《Soot-Steeped Knight (LN)》 Volume 1 - CH 1.1 Lilies. Lilies-of-the-valley, as far as the eye can see. Little bells abloom, all in a white tapestry. Long have I loved these flowers. They promise no pageantry of brilliant blossomings, but in their unmistakable downcast dangle do I sense their particular beauty¡ªone that I struggle to put to words. And lost was my gaze in them, just as my wits were to the sword so set upon me. A glance at the blade betrayed a slight quiver in its tip, its master¡¯s hand perhaps well aware of the sheer valley between our prowess. But I paid it no mind and left it to shiver ever more, for instead I drowned myself in the sea of lily bells once again. Perhaps I should take one home with me. They seem the sort to be content with life in a pot. A broadly-built man well on his way home, stark-sable sword at his hip, a potted white flower embraced to his bosom. A silly sight, I admit, sure to garner a good chuckle or two¡ªsmiles I would like to see, laughter I would like to hear. As these fancies, for battlefields ill-befitting, filled my mind, I took in the scenery once more. Ah, yes. Lilies like these bloomed, too, upon that hill, on that very day. ? ¡°You were incredible, Rolf! I could scarcely believe it!¡± Emilie rejoiced, her azure eyes wide and fixed upon mine. We were there on that hill, enrobed as it was in bell-bedight lilies and Emilie herself serving as its crown, with sunrays scintillating through her flaxen hair and a hearty smile upon her fair visage. ¡°You and I both; Lady Luck merely smiled my way, that¡¯s all it was,¡± I responded, impressed by Emilie¡¯s bursting joy. ¡°And Sir Simon wasn¡¯t giving it his all, I¡¯m sure.¡± I had partaken of sword training earlier that day. A spar was held, where I somehow eked out a victory against a full-grown instructor. At a mere fifteen years of age, my body was already both the height and build of an adult man, and so was not wanting of physical strength. Though, the same could hardly be said of my technique, and I very well stood to lose because of it. That I won at all was owed purely to the fates and my instructor¡¯s own reserve. ¡°¡®Twould seem Lady Luck has an eye for talent, then! Sir Simon was a lieutenant for the 1st Order, you know!¡± returned Emilie, hopping about happily. All through to our earliest days, she had always celebrated whatever good fortune found its way to me, as if they were her very own. The eldest daughter of House Mernesse, she was. While a small, yet ennobled family, they held no domain of their own, and it was decided earlier on that she would be wedded to House Buckmann. Though both houses were headed by barons, the one that owned land was the latter¡ªthe Buckmanns, my own family. To put it simply, laying on the horizon was the promise of marriage between us. ¡°To think, my beloved husband-to-be is this strong already,¡± Emilie said after a giggle, ¡°why, I¡¯d burst with pride if I was any prouder!¡± A girl of affection most assertive¡ªthat was the kind of soul Emilie was. And here was I, flustered in receiving it. ¡°Emilie¡­¡± began my modest answer, ¡°¡­you¡¯re very kind.¡± For some time now, I had thought to more fully embrace Emilie¡¯s love, but the right words would always escape my lips. We were both fifteen, then. While arranged marriages are a long-held tradition amongst the nobility, it is no strange phenomenon to harbour contempt in having one¡¯s prospective spouse be chosen by others. For her part¡ªand by her own admission, no less¡ªEmilie was pleased to have me as her future husband. I suppose I should have confessed how thankful I was of her feelings. Failing to do so was surely an insult to her, but my own words fumbled all too easily. A coward, I know. Not the prodigy that others saw me to be. I wonder what it was that convinced them of such, speaking of which. Yes. That¡¯s right. ¡®Rolf Buckmann, the boy prodigy,¡¯ they¡¯ve always said. A wunderkind, brave and wise, excellent in myriad things¡ªor so it seemed. At the very least, I thought my own courage to be rather scant. ¡®Emilie! I, too, am proud! To see your smile with such intimacy is my sole privilege¡ªwhy, I might go door to door just to boast of it!¡¯ If I was brave as they say, then surely these words would have been most enthused to leap from my lips. While such thoughts thundered through my head, my betrothed continued to gaze intently upon me, and it was then that a voice echoed from a ways behind us. ¡°Brother!¡± ¡°Felicia!¡± I called back, turning about. ¡°How goes it?¡± There she was: Felicia Buckmann, my younger sibling. Her locks were long, and like mine, deep and dark like the night. Our eyes differed, however: where mine were as onyxes, hers were as regal rubies, and the face they bejewelled was an even match for Emilie¡¯s in its beauty. A most charming sister, if I do say so myself. ¡°A berry pie to celebrate your triumph, dear Brother!¡± said Felicia, settling down beside Emilie and I before unveiling from a basket a pie replete with assorted berries. With deftness, she proceeded to slice out a few wedges. ¡°One for you as well, Emilie.¡± ¡°Oh Felicia, it looks wonderful!¡± exclaimed Emilie, her eyes sparkling with joy. ¡°Celebrate my triumph, you say?¡± I asked. ¡°I¡¯ve heard you bested Sir Simon in a spar. ¡®A dynamic strike from the high guard!¡¯ they all said,¡± Felicia recounted. ¡°Did they now?¡± I returned. ¡°Well thanks anyway, Felicia.¡± Against my own heart, I dared not downplay the achievement at that moment. After all, Felicia was in the habit of baking sweets to commemorate my every deed, little or no. Not long before, our governess was most taken aback after I discovered an error in a heraldic tome. For that occasion, Felicia presented to us a plate of gaufres¡ªah, delectable they were, indeed. Though the berry pie before me was even more so. ¡°A fine pastry you baked for us, Felicia! The aroma alone is a treat,¡± I complemented. ¡°Truly!¡± Emilie echoed. ¡°I made it with Staffen rum. Orla told me it works wonders for a pie,¡± explained Felicia. She had often found herself in the kitchen indulging in pursuits of pastry production, and in the process got along very well with the maids and cooks, Orla included. ¡°My stomach growls for more. Spare me another slice, Felicia?¡± ¡°And me!¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad it¡¯s to your likings both,¡± my sister softly giggled. ¡°Here you are, then. Oh, we mustn¡¯t forget the tea.¡± Up the bell-lily hill billowed a balmy breeze. The three of us were sat there, shoulder to shoulder, our faces beaming from the sour-sweetness of Felicia¡¯s berry pie. Silly chatter and conjoined laughter chimed through the air. ¡°Brother, won¡¯t you regale us with another tale?¡± my sister requested. ¡°A tale? Hmm, a tale, eh¡­ How about something I read in a book recently¡ªone on the relative densities of heavy metals found in knights-wear.¡± ¡°R-Rolf! That¡¯s more a lullaby than a legend,¡± Emilie poked. ¡°How about something more thrilling, let¡¯s say?¡± The land, washed white with lilies-of-the-valley. The sun, shining softly down upon the three of us. ¡°Hmm¡­ right, how¡¯s this? From the chronicles of a southbound excursion: a creature most rare and riveting. Does that tickle your curiosities?¡± ¡°It does! Tell us more!¡± ¡°It¡¯s settled, then. Let me tell you of a southern specimen¡ªa critter they call the ¡®hippo¡¯¡­¡± Our childhood brimmed with bliss, and this was but a scene from its last day, one ever enthroned in my memory. Volume 1 - CH 1.2 ¡°Tomorrow¡¯s the big day. Your nerves must be frayed, Brother!¡± said Felicia, in the midst of our family supper. ¡°Not yet they are, thank you. After all, I can¡¯t do aught but let the chips fall where they may,¡± I responded. Upon the fifth month of his fifteenth birthyear, the ordinary Londosian attends a particular ceremony officiated by the church. Such is tradition in this kingdom of Londosius, and most do partake in it, for none are turned away on account of status. The ¡®Roun of Orisons,¡¯ as it is called¡ªa rite from which one attains ¡®odyl,¡¯ or the spring and store from which magicks are drawn. A priest presides over its proceedings, during which, it is said, one would commune with the Deiva, Yon¨¢. Thereupon, one¡¯s soul would be bound to Her, and through this bond, She would share her grace: the gift of odyl. How much is shared differs between each person, and to be given a generous amount all but guarantees success in one¡¯s future endeavours. Little wonder as to why so many find themselves gripped with anxiety on the eve of this ceremony. ¡°I, for one, have little doubt that our very own Rolf will be blessed with a veritable mountain of odyl,¡± my mother boasted. ¡°A great service he¡¯ll do for the Order! Won¡¯t you, Rolf?¡± ¡°Now hear, my love. It won¡¯t do for our boy to sooner buckle under a mountain of expectations, now would it!¡± my father quipped. ¡°Already, he is prodigious in matters of book and blade both. Nevermind a mountain¡ªjust a mound will do, and he¡¯ll flourish just the same.¡± My parents¡¯ faces were fast abeam as they showered their praises upon me. ¡°Listen well, Rolf,¡± said my father, turning to me. ¡°No doubt the generosity of Yon¨¢¡¯s gift will prove crucial, but do not be so taken by it. Of greatest account is that through the Roun of Orisons, you commune with Yon¨¢ Herself, and thereby with Her, birthing a new bond. Keep this in your heart!¡± ¡°Of course, Lord Father,¡± I answered. ¡°Hm, very good. And while you¡¯re at it, why not brush up on the Rounic scriptures?¡± my father continued. ¡°You¡¯re well-read in them, I know, but oft is there something to be gleaned from re-treading a trodden path, especially that of a saint¡¯s.¡± ¡°That I will,¡± heeded I my father¡¯s counsel. And once supper was done with, I dutifully headed over to the manor study. ? Six centuries past, there lived a saint by the name of Rakliammelech. From the empyrean on high, he received the Revelation, and thereupon was enlightened of the Roun¡ªa miracle most hallowed, the workings of godly hands and godly thought. Through it could the souls of Man be bound to Yon¨¢, and by Her grace attain the gift of odyl. A story known to any and all in this kingdom, recounted in the book I now took to hand. Scriptures telling of the lore of the Roun of Orisons¡ªin the corner of the study, I opened its familiar pages, and, by my father¡¯s earlier insistence, committed myself to reading through the familiar tale. ? Rakliammelech was then a youth in his prime, and most compassionate. He cared for his mother¡ªfrail-legged, she was¡ªand together they lived in a settlement nestled within the vales. Once upon a time, under the light of the noon sun, young Rakliammelech was busy afore his home, tending to his field. It was at that moment that into the settlement, they came¡ªthe ¡®Nafilim¡¯. His mother, weak of legs as she was, could hardly suffer a hasty flight, and so Rakliammelech, gripped with desperation, took hoe in hand and went to scatter the invading Nafilim. Try as he might, however, the young man¡¯s bark was worse than his bite. No sooner was he skewered with spears and left to prostrate whence he once stood. Hours wound by. Rakliammelech lifted the lids over his eyes. By some miracle was his life spared¡ªbut as he would come to know, it was a miracle ill-shared. Before him was his mother, hewn to pieces, her human shape far forgotten. A death of unspeakable cruelty, handed down to the only blood relation he had on this earth¡ªthe very sight of it sent the son into a howling fit of despair. His wounds unwound themselves, basting his body in blood with whom he no longer shared. From then on, poor Rakliammelech committed much of his days to prayer. He tended to the fields, but only to reap the least of what would sustain him. Any other hour found him beside a great tree, praying to the gods. In those olden days, Yon¨¢ was not worshipped as the sole deity, for throughout the lands, men practised each their own native faiths. For his part, Rakliammelech was ill-apprised of the gods, and knew neither to whom he should pray nor how. Nonetheless, he could not bear the thought of leaving his mother¡¯s soul to linger on unsoothed. Was she given to this ¡®heaven,¡¯ as they called it? Or did her destination lie elsewhere? The answers were lost to Rakliammelech, but what wasn¡¯t was his desire to bring about a peace where none would have further need to suffer. And he could no longer deny the great yearning for grace with which to smite the Nafilim and undo their coil of misery. For they were Unreason itself, with lightning immediacy trampling those who aspired to little more than living their lives in harmony. The meek must resist, and do so without fail¡ªof how, he wished to know. So it was that day by day, Rakliammelech persevered in his prayers beside that great tree, the most magnificent of all the trees he knew and within which he envisioned a godly presence. ¡®Better to rise up in arms than wallow in prayer,¡¯ rebutted none, for in their despair against the terrible might of the Nafilim, men had made cowards of themselves. What was left to Rakliammelech, then, was nothing but prayer. Through days of snow swollen high, he prayed. Through days of screaming storms, he prayed. Through days of seething heat, he prayed¡ªon and on, unmoving and unbending, prayers bereft of their erstwhile serenity. Scarcer numbered the days that found him upon the field. Prayer became his life, consuming him for days on end, during which he eschewed all sleep and sustenance. His figure paid the toll, now too frightful to be rightfully that of a saint¡¯s, it was said. ? Having read up to that point, I pried my eyes away from the text on a whim, finding Felicia coming into the study. ¡°There you are!¡± she called. ¡°Found me, I see. Here am I to indulge in the scriptures again, just as Father bade me do.¡± ¡°And I bid you retire soon for the night, dear Brother,¡± she said. ¡°You have such an important day tomorrow, yet I was worried you might still be cooped up in the study, as you are like to do for hours on end.¡± ¡°You¡¯re very kind, Felicia. Thank you,¡± I returned. ¡°And good night.¡± ¡°Oh¡­ Yes. Good night, dear Brother,¡± she said, taking leave of the study. It would seem Felicia wished to chat a while more, and if so, I¡¯ve done her a disservice. But it was in believing it would not do to interrupt her brother¡¯s literary duties that she left with such immediacy. Warmed by my sister¡¯s thoughtfulness, I turned my eyes back to the book. ? And then one day, at long last, came the Revelation. In the recesses of Rakliammelech¡¯s mind, there spoke a voice, intermittent, but infinitely warm and profound. ¡°¡­cheth¡­ thi¡­ Hail, dost my voice reacheth thine ears?¡± Right away, the young man sensed it to be the words of the divine. He knew not why, only, his conviction had convinced him so. ¡°O son of Man, by thy Mercy so gaol¡¯d in durance of Prayer. Lo, by my god-some name, Yon¨¢, this Roun, veil¡¯d myst, thou art receipt.¡± Rakliammelech then felt an unknowable flow coursing into him, and in that moment, there took form within him knowledge by which to link one¡¯s soul to the Deiva Herself: the ¡®Roun¡¯, as She so called it. ¡°To thine own kin, pray bequeathest this Roun¡­ To the Wicked, dread-lorn¡­ barest thy Fangs¡­¡± The voice then began to wane. ¡°O son of Man¡­ pray, by Strength of thy kin, redeemest the World¡­ of Ages Pass¡¯d¡­¡± Quietude returned. At the foot of the great tree, Rakliammelech slowly rose. He felt then how alike the divine voice was to his late mother¡¯s own. From then on, the saint, enlightened as he was, wandered the various lands, conferring the Roun to his fellow man. Through it, the folk employed magicks to protect both their homes and their own lives. Rakliammelech was shown deep gratitude, indeed, and was even offered coin and titles, but abstinently did he refuse them all. By his words, thanks should be given to Yon¨¢, for he was merely Her messenger and mediator. The saint eventually came into Death¡¯s embrace, and thereafter those who loved both him and the Deiva founded the Yonaic faith. Knowledge of the Roun, itself the rites by which to commune with Yon¨¢, was preserved in earnest, and the nascent Yonaic priesthood devoted itself to conferring it to the kin of Man. It was then that these rites came to be known as the Roun of Orisons. The priesthood, on account of the burden borne of having one¡¯s soul bound to a god, also ruled that the Roun of Orisons be carried out for those at least fifteen years of age. So it was that the priests continued to confer it to the kin of Man all throughout the lands, granting them strength. In time, resistance against the Nafilim came to be institutionalised. Cities were built. Realms were born. Of note was Rakliammelech¡¯s own homeland, whereupon the foundations of the kingdom of Londosius were laid. What grew from it would become the grandest of all the realms of Man. And so, as they say, the rest was history. Volume 1 - CH 1.3 ¡°¡­Well, that¡¯s that,¡± I sighed, closing the book. The Roun of Orisons was to receive me on the morrow. There, I would attain odyl, the power to fight the Nafilim¡ªthey who so bear ill intent towards and commit ill deeds upon our kind. They, who from birth are each instilled with powerful odyl of their own. It is said that in ages long gone, men were bereft of odyl and could do little against the Nafilim but be overrun by them. Rakliammelech¡¯s feats six hundred years past, however, brought odyl into the hands of men at long last. With it, they faced the Nafilim¡ªan effort that continued on through the centuries. Here in this kingly realm of Londosius, any who are received at the Roun of Orisons are also qualified to enter into the service of the Chivalric Order. Nobles in particular are keen on this, with no small number conscripting into the Order as soon as they are able. The kingdom itself is founded upon the congregations of resistance against the Nafilim. As such, the nobles see themselves honour-bound to join the fight. Emilie and I were no different¡ªwe both planned to join the Order together. It is scarcely the case that the sons and daughters of nobility are sent to theatres of war deemed perilous overmuch. Serve the Order for a number of years, receive the rites of investiture, gain a degree of combat experience, and then return home to one¡¯s domain¡ªsuch is the career laid out for us young nobles. To those of our station, there is otherwise little reason to join the Order. But I thought differently. For as long as I could remember, the legends of chivalric gallantry were a great fascination to me, so much so that I came to harbour dreams of becoming a knight myself. It was for that very reason that I honed my swordsmanship more doggedly than any other I knew. The time would come someday when I would take the reins of this patch of territory, though thankfully, my father was yet hale in his health. Knighthood was my ambition, and it was my aim to remain a knight for as long as I could. And of course, there was Emilie. I dared not leave her out of the picture. Apparently, there are nobles who¡¯ve wedded during the course of their military service. Comforted by this precedent, I intended to propose to her sometime before the barony was to pass to me. And after fulfilling my dreams and becoming a man that even I can be proud of, I would set out for my homecoming. Such was my wish. Such was my hope. ? ¡°Today¡¯s the day, Rolf! Let¡¯s give it our all!¡± Emilie cheered, her hands clenched with determination. ¡°I¡¯m afraid our ¡®all¡¯ amounts to little, Emilie,¡± I remarked. ¡°Kneel before the Reverend, close our eyes¡ª¡®tis done before we know it.¡± And rightfully so, for the one officiating the Roun of Orisons was the priest, after all. It was his shoulders that bore the work. ¡°But wouldn¡¯t it be nice to let Yon¨¢ know of the ardour in our hearts? Surely She¡¯ll answer in kind!¡± my fianc¨¦e countered. ¡°I say Emilie has a point, Brother. I¡¯ll be coming to watch your heroic performance myself, so pray give your all to earn Her grace,¡± said Felicia, with a firm mind in accompanying us to the church. But with so heavy a word like ¡®heroic,¡¯ I feared my own mind was aught but firm. ¡°Performance, you say? Well¡­ if you insist, Felicia,¡± I relented. ¡°For you, I¡¯ll put on my best act.¡± ¡°One worthy of ovation, I would hope!¡± said Felicia. ¡°After the curtains close, it will be long before we next meet. It would please me to have one more memory of you for the while, Brother¡­¡± Emilie and I had arrangements to enlist in the 5th Chivalric Order very soon after the Roun of Orisons wrapped up. The base of operations for the 5th was located in the march of Norden, a territory neighbouring the royal capital, and our departure for the march was scheduled on the day after the ceremony itself. A trip between the Buckmann barony where we were and the march of Norden was not in and of itself a particularly long journey, but it was also one not to be taken at leisure. ¡°But you¡¯ll be enlisting yourself, won¡¯t you Felicia? In the coming year, that is,¡± I asked. ¡°We¡¯ll keep a seat warm for you.¡± ¡°Yeah, Felicia! A year passes before you know it!¡± ¡°My hope that it will. I¡¯ll be right on your heels, you two!¡± Warm smiles were shared between us. ¡°And how about you, Rolf?¡± Emilie asked, turning to me. ¡°Knighthood is right on the horizon, at last!¡± ¡°¡®Tis the same horizon we both look upon, isn¡¯t it Emilie?¡± ¡°That¡¯s true, but I¡¯m hardly the one who¡¯s been dreaming of it for, what, ten years now, it¡¯s been? The wait¡¯s almost over, Rolf!¡± ¡°I share in Emilie¡¯s thoughts, Brother. For such a momentous occasion, you seem the tree unswayed by the merry winds.¡± That my dream alone gave spark to these girls¡¯ gazes was most endearing. ¡°A year of swainhood comes first; we¡¯ll be as saplings toiling against winds of a different temperament, I¡¯m afraid. Once we¡¯ve taken root, though, we must ply ourselves till we¡¯ve earned our investitures,¡± I explained. ¡°I¡¯ve no doubt it¡¯s on the horizon, but the distance spans more deeply than we¡¯d like.¡± ¡°Oh Brother, you have but to receive your accolade right as the second year opens. Then, you¡¯ll be a proud knight by the time I¡¯m a swain myself!¡± ¡°Felicia¡¯s on to something! We should celebrate both milestones at once! Together, of course!¡± ¡°Now, you two. Didn¡¯t I just say it wasn¡¯t going to be that easy¡­?¡± A shade of anxiety hung in my heart, I admit, but thanks to the girls, I felt its mists lift as the trip went on. ? Solemnity draped the church more palpably than usual. Forgathered within were children from all corners of the Buckmann barony, each having celebrated their fifteenth birthdays this year. A shared tension was written upon each of their faces as they lined down the aisle. Further in was a statue of the Deiva, Yon¨¢. Framed by a pane of stained glass from behind, She cast a grave gaze down upon us all. At Her likeness¡¯ base stood the priest, flanked by a pair of knights¡ªpersonnel from the 5th Order, the same we were to enlist in. Their twofold charge was to act as the priest¡¯s bodyguards and to survey the odyl of prospective recruits. ¡°Well met and congratulations, all of you,¡± greeted the priest. ¡°Fifteen years have safely brought each of you here today.¡± What followed was a narration of the story of St. Rakliammelech. How he suffered the ill deeds of the Nafilim, realised the cruelty of the world, and communed with Yon¨¢¡ªall passionately recounted to us so gathered. ¡°To that end, only for that which is good and just must you employ the gift of odyl¡ªthe same to be bestowed upon each of you on this day.¡± Everyone present had their eyes and ears fixed to the priest¡¯s sermon in great earnest. Glancing over, I found Emilie¡¯s profile to be no less taken by the solemnity. ¡°Henceforth shall we commence the Roun of Orisons. Pray mind your order.¡± Our nerves collectively frayed further. Up ahead, a boy was summoned forth. The steps he took on his way to the priest were clumsy and ill at ease. Once there, he received a translucent quartz crystal from the holy man, wrapped it in both his hands, knelt down, and closed his eyes. The priest, for his part, raised a palm towards the boy¡¯s forehead, and with a sonorous voice, began to chant. ¡°O Yon¨¢, Deiva Supr¨¥ma, Aegis of Man from the Empyrean on high. Here, we adjureth Thee, Most Divine, of Thy Grace, that we may stayeth the march of the Wicked, and answereth the entreaty of sons and daughters of Man set adrift.¡± As the psalm finished, a deep blue glow sighed from the quartz in the boy¡¯s hands. In turn, he opened his eyes slowly and gazed at length into the crystalline light. Once it faded away, the priest spoke. ¡°It is done. May Yon¨¢¡¯s blessing find you, my son.¡± The next person stepped up as the boy returned to the line. Despite having received odyl, he seemed visibly dejected, and rightfully so. The measure of odyl bestowed is decided by the depth of the quartz-light¡¯s blue colour. To put it simply, the paler the light, the more odyl one is bestowed, and it is said that a light of sky-blue hue was a most excellent result, indeed. For the boy, his was of a deep blue shine, indicating that odyl of no appreciable amount was given to him. His drooping shoulders, then, seemed quite justified. The Roun of Orisons proceeded further without trouble, granting odyl to each of us one after the other. The reactions were mixed¡ªsome radiated with elation for their results, others slumped in defeat. ¡°Next: Emilie Mernesse. Pray come forth.¡± ¡°Y-yes, Reverend! R-right away!¡± she stuttered, before turning to me. ¡°Rolf! Off I go!¡± ¡°Calm your nerves first, lest your feet stutter as well,¡± I returned. Taking her turn, Emilie made her way to the priest. Like the others before her, she took up the quartz crystal, knelt down, and held it close to her heart. Her fingers were clasped tightly about it, almost as if it embodied the whole of Yonaism itself. The priest¡¯s palm then reached out towards her forehead. Emilie herself kept both eyes squeezed shut, betraying in them a slight quiver. ¡°O Yon¨¢, Deiva Supr¨¥ma, Aegis of Man from the Empyrean on high. Here, we adjureth Thee, Most Divine, of Thy Grace, that we may stayeth the march of the Wicked, and answereth the entreaty of sons and daughters of Man set adrift.¡± A glimmer began to enshroud the quartz, as if on cue. Emilie opened her eyes nervously, but instead, found it impossible to look¡ªthe quartz was as the sun itself, luminous and dazzling in its pure white refulgence. The priest and both knights were taken aback, their faces stretched in shock. I glanced at the spectators situated further back, finding the same reaction in each and every one of them. Felicia herself was frozen in utter astonishment. Upon the light¡¯s eventual calm, the priest and knights regained their wits and broke into discussion. ¡°Reverend¡­ That light. Was it not wholly pale just now¡­?¡± observed one of the knights. ¡°If memory serves, such brilliance would mean the fullest measure of odyl has been given©`¡®Aureola¡¯, the halo-light, as it were?¡± ¡°It¡­ It would seem so! Many years have I officiated this solemn ceremony, but this be the first mine eyes have beheld such a light!¡± exclaimed the priest. ¡°Miss Emilie, yes? Oh! Bless your soul, child! Yon¨¢ embraces you with Her most profound love!¡± ¡°Emilie Mernesse! Do tell: you mean to join the Order, yes!? Surely!¡± ¡°Y-yes, sir. I-I do.¡± All eyes in the church were trained upon Emilie. ¡°And you felt the odyl manifest within you, yes?¡± asked the other knight. ¡°I-I did, yes. From within my chest, I noticed something¡­ something tinged with heat, come coursing in.¡± ¡°In all the history of the 5th Chivalric Order, none till today have produced the Aureola! Be proud, for you hold the greatest odyl of any recruit to this very moment! We welcome you, Emilie Mernesse! We welcome you with open arms!¡± ¡°Th-thank you, good sirs!¡± After enduring a long while of exaltation from the knights, Emilie came back my way, her cheeks fully ablush. ¡°R-Rolf¡­!¡± she gasped excitedly. ¡°Congratulations, Emilie!¡± ¡°Th-thanks! Good luck to you too, Rolf!¡± ¡°Next: Rolf Buckmann,¡± called the priest. ¡°To the fore, if you may.¡± Volume 1 - CH 1.4 ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Summoned so by the priest, I made my way to the front. Receiving the quartz crystal, I knelt and closed my eyes. Once more, his psalm resounded through the church. ¡°O Yon¨¢, Deiva Supr¨¥ma, Aegis of Man from the Empyrean on high. Here, we adjureth Thee, Most Divine, of Thy Grace, that we may stayeth the march of the Wicked, and answereth the entreaty of sons and daughters of Man set adrift.¡± Silence. Nothing. There manifested nothing at all within my bosom. The quartz, too, remained wholly unchanged. ¡°¡­O Yon¨¢, Deiva Supr¨¥ma, Aegis of Man from the Empyrean on high. Here, we adjureth Thee, Most Divine, of Thy Grace, that we may stayeth the march of the Wicked, and answereth the entreaty of sons and daughters of Man set adrift,¡± the priest repeated diligently. Try as he might, no change came about the crystal. ¡°Reverend¡­ What¡¯s this¡­?¡± whispered one of the knights. ¡°I¡­ I know not. This should not be possible,¡± returned the priest. ¡°¡­O-oh Yon¨¢, Deiva Supr¨¥ma, Aegis of Man from the Empyrean on high! Here, we adjureth Thee, Most Divine, of Thy Grace, that we may stayeth the march of the Wicked! And answereth the entreaty of sons and daughters of Man set adrift!¡± A third attempt. A third failure. ¡°¡­What preposterousness¡­!¡± our Reverend relented. ¡°Young man. I fear Yon¨¢, the Deiva Supr¨¥ma, has graced you not of Her gift of odyl.¡± Upon hearing the priest¡¯s words, the knights were seized by a surprise of a different sort. ¡°Has there ever been such a thing, Reverend? To be given naught?¡± ¡°¡­Writ in our history, it is not, I¡¯m afraid. Though Her grace of odyl varies in scope, it is heretofore a gift always given.¡± ¡°Then what explains this, Reverend?¡± A shake of the head. ¡°I¡­ I have not the answer. Were it merely that the light was unthinkably faint¡­ but this too, I fear, was not the case. While truly incredulous, I can only surmise¡­¡± the priest reasoned, his brows furrowing at me as if he was beholding something most alien, ¡°¡­that this young man has been denied Her blessing.¡± Immediately, I took in the weight of those words, and so rose up and turned back. There, I was met with Emilie and Felicia, struck and silent beyond measure. ? ¡°¡­Rolf Buckmann¡­ the man ungraced¡­¡± I was back home in my room, letting free such utterances from my lips. A look through the window revealed evening skies more drab and dreary than those of days past. Not a single word was spoken between Emilie, Felicia, and I in the carriage during our trip home from the church. I normally pay no mind to such airs of silence, but abiding the two¡¯s reticence today required some tangible effort. From time to time, the girls looked my way, their eyes darkened with both worry and sorrow. It seemed they could not find the right words to console me with. To be bereft of odyl is clearly an aberration. Its absence brands one as being nigh powerless in battle. A stigma, no doubt, for we kin of men have long been¡ªand still are, to this very day¡ªat war with the Nafilim. Though they be our enemy of many centuries, they are unlike us humans in scant ways. Indeed, aside from the tawny colour of their skin, they possess the same manner of appearance as we do. They have a culture of their own, and even share our language. However, the most striking difference is found in our disparate strengths: odyl is instilled within them from the moment of conception, whereas we humans must attain it through divine ritual. With such odyl, they arm themselves with frightful magicks, earning their place as, to us, a most terrible enemy. Fighting fire with fire was the chosen path for men¡ªwe, too, came to wield the same odyl against the Nafilim. A magicked defence is required to ward off a magicked offence. Similarly, only a magicked offence can break through a magicked defence. Without such magicks, men are as lambs left to the slaughter. The Chivalric Orders themselves are founded upon this very basis. Those who lack odyl lack the means to fight the Nafilim. It follows, then, that such impotence would be most unwelcome in the Orders. Of course, for a man to be ¡®odylless¡¯ was heretofore an unthinkable occurrence, but there was no doubt in my mind that such a man, powerless as he is, would find any comfort wherever he may wander. Always have I longed to become a knight. But the grace of odyl has spurned me. I am that ¡®odylless¡¯ man, lacking that which the knights held to be most precious: the power to fight. What was I to do, then? ¡°¡­Rather vain, I admit, to ponder on like this,¡± I muttered again. Right. I would join the Order, just as planned. Knighthood forever eludes me otherwise. No matter how meagre my chances, so long as the light of luck itself is not snuffed out, so long as I yet had the will to keep pursuing my knightly dreams, I can do little else but cast the dice. Besides, there are other avenues to apply my mettle in battle, even without odyl, such as the extermination of the behem¨®t vermin. What is more, the Order is hardly the only place in these lands that measures the worth of men by their odyl. Thus the barony itself affords no safe haven for an aberration like me, who has no odyl to begin with. And with things as they are, inheriting the estate is out of the question. Here on the barony, or there in the Order¡ªwhat my future lacks in choices, it brims with blame and censure. ¡°¡­Such friction might be the least of my worries, I fear¡­.¡± Of course, to be denied odyl is to be denied by the divine. Yon¨¢¡¯s forsaken child, as it were, for whom awaits nothing better than despisal, derision, and discrimination. What foul a turn my life has taken¡­ Only¡ª ¡°I yet have my sword.¡± I held up the blade, my one companion through all of my training. Used through and through, its iron was riddled with scuffs and scratches, yet by my unfailing care, the weapon was kept most serviceable. Yes. The sword may yet avail me. I can still wield it, ungraced as I am. I would further ply my technique in the Order, and fight by the sword. And then, I would become a knight. This I swore upon my very heart. ? The hour for supper struck. My chair was nowhere to be seen in the dining hall. My parents, meanwhile, spared me not even a single glance. Felicia had, for her part, but just once, and only before immediately turning her gaze downward. One of our servants approached me. ¡°This way,¡± he said tersely. I obeyed, and was led to the kitchen. There, laid unceremoniously on the counter was a meal of black bread and a bowl of soup conjured from vegetable scraps. The servant then pointed to the food and went about his way without a word. Before the counter was a wooden box¡ªin lieu of a chair, it seemed. ¡°A meal with all the trimmings. Fancy that. More than I could have hoped for, if I¡¯m honest,¡± I muttered to no one in particular. Sat upon the box, I grabbed the stiff black bread and tore off a morsel. Into the soup it went before I endeavoured a bite of it. Not too terrible. Who could¡¯ve imagined that the combination of cold, hard bread and nigh-flavourless soup was a match made in heaven? This sort of treatment was to be my reality from now on. That¡¯s to say nothing of the Order; I would sooner rouse some magicks of my own than be treated better than a cur there. A man unloved by the Deiva. An intruder upon Her cherished land. An alien ailing Her flesh. A mistake within Her machinations. A good-for-nothing to be disdained¡ªthat was I, Rolf, the ungraced. I resolved to make myself comfortable with such treatment. For meals even, I would partake of aught I can get, no matter how crude the selection. If not, my body would be stunted and surely fail me in the heat of battle. Silently, I brought another scrap of bread into my mouth. ? Supper was done. I remained seated there, wordless, arms folded, gaze turned up to the ceiling. My thoughts went to my family, now fractured by the day¡¯s happenings. That I would be treated this way fell well within my expectations, but one small matter had not: I sensed little in the way of anger or sorrow from my parents. Come to think of it, the depth of our familial bond was, from the start, not exactly that deep at all. That Mother and Father only ever saw me for my potential and not as their son was an epiphany that came murkily, yet inevitably. Of course, it is most natural and expected for any parent to consider their child with at least an eye trained upon their future promise. Only, the eyes of my own parents were bespectacled by the lens of ¡®self-interest¡¯, as it were. Who they needed was not Rolf, but an able heir to House Buckmann¡ªa cold conclusion, to be sure, but one I somehow arrived upon regardless. ¡°No¡­ Perhaps I read too deeply.¡± Or perhaps this situation had taken its toll, and my thoughts couldn¡¯t help but turn to negativity, turbid as they were with cowardice, self-resentment, and resignation. Living through discrimination would likely rob me of chances to nurture my own character. To foster self-growth, one can hardly avoid the all-encompassing influence of one¡¯s environs. This country holds the age of fifteen to be the dawn of one¡¯s adulthood, and it is at this same age that one can enlist in the Order at the earliest. But let there be no doubt that one¡¯s heart is yet immature, having lived only fifteen years. Thus, even upon reaching adulthood, the heart must be allowed to mature further yet. The Order, too, exists for that purpose. Let there also be no doubt, then, that to live in such a place, where one is so harried by malice from others, one would be impaired by no small degree. Those who are hurt time after time eventually come to fear all too much the thought of being hurt yet again, and so does the integrity of their character begin to shrivel. They fret over the words and conduct of others, cannot take action as their hearts so desire, and cannot bear to look others in the eyes. All too often, I¡¯ve witnessed this for myself in others. And now, the fates deigned to count me amongst such poor souls by throwing me into the same misery that produced them. This, I cannot stand for. To that end, I would have to keep as much of myself together as possible. ¡°Through discipline, temper thyself,¡¯ was it now?¡± I said to myself. My lips bent into an exasperated simper. I realised then that fifteen year-olds are of the sort to feign wisdom. Shaking my head, I rose up to make my way back to my chambers, only to find a figure standing at the kitchen doorway. ¡°Dear Brother¡­¡± came the quiet, quivering words. Volume 1 - CH 1.5 ¡°Felicia,¡± I called to my sister. A look was upon her face¡ªone that I¡¯d seen her make never once before. A face filled with unbearable sorrow, made in light of things one can ill-do aught about, I reckoned. I then too, came to share in that sorrow, as one who caused his own sister such suffering. And it was behind that sister of mine that my parents appeared. ¡°Felicia,¡± Father said. ¡°Do not concern yourself with that thing.¡± ¡°Do heed your father, Felicia dear,¡± added Mother. ¡°Consort with traitors to the Deiva and you are like to share in their filth.¡± To such sharp words, Felicia did little but quietly set her eyes downward. Seeing the futility of any conversation to be had, I strode past the three without a word. ¡°Hold,¡± my father threw at my back. ¡°The one to claim lordship over House Buckmann shall be Felicia. Know this, and keep it.¡± ¡°Aye,¡± was my curt answer. I continued on to my room without sparing them a look back. ¡°Felicia will not be made to suffer your presence from this day forth,¡± warned my mother. ¡°Understood?¡± ¡°I do.¡± It was one thing to be branded a man unblessed by the Deiva. It was another to be a son who betrayed the single most important hope of a noble house: succession. As such, the words uttered by Mother and Father alike oozed with both enmity and discontent. ? That next day¡ªthe day of our long-awaited departure. Emilie and I were to set off by carriage from the Buckmann abode. Her parents and servants all were gathered to send her off. Long possessed of a magnetic personality, Emilie had gotten along well with even her servants. To point, a veritable crowd had come to celebrate. Among them was a very young handmaiden of House Mernesse by the name of Maria, whom Emilie thoroughly adored. The little girl had her hands clasped about Emilie¡¯s, prattling to her mistress with youthful eagerness. Baron Mernesse and his wife, for their part, then held their daughter in a tight embrace. Word had already spread of the Aureola, indicating Emilie¡¯s receipt of the fullest gift of odyl, and her parents naturally were well apprised of this. Their eyes, reddened from shedding tears, were brimming with pride. The same could not be said of the Buckmanns. While present for the departure, Mother and Father kept silent, sparing me only looks bitter and cold. It seemed they meant not to see me off, but rather to make sure I had well and truly left. I proceeded to board the carriage, but then, for the briefest moment, stopped. Fifteen years, I lived on this estate. Fifteen years, each filled with bliss. Nothing but fond memories comprised the collective childhoods Emilie, Felicia, and I shared together. How unfortunate that the day I took wing from the nest would be this dreary. I could not see myself ever returning. With such turbid emotions roiling within me, I looked up at the Buckmann manor, spying in one of the windows a lone figure. Felicia. From high up in her room, she watched on. I returned a look of my own, as if to say ¡®sorry¡¯. After all, a new burden was now on her shoulders, what with the heirship of the Buckmann estate having been suddenly passed to her. My sister, however, is an exceptional individual. Light work will she make of this new trial, I¡¯m sure. A sharp, dry sound rang through the air¡ªone of Mother slapping her son across his face. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare even look at Felicia,¡± she said. ¡°The heir to House Buckmann need not suffer the filthy gaze of the profane! Have you no shame!?¡± ¡°¡­My apologies,¡± I replied. ¡°How could a son like you ever¡­ ever¡­!¡± Her voice quivered as tears welled from her eyes. Dearly and tenderly had she loved her son, certain in the brilliant days ahead of him. But then came that son¡¯s betrayal. At the very least, that was how she and Father must have felt. Nay. Certainly, given the common sense of this kingdom, anyone else would have felt the same. Father then embraced Mother by her quaking shoulders. ¡°Felicia enters the Order in the coming year,¡± he began. ¡°You will not meddle with her in the slightest. Do you understand?¡± ¡°Yes, I do,¡± I answered, boarding the carriage. ¡°Be well, then.¡± A farewell unreturned. As I thought. Soon after, the carriage departed in earnest. Emilie and I were now well on our way to the 5th Chivalric Order¡¯s headquarters. ? ¡°You were¡­ you were disinherited!?¡± ¡°That I was.¡± In the course of the trip, Emilie and I had spent a long while in silence. But perhaps unable to bear it any longer, Emilie nervously spoke out to me. The stammering conversation that ensued centred on the happenings of the night before. My future claim to the Buckmann estate had been revoked¡ª¡±disinherited¡±, as it were. Emilie was left in shock upon hearing of the ill tidings. ¡°Are¡­ are you sure that¡¯s what your father meant?¡± ¡°Clear as day, his words were. ¡®The one to claim lordship over House Buckmann shall be Felicia¡¯,¡± I confirmed, earning her baffled reaction. ¡°Emilie. I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Why do you apologise¡­?¡± she asked. ¡°Our engagement¡ªit¡¯s gone the way of the wind. And I fear your life has been upturned along with it.¡± For an instant, a look of paralysing hysteria flashed across her face. ¡°What do you mean, our engagement is¡­ But¡­ why!?¡± A question asked with a voice wishing to scream. ¡°It pains me to admit, but that¡¯s the way of it.¡± Such a circumstance was a forgone conclusion the moment I was disavowed of my family. That Emilie could not realise it herself until now was symptomatic of just how disarrayed her thoughts had become. She had felt aught but shock in the past few moments, after all. ¡°You were to wed the coming master of House Buckmann,¡± I reiterated. ¡°Now that I¡¯ve lost the claim to that title, well¡­ it goes without saying, the arrangement itself is lost, too.¡± ¡°B-but that¡¯s¡­! You and I¡­ we¡¯re¡­!¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Emilie. I was given no odyl, and now it¡¯s come to this¡­¡± ¡°Rolf¡­¡± Emilie¡¯s eyes quickly teared up. How astonished I was. Ever the choirgirl to the Yonaic faith, my dear Emilie. Yet here she was, daring not even to disdain me for what I had become: a traitor to her deity. I could not have felt any more thankful for such compassion. Only, I also felt deep remorse at having roused her tears¡ªa remorse that far outweighed the shame of having betrayed my parents¡¯ hopes. Volume 1 - CH 2.1 Into vivid view emerged the headquarters of the 5th Chivalric Order. As our carriage passed through the main portcullis, a vast training field spanned before our eyes. This stretch of land supposedly also served as a staging area for the entirety of the 5th; an appropriate purpose, for the field reached far and wide indeed. Encapsulating it was a winding wall, generous in its circular embrace. Facing the field was a grand edifice, the headquarters proper. As bastions of the kingdom, the five Chivalric Orders are numbered according to their power and prestige, with the 5th being the lowest. Yet in spite of this, the headquarters¡¯ construction was most impressive and imposing, clothed as it was in brilliant arrays of brickwork. Situated before us recruits, now assembled, was a speech platform, onto which stepped a man of little more than thirty years of age. ¡°Hail and well met, little lions! As Knight Mareschal of this esteemed 5th Chivalric Order, I, Bartt Tallien, welcome you, one and all!¡± The knight mareschal¡ªa military commander to the Order. Quite young for the position, this Bartt Tallien. But a rarity? Nay. The 5th functions on the side as something of a college, where the sons and daughters of nobility descend to earn their investitures and build their aristocratic careers. It is also host to commonborn personnel; while it has its fair share of long-serving veterans, great in number, too, are those choosing to abide the coming of other more fruitful opportunities. Thus a quick turnover here was not at all strange, even amongst members of the top brass. That the knight mareschal himself was relatively early in his years for his station, therefore, solicited no surprise. ¡°Joyous am I overmuch! To give salute to you all! And as equals henceforth, to join swords with you that we may bolster the aegis of our kingdom!¡± I had heard this Mareschal Tallien to be a noble. His manner of speech certainly fit the part, to say nothing of the ornate armour that encased him, silver as it was just like his tongue. Silver: the most excellent of all odyllic conductors. Arms and armaments forged of this metal can be made extremely effective once infused with odyl. Within the Orders, only those ranked lieutenant or higher were fitted with such equipment. Beyond its functionality, the argent gear is also beautiful in both shape and craftsmanship, and is surely the subject of much admiration from officers lesser-ranked. Of course, such things were little more than trivialities to one void of odyl like myself. ¡°We shall smite the foul Nafilim whence they fester!¡± Mareschal Tallien continued. ¡°That is our solemn duty, to which we pledge our very lives! For king and country! For our families and our fellow man! From this day henceforth till the hour of your last breath, my little lions, deign not to forget this!¡± Thus marked the end of Mareschal Tallien¡¯s opening speech. What followed was a rundown of the headquarters¡¯ facilities. At ground level were numerous training areas and offices for each of the brigades. Further furnished with bathhouses and a mess hall, much of a knight¡¯s time was to be spent here, from the looks of it. The second floor housed rooms for conferencing and the storage of reference materials, as well as communal barracks shared by the officers. Private quarters for Order members of lieutenant rank and up were located on the third floor¡ªany other officer required authorisation to step foot upon this level. Facilities other than these, such as the smithy and a simple shop, were located in separate buildings, it seemed. I¡¯d wager one could scarcely leave the headquarters¡¯ grounds and still live in comfort. An order was then announced: we were to assemble in the training field at the next light of dawn. With that, we were given free reign for the rest of our first day at the Order; the next was to be the official entrance ceremony. ¡°Well¡­ that¡¯s it, then,¡± said Emilie. ¡°We should meet again later, Rolf. In the mess hall, let¡¯s say.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll see you there.¡± With a new promise of a supper to be spent together, Emilie went off on her way to the women¡¯s barracks. The promise did not stand, however, for later that night, I found her missing from the mess hall. ? The skies wheeled to the next morning. Assembled upon the training field were us recruits, just as ordered. Only, here too, Emilie was nowhere to be seen. The entrance ceremony was about to begin, and later in its course, the brigade assignments themselves. It bears reiterating that one does not become a knight upon joining a brigade. Recruits start life at the Order as swains: underlings in attendance of a senior knight, from whom they learn the particulars of knighthood. With the ceremony commencing in earnest, a stately, well-built man stepped onto the speech platform¡ªone Marquis Norden, master of the eponymous march upon which the 5th Chivalric Order¡¯s headquarters itself was situated. As lord seneschal, the charge of the 5th¡¯s operations fell to him, and consequently the budget for such flowed through his coffers. It seemed he paid visits to the headquarters a number of times throughout the year. The annual entrance ceremony was one such occasion, during which he would give his briefing. This year was no different. Thankfully, it appeared the marquis was not a man of many words, and so kept the briefing short. What followed after was supposed to be the brigade assignments, but the under-mareschal handling the ceremony¡¯s proceedings instead spoke words that none expected. ¡°We shall now commence the rites of investiture!¡± The marquis then took the opportunity to put in a word himself. ¡°Justly do I host the many of you, subjects of this Order so entrusted to me by His Majesty. And all the more so, should you avail us with excellency of service. Indeed, the worthy amongst you shall ever be accorded that which is your due. Of this, I entreat you all to know, and know well.¡± At the knights¡¯ signal, a girl joined the marquis on the platform¡ªEmilie. ¡°Here stands the Lady Emilie Mernesse, newly inducted on this day. By way of the Roun of Orisons, she has been graced with extraordinary odyl¡ªthe most, mind you, in all the written annals of this Order. Duly and solemnly do I pay reverence to her power, and so on this day shall I confer to her the honour and duty of damehood.¡± The recruits hummed with whispers and rustles. This was unheard of¡ªa new officer, not only skipping the toil of swainhood, but being knighted right at the start of her first year. ¡°¡­I see. So that was the way of it,¡± I thought aloud. I understood then why Emilie had been absent: she was informed that a coming rite of investiture was to receive her, and had been preparing for the accolade from night till dawn. In the evening before one¡¯s knighting, the body must be bathed and purified. Thereafter, one must suffer a sleepless night with a sword ever-clasped in both hands. Such is the custom of this kingdom¡¯s Chivalric Orders. Emilie was stiff in her expression, as if arrested by anxiety. She then knelt before the marquis and offered up her sword. The nobleman received it, unsheathed the blade, and presented it skyward. Then, with the flat of the blade, he tapped Emilie¡¯s shoulders three times. Standard procedure for an accolade. In days past, it was a simplified rite of investiture carried out on the battlefield. However, it was retained for use in more peaceful circumstances, as per the Orders¡¯ conviction that a knight¡¯s battle with the Nafilim endures ever more. Recalling such details, I watched on as Emilie took back her sword and rose to her feet. There was a tinge of worry on her face. She peered through the lines of recruits, as if looking for someone. Then, hanging her head, she affixed the sword to her hip. Emilie was made a dame. The dream I long held¡ªrealised in the blink of an eye. At that moment, I felt something of a distance growing between us. Where we once peered at the horizon together, I now stood alone, looking on as Emilie faded further into the reach. ? With Emilie¡¯s accolade done, the under-mareschal returned to the platform and raised his voice. ¡°We shall now announce the brigade assignments!¡± One by one, the recruits were then told of which brigade they would serve. Cavalry, infantry, sorcery, support, logistics, and so on¡ªthe Order has no shortage of specialised brigades. Each is further split into three by number, and to which a recruit is assigned is determined by aptitude. Joy turned to anxiety for each of the recruits as they received their assignments. ¡°Next: Rolf Buckmann!¡± ¡°Here, sir!¡± ¡°You shall henceforth go with the Owlcrane Brigade!¡± ¡°Aye, sir!¡± A stir erupted amongst those present. The Owlcrane Brigade: a unit under the direct supervision of the mareschal. In his time, St. Rakliammelech was said to have a fondness for birds, especially so for owls and cranes, hence ¡°Owlcrane¡±. Operational in all the five Orders, this brigade comprises only those truly capable. But therein lies the rub: what designs would a brigade of such import have for someone void of odyl as I? The whole of it escaped my understanding, but what didn¡¯t was the ill foreboding that began to gnaw at me. Volume 1 - CH 2.2 The recruits each headed off to the offices of their respective brigades. These offices are not individual buildings in and of themselves, but are instead each housed in different sections of the headquarters proper. Large spaces they are, but for its part, the Owlcrane Brigade has no office of its own. The Owlcranes are a cut above the other brigades in terms of rank. Though only a select few comprise it, the elite brigade¡¯s members are each considered executive officers in their own right, and have private quarters of their own. As with the mareschal, the Owlcranes are often occupied with administrative duties, and thus are not ones to while away in the confines of an office. All fine and well, but there was one matter: I knew not of where to report. I relayed my situation to the under-mareschal, who then proceeded to beckon to a man nearby. ¡°You there, Gerd. The Owlcranes move to flock as well?¡± ¡°They do, sir. I go to join with them myself,¡± confirmed this ¡°Gerd¡±. Well-groomed and well-shaped of hair and nose, he was, by all accounts, the image of a dashing young man. ¡°Take this fledgling along then, will you? He¡¯s one of yours now.¡± ¡°Him? Will do, sir.¡± Gerd turned his eyes to me. ¡°Come.¡± ¡°Aye, sir,¡± I answered, before trailing him on his way. From the sound of it, he also belonged to the Owlcrane Brigade. And befitting of that executive position, silver armour covered his entire body. ¡°So, what¡¯s your deal?¡± Gerd asked along the way. ¡°Deal, sir?¡± ¡°Heard there¡¯s nary a wisp of odyl in you. Can hardly believe it, though. What¡¯s up with that?¡± Gerd¡¯s eyes made no attempt to hide their scorn. ¡°It is my lot, sir¡ªcast by the Roun of Orisons.¡± ¡°You mean to say there¡¯s no odyl in you? At all?¡± ¡°That is correct, yes.¡± ¡°Yon¨¢, Almighty.¡± The very idea of an odylless soul seemed incredulous to Gerd. ¡°So, She¡¯s gifted you nothing, has She?¡± ¡°It would seem so.¡± ¡°And what¡¯s up with that? How can a bloke like you even walk this earth?¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know either.¡± A man ungraced. He who should not walk this earth. To such a man¡ªdeviant of the world¡¯s order¡ªGerd showed his unbridled disgust. ¡°So, a mistake like you intends to join our ranks. Why¡¯s that?¡± ¡°To become a knight, sir.¡± ¡°Look here, you.¡± Gerd twisted around and seized me by the collars. ¡°We¡¯re not here to frolic and make merry, yeah?¡± he said in a low voice, seething with ire. ¡°This place look like a banquet to you? Huh? ¡®Here to serve nobles their helpings of fiefs and titles¡¯; think that¡¯s all we¡¯re for, do you? Well, sorry to say, lad, that¡¯s not the way of things here. Serious business, it is¡ªday in, day out.¡± The grip on my collars strained with pure force. ¡°Sir, I am not come for decorations,¡± I clarified. ¡°Knighthood is what I seek; that is no lie.¡± ¡°What are you playing at, hm? A defect dreams to become a knight; how¡¯s that going to happen? Huh? Can you fight, even?!¡± ¡°I can, and I will.¡± With a scornful click of his tongue, Gerd threw my collars from his restraint. Turning about, he resumed on his way. ¡°Nevermind the lack of odyl¡ªsounds like you¡¯ve not even the wits to figure out your damned place here. Scum, the lot of you.¡± ? Gerd¡¯s destination lay within the third floor of the headquarters building. ¡°As I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve been told, don¡¯t step foot on this floor without the proper permission,¡± he warned. ¡°Understood, sir,¡± I answered. ¡°Oh? Did you, now? Really? You sure it isn¡¯t just odyl that Yon¨¢ Almighty forgot to give you?¡± It seemed Gerd took no small umbrage from having to show me through so consecrated a section of the headquarters. ¡°Nothing is amiss on that end, sir. I shall request permission for entry as needed.¡± ¡°Hmph¡­¡± Following him further along, we arrived at a door adorned with a title plate. ¡°Chamber of the Knight Mareschal,¡± it read. Gerd gave a knock and proceeded inside. I followed, finding the room occupied with four other knights. ¡°Gerd Kranz, reporting,¡± saluted Gerd at one of those present further in: Bartt Tallien himself, Knight Mareschal of the 5th Chivalric Order. ¡°Come, have you? Our parliament of four is assembled, then,¡± said Tallien. Those present numbered six in total; it would seem the commander did not count himself¡ªand myself, for that matter. ¡°Behold Emilie: the Owlcranes. My personal guard, and your assigned brigade.¡± Just as Tallien said, Emilie was also here. The new silver armour enshrouding her figure ill-matched the melancholic and apologetic look she gave me. ¡°Introductions, then. First, we have Gerd Kranz, the spellblade,¡± started Tallien. ¡°This lad is eldest amongst you all. That being said, he is still very much the hatchling, as I¡¯m sure you can see. Gerd, I forget your age.¡± ¡°Twenty, sir,¡± said Gerd. ¡°A pleasure, Emilie. Gerd is my name. ¡®Tis an honour to have you.¡± ¡°The pleasure and honour are mine both, thank you,¡± returned Emilie. The two then shook hands. Twenty years of age. Enough to be the eldest in this unit. While the 5th is already known for its high turnover, it seems especially so for the Owlcranes. Then again, being twenty also meant being in the sixth year of service¡ªcertainly not the tenure of a novice. ¡°Next, we have Raakel Nyholm, warrior of magicks, and our surgien, Sheila Larsen,¡± Tallien continued. ¡°Raakel, that be I,¡± the warrior greeted. ¡°Already caught word o¡¯ ye, I have¡ªthe one with the er¡­ ¡®Aureola¡¯, were it?¡± ¡°Th-that¡¯s right. The particulars escape me, but yes, that was what the Roun of Orisons appraised of me, it seems,¡± Emilie confirmed. ¡°Another ace in us ranks, ey? Chuff¡¯d to hear it. I reckon ye¡¯ll be doin¡¯ fine service fer us.¡± Hands were shaken once again, and another was offered forth. ¡°Miss Emilie, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Sheila. The crossing of our paths is surely the charity of Yon¨¢, Deiva Most Divine. For this, I am most thankful.¡± ¡°The pleasure is mine, Officer Sheila,¡± Emilie returned. ¡°It is my sincere hope to work well hand-in-hand with the both of you.¡± These two new women seemed younger somewhat than Gerd, by no more than a couple years perhaps. Raakel was the larger of the two, tall of figure and crowned with red hair. Her toned, yet supple muscles were apparent even through her uniform. Rather than a swordfighter, she was classified as a warrior, a fact made clear by the silver war-maul slung at her lower back. The other, Sheila, seemed the opposite, with long, dark hair tinged with blue hues. Being capable of mending magicks makes one an indispensable asset in combat, but it seemed that Sheila also possessed an immense degree of odyl, befitting of her position as an executive officer. The seeming portrait of a surgien, she held her choice weapon, a silver staff, with both hands before her chest. ¡°You are amidst the mighty, Emilie. And like you, they are all hatched from ennobled nests. Let¡¯s get along, shall we?¡± said Tallien, before moving onwards to elaborate upon the Owlcrane Brigade¡¯s purpose. ¡°At its core, this unit serves as my protective retinue¡ªa group of bodyguards, if you will. However, be not so eager to seek battle, for any situation that calls for my direct intervention is¡ªwell, it¡¯s nothing short of an ¡®operational misadventure¡¯ by that point, isn¡¯t it? Nasty business, it is, one this unit should never be forced to deal with, simply put. Do you understand this, Emilie?¡± ¡°Er¡­ yes, I do.¡± ¡°Yet the bodyguards for a commander such as I must needs be no less than the very best. And so it is with this unit. Thereby must you always hone both skill and coordination with your fellow officers. To that end, I ask that you steel your resolve and fulfil your duties to the very best of your ability.¡± ¡°Y-yes, Mareschal! I will!¡± Emilie affirmed nervously. ¡°I suppose it won¡¯t do to work you so, today being your first with us and all. Emilie, you are dismissed. Spend the rest of the day as you please,¡± said Tallien. ¡°Hah, I jest! Let us not make roost-whilers of ourselves. Come now! We fly to the training grounds. I must needs measure how boldly your talons bite, Dame Emilie.¡± ¡°Y-yes, sir!¡± With the war against the Nafilim having settled into an unceasing state of conflict, even the 5th Order¡ªknown, as it was, for being solely where the sons and daughters of the nobility came to earn their investitures¡ªcould ill-afford to stagnate into but a band of knights who idle about, awaiting their reckoning. The Owlcranes themselves were no different. Their faces were stern as they headed off to the training grounds¡ªfaces that spared not a single glance upon me. That is, except for Emilie. ¡°Um, Mareschal, sir¡­¡± she called to Tallien, whilst glimpsing sporadically at me. ¡°Hm? Ah¡­¡± This would be the first time the mareschal and I made eye contact. But the moment lasted no more than an instant before Tallien¡¯s glance broke away. ¡°Come,¡± he commanded, devoid of any interest. ¡°Aye, sir.¡± Orders, clear and concise. I expected no less from an order of knights. Volume 1 - CH 2.3 On we went, winding our way to the training grounds. In those moments, not infrequently did Emilie turn to me tellingly, as though there was a matter teetering on the tip of her tongue. Yet to indulge was a luxury none of the others would have allowed, and so with not a word shared between us, on we went to our destination. Upon arrival, Gerd went ahead and pulled out a sword from a weapons rack nearby. ¡°The arms on these grounds, you can use as you like. Don¡¯t worry: they¡¯re feders, rounded proper, you see. The ones over here that number fewer¡ªthey¡¯re of the silver sort,¡± Gerd explained, then handing to Emilie the sword he had picked up. ¡°Here you are, then.¡± ¡°But an iron one will do just fine, I think¡­ ¡®Tis what I¡¯m used to.¡± ¡°Now, Emilie. You count amongst the ranks of the Owlcrane Brigade. That makes you an executive officer, by rights,¡± Gerd reiterated. ¡°Protocol compels you to make use of argent gear such as this.¡± Raakel and Sheila both saw fit to further persuade Emilie, who yet seemed hesitant. ¡°No virtue in playin¡¯ the mousy milquetoast now, Emilie, least not when it comes to arms. Top blades fer the top brass, they always say. Look here, me maul¡¯s no diff¡¯rent¡ªaglint with silver, she is!¡± ¡°You must understand, Miss Emilie. The people look to us leaders of the Order to answer malice with might, and a mere miser of arms ill-avails them. The Order¡¯s strength grows all the more should you brandish only the finest of weapons.¡± ¡°Yes¡­ I suppose I should. Thank you, Officers Raakel, Sheila,¡± Emilie relented. ¡°An¡¯ fettle that too, while yer at it,¡± said Raakel. ¡°F-fettle?¡± ¡°Ranks, titles, all that prim an¡¯ prissy tongue waggin¡¯, we don¡¯t need aught o¡¯ that here. Ain¡¯t that right, Gerd?¡± ¡°Right you are, Raakel. We Owlcranes, we¡¯re all compeers. Well, Sheila¡¯s a mite different¡ªwon¡¯t give up that polite talk no matter what. But you can relax round me and Raakel at least, all right Emilie?¡± ¡°Yes, si¡ªah, I mean, al-all right.¡± Nodding with satisfaction, Gerd proceeded to give his lecture. ¡°Good. Right, we¡¯ll start with the basics, then: channelling odyl through silver.¡± ¡°Got it, Offi¡ªum, Gerd.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll get the hang of it,¡± Gerd chuckled. ¡°Having said that, the basics of weaving odyl are well-put in that pate of yours, I take it? When the odyl was imparted to you, that is.¡± ¡°They are. That knowledge¡ªit came along with Yon¨¢¡¯s grace.¡± For someone forsaken by the Deiva Herself, this was news to my ears. ¡°Channelling will be child¡¯s play to you, then. And with a bit of practice, you¡¯ll be able to use all sorts of magicks in no time,¡± Gerd assured. ¡°I must admit, I¡¯m quite the cat taken with curiosity in seeing what heights you¡¯ll reach, Emilie¡ªor should I say, lady of the ¡®Aureola¡¯? Well, here¡¯s hoping you¡¯ll give us a nice show of it, eh?¡± ¡°Er, right, I¡¯ll do my best!¡± answered Emilie. From there, the training session stretched on for another two hours or so, by the end of which Emilie found success in channelling her odyl through silver. There she stood, her argent equipment properly suffused with the magickal power. Raising up her feder, she found its blade most mesmerising to the eyes. ¡°Gerd, have I¡­ have I done it?¡± she said, unable to pry her gaze away from her achievement. ¡°That you have, Emilie. And a job well done at that; look, odyl flows clean through your gear,¡± examined Gerd. ¡°And your blade is made more keen withal. Can you tell?¡± ¡°I, I can. When the channelling finished, it felt as though my feder became something else entirely,¡± Emilie confirmed, her voice aloft with high spirits. ¡°Mine eyes had not fooled me, then,¡± Sheila observed. ¡°As with Mr. Gerd, it would seem you bear talent as a spellblade, Miss Emilie.¡± ¡°An¡¯ a mighty fine one, at that!¡± lauded Raakel. ¡°Though, I were wishin¡¯ fer a warrior chum, if I¡¯m honest.¡± ¡°It¡¯s just as well. She¡¯s long-practised in swordplay, from the looks of it,¡± said Gerd. ¡°What of your armour, Emilie? You feel a paling all about your body, I take it?¡± As if to confirm Gerd¡¯s words, Emilie placed a hand upon her chest. ¡°Y-yeah, I feel it. As though my whole being is well protected.¡± ¡°Paling emanates from silver armour and wraps round the body whole. As you are now, neither unmagicked blade can scratch you, nor unmagicked spear prick. You are as a fortress to them, as it were,¡± Gerd explained, before turning to me. ¡°You. Go fetch yourself a feder and come here.¡± ¡°Aye, sir.¡± His abrupt order came at the tail end of some hours spent being wholly unattended to. The only one to pay any sort of mind to me was Emilie, who had been glancing my way from time to time. But I suppose in reality, I hadn¡¯t been entirely invisible to the rest. What an honour. With an iron feder fresh from the weapons rack, I made my way to Emilie and Gerd. ¡°You, go ahead and attack Emilie with that weapon of yours,¡± commanded Gerd. ¡°Emilie, you need not lift a finger. Stay where you are and enjoy the show. Got that?¡± ¡°I-I got it,¡± answered Emilie. ¡°All right, Rolf. Shall we, then?¡± ¡°We shall. Let¡¯s get to it, Emilie.¡± ¡°Hold!¡± barked Tallien. ¡°Mind that tongue of yours, you churl! It¡¯s ¡®Lady Emilie¡¯ to you! A proper dame and your superior officer, she is! Know your place!¡± ¡°Pardon my offence, lord Mareschal¡± I corrected myself. ¡°Lady Emilie, by your leave.¡± ¡°¡­What¡­¡± Emilie was left utterly aghast. Well, let¡¯s not pretend this sort of thing was never on the horizon. I had suspected as much the moment I discovered Emilie and I to be in the same brigade. The leadership of the Order were made well-privy to the particulars of each and every one of us recruits, that much is certain. Something in their designs compelled them to have me play as a servant to Emilie, my former fianc¨¦e of all people. After all, they fancied themselves just in tormenting an ungraced man such as I. What looks Raakel and Sheila were giving was not known to me, but I spied a slight smirk leaking from Tallien¡¯s lips. And for his part, Gerd¡¯s face was twisted with animosity in one moment, then relaxing to one of disdain in the next. ¡°Now have at it,¡± he ordered after a scoff. ¡°Aim where you please, it matters not.¡± ¡°Aye, sir,¡± I complied. ¡°Commencing attack.¡± I rushed forth and swung my sword down in a diagonal arc, targeting the tip of Emilie¡¯s shoulder. But in the course of it, the blade stopped just a digitus shy of its mark. I see. So this was the ¡®paling¡¯ Gerd was harping about. In my hands, however, my sword felt not as though it had struck any paling in the material sense. Rather, it seemed as if a pliant force, like a cushion, had wrapped about the blade and stopped its course. Feeling for myself this unseen armour through my weapon, I realised it then: there was no way I could penetrate such protection. Then in that same moment, I was thrown back without warning, clear through the air. ¡°Gah¡­!?¡± I hacked, crashing and tumbling violently. ¡°Rolf!?¡± Emilie screamed. ¡°Hah¡­ hagh¡­ gah, agh¡­!¡± I was laid low, face down, flat on the ground, hand clenched to chest. Air left my lungs erratically as I struggled to rectify my breathing. Meanwhile, heat and pain wove together and gripped my entire body¡ªa feeling of having my nerves uprooted and laid bare. My vision dizzyingly convulsed, but with some effort, I managed to point it forth, that I may discern what exactly had assailed me. There, I found Gerd, half-turned in my direction with a sword dangling in his left hand. He had merely swung his weapon whence he stood, without so much a change in his stance. This motion¡ªsimple, trifling almost¡ªwas enough to blow me back like some toy. ¡°You see that, Emilie?¡± said Gerd. ¡°Gerd! Rolf, he¡¯s¡ª!¡± ¡°Listen, Emilie,¡± Gerd interrupted. ¡°No speaking¡ªnot when I¡¯m explaining.¡± That¡¯s right, Emilie. Listen to his next words. I must know as well. That¡¯s what I came here for: to attain strength worthy for battle and become a knight. ¡°That fellow¡¯s sword just now, it stopped before it even touched you. Why, you ask? Well, you¡¯ve the paling to thank. Silver armour affords this magicked protection even to parts of your person that the armour itself does not cover. That is its very purpose: to provide an all-encompassing bulwark.¡± With his sword now resting upon his shoulder, Gerd continued on in dramatic fashion. ¡°On the other hand, a magicked sword against an unmagicked mark yields the sorry farce before you¡ªscant more than a flick of my sword-wrist showed us how well the clown cartwheels!¡± Gerd spoke the truth: his unannounced interruption was hardly what one would call an ¡°attack¡±. Yet even then, I was sent hurtling back¡ªeasily so. Were his sword not dulled, that moment certainly would have been my last. ¡°Now Emilie, a quick quiz,¡± Gerd continued. ¡°What happens, then, if magicked sword met magicked armour?¡± ¡°W-what¡­? I¡ª¡± Emilie was on the verge of tears, her gaze darting back and forth between Gerd and I. Truly, a kind soul she is. How badly did she wish to forget the training and just have me seen by a surgien, I wondered? Unfortunately, this was a luxury she could ill-afford, as she stood to lose more than she could gain in choosing me over her duties. What was fortunate, however, was that her worries were unwarranted: I had escaped with only cuts and bruises, and my bones were yet sound. ¡°Fret not, Emilie. I made sure not to end him,¡± said Gerd. ¡°But the hourglass flows, and I would hear your answer.¡± ¡°Er¡­ I, I don¡¯t know.¡± Such would depend on the prowess of each party, I silently assumed. ¡°The side that yields the most odyl wins, Emilie. But one does not win purely by strength of odyl, no. Train enough and you¡¯ll soon find yourself weaving greater magicks for both attacking and defending. Understood?¡± ¡°Y, yeah¡­¡± ¡°Having said that, at the end of the day, your reserve of odyl is the hand that plays the checkmate. Now, do you see why you are as a king-piece to us, Emilie?¡± So, a gap in prowess can be bridged through sheer output of odyl. I see. The odyl one attains at the Roun of Orisons is forever immutable in its capacity. It follows, then, that to be gifted with a large store of it affords one a vast and unmistakable advantage. ¡°Right then, be sure to take to heart all I¡¯ve taught you, Emilie. We quit here for the day,¡± said Gerd. ¡°Your very first training session and already you¡¯ve come this far¡ªquite impressive, I must say.¡± ¡°Thanks¡­ Gerd.¡± ¡°Apply yourself well, Emilie,¡± remarked Tallien. ¡°I expect wondrous things from you.¡± ¡°Thank you, Mareschal. I will.¡± ¡°And eh¡­¡± trailed Tallien, turning to me, ¡°¡­¡¯Rolf¡¯, was it? I name you Emilie¡¯s swain. Serve her well from here on out, will you?¡± As I thought. ¡°Aye, sir.¡± I was now somehow back on my feet, with my breathing settled enough to form a coherent reply. ¡°What!? Wait¡ª¡± exclaimed Emilie. ¡°Why Rolf? And why a swain, for me?¡± All recruits start their lives in the Order as swains to more senior knights¡ªthat is, if they aren¡¯t anomalies like Emilie. At the same time, the knightly population naturally outnumbers the recruits¡¯, so it would be untrue to say that all knights have a swain of their own. That a fledgling like Emilie be allowed one, however, was a worthy warrant for suspicion. ¡°¡®Tis the knight¡¯s duty to show his swain the workings of chivalry,¡± Tallien began explaining to a confounded Emilie. ¡°As for you, young lady. What better swain for a fledgling dame such as yourself, than a flightless chick like him?¡± Truly, words most vacant of subtlety. One would be justified in asking why Emilie be allowed a swain to begin with¡ªbut the effort would have proven fruitless, I¡¯m afraid. That didn¡¯t stop Emilie, however. ¡°Th-then, sir! With all due respect, would that not mean a swain for me is needless trouble? For his part, Rolf stands to profit more as swain to ano¡­ another¡­¡± Emilie¡¯s voice trailed into silence. It seemed the realisation finally set in: under a different knight, what awaited me was nothing better than unmitigated oppression. Only, I would not have hesitated to suffer such a fate if serving Emilie proved a strain upon her heart. But alas. ¡°¡­Nay¡­ I see now. Pardon my outburst, Mareschal,¡± she surrendered. ¡°You know each other well enough, yes? See to it that he doesn¡¯t stray from his corral,¡± sneered Tallien, then turning to me once more. ¡°And I trust you have no qualms? I made myself loud and clear¡ªenough that a wastrel like you should understand.¡± ¡°I have none, sir,¡± was my immediate and unquestioning answer. ¡°You will maintain her equipment, tend to her steed, keep tidy her chamber, and¡ªwell, the list goes on,¡± explained the mareschal. ¡°Do devote yourself to her and your duties, will you?¡± ¡°Aye, sir.¡± ¡°Rolf¡­¡± Sorrow shaded Emilie¡¯s face. And so it was that I was assigned to the Owlcrane Brigade as swain to my former fianc¨¦e. Forgive me, Emilie. There¡¯s nowhere else I can go, nothing else I can do but suffer this place and wager my lot upon my sword. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Volume 1 - CH 2.4 My days as Emilie¡¯s swain were now in full swing. I would leave bed before the first light of day, and with sword in hand, make my way to the rear of the headquarters building. There, I would commit myself to some training before the day¡¯s duties begin in earnest, as they occupied much of my daytime hours. Loath was I to make use of the training grounds, for those that would take umbrage to that very notion were not few in number. Vertical swings, downward, upward. Horizontal swings, leftward, rightward. Diagonal slashes. Leaping cleaves. With each swing of the heavy iron sword, I would further refine the arc of its travel. The other officers tended not to trouble themselves with these sorts of drills. For my part, I felt it of special import to assimilate these techniques as much as I could, thus I¡¯ve committed to this training unfailingly since my earliest days. The sun would peek above the horizon to find both beads of sweat dotted all about my body and my arms weary of raising themselves any further. With the new dawn¡¯s light signalling the end of morning practice, I would wash up by the well before proceeding to the stables. There, I would groom Emilie¡¯s horse and prepare its breakfast of grasses and other ruffage. Afterwards, a walk round the equine corral is in order, and as well as a cleanup of the horse¡¯s stall. With that job done, it came time to finally head to Emilie¡¯s chamber. Punctuality is paramount: I would stand ready there by her doorstep on the hour of her awakening. ¡°A good morrow to you, Lady Emilie,¡± I greeted as she opened the door. ¡°Oh, g-good morning, Rolf,¡± Emilie stumbled. ¡°Right¡­ here, if you may.¡± She held out a sheathed sword¡ªa spare, different from the one slung at her hip. ¡°As you wish.¡± Carrying it was the duty of a swain, which I obliged. From there, Emilie¡¯s own daily commitments would commence, with me ever at her side, whether it be behind her during meetings, or standbying at the fringes of the training grounds during her practice sessions. In times when she was out on horseback, it would be my charge to pull the mount afoot. ¡°S-say, Rolf! You¡¯ve been on your feet all this while. How does a breather sound?¡± Emilie suggested from atop her horse. ¡°One in the shade under the trees yonder, perhaps¡­¡± ¡°My feet are yet sound, my Lady,¡± I declined. ¡°Our docket dictates that we should finish inspecting the western war-front by no later than nightfall, after which we are to return to base. If taking respite is not itself an order, then I should like to continue on as we are.¡± ¡°All¡­ all right. Let¡¯s keep at it, then¡­¡± Handling documents also counted amongst Emilie¡¯s duties. Here, too, at her desk in her chamber, I would standby at her side. As she was a freshly knighted officer, her workload was purposefully light, with filing simple reports comprising the brunt. However, the other side of the proverbial coin has her minted as an executive officer, and thus did she busy herself in browsing through papers related to sundry aspects of the Order¡¯s administration. It seemed much of what was written therein would escape her comprehension, if her peppering of quizzical questions was aught to go by. In response, I would offer both explanations as needed and insight on how best to approach various subjects. ¡°For this particular case, the mareschal must be informed that budgetary documents are to be sent back to the commissariat, whereupon discrepancies in the listed values are to be corrected,¡± I elaborated. ¡°But from what I could tell, didn¡¯t the previous budget have the same discrepancies, just about?¡± questioned Emilie. ¡°The Order is currently in the midst of settling its accounts; it won¡¯t do to go about it this time as we did last, lest we risk affecting the draft proposals to be sent to Central.¡± ¡°Uh¡­ mm¡­ so, in other words¡­?¡± Emilie was in the habit of making troubled faces and fretting about aught she couldn¡¯t wrap her head around. But a dose of digestible explanations, patiently administered, was all it took for her to figure it out in the end. Taking care of Emilie¡¯s equipment was also one of my duties. Her sword needed sharpening only once in a while. Her armour, on the other hand, proved the greater nuisance. As needs demanded, I would repair any dents along the plates, reupholster the leather, or apply oil to the entire set. ¡°R-Rolf, the parts around the belt end up scuffing themselves rather quickly,¡± Emilie observed. ¡°It must be tiring, replacing them so often. I won¡¯t pay any mind if you ease up on their care.¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid that will not do, Lady Emilie. Armour must be kept in the best possible condition at all times. Your life may depend on it.¡± ¡°I¡­ I suppose you¡¯re right.¡± When the day¡¯s duties were done with, I would request permission from Emilie to receive her the next day upon her awakening, as per usual. No paperwork was involved¡ªmere verbal permission sufficed. Nonetheless, this step was indispensable if I was to do my job properly. And for good reason: her chamber was housed within the main building¡¯s third floor. It was there that the leadership resided, a place forbidden to any lower officer who had not the requisite allowance. As Emilie¡¯s swain, asking for permission ahead of the next day¡¯s duties was in itself a part of the routine. ¡°May I receive you at the same time on the morrow, my Lady?¡± ¡°Yeah¡­ I don¡¯t mind¡­¡± It was during these moments, upon giving me permission, that her eyes were always downturned. ? The day was finally over. Tasks fulfilled and with sword in hand, I headed to the rear of the headquarters building. One more training session, just like the morning¡¯s. ¡°Hah¡­! Hah¡­! Hah¡­!¡± Arcs of swung iron glinted under the moonlight, one after the other, over and over, on and on¡ªmovements I¡¯ve repeated since childhood. By now, they must¡¯ve totalled in the hundreds of thousands, if not millions, each executed with the whole of my being. Out of a thousand swings unbalanced by uncertainty, ten would be steeled with surety. From those precious ten come a thousand more, each as adamant. With my heart set along the blade up to its very tip, I continued cutting at the air. The sword arc would meander upon the slightest distraction that threatened to steal my thoughts. When such faults arose, I would start over right from the beginning. In my mind, a moon mirrored within the water¡¯s surface¡ªthrough the reflection, my sword sailed, disturbing the waters not in the slightest. Once again, under a tree amongst flurries of falling leaves¡ªthrough the trunk, my sword sliced, touching not a single leaf. Yet again, within a vociferous storm¡ªthrough the gales, my sword sang, deafening the wind-howls. ¡°Rolf,¡± came a voice behind me. The sound of approaching footsteps reached my ears¡ªit was Emilie. ¡°Do you always train here? All on your own?¡± she asked. ¡°I do, my Lady.¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± Silence settled between us for a while until Emilie spoke again. ¡°Y-you know, Rolf! The mareschal praised me again! ¡®Another well-writ report,¡¯ he said!¡± ¡°Is that so?¡± ¡°And just the other day, I pointed out a problem in the operations protocol,¡± she continued. ¡°¡®Quite the eagle-eyed tactician,¡¯ I was told!¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear it.¡± Emilie fell quiet again, her eyes turning down until their long lashes almost met. Another wordless moment grew between us. ¡°¡­¡®Twas all thanks to you, Rolf,¡± Emilie started again. ¡°I made sure the mareschal knew of this, but he¡­ he wouldn¡¯t have any of it.¡± ¡°A fool¡¯s errand, Lady Emilie. You only risk imperilling your own position.¡± ¡°Still! ¡®Tis by your counsel that I accomplish the things I do. Even though you¡¯re the one truly deserving of the merit¡­ ever and always.¡± ¡°By rights, a dame shares in the merits of her swain,¡± I reiterated. ¡°I merely gave my thoughts, nothing more¡ªthe one to put them to practice was you, Lady Emilie.¡± Once more, she fell silent and hung her head sullenly. After a moment, she seemed to muster up some courage for her next words. ¡°¡®Lady Emilie¡¯¡­¡± she said softly. ¡°You call me that, even now.¡± ¡°As I must.¡± ¡°Must you really? When it¡¯s just the two of us¡­? ¡®Twould ease my heart if we can share warmer words like we used to.¡± ¡°The walls may have ears, I fear.¡± ¡°I know¡­ I know that, but¡­¡± Sorrow veiled Emilie¡¯s face¡ªan expression I¡¯ve witnessed more times than I fain to admit ever since we¡¯ve joined the Order. And I was the cause of it all. Emilie, once my fianc¨¦e, whom I once gave the promise of happiness¡ªa promise now paid instead with sadness, from whose purse but my own. ¡°Rolf¡­ The other swains don¡¯t address their knights with such ceremony. Why is it only you that must do this¡­?¡± ¡°The Order compels me so.¡± ¡°Compels you so¡­? We¡¯re not in want of stablehands, yet you¡¯re made to groom my horse! We¡¯re in no battlefield, yet you¡¯re always burdened with my spare sword! Why is that!? None of it makes sense! Does it sit well with you, Rolf!? Surely it can¡¯t¡­!¡± Emilie¡¯s eyes, lovely as they were, issued tears one after the other. Beneath the moonbeams, they brimmed blue. I came up close to her, and with a hand placed upon her cheek, wiped her tears away. Her azure gaze was wide as I stared resolutely into them. ¡°Emilie. It doesn¡¯t¡ªnot in the slightest. I am bitter of it all, as well. And more than aught, I could not bear to make you cry.¡± ¡°Rolf¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Emilie. Truly. I¡¯ve troubled you to no end, whether by our broken betrothal or the daily hardships of our new lives here.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not¡­ I¡­¡± ¡°But you must know: there¡¯s nothing left for me, not anymore. Naught, save a dream of knighthood.¡± Without averting my eyes from her, I quietly, yet resolutely continued on. ¡°Emilie. No place would dare suffer an ungraced man. I can do little else but stay here and endure, on and on, till trial¡¯s end someday far away, when I¡¯m made a knight¡ªjust like I¡¯ve always dreamed. And when that day comes, I¡¯ll be vindicated at last; this, I believe. These are selfish words, I know¡ªto you, words empty of solace, but full only of sorrow. Yet as it is, I can do nothing else.¡± ¡°Rolf¡­¡± ¡°Emilie¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡± Upon my apology, she rubbed her face with the backs of her hands, and then looked up to me. ¡°No¡­ I¡¯m sorry, too, Rolf. After all, you¡¯re¡­¡± Yet, those eyes, once freed of tears, now flowed with them once more. ¡°¡­You¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re the one¡­ who¡¯s been suffering the most¡­¡± Emilie wept. Through the moonlit emptiness, her cries echoed¡ªa sound that wounded me more deeply than any abuse from my superiors ever had. Was a man ungraced incapable even of bringing a smile to a girl¡¯s lips? I searched up to the benighted sky, haunted by a hounding feeling that has shadowed me ever since my arrival at the Order: how I resented myself for being so callow. Volume 1 - CH 2.5 ¡°Rraah!¡± The iron blur of a sword rushed straight at me. A horizontal slash¡ªavoiding it in lieu of defending would put me in prime position for a reprisal. I backed off by half a pace. The incoming sword swept across the front of my chest, slicing only air. Immediately afterwards, I swiftly closed the gap between myself and my opponent. ¡°Ach!?¡± His attack patterns up to this point have betrayed a habit: often would he fall back to a midrange position and re-assume a high guard. And now faced with an abruptly shortened distance between us, such was likely his next course of action: a back-right retreat to renew his stance. Anticipating this, I stuck close to him, planting my left foot down where he meant to put his right. ¡°Wha!?¡± His posture crumbled once his footwork failed him. At such close quarters, a fight often devolves into a struggle of securing positions of advantage. To gain the upper hand, one could effectively control the opponent¡¯s own footwork by denying him useful ground. And with my own opponent in disarray, I rammed the hilt of my sword into his abdomen, sending him tumbling into the ground. With him now defenceless and flat on his back, I trained the tip of my blade to his neck. ¡°¡­I yield,¡± he scowled. The onlookers stirred. ¡°Bloody hell, that ungraced bloke won again, can you believe that? Against Nicolai, no less!¡± ¡°Still your steed, won¡¯t you? ¡®Twas but a fluke, surely!¡± ¡°You don¡¯t pull off flukes with finesse of that sort, I¡¯d say. See how he moved?¡± ¡°Eh, well. A man scarce needs Her grace to wag a sword, anyhow.¡± A whole year has passed since I¡¯ve joined the Order. Still a swain, I had joined with members of another brigade for sword practice that day. None of the other Owlcranes were present. Even without odyl, it was here that I can prove my prowess. Overwhelming opponents as I just had was earning me some recognition; scant though it may be, it was recognition nonetheless. My opponent, this ¡®Nicolai¡¯, got up and returned to the wall of spectators. In his place, another man appeared. ¡°My turn to measure swords with you,¡± he said. ¡°¡­As you wish,¡± I accepted. If memory serves, this man was the lieutenant of the 2nd Cavalry Brigade. As proof, he came equipped with silver armour and a snide smirk on his face. ¡°Now¡­ begin!¡± ¡°Ssah!¡± I roared right upon the referee¡¯s call, bolting straight into the lieutenant¡¯s midst. My blade sailed up from a low guard, its arc intent upon his shin. ¡°Mm¡­?¡± he muttered, unable to react. Only, the attack failed¡ªthe blade stopped short of his shin. I plucked my weapon back and wound my way to my opponent¡¯s side. ¡°Dyah!¡± came my full-spirited shout, right in line with an oblique downward swing. This, too, was stopped from striking its mark. The lieutenant hardly ever looked at my sword. I pulled back. In the next sliver of a moment, I closed right back in with a thrust of my blade, its tip imbued with the momentum of my entire being. ¡°Yyagh!¡± The same result: the sword tip halted just before the lieutenant¡¯s chest. He glanced down. ¡°Heh.¡± Next came his own attack: a rising slash from his lower right. I skirted it by a wide margin. The lieutenant clicked his tongue, disappointed. I quickly rushed back in again. From the high guard, I propelled my sword into an exact cut down the centre. With it again stopping short of its destination, my opponent answered with a horizontal swing of his weapon. Immediately, I tugged my blade back to guard against the attack. Only, forged of silver like his armour, the lieutenant¡¯s blade was charged with odyl. Our swords met. A burst of ethereal force drove into my body. I was blown back, crashing onto the ground and tumbling two, three times. ¡°Gegh¡­ hah¡­ khagh¡­!¡± my lungs reeled from the impact. ¡°Too busy panting to call your own defeat, eh cur?¡± he fleered. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll leave you to lick your wounds, then.¡± Back into the crowd he went. Quite satisfied with himself, I suppose. ¡°Kh-hach¡­ hah¡­ hakh¡­!¡± Ungraced flesh wrung taut by odyl. A body entirely assailed by heat, pain, and vertigo. Organs shuddering, as if they¡¯d been twisted and rearranged¡ªall sensations I have the sole privilege of knowing. I writhed there, flat on the ground, agonising. Jeering laughter wormed its way into my ears. ¡°The pup sure barked his hide off, I¡¯ll give him that. Begs the question, though: doesn¡¯t he realise his sword¡¯ll never reach its mark, at least?¡± ¡°Realise? Hah! I¡¯d wager he¡¯s too muscle-pated for the arduous thought!¡± ¡°Vacuous of odyl lore, he is, perhaps? Certainly a possibility with an ungraced, I would think.¡± ¡°Whoa©`! Aha hah ha! A mite too sad an¡¯ sorry, if that be the way of it!¡± In the midst of burgeoning chuckles and chortles, I dragged myself up to my feet with the support of my sword. Before me stood yet another man. ¡°Why ¡®allo there, mate! Er, ¡®Molf¡¯, was it? I¡¯m next, if ye don¡¯t mind!¡± he said. There was silver in his armour, as well. ¡°Look ¡®ere, it¡¯s Max! Oh, this¡¯ll be a sight!¡± ¡°Max, it¡¯s not Molf¡ªit¡¯s ¡®Holf¡¯. Come on, now!¡± ¡°Well, weren¡¯t we a saintly lot, helping ungraced here with his training an¡¯ all. Oi! Holf! Better thank us proper, y¡¯hear?!¡± Submerged in their ceaseless heckling, I suppressed the pain throbbing through my entire body. ¡°Kuh, hah¡­¡± My breathing had yet to stabilise. Nevertheless, with sword in hand, I readied my stance and faced my new opponent. ¡°¡­En¡­ en garde.¡± ? ¡°Right, lads and lasses. Training¡¯s over. Suppertime nears; get moving to the mess hall for your share.¡± The crowds started to empty upon the call for training¡¯s end. I was down to my knees, battered and bruised all over, as fellow officers strolled on by, busy in their jeering and jabbering. Now left alone, I somehow climbed up back to my feet and began trundling my way out of the training grounds. That is, until I found standing before me a girl I knew well. Hair of flowing night, eyes of quiet roses¡ªmy younger sister, Felicia. ¡°Dear Brother¡­¡± she softly called. Unlike myself, Felicia had received a proper share of odyl from her own rites of the Roun of Orisons. A rather astounding amount, if I recall, though not as extraordinary as Emilie¡¯s. And just as promised, she had enlisted in the Order earlier this year. ¡°Felicia,¡± I called back. ¡°You were watching, I gather?¡± ¡°I was¡­ Brother, you¡¯re hurt¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m quite all right. You needn¡¯t be so glum, Felicia. The wounds sting less than they look,¡± I assured my sister, forcing a smile. A futile one, for her spirits remained unbrightened. ¡°Would that I were capable of mending magicks, then¡­¡± she lamented. ¡°No need to be hung up on that, Felicia. You¡¯ve already committed yourself to the battle magicks, anyhow. Am I wrong?¡± If I recall, Felicia was assigned to the 1st Sorcery Brigade, distinct from its other two counterparts for its focus in the attacking magicks. A perfect match, as I had heard Felicia to be highly attuned to such spells. At one point, the Order was abristle with rumours that she had¡ªupon learning the Globus Igneus spell during her very first training session¡ªproduced a fireball no less than thrice the girth that of her instructor¡¯s own. Little wonder, then, that her outstanding talent often astounded her peers during practice. ¡°A matter, Brother, if I may?