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.

The Right to Bear Arms

She spent over a year polishing and cleaning the blade in between everything else that kept her busy. She took little extra jobs where she could get them to be able to buy or trade for the materials she wanted. Bernard would probably have given her whatever money she needed for it, but she didn’t want him to. She needed the right wood to make a good grip, and steel wire to wrap around it, which was expensive if you needed good quality. Copper and tin to attach a newly forged pommel. She also saved up money and traded rabbit skins to buy the best leather she could find to make a belt and scabbard. She reinforced the scabbard with pieces of flexible wood. With Bernard and Gerry’s help she made a fairly plain but functional grip and attached it to the pommel. It was a little difficult to do without Gerry noticing, but Ala’s gift gave her a fine control of the temperatures of the materials she worked with, making it easier to do the task well. The result earned heartfelt compliments from Gerry.

“It’s a good thing you’re not meanin’ to be a smith, girl. I’d have me some real competition.”

“Gerry, I’ve been working on this for over a year! I would starve if I were a smith!”

“Yeah. There is that. At that rate it’d be hard to make a livin’ I guess, though who knows when that’s the result eh? Canna argue with it, canna we? It’s mighty fine work, girl. Mighta taken me just as long.”

As she had worked with the blade, she had a strange sensation, almost as if she could feel inside the sword, a sensation of ageless depth and countless battles. It had taken her a moment to shake it off. She didn’t tell any one, she didn’t even know how to explain the feeling to Bernard. The scabbard she fashioned was plain and quite slender. It had been made with Ala’s customary patience and desire to master the craft. When it was complete it looked like a very well made slender sword in a good scabbard. There was nothing on the outside to give away what it was. Only the quillons indicated that it might have once been something special.

“Be best if you keep that scabbard lookin’ nice and plain on the outside,” Bernard had said when she’d suggested decorating it, “that sword would attract far too much interest if people guessed what it was.”

Anything that might make it look valuable was best avoided, he said. In the meantime she kept diligently training weapons as many hours a day as she could. She was very focused on swordsmanship but Bernard insisted she spent time on archery, riding and spears and halberds as well. Very rarely, he praised her improvement. She practised several hours a day by herself or with Bernard as well as with other members of the militia when she could talk them into it or they were called up to practice. She still regularly visited the horse breeders too, as it was her main source of income. Her room and board were at Bernard’s house was free, but she did need some coin for things every now and again.

She was a popular exercise rider, her ability to calm unruly breeding stallions had made the breeders welcome her and trust her with their valuable steeds. When a horse was being particularly difficult someone from the horse farm would always come to find her. Thetwick’s reputation as a place to buy warhorses had continued to grow and she was able to get more work than ever before. Horse rearing had become the most important source of external income for the Westmarch. Despite her services being in high demand she always gave weapons practice and militia duty precedence, even though neither provided an income. She just felt comfortable with a weapon in her hand.

Ala’s skill with temperamental horses allowed her to ride some of the most energetic stallions bareback around the countryside. She didn’t see it as a special skill, she’d just discovered that horses responded very well when you spoke to them in elven. Being able to speak elven, even if it was only to horses, felt nice. The horse breeders found they could entrust their most promising mounts to Ala for exercise and even more and more of the training. She was seldom without a powerful warhorse to ride around on. It made some of the young men in the village very envious. Luckily the breeders she rode for didn’t mind her keeping a horse at Bernard’s over night, which made it easy for her to get around and kept her safe from the adolescents who didn’t think she ought to have the privilege of riding around on a horse worth substantially more than most houses in Thetwick.

She did go out on foot to the market sometimes and she had come to dread it. There was a group, usually led by Jed or Bruce, who delighted in tormenting her if they could catch her alone. Sometimes it had resulted in an altercation she had to run away from. Once, eight of them had accosted her, all bigger and stronger than her. They started off making lewd suggestions and grabbing hold of her, one of them started pulling up her dress. She had no doubt what they had in mind. She kicked one in the crotch and raked her nails across another’s face to get away. She had to drop her basket of groceries, aiming it in front of one of her pursuers legs to trip him and tore and lost her cloak to the laughing boys. It left her with a nasty bloody nose and a blow to her temple that she was sure would become a black eye. She’d been seconds away from using her fire to defend herself, which she knew could have had even more dire consequences. She ran as hard as she could all the way to Bernard’s house. He saw her come in, bloody, out of breath and crying.

“Ala! What happened to you? Are you alright?”

In between sobs, she answered him… “it’s… nothing… just… fell…”

“No you didn’t, did you? It’s those town boys again isn’t it? Which ones?”

“Please… just leave it… it’ll only set me further apart.”

Bernard frowned, “I think we’re past that Ala. I won’t have this happening again. It’ll only get worse.”

Ala looked down. She was worried he might be right.

“From now on, Ala, you’re not going out unarmed, understood? Don’t kill anyone unless you absolutely must to get away, but if anyone leaves a meeting bleeding, I insist it isn’t you, from now on. Do you hear me?”

Ala was silent. She could see he meant it. She nodded, not entirely sure what to think of it. In Thetwick, the right to bear arms was a big deal. Bernard was within his rights to assign it to anyone he saw fit and even just the idea of it immediately made her feel safer, but the people of Thetwick would look at her differently. In a way it delighted her, but it also set her even further apart from the others in the village who at least had the appearance of being the same age. Weapons were something only permitted to soldiers and nobles.

In fact it was such a sign of status that she knew that even noblewomen always included a weapon in what they wore. It was usually only a small dagger, but it weapons were so connected to the idea of nobility that a noble wearing something without any sort of weapon was unthinkable, no matter how ornate the outfit. Being armed was a sign of nobility across Iurrak, Selinus and maybe even further away.

Bernard had been dead serious. From then on, she was never without her sword. She used one of Bernard’s lesser blades for militia practice, he insisted on her own sword remaining hidden. But, she was always armed and when she went out she did always wear her own sword when she went out to do something where only a dire emergency would justify drawing it.

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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 Bull of Thetwick

The sword had made her even more curious about her heritage. Even though it was dead in the middle of winter, Ala went to see ‘The Bull’s’ descendants at their farm. She waited for a break in the weather and took one of the young destriers for an exercise ride. The horse breeder where she went to get the horse was a little surprised but seemed to be confident in her abilities as a rider that his valuable horse would be fine. It was still deathly cold, with snow on the ground, but the skies were only partly cloudy and the sun was out.

The people of Thetwick referred to the farm she intended to visit as The Bullstead. Ala was certain it must be because of the family’s famous scion. It was a very large farm building by Thetwick’s standards. It was of the customary design, a single building occupied by the family at one end and the livestock at the other. The building was a rectangle of low stone walls covered by a great thatched and hipped roof. Considering that it had to be at least a century old, the stone walls attested to the Bull’s standing and wealth when it was built. Even the enclosure surrounding the building was a low, well built stone wall. Almost nothing had been built out of stone a hundred years ago, though the ruins she liked to visit in the woods were far older and had once been keep made of stone too.

As she approached, she saw smoke billowing from the hole in the roof. The mistress of the house was outside, a middle aged woman and wearing a simple though think kirtle over her chemise, with a hide cloak with a fur lined hood and a linen headscarf. Her breath causing white clouds to form as she fed chickens. Ala knew her by face, she came into town sometimes on market days to trade. The woman came to see what Ala wanted as she slid off the big horse’s bare back.

“Well met there, girl. Hell of a weather to be out ridin’ in. Yer from the town, ain’t ya? I think I seen ya ridin’ around on them big horses.”

“Well met, mistress. I live in town, I do the Captain’s housekeeping.”

“Right, right. You’re that half-elf, aren’t ya?”

She said it as if it were a mysterious profession, like a priest of a dubious god.

“Yes mistress, that’s right… they call me Ala…”

“So whaddya want with us?”

“I was wondering whether I might ask you a question, mistress, about one of your ancestors? William the Bull?”

The woman eyed Ala, apparently trying to decide whether she ought to be suspicious. After a moment her look softened a little.

“The Bull? He was me husband’s great granda. He’s long, long dead girl. Way back when… must be nigh on a century now. Was a good man though, I’ve heard. Proud man and a good fighter. The Duke’s man through and through.”

“Mistress, they say that he was with the patrol who found me and brought me to the village when I was small. When I came to Thetwick… you know. Do you know anything about that? Maybe stories that you’ve told your children?”

“Really.. you’ve been here that long?” She looked shocked. “But… you’re just a child…”

“Half elves age more slowly than humans, mistress.”

“That’s unnatural!”

Ala quickly tried to calm the woman down,

“It’s not, mistress, truly, I’m a half elf… we live… and grow a lot slower than humans… it’s nothing special… just takes longer.”

The woman appeared to consider this, her scowl softening again before she continued.

“I dunno, girl. I guess I’ll take yer word fer it. Ya seem normal enough.”

“Do you know anything else at all about William the Bull? I’m trying to find out where I came from.”

The woman clearly considered for a moment whether to continue the conversation.

“I s’pose there’s no harm in talkin’ to ya. It’s possible I guess that he was the one who found you then, if ya grow so slow. I know he rode with the Duke’s army. Famous soldier in the Regiment. That’s also how he died… servin’ the Duke. Guess that sort of explains how you wound up in Thetwick, I s’pose?”

“The lady who adopted me, Palady. She was married to William’s half brother, Jack.”

“It’s an awful long time ago lass, I really know nothin’ of the Bull’s family.”

“Palady said I may have been found somewhere near Seraphim keep?”

“Never been there. Don’t know it.”

“Please mistress, if there’s anything else you know… I’m… I’m trying to find out if I might have any family, or anything at all about myself… I know nothing of my heritage.”

“T’ is the first I’ve heard of it, lass. Suppose I understand wantin’ to know where ya hail from, but sorry, lass, don’t know anythin’ that might help ya.” She turned to her husband, who had come to see what was going on, “what about you, da? Know anythin’ about the Bull that might help her?”

Her husband was a thickset man with a bushy brown beard. He looked like he might be in his mid forties. He’d been silently listening in, he just shook his head and made a sound that might have been a grunt.

Ala tried not to let her disappointment show too much.

“Thank you, ma’am, master. Sorry to have bothered you.”

“Take care girl, hope ya find what yer lookin’ fer, not knowin’ who my kin were wouldn’t sit well with me either,” the woman said. “Though maybe wait for better weather ‘fore ya go ridin’ again.”

The man just grunted again as he nodded his head.

Ala hadn’t really believed William the Bull’s descendants would know anything, but she was still disappointed. Somewhere she had had a hope that the whole story would come gushing out. No one knew anything at all, it seemed. Her only hope was the magnificent sword. She would have to travel, one day, she decided. Surely there were elves or half-elves somewhere who could tell her more?

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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.

Aubree’s Gift

With housekeeping for Bernard and for Aubree, militia practice, helping on the horse farms and the extra hour or two of weapons training Bernard gave her and a few other promising militia members at his house almost every day, she was suddenly very busy. She had little time left over to wander around the woods except at night, when she could steal a few hours that humans needed to sleep. Still, she was enjoying it and things could have gone on like that for a long time as far as she was concerned. She was learning new things and in with the militia’s riders she slowly won respect from the others for her skill, dedication and drive.

