Daria, my extremely cool cover artist who as also just agreed to do the cover for Alagariel II, (and something else cool on which more later), has finally decided to get a website.
dariajordan.eu
As a reminder, here’s the cover art for The Half Elven Orphan.
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.
Ala left Kendrick’s position, and lay down to slip into reverie for a few more hours. She became fully conscious again as dawn approached, feeling well rested. She rose and pulled on her mail, tabard and cloak, then went to see if Caerel was awake and approachable yet. Before she got there, she noticed consternation at the edge of camp in the direction of the spring, a guard called something, like a warning. She ran over, drawing her blade. A very pale skinned beautiful woman with turquoise hair stood naked in the spring’s head water, looking a little annoyed. The guardsman stood a few yards from the edge of the headwater, looking worried, his pike levelled at her.
“Lady Alagariel, please tell this mindless barbarian that I’m not here to hurt him,” Talathiel called to her crossly.
“Guardsman, it’s alright, it’s Mistress Talathiel, she’s a friend.”
The guardsman was flustered. He raised his pike.
“Sorry milady, she just suddenly stood up out of the water…” then he realised he was looking at a naked woman, and quickly turned round.
Talathiel was completely unfazed by her nakedness, but Ala took off her cloak and wrapped it around her anyway.
“Thank you dear. I’ll unpack my things in a moment.”
Ala wondered how she could possibly have anything with her, being stark naked, wearing only some silvery looking jewelry.
“You have things with you?” Ala asked, looking around if she had missed anything.
“Yes of course. You didn’t think I had planned on running around here naked did you? Not that I would particularly mind, but it would be disconcerting for the humans.”
She held up her hand, where there was a fairly large silver ring.
“For some reason the gods have decreed, you can only wear silver when travelling the waters… \textit{ye shall carry only that which in argent is held…} or something along those lines, anyway. Poetic nonsense, but it’s true. You can only bring along things enclosed in silver.”
She twisted the top off the ring, taking out a tiny piece of what appeared to be delicate and very thin silk cloth.
“So, we put our belongings inside silver. Is there a private place among the ruins?”
Ala nodded through her confusion.
“Come along then.”
This was becoming stranger and stranger. Ala had already been told by Gladiuth that Talathiel was rather more of an accomplished wizard than she let on. Ala was no expert but she was quite certain that the rather fanciful tales she had heard about wizards attributed the ability to travel rapidly through magic to only the very greatest of sorcerers. Such things only really seemed to happen in myths and faery tales. They walked to the ruins where Talathiel found a spot out of the sight of the camp. She unfolded the silk cloth, which you could stick your hand in from one side. She pulled out a chemise, a kirtle, hose and high leather boots, as well her green-blue gown and a matching cloak, a small dagger, a pack and a myriad of other small items. All of it was of a quality that Ala could only gawk at. Kind of like her own sword, she realised. Was everything elven so spectacularly fine? Talathiel then proceeded to get dressed, when she finished, she looked expectantly at Ala.
“I think we should go and speak to Caerel, Mistress Talathiel.”
“Oh yes. I almost forgot. The child is in command. Wonderful. We’d best make the most of it. Oh well, lead off.”
Caerel was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Ala smelled a perfume… vanilla… on the air. Myrthe had been rather close to Caerel not long ago. Not that that was surprising. He had to do a double take when he saw Talathiel.
“Ah… uhm… Mistress Talathiel? How in the name of Guanshiyin did you get here?”
“Alagariel asked me to come. It’s hardly important though is it? Why did you ask me, Ala?”
“Remember that glow on the horizon last night, Lord Caerel? Guardsman Kendrick pointed out to me that you could see the pinpricks of light from the top of the ruined tower. I climbed up there to verify his sighting. At least twenty points of light. Campfires I’d say. As to why I called you… well I had a feeling… and there were the campfires”
“Twenty campfires. That could be two hundred men,” Caerel exclaimed.
“I understand Ala. See. I knew you’d know when to use it. There is an elf in there, I knew it! Well, I suppose it begins then.”
“What begins?” Asked an exasperated Caerel.
“I have no idea, boy. But it definitely begins here. Also, it is something that is worth marking the beginning of, I am also certain of that much,” said Talathiel.
Caerel shook his head, confused.
“Does my grandfather know you’ve come?”
“Not yet. Yesme will tell him. Though of course she won’t know what the specific reason is, or where exactly ‘here’ is, as I knew neither of those things when I left. Can you lend me a horse young Lord Caerel?”
“Yes. We have spares. We lost men,” he said the last part bitterly.
“We should find out more about the forces present here,” Ala said. She looked around. “This is a good, defensible spot, and a patrol without the supply wagons could get to Thetwick from here in quite quickly. The route is a little convoluted, on horseback, you can run it just as fast. But, considering the proximity, perhaps we should keep our campsite here and ride reconnaissance?”
Caerel considered for a moment.
“Yes. I think that’s a good idea. I’ll lead the patrol, Lady Alagariel, Priestess Myrthe, Guardsman Matt, Lieutenant Hieronymus and perhaps Mistress Talathiel will join? Brugor can maintain command here. We’ll ride in an hour, make sure everyone is fed and readied.”
Ala noticed that Caerel wasn’t leaving Hieronymus in a command position. The young man once again impressed her with his astuteness.
Talathiel obviously felt quite ready and made herself comfortable on a large rock. Ala got two bowls of breakfast porridge sweetened with honey and a water skin and joined her, offering her one. The things she had found in the burned farmhouse sprung to mind.
“Thank you, dear child. I suppose I better have something to eat, travelling the waters is taxing. Shame human fare is so bland.”
“You don’t like breakfast porridge.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve travelled over land and been subjected to it. I’ll manage,” she said poking unenthusiastically at it. “If only it had some river cress or perhaps some crab or fish. Oh well.”
“You… actually want… food… that comes out of the river… all the time?”
“The sea is fine too. Why is that odd? You do understand that I’m a water elf, do you not, child?”
“Perhaps I understand a little more what that entails now.”
“Good,” she said, taking an experimental bite.
“May I show you some items we found near here? I think they must be elven in origin.”
“By all means. The humans are still milling about anyway and getting through this is going take a few minutes,” she sighed, resigned to waiting as she poked at the porridge.
There was no malice about the way she said it. She just had a sort of patient parental distance to humans. The same way farmers thought of… livestock…? Ala wasn’t sure that was accurate, but she wasn’t far off, she was certain. Talathiel generally spoke of humans much as if they were farm animals, Ala realised. She shook the thought off and ran to her pack and grabbed the mail and the destroyed cloak.
Talathiel looked at both silently for a moment. She folded out the mail, which Ala hadn’t yet done. When she did, mail leggings and gloves fell out. Ala had thought it was only a hooded coat, but it was a complete suit. That meant it was maybe a third of the weight of the mail she was currently wearing.
“This is mythryl, a full set. I’m no armourer, but the quality is excellent, even by elven standards. Mythryl is almost indestructible, or so I’ve heard accomplished warriors claim. Where did this come from?”
Ala told her the story of the safe hole in the burned farmhouse.
“Show me that other thing?”
“It’s certainly elven. Even fire elven preference as far as colours go. This pattern… it’s something that is usually worn by elven warriors, battle dancers. The patterns are based on weapons drill footwork. I don’t know much about weapons, but some schools of warriors show their philosophy in the patterns they wear. Someone more knowledgeable in such matters might be able to tell you which school it is, or was. This is quite far gone though, whatever it was sprayed with is very destructive, add in a damp hole and well, I don’t think it’s salvageable.”
Talathiel lifted the sleeve of Ala’s tabard and felt the mail she was wearing between her fingers.
“You should put on this mythryl. It’s much better and lighter than what you’re wearing. From what you’ve said, it can hardly be anyone’s birthright but yours. The blackness is just encrustation from whatever was being worn over and under it when the previous owner expired. It’s some sort of acid residue. It’s inert now, but it did trickle in between the links. The last owner will not have had a pleasant death I’m afraid. But it’s elven, it’s excellent and from the tale you’ve told it’s yours if it’s anybody’s. We’ll wash off the encrustation at the spring, with a little magical help if necessary. Then I’ll help you put it on. Come along now.”
Ala dutifully followed her to the spring. She left the porridge bowl sitting on the rock.
