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.

A Bit of a Reputation

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you. That would be wonderful.”

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

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

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

“Good morning… Hank said…”

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

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

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

“Thank you, mistress.”

“My pleasure.”

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

“So, how were things at the Ford?”

“Business as usual.”

“I take it Friedrich was his unpleasant self?”

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

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

“He seems to be pleasant enough to Bernard.”

“Bernard is a powerful man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll try.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Surely you exaggerate?”

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

“There is really no one else?”

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

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

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

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.

Selinus Stirs

Ala eventually grew to fully understand why Bernard had returned to Thetwick when he did. In fact his retirement had been determined by the fact that the Duke had wanted to shore up the Westmarch and improve its capacity to defend itself. Putting a trusted, proven man in Thetwick improved both the quality of the Duke’s militia and his intelligence. It was customary for the Duke to award retiring soldiers with a plot of land. In Bernard’s case, his retirement package had been generous. It had greatly increased his lands in the Westmarch in addition to what he had inherited from his father and brother. It was the Duke’s way of making it very attractive to accept the position of Captain of the Westmarch though Ala doubted Bernard would have turned the Duke down even if it hadn’t been so lucrative an offer.

It was also just good sense on the part of the Duke, a wealthy Captain, dependent on Ducal patronage, had a strong interest in safeguarding the Duke’s authority. The Westmarch was as much an out of the way place for the Duke as it was for all others. He needed dependable agents in the Westmarch and the defences needed to be able to deter anyone who might otherwise think the Westmarch and easy target. It had all started because of the marriage in Oakharrow between Phoebe Sabran and Acanos Botic. That marriage had suddenly put Oakharrow solidly back in Selinus’ sphere of influence. Since it had happened with no warning, it had also brought into focus how little idea the Dukes of Taladaria had of what was going on across the borders they were obligated to defend. For all practical purposes, the County of Oakharrow had been annexed by Selinus as Saskill had been more than a century before. As soon as Lady Phoebe’s father died, Acanos would become Count and he owed fealty to the King of Selinus. It hadn’t taken the Duke long to take action after the marriage as Bernard had arrived in Thetwick only a few months later.

The Westmarch was a buffer region and it was formally one of the Duke of Taladaria’s domains but the fief was the only Taladarian holding west of the Iceflow river. North of Thetwick was the County of Oakharrow which had once insulated Taladaria from Selinus and which was the source of the Duke’s newfound concern. When the County truly fell into Selinan hands with the death of Phoebe’s father, the Duke had to be ready to face increased problems along his borders. Selinus and Taladaria had been rivals for generations. To strengthen the borders, the Duke had offered several senior non-commissioned officers of his regiment a retirement bonus if they would travel to the villages and towns in the border regions and improve the quality of the local militias. Men who had originally come from those towns were given preference. Bernard was one of the senior men that had agreed to such an arrangement, but Thetwick wasn’t the only town that had been assigned a professional Captain in the years after 944. Ala had discussed it with Bernard numerous times.

“Bernard, do you think this really works?”

“What works?”

“Riding patrols? We never catch anyone. It seems like… like the Selinans come and go at their leisure.”

“It’s a numbers game Ala. Eventually, we’re likely to stumble upon some of them that can’t get away. That said though, us riding these patrols is likely more valuable than actually fighting them.”

“How’s that?”

“They need to think about what they might do if they run into us. They make sure they can get away, only come in larger groups. Generally, it’s just slowing them down, just making it harder for them.”

“I had a sister once. She was taken by Selinans. Just after I came to Thetwick.”

“I know Ala. So strange, that was long before I was born. Now, we’ll never know for certain, of course, but if we weren’t a thorn in their sides, they may have raided Thetwick itself again by now. Probably would have, I imagine.”

“You really think so?”

“I do. Though it also helps that the people who live in the north of the March had mostly joined together in hamlets. Harder to raid and easier to patrol.”

“Is that going to help us… actually catch someone? I’m sick of them slipping away every time.”

“I would expect so. Be careful what you wish for, though, Ala. It might not be pretty.”

She was silent for a moment. He was right of course, she knew that. She still felt an urge… for what, she wondered? Revenge for Emma? Or was it just an affront that the Oakharrowers could terrorise the Westmarch unchecked. Probably a bit of both, she decided.

