Tag: The Half-Elven Orphan

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

Dwarven Mourning

She was woken by Myrthe who brought her a tub of water so she could clean up. Myrthe brushed her hair, silently removing grime and what could only be dried blood. She dressed, and pulled on her mail. She left the ruined tabard and also discovered that her cloak was just as damaged, so she left that behind too. Outside, she found out that Caerel had stood to what was left of his troops, to pay final respects to the fallen dwarves. In the light of dawn, the silhouettes of the armoured guardsmen and dwarves had a mystical quality that was befitting of the solemn occasion. The fallen dwarves each lay side by side, about a yard apart, on a bier that the dwarves must have constructed during the night. The ceremony was mostly silent, except for things that sounded like prayers in the language of thunder. Ulfberht beckoned Ala forward.

“Lady Alagariel, would you do the honours? It would be a boon to my kinsmen.”

It took her a second to realise what he was asking.

“Of course, Master Ulfberht.”

She had to concentrate to project her fire outwards far enough in six directions to light each pyre at once, but she managed it. All six biers turned into roaring infernos in moments. Behind her, the five remaining dwarves spoke in their thunder language. Ala stepped backwards in line next to Myrthe. Myrthe leaned in and whispered in her ear “Kinsmen, may you be borne to the halls of the gods upon these wings of elven fire.”

It was beautiful. Ala could feel tears running down her cheeks. She hadn’t known these dwarves, but they had been comrades in arms for a short while and the ceremony affected her. It didn’t matter at all that she’d only known them for a few hours at most. Bernard had spoken often of his brothers in arms, perhaps he had meant something like this? The ceremony also left Ala wondering where Myrthe had learned to speak dwarven.

After the ceremony, the dwarves kept their vigil, requesting that everyone go about their business and leave them to it. Ala got some more rest, which was also what Brugor had in mind for his hard pushed troops. They did start to make some small clean ups and repairs. Thankfully, no forces from Thetwick had yet been spotted. Talathiel had climbed onto the roof of the inn after the ceremony, near a point where Brugor had stationed two archers. They looked a little quizzical when the water elf turned to face the river adjusted her stance and began to speak slowly. By the time Ala was rested and went up onto the roof to see if Talathiel needed anything she could already see what the water wizard was doing. The river was swirling, twisting and lapping at the land directly up and downstream of the Inn and the ford. The land was eroding before Ala’s eyes. After a few minutes watching the spectacle, Ala could come to no other conclusion. Talathiel was altering the course of the river. It was a brutal demonstration of the Magister’s power. It was also very cool and quite unnerving. When Ala came down to the courtyard, she had to explain it to Caerel.

“Ala, what is your aunt doing?”

“She’s not my aunt, Caerel. She’s Gladiuth’s aunt.”

“Whatever. What’s she doing?”

“I think she’s making you a moat. When she’s done I expect the Ford Inn will be on an island in the river.”

That left Caerel looking at her in disbelief, but he didn’t press the point. After a moment, he just said, “I guess a moat would be nice.”

He then decided there was something more important that needed his attention and walked off shaking his head, leaving Ala behind wondering what to do with herself. The dwarves had embarked on the next part of their mourning process and that involved ale, cider and beer in no particular order. It was a ceremonial toasting, where anecdotes featuring the deceased were told. They understood that an attack might be imminent from the direction of Thetwick and didn’t seem to intend to get roaring drunk, sipping sparingly as each tale about their lost friends was toasted. Ala settled on the roof of the inn, where she had a good view of the surrounding countryside and could watch Talathiel at work. She stood in a number of poses, always with the knees slightly bent, and usually with her arms spread out, at a downward angle, her hand palms downwards. At some points in the ritual, she clearly had time to speak with Ala.

“This stance is called ‘water’,” Talathiel said. “Try it.” She turned away from the river, towards Alagariel. Ala stood up from where she was sitting, and faced her, mirroring her pose.

“Like this?”

“Yes, that’s about right. Small variations do different things, so there’s no exact right way to do it. You won’t feel anything at first, I think, but if you stand for long enough, you will.”

Talathiel changed her pose. “Earth,” she said and then moved again. “Metal.” She showed her wood and fire too. Ala tried each of the positions. There was something about them… something tickling at the edge of her mind in each one. It was strongest when standing in the fire position.

“This is a part of magic?” Ala asked.

“Not really. But it helps focus magic. Magic can be focused by rituals, though it is the significance of that ritual to the one conducting it that seems to be what is most important to channelling magic. Despite knowing this, I know of none who can channel it without resorting to such ritual. For we elves our rituals focus on the five elements I mentioned. We will speak more of it later. My request needs my attention.”

Ala tried the positions again on her own. Fire, particularly did something though she wouldn’t have been able to describe what she felt. She sat down and looked in the direction of Thetwick for a while after that, then did some sword-forms, allowing the familiar routines to relax her. After a while, she spotted Ulfberht in the courtyard waving at her to come down.

Ulfberht came over to her. “Lady Alagariel, I wish to speak with you.”

“Of course, Master Ulfberht. Why the formality?”

“It is a grave and formal matter of which I speak.”

“Please, Master, go ahead.”

“I have discussed the matter with my kinsmen and we have decided to explain what we are doing here.”

“I’ll admit I’m curious, Master Ulfberht.”

“Your sword. May I see it?”

“I would trust you with my life Ulfberht, but I’ve been told that drawing the blade might hurt those it’s not intended for. I would trust you to know of such matters, so if you wish I will give it to you.”

“Really? One of those? Who told you that? If it’s one of those blades… well I’m all the more eager to see it. You are right though. It could be dangerous. Perhaps you can hold it up so that I can inspect it?”

“Of course.” She drew the weapon slowly and held it up for him to look at it, slowly rotating it so that the light showed the details of the blade.

“Yes… yes… a true elf blade… and a very ancient one at that. One of the first perhaps. Look at the intricacy of those patterns. Beautiful. Would you tilt it please?”

She did.

“Yes, yes, just so, the dendritic pattern is very clear. Exquisite.” His eyes drifted the the hilt, “I see the pommel and grip are not original?”

“No. When the sword came to me, they had been damaged beyond repair by something. Acid I think. I have the pieces that are left.”

“It’s a passable job. Little training, but deft fingers and a lot of time. Did you make those yourself?”

“I did.”

“Then it may suffice. You possess a magnificent weapon, Lady Alagariel. The tales that accompany it must be fascinating.”

“I wish I knew some of them. It’s also my only real clue to finding out if I have any living kin.”

“Somewhere, there must be at least some elves alive who know that sword. With such life spans and learning, I can’t imagine none know of it.”

“I do hope you’re right.”

“Perhaps you will find one who can help. Now, about why Clan Ulfberht has travelled so far from Dwarfholme. I should explain. The ore that is required to forge blades like yours is the reason we came. Patterns, like the one in your blade, are initially formed by certain impurities in the steel. If a suitable smelting and forging process is used, that pattern you can see emerges. The crystalline structures in the steel blade align, achieving an unmatched flexibility and hardness. As good, some even claim better, than an Ulfberht blade. As true masters of our craft, we are required to learn the secrets of this forging process. We know for certain at least, that ore suitable to forge these swords was mined in that mountain range over there,” he pointed South, where the Irin mountains started.

“So, then you are on a quest to learn more of your art. A master craftsman seeking to learn yet more. It’s a noble calling, in my opinion.”

“We launched the expedition to find the ore. If we can, we meant to petition the Duke to be allowed to mine it and use it.”

“You said the pattern was initially formed from these impurities? I was told the pattern changes with use. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. I think, actually, that the blades the elves make are also infused with magic or elven essence in some way. Perhaps it is simply the ritual of their forging that does it, magic is a subject largely beyond my ken. Dwarves are notoriously unmagical. I have no idea how that is done, or whether such a thing could be done by dwarves. I have seen too much to discount the idea that there may be some magic in everything however. History makes me think that the elves know much more about unlocking it than the dwarves.”

“Dwarves are the ones with the reputations as the greatest of smiths.”

“A fair point, though I often wonder if that is because anyone can use a dwarven weapon… to fully use an elf blade, well, I think you must have some elven magic. I saw your blade work yesterday. You are fully attuned to your blade I think, but perhaps even greater things are possible. You are young, are you not, for an elf? I have studied the legends of the battle-dance. The greatest of the fire-elven battle-dancers were said to be able to project such fire and heat that they could slice straight through an enemy’s blade or armour, melting it as their blades passed through. Perhaps there is more you can yet master?”

“I am certain there is… and… Ulf… Thank you… for sharing your knowledge.”

“I have told you why I am here. My kinsmen and I are not yet certain of what we must do next. It depends a little on what happens here. Might I ask why you are here?”

“Me personally, or the group I travel with?”

“I can see there are things amiss in Thetwick, so I can understand why the Duke sent a force to investigate. Why you are with them is a little more curious, though. Would you enlighten me?”

“To be honest, I don’t know. I came back here to claim the inheritance my adoptive uncle left me. It was his family home and lands and I do not wish to tarnish his memory by leaving it to the Oakharrowers or these awful Phansigar. He charged me with seeing his possessions are well cared for, so I will see it through.”

“So you are seeking to safeguard your uncles’ lands. That is a fair enough calling.”

“To be honest, if the situation in Thetwick returns to its former stability, I would probably find a steward for his estate. I don’t actually have a real desire to hold his wealth. After that, I had plans to visit the elven realms and see if I could discover who my parents were. I have not given it much thought beyond that.”

“So you mean to take back Thetwick?”

“I don’t see how that is possible, without taking on Oakharrow itself. Thetwick is not really defensible against a determined army. To do that, I would bypass Thetwick, if I were the Duke or perhaps the King, should he choose to get involved.”

“As would I. I am thinking I will do this. My kinsmen will travel into the mountains. Among them is my house’s master smelter. He is the one most knowledgeable about ores. I should mention he is still with us thanks to the ministrations of you friend, the Priestess of Guanshiyin. I have, of course told her of our gratefulness and we will make a grand donation to her faith.”

“Myrthe embodies the tenets of Guanshiyin fully, she did not do it seeking anything from you.”

“I know this, but among dwarves, one good turn deserves another. We Ulfberhts prefer to pay out debts promptly.”

“I understand.”