Just two years later, during the winter, Aubree died from a lung infection. It was tragic and it hurt Ala deeply, evoking a grief she hadn’t felt since Palady passed away. Aubree died much younger than Palady, who had lived an uncommonly long life. It made the pain even more acute as it was that much more unexpected. Aubree and Bernard had found love together over that last two years of her life. Ala was thankful for that, they’d been happy together, even if had just been for a little while. Just before she died, Aubree called Alagariel to her and whispered to her as well as her rasping lungs allowed.

“Ala…. Go to the attic…” Aubree managed to whisper, “look for a long bundle of dark cloth. You’ll find it’s behind… that old loom, you… know… the one…”

Ala soon found what Aubree had described and was at her side again a few minutes later.

“Yes… that’s it.”

“I’ve found it, please don’t try to talk to much!” Ala put her hand on Aubree’s soldier willing her to stop talking as it was causing her such distress. She wasn’t having it though.

“That… found by.. the Bull… on your attackers…”

“This is from before I came to Thetwick?” Ala was shocked. She’d had no idea any artefacts had come with her when she was brought to the town.

Aubree nodded, out of breath again.

“There’s… a note…”

Als inspected the bundle. It was more a roll of cloth, tied shut with hemp string. Between one of the outer folds, a note was tucked into it. The note was fragile, but Ala recognised Palady’s poor handwriting. She’d barely been able to write, Ala knew.

“Here it is. Should I read it out?”

Aubree nodded in agreement, rather than speaking again.

“Alright, here goes,

Dear Ala,

I’m not sure when we should give this to you, but I have given it thought and decided it should not be before you are old enough. I don’t have much experience of your kind, so I don’t know when that might be, but it may be well after my time has past. I don’t know much about this sword and blanket except that they were with the few things I received when the soldiers brought you.

The Bull meant for you to have it, entrusting it to my husband, Jack. Jack told me that the Bull said that it was yours by right. I don’t know if he meant it as plunder, some sort of compensation for how you and yours were wronged. Rightly, I don’t know that it truly has anything to do with you or your kin. Still, the Bull had a reason to bid me give it to you. Should you ever want to find out who you are and where you come from, I hope that maybe it will help somehow. The only other thing that might help is that there is a family living in Thetwick that might have more information. The descendants of William ‘The Bull’ of Thetwick, might know something more. The Bull was with the patrol that found you. He’s long gone of course, killed far away in the Duke’s service, but it can’t hurt to ask his kin. The farm’s to the east of the town, I’m certain you know the place. I’m sorry dear Ala, that really is all I have to tell you about yourself.

I hope with all my heart that you are able to find love and happiness somewhere in your incredibly long life.

I am so happy that I took you in, dear Ala.

Love always, Palady.

there’s more,” Ala said, “there’s some more lines scribbled at the bottom. It looks like they were added later,

I’ve asked Aubree to pass these things to you, as I’ve come to understand you will only come of age long after I am gone. Love, P.“

Ala sat for a while, with her hands holding Aubree’s. Both of them cried together for a while, before Aubree gestured that she should look inside the bundle. She unrolled the rough cloth, revealing a long, thin, irregular, blackened object. It was the sword Palady had described, or what was left of it. It had been long and slender and straight once, but it had been in a searing hot fire or the like, probably while still in its scabbard, which was still caked around it in irregular pieces of what appeared to be charred leather. Most of the blade was obscured by the caked on residue. The sword’s pommel was melted, hand grip burnt and malformed, and the cross guard was damaged though it was still serviceable. It was wrapped again in the ‘blanket’ Palady had mention, with was also damaged in the same way. It was, upon closer inspection, the remains of a cloak that had once been of incredibly fine quality, with intricate designs worked into the stitching and backed with what she thought must be silk.

Just a few hours later, Aubree died with Bernard and Ala beside her. Ala was heart broken. She couldn’t really seem to stop crying. She wouldn’t have know what to do if Bernard’s solid presence hadn’t been there to ground her. Bernard was also distraught, though his means of coping was to focus his grief on looking after Ala.

Ala spent the rest of the day as if in a trance. The morning found her sitting at the kitchen table, where she’d been since she’d come back before sunrise from wandering aimlessly through the forest all night. Bernard appeared not long after dawn, looking rather the worse for wear too.

“Mornin’ Ala,” he said, “sleep any?”

She shook her head.

“Wandered around the forest a bit…”

He frowned. He knew she was in the habit of going out at night, though he wasn’t aware of how often and how long she was usually gone. He didn’t really disapprove of it, but it did worry him.

“Suppose that could clear the head a little.”

“Maybe a little. I miss her so much already.”

“Me too, Ala.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Same as always, I expect. What the living always do, when a dear one passes. We go on and remember them.”

She nodded. She’d come to the same conclusion when Palady passed away and even before that when Emma had been abducted.

“I’ll figure something out.”

“Best if you move in here. I still need a housekeeper, no point in keeping on Aubree’s house. Aside from the backwards laws that mean I’d have to rent it for you. Unless you really want me too, then I will, of course.”

She’d never expected to be able to hold on to Aubree’s house, just as she hadn’t been able to live in Palady’s after the woman passed. There was no real sense in it and it wouldn’t feel right to make Bernard pay for it.

“It all… seems so inconsequential… without her.”

“Aye. I feel the same way. Probably will do for a time. It’s what we do though. We take a few days of mourning and say our goodbyes. Then we bury her near her husband and Palady.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“Nah. She told me she loved that man, too. It’s only right that she be lay down near him. Though, I suppose I’d like to be near too when I go in the ground.”

“Oh Bernard, please, let’s not think of that now.”

“Sorry. I understand. Just makes a man think a little.”

“I know. It’s different for me, I guess.” No human currently alive in Thetwick was likely to survive as long as she would, barring misadventure.

“I suppose it is. Look, we have some work to do, getting the burial in order, but perhaps we ought to start with some food. I’m told the living need some of that, now and again. It’ll take out mind of things a bit, eh?”

Ala nodded. He was right of course, so she rose and went to the hearth, putting some logs on the fire that she instantly set ablaze. It was still not something she often did while Bernard was watching.

“Still incredible, that,” he mumbled, seemingly to himself.

It took her a moment to realise he was talking about her calling the fire. She just shrugged. Even that seemed mundane today.

The next day she moved the bundle and her few belongings into the attic at Bernard’s house. The last months she’d mostly had her and Aubree’s house to herself, as Aubree had been spending most of her time at Bernard’s. She came into Bernard’s home, with her things still distraught. Bernard got up to pour her a cup of tea, something that was normally her job. On the way back he put some more logs on the fire which was so low that it was near to going out, as if the flames themselves had decided to leave a world without Aubree in it. At that moment she didn’t care that he saw she could make the fire grow from across the room and caused them to ignite and burst instantly into flames. He stared at the fire for a few seconds again before shaking it off, glancing at her as if he was judging the distance at which she had done it.

“You don’t even have to be close?”

She shook her head. She saw he now noticed the bundle too, but didn’t ask. Ala saw him looking. She tried to explain where it had come from, through the sobbing and found that the distraction helped. She eventually just passed him the scrap of parchment with Palady’s note.

“Can I have a look?” He asked her as he passed the note back. She nodded.

“It’s a sword blade, that’s obvious enough. Can’t see much of it between the damage and owing to that it’s still in its scabbard. Almost like it was in a fire. Odd fire that does things quite like that though. But then, there’s many kinds, eh? You might know a bit more about that.”

Ala was drawn to it, though she didn’t know what to say. Bernard continued.

“Looks like… it’s a sort of black crust? Strange, I don’t know how that might form. Looks like it was once a very ornate weapon. Let’s have a proper look at it tomorrow with some daylight eh?”

She packed the blade away in her large chest in the attic and put it out of her mind. There were things to organise for Aubree’s funeral.

Aubree’s house had been rented from one of the richer families in the village, the same one that had rented out Palady’s house too. She and Aubree really hadn’t had very much. Some of the more valuable items had been sold to pay for her funeral, though Bernard told her not to worry about it. It was something Ala wanted to to for Aubree. She’d always been proud that she and Ala had managed to get by without any charity after her husband’s passing. There was even a little money left, which had been left to Ala. The Constable had tried to have it deposited in the village’s coffers on the basis that she wasn’t a person and therefore you couldn’t leave money to her any more than you could to a sheep or a cow. Bernard had stepped in and broke the man’s nose for that. There were no more objections after that incident. She got the money. It wasn’t much, but it was enough that it might get you through a winter in a pinch.

They buried Aubree the following day, with much of the village in attendance. The priestesses of Ceres conducted the ceremony and Bernard spoke a few words. Bernard asked Ala beforehand if she wished to speak but she declined. Aubree’s relationship with Ala had always been a personal one and she really didn’t know what to say to the villagers about her, so she left it to Bernard. What would she have spoke about? What it was like when Aubree had been born or what she’d been like as a little girl?It would have been awkward for everyone. After the funeral and the clearing out of the last things in Aubree’s house, she and Bernard sat down for a cup of tea, both feeling numb.

“Well, there we are Ala. Time to go on.”

She nodded, unable to summon any enthusiasm.

“Why don’t you bring that sword of yours down? Now’s as good a time as any to look at it a little more closely.”

It was better than sitting there wallowing, she decided to she fetched the bundle and unrolled it. Bernard looked it over once more.

“Ala, we’re going to have to break what’s left of the scabbard off of it. With this much heat I think the steel’s properties are probably damaged, but we won’t know for sure until we free the blade.”

“Will that damage it more, do you think?”

“I’ll be honest. I know a sword is exciting Ala, especially for someone as passionate about swordplay as you.”

She had to admit that even after the days events she felt intrigued by the weapon. Bernard continued.

“I’m afraid this one’s tempering will be all gone, it’s seen too much heat and will have cooled slowly and unevenly. Also, it was a fine, delicate blade. A master sword smith might be able to restore the temper without causing it to warp, but even that is unlikely with such a fine, delicate steel. Even then it would never be as good as when it was forged.”

“There is really no way it might be repaired?” She asked, feeling deflated again.

“Perhaps there is an elven smith somewhere that might manage it, they’re said to use magic in their forging. Or perhaps some of the great dwarven smiths. Maybe, your gift with fire might even make such thing possible though you’d have to know exactly what you were doing. With some luck, we’ll be able to have a new sword forged from the steel though. Nothing we do to it now is likely to make its condition any worse, I don’t think.”

“It doesn’t look much good to anyone the way it is. But it might be able to tell me something about where I am from or who my parents are? Smiths all have a maker’s mark don’t they?”

“Yes, any worth their salt do. He will probably be long dead though… unless he was elven or half elven I suppose. But, let’s go see Gerry in the morning after practice, he’ll let us use his smithy, I’m sure. If we clean it up, who knows, we may learn something about this sword… maybe even about you.”