“We can’t let it go on.”

“There is that, young lass.”

“Don’t you…”

“What?”

“Feel that the Duke should do more?”

“Taladaria is a big place. He has to weigh how he applies his resources. If his efforts are not here, I trust him enough to feel he has good reason for it. I’ve written to him though, suggesting we need more support. The frequency of the incursions is increasing, despite out best efforts, so, I do agree, we need to do more.”

Ala always felt Bernard had a bit of a blind spot concerning the Duke, but she had to concede she had no way of knowing what else Taladaria had to deal with either.

Bernard had always been riding regular patrols with the militia’s small cavalry section. The frequency had been steadily increasing in the years after Aubree’s death. They only had a few horses available and there was still a lot of ground to cover. Ala was allowed to ride valuable warhorses on those patrols, but the rich horse breeders understandably didn’t trust most other militia members with their valuable steeds. When their own sons were on militia duty they obviously made an exception, but in general getting sufficient trained horses was a constant challenge though the horse they did have tended to be big, strong destriers, far beyond what any normal militiaman could normally afford.

The day’s patrol started much like any other. Ten members of the militia, including Ala and Bernard were ready to go before dawn, fording the Clearflow out of Thetwick just as the sun became visible over the horizon. It was going to be a full day’s riding and they hoped to make it back just before sunset. All the men present were well drilled and Bernard made sure there was enough chain mail to outfit everybody who rode regular patrols with a full suit. Before they were halfway Bernard spotted a group of armed men riding towards them.

“Thetwick! Look alive! Armed riders ahead,” he called, causing everyone to tense and check their weapons and armour.

They were on a section of rough track that led from one of the newer hamlets to the Oakharrow border. The hamlet in question had not had any trouble for some time, which was why they were there. Bernard had had a hunch it might be next.

Ala had been on patrols where they had spotted unknown riders before, but they had always been distant and each time they had managed to disappear or flee back into Oakharrow before they could catch up to them. This group was much closer to them, the terrain in the area had decreased the spotting distance substantially. The riders were mounted and it looked like they were wearing light armour, leathers, padding and one was wearing a chain coif that came over the shoulders. That was the heaviest armour in sight. Their spears and shields were clearly visible though there was no visible heraldry to recognise.

Bernard led their patrol to a position between the intruders and the wide track that led towards the hamlet and on to Thetwick. The group fitted the descriptions they’d heard many times, describing the raiders from Oakharrow. The lack of heraldry was in itself a crime – any who bore arms in Iurrak were obligated to display the colours of the authority that permitted them their weapons. These men weren’t displaying any heraldic markings whatsoever, not even a simple caravanners’ pennant. It was a mark of banditry.

There were eighteen, all mounted, facing ten members of the Thetwick militia. The situation became tense as both groups closed and faced off on the narrow track a few hours ride north of the town. The Oakharrow raiders had almost certainly come to the Westmarch to steal cattle or horses. The cattle raids had been becoming increasingly violent in recent months and a farmer and his wife had been killed near the border just a few weeks ago. Bernard would not let such a thing pass if he could help it, she knew.

The two groups came to a stop when they were facing each other at a distance perhaps a hundred and fifty paces. Bernard roared at the men, “Come forth and be recognised!” It was the customary watchman’s challenge.

Ala could see the two of the men talking quietly to each other, conferring.

Bernard tried again. “By the command of the Duke of Taladaria, turn back to Oakharrow! There need not be any bloodshed this day!”

Their leader responded with a threat and called out, “we outnumber you, Thets. Stand aside and we may let you live!”

Ala detected that the man had a bit of an accent. People spoke a little differently in Oakharrow, she knew.

“I cannot allow you to pass. Produce a right to bear arms and state your intentions or prepare to be held to the Duke’s Peace!”

The Oakharrower shrugged. “Have it your way, fool. Run them down, lads!”

The group lowered their spears and spurred their horses, kicking up clouds of dust as they accelerated.

Bernard called out his orders. “Counter charge, close formation, Go, go, go!”

