Month: February 2025

Disclaimer: This is not the final version as it will be available from the usual e-book sellers and eventually, bookstores. Rather, it should be seen as an (almost) final draft. If you are interested in becoming a beta reader, or you have any comments, suggestions or thoughts that you feel I should consider before publishing please drop me a line using the contact form.

Marchmain

More than two decades after the Battle of Vanidil, Ala was returning from a long patrol in the north of the Westmarch. The intervening years had been her customary routine, with most of her time spent doing militia work. She still split the rest between her other passtimes, mostly extra sword practice, helping out training unruly horses and her mostly nightly forays into the forest for mushrooms and the occasional hunt. She still visited Maiden’s Tower, it was her private refuge when she wanted to be alone. It was an overcast day when she spotted a child running towards her and militia troop, screaming at the top of her lungs. It took her a just a moment to realise that the girl, who was about twelve years old, was screaming for help. Ala spurred her tired mount towards the child and vaulted off the horse when she came close.

“Quiet, quiet. Slow down, it’s all right, tell me what happened?”

“My da and Indi, a boy came from the town…. he hurt them… was doing things to Indi…”

The girl was trying to say everything at once making it hard to understand what she was saying.

“Alright, slowly now, first, what’s your name? And your da and ma?”

“You have to help Indi!”

“Alright, we’ll go, show me where.”

She took the girl with her pulling her up onto her horse in front of her after she had mounted. She signalled the rest of the patrol to join.

“Alright, which way and what’s your name?”

“Over there, I’m Martha…” she said, hesitating as Ala spurred the horse, “My da is Callum Pierson, my ma is Hannah…”

“Tell me what happened while we ride.”

Ala knew the names, it was a small farm about two miles north of Thetwick town, it was just over the next rise.

“A boy came… looking for Indi… we’d talked to him at the harvest feast…”

“Do you know his name?”

“Gordon… Marchmain… the Constable’s son…”

Ala became very apprehensive. There had been trouble surrounding the boy before. It had always seemed to evaporate though, no doubt orchestrated by his father and older brother.

“Then what happened?”

“He wanted Indi to go with him…. for a walk he said… she didn’t want to… we both know not to go with a Marchmain, he became angry…. my da… he came to see what was happening… the boy hurt him… he didn’t get up,” the girl burst into tears.

“Quiet now, we’re on our way to help… try and tell me what happened next, how did you get away?”

“He hit Indi, very hard,” she said, in between sobs, “I took little Jake and hid him… in the attic, between the rafters… then I went to find help… the boy… he was doing things to Indi…”

Ala’s blood boiled and she spurred the tired horse a little harder, they were almost there.

The scene they came upon was grisly. Callum was quite dead, his throat cut. Indi, short for Indira, too. Her body lay with her dress pushed up and her throat also slit. Ala tried to shield the girl from it, but she had already seen as they rode up. She just stood, staring.

“Come, Martha, we have to see if Jake is alright,” said Ala. “cover them with something,” she whispered to Willard, the senior militiaman present, as she passed him. He nodded in understanding.

The boy was unharmed. Ala had to consider for a moment what to do. She might look like she was about seventeen years old in human years, but she still had far more militia experience than anyone else present.

She turned to Willard, “I’m going to try and find him. Take the patrol and the children to Bernard, he will sort them out. Leave some men to guard the bodies.”

“Your horse is already tired and you have little idea where he went, Ala,” said the always sensible Willard. It was why Bernard paired them together. Willard was no genius, but he was sensible and steady, which was a useful counterpoint to Ala’s more volatile nature.

“He can’t think he can get away with this, can he?” She turned towards Martha and called to her, “did the boy from the town see you or your brother?”

It took a moment for the girl to realise she was being spoken to, “err, yes mistress… he saw me at least… I was with Indi…” she couldn’t say more.

“Did he have a horse?”

Martha nodded, unable to speak.

“Look,” said Willard, “his mount will be much fresher… and who knows what the Marchmains may have gotten away with in the past?”

“There are witnesses! He raped and murdered!”

“I know Ala, it’s unthinkable, but you shouldn’t go after him alone.”

