Synopsis..
Prince Henry Wynter was the Heir to the High Throne of the Heptarchy and prophesised to one day lead his people to unparalleled greatness. Twenty two years after he abandoned his destiny and his throne for the chance to be the person he felt he was meant to be, he finds that Fate has not yet finished with him. The events surrounding the proposed appointment of a new Heir to the High Throne have consequences that reach as far the remote farmstead refuge of the former prince and threaten to destroy the new life that she has built for herself.
Prince Henry Wynter was the Heir to the High Throne of the Heptarchy and prophesised to one day lead his people to unparalleled greatness. Twenty two years after he abandoned his destiny and his throne for the chance to be the person he felt he was meant to be, he finds that Fate has not yet finished with him. The events surrounding the proposed appointment of a new Heir to the High Throne have consequences that reach as far the remote farmstead refuge of the former prince and threaten to destroy the new life that she has built for herself.
The Wynter Palace, The Island of Avalon EY 2449 (22 Years Ago)
If you had asked Lord Daniel Amherst when he awoke that morning to describe his life he would have responded to you with one word, 'blessed'. He was handsome, charming and bright, yet self-effacing enough that no one ever found him to be vain or overbearing. He was heir to the Kingdom of Cantia, one of the richest of the seven sub-kingdoms that comprised the Heptarchy. He was extremely well connected at the High Court of Avalon and was often touted as a future Privy Councillor, due in large part to his friendship with the children of the Angelcyn crown. As a young Lieutenant in the Yeomanry of the Household, the elite royal guard of the Angelcyn High-King, he represented the finest blooming of chivalry amongst the elite of Albion. In short, in the twenty-two years of his life misfortune was not an acquaintance he knew well.
Despite or maybe even because of his comfortable life, Daniel often dreamed of heroic adventures. In truth, the Yeomanry had seen little in the way of battle since King Henry, the current High-King, had brought peace to the quarrelling of the seven kingdoms at the beginning of his reign. The officers of the Yeomanry were to be found as often at banquets and balls as they were at the barracks. Daniel longed for action - a mighty battle or perhaps even a storybook quest in which he would triumph over daunting odds to rescue a beautiful princess imprisoned by her wicked father in the tallest tower of a mighty castle.
Now as the rain lashed down upon him from the starless night sky soaking his torn and bloody yeoman's uniform right through to his skin, Daniel couldn't help but reflect on what a difference a day could make. The rain washed blood running down his sword tarnished the lustre of his chivalry more than the steel of the blade. For rather than it being the product of overcoming dauntless odds against wicked foes it represented a vicious and largely one sided encounter with good men who sought to do nothing more than that which their duty demanded. He had through his actions of the last hour lost everything - the riches, the power and the prestige. Yet, looking at the enchantingly beautiful woman leaning heavily on his free arm, he was never more certain that the price he had paid was worth it.
He felt her fingers digging into his arm as she convulsed under another tremor of pain. She turned her head up to him, causing the hood of her sodden velvet cloak to fall back to reveal a long mane of blonde hair. Cupping his bearded cheek with an outstretched hand she mouthed "thank you" to him before her face contorted in pain as another tremor convulsed her body.
"Thank me in the morning," he said with a smile. "I've still a couple more impossible things to do before you are out of your father's reach."
Moving as quickly as he could, Daniel half-carried, half-dragged his companion across the wide empty courtyard towards their waiting horses. Yet again that night Daniel gave thanks to the á‰se, the Gods of the Angelcyn peoples, for without the heavy rain and low clouds the walls surrounding the courtyard would have been patrolled by guards who would have quickly spotted them by the light of the two moons. Still, he couldn't help but glance around nervously as his companion's mount snorted in recognition of its approaching rider. When he told his companion he had some impossible things to do, he hadn't be joking. He'd fully expected to die trying to rescue her, yet at every turn his things seemed to break in his favour. Sheathing his sword he steadied the reins of the great white destrier and guided his companion to the stirrups with his free hand. After several false starts and some help from Daniel, she was finally able to swing herself up into the saddle.
"Sixteen hands didn't seem quite so tall this morning," she whispered half to herself to cover her embarrassment in having trouble mounting the horse. "But then again, you didn't seem quite so tall either this morning," she said looking down at Daniel with a tentative smile.
She was truly amazed at the transformation her friend had undergone before her eyes during the course of that evening, even though she knew he was physically the same man he had always been. She knew that like all Yeoman he was at the peak of his physical fitness but it was only when she was clinging onto his arm that she realised how much she enjoyed what that meant in a man. Unbidden thoughts of her hand exploring his strong torso made her face flush red with embarrassment. In her heart she had always recognised that he had been handsome but now she felt, to her surprise, the butterflies in her stomach that told her that she found him pleasingly attractive. A small shiver coursed through her body as she recalled the feeling of his embrace when he had taken her in his surprisingly strong arms after breaking down the door to her prison in the High Tower. The thought of how much she had wanted him to kiss her agitated the butterflies in her stomach even further.
'Is this what the poets mean when they talk about love?' she wondered. 'And does he feel the same way about me?' A sudden panic gripped her at the thought that her feelings - whatever they were - might be unrequited. Feeling tears beginning to form in her eyes she was almost grateful for the excuse to cry when her body convulsed with another tremor of pain as she felt the magic wash over her in an attempt to twist the fabric of her very being, only kept at bay by her latent magical talent augmenting her willpower to be herself.
"My lady?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts.
She could hear the concern in that simple question from him. Pulling herself upright in the saddle she stuck her tongue out at him in jest in an attempt to mask the uncertainty she felt about him and what they were doing.
"Well come on then," she said with a wavering voice. "I thought you were the man with the plan after all."
Daniel could see a brief hint of fear in her eyes as realisation of what crossing the threshold of the gatehouse meant occurred to her. Just as quickly as it had appeared, the fear in her eyes was replaced with a forced look of determination as she turned to face him again. At that moment, even with her sweat covered face flush from a mix of exertion and uncertainty and her hair matted from the heavy rain, Daniel couldn't help but think his friend never looked more beautiful than right now. Taking the reins of his own bay coloured destrier, he led both horses towards the castle gatehouse and freedom.
The High Tower of the Wynter Palace The Island of Avalon EY 2449
"Luminaire!"
The darkness in the room receded as a growing orb of light appeared above the outstretched palm of a figure in room. Once she was certain that the rapidly brightening light source was sufficient to see by, she moved towards the only window in the circular room and looked down into the courtyard below. She smiled as she saw the two figures crossing through the gatehouse and into the grounds beyond the palace. She was confident that she had arranged things so that no one would notice their departure for several more hours. The deaths of the guards in the tower itself had been regrettable but she had been unable to find a solution to their presence other than to let Daniel do that which he had been trained for - to fight and to kill - and hope he would triumph.
That aside, it had taken a lot of work but she had finally managed to change the path of the timeline to a more positive balance of probable outcomes. That she had also used her opponents two prized pieces in the game to do it was even more satisfying she thought. Pushing her half moon reading glasses further up her nose as she turned to face the shadows cast at the fringes of the room by her glowing orb.
"Skulking is unbecoming for beings like us," she said haughtily before turning back to the window. Tendrils of inky black darkness flowed through the air and started to coalesce into humanoid form in response to her comment.
"I thought the rain was a simply delightful way of easing their exit, even if juggling with wind patterns to shift this rain storm over half the continent was a tad tricky," she added with a degree of smugness.
"You broke the rulessssssssss..." hissed the shadowy figure in response.
"Nonsense," she interrupted. "I obeyed the rules of the Hunt to the letter. I never made anyone do anything - freewill was exercised at every turn. I never created the rain, I just guided it to this location on the back of winds that already existed. I never used magic on her, but as her godmother I was invited to tutored her when she was little in the use of her own latent Weaver gift to protect her from harm. There was no direct intervention by myself in any aspect of this, at every stage I worked through indirect measures. Personally, I think it's just sour grapes that your pawns have worked so well to deliver my aims."
"His death would have been Homeric in its poetry. Instead you condemn him to a life of mediocrity. Yet despite all your efforts, this world is still doomed like so many of the other human worlds. I will find another pawn to play the role of the destroyer. It is after all in their very nature to destroy themselves," the shadowy form whispered as it moved closer to her.
"Do you not accept that this world is different from the other human worlds on which you have run the Wild Hunt? They seeded this world in keeping with their longing for a simpler time, when man and the Earth Mother, Nerthus, lived together in harmony. On this world they have turned their back on the disastrous pursuit of technology - gone is the obsession with the atom and fossil fuels and forgotten are their Einstein-Rosen Bridges - in favour of more harmonious, sustainable and balanced alternatives. Even the name of this world, Eorá°e, is a celebration of the humans common roots with our kind."
"Your kind, SaxnÅt!" hissed the figure
"Not mine! Never mine! I will see this world run with the blood of your Saxon children."
Turning away from the window to face the shadowy form, she took a moment to marshal her thoughts while adjusting the oversized red bow at the front of her blue dress. Her normally jolly round face contained a look of sorrow as she reached out to the dark figure.
"Please let me help you Herla," she pleaded. "You have led the Hunt for too long now and you are losing touch with your humanity. I will petition Woden himself on your behalf. Trust me, it's not too late to save you."
For a moment the swirling darkness seemed to pause, as if in thought, before barking out a bitter sibilant laugh.
"I trusted someone once before and look what it has done to me. I am cursed to lead the Wild Hunt for ever more, never able to leave my horse in human form. Still, if I must hunt then let it be a challenging one. I have enjoyed the thrill of this hunt, SaxnÅt. You have been a better opponent than any I have played in two millennia but when we meet again for the final run, your pawns will not escape my horsemen and hounds." With that, the tendrils of shadow began to unravel and fade back into the dark corners of the room.
With a cry of "Eteindre!" she extinguished the glowing orb as she completed her walk to the door of the tower. Her brow wrinkled in concentration, she knew there was still much to do before the next run of the Hunt. As she stepped over the shattered door she started to hum a jaunty tune to herself as the beginnings of a plan formed in her mind. A tune that was interrupted by a taunting voice calling out of the darkness from the room behind her.
"Oh SaxnÅt. Next time we run the Wild Hunt together sword god, do me the honour of showing me your true form, not that of the rotund old maid that you currently wear. I have no interest in anyone's Fairy Godmother..."
A farmstead cottage on the slopes of the Downs Mountain Range, Kingdom of Cantia
Frige's day (Friday) 19 April EY 2471 (The Present)
As a child Daniel's father had exalted to him the simple pleasures of manual labour and how there was no satisfaction as great as that derived from physically doing something with your own hands. Looking at his sore, bruised and grease covered hands it occurred to him that, despite those words, he couldn't remember a single time when he had seen his father actually doing any manual labour.
Daniel chuckled as he realised that much of what his father had told him fell into the category of 'do as I say, not as I do'. Now a husband and father of four himself, Daniel had tried hard to lead by example and not ask anything of his children that he would not do first. As a nobleman turned farmer of course there were a lot of things he had done for the first time which he reflected did give him a bit of advantage over his father who with his courtly retinue probably couldn't have performed any physical labour even if he wanted too. He couldn't help but smile as he realised that in walking away from the throne of the Kingdom of Cantia, he had in many ways more freedom now than he ever did before despite all of his former wealth and influence.
Daniel stretched trying to ease the tightness in his muscles. The reason his hands were in such a state was that he had spent the last three hours fitting a brand new gearing system to the small six blade wind turbine that powered the water pump for the cottage and the farms irrigation system. Originally, he'd planned to find a local blacksmith and ask him to forge replacements for the damaged parts, even if that meant that the wind turbine was less efficient and at a greater risk of breaking down again in the future as the replacement parts would lack the infusion of magic that the original gearing had in it to increase its performance. In contrast, his wife had taken a different view and had urged him to replace the old artificer made gearing system with a new one, knowing that a gearing system infused with an artificer's magic's throughout would be sensitive enough to turn the blades of a wind turbine in gentle breezes, whilst still being robust enough to withstand the strongest winds. While Daniel understood Georgina's desire for running water at the cottage, he worried that a stranger in town spending money on an artificer's services would attract unwanted official entanglements. This impasse had lasted for a week until under the pressure of his Georgina's urging, then pouting and finally full blown sulking, he'd relented and against his better judgement travelled the two days ride to the market town of Wye to find an Artificer.
As he searched his battered green canvas tool bag for a rag to wipe the grease from his hands, he idly thought of how he could reap the benefits of his labour. The excited shouting from the cottage when he had gotten the pump working again clearly indicated how happy his wife was to have running water again. Perhaps, he mused, a hot bath shared with Georgina would be suitable recompense. As they bathed she could massage the soreness from his muscles while he explained to her the importance of why she should enjoy the simple pleasures of manual work the next time the gearing system broke in a spring storm.
Cadet's Barracks, Royal Military Academy, Island of Avalon EY 2445 (Twenty-Six Years Earlier)
16 year old Lord Daniel Amherst struggled with the clasp on his sword belt, tangling it up with his red cadet tabard. He'd been so proud to be selected for a place in the cadet division of the yeomanry and knew that the next four years training at the Academy would provide him with the opportunities needed to make a name for himself at the Court of Avalon. Of course he reminded himself, that was conditional on passing inspection before the Queen for final admission to the yeomanry and a commission as a cadet officer.
"Damn it!" he exclaimed. He still couldn't get the clasp on the sword belt to clip into place.
His best friend, Harry, moved over to him to assist seeing the problems he was having. "Let me do that before you damage your tabard," he said. With a few easy movements he heard a 'click' as the clasp locked home on the sword belt and Harry stepped back to straighten it up.
Noticing Daniel's nervousness, his friend sought to reassure him with some gentle teasing. "Relax 'Percival', we'll make a dashing yeoman of you yet!". The two friends shared a love of classic literature from the Old World and Sir Thomas Malory's tales of Camelot were a particular favourite.
With a deep sigh, Daniel's head drooped. "To be honest, 'Arthur', I'd be content just to make it through this morning and receive the red and white chequered tabard of a yeoman given how much your mother seems to dislike me." He gestured to a tall, immaculately turned out cadet a few metres away. "And if you are looking for a dashing yeoman, I'd suggest you try 'Lancelot' over there."
The young prince glanced over at the man Daniel had referred to as 'Lancelot'. "Tom? Naaah, he'd be a better Yeoman if he spent more time training and less time chasing ladies-in-waiting!" Harry stuck his tongue out at the handsome young dark skinned yeoman cadet to signify his comment was in jest before turning to face Daniel again his face taking on a bitter expression.
"You'll be fine. My dearest royal mother has no problem with you per se, rather I think she knows how much I value your counsel and is concerned that I would be listening to anyone but her. She won't reject you for fear it would push me closer to my father and undermine her in whatever twisted game they're playing this time."
Seeing the jocular mask that Harry usually wore drop for a second, Daniel desperately sought to say something to ease his best friends pain. However, he knew whatever words he came up with, none could change the fact that Harry was right. "Harry, I'm..."
Daniel's words died in his throat as Tom's large hands clasped themselves across each young man's shoulder, pulling the two yeomen cadets to him. "My brother yeomen, today will be a great day! Not only will we only be shortly commissioned in the Queen's Own Regiment of the Yeomanry of the Household but afterwards the night of celebrations we shall lead will become legendary in the annals of yeoman history!" Both young men found themselves smiling at Tom's exuberance.
"Now let's not keep the Queen any longer from her finest yeomen!"
The Market Town of Wye, Kingdom of Cantia
Frige's day 19 April EY 2471 - late afternoon
Lieutenant Jack Fairfax moved through the crowded market streets towards the local offices of the Lord High Steward where his commanding officer was waiting. He noted with a degree of satisfaction that the sight of his distinctive red and white diamond chequered tabard with its ornately embossed golden crown in the centre caused the crowd to part in front of him making his path that much more easy. Entering the offices, he briefly clicked his heels to attention and bowed his head slightly as a mark of respect to his commanding officer.
With a courteous bow his commanding officer turned away from the richly dressed woman he had been speaking to and acknowledged the Lieutenant with a slight nod of his head.
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"Good news, sir. I followed up the lead from the merchant you spoke to earlier and found an Artificer who confirms that a man similar in appearance to one of the pair we seek used his services four days ago. From a conversation overheard by the Artificer between our quarry and a youth who accompanied him, it seems that they were heading for a farmstead on the eastern slopes of the Downs Mountains range."
Fairfax carefully studied the face of his commanding officer trying to spot any emotional response from the man he desperately wanted to impress. Major Sir Thomas Albany was a legendary figure amongst the ranks of the Yeoman of the Household, the elite personal guard of the High King of Albion. A charismatic figure, the handsome black man was rumoured to have been romantically linked with many a young noble woman at court. During his nearly thirty years of service to the yeomanry he had distinguished himself fiercely in battle, playing a prominent role in quelling the uprising twenty years ago in the Twin Kingdoms of Bernicia & Deira by a pretender to the throne of the High King. As 'Queen's Champion' he carried her favour and commanded an entire regiment of the yeomanry. More excitingly for the young yeomen officers were the whispered stories that the short shallow scar that ran diagonally from his forehead across his left eye to his cheekbone was the result of a duel against the traitor Lord Amherst during said Lord's flight from the Wynter Palace.
"Lieutenant, you said there was a youth with our quarry. Did you get a description?"
"Sir, the Artificer believed described the youth as being in his late teens, tall with blonde hair."
"And the Artificer is certain about the other one?" said a frowning Sir Thomas.
"He had lost the beard the man in our description had and his hair was longer but the Artificer swears that he matches the overall age and physical description for our quarry, Sir."
Lieutenant Fairfax waited as Sir Thomas looked heavenward for a moment in a manner that the he had come to learn was a sign that his commanding officer was weighing up the pro's and con's of a course of action. Rubbing his close cropped dark hair with the palm of his open right hand, Sir Thomas turned his attention back to the young Lieutenant.
"Very well, Lieutenant. Gather your detachment and Lieutenant Bathurst's detachment as well. Instruct Sergeant-at-Arms Ackers that she will be leading Bathurst's detachment in the absence of the lieutenant as he is to remain in Wye and oversee the other search teams in my stead. We will be leaving for the Downs Mountains in two hours."
A farmstead cottage on the slopes of the Downs Mountain Range, Kingdom of Cantia
Moon's day (Monday) 22 April EY 2471 - early afternoon
Madeleine Amherst put her book down and gently scratched the fur on Greytail's head in response to his nuzzling against her. The dark shaggy coated old dire wolf had been adopted by the family as a cub when Madeleine's father had come across him as a small cub tucked up under his mother's corpse hidden amongst the bodies of a dead dire wolf pack. Madeleine knew that many of the farmers on the valley plains paid hunters to kill the wolves as often in lambing season they would move down from the mountains in search of easy prey. So it was that instead of returning with the escaped auroch that her father had originally been searching for, he brought back the cub. She had been three years old at the time and one of her earliest and fondest memories was holding the sleepy cub in her arms after her father had removed it from an open pouch on his pack.
That had been fourteen years ago and her mother, who had been heavily pregnant with her younger brother Noah at the time, had hand reared the cub. Madeleine and her older brother Hal, had spent many happy evenings playing games with the wolf cub like it was a normal farm dog. He was now considered one of the family by all and her mother often joked that Greytail was the least troublesome of all her children.
Closing her eyes momentarily, Madeleine laid her head back against the tree she was sitting against and luxuriated in the warm late spring sunshine. In addition to the gentle breathing of Greytail lying next to her with his head or her lap, she could hear her mother humming a happy tune from the kitchen. Like her mother she had been overjoyed when her father had finally repaired the wind turbine and running water had returned to the cottage, not least because the alternative of carrying buckets of water from the well was one of her least favourite chores. Opening her eyes she turned her head to the look at the right side of the large 'U' shape courtyard the cottage formed around the tree she was sitting against to check on her younger sister Charlotte who was playing with her raggedy dolls. Satisfied that her younger sister was okay, Madeleine picked up her book again and continued to read.