The Thetwick militia, particularly those who rode the mounted patrols, had been well drilled and the ten of them worked well together, the fruits of many hours of practice. The counter charge drill had been practised countless times. Everyone drew their weapons and knew the part they were expected to play. Ala was behind and to the right of Bernard, on a lithe, fast stallion named Lightning that she loved to ride. She drew her elf blade. She had been keeping its existence secret, so she never used it in group practice, but she had decided she ought to have it with her if she really needed to fight, something which had been becoming increasingly likely lately. She had practised with it for hundreds of hours and it felt like it should be in her hand, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. They had been narrowing down which routes the Oakharrowers liked to use to travel into Thetwick. It was inevitable that she would need the sword sooner or later. The weapon felt alive in her hand and she had the distinct sensation that it was eager to be unleashed.

This occasion was precisely why she carried the sword with her. She hoped the blade lived up to her expectations. It felt alive in her hand, as if it was warily seeking a way to strike a blow at her enemies. The two bands met head on. The well drilled, tight formation from Thetwick held fast when it hit the more disorganised, though larger group of Oakharrow men.

Bernard killed the first man with a devastating cut across and into the man’s chest from his Ulfberht bastard sword. It was the man he had been talking to, the Oakharrowers’ leader. Ala found herself instinctively whispering to her horse in elven… it felt as if it were such a very… natural a thing to do. Her countless hours of practice, the powerful horse and her sword that seemed as if it were alive all worked as one. She wove along three of the advancing cattle raiders as if it were a subtle dance, dodging their weapons and placing herself precisely where she needed to be to make effective attacks. Her adversaries were more or less in a line as she bore down on them. Bernard’s hours and hours of drills came to her without conscious thought, the deadly mechanisms she had learned engaged without needing to think. She saw each of her opponents weapons come towards her in slow motion, seemingly giving her aeons to deflect or dodge each attack at leisure as she manoeuvred her blade into the weak spots in each combatants’ defensive sphere. She felt her blade easily cutting through flesh with only the barest indication of resistance. She took one hard hit to her shield from her left, which made her arm ring, but it wasn’t enough to interrupt her charge or disrupt her concentration.

The last of the three men she charged by was cleanly decapitated. His attempt to run her through with an overhand spear thrust was avoided with practised efficiency. She slapped the tip of the weapon lightly with her blade, almost gently guiding it aside, then using the spear’s shaft as a guide to manoeuvre her elf blade into the gap between the man’s helmet and the leather armour he was wearing. She let the weapon find its own way through the man’s neck as she passed him by. She let the speed of the horse pull the blade through his spine as she held it, feeling the angle of the weapon change until it cut itself free of the man’s neck. She pulled the blade back towards her in a low cut, making it ready to attack again if needed.

She was shocked and exhilarated as she brought up her horse and wheeled round, quite prepared to continue the fight, with her sword high. She found she had covered vastly more ground than the others. She wasn’t sure when or how that had happened, she hadn’t intended to stretch the line. There were no more Oakharrowers within threatening range, however, so it wasn’t a problem. Bernard was closest behind her. She had overtaken him in the confusion though she only vaguely remembered passing him by. Bernard brought up his horse, keeping it facing her. He pulled off his helmet and stared at her with a look that radiated a combination of disbelief and pride. As he surveyed the corpses along the route of her advance, his expression changed to shock.

He whispered to himself, swearing, she thought or perhaps it might be a prayer? She looked at the three men on the ground, all quite dead. On the one hand she did not feel much, on the other a she had a sense of disgust. It had been her or them. She’d thought about how she might feel if she was forced to kill long before. She was surprised to discover she was quite at peace with the outcome. She would have preferred not to have killed these men, she decided. They had made their choice however, and she would not be losing any sleep over it. Bernard had given them more than enough chance to turn home. She would also do it again if it was necessary. That decided, she noticed Bernard had a deep cut on his forearm that was dripping blood.

“You alright Ala?”

“I’m fine. You’re hurt though, let me see to that.”

“It’s a scratch. I’m fine.”

He turned his horse to see better up the track to where the remaining Oakharrowers had drawn up.

“Hope those idiots don’t come round for another run. There won’t be enough of them left to carry home the bodies,” he said.

He was despairing of the unnecessary deaths, she realised. It was wasteful, giving her the right word to describe what she was feeling as well. Ala looked back and only now saw that one of their comrades, a man named Peter, had fallen and was lying on the road among the Oakharrow corpses.

