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 Constable’s Cronies
That evening, they closed on the evening’s stopping point, Larkhill, under a cloudy grey sky. Ala decided she really should warn the Priestess that an attack was likely. Myrthe shouldn’t be put in danger because of her proximity.
“Myrthe?”
“Hmm?”
“I should warn you that I will probably be attacked somewhere before we reach Peyrepertuse. It could be dangerous for anyone nearby.I’m not certain that Marchmain’s henchmen wouldn’t go so far as to kill witnesses.”
“I know. I’m not naive, though it may seem that I am.”
“You really want to travel with me? Even though it might be dangerous?”
“I thought about it, but I think I’d rather travel with you. It just feels right. You’re good with that sword, right? I’m going to believe that whatever happens, we’ll be OK, alright?”
Myrthe took the information in stride. The young priestess was quite unflappable, Ala thought. Myrthe was very different from any of the people she’d known in Thetwick. They placed their bedrolls near each other, a little ways away from the others, near the horses. Some men had been eyeing the two of them, particularly when they had been changing but no one had bothered them. The caravan had stopped at a large, sprawling inn, it was a village really, though it clearly existed to service the Inn. It was called Larkhill, though if there was a hill it was unimpresseive and impossible to make out under the village.
The big inn had a large walled compound attached where travellers could make camp within the safety of a stone wall. It wasn’t a terribly high wall, at around ten feet. It wouldn’t take much to climb it, but it kept the wind and the curious out. It certainly wouldn’t stop anyone determined to scale it. The Inn had rooms for richer folk as well as a large common room where individual travellers could rent a bed for a night. All the services were painted messily on a wooden board by the entrance of the camp ground so the Caravanners, who could typically read. could see what services were available. There were attached barns and other buildings scattered around the Inn. Several families lived in the tiny village surrounding the Inn and farmed the surrounding land. It was a busy night, with many travellers camped and quite a racket coming from the Inn itself where songs were being sung, people were laughing and drunken disagreements played out. Several caravans were there for the night. There was also at least one group of pilgrims wearing simple brown robes. Ala couldn’t tell if they were from any particular faith.
Most of the singing came from a group of entertainers, they often tagged along with caravans for safety, paying for their escort with their music and revelry. They had even visited Thetwick, usually for things like harvest feasts. Bernard had warned her to be wary of groups of entertainers as they were often little more than a cover for people who relied upon thievery to survive. They always reminded her of Gabriel too, though. Ala had paid one of the caravan boys to bring them a warm meal from inside and shared some of it with the boy. He ate greedily as it was much better fare than the watery, tasteless stew that Ala had seen being fed to the caravan crew.
Ala whispered to Myrthe. “The men that are chasing me must be ahead of us by now. They may even be here in fact, hoping to ambush me or something like that. They can’t know that I’ve joined a caravan I don’t think, but they can probably recognise Fulgor if they walk around and look. Many Thets know him, he’s one of the better stallions of his generation. Any group of four men from Thetwick is certain to have at least one who knows horses well.”
There were certainly no other horses of Fulgor’s stature in the Caravan enclosure. Ala hadn’t really considered a necessity to blend in when she had picked the massive black Frisian. But maybe, it was possible that Fulgor had picked her and she had never really had any say in the matter. Not that it really mattered, she would never leave him behind or exchange him for another horse.
After they had eaten, Myrthe took out a piece of parchment, a quill and an ink pot as well as some wax and a candle. She wrote Alagariel’s right to bear arms and placed her seal on the bottom of it with the wax. One of her rings, which she wore with the coat of arms on the inside of her hand was a family seal. She waited for the wax to dry, gently blowing on it, before presenting it to Ala.
“There you go. My very own elf-at-arms,” Myrthe said mischievously.
“Thank you very much. It certainly relieves one of my worries.”