“I’m going. Get to Bernard, tell him what happened. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She mounted and rode in the most likely direction, which she judged to be south, towards Thetwick and the river. Even if he planned to lay low for a few days, south would be the sensible choice as he would be able to elude trackers by using the river. It wasn’t long before she realised she would either have to ride the horse to death or give up. She had spotted a few fleeting signs that may have been tracks, but had lost whatever it was by the river. Riding up and downstream a ways looking for tracks hadn’t turned anything up. She rode back to town, frustrated, towards Hank’s farm where Harald the son of the man who had died during Ala’s first skirmish, worked.

“Hail, Ala, what’s amiss?” Called Harald. He knew her well and there was no doubt of her expression. He was about twenty years old now and Bernard had arranged for him to be apprenticed to Hank, one of Thetwick’s most reputable horse breeders.

“Gordon Marchmain has murdered two people. I need a fresh mount to continue the search!”

Harald only considered for a second, before he gestured for her to come to the stables, where he quickly saddled a brown gelding for her.

He spoke as he worked, “you mean to go after him alone?”

Ala sighed, “odds are I won’t be able to even find him. He’d better hope he eludes me… if he doesn’t, I doubt a trial will be needed.”

“Don’t do anything rash, Ala,” he said as he finished saddling her new mount. “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” she said as she mounted and turned to ride off, resisting the urge to kick the cold horse straight into a gallop.

She immediately rode back to the town proper. Bernard was gone of course, he would have gone to the farm. She passed by the Marchmain estate too and stopped in front of it a moment, observing, but she saw nothing indicating that a rider might have recently arrived. It was one of the few homes with a paved courtyard and the main street in front of it was also cobbled, making it impossible to make out tracks. It would be foolish to go inside alone, she knew the Marchmains employed guards. She rode back to the Piersson Steading.

Bernard was there, with the Scribe who was looking old and infirm, the Constable, Willard, more militiamen and a cart to transport the bodies. There seemed to be a tension in the air.

“Find anything, Ala?” called Bernard.

She shook her head, “what tracks I found seem to end in the river. No way of knowing if he went up or downstream. Couldn’t pick anything up at the Marchmain Estate either.”

The constable gave her a nasty look, but said nothing. She rode over to Bernard, who was almost eighty but still remarkably fit.

“No doubt it could be anyone but Gordon Marchmain?” Asked Bernard.

“The girl, Martha, identified him immediately. Said they’d met at the harvest feast. Do we know where the Martha and Jake’s mother is?”

“Hannah is visiting family in Larkhill. I’ll send word, but it will be a while before she can get back, I think.”

“Can I take the men and find Gordon?”

Bernard glanced over at the Constable, “that’s supposed to be his jurisdiction…” He shook his head, “he’ll never do it and if he does, they’ll never find Gordon… organise it. No point in going before dawn, you’ll have no luck at night. Probably have no luck at all, but we should still do it.”

They both glanced up as they heard someone approaching. It was the Constable, “Captain, errr, mistress Alagariel, I’m sure we’ll be able to clear this up by morning. We’ll find who ever is involved, probably bandits or the like.”

Ala looked at the man, deciding on the spot that he knew exactly who was involved. The only way he could know, unless it had been premeditated, was if he had seen or spoken to Gordon. She couldn’t imagine the Constable jeopardising his position by condoning something like this, so he must have spoken to Gordon since it had happened, she decided.

“You know precisely who is responsible, Constable,” she hissed, “and probably know exactly where to find him… just so you know, when I find him, I will split him lengthwise.”

The Constable got an ugly expression and only just managed to stop himself saying anything. Ala wondered whether Gordon would make an appearance if she slowly split the Constable lengthwise too, but quickly decided he would certainly elect to save his own skin instead.

“Night, Constable, we’ll have a search party ready at dawn, you and your assistants are welcome to join,” said Bernard as he led Ala away. He knew her look.

Bernard was right of course, about having any chance at night, which irritated her. They all rode back to town though Ala left the group among the first few buildings. She went to ride around the area near the Marchmain estate. She had a hunch that he would have simply gone there, perhaps by a round about route, but it just seemed the sort of thing someone who thought the world existed for their enjoyment might do.