“Now, to continue, transporting ore is highly impractical. If we find the ore, the ingots must be made locally. To do so, Thetwick needs to be stable and open to trade. I will not deal with the Phansigar. That puts my interests in line with the Duke’s, and I suppose, yours. Therefore my suggestion is that I join you in your travels, at least as long as they are aimed at returning Thetwick to the Duke’s control. If I am to leave House Ulfberht with a legacy, I must pursue the source of this ore to the end. I must endeavour to secure lasting access to the ore and my presence is likely more valuable offering you assistance than it will be mining a few chunks of ore.”

Ala didn’t understand why all these magnificent people she was meeting wanted to travel with her, but the idea of this solid dwarf as a travelling companion set her at ease, somehow.

“I think I would like that very much Master Ulfberht. Your sword with us would be most welcome. Though we’ll have to explain it to Caerel. I can’t imagine he will be against it after hearing your tale.”

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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.

Ford Inn

The four of them cantered towards the Inn, moving much faster than the column with its prisoners, wounded and baggage. It would cut hours off their travel time. They approached the Inn at the end of the afternoon. They drew up and observed for a while. From a distance everything looked normal.

“Looks quite peaceful, doesn’t it?” Ala offered.

Matt offered an opinion, “yeah. I don’t like it.”

“He says that a lot, doesn’t he, Ala?” Quipped Myrthe.

Ala asked Fulgor to continue and the others followed. It was quiet, but seeing as the events in Thetwick had paralysed almost all trade, that made sense. They rode into the caravan yard. There were groups of refugees here, and even a few pedlars who couldn’t quite be described as proper merchants. Ala didn’t think they would be continuing their journey to Thetwick, not once they had apprised themselves of the news from travellers. That was unless they sold weapons and armour, of course, there was certain to be a demand for that in Thetwick now. They rode into the walled courtyard where the caravans typically camped. It really seemed like it was mostly refugees now, even more than the previous time they had passed through, which was only a few days before. The refugees stared at them as they rode in, many with a discomforting, blank, expression. She didn’t see anyone in any kind of armour, making her wonder where the warrior monks that had left Thetwick two days before had gone.

Ala thought about what she had overheard. Could some of the refugees be Mahr followers dressed up as peasants? It was very hard to tell a Oakharrower or a warrior monk from a peasant if you couldn’t go by armour and weapons. Especially if they were just standing still watching you, wearing the customary oversized peasant garb. As they were tying their horses, Ala spoke quietly to the others.

“There must at least be spies. I can’t really imagine that Oakharrow hasn’t placed scouts here. It’s actually strange that it hasn’t simply been taken over by those Mahr worshippers yet, with so many men available in Thetwick.”

“I’ll see what I can find out,” said Matt.

“Perhaps the Count wanted things to appear as normal as possible as long as he could,” mused Myrthe. “If he’d taken this place, word would have spread further into Taladaria by now.”

“Perhaps it’s as simple as that,” Ala agreed.

“I’m going to talk to the refugees, I think Guanshiyin’s hand might be of some use there, even if I learn nothing.”

“Be really careful Myr, some of those Mahrian monks could easily be mixed in with the refugees.”

“I’m just a wandering priestess… no threat. I’ll be fine.”

That left Ala and Talathiel standing in the courtyard. Ala felt uncomfortable with Myrthe’s plan but decided, for lack of a better suggestion, to get on with things. She couldn’t help but wonder if the Mahrians were letting the Inn continue on as normal just to see what they might catch.

In the meantime Talathiel was standing with her nose tilted upwards as is she was smelling something. “Well, that’s still a beautiful river. It is an old friend. I’ve always loved the Iceflow. Its currents is strong, as it has been for millennia. If we must defend this place I will ask it for help.”

“Is that something common to all water elves, the way you can… manipulate… the water?”

“No. Well. I suppose we must all have some affinity. It’s not manipulation though. That would be rude. It’s more like… coaxing. I ask and it comes. But I have cultivated that affinity. It is not uncommon among water elven wizards. It just comes more naturally than other forms of magic. We are water, somehow. Just like you are Fire. My affinity is much like yours. Not all elves have it as strongly as you and I, however.”

“I would love to learn more about it, Talathiel, but we should probably make certain we are safe here first.”

“I agree. We should pretend not to know the human boy while he goes about his business, I think. In fact, that may be sensible even in less contested places. Let us go see what is happening in the common room.”

The two of them went inside. Ala was beginning to lose the habit of raising her hood when she walked into any kind of establishment. Not that there was any point with Talathiel next to her, the sorceresses’ looks skipped right past exotic and were best well in a category best described as otherworldly.

The common room was not as busy as Ala had known it to be in the past. Not that she’d expected it to be, considering the situation outside. The atmosphere was subdued, people were speaking softly if at all, huddled together around a few tables. When Thetwick was controlled by the Duke, traders, minstrels and prostitutes had livened the place up almost every night. There were some refugees coming and going, taking food to the courtyard and Alissa was serving more of them, filling bowls with stew from the cauldron over the fire. There were a few groups of men, and even a group of well armoured dwarves, who were arguing with one another in their own language, which sounded a like thunder. It was a rarity and Ala stared.

She’d never seen proper mountain dwarves before. She’d seen a few plains dwarves in Duilhac of course and there was the one at the Duke’s court, but they had dressed and behaved as short stocky humans. When she was younger there had been the occasional dwarf she’d seen travelling with a caravan. She was fairly certain those had to have been plains dwarves too. This was a full-on band of mountain dwarves wearing angular plate armour and furs, with a wide range of oversized swords, crossbows, picks, flails and axes strewn about them. They had several weapons each, certainly more than any human would customarily carry.

“Your mouth is open Alagariel,” said Talathiel.

“Oh. Sorry. Just never seen a band of dwarves like that.”

“Mountain dwarves. Feisty bunch. Don’t come down from their mountains all that often and never without a pressing reason. I wonder what they’re doing out here? I can’t imagine it’s good.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Hmm… well… they are probably either selling weapons and armour, or they’re mercenaries. If the word has passed to the mountain kingdoms that there’s profit to be had here… well, it’s the most likely reason to find dwarves anywhere… but…”

“What?”

“Normally it’s more plains dwarves in those professions. Unusual to see a group of mountain dwarves out and about at all…”

Talathiel was pensive for a moment before continuing.

“If they are mercenaries or arms merchants, the information would have had to be carried through the Duke’s lands for them to make the trip via the Ford Inn. Such rumours could never have skipped by Duilhac without coming to the Duke’s attention. If they had learned of opportunities here through Greythorn or Oakharrow, they would never have passed through here. I think then, I have no idea whatsoever what they might be doing here.”

Ala couldn’t argue with Talathiel’s logic. The only real population of mountain dwarves she had heard of lived to the southwest in a realm called Dwarfholme. It was said to be entirely underground.

“Good point. Ford Inn really isn’t on the way from the dwarven Kingdom to Thetwick.”

“No. It isn’t. It’s strange that they’re here. It may even be something as silly as coincidence. Who would have imagined that? It doesn’t really make much sense.”

“Can’t we just ask them?”

“Mountain dwarves and elves don’t get along. Metal elves sometimes, but water and dwarf is a sure way to reach a disagreement. I’m not sure how they react to fire elves. Maybe they aren’t either. It’s been half a millennium since your kind was much seen in society after all. They are longer lived than humans of course, but still there will be almost no dwarves alive that remember King Anfos.”

“Do you remember him?”

“Not consciously, it wasn’t really something to worry about before everything happened. I never met him, or anything. After Fire was lost, well, something changed. There was an acute difference to how elven kind… felt… I suppose. It’s difficult to put words to it.”

“It’s hard to imagine for me. I don’t even have a real idea of what elven kind is like today, let alone five hundred years ago,” said Ala, as much to herself as to Talathiel.

The dwarves seemed to have settled matters between them. It was a cause for celebration and they ordered a cask of the innkeeper’s best ale tapped in accented but fluent common.

“This may get raucous,” said Talathiel.

The other two groups of men hadn’t escaped Ala’s attention either. They looked like pilgrims, though Ala felt there was something out of place with them. Too fit, too well fed and too muscular. What pilgrims might be doing here, or on the way to where they might be, Ala had no idea of. She wasn’t aware of a pilgrimage site worth visiting in Thetwick.

“Talathiel. The pilgrims. Their presence doesn’t make sense either.”

“Why not? Humans have flights of fancy all the time. No reason they couldn’t have decided that Thetwick’s bear pits or cauliflowers or whatever are holy or sacred or whatever this week. Humans are prone to such flights of fancy.”

Talathiel had already demonstrated she was extremely dismissive of humanity, but was obviously going to offer new and creative ways of reiterating the point. Ala wasn’t convinced, however.

“I don’t think so Talathiel. They’re all between twenty and forty, muscled, and they appear disciplined. I count sixteen of them.”

Talathiel appeared to reconsider the pilgrims, “hmm, you may have a point. We should really either sit down somewhere or go get something at the bar. We’re beginning to attract real attention from the dwarves.”

They were still standing at the door. Ala led them to one of many unoccupied tables. The half elven serving girl, Alissa came to their table, looking mistrustful and tired.

“Heya Ala… err Lady Alagariel..”

“Let’s not act different about all that, can we? Please?” Ala Asked.

“Right… Sow what can I get ya…. err… Ala, Lady Elf?”

“It’s good to see you, Alissa.”

That finally caused her to smile a little.

“You too. Now what do you want?”

“May we have some watered wine please, and perhaps some food.”

Alissa gave a terse smile, “alright, I’ll get you some stew, it’s all we have right now, I’m afraid.”

Ala nodded agreement. Alissa looked as she had not been having an easy time of it. When she left, one of the dwarves who had been looking at them, got up and approached them.

“Afternoon, Ladies. May I introduce myself?” he asked. “I am Ulfberht Ulfberhtsson, of the Kingdom of Dwarfholme, may we speak for a moment?”

Ala decided to be nice and see if the rumours were true.

“Master Ulfberht, a pleasure. I am Alagariel. This is Talathiel. How may we be of ser…”

Talathiel interrupted.

“You are the patriarch of house Ulfberht? What is such a vaunted smith doing here, at the Ford Inn of all places?”

“I am indeed, it pleases me that you know of our works. As for why we are here? It is a long tale.”

“Not trade?” Asked Ala.

“No. Ulfberht works are well enough known that we need not venture out to sell our wares. We can barely meet demand as it is.”

“Perhaps you should sit, Master Ulfberht,” Ala offered.

“Yes, yes thank you, Lady Alagariel.”