They were almost late to go, but the armour had indeed cleaned off easily though Ala had to concede the Talathiel might be helping it along with some unnoticeable magic. The suit was much lighter than her own mail and also had a very complex pattern which combined with the decreased weight was much more form clinging. She was still wearing an unmarked tabard over it, like before, but she saw Caerel, Matt and even Brugor look at her a little differently when she approached.
“That suits you rather well,” said Myrthe, as Ala mounted Fulgor.
Ala felt a little self-conscious but the mail was much more comfortable than her previous set, even though she had been rather proud of it. Talathiel mounted her loaned guard horse, an energetic gelding. Caerel led off, heading towards Thetwick again. Ala made sure she was riding next to him, as she was the only one who knew the terrain. There hills between Maiden’s Tower and Thetwick were quite steep in many places, which mean that the route on horseback had to switch back quite a few times. Ala made for a rise which overlooked Thetwick, from where they should be able to overlook the village, and probably get a good view of the area where she thought the campfires should be. It had occurred to her that there might be a lookout post on the knoll they were heading for.
“Lord Caerel. This place I have in mind. If I was on the other side, I would have stationed some lookouts on it.”
“There’s not much we can do about that, Lady Alagariel.”
“Agreed, just thought I should mention it. Perhaps Matt can show off his skills and sneak up there and tell us. I’ll go with him.”
“We can give it a try I suppose.”
Ala halted around a mile from the knoll, and rode over to Matt.
“Matt, the knoll I want to go to is around a mile away. If I was the enemy though, I’d have a lookout up there. Do you think you can scout it?”
Matt looked around.
“What are you looking for?” Ala asked.
“Buildings, streets. Crowds. It may have escaped your notice, but I learned how to sneak around in cities.”
“Look, I’ll come with you most of the way. You can’t tell me you’ve never snuck around undergrowth?”
He frowned at her, “oh alright, alright. Maybe once or twice. How hard can it be, anyway?”
They dismounted and headed to the top of the knoll.
Matt led the way up the hill, Ala following several yards behind him. Despite his protests he was very good at moving without disturbing anything. Even at twenty yards he often managed to choose spots that made her almost lose track of him. The feel of her new mail was nice, she felt a lot more mobile. The regiment had equipped Matt with a sword and he had a crossbow across his back. Hopefully, the guard had also invested some time into teaching him how to use them. With around a quarter of a mile to go, Matt signalled for Ala to hold back. She waited patiently until he waved her forward a little. They continued like this for a bit, Matt sneaking a little further, beckoning Ala on when he decided the coast was clear.
Eventually they reached the crest of the hill. There was no one there as far as they could tell. From their vantage point they could see the commons which were full of military style campaign tents. Ala took a mental tally, and decided that the camp was easily big enough to house a few hundred men. As they were taking an inventory of the situation, they suddenly heard voices. Ala and Matt dived down into the undergrowth and froze. The language was common, and these men were definitely from Oakharrow. They couldn’t see who was making the sound, but there were at least three of them. The men were recounting the previous night’s drinking, it seemed.
“Roderick certainly had a bit too much ale last night,” said the first voice.
“Not just him.”
Voice number two.
“Well I was fine this mornin’.”
That was number three. That would be Roderick.
“Nah you weren’t. I could see your eyes. Your head was hurtin’.”
Number one again.
“Mine was anyway,” said number two.
The chatter was useless. Ala would have liked a useful conversation to eavesdrop on. Now they just had to wait until they could sneak away. Or until they were found. The men proceeded to compare just how much they drank. Then the conversation turned in a more interesting direction.
“Those men who came with the priests don’t seem to drink at all,” said number two.
“Yeah. Bunch of religious arseholes if you ask me.” said Roderick.
“They don’t talk either. I asked one of them where he was from, just to make conversation like. He said it was none of my business.”
“I don’t even think they enjoy takin’ a bit of pleasure with the women. They do it with the same dour look they always have.”
“Wonder what the Count has in mind. He’s sure gathering a lot of men here.”
“I think he’s going to take Thetwick back from the Taladarians.”
“He’s already got it, you nonce! We’re standin’ in it.”
“Yeah, well they’re gonna be wanting us out in’t they? They’ll come. The Count wants to be ready.”
“I think it’s gonna be bigger than that,” said number one, “I think he wants to cross the Ford. Ya know, into Taladaria proper?”
There was a moment of silence as the other two men digested that.
“Think that’s why they been gatherin’ the womenfolk from the farms?”
“Whaddya mean Fred?”
“Well, I saw a bunch of them religious nutters dressed like farmers leavin’ towards the Inn day before yesterday? They had a bunch of women with ’em. Y’know, like the ones we had to bring in from them poor buggers’ farms we burned.”
“Dunno what that’s all about. These fellers have big plans. Too much fer me ta follow.”
“It’s gonna be a while till we’re back in Oaks then, I reckon.”
“Yeah, I reckon it is. Could be a whole campaign ‘tween now and then. There’ll be plunder tho’. Always plunder in war, says me da.”
“Yeah… we’ll watch each others’ backs and go home all the richer!”
“I’m all for that! Roderick?”
“Me too.”
The men seemed pleased with that prospect. They were again silent for a moment. Ala and Matt were in a depression under a patch of berry bushes. Ala wondered whether it would be best to ambush these men. If they wanted an overview of the village and the campsite, they really didn’t have any choice. They would stand around until they were relieved by others. She didn’t think Caerel would make do with her word that an attack was out of the question. The young man had too much to prove not to want to be absolutely certain. She would need something more to convince him they had no choice but to wait for Taladaria’s Regiment to arrive. The Duke would probably even have to send a message to the king to let him know that Oakharrow was annexing Thetwick. A general muster of all the militias might even be called, something even Ala had never seen in her two centuries. If the King of Selinus was actively involved, it was likely that that was what would happen. It sounded like all the ingredients one needed for war.
Ala turned her attention back to the situation at hand. She and Matt could lie under the bush for ages and hope the men wandered far enough to slip away. There was no way of knowing how long that would take. They could sit in their present spot until there was a shift change for all she knew. She decided to do something rash, being passive didn’t agree with her. She whispered to Matt as she got up.
“Let one get away.”
She stood up straight, dropped her hood, unslung her shield, drew her sword and stepped out of the bush.
“Hello boys.”
The three men startled. She had appeared around five yards from where they were sitting. None of them had weapons drawn. She had her first good view of Thetwick now too, beyond the field with the encampment. There was significant work going on on the construction of a palisade and surrounding ditch.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” she said.
“One at a time you draw your swords with your left hands and put them on the ground. Then your shields. You first.”
She gestured at the closest of the three men.
He growled at her with an evil grin, “you think you can take us elf girl? I bet you’re the one we were told to look out fer. I think we’re going to have ourselves some fun with you… and then, after that, we’ll even collect the bounty, too. Whaddya say fellas? This our lucky day?”
Ala decided that his voice made him speaker number one. He had some teeth missing. He stepped backwards and wanted to draw his sword, going straight into an overhead swing. Ala stepped in, lifting her shield high, moving forward far enough to be under the descending hilt of his sword. His attack was interrupted by doing that of course and he didn’t have the time to recover his blade to defend himself before Ala rotated her hips and put the tip of her sword into his armpit, sliding almost a foot of sword into his body, piercing his lung for certain and possibly cutting his windpipe and the top of his heart. She rotated back, the way she had come, extricating her blade as the man teetered over backwards and fell. She calmly watched the other two men, who were now facing her with swords drawn too.
“I’ll kill you one by one if you force me to,” she said calmly, “drop your weapons.”
The men didn’t react other than looking angry and uncertain. Then she saw their look change, they looked pleased. Something was happening behind her. She heard movement. There must be reinforcements coming.
She stepped sideways, opening the distance between the two remaining men and herself, and permitted herself a look round. There were a further four men approaching, about ten yards away. They were clearly not Oakharrowers, these were more of those religious warriors, she decided. Better armed and armoured, well fed and muscular.
There was no sign of Matt though. Either he had slipped out in between the two groups, or he was still hiding under the bush, though she couldn’t see him. One against six that made, and they were aware of her. Also at least two were aware that she had dispatched their colleague with relative ease. That would make them wary. Capture was not an acceptable outcome in her opinion so she decided she was going to fight them, come what may. With some luck Matt was still around somewhere and would be able to shoot one at least with his crossbow. She continued to reverse, unfortunately, the remaining men seemed to have some idea of what they were doing.
“Why don’t you just give up? You’ll only have to feel some hard blades, not sharp ones, girl,” threatened one of the newcomers.
