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

A New Friend

A few hours later she was feeling mostly refreshed. She didn’t really need to meditate more than three or four hours to feel fully rested. She sometimes made it all the way to six hours if she had really exerted herself and even then it was more of an indulgence than a necessity. It was how she found the time to cavort around Westmarch forests at night. She tried to determine what time it was, eventually deciding it was a little after noon. The sky was mostly overcast, but it hadn’t rained and she thought she was completely dry now, which was pleasant. She realised she was still sitting next to the priestess, Myrthe.

“Good afternoon sleepy head. That must have been quite the night. You sleep a little funny, you know? Like you’re meditating or something. Your eyes don’t really close and sometimes you seem to look around. Your eyes move around. It’s… funny.”

Myrthe was more observant than Ala would have given her credit for. She decided she should pay a little more attention to the girl as she rummaged through her pack for some food.

“It’s a trick I picked up. I find it refreshes me as well as sleeping.”

It was worth making an attempt to keep up the ruse, she decided. She offered Myrthe a piece of the hard honey and nut bread she had found in her bag.

“Oh, thank you. So, really? They say elves sleep like that. Or don’t really sleep. Didn’t realise half-elves did too.”

“I’m not sure all of them can, actually.”

“That’s interesting. You look like a fire elf and you rest like elves do. Now as unlikely as all that may be, I wasn’t born yesterday, though I suppose it might seem that way. For some reason people often underestimate me, I don’t really know why. Or… no… I guess I do know… but that’s beside the point right now. What was I saying?”

“Err… I don’t know?” Ala tried.

“Oh yes you do. Now, I’ve even read some books about elves. Lots, really. I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you that I don’t think you’re going to be able to pass as a half-elf among well travelled folk, Alagariel.”

Ala looked at her, shocked. Bernard had known at once too. He had had thirty years of campaigns to teach him about the world though. Myrthe was around nineteen as far as Ala could tell.

“Uhm… You’re very perceptive, Priestess. Please… don’t point that out to everyone. I’m not sure what my reception will be like.”

“Don’t worry too much. People dislike what they don’t understand, but I don’t think people really treat elves with much more prejudice than they might any foreigner.”

“I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad.”

“Travellers are usually tolerant, at least, they’re a type of foreigner too, usually, right? Common folk can be nastier. I’m fascinated though. I haven’t heard of anyone seeing a fire elf in years… even centuries maybe? There’s plenty of earth, metal and water elves around. Or well, plenty might be an exaggeration, but they’re there. I know where there are wood elves too though I think humans seldom see them. They tend to keep their distance from humans though don’t they? For a Fire Elf folk would probably come out to gawk. I can see how that wouldn’t be very nice, so I promise I won’t tell anyone, OK? Not that I’d be all too worried, you don’t look enough different from other elves for most people to realise you don’t fit well with any of the common subspecies. Now, the other way round, if people heard there was a fire elf about, well, you might draw a crowd, I think.”

Ala considered making the case that she was just a metal elf that happened to look a little like a fire elf. She decided she didn’t want to hide any more and Myrthe… she really liked the young priestess, she realised. She wasn’t going to pretend, she decided.

“You seem to be… very… well-educated and kind, Priestess. Thank you. I’m glad we met.”

“Me too. Please do call me Myrthe though, it all feels so formal otherwise. Unless we’re doing something official or ceremonial of course. I am having a whole different feeling about this Sojourn since this morning. Maybe it’s going to be more fun and interesting than terrifying after all.”

Ala smiled. Could she have found a friend? She tried not to think about Myrthe growing old as she watched. She resolved to not think about it and just focus on what time there was. It took a conscious force of will, but she pushed the inevitable to the back of her mind.

“You’re right of course. I think I am a Fire Elf.”

“You ‘think’ you are?”

“It’s a long story. First, would you tell me about the other kinds of elves? I’ve never met one. I only know one half-elf and she’s as clueless about elves as I am. She never even met her father. He may not even know she exists. If I have ever met an elf it was when I was very young, and what memories I have are more like dreams than anything else.”

“Really? That’s unusual. I always learned that elves tended to stay near to at least some of their own kind… on account of the ageing, you know? I can’t imagine it’s easy going for an elf to grow up among humans.”

“It can be a little depressing,” Ala agreed.

“I’ll tell you what I know, which isn’t all that much.”

“Please do, all I know about elves is what I’ve been able to glean from passing travellers. I’d love to hear anything you might know.”

“Really, these days the main thing to tell elves apart is their complexions though that isn’t completely reliable… except for Water elves… they generally look so exotic that it’s hard to be wrong. Or… well I suppose if you saw a water elf that didn’t have exotic pigments you wouldn’t know it was one. So I should probably say that if you see an elf with wild colouring, particularly blues and greens, it’s almost certainly a water elf.”

“OK, I’ve heard a little about water elves before, but your… ehm… recognition guide… makes sense.”

“You know what I find strange? Elves breed true, except when they’re mixed with humans.”

“Breed true? What does that mean?”

“Well, if a water elf had children with an earth elf, their children are either water elves or earth elves, not a mixture of the features of both, like with humans. Or well… I think the features might mix a bit, but it’s always a full blooded member of only one sub species.”

“I didn’t realise that. My… mentor, back in Thetwick, Bernard told me of far off elven realms, like Water, Wood and Earth. He’d never been to one though. Do they really exist?”

“I don’t know. I have never been there either. There are books by travellers who have visited. The Kingdom of Water certainly exists. Wood too… that’s another elven Kingdom. I don’t think humans are allowed there – Wood that is. I think anyone can visit Water. I think those two border each other, making up a small continent called Alfheim, just North of eastern Iurrak. I’d also say that Earth definitely exists. It borders Selinus to our Northwest, so we don’t have too much interaction with them in Iurrak. Metal is far to the Southwest, beyond Selinus and even Dwarfholme. I’ve never spoken to anyone who has been there I don’t think, but I wouldn’t really call that a very good reason to assume it doesn’t exist. Then there’s Fire, the legend is that that can’t be entered at all – a cursed land, they say. I think it was south of Selinus. southwest of the Orck Mountains, even.

“Fire is cursed?”

“That’s what they say. Those books I read are mostly hundreds of years old. So, just a little out of date. Though, when dealing with people who live for a thousand years, concepts like ‘out of date’ become a little troublesome. Still worth a read, though. But I do know that you can still visit Water, at least and probably Earth too. But… damn it, you’re interrupting my lecture. Where was I?”

“Reproduction, I think. I’m sorry, do go on.”

“Oh yes. Well, mostly the elves I know of live among humans, sometimes they tend to stay together in a section of town, or maybe a village, but most of the elves I’ve seen or heard about live in human settlements. Elves don’t have very many children so the population isn’t very big and hardly grows if at all. Other than that, you’re just like very good looking, long-lived, thoughtful and patient humans mostly. The stories say that each elven sub type had or has magical abilities related to their background, but recent scholars have said those are just myths. Some of those scholars are even elves themselves. Also, I’ve read scholars who vehemently disagree, but they tend not to be written by elves, so, which to believe, ay? ‘Recent’ seems to be a flexible term though in scholarly circles. But, then again, I suppose to an elf, a century might well be recent. Anyway, maybe it’s all just a big conspiracy to hide elven abilities? Who knows? Bit far fetched, but life is stranger than fiction.”

“What sort of magic did they used to have then?”

“Well, it’s obvious really. Fire elves can control fire, water elves can breathe underwater or something. Maybe they can manipulate it, like waves and things. Earth elves can feel the earth… a bit like dwarves can really. But that’s a real ability, not just a myth. Metal elves could bend steel, some say there were metal elves that couldn’t be cut by steel weapons and could cause steel tipped arrows to fall out of the sky or reverse direction. I don’t think that’s true either. It’s all things like that.”

“Dwarves can really feel the earth?”

“Well, it’s not like a magical ability with sparks and lightning or anything. Not like a proper wizard. It’s just they know where to dig to sink a well or to build a tunnel or to find ore. That kind of thing. But that’s not about elves, don’t make me digress.”

“Sorry. Please continue.”

“Do you always digress like this? I thought you wanted to hear about elves?”

“I want to know all you can tell me.”

“I was quite a good student. Teaching you everything I know would take as least as I took to learn it… It could take twenty years, far too long!”

Ala just looked at her, raising her eyebrows a tiny bit.

“Oh right… yes… I suppose that wouldn’t matter all that much to you.”

“Whenever you want to share, I’d love to listen, I didn’t have very good teachers,” Ala said softly.

Myrthe smiled, “oh okay, I suppose digressing makes less of a difference too then. Where were we?”

“Dwarves I think… and wizards. They sound interesting too.”

“Not all that many wizards around either. Not as rare as fire elves, though I think the closest human wizard of any power may well live in Erythrae. Or maybe Sarghoun. Though they often don’t advertise their presence. On account of the superstition, you know. There may well be a few, who don’t advertise. Actually, I’m almost certain there must be.”

“Sarghoun, that’s the capital of Selinus, isn’t it?”

“Yes, now don’t interrupt all the time.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t know much of what goes on in Selinus. I don’t think anyone here does… but… I wasn’t done talking about wizards yet. The Duke, you know, of Taladaria? He has a court wizard. I don’t think he’s much good. Comes from a wizarding school down south somewhere or so he says. Aqaba I think. More wizards there, as I understand it. Slaves too.”

Ala was shocked, “they keep slaves? That’s… that’s awful.”

“Yes, lots of them, quite normal in Aqaba. They have a sort of indentured servitude in Selinus that isn’t much different. You could even argue that the lowliest serf’s aren’t really free either, even in Iurrak.”

Ala had never known about that either, suppressing her desire to express her disgust as Myrthe continued. She wasn’t aware of that kind of servitude in the Westmarch. She wasn’t really sure why the idea was so repugnant to her. Perhaps it was something instilled in her even before she came to Thetwick?

“I don’t think there’s anything like that in the Westmarch?”

“No, the Westmarch is different, there’s a sort of charter. The Westmarch is a bit of an odd case, it wasn’t part of Taladaria and therefore Iurrak until quite a short time ago. The title is personal, and the customs and rights associated with it are as they always were. So no indenture there. I think some of the inhabitants actually live there because they wanted to escape their indenturement.”

“Really? I never knew.”

“Anyway, back to the Duke’s court wizard. The story is that he burnt down a kitchen trying to boil water. I assume what really happened was a bit more complicated that that, but that’s the way the story is told among the commoners. So, good wizards are hard to find nowadays, at least in the north. They tend to be a little reclusive too, probably because people feel uneasy about magic.”

“Just uneasy?”

“I suppose you have a point. They do get themselves into frenzies over witches and the like, from time to time. Bad things, like lynchings and burning people at the stake, happen every now and again. Normally it happens to poor dumb souls who have no appreciable magic to speak of, I think.”

“I can see that happening in Thetwick.”

“So there may be a few more wizards trying to be invisible, but it won’t be much. Proper wizarding is far more common in elves, though they have a different philosophy of how to apply it. I think the only actual community of wizards there is to speak of in all of Iurrak is their Guild in Erythrae.”

Ala sighed, “I have so much to learn. I think I stayed in Thetwick too long.”

“So how… uhm… old are you? If it isn’t too impolite to ask?”

“I don’t mind. I don’t really know. I was found by one of the Duke’s patrols, near what was probably an ambush site. As far as I’ve been able to work out that was maybe a century and a half ago. It didn’t really occur to me to start counting until I was in Thetwick for… probably a few decades. I was very young when I arrived. Perhaps a decade more, by now. I don’t know much else.”

Myrthe’s mouth opened in shock.

“You’re more than one and a half centuries old? I mean… I know… well… I read the books… but still… you look… maybe… twenty, if that, if you were human?”

Ala shrugged, “I don’t know how old I was when I arrived. I think in total it’s probably more like two centuries. Though I’ve never been able to learn much about elven children and how they age, so I could be wrong.”

Myrthe shook her head, “wow. It’s so… strange… to just be sitting next to you like it’s normal. Two hundred years ago it was a different world!”

“Was it? Thetwick was just a hamlet when I first arrived there, that’s true, but things haven’t changed all that much.”

“No… I suppose your perspective on that would be a little different.”

“I wish I knew who my parents were.”

“You have no idea?”

“None. All I have is some fragments of a cloak and a sword sheath. Oh, and this sword of course, though it was damaged. It was just a blade and quillons. I repaired the rest.”

“That isn’t much, but maybe you can find elves who can help? Elves live so long that I’d think that’s by far your best chance of learning something.”

“I should meet other elves, you’re probably right about that. Someone must remember something. Maybe I can even find some fire elves?”

“No one has seen a fire elf for a long time, that I know of. Until today, I guess. Maybe they’re all hiding in the elven lands? You’d be better off talking to an actual elf about that, I’m sure. Preferably an old one who lives in an elven realm. Elves who live among humans are never going to be up to date on what’s happened. Some of them have been away from other elves for centuries too. If your disguise worked better in Thetwick, I’m probably one of a handful of humans who has actually realised they’re talking to a real fire elf in a long time… centuries maybe?”

