his gait, while tall and proud, walk a mite more slowly than before. ¡®With your eyes, see the state of our society. With your compass, judge what Man¡¯s deeds have wrought upon my people.¡¯ Though he scarce said such a thing, I well-heard Alban¡¯s bidding in my ears. And what a mountainous bidding to oblige it was. But oblige it I will. Straightening myself, I set forth into the destined district. ? I walked upon the dirt paths, delirious as they were with dingy wooden dwellings jutting every which way. Cobwebs of clothes-lines threaded around and all about without aim. And lining the waysides were scatterings of sullen and soiled folk, down on their bottoms, down on their luck, downcast, downtrodden. A shantytown, through and through, made only more dreary by the ever-growing gloom of evening. Hensen was a f¨®lkheimr formerly arising out of little else but oaken abodes of old. A mild majesty permeated it, to be sure, but none of the marvel was to be found here. True to Volker¡¯s words, no eyes gave much of their time to my presence, high-heighted and Man-like though it was. Glances might¡¯ve been given here and there, but the smallfolk¡¯s hearts certainly heeded me not. They were all of them ensnared in their daily desperation, a shared destiny brought upon them by some past tragedy. Seeing the citizenry in their squalor, I thought then how easily Mia herself might¡¯ve ended up amongst them¡ªor worse still. A place of penury, beyond any doubt. The home of the forlorn, fringefolk forgotten by the fates. Nowhere was felt the freshness of life, of vitality, of vivacity. This townscape was wholly sunken in its own sombre air. ¡°Gwagghaaaa¡ª!!¡± And through that very air: an ear-splitting scream. I jerked in its direction, finding a nondescript alleyway. Many of the nearby Naf¨ªlim, too, turned the same way, but, with only misery in their miens, moved nary a limb to go look. Theirs seemed the spirit of surrender, as if knowing that naught in their power could prove a remedy. Yet what darkened my heart most was that the scream was of a child. Unable to remain deaf to it, I stepped into the alleyway, where waiting at its end was a somewhat sizeable home. Its timbers were tumbled, its roof ragged and reclined, and its walls welcomed in the winds. ¡°Ah¡­ agh¡­ aghhaaaa!!¡± From within the abode shrieked the same vociferous voice. The doorway was doorless. Draped over it was some tattered cloth, one I quickly crossed on peril of trespassing. ¡°Ach¡­ hagh¡­ nnnggh!!¡± There, a scene to sunder to the heart. Children, all about¡ªweeping, wailing. ¡°Aaaagh! Uwghaaaahh!!¡± And the source of the screams: a young boy, flat upon a floor-laid mat. His eyes were bulging open, his lungs heaved with every scream, and his limbs were deathly tense as they waved and scratched wildly about. Near him were five other little ones, boys and girls both, clinging tremulously to each other, their cheeks wet with tears. Each was fixed upon the youth, hysterical with a sadness no child should suffer. Yet there was another girl, longer in her years than the rest, but young all the same. ¡°Brother! Oh, Brother!¡± ¡°Theo! Theo! Don¡¯t give up, Theo! Please! Plea¡ªse!¡± ¡°Uuaaah! ¡­Hic! Brother, don¡¯t di¡ªe! Waaah!¡± The collective lament of the children. Amongst them: a little sister, calling out to her frantic and fading brother. Tears coursed and coursed down her snivelling face. Clasped in her arm was a plush bear, threadbare, and poorly patched here and there with ill-matching shreds of fabric. Buttons were its eyes, though only one now remained. Crushed by pity, I but stood there, fast frozen. Rolf Buckmann, feller of the catoblepas¡ªa battle where was witnessed not a pause in his facing of the beast. An unsung merit to my name, yet in spite of it, I could do little but stand silent and stolid aface the suffering of these children. ¡°Gghhwah¡­! Aghhh¡­!¡± the screaming continued, and with it, the wails from the little ones. ¡°Brother! Don¡¯t leave us!! Please! Alma will be good from now on! Please!!¡± ¡°Uuaaaah! Waaaah!¡± ¡°Theo! Stay with us, Theo! Stay strong!¡± There¡ªcorroboration from the adolescent girl as she struggled to still the boy¡¯s thrashing spasms. Amidst her desperation was a sudden swivel of the eyes up to me. In that stare: a look I¡¯d seen never before. A look that pleaded for succour, any at all. A look that fumed with fury for the world and all. A look that was a lightning bolt upon the ice binding me in place¡ªat once, I rushed into the room, as if freshly unfettered. ¡°Clear the way! I¡¯ll hold his legs!¡± I yelled above the clamour, before catching and clamping down the boy¡¯s buffeting feet. ¡°Ughhah¡­! Gghah¡­!¡± On and on, he strained and thrashed, possessed by some demon of a distemper. I looked to the adolescent girl. ¡°Give him a thing to bite! Cloth, wood¡ªaught at all!¡± Heeding me, she glanced hurriedly about before turning to the children. ¡°Kurt! That stick there! Hand it to me! And Romy! The blue box, on the shelf! Bring it here!¡± The trembling children, too, heeded in turn, and tearfully fulfilled the girl¡¯s bidding. About the room they then scrambled in clumsy panick. I watched on, weathering the boy¡¯s wutherings, my heart sinking at the sight of their sniffling and quivering selves. ¡°You¡ªhave him bite this! My hands are needed elsewhere!¡± the eldest girl next said, thrusting the newly retrieved stick to me. With my legs holding down the boy¡¯s own, I obliged. An action fighting to fail, for the boy himself was bursting at the seams with violent strength, as if his very life were ablaze in its last moments. Only with my full and burly weight were his legs held in place. His chin fast in my hand, I then forced open his mouth and wedged the stick between his frothing teeth. ¡°Ouummhh©¤©¤! Mmmgh©¤©¤!!¡± ¡°Theo! Come, bite down!!¡± The adolescent girl, seeing the ailing boy obeying, took to hand a blue box. ¡°Hold him still! Just like that! Kurt! Come help, as well! Don¡¯t let him flail now!¡± Whilst dictating the chaos, the girl took out of the box a porcelain phial. ¡°Ugghh! Ffhhnngg©¤©¤!!¡± ¡°Brother! Brother, please!! Don¡¯t die!!¡± ¡°Theo!!¡± ¡°Oh, Brother!! Brother©¤!!¡± ¡°Waaaah! Aauuaaah!¡± The children cried. On and on, each and every one. No cheek was unflooded with tears. My face furrowed at the scene. Gasping breaths grated their way out of my lungs, as though I¡¯d fast forgotten how to breathe. An unexpected sheen of sweat was upon me¡ªmy mind, my heart, laboured away at a war unlike any I¡¯d waged before. Swimming against the tide of emotions, I continued on holding down the boy with all desperation. ¡°Theo! Be strong!¡± the eldest girl shouted. ¡°You, have the stick gone! He must drink now!¡± I did as told, gripping the boy¡¯s chin before freeing the stick from his gnashing bite. In the same moment, the girl leant in and poured into the boy¡¯s mouth a liquor from the phial. And right as the remedy was emptied, I swiftly wedged the stick back in. ¡°Gghhnnnngghh©¤©¤!!¡± A guttural groan from the boy, punctuated by a crack from the stick between his teeth. It was for the best; without it, he might¡¯ve very well bitten off his own tongue. ¡°Gghh¡­ nngghh¡­ hhghh¡­¡± And then, a peace, setting in piecemeal¡ªthe boy¡¯s mad flailing finally began to abate. If only the same were true of his eyes, which remained wide open, twitching here and there. Unsure of his condition, I continued keeping him still as best I could. ¡°Gh¡­ urh¡­¡± The moments released their tension, for at last, the boy¡¯s eyelids drew to a gentle close. And once the girl removed the stick from his mouth, all that left it then were the shallow sighs of slumber. I followed suit, freeing a deep breath from my lungs after letting myself off of the boy¡¯s once-bedevilled limbs. The children¡¯s wails had ceased. What remained were only their soft sobs. Volume 2 - CH 4.09 The curtains of night were fast fallen. With not a seam in the cloud-cloaked skies to welcome in the moonlight, the townscape was left awash in grainy eigengrau, cut only by the occasional wick-light. All the district folk had disappeared to their midnight nests. A brisk chill ran through the chirping air. I stood amidst the clean quietude, having left the children¡¯s home, and leant on the bannister by the road. It overlooked a plaza below, a space as gaping as it was lonely. ¡°Well?¡± rang a voice beside me, one belonging to the remedy-giving girl. ¡°What business welcomes a Man in this unwelcome place?¡± It was only after she¡¯d soothed and settled the children down that this girl thought to bring me out for a talk. But of course she would. Doubtless she expected no Man to appear at her moment of need¡ªmore unexpected again that he would sooner be an aid than an adversary. ¡°The name¡¯s Rolf, first off,¡± I began my answer. ¡°As for business¡ªI was come bearing tidings for the jarl.¡± ¡°Hm. Fair enough,¡± she seemed to brush off. ¡°¡®Lise¡¯ be mine. You¡¯ve a pair of helpful hands. My thanks.¡± Not upon the lithe person of this ¡°Lise¡± was there a wisp of fright for the presence of Men. Why, for one such Man did she even deign to thank for helping a spasmodic child. ¡°That boy¡­¡± I broached, recalling that very episode. ¡°The white-coath¡¯s got him, has it?¡± ¡°It has,¡± Lise sighed. ¡°He¡¯s amongst many who were poisoned¡­ not more than a winter ago.¡± ¡°White-coath¡±¡ªa ghastliness afflicting both Men and Naf¨ªlim alike, the symptoms of which were all exhibited by the poor boy. As for the cause, I hazarded a grim guess. ¡°¡­Drank from the forest headwaters, I wager.¡± ¡°You wager well. Yes¡­ Mennish realmers made it a miasma,¡± confirmed Lise, before leering slowly up at me. ¡°Remember you the waters? Fresh and cool?¡± Deep in her sidelong stare sparked embers of spite. ¡®¡­Why, we once had it done t¡¯great effect, ¡®fore your arrival¡­!¡¯ Ebbe¡¯s words. ¡­And Ebbe¡¯s wiles. A ploy to poison the headwaters within the woods, one I was swift to strike down. Only, just as he had hinted, its effectiveness was well-attested. The boy was palpable proof of it, a living and ailing victim. Though, for how much longer¡­ I ground my teeth. Once again has this war reaped from fields far from its waging. By its wantonness did innocents now suffer anew¡­ ¡­and children along with them. Little children¡ªsuffering. I let out a sigh of my own. ¡°Can¡¯t say I do; the poisoning well-happened before my coming to this land. Though¡­ I admit, I¡¯ve known of the deed for some time. And I¡¯m yet a soldier of Londosius, all told. Thus the sin stains me no less heavily.¡± ¡°Mm¡­¡± The flames faded from Lise¡¯s look. ¡°Light enough upon my scale, I say. So long as the deed wasn¡¯t yours, if true.¡± ¡°¡­Quite the generous scale you have.¡± ¡°You prefer a stricter one?¡± Her words seemed a cold dagger, quicker on the cut than on the coddle for the moping, maudlin Man before her. ¡°Nay¡­¡± I relented. ¡°It judges me just fine.¡± ¡°Be glad. Had any more heavily your sin slanted the scale, I¡¯d happily hew the weight from you.¡± Such was no middling attempt at intimidation. Hers were hands well-whetted for war-waging. And bloodied besides, perhaps¡ªfrom felling Men. That much I discerned merely from her portance. But of her heart, I then wished to discern further. Thus, through the dark, I threw my entire gaze upon her visage. And as I did, a cleft in the clouds softly courted in a shaft of moonshine. One alighting perfectly upon Lise. Amidst the luminance came a blush of warm beige about her skin, a complexion unique to the Naf¨ªlim. The fine and fair features of her face, the bright emerald of her eyes, the lily-rosiness of her lips, the gossamer-gold of her hip-length locks¡ªall lovely to behold, but what bewildered me was not that. No, not at all. For the sight of her face was one I once well-thought to be my last. The Battle of Erbelde three years past. Having undone the dam choking the tributary¡ªa Naf¨ªlim construction and counter-stratagem that saw the swelling of the Erbelde¡¯s main waters¡ªI successfully made my return to the Mareschal Tiselius¡¯ regiment. And after reporting to her the weakness in the enemy¡¯s designs, victory seemed all but clenched. Thus was the brunt of our forces ordered to drive our foes to their retreat, whilst the rest of us followed Tiselius in exiting the enemy garrison. Then and there, just as we neared the gates and regrouped with a regiment of stationed knights, we were waylaid from the shadows by a horde of Naf¨ªlim, one of whom I found myself fighting to fatal peril. My opponent: a girl of a Naf¨ªl, younger still than my then-seventeen year-old self. But in her hands was wielded undeniable prowess, daggers of deftness and speedy death. Certainly a Goliath to an ungraced. I can hear it, even now: the thrice-striking thunders of a gong, as blood issued from the slash-wound sailing across my bosom. And then¡­ ¡®¡­The curtains look to be closing¡­¡¯ ¡®¡­¡®Twas a play too-brief¡­¡¯ ¡®¡­Now¡¯s a fine time to exit stage¡­ wouldn¡¯t you say¡­?¡¯ ¡®¡­Will we meet again¡­?¡¯ ¡®¡­The playwrights willing¡­¡¯ ¡­then, did she disappear from my sight. In facing such a foe did I first know mortal fear. ¡°¡­I know you.¡± Simple words said with the very same voice from that memory. A memory, just as fresh in the mind of the girl before me. The passing of three winters now found her a blossomed young lady, betwixt sixteen and eighteen in her years. Indeed, though her facets were now well-refined, she was unmistakably the same storm-child with whom I measured blades on that fateful battlefield. ¡°And I, you,¡± I echoed. ¡°We meet again.¡± To which Lise answered with a long look upon my person, her first cutting sign of caution since my appearance. ¡°Again the curtains rise,¡± she remarked, ¡°to herald the one Man of my defeat.¡± ¡°Hm?¡± I cocked a brow. ¡°If memory serves, the defeat was mine¡ªmiserably so.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± Lise cocked both of hers. ¡°There¡¯s nonsense on your lips!¡± ¡°Nay, I¡¯ve proof enough. Here, look¡ª¡± I insisted, before shedding off my shirt to show Lise the scar of her making. ¡°Wh¡­?¡± she gasped. ¡°W-why do you bare yourself!?¡± ¡°This here. See it?¡± I looked down upon myself. ¡°A scar by your blade.¡± ¡°W-which!?¡± Lise looked away. ¡°Fewer stars line the skies than do the scars on your skin!¡± I pointed at my chest. ¡°This one, the starkest of them. A long, straight lin¡ª¡± ¡°Fine! Yes-yes! I see it! Clothe yourself already!¡± Upon her face fast came a fluster of another hue. A blunder on my part, perhaps, to bare myself so boldly. Warriors that we were, I had well-thought it proper to display the trophy of her triumph hewn into my very flesh. ¡°Apologies,¡± I said, slipping my shirt back on. ¡°I meant to say: you proved quite the sharp opponent.¡± ¡°Hmph¡­¡± Lise crossed her arms. ¡°A silly lie, that. From the lips of one sharper still, who so outsped my ambush.¡± Ambush, indeed. Just the mere recollection of it sent shivers down my spine. Instinct had saved me then. A wordless sense that something sinister¡ªor ¡°bestial¡±, more like¡ªwas shooting straight into our ranks. And it was instinct again that had forced my hand: a draw of the sword, the swing of its blade. At the end of the edge was none other than a Naf¨ªlim girl: Lise, caught in the instant before her blades could catch me, her paling having halted mine. Truth be told, had I hesitated even for an instant, that day, that battle, surely would¡¯ve been my last. ¡°I¡¯m haunted even now,¡± said my former foe, looking to have recollected the same. ¡°Tell me. What gift gave you sight enough to see my strike?¡± ¡°The gift was yours: the raging, bestial sort. I but sensed it, is all.¡± ¡°B¡­!?¡± Lise¡¯s eyes flared wide and greenly. ¡°And yours be a gift for rudeness, I sense!¡± Had she hissed, she very well might¡¯ve seemed the incensed cat. I was convinced: my choosing of words had yet to grow beyond the grace of a gutter-churl¡¯s. ¡°Ah¡­ A-apologies,¡± I scratched my head. ¡°It was a compliment, truly.¡± ¡°What frau finds flattery in ¡®raging beast¡¯, you bumble-wit!¡± ¡°One who¡¯s a warrior besides. Am I wrong?¡± ¡°No! And yes!¡± It would seem we are as cogs uncouplable, Lise and I. Regardless, such was my reunion with an old opponent, with whom I once exchanged swings and thrusts swift enough to sunder the winds. But between us now were stilled breezes and broken moonlight. A miracle of a re-meeting well-earning my joy. Volume 2 - CH 4.10 Under dimly lilting moonlight, Lise and I continued on with our conversation. In its course, I related to her the reason for my arrival here in Hensen. The surprise on her face was, by this point, no surprise to me. My position as Balasthea¡¯s acting commandant, my desire to stay the imminent slaughter of Hensen¡¯s innocents¡ªto Lise, it was one whelming revelation after another. What a wayward Man I must¡¯ve seemed to her. Only after I recounted my audience with the Jarl Alban did she at last nod convincedly. ¡°A liking he¡¯s likely taken to you, that father of mine.¡± The pendulum of surprise now swung my way. Never could I have thought the jarl¡¯s own daughter to be the damsel standing beside me. Just as Volker had revealed, this exact district was purposed for the welfare of Hensenfolk harried by disease and destitution. Though from the look of things, the welfare had long waned to a wisp of its requisite vigour. Hence why the district was graced with the presence of Alban¡¯s own bloodkin: at his behest was it made Lise¡¯s charge, to lend ear to the needs of its needy, to secure succour for its fates-spurned citizens. I gave a convinced nod myself as Lise further explained the plight of this place. By her words, the children earlier were without parents. How such came to be, Lise seemed short of spirit to say. Not that I could blame her; merely guessing conjured echoes in my ears¡ªthose of the children¡¯s cries. How bitter their young tears must¡¯ve been, to find one day their parents forever parted from them. And given the fraughtness of the folk here, I could not imagine any with means enough to take the orphans in as their own. So it was that those children lived on in a home of only children. That the little ones yet drew breath was thanks in no small part to Lise and her colleagues. On the daily did they visit the broken home, taking turns to look after the children and to provide provisions as needed, that the little ones might live with some semblance of comfort. Still, I could see in Lise¡¯s eyes that their pitiful lot yet warranted much worry, as amongst the children was the boy beset by white-coath. A fortune as foul as it was fickle, for there was no knowing when another spasmodic episode might assail him. ¡°The physick you gave the boy,¡± I recalled, ¡°one pays with whole purses for just a potion of it, no?¡± ¡°Purses and more,¡± Lise replied. ¡°Though we V¨ªlungen are ever light of purse. Such heavy remedies be hard-bought.¡± But bought nonetheless. For to willingly scribe the boy¡¯s name on the long list of the war-lost exacted a price unpayable by any purse. This, Lise went on to say. And with her did I share the same mind. But in doing so was a new weight of the war heavy upon my shoulders. Burdened, I let my gaze fall. It was then that something caught my eye. In the emptied plaza below, a peculiarity¡ªsome structure, like a watchtower, whittled down to a minute scale. ¡­Nay. It seemed more an altar, affixed with a roof of its own. And under it¡­ an offering of some sort? To the v?ttir spirits, perhaps? ¡°That, down there in the plaza,¡± I pointed. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Ah, that,¡± said Lise, as if lifted by the new topic. ¡°Care to have a look?¡± A ¡°look¡±? Was it really some reliquary on public display? I couldn¡¯t help but oblige, ever blindly curious for folkways unfamiliar. With a nod, I followed Lise down the path before descending a set of steps. Planted at the plaza, we approached the tabernacle-like construction. There, beneath meagre rafters, piercing straight up out of a platform, was a sword. Dedications of the bladed sort are by no means outlandish in any land. Here, however, outlandishness was in the sword itself: from edge to edge, ridge to pommel, a weapon subsumed by its own stark-sable skin. Like a gaping void gouged into the very air, taking what silhouette but that of a sword, beckoning belookers to the bottomless blackness within. Indeed, a curiosity counter to all convention. ¡°What¡¯s this¡­?¡± I wondered aloud, doubting my eyes. ¡°¡­It seems a sword, and yet¡­¡± ¡°That, we call sv?rtaskan¡­¡± Lise confirmed, ¡°¡­the soot-steel.¡± Soot? To once again come across it in so far a place as these foe-lands¡ªevidently, the fates found it mete to further steep my lot in the lightless ash. ¡°Blacker than aught and all I¡¯ve seen before. It swallows all sight,¡± I observed, staring at the sword with all intensity. ¡°What composes it?¡± ¡°Aschenblei¡ªthe wayward iron, twice heavier than silver.¡± Raised were my brows. ¡°¡®Aschenblei¡¯? I¡¯ve read of it. ¡®Wolfsteel¡¯¡ªor ¨²lfst¨¢l, as they call it in the Hinternorth, if memory serves.¡± My thoughts turned to the dusty texts, wherein was described the selfsame metal. A ghost of a rarity, the existence of wolfsteel finds few believers in Londosius. But those in the know are privy to the discoveries of actual ore specimens, scant though they may be. And this they say: it is the heaviest and hardest of all known metals in this mortal plane. On and on, I looked all along the length of bladed darkness. ¡°Though the books give a grey lustre to the lupine metal. Not the abyssal black I see before me.¡± ¡°It was grey. Once upon a time, at least,¡± Lise revealed. ¡°The sword¡ª¡®tis ashened.¡± ¡­¡¯Ashened,¡¯ she said? What ash could so solidly sustain the form of a sword? The questions only piled up in my pate. ¡°Our tales tell of a battle here, once held betwixt two dragons¡ªthe gamalldrekinn Gweil¡¯?rr and the kyndandrekinn J?yf?¡ªin the far days of the T¨ªvaforn¨¢r,¡± Lise explained. ¡°¡®Twas in the throes that Gweil¡¯?rr¡¯s baleful breath bore down upon the earth. And bathed in the flames: this very sword.¡± Her recital sorted squarely with the old sagas. Gweil¡¯?rr, elder dragon, judged magick to be a misbegotten creation, a rogue run flowing straight astray from the erstwhile workings of life itself. And thus not few were the depictions of discord between he and J?yf?, a like dragon, but of an unlike mind. For it was this same J?yf? who kindled the seier, mother-spark of all magicks. Here, too, at where would become Hensen did the two dragons break and burn the land with their battling. And by Lise¡¯s retelling, this sword was seared to soot in the process. ¡°¡­What little legendaria I¡¯ve come across do indeed describe Gweil¡¯?rr¡¯s flames as possessing heat enough to ¡®turn steel to ash¡¯, as it were,¡± I remarked. ¡°To think¡ªit was more fact than fiction all this time.¡± Or a forgery, perhaps? Before me, a mere mimickry of the myths? Yet I could only conclude to the contrary. To behold with my naked eyes a material memory of mythical antiquity¡ªit was all more than enough to send my heart dancing up to the clouds. ¡°W-well¡­ a chronicler I¡¯m not, you should know. I but echoed our oral traditions; whether they ring true or no is anyone¡¯s guess,¡± Lise quickly tempered my expectations. ¡°The sv?rtaskan seems ashened, sure enough. But how that came to be, of dragon-fire and bygone battles, is all just an old tale.¡± ¡°A tale I well-wish were true.¡± As it must be. This, my hunch told me, however hushed it may have been. For while it was certain that the soot-sword¡¯s blackness blocked all sight, it could not conceal its own fey nature. ¡°Tales aside, ashened ¨²lfst¨¢l fascinates no less¡­¡± I went on. ¡°Its natural endurance is matched by no other metal known. Yet, to be tempered further still? It baffles the mind.¡± ¡°Baffling, yes. But a marvel? Who can know? We, its stewards, certainly cannot. None amongst our remembered generations have ever wielded this, you see,¡± Lise confessed. ¡°The hilt, the blade¡ªone touches the blacksword on peril of piercing pain¡­ and burns most terrible to behold.¡± ¡°With just a touch?¡± I said, instinctively leaning away from the sable specimen. ¡°Truly, now?¡± ¡°Yes, truly. A truth tested to our woe. Neither glove nor gauntlet even avails. And so here it stands¡ªunmoved, unchanged.¡± A sword suffering no wielder, scorning and scorching any hand laid upon it¡ªyet another affrighting facet to this witch of a weapon. But¡­ why? Why was it, that in spite of its spurning grimness, I could not bear to break my gaze away from it? I felt then as if spellbound to its boundless blackness. As though my very soul were being sucked into an abyss. ¡°Though like all swords, it might¡¯ve known a master once. Our myths also remember soot asail behind each swing of the blade,¡± Lise added. ¡°¡®Soot-steep¡¯d be he who holds fast this fey-sword,¡¯ they further say.¡± ¡°¡­Hence ¡®soot-steel¡¯. Convincing enough.¡± The black weapon waits. Such was what I espied after hearing much of what little was known of it. But if wait it does, then for what? For whom? And in this den of the destitute, of all places? A quicksand of questions, one I was pulled out of not by an answer, but by a sense of being watched by eyes from above. There, up on the path where Lise and I were less than a while ago, stood a silhouette, rotund and familiar to my eyes: Berta, one of the attendant war-chiefs of the jarl. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Aschenblei (Language: German) ¡°Ashen-lead¡±. In Soot-Steeped Knight, one of multiple names for wolfsteel. J?yf? (Phonology: reconstructed Old Norse) As there is no j consonant (as in ¡°just¡± or ¡°jail¡±) in Old Norse, the letter ? is used instead. The y vowel is pronounced with an u sound, as in the words ¡°tune¡± and ¡°June¡±. The f consonant is pronounced with a v sound (due to its placement in the middle of the word), as in ¡°voice¡± or ¡°village¡±. The ? vowel is pronounced with an a sound, as in ¡°apple¡± or ¡°angry¡±. Thus J?yf? is pronounced joo-vaa. Kyndandrekinn (Language: Old Norse) ¡°Kindling-dragon¡±. The y vowel is pronounced with an u sound, as in the words ¡°tune¡± and ¡°June¡±. The r consonant is pronounced with a short trilled or rolling r. Seier (Language: Old Norse) A divination magic practised by the Norse. Male practitioners of seier were scorned, as it was largely held to be a female occupation. In the Poetic Edda, Loki is depicted accusing Odin of being a practitioner. The e consonant is pronounced with a voiced th, as in ¡°this¡± or ¡°then¡±. The r consonant is pronounced with a short trilled or rolling r. In Soot-Steeped Knight, seier refers to what could be the precursor to odyl and magick. Sv?rtaskan (Language: Old Norse) ¡°Black-ash¡±. A kenning for the sword of soot. Note that this is not the true name of the weapon (which remains unknown), but simply an old, poetic term that refers to it. Other kennings will include ¡°black-blade¡±, ¡°black-bough¡±, ¡°soot-steel¡±, and so on. The ? vowel is a rounded o sound, pronounced with a cross between the o sounds in the words ¡°on¡± and ¡°old¡±. The r consonant is pronounced with a short trilled or rolling r. T¨ªvaforn¨¢r (Language: Old Norse) The ¡°age of the gods¡±. The f consonant is pronounced with a v sound (due to its placement in the middle of the word), as in ¡°voice¡± or ¡°village¡±. The r consonant is pronounced with a short trilled or rolling r. In Soot-Steeped Knight, an era of bygone antiquity. Presumably inspired by the Kamiyo of Japanese mythology; if so, the T¨ªvaforn¨¢r may refer to a time when gods and other divine/supernatural beings yet freely roamed the world. ¨²lfst¨¢l (Language: Old Norse) ¡°Wolf-steel¡±. The f consonant is pronounced with a v sound (due to its placement in the middle of the word), as in ¡°voice¡± or ¡°village¡±. In Soot-Steeped Knight, a rare metal of extreme density and durability. Possibly cognate with tungsten, or ¡°wolfram¡±, which has the meaning of ¡°wolf¡¯s soot¡± or ¡°wolf¡¯s cream¡± in German. Volume 2 - CH 4.11 ¡°Lise!¡± came a call ringing clear through the night. ¡°Is that you there?¡± ¡°Berta! You¡¯ve come!¡± answered Lise, whereupon a pall of mirth bloomed on her cheeks, and with it, a breeziness to her bounding feet as she flew back up the steps. I traced her trail, arriving a moment later. ¡°How now,¡± Berta¡¯s brows arched, sighting me over Lise¡¯s shoulder. ¡°What has brought you here of all places?¡± ¡°The jarl¡¯s bidding, evidently. He seemed rather intent on showing me the plight of your people,¡± I explained, before glancing to Lise. ¡°Though meeting his daughter along the way was mere coincidence.¡± ¡°Coincidence, you say? Well, hardly queer given the day¡¯s course! Ho ho!¡± chuckled Berta, patting her belly in good humour. For her part, Lise looked back and forth between us in wonder. ¡°Ah¡ªacquainted already, I see.¡± The chatter carried on as we all wended our way back to the children¡¯s home, during which I learnt that Berta, too, shared in Lise¡¯s worries for this district. Dire amongst them was the dilemma of the children themselves, deprived of parents as they were. It was for that reason that Berta gave much of her time to tend to their troubled abode. ¡°Rather rare of late, Theo¡¯s symptoms?¡± Berta asked. ¡°A peek of the sun through grey clouds, were it so from here on.¡± ¡°Berta¡­¡± Lise greyly began, ¡°¡­Theo, he¡¯s suffered a spasm earlier.¡± A gasp. ¡°He what!? H-how fares he now!?¡± The war-chief¡¯s cheer was all but withered at once. In its place: a panicked portance, the first I¡¯d seen sallowing her, and as well, a testament to how dearly she tasked her heart to the little ones. ¡°The physick proved the fix,¡± Lise soothed. ¡°He sleeps soundly.¡± ¡°G-goodness¡­ Oh, goodness¡­!¡± Berta freed her bated breaths. But the relief did little to stay her newfound haste as she hurried on inside the home. Voices of joy soon jumped from the abode¡¯s many mouseholes and hollows. ¡°A¡ªh! It¡¯s Auntie Berta!¡± ¡°Berta! Berta!¡± Inside, a single lantern was lit. Shadows once still now danced as the children were roused. ¡°Now, now, not too loudly. Theo needs his rest,¡± said Berta, before bending down to her knees. ¡°To me, my dears!¡± Not a second later and the little ones were lilting and laughing all around the rotund woman. Vivid on all their visages were sunny smiles. A moment of joy against the dreariness, one that well-revealed Berta¡¯s belovedness. ¡°Auntie, Auntie!¡± one amongst the children called. ¡°Me and Nora ran errands today! Just the two of us!¡± ¡°Well, aren¡¯t you both a dependable pair!¡± Berta beamed more brightly. ¡°You lost not your way, did you, dear?¡± A giggle. ¡°Almost!¡± ¡°Auntie! Can I massage your shoulders? Lise said I¡¯m good at it!¡± a little boy boasted. ¡°Did she, now? Well then, let¡¯s measure how much of a masseur you be!¡± From a little further in rose a rustle. A boy, once flat on a floormat, slowly awoke to the disquieted air. Curious, he rubbed his eyes and looked about, breaking a great grin upon finding Berta. ¡°Auntie!¡± he shouted brightly. ¡°Theo, dear! You¡¯re up!¡± Berta returned. ¡°Goodness, forgive the clamour. How fare you, my little champion?¡± ¡°Never felt better!¡± Amidst the merry commotion, one of the children caught sight of me as I stood beside the doorway. The young pair of eyes sparkled with awe, as though discovering a curio. ¡°Ah! You¡¯re the mister from before!¡± That one pair was now many, as all in the home set their gazes upon me. ¡°Oh? Is that a Man?¡± Theo wondered aloud. ¡°First I¡¯ve seen with my eyes.¡± ¡°That he is,¡± Lise assured him, and everyone else next. ¡°A Man¡ªand my friend.¡± ¡°Lise has a new friend?¡± echoed one of the children. I bowed. ¡°The name¡¯s Rolf. A pleasure.¡± ¡°Nice to meet you, mister!¡± The home was then aflutter with further greetings from the little ones. A cheery exchange, to be sure, during which I well-learnt one thing: the grown ones here were not wont to teach their young the foe-like fearfulness of Man-folk. ¡®¡­We judge for what a heart beats¡­ ¡­not what blood courses through it¡­¡¯ Now more than ever did Volker¡¯s words ring true. ¡°Auntie, Auntie! Will you stay tonight?¡± ¡°Hmm,¡± Berta gave half a moment¡¯s thought before teasingly half-nodding. ¡°Mayhaps.¡± ¡°Ya¡ªy!¡± The children then chirped and jumped for joy. After having their fill of frolicking, they gathered once more around the girth of their dear auntie. And what girth indeed, for each of the five children was snug and sound in Bertha¡¯s wide embrace. The war-chief glowed with the mirth of a mother as she went on lending ear to all the little ones¡¯ words, no matter how incoherent, no matter how trifling. A sight of precious serenity, which, upon meeting her eyes, earned a soft smile from Lise¡¯s lips. ? The dusky hour fell deeper still, till the little ones were all of them fast asleep, their springtide vitality well-sapped from many an impassioned prattle had with their auntie. ¡°You seem the mother-tree to these children, were they faeries,¡± I remarked, as we three adults were all sat anear the waning lantern. ¡°Oho!¡± Berta¡¯s shoulders lifted with subdued laughter. ¡°A fair little faerie Lise was, too, in her time.¡± ¡°B-Berta!¡± came Lise¡¯s gust of a whisper. ¡°I-I¡¯m grown now. A frau full-graduated from frolicking ¡®round you all day!¡± ¡°You are, at that,¡± Berta¡¯s voice fell. ¡°Ah, the days.¡± Words brushed with nostalgia, but warmed by pride beneath. To the war-chief, there was perhaps no joy greater than the growth of the many youths of her charge. ¡°You¡¯ve long looked after such lost children, I take it?¡± I asked her. ¡°You take aright. My body be barren, see,¡± Berta confessed, hand upon her belly. ¡°I once walked the warrior¡¯s way, but when my heart saw the hurt in our poor children, my feet found another path.¡± ¡°Another path, you say¡­¡± I knew anew then, that in this world so awash in blood feuds, there were yet folk who walked the difficult path of dignity. Folk who, with nary a whisper of doubt in their hearts, yet saw immense meaning in defending the meek and miserable. Besides Berta, there was Eva and the matron Irma at the orphanage. Lise, too, bore this weighty lustre no less brightly. Such knowledge served a great solace. Thereafter did we mingle further on myriad matters. In its course, I found myself deeply moved by the very moment: sworn enemies sat beside one another, amidst the waxing bellows of war abroad, exchanging not blows and curses, but common interests and concerns. From the climate of this corner of the world, to the histories of both Men and Naf¨ªlim¡ªconversations most benign, continuing from one topic to another without wane. How pleasant they were, Lise and Berta. In spite of all the turmoil exacted upon their people, they yet found reason for friendliness with their foe. It was then that I revealed myself to be an ungraced¡ªa Man void of the odyl so instilled in all nascent Naf¨ªlim. Lise had, for the longest time, wondered why it was that her neck was spared of my sword-strike¡ªnot once, but twice¡ªin the fading moments of the Battle of Erbelde. The reason, too, I related to her. The deed very well bared my mortal flaw. Passing strange that I felt not a hint of hesitation in telling them of it. ¡°So that¡¯s why!¡± ¡°Oh! You poor thing. A trying life you have trod.¡± The revelation seemed to stir neither sight nor scent of antipathy from the two. Expected, for the Naf¨ªlim were no lambs of Yon¨¢. Still, their lack of scorn was a breath of fresh air. Berta turned to me, aglow in gladness as I was. ¡°Ah, yes. Your earlier counsel¡ªthe jarl heeds it,¡± she reported. ¡°The west-side folk evacuate as we speak.¡± ¡°It¡¯s started, now?¡± I said with genuine surprise. ¡°Your jarl¡¯s hands are as swift as his ears.¡± It was no later than noontide when I entreated the jarl to prepare his people for the Fiefguard¡¯s coming foray. Yet to begin the evacuation before the day has even turned well-betrayed my expectation. ¡°That he is! Long in his years he may be, but the passing winters only whet further his wits,¡± Berta nodded. ¡°And your counsel was mete enough for his measure. The evacuation proceeds from the west gate on. Come next morrow, this very district moves, as well.¡± ¡°And you came to tell the elders of this, Berta?¡± Lise asked. ¡°I did. Only, our words waxed too deep into the dusk; everyone went to sleep before we finished,¡± the war-chief chuckled. ¡°And so I stay the night here. But at dawn, we move and I lead.¡± ¡°That settles it, then. I¡¯ll stay the night, as well,¡± Lise decided with a smile. I then thought to bid my goodbyes, seeing as the hour of sleep had set in. Only¡­ ¡­a chill next ran down my spine. ¡°Mm? Rolf?¡± The mirth upon Lise¡¯s lips had hardly faded, as faint in the west window behind her¡­ ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± ¡­was the hum of an ill-light. My eyes darted to the children nearby, deep in their safe slumber. The fragile sight sent me shooting up to my feet. Turning my back to Lise¡¯s inquiring voice, I then thundered out of the house, and as soon as I could, set my eyes to the western skies. The ill-light was no illusion. For it was red. And roaring. The f¨®lkheimr was aflame. My ears next corroborated the omen¡ªfrom the distance, the dim din of bellicose howls and hoofbeats. Lise and Berta both were soon beside me, aghast at the grimness. In their wide eyes, too, was the reflection of red-rife skies. The jarl was quick, but his foes were quicker, for it was evident that the very day I had set off from Balasthea was the same as the Fiefguard¡¯s opening march. There was no doubt, then. Londosius¡¯ lions of war were come to hunt. Volume 2 - CH 5.1 Scars of grey rose into the red night. The smell of smoke¡ªalready had the Fiefguard sown fire within the first houses at Hensen¡¯s west end. Likely the gate defences were breached with ease, a fault of too little time to muster against the march of Men¡­ A march no doubt tasking its thousands of feet to Hensen¡¯s very centre. I turned. ¡°Berta, the evacuation?¡± ¡°By this hour¡­ the homes nigh the west gate should be well-emptied!¡± she confirmed. ¡°And left in them: the folk¡¯s valuables! Just as you proposed!¡± Good. Some time was bought. Having marched all this way, the Fiefguardsmen were surely starved for spoils. Fair to say, theirs would be a march slowed by their own rampant ransacking and arsonry. ¡°Then the west gate is exactly where the Fiefguard must be dammed. Lest¡­¡± Berta¡¯s brows rose. ¡°¡­Lest they flood into this very district¡­!¡± The keen calculation of a war-chief. And quick: already did she foresee the Fiefguard¡¯s projected paths. The margrave¡¯s swine could scarce keep a straight march now that they¡¯ve filed into their feeding trough. Indeed, the chain of command leashing in the Fiefguard was loose at best: what should¡¯ve been a coherent column focused on felling the f¨®lkheimr¡¯s heart was instead a splash of soldiers, disparate divisions now out to pillage as they please. A hazard of a guess, sure, but if the erratic smoke plumes were any indication, I¡¯d say the horde¡¯s own haphazardry had well-got the best of them. Hence should Hensen¡¯s centre remain reasonably safe in the meanwhile. But the same couldn¡¯t be said of the other districts, where evacuations had scant time to start¡ªdistricts, not unlike the one I stood within. Braves were needed here, and soon, to protect the people in their flight from the Fiefguard¡¯s warpath. The exigency was hardly lost upon Lise. ¡°This district is defenceless¡­!¡± she cried. ¡°I must find my father! To sue for soldiers!¡± Not a second later did she set off like lightning. Time was of the essence; the populace must be moved whilst the Men were yet mired in their own mammon. ¡°Volker and his spears are swift; already they make for the west gate, I think,¡± said Berta. ¡°I remain here, to protect this plot and await the coming of my braves!¡± ¡°Then I¡¯ll make for the west gate myself,¡± I said, before turning to head off. ¡°Fates smile upon you, Berta.¡± ¡°Young fellow,¡± she called, ¡°you mean to face the Fiefguard?¡± I knew well what she wished to say. Confront the kin of my kingdom¡ªand what then? Cut them down? Me? An ungraced? With what? The sword I¡¯d surrendered at the west gates? Indeed. This fool¡¯s path is fraught. Fatal, even. But a deed to be done, must be. ¡°That¡¯s the plan,¡± was my answer as I broke off westward. ¡°But I¡¯ll join Volker before I do!¡± ¡°Tread lightly, lad!¡± With Berta¡¯s words a tailwind to my haste, I left the languished district, full-knowing that the end of this night would find my fortunes forever changed. ? I arrived at the west end, only to come upon cliff-faces of fire. What were once homes were now husks of blazing ash, for hardly any hewn stone had ever buttressed a hall of Hensen. Thus was the simple spark a fell foe to this old and oaken f¨®lkheimr. ¡°There! In the left wing¡ªsorcerers! Silence them!¡± cried a command from horseback. ¡°Let not another home be torch¡¯d!¡± The voice of valiant Volker. Berta had thought right: he and his spears were keen to cut off the Fiefguard¡¯s westborn advance right at the mouth of their flooding. ¡°Volker!¡± I roared above the raging battle. The nearby Naf¨ªlim fighters then fixed their fury upon me, a Man appearing anew in their midst. But with a hand raised high, Volker stayed their spite. ¡°Rolf! You are come!¡± the war-chief spoke, rounding his steed to my side. ¡°Would that our quickness match¡¯d your counsel¡¯s correctness: the western defences we muster¡¯d too slowly. And now we pay.¡± ¡°Nay, it was I who should¡¯ve paid! More mind to the margrave¡¯s bloodlust!¡± I reprimanded myself. ¡°The evacuation! Is it done with!?¡± ¡°Here, yes. Elsewhere, no. What of it?¡± In the war-chief¡¯s words: a yet undiminished distrust for the wayward Man before him. But for Hensen to stand in the light of the next dawn, cooperation was key. ¡°The fires!¡± I exclaimed. ¡°Leave them to burn! And should the Men set flames anew, let them!¡± Volker narrowed his eyes. ¡°Let them what?¡± ¡°The Fiefguard ill-foresees how speedily the flames spread! Not before have they fought in so oaken a place as this! They know only the stones of Arbel!¡± I explained amidst a battlefield of embers and bellowing warriors. Volker kept quiet, training his ears to my every word. ¡°The buildings ablaze¡ªthey¡¯re more a labyrinth barring the Fiefguard¡¯s advance than aught else! Have your braves form a deep column¡ªdraw back and let the Men give chase!¡± Writ then on the war-chief¡¯s face was not incredulousness, but calculated consideration: he let a hand alight upon his chin, and after a half-moment, turned to his spears. ¡°Change of plans! Harry not the sorcerers!¡± he ordered them anew. ¡°Reform ¡®round the centre! Deep column, deep column!¡± Volker¡ªa commander swift of sense, a gust veering to every advantage. His spearmen as well; theirs were movements much honed. Likely the lay of the townscape itself was mapped in their very minds. With precise paces, they spread and rearrayed themselves into a deep formation, contracting back in as the adjustment was underway. Their ranks were now almost as filled as their files. ¡°Get back ¡®ere, ye devils!¡± ¡°Hahaha! Be cleansed, filth!¡± Grim glee from the Fiefguardsmen, mixed in with rumbling hoofbeats as they galloped after the reforming Naf¨ªlim. But their offensive would prove fangless: the Men¡¯s indulgences in avarice and arsonry had left their formations fragmented. With Volker¡¯s warriors winding back whilst deeply ranked, only a few of the Fiefguard¡¯s forces were in immediate position to bite at the bait that was the Naf¨ªlim flanks. And bite they did, though their craving was quenched with woe: overextended, the ambitious Men were soon skewered by bristling maws of Naf¨ªlim spears. ¡°Gagh¡­!¡± ¡°Uwagh!?¡± The air of battle, newly delirious with death screams. The sights and sounds of their fallen fellows all but incensed the frothing Men. They had come, expecting more a campaign of ill-contested conquest than a hard-fought foray. And their sizeable headcount of a hundred-score was reason enough to expect a poor challenge, to say nothing of the fields of fire they had sown, the searing light of which had swollen their pride. Indeed, they had full trust in their own triumph¡ªan arrogance swiftly answered with Naf¨ªlim aggression. Felled, the too-foolhardy amongst the Fiefguardsmen were now as feed for worms, an indignance ill-suffered: the remaining Men next roused their steeds and swords both, and broke into a charge. But Volker¡¯s braves were undisturbed as they dealt back deathblows. ¡°Gwahagh!?¡± Lag-wits, laid low by a lesson in humility. In fright and fury both, the surrounding Fiefguardsmen then pulled back their ranks to attempt a regrouping. The ploy turned no profit, for barring them now were fiery billows of their own making. ¡°Captain! We¡¯ve lost footing! The fires¡ªthey trap the rear right wing!¡± ¡°Bloody shite!¡± Confusion flashed through the Fiefguard¡¯s files. Still, the art of soldiery was not wholly lost to them. Whipped into action by barks from their commanders, the Men immediately began fixing their formations. A moment, just a moment, was all they required. But it was ungiven: Volker was void of charity. His foes baring their vulnerability to all nakedness, the war-chief issued his next orders. ¡°Wind-spells! Three volleys! Strike the front to the right flank! Fire! Fire!¡± Volker vociferated. ¡°Horse-braves, to me! Charge! Cha¡ªrge!¡± Time and place were pounced upon to perfection. In their self-inflicted chaos, the Fiefguard¡¯s right half was left conspicuously shallow, a brief opening into which were poured the spells of the Naf¨ªlim. Men were marred and unmade, as mercilessly did Volker and his cavalry next crash into their foes¡¯ cracked columns. ¡°Draw back, men! Draw back!¡± There: the Fiefguard regiment began retracting its pruned and panicked ranks. ¡°Hold!¡± the war-chief shouted. ¡°Let them run! We regroup!¡± His mind knew enough caution not to commit his foes¡¯ same mistakes. His braves cut off the chase and reformed¡ªa sound decision. In spite of its success, Volker¡¯s contingent could not compare to the Fiefguard¡¯s numbers. Fighting in this flaming battlefield, harrying the Men into awkward corners, barring their advance with deeply formed ranks¡ªthese stratagems gave the Naf¨ªlim advantage enough to overcome the contest of quantity. An advantage dearly lost were they to wantonly pursue the scrambling Men into more open spaces. No force of many files can so keep an unmanacled march through flaming, Byzantine corridors. Much consideration must be given to where clashes might occur. Like a well-tended garden, the battlefield must be as a thing curated and configured with all care. The Fiefguard stand to win by numbers, thus numbers must be made the source of their undoing. This was Volker¡¯s thought, his way to victory. But it was a way hard-trod. Having little, the Naf¨ªlim here were tested to their limits, and their faces showed it. All well and fine to fight back a larger force with tactics deft and devious, but to keep the fight with dwindled numbers dwindling on¡ªthat was a weight overbearing upon the braves¡¯ few shoulders. And that¡¯s to say nothing of the folk they must defend. To leave the west end would tempt an end of a different sort for the districts yet to be evacuated of its citizens. I approached the war-chief, having witnessed the winding back of the Fiefguard¡­ and knowing it was soon that they would return for a reprisal. ¡°Your braves battle well, but I can¡¯t see them lasting long¡ªnot with these numbers,¡± I warned Volker. ¡°I dread the same,¡± he confessed. ¡°But there is hope: reinforcements come as we speak. Hold here, and victory vanishes not from us.¡± Tidings a sweet solace to the ears. Numbers were these Naf¨ªlim¡¯s most glaring shortcoming. Should it be shored up, they well-stood to smite the Fiefguard full-sore, enough to send the Men hence from Hensen¡¯s sight. I looked to where such reinforcements might come, till my eyes caught a distant glimpse of a Naf¨ªl, collapsed and unconscious before an unburnt house. One of the smallfolk, it seemed, one too late in vacating the area. To the poor soul I ran, breaking away from Volker¡¯s contingent. Volume 2 - CH 5.2 Across the embattled townscape I sprinted, clearing fences and cutting through the thoroughfare before arriving at an unburnt block of houses. My destination: a Naf¨ªl lying limp upon the dirt. Quickly I rounded by, finding him a fellow greyed by a great many winters. Kneeling down, I helped him off the ground¡­ ¡°Fates be cruel¡­¡± ¡­only to feel no life in him. His head drooped back, baring a throat slashed redly through. ¡°Hwoah! ¡®Allo! Now ¡®ere¡¯s a surprise, yea!¡± A yelp from within the nearest home. Out of its rammed-in doorway then issued a squad of soldiers: five figures, each enrobed in reams of silver armour, which cast cold lights from the far-off fires. And their faces bore features familiar to my eyes¡ªEbbe¡¯s men. Though not amongst them was the vice-commandant himself to be found. Fast in their fists were handfuls of fineries: purses, pendants, and what seemed a comb of agate. Trinkets and treasures, all wrenched from the very home they quitted. And the elderly Naf¨ªl in my arms: its former master, maimed upon meeting them at the foyer. A sneer toothily glinted from the middlemost¡ªand youngest¡ªof the men. ¡°Well! If it ain¡¯t the Commandant! Wot¡¯s yer arse reekin¡¯ ¡®bout all th¡¯way out ¡®ere, eh?¡± ¡­Karl. Cantankerous, conniving Karl. That grime-teethed grin of his was as unfading as a filth-stain upon a long disused latrine. I let rest the coldending corpse and rose, requiting Karl¡¯s question with a scowl. ¡°You fort-men are awfully far from your fort. I would hear why,¡± I sternly said. As I should. Standing guard at Balasthea was their given charge, not marching along with the likes of the margrave¡¯s men. To leave their post so capriciously was an action I¡¯d forbidden more than once. ¡°Non non! Me lips ask¡¯d first,¡± Karl wagged his head and finger both. ¡°Wot ye be doin¡¯ out ¡®ere in this shite-shire, eh? Actin¡¯ Commandant Rolf Buckmann!¡± My eyes narrowed at him. ¡°Your commander asked you a question, Sergeant Karl. You will answer at once.¡± The youth yielded a full-mouthed sigh, next taking up a tinge of theatrics in his demeanour. ¡°Oh, ye bastard o¡¯ a Man,¡± he said, shaking his head again. ¡°Can scarce find a kindred spirit ¡®mongst us, so ye came crawlin¡¯ ¡®ere, all t¡¯sell yer soul t¡¯these devils, ¡®ave ye?¡± ¡°¡®Soul¡¯ be a profanity upon your lips, Karl. I see the sins you¡¯ve savoured here,¡± I countered, then pointed to him. ¡°That agate comb you clutch¡­ it is a gift from a Naf¨ªlim husband to his wife, a commemoration of fifty winters endured together. That husband is now this very corpse¡ªcut down by the devil before me.¡± From Karl¡¯s throat, a false gasp. ¡°Ah¡­ so thass why. Well-explains the nanna¡¯s wild weepin¡¯¡­ when I filch¡¯d it from ¡®er fingers! Ahah! The devils! Commemoratin¡¯! ¡­Makes me vomit, it does.¡± My own fingers rolled fast into fists, quaking along with my clenched teeth. The wife, too, was dead, then¡ªanother corpse added to Karl¡¯s nefarious count. The youth himself hung a corner of his lips even higher upon spying my spite. A glee also glimpsed on the faces of the other four. ¡°Oy, ¡®e¡¯s lost it, lads. ¡®E really ¡®as. Methinks ¡®e were misbegot¡¯n¡ªshat out o¡¯ th¡¯wrong mam, ¡®e were,¡± Karl sighed, before flinging his own sword down at my feet. I gave it but a glance. ¡°What farce is this?¡± ¡°Farce? No. A fight. Come on, Commandant. ¡®Ave at it. It be yours,¡± he coaxed. ¡°I¡¯m Karl, Yon¨¢¡¯s blade ¡®gainst these wicked Naf¨ªlim devils, an¡¯ a proud crusader well-gilt in honour¡ªhonour ¡®nough not t¡¯wag swords with a swordless Man, even were ¡®e an ungraced good-fer-nothin¡¯ like yerself.¡± The Ebbe-brutes whistled for their wunderkind, whose lips were crooked with a self-content simper. Indeed, his was a face drunk with foul justice, fair only to himself and his fellow lambs. Sickened by the sight, I took up the sword, only to toss it back to its master¡¯s feet. ¡°¡­The sheen of this farce has faded little. You¡¯re but a choirboy, Karl. One costuming a crusader, come to plunder common curios as though they be relics for your toybox reliquary,¡± I retorted. ¡°You know very well I¡¯ve no odyl of my own. A vauntless victory is all you¡¯ll savour from one whose sword scarce reaches that silver armour of yours.¡± ¡°Oh¡­ thass right. Yon¨¢ save me, I misspake. Ye was good fer somethin¡¯, wasn¡¯t ye, Commandant?¡± Karl coyly cooed as he came close. ¡°Good¡­ fer rousin¡¯ me veins!¡± His fist flew fast at my face. I flung forth my arms, damming the assault, but not the burst of odyl that followed, for Karl and his kinsmen were all of them bedight to their fingers and toes in silver. An ill-fortune that found me blown clear back. Into the ground I crashed and tumbled. ¡°Gagh¡­ hhah¡­!¡± ¡°¡®Nother question fer ye¡­ ye cockless cock-¡¯bout,¡± Karl continued, strutting his way to me as I laid in a daze. Nearing by, he bent down and pulled me back up by the hair, bringing my face close to his sputtering mouth. ¡°Wot props up that pride o¡¯ yers, hm? I haven¡¯t got th¡¯noggin¡¯ to understand why, Commandant. Really, I ¡®aven¡¯t. Why act so ¡®igh an¡¯ mighty? When yer as mild an¡¯ meek as a limpin¡¯ pauper!?¡± An unmitigated jab, driven straight into my abdomen. ¡°Gwahh!!¡± Through my bent body: blasting and bursting odyl. Through my mind: seeming sensations¡ªas alien as they were ill¡ªof my organs whipping about inside. ¡°Gh¡­ ahgh¡­¡± I gagged, yet in Karl¡¯s grasp. ¡°See wot¡¯s sheath¡¯d at us hips, eh Commandant? Swords. Ye spots us sportin¡¯ ¡®em plenty o¡¯ times ¡®fore, yea? But ¡®ave ye swung one, hm? Ever? Even once?¡± the youth spat on. ¡°Us soldiers, we swings it fer practice on th¡¯weekly, we do. Ooh, I wishes ye knew wot a right pain in the arse it be, practice! Oooh, I wishes!¡± ¡°Aungh¡ª!¡± Next: an upcutting strike into my chin. Once more into the air I flew, falling into the dirt nape-first. My brain rattled. My vision jolted. Through its flickering field was the shadow of Karl¡¯s hand, reaching in to snatch my dishevelled hair again. With a yank, I was pulled up to my faltering feet. ¡°Ye be but a guppy in this pond o¡¯ piranhas!¡± Karl¡¯s voice echoed viciously. ¡°A guppy, spittin¡¯ on ¡®ow we fights! Fussin¡¯ o¡¯er th¡¯fort¡¯s rules! Railin¡¯ on us whene¡¯er we sallies! Stealin¡¯ ¡®way ev¡¯ry dear chance o¡¯ battle brought to us laps! But then ye gots th¡¯gall t¡¯jump pond, in t¡¯this pool o¡¯ devilfish! A mistake o¡¯ a Man! ¡®Ere t¡¯meet an¡¯ mingle with the enemy!¡± Gripping me still, Karl let loose a hail of fists into my face. The silvered knuckles crashed into its every corner, whilst crunching cracks¡ªsounds most unsettling¡ªcackled from my cranium. In the course of it all, through my brain shot crests and swells of odyl, each pluming out the back of my skull. ¡°Kha¡­ huahh¡­¡± The fists fell silent. My sight seared with stars. My mind melted into mud. My breaths reduced themselves to naught but bated and broken huffs. ¡°I¡¯m right tired o¡¯ ye. Right an¡¯ proper tired. But not just me. Us lads o¡¯ Londosius¡ªno, us Men. Us lamb o¡¯ Yon¨¢. Yer naught but an unsought burden ¡®pon us shoulders, Commandant. Sinful, an¡¯ more ¡®eavy than ye¡¯ve got ¡®ny right t¡¯be,¡± the youth kept hissing. ¡°Ye could¡¯ve done a mite good, ¡®ad ye sat still in a corner somewhere. But if ye¡¯ve got th¡¯ballocks t¡¯get in us way, well¡­ get ye gone, I says.¡± Karl¡¯s blurred form turned back to his mates. Their distant faces nodded knowingly. The youth returned the gesture. His cold grip next dragged me through the dirt, taking me to the side of the ransacked home. There awaited a well. The young hellion then hoisted me up by the hair once again, and with his free hand, seized my jaw. Those eyes of his, wide and unblinking, stared daggers into mine. ¡°Piss off,¡± he spat flatly. ¡°An¡¯ don¡¯t ye go beggin¡¯ Yon¨¢ fer a ticket back¡ªever.¡± With sudden action, many hands heaved my listless body over the lip of the well. A push, and there came a great rush of air all about me. Down through the well I fell. Black waters slammed against my ears. Into the lightless depths I sank, sensing all sound sail away from me. A numb thud bounced through my body¡ªanother splash from above. The bucket seemed to have followed me, cut loose by Ebbe¡¯s lacqueys. And with it, my means of escape. Not that any witness might¡¯ve spied any strength left in me for the deed. But I suppose those men were nothing, if not thorough in their cruelty. Thorough in stopping Yon¨¢¡¯s spurned offspring from setting another foot upon Her beloved lands. Thorough in keeping this repugnant apostate from crawling out of his cold cage. A fitting grave for a dreg unfit. And so, down and down into its deep and undulating dark I drifted. Volume 2 - CH 5.3 Berta. Child of the V¨ªly clan. And a war-chief besides, cherished by soldier and civilian alike. For cheer was ever hale in her, and mirth missed nary a moment upon her mien. And with wit never wanting, Berta was indeed a bedrock to the rank and file, to the fair and the frail, to the youth and the many-yeared. One could say this lack of coldness and cunning made for a war-chief without wherewithal. But in Berta, there was also boundless strength. Strength enough to affright the frontlines with wild and whirling hammer-fury. Strength enough for the peers and pawns of her pennon to see in her a beacon of courage, corroboration, and camaraderie. Thus was she worthy. As a warrior. As a war-chief. And as well, a mother. This, none could doubt. For whilst the blessing of childbirth was unbestowed to her, Berta was mother to many a motherless child. Oh, indeed. What many they were. Hensen was hard-lived, home to those harried by war, of whom not few were little children lost of all parentage. But Berta gave them hope. A smile to look to. A love to soothe their loss. They were all of them like faeries, fast in flocking to and frolicking about their minding mother. And to them would Berta lend both ears, always with a bent most benign. She was sure to scold them whensoever they crossed a line, but the stringency was more surely followed by an embrace¡ªone bountiful in its rounding reach, for rotund was Berta¡¯s girth, and with ease could she invest the many little ones in her arms. Ah, yes. What warmth they knew. What solace. What surety. But it was the unbent truth that Berta¡¯s was a past wholly unbrightened by her unbreakable smile. Few realised it. Fewer still knew of it. A time when she was twenty. A time when she walked the warrior¡¯s way, a battler in a battalion under the V¨ªlungen banner. A time when she was with child. Blessed, she took leave from the frontlines. A visit to her home village was in order, for respite, for familial revelry. Her husband was to follow soon after, busied as he was with leading the battalion. Thus did the newly expectant mother make her way home without companion. It was then that, not more than a day after her arrival, the sword-bearing sons of Londosius thought to pay a visit of their own. No Naf¨ªl foresaw the assault. Berta¡¯s hamlet was humble at best. An abode bereft of all riches. What worth could the eyes of Man espy in its penury? The future war-chief knew not, and thus thought the trip an untroubled one. How fickle, how hounding, trouble. But the Men themselves thought much the same. Theirs was an ill irony in finding amidst the folk of the far-off hamlet whom but a hammer-wielding warrior of a woman. Oh, the woe they knew. Their blades barked much, but bit little against the girth of Berta¡¯s battlehammer. And whensoever the warrior swung its smiting head, the partisans of Man would be sent sailing through the air like shreds of paper given to a gust of wind. What boundless strength there was in Berta. Many amongst the Men had their heads unmade. Many more were soiled in misery and mortification. But such strength was cut short by cunning. A blade. A keen, flesh-famished blade, held to the neck of an innocent. But of course Berta would stop. The village was small. Everyone knew one another. Everyone was friend and family both, from birth till deathbed. And so was each and every villager a valid hostage to be leveraged against the gracious Berta. Clenching her teeth, the warrior wound down, till the butt of a Londosian lance was brought down upon the back of her head. Blackness took her mind and sight. When next they were restored, the tables were turned: Berta found herself bound of hands and feet, with all garb and gear parted from her person, whilst the Men were anear, deep in discussion for who shall be first to violate this victim of theirs. Oh, what caustic conversation. Each uttered word an alarum upon her ears, a trampling heel upon her pride. He whose deeds were deemed deficient in this raid was to defile Berta¡¯s body. This, the Men aired, all with half-simpers upon their lips. It was but a game to them. A pastime of ¡°punishment¡±, for pleasure was nowhere to be found in raping a Naf¨ªl. No, not to these Men. But games are games, and entertainment is scarce on the battlefield. ¡°Ech¡­ Fuck me luck, ey¡­¡± Grumbles shared by a number of them. Giggles shared amongst the rest. Shadows then crept close¡ªthe foresaid Men of meagre merit. Their fingers formed fists and flew at Berta every which way. She could not resist. The violence was unmitigated. The violation unfolded. Of course, no sufferer of such molestation would fain favour lust than loathing from her offender. Still, Berta could not stay her tears, for loath the Men did. Loath, whilst they retched and gagged with every heave of the hip they hurtled into her. All as the air was garbled by their glee and utter disgust. That isn¡¯t to say Berta herself was barren of charm. No, quite the opposite, for her womanly allure was lucid amidst the many curves of her constitution. And with a comely countenance of almond-round eyes and a mirthful warmth to boot, no Naf¨ªlim beholder could gainsay the bounty of beauty before them. But Men beheld with eyes of a different sight. Very few found Naf¨ªlim flesh worth coveting. And nowhere was this truer than amongst the Mennish soldiery. What was it in the Naf¨ªlim mien that earned Man¡¯s aversion? Not in their fleshly features, no, as it was a given that a Naf¨ªl was distinct from a Man only by the hue of the skin. Rather, the repugnance was one resonating from deep in the minds of Men. An abhorrence they could scarce abort, as the Mennish partisans did their penance of raping Berta. For that was all it was to them: playful penance. On and on it went. One Man after another, belittling Berta with their scathing barks. Raping and raping, whilst roaring out their revulsion for the very act. ¡°Better to bed with a beast,¡± they would bellow in her ear. ¡°I¡¯d sooner savour a sow than you,¡± they would hiss at her face. By the end of that terrible eternity, Berta was left broken upon the ground, steeped in the soldiers¡¯ fleshly fluids, her gaze aimless and lightless, long-spent of all tears. ¡°Hwah! Right glad that¡¯s done with!¡± said one. ¡°Bless me knob, it be stain¡¯d with sin!¡± ¡°Oi,¡± called another, ¡°we snuffin¡¯ this sow or wot?¡± ¡°Yea, have it done. We headin¡¯ home, boys!¡± Cold words, more rightly said for the riddance of rubbish. But rid they did: into Berta¡¯s belly bored a Londosian spear. ¡°¡­hh¡­!¡± A wince from the woeful warrior. No further motion followed. The soldiers suited up and set off, content with their cruelty. ?¡ß? In time did tidings of the attack reach the ears of the V¨ªlungen braves. To the harried village they made haste. There, from the misery was birthed a miracle: Berta, discovered and rescued, took well to her clanmates¡¯ remedies, for it happened that the spear savoured but a shallow wound from her flesh. Likely a charity chalked up to the laxness of the Londosian hand that wielded it. But that was where the miracles stopped. The villagers¡ªnone save Berta were spared a despicable end. The hostage, too, was hewn. And one more life was taken: the yet-begotten babe in Berta¡¯s belly. That tiny spark of a life, inspiring to form and shape, was left a lifeless smear. