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.
Peyrepertuse
The horses were safe and comfortable in Guanshiyin’s stables, so they decided to walk up to the castle. It was a stiff walk up the hill along a winding trail, most of it with high walls to either side. Ala couldn’t help but think of Bernard’s countless explanations on how to build defences. The masons who had built the approach to Peyrepertuse had certainly shared his philosophy. The guards at the gate were clearly bored and waved them through without challenge. Ala and Myrthe didn’t look like marauding orcks or Oakharrowers, so they just grunted and pointed when Myrthe asked where the Dukes’ Regiment was quartered.
The courtyard was enormous and it was busy. Competitions were being held, ranging from spear and javelin throwing, archery, pike and lance accuracy trials as well as numerous bouts of swordplay. Ala gravitated over to those out of interest and was relieved she didn’t see anyone doing anything she didn’t think she could manage. She spotted a big, muscular bearded man. He had the same sort of bearing as Bernard had had though he was obviously much younger. He looked like he had some authority over the proceedings and Ala walked over to him.
“Excuse me, sir?”
The man turned towards her, regarding her with an expression of mild distrust.
“I’m looking for a half-elf named Gladiuth. I think he’s a weapons master? Could you tell me where I might find him?”
The big man expression became a bit of a glare now. Ala wondered what she’d done wrong.
“Why should I let you bother him girl? Who are you?”
“My name is Alagariel. I have something for him.”
“Well, whatever it is, you can give it to me. I’ll make sure it’s passed on.”
“I’m sorry. I can only entrust it to his direct care.”
“You saying I can’t be trusted girl?” He growled.
Ala was losing patience rapidly. She had long learned that someone’s size wasn’t something she was going to let affect her.
“You may interpret it however you wish. As long as you direct me to him.”
It belatedly occurred to Ala that she would have been better off formulating her last remark in a slightly less antagonistic way.
“You had better know how to use that blade at your waist, girl.”
She could feel Myrthe stiffening beside her. Another voice spoke behind her.
“She’s an elf or something, Brugor. See the hair? Haven’t you heard of Alagariel? She rides patrols out of Thetwick I think… for that really old militia Captain. You know? That ancient bloke in the Westmarch. Bernard… uhm… Alanson? I think so. An able fighter and patrol leader of his, or so he reports. You are Alagariel aren’t you?”
The big man was no longer interested in Ala’s slight.
“Sorry milord, didn’t make the connection,” his eyes didn’t leave her though.
He was respectful to the speaker, but not at all deferential. Ala decided the bearded man wasn’t going to try and hit her unannounced. She looked round. A young, fair, well built man in his early twenties stood about twenty paces behind her. He was wearing a regimental officer’s surcoat over his mail and looked rather dashing, even to Ala. The surcoat must have been tailored, she decided. She could see he affected Myrthe too, the priestess was gaping at him. His eyes met hers.
“I’ll tell you what, Alagariel, we spar. If you win, I’ll take you to Gladiuth myself.”
“Agreed,” she said, without the slightest hesitation.
She removed the the long tied bundle that she had slung across her back and passed it to Myrthe. It contained Bernard’s hand and a half Ulfberht sword and scabbard. Next, she unbuckled her sword and took down her hood, then handed both cloak and sword belt to the priestess as well. This caused a bit of a flutter among the gathered men, who now all realised that she was a young elven woman. The bearded man, Brugor, had obviously forgotten the disagreement he was having with her and gleefully handed her a wooden sparring sword and a buckler, smiling broadly now. He was evidently keen to see the bout.
The nearest practice ring was cleared and the two of them stepped in. She felt the weight of the sparring blade, testing its balance. It had been years since she had bothered with a wooden practice sword. She was quite capable of sparring safely with live weapons, even her own elfblade. The young man attacked her with a diagonal sweep. She met it with her own blade and slipped her blade off it, tapped his sword out of the way and used the return energy to place the blade on his neck. Brugor, the bearded man called a point for her. The young officer tried a straight attack, she took the centre line back from him with a twist of her practice sword and placed the tip of the blade on the man’s neck yet again. Another point was called for her. A murmur started among the men. Her opponents’ next attack became a little wilder. He was becoming angry, she sensed. That suited her just fine.