“I should go to Peter,” she spurred her horse.

“Wait! If they come again, we have to charge together. You can’t be caught out in the open alone. We’ll be of no use to Peter then.”

She drew up at once, understanding the wisdom of Bernard’s words.

The other militia members were surveying the damage they had done. As each of them realised the swathe she had cut through the enemy formation, their eyes turned to her with an expression of disbelief. One who had ridden up to inspect the decapitated man clapped her on the back as he turned his horse.

“That’s some incredible sword work, Ala. I knew you were good, but gods!”

The other men of the militia closed and turned their horses, reforming their formation, ready to charge once more. Bernard urged his horse forward a bit. The cattle raiders had pulled up their horses around fifty yards down the road, meaning that the two groups had changed places. Now, the militia was in between the Oakharrowers and their way home. They were in disarray. Ala thought they were arguing with one another. Bernard called out.

“If you dismount you may pick up your dead and wounded and go home with no further losses. Accept the Duke’s Peace, or we charge once more. Your choice.”

Their adversaries had begun with an almost two to one numerical advantage, which had been brought down to one to one in a single charge, also losing them their leader. Evidently the Oakharrowers realised this and thought better of continuing their attack. They dismounted and carefully walked towards them to pick up their dead and wounded. Bernard rode a little forward and called for the Oakharrow men to keep their distance while they pulled Peter towards them. He was severely wounded, a spear had pierced his rib cage and lung. He died a few minutes later, drowning in his own blood. There was nothing any of them could do. Ala rounded up Peter’s horse and the others lifted his corpse over the animal’s saddle. Once the raiders had disappeared far enough towards Oakharrow, they rode back to Thetwick. Bernard led the patrols straight to Peter’s house where he dismounted and went straight inside to bring the grim news to Peter’s wife. Ala heard her crying out in grief inside. It was a sound that cut straight into her heart.

Bernard came outside, letting out a great sigh.

“Right lads. Good work, all, today. Oakharrow will think twice about confronting us, I ‘spect. Wish we hadn’t lost Peter, but I’m sure everyone feels that as I do. Get home to you families.”

They couldn’t bring themselves to leave, standing aimlessly outside Peter’s house with the other villagers. Bernard and Ala stayed with Peter’s wife and children until family members arrived. Peter’s two small children were too young to understand what had happened but were clearly frightened. Ala knew the oldest boy, his name was Harald. He was one of the few children that didn’t seem to be scared of her and often came out to wave to her when she rode by. She found herself crying for them, wiping the tears as soon as she could.

Several villagers had followed behind the patrol when they had been seen them returning with a horse with a body draped over it. The villagers solemnly walking a respectful distance behind them had made the scene all the more heart wrenching. Peter had been well liked, a good groom and horse trainer who had made his living on the horse farms of Thetwick. The Duke provided a fair pension to those who fell while serving in the militia. It didn’t temper the tragedy for the family of the man who had been killed.

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.

Chapter 3: Interesting Times

Recent developments west of the Iurrakan border have renewed concerns over what designs the Selinan Crown has on the region north of the Westmarch. Ever since the marriage in 944 between Phoebe Sabran, heir to the Barony of Oakharrow and Acanos Botic, Lord of Vanskell, the Iurrakan Crown, and particularly the Duke of Taladaria who is responsible for the security of the Westmarch, has been eyeing the County of Oakharrow with growing concern.

Lord Acanos Botic is known to be a trusted advisor and sometime Marshall to Justus V, the King of Selinus. The marriage then, cannot be interpreted any other way than to conclude that the County of Oakharrow is the focus of Selinan influence and a probable target for Selinan expansionism. Indeed, in practice the county may already be a part of Selinus in all but name. These machinations remind one of the eighty years war that was finally concluded in 601.

The Duke of Taladaria has been shoring up the defences of the Westmarch but whether that is enough of a deterrent is all but certain. The Westmarch is poorly fortified and it seems likely that more funds will be needed to secure Iurrakan interests in the area. The historical animosity between Iurrak and Selinus certainly has the potential to erupt into all out war once more. Little is certain, but the events seem remarkably similar to accounts from the time before the last Battle of Oakharrow in 842.