The Wynter Palace, Island of Avalon
Moon's day 22 April EY 2471 - early afternoon
High Queen Aliénor Wynter stood on the balcony of her royal apartments looking out at gardens on the terrace below her. Anyone who cared to look up from the terrace gardens would have seen a woman of delicate beauty whose appearance would meet most people's description of a fairy tale princess. Her white and gold silk dress was cut to show her tall, trim athletic figure to its best and her long bright golden blonde hair was curled into circular buns on each side of her head and held in place with an elaborate spun gold hairnet decorated with small gemstones that glinted in the sunlight. Like many of the noble born, the blood of the ancient and now semi-mythical race known the á¦lfe ran through her bloodline and had extended her youthful looks by decades so that despite being in her mid-seventies she easily passed for a woman in her early thirties. Without turning her head she spoke to the figure that had entered the doorway to the balcony behind her.
"My King, to what do I owe the pleasure of your calling upon me?" Her soft melodic tones contained the merest hint of an accent that revealed the High Queen's foreign birth.
"Does a King need a reason now to call upon his Queen?"
"Not usually, but since 'princess trollop' arrived you have not called upon me or warmed my bedchamber."
"I'm afraid since Princess Alys arrived, affairs of state have been all consuming," said the King with a hint of humour in his voice. "and will continue to be... consuming... for several more nights."
"If you are not here to warm my bedchamber then why am I honoured with your presence?" she asked, her voice containing barely restrained fury.
"My Queen, I fear you have misplaced your regiment of yeomanry for they do not seem to be in Avalon other than for a small personal retinue. You also seem to rather carelessly have lost your Champion," replied the King.
"My King, your concern flatters me. However, I can assure you that my Champion and my yeomanry are not misplaced and I'm certain that they will be returning before too long with that which I have sent them to find," said the Queen turning her head to give him her brightest smile.
In response the King snorted derisively. "It will do you no good. It has been over twenty years now and in all this time there has been no attempt made to contact us. Even if your Champion succeeds, what good will it do you?"
"Blood and absolute primogeniture. One of my children will one day reign," said Queen Aliénor turning to look back out across the gardens. "If you intend to legitimise the bastard offspring begat by your loins and 'princess trollop' to displace our son Geoffrey in the line of succession, you leave me no choice but to find the Heir. You swore before the Archbishop and the á‰se on the night before our marriage that you had not lain with another woman so you cannot legitimise an older child than our first born even if the whoring of your youth were to have produced countless more bastards. And, if we were to have grandchildren by now from the Heir they would automatically take precedence in the line of succession."
The King roughly grabbed the Queen's arm pulling her around to face him again. As he spoke he increased the tightness of his grip with every word. "One day you will go too far Aliénor. And on that day I shall take great pleasure in publicly thrashing you until you beg for my forgiveness."
Aliénor leaned forward and pressed her lips hard against the King's. As she withdrew from the kiss, she gently nipped at his lower lip with her teeth.
"Promises, my King. Promises," she whispered, holding eye contact with the King through hooded eyes.
The look of anger in the King's eyes changed to that of lust momentarily before the anger returned as she withdrew further from him. With a furious shove he released her arm and stormed back into the royal apartments. Behind him he left the Queen staring with a look of smug satisfaction at the King's retreating back.
A farmstead cottage on the slopes of the Downs Mountain Range, Kingdom of Cantia
Moon's day 22 April EY 2471 - late afternoon
The clear blue spring sky let the late afternoon sun illuminate the cottages courtyard without the need for any additional light from the lanterns hanging from the walls. In the centre of the courtyard two tall male figures wearing white tabards over padded white serge jackets raised their foils in salute to each other before assuming positions for another fencing bout.
"C'mon Hal!! You can beat your father this time!" yelled Georgina in encouragement to the swordsman with the collar length golden blonde hair protruding from the back of his mesh facemask.
She looked on with pride at the heraldic design with which her eldest son's simple white tabard was adorned. It was only at times like now in the privacy of their cottage that the family could wear its distinctive arms rather than pretend to be the commoner 'Stockbury' family and Georgina delighted in seeing them worn as they had been in her youth. She was inordinately fond of her own heraldic design of a rampant 'argent' coloured lion on an 'azure' coloured field which had been awarded to her on her eighteenth birthday. Unlike the arms she would have inherited in later life from the Angelcyn Throne by virtue of her station, these arms had been unique to her. She often chose to reflect the white and blue colour scheme of her arms in the ribbons she wove into her braids. As was the custom for an Angelcyn woman, her own coat of arms had been impaled with her husband's when they married dividing the field vertically in half so that the left side of her arms was now occupied with the image of an 'argent' coloured rampant horse on a 'gules' coloured field while her arms were compressed onto the right side. Personally, Georgina thought her husband's white and red coloured arms lacked the charm of her own but the two combined symbolised a union that was the most important thing in the world to her, her family. Hal should by Angelcyn tradition have worn his father's arms with maternal charges marked on a cadency label of five points that denoted his status as eldest son in a royal lineage - that of the Kingdom of Cantia and the High Throne. That Hal had chosen to breach heraldic tradition in order to reflect both family lines equally through adopting her impaled arms, all be it with the five point cadency label, caused her to love him all the more for it.
Georgina returned her attention to braiding the shoulder blade long dark blonde hair of her youngest child, Charlotte, with red and white ribbons. Georgina's own waist length golden blonde hair was platted with gold, white and blue ribbons and hung over her shoulder. From their vantage point sitting beside one of the walls of the courtyard Charlotte frowned at her mother's encouragement for her elder brother and called out in support of her father.
"When can I play swords?" asked the spellbound little girl to her mother without turning her head.
Georgina couldn't help but smile in response to her daughters question. It was one Charlotte had asked with increasing frequency of late and with a contrariness she recognised all too well from herself.
"As I've told you before Lottie you can't play with grown up swords until you reach Noah's age. Nine years old is just too young for something so dangerous."
"But momma..." pleaded Lottie, her eyes never leaving the fight before her.
"No 'but momma' young lady. You have to wait another five years before you can learn to play swords," interrupted a stern sounding Georgina, although a smile played across her lips out of Charlotte's sight. "I've said you can learn the bow in another two years, sweetie," Georgina said in a much softer voice.
Leaning forward to envelope her youngest in a hug, Georgina whispered in her ear "Patience my little lioness your time will come." Temporarily mollified Charlotte continued to watch with rapt attention her father and brother, cheering on her father as he made a dramatic advance-lunge for his opponents torso.
"I think the honour of the family will keep resting with father if Hal doesn't improve his technique," noted Madeleine sweeping her skirt under her as she sat down next to her mother.
"You may be right. Although I also seem to recall from yesterday that your passata-sotto needed more work," said Georgina.
In response Madeleine blew a strand of her dark fringe from her eyes to signify her disagreement with her mother's observation of her technique. There was a few minutes of awkward silence punctuated by the noise of steel on steel as mother and daughter formulated their next comment, each trying desperately to think of a response that would not start another round of the mother - daughter arguments that had beset Madeleine's teenage years.
"I would accept that my passata-sotto could do with some small improvement, mother," sighed Madeleine "though how am I going to improve my technique? I've done everything father has taught me and it's not like I can study from you after all! You may be good with the bow but I've never seen you even handle a blade."
Georgina couldn't help but giggle a little at that. As a member of the Royal Household she had been tutored by the best teachers in every field, including the sword and the bow. She knew from experience that when she was a teenager she was more skilled with the sword than her younger brother Geoffrey and had even beaten him at a few tourneys to underline the fact.
"I know you consider me to be a bit flighty Maddy, but I've watched your father practice with the blade since we were both children. And I can assure you that your father's technique is worth studying further, even if his footwork could do with some improvement."
Daniel choose that moment to execute his own passata-sotto to dodge under the blade of his son. With a sigh of relief Georgina noted that Hal just managed to turn out of the way of her husband's foil. However, any response from Madeleine was interrupted by a shout from Charlotte as her father's blade struck the torso of her brother on the following strike.
"What's that make it?" asked Madeleine.
"Three bouts to your father and two bouts to your brother. Hal nearly turned the second bout in his favour though. I think the day when Hal beats your father may be close at hand," said Georgina, the pride in her son evident in her voice.
At Madeleine's sudden stiffening next to her, Georgina recognised all too late that she had offended her by forgetting to acknowledge Madeleine's own prowess with the blade. Georgina was momentarily torn with indecision as to how to redress her mistake before she finally spoke, desperately trying to avoid a repeat of previous arguments between the two of them over Madeleine's perception of her mother's bias in favour of Hal.
"I'm sorry Maddy. That was insensitive of me," said an embarrassed Georgina. "You may just as well be the first one to beat your father."
Tilting her head slightly, Madeleine swept one side of her dark collar length bob behind her ear with her curled index finger, a sign Georgina recognised with some relief as her eldest daughter biting her tongue from a retort.
"So you think we can improve on our Ä’ostre festival second place in the sword competition come the Harvest festival in September?" asked Madeleine.
Georgina, grateful for the conversation change, reached out and tentatively pulled her daughter to her with a one armed hug. "Improve? By the time the Harvest Festival comes around, I'm expecting to 'reap' a first in the archery and sword competitions between you and your brother for the 'Stockbury' family," she said with a wink.
Madeleine just groaned in response to her mother's poor joke.
The White Bridge, The Island of Avalon EY 2449 (22 Years Ago)
Daniel cradled his companion in his arms as he walked back to their waiting mounts. He'd been so focused on struggling to see the bridge ahead of them in the murky pre-dawn light that he hadn't been paying much attention to her and it had taken a second to realise what the startled squeak from behind him had meant. The fear that had gripped him after he heard her impact on the ground had been so intense he'd almost pitched out of his own saddle while trying to hastily dismount. His hands shaking slightly with fear he'd gently turned over her prostrate form to discover to his relief that she had fallen from her horse onto wet grass rather than the hard cobble stones of the path on which they had ridden. As far as he could see she had not suffered any significant injuries from her fall, although her face showed her discomfort as another tremor of pain shook her. Resting her against a plinth that marked the entrance to the White Bridge he wiped some mud from the left side of her face with his hand, aided by the rain still pouring down upon them. As the mud washed away to reveal her porcelain complexion more clearly, all be it with some angry red marks hinting at some bruising to come, Daniel once again drank in her almost otherworldly beauty. Her perfectly kissable cupid's bow lips, her delicate nose, her vivid blue eyes with their thick lashes, her high refined cheek bones and her elegantly pointed ears gave her a appearance that he felt could drive men and nations mad like in the tales from the Old World of Helen of Troy. It had after all driven him to abandon everything he had ever valued for a life of potential hardship as a fugitive.
"Are you able to carry on?" he asked with concern.
Ahead of their horses the first signs of dawn could be seen on the horizon. He had deliberately taken them by the hardest route to track rather than the quickest way off the island, knowing that the High-King would send his light cavalry over the open plains in search for them as soon as he realised they were gone. The narrow steep path and thick woods of his chosen route made this a less obvious escape route and more difficult for any pursuers to follow, although Daniel knew that the High-King would send men to check this path and time was not on their side.
"I'm scared Danny," she whispered in reply. "Scared that that they will find us. Scared that I will not be able to counter the reversal spell cast upon me by the Royal Weaver. Scared of what they will do to you if they catch us. Scared that we will be fugitives with no money, no status, no land... and that you will come to hate me for what you have sacrificed to help me."
Daniel could see tears forming in her clear blue eyes and as one tear broke free from the pool building on her eye lashes he cupped her cheek with his hand so that he could wipe away the tear with his thumb. He couldn't imagine how stressful and painful this day had been for her and he could see she was close to breaking point. Feeling her face press into his hand he realised that she desperately needed reassurance.
"My best friend once told me the ancient proverb that 'a bean in liberty is better than a comfit in prison'. I never truly understood what that meant until tonight," said Daniel with a smile. "I can't promise you the wealth, land or status that you deserve but I can promise you this: I will not let any man take you back and I will do everything I can to make you happy. Now let us not tempt fate any longer and get you across the bridge, your highness."
He offered his hand to her and helped her to a standing position. As he placed his arm around her to guide her to her horse she surprised him by standing on the balls of her feet to kiss him on his beard covered cheek.
"Thank you again, 'Percival'," she whispered, her face flush with embarrassment at being so forward.
"My pleasure, 'Blanchefleur'," he said with a grin that grew even wider in response to the pout she gave him.
"Surely I warrant a 'Guinevere'?"
"Sorry, Princess. Lancelot loved Guinevere, Percival loved Blanchefleur, and I love you."
He watched as her eyes grew wide and heard a small gasp of surprise at his confession of love. For a moment he wondered if he had been too presumptuous in his confession, until that was when she grasped him in as tight a hug as she could manage. He returned her embrace, resting his chin against the top of her wet head. He held her like that for a few moments before gently releasing her from his embrace. A move which he was pleased to see she reciprocated with a degree of reluctance.
"C'mon, let's get going before I catch my death in this rain," he said, turning her towards the horses. "Besides, once we've crossed a few miles beyond that bridge and into the mountains you should be safe from both your father's militia and the range of effect on the Royal Weaver's transformation spell."
As he gripped the saddle preparing to assist her up into the stirrup, he was dismayed to see two mounted figures in the livery of the Yeomanry round the bend and come to a halt a dozen metres away from them. He felt her pull away from his grip as she backed away. Barely audible over the noise of the rain he could hear her whimpering in fear as she retreated to the plinth. Stepping forward he adopted a defensive stance, drawing his sword from its scabbard.
As the riders dismounted, Daniel's heart sunk with recognition of the lead horseman. "Tom," Daniel said with a nod to his friend. "I'd hoped that it wouldn't be you that found me."
"I must admit that I hoped not to find you either," said Thomas unsheathing his own sword. "Could I hope that for the sake of our friendship 'Percival' that we can resolve this without any more bloodshed?"
"Only if you let us go, 'Lancelot'."
Thomas looked away for a second, his jaw clenching in frustration at the circumstances he found himself in. "I can't. I'm oath sworn to bring you both back to the King."
"I can't let you do that," said Daniel.
Thomas let out a grunt of frustration to Daniel, his free hand clenching into a fist. "Why are you doing this? Why are you throwing away everything over someone who won't even exist tomorrow? She's nothing more than an illusion, you must know that?" cried Thomas, the anger rising in his voice and his sought to find a reason to avoid the friendship ending fight he knew was coming.
"Maybe she won't exist tomorrow. Maybe she will," said Daniel with a shrug. "Did you know that she has a latent Weaver gift? As with all latent's it's instinctive and based on her emotional state and willpower. And we both know she has never been short of willpower. She has chosen to fight the transformation spell, so this is who she chooses to be."
"And what about the wise woman's prophecy?" asked Thomas. "She clearly said that for our people to know greatness your princess cannot live. All traces of her deviancy must be purged so that the 'Wynter Lion' may live to fulfil his destiny."
"I was there too remember. We spent two bloody days climbing that mountain with the King to see the great 'Oracle' and all we found was a woman who wasn't even wise enough to know what soap was. Gods, she reeked," said Daniel. "Where I come from wisdom isn't measured in terms of pungency!"
"I remember, you wouldn't shut up about that for days," said Thomas breaking into a smile. His smile quickly disappeared as the moment of shared memory passed. "Dan, don't make me do this."
"Tom.... I don't want too. The princess was given a choice between peace and war, and she chose peace. I'm asking you to do the same now."
A sad smile slowly crept across Thomas' face in response to Daniel's statement. "I'm oath sworn."
Daniel nodded his head in understanding of the situation his friends honour placed him. Pulling himself up to his full height Thomas extended his sword arm towards Daniel, who mirrored the en-garde position.
"Dan, we never did resolve which one of us was better did we?"
Although this isn't the first story I posted, it is the first story I started writing. The Britannia story 'I Don't Like Wednesdays' came out of muse based problems with this story. I was a big fan of Persephone's fantasy story 'The Frozen Balance' (and if you haven't read it do so!!!) and that gave me a nudge to try and write some tg fantasy. And being a member of the Cantwara myself, it gave me the opportunity to write them into the story! I'll be posting this every two weeks, so that it will be running two weeks behind the version on stardust. This version has been subject to some re-editing since then (EDIT: such as changing Captain Albany to Major to make underline the importance of his position within the yeomanry). I hope you enjoy my first attempt at more serious tg!
Prince Henry Wynter was the Heir to the High Throne of the Heptarchy and prophesised to one day lead his people to unparalleled greatness. Twenty two years after he abandoned his destiny and his throne for the chance to be the person he felt he was meant to be, he finds that Fate has not yet finished with him. The events surrounding the proposed appointment of a new Heir to the High Throne have consequences that reach as far the remote farmstead refuge of the former prince and threaten to destroy the new life that she has built for herself.
A farmstead cottage on the slopes of the Downs Mountain Range, Kingdom of Cantia
Tiw's Day (Tuesday) 23 April EY 2471
Georgina's eyes narrowed as she studied the six riders who entered the clearing in front of the cottage from her vantage point at the window in front of the kitchen sink. She absently fretted with the plate that moments ago she had been scrubbing clean, knowing that the riders presence was a potential threat to the life she had built here with her family. She'd thought - or perhaps more accurately had desperately hoped - that they had long since stopped searching for them and began to regret her foolishness in persuading Daniel to go to Wye. Her pale porcelain complexion flushed red with the shame she felt about having sulked until her husband had relented and agreed to go against his better judgement to an Artificer. Blinking back tears she looked heavenward for a moment and offered a silent plea to the á‰se to watch over and protect her family from her foolishness.
The red and white diamond chequered livery of the riders tabards with its ornately embossed golden crown in the centre marked the riders as being the Yeomen of the Household, the Royal Family's personal guard. She recalled from memory her father instructing her as a child that they only left the court at Avalon for one of two reasons - to either escort a senior member of the Royal Family or when the Crown expressly wished someone to feel it's displeasure. Given the cottage was more than four weeks hard ride from the High Court at Avalon she doubted that they were escorting a senior royal, though she feared they were here to collect one.
The riders fanned out as her husband and eldest son entered the clearing in front of the cottage from the path leading to the farms small workshop. She watched her eldest son, Hal, fumbling with the buckle on his sword belt and mentally tried to will to him the calmness the situation warranted. In contrast her husband was calmly wiping grease from his hands with an old rag as he approached the riders. She knew that the easy confidence he exuded was a product of the many hours he had spent on the training grounds in his youth. Putting the plate down gently on the draining board she dried her hands on her apron and headed towards the back door of the cottage to find her remaining children.
Daniel focused on the riders before him, noting the livery that he had once worn in his youth. Had it really been twenty-two years since he last wore the livery of a yeoman lieutenant he wondered? He knew that both Georgina and himself looked more like people in their early-20's rather than the mid-40's they actually were thanks to the blood of the ancient race, the á¦lfe, which ran through many noble family trees in the Seven Kingdoms. Those high noble born like himself tended to have even greater longevity due to the relatively small pool of socially acceptable breeding partners from other noble houses constantly reinforcing the á¦lfe bloodlines and it was very likely he'd look like someone in his mid-50's well into the eleventh or twelfth decade of his life. However, he knew potential longevity was just that, potential. It didn't make him invulnerable to harm or death.
Satisfied that his hands were clean enough to hold the hilt of the sword hanging from his belt if needed, he stuffed the rag into the back pocket of his work trousers and quickly flexed his fingers to stretch out any stiffness. He'd have liked to have worked through some warm up exercises but there hadn't been time. He had been surprised when his eldest son, Hal, had come running to the farm's small workshop with sword belts in hand to tell him that he had seen the riders approaching along the track from the lower meadow. The cottage had been purposely built in a natural depression nestling in the gentle slopes of the Downs Mountains that allowed the forest on the mountain side to screen it from view from the plains below. Unfortunately, it also worked against them in obscuring some of the view of the approach path to the farmstead.
He ran a hand briefly through his shoulder length dark hair to brush the loose strands away from his vision and to better hide the rounded point to his slightly elongated ears which was a mark of the high concentration of á¦lfe blood which his noble bloodline had given him. With his grease covered trousers tucked into a battered set of knee high leather boots and his loose smock with its sleeves rolled up over arms he looked every bit the rural farmer.
Originally, Georgina and he had planned to spend six months hiding on the remote farmstead which was part of his father's extensive land holdings, pretending to be a newlywed young farming family. Then rather unexpectedly given that Georgina was a child of the gleaming spires of the city of Avalon, his wife had fallen in love with the quiet life of the farm. Daniel was far too happy enjoying life as a newlywed to push the issue of their original plan to move on to one of the provincial cities and he knew he would struggle to deny her anything that would make her happy.