Ala accepted it gladly and carefully stored it in her scroll tube. It made her feel more comfortable. They made their beds between the compound wall and the row of tied horses. Ala looked around and decided it would be almost impossible to get close enough to fire a crossbow at her without at least the caravan guards noticing. The Inn itself also employed night watchmen to make certain everything stayed calm. It was as safe as she was likely to get. The caravan gaurds did keep watches, mainly to stop people stealing.
For good measure, Ala paid the guards two eighths each to keep a closer eye on them. There were so many dark figures walking around the enclosure for a large part of the night that it was impossible to be certain of everyone’s intentions. With so many hooded people, she couldn’t tell if any of them were Abe or Norbert or one of the other two men that might be looking for her. She meditated, keeping a type of detached, watchful consciousness as she rested. She came out of her meditation many times, uncomfortable with the close proximity of so many people.
Somewhere during the night, she noticed something different to the people that regularly walked by. She just came fully conscious when she felt rather than saw a dark figure crouched on top of the wall above her. The figure jumped down off the wall towards her just as she rolled aside. She had lain down with her sword nestled on her left side, with the hilt resting on her shoulder. She rolled to the left as the figure landed, clumsily planting a spearhead right where her abdomen had been a moment or two earlier. She continued the roll until she was on her back again, then lifted her legs high into the air to give her the leverage to get up. The sword was in the way to roll backwards so she rolled forward again as the figure cursed unintelligibly and extricated his spear from her bedroll. He had reorganised himself by the time she was on her knees, and lunged at her. From her knee she made a step forward and turned round clockwise, using the sword, still in its scabbard, to intercept the advance of the spear. She was almost too late, the spear tip cut a nasty gash into her side as she turned it away. She was inside the man’s reach now though, which he realised was dangerous. He dropped the spear and pulled a long knife from his belt. She now recognised the man, it was Norbert. As she stepped back, utilising the extra space that had been gained by Norbert dropping the spear, she drew her sword, keeping the scabbard in her left hand, now giving herself the reach advantage. She decided to try convincing him to give it up, however ill-fated the attempt might prove to be.
“Norbert! What are you doing? Give up. The Constable isn’t worth dying for!”
She saw Norbert glanced behind her, looking at the top of the wall where he had come from.
“You half-bitch, I know your kind. Thinking you’re better than us, ridin’ around on them’ fancy horses an’ bein’ all high an’ mighty. Well, I got somethin’ for ya.”
He was stalling, waiting for his friend to come down the wall. She sighed, resigned to what she needed to do and utilised the extra length of her sword to stick her blade into the middle of his face, the tip breaching the rear of his skull. She gave it a twist, as Bernard had taught her, as she pulled it out. Norbert made a sort of sickening gurgling noise as he fell. She didn’t know if he had still been trying to say something or whether the sound was because her sword had passed through his nasal canal. She forgot about it as she turned. Two more people jumped down the wall. Each had a proper sized sword, but fortunately no shields. Thankfully shields would have gotten in the way when stealthily scaling the wall. Ala heard movement from the bedrolls. Myrthe was awake then, and probably aware of what was going on. Ala looked over the two men.
“Why don’t you two just go home and say you couldn’t find me? I don’t want to hurt you.”
They kept coming.
“Stop, or you’ll end up like Norbert!”
The two men facing her were Abe and Jake, two more farmers who weren’t really bad men, but well known in Thetwick for both their aggression and stupidity. Jake she’d known for a long time. She’d met him when he was four years old, on the day that Gordon Marchmain had murdered his father and sister. Ala couldn’t help wonder what tale the new Constable had spun to reel in the unfortunate Jake. They probably only fallen in with the Constable because of bad luck or debt. The Constable’s son, Magnus, was nowhere to be seen. Ala thought that was predictable, when the going was likely to be rough Magnus was well clear of any danger. The two men glanced at Norbert’s still form and then each other. They looked nervous. Ala decided that Norbert must have been the driving force behind the assassination team. He had been the one with the longest association with the Marchmains.
“Just drop your weapons and go home. You both know that you’re not likely to survive a fight with me.”