The stocky dwarf manoeuvred himself onto a chair. It was an ungainly process as he couldn’t sit and keep his feet on the floor. Ala wondered for a moment why a dwarf would address her as a noble. Or was he just erring on the safe side like many humans did?

“We are here in pursuit of our craft, I cannot tell you more. The secrets of house Ulfberht’s forge are our livelihood. A true master smith would even be able to guess what we are after just because of where we are looking for it.”

Ala spotted Matt coming into the common room. She pretended not to see him, he did the same to her and Talathiel.

“I understand Master Ulfberht,” said Ala, then more quietly, “there are troubles in these lands, I am pleased your journey is not seeking to become a part of them.”

“I do not seek violence, unless it is just and necessary, if that is what you mean.” He continued, “tell me Lady Alagariel. We Ulfberht’s make it a point never to rest on our laurels, we are constantly seeking to improve. To that end I have extensively studied elven forge works. I notice that the armour you wear is of an ancient elven make and quality that is seldom seen. Your sword, however, appears out of kilter, although the shape of the scabbard suggests that all is perhaps not as it seems.”

The dwarf’s eye for metal work was certainly what you’d expect from a master smith, Ala thought. While they were talking, Matt was moving around, exchanging banter with Alissa and the innkeeper. He was also exchanging words with various patrons and made an attempt at a jest with the two other groups of men which obviously wasn’t appreciated. He apologised and beat a hasty retreat back to the innkeeper. Once the pilgrims attention was not on him, he struck up a conversation with the innkeeper again.

Ala turned back to Ulfberht.

“You are very observant, Master Ulfberht. I am afraid I have a bit more immediate concerns. A fight will break out here soon I expect. Would you and your band please leave the common room?”

“I do not seek violence, Lady Elf. But I do not run away from it either.”

“With all respect Master Ulfberht. You and your band are an uncertain factor.”

“Are we now? Then it is a matter of allegiance?”

“Do you see those men over there?”

“You mean the Phansigar scum?”

“Phansigar?”

“Yes, I am quite certain,” se said with a serious expression, “I caught a glimpse of a tattoo, or the edge of one at least. It can scarce be much else.”

“You call them Phansigar? Why? What is a Phansigar?

“These vile bandits… we call them Phansigar, do you not use the same term? Anyway, we will gladly assist you in dispatching them. I thought it was against the law of the land, it stayed my hand, or we would have long have wet the floors with their blood.”

“We have encountered them before, but the name is new to me. Does the tattoo look like spread wings and two curved swords?”

“Yes, yes, that is their emblem. I was surprised to see them here, Lady Alagariel. They live in a chain of high and well defended monasteries just outside the borders of Dwarfholme, to the east of our lands. How they stop the orcks from running them off I do not know. I suspect some sort of arrangement.”

“Do you know anything else about them? Their motivations and goals perhaps?”

“They are a kind of despicable warrior monks that follow some entity or thing they call Mahr. Their right of passage is gaining the trust of a group of travellers and raping and murdering them in their sleep. They take any children back to their monasteries to be brainwashed. I am certain there is magic involved. They train full obedience and warfare as well as gaining trust. Assassination is a favourite of theirs.”

“You clearly know more of them than I, master dwarf. When things aren’t quite so precarious I would like to hear more of what you know about them.”

He continued on, seemingly not in a rush to start the fight, “they even have a religious dogma on which all this is distasteful behaviour based, or so I’ve been told. Being humans, dwarven travellers know to be wary. They have frequently preyed on those who come to visit with us and trade with us.”

Ala frowned, thinking of the bandits that plagued Sheffield. “Please go one Master Ulfberht?”

“These attacks on folk who mean to trade with us are an intolerable blemish on our honour. The dwarves of Dwarfholme hate them passionately. We have attempted to destroy their monasteries, but many are too deep within orck lands, or so inaccessible that doing so causes great losses among us. Still we campaign against them every year.”

“We have friends approaching. I was going to wait for them to arrive,” said Ala.

Talathiel spoke, having listened intently to Ulfberht’s explanation. “Wait a moment Alagariel. I have heard of murdering travellers. It’s happening around the kingdom. They make it their habit to gain travellers trust and travel with them until the opportune moment. They could be travelling everywhere with these refugees. There may be more of them in the yard, too if that is the disguise they are using.”

“Then the Phansigar are active in Taladaria, I would say, Lady Talathiel,” lamented Ulfberht.

“You are correct. Though, I’m no Lady, Master Ulfberht. That’s just Alagariel here.”

“Mistress Talathiel then or perhaps I should say, Magister?”

“Very observant, Master Ulfberht.”

Ala felt out of her depth. Apparently her educations on elven matters hadn’t covered how to actually recognise a Magister yet. She filed it for later.

“If the Phansigar are in among the refugees in the courtyard, this is not going to be neat. There will be innocent deaths.”

Ala looked around. “Maybe we just take the common room, for starters. We just need to make sure Myrthe is safe.”

The situation took over at that moment. One of the Phansigar had apparently decided something was not in order with Matt and had stood up, drawing a long dagger. Matt, as martially inept as he was, was backpedalling hard trying to get his sword up between them. The Phansigar’s companions were also rising, pulling weapons from their robes. Ulfberht bellowed something that sounded ever so much like thunder. His companions all sprang into action, readying their weapons. Ala got up and made for Matt, drawing her sword on the way. She jumped from table to table, severing the Phansigar’s arm below the elbow before he could really do anything about it because he was busy fending off Matt with his shorter weapon. Losing his weapon hand allowed Matt to run the man through, which he did with a horrified look in his eyes.

There was already a clash going on between the dwarves and the Phansigar. The dwarves were outnumbered, but they were fully equipped, while the “pilgrims” hadn’t been wearing mail as part of their disguise, so they were hard pressed. They did their trick where they simply sacrificed a few lessers, but this time Matt and Ala had been expecting it. Between the two of them, they cut down all four of the Phansigar who had been trying to move away with the blood bought cover. It was to no avail. The dwarves made short work of the remaining monks, except for one, who appeared to have drowned on the spot and was leaking water out of his mouth. Ala glanced in Talathiel’s direction, she looked back and shrugged.

“Matt, can you see if Myrthe is alright? I hope they didn’t hear the fight in the courtyard. Helmut, do you know if these men were with any of the groups of refugees?”

The Innkeeper peeked out from behind his counter, which he had ducked behind during the fight.

“No… no milady…. not that I know of.”

She pulled the arm up of one of the dead Phansigar, and stripped back the sleeve.

“None of them has a tattoo? Like this one? Spread wings with two curved swords underneath?”

“Uhmm… no… I don’t think…”

Alissa raised her head, “I think I’ve seen that, err, milady…” she said uncomfortable with addressing her friend as a noble. “The group at the back of the courtyard. One of the men had something that looked like that on his forearm.”

“Alright, that’s one group anyway. We’d best go and weed them out. We should really check everyone here. Do they have any women in the ranks that you know of, Master Ulfberht?”

“I don’t know Lady Alagariel. I think I’ve heard that they do take female children from time to time. I’ve never known them to travel with like minded women. I a scared to think what they do with the children, in fact.”

Ala addressed Helmut once more, “Ford Inn is requisitioned in the name of the Duke of Taladaria. Lord Caerel will be here shortly. You and your people will assist us.”

“Yes milady…” he managed without including any racial slurs, then under his breath… “it’s about time…”

Matt came rushing back in. “I found a window. Something is going on out there, I can’t see Myrthe anywhere.”

“So we go outside,” said Ala, and led off, unslinging her shield. Ulfberht followed close behind followed by the rest of his noisily armoured band. He seemed eager to continue the fight.

Outside, it became clear that there hadn’t been any real refugees at all. Everyone in the courtyard seemed to be bearing weapons, with the exception of all the women and children. They weren’t refugees either though, they had simply been hostages… dressing to make the Phansigar believable. It disgusted Ala. The Phansigar had murdered these women’s husbands, sons and brothers, burnt their homes then beat and raped them into submission just to make sure they would be more believable refugees. She felt an unfamiliar desire to remove them from existence.

The dwarves and Ala were surrounded, it seemed like there might as many as a hundred of them, though Ala knew one tended to exaggerate the size of groups of people. Thankfully, they wouldn’t be terribly well equipped and armoured. So perhaps seventy, she decided. Still far too many. Caerel was at least another hour away.

“I did not realise today would be my last day when I woke this morning, Lady Alagariel,” said Ulfberht, scanning the Phansigar in front of them with a serious expression.

“Nor I mine, Master Ulfberht.”

“I think under the circumstances, we can be a little more familiar. My friend dwarves call me Ulf. We dwarves cannot run, Lady Alagariel. We are not much built for it as well as being unseemly. Please use the time we can buy to try and escape.”

“My name is Ala, to friends, Ulf. I didn’t know it until just now, but I will stay with you. It is where I should be and it would not be right to leave my fight to you. Talathiel, Matt, I think it is vital that the two of you get to Caerel to warn him and then make sure the Duke knows.”

Neither Matt nor Talathiel argued. She could see they wanted to, but they knew it was pointless. Both of them simply did as she said. Particularly in Talathiel’s case, that surprised Ala. In any event her decision was made, she felt no doubt. She looked around for Myrthe. Probably already dead, she decided.

Ala felt very calm.

“Dwarves of house Ulfberht, may I have the honour of fighting alongside you?” Ala asked.

They responded, apparently as one and without prompting with a battle cry in their thunder language. The dwarves formed a line, to either side of Ulf and Ala, and raised their weapons high. Ala was still calm as she called her fire, concentrating for a moment to let it envelop her and then, to her surprise, her new-found friends, whose grim faces looked up in wonder as the golden-red flames enveloped them in a shell of fire without burning or blinding them.

The Phansigar had gathered, weapons drawn. They had pulled out shields and some had armour. In the middle of their line was an older man, with a warrior’s physique and a beard. He looked angry, apparently only barely able to contain his rage at their defiance. Ala’s calm became deeper still. The dwarves took up a rhythmic chant and began to march forwards, she fell into step with them. The Phansigar also came forward and as the first one lifted his blade to strike, Ala’s world gently changed to the place where time at once went impossibly fast and terribly slow. She could move freely, easily anticipating each opponent’s blow. She didn’t really know where she went or what she did exactly, though she later found she could remember all of it in detail if she concentrated.

Then, all of a sudden, it was over. It was quite a lot later and she stood in a dim courtyard that had been bright in the evening sun until a moment ago. Around her, dwarves were lighting torches. A horn call was heard in the distance. Caerel was close. The whole courtyard was strewn with bodies, among them several dwarves. Ulfberht was still standing, though he had deep gashes. Ala checked herself, she didn’t have a cut on her, though her tabard had countless slashes showing the elven mail beneath.