They had become regular callers at the smith’s workshop because of the militia. Bernard was a fair hand with all sorts of weapons repair himself, and even had some experience forging things like arrow heads and simple repairs. He wasn’t a smith, but he had spent his share of hours in a forge. The Thetwick smith, a man named Gerry Kettle had been having to re-learn the art of forging weapons since the militia was seeing regular training. His business had flourished since Bernard had arrived to reinvigorate the militia with the Duke’s money. Gerry’s smithy had been expanded in stone to be able to cope with the extra work and he had even taken on an extra apprentice. The arms Gerry made were passable, though not of the same quality as the weapons Bernard had brought to Thetwick when he came. Ala was always allowed to use one of Bernard’s lighter spare blades when she practised, though she’d often practised with other weapons that were made by Gerry too. Bernard was of the firm opinion that you should be able to familiarise yourself quickly with any weapon.

“Gerry, you mind if we mess around in the back for a bit?” Called Bernard.

“Go ahead, careful though, there’s a few horseshoes just out, cooling.”

They went into the back of the workshop and she used a chisel and a hammer to work the scabbard free as carefully as possible. Ala did the work herself, Bernard had long since determined her patience with such tasks was legendary, far more than his. Bernard had time to exchange gossip with Gerry while she worked. As the residue and remains of the scabbard came free, the blade was revealed to be long, straight and elegant. It was much like any other light one handed sword, though she saw that the grip had been long enough to just about accommodate a second hand if you needed to. Its lines were delicate and the blade was very light, reminiscent of, but not quite, a rapier without the basket hilt. The blade itself was covered in a black crust, presumably of whatever material had been on the inside of the scabbard. Bernard came back in when she had the blade free of all the larger chunks.

He bent over the blade, peering at it, nodding approvingly to himself, “that was an expensive scabbard too, you don’t generally have material on the inside and this looks to have been lined with something exotic. I have no idea what manner of creature these leathers might have come from. Now, to know if it’s damaged we’d have to check the tempering.”

Ala nodded as Bernard continued.

“You should understand that such a test could break the blade, if it’s heat damaged, which it almost certainly is… though it’s awfully straight for something that’s been in a intense fire. But there’s not really another way to tell other than trying it.”

Gerry had come to take a look too.

“Ya know, if you clean it and polish it, you should be able to see where the heat has affected it. Might need etching before you really see it, but it’s worth tryin’ I’d say. Very unlikely that we can fix it though. Restoring a temper on a blade as delicate as that would take smiths like the Ulfberhts to achieve, I’d bet. Out of my league, I’m sorry to say.”

Ala was mesmerised by the blade, “I really want to find out as much as possible about it. Maybe there’s markings on the blade? Should I take it home and clean and polish it before we do something that might damage any inscriptions? I can see that there’s some decorations here… everywhere I look really. I’ll take the pieces of the scabbard too, I’ll clean it all off at home, see if I can find anything out. I want to find out as much as possible about it.”

“Alright, little lass. We’ll take it home. There’s no rush. You’re right, we should take our time, learn what we can.”

Gerry looked it over again, as they left.

“That was a mighty fine design once. Would’ve been light enough for you too Ala. Damn shame it’s ruined, damn shame.”

Ala spent a long time carefully cleaning and polishing the blade. She used the very gentlest of abrasives, eventually asking the man who passed as the town’s jeweller what he used for polishing gold. From under the crust of black a hypnotic pattern appeared. It was only visible if you tilted the blade just so. It was a swirling pattern of light and dark lines, kind of like tree branches. Other than that, there were no marks whatsoever on the blade, no maker’s mark, nothing. Days later, when it was fully clean, finally completely polished to a mirror finish she took it in to show to Bernard.

“That looks quite good actually. No heat discolouration anywhere. Amazing really. Beautifully polished too, Ala. I suppose there’s something to be said for taking one’s time to do it right.”

“There’s a sort of pattern, when you tilt it, like this, can you see? Does that mean it’s… broken?”

Bernard’s eyes went wide.

“Oh Wotan, girl. I think… it must be… but… May I?” She gave him the blade.

She had the sensation of a crackle as he touched it, but when she blinked she saw nothing.

“Ooh… static, I think. Like a little shock. Strange. It’s not even particularly dry out,” he said, a look of puzzlement on Bernard’s face.

He bent the blade with his huge hands. His face went red with the exertion. It went to right angles and sprang straight again when he released it.

“That fire doesn’t seem to have done the tempering any harm whatsoever. Incredible. Not a trace of damage. This pattern in the steel… it’s the same over the entire length. Never seen anything like it. Remarkably tough for such a thin blade too. Hmm, that’s funny, I’m bleeding.

“He inspected the cut while Ala got some things to bandage it.

“That’s quite deep actually.” Ala looked at the sword.

“Look over here. This must have been where you cut yourself.”

She touched it where the drop of blood was visible. It didn’t feel all that sharp to her. She grabbed the rough material that blade had been rolled up in, intending to quench Bernard’s bleeding. In the process she wanted to move it from the far side of the blade towards his hand. As she moved the piece of cloth, one end of it was dragged along the blade and it was cut clean through. She gingerly felt the spot that had cut the cloth, but again, it didn’t feel all that sharp to her. It was puzzling. Bernard was looking at her with a thoughtful, suspicious look. She decided that seeing to Bernard’s wound had priority over investigating the blade’s curious properties. Bernard took the cloth from her wrapping them around his hands a great many times as protection and he repeated the bend. With absolutely all his strength he curled the blade round until the tip touched what was left of the pommel. It went completely straight again when he released it. Ala looked at the rags he had used. He had been lucky, the many layers of cloth he had had between the blade and his hands had almost all been severed by the sword’s cutting edge, almost cutting him again. When she felt the blade where he had held it, it still felt quite blunt to her. A few more experiments made it even more puzzling. No matter how gently she ran a piece of cloth along the edge of the blade, it cut it cleanly in two, but whenever she felt the blades edge with her fingers it felt quite blunt. She could even run her fingers along the cutting edge with some pressure without it cutting her. She showed Bernard her discovery. He repeated the test with a bit of string. It too cut clean through. However when he touched the spot where she had determined it was blunt he immediately cut the tip of his index finger again. She again felt the same spot. Once more, it felt quite blunt to her and she didn’t even cut herself when she pushed her fingertips on it quite forcefully. Bernard studied her experiments while he ws waiting for his finger to stop bleeding.

“You know Ala, you’re slowly becoming more and more of a mystery. I think… no… I’m certain… this sword is an elf blade.”

“An elf blade? What does that mean?”

“It’s a weapon warriors across Taldyr whisper and tell stories about, mythical qualities are ascribed to them. I’ve never even seen a real one before. It couldn’t be anything else, not with these characteristics. See the pattern in the blade? It’s called a dendritic pattern, like the branches of a tree, see?”

Ala looked carefully at the pattern. It was indeed like intertwined tree branches.

“There’s several ways to achieve a dendritic effect,” continued Bernard. “Most smiths do it by twisting multiple kinds of steel and iron together before they forge a blade out. If you’re very meticulous about how you do it, you can make striking patterns and excellent blades that way too.”

“Are those just a coveted?”

“No. Apparently elf blades are better in almost every way. It’s said that the process employed to make them is completely different. I knew a man who said that it had something to do with using a specific type of ore and then cooling the blade according to a highly specific technique. If the smith knows exactly what he’s doing, apparently some sort of crystalline structure forms, making these weapons sharper, harder and more flexible than any other blades, even dwarven ones. On top of that, the elves add magic.”

“This is a magical blade?”

“I imagine so, though I have no idea how that might manifest itself… other than that it doesn’t cut you, that is. Oh and it’s razor sharp for everyone else of course… after what? A century? More?”

“About that, yes. Do all elves have swords like this?”

“Not the ones I have met anyway. My friend doubted that the technique was still practised anywhere. Most of these swords, at least all the ones that he had heard of, are said to be thousands of years old and are reputed to be unbreakable. They are all in the hands of ancient elven warriors, nobles and kings. He had good cause to know a lot about elven blades, so I have no reason to doubt him. What I just did with it, coil it in a circle?”

Ala just nodded, she was two awed to speak now.

“It’s one of the tests of an elf blade that he told me about. He thought it was nonsense. You can’t do that with a normal steel blade, even the very best ones, thought they say an Ulfberht sword goes nearly as far.”

“Have you tried it with yours?”

“I’ve never really had the heart to try. But this fact that it doesn’t cut you? I don’t know about that. Never heard of anything like that. Maybe it’s because of your elven heritage? Maybe it even has something to do with this blade actually being your family’s? It would have to be at least a bit magical for that. I don’t know much about those kinds of things.”

“It is awfully mysterious.”

“Just like you, then. Most importantly though, do not let anyone know you have that. It’s incredibly valuable. Bad people would be round looking for it hoping to make some quick gold. We’ll clean it up, see if we can’t fashion a new pommel and grip for it. You can learn to use it properly. You’re going to need to if we don’t want anyone taking it away from you.”

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.

Sword School

Aubree was less amused to learn about the sword-fighting deal when she eventually found out, later in the evening. Ala would have preferred if Bernard hadn’t mentioned it at all. Aubree understood that the headstrong Ala wasn’t to be put off, even though she couldn’t understand why it was important to her. The two of them were long past the stage where Aubree felt like she had any right to make such decisions for her. Aubree had accepted that Ala was not the same as as a normal human child and that the rules simply shouldn’t be applied as they would be for a human teenager. That understanding always made Ala very happy, even if it regularly caused Aubree some distress. It helped that it was Bernard who was going to be doing the teaching. Aubree seemed to trust him, despite him having been away for decades.

Sword fighting was not something girls were supposed to do as far as Aubree was concerned, but between the soft spots for Bernard and Ala, she made her peace with it quickly. She limited her disapproval to the occasional worried frown. Unlike most of the adults in Thetwick, Aubree actually listened to Ala when she was serious about something. Aubree was the only human in the village who seemed to have some concept of just how many years of experience Ala had compared to the village’s humans and she often deferred to Ala on matters of knowledge or experience.

At the end of the evening Bernard told Ala to be at the Council Hall in the centre of town after breakfast the next day. She went home with Aubree who shared a warm hug with Bernard. It lingered for just a little longer than was strictly necessary, Ala thought and she saw that their hands took even longer to part. Bernard then proceeded to hug Ala, which was a little alarming to her. Other than Aubree and Palady, the people of Thetwick had always avoided touching her. The contact was nice though. Friendly. There were no ulterior motives. It really was just a friendly hug. She liked it. They turned away to walk home. After a few hundred yards, Aubree spoke, as Ala had expected she would.

“So young lady, sword fighting?”

Ala shrugged, “I’m happy I finally found someone who can teach me.”

“Oh… I shouldn’t really be surprised. You’ve always been going on about it, making wooden swords and things. I remember you talking about it even when I was little.”

“I don’t know… it’s just fascinating. I want to learn.”