After two hours of it, she realised she wouldn’t make any headway. She’d tried to question some villagers but quite aside from the normal reluctance to talk to her, the people who lived near the Marchmain estate seemed afraid to say anything against the Constable or his house. Frustrated, she rode back to Bernard’s house, who was still up. He was sitting with the two children, one on either side of him. They were both fast asleep. He extricated himself from them, being careful not to wake them and made certain they were well covered in warm hides. It was still chilly this year in Levansbrol. He gestured her into the kitchen so they could speak.

“No luck, I take it?”

She shook her head.

“It would not surprise me if we never find him.”

“What? Where would he go?”

“The Marchmains have friends. In Oakharrow for instance. In Taladaria too. Odds are the Constable will ship him off to somewhere. Gordon went far too far, even for a Marchmain, I think. The Constable won’t punish him for it, but he can’t have his younger son compromising his position. He’s probably also worried you’ll make good on your threat.”

“I fully intend to. You don’t think he’s at the Marchmain estate? We could just go there.”

“That would completely compromise my position and rightly so. Where would Thetwick be then? I doubt he’s there. The Marchmains are too cunning for that. Odds are the Constable sent him off to wait for instructions somewhere the moment he realised something bad had happened.”

“So, I’ll just wait and follow the Constable!”

“Moment’s passed, Ala. Either he’s already had instructions on what to do, or the Constable will have something passed to him by someone else under his sway. We can’t search the whole Westmarch.”

Ala bit her lip, “I can’t let him get away with it!”

“Bide your time, young blade mistress, you’ll catch up to Gordon Marchmain one day I’m sure, if that is what you want. Ride out in the morning, search hard. It will probably be to no avail, but at the very least, it will be good for the town if we are seen to be doing it.”

It was hard for Ala to lay down and rest, though she knew she must. She rode with the search the following morning, which, as Bernard had predicted, turned up nothing. The children’s mother came rushing into town ten days later.

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Disclaimer: This is not the final version as it will be available from the usual e-book sellers and eventually, bookstores. Rather, it should be seen as an (almost) final draft. If you are interested in becoming a beta reader, or you have any comments, suggestions or thoughts that you feel I should consider before publishing please drop me a line using the contact form.

Sitting it Out

Put like that, Ala really couldn’t do anything but acquiesce. The Westmarch men that were sent to the army ended up taking part in a big battle in Taladaria. It eventually became known as the Battle of Vanidil after the fief that lay closest to the battlefield. The orcks never came south into the Westmarch in any number, there were only increased sightings of small bands that were driven off by the hunters and miners that plied their trades in the south of the Westmarch. Only once did she run into a group of orcks with her patrol, near the foot of the Irins. Bernard wanted to be certain the road to Ford Inn was safe so they were riding cross country, a few miles south of the road where the land started to rise into the Irins. She had stopped the patrol. All ten of them, as was customary, sat on some high ground where they had a good view of the Irin mountains. The weather was slightly overcast despite the time of year, but the light was good and she could just make out movement, seeing figures heading down the mountainside quite a way to her east.

“I see movement, over there,” she pointed in the direction. “Perhaps a group of figures.”

“I wouldn’t mind some of that elven eyesight, even half of it seems to work wonders,” quipped Willard. He peered in the direction she pointed. “I can’t make anything out… or… maybe… some movement? Could just be the light, fooling me, though?”

Willard Balderson was her second. He was only twenty-two, but he had proven himself very dependable and was more interested in the affairs of the militia than most and motivated to learn soldiering, too. His father was one of Thetwick’s most successful horse breeders and quite rich by Thetwick’s humble standards.

“Looks like they’re on foot. Setting quite a pace, too.”

“So, you’re saying a group, on foot, moving fast, coming down from the Irins? Sounds like orcks, if I were to guess?”

“Could well be. We’d better take a closer look. Bernard said to be on the lookout for scouts. We prefer not to have them reporting back.”

“Don’t suppose you can see how many they are?” he asked as he turned his horse.

