Category: Tales of Vatan

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.

Phansigar

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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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.

The Bullstead

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.

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.

Martha’s Tale

Caerel was sitting at a long table chatting with Myrthe, which Ala had noticed was the case more often than not. The serving girl, Alissa, Ala’s friend whom she knew from previous visits to the Inn, had just finished refilling their goblets with wine. She nodded to Ala with a smile when she saw her. Alissa always acted distant when she was in sight of the Innkeeper, Helmut. Myrthe and Caerel seemed to be getting on very well, as they had every evening of the trip. They genuinely seemed to enjoy one another’s company. Myrthe had been missing from the quarters she was supposed to share with Ala every night. Matt was in the back playing songs for some of the other patrons. He was a fair hand with a flute he had played them a few bawdy ballads on the trip back to Thetwick.

Ala headed for Caerel’s table. She was still a little wary of her interactions with Caerel since the incident on the practice field. She gestured to Martha to wait a moment.

“Lord Caerel, I found someone I know, a friend, from Thetwick among the travellers – they are in fact refugees – that are out in the common yard. Will you listen to what befell her, I beg of you? Her husband and sons were murdered by Oakharrowers. I have known her for twenty years, I think her story is important to hear.”

“Refugees you say? What is happening?”

“My friend, Martha Callumsdaughter has been on the receiving end of the Constables latest schemes. She can explain,” encouraged Ala, gesturing for Martha to come closer.

Caerel looked over at Myrthe, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Ala took note of the interaction. He apparently valued her opinion. For some reason it pleased Ala that their affair was something more than purely physical.

“Let’s invite her to sit with us, Lady Alagariel.”

“Martha, come and join us. This is Caerel de Duilhac, Lord of Taladaria and heir to the Duke. Next to him is Myrthe Lambertye, Priestess of Guanshiyin, over there is Matt of Duilhac as well as Lieutenant Hieronymus and Sergeant-Major Brugor of the Duke’s Regiment.”

Martha looked very uncomfortable, her eyes darting frantically over the people whose array of names and titles Ala had listed.

“Please sit down. Mistress Martha,” said Caerel, as gently as he could, “Lady Alagariel tells me you have suffered a great injustice in Thetwick, please, tell me your tale so that we might learn more of our adversaries and see justice done.”

Martha curtsied as best she could and looked at Ala uncertainly. After a moment Ala suddenly realised the poor woman was awed by the importance of the people assembled to listen to her. On top of all that, it occurred to Ala that Martha was just as mortified that she had been so familiar with her, as she had just been addressed as a noblewoman by Caerel, who was obviously expected to know about such things.

“Please sit Martha, Lord Caerel needs to know what happened. If we are to seek justice for all of your kin we must know as much as we can about the men from Oakharrow,” said Ala.

“Yes milady…. Milord, I’m sorry I must apologise I was so familiar with… Lady Alagariel earlier. I didn’t know…. no one did in Thetwick, I think.”

Caerel looked over at Ala, a little puzzled. Myrthe, ever socially astute, understood and saved the moment.

“Dear Martha, no one knew, not even Lady Alagariel herself. As you probably know better than I, she knew little of her family. We have since discovered a little more and one of those discoveries is indeed that she is of noble descent. There is no harm done. I am certain you know Lady Alagariel is not the sort to hold petty grudges. Please tell us your tale.”

Ala smiled at Martha, trying to coax her to start telling the tale and inviting her to sit once more. Martha repeated what she had told Ala, with more detail. A few days after Ala had punched her way out of the council hall, the Constable had ordered that the militia men should no longer keep their equipment at home, but that it should be stored centrally at the council hall. Most had complied.

“Foreigners started coming into town, the day after you left… err Lady Alagariel. By their accents I though they might be Oakharrowers, or perhaps some hailed from deeper in Selinus. Many of them were rough types and they were all armed. I heard Willard meant to form up the militia, but the Constable forbade it. He claimed that the foreigners were a ‘civil’ matter and that they had been hired to work some of his new fields…”

“New fields?” asked Ala.

“I think he may have meant Bernard’s fields, milady.”

“I see, please continue.”

“Almost immediately the ‘taxation’ started. Those men started loading carts with the spoils and they disappeared in the direction of Oakharrow. The Constables men rapidly became very brutal whenever anyone spoke against them.”