“Well you’ve learned most everything else we have in Thetwick. Maybe it was inevitable. It’s still very strange to me though. Not proper for a woman. But then… who knows what the women of your people always did, eh? Maybe it’s in your blood and more proper for you to learn it than not to learn it. Beyond my experience, if we’re being honest, isn’t it?”

Ala was always impressed when Aubree took a moment to reflect on her behaviour. She always arrived at more or less the same conclusion. She didn’t feel she was knowledgeable enough to say how a half-elf should behave, so she let Ala follow her whims with only a little grumbling and a bit more confusion.

The next morning, Ala was waiting when Bernard appeared at the Council Hall. She had been there for quite a while, having risen at dawn and grabbed some old bread and cheese that she’d quickly toasted over the fire after she’d coaxed it back to life. She’d eaten it on the way to the council hall. The hall was a long building built out of stone and the local logs with a slate roof and a square stone combined bell and watch tower at the back end. She’d been waiting here since dawn as she didn’t really sleep, not in the way that humans did anyway. It was another of her secrets that she thought it best not to draw attention to. Aubree and Palady had noticed that she rested a little differently from humans of course, but they’d always assumed that half elves just needed a lot less sleep than humans did.

What she did was more meditation than sleeping. Her perception of her surroundings didn’t disappear like it did for humans. She could do it sitting comfortably as well as lying down. She’d never tried standing or riding, but she had an inkling that that might be possible too with a little practice. Staying aware of her surroundings in a way that a sleeping human never could was a useful perk. Meditation was what she’d started calling it since sister Deirdre at the school had explained what that was. She started to get up to walk over to Bernard but he cheerfully gestured for her to stay where she was.

“Just bear with me a moment Ala, we’ll start something in just a bit. Need to get things organised first, it’ll just be a moment.”

Her attention stayed focused on Bernard as he walked right around to the rear of the building and loudly rang the big bell that was installed there. It was only supposed to be used to call the militia, or if there was something truly dangerous like a fire in town. It was really only for emergencies. Ala was shocked. The bell had not only not been rung in alarm for years, ringing it could even be a hanging offence if done without proper reason. Sure enough, she could soon see the Constable come running from the direction of his home within a minute or two. This time he had brought his halberd, which doubled as the second part of his badge of office as Constable. He looked dishevelled, as if he had come straight out of bed.

Ala didn’t expect the villagers to promptly answer the muster call. Some of them would have to come in from the surrounding fields and everyone would need to get their equipment too. To her surprise a few men were coming at a fair run, some of them still pulling on gambesons or other armour as they came. Most of the men just walked though, many without the weapons and armour they were supposed to bring. It was almost like they wanted to see what was happening before they bothered. The villagers slowly filed onto the field in groups. Many were missing their spears, shields or their gambesons or what they were wearing was no longer recognisable as armour. A lot of the metal was rusted, leather was torn and almost everything looked to be in poor condition.

It looked to Ala as if only a few of them bothered to keep their equipment in good order. There were a handful of men that actually turned up with the equipment they were supposed to have at hand. Ala wasn’t completely sure, but she thought everyone was supposed to at least have a gambeson, a spear and a shield as a bare minimum. The men who had a complete panoply were mostly the same ones whose equipment looked well maintained. Some of them had also brought different weapons like swords and crossbows and one young man even had a longbow though he didn’t appear to have brought any arrows. Ala wasn’t exactly sure what the militia charter said about that.

By the time there was a group that might, with some goodwill, be called a muster, the Constable had been arguing with Bernard for some time. The Constable wanted to arrest him, but the men who normally provided his muscle, two bullies, brothers by the names of Jed and Bruce Samsson, were nowhere to be seen. They were of the age that they were obligated to answer the militia’s call, just like everyone else. Ala hadn’t seen them yet, she wondered if they were still trying to gather their equipment.

Ala watched all this going on from the side of the square, keeping well back from the concentrations of villagers. Bernard yelled at the Constable. He was, finally, out of patience.

“Shut up, man! Stop babbling and listen. I called the muster by the Duke’s command.”

Ala was awed. She hadn’t realised Bernard had actually met the Duke himself. That immediately seemed silly to her. He had served for decades. Of course he would have met him.

“You come in here all high and mighty, ‘retired’ from the glorious Duke’s regiment and think you can just do what you want!”

“I do what the Duke has charged me with, cretin.”

“It’s onto the gallows with you! Ringin’ the bell unjustly is a hangin’ offence. I’ll be rid of you right soon!”

The Constable seemed pleased at that and stepped forward. Even Ala could see he was planning to prod Bernard with his halberd. Bernard didn’t even bother to draw his sword. Ala didn’t exactly see what happened next but when the dust had settled the result was that Bernard had the halberd with its spike at the Constable’s throat, who was lying with his back on the ground.

“Now. Like I was saying Constable, you’re one of the Marchmains, aren’t you? Roger, isn’t it? Told you I’d remember eventually.”

The constable just glared at him.

“Well Roger, if you’d just calm down for a moment and go and get our friend the scribe, I have another document for you to peruse. I’ll just hold on to this rusty halberd of yours until you return. Up you get, go on.”

The Constable warily climbed to his feet and left, Bernard watching him in case he tried anything else. By the time the last members of the muster had finally arrived, the village scribe had also been summoned and found his way to the square. Ala wasn’t sure whether it was the Constable’s doing or whether he had just come to see what was going on. A small crowd of women, children and old men had now also gathered to see what all the fuss was about. Jed and Bruce had also turned up with piecemeal equipment and were surveying the scene nervously, shortly followed by the Constable’s return. The man was scowling evilly at Bernard the whole time.

Bernard carefully produced another document, also with an ornate wax seal in the bottom right corner, from his scroll case and handed it to the scribe, who examined it for a minute with the occasional serious faced glance at Bernard.

“It’s probably best if you read it out to everyone, Scribe Theodore.”

Theodore nodded and turned to the assembled villagers. He cleared his throat and read out the scroll in what Ala always thought of as his ‘proclamation voice’.

I, Ivan, Duke of Taladaria, Marchioness of the Westmarch, do hereby order that Bernard Alanson of Thetwick, retired Sergeant-Major-at-Arms of the Regiment that I am charged to maintain by my Lord the King of Iurrak, is commissioned as Captain of the Westmarch Militia. The militia Captain of the Westmarch, henceforth to be referred to as ‘the Captain’, is, as is customary and hereby reaffirmed, senior to the village elders’ and their assigned Lieutenant in all matters related to the defence of the Westmarch, Taladaria and Iurrak.

It has come to my attention that the quality of the Westmarch Militia is in no way sufficient. In order to evaluate and improve the readiness of his militia the Captain is authorised and directed to call the militia by any means and at any frequency he deems necessary, as if by order of the Duke of Taladaria himself. Captain Bernard Alanson is authorised to extend this right to a person or persons of his choosing with or without limitation.

With all possible haste, Captain Bernard will train able bodied inhabitants of the Westmarch, men and women both. He will bring the Militia’s strength up to at least one hundred souls, bearing shields, chain hauberks, padded armour or gambesons, longbows as well as long spears and swords. Archers and cavalry will be outfitted as the Captain sees fit. The strength of the company will be distributed between archers, spear men and cavalry with horses provided by the people of Westmarch when they are needed for action or training as they are obligated to in service of their Lord’s needs. Members of the militia may bear arms during militia practice and in all cases where Captain Bernard deems it necessary in the interests of the Westmarch, the Duchy of Taladaria and the Kingdom of Iurrak.

So it is decreed.

Ivan de Duilhac, second of his name
Duke of Taladaria, Marchioness of the Westmarch, etcetera, etcetera…

Declared upon this first day of Wogekind,
This 944th year of the 19th millennium

When the Scribe had finished reading the proclamation, Bernard glanced over at the Constable, who now stood glaring at a safe distance.

“So, any questions Constable? I believe you are also the town council’s assigned Lieutenant are you not? You’re supposed to be in the muster formation, aren’t you? Better get moving, don’t you think? Where’s your armour? Be sure to have it upon next muster.”

He tossed the halberd back to the Constable, who fumbled catching it.

“Make certain that weapon receives proper care from now on, Lieutenant. I don’t want to see as much as a speck of rust on it, understand?”

The Constable just continued to glare at him. Bernard turned away from him and looked over his messy lines of villagers.

“Westmarch Militia! Attennn-tion!” Bernard roared.

The villagers made an attempt to stand up straight. Bernard continued.

“As you have just heard. I am your Captain,” Bernard roared. “I decide when any member of the militia is, or is not, on duty. When you are given an order, assume you are on duty and follow that order promptly and to the best of your ability!”

Bernard left a long pause to let what he said sink in.

“Make no mistake, fellow Thets, I take my duty to the Duke very seriously. We will become the finest militia company from here to the Castle Peyrepertuse, so help me Wotan! Westmarch! At ease!”

The villagers all sagged a little. Next, Bernard looked the scribe over, his expression thoughtful. He too was a man in his late thirties. Ala could guess what Bernard was thinking.

“Why aren’t you in the muster Scribe Theodore?” The scribe looked shocked.

“Me? Well, I’m a scribe… err… Captain. Scribes aren’t in the muster.”

“You look like a man of fighting age to me. That means you’re in the muster. Trust me, I’ve had reason to re-read the statute.”

The scribe looked worried… “but… I’ve never… I don’t have…”

“Don’t worry Master Theodore, it’s not a problem. We need a literate quartermaster. I need an inventory of weapons and armour, you can get me that by tomorrow morning I think? We will muster again at dawn. Now, isn’t there supposed to be an armoury in the Elders’ Hall? Make sure you inventory its contents as well. Get someone to help you if necessary. Ala reads, if you need someone literate.”

Ala was a little shocked that she was being volunteered for things, but quickly decided it was all fine with her as long as she got to learn about swords.

Once Bernard had found out who was supposedly doing which job in his militia company, he made changes. Most of the men had no idea what their job was meant to be. Next he marched the men off to the drill field, which was a piece of open ground on the outskirts of town that was supposed to be set aside for the Duke. It was directly owned by the Duke and no one was permitted to build or farm on it, other than grazing herds. As they marched off, he called to Ala.

“If our deal’s still on, you’d better form up, Ala.”

She looked at him, open mouthed, then quickly made up her mind and scurried after the formation to walk with the militia. The other villagers looked surprised, exchanging glances, but decided to shut up rather than risk Bernard’s wrath. When they got to the exercise field, which was looking quite overgrown, Bernard started organising into three groups, asking each man a few questions before telling him which group to join. She quickly found Bernard.

“What do you want Ala?” He said gruffly…

“Sorry Bernard, but am I not too young for the militia? Also… I am…”

“A woman? I noticed. We had this chat yesterday. You’re older than any of the men here and the Duke has long since accepted women into his regiments, if they make the grade. I’ll grant that it’s rare, but it’s perfectly legal. Now shut up and get in line. Uhm… you know horses, right?”

She nodded, not really knowing what else to do.

“Go over there, that group. Move it!”