Their stay of six months became a year, then two years. Two years spent learning to become the farmer he had originally pretended to be and, more importantly, learning about each other in the ways all newlyweds do. And when Georgina fell pregnant with their eldest child, Hal, in the autumn of their second year on the farm, Daniel knew then she'd never move from the home she had made at the farm.
In order to remain hidden, Daniel had set about establishing their new identity as the 'Stockbury' family. It was only now, on the verge of potential discovery, that he realised how much this farmstead had come to mean to him as well and how entwined it was with all the good things in his life. The unexpected gift of happiness and peace that this quiet family life had blessed him with had far outweighed the prestige and riches his life as a member of a senior noble family would have given him. However, he now feared that his past was catching up with them and that the á‰se would demand payment for the wonderful years of happiness they had unexpectedly granted him in answer to his prayers twenty-two years ago.
Hearing his son fumbling with the clasp of his sword belt behind him, he turned his head letting a genuine smile appear on his face for a second as he remembered the problems he had with his own sword belt as a youth. He gave him a reassuring wink that the riders could not see. While Hal was skilled enough with the sword for most opponents in competition, Daniel knew from bitter personal experience that there was a big difference between knowing in theory how to kill a man and being able to look another man in the eye and end his life with a stab of the blade.
The White Bridge, The Island of Avalon EY 2449 (22 Years Ago)
Daniel let his blade glide down Thomas's blade before pulling back from yet another feint as the two swordsmen continued to probe for weaknesses. Behind him he could hear the sounds of a struggle between the second yeoman and the princess as the man sought to drag her back to his horse. From the swearing he heard, it was clear that things weren't going entirely the yeoman's way.
Cursing himself for being distracted, Daniel was only just able to side step a lunge from Thomas using his sword to turn the blade away from him. With a flurry of movement, Daniel sought to turn defence into offence with a feint of driving his blade towards his opponents stomach. As Thomas parried the attack with his blade he was driven further back to avoid a slashing attack from a turning Daniel. Now that both swordsmen had some distance between them, they both lapsed back into defensive postures, warily circling each other.
"Is that all you've got?" teased Thomas with a smirk playing across his face.
Thomas advanced on Daniel, the point of his blade moving in slow circular movements as he first feinted one way then another. Daniel parried a sudden lunge and launched into his own riposte, driving his opponent back. A slip on the muddy grass by Daniel as he advanced swung the balance of power back to Thomas who proceeded to lunge narrowly missing Daniel's ribs with a savage strike.
A high pitched scream from behind him once again distracted Daniel, and Thomas pushed his momentary advantage driving Daniel to retreat under a flurry of strikes. The sound of his swords metal reverberating from the blows against Thomas's sword and cursing from the second yeoman momentarily drowning out the dawn chorus.
With a thrust Daniel drove Thomas back a couple of paces opening up a gap between the two men. Both men slowly circled again attempting to draw the other into the first move. Daniel stepped forward bringing their blades into contact briefly before stepping back.
"You should have studied harder on your footwork, it's telegraphing your moves," taunted Thomas.
In response, Daniel closed the gap with a short charge bringing both blades together as Thomas parried the attack. Now that their blades were bound, the more muscular Thomas sought to bring his slight height and weight advantage to bear pushing his blades swept hilt into Daniel's in an attempt to point his opponents blade downwards.
"We didn't study this," snarled Daniel through gritted teeth as he brought his knee up into Thomas's groin. As Thomas doubled over, Daniel brought the equally elaborate swept hilt of his sword down heavily across the back of Thomas's head, knocking him onto his knees and causing his opponents sword to fall from his hand. Stepping back, Daniel rested the tip of his blade on the back of Thomas's neck.
"In answer to your earlier question, I was always better," said Daniel. "I just never wanted to win as badly as you did until today."
His hands firmly clasped over his groin, a clearly pained Thomas looked up at Daniel with eyes full of fury. The meaningful silence as both men locked eyes was only punctuated by the increasing sound of the dawn chorus around them. Thomas was the first to break the silence with a snort as he looked away from Daniel.
The sound of a muddy footstep behind him was the only thing that allowed Daniel to side step the thrusting rapier blade. Even so, he felt pain searing his right side as the point of the blade cut through his flesh and glanced across his ribs. As the blade retracted from his side, Daniel staggered forward his left hand instinctively pressing down on the wound. Turning, he barely parried a second blow from the yeoman before failing to block a downward slash into his leg which pitched him backwards into the muddy ground. To his horror, Daniel saw his sword slide from his wet hand as he hit the ground with a jarring thud. Desperately trying to scramble for it he was stopped by the yeoman's boot pushing down on his wrist and the tip of his sword gently pushing against his chest to turn Daniel onto his back.
Behind his attacker, Daniel saw that Thomas was on his feet and gingerly advancing on the pair, all be it he noted with some satisfaction that Thomas's left hand was still cupped over his painful groin.
"Yield now. There will be no second time of asking." spat a clearly pained Thomas as he approached.
Daniel closed his eyes, sinking back into the muddy earth as he released the tension from his body. 'So this is how it ends,' he thought.. 'Blanchefleur...I'm sorry'
When Daniel next spoke his voice trembled with emotion. "The Princess... is she okay?"
Thomas looked at the second yeoman in response to Daniel's question.
"She'll live. She'll have a few bruises where she fought back but nothing that can't be healed by a Weaver," he said. "I've left her by the horses."
"You left her tied up by the horses," corrected Thomas with a frown.
"Err... no Lieutenant. I didn't have time what with you being in trouble and all. Besides, unless she's going to needlepoint us to death I can't see what harm a scared little princess can do?"
At the yeoman's comments a deep chuckle started to emerge from Daniel, until his body convulsed with almost hysterical laughter. A look of alarm crossed Thomas's face. The King had been very specific about keeping the true situation secret, which meant most members of the yeomanry only knew they were searching for a kidnapped princess. As Thomas turned he saw the princess standing by her horse raising a string less recurve bow into a firing position. As her fingers delicately plucked at the air where the bow's string should have been a thin ribbon of light appeared between the tips of the bow. Thomas watched as in one fluid motion she pulled back on the glowing string and a horizontal line of energy crackled into existence forming into a rough arrow shape which she proceeded to sight against her target and then release. The impact of the arrow staggered the second yeoman causing his body to convulse as wisps of energy curled around it. His arms jerked like they were boneless sending his sword flying through the air away from Daniel before he collapsed heavily to the ground.
Thomas watched in horror as the princess turned the bow towards him and like a harpist plucked again at the air with her right hand causing a ribbon of energy to spring to life. He prepared himself for the inevitable only to watch her convulse under a tremor of pain, causing the energy string of her bow to wink out of existence as her right hand dropped from the bow to clutch at her abdomen. Knowing this might be his only chance to snatch victory in this encounter, Thomas gritted his teeth and set off at a full sprint across the 60 or so metres towards the princess. Without a doubt, he knew this would be the most important 10 seconds of his life. He would return to the high court a hero or not at all.
The princess was key to his victory as Thomas was confident that if he could neutralise the threat of her bow then he would be able to beat an injured Daniel one-on-one.
1 second... the princess screamed, her voice cracking as she did so to reveal a deeper, more resonant voice. Her eyes tightly shut, Thomas could see her grip on the bow start to relax.
3 seconds... Daniel could be heard starting to scramble for his sword as Thomas began to reach his stride despite the muddy ground slowing him down. The princess's scream had now taken on a very tenor like quality.
4 seconds... Thomas watched as the flesh on the princess's face rippled trying to superimpose a square jaw line and stronger nose of the Heir on her face. Her scream had now dropped far enough in pitch it was better characterised as a yell now. Her grip on the bow had let it slide through her fingers so that she was now only holding it with a few fingers on the lower limb.
6 seconds... The wet thud of Daniel's footsteps behind Thomas indicated that he also had now begun to reach his stride in pursuit. He was now close enough to the Princess that he knew Daniel couldn't catch him given his injured leg before Thomas got to her. Tightening his hold on the sword he prepared to bring the swept hilt up to punch the princess with it, knowing he would only have a few seconds after he reached her before he would have to face Daniel again. Thomas could see virtually all of the Heir's face now in the princess.
8 seconds... Thomas was within a few metres of her now pulled his sword back as he prepared to punch her with the hilt guard hoping to deliver a knockout blow. The princess's voice jumped up an octave as her features started to revert back to their feminine glory. Her eyes snapped open and she started to sweep the bow upwards holding it firmly by one of its limb.
10 seconds... Thomas hit the ground heavily, the vision in his left eye obscured by blood running across his face. At least he hoped it was that and not more permanent damage. With the vision in his remaining one good eye he could see blood dripping from the top end of the princess's bow now raised above high her head. In addition to the pain he felt and the ringing in his ears, Thomas had been aware of a spark of energy from the end of the bow as it had swept upwards and hit him. He could already feel his vision starting to dim as small energy shocks coursed through his body. The last thing Thomas saw before unconsciousness claimed him was the princess rush to embrace Daniel.
The Princess kissed Daniel hard on the lips, her bow now forgotten at her feet where she had dropped it. Her hands clasped around his neck as she sought to pull herself as close to him as it was physically possible. In return, Daniel had placed his arms around her waist and was pulling her to him equally as hard. In between snatched kisses they both frantically babbled at each other.
"Oh gods, Danny... is that blood?"
"Did the yeoman hurt you?"
"I was so scared they would kill you..."
"We can't stay here..."
"I thought I'd lost you!"
"I promised you..."
"I love you so much..."
"Marry me..."
"We need to treat your... What did you say?"
Daniel smiled as the Princess pulled back from their embrace to look up into his face. In a small voice, she asked again "What did you say?"
"Please marry me," he said with a confident smile. "I love you. I have since that day I first saw this you when we were children."
For a second the princess just stood in front of Daniel, her eyes the widest he had ever seen them. Daniel wondered if perhaps he had been mistaken in asking her as he saw her start to shake as tears streamed down her face.
"You don't have to answer right now," he said softly, fearing that the question he'd asked had been asked at an inappropriate time, a product of the adrenalin rush resulting from emerging victorious in a conflict he should have by all rights lost. Preparing to turn to gather the horses, and recover what was left of his dignity, he was almost knocked to the ground as she tackled him in a fierce hug. The pain he felt from the wound to his side was eased by the one emotion filled word he heard uttered repeatedly into his chest as she embraced him wildly.
"Yes."
The two childhood friends remained locked in an embrace for a few minutes before either had sufficiently recovered from the emotions of the moment to speak. Wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve, the princess was the first to speak, her voice still retaining the nasal quality of someone who had been crying.
"Yes...with one condition."
Daniel frowned. "What condition?" he asked tentatively.
"Granted, I've not had much experience of kissing bearded men.."
"I should hope not!" teased Daniel.
"As I was saying," the princess replied gently poking him in the chest on the other side from his wound for interrupting her. "Although, I've not had much experience of kissing bearded men, I'm not sure I particularly like it. So my condition for marriage, is you shave off the beard. It's all prickly, a bit like what I would imagine kissing a hairbrush would be like."
"You never did like my beard," Daniel said with a wry smile. "But if that's the price you setting for marriage, I would be a fool not to pay it. I accept your condition. Now let's get out of here. The sooner we reach Cantia and the protection of my people, the sooner I can get my wound fixed up and we can marry."
"And the sooner you can give up the vow to be chaste outside of wedlock that all the Queen's yeomen under twenty-one must take?" asked the princess with a sly smile.
"I'm not the only one here that made that vow," said Daniel with a grin. "Though the thought that I'm still seven months, two weeks, three days and a number of hours from my twenty-first birthday hadn't even crossed my mind..."
A farmstead cottage on the slopes of the Downs Mountain Range, Kingdom of Cantia
Tiw's Day (Tuesday) 23 April EY 2471
Sir Thomas Albany shifted uncomfortably in his saddle as he watched the two figures emerge from the path leading off to the side of the cottage. He had been in the saddle for nearly four weeks now chasing down leads and had grown tired of the picturesque forests and meadows of the lands of the Cantwara. He longed to return to the comforts of court life in Avalon. Had it not been for the Queen's insistence that, as Queen's Champion, he personally lead the yeomanry expedition he would have happily delegated the mission to a subordinate as he felt their mission to be little more than a fool's errand. Their quarry had already alluded the yeomanry's most rigorous searches over twenty years ago and frankly he felt they had long since fled the seven kingdoms that made up the Heptarchy.
He straightened himself up in the saddle as he watched the two figures approach. This was the third lead he had followed up personally where individuals matching the description of one of their quarry had been sighted. Like the previous two encounters, he fully expected this one to be fruitless as well but felt he had to demonstrate to the Queen he'd taken an active interest in the investigation. The one suggestion that something was remiss about this time was that the tithe lists and land registration maps he had brought with him indicated there were no farmsteads at this location. This was probably just administrative incompetence but there remained the possibility it was something else. He sighed, as given the laissez-faire attitude amongst many of the Cantwara to the taxation authority of the Angelcyn Crown it was probably the former. He was torn between wanting this fool's errand to be over and the consequences of its success.
He also found the regional dialect of the Cantwara was becoming increasingly irritating and wished for a conversation with someone who could say the words 'dune' and 'June' and not make them sound the same. He grimaced as he recalled spending six fruitless months in the lands of the Cantwara as a young Lieutenant searching for their quarry. 'Wellllll...' he thought, his grimace softening to a smile as he remembered the faces of the farmers daughters he had charmed into bed as a dashing young Lieutenant 'maybe not entirely fruitless...'
Glancing briefly at his second-in-command, Lieutenant Fairfax, he felt a small surge of pride in the professionalism of his promising yeomen lieutenant as even after all these weeks of chasing dead end leads he still kept the men in his detachment sharp and alert. He snorted quietly, wondering for a moment how many of the other young lieutenants had maintained such discipline amongst their search groups. A wry smile formed as he couldn't help but think that many would be better officers if they spent more time training and less time chasing social advancement and marriages of opportunity.
As the two figures halted a short distance in front of the riders, Sir Thomas turned his attention to them and nearly dropped the reins of his horse in shock. The darker haired of the two was undoubtedly Daniel, while the second was the spitting image of the Heir when he was younger. Not a day went by when Thomas hadn't at some point reflected on the outcome of that day twenty-two years ago and he still wasn't sure what he had want the outcome to have been.
Daniel looked up at the rider wearing the insignia of a Major in the Yeomanry and found his hand moving towards his sword hilt in shock. Unlike his own features which had barely changed during the intervening years, the face of the man he had once called friend showed the effects of age. Thomas's ears showed only the barest signs of any point, marking the absence of any significant quantity of á¦lfe blood in his family tree and his short cropped black hair was showing the first signs of grey at the temples. His face had a few lines around the eyes from time spent squinting into the sun, an occupational hazard for someone who spent much of his time outdoors, and of course the faded scar from their last encounter.
For a few minutes the two former friends just stared at each in shock, neither sure what to say or do. Two decades ago, they had been closer than brothers and in their hearts both regretted the events of that day at the White Bridge and what it had cost their friendship. Beside both men their companions exchanged quizzical glances at each other and at their respective elders. Thomas was the first one to break the silence.
"Harry was always on at you about shaving that beard off. Said that it made you look scruffy," said Thomas with a grin.
Daniel rubbed his chin with his left hand, his right never leaving the pommel of his sword. "Yeah... made me shave it off the night after the White Bridge. I still miss it after all these years," said Daniel smiling ruefully.
The smile faded from Thomas's face as he spoke next. "I'm not here for you, Dan. Where is the Heir? That's clearly Harry's son, so don't even think of denying you know where he is."
Hal frowned, looking to his father questioningly unconsciously mirroring Lieutenant Fairfax who was similarly looking questioningly at Thomas.
"Tom, that's not just the Heir's son. That's my son as well."
Daniel nearly laughed at the look of confusion that crossed Thomas's face. A look that quickly changed to one of shock with realisation of the implications of Daniel's statement.
"Gods, but we... that is the Queen... assumed that his latency wasn't strong enough to permanently counter the Royal Weaver's spell to purge him of his...unnatural desires... then that means..."
"Do you honestly believe mere magic could stop the Heir when he put his mind to something?" asked Daniel. "You only saw things from the King's perspective, Tom. You never listened to what I tried to tell you earlier that day before we fled the Wynter Palace. What the Oracle, the King and even you saw as 'deviancy' was actually the true expression of the person the Heir felt she was. I honestly don't pretend to understand this for a second Tom, I've always been happy being me but for Harry... Harry was only ever truly happy being herself."
Thomas stared at first Daniel and then the youth standing next to him. Removing his wide brimmed felt hat, Thomas rubbed his hand across his short hair contemplating the significance of what he had learnt. This impacted on the plans that the Queen had imparted to him in ways he had never anticipated and he needed to think about it. His reverie however, was interrupted by Lieutenant Fairfax.
"Your orders sir? If these are who I think they are should we not take them into custody?"
"Custody? Gods, that... boy... is the first person in 2471 years to be heir to two thrones. The founding documents expressly forbid an Heir to the throne of the one of the Seven Kingdoms to marry the Heir to the Angelcyn Throne, less it cause discord by favouring one kingdom over the others. That boy is.. an impossibility. He is..."
"My son," called Georgina, emerging from the trees beside the path leading back to the cottage. She noted that the yeomen had been so focused on Daniel and Hal that they had never noticed her approach. As she walked she wiped her hands on her apron to remove the sweat from her palms so that she might hide the nervousness she felt before stopping beside her husband and wrapping herself around his left arm.
"Gods...Harry, is that really you?" asked Thomas. He felt much of that which he had been certain slipping from his grasp like sand.
"Yes, in every way that matters this is still me. You just see the real me now. My name isn't Harry now either. It's Georgina...Georgina Amherst. And that is our son." As if to emphasise the fact, Georgina tightened her grip on Daniel's arm. A move that did not go unnoticed by Thomas.
Meeting his gaze directly for the first time, Georgina gave Tom a sad smile. "Tom, I'm truly sorry for my part in giving you that scar."
Thomas found himself instinctively reaching up to touch his face and trace the scar with his fingers. It had taken him six months to convince the King that he was worthy of having his sight restored by the Royal Weaver to his blinded eye. The King had held him personally responsible for the failure to recapture the Heir and had it not been for the fact he was a member of the Queen's Own Regiment, he felt he would have been dishonourably discharged from the Yeomanry of the Household. To his surprise the Queen had forcefully and publicly spoken out in favour of Thomas. She had defended his honour and anointed him to all that would listen as a man who would go on to do great things. He'd sworn an oath there and then that he would never fail his Queen in the completion of any duty she set for him. And for twenty-two years he had kept that oath. Now he found himself facing the same choices as he had twenty-two years ago. Would he do that which he felt was wrong but honour demanded or would he throw away his honour and do that which he felt was right?
It had all seemed so clear to him as a chivalrous young Lieutenant. His honour had seemed to him to be the most important thing in the world. More important than family, friends and even his own life. On the practice fields as cadets it had been hammered into them, day-after-day that a man without honour was not a man. A Yeoman's word was his bond. A Yeoman's oath was unbreakable.
Death before dishonour.
It therefore made perfect sense to Thomas that when a man closer to him than his own brother dishonoured himself by breaking an oath to the High-King, it was his duty to bring him back or die trying. Even after the melee at the White Bridge, Thomas still desperately clung to his sense of honour, his belief in what made a good man. And that belief remained unshakable until the uprising by the pretender to the High-Throne in the Twin-Kingdoms of Bernicia and Deira.
Even now after all these years, Thomas could still hear the screams of the men, women and children as he gave the order to torch those settlements that had supported the Pretender. He had joined the Yeomanry to do great things. He didn't join it to slaughter livestock and thereby deprive the villagers of milk and meat. He didn't join it to salt the ground so that the following seasons crops failed. He didn't join it to burn villages and put scores of unarmed men, women and children to the sword. And yet he did all those things and worse because his honour and oath demanded that he follow the instructions of his King and Queen. And it was as a consequence of that campaign, a campaign in which he had been highly decorated and richly rewarded with monies and title, that he came to realise how wrong he had been at the White Bridge. He had spent the many sleepless nights that followed in the years after the uprising praying to the á‰se that his friends had found sanctuary far from the lands of the Angelcyn, perhaps in the 'Septem Provinciae' across the Great Sea.