“A few people in Thetwick did know, even before I did.” Ala said, thinking of Gabriel, Bernard and Palady.

“Before you did?”

“I grew up believing I was a half-elf, until recently in fact.”

“That’s really wild. Being in the know sounds like an exclusive club though,” she giggled, “what are you going to do in Peyrepertuse? That is where you’re going I take it? There’s little else of consequence between there and here. If I may ask?”

“There’s no secret. My… err, adoptive uncle, mentor, whatever – he was the Captain of the Thetwick militia – passed away a few days ago. He made me his heir, he never had children of his own. There’s an unpleasant man in Thetwick who is contesting his will.”

“Your mentor was a militia Captain? Thetwick is one of the border towns that the last Duke meant to strengthen with better militias? It must be then. I suppose that makes sense.”

“Yes, that’s right. You know about that?”

“My father keeps up with things concerning Taladaria’s defence and used to insist on telling me about it,” she shrugged, “but if your, err, mentor was so important in Thetwick, how is it that this man is causing you such problems?”

“He’s the Constable of Thetwick.”

“Oh, I see. That certainly complicates things.”

“I’m trying to get to the Duke’s court. Hopefully I can prove the Constables version of the will is a forgery. That will also prove he’s corrupt at the same time. That man has deserved the gallows for a long time. In fact, that whole family has been rotten for generations,” Ala said, thinking of previous Constables as well as Gordon Marchmain.

“How… oh… of course… you’ve known him your… no his… whole life.”

“Yes, well he’s got a lot to lose. His father was a corrupt bastard too and his father’s father… his uncle is a murderer.”

“A murderer?”

“Happened about twenty years ago. He managed to get away though, fled the Westmarch. Presumably with the Constable’s help.”

“It keeps on amazing me that you knew all these people… no you probably saw them born and then grow old. You talk about something that happened when I was an infant as if it was yesterday. It’s amazing!”

“Anyway, that’s why I asked you to watch the road. I recognised some of the Constable’s men at the Ford Inn. He sent them to catch up to me. He has got to stop me getting to the Duke’s court to save his neck.”

“If what you’re saying is true and can be reasonably proven, I think the Duke will be forced to investigate, at least. How far do you think this Constable will go?”

“I doubt he’s above murdering me to stop me. I’ve heard some really nasty tales about him over the years. He is the most powerful man in Thetwick town since Bernard passed away but his influence doesn’t really stretch outside of the Westmarch, as far as I know.”

She glanced back down the road. Nothing to be seen.

“He sent men after you?”

“Yes. He is probably doing anything he can to make sure I can’t get to Peyrepertuse.”

“If he has as much to lose as you say you need to be very careful in Peyrepertuse too. He will have messengers on the way there as well. There’s reputed to be a thieves guild in Duilhac that’s happy to take assassination contracts. If he’s so worried, what’s to stop him from sending a fast runner to get ahead of you? One of these caravans moves very slowly. He could easily put out a contract on you.”

“I know. Well… I know I wouldn’t necessarily be safe in Duilhac. The Thieves Guild, I didn’t know. I’ll just have to take extra care. First things first though, I’m more worried about the right to bear arms at the moment. I can’t exactly ride around the countryside like a knight errant. I have two very valuable blades with me that mean a lot to me. I couldn’t bear to lose them. That’s why I joined this caravan. I needed to be on the master’s charter as a guard so I can legally be armed.”

“Well, maybe we should stick together for now. I could kind of use someone nearby who knows their way around a sword as it turns out. I’d prefer not to get raped like almost happened last night and perhaps I can help you here and there as well.”

“You almost got raped? At Hightower? That’s terrible!”

“Yes. Well. Guanshiyin lets you hear the cries of the world in many ways. I got away from them, let’s leave it at that. But that’s not the point. I am of noble blood and failing all else I could carry the blades for you if we have to leave the caravan…”

“Really? You’re a Lady? Lady Myrthe… I’ve never really met a noble before.”

“I’m the youngest of five siblings and, of course, a daughter. Sent off to the temple for the crime of being redundant. That’s what it feels like, anyway. Not that I’m really complaining, there’s a lot of learning and a lot of freedom in Guanshiyin’s faith. But before you make me digress again. The important point, when it comes to bearing arms, is that my father is the Baron of Easthall.”

“Wow. I don’t know what to say… and… I’m being so familiar with you. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Of course not. In fact, it’s one of the nicest things about being a Priestess. People act a lot more normally. Still, the family thing is good for something every now and again. We don’t use our titles when in the service of Guanshiyin though, it’s not permitted by the High Priests, at least not in official things. Sometimes people say things like ‘Lady Priestess’ but we’re not allowed to do it to each other.”

Myrthe stopped speaking and looked thoughtful for a second before continuing, “technically, I suppose I could even write a charter allowing you to carry weapons as my man-at-arms…. elf-at-arms? I’ve never done that, but I guess I’m allowed to. I’ve never really considered it before… I don’t think it’s a customary thing for female nobles to do, but I don’t think anyone can stop me. It feels a little… irregular for a Priestess…” Myrthe giggled to herself again, “not completely sure what the high priestess would have to say about me having like a mercenary bodyguard. It must also be a bit irregular for a Priestess of Guanshiyin to be accompanied by a man-at-arms… elf-at-arms. Oh well, who cares? I’m the one on Sojourn, not her.”

Myrthe’s attitude appealed to Ala.

“Well I promise to protect you as well as I can until we get to Peyrepertuse. It might be an idea to write that charter though, last night I almost needed one in a hurry.”

“Guanshiyin’s teachings say that the Sojourn is about hearing the cries of the world. It’s okay to protect yourself and compassion is not the same as letting people rape you, even if compassion can be something you do physically.”

“Physical compassion? What does that mean?”

“From what I’ve read, it’s whatever is needed. Guanshiyin is very pragmatic. Anyway, I’ll write a right to bear arms for you first chance I get. When we’re not in a moving wagon, that is.”

The caravan stopped around midday to water and feed the oxen. Myrthe helped Ala look after Fulgor. Ala bought some extra oats from the caravan master to make sure Fulgor got the energy he needed. He was a tall black horse with a long black mane and feathering around his hooves. Myrthe whispered to him and he was friendly, which was out of character for him. He didn’t get along with anyone other than Ala normally.

“He likes you. That makes you the first human he likes, I think.”

“I like him too. He’s beautiful. Any knight would be proud to have him. He must be very valuable. Is he really yours?”

“Yes, I used almost all the silver in my inheritance to buy him. Even so, I think Harald was probably nice about the price. Though I don’t think anyone but me actually likes riding him. They all say he’s such a handful. I used to ride for the horse breeders in Thetwick. Their war horses need to be fit. I was a popular exercise rider. Eventually they let me train them too.”

“You must be quite the equestrian then.”

“I think horses just like the sound of elven, to be honest. It calms them. Makes it easy.”

“You speak elven then?”

“I only get to practice on animals, but yes, I remember the language. I can even read it, though I have no idea how or when I learned. I’m worried I have the most awful accent. Now you’re making me digress.”

“Oh, sorry. Do go on.”

“Well, it’s how I met Fulgor here. Been looking after him since he was a foal. He never got along with anyone but me. He cost me most of my inheritance, but I didn’t want to leave him behind.”

“Well, your adoptive uncle wasn’t a poor man then. There are proper knights who couldn’t afford a horse like him. It makes sense to fight for his inheritance if there are lands too.”

“Does it? I’m not so sure. I think I was only staying in Thetwick because I knew that compared to my life, the few more years left to Bernard wouldn’t really matter. I wanted to stay with him… until the end. He deserved that much, my life in Thetwick would have been awful without him. He took me in, always provided anything I needed. I’m not really sure it would have been bearable… or safe without him. I’m only really going after this whole inheritance because Bernard wished me to take care of his lands. I’ll probably entrust it to Harald if I manage to sort it all out.”

“Harald?”

“Just a good man I’ve known all his life. He’s the man who bred Fulgor. Known him since he was very young. His father died in the first real skirmish I was in, with raiders from Oakharrow.”

“You fought in this skirmish?” said Myrthe, looking concerned.

“Yes. It was the first time I really had to fight.”

“And how old is this Harald?”

“Somewhere in his forties, I guess.”

“That’s so.. elven. Interesting that even one and half centuries among humans doesn’t really change that. I wonder if it’s inherent in such a long lifespan. So what happens after you’ve set things up with Harald? What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know? Offer my sword to the Duke? Seek out other elves? I don’t know. One thing at a time.”

“But maybe you have an idea what sort of life you’d like? Like I chose Guanshiyin and priesthood?”

“My only point of reference is how the people of Thetwick lived their lives. It never really appealed to me. There’s more out there, I’ve heard that much from travellers.”

“Oh that’s certainly true. I’ve mostly only travelled around Taladaria, but even there there’s all sorts of things from farmers to hunters and sailors. Soldiers who defend when the Orcks come down. There’s lots of places that can always use someone who knows there way around a sword.”

“I suppose… I’d also really like to solve the mystery of who I am and where I’m from. I don’t really want to watch the humans I love grow old and die… not too often, anyway, I don’t think I could bear that.”

“That must be very hard. But, you have some direction then, which I think is good. I’m already curious what you will discover!”

After the meal, the caravan got back on the road. They continued to chatter the rest of the day, getting to know each other and getting along very well. No nasty horsemen appeared behind them that day. There were farmsteads off the road on either side where you could exchange horses if you could afford it. Perhaps her pursuers had done that. That could put them ahead of her, they might have overtaken the caravan at one of the points where the road made long loops up a hill. Riders had a lot of opportunities for short cuts in the hairpin bends and often used them. Ala suspected there would be a confrontation before she ever got to Peyrepertuse.

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

The Priestess’ Sojourn

Fulgor was fitter and more energetic than Norbert’s horses, his stamina had always been superior to most other steeds. He would easily outlast the nags Norbert and his crew were outfitted with. She rode as hard as she dared and hoped the Customs Officers were being very thorough in their questioning. She rode for Hightower, the first caravan stop in Taladaria. Getting there riding a single spirited stallion wasn’t hard even if he was tired. She was a lot lighter than the knights he was bred to transport into battle. After some hours riding through the low brush that was to either side of the road, the sun started to rise ahead of her. It painted a pretty picture in the sky with reds and yellows. There had been rain recently, making the area smell of spring. She didn’t come across another living soul until she was almost at Hightower, when she saw some people out who were probably off to tend to fields or similar chores.

The caravan stop was near where the rough road from the Westmarch joined the King’s Road that led north along the Iceflow river towards Pearson. The King’s Road also led southeast in the direction of Peyrepertuse, passing by Turnow and Kilbrook. There was another small settlement, primarily for caravans, along the road before Turnow, she knew. It was named Larkhill, but she had never been there. It was at about a day’s travel by ox drawn wagon from Hightower. Bernard had once explained to her that that it was common along well travelled roads to find facilities that catered to the needs of caravans roughly one day’s oxcart ride apart.

There was a large farmstead at Hightower. It too mainly existed to see to the needs of passing caravans and travellers. It was another chartered inn, with all the customary obligations such establishments had, but it also had all sorts of facilities. There was an ancient, more or less standing, fortified tower, which was what the hamlet was named for. The tower was much older than the rest of the buildings and even at a distance it looked like it was in dire need of maintenance. As she rode closer she could see the tower was actually the last part of a larger structure and the only part that was still standing.

By the time she got to Hightower the sun had risen fullyt and most travellers were already on their way. The fresh tracks leading away from the paddock were clearly visible and most of the yard was empty. She considered for a moment. She was tired but she needed to keep moving to stay ahead of her pursuers. She decided on continuing on up the road. She rode at a slow trot, sparing Fulgor and looking for one of the caravans that had departed Hightower that morning. They couldn’t be far ahead of her. She was beginning to have trouble concentrating so she was relieved when she saw the last wagons of a caravan appearing around a slight bend in the road.

She caught up to the convoy trundling along ahead of her. She counted eight wagons, though six were more properly described as enormous barrels with wheels, each pulled by four oxen. The last two wagons were more conventional pulled by only two oxen each, filled with a smattering of smaller barrels as well as feed for the oxen and other baggage. Neither of those wagons were full, there was plenty of room in each cart for odds and ends as well as passengers. Such caravans, specialised in beer and wine weren’t of a kind that ever frequented Thetwick. There was no market in the Westmarch for spirits in such quantities and the Thetwickers had to make do with smaller barrels.

She rode past the last wagon which was indeed occupied by a passenger, a young woman in blue, embroidered priestess robes who seemed absorbed with staring intently down the road, evidently lost in thought. She sat with her back against her satchel, facing backwards. Strangely, the young priestess didn’t even seem to notice her as she approached. She had a look of concentration, as if she was pondering some great matter. Fulgor trotted on, taking her past all the wagons until she paralleled the first one. A man, obviously the caravan master was sitting on the bench next to the driver. He was slightly overweight and expensively dressed in green velvet with puffy sleeves, with a neat beard and a somewhat red nose to complement his matching green hat. He was dozing, not quite snoring yet, but that seemed likely to start very soon. He prominently displayed his master’s medallion, a silver and gold disc on a heavy gold chain around his neck which identified him as a Master of the caravanners guild.