Martha explained what had happened to Tom, her sons and June. The leader of the ‘tax collectors’ was a man named Ancus, with a scar over his left eye. His accent was different to that of the men from Oakharrow. The taxation continued to increase in its intensity and the sanctions for not complying had swiftly become more severe. Merchant caravans who came to town were “taxed” in the same way. Some merchants were killed in the irregularities. Other merchants made for the Ford Inn. Soon, the word of the ‘taxation’ spread and the regular merchants had stopped travelling to Thetwick. Some of the militia men had been talking of sending a message to the Duke, but nothing had come of it, at least until Martha had seen the Duke’s men camped at the inn. Finally, Martha finished her story saying, “I’m not sure how it all suddenly started. It’s like they were waiting for Captain Bernard to die and Ala… sorry… Lady Alagariel, to leave.”

Caerel looked very angry, “Mistress Martha, these men who terrorise my grandfather’s loyal subjects will be punished. Thank you for telling me your tale. I can see that it was hard to speak of these injustices and I regret they befell you. I will do everything in the power of House de Duilhac to achieve justice and attempt to extract compensation from the culprits.”

Martha nodded. It wouldn’t change enough for her even if justice was served reflected Ala, but she seemed a little more at ease that something was at least being done.

The atmosphere among the Company changed after that. Martha was excused and what had looked to be another relaxed evening became more tense with the men clearly more wary and alert. Brugor headed outside to increase the guard and double check that the lookouts were posted in spots where they could see the surrounding approaches clearly. After the meal Myrthe asked Ala to join her and Caerel.

“It seems this Constable of yours has his eyes set on more than Bernard’s will,” said Caerel.

“I’m a bit shocked to be honest,” said Ala. “I hadn’t really dreamt that he could be actually be dealing with the Count of Oakharrow. Not like this, certainly. This is treason, is it not?”

“It means he has more support than just what he can press gang in Thetwick,” observed Myrthe.

Caerel nodded in agreement. “This is indeed more than just an abuse of power. I agree, it’s outright treason. I hope our strength will be sufficient to deal with this.”

“Even if it isn’t,” said Ala, “we should at least find out a little more about what’s going on. Bernard would have called it reconnaissance in force. Gordon Marchmain’s reappearance with these Oakharrow soldiers also reeks of cooperation that may stretch back for twenty years.”

She’d said it just as Brugor had returned from his rounds.

“Your teacher seems to have been a sound strategist, Lady Alagariel. I’d have liked to make his acquaintance,” said the Sergeant-Major.

“I’m sure you and him would have gotten along well. You seem… cut from the same cloth.”

“Heh, who knows. The elf-maid is right though, milord, a little aggressive reconnaissance would be my preference also.”

“I suppose that’s what we will do then. I’m still hoping we can set things right of course,” said Caerel, as if he felt the need to reiterate that the mission was still to restore the Duke’s Peace.

“Aye milord, we’ll do that if we can. Goin’ to need to be a wee bit more careful goin’ about it, nothin’ more. Just got to keep in mind that they might be with many more than we though.”

“Yes, Sergeant-Major. That is indeed prudent. I’m pleased we’re all in agreement.”

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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.

The Duke’s Peace

They made it to the Ford Inn without any incidents, if you didn’t consider torrential rain and the resulting stuck wagons an incident. Approaching from the Taladarian side of the Iceflow river, Ford Inn held a commanding position that overlooked the ford and offered a view some miles into Taladaria as well. Viewed from this side, Ala was certain it must have been built on the foundation of a castle or some other fortification in the time when Taladaria and the Westmarch weren’t united under the same Lord. The men of the Duke’s Regiment were accustomed to travelling from chartered Inn to chartered Inn in this manner. One had to be a Master with the Innkeeper’s guild to be allowed to run one of the chartered establishments along the official routes of the Caravanners Guild. The innkeepers along the route were all obligated to provide members of the Duke’s Regiment and anyone else who could show a document from the Duke proving permission with anything they lacked. The Duke’s factor would reimburse the innkeeper in question for whatever it had cost, at fixed rates. This was all assuming that Innkeeper could get a representative to go to Peyrepertuse to fetch the money. The alternative was to wait for the factor’s yearly rounds along the Duchy’s Caravan routes for the bills to be settled.

All this knowledge of the inner workings of Taladaria’s ducal system came from Myrthe, who had encyclopedic knowledge of seemingly everything in Taldyr. Her wisdom including detailed information on the mechanisms by which the Duchy was ruled and she was also able to explain that such systems worked more or less the same way throughout Selinus and Iurrak. The Guilds played an important role in making governing large domains manageable. Only Dukes, Princes and Kings were permitted and also obligated to maintain standing military units in Iurrak. Those regiments, mandated by the King had to be supplied by the chartered Inns throughout Iurruk, even if the Regiment was not in the fief it belonged. If one of the Dirua Regiments needed to be somewhere outside Dirua, then the Inns still had to supply them.