With a deep sigh, Thomas lightly dismounted from his horse signalling Lieutenant Fairfax to do the same. He carefully approached the three figures, making sure to keep his hand clear of his sword hilt. Stopping a few paces in front of the trio, Thomas crouched down on bended knee while beside him, Lieutenant Fairfax stood looking on uncertainly.
"My Prince..ess," he said bending his head so that he looked at her feet out of respect. "I am here on instruction from the Queen, your most royal mother. You are summoned by her royal edict to return to the Wynter Palace with me, in order that the issue of succession might be resolved."
"And if I refuse?"
"Your most royal mother has ordered me to bring you back with or without your consent. I am oath sworn to do so."
Georgina closed her eyes and rested her head against her husband's shoulder, a small sob escaping her lips as she realised whatever the outcome she was likely to lose someone dear to her. Yet, despite this fear she could not find it in her heart to bear malice towards Thomas. She of all people understood the burden that duty could place on an individual. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach she realised the Thomas she knew twenty-two years ago could not let her walk away now. And there were just too many yeomen for any other outcome other than death or serious injury of her husband or son if they had to fight.
"However, I...will not force you to come with me. I won't make this mistake a second time. I won't let my honour dictate my actions at the expense of my morality. If you say 'no' then we will leave."
Scarcely believing her ears Georgina paused for a few moments to digest the comment before speaking.
"Thank you Tom," said Georgina in a ragged tear filled voice, letting out the breath she hadn't been aware she had been holding. She could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks as a sense of relief washed over her. Releasing her grip on her husband, she stepped forward to pull Thomas to his feet before embracing him in an equally tight hug to express her gratitude.
"Dad? What's going on?" asked Hal, confusion clearly etched in his voice. "Why is everyone calling mother the Heir?"
"It's...complicated, Hal."
"Actually it's more complicated than your think," stated a new voice.
Thomas released Georgina and turned to look up at the mounted figure of Sergeant-at-Arms Ackers. In surprise he noted the drawn cavalry crossbow resting in her hands.
"Sergeant. I order you to stand down," said Thomas.
"I'm afraid you lost the right of command when you became derelict in your duty, Sir. You know what happens to oath breakers." Her voice was calm and cold, with no trace of emotion to colour it.
Lieutenant Fairfax noted that the look of surprise on Thomas's face was quickly changing to that of anger. Stepping forward before his Major could speak, Fairfax addressed the rest of the men.
"Yeomen! I order you to stand down and place Sergeant-at-Arms Ackers under arrest!"
In response a faint smile played across the Sergeants lips.
"Sorry, Lieutenant. When you split the men to approach the cottage you left me to determine how to split them. You will find that these are all my squad not yours. The Queen had concerns that Sir Thomas's past friendship with the Heir might affect his judgement. That was why Lieutenant Bathurst and our squad were told to stick close to you both. She was well aware of the doubt that has troubled Sir Thomas since the uprising in the Twin Kingdoms. However she had hoped that he would remain true to his oath."
Finding his voice again, Thomas spoke. "What do you intend to do with us?"
"My orders are very clear on the matter in the event that we found the Heir or Lord Amherst and you were not able to carry out your mission."
Sergeant Ackers raised her crossbow and levelled it at Daniel. In a fluid motion she pulled the trigger loosing the bolt into Daniel's chest. Georgina's scream of anguish echoed around the clearing as her husband pitched backwards into the ground, the bolt sticking from the rapidly reddening front of his white smock.
"Consider that your formal discharge from the Queen's Own Regiment of Yeomanry, my Lord."
To be continued...
This chapter has undergone some dialogue rewritting in the final scene since the original version posted on Stardust which should hopefully clarify some of the supporting characters personalities a bit more.
As always, I hope you enjoy this story and thank you for taking the time to read it.
Prince Henry Wynter was the Heir to the High Throne of the Heptarchy and prophesised to one day lead his people to unparalleled greatness. Twenty two years after he abandoned his destiny and his throne for the chance to be the person he felt he was meant to be, he finds that Fate has not yet finished with him. The events surrounding the proposed appointment of a new Heir to the High Throne have consequences that reach as far the remote farmstead refuge of the former prince and threaten to destroy the new life that she has built for herself.
Previously...
"Sorry, Lieutenant. When you split the men to approach the cottage you left me to determine how to split them. You will find that these are all my squad not yours. The Queen had concerns that Sir Thomas's past friendship with the Heir might affect his judgement. That was why Lieutenant Bathurst and our squad were told to stick close to you both. She was well aware of the doubt that has troubled Sir Thomas since the uprising in the Twin Kingdoms. However she had hoped that he would remain true to his oath."
Finding his voice again, Thomas spoke. "What do you intend to do with us?"
"My orders are very clear on the matter in the event that we found the Heir or Lord Amherst and you were not able to carry out your mission."
Sergeant Ackers raised her crossbow and levelled it at Daniel. In a fluid motion she pulled the trigger loosing the bolt into Daniel's chest. Georgina's scream of anguish echoed around the clearing as her husband pitched backwards into the ground, the bolt sticking from the rapidly reddening front of his white smock.
"Consider that your formal discharge from the Queen's Own Regiment of Yeomanry, my Lord."
The slopes of the Downs Mountain Range, Kingdom of Cantia
Tiw's Day (Tuesday) 23 April EY 2471
Madeleine used the end of the weaver bow she held in her right hand to gently push her younger brother Noah forward as he slowed in response to the haunting scream that echoed through the woods surrounding the cottage. She signalled to him with another slightly firmer nudge to his shoulder to keep going and he reluctantly picked up the pace of his descent down the tree covered slope. Despite the treacherous ground under foot, strewn with tree roots and loose earth, Madeleine risked briefly looking up from her footing to check that her younger sister was also still moving forward. She was gratified to see that Charlotte remained safe, clinging to the back of the family's old dire wolf. In fact, if anything the pony sized animal was pulling away from Noah and herself. The one direction that Madeleine couldn't bring herself to look however, was backwards towards the only home she had ever known.
The Amherst farmstead cottage on the slopes of the Downs Mountain Range, Kingdom of Cantia
Georgina knelt beside the lifeless body of her husband, clasping one of his large rough hands in between her own much smaller softer hands. Occasionally she would tenderly brush her lips across his fingers in a gentle kiss. It comforted her greatly that he had a look of serenity on his face and she decided to take it as a sign that he had not suffered when the crossbow bolt had pierced his heart, for she could not bear to think that he had suffered in the final seconds of his life.
In between her soft kisses, Georgina whispered of her love for Daniel as tears ran freely down her cheeks. She found herself wondering how it could have happened that Daniel could have died. She distinctly recalled that the wedding vows exchanged at their hand-fasting ceremony had been 'for all eternity', something that a Priest of the á‰se had witnessed so she knew it had to be true. Yet the evidence in front of her indicated that they were not to be together for eternity. In fact it had been a far too brief a time and there was so much left for the couple to do together that would now be forever unfulfilled. She couldn't help but deeply regret that she had not told him more often that she loved him.
Daniel had been part of Georgina's life for so long that she couldn't truly remember a time when he wasn't a part of it. She'd been five years old when they first met as children. Daniel's mother, Queen Aldeberge of the Kingdom of Cantia, one of the seven kingdoms that comprised the Heptarchy, had brought him to the Wynter Palace in keeping with custom so that he could fulfil the obligations of his birth and pledge his allegiance and the future allegiance of his kingdom to the High King of the Angelcyn and by extension his Heir. After the largely symbolic ceremony that went with the pledge, High Queen Aliénor had invited him to join the other noble children at court for an afternoon, in an act that was more polite courtesy than a meaningful attempt to forge relationships between the children of the nobility.
Georgina, who of course had been the young Prince Henry then, had been a gentle and shy child. Even at such a tender age, the female soul inside Prince Henry had sought ways to express itself and this had estranged him from the other boys at court, who seemed to subconsciously drift away from the young prince. In contrast, Daniel ignored the roughhousing of the other boys and had walked up to the young Prince and boldly asked the names of the little wooden horses he had been playing with and clearly treasured so much. Even at a young age, Daniel had radiated an irrepressible sense of fun that led most people almost against their will to like him and within a matter of minutes he had started to draw the young prince out of his shell. By the end of the afternoon, the young Heir to the High Throne had even been playing games involving some of the other young noble boys present and it had not escaped the High Queen's notice that Daniel was the lynchpin that turned her shy introverted son into the beginnings of the sort of person she felt he would need to be if were to have any chance of being a successful High King. And Prince Henry would need to be a successful High King to advance her aspirations for her own future.
An invitation was extended that very day to Queen Aldeberge that her son would always welcome at court, an act of generosity that the High Queen would come to regret during Daniel's teenage years when she realised the hold she had over her son was being supplanted by that of dashing young Lord of Cantia. The invitation for Daniel to visit regularly had delighted the young prince beyond words as unbeknownst to everyone, the girl inside the young prince had started to develop a shy affection for Daniel and over time those feelings blossomed into first friendship and then love.
As they grew older and became teenagers, it was Daniel who had provided the young prince with a role model for how a boy should act and he had made it so much easier for him to fake his way through life. Daniel also covered for the Henry on those occasions when the real person inside was accidentally revealed in the presence of others. Indeed, on several occasions Daniel had nearly been despatched from the High Court in disgrace as a consequence of covering for Henry.
When Georgina had discovered how to use her own latent magic to transform herself from her hated male form into the person she truly was inside, it was Daniel who saved her from the attempts of the Royal Weaver to magically entombed her within Henry's form against her will and strip her personality of those attributes which her father had considered to be weak and unbecoming of a future High King. Most importantly, it was Daniel who had given her a gift so special that she could never hope to repay him - that of unconditional love despite what she had been born.
And now a stranger enlisted in the service of her mother had taken her world from her. Her pain and sorrow weighed heavily on her heart and part of her wanted to do nothing more than lay down beside her husband and pass with him into the next world. The only reason she could think of to live was that someone had to protect their children. Their children who would have to live very long lives without a father.
A maelstrom of pain, sorrow and confusion swirled at the core of her being, slowly blotting out the existence of all other feelings. And then, just when she thought she could never feel anything else ever again, she felt a new emotion in her heart. A strange new emotion that was also a very, very familiar old emotion. One that had in fact, laid long dormant since before she left the Wynter Palace all those years ago. An emotion that she knew in time would consume her very soul if she let it. And it found a voice. A long unheard voice that whispered words of retribution and rage to Georgina from the deepest darkest corners of her mind.
Georgina closed her eyes momentarily, working to entomb her baser instincts to the prison in which they had long laid dormant and gain control of her emotions. In her youth she had become increasingly frustrated with what she saw as the unfairness of life forcing her to wear her hated male form for most of her waking hours while other girls at court had flaunted their dresses and loves. The stress of being unable to mentally relax and express herself for any length of time had generated an unforgiving ruthlessness in combat situations that scared the young girl inside her. Yet once again, Daniel's friendship had saved her and he had taught her how to express her emotions in a more positive manner and stopped her becoming the sort of person that troubled her nightmares. Since her final transformation and rescue, Georgina had felt the beast within her heart was finally vanquished and she had become more confident in the expression of her emotions. Georgina knew that her eldest daughter, Madeleine, considered her to be more than a bit embarrassing at times at the way laughter and tears would gush forth but she did not care if it meant she could feel without needing to filter her emotions any more.
Finding herself out of practice of suppressing her negative side, it took her a few minutes before she was confident that she had properly quelled the emotional turmoil within her heart. Georgina could not help but smile a little when she realised it was the thought of her husband, even in death, that had enabled her to regain her self-control. When she opened her puffy red rimmed eyes again she raised her husband's hand to her lips a final time before lowering it gently onto his stomach. Leaning over him she brushed against his still chest as she pressed her lips chastely against her husband's lips in a final farewell.
Her goodbye's over, Georgina turned her attention back to the situation around her and carefully gripped the hilt of her husband's scabbard enclosed sword and slowly slid it free. It had been several decades since she had used a sword in anger and she was acutely aware that her husband's sword, while a masterpiece of craftsmanship, was balanced for him and not her smaller and weaker form. Taking one final glance at her husband's body, Georgina silently vowed that she would not rest until she had made all of those responsible for her husband's death suffer a similar end.
Turning her attention to the melee going on around her in the clearing for the first time, a quick glance confirmed her worst fears. Anyone with knowledge of Thomas and Daniel's past would have recognised them as the most immediate dangers in any engagement and clearly the Sergeant knew this, as both men lay unmoving in the grass with crossbow bolts projecting from their bodies. The young yeoman lieutenant had fared little better and was struggling with an opponent despite a crossbow bolt projecting from his shoulder. Her son, Hal, in contrast seemed to be holding his own and Georgina could not but help feel a swelling of pride at the man her son was becoming.
Georgina opted to assist the man in most immediate danger, the young lieutenant, and had started to move towards him when she saw her son parry his opponents blade and then move to block a move that was to her experienced eyes clearly a feint of a stabbing attack to the stomach. The cry of warning died in her throat as she saw the yeoman switch from the feint to the real attack, leaving Hal's blade absent from where it needed to be to effectively block a switch to an upwards slash to the head. Georgina recognised the spray of blood, flesh and hair as the sword bit into the side of Hal's skull was at the very least a severely disfiguring wound and without the attention of a physic or weaver in the near future, potentially a mortal wound. A small growl of anger emitted from Georgina's mouth as she charged at the yeoman standing over the motionless body of her son.
As the two combatants blades clashed together, Georgina recalled the words of her fencing instructor Sir Hugh Leyton. 'The blade is not just an extension of your body but an extension of your will,' he had intoned to her in that richly senatorial voice of his that made every word he uttered sound as if it was an unquestionable fact. 'A blade will allow a good man to do good deeds and an evil man to do evil deeds. It is what is in your heart that will determine what you do with it and what sort of man you will ultimately be.' Sir Hugh had then taught her numerous ways with which to kill a man which had led the young Georgina to conclude that there was a third way he had not told her, which was that a blade would also allow a good man to do evil deeds.
She feinted a strike to her left and then blocked a thrust from her opponent in retaliation. A few more testing feints soon revealed to Georgina that her opponent while skilled with the blade, was not formally trained with the blade. He fought from a knowledge of previous encounters which served him well against the inexperienced and untrained but placed him at a disadvantage when engaging a classically trained master of the sword. Even more to her advantage was the fact that from his perspective he was fighting an apron wearing farmers wife not a member of the High Family. Georgina stepped forward into the engagement, parrying another thrust from her opponent before moving her blade to circle her opponents in a moulinet that ended in a savage but shallow circular cut to his body. As he jerked backwards to avoid the blade cutting any deeper, she slashed deeply at the inside of his exposed sword arm.
"Mercy?" he begged clutching at his wrist trying to staunch the flow from the severed radial artery that with each beat of his heart sent more of his life blood pouring from his body.
"Mercy? You will have the same mercy that you gave to my baby boy," snarled Georgina as she stabbed her blade into his exposed neck.
The sound of a second yeoman charging at her prevented Georgina from examining the body of her son. Adopting a defensive stance advocated by Agrippa, her heart ached as she knew that she would not be able to safely give her son the attention he needed to survive his wound until she had despatched all of her potential opponents. She allowed the advancing yeoman the first attack with his blade in order to gauge his level of skill and long dormant knowledge began the process of calculating the series of moves necessary to defeat him. Satisfied she had his measure after her initial parries of his attacks, she began the riposte that would ultimately lead to his death.
Madeleine felt relief wash over her as saw the track up ahead as the trees began to thin out. Once they were across the track they would be more difficult to track on the hard ground and they would be a good quarter of the way in distance to the barn in the lower pasture. She knew that the steeper slope and more densely packed forest on the other side of the track would slow them down slightly but she figured it would slow down any pursuers unfamiliar with the terrain even more. Her mother had instructed her to get her younger siblings to the barn in the lower pasture and this remained the safest way she could think of to do so. The nature of the terrain precluded any pursuit by horseback unlike the alternative routes and Madeleine's mother had indicated that she should stay away from any riders she might encounter. Once at the barn, they would be safe. Madeleine knew that her father maintained a hidden storm cellar under the barn that would provide provisions and shelter for the three of them until such time as one of her parents came for them.
IF their parents came for them, she thought.
The fear her mother felt over the events of the immediate future had been conveyed to Madeleine in the embrace that she gave her before she sent them away from the cottage. It wasn't a tearful embrace or even a fearful embrace. No, it was a loving final embrace. It was as if her mother had tried to convey all the love she felt for her in a single hug. And that had scared Madeleine far more than all the tears and wailing in the world would have.
Blinking back her own tears at the remembrance of that embrace, she watched Greytail reach the tree line and in one graceful leap clear a track wide enough for a cart. Madeleine couldn't help but smile a little as Charlotte let out a nervous little squeal as the wolf became momentarily airborne. She knew they were far enough from the cottage for there to be no danger of the sound being heard back there, so she felt no danger in letting her younger sister enjoy the moment. Indeed, if events turned out as she feared it might be the last time in a long while that Charlotte could feel such guilt free joy. As an indication as to how fast Greytail was starting to outpace them, it took Noah nearly a half minute more before he less gracefully crashed through the tree line stumbling spread eagle onto the dusty track, his weaver bow spilling from an outstretch hand from the force of the impact. Madeleine, who was a few seconds behind Noah, carefully crossed through the bushes at the tree line onto the track and started to urge her younger brother to his feet.
"Noah, we don't have ti.."
The remainder of the sentence died on Madeleine's lips as she saw no more than two metres away a gathering of six armed men. While she didn't recognise the red and white checked tabards they wore she knew that these men were in all probability related to whatever had scared her mother so much. Instinctively pulling magical energy from the very earth upon which she stood through her body and into the 'Siden Stone' embedded into the centre of the bow, she gestured a string of energy into life on the stringless recurve bow and hastily fired an arrow of crackling energy at the ground in front of the Yeomen in an effort to delay them. The resultant flash of light combined with the cloud of dust thrown up from the ground where her arrow hit, briefly obscured the two groups from each other. Madeleine grabbed Noah by the scruff of his leather jerkin with her free hand and desperately tugged him from the ground to a half crouch as she started moving towards the opposite tree line.
The initial shocked silence of both groups was initially only punctuated by the sound of Noah's hands scrabbling in the earth as he sought to gain his balance until a piercing shout emitted from one of the soldiers.
"Halt! Halt in the name of the High King!"
Madeleine cursed inwardly at that shout, realising now that the men were not mercenaries or local militia but instead members of the Yeomanry of the Household. With a renewed sense of urgency Madeleine dragged her younger brother towards the edge of the track, almost making it before her arm jerked back as Noah came to a sudden stop. Madeleine's momentum spun her around slightly so that she looked back towards her younger brother. The sight that greeted her chilled her heart as she saw a burley yeoman had a firm grip on her brother's right arm.
"You aren't going anywhere, girl," he snarled at her across the struggling form of Noah.
Madeleine could see three more yeomen were now within a few paces of her and she knew that there was no way in which she could easily get Noah free from them all. For a brief moment the thought of abandoning Noah and making her escape through the woods, only for it to be hastily rejected. Madeleine was far too much her mother's daughter to admit defeat just because the odds were against her and far too much of her father's daughter to abandon a family member. Instead, feeling her anger rising, she released her grip on Noah and grasping her weaver bow in both hands swung it by a limb at the yeoman holding onto Noah. As she swung the bow, Madeleine felt a further charge of her magic surge up through her legs from the ground and into the weaver bow to replenish the Siden Stone and causing the end of the bow's limb to crackle with eldritch energy. Her intended target jumped backwards in fear at the sight, falling over his own feet and landing heavily on the ground. Grabbing Noah by the arm she pulled him towards her in an attempt to get off the track, only for the downed yeoman to lash out at Noah with his boot while cursing Madeleine as a 'weaver bitch'. The force of his kick cracked heavily against the side of Noah's knee driving the teenager to the ground in a scream of pain.
The three remaining yeomen slowed their advance at the sight of her sparking weaver bow and changing their stances, cautiously drew their swords.