“Even my eyes aren’t good enough for that, sorry.”

They rode hard, making for the next rise that should give them line of sight to their quarry again. They came to its crest, which should put them perhaps a mile from the group Ala had seen, assuming they didn’t change direction. She observed where she thought they should be by now. It didn’t take her long to spot them. Definitely orcks, she counted fifteen of them. Several had crossbows. One or two carried swords and wore some metal armour, the rest had spears and clubs.

“Well, definitely orcks then,” said Willard, with a bit of a worried look. “More of them than there are of us, too.”

“Yes. Too many, I think.” Bernard had explicitly warned her not to think of orcks in the same terms as raiders from Oakharrow. An orck was far stronger and tougher than a human. He’d suggested counting each as two men, to get an idea of when you were outmatched.

“What do you want to do, Ala?”

“You take one of the others and ride to Thetwick. Bring out at least twenty more, archers especially. You must move quickly.”

“Understood. How will I find you?”

“Assume they carry on in the same direction. If they don’t circle back through here, I will mark a trail, you remember how to read the markers, right?”

“Of course I remember,” he said, annoyed that she might think otherwise. “I’ll get moving.”

It had been easy to follow the orcks after she had found their trail. She diligently left markers for Willard to follow when he returned with reinforcements. It was a rough few days. Keeping up with the orcks’ speed wasn’t hard, but they didn’t rest for long. Eventually, Willard caught up to her again and they devised an ambush. The orcks had found the road to the Ford Inn by now and had turned West, heading for Thetwick itself. When Ala and Willard sprung their trap, it was devastating. The Thetwick archers opened fire at long range. They were well practised after so many years under Bernard and Ala’s tutelage and the range meant even the Orcks understood that they would all be killed before they managed to approach their assailants. The orcks turned and ran, only for the survivors to run into Ala’s cavalry unit, now reinforced to forty Thetwick men. She cut down two of the orcks herself in the initial exchange and chased down two more survivors, that had managed to get out of the ambush area. She was very careful about their massive size and strength, but the destrier she was riding more than made up the difference.

When she made it back to the ambush site, she found out that two militiamen, riders, had been killed in the exchange, despite the enormous numerical advantage. Several more men were wounded, a few quite badly. Several men stood guard over two wounded orcks. One of them was older. After Ala had checked on her own wounded militiamen she went on to see the orcks. Bernard’s orders weighed heavily on her mind. He had said she should execute any orck prisoners. They were incorrigible, he said. They were too dangerous to be kept as prisoners and if you released them, they’d be back to kill you next season with their friends, he’d warned.

The two surviving orcks were quite different from one another. The bigger one was clearly old for an orck. Ala wondered whether he might have been the scouts’ leader. The other was young, very young. Adolescent by human standards. She decided that she might as well try and gather some intelligence, however unlikely she was to learn anything.

“Do you speak common?”

The old orck responded in a guttural tongue that she couldn’t make head nor tail of. She pointed to herself, “Ala,” then to him. “Who are you?”

The old scarred orck spat on the ground in front of her, earning him a kick by one of her militiamen. She tried once more, pointing at herself, “Ala,” then pointing at him, gesturing in a questioning manner.

The orck clearly understood what she wanted. He frowned and growled, “Okox.” The amount of hatred and disdain the orck managed to put into one word was impressive.

She thought Okox must be the old orck’s name. Either that, or it was a orckish curse, but the defiance that had been behind it made her decide that a name was more likely. She made several more attempts, trying to find out what the objective of the scouting might have been. The orck would say nothing more though and the rest of the words he used probably were curses directed at her and her patrol.

Eventually, she gave up and focused on her next dilemma. She considered taking the orcks to Bernard, but he often talked about how orcks were completely unintelligible. He would understand nothing more, she was certain. Though she attempted to avoid the conclusion for another hour, she finally made the grim decision to execute both of them. She had to do it herself, she felt. It was unpleasant brutality, no matter how quickly and cleanly her blade killed them. It left her feeling nauseated and dirty. The only thing left was to bury the orcks in a shallow communal grave and prepare the bodies of fallen Militia men for transportation back to Thetwick. With all that done she could finally report to Bernard. She didn’t sleep very much that night.