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ my dear¡­ Oh¡­ I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± The endless lament of a mother for her child. A child she could not welcome into this world. A world where waited more woe for the bereaved Berta. What foul chance: the Londosians at the village were evidently but a detachment of a larger force, with which Berta¡¯s beloved had made battle. And there was her husband slain. A death that served a dirge for the warrior¡¯s family. ?¡ß? Her concerned comrades, all of them, could not conceive of further battle for Berta. But such a conception was nearsighted. Berta was unbroken. Hatred did not hound her. Tragedy did not chain her. The deaths, the defilement¡ªnone of them could dare damn her heart to dwelling upon dark thoughts. It was all a simple matter to her. The warrior¡¯s way was now a warrior¡¯s life. A life led to save lives in need of deliverance. A resolve revived from deep in her bosom, where the vigil-light of her husband and child both yet burned. For him would she ever be the wife he so loved. For her unbegotten babe would she ever be the mother it surely would have loved. The will of a woman unwhelmed by wanton woe. Oh, what boundless strength there was in Berta, indeed. But make no mistake: the orphans she later fostered were not themselves surrogates for her fallen child, no. And neither were they but salves to soothe in her heart the longing for all she had lost. No. Berta simply was as she ever was. A woman of warmth. A presence of protection. A mother. Indeed, over the next nigh-score years, countless children cherished their ¡°Auntie¡±, whilst she plied in parallel the duties of a V¨ªlungen warrior. And in that span, never did her fair smile fade. Never, did she display undue disdain for the sons and daughters of Man. But just the same, she sheltered no fellowship for them. For in her heart beat the steady belief that with brumeless eyes must another be judged, regardless of his lineage or lot. Of Man, such vision would see much, but vouch little for aught contrary to his callous character. That is, till a day dawned where one of his sons set foot afore the gates of Hensen. A son, whose sole company was his own, claiming himself acting commandant to the baleful battlements of Balasthea. How preposterous, Berta thought. What be his mind, this Man? Questions clouded her conscience. But the mists soon dissipated, for this Man, this ¡°Rolf¡±, said thus: ¡®¡­The innocent and faultless¡­ ¡­divested and sent to their deaths¡­ ¡­Families¡­ taken and torn asunder¡­ ¡­These¡­ I wish never to see again¡­¡¯ Berta¡¯s heart skipped a beat. And in the dusk of that same day would she share delightful discourse with this Rolf. Hours of amity, held in all places a paltry, parentless home, nestled within Hensen¡¯s harrowed nest. Lise herself was there, no less taken with the tameness and meaningfulness of the moment. Amidst their exchanged words, in Berta was newly birthed a trust for this child of Man. Oh, a gladness. To find amongst Men a model of meekness, Berta reasoned anew. Not all of them be cruel. No¡­ not at all. The thought was a thankful one. The war-chief felt then a friendship with this Rolf. A bond that sooner seemed brimming with many years shared between them. But then came a shift to this Rolf¡¯s eyes and a fastness to his feet as he flew out of the house most asudden. Berta and Lise soon followed, only to next know the reason for his unease. Where he looked was alive with flame, skies cast in scarlet heat. The Fiefguard were at the gates. An army of Men whose hearts shared not a beat with Rolf¡¯s. The children¡ªat all costs must they be spared the spear. This was Berta¡¯s mind, made with all immediacy. Her hand ran along the length of the battlehammer at her hip. And upon her face was then the fierceness of a warrior. Volume 2 - CH 5.4 The Fiefguard were as a flood breaking through the west gate. The f¨®lkheimr¡¯s belatedly-formed defences had failed; more speed was mustered by the Men than any other mind could have conceived. And now the hatchetmen were come, ready to hew and havock the waking Hensenites. Rolf knew this day would darken Hensen. But today? Nay. With lightning haste did he head westward to meet with Volker¡¯s regiment and stop the Fiefguard from gaining Hensen¡¯s centre. The war-chief and his champions were well-whetted; if there stood a force apt to fence the Fiefguard in at the gates, his would certainly be it. But more certain again was the lack of numbers and nimbleness at this nightly hour. Volker¡¯s command had no hope of accounting for every Man with a mind to foray further in. And so it was that Berta herself stood upon a battlefield-to-be. The destitute district¡¯s evacuation had scant time to start. Yet with Death at its doorstep, time was precious. The folk must be made to flee. ¡°Calmly now, everyone! Calm! Hie to the plaza! Help is on the way!¡± Berta¡¯s voice vaulted as she guided the paupers in their panick. ¡°Have heart! For Hammerweib Berta shelters you all!¡± As she corralled the chaos, there stood about her the little orphans of five and their afflicted brother, Theo, each with uneased eyes looking up at their Auntie¡¯s own. For her part, the war-chief felt every second a full minute. There was no telling when and where the Men might assail the civilians. Any moment, and there might have arisen from the masses a swelling of screams and the slashing of swords. It was in that wearying wait that there appeared forces of a different affiliation. ¡°Berta!¡± called an alighting Lise. ¡°I come bearing braves!¡± The jarl-daughter had done her duty: in tow were ranks of reinforcements, every soul of which then saluted their superior. ¡°Chief!¡± ¡°Hammerweib!¡± Though, they all numbered no more than forty. Meagre, but a matter ill-helped; Hensen had more pressing need of spears at the war-like west end. ¡°My fighters! Oh, how I¡¯ve waited!¡± Berta sighed with relief. ¡°The Men come as we speak! The smallfolk must flee; Lise, I leave the exodus to you and yours!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have it done!¡± Lise tarried not. At once, she went to the forgathered folk to soothe their worries and set the course for the evacuation to come. The girl, though young, was yet very much of Alban¡¯s blood. Echoes of his acumen rang clarion in her character, and to Berta¡¯s ears, it was a song of great solace, indeed¡ªenough to task the jarl-daughter with escorting the defenceless droves to safety. A charge most challenging, but unchallenged was Berta¡¯s trust in Lise. Content, the war-chief faced her fighters. ¡°To me, my braves! Here we stay! Here we fight! Steel your hearts! Ready your blades!¡± ¡°Ooouuh!¡± roared the roused ranks, their morale unmarred. Lise was not a step behind, delegating the braves under her own command and beginning the evacuation in speedy earnest. The masses were moving at last. But ten little feet did not venture forth, for ten little eyes were still locked upon their Auntie. ¡°My dears. Listen well to Lise, you hear? And stray not from the others,¡± Berta told them. ¡°Go on, now. To safety!¡± Though Theo, their elder, found little consolation. ¡°A-Auntie¡­¡± ¡°Mm? What matter, my little champion?¡± ¡°I-I heard many west-end folk were killed,¡± the boy broached. ¡°W¡­ will the same happen here? Our home?¡± ¡°Not at all, Theo,¡± Berta buoyed his spirits. ¡°It is safe. Your home is safe. For your Auntie is here.¡± These words the children¡¯s ears well-heard, yet haunting their eyes still was worry. Of course, their confidence in Berta was uncut. But the lots of these little ones were forever changed by the trampling chariot of war. The return of its wicked wheeling, then, was, to them, a phantom of infinite fright. The burden on their hearts was hardly lost to Berta. And so did she sustain the smile upon her face to frighten away their fears with her familiar warmth. ¡°Be not so blue, my dears! I¡¯ll let the baddies lay not a finger on any of you!¡± the war-chief soothed them, before setting a hand upon the weapon slung at her waist. ¡°See Auntie¡¯s hammer? With it, I¡¯ll swing and spank! And send the scary ones on their way!¡± ¡°Auntie, Auntie¡­¡± came a tug at Berta¡¯s hem, ¡°¡­will you be safe, too?¡± The unease of a little girl, her large eyes wet with worry for the war-chief, and a cherished plush bear borne tight in her tiny arm. ¡°Oh, Alma dearest,¡± comforted Berta, her beam unbroken. ¡°I might take a scratch or two. But no matter! Scratches do nothing but tickle your Auntie! And I¡¯ve taken many a tickle from you before, haven¡¯t I?¡± Though her words meant to mitigate the children¡¯s unease, they were met with only more tugs upon her hems. ¡°Auntie¡­ Auntie, come with us!¡± ¡°Yea, Auntie! Come! Let¡¯s run away!¡± ¡°Uu¡­ hic¡­ Auntie¡­¡± ¡°Oh, Romy! Kurt! Nora! You all! Have heart and worry not! I¡¯ll stay here only for a bit, to give the naughty ones a nice lesson! And then I¡¯ll be with you all soon enough! Soon!¡± Next from their Auntie came pats upon their pates, all around, lively and with love. Their eyes squinted with ticklish comfort, and seeing this, Berta then looked to the jarl-daughter as she returned anew. ¡°Lise, dear. They¡¯re in your hands now.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have them awayed to safety, each and every one,¡± vowed Lise. ¡°Fair winds find you, Berta.¡± Words shared, Lise then ushered the children from their Auntie, and at last they left with the fleeing flock of Hensenfolk. Berta broke her gaze from them, winding it west to find the fires and their many fingers reaching and writhing ever nearer. Beneath their heated hum rumbled hoofbeats. The fires, then, came not alone. She turned shoulder back to the evacuating crowd, catching sight of the little ones looking back to her over and over again. Berta sent them off with a smile till they vanished from view. Then did her beaming lips bend down at last, her newly knife-edge eyes narrowing at the road whence the Fiefguard might gain. The war-chief filled her lungs. ¡°Enemies draw nigh! Defensive line, now!¡± she thundered. ¡°Look alive, my braves! Let not a toe of theirs touch any further ground!¡± ¡°Yes, Chief!¡± And what braves they were, seasoned by battles beyond count. Swift perfection possessed their feet as they formed a phalanx; not a few minutes more, and Fiefguard faces finally reared from the flaming mirk. The pieces were placed. On that gameboard of a fray, the long-fought foes clashed at last. ?¡ß? ¡°Wooohh!¡± Affrighting the air were Berta¡¯s braves with their bellows, whilst their spears spun and struck with all sharpness. Theirs was a prowess of much prestige: such strength shot into their shafts that a single swing held heft enough to wholly unhorse a mounted Man. ¡°Khwach!¡± ¡°Fear not the fiends! Charge, men! Cha¡ªrge!¡± The Naf¨ªlim fighters were certainly more war-worthy than the Men before them, but where the latter lacked in quality, they made up for in formidable numbers. This was no small advantage: from horse-height, the Fiefguardsmen crashed and ebbed in tides of swords and spears, testing the fire of their Naf¨ªlim foes. ¡°Shog off, realmers! Your way be shut!¡± ¡°Ggwaahh!¡± The braves were as a bulwark, yielding not a step as time and again they smote back the Mennish ranks. A single sight of them, and one could glean clearly the long years of service that gave mettle to their mien. Indeed, what boldness that brimmed from every facet of their bodies. And from their hearts: a determination to dam the massacre that so craved their meeker counterparts. ¡°Stop flinchin¡¯, ye windfuckers! Break through here, and naught more bars the way!¡± riled a Mennish captain. ¡°These devils deserve cleansin¡¯! The filth ¡®fore us, the fleein¡¯ ones yonder¡ªin the name o¡¯ Yon¨¢, hand ¡®em all Her holy retribution!¡± Yon¨¢¡¯s hounds fancied themselves hunters. Exacting extinction was their aim. Their mark: who else but the Naf¨ªlim. Meek or militant, fleeing or fighting¡ªthey cared not. Mercy was a candle snuffed. All was game. And so did their hands itch and twitch for the spearing of Naf¨ªlim spines in their fevered flight. This was justice itself. But staying the sentence were the soldiers of Berta. ¡°No more than thirty o¡¯ them, there are!¡± the Mennish captain cried again. ¡°Harry ¡®em in waves! Give ¡®em not a moment¡¯s breath!¡± Finding full solace in their numbers, the Fiefguard gained on the Naf¨ªlim ranks. Their captain grasped well this game: wear out the devils and the day would be theirs. The Naf¨ªlim were too firmly fixed upon the fray, however, and failed not in keeping their file as they fought back the Fiefguard. But the holy banner of justice brought such joy of battle to the Men that their might knew no mitigation. It was then that the burden of numbers began to weigh sharply on the shoulders of the braves. ¡°Agh!¡± ¡°Tobias!¡± A crack at last: through the deltoid of a brave pierced a length of lancing steel. Berta broke forth, smiting away the Mennish spearman with a heave of her hammer. ¡°Just a flesh-wound, Chief! I can fight yet!¡± gnashed the bloodied Tobias. ¡°Then fight you shall!¡± the war-chief nodded. ¡°Come, switch with Utz! Heino! Cover his left!¡± ¡°Right away!¡± Berta¡¯s orders, obeyed with unbroken speed. And they proved the remedy, for whatever faults that might have tempted frailty were fast faded. The clash continued on unabated, but in the fever of the fight, the war-chief chanced upon a strangeness in the struggle. The Fiefguard were thinned. Too thinned¡ªmore were missing than did fall fey to Naf¨ªlim fauchards. ¡°Ach!¡± Berta bit her lip. ¡°The cowards! They¡¯ve split!¡± This was the sole path apt to host the Fiefguard horde, yet barring their march were braves of baleful fastness. Thus many of the Mennish number went on the move, forsaking their steeds to sneak afoot. Theirs was a mind to slither and slide through the alleyways, that they might skirt the braves and gain on the unsuspecting evacuees. Such was their bloodlust: rabid and all too hungry to hew the innocents. ¡°My braves!¡± Berta roared. ¡°Stragglers hunt afoot! Go! Find them, all of you!¡± ¡°Then who holds the line!?¡± ¡°I hold it!¡± ¡°Wh¡ª! But, Chief!¡± Little was left of the Mennish marauders before them: a captain and his smattering of soldiers. Easy pickings for a lone war-chief, was Berta¡¯s thought. But more of her mind was on the Fiefguard gadflies now gone. Without a full pursuit by her braves, to the butcher¡¯s block would go the fleeing folk. Lise escorted them, certainly, but she and her own braves totaled not even ten. The evacuation proceeded assuming a rear safeguarded by the war-chief. Were spears to spring upon it, no doubt death would be dealt to the evacuees. And amongst them: the Auntie¡¯s cherished children. Indeed, each of their little faces was flashing quick in her conscience. ¡°Hie now! Have not one of them near our innocents!¡± she goaded. ¡°Find them whence they hide! Hew them all down! Let none live another day!¡± ¡°Yes, Chief!¡± ¡°Fair winds find you, Chief!¡± Wits of gust-wind speed and legs that lagged by not a stride: the braves broke from Berta and made immediate haste to the heart of the district, where the buildings bristled like a labyrinth. Thus began their hunt for the hunters. ¡°You¡¯re deserted, devil!¡± screeched a Londosian scoundrel. ¡°Think you the dam that stays the deluge!?¡± With his sword held high and a seeming wound in his pride, the partisan giddyupped his horse and howled forth. But fright was not in Berta: with a bend of her legs, she bound straight at the soldier. ¡°Ah!?¡± A gaping gasp. A misaimed sword, attacking naught but air. Perhaps its wielder foreknew not that Berta would be so bold so to meet his head-on charge with one of her own. But before a reversal could be ventured, the war-chief¡¯s hammer was already a blur, its head a bull¡¯s horn blasting into the soldier¡¯s bosom. ¡°Ghhah!!¡± Off his horse he flew, his cuirass cratered, his breastbones broken. And when he landed at last, it was his nape that bore the brunt of his fall. ¡°¡­hck¡­!¡± He laid there, limp, limbs in all directions. A look at him, and his remnant fellows flew into a rage, rearing their steeds and stampeding towards the Hammerweib. ¡°Why, yo¡ªu!!¡± ¡°Death ¡®pon ye, demon!¡± Screams, met with uncut calm from Berta as she brandished her battlehammer. Swords were repelled, spears were rent, horses were thrown down, heads were blown up. ¡°Ggagh!¡± ¡°Eaakhh!!¡± His comrades all were now but corpses, a reeling realisation upon the captain¡¯s conscience. When he at last collected himself, in his view was a whirlwind of steel. ¡°Hghoh¡­!¡± The last muffled cry of a careless captain. ¡°Hah¡­ hahh¡­ hhah¡­¡± breathed Berta, triumphant, but starved of stamina. Such a toll could not be paid lightly, not even from a war-chief¡¯s bulging purse of prowess. And so to a knee she bent down. ¡°Haa¡­ ha¡­ I¡¯ve made¡­ quite the mess.¡± Not a graze marked her person, but her might was brought near its brink. Her odyl, too, teetered on empty. Little wonder there¡ªher hammer-swings were many-score, with each enchanted generously with magicked judgement. Would that generosity were yet a flicker in the eyes of the fates, for in Berta¡¯s own was reflected the rank and file of fresh foes. ¡°Hahh¡­¡± she shook her head. ¡°What¡¯s this¡­? More roaches¡­ for my hammer?¡± Before her now: a different detachment, but composed of lions from the same Londosian den. A score of them, to wit. But worn upon their persons were plates and arms of silver. Berta knew it then: they were of a sort superior to the routed rabble. ¡°Master Ebbe,¡± said one of the soldiers. ¡°Just one o¡¯ them, there is.¡± Upon the visage of the so-named skeleton of a rapscallion, this ¡°Ebbe¡±, grew a grin most grim. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Hammerweib ((Language: German) Berta¡¯s title of ¡°Hammer-Wife¡±, owing to her fierceness in battle. The w consonant is pronounced as a v, as in ¡°very¡± or ¡°vast¡±. Volume 2 - CH 5.5 The other brutes, too, broke abeam, even as strewn about them were their Fiefguard brothers: bodies many in number, but each numb of all life. ¡°Lo, Master,¡± said a lackey. ¡°Right smash¡¯d in, them flesh ¡®an faces. An¡¯ wot did th¡¯smashin¡¯ but the ¡®ammer in that there virago¡¯s ¡®ands, eh?¡± ¡°Virago, for sure,¡± Ebbe half-snorted. ¡°But just the same: a sow spent o¡¯ all spirit, from the look o¡¯ her.¡± Ebbe¡¯s unit¡ªan elite platoon more rightly belonging on the ramparts of Balasthea. Their official headcount numbered more than what Berta presently beheld, for a band from their ranks had broken off prior for some plundering on the west end. That group was led by one Karl, whilst Ebbe himself had marched forth with the remaining troops. ¡°Th¡¯margrave¡¯s men try¡¯d t¡¯shog through this shantytown, methinks,¡± guessed another grunt. ¡°Ah. Then it were this bint what bar¡¯d their way¡ªall t¡¯let ¡®er dear folk flee. Folk, fresh for the culling¡­ after we culls this covess from us course,¡± Ebbe hissed, baring his teeth and pointing a finger at Berta. ¡°No time t¡¯waste! Have at it, boys! The hunt awaits!¡± ¡°Aye!¡± The Men moved in. The war-chief clenched her hammer. ¡°Boys¡­ best keep their bedtime!¡± she snarled with laboured breath. The fray was affrighted anew. Two Men made of themselves silver streaks as they speeded in, flanking Berta from both sides. She sprang to action with no less alacrity, meeting the rightward sword with a deflecting swing of her hammer. ¡°Eaghh!¡± she groaned, her boldness blunted by the blade¡¯s instilled odyl, large and boisterous in its breadth. With too little of her own for resistance, her hands were buffeted back, the hammer along with them. An opening; from the other side assailed another sword, keen on the cut. ¡°Ech!¡± The war-chief recoiled, saving her skin from the slash as it sailed but a hair¡¯s width away, and next bounded backwards to break from the exchange. Yet it was a hounding one, for there followed a third sword head-on. Berta brought up her hammer-haft, halting the blade, but not its bite: from its silver length leapt a wave-breath of odyl, passing the hammer and crashing unto the war-chief. ¡°Gahh!¡± Berta cried as she was blown clear back. Though as she met the dirt, her body did not tumble and fail, but bore itself erect again, for undergirding its girth was sheer agility unjust for its size. She readied her hammer again in time to contend with yet another stubborn sword. Her head ducked beneath its sweep, her shoulders heaved next¡ªup soared her battlehammer. The uncontested counter caught the brute from below: a half-circle strike, jowling his jaw. Teeth and bone cracked and crunched. His maw unmade, the soldier groaned grimly, and to the ground expired to all stillness. Fury flared anew upon another Man¡¯s mien. ¡°Ye sty-whore, you!¡± His sword wuthered, wild with indignance. But its ungainliness was a gift to Berta, who brought her hammer up once more and met him straight on. Her bull-like boldness stunned him still, and in that slice of a second, the hammerhead came crashing down. The time spent tarrying exacted too heavy a toll: his skull exploded on impact. ¡°Aaach!¡± howled another. ¡°Begone, bitch!¡± In the same moment, one more livid sword, delivered from the left. The war-chief wound about to ward off the strike, flinging from her hammer bone chips and churned brains. But it was a defence endeavoured too direly, for silverborn odyl flashed forth and stung her arms to a throbbing sore. The opportunity was seized: to Berta¡¯s right ran a spear. She twisted her body to avoid the voulge¡ª ¡°Gghhaah!!¡± ¡ªbut made a victim of her right shoulder instead. The silverpoint pierced and poured out searing odyl, teasing a tearing scream from Berta¡¯s bosom. Ebbe broke for joy. ¡°That¡¯s it! Let ¡®er have it, lads!¡± But Berta was defiant. ¡°¡­Hmph! There¡¯s naught to be bullish ¡®bout, boys!¡± The war-chief wrenched herself from the offending spear and stood away, newly poised. Renewed as well was the vigour of the Men, to which Berta gave a grinning glare. Sprawled now on her face was unfeigned fatigue. Sweat coated her cheeks. Hoarseness wrung her breaths. Still, her spent stamina dampened her spirit little, which enlivened every limb and length of her body that she might bar the Londosians all the more doggedly. ¡°Her candle¡¯s all but burnt!¡± Ebbe barked. ¡°Snuff ¡®er out! Now!¡± Berta scowled. ¡°There¡¯s¡­ loads more wax¡­ left¡­ on this wick, lads!¡± The Mennish hounds heeded their master. One after another, they swept and stabbed with their swords and spears. Berta bore the brunt of them all, biting back with many a heave of her battlehammer. But her bravery was requited less and less as more and more the silver blades bit and burrowed away at her flagging flesh. At length, wounds could be seen every span of her body, myriad seams from which flowed blood that blotted the earth rich in red, drop by drop. ¡°Haa¡­ hahh¡­! Hmph¡­! You boys burn¡­ more like embers¡­ before my blaze!¡± But, oh¡ªa fearsome sight. For beneath the blood-veil upon Berta¡¯s face, there glinted a glower of white, grinning and gnashing. At last, the sons of Londosius began to feel themselves prey before a predator, whose mettle they guessed now to be immeasurable. Some of their knees buckled. Some more had a mind to flee. But Ebbe¡¯s scolding was quick on the catch. ¡°Panick not, you pansies! What¡¯s the covess now but a corpse? Put ¡®er in her coffin, damn you!¡± Their wits whipped back in place, the pale-faced partisans then sallied forth another charge unto the war-chief. Her grip was abating by the second, but galvanising it with the vim of her very life, Berta clenched fast her foe-smiter and flew into the fray once more. ¡°Woouhh!¡± From her throat: a thunderclap coupled to her career. ¡°Come! My hammer craves a fine drum!!¡± And the drums came aplenty. Over her head the hammer wheeled, roaring down centre-wise before reducing a soldier to a smear upon the earth. Then did it rise again, sailing sidelong to rend and reveal the ribs of another. Next it leapt aslant, catching one more at the collarbone and stamping a crater into his sternum, and therein flattening his deepest flesh, lungs and all. Once more, the mother of battle hoisted up her hammer to meet her fourth mark, but in the motion, received through her right breast a spear unseen. ¡°Gwh¡­ oofh¡­!¡± Berta groaned. Blood, fresh and flesh-red, ran down the length of her chin¡ªa savoury sight to the spearman that did the deed. ¡°Hyahaha!¡± cracked he a hyaena-cackle. ¡°This mark¡¯s mine!¡± Words upon the soldier¡¯s grave: the Naf¨ªlim hammer howled anew, upheaving from half of the Man¡¯s too-proud pate a languid splash of skull-liquor. Not a second, and the rest of him retired to the dust. ¡°And now¡­ it¡¯s mine¡­!¡± Berta hissed. ¡°You celebrate oversoon¡­ spear-waggers¡­!¡± Life-red spat from her lips, the latter bent up in a death-daring smile. A semblance most sinister to the soldiers, for one of them then lowly let out a yelp. The momentary cowardice painted a mark upon his head: Berta bounded unto his midst and broke the air with a sweeping swing of the hammer. ¡°Uwahh!¡± ¡°Geagh!¡± Power, once waning, waxed instead, a candle crowned with a conflagration, as by its unbridled fury not one, but two Men were sent into the air. Ebbe grated his teeth and stamped his foot. ¡°This filth-fiend all but clings t¡¯this coil, brothers! Hell hath hunger! Have it fed!¡± Goaded, revived grips tightened about silver hilts and hafts, and once more the brutes flocked to the fray. It was but a sacrificial sallying, a death trip fueled by fear dyed in delirium. ¡°H-half-dead ha¡ªg!!¡± ¡°Die now, damn you!¡± A blade lunged in. To it, Berta brought forth her left hand. Off her centre finger flew, and into her palm the edge passed. But there it stopped, snatched by the bone, before a hammer steeped in blood and brains blasted into the offender¡¯s face. ¡°Bwarhh!!¡± Eyeballs burst from their sockets, and with them the soldier¡¯s soul as his cranium caved in. But from beside the fresh corpse sprang another spear from another soldier. This weapon, too, found flesh, eating deep into Berta¡¯s belly. Yet the war-chief wailed not, instead winding her halved hand about the shaft and, paying not a mite of her mind to the spearpoint set in her flesh, pounced forth to let fall her hammer once more. ¡°Gheu¡­!¡± ¡°H¡­ hmph¡­¡± A scoff afore the fountain of red¡ªand a seething voice. ¡°¡­You¡¯re all moths¡­ too-fain for the flame¡­¡± But Berta¡¯s defiance had not gone unanswered. Already steeping her soles was a pool of her own blood. Cakes of red dirt dotted her legs. And hanging out of her flank: a sword. ¡°Yes! Yes!¡± Ebbe yipped. ¡°Lo, brothers! The end!¡± From his sheath hissed his own sword. And to Berta he began his way. His mind was set, confident the curtains shall close here, by his hands, by his triumphant stroke. ¡°Haa¡­ hhah¡­ ghhah¡­!¡± Yet, Berta drew breath. Though her veins were dry, though her vitals were eviscerated, Berta yet barred their way. And before the unfailing Hammerweib, the Londosians knew fear anew. ¡°Y¡­ Yon¨¢ ¡®ave mercy¡­¡± one of them uttered. ¡°Wot madness be this might¡­!?¡± How they trembled, beholding so bloody a being. She oozed the red, drooled it from her lips, and yet would not bend the knee before their number. Oh, how they trembled, indeed. ¡°Hhhaa¡­ aa¡­¡± But Berta all but stood. Action had left her. The brink, it seemed, was reached. Though, not crossed. Death had yet to take her. From the rotundity of her form, there flowed faintly still some respiration. And then, with eyes cast down, her breaths began to form words. ¡°¡­I¡¯m sorry¡­ so sorry¡­ my dears¡­¡± she muttered. ¡°¡­Auntie¡­ will be¡­ a bit late¡­¡± It was mere minutes since she had last seen them. And now, they were all she could see. Tears will be shed. Surely. Tears for their Auntie. How heartbreaking. If for them, so for Berta. ¡°¡­But¡­ have heart¡­ my loves¡­ Auntie¡­ will scare them away¡­ all away¡­ for you¡­¡± ¡°Hah! What wickedness this churl-wife chants!¡± Ebbe jeered, gained closer and closer still. Their way unbarred, the brutes followed, now cocky in their stride and crooked smirks. ¡°¡­Look¡­ my dears¡­ they¡¯re gone¡­ all gone¡­¡± The war-chief whispered on. ¡°¡­Come¡­ smile again¡­¡± ¡°Filth-fiend! Die!¡± To the air, Ebbe¡¯s blade rose. But as it did, a new fury flashed! Steeped in blood, sweat, and tears, the face of Hammerweib Berta! ¡°¡­My dears!! Live!!¡± Mightiness returned to the battlehammer! Up it leapt and down it lunged, eating into the earth and wrenching from its bowels a bellow of a bang! The air snapped, the skies flinched: the rallying of all remnant odyl¡ªnay, of all remnant life in Berta¡¯s body into this one swing. A mortal manoeuvre, taught in secret, honed out of sight; rightwise retribution, wielded to the self-exaction of the steepest price. This, Berta brandished. And with it, every drop of life that might be wrung from body and soul both. Thus, life turned to light. From the hammerstrike, from the shattered earth, there shouted a thunderous shine, thrusting up and out in throes of palpable power most immense. Through a stunned Ebbe and his brothers it stampeded, stamping out all sight. ¡°Ggeeaaahh!?¡± Heat and pressure harried and pounded the Londosians. And amidst the mighty light, their lives, too, were left to ruin. ¡°Aagh¡ª!?¡± Odyl, silver, flesh¡ªall were pierced by the primal surge. The sun-like light washed whitely through the scene. A brilliance most beseeming Hammerweib Berta: ungaudy in its glister and merciful to none of its marks. And with the passing of a moment, the mightiness faded unto night. What remained were the remnants of the Londosian sons, all scattered about Berta, who now was bent upon both her knees. ?¡ß? ¡­My dears. ¡­It is done. ¡­You are saved. ¡­But¡­ ¡­I¡¯ll not see your faces again, I fear. ¡­Neither your lovely little cheeks¡­ ¡­nor the worldly smiles of your later years. ¡­But those years¡­ ¡­they are yours now. ¡­All of them. ¡­A little gift from your Auntie. ¡­Keep them well. ¡­Live them well. ¡­My dears¡­ ¡°¡­Berta¡­! Berta¡­!¡± Through a vision veiled in blood: a tearful Lise, screaming, sobbing. ¡­Oh? ¡­Dearest¡­ you¡¯ve come for me? ¡­No¡­ don¡¯t cry. ¡­Be not so sorrowed. ¡­But¡­ oh, how glad you make your Auntie. ¡­Glad¡­ to have you with me at my last. ¡°¡­Aunti¡ªe!!¡± ¡­Lise. ¡­I leave them to you. ¡­For them¡­ ¡­be as big a sister as you can be. ¡­ .. . . .. ¡­ ¡­Ah. ¡­My dear. ¡­Was I¡­ ¡­a good mother¡­? A wistful wondering, perhaps for the soul once set to be her own child. And as well, the very last thought of Berta. Upon her unmoving mien was mild mirth. A smile unbroken beyond her final moment. Volume 2 - CH 5.6 ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Deeper. And deeper still. I sank. Or was swallowed by the soundless dark. Headfirst. Down to the last lengths of the well¡¯s depths. Karl¡¯s wrath had wrought arrant harm: from my many wounds ran ribbons of red, rising to the surface like snaking smoke, a trail tracing my drifting journey down. And in the drinking dreariness, I felt in me a longing. Longing, for someone¡ªanyone¡ªto save me. I¡¯ve come to these foe-lands seeking no fight, but honest fellowship. And so perhaps a fellow of a soul might send down for me a ladder. Such was my thought. ¡­And a sore selfish one, at that. Selfish, if not foolish. They are all of them swept up in war. A war, heaved upon their hearth and home. As yet, they are all of them desperate in defence. A defence for dear life, for all their dearly beloved. Yet here I am. Craving their succour. Though, there is no harm in seeking help from another. It can be a virtue, in fact. But a virtue best endeavoured after all other avenues are ventured. Have I done all I could? Exhausted all enterprise? Fought to my final breath? On and on, I sank. And as I did, I looked down. Down to see up. Up at the night sky, beyond the stirring surface. In it hung the moon. A perfect circle of serenity. Soundly cinctured by the well¡¯s mouth. A moon, round and red. Yet the moon is only ever red as it rises from the ridges of the horizon. How curious, then, to redly hang at so high a zenith. ¡­Ah. I see now. That is not red. No. Not at all. The colour, I know very well. Amber. An undented disk of lambent amber, looking down like an eye from heaven on high. Looking down¡ªat none else than I. And in its stare I espied sorrow, slight and subtle. In its gaze I gleaned graciousness, great and golden. Yes. You¡¯re right. I¡¯ve not done all I could. I¡¯ve not yet fought. And so fight I must. Fight, I will. ¡°¡­Bwhhah¡­!¡± My face broke out of black waters. Lingering in my every limb were searing sensations: veins verging on boiling, blood beating to the rhythm of a new resolve. Gaping and gasping for air, I looked up. The well¡ªup and up it stretched to no shorter a height than fifteen pass¨±s. And its width: one and a half, thereabouts. Quite the endowed well; too endowed to endeavour an L-figure climb. There¡¯s no helping it¡ªhands and feet, it is. The old-fashioned way. Decided, I waded to the wall and laid a palm upon it, finding stones composing its construction. They¡¯d been laid with care: between each, they protruded to produce ledges of little more than a quarter-digitus. Dagger-ridges be thicker than these handholds. Upon them I placed my fingers and proceeded to clamber up. ¡°Gh¡­ ach¡­¡± Wedging my nails into each tiny width, I continued to climb with all due caution. The whole of my waterlogged weight, shouldered by fingertips hanging on ledges no broader than a lip of a bowl¡ªa burden borne by my nails as they bit into every stone. Blood soon seeped from the seams between skin and nail. ¡°Ha¡­ hhah¡­¡± Sharp stings seared down the lengths of both my arms, like screams above a cacophony of pain already pulsing through my body, beaten and bruised as it was. Yet I had to go on. And the only way out was up. Stone by stone, I ascended the echoing shaft. ¡°Ngh¡­ gheh¡­¡± I¡¯d read chronicles of accomplished climbers, who with but their fingertips found purchase upon cliff-faces most fatal. All their weight, upon the pads of their digits¡ªhere was I, endeavouring the same, though measuring little to their mighty mountaineering. Still, the stories resonated now more than ever; with his mind put to it, a man truly can accomplish aught. Investing all vigour to my fingertips, I toiled my way up. Every stone I seized with strength of such desperation that my fingers seemed fangs set on biting the rocks from the very wall itself. ¡°Khehh¡­ egh¡­¡± Grit and grime mingled with blood fresh from my fingers as they moved from stone to stone. My right hand rose, catching another section. Then, with teeth clenched, I carried myself up, and in the same motion, caught a higher stone with my left. My right followed suit, speedily ascending to snatch the lip of the well-mouth¡ªthe exit was reached at last. Quitting my would-be grave, I glanced up. There, the moon hung as whitely as ever; my life was delivered yet again, it would seem, but not by this light. With thoughts remembering amber, I clambered out into the ashy air. ?¡ß? Lise lamented. There, clinging to Berta¡¯s lifeless body, the girl wept and wept to the winds. At the very first light of her life was Lise forever parted from her mother. Alban doted on his daughter all he could, sure enough, giving her what his wife might have given. Yet more surely was he jarl to the V¨ªly clan. His people deserved priority, and he duly obliged. Thus were the days many where father and daughter could not see one another, many where they could not be as family. Still, lonesomeness was a lair ill-lived in by Lise, and with all the vitality of a vernal sprout, she grew fast into a spritely young frau. It was all thanks to one woman, one soul whom she might have called a second mother: ¡°Berta¡±. But now, too, was this most beloved mother lost. Lost to time, lost of life¡ªa breathless body, embraced by Lise as she lamented on and on, broken, bereaved. Amidst her sorrow, there then came a clink and a clank. Behind her laid the Londosian lost; a pile of partisans, out of which emerged one Man. With an ungainly up-swing of his yet-gripped sword, he rose out of the fleshly rubble. ¡°Wuooo¡ªhh!!¡± A roar, leaping from the lungs of Lise! As though the ghost of Berta¡¯s fury yet haunted the battlefield! Tears turned to living rage: rising, Lise lunged, a lioness with fangs of longdaggers in her hands, her soul set on the kill. ¡°Uoh!?¡± the Londosian flinched out of the way, never imagining that so distraught a damsel could endeavour so swift a strike. His high sword too-slow, the Man chanced it not, choosing retreat over reprisal. ¡°Bloody shite!¡± he shouted, scrambling back. ¡°Out with the bear, in with the rabid cub! Curse the fates, curse ¡®em!¡± The biting, blubbering words of one Ebbe as he glared back unbrokenly at the fiery Naf¨ªl. He owed his life to his Londosian brothers, whose shadows served a shelter against the brunt of Berta¡¯s dying light when it flashed through them. The attempt was not without its toll: the Man needed mending, and he certainly moved like he did. Discerning that dire plight of his, Lise pursued her mark with all speed and spite. ¡°Eaaa¡ªh!!¡± ¡°Oufh¡ª!?¡± Ebbe flinched again. ¡°Shite! Oh, shite!¡± Lise proved too fleet a foe for his eyes to follow. With miserable immediacy, Ebbe forfeited the fray, tumbling as he took the fool¡¯s flight. But it was a flight too fraught. The end was nigh! He was lost! Ebbe curled every cranny of his face in fear, knowing anew that this foe was well beyond him. And yet¡­ ¡­yet, he drew breath. For Lise stood not a pace closer to him¡ªsomething had stopped her steps. A presence was reflected in her fierce eyes: figures, looming behind her prey. ¡°¡®Allo!¡± called one of them. ¡°Master Ebbe? Ye look a fish in a frypan, don¡¯t ye!¡± ¡°¡­Have a mind for your brothers, man,¡± the vice-commandant hoarsely retorted, rising and dusting himself off. ¡°They all be dead.¡± His words bore some weight, as for the slightest moment, the band of soldiers held silent¡ªsoldiers, each clad in silver. They were a detachment, led by the cantankerous Karl, fresh from a plundering upon the west end. ¡°By whose hand? Hers?¡± asked another soldier, eyeing a livid Lise. A shake of the head. ¡°That one,¡± snarled Ebbe, then flicking a chin at Berta¡¯s corpse. ¡°Though the lass be lethal ¡®nough. Keep your wits ¡®bout you!¡± Nodding, the soldiers began their sidle towards Lise. Barring Ebbe, they numbered nine. Ten total swords, then. Ten towers of silver, soft on the approach, intent on the taking. But their measure of Lise¡¯s reach was ill-reckoned. For hers was a forte for the fortification of self-speed, yielding fleetfootedness of no equal even amongst the valorous V¨ªlungen. Odyl flashed through the frau. A blink¡ª ¡°Hha¡­?¡± ¡ªand blood bloomed in the air! A surprised soldier, now with a neck scarce connected by skin, crumbled to the ground. His attempt at flight had failed, his paling was pierced, twained by the twin daggers of a daughter in despair! Lise stood above him, several paces whence she once stood but an instant ago. Ebbe bit his lip. ¡°Have at ¡®er! All o¡¯ you!!¡± At his signal, the soldiers surged in, a tide of silvered Men. Despite their skill and stature, however, none were more than pawns before the queen: argent arms fell upon the frau from all angles, each blade full-bedight with odyl, only to be dashed by a dance of daggers. ¡°Damn¡¯d damsel, ye!¡± clucked Karl, spiteful of the Naf¨ªl¡¯s nimble bladework. And so he ventured some of his own: up his silversword sailed, and down to the damsel it dived. Yet Lise was too light-footed a foe, letting his sword slice but the air above her skin. The longdaggers then answered silver with a scything sweep. ¡°Uuafh!¡± blew Karl¡¯s lips as he narrowly escaped without a scrape. Nay!¡ªupon his shoulder, a graze in his armour¡¯s gap! Redness coursed over silver; scorning the sight, he receded to a safer distance. Lise, keen to keep him on the hook, primed herself for a pursuit. But it was cut short: Ebbe¡¯s bray broke the air. ¡°Spells! Now!¡± ¡°Flagr¨¡ns Vallum!¡± One amongst the Men was evidently learned in sorcery. With his spell sung, there then sprang a palisade of pyres right before Lise. ¡°¡­Ech!¡± she hissed, startled by the heat, and shot back straightway to gain precious space. Oh, precious indeed: the frau was ever fraught against the might of magicks, finding them too hounding to handle. But merciless was the moment: another spell was spat out anew. ¡°Globus Igneus!¡± From behind the fence of flames, a fireball formed and flew. Yet Lise moved little: so brightly the bulwark burned that she could scarce espy both the speed and path of the projectile. But she tarried too long. Avoidance was futile. The reality realised, Lise imbued her body with odyl and stood poised to take the pyre. Only, too much was mustered elsewhere. Her limbs, her longdaggers¡ªaught and all she needed to mount a speedy assault were fast-full of odyl. To recirculate so much to her defences in so little time was difficult¡ªtoo difficult, in fact, for though she excelled in swordplay, never did she grow beyond a simpleton when it came to controlling her own odyl. Dire, then, were her defences. And falling upon them now was the fiery girth of the Globus Igneus. ¡°Aaaah!¡± Flames billowed. The air boomed. Out of the ensuing smoke flew Lise, flung clear back before tumbling to the ground. Yet many battles were under her belt by now, and she knew well to ready herself at the soonest. Only¡ª ¡°Agh!¡± A groan from her lips, a fall to her knees¡ªthe direct hit had left Lise hollowed of immediate vigour. His foe hampered, Karl appeared, closing in for the kill. ¡°Rruuaahh!!¡± ¡°Augh!¡± Metals met, odyl detonated. Out of the contest came Lise, tumbling through the dirt once more. Might was missing in her: she had stopped the Londosian¡¯s sword, yes, but not the odyl that followed, for her own was too slow in re-steeling her daggers against the magicked blow. ¡°Master! Th¡¯bint looks dumb t¡¯battle magicks, she does!¡± Karl called back whilst grinning at the girl. ¡°But ¡®er face be fair ¡®nough fer th¡¯fetishists, methinks! Why, we ought t¡¯cage ¡®er up! An¡¯ cash in fer some righteous reugols!¡± ¡°Ever an eye for some coin, ey Karl!¡± Ebbe chuckled. ¡°Pin ¡®er down proper, then! If she slithers loose, snithe ¡®er tendons off!¡± So spoke the snakes. Indeed, few Men nurture carnal lust for Naf¨ªlim flesh. But in all spheres, there are exceptions. ¡°Dilettantes¡± be their brand, though ¡°debauchee¡± might be more the word here. And to such Men of eclectic erotomania were Karl and company set on selling off the foe-frau. Oh, how their spit stung her ears. For in them was not a speck of respect for neither her nor her Naf¨ªlim folk. Enduring their damned conversation, Lise clenched hard her teeth whilst rising to her feet. But then¡ª ¡°Globus Igneus!¡± ¡ªflames flew anew. A whole volley of them, fireballs arching through the dark air. Instilled in them was nary a thought for where they might land, for as they did, humble homes all around erupted in rubble of burning red. One errant orb shot straight for Lise, who leapt aside in escape. But it was espied by a cunning Karl, who came cackling and crashing in with a craving sword. ¡°Hehehehyeeaa!¡± ¡°Eghh!¡± Once more, the Naf¨ªlim maiden was made to spill upon the earth. Here, too, had she guarded. Here, too, had her odyl failed. The longdaggers, then, proved a paltry protection. ¡°A righteous strike, Karl!¡± Ebbe squealed with glee. ¡°Trap the tramp, lads! One o¡¯ you! Rope! And quick!¡± The rank of realmers approached. To them, Lise gnashed her teeth as she toiled up to her feet. Cornered, she cut them with her glare. ¡ªBvouvhh! A rocking crash! Something, somewhere, was sundered. But as the noise resounded, so, too, did the nearest home tip and topple to ground, rousing a great plume of fire and smoke into the night. ¡°Shite!!¡± Karl cursed, recoiling away from the wreckage. ¡°Wot in ¡®ells!?¡± Lise, too, leapt off the other way. And so they stood, foe and foe, the span between them barred by a burning husk of a home. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Flagr¨¡ns Vallum (Language: Latin; original name: ¡°Flame Wall¡±) Fire-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of a wall of thick flames. Its breadth can be shaped upon conjuration. Globus Igneus (Language: Latin; original name: ¡°Fireball¡±) Fire-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of a sphere of flames, conjured and lobbed at a target. Explodes and scorches on impact. Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤?¡ß?©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Volume 2 - CH 5.7 Having clambered my way out of the well, I wound my eyes about the locale, finding Karl and his unit-mates missing from the scene. All that remained was the old man, stilled and soulless as he slept upon the earth. Taking him into my arms, I had him brought into his plundered home, and there laid him down beside an elderly woman as she rested the eternal rest upon the littered floor. With husband and wife reunited, I took leave and looked to the west, where raged the fiercest fray. In that distance, I glimpsed the Naf¨ªlim ranks more enlarged than last I¡¯d seen of them. It was certain: the war-chief Volker and his spears were yet fighting on, newly invigorated by reinforcements. The momentum seemed set in their favour. No worries there, then. If aught was to be had, it would be for the orphans and their fallowed home of a district. Had the evacuation went as planned? Or were the paupers being pillaged at this very moment? With each of the little ones¡¯ faces fresh in my mind, I whipped my wounded and waterlogged body into motion. Back to the poor district it was, and by the lay of the streets, I reckoned that Karl and his company had charted the same course: confronting them again was certainly in the cards. But were he in the spread dealt, I knew not how to answer¡ªnot with this hand of mine, so fain as it was to fold, for it was a fact that Karl had left me for dead. Were we to meet again, most surely would he shut the lid over my casket for good. Nonetheless, I was loath to stand idly by. Steeled yet uncertain, I set my sights to the orphans¡¯ home and made haste through the flaming f¨®lkheimr. ? I arrived at the run-down district, close to the children¡¯s abode, only to find the fires having vaulted their way to this vicinity, as well. What foulness there was in the Fiefguard¡­ that they would lay torches upon the houses of the half-homed. But from the sorry sight, there was some relief: the folk here all seemed to have fled¡ªand with them, the children. Onward I went, running through the rubble-strewn street till my eyes caught in the distance the distinct silhouettes of Londosian silver armour. Soldiers¡ªto wit, Karl and his comrades. And joined with them was none other than Ebbe. Swords flashed and flew. There were all of them locked in combat. Though their foe numbered but one: Lise. ¡°¡­No¡­!¡± I gasped. In sighting her did I find also another figure anear: round it was, and sat utterly still upon its knees. The ground beneath it burned with deep red reflections¡ªa pool of blood. All the while, its face was bent down, just as unmoving, just as unbreathing as the rest of its body. The look on Lise¡¯s own told the tale well enough. ¡­It was Berta. The war-chief was felled. I¡¯d only met her in the earlier course of the day. Yet¡­ Hers was a heart of such gentleness and warm spirit that she felt more a friend of many years. A friend, then. Made and lost upon the same day. Lost, at the end of a life led defending the defenceless. One of whom, in turn, defended her memory to this moment. With every sweep and swing of her longdaggers did Lise struggle on, hushing her sorrow as she alone shouldered the fray, all that Berta¡¯s battle might attain to some meaning. What boundless strength there was in her. But a strength on the verge of breaking: the brunt of the brutes¡¯ magicks seemed anathema to her mettle. She could not go it alone. Left as is, her own untimely end was soon to come. Then for her: my strength. Seeing the Ebbe-elites fixed on their foe, I slinked off to the side streets and rounded near, tempting not their attention. Embering eaves, hazy heat¡ªthrough sweltering alleyways I slipped till I touched upon the very side of the soldiers¡¯ formation. Ducking behind cover, I caught sight of a large cart. Bearing it with both hands, I next spotted nigh a half-standing home, empty and choked with embers. To it, I aimed the fore of the cart and, with all my might, sent it barrelling straight in. Bvouvhh!¡ªa boom beat the air as the cart crashed against the rickety wall. The timbers inside all groaned and gave: the paupers¡¯ home, poorly constructed, could not contain the shock. With a jolt, half of the foundations foundered; the building leant forward and failed under its own weight before spilling its burning bowels into the main street. ¡°Shite!!¡± someone shouted amidst the reeling men. ¡°Wot in ¡®ells!?¡± In my ears: Karl with his characteristic screech. And he had every right to be roused, for not only had the hurling house halted the battle, but its fiery remnants now barred the men from their mark: Lise, as she stood on the other side in like astonishment. Soon enough, bewildered eyes spotted me behind the rubble. ¡°¡­You!¡± Karl cried, his face fuming more redly than the roaring flames. ¡°Ye ungraced ghoul, you! A corpse best stays in th¡¯grave, it does!!¡± The Ebbe-lacqueys all brooked my presence no more pleasantly, weaving disdain and damnation with deftness into their scowls. ¡°Rolf!¡± And from behind the blaze came Lise¡¯s call. I began to answer¡ª ¡°Globus Igneus!¡± ¡ªtill sent my way was a whirling sphere of flames. ¡°Damn¡ª!¡± I grimaced, straightway twisting my body and bounding aside, but beset by pain wailing from my many wounds, my legs jerked and nigh-tripped themselves. The fireball flew by as I scrambled to stability, but in its place was Karl, baring his sword for the deathblow. ¡°Yyeeagh!!¡± he shrieked, eyes and nostrils flaring. I whipped my hands to a nearby length of flaming lumber and, caring not for the burn, snatched and sent it against Karl¡¯s sword. The silver slash ceased as it sank into the wood, but another instant, and its flames were snuffed out: odyl burst forth from the blade, bludgeoning and blowing me clear away. ¡°Gwuhach¡­!¡± I flew two, three waggon-lengths back before crashing and rolling along the road. I was wounded enough: the blow left me dazed and defenceless as I laid upon the dust. Karl came close. His feet stamped with anger. I laboured my way back up. ¡°Wot¡¯s brought ye back, eh? Wot?¡± he barked. ¡°I beat ye black n¡¯ blue, I did. Toss¡¯d ye down th¡¯well, left ye t¡¯swim wit¡¯ th¡¯slugs. I did me part in this damn¡¯d play. Why ain¡¯t ye doin¡¯ yours!?¡± ¡°Gwofh¡­!¡± I groaned as Karl dug into my waist a twisting toe of his sabaton. Reeling, I rolled back down into the dirt. ¡°Fancy finding you here, Commandant. ¡®O all places. Oh, o¡¯ all places,¡± came a grating gremlin of a voice. Ebbe¡ªhis own feet broke close ground, and reaching down, he wrested my hair and raised me up. But the motion stopped: into my face flashed the patina of his poleyn. ¡°Uwagh!¡± A knee, right between the eyes. Concussed, I crumbled to the dust. Ebbe feigned no mercy, bashing my body with a stamp of his armoured foot. Followed by another. And another. On and on, the trampling continued, each strike shouldering the whole of his hatred. ¡°Gah¡­ Ghuh¡­¡± I hacked and heaved at every blow. Left a rag splayed on the ground, I felt as though not a length of my girth escaped his grudge. Down Ebbe looked, letting fly a gratified puff from his pale grin. He then turned to the others. ¡°Ah¡­ magicks,¡± he said, inspired. ¡°Brothers. Let¡¯s have the man unmade with what¡¯s ungotten to ¡®im, ey?¡± ¡°Hahah!¡± Karl cackled nearby. ¡°Yon¨¢¡¯s gift! A fine spade t¡¯scoop out ¡®is grave with! Ooh, I likes th¡¯sound o¡¯ that, I does!¡± From the side of my sight: a silverstaff raised by a sorcerer in their lot. Sickly upon his face was a smirk. And upon Ebbe¡¯s. And Karl¡¯s. And all the rest. A sight I¡¯d seen a thousand times before. The maligning mien of Men, always given to his ungraced son. ¡°No! Rolf!¡± Lise yelled from yonder. But as though to disparage her despair, the sorcerer spat out another spell. ¡°Globus Igneus!¡± A whistle, a wind, and then¡ªa wuthering boom. I had ducked to the dirt that I might dodge the dire fires, but the spell had the same mind, meeting the ground with me. Fires flashed. Odyl detonated. A most simple spell, Globus Igneus. One avoidable given preparation. But to an ungraced such as I, simplicity and avoidance yet yielded a deep punishment upon my person. Thus was I blown to the winds, as though my body were no more burdensome than a scrap of paper. My limbs flailed violently from the force they scarce resisted, panging with pain of nigh-dismemberment. A horrid heat stung my every seam as I spun clear through the air. But where I might¡¯ve landed was laid with not ground, but more emptiness: down further I flew, straight into the plaza below. Down, down into its very heart. The passing gusts stopped, giving way to a thunderclapping clamour. Through some obstacle had my body crashed; the landing coarsely cushioned, I found myself reclined yet reeling amidst plumes and piles of dust and sundered timbers. Timbers, forming what was once a roof. A roof, once an awning for an altar. An altar, once standing silent in the centre of the plaza¡ªfacts remembered as I reasoned why I yet drew breath. ¡°Wrecking¡­ a relic like this¡­¡± I uttered. ¡°¡­I¡­ I¡¯m earning curses by the minute¡­¡± My attempt at humour, half-mumbled, half-wheezed. But the artless levity gave little relief from my impending reckoning: down the steps followed the silvered figures of Ebbe and his lacqueys. Nary a hint of haste haunted their strutting pace. Pride was painted upon their simpers, buttressed by unchallenged trust in the triumph sure to come. And come it would, for what foe affrighted their sight but a fey and fangless ungraced? Indeed¡­ the curtains were finally closing. Death was come. This time, I would truly have my heart run through to the hilt. And in my eyes, in my ears, the lingering laughter of my slayers as my final memory. Such a senseless end it was that loomed but mere moments away. ¡°¡­What a life I¡¯ve led¡­ A laughingstock¡­ for the fates¡­¡± I whispered, forcing a smile. For when fraught, it is best to break out laughing, as they say. Fortune favours the bold; bark at the beasts and a brilliant idea might dawn upon thee. What an idea it must be, then, that so strikes asunder this gods-damned deadlock of mine. Humouring away the last moments of my life, I began grimacing. Not at my dawning death, no, but at some wicked weight bearing down upon my bosom. To it, I turned my eyes. There, amidst the rubble was a sword. The same blade blackened by Gweil¡¯?rr¡¯s flames. And not merely amidst the rubble, but almost embraced in my own arms. The sword once set in the altar¡ªa fates¡¯ jest to have it jolted from its ancient slot by the force of my fall. And oh, what a force I myself felt upon my own bosom, as the boulder of a weapon weighed and weighed ponderously down. But it was a weight well-warranted. For the sword was a slab of wolfsteel, stoutest and heaviest of all earthly metals, made more adamantine still by its stygian tempering. Though¡­ ¡­how curious. ¡®¡­One touches the blacksword on peril of piercing pain¡­ ¡­and burns most terrible to behold¡­¡¯ ¡­Yet here it lies, Lise. Here in my touch. It was no illusion. No fancy of the faeries. The blacksword sat stark upon my person. As I stared into its obsidian span, misty whispers welled up in my ears. A strangeness; folk oft say such phenomena haunt sword-devouts. Might I have attained to such gilt echelons, then? Nay. A pupil best pretends not the paragon. And I am very much a pup of a pupil yet. No¡­ These seemed less willful whispers and more wisps of hushed breaths. Breaths bringing dawn to the benighted nature of the sword. A nature now conceding some nakedness to my ken. This, all, was no mere assumption. This was knowledge. Groundless, yes, but a knowledge as ungiving as granite. Knowledge ensuring me thus: I can fight. Bear this Blade, and I can fight. Without Magick. Without Grace. I can fight. What bolstered such belief? I knew not. But that it rang with all truth, I knew very well. Ebbe and his men were now mere paces away. ¡°¡­I see¡­ This¡­ this¡ª¡± ¡ªis where my path ends¡­ ¡­and another begins. A rubicon reached after winters of wayless wending. My deeds on this day are already a dagger twisting in the loin of Londosius. But should I execute this further deed, then it will be no mere dagger in that wound. For were I to take sword in hand¡­ ¡­were I to wield Gweil¡¯?rr¡¯s bale¡­ ¡­and hew my hunters¡­ ¡­these fellows of my flesh¡­ ¡­my blood¡­ ¡­then I bare the blade against all my brethren. I begin anew this battle, flying the Naf¨ªlim banner. As a kinslayer. And once begun¡­ ¡­Once I bring both blade and body to battle¡­ ¡­and task soul and steel to slaughter¡­ ¡­Once I decide whom I shall defend¡­ ¡­and to whom I shall deal death¡­ ¡­that, is when this wavering of mine must end. Along this path shall await former friends and family alike. Awaiting upon battlefields, bearing banners belligerent to my will. And should we meet¡­ ¡­I must neither rescind my resolve¡­ ¡­nor stay my sword. Have I the heart? To fight them? To kill them? I¡­ .. . . .. ¡­I hear someone. ¡®¡­I, for one, have little doubt that our very own Rolf shall be blessed with a veritable mountain of odyl¡­ ¡­A great service he¡¯ll do for the Order¡­! ¡­Won¡¯t you, Rolf¡­?¡¯ ¡®¡­Oh come, my love¡­ ¡­¡®Twon¡¯t do for our young man to sooner buckle under the mountain of expectation, now would it¡­! ¡­Already is he prodigious in matters of book and blade both¡­ ¡­Nevermind a mountain¡­ ¡­a mere mound suffices¡­ ¡­Ah. Mother. Father. On the eve of the Roun of Orisons. ¡®¡­Listen well, Rolf¡­ ¡­No doubt the generosity of Yon¨¢¡¯s gift will prove crucial¡­ ¡­but let it not fray you so¡­ ¡­Of greatest account is that through the Roun of Orisons¡­ ¡­you commune with Yon¨¢ Herself, and thereby with Her¡­ ¡­birth a new bond¡­ ¡­Keep this in your heart¡­!¡¯ ¡®¡­Of course, Lord Father¡­¡¯ How innocent was I? That so lost a lot could be lying in wait was never a visiting thought in my mind then. ¡®¡­We shall smite the foul Naf¨ªlim whence they fester¡­! ¡­That is our solemn duty, to which we pledge our very lives¡­! ¡­For King and Country¡­! ¡­For Family and our fellow Man¡­! ¡­From this day henceforth till the hour of your last breath, my little lions¡­ ¡­deign not to forget this¡­!¡¯ ¡­Tallien. And his vaulting words besides, given upon my inauguration at the 5th. It was my unbending ambition then, to become a knight. One who, with sword in hand and steel in his heart, fights the foes of his homeland. To defend its affrighted fields. To deliver its forlorn folk. ¡®¡­Is there meaning, then¡­? ¡­In going as far as you do¡­?¡¯ ¡®¡­A godless dreg such as you shall not be suffered here¡­! ¡­For this battle reckons both the holy and the profane¡­!¡¯ ¡®¡­Such valour¡­ ¡­one most worthy of praise¡­¡¯ ¡®¡­Were we to stay the path at all costs¡­ ¡­then surely the day will come¡­! ¡­The day when the war is done at last¡­ ¡­and the Naf¨ªlim along with it¡­!¡¯ ¡­What¡¯s the meaning of all this? My life, flashing before my eyes, is it? You waste your breath. For I still draw mine, and plan to for a while longer yet. Nay, I¡¯m not laid low; I need but a moment to catch it. That¡¯s all. You well-know the trick. Pretend nigh-defeat till the count before the last, take a breather in the meantime¡ªpugilists employ it often enough. And I¡¯m not one to scorn a sound tactic. ¡®¡­But don¡¯t you forget¡­ ¡­we owe you much for your deeds on this day, Rolf¡­ ¡­Thank you¡­¡¯ ¡®¡­Buckmann¡­! ¡­¡®Tis the Naf¨ªlim we speak of here¡­! ¡­The nemesis of Man¡­! ¡­The kin and kindred of crawling beasts¡­! ¡­Our sworn foes from the days of fair St. Rakliammelech himself¡­!¡¯ ¡®¡­No¡­ ¡­That look on your face¡­ ¡­I spies a tongue well-ready t¡¯spew the same nonsense as ¡®fore¡­ ¡­Some spit ¡®bout staying us hands from the civilians¡­. ¡­Say it ain¡¯t so, Commandant¡­!¡¯ ¡­Enough. ¡®¡­You killed us¡­! ¡­You kidnapped us¡­! ¡­But no more¡­!!¡¯ ¡®¡­Son of Man¡­ ¡­You have heeded your heart¡­¡¯ ¡®¡­Oh¡­? Then I say¡­ ¡­quite courageous, this commandant¡­! ¡­He is but one¡­ ¡­yet quivers not¡­!¡± ¡­Enough, I said. Those I¡¯ve met. Those in whom I¡¯ve confided, with whom I¡¯ve quarrelled¡ªall of them are etched deep into my heart. I know not your purpose, but I well-know the plot to this puppet show. So cut the strings, I say, whoever you are. Yes indeed, I know. Well enough, in fact. These thoughts, these words, all have haunted me to hell and back. To have me sit through them again earns naught but my annoyance, you know. ¡®¡­Aaaagh¡­! ¡­Uwghaaaahh¡­!!¡¯ ¡®¡­Theo¡­! Theo¡­! ¡­Don¡¯t give up¡­ Theo¡­! ¡­Please¡­! ¡­Plea¡ªse¡­!¡¯ ¡®¡­Uuaaah¡­! Hic¡­! ¡­Brother¡­ ¡­don¡¯t di¡ªe¡­! ¡­Waaah¡­!¡¯ ¡­¡­ ¡®¡­I know you¡­¡¯ ¡­Am I so untrustworthy? I¡¯ve said it once before, haven¡¯t I? I know. Of what I believe. Of what path I must take. Of what I must do. Worry not. I¡¯ll be all right. ¡®¡­please¡­ ¡­don¡¯t be sad¡­¡¯ I¡¯m not given to sadness. Nor will I give it. I¡¯m grown now, after all. Grown into a man. A man who keeps his promises. Wait. Wait, I said. Where are you going? It was then that Fate thought to fly from my very view. Such flight I dared not suffer. For never was I the sort to let slip the charity of chance. Hence I reached forth to take her hand. Oh, with all the might I could muster, I reached long and held strong. And when next my eyes saw again, I was risen from the rubble, finding fast-bound in my hands the blade of dragon-black. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Globus Igneus (Language: Latin; original name: ¡°Fireball¡±) Fire-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of a sphere of flames, conjured and lobbed at a target. Explodes and scorches on impact. Volume 2 - CH 5.8 The mere weight of it whelmed my wits. I see now. I feel. Boulder-like indeed, its weight. This ashened shard of wolfsteel. This sv?rtaskan. Yet its hilt was a harmony and a hurricane in my hands, seemingly sucking in every finger and fold of skin, that were I none the wiser, I might¡¯ve fancied it my sworn weapon of many winters. Gripping tight, I lifted its lightless weight and stood poised in the centre guard, training its ebon blade straight at Ebbe and his men. ¡°Oy! Playin¡¯ th¡¯practised swashbuckler now, eh Commandant!¡± Karl shouted from afar as he crept closer. ¡°Wot? Think t¡¯wag yer wand with th¡¯likes o¡¯ us battle-brothers, ah!?¡± The bayings of a boy. Naught but a distraction, dim and distant from my mind as it melded with the blade. There did pain perish from every fathom and facet of my body. Indeed, as the moon was my witness, mine was a body beaten, broken, bruised, and blown up¡­ but by simply instilling my conscience into the sword was all agony forgotten from my flesh: the clouds were parted, the cold stung no more, the mists thinned past all thought. In such clarity, centred in my sight, there spanned the spike of black, the blade deeper than dusk¡ªthe breathing abyss. ¡°Ohh?¡± Karl cocked his brows as he caught a glimpse of it. ¡°Wot¡¯s with that brightless brand, eh? Some stick o¡¯ Naf¨ªlim-make? Well, makes me right sick, th¡¯sight o¡¯ it! Hah!¡± Your sight¡¯s what¡¯s sick, Karl. For I see much beauty in this blade. Beauty¡ªand a faint fury, mingling within the night-sea blackness of the sword¡­ ¡­from which depths there seemed to lurk some living sight of its own, glaring unglintingly back at mine, as though to mete the mettle of its new master against an unknowable measure. ¡°Not comin¡¯, Commandant? Eh? Ye scared? Second thoughts ¡®ave ye pissin¡¯ yer pants?¡± Karl crowed on as he and his comrades opened ranks before me. ¡°Then we shows ye ¡®ow a sword be real-swung! Eh, brothers!?¡± ¡°Yea! A fico fer ye, Commandant! Yer coffin calls!¡± ¡°High time we unman¡¯d yer marbles, mud-pate! Ye gadded ¡®bout fer long ¡®nough! Now ye¡¯ll taste th¡¯might o¡¯ Yon¨¢-loved men!