"Hawkins. Smith. Move to flank her," ordered the oldest of the three yeomen. Madeleine could see that he knew the danger a weaver bow could present in the hands of a skilled user and she realised that he was trying prevent her from having the time to focus her power in such a way as to be able to fire an arrow from the bow.
"Aye, sir!" they called in unison.
Seeing the two men trying to flank her, Madeleine changed her grip on the weaver bow to grip it more like a staff, so she could defend an attack from multiple angles.
"Get back!!" screamed Madeleine at the two yeomen either side of her.
Using the charged end points to the bows limbs she quickly jabbed at both men to force them back. Sensing an opportunity, the yeomen in front of her slashed downwards at her bow in an attempt to disarm her. At the last minute Madeleine raised her bow to block the downward blow of the sword only to see in shock the blade bite deep into the fully charged Siden Stone that was located in the centre of the riser, the rigid centre part of the bow. A blinding flare burnt itself into Madeleine's eyes as the stone shattered and the last sound she heard before losing consciousness was the dying scream of the yeoman in front of her as the full force of the discharge conducted down his sword into his body.
The first thing Hal became aware of was the feeling of grass tickling his face as he turned his head slightly. Slowly opening his eyes he let out a low moan from the brightness of the light and the headache that assaulted his senses, which forced his eyes closed for a few minutes before he felt confident enough to open them again. When he did manage to open his eyes and had pulled himself up onto his elbows, he was gratified to see that once he had stopped moving his blurred vision began to clear sufficiently to start identifying specific shapes in the clearing around him.
"Don't make any sudden moves. It's going to take a few minutes more before the healing stone has run its course," said a voice from out of his line of sight.
"What happened?" asked Hal to his mystery benefactor, his dry throat reducing his words to a hoarse whisper.
"We're alive and free. Whether that is the same as winning is debatable," said the voice.
Hal heard the sound of a stopper being removed and gratefully accepted the hardened leather canteen that was offered to him. Gulping down the water greedily, he felt clarity return to his thoughts and senses with each mouthful of cool water. Hal gingerly felt the side of his head with his free hand, gently probing where the source of the pain came from. He could feel the mass of wet matted hair that signified where the sword blade had struck him and marvelled that other than some blood and dull pain, the head wound seemed comparatively minor. Taking confidence from this as a sign that he could chance moving his head without aggravating a head wound, he turned slightly to find out the identity of his mystery benefactor. Hal was surprised to see the younger of the two yeomen that had greeted his parents crouching behind him and he returned the canteen back him, risking a tiny nod of his head in gratitude for the water. The young yeoman's tunic and tabard was heavily bloodstained over the right side of his chest and two pronounced holes could be seen at the centre of the blood stain.
"Do you feel able to stand?"
Hal nodded his head once more with a slight grimace and braced himself against the young yeoman lieutenant as he helped him to his feet. Looking around the clearing properly for the first time since the fight had started, Hal saw four horses in yeomen livery quietly grazing. Scattered around the clearing Hal saw a matching number of bodies wearing the uniforms of the yeomanry lying in the grass and he noted that one of them was the man who his parents had called Tom. The crossbow bolts sticking from his chest indicated that like Hal's father, his role in the encounter had been all too brief. Hal tried to remember how Thomas had died but found that his recollection the fight was still a little hazy.
"You must be a skilled swordsman to kill all those men on your own," said Hal, signalling with his hand away from Thomas's body towards the three dead yeomen lying a couple of metres from him. In reply, the lieutenant cleared his throat with a hint of embarrassment before speaking.
"No. Shortly after you were knocked unconscious by a rather vicious blow to the head, I took a crossbow bolt to the chest that kept me out of the fight for a while."
"Well who did then? My father couldn't as he..." Hal bit back the emotion swelling in his throat and was silent in anguish for a few seconds before continuing.
"Your major is some distance from these bodies. If I was unconscious and you were unable to fight that would only leave my mother and she is hardly the sort of woman who could..." Hal trailed off as he recalled the earlier conversation between his parents and the yeoman major about his mother being the lost Heir to the High Throne. The lost male Heir. With a quizzical expression on his face he once again looked around the clearing.
"Where is my mother?" asked Hal.
A grimace crossed Fairfax's face before he replied. "Sergeant Ackers has her. She blindsided the Princess when she was fighting the third yeoman. Ackers wasn't aware that I had a healing stone on me and assumed that while my wounds weren't of themselves immediately fatal, I would have died in a few days without a weaver to staunch the bleeding inside me."
Fairfax gently pulled at a leather cord around Hal's neck until a glowing blue pebble emerged through the open neck of his tunic. Tentatively, Hal reached up and grasped the pebble, feeling an energising warmth course through his body as the skin of his fingers touched it.
"This saved my life and saved you from disfiguring injury and possibly even death. The sword blow you took nearly severed your ear and would have left you with prominent scaring without the healing stone," said Fairfax.
Hal felt the extent of the sticky matted hair on the side of his head and gently traced his finger around his ear trying to gauge the full extent of his healed injury. Realising just how bad it would have been, Hal could not help but stare in wonder at the healing stone, watching it as it pulsed in time with his own heartbeat. By all accounts he realised, he should be unconscious and bleeding to death right now.
The thought occurred to him that if it could work such wonder on him it might be able to save others with far worse injuries. In part desperation, part inspiration he pointed to the body of his father.
"Could this bring him back?" asked Hal, his voice tinged with need and hope. In reply Fairfax just shook his head.
"Why? Why can this save you and I from such injuries but not him?"
Fairfax closed his eyes and let out a long exhale of air before he spoke. "I'm sorry. Truly. But it's a healing stone not a life stone. The soul still needs to be with the body for healing to occur and your father has been dead for too long now. As it was I was only just able to use the stone. Another few minutes and I'd have lost to much blood for it to work."
Fairfax stood in silence watching as Hal knelt beside the body of his father and said his farewells. He couldn't help but feel envious of the apparent loving relationship between Hal and his father, which was such a contrast to the cold, formal relationship he had with his own. That had all changed when his father secured an application to the Academy for him and he met Sir Thomas Albany. Thomas had taken the 15 year old aspirant cadet under his wing and had guided his career, shaping him into the man he was today in the process and giving him a surrogate father figure. He never realised the true depth of his feelings towards Sir Thomas until the moment in this very clearing that he had been made to choose between his honour as a yeoman and the man he loved like a father. Yet, despite standing there in the clearing as an oath breaker, the worst dishonour that a yeoman could have, Fairfax would not change his actions. Although he felt truly shamed to have broken his oath to the High Queen, he felt the shame of being disloyal to Sir Thomas would have weighed heavier on his heart.
"...I said, do you have any suggestions as what we are going to do next?" asked Hal, interrupting Fairfax's thoughts.
"Next? There is no next. At least for me," said Fairfax in a voice strangely absent of emotion, almost as if he were discussing events unrelated to himself. "As a yeoman I'm oath broken. My name will be read out among the ranks of the dishonoured in the Great Hall and a bounty placed upon my head. No one can give me shelter or succour on pain of death. The only way my honour may be reclaimed would be for a member of the High Family to accept my sword in service so that my dishonour may be forgiven or to cleanse my dishonour at my own hands..."
Grabbing his tabard by the neck with both hands, Fairfax ripped the material apart discarding the tattered red and white cloth at his feet. "I would not change my actions today but I do regret them. I must therefore accept that I have no right to wear this uniform."
Hal recognised the man's shame although he lacked the militaristic upbringing of the yeoman to truly understand it. The martial nature of the yeomanry contrast with the more relaxed upbringing given to him by his own parents. A particular expression his father seemed so fond of using came to mind, which was that 'failure was just the á‰se's way of giving you another chance to succeed'. The reminiscing about his father brought Hal's mind back to the present and he once more gazed upon the prone form of his father.
The thought occurred to him that he could not have dreamed of a more unreal chain of events than he now found himself immersed up to his neck in. This morning he had planned nothing more than attending his chores with the aurochs and practicing his blade work. Now his father was dead, his mother missing and his sisters and brother were gods only know where. And seemingly to compound the unreality of the moment, his mother it seemed was also the rightful male heir to the High Throne. His mother, the legendary 'Wynter Lion'.
Every child in the Heptarchy knew the fable of the heroic Prince Henry who had disappeared in pursuit of a kidnapped Princess and who would one day return to assume the throne and lead the Angelcyn people to greatness. As a child he had never understood his father's unease with the fable, yet now he knew why it was so. It seemed so preposterous that words couldn't even describe it. His mother, this woman who doted on her children and who was never happier than when in the arms of her husband was the Heir. This woman who wore her heart on her sleeve and was prone to laughing or crying at the drop of a hat, was the lost semi-mythical warrior king of the Angelcyn. And even more unreal, Hal thought, he himself was the heir to two thrones - the throne of the Kingdom of Cantia, the very kingdom in which he was born and raised, and the High Throne itself.
The High Throne. A glimmer of an idea began to form in Hal's mind. However, any further thought on the matter was interrupted by a loud gasp from the body of Sir Thomas. His body spasmed to life for a moment before his hands frantically clawed at the crossbow bolts in his chest until they were dislodged. Once the bolts were removed, Sir Thomas's form collapsed back into inactivity save the rising and falling of his chest as he gulped air with a rasping sound into dry lungs.
"Thunor protect us!" exclaimed Hal at the sight. The two young men looked at each other in mute shock before warily advancing to the prone form of Sir Thomas.
"Your master is weaver gifted?" whispered Hal in awe.
"No. The closest he has ever come to being weaver gifted was the six months he wooed Synnove," whispered Fairfax in reply. At the look of confusion on Hal's face he sought to provide further clarification. "She is an apprentice to the Royal Weaver."
"Then how is he alive?" asked Hal prodding the body of Sir Thomas gently with his boot. A startled cry escaped from Hal's lips when Thomas's hand pushed Hal's boot away from him. Warily kneeling next to him, Fairfax noticed a faint glow coming through Sir Thomas's tabard. His fingers carefully undid the top button on Sir Thomas's tunic and pulled out a polished rectangular black stone engraved in words from the Old World tongue. The dull red glow it gave seemed to be drawn back into Sir Thomas with every breath he took.
"It's a life stone," murmured Fairfax in almost reverential tones. "They glow bright green when fully charged and turn matt black when discharged." Looking up at Hal, a smile crept across his lips. "That sneaky bastard got a life stone from Synnove. Do you have any idea how precious these are? They are reserved explicitly for the High Family and the most senior priests and weavers."
Hal knelt down on the other side of Sir Thomas. "My father...maybe it would work on him too?" He reached out to grasp it only for Fairfax to close his hand firmly around Hal's wrist.
"Don't. We have no idea if it has healed him fully. He may need the entire charge."
"It's a risk I'm prepared to take if it would mean my father were to live again. Thomas breathes as we speak, so it probably won't kill him if I removed it. Let go of my hand, yeoman."
Fairfax's expression set in anger as he locked eyes with Hal. "Make me, farm boy."
"Stop it now," said Thomas, his voice dry and hoarse but still strong.
"Take this," said Thomas pulling the life stone from his neck with great effort. "Daniel was like a brother to me. If this helps him at my expense, so be it. I have terribly wronged him and his family today. However, I fear it is too late for him. If his soul has crossed over he may not be recoverable."
In retaliation, Fairfax grasped the pulsating blue pebble hanging around Hal's neck and pulled the chord hard, freeing it.
"Fair exchange," said Fairfax, anger palpable in his voice. He leant down and tied the cords around Sir Thomas's neck, watching as colour flowed back into his pallid cheeks as soon as he placed the healing stone against him.
Hal's headache returned as the healing stone was secured around Sir Thomas's neck. Gritting his teeth he made his way over to his father's body and secured the life stone firmly around his neck. Taking a seat next to his father's body, he laced his fingers together in silent prayer to the á‰se.
Sergeant-at-Arms Ackers pulled her horse, and by extension the horse tethered to her mount, to a halt as she rounded the bend on the track leading from the cottage to the lower pastures. The scene in front was the last thing she expected, with the bodies of two dead yeoman laid out on the track, one of whom had substantial burns to his body. She noted that a yeoman was in the process of wrapping the other body in his saddle blanket for transport to a location at which he could be properly buried indicating that the immediate conflict, whatever that may have been, was over. On spotting the senior yeoman present, she gently spurred her horse forward until she came to halt a few metres away from a yeoman tending to the injured arm of another yeoman.
"Corporal Wyndham? What has happened here?" she asked. In reply, the yeoman ceased his work bandaging the arm of the injured yeoman and pulled himself to his feet.
"We encountered a weaver bitch. She fried Sergeant Landon and Yeoman Smith cracked his skull open after being flung into a tree when her damn weaver bow exploded," stated the corporal pointing in the direction of two dead yeoman. "Yeomen Hawkins and Lang also received minor burns and bruising when the bow exploded."
"The weaver?"
"We can't find her. I'm guessing she was also flung clear by the explosion as well, otherwise she'd wouldn't have left him behind." Corporal Wyndham gestured back towards the yeomen's horses where the final of the six yeoman was tying a young boy's hands to one of the horses.
"Well, well..." murmured Sergeant Ackers, noting the family resemblance of the prisoner with that of her own captive. "Maybe today is my lucky day."
"Begging your pardon, Sergeant. Where are the others?" asked the corporal.
"Dead. We also encountered weaver trouble," replied Ackers, schooling her expression in a display of remorse. She knew that the average yeoman's distrust of weavers would probably be enough to discourage further discussion on the matter, particularly given their own recent encounter with one skilled in the weaver arts. It occurred to her that maybe she could even work it to her advantage if she spun it right.
"Sir Thomas managed to save a prisoner from them before his death. His orders were for me to take her immediately to Lake Vortigern."
A confused look came over the corporal's face as he looked up at his mounted superior. "Sergeant, surely Lake Vortigern is taking us further away from the bulk of our regiment and deeper into Cantia. Would it not be better to make for the Avalon Road with most haste?"
"Lake Vertigern is about two days eastwards, I know. However, Sir Thomas's orders were very specific on the matter and it is not for the likes of us to question the Queen's Champion. I'm sure he had knowledge of matters we do not."
Acker's stared at the boy for a moment in thought before turning her attention back to Corporal Wyndham. "Send one of your men back to Lieutenant Bathurst in Wye with the bodies of our brother yeomen. The rest of us will proceed with haste to Lake Vertigern. That way, if there has been a change of orders, the lieutenant can send yeoman to meet us at the lake."
Corporal Wyndham nodded his head in acknowledgement, grateful that the Sergeant had heeded his concerns and set about preparing his yeomen for departure. Once she was satisfied that the corporal had matters in hand she rode her horse over the young prisoner, dismissing the guarding yeoman as she pulled her horse to a halt.
"What is your name boy?" she asked.
When he didn't reply, she leant forward to press her hand against his bandaged knee. Acker's was gratified to hear a suppressed squeal of pain through the boy's gritted teeth.
"I'll ask you one more time boy. What's your name?"
"Noah," he sullenly replied.
"How old are you?" she asked. Noah initially hesitated in responding to her until she pressed once more against his knee. This time she added more of her strength to it and only stopped when she saw a tear run down his cheek.
"How old are you?" she asked once more, her voice remaining calm and even in tone.
"Fourteen."
"Well Noah, I'm Sergeant Ackers. I killed your father and brother and I've captured your mother. Unless you do as I say, I will not hesitate to kill her too. Do we have an understanding?" Ackers struggled to keep herself from grinning as the boy deflated when she tugged the reins of the second horse and brought the body of Georgina into view. A simple nod of his head indicated his acquiescence to her demands.
"Smart lad. Now listen closely..."
To be continued...
Firstly, sorry for the delay to the few remaining readers I prolly have!! I had real problems writing one of the sword fight scenes because it seemed quickly to become repetitive. It's amazing how difficult I found to write something I could picture so clearly! I also needed to tweak one of the characters because I feared he was in danger of becoming interchangable with another from the dialogue. I hope I've now achieved that. I'm posting this chapter at the same time on both here and stardust because of the delay between chapters but intend to try and crack on and get chapter four back on track.
Anyway, thanks for reading this far!
Prince Henry Wynter was the Heir to the High Throne of the Heptarchy and prophesised to one day lead his people to unparalleled greatness. Twenty two years after he abandoned his destiny and his throne for the chance to be the person he felt he was meant to be, he finds that Fate has not yet finished with him. The events surrounding the proposed appointment of a new Heir to the High Throne have consequences that reach as far the remote farmstead refuge of the former prince and threaten to destroy the new life that she has built for herself.
Previously...
"It's a life stone," murmured Fairfax in almost reverential tones. "They glow bright green when fully charged and turn matt black when discharged." Looking up at Hal, a smile crept across his lips. "That sneaky bastard got a life stone from Synnove. Do you have any idea how precious these are? They are reserved explicitly for the High Family and the most senior priests and weavers."
Hal knelt down on the other side of Sir Thomas. "My father...maybe it would work on him too?" He reached out to grasp it only for Fairfax to close his hand firmly around Hal's wrist.
"Don't. We have no idea if it has healed him fully. He may need the entire charge."
"It's a risk I'm prepared to take if it would mean my father were to live again. Thomas breathes as we speak, so it probably won't kill him if I removed it. Let go of my hand, yeoman."
Fairfax's expression set in anger as he locked eyes with Hal. "Make me, farm boy."
"Stop it now," said Thomas, his voice dry and hoarse but still strong.
"Take this," said Thomas pulling the life stone from his neck with great effort. "Daniel was like a brother to me. If this helps him at my expense, so be it. I have terribly wronged him and his family today. However, I fear it is too late for him. If his soul has crossed over he may not be recoverable."
In retaliation, Fairfax grasped the pulsating blue pebble hanging around Hal's neck and pulled the chord hard, freeing it.
"Fair exchange," said Fairfax, anger palpable in his voice. He leant down and tied the cords around Sir Thomas's neck, watching as colour flowed back into his pallid cheeks as soon as he placed the healing stone against him.
Hal's headache returned as the healing stone was secured around Sir Thomas's neck. Gritting his teeth he made his way over to his father's body and secured the life stone firmly around his neck. Taking a seat next to his father's body, he laced his fingers together in silent prayer to the á‰se.
A farmstead cottage on the slopes of the Downs Mountain Range, Kingdom of Cantia
10 August EY 2451 (20 years ago)
Prince Henry Wynter lived a life governed by elaborate rules of etiquette and privilege. As the heir to the High Throne he was immersed in the courtly life at the Wynter Palace from before he was born and fed a steady diet of discipline, duty and respect. If he wanted for anything he had but to ask a courtier and it would be so done and the finest minds in the Heptarchy were available at his beck and call should he need their counsel. His every interaction was governed by conventions setting out in detail how he should respond to people based on their rank and station. Indeed, volumes had been written over the rules that governed such a simple act as greeting him in the Wynter Palace's presence chamber, the room where guests and assemblies were formally received.
As a member of the Yeomanry of the Household life was no different with a strict hierarchical command structure governing interaction between the ranks of the yeomanry. Whether on the battlefield or at a banquet or ball, for the young prince the privileges and duties of rank and station were inescapable. On top of this were the very specific expectations that the Angelcyn people had when it came to their High-Kings or High-Queens. Prince Henry, much to his displeasure, had been raised to be a warrior-king who when the time came would not shrink from driving his enemies from the field with the fluttering banner of the white dragon in one hand and the finest Angelcyn made steel in the other. This image was spoon-fed to him every day through every subject he studied and every activity he undertook. His philosophy teacher, Yeoman Major Martinson, had been very clear in his teachings that 'peace', 'negotiation' and 'compromise' were words used by the defeated or soon to be defeated party and Angelcyn kings had no need of such expressions when a single word summed up all they needed to offer their people. 'Victory'.
However, that had all ended on the day when Daniel had saved Prince Henry from his father's intended version of his future in favour of the future Henry had so desperately wanted and needed to live. As Georgina, runaway princess, the constraints of duty and expectation were cast aside in the name of living free. In this new world, the only obligations she had were those borne of choice, such as her decision to marry Daniel and trade her surname of Wynter for his of Amherst.