The last stop before the river had been in Hightower. Ala hadn’t stopped there on her journey to Peyrepertuse. She had passed it by to catch up to the caravan where she had met Myrthe weeks earlier. Even Matt managed the trip with nothing more than saddle sores and regular complaints. Ala had sort of hoped that the two Royal Customs Officers she had run into during her dash across the river might still be there, but there was no sign of them. The little building on the east bank of the Iceflow was empty. Ala would have liked to talk to them and found out what had happened after she passed them by. News along the route hadn’t been heartening. Rumours and accounts gathered by Myrthe and Matt from travellers out of Thetwick, told of brutality and other incidents with increasing frequency as they approached the Westmarch.

Strangely, the Innkeepers along their route through Sheffield had all reported bandit activity along the King’s Road seemed to have decreased in recent weeks, which was hard to comprehend. Ala thought that sponsored banditry out of Oakharrow should have been something that the Count would have been more than happy to be involved in. She and Bernard had always suspected that Sheffield’s unsafe roads were the Count of Oakharrow’s doing. It wasn’t their direct problem, but she knew Bernard had reported the suspicion to the Duke several times. Why then, had banditry seemed to decline since Bernard’s death? Where had the bandits gone? She was worried it had something to do with what was going on in the Westmarch. The closer they came to the Westmarch the more people seemed relieved to see their band flying the Duke’s colours arrive, as if they were long overdue.

They forded the Iceflow, which was presumably as cold as its name suggested in this time of year. The tracks at the Ford were less than Ala was used to. The Inn looked quiet too. Trade was less than had been customary a just few weeks earlier. That too was out of the ordinary, it was the time of the year for increasing trade. The only thing that ought to slow it down was if the Iceflow grew too deep because of melt water. It wasn’t at its shallowest, but it wasn’t anything that would stop a caravan. It was another indication that not all was as it should be.

“It’s more quiet than it usually is this time of year,” said Ala.

“Surely the death of a militia Captain doesn’t normally affect trade?” Myrthe wondered.

“Shouldn’t should it? Unless that made the roads a lot less safe or something,” suggested Matt.

“Whatever the Constable has been doing since I left, might though,” Ala said.

When they rode into the Inn’s courtyard it was doubly clear that there were far fewer merchants at the Inn than there should be. The King’s Road that they had travelled from Peyrepertuse to High Tower had had its normal share of activity. Merchants must be bypassing the Westmarch, Ala decided. They were turning north at Hightower instead of continuing West to trade mounts in Thetwick as they might have only a month earlier. The stream of people and goods to and from Thetwick had obviously decreased. Aside from the lack of merchants, there were more travellers than usual, people who had belongings with them. People sometimes moved or travelled to live with family, but it was a rarity. There were quite a lot of such people at the Ford Inn, which was unusual.

“This is not normal for the Ford Inn in spring,” said Ala as she dismounted. The Inn didn’t have the vibrant look she was accustomed to seeing after the winter. It looked empty, even sad and the numerous travellers she could see weren’t engaging in any of the usual commerce.

Ala walked around the inside of the walled caravan enclosure and in a corner, under a roof that was meant for storing farm equipment, found a group of several families that were travelling with what belongings they had managed to load onto a small donkey cart. What they looked like, Ala decided, was refugees. She was about to ask a question when she realised she recognised one of them. The woman was Martha Callumsdaughter whom she’d known since the tragic day when Martha’s half sister and father had been murdered. Martha had witnessed Gordon Marchmain doing it when she was only twelve years old.

Ala had remained friendly with the woman ever since and she was now the wife of a farmer. Martha was an attractive woman in her mid thirties with auburn hair. She was wearing a rough brown dress and a green headscarf that only allowed a few wisps of her hair to escape. Ala was certain she had still lived at Piersson Steading, close to Thetwick’s southern edge, with her husband just a few weeks earlier. Ala had stopped at their farm many times to water the horses when she was riding patrols with the militia.

“Martha? Martha Callumsdaughter?”

Martha’s features changed to surprised recognition when Ala approached. “Alagariel? Truly? Whatever brings you here? It’s not safe for you, you know! You should go back to where ever you disappeared to! Not that it’s not good to see you, mind, but it really is dangerous in the Westmarch now.”

“I know it is.”

“Wait… did you just arrive with the Duke’s soldiers?”