He’d sent her towards the smallest group. It looked to her like Bernard was sending the hunters and other bowmen to one group, the ones who knew horses were the group she was meant to join and all the others were simply lumped in the largest group together.

Most of the villagers in her group looked strangely at her even though she knew most of the horse breeders and their older sons, at least a little. She was on quite good terms with them and she knew she was seen as useful help, especially when dealing with unruly steeds. In the context of the militia, however, it was obviously strange to them for her to be there. Today was a strange day in more ways though, so no one made any comments. She did see some whispers being exchanged among them. When Bernard was finished sorting the groups he stepped into the middle once again.

“Remember your groups. As you heard when the Scribe read the Duke’s order, we are charged with providing Archers…”

He pointed at the group with the hunters.

“…Cavalry…”

That was Ala’s group.

“…and Infantry.” He pointed at the remaining largest group.

“Remember your group. Now, since all of you need to know at least a little about soldiering, we will start with the basics with all groups together.”

Bernard spent two hours running them through basic marching exercises to begin with, which she did as well as she could. The villagers were severely out of practice. After that, the militia was dismissed, with Bernard’s warning to pass the word that anyone who had missed muster this morning, for whatever reason was pardoned, but that he would not be so lenient the next day.

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.

Bernard’s House

They came to a large derelict house on the edge of the village. It had been mostly constructed of stone, which was still a luxury in Thetwick. It was overgrown with vines and moss. A part of the thatched roof had collapsed, exposing some of the rafters. It had once been quite lavish by Thetwick’s standards. Ala had seen it before of course, but hadn’t really paid it much attention after she had clambered around inside it once or twice, many years before. She hadn’t found anything of interest then. There were several derelict buildings in and around Thetwick and this one had never seemed particularly special, aside from its construction. It was certainly one of the larger ones, as homes went, but it didn’t stand out because there were also some abandoned barns that were even bigger. Nothing else had ever seemed special about it.

Ala remembered that it used to have fields all around it, but new dwellings had been built between it and the centre of Thetwick so that it was now almost a part of the town proper. It had its own courtyard, well and even a small stable building. She remembered that an old man had lived here once. He had died decades before, not all that long after Bernard had left for the Regiment, she realised. The old man’s other son had lived there for a time too, she thought. She wasn’t completely certain what had happened to him.

Bernard stopped in front of the place and crossed his arms over his chest. After looking at it for a few moments, he spoke.

“Ala? Do you remember? This was my father’s house… then my brother’s till he died. Not that old Reggie ever did much with it, that I heard. He always was a bit of a layabout,” said Bernard, frowning.

He shook his head for a moment before continuing. Ala wasn’t sure whether he was speaking for her benefit or his own.

“Home sweet home… that’s what they say, isn’t it? I never really expected to see this place again, but thanks to the Duke, here we are. Back in good old Thet.” He took a deep breath before he continued, now clearly speaking to Ala, “here, you take Rico’s reins while I take a look what we’re up against.”

He stepped forward and heaved the door open, which was still seated in rusty hinges despite most of the bottom half having rotted away. He looked around inside as the boys, chests and Ala waited on the track outside, glancing uneasily at one another. Ala edged over to the doorway with the horse following her and heard him sighing deeply before he called out.

“You lot may as well come in. Unload the things from Rico and then, Ala, take Rico round the back. See if the stable is serviceable. You boys, bring my chests and things in here.”

Ala led the horse round and tied him off, whispering a calming word in elven causing Rico to look at her with interest. She saw that there were two large stalls, though they would need repairs and a thorough cleaning out. Back inside the house, there were remnants of furniture and a stone floor in the main room, which she reached through an area that was probably once a storage room. The hearth and chimney still looked serviceable, though there were some big holes in the roof where the thatch was missing. Bernard had disappeared into one of the other rooms. As Ala came in to the main room, the boys were busy manhandling the bundles and chests inside one by one.

Bernard returned from his exploration and issued his commands, telling the boys where to set everything. Ala could tell he was accustomed to getting things organised and setting tasks.

He looked at her and spoke, “looks like a bit of work to do, doesn’t it? It’s not too bad I think. Beams don’t look rotten or nothin’.”

That seemed to satisfy him as he walked around, examining the ceiling slowly nodding to himself. Ala really didn’t know why he was explaining it to her, most people avoided talking to her. Bernard was distracted by the boys dragging in the next chests.

“You bunch, put those, let’s see, over there, away from that hole in the roof. When you’ve done that, you, with the ginger hair, go and fetch the carpenter. Tell him I’m going to need a roof. Tell him that I want him to start today and that I have silver. He should bring some things to fix the roof temporarily at once. Some hides or something. Go on.”

The boy nodded and rushed out of the door.

“I guess you other three might as well make some more money and start clearing the floor. Take the debris out front. Ala, I take it you wouldn’t mind a bit of silver either? How about you check the well? If it still has any water in it, you can grab a pot from that chest, and a line, and we can get a bit of a fire going for some tea. That always makes a place more like home. Rico will be wanting some water too I imagine. Think you can manage that?”

She nodded, pleased to have another chore.

The place became a hive of activity as Bernard wasted no time putting his house in order. The carpenter arrived and was swiftly given a down payment and instructions to fix the roof, starting with some temporary planking and hides to close the hole for the time being. It wasn’t long after that that the village Constable arrived.

The Constable, Roger Marchmain, was the Duke’s official officer in Thetwick. He was appointed both to enforce the Duke’s Peace in the region and collect taxes. Collecting taxes he took very seriously, less so enforcing the peace. In fact, Ala thought he probably caused more breaches of the peace than he solved. He was a sour faced man, though he was only in his thirties. He was hated by most of the villagers. It was whispered that young children should be careful not to be caught alone with him and that he extorted money and muddled the taxes he collected when he thought he could get away with it. Ala had been around long enough that she knew the rumours to be true and more besides. He was a gaunt man with a red sheen on his nose and cheeks from too much wine and ale. He came up to the open door.

“You there, stranger,” he hissed, “who are you? What are you doing here? Explain yourself!”

Bernard looked around, taking note of the Constables badge of rank, an emblem the man wore on the left of his chest, before answering.

“My name is Bernard. This was my father’s house, now mine. I will be living here for the time being. I take it you are the Constable?”

“I am, and you may not bear arms under the Duke’s Peace! Surrender your weapons at once!”

“Actually, I think I remember you from before I left. Some things don’t change it seems. I’ll remember what your name was eventually, I’m sure. Anyway, I do have right of arms and more besides. Here, I’ll show you.”

Bernard had a leather scroll tube attached to the side of his bag, he opened it and selected one of the parchments and rolled it out. It looked very official to Ala, with a large wax seal on the bottom. He turned the document towards the constable. The man displayed the look Ala had learned to associate with people who had trouble reading. She knew the Constable had been to school, at least for a while, at the Temple of Ceres, but many of the attendees never needed to read in day to day life and consequently hardly could by the time they reached adulthood.

“I will take this with me and have it verified. In the meantime, you will need to relinquish your arms.”

“I don’t think so, Constable. One of these lads can go fetch the scribe right now.” He pointed at one of the boys, “you there, go fetch him. Now!”

As the lad ran off, Ala whispered that she could read, but she was ignored. Bernard glanced in her direction though and made a small gesture that clearly meant that she should leave it. He’d obviously heard her, though. Ala knew the Constable disliked half-elves, she’d been violently pushed out of the way by him before, usually accompanied by vicious slurs about her heritage. The Constable seemed enamoured of the alliteration of calling her a “stupid stinking half elf” whenever he remembered to. Bernard gave her a look which she could only really interpret to mean that she shouldn’t worry. He didn’t take his eyes off the Constable for more than a second though.

“Lay down your weapons, or I will declare you an outlaw!”

“It’s not going to happen Constable. I should mention that I have another document from the Duke here, authorising me to check up on your accounts. It seems the taxes have been coming up… irregular for quite a time. It’s one of the several of the Duke’s orders I will be executing while I am here.”

Ala knew that the Constable generally brought some muscle if there was anything physical to be done. Usually that meant roughing up some unfortunate villager. Without his enforcers, she sensed the man backing down.

The man scowled, “all right then, we’ll wait for the scribe.”

The scribe arrived after a tense eternity. The small man carefully studied Bernard’s document and the Duke’s seal on it.

“This is indeed a document bearing the Duke’s seal and signature that this man, Bernard of Thetwick, who is an honourably discharged Sergeant-Major-at-Arms of the Duke’s Regiment, has not only the right to bear arms in perpetuity, but may grant that right to others if he sees fit to do so, with the Duke’s blessing. It can only be rescinded by the Duke or his inheritors in person.”

“How can you be sure this document isn’t a forgery?”

The scribe shrugged.

“It has all the markings that we expect from the Duke. It is legitimate in my opinion. Whether this man is indeed Bernard of Thetwick, however, I have no idea.”

Ala spoke up then, more loudly than she had intended, “I do,” she said. Feeling self-conscious, she continued, “I knew him when he left Thetwick. This is Bernard Alanson, who used to live in this house with his father, Alan Ferdinandson and his brother, Reginald. He went to the Duke’s Regiment when he was twelve or thirteen. I remember him.”

The scribe looked a little surprised that Ala had spoken up, looking at her with a serious expression. He shrugged again.

“Alan’s son eh? I remember him too, come to think of it. Well that’s good enough for me. The strange half-child’s longevity certainly qualifies her to speak on this matter, if nothing else. It has also jogged my memory. The matter of identity is settled, insofar as I can say anything about it.”

This clearly annoyed the Constable, who turned to leave with a scowl. He didn’t have much choice, especially without his bullies to back him up. Ala had little doubt who would prevail in a physical confrontation between Bernard and Roger Marchmain. The Constable left looking even more sour than usual. Ala enjoyed it a lot. Not many people got one up on the Constable, who stormed off, red-faced. The scribe bid a formal goodbye and departed as well.

Ala made the fire, somehow anxious to make a good impression on Bernard. Her heart was still beating rapidly after the tense moments with the Constable. She used the trick she knew which she had never even dared to tell anyone about, even Palady or Aubree. Things burned when she wanted them to, including the air, if she concentrated. Flames, cold and heat also didn’t bother her much, she’d noticed. She had a fierce blaze going in seconds. She looked round worried she had overdone it and she did see Bernard looking quizzically at the size of the fire, rubbing his temple with his hand.

“That’s quite some fire, lass. Don’t think I’ve ever seen a fire be made quite so rapidly… well it’s an important skill, could have used you on campaign. Don’t burn the place down though.”

He smiled warmly at her as he said it, though.

“Yes Bernard.”

She said and quickly put the pot of water on the fire, feeling herself blushing.

“I’ll go and see to Rico…”

She rushed out to escape Bernard’s curious looks.

Things calmed down after a procession of workmen arrived and began repairs. They started off by removing anything that could no longer be used. Bernard obviously had coin to spend and he sent her down to the town centre to purchase some ingredients for a stew as well as some less perishable supplies and horse feed. There were plenty of stalls and peasants out selling things whenever a caravan was in town. She also managed to exchange a few more sentences with Rosamund even although the young woman was still busy trading.