At times however, she feared her life at court had institutionalised her, making her too dependent on other people setting the rules of her world. In those moments, she would embrace her freedom to be frivolous, unpredictable and adventurous just to prove that she wasn't institutionalised. She knew Daniel viewed such moments with a mixture of horror and bemusement, depending on how successful she was in her latest endeavour. The one thing Georgina didn't do however was give up, for underneath the exterior of the newly married farmer's wife Georgina still couldn't completely shake her upbringing and the word 'defeat' was not a word in her vocabulary. Whether her opponent was a rebellious noble on the field of battle or stubbornly flat bread in her oven, Georgina embraced the challenge with the same determination.
The product of such reckless adventurousness had led her to the situation she found herself in at this moment. Daniel had been moaning about his hair, which after nearly two years was far beyond that permitted under yeomanry regulations but he stubbornly refused to risk journeying into the nearest village that had a barber. This had led to her latest impetuous pronouncement and her now being in the position of seriously considering expanding her lexicon by one word as she viewed the back of her husband's head. Trying desperately not to focus on the uneven lines cut into his hair, she hesitantly turned the unfamiliar hinged blades in her hand slowly from side to side as she sought to gain an appreciation for their balance, irritated at how clumsy she had felt in her first attempt at using them.
She knew most of the tension she felt wasn't due to her unfamiliarity with the blades of the scissors. Her martial upbringing had discovered a rare talent with any bladed weapon and even something new like scissors she knew she would eventually master. Rather, the problem was her inability to focus on the task at hand as another more significant matter weighed far heavier on her mind. However, she knew that until she worked out how to express it to Daniel, she would have to try and focus as best she could on his hair.
Closing her eyes briefly, Georgina let out a cleansing breath of air as her sword master, Sir Hugh Leyton, had taught her and she once more prepared to do battle. With her right hand she smoothly raised the scissors so that they hovered above Daniel's head like a sparrowhawk hunting for prey, while with her left hand the tips of Georgina's fingers danced lightly across Daniel's scalp teasing first one grouping of hair strands and then another before pausing over a particularly thick strand that seemed to take her fancy. Gently she plucked at the base of the hair with her index and middle fingers before sweeping down across a stubble covered cheek as she traced the wayward strand of dark brown hair, only stopping when she reached what she adjudged to be a centimetre or so from the end. Her face a mask of concentration, she tilted her head to each side to appraise the cutting point before slowly closing the blades of the scissors over the strand of hair with a crisp snip, the unwanted hair tumbled to the stone floor.
Satisfied with the cut, her fingers resumed their wandering across Daniel's scalp before settling on one of the spiky strands emanating from the crown of his head. Once she had the fullness of the strand trapped between her fingers, she first pushed it one way and then the other before she traced the hair to what she gauged to be the best cutting point. The sound of the scissors closing over its target was the only sound in the room other than Daniel's slow breathing and a gentle bubbling from a nearby cooking pot. Releasing the shorn strand, she gently swirled Daniel's crown of hair with her finger tips as she stroked his hair flat.
Taking a half step back to view her work, Georgina pressed her lips together in a pout as the strand of shortened hair rebelliously taunted her by standing proud despite being trimmed. In retaliation she snipped at the offending hair a second time, this time not using her fingers as guide to the cutting point. A brief pause and re-examination let to a third cut. And then a fourth. Gazing upon her work, she let out a low growl.
"Maybe..." said Daniel, pausing to clear his throat but not daring to move his head less he lose an ear to Georgina's scissors. "Maybe I should take the risk and go to the barber in Sarsen after all?"
"No!" said Georgina indignantly. "You chose not to remember. Besides, this is not going to beat me."
"Before or after you've cut a bald patch into my crown?" said Daniel, thankful that Georgina was behind him so that she couldn't see the grin on his face.
"OW!"
"That is for laughing at me."
"You're behind me, so how on Eorá°e would you know what I'm doing," said Daniel rubbing his ear. "Or even not doing," he added hastily.
"I am your wife. I know these things."
"Why is it in the fairytales Prince Charming gets the simpering happily domesticated princess while I get the unreasonably violent magical princess who can't cook," muttered Daniel under his breath.
"OW!"
"That is for muttering."
"Do you have to keep doing that?" grumbled Daniel rubbing his other ear.
"Awwwwww. I am sorry sweetie," said Georgina lightly kissing the top of Daniel's head. "But you did bring it on yourself by marrying me..."
Daniel let out a short laugh in response, letting some of the tension flow from his body. "Yeah. I should've seen the warning signs at our handfasting ceremony when you asked if there was enough rope to tie my other hand as well."
"Well, I could not have you getting away now could I?"
"Guess you're stuck with me then," said Daniel tilted his head so that the back of it rested against the top of the chair so that he could look up at his wife. Their lips touched tenderly as Georgina leaned forward and Daniel inhaled the faint strawberry smell that he had come to associate with his wife as her hair fell across his face. Slowly pulling back from the kiss, Georgina smiled shyly at Daniel before carefully easing his head back into an upright position.
Her fingers once more caressed his scalp seeking another strand of hair to trim and the couple slipped into a shared sense of silent contentment. When Daniel hesitantly broke the silence, his voice adopted a tone similar to that a rider might use when coaxing a skittish mare.
"Gina, I know we haven't seen any yeomen on the plains since the last harvest, but we still need to be careful."
Georgina felt Daniel jump in surprise as she hugged him in a tight embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. She could almost fancy she saw goosebumps rise on his skin as she kissed his neck.
Daniel reached up and touched her arm and the two lovers remained locked in a silent embrace.
"I love it here, Danny. Honestly I do. I am truly happy here. It is just sometimes...sometimes when you are out working on the farm I grow bored and miss the company of other people. All my life, there have been people around me. It is just taking time to get used to this. As long as I have you though, that's all that matters."
Daniel absently stroked his wife's arm as he digested her words.
"I'll tell you what, Gina. If we don't see any more yeomen between now and the harvest festival we'll go into Sarsen with the Paxton's to celebrate it this year. Deal?"
A little squeal of joy escaped from Georgina in response and she squeezed her husband with all her might before releasing him. Once she had calmed down, Georgina could not stop the smile pulling at the corner of her lips as she thought about how old man Martinson would have viewed her willingness to accept a compromise rather than pushing for her view to dominate. But then, she thought ruefully, he hadn't ever been married to the best of her knowledge, otherwise he would have known that marriage involved compromise, negotiation and peace if it was to work. She leaned forward to kiss Daniel on the cheek again, before repositioning his head to continue cutting his hair.
"I would ideally like to keep both my ears if you need a styling tip," said Daniel.
"Shush you. This is going to be perfect when I am finished. Now keep still."
Georgina switched her attention to the left side of Daniel's head focusing on the shorter strands at the top of his head first, slowly moving down towards his ear. Despite her best efforts however, her attention still kept drifting back to the spike of hair defying her will and she had to restrain herself from making a further cut at it.
"So what did you do while I was in the upper pasture this morning?" asked Daniel breaking the silence.
"Oh, the usual. Housework...tended to the hens... I am also thinking of getting you to clear space for a second vegetable patch near the stables, as the one we have is only just meeting our needs as it is at the moment."
"Sounds as boring as my morning herding the sheep," chuckled Daniel.
"Pretty much."
Georgina paused in her work for a moment, biting the corner of her lower lip as she contemplated whether this was the right time to try and express to Daniel the issue that was really troubling her. In the back of her mind she could hear Major Martinson urging her that hesitation was for the weak and that the victor seized the day.
"Mistress Matthews did drop by earlier."
"Matthews...She's the weaver from over in Little Broxbourne isn't she? I thought Master Morley covers this side of the mountains?"
"Yes, but he is not a trained physic, so she helps him in midwifery matters."
"Well then, her weaver gift clearly didn't grant her a sense of direction if she ended up here," chuckled Daniel. "You told her how to get back down to the plains? If she was out this way, I guess that Ambrose has got Jeanie pregnant again?"
Georgina had been rehearsing this moment all morning but found herself torn by conflicting emotions now the time had come. A feeling of light headedness overcame her and she closed her eyes to stop the room from visibly spinning. Subconsciously, her left hand lightly touched her lower abdomen. How long she stood like that she didn't know. The only clue that Georgina had to any time passing was when she felt Daniel's hand close around hers. The rough skin of his palms pressed against the back of her right hand as he gently freed the scissors from her grasp and placed them on the wooden table to which the chair he had been sitting on belonged. Georgina opened her eyes, her vision blurry with tears she hadn't been aware she was shedding and tackled him in a tight hug letting out the tension she felt in a tear filled bawl.
"Shhhh. It's okay 'Blanchefleur'. If the á‰se choose in their wisdom not to bless us with children, I don't care as long as I have you. Anyway, there is nothing to stop us being involved with the Paxton's children. Jeanie is often saying she wants you to call over more often."
Georgina desperately wanted to correct Daniel's misunderstanding as to why she was crying. However, she found that the diaphragm wracking sobs she was experiencing had reduced her capacity to speak to a fleeting window of time too short to do anything in but babble incoherently. Instead, Georgina held Daniel as tight as she could, letting her warm tears wash away the fear until the front of his tunic had become wet and sticky where her eyes and nose pressed against it. Daniel gently rubbed her back and whispered how much he loved her until she managed to get her tears under some semblance of control. Snuggled against her husband's broad chest seeking out a dry patch before speaking, her voice was nasally and hoarse from the crying.
"You know how hard it is to visit Ambrose and Jeanie. They are two hour's ride away as it is and both of us have duties to attend to on our farms. Besides, given I am the one who is pregnant, I think the least they could do is visit us."
"Pregnant?" whispered Daniel after a pause.
"Yes," said Georgina, as she listened to her husband's heart rate increase from her position resting against his chest. "Are you... pleased?".
"You're absolutely sure you're pregnant?"
"Honestly? No. It seems like something from a dream. However, Mistress Matthews was adamant. And there have been a few other...physical...things that made me suspicious enough to ask Jeanie to send her over when she next came to check up on Jeanie's youngest. But, you are pleased...right?"
In response, Daniel gently squeezed her before releasing her from his grip and cupping her face in his hands.
"Pleased? Of course I'm pleased!"
Daniel lent down and kissed Georgina with a kiss she felt was far too short for her liking. Looking up at him she saw that infectious grin of his dancing across his face. 'That's the look that got me pregnant in the first place' she thought with a sigh.
"I was saving that last good bottle of wine until our next wedding anniversary but I think we have cause to celebrate with it now, don't you?" said Daniel. "You get the glasses, I'll get the bottle from the cellar."
Georgina saw Daniel through the open door of the kitchen as he stopped to look at his reflection in the small hall mirror.
"Y'know...Actually, I think I might try growing my hair longer after all," he called back to her after examining her handiwork. In response she just laughed.
The Wynter Palace, Isle of Avalon
Tiw's Day 23 April EY 2471 - Late Afternoon (The Present)
The deep amber tinged light of the sun seeped through the French doors lining the west wall casting shadows across the sombrely dressed group of men and women sitting around the large rectangular oak table that dominated the room. The back of each heavy set chair was decorated with a simple red oval in which sat the passant white dragon of the Angelcyn, its stride halted by a raised clawed front leg. A mixture of servants and court bureaucrats flitted around the table, the cacophony of colours of their outfits contrasting against the uniformity of blacks, browns and whites of the seated.
A loud double rap at the great gilded oak double doors of the room silenced the gentle murmurs of whispered conversations amongst those present. As the great doors slowly swung open, the sound of a dozen chairs could be heard scraping against the tiles as each of the seated rose to their feet.
"My Lords and Ladies of the Privy Council, be upstanding for His Most Royal Majesty High-King Henry II, King of the Angelcyn, Ruler of the Heptarchy, Duke of Gallia Aquitania and Lord of the Isle of Avalon."
The silence of the chamber was disturbed by the sound of a small falconry bell jingling as the High-King entered, striding across the room towards an empty wooden chair at the head of the table that was only distinguished from the others by its higher back. The High-King still clad in the muted browns and greens of his hunting clothes contrasted with the two colourfully clad figures walking a respectful distance behind him, figures that the falcon resting on his gloved left hand strained to keep watch upon.
"Apologies for the delay, my most loyal Privy Councillors. Regretfully, affairs of state prevented my exercising 'Winged Victory' this morning as I would normally," said King Henry with a broad smile.
As the High-King neared his chair, he flicked his wrist sending the falcon on his glove soaring into the air to circle the room. Once the High-King was seated by waiting servants, the grey haired Chamberlin of the Household responded to an almost imperceptible nod of the High-King's head with the level of understanding only gained through years of service. Clapping his hands he signalled to the servants and staff to leave the chamber before finally assuming his position a discreet distance behind the High-King's chair.
The King reached for an ornate gold ewer and poured the wine within it into a crystal goblet in front of him. Taking a long drink from the goblet, he signalled to the standing Privy Councillors at the table for them to be seated as he himself slouched down against the velvet covered padding of his chair.
"My Lords, as Lord President of the Privy Council, I declare the Council to be in session. Getting down to business, may I ask the Lord High Constable if he has anything new to add concerning the activities of the Queen's Yeomanry?"
The assembled council turned as one to look at the Lord High Constable, who shuffled a few parchments in front of him seeking the document he needed. Taking a sip from his own goblet of wine, he spoke with a clarity and projection of voice associated with decades of issuing orders over the din of the battlefield.
"My King, as per the last report I received this morning I can advise that the Queen's Yeomanry continue to search with little avail, if we are to assume they are searching for the Heir. I have two regiments of the King's Yeomanry arriving at the borders of Cantia within the next two days and the frigate's Valiant and Indomitable entered the Kingdom of Cantia's territorial boundaries late yesterday. Should the Queen's Yeomanry find the Heir not only will we know about it but you will have a range of options at your disposal."
"Is there any sign that Cantia's forces are mobilising in response?"
"None. Cantia's Militia remains in its barracks and the irregular Fyrd have not been called to arms. They appear to be unaware of our forces activity."
"Thank you Lord Sommers. I'm sure that Lord Cavanaugh appreciates the brevity of your updates as much as I do. It gives him less to remember when he reports them back to the Queen, eh?" said the King, a sly smile crossing his face.
The quiet chuckle that rippled around the table competed with the spluttering protestations from Lord Cavanaugh, his crimson face a similar shade to that of his thinning red hair. Holding his hand up to still the noise, the King winked at Lord Cavanaugh before continuing.
"I tease you in jest, my Lord High Steward. Your loyalty is never in question. It's just too much of a temptation to get a rise out of you. Moving onto other business, Earl Marshal how goes the preparations for the anniversary of my ascension to the throne?"
Like many of the men and women assembled at the table, the young Lady Alice de Clare owed her position to King Henry's patronage. As a junior advocate at the Court of Chivalry, she had worked under Lord Edmondson, Earl of Meonwara and the previous Earl Marshal, building a reputation for fairness and efficiency. His tragic and unexpected death two months previously had led to her surprise appointment as the new Earl Marshal, despite her lack of seniority or title. She knew to her sorrow that many at the High Court attributed her rapid rise to her delicate yet pleasing features and ample bosom rather than her ferocious intellect and sense of fairness that her made her so successful at the Court of Chivalry. It was her sense of fairness however, that was now causing her problems as the King had made it very clear what he had expected from her and hinted darkly at the consequences of displeasing him.
Her added worry was that in pleasing the King she faced the prospect of displeasing a prince of the realm. She enjoyed the title of Countess of Meonwara and the associated lands that came with it and didn't wish to lose it all by upsetting the wrong member of the blood royal. Sitting at the table she desperately sought to avoid the unwavering stares from the two colourfully clad figures sitting either side of the King as she spoke.
"M-m-my King. The preparations are on course to celebrate the anniversary of your coronation on W-w-woden's Day the 15th of May."
"And the other matter?"
"My King?"
"The matter of Duke Richard's genealogy?"
"I-I-I have confirmed his genealogy, and by extension that of his mother Princess Alys, to be related to your ancestor High-King William II who reigned EY2043 to 2127, making them both descendants of the Blood Royal. In addition, as per your oath witnessed by a Priest of the á‰se and the Lord High Weaver, I can confirm Duke Richard to be your son making him a p-p-prince of the Blood Royal."
Pausing to take a drink from the goblet in front of her to steady her nerves under the cold stare of Prince Geoffrey sitting to the King's immediate right, the Lady Alice spat the contents out in shock as Lord Sommers thumped the table, causing a ringing of crystal to reverberate around the room.
"All hail Prince Richard! All hail Prince Richard!" cried Lord Sommers, the refrain being taken up by other members of the Privy Council with varying degrees of enthusiasm until the King Henry waved them into silence.
The King let out a hearty laugh as he watched Lady Alice dabbing at her black and white robes with her napkin, trying to blot the wine stain from them. When he spoke his voice contained the good humour for which he was renowned and Lady Alice could almost see the spray of freckles across his cheeks joining up as his smile creased his face.
"Earl Marshal, I must apologise for the Lord High Constable. His enthusiasm sometimes makes him forget that we aren't young yeomen at the mess table on campaign anymore and that there are certain expectations for the behaviour of Privy Councillors."
"My apologies, Lady Alice," said a less than contrite Lord Sommers offering his own napkin to Lady Alice. "My enthusiasm for the High King and his family sometimes gets the better of me. Please continue with your report."
Glancing at her heavily stained robe with its formerly white front panel, Lady Alice let out a deep sigh before continuing.
"M-m-my King, in addition the Du...Prince Richard...lodged a formal petition with my office yesterday morning seeking his inclusion in the line of succession. If you were to grant his petition, which given he was conceived outside of wedlock you have the option to decline, it would make Prince Richard by virtue of his birth in EY2431 to be...second...in line to the High Throne behind the current Heir, Prince Henry, and ahead of Prince Geoffrey born in EY2432, the current presumptive in the line of succession in the absence of his older brother."
"I so grant the petition."
"Father! This is an outrage!" cried Prince Geoffrey pushing his seat back as he stood, his right hand grasping for the sword absent from his belt. Anything else that Geoffrey might have said was cut off by a stinging open handed slap from his father, which knocked him back into his seat.
"You may be my son but you will never be High King!" snarled King Henry, standing over the cowed figure, who was busy trying to shield himself with his hands. "You have the same weakness of spirit that afflicted my uncle, High-King Stephen, and I did not save this throne by force of arms to see these lands plunged back into the anarchy of those times. None of you, not your sisters or your younger brother John, have shown the mettle needed to be High-King of the Angelcyn. Only Henry and Matilda came even close and she is dead and he is lost to us."
Turning in disgust, King Henry threw his napkin at his son who was cautiously wiping a trail of blood from the corner of his mouth. As King Henry slumped back into his chair, he placed his head in his hands and whispered under his breath a comment only heard by those closest seated to him.
"A true Heir would have beaten me to the ground for slapping him."
An uncomfortable silence filled the room until the High-King once more looked up at the assembled council.
"Earl Marshal. How long would it take for you to complete the proceedings necessary to make Prince Richard the presumptive Heir in the absence of his half-brother Prince Henry?"
Her answer already prepared for such a question, Lady Alice took a deep breath and spoke with a confidence absent from her previous words. The way Prince Geoffrey had responded to his father's rebuke being all the assurance she needed as to which prince to back in the succession.
"I can make the necessary arrangements and notices to make it both an anniversary of your coronation and the investiture of a new presumptive Heir on 15 May should it so please you, My King."
"It does so please me."
"As you say, so will it be done," stated Lady Alice in the time-honoured traditional response to a royal instruction.
"I have a further royal edict to make. From this day forward, I strip Prince Geoffrey of his seat on the Privy Council and instead, I award it to Prince Richard. Furthermore, unless the Earl Marshal wishes to exercise her constitutional right otherwise, I shall as of Woden's Day 15 May EY2471 anoint Prince Richard as not just the presumptive Heir but the next High-King on my death. Do you have any objection Earl Marshal?"
"As the Privy Council is aware, the Earl Marshal has the final say on all matters to do with the line of succession and the coronation of a new High-King. On my appointment to the position I sought to familiarise myself with all the laws concerning succession and can confirm that subject to the issuing of a proclamation of your intent, My King, and giving Prince Henry or any of his legitimate issue time to come forth and stake their claim, you may do so."