¡± Straightway, Ebbe¡¯s brothers fired forth, converging upon their ungraced mark. So be it. Here begins my battle. Elites, left and right, reached close, but I broke ahead, setting my sights on the forward rank. The frontal assault: a favourite manoeuvre of mine. And with my physique, one most mete for the maiming of enemy morale¡ªand arrogance. Keeping level, I lunged forth by the singular force of my feet. In one breath, three pass¨±s passed by. ¡°Ah?¡± Surprise flashed on the face of my first foe¡ªupon which grew the thunder-shadow of my plunging blade. No doubt his unhelmed head was safe inside a paling, applied by the marriage of silver and odyl. The very same paling that protects silvered Men from scalp to sole¡­ and one that has halted my former swings without fail. But no longer. With sightless speed, the soot-steel scythed through the paling unopposed. Ghwoshheu¡ª ¡ªa geyser of sound from the skull of my mark. The overhead hew halved his head, from which redly spewed the spring of instant death. Thus crossed was the rubicon, flowing with the first blood of my betrayal. The sensation lingered still in my hands, but hesitation lingered no longer in my heart, for resolute must be he who takes sword in hand and sets forth into the fatal fray. Down to the ground the halved-head husk crumbled, though I sooner bounded back a ways, corralling into my sight two soldiers flying to my flank. The right arrived first, faster by a pace. I pelted immediately unto his midst, my hands sending shadowed sharpness slanting down upon his person. There, the black blade bit first into a gap in his armour¡ª ¡ªzzsshhrr!¡ª ¡ªbefore flashing through flesh, from right shoulder to left loin. Here, too, the paling proved powerless. Here, too, the soot-steel sundered sinew and odyl alike. ¡°Y¡­ yeuuu! Wretch!!¡± shrieked the leftward lacquey, closing in vindictively. His sword flapped forth, but slowness mildened its menace and blunted what edge it might¡¯ve boasted. For as he started one step, I finished three: thrusting myself unto close quarters, I swept forth my sword in a hewing horizon. Gnashing anew at the night: the dull din of meeting metals. Parted from its paling, silver is soft, fit only for finery. Though this instant might¡¯ve served too severe an example. For wolfsteel was set against it. The unyielding, unwieldy metal¡ªsmithed into a sword, tempered black by dragonbreath, and wielded with winters-honed strength, speed, and skill¡ªstarkly revealed the silver armour¡¯s naked worth, as reams of it were riven asunder by the blade of black. ¡°Ghbrreh!?¡± Through the left rib, out the right: the man, cleanly twained, twisted to his death after blowing blood from his gaping lips. ¡°W¡­ wot¡­!?¡± flinched the remnant foes in their fright. Three dead. With them, my theory was thrice-confirmed: this sword of soot was a cinder of Gweil¡¯?rr¡¯s will. In his time, the wyrm of yesteryore well-judged magick a maugre, a perversion stark-parted from the precepts of life. And it was his flame that ashened this very sword¡­ ¡­into a black blade that loathed magick no less, damning all odyl daring to touch its lightless length. Hence how it hews palings with nary a pinch of pity. Though the underpinning principles escaped my ken, there was no mistake: Gweil¡¯?rr¡¯s afgodly grace was burned into this blade. Reasonable, then, that any fellow hitherto fain to wield it was met with misery. This was a sword ill-suffering all flesh¡ªsave for the one soul ungraced with the gift of odyl. ¡°Flagr¨¡ns Vallum!¡± cried a conjuring voice. From the silverstaff of a soldier-sorcerer came a flicker, and then flames were woven out of thin air. A whole wall of brilliant fire, moaning and now moving towards my midst. But I did not budge: into the high guard I raised the black blade. Trust was in me. Trust for the coming truth: that magick can be a thing unmade. Then, with a breath, I brandished down the dour sword. A dull bellow beat my ears as the blade plunged with a weighty wind. Wolfsteel sliced through walls of flame, and in the blink of an eye, the brimming fires all fled like a fog before a sudden sun. ¡°¡­W-w¡­¡± Ebbe¡¯s men bent their brows in disbelief, whilst missing from one of their necks was a head, now wheeling high in the air: I had not tarried to watch the wall vanish as they did, but instead sprinted through the spectacle and into their ranks, brandishing again the unbrightened blade. Blood fountained from the neck-stump as the rest of the fresh corpse crumbled to its knees. The silverstaff once fast in its hands rolled free along the ground. ¡°No¡­ Ye be weak! Weak! We¡ªak!!¡± cried the closest brute as he raised high his silverblade. That scorn of his, still steadfast in spite of his imperilled plight, was rather moving, in a way. And so did I move back by half a step. ¡°Ach¡­ Ye rat!¡± With a curse, the man stumbled, missing his moment to strike. Left undecided for an instant, he was met by my immediate advance. ¡°Aurrh!¡± The guttural groan of my mark, and his last breath besides, for shooting straight through his throat now was the broad blade-head of the sv?rtaskan. Extracting it from the expiring flesh, I watched my foe founder to the dust as both blood and breath sputtered out of his gaping wound. I ducked¡ªair whistled above. ¡°Owach!?¡± A yelp from behind. A blade, missing its mark. An assailant, surprised. Though the surprise was solely his: just their sounds, the very darting of their eyes, plainly gave away all of these men¡¯s movements. There was at least some wherewithal in him, my ambusher, for his sword arm remembered to reel his blade back in for the follow-up. Only, fastness found him not, for in the midst of his motion, my sword was already soaring. Bracing my belly-sinews, I next sent the black sword plunging down. ¡ªGwshhokh. A grumbling, grinding groan: the air jarred as jet steel cleaved through the brute¡¯s bosom. Silver plates creased like crumpling paper. Bones shattered into shards. The beating heart therein was halved. My foe faltered to the ground, blood bursting from his mouth and torso both. ¡°A¡­ a lie! A lie ¡®pon the eyes! A li¡ªe!!¡± From beyond the blood spray, a shrill denial from yet another challenger. He sprinted in, sword in single-handed tow. An often sight in this realm: men wielding with one hand what is meant for two. Certainly a sword so swung can cut a foe¡ªgiven enough odyl. But such half-hearted, half-handed hewing becomes only the thespian swashbuckler. Pageantry wins the stage; practice wins the battlefield. Thus a soldier set in swinging with one hand ill-strikes as true as another with two. Correct form is quick-forgotten by him. Accuracy is but an afterthought. He is bent on naught but the beauty of battle, and so marches all the more hastily to his unmarked grave. Such a soldier breathed before me now. His was a sword seeming more a twig in a toddler¡¯s hands. And from that sword of his, there bloomed a bang of sparks: with but a swing of my own was the it repelled to no peril, for in the silverslash¡¯s infantile arch was imbued neither subtlety nor strength¡ªnor odyl for that matter, as all magicked strength therein sublimated instantly before the soot-steel. ¡°Eyh?¡± From his lips, the low yip of despair. From his eyes, the reflection of my quickly encroaching form, blade borne in the low guard. Strength flashed through my two arms. With a whole-sinewed, whole-souled swing, up soared the soot-steeped sword. And from my mark: a scream. ¡°Eaahhrrg¡ª!!¡± ¡ªGgsshhaakh! The sable half-circle sliced into the grunt¡¯s groin before bursting out of his brain-cage. Armour, flesh, bone¡ªall were sundered. The man: now but left and right halves of a hewn cadaver, falling to feed the worms. The sight of it elicited a collective gasp from my remnant foes. Foes, who now numbered but two. Foes, who next found my gaze fixed upon them. Foes, who but stood with faces of fey pallour. Their shoulders shuddered as my words met their ears. ¡°Ebbe. Karl. We settle this¡ªnow.¡± ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Flagr¨¡ns Vallum (Language: Latin; original name: ¡°Flame Wall¡±) Fire-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of a wall of thick flames. Its breadth can be shaped upon conjuration. Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Volume 2 - CH 5.9 ¡°What myst¡­ be this¡­?¡± Lise could but look on in awe. In her gaze of green was reflected the figure of Rolf, rending his foes, his kinsmen, upon the plaza below. Oh, ¡®what myst¡¯, indeed. The very first to confound her was wrapped in Rolf¡¯s very fingers: Gweil¡¯?rr¡¯s ire, the sv?rtaskan, slashing to and fro, scything silver and finding flesh. But what of explanation? Of reason? For the black blade had hitherto scorned all skin, had it not? A phenomenon of fangs, biting and burning the taming touch, gloved or no! Such was this sword, sheathed in stone-like solitude, knowing no warmth within all the many winters of its witnessing. The chroniclers called it a material memory of the T¨ªvaforn¨¢r, the everdistant days when gods of eld yet graced the land. But of wielders, of masters to this sword, those same chroniclers knew not, for neither scrolls of their scouring nor songs yet sung remember now any such soul so steeped in soot. Would that they were here with Lise, to witness the brightless blade wielded anew in the hands of one Rolf Buckmann! The second myst to surprise the wide-eyed Lise? Why, the very metal of the sword itself. Wrought in wolfsteel, the weapon was of a weight thought beyond all wielding. And so was it long relegated to rituals, earning honour as a sword of ceremony, far from any battle where it might sooner boast of breaking its master¡¯s bones than drinking the blood of its marks. The Hensenfolk found much reason in this, and thus had forgotten all need to bring its sharpness to bear. But such weight was as wind to Rolf. The sword swept and sliced as though it were a dagger dancing in his hands, its every stroke striking with utmost surety. Yet Rolf himself seemed in no condition to conjure such martial miracles¡ªhe was unmended! Weathered with wounds every which way! Pulsing pain should be his principal opponent, but to pay it no mind and make battle instead? No doubt a mountainous effort certain to unmake him at any moment. Yet, it was an effort endeavoured enduringly. Weighty wolfsteel flew through flesh, free as a feather. What skill. What steeled resolve. Lise realised it then: Rolf was of another plane. And that itself was the third myst: in all the years of Lise¡¯s life, never had she seen more strongly, more swiftly, more stately a sword swung than Rolf¡¯s sooted own. A fleet flow of manoeuvres, from mind to motion: with gallantry in his gait did Rolf rush in and hew his fangless foes. One by one, they were handed their defeat, gifts from a galloping blade spurred on by unspoiled technique. As Lise watched, fixed and fascinated by the affrighted fray, the fourth myst was made manifest: the unmaking of both Men and their argent armour. With but a swing, Rolf rent them both asunder to no resistance¡ªand to no impossibility, either. No, a prank of the pixies this was not: Lise¡¯s former foe¡¯s was a physique most fit for the phenomenon. Add to that his fey and fatal finesse, and his unbending blade of ashened wolfsteel besides, then certainly such a spectacle of monstrous might was no mere mirage. But the next and final myst was what truly baffled her. Rolf had maimed a magick unto nothingness. ¡°Cutting through spells¡±¡ªa phrase that fights reason. But such contest was of no constriction to Rolf. With a swing of the sunless sword was ensorcelled fire snuffed like a candle. Inconceivable, but incontrovertible. Of what buttressed that truth, Lise knew less than little. Though suppose such unprecedented power possessed the blade. What of knowledge of its nature? What of inspiration, of gall to wield it to this very purpose? Not least within the first moments shared between sword and swordsman? What had driven Rolf to trust the blade¡¯s mettle against the might of magicks? The answer laid somewhere in those throes of soot and silver, but try as she might, Lise could not espy it, even as Rolf¡¯s fighting form earned her enduring and emerald gaze. Myst after myst, miracle after miracle, Lise was a but a bewildered witness to it all. Still, one thing was most certain: the blood spilt, the bodies sinking into seas of red, all belonged to Rolf¡¯s Londosian brothers. Yet more certain again was that his bloody betrayal birthed not a wisp of fear nor hateful frost in Lise¡¯s heart. No. Rolf was resplendent. A wolf of noble worth. That was her unmired measure of him. For why, she had not the words, only that her heart of hearts was firm in feeling so. And one last wonder lingered in her awe: the streams of soot trailing each swing of the sword. The legends, indeed, had spoken true, for as Rolf rived flesh and silver, soot verily sang about his person. In Lise¡¯s eyes, the blackness was a thing of beauty. Like silken smoke or lightless ink lilting across canvasses of air, the raven ribbons swirled, swartening even the night, only to then fade to naught. Unforgotten, Gweil¡¯?rr¡¯s memory seemed more and more a blade mantled in both the grandness of a beast and the grace of a butterfly. And amidst its mighty swings of soot and blood was Rolf, bathed in the blackness. But seen in the swarthy seams were his eyes, glinting with the twin vesper-stars of valour and volition. Could this world bear aught more beautiful? The question took hold of Lise. Nevermind the blood-mired battlefield upon which it was painted. This was a masterpiece to the Naf¨ªl maiden, one beyond all words. She was enchanted, enraptured, by what might pass for a hildityr¡¯s deadly dance; little did she know, upon her cheeks had long bloomed a rosy blush, whilst her breaths rolled broken and bated. And when the throes thinned to silence at last, Lise was lifted back to the moment at hand, finding Rolf facing his last two foes. ¡ß ¡°W-w¡­ witch¡¯ry¡­! A trick¡­!¡± stammered Karl, staring at me as I stood encircled by corpses. ¡°Yer weak! Ungraced! Gouge me eyes, they sees a lie!¡± The varlet¡¯s voice undulated with umbrage, yet his face was faint with pallour. That anger undergirded his words regardless showed that the boy was but barking away, perhaps to forget the fear so clear on his countenance. ¡°C-C¡­ Commandant. How handy you be with a sword. Why, I-I never knew! H-heheh¡­¡± Ebbe broke his silence. Calm seemed hale in him¡ªmore so than Karl, at least. ¡°An ungraced, piercing the paling? Fancy that. T-tell me, Commandant. You look t¡¯have cut through us cuirasses, sunder¡¯d us spells. You¡ªan odylless bloke. What¡¯s the trick, ey?¡± This cullion, too, was quivering in his enquiry. Minced talk seemed his tactic¡ªa valid one, I¡¯ll give him that. A bit of parleying to parlay his dusking plight, to be sure. ¡°Trick?¡± I shook my head. ¡°You saw no trick, Ebbe. But if truth be your craving, then come. Seek it from this sword. It can sing the answer sooner than I,¡± I said at length, standing newly ready. ¡°Though, a warning: I know your worth. Of how your idle days have dulled your swords to sticks. Mine, I¡¯ve honed under many suns and moons, more so than you ever have¡ªand ever will.¡± ¡°Sh-sh-shhhkh¡ª!!¡± Karl frothed. ¡°Shut it, ye shite-breed, yeee¡ªu!!¡± ¡°Sticks¡± seemed to have stung a nerve in this nithing as he flew fast upon me in fury. But from its flailing, his sword truly was no more a stick, fit only for a brat¡¯s make-believe battle. One I humoured: his nearing metal was matched with a sweep of my own. Silver brushed upon black steel. The air hissed. Karl¡¯s sword swerved off to nowhere, whilst I next moved mine to the low guard and heaved it up in a geyser of a slash. ¡°Woaah!?¡± the sword-brat yelped, falling to his bottom in miserable retreat. Yet victory was still so craved that amidst his fall, he flung his sword at me. Only, the bladed flight was broken with a simple flick of the soot-steel. ¡°You cling close to life, Karl,¡± I remarked. ¡°Admirable¡ªif not ungraceful.¡± Veins writhed. ¡°Ungrrr¡ª!? Shut it! Shut! Shut-shut-shut!!¡± Amidst his cries, Karl clamoured about before filching a sword from the fingers of one of his fallen fellows. Back on his feet, he funnelled odyl into the silver length, screaming out a bladespell¡¯s name. ¡°Annihiland¨­!!¡± ¡ªGwofhh! Like a deep, windy drumbeat, the scene snarled as flames newly furled about Karl¡¯s sword, illumed by which was his face, so utterly steeped in fury. ¡°K-Karl! Calm, my boy!¡± cried Ebbe. ¡°You, me, the commandant¡ªcut from the same Londosian cloth! That¡¯s us! Come, we ought settle this with words than war! R-right!? Commandant!¡± The hellion shook his head heatedly. ¡°Spare th¡¯peace-spit, Master Ebbe! Why, I¡¯d stick pins in me eyes than parley with this pansy!¡± ¡°Likewise, Karl,¡± I echoed. ¡°Funny¡ªto only now find more in common with you than the reckoning to come!¡± ¡°Aaaegh!!¡± blared the bomb-like boy. ¡°Whoreson!! Sin-breed!! Bastard!!¡± Karl¡¯s boiling veins bubbled further. His eyes bulged, his gaze was as brimstone. ¡°You be th¡¯wayward one ¡®ere! Evil incarnate! Wayside waif! Yon¨¢ toss¡¯d ye fer th¡¯turncoat ye be! So back t¡¯the bottom with ye, I says! Back t¡¯the bottom! Where ye belo¡ªng!!¡± At once, Karl came blasting in. The searing sword in his hands swept ahead. Hellfire followed, filling the air with gusting heat. I stamped forth head-on, firing off the blackbrand in an arch counter to Karl¡¯s own. Silver and steel. Half-circles, sailing, crashing. The night thundered. The air thrashed. Hellfires faded to a hush. Silence hung. ¡°Ah¡­ a-aah¡­¡± my foe gasped at length. ¡°Karl,¡± I said to him. ¡°Recall the rally against the retreating Naf¨ªlim. A rally you all executed against my command, when I was yet green upon my post.¡± Into his dazed eyes I stared as we stood vis-¨¤-vis. ¡°Remember you a certain axe-brave? Big? Yet deathblown by your bloodlust?¡± His gaze twitched. ¡°W¡­ w-wot ye on ¡®bout, eh? ¡®Axe-brave¡¯? Me pate ¡®asn¡¯t room fer rememb¡¯rin¡¯ rubbish!¡± Mia¡¯s father was fast forgotten to him, it seemed. How I wished he had at least the wherewithal to keep some memory of his murdered marks. ¡°A shame,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll remember you, Karl.¡± Blackness gnashed once more. The brightless blade shadow-flashed¡ª ¡ªand flew through Karl¡¯s throat. ¡°Hkkh?¡± His silver sword clamoured to the dust. ¡°¡­kh¡­ gwhhrr¡­¡± Reaching up, Karl grabbed the gushing gash in his gullet. But try as he might, the redness only ran on through his fingers. Death was knocking. Perhaps pained by the unsought sound, he mustered malice and misery into his face, twisting it every which way. All the while, he stared at me, crazed. ¡°Hhhhaa¡­! ghr¡­ rhh¡­¡± Before long, the vessels and veins to his brain were void of vitality. Eyes, once wild with hate, waned as his thoughts thinned to naught. Hands, once desperate for deliverance, dropped and dangled limp. His knees gave, letting his bloodletted body collapse to the dust. Just Ebbe and I now remained. We stood there face-to-face, with only Karl¡¯s crumpled corpse between us. His sallowed face full-soaked in frosty sweat, Ebbe quaked in his boots, his teeth rattling all the while. ¡°¡­Ha¡­ haha¡­ C-Commandant. Dear Commandant. Why, yo-you be more a lion than I like you t¡¯be.¡± I slowly approached. ¡°W-what skill! What deadly deftness! Overcome odyllessness an¡¯ this be what¡¯s begotten! Hah¡­! Who knew? T-tell me, dread Commandant. What be th¡¯source o¡¯ all that strength, ey?¡± Closer still. ¡°Oh, yea. Strength, strong indeed, might¡¯ly mete for Londosius! Er, mighty ¡®nough for uh¡­ for, for the Order, why not! Yea, bravely back t¡¯the Order with you! With full honours! Hurrah! Heheh¡­!¡± I stopped. Ebbe was spending all powers of speech to delay his doom. It seemed he well-knew his swordsmanship would prove poor prevention. Still, even such powers had gone sour, for the content of his ramblings were all but rubbish to my ears¡ªand my heart. ¡°Truly, Ebbe?¡± I spoke at last. ¡°Is Londosian love so cheap? To have new charity for the child it has hotly hated? You saw what I¡¯ve done: I sent steel sundering through Londosian sons.¡± ¡°D-dirty details, I say!¡± he cried, waving his hand. ¡°Nothing t¡¯sweat ¡®bout, yea? L-like I said, words ¡®fore war, heh! So why not wind it down, ey? Talk this over with a cheery chat. Come now, Commandant!¡± Talk. What talk? By now, the will to wend back to Londosius was all but long gone in me. ¡°Ebbe. The reckoning¡¯s reached. Ready your sword.¡± The bony man¡¯s mien fell to a frown. Deeper now was the nightly silence, for all the hoofbeats, war-bellows, and sword-biting that once battered the air had ceased before our noticing. The march of Men, then, was unmade. The Fiefguard had failed. Faint now, too, was the fray at the west gate. The curtains were closing at last. The battle for Hensen: dying down to its last embers. Volume 2 - CH 6.1 ¡®Twas a week since the screening for the post of chief adjutant, with not a day spent without great thought upon Rolf¡­ namely, his hand¡¯s refusal of my availing own. Anger, sorrow¡ªthey were as tyrants over my heart, with one handing its rule to the other at each turn of the day. ¡®Twas when such a week was beginning to leave me frayed and weary that I received a particular missive. The seal of House Mernesse was pressed upon it. And signed within: the name of a certain servant. And signed within: the name of a certain servant. ¡±Maria¡±. Writ was her desire to meet me and confide a matter of some import. Of course, I obliged. Maria was a handmaiden most dear to me, after all, a soul of no replacement. Though my time as a mareschal was precious, Maria was more so, thus I wrote back that she would be gladly received. And indeed she was; some days afterwards, Maria arrived at the 5th¡¯s gates. But to my astonishment, she was wholly unaccompanied not only when she had walked into my chamber, but through the entirety of her trip. The way stretched much between the Mernesse residence and this marquisate of Norden; that the little girl once so timid had grown quickly into a bold, young woman came as a sincere shock to me. ¡°Still, no damsel should endeavour so long a journey alone,¡± I told her. ¡°I¡¯ll send for escorts when you mean to return. They¡¯ll keep you safe on the road.¡± ¡°M¡¯lady, pray spare the trouble,¡± she tried to soothe my worries. ¡°I went the way without incident; there is security enough in a stagecoach.¡± ¡°Nay, Maria. One so dear to me deserves the utmost,¡± I said, then sighing. ¡°Would that Father is as precious with you as I¡­¡± There in the mareschal¡¯s chamber did we then sit ourselves on settees and share recent happenings over tea. From her words, Mother and Father were both hale as ever. Things good and glad to my ears, but hardly the aim of Maria¡¯s days-long trip. As our chat went on, her face ever so slightly furrowed more and more, as though the purpose of our meeting were a thorn deeply pricking the tip of her tongue. So much so that I, too, began to feel its sting, and so wishing to bridge the impasse, I enquired her of it. Hesitation gripped Maria for a moment, but with eyes newly steadfast, she began to speak. ¡°I¡¯ve heard tell of Lord Rolf, m¡¯lady. To wit, his expulsion from the Order.¡± My brows fell. ¡°Then you¡¯ve heard aright. He was exiled¡­ on account of cutting a horse loose beyond his ken. ¡®Twas a gift from His Majesty, to be sure, but¡­ the incident caused more a tumult than it should.¡± A topic bitter upon my own tongue. But for Maria¡¯s sake, I minded it little. And so I related to her in full the scandal leading to Rolf¡¯s discharge. ¡°Exile be a price too heavy for a sin so light. All we¡¯d lost was a horse, after all, even if ¡®twas the king¡¯s own once,¡± I continued at length. ¡°No¡­ ¡®twas Rolf¡¯s refusal to apologise that tipped the scales against him. Remorse, reflection¡­ he was fain for neither.¡± Welling up next in my heart were memories of Rolf¡¯s tight-lipped defiance. And muddying them: his sore absence from the screening just a week past. A chance given and turned away¡­ Reminded, I felt then the all-too familiar teeth of anger and sorrow gnawing away at me. Sighing again, I sipped a bit of tea. ¡°He who sooner cowers than confronts his faults ill-bears the burden of knighthood,¡± I went on. ¡°Such a soul finds pale purpose in the Order¡­ And so I had him leave our halls.¡± Ending my account of the matter, I then found on Maria a downcast look, sombre and miserable. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Maria,¡± I tried to console her. ¡°To see so long-fond a friend as Rolf lose his way¡­ It grieves me no less than it does you.¡± Rolf was a familiar face to Maria for many years. Small wonder, then, that she would ache for the wunderkind she once knew. One sent far away, after having realised so little of his childhood ambition. ¡°Yet knighthood chooses the knight, in the end,¡± I filled the silence. ¡°Only those who suit the surcoat can rightly fly the knightly flag. ¡®Twas Rolf¡¯s dearest dream, truly¡­ though I¡¯m afraid some dreams are only for bedtime.¡± I laid down my teacup. The tiny porcelain clink against the saucer was as a clap against the air, stifled and heavy in its emptiness. Such quietude rasped against our ears. ¡°Maria¡­ I have hope for him yet,¡± I began again. ¡°Given chance, he might change his ways. A chance I¡¯ve well-given him, only¡ª¡± ¡°Nay, m¡¯lady¡­¡± An interruption, soft yet resolved. I blinked. ¡°M-Maria?¡± ¡°That¡¯s not it at all,¡± she insisted. ¡°When the horse had gone missing, Lord Rolf was long-away from these halls.¡± ¡°¡­W¡­ what¡­?¡± Maria¡¯s words were as lightning, striking away my every effort to comprehend them. ¡°M¡¯lady¡­ ¡®Twas not he who had set it loose.¡± ? Maria¡¯s ensuing relation to me was not of explanation for Rolf, but herself. ¡®Twas harrowing to discover that she numbered amongst the many victims of the Albecks¡¯ loathsome sins. There was some measure of gladness, however, in knowing that she was spared of the worst, but that she told her story with much torment was evident that, to this moment, it all yet haunted her terribly. ¡°Oh, Maria¡­ What turmoil you¡¯ve known¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°You are ever kind, m¡¯lady.¡± Always had I known Maria to be rather reserved, even back when she was of years better spent in play than chores. During those days, I could on occasion glean some shade eclipsing her otherwise sunny visage. The pieces fell into place, then, knowing now that such a past was casting that darkness upon her all along. By her words, ¡®twas one coincidence after another that led to her safe flight from the Albecks¡¯ grip eight years ago. The doom suffered by their other victims was cause for much grief, of course, but knowing that, at the very least, my dear Maria was alive to tell the tale earned my enduring gratitude for those miracles. ¡°And yet what bravery you¡¯ve displayed, to have come to the 5th with not a friend in tow. Despite the shadows of your past¡­¡± I remarked, before shaking my head. ¡°Nay. Absent such shadows, the long way is worrisome enough, not least for a lady unled.¡± ¡°I owe much to Lord Rolf for my resolve,¡± she said with some light to her words. ¡°Without him, I would yet be a mouse, quivering in a dark corner.¡± ¡°Maria¡­¡± I said fadingly. The questions yet loomed. ¡°I fear I don¡¯t follow. Your past was a grave plight, indeed, but¡­ how might it touch the topic of Rolf and the horse?¡± ¡°Yes¡­¡± she answered. And then, after a breath, ¡°I shall explain in full, m¡¯lady.¡± From there did Maria detail all she knew, from start to finish. ¡®Twas during a visit paid to the Mernesse home by the Viscount Albeck and his son when she¡¯d spotted their faces. A sight awakening the old nightmare, as ¡®twere, for in seeing them and knowing what devilry they concealed did Maria realise that I, too, would someday share in her despair¡­ and more. Yet in spite of it, she could not bring herself to tell Father. ¡°¡­At the time, the master was mired in many pains, appealing to viscount-houses your hand in marriage. And rightfully so¡­¡± she explained. ¡°It decided much, the marriage. Of whether House Mernesse might continue¡­ or crumble all to pieces. That very burden was full-borne by the master. How it weighed down his every waking hour was lost not even to me. And so to trouble him further¡­ with what but a mere memory from my six year-old self¡­ I¡­ I couldn¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°You feared Father would¡¯ve ill-heeded your warning, fraught as he was,¡± I summarised for her. ¡°I see now¡­ a quandary, no doubt. And that¡¯s to say naught of accusing another noble house of wickedness. A spark for commotion, ¡®tis certain¡­¡± ¡°Indeed¡­ Thus I begged Lord Rolf for his aid.¡± And aid he lent, from her telling. In her hour of greatest need, Rolf gave Maria his unwavering trust. And from there did he head to the Albeck viscounty, but not before bidding Maria¡¯s silence on this matter to everyone else. My heart jumped upon the discovery. ¡°W-wait, I was kept deaf of all this? Why?¡± ¡°House Mernesse might¡¯ve known misery had m¡¯lady been apprised of the plot. Such was Lord Rolf¡¯s thought.¡± A sound one, at that, thinking on it¡­ The aristocratic sphere is ever fickle. An ill-turn, and a noble house can be quickly spurned of its good graces, like a hidden dagger thrust into the belly, there to let the slow and agonising death run its course. Had I, a mareschal of an Order, been found to be involved in prosecutions brought upon my own betrothed and his ennobled family, surely House Mernesse would¡¯ve met a like fate, even should the charges be true and just. Maria herself said as much, that my marriage to a viscount-house promised much foothold and security for House Mernesse. Just as Father plied himself to bring the marriage to fruition, so did I toil away at my duties as mareschal to maintain my desirability as a bride¡­ all for my family, ever tottering towards ruin as we were. Rolf was most wise to this, I¡¯m sure. And so did he find it unthinkable to have me involved in all that followed. ¡°¡®Tis ill that a maidservant keeps secrets from her mistress,¡± said Maria. ¡°Pray forgive me, m¡¯lady.¡± ¡°Oh, dear Maria¡­ You¡¯ve done naught that needs forgiveness,¡± I assured her. ¡°But of keeping secrets¡ªdid Rolf speak further of this?¡± ¡°Yes. He apologised for bidding my silence, and vowed that all else would be his to handle.¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± My shoulders fell. My heart sank. ¡°¡­That is very much like Rolf¡­ isn¡¯t it¡­?¡± ¡®Twas from there on that he infiltrated the Albeck viscounty and the lord¡¯s manor. In just one wheeling of the sun, Rolf brought both viscount and son to justice¡ªall by himself. ¡°Drunken dalliance¡± was his excuse at the hearing, a stupor of such severity so as to leave him empty of much recollection. There were even those amongst the leadership who disparagingly proposed his patronage at some brothel, on account of him staying the night in town. But that was not the way of it. No, not at all. Rolf¡­ Rolf was risking his life to save mine. He had lent ear to Maria¡¯s story and plea, made for the viscounty in the same evening, and before next nightfall, put an end to this tragedy. One that had endured too long in the shadows. One that had so needlessly taken countless lives. All of it, unravelled and undone in just one day. Rolf¡­ Ever our paragon. Ever gallant beyond all measure. ¡­Ever unsung in spite of all his sacrifices. Volume 2 - CH 6.2 ¡°M¡¯lady,¡± called Maria amidst my heavy thoughts. ¡°¡®Twas here at headquarters where I stayed, on the same evening Lord Rolf had set out for the Albecks¡¯ viscounty.¡± ¡°That I recall, yes,¡± I affirmed. ¡°And after nightfall did I fain visit the stables, that I might behold your royal steed.¡± ¡­I knew then to what conclusion Maria was leading me. A conclusion attested, yet hidden for many months for my sake. A truth, sudden like lightning and colder than ice. ¡°¡­And beheld it you did, didn¡¯t you? As it¡­ verily rested in the stables¡­¡± I said, increasingly penitent, ¡°¡­after Rolf had already taken to the road.¡± Maria nodded softly. ¡°I did. My eyes fooled me not; clearly I recall its grandeur as though ¡®twere yesternight¡ªthe steed was a hulking warhorse, of the Reuscher breed.¡± All was then hushed. Lost of all words for the moment¡ªfor the revelation¡ªI felt next a dull and clenching pain in my bosom. It throbbed with the hammer of guilt; it wrung with fingers of regret. Rolf¡­ He¡¯d done no ill. None at all. No¡­ ¡®tis more than that. His conduct was just, in fact, and his heart was virtuous¡ªhe¡¯d chosen the course most rightwise, even to his own suffering. Oh, what droves have known deliverance by this single deed of his. A deed done¡­ all to save me from certain misery. And what of I? What have I done for Rolf? What words have I given him? ¡­A ¡°weakling¡±. That was my former measure of him: a weakling too arrant to face his faults. And I¡¯d even gone so far as to lecture him on the conduct most beseeming of a knight¡­ for I¡¯d convinced myself that after abiding years of discrimination, of abuse and derision, he¡¯d sallowed into a coistril of a coward. But not only that. When tidings began trickling in of his accomplishments at Str?m, I¡¯d thought Rolf to be regaining the gallantry of his former days, to be shedding that shameful husk of his, at long last. What wrongness there was in me. What shame that should rightfully have been mine. There was naught for Rolf to regain, naught for him to shed. For ever and always has he been the Rolf that I¡¯ve known, the Rolf that I¡¯ve loved¡­ right from our very first days together here at the Order. The hearing¡­ ¡®Twas then that Rolf denied the fault, that the horse was set loose by his hands. Verily did he keep silent of his whereabouts as to before and after the horse¡¯s vanishing, yes, but that very silence was a shield, protecting me from the perilous knowledge of the Albeck incident. Yet that¡¯s not to say such an alibi was ever needed. We had nary a speck of proof of his wrongdoing, and Rolf himself steadfastly denied all involvement. What¡¯s more, ¡®twas an occurrence during his leave, on a day when the horse was not his charge. By rights, the fault should never have fallen to him, a detail he¡¯d clearly emphasised before us all. Even then, despite the soundness of his reasoning, I did not lend Rolf an ear as I should have. Indeed¡­ I gave him none of my trust. My gift, instead, was repudiation. Of loosening the leashes upon the leadership as they howled at and harried him, of looking down on him from my high seat and demanding from him an undue apology. I can hear it again, that moment, echoing clarion in the recesses of my mind. ¡®¡­Rolf¡­ ¡­You shall apologise at once¡­¡¯ The voice of authority. Cold and cutting. Rolf is a virtuous soul. ¡®Tis not in his compass to apologise for a sin not his own. But perhaps¡­ perhaps, he might¡¯ve wavered, I think. Just for a moment. Just for me. He might¡¯ve realised that the commotion was more empty noise than aught else, that he had but to bend the knee and bow his head, and then all would be as it once was. That his days spent by my side could yet endure. But such wavering tricked him not. For Rolf Buckmann is ever a soul set upon his path. ¡®¡­I hereby discharge you from your service¡­ Yet with a gaze one ought never turn to a beloved¡­ With a timbre never meant to strike cherished ears¡­ ¡­did I send that very soul into exile. ¡°¡­¡± Returning to the moment, I found myself hunched, both arms tightly wound about myself. So cold. Without Rolf, ¡®twas oh so very cold¡­ ¡°M¡¯lady¡­ Pray forgive me¡­¡± Maria looked on with all grief in her eyes. ¡°¡­¡¯Tis I centred in this ill circle. In hoping to help you did I only hurl Lord Rolf far from your side¡­¡± ¡°¡­Nay¡­¡± I shook my head, nigh-shivering. ¡°Nay¡­ Maria. The fault¡¯s not yours. Not at all¡­¡± Indeed, Maria had only chosen the rightest of courses, and I had my life to thank for it. Opposite was I. Starkly so, for in this entire affair have I committed to only the most mistaken of paths. A path certain to be severed short, were the Albecks yet left to their devices. There was no longer any doubt left in me: the tragedies they¡¯d meted unto their victims would¡¯ve easily been my own to suffer. Yet ¡®twas a fact that the Albecks¡¯ criminality hinged upon one child¡¯s memory of eight years past, a feather of a recollection against the unceasing momentum of an aristocratic marriage¡­ And the prime mover of that momentum: my own father, striving each day that I might be wed to a family more rooted and renowned than our own. Hence Maria¡¯s decision to seek Rolf¡¯s aid. ¡®Twas most certainly her only choice¡­ and more certain again the best she could¡¯ve made, for Rolf trusted to her memory and became an ally, true and whole-hearted. Inheriting Maria¡¯s cause, he next sprang to action in hopes that I would be spared a woeful end, of quailing in some dark corner of a dungeon, undressed of all dignity. And after the villains were brought to justice, Rolf did not gloat of his deeds, no. He kept silent. The truth, the intent, the circumstance¡ªall were concealed, and he was surely in the right for it. But suppose I had been apprised. Just the knowledge itself would¡¯ve been dangerous enough, even had I stayed myself from all involvement. And suppose further it came to light that I¡¯d known all along. Surely much ill would¡¯ve beset my family and myself. Yet such was not so. I was kept unapprised, and for my own good. Still¡­ unknowing of it all, I still could¡¯ve trusted to Rolf. Trusted to his silence. Trusted to his defiance. Trusted to his character. Then surely would he still be here by my side, with this incident just a shade before all the light shining ahead of us. But I didn¡¯t¡­ and there laid my error. ¡°Trust¡± was instead ¡°doubt¡±, sooner convincing me instead that Rolf had only to bow his head, and all would be settled and forgiven. ¡°What¡­ what am I to do¡­?¡± I whispered, giving air to my despair. ¡®Twas mere months ago that Rolf was in this very room. But now¡­ now, he¡¯s gone. The one I wish most to be here beside me¡­ ¡­was now gone from all sight and touch. Maria¡¯s was a look of dear worry as I then cast mine down, heavy with the weight of all the revelations, the realisations¡­ the regret. ¡®Twas then that a rapid knock came upon the chamber door. ¡°Madame! An urgency!¡± cried a muffled voice. A rush of action and into the room came an officer. ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± I asked, springing to my feet. A closer look, and I saw the officer to be heated with panick. He seemed to have run all the way here, for his breaths were quick and rasping. ¡°Why, you wheeze from haste! Be at ease, my ears are yours.¡± ¡°P¡­ pardon, madame,¡± he answered. In half a moment, he spoke again. ¡°Mareschal¡ªit¡¯s Central.¡± Next did he relay the news. In them were words beyond immediate comprehension. Nay¡ª¡¯twas simply that I refused to believe my ears. ¡°¡­What?¡± I gasped. ¡°¡­How? That¡­ no¡­¡± ¡°Details are scant,¡± the officer continued. ¡°But Central is certain¡ªvery certain.¡± ¡®Twas preposterous. Such a thing should never be. ¡®¡­Balasthea has fallen¡­¡¯ Struck out of all my wits, I trembled in dread till at last, my mind soon scrambled for reasons, for cause, for aught that might vouch for the contrary. What had befallen upon Balasthea? Upon Str?m itself? Was the advantage not theirs? The momentum? The victories of late? What of the margrave? His Fiefguard? They had numbers enough; what were they doing? ¡­And Rolf. What¡¯s happened to Rolf? If the fort did truly fall, then as its commandant, Rolf most certainly would not have gone unscathed. Would that he were only taken prisoner, but¡­ knowing him, he might¡¯ve bared the sword and joined the fray. And if so¡­ odylless and ill-matched as he is, his final moments might¡¯ve been without mercy. Final¡­ ¡­Is he dead, then? Rolf¡­ is dead¡­? All because of me? Because I sent him there? The very thought was a blow to my every nerve. I clenched my bosom at once, to still the urge to weep and vomit. Nay, he¡¯s alright. Rolf is yet alive. ¡®Tis certain. He must be. He has to be. The fates wouldn¡¯t be so cruel. Not after all he¡¯s suffered. No, he¡¯s hardly alone. Felicia is there, as well. ¡®Twas a week ago, very soon after the screening, that she took leave to head for Str?m. She is the strongest of our sorcerers, a champion of the 5th. With her, all is well. I know it. Rolf and Felicia both are yet sound. They must be. In trying to convince myself of it, I shook my head vigorously to expel the ill thoughts creeping in. ¡°Madame,¡± the officer spoke again. ¡°A conference convenes on this very matter¡ªCentral¡¯s magisters will soon bid your presence, I presume.¡± ¡°¡­Yes,¡± I answered. ¡°Of course they will.¡± Overwhelmed as I was, I could not know that in that very moment, the curtains had been drawn, unveiling strife of terrible scale. The times were now as a violent river, roaring as it swallowed up each and every one of us. Indeed, we were as paper boats set adrift upon the rapids, scarce able to choose our course. Yet there was one soul standing against that tide. A soul that has hitherto stayed his own course against all odds. With my heart filling with thoughts for him, I looked to the high window and beyond. There did dark-steel skies roll and rumble on, as though to augur all that was to come. Volume 2 - CH 6.3 ¡®Twas violet vesper-light when I arrived at Arbel, having put Balasthea behind me upon finding Brother absent from its battlements. As I strolled through the streets, bound for his abode, my thoughts turned to dear Emilie. Oh, such misery that she abides. I well-recall that clouded countenance of hers, seen a week past, right as my carriage cantered off for Str?m. As mareschal, hers is a station staying all recourse for my brother¡¯s return: though Emilie wishes it, she cannot will it. The reality wrings her ruesomely. The pain is painted bare upon her portance. How did it come to this? How might it be mended? Caught cold in the corner, Emilie has scant comfort for these aching questions. A most gentle soul she is. Though it need not be said. For even as Brother is as he is, Emilie yet frets for his welfare and future. Hence did I resolve to shoulder her worries atop all my own and make haste to this margravate, that I might meet with Brother and enquire in full his deaf ears for Emilie¡¯s call. ¡°Rolf Buckmann¡± be his name, that brother of mine. Staunch and steady as a mountain, ever is he the apple of any eye laid upon him¡­ once upon a time. For the recent years have borne witness to a change in him. Oh, change comes to us all, of course Even mountains can be moved, unmade with the passing of many ages. But the change I saw in that man was one I could scarce suffer. We are of the living, born and blessed with breath. As trees grow given nurture and nutriment, so do we with the wheeling of the seasons. But just as a sapling might quail in the sprouting, so might a man fail in his maturing. A man like my brother. Emilie and I have done our fair share, of cutting our teeth and coming into our own. What woe we knew when the third amongst us remained yet the child. ¡®A prodigy at ten, a prince at fifteen, a plebeian at twenty.¡¯ Words a wistful soul once said; ¡®twould seem of such precocious sprouts, many find note only in their sooner years than the later. But my brother¡¯s¡ªthat man¡¯s is a marring more lamentable again than a mere idiom can encapsulate. His is a fall to but a foundling of no accomplishment, no recognition, no worth. We each brave the buffeting of our many moons and winters, that we buds might bloom and attain to our fullest beauty. Such be our path, precious and shared. Our lives are much too long to be defined by the feats and faults of our most fleeting years. And so must they be remembered as they are: mere memories, of small meaning by any measure. Would that Brother faced his flaws and assayed aught within his means. But he instead remained the pup chasing a speedier dream. I know well that his dawns and dusks, of every day of every year, are filled with the swish-swashes of his sword swings. Though I am loath to disparage his discipline, ¡®tis but a jest, a child¡¯s play that he pretends¡ªjust as a boy would twirl a twig and proclaim himself slayer of some mighty, make-believe monster. Has that not always been so of late? That Brother¡¯s sword is looks more a toy than a tool of war? For how long has it been since last his edge carved out victory? How long since last it reached aught but air? A sword wasting on with every swing: such is the weapon he wields. My brother, in short, keeps shut his eyes to the imperatives of his plight. That he savoured only bitter silence in communing with Yon¨¢ was most miserable and unfortunate, yes¡­ but that need not be so powerful an impetus to perish all hope, to founder in folly deeper still. Reflect, and with mustered courage for the first step, begin again the grand journey¡ªa trying trial, true, but a trial my brother has abandoned, despite what wonders might await him. Thus does his life linger, losing all chance for achievement. Why, then? Why does he not choose the brighter way? Are the soot-like shadows such solace to him? He has known much loss, of course, but not all is lost. Oh, why does he not realise this? And that¡¯s to touch nothing of the hearing. What despair I knew on that day¡­ Dire and dour despair. Had he confessed and made amends, no pain, no punishment would¡¯ve been his to suffer. For Emilie was set¡ªnay, most willing to forgive all his grievances, come what may. A word. Just a word. A genuine word of apology would¡¯ve well-sufficed. And then all would¡¯ve been as wind. But stubborn in his ways, Brother scorned the solution and sowed his own undoing. For the woman he loved, he delivered not on her one desire. For his beloved, he uttered not the one word she wished most to hear. A woman he ought¡¯ve loved and cherished above all else. But that brother of mine is now only a man ill-loving strength and ill-cherishing wisdom. ¡®Tis a most bitter and lamentable reality that I must swallow, and yet¡­ ¡°This seems the place,¡± I thought aloud. ¡®Twould appear my stride was made fleet by all this frustration, for I now found myself arrived at my brother¡¯s abode sooner than scheduled. And so taking a breath, I knocked upon the door. ¡°¡­Mm¡­?¡± I blinked a moment later. No answer had come. Was he elsewhere, perhaps? How splendid. Seven days spent in travel to the very verge of the kingdom, and not here nor at the fort could I meet him. Stilling the familiar frustration from steaming over, I rummaged my purse and produced a key¡ªduplicate, and borrowed from Balasthea. Into the lock it went. With a twist, the door cracked open. A hush sighed forth from within. ¡°His house¡­¡± I whispered to myself, ¡°¡­his home.¡± I stepped in. The floorboards gave a wooden groan, echoing through the distinct silence of an uninhabited abode. Lamps were unlit. The evening dim was daring to settle in, yet there was brightness enough from the twilight to illume the interior. Deeper in I went, glancing about with wordless breaths. ¡®Twas a sizeable home, rightly becoming of a commandant¡¯s quarters. And spick-and-span besides: the counters were well-appointed, the furnishings well-arranged, the surfaces well-dusted. Though hardly strange: if there was aught his years of swainhood have honed in my brother, ¡®twas the quality of his housekeeping, I must admit. ¡°Hm¡­?¡± There at the dining table: two chairs. And set on the shelves: more receptacles and utensils than a lone resident might require. ¡°¡­For the seldom guest, surely.¡± I could scarce conceive what soul should crave his company, but I suppose even an acting commandant must stand ready to receive the errant visitor. Shaking my head briefly, I ventured further in, arriving at the bedchamber. ¡°And¡­ here he sleeps. Every night¡­¡± I observed under my breath. Unlike Emilie and myself, Brother took bed in the barracks when he was yet in the Order. A curious irony that banishment should bring him a boon of private room and board. And speaking of beds, his was of sheets rippling with nary a wrinkle, upon closer look. Not too queer, thinking on it. His is a scrupulous mind, my brother¡¯s. Though¡­ is it even in a man to make his bed so neatly, I wonder? ¡°¡­He wouldn¡¯t dare.¡± ¡®Twas during the hearing when doubts were raised as to whether Brother might¡¯ve bought himself a brothel-maiden for a night. I had a mind to also enquire this very matter from him, but truth be told, I doubted not his chastity. After all, to this moment does Emilie so wearily worry for him¡ªa great pain of no profit, for their betrothal is all but long broken, ¡®tis certain. Thus it appals reason that he would so brazenly patronise a bawdy-house when his beloved yet sheds sweat and tears for his welfare. Indeed, not then, nor now. However much a bumbling fool he may be, I yet believe Brother above the vice of dalliance, at the very least. ¡­In the midst of my own profitless worries did my annoyance for that man boil all the more bubblingly. ¡°Haa¡­¡± Sighing aloud, I let myself fall abruptly onto his bed¡­ ¡°¡­hh¡­¡± ¡­and burying my face in his blankets, I breathed in with all deepness. Oh, where has he gone? If his holiday be today and on, then at least was he here till yesternight. Here in this house¡­ on this very bed. ¡°¡­Why¡­?¡± Why hadn¡¯t he come? Come to answer Emilie¡¯s call? She¡¯d prepared the very post for him. The chief adjutant¡¯s seat¡ªall his for the taking. Yet take he did not. Come, he did not. Not for Emilie. Not for me. ¡°¡­mm¡­¡± I muttered again, gazing at the blankets turning blue with even-gloam from the skylight above. A colour Brother had no doubt savoured many a time till his slumber. Brother¡­ However weak he¡¯s become, however much of a fool he¡¯s fashioned himself, that man yet earns none of my enmity, none of my scorn. None¡­ That man, that brother of mine¡­ I dare not hate him, no. And I neither wish to forsake him. We¡¯re family, after all. Siblings, bound by the same blood. A bond that shall not break. A bond that can never break. ¡°Siblings¡­ siblings, we are¡­¡± ¡­Then shall I be the patient sister and speak with him duly. I know all that I must do: ask of his absence at the screening, discuss with him at length the many matters that wound us, and then¡­ ¡­and then, I¡¯ll bring him back. Back to Emilie, for she is mistress to her own house and barony now. The house of Valenius, burgeoning with ever greater clout and prestige. Take her hand, and surely shall Brother know a home of much welcome¡ªmore so than any other. ¡°And yet¡­ he¡¯s not here. Where, then¡­?¡± Whispering such, I rolled about till I was aface the ceiling. There I spotted the boughs of a great beech beyond the skylight, one very much like another that stood in the mists of my childhood. Once upon a time, I clambered up a tree¡ªtoo far up, to my fright. The ground below seemed to stretch dizzyingly away. How lost, how lonely I felt. And so I did what I¡¯d often done in those nascent years: I cried and cried, quivering amidst my many sniffles and snivels. But then, Brother came. And up the tree he climbed, big and towering though its trunk was. Up and up to the high boughs of my stranding. And with his succour, his comfort, all was well again. Wheresoever I was, he would be. My¡­ ¡°¡­Dear Brother¡­¡± Turning to another window across the room, my sight settled upon a nearby desk. ¡®Twas of the smallish sort, neatly assorted with parchments, papers, and manuals of military defence¡ªa sign that he¡¯d saddled himself with his duties, even here in his home, where duty should shackle him little. Some inkling of earnestness yet endured him, then, from the look of it. For his post as acting commandant, for the wellbeing of Balasthea. The war, too, was faring well here, from all I¡¯ve heard. I wonder: why does he not devote the same energies, the same expertise to the Order? The rigours he faces here are little different from those of a chief adjutant, after all. Why, then? Still, withal has he finally joined the fray of our holy war, the long-fought battle to bring a lasting end to the Naf¨ªlim. I knew some gladness in that, at least. And he does, as well, I¡¯m sure. Though that brother of mine had best not let his sudden successes get to that pate of his. He is yet weak¡ªmuch too weak to swing the sword where the fray burns fiercest. Wield it, and he wields his own ruin. A thought occurred to me then. Albeit a most absurd one. What if¡­ ¡­what if Brother and I were to measure our mettle against one another? A farce of a duel, ¡®twould certainly be. What mettle has he in him? ¡°¡­Mm¡­¡± Indeed, I ought serve him a slap or three. Reveal to him this reality, remind him of where he truly belongs¡­ ¡°¡­Or perhaps not.¡± Nay. The folly lies in me. A bumbling fool Brother may be, but what good would come of it? Of laying him low out of his wits? Right, then. ¡®Tis but a fleeting fancy to fight him. Naught but a fancy. ¡°Yes¡­ a fancy. A future never to fruit¡­¡± Atop his bed was coldness. Sheets like a wintry wind, warmth long-forgotten. No matter how dearly I search¡­ ¡­no matter where I touch¡­ ¡­his warmth met me not. How tired I was. All because of him, surely, for mightily does he move me with myriad worries. Ill-able to stay the tides of sleepiness, I gave myself to the brisk cold of his bed and let my eyes fall to a close. ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Volume II ©¤ End Volume 3 - CH 1.1 Balasthea Stronghold. Fort and fastness of Str?m¡ªthough fast no more, and only faintly a fort, for now was its soldiery boiling in bedlam, whilst its commandant¡¯s seat stood dark and unsat. North of the gates loomed a stretch of Naf¨ªlim country, hemmed in by forests, near the mouth of which newly scintillated with a sea of candles. That is, torches beyond count. Night was fallen, and those far-off firelights seemed to seethe all the more hotly. Only some-odd hours before had a few Fiefguardsmen emerged from those very same forests, sallowed and dispirited in their flight. Their words for the fort-men: Hensen was a failure. Absent the appalling report, any man would have taken the torches to be the Fiefguard¡¯s own, but oh, alas. Why, dominion over this very domain hinged on Hensen¡¯s sacking. Such was the mind of each and every military man here. What fright they knew, then, upon learning of both the Fiefguard¡¯s loss and the spears of reprisal now bared balefully at Balasthea¡¯s battlements. None could have predicted such a contingency. A madness made more mad by the unmaking of the fort¡¯s chain of command: neither commandant nor vice-commandant were anywhere to be seen at present. All the while, the lurking Naf¨ªlim horde seemed a more enormous enemy, and in fact, it very much was: never before had so great a hostile number rallied before the margins of Str?m. A number perhaps mustered in the wake of the fighting at the f¨®lkheimr: felling the Fiefguard looked only to have whetted the devils¡¯ bloodlust, and now were they come to the margravate to slake it in full. Who, then, would challenge so tremendous a foe? The fort-men certainly fancied themselves too fraught for the feat, commanderless as they were. The larger half of them fumed and flailed in confusion. The smaller all but sank in place, panicked. But one amongst them was different. Morten full-moiled with fury. His fingers fidgeted, all too fain to lay the blame. Much of it was reserved for the Vice-Commandant Ebbe, who, though left in charge of the fort, had frolicked off to Hensen with the now-fallen Fiefguard and his band of silvered soldiers. But the one who most annoyed this nail-biting bloke was none other than Rolf himself, for surely enough, the moment found the acting commandant off on some merry holiday. Well, any situation less mad than this was a merry one, no doubt. Nevertheless, that gear-grating ungraced had ostensibly sped off to the forested foe-lands for some reconnaissance. Yet his return was unreported. Mayhap he was maimed? Unmade upon meeting some Naf¨ªlim force? A soothing salve upon Morten¡¯s nerves, if so. ¡°That guffin¡¯ good-fer-naught¡­ Damn ¡®im¡­!¡± was his lip-biting outburst. Though true enough, Morten made himself a civil, simpering man whensoever aface his commandant, for truer still was the fort made a fairer place thanks to Rolf¡¯s rigours. So long as that fangless leader did the leading, Morten and his fort-mates were most content to couch under the commandant¡¯s secure shade. And yet Rolf was, at the end of the day, a defect, a Deiva-spurned sprout in which no growth ought be expected, for all odyl was denied from him. Thus Morten¡¯s mind deigned not to harbour a hint of reverence for Rolf. Empty praises were all the commandant would earn from him, and that was exactly what the soldier offered. Morten well-fancied himself a savant of diplomacy as a result, thinking Rolf ill-discerning the dagger hidden behind his back. For Rolf was an ungraced; how could his hollow pate previse Morten¡¯s deep designs? Indeed, concealed scorn and derision were all he had for his commandant. How pale with appalment Morten was, then, when he spotted Rolf returning at last¡ª ¡ªriding amidst a Naf¨ªlim envoy. ¡ß ¡°Hmph,¡± scoffed Volker. ¡°That Balasthea should break ere a bead of blood be spilt¡­¡± Writ on his face was faint shock, an expression shared by Lise as the two walked through the corridor alongside me. Quiet, dark, and empty was the keep interior; the fort defenders had chosen surrender without resistance. A rather wise decision on their part. The men were leaderless, after all, and faced with a foe of affrighting numbers. But to drive the nail in the coffin, counted amongst those enemy ranks was myself. The months of employ in this stronghold have imprinted in me every nook and cranny of the place, as well as every dot and detail of its operation and capabilities. Victory against so knowledgeable a foe, then, was all but a fever dream to these fort fellows. They had at first quaked with confusion when I confronted them, and then with veiny fury. It lasted but a little while, however, for it soon set in for them that resistance would sooner wreak their bloody reckoning. I then compelled their quick decision on guarantee of their safe flight to Arbel, and realising their lives were otherwise on the verge of vain sacrifice, the soldiers at once saw the appeal of capitulation. And so was precipitated the fall of Balasthea, without so much as a single swing of a sword to sting the scene. But here on hid the main hurdle. In spite of the broken chain of command, word was likely making swiftly to the fief-burgh. Indeed, the margrave would be apprised apace were his precious fort to ever fall. And now that it did, we must do our part and prepare to oppose his war-like answer with all alacrity. For that reason, I had set aside a moment to meet with a certain man. ¡°Time for a talk,¡± I said as the three of us stopped along the corridor, afront the appointed room. ¡°Wait here a while.¡± ¡°Fair wi¡ªah, fair words find you, Rolf!¡± cheered Lise in a spirited whisper. Expectation, or perhaps even enjoyment, jubilated in her voice as I turned the doorknob. Entering, I found the room cast in grainy gloom, illumed only by a lonely lamp. Next to it was one of Balasthea¡¯s bulwark-men: Morten. ¡°Rather long since last we met,¡± I greeted him, closing the door behind me. ¡°Nay; ¡®long¡¯ be too long, thinking on it.¡± Morten: the very man who ushered me out of Balasthea as I departed with Mia to her village. Though but a scant three days and a half had passed since then, it felt to me an age ago. ¡°C-Commandant, sir¡­¡± he said, sat at a small table, his hands in view as they vexedly fidgeted, ¡°¡­wot be th¡¯meanin¡¯ o¡¯ all this?¡± And his voice was just as vexed, quivering confusedly. My actions seemed to him an impenetrable puzzle. ¡°Can¡¯t believe your eyes?¡± I began. ¡°I¡¯ve turned on the kingdom, Morten.¡± ¡°T¡­ turn¡­!¡± he wheezed. ¡°Ye lost yer marbles, man¡­!?¡± ¡°Nay, I¡¯m afraid not.¡± Amidst the mirk of the room, I leant back upon the door and folded my arms, staring intently upon the appalled man. Glinting against the lamplight was sweat beading on both his brows. ¡°In Hensen, were it? When th¡¯Fief-men fell,¡± he said unsteadily, pointing a finger at me. ¡°Ye ¡®ad a gander o¡¯ their bodies, bloodied an¡¯ all¡ªthat¡¯s when yer ¡®eart flip¡¯d, when ye abandon¡¯d th¡¯banner, is it?¡± I shook my head. ¡°Wrong, Morten. All wrong. In fact, the Fiefguard hasn¡¯t fallen.¡± ¡°W¡­ wot¡­?¡± The face of a fool was then upon him¡­ and perhaps upon me, as well, for I had little confidence in faking a look. Much gratitude, then, to the eigengrau veiling the air between us. ¡°The men¡¯ve smote the f¨®lkheimr¡¯s defences, my friend,¡± continued my lie. ¡°The Fiefguard holds Hensen as we speak.¡± ¡°B-bu¡­ but that sorts opposite wit¡¯ wot th¡¯return¡¯d Fief-men said!¡± Morten began disputing. ¡°Wot ¡®bout that ¡®orde wot¡¯s loomin¡¯ at th¡¯wood-edge, ey? Wot explains ¡®em? ¡°Those ¡®returned¡± Fiefguardsmen be turncoats themselves, Morten. The Naf¨ªlim paid them with fattened purses on promise of spewing lies to their fellow liegemen,¡± I explained. ¡°That horde you see is but half a host, lighting twice-fold torches to pretend a meaner number. A ruse, Morten. A Naf¨ªlim ruse. And a common one, at that, well-recounted in our war chronicles. Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve little taste for literature, my good fellow?¡± The soldier then flapped his lips like a fish out of water. It seemed his wits were too whelmed by my wiley words. And so I went on. ¡°The Fiefguard fought with perfection. Their numbers, their tactics all proved the tailwind to take Hensen. But to have fallen, instead? Balderdash, Morten. This, you know as well as I. Don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°I-I does, sir. I should,¡± Morten relented, wrinkling his brows. ¡°¡­But wot then, Commandant? Wot¡¯s this ¡®bout turnin¡¯ on th¡¯kingdom, ey?¡± ¡°Not to worry,¡± I assured him, before resuming in a sharp whisper. ¡°I¡¯m only knifing along with the Naf¨ªlim for a while. They be desperate to spite the Fiefguard for their defeat at home, you see. Thus they give me aid, and I their prize.¡± ¡°Prize, sir?¡± ¡°Indeed¡ªthis very fort.¡± Volume 3 - CH 1.2 Unfolding my arms, I started forth, the wooden floor squeaking under my slow steps. Then, reaching Morten, I sat down across from him and stared deep into his eyes. ¡°Morten. Of all my men have you¡ªand you alone¡ªregarded me with any respect. Me: an ungraced. Yon¨¢ Herself ought shudder with shame, knowing you take for an equal whom She curses a coistril.¡± ¡°Uh er, th-that¡­¡± muttered Morten, uneasy. ¡°Yours¡­ be a heart of gold, Morten. A far cry from the coals blackening the other blokes¡¯ bosoms,¡± I continued with constructed pain, as though to squeeze blood out of a stone. ¡°You know, don¡¯t you? Of how I¡¯ve long suffered their snideness, their scorn.¡± I felt then my farce having gone a mite too far, a too-passionate thespian catching himself in his craze. But from the look of him, Morten seemed quite convinced of the act. ¡°Well¡­ I¡¯ve had my fill of their filth,¡± the play persisted. ¡°Keen am I to leave Londosius. But not before lining my coffers full of coin.¡± ¡°C-coin?¡± Morten cocked his head. ¡°Wot means ye, Commandant?¡± ¡°From the Fiefguard, my friend. I reckon they¡¯ll soon return from Hensen, swaggering with heads held high and waggons wiggling with loot. But those sots¡¯ll be too sotted from victory to see the snare abiding them at Balasthea. Should prove easy enough: parade the prey into their cage, and then¡­ drop the doors shut.¡± To this, the soldier stayed silent. ¡°Serves them right, I say,¡± I went on. ¡°Stings my stomach every time I see those flaunting fools. You feel as I do, don¡¯t you Morten?¡± Slowly did he start nodding. ¡°Y¡­ y-yea, I-I feels it, yea.