After she had scored six points to nil, he lost his temper and came after her as she was walking back towards her starting marker. She had been waiting for that too, whirled on the spot and parried the attack aimed at her rearmost leg and then dropped her practice sword as she stepped in, moving until she was all the way behind him, then kicked up in between his legs, and put her hand over his head with her fingers in his eye sockets. She pulled his head backwards just as he wanted to crumple forwards, dropping him violently onto his back into the sand. She dropped one knee onto his neck and the other in between the muscles on his upper sword arm, and then disarmed him and threw the sword away.
“I don’t believe that’s in the sparring rules, you know,” she said quietly.
He couldn’t quite formulate words with her knee on his neck, he was gasping for breath. The men standing around were now dead silent.
“I trust that was a valuable lesson, Lord Caerel. I’ve told you to watch your temper often enough.”
It was a new voice, commanding yet melodic. It had an aspect of her own voice, but was clearly masculine. Perhaps this was Gladiuth? Ala wondered who this Lord Caerel that she had just kicked in the nuts was and whether she was going to regret it. Ala got up, moving backwards, rolling to a standing position over the balls of her feet and backing away from Caerel, though he didn’t yet seem to be able to try and attack her again. Once she felt she was at a safe distance, she turned towards the voice. The man was brown haired, with tanned, earthy skin and brown eyes. He was tall, with finely toned muscles and a blade at his belt. He was wearing very fine mail, probably the nicest she had ever seen. His ears were slightly pointed. He nodded his head towards her when she met his eyes.
“You must be Gladiuth.”
“Indeed. I understand your name is Alagariel. It explains where you learned to fight. I once knew your teacher.”
“He remembered you well, sir. He passed away two weeks ago. I have come with something he wanted you to have, as well as to ask your advice on a matter concerning his estate to be brought before the Duke’s court.”
She looked round. Brugor was throwing a bucket of water over the young lord, laughing. Myrthe came up to her and passed her her sword and scabbard. Ala buckled them on and then relieved Myrthe of the bundle with Bernard’s sword. Myrthe whispered into her ear.
“You just kicked the Duke’s grandson in the nuts.”
A flash of worry went through Ala’s mind, before it ebbed away.
“Wish I’d known that a few minutes ago,” she whispered back.
“Only just figured it out. Sorry.”
“Hope I didn’t just mess up the line of succession,” she whispered.
She turned back to Gladiuth with the bundle.
“I expect you will know what this is.”
“Yes, I can guess. I am very honoured. He wanted me to have it?”
“Bernard asked me to bring it to you.”
“This is a fine weapon, an Ulfberht. It is very valuable. Many great nobles would trade their heirs for such a sword. The blade alone would constitute a fine inheritance.”
“I know.”
“It speaks to how highly Bernard thought of you that he would ask you to do this. Will you and your friend join me for a refreshment? I would like to speak of Bernard a little, and perhaps raise a drink in his memory, if you have the time. He was dear to me, as I think he was also to you.”
“I would like that.”
Ala glanced over at Myrthe who didn’t seem to mind and was paying more attention to what was going on with Lord Caerel than to Ala’s conversation with Gladiuth.
“Perhaps afterwards we can practice a little? Your spar with Lord Caerel has left me curious.”
“I’d love to, sir.”
He led them into a building next to what must be the main barracks hall. The room they entered was decorated as an office or study. The walls were covered in weapons of all kinds, including many very exotic and beautiful ones. There were rows upon rows of swords, spears, axes, maces and halberds, weapons of every imaginable sort and many things Ala had never seen before. She marvelled at the display.
“Might I ask what your position is at Peyrepertuse, Master Gladiuth? You don’t appear to be serving with the Duke’s Regiment any longer, unless perhaps you are its commander?”
“I am only a member of the Duke’s Regiment in name. I am the Duke’s Weapons Master. The fighting skills of the soldiers are my responsibility, as well as those of others in the Ducal household and a few other matters.”
“I apologise for humiliating Lord Caerel. I didn’t know who he was. He’s your student. I had no idea. I’m sorry.”