"In which case, Earl Marshal, I would instruct that such a proclamation be issued immediately giving the Heir and any issue he may have until Woden's Day 15 May to come forth."
"As you say, so will it be done," said Lady Alice, nodding her assent to the King.
To the resounding shouts of 'Gods Save Prince Richard' the King poured himself a large goblet of wine all the while watching the murderous look that Prince Geoffrey was giving Prince Richard sat opposite him. He half hoped that Geoffrey would show the backbone necessary to challenge Richard and settle the dispute for the throne in an honourable way with steel in hand. Either way, he thought, for the security of the realm one of his two sons would need to be dead long before his own death came to avoid a struggle for the throne.
A farmstead cottage on the slopes of the Downs Mountain Range, Kingdom of Cantia
Tiw's Day 23 April EY 2471 - Early Evening
Hal sat on the edge of his parent's bed starring at the sealed leather pouch in his hand. He had known about this since he was a young boy but had never expected to be opening it on his own, always imagining that his brothers and sisters would be gathered around him when the time came. Breaking the wax seal on the back he unfolded the pouch to reveal two letters, each with a ring tied to it by a gold ribbon which he recognised as the same ribbons as those used by his mother in her hair braids. The largest and thickest of the letters had his father's handwriting on it, addressed to Hal by his full birth name of Henry Daniel Amherst. The smaller of the letters had a much simpler inscription written on it in his mother's ornate copper plate script. It simply said 'to my baby boy'.
Holding his mother's letter to his face, he inhaled the faint smell of strawberries that he associated with the presence of his mother. Placing her letter to one side for a moment on the bed spread, he picked up his father's letter examining the signet ring tied to it. It came as no surprise to him after the events of earlier that day to see the royal seal of the House of Amherst on it, the rearing stallion of Cantia. Pulling the ribbon apart, he opened the letter and moved closer to the cold pure white light being emitted from the illumination stone sat in the centre of a lantern.
Jack Fairfax opened the stable style kitchen door to enter the cottages kitchen, wiping the dirt from his hands with an old rag he'd found in the stables. Pulling a chair out at the oak table he sat down opposite Sir Thomas and accepted the steaming cup of tea offered to him, embracing it with his open palms to savour the warmth of cup and drive out the chill of the late spring evening from his bones. Both men sat in silence for a few minutes, each reflecting on the day before Fairfax finally spoke.
"I've removed the tack and saddles of the horses of the dead yeomen and let them go on the upper slopes of the mountain pasture. With luck they won't be discovered for a while yet and that should delay questions about why yeomanry branded horses are running wild."
"The bodies of Acker's men?"
"I've thrown them into the river on the far side of the mountain. It's deep and fast flowing and should carry the bodies a considerable distance from the cottage before they come to any settlements. That side is heavily wooded anyway, so settlements are quite sparse. I personally would have preferred to have buried or burnt them but I honoured your wish that they not be in anyway easily associated with this cottage."
Sir Thomas smiled sadly at Fairfax, leaning back into his chair as he spoke. "I have destroyed a happy family home today and fear that this place will never know peace again thanks to my actions. I hope that one day another family will again call this cottage home and in that event I don't want to leave them the gift of unmarked graves if I can avoid it."
"If I may be so bold. This was always going to happen, Sir Thomas. If it wasn't us it would have been someone. Do you genuinely believe the High-Queen or the High-King would ever stop searching for the Heir, who is after all prophesised to lead us all to glory? Don't even get me started on what we have found here. The mere existence of that farm boy is in breach of the Founding Documents. If I recall the exact wording, it states that 'no King of the Angelcyn shall serve two masters' and being the heir to two thrones - Cantia and the High Throne - he does just that. They should be in Avalon accounting for their actions before the Star Chamber."
Sir Thomas frowned, placing his cup down on the table and took a long hard look at Jack before speaking. "If you feel this way, why did you break your oath and side with me?"
Jack blushed a deep crimson before speaking, looking at every part of the kitchen but that occupied by Sir Thomas.
"My father is a cold bastard whose only concern was duty and honour. Children should neither be seen nor heard. The only time he ever smiled at me was when I was selected for the Academy as a yeoman cadet. The only time. Do you know what his parting words to me were?"
Jack adopted a gruff tone of voice as he spoke next. "Don't disgrace me boy."
Resuming his normal tone of voice, he finally made eye contact with Sir Thomas. "And then I met you, the mighty Queen's Champion, at the Academy. I was a lost 15 year old with the legacy of my father's military successes hanging over me like the Old World tale of the Sword of Damocles. No one cared about me, it was all about whose son I was. Only you treated me as a real person rather than a legacy. You praised me when I succeeded and encouraged me when I failed. You taught me how to be a man not just a yeoman. How could I ever properly repay the man who choose to act like a father over the man who was my father but just saw me as a future officer? I would follow you in battle against the legendary Grendel if you commanded me or even if you didn't. I would tweak the noses of dragons and tilt forevermore at windmills if it pleased you. I would break my oath and act contrary to my very nature..."
Jack abruptly got up and walked to the kitchen sink, looking but not seeing out at the twilight darkened clearing in front of the cottage, lost in thought. He jumped in surprise as he felt a hand on his shoulder a few moments later and half turned his head to see Sir Thomas standing behind him. Turning back to stare out into the clearing, the two men stood in silence in the darkening room, Sir Thomas's hand never moving from Jack's shoulder.
Hal carefully folded his father's letter and put it back on the open leather pouch. The letter was very much his father in style - practical and thoughtful. It set out details of his father and mothers past, the present his parents found themselves in shortly after his birth and the contingency plans his father had made in case of discovery. Switching his attention to the ring that came with the letter, he pulled at the ribbon freeing it and placed it on his right ring finger.
"Goodbye Hal Stockbury, Hello Henry Daniel Amherst," he muttered under his breath as he examined the heavy gold signet ring on his hand. The ring much to his surprise had been a perfect fit, cementing the growing feeling that this was both his heritage and his future.
Hal gently tugged at the ribbon tied around his mothers envelope and couldn't help but smile as it slowly opened up like a blossoming flower to reveal the folded letter inside. The sight took him back to his childhood and the intricate origami shapes she had made to amuse her children. He remembered being a desperate six year old wanting to know how to make a hopping frog and the simple joy he and his mother shared when he successfully made his first one hop. Unfolding the letter, Hal couldn't help but admire her beautiful handwriting which he always felt made his angular lines look like the runes of the Norsemen in comparison to her flowing script. Unlike his father's letter, his mothers was short, only occupying a single side. Intensifying the brightness of the lantern, he began to read.
"My dear darling baby boy,
It seems so odd to write to you, the grown man, while you, the baby, are nursing at my breast in a sling even as I write this. I cannot help but wonder what sort of man you have become and what sort of mother I have been to you. A good one I hope. A better one than my own at the very least.
I find myself wondering as I look down at you whether you have younger brothers and sisters. Could I be so blessed to give your father the large family I know he wants? If this is the case, please tell them how much I love each and every one of them, for I cannot imagine this family as being anything other than filled with love and laughter.
You will know by now if you have read your father's letter that you are not Henry Stockbury but rather Lord Henry Amherst. That is the gift of your father's heritage to you and should secure your safety all the while you are among the Cantwara. My gift I fear is more of burden.
I was born 'His Royal Highness The Prince Henry George Wynter, Prince of the Angelcyn, Duke of Meonwara, Marquess of Lindsey, Earl of Wihtwara. The Wynter Lion.'
It seems like a life time ago.
This makes you a Prince of the Blood Royal and a descendant of the House of Wynter. This is also the burden I give to you, for it makes you a target for anyone coveting the High Throne for you are a threat to those with lesser claim and only I have a greater legitimate claim than you.
I know your father thinks it best you seek the protection of his parents, the King and Queen of Cantia, and there is merit in such a decision. However, I know my own parents and I give you this simple piece of advice.
Run.
Run for all you are worth and do not look back until you find yourself in either the Brythonic Islands to the west or across the Great Sea in the Septem Provincae. I was raised to be little more than an instrument of war. I do not want this life for you. Please heed my words for I could not bear for anything to happen to you. Live and be happy in peace.
I would ask one final thing of you, my angel. I would ask that you remember me as I truly am, your mother, and not as some prince you've never met.
I will love you always."
"I love you too, momma," whispered Hal as he traced his mother's signature with his finger. "Regardless of who you were born you are, and always shall be, my mother."
Picking up the ribbon with his mother's signet ring on it, he reached behind his neck with it and tied a strong knot in the ends before tucking it into his tunic. Now wasn't the time for this ring to be worn he felt in his heart for a reason he couldn't quite place. His parents had however left him other gifts he could use here and now he thought, as he walked over to the large dark wood chest that originally contained the leather pouch.
Inside, neatly folded was a faded velvet cloak of the finest material he had ever seen despite the rain spots that marked it. It had been upon this that the pouch had rested. However, under that was the real prizes, two swords of the finest workmanship he had ever encountered. Even the knights he had met in the sword contests at the festivals in Sarsen had nothing on these weapons.
The first was a blade fit for a King encased in a scabbard of snow white leather with ornate gold thread work woven into it. It's cruciform shape ending in a pommel containing the largest diamond he had ever seen. A light but elaborate basket hilt wove around one side of the cross guard protecting the base of the blade and enabling the sword to be held either in one hand or a hand-and-a-half configuration. The outline of a small white lion on the scabbard and the white, blue and gold ribbons tied around the pommel left Hal in no doubt that this was his mother's blade, the fabled 'Victory' for which no blade was said to be the equal of in the Heptarchy. Oddly, it felt lighter to the touch than a blade of its size should be. Yet it was the second blade that he found his eyes were drawn to, as if a voice was whispering in the back of his mind that the first blade was not for him.
The first thing about his father's sword that drew his eye was the elaborate swept hilt of a like unparalleled in Hals' experience. The metal twisted and flowed almost as if it was organic and even the slight chips in places that spoke of its use in combat couldn't detract from its beauty. The pommel at the end of the blade was inlaid with small red rubies to give a background against which a white silhouette of a rampant stallion could be clearly seen. In contrast to the first blade, the tan leather scabbard contained no ornamentation. Picking up the sword and its accompanying belt, Hal couldn't help marvel at how perfectly balanced and weighted it was. Releasing the clasp on his own sword belt, he dropped the sword that by the standard of festival competitions would be considered excellent, and in its place he secured his father's sword. Resting his hand on the pommel, Hal knew now what he needed to do.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" asked Sir Thomas as Hal entered the exercise hall that ran down one side of the 'u' shaped cottage building. He wondered if it was just the effect of the clean clothes he wore or something else that made Hal seem more at peace than he had earlier.
"Yes, thank you," said Hal, shuttering his lantern to deactivate the illumination stone within it as the hall was sufficiently lit by the glow of other lanterns hanging from the ceiling. "Has there been any change in my father's condition?"
Sir Thomas looked down at the body of his friend, laid out on a low trestle table, the dull red glow of the life stone visible on his chest.
"None. The life stone prevents the body from decaying and preserves it in a state somewhere between life and death but there appears to be no spark left of your father's soul to reanimate it. I'm sorry but we need to face the fact that Daniel isn't coming back to us."
Hal stopped on the opposite side of his father from Sir Thomas and rested an open palm against his father's chest, biting his lower lip as he gazed down at his father in a habit subconsciously picked up from his mother.
"Gods," whispered Sir Thomas gazing upon Hal. "It's unnerving how much you look like him. I mean her. No, I mean him. You look like Henry. I mean like your mother did...before..."
A smile broke out across Hal's face in response to the verbal knots Sir Thomas had tied himself in. "It's okay. It's not every day I find out my mother - your friend - is a legendary Prince of the Blood Royal. It's going to take me some time to get used to the concept of my mother as a warrior king and you some time to get used to the warrior king as my mother. I guess we'll just have to help each other get it right, won't we?"
Sir Thomas found Hal's infectious smile crossing to his own face. "You might look like Henr...your mother... used to but I get the feeling that there's a lot more of Daniel in you than first appearance would suggest."
"You may well be right. I've always had my father's practicality," said Hal with a quiet laugh.
The two men stood in silence, looking down at the body of Daniel both marvelling at the look of peace on his face as he laid as if in repose. After a few minutes, Hal finally broke the silence.
"I guess we haven't been formally introduced have we? I am, it seems, Prince Henry Daniel Amherst, Lord of Cantia and second-in-line to the Wynter Throne," said Hal extending his hand across the body of his father.
Sir Thomas bowed his head in acknowledgement of Hal's superior social status before grasping his hand at the wrist in a traditional yeoman's greeting.
"Sir Thomas Albany, for the moment Major and Queen's Champion in the Queen's Own Regiment of the Yeomanry of the Household. Soon to be a wanted criminal with a price on his head I fear."
"Call me Hal, Tom. If I may be so informal as to address you that way? I've decided what I intend to do next by the way if you are interested."
"Hoo-bloody-ray for you, farm boy" called out Jack from where his was learning against the doorframe of the entrance way to the hall watching the two men. "Maybe finally we can go. We've sat here in this cottage all afternoon. It's a miracle the place isn't swarming with yeomen."
"Lieutenant Fairfax, that will be enough! You will show respect for a member of the Blood Royal!"
"That's kind of the point though isn't it? As far as anyone is concerned we are both dead. I'm no longer a Lieutenant and neither are you a Major. Even in death we will be dishonoured because the moment Ackers returns to the regiment and reports our actions, our names will be read out amongst the ranks of the dishonoured in the Great Hall of the Wynter Palace. And if it ever becomes known that we are both alive, we will be dishonourably discharged with a price on our head. Just like farm boy over there will have his royal status, and probably his head, quashed the moment he shows up at the Wynter Palace. We need to bury the stiff and get out of here. Now."
Ignoring the scowl and rising anger on Sir Thomas's face, Jack turned to Hal and mockingly waving his hand before him as he mimed an elaborate bow. "Unless my Lord, you would wish otherwise?"
"Actually, Jack, you are almost right. We will get out of here. But not now. We will wait here until the morning to ensure that my brother and sisters have ample opportunity to return from wherever my mother no doubt sent them. We will then take 'the stiff' as you so eloquently referred to my father with us to Canterbury via a stop off at the barn in the lower pasture. And actually, thanks to the life stone, rigour mortis has yet to set in on my father. Once at Canterbury, I intend to see that my father is buried in one of the royal barrows in keeping with the customs of the Cantwara."
To the surprise of both men, Hal tugged at the white tabard he wore until he had pulled it over his head. A perplexed Jack glanced over at an equally confused Sir Thomas.
"Tell me Tom, did you always do what your mother asked of you?" said Hal.
"Err..no. Actually, I seem to remember quite often disobeying her. It was one of the reasons my family sent my application to the Academy rather than training me for my father's merchant business. They hoped it would instil discipline and a respect for orders in me. Uh...why do you ask?"
"Frankly, I can't remember a time when I ever disobeyed my mother. Until now. It's my intention to raise a force at Canterbury with which to free my mother and avenge my father rather than run and hide as she wished."
Hal stepped away from his father's body walking towards the door. As he pulled level with Jack, Hal thrust his tabard forcefully into Jack's hands.
"It's my understanding, Jack, that an oath broken yeoman can find redemption if a member of the High Family accepts his sword in service. Congratulations, Lieutenant Fairfax, you are now the first member of 'The Wynter Lionesses Own Regiment of the Yeomanry of the Household'. I'm sure my mother and I, as members of the High Family, will look favourably on your service and have your name removed from ranks of the dishonoured in the Great Hall if you serve us well."
Giving a speechless Jack his most smug smile, Hal glanced back at Sir Thomas. "There is of course an opening for the position of Princesses Champion and Major if you are interested, Sir Thomas?"
As he disappeared into the darkness of the hallway beyond the door, Hal heard the deep bass laughter of Sir Thomas.
To be continued...
Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to either comment or pm me in respect of the Wynter Lioness. It's been hugely appreciated. As was the kudo for the last chapter. :-D I would also like to thank Persephone for both inspiring this with her stories and pointing me in the direction of Sol Stein's great book on writing. I'm still digesting his points and hopefully the next chapter might benefit from them.
This chapter is about double the length of a normal chapter and is therefore my justification for it being four weeks rather than two weeks after the last chapter. ;-) I might go with the larger chunk chapters instead of smaller ones, so updates may now be monthly but we'll see how the chapters develop in keeping with the plot structure I sketched out at the start.
So, without further ado, I hope that you enjoy this chapter and please feel free to comment!
Updated: 20/12/10 as I noticed writing Chapter 6 a paragraph of dialogue boxed me in more than intended and needed to be rewritten. Apologies!
Prince Henry Wynter was the Heir to the High Throne of the Heptarchy and prophesised to one day lead his people to unparalleled greatness. Twenty two years after he abandoned his destiny and his throne for the chance to be the person he felt he was meant to be, he finds that Fate has not yet finished with him. The events surrounding the proposed appointment of a new Heir to the High Throne have consequences that reach as far the remote farmstead refuge of the former prince and threaten to destroy the new life that she has built for herself.
The Wynter Palace, Isle of Avalon
Woden's Day 24 April EY 2471 - Mid-Morning
Synnove hated life at court with, as she had once raged to the Lord High Weaver, its duplicitous, arrogant, self-serving retinue of inbreeds that formed the high families of the Heptarchy. Were it not for the fact she was apprenticed to the Lord High Weaver she would have happily been anywhere else but the Wynter Palace. She understood why the Lord High Weaver as the Royal Weaver had to be close to the High Family but she looked forward to the ending of her apprenticeship in six months time and the freedom her ordination as Arch Weaver, second only to the Principal Weaver of her magical order, would grant her after nearly five years of study.
That however was in the future.
In the present Synnove found herself clenching her right hand tightly shut in frustration behind her head, grasping at the disorganised mop of blue tinged dreadlocks that contrasted surprisingly pleasingly with the warm brown of her skin. She watched as her latest visitor, a richly dressed woman who was in the process of an overly elaborate curtsey in front of her, prepared for whatever case she had dreamed up to persuade Synnove to weave her magic. Most of the supplicants she saw were politely referred to more junior members of her Order after their audience with only those who status demanded it or whose pleas warranted it, being attended to by Synnove directly.
That didn't stop them trying to get her to personally weave her magic for them though. Synnove's mastery of siden was renown throughout the High Court and had seen her become the youngest Master Weaver in her Order for four generations. Those supplicants lacking the required social status or genuine case and who were not pleased by the prospect of Synnove referring them to lesser weavers in her Order would often try to pre-empt her rejection by offering to buy her skills. Synnove usually rejected them outright, treating them with barely concealed distain. A few pompous individuals demanded her skills but were soon given a lesson in the levels influence that the Weaver Orders held at High Court. Most of these individuals found that a high ranking noble dependent on Synnove for their enhanced beauty would side with her in a heartbeat over some middle ranking member of the nobility.
The most foolish however tried to lie to gain access to her skills.
Synnove had already sent two supplicants away for trying to deceive her this very morning, the last left with a particularly painful set of boils that whilst not leaving any permanent mark would make sitting down impossible for a week. As her thoughts wandered Synnove found herself fighting the urge to drown the woman before her in her own bodily fluids, something that her weaver skill would have allowed her to do with little more than a flick of the wrist.
Taking a calming breath, Synnove closed her eyes and sought to bring peace to her spirit through opening her senses so that she could once again feel the natural rhythm of the sea lapping at the sands of a distant shore. In a few seconds Synnove felt her heart rate align to the rhythm and opening her eyes to focus her attention on the noblewoman before her, appraising the woman's appearance critically with eyes that saw far more than normal eyes.
The cut and materials of the woman's dress spoke of a skilled seamstress using design to gloss over the quality of materials. There was a little wear to the clothing, something not visible to the normal eye but clear enough to Synnove. This was confirmed by the mix of colours in the dress which were identifiable, to those who followed the fashions of the High Court, as two years out of date. The bright colours of her outfit had been replaced by darker colours, and the crimson so prominent in her outfit had been replaced by navy blue as the signature colour of preference.