¡± Soldiers oft find guard duty dull and damnable drudgery. Many would rather follow along on forays, to plunder riches and enlarge their names. And so is conceived a hierarchy amongst the soldiery, of attackers being at the top and the defending rest doomed to the bottom. The Fiefguard followed this to a tittle, always sporting their supposed superiority over the fort-men. Such flagrancy, of course, earned the latter¡¯s grating disgust, birthing between them friction of no small heat. My thought, then, was to stoke that fire, as it were, hence my tempting Morten with a pretend ploy to pilfer the Fiefguard. ¡°But there¡¯s the rub, my friend,¡± I sighed. ¡°Coin alone ill-makes a flight less fraught. I need company. I need women.¡± Another slow set of nods. ¡°¡­Er¡­ y-yea, I sees why, sir.¡± Good. Very good. Morten was beginning to pick his words, that he might pander to my increasing desperation. Where he once fidgeted frailly, he now stood at last upon the arena of negotiation. What remained was to lure him into outwitting me¡ªwith him none the wiser. ¡°But can you help, Morten? For help is all I beg of you,¡± I said pleadingly. ¡°Pray seek a sound selection of Arbel¡¯s women and whisk them to me. Please¡ªyou¡¯re the only man I trust enough with this trouble.¡± ¡°But sir, er¡­ I reckons only a fat an¡¯ full coffer¡¯s got coin ¡®nough, if ye be wantin¡¯ brothel-bints fer a whole journey, yea?¡± I shook my head. ¡°No matter. I¡¯ll strip the Fiefguard of all their troves. That should fill coffers enough for a great many journeys, no doubt.¡± ¡°N-no doubt, indeed.¡± ¡°Of course, you¡¯ll not go unrequited, Morten.¡± ¡°H¡­ haha,¡± he half-smiled. ¡°Oh, ye be too kind, Commandant.¡± And Morten be a man too contemptuous to play along with the ungraced he so scorned. No, he himself was pretending, showing me his false spark of treachery. This fidgeting fellow¡ªover the past moment were his eyes stuck down-left. We Men are like to look up when tending to a truer answer, and down when a lie is upon our lips. And when guilt sits heavy on our hearts, we hook our eyes towards our indextrous hand. Thus was Morten¡¯s a mind for the lie. Of course, it¡¯s all just a generality, this matter of trends of truth and untruth. But here it held water, for unwicked was the sweat upon Morten¡¯s meandering mien. ¡°So what¡¯s your mind, Morten? I ask not that you come with me. Two, three gainly gamesters be all I beg you bring,¡± I pressed him. ¡°Please, Morten. For me. We are friends, are we not?¡± ¡°Uh, ermm,¡± he sighed, folding his arms. ¡°W-wot ever shall I do¡­¡± I had thought my theatrics thin of all credibility, but Morten¡¯s was no less crude. Two hams, hammering out deceitful diplomacy with all gravity¡ªa masterclass in comedy, to be sure. ¡°Mm¡­¡± Morten moaned in thought. ¡°¡­Yea. Yea, why not? Fer me friend!¡± ¡°Good man, Morten! You have my debt!¡± There I beamed most awkwardly, whilst the man himself simpered amidst his sweat. Why, I could almost hear the standing ovation. ¡ß After watching Morten gallop off to Arbel, Volker, Lise, and I retreated to a chamber within the fort keep. There in the dim, we faced one another to discuss what course our cause should take¡­ and what hand the fates might deal us. ¡°Rolf,¡± Lise began, ¡°the talk went well? Or¡­?¡± ¡°Well enough, I¡¯d wager,¡± answered I. Doubtless Morten would immediately divulge my defection to the margrave. And as well: my plans to pinch and pilfer the Fiefguard as they file through the fort on their glorious return. Only one of these strings strummed true, of course, but the margrave should be none the wiser. Thus I foresaw his answer being but one: the immediate mobilisation of his remnant men to recapture and secure Balasthea. Ours, on the other hand, would be that of open war, to strike back the brutes directly as they come. Such was unavoidable. To ensure victory in the coming all-out assault on Arbel, its men must be whittled down as much as our knife-edges could suffer. Two thousand¡ªthe number of the Fiefguard¡¯s fallen at Hensen. A number of which veracity the margrave must mull over, but a number we ourselves knew to be true. Given that, were we to succeed in drawing out the remnant Fiefguard from their fastness at Arbel, and there in the open cull their ranks by ambush, then we carve out for ourselves a preemptive advantage in our later attack on the fief-burgh. And there would be witnessed a reverse of the battle of Hensen, a flipping of the gameboard¡ªthis was the result we sought, the battlefield we aimed to artifice. The Naf¨ªlim had defended their home at a disadvantage. Now it was the margrave¡¯s turn to quaff that cruel medicine, a brew of our own making, unbeknownst to him. ¡°We braves once savour¡¯d much advantage. But the taste was taken from our tongues the day you don¡¯d the commandant¡¯s coat,¡± Volker reflected, looking at me. ¡°How affrighting the fair winds be, that once again should we find ourselves in a vie for advantage¡ªon what day but the very day you damn¡¯d your kingdom and offer¡¯d us your sword.¡± He scoffed at the irony. ¡°You be a wolf that moves the moon, Rolf.¡± ¡°Affrighting, for true,¡± echoed Lise. ¡°Nay, my part is small. The mightier merit invests you, Volker. Hensen stands now by the buttress of your bravery,¡± I said. ¡°Besides, not all the cards be laid yet: the deck is dire with two jokers, and both must move to our mind, lest a poor jest be made of our plans.¡± Jokers by the names of Morten and the Margrave Aaron Str?m. The latter likely already caught wind of the Fiefguard¡¯s defeat at Hensen. But at his other ear would soon be Morten, unknowingly feeding the margrave my worm of a lie: to wit, news of the Men¡¯s victory at the f¨®lkheimr. A tiding with a sweeter tune, no doubt, but numbering only one of two, all told. Which shall earn the lord¡¯s heedance? Our scheme saw heavy need of his trusting to his pride than his prudence, and so it was that our fortunes were borne upon Morten¡¯s shoulders, whether he knew it or no. Given the margrave¡¯s mind and circumstance, more likely than not should he be inclined to Morten¡¯s mouth. But likeliness was smaller solace than certainty. ¡°Our hand finds frail challenge, I think. The winds do seem warmer to your bending, Rolf,¡± Volker conjectured. ¡°At the very least, that dolt of a Man earlier ought amount to little more than a pawn, one whose simple play we need not guess. For no doubt the defeat has wounded the pride of these Men, and this scheme offers them the too-sought salve of self-deception.¡± Self-deception, denial¡ªpowerful salves, indeed. Morten is a simple man of simple pleasures; to him, there is comfort in contemning an addle-pated ungraced. He thinks himself the eagle-eyed angler to have scried my naked scheme when he is sooner the fish, flailing with not fear, but euphoria for his biting the bait. So it is, then, that the temptation to unmake my skein, to strop and stroke his pride, should prove a current too fierce for his fins to defy. Though frankly, I did feel our feint overzealously zested. ¡°Speaking of deception,¡± I said, turning to the war-chief, ¡°¡­¡¯women¡¯, Volker?¡± The ploy was put together by myself, but it was Volker who added the finishing touches. Indeed, the inspiration to task Morten in finding for me the bawdy-women that I so ¡°needed¡± came from no one else¡¯s mind but Volker¡¯s calculating own. ¡°A necessity. Details decide the day,¡± he asserted with not a flinch. I suppose ¡°meticulousness¡± should be added to my measure of him. Thankfully it looked to have served us well, for it has given Morten exactly what he wanted: a sight of Rolf the reproachable gadabout. ¡°I say, ¡®twas a part played perfectly!¡± giggled Lise with a sidelong smirk. ¡°A coxcomb of a character, a Man with more mind paid to women and mammon than the prizes of prudence¡ªyou reeked of the role, Rolf!¡± I groaned. ¡°Your compliment cuts deep¡­¡± Thinking on it, she was quite livid upon our reunion, Lise. Could this be revenge, then? For my hailing her a ¡°raging beast¡±? ¡°A warm wound, from Lise with love!¡± she prodded on. ¡°You ought savour the sweet sting!¡± ¡°Edelfr?ulein,¡± Volker said after a slight sigh at the exchange, ¡°our forces stand ready. We move now, or?¡± His tone echoed with uncharacteristic tiredness, as though worn from many a winter of humouring the jarl¡¯s daughter. Though it seemed her esteemed title of Edelfr?ulein had yet to unstick itself from Volker¡¯s tongue. ¡°Right,¡± nodded Lise. ¡°Rolf, you¡¯ll not mind if everyone files into the fort?¡± ¡°Not at all.¡± Suffice it to say, we had indeed marched along with the Naf¨ªlim ¡°horde¡±. And ¡°horde¡± be accurate enough: it comprised quite nearly the whole of Hensen¡¯s hosts. The torches being twice-fold lit¡ªthat was the lie. The next step was to welcome this bristling number into Balasthea and begin preparing at once for the coming clash. ¡°Best we temper ourselves for aught untoward,¡± I said. ¡°Even should the margrave and his men move to our liking, it means little if we do not break them in battle.¡± To this, the two nodded. The capture and occupation of Arbel¡ªsuch was our grand objective, and the next battle would serve as its opening blow. Only, at this point, a certain soul was come to the fief-burgh. A soul I knew all too well, but one I never dared imagine would make an appearance¡ªnow, of all times. Volume 3 - CH 2.1 Felicia¡¯s bosom was aboil. Not once could she meet her brother. Apprised of his absence by the men at Balasthea, Felicia thought then to pay a visit to his abode in Arbel. But there, too, did her search turn up naught. Why, she even whiled away the evening in the hollowness of his home, waiting for his return. And return he did, if only in his sister¡¯s reminiscences of him. Where could he possibly be? To this moment were the Fiefguardsmen laying their lives on the line, that the people of Arbel might endure in peace. Yet aface the rigours and sacrifices of the soldiery, what was her brother doing, for his part? Felicia bit her lip, barely able to leash in her ire and annoyance for her bumbling bloodkin. Yet a bloodkin he still was, and not before having a word with him did she dare make the journey back home. For in spite of her misgivings for him, she knew all too well that to abandon him was a blunder beyond all mending. In fact, it was this very realisation that had roused her to action and brought her to the far march of Str?m, all to enquire and know her brother¡¯s mind. But the days of his absence wore on. No less than half a week wheeled by, during which Felicia had taken lodging in the fief-burgh. Today was no different: his residence seemed yet void of its rightful resident. Felicia rounded the bend on the road to his home, thinking to have a closer look before heading off to visit Balasthea once more. And there, she at last found someone on the premises¡ªmany, in fact. Fiefguardsmen they were, standing guard about the porch of the residence. An ill augury gripped her heart at once. ¡°Pardon,¡± she said to them, ¡°what¡¯s the meaning of this?¡± ? ¡°¡­No¡­ inconceivable¡­¡± Within the wide spaces of the margrave¡¯s office sounded Felicia¡¯s voice. Frail though it was, it echoed clean and clear through the stifling stillness. Many lips were pursed shut: namely those of the Fiefguard leadership, so gathered, too, in that wrung room. And before them all was the margrave himself, sat at his great desk. Thoughts and more thoughts thudded in his head, whilst his cheeks and brows were bent in, as though a bitter bug had burst in between his grating teeth. Oh, bitter indeed, for in a short span had he received many a report, each either most ill or ill-mending his miserable mood. The very first had come from a Fiefguardsman, freshly fled from Hensen. His most pained word: ¡°defeat¡±. Not long thereafter came a courier from Balasthea. His stab of a message: ¡°the fort has fallen.¡± But that was not all, no, for sighted amongst a Naf¨ªlim delegation was the acting commandant himself¡ªthe ill-bred and misbegotten ungraced, Rolf Buckmann! The hours following found the margrave grimly ungiven to ordered thoughts. And as if the chaos could not be any more mired, there came another man with a tumult of a tiding. Morten was his name, a footman of the fort, and his words brought new winds to the storm: that the Fiefguard had not failed at Hensen. Why, it was only feigned to appear that they had, and by whose hand but Rolf the rapscallion! That ungraced! There he was, working in the weeds with the Naf¨ªlim! Plotting to trip a trap upon the Fiefguard as they funnelled through the baileys of Balasthea! An unexpected turn, no doubt. But the margrave now had a hard choice of moves to make, each buttressed by reports of two opposing ¡°truths¡±: of whether his precious Fiefguard was victorious or utterly vanquished. The decision weighed dearly on him. ¡°¡®Inconceivable¡¯?¡± to Felicia he said, bent with burden upon his chair. ¡°What exactly, Brigadier? The failure of my many men? Or of your brother, who is like to have bedded with those beastlings and brought Balasthea to its knees?¡± ¡°Why, the latter, Your Excellency,¡± she answered. ¡°No folly could befoul a Man so, that he be moved to mete treachery upon his own kin. Wayward may be that brother of mine, but lost to love of our foe? I should think not.¡± ¡°And yet lost be his wits to Man¡¯s mighty wisdom,¡± the margrave countered. ¡°We¡¯ve spoken of this, have we not? Your brother detests the very divestment of the Naf¨ªlim, my dear Brigadier.¡± ¡°B¡­ but¡­¡± she stammered unto silence, scarce able to debate the point. For somewhere deep in her heart, she felt that¡ªthough to do so is most preposterous¡ªher brother might just be enough of an eccentric to treat with the Naf¨ªlim. ¡°Your will, m¡¯liege?¡± asked a Fiefguard commander. The margrave rubbed his chin. In actuality, this matter merely pretended at complexity, for it all boiled down to two choices. In fact, it might as well be but one and a half. Were it true that the foraying Fiefguard had fallen at Hensen, then it meant a hundred score soldiers were snuffed from the margrave¡¯s military. Not with sudden frailness could his remnant men ride to meet Rolf¡¯s challenge. What was left to him was little, then, save to stand fast, speedily replenish his ranks, and mount a desperate resistance. But what of the contrary? What if his mighty men were, in fact, triumphant at Hensen? Then it was woe that would await them on their return, with Rolf the wolf ready on the pounce. About the men would the gates of Balasthea be shut, with showers of arrows and magicks as their homecoming welcome. An assault inescapable, but not a fate inevitable¡ªwere the margrave to accept this scenario as truth, then he had but to sortie his men at once and rout Rolf before the triggering of his trap. Accept the uncertain doom of his men, or avert their other doom soon and certain to come. In the end, it was his station as margrave that left Aaron Str?m with all but the latter choice. He had reason enough. The martial milieu of late found mightier momentum in the charge of Men. The advantage, then, was adamantly the Fiefguard¡¯s¡ªthus it was folly, an affront to reality itself, to fancy so fearsome a force having met its end at the enfeebled f¨®lkheimr. ¡°Sally the soldiery,¡± the margrave spoke at last. ¡°Go¡ªbear down upon Balasthea, and break Buckmann and his beastly braves!¡± Such were the lord¡¯s orders. And sound they were to any right mind, not least to the leaders gathered in the room, who, receipt of the margrave¡¯s mandate, then all filed out of the office. Only, Felicia yet remained. In the midst of the shuffle, she turned to the lord. ¡°Excellency, pray lend me leave to march, as well!¡± The margrave¡¯s gaze narrowed. ¡°A bloody dagger hides in your brother¡¯s hands, Brigadier. Yet still you see not its sanguine gleam? My eyes see his fingers for a foe¡¯s, thus no friend nor family of his ought be given chance to join the charge.¡± ¡°Nay¡ªmy eyes wish only to see the truth, Your Excellency,¡± Felicia insisted, ¡°of whether my brother has kept his bonds¡­ or cut them altogether.¡± Not so could he be rotted to his deepest reaches. Not yet was he withered of all worthiness. Belief was still his to deserve. But were it so that his betrayal be true¡­ Were it so that his wits be broken beyond all repair and redemption¡­ Were it so that devilry be his new indulgence, that he would dare set his sword upon his family, his former fianc¨¦e¡­ ¡­ Myriad emotions now haunted Felicia¡¯s mien. Feelings of fierce frustration, of wishing dearly to spare her brother a dire death, of¡­ oh, the many sentiments storming in that heart of hers. Many, yet muddied, missing all distinction and description. The margrave stared on at her. A glint was in his eyes¡ªthe cold light of intrigue. ¡°¡­Very well, then. Your leave is lent,¡± he relented. ¡°But marching is all you shall do. This battle be ours and ours alone to wage, Brigadier Buckmann.¡± Almost gasping, Felicia then curtsied. ¡°Of course, Your Excellency.¡± And so was decided the sallying of the soldiery from Arbel unto Balasthea, with Felicia to follow the Fiefguard¡¯s file. Volume 3 - CH 2.2 All was tense at Balasthea. Expectation twanged in the morrowing air, till there came a sentinel¡¯s cry from high up the watchtower. As if whipped into action, the baileys and battlements both bustled with new activity. It was spotted at last. Movement¡ªa wriggling buzz flooding from the gates of far Arbel. I hastily climbed the watchtower. Peering yonder from the top, I at last knew then that fairer horizons awaited us: the margrave had indeed bitten Morten¡¯s unwitting bait. And just as I¡¯d hoped, Arbel¡¯s remnant Fiefguardsmen were now marching straight to this fort. Theirs was the martial mind to smite the Naf¨ªlim occupiers of Balasthea, all to stop what they believed to be a pitfall waiting to swallow up their comrades on their return from Hensen. ¡°Mm¡­ fifty score, thereabouts?¡± Lise reckoned their number, having followed me up the tower. ¡°Their hand¡¯s shown; they¡¯ve played as you predicted, Rolf. Cull their count here, and the rest unfolds unfraught.¡± She had the right of it. Though it was a large force that had harried Hensen, it did not form the full brunt of the Fiefguard, no. A lesser number had remained at Arbel, but ¡°lesser¡± was little comfort, for were we to attack the fief-burgh at this moment, the home advantage would sorely be theirs. The walls, the cityways, the defences¡ªtoo much of Arbel would bristle with brutes and ambushes at every corner. In such a battle, our mettle would most certainly diminish till our unmaking. What was needed, then, was to drag the Fiefguard out from the safety of their city and sap their strength and numbers before the real deal at Arbel proper. ¡°Would that they keep the hand they¡¯re dealt,¡± I hoped aloud, taking to hand a longbow and an arrow in preparation, ¡°for long enough, at least.¡± From the look of their movements, the Fiefguardsmen fancied a quick, engulfing raid upon Balasthea, with our number forced to stand its ground. A most sound prediction, if not obvious. We had all the fort defences at our disposal; surely we should make use of them. Yet that was precisely why we chose the contrary. Balasthea¡¯s bulwarks protected it from all sides, indeed, but those very bulwarks had hitherto defended only against Naf¨ªlim spears and spells. Not once have they suffered an attack from Arbel itself. Yet such was precisely our present predicament, and no one here, not even myself, knew how best to tackle it. And that¡¯s to say nothing of the braves themselves, who have never before manned this fort¡¯s defences for their own purposes. But all was not lost. Our plan was to eschew the stronghold¡¯s strengths altogether and strike the Fiefguard out in the open, right as they draw close to our gates. A long highroad linked both fort and fief-burgh directly, with its course increasingly sheltered by hills and greenery as it neared its terminus. From such cover would our braves pounce upon the Fiefguard amidst their march and fight them in their confusion. ¡°Timing¡¯s of the essence,¡± Lise reminded me. ¡°Essence and more,¡± I nodded. ¡°Only one chance, now.¡± All caution and concentration were poured into my peering of the enemy march. Only when their formation was thinnest could we lunge and strike their flanks. Divide and conquer was our game¡ªbore holes into their file, fragment and drive them to scatter, and cull them in the chaos. On and on our watch went, the moments moving like molasses. The tail of the Fiefguard¡¯s file had long left the vicinity of Arbel, whilst its head had crossed into cutting range of our waylayers. ¡°Rolf¡ªthe tower quivers,¡± Lise said at last, alarmed. ¡°We spring now, or?¡± ¡°Nay, not yet.¡± Indeed, the Fiefguard¡¯s thousand footfalls and hoofbeats were now near enough to subtly rattle the watchtower, and as well, inspire unease in Lise¡¯s voice. Not that I could blame her; only a scant few braves were to be found in the fort proper; all the rest laid in wait beside the road. Should the Fiefguard break through, then our situation would turn most sour, to say the least. Still, I dared not let our dire defences nip at my nerves. Those who live by war ought fear not death¡ªeven as it rushes in as a flickering blade upon the flesh. Of course, never should one neglect to mitigate the risks at hand, but some are as indelible as they are necessary, and they must needs be met with necessary nerve. Victory otherwise remains forever a fantasy. ¡°Mm¡­¡± Lise fretted. ¡°N¡­ now?¡± I shook my head. ¡°Just a little closer.¡± Closer and closer still, a centipede parading down the country path. That was the Fiefguard, and fast was my stare upon it, waiting and waiting for the exact instant its file was stretched thinnest. A centipede indeed, barbed and bristly with swords and pennoned spears, creeping its way close. Lise¡¯s frantic eyes flashed to me. ¡°R-Rolf!¡± ¡°Now!¡± I shouted. Rearing back, I nocked the arrow upon the string, drew it taut, and aimed the longbow. Fingers let loose. The shaft shot out of sight. Its target: the sky. Ffyyeeuuu©¤©¤! The shrill whistle of the signal arrow as it arched through the pale blue. At once, the Fiefguard collectively flinched and turned their puzzled eyes to the sky. But not a second sooner, and the Naf¨ªlim braves lurched from their lurking spots and lunged upon the Men. ¡°Uwhaakh!?¡± The air filled with the Fiefguard¡¯s screams as their flanks were affrighted by sudden foes. Theirs was a march mustered at haste; an easy attack upon the fort was their intention, but the very planning of it was put off till they were filed on the field. Whatever progress they made was for naught: battle was breaking all around them, well beyond both Balasthea¡¯s walls and their expectation. Morten¡¯s words had damned them to their undoing. For to believe them was to believe that ours was but a force of few. So it was that none of the Men could have foreseen offence as being our hand in this game. ¡°The lie had too lovely a lustre, looks like,¡± I said. ¡°They really bit the bait¡­¡± Lise stared in wonder, ¡°¡­and leapt right into our bow!¡± Time and space played to our great advantage. The set-up, the spots, the springing¡ªall contributed to the cacophony before us all: the Fiefguard¡¯s file was perforated and fragmented, its soldiers sundered and isolated from the formation. Their screams echoed manyfold. ¡°B-bloody ¡®ell!¡± ¡°Captain! Your orders!? Captain!!¡± Fiefguard swords swished and swung in panick. Naf¨ªlim spears stabbed in swift answer. Steeds neighed and flailed wildly, flinging their riders from their saddles. The unhorsed Men: unmade by Naf¨ªlim hammers. ¡°Let not one flee!¡± Volker¡¯s voice thundered from afar. ¡°Tine them in, cut them off! Fight their flanks! Give them fear!¡± I thought then just as I had at Hensen: the war-chief truly was a commander of supreme exception. With him at the helm, the braves battled unbrokenly, all whilst fanning the Fiefguard¡¯s frenzy to pitches higher and higher still. ¡°Impressive,¡± I thought aloud. ¡°Rolf! At the gates!¡± Lise cried. I found fast her finger pointing down below. Sure enough, a detachment of Fiefguardsmen had found their way to the fore of our gates. In seeking the most opportune timing to mount the ambush, I¡¯d let the point of the enemy file enter striking distance of the fort. The fault was mine. But one well-accounted for. ¡°I¡¯ll handle this,¡± said I, turning away. ¡°The watch is yours, Lise. If any queerness comes, give the signal!¡± ¡°I will!¡± she answered, after which I then jumped¡ªdown from the top of the watchtower. ¡°W-wait¡ª!¡± Lise¡¯s surprised yelp, heard as I descended the great height, but not through empty air, no. Hands gripping the ladder rails, I slid steadily down towards the bailey. Nearing the ground, I kicked off and landed with a large thud. But no sooner did I draw the soot-black blade and bolted straightway to the gates. ¡°Open up!¡± I shouted, earning more surprise, this time from the gatekeeping brave. But little time was wasted as he then unlatched the crossbar and pushed against the great barrier. Groaning open, the gates revealed a sight rife with Fiefguardsmen, two of whom slipped through. The first to meet my eyes met also my blade. ¡°Hweh?¡± Such be the low utterance of many a soldier at the moment of their unmaking. Few are they who leave behind words worth remembering. This man failed to join that mighty minority. So, too, did the one near him. ¡°Aagh!¡± With two vanguards vanquished, I rushed on with unrelenting speed. Beyond the barrier, ten and more foes yet remained for the maiming. ¡°Close up once I¡¯m clear! Straightway!¡± I shouted again to the Naf¨ªlim guards. Putting the gates behind me, I charged and challenged the Fiefguardsmen at the fray. Dragon-burnt steel drove through air and flesh, and by the time the gates finally boomed to a close, five Men had fallen to my blade. Volume 3 - CH 2.3 I was stunned. Stunned, and standing in wonder at what had unfolded before my eyes: Rolf, as if beckoned by the spirit of daring, took a leap down from the very top of the watchtower¡ªa height of no less than seventy F¨¹?e. That giant of a Man, once in my company, now gone like the wind¡ªa vanishing taking with it all words from my lips. His standing and watching of the battlefield was calm and still till not a moment ago. Even as our enemy marched nearer and nearer unto our midst, Rolf had remained both the undisturbed boulder and the eagle keen on the perfect swoop. His decisiveness astounded, his immovability moved. How deep in awe I was. I recalled then the telling of his story on the night of our meeting in Hensen. Of how, on fault of ill-communing with Yon¨¢, godhead of Man, he was made to live through winters cold of gentleness and pale of society. But ¡®twas nonetheless an unembellished telling: though he wore much pain, Rolf recounted his woes as more their watcher and less their liver, never painting the truth with deeper grief nor coaxing undue pity. His past was laid out as bare as could be. Yet Men hold their Deiva to be absolute; this was the further truth, and no doubt was in me that their zealotry exacted from Rolf tolls and toils beyond common suffering. In spite of it all, this wayward Man lost not his way. On and on, he strove. On and on, he fought, never once casting away his sword or his honour. A marvel of a Man, Rolf. A marvel seldom beheld, a Man seldom bred. That was my reckoning of him. And as if his valiance could wear not a brighter lustre, his was also the acumen of a sharp commander, as shown on this day. I realised then the realness of the power that so delivered Balasthea from the brink over these past few moons¡­ and with it, a peculiar solace in being by his side, as though I were sat in the soft shade of a great tree, amidst the vividness of a midsummer noon. But that idyll was only a daydream. This was a battlefield, and our foes, though diminishing with each passing moment, had managed to gain our walls. ¡®¡­Rolf¡­! At the gates¡­!¡¯ I had said. ¡®¡­I¡¯ll handle this¡­¡¯ he swiftly answered. ¡®¡­The watch is yours, Lise¡­ If any queerness comes¡­ give the signal¡­!¡¯ His words revealed to me the sort of soldier he was: a commander and frontline fighter both. The same as I. Words most warming. Eyes most encouraging. Once more had Rolf given to me comfort of a kind ill-belonging on a battlefield. But another moment, and those words, those eyes, then vanished right from my midst. ¡®¡­W-wait¡­!¡¯ A yelp from my lips, teased out by pure surprise. ¡®Twas a watchtower whereupon I stood, no less; its very top, whence could be gleaned the lay of the land for a Meile and more beyond the fort walls. Only a craver of death would so freely leap from this great height, but Rolf had done just that. Astonished, to the opposite parapet I went, only to find him asail down the ladder, blunting his fatal descent with hands strained against the rails. Then he landed, thumping the air like a full-swung drumbeat and rousing in his wake a plume of dust. Wonderment struck me once more, to see so large a figure as Rolf¡¯s alight with such grace from so high a place¡ªa figure that next broke forth at once, drawn blade in hand, striding legs whisking him beyond the opening gates. There, with vivid ferocity, did Rolf then bring new battles upon the Fiefguard. And so was I left stunned and quieted. Such happenings, at too great a speed. A hare outrunning my ken. Just now was he here. Not more than a minute ago. Standing, and gleaning all sight and sound from the battlefield. But a blink, and Rolf was next in the thick of it, far down and far ahead. His sword danced, his mettle shone. Bidding the gates be closed, he pressed deeper into the fray, drawing the enemy vanguard away from the fort. And amidst such action, one by one he threw down his foes with mighty swings of black steel. ¡°That¡¯s ¡®im! The treacher!¡± came a cry from the enemy masses. A field commander¡¯s, by the sound of it; already were they keen on Rolf. ¡°Close ranks! Kill ¡®im quick!¡± Spears glinted. A maw of many fangs gnashing at Rolf. ¡°No¡­!¡± At once I tensed, clenching my teeth. I had no doubt: Rolf¡¯s strength was true. He well-proved it in Hensen. This, my mind knew. But my heart¡­ how it wailed for the scene, for the ally waylaid by rows of spears, each thirsting for his death. These foes were able enough. Slowly encircling Rolf, they maintained formation amidst the din of other frays about them. Were I their mark, I would break away and reset the situation. Indeed; back off and be on the prowl for a gap in their ranks. And once an opening shows, lunge in from the flank¡ª ¡°Wha¡­!¡± ¡ªbut Rolf¡¯s was a different thought. With sword poised, he charged¡ªstraight at the bristling phalanx. The spears answered, closing in on him like a whirlpool. I gasped. My breaths stopped. But then: a mystery. The spearpoints sprang upon him¡ªall of them¡ªyet bit no more than the very air about his body. ¡°How¡­¡± I exhaled in amazement. ¡®Twas as though the steel tips were sent against the repelling side of a lodestone¡ªnay, as though the spears themselves feared Rolf. The surprise on my face was clearly echoed on those of Rolf¡¯s very foes. But of course, the truth behind their failed offence was more mundane: Rolf had simply espied¡ªwith all immediacy¡ªthe dead zone of their spears and seized the moment. Mundane, for true. Even a curtain of readied spears is not without its gaps; such weapons in such a formation could do little else but strike straight, hence ¡®tis beyond no imagining that there might arise inside it some indefensible void. What proved beyond mundane was Rolf himself: not in the common soul could be found valour enough to endeavour the feat on peril of instant death. How many winters of rigour and hard-mastered study did Rolf endure, I wonder, to reach so sublime a state? ¡°Ryaahh!¡± A thunderous roar from Rolf. A heaving swing of the soot-steel. Blackness tore through flesh, redness spewed through the air. To the ground hurled many foes. ¡°Eeaaghh!?¡± ¡°Men down, men down! We need more hands!¡± And in the wake: a screaming swell from the Fiefguard. More of the vanguard near the gates answered the desperate call and scrambled in Rolf¡¯s direction. But defying their great number, he slashed away at the tide of Men. Elsewhere, far in the distance, fought Volker and his brave-host. Their striving was as an iron grip, never letting fly the advantage hard-earned by our roadside ambush. By this point, they were whipping the Fiefguard into fleeing, laying low Men where they could and leaving the rest to scatter in misery. All facets of this great fight, then, shone with our impending victory. ¡°Rraaahh!¡± And breaking the clouds was Rolf¡¯s voice, boisterous and cutting, but clarion and baritone. A rich voice full-bent on the fight, resounding strongly through the air, that even atop the watchtower whence I stood, it carried and echoed well into my bosom and belly both. In concert to his vociferation was the sword of soot¡ªand what trailed its many arcs. Fine wisps of black, brushed in crescent moonstrokes, only to thin away into naught like a mist. Left behind were bodies rent by the wolfsteel¡¯s bite and Rolf¡¯s towering form¡ªgallant, and beautiful, even. ¡°Fall back! Fall back!!¡± Cries from the Fiefguard, bellowed now to much repetition. With their numbers grievously culled, the Men began retreating en masse, like a tide receding from the shores whence they came. Victory was ours, then. Victory for the prelude to our attack on Arbel. ? Felicia trembled. Trust was not in her¡ªnot for the ghastly sight reflected in her ruby eyes. ¡°Our line fails! We need troops!¡± ¡°Retreat¡¯s bar¡¯d!! Make way, ye lack-wits!!¡± The Fiefguard¡ªfull-pressed into a flailing panick! They came as bawcocks, bold and brazenly set upon retaking Balasthea, only to be taken by sore surprise! For ambush was their welcome, played out in the clear open, before a single foot of theirs ever broke the bailey¡¯s soil. Pinched in by Naf¨ªlim fighters, the Men were split and scattered, soon finding themselves easy prey for the hard hunt. To Felicia, perched upon a hill near the rearmost ranks, such was the vivid vista presented. A vista of failed wits and perilous error. What impossibility is this? Who is it that leads the Naf¨ªlim host? The questions urged the brigadier to break her gaze away from the grimness and look to the fort far ahead. Soon enough, she spotted a peculiarity: a figure, flying down from the watchtower whence the whistling arrow was fired moments ago. Nay, not from so high a height could a man fly without dire need of mending thereafter. Perhaps the figure fell? Pondering, Felicia next found the fort¡¯s gates gaping open, from the crack of which rushed out that very same figure. Her lips gave a gasp. There was in that figure, that distant, sword-swinging silhouette, features that stoked a fear in her. Features, faint from so far away, yet gravely familiar to her eyes: a stature most outstanding in its height and stoutness. The reality she had so repudiated returned to her thoughts with thorns bristling anew. ¡°No¡­ ¡®twas true¡­?¡± she whispered, ¡°¡­Brother¡­?¡± Anear, the rearguard swelled with sallowed soldiers, freshly fleeing the butchery yonder. ¡°Back! Fall Back! Now!!¡± Theirs was no longer an onward march, but a stampede back to the safety of the fief-burgh. Doubtless a cowardly, if not calculated choice¡ªand as well, the sole path to survival, for they had not the mettle to muster against so sudden a disadvantage. The vanguards who might have sniffed a chance at bearing down upon Balasthea were now themselves hounds whimpering back with tails tucked betwixt their shivering haunches¡­ or bodies ready for the unmarked burial. ¡°Fall back! Fall back!!¡± Scores of like screams scratched endlessly at the air. On that day, the Fiefguard failed and flew back to Arbel, their numbers dwindled by no small fraction. Volume 3 - CH 2.4 ¡°Rolf!¡± cried a voice. ¡°P-Pardon! A moment! If it pleases you!¡± To it I turned and tarried, having been on my way to meet Lise and Volker. The battle was ended; the braves bustled fervently as they filed back into the fort. Out of the crowd emerged a young fellow of a Naf¨ªl, looking not much older than I during my first days at the Order. ¡°It does,¡± I answered above the clamour, watching as he quickly came by. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Th-this victory, it is owed to you! Our losses are little¡ªnot without your command could we¡¯ve seen this day!¡± he sunnily said, face flustered and almost breathless. But having been worn by winters of lambastings rather than laudings, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a bit flustered myself. ¡°Your praise gladdens the ears,¡± I returned. ¡°¡­Though you¡¯d best leave them for Lise¡¯s and Volker¡¯s. It¡¯s their skill and command that carried our cause.¡± ¡°Oh, y-yes, of course! Our leaders¡¯ll find no frail love from me, they won¡¯t! But yours, Rolf¡ªyour shoulders shrink not beside theirs, if you get my meaning!¡± he expounded with passion. ¡°Just as you didn¡¯t shrink when the enemy gained the gates! ¡®Mighty¡¯ be my best word for it! What with your charging their file, and felling them with that fey sword of yours!¡± I itched with unease at those words, as I felt my fencing unworthy of any acclaim yet. But to hear that I was ¡°mighty¡±, that I did not ¡°shrink¡± in the face of my foe¡ªthat well-earned my gratitude. For courage was my one regard I wished most to earn remembrance: in combat, in character, above all else and all others. ¡°And when you bade the gates be shut upon your exit¡ªI feel a fable was unfurled before my eyes, if you know what I mean!¡± the fervent fellow continued. ¡°The boldest of the brave, breaking into peril to protect the bastion! The stuff of legends!¡± Joining the fray¡ªnot exactly the deed of a reasoned commander, I should admit, but I let it be. This youth was pouring into his praise his very heart; it¡¯d be callous of me to throw cold water on him now. ¡°I only did as was demanded, but thank you,¡± I relented. ¡°You know my name¡ªwhat of yours?¡± ¡°Ah, aye! I¡¯m Bruno!¡± he answered, bowing. ¡°A pleasure!¡± ¡°Bruno, good lad,¡± I said back, presenting a hand to him. ¡°Let¡¯s give our all next we battle¡ªtogether.¡± ¡°O-of course! Together!¡± And with both his own, he shook mine. A hale warmth was in his spirited grip. ¡°Till then! Fair winds comfort you!¡± And off he went with a spring in his steps. Soon in his place were both Lise and Volker, approaching with wisps of wonder in their eyes. ¡°Quite the devotee there,¡± remarked Lise. ¡°One I¡¯m honoured to have, if true. It was a glad meeting,¡± I admitted. Cast upon me were yet stares of no small number, each nursing embers of doubt. I recalled then of Kunz. Of meeting him in Hensen, of being pressed by his arrant rage, his ill-salved sorrow. His was the smouldering stare most unforgettable of all. A comfort, then, to know that in some like Bruno, there burned a fire of a friendlier ardour. ¡°His compliments be not queer, I think,¡± Volker added. ¡°Many braves take heed of your sound succour at Hensen, Rolf¡ªto note little of both your bloodless felling of this fastness and the fierceness of your fighting on this day.¡± ¡°Not just this day, then,¡± I proclaimed, looking intently at busied braves. ¡°In all to come, I¡¯ll strive to win their vouching.¡± Through battle. Through resolute and unrelenting battle. For their cause, for their sacrifices¡ªtheir future. And in so doing earn their trust, at last. This I trusted to be the rightwise way. Much hard work, then, laid ahead. ¡°Well¡­ al-already you¡¯ve won some, I¡¯d say,¡± stammered Lise, curiously quiet. ¡°A fair fight you¡¯ve waged for us, Rolf. Most fair¡ªbrave even, and¡­ and bea¡­ b-beautiful¡­ I-I confess.¡± ¡°¡®Beautiful¡¯?¡± I remarked, surprised. ¡°I see. Glad to know there be a glint of beauty in my bladework, if one as beautiful as yourself vouches for¡ª¡± ¡°Hya!?¡± she yelped, loudly and out-of-the-blue. Was I rude, perchance? Likely so, looking at Lise. Splendid; once again I¡¯ve let my mouth run off. ¡°Ehr, V-Volker! Y-your sweat was much succour itself, wasn¡¯t it!?¡± she said, turning asudden to the war-chief. The topic had turned sour on her tongue, it seemed. ¡°Mine was quite the easy task thanks to you!¡± ¡°As was mine,¡± answered Volker, grinning faintly. ¡°A gainly hand it was that Rolf dealt us. I had but to play as promised.¡± Not as gainly as he touted it to be, I should say. Nonetheless, all had gone to plan, for our foes, too, had played obediently the hand of our dealing. Time was a luxury lost to them; had they any more of it, wisdom might¡¯ve cooled their heads and inspired them to the possibility of an ambush. And as well, the falsity of Morten¡¯s report. All the better for us, then, that they sooner heeded haste than hesitation. Foremost in the margrave¡¯s mind was surely Morten¡¯s telling of the Fiefguard¡¯s triumphant return from Hensen. If it were a backstabbing trap that awaited them at Balasthea, then speed should¡¯ve seen them saved. And so it was that the lord let loose his remaining men to trounce our ¡°trap¡±, sparing time for neither prudence nor planning. No, not even for an investigation into the veracity of the two opposing reports¡­ nor for properly organising his troops, for that matter. ¡°You well-whip¡¯d our foes to a fever¡¯d haste, Rolf¡ªhorses hying to a cliff-edge their eyes had scant time to see, as it were,¡± Volker went on. ¡°A gesture of genius, I admit.¡± ¡°But with your chase, they had no chance of changing course, Volker,¡± I returned. ¡°Your command was most commendable; that¡¯s my admittance.¡± ¡°Let us leave it at that, then. Pelting such praises as we do only passes precious time.¡± ¡°You have a point,¡± I relented, chuckling. I felt then a smile growing on my face¡ªslight, but warm with gladness. On the side was Lise, also smiling at us, if not rather awkwardly. ? Coldly from his office did the margrave take in the ill-tiding. Yet again did the word ¡°defeat¡± nip his nerves. The sorry sight of his Fiefguard, retreating from their rout, crushed all comfort that denial and self-deception might have afforded him. Long had he held them in high regard, his military men. The Fiefguard: mighty defenders of this march of Str?m. The honour was well-warranted. For many a time have they forayed bravely into Naf¨ªlim country and came back brimming with hard-earned boons. Why, the margrave even fancied them no less fearsome than the knights of the Orders. Such pride¡ªnow all but pulverised. Rolf¡¯s was but a small force, a pack of Naf¨ªlim no larger than a nipple of a legion. Those were Morten¡¯s words. Oh, the lies laced in them! And if lies they were, so it must be that the margrave¡¯s forayers were indeed hewn down at Hensen. ¡­So it must be that the victors of that vying, vicious as they were bristlingly abundant, were now come to his doorstep. Hensen, then, was a reeking failure of a raid. Would that he trusted to the contrary! Not the maunderings of Morten the fool, no, but the fled Fiefguardsmen¡¯s grovelling details of their defeat! A bitter truth beholding the loss of a hundred-score soldiers! Now were the tables turned. Now did the Naf¨ªlim mean to march on Arbel, aggression against which the fief-burgh might have had shields enough to guard¡­ had the margrave not bitten the bait so capriciously. His losses only seemed to mount: of the thousand soldiers he had sent to break Balasthea today, not much more than three-hundred returned to Arbel alive. A force once thrice-thousand strong, now nine-times decimated. And amongst the remnants themselves were the wounded and battle-unworthy; the ¡°small force¡±, then, was not Rolf¡¯s, no¡ªit was the margrave¡¯s. By such meagre numbers shall Arbel be ill-delivered from this dire plight. The realisation racked and grated at the margrave to no end. Bang!¡ªupon the desk: a furious fist. ¡°Damn it all!!¡± barked the lord, after which a Fiefguard commander then entered the room. ¡°M¡¯liege¡­¡± he said sheepishly. ¡°I know,¡± sighed the margrave. ¡°We are cornered¡ªdefence be our only road in this ruction.¡± ¡°What of Central?¡± the commander suggested. ¡°Might we seek their succour, m¡¯liege?¡± ¡°Already a courier bears my call to Redelberne, but it shall be days ere deliverance comes. Days!¡± Days, indeed. Deadly and terrible days of defending against the Naf¨ªlim with just an enfeebled Fiefguard. And in that struggle, Arbel would fold long before its walls were aught more than a distant twinkle in the eyes of Central¡¯s reinforcements. The foe, then, seemed the clear and uncontested victor, even as the horns of battle were yet unblown. ¡°Nay¡­ the last card lies yet unplayed,¡± hissed the margrave, as though relenting after being wrung dry of all pride. ¡°The sellswords of Zaharte¡ªthey shall see this through.¡± Heretofore had the margrave defended his fief with naught but the soldiery of this land. He well-wore the feat as a prideful pin, but today was the day it was torn from his lapel, and to grope after it would imperil the whole of the province itself. So instead, he sought the services of the foresaid free company, which, on this occasion, so happened to be sojourning within Str?m¡¯s borders. ¡°Ah, but of course! The vaunted Zaharte Battalion!¡± Sunlit expectation scintillated through the commander¡¯s voice, a clear contrast to his lord¡¯s contempt. Rightfully so, for the mercenaries of Zaharte were highly regarded. Though they branded themselves a battalion, their number hardly beseemed the term: not more than a hundred was their count, yet quality corroborated their ferocity, enough to rival a real battalion in strength. Foremost amongst them were the ?stbergs, the twin heads of the horde. Brother and sister they were, and in the minds of all Londosians, readily renowned as a force to be reckoned with upon the battlefield. Such free companies roamed the realm, seeking coin for combat wheresoever they went. From time to time would they tarry in a province before braving the wilderness once more. That the Zaharte Battalion of fame would find Str?m its waterhole for this whirlwind of a while was, to the margrave, a windfall, without a doubt. ¡°Indeed. An envoy of theirs arrives presently,¡± revealed the lord. ¡°We must join with their muddied hands and rally our remnants for a reprisal. By my very soul shall this land be delivered¡ªas Yon¨¢ is my witness.¡± ¡°As it shall, m¡¯liege!¡± In invoking the holy name of the Deiva did the margrave attempt to buoy his buried spirits. Yet buried they remained. Irritation, regret, wrath¡ªspiteful worms all wriggling and writhing in his clouded bosom. Volume 3 - CH 2.5 The past. In remembering do I relive pain. From my heart: all the hurt. Springing, sprouting, stinging. Even amidst the mirth of many other memories, fair and fond. Even as enthroned in me was a childhood spent blissfully with Brother and Emilie both. Beside it all sat the hurt. Ever in my heart, unwaning, unwithering. ¡®¡­Mingle not with that thing¡­ You are our hope now, Felicia¡­ Our next-in-line¡­ Do choose your company¡ªwisely¡­¡¯ Such was Father¡¯s bidding. ¡®Twas that dark day. The day Brother was received at the Roun of Orisons. A day that changed all that was and all yet to come. Why? I thought to myself. Again and again. Over and over. Brother¡­ Ever was he the apple of everyone¡¯s eyes. Everyone, save our Deiva. How? How did such travesty chance upon us? Upon Brother? A mistake. That¡¯s all. Just a simple mistake. ¡®Twas what I wished it to be. Dearly, and more dearly still. Yet Yon¨¢ yields no mistakes. As She is not wont to err, so She is our Deiva, one and only. A truth plain to every eye. And if the fault lies not in Her, then so it must in Brother. Thus was he branded the black sheep of Her herd. A stigma in our midst. ¡®¡­Consort with traitors to the Deiva and you are like to share in their filth¡­¡¯ Mother¡¯s words. A warning to keep away from my own brother, conveyed most clearly to my ears. Even though ¡®twas clearer still that, up to the day of the rites, Brother was, to her, a son most beloved. ¡­Even though ¡°my pride and joy¡± was oft what she said of him. On the day of his departure to the Order, I could not send him off as I would¡¯ve liked. Rather, I wasn¡¯t allowed. And so I made due from a distance. Through my chamber window, I watched Brother far below as he prepared to depart. The carriage was parked in waiting. Waiting by the manor gates. Waiting to whisk him away to the Order headquarters. Emilie was present, as well. Standing amidst a crowd, all gathered to celebrate the first step on her new journey. Amongst them were her parents, her servants¡ªeven little Maria, youthful handmaiden that she was. To Emilie went their warmth, their praise, their pride¡­ their pain in parting from her so. Whilst nearby was my brother. ¡­Standing amidst company as cold as ¡®twas empty. Mother and Father were present, but had nary a mind to see him off. They instead meant to make certain he would be gone for good. And just like that, with not a soul to bid him farewell, Brother began to board the carriage. But as he did, he paused¡­ and turned my way. ¡°¡­ah!¡± I lurched closer and leant on the window, as though hurried by my heart. That I might be full-found by his eyes. That he might know¡ª ¡ªaway his look went. Mother had struck him across the face. ¡®¡­Don¡¯t you dare even look at Felicia¡­! Our dear heir needn¡¯t suffer your profane gaze¡­! Have you no shame¡­!?¡¯ Even from my chamber, high and far, were those words most audible. Such was Mother¡¯s indignance. Yet I heard also a tremble in her treble. The sound of a sobbing voice. The voice of a mother believing herself betrayed by her child. The child she had nurtured with so much of her own love. After a brief apology, Brother then boarded the carriage. On and on I watched as it set off, shrinking further and further into the horizon. From then on, just as Brother¡¯s life was upheaved, so, too, was mine. The education, the esteem, the expectation he had long endured¡­ all were now mine to suffer. ¡®¡­This is Felicia¡­ Our daughter¡­ and our dear heir¡­¡¯ ¡®¡­My¡­! Fairest Felicia¡­ an honour and pleasure both¡­!¡¯ There was yet a year left till my own enlistment in the Order. A year filled with aristocratic functions, of meeting with the Buckmann barony¡¯s myriad personages of power. Of stiff and shallow association with many-masked eminences. Will I be as them one day¡­? Nonetheless, more and more was I wearied by those wasting days. The conveyances, the courtesies, the protocols, the etiquettes; trivialities I¡¯d only ever learnt in passing¡ªall of them now required my mastership down to the tiniest minutia. There was little time for leisure. The Buckmann brand was all-consuming; a terrible weight full-borne upon just my two shoulders. Beyond mastering manners, there were also studies of many subjects. Any waking minute spent at the manor was a minute of education, of discipline, of review. My chamber seemed no longer my own. Faceless tutors came and went with the turning of the hour. Such were my days. ¡®¡­Sharply, now¡­¡¯ one of them had said. ¡®¡­Lag here¡­ and it shall be the wastrel¡¯s lot awaiting you¡­¡¯ That ¡°wastrel¡± being none other than Brother, for certain. And just like Mother, more certain again was this tutor¡¯s former praise for Brother. Frequent and glowing praise¡ªnow but insults, snide and shaded. ¡®Twas a matter beyond my mould to mend. Yet never did it cease to gnaw at me, the nonsense of it all. The other tutors, too, doled out like disregard. But of them, the theologian fumed most with hate for Brother. By his words, he¡¯d always felt Brother to be rather pale of respect for our Deiva. By my own measure, Brother had ever and always mastered his studies, no matter the subject, for he hated none of them¡ªnot even theology. But to think, that lurking in the lack of hate was the absence of respect¡­ ¡­this, I couldn¡¯t understand. We lambs of Yon¨¢ must needs always pay our respects to our Deiva, whether through awe or adoration or aught else. Such has ever been our way. How, then, did Brother go astray? Be that as it may, I very soon lost all luxury to worry for him so. Each and every day found me breathless and bewildered with business of myriad sorts. Boulders of duty as Buckmann¡¯s only heir, pressing me with a weight once borne by Brother like a feather upon a finger. A weight I shouldn¡¯t have suffered had he not been disinherited. Though hardly a weight that begat in me a grudge of any sort. But somewhere, deep down inside, below all waking thought, a sense was sown in me. A sense that he¡¯d betrayed me. A sense that soon sprouted without my attendance. ¡®¡­Betray the Deiva¡­ and one betrays the World itself¡­ Disavowal was his deed, of aught and all¡­ And so was he disavowed in turn¡­¡¯ So said the same theologian. In his tone, his mien, trickled a gleam of triumph. But such words I could neither challenge nor distrust. I was too busied. Too fraught for the mere effort. In those dire days, the tutors all told me thus in stark concert: ¡®¡­Even he found this easy enough¡­¡¯ Reminders that I ought achieve all my brother once did. How crushed I was by the weight of it all. And yet to have whispered in my ears that such weight only ever half-bothered a ¡°baser being¡± like my brother, that such difficulty was but a ¡°deception¡±, despite how desperately I strived¡­ ¡­certainly. Most certainly had Brother borne the weight of like days and still found freedom enough to ply the sword, to indulge in his love of literature¡­ to spend time with Emilie and me. ¡­I wonder. What sort of look had he on his face, again? On such days? On the daily, even? I tried to remember. But a grating noise, and all memory faded at once. Looking over my shoulder: yet another tutor, clearing his throat. And so back to the book in hand my thoughts turned. One of many forced upon me. ? ¡°Blessed¡± was befitting a brand for that land. Blessed with sumptuous soils, flourishing flora, and many mountains and rivers to enrich its enviable reaches. The very portrait of a pastoral idyll. And soundly secure besides, far from the affrighting frontiers and unwounded by the wilder whims of mother nature. Threading through its spans were myriad crossroads, as betwixt the bustling heart and bucolic hinterlands of Londosius it laid. Indeed, its position was prime, a treasure trove of exchange and opportunity. Such bounties begat also a sense of solace within its citizenry, for a more peaceable pall has it sustained thus far, even whilst walled-in by the war-like convictions of the Crown. Many years of management, however, noted little from the present lord of this land. He was benignly banal, an average man of average ambition, his measured maintenance of this fief of his forebears being the sole star to his legacy. But that was enough. None could gainsay that he was, at the very least, capable in carrying out what was expected of him. So it was that such a land, presided by such a prince, held such hospitality which no visitor of eminence should find lacking. This day was no different. Many persons of prestige were come, for today found this land host to a meeting on military munitions and the expected output thereof. Chief amongst them: the Dame Mareschal to the 1st Chivalric Order. A hailed hero of the realm, truly was she an eminence amongst eminences. Upon conclusion of the meeting, the vaunted visitors were all ushered into the great hall for a resplendent reception. Sheeted tables were all about, each bedight with brilliant bouquets and platters filled with the finest foods of the land. Servants wove through the maze of standing guests, pouring wine and dispensing starters. But there was one press they could not penetrate, and that was the one surrounding the hero-dame herself. What grace, what beauty the guests beheld in her as they all partook of pleasantries and mild merriment. But soon, this crowd parted left and right, for walking in now was the lord of the land himself. ¡°Your Mightiness the Lady Estelle,¡± he began. ¡°A pleasure unparalleled to meet you on this fair day. As lord, I welcome you to my barony of Buckmann.¡± Volume 3 - CH 2.6 ¡°Ah, the Lord of Buckmann himself! And the fair Baroness besides,¡± Estelle greeted with a raised glass. The gesture was requited with a bow and curtsey from the Buckmanns, both of whom, too, balanced fine wine in their hands. ¡°¡®Tis an honour to meet you at last. I am Estelle of Tiselius, though I see my reputation precedes me.¡± ¡°Oh! Precede! Even the robins regale us with your feats, madame!¡± the baron laughed along with his wife. ¡°Mayhap this be your first stay in our humble province?¡± ¡°¡®Tis indeed, though hardly the first visit. Business has made me quite the busied tourist, if naught else,¡± the mareschal answered with gentle joviality. Sure enough, it was by countless commutes to and from the royal capital that Estelle had grown rather familiar with the Buckmann landscape. Some visits to the nearby towns, too, were under her belt, that she fancied having strode past him unbeknownst at some point in time. ¡°And never does it fail to impress, this place,¡± she went on, peering briefly at the glow of blazing gloam beyond the windows. ¡±All thanks to the fine rule of your house, I¡¯m sure.¡± With that, a spring-bright smile dawned upon her regard, rousing a wistful sigh from the cincture of guests. They had all of them heard word of Estelle¡¯s winsome looks; none were disappointed in the slightest. One might even say they were captivated, for such comeliness, too, adorned her carriage and conduct both. ¡°Oho! Your words are as wings whisking me away to Heaven and back, Mightiness! Too kind you are,¡± the baron beamingly gushed. ¡°Indeed, this land is my life¡ªas it should be! If His Majesty has measured me mete for this fief, then so must I answer with full concern to its care.¡± Florid deference was in the baron¡¯s diction, and for good reason. While true that Estelle was daughter to the count of Tiselius, she herself was hardly the head of a house¡ªnot so with the baron of Buckmann. The social ladder saw him situated upon a higher rung than she, thus by rights, there was no need to prostrate himself so before the mareschal, as it were. But ¡°mareschal¡± was the rub here. To be sure, Londosius, militarily minded as it was, illumed its Orderly commanders in a special light, one not to be outshone by any sitting lord. ¡°Her Mightiness¡±, then, was not for show. Further still, the baron beheld before him no other mareschal than that of the 1st: the hero-dame herself. Little wonder, now, as to why his mien was most courteous. His wife beside him seemed no different. ¡°Fair Mareschal, to all ladies of Londosius are you a shining lodestar, truly¡ªnot least to myself, of course,¡± the baroness said. ¡°A great honour it is merely to make your acquaintance. Greater still now that my lord husband has your praises to boast about!¡± ¡°Let them be no less yours, my Lady,¡± Estelle returned softly. ¡°But I must say, airing the truth was more my mind than charitable applause. Peace and plenty¡ªthis land is loved by much, and that is no lie.¡± ¡°My¡­!¡± blushed the baroness, covering her gasping grin. ¡°Truly a gladness upon our ears, Mightiness,¡± spoke her husband, bowing slightly. ¡°¡®Tis but a fruit of unrelenting labour on the part of my wife and I, that the feats of my forefathers should not go fallow.¡± Modesty, too, was in the baron¡¯s mien. But deceit? Nay, for true to his word, the wonderful abundance of the Buckmann barony did owe much to the successes of his ancestors. The vibrant vegetation, for example, was the product of prudent irrigation works maintained by generations of Buckmanns. All the rivers, too, were rigorously regulated, thus were floods and like whims of the wild mitigated to a seldomness. The current baron was but a cog in this enduring machine, a mere inheritor of his predecessors¡¯ hard work. At the very least, however, he did not fall victim to the same vice committed by many other folk, ennobled or no: that of summing up his self-worth solely from the feats of his former lions and the prestige of his household. No, the baron was no such man. He merely saw his station as one of nurturing the fruits of his family, that they may be handed down unbruised to the next-in-line. And so was he never moved to endeavour any enterprise beyond his mould, nor to mar the amalgamated boons of the Buckmann line. A man not so noteworthy¡ªthat was the baron. But he knew as much, and was sooner content than concerned with it. And for a wealsman such as he, it was a rare trait, indeed. ¡°Buckmannfolk be blessed,¡± Estelle reflected. ¡°Surely could they not have wished for a finer lord.¡± ¡°Nay, my part be small,¡± the baron said, waving his hand humbly. ¡°Their blessings are rather born from the peace you and yours assay to protect, madame. Such rigours earn our greatest gratitude.¡± Sunny was the baron¡¯s smile. But not so for the mareschal, whose mien was then enshawled in shade. ¡°Peace¡­ is it, now?¡± she echoed quietly. A cloud then grew over the lord¡¯s look. Had he toed over some line? Perhaps so. For centuries has war smouldered under Londosius¡¯ soles, but now did it burn more brightly than ever. ¡°Peace¡±, then, ill-palled the realm and its people¡ªnot least those braving the fighting fields themselves. Theirs were shoulders bearing the burdens of battle most terrible of all. Where was peace for them? The baron, keeper of his calm and curated garden, knew not. And yet did he gaily speak of it afore the mareschal, offering what but a sunny thanks for it. The absence of solemnity was thus a slight against the hero-dame, who herself had hitherto wagered her very life on the frontlines no few times before. ¡°I¡­ I spoke awrong,¡± the baron said darkly. ¡°Most dear be this peace, paid with sacrifices bitter beyond our knowing. Not lightly is it eked out; not lightly should it be lived. Yet light did I make of it. A sin upon my head, Mightiness. Pray forgive me.¡± ¡°Why such words, Lord Buckmann?¡± the mareschal asked the brooding baron, her regard unreadable. ¡°Peace is peace, is it not? Free and deserved by all?¡± ¡°¡®Tis indeed, madame. Peace be the due of all Londosian folk, certainly. But wealsman that I am, my station demands more¡­ nuance. And there did I fail to answer. The stain of ignorance is mine to wash.¡± With bitterness were bent the baron¡¯s brows, his gaze grave as it cast down. Bared in his words was his heart of hearts. The baroness, too, appeared no less pressed by her husband¡¯s faux pas. Seeing them so morose, Estelle inly sighed. They were unsullied, these two, set with jewels of just and genial sentiment. Meeting them here on this mild evening informed the mareschal as much. But more lurked behind this ¡°much¡±. For on those heart-jewels glimmered cracks and ill-formed facets of foolery: dullards, Estelle deemed them. The ¡°why¡± of it was simple. These two had once abandoned a child. Nay, they had disavowed that child¡¯s very existence. If such became not the deed of dullards, then what did? Bearing this thought, Estelle parted her lips once more. Here on this day, in this hall, would be aired the words she had longed to give breath to. ¡°Splendid,¡± she began, handing off her wine glass to a servant. ¡°You well-hem in the howls of your heart, my Baron¡ªa lodestar in your own right, hm? How blessed your children be, to have such a light to look to.¡± A wisp of anger gave volume to her voice. But to her, it was not to be helped, for the Buckmanns were fair folk, more so than her prior measure of them. And that was precisely why it pricked at the hero-dame¡¯s patience so. If fair they be, then why? This, Estelle could not help but wonder. Why commit so cruel a mistake? Why abandon a child so? Oh, how it racked her. But for however much it did, the Buckmanns discerned it not. Nevertheless, their faces were stiff. For years now, it was taboo to touch the very topic of ¡°children¡± in their presence. The other guests seemed to understand this quite well as they watched on in cold sweat. After a moment of numb confoundment, the Buckmanns at last broke their silence. ¡°¡­Blessed, indeed, for our part, as well,¡± the baron almost stammered, unsteadily nodding. ¡°Dear Felicia took well to the burdens of her upbringing. She is our pride and joy.¡± ¡°That she is!¡± his wife echoed. ¡°And a Dame Brigadier to the Order, no less!¡± ¡°Oh, I know. Very well, in fact,¡± said Estelle. ¡°To mine ears stream word of the strong, whether they hail from the 1st¡­ or the 5th.