Jake growled at her, “I just never got angry at militia practice. Now I’m mad. Yer in fer it now, bitch. Norbert was my friend! I bet you had somethin’ to do with me da’s death too! The Constable told me everythin’. I’ll make you feel it!”
Ala wondered if he wasn’t saying it mostly to psych himself up. Jake spat and came for her, raising his sword. To his credit, it was a fairly neat, closed attack that left her little manoeuvring room. She counter attacked by raising her sword stepping in with her right leg and hip, covering all the distance she needed and a bit more as her left leg came forward, driving a blindingly fast diagonal stroke that cut Jake open from his left shoulder to his right hip. She knew from terrible experience that he would bleed to death in a few seconds. He dropped his sword with a clang as he sagged, crumpling forward. She readjusted her blade, putting its length between her and Abe next, trying not to think about Jake’s wasted life.
“Last chance, Abe, put the sword on the ground,” she said quietly.
Abe’s eyes were wide with shock as his friend finished toppling face first onto the ground. Ala could see his resolve fading from his face.
“Okay… okay… I’m going…”
He put his sword on the ground and backed away. She heard Myrthe speaking quietly behind her, in an unintelligible language that filled Ala with warmth and comfort. Myrthe touched her side, where the cut was. The pain disappeared. When she looked back at Abe, she could see he was running towards the gate as fast as he could. Unfortunately, she had only been wearing the simple cotton chemise and hose that went under her gambeson while meditating. Her red-golden mane of hair was bound in a loose ponytail and it stood out dramatically when the inn’s night watchman finally arrived with a big lantern. The thickset man was panting heavily, his small eyes moving over the two corpses before they turned to Myrthe and Ala and then to Ala’s drawn sword.
He yelled as he looked at the two dead men, “what in the blazes is going on here?”
The watchman had a large club, and a sword at his belt, but he hadn’t arrived expecting to have to use it. He was wearing ill-fitting padded armour that had clearly been made for a smaller man. He looked very nervous indeed.
Ala shrugged, “we were attacked. I saw to our defence.”
The watchman looked at the two corpses on the ground, then at her, and rubbed is beard. He calmed down when he decided that Ala wasn’t intending to use her sword on him. Once he was happy that he wasn’t going to have to fight anyone, he spoke again. “Fuck. I’m going to have to wake up the innkeeper,” he said it in a tone that made it clear that that wasn’t something he was looking forward to.
Luckily for him, someone had already taken that task upon themselves. A group of people led by what could only be the innkeeper, a fat bald man with a bushy beard was waddling across the camp ground towards them. His retinue included a large round woman, presumably his wife. Behind the two of them followed a gaggle of other curious people.
“What devilry is this? Todd?” He roared at the night-watchman.
“Master William, I just came to see what the disturbance was and found this… uhm elf-girl… standing over these two corpses. She claims it was self defence.”
“I will vouch for that,” said Myrthe immediately. “She saved my life.”
The innkeeper surveyed the scene before speaking, “and who are you, girl?” Said Todd gruffly to Myrthe.
“Myrthe Lambertye, Priestess of Guanshiyin and Lady of Easthall.”
“I apologise milady,” said the innkeeper with a shocked expression, falling over himself, obviously not really wanting to mean it, but changing his tone immediately.
“I will pay for the burial of the bodies, of course,” said Ala.
“Hmm… well Todd, I think that settles it. The Lady Priestess says the claim of self-defence is true, and I don’t see anyone here claiming they saw anything different.” He scanned the crowd that had gathered, but didn’t really leave an opportunity for anyone else to offer an opinion.
“So, that just leaves the bodies. A silver each.”
It was extortionately expensive. Ala really wanted the problem to go away though.
“Agreed. Get some of your boys to move the bodies.” She gave the innkeeper two silver coins. What was left of her inheritance was destined to run out quickly, it seemed.