Gladiuth smiled.
“It’s good for him. He has been much too cocky lately. He is actually quite good, he routinely bests most of his peers. It’s become difficult to challenge him, which is actually something of a problem. In fact he really ought to have been able to make life more difficult for you than he did. He let the assumption that he could easily win from a girl cloud his judgement. Then he let emotion rule him, leading to that inevitable result.”
“I noticed.”
“I don’t doubt it. Bernard was always a solid teacher.”
Myrthe had kept aside, looking around the endless weapon racks in the room.
She said, “Perhaps I should go see how Caerel is doing, I don’t appear to be much use here and I am a priestess after all. You two are going to spar later? I’ll see you on the practice field, then.”
“Of course, as you wish, priestess,” said Gladiuth.
Myrthe curtsied with practised ease and Gladiuth gave a small bow. She then slipped out the door. Ala thought she was looking mischievous, like she was going to execute some scheme.
When Ala turned back Gladiuth was unpacking Bernard’s sword. He took off his own weapon, which looked exquisite also and hung it on the wall with the others.
“I think, I will wear Bernard’s blade from now on. I was always most impressed by it. You know it is dwarf-work? The very best, by Clan Ulfberht. It is hundreds of years old. The fittings have been renewed and the scabbard of course, probably several times. It is truly a fine weapon. It is valuable beyond belief.”
“Bernard told me about Ulfberht blades. I had appreciated the craftsmanship and I saw the word ‘Ulfberht’ inlaid on the blade, but I have never seen other dwarven work to compare it to. Can I show you something else? I would prefer the details of it not get around however.”
“I swear that I will not speak of it, unless it is in some way vital to the safety of my Lord’s realm.”
“That will be fine.”
She drew her sword and offered it to him to inspect. She kept it a bit out of reach, thinking of the incident in the Thetwick meeting hall. She rotated a little so he could see the pattern. He lifted his hands as if to accept it… then thought better of it as he saw the swirls in the steel. He breathed in sharply.
“Ah… that is special. A true elf blade. Some of the fittings are not in style. Later additions?”
“It was damaged when it came to me.”
“You made the new fittings yourself?”
“Yes I did, with some assistance from the Thetwick blacksmith at the time.”
He nodded, his eyes never leaving the blade. “Where did it come from?”
“I was told it was found near me when I was a child by one of the Duke’s soldiers. It was left with me in Thetwick. The blade had been in a fire or something equally destructive and appeared to be worthless, except for its value as an heirloom.”
“A fire? That is curious. It will have belonged to someone travelling with you, I imagine?”
“I really don’t know. I don’t really have any coherent memories from that time. It’s not unlikely, I suppose.”
“I see. Well, I will tell you what I know of these swords. What you have there is an elf blade. You knew that already, of course. Bernard will have recognised it for what it is?”
“He did, though he did no know many details about them.”
“They are weapons of legend, purported to each be made by a group of five elven smiths and craftsmen, a master blade smith from each of the five elven elements. Cooperation between them produces these blades. The earth elves are responsible for the ore, finding it and treating of it. The fire elves have perfect control over the flames of the forge and the ovens. The water elves manage the cooling and tempering of the blades, the wood elves make the grips and scabbards. The metal elves shape the blade and assist in the making of the ingots. I’m not completely certain of much else, but it’s likely that if you could find a wood elven master craftsman he could restore the grip to the way it should be. Not that there is anything wrong with the fittings, they are very well made, but they are obviously not original.”
“That’s a lot more than anyone has been able to tell me so far. Do all elves have swords like this?”
“No, only the leaders of great and ancient elven families possess them, as far as I know. They’re rare, even among elves.”
It made Ala shiver a bit. A blade like this must be known to someone! It gave her a spark of hope that she might one day solver her own mystery.
Gladiuth continued his explanation as he poured drinks for them from a slender glass bottle, “now, about this specific blade. You see the pattern? They say the swirls increase with age, with the battles its wielders have fought. This is vastly denser than any other elf blade I have seen, and I was allowed to inspect a few in Amahle. The legends say that the pattern grows with every swing the sword makes in anger, the swirls describing every stroke ever made with the blade.”