¡± To this, the Buckmanns exhaled with relief. Their stiff faces softened to those of parents, sparkling with pride and consideration for their child. Such warmth only worsened Estelle¡¯s irritation. Loving and lauding their dear daughter, Felicia Buckmann, was not in itself a crime, no. It was well and fine, in fact. But was that it? Had they nothing at all for another of their rearing? The thought rose and rushed to Estelle¡¯s lips. ¡°¡­You are blessed with a son, as well, are you not?¡± she asked with sharpness, straightway cutting open whatever comfort that might have eased the Buckmanns¡¯ faces. Petrified once more, their brows furrowed further than before. All pleasantry turned to pain. ¡°¡­Your Mightiness,¡± the baron began again, tense in his timbre. ¡°Verily you seem apprised of the man himself. You, the very pinnacle of the knightly Orders, suffering the stain of¡­ of so vain and vapid an officer. What indignance you thus bear, I can scarce imagine. For my part, I am shawled in shame to have ushered in such a shadow upon this world. But, pray, do know this: that thing is no longer a son of mine.¡± ¡°It is as my lord husband says, Your Mightiness,¡± the baroness added. ¡°That thing is but a worm of an otherworld, slithering through our lands¡ªa fiend fancying itself a son of Man. Its presence pains us greatly, but silence should serve a greater salve. Pray let this rest, madame.¡± Oh, the heat howling now in the hero-dame¡¯s veins! Any more and her blood might truly have boiled over. Yet this was no habit of hers. Portrait of prestige that she was, not few of her days were spent spewing platitudes with the many other who¡¯s whos of high society. But if there was aught such unsought days have honed in her, it was the art of the palliative, of masking herself in mildness to unmake any arisen friction. Would that the hard-learnt lessons availed her here, for brimming from her face now was anger most apparent to any eye. The wrath of Londosius¡¯ most renowned blade, laid all too bare. Such rancour then coldened to a keenness for killing, coursing from every span of her body. The Buckmanns yelped. There they stood, frozen as frogs afore a seething, glaring serpent. The other guests, all of them, recoiled in fright. ¡°Dr-dread Mareschal!¡± the baron whimpered. ¡°Most just be your rage, most just, indeed! But pray perish all mind for that man. He is a wayside stone, a sallowed soul, a soiling eye-sore! Yet nary an obstacle should he prove to the mighty momentum of you and yours!¡± ¡°Th-that he is, and naught more!¡± his wife yipped. ¡°And should he be a babe too blaring in his blubbering, why, do cast him off, madame. To some dungeon corner, dark and alone. He¡¯ll rot soon enough, I reckon!¡± At that very moment did a scabbard hang from the hero-dame¡¯s hip. And sheathed in it: a live sword. A fact of much regret to the mareschal, as to stay her sword-hand from reaching the hilt required a mountain of restraint. Oh, for one¡¯s own child, what wicked words. Allowed by divine law though they were, Estelle yet found herself incapable of concealing her ire. ¡°¡­And I reckon not.¡± Those few words, finally wrung out of her, were aimed exactly at the baroness¡¯ desired doom for her son. But the Buckmanns¡¯ discernment of this was clear off the mark: they instead took them as an echoing repudiation of the ungraced himself, that for sure did the mareschal vehemently share in their disgust for the child they themselves begat and reared. What hope they had for this day. Hope in meeting the mareschal, hope in forming a lasting fellowship with so famed and fair a personage. For to be friends with Londosius¡¯ foremost lioness would surely shine a new light upon the future of House Buckmann. But in their reverie had they roused the lioness to her present rage. It was all that man¡¯s fault. The man they once raised as a son of their own. Even now, of all times, was he managing to mangle things up! This was the Buckmanns¡¯ thought, boiling in their bosoms by the heat of regret. ¡°Y¡­ Your Mightiness,¡± the baron began again, ¡°we share in your chagrin, we do. For in fairer days did we once harbour hope for him. But those days are dusked. He has turned a man ungraced, a hound unfanged¡ª¡± ¡°I reckon not, I said!¡± So repeated Estelle, her tone a tempered edge, her indignance a damning ring through the hushed hall. Volume 3 - CH 2.7 The son of House Buckmann: a castaway cadet¡­ and a soul spurned of holy communion with the Deiva. Such was his lot, and Estelle dared no argument against it. But for the baron to brand his abandoned son a ¡°hound unfanged¡±, feeble and haggard¡ªin that, Estelle found fault. This ¡°hound¡±, as they called him, had fangs enough. A wolf of valour, winter-worn and well-fought, with a will of steel forged in fires of resolve. Of this, Estelle¡¯s eyes have seen, her ears have heard, her heart has felt. To think, that this son¡¯s merits were fast forgotten by his own begetters¡ªnay, were as yet unknown to them, served only to stoke further the hero-dame¡¯s displeasure. Though the wine she had been sipping, too, might have had a hand in fanning her flames. ¡°Lord and Lady both. Your lips seem loath to whisper even the name of your son. Allow me, then, if you will,¡± Estelle continued, her anger eloquent and unabated. ¡°Your son, this ¡®Rolf Buckmann¡¯¡­¡± There, clarion in the mareschal¡¯s own voice: the gallant ungraced¡¯s very name, and to Buckmann air, an anathema. ¡°¡­is most remarkable. A man of unmatched regard!¡± Gaping open now was the baron¡¯s mouth. ¡°Howha¡­!?¡± The mareschal¡¯s was too puzzling a proclamation to him. The lamb unloved by Yon¨¢, Most Divine; the apostate ill-suffered in the spans of this land¡ªcommon sense makes clear that such a man deserves damnation wheresoever he wanders. And yet, here hurrying into the baron¡¯s ears were Estelle¡¯s stellar praises for the vauntless vagrant. ¡°Y-Your Mightiness?¡± the baron said breathlessly. ¡°I-I fear I miss your meaning¡­¡± Estelle stared with steel at the Buckmanns. ¡°I meant exactly as you¡¯ve heard: your son is a magnificent man. More so than you¡ªthan all of you.¡± A remark to mar the mirth of any social function. Not even the mareschal¡¯s prestige could escape unscathed in vouching for the unvouchable like she did. Indeed, though she be the hero-dame of Londosius, unrivalled and unreachable, to veer so clearly away from creed and collective thought was sure to lay barbs and briars upon her path. But it was a remark too long in the making. To leave it unaired sat most ill with Estelle. His beaten and bloodied figure, fighting on and on for all he believed in. His stout and unsung stature, unrelenting even aface uncountable scorn and contempt. There was no shame in aught he shouldered. Yet shame was all his bloodkin knew of him. Shame was all they could speak of him. Shame was his one and only name to them. But well-knowing the truth of him and his trials, and hearing them challenged unjustly by his own parents, Estelle was taken very nearly to tears. But no more. Hers would be the words that severed this silence. ¡°M¡­ magnif¡­ ficent?¡± the baron muttered. ¡°That man, you say? More than I? Than us all?¡± ¡°M-Madame,¡± said the baroness, small and muted. ¡°Might have you mistaken him for another, perchance?¡± ¡°Nay. Mine is no mistake,¡± Estelle answered. ¡°Rolf Buckmann¡ªa martial-devout! A mind of whetted wisdom! A man of golden gallantry! And you? What are yours but crumbs of an accomplishment, scattered in the shadow of his mountain of merits?¡± ¡°W¡­ wh¡­¡± Words were all but lost to the lord and lady. To be ¡°below¡± an ungraced¡ªan insult of unequalled slander! But that earned not the brunt of their disbelief; rather, it was in Estelle¡¯s very speech. The hero-dame of Londosius, most renowned in all the realm, maundering on matters most mysterious to their ears. Was this some jest? A joust of words for dubious merriment? The Buckmanns could not know. The mareschal¡¯s very demeanour, they could not comprehend. And so their confusion remained neither mended upon their mien, nor paid any mind from the hero-dame. ¡°Long should I¡¯ve been buried, if not for Rolf. I, along with a great many other knights and dames,¡± she confessed. ¡°Hark, my good Baron. This very moment ought find you sobbing¡­ upon the headstone of your pride! Your joy! Your dear daughter Felicia! Were Rolf any less of a man! For she, too, owes her living breath to her brother!¡± ¡°No¡­!¡± the baron grimaced. ¡°Madness¡­!¡± ¡°Madness, indeed! That you scorn the truth!¡± Estelle countered. ¡°Yet think you madness be my mien? Think you, Baron, these lips be given to lies?¡± Lies? Not so. Felicia¡¯s life was living proof. A twice-attested token of Rolf¡¯s heroism, for not only at the Battle of Erbelde was she delivered by him, but in the grim mirk of Mt. Godrika, as well. And of the two feats, neither had escaped the mareschal¡¯s ken. ¡°Nay, I¡­ I¡­ b-but¡­ mmngh!¡± groaned the lord. The Buckmanns were pale by this point. They could fathom none of the confusion afore them. Bludgeoned by balderdash, harried by this hogwash of a humiliation¡ªthem! The very lord and lady of this manor, this land! Then, as though impelled by what pride he had in his position, the baron managed to open his mouth again. ¡°Y¡­ yet he was damned by our Deiva, all the same. And that is the truth. Unchanging, unchallenged!¡± he cried. ¡°If aught could be gleaned from so unglozed a truth, let it be this: that man, that thing is a fremd, foul and foreign!¡± Ah, yes. Of course. The creed of Yonaism, ever the card-up-the-sleeve for any soul so cornered. Always reliable, never refutable, for exactly as the baron had broached, it was the common and unquestionable thought of all folk in this realm. And like a desperate dealer did he dangle his winning card, to which Estelle simply sighed. ¡°¡­Pardon,¡± she said softly, letting her shoulders settle. ¡°This passion of mine¡ª¡¯twas a fire overfed.¡± Incredible. Never had the mareschal lost her cool in the cacophonies of uncountable battlefields. But to have lost it here of all places? Estelle inly chided herself for the irony. Though to be sure, she regretted naught she had aired thus far. ¡°Lord Buckmann,¡± she began again, newly calmed. ¡°Oft in this noble sphere that we share is familial love left a forlorn second to the future of the house. Doling out disinheritance be your right as lord of your line, certainly; that, too, I concede.¡± Still, hers was no heart that could so condone the repudiation of one¡¯s child and its very existence. But that was a thought Estelle was unfain to unfurl, not after having just collected her cool. Her mind, then, was to unmince the matter for the baron, that he might fully know the faults of his ways. ¡°But do heed this, Baron, and heed it well,¡± the mareschal went on. ¡°Ever are we chained to the choices of our making. Thus should one day you find fangs bared your way by the very ¡®hound¡¯ you chose to abandon¡ªand likewise behold him grown to a grandness far beyond your most fearsome fancies¡ªsay never that you had no other choice.¡± ¡°What is this¡­!?¡± the baron hissed, his veins vaulting asudden. ¡°That thing? A hound soon to harry my way? My house? My line!? Is that your reckoning of him!? Of this ill affair!?¡± ¡°Perhaps,¡± Estelle answered, clear and quiet. ¡°Or perhaps¡­ not. Perhaps to him, you are the wayside stone.¡± ¡°¡­Waysi¡­!?¡± The lord, worth not even a whim of attention? From the very hound he had cast from his house? A statement most unsought. His humiliation deepening by the moment, the baron at last began to bristle and quake¡ªa sight savouring not a crumb of care from the mareschal as she turned her back to the Buckmanns. ¡°Most warm was your welcome,¡± she said, before starting her way out of the great hall, watched by every eye in attendance. ¡°Thank you and good day, Lord and Lady.¡± ¡°Hold there¡­!¡± the baron barked, grinding his teeth, with his wife fuming beside him all the while. ¡°Why? Why do you vouch for that vermin so!? Do you not think yourself imperilled by your present port? A port more beseeming a traitor than a strength of Londosius!?¡± Estelle stopped. ¡°Nay, Baron. For strength is my very charge. Its seeking, its scrying in other souls¡ªI judge strength, that Londosius might live another day.¡± The lord pointed at her. ¡°Foolery fogs your eyes! If ¡®strong¡¯ be your measure of him!¡± Hoarse was his howling by now, to which Estelle turned with a sidelong look upon the lord and his lady. ¡°I am strong,¡± she proclaimed, ¡°more so than any other huddled in this hall.¡± A truth incontestable. And none present dared the deed. Next did The Strong slowly cast her stare from guest to guest, before partaking in another proclamation. ¡°Such is why I know well of strength. And thus, of whom are strong and what worth they hide within.¡± Collective silence answered her. In it, the Buckmanns remained ill-convinced. Indeed, Estelle¡¯s words found only deeper disagreement from them. ¡°Unthinkable¡­¡± the lord¡¯s wife uttered, barely above a whisper. ¡°¡­Most unthinkable. That so unsightly a stain as he can¡ª¡± ¡°¡®Unsightly¡¯?¡± Estelle cut in. ¡°What of your son be unsightly, Lady Buckmann? Is it not sightly as the summer sun that so unlike his parents, he is a beauty most evident to all eyes beholding? ¡®Tis so to mine, I say¡ªindeed, his features grip me fast in fascination.¡± A gasp from the baroness. ¡°Fasci¡­!?¡± ¡°Yes, fascinating, those eyes of his, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± the mareschal smirked. ¡°Calm as clouds, yet fierce like fires alive¡ªoh! Nary a night do I bed unvisited by visions of his gaze.¡± And his burly body besides, a masterwork of muscle. A body Estelle saw, knew, felt for herself in the waning throes of the Battle of Erbelde, where in his lumber-like arms was she embraced and bulwarked against an explosion. The memory was faded not in the faintest. Recalling it, the mareschal turned away once more. But as she did¡­ ¡°Why, I ought offer him this very hand,¡± she added. ¡°The hand of a hero-bride.¡± With those whirlwind words and one last look, Estelle sauntered off. ¡°Wha¡­!¡± In her wake: the befuddled Buckmanns and their guests, all aghast, each and every one. Ringing through the air was naught but the footfalls of the mareschal¡¯s silver heels. ? Wheeling away from the Buckmann manor now was a grand and guarded carriage. Within it was sat Francis Behrmann, Under-Mareschal to the 1st, who, with half-opened eyes as saintly as they were silent, looked on at his superior afore him. There she was, Estelle Tiselius, sword-maiden of Londosius¡ª ¡ªhunched with both hands over her face. ¡°Ughh¡­¡± she groaned, quite fain to faint at any moment, as her heart reeled with regret for her conduct just moments ago. She had said all she needed to say and found no fault in that, for the most part. Whipping the Buckmanns, too, till they were seething at the seams did not bother her in the slightest. But as the curtains were closing was she taken by the moment¡ªtoo taken, really, and curiously so, enough to have teased out of her word after word most unexpected and most unnecessary. The memory was faded not in the faintest. Recalling it, the mareschal moaned in misery. ¡°Mmnn¡­¡± ¡°¡®Twas a maidenly line, mademoiselle,¡± came Francis¡¯ remark, a merciless salt-massage upon the mareschal¡¯s wound. He himself was in attendance, and with unoccluded eyes and ears both had witnessed the episode in full. ¡°¡®Calm as clouds,¡± he flatly recited, ¡°yet fierce like fires alive. Oh. Nary a night do I bed unvisited by visions of his gaze.¡¯¡± ¡°Hmmngh¡­!¡± ¡°¡®I ought offer him this very hand: the hand of a hero-bride.¡¯¡± ¡°Nnwaaah!¡± ¡®I am strong,¡¯ this hero-dame had declared. Yet here the contrary cut more clearly, to which Francis all but sighed and shook his head. And then, a thought happened. His mademoiselle¡¯s warning to the baron¡ªthat Rolf Buckmann could one day brandish the blade of betrayal¡­ with his father being but one of many marks. Such was Estelle¡¯s seeming meaning, Francis surmised. Oh, but it was only a hunch, one could say. Yet it was one from Estelle Tiselius, and hers was never a hunch to go unheeded. For some time, then, had the mareschal been foreseeing such a future, one now daring to flower. ¡°Ever fickle, the fates¡­¡± Francis murmured, turning his eyes to the window, where winding by was the dusking beauty of the Buckmann barony. But yonder, far, far yonder in the northern fringe, there blazed frays and fires yet unscried by both him and his mademoiselle. Volume 3 - CH 3.1 Ten were gathered in the stateroom at the Margrave Str?m¡¯s mansion. Astride the long meeting table they sat, with the lord himself at the head. On one side was seated the visiting envoy of the Zaharte Battalion, comprising its most central members. Nearest to the margrave were Viola and Theodor ?stberg. Elder sister and younger brother they were, and as well, the free company¡¯s respective captain and vice-captain. Ulrik and Sigmund were the other two, brutish men who both chafed about in their chairs. Four figures total, all looking in the second decade of their lives. But for however young they were, theirs was a mettle of mighty measure, pillars upon which was held the housetop of Zaharte¡¯s name. Across from them sat the other five guests: the Fiefguard commanders and¡ªfurthest from the margrave¡ªFelicia herself. ¡°¡­Such be our present plight,¡± so concluded a commander¡¯s briefing. He then leant forth, clasping his hands together. ¡°Any questions, Captain?¡± Meeting his gaze was Viola ?stberg, upright of posture and crowned with tufts of rich russet hair trimmed to a short, boyish length. Fair was her face, but bejewelled with sagacious eyes most beseeming a leader of so esteemed a band of mercenaries. ¡°Withal I sense much cause for concern in this ¡®acting commandant¡¯. His treachery intrigues,¡± spoke Viola with flowing eloquence, who then turned slightly to her side. ¡°What think you, Theodor?¡± ¡°Why, very much the same, good Sister,¡± assented the vice-captain. Like his elder sibling, Theodor¡¯s tresses were of an earthen hue, but longer by a degree. Tall was his stature, straight and somewhat slender, whilst his own face seemed gentle as it breathed a benign air. ¡°What¡¯s his name again? Rolf? Rolf Buckmann, is it?¡± he wondered aloud. ¡°It is,¡± answered a Fiefguard leader. ¡°He¡¯s fallen in with the Naf¨ªlim, if our reports ring true enough.¡± ¡°And by our eyes, a figure alike to his was found fighting in the prior battle,¡± the margrave added, before looking to Felicia. ¡°Brigadier, if you will.¡± For a little while, she sat paused. ¡°¡­¡¯Twas when the fore of the Fiefguard¡¯s file had nigh-gained the gates of Balasthea,¡± Felicia began hesitantly. ¡°There I gleaned a far figure sallying forth to engage the vanguard¡­ with a mien seeming to match Rolf Buckmann¡¯s.¡± ¡°And how certain was your sight?¡± Viola asked her. ¡°Certain enough, Captain,¡± the margrave answered in Felicia¡¯s place, ¡°for she is none other than Buckmann¡¯s own blood-sister.¡± ¡°Sister?¡± Viola almost gasped. ¡°Dear me¡­¡± For a moment, mercy mingled in with the sharpness of the Zaharte captain¡¯s gaze. Unbreakable was the bond and trust she shared with her own brother, thus it astounded Viola to behold a like bond, but of an unlike strength: lesser, and languishing in languor. Felicia fidgeted with unease. ¡°N-nay, that man¡ªthat figure: it looked to me to have felled many a Fiefguardsman¡­ single-handedly.¡± Her words elicited widened eyes from the Fiefguard commanders, who then turned glances to one another. That her brother counted amongst the Naf¨ªlim blades so bared against Arbel was a bitter reality to Felicia, one she dearly disbelieved. And so did she cling to clouded uncertainty, wishing for that fighting ¡°figure¡± to remain naught but an anonymous anomaly. For though that battlefield had been a far and chaotic canvas, shuddering with no surety, Felicia¡¯s eyes saw one fact true enough: that figure, with sword in hand, was hewing through Fiefguard flesh. Such ferocity could not possibly be found in so frail a man as Rolf Buckmann. ¡°Oi, quit beatin¡¯ ¡®round the bush, yea? Ain¡¯t got time for puzzles an¡¯ prattle!¡± barked Sigmund: Zaharte hatchet-man and a boorish blade of a youth. Yawning next to him was Ulrik, legs crossed and eyes long loitering elsewhere. ¡°Tame your tongue before His Excellency, you¡­!¡± came another bark from across the table. ¡°Let it alone,¡± the margrave soothed his incensed commander. ¡°These sellswords sit as honoured guests.¡± Sure enough, nestled in his princely diction and demeanour was disdain for these freelances and their foul lot, a fact not unfound to the ?stbergs. The Zaharte Battalion boasted regard high enough to count nobles amongst their frequent client¨¨le, and being ever the duo to deal with such silver-spooned patrons, Viola and Theodor had, by now, grown keen to their muted, malignant mannerisms. Subtleties the two were careful never to take open offence to; this, too, was a lesson learnt from many a year of selling their swords. ¡°Your good will gladdens, Excellency,¡± Viola bowed slightly. ¡°Ours be a line of business more begging skill than civility,¡± Theodor chimed in. ¡°So we are as we are: a band of brutes, not least these two fine fellows of ours. But bid us battle and boons be upon you, good Lord.¡± Following their superiors¡¯ words, Ulrik curled his lips up in a smirk, whilst Sigmund sang in scornful laughter. Felicia could but knit her brows at such a scene. In the ?stbergs was refinement enough, but for the two grisly grunts, not one dam could stay her displeasure. No matter. The margrave had made the point himself. Sellswords are truly an off-shot strain of Men; there is no helping such hawkish souls. ¡°¡­Then I¡¯ll not mince words,¡± Felicia began again, having quelled her discontent. ¡°My brother, Rolf Buckmann¡ªhe has not in him an iota of odyl. Even with sword in hand, he is of small succour in battle. The figure I saw, then, cannot be him.¡± ¡°Not an iota, you say?¡± Viola asked, cocking her head in confusion. Answers were offered by the Fiefguard commanders. ¡°Not one. This Rolf Buckmann was given no grace of odyl from our Deiva. Hence is he unfit for the fray.¡± ¡°Only a portion of our personnel is bedecked with silver, for certain. Still, a slight against reason it is to think an ungraced should gain aught against any of our men, let alone cut them down.¡± A snicker then scratched at the stifled air. ¡°No odyl doled t¡¯this dastard, is it!?¡± Ulrik echoed, before blasting laughter out from his throat. ¡°I right guff¡¯d t¡¯that, I did! Hahah!¡± Amidst the noise, the ?stberg siblings looked to each other, wheeling their many cogs of careful thought. At length, Theodor turned to the rest and proposed the next step. ¡°The fled soldiers of the fort nevertheless attest to the acting commandant¡¯s turncoating, no? That best serves a base lode to all our plans here on, I say.¡± ¡°My brother speaks aright,¡± Viola followed. ¡°Nevermind the ungracedness of this ¡®Rolf Buckmann¡¯, nor his apparent presence in the prior battle. What now presses us most is amidst the Naf¨ªlim, there breathes a treacher with troves of knowledge¡ªas to the lay of this fief-burgh and its Fiefguard defenders. We ought train all caution to this account.¡± The Zaharte captain¡¯s point was as precise as it was painful, not least to the Fiefguard commanders, who all sat still and sombre. Hitherto were the Naf¨ªlim empty of intelligence on Arbel. But with Rolf in their ranks, such no longer held true, for sure enough, after having assumed charge of Balasthea did he hunger for information pertaining to the plight of this march of Str?m. And oh, what a feast he fed upon. The layout of Arbel was but an appetiser; the main course was the particulars on the Fiefguard itself. Its make-up, its manoeuvres, its tactics, its tendencies¡ªtastes all savoured and likely remembered to a tittle. The silence hung for a moment more before its breaking by the youngest amongst the Fiefguard leaders. ¡°What of parley? Of discourse?¡± he timidly broached. ¡°Might speech sooner avail us than spears¡­?¡± ¡°Parley?¡± cried a senior commander. ¡°With that ungraced!?¡± ¡°Your speech be madness, you mite-wit!¡± remonstrated another. Such was the speed of their displeasure that the young leader shrank back. Still, he went on. ¡°¡­Yet surely our shoulders were loved by levity only after this man took to the post. And now that it is vacant¡ªnow that Rolf Buckmann sets his gaze against us¡ªare we burdened more than ever¡­ that we might buckle to our ruin. Challenge him, and we well-chisel our own headstones, do we not?¡± To words weakly spoken and wrung with much strength of shame, the fellow Fiefguard commanders could do naught but bend their brows bitterly in silence. Pained expressions, as though the truth were stabbing them with sore certainty. Further on did the young commander murmur ruesomely. ¡°Best we offer him the regular commandant¡¯s seat¡­ and promise him his peace. Recommend to him an easy return to our ranks, why don¡¯t we?¡± ¡°Recommend¡± rather than ¡°request¡±¡ªthis seemed the limit of his shame. But his choice of words only echoed how cornered the commanders all felt, as on and on they sustained their silence. Acknowledging their plight and peril was the only path forward, but it was pride that jealously stayed their first step. Till today were they sat comfortably upon Rolf¡¯s shoulders, mocking and mealing him even as he toiled to turn Balasthea¡¯s fortunes around. Yet certainly enough, it was the great height of his achievements that afforded them a safe perch for the very act. Indeed, though the commanders did not scorn the battlefield, they well-scorned the man that availed them much advantage upon its fiery spans. But from today onward was he their foe, much to their aching woe. The pain was an epiphany: that the man they so disdained was now dealing them the very cards upon which their lives were wagered. And his was no deck of mercy. ¡°But will this ¡®Rolf Buckmann¡¯ see the appeal of the parley?¡± Viola enquired the quieted commanders. Beyond all doubt did Rolf Buckmann seem a man loathing a loving return to the realm of his breeding¡ªnot after baring this many blades against its sons. A parley, too, would prove a poor purse for buying time. Such was Viola¡¯s thought. ¡°For my part, I see none, to begin with,¡± the margrave answered bluntly. ¡°If I may!¡± Felicia raised her voice. ¡°Allow me to sway him! Or at leas¡ª¡± ¡°Brigadier!¡± growled the margrave. ¡°Do not take my words for some hollow wind.¡± Another proposal butchered with all speed. It was a forgone conclusion to the margrave, absent even his private misgivings for the ungraced man: Rolf was not to be negotiated with. The sin of high treason hung heavy on that head of his; to extend to him the expiating hand would sully the holy lustre of Londosius. And with clemency certainly not in Central¡¯s interests, parleying, then, was a path shut tight. Felicia¡¯s gaze fell. ¡°¡­As you will, Excellency.¡± ¡°Let us touch upon tactics, shall we?¡± Viola broached anew. Battle was her main concern, one she wished to quickly confirm the particulars of. ¡°I propose our company reinforce the Fiefguard¡¯s frailest ranks, whilst a select few of our finest shall sally forth and strike when and where at need. Might this please Your Excellency¡¯s ears?¡± ¡°It does,¡± the margrave nodded. ¡°But intelligence must be shared between our forces¡ªunbrokenly, and to all detail. This, I demand.¡± ¡°But of course,¡± bowed Viola. ¡°Much gratitude for your heedance, Excellency.¡± Arbel was blessed with many a grand gate along its walls; which of them the Naf¨ªlim horde would assault was a worry to the margrave. And so long as he and all the others knew not the answer, a force speedy in the response was most appreciated. Truth be told, the margrave was very much warm to the idea of reining in the Zaharte grunts under his Fiefguard¡¯s command, though little abated was his coldness for having to play along with the sellswords¡¯ tactics. Still, Arbel and more were on the line, and clear even to his eyes was the superior worth of Viola¡¯s plan. A rush of air. And following it, a chair groaning against the granite floor. Eyes turned, finding Felicia asudden on her feet. ¡°Your Excellency,¡± she said sternly, ¡°pray allow me to join the battle.¡± ¡°¡­I¡¯ve allowed you once,¡± the margrave began answering, ¡°but twice I¡¯ll not brook, for your position be perilous, Brigadier.¡± ¡°My Lord, I beg of you!¡± The spark of desperation was in her ruby regard. And deeper in it, a sisterly concern that was not so¡­ simple. Not to the margrave, no. For his own eyes saw in her a sibling bond nigh-bordering on obsession. An aberration she was, then. The thought grew on the lord as he looked upon Felicia. Indeed, an aberration of untold trouble, uncertain and ill-leashed in. That she shared blood with this new foe was reason enough to restrain her from the battlefield. But now he did he see more reason to restrict this wild card from all further involvement. ¡°Mind your meddling, Felicia Buckmann!¡± the margrave shouted. ¡°The course of this king-given fief hinges on the fortunes of this battle! ¡®Tis not some venue for your family feud!¡± Felicia winced, hushed by the lordly anger. Near might be her brother. Near, and bearing the Naf¨ªlim banner, though she wished it not. But if so, then she must meet him. Only, she could not. Amidst the friction of many feelings, Felicia stood with fists white and stiff. Volume 3 - CH 3.2 Lise looked all along the portcullis gate. Even with sixty pass¨±s and more spanning between them, its scale left her no less daunted. Against the mirk of midnight, too, was it shrunk little, for torches were set about its base, revealing it as a maw muffled by a grille of metal and hemmed in by an armour-like arch of stone. It was but one of Arbel¡¯s many gates, and soon to be beset by the braves of Hensen. Many of Londosius¡¯ marches and provinces operate in a manner not unlike city-states. In one would stand a capital¡ªthe fief-burgh, seat of the lord and heart of his rule¡ªwhilst scattered about the countryside would be satellite towns and villages, each eking out their due in agriculture and other like trades. This march of Str?m was no different. Thus to bring Arbel to its knees and smite the margrave would surely precipitate the fall of the fiefdom itself. Long-burning was the battle waged upon this land. Only now could its quenching be glimpsed. And the sole standard to see the next sunrise: the Naf¨ªlim flag. So thought Lise as looming in her heart was a great anxiety. The very gate in her gaze would be hers to attack, but not on her own, of course. Marching with her was her own contingent of braves. At another gate, too, was amassed a separate force, one led by Rolf. The rest were in the reins of Volker, himself helming the entire operation as high commander. Of the many mouths of Arbel, four would be struck, and simultaneously, at that. Such was Rolf¡¯s scheme, but the inspiration was owed to the Naf¨ªlim themselves, for on many a past occasion had they employed like stratagems against Balasthea. The swordsman of soot found it quite the fair manoeuvre, enough to reenact it here at so pivotal a battle. Its effectiveness was attested against Rolf himself in his time as Balasthea¡¯s commandant. To have it surface again was his way of admitting such, and rather openly, earning wry smiles from the Naf¨ªlim privy to the irony. Still, more was at stake here, thus were changes in order. Two, three concurrent targets was the norm for the Naf¨ªlim, but not so for this night. Four was their chosen number; worrisome, yes, that their host should be so divided, but much deliberation saw more handsomeness in the reward than hazard in the risk. Arbel¡¯s interior roads were many, but those connecting the four targets were not laid with efficiency in mind, as from one to another needed quite the trek. Should word and alarum be sent from the foresaid gates, the Fiefguard would find much friction: messages would travel slowly, orders received belatedly, and reinforcements mustered and moved with great difficulty. The contrary was the crowning advantage for the Naf¨ªlim host. Outside the gates was even and mild terrain, four fine theatres for easy, offensive coordination. Hence only the defending Fiefguard would be whipped into chaos in the combat to come. Already were the Men¡¯s numbers culled to their dire disadvantage; now they further stood to be stretched and strained like a fraying string. No Naf¨ªlim mind on that night could have devised such a plan. The lay of the land, of the fief-burgh¡ªcritical as they were, only Rolf had knowledge enough of them. Lise began to recall what she had heard. ¡®True; ours is a superior number. Attacking straight as we are should pierce the city with pain enough. But much merit do I find in Rolf¡¯s strategy.¡¯ Volker¡¯s evaluation of the scheme, given to the jarl-daughter after Rolf had headed off to his target gate. The war-chief could well-challenge the ill-wisdom in spreading one¡¯s forces so thinly, but for Rolf¡¯s designs, he saw little reason to. ¡®Through all crannies and corners does he seek key advantages, but never does he trust fully to any one. Wolven, indeed, his wisdom. Strange, yet intriguing. His schemes here and at Balasthea prove it clear.¡¯ Lise agreed with the war-chief¡¯s every word. Though if given the choice, intrigue, to her, was most immediately found in Rolf¡¯s swordsmanship. Those swings, those lunges, those thrusts of his that she had beheld at Hensen and yestermorrow¡¯s battle¡ªall were bladestrokes most beautiful to her eyes. And it was no fluke, either, for even at the Battle of Erbelde three winters past was she no less a bewildered witness to his sheer skill. A hero of legend, brandishing his blade and felling his foes¡ªsuch well-beseemed Rolf¡¯s fighting form. Merely remembering it brought a fiery fluster to Lise¡¯s cheeks. ¡°¡­hh!¡± she gasped. A flapping fluttered through the air as Lise vigorously shook her head to and fro, catching herself dipped in daydreams unfit for the battlefield. The sight baffled her nearby braves. Right. No time for daydreams. Berta was watching. The battle at hand demanded all attention. Switching gears, Lise peered piercingly at the gate. Then, with a voice vaulting clear through the night, she cried out her command. ¡°To the city! Attack, attack!!¡± ? ¡°Four?¡± Theodor thought aloud as he minded the map upon the table. ¡°Daredevils, much?¡± Arbel¡ªthe Zaharte Battalion had already settled into this fief-burgh, and erected in one of its squares a command centre of their own. A breeze was blowing, but it did little to lighten the air: as per the sentries, four of the fief-burgh¡¯s gates were being attacked¡ªall at once. It was but the night following the Fiefguard¡¯s defeat afore the battlements of Balasthea. A single day, then, was all the Naf¨ªlim horde had needed to reignite their momentum. Hardly strange; their number suffered few losses, after all. Arbel¡¯s strategists therefore had concluded that in short order would their gates be gained; Central¡¯s reinforcements were days away yet, and the Naf¨ªlim knew well enough to strike the city at its feeblest hour. A prediction proven by this moment. Still, the devils struck sooner than the defenders would have liked. Such speed well-presented the horde¡¯s organisational agility, and as well, that their victory at Hensen was no mere whim of the fates. But there was a queerness to this new commotion: that very horde was now harrying Arbel with forces split in four. A strategy straining reason. Why spread so thinly against defenders this desperate? Theodor asked himself this same question, finding it likely a strategic blunder or some brazen insult. All along the map he looked as he kept pondering this fortuitous folly, till¡­ ¡°Mm?¡± he muttered, eyes newly wide. Comfort turned to caution. ¡°You see what I see, Sis?¡± Viola followed her brother¡¯s gaze. ¡°North-One and Four¡­ and to the right, East-Two and Four¡­ Not physically are these gates so distant. But the roads betwixt seem awfully¡­ scenic. This bodes ill for us.¡± ¡°Ill, for sure,¡± Theodor echoed. True enough, the arterial streets connecting the targeted gates wound widely about the fief-burgh¡¯s blocks Thus was it no fool offence as Theodor had hoped: the gates were chosen specifically to give the defenders as tough a time coordinating as possible. ¡°The reports rang true, then. If they¡¯ve scried this far¡­¡± ¡­then amongst the Naf¨ªlim was someone with much intelligence on the city. And the most immediate candidate? Rolf Buckmann. Tell of his turncoating feigned no lie all along. Viola nodded in agreement. ¡°Tell me. What¡¯s his worth in your eyes?¡± With Theodor¡¯s insight did the Zaharte captain hope to piece together an actionable answer to this development. Her brother¡¯s was a boon of a brain; ever in times like this did Viola trust to his mind first and foremost. ¡°Worth? Well, let¡¯s see¡­ He¡¯s ungraced, for starters. A proper sting in the pious arse, certainly; mine included. And a treacher besides, through and through,¡± he opined gravely, holding his chin in thought. ¡°Whichever our lot, ever are we all lambs loved by Yon¨¢. But a black sheep damned by the Deiva Herself? A rightwise retribution, I say: if it bleats to an alien tune, then it is a beast disbelonging on Her earth¡ªand naught more.¡± ¡°Words, right from my lips,¡± Viola agreed. Two lambs, confirming details undoubtable by any from Her herd. ¡°But as for worth¡­¡± Theodor went on, ¡°¡­my eyes see the wolf under the black wool. Think on it: Balasthea, delivered in mere months. This Rolf had a plan and the means to execute it. As he does against us now, I¡¯m sure.¡± Oft was the vice-captain taken for a softie of a soldier, and not without reason: meek was his image and elegant was his gait. His foes, too, were fast in mocking his mild mien. But they were all of them silenced, and Theodor had their many heads to prove it. Hence was he keen never to echo their mistake, as Death was wont to wear robes gentlest to the eye. Such sombre thoughts served a foundation for his next words. ¡°Suppose a man, a prolific contributor to the annals of scholastic achievement. But meet him, and you find him infirm, his every limb long lost to leprosy. Yet must that diminish his regard?¡± Theodor expounded, pacing off to the side. ¡°Suppose another man: a lifelong imbecile. But behold in a cathedral¡¯s niches many standing statues, marvellous in all their marbled mastery. And graven upon their pedestals? His signature, chiselled and proud. How much of an imbecile is he, then?¡± Turning heel, the vice-captain looked to his sister. ¡°Suppose the same with this Rolf. Look ill beyond his ungraced label, and we look only into the dark of our graves, I say.¡± ¡°Fair enough,¡± Viola concurred, folding her arms in thought. ¡°Then suppose he dons the grand strategist¡¯s garb. Where might he be amongst these four points?¡± Theodor shrugged and shook his head. ¡°My ken can¡¯t scry that far, I¡¯m afraid. How fares yours, Sis?¡± ¡°It fares with this finger,¡± the sister answered, sliding her digit across the map before stopping at the northern edge of Arbel. Circled in ink: the gates North-One and North-Four. ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± asked Theodor. ¡°I¡¯ve heard tell he much hates hostilities meted upon Naf¨ªlim civilians. The same be true with plundering; wish it upon Naf¨ªlim or no, and you earn his swift rebuke. Balasthea¡¯s former bulwark-men attest to this,¡± Viola explained. ¡°A puzzle of a pate, he has. But humour his game and we can guess his play.¡± ¡°That being mercy upon Arbel¡¯s meek, I take it?¡± guessed Theodor. ¡°If that¡¯s your thought, then certainly the north seems the front of focus. There is it farther away from the residential district than the east.¡± ¡°Exactly so,¡± said Viola. The siblings then nodded together. ¡°The Fiefguardsmen defend North-One most dearly,¡± the brother confirmed. ¡°We ought do our part and shore up North-Four with forces of our own.¡± In answer, Viola wasted no time. ¡°New orders!¡± she cried. ¡°Dispatch Ulrik and Sigmund to North-Four at once!¡± Saluting, a soldier anear speedily left the scene with her message. The command centre buzzed anew with activity. ¡°Ulrik and Sigmund?¡± Theodor asked his sister amidst the bustle. ¡°You heard aright.¡± The vice-captain¡¯s visage broke with surprise. A natural response; after all, Ulrik¡¯s and Sigmund¡¯s mettle were unmatched by any other in the free company besides that of the siblings. Forget the Fiefguard¡ªthose two brutes were mountains more menacing than even the standard Londosian knight. In all the battlefields of their braving have they known naught but triumph. And on this night was this no more apparent. Four fronts, four frays¡ªthough each theatre was small in intensity, reinforce it with either of these men, and the scales would tip most asudden. Such was their strength. But to bring both to bear at a single point? Theodor frowned, still dim to his sister¡¯s designs. Rolf had renown enough, sure, but what hunter looses two tigers upon a rat? ¡°Necessity¡­¡± Theodor guessed. ¡°Is that what nags you?¡± ¡°It is. Though Reason remains silent,¡± Viola confessed. The Zaharte captain was ever the careful leader. But this was caution verging on overkill, Theodor felt. Yet he did little but seal his lips and comply. A sellsword¡¯s hunch was keener than most, and if one as honed as Viola¡¯s blew alarums at the thought of Rolf Buckmann, then surely would her worries find warrant. That same captain cast her eyes back down to the map. Seeing her mien so grave, Theodor thought anew. Viola: his blood-sister. Ever by his side, ever his ally, come what may. It was she who gave him cause enough to keep the fight. But in merely fancying her a foe for a moment, Theodor almost drowned in dread. And that alone was enough for him to feel what Brigadier Felicia herself might have felt. The vice-captain knew not what fork it was that split the paths of the Buckmann siblings so starkly. Nevertheless, such partings surely precipitate only sorrow. Too much a sorrow for me to bear? Theodor wondered. Should the day ever dawn where we are lost from one another¡­ I shudder to think¡­ ¡°Theodor.¡± A voice like velvet, reeling him back to reality. Theodor looked to his sister, finding her smiling gently back. ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± she said. ¡°¡­What is?¡± ¡°Us. We¡¯ll always be together.¡± ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t recall saying aught¡ª¡± Straightway, Viola thrust her face close to Theodor¡¯s. Then, with a tapping finger upon her brother¡¯s breast, broke open a broad smile and said to him: ¡°I hear your heart.¡± Theodor chuckled nervously. Never in their many winters together was he ever able to conceal aught from his sister¡¯s ken. ¡°S-so, will the man himself show up, you think? This ¡®Rolf Buckmann¡¯?¡± he broached, as though to hide away what blush his sister¡¯s simmering boldness might have teased from his cheeks. This effort, too, was full-fathomed by Viola, but she humoured him, anyway. ¡°Nay¡­¡± she answered, drawing back, ¡°¡­not likely, at least. Not at the fray. Sure enough, we can assume the figure Felicia had espied at Balasthea was not the ungraced himself. After all, both she and the Fiefguard commanders made their doubt clear: not without odyl could so many foes be felled at once.¡± ¡°A mete point,¡± Theodor remarked. ¡°Though I rather prefer he rear his face in this fight,¡± admitted Viola, to which her brother nodded in agreement. Ulrik and Sigmund were set loose, and not against them both could Rolf ever hope to escape with his hide¡ªnot in direct combat, no. But should the ungraced prove himself worthy of Viola¡¯s caution, well, all the better to behead him at the soonest. ¡°Whichever way, defeat be his if fight he dares,¡± Viola continued, ¡°no matter how sweetly the fates may smile upon him.¡± Along with those words: a hand alighting upon the spear set beside the captain. Hers was no boast, but rather a blunt assessment. Whatever teeth and talons the black sheep might hide under his shroud, he would fare not in the slightest against Viola¡¯s battle-zeal, for she was of the ?stberg siblings, spear-devouts renowned throughout the realm. Of fearful note was her weapon, a spear inspiring terrible winds in its wake, a spiteful spire just as famed as its mistress for all the ruin it has wrought. Viola¡¯s eyes narrowed. At once, Theodor sensed a chill in the air. About his gentle and loving sister, there swirled a stinging, snapping pall. Remembering anew what violence Viola could easily invite, Theodor inly shuddered as sweat broke out along the length of his back. Volume 3 - CH 3.3 Nary a cloud marked the moonlit sky. In its stead was a battle boiling far below, a war waged by night alike to the sacking of Hensen, but unlike in one way: we were the aggressors. Under my command strove a division of braves, their arms and magicks tasked to the fall of Arbel¡¯s fourth northerly gate. Certainly curious that the Naf¨ªlim should fight by orders of a Man, but with reasoned heads and Lise¡¯s vouching, the arrangement found no resistance. For their part, our foes feigned no strength greater than their due. Defenders of ill-defensible gates, couching hares harried in concert¡ªthe Fiefguard¡¯s diminished numbers were indeed proving a poor dam against our tide of braves. Soon enough, their mettle failed at last, a development heralded by a long and undulating boom through the air. In the same moment, amidst the crush and clashes of arms, a call came to my ears: ¡°Commander! It¡¯s done!¡± To the gate I glanced. Beyond the smoke: a massive grille gaping open, marred by many Naf¨ªlim magicks. ¡°We¡¯ve a long way yet!¡± I cried back. ¡°Don¡¯t let up!¡± Unfain for surrender, the Fiefguard salliers then rallied with reinforcements in the portcullis¡¯ passage, fast forming a column to bar our breach. Their lord¡¯s life was on the line; if his head fell, with it would go the whole of their home, the march of Str?m itself. This, the gate defenders well-fathomed. Thus did desperation quicken their courage, spur their speed, and give ghastliness to their very gazes. Bravery burns more brightly in a cornered cur than a complacent lion, and so bracing ourselves all the more, my braves fought forth with all due caution. Though for my part, caution was the costlier course. Loath was I to linger in the rearguard and dictate the battle unassailed. What¡¯s more, my cause laid with the Naf¨ªlim now; to walk with them, I needed their trust. I needed to fight. Thus did I find myself at the fore of our offence, cutting through the enemy vanguard and laying lightless steel upon their rank-and-file. It was then that another report reached my ears. ¡°Commander! Our sister forces¡¯ve gained the other gate! ¡°Understood!¡± I cried in answer. Lise and her contingent, too, sounded to be faring well. A glad tiding, for on this night, only hers and mine composed the main thunder of the Naf¨ªlim¡¯s lightning. Elsewhere at the eastern gates, Volker played the partisan commander, dictating his two smaller contingents of cavalry in further harrying and drawing out the city defenders. Such was their sole duty, hence it fell to us at the north to breach the fief-burgh. Hounding the enemy, pouncing upon them at opportunity, and pinning them down in place¡ªa tactic employed by the Naf¨ªlim many a time before against the defences of Balasthea¡­ and all with forces numbering but a few. Under the war-chief¡¯s command, this night saw that exact expertise put on perfect display. The result: a chaos sown amongst the defenders, one reaped as fruits of advantage by our main forces at the north. Truth be told, our success hinged upon not two, but just one breach. It mattered little whether it was my force or Lise¡¯s that entered Arbel first: the sooner invaders were not to charge straight to the margrave¡¯s manor, but rather wind to the other gate and strike the defenders from behind, and from there reunite with the other three forces. Battlecries crescendoed. Again the Fiefguard faltered. Into the streets now spilt the currents of combat. Rallying, the defenders attempted to array themselves, only to be beset as I broke straight into their file. ¡°Sseh!¡± Black steel blasted through air and armour. ¡°Eaaagh!?¡± screamed a Fiefguardsman. Blood burst from his bosom as the sv?rtaskan cleaved through metal and bone. His fresh corpse sparked new fear in his fellow soldiers, who then fled swiftly like spiderlings afore a famished crow. In their wake was left a gaping hole in their formations. This was it. The momentum was ours. A little more, and¡ª ¡ªthe thought severed. From their rearguard rushed forth a storm of a man. ¡°Rrryyyaaahh!¡± ¡°Hn!?¡± Sparks flashed. Shocked steel stung the air. A hammer-blow of a blade, biting deep into my last-second guard, with power enough to push me back by two whole pass¨±s. Reeling, I felt in my arms a mad tingle, as though the impact had shaken them to the very bone. There¡ªnow to my side: the blur of a spear, bent on stabbing me through. I broke away, avoiding the spearpoint. Nay¡ªit was no mere spear. For it was not retracted as spearmen oft do post-thrust, but shifted straightway into a half-circle sweep, intent on maiming its mark¡ªwith the keen axe-blade upon its head. Spying it for an instant, I bent down low¡ª¡°Hhup!¡±¡ªand back-rolled at once. Hewn air blew above me like a gust. Yet in danger, I dared another leap back, distancing myself further from the fray. Fast on my feet again, I stared sharply at my new foes, finding them two in number. One bore a sword. The other: ¡°¡­A halberd, is it¡­¡± A spear with an axe on one face, and at the other, a protruding blade, shaped like the sharpened bill of a bird: the thrice-threatening halberd, seldom seen in Londosius. As for the duo themselves, they were clearly not of the Fiefguard rabble. No; sellswords seemed more on the mark. ¡°Hwahhah! Came to catch the bull by the ¡®orns, an¡¯ wot¡¯s this I find!¡± the swordsman cried, with canines full-bare. His height reached a mite lower than mine, but brimmed with bulk nonetheless. Wildly grown was his olive-dark hair, his mien coarse and uncouth. No doubt he wielded the sword with savagery to match. ¡°Black ¡®air, black eyes!¡± he barked on. ¡°A beast o¡¯ a diff¡¯rent breed! ¡®Rolf Butt-mince¡¯, ain¡¯t ya!?¡± ¡°I am,¡± I barked back bluntly. ¡°Just ¡®Rolf¡¯ serves.¡± Mine was no chivalrous introduction, but a bait. Of all the fighters in this front, I measured these two the most terrible of them all: hell-hounds to be leashed in, lest my braves fall to their ferocity. ¡°I ¡®eard ye be too much a babe fer battle, but looks like th¡¯rumours¡¯ve reckoned ye awrong, eh?¡± spoke the halberdier. His stature matched his mate¡¯s, whilst about his pate grew a turf of dull-gold hair, all shaved to a wiffle. Lumber-like were his neck and arms, boasting of all the other brawn hiding beneath his armour. And if his prior attack was aught to go by, in them was not only power, but deathly precision. ¡°No matter,¡± he said. ¡°Th¡¯bells be tollin¡¯, mate. Into th¡¯grave with ye!¡± As though on cue, the swordsman slowly began to poise himself for the pounce. ¡°Oh, but let¡¯s ¡®ave a bit o¡¯ sport ¡®fore the burial, shall¡­ we!¡± An explosion of steps. Such speed¡ªthe swordsman swooped in, heaving his hewer down unto me, the strike shouldering a mountain of momentum. ¡ªGkhahhnn! Blades clashed and clapped like thunder. I had pride in my physique, but the impact proved heavier than I could handle. I faltered for an instant, humbled, yet the exchange repeated without relent. One more strike, and then another¡ªvying metals shrieked in my ears as I guarded against the swordsman¡¯s bear-like blade-swipes. The force of it all trickled down to my very fingertips. Every swing of his was a waterfall of fury. But in the violence was revealed vulnerabilities enough. With patience, I could pierce one of them and land a lethal blow¡­ ¡­if only this were a one-on-one. ¡ªFfwoohh! Another howl of hewn air. The halberd sailed in, not in a stab, but a wide swing helmed by its axe-head. As I¡¯d thought: the halberdier was honed of eye and arm, for the sweep of his weapon was aimed squarely at my legs. A smart target; in bearing myself against the swordsman¡¯s maniacal cleaves had my feet been fixed to the ground. But with the axe-blade well on its way to them, time was already up: an unscathed escape was impossible. ¡ªVsshrt! Redness streaked from my leg. I¡¯d leapt back at the last slice of a second, avoiding the axe-blade but not the odyl wreathing it. My shin paid with a shallow wound, a fair price for what could¡¯ve been a lost leg. The swordsman scowled. ¡°Oi, wot¡¯s up with this wanker, ah? ¡®E should¡¯ve peg¡¯d it ten times by now!¡± ¡°¡®Ere I were thinkin¡¯ I shear¡¯d off ¡®is shanks. Bugger,¡± said the halberdier, sucking his teeth. The duo¡¯s faces furrowed with fresh caution. I answered with a reassumed centre guard, keeping them both in my sight as we slowly circled each other. ¡°Mismannered much?¡± I asked them sharply. ¡°You had me spit out my name. Why not return the favour?¡± ¡°Hah!¡± the swordsman scoffed. ¡°You fancy us knights prim an¡¯ proper-like!? Well, a fico for you, Bitch-moose! Names be nothin¡¯ on the battlefield!¡± ¡°Yea,¡± the halberdier sneered threateningly. ¡°If ye be so keen fer court¡¯sy, why not wring us names out o¡¯ us throats, then, eh?¡± These two were quickly proving a pair of barbs, deep on the prick. But the halberdier¡ªhe could be laid low sooner. Rush in, cut him down in close quarters¡­ a valid gambit. Decided, I began biding for the ripe moment. Only, there was a rub: the halberdier hardly seemed the one-trick churl. His thrusts, I could evade. Their imbued odyl, as well. But doubtless he¡¯d garnish his wicked menu from here on¡ªlikely with post-thrust swings sent straight to my neck. That halberd of his looked the heftier of its varied brethren. Dauntingly so. Its axe-blade boasted both broadness and thickness, an unmaker of armour; wielding so top-heavy a weapon much seemed like leashing a livid lion. Yet this halberdier was handling that exact feat, to much finesse¡­ and my peril. But in my hands was a lion of my own, one with no less heft. A match of mighty arms it is, then. I¡¯ll not avoid his next attack¡ªI¡¯ll stop it, instead. Just as the thought finished, a weighty whoosh sounded: the halberd, charging in. I answered. Metals clashed and groaned. ¡°Hmgh!?¡± grunted the halberdier, visibly surprised. Likely a first for him, to be halted by a single sword. Unceasing, I moved to seize the moment, but the attempt was swiftly cut short. ¡°Khrraaahh!!¡± the other foe roared, rushing in with a down-cleave from the high guard. I broke to the side, skirting it by a wide margin. Distancing myself further from the halberdier, I next trained my eyes to the swordsman, who returned the look. ¡°Come on, mate! Pretendin¡¯ the turtle? That your play, Rolf Bint-milker!?¡± he taunted. ¡°Even turtles know to bite back!¡± ¡°Do they, now? Cunning creatures, turtles,¡± I humoured him. But his point pierced the mark: I had to strike back, lest ¡°Rolf the timid terrapin¡± be full-writ on my headstone. That said, dancing with so deadly a duo demanded all caution. A careless step, and I¡¯d be left a long smear on these streets. Steadying my breaths, I stared at them anew, seeking the ever-elusive opening. It was then that a comrade called to me. ¡°Commander! The other gate¡¯s breached!¡± Good news to my ears, but hardly so for the duo. ¡°Bloody ¡®ell!¡± the swordsman cried with a strike of his tongue. ¡°Flaccid Fief-cocks, the lot o¡¯ them!¡± ¡°This is sour,¡± said the halberdier. ¡°They¡¯ll be peltin¡¯ in soon fer th¡¯pincer, they will.¡± He had the right of it. Lise and her braves were most certainly making their way here. And once they arrive, any defenders yet lagging would find all escape severed. ¡°Then best we clean ¡®ouse an¡¯ shog off, innit?¡± said the swordsman, readying himself anew. ¡°Music t¡¯me ears,¡± the halberdier echoed. ¡°The pincer comes, and still you tarry to tussle¡­¡± I remarked lowly. ¡°You both bleat for battle as wasters pine for poppy.¡± Laughter belched and boomed. ¡°Aha hahahh! Says the priest puffin¡¯ the same pipe!¡± the swordsman retorted, before straightway rushing in to resume our fight. His diction lingering bitterly in my ears, I resteeled my stance and gripped the soot-steel all the more tightly. Volume 3 - CH 4.1 The margrave¡¯s manor. Having found his upper-storey office too stifled, the lord had descended to the great hall where, for an aching while, he paced to and fro. No other soul was present in the echoing space. He had sent for certain persons, sure enough, but their arrival was overlate. Oh, long indeed was the night prior. Bright beams now breathed through the towering windows, welcoming in the clean and clear mirth of morning. Yet such sweet air was ill-savoured; the margrave¡¯s mien was most grim, pricked and prodded by impatience. The reason: his fief-burgh was forayed, his defences defeated. To this moment were the Naf¨ªlim invaders strutting through his streets, and he could do naught but let his city suffer their stains. Two of his gates to the north were attacked, their defenders failing against the foe¡¯s forces before allowing the latter into Arbel proper. Two more gates to the east were harried, as well, and though they thankfully held the line, such success served no solace, for doubtless the enemies there would wind about to the north and welcome themselves in. The Naf¨ªlim, pressing into Arbel with numbers unanswerable¡ªnever had such a nightmare haunted the hills and homes of Str?m till this day. Many generations of the margrave¡¯s line had looked after these lands for the Crown, but now did so enduring a history stand to be hewn, upon whose generation but his. The margrave stopped, grimacing at the foreboding boiling up from within. His own death. The end of House Str?m. Notions never once a visitor in his thoughts. But the present found them increasingly palpable, a cruel reality roaring louder and louder at his ears. Rattled and wroth, the margrave struck his heel against the marble floor. And as if on cue, a new echo sounded: double doors creaking open, through which then entered the ?stberg siblings with Sigmund in tow. ¡°Excellency,¡± Viola addressed the lord, bowing. ¡°Your bidding?¡± ¡°Late you are. And lacking a head¡­¡± remarked the margrave, looking suspiciously at his guests. Verily had he called for the leaders of the Zaharte Battalion to meet him here, though when last he met them, they numbered four. ¡°That shaven-pate churl¡ªwhere is he?¡± ¡°¡­Ulrik recuperates in the infirmary,¡± answered Viola. ¡°An ill-turn he took. But not to worry; he plainly hungers for the soonest return to the fray.¡± ¡°And this fellow of yours, too, tumbled down the same turn, I take it?¡± the margrave pointed out, scowling at Sigmund. ¡°Tch¡­¡± clucked the swordsman¡¯s tongue. On his cheek was pasted a cloth poultice, concealing a blade-wound. Hardly aught unmendable by magicks, but for whatever reason, he had chosen instead to eschew the enchanted treatment. The margrave sucked his teeth. ¡°¡­I suffer your boorish brood that you might serve a beacon in this darkest of hours. ¡®Bid us battle and boons be upon you.¡¯ Whose words were those, hm? Whose?¡± Lines of lividness, but delivered without dynamism; it would seem the margrave was weary and well at the end of his wits. Viola cast her eyes down discerningly and offered an unresistant answer. ¡°¡­Ours, Excellency.¡± Her own disappointment cut no less deep. In hopes of completely crushing the main enemy force had she deployed Ulrik and Sigmund to the northern front. But having met their seeming match, those very hopes were utterly dashed. A disappointment, indeed. And a sore surprise. ¡°Yet never did we presume such power could be wielded by this Rolf Buckmann,¡± the Zaharte captain continued. ¡°¡®Power¡¯?¡± echoed the margrave, bending up a brow. ¡°That ungraced? Taking sword in hand and hewing our men? I should sooner believe a bloodlusting hare did the deed.¡± ¡°He was heard clearly claiming the name of ¡®Rolf¡¯, Excellency,¡± Viola explained. ¡°Eyes on the ground, too, attest to him matching the commandant¡¯s mien.¡± ¡°Hmng¡­¡± the margrave heatedly groaned. This was not to be believed. And neither did he wish to. A mistake of a man, disavowed by the Deiva¡ªan ungraced, vanquishing those wielding grace? Impossible. A heretic of a happening. Whatever foreboding the margrave felt before, now ballooned into a morbid image, a future finding his flesh sundered by the sword of that selfsame ungraced. A lamb, ever loving of Yon¨¢ the shepherd, now set to be slain by some ragged wolf? What nightmare was this? Why, none other than a vision veering far from all rightness and reason. ¡°¡­Be that as it may,¡± the margrave spoke at last, ¡°at present does the enemy loiter in my city¡­ The hour-sand empties¡ªI must act.¡± ¡°Your Excellency,¡± said Viola. ¡°The hostiles to the east have moved; they¡¯ve entered the fief-burgh from the north, and regroup with the rest of their companions as we speak. Once rallied and reorganised, likely they shall march anew at the soonest.¡± And so they would. Such was the Zaharte captain¡¯s hard-gained conclusion: if the past two battles taught her aught, it was that the enemy was capable, and arrantly so, at that. They proved formidable enough when split in four¡­ and now they meant to merge and set every blade loose upon the margrave¡¯s neck. So dread a momentum must not be left unchecked. ¡°That I know,¡± snapped the lordly mark. ¡°My men make no less haste to muster an answer.¡± But too much haste and one hurries only to the grave. This the margrave learnt well, for the battle of Balasthea was a bitter teacher. Unbolstered by preparation and spurred on by false intelligence, there were his men struck a cunning blow. Never again. Never. One trap was more than enough for the margrave, and so was he easily content with reamassing for defence what little remained of his men, rather than having them spring zealously upon unrallied foes. For her part, Viola was much relieved that, despite his dire plight, the margrave was yet sound of judgement. She had well-thought him fain for another fool offensive, and one straightway, no less. Not that any could blame her: long has the margrave waged war with the Naf¨ªlim, and fewer tongues were more swift to savour their misery than his. ¡°And so have we,¡± she echoed. ¡°Our mobile detachments are returned and rallying presently, Lord. We shall be ready for fresh orders soon enough.¡± ¡°As you should,¡± returned the margrave, before facing Viola in full. ¡°Captain. I bid some of your number accompany me.¡± Ever so slightly did the elder ?stberg narrowed her eyes at those words. ¡°¡­You will depart the fief-burgh, Excellency?¡± Viola was nothing if not sharp. To ¡°flee¡± or ¡°quit¡± the city¡ªshe dared no such diction before the fraught margrave. ¡°I shall. The whole of Str?m sits upon my shoulders. And should I fall, it goes with me, deep into the dust¡­ I must needs head to Tallien at once,¡± he clarified. Right to the east laid the viscounty of Tallien, a fitting shelter for a lord in flight. In fact, that was his very intention. ¡°You know much of my neighbour, do you not? Zaharte¡¯s deeds number many over in that land, I hear.¡± ¡°An honour, Lord,¡± answered Viola, bowing. ¡°Indeed, the lay of Tallien is intimate to many of my men; you will find no better bodyguards than they.¡± ¡°Very well. Assign them to me all the sooner.¡± The margrave then nodded to the Zaharte captain. At the same time, her brother also sent to her a gaze of his own. The remnant forces in Arbel¡ªmore must needs be known of their duties from here on, now that their master meant to leave them to the Naf¨ªlim wolves. Viola returned a confirming look to Theodor. ¡°Lord Str?m,¡± she began broaching. ¡°Might I ask, what shall be our charge, henceforth?¡± ¡°The Fiefguard shall be ordered to stall the enemy till I have long cleared the city walls,¡± the margrave explained. ¡°And you, Captain: you shall be the one to give them those very orders.