They all had their shields at the ready now and they were staying line abreast, with their blades leading. She knew she had to get round the end of the line, turning their line abreast formation into a row of them to be dispatched one by one. She decided she needed all the help she could get so she concentrated on her fire, and engulfed herself and her sword with the hottest flame she could summon. She saw the men’s eyes widen as she did that.
“Shit…” cursed one of the Oakharrowers, “she’s a filthy witch to boot!”
She stepped in towards the man on her right hand, at the end of the line. Just before the blades met she stepped in with her left leg, putting her shield forward and pushing it up against the right hand man’s blade. He frantically tried to scramble away from the flames. He was one of the two remaining Oakharrowers. His friend on the left also tried to stab her with his sword as she continued her move around the man’s shield arm and raised her sword, keeping contact between the man’s blade and her shield while also trying to keep the man between her and his comrades. She made a diagonal cut from top left to bottom right. She had stepped far enough around him that he couldn’t get his shield in between it, the cut hit him in the face digging deep into his head. There was a fizzling sound from the flames as he fell and her sword came free more easily that she expected, thanks to the searing heat. He fell over backwards. The last standing Oakharrower was next in line, though the other four men were trying to come round too. She knew she was in trouble as the religious soldiers managed to close in at her left. She managed to drop the last Oakharrow man with another diagonal cut, but the four religious soldiers worked together well.
When fighting a group of attackers, the accepted technique is to manoeuvre in such a way that you only have to fight one opponent at a time. These men obviously knew that and were probably aware that they might be individually outmatched. So they did their very best to support each other and keep Ala from singling one of them out. They almost managed too. Ala was being forced backwards towards a large boulder and she was about to do something reckless to break out of the encirclement when one of the men toppled forwards with a crossbow bolt in his back. It had bloody taken Matt long enough. It also gave her the opening she needed. She had been getting excited, and the flames along her sword reflected that burning brighter and hotter than before. She moved around again, side stepping even further to the right, feeling the blade easily slicing through the mail the man was wearing. He sort of yelped, obviously trying to stop himself from doing so. These men were tough and driven, even yelling when you had just received an excruciating cut and burn was apparently an unacceptable sign of weakness, even if it was likely to be fatal. The two remaining men shared a look, and one nodded to the other. One ran down the hill while his companion threw himself at Ala, essentially sacrificing himself to give his companion time to escape. Ala cut him down easily after his clumsy swing. She decided not to go after him, though she yelled after the running man.
“Tell the Marchmains! Alagariel is here and I’m coming for them!”
It had been one of her closest calls yet. Her tabard had multiple cuts in it which could have been fatal had it not been for the superior quality of the elven mail she was wearing. She decided to find Matt quickly and head back to the group. She found him under the bush where she had left him, still staring down the crossbow’s sights.
“Hey Matt, what’s going on?”
He just looked at her. She realised it must have been the first man he’d ever killed. All those years as a thief in Duilhac and he’d never killed anyone.
“Matt, they would have gotten the better of me if you hadn’t fired.”
He slowly nodded, a blank look on his face. He didn’t say anything.
“Come on, we need to get back to the others. It won’t be long before they send a patrol up here. Maybe we can ambush it.”
She pulled him to his feet, and looked into his eyes. He wasn’t taking it well.
“Look Matt, you probably saved my life. Thank you. The man you shot is one of those religious rapists. You heard them talking. You did what needed to be done. We have to go now.”
She pulled him behind her down the hill. Eventually he matched the pace on his own.
“I managed not to really hurt anyone all that time in Duilhac, Ala. Now I’m supposedly with the good guys and I’ve already killed someone…. he even had his back to me.”
Ala had given the subject a lot of thought over the years and had settled on a philosophy that allowed her a way to deal with it. She’d adjusted it a few times, but the result allowed her to sleep well at night. She stopped and looked Matt in the eye.
“It doesn’t get any prettier Matt. Unfortunately, it does get easier. Also, I don’t see any other solution. Those who are not prepared to use violence will always be subject to those who are. I will not be subjected to men like that. I am prepared to kill to avoid it. I am prepared to kill so that others are not subjected to it. It means of course that I rate my judgement more highly than I do that of these people I detest. I see that as unavoidable. My conscience is the only guide I can see in that. I hope… this… philosophy is of some use. It helps me come to terms with it. I can only hope that it might help you do the same.”
Matt looked thoughtful, as if he was digesting what she had just said. She wondered if he was going to be quite ready to take that all in so soon. He was silent for a few moments…
“Is that really it? All there is to it?”
“I don’t know. Not for sure. But it settles my mind to think of it in those terms.”
Matt became quiet and thoughtful, his earlier nervousness ebbing as they walked back the rest of the way.
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It is hard to conceive of a writer who has had a greater influence on speculative fiction than Edgar Rice Burroughs. Most famously, he was the author of Tarzan (24 books) and John Carter of Mars (11 books). I would personally call his style pulp sci-fi with characters like John Carter performing ludicrous feats almost constantly but he manages it in such and entertaining way that you can’t wait for the next feat to be described.
In all honesty, Burroughs is most important for his influence on the (mostly) boys who read his work as young adults. It is from this group that the greats of old Science Fiction were born and writers such as Heinlein refer frequently to his work. To breadth of his influence is hard to fathom, even the hit NBC series ER features a character called John Carter.
Do I strive to write like Burroughs? Certainly not, but his role as a pioneer of the genre and his role building the foundations of today’s science and speculative fiction is so great, that I feel reading his books is almost mandatory for any speculative fiction enthusiast. While it does read as a pulpy precursor of what is available today, the stories are fun in their own right. My favourite is the John Carter series.
This is linked to this Vatan Companion Page
From the Encyclopedia Royalis Iurraka (edition of 975)
On the Royal Customs Service
The Royal Customs Service is one of the Crown’s most indispensable instruments, tasked with the oversight of trade, the collection of the Royal Tax, and the maintenance of His Majesty’s economic authority throughout the realm. Its duties, set down by wise kings, are both noble and necessary, and its history testifies to the foresight of Iurrak’s sovereigns.
The Service owes its foundation to the foresight of King Gabriel I, who in the year 601 not only instituted the Customs Service but also concluded the Peace of Equals with Selinus, bringing an end to eighty years of war and thus securing both the realm’s borders and its prosperity. To him we owe the enduring principle that the King’s justice must extend to the realm’s markets as well as its fields. Gabriel’s genius lay in recognising that trade, left ungoverned, breeds disorder, but under royal supervision strengthens the whole kingdom.
The later wisdom of King Humphrey I must also be praised. In 718, when the treasury lay in peril, Humphrey decreed that the sale of commissions in the Royal Regiments be entrusted to the Customs Service. By this act he avoided the imposition of extraordinary taxes upon his loyal nobles, while at the same time replenishing the Crown’s coffers. Though some grumbled at first, it was a masterstroke of statesmanship, for the lords maintained their privileges while the regiments were strengthened. The realm, preserved from weakness, owes to King Humphrey I its continued stability.
The Royal Tax, unlike feudal dues or manorial levies, is laid chiefly upon dense and precious goods: metals, spices, dyes, and other wares whose transport yields great wealth in small measure. The Customs Service patrols borders, rivers, and roads with diligence, ensuring that His Majesty receives his rightful due. To evade such duty is not merely theft but treason against the Crown, for the Royal Tax is the very lifeblood of the kingdom.
Beyond their fiscal duties, the officers of Customs provide the Crown with knowledge of inestimable worth. By observing the flow of goods, they reveal the strengths and weaknesses of provinces, the fortunes of merchants, and the health of the realm itself. In war as in peace, this intelligence has allowed kings to act with foresight. It is no exaggeration to say that without the Customs Service, the realm would be blind to its own condition.
The officers of the Service are for the most part of common birth, yet drawn from the younger sons of wealthy merchants, men of education and sound judgment. This prudent practice ensures that they have both the learning and the practical familiarity with commerce to perform their duties well. It is true that their inspections sometimes cause friction with nobles, yet this is an unavoidable consequence of enforcing the King’s law impartially. Only in Erythrae do nobles hold regular office within the Service, and there only at the highest levels. The post of Lord High Customs Inspector is wisely reserved for lesser royal kinsmen, ensuring that the Service remains ever faithful to the Crown.
Lastly, the Customs Service holds the honour of administering the commissions in the royal regiments. This sacred duty binds the realm’s soldiery directly to the King’s authority, ensuring loyalty and discipline. Though some lords lament their exclusion from this process, it must be remembered that it is by this very means that the Crown ensures the unity of its armies, sparing the kingdom the rivalries that have so often plagued lesser realms.