¡± she asked. ¡°What is it, Felicia?¡± ¡°Those¡­ spars earlier. You were so adamant in cutting down your mark. But¡­ why, if I may ask? Had you assayed a different course, surely you would have emerged less harmed¡­¡± It seemed even my sister found my methods wayward. Who could blame her? Repeatedly slashing at my opponents with all my might, knowing full well that none of the swings would land¡ªwhat came of such efforts, other than ire and mockery from my peers, and the injuries now riddling my body? Nevermind that. I even had the gall to pick myself back up time and again, earning fresher scorn and opponents alike, only to be sent tumbling and turning once more. My sister was right: had I tempered my efforts and yielded where I could, I would not seem the sorry sight as I was now. Only, such was never my intent. ¡°Felicia. I give myself to my sword as you do to your magicks,¡± I explained. ¡°Only through each and every devoted swing can my technique improve. Had I yielded even in this, what meaning, then, is there in training?¡± ¡°But to go so far¡­ that you are hurt so¡­!¡± ¡°Hurt I am, of course. But look: I¡¯m bigger than most, yes? And all the tougher for it. You needn¡¯t worry,¡± I reassured her. In the year since I¡¯ve joined the Order, I¡¯ve grown taller still. Being incapable of magicks afforded me precious free time, which I devoted to physical training¡ªnot only in technique, but also in building bulk. By now, I already possessed the largest figure in the entire Order. ¡°Is there¡­¡± Felicia started. ¡°Hm?¡± ¡°Is there meaning, then¡­? In going as far as you do?¡± she asked carefully, eyes shaded, with a voice that verged on fading into a whisper. Such a question was formed in pure earnest¡ªwrung from a troubled heart left utterly spent at the end of much deliberation and anxiety. Felicia¡¯s words, though faint in sound, were flush with intent. The Nafilim cannot be fought without odyl. That much is undeniable. Bereft of it, a sword will never reach its mark, no matter how swiftly, how strongly, how keenly it is wielded. Why was it, then, that I continued to brandish my sword until I was beaten and brought low? Why keep upon a path leading nowhere? Where was the meaning in it all? This was Felicia¡¯s secret, precious worry for her own brother, whom she could not bear seeing so hurt. Doubtless she was told by our parents to never come near me. Only, like Emilie, she was a daughter most kind and sincere. ¡°Of meanings¡­ I¡¯m afraid I know none, Felicia. In fact, I feel it very likely there to be none, even. But I also feel, Felicia, that in brandishing the blade to the very end, it¡ªI can reach someplace, someday. There¡¯s nothing left to me save this one belief,¡± I explained to Felicia, staring unwaveringly into her eyes. ¡°But of certainties, I know one: if both my blade and I were to stop, we would reach nothing and nowhere at all.¡± ¡°But, Brother, that¡¯s¡­¡± Likely, my answer gave Felicia no solace. I must admit, I, too, feel myself beyond all help. But such was my lot and my resolve. Though I may be made a laughing stock or a pariah, there was little else I could do but have faith that there was meaning in nurturing that resolve. ¡°Let it be for now, Felicia,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s almost supper. Shouldn¡¯t you be on your way?¡± ¡°Y¡­ yes, I suppose I should,¡± replied Felicia. ¡°Will you join me?¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t. Supper comes later for me. Go on ahead and tuck in with your brigade mates, Felicia.¡± ¡°¡­All right.¡± There was peril in consorting like we did. I knew not how rife the Order was with the eyes and ears of our parents, and so for the longest while, I had been keeping my distance as well as I could. Little did I care of what ill would befall upon me should the worst transpire, but for Felicia¡¯s sake, I was loath to chance casting any shadow upon that bright future of hers. ¡°I¡¯ve done little but hurt you, haven¡¯t I, Felicia¡­?¡± I whispered to myself, looking on as my sister walked sullenly away. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Globus Igneus (Original name: ¡°Fireball¡±) Fire-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of a sphere of flames, conjured and lobbed at a target. Explodes and scorches on impact. Volume 1 - CH 2.6 Soot-Steeped Knight ? ú ¤Þ ¤ß ¤ì ¤Î òT Ê¿ Volume I Chapter 2 ¨C Part 6 Written By Yoshihiko Mihama Translated By Vagrant ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ At day¡¯s end, I would throw myself into bed and simply let my thoughts sink into the deep dark. Sleep comes to me like death, abyssal in its fathoms, where even dreams are undone unto naught. But this night was a peculiarity. Out of that bottomless eigengrau of slumber came a vision¡ªa murky moment from my younger days. Within that dream, I was yet a tiny boy, drowning myself in a stack of books at the Buckmann manor study. A pastime of mine in those distant days, to steep myself in that palace of books and lose myself to literature. And of all the stories I devoured, the most palatable were the tales of knights. Souls with sword in hand, wagering their very lives for king and country¡ªfrom that vivid image was I enlightened of my raison d¡¯¨ºtre, one that emboldened me by no small degree with its sheer palpability. Humouring myself with notions of life¡¯s purpose was indeed quite precocious of me, I admit, but that was, unabashedly, the kind of kid I was. I¡¯ve spent my life fenced in by the expectations of my family as they groomed me to be their next master. Perhaps it was in that confinement that I simply longed for a reason of being. Not that it really mattered anymore¡ªthose fences now lay in shambles, after all. But within that dream, I was mesmerised in every sense of the word as I quietly read a particular book: this one a collection of sonnets, penned a few decades ago by a courtly poet, singing of the knight¡¯s heart and human condition. Of a different sort it was from my favourites, but I indulged in it hungrily nonetheless. I¡¯ve also partaken well of works rich with war stories, and by their influence, came to consume as much as I could manuals and historical records of the military sort. But in the end, it was genuine chivalric literature that most sated my cravings. ¡°How about¡­ you¡­ then!¡± I reached for another, having just finished the poems. But for the little boy that I was, retrieving books shelved ahigh was an olympian trial in and of itself. Up the ladder I would go, stretching and stretching as far as I could to take my next target. ¡°Oh! Well hallo there, friend!¡± Freshly caught was a copy written by a beloved author of mine. Truly just what I was hoping to chance upon: an authentic knightly tale. With great enthusiasm did I crack open its pages. ¡°¡­Whoa¡­¡± A story that sang a spring shower of praises upon a certain knight¡¯s way of life¡ªto it, I gave myself, letting slip from my mind the passing of the hours. The words wove visions of a man of magnanimous yet lonely pride, who parted his homeland with sword in hand, was knighted in the far courses of his path, and fought for his folk with his whole soul. Such a storied life I lived for myself from the warmth and comfort of that manor study. Finishing the fable, I flew to my feet and snatched a feather duster from a nearby bookshelf. The puffy thing was now my sword, keen and ready to sail through the air, which I eagerly obliged. ¡°Yah!¡± A slash and a swing of the feathered sword here and there, over and under. I was a knight, a tenacious and noble-hearted swashbuckler of a knight. ¡°Rrah! Yyah!¡± As the duster dusted about, that runt of a Rolf made an oath: to study and serve the sword. But of course I did. Mastering the sword to perfection was part and parcel of being a knight, and the story I¡¯d just read spoke no differently. In it, the knightly warrior bolted straight at his opponent, striking the latter¡¯s forearm with his blade. Inspired, I tried to do the same. ¡°Dyah!¡± But I was overmuch the clumsy and fumbling little fool. Try as I might, I could not become just like that storied knight. Annoyed, I twisted and twirled that duster of a dirk once more, over and over. ¡°Yah! Hya¡­ Eh?¡± With my wits back in their roost, I noticed a little girl standing right by my side, bright with her beaming smile. ¡°¡­E-Emilie!¡± Embarrassment struck like lightning, and I quickly hid the duster behind me¡ªbelatedly so, of course. ¡°You weren¡¯t here for long¡­ were you?¡± ¡°I was! Since you started on that book!¡± ¡°What! Could¡¯ve said something, you know!¡± ¡°Maybe, but I wanted to watch you some more,¡± Emilie smiled further, warmly and with hale. In the face of such mirth, I could hardly help but smile myself. And just like that, the dream drifted away. Without a word, I continued laying there upon my bed, staring up at the cavernous ceiling of the Order barracks. After whiling for a moment, I got up. All the other men around me were still deep in their slumber. Taking my sword, I quit the sleepy place, heading outside for my morning training. Yet another day was about to start. ? ¡°Dyah!¡± With a shout, I bolted straight at my opponent and struck his forearm with my blade. Yielding a low yelp, he left his own sword to clamour upon the ground. ¡°¡­I give.¡± A quiet resignation, accompanied by a scowling gaze thrown my way. The onlooking officers buzzed. ¡°Bloody ungraced won again, boys!¡± ¡°They did bugger-all but flap their feders. What were you expecting, man? If magicks entered the fore, he¡¯d be squashed like a roach, he would!¡± ¡°The bloke¡¯s no slack with the sword, you have to admit. Could do to learn a thing or two from ¡®im¡­¡± ¡°Yeah, bright idea there, mate. Perhaps he can teach you how to sew shut that wayward mouth of yours too, eh?¡± Like silver, iron could be infused with odyl. But make no mistake, for these two metals can¡¯t even compare¡ªsilver, at the end of the day, is foremost amongst all metals as a conductor of odyl. A magicked strike from an iron blade is something I could easily chance guarding against, as I would not be blown away so inequitably by it. But just the same, it was not a risk I could indulge indefinitely. Though little, odyl yet courses through such strikes, and given enough of them, injury is inevitable. Likewise, a paling could be formed through iron armour, albeit with gaps and blind spots. By repeatedly striking against such protection and finding its weaknesses, it is possible for my blade to bite its mark. I could therefore put up a fight through my swordsmanship, so long as my opponent is a regular officer, donned with nothing better than iron arms and armour. I¡¯ve thus far claimed victory in all of my spars for today¡¯s training. But the taste of victory is as sweet as it is short-lived. And as if to answer my unease, an executive officer clad in silver emerged from the crowd. ¡°Your next dance is with me, lad.¡± ¡°Oh! Been waiting for this!¡± ¡°All bets on the lieutenant! Whip ¡®im till he whimpers, good sir!¡± ¡°¡®Ey! Ungraced! Fun time¡¯s over, y¡¯hear!? Now¡¯s when the big boys show you how we really play round here!¡± That last line came from none other than my prior opponent. As expected. It was clockwork at this point, really. Yon¨¢¡¯s cherished children, laying down the hand of judgement upon the cocksure man She¡¯d forsaken. Poetic justice at its finest, one sure to entertain the gathered officers, riled and foaming at the mouth, as they were. ? A shower of sneers and snickers rained down upon me as I laid flat on the ground, defeated. The image of a man ungraced, blown away like a leaf upon a gale¡ªsurely an exotic delight served only from the kitchen that is the 5th Chivalric Order¡¯s school of swordsmanship. But no matter how many times I was laid low, now matter how terribly the pain throbbed, my sword never left my grip. To them, it was a sight of unfettered stupidity, one that merely spurred their inner sadists. ¡°What¡¯s this, now? Look there, still clingin¡¯ to his sword, he is.¡± ¡°He¡¯d sooner part with a sword of a different sort, I¡¯d wager. What point is he trying to make, really?¡± ¡°What¡¯s wrong, lad? Licking the dirt brings that sweet a taste to yer tongue, is it? Well, quit it an¡¯ get up, why don¡¯t ye!?¡± Against the hail of hecklings, I managed to get back on my feet and stand ready with my sword. ¡°My turn now, mate. Let¡¯s have a bit o¡¯ fun, shall we?¡± said another silver-armoured challenger, coming to the fore. Stuck to his face was the look of sheer glee. ? After training was brought to a close, I washed my wounds by the well. Today, too, saw me terribly torn up. The moment brought to mind a peculiar memorandum, one I had found long ago in the study back home at the Buckmann estate. It was penned by a baron of a foreign land who had developed a taste for suffering¡ª¡¯masochism¡¯, was it? Pain of both mind and body turned instead to pleasure for this baron, and the memorandum told of his life in high society as he bore for his own perversion a secret shawl of shame. It scarcely held my interest then, and so I read only the beginnings of the story. Thinking about it now, perhaps I should have delved deeper. I would have liked to learn a thing or two from this baron, of how suffering might be of some avail to me. As I ruminated on profitless thoughts, a voice chimed from behind. ¡°Rolf.¡± By that point in my time in the Order, I had been conferred the honourable epithets of ¡®ungraced¡¯, ¡®addle-pate¡¯, and ¡®scum¡¯. One soul, however, yet called me by my name. ¡°Emilie, my Lady.¡± ¡°Those wounds,¡± she pointed out. ¡°Are you all right?¡± ¡°I am. It is no cause for concern.¡± ¡°¡­I see.¡± A silent pause followed. By its end, Emilie forced a clumsy smile. ¡°Say, Rolf. A long while it¡¯s been since last we dined together, isn¡¯t it? Won¡¯t you join me for supper?¡± ¡°Yes, my Lady. If I may.¡± Volume 1 - CH 2.7 ¡°Why, Emilie! Fine work today, eh?¡± ¡°Ey up, Emilie!¡± ¡°We make for the mess hall. Come and dine with us, Miss Emilie, if it pleases you.¡± As Emilie and I made our way to the mess hall, we chanced upon the other members of the Owlcrane Brigade: Gerd, Raakel, and Sheila. ¡°R-right. I¡¯ll take you up on that.¡± Joined with new company, we resumed on our way, with Emilie surrounded by the other three and myself following behind by a few paces. ¡°Congratulations on your promotion, Lieutenant Emilie.¡± ¡°My thanks, Gerd. Only, I must say, ¡®tis an honour wasted on the freshest newcomer.¡± ¡°Easy on the modesty there, m¡¯love,¡± said Raakel. ¡°Gotten a gander o¡¯ that grand spellblade o¡¯ yers, we have. Ye be the strongest o¡¯ us, an¡¯ if I¡¯m honest, havin¡¯ ye lead us is a no-brainer, ain¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t disagree there,¡± said Gerd. ¡°And that¡¯s to say nothing of your tactical wits¡ªthe best amongst us, mind you. Planning, organising¡ªthe mareschal doesn¡¯t hold back his praises when he sees how sharp you are when it comes to managing our operations.¡± ¡°Y-you know, I¡¯ve tried telling the mareschal for who knows how many times by now, but Rolf¡¯s been the one charitable enough to give me these insights all this time¡­¡± Emilie admitted with an uneasy smile. ¡°Miss Emilie. Honour given is honour earned, no matter how much you¡¯ve leaned upon your swain for the merit,¡± Sheila corrected. ¡°S-still! That we needed a lieutenant to begin with was Rolf¡¯s own suggestion¡­¡± ¡°Come now, Emilie,¡± said Gerd. ¡°Thinking dearly of your swain¡ªa fine play of virtue, sure. But I¡¯ll be frank: you coddle that man more than he deserves, and that doesn¡¯t sit well, not with me, at least.¡± ¡°How could you¡­¡± Emilie then turned to me, giving flickering glances with those troubled eyes of hers. It does you ill to seek my help, Emilie. I count myself amongst those that see you fit for the lieutenant¡¯s cape, after all. The 5th¡¯s Owlcrane Brigade heretofore did not have a lieutenant position. Seeing this, I expounded to Emilie a number of reasons as to why our brigade stood to benefit from having a chain of command of its own, which she relayed to the mareschal himself. Thus was the lieutenant¡¯s role born, and Emilie the first to assume it. ¡®And you¡¯ll take up the charge, yes?¡¯ Tallien had said, as if it was custom to thrust responsibility upon the proposers of ideas. But if we were to consider it with an eye for aptitude, Emilie seemed the perfect candidate. Gerd¡¯s faculties of reasoning were slightly wanting; the man played by the book, so much so he lacked the flexibility to think beyond its cover. Sheila, on the other hand, possessed the composure to view things broadly, but her nature lacked the magnetism to draw others in. And Raakel¡­ well, let¡¯s just say she was more the chess piece and less the player. For her part, Emilie had a potent charisma about her, nurtured by an innately charming temperament that earned her no small measure of admiration. A vital asset for a commanding officer, to be sure. In fact, I measured her to be capable of someday leading a large host of her own single-handedly. Not to mention she possessed a strong affinity for the levin magicks¡ªEmilie would often command the attention of others during training with her dazzling displays of lightning-ensorcelled swordplay, coupled with her winsome looks all the while. In pondering such things, the mess hall now stood before us. Wafts of aromas, sure to rouse the stomach, had long greeted us down the corridor before our arrival. My nose predicted stew, the sort bedight with cuts of lamb. A feast, I was sure, one most welcome on a cold day such as this. ¡°Proper nitherin¡¯, ey!¡± complained Raakel, as if on cue. ¡°Cold¡¯s been bitin¡¯ these days. Ye feel it too, don¡¯t ye loves?¡± ¡°I fear this winter shall not come gently,¡± Sheila confirmed. ¡°On mornings of late, I oft find my staff frozen to the fingers¡¯ touch¡ªoh! How it startles.¡± ¡°Bloomin¡¯ ¡®eck, the mess hall¡¯s no better!¡± Raakel continued. ¡°Weren¡¯t always this nippy here, ye think?¡± ¡°Is it now?¡± questioned Sheila. ¡°I think it warm quite enough.¡± Where people gather, they make words of the weather. I suppose there was some truth in that. By no particular fancy, I found myself lending an ear to the girls¡¯ gossip. ¡°Ye pullin¡¯ me leg, Sheila? Come on, I can¡¯t be the only one shiverin¡¯ here!¡± ¡°Raakel might have a point,¡± Emilie chimed in. ¡°¡®Twas warmer here up till recently, I feel.¡± ¡°Hmm, can¡¯t make two ways about it myself,¡± Gerd added. ¡°You sure it¡¯s not just the faeries tricking your fancy?¡± ¡°Well, Miss Raakel has barely a scant of fat about her,¡± Sheila observed. ¡°It would explain why the cold bites her more bitterly, perhaps.¡± ¡°Ah Sheila, ever the unwitting jester,¡± said Gerd. ¡°Your japery jabs no less bitterly than the rimey mistrals, what with how unscanted your udders are.¡± ¡°Tempt my wrath, do you?¡± Sheila snapped. ¡°How about you, Rolf?¡± Emilie asked, turning to me. It seemed charity compelled her to count me in on their conversation. ¡°Soot¡ªit chokes the hearth,¡± I observed. ¡°Left as is, I¡¯m afraid it ill-avails us from the chill.¡± ¡°Er, so when soot builds, the hearth warms less generously. Did I get that right?¡± ¡°Yes, my Lady. Soot causes the burning of firewood to scantle.¡± ¡°Well then, ungraced. Be a good yeoman and go clean it right up, will you?¡± Gerd said nonchalantly. It seemed the lamb stew would have to wait. ¡°Wait, why?¡± questioned Emilie. ¡°Rolf is joining us for supper.¡± ¡°Housekeeping¡¯s best done before the hour grows late,¡± Gerd answered. ¡°Ungraced here has more chores early on the morrow, I¡¯m sure.¡± ¡°But why Rolf, then?¡± Because I¡¯m a swain who can¡¯t fight, of course. ¡°Why not? He¡¯s a swain.¡± ¡°It¡¯s no job for a swain! You know that!¡± ¡°Then what is? This bloke¡ªcan he fight? No? Well then, there¡¯s the rub. Let¡¯s make him useful, why don¡¯t we? Give him a job he can do.¡± ¡°R¡­ Rolf is my swain and mine alone. You have no right¡­¡± This will not do. We were drawing more eyes than needed. A shouting match between these two would make Emilie seem the lieutenant over-eager with her newfound authority. ¡°I¡¯ll have it done, Lady Emilie,¡± I interjected. ¡°Honoured Owlcranes, I bid you all a pleasant supper.¡± ¡°Oho! We¡¯ll be eatin¡¯ warm tonight,¡± said Raakel. ¡°Ta fer that, muscle-pate!¡± ¡°But, Rolf¡­¡± ¡°Lady Emilie. I pay it no mind, really. Besides, I mislike the lamb this time of year; it chews not as tenderly,¡± I assured her. ¡°I¡¯ll be on my way now, my Lady.¡± ¡°Ah¡­¡± Turning about, I exited the mess hall and made way to the cleaners¡¯ closet. Perhaps speaking ill of the lamb was foolish of me. A fox once mocked a cluster of grapes for their sourness, purely on account of it being beyond his reach. In recalling that fable, I surrendered a slight grin. ? Levity and conviviality suffused the mess hall as those within partook of both hot meals and hale chatter. Divorced from the merry backdrop was I, about to partake instead of some hearth-cleaning. Such menial tasks are hardly a chore, I feel. In fact, since my earliest days, I¡¯ve been quite taken with them. In times when my mind was mired in doubt or worry, I would unfetter my heart from the weight of it all and simply give in to a nice round of cleaning. At the end of it, I would find both my heart and my room as a clear sky after a passing rain. Wondrous satisfaction, it was. People get on in their lives, each taking comfort in a routine that frees them. Some let loose in culinary pursuits, others simply take a stroll. For me, keeping things tidy fits the bill. Having said that, this would be my first time cleaning a hearth. Lacking experience, my thoughts turned to the servants back at the Buckmann manor, and all the times I¡¯ve watched them busy in their business. Soot-sweeping, too, was their duty, their methods of which I proceeded to mimic. First came clearing out the larger pieces of burnt debris. I left the ashes for later, once they¡¯re in the company of the soot to be scraped from up the chimney. I then crept into the hearth, taking along a lantern to illuminate the vertical interior. There, I found layers of soot stuck to the chimney¡¯s inner walls, though they had yet to extend to the portions higher up, thankfully. Cleaning the lower walls would do just fine, it seemed. After shoving my body further into the chimney, I began brushing off the hanging soot. Clumps and crumbs of the black stuff dislodged and trickled down. Quite gratifying, oddly enough. With a longer brush in hand, I gave the same treatment to the middle portion of the chimney, bringing my lantern up from time to time to check my progress. Areas yet sooted earned themselves another scrubbing. Before long, the chimney found itself well tidied up. Worming my way out of it, I turned my attention to the hearth, freeing it from its own fair share of the caking soot. And when the muck was mostly cleared, I reared out of the hearth to inspect its condition. Well done so far, if I do say so myself. A little more brushing, and my job would be finished after removing the soot and ashes collected at the bottom of the hearth. By then, the others in the mess hall had mopped up the last of their meals, whiling away the remaining time with tea and chit-chat. ¡°¡­Look there, hey? An alga, he is¡­¡± one amongst them whispered, earning a round of resounding laughter. Alga¡ªthat is, the ¡°soot-steeped¡±. An unsavoury epithet for the indented who earn their living clearing out soot, and in the process, finding themselves absolutely dusted in the dark silt. Truth be told, I must have seemed the part, soot-steeped as I was. My face, too, was likely smeared and shaded all over with the stuff. The giggles and guffaws failed to relent in the slightest. One of the onlookers was unabashedly in stitches, clapping and tearing up from the hilarity. I began to wonder how Emilie felt in witnessing all this. Her probable expression was an easy guess; likely she would turn away in sorrow were our eyes to meet. Knowing this, I made sure that they didn¡¯t. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Alga (Language: Latin; plural: algae) Something worthless. Originally a word referring to seaweed and other freshwater plants. Volume 1 - CH 2.8 8-10 minutes 21.07.2022 Soot-Steeped Knight ? ú ¤Þ ¤ß ¤ì ¤Î òT Ê¿ Volume I Chapter 2 ¨C Part 8 Written By Yoshihiko Mihama Translated By Vagrant ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Supper was over. The hour had waxed overlate. As usual, I found myself behind the main building, swinging my sword under the stars. In the midst of the rigour, there appeared Emilie, holding a loaf of bread. ¡°Rolf¡­ here,¡± she said, handing it to me. That I had nothing to eat for supper seemed a fact not lost upon her¡ªtoo busied I was, scouring the soot from the mess hall¡¯s hearth. ¡°My thanks.¡± ¡°Can you spare a moment¡­?¡± she asked, looking to the building wall. Sensing her intent, I followed her, and we were soon sat side-by-side against the cold brickwork. ¡°¡­Forgive me, Rolf¡­ for earlier. It¡­ it shouldn¡¯t have happened,¡± she spoke as I began helping myself to the bread. ¡°I¡¯m not troubled, my Lady,¡± I assured her. ¡°You¡¯ve just been made a lieutenant. ¡®Tis a precious time; shielding me would be a waste of it.¡± ¡°¡­¡¯Twas by spending time with you that I was promoted. Was it not?¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid you see not the way of it. You¡¯ve been promoted precisely because you are fit to play the part.¡± ¡°Still¡­¡± After that word, there stretched a silence between us. I had finished the last of the bread, but sensing it brusque to resume training¡ªfor it yet seemed Emilie had much on her mind¡ªI remained by her side, biding the quietude till her next words. ¡°Say, Rolf?¡± came the broken silence. ¡°Yes, my Lady?¡± ¡°You spend your nights like this? Deep in this training of yours?¡± ¡°I do.¡± Morning and night both, to be accurate, but I left it unsaid. ¡°Is there¡­¡± she began to ask carefully, ¡°¡­is there some purpose to it¡­ I wonder?¡± Her words carried the same echo as that of Felicia¡¯s on an evening not so unlike this. ¡°I believe there is, yes.¡± ¡°Rolf¡­ I know you to be wise beyond your years. Forming strategies, managing operations¡­ the sort of affairs that can change the Order from within¡ªyou¡¯d be well off in them, I think. Just like when you recommended the whole lieutenant deal to me.¡± ¡°Yet yours are the only ears that will listen to those recommendations. ¡®Tis not writ in the stars for me to have a hand in administrative affairs, I feel.¡± ¡°The mareschal may not have an ear for your counsel, but for mine, he may¡­¡± ¡°You are like to find favour in your superiors, my Lady, but I¡¯m afraid the mareschal nurtures none for me.¡± ¡°Th-that¡¯s not so! If we can all join hands and spare an ear for each other¡¯s words, then surely¡­!¡± Emilie insisted. It was clear to me by then that she was truly, dearly worried about me. ¡°Rolf¡­ ¡®Tis not a weakness to set aside the sword, you know. You can fight your battles from the war-table¡ªit heeds little of odyl, after all. Am I wrong?¡± You¡¯re not, Emilie. Not in the slightest. But there was the rub: who in the Order would be gracious enough to leave a seat for an ungraced at that war-table? Emilie was most kind to believe in my capabilities, but I¡¯m afraid any other person here wouldn¡¯t have dared to entertain the mere thought of it. Perhaps this truth was lost to her. But what¡¯s more, I had no intention of throwing down the sword. ¡°Lady Emilie. Matters of strategy and administration comprise a knight¡¯s duties, that much is true. And I am glad indeed that my counsel for such has been of some avail to you. But¡­¡± I explained, searching for the next words. ¡°¡­Ever and always has the sword given me purchase. It is my bedrock; my heart ails to give it up.¡± ¡°Rolf¡­¡± Emilie said softly. Her next words, strained, came with great deliberateness. ¡°¡­¡®Tis a comforting thought, isn¡¯t it? That the sword you¡¯ve brandished in days yester will avail you in days yet to come. Perhaps¡­ too warm a comfort for your heart to part with? Is that not simply it, in the end?¡± ¡°You may be right. But not so comforting a thought for my sword, perhaps, to be smitten by so troublesome a man,¡± came my attempt at levity. ¡°¡­I see,¡± she responded quietly. Another silence followed. The both of us, for the next wordless while, stared up to the sable skies. A familiar scene it was, together as we were, taking in the tapestry of the stars. We had often indulged in such moments back in our time at the Buckmann barony. Only, it now all seemed but a distant memory. ¡°Rolf¡­¡± Emilie started again. ¡°My father¡­ He¡¯s sent word¡­¡± I looked to her. ¡°Of what?¡± ¡°¡­of a new fianc¨¦ he¡¯s chosen for me.¡± For this, I had no words. Emilie continued on. ¡°¡®Kenneth¡¯ is his name¡ªeldest son to Lord Albeck. Perhaps you know of them?¡± ¡°I do. A mere twelve years of age, isn¡¯t he? And his father holds the Albeck viscounty, next to the march of Norden, where we are.¡± ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s them¡­¡± she said. Again, I found myself lacking words. ¡°I wonder, Rolf¡­ if you were made a knight, to everyone¡¯s pleasure¡­ then, perhaps¡­¡± Then perhaps things would be as they once were. And as planned, I would succeed House Buckmann, and we would wed each other to a happy ever-after. An impossible fancy, that. Such optimism bordered on madness, even. But the sudden sorrow of realising this for myself broke my heart in half. Only, Emilie was desperately clinging on to that same fancy, and by its wiles was she beckoned here on this night, that we might discuss any other path that may lead to its fruition. What could I say to her? If she were to find happiness at any end, then I would be most content. Yet, that can¡¯t be the way of it. I would be a fool to brush it off with a simple ¡®I pray for your happiness¡¯. I knew such words would be wrong. I knew it too well. Yet, I also knew not the right words to say to her. Not once have I ever harboured shame in being denied of odyl. Where shame is to be found is in these moments, when I am empty of any and all words. Let us ask any other young man, both betrothed and sixteen years of age¡ªcertainly, he would have an answer prepared. Any answer at all. But after scouring my memories, I found none that may be of some avail in this moment. Having exhausted all of my faculties, I gazed intently at the sombre side of Emilie¡¯s face and left my lips to say what they may. ¡°¡­Ever the crybaby, you are. Even as lieutenant.¡± She turned to me. ¡°¡­I¡¯m not crying.¡± ¡°But you are.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve shed not a tear.¡± ¡°Yet you cry.¡± To this, Emilie fell quiet. How cruel can this world be? If I am to be made a man unblessed, then at the very least, make me also the sole harbour to this fleet of sorrow. I¡¯d find some way to bear the berth, no matter the enormity. Why in the name of all that is good must anyone other than myself be gripped with such grief? ¡°My Lady. You measure my worth with great generosity, but I¡¯m afraid the world shares none of it¡ªnot for an ungraced man like me,¡± broke I this silence, my eyes firmly fixed on Emilie. My words were admittedly misshapen, but it was preferable to no words at all. For her part, Emilie, too, gazed deeply back at me. ¡°I know little of what lies ahead, but of this I can say: even should I be knighted, inheriting House Buckmann is forever a fleeting fancy.¡± ¡°¡­Yeah¡­¡± ¡°But perhaps the path we tread wends to someplace worthwhile. We have but to follow and see where it leads. And perhaps you may be right. Perhaps swinging this sword over and over again is but a fool¡¯s errand.¡± To this, Emilie stayed quiet, listening intently. ¡°Yet, somehow¡­ of this, I¡¯m certain: the point I let go of the sword and renounce my means of fighting back, is the point where that path severs,¡± came to Emilie words from deep in my chest. I felt then that with these words I was also confronting myself¡ªmy weak, pitiful self. ¡°As you said, there is comfort in brandishing the blade as I always have, hoping it attains to its purpose someday yet to dawn,¡± I continued. ¡°Whether such will come to pass, I cannot know. But brandish it I must¡ªthis, my heart tells me. And for as long as its voice stays true, I can¡¯t do aught else.¡± Her lips remained unmoved. ¡°Flimsy maunderings of a fool, I know. But it¡¯s all I have, my Lady,¡± I admitted. ¡°And so it is¡­¡± Emilie nodded. ¡°If that¡¯s what your heart tells you, Rolf, then I¡¯ve but to join you in heeding its words.¡± ¡°Lady Emilie¡­¡± I said. ¡°Forgive me.¡± ¡°How silly,¡± she remarked. ¡°We¡¯ve done little but seek forgiveness from each other as of late, haven¡¯t we?¡± ¡°¡­That we have.¡± The two of us gave strained smiles to each other. Were they well-given? Well-received? This I wondered, and of another matter as well: on this very night, what was it exactly that I chose to believe in? Which path was it that I chose in the end? Sadly, though it all pertained to my very being, my very soul, I was left with not a single answer. ¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T Chapter 2 ©¤ End ? Volume 1 - CH 3.1 ¡°Reinforcements? For the 1st, my Lady?¡± I asked. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± answered Emilie. ¡°Even now, they¡¯re battle-locked in the waters of the Erbelde¡ªthey¡¯ve called for aid, and we¡¯re to answer.¡± Two years have passed since Emilie and I enlisted in the Order, and we now stood at the precipice of our first real battle. To go this long without any action was apparently not too uncommon an occurrence here at the 5th, known as it was for being rather sheepish about getting its hands dirty. Regardless, Mareschal Tallien himself and the leadership were quite thrilled about this new development¡ªthe boredom had finally taken its toll, it seemed. As such, it was by then a certainty that most of the 5th would be mobilised for this mission. At present, the 1st Chivalric Order and the Nafilim horde were staring each other down at the Erbelde Broadrun, a prominent river snaking through the kingdom¡¯s eastern reach. To the Nafilim, it was a line they meant to jealously defend, and thus were dug in their heels trying to ward off the invading knights of the 1st¡ªno easy task, given the latter¡¯s distinction as the cr¨¨me de la cr¨¨me of the kingdom¡¯s military menu, as it were. The knightly host, for its part, was charged with breaking through the enemy line and securing the fertile river basin from which the Erbelde flowed¡ªa foray that the 5th now wholly tasked itself to assist. ¡°And when do we leave?¡± I asked further. ¡°In three days hence,¡± Emilie confirmed. ¡°Quite the hurry. Though if the 1st saw need of reinforcements, time would be precious, I presume.¡± ¡°I¡¯m told the 1st¡¯s numbers count greater than the enemy¡¯s, actually. Winning there shall prove most lucrative; ¡®twould seem they won¡¯t settle for aught less than a certain victory. That¡¯s where we come in.¡± Where we come in, she said? I see. It would seem our kingdom deemed the potential boon too precious to give up. Our role as reinforcements was to make certain this victory they so sought¡ªmeaning a spark of opportunity had at last been found at the end of much struggle. ¡°A month and more it¡¯s been since the 1st moved to retake the Erbelde. If they¡¯ve been stalled by a stalemate that entire time, then they¡¯ve called for reinforcements to try and pierce the impenetrable¡­ or is it that the fates have revealed an opening, my Lady?¡± ¡°They have, from the looks of it. And the 1st means not to squander their newfound fortune.¡± Put another way, failing to capitalise on this opportunity would likely mean a return to the dreaded stalemate. No wonder our kingdom was bending over backwards to settle the battle once and for all. ¡°Rolf, let¡¯s give it our all!¡± Emilie smiled. ¡°My all, I will give,¡± I returned. ¡°Though pray tell, who draws the plans for our march?¡± ¡°The mareschal does, with the commissariat under his wing. But I¡¯m afraid all the haste has whipped them into quite the fevered flock.¡± ¡°The march will be no birdwalk, let alone the coming battle itself,¡± I observed. ¡°If the Erbelde is our destination, cutting through the Belithas Steppe is sure to save us time, but I fear the midsummer sun¡¯s glare dares to sap us of our strength and spirits both. I say we must needs march through the Sewell Wealdlands instead©`the air is cooled by the trees there, and with waters running aplenty, our men need not worry of thirsting along the way.¡± ¡°Se-Sewell, you said? Hmm¡­ You do have a point,¡± said Emilie. ¡°Right, I¡¯ll be sure to take up this matter to the mareschal.¡± From then until the day of departure, the 5th was aboil in its busied bustling. All within were in high spirits, but each also found himself itching with unease. Training was officially held off till departure as well, but defying this, I resumed my own regimen as usual. The coming mission was all the more reason to continue honing myself. On the benighted eve of our departure, I peered up at the eastern sky, having just finished sword practice. Would I be of some use, odylless as I am? Will I find some part to play in the looming battlefield? These, I need only to find out for myself. Somewhere beyond the eastward horizon, the knights of the 1st were mired in the heat of battle¡ªto them, I sent these uncertain thoughts. ? ¡°Rolf! Forgive me!¡± were Emilie¡¯s first words right upon the day of our departure. I¡¯ll hazard a guess: I¡¯m to remain here as a watchdog. Or perhaps the marching scheme remains unchanged? The only one to be troubled would be myself, were it the former. The latter, however¡­ ¡°¡®Twas no good: the mareschal¡¯s settled on the route through Belithas. I insisted on Sewell, but my words fell on deaf ears,¡± Emilie explained. ¡°I see,¡± was my sunken response. ¡°My Lady, did you perchance mention that I had aught to do with the Sewell proposal?¡± Emilie twiddled her fingers in regret. ¡°I¡­ did.¡± ¡°Would that you hadn¡¯t.¡± ¡°Th-the other leaders, they sought speed over all else! A march through Belithas would take seven days, and Sewell nine. ¡®Detours are not for reinforcements to take,¡¯ they said,¡± Emilie elaborated. For why, I could not know; there was little point in it now. ¡°Yes. You are certainly right, my Lady,¡± I resigned. ¡°We must move with utmost dispatch. It won¡¯t do to keep the 1st waiting.¡± ¡°Right,¡± Emilie replied. ¡°We leave soon. I trust you¡¯ve made ready?¡± ¡°I have, my Lady.¡± Hence marched the 5th Order to the eastern fringes of the realm, where ran the Erbelde¡¯s embattled waters. In spite of the occasion, however, my spirits failed to match themselves to the surrounding excitement. ? Five hours had gone by since the morning of our departure. We Owlcranes marched alongside the Mareschal Tallien on horseback, save for myself, of course: the entirety of the trip so far saw me afoot, pulling Emilie¡¯s mount along. ¡°Rolf¡­¡± she called to me from upon her saddle. ¡°How are you faring?¡± ¡°Well enough, my Lady.¡± A look around revealed the 5th¡¯s officers quietly bearing themselves under the sweltering sun, the toil having stolen the mood for idle chatter. Many were not given a steed of their own, such as my fellow swains and officers whose specialisations eschewed the luxury. Regardless, they all suffered the heat just the same, as their furrowed faces and laborious breaths indicated. ¡°Heard you came up with the Sewell route, eh ungraced?¡± Gerd hissed. ¡°Thought we¡¯d be better off sauntering under the cool canopies, now did you?¡± ¡°I did, Lord Gerd.¡± ¡°Hah! Reinforcements¡ªout on a jolly, wooded safari, taking their sweet time along the way. What folly!¡± struck Gerd. ¡°Hurrying through hell, only to be paralysed with exhaustion¡ªa fool¡¯s errand any reinforcements should avoid, I would think,¡± I countered. To this, Gerd audibly clucked and made ready to shout. ¡°What¡¯s that, now? Sharp be his tongue the hound who but tugs the master¡¯s steed till his own exhaustion! Don¡¯t think for a second that our ranks suffer aught should you drop dead, ungraced!¡± ¡°Oi, mickle-berk. Quite the softy, aren¡¯t ye, fer a giant?¡± Raakel chimed in. ¡°Don¡¯t ye go beefin¡¯ on us when it gets proper maftin¡¯, ey!¡± ¡°My words were misplaced. Forgive me, Lord Gerd, Lady Raakel.¡± We soon took and finished our midday meals. The march resumed under the unrelenting glare of the sun, which conjured up from the ground a veil of mirages, wriggling and seething. Through them, the 5th¡¯s footfalls dragged, heavily and heavier still. Two, three hours crept on by. The march¡¯s momentum noticeably slowed all the while. Even those mounted have all but ceased their utterings. Each and every one of our throats begged for water, but they could scarcely be slaked: unlike the Sewell Wealdlands, abound with runnels and rivulets as they were, the steppes of Belithas afforded no source of water by which our stores of it could be replenished. We could only partake according to a strict regimen, though that unfortunately had not stopped our water supply from running low. Merciless was the screaming sun in searing away our stamina. Haggard breaths scratched against the air all around. Some soon even found their eyes meandering from all the strain. ¡°¡­Oi. Ungraced,¡± muttered Gerd. ¡°Yes, my Lord?¡± ¡°A break. That¡¯s what you want. Isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Nay. I can keep the course.¡± ¡°Hah. You traitorous lot. Brew your lies to taste, I see,¡± Gerd retorted. ¡°Too bad. No break for you. Not for a long while yet.¡± He was right. There would be no breaks, not where we were: Belithas lacked not only water, but also aught that could spare even a sliver of shade. And raising tents each and every time we were to take rest was simply out of the question. ¡°I¡¯m well aware, my Lord.¡± ¡°Hmph.¡± ¡°Hardly do I see your course being kept for much longer, dear swain. Already, you have quite the shimmer of sweat about you,¡± Sheila remarked. ¡°I understand you long to pretend the paragon, but if knighthood be your aim, you had best lay down your lies.¡± ¡°Nay, Lady Sheila,¡± I began to rebut. ¡°I will keep my course. This much sweat warrants no worry. If there is a concern to be had, it should be of lacking salt.¡± ¡°Salt, you say?¡± Sheila wondered aloud. Veritably so. The summer months saw coal miners and their ilk regularly partake of salt. But it was vain to expect the others here to know of this, pampered princes as they all were. ¡°Was that why you insisted that we lick some salt, Rolf? During lunchtime?¡± asked Emilie. ¡°Indeed, my Lady.¡± ¡°Suckle on salt as though it be a teat o¡¯ water¡ªyer brightest idea yet, ye twiny-twonk!¡± heckled Raakel. Such hollow conversations continued on as we marched east. The skies sank into twilight, but that did little to abate the heat. Our formations had by that point dissolved into disarray. Those mounted resigned themselves to hanging their gazes down onto the backs of their horses, silent all the while. In spite of the sheer toil, the 5th somehow managed to arrive at the first day¡¯s designated destination. Everyone was all but spent, eager only to quit. For their part, the leadership were gathered around the mareschal, discussing plans for the overnight camp. ¡°¡­Make sure all goes as planned,¡± ordered Tallien. ¡°Emilie, the nightwatch proceeds as we¡¯ve arranged. Go ahead and confirm the particulars with the other lieutenants.¡± ¡°Right away, Mareschal.¡± ¡°Permission to speak, Lady Emilie,¡± I interjected. ¡°Oh?¡± she said with a startle. ¡°Yes, go ahead, Rolf.¡± Apparently, the others still had the vigour to show their unbridled disgust towards an ungraced, whose sole role in the meeting was to stand idle by Emilie as her dutiful swain. But I couldn¡¯t let their livid looks stop me. The situation was dire; it was now or never. ¡°Requesting a change in plans,¡± I began proposing. ¡°We should finish supper without erecting the tents, and resume marching through the night after a short break. This, I believe, best serves our interests.¡± ¡°¡®Cover ground whilst the sun is sunk,¡¯ is what you¡¯re saying, now?¡± Tallien summarised. ¡°That is correct, Mareschal.¡± ¡°And you best mind your tongue, ungraced,¡± Gerd cut in, his voice low and lethal like a knife upon the neck. ¡°We¡¯ve not trained in night-marching, and you would have us leap into a trial by fire? Spent as we are?¡± ¡°It is hardly an affront to common sense as you may believe, Lord Gerd. Marching by cover of night in the midst of summer is a measure frequently undertaken, as our military annals would gladly attest,¡± I rebutted. ¡°Furthermore, the lay of Belithas is both level and open, and lies firmly within friendly territory. I believe we scarce imperil ourselves were we to proceed as I¡¯ve outlined.¡± ¡°There¡¯s little comfort to be had in a ¡®scarce peril¡¯, ungraced!¡± Gerd yelled. ¡°We have been quite conservative in our consumption of water, Lord Gerd, and yet our stores of it already find themselves depleted two-tenths beyond projections. At this rate, many of our men will be forced to withdraw before ever reaching the 1st¡ªall on account of severe dehydration.¡± ¡°Dam that tongue of yours, you bloody wastrel! Don¡¯t you dare speak as though you know aught!¡± Well, this is going rather swimmingly. Gerd had all but surrendered himself to his emotions, and they were to him as a horsewhip set upon the horse, lashing to be beat of my every word. Talk of the Sewell route earlier that day must have been crossing his mind, in spite of his thorough mocking of it. That we hadn¡¯t chosen the wooded route precipitated the sorry state the soldiers of the 5th now found themselves in, and in light of this reality, Gerd was moulding his shame into fresh anger with my name writ large upon it. But as it stood, the march itself was in dire straits in every sense. ¡°Mareschal Tallien. I support Rolf¡¯s idea,¡± came Emilie, cutting in. ¡°Had we marched according to his design, we would not find ourselves in such circumstances as we are now. I believe we should change our marching scheme while we are yet able, just as he had described.¡± ¡°Ach!¡± Gerd groaned bitterly. Emilie¡¯s words were as oil doused upon a flame. Glad was I for her support, but with the mention of routes worming into his ears, Gerd was at that point right about to explode. Emilie speaking to the mareschal instead did not help in calming the Owlcrane¡¯s fuming temper, either. It was then that reinforcements of a different sort arrived. ¡°An¡¯ ye best quench that flamin¡¯ tongue o¡¯ yours, Gerd. I see yer worry¡¯d ¡®bout this ¡®scarce peril¡¯, but what with the likes o¡¯ us, it be child¡¯s play, no? Besides, runnin¡¯ dry o¡¯ water¡¯s a mite tough, if I¡¯m honest. Why not treat us selves to a nice mooch under the stars? Save some water along the way, ey?¡± ¡°Mr. Gerd, I must confess: I, too, am agreed with the Misses Emilie and Raakel.¡± Rational thought still had a home in Raakel and Sheila, it would seem. Gerd very much seemed the brat being coddled by more calm and collected souls. That he did not take offence spoke of the long years the two women had suffered his company; indeed, by now, they¡¯ve become quite deft in dealing with that firebrand of a man. ¡®I, too, am agreed with the Misses Emilie and Raakel.¡¯ Likely a phrase not carefully contrived, but one that slipped quite naturally from the lips. Well said, Sheila. Leaving me out of the picture and agreeing instead with the other girls was rather tactful. ¡°Gerd, you¡¯re one of our prized aces, aren¡¯t you? ¡®Twould be a great ease to us all to have you in tip-top shape for the coming battle, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± Emilie followed up with a smile, one that seemed to seal the deal to no small effect. ¡°¡­I would,¡± Gerd relented with a coarse sigh. ¡°Fine, then.¡± The other brigades found no reason to doubt the Owlcranes¡¯ will, seeing as the latter were their superiors in rank. Things were beginning to look up, at last. ¡°All who oppose?¡± Tallien inquired, looking all along the other lieutenants. Their collective silence signalled consent. ¡°None. Right, we resume marching tonight. Leaders, finish supping and tell your men to rest. Meet back with me once that¡¯s done. Adjourned!¡± Disgust and contempt twisted the faces of the leadership as they dispersed¡ªTallien included. Compromise was a bitter medicine indeed, but one they were compelled to swallow. It was settled: we would march by night. Our troubles were sure to continue, but nonetheless, Emilie couldn¡¯t help but smile amongst the sea of frowns. Volume 1 - CH 3.2 Resting at day under the canopy of canvases, treading at night under the canopy of constellations¡ªwe, the 5th, slowly but surely made our way to the banks of the Erbelde Broadrun. Our progress was ever in the company of sweltering temperatures and nagging fatigue, but it was undoubtedly preferable to the hell that was the first day¡¯s march. In accordance with the leadership¡¯s revisions to the logistics guidelines, we¡¯ve offloaded extraneous supplies and equipment along the way. With our burdens cut down to the barest minimum, we were able to maintain a slightly more expedient march. Our collective fatigue mounted as the days wore on, but on the seventh, at long last our perseverance carried us beyond the fringes of the Belithas Steppe. We rested under the shade of our tents, waiting for the sun to set. The hour of departure was soon upon us. By my estimation, we would reach the Erbelde in the dead of night. It was by no small miracle that we¡¯ve gotten as far as we did. Even then, such a miracle afforded little succour for the worn and weary officers. Despite the progress made, their faces were masked in grim shadows, for each and every one of them were fully aware of the boiling battlefield that loomed at march¡¯s end. ¡°Commence the march. We arrive tonight. Stay sharp, little lions!¡± ordered the mareschal. His words were of paltry power and pluck¡ªthe gravity of the situation was not lost to him either, it seemed. Nevertheless, we picked ourselves up and hoofed the last stretch of the journey to the Erbelde Broadrun, where awaited both our friends of the 1st and our Nafilim foes. ? Through the thick veil of night, I continued to pull Emilie¡¯s horse along, my lips long parted from any mood for unprompted words. For their part, the Owlcranes yet retained the strength for the battle to come, from the looks of it¡ªable-armed professionals, just as one would expect. ¡°Emilie, love,¡± Raakel called out from the darkness. ¡°There be a meetin¡¯ with the 1st straight away when we arrive? We Owlcranes have to plant us bottoms fer it too, ye reckon?¡± ¡°Not just us Owlcranes; everyone¡¯s showing up,¡± Emilie confirmed. ¡°Be on your best behaviour, all right Raakel?¡± ¡°Bloomin¡¯ ¡®eck¡­¡± winced Raakel. ¡°Aye aye, m¡¯lady Lieutenant.¡± ¡°Miss Emilie, what do you suppose of the operation¡¯s design?¡± Sheila¡¯s question earned a troubled face from Emilie. ¡°I¡¯ve¡­ not been told of it much myself, to be honest. Though I¡¯m sure the 1st would have us hear of it to our heart¡¯s content.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t mean to say the 1st will snag the reins over us Owlcranes, do you Emilie?¡± came another inquiry, this time from Gerd. ¡°Not at all. Our other brigades will fall under the 1st¡¯s command, of course, but the reins of the Owlcranes remain in my hands.¡± ¡°Fine with me, then.¡± It would seem Gerd¡¯s palate held no savoury impression of the 1st, shelved highly as they were in the hierarchy of Orders. The kingdom¡¯s sharpest sword, the mightiest Order of them all¡ªI, for one, cannot see their power with my own eyes soon enough. ¡°Rolf,¡± Emilie called, turning ahead to me. ¡°What sort of battle awaits us, do you think?¡± ¡°One that has us fording the river, my Lady,¡± was my answer. ¡°What¡¯s that now, mud-wit? Fordin¡¯ the river, ye say? The Des Ailes Greatbridge is where we¡¯re headed; why swim as fish when we¡¯ve a proper foothold to cross upon?¡± Raakel quipped. ¡°Our fins will sooner avail us than our feet, Lady Raakel,¡± I responded. ¡°Neither side holds claim to the bridge, hence why the past month has seen nary a budge in the Erbelde line.¡± Control the bridge and one controls the banks both. That such hasn¡¯t happened thus far attested to the stone-solid stalemate petrifying that battlefield. And for as long as it remained unbroken, one crosses the bridge at great peril. More likely than not, the two sides were dug in their heels on opposing sides of the bridge, staring each other down. ¡°My silly swain, is that not our purpose, then? To temper the spear that pierces that line?¡± Sheila probed. ¡°Nay, my Lady. The Des Ailes Greatbridge lives up to its namesake, true, but it can only harbour so many soldiers upon its berth, wide though it may be. To chance forcing our way through, 1st and 5th combined, would prove a fool¡¯s wager.¡± ¡°The Erbelde¡¯s namesake be not too shabby either, muscle-pate. Even a fool has the wits not to wager a wade through the Broadrun o¡¯ all rivers!¡± Raakel retorted. And she had a point¡ªone that no longer stood ground, that is. ¡°And yet the 1st saw need of reinforcements¡ªa shift in their fortunes, they¡¯ve glimpsed.¡± I reminded her. ¡°That much is true. What could it mean?¡± Emilie wondered. ¡°A drought, no less. It takes a long-spanning bridge like the Des Ailes to connect the Erbelde¡¯s banks, but the river itself is rather shallow¡ªall the more so with the current dry spell. Such thinned waters should expose ample purchase, enough for a large host to ford upon.¡± ¡°Hold there, ungraced,¡± Gerd broke in. ¡°A hound should know to wag his tail and not his tongue. How does a cur like you know of all this?¡± ¡°At the time of the bridge¡¯s construction, surveys of the area were carried out by the royal geographers. Their findings were well-documented¡ªyou can have a look yourself in the headquarters¡¯ library.¡± Findings from forty years ago, albeit. But that the bridge stood to this day was proof enough of their trustworthiness. To that, the Owlcranes could find no fault. ¡°And I¡¯m to believe you stuck your nose that deep into the books? All within the last few days?¡± prodded Gerd. ¡°The ink on my nose would attest to that belief of yours, yes, Lord Gerd,¡± I confirmed. ¡°I had merely wished to come prepared for battle.¡± ¡°¡­A battle you¡¯re useless for,¡± Gerd cut under his breath. ¡°Well done, indeed.¡± A look up found the moon in a march of its own, crossing past its zenith. Soon, I thought to myself, and just as I did, there rose spirited cheers from the vanguard¡ªwe¡¯ve arrived at last, from the sound of it. As we marched further, little lights twinkling in the distance revealed themselves from the darkened landscape. The 1st¡¯s garrison, it looked like, and from its direction came rhythmic hoof-falls¡ªthose of three mounted knights, I gathered. They eventually appeared from the murk of night, aglimmer with argent armour. The standards borne by our ensigns, indicating our mareschal¡¯s presence, must have done their duty in beckoning the flying knights from their roosts. ¡°Forgive me for hailing from horseback. I am Erik Lindell, Lieutenant of the 1st Order¡¯s Owlcrane Brigade. The march must have been long, yet you have all answered our call nonetheless; glad we are, and most grateful,¡± saluted the knight at the head of the greeting party. He seemed almost thirty in his years, and was stately in his appearance with rich brown hair and a virile visage. ¡°I would lead you to the Mareschal Tiselius, but I must needs seek audience with the Mareschal Tallien first. Is he present?¡± ¡°Well met, Sir Lindell. I am Lieutenant Emilie Mernesse, also of the 5th Order¡¯s Owlcranes,¡± she introduced herself. ¡°I see no need for such an audience. May we proceed towards the garrison as we are?¡± ¡°This audience, I¡¯ll entertain,¡± the mareschal called out. ¡°Worry not, Emilie. Erik and I are well-acquainted.¡± ¡°Pardon my conduct, Mareschal. Sir Lindell, as well.¡± ¡°Nay. ¡®Tis no matter.¡± Our mareschal then emerged from the gathered ranks. ¡°Erik Lindell. How many moons has it been? You seem sprightly as ever.¡± ¡°And I have Her grace to thank for it,¡± cordially returned this ¡®Erik Lindell¡¯. ¡°Yet I must apologise, Mareschal Tallien, seeing as you have all just arrived, but we would have you attend the war council right away.¡± ¡°As you would. Lead the way, then.¡± ¡°Aye, sir!¡± With Lindell¡¯s guidance, we were led into the 1st¡¯s garrison. At last, we¡¯ve arrived at the appointed battlefield. ? Preparations for the war council were underway, but with even the largest pavilion scarcely able to accommodate the combined leaderships of both Orders, the venue was summarily moved outside. Chairs and tables were set up by the swains of the 1st and¡ªby Tallien¡¯s orders¡ªmyself. The other Order was loath to include me in the elbow work, seeing how spent the 5th was from so taxing a journey, but I insisted it was of no account¡ªour seven-day march pales in comparison to the sheer drudgery of their month-long standoff, after all. With the venue set up, the two leaderships were summoned in. Our side consisted of the mareschal, under-mareschal, the Owlcranes, the brigadiers all, and their lieutenants. For their part, the 1st¡¯s side consisted of the same, save for their lieutenants currently engaged in combat. Their mareschal also appeared to be absent. ¡°My apologies, sir. The madame will not be long,¡± Lindell informed Tallien. ¡°Duly noted.¡± Moments after the exchange, there emerged a woman in her mid-twenties. All those present promptly rose to their feet to hail her arrival. ¡°Pray forgive my late return!¡± rang her voice. ¡°I am Tiselius, mareschal to these men. I must thank you for suffering the long march here.¡± A blazing presence she was, crowned with flowing fuchsia-blonde curls, gentle in their undulation. Her figure¡ªone passus and twelve digit¨© in height, thereabouts¡ªscintillated with slates of silver, and was cloaked in a crimson cascade. A heated sigh was teased out from a soul amongst the 5th, whether by her sublime beauty or the reputation that preceded her. Estelle Tiselius, Dame Mareschal of the 1st Chivalric Order. A hero known by every Londosian through every corner of Londosius¡¯ reach, she was esteemed as the mightiest amongst all those knighted in this realm. ¡°Mareschal Tiselius, a great pleasure after so long a while,¡± greeted our own commander. ¡°A while indeed! The pleasure is mine, Mareschal Tallien,¡± Tiselius returned. ¡°The 5th¡¯s arrival puts us at no small ease. My deepest gratitude is yours.¡± At her urging were those present seated, save for us swains¡ªthree from the 1st and myself, the only one from the 5th¡ªwho remained on our feet a ways back. I looked all through the ranks of the 5th, settling upon the seat reserved for the head of the 1st Sorcery Brigade¡ªfilling it was none other than Felicia. Supported by her impressive stores of odyl and a future filled with promise, Felicia had well-answered the expectations of her peers and superiors both. Such blossoming talent earned her the station of lieutenant in just a year from her enlistment. And with it, of course, came the title of dame. The sorcerers make no use of horses on the usual, but for an executive officer like herself, Felicia was furnished with a mount for the march. Perhaps it was in thanks to this that she was not overly exhausted by the seven-day trek, from what I could make of her condition. Our eyes met for an instant before she turned hers away. It was then that Tiselius¡¯ voice rang forth, steady and sincere in its timbre. ¡°Let us begin the war council now, shall we?¡± Our first battle, upon our first battlefield, for Emilie, Felicia, and myself. Our breaths were bated as the proverbial curtains drew open. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Digitus (plural: digit¨©) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the width of a finger. 1 centimetre is equal to 0.5405 of a digitus. A digitus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 2 centimetres. Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Volume 1 - CH 3.3 Mareschal Tiselius, hero-dame of our kingdom, looked all through the forgathered leaderships of both the 1st and 5th Orders. Her lips then parted once more to address them. ¡°Our sovereign has deemed control of the Erbelde river basin to be a national interest of utmost imperative,¡± she began. ¡°The Des Ailes Greatbridge attests to our capture of this region forty-five winters ago, but our dominion lasted not twenty-five before it fell back into Nafilim hands. The situation remains unchanged to this very moment, yet Londosius ill-abides the shame any longer. The basin must needs be retaken. Failure is not an option.¡± The leadership lent their ears with grave sincerity. Emilie and Felicia, for their part, were tense of visage, sitting with their backs both straight and taut as they paid their fullest attention. ¡°The Greatbridge measures seventeen pass¨±s wide and spans eighty-one long,¡± the 1st¡¯s mareschal continued. ¡°Generous, true, but deeply wanting if we intend to field the numbers needed to force our way through. My men assay to push into the enemy¡¯s shores as we speak, but I fear our efforts have long overspent their momentum.¡± She then paused for but a moment, giving a glance to our side. ¡°Thankfully, the 5th has come to our aid; with them, we plan to breach the shores yonder by fording the river itself.¡± Given both spotlight and revelation, the 5th was roused to a whirlwind of whispers and worries. It wasn¡¯t long before one of our brigadiers raised both hand and inquiry. ¡°Fording the river¡­ madame? How might we achieve this feat?¡± ¡°Of that, Under-Mareschal Behrmann will explain,¡± answered Tiselius, before turning to the side. ¡°Francis, if you shall.¡± On cue, there rose the so-named gentleman, white-maned and seeming of five decades in age. With a firm and purposed timbre, he addressed us all. ¡°The 1st Order proposes to ford the drifts of Erbelde by foot, and thereby directly penetrate the enemy banks.¡± ¡°Afoot? Sir, the Erbelde is tremendous; is such a manoeuvre even possible?¡± the brigadier pressed further. ¡°Quite it is, good soldier. A lingering drought has sapped this region¡¯s waters by no small degree. We estimate the Erbelde to now measure no more than ten to fourteen palm¨© at her deepest. She flows gently meanwhile; you need not worry of being whisked away by her wiles.¡± ¡°And pray tell, from where exactly might we ford from, Lord Behrmann?¡± another question, this time from Sheila. ¡°Direct your eyes to this map, if you may. The fording points are four in number. Teams at each will embark in tandem. From here¡­ and here. On the other side, two more, as marked.¡± The under-mareschal was earnest in his explanation, but as his finger pointed to each of the red-marked fording points, his words were met with only further commotion from the 5th. Gerd¡¯s voice sailed above the noise, his face now sallowed with doubt. ¡°S-sir! Those points, they stray not seventy pass¨±s from the bridge itself! The enemy will have clear eyes on the forders¡ªthe drifts will be a killing field! You don¡¯t suppose we make easy pickings out of our own men for the Nafilim artillery?¡± ¡°Your worries are warranted, but I¡¯m afraid our choices face a drought of their own,¡± answered Behrmann. ¡°Acceptable fording points number few and precious. To begin with, the entirety of the basin ever bristles with Nafilim patrols, each overeager to capture our men, should they stray too far and thin from the main battlefield. Our best option, then, is for our bridge-stationed forces to provide the forders with cover as they brave the waters.¡± ¡°But sir¡­ that¡¯s¡­¡± At a loss for words, Gerd shifted his gaze elsewhere. ¡°Emilie, what think you?¡± ¡°Me? Well, let¡¯s see, then¡­¡± Emilie blinked. ¡°We reinforcements now give the 1st an even greater advantage in numbers. The better course of action, then, is to make full use of our resources and commit to a focused attack, rather than scattering our forces away from the bridge to far-off fields.¡± Exactly that, just as the both of us discussed prior. ¡°To be more precise, we execute an unrelenting offence via the bridge, forcing the enemy to answer in kind,¡± Emilie went on. ¡°Meanwhile, our fording teams make their way to the opposite bank, where they will all simultaneously tear holes in the enemy defensive line. They will then press their offence till the enemy response can no longer keep up¡­ is what I¡¯ve gathered of the whole plan.¡± To me did Emilie turn, and I returned the gesture with a subtle, silent nod. ¡°And you gather it well!¡± praised Behrmann. ¡°I¡¯ve gleaned nary an error in your explanation, good miss.¡± ¡°Under-Mareschal,¡± spoke our commander. ¡°With our resources being precious as they are, am I correct to assume that the boats will be tasked to more pressing purposes, and our men left to cross the river unassisted?¡± ¡°You would be correct, yes, Mareschal Tallien. Though the skiffs may be employed to transport the wounded of the forders back to our banks.¡± ¡°Hmm¡­¡± Tallien ruminated. ¡°And what of command?¡± ¡°At this point, we invite only trouble by tinkering with the chain of command, I¡¯m afraid. The 1st, thusly, will continue to oversee operations upon the bridge, as well as comprise one of the fording columns. Charges for the other three, we shall leave in the 5th¡¯s hands.¡± Our leadership responded with looks and turns at each other. In the seeming anxiety, Felicia raised her hand. ¡°May I ask, sir, what are your designs for the defence of the forders?¡± ¡°Water-borne as they are, the forders will, before their departure, be bestowed with succouring magicks as a bulwark against lightning attacks. Furthermore, a sorcerer will be placed at every three pass¨±s along each line, his charge it is to sustain the paling over others less protected. In addition, the vanguards will be outfitted with greatshields to bear the brunt of the enemy¡¯s aggression.¡± ¡°Thank you, Under-Mareschal,¡± Felicia responded, before turning to Tallien. ¡°Sir, I request that minor adjustments be made to the 5th¡¯s fording columns. How wide a paling can be unfurled is a factor that varies between each of our individual sorcerers. It is my intent to account for such margins of safety and optimise our compositions accordingly.¡± A most reasonable proposal from Felicia. In response, Tallien turned to the hero-dame. ¡°Mareschal Tiselius. You shall not mind this, I take it?¡± ¡°I shall not, of course.¡± ¡°Lieutenant Buckmann,¡± Tallien called, looking back to my sister. ¡°We leave this matter in your hands.¡± ¡°As you will, Mareschals both,¡± Felicia bowed. Further questions and elaborations followed, at the end of which the operation¡¯s details were reviewed. To such, our mareschal confirmed there to be no remaining objections, and seeing this, his counterpart from the 1st gave one last glance through the gathered personnel. ¡°¡®Tis settled. We execute as planned on the morrow¡¯s noontide. Officers of the 5th, I bid you all take ample rest in the meantime,¡± announced Tiselius. ¡°The war council is adjourned. Dismissed!¡± With that, the seated leadership rose and went about their ways back to their respective tents, including those from the 5th, whose canopies were by then erected in full. In the middle of that clamorous dispersal, Tiselius approached our commander. ¡°Mareschal Tallien,¡± she called. ¡°I must thank you once again for your aid.¡± ¡°You are most welcome, madame. Rest assured, we shall spare naught to see this battle through to its rightful end.¡± ¡°Your men seem more in need of rest than I, lord Mareschal. To arrive so soon from the winding woodpaths of Sewell¡ªI can scarcely imagine what an arduous march it must have been,¡± she observed. ¡°Pray take a well-earned respite for the night.¡± ¡°Ah¡­ yes, the march,¡± Tallien hesitated. ¡°¡®Twas not woodpaths we crossed, but flats¡ªthose of Belithas, that is.¡± ¡°Belithas, you say?¡± came Tiselius¡¯ surprise. ¡°A feat, to be sure. And not a single soul lost, no less!¡± ¡°B-but of course. I¡¯ve the fates to thank; they saw fit to have us fare unscathed.¡± ¡°They did, indeed!¡± The 1st¡¯s mareschal¡¯s voice was tinged deep with amazement, from the sound of it. And while watching their exchange, I was soon to be engaged in one myself as Emilie came up from behind. ¡°Rolf. Are you busy still?¡± she asked. ¡°Not at present, my Lady.¡± ¡°You must be sore all over, having been afoot these past seven days. Why not rest for the night?¡± ¡°Nay, it would appear I cannot just yet.¡± She gave me a look. ¡°Wh¡ª¡± ¡°Emilie!¡± our commander interrupted. ¡°Have your swain tidy up this place, will you?¡± ¡°Oh y-yes, right away, Mareschal!¡± Emilie¡¯s eyes gleamed with guilt as she turned back to me. Time to get back to work, it looked like. Besides, it certainly wouldn¡¯t do to leave all the menial drudgery to the 1st. ¡°My Lady. It seems a bit of housekeeping is in order,¡± I said. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t keep the 1st¡¯s swains waiting.¡± ¡°Yeah¡­ Sorry, Rolf.¡± ¡®By your leave¡¯ had scarcely left my throat before another interruption beset us. ¡°The Lady Emilie Mernesse. May I have the pleasure?¡± ¡°Why, Lieutenant Lindell,¡± answered Emilie, turning about. ¡°Yes, of course. The pleasure is mine as well.¡± ¡°Pray be at ease. And do call me Erik, if it pleases you.¡± ¡°Sir Erik it is, then. Likewise, just Emilie will do.¡± ¡°But of course, Miss Emilie,¡± Lindell smiled. Emilie had garnered no short supply of attention from the members of the 1st ever since we entered their garrison. This Lindell fellow seemed to be the boldest amongst them, meeting her face-to-face as he did. ¡°Much ado have I heard about the ¡®Aureola¡¯ of the 5th, but now I see the vaunted title speaks more of her brilliant beauty before aught else,¡± Lindell sang. ¡°What¡¯s more, ¡®twas a sparkling display of acumen you have shown us here at the war council. Yes, most illustrious indeed!¡± ¡°Ah¡­ ahaha¡­¡± Emilie smiled back tensely. The young woman he so lauded was very much taken by a pending engagement, but Lindell seemed not the type to be unwise to this. I would even go so far as to say, he was not the man to be constrained by such ¡°inconveniences¡±. Pondering such, I took my leave of the two and got to clearing up the meeting space, working hand-in-hand with the 1st¡¯s swains to put away the tables and chairs. We siblings of menial toil soon indulged in a bit of chatter, where I learned they had all not been swains for more than half a year. ¡®Really now?¡¯ was their response as I told them of my two-and-a-half year tenure. No further words were exchanged between us thereafter. I found Felicia looking on from a ways back as I silently continued to clear away the furnishings. Till now, she had witnessed my bruised and battered state after training, witnessed me veritably steeping myself in soot as I swept the hearth, witnessed me attain to no more than servitude under Emilie¡­ and at this moment, witnessed me busied with dull chores as a pivotal battle loomed on the morrow¡ªher dear brother¡¯s shameful lot had stolen the hopeful shine from her eyes, a loss hardly lost to me. I suppose disappointing her was preferable to disheartening her, at least. Such pathetic thoughts chafed about in my mind as I finished up my charges. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Palmus (plural: palm¨©) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of the palm. 1 centimetre is equal to 0.1351 of a palmus. A palmus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 7 and a half centimetres. Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Volume 1 - CH 3.4 Well worn-on was the night, but I would not retire to the tents just yet. Through the 1st¡¯s garrison I walked, and a short while of the stroll took me to the foot of a hill, to the top of which I climbed. There splayed before me in the moonlit landscape was the object of my egging interest: the Des Ailes Greatbridge. It arched over the barely babbling Erbelde, not terribly far and below from the high slope whence I stood. Seventeen pass¨±s wide. Eighty-one pass¨±s long. A latticed mass of timberwork, ponderous in its girth. Arrays of campfires dotted both ends, illuminating the long-sworn foes as they gnashed their teeth at one another. I continued observing the war-torn scene for a few more whiles. The Nafilim¡ªthis would be the first time in all the years of my life that I¡¯ve laid eyes upon them. And just as I had heard, they were inseparable in appearance from us humans, their sole distinction being their tawned complexion. Our warring methods differed little as well: with weapons and magicks they fought, all under the guidance of codified chains of command. Adept were their movements. Intriguingly so. Unfortunately for them, the men of the 1st were steps ahead. Their knightly deftness was a thing of awe, sure to raise many a brow. This battle saw our kingdom¡¯s forces as the aggressor, seeking to secure the opposite banks that the Nafilim defended with no small jealousy. Reason dictates that the latter should simply demolish the bridge, and for their part, the Nafilim seemed to agree, if their movements were anything to go by. But in the face of the 1st¡¯s masterful tactics, that goal remained beyond reach. The Nafilim were not fain to blow up the bridge, not as long as their own ranks were stationed upon it. Ever were the 1st wise to this, fighting in such a way as to leave their foes with little choice but to permanently maintain a presence upon that great wooden span. At any point when the Nafilim pulled back, the 1st would push forth, preserving both distance and formations all the while. And when the Nafilim pressed forth, the 1st would fall back, shields and palings rigidly raised. A veritable tug-of-war, one that the 1st partook with unbroken concentration. Only by alternating their active brigades and optimising the employment of their surgiens were the 1st¡¯s hosts able to sustain themselves through so long a struggle. On occasion, the 1st would unleash a fierce offence, full-keen on shattering through the embattled line. Well-timed, these tactics were, let loose whenever the Nafilim had already fallen far back, and the sheer aggression acted effectively in keeping our foe constantly on their toes. In beholding such cunning warcraft, it was readily apparent that the 1st held within their numbers commanders of superb prowess, even amongst their intermediate ranks. Here were the Nafilim likely reminded of a grave truth of war: retreating from such a formidable force would surely come at a dear and deadly cost. ¡°Ey up, mickle-berk!¡± came a call as I observed the battlefield. From further down the slope climbed Raakel, with Gerd and Sheila in tow. ¡°What ye faffin¡¯ up here ¡®bout, ey?¡± ¡°I thought to have a look at the bridge, no less,¡± I answered. ¡°To see with your eyes the state of affairs, I take it?¡± guessed Sheila. ¡°My sweet swain, ever the eager schoolboy, you are. I doubt you¡¯ll glean aught, but the effort certainly earns mine admiration.¡± ¡°Such words, I am not worthy,¡± I humoured her. ¡°Are you all here to observe as well?¡± ¡°Why else? Unlike you, we have need of knowing the goings-on of the battlefield¡ªat all times, of course,¡± Gerd quipped. ¡°Oh? Surprised am I to find company up here,¡± spoke a shadow. ¡°Hasn¡¯t the march taxed you all enough? I think it best to retire for the night, honoured knights of the 5th.¡± Up the slope emerged Erik Lindell, Lieutenant of the 1st¡¯s Owlcranes. ¡°And rest we shall. We are merely come to glean a glimpse of what awaits us on the morrow,¡± Sheila replied. ¡°I, too, bid you a sweet slumber tonight, Lord Lindell.¡± ¡°As sweet a slumber a battlefield will bestow. But before I retire myself, I would like to have a word with this young fellow, if I may,¡± Lindell returned, shifting his gaze to me. ¡°The fair lady Emilie spoke highly of you, my young yeoman. Particularly of how instrumental you were in the success of the Belithas march. A laudable deed for a mere swain, I will admit.¡± ¡°I am humbled, good sir.¡± ¡°I take it you are well-versed in matters of military strategy? Where might have you honed that keen ken of yours, my good man?¡± ¡°My teacher is but myself. Books have long been a fancy to me.¡± ¡°Ah, and so they have. A marvellous man indeed!¡± Lindell¡¯s face was aloft with the glow of surprise. ¡°Yet to be made to fight in so far-flung a fringeland¡­ The fates never spare an inkling of ease for fresh swains nowadays, do they?¡± ¡°By your measure, I would be quite the pickled swain, sir, for I now serve in my third year,¡± I corrected. ¡°¡­Third year, you say?¡± ¡°I am but an inept and unblessed swain, shamefully so to this very day.¡± If there ever was an unmistakable example of befuddlement, it would be Lindell¡¯s face at this very moment. ¡°His is but a soul to which no measure of odyl has been granted, Lord Lindell,¡± Sheila began explaining upon seeing the lieutenant so puzzled. ¡°Yon¨¢, Deiva Supr¨¥ma, has spurned him of Her holy grace. What was given to him was only Her silence.¡± ¡°S¡­ so the rumours rang true¡­ that such a man loitered within the ranks of the 5th¡­ I see. It was you.¡± The quizzical astonishment that once misarranged Lindell¡¯s features crumbled into quaking animosity, twisting his face into one of reddened wrath. ¡°Unholy hound. What foul business have you with the Order? Hm? What make you of us knights, that you would consort with us so for your own merriment and mockery?¡± seethed Lindell, his voice grating with unfettered anger. Drawing up dreadfully close, the lieutenant threw forth his hands and seized me by the collars. ¡°Speak! Why oh why must I share a battlefield with this¡­ this half-souled heathen!? Come to play now, have you!?¡± ¡°Nay, it is neither my intent to idle nor play, sir,¡± I tried to answer calmly. ¡°A godless dreg such as you shall not be suffered here! For this battle reckons both the holy and the profane!¡± ¡°And I reckon that it does not, sir.¡± ¡°Y¡­ you!¡± fumed Lindell, before forcing me to the ground. Impressive was his strength, befitting a knight of his high stature. With it, he dropped down upon my torso and wrung up my collars once more, before jerking my face up to his, that he may scream into it with full fury. ¡°Misbegotten wastrel! Feign to stand by her side, do you!? Do you, now!?¡± Ah. I see the way of it. Behind the storming curtains of rage and contempt for the ungraced was a smitten heart beating out the fair name of Emilie Mernesse. I figured as much, given his honeyed manner whilst conversing with her earlier, when the war council had ended. The dame of the ¡°Aureola¡±, veritable jewel of the 5th, beautiful and breathtaking in her brilliance¡ªand a lieutenant of the Owlcranes to boot, just like him. Simple to see, then, how this man might have been so utterly taken with her. And what name would sooner sing from her lips than that of ¡°Rolf Buckmann¡±¡ªmy own, and as he just discovered, the name of the notorious ungraced. Erik Lindell was not one to suffer such a farce. ¡°I am but a swain, and to the Lady Emilie, nothing more,¡± I attempted to explain. ¡°Of damned course you are! Don¡¯t you dare wet my ears with that obvious drivel!!¡± It would seem I had driven him past the burning brink. Still sat upon me, Lindell proceeded to hammer at my face with his two fists, their vehemence clearly bent on taking my life. I shielded myself with both my arms, but to inadequate avail: blood was shed, darkly drenching Lindell¡¯s coiled hands. ¡°Heretic! Cur-bastard, you!¡± he screamed. For all things a person of passion he was, whether in courting a mistress or killing a man. Crossing his path was a fell misfortune, one that earned my untarnished displeasure. ¡°S-sir! Stay your hand! You mean to murder him!?¡± came Gerd, rushing in to part us two. ¡°I do! We ought to gain from his immediate death! Here! Now! This trash has stayed unburnt overlong!¡± ¡°You speak madness! He¡¯s one of us! Shog off, will you!?¡± With heaving effort, Gerd tore the lieutenant away. ¡°That bastard¡­ belongs not by her side¡­ belongs nowhere at all¡­!!¡± Lindell coarsely hissed, his eyes crazed with rage as he trained them upon me. But even if I were to heed his wailings, I could not just up and vanish before his eyes, all to simply soothe his nerves. I got back on my feet, in the while wiping away the blood coursing from my cut lips. In time, the dust settled, and the ire in Lindell¡¯s eyes cooled to a smoulder. Collected once again, he looked to us all. ¡°¡­You will forgive me for the ruckus,¡± he said. ¡°Owlcranes. My leave, I take.¡± Words reserved only for the other three. Turning on his heels, Lindell left the hill. We watched on in silence till he faded from view. ¡°Lord Gerd, you have my thanks,¡± were my honest words. Had I given in to resisting the lieutenant¡¯s raining fury, Lindell likely would have flown further into a frenzy¡ªfrom there, who knows what might have transpired? ¡°If you think I stopped him for your sake, you thought wrong,¡± Gerd corrected before returning to the garrison. ¡°That Lindell fellow¡ªby gum, a loose bag o¡¯ bolts he be, eh?¡± Raakel commented. ¡°Right then, I should go hit the sack meself.¡± ¡°My poor swain,¡± spoke Sheila. ¡°You had best treat those wounds on your face soon, lest they harry you in the heat of the morrow¡¯s battle.¡± With that, the remaining two left for the tents themselves. Sheila had not the epiphany of soothing the wounds of an ungraced, it seemed, surgien though she was. But what she lacked in inspiration, she made up for with consideration, at the very least, even if all she offered were words. She was right, though. I had better wash and salve the wounds, lest my eyes swell or somesuch. After one last look at the bridge, I descended the hill and made way to the medics¡¯ tents. ? ¡°Rolf! Your face¡­! What¡¯s happened!?¡± Morning had come, and just as expected, Emilie was aghast at the sight of my sudden injuries. ¡°I kissed the ground too enthusiastically, my Lady,¡± I tried to pass off the situation. ¡°You mean you tripped? No trip would wound you so, Rolf!¡± Of course not. Let¡¯s not fool ourselves here. While I anticipated that Emilie would respond as she did, I had not the wherewithal to come up with a proper excuse. More than anything, I wished to avoid sowing in Emilie any seedling of doubt towards the 1st, this very hour being the eve of an important battle and all. But knowing her, she might have deferred to Gerd had I kept silent. ¡°Lieutenant Lindell of the 1st,¡± I let slip from my lips. It was no use hiding it now. ¡°It would seem I¡¯ve earned his disfavour.¡± ¡°Sir Erik? But why?¡± ¡°Because I am ungraced, my Lady.¡± ¡°What? All because of that¡­!?¡± And because he yearned for your affection, and in so doing, lost himself to his base emotions and precipitated the situation before you. This, of course, I chose not to reveal. Had Emilie known of such, she most certainly would have partly blamed herself for it. But to read of Lindell¡¯s fancy for her just from his manners, and see the jealousy that sprouted from such feelings¡ªit would seem I¡¯ve grown enough to discern delusions of dalliance when I see it, if I do say so myself. Would that I was more so, perhaps I could have showered Emilie with honeyed words of my own affection while we were yet betrothed. Whether or not the fates would have torn us apart anyway, at the very least I felt shame in not having done for her aught befitting of a fianc¨¦. Be that as it may, I could not let Emilie be taken by her own emotions. She would surely try to declare a protest to the 1st at the earliest, but I foresaw only trouble in doing so. ¡°Lady Emilie. We can ill-afford to stir up strife between the Orders now, not when we¡¯re to join arms in the battle to come,¡± I stated calmly. ¡°Victory comes first, before all else.¡± ¡°I know that, all too well, yet¡­ You cannot expect me to just sit idly by, Rolf!¡± ¡°It will be dealt with once the battle settles. But at present, more pressing matters demand your full attention, my Lady.¡± The mired moment that followed found her roiling in silence. ¡°Lady Emilie?¡± ¡°¡­Fine, then,¡± she consented with no small reluctance. Too much hinged on this day. The fording operation sure to decide the battle, the knights who would wager their lives to see it through¡ªnow was not the time to debase the gravity of it all with a play of finger-pointing. Fortunately, such was not lost to Emilie. And at the heart of the garrison was Mareschal Tiselius, giving a briefing on the fording operation to come, one that would decide the fate of the month-long struggle for dominance over the Erbelde basin. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Volume 1 - CH 3.5 From ahigh, a hill overlooked both the Des Ailes Greatbridge and the fourfold points of deployment leading into the Erbelde¡¯s waters. Upon that perch were Mareschal Tallien and his Owlcranes gathered, looking on as far below, Mareschal Tiselius herself took position upon the embattled bridge. Such was necessary to fully dictate the battle there, but alone she was not, for her own Owlcranes stood ready by her side. Amongst them could be seen Lindell, a sight not lost to Emilie. Her eyes cut a gashing glance at his distant form before swiftly turning away. It would seem she cleared the hurdle, one of putting her emotions aside for the battle at hand. Below our overlook at the riverbanks, the columns of forders were already assembled at their respective starting positions. Four points, four columns: one composed of the 1st Order, the remaining three of our own, the 5th. Our boats were finite. They could not rightly avail the whole of our fording efforts. But by going afoot instead, we could commit to the operation an unrestricted number of forders. From their starting positions, it would take nearly seventy pass¨±s of river wading to reach the enemy banks. Such unassisted toil is not a strange occurrence for folk who live in bridgeless lands, so long as the rivers themselves are calm. There are labourers, too, who earn their living like so. Without boats, they brave the waters whilst carrying passengers upon either their shoulders, or wooden boards as a makeshift litter. The Erbelde seemed at present just the kind of river for such folk: its currents were calmed, and at their deepest, the waters reached no higher than the hips. Fording it would be a simple chore. But this was no pastoral scene¡ªit was a battlefield. Our foes were fain to commit every arrow and every spell available to them to stop our charge. The forders, for their part, had palings and greatshields to defend with, while upon the bridge, the 1st would commence a constant offensive to draw in the foe¡¯s aggression, pulling it away from our vulnerable forders as much as possible. The whole of the operation hinged on this tactic, and upon the shoulders of none other than Mareschal Tiselius was borne the responsibility of its command. But from the vantage of this hill, I discerned not a tinge of ardour upon her expression. Estelle Tiselius: the master of blades and the whisperer of armies¡ªnot even a decisive battle like this could dare shade or sallow the hale hue upon her face. But our own Mareschal Tallien shared not in her mountainous resolve. Though abundantly divorced from the battle upon his high perch, he could do little to free himself from the anxiety now writ boldly upon his visage. The 5th Order he so commanded had little combat experience to call their own, and now they were to be let loose, to gingerly ford a river so dearly defended by a vehement foe. Of course, that was to say nothing of the 5th¡¯s fatigued condition, or of the fact that some amongst their ranks have never beheld a Nafil before this day. The forders stood poised to begin crossing the river. The reality of it all began to sink in for some as they silently questioned why they were even there to begin with; after all, they were careerist passers-by, not personages of courage. Yet it was also true that the 5th stood much to gain from this conflict: to answer the 1st¡¯s call for aid in a month-long battle they could not win alone, and emerge victorious at the end of the day, itself presented no small degree of potential prestige. Those who thought as much, and those who thought little of it¡ªboth ventured their first steps into the river. The battle had begun. ? Mareschal Tiselius¡¯ industry was a marvel to behold. Under her command, the knightly offensive upon the bridge was as an unceasing torrent, shearing off droves of the foe¡¯s numbers in its course. The Nafilim were left to perpetually refill their bridge-stationed ranks, thinning out their efforts to stall our forders below. All was going according to our designs. The 1st¡¯s mareschal herself commanded the battle from all the way up to the midpoint of the bridge¡¯s span, verging on the fiery edge of the frontlines. This was clearly not the stage upon which a commander should play her part, but Tiselius was a hero unbound by conventional wisdom¡ªthis stage was made for her. Indeed, Tiselius¡¯ performance saw her rushing headlong into the frontlines, fire-ensorcelled sword in hand. With but a blazing swing of her weapon, hellfire flashed forth, blasting a ghastly hole through the enemy ranks. But it would not remain unfilled for long, for the Nafilim restocked their stations and pulled their fallen back for treatment, all immediate and without a single wasted effort. Our foes were fain to have their fair share of the spotlight, it seemed. Yet even for them, their surgiens were limited in count. And of those precious few who could treat the grievously wounded? None. As such, the Nafilim¡¯s numbers upon the bridge were unable to sustain themselves, and more were called in from elsewhere to fill the void. All this culminated in the diminishment of aggression upon our forders. Only arrowfire, scarce and scattered, greeted their approach, but with greatshields to deflect the bolts with, the columns of river crossers made slow but steady progress. Mere iron comprised these hulking shields, yet enough odyl coursed through them from their vanguard wielders to be effective in their purpose. And further bolstered by arrow-repelling palings, not even the foes¡¯ ensorcelled arrows could bear any teeth. Our forces were faring well. By this point, the tangible progress of the forders found them reaching the midline of the Erbelde¡¯s drifts. ¡°They might as well hand over us laurels already, why don¡¯t they?¡± spoke Raakel. ¡°A mite shame we¡¯ve tasted not a lick o¡¯ the action, eh loves?¡± ¡°Indeed,¡± Sheila responded. ¡°The enemy shores are soon be breached, Yon¨¢ willing.¡± We held the advantage, that much was true, but I could not, with clear conscience, match my mind to the sentiments of those two. ¡°Looks like we¡¯ve a ribbon to deck our first battle with, right Rolf?¡± said Emilie with high spirits. ¡°Ribbons better to tighten our boots with, I¡¯m afraid,¡± I doubted. ¡°We can¡¯t count our laurels just yet.¡± ¡°Oh? Why¡¯s that?¡± she asked. ¡°Victory is only certain once the winning cries resound, my Lady.¡± ¡°What¡¯s it now? Don¡¯t ye go waggin¡¯ that tongue like ye know what¡¯s up, me good ninny,¡± Raakel pricked. ¡°A bit smart ye were, sure ¡®nough, gettin¡¯ us through that maftin¡¯ march like ye did, but that¡¯s naught to be full o¡¯ yerself with!¡± ¡°I merely voiced a generality, Lady Raakel. But what¡¯s more, the 5th¡¯s forders are slow in their pace¡ªmoreso than Mareschal Tiselius would like, I fear.¡± A closer look at the riverbourne 5th betrayed their ill-endeavoured movements. As I thought, the march¡¯s toil had exacted from them a toll too steep, and that price was neither lost to Tiselius as she both commanded the battle and checked the progress of the forders below. Sensing this unevenness, orders roared from her lungs to Under-Mareschal Behrmann back at the bridgehead. The old soldier heeded this at once, and after relaying the mareschal¡¯s words down the ranks, the forders of the 1st slackened their wade to match that of the 5th¡¯s. ¡°¡­Slow on account of exhaustion, you mean to say?¡± Tallien¡¯s inquiry dripped with resentment. Choosing the wrong route was a wound to him, and it would seem my words had unwittingly salted that bitter seam. ¡°There is that, yes. But there are yet many within our ranks whose eyes have never laid upon a Nafil¡ªnot till this very moment,¡± I presented of a different view, for I was not reckless enough to injure our commander¡¯s pride any further. ¡°That their deeds could ever hope to match the 1st¡¯s expectations was never in the cards.¡± A deflection, I admit, but one that spoke the truth. Tallien offered only a disinterested scoff in hearing it. Turning to Emilie, I continued on. ¡°Moreover, for more than a month, the Nafilim host has managed to keep at bay the 1st Order, of all armies. Not once has our foe ceded the bridge, and here they yet hold the line. They are able beyond our liking¡ªI cannot fathom they will yield so easily.¡± And as if waiting for my words to finish, a growl of a boom hammered the air. The origin: the bridge. Looking down, another hole had opened through the ranks¡ªthose of the 1st, that is. The work of a Lancea Cal¨­ris spell. It would seem the Nafilim saw fit to bring their magi to the fore. The timing was conspicuous: they had waited till Tiselius backed off, and with the frontline threat abated, ran the knightly ranks through with a magicked pillar of fire. The 1st¡¯s forward press was halted. Meanwhile, the Nafilim formations regrouped. Their ranks now optimised, more of their number was reassigned to dealing with our forders, who for their part, had come into range of the enemy¡¯s spellfire¡ªwhat was pummelling the river crossers now were not arrows, but powerful magicks. ¡°Ach!¡± groaned our mareschal as he beheld a forder collapsing into the waters. Solid shards of bloodied ice protruded from that poor soul¡¯s abdomen¡ªthe work of a different spell, the Gl¨¡rea Pru¨©nae, fired straight through a crack in the column¡¯s protective paling. That column being one of the 5th¡¯s. The nearby forders scrambled to get the wounded soldier into a boat, covering it with another paling as it was pulled back to friendly shores. A valiant effort, but with a horrid wound like that, a doomed one. Elsewhere, another mighty spell, the Flagrum Grandinis, was unleashed upon a fording column, this one, too, belonging to the 5th. A reaching tendril of water snapped across the air, landing a direct hit upon three forders. In the wake, a head was ripped off its neck. Instant death, no doubt. ¡°That Tiselius! Why does she tarry!? There¡¯s a massacre upon our men! A massacre, damn it all!