“Excuse me, Master?”

The man shifted slightly taking a few seconds to open his eyes and focus on her. By the colour of his nose it seemed like he might indulge in his own wares on a regular basis.

“Hmm… huh… what is it?” His eyes slowly focused on her, “oh… who are you? What do you want?”

He looked around, frowning as he tried to clear the sleep and wine from his mind. He clearly hadn’t expected to be woken by someone that wasn’t travelling with his caravan, “what do you want?” he repeated.

“Sorry to wake you, Master. I’m Alagariel… I’d like to travel under your charter.”

“Under my charter?” he asked, still not fully awake… “where to?”

“I’m headed to Peyrepertuse.”

He glanced at her again, frowning as he became fully awake.

“I have enough guards. Don’t need more… you don’t look like much of a guard anyway… not enough meat to ya. You should be on your way, lass.”

She had seen three men, two were overweight, one was old. It didn’t look like much to her even if they did all have crossbows. She was annoyed that he might think she wasn’t up to the task.

“I was a militia patrol leader. I will be valuable if there is trouble along the journey. Your guards are not young men and they’re not in the best shape. You won’t need to pay me, Master.”

He rubbed the last sleep from his eyes and looked her over a little better. He didn’t look inclined to agree.

“I said, be on…”

“Look, I just need to be able to travel to Peyrepertuse bearing arms. I am willing to pay you for your trouble, if you will feed and board me with the rest of the caravan.”

“A paying passenger? Now that’s different. We can talk.”

“A paying passenger listed on your charter and who will defend your caravan if need be. How much?”

“Thirty silver coins. Good ones.”

It was highway robbery, not that she couldn’t afford it. She just wanted to make her money last.

“That’s a little steep Master. Surely you can do better than that? How about ten silver?”

They eventually settled on twenty-two. It was still a lot of money for the service he was offering. She had been up all night though and was not in a mood to drag things out. She had no way of knowing if there was another caravan ahead of this one or how far it might be, so she decided to take the opportunity while it was available.

She slowed down, letting the caravan pass her by until she came to the last wagon. There, she loosened Fulgor’s saddle and tied him to the last wagon, sitting herself down in the back, next to one of the smaller barrels. She wasn’t the only one there, the young woman in the priestess robes sat there too, still looking back down the road with a look of quiet concentration. She was apparently just as wrapped up in her thoughts as she had been when Ala had passed her by on her way to negotiate with the caravan master. She didn’t seem very communicative, though she had a bright look to her. Ala decided she’d say hello, contrary to her habits. The young woman just looked welcoming for some reason.

“Hello priestess.”

The woman, looked over at Ala, like her daydream had been interrupted. She was more a girl than a woman, Ala decided. The priest’s robes made her look older. She was a little plain with a round face, but she hard warm, inquisitive brown eyes and dirty blonde hair in a long braid. What she lacked in fine beauty, she easily made up for with the warmth and welcome she radiated.

“Oh… sorry. I was just daydreaming. My name is Myrthe, I’m a servant of Guanshiyin.”

“I’m Alagariel. It is nice to meet you.”

For some reason, Ala really meant it. There was something about the girl. The priestess looked her over, studying Alagariel’s face inside her hood, “you look tired. Oh…. and you have… pointy… ears…” she said it, having moved her head to see inside her hood. “You’re an elf and your name really is Alagariel. How intriguing.”

She seemed a little puzzled for no reason that Ala could determine. It was a bit rude really, she thought, trying to see under her hood and commenting on her ears, but the priestess was so open and innocent about it that she didn’t feel defensive.

“I’m a half-elf and I didn’t rest very much last night.”

“Well. I’ve never properly met a half-elf before. Or well, I have, I’ve just never really conversed with one. Not for any length of time anyway. There was a short conversation with an elf once. That was interesting. Anyway. Sorry… I’m rambling. I’m a little nervous. I’ve just started my Sojourn, you see.”

“What’s a Sojourn?”

“You don’t know? I thought it was common knowledge?”

“Apparently not in the Westmarch.”

“Well I’ll explain. When you’re ordained as a Priestess of Guanshiyin, you are to go out and listen to the ‘cries of the world’. You with me so far?”

Ala nodded that she understood, though she felt that ‘listening to the cries of the world’ could mean just about anything.

“Now this is where it gets a little hazy for me as well. Near as I can imagine, I think you’re supposed to come back when you’ve figured out what is meant by that… the more I think about it, the more I do wish there had been more of an explanation.”

She looked as if that revelation had only just come to her, with a concentrated frown on her face.

“So it’s a sort of a right of passage then? How long have you been travelling?”

“I was educated in the temple in Doncastle. I left with this caravan last week. I’m going to Peyrepertuse first.”

“Guanshiyin is the Lady of Compassion, I think?”

“Yes, yes she is. Puzzling, isn’t it?”

That struck Ala as an odd thing for a priestess to say.

“Could I ask you something?”

Myrthe shook her head, like she was freeing herself from a thought to pay more thorough attention to her.

“Please do.”

“I’m really tired, and there may be some unfriendly men after me. Their horses were tired, so I don’t think they have much chance of catching up today, but I’d feel much better if you would wake me up whenever someone or something unknown rides up the road behind us. I’d love to talk more after I’ve had a little rest.”

“Oh you poor thing. Go ahead, sleep. Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

The young woman seemed genuine and endlessly sincere.

“Thank you, Priestess.”

Ala found a comfortable position and pulled her hood over her eyes to hide the fact that she wouldn’t really be asleep.

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

Chapter 4: Beyond the Westmarch

An excerpt from the Visitor’s Guide to Taladaria, by Cyrus Sardinus, circa 950.

The Barony of Sheffield

On the Western edge of Taladaria, where it borders the Westmarch is an untamed land, the Barony of Sheffield. While more populous than the Westmarch, it is a place of small rural settlements that are largely self sufficient. While the Baron does make an effort to uphold the peace and the Duke’s Regiment does patrol the caravan routes, the reach of the law often fails to extend to its more remote communities. As a consequence, people sometimes take matters into their own hands and results can be somewhat mixed. On the western side of the fief commerce is conducted my means of the Barony’s roads as the only place where the Iceflow river can comfortably be approached is near the Ford Inn, where river traffic is impossible for most of the year. The Baron holds court at Pearson which is not the largest town. There is, however, a great crossroads and one of those roads leads to the walled river town Caubiac, on the fief’s eastern border, river barges can reach it both from Peyrepertuse to the southeast and northwest to Doncastle, Citadel Howle and of course Port Mistral. From what I learned, I would expect Caubiac’s vastly superior location to Pearson to play an increasingly important role in the fief and it would not surprise me if the Baron elects to move his seat there before long.

Aside from being accosted by highwaymen or bandits on three distinct occasions, my path through the County was largely uneventful. The people have little reason to trust strangers and are insular and focused on their own daily hardships. I would not recommend the Barony as a destination. Pearson is a fortress town and the only settlement that is reputed to be aesthetically pleasing and prosperous is Caubiac though I did not visit it myself. I made the decision to continue my travels rather that risk being waylaid once more.

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

Escape

She ran all the way to the farm of Harald Petersson, which was on the edge of the village, about two miles from the town hall. He had always bred her favourite horses. She had known him since the day she had been in her first real fight. One member of their patrol had fallen that day. That man had been Harald’s father. After the skirmish, Ala had ridden with Bernard to tell Harald’s mother that his father had been killed in the skirmish. Ever since then Bernard and by extension Ala had taken a special interest in the family. Bernard had made sure Harald was employed in the horse trade from a young age.

Harald had proven enterprising, with a good eye for horses and a talent for training them. As a boy, Bernard had arranged for his apprenticeship at Hank’s Farm, one of the most well known horse breeders of Thetwick. When he became eligible for Journeyman rank in the Guild of Horse Breeders Bernard had lent him the money to buy two good mares and have them covered by some of the most desirable stallions in Thetwick. He’d also rented him the land to get started on his own. Harald had been successful and Ala had always helped him training the horses when she could. The horse breeder had spotted her hurrying down the track towards his steading in the twilight and he came out of his home to meet her as she approached. He’d clearly been expecting her arrival. He waved her over, he was already already heading for the stables where they would conduct their business.

“Well met, Ala.”

“Harald, I’m glad to see you.”

“I take it this means you’ve decided? You’re leaving?”

“Aye. Things at the reading did not go well. I expect there will be some of the Constable’s men looking for me. Possibly all of them, in fact. They’ll probably check here sooner or later.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, his expression pained. “I won’t mention I saw you, of course.”

“Thank you. If you would, perhaps sow a little confusion?”

“In what way?”

“You might mention I intended to hide in the woods to the south. If they waste manpower looking for me there, they can’t employ it somewhere else.”

“Bernard taught you well.”

“He did.”

“This business is a blemish on Bernard’s memory. It angers me that the dying wishes of such a fine man could be… corrupted by those bastards. I wish I had some way to help you, to make a difference.”

She trusted Harald and had discussed purchasing one of his stallions from him as one of the things to do on a whole list of precautions she had taken. When Bernard passed she had visited to let him know that she might need to leave quickly.

“You are helping by selling me Fulgor,” she sighed, “I suppose this outcome was to be expected. It wouldn’t be wise for me to stay, not anymore… I may also have hurt the men who tried to disarm me, possibly killed one, perhaps even two. I’m all but certain of it. It will cause more problems yet.”

Harald frowned, “Bernard was right, it seems. Not surprising, but I don’t have to like it. The Marchmains have been scum for generations.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“No one would know better than you,” he said smiling, “you were actually here to experience all of it. Bernard once said that you scarred Travis’ great grandfather? When you were a child?”

“I’m afraid I did. Not my finest moment.”

“It’s hard to imagine he didn’t deserve it, the Marchmains have not produced much offspring that has helped to redeem them.”

“He did, but scarring him for the rest of his life might have been… a little excessive.”

“I won’t lose any sleep over a Marchmain, Ala, really I won’t. Anyway, best get you moving. Fulgor is ready, as we agreed.”

Ala paid him most of the money she possessed, which was a substantial bag of silver and gold. She was buying Fulgor, a mighty breeding stallion as well as a good saddle, a bit and bridle and saddlebags with some supplies and things she’d need. She could have bought a cheaper horse from Harald, but she always felt like she had a special bond with Fulgor. Harald obviously felt for her, or he would never have let a breeding stallion like Fulgor go. The money wasn’t just what she had saved up, that was only a small part of it. The bulk of it was most of the coin Bernard had had available. A warhorse was very expensive indeed, more than a good sized stone house and fields at Thetwick prices. Still, she had decided it was a good way to spend the money as she didn’t really expect to be returning. She could always put Fulgor out to stud, if it came to that.

The whole arrangement had been agreed upon earlier, of course. It was the result of one of the contingency plans that she and Bernard had decided on. She whispered to the great beast named Fulgor. She had ridden him many times on patrol. She calmed him as she mounted.

“Thank you, Harald, for all this. I will not forget it. I hope I will be able to make it up to you some day.”

“Be careful, Alagariel. The road can be perilous. May the gods smile on you and I hope we will meet again.”

She nodded her acknowledgement with a smile as she turned Fulgor and cantered away, heading around Thetwick and then southeast to parallel the road that led towards Ford Inn.

She rode carefully, quite a distance from the road. It had take time to go to Harald’s and sort Fulgor out so she thought it was likely that the Constable would have mounted a search for her by now. It didn’t take long before she spotted some men on the road in the distance. She decided she was thankful that the Constable wasn’t an old hand at militia work. A well hidden ambush would have been the better choice. It would have been harder for her to spot and if she’d been travelling on the road, much more dangerous. As it was, it looked like the militiamen, none of whom looked to be men that she’d ridden regular patrols with, had simply put up a roadblock as Bernard had trained them to. They looked bored and weren’t even paying proper attention to their surroundings. At least one or two would be men actively loyal to the Marchmains, she though. She wondered if the Constable would have instantly promoted everyone in the militia he thought he could trust. It seemed like the sort of thing he would do. Bernard had found it very important to promote on merit, so it was unlikely that the quality of the militia would improve by shuffling things around like that. It didn’t matter of course as she led Fulgor in a wide arc around their position. She had to pick up her cache, which was hidden at the base of a fallen tree a few hundred yards from the road. She scanned the area carefully, deciding after a while that there was no one nearby. She tied off Fulgor even further from the road and then went to retrieve her belongings, which included her beloved and rather massive Fechtbuch.