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

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

A New Way to Learn

That year, in Foradmont, a package arrived for Bernard with a caravan. One of the boys from the village always came to Bernard’s house to tell them that a caravan had arrived, they knew that there was always something in it for them. A package was not unusual, Bernard frequently corresponded with Peyrepertuse on matters concerning the militia and often received letters and sometime packages of varying size. Usually it was only a parcel of letters. She’d peeked at them a few times of course, Bernard didn’t tidy them up immediately. They were usually from the Duke’s secretary, the Weaponsmaster and the Quartermaster and seemed to be mostly boring, detailing troop strengths and requirements. All letters she delivered to Caravaneers for Bernard were also always addressed to those same people. Sometimes there would be some special items that could not easily be acquired in Thetwick, but that had only happened a few times, as far as Ala could remember. Ala would usually go with Bernard to retrieve the letters from the Caravan Master who had them in his care. This time though, the package had been much larger than a parcel of letters and it had been bound in hides. She’d joined him to pick up a strong box a few times too and once a shipment of heavy crossbows, but this was the first time anything like this had arrived for him.

“Ah, Master Diettrichson, I see you managed to move my cargo safely!”

“Of course, Captain, our Guildmasters would have it no other way! The Weaponsmaster sends his regards, to accompany it. He personally came to impress upon me the importance of handing it to you.”

“Excellent, here, take this, for your trouble,” said Bernard handing him a small bag of coins.

“Most generous, Captain. You know we guildsmen are always happy to help those charged to defend our lands and of course, our caravan routes,” the caravan master said with a wink, “but the gesture is most appreciated.”

It seemed to Ala that Bernard had paid the Caravan Master a substantial amount of coin for the transport of the package. While it was customary to pay for missives or packages you received and Bernard always did so, he didn’t actually have to, as the members of the Guild were obligated to send messages for the Duke, just as guild innkeepers were obligated to handle them. A caravan day always also became a market day, so after some more small purchases, they walked back to Bernard’s house. Ala was curious what could be so important.

“What’s in there, Bernard?”

“Ah, but that would be telling. You’ll find out, in due time. Patience is a virtue.”

“A silly virtue.”

“Nevertheless, it is time to exercise it. It’s interesting how you can be so patient with some things and so impatient with others. Have you ever thought about that?”

She didn’t offer the courtesy or a response as he was certainly teasing her. She really wasn’t very good at waiting. She resolved to try and shut up about it, that generally seemed to work best. Bernard usually relented when he thought she’d lost interest. That evening after she had cleared the dinner table Bernard asked her to sit down again.

“Sit, down Ala, I have something for you. I won’t keep you in suspense any longer.”

“The package? It’s for me? But you paid the Caravaneer a lot for it. I… can’t let you spend that much for me…”

“Thankfully, you’re not in charge of how I spend my silver. Now this is quite valuable which is why I paid the Caravan Master well for taking good care of it. But don’t worry Ala, I can afford it. The Duke’s stipend is quite generous.”

The package contained an actual book. She had been allowed to carefully read a few books at the temple, but she’d never been allowed near anything like this. It was a big heavy thing, bound in hard leather and its pages were covered in beautiful letters and countless coloured drawings and illustrations. The subject of the book seemed to be swordsmanship. She had never seen anything like it, let alone owned such a treasure. She couldn’t help but stare at the massive tome with her mouth open.

“It’s for you, Ala. Take a good look inside.”

Ala dutifully turned the pages slowly studying the colourful images of figures with weapons. Its pages were filled with weapon techniques, mostly sword. She didn’t know what to say.

“It’s a something called a Fechtbuch. I have a friend in Peyrepertuse, one of my old comrades. I knew he had a spare copy of this book and he’d always been interested in a little short sword I once found on campaign, an Ulfberht. We made a trade.”

“Thank you…” she said softly “no one’s ever given me anything like this before… this must be worth a fortune.” She could hardly imagine someone having multiple copies of the same book. Bernard’s friend must be unimaginably wealthy.

“Yes, Ulfberhts aren’t exactly cheap either, so I think it was a fair trade. Books like this deserve to be studied by those who can understand them. I don’t pretend to comprehend everything this man has written down. I thought you ought to have it, you have a passion for swordsmanship like I’ve seldom seen. It goes well beyond my interest in the subject. The only one I know with a similar passion is the former owner of this tome. The questions you’ve been haranguing me with, all those finer points of swordsmanship…?”