The Royal Customs Service, founded by Gabriel I and perfected by Humphrey I, stands as a monument to royal wisdom. To question it is to question the Crown itself, and none but the most self-interested could deny the Service’s necessity. It is, in every sense, a pillar of order and the surest guarantee of the prosperity of Iurrak.
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.
They all mounted up and continued down the road in the same formation as before. Though they were with fewer men, it didn’t change the way they conducted the advance. The wounded cultists had been gagged and tied securely into the supply wagons. Ala had no expectation of being able to make them talk even if they decided to torture them, which she wanted no part of. These Mahr followers were a rare breed of fanatic and their presence in Westmarch was yet another development that made Ala feel as if she was missing vital information to understand what was going on. She felt as if the campsite upstream from Thetwick that Martha had described was likely the answer to what had happened to the bandits that had been plaguing Sheffield. The religious warriors they had encountered and the relationship between the Marchmains spoke of a far deeper and more insidious plot that she had ever imagined and she didn’t yet understand what the motivations of the Constable and Count of Oakharrow might be. Was the King of Selinus involved too? It was possible, and the religious warriors certainly seemed like they probably originated further away than Oakharrow. She parked her thoughts when it came time to branch off with the scouts to check Maiden’s Tower.
Ala and two cavalry men rode out ahead to make sure the ruins were deserted. They left the road, and made their way through the trees to the remains of the keep. She need not have worried, it was as quiet as Ala remembered. She stayed there while the two cavalrymen rode back to escort the rest of the command to the side. There wasn’t much left of Maiden’s Tower except a few low walls, but the original builders had chosen the site well. There were only two ways up to the top of the hill which could be managed by horses, the rest was too steep and hard to climb on horseback. A natural spring bubbled up, offering fresh water, and the view was excellent. It was one of Ala’s favourite places in the Westmarch. It was also where she had been spotted practising with her sword and fire four decades ago when she hadn’t been living with Bernard for long. She hunted around for a while until she found the stone with the half common and half elven inscription. It was where she had left it last, carefully hidden, but it was thoroughly overgrown. She couldn’t help but smile that it was still there.
They settled in and made camp. When dark came, it was a clear, bright night and they could see almost all the way to Thetwick. Ala looked in the direction of the town, seeing a glow on the horizon that did not spell much good. Something was burning tonight. After the evening stew Myrthe came out to find her. She’d been very preoccupied with Caerel for much of the journey.
“I’m sorry Ala, I haven’t been giving you much attention, have I?”
“It’s alright Myr. You and Caerel are having a thing. Who knows how long that will be possible. Enjoy it.”
“You’re very understanding, Ala.”
“As well as long lived.”
Myrthe giggled about that, “did you come here often when you lived in Thetwick?”
“I used to come here very often actually, it was my refuge until the militia started taking up the bulk of my time. I used to come here to practice.”
“Sword stuff?”
Ala nodded.
“Do you know anything about the ruins?”
“Not much. There’s a stone with an inscription on it, over here. I’ve read it many times, though parts of it are cracked and damaged. Here, I’ll show you.”
Ala showed Myrthe the stone and lit her fire so the Myrthe could read.
“That’s such a useful skill… let’s see…. De Baerle… let me think for a moment… oh yes, I know, the Marquesses of Thetwick. Oh Ala, I bet this used to be the De Baerle keep!”
“What do you mean?”
“A while ago… I can’t remember exactly when, but there was no male heir to become Marquess of the Westmarch. The daughter of the Marquess… was it Annette de Baerle? I think so… anyway, she married a Duke of Taladaria. Bryan, maybe?”
“Is that how the Westmarch became a part of Taladaria?”
“Yes, that’s right. It’s so cool that we’re camped exactly here!”
“Having dynastic fantasies are we?”
Myrthe looked at her with feigned annoyance. “It’s a fling, Lady Alagariel. Just a fling.”
“Well, I think your fling is surreptitiously looking for you,” said Ala. With her elven eyes she could see Caerel making the rounds in the dark. It was obviously an excuse to look for Myrthe.
“I shall go see if that unlikely conclusion is true,” Myrthe declared. Before she went she turned to Ala, “thank you for showing me this, it’s such and interesting piece of history… is this where those farm boys thought you were a fire wraith too, by the way?”
Ala nodded, she had told Myrthe the story of the Chad and his Wraith Hunters on the road to the Ford Inn, though she had understated the bits about the fire.
“That makes it even better! Goodnight, Ala!”
“Goodnight.”
They had set up a watch roster that had everyone taking one of five two hour shifts. She meditated for two hours and then joined two of the watches during the darkest part of the night. Elven night vision was a lot better than that of humans. She talked quietly to the guards on duty, finding out where they were from and getting acquainted. Most of them just answered her questions correctly, they were unnerved by any noble and a comely elven one was too much of an unknown to allow anything remotely like a normal conversation. Only one of them dared to ask any questions.
“Good evening guardsman,” said Ala, causing the man to jump when she was making her rounds again. “How goes your watch?”
“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” He said irritably, then realised who he was talking to. “Sorry, sorry milady, you startled me.”
“Relax, guardsman. What’s your name? I’m Alagariel.”
“I know milady. I’m Kendrick Hawk-eye. Well met!”
His attire marked him as one of the archers. He wore padded armour, leather wrist braces to protect him from mishaps with the bow string and a warm woollen cloak to protect against the night’s chill. Besides his longbow and two quivers he had two short swords at his belt, more like long knives than swords. He had keen eyes, somehow he reminded her of a hawk or another bird of prey. That must be how he got the name.
“So Kendrick, how goes the watch? Anything of interest?”
“All quiet so far milady, except for that glow over the horizon, just off Thetwick. I think it’s campfires.”
“How can you tell? I can just see a glow. Have you been here before, do you know Thetwick?”
“I’m actually from Greythorn milady. I grew up there… got into… well a little bit of trouble. Not that that’s hard in Greythorn.”
“May I ask what happened?”
He shrugged. “Nothing to be proud of. We were starving one winter. I stole something and was recognised. They hang you for that. I ran.”
“A hard life.”
“Aye, that it is, in Greythorn. So, I ran all the way to Peyrepertuse and joined up. I did pass through Thetwick on the way. Was there for a few weeks before I learned of the Duke’s Regiment and decided to try my luck.”
“Is the story about the Witch of Greythorn actually true?”
He smiled. “I don’t rightly know. Old timers believe it. Or well, somebody or something definitely razed the whole castle in one night.”
“Just the castle? I thought the story was the town too?”
“No, that was razed when they built the new castle. Pretty sure of that. In fact, among the poor, the Witch is celebrated. She was Baroness too right? They only De Crequy that ever looked out for the people of Greythorn, is how they talk about her.”
“People don’t mind that she was… you know… a Witch?”
“Don’t suppose they think about it much. In the stories I heard, she gave the Baron his comeuppance. That’s seen as a good thing. Of course, the De Crequys went bad again mighty quick.”
“The Witch of Greythorn is such an intriguing tale. Anyway. What makes you think there are campfires over there?”
“I was curious milady, I climbed what’s left of the tower. You can just make out the pinpricks of light. I have good eyes, archers have to. They say elven eyes are even better. Maybe you could climb up to have a look too? I’d like to be sure I wasn’t crazy. I’ve seen what a field of campfires looks like before, but I was in the middle of it then.”
It was a bit presumptuous of course, a guardsman asking a lady to climb a tower in the middle of the night. It seemed like a good idea to Ala though.
“Good idea Kendrick.”
She climbed the tower easily and found her balance on the highest remaining wall. The last time she’d been up on top of the tower had been years before. She looked in the direction of the glow. The extra couple of yards made the difference. There were quite a few pinpricks of light. It was difficult to count properly, but she judged at least twenty. She shared the analysis though. Thetwick wasn’t exactly in the direction she was looking. These were definitely open air campfires. The site would be a couple of hundred yards up the creek, exactly where Martha had said it would be. As she stood on the highest point of the tower, balancing on the irregular wall, she suddenly thought of Talathiel and what she had said. The feeling was unmistakable. Ala quickly climbed down the tower.
“Well, milady what do you think?”
“I think those pinpricks look a lot like campfires. At least twenty. The forces at Thetwick have increased since Martha saw them,” she spotted Kendrick looking blank at the name so she clarified, “you remember, the woman at Ford Inn, who gave evidence to Lord Caerel?”