¡± came Tallien¡¯s outburst. But the sheer artistry of Tiselius¡¯ actions was all but lost to his eyes: down upon the bridge, the hero-dame wagered her own life to minimise casualties upon the knightly forces, while in tandem dictating their every movement. The Nafilim by all rights should have held the advantage, being the defenders in this contest, but by Tiselius¡¯ valour alone, such advantage and more were firmly in our hands instead. Once again, the 1st re-persisted in their push through the bridge. Meanwhile, an engorged gale slammed into the enemy shores, utterly hewing down a trio of Nafilim soldiers to their deaths: L¨±str¨¡ns Ventulus, an aeolian magick, woven by one amongst the fording 5th. ¡°¡­Felicia!¡± Emilie cried out with delight. ¡°That was Felicia¡¯s!¡± A lieutenant and commander of the 1st Sorcery Brigade. The keenest spear, as it were, of all the forders. My sister, Felicia Buckmann. From her staff flew forth two more swordwinds, unmitigated and unrestrained by their master¡¯s unsteady foothold, up to her waist in water as she was. Her marks avoided the spell by the skin of their teeth, but the effort was useful enough as suppression. The foes backed off, re-erecting their own palings. With enemy aggression lessened for the time being, the forders continued their advance. From up high, I could not make out Felicia¡¯s expression, but the determination instilled within her movements was to me as clear as day. Perhaps out of disdain for our Nafilim foes was she so freed from the fear of losing her own life. ¡°Good going, Felicia!¡± Emilie cheered. ¡°This tides well for us!¡± ¡°Hah. Oi, ungraced. You pretend well the touting pontiff,¡± Gerd started, shooting a look at me, ¡°but too bad your words were as hollow as your mitre, eh?¡± ¡°Was that not your sister, my silly swain?¡± Sheila observed. ¡°How sweet that a superb sibling as she would assay so, that her beloved brother might know a moment of relief.¡± Only, there was none. A flicker of foreboding fell upon me. The scene below. I peered and peered. Something was amiss. But what? ¡°Dearest swain? Have you no words?¡± ¡­It can¡¯t be. The fates conspire! ¡°Lady Emilie! Mareschal!¡± I yelled with sudden thunder. ¡°Pray pull back our forders! Right away!¡± ¡°R-Rolf!? What are you saying?¡± asked Emilie, startled. ¡°The river! It rises!¡± ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Ensorcell (Original name: ¡°Enchant¡±) The act or state of being enchanted by magicks. Flagrum Grandinis (Original name: ¡°Hail Whip¡±) Water-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of a long tendril of pressurised water, made to lash through several targets. Rends and dismembers on impact. Gl¨¡rea Pru¨©nae (Original name: ¡°Frost Gravel¡±) Ice-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of shards and/or stumps of ice, directed towards a target at high speeds. Pierces and/or pummels on impact. Lancea Cal¨­ris (Original name: ¡°Heat Lance¡±) Fire-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of a long spire of flames, shot towards a target at high speeds. Pierces and explodes on impact. L¨±str¨¡ns Ventulus (Original name: ¡°Breeze Glint¡±) Wind-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of a shrieking galeburst, directed towards a target at high speeds. Slices and dismembers on impact. Volume 1 - CH 3.6 ¡°¡®Rises¡¯¡­ ye say? The river?¡± said Raakel. ¡°What¡¯s this ¡¯bout, muscle-pate? Waggin¡¯ that tongue ¡®gain, are we?¡± ¡°Nay!¡± I shot back. ¡°We cannot tarry! Our men, they must fall back immediately! Lest they¡ª!¡± ¡°Rolf! Tame yourself¡­!¡± Emilie soothed with urgency. ¡°None here can issue such an order. You know that¡­!¡± ¡­She was right. Absolutely so. Losing my composure was ill enough. Losing it here, upon a blasted battlefield of all places, however¡­ Little wonder that Rolf Buckmann, addle-pated prodigy, remained yet a swain, a cur-pup pouncing at shadows. With a deep chestful of air, I stilled the storm inside. ¡°My Lady. The waters have risen by half a digitus. Little, true, but it won¡¯t stop there¡ªno, it only rouses the currents all the more. The forders will soon find themselves fighting the flow rather than our foes. Left as they are, the waters will surely claim them.¡± Just having water up to his knees is enough to sweep a man off the ground. The forders were no different. The river had crept up to their rear guard¡¯s thighs. And the front? Up to their waists. I had no doubt: they would surely be rooted in place, resisting the rising depths, and when the waters surge at last, they would be left to vanish into the murky rapids. And along with them? Felicia. ¡°If there¡¯s any meat to your maunderings, then I would have you explain yourself at once,¡± Tallien hissed. ¡°The proof lies in the risen waters,¡± I answered. ¡°Sir, the tributary¡ªit¡¯s been dammed.¡± The mareschal¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡°¡­Dammed?¡± ¡°I must away!¡± ¡°Wait, Rolf!?¡± I bolted from the Owlcranes¡¯ company and slid down the hilled overlook¡¯s slopes, tumbling as I went. Landing at its base, I bolted forth once again. My destination: the Des Ailes Greatbridge. The war council. The map. I should have realised it then. Also drawn upon it was a tributary cutting away from the Erbelde and running through Nafilim territory. Damming it would feed the main river, fattening its girth and flogging its flows into a frothing frenzy¡ªa foul manoeuvre that would pen the end to the tales of Felicia and her fellow forders. The bridgehead. Behrmann was there. Under-Mareschal Francis Behrmann of the 1st. Relaying the situation to him won¡¯t do. Time was scant. Only the head of the whole knightly host could suffice. Mareschal Tiselius¡ªwith her direct order, the forders would surely pull back, no questions asked. This was it. After sprinting with great dispatch, I arrived at the bridgehead. Death and desperation reigned here, damning every soul into an unceasing whirlwind of violence¡­ ¡­and voices. Voices demanding coordination. Voices requesting treatment. Voices reporting situations. Voices screaming for the vulnerable wounded. A palpable, heated cacophony, one that immediately struck and offended each of the senses. The frantic fighters here¡ªonly a moment before was I speaking of them from so high and safe a perch, as if they were curious little ants to be fancied. ¡®You pretend well the touting pontiff.¡¯ Truer have Gerd¡¯s words never been, and they now bit all the more balefully. How ashamed I was. But shame greater still awaited me were I to tarry any longer. I threw myself onto the veritable wall of knights, forcing my way through their bristling ranks. ¡®Sorry¡¯ wasn¡¯t enough for intruding upon their life-wagering war like I did. Yet those same wagers, and those of each and every forder, had fallen to my very hands. ¡°Yield the way! Yield!¡± I yelled over the tumult. ¡°The mareschal! I must speak with the mareschal! An urgent matter! Urgent!¡± Through the bridge I struggled, pushing aside the knights of the 1st. Where my way was shut, I pried them from whence they fought and squeezed my way through¡ªat no worse time could the inconvenience of being so large a man rear its ugly face. Bathed in the growls and gripes of the victims of my haste, I somehow alighted at her presence: there she was, Tiselius, fresh from stepping back from the frontline, her blushing platinum hair a rare splash of beauty against the death-drab of battle. Her voice was raised high, dictating the next movements of the frontline fighters and handing orders down the ranks further behind. ¡°Damned waif!¡± came a bitter roar. ¡°This is no playground!¡± Lindell. Paying him no mind, I raised a roar of my own. ¡°Mareschal Tiselius!¡± Her gaze darted to me. ¡°You¡­ why, you¡¯re the swain from the 5th!¡± said the hero-dame, puzzled but for the slightest moment. ¡°Leave it for later!¡± A suitable reaction. Who could blame her? The surrounding war-storm demanded her fullest attention at every instant. There was no time to coddle this cur of a swain. But this time was like no other: it was an emergency. ¡°Later is late overmuch! The river, Mareschal!¡± ¡°¡­What?¡± ¡°It surges! Soon!¡± Her eyes widened. ¡°Spare us your fanciful spitting! Any more and I¡¯ll cut you!¡± came Lindell yet again with a gashing threat. The river¡¯s climb had clearly eluded his ken. Even now, it was rising. Steadily, but higher still¡ªa full digitus since I last inspected. But Lindell was not alone in his unknowing. Far from it. It wouldn¡¯t have been strange for even the forders themselves to be oblivious to the creeping peril. Yet no moments were left to spare before the straw would break the camel¡¯s back. Water is fickle. Rivers even more so. In the blink of an eye, a slender snake of a stream can swell into a surging, sundering serpent. Such was not lost to Tiselius, who peered down to the Erbelde. Fright then flashed across her face¡ªshe saw, and knew. ¡°The enemy has dammed the tributary! There¡¯s no time; the forders must retreat!¡± I loudly pleaded again, and her sword answered. Up it rose, high, for all the 1st to behold. From her lungs to her lips erupted pure thunder, a voice more vast than her figure could seemingly conceive. ¡°Forders, all! Heed me now! Withdraw at once! I repeat, all forders! Withdraw at once!¡± Shock beset the entirety of the river crossers, their eyes stretched round in light of the sudden order¡ªTiselius¡¯ vociferous command had reached them, it seemed. The exigency in her voice impelled them to action: the 1st¡¯s forders initiated their withdrawal, with the rest soon following suit. For her part, Tiselius wasted not a grain of the hourglass. Her mind back to the battle, further orders flew from her lips. ¡°6th Squad, onward! 4th Squad, pull back and recover! 3rd sorcerers, make ready! The paling must return upon the next shift!¡± Yet those same lips would be lightly bitten, an expression betraying the question that now roiled within her: ¡®Why hadn¡¯t I noticed sooner?¡¯ But time was up. The fates sneered upon us. The Erbelde¡¯s grip was fast about the forders¡¯ legs¡ªthey could move no further. The columns¡¯ rear guards, once wading through the shallows, also found themselves barely able to budge, for the shallows were shallow no more. Only a scant few minutes prior were these souls making headway across the river. Now, they were all of them halted, with their swords and staves thrust into the riverbed for support, to better bear themselves against the burgeoning flow. Unease seized their faces, but the tide, teeming and teeming still, spared them no solace. The forders were now trapped. To be washed away was inevitable, should they choose to stay and resist the river. But what else was available to them? They could not move. And now the Nafilim were keen upon their plight. Arrows and magicks were made ready as scythes, and the forders were as wheat for the coming harvest, for they could neither raise their shields nor wave their wands in resistance any longer. The yield was bloody and bountiful. The mere sight of it left the bridge-stationed brigades aghast. For half a minute, they stalled, struck. These knights of the 1st were all valiant fighters, unebbing in their efforts to hold the line for so long a time. And so to stand there, bewildered as they were, was a blunder soon to be unforgiven. The end of that fleeting, frozen moment found the Nafilim presence thinned upon the bridge. Time slowed to a crawl as I witnessed all that followed. The foes began to fall back from the frontline. None of ours endeavoured a pursuit. In the wake of our enemy¡¯s retreat were crates. Crates of wood. A whole array of them, sitting upon the bridge. I pushed through the knightly crowd, and to the frontlines began a desperate sprint. ¡®Spellwaters, to the front,¡¯ I heard. Tiselius. She was close behind, equal in her haste, yelling, yelling. Too late. Our foes have all fled the bridge. Arrows flew aflame, aimed straight at the wooden boxes. My feet neither halted nor turned heel. Rather they took me further, over and past those crates, pushing me further into the unmanned span. Ardent arrowfire formed a glowing canopy overhead. With all of my strength funnelled to my legs, I rushed under and past it. There were others behind me with the same idea. Tiselius amongst them, of course. Of the others, I could not discern. There was no time to look back and know. And the crates. Thinking further of their purpose was useless. Their contents were no mystery either. Black powder. Serpentine. Quickfire. The boxes were explosives. All of them. The air coughed. The sound of flaming arrows finding their marks. My ears heard. My heart sank. Thinking further of what would follow, too, was useless. Eternity shrank into an instant. An instant stretched on infinitely. An explosion. From behind me flashed an ear-splitting sound, a rush of heat, a wall of air. ? ¡°Gwagh!¡± I catapulted through the air, thrown like some ragged toy, only to land upon where else but the enemy banks. Chips and splinters of timber showered down upon my entire being¡ªpieces of the Des Ailes Greatbridge. Bites and stings harried every nook and corner of my body. A creature by the name of ¡®pain¡¯, but it was no carrion bird¡ªnot yet a corpse was I. Death had not taken me. If this be his mercy, then there was still much to do. My body quivered all about in my laboured attempt to get back on my feet. This was the opposite bank, the den of our foes. No good would come from just lying about. I scanned through my surroundings, finding little, hearing less. I was in the thick bowels of a great shroud of dust, and an incessant ringing screeched at my ears. Nothing could be gleaned. Desperation took hold as I rose and wiped the blood coursing over my eyes. Disoriented, I peered across my environs once more, my glances wending every which way. Just then, there appeared for an instant a break in the occluding dust. Through it was revealed a vista¡ªone that I dreaded the most. The bridge was no more. Shattered. Unmade. The brave souls of the 1st that once fought upon it were now as vagrants, vanquished and left to scatter to the four winds. The floundering forders were yet fixed against the riverflow¡¯s fury, their fate it was to be either swallowed by the waters or shot to pieces by our enemy. The knights of Londosius. Utterly crushed. None could feign a look upon the scene and so much as whisper any doubt that the day was lost. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Digitus (plural: digit¨©) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the width of a finger. 1 centimetre is equal to 0.5405 of a digitus. A digitus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 2 centimetres. Volume 1 - CH 3.7 Dust billowed about in boundless ubiquity, content in its continued suspension. The veritable depths of an earthen sea, where teemed my foes, and I, their lone prey. I was unseen, but I could not remain so forever¡ªI had to spring to action and quit the place soon, before the dust could settle. Steadily did the ringing in my ears begin to fade, and in the meanwhile, I searched about for some particular necessities. The demolition unit responsible for the Des Ailes¡¯ undoing¡­ they still had to be here somewhere¡ªlikely not far from the foot of the bridge itself. I waded through the dust in that direction, soon coming upon a Nafilim group. Their gear betrayed their purpose: archers charged with firing hot arrows into the explosives that ended the Des Ailes. Yet they were restless. Fracted and fraught. The scope of the prior explosion must have soared beyond their expectations, and its dusty aftermath was proving too much to deal with. In fact, their chain of command might have been paralysed in the time being, for in the murky air, there appeared a Nafil loitering alone, separated from his unit. Visibility was already poor, but the blasting and bellowing tumult of the battle further provided the perfect mask for my footfalls. No slinking was needed to get up behind my mark. Once there, I swiftly lunged at his back. ¡°Uagh¡­!?¡± Grounded, I curled both my legs about his arms, restraining them, and wrapped my right arm about his neck in a chokehold. With my free hand, I seized and wrung the back-left of his collar, and pressed against the side of his neck. No more blood would reach his brain at this rate. ¡°¡­kh¡­!? ¡­gk¡­ dh¡­!¡± Words, let alone sounds, were failing to leave his constricted throat. I maintained the hold for another moment till all strength and strain left my victim¡¯s body. Quickly then, I divested his limp person of its arrow-quiver¡ªjust what I was looking for. But I wasn¡¯t done yet. I peered about. It had to be here somewhere. Next to the bridge? ¡°¡­There you are.¡± Wooden crates. These things¡ªexplosives, to be sure¡ªtended to be overstocked in their number, and for good reason: one could scarcely predict just how many would be needed to get the ¡°job¡± done. They were all stacked in a pile, in the shadow of which I hid the unconscious Nafil¡¯s body. I next hoisted up one of the crates to my shoulder. Quite heavy, this. A third of a passus on each of its sides, reaching up to the knee if put to the ground. Certainly not something for a man to carry all on his own. Its edge sank and bit into my shoulder, rousing incredible pain, but I could ill-afford to tarry about and complain. Now, a horse. Before the explosion, mounted personnel had trotted up and down the banks, their charge it was to coordinate the artillerymen in dealing with our forders. Those same commanders should still be in the area. I strained my ears, listening through the ruckus of war for any telltale sounds. There. Beyond the dusty haze. The rhythmic thump and thud of hoof-falls. Cautious ones, I might add. Awfully so, on account of the occluded visibility. I waited, just long enough that a break in the dust plumes revealed my next victim¡¯s whereabouts. Spotting him upon his horse, I crept up to his side. It was all or nothing¡ªI sprinted across the remaining distance and threw myself upon him, crate and all. ¡°Aagh!?¡± yelped the now dismounted Nafil. No time to waste. I wrangled the horse and climbed up to its saddle. Taking its reins into my free hand, I kicked the critter into a full gallop, leaving behind the barks of its former rider. With newfound speed, I shot out of the mountainous plumes of dust at last, and drove upstream along the bank. The Des Ailes. When the flaming arrows struck the explosives in that dreaded moment, the bridge was all but doomed. Utter defeat loomed, but the day was not yet decided¡ªthere was still one more wager to make. And it was this very wager that had compelled me to run past the explosives like I did, that I might somehow end up in the enemy¡¯s lap and there cast the deadly dice. But those same dice had yet to leave my hands. For that, I headed to a new destination: the tributary. From the fraught mire of my mind emerged the map from yesternight¡¯s war council. The Erbelde Broadrun. At a fork further up that river, the tributary veered off and slithered into Nafilim territory. Reaching that fork would not take long¡ªless than three m¨©llia-pass¨±s separated it from the bridge proper, a punctually closable distance if I made haste. From what I recalled of the map, the tributary¡¯s breadth hardly compared to that of its mother stream, but it was nonetheless well-endowed in its own right. If dammed, its diverted waters would engorge the Erbelde into a raging tide. Why in the name of all that is good had I not noticed this sooner? Whilst envisioning the fording operation, whilst scrutinising the strategy during the war council¡ªnot few were the times when I could have scried this one fatal detail. What¡¯s more, I had not even entertained the possibility that our Nafilim foes might have foreseen our willingness to cross the river afoot. If I myself could predict that the 1st would hazard such a risky operation, then surely Nafilim minds would have been capable of the same prescience. That they crafted a contingency plan to answer our foolhardy ploy was painful proof of this. Cursing my own ignorance, I stirred the steed to its fullest speed. Felicia. Her fellow forders withal. Were they all yet holding on? They must be. They have to be. This, I trusted, for there was nothing else left to trust. Forcing the enemy into funnelling their forces onto the bridge was now all but a tactic lost in its purpose. But the explosion, the chaos of their own creation, had left the Nafilim chain of command broken along its links. Thus if the forders could just regain their footing, they may yet survive, whether they then choose to pull back or make for the enemy shores. The tributary now came into view, and with it, the Nafilim engineers stationed in its vicinity. They were poorly defended¡ªtheir strategists well-predicted the fording operation, but perhaps they were too prideful to imagine that any of our number would come up this far. Arrows whistled past. I ducked closer to the saddle, maintaining my speed and course both. Taking it easy here would avail me nothing. ¡°Gegh¡­!¡± An arrow ate into my left shoulder. Pain shrieked inside my head. My vision rattled dizzyingly. Yet I pressed on. Nevermind that my right shoulder was in no better shape, it, too, being eaten, but by the sheer weight of the wooden crate instead. Just a little further. A little further! Upon steeling myself with those words, my steed let out a horrible neigh¡ªan arrow had dived into its body. And just like that, the poor animal collapsed, throwing forth its own body into the midst of the Nafilim engineers, who all dispersed in every direction to avoid the downed beast. Torn from my mount, I quickly collected myself and sprinted toward the tributary. Further pain raged through my body. The trauma of falling off the horse must have exacted its price of broken bones. Reaching the riverside, I peered down. By my estimation, the tributary was almost three pass¨±s wide, about the arm spans of two large men. Its waters were stilled: sacks of sand had been piled high upon it, stilling the flow. Swords were drawn¡ªthe engineers were in fast pursuit. Bracing myself, I leapt down onto the damming mound, the crate of explosives still on my shoulder. ¡°Agh!¡± I groaned upon landing. Or perhaps ¡°landing¡± is too graceful a word. I was, by that point, beaten and battered to pieces. But I dared not stop, not while in my head flashed visions of Felicia and her fellows holding fast against the fury of the river. My heart begged them, each and every one, to bear the Erbelde, if only for a while longer. Dropping the crate of quickfire upon the mound, I drew an arrow from the stolen quiver slung about my back. Coiled about the base of the arrowhead was paper laced with flammables, while yellow phosphorus coated its striker. Classic Nafilim weaponry. Glad was I to have ¡°stuck my nose¡± in the books before the march. Sudden friction upon the phosphorus was all that would be needed to get the thing going. Indeed, with a strike against the sole of my boots, the phosphorus gave a sharp gasp, and the arrowhead was soon wreathed in flame. I looked to the wooden crate¡ªhow fills the explosives within it? If packed to the fullest, no doubt the thing would flash into a ruthless fireball the very instant I jammed this flaming arrow into it. But if there was some space within, I may yet be afforded a moment¡¯s mercy. What of the bridge explosion? Was there any time between it and the sound of the flaming arrows striking the explosives? I wondered further, but failed to recall. How pitiful. But no matter. The black powder filling the crate was to be this fire-arrow¡¯s next meal, and nothing else was on the day¡¯s menu. A look up found the engineers arrived and gathered at the riverside. They were frozen with fright, their eyes fixed upon the ignited arrow in my hand. ¡®Fancy some fireworks, my good fellows?¡¯ I could have taunted, but I quickly purged the thought. Perhaps a fine line to utter if it were my foes that would be blown away, but here, I stood to be the victim instead. No more distractions. I jammed the arrow into the crate. The sound of splintered wood. The arrowhead was in. At once, I leapt from the mound and into the murk of the tributary. Right as I hit the water¡ª ¡ªa roar of pure fire. The newborn shockwave, being so close, rammed through my submerged body with tremendous force. A pall of heat pounded the water¡¯s surface, while fierce winds whipped the river¡¯s flow into a frenzy. Within those merciless whirls was I, taken along like some discarded rag, utterly helpless against their ferocity. The mound, now unmade, spewed its innards into the water, filling the depths with thick plumes of sand. But now the river was freed, and its renewed flow propelled the sand forth into a veritable landslide. Like a raging bull, it charged clear into my back, throwing my body about like a leaf made to dance against a sudden gale. Or was it my stomach that was struck? No longer could I know. The torrents wrung me in one instant, and threatened to tear me to pieces in the next. What position was my body in? Which way was I facing? Were my limbs even there anymore? These, too, I could not know, just as I could not breathe. Not even my eyes dared to open: all that they would have seen was a sandy gloom too incomprehensible for my brain to process. Fiercely and fiercer still, the tributary surged with waters making their violent homecoming, and I was but a pebble kicked every which way by the stampede as we both rushed downstream. But in those fiery flows, there was comfort. Comfort in knowing the ploy had worked. My sorry state attested to it. The string that was my very life threatened to snap at any moment, but my duty was done: I had destroyed the tributary dam. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Mille-Passus (plural: m¨©llia pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans; known as the ¡°Roman mile¡±, it spanned 1,000 pass¨±s in length. 1 kilometre is equal to 0.6757 of a mille-passus. A mille-passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half kilometres. Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Volume 1 - CH 3.8 ¡°Gwugh! Gaegh! Gaugh!¡± Coughing. Gagging. ¡°¡­Haa¡­! Haah¡­!¡± Washed upon the rivershore further downstream, I hungrily gasped for air. How long had I been drifting through the tributary? Beyond the shore stretched fields parched and plain, while overhead hung the searing sun. Life seemed all but lost in the land; one could mistake it for purgatory and be rightly forgiven. But purgatory this was not, for I yet drew breath¡ªthe pain eating away at every corner of my body was proof aplenty of it. Where it was most ravenous was my left shoulder, run through with an arrow as it was. A parting present from the Nafilim engineers back at the tributary. Little remained of its shaft. Well-broken, both it and I, fellow farers through that merciless ¡°swim¡± down the river. But this was where we would part. I clenched the broken arrow in my right hand, and with sudden force¡­ ¡°Geaagh!!¡± Tossing it aside, I laid there on my back, spent, lungs heaving up and down from the turmoil. My mind turned to my beaten body. Arms. Legs. Still sound. Or rather, still ¡°attached¡± is more the word. My left arm was broken. Hands¡ªthe little finger of each shared the same fate. Beyond the puncture wound in my shoulder, many more riddled my body in the form of cuts and bruises. My legs¡­ their bones were yet whole. A sprain was in my right ankle, and a great pain blared from it, but I could still walk. And a rib bone was broken somewhere. Perhaps more than one. ¡°Haa¡­ heagh¡­¡± Even still, I was alive. A miracle, or close to one. Generous enough for a man so scorned by the Deiva. If it was not by Her will that I survived, then by what? No answer. I lay there, face-to-face with the full sky. Not a single part of my body did I think to move, not even the tip of a finger. I was tired. Drowsy. Dreadfully so. Without a sound, I closed my eyes. My mind¡­ I should just let it take flight. Be free. Yes. Perhaps I will. My thoughts thinned like a mist before the rising sun. My body melted into the soft dark¡­ ¡­ .. . . .. ¡­ ¡°¡­Not yet¡­ Not like this.¡± Hands on the ground, I pushed myself up. Not once in my life did waking up require so mountainous an amount of willpower. Back on my feet, I read the arc of the sun. ¡°The Erbelde¡­ there yonder, is it¡­?¡± ? Through the wasteland I walked. Not a single soul haunted the place. The hour of eventide loomed, but the sun cared not in its scorching glare. My gear, once woefully waterlogged, was now as dry as any pebble I stepped upon. My armour. Half of its leathered portions were in shambles, which I tore off to fashion a crude splint for my broken arm. The ragged rest, I tossed. Shedding such a burden greatly lightened my body, yet it still laboured forth as if its flesh were of lead. Sweat seeped from every pore, worming over my wounds and searing my senses with sharp pain. Though my ¡°trip¡± down the river had me swallowing more water than I would have liked, my throat was now coarse and sticky with thirst. My breaths gasped and grated against the heat, but with every try, my broken collarbone cried out in agony. My right ankle, sprained as it was, complained no less. The arrow-hole in my shoulder sighed excruciatingly. A wound upon my head unwound, letting blood trickle down my face. Horribly harrowed and hurt as I was, I yet walked on, for walking was my only choice. ¡°This day¡­ I¡¯ll mark¡­ on every calendar I cross¡­¡± As I should. Few are they who could boast of having survived an explosion from behind. Twice. On the same day. ¡°This tale thrilling enough for you, Emilie¡­?¡± But I could scarcely imagine a third. Surely the fates should know to let jests run their course. Though I suppose I owe them thanks for letting me live this long, what with all these wounds, and all the battering and tumbling through the barbed throat of the tributary, tiny as it was compared to the Erbelde. Felicia. The forders. Were they saved? I wondered. Not much time elapsed between the destruction of both the bridge and the dam. Less than three m¨©llia pass¨±s separated the two, a distance I had crossed at full gallop. Freeing the tributary should not have taken long, either. All in all, not more than a few minutes. Yes. I should have made it in time. Or at least, I¡¯d like to think as much. If they had managed to weather the enemy¡¯s attacks, then surely they must be well. They must be. ? For how long have I walked? The skies darkened with dusk. Only the vapid vestiges of twilight spared any illumination¡­ ¡­as well as the braziers bespeckling an encampment. Off ahead in the yonder, tents and pavilions peeked out of the evening gloom. Of course. It was only a matter of time before I would meet the enemy¡¯s heart: the tributary wormed through Nafilim lands, and having emerged from it and trundled my way towards the Erbelde, it was natural that I would cross the foe¡¯s garrison at some point. What¡¯s more, my approach had brought me right to the backdoor, as it were. I slinked my way closer, ducking behind bushes along the way. A fence. I climbed over, my falling feet placing me squarely within the enemy¡¯s dominion. But where were the enemies themselves? Passing strange. Only a scant smattering of their number was I able to glean. A high hill cast a shadow over the encampment from the latter¡¯s rear face. Sidling up to the summit, I gave a peek, spotting the Erbelde Broadrun in the distance, coursing through the landscape in a great brushstroke. Peering down, I found the entirety of the Nafilim garrison splayed before me¡ªand a sight that stole my breath. A raging battle. Already, the knightly host had broken into the enemy base. It would seem the forders had found their footing and crossed the Erbelde. Met with this flood of knights, the Nafilim were pouring each and every one of their number into resisting the teeming tide. No wonder there were so few loitering about their garrison¡¯s rear. The bridge explosion had certainly toppled the gameboard and the knights along with it. But destroying the dam had reset the pieces, and the two sides now found themselves locked squarely in battle. Yet this was the Nafilim¡¯s heart of operations, and they spared neither their pawns nor their princes in mustering a fierce resistance. Indeed, the knights had their hands full and more: their entire offence threatened to buckle under the foe¡¯s defiance should a single step be yielded. What was left for me to do, then, was to thin out the Nafilim aggression by drawing their number away from the fore of the fighting. In other words: a bit of deception and disorder. I scanned about, discovering four horses reined together. Perfect. Now I required fire. I searched for braziers, an easy task given that dusk had already dimmed the area. The Nafilim fashioned their night-fires in the form of torches thrust into an iron basket of sorts. Kicking over one such contraption, I helped myself to four of the lit torches, bringing them over to the horses and tying them to the saddles. The animals jerked and jostled at the idea, but their worries found no warrant: after such an eventful day, I knew a thing or two of pain, and was loath to impart it upon another so wantonly. Freeing the horses, I goaded them into running wild, to which they obliged, frightened by the fires on their backs. Across the encampment they galloped, spreading flames throughout the tents they barged through. After seeing them off, I stole into an unmanned tent, therein finding quivers packed with arrows, the same sort I used back at the tributary. Taking one of them along with a bow, I returned to the overlooking hill, and from there let loose a one-man show of flaming shots. With my broken arm did I bear the bow, hence the imprecision of my arrows. But my marks were mere tents¡ªthey would certainly not sprout legs of their own to flee the shots, imprecise or no. Just setting them aflame well-sufficed my purpose. The aim was to sow chaos, after all. And indeed, the harvest was bountiful, with fires cropping up through the corners of the garrison posterior. The sight inspired disorder within the Nafilim fighters at the frontline. It would seem they guessed a flank attack had befallen their domain. Well, they weren¡¯t exactly wrong. Only, it was but a broken-armed bloke who solely manned the entire ¡°charge¡±. The knights, for their part, capitalised on the confusion and moved to smite the enemy full sore. Even from high upon the hill, I could make out the figure of a certain cherry-blonde dame as she braved the raging fray. Mareschal Tiselius¡ªeven to this hour and to this point so deep in enemy lands was she fighting upon the frontlines. Veritable infernos fumed and flew from her spellblade, mowing through the enemy formations to their despair. But there was one more within that royal host that caught my eye. A dame of flaxen hair. From her silversword pealed and cracked webs of lightning, and with just a swing of the blade, laid low the foe¡¯s number. ¡°¡­Emilie?¡± I wondered aloud. The Owlcranes are ever at the mareschal¡¯s side. By Tallien¡¯s own words, they need not seek battle so eagerly. So what was Emilie doing all the way out here? As doubt danced about in my mind, a shower of sharp ice slammed into the Nafilim horde¡ªthe Gl¨¡rea Pru¨©nae spell. From where it sprung, there stood Felicia with her silverstaff held high. ¡°Felicia¡­ Thank the fates. You were saved,¡± I sighed loudly, relieved beyond measure. My broken collarbone throbbed painfully at the gesture, but I cared little. My sister was still alive, good tidings to which my heart brimmed with gladness. The battle was becoming more precarious¡ªa checkmate was close at hand. The knightly host shattered through the Nafilim line, now thinned by my earlier diversions. ¡°Right¡­ time to make a move.¡± I heaved my body into motion, throbbing as it was with pain from every possible part, and made my way down the hill. Fires fluttered all about the encampment in myriad folds and fingers. Painted red in their heated glow was my wound-riddled face, scanning about the complex with utmost caution. Nafilim detachments now coursed about the garrison rear, fooled by my fiery feints. I eluded their eyes, quietly shifting from shadow to shadow. I then laid low, searching for my next mark: a mounted Nafil, preferably armed lightly and well-separated from any other Nafilim soldiers. ¡°No, not him¡­ or him.¡± I continued searching, uncompromising in my criteria, until at last, one fit the bill: a cavalier from a detachment of four, lagging a ways behind the formation. ¡°¡­Today¡¯s your lucky day, my man.¡± Through the shadows, I sidled my way up close. The day has already seen me stealing a horse only hours before. I shouldered a burden of the explosive sort then, but this time found me with hands empty and free. Things should go swimmingly. Or so I should hope. For however less burdened I now was, my body complained with pain and broken bones. But it mattered little. I had only to do what I set out to do, for ¡°doing¡± was the only thing left to me at this point. Corroborating myself with such thoughts, I rushed up to the cavalier¡¯s side. Our eyes locked. His face wrung in shock as he instinctively swung his spear down upon me. But it was overlate¡ªalready, I was within arm¡¯s reach of him. His swing struck me upon the right shoulder, but with the shaft rather than the spearhead. With the attack unsuccessful, I seized the Nafil and pried him from his steed. ¡°Aaugh!¡± came his wild whimper, of which his comrades took heed. I hastily mounted the horse, turned it about, and whipped it into a full gallop. ¡°You! Stop there!¡± one of the Nafilim barked as I quickly quit the place. ¡°That went well enough,¡± I muttered in the heat of the moment. ¡°Practice makes perfect, does it now?¡± Merely repeating my first attempt earned me another steed. I admit I had the element of surprise on my side, but if that cavalier had been armed with a sword instead, this tale might have ended differently¡ªand abruptly. A bit of caution was in order for my next attempt, whenever that may be. I continued driving forth my newfound horse, with Nafilim cavaliers giving chase from behind and the main battle bellowing in the distance ahead. At last. The frontlines. The blazing tip of the sword that was Londosius¡¯ foray into the Erbelde basin. Just a little further now. With a good kick, I urged the horse onward still, straight into the enemy ranks. No doubt my previous diversions had placed the Nafilim on high alert for further attacks from the flank, but it seemed they failed to anticipate a mounted rush at the rear. I ducked low, goading my horse to its fullest speed. We cut a path through the deceived Nafilim forces, effectively splitting them in half. None from the knightly host trained their arrows or spells my way. And with the enemy horde already dispersed between two points within the garrison, I successfully broke through the Nafilim formations and rode back into the midst of friendly forces. There I found both Emilie and Mareschal Tiselius, to whom I approached. In my attempt to dismount the stolen steed, I found my legs too spent to endure the simple task, and so landed roughly upon my knees. ¡°What¡¯s this¡­? Man¡¯s come from the other side, he did!¡± ¡°The lad¡¯s beaten and bloodied all over. What hell harried him on the way here¡­?¡± Out of the din of battle came utterances from fellow Order fighters, surprised at the sudden sight of my return. Emilie was amongst them, but in lieu of words, there was only utter amazement writ upon her face. ¡°¡®Twould seem you¡¯ve earned our debts¡­¡± said Tiselius, ¡°¡­Rolf Buckmann.¡± The hero-dame knew of my name? Perhaps Emilie apprised her of it. No. None of that mattered. My thoughts were tangled, but one thing was clear: I had made my way back to the Order. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Mille-Passus (plural: m¨©llia pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans; known as the ¡°Roman mile¡±, it spanned 1,000 pass¨±s in length. 1 kilometre is equal to 0.6757 of a mille-passus. A mille-passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half kilometres. Volume 1 - CH 3.9 ¡°Rolf!¡± Emilie gasped. ¡°Good grace, you¡¯re hurt¡­!¡± ¡°My Lady. I¡¯m well,¡± I tried to calm her. ¡°You needn¡¯t worry.¡± ¡°Not to mine eyes, you are,¡± came Tiselius¡¯ arrow-shot of an observation. And its mark was true: no man so bloodied and broken of bones could rightly be well. Yet such a man must have quite the tale to tell, and for this particular moment, one most exigent. ¡°I¡¯m well enough, madame. But enough of me,¡± I said, now with more urgency. ¡°Mareschal Tiselius, pray draw back the left wing.¡± ¡°What¡¯s this now?¡± ¡°Vermin! You wormed your way out of the woodwork, and now you dare pretend the tactician!?¡± Lindell cut in, his wrath-filled voice clapping against the air. It would seem the short-fused lieutenant of the 1st¡¯s Owlcranes had also managed to cross the Erbelde. But I did not back down. ¡°The enemy¡¯s sole line of retreat traces from our left wing up to a hill, and from there exits the encampment proper¡ªthis, I¡¯ve seen for myself upon that same hill ere my return.¡± ¡°Then all the more reason to press the offence!¡± yelled Lindell. ¡°Why draw back when we can cull the curs right then and there!?¡± ¡°Nay. Deny our foes their retreat and we only make cornered beasts of them. They would bare their fangs all the more bitterly and make prey of our own men in return. We cannot chance this; if the enemy seeks retreat, we must yield it to them.¡± ¡°Then yield it, we will,¡± said Tiselius. ¡°Boris! Reign in the left wing! Have the 2nd Squad circle back to the centre; the rest reforms at the rear!¡± ¡°Right away, madame!¡± The mareschal of the 1st, Estelle Tiselius of all people, not only agreed with my counsel, but acted upon it¡ªswiftly and resolutely so. This shook and shocked me by no small degree, as I watched this ¡°Boris¡±, the mareschal¡¯s deputy adjutant, summarily pass down his madame¡¯s orders to the ranks of the left wing. For their part, Emilie and Lindell both were taken by the same surprise. Only, much to the latter¡¯s chagrin. ¡°Mareschal! Pray lend not an ear to that vagrant¡¯s guile! He is sodden-witted¡ªan ungraced!¡± ¡°Erik. Our foes are well-honed and well-positioned. I¡¯ll not hazard their extermination if it means our losses run overhigh. We whip them till they whimper on their way, and in their retreat find our victory,¡± spoke Tiselius with adamant calm. ¡°This matter is settled. I¡¯ll not hear further of it from you.¡± ¡°¡­As you will, my Mareschal,¡± Lindell lowly folded. With her errant Owlcrane grounded, Tiselius raised her silverblade high and proclaimed her next order. ¡°Centre brigades, all! From here we strike the enemy full sore! Give them no quarter; onward, now!¡± ¡°Ooouuh!¡± a bright chorus of battlecries bellowed in answer, and the knights were off at once. With her forces let loose, the hero-dame turned next to Emilie. ¡°The left wing joins with the centre; the frontlines won¡¯t find our numbers wanting,¡± Tiselius explained. ¡°As for me, I make for the entrance of this encampment. Lieutenant Mernesse, I would have you join me¡ªand your swain in tow.¡± ¡°Aye, Mareschal,¡± Emilie saluted before looking to me. ¡°Rolf, let¡¯s fall back. We should have the surgiens see to you quickly.¡± ¡°Yes, my Lady.¡± Closing wounds, stopping blood loss, restoring a measure of stamina¡ªthese and more are possible with mending magicks, but it would take a surgien of superb skill to fix broken bones and grievous injuries. As such, I saw little point in being seen to, to be frank, so dreadfully cut up as I was, but more pointless again was turning away Emilie¡¯s consideration and concern. ¡°Boris, I leave the rest to you,¡± commanded Tiselius. ¡°Exhaust the enemy. Herd them to their route of retreat.¡± ¡°By your will, my Mareschal!¡± ¡°As for you, Rolf Buckmann,¡± the hero-dame continued, now facing me, ¡°after the day is won, I mean to hear much from you.¡± ¡°Yes, madame.¡± With that, Emilie and I followed the 1st¡¯s mareschal as she began making her way back through the Nafilim encampment, accompanied by a retinue of knights under her command. ? ¡°Lady Emilie,¡± I called out in the midst of our withdrawal. ¡°What brought you here to the enemy fields, if I may ask?¡± ¡°Why, you ran off with such haste, I couldn¡¯t help but chase after you!¡± she smiled. ¡°¡­Chase?¡± Ah yes¡ªthe moment when I first spied the Erbelde¡¯s burgeoning waters. I broke away from the Owlcranes and made a mad dash off to the bridge; apparently, Emilie was hot on my heels when I did. And when the explosion happened, she, too, flew over to the enemy shores, along with Tiselius and myself. ¡°I am your superior, you know!¡± Emilie reiterated, beaming and brimming with pride. ¡°Were it not for your bravery, Miss Emilie, I fear we would not have wholly delivered the forders like we did,¡± Lindell slithered in. ¡°Ah, to behold the beauty of your spellblade in the flesh! And to stand shoulder to shoulder with you upon the battlefield¡ªtruly am I unworthy of such a benison. Praises all to Yon¨¢!¡± ¡°¡­I¡¯m glad to find you so pleasant, Sir Erik.¡± A rather skewed exchange between Owlcranes, this. One looking upon the other with a gaze engrossed in passion. The other¡ªdisimpassioned in return. By his words, it would seem Lindell followed his mareschal right before the Des Ailes was undone. From there upon the opposite banks, he, Tiselius, and Emilie worked to suppress the enemy artillery, thereby protecting our forders. Truly a feat no mere trio can rightfully call their own, but include amongst them Emilie and Tiselius, the keenest blades in the 5th and all the kingdom respectively, then such a feat would not seem so much a fantasy. With the explosion having frayed the enemy¡¯s chain of command, no doubt the three capitalised on the chaos and confusion to safeguard our forders, all in the short time leading up to the tributary¡¯s liberation. By their bravery were Felicia and the river crossers able to reach the enemy banks, albeit not without casualties. And through cunning use of the resources available to them, the forders pushed into enemy lines, bringing the battle all the way up to the foe¡¯s camp. While discussing such details, our group arrived at the mouth of the foresaid encampment, finding and joining with the knightly forces stationed there. ¡°Lieutenant Mernesse, Owlcrane Brigade, 5th Order,¡± Emilie saluted them. ¡°I come requesting treatment for my subordinate, Officer Buckmann.¡± ¡°My my¡­ whose cat did you cross, lad?¡± remarked a surgien team member. ¡°Right then, come along now.¡± But not another step was taken before a spire of magicked flame shrieked across the evening air¡ªa Lancea Cal¨­ris, aimed straight at Tiselius. Impact. A boom blasted through our ears. An eruption of feathery fires, illuminating the twilight. But as those fires faded, there remained a light of a different hue: a paling enshrouding the mareschal, one swiftly erected by her sorcerer subordinates just in the nick of time. ¡°Enemies!!¡± roared Lindell, drawing his sword. ¡°On the fore!!¡± To the dusk¡¯s shadows he trained the tip of his blade. All eyes followed: lurking in the murk was the Nafilim horde. ¡°This, I did not foresee¡­¡± Tiselius muttered, teeth clenched, ¡°¡­has my mind¡¯s blade been blunted?¡± ¡°Nay, Mareschal. Our steps fall squarely on the enemy¡¯s haunt. ¡®Tis as you¡¯ve said: the lay of the land spans wholly in their favour!¡± ¡°An ill excuse, that!¡± Tiselius countered, brushing aside Lindell¡¯s consolation. Our present forces totalled a meagre score and a half. The enemy, double that. What foul odds. But it would seem things had not gone as planned for our foes as well: these ambushers themselves must have intended at first to initiate a flank attack upon the frontlines once our knightly host had pushed deeper into their territory. ¡®The first contact with the enemy heralds the first casualty of battle: our plans.¡® Fewer words ever spoken more truly. I had the injuries and the day¡¯s happenings to attest to that. Tiselius raised her voice. ¡°Surgiens, pull back! I¡¯ll handle th¡ª¡± Instinctive caution shot through us all like lightning. I sensed it: a looming presence. Terrible. Immense. And from the dark, it sprang, unseen and straight into our ranks. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Digitus (plural: digit¨©) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the width of a finger. 1 centimetre is equal to 0.5405 of a digitus. A digitus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 2 centimetres. Lancea Cal¨­ris (Original name: ¡°Heat Lance¡±) Fire-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of a long spire of flames, shot towards a target at high speeds. Pierces and explodes on impact. Volume 1 - CH 4.1 The seasons have wheeled a cycle since the Battle of Erbelde. Three full years have passed from the day I first enlisted in the Order. The Mareschal Tallien was no longer to be found in the 5th, having retired to consummate his heirship to the title of viscount. The under-mareschal, too, had left the 5th¡¯s halls, returning to his homeland upon news of the untimely death of his elder brother, to whom was due the succession of the family name. That left the role of mareschal to none other than the lieutenant of the Owlcranes: Emilie. To be promoted to such an esteemed position at so young an age was most unusual, indeed. Central itself had taken great heed of the ¡°Aureola of the 5th¡±. And more fervently still did the officers of our Order revere her very presence. Fresh still in their minds was her valiant figure, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the hero-dame Tiselius at the banks of the Erbelde, her silvered thunderblade rending asunder the fell droves of Nafilim. A veritable idol, whose resplendent reputation was, by this point, set deep in stone. As for the Owlcranes, the role of lieutenant was passed to Gerd. And on another front was Felicia with a promotion of her own: no longer was she lieutenant to the 1st Sorcery Brigade, but brigadier to the three Sorcery Brigades altogether. Her phenomenal flair for the magicks had rightfully earned her the esteem of being the 5th¡¯s foremost spellweaver by far. And there was I, yet a swain¡ªEmilie¡¯s, of course. But if being swain to a mareschal, up from that of a lieutenant, was anything to go by, then I suppose one could say I¡¯ve moved up in the world. Only, both my duties and my daily life at the Order had gained no greater prestige. Sword training, horse-tending, gear-caring, housecleaning, and sword training yet again¡ªmy routine had hardly changed at all. I was, at the moment, tidying up the mareschal¡¯s chamber. Emilie herself was sat upon a leather chair before a grand desk, flanked by decorative standards. In her hands were many papers, to which she gave a glance over. And a glance upon this newly appointed mareschal herself would reveal in her a newly assimilated mien of majesty, as it were. A recent development of character, perhaps one precipitated by the rigours and expectations of her current station. ¡°Rolf, we¡¯ve drawn up plans for the next operation,¡± Emilie said. ¡°Come and have a look, if you can?¡± A rather prideful glow was about her face as she held out the papers to me. ¡°Plans, my Lady?¡± I blinked. Taking them, my sight fell upon the cover page. ¡°Classified materials¡ªare you certain?¡± ¡°I am.¡± Writ large was the line ¡°Operations Manual for the Recapture of the Godrika Minery¡±. The march of Norden, home to the 5th¡¯s headquarters, also held within its southern reaches the foresaid mines of Godrika. Well-known for their warrens of well-endowed deposits these mines were, but equally so were they feared for their depths that bristled with the behem¨®t: malicious fiends of myriad forms, all imparted with odyl of their own. And the manual I held in my hand was symbolic of our kingdom¡¯s craving for the recapture of such a bedevilled place. I thumbed through the pages. Immediately apparent was the scope of the operation. By no means was it a meagre one. These days had often found Emilie locked behind closed doors till the late hours, immersed in meetings within which no swains were suffered. That¡¯s not to say such meetings are a rarity at all in a place like the Order, but it seemed their purposes of late were tasked specifically to the planning of this operation. A report within the papers indicated that, at present, the threat levels within the mines were on a downward trend. So much so, in fact, that it was very much possible for just the 5th to barge in and clean house. The strategies and tactics required to do so were outlined to granular detail further on in the papers. From group compositions to logistics, all was accounted for; even the march to the minery itself was not spared of its fair share of attention, a clear lesson learned from the failures at the Erbelde this past year. All in all, it was a manual written and considered with exhaustive care for every aspect of the operation, no matter how large or little. This, I judged, but what I also judged was the spectre of underestimation: inadequate thought was given to the difficulty in deploying troops into so confined an environment as a web of underground tunnels. Not to mention that the plans themselves called for too wide and thin a dispersal of troops at every level of the operation. But beyond such details, there was one matter that cast a deep shadow over the entire affair¡­ ¡°My Lady,¡± I began, looking up from the papers. ¡°I believe these plans are in need of some reassessments.¡± ¡°¡­Reassessments?¡± Emilie blinked. ¡°Where, exactly?¡± ¡°¡®Where¡¯, might not be the word. If I may be blunt, this operation¡¯s actionability itself must needs be reexamined.¡± ¡°¡­What? How can you say that!?¡± Emilie gasped, clearly taken aback. But within her voice, there also smouldered a tinge of anger. I could tell that much and more went into the creation of this manual. In fact, it was, beyond anyone¡¯s doubt, an exemplary and scrupulous piece of work. A product of untold toil, moulded precisely at every seam and corner by a girl bent on fulfilling the obligations of her high office, despite her tender age of eighteen. To be met with dissent may have proven too much for such a soul to bear. Yet I could not with good conscience support this plan. Emilie spoke once more. ¡°Rolf, need I remind you of all that our kingdom stands to gain should we capture these mines?¡± She did not. The success of this operation had far-reaching consequences for this kingdom¡¯s war strategy going forward¡ªthat, in itself, augured much ill. ¡°We would gain much, true, but I believe that there loom losses greater again,¡± I reasoned. ¡°Godrika offers us only silver, my Lady¡ªnothing else.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fully aware. But ¡®tis the sheer bounty of the silver itself that is more the point, Rolf!¡± Londosius ever craves silver, but not for want of filled purses and packed coffers. The metal¡¯s uses are strictly determined and regulated within our borders. So it is that even by digging up vast volumes of this argent commodity, not a speck of it would be tasked to the enrichment of the life of any citizen in this kingdom. ¡°Silver is a resource most precious to our military pillars, my Lady, one that our kingdom forbids the export of. All that we extract from Godrika goes into meeting the demands of the war effort. Put simply, we stock our store of silver and our armies shall swell along with it.¡± Let it be made absolutely clear that Godrika¡¯s depths are deeply engorged in ore deposits. Obtaining this seemingly boundless bounty would likely be nothing short of a historic vicissitude for Londosius, one that would usher in an exponential expansion of its military might. ¡°Listen, Rolf. Suppose for a moment we capture Godrika, and put silver arms and armour into the hands of all of our officers. You must know just how tremendous of an advantage that avails us in our fight against the Nafilim?¡± Emilie¡¯s attempt at persuasion was not without reason or merit. That much silver would surely turn the war heavily in our favour. However¡­ ¡°Think of all the comrades-in-arms we can save!¡± Emilie continued. ¡°And our families! Our loved ones! But more than anything, it brings us so much closer to ending the Nafilim once and for all.¡± That was where she strayed. ¡°Nay, my Lady. Godrika only portends a greater need of gravestones for our comrades.¡± ¡°And why¡¯s that!?¡± ¡°The battles we bear at present are plenty enough, yet Central seeks to stretch the lines of each of these battlefields all the more. The burdens upon them will weigh heavily and heavier still should we arm and sharpen ourselves further¡ªburdens Central is overeager to heave upon us.¡± Gain a greater advantage, and troops will be made to fight ever more ferociously. And the harder they press on, the wider and more bloodsoaked the battlefields will become¡ªthe momentum of war is as an avalanche, unrelenting, all-consuming. ¡°Burden? The only burden I see is the one upon your shoulders,¡± Emilie countered. ¡°Proof, Rolf! Have you any at all? That Central would be so insatiable!?¡± ¡°None, my Lady.¡± But of course. All I¡¯d spoken of thus far was circumstantial in nature. ¡°Then why speak against it so!?¡± yelled Emilie, taken with an unusual bout of anger. Against such roaring emotions, I did my best to keep calm as I continued on. ¡°Furthermore, I cannot see the need to bring an end to all Nafilim.¡± ¡°Rolf¡­!?¡± A remark tending slightly towards treason, I admit. After all, Londosius dearly tasks its every sword and sinew towards the annihilation of the Nafilim. Yet I could not relent. ¡°My Lady, it betrays reason to expect that we may ever bring about the extinction of any kind.¡± ¡°¡®Tis precisely why we toil away in our duties, is it not!? That we might usher in some chance to an impossibility?¡± Emilie rebutted. ¡°Rolf, we have momentum in this war! Were we to stay the path at all costs, then surely the day would come! The day when the war is done at last¡ªand the Nafilim along with it!¡± That, right there. All within this kingdom are taken with this belief¡ªa zeitgeist, binding every beating heart of every living soul within this realm. It is the core of the country, a policy in and of itself, absolute and immutable. But I was shaken from those shackles. The Battle of Erbelde. I had fought her then, that child Nafil. As we measured blades together within the Nafilim encampment, my own heart began to beat to a different belief. She, too, gambled all and more in that battle. But why? She stood steadfast upon that battlefield, her life wasting on with every wager and every peril faced, while her own heart blazed with a desperation most dear¡ªsuch was what I gleaned from her as she frantically flourished those daggers of hers. A soul that readily risks everything to protect something¡ªcould such a soul truly be evil? I could not know. Not then. Not now. But what I did know was that to be ¡°done¡± with the Nafilim was folly most foul. That genocide would see this conflict to its proper end was something I could not accept. ¡°¡®Tis naught but a path of pure carnage you would have us walk, my Lady.¡± ¡°You speak nonsense, Rolf!¡± By this point, Emilie was all but boiling and livid. What¡¯s done is done, as they say, thus at risk of fanning her flames further, I ventured forth in voicing yet one more reason to this unreasonable conversation. ¡°Moreover, I cannot abet the soundness of this operation, if it executes on grounds that the threat within the mines is thinned.¡± ¡°Threat? Threat, Rolf? ¡®Twas none other than you who came up with the calculations for measuring such threats!¡± Indeed, it was. Threat levels: separate a given theatre of operations into a set of distinct areas, and thereafter calculate the perceived danger based on the observed number of hostiles present within each. This was what I recommended to her previously, and to this day was a method yet employed. In fact, it was by these very same means that the threat levels within Godrika were determined to be in decline. One could even say that it was by my own hands that this operation came to be in the first place, however directly or otherwise. But the numbers written in the manual whispered to me of a somewhat¡­ ¡°unusual¡± stir within the mines. ¡°I believe the behem¨®t may have vacated themselves rather too asudden. Why this came to be bears much needed consideration and scrutiny,¡± I explained. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°I mean that, as an example, a menace of a behem¨¢ may have made itself home in the mines, and by its ruthless nature, has been weeding out its weaker kin.¡± ¡°What¡¯s this? A ¡®menace of a behem¨¢¡¯, you say? Your fancies have taken a flight too far, Rolf!¡± Emilie may have been right. I merely wished to elucidate any and all potential risks, but in my wanton efforts, I may have seemed overmuch the feeble-witted fowl pecking at too large a ground for too meagre a meal. ¡°Perhaps they have, my Lady. Perhaps there is no such specimen. But just as well, it simply may be that our scouts have not discovered it as of yet.¡± To this, Emilie deeply sighed¡ªlikely an attempt at calming her own errant emotions. ¡°Rolf. I understand well that your place here may become all the more perilous should we avail our armouries with more silver. But I¡¯m the mareschal of this Order now. Much injury and injustice it has done you, I know. Yet with me as its commander, I¡¯ll make certain that you¡¯ll not be ailed by such abuse any longer.¡± Her words were as resolute as her unwavering gaze upon my own. ¡°I am ever and always your ally, Rolf,¡± Emilie went on. ¡°But just as I would give my all for you, I need you to do the same for me¡ªto think upon yourself, of what it means to be a knight, of why we fight with so much desperation. Won¡¯t you do this for me?¡± Knighthood¡ªmy dearest ambition. What is a knight, really? For what, and for whom do we fight? Had I known the answers to such, would I have long been a knight myself? A man worthy of respect? Perhaps not to the same measure as Emilie, of course, but at the very least, someone to whom any soul would be glad to treat with a tinge of regard? Certainly, no man could hope to be knighted were he to voice overmuch his dissent towards the will of the Order, or to nurture within himself the notion that his own beliefs were more righteous again than the Order¡¯s own. Yet¡­ What is to be said of an Order that is so quick to quell a man¡¯s wish to live virtuously? Does a man not choose to don his armour and defend his fealty that he may be as honourable a soul as his lot would allow? I could not for the life of me make myself an abettor of this operation, not for as long as I spied within its success the temptation to let loose the leashes upon Londosius¡¯ lions of war. The moment I knew myself to be ungraced was the moment I resolved to never be constrained by cowardice. This, I had sworn upon my very heart. A man who becomes a knight by betraying his own constancy for his own convenience, who but wavers when his better wits beg him to be unwavering¡ªsuch a man, to me, is no knight. And that was exactly why I could not put upon my lips the words that Emilie so wanted to hear. ¡°Even still, my Lady. I am opposed to this operation,¡± I reasserted. At once, all hale was sapped from Emilie¡¯s face. And after a lamenting sigh, she spoke these next words. ¡°Rolf. This is what the Order itself has decided upon. Such strategic matters shall neither heed nor abide dissent from a mere swain.¡± ¡°¡­My apologies, Mareschal.¡± With that, I resumed my chores. For her part, Emilie leaned back deeply into her leather chair and turned up to the ceiling, eyes brought to a full close. The compromises we make. The compromises we forsake. Those who are changed. Those who are yet the same. No boy or girl can remain so coddled in the cradle forever. Such a doubtless and unspotted truth this was, but for the fool who could neither accept it nor ever let go of the treasures of his childhood, what could he do? Naught but stay silent and keep cleaning that cold room. Volume 1 - CH 4.2 The Godrika Minery¡ªits fallowed fathoms slept beneath the southern region of the march of Norden. Well-known it was for, amongst other things, its wealth of unexploited veins of silver ore. Forty winters ago saw its discovery by an exploration team, and shortly after were picks and shovels sent to strike away at the shafts, with tunnels spreading from them like roots. But a mountain sat above it, already a veritable menagerie of boundless behem¨®t. By their beastly vehemence was Londosius¡¯ hold on the mines broken, and the vacated underground labyrinth soon found itself festering with the vermin. Not one year wheeled by before all mining ceased. The campaign undertaken to recapture that wicked warren was met with misery. Securing the surface was painless enough, but it was the tunnels that proved to be the salted sore, for their depths were rife with behem¨®t of the frustratingly dreadful sort. And that was to say nothing of the size of the tunnels themselves, too narrow in their girth to support the infiltration of any substantial force. As a result, Godrika¡¯s prized silver veins yet remained beyond the grasp of Londosius¡¯ war-itching hands. The last few months, however, saw the shrinking of the behem¨®t¡¯s numbers, and so were the threat levels of the place deemed to have diminished. It was in this trend that Emilie spied an opportunity. Thus the newly appointed mareschal saw fit to cast her own lot into the recapturing campaign, with the entirety of the 5th Chivalric Order arrayed and ready behind her. Erbelde this was not. The Godrika Minery, being in the same region the 5th itself was based, was reached with a relatively short and well-planned march, and our arrival saw us wholly untroubled by the trip. ¡°Oy, just givin¡¯ that map another gander¡¯s got me all mither¡¯d,¡± Raakel complained. ¡°What¡¯s up with it, ey? Looks more a maze than a mine, the damn¡¯d place.¡± At the foot of the looming mountain was the 5th¡¯s leadership, gathered around under a pavilion. There, they were in the midst of strategic discussions, their eyes fixed upon a full-splayed map. ¡°I¡¯d say turning the place into a proper mine wasn¡¯t the first thing the diggers thought to do, what when they arrived here all those decades ago,¡± Gerd observed. Indeed, gold rushes were an unchecked affair¡ªthough ¡°silver rush¡± might be more the term here. From what my ears gathered, during those mad grabs for the glitter, it was by no means uncommon that spades and spells were blindly made to carve out the earth, backed as they were by nary a warrant or a word of coordination. And Godrika itself seemed no different: another victim of Man¡¯s ardour for his metals. ¡°Yea, an¡¯ now thanks to them ol¡¯ delvers, there be crags every which way, all ready to crumble down on us heads, innit?¡± the warrior shook her head. ¡°By gum, the ballocks o¡¯ some folk!¡± ¡°Well then, Raakel, you¡¯d be pleased to know that our surveyors have found the very stopes likely to cave in: here, here, and over here as well,¡± said Emilie, moving her finger along the red-marked map. ¡°Let it be known that engaging in combat at any of these stopes is strictly prohibited. This is especially true for the southern quadrant¡¯s third sector; if our reports are precise, then that area is ready to collapse at the feather¡¯s touch. All brigades, please be advised and execute your offices with ample caution.¡± To this, the 5th¡¯s leadership collectively nodded. Emilie continued on. ¡°Once noon is passed, we will proceed as planned: each squad will enter the tunnels, in order and as arranged. They¡¯re to clear out all behem¨®t within their assigned routes and return to camp immediately. If all goes accordingly, we¡¯ll be done by sundown in two days hence.¡± With the plans confirmed, Emilie then looked all through the gathered personnel. It was then that her gaze shifted suddenly to me. ¡°Rolf. Do you still object to this operation?¡± It was not in her policy to accord me any sort of special treatment, even as her direct subordinate. Aught otherwise would have proven unfair to the Order¡¯s other swains. Thus was it beyond anyone¡¯s imagination that she would inquire upon my opinion so, here at a war council of all occasions. And to be clear, I was not sitting in the meeting as any sort of official attendant, whose opinion and counsel would have any bearing. The very fact that she was now glaring into my eyes, trying to tease out the truth of my heart, may have betrayed some trouble in her own, apprehensive of my dissent as she was. ¡°Nay, Mareschal. I am not in objection,¡± was my answer. Our troops were right about ready to commence the operation; voicing my disapproval of the whole deal now would be profitless. ¡°Yet I hear nary a word that you are in agreement with it, either,¡± Emilie observed. ¡°¡­I will exhaust any and all faculties available to me to see this operation through, Mareschal,¡± I confirmed. ¡°But there is one matter, if I may.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°The deployment intervals bear some reconsideration. I request that slightly more time be given between the deployment of each squad.¡± ¡°You beg for scraps overmuch, hound!¡± Gerd shouted, but a raised hand from Emilie was all it took to silence him. ¡°Rolf. I would hear your reasoning.¡± ¡°There looms the possibility that the gangways will be overpacked with personnel. Should this occur, our men stand to jostle against one another and impede each other¡¯s manoeuvrability. In other words, they¡¯ll be bottlenecked,¡± I explained. The squads were being made to infiltrate the tunnels in sequence, with little regard given to how many would be inside at once¡ªtherein lay my worries. ¡°¡®Tis no matter. Our plans make certain that such will not be a factor.¡± ¡°Nay, Mareschal. These plans ill-account for unforeseen contingencies. Were our men to be made to retreat, for example, their return paths will each be tangled up to much mayhem.¡± ¡°And were we to entangle ourselves in talk of contingencies, the sun shall set before we¡¯ve sent in a single soldier, Rolf.¡± ¡°Any and all contingencies must be accounted for, Mareschal. This, I believe.¡± A cloud of irritation then misted over Emilie¡¯s gaze. My conduct ill-became that of a swain, I admit, but the current plans tempted much injury unto the Order, and so long as they did, I had to make them known. ¡°To begin with, is there so pressing a need to deploy so many groups into the tunnels at once?¡± I continued. ¡°Would we not avail ourselves further still were we to divide the minery into disparate areas, deploy each squad in shifts, and secure each area one after another?¡± ¡°Rolf, you must know that doing so will extend the length of the operation. Our days here are numbered; we cannot abide such deliberateness,¡± Emilie rebutted. ¡°And for that same reason, the deployment intervals cannot and will not be extended.¡± Prolong the operation, and its expenses balloon with it. With great repetition and meticulousness did Emilie scrutinise such costs. As they were, the projected expenditures had Marquis Norden¡¯s approval after much negotiation. It was his coffers that funded not only the operation, but the whole of the 5th¡¯s administration itself. His word in this matter was final, and he would not be made to go back on it. Thus it surely must have grated Emilie¡¯s gears to even hear mention of ¡°giving ourselves more time¡±. I was keenly aware that it would, yet I pressed on. ¡°We stand to lose much should we operate beyond our allowance. This, I understand very well. But I also understand that any loss of personnel far outweighs it.¡± ¡°By gum, do ye hear yerself, muscle-pate?¡± Raakel came cutting in. ¡°Whimperin¡¯ like a panick¡¯d pup! We¡¯ve not even started an¡¯ already yer yappin¡¯ on ¡®bout this ¡®chance¡¯ an¡¯ ¡®losses¡¯ rubbish!¡± ¡°I¡¯m agreed with Raakel,¡± said Emilie. ¡°Mistake cowardice for caution and we do ourselves no favours.¡± No good in the end, I see. Going on any further would but beleaguer so set an issue. ¡°Understood, Mareschal,¡± I relented. ¡°Do you really, Rolf? Have I your word?¡± ¡°Aye.¡± There was no choice but back down here. I¡¯ve apprised the mareschal of the potential flaws in her plans, given my reasoning for them, and presented possible solutions¡ªI¡¯ve all but done my duty, and if by her will my counsel was not to be heeded, then what was left to me was only to support her resolve. ¡°Then the war council is adjourned,¡± Emilie announced, returning her gaze to the other leaders. ¡°Squads all, please execute your offices as planned.¡± ¡°Yes, madame!¡± came their collective salute, and so ended the pre-operation meeting. The brigadiers and their lieutenants then dispersed and made way back to their own groups, with many of them offering me their cutting glares. ¡°Rolf, pardon the trouble, but can you return to the Owlcranes¡¯ pavilion and make ready my gear?¡± Emilie requested. ¡°Right away, Mareschal.¡± With that, I went about my own way, but was soon called upon by another leader. ¡°Brother,¡± she said. ¡°My Lady.¡± Felicia Buckmann, brigadier and commander of the entirety of the 5th¡¯s Sorcery Brigades¡ªand as well, my sister. Knighthood itself is not counted amongst the Londosian peerage, like a duke or a marquis. Rather, it was an occupation, and at times a title in the strictest sense. Yet for a swain, every knight is a senior to whom proper respects must be paid and with honorifics must be addressed. Myself especially¡ªor rather, myself specifically. Heretofore have I been addressing all knights and dames by ¡°lord¡± and ¡°lady¡± respectively, a remnant of Tallien¡¯s authority. When Emilie took up the mareschal¡¯s mantle, she had the rule repealed. Still, vestiges of the practice remained as a custom, for even now, those of the leadership were addressed with the appropriate honorifics. Felicia fell squarely onto such a pedestal, having¡ªat the end of her first year at the Order¡ªreceived her rites of investiture and attained the rank of lieutenant. From that point on, she was clearly beyond the stature of an ordinary dame; a leader, a superior, a paragon who should rightfully be referred to as ¡°the Lady Felicia¡±. And as a lowly swain, I was obliged to follow suit. ¡°Your words earlier,¡± my sister began. ¡°Yes, my Lady?¡± ¡°They seemed not the speech of a man who knows his place.¡± ¡°Perhaps not.¡± Felicia¡¯s attitude was hardly unjustified. After all, her brother was an ungraced who writhed in the dirt at the end of every training session, who was assigned to little else but mundane chores, and who had yet to escape the yoke of swainhood after three full years of service in the Order. In thinking of him, surely she felt only deep remorse. ¡°Did you think to make a savant of yourself, Brother? Abetting for abundant caution like you did?¡± Felicia continued. ¡°To the eyes of the leadership, you sooner seemed the ill-abled soldier quaking in his boots amongst his calmer counterparts.¡± ¡®My eyes included,¡¯ she seemed to imply. ¡°Please pardon my indiscretion,¡± I apologised. ¡°And by your words, you would ¡®exhaust any and all faculties¡¯ for this operation¡ªwhat exactly are these ¡®faculties¡¯, Brother? What is it that can you do for us?¡± ¡°All that I am able, my Lady.¡± ¡°Polishing armour, pulling horses, you mean?¡± ¡°If such be my charges, then yes.¡± For a moment, Felicia fell silent upon hearing those words, her fair face besmirched with bitterness. ¡°¡­Why are you like this¡­?¡± she whispered to herself. ¡°¡­Would you were more of yourself back then¡­¡± With pursed lips and downcast eyes, Felicia then parted my presence. Certainly to her, my state of affairs was a grave betrayal, and nothing else. ¡°Awfully sorry to see you so scorned, my sweet swain,¡± came Sheila. ¡°So steeped in sin be he the man ungraced¡ªwhy, your very presence inspires naught but disappointment in those about you. Even in ones you hold dear and close.¡± ¡°Yes. Sadly so.¡± Sheila Larsen¡ªan unassuming smile bent her lips. The very image of a saint. And befitting of it was her sympathy, which, despite her words, was genuine by any estimation. Or rather, ¡°pity¡± might seem more the word: pity for the poor man yet unwilling to accept his lot as an unloved and unwanted lamb of Yon¨¢. ¡°Yet one scarcely needs any odyl to make battle with the behem¨®t, no? After all, there are amongst the beastly vermin those that may be slain with but swords and spears,¡± Sheila explained. ¡°Even a man like you may serve this purpose well enough. I wonder why you did not think to remind your dear sister of such?¡± ¡°It bears no thought¡ªI won¡¯t be joining the battle.¡± Soft laughter sang. ¡°¡®Won¡¯t be joining¡¯? My poor swain, so deep in your own deception. A little bit of honesty goes a long way, you know? ¡®I¡¯m not allowed to join¡¯¡ªnow that sorts more squarely with your heart, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± A piercing reproval, rendered with both refinement and a jarring gentleness. ¡°Then I¡¯ve misspoken. Pardon me, my Lady.¡± ¡°O Yon¨¢, Deiva Most Divine¡­ Had She not disowned you so, what manner of man would you have made of yourself, I wonder?¡± she prodded on. ¡°What man could ever know the manner of ends he¡¯s been denied? For my part, I¡¯ve given mine not a thought.¡± ¡°Really now? You¡¯ve not dreamed of all that could have been your due? A beautiful wife, an adorable and loving sister, a vaunted career as a knight most valiant, an entire barony to call your own¡ªso many fancies to fill your many whiles.¡± ¡°Yet fill them, I haven¡¯t. Not once.¡± Pondering upon paths untrodden. Dreaming of the destinations they wend their ways unto. What folly. If a man had the time for such idle indulgence, he had best put them to better use for his own future. Say, like swinging a sword. ¡°My, how dimmed you are,¡± she sighed. ¡°Dimmed?¡± ¡°Indeed. Almost as if¡­ as if your human light is all but snuffed out.¡± Nothing more was said from the surgien as she walked away. I very well thought myself to be quite the model human¡ªmore so than any other, no less. Immured in such introspection, I stood there, looking on as Sheila¡¯s parting figure disappeared from view. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Gangway In mining, an underground tunnel connecting two different rooms. Tracks are laid into the ground to facilitate the use of rail carts for transporting material. Shaft In mining, a passage bored into the ground, typically vertical or inclined, and used for the transportation of materials to and from the mines below. A ¡°mine shaft¡± may also generally refer to a narrow tunnel leading from the surface into a mine. Stope In mining, an underground chamber dug out once a mineral vein has been found. The scope of the chamber increases as more ore is mined from its walls. Material may be cleared via manual labour or explosive means. Stopes may be backfilled, that is, refilled with the unneeded material mined from it, to keep it from caving in and weakening the mines¡¯ structure. Volume 1 - CH 4.3 ¡°Next: 15th Squad! Commence entry!¡± Late afternoon. We had erected a command post by the mouth of the adit leading into the mines, and it was from there that Emilie dictated the operation. By her orders were squads sequentially sent down into the haunted depths¡ªgroups composed of an assortment of knights from the disparate brigades, namely of the infantry, sorcery, and support. ¡°2nd Squad, reporting! Five droll-hounds slain, madame! No damage or casualties incurred!¡± Already were the first-sent squads making their way back to the surface, having completed their twofold charges of setting up minelights and exterminating the behem¨®t lurking along their assigned routes. By all accounts, the operation was advancing smoothly. ¡°Have the 16th Squad made ready?¡± Emilie asked. ¡°¡°They have, madame. Brigadier Buckmann and the rest are poised to deploy,¡± answered an officer. ¡°Have them standby at the adit. They¡¯ve twenty minutes till entry.¡± ¡°Right away, madame!¡± A veritable river of orders streamed on and on. Brigadier Buckmann¡ªthat would be Felicia. The next squad to infiltrate the mine would do so under her command. The squads were by no means large hosts in and of themselves, and so to facilitate their dampened firepower, a number of executive officers were personally joining the fold. ¡°3rd Squad, reporting! We¡¯ve slain one lockbird, three droll-hounds, and four zlatorogs! Reporting one light casualty! Equipment damage is minimal!¡± ¡°Very well. Have the injured¡¯s gear checked again,¡± ordered Emilie. Echoes of the report reached the ears of the leadership stationed at the command post. A stir then simmered amongst them. ¡°Lockbirds¡¯ve shown their ugly faces, eh?¡± one of them muttered. ¡°So it¡¯s true what they say. Godrika¡¯s no walk in the park,¡± another commented. ¡°¡®Tis quite the sparse park, by my measure. Not as many of the damned critters inside as I¡¯d thought,¡± a third observed, with whom I found agreement with. The behem¨®t were not as teeming as expected¡ªunnaturally so. Could my prior predictions have come true? That a monstrosity had made its way into the mines? That by the beast¡¯s menace the other behem¨®t had been culled? Such worries and more wormed about in my mind. ¡°The 16th Squad is next. Deploy them at once,¡± came Emilie¡¯s next order. ¡°Aye, madame!¡± ¡°5th Squad, reporting! We¡¯ve slain three jaculi and two acid-lizards! One light casualty reported! Minimal damage to equipment!¡± Emilie paused. ¡°The 5th? What of the 4th? Have they not returned?¡± ¡°Not as of yet, madame!¡± ¡°¡­Understood.¡± An ill report. It would seem the operation¡¯s weave had begun to fray. ? ¡°Mareschal! The 14th Squad has returned!¡± came another report. ¡°Where¡¯s the 12th? And the 13th for that matter?¡± Emilie asked. ¡°No word yet, madame!¡± An embittered shade washed over Emilie¡¯s face. By now, no less than six whole squads were absent in their return. An ¡°unforeseen contingency¡± this was, if there ever was one. ¡°My Lady Mareschal, if I may¡­¡± approached an executive officer, with a voice quiet in its worry. A well-warranted bout of concern. Any seasoned officer would be stricken with the same unease, knowing his comrades have yet to show their faces from the depths of those infested tunnels. Emilie had scarcely opened her lips before shouts filled the air¡ªabrupt activity bristled amongst those gathered at the adit, who had been worriedly awaiting the absent squads¡¯ return. Perhaps their patience was rewarded? Yet their shouts had nary a jump of joy in them. At once, Emilie rose from the war-table and made her brisk way towards the adit. I followed close behind. ¡°What¡¯s happened?¡± she inquired upon arrival. ¡°M-Mareschal! The 15th Squad, they¡¯ve¡­ they¡¯ve returned,¡± came a hesitant reply. Indeed, ¡®they¡¯ve returned¡¯ was hardly appropriate, for the squad that emerged from the tunnel was composed of but a single, shambling man. An arm of his was pressed unusually flat, broken and bent beyond its every joint. Grating wheezes escaped his blood-spewing mouth, his lungs desperate for air. ¡°Have him up on a stretcher! Bring him to the tents! Medics, hurry!¡± Emilie¡¯s orders, livid and lamenting roars as they were, filled the mountain sky. ? Within the largest pavilion available, a camp bed was unfurled and formed, upon which the injured knight was gingerly laid. Treatments, both manual and magickal, were given to him, and by their effects did he somehow recover enough to be able to speak coherently. As a rule, those treatments should have continued till his condition had stabilised, but this was a grave emergency¡ªwe had to know what happened in those tunnels, and this poor soldier was the sole soul that could tell the tale. The forgathered leadership looked on, each and every one of their faces curdled with consternation. They all knew¡ªfrom the man¡¯s mouth would come no merry report. Indeed, his first words were none sought by any of their ears. ¡°¡­¡¯Twas a greathorn. A greathorn¡­!¡± A pother boiled up from amongst the shocked leadership. The greathorn¡ªa behem¨¢ in the likeness of a bull, burgeoned in its looming bulk, for the combined heights of two full-grown men cannot not hope to peek over its hulking withers. Its tempestuous temperament fuels the sheer violence of its assaults: a single charge from this monster is enough to send many a body flying like mere shreds of paper tossed to the wind. And as per its namesake, from its head protrudes ponderous horns: dread spikes fraught with odyl, hardened to such excess that they would scarcely suffer a scratch in goring straight through a soldier, bones and armour all. And of defences, the greathorn is not lacking in the least, with a hide nigh impervious to extreme heat and cold both. But like a betrayal to its erstwhile form, this bovine beast feasts not on flora, but flesh¡ªthat of men and behem¨®t alike. ¡°Fates be fickle¡­ What¡¯s a devil like that doing down there?¡± ¡°Its kin are like to loiter ¡®bout the mountainsides, no? Perhaps it beds in the tunnels¡ªnay. What if it¡¯s turned the tunnels into its own feeding trough?¡± ¡°No wonder the scouts hadn¡¯t spotted it, then. We are come to seek silver but unearthed madness instead. What foul luck¡­¡± At wit¡¯s end, the leaders grumbled and groaned. The returned soldier, for his part, stared distantly at the ceiling. ¡°¡­The 4th Squad¡­ and 6th¡­¡± he resumed reporting. ¡°We found ¡®em dead¡ªall massacred¡­ so we thought to surface, but there¡­ There, we crossed the greathorn¡¯s path¡­¡± As his words went on, the marred man¡¯s face furrowed and furrowed still. It was most apparent to any lookers-on that his most woeful wounds were the memories flashing before his eyes. ¡°So we retreated¡­ quick as we could, but we¡­ we weren¡¯t the only ones, y¡¯see¡­¡± he continued on, gasping here and there. ¡°Four other squads¡ªoh, bless ¡®em¡­! All crammed and crazed in that gangway, riled in their own retreat¡­ But then¡­ the greathorn¡­ ploughed through ¡®em all¡­¡± Sat by the camp bed, Emilie gave me a glance. The irony of the report was not lost upon her. But what a hell it must have been for the poor souls. Godrika¡¯s tunnels are overall generous in their width, enough to easily host the wicked wendings of a three pass¨±s-tall greathorn. Yet the same can hardly be said of hosting large numbers of men. To be trapped in those gangways in the midst of a toppled and tumbling stampede, only to be trampled flat by a beast so vast and vicious¡ªsurely, it was no less than a living nightmare. ¡°We packed our arses and ran¡­ and somehow made it to sector three, in the southern quadrant¡­ There was a¡­ an abandoned stope that we came into. By then, only a few of us remained¡­ but our luck dried up. The greathorn¡ª¡¯twasn¡¯t far behind¡­¡± His voice now quaked piteously. ¡°I was clinging to my greatshield¡­ hadn¡¯t let go of it once the entire way. I raised it¡­ to save my soul from that monster¡¯s charge¡­ but I was¡­ bashed and blown away, shield and all¡­ That beat me up real proper, it did. And then¡­ and then I ran away¡­ and made it back up somehow¡­¡± A true trauma, to be so overcome by fright and powerlessness, even now in safety. It was bad form for a man of the military to utter such frail words as ¡°run away¡± in lieu of more palatable euphemisms as ¡°retreat¡± or ¡°withdrawal¡±, but who could blame him? Emilie certainly did not. ¡°You did well to come back to us,¡± she said softly. ¡°Now are we enlightened to the situation, and we¡¯ve you to thank, brave sir.¡± ¡°Mareschal¡­ forgive me¡­ please!¡± the man pleaded, lips atremble. ¡°I¡¯ve lost my comrades all¡­ And my sword and shield¡ªI threw them down¡­ and ran like a dog¡­ Oh! My shield¡­ my poor shield¡­ Saved me at the Erbelde, the dear thing did¡­¡± ¡°That I¡¯m sorry to hear. It well-warded off the Nafilim arrows, but ¡®twas an ill-match for the greathorn. Yet it has saved you once again, for you are alive before us all,¡± Emilie quietly consoled the soldier, her hand caressing his quivering cheek. Whimpers welled up from his throat, and it wasn¡¯t long before he began to weep brokenly. Emilie then rose to her feet and turned to the other leaders. ¡°I¡¯m going in.¡± Confusion coursed across their faces. ¡°Mareschal!? Y-you musn¡¯t!¡± A most appropriate reaction. ¡°The greathorn¡¯s hide yields to my levinblade. I¡¯ll have it laid low myself,¡± Emilie swore. ¡°The situation is ill-resolved by our original plans. And as long as it remains so, we¡¯ve no other choice than to strike down the beast with our mightiest swords.¡± The leadership did all but wince in the face of their mareschal¡¯s resolve. Yet what lurked beneath the moxie of her words were shades of shame and regret. Several squads, each sharing the same path of retreat. When the dreadful time comes that they would all withdraw, wild in their despair against a terrible and unforeseen threat, they would surely find themselves tangled and tumbling over each other in those tunnels¡ªpossibilities that I clearly apprised Emilie of on the eve of the operation. But her ears were deaf to my warnings, and the price for such pride was paid by her men with what else but their own lives, if not grievous scars upon their flesh and bones. Emilie¡¯s heart. What a storm must be surging within it right now. Never was she the sort to so easily accept a dreadful truth as that of droves dying by her own judgement. But she was a mareschal now, a commander of no small renown, and she must answer the situation at hand¡ªthere was no time to wallow in her woes. Plans were needed. Responsibilities had to be assumed. The chaos must be cut through with some semblance of control. Thus did she decide to wrangle the plight with her own hands. But it was a decision perhaps also founded upon another exigency: the nagging need to punish herself for this dear failure. ¡°Gerd, Raakel, and Sheila shall accompany me! My swain as well!¡± Emilie announced emphatically. ¡°Under-Mareschal, you shall remain here and take command in my stead! If we do not resurface in quarter-day¡¯s time, then take us for dead and return to headquarters immediately. And there, assemble a commission for inquiry into this incident. Any questions?¡± The visibly petrified leadership gave their consent with all but their stunned silence. ¡°Mareschal,¡± I called out to her, to which she nodded and looked back at the injured soldier. ¡°My good sir. By your precious words, the 4th and 6th Squads were wiped out, yes?¡± Emilie asked him. ¡°What of the other four? The ones killed in their retreat. Do you know of their assignments?¡± ¡°Madame¡­ they were the 9th and 10th Squads¡­ and the 12th and 13th, as well,¡± he answered with much difficulty. Emilie turned about and nodded to me once more. Each and every departed soul of each and every one of the six total massacred squads¡ªall of them had family and loved ones, to be sure. And none amongst those left behind would welcome the news, whether true or erroneous. Emilie and myself, included. Yet I kept a candle lit by the window sill of my darkened heart. Of the ruined squads named, the 16th went unmentioned. There was still one dear hope. Somewhere, down in those tunnels, she was still there¡ªmy sister, Felicia. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Adit In mining, the ground-level entrance leading into a mine, taking on the form of a horizontally inclining tunnel. Gangway In mining, an underground tunnel connecting two different rooms. Tracks are laid into the ground to facilitate the use of rail carts for transporting material. Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Stope In mining, an underground chamber dug out once a mineral vein has been found. The scope of the chamber increases as more ore is mined from its walls. Material may be cleared via manual labour or explosive means. Stopes may be backfilled, that is, refilled with the unneeded material mined from it, to keep it from caving in and weakening the mines¡¯ structure. Volume 1 - CH 4.4 Down through the depths of Godrika we wended. The widths of the tunnels varied here and there, though not a soul may doubt their overall generosity: about four pass¨±s was the girth of the gangway we were passing through at present. But the situation would devolve to our great despair were we to face the greathorn here, for little around us availed any means of cover or escape. However, the tunnel network itself was dotted through with a number of hollowed-out rooms: ¡°stopes¡± from which ore had been extracted. If a battle were to break out, we should best bring the brunt of the chaos to any one of such spaces. ¡°Tch¡­¡± A click from Raakel¡¯s tongue echoed through the dark. As the vanguard of our group, she stood up ahead, halted and vexed. The focus of her attention fell upon the rows of bodies strewn through the gallery¡ªknights, silent in their eternal sleep. Thus did we find ourselves in the infamous tunnel: four entire squads, frantic as they funnelled into this bottleneck, only to tumble upon each other and make themselves ready for their own slaughter. One body was so bent at its spine that the back of its head met with the back of its heels. Another was disembowelled, the guts gruesomely agape. None of them escaped a cruel end¡ªthey were all of them run over and crushed in some way. Emilie bit at her lip. To be presented with her stilled subordinates, dead in their duty so assigned by her command, all but stole the words out of her. It was her fists that spoke instead, clenched white as they were, and quivering. ¡°I do find it rather curious that a greathorn would make its way into the tunnels so,¡± Sheila thought aloud. ¡°Why now, I wonder?¡± ¡°No need to wonder. One of the leaders said it; didn¡¯t you hear, Sheila? Turned the tunnels into its very own feeding grounds, the bloody beast did,¡± Gerd reminded her. ¡°I suppose it hit the mark, though. These driftways were as larders stocked full with fodder, whether fresh or foetid.¡± Fodder indeed. These mines had once bristled so bountifully with behem¨®t that no man dared to venture into its vicinity. But to the greathorn, Godrika was a dinner platter piled high with all sorts of palatables, and it was not just behem¨®t that composed its endless meal. ¡°And we very well find our names writ large on the menu,¡± I observed. ¡°Quit that yapping, will you, ungraced? Any half-pated spelunker can figure that out, what from the look of this bloody place. See here?¡± Gerd snapped, flicking his chin up at one of the corpses. The sight earned a shake of his head. ¡°The bloke¡¯s stomach¡¯s all eaten off. Yon¨¢, Almighty¡­¡± ¡°By gum¡­¡± Raakel seethed. ¡°Grass be what a cow gobbles, not¡­ not this.¡± ¡°Miss Raakel. Need we remind you? ¡®Tis not the work of a cow we witness here, but a behem¨¢¡¯s,¡± Sheila pointed out, and as if her words were as a signal, there flickered in the dark ahead of us a series of flashes¡ªillumination of the magicked sort. ¡°¡­Tonitrus! Someone¡¯s incanted a Tonitrus!¡± Emilie broke her silence. ¡°There¡¯s a battle up yonder¡ªwe must hurry!