“Well Lady Alagariel, had I known you were a battle-dancer, I would not have acted so dramatic and emotional. Though…” he said, surveying the carnage, “the legends hardly do you justice.”

Ala looked around all the corpses in bewilderment too. How much of it was she responsible for?

“I didn’t know I could battle dance myself, until just now. I prefer Ala though, truly, Ulf. Surely I am only responsible for a very small part of all this?”

As she said it, she realised that probably wasn’t true. For almost all the corpses that lay in her field of view, she found she could remember how they had met their end on her blade.

“Well, we dwarves accounted for a fair share of course,” he said with a grin, “but, truth be told, not as fair as yours. My kinsmen fought bravely and well, I will mourn the passing of my friends who fell. They have honourably earned their place in the halls of the gods. Still, I think great friendships are forged on such days where there is also great tragedy, Ala.”

“I am honoured.” It seemed the only appropriate response. Suddenly a panic came over her. “Have you seen my friend, Myrthe? She is a priestess of Guanshiyin. Talathiel and Matt?”

“There do appear to have been some genuine refugees spread in amongst them. They tied them up over there. We’re untying them one by one, checking forearms. I think I saw one in a priestesses’ robes among them. The water elf and the human did as they were told. They scaled the wall over there. I think they just saw the beginning of your dance, perhaps, perhaps not.”

“It’s a strange thing. Like it wasn’t me, but it was at the same time. But I must find Myrthe, first,” she said as she rushed towards where the refugees were gathered.

Ala found herself crying with relief. Myrthe was alright, except for a nasty bump on the head and looking dishevelled.

“Oh, thank god you’re alright Ala. Was that a battle-dance?”

Ala nodded self consciously.

“It was beautiful and terrible all at once… and all that fire…”

“What happened to you, Myrthe?”

“I noticed something was wrong about the refugees, I didn’t feel Guanshiyin’s urge. It didn’t make sense. They saw my discomfort. That’s when they overpowered me, just after Matt went inside. I’m not sure what set them off.”

Once Ala had freed her and checked her for any hidden injuries, Myrthe started moving around to help where she could.

“Myrthe, would you check on the dead and wounded dwarves?”

“Oh yes…. yes of course.”

Ala looked at her bustling about, decided she was alright, and headed for the gate in the courtyard wall, calling to the dwarves as she went.

“Master Ulfberht, I would like you to meet the Heir of Taladaria.”

Ulfberht nodded, stood and followed her through the gate, just as Lord came riding up, with Matt and Talathiel on either side of him.

“I thought you two said none of them would survive? Though I’m glad you were wrong. It’s good to see you Ala. You do look a little the worse for wear. Who is this?”

“May I present Master Ulfberht Ulfberhtsson? He and his brave dwarves were instrumental to my still being alive. Master Ulfberht, this is Caerel de Duilhac, Lord and heir of Taladaria, his grandfather is the Duke himself.”

“Lord Caerel, honour upon your house. The lass exaggerates. I think she may well have managed it all on her own.”

“And on yours, Master dwarf. Just how many were you facing in there? You make it sound like fifty or more.”

“Perhaps we should simply count? It would be better to know for sure.” Suggested Matt.

“We should indeed know how many they were with,” Caerel agreed, “it may give a little more insight.”

They walked back into the courtyard. The unlikely carnage was still there, despite Ala’s dreamlike feeling. Myrthe had managed to save one of the badly wounded dwarves. He wouldn’t be doing any fighting any time soon. Several more dwarves were beyond help.

By now, it was getting dark. The dwarves had liberally placed torches around the courtyard which bathed the grisly scene in faint torchlight. Caerel walked around and ordered the bodies gathered outside the wall. Everyone helped, dragging the corpses out of the courtyard. Even Caerel participated, somewhat to Ala’s surprise. She found she had to concentrate for a few moments to remember each corpse and how she had killed them. On one hand it was amazing that she could remember at all. On the other, it still felt detached, which she was actually sort of thankful for.

It was well and truly dark before the bodies were out of the courtyard. The count had come to sixty-eight, not including those in the common room. There was no way of knowing how many had been killed by the dwarves and how many by Ala. Ala supposed she could try and recognise each one by concentrating, but she really didn’t want to replay each death in her mind. Brugor set the guardsmen in shifts, to keep watch during the night.

When they were finally finished they retired to the Inn. There were two large private rooms in the inn, and Ala shared one with Talathiel and Myrthe. Matt, Caerel and Brugor shared the other. The dwarves had elected to keep vigil over their fallen, building funeral pyres through the night. They were to be lit at dawn. Ala could hardly stand on her feet, now realising she was truly exhausted. She insisted on being roused just before dawn to join the dwarves in their farewell ceremony. She had lain down to meditate after she had told Caerel what had happened. He didn’t ask how it was possible, he just listened silently, letting her rest immediately afterwards.

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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.

Ambush

They soon reached the others, they had stopped in a depression, making it hard for them to be spotted. Caerel, Myrthe, Talathiel and Lieutenant Hieronymus had obviously been waiting for them to return.

“Lots of soldiers camped on the plain upriver from Thetwick. We got into a bit of an altercation with some Oakharrowers and some of those Mahr cultists, too,” said Ala.

Matt didn’t say anything, he was still lost in thought. Ala continued, “I expect they’ll probably send out a patrol now. Or as quickly as they can get it organised. It’s likely to be around the size of our force, perhaps smaller, since they only saw Matt and me. Unless they’ve heard of the events on the road, that is.”

“That could be a risky gamble. Though I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” said Caerel

“We could consider ambushing the pursuers? Get them to chase us? We can always just lose them if there’s too many,” suggested Ala.

Caerel nodded, “it’s a thought. Not certain we’d learn all that much more from it.”

“It’ll be a few less of them to fight later,” said Brugor, “no impressive strategy in it, but that doesn’t make it less true.”

“Though we should probably take a moment and consider what we expect to achieve by slaughtering a few more of them,” said Myrthe.

Caerel spoke, “from what you’ve described, we can’t dislodge the Oakharrowers and their allies, not with the forces we have. We could probably harass them, ambushes, raids, etcetera, but our supplies aren’t endless and we’ll have to spend considerable time foraging and hunting within a few days to keep everyone fed.”

“All good points,” said Hieronymus, making no useful contribution whatsoever, as was customary.

“If we do ambush them now, we will be showing our strength. We can never be sure no one gets away,” said Matt, out of his despondence for a moment.

“I feel we should take this opportunity to ambush again. It’s a chance to gather as much intelligence as possible” said Caerel. “Then we will go back to the Ford Inn, and dig in there. It’s the bottleneck into Taladaria, we can be supplied there, launch patrols and raids, and we can make certain that my grandfather knows what’s going on. We should neutralise the pursuers though, I have no desire to let them hound us all the way to the Ford Inn.”

Ala was impressed, yet again. It was sound strategic reasoning. She was pleased he wasn’t suggesting an attack they were unlikely to survive.

“A sensible course of action, in my opinion,” she said.

Everyone agreed that is was the best plan, including Hieronymus, who agreed with all consensus decisions once he figured out what they were.

Caerel rode off ahead, he was a swift rider and he was going to gather the men at the ruins and set up the ambush. The rest of them were going to try and draw in the patrol that was sure to come and investigate. They rode to the crest of the hill overlooking Thetwick where the corpses from Ala and Matt’s fight were still strewn. They made no effort to cover their tracks. The idea was simply to let the approaching patrol see them and then run for it, feigning problems if they threatened to get too far ahead. Hopefully Caerel would have the ambush organised in time. When they arrived at the top of the hill, they didn’t have long to wait.

They dismounted and let the horses graze a bit, but Ala soon spotted banners and horses gathering around Thetwick in the distance. There were around thirty horsemen gathered, and the group even flew banners, which was more open than they had seen thus far. She recognised the banner of Oakharrow and the same shape that the men had tattooed on their forearms was also flying on a long pole. The whole group was cantering towards them. They couldn’t pretend not to have seen it for long, so they mounted up in what was meant to look like a hurry and galloped off over the crest of the hill. They could just hear the pace of the hoof beats increase as the formation gave chase. Over the crest they slowed down a little not wanting to get too far ahead of the formation following them.

It went well, they galloped across the countryside with the patrol from Thetwick in pursuit. It wasn’t all that far back to the ruins, especially at a gallop. They didn’t really know exactly where Caerel was going to set up the ambush, but Ala assumed it would be near the ruins to give him as much time as possible. They had to ride the exact route they came by of course, otherwise Caerel wouldn’t know where to place his men. This resulted in a bit of an erratic course since she had been covering the exact route for the first time on the way to Thetwick and hadn’t taken the shortest path. Ala guessed Caerel would have sited the ambush at a gully about five minutes ride from the ruins, it was the best site that she could remember seeing. They had come through it on the outward leg of the reconnaissance and it was well situated for an ambush conducted as Bernard had taught her to do it. They rode through the gully and at the end of it, Caerel was standing there, waiting for them out of view of the pursuers, waving them over. Ala turned Fulgor towards him, riding their little troupe out of the pursuing men’s line of sight.

When the Oakharrowers had all ridden into the gully, Brugor’s horn call commanded Caerel’s archers to fire. Ala could clearly hear the sound of cavalry approaching. Caerel’s infantrymen sprinted across the gully, forming a line of pikes, cutting off the pursuers advance. At the same time the second volley of arrows found their marks. The archers were professional longbow men, they had fired their third volley by the time the first arrows touched ground. The far side of the gully was steep, but not impassable. A small stream ran along the base of it. Ala heard Talathiel speak, the words were familiar but unintelligible. The stream swelled, making the area around it a bubbling mire. Some of the more observant pursuers realised they were being herded and attempted to charge out of the area targeted by the longbow men. They spurred their horses towards the line of infantry, which appeared to be the weakest link in the trap.

Caerel was behind the line of infantrymen, yelling orders. “Steady! Set pikes! Remember, the horses will not ride through a closed line. The man next to you is depending on you to stand your ground!”