He nodded, understanding who she was referring to.
“Anyway, more men than she reported are there now. I’ll inform Lord Caerel, but first I have to do something. I’ll be back in a minute, I expect.”
“Yes milady,” said Kendrick, looking even more puzzled.
She walked down to the spring, which trickled gently down the hill. She was pretty sure it must be connected to the rivers and so to the world’s waterways, she reasoned. She took the vial, shook it for a while, and poured it into the spring’s little head water. It was so quick she wasn’t really sure it happened, but it looked like the water fluoresced for a moment and that the glow disappeared down the hillside at unimaginable speed. Nothing else happened. She waited for a moment. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but nothing else seemed to happen. So, she walked back to Kendrick’s post.
“I’ll tell Lord Caerel about the sighting first thing in the morning Kendrick. I’ll be sure to mention it was you who spotted it.”
“Oh that’s not important milady. Just so we don’t wander into an army unprepared.”
“It was good thinking Kendrick, climbing the tower. I wouldn’t have thought those few yards would make the difference.”
“Just thought it was worth a try milady.”
“Good work.”
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This page accompanies this Vatan Companion Page
From the Encyclopedia Royalis Iurraka (edition of 975)
On the Right to Bear Arms
The following is excerpted from the writings of Annette de Baerle (801–864), last Marchioness of the Westmarch. Though her marriage to Ivan de Duilhac, Duke of Taladaria, brought the Westmarch formally into Iurrak, she is remembered less for her politics than for her curious and unseemly devotion to letters. That a woman should concern herself with law is, of course, peculiar and hardly worthy of imitation. Some have wondered whether parts of this treatise were corrected, or perhaps composed, by a more suitable hand. Yet it must be admitted, reluctantly, that the work is suspiciously thorough and disquietingly accurate. For this reason it is preserved here, though with due caution to the reader.
The Right to Bear Arms is among the two central privileges of noble station, together with the Right to Hospitality. It is an ancient principle, older than any charter still extant, and its origin lies in the codifications of the ancestor realms that preceded Selinus. From that time it has been observed in Mur, in Selinus, in Iurrak, and even further abroad. It is worth noting that neither the Elves nor the Dwarves share our concept of the Armsright, to such an extent that it is treated instead as a general right. This creates a legal conundrum: is it to be judged that all elves and dwarves are issued an Armsright by their sovereign, or none?
The principle itself is plain. The right to violence belongs first to the sovereign. From the sovereign flows the same right to his nobles, who are but the extensions of his own person. Thus only nobles may wield weapons in their own name, as their authority is inherent. All others must bear arms only by the express leave of a noble, their authority deferred. In this lies the difference between noble and commoner; one acts as a font of justice, the other only by delegation. The author notes, however, with some satisfaction, that this right is so central to our concept of nobility that it is still completely inalienable from women. Indeed, in Selinus where our rights are otherwise few, a noble woman may wield any weapon without a male’s consent and may also arm her own guards. Yet if her guards are to operate beyond her direct presence, she must be able to write, something that is sadly not universal in the education of Selinan noble ladies.
This distinction carries into law. A noble who slays a commoner seldom meets with punishment. In Iurrak, the dead man’s kin may seek compensation, though in practice they must often do so before the court of the very noble who did the slaying, as the court of a more senior lord is unlikely to be accessible. In Selinus no such petitions are heard, save where another noble takes exception for his own purposes. In Mur the practice lies midway, for compensation may be demanded, yet only in the court of the lord who granted the Armsright in question. Where nobles stand opposed to nobles, the judgment lies with the next higher lord, often the King himself.
From this follows that heraldry and Armsrights are closely related. A noble may bear arms without device, for his person itself is heraldry. Commoners, however, must display the arms of the lord who authorises their bearing. To act otherwise is an act of banditry or rebellion.
The penalties for unlawful bearing of arms are grave. Impersonation of a noble is punishable by the full measure of treason, namely hanging, drawing, and quartering. More commonly, failure to prove an Armsright is usually treated more lightly, resulting in a fine and perhaps confiscation, depending on the mood of the constable. More severe still is the crime of raising arms against the realm, which is adjudged by summary execution and is the fate generally served to bandits and the like. The same transgression can thus be made as grave as a noble or his constables choose. It must be noted that the financial incentive of a fine has been known to keep many a bandit alive where this was not in the best interests of a lord’s domain.
Yet the law does not forbid mere possession of weapons. Only when they are borne in readiness to strike does the crime arise. A sword hung upon the wall may be innocent, while the same sword at the belt may be treason. Interpretation is ever at the whim of the officer, which is both the strength and the weakness of the law.
Thus it may be seen that the Right to Bear Arms is no mere form, but a central pillar of sovereignty. It distinguishes the noble from the subject, and the ruler from the ruled. Without it, there is no order but only anarchy, where each man may wield violence for himself.
De Baerle’s conclusions are expressed with a clarity, rigor and intelligence impossible for a woman. Impossible! The very suggestion that a lady of noble birth, barely trained in letters, could produce such a work unaided is laughable. No, no, a learned man must have written this, or at the very least guided her hand. The strange satisfaction expressed in the second paragraph betrays the feminine touch, but the rest is far too sound to be hers. I will not, cannot, accept that such scholarship came from a woman. Yet my colleagues, blinded by novelty, have forced me to include it here under her name. Readers are advised to apply proper skepticism.
Marginal note, by Zorthen Linhad (date unknown), in the Encyclopedia copy in the library at Castle Peyrepertuse
I cannot allow this nonsense to stand. I stayed with the Duke and Duchess of Taladaria for several months in the 840s and 850s, owing to my mother, Qaya, of the earth-elven House Linhad and her bond with House de Baerle. I spent many an engaging evening in conversation with the Duchess. She was a scholar of rare brilliance, sharp of wit and precise in judgment. She was her husband’s most important advisor and presided over the Duke’s Court in her husband’s stead the majority of the time. The treatise above is entirely hers, word for word, sprung from her mind and hand alone. The buffoon who edited this work proclaims only his own ignorance.
Zorthen Linhad, half brother of Maximilien de Baerle, Duchess Annette’s great-great-grandfather.
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.
About two hours later, towards the end of the afternoon, the outriders called a halt, waving a signal to the lead cavalrymen. Lieutenant Hieronymus rode to Caerel after he’d found out what was going on.
“A group of riders has been spotted milord. Around fifteen of them, perhaps a mile down the road.”
Caerel was obviously a little flustered. He didn’t know what to do exactly. Ala wondered if he had ever had to command a formation against a real enemy before. It seemed unlikely. She decided to make a suggestion.
“Perhaps we should try and draw them in, see if we can catch one for information? If they see all of us, I expect they’ll run, we outnumber them.”
That cleared his mind.
“Good idea, Lady Alagariel. We’ll need some bait, uhm…”
“I will be the bait, they’ve probably been instructed to keep an eye out for me.”
Myrthe frowned at her.
“Uhm… I can’t…. let…” started Caerel. Then he thought better of it, absentmindedly rubbing his forehead where Ala had grabbed it to throw him to the ground on the practice field. He raised his arm and pointed.
“Ride the wagons into that copse of trees, together with the mounts we don’t need. Put the archers in that treeline,” he pointed, “and the infantry will hide in that ditch.”
He pointed to a ditch in the other direction, dug as drainage to keep the road from becoming muddy.
“The cavalry will form up behind that rise, then ride round to cut off their retreat when they are in the trap. Lady Alagariel will ride up the road and pretend to run from them, hopefully drawing them in. Any questions?”
It made sound tactical sense. It had taken Caerel only a moment to collect himself in the face of a real fight. It was quite impressive, Ala thought, understanding better what Myrthe saw in the young man. Lieutenant Hieronymus didn’t have much of an opinion about anything, but it was obvious from Brugor’s expression that he approved of the plan, he had spun his horse round to put it in motion the second Caerel had stopped speaking. Ala whispered to Fulgor who started forward. She loosened her shield a bit so she could easily swing it round when needed.
Ala rode forward, hood down. Her red-golden hair was in a loose braid and clearly recognisable. After about seven hundred yards, around a bend in the path, she could see the riders ahead. She stopped Fulgor, telling him to be ready to run back quickly. She didn’t recognise anyone among the riders. They had the manner of soldiers, she could see they wore mail and had shields slung over their backs. Some wore conical helmets others, a chapeau-de-fer, making them better equipped than she was accustomed to for militiamen. Only Bernard’s cavalry had been similarly equipped. The leader had a one-and-a-half-hander at his belt. He was a muscular, clean shaven man. It was customary for riders to stop at a safe distance from one another. The leader did not, and continued to ride in her direction.