“Yes?”

“Well the man who wrote this book was far better equipped to answer you than I am. This particular one is a Fechtbuch from a famous sword-master named Liechtenauer. He served the Duke of Wenland in Konigsberg around a hundred years ago. It’s said he studied with the elves, too. Here, see he even has illustrations of elves included in it.”

She looked down again at the beautiful tome.

“Thank you so much Bernard, this is beautiful. I don’t know what so say… does anyone else in Thetwick even own a book?”

“I’m sure the scribe has some, though perhaps most are not as ornate as this one. The temple too. I’m very happy you like it. Study it well. Liechtenauer definitely knows what he’s talking about, even if I can’t fully follow everything he has to say. I have an inkling you will be able to find a depth to it that is beyond me.”

The book was exactly what she needed to refine her skill beyond the limitations of her exercise partners in the militia. Trying out all the things in the book taught her a lot, improving the quality of her fellow militiamen in the process as well. She’d progressed to the point where she was regularly the one teaching swordplay and weapons to the militiamen. At first, it had been under Bernard’s watchful eye, but now he was more that happy to let her deal with lessons, especially when the subject was swordplay. Among those who regularly practised fort he militia, her expertise, particularly with a sword, was uncontested.

Bernard had also shown her how to make chain mail and she had made her own coat, using her patience and dexterity to make a coat of tiny, seemingly riveted, rings. It was a full coat, from her thighs to her neck with long sleeves and an integrated hood. Initially, she’d had attached mittens too, but in practice she mainly wore leather gauntlets so she eventually decided to separate them for the suit so she could add them if she felt she needed them. She made hose too, which she did wear when they practised on horseback or when they rode a patrol, something the militia’s cavalry contingent did with regularity.

She paid for the wire and tools with the money she made training horses for the breeders in the village. It was another thing Bernard offered to pay for, but she wanted the chain mail to really be hers, not something that actually belonged to the Thetwick militia. It had taken a long time to make her suit and she had changed the cut of the suit many times to perfect it. She had been allowed to use Gerry’s workshop to rivet each link shut. Gerry had seen her working on it and repeatedly shook his head over the patience and precision with which she worked, gently drilling holes in each tiny ring and riveting them shut. It was a show for his benefit of course. The work would have taken much longer if she’d actually been riveting everything. In truth, she’d welded most of the rings shut with her gift, which was much faster and stronger that the rivets.

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.

The Wraith

A time came when the militia training became tiresome. She was by far the units’ most exercised member, having the most training hours by far. Not being physically very big or strong, she had to focus on technique and principles to be effective. She simply couldn’t afford to solve martial problems by strength or weight like many of the men could. Her technique had to be perfect to prevail and she had every reason to spend day after day perfecting something. Bernard sometimes watched her practice.

“Your dedication to weapons drill is something to behold, Ala. I wish that my men in the Regiment would have had such single minded drive. A few more of them might be alive if they did. It’s almost too much.”

“I don’t know what it is Bernard, it just… feels right. Natural. I don’t know. Like I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing, most especially when I’m practising with blades.”

Swordsmanship fascinated her, the world of danger and opportunity that a swordsman saw continued to hold her attention and her lifespan meant that she had time to indulge in understanding it. The practice was also her moment of relaxation. A few hours when she had to focus on nothing more than the present. She finished the sword form and turned to Bernard.

“I’m not sure why, Bernard. Ever since I was very little I wanted to know more about swords. It just feels right, in the sword forms, I feel… comfortable. Free. I don’t know.”

“Well little lass, you’re doing alright and you’ll be a great swordswoman, someday, if you keep at it.”

She’d been in the village a century or more by now and she looked like a teenager of fifteen or so. Bernard taught her everything he could think of and she spent weeks upon weeks practising, improving on every detail of every technique with a single minded drive that frequently left Bernard shaking his head as she frequently practised into the night. She would sneak off into the forest or up to the ruins whenever she could.