Some of the pursuers apparently knew this too and four made for the far end of the line. Ala, Myrthe, Matt and Talathiel were bunched at the other end, still on horseback, which explained why the enemy had chose the other end of the line of pikemen to attempt a breakthrough. The terrain on the far side of the infantry line was rough, but not impassable for an athletic horse with a practised rider. Ala told Fulgor to gallop to the that end of the line and arrived there in time to meet the first man who was manoeuvring his horse over the terrain. He was one of the religious warriors. She could tell now somehow, their eyes seemed… colder… there was a kind of craze to them which Ala could only describe as unnatural. The rest were behind him, all were the same warrior monks.

The lead man violently spurred his Braban\c on horse, kicking it hard. He was wearing a conical helm with an eye and nose guard, and he had a full brown beard streaked with a little grey. He wasn’t properly positioned to get his weapon in line, so he simply body slammed Fulgor with his shield, yelling something as he passed by. The next in line rotated his horse, to allow his sword arm access to Ala. That turned him in the wrong direction to make an escape. The Phansigar’s choice to attack Ala was sacrificial, with his horse now turned in the wrong direction, he was very unlikely to be able to manoeuvre out of the melee. He meant to occupy Ala so that the others could get away. It was the same tactic the men on the hillock had used. It took Ala a moment to recover Fulgor from the slam, but she quickly coaxed him into sword range, capitalising on a small mistake the expendable man had made. He had raised his sword to cut, but he hadn’t been properly focused on hitting Ala’s centre line, his attack wasn’t straight. She simply extended her sword tip towards him and urged Fulgor forward with her knees. Her sword went straight into the man’s face.

Fulgor’s momentum pushed the tip of her sword all the way through his head. She then urged Fulgor backwards, freeing her blade with a twist. It was too late though, the other three men had passed her by. Matt had apparently managed to rekindle his nerve, and he shot one of the men with his crossbow, but the Phansigar didn’t go down. The wounded man immediately slowed and despite the crossbow bolt sticking out of his back did his best to interrupt Ala’s chase. She couldn’t get around him without exposing herself and had to slow down to deal with him. By the time he slid, dying, off his saddle into the dirt, the remaining two men had managed to gallop out of sight.

Ala looked back towards the kill zone. What was left of the patrol had encountered Caerel’s cavalry and was being systematically cut down. The warrior monks fought to the death while the Oakharrowers gave up without too much of a fight. Now that Caerel’s men knew this, they were careful to give no quarter to the Phansigar. Only two warrior monks survived, their wounds making it impossible for them to fight on. All the Oakharrowers had dropped their weapons as soon as it had become obvious the situation was untenable. Caerel’s command lost three more men and another five were wounded. They wouldn’t be able to conduct another ambush with such losses. Among the dead was Lieutenant Hieronymus. Caerel could be heard yelling orders. Brugor was farther off, doing the same.

“Alright men, disarm these prisoners. Catch what horses have escaped, you have five minutes, leave any that are too far off. We need to move from here in fifteen minutes. Put the prisoners on horses, hands tied to their saddles. Check the saddles and saddlebags for weapons. I don’t want any surprises.”

Ala rode around, quickly doing a check of the corpses while Brugor was forming up their column. Once again, she didn’t think Gordon Marchmain was among the dead. They had gathered nearly two dozen prisoners in total now. Within around twenty minutes, they were indeed moving, with everything they could take with them. They set a hard pace, and Matt and Ala rode in the rear screen with the remaining cavalrymen. Their job was to spot anyone pursuing them. They were moving hard, the objective was to get to the Ford Inn before a proper pursuit from Thetwick could be mounted.

Ala counted out in her head. The warrior monks who escaped would need around an hour to get to Thetwick and perhaps another hour to put together a relief column. If they moved with mounted men only, they could be as little as three hours behind them. With the wagons and prisoners, the pursuers would gain on them quickly. It was going to be close if they didn’t abandon the wagons, something that Brugor and Caerel clearly wanted to avoid. The conversation Ala had overheard on the Hillock worried her. It meant that forces from Thetwick could have already passed behind them and already arrived at the Ford Inn, though the camp had still looked full. They could even send two forces in reaction to the men that had escaped the ambush, one of which could be sent to try and cut them off on the road.

The job of screening involved a lot of galloping around so it was switched among the riders so as not to tire out the horses. When she was relieved, she cantered over to Caerel, who was riding at the head of the column with Myrthe, Talathiel and Brugor.

“Caerel? With the wagons, we may be overtaken before we get to the Inn.”

He shrugged, “yeah, I know. We can’t really afford to lose them though.”

“It’s also possible that the enemy passed by behind us and has already moved on the Ford Inn. While we were camped at the tower.”

Caerel’s expression changed as he looked in the direction of Ford Inn automatically. “Now that I hadn’t considered. I bloody hope not. Why would they suddenly do that now, after several weeks?”

“Well, it’s just that some of the chatter Matt and I overheard on the hilltop gave me the impression something might be brewing. I’m not sure, it may have just been idle soldier talk, but one of them thought the Count of Oakharrow wanted to move on Taladaria itself. That means the Ford Inn.”

“There’s really no other way into Taladaria in the whole March?” Caerel asked once more.

“Unless they’re building a bridge somewhere, or have access to barges or the like, I suppose. The patrol we ran into on the way in might have given them the reason to act now. They may even have been sent to seize the Ford Inn in preparation. Those men also said something about monks dressed as farmers that left towards the Inn the day before yesterday.”

Brugor spoke up, “well, I don’t think it’s all that likely. But if we do get caught up just as we arrive at the Ford Inn and it is being held by more of the Count’s men. We’ll be in between a rock and a hard place.”

Caerel shook his head, “that would be a problem.”

Brugor continued, “again. It’s unlikely. But I’d rather be safe than sorry. If the Count decides to pursue us, the force is going to be large enough to wipe out our remaining men. He knows, near enough, what our strength is now.”

Caerel considered again, “I agree with you Sergeant-Major. Unless those men dressed as farmers are part of some different plan, not related to attacking us,” he frowned for a moment, mulling it over. “The day before yesterday? If those men were headed to the Ford Inn, they would have passed behind us and be at the Inn already.”

“We should scout ahead and find out ,” said Myrthe. “How about Ala, Matt and myself go? The four of us won’t look as immediately threatening if spotted.”

Caerel nodded, “agreed. We will continue pushing towards the Ford Inn in the meantime. Be very careful. Signal us on approach if something is amiss.”

Myrthe nodded to indicate she understood.

“I will join them,” Talathiel announced.

Caerel looked at her, obviously feeling as if his opinion was irrelevant to Talathiel, which was probably true.

“If you wish, Mistress,” he said.

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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.

Maiden’s Tower

They all mounted up and continued down the road in the same formation as before. Though they were with fewer men, it didn’t change the way they conducted the advance. The wounded cultists had been gagged and tied securely into the supply wagons. Ala had no expectation of being able to make them talk even if they decided to torture them, which she wanted no part of. These Mahr followers were a rare breed of fanatic and their presence in Westmarch was yet another development that made Ala feel as if she was missing vital information to understand what was going on. She felt as if the campsite upstream from Thetwick that Martha had described was likely the answer to what had happened to the bandits that had been plaguing Sheffield. The religious warriors they had encountered and the relationship between the Marchmains spoke of a far deeper and more insidious plot that she had ever imagined and she didn’t yet understand what the motivations of the Constable and Count of Oakharrow might be. Was the King of Selinus involved too? It was possible, and the religious warriors certainly seemed like they probably originated further away than Oakharrow. She parked her thoughts when it came time to branch off with the scouts to check Maiden’s Tower.

Ala and two cavalry men rode out ahead to make sure the ruins were deserted. They left the road, and made their way through the trees to the remains of the keep. She need not have worried, it was as quiet as Ala remembered. She stayed there while the two cavalrymen rode back to escort the rest of the command to the side. There wasn’t much left of Maiden’s Tower except a few low walls, but the original builders had chosen the site well. There were only two ways up to the top of the hill which could be managed by horses, the rest was too steep and hard to climb on horseback. A natural spring bubbled up, offering fresh water, and the view was excellent. It was one of Ala’s favourite places in the Westmarch. It was also where she had been spotted practising with her sword and fire four decades ago when she hadn’t been living with Bernard for long. She hunted around for a while until she found the stone with the half common and half elven inscription. It was where she had left it last, carefully hidden, but it was thoroughly overgrown. She couldn’t help but smile that it was still there.

They settled in and made camp. When dark came, it was a clear, bright night and they could see almost all the way to Thetwick. Ala looked in the direction of the town, seeing a glow on the horizon that did not spell much good. Something was burning tonight. After the evening stew Myrthe came out to find her. She’d been very preoccupied with Caerel for much of the journey.

“I’m sorry Ala, I haven’t been giving you much attention, have I?”

“It’s alright Myr. You and Caerel are having a thing. Who knows how long that will be possible. Enjoy it.”

“You’re very understanding, Ala.”

“As well as long lived.”

Myrthe giggled about that, “did you come here often when you lived in Thetwick?”

“I used to come here very often actually, it was my refuge until the militia started taking up the bulk of my time. I used to come here to practice.”

“Sword stuff?”

Ala nodded.

“Do you know anything about the ruins?”

“Not much. There’s a stone with an inscription on it, over here. I’ve read it many times, though parts of it are cracked and damaged. Here, I’ll show you.”

Ala showed Myrthe the stone and lit her fire so the Myrthe could read.

“That’s such a useful skill… let’s see…. De Baerle… let me think for a moment… oh yes, I know, the Marquesses of Thetwick. Oh Ala, I bet this used to be the De Baerle keep!”

“What do you mean?”

“A while ago… I can’t remember exactly when, but there was no male heir to become Marquess of the Westmarch. The daughter of the Marquess… was it Annette de Baerle? I think so… anyway, she married a Duke of Taladaria. Bryan, maybe?”

“Is that how the Westmarch became a part of Taladaria?”

“Yes, that’s right. It’s so cool that we’re camped exactly here!”

“Having dynastic fantasies are we?”

Myrthe looked at her with feigned annoyance. “It’s a fling, Lady Alagariel. Just a fling.”

“Well, I think your fling is surreptitiously looking for you,” said Ala. With her elven eyes she could see Caerel making the rounds in the dark. It was obviously an excuse to look for Myrthe.

“I shall go see if that unlikely conclusion is true,” Myrthe declared. Before she went she turned to Ala, “thank you for showing me this, it’s such and interesting piece of history… is this where those farm boys thought you were a fire wraith too, by the way?”

Ala nodded, she had told Myrthe the story of the Chad and his Wraith Hunters on the road to the Ford Inn, though she had understated the bits about the fire.

“That makes it even better! Goodnight, Ala!”