¡± And at once, we all rushed deeper into the tunnel. It¡¯s all right. Felicia¡¯s all right. She has to be. She¡¯s strong, after all; the brigadier to our sorcerers, no less. A greathorn should hardly be a match for her. Such faint wishes whispered in my head as I sprinted down the dark corridor. It wasn¡¯t long before we all emerged into an open space, only somewhat wide in its total area. And there she was. My sister, standing before a towering, heaving, bull-like behem¨¢. Dwarfed by the beast, Felicia breathed laboriously, her staff trained forth at her opponent. Blood¡ªthere was deep red upon her person, all in a great stain across her chest, clotted and terrible. And upon her face was pure despair. One of her knees gave out. Down she collapsed, perhaps having spent her spirit overmuch in the course of the long struggle. Seeing this, the mad beast became but a blur, charging straight into her. ¡°Felicia!!¡± I screamed, breaking into a dash. At once, I took her into my arms and lunged forth, missing the behem¨¢¡¯s hewing horn by a hair¡¯s width as it skimmed across my calves. ¡°Brother!?¡± Felicia gasped. It was then that sharp cackles stung the air and drummed tangibly against my ears. Emilie. She bent down low, her silverblade drawn and shrouded in shrieking electricity. Then, like an arrow, she bolted straight at the greathorn, meeting it face-to-face. My face twisted at the sight. ¡°Emilie! No!¡± ¡°Ferum Fulgur!!¡± The warning did little to halt her assault: a wide slash of the sword, like a horizon of lightning, pealed across the beast¡¯s body. With her mark struck, sparks crackled and forked in great flashes through the subterranean air. Behind that blinding veil of light, the greathorn loomed¡­ ¡­unscathed. ¡°How¡­!?¡± Emilie muttered in a gasp, a moment of surprise presented before a beast much fain to seize it. And so it did. The demonic bull heaved its deadly weight unto a wide-eyed Emilie. ¡°Radi¨¡ns Aulaeum!¡± chimed Sheila¡¯s voice, and there welled up before Emilie a pall of light, into which the beast¡¯s lethal horns crashed. For but an instant, the attack was stopped, but it was all that Emilie needed. Her wits recovered, she darted away, with Sheila¡¯s shining shield shattering into nothingness in that same moment. ¡°Wh¡­ what¡¯s this!?¡± Emilie doubted aloud as she renewed her stance. ¡°No greathorn should resist lightning! And my sword¡ª¡¯tis left nary a scratch on the beast!¡± Of course not. It was natural that nothing in Emilie¡¯s arsenal could harm the beast before us, whether it be strikes of sharp silver or lightning. ¡°Lady Emilie! That¡¯s no greathorn¡ªwe face a catoblepas!¡± ¡°¡­Wha?¡± My words warped the others¡¯ faces with immediate dread. ¡°Aoouhhrraahh!!¡± balefully bellowed the behem¨¢, before charging straight at both Felicia and me. At once, I leapt out of the way with my sister still in my arms. ¡°Eagh!¡± I cried. My shoulder tore open¡ªthe bull¡¯s gnashing horn had met its mark. ¡°B-Brother!¡± wailed Felicia. ¡°Everyone! Over here!¡± Emilie shouted from a ways off, pointing behind herself. ¡°We descend below! Hurry!¡± The tunnel system also splayed vertically into several levels; where Emilie indicated was an incline shaft sinking almost fourteen pass¨±s down, about the height of a five-storey building. Nay. With a drastic slope like that, a ¡°winze¡± seemed more the word: a steep, vertical passage connecting disparate tunnels, like an underground cliff. I let Felicia off, and together we ran to it. ¡°Bloody hell! Here goes!¡± Gerd winced, sliding down the precarious drop with the rest of us not far behind. ¡°D¨¥fend¨¥ns Sp¨©ritus!¡± came another incantation from Sheila. A wall of winds, meant to deflect incoming arrows and like projectiles, awoke and whirled upon our landing spot. Yet it was oriented in reverse¡ªright before our feet could crash into the ground, the gales billowed and cushioned our fall. A safe landing¡ªthe deft work of a dame, exceptional in her practice of succouring magicks. Looking up, we found the catoblepas looming over the edge of the winze. It returned a gaze of its own, its eyes veritably ablaze with a fell light. It would seem it held no delusions of peace between us. ¡°Ye cow-faced guffer! Gawp down on us, do ye!?¡± roared our red-haired warrior. ¡°Tame your taunting, Raakel,¡± Emilie appeased. ¡°Sheila, pray see to Felicia¡¯s wounds. Rolf¡¯s shoulder, as well.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± our surgien obeyed, before turning to my sister. ¡°Miss Felicia, where are you hurt?¡± ¡°My rib¡­ it may be broken,¡± Felicia answered. ¡°I¡¯m bleeding as well, but not very much.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call the stains on your bosom ¡®not very much¡¯, Brigadier Buckmann,¡± Gerd observed. ¡°Might we know what¡¯s happened?¡± My sister¡¯s gaze fell at once, her spirit lost. ¡°¡­This blood¡­ is not my own¡ª¡¯tis my officers¡¯.¡± ¡°Officers?¡± Emilie blinked. ¡°Felicia. What¡¯s happened to the 16th?¡± ¡°My squad¡­ I¡­ I¡¯m the only one that¡¯s left¡­¡± Emilie¡¯s shoulders sank. ¡°I see¡­ The terror. It must¡¯ve been dreadful,¡± she quietly condoled. Her eyes then went to me. ¡°Rolf. This catoblepas¡ªare you certain?¡± ¡°I am,¡± I nodded. ¡°It well-pretends the greathorn, but the hue of its hide and the shape of its horns betray its true nature.¡± Like the greathorn, the catoblepas is a bull-like behem¨¢, but unlike the former, it is further classed amongst the mythoferae: creatures more at home in legends than in the living world. The dread bull brims with odyl at every bend and span of its body, affording it great protection against nearly every known elemental magick. And its azure-night hide is as a skin of iron, rejecting the bite of any blade sent against it. And nothing stops its sundering charge. What such violence leaves in its wake are piles of the dead, men and behem¨®t alike. Filed away in the knightly records are reports of but a single catoblepas felling an entire fortress, manned by no less than members of the Order itself. Make no mistake: the greathorn pales in comparison to the catoblepas, and we now had the misfortune of being the mark of such a monster. ¡°Emilie, we must act,¡± Gerd pressed, and the answer he received was immediate. ¡°That we shall. But by Rolf¡¯s ken, ¡®tis not a greathorn we grapple with. And if so, we¡¯re in dire need of another plan.¡± ¡°Emilie, if I may,¡± Felicia spoke up. ¡°What if we were to seal off the tunnels? That way we may starve the beast to its death, should we wait long enough.¡± Emilie then turned to the rest of us. ¡°Everyone. What think you all?¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather we bray its brains in, if I¡¯m honest,¡± Raakel shrugged. ¡°Yet these tunnels make an ill host for such a pitched battle, I think. That behem¨¢ holds too great an advantage,¡± Sheila reasoned whilst weaving her mending magicks. ¡°I see much merit in Miss Felicia¡¯s idea. Time may yet be our keenest weapon here.¡± ¡°Time?¡± Gerd cocked his head. ¡°And how many swings this of ¡®weapon¡¯ need we endeavour till that bloody bovine bites the dust, eh?¡± He¡¯s right. A siege against a host of men this will not be; such a beast can make a fast ally out of time itself. ¡°The catoblepas¡ªit is ranked highly as a mythofera,¡± I began explaining. ¡°Accounting for all the odyl it has built up in that body, I¡¯d say it can last several months, at least. And if the fates have fed it well, perhaps a year and more.¡± That option¡¯s off the table, then¡­¡± Emilie relented. Maintaining a seal upon the mines would require personnel, but with every coin in the operation¡¯s coffers already reserved for some purpose, a siege¡ªmonths-long at minimum¡ªwas a failure in feasibility. ¡°In any case, we¡¯ve succeeded in securing our sole survivor. ¡®Tis best we withdraw for the time being. Sheila, how fares Felicia?¡± ¡°Well enough. The mending¡¯s finished,¡± the surgien confirmed. ¡°Miss Felicia, are you yet in pain?¡± ¡°Nay. I can move now, I think. Thank you.¡± It bears another mention here that the mending magicks are generally tasked to closing wounds, stopping blood loss, and recovering a measure of spent stamina, for that is the usual extent of their effects. But to repair bones, like those of Felicia¡¯s broken ribs, in so short a span of time spoke volumes of what an extraordinary healer Sheila was. ¡°Pray see to Rolf¡¯s wound as well, Sheila, if you can,¡± Emilie requested. I shook my head. ¡°Nay, Mareschal. We¡¯ve no time. Let us quit the place before the beast finds us again.¡± ¡°Bugger, the thing¡¯s gone off!¡± Raakel groaned as she squinted at the winze edge above. ¡°It be comin¡¯ after us, ye think?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve no doubt,¡± I confirmed. ¡°The catoblepas is a creature whose spite is as keen as its horns. I¡¯ve read reports of a platoon charged with slaying one of its kin. They were routed and thought to retreat¡ªonly, the beast had other ideas. For the next three days and nights, it pursued those men. And now we share in their ill predicament; we¡¯d best assume it¡¯s hot on our tails.¡± My words were unwelcome news to all that heard them, for their faces now furrowed with fear. A winding detour to the adit awaited us from the lower levels where we now found ourselves in. With such a long trip ahead of us, it wouldn¡¯t betray reason to assume that the catoblepas would catch up to us at some point. ¡°Right then. Let¡¯s be off,¡± commanded Emilie, and at once, we were on our way. What foul fortune. I should have realised long before. To point, it is outlandish to think that a greathorn could mow down four whole squads with such frightening ease. And furthermore, the thought hadn¡¯t even occurred to me that there existed some possibility that our menace might not have been the greathorn it ought to be. My mind turned to the battle at the Erbelde. It was only after the river began swelling that I realised some diablerie was at work upon the tributary. Nevermind the fact that the tributary itself was clearly drawn upon a map, so splayed out for us all to see during the war council on the night before. Am I at fault? Or is it conceited overmuch to even think that I have some say in all of this, mere swain that I am? Nay. That¡¯s not it. Not at all. I am a party to this operation, an actor within this woeful play. And so long that I am, I share in the responsibility of noticing such fatal details. The moment my myriad counsels were unheeded by Emilie was the moment I had given up¡ªthe moment I convinced myself that my duty was all but done. I deceived myself, dusting off my hands and thinking that the rest should be shouldered by Emilie, mareschal of the 5th as she was. How mistaken I was. I would do ¡®all that I am able¡¯¡ªwere those not my words? Spoken so resolutely to my sister after the war council? Racked by such thoughts, my eyes turned themselves to Felicia, who, noticing me, parted her lips. ¡°Oh, B-Brother¡­ I¡­¡± she stammered softly. My brows raised quizzically at her. ¡°Th-thank you¡­ for saving me earlier.¡± My eyes went back to the way ahead. ¡°Nay. Let it not trouble you,¡± I returned, ¡°Lady Felicia.¡± She pressed not the exchange any further, falling silent and casting her gaze down sorrowfully. Emilie, seeing this for herself, couldn¡¯t help but share in my sister¡¯s grief. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ D¨¥fend¨¥ns Sp¨©ritus (Original name: ¡°Shield Breath¡±) A succouring magick. Accretes together a collection of convective winds, forming a veil that repels projectiles. Ferum Fulgur (Original name: ¡°Fierce Volt¡±) A levin-elemental bladespell. The sword is imbued with a shroud of electricity. When swung, a fan of lightning is thrown forth, burning and electrocuting targets caught within. Mythofera (plural: mythoferae) A cryptid; that is, a creature of legend or myth. A rarity amongst rarities, they are implied to be behem¨®t of the most dangerous sort. Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Radi¨¡ns Aulaeum (Original name: ¡°Gleam Curtain¡±) A succouring magick. Remotely manifests a luminous paling that shuts down the momentum of incoming attacks. Volume 1 - CH 4.5 ¡°Bloomin¡¯ ¡®eck¡­ Ye sure we goin¡¯ the good way, m¡¯loves?¡± fretted Raakel. ¡°Bugger¡¯d if we get lost, eh? What with that murder-cow comin¡¯ after us.¡± ¡°Your nagging has got me proper buggered already, Raakel,¡± Gerd quipped. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, yeah? We walk the right path.¡± Briskly did we stride on our winding way to the adit, never knowing when that demon of a bull would burst out of the gloom to gore us from behind. Raakel¡¯s grumblings were well-grounded: the tunnels were all in a tangle, an unschemed skein that led our return every which way. By then, we¡¯d both scaled up and slipped down many a layer, and were now closer to ground level than we were upon our first encounter with the catoblepas. Only, our worries seemed to have no end in sight¡­ ¡°There are stray paths here, ones unmarked upon the map,¡± I observed while on the move. ¡°Heed their wiley wendings and we risk going astray with them.¡± ¡°Rolf, you mean to say the maps were mistaken?¡± Emilie asked. ¡°I do. Lord Gerd said it himself at the war council: the mad rush for silver of forty winters past led to a blind expansion of the tunnel system. Unfortunately for us, the cartographers¡¯ diligence was no match for the old miners¡¯ zeal.¡± None of the returned squads had reported the presence of such unmarked paths. Perhaps it was in being so fervent and focused upon finishing their own part of the operation that they failed to pay a mind to any tunnel beyond the route assigned to them. ¡°Haa¡­¡± came Sheila¡¯s exasperation. ¡°The murk of these mines are as the muds of a marsh¡­ I dearly hope we¡¯re well on our way to the exit.¡± ¡°Another worrywart, eh Sheila? Well, you can hang up your mudboots; we trace the 8th Squad¡¯s footsteps as we speak, and as far as I know, they themselves were untroubled on their way back up to cam¡ª¡± ¡°¡­Hhrroooohhh¡­!¡± As if to jeer at Gerd¡¯s attempt at consolation, a beastly bellow broke the air from a ways behind us. ¡°Tch!¡± clucked the eldest Owlcrane. ¡°Bloody quick for a cow, this catoblepas!¡± ¡°Emilie, up ahead!¡± Felicia pointed. ¡°An emptied stope awaits! Just a bit further!¡± ¡°Right!¡± our mareschal nodded. ¡°I suppose that¡¯s where we¡¯ll dance the long waltz, then.¡± With our hearts steeled, we ran further in our course till our emergence into the stope: an expansive cove of burgeoned breadth, greedily gutted of all its ore. ? The six of us were huddled behind cover in that gaping hollow, hastily forming a strategy as per Emilie¡¯s instructions. Gerd, Felicia, and Emilie herself were to standby near the mouth of the gangway, from where we were certain the catoblepas would emerge. Their duty was to dole out a coordinated ambush, one aiming to have the beast buckle down to its hocks and knees. Raakel and Sheila, for their part, were to wait a ways off, their charge it was to execute the catoblepas in its collapsed state. Our warrior readied her maul, with the whole of its head and haft emboldened by our surgien¡¯s succouring magicks. ¡°Where our blades fail, we leave it to Raakel,¡± Emilie chanted. ¡°Let¡¯s hope you¡¯re fit for the leading part!¡± ¡°Aye, an¡¯ it¡¯ll be a play ye won¡¯t soon ferget!¡± nodded Raakel. ¡°All me odyl¡ªright here in me silvermaul, it is!¡± With that, we all scurried off to our positions and waited with bated breath. I had the unfortunate pleasure of being positioned in the far rear. Disappointing, to be sure, but this was not the time to pout; an ungraced would prove to be of small avail here. Our ears perked. From the gangway echoed the catoblepas¡¯ panting, deep and gust-like. The sound stiffened us all. Down our cheeks rolled beads of sweat. Electricity cracked and snapped about Emilie¡¯s silverblade, while tongues and tendrils of flame seethed about Gerd¡¯s own. Sheila quietly conjured up another succouring magick, a spell to further bolster Raakel¡¯s sinews. The lurid breathing loudened. Closer now, and closer still. Felicia raised her silverstaff. Raakel clenched her silvermaul. Another moment, and the catoblepas trundled its way into the chamber. An unnerved soldier might be apt to ambush the beast right this instant, but none amongst us were so foolhardy. Our patience stayed us all; only till the catoblepas was squarely within the stope proper would we pounce. Further. Further still. Now the baleful bull was wholly in our view. Then, like a thunderclap, the three sprung to action. ¡°Aci¨¥s I¨±nct¨±rae!¡± ¡°Annihiland¨­!¡± ¡°Gl¨¡rea Pru¨©nae!¡± Emilie and Gerd lunged upon the catoblepas¡¯ forelegs, bringing down their ensorcelled blades upon the bulky limbs. Meanwhile, a frosty pall conjured up by Felicia appeared before the beast, blowing a shrieking gale of sharp ice straight into its face. ¡°Gghhoouuhh!¡± A combined offence, executed by some of the mightiest champions in the 5th¡ªeven a monstrosity like a catoblepas could not help but founder before such fury. But the moment would not go unseized: already was Raakel rushing into the fray. ¡°Ey! Up!!¡± A crack. No mortal body should ever produce such a sound. But produce it did, from where but the beast¡¯s brows as it was struck by a swing of the silvermaul. ¡°Ooggh¡­!¡± the behem¨¢ groaned. ¡°Rruuaaahhh!!¡± howled Raakel, dissolving into a violent blur of scarlet and silver, her maul thrashing every which way as it rained hammer-strikes upon the catoblepas¡¯ countenance. The air shattered against the cacophonous cudgelling, unfettered and unrelenting. ¡°Aahhrr¡­! Gghoohhou¡­!¡± the bull bleated before couching down upon its belly. A prime opportunity¡ªRaakel retracted and raised the savage silvermaul for one more swing, to seal the deal and end the enemy. A flicker. We saw it, each and every one of us. A wicked light roused from the catoblepas¡¯ foul gaze. It wasn¡¯t couched in defeat. No, it was making ready: a low springboard of a stance, from which would follow a deadly charge. ¡°Raakel!¡± shouted Emilie, and just as she did, the catoblepas kicked off. Such mammoth flesh had no right to move with the speed of a loosed arrow, but the beast betrayed all convention as it thrust its murderous mass straight at Raakel. ¡°Tch!¡± ¡°Eah!¡± Our warrior tore away from the charge in the nick of time. Felicia jumped out of the way as well, having found herself in the perilous path. ¡°Ghhooaaahhrr!!¡± roared the behem¨¢, unceasing in its advance. Those lamp-like eyes trained upon a new target: me. ¡°Bloody¡ª!¡± I dived to the side to avoid the crazed catoblepas, but with affrighting agility, it wound about and commenced another charge right at me. ¡°Globus Igneus!¡± rang Felicia¡¯s incantation, and in the darkened air, there bloomed a billow of flame. At once, it constricted into a fiery orb and shot straight into the catoblepas mid-charge. From the ensuing explosion emerged the beast, hindered not in the slightest. Its path was unchanged¡ªit was keen to finish me off. Perhaps it was wont to wipe its plate clean of any ungraced morsels before moving on to the main course. ¡°Vvhooohhh!¡± ¡°Ach!¡± I ducked out of the way. It looped and charged once more. This exchange repeated for but a few seconds of deadly eternity. At the end of it all, I was cornered. Opposite of the gangway leading into this stope was another winze, a veritably gaping gulch leading down to the lower levels. And there was I, standing at its edge. ¡°Rolf!¡± screamed Emilie, dashing straight to me. But the beast was faster. With vaunting vehemence, it smashed its way right into my midst. ¡°Eehhgh!¡± An all-consuming impact¡ªwhat incredible power. Fortunate enough was I to avoid being gored by its horns, but that was where my luck ran out: its rampaging snout struck me squarely. Such force threatened to snap the very arms I used to defend with, but it instead sent me flying into the sighing shaft. But I wasn¡¯t alone. The catoblepas, too, parted from the cliff edge, unable to mitigate its own momentum. Together, man and beast abandoned all footholds and plunged into the deep. In that fall, a dear echo met my ears. ¡°¡­Brother¡­!¡± ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Aci¨¥s I¨±nct¨±rae (Original name: ¡°Juncture Edge¡±) Levin-elemental bladespell. Envelopes the sword in a cloud of electricity. Its peculiars are unknown as of yet, but presumably produces a blast of lightning upon each blade strike. Annihiland¨­ (Original name: ¡°Annihilation¡±) Fire-elemental bladespell. Ignites a raging flame about the sword, imbuing each swing with a hammer-strike of fire that continues even if the blade is blocked. Gl¨¡rea Pru¨©nae (Original name: ¡°Frost Gravel¡±) Ice-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of shards and/or stumps of ice, directed towards a target at high speeds. Pierces and/or pummels on impact. Globus Igneus (Original name: ¡°Fireball¡±) Fire-elemental battle magick. A spell in the form of a sphere of flames, conjured and lobbed at a target. Explodes and scorches on impact. Volume 1 - CH 4.6 My body tumbled through the dark¡ª ¡°Ahgh!¡± ¡ªand slammed against some solid surface. Crash and cry both bookended the dive the catoblepas and I took together from the winze edge above. A trail of dust smoked off of the cliff face, tracing my descent. I had not flown clear through the air, but like a coiled woodlouse, rolled and skidded instead against the steep rock wall on my way down. A fall of almost fourteen pass¨±s, was it? ¡°Hha¡­ haa¡­!¡± My breathing was in disarray, but I had to get up¡ªimmediately. I groped about, finding a wall. Leaning against it, I laboured my way up to my feet and hastily scanned the environs. The gaping hole the beast and I fell through¡ªit was no winze as I had thought it to be, but a vertical stope: a veritable void where once existed an edifice of silver ore. This hollowed stope continued down further; at its far bottom, there now loomed the catoblepas. ¡°Hhuogh¡­! Ghuogh¡­!¡± The blasted bull peered up straight at me, eyes moiling with murder. It would seem it suffered a longer fall than I had, and ended up on a level lower than mine. Our staring contest did not last long, however: the catoblepas carried off, likely on a beeline right to where I was. ¡°¡­Rolf¡­!¡± came echoes from above. ¡°¡­Ro¡ªlf¡­!¡± Emilie. She was calling out to me. ¡°Em¡ªkhuh¡­! Kha-hah¡­!¡± My lungs were shook and battered. Answering back was a firm impossibility; what should have been my voice was but an itching wheeze. Not long remained before the demon-bull would find its way to me, and find me it will: it would seem the damned thing thinks of little else once it¡¯s settled on a nemesis, a part I had the ill-starred pleasure of playing. I needed a plan. Calming my frayed mind as best I could, I gave the surrounding area another look. Next to me was a rail cart¡ªthe ¡°surface¡± I had crashed into earlier, soon after landing. ¡°Khagh! Ha¡­ haa¡­¡± My breathing had yet to find purchase. Pain throbbed throughout my body. I gripped my chest and attempted to rectify my respiration. The beast knew the mines well. Its wits were keenly whetted¡ªno detours would be taken on its way here. But how long till it arrived? My mind drew up a blank. Nonetheless, I had to start planning. The cart. Should I hop in and ride it to safety? But where to? Where was it safe, even? Fates be damned. My thoughts were threadbare. ¡°Haah¡­! Haa¡­!¡± I inhaled loudly and deeply, ignoring the pain erupting from my every pore. My head was bereft of oxygen, and given the situation, I was fatally obliged to give it all it craved. Was there aught around me that could be of some use? What of the terrain? Could it avail me in some way? I had to think of something, anything at all, lest I be gored to pieces by that behem¨¢¡¯s horns. A proper look around revealed the level to be quite expansive. The ceiling was unsupported; all of its stulls were either rotted away or resting in pieces. Just a ways off were bodies of knights, strewn unceremoniously across the dirt. The quieted remnants of the 15th Squad. The injured soldier had recounted the last moments with his group thusly: in their retreat from the massacre in the choked gangway, they emerged into an expansive stope¡ªthe third sector, in the southern quadrant. This was where they encountered the catoblepas, and their final moments with it. From the looks of it, three exits led off from this level. A discrepancy from the map, which had shown only two. The odd one out was the leftmost gangway. Near it lay a disused rectilinear object, wooden in construction and half a passus in length, thereabouts. A bellows, is it? Must be. ¡°Haa¡­ haa¡­¡± Busied overmuch was my brain, taxingly processing the myriad pangs of pain sent from every corner of my body. I wiped the mental table clean of the noise and funnelled as much of my faculties to the situation at hand. This impasse had to be overcome, and soon. I looked down at my feet to glean the immediate terrain. Where I stood upon was an embankment, which sloped gently down to the wide and level ground below. A rail track ran down this very slope, likely once used to carry down loads of ore via some mine carts. The one next to me was such a contraption, its wheels halted in place by braces on the rail itself. A lever was nearby. Pulling it would ostensibly release the braces and let the cart free to run down the slope. That is, if it weren¡¯t sooner stopped by forty winters worth of rust. No. The rail itself was damaged and decayed at several points. No doubt the cart would derail if left to run along its course. ¡°Ha¡­ haa¡­¡± I attempted to settle my lungs once more. Tackled by a cantankerous catoblepas, tumbling down a fourteen pass¨±s cliff¡ªglad indeed was I to yet draw breath. Wounds were all about my body, ones that might demand immediate medical attention, but in spite of them, I could still move. I suspected the fates have yet to tire of toying with this fool. Faint glimmers about the ground caught my eye. Silver ore? Specimens of assorted sizes were scattered all about. I took one to hand. Always had I thought silver to be a gaudish affair, but a subtle glitter riddling the coarse ore did give the metal the charm of twinkling stars. I saw for myself then why enthusiasts clamoured in droves for such curios. Another upon the ground grabbed my attention, this one long and sharply tapered in shape. Why not stick this into the beast? Right where it stings the most? Be done with the damned demon once and for all, let¡¯s say. Such foolery frolicked in my mind as I took up the serrated stone and slid it inside a breast pocket. A sigh left my lips. Foolery indeed. That I was indulging myself in them was proof that my powers of concentration had not yet made their return. What could this simple stone achieve that an all-out attack from the Owlcranes could not? A strategy¡ªnot a stone. That was what I needed. One with which to bring down the beast. If I were to use these stones, plentiful as they were, certainly there had to be a more cunning employment of them. I drank another lungful of air, cleared the clutter in my mind, and gave my surroundings one last check. Right. Having set myself straight, I went to work gathering up the scattered ore and tossing them into the mine cart. Already was it loaded midway; filling it up to its fullest did not take long. I wiped the sweat from my brows. ¡°Good. That should do it.¡± ¡°¡­Ghwagh, gwafh¡­¡± Like an unsought answer to my mutterings, down through the room echoed the catoblepas¡¯ heaving breaths. It was here. My hand went up and rested on the rail lever. ¡°Come on¡­ A little more. I¡¯m right here¡­!¡± My knuckles tightened into a fist about the iron bar. Sweat seeped from my palm. My chest drummed and drummed. Off in the distance, the hounding hoof-falls found their way into the room. The beast locked its eyes onto mine. A strike against the ground¡ªoff it jolted into a charge. I pulled the lever. At once, the ore-engorged cart shrieked down the tracks. My mind raced¡ªif memory serves, a cubic digitus of silver is little more than two d?ellae in weight. I glanced at the cart. Fifty-five by eighty by forty-five¡­ almost two-hundred thousand cubic digit¨©: the cart¡¯s total capacity, now heaped with silver ore. From what I¡¯d espied earlier, the ore here was pure by about a third; Godrika truly is generous. Now accounting for negative space and the weight of impurities¡­ ¡°Nine-thousand l¨©brae, just about?¡± The heft of the exotic elephant. Quite the punch. But exactly how much of one? My mental calculations stopped there; not even our arithmeticians have figured out how to run such numbers yet. But the cart now rolled down the slope with considerable speed; the momentum should add more than thrice its weight to the total. Its iron wheels clanked and clattered as it cruised down towards the charging catoblepas. By now the beast was bounding its way up the embankment straight for me, but the sight of the speeding iron box should surely startle it. Nay. This fiend was no fool. These mines were its home. It knew the character of these carts, that they cannot run beyond the rails they were set upon. And so the beast simply swerved out of the way. ¡°Gwoufh, gwoufhh!¡± it seemed to jeer at me, its fiery eyes fixed upon mine. Seemed? Not anymore. The feral mocking was genuine¡ªthe beast absolutely bristled with bedevilled delight, comforted in knowing that victory was in its grasp. How curious. There truly is no end to the intricacies of behem¨¢ behaviour. ¡°I see Man¡¯s not the only creature taken with treat-giving!¡± I taunted, before breaking into a sprint¡ªright towards the beast. ¡°You¡¯ve shown me a year¡¯s worth of wonders today, ugliness! Now here¡¯s a treat of my own!¡± Certainly it would¡¯ve been best had the cart crashed into the catoblepas, but to think that it would was pure na?vet¨¦. Plan B. I knew it would come down to this. The ¡°buffoon¡¯s plan¡±, more like, but I had naught else up my sleeve. Past the catoblepas, the cart left the slope and levelled on flat ground. Only, the rail curved immediately from then on, and where it did, the track was already greatly deteriorated. Met with this sudden turn, the overloaded cart jumped¡ª ¡ªthe sound of screaming iron. The iron wheels cut through the rusted rounding rails, and further off the cart shot, its elephant-like weight lunging into the rock wall. The air boomed. The mines bellowed. From a memory whispered Emilie¡¯s voice. ¡°¡­that area is ready to collapse at the feather¡¯s touch¡­¡± The war council¡ªher finger hovered over the map. Sector three. Southern quadrant. Red ink slashed across it, forbidding all combat within its perimeter. Confusion flickered across the catoblepas¡¯ maw and brow as the ground quaked and groaned. And off to the beast¡¯s side was I, but for only an instant: mustering all might into my legs, I dashed past it, my eyes fixed upon a different destination. Its hatred unfaded, the behem¨¢ pivoted violently about and attempted to catch me with a swipe of its horns, but in its own eyes rolled the reflection of a greater force: boulders. Boulders upon boulders upon boulders. Bountiful and ubiquitous, a mountain falling down. Stones once composing the very ceiling of this far-reaching room. A new cacophony crashed through the cavernous air. Rocks rained and rained, fully flooding the entire area. A great boulder with a girth half that of the catoblepas¡¯ own body dived right into the back of the beast. But no time was given for its victim to let out so much as a single cry of pain, as the monster was soon immured under a growing mound of stones. Unceasing were the quakes and roaring rumbles. The boulders pelted the scene, each intent upon pressing and pulverising all caught within. Lifeless objects, mercilessly stamping out all signs of life. And their mission of massacre continued on for a while longer yet. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Digitus (plural: digit¨©) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the width of a finger. 1 centimetre is equal to 0.5405 of a digitus. A digitus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 2 centimetres. D?ella (plural: d?ellae) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, with the diminutive meaning of ¡°little double (sixths)¡±, referring to its purpose as a ? subdivision of the ¨±?ncia, another unit of measure. 1 gram is equal to 0.1095 of a d?ella. A d?ella, therefore, can be roughly equated to 9 grams. L¨©bra (plural: l¨©brae) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans; also known as the ¡°Roman pound¡±. 1 gram is equal to 0.00304 of a l¨©bra. A l¨©bra, therefore, can be roughly equated to 330 grams or ? of a kilogram. Stull In mining, woodwork that is erected against walls and ceilings as a protection against collapses and errant stones. Volume 1 - CH 4.7 ¡°Rolf! Where are you? Rolf!¡± ¡°Brother!¡± Across the rock-flooded chamber echoed Emilie¡¯s and Felicia¡¯s desperate calls. From the gangway, the girls emerged into the broken, byzantine scene, with the rest of the Owlcranes cautiously in tow. Their way was unhindered enough; fortunately, the gangway¡¯s mouth was left unbarred by the cave-in. ¡°Rolf! Answer us! Please!¡± Stones pressed against me from all over. My chest and diaphragm were constricted¡ªI could not answer the girls¡¯ pleas. For that, I must first crawl out of this cage of rubble. Finding myself laying upon my side, I roused my every sinew to push and part away the rocks. ¡°Rolf!¡± Emilie cried, spotting me as I slid out from my lifesaving canopy: a greatshield. Dented all over it was, but it well-withstood the pummeling rock-rain. ¡°Ey up, muscle-pate! Ye look the gormless turtle there, eh? Hidin¡¯ under that greatshield from the rockfall an¡¯ what not. Jammy ye found it here o¡¯ all places!¡± ¡°It would appear even impious turtles are fit for the mercy of the fates. Indeed, this day sees their full smiles upon you, my silly swain. The catoblepas¡ªit is swallowed. We have much to be thankful for.¡± ¡°Hah! The cave-in¡¯s the work of his cunning, more like. Couching beneath the shield like that¡ªI¡¯ll bat not an eye if that, too, was writ in his schemes.¡± The collective commentaries from the other Owlcranes. Back on my feet, I caught a glance of Gerd¡¯s displeased demeanour. But his words had the right of it. The sole survivor of the 15th Squad¡ªby his account, it was in this very stope where he last encountered the catoblepas. With his greatshield did he survive its lethal charge¡ªthe same shield that had carried him past the hail of arrowfire at the drifts of the Erbelde. But the brunt of the beast¡¯s attack proved too overwhelming, and it was here that the poor soldier parted with his dear protector. Just as he had said, the slab of iron was waiting here all this time. I had found myself in his same predicament, but with his beloved shield did I defy a hail of a different sort. Though, had I found myself under a boulder as enormous as the one squarely suffered by the catoblepas, that certainly would have been the end of me. That I stood here now, beholding the Owlcranes and my sister, was fortunate proof of the contrary. Sheila was on the mark: I had the fates to thank. But just as I had the thought to do so, the hairs on my nape stood on end. Electricity ran through my senses¡ªsomething, somewhere, wished to kill. ¡°Oh, Brother¡­ your wounds. We must see to the¡ª¡± ¡°Stay back!¡± My thundering bark stayed Felicia in her approach. Right after came a rumble. Off in the distance, boulders rose. From under them emerged the beast. ¡°Gwfaah¡­! Goufh¡­!¡± that bull-demon breathed, heatedly, heavily. Its eyes twitched across their every corner about before freezing in their seething stare©`upon me. And only me. Nary a mind was paid to the others present, their faces affrighted. No, the catoblepas freed itself from its live burial and commenced another charge straight at its ungraced enemy. Stones flew from the beast¡¯s rampaging path. I joined them as I dived off to the side. The escape found me untouched and the behem¨¢ beleaguered by both its wounds and the sheer maze of obstacles barring its way¡ªdulled now were its erstwhile violence and vigour. But no advantage was gained: this was a stalemate, through and through. The other five here were champions of the 5th Order, and neither their combined assault nor a gigantic falling boulder were able to put an end to this beast. What then, could? There was little time. I searched for an answer. Off to the side, a mouth in the wall¡ªanother gangway leading out. Next to it, the bellows I had noted before. ¡°Rolf!¡± yelled Emilie. ¡°All of you, stay away!¡± I shot back. ¡°I¡¯m its mark¡ªno one else!¡± Time for Plan C. I bolted off, only to be immediately paralysed by pain now striking my every nerve like lightning. Perhaps in being flooded in all this agony were the throbs of broken bones drowned out. ¡°Egh!¡± I winced furrowingly. No time to tarry and whimper. Death was coming. I forced one foot forward after the other and gained speed down the gangway, all the while sensing behind me the frenzied behem¨¢ tearing down the same path. ¡°Gaufh! Haufh!¡± it fumed, the beastly breaths searing my back like sirocco winds. But I pressed on, whipped into a fevered pitch by a primal fear, one of being gruesomely gored from behind. Pain nagged away even now, ever so audible in its screams throughout my body. And so I muffled them from my mind, focusing solely on flying down the darkened tunnel. Water¡ªif there is one dilemma that any and all mining ventures could name, underground water would be the first to be aired. Strike the wrong rock and the entire minery could be inundated if left unchecked. To deal with it, bellows are sent in to syphon the water away. That one such contraption lay back in the caved-in stope meant that further ahead slept a wellspring. Or at least, I hoped so. But if true, then a sizable body of water must have built up in the course of these last four decades. That would be my next destination, and if the fates remained kind, the catoblepas would be a fool to this fact. ¡°Oufh¡ª!¡± I yelped, stopping dead in my tracks. The gangway terminated¡ªno more ground lay before me. There I stood, upon the edge of another cliff. Before me sighed a shaft, like a great tower of shadow. Far down below was its sump, now as an abyss of black waters¡ªjust as I had predicted. While murky, I could yet glean that it spanned far and deep. A veritable lake, this was. I swivelled around and locked eyes with the beast as it rampaged down the gangway. Wrath writhed through its every sinew. The wounded catoblepas, now but a creature bent upon the kill, set its course straight for me. Standing firm, I peered through the thick dark to discern the behem¨¢¡¯s features once more. The thing was but a mass of muscle and bones. Clearly an illusion, for how else could blades merely bounce off its hide, and hammers and falling boulders scarcely slow its cruel career? Nay, it should certainly be a specimen of steel, elephantine and insurmountable. And that was precisely why it would not swim. Neither could the ¡°hippo¡±, waterborne critter of the southern lands as it is. No, any creature, even with lungs of its own, would sink if heavy enough¡ªthe same should hold true for the beast before me. ¡°Come¡­ This race is run, my friend!¡± I tempered my resolve, gulped down all the air my torso would allow, and bent low to readiness. The catoblepas and I, how battered and bruised we were. This would be the last exchange between us, the end of our game of cat-and-mouse. One final, fierce moment. Ten pass¨±s. Five pass¨±s. One! I leapt backwards, right before contact could be made. My hands rushed up to catch the incoming horns, keeping them from running me through. ¡°Eaagh!¡± I groaned behind clenched teeth. My arms trembled against the sheer shock of having absorbed the catoblepas¡¯ charge¡ªthough injured, my foe¡¯s fury fueled the attack plenty enough. Pain once again rattled my entire body; I felt as though my flesh had begun to unravel at its every seam. There we fell once again, together, through the shadowy shaft. I had avoided death by goring, but now another predicament loomed. My back pierced the water. Thunder slammed against my eardrums. Then, all was muffled. Behind the curtain of bubbles, man and beast melted into the watery black. Within it, our battle was broken. From the hulking horns were my hands freed. Confusion arrested my wits, but they found purchase soon enough. I squinted, scouring the turbid dark for the beast. There it was¡ªright beside me. Then, softly, it sank. I was right. The thing could not float. Not with an ungainly body like that. Something went right at last. Relief began to set in. But the fates were conspiring. Only a fool would fall for relief¡¯s feint upon so cruel a place as a battlefield. The catoblepas had till now walked through mountains and valleys of corpses of its own making. Certainly many amongst those dead were taken by the same relief before their own ends. Delicious opportunities, they must have been. And the beast was not about to let another go unseized. ¡°Bwafh¡­!¡± Precious air plumed from my mouth. Sharp pain erupted from my left ankle. Giant teeth were eating into my leg. The catoblepas funnelled the last of its strength into its maw, all in a bid to share a grave with its final foe. Down. Down. Down, into the deep I drifted, pulled along by spite incarnate. But my leg was yet whole¡ªthe beast was soundly spent, its maw firm but mild in its bite. Were it any other day, just a mere twitch of its jaw would have torn off a man¡¯s limbs like wet paper. But that was all well and fine for the beast. There was no need to tear aught. Not anymore. Pulling me down sufficed. A piece of paper is just as doomed at the dark bottom of a flooded sump, after all. Ye shall savour naught a scrap o¡¯ vict¡¯ry. By my shadow I¡¯ll shut out the sun o¡¯er all your future days, I will. Your days, and only yours. I spied such thoughts in the beast¡¯s eyes, vindictive ruminations that were as kindling to the conflagrations in its scarlet stare. Eyes by whose fell light stabbed the darkness. Eyes that craved murder, committed through any and all means. Eyes that would shoot horror and hysteria into the faint of heart. Eyes portending so much calamity¡ª ¡ªgored through with a shard of ore. ¡°Vfwagh¡­!?¡± frothed forth the final breath from the beastly lungs, freeing my leg from the bite of the slacking maw. The ghostly sun in its eye was shut out by the silvered stone, a souvenir I had availed myself during my dazed planning. Thus did the now half-eyed beast drift quietly into the deep. Yet the other half¡¯s gaze remained unbroken upon me, still and intent. I stared back, watching as the beast was swallowed up by the abyss. The thing had dealt death to droves of our knightly number. No doubt it was our nemesis. Yet it was we who had encroached upon its dwelling. To curse it was foul duplicity and blatant bigotry. Nay. I admired its heart instead. Curiously so. The heart of the defiant, fixed upon the battle at hand, one fought to the end of all ends. No matter the manner of the moment, that behem¨¢ struggled on and on. With every bone and sinew and thought in its mind and body tasked to the fight, it failed in only one respect: to, at any point, relent before its last moment. What look had I upon my face, I wonder? The face of an ungraced, a man ever at odds with his fellow men. A man that has now come to revere not his brethren, but a beast. What was the look upon the face of such a man, witnessing that same vaunted creature vanishing beyond the verge of all knowing? As if the thought to do so had just occurred to me, I began my swim back up, leaving the lifeless empty below. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Sump In mining, the very bottom of a vertical shaft. A pit in which collects waste material, and at times, drainage water. Volume 1 - CH 4.8 The catoblepas was slain. With Godrika free from its menace, the 5th Chivalric Order resumed their efforts to secure the bloodied depths. The knights¡¯ diligence proved fruitful, for at just past sundown on the second day, the final squad emerged from the adit and gave the bookending report: the tunnels were at last emptied of their erstwhile inhabitants. The Godrika Minery was back in Londosius¡¯ hands, and the monolithic veins of silver with it. But candles were kept lit, for the work of the knights was yet undone. Many a time was the hourglass turned till late into the moon-crowned night, where adjourned a meeting on the stationing of troops at the mines, as well as the repatriation of the dead therein. Yet again were we to camp under the stars; only on the morrow would we make our way back to headquarters. Through the miracles of mending magicks were my wounds mostly sealed up, though my bones were left in their broken state. The silver lining? I was yet able to walk this time, a thankful convenience compared to the aftermath of Erbelde, where I was left bedridden for days on end. And so I availed myself the opportunity. Sword practice. The daily rigour. The daily comfort. There was I, alone in a benighted grove. Hands clasped about the hilt, I turned my eyes up to the moon. Pain ran through me in an unceasing cycle, but by force of will, I pushed it from my mind. I raised the sword and swung. ¡°Egh¡­!¡± I winced. This won¡¯t do. The pain was the better opponent, sharp and sudden, leading my sword astray in its sailing. ¡°No good¡­ And no choice, either,¡± was my muttered relent. And so I settled into the centre guard, blade forward. If I could not swing with my body, then I would swing with my mind. I emptied my lungs of their air, and purged from my head any remaining distinction between my hands and my blade. Now I had but to repeat the same once more, this time between my consciousness and the ambience itself. In my mind¡¯s eye, the vision of a swung sword. Then another. And another. Downward. Upward. Left. Right. Aslant. In my corporeal eyes, the sight of a stilled sword. Moonlit. Motionless. For countless times more, I continued to swing the sword with not a single budge from my body. Each instance of the blade arc, carefully corrected. Each swing, imbued with the whole of my soul. My brows furrowed. Even in my mind, the blade began to meander. For there before me, that beast awoke. A foe never to be forgotten. The memory of the mines surfacing into the moment. A harrier upon my heart. The envisioned sword was swung many times more, but its course proved uncorrectable. Bent it was in its travel, dull in its cut, slow in its fall. Tonight would be another wasted night. The distractions have won the bout. I closed my eyes, finding there in my heart the blackened waters stirring once more. In its depths, the eyes of the sinking catoblepas¡ªeyes brimming with the brilliance of battle, bright and burning, till they were as embers stamped out by the cold abyss. Those very eyes had shown me what a valley there was between their master and myself. Of how unconquerable the catoblepas¡¯ spirit was. Of how dwarfed my defiance was. I had won the game of life and death, but lost the war of wills. ¡®I am without odyl. If victory is not in the cards, then I have but to fold.¡¯ Somewhere, somehow, I had fooled myself into believing such, that this would be the way of things from here on out. And so I lost, and continued to lose, till the battle came whereupon my very essence was to be judged. There, too, I lost. The odyl of which I lacked, the world in which I lived¡ªneither were factors in this fight. Only my spirit was the participant, and by the end, it was beaten and brought low. How pathetic. Eyes open, I gave a deep breath. With renewed determination, I clenched the hilt of my sword. Back to the beginning now. Till there rang a voice I knew very well. ¡°Brother.¡± Long has it been since I¡¯ve failed in sensing someone¡¯s approach before their call. Another defeat¡ªhow many more must I endure before the light of dawn? ¡°My Lady Felicia,¡± I answered. A brooding mien shaded her fair face. ¡°¡­I am yet your ¡®Lady¡¯, now of all times?¡± ¡°As you must be.¡± I knew well what she wanted to say, but breaking custom here would have done neither of us any favours. This was not simply a matter of paying the requisite respect to a superior. No. Felicia would gain only grief in consorting with me so congenially, ungraced as I am. What¡¯s more, House Buckmann had forbidden even the sharing of words between us. Were it to fall upon the ears of our parents that she yet harboured any warmth for her wayward brother, then surely a shadow would loom anew upon her future prospects. For her part, Felicia must have been well-apprised of this by now. Yet to her, knowing and accepting were hardly two sides of the same coin. Such a troubled soul stared on at me, sullen. ¡°If I may ask, what is it that you¡¯ve been doing here?¡± she said dispiritedly. ¡°Training, my Lady,¡± I returned. ¡°My daily practice.¡± ¡°Yet those hands have hardly swung the sword even once, in all the time that I¡¯ve watched you,¡± Felicia observed. ¡°Is it that your wounds have gotten the better of you?¡± ¡°Nay. One may yet swing a sword that cannot be swung, as it were.¡± ¡°I¡­ see. I think¡­ Were this training only as constructive as it is cryptic.¡± Lost upon my own sister, I see. I couldn¡¯t blame her. Not least because our disciplines were worlds apart. ¡°Well? How may I be of service to the Lady Felicia?¡± I asked, to which my sister began parting her lips for words that would surely issue with no small difficulty. ¡°¡­I¡­ I owe you much and more¡­ for your bravery.¡± For having saved her from the catoblepas, perhaps? There was a tone of gratitude in her voice, certainly, but I also sensed some regret couched in that timbre. ¡°And my words after the war council¡ªthey were bitter overmuch,¡± she continued. ¡°¡®Twas an undue slight that I¡¯ve let slip.¡± ¡°One I pay not a mind to,¡± I dismissed. ¡°But¡­¡± ¡°What left your lips was not so out of line. But be that as it may, some biting words here and there are well and fine, I¡¯d say,¡± was my admittance. ¡°We¡¯re family, after all. You and I.¡± Anew upon Felicia¡¯s lips: a faint smile. She then let her gaze fall, and there our company sat still for a quiet, moonlit while. At its end, she looked up again. ¡°¡­Brother¡­¡± she softly started, ¡°¡­you¡¯d slain that behem¨¢ all by yourself, hadn¡¯t you? That affrighting catoblepas¡­ murderer of all our men¡ªwith just you alone was it felled¡­¡± ¡°I was hardly alone,¡± I corrected. ¡°Yet hardly had I and the others done aught. ¡®Tis certain: we were¡­ we were of no avail¡­¡± Her voice trailed off to quietude before another joined our midst. ¡°Rolf, Felicia. You two¡¯ve been here all along, I see.¡± Felicia turned up. ¡°Emilie¡­¡± Our young mareschal came into the moonlight. Her timbre, too, was void of its erstwhile vigour. ¡°¡­Even on a day like this, you won¡¯t rest from your training, Rolf?¡± Emilie asked flatly. ¡°Yes, Mareschal.¡± ¡°I see¡­ But do temper yourself.¡± Her regard had the look of complete exhaustion about it. We had won the day, but only upon the bodies of the vainly departed¡ªthose of none other than her own subordinates. I could not imagine what a crushing burden it must have been upon her heart. ¡°Your counsel, Rolf. It portended much¡­ hadn¡¯t it?¡± Our point of contention. Silence was my answer. ¡°The behem¨¢ menace, the tangled routes of retreat, the casualties¡­¡± Emilie resumed. ¡°Had I heeded your warnings, certainly the day would¡¯ve sung a different tone.¡± ¡°The day is ours regardless,¡± I reaffirmed dispassionately. ¡°¡­I suppose it is, in the end.¡± ¡°Emilie¡­¡± Felicia gently spoke up. ¡°Are you unwell?¡± The two girls were as sisters to one other. That Felicia would show such concern for the visibly haggard Emilie was most natural, for between them was shared a sympathy nurtured since their earliest days. ¡°Unwell? I¡­ Yes. I am unwell, I admit,¡± said Emilie. ¡°Felicia. Not long ago, I bade your brother seek a different path¡ªone of strategy and planning, perhaps, things of that sort. He¡¯s a wise one, as you well know. And that¡¯s why I thought he¡¯d find some purchase, were he to sheathe the sword for good¡­¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± ¡°Yet¡­ ¡®twas that same wisdom that I took ill-heed of. Only yesterday did I reject his counsel outright, and now¡­¡± Emilie shook her head. ¡°¡­Now we¡¯ve got graveyards to fill. Families to condole.¡± ¡°But Emilie, ¡®tis not¡­¡± ¡°You had your reasons,¡± I asserted. ¡°And they were valid enough. To say you rejected my proposals outright is a bit much.¡± ¡°Yet the losses we¡¯ve suffered were both unreasonable and overmuch; no excuse or comfort now can bring back all the dearly departed,¡± Emilie insisted. Her lips then slowly bent into a smile¡ªa weary, lightless smile made to mock none other than Emilie herself. ¡°¡­When I¡¯d heard the 15th¡¯s report, I couldn¡¯t contain my shame: I had to enter the mines myself and settle the matter with my own hands. ¡®Twas witless of me, looking back on it now¡­¡± ¡°Oh, Emilie¡­¡± Felicia consoled. ¡°¡¯Twas a greathorn we all thought the beast to be, no? Were that the case, certainly your levinblade would have felled the fiend.¡± ¡°¡­You thought to punish yourself, didn¡¯t you?¡± I elucidated. ¡°Atonement, tempered by regret¡ªimpetus enough to send yourself into the tunnels, where you might right your wrongs.¡± ¡°Yes¡­ that sorts well, I must say. What a fool I was,¡± Emilie confessed, her eyes drifting off to some memory. ¡°And the Mareschal Tiselius¡­ I admit again, I see something of a rival in her. She often fights on the frontlines, doesn¡¯t she?¡± Estelle Tiselius. Dame Mareschal to the 1st Chivalric Order. I had not thought her name would come up in this conversation, but here we were. Widely reputed for her valour upon the frontlines she was, but I could not comprehend why that would stoke within Emilie the fires of competition. ¡°The Mareschal Tiselius is a hero-dame of our realm, that much is certain. But the Lady Emilie is hardly wanting for merits of her own,¡± I observed. ¡°Am I wrong? I see no reason why you must be compelled to play the rival so.¡± ¡°¡­You¡¯re right¡­¡± Emilie relented, letting her gaze fall. Yet another matter remained uncertain in her heart, one she brought to voice after much struggle. ¡°Rolf. About what you said before, of how our kingdom means to expand its military might, should we take back these mines¡ªwill it come to pass, do you think? Now that we¡¯ve done just that?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve no doubt.¡± Silver. Londosius¡¯ dearest fodder for its lions of war. Godrika was at last the kingdom¡¯s own, and eager were its royal hands to reach into the purified bowels and snatch up all the silver it so coveted. And not to the crafting of coins or crowns would the precious metal be tasked. No, every molten droplet of the argent would fill the moulds in which would form the pride of Londosius: silver weapons and silver armour. Nothing else. And certainly, many wills within the kingdom¡¯s legislative halls were long bent upon seeing this through¡ªCentral, in particular. Indeed, the administrative canopy over the five Orders was as an aviary aplenty with war hawks, each itching and impatient upon his perch. Our success here at the mines would doubtlessly see that fiery flock flourish. ¡°We¡¯ll be showered with decorations for what we¡¯ve achieved today¡­ won¡¯t we?¡± Emilie wondered aloud with furrowed brows. ¡°Likely.¡± Many souls here were lost. And many amongst them again were the dear issue of the aristocracy. The 5th, after all, is a grand gathering of ennobled sons and daughters all seeking to start their decorated lives. The implication here cannot be understated. But another implication, one of a newfound source of silver¡ªa seemingly endless supply of it, one could imagine¡ªis overshadowingly monolithic by comparison. Londosius was changed forever. An able commander is he who knows best how to kill his own soldiers, that his own ends might be given furtherance. A cruel and cutting truth, one that undeniably manifested here at the mines, much to Emilie¡¯s chagrin. But I suspect Central would have fained to agree with frightening immediacy. ¡°¡­My heart tells me to step down as mareschal, that I might answer for my failings,¡± confided Emilie. ¡°It¡¯ll hardly atone for all we¡¯ve lost, only¡­ I cannot see myself keeping the mareschal¡¯s mantle for much longer. Yet¡­ yet stay, I must¡­¡± Tears fell from the young mareschal¡¯s eyes. ¡°House Mernesse¡­ my poor, poor family¡­ We¡¯re so small, so faint, I fear¡­ I fear we are as a raft upon the fickle seas¡­ ready to founder against the slightest wave¡­¡± she wept. ¡°¡­This victory¡ªhow I detest it so¡­ yet I need it, if only to keep my family afloat¡­¡± Mernesse. A noble line fallen upon hard times. With but a few servants and no land to call its own, House Mernesse was like to fade as a bubble set loose upon the barbed winds of aristocratic society. Yet Emilie¡¯s fortunes gave it the purchase it needed to survive. Though, just the same, its heavy fate now rested solely upon her young shoulders. But for her family to persist with any certainty, a further arrangement must be consummated. ¡°¡­And House Albeck¡­¡± Emilie continued. ¡°¡­If I¡¯m to honour the engagement, then I¡¯ve no choice¡­ none save remain in the Order¡­¡± House Albeck¡ªits son and heir to whom Emilie was now betrothed. It would seem her station as an elite within the Order gave substance to the engagement. The shackles of aristocratic life, as it were. I¡¯ve since been freed from them, for better or worse. Yet here, Emilie remained indelibly bound by them. Never would these worries have harried me had you found the grace of Yon¨¢¡­ Words that Emilie dared not utter. But they spoke the simple truth. Were we yet betrothed and to be blessed with a happy ever-after, she would not have known the misery that now mired her so. On and on, she sobbed. Felicia, helpless, did naught but look on to great sorrow. The night after a hard-won victory. The victors¡ªnot amongst them was shared a single smile. Volume 1 - CH 5.1 Two winters have wheeled by since the day we recaptured the Godrika Minery; five from the day of my enlistment here at the 5th. At twenty years of age, my charge yet remained as Emilie¡¯s swain. From the time of her promotion to mareschal and onwards, Emilie had been taking the liberty of nominating me for the rites of investiture. A gracious gesture, to be sure, but ultimately a futile one, for it seemed the Marquis Norden was no man to wax philanthropic for an ungraced. Thus has my daily routine changed little over the last two years, whether it be in the daily plying of the sword or my menial duties as a swain. Yet the same could not be said of the world around me, wuthering as it was against the winds of change. There was no doubt in any mind that Godrika hid within its bowels a bounty of silver ore. More doubtless again, however, was that none amongst them could have expected so colossal a yield. The argent boon was subsequently meted out to all members of every Order in the form of silver gear. Rank had little say in the matter: whether he be a seasoned officer or a fresh swain, each and every member of the Order was armed and dressed in that garish metal. Save, of course, for the lone ungraced. As such, I was the drab dot in a sea of silver, fitted as I was in banal iron. The reasoning was simple. Why bequeath to an odylless soul the greatest odyllic conductor of all materials? Obvious again was the answer, and so too was my unsightly presence¡ªmore so than ever before. ¡°Well, if it ain¡¯t our good ol¡¯ alga. Next sword-waggin¡¯ session¡¯s with me, lad!¡± the knights would often gaggle, as they raised their feders at me. And at the end of each training session, I would be found down on the ground, laid low, brought low, and thoroughly beaten. There was a time when I could handily hand the common knight his defeat in our play of swords. But those days have long since dusked. With silver armour aplenty to deploy their palings with, the knights were now forever beyond the reach of my blade. No longer was there a single opponent to whom I could bare any teeth. ¡°Oi alga. Alga! Have these feders filed and tucked away, will you?¡± ¡°We¡¯ve some more here as well, Ser Alga.¡± New jeers have joined the jesting these days. The second voice: that of a springtide swain. And in those jeers, there prevailed the pinching term. Alga. The ¡°soot-steeped¡±. It was not long after my enlistment that I was branded with the nefarious byname, conceived as it was from my soot-stained appearance as I emerged from the newly cleaned hearth, upon that cold eventide years ago. But now was it eagerly and openly aired in full disdain against my person. Indeed, even from the lips of the greenest swains came mouthings of much scorn. Emilie was quick and thorough in her reprimanding of such discrimination. By her quill was signed the command that forbade the ill behaviour, an unprecedented motion, most certainly. Yet for however unprecedented or imbued with goodwill that it was, the motion was one made in vain. But that was not to say that the knights themselves had it easy. No longer could their days be whiled away in daydreams or petty pursuits. To our misfortune, my fears have flowered: Londosius¡¯ lions of war have been let loose, for our sovereign sought battles more than ever before. The battlefields grew in both number and proximity, and many of the soldiers of the Orders soon found themselves practically living on the frontlines. The days before Godrika seemed almost halcyon by comparison. ¡°Y¡¯heard what¡¯s happened to Victor, eh? Went and got his right leg lopped off proper. And not more than two days ago, either.¡± ¡°Yea¡­ the poor lad. ¡®Twas from his thigh on down that got butchered. Took it and ran off, the Nafilim did.¡± ¡°Well he¡¯s alive, at least. Not like Lucas¡ªgot his whole heart ripped out of him, that sorry bastard. Yon¨¢ have mercy on us all¡­¡± A conversation not uncommon within the tired mess hall. Roused was the once-sleeping sword of war, trained now upon battlefields of burgeoning ferocity. The Orders could do little else but oblige, and so sent their great number to certain death. Officers¡ªall of them¡ªwore their fatigued faces with a constant dread. And there was Mt. Godrika. Yes, dreaded Godrika, woeful site of our dear sacrifices two years past; Central apparently took heed of our enumerated dead, and ordered that adjustments be made to the 5th¡¯s organisational structure. Likely an attempt at distancing the precious offspring of the aristocracy from the most belligerent of battlefields. But by now, it was evident enough that those pampered princes and princesses could only remain sheltered from the flames of war for so long. And so it was that the 5th lost its lustre as a calm strait, through which the more careerist-minded recruits found safe passage to the waters of opportunity, once upon a time. Indeed, the nobles have all but lost their haven. The battles numbered overmany, stretched overfar, and craved overmuch. Or perhaps it was even before Godrika that the signs were scrawled in the sand. Yes¡­ Erbelde¡ªat its foundation, that battle was little more than a foray into the lands of our foe, all to seize the fertile basin flowing therein. The kindling for the great war-fire was already smouldering by that point. And now we stood, witnessing before us its full ardour. These days, nary a year wheels by that an officer finds himself unsent to the frontlines. Little wonder, then, that on the daily, the soldiery of the Order was so spent of spirit and burdened of body. The stress, the anger, the frustration¡ªwho better to take it out on than an ungraced? ¡°Want-witted wastrel! What¡¯s your business, ah!? Weakest of us all, an¡¯ here you¡¯ve the nerve to yet draw breath! Whilst our mates file out and make battle!¡± Another scene, one upon the training grounds: a knight berating me with both voice and fist. ¡°They come back to us in coffins, I¡¯ll have you know! Coffins! Samuel gave his life, he did! All that you might housekeep behind the comfort of these walls!¡± It would seem he lost a comrade in a prior battle. The anger it roused proved too great a burden on his heart, and so he sought to share the load, as it were. A tiring bout of violence, all but for a moment of precious equilibrium. ¡°Sinning scum!¡± he spat, kicking my back as I lay in the dirt. And as the strike landed, so too did the noontide bell. ¡°Training¡¯s over, lads and lasses. Hurry up and get your lunches over with, yea?¡± ordered the instructor. A member of the leadership in his own right¡ªbrigadier to the Cavalry Brigade. The other officers heeded him well, for they then dispersed in droves. ¡°Ey, alga,¡± he looked down to me. ¡°Make yourself useful, at least, eh? Keep getting laid low right quick like that, and soon even the shite under my shoe will fetch a finer reugol than you.¡± With those cutting words, the instructor himself quit the training grounds. The only soul left was I, spread upon the dirt like an old rag. ? Noon passed on an ordinary day. There, I was met with a most unordinary visitor. ¡°Lord Rolf,¡± she greeted brightly. Maria¡ªthe young maidservant of House Mernesse. I was merely sat in a corner of the mess hall when I found myself in her company. ¡°I am pleased to find you well after all these winters.¡± Long has it been since I¡¯ve last been addressed so highly, must less spoken to with such deference. It was almost enough to whisk me off my chair. ¡°Likewise, dear Maria,¡± I returned. ¡°You¡¯ve grown¡ªhow old are you now?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve turned fourteen not a long while ago.¡± She carried herself with the air and conduct of an adult, yet retained a juvenile vestige upon her face. Indeed, though she had waited upon Emilie since her tinier days, those accumulated years still found Maria to be a child at her present age. If memory serves, the last I¡¯ve seen of her was on the day I departed the Buckmann barony for good. She stood there at Emilie¡¯s side amidst a gathering crowd, clasping dearly to her mistress¡¯ hands. The look upon her little face told of an innocent sorrow at seeing off her beloved Emilie, so ready as the latter was to embark upon a new path at the Order. The two were precious to one another. Maria adored Emilie with the whole of her heart, while for her part, Emilie lovingly doted upon the little girl. ¡°You¡¯ve come here on business, I take it?¡± I asked, cognizant of the conspicuous timing. ¡°I have, m¡¯lord, as complice to a herald from Master Mernesse. He meets with the Lady Emilie at present,¡± Maria answered eloquently. ¡°I see. To discuss the engagement, no doubt.¡± ¡°¡­Yes, m¡¯lord.¡± The past few days have found our young mareschal to be torn of spirit. Emilie was fracted, brooding¡ªa bird beset by skies of rain, as it were. What¡¯s more, she¡¯d given me leave of two days from my swainly duties. For what reason? Hard to say. Something about wishing to hole up in her chamber and devote more of her energies to her obligations. Not too straining a stretch to say that her engagement was the culprit of her recent character, what with a herald flying here straight from the perch that was the Mernesse estate itself. After all, her betrothed, Kenneth of Albeck, was to turn sixteen this year. The hourglass had finally run its course, it seemed. My formerly betrothed, now off into the arms of another. The mere thought of it was as thorns wound tightly about my heart. ¡°Very kind of you to come and congratulate Emilie, Maria,¡± I said, in the midst of such ruminations. ¡°You always were the one smitten with her.¡± ¡°Your words are ever warm,¡± Maria smiled faintly, now sat across from me. ¡°Though I am come today not for m¡¯lady, but for you, Lord Rolf.¡± ¡°For me?¡± I blinked. ¡°Yes¡­¡± fell Maria¡¯s voice. Her words then ceased, a flow seemingly dammed up in her own heart, for moments passed before she could gather the courage to speak further. ¡°¡­The Lady Emilie¡­¡± Maria began again, shaking her head, ¡°¡­she must not¡­ she must not be made to marry¡­ Not to the young lord of Albeck.¡± ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Alga (Language: Latin; plural: algae) Something worthless. Originally a word referring to seaweed and other freshwater plants. Reugol (plural: reugoles) A standard currency of Londosius. Volume 1 - CH 5.2 ¡°Maria,¡± I began carefully, my ears yet reeling from her most unexpected words. ¡°What¡¯s this, so asudden?¡± Her answer came neither immediately nor matched to any rhythm of conversation. Rather, she sat there, shrunk and shivering in silence, her shaded regard distantly drifting down to the featureless table. ¡®She must not be made to marry the young lord of Albeck.¡¯ Her words of moments before. It was unthinkable for a servant to air even a whisper of dissent against her mistress¡¯ betrothal. But to say outright that the arrangement must not come to pass? This was grave. Certainly no small degree of bravery was needed on Maria¡¯s part to show her heart so. Thus did I refrain from forcing the matter, according her all the time she needed to continue. ¡°¡­Eight winters past¡­¡± she said, almost in a whisper, to which I nodded. ¡°¡­I lived here in Norden. My parents passed asudden, and so I was given to my uncle¡¯s care.¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± ¡°He partook of the bottle from the light of one morrow to the next, and dallied in debt-making wherever he went.¡± Pity left me quiet. Maria resumed. ¡°Till one day¡­ visitors were come to our home¡ªfrightful ones. And there, they soon came to quarrel with Uncle.¡± ¡°Visitors of the vicious sort, I take it?¡± I asked. ¡°Indeed. The moneyers¡¯ men, to be precise¡­ ¡®We¡¯ll take her as payment,¡¯ they said. And then¡­ th-they¡­ they bagged me up¡­ but not before¡­ k¡­ k-killing Uncle¡­¡± Now did her quivering begin to infect her words. It was painfully apparent to me by then that it was not the table that her downcast eyes saw, but a scene¡ªsore and sorrowful, a memory never meant to be treasured. ¡°¡­They kept me locked in some dark place. Besides myself, there¡­ there were two others. One, of about thirty years of age. And the other, twenty, thereabouts. Both were women¡­¡± Her voice now tearfully ebbed. I had a mind to stay her from recounting the hurtful memory any further, but chose to stay myself instead. This was Maria¡¯s resolve. Long was the journey her words took to reach my ears. There was naught to do but listen. ¡°I¡­ I could not tell the manner of the day¡­ All the walls were windowless¡­ But ¡®twas perhaps three days¡­ And in all that time, I was trapped there. At the end, we had visitors, both well-attired¡­ A man in his thirties, and¡­ and a boy, not much older than I was.¡± ¡­A boy? What ill. ¡°T¡­ to us, they looked¡­ a-and said¡­¡± ¡®Well now, what a winsome waist this one has. The eldest bint of the bunch, hm? Ah, yes, truly¡­ alluring, I must say.¡¯ ¡®What of these other two, daddy? Can I have them?¡¯ ¡®No no, my boy. The little one is mine.¡¯ ¡®Mmm, fine then. Little ones last too short a while, anyway.¡¯ ¡®Try not to kill your share so soon this time, will you?¡¯ ¡®But I can¡¯t help it, daddy. Slicing ¡®em up¡¯s such fun¡­¡¯ ¡®The slicing¡¯s best left for their last days; how many times must I remind you, my boy? Savour them softly now, and they may yet keep for a good year.¡¯ ¡­was Maria¡¯s harrowingly meticulous account. No memory so deeply engraved by the chisel of fear could be so easily worn away by the plane of time. What now echoed in Maria¡¯s ears was undoubtedly the vulgar glee of the man and his son. ¡°¡­They shackled us to each other¡­ and had us boarded up on a canvased carriage,¡± Maria went on. ¡°¡­I¡­ I was tr¡­ trembling¡­ all the way¡­¡± Her youthful face wrinkled heartwrenchingly. I looked on, silenced by her emotion. ¡°W¡­ we wended our way up a mountain pass¡­ There, a pack of droll-hounds waylaid us. In their fright, the men¡­ they threw me down from the carriage¡­ ¡®A bait for the beasts,¡¯ they said. And then¡­ and then they left.¡± It was my dearest intention to listen as calmly as I could. But before I knew it, I found my hands clenched white, nails digging into my palms. ¡°I watched the carriage drive away¡­ thinking this was my end, to be eaten up by the beasts¡­ But ¡®twas not to be. A bullboar happened asudden upon the pack and attacked them. The hounds darted away, and the bullboar gave chase¡­ And then¡­ I was alone.¡± The solitude¡ªhaunting, even now. ¡°I had no one left¡­ no place to go¡­ and so I wandered the road¡­ till I crossed paths with a passing caravan. The merchants there helped me¡­ kind they were,¡± Maria¡¯s face softened. ¡°A search was sent out later on for the man and his son, as well as the other women¡­ but ¡®twas all for naught.¡± Naught¡ªon account of a cold trail? Or was the probe barred by the powers that be? A hateful reality that it was likely the latter, I suspected, for ¡®well-attired¡¯ was Maria¡¯s assessment of the wretched duo. Likely again was their aristocratic status, a caste of customers fain for the cruel trade. ¡°¡­Thereafter, I was given to the orphans¡¯ workhouses, and put through a program for us lost children, where we might find some humble employ in the estates of high society. ¡®Twas by that path that I was made a maidservant to House Mernesse.¡± ¡°I see¡­ so that is your story.¡± ¡°Ever and always has the Lady Emilie treated me preciously, low-born though I may be. In my heart, she is a dear sister to me¡­¡± Maria faintly smiled, but the mirth quickly faded away. ¡°¡­And ¡®twas why I could scarcely draw breath when not a few days ago, we were visited by m¡¯lady¡¯s betrothed and his father, the viscount of Albeck.¡± The dots aligned. ¡°Father and son¡­ It was them, I take it?¡± I asked quietly, yet firmly. ¡°You¡¯re certain of this, Maria?¡± ¡°Yes, m¡¯lord. My eyes knew their faces at once. The man and the boy; no doubt they were the Viscount Albeck and his eldest son, the young Kenneth¡ªm¡¯lady¡¯s betrothed.¡± What nightmare is this? Nay. To Maria, this was a crushing reality, one that was upheaving her world right as we spoke. A word as flimsy as ¡°nightmare¡± could not hope to preface her poor fate. ¡°Have you spoken of this to anyone else?¡± I asked again. ¡°What of the baron? Is he apprised?¡± ¡°Nay, m¡¯lord. You are the first to hear of this,¡± Maria answered clearly. ¡°Master Mernesse¡ªhe can ill-endure so dire a blow as another annulled engagement for his dear daughter. Given his fraught circumstance, I fear he¡¯ll lend not an ear to my accusation, grounded as it is in a memory of eight winters past.¡± ¡°And one from a child not more than six years of age at the time, no less. Indeed, there¡¯s not a viscount in this realm that would suffer such a slight¡­¡± ¡°Yes. My fears exactly,¡± said Maria, before nervously wending her eyes back up to meet mine. ¡°But¡­ would you¡­ would you trust in my words, Lord Rolf? ¡®Tis of faint substance, I know, bu¡ª¡± ¡°I would, Maria.¡± ¡°¡­R¡­ really¡­?¡± My immediate answer had earned an honest surprise from her tear-shaded face. An expression of childlike innocence, the first she has shown me all day. ¡°M¡¯lord¡­ I am ever grateful.¡± ¡°Listen well now, Maria. I¡¯m the only soul you¡¯ve sought to tell of this; let it stay that way. This means leaving Emilie out of this affair. I¡¯ll handle the rest,¡± I whispered strongly, leaning in. ¡°I should apologise. For now, you¡¯ll just have to bear with keeping a secret from your dear mistress.¡± ¡°Not at all, m¡¯lord,¡± she shook her head. ¡°I¡¯ll put my fullest trust in you, just as you¡¯ve put yours in me.¡± Trust? How warm a word. One I was most glad to receive. My days as a disdained ungraced had long dulled me to the goodwill of others. But through Maria was I reminded of how immeasurably precious it was to be so trusted by another. A flicker in the heart. My resolve was set. Maria¡¯s trust¡ªI would not betray it. ? Into the 5th¡¯s library the both of us went, and through its collection of almanacks we combed. An annual on the affairs of the aristocracy¡ªwithin it, we discovered the particulars of the Viscount Albeck. Many times was he wed. And of the wives, not less than five were deceased. ¡°Death by accident¡±. Each parted spouse, unceremoniously written off by those three words. No doubt the fangs of foul play were at work here¡ªfangs now bared to Emilie herself, unbeknownst. Perhaps for this occasion, they would file off their hedonist fangs for good? But even then, allowing Emilie to enter the den of such a fell family did not sit well. Not with me. Something had to be done. Only, Emilie must not be apprised of this foul affair. At least, not till this gameboard had run its course. She was the queen piece, but to move her would prove an immediate blunder. Most certainly, she would endeavour to dissolve the engagement were she wise to the nature of her betrothed, but therein lay the rub: we had no proof. Breaking off the betrothal on unsubstantiated grounds would backfire upon House Mernesse with irresistible force, and the wound would prove fatal: Emilie and her family, forever as pariahs in the aristocratic sphere. And that¡¯s to say nothing of the blood, sweat, and tears Emilie had shed to faithfully carry out the office of mareschal, that House Mernesse might endure. Were she to be shunned by the nobility, all of it would be as nothing. ¡°Yes¡­¡± agreed Maria, after I sorted aloud the potential situation. ¡°That seems most reasonable to me, as well.¡± The gameboard was set, then. We now knew our play. Find palpable proof. Report it to the authorities. Bring forth an indictment. There was no other way. But House Mernesse must not be made to involve itself in the indictment. This was the catch, and to play along with it, I would have to act alone and in the shadows. The days till the wedding ceremony were numbered. Against the trickling hourglass, I steeled my resolve all at once. ¡°Dear Maria,¡± I kneeled before the young maidservant. ¡°The way is set; I make for the viscounty of Albeck at eventide.¡± ¡°Yes, m¡¯lord,¡± she nodded. ¡°For my part, I¡¯ll be staying here through the night, and on the morrow make my return to the Mernesse residence.¡± ¡°Right.¡± I rose back to my feet, and urged her thusly. ¡°And just so we¡¯re clear: not a word is to reach Emilie¡¯s ears. Promise me this, Maria!¡± ¡°I do promise,¡± she answered with a bow, after which I began my brisk way out of the library, but not before hearing from behind me Maria¡¯s voice one last time. ¡°Pray, do be safe, Lord Rolf.¡± Volume 1 - CH 5.3 By steed, I sped through the starry evenlight, the dusking roads pointing me to the edge of Norden. Beyond it loomed the neighbouring viscounty of Albeck. Twilight darkened into moonlight. Far up the highroad emerged a gatepost, manned by guards and brightened by braziers. A border check. I¡¯d suspected the main paths would be barred so. Not yet had I left the march of Norden, but already was I met with measures against any interlopers of untoward intent. Such stringent security was typically a luxury employed by some of the more esteemed peers of the nobility¡ªcounts and higher up, namely¡ªbut House Albeck hung on a lower rung of that social ladder. Unusual, but given their criminal character, not unreasonable: doubtless there were many shadowed things that the lord of Albeck wished to hide behind bristling ranks of men. I veered off the highroad and drove instead into the valley¡ªcautiously. Time was of the essence, and the night would only wane from here on out, but I had little choice: braving the less-beaten paths was preferable to drawing suspicion from the viscount¡¯s men. Fortunately, the benighted empty was flush with moonglow, thus was I able to gallop through the darkened hours unhindered. The detour proved the right path. By the next morrow¡¯s noontide, I found myself clear within the viscounty. A town. Through it I went, along the way learning from the folk of the way to their lord¡¯s manor. By their words, it was situated not far from the locality itself. I awayed at once. The open country led to a patch of hilled woods. Riding through the shaded evergreen, I soon spied a manor distantly peeping through the canopy. The viscount¡¯s lair, no doubt. I cantered off to the side and up a hillock, from the summit of which I surveyed the residence. Its grounds were nestled within a trimmed and tended clearing. And it was well-guarded: walls encircled the entire premises, whilst men kept watch about its gatehouse. Breaking into the mansion, making off with some evidence of the cruelties indulged within¡­ Certainly the most expedient way to go about things. Only, the ¡°how¡± of it was the rub. Perhaps I should approach from the back? In the course of my cogitation, I scanned through the area. Movement. Far off in the veiled distance: a convoy of carriages coming up this way. Horse-drawn wagons, to be exact, each with their loads canvased. Goods for the good lord, perhaps? Might prove useful. Dismounting from my steed, I stooped low, then scurried through the shrubbery and down the slope, creeping closer to the wagons¡¯ path. A distraction was needed, something to anchor the drivers¡¯ eyes with. I glanced about for options, finding a large tree nearby, snapped from its stump and lying flat upon the foliage. This, I¡¯ll use. Working quickly, I heaved and turned the tree till it was parallel to the manor-bound highroad. Low again, I waited. The hoof-falls and wheel-dragging loudened. As the procession of wagons approached, I kicked the tree. Down the hillock it tumbled. The escorts blared their voices at the scare, taking it to be some work of banditry or connivery. No time to waste. In the commotion, I slinked away from the scene and made my way around to the opposite side of the hillock before descending the slope there. Through the bushes, I wound about in a half-circle to the procession¡¯s rear. Up to the last of the wagons, I approached. With the eyes of the escorts firmly trained away from me, I then thought to steal a peek into the wagon¡¯s contents. Foodstuffs? Naught but a ¡°banal¡± affair to be found here, as it were. I had a mind to chance upon some evidence, but it would seem my stint in espionage won¡¯t be ending soon. Yet the foodstuffs¡ªcertainly not too valuable a load. It well-explained the wagons¡¯ smattering of escorts and their relative lack of apprehension. Despite the load¡¯s meagre worth, it was thanks to it that I was able to sneak my way to the procession¡¯s midst, an invaluable opportunity in and of itself. Should I hide in one of the wagons? Nay¡ªtheir decks will all be checked at the gatehouse, to be sure. There¡¯s no helping it. I crouched down low and slid beneath the wagon. To its underside, I clung tightly: arms braced about the rear axle and legs wrapped around the reach. A painful position, to be sure, but this was no time to complain. Before long, the wagons went about their way once more, their escorts having deduced the fallen tree to be nothing more than a fluke, and the area to be absent of hostiles. Only, they neglected to check their shadows, for a stowaway now clung along for the shaky ride. ? ¡°The usual grub, eh? Right then, bring ¡®em all in.¡± ¡°Aye, ser.¡± The wagons were wheeled into the manor premises, the requisite load inspections having been completed without a hitch. Merchants and men of the manor both were locked in conversation. From here on, the foodstuffs would be brought into the residence. The guards then sauntered back to their posts; the merchants commenced their labour. I waited under the wagon, and at the moment I suspected all eyes were turned away, I quickly crawled out. With caution shrinking my gait low, I slinked towards the manor proper and into the nearest entryway. No one in sight. ¡°So far, so good¡­¡± I mouthed. Obtaining proof of the Albecks¡¯ offences would require infiltrating the very spot in which they were committed. After all, there wouldn¡¯t be something so conveniently damning as a ledger lying around. The viscount and his son were involved in trafficking¡ªif there was proper proof to be had, it would be in the victims themselves. Should any such poor souls still be in the premises, it¡¯d be best to rescue them and gain their testimony. This, I reasoned in my head, whilst the rest of my body had already begun making way further into the mansion. But there was something¡­ ¡°odd¡±, about this place. A drawing room in the eastern wing was where I ended up, but its layout differed from what I had gleaned from my survey of the manor. From the outside, the room appeared to be deeper by about two pass¨±s, yet here the missing depth was walled off instead. I glanced and glared all about the facade, till my eyes spied an unassuming notch. ¡°A dent¡­?¡± I whispered, feeling the small feature with my fingers. ¡°No¡­ a handle.¡± The ¡°wall¡± was but a sliding panel, and so with a hand on the handle, I had it opened. Beyond it was a sunless space. ¡°Mmm?¡± mumbled a sleepy voice. A guard, taken by a bout of drowsiness, looked up from his nodding half-nap. ¡°Me shift¡¯s over already?¡± ¡°It is now.¡± Before our eyes could meet, my fist flashed through the side of his jaw. The resulting concussion had him crumpling to the floor. Working with all speed, I unravelled his belts, and with them had his hands and feet bound tight. The last, I saved for his mouth. ¡°¡­rrh¡­! ¡­mmrh¡­!¡± came his muffled slur, till silence took him entirely. Quickly again, I relieved his person of a conspicuous key, and with it, passed through a door looming further in. Behind it was revealed a set of stairs, the steps diving down into the dark. ¡°Tch¡­¡± There at the bottom was I beset by an evil scene. Anticipating signs of sinning was one thing, but beholding them in the flesh was another: the bedevilled sight before me earned an immediate and involuntary click from my tongue. Besmirching the stone floor were washes of dried blood, as well as an array of torturous implements scattered about. Ledges lined the walls, each appointed with all manner of blades, needles, and whips. But there was one wall that wasn¡¯t, for instead it was composed of iron bars spanning from floor to ceiling. A gaol cell. Inside it lay women, left with not a single scrap of clothing upon their bare skin. I stepped closer. ¡°Ha¡­ah¡­!¡± whimpered their low, hopeless voices, and at the sight of me, they shrank back to the wall. The women numbered three¡ªeach wounded pitifully all throughout their bodies. ¡°Easy now. I¡¯ve come to help,¡± I assured them, undoing the lock and swinging the iron bars open. ¡°Ah¡­! Aah!¡± Yet none of the victims therein ventured a step towards their freedom. With no other choice, I entered the gaol myself and approached them. ¡°N¡­ no! P-please¡­ no¡­!¡± one of the women yelped, who then began flailing her arms and legs about. The desperate effort to keep me away was tangible. ¡°Ach¡ªeasy, I said,¡± I tried to soothe, taking a blow to chin and cheek both. ¡°I¡¯ll not hurt any of you, I swear it.¡± ¡°Aaah!¡± My words were of no avail. The sands of the hourglass flowed dearly. I would have liked very much to at once liberate these women from this little corner of hell, but to take them by the hand, unwilling and untrusting as they were, ran the risk of injuring further their frail persons. The bewildered woman¡ªI braced my face against her pitifully flailing hands, gazed with calm into her eyes, and attempted again to allay her fears. ¡°Listen. I¡¯ve come to expose the viscount¡¯s crimes; I would have him unmasked for the fiend that he is, but know that saving you here serves not only that purpose,¡± I spoke as steadily as I could. The sorry struggle ceased in answer. ¡°Your loved ones. They¡¯re all waiting for you back home, yes? I¡¯ll see to it that you are returned to them¡ªsafe and sound.¡± Slowly, the woman¡¯s eyes met mine. ¡°Ah¡­ aa¡­¡± ¡°My name¡¯s Rolf,¡± I continued. ¡°Have you all families? Friends? Anyone at all that may worry over your absence? If not, then at least take comfort in this: I, myself, wish to see you all freed and well upon your paths. And I say again: I would have it done.¡± A heavy quiet grew between us all. ¡°It¡¯s all right, Ina. He¡¯s not one of them,¡± rang a voice from the corner. ¡°See what he wears? Different, isn¡¯t it?¡± From the murk stepped forth the third woman. Curls of carrot-hue hung to her shoulders, and with large, dazzling eyes and a gracefully slender figure, one would be forgiven for mistaking her presence for that of a cat. ¡°Quite the courageous one, aren¡¯t you?¡± her eyes narrowed at mine. ¡°I am naked, in case you¡¯ve not noticed.¡± ¡°Apologies. You seem lithe¡ªexceptionally so. I took you for a sword-adept; one who earns her coin by the blade, no less.¡± ¡°And you took me right,¡± she smiled. ¡°The name¡¯s Frieda, a freelance from ¡®round these parts. I came by commission of the authorities, seeking proof of the viscount¡¯s criminality. Didn¡¯t turn out as I¡¯d hoped, as you can see,¡± she shook her head. ¡°¡®Rolf¡¯, was it? You have my trust, big lad.¡± ¡°And you have my thanks. I take it your employers have briefed you on the situation. That saves us time. We leave now,¡± I said, then turning to the two other women before me. ¡°You¡¯re Ina, yes? And what of you, miss?¡± ¡°C-Carola, good ser,¡± the second woman stammered, before looking to the first. ¡°Ina, he¡¯s not one of the viscount¡¯s villains. See? It¡¯s all right.¡± ¡°Aah¡­¡± Ina began to speak brokenly. ¡°Y¡­ yes¡­ I¡­ I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± ¡°You¡¯ve nothing to be sorry about, Ina. But we must leave, and quickly,¡± I said, softly yet assuredly. ¡°Pains me to say, but I¡¯m dim to the mending magicks¡ªhow fare your injuries? Can you all walk?¡± ¡°That I can.¡± ¡°As can I,¡± Carola nodded. ¡°Ina?¡± ¡°Y-yes, I-I think.¡± The trio were weakened from their many wounds, but by their words, they were well enough for the escape ahead. I gave a nod myself and left the gaol. The rest followed, but before we began our climb up the stairs, a peculiarity piqued my eye. Across from the gaol cell spanned a long shelf, upon which rested a row of countless skulls. Frieda followed my gaze. Her voice bit with bitterness. ¡°Long-lost offerings, they are¡ªto the lord and his boy.¡± Regret seemed to sigh from the skulls¡¯ many sockets. Beholding them, I darkly clenched my teeth and stepped towards the stairs. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. Volume 1 - CH 5.4 ¡°Tr-trespasser, is it!?¡± A gasp from another guard greeted us as we surfaced from the stairway, this one leaning over his concussed and belt-bound colleague. Likely just arrived to relieve his mate of watch duty. And right as he caught sight of me, the sentinel scrambled to unsheathe his sword. I acted in tandem, charging up the stairs with a freshly drawn blade of my own. Naught but a hidden room this was, dark and confined: my opponent¡¯s blade rose, only to bite the low ceiling. A moment of clumsiness. Seizing it, I brandished my own blade in a precise arc. Iron sharpness flew through the tight quarters. The air whistled. A thumb then spun through it, cleanly severed. ¡°Hyeh!?¡± the guard whimpered, letting his sword fall from his bloodied hand. But not before a hand of my own caught his face. With the full weight of my body, I rammed his head into the stonework wall. An immediate knockout: the guard collapsed completely, joining his comrade on the ground. ¡°Wh¡­ oi! What¡¯s that, just now?¡± Frieda whispered loudly from behind, her mouth agape. ¡°Where¡¯d you get chops like that, eh?¡± ¡°Chops?¡± I blinked, before turning instead to salvage the guard¡¯s sword. To our mercenary it went. ¡°I chopped his finger. What of it?¡± ¡°Not that ¡®chop¡¯¡ªnevermind,¡± Frieda interrupted herself, taking the blade. The four of us then emerged into the drawing room proper and sidled up against the wall near the doorway. With an ear pressed upon the surface, I listened. ¡°¡­next lass¡­ her ready¡­¡± ¡°¡­sellsword¡¯s next too¡­ young master Kenneth¡¯s had his fill¡­¡± Vague conversations yonder. Six voices, was it? Perhaps more. I couldn¡¯t tell; not from here. Nonetheless, our options grew scant. Dire straits awaited were we to be met with magicks from any of those men. And forcing our way through with Ina and Carola in tow, vulnerable as they were, was to beckon the fates¡¯ foul humour. ¡°The way is barred,¡± I whispered, shaking my head. ¡°We search for another.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry. None of us knows the exact lay of the mansion,¡± Frieda confessed. ¡°How do you reckon we quit this place?¡± ¡°The front bristles with guards at the gatehouse, from what I¡¯ve seen¡­ We ought to flee from the side, but not through the east where we are now. No¡ªthe west. There¡¯s a stable and a small gate there. That¡¯s where we¡¯ll aim. What think you all?¡± ¡°Fine enough for me,¡± Frieda nodded. ¡°The first floor, though¡­ ¡®Tis a pinch too perilous for us to snoop about here, I think. Best we move up to the second. Chances are, there¡¯s a window in the west wing we can drop from.¡± ¡°The second floor?¡± Carola shivered at the thought. ¡°Is¡­ is it safe up there?¡± ¡°¡®Safer¡¯ is more the word, but it¡¯s no guarantee. Both Frieda and I will keep you two from harm, that much I can promise,¡± I assured. ¡°Viscount Albeck¡­ I¡¯ve a hunch that he¡¯s not a man to suffer the low-born upon the higher floors. We can expect fewer guards up there.¡± ¡°My thoughts exactly,¡± said Frieda, looking to the other girls with a soothing smile. Nods of agreement from each of us. I then listened further for activity, and hearing naught, cracked the door open and peeked through. No guards now in sight; the prior men must¡¯ve moved off. But by Frieda¡¯s words, the first floor should be teeming with more of the viscount¡¯s varlets. An upward stairway loomed not far off; that would be our immediate destination. Carefully, but with hearts drumming, we exited the drawing room, scurrying to and up the stairs. At the top, we found ourselves at the eastern wing of the second floor. Our next destination awaited at the very opposite side of the mansion; a gruelling prospect, to cross so uncertain a distance. Our group stepped to it. Frieda manned the rear, and I the front. We soon came upon our first turn of the corridor. To the corner wall we congregated. Slowly, I chanced a glimpse at the adjoining hall¡­ A guard. He sauntered our way, oblivious. I signalled to the others to stay where they were before pressing myself up against the wall. There, I waited with bated breath. Unhurried footfalls neared. Fear frayed Ina and Carola¡¯s nerves in the meanwhile. But a comforting hand from Frieda alighted upon their shoulders, and looking up, they found upon her face both a faint mirth and a reassuring nod. A well-steeled woman she was, despite suffering her own fair share of horrors in this hell-house. Just then, the guard began to turn the corner. I lunged at him, seizing his collars and jerking him towards me. Then with a twist of my shoulders, I sent his scalp straight into the corner wall. ¡°Agh¡ª!?