¡± He looked clothed enough in calm as he aired those words, but in the seams there seethed spouts of displeasure, for it full-punctured his pride to so willingly hand command over his Fiefguard to these sellsword scum. Yet the luxury of choice was long lost to him, gone with the many dead captains of his men. It all fell to Viola, then, copiously practised in leadership and combat command as she was. Such was the situation at hand. Such was his sole choice. But bending her brows was a look of confusion. ¡°¡­I am to lead them, Excellency?¡± Having her own men escort the margrave in his flight was not to be argued. After all, it was his coffers that contained their recompense, and not by his dead hand would the locks be undone. No, what worried Viola was ¡°risk¡±, for to stay in Arbel and make battle with broken numbers was a danger beyond daring. ¡°Correct. If I can hie me to safety, then you need only hold till Central¡¯s reinforcements arrive. And then shall I requite you all the more handsomely,¡± the margrave assured her. ¡°But you will not go unaided, Captain. I¡¯ve designs enough for your defence.¡± ¡°¡­What might be those designs, if I may ask?¡± ¡°Hark. To break Arbel, our foe must needs capture three key points: this manor, the Fiefguard¡¯s garrison, and¡­¡± to the windows his eyes turned, ¡°¡­the concentration camp.¡± Volume 3 - CH 4.2 The margrave¡¯s manor, the Fiefguard garrison¡ªArbel¡¯s respective seats of policy and police. Small wonder why the Naf¨ªlim horde should hunger for their fall. But the concentration camp? Hardly the heart beating in the fief-burgh¡¯s bosom, as it were. Yet this was the far march of Str?m, straddling right up against Naf¨ªlim country from which it has reaped a great many ¡°boons of war¡±, as its soldiery and slavers were wont to term it. And what better coffer to contain such brimming ¡°riches¡± than a concentration camp? A veritable trove, indeed, ever the dirty buttress to Arbel¡¯s weal. But in the eyes of Rolf and his newfound friends, it sparkled with a different light¡ªof vanished friends and family, of lovers lost yet unforgotten, of forlorn souls to be sold to a life of drudgery most unjust. No doubt, then, that the Naf¨ªlim enemy should eventually seek their immediate emancipation. ¡°Of these, I appoint the camp as our final fastness,¡± so resolved the margrave to his Zaharte guests. ¡°A stronghold must needs be made of it. A quagmire to unmake the enemy!¡± His will was well-warranted. A military headquarters though it was, the Fiefguard garrison was, in practice, little more than an array of offices and training grounds; a house of cards could boast of a sturdier defence than it ever can. And of course, naught needs be said of the lord¡¯s manor itself. That left the concentration camp. Myriad and maze-like were its walls, and with a watchtower to boot, its dreadful and dreary spans shone as the most defensible of the three pillars. Yet that alone ill-allayed the ?stbergs¡¯ worries. Beside his sister stood a serious-faced Theodor, thick in thought, whilst for his part, Sigmund could not have cared any less for the conversation, and so had long left his eyes to wander like those of a witless fish. ¡°Abandon the manor, muster ourselves at the camp¡­ and there lay our last stand,¡± Viola wondered aloud. ¡°Theodor. What reckon you of this?¡± ¡°I¡­ reckon it rather sound,¡± her brother answered greyly, ¡°if not for our dwindled numbers, that is¡­¡± ¡°Hold there,¡± the margrave hastily said. ¡°I have plans enough, if you should lend an ear.¡± His portance was dimming with desperation. Needs and desires filled his head. A need to have the Zaharte hellions dig in their heels and defend his fief. A desire to have Viola helm the very effort, to unite both his Fiefguardsmen and her sellswords together in buying him precious time. For above all else, the margrave wished to be whisked away at once to safety, and the scoundrels before him were his only wings. Yes, desperate, indeed, the margrave, as he verily pleaded for Viola¡¯s heedance. What a damning difference from the lordliness displayed only yesterday. But undressed of his dread authority, Aaron Str?m was not unlike the next man: blind to his own blunders, never minding his meek and mistaken self that his mirrors much warn of. Yet the real rub was in how he might yet project a princely portrait, even as he was but a cornered creature, newly enlightened to the shallowness of his strength. Such was what Viola now discerned in the margrave. She sighed. Mixed in her mien was pity for the poor lord. But that pity all but pounced past his pate as he continued speaking. ¡°A herald shall hie hence and to our foes proffer this ultimatum: stand down, or we will cull the captives¡ªeach and every one!¡± ¡°¡­Hostages, then, Your Excellency?¡± asked Viola. The proposed connivery confounded her little. In fact, she was convinced it could well-serve the stout rope out of this hole. Not that it would inspire even the faintest idea of surrender in the Naf¨ªlim, no. Mettle and momentum were on their side, no mistake there¡ªbut this ploy just might give the push the defenders needed to turn the tables. Say, for instance, an offer to free some prisoners, all in exchange for the exiting of enemy troops from the fief-burgh. ¡°Hostages, indeed,¡± the margrave confirmed, before glancing to a side door. ¡°And speak of the devil¡­¡± Into the great hall then came a Fiefguardsman. In tow: a barefoot boy of a Naf¨ªl¡ªnot more than six, seven years young. Viola eyed him, coldly inquisitive. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± ¡°A message,¡± was the margrave¡¯s curt reply. A knowing nod. ¡°¡­Ah.¡± The ultimatum was no bluff¡ªsuch must be made explicitly clear to the enemy. And to prove it, this Naf¨ªlim boy would serve as the first scapegoat. ¡°A warm corpse should make a brilliant banner of our conviction,¡± proclaimed the margrave. ¡°Might one of yours do the honours of a flag-bearer, Captain?¡± ¡°But of course, Your Excellency,¡± Viola flatly accepted. And then¡­ ¡­tears. Many, many tears, welling up in the boy¡¯s eyes as he then slowly looked down. His ears had heard every word. His heart had swallowed their every meaning. But why him? There was nary a sin upon his head. An urchin of a slave, chosen on a whim. That was all he was. And yet, to place so asudden upon his little shoulders the duty of death¡­ The weight finally set in. Now knowing his end, the boy began to shiver and snivel, his tears quietly collecting on the floor. ¡°¡­Oi. Wot you on ¡®bout, ah?¡± Piercing the silence: Sigmund¡¯s gruff and grating voice. Thereafter was the moment mired in another lull, till Theodor ventured forth an explanation. ¡°A deal, Sigmund. We guarantee the captives¡¯ lives, and our enemies guarantee their withdrawal. Simple enough.¡± The vice-captain then half-sighed. ¡°Though, whether they¡¯ll comply is anyone¡¯s guess, but we need only force their hand and¡ª¡± ¡°Yea, yea, all that rubbish be right clear an¡¯ cut, coz. But that¡¯s not me point. That there,¡± Sigmund said, then flicking his chin at the young Naf¨ªl, ¡°that¡¯s a squirt, not some soldier. Why¡¯s ¡®e got to be off¡¯d, ah? Makes fuck-all sense, innit? ¡®E¡¯s jus¡¯ a li¡¯l boy, for cryin¡¯ out loud!¡± Veritable question marks bloomed in all the others¡¯ bosoms. None knew why Sigmund would speak such spittle. Then, as though to give voice to their confusion, Viola addressed her subordinate thusly: ¡°Sigmund. I scarce see the rub here. Child or no, that¡¯s a Naf¨ªl.¡± ¡°The rub ¡®ere, Cap¡¯n, is that we¡¯re fighters, ain¡¯t we?¡± the swordsman spat back, before pointing to the boy. ¡°That there squirt: ¡®e look like ¡®e¡¯s fightin¡¯ back to ya? Ah?¡± Despite his defiance, Sigmund earned only bewildered squints from his superiors, and as well, a spark of impatience from the margrave. ¡°Enough with this.¡± The lord looked to the Fiefguardsman. ¡°Have it done.¡± ¡°Aye, m¡¯liege!¡± The soldier¡¯s sword hissed from its sheath¡ª ¡ªand ran right through the boy¡¯s bosom. ¡°Agh¡­¡± A small cry, almost a whisper. A rivulet of red, spewing from little lips. The ?stbergs shut their eyes, brooking none of the sight. Not out of pity for the child, no, but for the solemn act of execution. ¡­Such was precisely why the siblings, warriors though they were, could neither foresee nor forestall what struck next. ¡°You slag!! Come ¡®ere©¤©¤!!¡± ¡°Ghwagh¡ª!?¡± A long blade glinted bright: erupting with rage, Sigmund sprang forth and felled the Fiefguardsman with a mighty swing of his own sword. Utter shock flashed across the margrave¡¯s face. ¡°¡­Hellion, you! What roguery is this!?¡± But Sigmund¡¯s indignance was undampened. ¡°Why!? Wot¡¯s with you wankers, ah!?¡± he screamed, canines gnashing, hair swaying. ¡°¡®E¡¯s jus¡¯ a kid!! A nose-pickin¡¯ brat, damn it!!¡± It was that very ¡°brat¡±, now laying limp upon the floor, whom Sigmund then took into his arms. The delicate act drenched his hands in young blood. Red. Oh so very red. ¡°Gkh¡­ hhnnggwwoo©¤©¤hh!!¡± resounded a roar of roars, ruesome yet wroth. ¡°Blood! Brat¡¯s blood! Aaaegh!! All o¡¯ you!! All o¡¯ you be damn¡¯d!!¡± The great hall thundered. Sigmund¡¯s words: vacuous yet vociferous, violently shaking the very air they rode. ¡°S-Sigmund!? Tame yourself!¡± shouted Viola, but before she could think to restrain him, someone else ventured the deed. ¡°Ach! Enough from you!!¡± Fury, not fright, fumed from the margrave, as though teased out by Sigmund¡¯s tantrum, for stinging his ears anew were the former maunderings of Rolf Buckmann: that civilians, Naf¨ªlim or no, need not be senselessly slain. What folly. Vexation was all he felt when last he argued with that ungraced. And now was that very same vexation fully revived and revealed. An exigency was at hand. Arbel hung on the brink, Str?m was strung over the pyre, devils stood at the doorstep¡ªand yet did this fool sellsword fain interfere further. The margrave had endured much. The failure of his men, consorting with these cutthroats, ceding command over to their captain¡­ Humiliation after humiliation. But this was the last straw. And so in his rage did he reach for the sword at his hip. A sword worn that he might look the part of the proper commander-in-chief in this challenging time. ¡­A sword wielded to his own woe. For never could the margrave have proven a match for Sigmund¡¯s mettle. And never had Sigmund meted mercy to any blade brandished against him. ¡°Rroooaa©¤©¤hh!!¡± ¡ªZsshhrt. ¡°Gahkh¡­!?¡± Too swiftly had it happened. Too astonished were the siblings. There was naught they could have done. The margrave¡¯s swordtip all but tottered about like a butterfly flitting about in foreign fields. In contrast, Sigmund¡¯s was a straight brushstroke, dragging out of the lord¡¯s flesh a flood of many reds. From the margrave¡¯s bosom to the marble tiles beneath spilt a splash of warmth, thick and wet. Aaron Str?m knew not the ¡°how¡± nor the ¡°what¡±¡ªnor aught of this thunderswift plight. Letting fall his blade, he bent his gaze down to his gaping breast. Only then did he know at last. He had been cut. He had been killed. But one question lingered. Why? A margrave of mighty Londosius¡ªlaid low by a brute¡¯s blade. Why? He thought it most absurd. So devout a lamb of Yon¨¢ he had been. So devoted a slayer of the Naf¨ªlim devils. And this was his due? ¡­Why? In seeking the answer with all speed did his mind then melt away unto naught¡ªalong with his life. There fell his corpse onto the cold marble, afore the flabbergasted ?stbergs. A corpse comforted by but one thought before its death: of having fallen to no blade brandished by the ungraced it so despised. Volume 3 - CH 4.3 The dust was long settled. The blood, the bodies¡ªall had been wiped and whisked away to the shadows. Only silence lingered on in the great hall. And standing amidst it: a lone Viola. After the slaying¡­ It was then that Sigmund had scooped up the unmoving boy and bolted from the manor. So swift was the incident that the ?stbergs were left arrantly pale and petrified, but a moment, and again were they composed. After next pondering aught and all that should happen from this mishap, they then began setting their scheme into motion. The present found Theodor outdoors, having left his sister to steep in her thoughts. ¡°Oi, Viola.¡± Stamping now into the hall was Ulrik, his face full-puckered with fury. The retreat from Rolf Buckmann sore-stung him yet, a humbling pain all too obvious to his captain¡¯s eyes. ¡°Ulrik. You seem sprightly,¡± Viola flatly remarked. ¡°Yea. An¡¯ right ready besides,¡± the halberdier hissed back. True enough, Zaharte¡¯s skilled surgiens had his wound soundly sealed up. Not the full recovery he had hoped for, of course, but reckoning a return to battle as the meeter remedy than the infirmary bed, he had thought at once to seek his superior and implore deployment. ¡°That Rolf Buckmann¡­!¡± he seethed, clenching his fists white. ¡°Just give th¡¯word, Viola, an¡¯ I¡¯ll ¡®ave ¡®is guts all gouged an¡¯ garnish¡¯d fer th¡¯dogs t¡¯dine on, I will!¡± ¡°Thin your enthusiasm, will you?¡± she sighed in answer, slowly shaking her head. ¡°Whether you face him again or no is mine to decide. And I¡¯ve decided that you¡¯d best be a good boy for the time being.¡± The halberdier¡¯s eyelids twitched. ¡°Don¡¯t ye go pissin¡¯ on me parade, Viola! I¡¯ve gots me an axe t¡¯grind, I does!¡± ¡°Ulrik. Heed me.¡± ¡°Say wot ye wants, this score won¡¯t settle itse¡ª¡± ¡°Ulrik.¡± All warmth was at once vanished from Viola¡¯s voice. And with the morning chill yet frosting the air in the hall, Ulrik could do naught but let the combined cold cut into his skin. Her reason triumphed over his rage¡ªthe Zaharte captain was most resolute to loose him upon the ungraced never again. He had proven fangless in a two-on-one; weighed down with a wound, what hope had this brute now in exacting his fool revenge alone? Ulrik pressed his lips shut and carefully gulped. The slight sound resounded clear through the silent hall, before: ¡°¡­Bah!¡± he spat, turning away. ¡°Fine. More time fer maimin¡¯ mirkskins it is, then.¡± ¡°Your butcher¡¯s block¡¯ll be busy, I assure you,¡± Viola remarked without spirit. ¡°Hemph. An¡¯ wot ¡®bout you, eh? ¡®Ere all ¡®lone?¡± asked Ulrik, finding none of the others present. ¡°Where be that brother o¡¯ yers, mm? An¡¯ Sigmund besides? ¡°Theodor¡¯s busy outside,¡± answered Viola just as flatly, her visage unchanging. ¡°And as for Sigmund¡ªhe¡¯s quit our company.¡± ¡°¡­Auh!?¡± Ulrik¡¯s eyes widened at once, only to find Viola¡¯s turning away swiftly without a word, as though to signal the sudden end to the topic. Espying this, the halberdier crossly curled his lips. ¡°Peh¡­ Good! Spare me yer squabbles¡ªgive me ¡®eads to ¡®atchet an¡¯ I¡¯m ¡®appy.¡± ¡°Your cooperation is encouraging.¡± No further did Ulrik dwell on the matter. From the outset had he always taken Sigmund for an untrustworthy churl: though theirs was hardly a long-standing partnership, Ulrik ever scried something¡­ astray, deep in that swordsman. Like a tree hiding strange roots, or a room with more doors than meets the eye. ¡°The next battle¡¯s a defensive one¡ªa last stand at the concentration camp,¡± Viola continued. ¡°Go seek Theodor. He¡¯ll brief you on the rest.¡± ¡°Yea, yea,¡± Ulrik replied brusquely. Viola watched him with intent, pinning some hope in this yet-promising pawn of hers as he departed the great hall. ? ¡°Still here, Sis?¡± said Theodor, newly returned to the great hall. ¡°The briefing¡¯s over with. And Ulrik¡¯s scurried off to the camp as told.¡± ¡°I see¡­ Well-done,¡± Viola greyly replied. With orders freshly handed to the few remaining Fiefguard leaders, it was high time the ?stbergs headed off to the concentration camp themselves. There would they assume command of the late margrave¡¯s men and dictate the particulars of the clash to come. ¡°How now, dear Sister. The margrave¡¯s left just about all the reins to you, hasn¡¯t he? Quite the silver lining, if there ever was one,¡± cheered a rather chipper Theodor. Viola faintly smiled in return. ¡°A fair point.¡± That the Zaharte captain should be appointed as their temporal commander was something full-suspected by the Fiefguard leadership. After all, many of their late colleagues were now as feed for the worms outside Balasthea, a miscalculation that had moved the margrave to fevered scheming¡ªeven more so with last night¡¯s breaching of Arbel¡¯s gates. Tense discourse was had before the break of dawn, during which was made most apparent the margrave¡¯s mind: he meant to steal away to the viscounty of Tallien, whilst leaving the city¡¯s defenders to stall for time. Such explained the securing of a slave Naf¨ªl for this very purpose. Thus did they bat not an eye when Theodor revealed to them the margrave¡¯s intent for Viola. Only, that selfsame margrave was now dead¡ªa development the ?stbergs opted to obscure, as airing the lord¡¯s untimely death now would at once damn the defenders to admitting defeat, most certainly. Not that any oath bound the ?stbergs to this battle. Hardly so; they were sellswords, after all. Coin was their chief concern. Were Arbel to fall, they had only to pack up and pelt away into the sunset, unchided and unchallenged. The margrave had known as much; little wonder why his desperation was so doubled in leashing them to the fray. Why stay, then? Simple: it was Sigmund, a Zaharte hand, that had hewn the margrave. Should such a detail come to light, doubtless the siblings would shoulder the heavy blame. Not on pain of death, perhaps, but the stigma would surely spell the end of the Zaharte Battalion. Hence was the free company yet coiled to this conflict, with the ?stbergs intent on dressing the margrave¡¯s death as mere ¡°collateral damage¡± once the battle was done with. But a silver lining loomed, just as Theodor had said. An opportunity in this pale plight, promising furtherance for one precious fancy: the siblings¡¯ secret ambition. ¡°A fief, all to our own,¡± Theodor thought aloud wistfully. ¡°You really think we¡¯ve the hand for such a gamble, Sis?¡± ¡°We¡¯ll know once all the cards are laid,¡± answered the other ?stberg. ¡°But this, I can say: the reward is well-worth the wager.¡± Within her words could be felt the fire of determination. In recalling the courses trod to reach to this moment, the sister steeled anew her resolve. Four daughters. Five sons. Such was the issue of their father. And such was Viola¡¯s and Theodor¡¯s misfortune, to be the youngest of them all, of a baron-house bereft of both land and leverage. A bubble of a family threatening to burst¡ªmost lords so ill-starred ever drown themselves in dragging their households from the gaping maws of irrelevance and ruin. The Baron ?stberg was no different. Of his many children, it was his eldest sons who earned a reflection in his cold eyes, for it was from amongst them that their father resolved to one day select as the house¡¯s next head. Why, not even as pawns for political marriage could the two siblings have served. Above them stood no less than seven other brothers and sisters, each as capable as they were comely. And plenty besides: the baron thought it enough to pour into them all his plans and leave his last two to while their days away. So it was that Viola and Theodor were conferred the comfort of neither parental faith nor fondness, but merely food, clothes, and shelter. Shunned they were not, no. Only, they had no purpose imparted to them, no place in the great ?stberg enterprise. Not even to the occasional manor banquet or soir¨¦e were they welcomed. Such were stages wherein House ?stberg could break bread and bond with the other nobility, not some playground for urchins of ill-promise, no, no, not at all. And so would the two pretend their own party. Whilst their elder brothers mingled with noble damsels over wine and witticisms, little Viola and Theodor instead tucked themselves away to the kitchen corner. There they mingled like mice, just the two of them, prattling on about the day¡¯s happenings over a saucer of assorted cheeses and nuts. A humble mockery. But for them, a happy memory. Little Viola and little Theodor. Childish cheeks chock-full of peanuts and pistachios. Sister and brother, smiling and beaming in whole harmony. Their brothers plied the sword on the daily, as well, with instructors watching closely anear. And from the corridor or behind a cracked door could oft be found the two siblings sneaking a peek, their eyes filled with wonder and willingness to learn the same craft. Thus one day, with twigs picked from near the wood, they attempted to mimick their brothers¡¯ mettle, and just as they had thought, it was a merry activity, indeed. From noon till eventide did they swing and swashbuckle, panting and puffing, their twigs ever twirling and their sunny smiles never setting. Soon enough, they sought the manor-soldiery¡¯s attention, that their playful practice might be minded. The soldiers humoured them, and when time allowed, even taught the siblings some tricks of the martial trade. Only, the grunts wielded spears, not swords. But no matter. To the little ones, lessons of the spear were no less splendid. Days absolutely singing with smiles. So long as the two were together. So long as the two had one another. Still, they were children, yearning no less than the next child for the love of their parents. Hence whensoever their father flickered naught but callous eyes at them, little Viola and Theodor could but quail, lonely and sorrowful. Children, neither neglected nor loved. A tragedy, all the same. And one that saw no alleviation, even with the passing of many seasons. Thus did they chance a change by their own hands: soon after Theodor¡¯s fifteenth birthday and his reception at the Roun of Orisons, the siblings quit the ?stberg manor and made off into the wide open world. Their destination: the mercenary guilds. Not that the doors of the knightly Orders were shut to them. No. Such a choice they eschewed. The sellsword¡¯s life was more their mind. To fare far away from family and father alike. To forge their own way, together and only together. This was their solemn resolve. A resolve their father ill-repudiated. Oh, but of course. He cared not. Why, it was two fewer burdens upon his strained shoulders. Thus was silent consent given, to go wheresoever and do whatsoever they pleased. And so from that day till this did the ?stberg siblings scratch and scour their way through a world of coin and conflict. With spears of splendour and magicks of might, they swiftly became a household name. And before long, they even found themselves commanders to their very own band of mercenaries, richly regarded, known far and wide to the very fringes of Londosius. Perhaps far enough to reach their father¡¯s ears. Or, perhaps not. True enough, not since the day of their departure have the two heard from the baron. An annoyance this proved to the pair. But just an annoyance. Though more so for Viola. Suppose they had wanted to surprise their father; tease out some regret from that mirthless man. Even then, they would have confessed the fancy to be but faint and half-humoured. Why, if surprise was to be had, it was on the part of the siblings themselves. Here they were, already decorated and accomplished, and still not a single word from the baron? How busied he must be. How buried in bolstering the ?stberg tree. How oblivious to aught beyond the bounds of his corner of the world. Of this, the siblings were reminded anew. Suppose this, then. Viola and Theodor, masters to a new fief, founders to a new and ennobled family. What sayest thou, oh cold father? Art thine uncherished children now worth thy warmth? A jest, of course. One exchanged many a time between the two siblings. A jest and a dream, never to fruit beyond a fantasy. But now was that fruit afore their very eyes, real and ready to ripen, as if nurtured by the heavenly hand of Yon¨¢ Herself. The Margrave Aaron Str?m left behind nary a child of his own. This past year saw the last breath of his beloved, and not since has he thought to welcome in a new wife. Why, he was himself the sole scion of his line, brotherless and sisterless. Despite this, or perhaps because of this, always had he felt it his duty to dam the flood of Naf¨ªlim, and sure enough, to this very purpose had he spent all his days, as though his very pride were pennoned upon the spears of his men. ¡°The margrave¡¯ll be snug in his coffin soon enough, but with not one bloodkin alive, his will be a lonely funeral,¡± Viola explained. Her voice was low, her conviction clear. ¡°This land of his, however¡­ it¡¯ll all be fair game.¡± ¡°Fair game, sure, but will we have a seat at the contest? We¡¯re but witnesses to the crime, after all. Who¡¯s to say Central¡¯s hawks won¡¯t swoop in and hand off this land to some other silver-spoon? Or snatch the reins themselves, for that matter?¡± Theodor¡¯s doubts were most warranted. But his sister had a ready answer. ¡°Haven¡¯t you heard? The Mareschal Emilie Valenius¡ªshe herself was given a fief, one once ruled by a viscount, perverted and now punished. A land lost of its lord; a lord whose son the mareschal was once set to wed,¡± she said at length, still low of volume. ¡°That was reason enough for Central to tie the bow on her boon¡­ curious, given that she¡¯s met the villain viscount not once.¡± Theodor¡¯s brows bent up. ¡°G¡­ ¡®given¡¯, you say? A whole fief?¡± Ah, yes¡ªEmilie Valenius. The Lady of the Levinblade, a Londosian hero-dame next only to Estelle Tiselius herself. Famed for being first amongst all in history to serve as both mareschal to an Order and mistress to her own house. But that such history hid behind the brilliance came as news to the Zaharte vice-captain¡¯s ears. ¡°Theodor. Central¡¯s talons grow bloodier by the day. The lions of Londosius hunt more hungrily than ever before. This kingdom craves for heroes; ones mighty enough to man its chariots. Heroes like Emilie Valenius¡ªlike us,¡± Viola expounded. A clear-cut explanation for her brother¡­ and for herself, an affirmation of her dearest ambition. ¡°We¡¯re not wanting of feats and fame, are we?¡± she continued. ¡°The ?stberg siblings, twin spearheads of the Zaharte Battalion, renowned in all the realm. A rich enough r¨¦sum¨¦, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± ¡°I would¡­ sure,¡± Theodor nodded. ¡°What¡¯s more, the Mareschal Valenius is cut from the same cloth as we,¡± added Viola. ¡°A child of a troveless, landless baron, of a family with no future.¡± ¡°An endling, just as we are¡­¡± her brother thought aloud, rubbing his chin. ¡°¡­Quite the compelling case, I¡¯ll admit. And a gamble truly worth our wager, as you¡¯ve said.¡± Thus were sibling minds as one again. To assay the summit with sword and steeled ambition¡ªsuch was the only constant in this cauldron of conflict. Thus should this truly be a treasure chest of a chance, then they had but to reach and wrest it for themselves. ¡°I suppose that¡¯s why you¡¯ve skipped on the margrave¡¯s hostage scheme?¡± Theodor asked, to which Viola nodded. Str?m¡ªa margravate now without a margrave. A land now listing to its own doom. And the ones to inherit the late lord¡¯s will? The heroes to hew the foreign harriers? A sellsword sister and her brother, endlings to an ennobled line. Truly the stuff of legends, given no small substance by their preceding repute. But one key was missing: a vaunted victory. A victory of arms, a victory of virtue. Not by succumbing to vices, by claiming triumph through treating with the enemy on threat of disthroating helpless hostages, would Central have fancied the siblings worthy of a fief. And so did the siblings need this battle, and they needed it won¡ªcleanly, and without question. ¡°We¡¯ll quit the manor and muster straightway at the camp,¡± said Viola. ¡°No doubt the rush¡¯ll rouse the enemy¡¯s ears, but all the better: we¡¯ll welcome them into our den¡­ and there rip them to pieces.¡± All told, the Zaharte captain saw much worth yet in the margrave¡¯s former plans. The concentration camp certainly was defensible, thick-walled as it was. And an irresistible lure besides, rife with the stench of Naf¨ªlim captives too tempting to the enemy¡¯s noses. They would come, sooner or later. And if later, then all the better. Viola meant to use every afforded minute in perfecting her trap. ¡°Our most prized prey will be the ungraced himself,¡± the Zaharte captain concluded. ¡°His is the keenest nose of them all¡ªand the one most temptable. Once in our midst, ?stberg spears shall drink deep of Rolf Buckmann¡¯s blood.¡± And be as pikes to present his traitorous head. Such was the vision seen in Viola¡¯s eyes as her brother looked intently back. He then nodded fully, now on deck with his sister¡¯s determination. Nay, their determination. Till there, within earshot¡ªa third voice, murmuring. ¡°Rolf¡­ Buckmann¡­?¡± Standing at the doorway was the sister to that very name. Volume 3 - CH 4.4 Viola very nearly clucked her tongue, stung anew by the brigadier¡¯s insistent presence. The margrave himself had deemed this dame a wildcard, a worry the Zaharte captain, too, came to share. Indeed, Felicia¡¯s plight perhaps struck a mite too close to home for Viola: Theodor was her constant companion, a brother for whom she brooked no replacement¡­ but were he to turn traitor as Rolf the renegade had, what would become of her own heart? Her own conduct? The captain could scarce imagine, and that was precisely why she saw in the brigadier a bomb waiting to blow at the slightest spark. Siren-bells were now blaring in her head, but to stay the dame from sniffing out any foulness afoot, Viola kept her tense visage turned away from the doorway. ¡°His name sounds a secret upon your lips,¡± Felicia remarked, walking slowly in. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°W-Why? Well, he¡¯s er, he¡¯s¡­ he¡¯s been sighted, Brigadier¡ªon the other side, I fear,¡± Theodor relented, stammering as he saw to the side his sister racing through a thousand thoughts. Something must be done about this dame. But what? Viola was yet concerned that in Felicia there burnt some secret fire, a yearning to break her Londosian bonds and join her brother in his betrayal. Such must not come to pass. This sister of Rolf¡ªshe must be caged off. Far from the battlefield. Far from her brother. ¡°Then¡­ then pray let me see him, if he¡¯s there, as you say,¡± Felicia earnestly entreated. ¡°He¡¯ll lend ear to me. I know he will.¡± An amicable reconciliation? Through discourse? Damned words upon the ?stbergs¡¯ ears. They rather desired Rolf Buckmann¡¯s very death¡ªnay, they needed it. ¡°His Excellency said it himself ereyesterday, did he not?¡± Viola reminded the dame, turning at last to meet her ruby eyes. ¡°I¡¯m afraid parleying is off the table, Brigadier.¡± Felicia glanced about the great hall. ¡°And where might he be, the lord?¡± ¡°He¡¯s awayed to safety,¡± answered Viola, ¡°but not before trusting all command to me.¡± At once, Felicia¡¯s gaze flashed with urgency. ¡°Th-then allow me in the next battle! I¡¯ll find my brother, for certain! And persuade his surrender! He¡¯ll heed me! He will!¡± What ill. Viola veritably grinded her teeth, if only in her heart. Parleying was impossible, a truth aired with all clarity, and still this foe-sister insisted upon the contrary. More and more she seemed steeped in self-deception, a damsel in denial, coursed away from all common sense. ¡°Brigadier,¡± Viola began firmly. ¡°That brother of yours has sore-scorned both Crown and kinsmen, choosing instead to walk the treacher¡¯s way¡ªfor why we can never know. And in bringing to bear the full brunt of his fearsome prowess has he made culled and cornered curs of the once-proud Fiefguard. Who with right mind, then, should reckon he surrender when such a storm it is he rides against us?¡± Strained silence was Felicia¡¯s only answer. Her gaze was turned away. What emotion moiled in them was beyond the present ken of the ?stbergs. ¡°Brigadier?¡± pressed Viola, perturbed by the quietude. After a stifling moment, ¡°¡­If he¡¯ll not surrender, then I will still that storm of his¡­ and leash him back with all limbs bound, if need be.¡± Low was her voice. Uncharacteristically so. Freshly apparent to the ?stbergs¡¯ eyes was something¡­ dark, deep within the depths of the dame. A shade in the shadows, roused wroth by some word uttered in the exchange just now. But which word, which phrase exactly, Viola knew not. There was no mistaking it, then. Fraught as a field of thorns, this Felicia, a thought the ?stberg sister was reminded of anew. ¡°You look to unleash a storm of your own, Brigadier. But even an errant breeze can dare to decide this delicate battle,¡± said Viola. ¡°The whole of Str?m hangs by a thread. Much succour you¡¯ll serve by but sitting still. And I beseech that you do.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll not be a burden. Not in battle, not in aught,¡± Felicia resisted. ¡°I mean only to meet my brother.¡± This dame was having none of it. Not of reason, of restraint. Such stubbornness seemed to have pushed the Zaharte captain over some cliff, for her next utterance, while quiet, grated with annoyance: ¡°¡­If words shall still you not, then perhaps the lock and chain might.¡± ¡°You fancy yourself a keymaster like the margrave, Captain?¡± Felicia snapped back, undeterred. ¡°Martial command was what¡¯s trusted to you, not provincial rule. So unless you mean to wield the Excellency¡¯s sceptre behind his back, I will do as I please.¡± Now was Viola herself strained with silence. And indeed the whole of the great hall¡¯s air. Theodor stood petrified, sweat shining fresh upon his forehead. Little need be said as to what havock his sister could wreak, given enough¡­ persuasion. But aface her was no less than a dame brigadier of the Order, a champion of matching mettle. Such power and authority it was that invested these two, yet they seemed more keen to bicker like irritable babes than battle the foes now affrighting the fief-burgh. For her part, the ?stberg sister was no less urged by the same imperative. The grand plan was nearly in play, the pieces all set to pounce. But barring their way: this mulish maiden of the Order. Not more than twenty winters has she lived, and already was she proving more a handful than hot iron. Stilling her own storm within her bosom, Viola yielded a deep breath and broached the most pressing matter. ¡°¡­Then allow me this, Brigadier: I trust you¡¯ve not the same mind as Rolf Buckmann¡¯s, yes? To fly the same flag as his? To curse the good name of Londosius, all that you might stand again by your brother¡¯s side?¡± ¡°Do you take me for some fawning pup?¡± Felicia asked back, slightly narrowing her eyes. ¡°My bumbling brother¡¯s the one at fault here. Sisterly duty demands not that I echo his mistakes, but that I put them to rights.¡± Viola remained quiet against the cutting answer, calming herself and contemplating in the meanwhile. So bull-like a brigadier would ill-brook a ban from the battlefield. Indeed, force her away and she would force herself back in all the more doggedly, and there destroy all their dearest efforts. No choice, then. Bring her in, why not? Let her drink deep the battle-air to her heart¡¯s content¡ªbut from the far back, where would never be found any sight of Rolf Buckmann. Such was Viola¡¯s new reasoning, which she put to task at once. ¡°¡­Very well, then,¡± she relented, rising out of her thoughts. ¡°The battle moves to the concentration camp. There shall we muster defences against the enemy¡¯s forthcoming advance. You have my permission to participate, but not at the frontlines¡ªthe rearguard is your place and only place. Is that clear, Brigadier?¡± ¡°¡®Tis indeed,¡± answered Felicia. ¡°My thanks, Captain.¡± Bowing quickly, she turned heel and headed to the corridor. The ?stbergs watched on with nary a word, but then found the brigadier stopping asudden under the doorway. To them she then turned her face, and with a sidelong look, gave them their warning: ¡°Worry not. I¡¯ll churn up no trouble of my own¡­ but for any shadows you send to haunt my steps.¡± ¡°¡­The thought never crossed my mind.¡± Verily, for by now, Viola sooner fancied snuffing out the dame altogether than babysitting her from afar. But this Felicia purportedly shared intimate rapport with the Lady Valenius, and was herself set to be the next head of House Buckmann; though her brother¡¯s betrayal might usher in some foulness to her family, Felicia¡¯s was an ire too ill to earn yet. A tightrope it was that the ?stbergs were balanced on. Their dreams, their hopes, all laid at the far end; not now could they afford to fall off, nor invite any sparks that might ignite their precarious purchase. And though Felicia was proving the fire-wind of their fears, not by their hand could she be hushed or hewn. Seeing the brigadier disappear into the corridor, they found themselves begrudgingly content with having leashed her to some lonely corner of the battlefield. ? A muffled thud sounded¡ªthe shutting of the manor¡¯s main entrance, signalling the brigadier¡¯s full absence. Viola sighed audibly. To his tired sister did Theodor then speak. ¡°Well. A pleasant little princess, wasn¡¯t she?¡± ¡°Pain applauds that ¡®pleasantness¡¯ of hers,¡± Viola hissed. ¡°I¡¯d say, you had the right of it, though: that Rolf Buckmann bloke doesn¡¯t seem the sort to surrender,¡± Theodor remarked, earning a nod from his sister. Dealing with the dame as they did was far from ideal, but better to nip a risk at the bud than after its bloom. Such was the siblings¡¯ reasoning. Rolf Buckmann¡ªit was his head on a pike they wanted, not his surrender. But that was fine and well, for just as Theodor had concluded, almost certainly would the ungraced traitor not be surrendering any time soon, even when so sued by his very own sister. Though suppose such a meeting was the hand dealt, one precipitating a stalemate, for certain. Felicia, in all her magicked mightiness, would bring her brother to heel, just as promised. Hardly the unsought scenario, in fact, as the feat will have been performed under Viola¡¯s command, and hence would the Zaharte name earn yet another lustre. Indeed, more and more the situation sounded less fraught than first espied. ¡°But I admit, the thought of the brigadier jumping to her brother¡¯s ship has me shivering in my boots a little. Even if she seemed unwilling,¡± Theodor continued. ¡°Then she¡¯ll burn along with that precious ship of hers. A fitting pyre for a perfidious witch,¡± Viola remarked coldly. ¡°Justice abets our banner; none shall bat an eye should we lay the torch.¡± Yet no torch should be needed; that the brigadier would follow her brother was a fool¡¯s fancy. ¡®My bumbling brother¡¯s the one at fault here¡¯ were her own words, and in Viola¡¯s ears, they had nary a note of deception in them. Never, then, should she so much as stain a standard of Londosius¡ªnot according to the Zaharte captain¡¯s keen ken, anyway. ¡°Preferable she never meets her brother, all told. Though if meet they do, he¡¯ll not give in¡ªnot even to his own sister. And if she does her ¡®sisterly duty¡¯, then all the better: Rolf Buckmann shall be brought before us, with Zaharte claiming the catch. But if our brigadier joins her brother, then it¡¯s the shared grave that awaits them,¡± Viola explained at length. ¡°All cases covered¡ªour way is open, Theodor.¡± ¡°Well¡­ there is one you left out,¡± said her brother. ¡°The case of the brother vanquishing his sister.¡± Quite the fair point. Rolf was reckoned to be feeble and fangless in battle. Yet what flood was it that he single-handedly dammed and diverted into flight? Why, one by the twin names of Ulrik and Sigmund. Could the Dame Brigadier Felicia Buckmann bring a mightier challenge? Perhaps not. Perhaps she would be undone by the blade of her own bloodkin. And if so, it would be with the sibling spears of the ?stbergs that Rolf would next vie. ¡°Why, Theodor,¡± Viola cooed, curling up her lips. ¡°Is that not the best case of them all?¡± Hers was a moon of a smile, crescent and crimson-rouged, as though she had found the next prey for her feast. And contrary to the increasing rays of the morning, a great curtain was now closing upon this battle for Arbel. A bloodfest of a fray, muddied in the myriad motives of its contenders. Volume 3 - CH 4.5 The sun was risen above Arbel. Our braves buzzed and bustled with preparations as we were all mustered within a market square at the fief-burgh¡¯s north end. The citizenry here seemed long-evacuated; the townscape sat eerily still under morrowing rays. Not long before were we joined by Volker and his contingent after their harrying of the east gates. Reunited now as we were, what remained was to reorganise and rearm ourselves for the principal push towards the margrave¡¯s manor. Only¡­ ¡°A mis¡¯ry to admit, but no other way can I see: the sire of this city seeks flight¡­ if not yet has he taken wing,¡± Volker concluded, slightly scowling at a map of Arbel splayed upon a vacant stall. A fortunate find, procured by his braves from a local bibliotheca whilst en route to our position. But that seemed where their¡ªand our¡ªluck ran dry. Other leaders, too, were present for the meeting. Their faces were no less furrowed. ¡°A pain without prevention¡­¡± Lise remarked without spirit. Painful, indeed, to let slip the margrave from our reach. With backing from Central has House Str?m presided over these lands for many generations. Such history was a harrier to us: even were we to capture this fief-burgh, so long as the margrave yet drew breath¡ªwhether in hiding or hale in the home of some other lord¡ªours would prove only a vain victory. Aaron Str?m, lord of a land wrenched away by Rolf the renegade and his horde of Naf¨ªlim¡­ He has but to bellow and embellish this injustice, and droves would fast flock under his flag, and thence engulf us with numbers beyond our answering. Yet Lise scried correctly another thorny truth: we had not the power to prevent such a scenario. Arbel was too big a fief-burgh, its walls too long, its gates too many. Superior to its defenders¡¯ may be our number, but to surround the city itself? Would that our current count were manyfold more for such a snare, but alas. Should the margrave risk an escape, then, he would find it an easy flight. Guessing his routes out of the city and waylaying them each was certainly actionable, but that would entail another splitting of our forces. A sour proposition, made rancid by the look of last night¡¯s battle. There did the Fiefguard fight with newfound friends, whose mettle we¡¯d yet to measure in full. Unreckoned risks, unsought surprises; we could but abandon the chase. The taking of the fief-burgh, then, seemed our most requiting course, despite its danger. Thus did we devote ourselves to this very purpose. Let the margrave run, but in his absence, capture the cruces of his city and neutralise the remnant Fiefguard¡ªif all fares to plan, Arbel, and indeed all of Str?m, shall be ours¡­ for a tenuous while, at least. ¡°Unfain be the Fiefguard to make a barricade of their garrison,¡± Volker uttered before turning to me. ¡°Rolf. This stands true yet? Or?¡± ¡°It does,¡± I answered. ¡°The Fiefguard garrison might be a military facility, but it is hardly a fastness. Mere offices make for poor protection, you see.¡± To this, the war-chief exhaled thoughtfully before looking back to the map. ¡°Then that leaves but one¡­¡± he said. A finger of his next tapped upon a particular spot on the parchment. All eyes followed. All heads nodded. The concentration camp¡ªone of Arbel¡¯s cores we¡¯d been well-set on capturing. Innocents were interned there: friends, family, fellow kin. We¡¯d thought to liberate them as soon as the city fell¡­ but if the Fiefguard meant to make their last stand there in that very camp, then we had no choice but to follow and fight, even at peril to the prisoners within. ¡°Walls, surrounding ev¡¯ry side¡­¡± Volker muttered on, arms folded, ¡°¡­and a lone gate as its mouth.¡± True to its purpose, the concentration camp was completely palisaded. It had many gates, to be sure, but only the frontmost of them was of any substantial size. All the others were side doors and entrances, really, through none of which can two persons pass abreast. Indeed, a layout full-keen on keeping prisoners in¡ªbut what of keeping enemies out? Not so on paper, but perhaps in practice; a gamble the Fiefguard seemed quite keen on. Though that made our plight no less precarious. The side gates would avail us little; our only course, then, was to crash right into the front gate and meet the Fiefguard at their fiercest. ¡°A word, if I may,¡± spoke a Staffelhaupt, hand raised, at whom Volker nodded. ¡°Many of our kin are kept captive in the camp¡ªnay, in all the city itself. Though I fear it¡­ might the Men make hostages of them?¡± ¡°Mm¡­ This, too, have I reckon¡¯d, that our enemy should fain make demands than risk resistance. But as yet, none have reach¡¯d my ears,¡± answered Volker, before looking to Lise. ¡°What of yours, Edelfr?ulein?¡± A shake of the head. ¡°Not one chirp.¡± Resorting to hostage-taking indeed counted amongst the few paths left to our foe. Yet just as revealed by Volker and Lise, it remained unventured to this moment. ¡°But absent such demands¡­ what of injury? To our captive kin? They will yet quail in their cages amidst all the combat to come; won¡¯t our enemy put them to the sword in some fit of desperation?¡± The Staffelhaupt¡¯s voice listed uneasily, yet his face had the look of determination. Doubtless his bosom both brimmed with worry for the captives and burnt with a dream to see them all freed. Thus I raised my own hand and spoke firmly, intent upon settling the uncertainty: ¡°A word, if I may.¡± To which Lise gave a puzzled look. ¡°Courteous for a commander, aren¡¯t you?¡± Embarrassed, I let fall my hand. Mimicking the Staffelhaupt was, in fact, a courtesy on my part, albeit one as vain as it was a vice: cautious of conduct though I¡¯d been thus far that I might earn recognition from my new comrades, it seemed my awkward ways weren¡¯t doing me any favours. Clearing my throat, I tried once more. ¡°¡­I say, his concern hits the mark: our enemies make no demands now, but corner them enough, and they might soon see the appeal of holding innocents at swordpoint.¡± Words bitter upon everyone¡¯s ears. Going by the gravity in their collective regard, it was clear this Staffelhaupt was hardly alone in worrying after the captives. ¡°What¡¯s more, these Men¡¯ve made mice of themselves, huddled in their last hole,¡± I continued. ¡°If past battles have taught us aught, it is that fraught footmen seek solace above all. But allowed none, they will find it where they can¡ªeven from the death-wails of innocents, as though to crave companions on their way to hell.¡± Grim grimaces from all around. A natural response. Grief, not gaiety, would be ours to bear if the trophies of our triumph were the corpses of the very souls we sought to save. ¡°Then¡­ then what be our hand in this ill game?¡± asked the Staffelhaupt. Any unease he had before now simmered with urgency. My guess: one amongst the interned was most intimate to him. ¡°A swift one,¡± I answered. ¡°We move as a gale. Blitz the gates, speed a squad into the bastille; once inside, they will secure and extract the captives, each and every one.¡± The concentration camp was none too complex. It had but three buildings of note: a bastille, a watchtower, and a warden-house. In the first were the captives kept, and come the final clash, the turnkeys on duty would likely all be deployed to dam our offence. This was the moment, the prime opportunity to pierce the chaos and collect the unguarded captives. ¡°Simple, yet sound,¡± reckoned Volker. ¡°But that begs the question: to whom falls the task?¡± ¡°Those with mettle enough unaided¡ªthe standalone soldier,¡± was my answer, to which everyone began exchanging looks, as though to seek out the candidates for the undertaking. In the midst of all the measuring, one voice spoke out. ¡°Rolf has my vote. For his mettle can I vouch.¡± The words of an intermediate commander, himself a participant in the northern offensive this past night. ¡°But not for mine, hmm?¡± the jarl-daughter poked, lips pouting. ¡°¡®Lise¡¯s mettle is unmatched¡¯; whose often words were those, I wonder?¡± A mere jape, of course, but not to the commander¡¯s ears, supposedly. ¡°N-nay, Fr?ulein, yours be mighty enough, for true¡­¡± ¡°Well? What think you all?¡± Volker asked the other leaders. Silence gripped the group once more, till one amongst them stepped forth. ¡°Rolf¡¯s is a sword swift and true,¡± he said. ¡°This have I seen. And so do I measure him¡­ a Man worthy of our trust.¡± ¡­¡±Trust¡±. For me. A Man. Their erstwhile enemy. Yet none uttered a wisp of dissent. Some even nodded. ¡°You have their hopes, Rolf,¡± remarked Volker. ¡°And I will answer them,¡± I returned. ¡°Only, you all trust to me more than is due¡ªI can¡¯t go it alone. A few under my wing should well-suffice; Man that I am, I fear the sight of me will sooner cow the captives than comfort them.¡± ¡°Mete words. The assignments be mine to make, then,¡± the war-chief agreed, at once drawing his attention down to a muster roll. At his side was Lise, who gave me a glance of some urgency. ¡°One more matter, Rolf,¡± she said. ¡°On the sellswords, if you will.¡± ¡°Right,¡± I nodded. Then, standing before the leaders, I raised my voice. ¡°Braves all, listen close! The margrave has turned to mercenaries, that his diminished men might be bolstered. And by the look of the last battle, already are they arrived and ready to fight. I¡¯ve seen for myself their symbol¡ªwe count amongst our foes now the Zaharte Battalion.¡± Intelligence delivered, with eyes looking all through the leaders¡¯. They deserved to know every detail¡­ it might very well save them. Such was the merciless mettle of our new enemies. ¡°¡®Zaharte¡¯?¡± echoed another Staffelhaupt. ¡°A name I have heard. Two siblings lead that legion. A deadly duo, if memory serves¡ªthe sister, more so.¡± In the course of his words did his face increasingly pale with apprehension. The Zaharte name, the ?stberg brand¡ªboth were infamous even to the Naf¨ªlim, evidently. ¡°It serves well. But strength attracts strength; all of the Zaharte fighters are a force to be reckoned with,¡± I confirmed. ¡°They sport arms and armour no Fiefguardsman wears. Easy foes to find, but not to fell. Keep your wits whetted, everyone!¡± ¡°Face them always with greater numbers! Alone, and only death will be your reward!¡± Lise chimed in. ¡°Indeed, ¡®number¡¯ be our key advantage; use it, sustain it, and stay alive! Let¡¯s not greet our captured kin as corpses!¡± A tide of nods for the jarl-daughter¡¯s words. Volker, too, seemed no less agreed. ¡°Worthy of mention are the mercenaries¡¯ leadership,¡± I added. ¡°They are the deadliest of them all, and¡ª¡± ¡°Enemy!¡± Ears perked. Eyes flashed. ¡°Enemy sighted! In our vicinity!¡± Interrupting was a messenger brave as he broke into our gathering. Tension and shock shot through us all at once. ¡°They have sprung¡­!?¡± Volker said with clenched teeth. Truly an ill upheaval; at this stage in the battle, the concentration camp should¡¯ve proven the best bastion for our foes. But to ambush us, instead? I glowered at the very thought, as did Volker as he growled on, ¡°Right under our noses¡­!¡± Yet the messenger only shook his head. ¡°N-nay, Chief! The enemy¡­ something¡¯s amiss¡­!¡± ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡¡ß¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Volume 3 - CH 4.6 An anguished voice vaulted through Arbel¡¯s air as we rushed to the square¡¯s corridor. Nearing the source, we came upon confounded braves all bunched in a crowd, encircling a single, squatting Man. In his arms: a boy Naf¨ªl, limp as sodden rope and steeped in blood besides. ¡°Oi! Spare ¡®im some mendin¡¯ magicks already, will ya!? ¡®E¡¯s fast fadin¡¯, for shite¡¯s sake!!¡± screamed the Man, his face full-red and flooded with tears and snot. ¡°L-look at ¡®im! A boy! Jus¡¯ a li¡¯l boy!! Uoooaaa¡ªah!! Save ¡®im, damn you! Save ¡®im!!¡± Bandaging the boy¡¯s bosom were crude strips of cloth. Though the bleeding beneath seemed ceased, his breaths wheezed on like a failing wind. No physician was on hand, yet all eyes knew: this young one was not long for this world. Lise turned at once to the nearby braves. ¡°Where¡¯s the l??e!?¡± ¡°Already sent for!¡± answered one amongst them. ¡°Any moment now till he¡¯s come! Barbers withal!¡± ¡°Damn it! Damn it all!!¡± the Man howled on, glancing desperately about. ¡°Quit gand¡¯rin¡¯ an¡¯ get movin¡¯, you wankers! Come on!! The boy¡¯s one o¡¯ you, innit!? One o¡¯ you!!¡± Pained and pitiable were his screaming pleas, yet none of the braves dared answer them. They stood perplexed¡ªpetrified, even, struck to stillness by the unsettling scene. As for myself, sheer shock had rooted me in place; I¡¯d ill-discerned it at first, seeing him so swollen and drenched with tears, but I indeed knew this Man¡¯s face¡ªI knew his sword. It was Sigmund. A soldier of fortune¡­ and a sword of Zaharte. Soon enough, in the midst of his blustering screams, the press of braves made way as through them flew the l??e and a team of barber-surgeons. Straightway, they surrounded the Man and the boy before incanting mending magicks unto the latter and tending to his injury. A fraught moment followed as we watched in wonder and worry. In its course, Lise approached the huddled healers. ¡°How fares he?¡± she asked, soft but strained. ¡°The wound eludes his vitals,¡± revealed a barber. ¡°He may live yet.¡± Immediately, the crowd sighed a chorus of relief. Through the entire ordeal was Sigmund, keeping a fevered vigil over the boy. A look at him, and I understood at once: This Man was no enemy of ours. ¡ß ¡°Wot? That mutton-pated margrave? I rived ¡®im right open, I did.¡± Sigmund¡¯s words, irreverent as they were revelatory. The boy¡¯d been treated and brought away to the beds, after which we pressed this Zaharte swordsman as to his puzzle of a predicament. There he divulged his flight from his fellow sellswords and the plight that precipitated it. It was then that we so learnt of the margrave¡¯s fate: the lord of Str?m, felled by none other than Sigmund himself. A great rustle was roused from all within earshot. Of course we were shocked. None could¡¯ve anticipated so untimely a death of the enemy commander-in-chief. And yet here we were. ¡°Rived him, and what then?¡± Lise further pressed the swordsman. ¡°Did he give up the ghost? Had you time to check, even?¡± A doubt well-warranted. By Sigmund¡¯s words, he¡¯d whisked away the boy from the manor right after unmaking the margrave. Queerly convenient upon the ears, I¡¯ll admit. But more than aught, we were much wary at the thought of revising our strategy on account of some unconfirmed development. ¡°Hah!¡± Sigmund snorted, shaking his head. ¡°No need. That berk o¡¯ a lord¡ª¡¯e¡¯s belly up proper, ¡®e is.¡± Such he insisted. Though strangely enough, I found myself rather convinced. Sigmund¡¯s sword was as a gashing bear claw, a goring bull horn¡ªstrength I¡¯d strived against in the flesh, and thus well-knew the measure of. And if indeed such strength girded the stroke against the margrave, then it was as Sigmund said: the lord was dead. Gruesomely so. The proverbial head we¡¯d so sought to hew, then, was already nipped from its neck. ¡°And yet¡­ still the Fiefguard stir.¡± Another doubt, now from one of our Staffelh?upter, revealing raw the rub of this situation: our commanderless foe was yet fain to fight. No demands were made, no safe surrender beseeched, though lost of lord they may be. The scouts¡¯ reports corroborated the same: the enemies were all of them mustering at the concentration camp, with banners of battle billowing more defiantly than ever¡­ Passing strange, indeed. ¡°Yea¡ªthis battle¡¯s ¡®ad the margrave¡¯s trousers right tricklin¡¯, see,¡± explained Sigmund. ¡°So, ¡®e thought to shog ¡®is arse out o¡¯ the city, an¡¯ left Viola an¡¯ them to lap up the dog¡¯s dinner, ¡®e did.¡± ¡°¡­Escape was his scheme all along,¡± hissed another Staffelhaupt. If Sigmund¡¯s account rang true, then so, too, did our reading of the margrave¡¯s mind. The dots lined up at last: in meaning to flee did he transfer command of his men to Viola, captain of the very band of mercenaries he¡¯d hired. ¡°Then it¡¯s Viola ?stberg who holds the Fiefguard¡¯s reins now, is it? A spear-devout, and quite the commander besides, I hear¡ªour foul luck to lock horns with her¡­¡± I said at length, all the while glaring at Sigmund, pressing him for more details. Yet he seemed as helpful as a feral hound, turning the other way with a rather bothered bend in his brows. ¡°Hemph,¡± he scoffed. ¡°Yea, ¡®er spear¡¯s somethin¡¯ else, all right. But ¡®ow good a commander, you ask? Bugger¡¯d if I know. Fightin¡¯s me bread an¡¯ butter; giz coin an¡¯ combat, an I¡¯m a ¡®appy camper, ya get me?¡± ¡°How now!¡± cried a Staffelhaupt. ¡°Awful lack-minded for a lacquey of hers, aren¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Oi, piss off, yea? Can¡¯t know if I can¡¯t be arsed,¡± Sigmund barked back, scowling. ¡°But even if I did, I ain¡¯t ¡®bout to be some rat, know wot I mean?¡± A lone swordsman of a foe, flying into our midst, only to proclaim his taking of his client-commander¡¯s very life¡ªwords and deeds too wild for our wits. Yet that was precisely the skein presented before us. And as we racked our brains as to how best to untangle it, Volker stepped forth and addressed a pouting Sigmund. ¡°A hyaena you are, then, parted from the pack,¡± the war-chief reckoned of the mercenary. ¡°Yet one who refuses to ¡®rat them out¡¯, as your kin might say. You live by some code, Man?¡± ¡°¡®Code¡¯? Wot, I reeks o¡¯ chivalry to ya, ah? Bloody ¡®ell,¡± was Sigmund¡¯s bitter answer, earning a reasoned murmur from one amongst our lot: ¡°¡­But suppose we squeezed a song out of this canary. What stops him from lacing his lyrics with lies?¡± Exactly so. Had Sigmund coughed up aught and all that our ears coveted, who, then, could corroborate his words? Or soothe our suspicions for some foul ploy played by our foe? We could ill-afford to exercise compassion in place of caution¡ªnot in this situation, at least. Only, I yet believed Sigmund innocent of our scepticism. ¡°For shite¡¯s sake¡ªI¡¯m no knight, but I ain¡¯t a bloody knave, either, mate.¡± Of course not. Sigmund had been spilling the truth all along. His screams, his tears¡ªno knave could be moved to such haunting emotion, after all. And surely we¡¯d given him the succour he so sought; what reason had he to deceive us in return? ¡°Song or silence, we keep our course,¡± Volker said, resolved. ¡°Our foe bears a new head: the pair¡¯d pates of the ?stbergs. We have but to sculpt our plans as appropriate.¡± ¡°Volker¡¯s right,¡± agreed Lise. ¡°Attack the camp, free the captives, crush the enemy¡ªour way remains unbent.¡± Hearing the two¡¯s words, I guessed that they¡¯ve scried in Sigmund the same as I had. It was then that Lise turned full to the Man himself. ¡°Now¡ªone last nail to drive in,¡± she said, sighing and arms akimbo. ¡°You best watch that mallet o¡¯ yours, Missus. Ya hear!?¡± Sigmund hissed, pointing at her. ¡°I brought the brat ¡®ere to save ¡®im, not surrender meself to you lot, yea?¡± The swordsman¡¯s insolence was yet undiminished. In him lingered not an iota of awe or unease, even stood as he was in the midst of an enemy camp. ¡°Then ¡®tis the ball and chain for you, Mister,¡± Lise bit back, before sighing again. ¡°That said, your situation deserves our hospitality than hostility, I admit¡­¡± ¡°Then be hospit¡¯ble-like an¡¯ giz some grub, will ya?¡± Sigmund demanded, before turning sharp eyes in my direction. ¡°A full stummy brews back the blood, it does.¡± That stare of his stabbed with ire, rousing irritation from some amongst us. Paying it little mind, I ventured a guess as to his seething attitude. ¡°You mean the blood I hewed from your cheek?¡± ¡°Hmph, me cheek¡ªwot else, you wank-wit!?¡± he cried, as though insulted. ¡°Look ¡®ere, ey! Scraped me skin what¡¯s all ya did! But if ya wants to hew me, you¡¯d better cut a li¡¯l more deep-like next time, yea? Down through me very bones!¡± ¡­¡±My very bones.¡± In spite of his gruffness, this Man could air some rather inspiring words, I¡¯ll concede. My sword had severed naught but the flesh caging the soul that was ¡°Sigmund¡±. By that logic does he claim to suffer no wound at all¡ªnot till he¡¯s cut free from his flesh. Such was his meaning, his very mind. A fascinating one, at that, well-earning from me an inward nod. ¡°Intriguing words, Sigmund,¡± I returned. ¡°I¡¯d ask more of you, if I could.¡± ¡°Yea? Then spit.¡± ¡°Not now. This waits till the dust¡¯s settled.¡± As it should: the battle before us demanded our full attention, all the more so now that the gameboard was shuffled anew. Learning more of this wayward Man would have to come later. ¡°Oh? Well then quit faffin¡¯ an¡¯ get fightin¡¯, why don¡¯t ya? An¡¯ giz some grub while you¡¯re at it! Five plates full, pipin¡¯ ¡®ot-like!¡± the soldier of fortune shouted again, ever irreverent and unrestrained. Volume 3 - CH 5.1 Fire magicks flashed and flew in searing arcs. Far afield at the verge of my vision broke the barks, the bellows, the drum and boom of battle. Affrighting the air were flares of flame and fumes as our ranks of wi??an wove volley after volley of the Lancea Cal¨­ris spell. Their target: the single gate of Arbel¡¯s concentration camp. One concerted cast brought the burning lances bearing down all at once upon the barrier. Brightly billowed the ensuing explosion, spilling splinters of timber and hot bars of iron every which way. The gate was breached at last. Our way was opened. At high noon had we initiated the attack, our opening move it was to unmake the gate. As it hardly compared to the portcullises of palaces and castles, felling it proved an unfraught affair. With it now gone, all so far was falling into place, but our course should grow only graver from here on, for the passage newly opened was woefully narrow¡ªtoo narrow, in fact, to have the whole of our forces flood through. Grievous, given our primary advantage laid in our superior numbers. But we¡¯d not the luxury of choice. This was the only way in whereupon could be fielded any number worth fearing. And within the camp festered the Fiefguard, our very mark, and so long as they did, Arbel would not be brought to its knees. Laying siege, too, was a lost cause. The hour-sand flowed against us; the Fiefguard had to fall at the soonest, lest we find ourselves besieged in turn by Central¡¯s reinforcements, certain to come in days¡¯ time. On and on, I watched the battle from afar, and in pondering our foes did I next contemplate their new commanders as elucidated by Sigmund: the vaunted Viola ?stberg, and her brother Theodor besides. The margrave was dead; not without hewing their two ?stberg heads would the Fiefguard concede defeat. The terrible twin spears of Zaharte¡ªour foes, fierce as they were famed. As I thought ahead on confronting them, Volker¡¯s command clapped across the air like thunder. Our braves obeyed, straightway cascading into the camp. In attempting to dam the flow, the Fiefguard met them at the smouldering ruins of the gate. A new fray frothed forth. And spotted within the swelling scene: ranks of sellswords, bold and brutish¡ªmost certainly the fliers of the Zaharte flag. ¡°The sellswords are not fled¡­ why?¡± wondered Lise beside me. ¡°What¡¯s their dear wager in this war of ours?¡± A forgiven doubt. Neither creed nor coin should yet shackle the ?stbergs to this battle¡ªnay, to this very land. Their lord client was cut down. None would fault them were they to quit the cause. Yet here they remained, their men swinging and stabbing alongside the Fiefguard. Was it obligation? The transfer of command, coloured anew as some oath made with the margrave in his final moments? A hard thought; they were the heads of Zaharte, preeminent professionals in their field. Never would they suffer sentimentality nor the severed purse of their recompense. Then perhaps their hands were forced? Some unseen factor, demanding their mettle be brought to bear in this begrudging battle? ¡­Or perhaps they were even compromised, this duo? That bending the knee to Londosius¡¯ will served their sole recourse out of some secret scandal? Nay¡­ the reverse seemed as like as not: the siblings, bending over backwards to curry favour from the Crown. The margrave had passed without a proper heir. Reasonable, then, that the ?stbergs would crave his cold seat. After all, House ?stberg was landless, last I heard¡ªthe two should hardly be above snatching Str?m for their own. ¡°A wager worth dying for, is my guess,¡± I said to Lise. ¡°A dream. An ambition. Likely the ?stbergs¡¯ve kept the margrave¡¯s death under wraps for their own selfish ends.