“Goodnight.”

They had set up a watch roster that had everyone taking one of five two hour shifts. She meditated for two hours and then joined two of the watches during the darkest part of the night. Elven night vision was a lot better than that of humans. She talked quietly to the guards on duty, finding out where they were from and getting acquainted. Most of them just answered her questions correctly, they were unnerved by any noble and a comely elven one was too much of an unknown to allow anything remotely like a normal conversation. Only one of them dared to ask any questions.

“Good evening guardsman,” said Ala, causing the man to jump when she was making her rounds again. “How goes your watch?”

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” He said irritably, then realised who he was talking to. “Sorry, sorry milady, you startled me.”

“Relax, guardsman. What’s your name? I’m Alagariel.”

“I know milady. I’m Kendrick Hawk-eye. Well met!”

His attire marked him as one of the archers. He wore padded armour, leather wrist braces to protect him from mishaps with the bow string and a warm woollen cloak to protect against the night’s chill. Besides his longbow and two quivers he had two short swords at his belt, more like long knives than swords. He had keen eyes, somehow he reminded her of a hawk or another bird of prey. That must be how he got the name.

“So Kendrick, how goes the watch? Anything of interest?”

“All quiet so far milady, except for that glow over the horizon, just off Thetwick. I think it’s campfires.”

“How can you tell? I can just see a glow. Have you been here before, do you know Thetwick?”

“I’m actually from Greythorn milady. I grew up there… got into… well a little bit of trouble. Not that that’s hard in Greythorn.”

“May I ask what happened?”

He shrugged. “Nothing to be proud of. We were starving one winter. I stole something and was recognised. They hang you for that. I ran.”

“A hard life.”

“Aye, that it is, in Greythorn. So, I ran all the way to Peyrepertuse and joined up. I did pass through Thetwick on the way. Was there for a few weeks before I learned of the Duke’s Regiment and decided to try my luck.”

“Is the story about the Witch of Greythorn actually true?”

He smiled. “I don’t rightly know. Old timers believe it. Or well, somebody or something definitely razed the whole castle in one night.”

“Just the castle? I thought the story was the town too?”

“No, that was razed when they built the new castle. Pretty sure of that. In fact, among the poor, the Witch is celebrated. She was Baroness too right? They only De Crequy that ever looked out for the people of Greythorn, is how they talk about her.”

“People don’t mind that she was… you know… a Witch?”

“Don’t suppose they think about it much. In the stories I heard, she gave the Baron his comeuppance. That’s seen as a good thing. Of course, the De Crequys went bad again mighty quick.”

“The Witch of Greythorn is such an intriguing tale. Anyway. What makes you think there are campfires over there?”

“I was curious milady, I climbed what’s left of the tower. You can just make out the pinpricks of light. I have good eyes, archers have to. They say elven eyes are even better. Maybe you could climb up to have a look too? I’d like to be sure I wasn’t crazy. I’ve seen what a field of campfires looks like before, but I was in the middle of it then.”

It was a bit presumptuous of course, a guardsman asking a lady to climb a tower in the middle of the night. It seemed like a good idea to Ala though.

“Good idea Kendrick.”

She climbed the tower easily and found her balance on the highest remaining wall. The last time she’d been up on top of the tower had been years before. She looked in the direction of the glow. The extra couple of yards made the difference. There were quite a few pinpricks of light. It was difficult to count properly, but she judged at least twenty. She shared the analysis though. Thetwick wasn’t exactly in the direction she was looking. These were definitely open air campfires. The site would be a couple of hundred yards up the creek, exactly where Martha had said it would be. As she stood on the highest point of the tower, balancing on the irregular wall, she suddenly thought of Talathiel and what she had said. The feeling was unmistakable. Ala quickly climbed down the tower.

“Well, milady what do you think?”

“I think those pinpricks look a lot like campfires. At least twenty. The forces at Thetwick have increased since Martha saw them,” she spotted Kendrick looking blank at the name so she clarified, “you remember, the woman at Ford Inn, who gave evidence to Lord Caerel?”

He nodded, understanding who she was referring to.

“Anyway, more men than she reported are there now. I’ll inform Lord Caerel, but first I have to do something. I’ll be back in a minute, I expect.”

“Yes milady,” said Kendrick, looking even more puzzled.

She walked down to the spring, which trickled gently down the hill. She was pretty sure it must be connected to the rivers and so to the world’s waterways, she reasoned. She took the vial, shook it for a while, and poured it into the spring’s little head water. It was so quick she wasn’t really sure it happened, but it looked like the water fluoresced for a moment and that the glow disappeared down the hillside at unimaginable speed. Nothing else happened. She waited for a moment. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but nothing else seemed to happen. So, she walked back to Kendrick’s post.

“I’ll tell Lord Caerel about the sighting first thing in the morning Kendrick. I’ll be sure to mention it was you who spotted it.”

“Oh that’s not important milady. Just so we don’t wander into an army unprepared.”

“It was good thinking Kendrick, climbing the tower. I wouldn’t have thought those few yards would make the difference.”

“Just thought it was worth a try milady.”

“Good work.”

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

Phansigar

About two hours later, towards the end of the afternoon, the outriders called a halt, waving a signal to the lead cavalrymen. Lieutenant Hieronymus rode to Caerel after he’d found out what was going on.

“A group of riders has been spotted milord. Around fifteen of them, perhaps a mile down the road.”

Caerel was obviously a little flustered. He didn’t know what to do exactly. Ala wondered if he had ever had to command a formation against a real enemy before. It seemed unlikely. She decided to make a suggestion.

“Perhaps we should try and draw them in, see if we can catch one for information? If they see all of us, I expect they’ll run, we outnumber them.”

That cleared his mind.

“Good idea, Lady Alagariel. We’ll need some bait, uhm…”

“I will be the bait, they’ve probably been instructed to keep an eye out for me.”

Myrthe frowned at her.

“Uhm… I can’t…. let…” started Caerel. Then he thought better of it, absentmindedly rubbing his forehead where Ala had grabbed it to throw him to the ground on the practice field. He raised his arm and pointed.

“Ride the wagons into that copse of trees, together with the mounts we don’t need. Put the archers in that treeline,” he pointed, “and the infantry will hide in that ditch.”

He pointed to a ditch in the other direction, dug as drainage to keep the road from becoming muddy.

“The cavalry will form up behind that rise, then ride round to cut off their retreat when they are in the trap. Lady Alagariel will ride up the road and pretend to run from them, hopefully drawing them in. Any questions?”

It made sound tactical sense. It had taken Caerel only a moment to collect himself in the face of a real fight. It was quite impressive, Ala thought, understanding better what Myrthe saw in the young man. Lieutenant Hieronymus didn’t have much of an opinion about anything, but it was obvious from Brugor’s expression that he approved of the plan, he had spun his horse round to put it in motion the second Caerel had stopped speaking. Ala whispered to Fulgor who started forward. She loosened her shield a bit so she could easily swing it round when needed.

Ala rode forward, hood down. Her red-golden hair was in a loose braid and clearly recognisable. After about seven hundred yards, around a bend in the path, she could see the riders ahead. She stopped Fulgor, telling him to be ready to run back quickly. She didn’t recognise anyone among the riders. They had the manner of soldiers, she could see they wore mail and had shields slung over their backs. Some wore conical helmets others, a chapeau-de-fer, making them better equipped than she was accustomed to for militiamen. Only Bernard’s cavalry had been similarly equipped. The leader had a one-and-a-half-hander at his belt. He was a muscular, clean shaven man. It was customary for riders to stop at a safe distance from one another. The leader did not, and continued to ride in her direction.

“Halt,” she called, “Identify yourself!”

“Show your right of passage, elf! Or you are under arrest by order of the Constable of Thetwick.”

He had an accent. It could be Oakharrow, she thought… or maybe further away.

“You’ll have to catch me first!”

She whirled Fulgor round as she heard the troop spur their horses. It was easier than she had expected. She whispered to Fulgor in elvish not to go too fast and to stay the same distance ahead of them. The leader had a particularly fast horse, however, causing her to have to accelerate. He could not manage to outpace Fulgor, who responded well when Ala whispered to him in elven. She raced down the track, with the riders following her. She held Fulgor back a little to let the riders think they were gaining. A horn call sounded. Brugor had given the signal to close the trap. The infantrymen stood up and climbed out of the ditch. They formed two rows across the path, pikes set low. She could hear the rumble of the cavalrymen coming round behind the pursuing riders. The archers stepped forth out of the trees in a long line. The infantrymen opened a gap for Fulgor to ride through as Brugor bellowed a fire command. The archers fired a volley at the riders, dropping several of them. They walked forward, nocking the next arrows and stopped for a moment for a second volley.

Caerel’s plan was to pin the riders in a triangle. One side was formed by the infantrymen directly in their path. The archers formed another side, and the cavalry, riding abreast rode in to close the triangle around them. Ala had stopped Fulgor and was turning him around when she saw that the leader and perhaps three of the riders were going to make it out of the trap before it could be fully closed. Myrthe, Matt and Caerel were riding out of the woods towards her too. She whispered Fulgor forward, as she was considering how to take the lead rider down without killing him. The man had drawn his sword, in his right hand, which gave her the advantage, as she was coming from his left. A little to her disappointment, she decided this couldn’t be Gordon Marchmain. She felt confident she would recognise him. She concentrated on intercepting him, deciding she didn’t think hurting the horse was an acceptable course of action. She was going to have to tackle him off the horse. She stood up on Fulgor’s broad back, and dived into the Oakharrowers’ leader.

It was a risky move. She had aimed to impact her left shoulder at the junction of his neck and his shoulder, trying to leverage him over the horse. She missed by a bit and the manoeuvre didn’t quite go as she had imagined it. She slipped past him, only partially making him lose his balance. At this point, it really didn’t seem like the best idea she had ever had. As she was heading head first towards the ground, she came by his sword arm. She let go of her own blade which was still in her right hand, and grabbed hold. That pulled him over the horse thankfully, reversed her direction of fall, and put her on her side in the dirt, weaponless, maybe six inches from the Oakharrowers’ head. She pushed up off the ground, getting back to her feet. The Oakharrower did the same after he had gotten his sword out from under him. Luckily that took him a moment longer. She looked around for her sword, which had fallen a few yards behind them. She immediately ran for it. She wouldn’t have been fast enough if Myrthe hadn’t arrived and taken a wild swing at him with her riding sword. It was a miss, but it distracted him just long enough that Ala could put her right hand on the sword, roll with it and come up reversed with her blade in hand in time to parry the man’s first disorganised swing.