¡± he yelped, before fading into silence. ¡°Showy, are we?¡± came Frieda¡¯s comment. ¡°¡®Lucky¡¯ is more like it,¡± I sighed in relief. ¡°And looks like we guessed right¡ªonly the more esteemed guards are to be found here.¡± ¡°True, if our ¡®lucky¡¯ lad here is any indication,¡± said Frieda, eyeing the embroidered mantle and cape enshrouding the downed guard¡ªraiments of great luxury in our moment of need. Hastily, I undressed the man, and then handed the mantle and cape to Ina and Carola. ¡°Th-thank you.¡± ¡°My gratitude¡­ Ser Rolf.¡± The two then donned their bare bodies with the boon of clothes. It wouldn¡¯t have been wise to take the window curtains for this same purpose; the men outside surely would have sensed something was amiss. And that I was able to disable the guard without a single swing of the sword was most fortuitous indeed. Ina and Carola had suffered enough; to drape them in blood-drenched fabrics would have teased from their hearts recollections too wretched to bear. ¡°Right. On we go¡ªsoftly now,¡± I whispered to the others, but not before binding this guard too with his own belts. To the shade was his limp body tucked, and then down the corridor our group crept, caution guiding our course. My hunch proved true: the second floor really was empty of the manor¡¯s sentries. The guard earlier was the only soul we¡¯ve crossed thus far. Hence were we able to reach the west wing without further trouble. It was there that we soon found ourselves gathered about a double doorway, beyond which was the lord¡¯s study. But convenience was a contrivance of the fates, for here ended our ease: whiling within were multiple men. Slowly, I cracked one of the doors open, just enough to let the voices inside seep out. ¡°¡­then, dear daddy. I trust the good messenger from Mernesse makes his way to the 5th?¡± ¡°You trust well. The Order should have welcomed him no more than two nights ago. And I made certain that he is well-apprised of the wedding¡¯s day and time, details ready to meet your fair lady¡¯s ears.¡± Hearing such, I turned to the others. Frieda simply nodded, but the other two had all hale sapped from their faces. The fear in their eyes implicated the voices as being none other than their oppressors¡¯: the Viscount Albeck and his heir, Kenneth. ¡°Oh, my loins! Afire they are!¡± sang the son. ¡°My bride-to-be¡­ a mareschal, she is! You don¡¯t suppose she¡¯d expire too soon were I a bit¡­ rough with her, do you daddy?¡± ¡°Not at all, my boy. She is the vaunted Lady Emilie Mernesse, no less. Liberator of Godrika, whisperer of the levinblade¡ªher strength is attested, I can assure you. Why, they say she is the dame to succeed Tiselius herself!¡± ¡°Vaunted, indeed!¡± cackled Kenneth. ¡°Ah, such a winsome woman¡­ all mine! Oh, if only it were the wedding night!¡± ¡°A fine wife I¡¯ve chosen for you, if I do say so myself,¡± the viscount said smilingly. ¡°I¡¯ll not stay your hand from breaking her to pieces, but do be a bit more gentle, will you? She may yet please you for a longer while, my boy.¡± ¡°You¡¯re hardly one to speak of treasuring toys, daddy!¡± the adolescent giggled again. ¡°But I¡¯m afraid her limbs won¡¯t stay on for long; I¡¯ll savour their sweet severing as soon as I¡¯m able. Yes¡­ nipped from the knees and elbows down. A barking bitch, I¡¯ll make of her! Leashed and collared! Oh! And for her abode: not a dungeon, but a doghouse!¡± A sneer from the lord. ¡°Your fidelity is moving.¡± My blood boiled. Anger pulsed through my arteries and straight into my head. No. I couldn¡¯t. This was a battlefield in and of itself. There were hostiles about, victims to rescue¡ªsurrendering all composure was tantamount to admitting defeat. Deeply, I filled my lungs and slowly exhaled. Stilling the storm inside, I then took a peek through the cracked doorway. A large desk. There, the viscount was seated. Across was his son, Kenneth, flanked by a guard on each side. Cajoling jeers were plastered on the grunts¡¯ faces as the nobles¡¯ sinful talk slithered into their ears. Four in total then. Manageable. We¡¯ll break in and cuff them up. Simple enough. Frieda stood vis-¨¤-vis, taking in the scene for herself. Our eyes met; we nodded. The guards would be mine to deal with, while Kenneth would be Frieda¡¯s target. The viscount, being the furthest from our reach, would be dealt with last. By hand signs were such details relayed to Frieda, who gave another nod. The lion¡¯s share of the ambush would be mine to shoulder, but this was for the best. By any measure was our mercenary exceptional with the sword, but loath was I to burden her any further than her tired and tortured body could bear. She was as much a victim as Ina and Carola were. This, I could not ignore. Many souls in her line of work have I met during my outings in town. All were imbued with the same iron-will; no doubt they would have turned their noses up to such a plan as this. Indeed, those soldiers of fortune would be most fain to shoulder their fair share of the work, proud of heart as they were. Yet I found agreement from Frieda without so much as a twinkle of discontent in her eyes. She understood well the situation at hand, whether in regards to our foes¡¯ numbers, or the spent state of her own body. In her, I found a complice deserving of utmost trust as we stood face-to-face against the doorway. One last look was shared between us. Our wills were steeled. The doors boomed open. ¡°Mm?¡± the viscount murmured, during which I was already in motion. A tall cabinet stood beside the doorway: with a mighty heave, I toppled it over onto the left-standing guard. ¡°Wagh!?¡± the grunt yelped. An oaken crash. The floor rumbled. The impelled piece of furniture was heavy indeed; he would not escape unscathed. The other guard was quick to reveal his sword. To me he sprinted, intent upon running me through with it. This, I predicted¡ªtoo close was he to Kenneth, his charge, and so could not dare to swing his sword broadly. With a twist of my body, I let the blade pass through, and pouncing into his midst, I then thrust my elbow deep into the guard¡¯s face. ¡°Bwugh!!¡± Air and spit spilled out of him as the full momentum of my body smashed right into his nostrils. Down to my side he collapsed, and from his person, I purloined a dagger. It would not remain mine for long: at once, I wound about and hurled the little blade. ¡°Gagh!?¡± Deep into the thigh of the first guard it bit, who, after freeing himself from the downed cabinet, had thought to unsheathe his own sword. Kenneth was left stunned, but the chaos continued. Already was another blade sailing through the air, one in the hands of Frieda. A ribbon of blood flew from the adolescent¡¯s left arm. ¡°Hyeh!?¡± he yapped, stumbling from the fresh wound not longer than a mere thumb. But it was one produced with astounding precision, a slice of the sword purposed to do no more than suppress the youth. Yet the energy of the mercenary¡¯s actions would not cease there: Frieda¡¯s body breezed about and bounded right back into Kenneth¡¯s midst. The movement, brilliant in its use of her slender, featherweight form, ended with a heel diving straight into the adolescent¡¯s knee. ¡°Yiiuugh!!¡± A cheap scream that concealed the sound of a broken kneecap. The boy then fell to his bottom. Not far from him was I, leaping onto the lord¡¯s desk. My sword free from its scabbard, I drove its pommel into the viscount¡¯s visage. ¡°Uogh!?¡± The noble clamoured back, chair and all. I dropped down, and standing at his side, trained my blade to his neck. Frieda followed suit, bringing hers towards Kenneth¡¯s nose. So far, so good. But the lord¡¯s son was not one to stay quiet: he shrank back and opened his foul mouth. ¡°Wh-what¡¯s this!? Why are you here!?¡± Kenneth barked, pointing to Frieda. ¡°A toy! That¡¯s what you are! A plaything should know well to stay in the playpen!¡± Fiery redness fumed from Frieda¡¯s countenance. Long had she shown composure in the course of our escape, but Kenneth¡¯s ill words had at last unlocked from her heart a secret rage. But the anger amounted to nothing more than an opening. It was certain: for the briefest moment, Frieda¡¯s judgement was blinded. For his part, Kenneth seemed not the sort to concoct such cunning. Frieda was but a doll to him, made for his pleasure and delight. And so to weep and whimper in the face of her defiance was most unbecoming of him. Yet that was his exact plight, and so what issued from his lips were merely words wrought wretchedly from the irony of it all. The knife he then issued from his breast pocket was clearly not the kind for combat. No, it was a dainty little thing, used only to cut up his ¡°toys¡±, none of whom could¡¯ve done more than let him have his way. Up into the air it went, amidst the pathetic tears and screams of its wielder. A knife, by chance imbued with precision. A thrust of its blade, aimed at a chance opening. To Frieda¡¯s flank, it flew. A cruel course closing in on her unguarded flesh. Then¡ªa sound, like a thundering thud. Before thin iron could bite bare skin, the knife¡¯s wielder was struck down whence he stood by whom but two more of his ¡°toys¡±: in their bid to save Frieda, Ina and Carola had flown into the room, and with what might they could muster, threw themselves upon the depraved youth. The sound of it all was like a bell to the mercenary, for the light of reason then returned to her eyes. Once more, her blade bounded through the air¡­ ¡°Nngyaagh!!¡± ¡­and with it, Kenneth¡¯s ear and weeping wails. Frieda stepped up to him. Her next words were as cold as her steel, trained once more to the screaming, sobbing mess of a lordling. ¡°Still that tongue. Or lose it.¡± ¡°Hah¡­ ah¡­!¡± Ten seconds. Not more than ten seconds had passed since the doors were first flung open. The fight was finished. The nobles were captured. Volume 1 - CH 5.5 From the window of the west wing flew the lords of Albeck, father and son both. Onto a haystack below they fell, for the most part unharmed by the landing, but being bound as they were, they could not flee. Not that they had a mind to¡ªtheir unceasing gripes had compelled Frieda and me to cudgel the wits out of them. The four of us followed close behind. With Ina on my back and Carola on Frieda¡¯s, we climbed out of the window and descended by way of rain spouts. At the bottom, we found ourselves right before the stables. Just as planned. Off into the shadows we scampered, and from there peered at the west gate over yonder. The flanks of the manor were thinly surveilled, as we¡¯d anticipated: not more than three men manned the secondary exit. ¡°Rolf, ¡®twon¡¯t be long ¡®fore the lackeys catch a whiff of the stench we¡¯ve cooked up in the manor,¡± whispered Frieda. ¡°Best we blast our way out ¡®fore they¡¯re sore fierce on our tail.¡± ¡°Then we move now.¡± The longer we tarried about twiddling our thumbs, the more the fates were fain to have us fail in our flight. Unflinching fearlessness was needed, with perhaps a pinch of recklessness: unlike my infiltration of the place, breaking out with a bang was a card I could now afford to play. We helped ourselves to three steeds from the stable: one for Ina and I, another for Frieda and Carola, and the last for the Albecks. Our captives were tied to their mount, the reins of which I held from afar. ¡°Ina, Carola. Hold on tight,¡± I cautioned lowly. ¡°Worry not. You¡¯ll all be free before you know it. Arrows, magicks¡ªthey¡¯ll not harry us. Our noble hostages here make for a fine shield.¡± ¡°Home¡¯s on the horizon, loves!¡± soothed Frieda. ¡°Let¡¯s move!¡± Sudden hoof-falls filled the air¡ªthe gallops of three horses gunning for the west gate. ¡°Wh¡ª!?¡± ¡°B-b-b-bloody ¡®ell, they ¡®ave us lords, they do!¡± Blindsighted by our brazen escape, the guards did little but stand agape as we sped through their midst. The getaway was as painless as it was successful. We were free at last from the viscount¡¯s haunt. The west-side stables would provide our pursuers no avail, for we rode the only horses kept at them. Whomever had a mind to wind about to the front and call for aid would have found the effort futile, for by then we will have long disappeared beyond the horizon. ? Our mounted escape carried us a few m¨©llia-pass¨±s from the manor. There, we stopped and dismounted on the banks of a brook running through the bottom of a verdant valley. The sun was sunk below the mountains. The skies blushed a wine-shade; night was falling. ¡°My thanks, Rolf,¡± said Frieda, looking up to me. ¡°The authorities¡¯ve kept the viscount¡¯s villainy in their sights for a long while now, but this devil¡¯s kept his tail tucked away a bit too well, y¡¯see.¡± ¡°And I trust you¡¯ve enough to have him stand before a tribunal?¡± ¡°Plenty. Our testimonial will be grounds enough for a good scouring of that mad manor. And the torture chamber¡ªwell, our viscount here¡¯ll sooner don the monk¡¯s frock ¡®fore that place sprouts wings to fly away with. It¡¯ll clinch our case quite nicely, I reckon,¡± Frieda smiled. ¡°Our princely paraphiles are tied up tight. They won¡¯t be going anywhere.¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± My thoughts turned to the torture chamber. ¡°The skulls. Give them a proper burial for me, will you?¡± ¡°You have my word.¡± ¡°And my name and face are to stay secret¡ªI¡¯ve your word on that as well?¡± I carefully requested. ¡°¡®A bystander in a helpful mood, gone after the escape¡¯. That¡¯s my meagre part in this play. It¡¯s hardly a lie, at least.¡± ¡°Scandals of the aristocracy are as tangled skeins; I¡¯ll not blame you for wanting to keep clear of the mess. But do you truly mean to part with not a merit to your name?¡± ¡°I do,¡± nodded I. ¡°Consider them all yours.¡± As they should be. My actions heretofore were to be as divorced from Emilie¡¯s involvement and knowledge as much as possible. Even were House Albeck to be found full-guilty of its transgressions, if it came to light that I had a hand in the matter, all but ill awaited Emilie. Indeed, it would all be seen as an underhanded inquiry by the young mareschal to force an annulment of her own betrothal. And who was it that did the snooping? Why, no less than a member of the 5th, her very own Order. ¡®¡¯Twas but a bit of scrutiny upon my husband-to-be.¡¯ None amongst the aristocracy would dare brook such an excuse. Penned at the end of such a scenario would most certainly be the humble name of House Mernesse, forever tarnished, and Emilie¡¯s many toils in keeping her family afloat¡ªall as whispers set to the four winds. I could not allow such to come to pass. ¡°Right then,¡± Frieda nodded back. ¡°But don¡¯t you forget: we owe you much for your deeds on this day, Rolf. Thank you.¡± ¡°And I, you.¡± Our hands met and shook. I knew then what it was like to have a friend-in-arms. Gladly so. ¡°Back to town with you, is it? To rendezvous with your employers?¡± ¡°That¡¯s the plan. ¡®Twon¡¯t do to keep these girls cut up for so long, anyway. I¡¯ll have them seen to.¡± ¡°You¡¯re no less cut up either, Frieda.¡± A gentle chuckle. ¡°I suppose not.¡± ¡°I must return before the morrow¡¯s light. We part here,¡± I announced. ¡°Apologies. I would escort you all to town, but the luxury¡¯s lost, I¡¯m afraid.¡± ¡°Pay it no mind. The sun is set; our pursuers¡¯ll be blind to our whereabouts,¡± Frieda smiled again. ¡°We¡¯ll be all right from here on out.¡± ¡°¡­oah¡­ mmrgh¡­¡± came a slobbering murmur. ¡°¡­Wha¡­ where¡­ where is this¡­?¡± Verily had we beaten the nobles unconscious, but it would seem the viscount was spared of a fist too few, for his wits now returned to him. ¡°¡­F-fiends! W-what is the meaning of this!?¡± he squirmed. ¡°Look and know, fiend,¡± Frieda fired back. ¡°You, your boy, House Albeck¡ªyour ends are nigh.¡± ¡°Q-quit your mummery! Y-you are all but sheep bleating for the milk of my poppy! And you would for shame bare your teeth at me!?¡± ¡°You sooner seem the bleating sheep than I, shameful master.¡± ¡°S-silence! Silence, you! You dare speak of shame!? Hoh! Shame! ¡®Tis but a base shadow before the brilliance of House Albeck! We are foremost amongst the nobility, we are! Our lands are holy! None other than the St. Rakliammelech himself sojourned within these vales!¡± the viscount vaunted. ¡°I was made steward of this land by His Majesty¡¯s grace¡ªI¡¯ll not be brought low by the likes of you motley rabble!¡± To this, Frieda offered little more than a smirk. ¡°High words! From a worm.¡± ¡°Aaach!¡± the lord redly fumed. His eyes were crazed. They searched about in twitches, settling upon Ina and Carola. To them rushed his railing spit. ¡°You there! Wasteful wenches both! Free me at once, will you!?¡± ¡°Aah¡­!¡± they shrank back. ¡°Stay your whimpering! Hie now! Have me unbound! Why, I¡¯ll have you all cut up and served, I will! For that¡¯s all you¡¯re good for!!¡± ¡°Ah¡­! N-no¡­ aa¡­ aah!¡± ¡°That¡¯s enough from you.¡± A nerve of mine was finally struck. I came up to the viscount and summarily had his mouth muffled with whatever was at hand. ¡°¡­mmmgh¡­! Mmrgh¡­!¡± his indignance erupted further. ¡°Aaaaah! Aah! No¡­! No!!¡± ¡°P¡­ please¡­ mercy upon us¡­ please¡­! Ah¡­ aaah!¡± Yet to Ina and Carola, their oppressor¡¯s silence proved to be of little succour, for the nightmares that howled up from their hearts hounded them beyond all bearing. ¡°My loves, you are safe!¡± came Frieda, taking them into her arms. ¡°The pain is ended¡ªyou are freed! All is well now!¡± But despite her sincerest efforts, the poor souls could not be calmed. ¡°Ina, Carola both. Look to me,¡± I said, gentle yet firm. ¡°Aa! Aaah¡­!¡± ¡°Look,¡± I repeated, with as much heart as I could muster. ¡°I beg of you.¡± ¡°Ah¡­ aah¡­¡± A fragile moment of stillness. This was my only chance. ¡°You¡¯ve all been affrighted and aggrieved too much, far beyond my knowing. I cannot even begin to share nor salve your pain, and that tears away at me to no end.¡± ¡°¡­Ah¡­ au¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry to say, but the wounds you bear¡ªthey would sooner heal many times over before you¡¯re freed from the nightmares. Till then, you must brave the many sleepless nights that await you.¡± A frightening realisation, to know that the hurt shall not end today. The weight of it left the two quieted. ¡°But, you have each other, and together you may remember this day of all days; this, I hope. The day you stood up. The day you fought your fears. The day you saved Frieda from Kenneth¡¯s feint.¡± Their brows unfurrowed, as if the adventure was relived in their minds. ¡°Were it not for your courage, would we not be lost in this moment?¡± I knew well the answer. As did Ina and Carola, perhaps, whose quiverings lessened at last. ¡°There is strength in you both. A solace to grace you against the demons set upon your hearts. Of that, I am certain.¡± ¡°¡­a¡­ ah¡­¡± ¡°Fear is a mighty foe. But you can fight. This very moment attests to it.¡± ¡°¡­S¡­ Ser Rolf¡­¡± ¡°I¡­ I¡­¡± A spark returned to their eyes. I knew gladness then. ¡°You¡¯ve shown me valour worthy of a storied knight. To have met you all is a treasure I¡¯ll forever cherish. Thank you.¡± ¡°¡­N¡­ no¡­ I¡­ Tha¡­¡± ¡°Hic¡­ Ser Rolf¡­ Ser Rolf¡­!¡± Through the benighted valley, their cries echoed. As they did through my heart, for I then found myself wishing upon every star I could see for but one simple hope: that the victims here would find peace in their days henceforth. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Mille-Passus (plural: m¨©llia pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans; known as the ¡°Roman mile¡±, it spanned 1,000 pass¨±s in length. 1 kilometre is equal to 0.6757 of a mille-passus. A mille-passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half kilometres. Volume 1 - CH 5.6 ¡°Well, we¡¯d best be off ourselves,¡± said our mercenary. ¡°Right,¡± I nodded whilst readying one of the horses. ¡°¡­Frieda. Will you be well?¡± ¡°A lifetime¡¯s worth of whippings, I¡¯ve survived. But I think I¡¯ll manage. Fear¡¯s a foe to be fought, isn¡¯t it?¡± she grinned. ¡°It is, indeed,¡± I chuckled. ¡°By the way¡­¡± ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°The hour wends to dusk, and we¡¯re well in the wilds¡­¡± Frieda broached rather roundaboutly. ¡°Butt-bare have I been to every eye since our escapade began; I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯d keep me waiting for something to wear?¡± ¡°Ah¡ª¡± came the lightning realisation. ¡°R-right.¡± Now that she mentioned it, Frieda had indeed been wholly unclothed from the time I first saw her in the gaol cell. Somehow, the thought hadn¡¯t occurred to me to accord her the same comfort of clothing as Ina¡¯s and Carola¡¯s. ¡°I took you for the sort that cares little of it. It was shallow of me.¡± ¡°And to me, a shock!¡± she prodded. I scratched my head. ¡°M-my apologies. Er¡­¡± After a glance down upon myself, I doffed my breastplate and gambeson, and then struggled my way out of my shirt. Free of the fabric, I handed it to Frieda. She blinked. ¡°What? I¡¯m to dress in front of you, now?¡± ¡°S-sorry.¡± Hurriedly, I wound about behind her and hung the shirt over her shoulders. ¡°¡­¡¯Tis more a cloak than a shirt, this,¡± she observed, ¡°but it well-covers a smaller body, doesn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Th-that it does.¡± Frieda turned to me, cheeks red with mirth and a gentle beam upon her lips. As she held the shirt tight to her bosom, Ina and Carola watched on with smiling giggles. ? ¡®Fare you well. Let us hope we meet again someday.¡¯ My last words to the three before I drove off upon my steed. The path before me wound now to a new destination: my return to the 5th¡¯s headquarters. ¡°The deed is done¡­¡± I said to myself, before turning my next words to the full-bright moon. ¡°¡­May you all find solace in your slumber.¡± A lone prayer for the vainly sacrificed, who so suffered in the dark face of torture. But the hands that dealt the depravity were at last caught and cuffed: this day witnessed the end to the tragedies of House Albeck¡¯s making, at long last. ? War-like was the tumult, just now ceased. The dust finally began to settle. Trimmed and proper were the training grounds of the 1st Chivalric Order, but in this moment, it seemed more a scene of massacre, for strewn about it were bodies, either bent or prostrate. They numbered no fewer than a score, yet they were hardly corpses, though one would be forgiven for mistaking them so. Proud knights of the 1st they were, only, they had not the spark of pride in them, defeated of body and spirit as they were. But that was most expected, for standing squarely amidst their moans of pain was their mareschal. ¡°Ha¡­ ha¡­¡± Estelle Tiselius, commander to these esteemed fighters. Hers was a face most fair, now scintillating with sweat, and her shoulders gently rose and fell as breaths breezed from her lips, unhurried, unharried. It was all but a training session. She had done her duty in hosting the rigorous practice, but it was as much for their benefit as it was for her own. Indeed, Estelle was wont to join in their regular rigours, in each session purposefully pitting herself¡ªand only herself¡ªagainst the knightly droves. That¡¯s not to say they were easy fodder, no. Each was the cr¨¨me de la cr¨¨me of the kingdom¡¯s finest fighters, yet it was the unspotted truth that at the end of these training sessions, this would be the sorry scene presented: knights of high gallantry, beaten and bruised, but amongst them, Estelle, standing tall with nary a spot upon her body struck by any blow. ¡°Let us break for the day,¡± she announced with an even voice. ¡°Officers all, pray take ample rest.¡± ¡°A-aye, Mareschal,¡± they all made sure to answer, however brokenly. Thus did they lend shoulders to each other on their way out. Many amongst them would find tonight to be a sleepless night, for pangs of pain and humiliation were sure to harry them well till dawn. Against the flow of the departing officers came a man: Francis Behrmann, their superior, and Under-Mareschal to the 1st. ¡°Why, mademoiselle,¡± the old knight began. ¡°¡®Twould be a great ease to our officers were you to abate your hand, if even a little. With such wantonness do you sunder their spirits. ¡®Tis certain!¡± ¡°Ease?¡± To him, Estelle looked. ¡°Say now, dear Francis. A fair while since we¡¯ve last measured swords, yes? Why not give ease to our officers and spar me in their stead?¡± ¡°Hoh!¡± Francis wagged his hand in protest. ¡°Perish the thought, my Lady! These bones are sore brittle for such excitement, you should know!¡± ¡°And you should know you¡¯re hardly of the age for brittle bones,¡± Estelle quipped whilst wicking away the sweat from her face with a flannel. A faint smile bent her lips, one warm with honesty, but rare to the sight of any other soul besides Francis. Yet to contrast it, the old knight¡¯s face furrowed troublingly. ¡°And I say, mademoiselle, a lady of your age should know well to yearn for another by more tranquil means. Wistfully gazing out the window, or reciting sonnets, let¡¯s say,¡± he argued from out of the blue. ¡°Yet here you are. You sooner think to brandish a blade than you would a bouquet¡ªindeed, you long for your man in the queerest of ways.¡± ¡°The tongue in your cheeks is cheeky overmuch, Francis!¡± Estelle shot back, before turning away. ¡°I¡¯m not yearning.¡± The mareschal of the exalted 1st¡ªtaken by a fleeting bout of flustering. Yet the under-mareschal could only shake his head. After all, it was his earnest wish for none of the 1st¡¯s dear officers to be so caught up in the maelstrom of asperity that was Estelle¡¯s special training. For her part, the hero-dame was loath to entertain the slightest compromise. In fact, she gave herself wholly to this pursuit of perfection. Thus was it inevitable that for every training session of which she was party, her knights would be left struck and sapped of all strength to even stand. But it was not always this way. No. This immuring impulse of hers was conceived at the climax of the Battle of Erbelde not three years past. There, she witnessed it. That swing of a sword, too beautiful to behold. That brilliance of a battle, too sublime to shut away. A vivid vision that from time to time would rewind itself in the recesses of her heart. And each time that it did, she would throw herself into the throes of arduous training. But each time that she did, she would know despair, for there were none here that could match her blade. Estelle was not a woman to so easily forget her gratitude for her yeomen. They were all of them knights most exemplary and true. A sincere evaluation, one she made certain they were wise to. Even against those of the other Orders, her soldiers shone no less brightly in their bountiful excellence. They were each talented in their technique, tempered in their temperament¡ªproud paragons in their own right. Yet they were not enough. And neither was she. No matter how much she moiled in polishing both mind and body, that very thought would always well up from the depths of her heart. And in pondering those shared inadequacies, her thoughts would turn¡­ to him. Would that he were here with me. Then mine unease might know a moment of solace. Warm air rolled from her lips. ¡°¡®Tis unsightly to sigh so openly, my Lady,¡± Francis poked again, seeing this. ¡°Lest you mean to sigh away your youth.¡± ¡°That¡¯s ¡®happiness¡¯ that one sighs away, Francis,¡± Estelle pouted. ¡°So wont you are to warp our dear adages for your own merriment¡­¡± For one as fair as the hero-dame of Londosius, even her wistful sigh was worthy of a portrait. Yet her truest desires were nowhere to be found in the illustrious title or any such panderings to heroism. ¡°Well?¡± Estelle said anew. ¡°You¡¯ve read the report, I take it?¡± ¡°Indeed, my Lady. A most riveting read, it was!¡± Francis nodded, stroking his chin. What they spoke of was none other than a fateful operation of two winters past: the recapture of the Godrika Minery, completed via the sore sacrifices of the 5th. The report was penned by the 5th¡¯s hands themselves, sent up to Central for review. Estelle had merely meant to have a look of her own upon the vaunted vicissitude, one that had sharpened anew Londosius¡¯ dulling sword of war. The proliferation of silver, the expansion of the frontlines, the quickening of bloodshed¡ªall was owed to this operation. But the report¡­ Therein was writ the record of a battle that betrayed the imagination. A catoblepas, a creature most foul, was discovered within the tunnels. What should have necessitated the collective struggle of whole brigades was achieved by but a single soul. Yet to that officer the merit was denied, for Central saw fit to turn the eyes of honour elsewhere. The matter demanded much thought. Thus was Francis bade to make use of some back-channel connections, that more light may be shed upon it. And there it was found that he was in opposition to the operation right from the outset. What¡¯s more, he had openly expounded on the dangers of acting upon the recapture. That such an ambitious battle would sow the seeds of today¡¯s fell fruits of war was likely what his keen ken had prevised. And yet, against the counsel of his own heart did he step onto that battlefield. There alone, through all the desperation and determination that he could muster, did he bring an end to that bloodshed¡­ ¡­to the recognition of none. What foul irony. Once again, from Estelle¡¯s lips blew a pensive sough. Certainly, he would be one to get caught up in such unrequited recklessness. Perhaps even now may he be found fighting another profitless battle. The title of ¡°hero¡± certainly sorted more squarely with that unseen and unsung soul. This, Estelle knew. This, her heart spoke. ¡°My my, dear mademoiselle,¡± Francis broke the silence. ¡°Taken to sighing for a pastime, have you? ¡®Tis a hobby for ladies more verdant, I¡¯ll have you know. Say, of the maidenly sort.¡± ¡°¡­I am yet a maiden.¡± A pouting reply. And an unreasonable one, perhaps, yet Estelle aired it anyway. Then, half-mocking herself with a wistful smile, she shook her head and parted the training ground. Even now, she dearly wished to bring him under her wing here at the 1st. That such a fancy would never take flight was a future Estelle could never have presaged. For not even the hero-dame herself can see all ends. Volume 1 - CH 6.1 Volume I Written By Yoshihiko Mihama Translated By Vagrant ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Through the quiet night, I drove my steed unimpeded. The hour-sand was flowing fast, but at last I arrived at headquarters before the break of dawn. There, I made my way back to the barracks and savoured but a scant few hours of slumber. Today, the routine would start anew. I got up, had a change of clothes, and prepared to set out for morning training, just as the half-light of the waking skies peeked through the windows. The door banged. Fierce knocks, one after the other. ¡°Rolf Buckmann!¡± came a muffled shout. ¡°Come out at once!¡± Rather urgent at such an hour¡ªwho could it be? I opened the door. ¡°Yes¡ª¡± finding three leaders, ¡°¡ªsirs?¡± No familiar faces here. ¡°Buckmann, is it?¡± the frontmost leader glared. ¡°These past two days¡ªwhat¡¯ve you been up to?¡± ¡°Sir. The mareschal gave me two days¡¯ leave,¡± I began explaining. What ill. ¡°I left for town at ereyesterday¡¯s eventide, and returned not till the late hours of yesternight.¡± Nothing about my escapade at the Albeck viscounty could be revealed here. I had no other choice¡ªspending my days off in town would be my excuse. It was sound enough. Members of the Order are free to do as they please upon given leave, after all. Curfews, staying the night elsewhere¡ªno such limitations confined them. Thus my dallying in town should not have set off any bells. The leaders exchanged looks. ¡°Come,¡± was their terse response. ? Following them, we wound briskly through the halls before emerging out into the open. Before long, I was led to the stables. Only, there was something odd about the scene here. The early-bird stablehands were stopped in their duties. All was quiet. I looked across the stalls. One of them was empty¡ªa stall that I was very familiar with. ¡°What do your eyes tell you, ey?¡± one of the leaders pointed. ¡°The mareschal¡¯s steed¡ªit is gone. The same mount as your charge, none other.¡± ¡°Yet it was here ereyesterday, when last I¡¯d checked,¡± I countered. ¡°As I¡¯ve said, I was not present at headquarters till my return late last night. In that time, responsibility for the mareschal¡¯s horse should¡¯ve fallen to the stablehands.¡± ¡°Those same stablehands attest that they¡¯ve not caught sight of the horse. Not as of yesterdawn,¡± another leader said. ¡°What¡¯ve you done with the horse ereyesterday? Tell us!¡± ¡°I¡¯d done just as I¡¯ve always done on that morning. I groomed the horse, fed it, and took it for a walk.¡± ¡°And then what? Your numb wits got the better of you, did they? You forgot to send the steed back to its stall!¡± a leader raised his voice, shaking his head. ¡°Gutter-scum ungraced! A scarecrow makes for a better stablehand than you, it does!¡± ¡°Nay, sir. I made certain to return the horse back to its place,¡± I confirmed. ¡°Once more did I check ere my evening departure for town¡ªthen, too, was it right here in this stall.¡± ¡°And we¡¯re to believe your muddied account, eh? The words of an addle-pated alga. Trustworthy indeed!¡± scoffed another leader. They were all livid, more so than usual. But they had good reason to be: Emilie¡¯s steed was a most special one. ¡°The mareschal was bequeathed that horse by none other than His Majesty. You know where it has gone. Tell us!¡± ¡°Any soul would be frayed of nerves to care after so dear a horse, ¡®tis certain. But to let it run off? Spineless overmuch, are we!?¡± ¡°That steed fetches more coin than you¡¯ll ever be worth, ungraced! Don¡¯t tell us you hadn¡¯t realised even that!?¡± They spoke true. The vanished horse was one given to Emilie by the king of our land, a boon for the 5th¡¯s successful recapture of the Godrika Minery two winters past. The steed was invaluable indeed, and to Emilie and our entire Order both, it was an emblem of great honour. It need not be said that to lose such a precious prize was a grave matter. There was fear mixed in with the anger of the leaders before me, one of earning the displeasure of our king, all by the fault of an ungraced foolish enough to let the horse escape. A heated sigh. ¡°That does it. We speak with the mareschal,¡± a leader relented as he began making his way out. ¡°Come!¡± ? A doorway. Upon its face, an engraved plate. ¡°Chamber of the Dame Mareschal,¡± it read. And past the door was I, standing before Emilie as she was sat at the command desk. Flanking her were the three executive officers, their eyes fixed upon me in their fury. ¡°I believe I¡¯ve heard enough,¡± Emilie said calmly. ¡°Yet Rolf has made it clear he returned my horse to its stall, did he not?¡± ¡°My fair Mareschal Mernesse,¡± one of the leaders addressed most deliberately. ¡°With all due respect, surely you¡¯ve not fallen for the words of this fellow?¡± ¡°Not once has he failed in his office. I see no reason to doubt him so.¡± ¡°Fail, madame?¡± another leader raised his eyebrows. ¡°He is a toothless ungraced, unfit for battle. He but whiles away the days scrubbing armour and sweeping up our places. Perhaps he is unspotted in his menial duties¡ªbut what of it? ¡®Tis neither here nor there, I¡¯d say!¡± ¡°You have known him since your earliest days,¡± the third thought to air his mind, ¡°that, we understand very well. But madame¡ªyou are Mareschal to our Order.¡± Part well your private affairs from your public office, coddle not this cur-dog of an ungraced¡ªthe thinly-veiled implications of the leaders¡¯ words. It was no secret that some amongst our ranks maintained a particular misgiving: that Emilie was insufficiently impartial in her consortion with me. Yet my eyes saw differently. Emilie was ever fair in her interactions; it was the others that were taken with partiality in their flagrant displays of discrimination. But of course, they thought otherwise. The doubts they harboured for their own mareschal were heretofore unaired to any open degree, for like a fine mist before the rising sun, such unease was quick to dissipate before Emilie¡¯s sheer charisma. Yet was I always the thorn jabbing their jealous hearts, an ungraced ever by the side of their dear mareschal. It was only a matter of time before such spite spewed forth into the open. Emilie was fit to be the next hero-dame. That much they saw, and eager were they to crown her to such effect. But the coronation, as it were, could not continue on account of who else but myself. A disease in their flesh, a flaw in their machinations. To enthrone Emilie, they felt the pressing need to fling me as far from her side as possible. ¡°My leaders. Calm, please,¡± Emilie soothed the leaders, before turning to me. ¡°Rolf. Might I hear from you of your whereabouts over these last two days?¡± ¡°Aye, Mareschal,¡± answered I. ¡°Verily was I told to take rest from my duties by none other than yourself. A rest spanning two days.¡± ¡°Yes. ¡®Tis certain those were my words to you.¡± ¡°Only, the stablehands were not apprised of this. Not immediately, at least. So it was that on the morning of ereyesterday, I took it upon myself to care for your horse.¡± ¡°Indeed¡­ I did put you on leave rather asudden. A deed done in the late hours three nights past. ¡®Twas my fault. I neglected to notify the stablers.¡± ¡°As per usual, I fed and walked the horse, returning it to its stall after tidying up the place.¡± ¡°There! That¡¯s when you let it loose, is it!?¡± barked one of the leaders. And like heated hounds, they were all of them foaming from the corner of their mouths. ¡°Nay, sir,¡± I shook my head slightly. ¡°As I¡¯ve said time and again, I made certain to bring the horse back.¡± ¡°Then where is it gone, ay!?¡± ¡°Tame yourselves, will you please?¡± Emilie hushed the leaders once more. ¡°Rolf. Go on.¡± ¡°Yes, Mareschal,¡± I nodded. ¡°Given leave, I thought it best to also take rest from my training. I handed in the proper papers, and thus was the leave made official for that day and the next. I then browsed the library till dusk loomed, and from there headed off to town.¡± ¡°What followed?¡± Emilie pressed. ¡°I but remained in town till my return to headquarters very late last night.¡± ¡°Ah, so you stayed the night,¡± an officer jeered instantly. ¡°Over at a bawdy-house, was it? Had your way with a whore, you did!¡± ¡°What?¡± Emilie¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°That¡¯s nonsense! Right, Rolf?¡± A thick silence. One of the leaders pounced at the opportunity. ¡°Certainly, there are men amongst those awaiting war who are¡­ well, compelled to part with a pretty coin for a whore only half as pretty. For our part, war is our duty, one that has us wager away our very lives. Thus even knights such as we have need of ¡®comfort¡¯¡ªnot least in the hours before our reckoning,¡± the leader expounded, not once breaking his glare upon me. ¡°Our ungraced here finds no place in our battles. Yet he thought to bed with a harlot, as if to spite our good sacrifices. Oh! For shame.¡± ¡°R¡­ Rolf?¡± said Emilie, visibly shaken. ¡°You were in town¡ªwhat were you doing there?¡± Indeed, Rolf Buckmann. What were you doing? Give away any particulars, lie or no, and the Order will be quick to question the locals for any corroboration. There, they will find just as quickly that you were never really there at all. This must not come to pass. They must not know. You must¡¯ve been there, but as no more than a shadow that nary a soul would pay a mind. What, then, will be your excuse, Rolf Buckmann? ¡°Difficult to say,¡± I stated, unblinking. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I downed one too many bottles to remember.¡± Anger flashed through the veins of the leaders. ¡°The nerve! Dare you jest before your Mareschal!?¡± ¡°Look at this stain upon the escutcheon of our Order!¡± ¡°Wait! Wait, please! Still your steeds, everyone!¡± Emilie shouted, having risen from her seat to soothe the livid leaders. Afterwards, she looked at me earnestly. ¡°Rolf. I shall hear from you in greater detail on the morrow. Till then, pray be on your best behaviour,¡± she said, as calmly as she could. ¡°Please, Rolf. Collect your thoughts. You have my ear¡ªso long as you speak the truth, I will hear aught you have to say.¡± So it was that the indictments made against me were to be brought to full bear on the next morrow. The leaders all fired their glares at me, as if their very eyes were as weapons made to kill. For her part, Emilie was taken not by anger, but by anxiety. To me she looked, her face sullenly writ with the many questions she dearly wished to ask. ? The following day. The thick rustle of shuffling feet filled the air as the leadership filed into the Order conclave¡ªa large conference space, one that I found myself standing squarely in the centre of. Before me was a U-shaped table, great in length, at which the leadership all took their seats. The panel consisted of the entirety of the 5th¡¯s executive officers. Not one was missing¡ªnot even Felicia. Gathered at the behest of the three leaders from yesterday, I suspected. The palpable ceremony of it all spoke clearly of the Order¡¯s intent to take up the matter with utmost gravity. At the very middle of the panel sat Emilie. Her erstwhile dawn-like face was sunk with a dusked expression. ¡°Gathered are we here today to solemnly deliberate upon the failings of one Rolf Buckmann,¡± one of the leaders announced full-throatedly. It would seem they mean to make judges of themselves. How garish of a gathering, really. Shawl their shoulders with the mantles of magistrates and this could very well look the legitimate tribunal. ¡°A steed of the Reuscher breed has been reported missing from its stall as of ereyesterday. It bears mentioning that this same steed was no less a gracious gift from His Majesty to our honoured Dame Mareschal, the Lady Emilie Mernesse, for her decisive deeds in the recapture of the Godrika Minery,¡± the leader presented at length. ¡°Rolf Buckmann, swain to the Mareschal herself, finds amongst his menial duties the care of the selfsame horse. This hearing commences on action of inquiry concerning his culpability in this grievous affair.¡± A peculiar mien was upon the face of that leader. One of elation, or ecstasy even. The enthralling delight of declaiming the sins of the ungraced, from the look of him. For my part, I stood ready before them all, set in my coming assertions, resolved in my rationality. First things first. The matter of the missing horse¡ªbefore aught else, it is but a foul fabrication. Over and over had I reviewed my actions of that day, thinking that I may have been remiss somewhere. But nay. My memories all point to one conclusion: on that morning, I had returned the horse to its stall, and at evenfall, found it there yet again on my way out of headquarters. As for the happenings in the Albeck viscounty, I certainly will not utter a single word of it, all things considered. Chancing otherwise would invite a grave wound upon the whole of House Mernesse, and the inflicting hands are not ones to be stayed so easily. The night we liberated Godrika. I remembered it all too clearly: Emilie wept, on and on. Her tears were pure regret itself. ¡®My heart tells me to step down as mareschal,¡¯ she had confessed. Yet two entire winters ago that was. In all that time, she had been toiling away at her duties as our commander, that her family might find a foothold against the fickle turbulence of aristocratic life. For House Mernesse, she would surely stay the course¡ªas the shining mareschal to the 5th, as a devoted and loving daughter to the Mernesse family. How sorrowed and pitiful she looked on that night. It remains, to me, a vision unfading. Her very soul itself seemed to be sobbing away. Only, her misery is unabated. Her thoughts are still ravelled. Yet Emilie endured on and on to this day. I dare not let it all come to naught. But there was one pricking truth: keeping a tight lip about the Albeck incident and falsely admitting to losing the horse are two acts not mutually exclusive. Were I to endeavour both, certainly I would be allowed to stay in the Order. Emilie would make sure of it. I had heretofore hung on to life here at the Order, that I might someday be knighted. A childhood dream. A soul-defining ambition. The aspiration to become a figure of gallantry, just like in knightly tales of old. The path illuminated by such prose and poetry all impelled me towards one conclusion: to affirm my faults and say my sorries. Show them the sincerity of my remorse. Await the coming of their good graces. All to have my shoulders tapped by the sword. All to be called a knight. ¡­But is that truly becoming of a knight? To admit to a crime uncommitted? To apologise for faults unfounded? Were I to be made a knight upon a foundation of falsity, then just what is a knight? The many meetings I¡¯ve been graced with, the hard-fought battles I¡¯ve won¡ªall have over the years sparked the candle of change within me. A meagre, lone candle of a change, but a candle that burned nonetheless. The Mareschal Tiselius. Warmly did she shower me with praise for my actions on the battlefield. Yet what was it that she saw in me, really? The cruel and cunning catoblepas. Defiantly did it fight till its very last breath, a battle that shook me to my very core. Yet what was it exactly that crossed my heart as I witnessed its final moment? The trio I met at the Albeck manor. Bravely did those women endeavour their first steps to gentler days ahead, after enduring so long and lamentable a nightmare. Yet what was it that I gleaned from their hopeful eyes? What¡­ What manner of man did I wish to make of myself? A question I had asked myself over and over and over, through the many restless hours of an entire day. The end of that durance of self-inquiry found me now standing in the midst of this conclave. My will is steeled. My soul is set. Volume 1 - CH 6.2 All stray shufflings fell silent as the leaders settled at their seats. Their eyes, a score and more, sent their stares all to me. ¡°Rolf Buckmann. Testify before us all of what actions you took on the day of the steed¡¯s vanishing.¡± A demand from one amongst the leadership: namely, the chairman charged with moderating the hearing. ¡°Sir,¡± I began. ¡°I was given official leave for both that very day and the day prior to it. On the night of the latter, I went to town, and stayed there till my return in the dark hours of the former.¡± ¡°My my. Stayed overnight, did he¡­¡± ¡°Sorts rather well for an ungraced, doesn¡¯t it? To put up some coin for a corner girl?¡± ¡°Look at him. Thinks himself the lucky lad to have laid with a whore.¡± Murmurs from all through the panel of leaders. Veritable spit made only to wet the air. The faces that produced them were as a circle of sneers around me, twisted and reddened with ever greater scorn. I stole a glance at Felicia, finding her regard wide with shock in one moment, and furrowed from disgust in the next. ¡°Rolf Buckmann,¡± the chairman resumed. ¡°You make the claim that the Reuscher horse was indeed in its stall on the day preceding its reported disappearance. Explain yourself in full detail.¡± ¡°Yes, sir. On the morning of that day, I cared for said horse as per my routine. At the end of it, I had the horse returned to its stall; this, I am certain of. On the evening of that same day, I checked the stalls once more before heading out to town. Then, too, was the horse in its proper place, and this, also, I am certain of.¡± ¡°And what of your exact whereabouts in town?¡± the moderator pressed further. ¡°Mind! We are well-vested with the authority to gather testimony from the citizenry. Speak the truth, and only the truth.¡± ¡°I cannot recall. I¡¯m afraid I partook too many a mug of mead during my outing,¡± I stated flatly, stirring up a mixture of misgivings, impetuous incredulity, and venomous vituperations from the panel. The commotion thundered clear through the conclave. For their part, Emilie and Felicia were both seized with a look of despair. ¡°And you would have us accept such incredibility?¡± the chairman charged. ¡°I believe such is irrelevant. This hearing deliberates my agency in the disappearance of the horse, not my doings in town,¡± I charged back. Veins vaulted on the moderator¡¯s face. ¡°We test your testimony precisely that we may deliberate¡ªwith any justness¡ªthe extent of your agency, swain! A man inebriated, muddied of memory¡ª¡¯innocent,¡¯ he insists of himself. Tell us: what right mind would believe such folly!?¡± ¡°What right mind would meander from the matter at hand?¡± I challenged yet again. A wave of leaders leapt up from their seats. ¡°Foul insolence! This cur-bastard had better tame his tongue!¡± ¡°Your arrogance is but a brazen abuse of the mareschal¡¯s trust in you, ungraced!¡± A carousel of criticisms, replete with pointing fingers. The conclave was thoroughly choked with airings of anger. ¡°Calm! Calm, please! Everyone! We must have order!¡± Emilie raised her voice, bringing quiet to the hearing once more. She then looked to me, and with clarity and carefulness both, brought forth her own inquiry. ¡°Rolf¡­ You must know, ¡®tis quite difficult for me¡ªor anyone, really¡ªto believe in something so absurd as a loss of memory from having too hard a drink. Pray tell us all. What¡­ what was it that you were up to?¡± ¡°I do not remember.¡± ¡°Rolf¡­ Do you truly mean that?¡± ¡°I do.¡± Her brows sank. Sorrow, irritation¡ªsuch was the shade upon her face. ¡°¡®Tis certain,¡± she continued, ¡°I¡¯ve not forbidden our officers from fraternising with the brothels. Yet¡­ yet I cannot think that you would buy yourself a woman on a whim, Rolf. Just the same, I cannot think that you, of all of whom I know, would drink yourself to an amnesiac stupor. Tell me, Rolf¡­ What am I to believe?¡± ¡°As I¡¯ve stated before, Mareschal, my actions in town are not pertinent to the purposes of this hearing. Neither have I let the horse loose, nor has any evidence been brought to bear that abets otherwise. This is the simple truth of it.¡± ¡°But Rolf¡­ You well-recount having returned my horse to its stall, yet you also claim that you cannot recall what transpired in town. Wouldn¡¯t you say that¡¯s rather¡­ convenient?¡± ¡°No, Mareschal. I would not.¡± ¡°¡­Rolf¡­¡± Her face foundered again in sombre. The leadership around her, however, were quick to pounce on her plight. ¡°Madame. ¡®Tis clear as the summer sun that you neither believe Buckmann to be culpable, nor see him as the sort to commit this fault. Yet we of the leadership bear a position that is quite the contrary.¡± ¡°Agreed!¡± another leader cut in. ¡°Trustworthy he may have been in your childhood, but such verdant days have long since dusked. He stands as an ungraced before us all¡ªan ungraced good-for-nothing of an alga, no less!¡± ¡°Why¡­ Sirs!¡± Emilie turned to them, vexed. ¡°You speak beyond your boun¡ª¡± ¡°To begin with,¡± I interjected, ¡°I was freed of my swainly duties during the time of my leave¡ªa time that includes the day the horse disappeared.¡± Verily did Emilie try to shield me¡ªsincerely and sonorously so¡ªbut more verily again did she require shielding of her own. Her position was at stake; she verged right on the cusp of being doubted by the leaders for placing our intimacy above the integrity of the Order. Something had to be done before she took one step too far. ¡°It stands to reason, then: on that day, responsibility for the horse was not in my hands. To charge me so in spite of this is injustice,¡± I deflected their indictments, once again rousing the panel into a riot. Their gripes filled the conclave air, more so than ever before. ¡°What gall! Are you fain for contempt, ungraced!?¡± ¡°You insist upon your own innocence, yet dare blame us all in the same breath!?¡± ¡°You all! Tame yourselves! We must maintain order!¡± Emilie attempted again to soothe the seething leaders, whose collective anger and enmity was fast reaching a rolling boil. ¡°Emilie, love,¡± Raakel called in the midst of the chaos. ¡°That mickle-berk¡¯s gone an¡¯ done it, I really reckon. But look at ¡®im. Pretends the turtle tuck¡¯d in his shell, he does, afear¡¯d we might ¡®im out fer the hangdog hyaena what he is. So, his next plan o¡¯ action? A thin chelpin¡¯ ¡®bout how he can¡¯t recall¡ªa stinkin¡¯ lie, it is, fresh from his arse.¡± ¡°Indeed. We would do well to sooner trust our noses than his words,¡± Sheila said disinterestedly. For his part, Gerd kept his lips sealed tight. ¡°My fair Mareschal. This Buckmann fellow, he seems too stubborn to rightly say his sorries. His farce tarnishes the sheen of our esteemed Order¡ªwhy, I say we ought to oust him from these halls. ¡®Tis our only course out of this circus,¡± suggested one leader, with whom the others hungrily joined in. Their mareschal stood silent, her eyes shut away from the scene. But before long, she looked to me once more. ¡°¡­Rolf,¡± Emilie started quietly. ¡°Pray speak the truth. I beg of you¡­¡± I but breathed as my answer. Felicia, seemingly fed up, shook her head at my reticence. In contrast, Emilie kept her patience and pressed on. ¡°¡­We¡¯ll not thrust you into the streets and allow your return only once you¡¯ve retrieved the horse¡ªthat¡¯s not our intent. We but dearly wish to know the truth of it all, and to hear from your own lips a proper testimony. That¡¯s all we want from you, Rolf. Truly.¡± Even then, I did not budge. ¡°Rolf. Is this really too much to ask of you?¡± Even then, I stood firm. ¡°¡­Brother.¡± A call from Felicia, small but steeled of timbre. A single word that egged me on to apologise at once. Only, I did not. ¡°You¡¯ll become a knight one day, won¡¯t you Rolf?¡± Emilie continued, her voice dark with desperation. ¡°No knight can keep himself so unspotted along the long toils of his path; certainly, he may err somewhere along the way. But when he does, he makes certain to accept his faults, that he may reflect upon and hone himself further. This is what a true knight is¡­ isn¡¯t it? At least, I should like to think so.¡± ¡°¡®Tis as the good Mareschal says!¡± ¡°You might do yourself a great favour to heed her words, ungraced!¡± ¡°How about you show a smidgen of decency for once!? Set a good example for all your fellow good-for-nothings out there, eh!?¡± The leaders arduously echoed their sycophancy for Emilie¡¯s pleas. But this time, she made no effort to silence them. Rather, she loosened her grip upon their leashes, that they may continue their barking fits for the while. When all was settled again, she spoke once more. ¡°Rolf. You shall apologise at once.¡± Words, clear and calm, conveyed with her azure regard fixed straight upon me. The leaders were quiet. Her mighty mien had stayed their instinct for interjection. ¡®Yes. I admit to the loss of the horse. For that, I am deeply sorry.¡¯ Were I to utter those words, this entire ordeal would be done and dealt with. That much was certain. The leadership would no doubt be insatiate from so insipid an ending. But equally doubtless would be Emilie¡¯s unceasing efforts to protect me from their ire. And just like that, all would return to as they once were. I would remain by Emilie¡¯s side, striving day by day on the path towards knighthood. Days, each spent in her dear company. Yet, my soul was set. Set upon the words that must be said. Set upon a resolve that must be revealed. ¡°I will not.¡± The ensuing silence was as a fog falling upon the conclave. Emilie was astonished. Unmistakably so. The words that left my lips were to her as unforeseen as a bolt of lightning on a clear summer day. ¡°Rolf¡­?¡± Her small voice echoed. Yet mine did not answer. ¡°W¡­ were we not clear¡­ perchance? Rolf, if you refuse to accept your faults and apologise before us all, then I¡¯m afraid we¡­ we have little choice¡­¡± Her voice waned. Yet mine was unwavering. ¡°I¡¯ll not bend the knee¡ªnot under the weight of odds so stacked against me. To coerce me so is a grave folly.¡± ¡°P¡­ please, Rolf. Weren¡¯t you striving all these years to become a knight¡­?¡± Silence. ¡°Was it not your dearest dream¡­?¡± Silence, yet again. ¡°Why¡­!? Why will you not yield!? You have only to apologise and this will all be over!¡± It will indeed. The leadership craved an ending no less than she, albeit one woven of a different thread, of which they were quick to expound upon their mareschal as they roused themselves once more. ¡°Mareschal! We are decided! We find this fool ill-fitting of our Order!¡± ¡°Madame! Your verdict!¡± ¡°Rolf! Please! Apologise and I will forgive you here and now! Just¡­ apologise¡­!¡± Emilie raised her voice clear in my direction, half-drowned out by the leaders¡¯ fit of snarls. ¡°Mareschal! See how he spurns the olive branch! Such contempt is never inculpable!¡± I have always known. Always. That there would come a time when Emilie and I would go our separate ways. The day I found myself to be ungraced was the day our futures forked apart. Yet amidst such misfortune was a blessing. Small, but cherished all the more: five years. Five more, of her company. Five more, by her side. To see her. To hear her. To help her. But now, our time together is spent dry; the hour-sand, silenced of its flow. I¡¯ve supported her, given her counsel, and taught her aught and all that could avail her. House Albeck, the haunt of hedonists that sought to consign her to a foul fate, met its own by my hands. I have done for her all that I can. No longer will she have need of me. From here on out, she has but to ply her fame, and the fortunes she fights so hard for will surely be hers. ¡°Rolf¡­¡± ¡°This hearing is all but heard, Mareschal. We are decided. We are resolute. Condemn him!¡± ¡°Please¡­ Rolf¡­ This isn¡¯t¡­ this isn¡¯t how¡­¡± ¡°Madame!¡± This was it. The fates have played their hand. I was but a pawn cornered by their cunning, but having seen the game for what it was, I knew no good would come from wavering now. I¡¯ve made my peace. ¡°Mareschal,¡± I called firmly. ¡°I, too, am resolute.¡± ¡°But¡­ but, Rolf¡­ It can¡¯t end¡­ not like this¡­¡± There was confusion in every facet of her bearing. And for Felicia, naught but disbelief, to be forced to witness her woeful brother at the centre such a storm. We looked at length upon each other, Emilie and I. And in so doing, quietude returned to the conclave. The leaders, one and all, turned to their mareschal, waiting with bated breath for her words. Emilie¡¯s eyes. Large and crystal blue, veritable jewels I¡¯d beheld since the time my heart first began taking shape. Those same eyes now quivered with sorrow. ¡®Why?¡¯ they seem to ask. But I could accord them no answer at all. Were I able, I would have liked very much to thank her for filling my days with both brightness and beauty. Yet to do so in the livid company of the leadership was to fan an unforgiving flame. Not that this day could have suffered such luxury, anyway. The time for warmth and honesty had long passed us by. And that was precisely why I only looked on. On and on, upon those same eyes. Perhaps there was nothing left in me to tell her. In spite of it, I could not help but keep my gaze fixed upon hers. ¡°Rolf¡­¡± I could not answer. Within me was found nothing that could be said. And so another silence grew again between us. A silence heralding the end to our halcyon days. We stood face to face. Nothing more. Nothing less. Even then, my determination remained undulled. To part from Emilie was painful, most certainly. Yet this was a wound I chose to bear. There was no turning back. No more second thoughts. At the end of that enduring silence, Emilie shut her eyes. Before long, they were revealed once more. Eyes free from the bitterness and bafflement of her heart. The eyes of the ¡°Aureola¡±, the Lady Emilie Mernesse, Dame Mareschal to the 5th Chivalric Order. ¡°¡­Rolf Buckmann.¡± She called with deliberateness. Setting her eyes upon mine, she moved her lips once more, slowly, to intonate her next words with nary a spark of spirit in their timbre. ¡°I hereby discharge you from your service, and exile you from our Order.¡± Volume 2 - CH 1.1 It was done. The 5th Chivalric Order saw fit to expel me from its halls. A wingless fledgling to be flung from the nest¡ªonly, not immediately so. No, the Orders are each a military organisation, composing the arms of the vast royal army. Not even the process of purging one of its own could escape the burden of bureaucracy. And though I¡¯d lost affiliation with the Order, let alone my meagre lot as a long-serving swain, I was yet a soldier of Londosius. And where else would a soldier be sent but a battlefield? In our lands, it is custom for a fallen knight to be driven off to the frontiers, where the fires of the frontline burn fiercest. A knight I was not, of course, but it betrays neither reason nor reverie to think that the same fate awaited me. Life in a faraway fringeland¡­ But which, exactly? Even now, the top brass were deliberating upon it. A whole ten days it would take, during which time, I was to be put under house arrest. A rather toothless sentencing, to be frank. I had not a house, much less a room of my own to be arrested within. And so I spent my days dallying in the library. Despite being warned to venture not a step outside the headquarters building itself, I routinely left its confines for my usual morning and evening training. Not even this sad situation could deter me from the daily rigour. That was the pattern, really. Perhaps it was in the comfort of knowing that I¡¯d be gone for good that the other officers were generous¡ªor indifferent, more like¡ªof my blatant rule-breaking. Luckily, not a soul thought to question my actions the entire time. Yes. Lucky indeed. ¡°¡­Lucky? I¡¯m an exile, and wrongfully so, no less. What am I, if not shrivelled up and dried of all luck?¡± Such words I would put to the wind as the uneventful days dragged on by. On the tenth of that span, I was told at last of my destination. Balasthea Stronghold¡ªin the border province of Str?m the fort stood, and it was quite the distinguished one, at that. Infamous for the extreme rate of fatality amongst its soldiery, Balasthea guarded a hotly contested territory, one rightly labelled as being amongst the most murderous killing fields in the entire realm. Balasthea itself was manned by the Fiefguard of Margrave Str?m, who managed the fort via funds and support from Central. No vestige of the Orders were to be found on his land; all that I¡¯ve grown accustomed to over the years would likely stand in stark contrast to the folkways of that frontier. The very thought of it was enough to fray my nerves. And if I¡¯m honest, the last ten days were a strain upon my heart. A shadow was cast upon it, darker again than I could ever have imagined¡ªa dusk born from having to part from Emilie¡¯s side. I harbour no regrets in making that fateful decision. But pain does what it does, and wounds are wounds in the end. I¡¯ve known Emilie ever since my mind could know aught, from the day the light of awareness first dawned upon me. She was the one woman to whom I promised a life of love and happiness. So many years¡­ ¡­and now to ponder upon forgetting them all. The heart is not so simple a thing, I¡¯m afraid, to be able to sever asudden so dear a bond. But the past forever dies, the present is forever here, and the future forever awaits. Unbending truths for the kin of Man, and so I must forge ahead. My destination is decided. I can ill-afford to wallow in my woes much longer. Death is where my way wends; it would not do to meet him without my head held high. ? The official day of my exile. Unspotted and infinitely cerulean the morrow-skies were, as if to rain blessings upon my departure. Were that truly so, then I suspect whoever wields the weather must be quite the dim-witted deity. After all, what good comes from exalting an exile as he sets out upon so perilous a path? There I stood at the main portcullis, where five years past I passed through with Emilie as we started our new lives here at the 5th. Never did I think that I would leave it under such sullen circumstance. The life of a man is truly uncertain, if nothing else. Gracious were the fates indeed to have garnished my lot with such an assortment of surprises. I should thank them. Though the gesture might feign too brave a face, I feel. ¡°Word has been sent to Balasthea Stronghold,¡± spoke one of two leaders standing before me. ¡°Hand them the papers when you arrive.¡± ¡°Keep that nose of yours on the grindstone this time, yea? And try not to get yourself kicked out again,¡± the other droned. In fact, I¡¯d say the both of them seemed rather bothered, to be left with the unenviable chore of officiating my disposal. ¡°Hah. Whom am I kidding? Wouldn¡¯t put it past an ungraced to get the boot twice.¡± With those words, the leaders then went about their business, hasteful in getting me out of their sight as soon as possible. Of course, no horse would be furnished to me. I was to travel to town by foot, and there make use of stagecoaches for the rest of the way. Not that I was troubled much by it. My sword, a smattering of sustenance, and a trusty waterskin I¡¯d been using for the longest while now¡ªbeyond these, I carried little. The air thudded. Hoof-falls clopped close. I looked, finding a formation of mounted knights cantering in. They were all of them leaders, and foremost amongst them: Emilie. This was the first time I¡¯d laid eyes on her in the ten days since the hearing. ¡°Madame!¡± greeted one of the prior leaders. ¡°Come to send off the ungraced for good, I presume?¡± ¡°¡­I suppose I have,¡± she answered. There, from high up on her steed, did she look down upon me. Our eyes met. A heavy while, kept wordless throughout, till I turned my back. ¡°Be well.¡± A simple goodbye from my lips, one unrequited from Emilie¡¯s own. Her silence was sustained as I stepped through and out of the portcullis. And thus was executed my exile from the 5th Chivalric Order. ? Reaching Str?m was in and of itself a journey. But of course it had to be. The brand of ¡°border province¡± was hardly for show. Given the kingdom¡¯s sheer breadth, no less than seven days passed between my departure from the 5th¡¯s grounds to my arrival at the frontier. Through Londosius had I gone, faring by one stagecoach after the other. At times, it would stop at a stage station for a change of horses. Other times, I would transfer to another service entirely, and resume on my horse-drawn way. Countlessly did this occur, and by the seventh day of that long chain, I at last crossed into the hilly, evergreen stretches of Str?m. Disembarking from my final stop, I then spent another full day afoot, trekking alone through the treacherous spans till I found the fort looming before me. Balasthea Stronghold. The redoubted redoubt. A veritable edifice facing the Naf¨ªlim lands squarely on. Solid stonework composed its ramparts, while the fort proper was oaken in construction. A rather drab and dreary place compared to the grandeur of Order architecture. And intact it was not: Balasthea was riddled with scars, reminders of blistering, bygone battles. Beyond it were the Naf¨ªlim territories, an expanse strewn with woodlands that blanketed the base of a cragged mountain. The lay of this immediate land was such that no Naf¨ªlim host could venture an offensive without being funnelled through a single geographical point. But the same could be said of Londosius¡¯ own forces. And so what did such men build upon that imperative point but Balasthea itself? Not too far from the fort spanned the fiefburgh of Arbel, the urban administrative centre of the Str?m frontier. And in that burgh-city stood the residence of the margrave himself. To be sure, Arbel was well-defended in its own right, but if bereft of Balasthea¡¯s shielding shadow, then it might as well be a sheep shuddering alone in a wolven wilderness. No wonder, then, that the Naf¨ªlim were utterly fierce and focused in their offence, a seed of violence that sprouted Balasthea¡¯s repute as a deathtrap battlefield some years past. The margrave himself was not one to stay his hand in answering such aggression, as evidenced by occasional incursions of his own into the Naf¨ªlim lands. But the men composing the margrave¡¯s military were of a sort different than those stationed in Balasthea. Make no mistake, the soldiery of Str?m was all the margrave¡¯s own: the Fiefguard. Yet a distinction must be made between those stationed at Balasthea and those that the margrave directly commanded: the former were charged strictly with the defence of the fort, their very flesh made as shields to guard against its fall. And that selfsame fort was to be my new place of employ. ¡°Hail!¡± I called to the guardsman at the gate. ¡°I am Rolf Buckmann, a transfer from the 5th Order. The vice-commandant is wise to my arrival, I take it?¡± ¡°That he is,¡± he answered. ¡°This way, ser.¡± The gates groaned open. The guard then guided me through the fort grounds. We soon entered the keep, and after winding through its corridors, emerged in a room where waited but one man. ¡°Ebbe¡¯s the name. Vice-Commandant o¡¯ this here fort,¡± he introduced himself. A bony man of about thirty years of age, this ¡°Ebbe¡± was given to maintaining a constant, sarcastic furrow upon his brows. ¡°Quite the long way you¡¯ve come, eh?¡± ¡°Rolf Buckmann,¡± came my own curt introduction. ¡°A long way indeed.¡± ¡°Fortunate we are t¡¯have you, good Commandant. Let us hope you¡¯ve not come all this way for naught,¡± Ebbe returned, already bothered by my arrival. ¡°Acting Commandant,¡± I corrected. That¡¯s right. I was instead charged with a position of leadership, spared from the dread and drudgery of soldiering. The men of the fort were each in the employ of the margrave; none, and nothing, had anything tangible to do with the Chivalric Orders themselves. Yet by the laws of Londosius, Balasthea and all other forts like it are subordinate to the knightly institution. Intimate is the link between Central and the Orders, for better or worse. In contrast, the forces of a fort are fairly divorced from the kingdom¡¯s grip, being composed of only common soldiers from the surrounding region. But this land, by rights, belongs to the king himself, and the margrave is merely its steward. All under the latter¡¯s purview, then, are subject to the will of Central, and by extension, the Orders themselves, cruces of the royal military that they are. This naturally includes the dictation of human resources and staffing¡ªand the handling of my exile. But that was not all that undergirded my charge here. Balasthea¡¯s actual commandant was beset by a chronic ailment, and so was put out to pasture for the time being. It was there that Emilie herself saw an opportunity to make me acting commandant to this fort. Her designs were undimmed: no doubt she thought I would die both immediately and unceremoniously were I made a regular grunt upon so lethal a battlefield. The soldiers of this fort all hailed from the common citizenry. Thus was it entirely reasonable to assign an aristocrat from the Order to fill the commandant¡¯s seat. That was a bill I snuggly fit: despite having never rose beyond swainhood, and having been denied inheritance of the Buckmann barony, I was yet a noble hailing from the Order. Given how so many pieces of the puzzle fell into place, it was easy to see why Emilie was so impelled to place me in this post. Though if I¡¯m honest, to be exiled straight into a position of power was itself enough of a seed for a strange tale. It was my hope that Emilie had not stepped on too many toes to get this affair approved. Thankfully, this was to be the last. Never again would she have to imperil her position. Yet it was very likely that she¡¯d accrued a hounding debt to Central in the process¡­ all just for my sake. It was clear as day, then, why Ebbe¡¯s behaviour was so briared upon our meeting. A second-in-command such as him is certainly whom one would expect to take over the duties of an absent commandant. Yet here was I, an ennobled¡ªand exiled¡ªnewcomer, suddenly snatching away the selfsame privilege. The very sight of me must¡¯ve stung him sore, I¡¯m sure. ¡°And how fares the erstwhile commandant himself?¡± I asked. ¡°Oh, he fares. The afterlife¡¯s busy rolling out the red carpet for the poor master, you¡¯d be glad t¡¯know,¡± Ebbe answered dismissively, before turning a pair of sneering eyes to me. ¡°But here¡¯s another Commandant right in this room, and he piques the whiskers o¡¯ Ebbe, the curious cat¡ªa question, sir!¡± My eyes narrowed. ¡°What tickles you?¡± ¡°Your expulsion. What else?¡± Ebbe smiled as he continued. ¡°A comely kick it was what sent your arse all the way t¡¯this neck o¡¯ the woods. What tickled the knee, hmm?¡± ¡°An itch you should know well of.¡± ¡°The one upon the horse¡¯s hind! Ahah!¡± The vice-commandant¡¯s grating giggles filled the room. ¡°Y¡¯hide quite the hoof-mark on your haunches, don¡¯t you, my aching Commandant! Not a cutpurse nor a turncoat you are! No no! A stablehand too ¡®handy¡¯ in his handling o¡¯ a horse, I¡¯d wager! And now the steed¡¯s a runaway, whilst you¡¯re the stun¡¯d castaway! Hoh! No more slapstick a shtick there¡¯s ever been!¡± ¡°Slapstick indeed.¡± My flat humouring all but goaded a goatly grin from Ebbe¡¯s bony face. If his unceasing chuckles were anything to go by, I¡¯d say he was having a grand time at my expense. ¡°How now, good knight! Cheer up!¡± he squawked. ¡°Or should I say, ¡®good swain¡¯?¡± ¡°Then you¡¯ve said right.¡± ¡°Good swain! Such a short time with the Order it must¡¯ve been!¡± Ebbe bellowed with arms wide, before tucking them in akimbo. ¡°No more than half a year, was it?¡± ¡°Five.¡± ¡°Mm? What¡¯s that? Five? Five years, y¡¯say?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve read my records. Why play this farce?¡± ¡°I¡¯d misplaced my reading glasses, y¡¯see!¡± he smiled, more toothy now than ever with delight. The man was certainly revealing himself to be quite the articulated puppet to his own emotions. ¡°Come now, Commandant. Do tell. Five years, was it? As a swain? What kick¡¯d off that career, eh?¡± ¡°You well-know why.¡± ¡°Be not so cold, Commandant! Come. Let us hear it. Straight from the horse¡¯s mouth!¡± he squealed with restrained laughter. ¡°I can¡¯t scratch this itch myself, ey! Your secret, sir! Your secret! How does a man simmer the swain-stew for five long winters? Oh, do enlighten me! I beg o¡¯ you!¡± With the theatrics of a thespian, Ebbe shrunk and leaned in, hands clasped together imploringly. Yet his face remained ever ugly with its jeer. ¡°Play the japing jester all you want, Ebbe. I care little,¡± I shot back. ¡°But even a jester has an office he ought to serve well, and I will have you serve yours¡ªproperly.¡± From the vice-commandant¡¯s throat came a roaring laugh, like a saw eating into a tree. ¡°¡®Office¡¯, y¡¯said!? Ah hah! I¡¯d say you¡¯re quite the clown yourself, Commandant! A blind and bumbling bloke has but t¡¯lift his finger t¡¯be told he¡¯s served his office better than you, my good man!¡± With those words, the ghoul-like grunt¡¯s guffaws echoed on and on. Volume 2 - CH 1.2 The fortyards. Drumming through the air were grunts and clanks, the stamping and sliding of heavy feet, the huffs and hisses of swung weapons. For there was gathered the soldiery, busied in its exercises at my behest; before all else, I needed to measure the might of these men¡ªor lack thereof. ¡°What think you, Commandant?¡± asked Ebbe, his face strained with a great grin. ¡°The men are meagerly armed, but they move well enough¡ªeach on his own, that is. A flock of headless chickens coordinates better than they.¡± ¡°¡®Coordinate¡¯! Hah!¡± Ebbe snorted. ¡°Eagle-eyed, are we, Commandant? Tell me, how sweet ¡®pon that beak o¡¯ yours was it t¡¯squawk such lordly words, hm?¡± ¡°This soldiery is oddly sorted, to start with,¡± I continued, unheeding of the vice-commandant¡¯s vitriol. ¡°And the platoons¡­ I see too great a difference in prowess between them each.¡± Whoever organised these men had long abandoned any notion of balance. Clearer than the summer sun was the intent to match the strong with the strong, and leave the weak to wallow on the wayside. A warped piece of wood this was, one in need of some honest planing. Left lop-sided as they were, the men would remain incapable of coordination, even if their lives depended on it. ¡°Do you, now?¡± Ebbe sighed. ¡°Sing t¡¯me more o¡¯ this lullaby, my dear balladeer.¡± ¡°You first, Ebbe¡ªthose men over there. What are they?¡± I asked, flicking my chin off to the side. There in the distance was gathered another group of men, a score and a half in number, each encased in argent armour. Just by the look of them, I could tell they were the standouts of the soldiery: well-armed and well-trained. ¡°Why, they¡¯re mine, o¡¯ course. Guardsmen o¡¯ the Vice-Commandant, yours truly,¡± Ebbe explained, but seeing my unimpressed response, he blinked. ¡°Hmm? Are they not mete with your measure, my man?¡± There is no fault to be found in surrounding a commander with a group of select soldiers, highly-skilled and made separate from the rest of the pack. The Orders¡¯ Owlcranes attest to this. No, the problem laid elsewhere. ¡°Not in numbers, they are. Why so many?¡± I inquired keenly. ¡°Because many¡¯s what I require,¡± Ebbe answered with pomp. ¡°What? Your eagle-eyes failing t¡¯espy why, now are they?¡± Well, let sleeping dogs lie, as they say. Balasthea was a fort, defence being its primary charge. Were a battle to break upon its walls, certainly these men under Ebbe could prove useful as reserves, sent to match swords with any overly ambitious aggressors. Besides, leaving but thirty men at the rear would not necessarily amount to a tactical flaw of any substance. It was readily apparent that Ebbe¡¯s personal guards were a point of pride to the man; in exchange for turning a blind eye to them, I would have the vice-commandant himself consent to another matter. ¡°Fine, then. They¡¯re your men; I¡¯ll not shuffle them about,¡± I relented. ¡°But of the others¡ªall of them¡ªthey¡¯ll be mine to reorganise as I see fit.¡± ¡°Yes, yes, almighty chessmaster. Play with your pieces however you like.¡± As I thought. Ebbe is a man jealously protective only of that which is his own. Aught else is trivial as rags to him. Right then. Changes for the good were on the horizon at last, with not a peep from Ebbe to bar their implementation. ¡°Good. You¡¯ll be briefed on the results once the re-sorting¡¯s done with.¡± ¡°Oh, do take your time, Commandant,¡± Ebbe waved off disinterestedly. A dim grin remained on his face, its corners propped up by contempt. ¡°Ebbe, I¡¯ve said this once already: you¡¯re free to mislike me as you like¡ªprivately. You all well-risk life and limb to defend this fort, I know, and know very well. That your commandant¡¯s seat was unceremoniously re-suited for the Order¡¯s designs is certainly something to scorn. Howev¡ª¡± ¡°Well now, kind hawk o¡¯ a Commandant! Is that an olive branch I spy in your talons? Hm? A fort is but a sprig sprouted far from the Order¡¯s boughs, oh certainly. T¡¯be taken over by a noble¡ªdisgraced and rotted fruits, the lot o¡¯ you¡ªis not so rare a sight, yea?¡± That simper of his wrinkled deeper as he continued. ¡°Yet Balasthea is an aegis essential t¡¯Londosius¡¯ defence. But you? What¡¯re you but a broken, knightless blade, ill-pair¡¯d with the pavise o¡¯ Balasthea? And you would have me respect you. How precious.¡± ¡°Precious indeed, respect. A man pays it to whomever he pleases, sure,¡± I conceded, before turning a glare to Ebbe. ¡°But I am your superior officer, and I will not brook insubordination.¡± ¡°Well! Yon¨¢ be merciful¡ªoh! The squawk o¡¯ this hawk! How it affrights my meek soul!¡± the farceur squealed smilingly, shrinking back and clutching his shoulders to great theatricality. ¡°Yes, yes, Commandant. Tuck ¡¯way your talons! I shall heed your every word.¡± What a pain in the arse. Further troubles would surely follow with this pierrot snapping at my heels at every turn. But no greater good was ever achieved without much toil: Balasthea¡¯s situation must be turned around, lest it remain a graveyard ever-piling up with the vainly deceased. Reform. That was what this fort needed, and what I resolved to bring about. ? One grey day led to the next. Under the dull and misted morrowlight, the platoons were assembled in the fort outskirts. The air of the early hour was broken by barks from whom but Ebbe¡¯s men themselves as they paced here and there, proud in their silver armour. ¡°Wot¡¯s it now, eh!?¡± screeched one of those elites. ¡°4th Platoon: late in settin¡¯ out fer patrol! 5th Platoon¡­ no¡¯ yet done fettlin¡¯ the bloody rampart! Ye wankers, can¡¯t even do a ¡®andyman¡¯s work, is it!?¡± ¡°S-sir, right ¡®bout t¡¯set off, we was,¡± bleated a platoonsman of the 4th. ¡°But y¡¯see, we then got ¡®anded orders asudden, t¡¯patrol some other place, an¡¯ er¡­¡± ¡°We ain¡¯t got many ¡®ands fer the job, sir,¡± a 5th platoonsman chimed in. ¡°We should like t¡¯fix up the rampart right ¡®an proper, only command¡¯s not ¡®eeded a word o¡¯ us request fer more men, see.¡± ¡°Excuses! All I ¡®ear is wet excuses! Whimperin¡¯ windfuckers, the lot o¡¯ ye!¡± ¡°A-a-apologies, s-sir!¡± On and on, this went. A pitiful repetition of lambastings from the high-ranks, answered with naught but sorries from the low. ¡°Ebbe,¡± I called, watching with not a wisp of warmth. ¡°What¡¯s with this nonsense?¡± ¡°Morning assembly. What, can¡¯t tell, good Commandant? Eh? What¡¯s it look like t¡¯you? Tea at dawn?¡± yawned Ebbe. ¡°We gather ¡®em all up, y¡¯see. Drill into them all they did wrong yesterday. That way, they know the proper thing t¡¯do t¡¯day and t¡¯morrow. A try¡¯d and true tradition, if I do say so myself.¡± A self-important summary. It would seem he was the very culinarian who cooked up this sorry stew of an exercise. ¡°Tried, yes. True?¡± I shook my head. ¡°No, Ebbe. No more of this farce from here on out.¡± The grin vanished. ¡°¡­What? How¡¯s it a farce, ey?¡± ¡°How¡¯s it not a farce, is more the question. You but line these men up and drown their ears with the queerest quibbles. Why, I¡¯d wager you do all this just to stroke your egos against your subordinates, to drill into them instead of who¡¯s high and who¡¯s a hound,¡± was my bitter assessment. ¡°Naught but a tree that ill-bears a single fruit is all this is.¡± ¡°Oi you! Think t¡¯make us yer hounds, is it!?¡± came a shriek, one from the veiny throat an Ebbe-elite. From the look of him, he seemed the youngest of that guard: a trace of childishness yet lingered on that fuming face of his as he stamped his way closer. ¡°Thass quite the tongue fer an Actin¡¯ Commandant, yeh!¡± he went on wildly. ¡°An¡¯ proper swollen! Bit it bold on yer way down, did ye? When they kick¡¯d yer arse off the Order¡¯s saddle! Well, ye can clam it up f¡¯good, ye¡¯ll be glad t¡¯know! Fer Master Ebbe be the one runnin¡¯ the show ¡®round ¡®ere!¡± ¡°Karl, my boy. Show a bit o¡¯ pity for the man, will you?¡± Ebbe soothed the youth with uncharacteristic calm. ¡°Pity? Wot¡¯s this ¡®bout, Master Ebbe?¡± blinked this ¡®Karl¡¯. ¡°Us good Commandant here is ungraced. A sad and sodden-wit¡¯d lad who knows not left from right on the battlefield.¡± ¡°¡®Ungraced¡¯? Wot¡¯s that then, eh?¡± ¡°Spurn¡¯d o¡¯ Yon¨¢¡¯s good graces, as it were. The man has got nary an iota o¡¯ odyl in ¡®im, see. A full slap t¡¯the arse was all he got from Her, I reckon.¡± A revelation that inspired a stunned silence from both Karl and the other elites. But another moment, and they were all of them in stitches, laughing their lungs out. ¡°W-wo¡ªhwaha! Wot¡¯s this!? ¡®ows ¡®e even alive, eh!?¡± ¡°Thass a proper bit o¡¯ kiddin¡¯ there, Ebbe! An¡¯ look¡ªgot sent t¡¯this ¡®ellhole o¡¯ all places! A sad lot fer this sad lad!¡± Through the midst of that commotion cut the sound of an unsheathing sword. Gripping it was Karl, who then trained its tip to me. ¡°¡®ow ¡®bout it, Commandant? Spare a lil¡¯ spar for good ¡®ol Karl? I promise I¡¯ll be easy, yea!¡± the foul youth smiled, his threat rousing a ruckus from the elites. ¡°Bwahah! Ye teach ¡®im a stinkin¡¯ lesson, Karl! Show ¡®im wot a stellar schoolboy ye be!¡± ¡°Come on, Karl! Stand down! Ye makin¡¯ the commandant cry!¡± ¡°Ahah! Ahahah!¡± The Ebbe-guards continued their guffaws, clutching their bosoms from the hilarity of it all. My duty it was indeed to scold their nonsense, but it was painfully apparent that they had not a mind to heed their ungraced commandant. What other duty was left to me, then, was but to produce results. Decisively so. ¡°No more morning assemblies from this day forth,¡± I announced sharply. ¡°And the 5th Platoon¡¯s short on hands¡ªtoo short to shore up some stone walls. That in itself calls for a thorough restructuring of every platoon. I¡¯ll see to it myself that it gets done over the next couple of days. That is all. Dismissed!¡± With my motive made clear, I left the ever-laughing scene. ? Less than a week later found me standing in the command chamber, eyes fixed upon some papers in hand. ¡°Ebbe. This report¡ªwhoever penned it certainly wasn¡¯t in a hurry. Not in defining the gap between both projected and verified damages, that is. Why¡¯s that?¡± ¡°Why the hurry t¡¯go nowhere?¡± shrugged Ebbe. ¡°Knowing just the actualities well-suffices. You split hairs, Commandant!¡± ¡°I split hairs that we might survive another day, Vice-Commandant,¡± I shot back, lifting not an eye off the report. ¡°You and your men. I would have you all be more thorough from here onwards.¡± A snorting scoff. ¡°¡®Thorough? What¡¯s this now?¡± ¡°Make certain that you write in your reports both projected and actual results,¡± I elaborated firmly. ¡°And while you¡¯re at it, go and inform the platoons that henceforth they are to include in their reports the reasons for such disparities.¡± Balasthea well-lived up to its name: a facet of Londosius¡¯ vast frontlines such as this had its fair share of skirmishes over the last few days. Par for the course, but what had changed was the number of fatalities, lesser now than before my arrival. I pulled out all the stops: platoons were reorganised, chains of command were recomposed, posts were repositioned, shifts were rescheduled. Much ado it was, but the results were unmistakable. Balasthea saw its silver lining at last, and it was a vivid one, at that. Only, Ebbe¡¯s attitude towards me had not improved in the slightest, as our conversation sadly attested. ¡°Come now, Commandant! We are warriors! Men o¡¯ battle! Not miserly bookkeepers!¡± he whined. ¡°You might¡¯ve made yourself a more whetted warrior had you learned how to keep a book, Ebbe. Your years of service yet find you dim to following orders¡ªnow¡¯s a good time to learn, I¡¯d say.¡± ¡°¡­Hmph. Fat talk for an ungraced¡ª¡± Ebbe¡¯s snide remark drowned in the bellowing air. I glanced up from the papers. The warning horns were sounded¡ªan attack was upon us. I sprang up and went to the window, finding men scrambling about in the fortyards below. Before long, a platoon captain burst into the room. ¡°Commandant! We¡¯ve enemies at the gate! They strike from the east!¡± ¡°Their numbers?¡± ¡°Us surveyors be countin¡¯ t¡¯this moment, but the Naf¨ªlim number the same as yesterday¡¯s, from the looks o¡¯ it!¡± ¡°Can¡¯t deploy the 1st¡­ their wounded have yet to recover,¡± I thought aloud. ¡°Have the 2nd and 3rd Platoons defend the west gate! The 6th goes to the east!¡± Unwelcome words to Ebbe. ¡°Have you got wax stuff¡¯d in those ears, Commandant?¡± he quipped, taken aback. ¡°The devils¡¯ve come t¡¯the east gate, the man said. What good¡¯s it do t¡¯guard the west so thickly, eh?¡± ¡°We do ourselves much good to sniff out ruses wherever they rustle. Yesterday¡¯s attack¡ªthe Naf¨ªlim struck the east gate then, too. A trick to train our noses there, that we might not catch their scent coming from the west today,¡± I reasoned. ¡°A bait-and-switch. We best be on our toes.¡± Yet again, Ebbe snorted in scorn at my words. Paying no mind to his subsequent giggles, I turned to the soldier. ¡°Captain. You have your orders.¡± ¡°Right away, sir!¡± he saluted, and quickly quit the room. Gearing myself up, I followed him soon after. It won¡¯t do to idle by, safe and divorced from the struggle; I would dictate the battle right in the thick of its throes. Balasthea Stronghold¡ªthe fatal fort and veritable mound of the war-dead. No longer would it be so dreaded. This, I swore. But for now, I would see to it that starting on this day, not a single soul would be lost to the fighting. Volume 2 - CH 1.3 13-16 minutes 03.11.2022 Desktop view is recommended for reading this content. Soot-Steeped Knight ? ú ¤Þ ¤ß ¤ì ¤Î òT Ê¿ Volume II Chapter 1 ¨C Part 3 Written By Yoshihiko Mihama Translated By Vagrant ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ The clank and clamour of battle burgeoned. But its crescendo now crested from a direction different from the outset: just as I¡¯d thought, the Naf¨ªlim¡¯s main forces flooded in from the west instead. By my orders, we had our defensive ranks reinforced accordingly before the clash. The preparations bore fruit: our men met the foe, unmoved by their ruse. ¡°Keep the ranks filled!¡± came my command to a captain. ¡°Maintain our numbers and we maintain the upper hand!¡± ¡°Aye aye, sir!¡± A facet of my reforms saw the formation of a new platoon of sentries, their charge it was to observe the battle from the high safety of a watchtower. There, they would glean any gap in the numbers of both our forces and the enemy¡¯s own. This precious information would then be reported and relayed down to each captain, who would then dictate his platoon to the demands of the battle. A veritable heart, the pulsing arteries of which allowed our numbers to swiftly shift between different sections of the fort as needed. Such would not have been possible without disciplined coordination. To achieve it, open communication was fostered at the organisational level, after which the platoons themselves were revised and reassembled. From then on were each subject to stringent drills and exercises, all meant to make keen their coordinative capabilities. The results were unmistakable: no matter where the enemy fell upon us, our men were able to meet them head-on with ample numbers in tow. The erstwhile lack of flexibility and swiftness had regrettably begat no small number of soldiers left to twiddle their thumbs in the thick of battle. And who could blame them? They were situated in the wrong places at the wrong times, after all, on account of a complacent command. All that was changed. Now, Balasthea¡¯s men were as blades honed anew, with not the smallest span of their edges left untended. The battles breaking upon our bulwarks began to lose their teeth as my reforms bore further fruits. In the midst of this heartening trend stood I, judging today¡¯s clash to soon be another success. ? Three turns of the hourglass later. Victory was ours. ¡°The foes¡¯re fallin¡¯ back!¡± a captain reported. ¡°Might we give chase, sir?¡± I shook my head. ¡°Leave them.¡± ¡°¡®Leave ¡®em¡¯!? Fer wot now, ah!?¡± came Karl crashing in. ¡°Why, we ough¡¯ t¡¯cull ¡®em curs ¡®ere, ¡®fore they come chompin¡¯ at us arses ¡®gain!¡± ¡°A butcher earns no coin cutting meat that flees fast from his knife, Karl. Besides, we¡¯ve more pressing issues on our hands,¡± I sternly returned, before looking to the others. ¡°Check for casualties! Report to me your findings!¡± ¡°Tch! Yellow-liver¡¯d chick¡¯n, you!¡± lashed Karl¡¯s tongue, after which both he and the rest of Ebbe¡¯s men made themselves absent from the scene. Keeping the side of my glance upon them, I hastened the efforts to count the casualties. But there would be none on that day, a fact found out not long afterwards. ? An hour had sailed by since I hurried from the fort on horseback. The end of the rush found me in the Arbel fiefburgh proper. Night had set in; the pubs were full-lit and alive. I pushed open the door of one such establishment, quickly finding in its rowdy innards the shrill of a certain youth. ¡°Git this! They ran! Wit¡¯ them tails tuck¡¯d under them bollocks like the curs they are! Then I came t¡¯cut ¡®em all down, I did!¡± Karl. There the youth was, with a tankard of ale in hand, thrust high in the air. Surrounding him were Ebbe and the elite guards, to all of whom he sang of his feats earlier in the day. Feats from pursuing the Naf¨ªlim in their retreat. ¡°Got one o¡¯ ¡®em good, I tell ye!¡± he tattled on. ¡°Biggest o¡¯ ¡®em bastards thought t¡¯stay b¡¯hind an¡¯ let ¡®is beefin¡¯ brothers run off! Nice fellow wit¡¯ a giant axe, ¡®e was! Then I gave ¡®im a good scratchin¡¯ on ¡®is back fer the noble deed, I did! ¡­With the keen side o¡¯ my sword, tha¡¯ is!¡± The air swelled thick with laughter. ¡°From the back!¡± an Ebbe-guard wheezed from the hilarity. ¡°Karl the Coward, cutter o¡¯ hindquarters! Git a cockscomb an¡¯ a wattle on him an¡¯ he¡¯ll look the proper poultry! Haha!¡± ¡°Yea, wag that tongue all ye want, brother!¡± Karl quipped. ¡°This be war, ey! Fuss ¡®bout the champs an¡¯ chick¡¯ns ¡®mong us an¡¯ ye¡¯ll be on the butcher¡¯s block soon ¡®nough, ye will!¡±¡± ¡°Oh¡ª! Then I¡¯ll be hangin¡¯ with the ham-hogs right soon, eh!? A charmin¡¯ cut o¡¯ charcuterie, I¡¯ll make! Hwahah!¡± ¡°Big ol¡¯ butcher¡¯s shop¡¯s all it is, innit! War! Ahahah!¡± A soldier I¡¯d inquired back at the fort was right on the money: Ebbe and his brutes were wont to patronise this pub straight after a battle. There they all were, pissed out of their wits, bellies bulging with downed bitters. I had not a mind to join them. No, grilling these men was precisely why I came to this watering hole in the first place. To their tumultuous table I went, and raised a matter with one of those seated. ¡°You¡¯ve got something to spill, Ebbe?¡± I growled at the vice-commandant, who was sat quiet and content, soaking in Karl¡¯s gloating. ¡°¡­None, Commandant. Not from this empty cup o¡¯ mine,¡± he deflected. ¡°¡®Leave them,¡¯ I said,¡± came my cutting reminder. ¡°Only you didn¡¯t.¡± A shrug. ¡°What I do with my men is up to me, Commandant.¡± ¡°And what you do is up to me, Vice-Commandant. Not least when we¡¯re in the midst of battle. I promised only to keep your guardsmen out of my reforms. Nothing else.¡± My words seemed to sting Ebbe¡¯s ears as he forced out a sore sigh. ¡°Commandant! Commandant!¡± barked Karl from the side. ¡°Give us a break, will ye? Right jigger¡¯d we be from ¡®avin t¡¯cut an¡¯ kill the devils, all whilst ye sit comfy on yer ungraced arse!¡± ¡°Insubordination¡ªthat¡¯s what you¡¯ve committed, Ebbe,¡± came a bark of my own, sparing Karl not a moment of my mind. ¡°Report to my chamber first thing on the morrow.¡± Pressing the matter any further here was futile. With my command firmly given, I turned from the men and made for the door, catching a click from Ebbe¡¯s tongue. ¡°Oh, wot! Come on, Commandant! Where ye be ¡®eadin¡¯? ¡®ave a gulp wit¡¯ us, yea? Why, I¡¯ll even throw in a free lecture: ¡®ow t¡¯swing a sword all proper-like!