As she continued along her path, keeping well clear of the road, she wondered what might happen if faced with militiamen. She knew Travis would never send any of the cavalrymen, which conveniently meant that he couldn’t employ the best equipped men and mounts to chase her. Of the rest of the militia, she’d worked with the archers from time to time and the infantry only rarely. The infantrymen had only been raised once or twice in the past few years, when Bernard wanted to try to cut off retreat routes for the Oakharrowers. It hadn’t been successful, the Westmarch was simply too big and too easily navigated off road in the north and they’d given up on it quickly. The archers had been helpful a few times, but even they she didn’t have enough of a relationship with that she thought they’d choose her over the Constables authority.

She eventually mounted Fulgor staying away from the road as much as she could, though the south of the March was thickly forested in some places. There were parts of the route where going through the undergrowth was so slow that she elected to use the road for a while, all the while keeping a careful watch out ahead and behind. If the Constable had immediately gathered some mounted men to look for her, they would likely already be ahead of her. It was a good reason to be extra careful.

She rode as fast as she dared, choosing a shorter route to the Inn that went over some steep hills. Her route wasn’t suitable for wagons, which was why the road took a more circuitous route. A powerful horse and a practised rider could cut quite a distance off the journey by riding across a steep ridge not far from Brightfield that the road had to avoid. There were a few more points where, mounted on a single horse, as she was, it was possible to take a short cut. She’d scouted the route in the past, it had seemed a sensible thing to do since she had occasionally been tasked with taking messages for the Duke to the Ford Inn. She didn’t think anyone else in Thetwick had ever bothered to scout and mark the shortest route. She didn’t see any signs anyone had passed the same way recently, which was comforting.

The short cuts compensated for her lack of speed in the dark and also helped make up some of the time she’d spent walking Fulgor. Her route also led her around Brightfield, the caravan stop. It really wasn’t much more than a rocky field on a slight rise without permanent residents. Owing to its position not far from a stream it tended to stay quite dry, had drinking water and wasn’t susceptible to bad weather. During the busiest part of the season, enterprising traders sometimes set up stalls there. Brightfield straddled the road roughly half the way to the Inn. She wanted to avoid it since she thought it better if no one could report having seen a female rider on an expensive warhorse. It was another precaution as she didn’t think anyone would be putting up stalls or anything this early in the year.

The Ford Inn itself stood on a low rise next to the only place where you could ford the Iceflow river. The first time Ala had heard of the Inn, more than a century before, it was already described as being ancient. It made sense that the site had been in use for centuries, as it was the only access to the eastern bank of the river and the rest of Taladaria for miles and miles in either direction.

The next proper crossing point, an actual stone bridge, was a long way north at Verbridge. That city bordered Oakharrow and she’d have to cross two rivers to get to the bridge. That wasn’t even considering the fact that it was likely that there was a bounty on her in that county. She was unlikely to be popular in Oakharrow, she knew she was responsible for the death of a great number to the poor witless bastards who had been sent into the Westmarch to do their Count’s bidding. While she’d never liked having to fight them, they would certainly take revenge for their neighbours if given the chance.

Before you got to Verbridge, most of the eastern bank of the Iceflow was marsh. There was a seasonal town called landing and there was a chance she might be able to hail a ferry, but it probably wouldn’t be possible to safely get Fulgor to the other side. In the other direction, you had to travel into the Orck Mountains there was almost certainly a way to cross there, somewhere, but she didn’t have any reliable intelligence on where it might be. She’d tried to find out once, thinking it would be useful for the militia to know the location but it had been impossible to get a coherent first hand account from anyone. It was always a grandfather, a hunter or miner or someone else who had used it. She’d given up actively trying to find it years before because she simply had more important things to do.

She hoped she would be able to get to the Inn before anyone that the Constable might have sent out to intercept her. Both Travis and Cristofor, the old scribe’s son had a clear interest in stopping her presenting her case before the Duke. Exposing their forgery could conceivably put them on the gallows. As she rode, Ala worried about what the Constable might do now that he had free reign in the town. The townspeople would not be getting an easy time of it, she expected. Perhaps the Constable had overplayed his hand by pushing her into petitioning the Duke’s court. It served him right, she thought. It would take weeks though, before the Duke would be able to send men to restore order, assuming she managed to convince him to. She had to push the thought from her mind when she found herself thinking about how much the villagers might suffer in the meantime.

As she rode through the darkness, she thought of Bernard. She’d miss him terribly, even if he had not been the energetic man she known for most of the last four decades recently. His mind had still been keen, though his body had been slowly giving up on him. His passing was inevitable but she somehow felt better equipped to deal with it than with Palady and Aubree. She was satisfied that he’d had a rich and full life, even though the world felt very empty without him. Her mind was even able to wander beyond him, she soon found herself wondering if she would get to Peyrepertuse safely. She’d never travelled so far before, at least not that she could remember. She had travelled from somewhere around Seraphim to Thetwick when she had been very young, but she couldn’t remember the journey. Somehow, she must have also gotten to Seraphim. Where from or where the journey had been intended to go, she also didn’t remember. From what she’d been able to piece together she thought she’d been something around forty years old at the time. That gave her only marginally more interest in anything beyond the immediate surroundings than what a human child a tenth of the age might have. She didn’t have much more than images and impressions from that time. She did remember some figures, people with a familiarity to them, but she wasn’t really sure which of them might have been her mother and father or maybe other family members.

She dismounted a rested Fulgor for an hour, whispering to him in elvish as she fed him some oats and watered him In order to get to Peyrepertuse quickly she had to travel by the shortest possible route. The bottleneck was the ford itself. It was normally around two days solid riding from Thetwick town by oxcart. The Constable or his allies could easily have gotten ahead of her. They would have had to leave ahead of her for that. If they had simply ridden their mounts into exhaustion, they could be there. She wouldn’t put it past them. What would they do if they missed her, she wondered? If she was the Constable, she’d send more men. Then some could continue the search for her all the way to Peyrepertuse and the road would be checked twice. She knew she needed to be more diligent about checking the road in both directions, even if some of the Constables henchmen were already ahead of her. Working on that assumption, she also had to consider the Inn itself hostile. She had a friend there, Alissa, who was the niece of the proprietor, but she was treated poorly by the bigoted bastard and wouldn’t be able to help her in case of trouble. Depending on what the men looking for her would have told people at the inn, she might even have to fight her way out. Aside from not being certain she could manage that, she really didn’t want to kill anyone who’s only crime was believing the wrong people. She was already feeling bad enough about the two men who had almost certainly died in the town hall. She had no idea what her sword had done to the first one, but it hadn’t looked good. She was quite certain she had crushed the other man’s windpipe, a fatal injury. She decided it would be best to avoid the Inn entirely. She would try to slip by it, instead.

She knew of a low rise that overlooked the Ford Inn and the buildings around it from the south, perhaps a mile away from it. The Inn wasn’t quite big enough to constitute a proper hamlet. There were only a few families in permanent residence. It was to that bluff that she was headed. She was hoping to be able to see from there if there was anything out of the ordinary going on at the crossing. She arrived at the low hill with a little daylight to spare on the second day. She was damp though she wasn’t particularly feeling the cold. She always managed to keep warm. She thought it might have something to do with her gift with fire. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel that it was cold, it just never seemed uncomfortable. It had been raining for most of the journey. She’d avoided the road almost all the way. There were a few points where her route had intersected the road and she’d had followed it for a short distance. Whenever she saw anyone on the road in the distance, she had taken a wide detour through the forest or waited in a hiding spot for them to pass. She hadn’t seen anyone that looked like they might be looking for her.

Now, she’d dismounted and was lying among the bushes on top of the bluff observing the ford. She’d tied Fulgor behind the hill, out of sight of the Inn where he could drink from the river if he wanted to. The Inn itself was a dark square with a stout stone main building and wooden barns and stables inside a surrounding wall. It stood on the side north of the road next to the river. The tallest building, the Inn itself, stood three storeys high. The top floor was a wooden extension and it stood inside the wall in the south east corner nearest both the river and the road. The other buildings were also built against or near the outer walls and there was a large cobbled courtyard between them. Close to the biggest building, there was a large gate, big enough for a covered wagon. The area outside the gate, South of the road was busy for the time of year with wagons, animals, people and campfires. There weren’t any buildings outside the Inn walls because it was built on the highest ground in the area, protecting it from the high water levels that the Iceflow river tended to have at least once every spring. That yearly flood was about due, she guessed. The ground to the south of the enclosure was flat and if it was busy and the river low enough, caravans frequently made camp there.

The flat ground outside the wall on the south side was sometimes occupied by temporary structures either belonging to the traders or catering to them. From her vantage point on top of the bluff, she could just see there were four lathered and obviously exhausted horses tied up outside the inn wall. Had they been left there so they would be available quickly? She could see from where she was that they ought to have been taken straight to the stables. It looked like they hadn’t been there long. She knew most of the horses in Thetwick and she was sure two of these were owned by the town militia. The animals were quartered on one of the horse farms. Between exercising the breeders’ horses and keeping tabs on mounts suitable for militia use she was certain she knew almost all of Thetwick’s horses by sight. She was also quite sure the other two animals were owned by the Constable himself. Recognising the horses, she felt confident that the animals must not have been changed on the way, so they would be exhausted and were in far worse shape than Fulgor was. They would have had to travel quite a lot further than she had, following the road the entire way. In any event she was certain the Constables men had gotten to the Inn ahead of her.

Aside from the horses she could see wagons, oxen, mules and other livestock, both in the courtyard and on the flat ground outside it in temporary corrals. Taken together, she decided that at least one good sized caravan was visiting the Inn. It would probably be busy there tonight. She would have liked to go inside to talk to Alissa, but there was no way to do that. Someone would recognise her even if she dreamt up a way to evade the men the Constable had sent. She’d been there too often, bringing messages to send on to the Duke. If Travis’ men had dreamt up some reason she should be apprehended, she was sure Helmut, the Innkeep, who had inherited his father’s prejudice would be the first to point her out. She had no illusions how people might react to an elf being accused of a crime by four Thetwick men who, more than likely were in possession of some sort of mandate from the Constable. Briefly reconsidering her decision to cross at the Ford, she again reached the conclusion that neither heading for Verbridge or into the mountains was a better course. So, she would attempt to cross the ford.

She settled down to wait until the sun had fully set. It gave her time to study the comings and goings of the people outside the Inn. A cloaked man attracted her attention. It looked like he was making rounds around the inn every now and again. He would stop and peer up the road towards Thetwick every so often. She recognised the man after studying him for a time, he was one of the Constable’s son’s enforcers, by the name of Norbert. She wondered if he was waiting to see her riding up the road or whether they had established some sort of hidden watch post and he was looking to see if they were signalling anything to him. If there was such a place it was well hidden, she hadn’t noticed anything when she approached the Inn and there was certainly nothing she could see from where she was on the bluff.

As she waited she had time to reflect on her life in Thetwick. Her life was going to change, as she had always know it would. Bernard had been right, she’d been waiting for him to die so she could leave Thetwick. She’d seen countless humans die in the century and a half she’d lived in Thetwick. Aside from the many tragedies she’d seen there had been people who had lived out perfectly long and reasonably happy lives. She was tired of that though and hoped she would meet someone where she didn’t immediately consider how long they had to live. There was also a big empty place in her heart where Bernard should have been, but despite that, she found herself wondering about all the things she might experience and discover beyond the Westmarch. Her mind wandered from there to the various practicalities of the adventure she was about to embark on.

She did have a problem with the right to bear arms. Strictly speaking she should be allowed to be armed by virtue of the document Bernard had written her so long ago, but if it came to a discussion she didn’t necessarily see it ending well for her. She’d experienced a little too much prejudice to be confident of Bernard’s written order. She did also have a second document, also signed by Bernard, that she and whatever men she had with her were allowed to bear arms as patrol leader in the first Thetwick Militia Company, but it was obvious that she didn’t have a patrol with her, nor would she be in Thetwick for long, so that wasn’t going to help her much either. She had become used to riding around as a warrior, but the truth of the matter was, she wasn’t a noble. At least, she had no idea what her heritage was other than that whoever had been with her had wielded a very special sword indeed. Someone who had travelled with her as a child must have had such a right, however, she realised as she felt her sword’s hilt.

She knew that in Selinus and Iurrak at least, impersonating a noble was a crime of the very gravest category, warranting you to be hanged, drawn and quartered. It was a brutally unpleasant and slow way to die. She wasn’t even entirely sure that the mere act of being without an armsright meant you were automatically impersonating a noble, but she had no intention of finding out. She hoped to be able to hire on as an unpaid caravan guard at the Ford Inn, but that wasn’t going to happen unless she fought the four men who had ridden there to intercept her as well as whoever else decided to take their side. Her best chance was to try and make it illegally to the first caravan stop in Taladaria. It was a place called Hightower, which was around twenty-five miles towards Peyrepertuse. Hopefully, she would be able to find word as a caravan guard there, even if she had to pay for the privilege it was better than risking being stripped of her sword or even worse arrested and charged for impersonating a noble.