That was the only thing of note that she experienced in Thetwick during the time of the orck attacks that culminated in the famous Battle of Vanidil. Bernard eventually even sent Willard to join the Duke’s army when a request came for yet more troops. He arrived just in time for the great battle and served with distinction. Eventually she understood that it had been her duty to stay in the Westmarch, but she was still disappointed. Several people from Thetwick had gotten killed either at Vanidil or the skirmishes surrounding it. Gerry Kettle, the friendly smith who had let her use his workshop to restore her blade, was among the men who didn’t return from Taladaria. One of the Williamsons, from the Bullstead, was also among the numerous dead.

If you wish to receive the weekly installment to this story in your inbox, please subscribe to the newsletter below.

Disclaimer: This is not the final version as it will be available from the usual e-book sellers and eventually, bookstores. Rather, it should be seen as an (almost) final draft. If you are interested in becoming a beta reader, or you have any comments, suggestions or thoughts that you feel I should consider before publishing please drop me a line using the contact form.

A Bit of a Reputation

When Ala approached Thetwick a few days later, she passed through the fields near the town. There were some farmers out, tending the fields as there always were. She was accustomed to the occasional gruff greeting, though mostly people ignored her. Today was different though, when she came into view, she saw a man tapping his companion’s shoulder and pointing her out. Shortly after, someone gestured to her and waved before speaking to another man nearby, also clearly about her. More people reacted to her passing, people who usually ignored her shouted out greetings or pointed and called attention to her from whoever was nearby. It made her feel self conscious and it took her a few minutes to realise that it must be because the tale of the skirmish had spread around the town. She took Lightfoot straight to Hank’s stables, hoping he would exchange her for another mount so that she wouldn’t have to walk the rest of the way to Bernard’s.

“Ah, Ala, you’re back. You made good time. Lightfoot do well?”

“Aye, she’s a fine one. Hungry, I expect.”

“As you are, no doubt. The missus has some porridge left, if you want some. Why don’t you grab a bowl, while I saddle up Lightning for you?”

Ala was surprised. Hank was generally friendly enough, but offering food out of the blue and saddling up a horse for her was new.

“Thank you. That would be wonderful.”

“Go on then, Gill or Henriette will see to you.”

She went to the farmhouse and knocked, not really knowing what else to do.

“Come on in!” came the call from inside. She opened the door, to be greeted by Hank’s wife, Gillian. She’d never exchanged more that two words with the woman.

“Good morning… Hank said…”

“That you’d be starving! I’ll fetch a bowl for our sword maiden! Have a seat!”

Ala didn’t know what to think. What had the militiamen told everyone about her? Hank’s three children were there too, all staring at her. His eldest, Henriette was in the kitchen, looking over her shoulder, while his two younger sons had come out to look at her too. She sat down and a clay bowl with oatmeal porridge was put in front of her.

“Eat up! I’m sure Captain Bernard is looking forward to your return.”

“Thank you, mistress.”

“My pleasure.”

After a few minutes Hank came in and announced that Lightning was ready and joined her at the table. It was evidently time for a break as he sat down at the head of the long table and his wife set a steaming cup in front of him.

“So, how were things at the Ford?”

“Business as usual.”

“I take it Friedrich was his unpleasant self?”

“Eh… yes. I thought he was only unpleasant to non humans.”

“Perhaps even more so, I wouldn’t know. But it always vexes me how a man completely dependent on travelers can be so unpleasant to them.”

“He seems to be pleasant enough to Bernard.”

“Bernard is a powerful man.”

“I suppose. Say… have… they been talking about me, in town? People were acting odd when I rode in.”

Hank smiled. “The militiamen have certainly been getting their share of free ale in exchange for a tale or two of the skirmish. You figured prominently in the ones that I heard.”

“Then you came home after after having a few and woke everyone up to repeat them,” his wife added.

Hank shrugged, “it was a good tale, wasn’t it?”

“Militiamen… exaggerate, especially when there’s ale,” said Ala.