“Oh, hey Ala. Still busy I’m afraid.”

“Sorry to bother you… could I ask one question?”

“Alright.”

“That warrior who was travelling with you… do you know anything about him?”

“Bernard? Uhmm, not really. We’re obligated to take the Duke’s passengers, he’s one of them. Paid though he didn’t have to. Said he was originally from here. Why?”

“I was just curious, I was talking to him… and well… he seems to know my… aunt.”

“Well, he seemed a nice enough bloke. I bet he’s a veteran soldier. No idea why the Duke sent him here.”

“But the Duke did send him?”

“The Duke has to sign an order to transport passengers who have to be listed by name, so I’m fairly sure he did. Oh, here comes my next appointment. I have to run.”

“Thank you!”

Ala finished her shopping and hurried back to Aubree’s house. Bernard had also asked her to go by her house and ask Aubree to join him for the meal, too. When she went home, Aubree asked her lots of questions. She seemed a little suspicious, but also intrigued.

“You’re sure? His name is Bernard? He’s retired from the Duke’s Regiment?”

“Of course I’m sure, Aubree… I’m not dense. I did ask him. Bernard Alanson. I remember him from when he was little. I also checked with the caravaneers, they’re certain he was sent by the Duke, too.”

“Sent by the Duke? Truly? I’m sorry Ala. I’m not doubting you. It’s just unexpected is all. I didn’t think he would ever come back.”

Aubree was thoughtful for a moment. Tucking her momentary irritation away, Ala thought she saw a twinge of a smile on Aubree’s woman’s face just before she spoke again, “well, certainly someone I never expected to see again… and now asking me to dinner, out of the blue.” Aubree’s smiled grew wider, as if she’d decided she liked the idea.

“You knew him?”

“I did. He… was a friend. My best friend, really.”

Aubree was clearly considering the invitation. Ala had expected her to turn it down out of hand, like she’d done with numerous suitors over the years. What history was there between Bernard and Aubree she wondered? After a moment, Aubree nodded and spoke with the same smile, “alright, go and tell him I’ll be along shortly. It’ll be good to talk to him, at least, I think.”

Having a lot of time on her hands Ala had become as good as cook as she could. Not that there was a massive variety of things to learn in Thetwick, the ingredients available were limited and often the same, but it was still possible to make it tasty with a little effort and by adding herbs. She had learned a little about herbs from the healers that travelled to the village from time to time. When she was out in the forest she would gather plants that were common to the Westmarch and then trade them for more exotic spices with passing caravans, which helped to make her cooking a little more varied than the norm.

She walked back to Bernard’s house, which now had some temporary repairs. Hides and planking were tied over the roof to cover the holes and make it watertight. She made her way to the door and knocked on it, for propriety’s sake.

“Ah Ala, come in. Did you speak to Aubree?”

“I did. She accepts the invitation.”

“Truly? Very good,” Bernard was smiling too. No, he was beaming, she decided. Whatever had gone on between him and Aubree decades ago certainly included some very good memories.

“I’ll just start sorting out some dinner,” Ala said. “The longer we can let it simmer, the better.”

Bernard gestured for her to go ahead and she got started, it was a simple recipe but she had learned that frying a lot of the ingredients before putting it all in the pot together improved the taste considerably. After she had set it to simmer, she looked after Bernard’s horse. Bernard was directing the boys doing something that clearly required teamwork and shouting. She grabbed some wooden bowls and tin cups from the chest and noticed more weapons beneath. Next she added some more wood onto the fire and quietly intensified the fire’s heat to make sure the new logs hardly smoked.

“Ala… that’s uncanny. I’ve never seen anything like that before… is that something all… err… half-elves can do?”

She jumped. People generally didn’t manage to sneak up on her and she had assumed she would notice anyone approaching. Bernard had seen her manipulating the fire. It was the first time anyone had ever caught her.

“Please.. please don’t tell anyone!” she cried. She knew what the people thought of witches. She could only imagine what they might do to a half-elven one.

“No reason for alarm young lass. I’ve been around. Seen a few things. Not exactly that, if I’m honest, but I’m not as easily perturbed as folk around here. I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Really. I won’t.”

“Please don’t!”

“Ala, I said I promise to keep it to myself. I meant it. Who else knows? Aubree?”

“No, no, I haven’t told anyone… ever, they all think I’m strange enough as it is…”

“Not even Aubree?”

“No! It would only worry her!”

“Is that… a normal skill… for your people?”

“I don’t know any other half-elves… sir…”

“Oh yes. Of course, how could I forget? Alright, alright…. calm down. It will be our secret. As long as you don’t call me ‘sir’ any more…” he looked over to the simmering stew.

“Looks like you know your cooking too. Smells good!” It broke the tension.

“Is that… alright?”

“More than alright, hope it’s ready soon. Reminds me I’m going to be needing a housekeeper. Interested?”

“Everyone says I’m too young to be a servant.”

“You’re older than I am. You make excellent, completely smokeless, fires and you can do it in seconds. Looks like you can cook. You know horses and hunting. You’ve done all the schooling Thetwick has. Not sure what more I could ask for by way of qualifications?”

“I’ll have to ask Aubree. She needs some taking care of too.”

“I’ll tell you what. I’m not a very good cook. You help me out. I’ll teach you a thing or two about sword fighting… if you want, of course.”

She looked up at him, wondering if he was serious. He certainly looked it. She grabbed her chance.

“Agreed,” she said, quickly and forcefully, before he could change his mind. Bernard looked at her, taken aback by how forcefully she had spoken.

“What happened to asking Aubree?”

She just shrugged.

“As you said, I’m older than she is. By lots. I think she’s the only person in the village who ever stopped to realise it. She won’t try to stop me if it’s something I really want.”

“You’re really serious about this?”

She nodded, “yes. Very much so.”

When Aubree arrived it was obvious she and Bernard were old friends… perhaps more than friends, Ala wondered? Why hadn’t she noticed anything when Bernard was a boy? The two of them immediately launched into chatting about events and people, things that had happened thirty or forty years ago. Ala was a little disconcerted to notice that her memory of that time was a lot clearer than theirs. She could easily help them when their memories failed. It made things awkward again though, making it clear just how old she was again. She decided it might be better not to interject any more and focused on the stew even though it was doing just fine without her help.

People regularly seemed to forget how old she actually was, even Aubree. It seemed that it was easiest for people to act as if she was just what she looked like, a child in her teens. That usually worked right up until she felt comfortable and accidentally reminded them that she was different. She had decided long ago that she should avoid emphasising her age, but it was hard, especially if she was feeling comfortable around people. Once again, she decided it was better to keep her mouth shut.

Bernard spoke a little about his career with the Duke’s Regiment, but he didn’t go into much detail. He mentioned a few experiences during his training and said he’d been on campaign many times, but he didn’t elaborate on any particular thing that had happened while he was at war. It was clear he had seen a lot of action while serving under the Duke’s banner though. The rank he had attained was the most senior rank that someone with such common heritage could expect to achieve. Being assigned as Captain of a Militia in a border region like the Westmarch said a great deal about the trust the Duke placed in the man. Being a Captain of anything would normally be well beyond the possibilities of someone of Bernard’s simple heritage.

Ala served them each a bowl of stew with a chunk of bread. It was a treat for her and Aubree, they could only rarely afford more meat than needed for a broth. What she brought in by hunting they often traded away since they could get so much more for a fresh rabbit than if they ate it themselves. Bernard liked mutton, and he’d wanted her to put generous amounts of it into the stew.

“You make a fine stew, Ala. I think I may be getting a bargain,” Bernard said.

Aubree looked at Ala with a frown, homing in instantly.

“What bargain?”

Ala hoped that Bernard wouldn’t mention the sword fighting lessons… not straight away anyway.

“Oh, I’ve asked if Ala will help with some housekeeping… don’t worry, I’ll compensate her fairly.”

That seemed to satisfy Aubree, who changed the subject.

“Ala is a very good cook, best in the village, I’d bet. She’s had a lot of time to learn, I suppose. Actually there aren’t many things you can learn in Thetwick that she isn’t very good at. Weaving, knitting, spinning, embroidery, fishing, horses… especially horses and many, many other things besides. She knows her herbs too and can read and write very well.” Aubree said, clearly proud. “She even knows sums. She’s put all those extra years to good use, I’d say.”

Bernard looked impressed, “that she has.”

Ala had never realised Aubree had noticed and beamed.

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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.

Captain of the Militia

Thirty years later, Aubree was in her fifties. She had never remarried after losing her husband. Ala had gently suggested some possible candidates, but Aubree had never taken any interest. Together, they lived quietly together in the same small wooden house that Aubree had invited Ala to join her in three decades before. They were not wealthy but they managed to get by. The house was drafty and it wasn’t in terribly good condition, but they managed to keep the main room warm in winter, in no small part due to Ala’s gift. She never let Aubree notice that she was using her fire magic to make the hearth burn brighter and longer. Ala had accrued quite a collection of skills that allowed them to get or make plenty of things that they could barter. Some things they could even sell for a little coin. Thetwick had grown to a size that should properly be called a town, though it didn’t posses a Ducal charter or the fortified walls that a proper town had. It did have a regular market, the only one in the whole of the Westmarch, which offered them a place to sell their excesses.

In 944, a crier came on a caravan. Crier was a big word, usually it was a job done by entertainers and story tellers, hoping to catch some coin for their trouble. There was a Guild of Criers, though and proclaiming the news without being able to display the guild’s symbol wasn’t likely to bring you any coin. The main the thing the Crier’s guild stood for, was the accuracy of the information being presented. This crier visited Thetwick a few times a year, he was a grizzled old man, with a limp. He wore the Crier’s Guild emblem on a chain round his neck, though he was only an apprentice. He had been discharged from the Duke’s regiment early because of his leg, Ala had heard. She’d gone to see what the caravan had brought, so she was close when he took his place in the middle of the market, climbing onto a stone pedestal that stood there for the purpose. She always stopped to listen to the crier, if she could, she often learned something new, at least, though not necessarily something useful.

“People of the Westmarch! Honoured Thets! I bring news today, of Taladaria, of Verdon and Sheffield. There is even word from far Erythrae! Most importantly, I bring news of the Counts of Oakharrow, news of a marriage!”

Ala listened attentively. Criers wanted people to hang around, so most of them begun with the most inconsequential information first.

“In Taladaria, there is a shortage of onions! The harvest went poorly and thus the price has skyrocketed! Perhaps, dear Thets, there is an opportunity there, eh?” it was a accompanied by a questioning expression as everything he said was embellished with great gestures.

“Who cares?” Someone yelled. “Get to the good stuff!”

“In Verdon, my friends, the Count fell from his horse, right on market day! It turns out, the honourable Count had partaken of a little too much of his own fine ale!”

“Did he die?” came another call from the crowd.

“Thankfully, only the great Count Louis’ pride was injured!”