¡± Again, I ignored Karl¡¯s drunken drolling as I parted from the buzzing pub. ? The next morning. I stood within the commandant¡¯s chamber, having received a particular guest from Arbel. ¡°Buckmann,¡± said he, a man none other than the lord of this land: the Margrave Aaron Str?m himself. ¡°The very first of our meetings, yes?¡± ¡°And one overlate; my sincerest apologies, Your Excellency,¡± I bowed. ¡°My hands were tied in turning the fortunes of the fort; I hope your generosity sees me fit for forgiveness.¡± ¡°Fit or no, I care little. Even my generosity can be tested in having to humour an ungraced. I¡¯m a busy man, you see,¡± he brushed off, with a smile bending that moustached mien of his. He seemed not much more than an ennobled bourgeois: conventional to a fault, with not a speck of scrupled inspiration in his eyes. ¡°You find Ebbe¡¯s actions to be lacking in ¡®lawfulness¡¯, I take it?¡± the margrave went on. ¡°He is quite the capable commander, I¡¯ll have you know. You¡¯d do right to learn a thing or two from a man like him.¡± To that, I had no words. The margrave¡¯s smile faded. ¡°Do not deign to discipline him for his deeds,¡± he warned. ¡°Have I made myself clear, Commandant?¡± ¡°¡­Yes, my liege,¡± I yielded. I was but an exile of the Order, a soldier bound to this borderland; disobedience would be not brooked by its lord before me. ¡°And you are come for other business, as well, I presume?¡± ¡°I am, indeed. A send-off, if you will.¡± To the window, he pointed. The view from the commandant¡¯s chamber encompassed the gate leading to Naf¨ªlim lands. There, I found a conspicuous congregation, its constituents neatly lined up. Two-hundred men and more they were, freshly deployed from the fiefburgh. My eyes narrowed at the sight. ¡°They move to attack? My liege, I¡¯ve heard naught of this.¡± Balasthea was but a bulwark, the shield of Str?m and nothing more. Thus it stands to reason that the force formed before me was not the fort¡¯s own, but the margrave¡¯s: the Fiefguard. ¡°I¡¯ve given speed to the schedule,¡± the margrave remarked. ¡°The fort is well-defended of late, and the Naf¨ªlim seem content to lick their wounds and wallow in their cowardice. Not least in thanks to yesterday¡¯s pursuit by Ebbe and his men; ¡®twas a fruitful routing they¡¯ve accomplished.¡± In the outside view, a peculiarity caught my eye. ¡°Your Excellency. A matter, if I may?¡± ¡°Speak it.¡± ¡°The covered wagons,¡± I pointed out, gaze locked upon the vehicles below. ¡°Rather large, are they not? Yet they bear nary a load upon their decks. What is their purpose?¡± ¡°Even one as dim as you ought to know.¡± I turned to the margrave. ¡°¡­To pillage, my liege?¡± My words earned a turn of his own to me. There was puzzlement plastered on his face, but it soon congealed into a look of pity. ¡°I see the grace of wits has also been denied to you, Buckmann,¡± he softly scoffed. ¡°Frightful indeed, to be abandoned by so warm a mother as Yon¨¢. Oh, mercy!¡± ¡°I fear I do not follow.¡± ¡°Buckmann¡­ poor and pitiful Buckmann! We do not pillage the Naf¨ªlim, no! Hoh! Your pate has parted too many a pass¨±s from its tracks, my dear and derailed cart of a Commandant!¡± The margrave¡¯s words were far from uncoupled. It was common sense itself, whether within Londosius, or in the mind of Man. We are at war with the Naf¨ªlim. To plunder their property or their person is not an act to be lambasted, but one to be lauded instead. After all, our enemy¡¯s extinction is this war¡¯s very aim. Mind not whether they be of the soldiery or the citizenry, an infantryman or an infant, a grim garrison or a humble home. All is to be spoiled. None are to be spared. Of course, such would not be suffered between nations of men. It would be labelled as a ¡°crime¡± or an ¡°injustice¡±, an affront to human dignity. But the tone swiftly turns were the Naf¨ªlim the target, ¡°baneful barbarians¡± as they are branded. This is the collective conscience of Man, his unbending and unchallenged truth. But it is one that I cannot, for the life of me, fathom nor affirm. Why must we maraud the meek? And that is to say nothing of the citizens we seize and send to who knows where. This is our ¡°justice¡±, a holy banner raised for our own convenience, its weave unstained by the spit of dissent. Those covered wagons¡ªempty they were now, but certain to brim with riches upon their return. And included in those spoils? Slaves. Labourers to be damned to enduring indenturement. This, too, is ¡°just¡±, acts whose barbarism Man is blissfully blind to, for they bring to him boons of too much benefit. But my eyes were unclouded, and they could not bear the sight. ¡°Your Excellency,¡± I said sternly. ¡°With all due respect, I find it meaningless to sully so hard-won a prize as peace. Pillage, and we but vilify ourselves beyond all vindication. Such vices ill-become the lordly name of Londosius¡ªeven should the victims be the Naf¨ªlim.¡± The margrave¡¯s face furrowed. ¡°¡®Pillaging¡¯ the Naf¨ªlim ill-becomes the term itself, Buckmann. The subtlety escaped you, has it?¡± ¡°¡®Virtue¡¯ is what has escaped from all of this, my liege,¡± I returned. ¡°None is to be found in taking from those who cannot fight back. Yet say the victims are of a different sort, a different blood, and you would not only praise the act, but partake in it yourself. Surely the sophistry is not lost to you?¡± ¡°Buckmann!¡± barked the margrave. ¡°¡®Tis the Naf¨ªlim we speak of here! The nemesis of Man! The kin and kindred of crawling beasts! Our sworn foes from the days of fair St. Rakliammelech himself!¡± Even in the face of much fury, I could not back down. ¡°Your Excellency, pray give ear to these humble words: accustom ourselves to wanton rape and robbery, and we debauch our hearts in the act. We are men of war; it is our lives we wager on the frontlines, not our morals.¡± ¡°Hmph! Sophistry, indeed! I see the sophist before me!¡± he seethed, stamping his foot and thrusting a finger to me. ¡°To rape and rob the devils is morality itself! You would do well to remember that, you want-wit, you!¡± ¡°Victory can be ours without this villainy, my liege! That much is certain!¡± ¡°Commandant!¡± frothed the lord¡¯s lips. ¡°Their labours, their luxuries¡ªwe make them all our own, that their brethren¡ªour foes¡ªmight flounder and we, flourish! For every prize we procure, for every devil we indenture, another of our meek and misfortuned might be spared the pale hand of Death! Sear these words into your ill-starred soul! For I am long drained of all generosity to further discuss so evident a truth!¡± ¡°But, my liege!¡± ¡°Enough!!¡± ¡­How futile. Reason cannot reach him. I could scarcely see myself being in the wrong here. No matter how painfully I peered. No matter how much I mulled. Yet all that I aired were as the howls of a heretic, words long parted from Man¡¯s wicked wisdom. And that was why the margrave and I could not see eye-to-eye. Realising it, I found myself silent, hands and teeth clenched hard. Afterwards, the margrave made his return to Arbel, whilst the Fiefguard funnelled through the gates and marched into Naf¨ªlim lands. I stood there in solitude. Overpowered by powerlessness, I watched on as the covered wagons wheeled close behind. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Volume 2 - CH 1.4 Silver sunlight blessed fair Redelberne, city of splendour and capital of Londosius. Its impearled walls and promenades glinted with the seeming glow of royal authority itself. The march of Norden, home of the 5th Chivalric Order¡¯s headquarters, neighboured this bastion of Man. And so it was not at all strange that Redelberne found a rather regular visitor in the vaunted Lady Emilie Mernesse, Dame Mareschal to the knights of the 5th. Only, such trips were not partaken for pleasure. No, no, not at all. Business called her, and it was a busy caller indeed. Many a Londosian would love to lavish themselves with a visit to the marvelled and marbled city. But the Lady was different. Where she wished to go, where she yearned to be, were all found elsewhere. Certainly, any soul aspiring to greatness would jump for joy, to so receive a summons from Central. Not an opportunity to be left unsavoured, this. Yet what Emilie aspired to was not fame and fortune, but her own humble share of happiness. The girl that once smiled so brightly upon the bell-lily hill was now a lady, listless in her stroll through the unsought streets. Indeed, she was tired. Tired of the meetings with the ministers and magisters of Central. Tired of fraternising with the cloistered courtiers of the royal palace. Tired of the feints, the facades, the faux smiles. But Emilie was a young woman set upon tackling the challenges of her office head-on. Hers was a soul of sincerity, a magnet of much trust from all those around her. A meteoric mareschal. A hero for the new age. Who wouldn¡¯t want to forge a fellowship with the fair Lady? Only a scant few, if any, to be sure. In the enthralled droves were to be found not just adults, but children as well, such as the ones encircling her at this moment. Their eyes sparkled with fascination as they beheld before them a dame of much distinction. For her part, Emilie had grown accustomed to such baby-faced phenomena. This particular occasion¡ªone of many¡ªwas begot at the behest of the little ones themselves. They had enough pull for it, children and grandchildren of high officials as they were. A longing to witness the wondrous dexterity of the dame was their excuse. An innocent one, if not frequent. Strangely enough, the children were already afforded the luxury of their own instructors, each distinguished and outstanding in his tutelage. Suffice it to say, the little ones were hardly in want of instruction in the ways of the sword. Emilie was wise to this, of course, but also to her own shortcomings as a teacher. Indeed, that same humility had driven her to turn down the very opportunity to meet with the children. But the storm of insistence was unceasing. In the end, the young mareschal could only relent. And though she saw the redundancy of the situation, she did not, at first, discern the true desires of the children themselves. The blade of the Aureola was surely show-worthy, but the little ones were hardly here for a fencing lesson. Why, they simply wished to meet her, for she was, in the springtide skies of their hearts, a star of much awe and admiration. But in indulging them so, Emilie at last saw the idolatry in their eyes. Their enthusiasm being born from a wish to behold her blade-dance was, in fact, merely a misunderstanding on her part. The summertide skies of her own heart blushed upon the realisation. Yet their excuse was aired anyway. ¡®A swing of your sword please, madame.¡¯ And so Emilie obliged, a humouring to hide her embarrassment, perhaps. Pillars of lightning pealed and flashed, painting in pure white the wide breadth of the training grounds. A moment, and amazement buzzed through the young crowd. Before long, a pair of adolescents approached the mareschal, eyes upturned and hearts curious. ¡°P-pardon us, madame,¡± inquired the boy of the two. ¡°Might you have a moment to spare?¡± ¡°The Roun of Orisons,¡± began the girl. ¡°Is it true what they say? That you¡¯ve been blessed with the Aureola from the rites?¡± A slight pause. A slight smile. ¡°¡­As true as can be, I suppose.¡± The conversation continued, during which the pair revealed themselves to be but fourteen years of age. The Roun of Orisons was to receive them in the following year, an upcoming occasion that surely inspired expectation and anxiety alike in their hearts. ¡°What was it all like?¡± the boy asked. ¡°I can scarcely imagine the spectacle, let alone the nerves!¡± ¡°Hmm, I wonder myself,¡± Emilie looked off in the distance. ¡°¡®Tis been a long while¡ªtoo long, really.¡± ¡°The both of us, we mean to give it our all and more, that Yon¨¢ might be generous in Her grace,¡± the girl gushed. ¡°Enough that we might fight for our families, our fellows¡ªfor all the good people of this good kingdom!¡± ¡°Knighthood¡¯s my aim,¡± the boy chimed in. ¡°Big and strong is what I¡¯ll become, and I¡¯ll do all it takes to be knighted!¡± To that came Emilie¡¯s mirth, gentle, fragile. ¡°¡­You most certainly will, love.¡± ¡°¡®Cause if I can¡¯t, well, worrywart here¡¯ll get her tighties all in a tangle.¡± ¡°W-who¡¯s a worrywart, now!¡± How warm they were to one another. Emilie couldn¡¯t help but beam broadly. Yet the tinge of sorrow therein all but escaped the youthful pair¡¯s knowing. ? A brief lesson on the basics of bladework was given thereafter. To be sure, Emilie was, by then, fully aware that this truly was not what the children wanted, but to end the meet-and-greet then and there with just a demonstration of her levinblade would¡¯ve been poor form. Fortunately, she wasn¡¯t alone. The Owlcranes accompanied her on that day, and they certainly proved helpful¡ªGerd and Raakel in particular. Numerous were the practice sessions they hosted back at the 5th, and so to instruct wide-eyed children was, to them, not too towering a task. Soon enough, the sun went to slumber. In the evanescing evenlight, the mareschal and her Owlcranes parted from the training grounds, their ears yet tingling from the lively gratitude of the children. Through the starlit streets of Redelberne they then strolled, until the warm conviviality of a pub beckoned their patronage. There, they reflected on the day¡¯s happenings over glasses of golden ale. ¡°I¡¯m truly sorry for dragging you all to the capital today,¡± broached Emilie. ¡°A big bother, I know, but just the thought of having to handle it all alone was enough to fray my nerves.¡± ¡°No need to fret over it,¡± Gerd assured. ¡°We saw much and did even more. It was time well-spent.¡± ¡°Yea, Gerd¡¯s got the right o¡¯ it,¡± Raakel added. ¡°Teachin¡¯ ¡®em bright-eyed bairns a thing or two¡¯s quite the honour, if I¡¯m honest.¡± ¡°My, Miss Raakel. How unlike you to be so honourably honest. What has softened that sauciness of yours, I wonder?¡± ¡°Eh, shut it, Sheila.¡± Yet it was certain, just as Emilie¡¯s self-reproach had revealed: this kind of outing hardly required the attendance of the entire Owlcrane Brigade. The day¡¯s function was founded more in politics and high society sweet-talking than aught else. The Owlcranes were soldiers, after all, souls who earned their living laying their lives on the line. And Emilie was very much the sort to blush with shame in dragging them so far from their place of employ. But between the commander and her combatants, there was camaraderie, one fostered for years now¡ªbosom buddies, they were. Thus did the Owlcranes quickly answer Emilie¡¯s call in her time of need, confident in knowing she would have done the same for them. ¡°And I owe you a special apology, Sheila,¡± Emilie continued. ¡°They insisted that I might as well bring the entire brigade if I was to bring anyone at all, you see.¡± ¡°There is naught to be sorry for,¡± the surgien softly giggled. ¡°But if another such occasion comes along, I should certainly like to savour a chance to teach more magick-minded youths.¡± Smiles, all around the table, brightened further by the brimming bitters in their cups. To them, a waiter came, bearing samples of exquisite cuisine. ¡°Now here¡¯s the stuff! Roasted venison, tender an¡¯ juicy!¡± Raakel salivated. ¡°Can¡¯t come home from the capital without me tummy full o¡¯ this grub!¡± ¡°Good grace, Raakel,¡± Gerd shook his head. ¡°Came along just to stuff your cheeks with those deer chunks, did you?¡± ¡°Hah! What ye been takin¡¯ me fer, Gerd? I ain¡¯t a saint, y¡¯know!¡± Loose lips japed and chuckled in concert. An atmosphere drunk with jolly and joy. As their merrymaking went on, so, too, did the late hour wax on, all within the benighted bosom of fair Redelberne. Volume 2 - CH 1.5 ¡°¡­Phew¡­¡± A warm breath, blown from flustered cheeks, aglow as they were from many a sip of ale. The night breeze, cool and crisp, coursed against them to much welcome. Emilie took in the pearl-dusk cityscape, having taken a moment from the pub to sober up. It was quiet. The streets were asleep. To be sure, Redelberne¡¯s thoroughfares and promenades were no less packed even in the dead of night. But Emilie¡¯s was a face too famous around those parts. So it was that the considerate Owlcranes had chosen instead an establishment well off the beaten path, that they might while away the moonlit hours in relative peace and privacy. It was but a hole-in-the-wall, this pub, humble and quaint, but it brimmed with both brightness of light and levity. Even outside, Emilie¡¯s ears could faintly make out the merrymaking. She found the moment to be most romantic, in a way, to behold such liveliness from so tranquil a perch. ¡°Haa¡­¡± How delightful, this night. Yes. Delightful, indeed. To brush off a bothersome workday, and then with friends in tow, eat, drink, and mingle till the moon fancied a bit of slumber itself¡ªit was nothing, if not delightful. If not¡­ If only¡­ Emilie was quiet as she peered up into the everdistant sky. A sky that arched on and on, well into the borderlands beyond. She recalled then of the boy and girl she¡¯d met earlier that day. How excited they were, with but a year till their own reckoning at the Roun of Orisons. They had asked her of her own experiences at the rites. She did not recall, was the simple sum of her answer. A little lie, that was. Emilie remembered. All too well. Of how her heart swelled with anticipation. Of how thoroughly she thought that from then on, there awaited only days of hope and happiness. An era of innocent dreams for an innocent future. Only, that future never came. Leading up to the rites were bygone days blessed with bliss, each and every one. Yet the Roun of Orisons was a door that forsook it all. Emilie had crossed it, beguiled, and when it slammed shut, she found herself ever longing for all that was lost behind its lock. And for that reason, the rites, to her, were not a welcome memory. But they were a memory she well-remembered nonetheless. A memory she could never forget. Oh, if only she could. ¡°Emilie love.¡± A voice rang through the thick marshes of her thoughts. Emilie turned, finding Raakel coming close. Upon her face, too, was a fluster from bingeing too many bitters. ¡°Raakel,¡± Emilie returned. ¡°Come to sober up a little, too, I take it?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t help it,¡± the warrior grinned. ¡°That Sheila¡¯s got a friggin¡¯ well fer a stomach, whilst Gerd¡¯s a fool fer tryin¡¯ to keep up. I call¡¯d it quits fer a bit, see.¡± A quiet laugh. ¡°¡­Of course.¡± Silence suffused the nightscape. Against such enormity, the dames were as two blades of grass swaying contently against the starlit breeze. The air was delicious, and Raakel was happy to partake. After a lungful, she exhaled, and motioned her lips once more. ¡°So.¡± ¡°Mm?¡± ¡°Ye be thinkin¡¯ ¡®bout ol¡¯ muscle-pate ¡®gain, ey?¡± ¡°Oh, I¡­ I have been, yes¡­¡± There was little avail to be had in hiding it now. Emilie was well-aware: many a sigh had left her mouth of late, after all. Perhaps even her countenance was conspicuously clouded, a gloomy pall for all to wonder and worry over. But they were not fools. To them, the source was clearer than uncoloured crystal. ¡°Bet ye both could¡¯ve been a fine couple; the talk o¡¯ the town, even,¡± Raakel admitted, ¡°were he ord¡¯nary like the rest o¡¯ us, odyl an¡¯ all, that is.¡± To this, Emilie was silent. It was, by now, a world she had dreamt of far too many times to count. A world where Rolf was given his due. From Yon¨¢ to him, a measure of odyl not more than a common man¡¯s. Nay. Even less would have sufficed. So long as it wasn¡¯t naught at all. Were he blessed so, however meagerly, then maybe¡­ Just maybe¡­ How fruitless and fallow a fancy it was. But to Emilie, it was one she could not have gone long without humouring, if even to her own sorrow. ¡°Well, the fates won¡¯t bless a man an¡¯ woman both just ¡®cause they be warm to each other, ye should know. Life be a mite more fickle than that, I¡¯m ¡®fraid.¡± ¡°¡­What do you mean?¡± ¡°I were warm to one meself, once upon a time,¡± Raakel confessed, faintly forlorn. ¡°A man I thought was me destiny. Truly.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°A dozen winters between us, it were. But I loved him. I really did. Couldn¡¯t think o¡¯ me future days without him bein¡¯ in the same picture.¡± That such soft words could ever issue from Raakel¡¯s lips was a whelming wonder to Emilie. Certainly, the mareschal measured the Owlcrane warrior to be youthful and fair in her own way. But Raakel was a soul who sought¡ªand found¡ªpurpose in battle, and nothing else. That was Emilie¡¯s long-held estimation of her, though admittedly one shaded with shame for how shallow it was. ¡°He were a bastard son, y¡¯see. A viscount¡¯s, no less. There was naught at all what could¡¯ve stopped us from bein¡¯ happy together¡­ well, that¡¯s what I thought, anyway,¡± Raakel recounted, uncharacteristically quiet. ¡°His half-siblings¡ªheirs, all o¡¯ them¡ªdied, one after the other. So his pa suck¡¯d it up and call¡¯d him home. Made him heir an¡¯ all that.¡± ¡°I¡­ I see. And so¡­ he was given a bride, then.¡± ¡°That he was, yea. Wedded to some dainty gentlelady. I weren¡¯t a good pick. Not noble ¡®nough, see.¡± ¡°And¡­ what did he say?¡± ¡°Well, the whole deal was a bite to his arse, ¡®course, but thass aristocracy fer ye. Couldn¡¯t do aught ¡®bout it, really.¡± Raakel blinked slowly at the stars. ¡°We had one last moment together. Hug¡¯d, an¡¯ cry¡¯d fer a long while¡­ an¡¯ that was that.¡± The Owlcrane warrior¡ªin her frailer years, tight in the arms of a man, her tears telling of the painful parting to come. Hardly a fanciable scene, certainly, but there was a look on Raakel¡¯s countenance, one of softly distant eyes and a smile ready to fade at any moment. Seeing it, Emilie knew then that what her friend recounted was the bare and unblemished truth. ¡°Things¡ªthey hardly turn out. An¡¯ that be the gist o¡¯ it.¡± ¡°Oh, Raakel¡­¡± ¡°Yer the same, ain¡¯t ye, love? The Lady Emilie Mernesse, Dame Mareschal to the 5th Chivalric Order. Ye¡¯ve got yer family to protect, an¡¯ knights to lead withal. All the trappings o¡¯ a trap, chain¡¯d to yer ankles both.¡± Resigning from her vaunted post was a frequent thought in Emilie¡¯s heart, but it was never to be. Not while she had yet to find a foothold for her family. Not while there was a betrothal to consummate. What¡¯s more, her responsibilities as mareschal of late had ballooned along with Londosius¡¯ whetted appetite for war. Thus the time to run away from it all had long since left; to even entertain the notion was vain. These troubles and more were never spoken of to the Owlcranes. But deep down, they knew. After all, they were each, by now, roostmates too intimate with their mareschal to not notice. ¡°Life be a bunch o¡¯ things we can¡¯t do aught ¡®bout, things what go the way we never thought they could. Innit?¡± For King and Country. For thine own Family and fellow Man. Feudalism is the foundation of this society. To renounce one¡¯s Duty is reckless. To defy the Ways is death. A most natural course, like the ebb and flow of the tides, the arc of the sun and moon, the comings and goings of the seasons. Such was the meaning in Raakel¡¯s words. But to air them so was not easy, for she was certainly not the sort to engage in intimate talk. Only with the help of many helpings of ale was Raakel able to work up the will to console Emilie. None of this was lost to the mareschal; upon realising it, she couldn¡¯t help but smile. ¡°So¡­ I guess you¡¯ve had your own fair share of heartbreak, haven¡¯t you?¡± ¡°No beatin¡¯ ¡®round the bush here, Emilie,¡± Raakel smiled back. ¡°Beat around what bush, now?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t see me in a gorgeous gown, can ye? I were a prim an¡¯ prissy princess once, ye know. Well, shy an¡¯ shelter¡¯d, more like.¡± ¡°¡­You¡¯re right. I really can¡¯t see you in a gown.¡± Maul in hand, a whirlwind of a woman©`Raakel the ruffian. As she was now, there was indeed nary a wisp of her princely past. A look at her and one would be forgiven for believing she was born with a battleaxe wrapped in her babe-fingers. Emilie certainly had, and doubtful she was alone in making the mistake. ¡°With baggage like that, I thought to put it all behind me. So, I cut me ties. Came to the Order,¡± Raakel went on. ¡°Was all pain at first, to be frank, like I were punishin¡¯ meself fer me past follies. I fought an¡¯ fought, on an¡¯ on.¡± There are those who saw the world for what it was, and despaired at the sight. The sorry souls would oft consign themselves to life in a convent, cloistered from the goings-on beyond. But another path can be found, one that wends into the bowels of battlefields. Not few are they who chose it instead. Yet never could Emilie have guessed that Raakel counted amongst them. One can never truly know another, she thought. ¡°An¡¯ thass how I forged me new motto. Strength be ev¡¯rythin¡¯. Fightin¡¯ be ev¡¯rythin¡¯. Naught else matters.¡± Raakel shook her head, as if to silence the echoes of a past she¡¯d long since left behind. The two stood there for another while, deep in thought. ¡°Thass why¡­¡± Raakel began again, low, but firm, ¡°¡­thass why I hate him, an¡¯ all whimperin¡¯ wimps like ¡®im.¡± Words of resolve. A resolve by the name of ¡°wrath¡±. For Raakel was a woman who relinquished everything to seek but one thing: strength. Emilie was a mareschal, unequalled in all of the 5th. But not only that, she well-fulfilled the duties of both her office and her societal obligations in tandem. Such was strength, Raakel concluded, and for that, Emilie was surely someone to be respected. And then there was Rolf. The man ungraced, a weakling who chose to flee rather than fight. For him, Raakel knew naught but anger. But weakness was not the only crime he committed. Indeed, he was a cowardly cur most unwilling to confront even that selfsame weakness. Such a mien of sallowed meekness was the very thing that Raakel detested, and thus did Rolf earn her scalding scorn. ¡°Raakel¡­ I¡­ I never knew.¡± Things none can do aught about. Things that turn out not as they ought to. These were Raakel¡¯s own words. Defiance was cheap in a world so unforgiving; this, too, she understood well. Even so¡ªor, perhaps, it was precisely so that she sought strength on the battlefield, the one place unfettered from the shackles of society. To be strong was to be human. To fight was to be human. This was the compass of Raakel¡¯s conscience, of a woman who saw battle to be life itself. Rolf is weak. Emilie is strong. He who is feeble, who is not fain to face his own faults, is so to the sorrow of she who is mighty. Yes. The weak weave sadness for the strong. The ill irony could not find acceptance in Raakel¡¯s heart. ¡°¡­We put us lives on the line, don¡¯t we? To bring the world back to how it were, like the scriptures say,¡± Raakel began to reason. ¡°Thass why I say strength be whole and holy, an¡¯ weakness be naught but a vice, a sin. But look at ol¡¯ mickle-berk. All that muscle an¡¯ he can¡¯t be arsed to stand up to his own weakness. That¡­¡± An impalpable pang ran through the cold night air. Emilie shivered, sobering before the sombre of the moment. ¡°¡­Thass the sort o¡¯ sin I won¡¯t pardon¡ªever.¡± A feeble fledgling who but flew the coop. That was Rolf, the fool fowl. To worry over him was worthless. Time was precious, to be spent elsewhere¡ªanywhere, really, so long as it wasn¡¯t on him. That was the essence of Raakel¡¯s message. As Emilie lent ear to it, she found herself frozen by its undressed animosity. In her own heart, there was anger over Rolf, of course. But it was but a candle before the conflagration that was the world¡¯s own ire for the man ungraced. Of it, Emilie was reminded anew, whilst behind her speechless person, the tiny tumult in the tiny tavern clamoured on quietly through the night. Volume 2 - CH 1.6 Three full moons I¡¯ve counted, since my arrival here in the province of Str?m. In that time, the fatality rate amongst the fort¡¯s soldiery had plummeted. It was done: Balasthea had at last lost its place amongst the realm¡¯s most notorious killing fields. Reporting to Margrave Str?m of such trends and goings-on numbered amongst my many duties. Today, too, found me fulfilling that office, as I stood before the lord at his Arbel residence. ¡°¡­Very well, then. Keep the course, Commandant,¡± he said, turned away to the window. ¡°Yes, my liege.¡± I saluted him, ending what had been quite the concise report. With no further business there, I summarily left the manor. Perhaps it bears little mention that the margrave was ever ill of mood upon our meetings. Yet it was beyond all doubt that my deeds delivered to him much avail: Balasthea stood more firmly than ever before, and with its casualties curtailed, so, too, were the margrave¡¯s military expenses. For that reason, despite my reviled repute as an ungraced, not once did he attempt to dispose of me. Equally doubtless, I suspected, was the indignance surrounding my assumption to Acting Commandant of Balasthea, whether harboured by the margrave or Central itself. Likely they thought the ungainly ungraced would slip up soon enough, given so prestigious a post. A shame their ¡°expectations¡± were betrayed. Yet verily I was, to them, a rather convenient pawn as commandant, one better left upon the gameboard till his moves were spent. A bitter medicine of truth for their throats, sure, but one they swallowed nonetheless. And from the look of things, it would be a daily taste upon their tongues. Speaking of tastes, it was made apparent to me that the fort commandants of other provinces were oft treated to fetes hosted in the pleasure of their lords. Just the thought of such wining and dining was a surfeit too sour for my palate. Thus one can say I shared in the margrave¡¯s convenience, though not so uncomfortably: our interactions were strictly business¡ªquick and curt¡ªand when such business was done and dealt with, I was more than happy to quit his quarrelsome company. These thoughts I humoured as I made my way home. Well, ¡°home¡± in this case was a residence officially furnished to the commandant of Balasthea. Being also within the confines of Arbel, the commute was none too terrible. And perhaps ¡°official residence¡± is a term too high-brow for what was nothing more than a rather small cot. A home fit for but one, it was ostensibly stayed in by the many commandants before me. My predecessor, taken ill as he was, had returned to his homestead elsewhere, thus was the cot allotted to me. It was by no means a freshly founded home. But even its dusty spaces were preferable to the sweaty barracks at the 5th. Curious indeed that my standard of living improved only upon being exiled. Today, however, was to be the beginning of many more curiosities, for I found myself stopped before the high street leading home. Closed off, it was. The forgathered townsfolk told of a flame burning further ahead, and of the firemen barring traffic to keep passers-by away from their dangerous work. Thus by this pure coincidence was I compelled to take a detour down an alley outside of my usual commute. ? Through the shadowy alleyways I wended. The sun had long set, and the sky above was a fading fuchsia, cut down to a soaring strip by the jumbled and jostling roofs. Hence did I brave this veritable labyrinth with a lantern in hand. Yet it was not long before I stumbled upon a middle-aged man, standing hunched, haggard of breath, his own hand gripping a knife¡ªone adrip with blood. The drops pitter-pattered upon neither dirt nor cobblestone, but more of its red self. For at the man¡¯s feet was another figure, younger, yet placid and prostrate upon a pool of flowing crimson. A look at the collapsed fellow found etched about his ankle a telling tattoo. I raised the lantern for a better look. ¡°¡­That lad there a slave?¡± was my guarded question. To me the man turned, growling. ¡°Yea. An¡¯ a bloody criminal,¡± he drawled. ¡°Shog¡¯d off ¡®is shackles, ¡®e did. An¡¯ tried t¡¯take me knife, so I show¡¯d ¡®im the pointy end o¡¯ it, heheh. Well, I jests, but the bloke¡¯s dead, an¡¯ me profits ¡®long with ¡®im. An¡¯ that ain¡¯t a joke.¡± Shackles, profits¡ªa slaver, the man was. I then found him bent over, wiping his knife clean upon the fresh corpse. Sheathing it, he turned to me again, face half-furrowed. ¡°¡­Wot? Think me the villian ¡®ere, is it? Ye be glad t¡¯know then, this sinner snuff¡¯d out two souls ¡®imself in ¡®is time. Got wot¡¯s comin¡¯ to ¡®im, I says.¡± A rather defensive tone. It would seem he spied an air of condemnation upon my face, my brows having bent bitterly without my knowing. It must be said that the laws of Londosius deem slavery a sound practice, so long as it is purposed for manual labour. But those same laws also decree that none save felons and ¡°fruits of war¡± may be subject to the shackle. The former¡ª¡±criminal slaves¡±, they¡¯re called¡ªare typically those whose sins are judged to be grave, though not enough to warrant an execution. The corpse before me was of this unsavoury sort, if the slaver was to be believed. ¡°I¡¯ll not blame you for the deed. Only¡­¡± I said, pointing behind him, ¡°¡­that one, too, be a ¡®sinner¡¯?¡± Indeed. Another slave stood upon the scene. Silent. ¡°Hah! Can¡¯t ye tell, lad? A war-slave, this one is. The worst o¡¯ the worst. Evil incarnate!¡± he smiled, but with a look at the foresaid slave, the bitter grin vanished into the dark. ¡°Eh, I takes it back. ¡®Evil¡¯ ain¡¯t ¡®nough t¡¯judge this devil.¡± War-slaves¡ªpersons dragged from the fires of battle and into chains of iron. In other words, captive Naf¨ªlim. The one I pointed to was a clear example, and also the first of whom I¡¯d seen beyond the bounds of a battlefield. Only, this Naf¨ªl was but a little girl. I then recalled the quarrel with the margrave three months past. Most certainly, it is the common creed of Man, shared amongst the sons of his many realms, that the Naf¨ªlim are to be spared from no cruelty, whether it be of violence or imprisonment. Nevermind whether the Naf¨ªlim victims themselves are combatants¡ªor otherwise. I had made my case to the margrave then, and it stood unchanged now: this creed found no home in my heart. The girl before me attested to the ¡°why¡± of it: none, not even a Yonaistic devout, could feign a look upon her and say with right mind that aught about her became that of a ¡°combatant¡±. No. She was just a small girl, maybe ten in her years, no more than twelve. Behind her black, soiled, and unkempt hair were amber eyes, both of which did naught but gaze at the ground, as if bereft of any and all spark of spirit. And clothing the light tenn¨¦ of her skin were nothing more than meagre, threadbare rags. She stood there, still. Oh so very still. As if she¡¯d given up on everything¡ªeven life itself. ¡°Awfully young for a slave,¡± I cuttingly observed. ¡°Yea? An¡¯ wot ¡®bout it?¡± the slaver cut back. ¡°A Naf¨ªl, it be.¡± ¡°¡­Of course she is.¡± I turned to her once more, lighting her lightless mien with my lantern. No response was to be found. She merely stood, soundless and downcast, her bare and shackled feet planted upon the cold cobblestones. ¡°Look at it,¡± the slave shook his head. ¡°All glum an¡¯ gloom-like. Can¡¯t sell it off fer the life o¡¯ me. Bah! Bloody alga¡­¡± ¡°Alga?¡± ¡°Yea. ¡®Alga¡¯ be wot I calls it. Shiverin¡¯ in a stove, it were, when the snatchers came a-snatchin¡¯. They drag¡¯d it out an¡¯ found it all steep¡¯d in soot, they did.¡± Alga¡­ How curious a connection. Was it the whispers of the fates I heard just now? Or something felt from deep in my heart? A stirring within, welling up to leave my lips. ¡°I¡¯ll buy her.¡± Volume 2 - CH 1.7 From my lips left those words, simple, yet urged by neither imagination nor motivation. To be sure, not once before have I humoured the thought of buying a slave for myself. And yet, here I was. ¡°B¡­ buy, ye said?¡± ¡°I did.¡± What was it that scribed my words? That put them to air? That steeled my resolve? Was it sympathy? Empathy? A defiant cry against the caprice and cruelty of this world? Perhaps a pang of compassion for the poor girl, who so suffered the scorn of others, just as I had? Or was it guilt? The heavy burden borne by a man of battle, whose very words and deeds compelled the creation of these war-slaves? ¡°A million reugols. An¡¯ two-hundred thousand more. Thass me price,¡± said the slaver, fingers raised. ¡°¡®ow ¡®bout it? Yer purse fat ¡®nough, lad?¡± ¡°It is.¡± Not cheap, but not beyond my means either. While my time at the Order had earned me all but a regular pittance, I was also quite the penny-pincher. Add to that the salary from my post here at Str?m, with which I¡¯ve done little but let pile up, and no lie was to be found in my curt assurance to the slaver, whose face brightened as his ears drank it up. ¡°W-well then¡ªoh, but er¡­ a word o¡¯ warnin¡¯ ¡®fore we settles the deal,¡± he said, now lowly. ¡°Don¡¯t ye go tellin¡¯ it yer name, eh?¡± I blinked. ¡°And why¡¯s that?¡± ¡°This one. It¡¯s got a knack fer magicks¡ªthe covenantal kind, that is. Can¡¯t make a slave out o¡¯ weavers o¡¯ battle magicks, thass certain. But not so with this one. Well, I says that, but covenants be proper wicked in their own way, yea?¡± I see. Fair enough. To consummate the purchase of a slave, a sort of covenantal magick must first be woven, binding bondsman to master. A ¡°thrallspell¡±, as it were. This, too, is decreed by Londosian law. Yet one who, from the outset, is gifted in or knowing of covenantal magicks may, naturally, overwrite the essence of such thrallspells. To do so, only the name of the other party is needed. Hence the slaver¡¯s warning: if the master¡¯s name is known, the so-gifted slave may turn the tables, and make himself master of his own master. ¡°So er¡­ we gots a deal still, good lad?¡± ¡°We do.¡± ¡°Hah! Chuff¡¯d t¡¯hear it, I am!¡± the slaver gleamed with glee. ¡°Phew. Here I thought, t¡¯day be ¡®nother stinkin¡¯ day, wot with that one dead an¡¯ burnin¡¯ a hole in me pocket. But fates be fair, t¡¯bring me a buyer fer this one¡ªall in the same moment, no less! Hwahah!¡± After a toothy cackle, he turned to the girl. ¡°Oi, alga. Sold ye off t¡¯this kind ser, I did. Good on ye, ey?¡± Silence. ¡°Tch. Oi, ¡®ow ¡®bout a smile, at least, ah?¡± ¡°Has she got a name?¡± I asked. A shake of the head. ¡°Damn¡¯d if I know. ¡®Alga¡¯ be all I calls it. An¡¯ ye should too, if it pleases ye. If not, well, call it aught what suits yer fancy then, heheh.¡± Never in the uncaring course of the slaver¡¯s words did the little girl budge by the tiniest bit. ? The next day. With my duties done at Balasthea, I returned to Arbel at twilight. There, I finished off one more duty for the day: paying the million and more reugols, having the thrallspell incanted for the Naf¨ªlim girl and me, and so on. All were handled by the slaver of yesterday, whom I made sure to inquire of eschewing that shackling spell. But as expected, he was quick to expound to me the illegality of the very notion. It couldn¡¯t be helped. I was not wont to break any laws, thus, pressing the issue no further, I sealed the deal and soon found myself at home. There in the sitting room did we stand, the girl and I. I certainly had the manners to offer her a seat to rest her sore feet, but it was for naught. The girl merely stood and stood, silent and stolid of soul. And so I knelt before her. With my eyes level with hers, I then asked my first question. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°¡­¡± No answer. A sorry surrender anchored her vacant stare to the floor. ¡°Right. Names come later. We should get you washed up first,¡± I relented. I then went to warm up some water, with which I filled a large basin. After setting it beside the girl, I knelt before her once more. ¡°Look¡ªI¡¯ve left a flannel right here,¡± I said, pointing to a washcloth hanging upon the rim of the basin. ¡°You can wipe yourself down with it. Will you do that for me?¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯ll not hurt you. Don¡¯t worry,¡± I assured her. ¡°Well, I might not seem like it, I admit, having just emptied my coffers for a slave, but¡­ I do mean it.¡± ¡°¡­¡± First and foremost, some understanding was needed between the both of us, but as I feared, my words fell flat. In lieu of answering, she went on watching the wooden floor, eyes empty of emotion. ¡°¡­I¡¯ll not hurt you. Truly.¡± Another try. The same line, admittedly. How vacuous a vocabulary I had. A damn shame; even I was exasperated at myself. I searched and searched within, but the right words all escaped me¡ªones with which to reach her heart. Helpless. That was what I was. Helpless. Was there aught I could do for her? Battlefields demand deeds, of which I would readily oblige. But words were needed here. Wait. Deeds? Perhaps action might avail me here? To communicate to her what words cannot? It was worth a try. Too much of a tongue-twisted want-wit was I, when it came to sensible things to say. And so I slowly reached out a hand to her. A deed decided, deliberate and delicate. She seemed the frailest of figures, one who might shatter at the slightest nudge. But were either of us to remain fearful of the intimate touch, then certainly the day could never come. The day when our eyes can gladly meet¡ªand our hearts along with them. Gently, and gentler still¡­ ¡­my callused hand set upon her soft cheek. And for the faintest moment, I sensed a quiver in her eyes. For however much she seemed a soul surrendered of all life, there was yet warmth welling up from that cheek of hers. Thus I stayed as I was, surrendered of all words. A long lull stretched on. In it: silence, save for the breaths rolling from our lips. Yet how long of a lull exactly? Where we but faced each other, connected by a simple touch? I could not know, but by its eventual end, the girl¡¯s eyes slowly, oh so slowly, searched up to meet mine. Our gazes locked at last. I remained there, returning my regard, with not a thought to utter a word. Instead, I tried a bit of a smile, albeit a clumsy one. I never could trust myself to smile with any grace. A fumbling affair, it¡¯s always been. Her own regard, an amber-gold stare, fixed itself upon my onyx-black own. Indeed, hers were round and heartfully fair¡­ only, they cast a most heartbroken glint. A reflection, hollow of any hope for tomorrow. With all I could muster, I set into my gaze a simple promise. A promise to never hurt her. And as I did, I wished dearly that it reached her heart. By the end of those many moments, my hand left her cheek just as gingerly as it had reached out to it. ¡°I¡¯ve some shopping to do,¡± I said at last. ¡°Food, clothes, whatnot. Be good while I¡¯m gone, will you? And wash yourself up for me.¡± With that, I rose and left the house. ? The soft evensky began to twinkle as I walked down the thoroughfare leading to the markets. Yet I had not the mind to take in the dusking townscape. My thoughts were trained elsewhere. I knew not of what impelled me to purchase the girl like I did. And I knew even less of what I wished to do from here on. Did I truly believe that I could avail her in some way? Am I even capable of forging for her¡ªor anyone, for that matter¡ªsome semblance of a future? Me? An ungraced? A muscle-pated pawn who knows little beyond a smattering of swordplay? What could I accord her? What could I teach her? What could I do for the poor girl? She seemed utterly lost¡ªa soul that had given up. And yet, I knew not even her name. I knew not by whom, and through what dark paths she was led to arrive in this place. Of where she once lived. Of the life she once had. Of what she cherished. Of what she dreamed. Of the people she knew. Of the family she loved. ¡­And of what circumstance that made her into what she was today. ¡°¡­¡¯Won¡¯t know till you try,¡¯ they say,¡± I thought aloud. Night was falling. A darkness not unlike the murk of the alleyway where we first met. She did all but stand there, empty of aught¡ªeven of fear for her slaver, for the bloody knife clenched in his hand, for her fellow slave then lying dead on the ground. Witless as I was, I knew wholeheartedly of one thing: to just leave her there was never a choice. The life of a war-slave is crushing. Excruciating. Ruthless. Yet for however much they suffer, their numbers are far from few. Saving the girl does naught to change that tragic truth. Saving the girl was naught but a self-serving solace. Yes. Most certainly. And yet¡­ More certain again was that I did what I did because I believed it the right thing to do. I saved her because I wanted to. And simply that. ¡°Wayward vagrants, you and I. A glad thing indeed if we can get along.¡± The vague hope, upon a half-hale voice, vanished into the night sky. Volume 2 - CH 1.8 There once lived a little girl. A Naf¨ªlim girl. Tender and bright. A child of much love. Her mother was fair as a flower, and famed for it. And from her did the daughter inherit a gaze of amber and locks of obsidian. Eyes, large and lovely. Hair, long and lustrous. Over the coming moons and winters, she was sure to bloom into a shimmering belle herself. Six was her family. Her father, giant yet gentle. Her mother, beautiful yet benevolent. Her brother and two sisters¡ªelders to her, all of them¡ªwere each copious of ken and principled of personage. And the girl¡ªa springtide sprout, ever smiling. Smiling, smiling, amidst the sunshine that was her family. In it was warmth. In it was serenity. In it was happiness. But over yonder whirled the wheels of war. Every which way. At every corner of the continent. A great war waged with Men. Her mother and father did their best to keep its tidings at bay, that their dear daughter might know not a moment of worry. A difficulty, for beyond their home-forest spanned the fields and halls of Man. And from time to time from such places, Men in their arms and armour would sally, with greed in their eyes, with grim in their hearts. Of this, the girl knew. Despite the pains of her parents, she knew. Her people fought back. Indeed, they fought back. Unbroken. Unafraid. Only, a fearsome fort confounded their way. And so, their retreats repeated, on and on. And so, the fort endured, on and on. Once upon a night, the girl was sound asleep. But then by a tickle was she roused awake. In her sight was the hand of her father, large and reliable, gnarled and knobby, the fingers of a proud bough. ¡°Awake?¡± he whispered. ¡°Forgive me.¡± There her father sat, beside her bed, quietly caressing her head. ¡°How precious your face, when asleep. What father cannot adore it?¡± A smile upon his lips. Half sorry. Half bittersweet. Yet instead of forgiving him, the girl held her father¡¯s hand with both of her own. Tiny hands, clasped tightly about callused fingers. The daughter¡¯s grip could not hope to encircle the father¡¯s. But a smile was upon her lips, too, as she drew his hand closer. Fast in its warmth, she closed her eyes. Gladly, quietly, her father watched on, till once again his daughter sang the sounds of slumber. How dearly she loved her father. How dearly she treasured the surety of his hands. How dearly she would come to miss him. ?¡ß? Off her father went into the mists of dawn. A woodcutter, he was. But also a warrior. So it was with all the brothers of the village. Indeed, each of them bore his own burden of battle. For days, the home was without its father. On the third, he should be back. Only, he wasn¡¯t. ¡°A little late, your father. But do lighten up. Before next sundown, he¡¯ll be home with us again.¡± To her children at the supping table, the hope-woven words of the mother. Trusting them, the girl sipped her stew. Oh, what a favourite it was. But then a thought occurred. And so to her mother, she smilingly said thus. ¡°Mama! Let¡¯s make Papa¡¯s favourite tomorrow! Warm, warm lentil soup!¡± Yes. Let¡¯s. The smiling answer of her mother. The smiling agreement of her siblings. But miring their mirth was unease. One the girl was yet too young to sense. The sun woke again, and so did she. Up from her bed she sprang and through the house she flew, so eager to find her father home again. Only, he wasn¡¯t. To the kitchen she came, where her mother busied herself with making breakfast. Bread was baking. The soft scent of rye. ¡°¡®Morning, Mama!¡± ¡°Good morning, my little flower.¡± A sunny smile from her mother. Warm. Assuring. Just as always. Soon, her siblings were gathered as well, and the family of five then sat at the table, to begin the day with filling their bellies. ¡°Many thanks for this meal.¡± ¡°Many-many thanks for this meal!¡± Words of grace from the family. Brightly so from the little girl. The wisdom of thanksgiving, given to the children by mother and father both. With measured manners, the girl took to hand a fluff of bread and nibbled upon its pillowy crumb. ¡°Papa not home yet¡­¡± She yearned aloud. But hope was hale in her. Tonight, five will be six once more. A happy six, all supping together. And so, again, did she brave her father¡¯s absence. The girl then knitted away her morning hours. Quilting was a craft best left to the artisans. Certainly not something the fellow village children were capable of. But her mother and sisters were skilled with the skein. Loving them each and everything they do, she long mimicked them. Those many moons of diligence had imparted to the girl some deftness in the art. A hat. What was, days ago, just a thread of yarn, would soon be a crocheted crown for her mother. Father¡¯s share was already finished. A present for her parents. To be given when they are together again. Socks were what the girl wanted to make at first. But a bit too difficult it might be, her elder sister said. How about a hat, she then suggested. That same sister now watched the girl warmly. The tiny hands tamed the needle as the hat took shape. Such a sight to smile upon. But also a secret to be kept. Not till the presents were complete could either parent know. So requested the girl of her sister at the start, answered with giggling acceptance. A promise protected till this day. Noon came, and at last, the final thread was threaded. Two hats together, graceless of form, but filled with gratitude. Two messes of yarn, but to the girl, two masterpieces. ¡°Lovely hats, lovingly made. Mother and Father will be most glad!¡± Her sister¡¯s seal of approval. How happy they would be, mother and father both. Dreaming of the moment, the girl beamed brightly. A little later, a villager visited. Mother met him at the door. Words were shared for a while, and taken by a bit of unease, she left the house. To her children, a promise to return by dusk. Till then, the two sisters gave their time: an hour or two of play with the girl. Suppertime was setting in. Mother was sure to be home by now. Only, she wasn¡¯t. ¡°Lentils, lentils! Warm lentil soup for supper!¡± The girl sang with excitement. Tonight, and together, they would all be gathered, to give their father his favourite, and enjoy it themselves in his sorely missed company. A warm and lovely time it would be. One the girl looked forward to. And then came a buzz about the whole village. Brother looked rather grave. But the eldest sister could not bear it any longer. To her feet, she rose. ¡°The orphanage¡­ I must go look,¡± she said. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I won¡¯t be long.¡± Charitable, her eldest sister was. Ever a lender of helping hands for the orphanage, where lived children of parents lost to tragedy. There was concern upon her face as she left the house in haste. Not once before was there any warrant for worry. What could it be? The girl thought. An hour went by. Neither mother nor sister were returned. By now, the village was veiled in some tumult. Brother worried quietly. His face was furrowed. His heart was heavy. A bellow. From beyond the safety of home. Angry. Echoing. The elder sister held the girl tightly, picking her up. Brother sprang to his feet. His eyes darted about. The stove. A hearth of much happiness, earthen, large. Enough to cook for their family of six. To it, he pointed. To it, the sister rushed. In it, she hid, with the girl wrapped in her arms. ¡°Be still! Be silent! Stay in there¡ªno matter what!¡± Brother¡¯s whispers of warning. To them, the sister nodded. Cold beads of sweat sailed down her cheeks. For an instant, they glinted. In them, a reflection of the brother¡¯s unbound blade. Then by his hand, he sealed the stove. Turning, he stepped towards the entrance. But before he could emerge outside, into their home barged unsought visitors. Three. Three kins of Man. Cold swords in their hands. Cold armour binding their bodies. Bellowing blurs of iron they became, sending steel to the brother. There, he met them with his own sharpness. The sound of clashing swords. A first for the girl¡¯s ears. Her home, once filled only with happiness, now echoed with the throes of war. Tightly and tighter still, the sister held her with bated breath. Verily did she try to turn the girl away from the violence outside. But to no avail. The stove was too cramped inside. How sad, then, that the girl could gaze through the grates, and see for herself the battle beyond. She beheld in those gaps the sight of her brother brought down in cold blood. Skilled he was with the blade, but not enough to fight three at a time. And so the brother fell, cruelly cut. And so the sister knew woe. But keeping the scream from leaving her lips, she held the girl ever more tightly. ¡°Peh. Right pain in the arse, the scrawny scoundrel.¡± ¡°Ey. Ye think there¡¯s more?¡± ¡°More? Well I don¡¯t see¡­ wait¡­ ¡¯ear that?¡± The cold words of Men, whetted sharp. ¡°¡­uu¡­ hic¡­¡± The warm tears of the little girl, wetting her sister¡¯s bosom. Happiness was all she knew. And as well, the delightful days spent with her warm and loving family. Such innocence was ill-prepared to bear the sight of it all breaking to pieces. The lid flew open. The sickening smiles of Men. ¡°Well well well. Wot we ¡®ave ¡®ere, ey?¡± ¡°Hah! Look at ¡®em! Steep¡¯d in soot, the devils!¡± Cold hands reached in. Girl and sister both were dragged out. By rope the two were tied up. To the village square they were led down. ¡°Uuaah! Aaaaah!¡± The screaming sobs of the little girl. The unceasing sorrow of her sister. The sadistic smirks of the Men. At their destination was found the villagers, bound and brought together. Surrounding them were the soldiers of Men, jeering. ¡°Thass all o¡¯ them.¡± Said a Man, bringing the girl and her sister before the others. Then, with a sharp shove to their backs, he sent the two tumbling down into the dirt. ¡°Aeck¡­! ¡­hic¡­ uu¡­¡± The girl continued to cry. And there, echoing across the air, were their names. A familiar voice. The voice of their mother, vaulting, desperate. To her the girl looked. Mother, too, was bound amongst the villagers. ¡°Oh? Wot¡¯s this, now? Those two brats be yers, is it?¡± ¡°Yer good pa¡¯s come ¡®ome, ¡®e ¡®as! But ¡®e be doin¡¯ a lil¡¯ ¡®ide an¡¯ seek! Why don¡¯t ye¡­ be a good mam, yea? Tell yer kiddies where the pa be ¡®idden!¡± Sinful words from sinful smiles, said to the mother. Choosing not to obey, she but shook her head. ¡°Ey. Ey! I said, tell ¡®em! Ye bitch, you!¡± ¡°Why ye gots t¡¯be a big boot in the arse, eh? Bloody Naf¨ªlim. Devils, the lot o¡¯ ye!¡± ¡°Well thass all right, then. We¡¯ll tell ¡®em fer ye, we will. Oi. Which one¡¯s their pa, ey?¡± ¡°Should be eh¡­ in that pile, methinks. The one with all the run-aways from yesterbattle.¡± ¡°This one ¡®ere, yea?¡± The uncaring conversation of the Men. ¡°No! Don¡¯t! Stop! Sto¡ªp!!¡± The nigh-crazed cries of the mother. There, a wagon sat, covered. Then, by the hand of a soldier, it was covered no more. At first, the girl could not comprehend what her eyes saw. For they saw a heap of heads. Each and every one of them, a face she knew. And amongst them, a face she loved. A face she missed. The face of her father. Her breath was wholly stolen. The cold grip of the fates seemed to clench at her heart and lungs both. Next to her was her sister, seized by the same shock. Down and down, slowly and soundlessly, the girl¡¯s gaze fell. ¡°C¡¯mon now. There¡¯s yer pa!¡± Called one of the Men, who then snatched the girl¡¯s chin with his iron hand. Back to the horrid heap he then made the girl look. ¡°See ¡®im? Nice smile on ¡®is face, eh? Heheh!¡± ¡°Sto¡ªp! Sto©¤©¤©¤p!!¡± The wuthering wails of the mother. But the girl had stopped crying. Her eyes. In her eyes was no longer the light of her heart. ¡°Yea, yea. Playtime¡¯s over, ye wankers. Back t¡¯work!¡± ¡°Right right. Ey, ye devils! Get in ¡®ere, the lot o¡¯ ye!¡± And thus the Men had the girl, her sister, and some others make their way to another covered wagon. But the girl budged not a bit. ¡°Ey, runt. Get movin¡¯.¡± A Man¡¯s command. Yet the girl¡¯s feet were unmoving. ¡°Tch. Oi, look ¡®ere, you! Get in, I says!¡± No avail. In his frustration, the Man called to another, who then held a blade to the mother¡¯s neck. ¡°Oi, ye bloody brat! Get a move on with yer sis! I¡¯ma count now, an¡¯ if ye ain¡¯t in the wagon by three, why, I¡¯ll ¡®ave yer mam join yer pa, I will!¡± Oh, dearest daughter. How the mother cried and cried. Seeing the sword set against that neck, the girl slowly started moving. Such pain and sorrow upon the sister¡¯s face, as she picked up the little girl. Quivering caresses were given. Then, onto the deck they boarded. Sister knew well where the wagons would go. To where else but sunless suffering? Yet even then, she thought only to comfort her little sibling. ¡°Right. Got ¡®em all loaded up now. Let¡¯s move!¡± With a signal, the wagons were off. ¡°Oi, brother. Wot ¡®bout these ones, ey?¡± ¡°Eh, ferget ¡®em. They¡¯ve got battle magicks, they do. Can scarce make slaves o¡¯ ¡®em. Bugger.¡± A cruel conversation amongst Men yet in the village square. ¡°Rubbish, they be, eh? Oi! Off with their ¡®eads now, yea!?¡± Orders given. Swords swung. The Naf¨ªlim folk, bound and defenceless. Each was felled. One after another. Home. Now distant. Forever distant. The girl¡¯s last sight of it was not to be forgotten. The sight of her mother¡¯s final moment. Held tight in her sister¡¯s arms, the girl lost all strength. Something lingered on her cheeks, and now ran down. ¡°¡­hats¡­ Mama¡­ Papa¡­¡± Her amber eyes dulled. Now empty. Oh, so empty. Volume 2 - CH 1.9 Whither the wagons whisked the little girl was a city of stone. From the idyll of the fields and forests, and into the metropolitan maw of Man; there in the fangs of the fiefburgh was she caught, her fate it was to be made a slave. But not immediately so, no. Deals had to be done. Prices had to be promised. Not yet was she set and sold. In the meantime, she was instead shackled and sent to the cages of a concentration camp. A cold and unkind place where her kin and kind were kept, to await whatever ill reckoning may come¡ªwhether it be death by cruel treatment, or a life of enslavement. Meagre scraps of food were afforded to her. But it was beyond the girl¡¯s broken will to muster up any sort of appetite. Yet ate she tried, for fear of being served a meal of a different sort. One of fury, of foul affronts. Certainly, the soldiers there were loath to keep even one Naf¨ªl alive. Only, their pay coursed from margrave¡¯s coffers, which filled all the more fully as he cashed out the captives to the slavers. Thus was the girl not a cur to be culled, but a commodity to be kept intact¡ªto the barest adequacy, that is. With their wages on the line, the soldiers spared this ¡°product¡± of her early death whensoever they had a mind to punish her. In times when she ill-stomached her meal, they would whet her appetite with the whip, livid lashings sent to slash her back. It was not long before they found her to be attuned to the covenantal magicks. The discovery threw the soldiers into a flying fit of rage, for to be so ungainly gifted was injurious indeed: her prospective price was now but a pittance. As punishment, fists and feet were driven into her belly, till she collapsed onto the cold stone floor, vomiting what little sustenance she had ably swallowed. But to do so was alike to not having eaten it at all. Thus another punishment was in order. The Men, with their wrath unravelled, thrust torches onto her thighs. There, she writhed. She screamed. She cried. A sight most sorry¡ªostensibly enough to soften the soldiers¡¯ veins, for they soon quit the cell. In it, she was then all alone, left to weep the days away. A gaol most dark, where echoed the girl¡¯s grief forevermore. But there was a soul within the soldiery who acted not like the others. One of many turnkeys keeping the peace in the prisons, the guardsman seemed the sort to sympathise with the girl¡¯s plight. ¡°Well, er¡­ Yer sis be alive still, yea?¡± he revealed quietly, ¡°¡­¡®ang in there, if not fer the lass, at least.¡± With that, he went about his way. The Man, forty in his years, perhaps, apparently kept the girl¡¯s elder sister, too, under his watch. Hence any occasion where he crossed the girl¡¯s cell was also an opportunity to glean from his yet lukewarm heart the condition of her sister¡ªof the sole vestige of her dear family. By his words, the sister was haggard and unhale, a young woman wasting away. Only, she yet had the will to partake of her meals, and that was hope enough. The moment the girls first entered the concentration camp was the moment they were torn from each other, to be locked up in separate cells. By then, the little girl had lost all strength to raise even a whisper of protest. So it was that she could do naught but shed tears, watching on as the soldiers sent her sister away. The days since then were a long and enduring darkness, empty of aught but pain and punishment. And of worry. Indeed, much of the girl¡¯s waking hours were spent deep in thought for her sister. In the mire of such uncertain circumstance, what could she do but worry? And so worry she did, on and on, of what might befall upon her dear sibling. This was always so for any member of her family. In each of them was instilled a selfless sympathy for the other. Perhaps truest for the girl, ever a child who thought more of her family than of herself. More than once did such compassion compel her to speak to the soldiers, but their answers were always of cold violence. The sole exception being the foresaid guardsman. In him, she sensed some possibility of discourse. Thus she mustered up what meagre courage remained in her heart, and inquired him of what fate awaited her sister. And sure enough, what moved were not his fists, but his lips, quietly. ¡°Same as ye, methinks. A war-slave, she¡¯ll be, made t¡¯do ¡®er master¡¯s biddin¡¯.¡± A thoughtful silence followed, in which was found the Man with his eyes cast wistfully. ¡°I¡¯ve got a lass o¡¯ me own, I do. Weren¡¯t more than ten ¡®fore she went t¡¯serve a lord,¡± he spoke again. ¡°Mm¡­ ¡®ow many years it¡¯s been, eh¡­? I¡¯ve not seen ¡®er since. She be doin¡¯ all right, I wonder¡­?¡± And with those words, the girl was left alone once more. ?¡ß? At the end of many sunless days, it was at last decided where the girl was to be handed off. Not more than a week now till a slaver would come to collect her. News of unknown portent, most certainly. On-duty during the night it was given was none other than the pitying turnkey himself. ¡°Not sure if this¡¯ll brighten yer day or wot, but¡­¡± he broached, before relating to the girl of further news: that she and her sister were to be reunited and sold off together. A light, then, the girl felt. A light within all the dark. Faint, yes, but one lit at last. No day was without pain. No day was without suffering. No day was without sorrow. But her sister was still alive, and that was reason enough to endure them. To keep the family¡¯s memory. To breathe the life given to her. For her one and only remaining bond. For her warm and loving family. So dear. So dear. She had lost enough. No more could she bear. ¡°¡­Sister¡­ Sister¡­¡± Whispers within the dark. Tears within the solitude. Ones different from before. Oh, to be together again. Only two now, but together nevertheless. ¡°¡­Well. Good on ye, eh?¡± From beyond the iron bars, a warm smile. ?¡ß? ¡°Oi, alga! Out with ye!¡± Alga. An epithet earned from the peculiarity of her captivity. A soot-steeped girl, hiding in the earthen hearth of her home, only to be dragged out by the hands of Man. The air still rang from its utterance as Men dragged her out yet again, this time from her sunless cell and out to the sunlit grounds. A morning scene to herald her purchase. The girl wended the way barefoot, with shackles at her ankles and wrists, and naught but rat-eaten rags as her raiments. To the camp¡¯s service gates was she led, pulled along by chains at the hands of the soldiers. There, she would have to wait. The slavers had yet to arrive. Restless was her gaze as it glanced about. Her sister was nowhere to be found. In the midst of the confusion, she spotted the Man of pity. Their eyes met, and so she thought to speak to him. ¡°uh¡­ um¡­¡± ¡°Shut yer trap, runt!¡± howled her chain-handler. ¡°Now now, brother, s¡¯all right. We talk¡¯d ¡®bout this,¡± soothed the gentle guardsman. ¡°Ah? Wot, she the one, then?¡± Knowing looks. Knowing nods. The Man then turned to the girl. ¡°Worry¡¯d ¡®bout yer sis, yea?¡± ¡°y¡­ yes¡­¡± ¡°Look.¡± The Man thrust forth his thumb, pointing to a corner of the concentration camp. A hollow was dug there. At its edge was something set to be thrown into its depths. ¡°A grave pit, that is,¡± the Man explained. ¡°Jailbirds that¡¯ve ¡®broken their wings¡¯¡ªwell, that be where they fall, the lot o¡¯ them.¡± No eye could mistake it for aught else. A mass grave, with not a gravestone to mark it. And the ¡°thing¡± to be thrown into it¡ªnaught but a corpse. The corpse of her sister. ¡°Burial¡¯s a mite late©`perish¡¯d a long while ¡®go, she did. The pneumonia got ¡®er right good. Never got better, ¡®course.¡± ¡°¡­a¡­ ah¡­¡± The girl trembled. ¡°Wot? Not that nither¡¯d out ¡®ere, is it? Oh¡ªyer sis? Hah. Yea, ¡®er bein¡¯ well ¡®nough, an¡¯ gettin¡¯ sent off with ye¡ªa funny lil¡¯ lie, is all it were.¡± ¡°¡­¡± She stood. All but stood. ¡°Can¡¯t ¡®elp meself, ey,¡± the mummer of a Man smiled. ¡°Gaol-watchin¡¯s bugger¡¯d an¡¯ borin¡¯ work, it is. Gots t¡¯do somethin¡¯ t¡¯pass the time, yea? Thass why me an¡¯ the lads, we like t¡¯prank ye prisoners sometimes, heheh.¡± ¡°Hah! Hahah! Oh, always the cruel one, ain¡¯t ye, brother!¡± ¡°That some mighty fine mumm¡¯ry it were, man! If I were more a fool, why, I¡¯d say ye was quite the lonely pa! Wot with all that ¡®daughter¡¯ rubbish!¡± ¡°Yea, me: a bastard bachelor o¡¯ a ¡®pa¡¯! Hah!¡± ¡°Ahahaha!¡± Their japery. Their jeers. All but a faraway fuss to the girl as she stared at what was once her sister. Just a single glance. A single one. And she knew then and there the immovable truth. That the body no longer harboured within it a wisp of life. Her sister was ever fair, with her complexion of pastel tawn, and a warm smile ready at a moment¡¯s notice to brighten the girl¡¯s day. Always had she given time for talk and play. Always had she listened with a gracious grin. Always was she a loving sister. Until that moment, where she was but a limp and lifeless figure, blackened by a ruthless blight, silenced by dreamless sleep. Until that moment, when she was tossed into the dim of the pit. ¡°¡­ah¡­¡± The world was then shadowed. The girl¡¯s heart was then broken. Volume 1 - CH 3.10 Was it mere murderous intent? Nay. A sheering, gnashing assault fast approached us, naked in its violence and ferality. A blink of an eye, and already was this ¡°bestial¡± force thundering through our ranks¡ªand straight for me. In a slice of a second, I drew my sword with my yet unbroken right hand. Through the darkened air, my sword sailed forth, till in the midst of its cutting arc, there appeared before its glinting edge a Nafil. ¡°Wha¡ª!?¡± came the assailant¡¯s yelp. Shock overcame the thought-speed bearer of the ¡°bestial¡± force as my blade neared its target: the neck. But the steel would find no flesh, for its wielder was but I, a man ungraced: there, my weapon was fully halted, little more than a digitus away from meeting its mark. And in another slice of a second, there came Tiselius, discerning the situation. The hero-dame¡¯s silverblade flashed forth. ¡°Syah!¡± ¡°Tch!¡± The ¡°bestial¡± Nafil pulled away, avoiding the mareschal¡¯s sword-strike by no more than a hair¡¯s width. With a leap back, our assailant was immediately rejoined with the other Nafilim. ¡°A keen blade, they have¡­¡± rang the Nafil¡¯s voice¡ªa girl, ¡°¡­but how?¡± Suspicion sallowed her words as she glared straight at me. This girl seemed quite young, more so than Emilie and I, seventeen years of age as we were. It would not be a stretch to call her a child even, whose twin daggers she so held ill-befit her image. Yet, it was this same image, this same child that had attacked us with swiftness unimaginable. ¡°Rolf! You¡¯re not harmed, are you!?¡± Emilie exclaimed, coming up to my side. ¡°Not any more than I was, my Lady,¡± I assured her. ¡°Such speed. That Nafil¡ªhas she bolstered her own body with odyl?¡± ¡°She has, and frightfully so,¡± Tiselius confirmed. ¡°Take her for a damsel and she¡¯ll take you to the dead.¡± With those words, the mareschal summoned forth wreaths of flame about her silverblade, the fires snarling thunderously in their spiral motion. ¡°Igne¨­ Tr¨±dend¨­!!¡± roared Tiselius, and with a thrust of her firebrand, hell itself spewed forth in a fell line, blasting a hole through the Nafilim ranks. ¡°Ooaagh!¡± they screamed from within the inferno. ¡°There breathes Tiselius, our mark! Spread and smite her down!¡± one amongst them commanded. ¡°Tarry not! Or a pyre she¡¯ll make of us all!¡± It was heeded with all speed, for in another moment, Tiselius was beset on both sides by Nafilim fighters. ¡°Not on my watch!¡± Lindell interjected, and at once, both he and the other knightly underlings of Tiselius clashed with the ambushers, their weapons biting bitterly against each other in sharp symphony. ¡°Ggrrgh!¡± groaned the knights in their outnumbered and increasingly futile struggle. ¡°Sir Erik! Away!¡± Lindell quickly shrank back, and then in his place was Emilie, rushing in with her blade taking wing through the embattled dark. ¡°Ferum Fulgur!¡± But dark was it no more: lengths of lightning fanned forth from her sword, flashing through the Nafilim. ¡°Ggaaagh!¡± The struck handful of foes were together laid low by the lethal levin. Elsewhere, the Nafilim magi readied their spells, but were swiftly set upon by Tiselius¡¯ sword. ¡°Seh!¡± her voice cut the air, answered by death-screams in quick succession. ¡°Eaahh!!¡± Already had the hero-dame sundered deep into the midst of the belligerents, having at once seen that Emilie and Lindell were perfectly capable of handling the enemy vanguards. There, her silverblade flew in flowing flashes, finding and felling her foes one after the other. ¡°Surround her at once! Strike in concert!¡± grated the voice of another Nafil¡ªorders boiling with agitation. But they were followed nonetheless, and Tiselius soon found herself encircled with blades all around, closing in quick. Yet this did not stir her in the slightest. Indeed, she was the eye of tranquillity within a hurricane of chaos, and with neither wasted effort nor delay, she then swept wide her sword, as if to trace a ring through the air itself. ¡°Levis Crematio.¡± Immediately from about the mareschal, there arose a towering whirl-fire. ¡°Ggeeaaahh!¡± so wailed the foes that fell into its flaming walls, both their bodies and their screams fading into ashes. Such strength. Dreadful, yet majestic. By her blade alone, thirty Nafilim were slain here. I knew it then. The Des Ailes Greatbridge, from the dawn of the month-long battle till this very day, was never victim to the fury of her firebrand on account of but one fact: the mareschal had heretofore been holding back her flames. Estelle Tiselius¡ªthe mightiest amongst all Londosian knights and dames. Her swordskill was of another plane, like a living legend, beautiful and fatal. Tell any that Tiselius, along with just two other souls, had managed to defend a legion of trapped forders, and an undoubting nod would surely be returned. But upon the face of that same Tiselius, there flickered a grim regard. A danger was sensed. One that I shared. I quickly brandished forth my sword into the seemingly empty air once more. This time, again, its slashing course was stopped before the neck of the female Nafil. ¡°Hah¡­!!¡± she gasped, before backstepping away with immediacy. ¡°¡­My blade¡ªhow can you see?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve my eyes to thank,¡± I quipped. ¡°¡­So you should,¡± she returned, ¡°but why still your steel?¡± ¡°The thing stills itself.¡± ¡°Mayhap it needs more thanking!¡± Lightly then did she lunge forth, intent upon another attack. Deftness haunted her daggers, guiding them into an unbroken flourish. That speed, no less phenomenal now than it was prior. But I saw through it. And avoided it. Only¡ª ¡°Aagh!!¡± came my clenched howl. Ungraced flesh ill-resists magicked fury. Even if I could avoid the blade, the odyl fraught within it would find me without fail. As proof, my chest burst open with a gash, a long line clear across my pectoral muscles. ¡°Rolf!!¡± Emilie shrieked. The wound was shallow enough that it did not cross any bones, but much blood was made to course from its ghastly depths. I yet had this much blood within me? An honest surprise. And now a haze was filling my vision¡ªnot good. ¡°What¡¯s this, now¡­?¡± the Nafilim girl muttered, taken with doubt. But I shared none of it in guessing she¡¯d never before crossed paths with an odylless soul such as I, not in her entire life. Just then¡­ ¡­strikes upon a gong. One. Two. Three. Three resounding rumbles from the heart of the encampment. At once, the female Nafil¡¯s face furrowed in frustration. ¡°¡­Curses!¡± ¡°Looks like the curtains are coming to a close,¡± I pointed out to her. ¡°¡®Twas a play too-brief,¡± she remarked. ¡°Now¡¯s a fine time to exit stage, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± ¡°Will we meet again?¡± ¡°The playwrights willing.¡± To this, she fell silent, but in the next moment, vanished right before my eyes. At the same time, I crumbled to my knees. This was my limit. Not another step could I endeavour. The other Nafilim were now scurrying away. Looking further across the encampment, I spotted the enemy horde flowing past the overlooking hill. They were retreating. The day was ours, it seemed. ¡°Rolf! That wound¡­ so much blood¡­!¡± Emilie wailed, rushing to me. ¡°Surgiens! Surgiens, please! Over here!¡± From just a little ways off, there stood Mareschal Tiselius, turning my way. To her flew an arrow of fire. Just one. A vengeful present from our parting foes, perhaps? But it was ill-given, as it struck not the mareschal, but the tent situated just behind her. Through the canopy the flame-ensorcelled bolt went, landing somewhere within. The other knights, seeing this, breathed a sigh of relief. The foe¡¯s final attack, all but a failure, they thought to themselves. But it was a thought eager to betray them. Of course the arrow would not find Tiselius. The Nafilim archers knew as much. That was precisely why it was made to find another mark: the tent itself. I peered through the distance and into a tear within the pierced canopy. Hiding there were crates. The sort with which I was painfully acquainted. And it was not a meagre few that the tent concealed. There were many. Too many. A whole hill of them. I screamed. ¡°Estelle!!¡± Off to her I bolted at once. A look of menacing horror wrung my face, a dot of desperation within a sea of relief. But Tiselius saw it and knew. Eyes wide, she turned to the tent, the target of my attention. There, she shared in my realisation. With all the might her legs could muster, she erupted into a dash towards me. Her silver armour. The paling it provided would save her from an explosion. But not from its heat. Not from its shock waves. And being so close to such a monstrous density of explosives, she would not escape unscathed. Not in the slightest. Tiselius, rushing to me. And I, to her. In my eyes flickered a reflection most foul¡ªcrates, all aflame within the tent. This was it. The fates have played their hand. Knowing of the hell that was to ensue, I took hold of Tiselius from behind right as we passed each other, at once bringing her to the ground and shielding her body with my own. How small she was, more than I ever imagined. As the ill-placed thought bubbled up in my mind, there burst an ear-breaking boom, bellowing all throughout the encampment. An unseen force flashed through the air, slamming onto my back with the weight of a giant¡¯s falling foot. And then¡­ ¡­blackness. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Digitus (plural: digit¨©) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the width of a finger. 1 centimetre is equal to 0.5405 of a digitus. A digitus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 2 centimetres. Ferum Fulgur (Original name: ¡°Fierce Volt¡±) A levin-elemental bladespell. The sword is imbued with a shroud of electricity. When swung, a fan of lightning is thrown forth, burning and electrocuting targets caught within. Igne¨­ Tr¨±dend¨­ (Original name: ¡°Blaze Thrust¡±) A fire-elemental bladespell. The sword is wreathed with intense flames. With a thrust, an abrupt blast of fire is shot forth. A veritable shaped explosion, incinerating and blowing away targets caught within. Levis Crematio (Original name: ¡°Levia Cremate¡±) A fire-elemental bladespell. The sword is swung laterally in a circle. From the ring-like blade arc erupts a well of fierce flames, instantly incinerating outside targets that make contact with it. ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Volume 1 - CH 3.11 The River of Lorn Fates. At waters¡¯ end, I would there be judged. At long last¡­ or so I had thought. I yet drew breath, and by no small fortune, woke to find myself lying in bed. The medics¡¯ tents¡ªa familiar sight, this place. Already had I paid it a visit, namely after drawing Lindell¡¯s ironfisted ire on the eve of the battle. ¡°Oh? Up now, are we?¡± spoke a nursing aide, peeking in. ¡°Stay put, will you? I¡¯ve got someone to fetch now that you¡¯ve awoken¡ªorders and all.¡± ¡®Someone¡¯? Who exactly? I wondered. As I thought to ask, I found the aide already gone from the tent. Likely she had found out who¡ªor what¡ªI was, for all gentleness was stolen from her mood, a contrast to my prior visit. A still moment dragged by, till another soul came briskly into the tent: the Dame Mareschal Tiselius herself. ¡°Rolf! Oh gladness, you¡¯re awake!¡± ¡­¡¯Rolf¡¯? ¡°My Lady, Mareschal Tiselius,¡± I saluted, as I began bending up from the bed. ¡°At ease, now. You¡¯ve toiled enough,¡± said the mareschal, staying my attempt to get up. She then alighted upon a chair right beside me. An odd¡­ blush was about her face¡ªthoroughly tired from the battle, she must¡¯ve been. ¡°How fare you, Rolf? Are you in pain?¡± she asked. ¡°I feel something of a fever, perhaps from broken bones. Otherwise, I fare well enough,¡± I answered. ¡°What of you, madame? Were you wounded yourself?¡± ¡°Nay, thankfully. You did well to protect me in that moment, bringing me down and covering me like you did.¡± ¡°I see. Then I am most glad.¡± ¡°Yes¡­¡± Her voice faded into quietude. Curious. I yielded a blink of puzzlement before she continued. ¡°¡­Do you remember calling me? By just my name?¡± That I did. If memory serves, I had spotted a flaming arrow piercing a tent behind her¡ªone crammed with quickfire crates. The scream I let out to warn her was but of a single word: ¡®Estelle¡¯, her naked name. ¡°¡®Twas an ill offence I¡¯ve committed in the heat of the moment. Please, forgive my insolence,¡± I entreated her. ¡°And you held me close as we were both bent down upon the ground,¡± Tiselius went on. ¡°You recall that, as well, I take it?¡± ¡°A-again, my deepest apologies, madame.¡± ¡°Ah, so you do remember.¡± ¡°I-I¡­ yes.¡± A soft laugh. ¡°¡­I see,¡± she said, before reaching up to stroke her own shoulder¡ªthe same I held during my bid to shield her from the explosion. ¡°It pleases me to see you up and lucid, anyhow. ¡®Twas a whole day you¡¯ve slept through, I¡¯ll have you know.¡± Her lips curved up tenderly. Was she the sort to smile when incensed? ¡°Madame,¡± I started, my mind turning to matters more urgent. ¡°The battle¡ªwhat became of it?¡± ¡°Our foes committed to their retreat, just as predicted. Some amongst our number insisted on giving chase, but I stilled their steeds,¡± she explained. ¡°And that was the end of it¡ªthe battle was won.¡± I let loose a deep sigh of relief. It was finally over. ¡°Your sister and senior officer both are faring well, I should add,¡± she said. More relief. With this, Emilie, Felicia, and I had a victory to decorate our very first battles with. And from that battlefield, we would make our return, unbroken and unscathed, heads held high. Well, I can¡¯t exactly say I escaped unharmed from it all, but regardless: we lived to tell the tale. ¡°Your solace is much appreciated, madame,¡± I responded. Tiselius paused for a while before speaking up once more. ¡°¡­That moment, mere seconds before the bridge was undone. Do you recall?¡± ¡°I do.¡± ¡°You realised something then, and bolted off to the bank yonder¡ªall in an instant.¡± ¡°As did you, Mareschal.¡± ¡°Right. I¡¯m well aware of mine overeagerness, but I must admit, rushing headlong to the other bank like I did¡ª¡¯twas most ill-becoming of a commander,¡± she confessed, shaded with remorse. ¡°My body betrayed the better of my wits. Before I knew it, I¡­ found myself sprinting for the enemy shore. But had I not, ¡®twould¡¯ve been the final day for our dear forders.¡± ¡°Nay, madame. I believe your judgement was most sound. No commander of right mind would fain to have her own troops be made as scrap-feed for the fishes.¡± ¡°Thank you. Your words are succour most welcome,¡± she smiled. ¡°Yet you thought¡ªand did¡ªas I had, am I wrong? Sooner than I, no less. And further on, you took quick action on the enemy banks before making for the tributary.¡± ¡°You saw?¡± ¡°Indeed I did. Upon stolen steed, you raced to the tributary, bearing a full-packed explosive upon that shoulder of yours,¡± she recounted. ¡°I saw you then¡­ and resolved to wager our fortunes upon your enterprise. Thus till the dice revealed their tally did I commit to safeguarding the forders.¡± ¡°A bet you took along with Lieutenants Lindell and Mernesse, yes? I gather they were able to cross over to the enemy banks as well?¡± I asked. ¡°That¡¯s right. For some minutes, the three of us harried the enemy artillery, that our forders might know of some relief. We heard it then¡ªan explosion from upstream, like a most unexpected drum-strike. Not too long after, calm returned to the Erbelde, and the forders found their footing once more. ¡®Twas a gamble of much gain.¡± ¡°But not one without its losses. What of that end?¡± ¡°¡­Till that time, a third or so of the forders were lost¡­ whether to the waters or to the ire of our enemy. A search scours the river for their whereabouts as we speak, but to this moment, we¡¯ve turned up naught.¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± I said lowly. So it came to be that our forces suffered no small number of casualties. But perhaps that was the best we could have hoped for. After all, with the Des Ailes destroyed, there was little else that anyone could have done to draw the foe¡¯s fury away from the forders. In spite of it, the mareschal could only wring out embittered words from her heart. ¡°Would that I were keen enough to previse the Nafilim¡¯s designs in damming the tributary¡­ ¡®Tis a deep regret that ill-relents,¡± she said, her topaz eyes downcast as they recalled that fateful scene. ¡°The forders all, they were teetering at their limits. Any longer, and¡­¡± And all would have been lost, our forders as pieces wiped away from the gameboard. Though that thankfully did not come to pass, by Tiselius¡¯ account, it truly was down to the wire. Paying no mind to the enemy engineers like I did, charging through without a moment¡¯s hesitation¡ªall had been sound decisions. The fates would not have forgiven me had I tarried for a moment more. ¡°Were it not for you, our defeat would¡¯ve been writ large upon the history books¡ªdisdainfully so,¡± Tiselius admitted. ¡°I cannot thank you enough.¡± ¡°A thanks misgiven, I fear,¡± I proceeded to give my own admittance. ¡°It was we, the 5th, who were slow overmuch in wading through the waters. The toll of an ill-planned march was weighing woefully on our backs. Had we lightened ourselves with a sounder scheme, the day would have been ours and all¡ªere the bridge was blown to bits.¡± ¡°That, I wonder. Would the 5th have arrived at all were you not there to suggest marching under moonlight?¡± she reasoned. ¡°Nevermind that¡ªwas it not you, Rolf, who vouched for the better route from the very beginning?¡± ¡°You¡¯re well-informed, madame. How, if I may ask?¡± ¡°I had Officer Kranz apprise me of it all.¡± ¡®Kranz¡¯? Our Gerd Kranz? That¡¯s¡­ quite the surprise. The mareschal pressed on. ¡°Pray tell. What became of you after the waters were freed? By what fortune did you end up so deep behind enemy lines?¡± ¡°I was¡­ swallowed up by the tributary itself.¡± ¡°When the dam was destroyed?¡± ¡°Yes. The fork was appointed with enemy engineers¡ªI had not the luxury to detonate the charge in safety, not on their watch. And so I broke through. I destroyed the dam with as much haste as I could muster, and in the aftermath, I was whisked off by the waters.¡± ¡°¡­Quite the foolhardy one, aren¡¯t you? ¡®Tis a miracle you¡¯re yet of one piece.¡± ¡°This fool¡¯s flesh is nothing if not hardy, madame,¡± I admitted. Perhaps I owe my parents some thanks for it. Though, they hardly seem fain to lend even an ear to the son they so disavowed. ¡°And from there, you infiltrated the enemy camp from behind, played a ploy to pull their numbers away from the battle, and made your return to the frontlines.¡± ¡°That I did, yes.¡± ¡°Such valour¡ªone most worthy of praise.¡± ¡°¡­Pardon?¡± I asked, puzzled. ¡°Your actions as recounted¡ªall taken while severely wounded. Even then, what we have reaped from your pains is undeniable. For such bravery on the battlefield, you¡¯ve earned mine applause and admiration both.¡± ¡°Y-you¡¯re very kind, my Lady.¡± A rosy glow then sang upon Tiselius¡¯ cheeks. Never could I have imagined her to be the sort to so warmly laud a swain of another Order. I saw further then why she stood so prominently within the knightly echelons. ¡°But of another matter, I would ask,¡± she began again. ¡°Another matter, madame?¡± ¡°Your sword¡ªwith such sleight do you wield it. How did it come to be, pray tell?¡± ¡­What¡¯s this now? ¡°¡¯Sleight¡¯, madame?¡± I blinked. ¡°I fear I do not follow.¡± ¡°The technique you so employed upon that Nafil,¡± she elaborated. ¡°I had merely swung the sword twice¡ªwith but a single hand, I must add,¡± I answered plainly. ¡°The other was broken, you see.¡± ¡°So you say. But mine eyes saw both to be unthinkably superb. No less than some millions of swings before them could have forged such swordsmanship.¡± ¡°Millions¡­ Yes. Thinking of it, that number would be more on the mark.¡± ¡°I-I see,¡± she stammered. If there was one thing I could be proud of, it was in not skipping a single day of sword practice since my earliest days. Of course, that long chain was broken by this adventure of a battle. For that, I would have to step up my regime once I return. ¡°One more matter,¡± Tiselius continued. ¡°Yes, Mareschal?¡± ¡°Why did you brandish your blade against the Nafilim? No doubt full-knowing that it would never reach their flesh in the first place?¡± ¡°Ah, that¡­¡± My hands instinctively clenched the sheets. ¡°I wanted to convince myself. I wanted proof. That my blade would not reach them. Of course, I knew that it wouldn¡¯t, most certainly. But knowing wasn¡¯t enough. I had to feel it for myself, with my very own hands.¡± An explanation met with silence. ¡°A fool¡¯s fancy, I know, but I¡ª¡± ¡°Nay¡­¡± Tiselius interrupted. ¡°¡­Yes. I see now. Of course you had to. What else was left to you otherwise? ¡®Tis hardly a fool¡¯s fancy that guides your heart, Rolf.¡± Such soft sympathy, conveyed with a voice most tender in its timbre. I felt glad then¡ªthat my wayward ways were not lost to the mightiest amongst the kingdom¡¯s knightly court. The mareschal then straightened herself up. Turning to me, with both graveness and a shade of sorrow upon her mien, she began her next words. ¡°Rolf. By rights, I cannot infringe upon the 5th¡¯s handling of honours.¡± ¡°But of course,¡± I affirmed. ¡°The deeds you¡¯ve displayed in this battle are truly without equal. Yet, I fear they will ill-bear you any boon to which you are rightfully due.¡± ¡°I would not think otherwise.¡± ¡°¡­Your lot. I cannot fathom how difficult it must be for you.¡± ¡°You are most gentle, madame. But I enjoy myself quite well.¡± ¡°So I see¡­¡± Tiselius smiled lightly. Any expression upon her face would be worthy of a portrait. ¡°¡­Rolf. Suppose I bid you join me in the 1st. What say you?¡± Words I never expected. In pondering the point of her proposal, there came another voice from behind her. ¡°W-wait! Rolf is my subordinate!¡± A voice I knew very well¡ªEmilie¡¯s. Volume 1 - CH 3.12 Tiselius turned to the tent¡¯s entrance. ¡°Why, Lieutenant Mernesse! You¡¯ve come to visit too, I see.¡± ¡°I-I have, yes! When I¡¯d heard Rolf was awake, I came running as soon as I could,¡± Emilie explained herself before bowing to the mareschal. ¡°Forgive me, madame. I did not mean to eavesdrop.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve done no wrong. There¡¯s hardly a door under this canopy to knock upon, anyhow,¡± Tiselius pardoned. ¡°Nay, I must beg for forgiveness myself. You are his superior, and yet I could not help but have a few words with him before you¡¯ve had your chance. I must¡¯ve broken a rule somewhere in mine eagerness.¡± The mareschal then bade Emilie forget any need for apologies, after which she rose up from her chair. ¡°Oh, and speaking of forgiveness,¡± said Tiselius. ¡°Again, I must apologise to you two for Erik¡¯s ill-conduct. He¡¯s been handed a censure, if ¡®tis any comfort.¡± ¡°A censure, madame?¡± I asked. ¡°For how he madly mistreated you the other night, Rolf,¡± Emilie explained. ¡°I told you I¡¯d protest to the 1st, had I not?¡± ¡°Come to think of it¡­¡± Indeed, Emilie was most incensed upon seeing me so cudgelled on the eve of the battle. Telling her to put it aside till after the dust had settled was all I could do to appease her, so keen as she was on taking up the matter to the 1st. But to think she actually followed through on it. It would seem Lindell¡¯s pursuit of her heart had met a dead end. I felt sorry for him, really. Well, almost. ¡°Ever the wolf shrouded in a sheep¡¯s fleece, that Erik,¡± Tiselius confided. ¡°Though I confess, never could I have imagined the man would bare his claws so capriciously¡­¡± ¡°¡®We ought to gain from his immediate death,¡¯ were his words, which he howled whilst acquainting me with his fists, no less,¡± I recounted to them. With Lindell¡¯s censure made official, I thought to capitalise on the opportunity and air a warning of this man. A fellow furtively fraught with malice¡ªeven barring our little tangle, such a truth remained unfaded, one that deigned to be but a blight upon the Order. ¡°If he¡¯s a wolf as you say he is, Mareschal, then I¡¯d reckon further that he¡¯s of the rabid sort. A most dangerous one at that, to be frank.¡± ¡°Hmm¡­ Yes. I¡¯ll heed your measure of him. Only, he wears the orator¡¯s jerkin just as well as he does the knight¡¯s cuirass; that wolf is well-practised in rousing the packs to his purposes, you see. That he got off with a mere censure is proof enough of his cunning,¡± the mareschal revealed. ¡°His punishment was vain overmuch. I am sorry.¡± ¡°N-nay, madame¡­!¡± Emilie said, flustered. Violence against a fellow Order member comes with it grave consequences. But the exception here is that the target was me, an ungraced. Little wonder then as to why Lindell¡¯s sentence was as feckless as it was. In spite of this, Tiselius did indeed task herself faithfully in punishing her own subordinate, something none could deny. ¡°You¡¯ve done more than enough for us, fair Mareschal. We are most grateful,¡± I assured her. ¡°Hearing that frees me greatly,¡± Tiselius smiled. ¡°I¡¯ve kept you two long enough. ¡®Tis time I took my leave.¡± With that, the mareschal made way to the tent¡¯s exit, but not before offering up some last words. ¡°Be well then, Rolf.¡± ¡°I will, madame. Thank you,¡± I returned. The exit flaps billowed and swayed as Tiselius disappeared behind them, at which Emilie looked on for a while with silent intent. ¡°¡­¡¯Rolf¡¯, she called you,¡± Emilie started. ¡°That she did.¡± ¡°And since when have you two gotten so cosy, might I ask?¡± ¡°From when I awoke, my Lady. The Mareschal Tiselius is in the habit of calling her yeomen by their first names, you should know.¡± ¡°And you should know that you¡¯re no yeoman of hers, Rolf,¡± Emilie asserted. ¡°¡­You¡¯re mine, after all.¡± Passing strange for her to say that. ¡°But of course, my Lady,¡± I confirmed. To have my name known and so remembered by the keenest blade in the kingdom filled me with delight. But delight was all it was, really. ¡°¡­You were awfully desperate to save her when you did. Why was that?¡± Emilie inquired. ¡°The Order cannot abide losing any of its commanders,¡± came my obvious answer. ¡°She was wearing armour, you know. I scarcely believe she would¡¯ve needed another set¡ªone as big as you, at least.¡± ¡°Nay. Were she not low to the ground, not even her armour could have saved her from the blast wave.¡± ¡°But¡­ nevermind,¡± Emilie desisted. A peculiar look had been on her face, one rather¡­ ¡®unbecoming¡¯ of her, if that¡¯s the word. ¡°¡­That reminds me, Rolf. The 1st shall remain here for a while longer yet, but the 5th heads home on the morrow.¡± ¡°I thought as much.¡± What occurred in this battle, feats and faults all, would have to be recorded and re-investigated with great scrutiny. Drafts for the Des Ailes¡¯ reconstruction would also have to be drawn up, after all details concerning its destruction and the damage to the surrounding area were collected. Once that¡¯s done, troops would have to be organised and stationed throughout Erbelde basin. ¡°Cleanup¡±, as it were. The Chivalric Orders are all effectively the military wings of Londosius. Fighting is but a facet of a knight¡¯s office¡ªhe must hone his acumen for such mundane business just as much as he does his own blade. The 1st would remain busier yet for the time being. But the 5th, with no official obligations to the river basin themselves, were free to return home, now that the curtains had fallen over the hard-fought battle. ¡°Except for the injured; they¡¯re to remain till they¡¯re well again,¡± Emilie explained. ¡°That includes you, Rolf. Be good and get well soon, all right? And then come back when you¡¯re able.¡± ¡°I will, my Lady.