“The swirls are growing every time I use it?”
“I don’t know if that’s actually true or whether it’s just poetic license. I do have an elf blade in my collection here, it was given to me in safe keeping by an earth elf. It is obviously much younger than this one though. A lot less pattern. To some extent, age or use does appear to have an effect on the pattern if the comparison between that blade and this one is anything to go by. I wouldn’t dare make any claims beyond that observation.”
“Why won’t you handle it?” She asked.
“Elfblades have a reputation about being picky about who wields them unsheathed, or even about who attempts to unsheathe them. It’s just a precaution, but there are stories of enemies of elves being struck down by some sort of discharge of power when they take up their vanquished foe’s blade, or attempt to take it from its rightful wielder. I’m not sure that’s true. I’ve handled the other one in my collection, but it hasn’t been wielded in over a century and the rightful owner conducted a ritual entrusting it to me. He did that even though he said he doesn’t believe in such ‘mythical nonsense’. That was literally how he described it. I have a healthy respect for such legends, there’s usually something behind them, even though it’s often not what you expect it to be.. I wouldn’t dare touch your weapon. That pattern… It must be… thousands of years old.”
“I think it hurt someone trying to take it from me a short while ago in Thetwick.”
“Truly? What happened? I’m most interested to hear the tale,” he said as he passed her a glass.
“Someone tried to take the sword from me. He fell down, clutching his breast… I don’t have any way of explaining what happened unless the man became unwell at the exact moment he attempted to disarm me.”
“That is certainly odd, to say the least. It doesn’t conflict with some of the elven sagas I’ve studied though. What of the man? The one who meant to disarm you?”
“I don’t know. I had to flee. I do not know what became of him… but I’ve seen men die before…”
Gladiuth nodded, “you think it killed him?”
“Yes. But it’s hard to understand why it didn’t it hurt Bernard or me when we handled it?”
Gladiuth looked thoughtful, “I’m mostly guessing now. It hadn’t been wielded for a while then and it wasn’t a complete blade. Bernard was also a man of pure heart, if I ever met one and I’d say very sympathetic to you. Perhaps he was even something of a father figure to you, I’m guessing based on my correspondence with him?”
“That’s a fair description, I suppose.”
“I’d guess that all those things play in to how a blade like this might react. I’m no magician, but I know enough about magic that it is as complex as the people who employ it.”
“But why would the blade accept me?”
“I don’t know you very well, but if your sword is strong enough to kill someone, I am assuming the blade judged you and decided you were acceptable to it. You are an elf, that must make a difference, perhaps even fire elves are somehow preferable to elf blades as the hereditary leaders of elven kind.”
“You think my being a fire elf could make a difference?”
“It’s mostly guesswork, but my guess is that’s what’s important to the elves is important to their blades. It’s even quite possible you are even its rightful wielder by whatever measure the weapons’ magic would make such a judgement. I suppose it would depend on the relationship between you and whoever was wielding it last. I know it may be uneasy, but they may have died wielding it to protect you and… well they may have been related to you. The way the elves do their magic is very… emotional, I’d almost say. If this blade feels it belongs to you, it would make sense for it to be harmless to anyone you care about.”
Ala took it all in, looking at the blade in her hands. Could it really be true? Was this blade wielded by her father or mother who died protecting her? She really couldn’t remember anything about it. She pushed the thought aside and considered the hilt she had so painstakingly made for it.
“You say it should be repaired?”
“It’s all a bit of a guess, cobbled together from pieces of legends and stories. The earth elf who gave me the elf blade I have here, didn’t believe anything of the power I just suggested your blade might have. But then we don’t call them the ‘down-to-earth-elves’ for nothing. There is magic in the world and his view might be just a little too mundane for my taste. Perhaps it was misguided bravado? I will ask him one day, if he still feels the same way. Despite his claims, I must note that he did observe the transferal ritual. He did this even though he claimed not to believe the weapon was more than a lump of steel. Do you have any pieces from the old scabbard and fittings?”
She did, she sort of kept them as a memento. There wasn’t all that much left. She took the small pouch out of her bag.