“That’s not news! Get on with it, man! What happened in Oakharrow?!”

“Honoured people of the March! I wil get to that in just a moment. First, the news of Sheffield! Simon Urgyll, Baron Sheffield, has raised taxes in the Barony! There is great discontent and it is said that there are even whispers of revolt! Matters are made worse as the Baron is said to need the funds make is castle even more luxurious! At the same time, there are those who say it is long overdue, that the Castle in Pearson will collapse if it is not repaired soon! Who is to say who is right? I hope to be able to tell you more, dear Thets, when I next pass through your wonderful village!”

“Thetwick is a town, dimwit! Get to that Oakharrow marriage!”

“In due course, my esteemed people of Taladaria! First, I must speak of Erythrae! I have news of Crown Prince Hubert! He has won the last tournament of last year’s season, even at the tender age of sixteen! He vanquished the favourite, a Knight named Hillary de Briande, who serves in the retinue the Prince of Dirstad! Such prowess at such a young age shows great promise for is reign!”

He wasn’t insulted again. Ala wasn’t sure whether people had given up, or if they reckoned he was out of subjects and had to finally talk about the marriage in Oakharrow.

“Now, finally, citizens of Thetwick, I will speak of the news of your northern neighbours, Oakharrow. This Kaldmeer, Phoebe Sabran, Lady and heir of Oakharrow, of fifteen summers, married Acanos Botic, Lord of Vanskell! I don’t need to tell you, wise Thets, of the importance of this, I am certain! With no male heir in Oakharrow, the choice has fallen on this lord from Vanskell, brother of the Baron of a Selinan fief! The Botics are in great favour with King Justus the Fifth of Selinus! They are said to hold an importance and prestige far beyond that which is accorded to a mere Baron! Acanos is, according to Selinan traders a respected commander in Selinus who has led the King’s armies to do his bidding succesfully in the past! Does this mean the independence of Oakharrow comes to an end? I am not certain, dear Thets, but it seems that is likely to be the case! Perhaps then, here, in the Westmarch, far on the Western border of the great and true Kingdom of Iurrak, your situation has become more uncertain. The Westmarch shares a long border with Oakharrow… perhaps, it now also shares a long border with Selinus, our ancient enemy? Who can tell what wil happen next?”

He left a long pause and straightened himself up from his last exaggerated gesture.

“That concludes the news I have brought, dear Thets, please don’t begrudge your humble crier his bit.”

It was the traditional way a crier asked for money. He stepped down off the pedestal and removed his hat, which he turned and held up, so that people could deposit bits of silver in it, the customary way a crier was rewarded for his efforts. The same man would be telling stories tonight in and around the drinking hall, Ala knew, without his guild symbol on display. Many people came to give him money. The news about Oakharrow caused a lot of consternation and she could hear people discussing it all around her. It was obvious that the news had caused concern, which Ala understood, though she immediately felt the urge to learn more about Oakarrow and Selinus.

She already knew that Justus, King of Selinus and fifth of his name had not been on the throne for long. Ala had heard rumours around town that claimed that something had changed in Selinus since the old king, a half elf who had ruled for three centuries, had passed. Ala always kept her ears open for news about Selinus, as its Kings and Queens included the occasional half elf, including King Justus’ predecessor, Selinus VII. Selinus VII had spent centuries on the Selinan throne, meaning that Justus V was six generations removed from his predecessor. Selinus VII who was the Selinan King responsible for the peace that had held, to some extent, since 601. Justus himself was human, but it was said that his only child and heir, Viola, was a half elf too.

For weeks, Thetwick’s single drinking hall was lively with speculation about what the events in Oakharrow might mean. Ala didn’t dare go inside, of course, but she was kept up to date what the talk of the town was by listening in on the conversations of the horse breeders she often worked for and the caravanners that sometimes passed through Thetwick. Nothing of note happened until Wogekind 944. On a day that was shaping up to be as boring as many of the countless others Ala had seen, people started calling out that a caravan had been sighted. A few boys had come running into town from the fields to the south, bearing news of its approach.

It was customary for some of the farm boys to run into town when they spotted traders cresting Knockback Hill. That way everyone knew a caravan was coming and people had a chance to gather their wares and set up their stalls. Visiting merchants were a big event in Thetwick and Ala loved seeing the travellers and their wares. There were always riches, aromatic spices and exotic things on display, all things that Ala and Aubree couldn’t afford. Palady had always said Ala could go look at the caravans, but that she should keep both her headscarf and a hood on, seeing as not everyone took well to half-elves. Palady had reminded her of this so often that Ala took it very seriously. She had discovered early on that Palady hadn’t exaggerated. Thankfully she had been able to run away then. Still, caravans were far too exciting to stay away from. She often talked to the caravanners when they seemed friendly or harmless. Even though they usually seemed a little less prejudiced than the Thets, she always took care to make sure her ears were invisible and her hair was always dyed a mousy brown as Palady had always bid her.

A caravan always caused a flurry of activity, people would come into town, bringing their excess produce and any things they had made which they might be able to trade with the merchants. The boys that brought the news also described the approaching caravan to anyone who wanted to hear. That way, people knew whether it was big or whether the caravan master looked like he might be rich or not. The caravan that approached today was apparently both big and wealthy which was a reason for the Thets to make a special effort to bring out as many trade wares as they could. Ala always took the things she and Palady had left over, as well as items they made specifically to trade with merchants. She had dried mushrooms and herbs and Aubree was skilled at embroidery, making very nice scarves and cloaks when they could afford the materials. She was usually able to sell some things to the caravanners.

Raw produce was generally too voluminous a cargo to be worthwhile for the caravans. Things like home made spirits or iron bars from Irin mountain ore could be sold to the caravanners, as well as small, valuable items like richly decorated textiles or jewellery. As mining the Irins made one a prime target for orcks, the most important business that was conducted was the trade in horses. Trade with caravans was how most of Thetwick’s prized horses changed hands. It was the main reason for caravans to bother visiting the otherwise out of the way town. Other than the horses, Thetwick didn’t have anything else to offer that could not more easily be purchased without the six day detour that it took the average caravan to get from the caravan stop in Hightower, just over the river in Taladaria, to Thetwick and back. The road to Oakharrow was too poor and the ford over the Clearflow River too unreliable for caravans to continue North. The only other place to go would have been Seraphim but that was a dead end too, with no way for a caravan to make it safely across Seraph Creek into Greythorn.

By the time Ala got to the marketplace there were already men negotiating transactions and hands being shaken as greetings were exchanged and earlier agreements were reaffirmed. She realised she recognised the caravan, it was one run by the Von Taupenhausen family and it only rarely visited Thetwick, perhaps once every four or five years. The Von Taupenhausens were very rich merchants indeed. It filled her with a sense of anticipation, as the last time it had visited, she had met the Caravan Master’s daughter, a girl named Rosamund. Rosamund had been travelling with caravans since she was nine years old and was able to tell her many interesting things. Rosamund had even bought some things from her that visit. When Ala arrived, some traders were already unpacking items that were foreign to the Westmarch. She could smell the spices and see high quality fabrics being set out. The first disagreement of the day was also loudly being resolved. The argument was between Rosamund, who spoke with far more authority than Ala remembered from her previous visit four years before and one of the horse ranchers. Rosamund had been in her teens when Ala had last seen her and she’d grown into a buxom, pretty young woman who was obviously more interested in practicality than style. She dressed accordingly, wearing a dark, robust travelling dress, though it was well tailored and looked like it cost more than Ala and Aubree spent in a year. She wore the pin of a Journeywoman of the Caravanners Guild, a grade that she was young to have achieved. Rosamund had a kind of approachable innocence to her that Ala thought must be helpful when trading. Certainly, if her father left everything to her, she must be rather good at it.

Ala walked around a bit, waiting until the argument was over, since she wanted to talk to Rosamund. It didn’t take long for an agreement to be reached, it seemed to Ala that Rosamund had gotten the price she wanted in the end. She’d obviously noticed Ala hovering nearby.

“Ala, wasn’t it?” said Rosamund as she saw her approach. “You haven’t changed a bit. Again.” The young woman was smiling, but was clearly wondering how that was possible.

It was about four years since the last time the Von Taupenhausen caravan had visited, a fact that Ala hadn’t really thought about. She felt like she had to explain.

“I’m… a half elf… Mistress,” whispered Ala, hoping no one else would be reminded of it.

“Ah. That sort of explains it, a little. The first time I was here must be a decade ago. I think you looked the same then too. Anyway, good to see you. How are things in the Westmarch?”

“Much the same as your last visit. Not much goes on in Thetwick.”

Rosamund nodded, scanning the area before looking back at Ala. “I see you have a bag. Did you bring some things to trade? We’ve just come from Peyrepertuse, so we’re nigh on empty and I’m looking to replenish all manner of things. I’m afraid I don’t have much time to chat right now, father leaves most things to me these days while he… well I don’t think he does much of anything. So come on, what have you got?”

Rosamund bought everything she had with her, giving her a price that seemed more than fair. The woman gave the impression of wanting to buy half of Thetwick if she could get the price she wanted. Ala was a little disappointed that Rosamund didn’t have time to chat, but she was pleased she’d managed to sell everything so quickly. She continued along the length of the caravan to see if there was anything else interesting, since she now had quite a few silver coins, taking care to stay out of everyone’s way.

She noticed a burly, muscular man in chain mail with a moustache and sideburns standing by a powerful looking horse, checking its saddle. He seemed out of place. He had more bearing than she would have expected from a caravan guard and he carried himself with a different intent than a guard, she thought. His back was straighter and his eyes keener. He wore a large and beautiful longsword at his hip. She was sure the weapon had to be worth a fortune. On his belt there was also an elegant dagger with a wide crossguard and a belt pouch. His horse was a slightly aged, but still mighty, destrier. It had a kite shield slung behind the saddle on the right, displaying the Duke’s colours.

Ala was as fascinated by swords and swordplay as she had ever been. She was always interested in people who looked like they knew what they were doing with a blade. She still desperately wanted to learn how to use one. Any warrior who carried a sword like that with such practised ease fascinated her. She still spent a lot of time pretending sticks were swords, swinging them about when she was alone in the forest. She had even made herself several wooden swords over the years but she didn’t really have friends to practice with. Anyone she had managed to rope in swiftly lost interest or was scared off by her intensity.

She wondered if the man was a noble. Only nobles and their men-at-arms were allowed to wear swords. His shield only displayed the Duke’s colours though, not a full coat of arms. That was strange for a noble, they usually wanted to display their wealth and having a craftsman elaborately decorate a shield was a preferred way to do so. Not that she had seen many nobles, but those she had seen had often had shields which proclaimed their coat-of-arms. She knew a man-at-arms, as a member of the Duke’s retinue, also normally displayed the full coat of arms of the noble he served on his shield. She didn’t think it was a rule though, more of a very common custom. It did leave her wondering who this man was, since he was armed, but not a man-at-arms or a nobleman. Rosamund surely knew, but she was engaged in another lively negotiation.