¡± ¡°I¡¯d like to stay if I could, but Mareschal Tallien wouldn¡¯t heed my request.¡± ¡°It won¡¯t do to tarry here just for me,¡± I reasoned. ¡°You needn¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll return soon enough.¡± ¡°If you say so,¡± she answered. ¡°I should get going myself. There¡¯s a meeting for the return march soon. Take care, all right? And no swinging that sword of yours till you¡¯re well again!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll give it my all, my Lady.¡± With that, I rested my head deep against the pillow, looking at Emilie from the side of my eye as she made her way out of the tent. Before she made herself absent, however, I found her halted by the exit. There she stood, taken with a wordless and unmoving while, after which she turned to me. ¡°Rolf¡­¡± she called softly. ¡°¡­Um¡­ About what Mareschal Tiselius said earlier¡­ about joining th¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere,¡± I interrupted, purposeful in my discourtesy. ¡°¡­Even if she approached you again?¡± Emilie re-inquired. ¡°Yes, my Lady.¡± ¡°¡­I see.¡± Her visage softened. ¡°Right then, off I go. Come back soon, Rolf!¡± And with a smile, she left the tent. For as long as I can, for as long as I am allowed, I would stay by her side. This I resolved to do, and with the decision made, I let my eyes fall to a close. Volume 2 - CH 1.01 It was done. The 5th Chivalric Order saw fit to expel me from its halls. A wingless fledgling to be flung from the nest¡ªonly, not immediately so. No, the Orders are each a military organisation, composing the arms of the vast royal army. Not even the process of purging one of its own could escape the burden of bureaucracy. And though I¡¯d lost affiliation with the Order, let alone my meagre lot as a long-serving swain, I was yet a soldier of Londosius. And where else would a soldier be sent but a battlefield? In our lands, it is custom for a fallen knight to be driven off to the frontiers, where the fires of the frontline burn fiercest. A knight I was not, of course, but it betrays neither reason nor reverie to think that the same fate awaited me. Life in a faraway fringeland¡­ But which, exactly? Even now, the top brass were deliberating upon it. A whole ten days it would take, during which time, I was to be put under house arrest. A rather toothless sentencing, to be frank. I had not a house, much less a room of my own to be arrested within. And so I spent my days dallying in the library. Despite being warned to venture not a step outside the headquarters building itself, I routinely left its confines for my usual morning and evening training. Not even this sad situation could deter me from the daily rigour. That was the pattern, really. Perhaps it was in the comfort of knowing that I¡¯d be gone for good that the other officers were generous¡ªor indifferent, more like¡ªof my blatant rule-breaking. Luckily, not a soul thought to question my actions the entire time. Yes. Lucky indeed. ¡°¡­Lucky? I¡¯m an exile, and wrongfully so, no less. What am I, if not shrivelled up and dried of all luck?¡± Such words I would put to the wind as the uneventful days dragged on by. On the tenth of that span, I was told at last of my destination. Balasthea Stronghold¡ªin the border province of Str?m the fort stood, and it was quite the distinguished one, at that. Infamous for the extreme rate of fatality amongst its soldiery, Balasthea guarded a hotly contested territory, one rightly labelled as being amongst the most murderous killing fields in the entire realm. Balasthea itself was manned by the Fiefguard of Margrave Str?m, who managed the fort via funds and support from Central. No vestige of the Orders were to be found on his land; all that I¡¯ve grown accustomed to over the years would likely stand in stark contrast to the folkways of that frontier. The very thought of it was enough to fray my nerves. And if I¡¯m honest, the last ten days were a strain upon my heart. A shadow was cast upon it, darker again than I could ever have imagined¡ªa dusk born from having to part from Emilie¡¯s side. I harbour no regrets in making that fateful decision. But pain does what it does, and wounds are wounds in the end. I¡¯ve known Emilie ever since my mind could know aught, from the day the light of awareness first dawned upon me. She was the one woman to whom I promised a life of love and happiness. So many years¡­ ¡­and now to ponder upon forgetting them all. The heart is not so simple a thing, I¡¯m afraid, to be able to sever asudden so dear a bond. But the past forever dies, the present is forever here, and the future forever awaits. Unbending truths for the kin of Man, and so I must forge ahead. My destination is decided. I can ill-afford to wallow in my woes much longer. Death is where my way wends; it would not do to meet him without my head held high. ? The official day of my exile. Unspotted and infinitely cerulean the morrow-skies were, as if to rain blessings upon my departure. Were that truly so, then I suspect whoever wields the weather must be quite the dim-witted deity. After all, what good comes from exalting an exile as he sets out upon so perilous a path? There I stood at the main portcullis, where five years past I passed through with Emilie as we started our new lives here at the 5th. Never did I think that I would leave it under such sullen circumstance. The life of a man is truly uncertain, if nothing else. Gracious were the fates indeed to have garnished my lot with such an assortment of surprises. I should thank them. Though the gesture might feign too brave a face, I feel. ¡°Word has been sent to Balasthea Stronghold,¡± spoke one of two leaders standing before me. ¡°Hand them the papers when you arrive.¡± ¡°Keep that nose of yours on the grindstone this time, yea? And try not to get yourself kicked out again,¡± the other droned. In fact, I¡¯d say the both of them seemed rather bothered, to be left with the unenviable chore of officiating my disposal. ¡°Hah. Whom am I kidding? Wouldn¡¯t put it past an ungraced to get the boot twice.¡± With those words, the leaders then went about their business, hasteful in getting me out of their sight as soon as possible. Of course, no horse would be furnished to me. I was to travel to town by foot, and there make use of stagecoaches for the rest of the way. Not that I was troubled much by it. My sword, a smattering of sustenance, and a trusty waterskin I¡¯d been using for the longest while now¡ªbeyond these, I carried little. The air thudded. Hoof-falls clopped close. I looked, finding a formation of mounted knights cantering in. They were all of them leaders, and foremost amongst them: Emilie. This was the first time I¡¯d laid eyes on her in the ten days since the hearing. ¡°Madame!¡± greeted one of the prior leaders. ¡°Come to send off the ungraced for good, I presume?¡± ¡°¡­I suppose I have,¡± she answered. There, from high up on her steed, did she look down upon me. Our eyes met. A heavy while, kept wordless throughout, till I turned my back. ¡°Be well.¡± A simple goodbye from my lips, one unrequited from Emilie¡¯s own. Her silence was sustained as I stepped through and out of the portcullis. And thus was executed my exile from the 5th Chivalric Order. ? Reaching Str?m was in and of itself a journey. But of course it had to be. The brand of ¡°border province¡± was hardly for show. Given the kingdom¡¯s sheer breadth, no less than seven days passed between my departure from the 5th¡¯s grounds to my arrival at the frontier. Through Londosius had I gone, faring by one stagecoach after the other. At times, it would stop at a stage station for a change of horses. Other times, I would transfer to another service entirely, and resume on my horse-drawn way. Countlessly did this occur, and by the seventh day of that long chain, I at last crossed into the hilly, evergreen stretches of Str?m. Disembarking from my final stop, I then spent another full day afoot, trekking alone through the treacherous spans till I found the fort looming before me. Balasthea Stronghold. The redoubted redoubt. A veritable edifice facing the Naf¨ªlim lands squarely on. Solid stonework composed its ramparts, while the fort proper was oaken in construction. A rather drab and dreary place compared to the grandeur of Order architecture. And intact it was not: Balasthea was riddled with scars, reminders of blistering, bygone battles. Beyond it were the Naf¨ªlim territories, an expanse strewn with woodlands that blanketed the base of a cragged mountain. The lay of this immediate land was such that no Naf¨ªlim host could venture an offensive without being funnelled through a single geographical point. But the same could be said of Londosius¡¯ own forces. And so what did such men build upon that imperative point but Balasthea itself? Not too far from the fort spanned the fiefburgh of Arbel, the urban administrative centre of the Str?m frontier. And in that burgh-city stood the residence of the margrave himself. To be sure, Arbel was well-defended in its own right, but if bereft of Balasthea¡¯s shielding shadow, then it might as well be a sheep shuddering alone in a wolven wilderness. No wonder, then, that the Naf¨ªlim were utterly fierce and focused in their offence, a seed of violence that sprouted Balasthea¡¯s repute as a deathtrap battlefield some years past. The margrave himself was not one to stay his hand in answering such aggression, as evidenced by occasional incursions of his own into the Naf¨ªlim lands. But the men composing the margrave¡¯s military were of a sort different than those stationed in Balasthea. Make no mistake, the soldiery of Str?m was all the margrave¡¯s own: the Fiefguard. Yet a distinction must be made between those stationed at Balasthea and those that the margrave directly commanded: the former were charged strictly with the defence of the fort, their very flesh made as shields to guard against its fall. And that selfsame fort was to be my new place of employ. ¡°Hail!¡± I called to the guardsman at the gate. ¡°I am Rolf Buckmann, a transfer from the 5th Order. The vice-commandant is wise to my arrival, I take it?¡± ¡°That he is,¡± he answered. ¡°This way, ser.¡± The gates groaned open. The guard then guided me through the fort grounds. We soon entered the keep, and after winding through its corridors, emerged in a room where waited but one man. ¡°Ebbe¡¯s the name. Vice-Commandant o¡¯ this here fort,¡± he introduced himself. A bony man of about thirty years of age, this ¡°Ebbe¡± was given to maintaining a constant, sarcastic furrow upon his brows. ¡°Quite the long way you¡¯ve come, eh?¡± ¡°Rolf Buckmann,¡± came my own curt introduction. ¡°A long way indeed.¡± ¡°Fortunate we are t¡¯have you, good Commandant. Let us hope you¡¯ve not come all this way for naught,¡± Ebbe returned, already bothered by my arrival. ¡°Acting Commandant,¡± I corrected. That¡¯s right. I was instead charged with a position of leadership, spared from the dread and drudgery of soldiering. The men of the fort were each in the employ of the margrave; none, and nothing, had anything tangible to do with the Chivalric Orders themselves. Yet by the laws of Londosius, Balasthea and all other forts like it are subordinate to the knightly institution. Intimate is the link between Central and the Orders, for better or worse. In contrast, the forces of a fort are fairly divorced from the kingdom¡¯s grip, being composed of only common soldiers from the surrounding region. But this land, by rights, belongs to the king himself, and the margrave is merely its steward. All under the latter¡¯s purview, then, are subject to the will of Central, and by extension, the Orders themselves, cruces of the royal military that they are. This naturally includes the dictation of human resources and staffing¡ªand the handling of my exile. But that was not all that undergirded my charge here. Balasthea¡¯s actual commandant was beset by a chronic ailment, and so was put out to pasture for the time being. It was there that Emilie herself saw an opportunity to make me acting commandant to this fort. Her designs were undimmed: no doubt she thought I would die both immediately and unceremoniously were I made a regular grunt upon so lethal a battlefield. The soldiers of this fort all hailed from the common citizenry. Thus was it entirely reasonable to assign an aristocrat from the Order to fill the commandant¡¯s seat. That was a bill I snuggly fit: despite having never rose beyond swainhood, and having been denied inheritance of the Buckmann barony, I was yet a noble hailing from the Order. Given how so many pieces of the puzzle fell into place, it was easy to see why Emilie was so impelled to place me in this post. Though if I¡¯m honest, to be exiled straight into a position of power was itself enough of a seed for a strange tale. It was my hope that Emilie had not stepped on too many toes to get this affair approved. Thankfully, this was to be the last. Never again would she have to imperil her position. Yet it was very likely that she¡¯d accrued a hounding debt to Central in the process¡­ all just for my sake. It was clear as day, then, why Ebbe¡¯s behaviour was so briared upon our meeting. A second-in-command such as him is certainly whom one would expect to take over the duties of an absent commandant. Yet here was I, an ennobled¡ªand exiled¡ªnewcomer, suddenly snatching away the selfsame privilege. The very sight of me must¡¯ve stung him sore, I¡¯m sure. ¡°And how fares the erstwhile commandant himself?¡± I asked. ¡°Oh, he fares. The afterlife¡¯s busy rolling out the red carpet for the poor master, you¡¯d be glad t¡¯know,¡± Ebbe answered dismissively, before turning a pair of sneering eyes to me. ¡°But here¡¯s another Commandant right in this room, and he piques the whiskers o¡¯ Ebbe, the curious cat¡ªa question, sir!¡± My eyes narrowed. ¡°What tickles you?¡± ¡°Your expulsion. What else?¡± Ebbe smiled as he continued. ¡°A comely kick it was what sent your arse all the way t¡¯this neck o¡¯ the woods. What tickled the knee, hmm?¡± ¡°An itch you should know well of.¡± ¡°The one upon the horse¡¯s hind! Ahah!¡± The vice-commandant¡¯s grating giggles filled the room. ¡°Y¡¯hide quite the hoof-mark on your haunches, don¡¯t you, my aching Commandant! Not a cutpurse nor a turncoat you are! No no! A stablehand too ¡®handy¡¯ in his handling o¡¯ a horse, I¡¯d wager! And now the steed¡¯s a runaway, whilst you¡¯re the stun¡¯d castaway! Hoh! No more slapstick a shtick there¡¯s ever been!¡± ¡°Slapstick indeed.¡± My flat humouring all but goaded a goatly grin from Ebbe¡¯s bony face. If his unceasing chuckles were anything to go by, I¡¯d say he was having a grand time at my expense. ¡°How now, good knight! Cheer up!¡± he squawked. ¡°Or should I say, ¡®good swain¡¯?¡± ¡°Then you¡¯ve said right.¡± ¡°Good swain! Such a short time with the Order it must¡¯ve been!¡± Ebbe bellowed with arms wide, before tucking them in akimbo. ¡°No more than half a year, was it?¡± ¡°Five.¡± ¡°Mm? What¡¯s that? Five? Five years, y¡¯say?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve read my records. Why play this farce?¡± ¡°I¡¯d misplaced my reading glasses, y¡¯see!¡± he smiled, more toothy now than ever with delight. The man was certainly revealing himself to be quite the articulated puppet to his own emotions. ¡°Come now, Commandant. Do tell. Five years, was it? As a swain? What kick¡¯d off that career, eh?¡± ¡°You well-know why.¡± ¡°Be not so cold, Commandant! Come. Let us hear it. Straight from the horse¡¯s mouth!¡± he squealed with restrained laughter. ¡°I can¡¯t scratch this itch myself, ey! Your secret, sir! Your secret! How does a man simmer the swain-stew for five long winters? Oh, do enlighten me! I beg o¡¯ you!¡± With the theatrics of a thespian, Ebbe shrunk and leaned in, hands clasped together imploringly. Yet his face remained ever ugly with its jeer. ¡°Play the japing jester all you want, Ebbe. I care little,¡± I shot back. ¡°But even a jester has an office he ought to serve well, and I will have you serve yours¡ªproperly.¡± From the vice-commandant¡¯s throat came a roaring laugh, like a saw eating into a tree. ¡°¡®Office¡¯, y¡¯said!? Ah hah! I¡¯d say you¡¯re quite the clown yourself, Commandant! A blind and bumbling bloke has but t¡¯lift his finger t¡¯be told he¡¯s served his office better than you, my good man!¡± With those words, the ghoul-like grunt¡¯s guffaws echoed on and on. Volume 2 - CH 1.02 The fortyards. Drumming through the air were grunts and clanks, the stamping and sliding of heavy feet, the huffs and hisses of swung weapons. For there was gathered the soldiery, busied in its exercises at my behest; before all else, I needed to measure the might of these men¡ªor lack thereof. ¡°What think you, Commandant?¡± asked Ebbe, his face strained with a great grin. ¡°The men are meagerly armed, but they move well enough¡ªeach on his own, that is. A flock of headless chickens coordinates better than they.¡± ¡°¡®Coordinate¡¯! Hah!¡± Ebbe snorted. ¡°Eagle-eyed, are we, Commandant? Tell me, how sweet ¡®pon that beak o¡¯ yours was it t¡¯squawk such lordly words, hm?¡± ¡°This soldiery is oddly sorted, to start with,¡± I continued, unheeding of the vice-commandant¡¯s vitriol. ¡°And the platoons¡­ I see too great a difference in prowess between them each.¡± Whoever organised these men had long abandoned any notion of balance. Clearer than the summer sun was the intent to match the strong with the strong, and leave the weak to wallow on the wayside. A warped piece of wood this was, one in need of some honest planing. Left lop-sided as they were, the men would remain incapable of coordination, even if their lives depended on it. ¡°Do you, now?¡± Ebbe sighed. ¡°Sing t¡¯me more o¡¯ this lullaby, my dear balladeer.¡± ¡°You first, Ebbe¡ªthose men over there. What are they?¡± I asked, flicking my chin off to the side. There in the distance was gathered another group of men, a score and a half in number, each encased in argent armour. Just by the look of them, I could tell they were the standouts of the soldiery: well-armed and well-trained. ¡°Why, they¡¯re mine, o¡¯ course. Guardsmen o¡¯ the Vice-Commandant, yours truly,¡± Ebbe explained, but seeing my unimpressed response, he blinked. ¡°Hmm? Are they not mete with your measure, my man?¡± There is no fault to be found in surrounding a commander with a group of select soldiers, highly-skilled and made separate from the rest of the pack. The Orders¡¯ Owlcranes attest to this. No, the problem laid elsewhere. ¡°Not in numbers, they are. Why so many?¡± I inquired keenly. ¡°Because many¡¯s what I require,¡± Ebbe answered with pomp. ¡°What? Your eagle-eyes failing t¡¯espy why, now are they?¡± Well, let sleeping dogs lie, as they say. Balasthea was a fort, defence being its primary charge. Were a battle to break upon its walls, certainly these men under Ebbe could prove useful as reserves, sent to match swords with any overly ambitious aggressors. Besides, leaving but thirty men at the rear would not necessarily amount to a tactical flaw of any substance. It was readily apparent that Ebbe¡¯s personal guards were a point of pride to the man; in exchange for turning a blind eye to them, I would have the vice-commandant himself consent to another matter. ¡°Fine, then. They¡¯re your men; I¡¯ll not shuffle them about,¡± I relented. ¡°But of the others¡ªall of them¡ªthey¡¯ll be mine to reorganise as I see fit.¡± ¡°Yes, yes, almighty chessmaster. Play with your pieces however you like.¡± As I thought. Ebbe is a man jealously protective only of that which is his own. Aught else is trivial as rags to him. Right then. Changes for the good were on the horizon at last, with not a peep from Ebbe to bar their implementation. ¡°Good. You¡¯ll be briefed on the results once the re-sorting¡¯s done with.¡± ¡°Oh, do take your time, Commandant,¡± Ebbe waved off disinterestedly. A dim grin remained on his face, its corners propped up by contempt. ¡°Ebbe, I¡¯ve said this once already: you¡¯re free to mislike me as you like¡ªprivately. You all well-risk life and limb to defend this fort, I know, and know very well. That your commandant¡¯s seat was unceremoniously re-suited for the Order¡¯s designs is certainly something to scorn. Howev¡ª¡± ¡°Well now, kind hawk o¡¯ a Commandant! Is that an olive branch I spy in your talons? Hm? A fort is but a sprig sprouted far from the Order¡¯s boughs, oh certainly. T¡¯be taken over by a noble¡ªdisgraced and rotted fruits, the lot o¡¯ you¡ªis not so rare a sight, yea?¡± That simper of his wrinkled deeper as he continued. ¡°Yet Balasthea is an aegis essential t¡¯Londosius¡¯ defence. But you? What¡¯re you but a broken, knightless blade, ill-pair¡¯d with the pavise o¡¯ Balasthea? And you would have me respect you. How precious.¡± ¡°Precious indeed, respect. A man pays it to whomever he pleases, sure,¡± I conceded, before turning a glare to Ebbe. ¡°But I am your superior officer, and I will not brook insubordination.¡± ¡°Well! Yon¨¢ be merciful¡ªoh! The squawk o¡¯ this hawk! How it affrights my meek soul!¡± the farceur squealed smilingly, shrinking back and clutching his shoulders to great theatricality. ¡°Yes, yes, Commandant. Tuck ¡¯way your talons! I shall heed your every word.¡± What a pain in the arse. Further troubles would surely follow with this pierrot snapping at my heels at every turn. But no greater good was ever achieved without much toil: Balasthea¡¯s situation must be turned around, lest it remain a graveyard ever-piling up with the vainly deceased. Reform. That was what this fort needed, and what I resolved to bring about. ? One grey day led to the next. Under the dull and misted morrowlight, the platoons were assembled in the fort outskirts. The air of the early hour was broken by barks from whom but Ebbe¡¯s men themselves as they paced here and there, proud in their silver armour. ¡°Wot¡¯s it now, eh!?¡± screeched one of those elites. ¡°4th Platoon: late in settin¡¯ out fer patrol! 5th Platoon¡­ no¡¯ yet done fettlin¡¯ the bloody rampart! Ye wankers, can¡¯t even do a ¡®andyman¡¯s work, is it!?¡± ¡°S-sir, right ¡®bout t¡¯set off, we was,¡± bleated a platoonsman of the 4th. ¡°But y¡¯see, we then got ¡®anded orders asudden, t¡¯patrol some other place, an¡¯ er¡­¡± ¡°We ain¡¯t got many ¡®ands fer the job, sir,¡± a 5th platoonsman chimed in. ¡°We should like t¡¯fix up the rampart right ¡®an proper, only command¡¯s not ¡®eeded a word o¡¯ us request fer more men, see.¡± ¡°Excuses! All I ¡®ear is wet excuses! Whimperin¡¯ windfuckers, the lot o¡¯ ye!¡± ¡°A-a-apologies, s-sir!¡± On and on, this went. A pitiful repetition of lambastings from the high-ranks, answered with naught but sorries from the low. ¡°Ebbe,¡± I called, watching with not a wisp of warmth. ¡°What¡¯s with this nonsense?¡± ¡°Morning assembly. What, can¡¯t tell, good Commandant? Eh? What¡¯s it look like t¡¯you? Tea at dawn?¡± yawned Ebbe. ¡°We gather ¡®em all up, y¡¯see. Drill into them all they did wrong yesterday. That way, they know the proper thing t¡¯do t¡¯day and t¡¯morrow. A try¡¯d and true tradition, if I do say so myself.¡± A self-important summary. It would seem he was the very culinarian who cooked up this sorry stew of an exercise. ¡°Tried, yes. True?¡± I shook my head. ¡°No, Ebbe. No more of this farce from here on out.¡± The grin vanished. ¡°¡­What? How¡¯s it a farce, ey?¡± ¡°How¡¯s it not a farce, is more the question. You but line these men up and drown their ears with the queerest quibbles. Why, I¡¯d wager you do all this just to stroke your egos against your subordinates, to drill into them instead of who¡¯s high and who¡¯s a hound,¡± was my bitter assessment. ¡°Naught but a tree that ill-bears a single fruit is all this is.¡± ¡°Oi you! Think t¡¯make us yer hounds, is it!?¡± came a shriek, one from the veiny throat an Ebbe-elite. From the look of him, he seemed the youngest of that guard: a trace of childishness yet lingered on that fuming face of his as he stamped his way closer. ¡°Thass quite the tongue fer an Actin¡¯ Commandant, yeh!¡± he went on wildly. ¡°An¡¯ proper swollen! Bit it bold on yer way down, did ye? When they kick¡¯d yer arse off the Order¡¯s saddle! Well, ye can clam it up f¡¯good, ye¡¯ll be glad t¡¯know! Fer Master Ebbe be the one runnin¡¯ the show ¡®round ¡®ere!¡± ¡°Karl, my boy. Show a bit o¡¯ pity for the man, will you?¡± Ebbe soothed the youth with uncharacteristic calm. ¡°Pity? Wot¡¯s this ¡®bout, Master Ebbe?¡± blinked this ¡®Karl¡¯. ¡°Us good Commandant here is ungraced. A sad and sodden-wit¡¯d lad who knows not left from right on the battlefield.¡± ¡°¡®Ungraced¡¯? Wot¡¯s that then, eh?¡± ¡°Spurn¡¯d o¡¯ Yon¨¢¡¯s good graces, as it were. The man has got nary an iota o¡¯ odyl in ¡®im, see. A full slap t¡¯the arse was all he got from Her, I reckon.¡± A revelation that inspired a stunned silence from both Karl and the other elites. But another moment, and they were all of them in stitches, laughing their lungs out. ¡°W-wo¡ªhwaha! Wot¡¯s this!? ¡®ows ¡®e even alive, eh!?¡± ¡°Thass a proper bit o¡¯ kiddin¡¯ there, Ebbe! An¡¯ look¡ªgot sent t¡¯this ¡®ellhole o¡¯ all places! A sad lot fer this sad lad!¡± Through the midst of that commotion cut the sound of an unsheathing sword. Gripping it was Karl, who then trained its tip to me. ¡°¡®ow ¡®bout it, Commandant? Spare a lil¡¯ spar for good ¡®ol Karl? I promise I¡¯ll be easy, yea!¡± the foul youth smiled, his threat rousing a ruckus from the elites. ¡°Bwahah! Ye teach ¡®im a stinkin¡¯ lesson, Karl! Show ¡®im wot a stellar schoolboy ye be!¡± ¡°Come on, Karl! Stand down! Ye makin¡¯ the commandant cry!¡± ¡°Ahah! Ahahah!¡± The Ebbe-guards continued their guffaws, clutching their bosoms from the hilarity of it all. My duty it was indeed to scold their nonsense, but it was painfully apparent that they had not a mind to heed their ungraced commandant. What other duty was left to me, then, was but to produce results. Decisively so. ¡°No more morning assemblies from this day forth,¡± I announced sharply. ¡°And the 5th Platoon¡¯s short on hands¡ªtoo short to shore up some stone walls. That in itself calls for a thorough restructuring of every platoon. I¡¯ll see to it myself that it gets done over the next couple of days. That is all. Dismissed!¡± With my motive made clear, I left the ever-laughing scene. ? Less than a week later found me standing in the command chamber, eyes fixed upon some papers in hand. ¡°Ebbe. This report¡ªwhoever penned it certainly wasn¡¯t in a hurry. Not in defining the gap between both projected and verified damages, that is. Why¡¯s that?¡± ¡°Why the hurry t¡¯go nowhere?¡± shrugged Ebbe. ¡°Knowing just the actualities well-suffices. You split hairs, Commandant!¡± ¡°I split hairs that we might survive another day, Vice-Commandant,¡± I shot back, lifting not an eye off the report. ¡°You and your men. I would have you all be more thorough from here onwards.¡± A snorting scoff. ¡°¡®Thorough? What¡¯s this now?¡± ¡°Make certain that you write in your reports both projected and actual results,¡± I elaborated firmly. ¡°And while you¡¯re at it, go and inform the platoons that henceforth they are to include in their reports the reasons for such disparities.¡± Balasthea well-lived up to its name: a facet of Londosius¡¯ vast frontlines such as this had its fair share of skirmishes over the last few days. Par for the course, but what had changed was the number of fatalities, lesser now than before my arrival. I pulled out all the stops: platoons were reorganised, chains of command were recomposed, posts were repositioned, shifts were rescheduled. Much ado it was, but the results were unmistakable. Balasthea saw its silver lining at last, and it was a vivid one, at that. Only, Ebbe¡¯s attitude towards me had not improved in the slightest, as our conversation sadly attested. ¡°Come now, Commandant! We are warriors! Men o¡¯ battle! Not miserly bookkeepers!¡± he whined. ¡°You might¡¯ve made yourself a more whetted warrior had you learned how to keep a book, Ebbe. Your years of service yet find you dim to following orders¡ªnow¡¯s a good time to learn, I¡¯d say.¡± ¡°¡­Hmph. Fat talk for an ungraced¡ª¡± Ebbe¡¯s snide remark drowned in the bellowing air. I glanced up from the papers. The warning horns were sounded¡ªan attack was upon us. I sprang up and went to the window, finding men scrambling about in the fortyards below. Before long, a platoon captain burst into the room. ¡°Commandant! We¡¯ve enemies at the gate! They strike from the east!¡± ¡°Their numbers?¡± ¡°Us surveyors be countin¡¯ t¡¯this moment, but the Naf¨ªlim number the same as yesterday¡¯s, from the looks o¡¯ it!¡± ¡°Can¡¯t deploy the 1st¡­ their wounded have yet to recover,¡± I thought aloud. ¡°Have the 2nd and 3rd Platoons defend the west gate! The 6th goes to the east!¡± Unwelcome words to Ebbe. ¡°Have you got wax stuff¡¯d in those ears, Commandant?¡± he quipped, taken aback. ¡°The devils¡¯ve come t¡¯the east gate, the man said. What good¡¯s it do t¡¯guard the west so thickly, eh?¡± ¡°We do ourselves much good to sniff out ruses wherever they rustle. Yesterday¡¯s attack¡ªthe Naf¨ªlim struck the east gate then, too. A trick to train our noses there, that we might not catch their scent coming from the west today,¡± I reasoned. ¡°A bait-and-switch. We best be on our toes.¡± Yet again, Ebbe snorted in scorn at my words. Paying no mind to his subsequent giggles, I turned to the soldier. ¡°Captain. You have your orders.¡± ¡°Right away, sir!¡± he saluted, and quickly quit the room. Gearing myself up, I followed him soon after. It won¡¯t do to idle by, safe and divorced from the struggle; I would dictate the battle right in the thick of its throes. Balasthea Stronghold¡ªthe fatal fort and veritable mound of the war-dead. No longer would it be so dreaded. This, I swore. But for now, I would see to it that starting on this day, not a single soul would be lost to the fighting. Volume 2 - CH 1.03 13-16 minutes 03.11.2022 Desktop view is recommended for reading this content. Soot-Steeped Knight ? ú ¤Þ ¤ß ¤ì ¤Î òT Ê¿ Volume II Chapter 1 ¨C Part 3 Written By Yoshihiko Mihama Translated By Vagrant ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ The clank and clamour of battle burgeoned. But its crescendo now crested from a direction different from the outset: just as I¡¯d thought, the Naf¨ªlim¡¯s main forces flooded in from the west instead. By my orders, we had our defensive ranks reinforced accordingly before the clash. The preparations bore fruit: our men met the foe, unmoved by their ruse. ¡°Keep the ranks filled!¡± came my command to a captain. ¡°Maintain our numbers and we maintain the upper hand!¡± ¡°Aye aye, sir!¡± A facet of my reforms saw the formation of a new platoon of sentries, their charge it was to observe the battle from the high safety of a watchtower. There, they would glean any gap in the numbers of both our forces and the enemy¡¯s own. This precious information would then be reported and relayed down to each captain, who would then dictate his platoon to the demands of the battle. A veritable heart, the pulsing arteries of which allowed our numbers to swiftly shift between different sections of the fort as needed. Such would not have been possible without disciplined coordination. To achieve it, open communication was fostered at the organisational level, after which the platoons themselves were revised and reassembled. From then on were each subject to stringent drills and exercises, all meant to make keen their coordinative capabilities. The results were unmistakable: no matter where the enemy fell upon us, our men were able to meet them head-on with ample numbers in tow. The erstwhile lack of flexibility and swiftness had regrettably begat no small number of soldiers left to twiddle their thumbs in the thick of battle. And who could blame them? They were situated in the wrong places at the wrong times, after all, on account of a complacent command. All that was changed. Now, Balasthea¡¯s men were as blades honed anew, with not the smallest span of their edges left untended. The battles breaking upon our bulwarks began to lose their teeth as my reforms bore further fruits. In the midst of this heartening trend stood I, judging today¡¯s clash to soon be another success. ? Three turns of the hourglass later. Victory was ours. ¡°The foes¡¯re fallin¡¯ back!¡± a captain reported. ¡°Might we give chase, sir?¡± I shook my head. ¡°Leave them.¡± ¡°¡®Leave ¡®em¡¯!? Fer wot now, ah!?¡± came Karl crashing in. ¡°Why, we ough¡¯ t¡¯cull ¡®em curs ¡®ere, ¡®fore they come chompin¡¯ at us arses ¡®gain!¡± ¡°A butcher earns no coin cutting meat that flees fast from his knife, Karl. Besides, we¡¯ve more pressing issues on our hands,¡± I sternly returned, before looking to the others. ¡°Check for casualties! Report to me your findings!¡± ¡°Tch! Yellow-liver¡¯d chick¡¯n, you!¡± lashed Karl¡¯s tongue, after which both he and the rest of Ebbe¡¯s men made themselves absent from the scene. Keeping the side of my glance upon them, I hastened the efforts to count the casualties. But there would be none on that day, a fact found out not long afterwards. ? An hour had sailed by since I hurried from the fort on horseback. The end of the rush found me in the Arbel fiefburgh proper. Night had set in; the pubs were full-lit and alive. I pushed open the door of one such establishment, quickly finding in its rowdy innards the shrill of a certain youth. ¡°Git this! They ran! Wit¡¯ them tails tuck¡¯d under them bollocks like the curs they are! Then I came t¡¯cut ¡®em all down, I did!¡± Karl. There the youth was, with a tankard of ale in hand, thrust high in the air. Surrounding him were Ebbe and the elite guards, to all of whom he sang of his feats earlier in the day. Feats from pursuing the Naf¨ªlim in their retreat. ¡°Got one o¡¯ ¡®em good, I tell ye!¡± he tattled on. ¡°Biggest o¡¯ ¡®em bastards thought t¡¯stay b¡¯hind an¡¯ let ¡®is beefin¡¯ brothers run off! Nice fellow wit¡¯ a giant axe, ¡®e was! Then I gave ¡®im a good scratchin¡¯ on ¡®is back fer the noble deed, I did! ¡­With the keen side o¡¯ my sword, tha¡¯ is!¡± The air swelled thick with laughter. ¡°From the back!¡± an Ebbe-guard wheezed from the hilarity. ¡°Karl the Coward, cutter o¡¯ hindquarters! Git a cockscomb an¡¯ a wattle on him an¡¯ he¡¯ll look the proper poultry! Haha!¡± ¡°Yea, wag that tongue all ye want, brother!¡± Karl quipped. ¡°This be war, ey! Fuss ¡®bout the champs an¡¯ chick¡¯ns ¡®mong us an¡¯ ye¡¯ll be on the butcher¡¯s block soon ¡®nough, ye will!¡±¡± ¡°Oh¡ª! Then I¡¯ll be hangin¡¯ with the ham-hogs right soon, eh!? A charmin¡¯ cut o¡¯ charcuterie, I¡¯ll make! Hwahah!¡± ¡°Big ol¡¯ butcher¡¯s shop¡¯s all it is, innit! War! Ahahah!¡± A soldier I¡¯d inquired back at the fort was right on the money: Ebbe and his brutes were wont to patronise this pub straight after a battle. There they all were, pissed out of their wits, bellies bulging with downed bitters. I had not a mind to join them. No, grilling these men was precisely why I came to this watering hole in the first place. To their tumultuous table I went, and raised a matter with one of those seated. ¡°You¡¯ve got something to spill, Ebbe?¡± I growled at the vice-commandant, who was sat quiet and content, soaking in Karl¡¯s gloating. ¡°¡­None, Commandant. Not from this empty cup o¡¯ mine,¡± he deflected. ¡°¡®Leave them,¡¯ I said,¡± came my cutting reminder. ¡°Only you didn¡¯t.¡± A shrug. ¡°What I do with my men is up to me, Commandant.¡± ¡°And what you do is up to me, Vice-Commandant. Not least when we¡¯re in the midst of battle. I promised only to keep your guardsmen out of my reforms. Nothing else.¡± My words seemed to sting Ebbe¡¯s ears as he forced out a sore sigh. ¡°Commandant! Commandant!¡± barked Karl from the side. ¡°Give us a break, will ye? Right jigger¡¯d we be from ¡®avin t¡¯cut an¡¯ kill the devils, all whilst ye sit comfy on yer ungraced arse!¡± ¡°Insubordination¡ªthat¡¯s what you¡¯ve committed, Ebbe,¡± came a bark of my own, sparing Karl not a moment of my mind. ¡°Report to my chamber first thing on the morrow.¡± Pressing the matter any further here was futile. With my command firmly given, I turned from the men and made for the door, catching a click from Ebbe¡¯s tongue. ¡°Oh, wot! Come on, Commandant! Where ye be ¡®eadin¡¯? ¡®ave a gulp wit¡¯ us, yea? Why, I¡¯ll even throw in a free lecture: ¡®ow t¡¯swing a sword all proper-like!¡± Again, I ignored Karl¡¯s drunken drolling as I parted from the buzzing pub. ? The next morning. I stood within the commandant¡¯s chamber, having received a particular guest from Arbel. ¡°Buckmann,¡± said he, a man none other than the lord of this land: the Margrave Aaron Str?m himself. ¡°The very first of our meetings, yes?¡± ¡°And one overlate; my sincerest apologies, Your Excellency,¡± I bowed. ¡°My hands were tied in turning the fortunes of the fort; I hope your generosity sees me fit for forgiveness.¡± ¡°Fit or no, I care little. Even my generosity can be tested in having to humour an ungraced. I¡¯m a busy man, you see,¡± he brushed off, with a smile bending that moustached mien of his. He seemed not much more than an ennobled bourgeois: conventional to a fault, with not a speck of scrupled inspiration in his eyes. ¡°You find Ebbe¡¯s actions to be lacking in ¡®lawfulness¡¯, I take it?¡± the margrave went on. ¡°He is quite the capable commander, I¡¯ll have you know. You¡¯d do right to learn a thing or two from a man like him.¡± To that, I had no words. The margrave¡¯s smile faded. ¡°Do not deign to discipline him for his deeds,¡± he warned. ¡°Have I made myself clear, Commandant?¡± ¡°¡­Yes, my liege,¡± I yielded. I was but an exile of the Order, a soldier bound to this borderland; disobedience would be not brooked by its lord before me. ¡°And you are come for other business, as well, I presume?¡± ¡°I am, indeed. A send-off, if you will.¡± To the window, he pointed. The view from the commandant¡¯s chamber encompassed the gate leading to Naf¨ªlim lands. There, I found a conspicuous congregation, its constituents neatly lined up. Two-hundred men and more they were, freshly deployed from the fiefburgh. My eyes narrowed at the sight. ¡°They move to attack? My liege, I¡¯ve heard naught of this.¡± Balasthea was but a bulwark, the shield of Str?m and nothing more. Thus it stands to reason that the force formed before me was not the fort¡¯s own, but the margrave¡¯s: the Fiefguard. ¡°I¡¯ve given speed to the schedule,¡± the margrave remarked. ¡°The fort is well-defended of late, and the Naf¨ªlim seem content to lick their wounds and wallow in their cowardice. Not least in thanks to yesterday¡¯s pursuit by Ebbe and his men; ¡®twas a fruitful routing they¡¯ve accomplished.¡± In the outside view, a peculiarity caught my eye. ¡°Your Excellency. A matter, if I may?¡± ¡°Speak it.¡± ¡°The covered wagons,¡± I pointed out, gaze locked upon the vehicles below. ¡°Rather large, are they not? Yet they bear nary a load upon their decks. What is their purpose?¡± ¡°Even one as dim as you ought to know.¡± I turned to the margrave. ¡°¡­To pillage, my liege?¡± My words earned a turn of his own to me. There was puzzlement plastered on his face, but it soon congealed into a look of pity. ¡°I see the grace of wits has also been denied to you, Buckmann,¡± he softly scoffed. ¡°Frightful indeed, to be abandoned by so warm a mother as Yon¨¢. Oh, mercy!¡± ¡°I fear I do not follow.¡± ¡°Buckmann¡­ poor and pitiful Buckmann! We do not pillage the Naf¨ªlim, no! Hoh! Your pate has parted too many a pass¨±s from its tracks, my dear and derailed cart of a Commandant!¡± The margrave¡¯s words were far from uncoupled. It was common sense itself, whether within Londosius, or in the mind of Man. We are at war with the Naf¨ªlim. To plunder their property or their person is not an act to be lambasted, but one to be lauded instead. After all, our enemy¡¯s extinction is this war¡¯s very aim. Mind not whether they be of the soldiery or the citizenry, an infantryman or an infant, a grim garrison or a humble home. All is to be spoiled. None are to be spared. Of course, such would not be suffered between nations of men. It would be labelled as a ¡°crime¡± or an ¡°injustice¡±, an affront to human dignity. But the tone swiftly turns were the Naf¨ªlim the target, ¡°baneful barbarians¡± as they are branded. This is the collective conscience of Man, his unbending and unchallenged truth. But it is one that I cannot, for the life of me, fathom nor affirm. Why must we maraud the meek? And that is to say nothing of the citizens we seize and send to who knows where. This is our ¡°justice¡±, a holy banner raised for our own convenience, its weave unstained by the spit of dissent. Those covered wagons¡ªempty they were now, but certain to brim with riches upon their return. And included in those spoils? Slaves. Labourers to be damned to enduring indenturement. This, too, is ¡°just¡±, acts whose barbarism Man is blissfully blind to, for they bring to him boons of too much benefit. But my eyes were unclouded, and they could not bear the sight. ¡°Your Excellency,¡± I said sternly. ¡°With all due respect, I find it meaningless to sully so hard-won a prize as peace. Pillage, and we but vilify ourselves beyond all vindication. Such vices ill-become the lordly name of Londosius¡ªeven should the victims be the Naf¨ªlim.¡± The margrave¡¯s face furrowed. ¡°¡®Pillaging¡¯ the Naf¨ªlim ill-becomes the term itself, Buckmann. The subtlety escaped you, has it?¡± ¡°¡®Virtue¡¯ is what has escaped from all of this, my liege,¡± I returned. ¡°None is to be found in taking from those who cannot fight back. Yet say the victims are of a different sort, a different blood, and you would not only praise the act, but partake in it yourself. Surely the sophistry is not lost to you?¡± ¡°Buckmann!¡± barked the margrave. ¡°¡®Tis the Naf¨ªlim we speak of here! The nemesis of Man! The kin and kindred of crawling beasts! Our sworn foes from the days of fair St. Rakliammelech himself!¡± Even in the face of much fury, I could not back down. ¡°Your Excellency, pray give ear to these humble words: accustom ourselves to wanton rape and robbery, and we debauch our hearts in the act. We are men of war; it is our lives we wager on the frontlines, not our morals.¡± ¡°Hmph! Sophistry, indeed! I see the sophist before me!¡± he seethed, stamping his foot and thrusting a finger to me. ¡°To rape and rob the devils is morality itself! You would do well to remember that, you want-wit, you!¡± ¡°Victory can be ours without this villainy, my liege! That much is certain!¡± ¡°Commandant!¡± frothed the lord¡¯s lips. ¡°Their labours, their luxuries¡ªwe make them all our own, that their brethren¡ªour foes¡ªmight flounder and we, flourish! For every prize we procure, for every devil we indenture, another of our meek and misfortuned might be spared the pale hand of Death! Sear these words into your ill-starred soul! For I am long drained of all generosity to further discuss so evident a truth!¡± ¡°But, my liege!¡± ¡°Enough!!¡± ¡­How futile. Reason cannot reach him. I could scarcely see myself being in the wrong here. No matter how painfully I peered. No matter how much I mulled. Yet all that I aired were as the howls of a heretic, words long parted from Man¡¯s wicked wisdom. And that was why the margrave and I could not see eye-to-eye. Realising it, I found myself silent, hands and teeth clenched hard. Afterwards, the margrave made his return to Arbel, whilst the Fiefguard funnelled through the gates and marched into Naf¨ªlim lands. I stood there in solitude. Overpowered by powerlessness, I watched on as the covered wagons wheeled close behind. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Passus (plural: pass¨±s) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres. ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Volume 2 - CH 1.04 Silver sunlight blessed fair Redelberne, city of splendour and capital of Londosius. Its impearled walls and promenades glinted with the seeming glow of royal authority itself. The march of Norden, home of the 5th Chivalric Order¡¯s headquarters, neighboured this bastion of Man. And so it was not at all strange that Redelberne found a rather regular visitor in the vaunted Lady Emilie Mernesse, Dame Mareschal to the knights of the 5th. Only, such trips were not partaken for pleasure. No, no, not at all. Business called her, and it was a busy caller indeed. Many a Londosian would love to lavish themselves with a visit to the marvelled and marbled city. But the Lady was different. Where she wished to go, where she yearned to be, were all found elsewhere. Certainly, any soul aspiring to greatness would jump for joy, to so receive a summons from Central. Not an opportunity to be left unsavoured, this. Yet what Emilie aspired to was not fame and fortune, but her own humble share of happiness. The girl that once smiled so brightly upon the bell-lily hill was now a lady, listless in her stroll through the unsought streets. Indeed, she was tired. Tired of the meetings with the ministers and magisters of Central. Tired of fraternising with the cloistered courtiers of the royal palace. Tired of the feints, the facades, the faux smiles. But Emilie was a young woman set upon tackling the challenges of her office head-on. Hers was a soul of sincerity, a magnet of much trust from all those around her. A meteoric mareschal. A hero for the new age. Who wouldn¡¯t want to forge a fellowship with the fair Lady? Only a scant few, if any, to be sure. In the enthralled droves were to be found not just adults, but children as well, such as the ones encircling her at this moment. Their eyes sparkled with fascination as they beheld before them a dame of much distinction. For her part, Emilie had grown accustomed to such baby-faced phenomena. This particular occasion¡ªone of many¡ªwas begot at the behest of the little ones themselves. They had enough pull for it, children and grandchildren of high officials as they were. A longing to witness the wondrous dexterity of the dame was their excuse. An innocent one, if not frequent. Strangely enough, the children were already afforded the luxury of their own instructors, each distinguished and outstanding in his tutelage. Suffice it to say, the little ones were hardly in want of instruction in the ways of the sword. Emilie was wise to this, of course, but also to her own shortcomings as a teacher. Indeed, that same humility had driven her to turn down the very opportunity to meet with the children. But the storm of insistence was unceasing. In the end, the young mareschal could only relent. And though she saw the redundancy of the situation, she did not, at first, discern the true desires of the children themselves. The blade of the Aureola was surely show-worthy, but the little ones were hardly here for a fencing lesson. Why, they simply wished to meet her, for she was, in the springtide skies of their hearts, a star of much awe and admiration. But in indulging them so, Emilie at last saw the idolatry in their eyes. Their enthusiasm being born from a wish to behold her blade-dance was, in fact, merely a misunderstanding on her part. The summertide skies of her own heart blushed upon the realisation. Yet their excuse was aired anyway. ¡®A swing of your sword please, madame.¡¯ And so Emilie obliged, a humouring to hide her embarrassment, perhaps. Pillars of lightning pealed and flashed, painting in pure white the wide breadth of the training grounds. A moment, and amazement buzzed through the young crowd. Before long, a pair of adolescents approached the mareschal, eyes upturned and hearts curious. ¡°P-pardon us, madame,¡± inquired the boy of the two. ¡°Might you have a moment to spare?¡± ¡°The Roun of Orisons,¡± began the girl. ¡°Is it true what they say? That you¡¯ve been blessed with the Aureola from the rites?¡± A slight pause. A slight smile. ¡°¡­As true as can be, I suppose.¡± The conversation continued, during which the pair revealed themselves to be but fourteen years of age. The Roun of Orisons was to receive them in the following year, an upcoming occasion that surely inspired expectation and anxiety alike in their hearts. ¡°What was it all like?¡± the boy asked. ¡°I can scarcely imagine the spectacle, let alone the nerves!¡± ¡°Hmm, I wonder myself,¡± Emilie looked off in the distance. ¡°¡®Tis been a long while¡ªtoo long, really.¡± ¡°The both of us, we mean to give it our all and more, that Yon¨¢ might be generous in Her grace,¡± the girl gushed. ¡°Enough that we might fight for our families, our fellows¡ªfor all the good people of this good kingdom!¡± ¡°Knighthood¡¯s my aim,¡± the boy chimed in. ¡°Big and strong is what I¡¯ll become, and I¡¯ll do all it takes to be knighted!¡± To that came Emilie¡¯s mirth, gentle, fragile. ¡°¡­You most certainly will, love.¡± ¡°¡®Cause if I can¡¯t, well, worrywart here¡¯ll get her tighties all in a tangle.¡± ¡°W-who¡¯s a worrywart, now!¡± How warm they were to one another. Emilie couldn¡¯t help but beam broadly. Yet the tinge of sorrow therein all but escaped the youthful pair¡¯s knowing. ? A brief lesson on the basics of bladework was given thereafter. To be sure, Emilie was, by then, fully aware that this truly was not what the children wanted, but to end the meet-and-greet then and there with just a demonstration of her levinblade would¡¯ve been poor form. Fortunately, she wasn¡¯t alone. The Owlcranes accompanied her on that day, and they certainly proved helpful¡ªGerd and Raakel in particular. Numerous were the practice sessions they hosted back at the 5th, and so to instruct wide-eyed children was, to them, not too towering a task. Soon enough, the sun went to slumber. In the evanescing evenlight, the mareschal and her Owlcranes parted from the training grounds, their ears yet tingling from the lively gratitude of the children. Through the starlit streets of Redelberne they then strolled, until the warm conviviality of a pub beckoned their patronage. There, they reflected on the day¡¯s happenings over glasses of golden ale. ¡°I¡¯m truly sorry for dragging you all to the capital today,¡± broached Emilie. ¡°A big bother, I know, but just the thought of having to handle it all alone was enough to fray my nerves.¡± ¡°No need to fret over it,¡± Gerd assured. ¡°We saw much and did even more. It was time well-spent.¡± ¡°Yea, Gerd¡¯s got the right o¡¯ it,¡± Raakel added. ¡°Teachin¡¯ ¡®em bright-eyed bairns a thing or two¡¯s quite the honour, if I¡¯m honest.¡± ¡°My, Miss Raakel. How unlike you to be so honourably honest. What has softened that sauciness of yours, I wonder?¡± ¡°Eh, shut it, Sheila.¡± Yet it was certain, just as Emilie¡¯s self-reproach had revealed: this kind of outing hardly required the attendance of the entire Owlcrane Brigade. The day¡¯s function was founded more in politics and high society sweet-talking than aught else. The Owlcranes were soldiers, after all, souls who earned their living laying their lives on the line. And Emilie was very much the sort to blush with shame in dragging them so far from their place of employ. But between the commander and her combatants, there was camaraderie, one fostered for years now¡ªbosom buddies, they were. Thus did the Owlcranes quickly answer Emilie¡¯s call in her time of need, confident in knowing she would have done the same for them. ¡°And I owe you a special apology, Sheila,¡± Emilie continued. ¡°They insisted that I might as well bring the entire brigade if I was to bring anyone at all, you see.¡± ¡°There is naught to be sorry for,¡± the surgien softly giggled. ¡°But if another such occasion comes along, I should certainly like to savour a chance to teach more magick-minded youths.¡± Smiles, all around the table, brightened further by the brimming bitters in their cups. To them, a waiter came, bearing samples of exquisite cuisine. ¡°Now here¡¯s the stuff! Roasted venison, tender an¡¯ juicy!¡± Raakel salivated. ¡°Can¡¯t come home from the capital without me tummy full o¡¯ this grub!¡± ¡°Good grace, Raakel,¡± Gerd shook his head. ¡°Came along just to stuff your cheeks with those deer chunks, did you?¡± ¡°Hah! What ye been takin¡¯ me fer, Gerd? I ain¡¯t a saint, y¡¯know!¡± Loose lips japed and chuckled in concert. An atmosphere drunk with jolly and joy. As their merrymaking went on, so, too, did the late hour wax on, all within the benighted bosom of fair Redelberne. Volume 2 - CH 1.05 ¡°¡­Phew¡­¡± A warm breath, blown from flustered cheeks, aglow as they were from many a sip of ale. The night breeze, cool and crisp, coursed against them to much welcome. Emilie took in the pearl-dusk cityscape, having taken a moment from the pub to sober up. It was quiet. The streets were asleep. To be sure, Redelberne¡¯s thoroughfares and promenades were no less packed even in the dead of night. But Emilie¡¯s was a face too famous around those parts. So it was that the considerate Owlcranes had chosen instead an establishment well off the beaten path, that they might while away the moonlit hours in relative peace and privacy. It was but a hole-in-the-wall, this pub, humble and quaint, but it brimmed with both brightness of light and levity. Even outside, Emilie¡¯s ears could faintly make out the merrymaking. She found the moment to be most romantic, in a way, to behold such liveliness from so tranquil a perch. ¡°Haa¡­¡± How delightful, this night. Yes. Delightful, indeed. To brush off a bothersome workday, and then with friends in tow, eat, drink, and mingle till the moon fancied a bit of slumber itself¡ªit was nothing, if not delightful. If not¡­ If only¡­ Emilie was quiet as she peered up into the everdistant sky. A sky that arched on and on, well into the borderlands beyond. She recalled then of the boy and girl she¡¯d met earlier that day. How excited they were, with but a year till their own reckoning at the Roun of Orisons. They had asked her of her own experiences at the rites. She did not recall, was the simple sum of her answer. A little lie, that was. Emilie remembered. All too well. Of how her heart swelled with anticipation. Of how thoroughly she thought that from then on, there awaited only days of hope and happiness. An era of innocent dreams for an innocent future. Only, that future never came. Leading up to the rites were bygone days blessed with bliss, each and every one. Yet the Roun of Orisons was a door that forsook it all. Emilie had crossed it, beguiled, and when it slammed shut, she found herself ever longing for all that was lost behind its lock. And for that reason, the rites, to her, were not a welcome memory. But they were a memory she well-remembered nonetheless. A memory she could never forget. Oh, if only she could. ¡°Emilie love.¡± A voice rang through the thick marshes of her thoughts. Emilie turned, finding Raakel coming close. Upon her face, too, was a fluster from bingeing too many bitters. ¡°Raakel,¡± Emilie returned. ¡°Come to sober up a little, too, I take it?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t help it,¡± the warrior grinned. ¡°That Sheila¡¯s got a friggin¡¯ well fer a stomach, whilst Gerd¡¯s a fool fer tryin¡¯ to keep up. I call¡¯d it quits fer a bit, see.¡± A quiet laugh. ¡°¡­Of course.¡± Silence suffused the nightscape. Against such enormity, the dames were as two blades of grass swaying contently against the starlit breeze. The air was delicious, and Raakel was happy to partake. After a lungful, she exhaled, and motioned her lips once more. ¡°So.¡± ¡°Mm?¡± ¡°Ye be thinkin¡¯ ¡®bout ol¡¯ muscle-pate ¡®gain, ey?¡± ¡°Oh, I¡­ I have been, yes¡­¡± There was little avail to be had in hiding it now. Emilie was well-aware: many a sigh had left her mouth of late, after all. Perhaps even her countenance was conspicuously clouded, a gloomy pall for all to wonder and worry over. But they were not fools. To them, the source was clearer than uncoloured crystal. ¡°Bet ye both could¡¯ve been a fine couple; the talk o¡¯ the town, even,¡± Raakel admitted, ¡°were he ord¡¯nary like the rest o¡¯ us, odyl an¡¯ all, that is.¡± To this, Emilie was silent. It was, by now, a world she had dreamt of far too many times to count. A world where Rolf was given his due. From Yon¨¢ to him, a measure of odyl not more than a common man¡¯s. Nay. Even less would have sufficed. So long as it wasn¡¯t naught at all. Were he blessed so, however meagerly, then maybe¡­ Just maybe¡­ How fruitless and fallow a fancy it was. But to Emilie, it was one she could not have gone long without humouring, if even to her own sorrow. ¡°Well, the fates won¡¯t bless a man an¡¯ woman both just ¡®cause they be warm to each other, ye should know. Life be a mite more fickle than that, I¡¯m ¡®fraid.¡± ¡°¡­What do you mean?¡± ¡°I were warm to one meself, once upon a time,¡± Raakel confessed, faintly forlorn. ¡°A man I thought was me destiny. Truly.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°A dozen winters between us, it were. But I loved him. I really did. Couldn¡¯t think o¡¯ me future days without him bein¡¯ in the same picture.¡± That such soft words could ever issue from Raakel¡¯s lips was a whelming wonder to Emilie. Certainly, the mareschal measured the Owlcrane warrior to be youthful and fair in her own way. But Raakel was a soul who sought¡ªand found¡ªpurpose in battle, and nothing else. That was Emilie¡¯s long-held estimation of her, though admittedly one shaded with shame for how shallow it was. ¡°He were a bastard son, y¡¯see. A viscount¡¯s, no less. There was naught at all what could¡¯ve stopped us from bein¡¯ happy together¡­ well, that¡¯s what I thought, anyway,¡± Raakel recounted, uncharacteristically quiet. ¡°His half-siblings¡ªheirs, all o¡¯ them¡ªdied, one after the other. So his pa suck¡¯d it up and call¡¯d him home. Made him heir an¡¯ all that.¡± ¡°I¡­ I see. And so¡­ he was given a bride, then.¡± ¡°That he was, yea. Wedded to some dainty gentlelady. I weren¡¯t a good pick. Not noble ¡®nough, see.¡± ¡°And¡­ what did he say?¡± ¡°Well, the whole deal was a bite to his arse, ¡®course, but thass aristocracy fer ye. Couldn¡¯t do aught ¡®bout it, really.¡± Raakel blinked slowly at the stars. ¡°We had one last moment together. Hug¡¯d, an¡¯ cry¡¯d fer a long while¡­ an¡¯ that was that.¡± The Owlcrane warrior¡ªin her frailer years, tight in the arms of a man, her tears telling of the painful parting to come. Hardly a fanciable scene, certainly, but there was a look on Raakel¡¯s countenance, one of softly distant eyes and a smile ready to fade at any moment. Seeing it, Emilie knew then that what her friend recounted was the bare and unblemished truth. ¡°Things¡ªthey hardly turn out. An¡¯ that be the gist o¡¯ it.¡± ¡°Oh, Raakel¡­¡± ¡°Yer the same, ain¡¯t ye, love? The Lady Emilie Mernesse, Dame Mareschal to the 5th Chivalric Order. Ye¡¯ve got yer family to protect, an¡¯ knights to lead withal. All the trappings o¡¯ a trap, chain¡¯d to yer ankles both.¡± Resigning from her vaunted post was a frequent thought in Emilie¡¯s heart, but it was never to be. Not while she had yet to find a foothold for her family. Not while there was a betrothal to consummate. What¡¯s more, her responsibilities as mareschal of late had ballooned along with Londosius¡¯ whetted appetite for war. Thus the time to run away from it all had long since left; to even entertain the notion was vain. These troubles and more were never spoken of to the Owlcranes. But deep down, they knew. After all, they were each, by now, roostmates too intimate with their mareschal to not notice. ¡°Life be a bunch o¡¯ things we can¡¯t do aught ¡®bout, things what go the way we never thought they could. Innit?¡± For King and Country. For thine own Family and fellow Man. Feudalism is the foundation of this society. To renounce one¡¯s Duty is reckless. To defy the Ways is death. A most natural course, like the ebb and flow of the tides, the arc of the sun and moon, the comings and goings of the seasons. Such was the meaning in Raakel¡¯s words. But to air them so was not easy, for she was certainly not the sort to engage in intimate talk. Only with the help of many helpings of ale was Raakel able to work up the will to console Emilie. None of this was lost to the mareschal; upon realising it, she couldn¡¯t help but smile. ¡°So¡­ I guess you¡¯ve had your own fair share of heartbreak, haven¡¯t you?¡± ¡°No beatin¡¯ ¡®round the bush here, Emilie,¡± Raakel smiled back. ¡°Beat around what bush, now?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t see me in a gorgeous gown, can ye? I were a prim an¡¯ prissy princess once, ye know. Well, shy an¡¯ shelter¡¯d, more like.¡± ¡°¡­You¡¯re right. I really can¡¯t see you in a gown.¡± Maul in hand, a whirlwind of a woman©`Raakel the ruffian. As she was now, there was indeed nary a wisp of her princely past. A look at her and one would be forgiven for believing she was born with a battleaxe wrapped in her babe-fingers. Emilie certainly had, and doubtful she was alone in making the mistake. ¡°With baggage like that, I thought to put it all behind me. So, I cut me ties. Came to the Order,¡± Raakel went on. ¡°Was all pain at first, to be frank, like I were punishin¡¯ meself fer me past follies. I fought an¡¯ fought, on an¡¯ on.¡± There are those who saw the world for what it was, and despaired at the sight. The sorry souls would oft consign themselves to life in a convent, cloistered from the goings-on beyond. But another path can be found, one that wends into the bowels of battlefields. Not few are they who chose it instead. Yet never could Emilie have guessed that Raakel counted amongst them. One can never truly know another, she thought. ¡°An¡¯ thass how I forged me new motto. Strength be ev¡¯rythin¡¯. Fightin¡¯ be ev¡¯rythin¡¯. Naught else matters.¡± Raakel shook her head, as if to silence the echoes of a past she¡¯d long since left behind. The two stood there for another while, deep in thought. ¡°Thass why¡­¡± Raakel began again, low, but firm, ¡°¡­thass why I hate him, an¡¯ all whimperin¡¯ wimps like ¡®im.¡± Words of resolve. A resolve by the name of ¡°wrath¡±. For Raakel was a woman who relinquished everything to seek but one thing: strength. Emilie was a mareschal, unequalled in all of the 5th. But not only that, she well-fulfilled the duties of both her office and her societal obligations in tandem. Such was strength, Raakel concluded, and for that, Emilie was surely someone to be respected. And then there was Rolf. The man ungraced, a weakling who chose to flee rather than fight. For him, Raakel knew naught but anger. But weakness was not the only crime he committed. Indeed, he was a cowardly cur most unwilling to confront even that selfsame weakness. Such a mien of sallowed meekness was the very thing that Raakel detested, and thus did Rolf earn her scalding scorn. ¡°Raakel¡­ I¡­ I never knew.¡± Things none can do aught about. Things that turn out not as they ought to. These were Raakel¡¯s own words. Defiance was cheap in a world so unforgiving; this, too, she understood well. Even so¡ªor, perhaps, it was precisely so that she sought strength on the battlefield, the one place unfettered from the shackles of society. To be strong was to be human. To fight was to be human. This was the compass of Raakel¡¯s conscience, of a woman who saw battle to be life itself. Rolf is weak. Emilie is strong. He who is feeble, who is not fain to face his own faults, is so to the sorrow of she who is mighty. Yes. The weak weave sadness for the strong. The ill irony could not find acceptance in Raakel¡¯s heart. ¡°¡­We put us lives on the line, don¡¯t we? To bring the world back to how it were, like the scriptures say,¡± Raakel began to reason. ¡°Thass why I say strength be whole and holy, an¡¯ weakness be naught but a vice, a sin. But look at ol¡¯ mickle-berk. All that muscle an¡¯ he can¡¯t be arsed to stand up to his own weakness. That¡­¡± An impalpable pang ran through the cold night air. Emilie shivered, sobering before the sombre of the moment. ¡°¡­Thass the sort o¡¯ sin I won¡¯t pardon¡ªever.¡± A feeble fledgling who but flew the coop. That was Rolf, the fool fowl. To worry over him was worthless. Time was precious, to be spent elsewhere¡ªanywhere, really, so long as it wasn¡¯t on him. That was the essence of Raakel¡¯s message. As Emilie lent ear to it, she found herself frozen by its undressed animosity. In her own heart, there was anger over Rolf, of course. But it was but a candle before the conflagration that was the world¡¯s own ire for the man ungraced. Of it, Emilie was reminded anew, whilst behind her speechless person, the tiny tumult in the tiny tavern clamoured on quietly through the night. Volume 2 - CH 1.06 Three full moons I¡¯ve counted, since my arrival here in the province of Str?m. In that time, the fatality rate amongst the fort¡¯s soldiery had plummeted. It was done: Balasthea had at last lost its place amongst the realm¡¯s most notorious killing fields. Reporting to Margrave Str?m of such trends and goings-on numbered amongst my many duties. Today, too, found me fulfilling that office, as I stood before the lord at his Arbel residence. ¡°¡­Very well, then. Keep the course, Commandant,¡± he said, turned away to the window. ¡°Yes, my liege.¡± I saluted him, ending what had been quite the concise report. With no further business there, I summarily left the manor. Perhaps it bears little mention that the margrave was ever ill of mood upon our meetings. Yet it was beyond all doubt that my deeds delivered to him much avail: Balasthea stood more firmly than ever before, and with its casualties curtailed, so, too, were the margrave¡¯s military expenses. For that reason, despite my reviled repute as an ungraced, not once did he attempt to dispose of me. Equally doubtless, I suspected, was the indignance surrounding my assumption to Acting Commandant of Balasthea, whether harboured by the margrave or Central itself. Likely they thought the ungainly ungraced would slip up soon enough, given so prestigious a post. A shame their ¡°expectations¡± were betrayed. Yet verily I was, to them, a rather convenient pawn as commandant, one better left upon the gameboard till his moves were spent. A bitter medicine of truth for their throats, sure, but one they swallowed nonetheless. And from the look of things, it would be a daily taste upon their tongues. Speaking of tastes, it was made apparent to me that the fort commandants of other provinces were oft treated to fetes hosted in the pleasure of their lords. Just the thought of such wining and dining was a surfeit too sour for my palate. Thus one can say I shared in the margrave¡¯s convenience, though not so uncomfortably: our interactions were strictly business¡ªquick and curt¡ªand when such business was done and dealt with, I was more than happy to quit his quarrelsome company. These thoughts I humoured as I made my way home. Well, ¡°home¡± in this case was a residence officially furnished to the commandant of Balasthea. Being also within the confines of Arbel, the commute was none too terrible. And perhaps ¡°official residence¡± is a term too high-brow for what was nothing more than a rather small cot. A home fit for but one, it was ostensibly stayed in by the many commandants before me. My predecessor, taken ill as he was, had returned to his homestead elsewhere, thus was the cot allotted to me. It was by no means a freshly founded home. But even its dusty spaces were preferable to the sweaty barracks at the 5th. Curious indeed that my standard of living improved only upon being exiled. Today, however, was to be the beginning of many more curiosities, for I found myself stopped before the high street leading home. Closed off, it was. The forgathered townsfolk told of a flame burning further ahead, and of the firemen barring traffic to keep passers-by away from their dangerous work. Thus by this pure coincidence was I compelled to take a detour down an alley outside of my usual commute. ? Through the shadowy alleyways I wended. The sun had long set, and the sky above was a fading fuchsia, cut down to a soaring strip by the jumbled and jostling roofs. Hence did I brave this veritable labyrinth with a lantern in hand. Yet it was not long before I stumbled upon a middle-aged man, standing hunched, haggard of breath, his own hand gripping a knife¡ªone adrip with blood. The drops pitter-pattered upon neither dirt nor cobblestone, but more of its red self. For at the man¡¯s feet was another figure, younger, yet placid and prostrate upon a pool of flowing crimson. A look at the collapsed fellow found etched about his ankle a telling tattoo. I raised the lantern for a better look. ¡°¡­That lad there a slave?¡± was my guarded question. To me the man turned, growling. ¡°Yea. An¡¯ a bloody criminal,¡± he drawled. ¡°Shog¡¯d off ¡®is shackles, ¡®e did. An¡¯ tried t¡¯take me knife, so I show¡¯d ¡®im the pointy end o¡¯ it, heheh. Well, I jests, but the bloke¡¯s dead, an¡¯ me profits ¡®long with ¡®im. An¡¯ that ain¡¯t a joke.¡± Shackles, profits¡ªa slaver, the man was. I then found him bent over, wiping his knife clean upon the fresh corpse. Sheathing it, he turned to me again, face half-furrowed. ¡°¡­Wot? Think me the villian ¡®ere, is it? Ye be glad t¡¯know then, this sinner snuff¡¯d out two souls ¡®imself in ¡®is time. Got wot¡¯s comin¡¯ to ¡®im, I says.¡± A rather defensive tone. It would seem he spied an air of condemnation upon my face, my brows having bent bitterly without my knowing. It must be said that the laws of Londosius deem slavery a sound practice, so long as it is purposed for manual labour. But those same laws also decree that none save felons and ¡°fruits of war¡± may be subject to the shackle. The former¡ª¡±criminal slaves¡±, they¡¯re called¡ªare typically those whose sins are judged to be grave, though not enough to warrant an execution. The corpse before me was of this unsavoury sort, if the slaver was to be believed. ¡°I¡¯ll not blame you for the deed. Only¡­¡± I said, pointing behind him, ¡°¡­that one, too, be a ¡®sinner¡¯?¡± Indeed. Another slave stood upon the scene. Silent. ¡°Hah! Can¡¯t ye tell, lad? A war-slave, this one is. The worst o¡¯ the worst. Evil incarnate!¡± he smiled, but with a look at the foresaid slave, the bitter grin vanished into the dark. ¡°Eh, I takes it back. ¡®Evil¡¯ ain¡¯t ¡®nough t¡¯judge this devil.¡± War-slaves¡ªpersons dragged from the fires of battle and into chains of iron. In other words, captive Naf¨ªlim. The one I pointed to was a clear example, and also the first of whom I¡¯d seen beyond the bounds of a battlefield. Only, this Naf¨ªl was but a little girl. I then recalled the quarrel with the margrave three months past. Most certainly, it is the common creed of Man, shared amongst the sons of his many realms, that the Naf¨ªlim are to be spared from no cruelty, whether it be of violence or imprisonment. Nevermind whether the Naf¨ªlim victims themselves are combatants¡ªor otherwise. I had made my case to the margrave then, and it stood unchanged now: this creed found no home in my heart. The girl before me attested to the ¡°why¡± of it: none, not even a Yonaistic devout, could feign a look upon her and say with right mind that aught about her became that of a ¡°combatant¡±. No. She was just a small girl, maybe ten in her years, no more than twelve. Behind her black, soiled, and unkempt hair were amber eyes, both of which did naught but gaze at the ground, as if bereft of any and all spark of spirit. And clothing the light tenn¨¦ of her skin were nothing more than meagre, threadbare rags. She stood there, still. Oh so very still. As if she¡¯d given up on everything¡ªeven life itself. ¡°Awfully young for a slave,¡± I cuttingly observed. ¡°Yea? An¡¯ wot ¡®bout it?¡± the slaver cut back. ¡°A Naf¨ªl, it be.¡± ¡°¡­Of course she is.¡± I turned to her once more, lighting her lightless mien with my lantern. No response was to be found. She merely stood, soundless and downcast, her bare and shackled feet planted upon the cold cobblestones. ¡°Look at it,¡± the slave shook his head. ¡°All glum an¡¯ gloom-like. Can¡¯t sell it off fer the life o¡¯ me. Bah! Bloody alga¡­¡± ¡°Alga?¡± ¡°Yea. ¡®Alga¡¯ be wot I calls it. Shiverin¡¯ in a stove, it were, when the snatchers came a-snatchin¡¯. They drag¡¯d it out an¡¯ found it all steep¡¯d in soot, they did.¡± Alga¡­ How curious a connection. Was it the whispers of the fates I heard just now? Or something felt from deep in my heart? A stirring within, welling up to leave my lips. ¡°I¡¯ll buy her.¡± Volume 2 - CH 1.07 From my lips left those words, simple, yet urged by neither imagination nor motivation. To be sure, not once before have I humoured the thought of buying a slave for myself. And yet, here I was. ¡°B¡­ buy, ye said?¡± ¡°I did.¡± What was it that scribed my words? That put them to air? That steeled my resolve? Was it sympathy? Empathy? A defiant cry against the caprice and cruelty of this world? Perhaps a pang of compassion for the poor girl, who so suffered the scorn of others, just as I had? Or was it guilt? The heavy burden borne by a man of battle, whose very words and deeds compelled the creation of these war-slaves? ¡°A million reugols. An¡¯ two-hundred thousand more. Thass me price,¡± said the slaver, fingers raised. ¡°¡®ow ¡®bout it? Yer purse fat ¡®nough, lad?¡± ¡°It is.¡± Not cheap, but not beyond my means either. While my time at the Order had earned me all but a regular pittance, I was also quite the penny-pincher. Add to that the salary from my post here at Str?m, with which I¡¯ve done little but let pile up, and no lie was to be found in my curt assurance to the slaver, whose face brightened as his ears drank it up. ¡°W-well then¡ªoh, but er¡­ a word o¡¯ warnin¡¯ ¡®fore we settles the deal,¡± he said, now lowly. ¡°Don¡¯t ye go tellin¡¯ it yer name, eh?¡± I blinked. ¡°And why¡¯s that?¡± ¡°This one. It¡¯s got a knack fer magicks¡ªthe covenantal kind, that is. Can¡¯t make a slave out o¡¯ weavers o¡¯ battle magicks, thass certain. But not so with this one. Well, I says that, but covenants be proper wicked in their own way, yea?¡± I see. Fair enough. To consummate the purchase of a slave, a sort of covenantal magick must first be woven, binding bondsman to master. A ¡°thrallspell¡±, as it were. This, too, is decreed by Londosian law. Yet one who, from the outset, is gifted in or knowing of covenantal magicks may, naturally, overwrite the essence of such thrallspells. To do so, only the name of the other party is needed. Hence the slaver¡¯s warning: if the master¡¯s name is known, the so-gifted slave may turn the tables, and make himself master of his own master. ¡°So er¡­ we gots a deal still, good lad?¡± ¡°We do.¡± ¡°Hah! Chuff¡¯d t¡¯hear it, I am!¡± the slaver gleamed with glee. ¡°Phew. Here I thought, t¡¯day be ¡®nother stinkin¡¯ day, wot with that one dead an¡¯ burnin¡¯ a hole in me pocket. But fates be fair, t¡¯bring me a buyer fer this one¡ªall in the same moment, no less! Hwahah!¡± After a toothy cackle, he turned to the girl. ¡°Oi, alga. Sold ye off t¡¯this kind ser, I did. Good on ye, ey?¡± Silence. ¡°Tch. Oi, ¡®ow ¡®bout a smile, at least, ah?¡± ¡°Has she got a name?¡± I asked. A shake of the head. ¡°Damn¡¯d if I know. ¡®Alga¡¯ be all I calls it. An¡¯ ye should too, if it pleases ye. If not, well, call it aught what suits yer fancy then, heheh.¡± Never in the uncaring course of the slaver¡¯s words did the little girl budge by the tiniest bit. ? The next day. With my duties done at Balasthea, I returned to Arbel at twilight. There, I finished off one more duty for the day: paying the million and more reugols, having the thrallspell incanted for the Naf¨ªlim girl and me, and so on. All were handled by the slaver of yesterday, whom I made sure to inquire of eschewing that shackling spell. But as expected, he was quick to expound to me the illegality of the very notion. It couldn¡¯t be helped. I was not wont to break any laws, thus, pressing the issue no further, I sealed the deal and soon found myself at home. There in the sitting room did we stand, the girl and I. I certainly had the manners to offer her a seat to rest her sore feet, but it was for naught. The girl merely stood and stood, silent and stolid of soul. And so I knelt before her. With my eyes level with hers, I then asked my first question. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°¡­¡± No answer. A sorry surrender anchored her vacant stare to the floor. ¡°Right. Names come later. We should get you washed up first,¡± I relented. I then went to warm up some water, with which I filled a large basin. After setting it beside the girl, I knelt before her once more. ¡°Look¡ªI¡¯ve left a flannel right here,¡± I said, pointing to a washcloth hanging upon the rim of the basin. ¡°You can wipe yourself down with it. Will you do that for me?¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯ll not hurt you. Don¡¯t worry,¡± I assured her. ¡°Well, I might not seem like it, I admit, having just emptied my coffers for a slave, but¡­ I do mean it.¡± ¡°¡­¡± First and foremost, some understanding was needed between the both of us, but as I feared, my words fell flat. In lieu of answering, she went on watching the wooden floor, eyes empty of emotion. ¡°¡­I¡¯ll not hurt you. Truly.¡± Another try. The same line, admittedly. How vacuous a vocabulary I had. A damn shame; even I was exasperated at myself. I searched and searched within, but the right words all escaped me¡ªones with which to reach her heart. Helpless. That was what I was. Helpless. Was there aught I could do for her? Battlefields demand deeds, of which I would readily oblige. But words were needed here. Wait. Deeds? Perhaps action might avail me here? To communicate to her what words cannot? It was worth a try. Too much of a tongue-twisted want-wit was I, when it came to sensible things to say. And so I slowly reached out a hand to her. A deed decided, deliberate and delicate. She seemed the frailest of figures, one who might shatter at the slightest nudge. But were either of us to remain fearful of the intimate touch, then certainly the day could never come. The day when our eyes can gladly meet¡ªand our hearts along with them. Gently, and gentler still¡­ ¡­my callused hand set upon her soft cheek. And for the faintest moment, I sensed a quiver in her eyes. For however much she seemed a soul surrendered of all life, there was yet warmth welling up from that cheek of hers. Thus I stayed as I was, surrendered of all words. A long lull stretched on. In it: silence, save for the breaths rolling from our lips. Yet how long of a lull exactly? Where we but faced each other, connected by a simple touch? I could not know, but by its eventual end, the girl¡¯s eyes slowly, oh so slowly, searched up to meet mine. Our gazes locked at last. I remained there, returning my regard, with not a thought to utter a word. Instead, I tried a bit of a smile, albeit a clumsy one. I never could trust myself to smile with any grace. A fumbling affair, it¡¯s always been. Her own regard, an amber-gold stare, fixed itself upon my onyx-black own. Indeed, hers were round and heartfully fair¡­ only, they cast a most heartbroken glint. A reflection, hollow of any hope for tomorrow. With all I could muster, I set into my gaze a simple promise. A promise to never hurt her. And as I did, I wished dearly that it reached her heart. By the end of those many moments, my hand left her cheek just as gingerly as it had reached out to it. ¡°I¡¯ve some shopping to do,¡± I said at last. ¡°Food, clothes, whatnot. Be good while I¡¯m gone, will you? And wash yourself up for me.¡± With that, I rose and left the house. ? The soft evensky began to twinkle as I walked down the thoroughfare leading to the markets. Yet I had not the mind to take in the dusking townscape. My thoughts were trained elsewhere. I knew not of what impelled me to purchase the girl like I did. And I knew even less of what I wished to do from here on. Did I truly believe that I could avail her in some way? Am I even capable of forging for her¡ªor anyone, for that matter¡ªsome semblance of a future? Me? An ungraced? A muscle-pated pawn who knows little beyond a smattering of swordplay? What could I accord her? What could I teach her? What could I do for the poor girl? She seemed utterly lost¡ªa soul that had given up. And yet, I knew not even her name. I knew not by whom, and through what dark paths she was led to arrive in this place. Of where she once lived. Of the life she once had. Of what she cherished. Of what she dreamed. Of the people she knew. Of the family she loved. ¡­And of what circumstance that made her into what she was today. ¡°¡­¡¯Won¡¯t know till you try,¡¯ they say,¡± I thought aloud. Night was falling. A darkness not unlike the murk of the alleyway where we first met. She did all but stand there, empty of aught¡ªeven of fear for her slaver, for the bloody knife clenched in his hand, for her fellow slave then lying dead on the ground. Witless as I was, I knew wholeheartedly of one thing: to just leave her there was never a choice. The life of a war-slave is crushing. Excruciating. Ruthless. Yet for however much they suffer, their numbers are far from few. Saving the girl does naught to change that tragic truth. Saving the girl was naught but a self-serving solace. Yes. Most certainly. And yet¡­ More certain again was that I did what I did because I believed it the right thing to do. I saved her because I wanted to. And simply that. ¡°Wayward vagrants, you and I. A glad thing indeed if we can get along.¡± The vague hope, upon a half-hale voice, vanished into the night sky. Volume 2 - CH 1.08 There once lived a little girl. A Naf¨ªlim girl. Tender and bright. A child of much love. Her mother was fair as a flower, and famed for it. And from her did the daughter inherit a gaze of amber and locks of obsidian. Eyes, large and lovely. Hair, long and lustrous. Over the coming moons and winters, she was sure to bloom into a shimmering belle herself. Six was her family. Her father, giant yet gentle. Her mother, beautiful yet benevolent. Her brother and two sisters¡ªelders to her, all of them¡ªwere each copious of ken and principled of personage. And the girl¡ªa springtide sprout, ever smiling. Smiling, smiling, amidst the sunshine that was her family. In it was warmth. In it was serenity. In it was happiness. But over yonder whirled the wheels of war. Every which way. At every corner of the continent. A great war waged with Men. Her mother and father did their best to keep its tidings at bay, that their dear daughter might know not a moment of worry. A difficulty, for beyond their home-forest spanned the fields and halls of Man. And from time to time from such places, Men in their arms and armour would sally, with greed in their eyes, with grim in their hearts. Of this, the girl knew. Despite the pains of her parents, she knew. Her people fought back. Indeed, they fought back. Unbroken. Unafraid. Only, a fearsome fort confounded their way. And so, their retreats repeated, on and on. And so, the fort endured, on and on. Once upon a night, the girl was sound asleep. But then by a tickle was she roused awake. In her sight was the hand of her father, large and reliable, gnarled and knobby, the fingers of a proud bough. ¡°Awake?¡± he whispered. ¡°Forgive me.¡± There her father sat, beside her bed, quietly caressing her head. ¡°How precious your face, when asleep. What father cannot adore it?¡± A smile upon his lips. Half sorry. Half bittersweet. Yet instead of forgiving him, the girl held her father¡¯s hand with both of her own. Tiny hands, clasped tightly about callused fingers. The daughter¡¯s grip could not hope to encircle the father¡¯s. But a smile was upon her lips, too, as she drew his hand closer. Fast in its warmth, she closed her eyes. Gladly, quietly, her father watched on, till once again his daughter sang the sounds of slumber. How dearly she loved her father. How dearly she treasured the surety of his hands. How dearly she would come to miss him. ?¡ß? Off her father went into the mists of dawn. A woodcutter, he was. But also a warrior. So it was with all the brothers of the village. Indeed, each of them bore his own burden of battle. For days, the home was without its father. On the third, he should be back. Only, he wasn¡¯t. ¡°A little late, your father. But do lighten up. Before next sundown, he¡¯ll be home with us again.¡± To her children at the supping table, the hope-woven words of the mother. Trusting them, the girl sipped her stew. Oh, what a favourite it was. But then a thought occurred. And so to her mother, she smilingly said thus. ¡°Mama! Let¡¯s make Papa¡¯s favourite tomorrow! Warm, warm lentil soup!¡± Yes. Let¡¯s. The smiling answer of her mother. The smiling agreement of her siblings. But miring their mirth was unease. One the girl was yet too young to sense. The sun woke again, and so did she. Up from her bed she sprang and through the house she flew, so eager to find her father home again. Only, he wasn¡¯t. To the kitchen she came, where her mother busied herself with making breakfast. Bread was baking. The soft scent of rye. ¡°¡®Morning, Mama!¡± ¡°Good morning, my little flower.¡± A sunny smile from her mother. Warm. Assuring. Just as always. Soon, her siblings were gathered as well, and the family of five then sat at the table, to begin the day with filling their bellies. ¡°Many thanks for this meal.¡± ¡°Many-many thanks for this meal!¡± Words of grace from the family. Brightly so from the little girl. The wisdom of thanksgiving, given to the children by mother and father both. With measured manners, the girl took to hand a fluff of bread and nibbled upon its pillowy crumb. ¡°Papa not home yet¡­¡± She yearned aloud. But hope was hale in her. Tonight, five will be six once more. A happy six, all supping together. And so, again, did she brave her father¡¯s absence. The girl then knitted away her morning hours. Quilting was a craft best left to the artisans. Certainly not something the fellow village children were capable of. But her mother and sisters were skilled with the skein. Loving them each and everything they do, she long mimicked them. Those many moons of diligence had imparted to the girl some deftness in the art. A hat. What was, days ago, just a thread of yarn, would soon be a crocheted crown for her mother. Father¡¯s share was already finished. A present for her parents. To be given when they are together again. Socks were what the girl wanted to make at first. But a bit too difficult it might be, her elder sister said. How about a hat, she then suggested. That same sister now watched the girl warmly. The tiny hands tamed the needle as the hat took shape. Such a sight to smile upon. But also a secret to be kept. Not till the presents were complete could either parent know. So requested the girl of her sister at the start, answered with giggling acceptance. A promise protected till this day. Noon came, and at last, the final thread was threaded. Two hats together, graceless of form, but filled with gratitude. Two messes of yarn, but to the girl, two masterpieces. ¡°Lovely hats, lovingly made. Mother and Father will be most glad!¡± Her sister¡¯s seal of approval. How happy they would be, mother and father both. Dreaming of the moment, the girl beamed brightly. A little later, a villager visited. Mother met him at the door. Words were shared for a while, and taken by a bit of unease, she left the house. To her children, a promise to return by dusk. Till then, the two sisters gave their time: an hour or two of play with the girl. Suppertime was setting in. Mother was sure to be home by now. Only, she wasn¡¯t. ¡°Lentils, lentils! Warm lentil soup for supper!¡± The girl sang with excitement. Tonight, and together, they would all be gathered, to give their father his favourite, and enjoy it themselves in his sorely missed company. A warm and lovely time it would be. One the girl looked forward to. And then came a buzz about the whole village. Brother looked rather grave. But the eldest sister could not bear it any longer. To her feet, she rose. ¡°The orphanage¡­ I must go look,¡± she said. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I won¡¯t be long.¡± Charitable, her eldest sister was. Ever a lender of helping hands for the orphanage, where lived children of parents lost to tragedy. There was concern upon her face as she left the house in haste. Not once before was there any warrant for worry. What could it be? The girl thought. An hour went by. Neither mother nor sister were returned. By now, the village was veiled in some tumult. Brother worried quietly. His face was furrowed. His heart was heavy. A bellow. From beyond the safety of home. Angry. Echoing. The elder sister held the girl tightly, picking her up. Brother sprang to his feet. His eyes darted about. The stove. A hearth of much happiness, earthen, large. Enough to cook for their family of six. To it, he pointed. To it, the sister rushed. In it, she hid, with the girl wrapped in her arms. ¡°Be still! Be silent! Stay in there¡ªno matter what!¡± Brother¡¯s whispers of warning. To them, the sister nodded. Cold beads of sweat sailed down her cheeks. For an instant, they glinted. In them, a reflection of the brother¡¯s unbound blade. Then by his hand, he sealed the stove. Turning, he stepped towards the entrance. But before he could emerge outside, into their home barged unsought visitors. Three. Three kins of Man. Cold swords in their hands. Cold armour binding their bodies. Bellowing blurs of iron they became, sending steel to the brother. There, he met them with his own sharpness. The sound of clashing swords. A first for the girl¡¯s ears. Her home, once filled only with happiness, now echoed with the throes of war. Tightly and tighter still, the sister held her with bated breath. Verily did she try to turn the girl away from the violence outside. But to no avail. The stove was too cramped inside. How sad, then, that the girl could gaze through the grates, and see for herself the battle beyond. She beheld in those gaps the sight of her brother brought down in cold blood. Skilled he was with the blade, but not enough to fight three at a time. And so the brother fell, cruelly cut. And so the sister knew woe. But keeping the scream from leaving her lips, she held the girl ever more tightly. ¡°Peh. Right pain in the arse, the scrawny scoundrel.¡± ¡°Ey. Ye think there¡¯s more?¡± ¡°More? Well I don¡¯t see¡­ wait¡­ ¡¯ear that?¡± The cold words of Men, whetted sharp. ¡°¡­uu¡­ hic¡­¡± The warm tears of the little girl, wetting her sister¡¯s bosom. Happiness was all she knew. And as well, the delightful days spent with her warm and loving family. Such innocence was ill-prepared to bear the sight of it all breaking to pieces. The lid flew open. The sickening smiles of Men. ¡°Well well well. Wot we ¡®ave ¡®ere, ey?¡± ¡°Hah! Look at ¡®em! Steep¡¯d in soot, the devils!¡± Cold hands reached in. Girl and sister both were dragged out. By rope the two were tied up. To the village square they were led down. ¡°Uuaah! Aaaaah!¡± The screaming sobs of the little girl. The unceasing sorrow of her sister. The sadistic smirks of the Men. At their destination was found the villagers, bound and brought together. Surrounding them were the soldiers of Men, jeering. ¡°Thass all o¡¯ them.¡± Said a Man, bringing the girl and her sister before the others. Then, with a sharp shove to their backs, he sent the two tumbling down into the dirt. ¡°Aeck¡­! ¡­hic¡­ uu¡­¡± The girl continued to cry. And there, echoing across the air, were their names. A familiar voice. The voice of their mother, vaulting, desperate. To her the girl looked. Mother, too, was bound amongst the villagers. ¡°Oh? Wot¡¯s this, now? Those two brats be yers, is it?¡± ¡°Yer good pa¡¯s come ¡®ome, ¡®e ¡®as! But ¡®e be doin¡¯ a lil¡¯ ¡®ide an¡¯ seek! Why don¡¯t ye¡­ be a good mam, yea? Tell yer kiddies where the pa be ¡®idden!¡± Sinful words from sinful smiles, said to the mother. Choosing not to obey, she but shook her head. ¡°Ey. Ey! I said, tell ¡®em! Ye bitch, you!¡± ¡°Why ye gots t¡¯be a big boot in the arse, eh? Bloody Naf¨ªlim. Devils, the lot o¡¯ ye!¡± ¡°Well thass all right, then. We¡¯ll tell ¡®em fer ye, we will. Oi. Which one¡¯s their pa, ey?¡± ¡°Should be eh¡­ in that pile, methinks. The one with all the run-aways from yesterbattle.¡± ¡°This one ¡®ere, yea?¡± The uncaring conversation of the Men. ¡°No! Don¡¯t! Stop! Sto¡ªp!!¡± The nigh-crazed cries of the mother. There, a wagon sat, covered. Then, by the hand of a soldier, it was covered no more. At first, the girl could not comprehend what her eyes saw. For they saw a heap of heads. Each and every one of them, a face she knew. And amongst them, a face she loved. A face she missed. The face of her father. Her breath was wholly stolen. The cold grip of the fates seemed to clench at her heart and lungs both. Next to her was her sister, seized by the same shock. Down and down, slowly and soundlessly, the girl¡¯s gaze fell. ¡°C¡¯mon now. There¡¯s yer pa!¡± Called one of the Men, who then snatched the girl¡¯s chin with his iron hand. Back to the horrid heap he then made the girl look. ¡°See ¡®im? Nice smile on ¡®is face, eh? Heheh!¡± ¡°Sto¡ªp! Sto©¤©¤©¤p!!¡± The wuthering wails of the mother. But the girl had stopped crying. Her eyes. In her eyes was no longer the light of her heart. ¡°Yea, yea. Playtime¡¯s over, ye wankers. Back t¡¯work!¡± ¡°Right right. Ey, ye devils! Get in ¡®ere, the lot o¡¯ ye!¡± And thus the Men had the girl, her sister, and some others make their way to another covered wagon. But the girl budged not a bit. ¡°Ey, runt. Get movin¡¯.¡± A Man¡¯s command. Yet the girl¡¯s feet were unmoving. ¡°Tch. Oi, look ¡®ere, you! Get in, I says!¡± No avail. In his frustration, the Man called to another, who then held a blade to the mother¡¯s neck. ¡°Oi, ye bloody brat! Get a move on with yer sis! I¡¯ma count now, an¡¯ if ye ain¡¯t in the wagon by three, why, I¡¯ll ¡®ave yer mam join yer pa, I will!¡± Oh, dearest daughter. How the mother cried and cried. Seeing the sword set against that neck, the girl slowly started moving. Such pain and sorrow upon the sister¡¯s face, as she picked up the little girl. Quivering caresses were given. Then, onto the deck they boarded. Sister knew well where the wagons would go. To where else but sunless suffering? Yet even then, she thought only to comfort her little sibling. ¡°Right. Got ¡®em all loaded up now. Let¡¯s move!¡± With a signal, the wagons were off. ¡°Oi, brother. Wot ¡®bout these ones, ey?¡± ¡°Eh, ferget ¡®em. They¡¯ve got battle magicks, they do. Can scarce make slaves o¡¯ ¡®em. Bugger.¡± A cruel conversation amongst Men yet in the village square. ¡°Rubbish, they be, eh? Oi! Off with their ¡®eads now, yea!?