“Here,” she opened the pouch, and spread the pieces over the table.
Gladiuth didn’t touch these pieces directly either. He grabbed a glass object the like of which she had never seen in Thetwick. She knew it was a magnifying glass though, somehow. He looked over the pieces.
“Ah yes. I thought fire would have been strange. Legend has it that fire elves are friends with fire. We are surely looking at a blade of legend. The fittings and scabbard were destroyed by acid of some sort.”
Ala decided she would keep her talents with fire to herself.
“It’s not impossible that the blade was wielded by a different kind of elf though, mind you. I suppose you know that elves breed true. One of your parents may not have been a Fire Elf.”
“Myrthe explained to me that it worked that way. Would I be prying terribly if I were to ask about your heritage? I used to think I was a half-elf.”
“Did you? How did that happen?”
“I had no elves compare myself to. The first half elf I ever met was about fifty years ago and she was still very young. She never even met her elven father. It was only through collecting stories about half-elves and elves that I realised one day that the rate I aged at was much too slow for me to be a half elf.”
“Bernard didn’t tell you? He must have known.”
“He did know, but never realised that I didn’t. He even sort of forgot about it for several decades. Both he and the woman who took me in over a century ago thought I would be safer if I was thought to be at least half-human by the people of Thetwick.”
“There is some merit to that thought.”
“So, that’s what I was told too. I suppose it never occurred to either one that I might not know myself. Luckily farmers are not too well travelled. They never seemed to figure it out. If anyone else in Thetwick ever knew they kept it to themselves.”
She could see that Gladiuth had been listening intently to everything she had said.
“Well, about me, there’s not all that much to tell. I suppose I must share some of your experiences in growing up, though it will have been much more extreme in your case. The human children reached adulthood a little more than twice or thrice as fast as me. For you, it would be around a factor ten. My mother is an earth-elf, she lives down in Peyrepertuse actually, the alchemist’s quarter. I see her regularly. She says she is four and half centuries old. I am the product of a fling with a dashing officer of the Duke’s Regiment, or so she says. She still speaks of him fondly. I don’t remember him very well, though she claims I met him several times.”
“It sounds wonderful to me.”
“I suppose it would. It wasn’t all great, a half-elf among humans, but generally speaking, it wasn’t all that bad either. My mother has respect here at least and fulfils an important role in Duilhac. She herself was around and her sister came to live with us at one point too, so I had elves in my life. I wasn’t bullied or anything, but my mother did try to keep me among slightly smaller children. The ageing difference was not so great as it was for you, of course.”
“I’ve never actually spoken to another elf. I saw one or two on the street when we entered the city, but I was scared someone was out to plant a crossbow bolt in me, so I didn’t think it was the time to stop and chat. I know a half-elf who lives at the Ford Inn.”
“I’m sure my mother will be happy receive you. It’s possible it’s her you saw on the way in. She runs a shop in the Alchemist’s Quarter together with her older sister, who is a water elf. The sign says \textit{‘Ye Olde Potions Shoppe’}, which she thinks is very funny. It’s some sort of joke that I still don’t completely understand. Her name is Yesme, just tell her you talked to me. I’d be happy to take you there too of course, if you prefer.”
“I would like that very much, thank you.”
“Now what was that about someone wanting to put a crossbow bolt into you?”
“I don’t really wish to burden you with it, Master.”
“Look, I want you to tell me. I have a duty to the Duke and if there’s people planning assassinations, I must learn what I can about it and report it to the Constable, even if that usually comes to nothing. If it’s serious enough, I can tell the Duke himself.”
“It involves the matter that I need to take to the Duke’s court.”
“Well, let’s hear it.”
“I’m here because Travis Marchmain, Constable of Thetwick forged Bernard’s will or had it done. I should add that it’s not the man’s first act of corruption. The Marchmains have a long history of subterfuge and I’m certain Bernard will have reported it to the Duke in his missives regularly. I brought the matter before the village council after Bernard’s interment. That didn’t go terribly well, but I think I managed to get them to defer judgement until I returned…”
“What do you mean, that it didn’t go terribly well?”