Caravan guards were also allowed to be armed of course. They had to be signed under a caravan master’s charter to make it legal. But it didn’t make sense for a caravan guard to be displaying the Duke’s colours. If they displayed anything it was usually the caravan guild’s seal, but most didn’t even bother with that. If the caravan came all the way from Peyrepertuse, Ala decided that the man might have something to do with the Duke’s regiment, even if he was alone. Only a Duke, Prince or a King was allowed to keep standing regiments and the men who sometimes returned to the Westmarch from their service had the same straight backed posture that this man had.

If an army or a war band was marshalled it consisted of nobles and their knights and men-at-arms and the standing regiments kept by Dukes and Kings. The only thing Ala could think of was that this man must be a member of the Duke’s Regiment. That was even stranger. Since when did the Regiment dispatch individual soldiers anywhere? The men who returned from it didn’t normally return riding war horses sporting the Duke’s colours. She had to admit this man looked capable and experienced enough, but she thought that soldiers of the Duke’s regiment always travelled in groups.

The interesting looking warrior was around fifty years old and she could tell his moustache and sideburns hid some nasty old scars. He seemed to be taking in his surroundings, taking a long moment to look around him. He took a deep breath, breathing in through his nose, like he was smelling the air. Like someone coming home after a long absence, Ala thought to herself. Two of the teamsters were unloading heavy iron bound chests and long bundles wrapped in canvas from the cart. The big man said something to them and went to talk to Rosamund’s father, the caravan master, who rose to bid him farewell. Ala was watching all this with interest. The two men clasped hands and a small pouch was exchanged, which Master Von Taupenhausen seemed pleasantly surprised by. The warrior called to some of the many children standing around watching the caravan.

“You, with the dirty hair, and your friend. Also, you two, stop throttling each other or whatever that is you’re doing and come here, I have a job for you.”

The four boys stopped what they were doing and approached him warily.

“Want to earn some money, lads? How about it? You going to carry those chests and for me? Help me put those bundles over my mount for me?”

The bravest of the four, the boy with the dirty blonde hair looked at him. Ala knew him of course, his name was Chad. He frowned before speaking.

“How much, milord?”

“An eighth each.”

Chad nodded to the man, then gestured to his friends to come forward. They came to where the bundles and chests stood, each attempting to carry one.

“Hold on lads, here’s some rope, tie the bundles together so we can put them over Rico’s saddle. It’s not far, that’ll be fine for the walk. You lot are going to have to carry the chests, got it?”

With some direction, the chests and long bundles, which seemed to be long weapons, like spears and halberds, were manoeuvred onto either side of the horse, tied together so that the weapon bundles hung on either side of the animal. The warrior carefully checked that the rope wouldn’t chafe, making some adjustments so that there were several layers of leather and padding in between the horse and the rope. Ala liked seeing that he cared for his horse, she had seen people treat their mounts very differently too often.

Some other boys were now looking on enviously. There weren’t many opportunities for children to earn an eighth in Thetwick. The four boys struggled with their heavy cargoes and made slow headway. They quickly adapted, switching to dragging the chests behind them. The big man followed behind at a leisurely pace, leading his horse in an unhurried manner.

He seemed content just to look around, not minding the slow progress at all. Some of the other children had started to follow too, but they quickly grew bored with the slow pace. The man clearly knew where he was headed. Soon Ala was the only one still cautiously following, though she was keeping her distance.

“Girl, I can see you, you know,” the big man called to her.

She stopped.

“Stop hiding!” he continued, “come up here and walk with me, you can make yourself useful by answering some questions if you’re so set on seeing where I’m headed.”

Ala considered running away, but the man’s sword was just too interesting. He didn’t seem angry, more goodnatured than anything else. She was too curious. She stepped out from behind the tree where she was hiding and hurried forward and fell in beside him.

“Sorry milord,” she said.

“I’m not a lord.”

She glanced at his sword. He noticed her look. “Confused by the blade, are you?”

She gave a small nod, not really daring to say anything.

“The Duke has allowed me to continue bearing weapons as his man-at-arms, even though I’m retired from his regiment now. Nice of him huh? Though, of course it’s in his name that he asked me to wield it. What’s your name, girl?”

“Alagariel… sir… they call me Ala…” She decided to be bold, “what’s yours… sir?”

He stopped walking, “wait? Alagariel? Really?” He turned towards her so she turned towards him too, if a little apprehensively.

“Take down that hood,” he commanded with a nod of his head.

She decided it was better to do as she was told. His tone was that of one accustomed to having his orders followed.

“Well, well. Quite the beauty. Of course… age much slower… a few more years… well maybe more than a few…” he muttered more to himself than to her, nodding slightly.

Then his eyes lit up, as if he had thought of something. “Is Aubree still around?”

Suddenly he seemed animated. She was almost shocked, then decided it wasn’t a strange question if Thetwick had once been his home. Aubree was around the same age as he was.

“Yes, master. I live with her now. Since her husband died.”

It wasn’t strictly true. Aubree’s husband had died a few years earlier by the time Palady passed away. If Ala told the story this way though, it sounded less like charity. In the meantime Ala was thinking. She remembered a young boy, Bernie… he had left to join the Duke’s Regiment when he was around twelve or thirteen. This could be him, she decided.

“Aubree’s a widow? Hmm….” He seemed to consider that for a moment, then changed the subject.

“You know Old Kendrick? You must have, you’re older than I am. Anyway, he once told me the story about the patrol that brought you in. I was a wide-eyed little boy, wanting to know all about soldiering. Kendrick must be long gone by now, eh?”

“Yes, master,” she said, like she always did when adult humans who told her something she already knew and expected her to answer.

“I’m guessing… that must have been… around a century ago by now? It must be something like that. Palady, I think that was her name, wasn’t it? She was the only one who would look after you, or that’s what Kendrick claimed. Brave woman. Aubree is her great-granddaughter.”

The way he said it like a sort of history lesson.

“I know, sir… sorry… master.”

He looked puzzled for a moment as he thought. “That’s right. Of course you do. Silly of me. You were there…” he stopped again for a moment to look at her, clearly considering something.

“You just look so young…” he continued. “Takes some getting used to you know, when you meet someone who looks like a child… and then thirty years later she still looks like one… well just perhaps fourteen or fifteen winters now, maybe, if you were human. I suppose there is some difference. Still, it’s… unusual,” he said, somehow feeling that he needed to explain why he was telling her things she already knew.

Ala felt some sympathy for him. She supposed from his point of view, it was a little strange. Even if he’d met elves and half elves on his travels, he was unlikely to have ever met very young ones twice with three decades between meetings. She forgot about her theory when another thought came to her. She was suddenly curious if he knew anything about her she didn’t.

“I never really spoke to Old Kendrick, sir, I don’t think… what did he say, sir? Was he really there, do you think? I only know what Palady told me.”

He turned away from her and continued walking, the horse following along. The four boys had made little progress. Ala wasn’t sure they would think it was fair pay in the end, considering how hard the work was.

“He was… well,” he seemed to consider for a moment, “the tale he told seemed believable. Or it did when I was thirteen. I have no reason to doubt it and no way of knowing whether it was truthful. In all honesty I have no way of knowing for certain, Alagariel. I’ve known men who like to exaggerate, but then I have also known those who downplay things or say nothing at all. I… I don’t rightly know how Old Kendrick measures up. I wasn’t really thinking about that sort of thing when I was thirteen.”

He stopped to consider her a third time.

“This is a bit of a shock for me, girl. Girl? You’re older than I am. I have a full military career, even manage a little distinction through my service. I come back home… and you’re still adolescent. You look as old as I was when I left. You’re some sort of elf mix are you? That’s what my ma always said.”

“Yes sir. I’m a half-elf.”

There was something about the way he asked, like he didn’t believe her. Where else did he think the slow ageing and the ears came from, she wondered?

“If we’re going to get along, Alagariel, stop calling me sir. I’ve worked for a damn living all my life.”

“Yes s… uhm… what do I call you then? Is master alright… s… ehh… ma..ster?”

She wasn’t about to use ‘Bernie’ after all.

“Oh yes… you wouldn’t know that. I’m Bernard. Just call me Bernard.”

“Uhm… OK.. Master Bernard.”

“So how do you keep yourself busy, Alagariel?”

She was surprised by the question. Adults didn’t normally ask her anything they wanted a real answer to.

“I go to school. Sometimes. I help in the fields during the seasons. Sometimes I hunt. Mainly I help the horse breeders.”

“So you know horses?”

She shrugged, “they seem to like me… si… Master Bernard.”

“Do they? That’s good then, there’s always a place for people who know horses.”

“Are you good with a sword?”

He grinned, “where did that suddenly come from?”

She shrugged, “I like swords.”

“Well, I’d say I’m pretty fair. Good enough for the Duke anyway. There’s places where that means something.”

“Do you know how to teach people to sword fight?”

“You’re just full of questions aren’t you? I’ve taught before, yes. Quite a lot. The Duke has a Regiment to run and all… why?”

“Will you teach me?”

He frowned, “what on Vatan for?”

“Well… I just really want to learn… Please, Master Bernard?” she asked, worried she sounded as if she was pleading. She was, of course, but it wouldn’t do to sound that way.

His look changed to mild surprise as he realised the intensity with which Ala was regarding him.

“Really? A girl who wants to learn to sword fight? That’s not something I hear every day.” Bernard looked at her again for a moment, quite seriously, before he spoke again. “I will consider it,” he said, in a way that made her believe he meant it.

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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 2: Age of Adolescence

The history of the Westmarch has long been defined by the conflict between the Kingdoms of Selinus and Iurrak. Ever since Yves the First founded the sublime Kingdom of Iurrak in 521, just after his great and most righteous rebellion against Viola the Third of Selinus, the two great lands have never managed to improve their relationship beyond a prickly tolerance. When sentiments became violent, the conflict has inevitably played out in the three fiefs that lie between Selinus and Iurrak, Saskill, Oakharrow and the Westmarch from north to south.

The wise and great King Gabriel the First of Iurrak made an ill fated attempt to alleviate the constant disagreements. He negotiated the Peace of Equals, ending eighty years of war between Iurrak and Selinus in 601. In that treaty, it was agreed that Saskill, Oakharrow and the Westmarch would form an independent buffer Kingdom between Selinus and Iurrak. Of course, this would turn out to be short lived. Selinus soon after usurped the Saskill title through marriage and skulduggery. The Kings of Iurrak had little choice but to eventually do the same, though they attempted to abide by the terms of the treaty for another two centuries before Annette de Baerle married Ivan, Duke of Taladaria at King Humphrey the Fourth’s behest in 814. So, the title of the March passed to the Duke when the last regnant Marquis, Xavier, passed away. It is for this reason, that, to this day, the Duchy of Taladaria is the only title within the Iurrakan peerage permitted to hold two regnant titles unified within one person, a right formalised in a special agreement between the King and Peers of Iurrak.

From the Encyclopedia Royalis Iurraka, edition of 975.

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