“Halt,” she called, “Identify yourself!”
“Show your right of passage, elf! Or you are under arrest by order of the Constable of Thetwick.”
He had an accent. It could be Oakharrow, she thought… or maybe further away.
“You’ll have to catch me first!”
She whirled Fulgor round as she heard the troop spur their horses. It was easier than she had expected. She whispered to Fulgor in elvish not to go too fast and to stay the same distance ahead of them. The leader had a particularly fast horse, however, causing her to have to accelerate. He could not manage to outpace Fulgor, who responded well when Ala whispered to him in elven. She raced down the track, with the riders following her. She held Fulgor back a little to let the riders think they were gaining. A horn call sounded. Brugor had given the signal to close the trap. The infantrymen stood up and climbed out of the ditch. They formed two rows across the path, pikes set low. She could hear the rumble of the cavalrymen coming round behind the pursuing riders. The archers stepped forth out of the trees in a long line. The infantrymen opened a gap for Fulgor to ride through as Brugor bellowed a fire command. The archers fired a volley at the riders, dropping several of them. They walked forward, nocking the next arrows and stopped for a moment for a second volley.
Caerel’s plan was to pin the riders in a triangle. One side was formed by the infantrymen directly in their path. The archers formed another side, and the cavalry, riding abreast rode in to close the triangle around them. Ala had stopped Fulgor and was turning him around when she saw that the leader and perhaps three of the riders were going to make it out of the trap before it could be fully closed. Myrthe, Matt and Caerel were riding out of the woods towards her too. She whispered Fulgor forward, as she was considering how to take the lead rider down without killing him. The man had drawn his sword, in his right hand, which gave her the advantage, as she was coming from his left. A little to her disappointment, she decided this couldn’t be Gordon Marchmain. She felt confident she would recognise him. She concentrated on intercepting him, deciding she didn’t think hurting the horse was an acceptable course of action. She was going to have to tackle him off the horse. She stood up on Fulgor’s broad back, and dived into the Oakharrowers’ leader.
It was a risky move. She had aimed to impact her left shoulder at the junction of his neck and his shoulder, trying to leverage him over the horse. She missed by a bit and the manoeuvre didn’t quite go as she had imagined it. She slipped past him, only partially making him lose his balance. At this point, it really didn’t seem like the best idea she had ever had. As she was heading head first towards the ground, she came by his sword arm. She let go of her own blade which was still in her right hand, and grabbed hold. That pulled him over the horse thankfully, reversed her direction of fall, and put her on her side in the dirt, weaponless, maybe six inches from the Oakharrowers’ head. She pushed up off the ground, getting back to her feet. The Oakharrower did the same after he had gotten his sword out from under him. Luckily that took him a moment longer. She looked around for her sword, which had fallen a few yards behind them. She immediately ran for it. She wouldn’t have been fast enough if Myrthe hadn’t arrived and taken a wild swing at him with her riding sword. It was a miss, but it distracted him just long enough that Ala could put her right hand on the sword, roll with it and come up reversed with her blade in hand in time to parry the man’s first disorganised swing.
“Drop the weapon, Oakharrow man,” Ala hissed.
He looked around. Caerel had ridden on. He had cut down one of the riders and was gaining on a second one. He evidently decided he could handle one elf and a clumsy priestess. Matt didn’t dare gallop his horse, he was too afraid he’d fall off, so he was still quite a distance away.
“For you? You must be that elf bitch Marchmain spoke of! I think I’ll kill you instead. Mahr will be pleased,”
He didn’t sound like he was from Oakharrow, Ala decided as she wondered who ‘Mahr’ might be. He took his weapon in a two handed grip and raised his sword to swing for her. Ala stepped fully under his attack, her sword marking his wrist as she stepped underneath it and put her left hand on her sword grip too. It caused him to interrupt his swing, and Ala dropped her blade in a cut straight down with his left wrist in the way. He was wearing mail backed gloves so she didn’t sever his hand. Her sword did cut through the mail and put a deep cut across the back of his hand as he frantically tried to step back in time. Ala stepped back taking her distance again.
“I don’t like to repeat myself. Drop your blade and you won’t suffer further injury!”
He looked shocked and angry at the way she had routinely interrupted his attack. He had a bit of a crazed look in his eyes, she thought, almost like he was inebriated. Despite his injury, he decided to attack again with his blade only in his right hand, raising it above his head rapidly to strike. She interrupted the attack again with a long diagonal top-right to bottom left stroke, designed once again not to kill him but to give her space to move close next to him, her legs grouped close together and put her blade in the crook of his right elbow while he was busy trying to recover his sword from its own inertia. She then stepped out extending and rotating outwards creating a very long powerful cut that sliced through the mild steel rings of his mail where she made contact and cut through the skin, muscles and tendons all the way down to the bone. His sword tip fell to the ground as he screamed. He was physically unable to lift the sword now and bleeding profusely from the inside of his right elbow. He still wouldn’t release his sword though. Ala had to punch him full in the face several times to stun him, then stamp on the man’s hand four times before he would let go of the sword. Ala glanced at Myrthe, the two of them sharing a look of concern as Matt rode up.
“What’s wrong, ladies?”
“This man has the drive of ten mindless fanatics,” said Myrthe, gesturing over to the Oakharrower who was lying stunned and bleeding in the grass now.
Caerel came riding back too.
“One of them got away,” he said.
“They’ll really know we’re coming then,” said Matt.
Ala turned her attention to the wounded leader.
“Where is Gordon Marchmain?”
She detected a glimmer of recognition in the man’s eyes.
“Marchmain is a brother…. A true soul… He would not falter, nor will I,” he said in between clenching his teeth against the pain.
It was enough confirmation for Ala. She hoped she would be able to find him this time. He was certainly in the Westmarch.
It was the same story with the other riders. Caerel’s soldiers had had to kill nine of the remaining twelve that had been caught in the triangle. The three who were still alive had been bludgeoned into submission. Four of Caerel’s men had been killed in the exchange, and four more wounded. Ala surveyed the carnage.
“This doesn’t make sense. These men aren’t mercenaries. They fight like they’d rather die than be taken. Mercenaries would want to fight another day. Normal Oakharrowers would want to go home and bandits would run at the first opportunity.”
Caerel looked at her.
“You don’t think they’re just well paid mercenaries?”
Brugor shook his head.
“I agree with Lady Alagariel and the Priestess. This kind of devotion is unusual. It’s…. it must be religious or the like, milord.”
Ala walked over to the corpses. As she moved she cleaned off her sword and sheathed it. She then pointed at two infantrymen, “you and you, come here and give me a hand. We have some distasteful work.”
Together with the two men, she searched the corpses and then stripped them. They didn’t have anything particularly strange on them, but each man had the same tattoo on his left forearm.
“Anyone have any idea what that might represent?” Ala asked, loudly.
Caerel, Matt and Brugor all had a look and all shook their heads. Myrthe, with her vast learning, had a contribution to make, she put her teeth on her lower lip as she always did when she was thinking.
“Part of it looks a bit like something I once read about. A cult of some sort if I remember correctly, related to a demon-king, I think he was called Mahr.”
“Mahr? Their leader said something about Mahr being pleased just before he attacked me,” said Ala.
“I don’t know about religious, but certainly like a cult, at least. This symbol has an addition to it though, compared to the one I saw in the book, underneath. Look it’s like two curved swords, under a set of spread wings maybe? I think the wings were related to Mahr’s cult. The swords weren’t in the book I read. But it was an old book, and it spoke of it as ancient history. Sorry. That’s all I know.”
“It’s more than the rest of us put together,” mumbled Caerel appreciatively, straightening himself up.
“Lord Caerel, may I send riders to the Duke? We have to assume word will get to Thetwick soon, we need men to ride swiftly to minimize the chance of them being headed off at the ford.”
“Yes. Sergeant-Major. I agree. Send two men at once.”
“May I make it two groups of two, by different routes, milord?”
“That will sap our strength too much. With our current losses, even sending two men is a large drain on our resources. Just send the two, that will be enough.”