The crowd quickly dispersed after that. When no one was looking, Ala decided it would be wise to search her two victims. She actually found ten silver coins between them. No wonder they had been eager, they had been well paid to come and kill her. Unfortunately, there was no incriminating paperwork. Nothing to link them to the Constable. Two boys with a cart arrived a few minutes later to take away the bodies. They had two buckets of water with them to wash away some of the blood too, forcing Ala and Myrthe to relocate their bedrolls. She didn’t think the innkeeper would be paying them anything extra for lugging bodies around in the middle of the night, so she gave each of them an eighth of silver for their trouble. Myrthe was staring at the activities looking a little shocked.
“I’ve never seen people killed like that before. I mean… I’ve seen a hanging… from far way. Never seen people killed in a fight… it was so fast… you move so beautifully and the effect is so…sudden… so ugly. Not like in a play or anything, where the fighters turn around each other for ages, is it?”
Ala shook her head.
“I wish they wouldn’t have forced it on me. They weren’t bad people. Not really. Just the wrong friends. Fell in with that asshole Travis Marchmain and his son. It cost them and their families. I knew Jake since he was four. His older sister is a friend.”
“You did give them every chance to back down. Why would they do that? You dealt with them with casual ease. They knew you, from the militia, didn’t they? They must have known they wouldn’t win?”
“I don’t know. It’s never that cut and dried. A slight error and I could be one of the bodies. That cut in my side only needed an inch to be debilitating. It’s true that they ought to have known their chances weren’t great, even if they outnumbered us. Sometimes I think there’s something in the male mind that makes them feel invincible, especially young human males. Or like being angry gives them some sort of immunity from injury.”
“My brothers acted like that sometimes, when they were teens.”
“Neither is true. Anger doesn’t protect you and being young definitely doesn’t make you immortal. Bernard taught me that anger clouds your ability to fight. You need to be constantly thinking, calculating, cold and clear. Maybe it’s just that they can’t fathom losing a fight to a young woman. I’m not sure. It could be that simple. But you’re right. They could have known better. Should have. Jake was probably lied to, drawn in. The Constables uncle murdered his father and sister, for the gods’ sake!”
“Yet he just tried to kill you? On this Constable’s orders?”
“The Constable and his father before him have obviously had an alternative story about what happened that day. They’ve probably been telling him that for a long time. I wouldn’t be surprised if the latest version features Bernard and I as villains.”
“It’s all so stupid and tragic. One thing though… I’ve seen a lot of weapons practices… how did you learn to fight like that? Your form is incredible.”
“My uncle, mentor. The man I told you about, Bernard. He served in the Duke’s Regiment for thirty years. I spent the last four decades, since he retired from the Regiment, learning from him.”
“But you fought like you’ve done so before?”
“We did get in the occasional real fight while serving in the militia, too. Usually raiders from Oakharrow. That skirmish I mentioned. I’ve been riding patrols for a long time.”
“It was… strangely beautiful, but for its deadly results.”
“I have a little bit of a perfectionist streak I guess. Also a fascination for warfare. I love sword work in particular, it’s wonderful working your way through sword forms, it calms me. I don’t know why. Bernard once gave me a beautiful book about sword fighting. Learned some new things from that too. I have it with me if you want to see.”
“So these weren’t the first men you’ve killed?”
“No,” Ala shrugged, “strangely enough, you do get used to it. So far all of them have been trying to kill me. That really helps. I did have to execute two orcks once…”
“Truly? Orcks are generally considered incorrigible, so I suppose that is the sensible thing to do.”
“It bothered me for a very long time.”
“I’d say that is to your credit, but in the case of orcks, I doubt there’s anything else to do.”
“So Bernard always said.”
Myrthe looked around the courtyard. There were still people occasionally looking at them, though it was all from quite a distance now.
“Lots of people just saw you’re an elf and you didn’t contradict the innkeeper when he referred to you as such. There’s no hiding it with your looks and that hair. Maybe when you were younger, but there surely are people here who have seen elves before.”
“I know. Oh well. Hard to claim my name is Alagariel Half-elven then, isn’t it? Ironic. That’s even how I’m referred to in official documents. I don’t really know if I have a real name, actually.”