When it was fully dark, she led Fulgor down towards the riverbank. It wasn’t the stealthiest approach she had ever embarked on, but she didn’t fancy her chances on the rest of the two weeks’ journey to Peyrepertuse if she didn’t keep the horse close. She stopped for a few minutes when she was a few hundred yards from the ford, taking another few minutes to observe everything. She could see clearly see lights and she could now hear soft laughter and music from the inn, carried in her direction by a soft wind. Occasionally there was a sound, probably made by one of the oxen that were corralled near the inn. Backing it all was the gentle and constant sound of the Iceflow river. She couldn’t see anyone looking in her direction. She assumed the inn must have night watchmen even though she hadn’t seen any. With some luck the guard would be guarding the customer’s wagons and not looking at her. She looked across the river. It widened to around a hundred yards where it was fordable. There was a small wooden building on the opposite bank, she wasn’t certain what its purpose was as it hadn’t been there on her last visit. She then noticed a different man pacing around the inn’s entrance archway, wich was large enough that you could ride a wagon through it. He looked up the road towards Thetwick nervously. It wasn’t Norbert, he must have been relieved in the meantime.

She crept a little closer. Eventually she decided that strying to sneak any closer wasn’t a good idea. The chance she would be spotted kept increasing and then she would be at a disadvantage. She pulled herself up of Fulgor’s back, dropped her hood so she could see the rocks in the river better and whispered to Fulgor, who perked up at once. She asked him to run like the wind. He whinnied and leapt forward. The man who had been looking up the road was startled by the sound and looked in her direction, she could see his eyes widening as she looked over her shoulder.

“It’s her,” he yelled, “Norbert, the elf is making a run for it! She’s crossing the river!”

She recognised the man now, it was an older, thin man named Abe. She knew him in passing from Thetwick but had never known him to be amongst the Constable’s henchmen. Fulgor galloped hard and fast, fairly flying over the river, in a huge wash of spray, soaking her. She saw there were men on the far bank, looking what the consternation was. For them to be awake and on their feet so quickly, she knew they must have been watching the crossing. She really hoped they weren’t more of the Constable’s enforcers. There were only two, but she saw a silver flash on each of their shoulders. She belatedly realised they must be Royal Customs Officers. Not good, but better than if they had been the Constable’s men.

She had little experience with Customs Officers, they only rarely visited Thetwick. She was obligated to stop for them, even noblemen had to defer to Customs Officers. They hadn’t said anything yet. They must have been looking for smugglers, and here she was, charging the river at breakneck speed in the dark. They certainly didn’t know about Bernard’s death, and wouldn’t even have cared if they had. Fulgor was doing the galloping, so she could look back at the inn as Norbert came running out of the inn, tucking in his shirt, cursing at Abe. He was followed by two more men whose features Ala couldn’t make out. At least their horses would be exhausted. She decided not to avoid the customs officers and simply charged towards them.

“Whoa, whoa, lad! What’s the rush? You could seriously injure your horse charging over a ford in the dark like that!”

One of them yelled at her. She decided she had maybe a minute before Norbert and his friends would be crossing the ford.

“Sorry sir! It’s a long story,” she said, immediately asking Fulgor to stop in Elven.

“Check your eyes Ned. It’s not a lad, it’s an elf-maid,” said the second customs man, looking at her approvingly.

“Well elf-maid,” said Ned, “care to explain why you’re galloping out of the Westmarch in the dark of night? Also, I’d like to know who I’m speaking to.”

“They call me Alagariel…half elven. Perhaps you’ve heard my name? I’m with the Thetwick militia?”

“I’ve heard your name,” said Ned’s companion.

“I’m just trying to reach Peyrepertuse, to petition the Duke’s court. Those four men who are rushing to saddle their horses, are after me. They don’t like what I’m going to tell the Duke about the Constable of Thetwick when I get to Peyrepertuse. Please, please let me pass before they catch up? Otherwise I’ll be forced to fight them.”

Ned looked beyond her at the men frantically rushing to saddle their horses. He looked at her, “quite a story. I have heard your name too, even from men who I trust not to exaggerate too much…”

He looked over her saddlebags and the bedroll tied across the back of her saddle.

“You obviously don’t have the contraband we’re looking for tucked into your shirt. I don’t much care, one way or the other, about the Duke’s business. It’s not the King’s business. Go ahead, pass. We’ll even stop and question those four fellows for you.”

Ned was obviously the senior of the two customs men. She bowed her head in acknowledgement.

“Thank you, officers.”

Then she softly touched Fulgor’s sides whispering something in elvish, and he took off again. She could just hear hooves splashing into the water at the far bank of the river. Behind her, she could just hear Ned order them to hold for Royal Customs.

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.

Nothing Lasts For Ever

Bernard died a decade later at the spectacular age of one hundred and one years. The old warrior’s death came peacefully, in his sleep. Ala found him lying peacefully in his bed. His expression was calm, perhaps even content.

Despite her grief, Ala was forced to consider what to do. She knew she must act carefully if she wanted to achieve everything Bernard had charged her with. Bernard, as Captain of the Militia by the Duke’s order had been a powerful man in Thetwick, probably the most powerful. While his responsibilities had never included any civil affairs, having the authority to decide who was allowed to bear arms and when as well as who had to serve in the militia and when had given him a great deal of leverage in Thetwick.

The fact that Bernard had delegated his field command to Ala over the last decades was irrelevant now that he had passed away. The Ducal order bore Bernard’s name, not hers. She was still just ‘that half-elf swordmaid’, a second or third rate citizen at best. Everyone had been forced to show her whatever respect Bernard demanded. She had made her own reputation of course, mostly within the the militia, especially the cavalry and with the horse breeders and the hunters. Even to them she was something out of the ordinary and beyond those circles she was an outsider, something that she knew would never change. Even living in Thetwick for a century and a half didn’t change that. She had do doubt that to most of Thetwick she was still just a non-human teenager and a female one at that. It was quite safe for most of the townspeople to ignore her and get on with their lives.

With Bernard’s death, the power over the militia reverted to the new Constable, Travis. Needless to say he was no friend to Bernard or Ala. Bernard had of course warned the Duke that the moment would come, but no replacement for him had yet made himself known. No document offering guidance had come from the Duke either. She wondered if she should stay in Thetwick and wait it out. She knew she wanted to stay for Bernard’s burial at least. The house and lands in and around the town were to be hers by Bernard’s will. Bernard had owned fields as well which were rented to farmers in exchange for a portion of their produce. She knew that by Taladarian law, women were not permitted to own property unless noble or widowed. She had no idea how the law applied to elves and probably no one else in Thetwick did either. She realised she also had no idea how Bernard had expected her to cross that particular hurdle.

Since she expected trouble she went out the night after Bernard died and hid travelling gear and supplies out in the forest. It was insurance in case she had to leave in a hurry. She included her personal things that she felt were important and what she couldn’t keep on her person. She had a feeling it would come to a confrontation. She also visited the cemetery and placed flowers on Aubree and Palady’s graves. She didn’t like cemeteries and it didn’t feel like a place where either Palady or Aubree would have wanted to be. It was customary in Thetwick to visit the graves of one’s ancestors though and Ala respected the custom. She felt far closer to the two women when she was alone at the ruined tower beneath the stars, thinking of them, than in the drab cemetery. She went now anyway though, since she had an inkling that it might not be safe for her to stay in Thetwick for much longer.

Bernard’s estate was one of the biggest in Thetwick, probably in the whole Westmarch. It was sure to attract those seeking to gather wealth. She visited one of Priestess Deirdre’s successors, a woman who looked the same age as Ala did. Her name was Priestess Ygraine and Ala told her the news. With the accustomed routine of the clergy of Ceres, Ygraine came to the house. The local undertaker also visited promptly. In proper entrepreneurial spirit he had already produced a casket in exactly Bernard’s size. It had had time to gather several years worth of dust. The undertaker seemed to have underestimated Bernard’s hardiness.

The funeral was to be held in the morning in the cemetery by the temple, as was the old custom in Thetwick. After that, the will was to be read in the Council Hall. The whole town came to the funeral, and all of the militia turned out in the surcoats that had become standard under Bernard’s leadership. Disturbing the image was the Constables’ son, Magnus. He was the old Constable Roger’s grandson, the man whom Bernard had taught his place that first day back in Thetwick, fifty years earlier.

Magnus stood at the head of the assembled militia, standing in for his father who as Lieutenant of the Westmarch Militia could now assign anyone he pleased to execute his duties for him the same way Bernard had done with Ala. Ala herself had not been allowed to participate, being sent away when she wanted to take her place in the Company. Her blood had boiled, but she decided that it wouldn’t be right to tarnish Bernard’s memory by forcing the point and killing someone at his funeral. She had decided that she wasn’t going to upset the proceedings then and there and quietly walked behind the militia company as it marched behind Bernard’s casket.

Magnus wasn’t even wearing the surcoat in the Westmarch colours that Bernard had instituted. Instead he wore some gaudy and expensive thing that he must have had tailored for him in Taladaria. She knew that he had only turned up at militia practice sporadically, probably more as a means to gather information for his father. She had decided to attend in her customary attire of mail, with her sword at her side. She was wearing the militia surcoat because no one would dare to try and stop her. She’d decided that she was going to stop wearing the headscarf too, wearing her red-gold hair in a long, coiled braid that left her pointed ears clearly visible. She was going to leave Thetwick soon anyway. What did she care if people caught on that she was a real elf? She had already made sure she had all her silver with her, just in case something odd was about to happen.

To her surprise, the last few ranks of the militia company, where the archers and cavalrymen were, stopped marching and made room for her to pass between them before they fell in behind her. The men who had always ridden on patrol with her had decided they preferred to march behind her than the new Lieutenant, it seemed. It made her feel better but it had been hard enough not to cry even before that happened. The rest of the burial was conducted without incident. At least, if you didn’t count the glares from the Constable and his son. She was ignored by the official part of the proceedings though many villagers stopped to offer her their condolences. Most of them tried to be on their way again as quickly as they could as the tension was palpable. She appreciated their words nonetheless.

She couldn’t give herself the time to commemorate Bernard properly. She was constantly checking around her if the Constable or his cronies were doing anything suspicious. The only reason she could really think of that the Constable was not already moving in on her was that he was uncertain the militia would follow his orders. It seemed to be enough to stay his hand and nothing untoward happened at the cemetery. She stayed out of town, choosing a perch in the treeline with a view of Bernard’s house until the reading of the will that afternoon. She saw that several militiamen stopped at the house, apparently leaving when they had convinced themselves she wasn’t there.

All parties interested in the contents of Bernard’s will – which seemed to be an awful lot of people, assembled in the Council Hall. Aside from the Council there were around thirty villagers and militiamen present. They were mostly people who had some sort of relationship with the Constable or Bernard and his duties as militia Captain. There were also a number of militia members. Ala carefully noted that those present seemed to be the men from the infantry section. Men whom she knew to be friendly with the Constable and his son.

None of the men who had chosen to march behind her at the funeral were anywhere to be seen. Presumably, the Constable had devised something else for them to do, probably somewhere far enough away that they couldn’t interfere. The new town Scribe was called to read Bernard’s will. The document that was read had nothing at all to do with the will that Bernard had dictated to her and had signed in the presence of the Scribe. A copy of the legitimate document was in the scroll tube she was carrying. According to the forgery, all Bernard’s belongings would go into a special fund with which the Lieutenant of the Militia could fund operations and purchase supplies. In other words, into the pocket of the Constable. It was a bold ploy Ala hadn’t anticipated. She gave it a moment’s thought and responded to the customary question posed by the scribe. “Are there any who contest the will and testament of Bernard of Thetwick?”

She took a step forward, “I contest it.”

“On what grounds?” Asked the scribe.

“That it is a forgery. As you well know, Scribe Cristofor.”

There was a collective intake of breath. Such intrigue was seldom seen in Thetwick.

“Have you any proof, Alagariel Half-Elven?” He placed particular emphasis in the “half-elven” part.

“I have a signed copy of the original will, counter signed by your predecessor.”

“May the council see it?”

“Only as long as it doesn’t leave my fingers. May I see the false will?”

“It is not false until so proven, girl. Approach.”

She stepped forward and pulled the will out of the leather scroll tube. She showed it to the council members, most of whom who could, at best, barely read.

“Ah yes, your copy is older than the version we have here. Bernard must have changed it without your knowledge, see here.”

The scribe pointed at a date under the forgery. She looked at the signature. It wasn’t even a very good forgery.

“Whenever it was written, the signature of Bernard is still forged. Furthermore, the idea that Bernard would make any significant decision on such a decision without telling me, is ludicrous.”

“Or perhaps the signature you have is the forgery eh? Doubtless you can produce other documents with his signature, but that means nothing as you could have forged them all.”

“The same goes for you.”

“So, it would seem that it is up to the council to decide.”

“I disagree. The council should stay its decision, put Bernard’s estate in escrow of someone other that the Constable or the Scribe. I would suggest Harald Petersson, a wealthy man in good standing, while I ride to Castle Peyrepertuse with both documents and we verify the correct signature against the Ducal warrant assigning Bernard as Duke’s Captain of the Thetwick militia. I think the Duke will attest to the veracity of a document in his archive, signed by his esteemed father, don’t you agree?”