Ala didn’t think that was the best course, and tried to catch Myrthe’s eye. She thought maybe Myrthe could change his mind. Myrthe saw Ala looking and shook her head. She didn’t think it was a good idea to question Caerel’s authority right now it seemed. Ala decided to trust Myrthe’s judgement.
Caerel quickly wrote two notes to the Duke, explaining what they had encountered, beseeching him for more forces, the folded and sealed them and handed one to each of the men.
“You will take this message to the Duke of Taladaria. It is of paramount importance that the message gets through, if you have to abandon one another to achieve it, do so. In case you lose the letters, you will memorise the message as well. Repeat after me.”
It took about twenty minutes to get the messages written, the freshest and fastest horses assigned, and the best riders selected. They had to repeat the message back to Caerel several times, then he sent them on his way. They soldiers quickly dug shallow graves. One for the cultists, and the other for the Guardsmen. The location was carefully marked on the map so they could be reburied properly later. Once the messengers had left, it was late afternoon, and Caerel called then all together for an impromptu conference.
“Lady Alagariel, you know Thetwick. Is there perhaps a reasonably defensible place we can travel to in order to rest for the night?”
“We already passed Brightfield, that was that caravan stop we came by. It’s more or less half way between Thetwick and the Ford in. Between here and Thetwick I think we’d better press on. I know of a place near Thetwick that’s reasonably defensible. A few miles from Thetwick, there are some ruins which we sometimes used as a campsite on militia patrols… the locals call it the… err… Maiden’s Tower. I know it well, I used to visit it often.”
Ala decided that she should omit the fact that that was what it was called was because she’d had a habit of practising sword work encased in fire there when she was younger. She continued with her explanation.
“It’s ruined, but is does offer a fair view towards Thetwick. It was once a keep or tower of some kind, there’s natural springs and it has a commanding view of its approaches. At the pace we managed with the cavalry screen, I estimate we will be able to get there perhaps a few moments before sundown.”
Caerel nodded before turning towards Brugor and Hieronymous.
“Lieutenant, Sergeant-Major, how does that sound?”
Lieutenant Hieronymus nodded.
“Sounds defensible, milord, it’ll do. Probably best if Lady Alagariel rides out ahead with a scout or two to look it over before the sun sets,” said Brugor.
“Agreed.”
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La Coruna, 2059.181.1700 (Mon 30 Jun) The festival celebrating the completion of the European High Water Defence (HWD) system kicked off today with a full week of revelry in the historic city of La Coruna in the member state Spain.
The festival includes performances by famous artists such as Marrakesh Mike, The Space Donkeys and Yvette. There is also a tall ship race, with the replica of ‘Flying Cloud’ as the top attraction. In addition there will be search and rescue demonstrations, flea markets and a culinary experience. The celebrations mark the completion of the HWD, though it has actually operational since September 2058, when the gap between the new construction and the Gibraltar Dam was closed.
The high water system, essentially a more advanced and larger copy of the Delta Works that protected the coasts of the member state ‘The Netherlands’, is intended to protect the entire European continent from the effects of rising sea levels. Critics have condemned the effort for its alleged effects on wildlife, maritime recreation and the disruption of maritime views at the few points where the system can be seen from shore, like in La Coruna. Visitors to the celebrations in La Coruna are asked for their understanding while authorities make certain any activists are in compliance with the stipulations in their demonstration permits.
The engineering project, easily the largest ever undertaken and estimated at a cost of a hundred trillion Euros is easily visible from Low Earth Orbit (LEO). EU President Catherine Bonino was present in La Coruna and stated “Europeans coastal residents can finally sleep knowing they are safe from the sea,” as part of her opening speech.
This is an in setting press release for Total War. It is not real.
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.
When they started out early the next morning, Ala felt like there was a quiet tension in the air. It was of the kind that accompanies the anticipation leading up to a fight. They left the Ford Inn with the cavalry in the vanguard, followed by Caerel, Ala and the others, then the mounted archers, the supply train and the pikemen at the rear. They rode with a screen of two outriders to scout ahead, one on each side of the road. It was possible that the Oakharrowers had spotted them arriving at Ford Inn. It was even possible that they had spies at Hightower, but they would have to have a network of sentries to be able to relay that message to Thetwick faster than they were travelling.
Ala needed a moment to focus on the task at hand. She was feeling guilty that she had not told Martha that she had killed her younger brother, Jake, who had been among those who meant to assassinate her at Larkhill.
An ambush or other attack seemed likely in light of what they’d learned at the Ford Inn. It was certainly what Ala would have done had she been leading the Oakharrowers. The requirement for added caution slowed down their travel. The outriders would call a halt if they saw something they felt needed investigation. It caused many stops. Nonetheless, they passed by the Brightfield caravan stop by mid afternoon which meant they were still solidly outpacing a normal ox drawn caravan.
Not long after Brightfield they saw a burnt farmstead in the distance, some parts of which were still smouldering and producing smoke. Questioning eyes turned towards to Ala.
“I know that place. Quite a well to do farm, Thets call it the Bullstead. It was founded by the man who brought me to Thetwick, William the Bull. Rich, by Thetwick standards… or it was.”
“We’d best investigate it,” ordered Caerel.
Brugor waved to the outriders to turn towards it. She had passed by the Bullstead many times on patrol with the militia, sometimes stopping to water the horses. She had even stopped there on her own once, trying to find out more about ‘the Bull’ himself. She had been told by Palady that the man had been on the patrol that brought Ala to Thetwick as an infant. Her visits had never led to any new information about herself. Now the smoking ruin appeared to be deserted.
The archers formed a cordon around the farm and everyone in Caerel’s little command group dismounted to look around. There were two corpses in the yard in front of the burnt out building as well as dead livestock. The dead bodies were two men, dressed as farmers customarily were. There were only two dead animals, a cow and a pig, the rest of the livestock was gone, but it was clear there had been more. Ala remembered the place as a prosperous farm, one of the richer ones in Thetwick by virtue of the size of its lands. The farm itself was a large building forty yards long with stout stone walls. It had burnt out, the thatched roof and interior had been almost completely consumed by flames. Roughly a third of the building had been the family’s living quarters, the other two thirds had been a barn for storage and livestock. Only part of the charred wooden skeleton and the low stone walls remained. Judging by the decomposition of the bodies and the remains of the fire, it hadn’t happened more than a few days ago.
Brugor shook his head in disgust. “I’ve seen this before, milord. This looks like the behaviour of an occupying army, an oppressor. They are operating overtly, not worried about reprisal. They are here in strength, feeling invulnerable. We have to assume that they control the whole Westmarch which puts us deep in hostile territory. I’d wager they have a significant force here. Probably too many to take on.”
Caerel shook his head. “These people were innocent. Defenceless. Why murder them and drive them off?”
“They probably needed supplies. Perhaps plunder, or the men merely wanted some amusement. Who knows, milord? One thing is certain. Oakharrow is making its move on the Westmarch and by extension, Taladaria. We should send fast riders back.”
“Not yet. We must know more first,” said Caerel.
Brugor frowned, clearly disagreeing, “if this force is larger than we anticipated, we may not be able to get anyone out in time. I urge you to send men now, milord.”
Caerel was irritated, “and tell my grandfather what? That we found some driven off farmers? We need to know more, Brugor. Also, we will be depleting the cavalry if we send some of them away. My decision is final, Sergeant-Major.”
“Yes milord.” Brugor didn’t look like he agreed. He was used to following orders though, even if they came from inexperienced twenty-two year olds.
During the exchange Matt had been scraping around in the ruins of the Bullstead and he waved to them over, “as far as I can tell, if there were any survivors, they were either carried off, or they didn’t wait for the fire to burn out.”
“What makes you say that?” Asked Caerel.
“They left their valuables here,” Matt shrugged, “people who flee usually only leave their riches behind if they have no other choice.”
Ala went over to see what had led Matt to his conclusions. He had uncovered a stone in the floor that was removable. He had an uncanny ability to home straight in on spots where people might store valuables. Underneath was a small wooden hatch, inside of which was a small chest, and some bundles wrapped in oilskins against moisture.
“You have an uncanny knack for knowing where to look for things like this, Matt,” Ala said.
“Well, I suppose it’s not something to be terribly proud of, but you develop a sense for it. Maybe from now on it can lead to things getting back to their rightful owners rather than the other way around. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking, since the rightful owners are probably out in the yard… or prisoners…”
He smiled ruefully as Ala turned to the others.
“I came through here a few times on patrol with the militia. The farmers here were all named William… after the Bull, I imagine.”