His wife shook her head, sighing and returned to the task she had been doing.

“Well, I suppose that must be why everyone is acting so strange.”

“Enjoy it, Ala, not everyone gets to be a local hero for a while.”

“I’ll try.”

She was treated differently upon her return. The story of her charge had been spread by the other militiamen. She learned they claimed she had spurred her horse to supernatural speeds, with claims that her exploits varied between cutting down the three men that she’d actually killed all the way up to eleven in another telling. Bernard’s contribution to the fight also varied widely, from the one man, all the way up to as many as she had killed, however many that were in that particular telling. The story grew of its own accord, getting exaggerated further even spreading among the hamlets in the Westmarch. People from surrounding communities coming to the feasts and markets that Thetwick periodically hosted would gawk at her and whisper when they saw her, calling her ‘The Swordmaiden’ amongst each other.

Sometimes people showed up during market feasts wanting to test themselves against her. They were inevitably all young men. She tried to avoid the festivities, but Thetwick was not a big town and the militia still needed to ride patrols and stay organised making it impossible to hide entirely. She simply had chores in town she had to do. Mostly the challengers did not have the right to bear arms though they usually had the advantage over her in strength and weight. She would formally have been within her rights to defend herself with her weapons, but it seemed like a poor strategy to leave a trail of mutilated peasants behind her. She was also more than old enough to understand the silly immaturity caused the behaviour.

When she had no choice but to fight, she won quickly. She tried to be just brutal enough that no one would bother her twice. Bernard had taught her well and even though she tried not to draw arms if they weren’t drawn on her, she was almost always able to dissuade further annoyance quickly by attacking as fiercely as possible. She had learned a lot since being regularly accosted during her market visits. Even the best of them couldn’t make up in muscle and bulk what she had gained in years of dedicated training. She avoided killing anyone, but it was unnerving and she had to be vicious to dissuade them fast enough. She left a lot of bruised genitals and broken noses behind. She had had to draw weapons once or twice when an alcohol fuelled gang decided to give it a try and she kept her sword and armour with her at all times, just as Bernard did.

In the following years she spent more and more time on militia duty as incursions from Oakharrow waxed and waned. Mostly cattle was stolen, sometimes a farmstead or hamlet was raided or a traveller robbed. Occasionally a Westmarcher was killed, someone was abducted or a woman was raped and sometimes murdered as well, but thankfully it only happened rarely. Once, the Westmarch was called upon to supply troops for the army of Iurrak because an orck horde had spilled into Gwael. Ala had wanted to go with them, but Bernard effectively forbade it.

“I’m sorry Ala, I know you want to go, but those orcks came out of the same mountain range that borders the Westmarch. I can afford to be without some troops if they come this way, but I can’t, in good conscience, weaken the militia here by letting you join the Iurrakan army.”

“I’m just one person Bernard. Can the militia really not do without me?”

“In the Iurrakan army you would be just one person, they’ll never be able to judge your capabilities proper. You’d be assigned as a soldier, at best, if they can get over their sexism. Here you’re a critical commander who I can assign complex tasks to. With you here, we can field two units, where we could only manage one otherwise. I can send a hundred men to the King’s army with less effect on my militia’s capabilities than sending you.”

Ala sighed. She sort of relished the chance to get out of the Westmarch, though she also appreciated the compliment.

“Surely you exaggerate?”

“You have been training with single minded dedication for what is it now? More than a decade. You may look like you’re a lass of sixteen summers, but you have a century’s experience. I have no one else on the roster who could replace you.”

“There is really no one else?”

“There reall isn’t Ala. You underestimate your value.”

She couldn’t help but wonder if her was just trying to make her feel more needed that she actually was. He continued his speech though, in a way that almost made her believe what he said might be true.

“I’m not in the habit of forbidding you things, Ala. I don’t mean to start now. But, I am Captain of the Westmarch and it is my duty to keep it secure. I need you here. I will not stop you, if you insist on going, even though I probably should. I’m asking you to stay, in case orcks come south out of the Irins, especially now that we’re sending a sizeable contingent to join the army.”

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