“Well, we could disguise you. If we coloured your hair, kept it over your ears and kept you in bulky clothes you can pass for a half elf, maybe even a human. It’s just not possible in what you’re wearing now.”
“Hmm… I used to dye my hair. I think I want to just be myself for a change. I want to get used to being recognised as an elf… to just being what I am.”
“People are simple, mostly. Even so they will make the connection between you and rumours and stories once they start getting around. It’s not going to be long until we run into someone who is better educated. Word will begin to spread that you must be a fire elf eventually.”
“I don’t… mind… I think? If it’s what I am, so be it.”
“It’s going to bring out curious folk. Not sure all of them will be well-intentioned. The word could already be spreading for all I know, if someone in the crowd has voiced that you look an awful lot like a fire elf.”
“I understand that. I just don’t want to hide any more. There’s no point in worrying about it now is there?”
“No, I guess not. Let’s get some more rest before the sun comes up. I could use a few more hours. We’re not going to be doing anything else useful tonight.”
Ala could use another hour or two herself. As they lay down again, Ala asked Myrthe a question. “I noticed you used your title, with the innkeeper, I thought Priestesses didn’t do that?”
“I thought it would shut the innkeeper down quicker. Nobles can demand any trial be brought to noble court. I figured he wouldn’t want the hassle.”
“Good thinking… and thank you… for whatever it was you did to that cut.”
“It was a prayer to Guanshiyin. I guess she likes you.”
“That’s good news… isn’t it?”
“I’d say so, but then I’m a little biased…” Myrthe smiled.
Ala felt the place where the cut had been. She felt almost nothing of it, “you’re right to be.”
“I would really love to see your sword book sometime.”
The rest of the night passed quietly. After two more hours, Ala was wide awake. She pulled on her gambeson, mail and belt. She moved a little ways from the caravan to practice her sword forms. She spotted some people watching from a distance. There were still bloodstains on the ground from the previous night’s activities, silent reminders of death. None of the passers by gave the stains a second glance.
After her practice ritual she looked after Fulgor, and bought him an extra helping of oats from the Inns’ supplies. He was a big horse who used a lot of energy. Harald sold many of this stock as warhorses to traders, nobles and even the Duke’s Regiment, so Fulgor had been trained for battle. He was able to obey knee commands. He was a little young to be considered a full war horse, but he would grow into it. Myrthe woke up a few hours later. Ala had tea and an oatmeal breakfast porridge with honey ready for her.
“Good morning. I have some breakfast for you. Here…”
She looked around before accepting the bowl and mug with a smile.
“How long have you been up?”
“A few hours.”
“Must be nice to have extra time every day. Just think how much I could read! What do you do when everyone’s asleep?”
“Usually I use the time to practice sword work, unless I have some other project. Back home… back in Thetwick, I would often go to some ruins south of the town and practice there.”
“It’s a bit unfair really. Not only do you live ten times as long as me, you also get a few extra hours a day of being conscious…” Myrthe got her quizzical look before continuing, “could you teach me to meditate like that?”
Ala was taken by surprise. She’d never thought about it.
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried teaching it to anyone. I… don’t think I ever had to make any special effort for it. I don’t quite know where I would begin.”
“Well, we can try it can’t we?”
“Not sure it’s something that can be taught, but I don’t see that there could be any harm in trying.”
They ate breakfast together in silence. As she spooned her porridge out of her bowl, Ala was wondering how she might explain something like her meditation to someone who wanted to duplicate it. She suspected Myrthe was the sort who would want to make a proper effort before giving up on it, she should at least do her the courtesy of giving it some thought. Myrthe scraped her bowl empty, licking out the last bits, which pulled Ala out of her train of thought.
“Do you want some more? I can make more?”
“No, no I’m fine. I’m going to sit down and do my devotions, it looks like we’ll be leaving soon.”
Myrthe sat down on her bedroll cross-legged, and closed her eyes. Ala watched carefully as she went through a series of silent prayers and hand gestures. When she had finished, she asked Myrthe what it all meant.