“Travis attempted to invalidate my right to bear arms – that’s when the incident with the man who attempted to disarm me occurred.”
“I see, it explains why you had to flee.”
“Yes. Well, I will now petition the Duke’s Court to check Bernard’s signature on the Ducal warrant against the signature on my copy of the will and on the Scribe’s. I promised Bernard I would handle his estate and make certain it was well cared for.”
“That seems a sensible course,” his mouth curled into a snarl, “I must say, it makes me angry that Bernard’s memory is defiled with this dishonesty.”
“As it does me.”
“Please continue your tale.”
“The Constable, his son and those in league with them have a lot to lose. If their corruption is proven in the Duke’s court, Myrthe tells me the Duke will want to do something about it. That something might put them on the gallows.”
“I am certain it will, if it can be proved well enough. The Duke is very firm when it comes to anything that might undermine his authority. Trying to undermine rightful succession would not sit well with him and if there is a history of corruption, well, I’d be willing to place a wager on the outcome.”
“The Constable’s men also tried to kill me on the way here.”
“If their case is not good, they have a lot to lose. They must be quite desperate to stop you. More so, now that they’ve failed once.”
“Myrthe and I thought they might have ridden ahead of the caravan we were travelling with. She said that they might have put an assassination contract on me with the criminals of Duilhac.”
“I can see why you are worried. I am ashamed to say there are too many people in Duilhac who would do such a thing for money.”
“Myrthe seems to have an idea of what to do. I’m not sure what it is though, she won’t tell me. She’s a crafty one.”
“That young priestess? Really? More to her than meets the eye, is there?”
Ala nodded as Gladiuth continued.
“I’m afraid I can’t really think of much that would help. I have access to the Duke of course, if I need it. It’s going to have to be handled by the Duke’s Court, just like everything else, for the same reason that the Duke will be angry that it happened – the law must be seen to be served. The sessions can’t be moved forward for some reason. It is a matter of the agreement of lordship between the Duke’s ancestors and the burghers of the city.”
“Why exactly is that?”
“It has something to do with fairness, but to be honest, how that was originally envisaged isn’t clear to me. In any event, it was important enough to be included in the city charter. The court dates are immutable.”
“I’m just going to have to wait. I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Sessions are cancelled from time to time if it is important for the Duke to be elsewhere and he doesn’t feel he has a suitable replacement available, but never moved forward. The next one is on First. Other than that, I’d lay low, certainly until the court. Do you have a secure place to stay?”
“I think so.”
“Well. Use it until the court and be on your guard. I will speak to the Duke so that he already knows what is going on. Hopefully he will decide to move the matter forward on the day’s schedule otherwise you’re very likely to have to wait days, sometimes weeks before it’s your turn. Don’t worry though, I’ll bring this to the Duke’s attention. I can’t imagine he won’t find it important.”
“Thank you very much for all your help and explanations, Master Gladiuth.”
“It is my pleasure and honour to be able to help Bernard’s adopted daughter, especially under these circumstances. I owe that man my life at least as many times as he owed his to me.”
“Thank you, nonetheless.”
“You are most welcome. Let us then raise glasses, in memory of my friend and your mentor.”
She nodded and raised the glass, whispering “to Bernard,” as she took a big sip of the liquid. She noticed that her eyes reddened as she did so. The loss was still raw.
“To Bernard indeed!” Gladiuth drank it all in one swallow.
She took her second sip, finishing her drink. She didn’t know what it was but it was clearly potent, as well as delightful.
“What is this?”
“An elven beverage, from the Kingdom of Earth. My mother sometimes manages to acquire it. Bernard was rather partial to it too.”
“It’s wonderful.”
“Now, I would still like to spar, if you would consent?”
“I would like that very much.”
She decided she liked Gladiuth a lot. He wasn’t completely the first male she had ever found herself quite actively evaluating as a possibility to bed, but it was a rarity. She didn’t think anyone had ever affected her so. Even with Gabriel it hadn’t been something she was so actively considering. She was a little shocked by herself.
If you wish to receive the weekly installment to this story in your inbox, please subscribe to the newsletter below.