The scribe scowled at her. She looked around the room. She knew the council of elders couldn’t deny her request, because doing so could also bring the Duke down on them for denying him his rightful authority. She didn’t think the Constables influence stretched that far. Not yet anyway, not with Bernard’s soul still hovering over the room. Strictly speaking only a noble had an actual right to the Duke’s court. She didn’t think the elders would vote against this though. They would still be too wary so close after Bernard’s funeral and they couldn’t stop her from petitioning the Duke’s court on her own if she went there anyway. It would be better for them to be seen to support thorough justice. The Constable wasn’t quite that powerful, not yet. She had talked through all these contingencies with Bernard. It made her sad that the old warrior was being proven right.

The Scribe spoke, with an uncertain glance in the Constable’s direction.

“Hmm…. I see. Elders, we must put it to a vote.”

The Constable’s expression displayed extreme displeasure.

They voted to acquiesce to the Duke’s justice, though only by a margin of one vote. For now, the council was still more scared of the Duke than they were of the Constable. Ala doubted that that would last. It was a long way from Thetwick to Peyrepertuse. She had forced matters by requesting the case be placed before the Duke. It was likely to have all sorts of consequences because it put the Constable in a difficult position. The Constable stood up, with a nasty grin in her direction.

“Now on to another matter. As Constable of Thetwick, it is clear to me that you no longer have the right to bear arms, as I rescind permission for you to do so. You will surrender your weapon at once, upon pain of death.”

“Captain Bernard had the delegated authority to give the right to bear arms in perpetuity, only rescindable by the Duke or his direct descendants. As acting Captain of the Thetwick Militia Company, as ordered in writing by the late Bernard, whose estate is being stayed waiting for a ruling by the Duke of Taladaria, that order stays valid in perpetuity until the Duke or his descendants specifically state otherwise. Never mind that a ruling about his estate has been made, freezing its assets and agreements. You are not authorised to rescind my right bear arms.”

“Bernard is dead. Stupid girl, none of this hogwash is valid. Men, seize her weapons!”

What he’d said wasn’t true. Any rights to bear arms Bernard had issued would remain valid until the Duke himself rescinded them. It was sufficiently vague though that Ala could see how he could get away with doing it if queried about it by anyone. It wasn’t as if anyone in Thetwick other than the scribe had a notion of the hierarchy of the Law. The fact that the Duke’s decree trumped anything that the Constable could dream up was not apparent to anyone in the Hall except perhaps Scribe Cristofor and he was solidly in the Constable’s pocket.

Three of the Constable’s friends in the militia moved to block her path, they had obviously been briefed that this was going to be required of them. One tried to take her sword. The moment he touched the weapons’ pommel, he recoiled, his eyes wide in shock as he sank to his knees and fell sideways, clutching his chest. She had no idea what had caused the man to collapse, but it gave her all the opening she needed. She headed straight for the next one and made contact with her left hand, which caused him to react to her feint. She then rotated her hip and put her other mail-fisted glove straight into the man’s oesophagus, letting out some of her rage fuelled energy. She felt his windpipe collapse under the weight of her mail fisted strike. He crumpled onto the floor too, gasping for air.

The last one attempted to come after her. She engaged her hip and left arm towards him, feinting and causing him to grab for her advancing wrist with his right hand, she grabbed his fingers with her other hand and turned her hand over his arm towards him as she moved to his right side. She dropped the hand she had first let him make contact with straight towards his centre of mass, following through with the entire weight of both mailed arms behind it. She heard his arm crunch as his wrist was dramatically overextended. She’d snapped both bones in his lower arm. He screamed as she took another step backwards, turned back towards the door and ran out. She saw no one else come after her. She could just hear the Constable’s screams that she must be caught over the general uproar.

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.

Brabak

The years with Togut had brought Brabak great prosperity. He now understood that his job was to be a bodyguard for Togut. Not that the older orck couldn’t take care of himself – oh how he could, it was just that he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head and had to sleep. Togut, being smarter than many orcks had decided a band of more or less loyal warriors was the best way to stay dominant among the Headcutters. He had his eyes set on the position of Chieftain, Brabak was sure. Brabak accompanied Togut on raids. Togut invariably led these raids, and Brabak had killed his share of farmers, militiamen and other orcks by the time he was full grown. He had even killed some human soldiers and even a dwarf once. He also had decent weapons and armour and generally a full belly. These things meant standing among the orcks. The she-orcks liked him too, even if it was only because he was a smidge less violent that many others and being in his good graces offered a measure of protection as well as a guarantee of sustenance.

His life was good by orck standards. He had a big two handed hammer that Togut said he had taken off a dwarf he had killed. His armour was made of plates and mail, much better than what most of the other orcks had. The fact that he had figured out how to repair it put him miles ahead of the others too. He also practised often with a captured bow and could make his own passable arrows, if not the bow itself. He still plundered what arrows he could as he couldn’t quite match the straightness of the shafts that the humans achieved. His bow was and nice and hefty, he had plundered it from a burly human soldier. He could fire four times as fast as an orck with a crossbow. Even his huts were better than those of most of the other orcks.

He didn’t much care for the behaviour that was necessary to excel in an orckish community, but he accepted the necessity of it. It was the only way he knew though he sometimes thought about whether there was a different way to make sure you bred hard and strong warriors. The other orcks seemed to revel in the random brutality, especially Togut. Brabak never understood that. It seemed inefficient to him. He had no qualms about achieving goals through force, but he didn’t see the point of random violence.

He had been around a lot of the Orck Mountains, regularly raiding other Orcks and sometimes humans that lived to the North or East of the mountains. Once, he had even been to a strange land of enormous trees to the south where there was a strange mist-like effect. Togut had insisted that a shaman give him a special charm before they went that way, and that Brabak not take it off, under any circumstances. They had hunted the plentiful game there, there didn’t seem to be anyone who actually lived there. It was a strange place that gave Brabak the creeps. Togut too it seemed, they had only stayed two days despite the abundance of animals. Brabak thought the pickings were best to the East of the mountains. There was rich farmland there and quite a lot of humans to raid and plunder. They had raided there a lot with a large band before a lot of orcks were killed by highly organised human fighters on horses. They had fled back into the mountains in a running battle.

Togut hadn’t seem surprised when the humans had arrived, as if he’d seen it all before. Brabak, Togut and the others in the band had only barely escaped. Brabak had paid careful attention to the human fighters and how they fought. Though smaller and not as strong as an orck, they were much more effective than he thought they should be, giving each other support, even protecting their wounded when they could, so he paid very close attention to how they went about their business. Sometimes he even went off on his own just to observe them. Togut thought that was strange behaviour. If an orck saw some of these humans, he should probably try and kill them, was the consensus among the orcks. Getting yourself killed against overwhelming odds wasn’t seen as a good idea or anything, but the general principle of killing people who had something you could use was widely approved of. Going out to look at a group you couldn’t defeat was considered strange behaviour. Brabak kept his own council as he watched and learned. He was sure his opportunity would come eventually.

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

A Half Elf?

Bernard was in his late eighties and she had been in the village for something less than a century and a half. That was as close as she could work it out. She’d been as interested in what year it was as most of the other villagers for her first few decades in Thetwick, which was to say, not at all. She wasn’t completely certain about the first decade or two and she didn’t really know how old she had been when she arrived.

Her best estimates if she compared herself to human children would put her age near to two centuries. She was physically fully developed and she was almost completely certain that she wasn’t a half-elf. She was an out and out elf. Since she had finally decided to let her hair grow out she discovered the full depth of her natural colour. It was a lustrous reddish gold, depending on how the light hit it. That colour combined with her complexion and her gifts with fire, had led her to believe that the only answer that made any sense was that she was a Fire Elf. This in itself didn’t make sense of course, since all the stories she had ever heard from travellers insisted that the last of the Fire Elves had disappeared half a millennium before, which worked out to about three centuries before she was born.

Still, she couldn’t really come to any other conclusion. Individual attributes, like the colour of her hair, eyes and skin did exist among the other kinds of elves, but not all at once, it seemed. Add in her gift with fire and flames, and that made her a member of an elven kind that was extinct according to all of the travellers she had ever managed to cajole into telling her anything about elves. Some even claimed that the stories of Fire Elves were like those about dragons, which was to say clearly just that – stories for children. She found her conclusion highly suspect, but no amount of pondering resulted in a more credible theory. She’d briefly considered the possibility that she was a metal elf, it was the elven kind that seemed to have the highest chance to look like her, but that explanation became unsatisfactory to account for her affinity with flames. She tried manipulating metal the way she could fire, but the iron gate she had chosen for the exercise simply grew red hot and then sat there and did nothing.

There were other kinds of elves who could conceivably have a complexion with features like hers, she’d learned, it was possible for Metal, Earth and Wood elves to come close, but her gift seemed to be something only the more fantastic stories even mentioned and it was only ever attributed to Fire Elves. Eventually, after keeping it to her self for about two years after she had decided there was no other answer, she put this to the mostly deaf, usually relaxed, doddering old Bernard.

“Bernard. I don’t think I’m a half-elf.”

“Yes love, I know.”

“Did you hear me, Bernard?”

“Yes, yes. I heard.”

“I think I’m an Elf. Probably a Fire Elf… but they’re not supposed to exist… so maybe… Metal then?”

“Yes, yes, of course I heard you. Do you think I’m deaf?”

“Well… if the shoe fits?”

“I suppose I am a little hard of hearing these days, but of course you’re an elf! Fire, I’d think. Don’t tell anyone mind you. Not around here anyway…” He struggled to turn to her in his chair, suddenly looking surprised, “did you not know?”

Ala’s jaw dropped open, stunned to silence for a few moments.

“How long have you known? Why did you never tell me?”

He shrugged, “My dear Ala, I realised the day I arrived here. You know, when I retired… It truly never occurred to me that you didn’t know.”

“You knew I was a fire elf immediately?”

“I was sure you were an elf when I saw you. I knew it could only be a fire elf when I saw you doing that thing with my cooking fire, that first day.”

“But… that was almost four decades ago!”

“I know. You know, the elves I’ve known said those mythical special abilities are just stories… maybe they were lying, though I doubt it. So you’re special, even for an elf… not just special to me, but special even for a fire elf… and that was even before you learned to be the deadliest swordswoman in Taladaria. When I finally took a moment to think about your dyed hair, everything made sense, fit together a bit neater.”

“You mean other Fire Elves can’t do… the thing I do… my Little Trick… with the fire?

“I don’t know about other Fire Elves. I’ve never seen or met one, aside from you. Other kinds of elves had different abilities, in children’s stories at least, I think. Never been on really close terms with an elf though… well… except that one time in Port Mistral. Anyway, so I just don’t really know if they do or don’t have those kinds of abilities. There’s elven Magisters, trained in magic, of course. There are two sisters who live in Duilhac, that I know of. Don’t know if that’s the same or not. I’m mostly certain Half-Elves can’t do any of it, though, so there’s that. In any case none that I’ve ever met.”

Ala was silent for a moment. She felt her eyes moistening. Bernard spoke again, with a thoughtful look.

“You know Ala, though I never knew the woman, I always respected Palady for taking you in. That would have been difficult back then. It’d even be difficult now. I think… I think she decided it would be safer for you if the villagers thought you were at least part human. You can’t blame her for thinking it, her reasoning seems very sensible to me. From what you’ve told me about her, I doubt she ever intended for you not to know yourself.”

“Yes, I understand that. It’s just… well… I don’t know…”

“I suppose I can’t really compare it to anything. Not knowing I was a human? Would I mind? I don’t know?”

“Perhaps it doesn’t matter as much as it seems,” she sighed.

“Anyway, perhaps Palady never thought that you really didn’t know, or maybe the time to tell you just didn’t really ever appear. I think not telling you was to protect you if it was ever intentional. I always thought it was just part of the ruse – that you knew. You really only just realised?”

“Not long ago. But… I don’t know. I guess it wouldn’t have made any difference. It’s just… I would have liked to have known.”

“It’s a good disguise though, isn’t it? An elf who thinks she’s a half-elf makes for a very convincing half elf. It’s lucky that these yokels out here don’t know the first thing about elves and elven lifespans otherwise they would have figured it out by now. Some Thets must at least suspect it. Those that do have evidently decided not to mention it to anyone.”

Ala sat down on a stool in front of the fire, across from Bernard. She sat silently for a time. Bernard waited for her to speak, he was never really in a rush anymore.

“So now what do I do? I don’t have another two, maybe three hundred years of life, like a half-elf might. I’m not half way… not by a long shot. It’s probably more like another… eight hundred years? I can hardly comprehend it. More maybe… stories are very vague on how long elves actually live…. I’m sorry, but you don’t have more than another ten or fifteen years left in you, my dear Bernard. What will I do then?”

Bernard smiled.