“Well, it’s just an external display of our devotion and a request for guidance, for the strength to be able to be compassionate and merciful wherever we may go.”
“I think I like Guanshiyin. I’ve never given much thought to religion, to be honest. We have a small temple in Thetwick. It’s a dull place. Do the elves have their own gods?”
“I don’t think they have their own. Gods are universal, or so I’ve been led to believe. I think they revere some more than others though. I think they have different names for some of the gods. I’m not sure of how they think of Guanshiyin. I never thought to inquire. They do have one entity that humans don’t worship though, I think he… or she is called Aether.”
“Aether? Interesting. The sisters in Thetwick only really mentioned a few gods.”
“I’m sure there are countless gods being worshipped. How many of them are actually separate gods and not just aspects of some other god, is definitely open for debate. The Northlanders have a whole group of their own gods, like Odin, Thor and Freya. It’s kind of a case in point though. Wotan is Odin I think and I think Freya is probably Guanshiyin. Thor? Maybe Belus? I don’t know. They have even more, I think. I sometimes wonder how could you ever even find out which gods are the same ones? How could you ever know?”
“Well, so far Guanshiyin seems pretty cool to me anyway. Like a safe place… peaceful… but that isn’t the right word.”
Myrthe smiled at that.
“Yes. Yes she is…” she mumbled. “Though the faith hasn’t always been so peaceful.”
“What happened?”
“I read a book in the library. A long time ago. I mean a really long time, even for you…”
“Like how long?”
“Say… one and a half thousand years? Anyway, the faith of Guanshiyin had a branch or perhaps a splinter is a better word, called ‘The Last Resort’. Or well, I don’t think it was an official name, but people called it that.”
“That sounds ominous. I’ve never of anything called The Last Resort. It’s a strange name.”
“Well, I don’t think the book was intended for just everyone to read. It… eh… may have been in a restricted part of the library.”
Ala eyed the priestess who had an amused and mischievous look. “You broke into locked part of the library?”
“It was a bit more refined than all that. Lots of interesting reading material, though.”
“I imagine there was,” Ala looked at Myrthe again. The sweet young girl sneaking around doing forbidden things was at odds with the image she projected.
“Ominous is a good word for the Last Resort, actually. Like many things it started out noble enough. The book I read said that the name came from the idea that there came a moment when more compassion didn’t work on a problem. Hence, ‘The Last Resort’, I suppose. Specifically, it was aimed against the faith of Kithus, at least at the beginning. Have you ever heard of Kithus?”
“I don’t think I have.”
“Well. Case in point. It was apparently quite big in its time and terribly oppressive and expansionist, especially in Mur. All other faiths were considered bad, as were mages. They were all actively and energetically persecuted, which means torture and burning at the stake. The faith of Kithus doesn’t seem to have survived the attentions of the Last Resort, though. If it has, it’s never recovered at least. Perhaps it still exists, in secret corners of the world.”
“It doesn’t sound like the Last Resort was a bad thing.”
“In the case of Kithus, you might be right. But people started employing the last resort to justify different things, later on. There were nasty episodes. Eventually, the clergy cleansed itself. Outlawed the last resort within the faith. Lots of Kings and other rulers followed.”
“Sounds like an ugly time.”
“It was, I think, but the faith of Guanshiyin survived. I’ve never heard of the Last Resort still existing. It’s still illegal in most lands, I checked the law books.”
“Very thorough.”
“Some days are boring in the faith,” shrugged Myrthe. “It goes to show though, you have to be careful, even with something as inherently good and warm and nice as the faith of Guanshiyin.”
“That seems to be the moral of the story. It sounds like it’s a wise point, to me… though maybe… sometimes, you do need a Last Resort.”
“I worry that you might be right, in a way. Don’t tell the High Priest I said so?”
Time flew while they were talking. They seemed to flow endlessly from one fascinating subject into the other. Ala had never had such an interesting person to talk to.
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