¡± Orders given. Swords swung. The Naf¨ªlim folk, bound and defenceless. Each was felled. One after another. Home. Now distant. Forever distant. The girl¡¯s last sight of it was not to be forgotten. The sight of her mother¡¯s final moment. Held tight in her sister¡¯s arms, the girl lost all strength. Something lingered on her cheeks, and now ran down. ¡°¡­hats¡­ Mama¡­ Papa¡­¡± Her amber eyes dulled. Now empty. Oh, so empty. Volume 2 - CH 1.09 Whither the wagons whisked the little girl was a city of stone. From the idyll of the fields and forests, and into the metropolitan maw of Man; there in the fangs of the fiefburgh was she caught, her fate it was to be made a slave. But not immediately so, no. Deals had to be done. Prices had to be promised. Not yet was she set and sold. In the meantime, she was instead shackled and sent to the cages of a concentration camp. A cold and unkind place where her kin and kind were kept, to await whatever ill reckoning may come¡ªwhether it be death by cruel treatment, or a life of enslavement. Meagre scraps of food were afforded to her. But it was beyond the girl¡¯s broken will to muster up any sort of appetite. Yet ate she tried, for fear of being served a meal of a different sort. One of fury, of foul affronts. Certainly, the soldiers there were loath to keep even one Naf¨ªl alive. Only, their pay coursed from margrave¡¯s coffers, which filled all the more fully as he cashed out the captives to the slavers. Thus was the girl not a cur to be culled, but a commodity to be kept intact¡ªto the barest adequacy, that is. With their wages on the line, the soldiers spared this ¡°product¡± of her early death whensoever they had a mind to punish her. In times when she ill-stomached her meal, they would whet her appetite with the whip, livid lashings sent to slash her back. It was not long before they found her to be attuned to the covenantal magicks. The discovery threw the soldiers into a flying fit of rage, for to be so ungainly gifted was injurious indeed: her prospective price was now but a pittance. As punishment, fists and feet were driven into her belly, till she collapsed onto the cold stone floor, vomiting what little sustenance she had ably swallowed. But to do so was alike to not having eaten it at all. Thus another punishment was in order. The Men, with their wrath unravelled, thrust torches onto her thighs. There, she writhed. She screamed. She cried. A sight most sorry¡ªostensibly enough to soften the soldiers¡¯ veins, for they soon quit the cell. In it, she was then all alone, left to weep the days away. A gaol most dark, where echoed the girl¡¯s grief forevermore. But there was a soul within the soldiery who acted not like the others. One of many turnkeys keeping the peace in the prisons, the guardsman seemed the sort to sympathise with the girl¡¯s plight. ¡°Well, er¡­ Yer sis be alive still, yea?¡± he revealed quietly, ¡°¡­¡®ang in there, if not fer the lass, at least.¡± With that, he went about his way. The Man, forty in his years, perhaps, apparently kept the girl¡¯s elder sister, too, under his watch. Hence any occasion where he crossed the girl¡¯s cell was also an opportunity to glean from his yet lukewarm heart the condition of her sister¡ªof the sole vestige of her dear family. By his words, the sister was haggard and unhale, a young woman wasting away. Only, she yet had the will to partake of her meals, and that was hope enough. The moment the girls first entered the concentration camp was the moment they were torn from each other, to be locked up in separate cells. By then, the little girl had lost all strength to raise even a whisper of protest. So it was that she could do naught but shed tears, watching on as the soldiers sent her sister away. The days since then were a long and enduring darkness, empty of aught but pain and punishment. And of worry. Indeed, much of the girl¡¯s waking hours were spent deep in thought for her sister. In the mire of such uncertain circumstance, what could she do but worry? And so worry she did, on and on, of what might befall upon her dear sibling. This was always so for any member of her family. In each of them was instilled a selfless sympathy for the other. Perhaps truest for the girl, ever a child who thought more of her family than of herself. More than once did such compassion compel her to speak to the soldiers, but their answers were always of cold violence. The sole exception being the foresaid guardsman. In him, she sensed some possibility of discourse. Thus she mustered up what meagre courage remained in her heart, and inquired him of what fate awaited her sister. And sure enough, what moved were not his fists, but his lips, quietly. ¡°Same as ye, methinks. A war-slave, she¡¯ll be, made t¡¯do ¡®er master¡¯s biddin¡¯.¡± A thoughtful silence followed, in which was found the Man with his eyes cast wistfully. ¡°I¡¯ve got a lass o¡¯ me own, I do. Weren¡¯t more than ten ¡®fore she went t¡¯serve a lord,¡± he spoke again. ¡°Mm¡­ ¡®ow many years it¡¯s been, eh¡­? I¡¯ve not seen ¡®er since. She be doin¡¯ all right, I wonder¡­?¡± And with those words, the girl was left alone once more. ?¡ß? At the end of many sunless days, it was at last decided where the girl was to be handed off. Not more than a week now till a slaver would come to collect her. News of unknown portent, most certainly. On-duty during the night it was given was none other than the pitying turnkey himself. ¡°Not sure if this¡¯ll brighten yer day or wot, but¡­¡± he broached, before relating to the girl of further news: that she and her sister were to be reunited and sold off together. A light, then, the girl felt. A light within all the dark. Faint, yes, but one lit at last. No day was without pain. No day was without suffering. No day was without sorrow. But her sister was still alive, and that was reason enough to endure them. To keep the family¡¯s memory. To breathe the life given to her. For her one and only remaining bond. For her warm and loving family. So dear. So dear. She had lost enough. No more could she bear. ¡°¡­Sister¡­ Sister¡­¡± Whispers within the dark. Tears within the solitude. Ones different from before. Oh, to be together again. Only two now, but together nevertheless. ¡°¡­Well. Good on ye, eh?¡± From beyond the iron bars, a warm smile. ?¡ß? ¡°Oi, alga! Out with ye!¡± Alga. An epithet earned from the peculiarity of her captivity. A soot-steeped girl, hiding in the earthen hearth of her home, only to be dragged out by the hands of Man. The air still rang from its utterance as Men dragged her out yet again, this time from her sunless cell and out to the sunlit grounds. A morning scene to herald her purchase. The girl wended the way barefoot, with shackles at her ankles and wrists, and naught but rat-eaten rags as her raiments. To the camp¡¯s service gates was she led, pulled along by chains at the hands of the soldiers. There, she would have to wait. The slavers had yet to arrive. Restless was her gaze as it glanced about. Her sister was nowhere to be found. In the midst of the confusion, she spotted the Man of pity. Their eyes met, and so she thought to speak to him. ¡°uh¡­ um¡­¡± ¡°Shut yer trap, runt!¡± howled her chain-handler. ¡°Now now, brother, s¡¯all right. We talk¡¯d ¡®bout this,¡± soothed the gentle guardsman. ¡°Ah? Wot, she the one, then?¡± Knowing looks. Knowing nods. The Man then turned to the girl. ¡°Worry¡¯d ¡®bout yer sis, yea?¡± ¡°y¡­ yes¡­¡± ¡°Look.¡± The Man thrust forth his thumb, pointing to a corner of the concentration camp. A hollow was dug there. At its edge was something set to be thrown into its depths. ¡°A grave pit, that is,¡± the Man explained. ¡°Jailbirds that¡¯ve ¡®broken their wings¡¯¡ªwell, that be where they fall, the lot o¡¯ them.¡± No eye could mistake it for aught else. A mass grave, with not a gravestone to mark it. And the ¡°thing¡± to be thrown into it¡ªnaught but a corpse. The corpse of her sister. ¡°Burial¡¯s a mite late©`perish¡¯d a long while ¡®go, she did. The pneumonia got ¡®er right good. Never got better, ¡®course.¡± ¡°¡­a¡­ ah¡­¡± The girl trembled. ¡°Wot? Not that nither¡¯d out ¡®ere, is it? Oh¡ªyer sis? Hah. Yea, ¡®er bein¡¯ well ¡®nough, an¡¯ gettin¡¯ sent off with ye¡ªa funny lil¡¯ lie, is all it were.¡± ¡°¡­¡± She stood. All but stood. ¡°Can¡¯t ¡®elp meself, ey,¡± the mummer of a Man smiled. ¡°Gaol-watchin¡¯s bugger¡¯d an¡¯ borin¡¯ work, it is. Gots t¡¯do somethin¡¯ t¡¯pass the time, yea? Thass why me an¡¯ the lads, we like t¡¯prank ye prisoners sometimes, heheh.¡± ¡°Hah! Hahah! Oh, always the cruel one, ain¡¯t ye, brother!¡± ¡°That some mighty fine mumm¡¯ry it were, man! If I were more a fool, why, I¡¯d say ye was quite the lonely pa! Wot with all that ¡®daughter¡¯ rubbish!¡± ¡°Yea, me: a bastard bachelor o¡¯ a ¡®pa¡¯! Hah!¡± ¡°Ahahaha!¡± Their japery. Their jeers. All but a faraway fuss to the girl as she stared at what was once her sister. Just a single glance. A single one. And she knew then and there the immovable truth. That the body no longer harboured within it a wisp of life. Her sister was ever fair, with her complexion of pastel tawn, and a warm smile ready at a moment¡¯s notice to brighten the girl¡¯s day. Always had she given time for talk and play. Always had she listened with a gracious grin. Always was she a loving sister. Until that moment, where she was but a limp and lifeless figure, blackened by a ruthless blight, silenced by dreamless sleep. Until that moment, when she was tossed into the dim of the pit. ¡°¡­ah¡­¡± The world was then shadowed. The girl¡¯s heart was then broken. Volume 2 - CH 1.10 Into the hands of a slaver she went. No Man of this trade, to wit, would dare purchase for his own wheelings and dealings a slave with an affinity for the covenantal magicks. But of affinities, the mercantile sort seemed spurned from this slaver. Indeed, he was bereft of both clout and acumen, a tradesman of no repute in his trade. Thus upon this fool was forced the purchase of the ungainly girl, and the Fiefguard¡¯s traffickers were, by no means, wont to abide complaint. A slave, in whom was instilled the potential to turn her master into her own slave. What foul fortune. To be damned with such dead stock, with so defective a product, was, to the slaver, a hounding headache. ¡°Oi. Alga,¡± he growled at her. ¡°Bloody ¡®ell. Even yer mouth be broke, is it? Eh?¡± Often were the times when her reticence ignited his rage. Often did her silence precipitate a beating by his hands. But it was nothing worth caring about. Not to the girl. Not anymore. The half-week of this hell was in no hurry to hie by. At its end did the girl find herself stepping through a sunless alleyway, tugged along by the slaver. Across the cold cobblestones her naked feet coursed, chains jangling with every pace, each as empty of speed as her lips were of speech. Then, a gale of motion. The fellow slave before her, a felon in his time, somehow shed off his shackles and assailed the slaver. ¡°Wot¡ªb-bastard, you!¡± A glint in the dark. The draw of a knife. The two Men struggled and strained against each other. A brawl as brief as it was bloody, for when the dust settled, the aggressor was laid low. His bosom bled. His days, numbered. ¡°¡­Bloody shite!¡± A stamp of the foot. A spit upon the corpse. The slaver, livid at the loss of his merchandise. It was then that a light illuminated the alleyway. Another Man arrived at the scene. The lantern in his hand revealed his towering figure and the youth of his features. ?¡ß? The slaver set the price, and the young Man paid up. A deal sealed and settled; henceforth was the latter her master, and the girl his slave, in law, lot, and life. The next evening, she was neither in the clogged alleys nor out upon the cold, scorning streets, but in the quaint quarters that was the young Man¡¯s home. But of homes, fear found none in her. Beatings, burnings, or whippings. Derision, deceit, or wrath. The girl knew not of what was to come, but come what may, it mattered not. For pain was no longer painful. Yet the young Man said something rather peculiar. ¡°I¡¯ll not hurt you.¡± Peculiar indeed. To be pained was now her purpose. For why else was she here? This, the girl thought. But what the young Man endeavoured next further escaped all reason and expectation that the girl¡¯s wit could muster. His hand alighted upon her cheek. Delicately so. And there, stayed for many a moment. The girl had lost all care and curiosity for the world, and she certainly nurtured none for the young Man. Hence why she had hitherto given him not a single glance. And hence, why she could not comprehend how it came to be that her empty gaze, in the course of that long lull, gingerly made its way up to meet his. Then and there, a smile upon his rugged regard. At the end of those innumerable moments, the young Man made himself absent. Out to the streets he went, to¡ªby his words¡ªbuy some food and clothes. An errand rather abrupt. Perhaps he had missed a meal during the day. Perhaps he had not a change of attire for business on the morrow. The girl could not know. And truth be told, she had not the heart to care. And for whatever reason, the young Man had left home not thinking to set chains upon her, slave that she was. Instead, words were said. That she was to ¡°wash herself up¡±. Sure enough, a basin of bathwater had been prepared and placed beside her. An order from the young Man, perhaps? Yes. Orders are to be obeyed. A teaching verily beaten into her during her time at the concentration camp. Her heart may be too broken to act upon it, but her body recalled well enough to move by its own accord. Off her battered body was her ragged raiment slipped off. Then, with flannel in hand, into the basin she slowly went. Sat in the bath, she began washing herself. ¡°¡­¡± Water most warm. A comfort not felt in three moons. Warm? Ah, yes. Warm, as well, was the young Man¡¯s hand. A gentle and deliberate warmth, set upon her cheek. To that same spot the girl¡¯s own hand went, the caress of her fingers coursing across it. ? With a sack in hand, filled with food and a set of clothes, I returned to the residence. Opening the door revealed the Naf¨ªlim girl all but standing there, stark naked, having just finished her bath. Keeping my composure as best I could, I quickly handed to her both a garment and a set of smallclothes. ¡°Here. Wear these,¡± I said, before turning away. Soon enough, the rustling of fabrics met my ears. Not till its ceasing did I think to turn to the girl once more. There she stood, shrouded in a simple chemise, plain and white. Of course, no soul such as I could feign a feel for the intricacies of women¡¯s fashion, thus I had I gone with the safest selection of clothes. And glad was I that I did, for it seemed my sense was not mistaken. The white fabric matched most splendidly with the fair tawn of her skin, uniquely Naf¨ªlim in its warm hue. ¡°It well-suits you.¡± My concise conclusion, met with no overt response on the girl¡¯s part. Only, our eyes did meet at that moment. Face-to-face as we were, I realised then that, though she was yet quite young, her visage was verily lovesome to behold. Not before could I have perceived such grace, soiled as it was from her prior hardships. I continued to gaze into her eyes, giving my all to find even the faintest wisp of emotion in them. And in the course of trying to bridge our minds as best I could, I found her lips slowly parting open. ¡°¡­I¡­ I¡¯m¡­ Mia¡­¡± At last. ¡°Mia¡±. Her name. And a charming ring upon the ears, at that. There was gladness in my heart. To hear her name. To hear her voice. Thus I could not go for long without some words of my own. ¡°Good to meet you, Mia.¡± ?¡ß? And then there was mirth upon the young Man¡¯s face. A smile made with mustered sincerity. For it was not in his nature to smile much. And his life of late gave little to smile about. But a smile it was, nonetheless. The gladness of a large Man glowing upon a little girl. For her part, she had earned it by doing little but looking back at length and airing her name purely out of politeness. Yes. A politeness, long ago once taught, now remembered. ¡°¡­Now, Mia¡­ First, your name¡­ to whomever you meet¡­¡± Remembered, from within the mists somewhere deep down inside. A voice most dear, and dearly departed. And that was why she told him her name. And only because of that. Yet, the moment it met the young Man¡¯s ears was the moment his heart welled with warmth and cheer. For to him, it was a momentous moment, indeed. A bond was born between them at last, he felt. His gift of the white garment glimmered upon her person, breathing back the merry light of the hearth nearby. But upon the young Man¡¯s own person were spans of leather and plates of iron. Attire not unlike the sort donned by the Men who marauded her home. Thus he was, beyond any doubt, a Man of war-waging. And what awaited him from here on out would certainly be more battles to come, burning and burgeoning evermore. The young Man kneeling before her¡ª ¡ªat whom shall he bare the blade? And for whom shall he swing the sword? The answers¡ªnone, could the little girl have known. Volume 2 - CH 2.1 6-8 minutes 01.12.2022 Volume II Chapter 2 ¨C Part 1 Written By Yoshihiko Mihama Translated By Vagrant ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ ¡°Good to meet you, Mia.¡± Glad was I to hear her name at last. And for such an occasion, common sense dictates that I return the favour in kind. Only¡­ ¡°I hear you¡¯re attuned to the covenantal magicks. And that, well, ¡®ill¡¯ awaits me should I tell you my own name. Though¡­ I certainly would like to, truth be told.¡± My words proved to be of little avail, for upon hearing them, Mia but shook her head fleetingly. ¡°¡­Master¡­¡± she murmured, ¡°¡­your name¡­ please don¡¯t¡­¡± Hmm¡­ ¡°Master¡±, is it now? The ring of it sat rather unwell. Indeed, I much preferred to be called by name, but alas. Well-known it was that a thrallspell could be thwarted by one capable with the covenants. But to a soul enslaved like Mia, there was also danger: were it discovered that she knew and spoke the name of her master freely, then she would surely be disposed of with all haste. Not by my hands, of course, but by those clad in iron¡ªnamely, that of Londosius¡¯ legislature. Thus, more so for her sake, I could not give her my name. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll think on it, then,¡± I relented. Yet indeed were our eyes met, and her name heard. There was light at the end of this tunnel, however faint, however far. But there was little hurry in reaching it. Softly now, one step at a time. ¡°Right. Let¡¯s have supper, then,¡± I said, rising up to my feet. ¡°Mia. How about you make yourself comfortable while I cook something up?¡± I pointed to a chair at the dining table. Mia¡¯s eyes followed. Only, her feet didn¡¯t. Not for a while. During that lull, she stared at it, until at last, she slowly stepped forth and took her seat. Satisfied at the sight, I stepped forth myself¡ªinto the kitchen I went. It would be a dire lie to say that Mia was in good health. I knew not how long she¡¯d been captive, but doubtless it must¡¯ve been a most trying time, to say the least, during which none gave thought to her care and comfort. Thus for her supper, a bowl of porridge, warm and gentle to the stomach. Just the other day in the markets did I happen upon a pumpkin, sound in its size and scent. And there was milk available. On the daily, no less. It¡¯s settled, then. For Mia, a meal of mild sweetness: rice pudding, bedight of milk and pumpkin. With a bold knob of butter melted in, it was sure to be a delight. Resolved, I set out a pot and went to work. ? Wisps of sweet steam swirled through the air as I brought the bowls to the table. One for Mia, set right before her, filled with rich rice pudding. Sure enough, it caught her attention, though her stare seemed empty as ever of emotion. ¡°Mia. Let¡¯s eat,¡± I said, sitting myself down. Yet even then, I found her unmoved. ¡°¡­Mia. A meal lifts the spirits just as well as it fills the belly, you know. Don¡¯t be afraid. Have at it.¡± ¡®Cheer up¡¯ was the gist of what I wanted to say¡ªbrash overmuch of me, perhaps. Certainly her sullenness was not something to be solved with so little effort. But Mia needed to eat, and that was the simple truth of it. Only with a body healed can the heart itself start its mending. Before long, Mia moved her eyes from the bowl and looked to me. ¡°¡­supper¡­¡± she began, vanishingly. ¡°¡­Master¡¯s suppertime¡­¡± ¡°Nay, Mia,¡± I shook my head. ¡°It¡¯s our suppertime. Yours and mine both.¡± ¡°¡­table¡­ same table¡­ why¡­?¡± Words of doubt. How could a master ever suffer a slave at the same table, and upon the same supper-hour, no less? For Mia, this was surely a situation most unthinkable. That any goodwill would ever come her way was evidently a hope long lost to her. And yet¡­ ¡®¡­why¡­?¡¯ ¡­there was hope, to be found in that one word, verily uttered. To ask ¡®why¡¯ is to express a need for knowledge; there yet remained in Mia a wisp of wonderment for the world. In other words, she still had the will to live. Buried beneath her bosom, it smouldered on, tiny and dim. And it would be my duty to seek it out and have her awaken to its warmth. ¡°Supping at the same table means we¡¯re friends, Mia,¡± was my answer. ¡°¡­but I¡­ I¡¯m a slave¡­¡± she reasoned. ¡°And I¡¯m the son of a noble house¡ªdisavowed, that is. And a soldier of a fort nearby, as well. Ah, and I live by the blade and like to indulge in books,¡± I told of myself at length. ¡°What about you, Mia? What sparks your fancy?¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Right. A topic for another day, then. Come. There¡¯s your supper. Eat up.¡± ¡°¡­proper food¡­ not scraps¡­¡± she observed. ¡°¡­I can eat it¡­? ¡­really¡­?¡± ¡°Of course you can, Mia,¡± answered I, with mildness. ¡°Carefully now. It¡¯s quite hot.¡± Soon enough, she very gingerly took up her spoon, dipped it into the rice pudding, and brought the spoonful into her mouth. And¡ªfates be gentle¡ªshe repeated it, at last partaking of the pudding, little by little. I looked on intently, or perhaps in wonder. But as I did, a question crept up from within: why, exactly, did I buy her? Mia is a war-slave. By the throes of war, waged between Man and Naf¨ªlim, she was made to bear the manacle. And myself? What else am I but a kin of Man? A willful participant in that war, duty-bound to fight Mia¡¯s own kin? Indeed, within all that I¡¯ve wrought may be found some inconspicuous deed, now the provenance of her pitiful plight. Did I buy her, thinking to atone for it? I very well should¡¯ve known¡ªalways, even¡ªthat for as long as war was my livelihood, my actions would beget many others not unlike Mia: sufferers of fates most forlorn. But knowing ill-amounts to beholding. Was the burden made unbearable only after I had seen for myself where led the long course of my deeds? If so, then I was but a wayward waif, a fool blind to his own folly. Or¡­ Was this revenge? A hateful strike against a hateful world, so willful as it is in rejecting my very being? An act of vengeance, veiling itself as compassion for a little girl, who so suffers the same scorn that I do? Should that be the way of it, then Mia, to me, would merely be a means to an end. Incorrigible, yes. Dreadfully so. And yet, I could not bring myself to wholly deny it. On and on I set upon my soul these confounding questions. Moments mired in self-doubt as I watched over Mia taking a pudding-decked spoonful to her mouth, slowly on in silence. ? Volume 2 - CH 2.2 ¡°¡­is there¡­ anything¡­ I can do¡­?¡± A fruit born from much effort. With pluck and persistence had I been sharing my words with Mia, that she may, given time, share with me more of her own. Though to be precise, it was more a one-way flow, for she was yet given to timidness and quietude. But the progress made was undeniable, as evidenced by her innocent question, asked upon the morrow of our fifth day together. A request for something, anything at all, to do¡ªsurely it must¡¯ve grown unbearable for her by then, to have so little to fill her days with besides idle dilly-dallying. Perhaps I would give her just that. The timing seemed right. Mia was, by nature, a child imbued with an independent spirit. Pure conjecture on my part, of course. But of late, the feeling was always there: though she yet said very little, I saw in her something of a sprout, slowly, ever so slowly beginning its bend towards brighter rays. As such, giving her something to do for the mere sake of it wouldn¡¯t have sufficed. Instead, I would have her do something for me. A lesson in tandem, to teach her that she was still a soul of value: someone who was needed, someone to be relied upon. And so, to her, a duty all of her own. A simple, but vital bit of housekeeping was sure to fit the bill. Truth be told, a humble, standalone home such as this was hardly in need of a housekeeper. But I cared not. The ¡®what¡¯ of her job should matter less than the ¡®why¡¯, after all. Housecleaning it was, then. To be done in the sunlit hours. I would be away at the fort from morning on, till my return at dusk. In the meanwhile, Mia¡¯s charge would be to tidy up the house. And once she has grown accustomed to conversation, I mean to rely upon her some more. Perhaps with a bit of laundry and the like. ¡°¡­no chains¡­?¡± A question asked asudden. But of course I wouldn¡¯t chain her up. I do admit that I had reservations, to leave Mia all alone during the day. Spending those many hours in solitude was sure to ail a growing child like her, but my choices numbered few. Arbel was a bastion of Man, after all, and bringing her along with me to Balasthea was certain to beckon trouble beyond my arbitration. Therefore, the best I could do before my daily departure was set aside some lunch for her. A meal of bread, assorted fruits, and such. And speaking of meals, two a day was the common custom, whether it be for the kin of Man or Naf¨ªlim. For my part, I favoured three, and partook accordingly even during my time in the Order. So it was that I had Mia follow suit. Three meals a day for the growing girl. Though truth be told, the mere thought of her having lunch all alone upon that dining table was disheartening enough. But more disheartening again was providing her too little at so paramount a time: her heart and body both were yet healing, and ample sustenance was key to their corroboration. To make up for it, I went well out of my way to ensure we shared our breakfasts and suppers together. And of course, each occasion was an opportunity for conversation: included with every meal were earfuls of prattle on my part. Stubborn, yes, but it was for her own good. Yet in all things there are limits, and the same holds true for words. I knew this well enough, and so endeavoured upon her a touch from time to time. Certainly, no lady should suffer an unpermitted stroke of the hand upon her person. But Mia was a special case. Her heart was woefully broken, and my wits well-convinced me that warm contact was just the remedy needed for its mending. All well and fine. Albeit by most measures, my figure was a towering one. Indeed, I myself had grown into a rather rugged and looming mould by this age of twenty. And so to Mia, I might¡¯ve seemed the imposing presence. Hence with all caution paid, with as much meekness of mirth as I could muster, to Mia I would give a tap upon the shoulder, or a touch upon the cheek. Gestures of gentleness, given upon entrusting some duty to her or thanking her for fulfilling them. And of course, all with a smile, without fail. ¡°¡­¡± Even then, there would be little of what one would call a ¡°response¡± on her part. Only, she would often look up to meet my gaze. And in those amber eyes, I would discover a candlelight of emotion, tiny, quivering, and vanishingly faint. And there was the hug. A step above the gestures before, but one I could not commit to. Somehow, I had the uneasy feeling that an embrace would unearth from her a memory fraught with misery. To stay myself for her sake. To task all tact to her consideration. Kindnesses, these were. Yet ones only skin-deep. Ones I wished never to retreat to. Intimacy is most frightful indeed, but I could ill-afford to be fettered by such fear. The part of the pale-livered pansy, who paints himself the prudent man by mistaking distance for discretion, was a role I was resolved to reject. An ill-abled ungraced, a fool of an exile flung to the far fringes of the kingdom¡ªthese I may be, but a coward? Nay. I cannot and will not entertain cowardice, whether in my conduct or my conscience. Yet there I was. Frozen. The moment: when I was first fain to give Mia an embrace. But as I came close, a vision stopped me in my tracks. One of glass, at once whole yet frail, and then fracted into many fragments. In the end, I relented, petrified. Once again, I realised that there were still many a hurdle to overcome, and over the coming days, a veritable mountain of dilemmas to deliberate. ? ¡°¡­welcome¡­ home¡­¡± Mia¡¯s meek greeting as I opened the door, now home from my duties at the fort. Such etiquette likely resulted from the education of the slaver himself. Still, it was one Mia acted upon by her own free will, a fact none could deny. And the deed earned no small gladness from me, for it was the first time I¡¯d heard the greeting from her lips. Already, it¡¯s been two weeks since I¡¯d taken her in; perhaps the frail bud that was her heart had begun to bloom? If even by just a little? ¡°Mia. It¡¯s good to be home.¡± Grateful, I reached down and ran my fingers lightly through her locks. And then a thought struck me. Indeed, Mia¡¯s hair was fine and fair, flowing like glossy strands of gossamer¡ªso much so that I suddenly saw myself boorish to touch such a delicate thing without reservation. Of course, I was yet committed to reacquainting Mia to the gentle touch. But a woman¡¯s own tresses were to her a treasure most cherished. And so to lay a hand upon Mia¡¯s own so freely was perhaps reckless of me. Whelmed by the epiphany, I found myself frozen yet again as a silent lull stretched on between us. ¡°¡­¡± Meanwhile, Mia¡¯s gaze was pointed up, firmly fixed upon mine. ¡°¡­Master¡­?¡± ¡°Ah¡ªsorry, Mia. Your hair, it seemed like silk. In a good way, I mean, soft as it is and all,¡± I stammered. ¡°And er¡­ its black strands shine well. Beautiful, really.¡± My words, rushed though they were, echoed my honest sentiments. Truly, her sable hair was as silken satin, though I certainly should¡¯ve been more artful in articulating aloud my measure of it. To be frank, the failure might¡¯ve made me seem vain, if not vulgar. ¡°¡­thank you¡­¡± And yet, Mia was gentle enough to offer those very words in return. What an oaf I was. A trusty laughingstock of the fates, to be sure. ? ¡°Dear Commandant! A matter!¡± ¡°What¡¯s it now, Ebbe? Not come to pitch your proposal again, I hope?¡± Balasthea Stronghold. There I was in the command chamber, my gaze dug deep in some organisational charts, till its upheaval by Ebbe¡¯s arrival. Of course, this wasn¡¯t the first of such unannounced intrusions. Ebbe had been bent of late on a plan to deploy the fort¡¯s forces into Naf¨ªlim lands. A counteroffensive, to be exact, one he saw promising much profit, now that Balasthea¡¯s fortunes were quite favourable, and what with our men presently able to repel the Naf¨ªlim aggression to little trouble. And he wasn¡¯t alone in his bloodlust. Many others in the fort echoed Ebbe¡¯s call for belligerence, seeing the sound state of affairs. That¡¯s not to say their sentiments were fresh. No, Balasthea¡¯s plight prior to my arrival, dreadful and deathly as it was, yet burned bitterly in the men¡¯s minds, and they meant more than ever to pounce vindictively upon this newly arisen opportunity. ¡°How now, Commandant! Pray unclog thine ears an¡¯ lend ¡¯em to unclouded reason!¡± Ebbe resumed his theatrics. ¡°The enemy wanes an¡¯ wavers in this while, thus we must strike! Come! While the iron glows hot, ey!¡± Our foe was waning indeed. But that¡¯s not to say victory was at hand. ¡°Cool those veins along with that iron of yours, Ebbe. Need I remind you¡ªagain¡ªthat this here is a fort, and its defence is our sole charge?¡± I stated firmly. ¡°Balasthea is our bedrock. What good does it do any of us to abandon its walls for some foolhardy foray?¡± It was the margrave¡¯s men, the Fiefguard, who swung the sword of Str?m, whilst we of the fort shouldered the shield. This must be emphasised, for apparently it wasn¡¯t in Ebbe¡¯s blunted pate. To merrily sortie our defensive ranks and leave empty the ramparts of Balastheat¡ªpurely on account of a newly held advantage¡ªis naught but a filth-stain of a strategy. ¡°Well then, I ¡®spose I¡¯ll fare off on this ¡®foolhardy foray¡¯ on my own¡ªwith my unit in tow, that is,¡± Ebbe shrugged. ¡°Worry not, Commandant! Our swords¡¯ve sang in Naf¨ªlim air no few times ¡¯fore, they have.¡± I shook my head. ¡°You but drove those swords into the backs of our foes as they fled, Ebbe. Yet here, you are intent upon invasion¡ªanother manoeuvre entirely, one that demands numbers you well-lack.¡± ¡°What¡¯s this now, ey? You think Balasthea some cradle, Commandant? An¡¯ we its babes, scarce able to eke out a vict¡¯ry without its coddling walls? I think not!¡± ¡°The only babe I see here is you, Ebbe. One drunk from his rare bottle of victory, babbling and bumbling after the bait of ¡®invasion¡¯. Time and again have Londosius¡¯ finer forces fumbled on that familiar path¡ªto their own regret. Rather than wending down where their feet and flesh once fell, you might do yourself some good to grow up. Trade that bib of yours for a burgonet, why don¡¯t you? And tighten its straps all the more tautly should you ever find the lulling taste of victory sweet upon your viper-tongue.¡± ¡°Tch¡­!¡± Anger twitched on his face. ¡°Fine then, Commandant. I¡¯ll bow t¡¯your spirit, I will. But tell me this first, yea? Our plans for the headwaters¡ªwhy strike it down, hm?¡± The headwaters¡ªa springpool spied by our scouts not more than a few days past. Located in the woodlands behind enemy lines, we surmised it to be a source of fresh water to the Naf¨ªlim, and the more ruthless amongst our ranks proposed we poison it. Corroborating tracks were found in its vicinity, ones that indicated its use by Naf¨ªlim civilians. Thus to befoul the waters would beget their widespread waste and woe. Such was what was reported to me. But in the end, I rejected acting upon it. ¡°A gainly gambit, it is, fraught with only a little danger to us forces,¡± Ebbe continued. ¡°Why, we once had it done t¡¯great effect, ¡®fore your arrival! So I ask again: why?¡± I remained silent, staring back at Ebbe only to see in his own eyes a speck of savagery. ¡°No¡­ That look on your face. I spy a tongue well-ready t¡¯spew the same nonsense as ¡®fore. Some spit ¡®bout staying us hands from the civilians. Say it ain¡¯t so, Commandant!¡± My brows furrowed. ¡°¡­Befouling this fair land is our last resort. We owe much to the earth, to its winds and waters. We cannot be so wanton in laying waste to it, not least when the war-momentum already wheels in our favour.¡± A smile. ¡°Ah, then you do admit, ey! That it be very much a plan worthy o¡¯ action, given a pretext with a price t¡¯match!¡± ¡°¡­I do.¡± ¡°Hmph. Well an¡¯ good. Well an¡¯ good, indeed¡­¡± he said fadingly, ¡°¡­for now.¡± ¡°Ebbe,¡± I called to him as he turned his back. ¡°I¡¯ll say it till it is seared into that pate of yours. Do not act upon any plan that has met my rejection. Next time you get out of line, and there won¡¯t be a ¡®next time¡¯ for you.¡± A nail driven in, just in case. Once before was this man insubordinate, taking his lackeys along to pursue the Naf¨ªlim in their retreat¡ªafter my express orders not to do so. Only by the margrave¡¯s intervention was he let off the hook. But never again. ¡°¡®Course, Commandant. I am a soldier, after all. Obeyer o¡¯ orders, subject t¡¯the rule o¡¯ law,¡± Ebbe leered and sneered. ¡°But orders have their limits. Rules have their exceptions. Oh, let¡¯s say¡ªwere my dear Commandant too ill-abled and dim-wit¡¯d t¡¯do his office, for example.¡± ¡°And what does that make you, Ebbe? So able-bodied and bright-witted a babe you are, to think only of tearfully tattling to your margrave,¡± I shot back. ¡°Only after I assumed command were the fort¡¯s fortunes turned ¡®round. Your dear lord knows well of this¡ªand of my irreplaceability.¡± ¡°¡­Graceful words from an ungraced. But you¡¯re no less a babe than I, Commandant. Be not too tipsy off your own bottle o¡¯ milky merit, hm? Lest you find the mornin¡¯ after a mite much for you t¡¯stomach.¡± ¡°Ebbe. Your plan to poison the headwaters is dead. You shall not act upon it. Do I make myself clear?¡± ¡°Oh, you very well do, Commandant,¡± he smirked, making for the door. ¡°You very well do.¡± A deed to be done, must be. Even when harried by hesitation. Even when left with lingering questions. As long as I believe it must be done, so shall it be done. This, I found myself pondering as I glared at Ebbe¡¯s parting presence. Volume 2 - CH 2.3 Now that the breaches brought upon Balasthea had been stilled, and the fort spared of its fate withal, I¡¯d been finding myself freed from my daily duties rather regularly. Well, ¡°regularly¡± being the word here, for on this particular day, work had piled up, and my hours at the fort alongside it. Thus was I home not a minute sooner than midnight. At the porch, I unlocked the door and began my way in, but took not more than a step further before my body jolted, startled. For there, standing in the sombre gloom, illumined only by the light of my lantern, was Mia. ¡°¡­welcome home¡­¡± came her quiet greeting. ¡°Mia,¡± I returned, somewhat breathless. To her I went, kneeling down and setting the light upon the floor. ¡°I¡¯m glad to be home. Gladder still had you not waited for me, not on nights like this. But then again, I¡¯ve not told you so before, have I? I¡¯m sorry.¡± Despite my words, Mia did all but stand there. The lantern-lit amber of her eyes were locked in their look upon me, amidst the orange murk of our otherwise unlit home. ¡°My work takes up my time however it pleases, for better or worse,¡± I went on. ¡°I¡¯ve been home rather early as of late, I know, but there¡¯ll be days of the contrary, just like today. So don¡¯t you worry about waiting for me. Whenever you¡¯re done with your duties, you can retire to your room as you like. Can you do that for me, Mia?¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± With that, I picked myself up and set alight some oil lamps, filling the house with their humble glow. ¡®Retire to your room as you like.¡¯ ¡®Light the lamps as you need.¡¯ That it had slipped my mind to tell her such meant that Mia knew to do little else but stand here in the dark, waiting, waiting, waiting for me through the many silent whiles. ¡®Think for yourself and do as you will.¡¯ This, I certainly could not say. Were it so simple, but alas. Mia was a child whose every privilege was plundered; not without consent could she even dare to do aught. We have within all of us freedoms most fundamental¡ªthat goes for Mia, as well. Especially Mia, more like. Of this, she must be enlightened. But till that time comes, I must do my part and guide her with all due diligence. How witless of me indeed to not realise this sooner. ¡°The lamps¡ªI¡¯ll show you how to light them later,¡± I said, coming back to Mia¡¯s side. ¡°And as for supper, well¡­ I¡¯d like nothing more than to sup with you whenever possible. But should my work keep me late, I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ll have to sup alone. Bear with me, all right Mia? I¡¯ll be sure to leave bread and bacon out for you to eat as you wish.¡± ¡°¡­all right¡­¡± she answered softly. ¡°Very good. Right, time for supper then. Wait a while for me, will you Mia? I¡¯ll cook something up right quick.¡± With the matter settled, I immediately went about preparing our meals. ? Having set out the victuals, I joined Mia at the dining table. The freshly cooked food was deliciously asteam, yet my dinner-mate¡¯s eyes were ever empty of emotion as they stared on at her dish. Seeing her so still¡ªsurely she must¡¯ve been just as quiet whilst awaiting my return through those many slow hours. Diligently so. And where else but in the dusked and unlit loneliness of our home? The mere thought of it was enough to awaken an ache upon my heart. And anger withal¡ªanger, to be given to none else but myself. I wished only to take good care of Mia, yet it seemed my fate to fail whenever and wherever it mattered most. Indeed, it well-explained why I was exiled in the first place: always was I one to falter in forming and nurturing meaningful bonds with those around me. No farmhand can reap aught from unsown fields, after all. How I resented myself so at this moment, to find that I¡¯d not grown one bit over these past few months. ¡­Nay. I mustn¡¯t be given to regret. No good ever comes from so corrosive an emotion. Reflecting upon one¡¯s past faults for the betterment of future deeds is a habit most fruitful, to be sure. But to regret? Naught but a seed for foul fruits, regret. A coward¡ªthat was I. A coward from the start, uncouth, hapless in giving help to a girl in dire need of it. For that reason, Mia¡¯s heart remained yet unreached. A carpenter, then. This coward shall be as a carpenter, free from his shackles of shame. A bridge he¡¯ll build, to cross the chasm at last and reach the girl so abandoned. The same girl who now sat across from me at this very table. ¡°Sorry, Mia. Wasn¡¯t as quick as I¡¯d promised,¡± I spoke at last. ¡°Right then, let¡¯s eat.¡± ¡°¡­many thanks¡­ for this meal¡­¡± she said, and I followed suit. ¡°Many thanks for this meal.¡± Spoon in hand, I helped myself to the late-night meal of lentils¡ªa warm and hearty stew bedight with the lovely legume. Ah, yes. Legumes, and peas and beans besides, simple yet superb. Veritable bricks and mortar for the growing body, a meal sure to be of great avail to Mia¡¯s health. Why, I¡¯d even heard that the cuisine of her own kin makes a staple of lentils and the like. Bolstered by the thought, I looked to Mia, ready to vouch for the virtues of our meal. Only, I found her frozen in her seat. Her dish of lentils remained undisturbed as she stared down upon it, unblinking. ¡°¡­le¡­ lentils¡­¡± she murmured, almost in a whisper. ¡°¡­Mia?¡± The moment remained unmoved. But then came a change, for there upon Mia¡¯s cheeks was the glimmer of tears¡­ ¡°¡­uu¡­ hic¡­ auu¡­!¡± ¡­and the sound of her soft sob. Emotion¡ªthe first I¡¯ve seen of it from Mia. What ailed her, I wonder? What words might I comfort her with? Such worthless thoughts never crossed my mind. No. A fool I was, but by this point, wise enough to not be halted by hesitation. At once, I left my seat and rushed to Mia¡¯s side. There, I took her into my arms and clasped her close to my bosom. ¡°¡­u¡­ uu¡­ auu¡­¡± Into my chest, her heartwrenching hiccups and cries echoed. On and on, Mia wistfully wept, and after a while, she wound her own arms about me. In her little hands was a pained strength as they clenched dearly at my shirt. ¡°¡­uu¡­ uaaah! aaaah¡­!¡± What was once a whimpering weep now grew into a wail wild with tears. Met with it, I summoned forth some strength of my own, to hold her closer still. Now, there was no thought, no fear that flickered in my mind that I might shatter her frail person from so strong an embrace. No. I gave all of myself to Mia this one hug, whole in its hale, filled with but a simple wish. A wish that she would know in this moment that I was here for her. ¡°¡­uu¡­ hic¡­ auu¡­¡± On and on, Mia snivelled and sobbed. On and on, I held her close upon my bosom. A vigil for her lament, kept till her vaulting voice settled to a soft stir and her tears were tamed at last. ? Deeper now was the benighted hour. Supper was had. I now found myself in my own room, sat at my own desk, skimming through some reports. The day¡¯s work at the fort had overflowed; some of it, I had to bring home with me. Yet try as I might, the words and letters were dammed at the very papers they were scrawled upon, for not even a trickle of their meanings made their way into my mind. Instead, in my heart was the memory of moments before, of Mia¡¯s pitiable weeping. ¡°¡­Haa.¡± I sighed, dropping the papers on the desk. My eyes looked up to the ceiling, seeing there a vision of Mia once more. My ears yet rang from her sobbing. My heart was yet sore from the weight of her suffering. ¡­knock. ¡­knock. A rap upon my door, soft of sound, one I might¡¯ve missed were my wits any more occupied. To the door I went, and upon opening it, found Mia standing there in her sleepwear. ¡°Mia,¡± I said. ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± ¡°¡­um¡­¡± she wavered, looking up at me. ¡°¡­I¡­ um¡­ s¡­ sorry¡­¡± Hesitant words. At their end, Mia seemed to give up, and so turned to leave. ¡°Mia,¡± I called. She halted. ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Couldn¡¯t sleep, I take it?¡± ¡°¡­I¡­¡± ¡°Not many can, I¡¯d think. Not after recalling so sad a memory. Not while alone, afraid of being swallowed up by something unseen. Am I wrong?¡± ¡°¡­¡± To me, she turned. A silent surprise was writ on her face. Having met foes mightier still than myself, whether deep in their bristling garrisons or the bloodied bowels of their lair¡ªI knew something of fear. More so than most, at that. ¡°It¡¯s all right, Mia. Come.¡± Words said welcomely, only, they inspired all but stillness in Mia. Thus was I the one to venture forth. Not asudden, but with softness in my steps, as if threading through a narrow bridge, precarious in its span between us. At its end were we met again. Her amber regard gazed up to me. As if peering for some purchase. As if to ask, ¡®can I depend upon you?¡¯ Not by words would I answer. Instead, I took her into my arms and picked her right up. ¡°¡­ah¡­¡± Into my room we went, and then with all gentleness, I let her alight upon my bed. ¡°¡­oh¡­¡± With no further care for the reports left on the desk, I snuffed out the lamp and laid myself beside Mia. The bed was humble and for but one, furnished along with the rest of this little residence. And so to share it with me, burly as I am, was surely a snug affair for Mia, but it would have to do. Only, there was but a single pillow upon this bed. I certainly thought to let Mia have it all to herself, but then sensed she might have pitied me had I done so. Indeed I surmised as much, what with her emotions now making their steady return at last. And so with a little lift of her head, I let my arm serve as her pillow. ¡°¡­um¡­?¡± ¡°Sorry, Mia. There¡¯s just one pillow here. My arm¡¯ll have to do.¡± ¡°¡­oh¡­ all right¡­¡± Timidly then, Mia leant herself upon me, and there I felt the gentle weight of her head. ¡°¡­stars¡­¡± ¡°Hm? Ah. That¡¯s right. Nice view, isn¡¯t it?¡± In the ceiling just above us was the skylight. Through it was revealed the veil of night, unclouded and richly starred. A sight, brilliant to behold. From the cramped comfort of the bed, we quietly admired it together. Some celestial peculiarity then seemed to pique her sight, the wonder of which moved her lips. ¡°¡­St?hr¡­¡± ¡°Good eye, Mia. St?hr¡¯s Sternbild, right?¡± I echoed, finding what she found. A sequence of stars, forming something of an image¡ªSternbild, as the Naf¨ªlim called it, and the one in question depicted a famed figure of many fables. ¡°St?hr¡ªbelle-maiden of bygone days. She¡¯s well-recounted in Naf¨ªlim tales, isn¡¯t she?¡± ¡°¡­oh¡­?¡± I then sensed Mia¡¯s gaze turning to me. What emotion filled them, I did not find, but fair enough to say, it was likely naught else but awe. ¡°Naf¨ªlim lore. I¡¯ve read a thing or two on it in my spare time.¡± ¡°¡­books¡­ you like books¡­ you said¡­¡± ¡°Remembered, I see. That¡¯s right. I¡¯m a bit of a bookworm.¡± ¡°¡­St?hr¡­ what¡¯s she called here¡­?¡± ¡°Nothing at all, in fact. The Men of this land aren¡¯t given to naming stars, you see.¡± ¡°¡­oh¡­¡± ¡°¡®Oh¡¯ indeed. It¡¯s a shame, really. Gazing far up¡­ giving your thoughts and dreams to the night sky¡­ A wonderful thing, I¡¯d say. And poetic, too, to name stars after things most dear.¡± ¡°¡­I like St?hr¡­¡± At last. This would be the first favourite I¡¯ve known of Mia¡¯s. To yearn to know more of another, and then to hear of it from her own lips¡­ What an honour. What a blessing. ¡°Fairest St?hr. Belle-Maiden of the Hinternorth,¡± I recounted aloud. ¡°And a saviour, at that¡ªone who led thousands of Naf¨ªlim folk on an exodus to lands more fertile. A myth to move the heart. And no less moving are her tales with Riddari Aur¨¦l.¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­ I admire her¡­ very much¡­¡± said Mia, with a tinge of mirth in her timbre. Taken with it, I pointed up. ¡°Look. The Sternbild next to St?hr¡¯s. There¡¯s Gweil¡¯?rr, my own favourite. The great gamalldrekin¡­ They say his fiery breath turns even steel to ash.¡± ¡°¡­dragons¡­ boys like them¡­ a lot¡­¡± ¡°We do, at that. Dragons¡­ welcome figures in our fancies, they are.¡± In uttering those words, I myself turned to look upon the side of Mia¡¯s mien. There, I found the familiar amber of her eyes, once utterly empty of aught, but now beautifully brilliant, for reflected in them was the sea of stars soaring above. A precious moment. A precious time. One filled further on with wondrous conversation between us, till at last the lids of Mia¡¯s eyes hung heavily, and the songs of sleep began to breeze from her lips. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Gamalldrekin (Language: Old Norse) ¡°Elder dragon¡±. Gweil¡¯?rr (Phonology: reconstructed Old Norse) The ¡°?¡± is a rounded ¡°o¡± sound, pronounced with a cross between the ¡°o¡± sounds in the words ¡°on¡± and ¡°old¡±. The ¡°rr¡± is pronounced with a trilled or rolling ¡°r¡±. Sternbild (Language: German) ¡°Constellation¡±. ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Volume 2 - CH 2.4 A new dawn. Silver skies, scented with rain. In them, the clouds roiled in a fine curtain, and wrung from themselves a gentle drizzle. A wet pitter-patter was all about, like an airy hum, intersected by the swish-swash of a sword swung many a time over. One last slash. The steel stopped. The rain resumed. With the morning training done, I stepped inside from the backyard, body and blade both steeped in rain, which I summarily wiped down. Indeed, even in exile, I yet swung the sword without cease. Now dry and with a change of clothes, I began preparing breakfast, one a bit more elaborate than usual. A day-off this was, after all. I had time and more to spare. It was in the course of my cookery that I noticed Mia standing beside me. Her eyes seemed tightly taken with my hands as I prepared the ingredients. ¡°Mia,¡± I said. ¡°Want to lend a hand?¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± To her were handed a grater and a peeled potato. ¡°We¡¯re having pancakes for breakfast. Of the potato sort, that is¡ª¡¯tattie fish¡¯, they¡¯re called ¡®round these parts. Not a fish in them, though. But to make them, we first need some grated potatoes. Think you¡¯re up to the task?¡± Nodding, Mia took tool and tuber both, and steadily went to work. Albeit the kitchen counter was rather high compared to Mia¡¯s humble height. She stood against it, as though to peek over it. An uncomfortable position, to be sure, and one that convinced me of the need for a stepping stool henceforth. ¡°¡­huff¡­ huff¡­¡± With innocent industry did Mia work away, giving her all into grating a potato larger than the hand that held it, so much so that I couldn¡¯t help but watch over the precarious pluck of her efforts, earnest though they may have been. ¡°Careful now,¡± I reminded her. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want grated fingers in with the potatoes.¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­ Master¡­¡± Content, I went to work myself, mincing an onion before setting out some flour and a frypan. The rustling rain washed away the quietude in the kitchen as Mia and I immersed ourselves in making breakfast together. Before long, her toils bore fruit: the potatoes were all perfectly grated. ¡°A job well-done, Mia,¡± I remarked. ¡°Right. Now, salt. There¡¯s some on the shelf there. Can you fetch it for me, Mia?¡± ¡°¡­oh¡­ I¡¯ll try¡­¡± Elbow grease was what¡¯s needed for the preparation, and finesse and a fine eye besides, for next came the cooking. The batter was done: a mixture of minced onions, grated potatoes, and flour, seasoned with salt. Into a hot frypan it went, the ensuing sizzle delicious to our ears. And apparently to Mia¡¯s eyes as well, mesmerised in their stare upon the enticing sight. ¡°Heat¡ªthat¡¯s the key,¡± I broached over the singing batter. ¡°Fry the tattie fish well and they¡¯ll turn right crispy. If not, you¡¯re in for a sad meal. That¡¯s why a bit of boldness goes a long way: cook them like you mean to burn them. Well, almost, anyway.¡± In the midst of my explanation was Mia, looking intently up to me, her head nodding and bobbing to my babbling words. Right. For next time, a lesson, then, on how to handle the hearthfire, to complement her new stepping stool. ¡°And they¡¯re done. Can you set out the plates for me, Mia?¡± With the ¡°fish¡± fried to perfection, we then moved to the dining table. After plating up the potato pancakes, we sat ourselves down across from one another. But we wouldn¡¯t dig in yet: into our mugs, I poured a hearty helping of hot milk. To be sure, the bovine beverage is not a common accompaniment upon the dining tables of Londosius. Instead, many amongst the disparate provinces find milk more fitting in a potion than a potation. The Buckmann barony, however, bucked the trend, for its folk indulge in the drink with fair frequency. For my part, I, too, partook of it no less fervently, as it was pleasing indeed to my palate. Perhaps this burly body of mine owed much to the miracles of milk. The assumption seemed sound enough: the nutrients therein well-nurtured the growing body, after all. And as luck would have it, here in Str?m was milk a common commodity. Often did I offer coin for it in my visits to the market; more so of late, even, for I made certain Mia had her own good share of it on the daily. ¡°Many thanks for this meal.¡± ¡°¡­many thanks¡­ for this meal¡­¡± With our usual graces given, we dug into breakfast at last. Into my mouth went a morsel. Ah. Delicious. The crispy crust: toothsome and aromatic. The centre: roundly rich and creamy. No doubt the perfect breakfast for a grey day such as this. ¡°¡­yummy¡­¡± A compliment from cheeks chock full of potatoes. ¡°Think so, too?¡± I echoed. ¡°They¡¯re like velvet on the inside. And it¡¯s all thanks to you, Mia. A fine job at grating the potatoes, you did.¡± ¡°¡­next time¡­ I fry, too¡­¡± ¡°Ambitious now, are we? Glad to hear it.¡± Down her gaze went. ¡°¡­I¡¯m sorry¡­ for having you cook, Master¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s quite all right, Mia. Cleaning and washing on the daily¡ªyou do plenty enough ¡®round here already, I¡¯d say. It certainly doesn¡¯t sit right with me to ask too much of you. Besides, like aught else, cooking doesn¡¯t come easy.¡± ¡°¡­cooking¡­ I want to learn, too¡­¡± ¡°Then you¡¯ve some lessons to look forward to,¡± I grinned, gladdened by her spirit. ¡°Ah, Mia. Don¡¯t forget your milk.¡± ¡°¡­oh¡­¡± Thus went our breakfast, served and savoured to our greatest satisfaction. Thereafter did the both of us go about our disparate duties: Mia with her foresaid chores, and myself with the work I brought home. The hour-sand flowed by till nigh-noontide, when I found Mia coming into my room. ¡°Hm? Oh, right. My thanks, Mia,¡± I said, taking her offer of tea, the brewing of which she¡¯d taken up just recently. ¡°¡­Ah. A fine cup, this is.¡± And as I sipped away at the scarlet brew, my eyes wandered to the window, discovering the morrow¡¯s rains to have receded. Indeed, splashes of cerulean skies now peeked from between the parting clouds. ¡°Mia,¡± I started again, inspired by the sight. ¡°How about we go for a walk?¡± ? Across avenues and through the thoroughfares we walked. Wet cobblestones snooped conspicuously above the pools and puddles of rainwater, like bales of turtles tarrying about a pond. And as we stepped through them, there was roused in the air the perfume of rains now passed. The soaked streets themselves were as a speckled mirror, reflecting the silver-blue mottle of the skies above. Flanking the footpaths were the shops and stalls, their eaves and awnings collectively adrip with the drizzle¡¯s dew, each drop a gem bedazzled by the silver sunbreak. The beauty of boulevards, fresh from a rain¡¯s farewell¡ªif memory serves, there once lived a particular playwright who penned songs of high praises for idyllic scenes such as this. An effort well-inspired, I¡¯d say, for I shared in his admiration. And amidst it all were Mia and I, just now nearing the town centre, where awaited the marketplace. I should say, Mia was free to venture off outside as she pleased. Of this I¡¯d apprised her well before, though truth be told, it was not so simple a matter. While she was lawfully a slave, she was yet a Naf¨ªl, and the fates were ever fain to rain misfortune upon a soul of her kind, were she all alone in her wanderings through the warrens of Man. And that¡¯s to say nothing of Mia¡¯s mind itself, fraught as it was with fear for the mere presence of my own kin. For that reason, it¡¯d been my earnest intention to take her along on such a stroll were the opportunity to ever arise. And today, it finally did. ¡°Hmm,¡± I wondered aloud as we browsed through the grocers¡¯ stalls. ¡°Next¡­ we¡¯ll get some sausages. And a head of cabbage, too¡ªgood for a pickled side-dish, it is.¡± After a trip to the butchers and the green-grocers, I found my purse a bit less burdened, but my hands all the more so. ¡°¡­can I carry, too¡­?¡± ¡°Ah, right. Here you are, then. My thanks.¡± Not this colossus of a cabbage would Mia hold. To her, a pack of dried apricots instead, sure to be a delight in meals to come. As if knowing this, she held the pack with all preciousness, till there came a stillness in her stare, fixed as it was upon some stalls further ahead. ¡°First time seeing them, Mia?¡± A nod. If my readings ring true, then it¡¯s certain that open-air markets such as this are also a convenience common in the Naf¨ªlim cultural sphere. Though looking at Mia, it would seem none of theirs offer the sort we Men like to call ¡°street food¡±. A perfect chance, then. There¡¯s a first time for everything, as they say. ¡°Right. Looks like lunch is in order, and I know just the menu for us.¡± And off we went to the foodstalls, where greeted us sights and scents delicious enough on their own. A moment later and a few coins lighter, we came away with lunch in tow: two skewers of pork, grilled and glazed with sauces both sweet and savoury. Then, upon a nearby bench we sat ourselves, having set down our purchases. ¡°Here¡¯s yours, Mia.¡± ¡°¡­thank you¡­¡± After taking her share rather clumsily, we were then ready to eat. ¡°Many thanks for this meal.¡± ¡°¡­many thanks for this meal¡­¡± Shoulder-to-shoulder, we began nibbling away at our lunch. A tasty one, at that. For however divorced Arbel was from the coasts of the continent, it more than made up with its illustrious livestock industry. Hence could one scarce go wrong in selecting any of this province¡¯s myriad samples of pork. Why, Mia herself seemed quite taken with it, for her share was soon all but polished off. Albeit a bit too quickly, perhaps. Was it a meal too meagre? One more visit to the foodstalls it was, then. It wouldn¡¯t do for naught but meat to compose her meal, anyhow. My mind turned to menus more filling¡ªperhaps a sausage roll on a stick would do the trick. Pondering such, I scanned about for any foodstall that might offer the treat, till my eyes spotted Mia staring off to the near distance. For there in her view was a family. One of four, filled with warmth and felicity. Mother and daughter, hands clasped. The son, seated upon his father¡¯s shoulders. Within the waxing sunshine, their smiles, their laughter, beaming, brimming. ¡°¡­¡± Down did Mia¡¯s gaze turn. A heavy gloom then veiled her visage. Even from the side of her face was it painfully apparent. And so did my hand alight upon her head. ¡°You all right there?¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± A reply most quiet. ¡°You know, Mia. Sorrow¡¯s not something to be suffered alone,¡± I broached. ¡°Share it with a friend. You might find it a lighter burden than before.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Sharing¡ªthat¡¯s what friends do. Whether it be food or fun. Happiness or hardship. Or laughter and lament,¡± I went on. ¡°That¡¯s why, I¡¯d be very glad if you would share with me your burden, Mia.¡± Her languishing look, once fallen, then wended its way up to me. Slowly, but without surety. ¡°¡­you¡¯re¡­ my friend¡­?¡± ¡°Aye. That I am.¡± ¡°¡­even though¡­ you¡¯re my Master¡­?¡± ¡°¡®Master¡¯? Not really, I¡¯d say. By the covenant, sure. But of the bond between us, well¡­ I¡¯d like to think we¡¯re warmer than that.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°How about it, Mia? I¡¯ll lend both ears to aught you have to say, if you have the heart for it,¡± I said as softly as I could. ¡°Your story. Might I hear of it?¡± ¡°¡­¡± For a mired moment, Mia looked fixedly at me. Her eyes had not the empty and soulless quality of before. No. In them was emotion. Quivering emotion, steeped in sorrow. I thought to free her from that deep dolour, a paralysis upon her heart as it was. Perhaps then, with her bosom unburdened, might her true and erstwhile nature find the spirit to sprout once more. Before long, after a while of looking upon each other, Mia at last parted her lips with all quietness. ¡°¡­Master¡­ I¡­¡± What followed was indeed her story. Her journey. Her struggle. Told most timorously, her words waxing and waning with the hurt in her heart. Then was it known to me that Mia was once one of six. Six souls, bound by both blood and love¡ªa family. Her father was a lumberjack, carving out a living for his dear family. But with the times as war-like and uncertain as they were, so, too, was her father a serving soldier. ¡°¡­Papa¡­ Papa was the strongest¡­¡± Mia recalled, ¡°¡­no one else in the village¡­ used a big axe like him¡­ and he¡­ he often went¡­ into battle with it¡­¡± ¡°A battle-axe? Impressive. No common man can wield such a thing,¡± I remarked. ¡°¡­but¡­ but one day¡­ Papa didn¡¯t come home¡­¡± What came instead were the rank and file of Londosius, there to ravage and rifle her village. Mia continued on with her tale, her voice at times wavering and broken. Indeed, a voice of a most gentle and endearing quality, made to relate details most jarring and dismal. Of how her brother bore himself against the soldiers assailing their home, only to be cut to his death. Of how her father had returned as a war-fallen corpse, only to have his head presented as proof of his death. Of how her mother was bound up and left to scream for her children, only to be struck to her death. Of her two sisters. One, left to an unseen fate. The other, captured along with Mia herself, only to quail to her death. The tragedies upon her family, all told with appalling particularity. Only, Mia said very little of herself, and even less of what she had suffered in captivity. I knew then, more than ever, that Mia was indeed a child who cherished her family more so than she did herself. But it need not be said: this child, too, was victim to viciousness and cruelty, more so than the mind can conceive. That much, I was certain of. ¡°Mia¡­ You¡¯ve been through much. Truly.¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± There we sat, the weight of the past pressing upon our spirits. After sorting in silence all that she had said, I spoke once more. ¡°¡­Mia. What¡¯s done is done. None amongst us can ever hope to change that. All the hurt, all the suffering¡­ The pain of the past never goes away,¡± I said heavily. ¡°But you know, Mia. The future is different. It can be changed¡ªand by my hands, I will see it done.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Your days yet to come¡ªthey¡¯ll all be free of sorrow. And I¡¯ll make sure of it. I promise.¡± ¡°¡­Master¡­¡± In my bosom I then embraced her. The ensuing while, long and wordless, was filled with her weeping. What those tears portended, I could not know. But for her, some comfort, at least, to shed them in the company of another. ¡°Tell me one more thing, if you can, Mia?¡± I asked upon seeing her sobs subsided. ¡°The day your village was attacked¡ªwhen was it?¡± ¡°¡­seventh¡­¡± she answered against my chest. ¡°¡­the seventh¡­ of Visdrekm¨¢nuer¡­¡± ¡°¡­That long ago, was it?¡± Of late, a certain possibility prowled about my mind. Only, something unspoken in my heart stayed my lips from speaking of it. Visdrekm¨¢nuer. A month of the Naf¨ªlim calendar. That would be four moons ago from this moment. That meant only one thing. Mia was taken¡ªnay, abducted, on whose watch but my own. Rolf Buckmann, Acting Commandant of Balasthea Stronghold, allowed this to happen. ©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡Notes¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤ Visdrekm¨¢nuer (Language: Old Norse) ¡°Month of the Wise-Wyrm¡±. The ¡°e¡± is pronounced with a voiced ¡°th¡± sound, as in the words ¡°this¡± and ¡°there¡±. ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Volume 2 - CH 2.5 That night. Once again was Mia asleep upon my bed. Not long ago was the supper we shared of lentil stew. I remembered all too well of how she broke down in tears so asudden then. Only thereafter was it known to me that her father well-favoured the foresaid legume, and that a meal of it was to be had with the whole family upon his return. A tragedy, then, that such would never be. Forever was he lost to war, and with him, the happiness of a family supping together with their dear father. This was what Mia recalled. The sorrows, unearthed. The tears, roused. In the bedtime that followed, Mia had thought to visit my room, too shaken as she was by the awoken weight of the trauma. It was then that I shared my bed with her, and together we stared at the stars till our sound slumber. From then on, every so often would Mia visit me in like fashion, when the memories were a reminder too vivid, when the solitude of the night proved too affrighting for her heart to handle. Earlier today, in the course of our outing did Mia at last relate to me her plight and past. The gentle persuasion to do so was founded in my simple desire to lighten the burden of her sorrows, if even by a little. But just as before, to reminisce upon misery of such might was a tax too dear upon Mia¡¯s mind. So it was that again, she now slept by my side. Serenely so. Her slumbering breaths were unabated. It would seem her dreams had found some peaceful purchase. But the same could not be said of my heart. For the tragedies that befell upon her¡ªnot least her captivity and indenturement¡ªall transpired only after I had assumed my post as acting commandant of Balasthea. Of course, that possibility was hardly a thought unvisited in my mind. But to think earnestly upon it only now¡­ Yes. In the end, I may have been merely afraid to confront so cold a truth. By her words, Mia¡¯s village was violated four moons ago. Visdrekm¨¢nuer. Within the first days of that fateful month. A time I recalled too well. One that found me yet unaccustomed to my new life and duties here. One that found me in friction with the margrave. Indeed, the words and ideals we exchanged were as a clash upon a battlefield. Yet neither of us yielded in the end. The margrave went ahead and sent his men through the gates of Balasthea, their hearts steeled with the singular aim of pillaging all that they would find in the Naf¨ªlim domain. Whether it be trinkets and treasures, or innocent souls to be sold as slaves for a pretty coin, nothing was to be spared from their eager grasps. Oh, did I sue for the staying of those hands. But my reasonings were alien in these lands as they were to the margrave¡¯s mind. So it was that we could not find accord with one another. So it was that I could do naught but look on, powerless to stop the rape and ransacking that ensued thereafter. An ease upon my heart, were Mia¡¯s abduction an affair well-transpired before my charge. Needless to say, I wouldn¡¯t dare fancy such folly. Even then, there lingered in me some indelible lament or misgiving that left me breathless. Like a stone of solicitude set squarely upon my bosom, to press upon my lungs till their beleaguerment. Why was I so wrung? Well¡­ There was but one reason. Not more than a few days after my argument with the margrave did I find his Fiefguardsmen returning from their greedy excursion. Across the fort they coursed, their carts and carriages packed with plunder. Across my presence they passed, homebound to the bowels of Arbel. And within one such wagon was surely Mia, her sister withal. Fresh from the massacre of their family. Their hearts, fracted. Their fates, forever shadowed. The both of them passed right¡­ ¡­right by me. What now welled up within my heart, I knew not the nature of. Whether it be self-resentment. Or whether it be sympathy for those blameless victims. But what I did know of was the shallow extent of my grasp. The true worth of a man utterly powerless. Now, more so than ever. The Naf¨ªlim are a kind to be killed, if not imprisoned and enslaved. Nevermind whether they bear arms or amity. Such is the creed of Man, common throughout all his realms. This, I knew. That the wagons passing under my watch were possibly bedecked with prisoners¡­ ¡­this, too, I knew. Yet it was not till a living example was presented before me that the weight of that truth was first and full-impressed upon my conscience. An example by no other name than ¡°Mia¡±. Indeed, not till our chance encounter did I ever realise what my actions exacted from my victims. Of what plights my battles precipitated beyond their boundaries. ¡®¡­no one else in the village¡­ used a big axe like him¡­ and he often went¡­ went to battle with it¡­¡¯ Of her war-dead father, Mia spoke as such. Words, passing familiar. The day before the Fiefguard¡¯s raid. Sternly did I turn down Ebbe¡¯s wantonness for pursuing our routed Naf¨ªlim foes. Yet in spite of this, he sallied out with his men and did just that. Karl. The greenest youth of Ebbe¡¯s unit. Verily was he inebriated amongst his like-sodden mates, celebrating the fruits of that selfsame pursuit within one of Arbel¡¯s pubs. His rambunctious ramblings rang clear to me, even now. ¡®¡­Git this¡­! They ran¡­! ¡­Wit¡¯ them tails tuck¡¯d under them bollocks like the curs they are¡­! ¡­Then I came t¡¯cut ¡®em all down, I did¡­!¡¯ ¡®¡­Got one o¡¯ ¡®em good, I tell ye¡­! ¡­Biggest o¡¯ ¡®em bastards thought t¡¯stay b¡¯hind an¡¯ let ¡®is beefin¡¯ brothers run off¡­! ¡­Nice fellow wit¡¯ a giant axe, ¡®e was¡­! ¡­Then I gave ¡®im a good scratchin¡¯ on ¡®is back fer the noble deed, I did¡­! ¡­With the keen side o¡¯ my sword, tha¡¯ is¡­!¡¯ In cold blood did Karl cut down Mia¡¯s father. The dots certainly lined up. I was commandant to these men. Yet command them, I could not. Thus did they give in to their grim bloodlust. Thus did they kill Mia¡¯s father. Men. Naf¨ªlim. War was what bound these two together. And so long as that fell fetter was uncut, so, too, would continue the cruelties. The losses. The tragedies. Man and his kin were also culled in grievous numbers. That, none can doubt. And for that very reason does he take up sword and magick, to dam the tides of turmoil. To him, the sword is keen not just for the killing. With a swing of it can he protect those dearest to him. With a strike from it can he defend his beloved homeland. Such a man, bound to battle as he is, finds himself obligated to his country, and only his country. To engender generosity towards his foe, to be derelict in his duties to his lord and land, amounts to naught but treason. What he shall protect must ever and always be none other than his dear neighbour. One does not err, to think so. One is not deceived, to believe so. And yet¡­ ¡°¡­¡± To Mia¡¯s slumbering face, I looked. The face of a child, innocent, faultless in this bloody affair. What¡­ What must I¡­? ? The following day. Work resumed. Thus was I back at the fort, sat within my chamber, nose deep in the records of four months prior. Included were copies of the Fiefguard¡¯s operational reports, shared by its commander. Begrudgingly so, that is, but with my insistence that Balasthea¡¯s defence would only benefit were I privy to all of Str?m¡¯s military activities, he could but comply. The Fiefguard¡¯s raid. Their warpath had wended through the northwestern span of the woodlands yonder, past which laid a Naf¨ªlim village. There did the men massacre any Naf¨ªl ill-suited for enslavement; the rest were captured and carted away. Treasures, coins, and commodities¡ªthese, too, were plundered. The village itself, structures and all, were then deemed non-essential, and thus left no more destroyed than they already were. At present, the village stood as a mere memory of itself, a den without its denizens. With the reports read, I began piecing together all that I¡¯d learnt with what Mia had related to me. Not more than half a week before the fateful raid, her father had set out with his fellow Naf¨ªlim on a campaign to breach Balasthea¡¯s walls. A short-lived endeavour, for at its end awaited defeat, and in their retreat, the Naf¨ªlim assailants were pursued by Ebbe¡¯s unit. It was then that Mia¡¯s father was felled. The Fiefguard¡¯s foray commenced the day after. But in the waning light of the afternoon, a few hours before the Fiefguardsmen¡¯s arrival, Mia¡¯s mother left their home. Not long after did her eldest sister follow, to check upon the orphanage where she oft gave a helping hand. As evening came, so, too, did the Fiefguard. Soldiers set upon Mia¡¯s home, and her brother, dire in his deed to protect both it and his sisters, was cut down. With no less than three men did he measure swords. ¡­A brave lad. Would he were yet alive. I certainly would like to meet him. Indefensible, Mia and her elder sister were dragged out and taken to the village square. There were the befouled remains of her father presented, and her mother later killed. After that ordeal came another: the two girls were brought to Arbel. To wit, a concentration camp therein, where the elder sister ailed till her last breath. I dug my face into my hands. Truly, a tragedy. And such strength there was in little Mia. To survive it all. To retell it. And it was thanks to her strength that there lingered one untended truth. The eldest sister. Not yet was her ill end established. The Fiefguard¡¯s findings recount no more Naf¨ªlim left in that land. A right mind would reason that the orphanage, too, was attacked, and Mia¡¯s eldest sister along with it. Indeed, to re-tread this bloodied path would surely do naught but invite new nightmares to Mia¡¯s haunted heart. Yet, at the end of this unravelled thread may be hope, however faint. And so long as there was, I thought it a worthy endeavour to seek it out and know its nature. And espy whether it portended some semblance of solace. Or despair. ? ¡°¡­A conundrum, this.¡± I pondered, homebound. Not without visiting that eviscerated village could I, or anyone, know the fate of Mia¡¯s remaining sister. Indeed, four full moons have wheeled by since the coming of the raid. Odds are, naught would be found. Naught would be known. But suppose I did find someone. Not by my faculties would I be able to tell Mia¡¯s sister from that of a mere stranger. And that¡¯s to say nothing of leaving Mia alone for however many days the trip would take. Mia is key in this. I must take her along. Yet the way is not without its dangers; such woods are wont to host in their shadows any manner of beasts or behem¨®t. And to begin with, I am a kin of Man. To wander unguarded into Naf¨ªlim lands is tantamount to suicide. It bears no mention here: those territories are hostile now as they ever were before. What¡¯s more, I have my position to consider: as acting commandant of Balasthea, I am beholden to my men just as much as I am to Mia. Am I a fool, then? One sodden with the idea of deserting his office, all to protect a pitiful little girl? An ungraced, chivalrous not by occupation, but by delusion? A white knight¡ªsyndromically so? What foul jest. Steeped in such thoughts, I found myself arriving at my porch. With the door opened, Mia came forth to greet me. ¡°¡­welcome home¡­¡± ¡°Glad to be home, Mia.¡± To her, I looked. The very subject of my worries¡ªwhat did she herself think of all this? No optimism was to be found in her words when she recounted to me what had befallen upon her family. None, even for her missing sister. No. It was by that same tragedy that such pessimism was conceived. Mia was made to surrender all hope she had for the world. Of late, her emotions were reawakening bit by bit, sure enough, but her heart remained fracted. Not yet had it found an anchor. Not yet was it ready to believe in aught. Thus had she given up on the very idea of stepping foot once more upon her homeland. There¡¯s no escaping this realm of Man, she likely thought. Not anymore. So it was that to Mia, to ponder upon the simple possibility that her sister might yet draw breath was naught but a seed of fatigue for a heart already fatigued through and through. But in that same heart. At its very core. At its very bottom. Was therein any hope that it still nurtured? For a dear sister so unaccounted for? Did it yet have the strength to set forth into the unknown? And make known the fate of her last family member? Knowledge that can only be found in her homeland, the hearth of tragedy itself? What must be done? By my estimation, the chances that her sister still lived were exceedingly low. But ¡°exceedingly low¡± was not ¡°nought¡±. Though, truth be told, my conjectures, my considerations¡ªall were based on this fragile fancy. One ready to shatter unto shards set upon our hearts, were we to find not what we hoped for. ¡°¡­Haah¡­¡± A heavy sigh from my languished lungs. My mind did all but ail as of late, ever since hearing Mia¡¯s story. Rolf Buckmann. A man as much a giant as he is a want-wit, ever and always wavering when it counted most. And true to his nature, not on this night, like so many other nights, would he find his resolve. ? The dawn of another morrow. The beginning of another work day. With a check of my boots, I started off on my commute to the fort. ¡°¡­be safe¡­¡± ¡°I will, Mia. I¡¯ll be home at the earliest.¡± Mia, of late, has been given to venturing beyond our doorstep just to see me off. There she stood upon our porch, looking quietly on as I stepped towards the road. What prompted such courtesy, I could not say for certain, but I¡¯d like to think it was a sign of our warming bond. ¡­Was the course of my thought, till at that moment, a one-horse wagon happened to wheel down the road. ¡°¡­ah¡­¡± Mia¡¯s meek voice, heard as I watched the wagon pass by. Her eyes were turned to a different matter, for in their view was a flower. A lily-of-the-valley¡ª ¡ªcrushed into the ground. The dainty bell-flora were given to growing in great beds with their brethren. Thus was it passing peculiar for a specimen to sprout upon an unceremonious wayside¡ªnot amongst its kin, but all by itself. An ill-starred solitude, then. To grow upon a path that would one day be driven over by a wagon, and in the wheels¡¯ unwitting wending, be laid low. Flattened¡ªa smear of white and green upon the fresh furrow. ¡°¡­little flower¡­¡± There was sorrow upon Mia¡¯s mien. A deep sorrow for the death of a flower. Though she herself was victim to tragedies more grim and graver again, she had yet the heart to pity a flower. To it, she went. And then upon it, her caressing fingers. Gently then, she began to stretch up its stem, that it might stand once more. Only, it could not. The bell-lily was forever broken. ¡°¡­poor¡­ little white flower¡­¡± The Naf¨ªlim. The cunning curs. The nemeses of Man. An evil to be extinguished. Who was it? That first aired such curses? A thrall of the Deiva? Some sainted servant of Yon¨¢? I should like to meet him. And end his wicked wiles. For I¡¯ve made a promise. A promise to Mia. ¡®¡­But you know, Mia¡­ The future is different¡­ ¡­It can be changed¡­ ¡­and by my hands, I will see it done¡­ ¡­Your days yet to come¡­ ¡­they¡¯ll all be free of sorrow¡­ ¡­And I¡¯ll make sure of it¡­ ¡­I promise¡­¡¯ Am I ungiven to honouring my promises? Of course not. I keep my promises. Down at Mia¡¯s side I knelt, and put upon her shoulder a hand unwavering. ¡°Mia. We must talk.¡± ©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¡¡?¡¡©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤ Volume 2 - CH 2.6 ¡°Ebbe. Come next month, I¡¯ll have myself some time off.¡± ¡°Oh? A ligging lackadaisy, are we now?¡± Balasthea Stronghold. There was I, in both my chamber and the ever-sardonic company of the vice-commandant. ¡°The fort¡¯ll be in your care while I¡¯m gone,¡± I went on, brushing off his guff. ¡°Quiet of late as it is, I don¡¯t suppose aught ill should come this way any time soon. But if come it does, then I expect you to do your office some justice, and well-take heed of our captains¡¯ counsel.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll fulfil my office well ¡®nough, Commandant. That much, I promise.¡± ¡°And you promise, too, not to re-sort the soldiery? Nor to pursue our foes in their flight? Or to stay yourself from sallying from these walls that you might sate that bloodlust of yours? I¡¯ve forbidden these actions, you know.¡± ¡°Hmph¡­ Yes, yes, Commandant. I know,¡± Ebbe groaned, throwing his gaze up in annoyance. ¡°Bless me, you sound more the uninspired parrot with each passing day.¡± ¡°And you¡¯ll suffer more of my squawking till you¡¯re inspired yourself, Ebbe, to obey the orders you¡¯re given,¡± I retorted, turning away from him. ¡°I¡¯ll brief you further in the following days.¡± I peered through the chamber window. There in the yonder, beyond Balasthea¡¯s bulwarks, spanned the Naf¨ªlim territories where I intended to take Mia, that we may search for the whereabouts of her remaining sister. A quest for comfort¡­ or a cruel closure. Nonetheless, it was one I¡¯d been preparing for, right to this very moment. ¡°Commandant!¡± With a salute, a soldier stepped into the chamber. ¡°From Central, sir.¡± To me he handed an envelope. The wax seal thereupon was most familiar indeed. ¡°Right. Thank you.¡± After sending off the soldier, I unsealed the envelope and unfolded the letter therein. What was scribed, never could I have expected. ¡°Well, Commandant? Care t¡¯enlighten ol¡¯ Ebbe o¡¯ what the scribbles say?¡± asked Ebbe, his eyes keenly seeking something from my own. This, I did expect at the very least, for he was very much a man given to ambitions of authority. So surely were the sent words of Central, of all institutions of power, a quick interest to him. ¡°A recruitment notice,¡± I answered plainly. ¡°The 5th Order has need of a chief adjutant, from the look of it.¡± The recapture of Godrika, and the burgeoning of Londosius¡¯ military might that followed, precipitated many an adjustment to each of the Orders at the organisational level. Roles were revised, charges were changed. And for some of the Orders, new posts were conceived, with ¡°chief adjutant¡± being one of them. The role was heretofore missing from the 5th¡¯s roster. A very recent development it was, then, that its leadership decided now, of all times, to avail themselves of it. None of this was out of turn, truth be told. What was, however, were the criteria scribed in the missive. They were writ as follows: ¡­Applicants must have served no less than five years in the Order beforehand. Prior experience in field command is also required; Applicants seeking frontline service shall also be accepted; Neither past deeds done nor offences justly disciplined shall be of any account¡­ ¡°¡®Five years in the Order¡¯, eh? Bugger. None o¡¯ my business, then.¡± The words of a listless Ebbe. ¡°Though this cat be curious still¡ªno account for ¡®deeds done nor offences¡¯, were it now? Well that sorts right proper with you, doesn¡¯t it, my criminal Commandant? The war hawks at the 5th be cooing for your triumphant return. A shame an¡¯ a waste both, t¡¯not answer ¡®em.¡± ¡°Eager to see me gone, are you?¡± ¡°Hah! Dear Commandant! I wouldn¡¯t dare.¡± The missive¡ªsent from Central, but likely scribed by some clerk from the 5th itself. And the mind behind the peculiar criteria? None other than the Dame Mareschal herself: Emilie, my once-betrothed. Much hearsay of the esteemed Aureola of the 5th had reached even the ears of folk here in Str?m, far-flung frontier though it may have been. Indeed, of late the levinbladed battle maiden¡¯s repute only crescendoed, and not just in the hearts of the knightly, but also in those of the gentry and common citizenry. And much to my surprise, the royal sphere saw fit to afford her a fief: a province of her own to preside over. Ostensibly, House Mernesse was left as-is; under Emilie was a new, ennobled family formed. And with it, a new name. ¡°House Valenius¡±, was it now? Emilie Valenius. Her name, her station, reforged anew. A halo-winged hero-dame in Central¡¯s good graces, one whose soaring regard knew no bounds. And that very same hero-dame was now summoning aspirants from every corner of Londosius to join her in the 5th as its chief adjutant¡ªprovided that they met her conditions, that is. And what curious conditions they were, indeed. The first was rather run-of-the-mill, admittedly. The second, however¡­ ¡®Applicants seeking frontline service shall also be accepted.¡¯ My thoughts turned back to a certain night, of what felt like ages ago. Then, like now, was I devoted to sword training on the daily. To such a soul immured in what, to her, might¡¯ve seemed like some profitless drudgery, Emilie very well suggested that another calling in life be considered: to fight not upon the battlefield, but from the war-table instead. To ¡°set aside the sword¡±, by her words. Her reasoning was rational enough. To ill-weave not even a wisp of odyl was to bare the dullest of teeth to the Naf¨ªlim, after all. But even in the face of such sound sense, I turned down her suggestion. For the sword, to me, was, and ever is my bedrock, one that I brandished to this very day. Emilie herself must¡¯ve recalled that same night, and say, in her own way, that one need not forsake the sword in assuming the post of chief adjutant. If I am not overmuch the self-conscious sap, then I daresay this: Emilie was calling out to me. The third condition, then. ¡®Neither past deeds done nor offences justly disciplined shall be of any account.¡¯ This, too, was passing strange. An admission that even exiles would be eligible. Of course, to say that such heavy history would absolutely be of no account is far-fetched. The 5th is a conglomeration of knights, men and women to whom honour is life itself. So it is that an aspirant so stained with the brand of banishment would not be suffered lightly. So it is that the exile would be made to apologise. What a thundering theatre it must¡¯ve been, when the mareschal proffered such preposterousness before her knightly leaders. Rolling out the red carpet for the return of an exile? And next seat him in a post of such import as chief adjutant, no less? Not a mere fancy to fan the flames with this was, no. The possibility was real, penned right upon the missive in my hands. That such ink was dearly set to parchment spoke volumes of Emilie¡¯s authority. Closing my eyes, I saw it again: her face. Unfadingly fair, as though it were only yesterday since I¡¯d last seen it. ¡°The 5th¡­¡± A wistful whisper upon my lips. The grounds. The chambers. The halls. The knightly institution within which I spent five years alongside Emilie. Felicia, too, served it for nearly as long. Though I was spurned and scorned as an ungraced by all within its premises, never did I think my days there were without their own merits. Perhaps my return would be met with some pleasure? Not as some swain, but as an adjutant? Were it so, perhaps then would knighthood finally be within my reach? A heavy moment. Made no lighter with my eyes open again. I¡¯ve set my resolve. A path chosen is a path to be walked. A promise made is a promise to be kept. ¡°So, what¡¯s your mind, eh Commandant?¡± Ebbe broke the silence. ¡°Feeling homesick, I reckon?¡± ¡°¡­Nay. Not at all.¡± Those words aired, I laid the letter to rest upon the desk. With one last look at it, a whisper welled up in my heart. Sorry. ? A few days went by, filled with my work and duties as commandant being passed along to my subordinates. At the end of it, I began preparing in earnest for the journey ahead. Mia¡¯s village¡ªor what¡¯s presumably left of it¡ªlaid in the northwest, beyond a stretch of forest. By no means was it far away, nor the woodland itself too large. A day¡¯s trek on horseback would carry us through, given haste. But no matter how thickly they grew, the trees could not hide one simple fact: their roots ran through Naf¨ªlim lands. And to avoid encountering any of Mia¡¯s kin¡ªbelligerently unwise to our peaceful purpose, they surely were¡ªa winding route was inevitable, one that necessitated overnighting out in the wooded wild. In other words, Mia and I would be camping under the canopy of both stars and swaying trees. And for the errant behem¨®t that might prowl upon our path, there was some comfort in knowing that breathing amongst them were none of their particularly dangerous brethren©`the sort to brim with odyl, that is. Well, comfort enough, I suppose. Many a march through those woods have the Naf¨ªlim taken on their warpath to Balasthea; what¡¯s safe for them should prove safe enough for me with Mia in tow. As for Man himself, not upon the remnants of Mia¡¯s homeland would his overt presence be found. Indeed, Str?m¡¯s stock of able-bodied soldiers was still unreplenished, for the wounds of Balasthea¡¯s repute as a death-field were yet fresh¡ªenough that breaking ground for a new garrison behind enemy lines was logistically wanton. It was for that very reason that those reaches were left utterly abandoned after their ravaging. And strangely enough, my men had yet to report any activity that would suggest the Naf¨ªlim¡¯s intent on reclaiming the lost lands. That¡¯s not to say the lull could last for long, and there still remained some chance that we might run into them in our course. But kept it must be, our course. For how else would we find Mia¡¯s sister? Not till this far into my preparations did I realise that this would, in fact, be my first journey. There were the marches in my time with the 5th, yes, as well as the trip I took here from Norden. But this would be a journey taken by my own accord, on my own terms, not a march made in the myriad company of others, nor a voyage by way of stagecoaches. Were I alone in this endeavour, I might¡¯ve gone about it rather freely, with care scant and curiosity unconstrained. But care is a stern criterion, for this shall be a journey undertaken entirely with Mia. And that¡¯s to say nothing of the camp we must make amongst the elements and all of its dangers. The mere thought was enough to put my preparations into disarray. What exactly was needed? How much was enough? Of these, I knew very well for myself, but for a child like Mia? Aimlessly did I gather together rations, blankets, and all the like for her. Before I knew it, I had accrued too much to put into our pack. Just an overnight stay in the forest this would be. We should pack as lightly as we would tread. It won¡¯t do to be so weighed down as we wend through the woods. They should be parted from as soon as possible, that we might reach the village remnants at the earliest. On and on did these worries whittle away at me as I sorted out our luggage for the coming journey. ? The dawn of our departure. I emerged from the porch and into a vista of silver, sunbroken skies. A horse idled upon our yard, to whom I went to stuff supplies into its saddle-packs: food, a smattering of camping comforts and tools, and my trusty waterskin. I turned back to the porch. ¡°We leave now, Mia. Have you made ready?¡± ¡°¡­yes¡­¡± Mia¡¯s nodding answer, given from the depths of her deeply hooded cloak. I then picked her up and placed her upon the saddle, catching nary a glimpse of her gaze, before mounting the horse myself. What roiled and rumbled in her heart, I could not know. After all, she had given but a nod then, too, when I last told her where we would be going. To where her happiness stopped, and all the hurt began: her homeland. Certainly, she was never one to refuse a word I say, for better or worse. Thus was I ever unwise to the true mien of her mind. What she thought. What she felt. All were behind some mist. ¡®Mia. Let¡¯s find your sister. What truth awaits us might be of no solace at all, but at the very least, we may, at last, lay this uncertainty to rest. Alive or no, just knowing her fate could be the first step to moving on.¡¯ This, I had told her. To these unclouded words, too, had she given but a nod. Perhaps I¡¯ve overstepped my bounds. Perhaps I¡¯ve played too ardently the self-righteous samaritan. Even so, I believed that Mia deserved to know. Too long had she stood still. Too long had she stayed silent. Though with all honesty, I did hope that she would be alive. Dearly so. ¡°Eva¡±. The name of Mia¡¯s eldest sister. Let us go, then. Let us search for Eva. I gripped at the reins, steeled anew by this resolve. The steed¡¯s hoofbeats broke the morning quiet as we headed off. ? Leaving the walls of Arbel behind us, we galloped upon the highroads and through the open country. By the time the dewy mists of the morrow had faded away, we found ourselves at the foot of Balasthea. With neither ado nor delay, I cantered our steed into the fort and straight for the gateway facing the Naf¨ªlim horizon. ¡°Commandant, sir!¡± A salute from two soldiers manning the portcullis. ¡°At ease,¡± I addressed them, halting the horse. ¡°I make for Naf¨ªlim territory; a bit of reconnaissance is in order. I trust that you¡¯ve been apprised?¡± ¡°That we ¡®ave, sir. Workin¡¯ on yer ¡®oliday¡ªa solace it is, to ¡®ave a commandant right committed to ¡®is office, ey!¡± prattled one of the men. ¡°Morten¡± was his name, a bloke given to facetious flattery, even to a man ungraced like me. Yet did I spy within his eyes a snickering flicker, a gaze ever ensconced with a simpleton¡¯s scorn. ¡°Committed indeed,¡± I returned detachedly, earning a jeer from the other soldier as he wheeled a winch. Slowly, the great iron lattice lifted, till there, beyond the now gaping gate, was revealed the fields immediately beyond Str?m¡¯s breadth. And further again, the forests to which our wishes were tasked. ¡°Ye all right wit¡¯ just one drudge, sir?¡± asked Morten, tilting his head at Mia, who did little but stay quiet and concealed under the drooping fabric of her hood. ¡°I am,¡± I answered. ¡°I¡¯ll have just a little look around. The foe-lands are close enough; I won¡¯t be long.¡± ¡°Oh! But o¡¯ course! I reckon even ¡®alf a drudge be ¡®nough for ye, eh dread Commandant! Heheh! Why, just a gander ¡®pon ye, an¡¯ the devils¡¯ll be kickin¡¯ their sandals off fleein¡¯ from ye, they will!¡± The other soldier snorted with laughter at Morten¡¯s sneering words. A grand time, they must be having. ¡°Sandals make a fine souvenir for a man like you, Morten,¡± came my halfhearted humour. ¡°I¡¯m off, then.¡± With that, we passed under the shade of the archway, and as soon as our horse¡¯s hooves met the wild grasses, we galloped off. Through the Naf¨ªlim skies rumbled the rhythm of our haste. ¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T Chapter 2 ©¤ End ?