“Ten or fifteen years? You’re being very generous, that’s mighty nice of you. I’m not going to last anywhere near that long, though it’s not for any desire to leave you behind. Look, I’ve left you this place of course, I don’t have any children… that I know of anyway…. The old Constable, Roger Marchmain may be dead but the new one, his son Travis, that dickhead, is even more ambitious, more dangerous, possibly even a little smarter, which is a shame…”

“Can’t disagree with that,” she nodded.

“That good for nothing will probably contest my will. Or he’ll do something else to get rid of you. When I die, he’ll make his move. I’m certain of it. My property is one of the most substantial in Thetwick. He knows I have the Duke’s ear. He won’t move while I’m alive. But he wants this place and especially the land that goes with it, I’d bet.”

“Aren’t they already quite rich?”

“The Marchmains have their hears set on nobility, land is what makes a noble, more often than not. They’re probably the second landowners in Thetwick, with my lands, well, they’d be a long way there at least. Travis will make things hard for you. He’s still wary of the Duke though, but you may have to travel to the Duke’s court to get your Right.”

“Bernard, I love you, but I don’t care about your lands or wealth. I will miss you terribly. I don’t like this… living for hundreds of years if it’s without the people you love, like you and Aubree and Palady,” her eyes began to dampen.

“I know. That must be very hard. I’ve seen people I cared for die before their time. Every day I wish I’d had more time with Aubree. I had a crush on her when I was twelve, did you know?”

“I gathered you must have.”

“Centuries of losing people must be harder than I can imagine. I have seen many companions fall or be taken away. I don’t care for it… I think, that after you have established your claim at the Duke’s Court, you should maybe seek out other elves. At least they live longer. If you’re not ready for that, just offer the Duke your sword. He already knows about you. I have written to him, in the utmost confidence, of course.”

“Really? You’ve written to the Duke about me? That I’m a fire elf?”

“I’m sorry Ala, I didn’t realise you meant for it to be a big secret. At least not to learned people. The Duke is a good man, he won’t go around telling people about it. I did mention that it was safer for you to be able to masquerade as a half elf. He won’t go around pointing it out, not without good reason.”

Ala considered for a moment what to think about that. It didn’t really matter she supposed, it really was just that she would have liked to know herself.

Bernard continued his explanation, “I did not write to him solely for your sake, he will also need to do something about the military leadership here when I pass away. He’s had it easy, of late, with you so splendidly discharging my duties. When I’m gone though, he’s going to need to solve the problem somehow, as those raiders will keep coming. He won’t be able to assign you as Captain, I don’t think. The malcontents would sabotage you, possibly even claiming something inane, like that they’d rather deal with an Oakharrower than an Elf. It won’t be pretty. Putting a young she-elf in such a position would require more goodwill than even the Duke can muster. He couldn’t do it in good conscience – not if he wants Thetwick unified enough to be defensible.”

“I don’t really mind. I never expected to be Captain. I don’t think I want to stay here without you and Aubree and Palady around.”

“Well, it’s not right that you can’t be made militia Captain, if you ask me. You’ve been doing the work and doing it well. No one could do it better than you.”

“Thank you for saying that.”

“Now, when you do leave, that sword of yours may offer a clue to who you may be. Follow it, learn more about it, elves are long lived, you may yet have relatives somewhere. Among elven smiths, there must be those who know the histories of such magnificent weapons. I’d bet my own steel that there is an elf somewhere who knows that sword, who can tell you more about it and which elven legend it’s a part of, for a sword like that can only be legendary.”

“You really think it’s that special?”

“If I only count the good swords that I have seen in my days, I think there have been thousands. None compare to your blade.”

She knew it was special of course, but she’d never realised just how special, it seemed.

Bernard continued his stream of advice, “there is also a man at the Duke’s court. He’s an actual half elf and was always a good friend. He’ll still be there. His name is Gladiuth. There’s a few elves who live in Duilhac too, though no Fire Elves, I don’t think. Gladiuth is related to some of them. I’m sure he’ll introduce you. He was my best man in the regiment. Saved each others arses countless times. He’s the one who sent me the Liechtenauer Fechtbuch. I’m sure he will help if he can. You have your own sword. Mine is too heavy for you anyway. If you go there, I think I would like him to have mine. He collects fine weapons, you know. Sometimes he gives one away to someone worthy of wielding it. I think he would perhaps know someone worthy of it. Would you deliver my Ulfberht to him?”

“Bernard, you know I will, if you ask me to.”

“Yes, I do. Also, it would please me, if I knew my families’ lands were in good hands. Even if I own far more than my father ever did, it’s… like a legacy, you know? Perhaps it’s foolish that it matters to me, but it does all the same. I know you don’t care about that sort of thing, but you’ll take care of that for me, won’t you?”

“Of course, Bernard. I will make certain of it. Now, let’s please stop talking about when you’re gone now, please? It depresses me.”

“Just one last thing, Ala. I want you to know that I feel most fortunate and privileged that you are willing to stay with me to the end of my days. I know full well you’re simply biding your time till that day comes. It is a truly momentous gift to me, Ala. Incomparable, really.”

That made it impossible for Ala to keep her eyes dry.

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

Gabriel

As the practical day to day leader of the militia she couldn’t really hide. Suitors started to call on her. They were all magnanimously willing to overlook her half elven heritage for a tumble. She turned them all down. She did continue her efforts to speak to travellers and caravanners, still attempting to learn more about half elves. Many of the visiting traders were vastly more worldly than the Thetwickers and seemed less reticent to speak to a half elf. She tracked down anyone interesting who came to Thetwick from the outside world, hoping to learn more, especially about elves and half-elves. Most people weren’t helpful but sometimes she spoke to someone who was able to add a tiny piece to the puzzle, albeit ever so small.

It was on one of these expeditions that she was in the town looking for a storyteller that some of the children said had come into town on the most recent caravan. She found him near the square, a tall dark haired man with matching eyes. He had a deep, moving voice and the children listening to his stories were mesmerised. After he had finished with the stories for the day, he turned to her.

“Is there something I can be of assistance with, Milady?”

“I’m no noble, Master Bard. I was hoping, though, that you might have time for me to buy you an ale and perhaps a meal and that I might ask you some things about what goes on in the world outside of Thetwick?”

Buying people a meal was how she normally got visitors to sit down and tell her things. Bernard paid her for her work as acting militia Captain, so it was an investment she could easily afford. She noticed him looking her over and glancing at her sheathed sword.

“Perhaps then Mistress, if you tell me your name, I would be most delighted to. I am Gabriel,” he said with a slight bow.

“That seems fair, Master Gabriel. They call me Alagariel.”

“A pleasure, Mistress. If I might be so bold, I detect an elven heritage, do I not?”

“You are right. I am a half-elf. Orphaned. I was adopted.”

“I see. Your stories may be more interesting than mine then. I do accept your gracious offer, of course. No entertainer worth his salt turns down a free meal and conversation in such company.”

Gabriel was both well travelled and intelligent. He was able to tell her a lot, including several tales about elven women who she assumed he had bedded though he left out specifics. She found he actually left out a lot of specifics and was more interested in poetic licence. He visited Thetwick several times over the course of a few years. She grew to become very fond of him and learned a lot about the rest of Taladaria from him. She was happy when he was in town and her relationship with him became quite intimate and eventually he became her first lover. She knew that it was never going to be a settle down together kind of relationship, but she was curious and he was attractive and gentle, if a bit of a vagabond. It was because of the time she spent with Gabriel that Ala eventually began to wonder whether Palady and Bernard might just be a little bit wrong about what she was.

Her lifespan and time to mature just didn’t fit what travellers, especially Gabriel, had told her about half-elves. Gabriel had told her a little about his dalliances with a number of elven and half-elven ladies. Between all the blushing she learned a little about the difference between how elves and half-elves sleep. What she’d learned from him had shocked her when she realised what it must mean. The fact that she didn’t sleep, at least not in the way that humans did was a giveaway. Gabriel had been very clear that the half-elves he had known definitely slept. He didn’t hide the fact that he’d had plenty of opportunities to observe. Only elves didn’t. He’d even asked some of these women them about the difference, he said.

Her rest was more a sort of meditative half aware trance, quite different from what she saw humans doing. It just didn’t seem to fit with being a half-elf. A few weeks after that she realised that no other conclusion was possible. She had to be a full blooded elf. The lifespan, the sleeping and the fire magic she hid from everyone but Bernard, it all added up to only one possible conclusion. She even decided to stop dying her hair after what turned out to be one of Gabriel’s last visits to Thetwick. The final drop had been when Gabriel pointed out a discrepancy in her reasoning about using the hair dye.

“So… just so I have this straight, Ala dear. Your adoptive mother, who said you were a half elf… she wanted you to dye your hair… so you’d look more like a half elf?”

“Uhm. Yes. I guess. It sounds odd when you put it like that. I don’t know. Maybe she had a half earth elf in mind, they’re the most common, right?”

“They are I think. Perhaps that was her intent. Well, I’m just asking. So, all this, was over a century and a half ago at which point you were already decades old? Just so I have my numbers straight?”

“Well… yes… but…”

“Half elves are generally well into their middle age, at two centuries? Rather than… you know… looking a bit like human teenagers?”

“I don’t really know what to say to that, Gabriel…”

“No need to say anything, my love, I was just wanting to get things straight. I’m considering a poem. The ‘Long-lived half-elven beauty’, perhaps. No. That isn’t a good name. I’ll come up with something. I’m struggling how to make it credible, though.”

She shook her head. He often said such things, carefully crafted to suggest something. He hadn’t written any songs or poems about her yet or if he had, he hadn’t shown them to her or mentioned them. She thought about the exchange a bit before conceding that Palady might indeed also have known more than she ever mentioned. She had no real idea of what her natural hair colour was any more. It was certainly a shade of red, she knew. She decided it was time to find out.

It wasn’t long after when Gabriel’s next absence became far longer than usual. Eventually she realised he probably wasn’t coming back. She remembered she’d been sad when Gabriel had last left. Had it been something in his manner, she wondered? He’d given no indication that he wouldn’t be coming back and their last parting had been warm. She asked other visitors if they had seen or heard of him, but he seemed to have disappeared. From her questions she was able to deduce that he wasn’t just staying away from Thetwick – no one had seen him at all since shortly after his last visit to her.

Unless he had suddenly chosen to travel further afield than he had ever done before, it worried Ala. A caravan groom told her she had seen him telling stories far to the west a few weeks after he had last visited. She could discover no later sightings of him. She wondered whether she’d been just another of his dalliances. Later on she had to admit to herself that he had never talked about any of his lovers in anything but the most glowing and fond terms. She’d taken him to bed willingly even though she suspected that he might have a few other ‘special friends’ in other places where he plied his trade. She didn’t expect him to stop travelling for her – didn’t even want him to, it wasn’t the life she envisioned for herself. She wasn’t looking for eternity, since that would mean watching him grow old and die, which she was not ready to do again. She considered going to look for him but she knew Bernard needed her running the militia. If something had befallen Gabriel, she would be too late and if he had chosen to move on he could easily be at the other end of the Kingdom or even beyond it.

% 25th of July/Soltop 989, Ford Inn, Alissa Corbin
She even travelled to the Ford Inn, in a moment of weakness. She had hopes of being able to secure some news about Gabriel. It was to no avail though she was happy to be able to sit and talk to Alissa, the Innkeeper’s half-elven niece again, though.

“Gabriel? Tall, dark… good looking? Wonderful voice? Of course I know him. He’s passed through here regularly the past few years. Why do you ask?”

“Well… he just… I thought he would have visited again by now.”

“Minstrels aren’t the most reliable sorts, Ala. Did you really come all the way out here to just to ask about him? Oh… wait… I think I get it!”

Ala gave her a look. It was obvious to Alissa that she’d guessed correctly.

“Well, very juicy. As your friend I should point out the many, many warnings you and I have both heard against getting involved with a travelling entertainer…”

“I know, Alissa, I knew what I was getting in to.”

“Yet, you’ve ridden out here after him with no particular plan?”

“Point taken.”

“Well, since we’re well past the point where and advice of caution is of any use, I really can’t do anything other than keep an eye out for him? I’m sorry Ala.”

“Thanks Alissa. I got into it in full possession of my faculties. I guess I’m just sad he’s gone.”

“Normal, I think. He was a nice man. Pleased I didn’t bed him now though.”

“Did he… try to?” Asked Ala, a little shocked.

“No, you know him better than I do. That man does not need to chase women. We flock to him. I certainly considered it, though.”

Ala realised that she was right. “You’re right. Oh well. What about you? How are things here?”

Alissa did not have an easy life. The Innkeeper, her mother’s nephew did not approve of either his sister or her half-elven daughter. He treated them much the way he did Ala, which gave them something to bond over. Of course, Ala only had to tolerate him on her infrequent visits to the Ford Inn while Alissa lived with the bastard.

Ala briefly considered travelling into Taladaria itself to continue her search but somewhere deep inside she knew that this was Gabriel’s pattern. He simply moved on. She was sad about it, but she had known that Gabriel was a wanderer and she had never intended for it to be a truly serious relationship. She decided to go back to Thetwick, where she knew Bernard needed her to run the militia, silently saying her goodbyes to Gabriel.