“Drop the weapon, Oakharrow man,” Ala hissed.

He looked around. Caerel had ridden on. He had cut down one of the riders and was gaining on a second one. He evidently decided he could handle one elf and a clumsy priestess. Matt didn’t dare gallop his horse, he was too afraid he’d fall off, so he was still quite a distance away.

“For you? You must be that elf bitch Marchmain spoke of! I think I’ll kill you instead. Mahr will be pleased,”

He didn’t sound like he was from Oakharrow, Ala decided as she wondered who ‘Mahr’ might be. He took his weapon in a two handed grip and raised his sword to swing for her. Ala stepped fully under his attack, her sword marking his wrist as she stepped underneath it and put her left hand on her sword grip too. It caused him to interrupt his swing, and Ala dropped her blade in a cut straight down with his left wrist in the way. He was wearing mail backed gloves so she didn’t sever his hand. Her sword did cut through the mail and put a deep cut across the back of his hand as he frantically tried to step back in time. Ala stepped back taking her distance again.

“I don’t like to repeat myself. Drop your blade and you won’t suffer further injury!”

He looked shocked and angry at the way she had routinely interrupted his attack. He had a bit of a crazed look in his eyes, she thought, almost like he was inebriated. Despite his injury, he decided to attack again with his blade only in his right hand, raising it above his head rapidly to strike. She interrupted the attack again with a long diagonal top-right to bottom left stroke, designed once again not to kill him but to give her space to move close next to him, her legs grouped close together and put her blade in the crook of his right elbow while he was busy trying to recover his sword from its own inertia. She then stepped out extending and rotating outwards creating a very long powerful cut that sliced through the mild steel rings of his mail where she made contact and cut through the skin, muscles and tendons all the way down to the bone. His sword tip fell to the ground as he screamed. He was physically unable to lift the sword now and bleeding profusely from the inside of his right elbow. He still wouldn’t release his sword though. Ala had to punch him full in the face several times to stun him, then stamp on the man’s hand four times before he would let go of the sword. Ala glanced at Myrthe, the two of them sharing a look of concern as Matt rode up.

“What’s wrong, ladies?”

“This man has the drive of ten mindless fanatics,” said Myrthe, gesturing over to the Oakharrower who was lying stunned and bleeding in the grass now.

Caerel came riding back too.

“One of them got away,” he said.

“They’ll really know we’re coming then,” said Matt.

Ala turned her attention to the wounded leader.

“Where is Gordon Marchmain?”

She detected a glimmer of recognition in the man’s eyes.

“Marchmain is a brother…. A true soul… He would not falter, nor will I,” he said in between clenching his teeth against the pain.

It was enough confirmation for Ala. She hoped she would be able to find him this time. He was certainly in the Westmarch.

It was the same story with the other riders. Caerel’s soldiers had had to kill nine of the remaining twelve that had been caught in the triangle. The three who were still alive had been bludgeoned into submission. Four of Caerel’s men had been killed in the exchange, and four more wounded. Ala surveyed the carnage.

“This doesn’t make sense. These men aren’t mercenaries. They fight like they’d rather die than be taken. Mercenaries would want to fight another day. Normal Oakharrowers would want to go home and bandits would run at the first opportunity.”

Caerel looked at her.

“You don’t think they’re just well paid mercenaries?”

Brugor shook his head.

“I agree with Lady Alagariel and the Priestess. This kind of devotion is unusual. It’s…. it must be religious or the like, milord.”

Ala walked over to the corpses. As she moved she cleaned off her sword and sheathed it. She then pointed at two infantrymen, “you and you, come here and give me a hand. We have some distasteful work.”

Together with the two men, she searched the corpses and then stripped them. They didn’t have anything particularly strange on them, but each man had the same tattoo on his left forearm.

“Anyone have any idea what that might represent?” Ala asked, loudly.

Caerel, Matt and Brugor all had a look and all shook their heads. Myrthe, with her vast learning, had a contribution to make, she put her teeth on her lower lip as she always did when she was thinking.

“Part of it looks a bit like something I once read about. A cult of some sort if I remember correctly, related to a demon-king, I think he was called Mahr.”

“Mahr? Their leader said something about Mahr being pleased just before he attacked me,” said Ala.

“I don’t know about religious, but certainly like a cult, at least. This symbol has an addition to it though, compared to the one I saw in the book, underneath. Look it’s like two curved swords, under a set of spread wings maybe? I think the wings were related to Mahr’s cult. The swords weren’t in the book I read. But it was an old book, and it spoke of it as ancient history. Sorry. That’s all I know.”

“It’s more than the rest of us put together,” mumbled Caerel appreciatively, straightening himself up.

“Lord Caerel, may I send riders to the Duke? We have to assume word will get to Thetwick soon, we need men to ride swiftly to minimize the chance of them being headed off at the ford.”

“Yes. Sergeant-Major. I agree. Send two men at once.”

“May I make it two groups of two, by different routes, milord?”

“That will sap our strength too much. With our current losses, even sending two men is a large drain on our resources. Just send the two, that will be enough.”

Ala didn’t think that was the best course, and tried to catch Myrthe’s eye. She thought maybe Myrthe could change his mind. Myrthe saw Ala looking and shook her head. She didn’t think it was a good idea to question Caerel’s authority right now it seemed. Ala decided to trust Myrthe’s judgement.

Caerel quickly wrote two notes to the Duke, explaining what they had encountered, beseeching him for more forces, the folded and sealed them and handed one to each of the men.

“You will take this message to the Duke of Taladaria. It is of paramount importance that the message gets through, if you have to abandon one another to achieve it, do so. In case you lose the letters, you will memorise the message as well. Repeat after me.”

It took about twenty minutes to get the messages written, the freshest and fastest horses assigned, and the best riders selected. They had to repeat the message back to Caerel several times, then he sent them on his way. They soldiers quickly dug shallow graves. One for the cultists, and the other for the Guardsmen. The location was carefully marked on the map so they could be reburied properly later. Once the messengers had left, it was late afternoon, and Caerel called then all together for an impromptu conference.

“Lady Alagariel, you know Thetwick. Is there perhaps a reasonably defensible place we can travel to in order to rest for the night?”

“We already passed Brightfield, that was that caravan stop we came by. It’s more or less half way between Thetwick and the Ford in. Between here and Thetwick I think we’d better press on. I know of a place near Thetwick that’s reasonably defensible. A few miles from Thetwick, there are some ruins which we sometimes used as a campsite on militia patrols… the locals call it the… err… Maiden’s Tower. I know it well, I used to visit it often.”

Ala decided that she should omit the fact that that was what it was called was because she’d had a habit of practising sword work encased in fire there when she was younger. She continued with her explanation.

“It’s ruined, but is does offer a fair view towards Thetwick. It was once a keep or tower of some kind, there’s natural springs and it has a commanding view of its approaches. At the pace we managed with the cavalry screen, I estimate we will be able to get there perhaps a few moments before sundown.”
Caerel nodded before turning towards Brugor and Hieronymous.

“Lieutenant, Sergeant-Major, how does that sound?”

Lieutenant Hieronymus nodded.

“Sounds defensible, milord, it’ll do. Probably best if Lady Alagariel rides out ahead with a scout or two to look it over before the sun sets,” said Brugor.

“Agreed.”

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

The Bullstead

When they started out early the next morning, Ala felt like there was a quiet tension in the air. It was of the kind that accompanies the anticipation leading up to a fight. They left the Ford Inn with the cavalry in the vanguard, followed by Caerel, Ala and the others, then the mounted archers, the supply train and the pikemen at the rear. They rode with a screen of two outriders to scout ahead, one on each side of the road. It was possible that the Oakharrowers had spotted them arriving at Ford Inn. It was even possible that they had spies at Hightower, but they would have to have a network of sentries to be able to relay that message to Thetwick faster than they were travelling.

Ala needed a moment to focus on the task at hand. She was feeling guilty that she had not told Martha that she had killed her younger brother, Jake, who had been among those who meant to assassinate her at Larkhill.

An ambush or other attack seemed likely in light of what they’d learned at the Ford Inn. It was certainly what Ala would have done had she been leading the Oakharrowers. The requirement for added caution slowed down their travel. The outriders would call a halt if they saw something they felt needed investigation. It caused many stops. Nonetheless, they passed by the Brightfield caravan stop by mid afternoon which meant they were still solidly outpacing a normal ox drawn caravan.

Not long after Brightfield they saw a burnt farmstead in the distance, some parts of which were still smouldering and producing smoke. Questioning eyes turned towards to Ala.

“I know that place. Quite a well to do farm, Thets call it the Bullstead. It was founded by the man who brought me to Thetwick, William the Bull. Rich, by Thetwick standards… or it was.”

“We’d best investigate it,” ordered Caerel.

Brugor waved to the outriders to turn towards it. She had passed by the Bullstead many times on patrol with the militia, sometimes stopping to water the horses. She had even stopped there on her own once, trying to find out more about ‘the Bull’ himself. She had been told by Palady that the man had been on the patrol that brought Ala to Thetwick as an infant. Her visits had never led to any new information about herself. Now the smoking ruin appeared to be deserted.

The archers formed a cordon around the farm and everyone in Caerel’s little command group dismounted to look around. There were two corpses in the yard in front of the burnt out building as well as dead livestock. The dead bodies were two men, dressed as farmers customarily were. There were only two dead animals, a cow and a pig, the rest of the livestock was gone, but it was clear there had been more. Ala remembered the place as a prosperous farm, one of the richer ones in Thetwick by virtue of the size of its lands. The farm itself was a large building forty yards long with stout stone walls. It had burnt out, the thatched roof and interior had been almost completely consumed by flames. Roughly a third of the building had been the family’s living quarters, the other two thirds had been a barn for storage and livestock. Only part of the charred wooden skeleton and the low stone walls remained. Judging by the decomposition of the bodies and the remains of the fire, it hadn’t happened more than a few days ago.

Brugor shook his head in disgust. “I’ve seen this before, milord. This looks like the behaviour of an occupying army, an oppressor. They are operating overtly, not worried about reprisal. They are here in strength, feeling invulnerable. We have to assume that they control the whole Westmarch which puts us deep in hostile territory. I’d wager they have a significant force here. Probably too many to take on.”

Caerel shook his head. “These people were innocent. Defenceless. Why murder them and drive them off?”