¡± Seeing Lise deeper in thought, I turned to her with a proposition. ¡°Suppose we sowed this truth in Fiefguard ears, Lise. What might we reap?¡± She shook her head. ¡°Too little, I think. Mere words be our mightiest proof, sooner to sprout as lies in their ears, by this time.¡± Lise¡¯s right; familiar as I was with the Fiefguard, I could only agree. The margrave¡¯s death should well-serve a tailwind for our momentum, for none else beyond the walls of Redelberne should dare muster men against us by rightful claim to Str?m¡¯s rule. But such considered only what would follow our triumph, one we must hew from the foes now afore us. I clenched my fists in silence. Triumph¡ªover Viola and Theodor? Had we the mettle for it? Had I? Sigmund and Ulrik proved enough of a pain; could I lay low their superiors, were we to meet? Almost shuddering at the thought, I glared on at the battle burgeoning about the broken gate. And after a deep breath: ¡°Our turn now,¡± I declared. Lise looked to me and nodded back, stern yet spirited in mien. ¡°Fair winds find you, Rolf. May they find you all!¡± Also in her eyes: the five braves gathered behind me. Tasked to our team of six was the securement and extraction of the captives from the bastille. To my comrades I turned, finding their faces tense, yet nodding resolutely at Lise¡¯s words. I then raised my voice. ¡°Ready yourselves, all! We move!¡± And so pounded our feet upon the earth as we sped off into the fray. ¡ß At our arrival, the m¨ºl¨¦e at the gate had grown to a maelstrom, chaotic and combative. Dismounting our steeds, we dashed into the din, our ears shuddering from the shrieks and shouts of friend and foe alike. Passing into a pall of palpable heat, our bodies at once broke into sweat. Flecks and flaps of dirt and dust danced every which way, coating skin and garb in grit and grime. In all directions swished and stung the unceasing sounds of brandished blades. In every second rang and rasped reams of armour as they clashed and clattered against one another. Right afore me: a splash of enemy spears. Right beside me: a surge of allied swords. Both sides, all bunched together in a great crush of cheek-by-jowl combat. Fallen upon the ground was one Fiefguardsman, the sight of him summarily concealed by a stampede of vying soldiers. And then upon the ears: the sounds of smashed bones and trampled entrails. But muffling them: myriad bellows, blistering and boiling ever more rabidly, filling the air to a vociferous overflow. The battlefield, hurling in a hellish helter-skelter. Allies and adversaries, together enmeshed in an impenetrable mire. This was a complete and utter chaos, cut and dried. But also a chaos crafted precisely to plan. Charge the enemy, irrupt rapidly into their ranks, allow the battlefield to fall into a free-for-all, even should it exact injury from our number. Such was our aim, and for one crucial purpose: the suppression of enemy missiles, magicked or no. Going by the absence of projectiles, the plan had found success. Not that our foe could be blamed. With their numbers so dear and dwindled, the Fiefguard artillerymen could scarce disregard the risk of friendly fire. Of note was the silencing of wide-blasting spells. From parapets and behind bulwarks could the enemy have blown holes in our ranks with impunity. Such was our greatest fear, and so to have it stricken from the equation was an immense weight off our shoulders. ¡°Experience pays¡­¡± I muttered to myself as I led my team through the thick of battle. Indeed, the struggles of commanding the battlements of Balasthea were bearing much fruit here. So much so that I almost pitied the Fiefguard. To witness the fall of the walls of my charge was a former fear to me, one now full-lived by my present foes. ¡°Wooo¡ªh!¡± So roared the Naf¨ªlim ranks all around as I rived a Fiefguardsman afore me. But not a second to spare; onward we wended through the war-like press, all whilst our fellow braves pushed the battlefront forth, gaining ground pace by precious pace. ¡°Ach¡­! Hold the bloody line, damn it!!¡± Out from the screaming misery of Men, a bark from a Fiefguard field commander. A high shout followed, as though in answer: ¡°There ¡®e is! The Man amongst ¡®em! Kill ¡®im! Kill ¡®i¡ªm!!¡± A Fiefguardsman, spewing froth from his lips and pointing a finger straight at the sole Man amongst the Naf¨ªlim files¡ªa moment, and next converged unto me a crush of Fiefguard grunts. In each of their eyes burnt reflections of the renegade they so reviled. But all the better. Drawing their ire should well-ease my allies¡¯ burdens at the battlefront. Soul set, I sent forth a wide swing of wolfsteel. ¡°Dyaah!¡± ¡°Ghwohakh!?¡± so fell a swathe of enemy soldiers. Yet ill-abated were their fellows¡¯ wrath for this rebel; in fact, their collective rancour only seemed to seethe all the more hotly. Opposite was I, keeping cool as best I could as I brandished the blackblade. Such was demanded by the white waters of war; only composure could carry me through this chaos. And so bearing myself against the brunt of brutes, I continued cutting them down one-by-one. Amidst the failing front of Fiefguardsmen stood a soldier, staring me down with eyes so bitterly bloodshot that at any moment could they have burst with tears of red. ¡°Eyygh¡­!¡± he hissed, hate-filled and hag-like. ¡°Foul sicarius, you¡­!¡± ¡­¡±Sicarius.¡± The high epithet of a perfidist, and yet another alias for my collection. Safe to say, historically hot must be Man¡¯s hate for this wayward son of his. Yet never one to so flagrantly fan another¡¯s fury, I felt then another pang of pity. With such creativity do they address me; would that I had the leisure or even half a care to return the favour. All told, I took little offence to ¡°sicarius¡±. Only a soul with resolve enough to reject the machinations of this world could earn such a baleful brand. Why, I ought consider it a gift, really. ¡°Shog off, men!¡± cried a voice. ¡°This one¡¯s mine!¡± And there, keen to cut down that Sicarius was yet another blade, held in the hands of a Zaharte hellion. Volume 3 - CH 5.2 Fiefguard eyes flickered with expectation. Swivelling to the voice¡¯s source, there the Men found the Zaharte challenger strutting through their parting press, his simper steeped in pride. ¡°¡®Air an¡¯ eyes, dim as dusk¡ªthe ¡®ulkin¡¯ berk ¡®imself!¡± he shouted above the boil of battle, before raising a swordpoint in my direction. ¡°Rolf, the turn-ed wolf!¡± To him I gave a narrowed gaze. ¡°Who speaks?¡± ¡°You ungraced gudgeon, you!!¡± he shouted on disregardfully. ¡°That there grubby fingers stain the fine art o¡¯ swordplay, they does!! Time to school you in real slicery!¡± Quite the self-absorbed simian, this man¡ªor a scullion soused from endless ale. Then, without ceremony: ¡°Ssrryahh!¡± A shriek, and off he shot straight my way, his sword swung from on high. I met him with one of my own, batting sharp silver away with black steel. ©¤Ghheen! Khaeen! One, two more exchanges, each stinging our ears. Practice guided his swings. Power girded his sword. An adept of the blade he was, much more so than the Fiefguard rabble gathered about us¡ªZaharte¡¯s fame truly feigned no fluke. On and on he thrashed as I guarded in turn, backing gradually away whilst measuring his mettle. ¡°Hyoh! Hyah!¡± he huffed along with every hew. ¡°Better start bitin¡¯ back, shag! ¡®Fore I nip that there neck o¡¯ yers right clean!¡± No doubt, then: this dastard really was inebriated, but from bottles of a different brew¡ªthe cider of supremacy, the rotgut of renown as the ungraced¡¯s slayer-to-be. Next did we each venture a spirited swing, and as our blades bit and locked: ¡°Rolf! Our swords are yours!¡± There: a cry from my comrades as they rallied to me, arms ready. With a heave, I pushed away my opponent. ¡°Nay, keep them! They¡¯ll serve you better soon enough!¡± I answered. Though their succour was full-appreciated, more pressing was the mission at hand. The bastille loomed a long way off yet, and here we were, hemmed in still from all sides, having hastened deep into hostile ground. Any mind taken from self-protection was a peril beyond the price of this silly duel. ¡°As you will,¡± one of my braves conceded. ¡°But your back is ours to guard!¡± ¡°Then you have it,¡± I nodded. ¡°My thanks.¡± Off the five then flew to fend off the mobs of Fiefguardsmen, leaving me to dance with the Zaharte hellion unharried. Volker had chosen well: these braves were both capable and unclouded in scrying the course of this chaos. Comforted, I refocused upon my opponent, finding him snickering at the situation. ¡°Hyeheh! Warm chums with the witch-churls, ain¡¯t ya? Eh, ungraced!?¡± he remarked, sword readied again. Were I to fell him here now, the rest of the rabble should follow¡ªa pinhole to sink the ship, as it were. Mulling the thought, I readied my own weapon, triggering a charge from my foe. ¡°Yeeaaagh!¡± he shrieked, letting fly his sword in flailing slashes. The crescendo of clashing metals continued along with my vigilant defence. As he pushed forth, so did I pace back, a detail not lost to the Fiefguard lookers-on: ¡°Lo! The Zaharte master¡¯s got the higher hand, he does!¡± ¡°Yea, that¡¯s it! Chop ¡®im t¡¯chunks, ser! Ehyeheh!¡± Their jeering cheers seemed a wind in my foe¡¯s sails, for as his ears drank their words, his eyes glimmered anew with battle-glee, his blade biting and barking with greater brutality. Dashing his weapon away with a sweep of the soot-steel, I shifted to the high guard for a reprisal. ©¤Ghosshr! Ghakh! A one-two blast of banging blades¡ªmy twice-swung offence, foiled by my foe just in the nick of time. And it showed: sweat shone on his brows, his breaths heaved heavily. Though going by his up-curled smirk, that inflated pride of his remained unpunctured. ¡°¡®E¡¯s got th¡¯book full-read, mates! It be over now!¡± ¡°They¡¯re somethin¡¯ else, innit? These Zaharte blokes!¡± More applause from the Fiefguard grunts, each word further stoking my opponent¡¯s spirits. Clear on his flustered face was a delight dancing more boldly than before. ¡°Heheh¡­¡± he smirked again. ¡°¡­Well? Ready fer the checkmate, lad?¡± Leisurely, he lifted his sword to the centre guard as a fisher looses his line into the depths. I bit the bait, bolting in just as he¡¯d hoped. Grinning still, my foe slipped into a defensive stance, full-intent on a deft deflection and a deathblow following. But this prey had humoured the predator for long enough. Into the ground: a thunder-stamp of my foot, accelerating my charge to a speed beyond the sellsword¡¯s answering. Wolfsteel then howled forth¡ª ¡ªshhdofh!¡ª ¡ªand hewed open my mark¡¯s bosom, bone and breastplate both. ¡°Eah¡­?¡± Hitherto had I feigned feeble-swordedness to this foe of mine, showing him swings and thrusts a mite milder than what his mettle could handle¡ªa ploy oft played upon opponents of inferior skill not unlike he. Cast aside the cloak and reveal my full vehemence, however, and no longer could he keep up. Indeed, never did he seem a risk worth much regard, but this was a battlefield: all risks must be minded. For him, I merely obliged. ¡°W-wha¡­? O-ohhkh¡­¡± he gasped, utterly perplexed till his expiration. As his limp body spilt unto the dust, the surrounding Fiefguardsmen collectively recoiled. There¡ªour chance. ¡°The way¡¯s open!¡± I cried, raising high the sword of soot. ¡°Break through, break through!¡± ¡°Ooo©¤©¤©¤oouhh!!¡± Heeding my call, the Naf¨ªlim ranks roared and rushed forth altogether. Sighting the change from far off, Volker answered with a cry of his own. ¡°Staffeln Two and Three! Retrieve the wounded and draw back!¡± thundered his timely command. ¡°Staffel Six! Advance, advance!¡± Like currents cutting new courses, a great bustle was roused as braves flowed to and fro. Knowing the gate vicinity was too narrow to host our forces in full, we had ourselves split into disparate Staffeln beforehand for this battle; now as some withdrew from the fray, others joined in¡­ ¡°We¡¯ve waited for this!¡± ¡­with Lise and her own braves being one of them. With lightning immediacy befitting their leader, Lise¡¯s Staffel filled the void and broke out fighting. Forces, drawing back and joining in¡ªsuch was our strategy, that we might never show our foe a faltering in our numbers, not even for a moment. ¡°Haa¡ªah!¡± cried Lise, gusting through like a whirlwind, her two longdaggers dancing and dicing through Fiefguard flesh. Hers was a flair for the offensive flurry, of swings and scythings carried out with fleet frequency¡ªa performance proving frighteningly effective in such close-quarters chaos as we were. ¡°Uaagh!?¡± The screams of Men resounded as bit by bit their number yielded dear ground. Discerning their new despair, I turned with fresh orders for my five braves. ¡°Ready up! This is it!¡± I cried. ¡°We push through! All the way to the bastille!¡± ¡°Aye!¡± they returned in unison, and at once we charged straight into the enemy ranks. Lise¡¯s longdaggers continued their lethal lashings, eating away at the Fiefguard line like a gouging gale. ¡°Tyah!¡± ¡°Sseh!¡± My braves lacked naught in their own prowess. Their blades maimed and mowed down the unnerved Men, forcing forth the frontline like a steady and unstoppable tide. ¡°There, the left wing! Cut through! Now, now!!¡± so vaulted Volker¡¯s orders. Indeed, the Fiefguard¡¯s left flank was greatly thinned, having been eviscerated by Lise¡¯s blades. Spying the opportunity, our forces washed in at once, but not before letting loose a mighty roar. ¡°Ooouuhh!!¡± Another moment, and like a dam bursting open, the Fiefguard ranks gave against the weight of our offensive. The pinhole was now a gaping split, into which our number began to pour¡ªa river, bristling with blades and bellowing voices; a torrent teasing out of the Men many a scream. ¡°Oaaggh!!¡± ¡°Fall back! Fall back an¡¯ regroup!!¡± Resistance was impossible against such a stampede; ill-able to maintain their line, the Fiefguardsmen broke ranks and scattered back. At last: the gate area was fully wrested. The way unbarred, our army of braves began storming the camp, where awaited new numbers of Fiefguard and Zaharte fighters alike. Horns blared to have them readied, but to our ears, it sooner sounded a heralding of the imminent end of this margravate of Str?m. Volume 3 - CH 5.3 A year after their departure, I¡¯d followed in Emilie¡¯s and Brother¡¯s footsteps to the 5th. I remember well what I¡¯d felt then: promise, anticipation¡­ all made pale before my many dour doubts. And for why but dreading what drudgery and injustice Brother might had been brooking. ¡®Twas a dark day, then, when that all unfurled afore my very eyes. Slight and contempt, scorn and sport¡ªthese all were at once his sole companions, and at another, scars carven full into his flesh with every farcical spar. But what¡¯d bewildered me most was the bond between Brother and Emilie¡ªthat is, what it had become. A pair once so picturesque, now fraught and fractured, bound by what seemed more as bondage than a loving bond. Emilie: an immediately accoladed dame. Brother: her subservient swain. A mistress and her minion. A relationship misshapen. Yet it remained a matter without remedy. No, not by Emilie¡¯s power could it¡¯ve been mended, nor by her prestige¡­ nor even by her many protests. Such was our society, our world. I¡¯d desired deeply for Brother to do his part, at the very least. To soothe her sorrows, to solve his situation by any means available. But he¡¯d instead kept silent and endured the disdain, devoting himself full-stolid to his martial disciplines¡ªa cowed escape, a meaningless pursuit, no matter how I measured it. Less and less I knew his heart. The heart of my own brother. The heart of whom I so cherished. Yet soon were my concerns constricted to my own burdens. The abrupt expectation of my parents, the bearing of House Buckmann¡¯s future¡­ Such unwieldy weights, alleviated only by chivalric merit, by achievement¡­ by results. Nonetheless, passing under the Order¡¯s portcullis for the very first time, I¡¯d steeled myself against one certainty: a harried, handicapped start. Sister to an ungraced, bloodkin to a black sheep¡ªno doubt such a soul would stoke stares most unsavoury. All the jeers and japery reserved for my brother, soon to be mine to share. And though share I did, so, too, was I pitied. More so than I deserved, perhaps. Thus did I climb the knightly ladder rather unladed. ¡®¡­Yon¨¢ has bestowed Her blessings upon you, Officer Buckmann¡­ Proper, unprofane blessings¡­ So I say, let not that man drag you down so¡­¡¯ Words once offered to me by the Mareschal Tallien. Our Deiva¡¯s is an even hand, never wont to wield unjust retribution. The Order itself is a bastion to such a belief, its knights fast followers of fairness. And so I abided, going on to earn some repute amongst their number, for it happened that I¡¯d been bequeathed a bounty of odyl. Not to the same degree as Emilie¡¯s, but enough to astonish my peers and superiors all the same. ¡®¡­Globus Igneus¡­!¡¯ A sphere of flames, kindled by my hand as instructed. But more a wonder in the eyes of my instructor, of all those gathered to bear witness: ¡®¡­Praises upon Yon¨¢¡­¡¯ one of them had uttered then, ¡®¡­a miracle stands ¡®fore us¡­!¡¯ Burning brilliant in the air above me: my very first conjuration of the Globus Igneus spell, but woven to a size manyfold my instructor¡¯s example. ¡®Twas not only generous odyl that I¡¯d been graced with¡ªon that day was discovered my talent for sorcery itself. One year thence found me a lieutenant, leader to my own brigade division. A worthy promotion for House Buckmann¡¯s next-in-line, and certainly a cause for much celebration. But through another lens, it had only seemed yet another rift opening anew between Brother and myself. ¡®¡­Gh¡­ hhach¡­!¡¯ ¡®¡­Oi¡­! Back on your trotters, sty-churl¡­! Training¡¯s only begun¡­! ¡­Tch¡­! Better a strawman than you¡­¡¯ Whilst the gown of fair regard was mine to wear, the gazes of reverence mine to garner, down in the dirt was my brother, steeped in soot and soil¡­ and shame. A woefully often sight, and in beholding it, I¡¯d begun to feel¡­ something, somewhere deep in my bosom¡­ ¡­icing over. Ever so steadily. ¡®¡­Quite the rising star of late¡­ aren¡¯t you, Felicia¡­?¡¯ ¡®¡­Rising star, indeed¡­! You are our pride, my dear¡­! Our joy¡­!¡¯ ¡®Tis not too far between the barony and headquarters. Thus did I make certain to return home and meet Mother and Father, time permitting. And on every occasion would their compliments rain my way. ¡­But only my way. Brother¡¯s was a name long forsaken upon their lips. But ¡®twas not to be helped. Mother and Father could not boast of him, no¡­ They could not¡­ Not for that brother of mine. ¡®¡­Lady Felicia¡­¡¯ My address, cold with decorum¡­ and spoken in Brother¡¯s own voice. It¡¯d sat ill with me at first, but with his every utterance of it, less and less its briars began to bite. Neither of us, nor any at all, can dare sustain our childhood innocence forever. Each winter¡¯s passing brings change¡ªto us, to our hearts¡­ ¡­to the bonds between us. ¡­ .. . . .. ¡­ ¡­Still. Still, I wish not to cast him from my sight. Still, I wish not to abandon him. Such thoughts I inly intone, as though to convince myself of their sincerity. Yet little convincing is needed: in them is nary a lie. That, I can adamantly declare. I do not despise my brother. Not at all. In my heart of hearts, I harbour no hate for him. And as with me, so ¡®tis with Emilie. Of this, too, am I most certain. ? ¡°¡­¡± ¡­Now. Now could I hear again the howls of battle, the beating of war-like feet, the fanging of swords and spears. From afar I watched the fray as it raged where the gate once stood. There, with desperate industry, the Fiefguard toiled to turn the tide of Naf¨ªlim, but try as they might, more and more their number bled, more and more their brethren broke, all against the brimming brunt of their foes. A humbling sight surely unlost to Viola¡¯s eyes. Hers was a high perch upon the watchtower, where to this moment was she dictating the defence with the field commanders. Yet the effort seemed fraught: no sooner after the gate had been unmade that the battle began to boil to its present pitch, with friend and foe alike feverishly mired in a mad m¨ºl¨¦e. All advantage offered by our defences was fast fading; through Viola¡¯s fingers was fleeting the fine sand of victory. Though I thought her hardly at fault. The situation was dire to begin with. Many Fiefguard captains had been cut down in the prior battle. Yet despite scarce time to regroup and reforge the frayed chain of command, the Fiefguard fought rather well under Viola¡¯s watch. But mightier still was the enemy¡¯s momentum. Unchanged, our situation would soon fail. As if to corroborate my reckoning, there next swelled a chorus from the frontline, terrible as ¡®twas sudden. The Fiefguard had foundered. Through their ranks then flooded the Naf¨ªlim, breaking brazenly into the camp proper. Now more than ever, the Fiefguard seemed destined for defeat. And just as destined: the fall of Arbel, the Naf¨ªlim occupation of Str?m, the loss of Londosian land¡ªa calamity certain to appal our posterity. And to think, that counted amongst the confederates to this historic crisis could be that brother of mine. I had many words for him, if so, and a great many more I should like to hear from him. For that very purpose had I sued to join this battle, a request heeded only on condition that I standby in this corner of the rearguard. Viola was most loath to let me meet my own brother, I think, and so had disallowed me from lifting even a finger to reinforce her men. All fine and good, truth be told. Where that brother of mine might appear, I could well-foresee. Turning ¡®round, I looked up at his probable destination: the bastille, looming grim and grey against the besmoked skies. Why he would, whether he would¡ªthese I ill-guessed. But if for certain he¡¯d made fast friends with the Naf¨ªlim, then more certain again would he make haste to this very structure, and there endeavour a deliverance of the prisoners within. I stood alone here in the open. Gone were the few Fiefguardsmen once manning this post, having hastily headed off to their final reckoning at the fray. But that struggle was theirs and theirs alone to assay. Mine was to wait. For the sharer of my blood. For the inspirer of Viola¡¯s trepidation: ¡®¡­Brigadier¡­ ¡­That brother of yours has sore-scorned both Crown and kinsmen, choosing instead to walk the treacher¡¯s way¡­ for why we can never know¡­ ¡­And in bringing to bear the full brunt of his fearsome prowess has he made culled and cornered curs of the once-proud Fiefguard¡­ ¡­Who with right mind, then, should reckon he surrender when such a storm it is he rides against us¡­?¡¯ ¡°Fearsome prowess¡±. Wielded to ¡°make cornered curs¡± out of the Fiefguard. The words of the renowned Zaharte captain herself. And regarding whom but my own brother. Yet in hearing them was I hardly filled with pride and joy¡ªI had but stood, silenced by their meaning. Just as I¡¯d been silent these many past seasons. Silent of trust in Brother¡¯s strength. Silent of praise for all his pains. Silent, like all the others in the Order. Nay. ¡®Twas perhaps jealousy and shame that Viola had teased out of me. A mere sellsword, neither an associate nor an acquaintance of Brother, yet speaking of him as though she¡¯d shared more winters with him than his own sister. Was it simply that somehow, somewhere deep in my heart, I yet yearned for him? Just as I¡¯d done during our littler years? Was it that too hastily, too capriciously had I despaired at his present pitiableness? At his sheen, sullen and sallowed as ¡®twas to his former shine? Such thoughts I¡¯d felt faintly afire in me when Viola pressed for my answer there in the manor. Yet what recourse did I have? Who was it that failed me? Who was it that fell to arrant frailness? Had my brother remained the lodestar I so adored, would we yet be whirling in woe as we were now? Mine were not the clouded eyes here, were they? Of course not. My measure of him was most certainly sound. Why, lo¡ªthere¡¯s Brother now, hurrying hither. To this very place, to the deliverance of the prisoners¡ªjust as prevised. Yet in seeing him, trouble sooner beset me than cheer, truth be told. Trouble for his coming. Trouble for his presence here upon a battlefield, of all places. ¡®Twas all an error; to this moment was he elsewhere, far away on his holiday¡ªa gladness, if so. But nay. Familiar was his form. Fleet was his faring. Onward he hurried my way, surrounded by what else but a pack of Naf¨ªlim fighters¡ªhis comrades and escorts, like as not, having just felled in his place the Fiefguardsmen barring their course. Before long, the two of us stood aface, still and silent. Five months in the making, my reunion with Brother¡ªRolf Buckmann, the exile. A rather unremarkable length of time, thinking on it. But one feeling more an eternity from last I¡¯d seen of him at the hearing¡­ ¡­from last we had words for one another. ¡°Felicia¡­?¡± ¡°¡­Brother.¡± Never was his face a fountain of expression. Still, in our earlier days, I¡¯d prided myself in guessing his heart with just a single glimpse. But now¡­ ¡­no longer could I see the heart behind those eyes. Volume 3 - CH 5.4 All sins must answer, all treachery put to trial. Whether before a god, a judge¡­ or a loved one. For such a reckoning had I well-steeled myself. Yet, that the day should dawn so soon¡­ The fates¡ªever fain to twist the stabbing dagger, to taunt the staggered soul. I felt then some watchful eye raising me some concealed question, demanding my due remorse. ¡­Nay. Enough of the fates, of blaming the clouds¡­ of looking away. I¡¯d chosen this path. And in so doing had chosen also strife against my own blood, my own family: Felicia. ¡°¡­Those Naf¨ªlim,¡± my sister flatly began, ¡°let them away where they must. They¡¯ve business in the bastille, have they not?¡± Bafflement flashed through my braves. Not that any blame could be theirs. A foe, yielding the way? At once they turned to me, racked by the riddle. ¡°Go,¡± I said to them. ¡°She looks to have business of her own¡ªwith me.¡± ¡°¡­Aye,¡± answered a brave. ¡°Rolf. Fair winds find you.¡± Having swiftly judged the situation, they started straightway, passing my sister with due caution before disappearing into the bastille. Once certain of their safe passage, I returned my gaze to Felicia, finding hers long focused upon me. ¡°You¡¯re sullied from head to heel, Brother,¡± she remarked. ¡°Soot, is it?¡± ¡°No soldier goes unsullied. Such is war,¡± I said back. ¡°But let¡¯s cut to the quick¡ªwhy are you come, Felicia?¡± ¡°¡­I was ¡®the Lady Felicia¡¯ to you, last we spoke.¡± ¡°You could be again, if you so wish. That much I owe you: a politeness for my newest opponent.¡± ¡°¡­hh!¡± Felicia half-gasped, as though stung by that last word. Then, with a strained regard: ¡°¡­I was come¡­ to enquire why you refused the recruitment call, Brother.¡± ¡°¡®Recruitment¡¯?¡± I echoed. ¡°¡­Ah. That.¡± A call to Londosius¡¯ brighter minds for the post of Chief Adjutant of the 5th Chivalric Order. A call I myself had received, but left to collect dust upon the commandant¡¯s desk¡ªfull-aware it was worded for me and my homecoming. ¡°Where was your answer?¡± my sister pressed. ¡°Why were you not come?¡± ¡°Because my feet had found another path, Felicia. A way I now walk with resolve¡­ after renouncing all reason for return.¡± It¡¯d arrived at a rather inopportune time, that call: a mere month before my quest into Naf¨ªlim country. The rekindled promise of knighthood, weighed against a promise made with Mia¡­ The choice was clear. But absent the latter, still would silence have been my answer, for though I¡¯d shared a road with Emilie and Felicia for many winters, mine now wended far away from theirs. Too, too far away. ¡°¡­What ¡®path¡¯?¡± Felicia asked, troubled. ¡°You were banished, Brother. Retribution, not resolve, was what had flung you to this fringeland¡ªa bane to any other eye, but a boon to yours alone¡­? Surely you cannot be so blind to your own folly?¡± ¡°My eyes see no folly.¡± ¡°But mine do!¡± Her cry, concise, yet unclear. Though one thing was certain: sincerely was my sister trying to pour out her long-shut heart. An effort looking as painful as it was long overdue. Why, she¡¯d braved a whole journey just for the opportunity. To not oblige her here would be remiss of me as her brother. ¡°What is ¡®resolve¡¯ to you, then, Felicia?¡± I began to debate. ¡°Is it not the sparking of the soul afire? The braving of the dark when all light is lost? A self-given grace to any other soul, but a grief to yours alone?¡± ¡°What tears have you shed, to speak of my grief!?¡± she screamed back. ¡°Emilie offered both hand and heart to you, that you should be helped from this hole! And yet¡­! Yet you brushed away that hand! You broke that very heart!¡± Felicia, shivering with fury. When was it, I wonder? When last she¡¯d shown such ire? Perhaps never. In all the years of her youth, scant were her tantrums. And even then were they but the tiniest sort, not once breaking above quiet discontent. How it haunted me, then, to hear her fair voice moved to such misery. Amidst that moment of reminiscence for little Felicia, I heard again that same voice, grown now, but low with languor. ¡°¡­Tell me, Brother. Was it truly you? Was it by your fault that Emilie¡¯s steed was vanished?¡± ¡°I¡¯d well-made my case at the hearing,¡± I answered. ¡°Weren¡¯t you listening?¡± ¡°An entire night in town! Yet too tipsied to remember aught!? Who could¡¯ve lent ear to such a farce!?¡± she cried again, agonised. ¡°A night¡­ spent bedding with some¡­ some brothel-maiden¡­!? Don¡¯t tell me that was the truth of it!¡± ¡°An empty allegation, fed by the leaders,¡± I quickly cut back. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you swallowed their slander?¡± ¡°I never wanted to! Never! But what else was left to me!? What!?¡± she screamed, her lungs now spent from lament. Overlapping her again was the ghost of her greener days: my toddling sister, tiny and in tearful tantrum. ¡°Felicia,¡± I said, as though to soothe her. ¡°Circumstance was what¡¯d stopped the truth at my lips. Silence and sophistry were all I had left. But let me ease you, nonetheless: it was not I who let that horse loose. And as to whether I¡¯d produced coin for a corner-girl, well¡­ no confessor would find the purchase worth chiding, I¡¯d think. But as you insist, I¡¯ll set it straight again: no such deed was ever mine.¡± Her eyes then cast quietly down. Whether from comfort or some conflict within, I could not know. ¡°Believe me, or believe them¡ªwhich way you walk is yours to decide,¡± I went on. ¡°Reach that resolve by your own two feet, Felicia. I¡¯ve walked beside you as far as any brother could¡ªbut no further. No longer.¡± ¡°¡­What¡¯s this so asudden?¡± she uttered, slowly shaking her head. ¡°Why play the dear brother now¡­? The stage is dark¡­ the curtains long-closed¡­¡± ¡­That it was. To yearn for the model brother; such is the right of any younger sister. Her prince and paragon, her guide and aegis, meek yet mighty, firm yet fair. Ousted from that stage though I was, I forsook the part for her protection¡­ and in so doing left Felicia without a brother. Thus could I not be who she wanted me to be. I could not answer my own sister¡¯s simplest, most innocent and deserved desire. ¡°¡­Brother. I know not what tricks you¡¯ve chanced against your trials thus far¡­ but the battlefield ill-feigns the gentle judge. Not by deceit can you forever flee your sentence,¡± she warned at length, clenching tightly the silverstaff against her bosom. ¡°And yet you would chance another trial here? Against me? A reverie of a victory is your lightest verdict, Brother, surely you see this¡­! As well as I can! So please¡­ come with me, Brother? Come home¡­ to where you ought be.¡± Where I ought be. Who I ought be. What way I ought walk. ¡­Difficult, isn¡¯t it, Felicia? Yet not few are those without direction, without selfhood, without a home to call their own. This, you ought know. Just as you ought know that no longer do I count myself amongst them. I¡¯ve found what I¡¯ve long sought. ¡°Pay your penance¡­ quit this chaos. Won¡¯t you do this for me, Brother?¡± Felicia further pleaded. ¡°Emilie yearns for your return, even now! Her sway is mighty, her wings welcoming! Shelter under them, and not even your present sins shall¡ª¡± I shook my head. ¡°Felicia. I¡¯m sorry.¡± Indeed, I¡¯ll not wend away from where I¡¯m finally welcome. I¡¯ll not baulk this battle of mine. ¡°¡­¡¯Sorry¡¯¡­ you said?¡± ¡°That I did.¡± A new hush. Once more, Felicia¡¯s gaze fell. Ruby eyes, brimming with beauty¡ªhid now behind lengths of forlorn lashes. ¡°¡­Why?¡± she brokenly began again. ¡°Why continue this tantrum? Why challenge the chariots of war, child as you are? Five winters, Brother, five. And still I find you stunted. Yet you¡¯ve gall enough to¡­ to twirl that twig of yours afore fearsome titans¡­! What shame¡­! Please, Brother¡­ please¡­ no more.¡± Shame? Never have I shuddered at any shame I¡¯ve shown. My days in the Order¡ªdays of being laid low, of being left beaten, bantered, and ablood¡ªall of them I¡¯d endured that I might crawl a mite closer to that tiny light at tunnel¡¯s end. But to stand aside, stayed and made an unwilling witness to her brother¡¯s unbrookable labour¡ªsuch was Felicia¡¯s lot, her lament. Such was my only regret. ¡°Won¡¯t you come with me, Brother?¡± she went on. ¡°Forget this fool fight¡­ Come home? And there find employ under House Valenius; live anew with duty, strive again with dignity¡­ and¡­ and then¡ª¡± ¡°Felicia.¡± Once more, I shook my head. ¡°It¡¯s not to be.¡± My sister, surpassing all pain in her bosom to beg my return. A struggle as clear as it was cutting. But I could not oblige. I can¡¯t go back, Felicia. Nay¡ªI won¡¯t. ¡°¡®Twas we who¡¯d sent you here, ¡®tis certain¡­ but what choice had we!? What more of mercy could we have accorded you!? When so jealously did you hide from us the truth!?¡± Brimming over with emotion, no longer could my sister confine her screams. No longer could she dam her tears. ¡°And still did we assay to send for you! Still we wanted you back home! That recruitment call¡ªyou ought¡¯ve known full-well ¡®twas for you and you alone! How we trusted to your answer¡­! How we yearned for your return¡­! Emilie and I both!!¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°¡­You would betray us, then? Us? Your beloved? Your bloodkin? Our differences, I¡¯ll not deny, but¡­ but are we so fraught? That you would fain forget aught and all you¡¯ve once cherished? Who can find closure in such cruelty, Brother? Who¡­?¡± Felicia¡¯s voice was quivering. An answer for her, then. From this failure of a brother to his long-forlorn sister: a raw, aching answer. Such she deserved, at the very least. ¡°¡®Closure¡¯? ¡®Cruelty¡¯?¡± I broke my silence. ¡°Mere leisures and luxuries, Felicia. Comforts beside the bale and brutality of this reality. It cuts, it coldens, it confounds¡ªall with a smile most serene, all¡­ whilst innocents are pillaged and put to the sword.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°I¡­ I simply stand to strike it all down.¡± ¡°¡­What reality, Brother?¡± she beseeched. ¡°Strike down what?¡± ¡°Londosius.¡± ¡°¡­hh!!¡± she gasped again, fully now, her countenance blanched of all colour, as though receiving at last the full brunt of her brother¡¯s betrayal. ¡°¡­You are set, then¡­?¡± she asked, almost breathless. ¡°You would turn against Kin and Crown? Find fellowship with the Naf¨ªlim?¡± ¡°Kin of Man, kin of Naf¨ªlim¡ªwe¡¯re souls all alike,¡± I returned. ¡°And so I say this: it is because I am a soul that I must stand, fight, and forge on. For my conviction. For my creed.¡± ¡°Then you would strike down your own sister, as well? Dame of Londosius that she is?¡± ¡°If her fall should further peace¡­ yes. I would.¡± Hearing my answer, Felicia stood stunned and hushed. She turned down to the ground, staring at it strengthlessly, as though all meaning and purpose had expired asudden. A still span followed, filled only with the far din of the fray, till at last Felicia¡¯s lips parted slowly again. ¡°¡­simple chore¡­¡± so rose a whisper of hers. ¡°¡­¡¯Tis a simple chore¡­ to break your every limb and lug you back¡­ Know you not my mettle, Brother¡­? How it stands a mountain over your own?¡± ¡°Felicia,¡± I answered, gripping tight the soot-steel. ¡°Not even unlimbed will I yield. No deals will I cut, no quarter will I give. Such is my dignity¡ªand the respect you deserve, as a fellow wager of war.¡± ¡°You foresee my fall, Brother!? By your blunted blade!?¡± she shouted, shooting her gaze at me anew. Her ruby-rose regard¡ªno less lovely it was, even when veiled behind so many tears. ¡°I¡¯m a Dame Brigadier to the Order!! And you!? What¡¯re you but Rolf Buckmann, the ungraced!?¡± ¡°It¡¯s ¡®Rolf¡¯.¡± A blink. ¡°¡­What¡­?¡± ¡°¡®Rolf Buckmann¡¯ is no longer,¡± I stated firmly. ¡°Only ¡®Rolf¡¯ remains.¡± Felicia grimaced. ¡°¡­You would renounce our noble name? Our house? Then renounce it full, why not!? Forget, too, your birth name! Your first gift from Mother and Father!¡± ¡°The first of only few. But nay¡ªI like it enough.¡± A lull. And then¡­ ¡­a roar. ¡°¡­Enough,¡± Felicia uttered lowly. ¡°Enough of this.¡± Drowning out now the drone of distant battle: a deluge of odyl. Streams over streams, swirls under swirls, bright odyl dancing like a storm, in whose eye stood an indignant Felicia. A veritable maelstrom of magick, matching the ire and energy of its mistress¡¯ emotions. The air palpably pressed in from all directions. Skin tingled, senses blared; afore my sister¡ªthis celestine child of heaven-sent sorcery¡ªseemed to bend and bow the whole of the world itself. ¡°Stand against ¡®this reality¡¯, you said? ¡®Strike it all down¡¯?¡± resounded Felicia above the bellowing odyl. ¡°Then let me unfurl for you another fold to this ¡®reality¡¯. One that finds you frail, stricken of all strength to stand¡ªyour reality, Brother.¡± All at once, the storm surged and scintillated. Felicia¡¯s fair features glimmered, her sable-silk hair billowed, her blood-ruby eyes blazed. Mesmerised by the sight for but an instant, I readied forth the sv?rtaskan at once. This was it. The fated fight. The vying of each our full-unveiled resolve. ¡°Know now your folly! Your shame!! And repent!!¡± The Dame Brigadier to the Sorcerers of the 5th Chivalric Order: Felicia Buckmann. My sister. My family. ¡­My foe. Volume 3 - CH 5.5 ¡°Tonitrus!¡± Up swung the silverstaff, down showered the levin-shafts; a stampede of pillars rampaging right my way. I threw myself aside in an instant, and in the next, witnessed numberless flashes slashing through where I once stood. Air burned white, earth smouldered black. In my ears: the cackle of electricity. In my nose: a stench like sweet, seared iron. Tonitrus¡ªone of the basic magicks, but mastered by Felicia unto a fatal monstrosity. Its speed, its spite, all surpassed dauntingly aught a common caster could ever dare. In that briefest of moments, whilst illumined by the lurching levin, my thoughts turned to the 5th¡¯s Sorcery Brigade. With the war effort whipped to a fever following the recapture of Mt. Godrika, the 5th saw then a sudden influx of new personnel. Days of late found the Sorcery Brigade burgeoned to five divisions, each helmed by lieutenants of genuine ability. But high above them all loomed their leader: the brigadier, mightiest of the 5th¡¯s sorcerers. That very soul was afore me now: Felicia, a lieutenant at sixteen years of age, a brigadier at seventeen. For two years thereafter did she hold fast her position, her youth yielding not a seam in her supremacy. Though she¡¯d long stood in the shadow of Emilie¡¯s heroic strength, no mistake was to be made: my sister was a prodigy without peer. All magick-apt recruits learn first the Globus Igneus spell. Felicia was no different. Only, she¡¯d conjured hers to thrice the size of her senior¡¯s example¡ªto this very day, an episode fresh in the minds of the 5th. A sister full-bloomed from bud to flower-field¡­ Perhaps I ought rejoice. Or perhaps not. For over her skyward staff now floated a flaming sphere: fearsome and phenomenal, a veritable sun sent down to this plane¡­ ¡°Globus Igneus!¡± ¡­to immolate this mortal unto embers. ¡ªGwofh! The fireball flew. The air rippled. A glimpse of its magma-red mantles gave away an affrighting truth: this spell¡¯s fivefold size belied an odyllic density manyfold more tremendous. Struck by such strength, I tumbled away in terror¡­ only to find myself aface yet another sphere¡ªFelicia¡¯s twice-incanted trap was sprung. Caught in the ensuing explosion, blows burned and blasted at every facet of my body as I was thrown through the air. Into the dust I crashed, and laid there scorched and soiled, limp and lifeless, a sight formerly witnessed many a time upon the training grounds of the 5th. ¡­Such was the scenario scribed in my sister¡¯s mind. ¡°Felicia¡¯s infallible offence¡±, she might¡¯ve fancied it. How utterly wide her eyes went, then, when they beheld instead not her brother in flight¡ª ¡°Humgh!¡± ¡ªbut his black hewer plunging into the heat of her flames. Boom! Hiss. ¡­Hush. Hot winds coldened unto calm. Snuffed was the summoned sun. Felicia¡¯s fivefold sphere of flames¡ªtwained to naught by a single, sooted sword. ¡°What¡­?¡± she gasped, ill-tracing what¡¯d transpired afore her eyes. The look of sound astonishment¡ªand chance. Seizing it, I speed through the distance between us, bearing the blackblade low. ¡°Ah¡ªech!¡± Felicia stammered. Only half a second now separated us, but alas: my sister sooner snapped from her confoundment and scrambled forth another spell. ¡°F-Flagr¨¡ns Vallum!¡± Bright fences of flame unfurled right afore my face, barring my warpath. With a stamp, I halted¡ª¡°Szyah!¡±¡ªand sheared straightway through the blaze, only to find in its extinguished wake my quarry gone from sight. Quickly I began to scan about, but no sooner did a sound then strike my ears. ¡°A ruse¡­?¡± began a breathless murmur. ¡°Is this some ruse you play?¡± There, from many paces away to the side stood a freshly fled Felicia, gasping and glaring at me as though haunted. To which I readied not words, but my weapon once more. ¡°Some sleight of the sword?¡± her doubting continued. ¡°My spells¡­ snuffed from all sight?¡± ¡°If such be what your eyes¡¯ve seen, then best start believing them¡ªsoon,¡± I answered at last. ¡°N-no!¡± my sister cried. ¡°A bald lie! I¡¯ll not believe it¡­!¡± ¡°Then why the fear? The flight?¡± I said, ever slowly stepping closer. ¡°Come¡ªmeet my blade. Your precious paling ought shield you, shouldn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°This can¡¯t be¡­¡± she muttered again, incredulous, ¡°¡­it cannot¡­¡± Never have I liked such a line. The ¡°impossibles¡±, the ¡°this-can¡¯t-be¡¯s¡±¡ªmere admissions to an unimaginative mind, oft spewed by the more pious of the population. Lambs, doubting adamantly aught they deem deviant from their shepherd¡¯s designs, sooner seeing a hill for its grasses than the wolves prowling its slopes. Naught but escapism, I say. But that Felicia herself had fallen victim to that same vice¡­ As her brother, a pity. ¡­But for her opponent, an opportunity. I bolted forth again, keen to close the distance before my mark could snap out of her stupor. But too late: ¡°Hht!¡± she gulped, flourishing fast her silverstaff. ¡°Feri¨¥ns Flagrum!!¡± Shrieking now against the air: a geyser-whip of grinding waters. By Felicia¡¯s might, it looked ready to rend through rock and armour alike¡ªand make mush of an ungraced, given chance. Halting, I steadied myself and my nerves, and facing the scything surge, sent against it the sword of soot. There: the spell¡¯s angle of attack, aimed not at my neck, but my ankles¡ªseeming proof that not yet had my sister mustered the resolve to reckon with her brother. But for her, it served well enough. Having forced her foe to pause and tame the torrential whip, once again was Felicia able to flee all danger. ¡°Gh¡­¡± she panted from afar, watching her waters unravel against my sword. ¡°¡­Brother!¡± At a loss for words, she puckered her sweat-beaded brows. Fatigue seemed to have set in, but not on account of consecutive spellcasts, no. More likely that a weariness was weighing heavily on her mind, with much thought spun to grasp this absurd situation. ¡°What¡­ what is this? How¡­?¡± she pressed with broken breaths, but again I dared not an answer, choosing instead to study the distance between us. In so doing, I caught a clearer glimpse of her distress: the countenance of a cornered mark. Yet reality knew a different score, for in truth, not once had I gained her enough to attempt an offence. Ever am I disposed to the counterattack, but such proved small avail against a capable spellweaver. Here, my sword was my sole weapon, the game of cat-and-mouse my sole recourse¡ªone finding my foe free to fire upon me at pleasure. There must be a better way. But what? Likely would I be pinned down, and very soon. Forced into error, nailed by a direct blow¡ªmy fast defeat, then and there. Exhausting my mark¡¯s stores of odyl was one idea, but worthy only against the stock sorcerer. No, Felicia¡¯s reserves were unfathomable; a waiting game against her would dig my early grave. The chase it was, then. Begrudgingly, I crept forth, scraping my soles against the gravel and glaring at the gap between us. ¡°¡®What is this,¡¯ I said! Explain at once!!¡± shouted Felicia, soured by my silence. ¡°Explain what?¡± I returned. ¡°Clean up your questions, will you?¡± ¡°My spells¡­! Severed by your sword! How!?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve said it yourself, haven¡¯t you? I severed¡ªsnuffed them out of sight.¡± ¡°¡­Gh!!¡± Her face reddened with rage. A sincere response from a soul most sincere since her earliest days. Indeed, ever was my sister easily thwarted by guile and negotiation. Of course, never have I wished her rather grown to a more cynical and scrying sibling, but to see her so handily heated by a few words well-stoked my worries. Not that worrying for her was any right of mine. No longer, anyway. ¡°Quit your japery!¡± Felicia cried back. ¡°You¡¯ve no such strength! None! None at all!¡± With a twirl, she then held her staff forward and flat, calling unto herself accretions of odyl from all around. The air in their courses coldened unto clouds of diamond dust, glittering and dancing. A stance of artistry¡ªand a favourite of Felicia¡¯s. ¡°Gl¨¡rea Pru¨©nae!!¡± At once, the cold collected into fist-thick hunks of floating hail. Summoning five was already a feat, yet my eyes sighted a greater count: ten¡ªnay, even more so. Rapid chirps next pierced the air. They had bolted, speedy blurs now bound for my midst. Whether inspired by preference or perception, Felicia¡¯s was a shrewd hand to have sent the Gl¨¡rea Pru¨©nae against a foe such as I. Sundering spells was my winning card; not without swinging the sv?rtaskan could it be played. Then perhaps her mind was to employ a spell unanswerable by swordsmanship. Not a flying ball of fire nor a bulwark of flames, but veritable gunne-stones of ice, smaller and many in number, fired all at once to pin down her prey. But just as my sister was no stock sorcerer, so was I no stock swordsman. With scant time left, I stood poised, taking up the low guard and locking my gaze upon the line of fire. Eschewing focus upon any one missile, I took them all instead for a single flock, that I might scry the mind behind their movements. Twelve. That was their count. Eight were aimed elsewhere, to strike me in my escape¡ªor root me down for the remnant four. So be it. Daring no motion, I immediately emptied my lungs and eased my every sinew. Only a slice of a second now till contact, a meagre span for the preparation to follow. But I could not panick. Not here. A misstep and I¡¯d be blasted to bits. Taming my nerves, I relaxed the last lengths of my body and melded my mind into the very air about me. ¡­ .. . ¡­Done. In my eyes: ice, flickering in reflection. In my body: sinews, surging asudden. In the air: the sword of soot, soaring. ¡°Hhhupf!!¡± ¡ªKkhaakkhnn! A shriek of shattered ice. Four tones in tight unison. Struck out of the air by the blackblade, the halved hailstones dissipated into a fine mist. Beyond it was Felicia¡¯s form, standing stunned. Assailed by one absurdity after another, hers seemed a mind scarce caught up to the moment. The feeling was mutual, to be frank, as still was I reeling from our reunion here at the horntip of Londosius. A reunion not of love and levity, but violence¡­ Or perhaps I ought see the silver lining, instead. ¡°A life in want of certainty at least never wants for excitement.¡± Yes. A jolly motto to follow. ¡­Nay. Such na?vet¨¦ ill-lives in so wicked a world. Stung again by the mercilessness of Man¡¯s machinations, I instinctively clenched the sword of soot with renewed resolve. Volume 3 - CH 5.6 ¡°No¡­¡± my sister muttered, lungs heavy. ¡°No sword ought unmake a magick¡­ none¡­¡± A slight shiver haunted her shoulders. Unsurprising; Felicia was a sorceress extraordinaire, a devout of the magicks¡ªand their arrant dependant. To have them all avail her so little, so asudden; to see her Yon¨¢-given talent, her years of toil so clearly cleft in two, surely came as a shock to her. ¡°Yet this sword can,¡± I rebutted. ¡°No!¡± she cried, shaking her head. ¡°What madness! I-I¡¯ll not believe it! I won¡¯t!¡± ¡°Then don¡¯t,¡± I firmly returned. ¡°Believe or deny as you like. If you cannot trust to the truth afore your very eyes¡­ go ahead. Shut them. Shield that pride of yours.¡± ¡°Gh¡­!¡± she winced, a child cornered by criticism. And in scolding her had I been edging closer, prowling with wary paces. Not yet had she reckoned the full reach of my charge, but she should think it quite short, by my guess. Her fatal blunder, if so; what remained was to arrive in range, and¡­ ¡°Striking¡­ shattering my ice in their flight¡­?¡± my sister muttered again, yet mired in disbelief, ¡°¡­you show one deception after another¡­!¡± ¡°Not deception, Felicia. Discipline,¡± I corrected. ¡°The sword has answered my faith. This ¡®twig¡¯ now topples your ¡®titans¡¯.¡± ¡°¡­hh!!¡± A pained expression, not unlike another shown winters ago. ¡®Is there meaning?¡¯ she¡¯d enquired me then. Meaning in swinging the sword, cutting naught but air. Meaning in walking the woeful path, knowing naught but futility. At last, the answer was clear¡ªto us both. ¡°Still¡­¡± she inly wrangled on, ¡°¡­still, I¡­ I can¡¯t¡­¡± Separating us now: a span fewer than five pass¨±s, shrinkable to nought were I given but a breath to dare it. So all along Felicia¡¯s figure I looked, reckoning the rhythm of her respiration. And the instant I scried her body at its laxest, her lungs at their emptiest¡ª ¡°Hhet!!¡± ¡ªI lunged. Felicia¡¯s eyes flashed, her silverstaff flourished. ¡°F-Fr¨©gidus Ensis!!¡± ¡ªVvfaaohh!! About her accreted wintry gales, stopping as soon as they had started. Forming out of them: crystals of airborne ice, keen daggers each, splaying and speeding in now to dice me alive¡ªall twenty of them. ¡°Egh!!¡± I groaned. A score of dancing blades, catching me unawares but with only a single sword to answer them. ¡°Damn it!¡± I broke my charge, bounding off and barely eluding the bladed blurs. Hoary air hissed past. Screeches whistled. Rounding about, they returned with all speed, and facing them, I jerked and twisted to and fro in avoidance as their darting became more and more daring. ¡°So you can twirl that twig¡ªwhat of it!?¡± Felicia cried. ¡°Soon or late, even the mightiest boughs must break!¡± Twenty blades, zig-zagging independently. Twenty puppets, strung to one mind¡ªnow more than before was I reminded of my sister¡¯s prowess. And her limits. A genius of spellweaving she was, but equally a simpleton of sword-wielding: though the blades flitted about fleetly, filling the air with myriad chirps and shrieks, none had hitherto closed in for the kill. Wagering on the safe thought, I began striking them down one-by-one, all the while bearing caution and seeking a chance to charge upon my foe. ¡ªKeekh! Bakhnn! Frozen blades, broken as they sailed and sniped. A clear and crystalline rhythm, during which it finally flickered: a lull most transient. Snatching the opportunity, I leapt forth, sending the black sword towards my sister¡ª ¡ªto stab her straight through. ¡°Aaakh!!¡± A wrenching scream. At last, my blade had met its mark. Yet¡­ all the sooted sword did savour was but a grazing wound upon my sister¡¯s shoulder. The transgression was swiftly chided: unto me then converged every remnant blade of ice. Turning quick, I engaged the deadly darts, culling them till their very last. At length, the air was empty again, with Felicia once more fled to a safer distance. There she was: standing and grasping her left shoulder. Under those tight fingers trickled deep crimson. ¡°¡­Brother¡­¡± she muttered, ¡°¡­has spilt my blood¡­ Brother¡¯s blade¡­! My blood¡­!¡± Laid full-bare was Felicia¡¯s bewilderment. And for me, just the same: a surge of emotions assailing me at once, turbid as it was terrible. Once upon a recent time had I imagined this moment. But to live it was a betrayal against all expectation. Carving through her flesh¡ªthe faint but infallible feeling yet haunted my hands like a memory of murder, a blustery storm beating away at my bosom down to its very depths. Before I knew it, my face was twisted in turmoil, my teeth clenching as though bearing a deathly pain. All sound had sped away to some great yonder, leaving naught but my heart to hammer away in my ears. So ghastly was the struggle that were I any less collected, I might¡¯ve collapsed then and there. Yet I didn¡¯t. I couldn¡¯t. Not here. Not now. This, I had to endure. My resolve, I had to realise. ¡­Yes. That¡¯s right. My resolve. I¡¯d steeled myself for this. This deed that must needs be done. Catching my lungs idled, I resumed respiring. My body, I re-emboldened. My spirits, I resuscitated. From my mind I rejected all remnant sensation of having sheared the flesh of my kin¡­ to whom I next gave my gaze. And whose name spilt from my lips. ¡°Felicia¡­¡± My sister. My bond of blood. The same blood now streaming down her shoulder. Smears and rivulets of red, an ocean drowning my brotherly heart. How it harrowed me to reel it back up, to re-narrow my every nerve to the battle at hand. As this was exactly that: a battle. For the souls I¡¯d sworn to protect. For a future that might foster them all. I forcefully inhaled, feeding precious air back to my brain, before calming my heart and cooling my thoughts¡ªI must needs scry what would come next, and carefully. Above¡ªthat¡¯s where Felicia stood. Above and beyond my prior expectations. An epiphany reached for the first time in this fight, for never could I have imagined her mastery of so close-quartered and contrarian a spell like the Fr¨©gidus Ensis. Oft do battlefields find sorcerers assigned to more distant perches, where they might employ their magicks with precision and impunity. Thus are near-ranged spells left wholly neglected, save for the errant case or by the eclectic adept. With nary a niche to fill nor shortcuts to their arduous mastery, and withal too many subtleties needed for their deft use, such spells are long regarded as naught more than tricks of the parlour. But not so to my sister. She¡¯d taken the trek less travelled, not only mastering one such spell, but availing her very life with it on this day. Felicia Buckmann¡ªa preeminent spellweaver, through and through. Yet one fact remained: not without paying a great toll of odyl could the Fr¨©gidus Ensis be woven. A toll exacted more heavily again from Felicia, for though it had proven a gainly gambit for busying my blade, it was no fewer than a score of the icy-steels that she¡¯d conjured up, and in an instant, at that. As though to corroborate my guess, Felicia¡¯s breathing was now reduced to a laboured pant. Tonitrus, Globus Igneus, Flagr¨¡ns Vallum, Feri¨¥ns Flagrum, Gl¨¡rea Pru¨©nae¡ªand Fr¨©gidus Ensis, all incanted to supreme scale and quantity. Indeed, not even a wunderkind like herself, though availed by a nigh-bottomless well of odyl, could remain untouched by such expenditure. The way to victory was opened, then. But as I pondered how I might wend through it¡ªbang!¡ªclapping through the air next was an explosion, birthed from the bowels of the bastille overlooking our battle. ¡°Mn?¡± I twitched, broken from my thoughts. The cause of the commotion: a Lancea Cal¨­ris spell, like as not. Right; at this very moment were my braves, too, embroiled in their own battle somewhere in that building. To catch wind of their combat ought¡¯ve been obvious enough. But in beholding the bastille so fully did an unnamed emotion begin gnawing away at me. Visions next awoke in my heart. Of Mia, captive and made to suffer in those depths cruelties beyond description. Of her elder sister, forced unto her forlorn fate: to be thrown out of hand into some pit¡ªas a blackened and blighted corpse. Nay. My heart was yet uncalmed, my nerves yet full-frayed, my mind yet a mire. In truth, never had I actually recovered from the whelm of wounding my own sister. A moment of meandering, enough to steal my eyes and wits away from the battle at hand. A newly embarked path, fogging over afore Rolf the fledgeling renegade. Shame, indeed. And an affront to Mia, were she to see me now. And a chance for Felicia. ¡°Hha!!¡± I gasped. My fit of hesitation had yielded her precious time: turning to her now, I found her freshly finished from preparing her next spell. One might wonder, what ensues after a free moment given to a conjurer of her calibre? The answer was mine to know¡­ and rue. ¡°K¨­k¨±t¨®s!!¡± ¡°Mnh!?¡± No! Felicia¡ªa hand from hell she¡¯s played! And now, a great cerulean cell¡ªcincturing me from all sides! All was subsumed in blue. I¡¯d been snared. ¡­Completely and utterly severed from the outside world. ¡°©¤©¤©¤©¤kh!!¡± No time for thoughts. No time to choose. My fey body bent forth. My failing blade flourished. ¡ªGshanngh! Through a facet of the cell the soot-steel stabbed, collapsing the cubic construction straightway. ¡°Ggha¡­ hhakh¡­!¡± Freed from purgatory, I, too, collapsed onto my knees, barely bearing myself up with the support of my sword. From the time the spell had sprung till my escape, naught more than a slice of a second had passed. Yet it well-felt an eternity. K¨­k¨±t¨®s: the most supreme of the freezing magicks. A spell to envelope a victim, and in its infernal space, cease and suffocate all living force found within. A prison carrying out the sole and swift sentence of death¡­ one the sv?rtaskan had more swiftly acquitted me from. But I was not fled without foulness. The instant the cell was erected, its wiles were already at work. And so I was injured. My every limb, my every bone, my every organ¡ªtaken right to Death¡¯s door. Volume 3 - CH 5.7 Heavy. Numb. The weight of a thousand wounds unseen. How alluring the earth looked. Like a cool bed after a day¡¯s labour. Or a warm grave after a wintry life. But still. Still I clung to my sword. ¡°I¡­ I see¡­ Bites that bitterly, does it?¡± so wheezed my words. ¡°No account recalls¡­ any soul surviving¡­ the K¨­k¨±t¨®s¡­ Not till today¡­ A precious precedent, wouldn¡¯t you say¡­?¡± A pained play at composure as I surveyed the violence wrought upon me. I then forced my gaze forward might and main, only to find Felicia standing fallowed of all wit. ¡°Ah¡­. a-aah¡­¡± she murmured, lost and lorn-like. ¡°¡­Felicia,¡± I called to her. ¡°Br¡­ Brother¡­ I¡­ I¡¯ve tried¡­ to k¡­ ki¡­ Br¡­¡± ¡°Felicia¡­!¡± I called again, still bent and buckled on my knees. Straining my eyes, I peered upon her face, watching it well up with pallour. Incanting the K¨­k¨±t¨®s surely must¡¯ve drained her dry by now, but such was not the sole weariness sallowing her. No, for that selfsame spell was a death-magick, conjured by Felicia upon her own brother. Attempted fratricide, then, seemed the ghastlier ghost haunting her hale. ¡°Wh¡­ why¡­? I¡­ I only¡­¡± she mumbled on, void of all volition for further battle. To hail her out of concern, vulnerable foe that she was, might¡¯ve amounted to another betrayal on my part, but none of that mattered¡ªnow more than ever did my sister need her brother. ¡°Felicia, listen to me¡­!¡± I cried once more, whereupon she twitched and turned my way. ¡°¡­Brother¡­?¡± Felicia responded weakly, almost in a whisper. ¡°What¡­ what¡¯ve I¡­?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve done no wrong,¡± I assured her. ¡°Fight, Felicia. Fight! For all you¡¯ve sworn to protect!¡± That¡¯s right. Between us was not some debate to decide whose was the errant path, for cause and creed both were what had brought us to this battlefield. Wagers of war, we and all, forced to follow through on our dearest beliefs. Or die in the endeavour. ¡°B¡­ but¡­ y¡­¡± I shook my head. ¡°¡­No, Felicia. It¡¯s not to be¡­ Would that we each could forge a future together, hand-in-hand. With our neighbours, our brethren¡­ our beloved. But¡­ it¡¯s a sad thing, truly, that such fortune ill-finds every soul.¡± Words awakening in Felicia a frigid shiver. Her face twisted with lament; her lips blanched from all blush. ¡°Yet souls we remain¡­ carrying each our own creed, our own conviction,¡± I continued. ¡°Thus in daring our destiny must we face our fate¡­ We must fight¡ªeach other.¡± ¡°I¡­ I¡­!!¡± Felicia quiveringly cried, tears coursing down her cheeks. Seeing it now, hers was a face most fair, even when wilted with woe. How proud I was, to have a sister so abundant in beauty. How pained I was, to be the brother breaking it all to pieces. ¡°I was ever yours¡­! Ever yearnful, ever yearning¡­! But so asudden¡­! So asudden¡­ did you stop being my dear Brother¡­! The Brother I wanted! The Brother I needed! You took him away from me!!¡± Felicia, weeping and wailing. Many winters of fettered feelings, now taking wing. ¡°Always¡­! Always¡­ have I¡­ you¡­! Ever¡­ ever and always¡­!¡± she went on brokenly. ¡°¡­Yet¡­ and yet!!¡± ¡°Yet forge ahead we must. Fight we must,¡± I returned, rising to my feet. ¡°¡­Felicia. We are foes now¡­ You and I!¡± ¡°Aaaa©¤©¤©¤©¤ah!!¡± My sister¡¯s soaring scream¡ª ¡ªanswered now by a storm of odyl. Sweeps and swirls of armillary magick all around her, unto whom then collected and coalesced many columns of blood-black levin. Stinging and snapping, raging and roaring: throes of thunder rupturing earth and air alike. At such a sight my eyes widened. ¡°This levin¡­¡± Waving forth: my sister¡¯s silverstaff. Behind its grim glimmer: a mournful glower. ¡°If my foe you shall be¡­ then¡­! Then be no more!!¡± Fr¨©gidus Ensis, K¨­k¨±t¨®s¡ªtwo spells that¡¯d earned my every awe. Yet here and now was Felicia daring a deadlier height. Lightning flaming lightlessly¡ªa first to my eyes, but not a doubt to my mind: afore me was a magick nigh-unmastered by any in all the reaches of this realm. Felicia then loosed another scream, as though to settle my suspicions. A scream drowning in tears, retelling the tantrums of her littlest years: ¡°Igni¨¥ns ?cend¨­!!