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

Acting Captain

Life continued mostly unchanged for Ala. As Bernard got older groups of bandits and raids from Oakharrow seemed to become more frequent. After the Battle of Vanidil, trouble always seemed in the north of the March. It had not taken long after that first encounter with Oakharrowers in 955 for raiders to learn to flee whenever the Thetwick Militia was spotted. There had been more fights of course, but they had always ended badly for the Oakharrowers. At least, that had been the case when the militia was involved. The militia still wasn’t remotely able to stop most of the incursions.

Ala had ridden a few patrols that had been ambushed, but they had managed to fight her way out every time. The militia did occasionally suffer losses but thankfully whoever was directing the raids out of Oakharrow had no interest in training the unfortunate peasants that were sent to do the dirty work. She and Bernard took training the militia very seriously indeed and particularly the cavalrymen were not only well trained and equipped but used to working together. The Duke also sometimes allocated funds allowing Bernard to hire on mercenary help, which at the very least provided Ala with a source to learn a little more bladesmanship. Many mercenaries lost their practice field swagger when they learned just how devoted Ala was to her art.

The poor Oakharrow bastards doing the raiding were in very poor shape compared to Thetwick’s militia. Their equipment was generally the bare minimum, a makeshift gambeson or some sort of padding, a crude shield and a spear was what they usually encountered. They occasionally captured an Oakharrower and what they learned from interviewing them was that training was effectively nonexistent. Such men were inevitably hanged, which Ala hated. They were generally poor, destitute peasants who had simply been directed to do their Lord’s nefarious bidding as a means of fulfilling their obligatory service. Thankfully, the Constable was in charge of the executions. She stayed away from them.

She had become good at spotting likely ambush points and knew all of the northern Westmarch like the back of her hand. The militia had taken casualties, but it was less than she had expected considering the amount of time they now spent dealing with incursions from. Mostly the Oakharrowers ran as soon as they spotted the Westmarch Militia. They had, of course often devised plans to cut them off but it wasn’t easy considering the size of the area they had to patrol.

As Bernard grew older he was finding it more difficult to ride patrols himself. Eventually, Ala took over the job from him completely. By now, her effectiveness was no longer a subject of discussion among the militiamen. Among the cavalry and the archers, her orders were followed without question. She wasn’t certain her authority was unquestioned among all of the militia’s infantry contingent. The militia was only called in its entirety for practice. Those times when some infantrymen were needed to block a road or the like, Bernard selected men he trusted not to question Ala’s orders. Tales of her prowess that spread from militia members to their families certainly made Ala’s life as a militia leader easier. Leadership simplified life for Ala. The villagers expected a leader to be different to them in many ways, which seemed to make Ala’s strangeness less of an issue. She had stopped taking particular care to hide her ears as she didn’t think there was anyone left in the Westmarch who could possibly forget that she was a half elf.

Eventually, in 981, the old Constable, Roger Marchmain, finally died. It made little difference as his sons and grandsons had long proven themselves to be cut from the same cloth. His eldest son, Travis, had been assisting his father with his duties for years. He had been elected Constable by the town elders, though Ala was certain there had been foul play involved. She and Bernard were always isolated from the civil side of the town and it was hard to find out how it had happened. It was strange to Ala. The position of Constable was not officially hereditary, nor was it officially within the scope of the Town Council’s mandate to assign it to anyone. Originally, it had been a post to which you were appointed to by the Duke. It was hard to understand how that had come to change and the only thing she could really imagine was disinterest on the part of a previous Duke. She couldn’t even really remember how Roger Marchmain had gotten the post, it seemed as if he was just Constable one day and no one had thought to question it.

The new Constable was very chummy with the new scribe, who, though he was the old scribe’s son, seemed to be far more agreeable to the Marchmains. It boded even more problems, because if the scribe couldn’t be trusted, it was far easier for the Marchmains to contest any sort of document. It was also the scribe’s job to tally the votes at council meetings and both Ala and Bernard had their doubts whether the Constable’s election had been conducted fairly. Gordon Marchmain, thankfully, had not been spotted in the decade since he had raped Indira and murdered her and Callum.

It gradually became obvious to everyone in Thetwick that Ala was the effective day to day leader of the militia. Despite that, everyone who needed something still always asked to speak to Bernard. Speaking to a half-elven woman about anything seemed to be beyond most villagers ability to imagine. There were exceptions and Bernard usually then sent people who needed something on to her anyway. It was a constant reminder that even after more than a century in Thetwick, people still didn’t really see her as one of their own, even if Bernard had delegated his authority as militia Captain to her.

In practice, only the cavalry section of the militia was serving regularly as the Westmarch had to be patrolled far more than in the preceding decades. While not a professional unit, it’s members spent so much of their time in the militia they were practically professional soldiers. Because the horse breeders were generally reluctant to offer the militia good mounts, unless someone they trusted was riding them, serving in the militia’s cavalry slowly became more prestigious. It was interesting to Ala, to observe how ‘her’ cavalry unit slowly became an extension of Thetwick’s richer citizenship.

The archers were called from time to time too, when needed, but they and especially the infantry mostly only had to do their regular drills. The militia cavalry could still only be in so many places at once, so the locals suffered despite her and Bernard’s best efforts. Though Bernard’s well trained and equipped militia unfailingly prevailed during encounters with Oakharrowers and the body count steadily mounted. It seemed to Ala that the northern half of the March was dotted with the shallow graves that they dug to cover corpses of unfortunate Oakharrowers. The Count of Oakharrow clearly didn’t care how many didn’t come back.

In all, her duties continued to increase as Bernard became increasingly ancient. The militia was what filled her days. Bernard remained in quite good physical condition and his mind stayed keen but he became far too old to ride patrols, much less ride into battle. What time she didn’t spend on patrols was split between weapons practice, riding for the horse breeders and whatever other chores Bernard needed done to keep the militia in good order. Her daily life was mostly comparable that of a junior officer in a military unit. She didn’t live in a barracks, but she was constantly occupied with some aspect of the militia’s day to day operation. It suited her fine. Unable to fully be a part of Thetwick society, the militia work gave her a reason to keep distance and still allowed her to feel useful. It even resulted in a measure of appreciation from most of the populace, which she found she liked.

As far as Ala could tell she wasn’t growing any more by then. She was taller than most of the women in Thetwick and she had filled out rather nicely, she thought. What she was only partially aware of was that she had developed into an exquisitely beautiful young woman. She had grown tall and strong, filling out with muscle and feminine shape. She did her best to hide it, always wearing mail and cloaks to hide her form, though she found she cared less and less about hiding her hair and ears from the people of the Westmarch. She still covered them when faced with people who didn’t know her though, ever mindful of Palady’s warnings.

It was about this time that Bernard inquired why she dyed her hair. She’d been doing it as part of her weekly routine for a century and a half. Bernard had never paid much attention to that sort of ‘girly things’, as he annoyingly put it, but she had noticed that even he couldn’t help but admire her occasionally. It was one day when she was busy making the dye from some local plants and things when he asked her what she was doing.

“We’ve been living together for almost fifty years Bernard. Have you really never noticed me doing this?”

“Well. Yes. No. I mean, I’ve noticed it before, but it never really occurred to me to ask why.”

“It’s hair dye.”

“You dye your hair?”

“Yes. Palady always seemed to find it important. Made me promise. She said it was safer that way. How can you not know that?”

“Safer?”

“Yes, so I’d look more… normal or something. Make me look more like a harmless type of half-elf. I don’t really know why exactly. Just to seem mundane, I guess.”

“I think you may have mentioned that once, actually come to think of it.”

“I’m sure I have, Bernard.”

She reflected that it didn’t make a huge amount of sense. There were lots of variations of half elves, she’d learned. In fact they probably had a wider range of possible looks than either humans or elves, since some exotic elven features that weren’t among the normal human repertoire sometimes cropped up in half elves. Especially if one parent had been a water elf, she’d heard.

Bernard had regarded her for a bit and shook his head before he spoke. “Right… uhm, well forget I said anything.”

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

Young Orck

Brabak lived to the south, beyond the Irin Mountains, in the range unimaginatively named the ‘Orck Mountains’. Brabak was big for his age, as well as very strong. That didn’t really help him much, in his opinion. Full grown orcks obviously didn’t care about it when they were harassing him. He supposed it must mean there were less other orcks that could best him than if he were smaller, so it was probably better to be big than small. Not that there weren’t enough orcks left who could and did beat him when he got in the way or they wanted a distraction. None of that was unusual, among orcks.

He thought about that from time to time, wondering whether it was useful to be big for one’s age or not. He was a proud orck, with ancestors who had died in big battles the Headcutter tribe had been a part of. The last big horde had been almost thirty years ago now, where his grandfather, Gork had been killed. His great grandfather had died that year too, during events leading up to the battle or something. No one was sure what had happened, not even his mother, who was a half orck wise-woman. None of his great grandfather’s warband had returned from their outing to the north. The orcks had been so decimated then, that they had limited themselves to smaller raids for almost thirty years now. Now, the Headcutters had grown again, their numbers back to the size they had been before the great battle. Surely, they must venture out from the mountains again soon? Brabak longed for the days of glory when the orcks had things to fight other than each other.

Among the orcks you could abuse whoever you wanted, as long as you could survive the reaction. If you couldn’t that obviously solved itself too. The young orcks were distractions to the adults. They couldn’t put up as much of fight, so older orcks made them do whatever they wanted. All young orcks longed for the day when they were full grown. That way there were the fewest possible bigger and stronger orcks around to harass you. It essentially described all of orck society, Brabak thought. Everyone was constantly trying to decrease the amount of other orcks that could bully or dominate them. He was sure it was exceedingly inefficient, that it stopped orcks from achieving the glory and and gaining the plunder they should rightfully have.

Brabak was a popular target for other orcks to measure their strength against because his mother was a half orck. She was even still alive, though she had produced more offspring and mostly left them to fend for themselves. Brabak’s mother, Rawa Haik, even had some small magic. She was a wise-woman, one of the only females in Orck society with any sort of power. To Brabak it was really only another reason to be singled out by bigger, older orcks. Not that they needed more reasons, because Brabak’s father, Babrak had also been a powerful orck, a war leader. No one could get even with him, so attacking his offspring was a popular way to vent frustrations. Brabak defended himself viciously, brutally killing his assailants whenever he could.

When Brabak started to realise he could fend for himself better than most, he also realised it would be useful to have someone to do stuff for him. He observed the other orcks for a time and selected one who wasn’t physically or mentally his equal, but who was still quite cunning for an orck. This orck, Iktok, a few years his junior he selected to protect and make sure he got more than his fair share of the food. In return, Iktok did things for him. It was exactly what Brabak had had in mind. It seemed smart to him, to select a few allies whose best interest it was to be loyal to him and occasionally he added another to their number. Contrary to most orcks, he didn’t rely on violence to control his allies. The only thing he punished was disloyalty and this he did so so brutally that the orck in question always died a painful death shortly after anyway.

The Headcutter tribe mostly moved around a vast mountainous area with craggy peaks that the other orcks just called the Orck Mountains. Little did Brabak know that that’s what the rest of the world called the place too. Day to day life consisted of violence, going down out of the mountains to steal livestock and gain plunder, as well as ranging around the mountains themselves looking for food. An orck will and can eat almost anything, though they prefer the same things humans would rate as good food. In a pinch though, almost anything will do, including other orcks. Daily survival was not to be taken for granted and Brabak learned to excel at it.

Brabak thought he was around twelve summers old. An orck was full grown at fifteen, but Brabak was almost as big as most full grown orcks by then as well as smarter than most and meaner, when needed. Brabak was quite successful in making sure he had more to eat than the other young orcks, making him bigger still. There was also an old warrior orck, one who had survived much longer than was customary. Brabak had a sort of tacit agreement with the older orck. This orck, named Togut, had seen that Brabak was going to be big and strong. When Brabak killed two full grown orcks that winter in a struggle over a goat, Togut had decided that Brabak deserved special attention. Aside from the abuse by Togut, which was rare but brutal, it had made Brabak’s life considerably easier. Togut was actually teaching him things about fighting and weapons too.

It was paradise for Brabak. Other orcks had been getting wary of him already, but no one dared cross Togut. He knew there would be some sort of reckoning, there was no way Togut was doing this out of kindness, but Brabak understood that the more he knew about fighting, the better his life would be among the Headcutter tribe. Cooperating with Togut would be good for both of them, he knew. He swiftly became Togut’s second, in charge of the details when they went raiding in the lowlands. On one of his first raids, he spotted a human employing a bow. Orcks didn’t think much of bows. They were too delicate and required too much practice was the customary opinion. Brabak had seen the human fire four arrows in the time it would take an orck with a stolen crossbow to load and fire just one shot. He took the man’s bow and arrows after he killed him and spent a lot of time learning to use it.

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