Ala thought for another moment.
“So a sequence of William Williamsons. His father’s name was William too, which makes it a little hard for me to remember them all as they all had the exact same name. I think this family has named their eldest sons William since William the Bull. People don’t really bother with last names in the Westmarch. If there’s any information to be about them, it would probably be listed as William Williamson or William of the Bullstead. Something along those lines,” Ala said.
Caerel was looking round. He was visibly shocked by the random brutality that had been visited on these people. “Just poor defenceless farmers, probably have been for generations. How could a warrior do this?”
“I guess a real warrior couldn’t… at least that’s the way I was taught… bullies and thugs… well, they might I guess,” Ala said.
“It’s hard to fathom that such people exist.”
“The patriarch of this family was a famous warrior, served in the ducal regiment. I told you that he was with the patrol that found me? I think he was already famous then. He achieved distinction in the service of the then Duke of Taladaria… that would be…. your father’s great grandfather, I think, Lord Caerel, if I’m counting correctly.”
“Well, his loyalty seems to have been of meagre service to his descendants.”
“This man, William the Bull, left with that patrol after depositing me here. As I understand it, he never returned. I once came here trying to find out more of my own history, when I was younger. No one remembered anything. If I think about it for a moment, I’m sure I can recall the story of how William the Bull earned his nickname. Come to think of it, I think I can even vaguely recall the man himself. Not that I knew he was important, then. Shame I only discovered who he was so much later.”
Caerel looked up at her, initially interested by the tale, only for the look on his face to be overtaken by the realisation of how old she was sinking in. Ala was speaking of events that had taken place more than a century ago.
He shook it off and spoke, “I think I’ve heard a story about a brave man-at-arms who served my great-great-grandfather nicknamed ‘The Bull’. I think he was famous for pushing over a warhorse, rider and all who was about to spear my grandfather. There’s a tapestry depicting the event in the great hall in Peyrepertuse. You actually knew this guy?”
The smile vanished from Caerel’s face quickly as he looked around the ruined farm again.
“Well, I wouldn’t say I knew him. I saw him maybe a few times, I think? Perhaps with the patrol? I don’t remember. I suppose I was too young for the story of his exploits, then. Or I dismissed it… I don’t know. It was a long time ago and I don’t remember anything that went on then it in as much detail as I would like. Not even in enough detail to know what exactly happened.”
Caerel was shaking his head.
“Taladaria hasn’t done right by his family, has it? Do you think… that these two, the corpses in the yard, were the last of the line?”
He looked down. Ala was impressed with the young man’s perspective.
“There were women here too, also children. They’re not among the dead. Hopefully they managed to flee.”
“I can only hope so,” Caerel said.
Matt was looking through the things he had found, he pulled some delicate metal tools from in between his padded armour, and fiddled with the lock on the small chest. It was of remarkably good quality, much better than one would expect among simple farmers. Inside were around twenty silver coins, some jewellery, and four scrolls.
“This hasn’t been opened in a long time. Not in a very long time,” Matt pronounced.
Myrthe looked at him blankly, “how can you tell?”
“The smell. Age… I don’t know… you can smell it when things have been sealed off for a long time.”
Myrthe carefully looked through the scrolls, one by one.
“This one is a deed. It grants this land to William ‘the Bull’ of Thetwick and his descendants in perpetuity. Oh look, Caerel, it’s signed too. In the year 838, by Ivan de Duilhac, Duke of Taladaria. That’s what? Your… ehm… great-grandfather, I think? To the fourth degree, I think, if my maths is right.”
Caerel came over to look, his interest piqued, “truly? Imagine that,” he said, clearly a little speechless to find such a direct link to his family in the ruins.
“The date corresponds with when I think I arrived in Thetwick,” said Ala, “more or less.”
The other scrolls were wills from the two generations since, and a letter from the Duke Ivan to William the Bull’s widow. It informed her of her husband’s heroic death in a battle Ala had never heard of and apparently had included a pension for her. It was dated two years after the land grant. Apparently the dead William, the most recent generation, out in the yard, hadn’t gotten around to a will yet.
Myrthe remained engrossed with the documents, so Ala inspected the two bundles that were wrapped in oilskins next. One of them was heavier than you’d think and contained a coat of very fine silvery mail, finer than Ala had ever seen. It had blackened patches on it that reminded Ala of the kind of encrustation that had been on Ala’s sword and the remains of its scabbard. She opened the other oil-paper package, impatient now. It contained the remains of a fine, delicately embroidered cloak. The designs on it were like a lot of things she had seen at Yesme’s house, but more dramatic, more yellows and reds. There were great holes in it, but it had once been like a fire inspired version of the same idea, she thought.
“Myrthe, could you please take a look at this?” Ala called shakily.
Myrthe came quickly, a look of concern on her face.
“This black stuff on the armour, and on what’s left of this cloak. It’s the same as was on the remains of my sword and scabbard. This farmstead was given to this family very close to the date I came to Thetwick… William the Bull would have come here, when he was nearby.”
Matt was looking over the scrolls, apparently smelling them.
“Lemon juice, maybe, though I could be imagining it,” he pronounced, waving the Duke’s letter.
Ala looked at him quizzically.
“It means there may be a hidden message, Ala,” said Myrthe.
“How do you know that?” Matt asked Myrthe.
Myrthe just smiled knowingly, “misspent youth I’m afraid.”
“What are you two on about?” Ala snapped, “explain!”
“If you write a message in lemon juice, you can’t see it on the parchment, until it’s heated. To be honest, I wouldn’t really expect it to last for a hundred years. You have to be a little careful not to burn the parchment. We can do it carefully tonight,” Myrthe suggested.
“Heat?” Ala grabbed the document and concentrated. She was good at controlling her gift in small ways. She’d always been so concerned about discovery she’d spent a large part of her youth tightly controlling her fire so no one noticed it. She called flame to her hands and gently heated the document. A text became visible, in a delicate hand.
“That’s a neat trick,” Matt said.
Ala was far too busy concentrating on the parchment to notice his comment.
To my grandchildren, great grandchildren and other descendants,
I have written this note, because I dare not tell my own son about these treasures we keep. My beloved Bull made me swear to return these items to the elven girl named Ala, currently in the household of Palady Georgedaughter, when she comes of age. This will be in perhaps a century or more, as she is a fire elf, not a half-elf as Palady has convinced the villagers. I don’t know much about elves and the like, but my Bull was well travelled and knowledgeable. He was certain she would not come of age for more than a century. I am ashamed to say that my son is too enraptured by wealth. I do not trust him to hold these objects according to his father’s wishes. My dear Bull was an honourable man. He would never want that, so I am hiding these things in the hope that honour returns to this family in future.
Bull never told me the whole tale of what happened during the patrol when they found the elven girl. I think he expected to be able to instruct his own children on what precisely to do. What I do know is that he was present when they came upon a group of evil men and creatures. They were keeping the elven child as a prisoner and carried items that were probably plundered from her companions. The Bull thought it likely that a group of elven travellers that had been ambushed somewhere nearby. The condition of the items convinced him that it had to have been nearby. He and his men searched for the site of the slaughter, but they could not find it in the short time they could afford to stay in so dangerous an area.
Palady has taken to calling the girl Alagariel, after the elven queen in the Faerytale. Bull thought these ruined items belonged to elves who had lost their lives protecting the elf child, as noble a death as can be imagined. He felt she had a right to have these clues to her heritage, though he himself did not understand what family they may have belonged to. It is my desire that our descendants honour his wishes.
Nyra of Oakheart, Widow of William ‘The Bull’ of Thetwick.
Wogekind, 896
Ala was crying. She didn’t really know why. Myrthe hugged her.
“It’s a piece of your puzzle Ala. But we must go, Caerel is growing impatient. I think he wants vengeance for what has been done to these people. We should talk about what all this might mean later.”
Ala gathered the items, put them in her pack and mounted Fulgor. She wiped her eyes and nodded to Caerel who was looking at her to see if she was ready. He obviously didn’t understand exactly what was going on. He was absorbed by what had befallen The Bull’s descendants and wasn’t immediately concerned with what Ala had discovered. He was very keen to continue on to Thetwick. Even so, he hadn’t pushed Ala to hurry, she noted.
When she was ready Caerel led off heading further towards Thetwick.
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I’ve added another page to the Vatan companion, giving a rough overview of the planet Vatan. It gives some idea of the size, ratio of land to sea, and extremes of temperature.