She would take her own sword with her then, diligently working through sword-forms and drills on her own, again and again, perfecting every stroke, thrust and cut, often till well after dark. She always tried to understand the underlying logic of a form or technique, soaking in the system of exchange and threat that defined the way a sword form was constructed. She learned that the forms that they used to learn weren’t more than vehicles to communicate concepts. Concepts that, once you knew them well enough, needed to come naturally to a swordsman, summoned without conscious thought whenever needed. As hard as she tried though there were some forms and techniques that she couldn’t fully grasp the underlying logic of and even Bernard didn’t always have adequate answers.

The effect of the moonlight on her sword blade at night was so spectacular that she would go out on full moons especially to practice. She discovered that she could completely sheathe herself in the fire she had at her control. Somehow it was especially easy during the full moon. She liked the ruins and she had visited them regularly even before she needed a place to practice sword craft. She’d spent so much time exploring every book and cranny of those ruins she’d even found a fallen stone with an inscription on it. It was broken, but the carving was both in common and in elven. To her surprise and delight, she’d even been able to read both languages, which was a skill she hadn’t really practised in years. She’d almost forgotten she could do it. It made her happy though as it was something solid she remembered from before Thetwick. It was a kind of connection to whatever world or family she’d once had.

The inscription was damaged but she was able to make out that it spoke of a friendship between a human and an elven house. The human house, De Baerle, had a shared ancestor with the elven house of Linhad. She couldn’t really piece it all together, but it seemed that the elven woman, whose first name she couldn’t make out had borne someone called Gerard de Baerle a child and had continued to visit the De Baerle family ever since. She spent some time trying to figure out the elven woman’s first name, but she wasn’t really able to determine much other than that it likely started with a ‘Q’. The inscription had been carved to commemorate the half elf Maximilien de Baerle’s funeral about one and a half centuries before, with the text also engraved in elven to honour his half elven heritage and house Linhad.

The inscription referred to the place where the tower stood by a different name. The hill where the keep was built was called Alator, according to the elven version of the text. It didn’t say anything about why the spot had an elven name that presumably predated the keep. She hoped that one day she would meet an elf that could explain it. The inscription fascinated Ala as she’d figured out it must have been carved somewhere around the time she was born. She wondered if the Linhad lady might have known her parents and whether she might still be alive. She knew it was fanciful, but she enjoyed the fantasy every now and again.

The ruined tower was her own safe little refuge away from Thetwick and she’d go there often to practice sword work or just to meditate. Sometimes she just reread the inscribed stone or sat and watched the animals, coaxing them closer with bits of food.

One day a group of seven men came to see Bernard, the leader, Chad, who had helped drag Bernard’s chests to his house years before, nodded to Ala in greeting when she answered the door. Chad had always been civil to her. She had been busy preparing a meal but she stayed in the common room now, curious to see what the commotion was about.

Chad spoke, “Captain, can I bother you about somethin’?”

“What can I do for you, Chad?”

“Well, Cap, we’re worried. We were out huntin’ round dawn a while ago… and we saw somethin’, way out by the ruined tower, to the north.”

“Something that concerns the militia?”

“Well maybe, I’m not right sure. We saw a fire wraith, large as life, we all did,” he looked round at his companions who nodded and grunted in agreement. “Not close, but in the distance. Unmistakeable, Captain.”

The others nodded and grunted various variations of “Aye, that’s what it was.”

Ala felt rooted to the spot. She knew exactly what or rather who they had seen before dawn. She didn’t need much rest and she often crept out hours before dawn to practice sword forms. She liked to be able to freely apply her fire however she pleased. Luckily Chad and his companions gave no indication that they knew it was her. Still, she kept very quiet and tried to think of a way to get back to the kitchen unnoticed.

“A fire wraith? What’s a fire wraith?” Asked Bernard.

“I don’t rightly know, Capt, but it was like a young woman, completely covered in flame… it looked like she had a a sword and was dancin’, fairly flyin’ around those ruins, like wild fire, trailin’ long sheets of flame, musta been twenty, thirty yards behind her. We all saw it from at least half a mile, more even. It was unnatural, evil we think.”

“I see. I’m not completely sure haunted towers are part of the militia’s brief, Chad.”

“Oh Capn’ I know, but I wanted to ask you to be allowed some weapons and armour to hunt it.”