Ala nodded, “I did. It’s good to see you though I am most alarmed to run into you here. What happened that you are here with your family and belongings? Where is Tom?”

She saw Martha’s eyes water and her lips tense up, giving Ala an unspoken answer.

Ala spoke softly, “tell me what happened?”

It was difficult for her to speak, “Tom… he died….”

“Please tell me what happened… this.. this was no accident I take it? You wouldn’t be here fleeing with your family, otherwise, I think.”

“No… he was murdered… and John and Henry too.”

Ala was shocked. Martha’s husband and two sons were both dead.

“Gods…. Martha… I’m here with the Duke’s men, we are on our way to Thetwick.”

“There is great trouble there, Ala.”

“The Duke sent us to arrest the Constable and make certain ducal authority in the Westmarch is safeguarded in future. Please tell me what happened? It’s important to know.”

“They killed Tom and my boys. They stood up to them and they killed all of them! Laughed as they did it…”

“OK, now. Take a breath… start at the beginning. Who did it? Was it the Constable?”

“They have something to do with the Constable, he calls them his ‘enforcement squad’ or summin’. From their accents, I think they’re from Oakharrow or further… and Ala…”

“What?”

“I think one of them may have been Gordon Marchmain.”

Just hearing the name made Ala’s blood boil again. Martha had seen Gordon Marchmain murder her father and sister two decades before.

“Really? You’re sure?”

“Not sure… and I’m certain he didn’t recognise me. But I think so. I remember him. When they left June and I took what we could and fled, that night, we gave Thetwick as wide a berth as we could and came here.”

“You don’t think Marchmain was back for revenge?”

“It seems not… what I’ve heard from the other… refugees… what the Oakharrowers were doing… it was the same at all the farms. When I saw him, I was frightened… but now I think he wasn’t really after me. Oakharrowers were doing the same everywhere….”

“But then… it is the new constable who has Oakharrow men in his employ? Gordon would be… his uncle would he not?”

“I think so, yes.”

“It certainly offers a clue about the connection.”

“Marchmain wasn’t their leader… when they came, they were led by a Knight, though he bore no colours. He gave the orders, though he left while they were being carried out… the man I think was Marchmain… was, a sergeant or the like.”

Things were worse than Ala had imagined possible. Ala’s mind raced. Was that why the raiders had been so good at eluding the militia? How long had the Constable been colluding with the Oakharrowers, she wondered? Could this be where all the bandits had gone?

“The Constable has brought in these soldiers from Oakharrow?”

“Yes. They have a camp around three hundred yards up the creek from Thetwick. About a week after you left, they came round the first time, Gordon and the Knight and more men. They said there had been a tax increase. Took all our best provisions, everything we had been meaning to take to market. I heard some men, militia men stood up to them, like Willard. I heard Gordon and his men killed him and those with him.”

“Gordon Marchmain killed Willard?” said Ala, shocked. Willard had been her second in the militia for years.

“I don’t know that he did, personally. I only heard talk that it was him.”

Ala took a deep breath, recovering, “Best tell me the rest.”

“Two weeks later they came again, Gordon and his men. Said it was tax time again. Tom told them no. They killed him… and my boys and… and… they took my eldest daughter, June… took turns…”

Ala felt her blood run cold. She took a deep breath to steady herself and then attempted to speak as normally as possible.

“I cannot bring your husband and sons back or reverse what happened to your daughter, Martha. I am so sorry Martha, that such tragedy has found you again. I can promise you these men will pay for what they have done and I will find Gordon Marchmain too. I know it is a poor consolation.”

Martha’s face became very intent, “I feel it will offer a little satisfaction, at least.”

Ala nodded before continuing, “Lord Caerel, the Duke’s grandson is here. Will you relate to him what you told me?”

“Lord Caerel…? He’s the Duke’s actual grandson? Truly? Yes, yes. of course I will come. But I look a state…”

“He will understand, Martha. Please come with me to the inn, we’ll find him.”

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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.

Chapter 5: Homecoming

It has long been challenging for a Lord to exert his authority over unruly underlings. Many a relationship between a vassal and his lord has grown sour for lack of a lord effectively managing his relationship with his vassals. Even if there is no vassal who may be prone to delusions of grandeur, this is still no guarantee that a lord’s authority will remain uncontested. Many a lord is forced to defend his title within his own borders, even in times of relative peace. It is to be encouraged for a Lord to forge bonds of alliance and marriage with his vassals. Shared economic interest is another strategy that can contribute to a stable bond between a Lord and his vassals. This is not enough however and a Lord should diligently and regularly visit every corner of his realm, doing so is absolutely vital to its integrity. Failing to maintain such bonds can lead to a collapse of the relationship and even become dangerous for everyone involved as such problems can easily result in charges of treason or violent revolt by a vassal.