“They probably needed supplies. Perhaps plunder, or the men merely wanted some amusement. Who knows, milord? One thing is certain. Oakharrow is making its move on the Westmarch and by extension, Taladaria. We should send fast riders back.”

“Not yet. We must know more first,” said Caerel.

Brugor frowned, clearly disagreeing, “if this force is larger than we anticipated, we may not be able to get anyone out in time. I urge you to send men now, milord.”

Caerel was irritated, “and tell my grandfather what? That we found some driven off farmers? We need to know more, Brugor. Also, we will be depleting the cavalry if we send some of them away. My decision is final, Sergeant-Major.”

“Yes milord.” Brugor didn’t look like he agreed. He was used to following orders though, even if they came from inexperienced twenty-two year olds.

During the exchange Matt had been scraping around in the ruins of the Bullstead and he waved to them over, “as far as I can tell, if there were any survivors, they were either carried off, or they didn’t wait for the fire to burn out.”

“What makes you say that?” Asked Caerel.

“They left their valuables here,” Matt shrugged, “people who flee usually only leave their riches behind if they have no other choice.”

Ala went over to see what had led Matt to his conclusions. He had uncovered a stone in the floor that was removable. He had an uncanny ability to home straight in on spots where people might store valuables. Underneath was a small wooden hatch, inside of which was a small chest, and some bundles wrapped in oilskins against moisture.

“You have an uncanny knack for knowing where to look for things like this, Matt,” Ala said.

“Well, I suppose it’s not something to be terribly proud of, but you develop a sense for it. Maybe from now on it can lead to things getting back to their rightful owners rather than the other way around. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking, since the rightful owners are probably out in the yard… or prisoners…”

He smiled ruefully as Ala turned to the others.

“I came through here a few times on patrol with the militia. The farmers here were all named William… after the Bull, I imagine.”

Ala thought for another moment.

“So a sequence of William Williamsons. His father’s name was William too, which makes it a little hard for me to remember them all as they all had the exact same name. I think this family has named their eldest sons William since William the Bull. People don’t really bother with last names in the Westmarch. If there’s any information to be about them, it would probably be listed as William Williamson or William of the Bullstead. Something along those lines,” Ala said.

Caerel was looking round. He was visibly shocked by the random brutality that had been visited on these people. “Just poor defenceless farmers, probably have been for generations. How could a warrior do this?”

“I guess a real warrior couldn’t… at least that’s the way I was taught… bullies and thugs… well, they might I guess,” Ala said.

“It’s hard to fathom that such people exist.”

“The patriarch of this family was a famous warrior, served in the ducal regiment. I told you that he was with the patrol that found me? I think he was already famous then. He achieved distinction in the service of the then Duke of Taladaria… that would be…. your father’s great grandfather, I think, Lord Caerel, if I’m counting correctly.”

“Well, his loyalty seems to have been of meagre service to his descendants.”

“This man, William the Bull, left with that patrol after depositing me here. As I understand it, he never returned. I once came here trying to find out more of my own history, when I was younger. No one remembered anything. If I think about it for a moment, I’m sure I can recall the story of how William the Bull earned his nickname. Come to think of it, I think I can even vaguely recall the man himself. Not that I knew he was important, then. Shame I only discovered who he was so much later.”

Caerel looked up at her, initially interested by the tale, only for the look on his face to be overtaken by the realisation of how old she was sinking in. Ala was speaking of events that had taken place more than a century ago.

He shook it off and spoke, “I think I’ve heard a story about a brave man-at-arms who served my great-great-grandfather nicknamed ‘The Bull’. I think he was famous for pushing over a warhorse, rider and all who was about to spear my grandfather. There’s a tapestry depicting the event in the great hall in Peyrepertuse. You actually knew this guy?”

The smile vanished from Caerel’s face quickly as he looked around the ruined farm again.

“Well, I wouldn’t say I knew him. I saw him maybe a few times, I think? Perhaps with the patrol? I don’t remember. I suppose I was too young for the story of his exploits, then. Or I dismissed it… I don’t know. It was a long time ago and I don’t remember anything that went on then it in as much detail as I would like. Not even in enough detail to know what exactly happened.”

Caerel was shaking his head.

“Taladaria hasn’t done right by his family, has it? Do you think… that these two, the corpses in the yard, were the last of the line?”

He looked down. Ala was impressed with the young man’s perspective.

“There were women here too, also children. They’re not among the dead. Hopefully they managed to flee.”

“I can only hope so,” Caerel said.

Matt was looking through the things he had found, he pulled some delicate metal tools from in between his padded armour, and fiddled with the lock on the small chest. It was of remarkably good quality, much better than one would expect among simple farmers. Inside were around twenty silver coins, some jewellery, and four scrolls.

“This hasn’t been opened in a long time. Not in a very long time,” Matt pronounced.

Myrthe looked at him blankly, “how can you tell?”

“The smell. Age… I don’t know… you can smell it when things have been sealed off for a long time.”

Myrthe carefully looked through the scrolls, one by one.

“This one is a deed. It grants this land to William ‘the Bull’ of Thetwick and his descendants in perpetuity. Oh look, Caerel, it’s signed too. In the year 838, by Ivan de Duilhac, Duke of Taladaria. That’s what? Your… ehm… great-grandfather, I think? To the fourth degree, I think, if my maths is right.”

Caerel came over to look, his interest piqued, “truly? Imagine that,” he said, clearly a little speechless to find such a direct link to his family in the ruins.

“The date corresponds with when I think I arrived in Thetwick,” said Ala, “more or less.”

The other scrolls were wills from the two generations since, and a letter from the Duke Ivan to William the Bull’s widow. It informed her of her husband’s heroic death in a battle Ala had never heard of and apparently had included a pension for her. It was dated two years after the land grant. Apparently the dead William, the most recent generation, out in the yard, hadn’t gotten around to a will yet.

Myrthe remained engrossed with the documents, so Ala inspected the two bundles that were wrapped in oilskins next. One of them was heavier than you’d think and contained a coat of very fine silvery mail, finer than Ala had ever seen. It had blackened patches on it that reminded Ala of the kind of encrustation that had been on Ala’s sword and the remains of its scabbard. She opened the other oil-paper package, impatient now. It contained the remains of a fine, delicately embroidered cloak. The designs on it were like a lot of things she had seen at Yesme’s house, but more dramatic, more yellows and reds. There were great holes in it, but it had once been like a fire inspired version of the same idea, she thought.

“Myrthe, could you please take a look at this?” Ala called shakily.

Myrthe came quickly, a look of concern on her face.

“This black stuff on the armour, and on what’s left of this cloak. It’s the same as was on the remains of my sword and scabbard. This farmstead was given to this family very close to the date I came to Thetwick… William the Bull would have come here, when he was nearby.”

Matt was looking over the scrolls, apparently smelling them.

“Lemon juice, maybe, though I could be imagining it,” he pronounced, waving the Duke’s letter.

Ala looked at him quizzically.

“It means there may be a hidden message, Ala,” said Myrthe.

“How do you know that?” Matt asked Myrthe.

Myrthe just smiled knowingly, “misspent youth I’m afraid.”

“What are you two on about?” Ala snapped, “explain!”

“If you write a message in lemon juice, you can’t see it on the parchment, until it’s heated. To be honest, I wouldn’t really expect it to last for a hundred years. You have to be a little careful not to burn the parchment. We can do it carefully tonight,” Myrthe suggested.

“Heat?” Ala grabbed the document and concentrated. She was good at controlling her gift in small ways. She’d always been so concerned about discovery she’d spent a large part of her youth tightly controlling her fire so no one noticed it. She called flame to her hands and gently heated the document. A text became visible, in a delicate hand.

“That’s a neat trick,” Matt said.

Ala was far too busy concentrating on the parchment to notice his comment.

To my grandchildren, great grandchildren and other descendants,

I have written this note, because I dare not tell my own son about these treasures we keep. My beloved Bull made me swear to return these items to the elven girl named Ala, currently in the household of Palady Georgedaughter, when she comes of age. This will be in perhaps a century or more, as she is a fire elf, not a half-elf as Palady has convinced the villagers. I don’t know much about elves and the like, but my Bull was well travelled and knowledgeable. He was certain she would not come of age for more than a century. I am ashamed to say that my son is too enraptured by wealth. I do not trust him to hold these objects according to his father’s wishes. My dear Bull was an honourable man. He would never want that, so I am hiding these things in the hope that honour returns to this family in future.

Bull never told me the whole tale of what happened during the patrol when they found the elven girl. I think he expected to be able to instruct his own children on what precisely to do. What I do know is that he was present when they came upon a group of evil men and creatures. They were keeping the elven child as a prisoner and carried items that were probably plundered from her companions. The Bull thought it likely that a group of elven travellers that had been ambushed somewhere nearby. The condition of the items convinced him that it had to have been nearby. He and his men searched for the site of the slaughter, but they could not find it in the short time they could afford to stay in so dangerous an area.

Palady has taken to calling the girl Alagariel, after the elven queen in the Faerytale. Bull thought these ruined items belonged to elves who had lost their lives protecting the elf child, as noble a death as can be imagined. He felt she had a right to have these clues to her heritage, though he himself did not understand what family they may have belonged to. It is my desire that our descendants honour his wishes.

Nyra of Oakheart, Widow of William ‘The Bull’ of Thetwick.

Wogekind, 896

Ala was crying. She didn’t really know why. Myrthe hugged her.

“It’s a piece of your puzzle Ala. But we must go, Caerel is growing impatient. I think he wants vengeance for what has been done to these people. We should talk about what all this might mean later.”

Ala gathered the items, put them in her pack and mounted Fulgor. She wiped her eyes and nodded to Caerel who was looking at her to see if she was ready. He obviously didn’t understand exactly what was going on. He was absorbed by what had befallen The Bull’s descendants and wasn’t immediately concerned with what Ala had discovered. He was very keen to continue on to Thetwick. Even so, he hadn’t pushed Ala to hurry, she noted.

When she was ready Caerel led off heading further towards Thetwick.

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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.

Martha’s Tale

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

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

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

“Refugees you say? What is happening?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“New fields?” asked Ala.

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

“I see, please continue.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Duke’s Peace

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Martha? Martha Callumsdaughter?”

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

“I know it is.”

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

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

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

Ala spoke softly, “tell me what happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

“There is great trouble there, Ala.”

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

“Really? You’re sure?”

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

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

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

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

“I think so, yes.”

“It certainly offers a clue about the connection.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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