“I see. You’re not worried that this fire wraith might be dangerous?”

“We’ll bring lots of water, Capn’ I’m sure we’ll be alright. We’re stout lads, you’ll see. We’ve been payin’ attention at you lessons, we have, Capn’.”

“I suppose the militia can offer some support. Come to armoury on the morrow, after the noon meal. We’ll kit you all out. I’ll give you a arms right… say for a week?”

“That’d do us right good, Capn’, thank ya.”

They left clearly satisfied that they had succeeded. Once they had left, Bernard turned to Ala, who was still standing in the same spot she had felt rooted to.

“Want to lay a wager Ala? I bet they come back empty handed except perhaps for a tall story or two? They’ll never find this fire wraith woman thing, ha! I’d bet my beard it doesn’t exist! Probably claim they chased it off!”

Ala decided she had best fess up, before it went any further, “err… they sort of already did find her, I guess…”

Bernard looked at Ala a little more intently, “what are you on about Ala? Why are ya lookin’ so anxious, lassie?”

“Well… you know I don’t need much rest and I like to go out and practice my sword work?”

“Yessss…?” he said apprehensively.

“And… well… there’s eh… the thing with the fire…”

“What of it?”

“I can actually make quite a lot of fire… like really a lot… Mostly however much I want and it doesn’t harm me…”

“You’re the fire wraith?” Bernard burst out in hearty laughter, “truly Ala? You can cover yourself completely in fire? They’re not exaggerating? Thirty yards? Those poor yokels are going out to look for you? You’re their fire wraith?”

He burst out laughing again, unable to continue speaking. When he had finally regained his composure, he said, “that’s hilarious, Ala, but the truly interesting thing here is that you can really do all that with fire. You say you can completely engulf yourself in flames and more? Without an existing fire source?”

Ala nodded self consciously.

“Amazing, that’s some full on magic, right there, beyond anything I think I ever saw. Don’t things… catch on fire around you?”

“Not if I don’t want them to?”

He was shaking his head, “unfathomable depths to you, lass. I shouldn’t be so amazed all the time, but I just can’t help it.”

“But… I mean, I’m happy you’re not angry… or horrified. Overjoyed actually. But… what should I do?”

“Do? Nothing. Or well, find somewhere else to practice your fire-sword-dance things… or maybe just skip the fire altogether for a little while. Be better if we don’t get groups of armed peasants combing the countryside, there’s too much potential for trouble in that. I remember a vampire hunt near Easthall, by the coast, fuckin’ mess that was, the peasants were finding ‘vampires’ at every other hamlet… sometimes stringin’ ’em up or burnin’ them. It was a right nasty business. Anyway, I digress. No fire for a bit, till things simmer down,” he finished with another chuckle which built into another hearty laugh, “…simmering down… yes that’s what we need…” he was seemingly very amused by the idea of a problem with a Fire Wraith ‘simmering’ down.

“That’s it?”

“Well, we can hardly call Chad in here and say ‘oh you don’t need to go out, she’s right here and reasonably friendly too, once ya get to know her,’ can we now?” Bernard couldn’t stop himself from laughing about it again. “Don’t mind the flames Chad, we could say, it’s all good… it’ll… simmer down…” he couldn’t help but laugh out loud again. It took him some time to recover.

Ala was silent for a moment, not quite able to see the funny side, “no I suppose not,” and the she had to giggle a little too, infected by Bernard’s mirth.

“So we’ll just let them traipse around the ruins for however long they want and find nothing. They’ll probably make up a story about having chased it off or something and that’ll be that. You can probably go back to your odd habits in a few weeks. We can go out and you can show me your fire skills then too, I’m mighty curious now. One thing though, I’m not shaving my beard!”

She had to smile about that, too.

Chad and his friends did indeed go out looking for her. They came back after a few days, claiming they had chased off the wraith. They seemed to have convinced themselves that it was true. After that she couldn’t help smiling to herself when she overheard villagers speculating. Weeks later she and Bernard went out into a secluded part of the woods and she showed him the fire. He was truly speechless for once.

“Well Ala, that’s well beyond uncanny. What else can you do? Can you make it so the flames don’t hurt me either? Perhaps cover me in harmless flames too?”

To her surprise, it turned out that she could.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.