¡± Unto her silverstaff: a convergence of the raven-red levin. Fired new from its silver head: an endless length of lancing heat. Igni¨¥ns ?cend¨­¡ªa magick marking the foe¡¯s flesh and laying forth an ineluctable trajectory. Riding upon that path: a levin-line, sent with such speed so as to pierce through its prey with absolute certainty. Doggedly does it seek. Deathly does it strike. A spell suffering no escapee, no matter the distance, no matter the defence. I quickened my thoughts. Time tarried. In that stilled instance played the vying of our minds, the next move whereof would reckon both victor and vanquished. I knew my hand; what of Felicia¡¯s? My stare turned to hers, to read the heart hid behind that ruby-red regard. And there, I saw it at once. Willfulness. Unwillingness. Half-steeled. Full-sorrowed. A fight unforsakable. A fight unfinishable. There she stood, aface the proverbial crossroads, anguishing in indecision, torn betwixt duty and desire. And in espying her despair did I know her designs: it was not my head nor my heart that her spell sought to extinguish. And neither was it any of my limbs, for in sundering just one would bring no clean end to this fight yet. No. Where she¡¯d aimed¡­ was my abdomen. Back from my thoughts I thundered. Springing to me: a spear of screaming Light. Sweeping afore me: the sword of severing Dark¡ª ¡ªswung to a speed more desperate and defiant than all I¡¯ve dared in my life. ¡ªVhaaahhnng!! Such a shriek shot through the air. And with it, tufts and tendrils of sanguine-black odyl, fanning out in a fading flower-bloom from the meeting of metal and magick. In the wake of the sword-sweep was silken soot, feathering about in ribbons and rivulets. And so was vanquished the unavoidable magick. ¡°Gegh¡­!¡± I groaned, faltering against the gravity of the all-body pain. Still, I endured it and stayed astood. But this was grim. Fatally so. Already I¡¯d taken too many wounds from the K¨­k¨±t¨®s, none visible to the naked eye: my flesh, my organs, my bones¡ªall of them were marred. Recuperation required time, but time was up: Felicia¡¯s next spell would speak my end. Yet, only silence hung. Wending my wavering vision to my sister, I found her trembling uncontrolled. ¡°A¡­ aa¡­¡± she breathed in broken gasps. Was it despair? At having her champion magick unmade afore her very eyes? Or was it indignance? At her faithful forte failing at every turn? Nay. It was both¡­ ¡°Gh¡­ agh¡­ gohokh¡­!¡± ¡­and one more. Felicia had foundered full to the ground, and was now gripped by a fit of vomiting¡ªa symptom of being sapped asudden of all odyl. What I¡¯d thought was an impossibility was here on full display: Felicia¡¯s unfathomable prowess, spent to the last drop. Had she more to her mettle than just magicks, had she honed her craft even a mite more sharply¡­ and had she been any less the sister I¡¯ve always known, then this vie might¡¯ve veered a different course. Indeed, were her words and spellweaving more wiley, certainly could she¡¯ve caught me in some magicked cunning, with the wrath-red levin having long blasted a void through my belly. ¡°Aubh¡­ bwahohh¡­!¡± Yet her miring emotions had got the best of her: unbolstered and unembellished was her Igni¨¥ns ?cend¨­. Thus was I able to answer it in full. An outcome perhaps exacted by our experiences, our paths, once so inseparable, now sundered all those winters ago. Still, the more grievous wounds were found in my flesh, not Felicia¡¯s. If not yet would she yield, then this hour would be my last¡­ ¡°Hha¡­ khahahh¡­!¡± Gently did the curtains close. More so than I could have imagined. With labour and languor, Felicia dragged herself up to her feet¡­ ¡­ .. . .. ¡­ ¡­and turned away. Away, to totteringly flee our blood-feud. Away from this fraught fight, where her magicks had been maimed, her odyl spent unto deficit. A brigadier of the Order, broken in battle, soiled and sallowed, slowly receding into the distance. ¡°Felicia¡­¡± I whispered, watching my once-dear sister in pitiable retreat. Forth went a foot of mine. To find her. To follow her. But my body sooner slumped to the dirt, too weighed down by its wounds. What weakness. And yet¡­ what relief. Relief dirtied with doubt. Doubt for myself. Doubt for my resolve. After desperately defying the twenty blades of the Fr¨©gidus Ensis had I closed the distance and dealt a wound upon my sister. A mere shallow, skin-shearing wound. But was I truly desperate? Too desperate to full-brandish the blackblade? A whole score of airborne daggers had I to answer, sure. But reflecting on it, I did not think myself so hard-put at that time. Something¡­ somewhere in me had stayed my hand. Some part of me, too pained at the thought of slaying my own sister. If not for it, would my blade have broken more deeply into Felicia¡¯s flesh? And found a heart to hew? ¡°¡­A trembling traitor. A second-guessing alga¡­ Is that all you are?¡± A question, quietly and cuttingly directed at myself, as I stared at Felicia fading from all view. Volume 3 - CH 5.8 The main gate laid in ruin. Deep had our flood of braves poured into the concentration camp. The violence had spilt thence unto the open baileys, whereupon did we continue to this moment our bitter vie with the Fiefguard and their Zaharte brothers. ¡°Fr?ulein!¡± called one of my braves to me. ¡°We¡¯ve secured the wounded!¡± ¡°Good!¡± I answered above the din of combat. ¡°We rally now! All of you, together with Staffel Seven!¡± Amidst my hest-giving, the air yonder cracked from an irruption of laughter, wild and bloodthirsted. Stamping next through the warring crush was its source: a bull of a Man, clenching fast in his gauntlets a halberd, long and thrice-bladed. ¡°I founds ye, me dainty dark-sow!¡± he taunted, eyes hooked to me. ¡°Come! Us dance¡¯s not done yet!¡± ¡°Who¡¯s a sow¡­!?¡± I muttered. Unimaginative be Men with their insults for my folk. Yet ¡°dark-sow¡± was a first to these ears of mine, and young frau that I was, the slight pricked too deep into the nerves. An answer was in order, one to remind him who¡¯s the swine for true¡ªmayhaps with a kick to his snout! ¡°Ye¡¯ll be squealin¡¯ soon ¡®nough! When I skins that there ¡®ide o¡¯ yers!¡± he croaked on, gaining upon me with hulking strides. ¡°Tch!¡± Biting my lip, I readied my two longdaggers once more. A sore to admit, but though I craved much his downfall, this Man was proving too hard a boulder to crack. And not only he¡ªby all accounts, our number ought hold the advantage, but ¡®twas in grappling with these coin-Men of Zaharte that our momentum had begun to flag. This halberdier in particular; his might I reckoned two¡ªnay, fourfold more daunting than his comrades¡¯. With but a swing of his three-faced weapon could he mow in twain many bodies at once, armoured or no. And should those bodies be ours¡­ I shudder to think. And thus had I challenged the Mennish fiend himself, to leash his eyes away from the braves. ¡°Yyah!!¡± I shouted, as ill-awaiting his arrival, I bolted forth with my longdaggers, both blades speeding to his neck. But right before they gained their mark, I was forestalled, as up swept next the head of the halberd. ¡°Rrryaah!¡± the Man howled, unshrunken by my evasion, for why I found out soon enough¡ªthe halberd¡¯s shaft-butt followed, whipping up and striking me square under the chin. ¡°Aegh!¡± I reeled back, my vision trembling wild. Yet my body recouped at once, leaping back by its own will and escaping bare the second stroke of the halberd. Earth was axed. Dust blasted. Behind the fuming air cackled the halberdier. ¡°Tricky trotters you¡¯ve got there, eh mirk-swine!? A nigh shame t¡¯shear ¡®em off!¡± ¡°Gh¡­!¡± I scowled back. No doubt was in me now. Smirking mad afore me was none other than ¡°Ulrik¡±, high member of Zaharte and Sigmund¡¯s former battle-brother. With excitement had our witnessing braves recounted it: yesternight¡¯s deadly dance anear the gates of Arbel. Of how, against evil odds, Rolf had left both Sigmund sundered of blade and Ulrik slashed of bosom. If not for their friends¡¯ swift rescue, ¡®twas most certain that the duo were half-eaten carrion by this hour. Such was our braves¡¯ unanimous conclusion, but in my ears, it sounded more a fancy. For how had Rolf done it? How had he kept at bay the two dreadnaughts? And not least cornered them to the verge of defeat? Try as I might, I could not guess; vying with but one of them was proving a fey struggle in itself, for this Ulrik had thus far bared no vulnerability that my eyes could scry. Indeed, yet again was I reminded in full what mountainous prowess there lived in Rolf. Yet I dared not drowse in his shadow forever. And neither could I dare falter against an enemy whom he¡¯d handled with divided mettle. No. I could not fail here. I could not. Too much weighed upon these shoulders. Too much expectation. Too much hope. Child to a jarl though I was, never was I certain to someday sit upon the high seat. Still, in me my people felt much the same fire as my father¡¯s. Burning fiercest was my arm and mind for battle, a talent apparent since my earliest springs and praised for just as long. But as a blossoming frau, never could I receive such war-like words with any real gladness. They instead reminded me of my place, my duty, my solemn honour as daughter to the jarl of the V¨ªlungen. Faces, on one day aglow with expectation and pride; on another, dead-tense in the heat of battle. The faces of Berta, Volker, and many more¡ªall whom I held dear, all who¡¯d long minded me and kept me on the rightwise path¡­ each and every one of them were embroiled in this eternal war that I might thrive in safety, that the meeker of our folk might know some relief from the daily threats at our door. Their struggles, their sacrifices¡ªnone could I baulk. Our home, our dear ones¡ªnone I wished to lose. Thus had I chosen to put my talents to use and fight alongside my battle-brethren. From skirmishes to campaigns, wheresoever my blades were needed, I went. To the banks of the Erbelde, too, had I marched, but ¡®twas there that lightning had struck upon me. A thunderbolt of a Man, wielding a sword no less swift¡­ to outspeed my own daggers, the fleetness whereof I¡¯d long thought was unanswerable. To my eyes, that flashing blade of his was more than some threat: ¡®twas a shot of sunlight, a spark for my awakening, most true. Many other Men in that campaign could¡¯ve boasted of more decorations and storied mettle, not least Londosius¡¯ paragon herself, the sword-maiden Estelle Tiselius, to whom droves of our number had we lost. But all my mind was paid instead to this one Man. For though he was sullied and bruised, cut-up and ablood all over; for though his bones were fain to buckle and his sinews begged for respite¡­ he yet stood, baring his steel and handing me my defeat. Harsh was this enlightenment. To the shallowness of my resolve. To the heights I had yet to endeavour. To the cruelness of this world, where one could scarce protect aught without mastering such depths and summits of discipline. And so I gave myself to it. All of it. For three years on, I relented not in honing my skill, tempering myself with such focus of mind that before long was I deemed fit to lead a Gew?lbe of my own. Yet, ¡®twas not enough. For those same three years saw that Man whetted to a keenness far beyond my imagining. The gap of capability, gaping wider now than even before. Such I¡¯d on the night of our reunion. Such I¡¯d felt as Rolf risked life and limb to deliver my people. Envy was alive in me. Yet in envy I could not dwell; too little time there was for it in the five days since our re-meeting. ¡­A mere five days. The defeat of the hundred-score sackers at Hensen. The bloodless capture of Balasthea. The deception and culling of Arbel¡¯s defenders. The breaching of the fief-burgh. And now, this fatal battle, waged against the remnant Fiefguard after the unexpected death of their lord. All in only five days. Str?m, verging on tearing away from the weave of Londosius: a watershed victory, once but a dream teased by centuries of struggle, now nigh-attained by a week¡¯s end. Indeed none amongst us could¡¯ve thought any of this possible, not as we were before these fateful five days. But upon Rolf joining our cause, so asudden were the wheels set into motion. Against this war was he set. To end it. To defeat Londosius itself. More than aught, I wished not to be left from his great endeavour. No, I wanted to join my hands with his, to help deal the realm-felling stroke, to usher in the long-awaited dawn for my long-shadowed people. I had Berta¡¯s memory, too, to consider. When that second mother of mine lost herself in sacrifice, when the last moment of her life was nearing its end, in her fading eyes did I see some great task meant for me. Knowing Berta, ¡®twas this, no doubt: her little children¡ªshe¡¯d bade me save them. Then saved they shall be. Their futures, assured. This war, ended. But to cut the new path, I must be more than I am. I must be resolute¡­ I must be steeled! Ready to see all my promises to their ends! Ready to lead the charge! To fight till my last breath! Filled with the fires of determination, I flourished my blades, and with a mighty swing, thrust and threw them straight at my foe. Ulrik¡¯s eyes flashed wide. ¡°Nm!?¡± But to my annoyance, his mettle remained unmarred: heaving the haft of his long halberd, he thwarted my thrown blades¡ªkha-khakhnn!¡ªand sent them flying clear up into the air. ¡°Hah!¡± he snorted in triumph. But his eyes had scried not the third blade thrown. A blade¡ª ¡ªby the name of Lise! I lunged and leapt forth to the level of his eyes, seeing them flashing again with surprise at the sight of this ¡°dark-sow¡± in flight. Instinct ignited him as he thrust his halberd at once, but by then had I already flown past its many-bladed head. Snatching swift the haft, I pulled myself further forth¡ª ¡°Gwabfh!?¡± ¡ªto bring these ¡°tricky trotters¡± crashing into his countenance. A dropkick, reckless beyond all reason. In that instant, I felt upon my heels the crunching collapse of Ulrik¡¯s nose. Back he bent, crashing down unto the dirt as blood blew from his nostrils. I mounted him straightway, and snatching one of my blades out of its fall¡ª¡°Haa©¤©¤h!!¡±¡ªdrave its keen point through Ulrik¡¯s heart. ¡ªDhkharh! Deep it delved, down through the Man¡¯s body, nailing him to the earth as an effigy to the altar. ¡°Ghukkhh¡­!¡± he gagged, spewing blood and staining my cheeks. ¡°¡­Ngh¡­ hhaa¡­¡± One final effort from his lungs, and at last all strength left his hands. With a thump, his long-trusty halberd fell out of his grip to rest upon the dirt. His eyes twitched in their sockets as they stared on and on at mine, whilst his jaws quivered, as though in attempt to give air to his last words. But failing, he choked on his blood¡­ and gave his spirit to the winds. Witnessing his end, I drew myself up to my feet and wiped the wet red from my cheeks. A moment, and there next swelled roaring cheer. ¡°He¡¯s slain! The hireling¡¯s slain! A feat by our Fr?ulein!¡± ¡°Praise be to her prowess!¡± ¡°She flew like a butterfly! Stung like a buffalo!¡± That last line, I should remember. And the face besides that dared it. Looking all along the battle about me, I sighted more of the Zaharte hirelings. But what a gladness, that our braves had held fast to wiser tactics, engaging the sellswords with many against one. And by my reckoning, no more foes of Ulrik¡¯s equal ought yet remain here¡ªthis battle, then, was on its last throes. What was left were the captives¡¯ extraction¡­ and the enemy commanders sitting in their perch: the siblings Viola and Theodor, themselves the greatest threat on this battlefield. Not by my present mettle could I fell those two. No, just Ulrik had me close enough to Death¡¯s door. But I fretted little. For hunting them down now was an ally of ours, whose own mettle was skies above my own. We shall win this, then. Win, and on this day, see new-changed the course of history. But tarrying now will bring it no closer. Driven by the thought, I turned back to the battle at hand, ready to show my dawned resolve. Volume 3 - CH 5.9 ¡°Holst¡± was his name. V¨ªlungen brave and able-armed Staffelhaupt, here upon the battle at Arbel¡¯s concentration camp was he found not fighting amidst the fray, but accompanying Rolf Buckmann in breaking into the bastille, that they might rescue the Naf¨ªlim captives within. Only half a handful of other braves were bolstering their number, but that was just as well, for the bastille vicinity was vastly vacated of foes, who had long left their posts to join the battle. One enemy, however, stood in wait. Taking it upon himself to deal with this lone opponent, Rolf bade Holst and the others hasten ahead and see their task to its end. They could but trust in his strength, and so obligingly entered the bastille without his further succour. Inside, too, did they find little resistance. After making quick work of the few guards remaining within, Holst and his comrades wrested a ring of keys and swiftly set free all the captives they could find. Scarce more than a score were saved, each soul withered and weakened to a degree, the worst of whom were to be healed by the l??e amongst the liberators. It was during this lull that Holst then paid care to the faces of the freed. Civilians. That was all they were. Meek and innocent folk. Men and women, young and old. A miracle! Holst inly rejoiced. Oh, a miracle, indeed. For how many more were already lost to waste and woe? How many more sent away with coin-lusting slavers? How many executions? Inexplicable sinnings? Unexplained corpses? Too many. Far, far too many. That twenty and more yet lived, then, was truly a miracle. In this, Holst found some solace. Yet such solace ill-supported his sagging shoulders. ¡°Marko¡± was his name. Younger brother to Holst, and just the same, a soldier to a Hensenite host. But half a winter prior, pale tidings were brought. ¡®¡­Marko¡­ is captured¡­¡¯ So reported a brave to a dumbstruck Holst at that time. Unlike his Staffelhaupt of a brother, Marko was ever a timid soul, sorting little with his pluckier and more proven peers. ¡®¡­Were I only as strong as you, Brother¡­¡¯ he would oft confess to Holst. And thus never could Marko have made a mighty stand against his Fiefguard captors as they cuffed him in chains at the end of an ill-starred skirmish. That same Marko was not here. Not amongst the captives. Not in the gaols, nor the dungeons¡ªnowhere in the bastille. Much can happen in half a year. Holst knew as much. Yet he held on to hope, however hopeless it might have seemed. But to see the gaols now all empty of his gentle brother proved a heavy weight upon his heart. Would that Marko were simply sold away, and to this moment, was making the best of his lorn lot as a thrall. Perhaps upon a field cutting crops, or spading mounds of manure, or even serving some domestic household, setting tables or tending a garden. Such was Holst¡¯s next hope. But more probable still was that Marko had indeed passed in this pitiful place. At this, Holst frowned. And Marko smiled. ¡­If only in the sombre mind of his elder brother. ¡°Marko¡­?¡± came a whisper. ¡°Is it you, Marko¡­?¡± Startled, Holst looked up from his dark thoughts. There he found afore him one of the captives: a frail yet summer-yeared fellow of a Naf¨ªl. But almost as soon as their eyes met, the fellow himself was startled in turn before bowing down dejectedly. ¡°O¡­ oh¡­ f-forgive me,¡± he stammered. ¡°Of course not. Of¡­ of course not¡­¡± ¡°Marko is my brother,¡± Holst revealed. ¡°You know of him?¡± ¡°His brother¡­? Ah¡­ I-I see¡­¡± the fellow said, his voice slowed by some sudden hesitation. From it, Holst guessed the worst. ¡°¡­Tell me,¡± he nonetheless implored. ¡°What became of him?¡± After a heavy moment, ¡°¡­Marko¡­ has joined the winds.¡± At the very least, Holst had half-steeled himself for such a revelation. Still, he could scarce stop his vision from vaulting, his legs from going limp, his heart from sinking to his stomach, when Marko¡¯s fate had found his ears at last. But this was yet a battlefield, and he a soldier. And thus somehow did Holst manage to keep himself on his feet. Oh, Marko. Dear Marko. My gentle, crybaby brother Marko. How worried you made me when you followed in my footsteps. How proud you made me when you revealed your resolve. Marko¡­ Once more, Holst frowned and furrowed every corner of his face, that he might dam his tears before their coursing. But amidst the failing effort, he found himself surrounded asudden by not few of the captives. ¡°A kin¡­?¡± one said. ¡°A kin of Marko¡­?¡± ¡°For true,¡± another whispered. ¡°Lo¡ªhow alike be his eyes!¡± ¡°G-good Herr!¡± yet another spoke, now directly to Holst. ¡°Your kin, Marko¡ªI owe much to him! To dear, dear Marko¡­!¡± ¡°¡­Owe¡­?¡± Holst wondered aloud, puzzled by this development. He then looked to the fellow who had first approached him. ¡°Marko gave us hope,¡± was his explanation. ¡°Saved us he has, each and every one.¡± What followed were accounts of Holst¡¯s humble brother. Of his life here at the concentration camp. Of his one simple, yet dauntless and enduring deed, undared by any other: that of giving hope when no hope was to be had. ¡®¡­All right, a hundred points this time¡­! ¡­Should next to come ¡®round ¡®¡­Ah, I know your face¡­! ¡­From that village three Meilen down from Hensen¡­! Broke my heart you did once when I was a wee boy¡­!¡¯ ¡®¡­Not to worry¡­! ¡­We have our lives yet¡­! ¡­We have each other¡­! ¡­Things¡¯ll look up as long as we do¡­!¡¯ ¡®¡­No no¡­! That can¡¯t be the bald-pate¡­! ¡­Lo¡­ he yet has a lawn on him¡­! ¡­Well¡­ more a tangle of weeds¡­ ¡­But still¡­! Such things he had sunnily said to his cellmates, at any time he had guessed the turnkeys to be out of earshot. Oh, what mirth he had shown, unshaded by mirk or misery. What wideness of heart, to share his words even with those too coldened for conversation. But with time, those very words had begun to warm the ice in their spirits, till dawned the day his mirth was gladly returned. Yet never long does any dawn go without gloam. Eventually, to Marko came a quotidian malady. Unseen to, his strength began to wane day after day till his very last. But in that time, not once had his mirth quit his mien. Not once had he given up on giving hope. ¡°Long lost, left to quail in our corners¡ªsuch was our sure lot, had Marko never helped us,¡± so concluded the Naf¨ªlim fellow. In Holst¡¯s ears, heard was every word. Welling up in his bosom were springs of emotion, each turning to tears he could no longer stay. He knew it then: Marko was strong. Stronger than he. Stronger than anyone could have ever known. Not every battle bears meaning. Not every cause is commendable. But Marko¡¯s was a worthy fight. Into that fray had he flung his whole being, and in so doing, saved his fellow sufferers. But not yet was the fight finished, for Holst swore anew to send safely home the very souls Marko had saved. The deed of one brother, endeavoured till death. A torch taken up by the other, to see it done to the very last. ¡°Herr Holst, the healing is finished!¡± reported the l??e. Scrubbing away his tears, Holst exhaled deeply and turned to the huddled captives. ¡°Now we must move. Come!¡± he commanded. Activity buzzed anew. Taking point, the braves began guiding the captives through the corridors. But then, the walls flashed. ¡°Down, down!¡± Holst cried. Heads cowered. Heat screamed. Shooting over them was a spitfire of a spear: the Lancea Cal¨­ris spell, bursting into brilliant flames as it crashed into the brickwork. The air gusted, the passage pealed, the captives wailed. Through the noise barked the voices of Men. ¡°Not so fast! It¡¯s here or hell for you devils!¡± ¡°Let¡¯s ¡®ave ¡®em bound, boys! Lop off ¡®em limbs, if need be!¡± ¡°A¡­ a fine sh-shield they¡¯ll make! Heheh! H-hurry, lads! It¡¯s home soon for us!¡± Aface the fleeing Naf¨ªlim now was a file of Fiefguardsmen, few in number, but frantic all the more. From their words, these Men were come for hostage-taking¡ªa final bid to quit this ill-fought battle with their lives. Not amongst them did Holst sense a leader. Deserters they were, having severed themselves from command to cut their own course¡­ but in the deed their dignity had decayed into desperation, their once-sound judgement now rotted down to an insanity, as made evident by their bulging, bloodshot eyes. These Men were lost, then. And lost as they were, surely would they¡­ ¡®¡­seek solace above all¡­ But allowed none¡­ they will find it where they can¡­ even from the death-wails of innocents¡­ as though to crave companions on their way to hell¡­¡¯ Rolf¡¯s prophetic words, ringing clear now in Holst¡¯s ears. A most-sound decision, then, to have endeavoured this rescue right in the midst of battle. Had he arrived but a moment later, surely would Holst have found the captives all slain out of delirium and desperation. No. Best save such thoughts for later, when all swords are sheathed and the captives safe and sound. Watch well, Marko! Your brother fights your battle now!! So inly cried Holst, as with bared steel he flew into the Fiefguard ranks. ¡ß ¡°Hahh¡­ hhah¡­¡± Holst panted heavily amidst the sudden silence. ¡°Quick, now,¡± he urged the others, ¡°to the east exit!¡± They had numbered five, the Fiefguard foes, an equal count to Holst and his comrades. But having to fight with one hand, whilst protecting the captives with the other, surely should have found the braves direly disadvantaged. A solace, then, that they were as honed and cohesive as they were, hand-picked for this precarious mission, and thus unmatched by Mennish rabble in their madness. Still, the victory left the braves spent and scathed. But comforted by nary a casualty on their part, they resumed their extraction of the captives from the bastille. The escape went apace; soon the escorts and their escortees emerged out into the open, and with speed and softness, stole through the camp towards the eastern service gate. ¡°Blessings upon you braves,¡± one amongst the file uttered; to wit, the fellow who had first heralded to Holst¡¯s ears the fate of Marko. ¡°We thought ourselves forgotten, fated to die deep in this Mennish place. Yet here we are¡­¡± Indeed, that the captives had kept lit the candle of hope was much due to Marko¡¯s good spirits. But never had any amongst them dared imagine that such a day as this would ever dawn. A woe well-warranted. This was Arbel, after all, a fief-burgh and fortress-defended fastness of Men. And where were they but deep in the dark crannies of a concentration camp, left locked and forever lost. Though they could scarce believe it, Marko truly did have the right of it: things were finally looking up. Such disbelief was shared by Holst himself. Tell this tale to him a week prior and he would have passed it off as some pitiful fancy. But just five days¡ªfive¡ªfound that fancy bearing fruit, fostered by whose hands but those of a Man. In the course of their escape did Holst turn his mind to that selfsame soul. Rolf¡ªhis was the semblance of an adversary but the sword of an ally. Recalling his duel against the Zaharte hireling, Holst reckoned that blackblade of his to be brandished with deep resolve, and to a mastery unreachable by common rigour. Hatred was in Holst, to be sure. Hatred for the Fiefguard that gave Marko his death. Hatred for Men and their malignity. And shame was in him for nurturing such hatred, but it was little helped¡ªnot till the coming of Rolf, that is. In remembering this Man did Holst have new hope for Men, that perhaps all of their number need not be hated. Yet it seemed irony was the fates¡¯ favoured toy for this day, as appearing now were the very sort of Men that Holst so hated: Fiefguardsmen, lying in wait at the service gate itself. ¡°¡®Ere come th¡¯chickens! Flyin¡¯ from th¡¯coop!¡± one of them jeered. Holst clenched his teeth. ¡°Curses!¡± Five, too, were the foes here. But advantage was now on the side of Men: all the combat had left Holst and his comrades drained, and out in the open as they were, there was neither shade nor shelter with which to shield their escortees. A dire situation. Would that help were on the way. From beyond the service gate, some valiant souls, perhaps, who might avail them and pincer off these waylaying Men. So wished Holst. But wishes were just that: wishes. But in wishing did Holst spy a happening¡ª ¡ªthe service gate, breaking open with a bang! Only, coming through it was yet another Man. Why!? Holst howled inside. Why so foul a fate!? He stood there, stunned and sapped of spirit. But as he kept watching the woe unfold, his eyes flickered at some familiarity in what they beheld. That Man. Once before had Holst seen his face. ¡°Hwogh!?¡± A low, guttural groan from a Fiefguardsman. Blood splattered. Sharpness shimmered. Flashing in the sun: the sword of wild Sigmund. Volume 3 - CH 6.1 The ?stbergs. Down the watchtower steps they wended. Strength seemed to strum in their very strut. ¡°But I would first know your will,¡± I shouted to them from below, bearing my voice above the distant din of battle. ¡°You¡¯ll not sue for your safe surrender, I take it? To lay down your arms aside your slain, who number now half your failing host?¡± Such I asked of the sister, whose sliding gauntlet upon the railing roused a ringing hiss through the air. ¡°You take aright,¡± she answered. ¡°Half a host is quite the bargain for that head of yours.¡± ¡°One to be plated and served before Central, no doubt,¡± I guessed with narrowed gaze, earning a faint smile from the Zaharte captain as she alighted upon firm ground. ¡°The prey knows his plight,¡± she remarked. ¡°How¡ª¡± Viola¡¯s words vanished. Air whooshed; her form, too, was gone. Blurring unto my bosom now was a hawk-speed spearhead, like a limb of levin, in an instant traversing a stretch of many strides. Bringing my blackblade in, I guarded against the bald ambush, extinguishing its odyl withal and swinging back in answer¡­ only, I didn¡¯t. Such was Viola¡¯s desire, her very her tactic: to tempt my defence and thin my thoughts from Theodor, who would surely wind about to spear me from behind. Nay, espying their deception, I dared a different answer altogether. ¡°Hhet!¡± I twisted my torso, letting Viola¡¯s thunderswift thrust pass through where my breast had been. But the sudden spear was too precise¡ªin its wake splashed a plume of sparks as its enwreathing odyl ran across my breastplate, gashing open the metal and grazing my flesh beneath. But I merely winced; this was a wound well-accounted for. Straightway I shot past Viola¡¯s side and assailed Theodor, who trailed just behind his sister. ¡°Mn!?¡± he gasped, eyes wide. Glimpsing my low-stanced sword, Theodor jerked and leapt clear away at once. Viola followed the instant after, and soon were the siblings reunited, their spears and battle-spirits re-poised. Had the brother committed instead, fully would he¡¯ve reaped a reprisal from my blade, but alas, both he and his sister had proven that their fame was no fluke. ¡°Our mark moves well, Sis. Too well¡­¡± the ?stberg brother muttered. The grin on his lips was gone; many men would¡¯ve bitten Viola¡¯s bait, only to find Theodor¡¯s spear sprouting out of their bosoms. That such did not come to pass here seemed to have piqued their caution. ¡°A hart, holding his own against hunters as honed as we. Fancy that,¡± Viola said to me. ¡°Or might you be a hunter yourself? Long on the trail for our heads?¡± ¡°The predator doubts her odds,¡± I retorted. ¡°How¡ª¡± Now was it my words that vanished¡ªor were stolen, rather, as speeding unto me once more was Viola, her spear intent upon a lower mark: my thigh. A different target, a different tactic, likely to lure out my side-retreat instead and set Theodor to waylay the very landing. And so for the instant, I stood my ground and swatted away the sister-spear before bounding back by many paces. Thwarted, Theodor ceased his charge with a stamp, his surprise most apparent even from behind his sibling. ¡°Sis, I daresay he¡¯s studied our spears,¡± he doubted again. But Viola shook her head. ¡°Nay, I say he scries them. An eagle-eyed wolf we¡¯ve welcomed to our den.¡± In addressing her brother¡¯s worries did Viola¡¯s visage then shift unto full sharpness¡ªthe glare of a lioness. Down low she bent, as about her spear shaft clenched fingers fain for the hunt. Then, parting her lips, she drew a gentle breath and uttered: ¡°Rugi¨¥ns Tempest¨¡s.¡± Viola¡¯s voice: clear as crystal. Her spear: the eye of a storm. The air whipped as razor winds raged and whistled asudden about her weapon. Plumes of dust were lifted and sucked into the vortex, nigh-veiling the spear in a formless sheath; the work of an aeolian ensorcellment, moulding a mundane polearm into an all-pulverising maelstrom¡ªa madness of magick, mastered by masterful hands. ¡°Hhyah!!¡± Viola cried, thrusting forth her tempest-spear whence she stood. From the motion, the maelstrom shrieked and streamed in a twisting stampede, great in size and grinding away the earth as it went. In my direction, it blasted. In my eyes, it ballooned. ¡°Heagh!¡± I full-heaved my body to bound aside, saving myself from the screaming, slashing cyclone¡ªonly to be beset by a thrust from Theodor¡¯s spear. ¡ªKkhangg! So rang our vying arms, barely audible above the violence of Viola¡¯s vortex. ¡°A wolf, for certain¡­!¡± her brother seethed, gnashing his teeth at my timely defence. Though timely only by a bare margin, for in Theodor, too, was a change: now was his speed a world apart, no doubt amplified by the miracles of his own magicks. But our exchange lasted not long; the winds wailed again to greater volumes. Theodor then vanished right from my eyes. In his absence: another squall of blustering blades, headed right my way. I fled the fury again with as long a leap as I could muster, only to be ambushed by the ?stberg brother once more. ¡°Ssyet!¡± he rasped, his spear lunging as I landed. Frowning, I fended off the attack, ¡°Stubborn¡ª¡±, and followed with a blade brandished from below, ¡°¡ªmuch!?¡± Dust and soot sprang in the sv?rtaskan¡¯s slashing wake, only to be blown away by the ambient gusts¡ªwithin which my mark was nowhere to be found. No, yonder he stood, having fled the instant his offence had failed. A textbook example of a hit-and-run, but executed to extraordinary speed. This seemed their style, of how the heads of Zaharte hunt their hares: Viola¡¯s hand was the hound, loosed to lead the target into Theodor¡¯s deathtrap of a spear-charge. From the outset was this so. Only now was it revealed to its full and frightful fury, frustrated by an over-elusive prey¡­ or impelled by what prestige my decapitated head would requite them. ¡°¡­My storm, your spear¡ªwith skill he skirts both,¡± Viola remarked to her brother, having joined him anew. ¡°Rare in this realm, his mettle.¡± Rarer still was their cutthroat cohesion, I¡¯d say. Waste-laying winds, lightning-speed spears¡ªlike a true storm did brother and sister strike. And the one tasked to its stilling: this lone and yet-wounded swordsman. What was he to do? When pounced by a pack, strike first the chief, as they say. By all accounts, Viola fit the bill. Hers was the baton conducting this combat¡¯s rhythm. If I could wrest it from her, then much advantage would be mine. Only, there were twisters wielded betwixt us, and such a deathly distance I dared not cross, for ¡°deathly¡± was no exaggeration: her maelstroms showed clear the sheer potency of her magicks. A mistake here, and I would be ripped to ribbons. Such was the problem. What of solutions? I knew of none yet, but a hint gave me hope enough: to attend Viola¡¯s wild winds and Theodor¡¯s fleet offence¡ªsimultaneously. And in due course might a chance present itself. No jester would dare such a juggle. But already was I deep in the act, and any errant ball now would spell my swift death. ¡°A fine specimen of an opponent you are, Rolf Buckmann,¡± said Viola. ¡°And a seldom opportunity besides, to unfurl our wings in full.¡± ¡°Would that you¡¯ve taken me yet for a timid ungraced,¡± I said back, ¡°then such a sweat would I not¡¯ve shed.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± Her smile slanted up like a scytheblade. ¡°Pity about that.¡± A regard both recognising the might of her mark and reckoning the gruesome end she would surely wreak upon him. Most would know despair at this point. But in this tunnel, I spied a light. Or rather, a saving shadow, one held fast in my fingers: the soot-steeped piece to solve this puzzle. For the siblings, all begins with the wicked winds spewed by Viola¡¯s spear. Few are they who would dare challenge such a monstrous magick, but I counted myself not amongst that forlorn lot; cut the currents with the soot-steel, and they would be broken unto breezes. Then and there could I close the distance and vie for victory. But neither Viola nor Theodor should be so na?ve. They were seasoned wagers of war. It was their very livelihood, their very claim to fame. That I could undo magicks with but a swing of this sable sword ought be known to them by now. Indeed, their tactics seemed tailored to trounce the very trick. Play against the twister, and Theodor would surely be there to land the checkmate¡ªat a speed and timing I could scarce answer, no less. In fact, likely it was that he¡¯d been abiding the very move. Then should I strike Theodor down first? Read his manoeuvres right back at him? And counter in the same instant he sets himself upon me? A princely ploy, but one checked by his speed. Misjudge his rhythm even slightly and it¡¯s this heart that would be skewered through. Right. Cool and calm, then. Keep the course. Watch the siblings. Seize the chance. But as though to harry the very effort, attacking my ears again were the ghastly gusts¡ªa third twister thundering in, likely to persuade out of me another side-escape. And so I played along. Holding the sv?rtaskan low, I leapt clear aside¡ª ¡ªand in the act, brandished the blackblade. ¡°Hgh¡ª!?¡± Surprise flashed on Theodor¡¯s face as he appeared right in the path of the sword-swing. Sensing success in that instant, I drave the dragonseared blade ever forth to fell the ?stberg brother. But then¡ª ¡ªffvvwoohh!!¡ª ¡ªblasting in was the fourth storm. Volume 3 - CH 6.2 No! The winds¡ªwielded again too soon! Surprise was now mine to savour; escaping here required sacrifice. But there was nothing for it: reining in my every sinew, I stopped the soot-steel from finding Theodor¡¯s flesh. All fighting form broken, I then threw myself away from the twister¡¯s warpath. Like a thousand whips, its currents licked and lashed as it blasted through, battering my body with the shockwaves wuthering in its wake. Grit and gravel rained as I tumbled to a halt. Left bent on a knee, I glanced back, discovering a long gash hollowing the ground where I¡¯d been set to seal Theodor¡¯s fate. But amidst the aftermath was the man himself nowhere to be seen. Struck by his absence, I leapt away once more and re-steeled myself for any coming surprise. This was a foul turn. Never had I imagined Viola capable of volleying so monstrous a magick. ¡°Sacrifice¡± indeed; had I tarried to fell Theodor, most surely would I have shared his grave. The thought alone wrung a cold sweat out of my back. ¡°Sorry, Sis.¡± There yonder: Theodor¡¯s voice as he appeared not in another ambush, but several paces from his sister. ¡°All well and fine,¡± Viola answered with softness. ¡°My storm is your shield, Theodor. Not on my watch will that sword of his seam your skin.¡± ¡°That, I¡¯ll not doubt,¡± her brother nodded. More than ever did it cut clear: trussing these two was trust unshakable. Aught less would¡¯ve made such coordinated combat an impossibility. The spearmanship of the ?stberg siblings; far indeed did its fame ring throughout the realm, and not with any hollowness, either. Viola¡¯s voice sounded again, wintry now to its former, sisterly warmth. ¡°You¡¯re looking more the haggard hog, Rolf Buckmann. Lo, how your sweat shimmers,¡± she observed, bearing her spear as a hunter does afore a quailing quarry. ¡°What, this?¡± I said, aware again of my fatigue. ¡°What man wouldn¡¯t swelter? To see so fair a fox as yourself?¡± ¡°What man would dare so deftless a line?¡± she quipped, cold and undaunted. ¡°Do try not too hard, cherry boy. Your gloze is glass.¡± A stinging retort. And piercing withal in its truth: that line of mine was, in fact, a gamble of a gloze, a mask for my flagging mettle. Rolf the ¡°haggard hog¡±, for certain, one wasted and wounded before even chancing this battle, no less. But what of it? This was no spar, no display afore feasting princes and their fawning courtiers. A war this was; to hie into the fields of fighting yet full-hale is itself the seldom scenario. ¡®Even should blade and bow be broken both, abandon not the stroke of hope.¡¯ Such was writ in the martial manuals. And as ¡°hope¡± would have it, here in my hands was the soot-steel¡ªa blade not to be broken. Yes. There was hope yet. But one to be wielded at haste, for to this moment were the braves of Hensen embroiled in battle. Here, then. Here must my idle complaints end and the curtain call begin; another second¡¯s delay dooms one more comrade to the coffin. If my strength is as a waning flame, then let it feed upon a new fuel: my very soul. Only then can I cut these commanders down, and hew from them the dusk to this dire struggle. ¡°Hhaa¡­¡± I exhaled; hot-headedness now would sooner find me hewn, instead. Thus I cooled my nerves amidst my full-kindled spirit, that I might better scry the thread so key in solving this skein. And in so doing, I found in that moment a flicker yet in my heart. Up from the fathoms it flitted. Then to my lips it lilted. And through the air it fluttered, bearing a name well-known to my ears¡­ and a red memory to my sword. ¡°¡­Felicia,¡± I uttered at last. ¡°¡­A handful she must¡¯ve been, that sister of mine.¡± ¡°¡­Ah. That¡¯s right,¡± Viola almost sang. ¡°So, had her wish fulfilled, has she, that Felicia? How heartwarming.¡± ¡­What? Viola¡¯s words. Had I heard them awrong? Or had Viola indeed aired something most amiss? Silly, even? ¡°And yet here her brother stands, defiant to his plight¡­ and deaf to her pleas, I should imagine,¡± the elder ?stberg continued. ¡°Tell me. Whatever happened to that poor girl?¡± ¡­¡±Whatever happened¡±? Was Viola truly dim to what had transpired between Felicia and myself? Was such a thing possible? The ?stberg siblings; high upon the watchtower were they perched, all through the course of the day¡¯s battle. How, then, could they not¡¯ve gleaned so fraught a familial fray, if even for a moment? ¡­Nay. The possibility was there, that our duel had been but a wood in the forest; however broad the ?stbergs¡¯ view of this great battle might¡¯ve been, it rattled reason to expect even their eagle eyes to find every fight. Indeed, such was the sheer chaos that was now flooding through the camp. A chaos that had demanded their full mind in commanding their dying men. But was it demanding enough? Distracting enough? To have cast wax over their eyes and ears for any sight or sound of the Buckmanns¡¯ war-like bickering? Yes¡­ Thinking on it, Felicia and I had not fought for very long. No, not at all. Our combat had escaped their ken¡ªof this, more and more was I convinced. Or was convincing me in and of itself a card in their cunning hand? This I could not scry. Clouds hung now over my own ken. Mired in rumination within, I thought then to look without. To wit: at Viola. The meaning in her mien, the inquisitive quivering in her eyes, the rhythm in her respiration¡ªat all of these I peered¡­ ¡­and could espy from none the swindler¡¯s port. Only one way to find out for certain, then. Steeling my sinews and bracing my bosom, I¡­ ¡°What matter now, my renegade?¡± she called, cocking her face slightly. ¡°A muted mouth ill-makes a man more the charmer, you ought kno¡ª¡± Once again were Viola¡¯s words severed. But not by her own will: straight to her I shot, shouldering the soot-steel full-brazen. ¡°¡­hh!?¡± For an instant, her countenance cracked with confusion. My sudden offence seemed a fright upon her foresight¡ªand a suicidal move to all eyes beholding, a prey hurrying into the hunter¡¯s snare. And so down the irons bit. ¡°Hhyah!!¡± Viola was a mercenary vaunted to high heaven. Never could she be taken aback for too long, nor deceived to much success. And so with all swiftness did her ensorcelled spear spring forth, unfettering the fifth storm in this fight. Billowing and bellowing, the bewitched winds whirled wildly my way. Not once. Not in the gate-breeching battle of yesternight. Not in the camp-capturing combat on this day. Not once had I sundered a spell, save all that Felicia had brought to bear against me. Not once. Sigmund and Ulrik, too, had I fought, sure. The swordsman¡¯s cheek, the halberdier¡¯s bosom¡ªtheir flesh I¡¯d severed unstopped by the palings protecting them. But piercing palings was a common sight. Unmaking magicks? Not so. The ?stbergs, then, knew not what fangs this wolf hid. Straight unto me stampeded the tempest, a whirlwind to whelm the wits and grind to mince any man it devoured, flesh, bone, and all. But I fled not. Charging ever forth unto Death¡¯s storm, I raised the weight of the wolfsteel off my shoulders, and from on high, heaved it down full-stroke. ¡ªFwghohh! A sound of finality¡ªthe sole remains of the maelstrom as it settled instantly unto silence. At such a sight, ?stberg eyes widened. The gamble of a guess proved a profit. Never had Viola taken my foolhardy charge to be aught more than just that. Never had she thought it in my power to still her storm. That such an act, of killing spells with but a cut of the sword, could beckon much bewilderment from a foe¡­ such was the lifesaving lesson from my own sister. Indeed, it was bewilderment that now manacled the ?stbergs in place. But only for the barest mite of a moment. That¡¯s right. A mite of a moment, not much more than a blink. Yet in that blink were they arrantly defenceless. A blink I did not let escape. Baffle their minds, unmake them in the while: the sword of surprise, swung to success¡­ along with the soot-steel, as it arrived upon Viola¡¯s midst. Blackness flashed. Through my hands ran the rattle of mortality. Of a blade burrowing through flesh. Volume 3 - CH 6.3 Blood leapt out of Viola¡¯s bosom. To the ground she buckled, her knees striking the red-dappled dirt. And in that moment, a bare, quiet moment, she turned to her brother. There, a look was shared between them. ¡°¡­Th¡­ dor¡­ I¡­ I¡¯m¡­¡± Quivering, quieting words, last upon the lips of Viola ?stberg. Strength failing, she fell full upon the earth, limp fingers freeing her windless weapon. ¡­Ssheeeng! Shooting in was another spearhead, set to stab me through. Twisting out of its way, I bounded clear back and took post far from its vengeful wielder. No follow-up came in pursuit. I soon understood why: his spear was less to pierce me dead, and more to remove me from his sister. When next I saw him, Theodor was hunched over her unbreathing body. On and on he stared at her, blank and speechless. Yet no matter how long he looked, what was once shared a moment ago was now forever a memory. ¡°Hgh¡­¡± he grimaced, face graven with grief. A grief that then grew into a wild, wailing anger. ¡°¡­Nghaaa©¤©¤©¤©¤ah!!¡± ¡ªKhsangh! Sword and spear clashed. Theodor appeared right afore my eyes, bearing down might and main upon the blade that had so savoured his sister¡¯s blood. His face flashed wroth; pure spite was what had sped him unto me in the single blink. But driving away the joust, I dared an offence in turn. ¡ªKhakhr! Khshanh! Metals struck, shrill and shrieking. Sparks spat, bright and braying. Over and again, weapons pouncing and parrying. Along its course was Theodor¡¯s skill on full and frenetic display, so much so that a lesser eye might¡¯ve measured him not a master, but a man driven mad with misery. To mine, however, such could not be farther from the truth. Ten trades, twenty¡ªa crescendo of checks and challenges, the end whereof found us both famished for air. Breaking away in tandem, we then stared each other down, stealing glances here and there to survey again the span between us, all the while catching our breaths with due caution. I had much confidence in what my lungs could endure, reckoning them a summit above Theodor¡¯s. Yet with magicks was the spearman¡¯s body bolstered, and so did the fight find us, heretic and hireling, equal in at least that respect. ¡°Hhah¡­ haahh¡­¡± Theodor breathed as laboriously as I, brimming at the eyes with vengeance. And yet¡­ ¡°¡­A gamble,¡± he soon said. ¡°That¡¯s all battle is. A gamble wagering the greatest stakes. A gamble you¡¯ve won¡­ against my sister.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Foeship poisons. Fury imprisons,¡± he went on, cuttingly quiet. ¡°Not on the battlefield do vices as these avail. This, my beloved Viola has oft said.¡± In uttering the name of his dearly departed, the bereaved brother bit his teeth with such force that all his face began to shudder. His hands, as well; gloved and gauntleted though they were, a glance could well-glean just how bitterly they wrung at his readied spear. ¡°¡­And yet!!¡± he cried, sudden as a lash of lightning. ¡°How my veins swell with venom!! How my heart howls behind its bars!! Never to know solace till yours is run full-through, Rolf Buckmann!!¡± Against such ire, my brows fell. ¡°I know¡­¡± I said. ¡°¡­I know.¡± Emotions erupting from within; a bosom thundering and throbbing so, that unbearable becomes the urge to scratch and rake away at it, flesh and feelings all, just for some semblance of solace¡ªthis, I¡¯ve never lived for myself. But in living upon the battlefield did I come to know the existence of such a scouring experience¡ªand the terrible toll it exacts. ¡°¡­You?¡± Theodor hissed, shaking his head. ¡°You know nothing!¡± A seething accusation followed by a fierce lunge. Afire was the fray once more. ¡®You know nothing.¡¯ The words cried deep into my core. Indeed, never had I lost a loved one who so shared my blood. Why, I¡¯d even made the very decision to lose them. Someday, somewhere¡ªby my own hands, no less. Should needs demand it. Should the fates see it fit. Who am I, then, to know aught? But I do know. Of those that have suffered such loss as his. Of those that struggle on, day after day, despite the pain. I do know. I have to know. For another choice was made: to walk alongside them and give mind to all their grief. And so, Theodor. I know. ¡°Dyahh!!¡± spiritedly sprang my cry as I brandished the black sword in kind. There did blade and point bite and peal, each dread-driven, each seeking to prove the worthier pain. The crack and crackle of combat, conducted once more to the horror of the very air as it shuddered at our every strike. ¡°Some witchery you wield, is it!?¡± Theodor screamed amidst his masterful spearmanship. ¡°That so damns the odyl of my spear!? That so stilled my sister¡¯s storm!?¡± In want of some warrant for his guess, the ?stberg brother¡¯s eyes stabbed and studied my ensuing expression. A vain effort, for surely he knew how near he was to the mark; he had wits enough for it, as attested by the feats he¡¯d shown me thus far. Or perhaps it was merely that he wished to hear the confession from the criminal¡¯s lips. ¡°A gift, then! For the ungraced!¡± he shouted on. ¡°Your Inquisition!¡± A fey absence followed¡ªthe odyl girding his spear was now gone altogether. In its stead was a twice-cruel increase elsewhere: the further quickening of his offence and the infuriation of his strength. No doubt there was, then¡­ ¡°Hwoo©¤©¤oaahh!!¡± ¡­that every dew of odyl was now devoted wholly to bolstering his flesh. Howling, Theodor battled anew with bedevilled desperation, his spear hacking and hasting more ravenously than ever before. I fought back, barely keeping afloat above my surprise for my foe¡¯s choice, a clear challenge to all conventions of combat as it was. Indeed, the weapon was what deserved odyl, not solely the sinews, lest the blade fail against a paling and punishment be meted in turn; a misery my own flesh recalled much too well. All told, neither was I the conventional foe, nor this sword of soot a mundane threat. Theodor perhaps chose aright, then. If his spear-odyl should die against every touch of the sv?rtaskan, then better to bolster his body with the magicked might, and seek the killing strike all the more surely. Still, to be so inspired to play so wayward a hand in the heat of battle¡­ Certainly no easy feat, that. But such was the deed plainly on display. ¡°Heaaa©¤©¤©¤ahh!!¡± Louder still clapped his cries. More rapidly again lashed and lunged his snake-like spear. Overvied and overwhelmed, it was only a matter of time before my own blood should stain the scene. ¡°Ghegh!¡± I groaned as a graze gushed and shot across my shoulder. Between my own sword and my own sinews, I lost not in a contest of might. Indeed, a single blow of mine ought overpower any that Theodor himself could produce, body-emboldened or no. The rub rested in his rapidity: his spear was now striking sooner than I could answer. But not only that. Hardly was he led about by such helter-skelter haste, as a master is overwhelmed by his unwieldy beast. No, Theodor was no meek master. With skill seldom seen was he reigning in his unruly speed to perfection, yielding a performance that matched most mete with his style of spearmanship. Dwelling in defence here would earn me my doom. And so, readied against risk¡ª¡±Hhyet!!¡±¡ªI lurched and wrought forth a sweep of my blade. ¡ªGhsseengh! A line of sparks spouted. The tip of the dragon-tempered sword sang¡ªhaving but shallowly sheared across Theodor¡¯s cuirass. No good. Too long was the length between us. A gap of half a pace protected him more surely than any armour could. ¡°Hateful hound! You hunger for more¡­!?¡± Theodor rasped as he recoiled. ¡°Then you have it!¡± From view he faded. Right afore my eyes, a vanishing like a jester¡¯s trick. Though not for long: far off he appeared again. But another instant found his spearpoint speeding to my throat. ¡°Egh!?¡± I gasped, guarding straightway against Theodor¡¯s thunderflash offence before returning in kind a centrewise cut. But the blackblade bit naught, its too-nimble mark already in retreat to an unchallengeable distance. ¡°What speed¡­!¡± I huffed, taken aback. Theodor ?stberg. Above all whom I¡¯d made battle against, in all the years of my life, did he stand as the speediest¡ªabove even Lise herself. This was grim. Were he to commit to this tactic, of hitting and running with the agility of living levin, then his victory seemed all but certain. ¡°Hyaaagh!¡± ¡°Ghegh!¡± And commit he did. Over and again, Theodor thundered in with a blurring thrust, only to then escape clear from the crime. The cruel continuation carved wound after wound out of me, each of which I¡¯d only managed to avert from my vitals with a dogged defence. But, thoroughly thrashed as I was, not for much longer could I overlook my mounting loss of blood. Yet the situation persisted, one so dire and deathly that even a simple blink of the eyes engendered much danger. Here and there darted my vision. Here and there dashed in his spear. A repetition of barely gleaning and barely guarding, my very life put on the line with every move. ¡°This wolf yet keeps his wits whetted¡­¡± Theodor hissed amidst a new lull in his lunges. ¡°Rolf Buckmann! You¡¯ve hid your fangs all too well!¡± From yonder he glowered, his face shadowed with a new shame. ¡°Never have I feigned blindness for them. Never have I weighed your war-worth any lesser than its due. But now I see the veil masking my eyes! The deception skewing my scale¡­!¡± Frayed with frustration, my foe clenched teeth and spear alike. His anger for his ungraced foe remained aglow as ever, but hounding him now, too, was anger for himself. Perhaps for making too light of this prey¡­ only to pay the too-heavy price of his sister¡¯s life. ¡°Likewise, Theodor,¡± I answered, haggard and hoarse. ¡°Over-bright was your sister¡¯s shine¡­ to have so enshadowed the superior strength in her own brother¡ªI ought¡¯ve felled you first when I had the chance.¡± Viola was whom I¡¯d thought the deadlier threat. A thought earning now none of my thanks. No, it wasn¡¯t Viola, but her own brother, Theodor ?stberg, who rightfully held claim as the most affrighting beast upon this battlefield. Volume 3 - CH 6.4 ¡°¡­A strength,¡± Theodor reflected, ¡°superior to Sister¡¯s? As I am now?¡± Together his lips pressed, as though to some pain. ¡°¡­A beloved, lost. A strength, gained. This wound wails, Rolf Buckmann, when in so reckoning, you rub into it the salt of irony!¡± ¡°What irony, Theodor ?stberg?¡± I returned. ¡°That only torn from Viola could you attain to your potential? Or that you ill-see your soaring strength for what it truly is¡ªa fitting sendoff for your dear sister?¡± Viola¡¯s creed had walked in lockstep with the cruelty that was Londosian canon. Why, she¡¯d sacrifice a Naf¨ªlim child if it furthered her fortunes. And for that, I could feign no fellowship with her. For that, she full-deserved her defeat. Still¡­ Still, to label her as little more than an enemy, some mere hurdle to be hewn, would¡¯ve been blithe of me, or baleful, even. As I ought bear the blade of resolve in my hands, so I ought make of my eyes the clear mirrors of measure, that I might judge my enemy justly, and even vouch for any valour he has revealed. Lest I in turn fashion myself a foe deserving every profanity spat at me. Lest I lose my way and betray, too, the people to whom I¡¯ve made my promises. And so do I look to Viola ?stberg, and see the faceted soul that she was: a callous sellsword, a capable commander¡­ and a caring sister with true cherishment for her brother. For what else accounts her last words? Her last thoughts for Theodor? ¡®¡­I¡­ I¡¯m¡­¡¯ ¡­¡±sorry¡±. For leaving too soon. For living no longer by your side. Till the bitter end did this sister worry for her brother. Then so should his newfound strength well-lay her worries to rest. Theodor, now strong upon his own two feet, stronger than even his loving sister¡ªindeed, what better keepsake for her parting spirit? ¡°¡­¡± Unbroken was that quieted brother¡¯s stare upon me, with eyes distant, with ears yet ringing with my words. In his mien was enmity, of course. But something else, as well. Something, misting in and out of sight. ¡°¡­¡®Look ill beyond the ungraced label¡¯¡­¡± he seemed to recite. ¡°¡­Always the fool that falls for his own folly¡­¡± Such introspection earned my puzzlement. But that moment soon ended as keenness glinted again in Theodor¡¯s regard and a thunder returned to the air: that of his voice. ¡°Enough! It¡¯s high time I bled you dry, Rolf Buckmann!¡± Thus resumed his lightning-flash offence, flickering in and out of reach, striking as he pleased, leaping away from any retaliation of my trying, only to lunge back in for another bite. Against such fury, I could but defend desperately and more desperately still. ¡°Gghh¡­!¡± I groaned with grinding teeth, drowning again in this sea of chanceless exchanges, of dodging Death time and again by mere slices of a second. Would that Theodor¡¯s spear were slower by even a mite, then most certainly could I have answered it in full. But that selfsame mite of a difference gave the ?stberg brother all the advantage he needed: over and on were dealt grazes and gashes upon my person, with none given in kind to the offender. Diverting odyl from his spear to his sinews, then, had proven to my opponent the champion¡¯s choice. ¡ªBshhrr! Across my thigh opened a slit most straight, drawn by Theodor¡¯s low-lunging thrust. From it flew fresh blood. How deeply I desired to endure it all, that I might glean some gap in his rhythm and mount a timely counter. But at this rate, defeat by futility seemed my singular fate. Had I some way to strike my foe from a distance, if only to check or distract him¡­ yet my only means here was held in my very hands: a sword. A furrow twitched upon my brow. This was the exact same situation when I¡¯d faced Felicia: unceasingly assailed from a distance, with no sword-swing of mine ever reaching its mark. ¡­Hold there. Felicia? Surely I¡¯ve gained something from her, from fending off those fey spells of hers. Indeed this must be so. As Theodor himself had moulded his mettle to vie with mine, so should I assay the same. To vie with him¡­ must I vie with myself. My yesterself. To moult into a mightier man must Rolf of today triumph over himself of yesterday. But needed for that feat were the boons of today¡¯s battles. Then, I remembered it. A spark in the dark. Felicia¡¯s final offence: the Igni¨¥ns ?cend¨­. The dart of death, the surestriking shot¡ªsundered by a swing of this soot-steel. If even that could be cut, then Theodor himself ought fall to the same sword. I had but to recall the moment. When Felicia¡¯s blood-black levin collected. When that blistering line then lunged forth. Against it, I¡­ ¡­At once, I eased my every sinew. A taut string sooner snaps; in looseness, too, lives power. A tenet of the sword; a lesson I¡¯d long left half-learnt. But aface Felicia had I felt closer to its secrets than ever before. Untangle all tenseness. Empty all exertion. Cast from the conscience the boundary between flesh and atmosphere. Meld the mind with the ambiance about. Envision flesh as water, free and flowing. Be as Nought. Sense the instant to strike. And as it comes, let Nought become Numberless. There shall prodigious strength and speed be born. This all, I ventured. Voided of vigour and unfettered from faculties, I then sought Theodor¡¯s flickering form, waiting, waiting, waiting for the moment of his arrival, for when the very shimmer in his eyes could be seen with all clarity. And when that moment came, I flooded my body full with brunt, and brandished forth the lightless blade. ¡°Ssyah!!¡± Sword and spear instantly intersected. Two blades blazing trails, a contest to sooner scythe the other¡¯s master. ¡ªZzkkhrr! The sound and sensation of rupturing flesh. ¡°Ghhh¡­!¡± came a rasping groan¡­ ¡­from whose throat but mine. Naught but air did the soot-steel savour, whilst given to Theodor¡¯s spear was a feast of ungraced flesh, ripped fresh from my flank. Still, not yet was my life forfeit, a fact perhaps espied by the ?stberg brother, as rather than wreak the mercy stroke, he once again retreated and stared me down from a distance. ¡°A close one, cur!¡± Theodor cried in concession. ¡°Full-maimed might I¡¯ve been right then and there, had some prior wound of yours not stayed that sword!¡± An eagle-eyed estimation. Indeed was I yet harried by the hid wounds from Felicia¡¯s K¨­k¨±t¨®s, enough that any deftness dared by my sword seemed a dullness. But such was too poor an excuse¡ªit was my guess that had failed me, and made of my sword a fool¡¯s swing. Theodor¡¯s was a thinking mind, not some insentient magick, loosed upon a mark like some fevered foxhound¡ªeven if such magick were mighty as Felicia¡¯s Igni¨¥ns ?cend¨­. Answering his spear as I did my sister¡¯s spells, then, was a blunder from the beginning. ¡°You really are too perilous a prey,¡± my foe hissed. ¡°Not till your beheading can this huntsman breathe in peace!¡± Pouncing, Theodor began once again his gashing and gouging rampage. And true to his word, my death by a thousand cuts seemed his most desired design. ¡°Kh¡­ ghuh!¡± On and on I struggled, blood and sparks spitting every which way with each exchange. Little by little, Theodor¡¯s lancing lunges whittled away at my flesh. Most miserable amongst them was the wound through my side as it gushed with greater crimson. At such a rate, my collapse loomed nigh. Yet there was hope, one hid from Theodor with all stealth¡ªstep by step had I been sidling up to a certain spot, all the while warding off the speeding spears with as best a play at desperation as I could feign. ¡°Soon! Soon!¡± Theodor almost seemed to sing. ¡°You¡¯ll see it soon enough! Your ender¡¯s end, Sis!¡± It was right anear that very same sister of his where I next arrived. This was it. My second scheme. As fancied before: a means to strike my foe from afar. ¡°Hha¡ªah!¡± roared Theodor, returning fleetly for another joust. Foreseeing his approach, I kicked up Viola¡¯s weapon from the ground and, catching it in one hand, reared myself back to readiness¡ªfor a last resort of a spear-throw. How utterly leaden it felt in my fingers. Certainly not a thing to be thrown, this. But neither was the sword of soot a thing to be swung. Yet if even that could I master, then¡ª ¡°Sseh!!¡± Full-fast flew the Zaharte spear. Only, where it went was not the body of its late wielder¡¯s brother, but only his feet. In other words: exactly as aimed. ¡°Nngh!?¡± Startled, Theodor jerked and jumped to escape my schemed attack. But such was his momentum that the mere jump became a long and shallow leap¡ªand a prison besides. Airborne, no longer could he correct either course or career. Taking the opportunity, I bolted forth and heaved the blackblade in an overhead slash. ¡°Zzyaa¡ªah!!¡± Fine soot misted, trailing the sailing steel. Thereafter shrieked shorn armour and flesh¡ª ¡ªthe sound of Theodor sundered in his flight.