While a canny lord may be tempted to administer a fief himself, simply dispensing with giving it in vassalage to anyone, this tends to lead to even greater problems. A realm of any significant size requires day to day supervision and a Lord simply cannot be everywhere at once. Hence, a fief directly administered without its lords very regular presence is very likely to lead to unpleasant surprises brewing up in the unsupervised fief. This is one of the many reasons why the practice of giving more than one regnant title to a single person, should absolutely be avoided.

From the book “On Kingship” by Selinus IV, “The Scholar”, King of Selinus, circa 260

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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.

Return to the Westmarch

Eventually, the warband had taken shape. The whole company ended up numbering almost fourty. Caerel was in overall command, fulfilling the role of Captain. There was a troop of ten experienced cavalrymen with mail, shields, swords and long spears, mounted on Frisian destriers that had all been bred in the Westmarch. Next were ten of the Duke’s elite mounted pikemen with five-yard-pikes, shields, light crossbows, and swords. They were mounted on lighter steeds. Last were ten mounted archers. They were equipped with short swords and longbows, which they had to dismount to employ. There was also a small supply train with wagons and crossbow armed teamsters to transport feed, tents and everything else that was needed when a warband travelled.

The gruff Sergeant-Major, Brugor, was assigned to the expedition as well. Ala assumed he would be granted early retirement and made Captain of the Westmarch Militia if things went according to plan. Myrthe had explained it was a customary posting for competent senior enlisted men who were nearing retirement age. Ala wondered who they had in mind to take the post of Constable. Perhaps the Duke would send someone on after them for the job or maybe they would select another Thetwick local to do it. She wondered who she might recommend, if she was consulted. Probably Harald, she decided. Not that it was a pressing problem, a Captain could certainly look after a Constable’s duties for a while if needed.

Myrthe had asked Ala to try to teach her to meditate, but the priestess was absent from her bedchamber every time Ala went to look for her. She could guess where she was and what she was doing of course. She judged it unlikely that practising meditation had the highest priority and gave up on it, deciding to let Myrthe take the initiative.

It had taken a week to gather the supplies, people and horses. They left Peyrepertuse a little after dawn on First, a full week after the eventful session of the Duke’s Court. The weather was clear and only marred by the occasional spring shower. Caerel was mounted on an enormous white Percheron at the head of the column, with a guard Lieutenant named Hieronymus assigned as second in command by his side. Hieronymus was a tall, gaunt man, his brown hair greying, who had been in the guard forever. Gladiuth had told her he never really seemed likely to hold more than the Lieutenant’s rank he now held. It was clear that the Duke intended for Caerel to do the leading and Brugor was there to keep an eye on him. Why Hieronymus had been selected to come along wasn’t really clear to Ala? Perhaps the Duke didn’t want a powerful personality influencing Caerel’s leadership? Ala didn’t really see why the man had been sent along.

The baggage train consisted of five wagons filled with supplies. Each was drawn by two quick draft horses so they could keep up a good pace. They were intending to travel at twice the speed of an ox drawn caravan, meaning they should be able to make it to Thetwick in around eight days. A week’s practice had taught Matt how to sit on a horse without falling off. They had found him a gentle but energetic brown mare that wasn’t likely to scare easily and throw him. He wouldn’t be doing any lance charges, but neither was he going to fall off at the first sign of trouble. Ala was riding Fulgor and the Duke had let Myrthe pick one of the guard horses, an energetic grey gelding named Peter. Alagariel had dared to ride through Duilhac without her hood up. People stopped to stare and point at Myrthe who was riding beside Ala as they rode by.

“Myr, why are they pointing and staring at you?”

“Oh Ala, you dolt, you’re so naive. It’s not me. Do you have any idea what these people see when you ride by?”

“I don’t understand what you mean?”

“What do you think you look like in mail with those pointy ears and that red-golden hair and a cape trailing behind you, seated on an eighteen hand black stallion, surrounded by the Duke’s soldiers and colours?”

“Well you certainly make it sound like it should be something cool…”

“It’s like something out of a faerytale. You touch the imagination, which, as I understand it, is precisely what your people have done for elvenkind for millennia! Truly, how can you not understand that they’re looking at you? Gods, you’re so oblivious sometimes!”

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