Next Synnove's attention turned to the jewellery the woman wore, which was expensive for most people but not by the standards of the High Court. Her pendant contained the most valuable jewel she wore but Synnove estimated it was worth at best five hundred Gold Crowns, far less than the value of the smallest piece of jewellery adorning the ladies of the most senior houses. The pendant did serve to draw eyes to the noblewoman's greatest physical asset though, as Synnove had no doubt was the intention, and she couldn't help but giggle slightly at the thought that the greatest mystery for most of the men that Lady Woodstock met would be the colour of her eyes because they probably never looked at her face for very long.
Her skin showed several blemishes on her face and arms and Synnove noted a few marks from what she suspected had been a bad case of childhood chicken pox. Her long dark hair was well kept, although a little oily. Overall, her face and figure were attractive enough to make her stand out from the average woman. The rounded edge to her ears without a trace of a point was confirmation of her low birth status which meant that she genuinely was the early twenty-something she looked, a rarity amongst the slow aging á¦lfe rich bloodlines of the High Court.
She guessed that the lady before her had married above her station by trading on her ample bosom and pretty face to snare a junior member of a major noble house or a senior member of a minor house. As a consequence, her social status and the fidelity of her husband were dependent on her appearance and her as yet untested ability to deliver an heir. And hence, Synnove thought, her visit to the most sought after weaver in the water element of siden. While the Principal Weaver of her order was more skilled than Synnove her natural strengths lay in other areas, leaving Synnove as the most gifted weaver in her order when it came to unnaturally enhancing the natural beauty of a subject.
"My Lady Synnove, I am deeply honoured that you agreed to grant me an audience."
"Think nothing of it, my Lady..?"
Synnove let the question hang for a few seconds, waiting for the noblewoman before her to pick up her cue.
"Oh! L-l-lady Woodstock, My Lady," she stammered. "My husband is Sir Anthony, 2nd Baronet of Caldicot."
'Well, that answered that question,' thought Synnove. 'King Henry granted a slew of titles to knights during the first Brythonic campaign. She's minor house at best. Sir Anthony is probably little more than a gentrified knight.'
"How is life in the Brythonic Marches, My Lady Woodstock?"
"Not easy, My Lady. The Brythonic people still refuse to acknowledge the Angelcyn Crown, even after thirty years and the benefits we bring them. Their language is baffling and they seem reluctant to learn ours. And after a generation of rule, it is still not safe to travel much beyond the boundaries of the towns due to the threat of raiders from the islands that remain beyond our control."
"You must be enjoying your visit to the High Court then? A chance to get away from it all?"
"It isn't quite w-w-what I thought it would be," stammered Lady Woodstock, her cheeks colouring crimson.
Synnove nodded in sympathy, knowing that many in the High Families considered the lower ranks of the nobility to be little more than peasants and did little to hide their contempt.
"Well, court life isn't for everyone," said Synnove, giving Lady Woodstock her most reassuring smile. "Now, to what do I owe your visit my lady?"
"My Lady Synnove, I most humbly ask for your assistance in a personal matter of great importance for which my husband with his considerable resources and influence amongst the High Families would be most appreciative of should you need his assistance one day."
Synnove worked a jewel encrusted ring loose from her index finger on her right hand and held it up to Lady Woodstock.
"I do not mean to be cruel My Lady, but this ring was a gift from the High Queen in appreciation for services rendered to her family. Your pendant is worth what, five hundred Gold Crowns? This ring is alone is valued at twenty five Platinum Sovereigns, five times your pendant. As for influence, I'm apprenticed to the Lord High Weaver and can gain private audience with any member of the Privy Council on request. Can your Baronet match that?"
"No..." said Lady Woodstock, her shoulders slumping as her head drooped down.
"I thought not. If you make an appointment with Adept Wickham, she will be able to discuss your needs," said Synnove, a tight smile on her lips. "If you have nothing else to add, I have things to do Lady Woodstock and I will bid you good day."
Lady Woodstock took a few steps towards the door before stopping and turning to face Synnove once more, her cheeks glistening with tears. Slowly, she reached up to her neck and fumbled for the clasp holding the pendant around her neck, scooping the lose pendant up in her right hand.
"I have no wealth, no influence and no breeding. My lady-in-waiting is my younger sister and I have no servants. My father told me when I left to marry the Baronet that my husband-to-be would lose interest in a farm girl and that I would be forced to crawl home and beg him to take me back."
Lady Woodstock crossed the short distance to Synnove forcing her pendant into the Weavers hand.
"I've been married for two years now. Two years and I cannot give him a child!" cried Lady Woodstock. "And with each year, my beauty fades a little and the reason for my husband staying wed to me diminishes just a little."
"Please My Lady Synnove, I was hoping that you might be able to provide me with a potion to enhance my beauty," said Lady Woodstock, her hands pressing the pendant forcefully into Synnove's hands. "I-I-I...f-f-f-fear my husband's head is being turned by the numerous b-b-b-beautiful women in court and t-t-t-that he will leave me for one who can give him a ch-h-h-h-h..."
Lady Woodstock's speech descended into unintelligible sobs that wracked her whole body and Synnove gathered the woman in her arms, fearing she might collapse. Steering Lady Woodstock to a nearby chair, Synnove knelt in front of her placing her fingers against the hysterical Lady's temples, channelling her siden to calm the sobbing woman's breathing. She had seen far too many noblewomen pass out from the dangerous mix of tight corsetry and strong emotions to take any risks. As her breathing started to regulate itself in a more natural rhythm, Lady Woodstock turned her red rimmed eyes to look imploringly to Synnove.
"I knew that the Queen Aliénor and her daughters were possessed of a beauty to rival the á‰se but there are so many beautiful women here. How can I hope to compare to them?" asked Lady Woodstock in a hoarse whisper.
Lady Woodstock looked down at her lap, the answer to her almost rhetorical question clearly weighing on her mind. She reached out to once more clasp Synnove's hands in desperation, new tear tracks merging with those already marking her make-up.
"I can't go back to the farm... I can't... I won't... go back... Please help me... Please..."
Once more expanding her senses, Synnove sought to read Lady Woodstock's physical and emotional sincerity. Her heart rate, breathing and blood pressure all seemed to confirm her sincerity, as did her aura, leaving Synnove in a quandary as to her course of action. She didn't want word to get around court that a few tears could make her manipulable lest the resulting outbreak of boils amongst the insincere women of the High Court reach epidemic levels. By the same token, Synnove had not been born into a family of Weavers or of wealth and she knew something of not fitting into courtly life. Synnove didn't know much about farming but she did know far more about fishing nets than most of the women at court.
'It would be one in the eye to the duplicitous, arrogant, self-serving retinue of inbreeds of the High Court,' she thought, with a smile playing at the corners of her lips. 'And it has been so long since I put on a show...'
"How long will you be at court, Lady Woodstock?"
"Two, maybe three weeks."
Synnove stood up, pulling her hands free from Lady Woodstock, leaving the pendant in its owners hands. She walked slowly away from her towards a rack of glass vials and bottles.
"I suggest you persuade Sir Anthony to finish his business in two weeks. The potion I will give you is only good for about fourteen days give or take. It will enh..."
A loud squeal interrupted Synnove before she could continue and Lady Woodstock ran the short distance to envelope her in an embrace from behind.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she sobbed into Synnove's back.
Clearing her throat, Synnove gently detached Lady Woodstock's embrace before pointing back to the chair she had been sitting in previously.
"You're...welcome. Now please resume your seat so that I may begin."
Picking up a small perfumery size rounded glass bottle, Synnove checked Lady Woodstock was seated before extending her empty left hand. Staring intently at the space above it, her ice blue eyes sparkled becoming brighter and brighter in colour until the glow from them seemed to change the colour of the very air around her. The ice blue tinge in the air was brightest in the space above her open palm and slowly a tiny spinning ball of blue light started to coalesce in the air above her hand. Slowly the blue light increased in circumference, revealing a swirling circular ball of ice blue liquid with gaps amongst the swirl rather like the spiral of a peeled orange skin.
Satisfied that she had the rotation right, Synnove carefully held the empty glass bottle above the blue ball, turning it so that the open neck was facing downwards. She reached up with her left hand to give the ball of liquid a gentle nudge watching as it swirled up into the open neck of the bottle. As it reached the bottle the ball contorted in shape squeezing in through the bottle neck into the circular bottle. Once the liquid was in the bottle, Synnove turned the bottle so that it was more correctly orientated for keeping a liquid inside it and placed it on the table behind her. Picking up a nearby mortar and pestle, she vigorously ground the contents for a minute before carefully tipping its mix of vegetable and mineral into the still swirling liquid in the bottle.
"Mélange!" cried Synnove, causing the bottle to flash bright blue once in response before she inserted a cork stopper into the neck.
Synnove walked over to Lady Woodstock, noticing that her eyes wide were firmly focused on the faintly sparkling bottle in her hand. Lady Woodstock accepted the bottle in trembling hands, more tears flowing down her cheek as she mouthed her gratitude to Synnove.
"It will be ready to ingest in an hour. Make sure that you drink half of it this week and half next week. It should take about half an hour for the changes to start and another hour for them to complete during which I would advise you to rest. Whatever you do, don't try and consume it all now. The human body cannot always handle the trauma of radical transformation and those who have consumed two much often die quite painfully."
"Do you understand?" asked Synnove after pausing to ensure that Lady Woodstock had heeded her warning.
Lady Woodstock nodded her head sharply in response, her eyes even wider as she looked back at the bottle. Anything more she might have said however was cut off my the sound of clapping coming from the open doorway. Leaning against the doorframe was a tall woman with a garland of flowers resting on waves of dark green tinged brown hair. Her simple green dress split to the thighs at the sides, sparkled with every imaginable precious stone in a tree like pattern across it. A sparkle that seemed reflected in the woman's forest green eyes.
As she approached the pair, her every step accentuated the sway of her perfect hips and the graceful movements of her perfect long legs. The sweet smell of wildflowers and a smile that seemed to hold the promise of golden summer days entranced Lady Woodstock, all thoughts of courtly life and her marriage driven to the deepest recesses of her mind. Had Lady Woodstock the presence of mind to glance upwards however, she would have seen Synnove rolling her eyes.
Coming to a halt in front of the two women, the new entrant pulled Lady Woodstock to her feet and slipped the bottle from her unresisting hands before passing it to Synnove to hold.
Lady Woodstock trembled as a hand was softly placed either side of her face, cupping her cheeks and tilting her head up slightly as the flower garlanded woman leaned in. Their lips touched briefly in soft pecks that tasted of honey before Lady Woodstock's lips parted to give the tongue gently probing along her lips full access. An involuntary moan escaped her throat, muffled by her companions lips pressed against hers.
The taste of the flower garlanded woman's honeyed kisses seemed to flow into Lady Woodstock's other senses - her vision blurring with golden light; the comforting warm feel of hands cupping her face; and the thick restful silence around her. A feeling of perfect peace unlike that which Lady Woodstock had ever known cocooned her senses and she happily closed her eyes before drifting into a deep soothing slumber.
"When she next couples with her Baronet, she will conceive a child," said the newcomer, releasing her hold on her. Easing the unresisting Lady Woodstock back into the chair, Synnove turned to the newcomer with a smirk on her face.
"If I ever needed proof of how big a ham you are, I got it just now. Mind you, I should have expected no less from a member of your Order, My Lord Applegate."
"Me? A ham? You can talk!" exclaimed the flower garlanded woman in a mock exasperation, a hand reflexively alighting on her chest. "It's been years since I saw such a show such as you just put on. The whole conjuring the floating ball of liquid from the water vapour in the room was more than just a little hammy, My Lady Fisher. Especially when you could have used the pump in the corner of the room to get water!"
The two women briefly held each other's steely gaze before embracing in a fit of giggles.
"It's been too long, Martha," whispered Synnove releasing the other woman from her embrace.
"It has indeed, old friend," sighed Martha wiping a stray tear from her eyes. "Though I cannot dispute the wisdom of the Lord High Weaver in sending me to Bernicia and Deira this past year to repair the damage our forces caused in suppressing the Pretender's uprising. I left a piece of the best part of me there all those years ago and while it has taken my Order all this time to repair the damage, it gladdens my heart to say that this years crops will flourish and the harvest will be sufficient to not just sustain the people but grant a surplus for sale and planting. And maybe, just maybe, one day I can finally be worthy of my title of 'Principal Weaver' again. I fear though that my actions may never be redeemed."
Not for the first time in her life, Synnove thanked the á‰se that the Lord High Weaver had not chosen her Order to go with the forces that suppressed the uprising. Far too many of those that returned in victory found in the years that followed that their conscience could not bear the weight of their actions. In particular she remembered the night a year ago when her beloved Thomas broke down, begging her to forgive what he had done. A man so strong and confident in normal or abnormal circumstances, Thomas had opened himself up to her and wept like a child in her arms. By the morning his composure had returned but she knew the hole in his heart remained.
Synnove knew it had been much worse for Martha.
Or more precisely, Lord Martin Applegate, Principal Weaver of the Order of Earth Siden, one of the three sanctioned elemental orders of magic on Eorá°e. Lord Martin had been a popular and fair leader of his Order, his pleas for mercy often staying the hand of the High King when his baser instincts interfered with regal judgement. It had been a surprise when the 28 men and women of his Order had been chosen to accompany two regiments of the Yeomanry of the Household to suppress the Pretender's uprising but many in the three Orders saw it as a sign that the current Lord High Weaver's time was drawing to a close. The common consensus at the Wynter Palace had been that Lord Martin's presence would mitigate the excesses of the Yeomanry and bring the conflict to a swift and humane conclusion.
This would turn out to be far from the case.
The conflict had been vicious and protracted, with the forces of the Angelcyn Throne continuously harassed through persistent guerrilla attacks on their supply lines and foraging parties interspersed with hasty engagements springing up and then melting away too quickly for Angelcyn forces to bring their military advantages to bear. By the fourth month of the campaign, supplies were low and morale lower. Finally, they forced an engagement at the Battle of Bamburgh, only to see the Angelcyn forces routed with disastrous casualties. A desperate last stand two days later in fields outside the market town of Belford saw the capture of the Pretender against all odds when the battle seemed lost, throwing the uprising into disarray. The forces of the Pretender melted away from the battlefield but not before slaughtering the Angelcyn baggage train, sparing neither the wounded or the non-combatants travelling with it. Amongst those non-combatants were seven novice members of the Order of Earth Siden.
The following day the reprisals against the civilian population that supported the Pretender began.
"I went back to Belford," whispered Martha, tears running down her face as she tried to look anywhere but at Synnove. "Did you know that the local farmers say that on a still night you can hear the screams of the townsfolk from the spot where Belford used to be?"
"It's superstitious nonsense of course," said Martha, wiping her runny nose with the back of the sleeve of her dress. "The whole town was ground flat when the fissure I caused to open beneath them closed on top of the sunken town. What they hear is sulphur and other gases escaping from deep cracks in the planet's surface."
Synnove reached out and pulled her friend into a hug, partially to comfort her and partially to hide the expression on her face. Not for the first time she found herself without success trying to reconcile the sweet, kind hearted Martha in her arms with the rage filled mass murderer she knew Martin to have been at Belford.
"Shhhh. It's okay," said Synnove rocking Martha gently as she sobbed into her arms.
"I couldn't find his grave, 'Nove. I...I...I looked and I looked but I couldn't find Billy's grave. It was only supposed to be a temporary grave...only temporary..."
"You couldn't have predicted it would happen. No one did."
"He was sixteen. I promised our momma that I would look after him. It was my fault he joined the O-O-Order...I can't even bring him home 'Nove. I can't bring him hoooooome," wailed the woman in her arms.
The two friends stood locked in a comforting embrace, Synnove gently rocking the pair and making occasional calming noises not caring for anything other than trying to reduce her best friends anguish. She knew not how long the two had stood there until she felt a hand gently touch her arms. Raising her head, she blinked back the tears in her eyes to focus on a young man wearing the livery of the Yeomanry of the Household, a sad smile on his face. Gesturing for Synnove to release Martha, he gently turned Martha around before dipping to curl an arm under her knees and pick her up. Martha's sobs paused briefly as she looked up at the man holding her before throwing her arms around his neck and renewing her crying with a vengeance. He kissed her tenderly on the top of her head before turning and carrying her out of the room. As he reached the doorway he paused to nod his head in acknowledgement of the older woman who was standing outside the room, before turning into the corridor and disappearing from sight.
Synnove dabbed at her eyes with a silk handkerchief she had pulled from a pocket in her dress watching the elegantly dressed older woman enter the room. Synnove's half heartedly curtseyed was waved away by the woman as she crossed the short distance to her and gathered her into a brief motherly embrace.
"Agnes, she's not going to get better is she?" whispered Synnove.
"Better is a relative term 'Nove," scolded Agnes gently the corner of her mouth twitching slightly with a sad smile. "You as my chosen successor should know that everything is relative."
"If you mean will she be the person he once was again? I doubt it very much. We had all hoped her work restoring the damage he caused might help bridge the divide between the two aspects of hir being. That doesn't seem to have worked though and I fear Martin is as lost to us as he is to Martha."
"The spirit healers could do nothing?"
Agnes shook her head slowly.
"No. Like all members admitted to the Earth Order of Siden, Martha and Martin represented a duality of spirit, reflecting the earth as our mother and father. It is that very two spirited duality that is the problem. After the uprising Martin couldn't handle the consequences of what he had done so he retreated into his Martha aspect placing all the guilt and blame for his actions with Martin. Despite her protestations that she was still Martin and insisting at formal events as being addressed as 'My Lord' we began to suspect that Martha had become a single spirited being like you and I."
"So Martin is lost then," said Synnove, all emotion gone from her voice.
"For all intents and purposes, yes." said Agnes with a sad smile. "The assimilation of Martin's spirit by Martha's is nearly complete. Physically and mentally she will be unlikely ever to be Martin again. However, all that Martin is will be part of Martha, so in some small way he lives on."
"We can do nothing? What would happen if we could find his brothers body?"
"The Readers of the Paths examined the probable realities and advise that the recovery of his brothers body does not make a difference in the restoration of Martin's spirit, although it does bring Martha a degree of peace in the majority of probable realities. What is clear is that Martha does not survive in any probable reality without your friendship and the love of Captain Willows."
Agnes carefully knelt in front of the still sleeping form of Lady Woodstock, reaching out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from her face.
"I know what Martin did a decade ago troubles you Synnove. It should do as a warning of the power of Siden in the hands of a skilled practitioner. Martin was not a twisted follower of fire siden but the Principal Weaver of good order. That however, did not stop him in a moment of grief and anger losing sight of what was right and good. Martin was a good man who did a horrendously evil thing. The question you need to ask yourself, is do you believe what Martin did outweighs Martha's chance of redemption?"
Reaching out with her index finger, Agnes gently tapped the centre of Lady Woodstock's forehead leaving a golden glow where she touched that quickly faded.
"Lady Woodstock will awaken shortly. I suggest you remind her of both Martha's and your gift before you send her on her way. The Readers of the Path have high hopes for the 3rd Baronet..."
The Royal Botanical Gardens, The Wynter Palace, Isle of Avalon
Woden's Day 24 April EY 2471 - Mid-Morning
Prince Richard wiped the sweat from his forehead with a hand towel as he gazed up at the majestic giant before him. Were it not for the fact that his breath was still ragged from the exertion of his previous fencing bout, he thought that it would have been taken away by the size of the tree, easily 70 or 80 metres tall. He had heard of the giant sequoia trees from the distant savage Starfall Lands but had never seen one in person. There were only reputed to be four throughout the entire seven civilised continents and this was the only one in the Heptarchy.
Richard knelt by the small shrine set up at its base and pulled a Gold Crown from the money pouch on his waist which he offered to the shrine for luck, as was the custom in the Heptarchy. A small statute of Woden in the shrine indicated that which Richard already knew, that this was the legendary Woden's Tree, planted by the first High King, William the Great, in EY 2. It was under this tree that the High Kings were crowned and Heirs anointed and Richard had changed the location of his daily fencing bouts to here so that he might get a better feeling for the spiritual home of the Angelcyn. Every child throughout the Heptarchy knew the story that if the tree were to fall, so would the Angelcyn. Richard walked up to the tree and pushed hard against its bark to find it reassuringly immovable.
"I guess it's good for my reign then," he said with a laugh.
Satisfied that the sweat was removed from his face and his breathing back to normal, he returned to small gathering of people waiting for him to resume his fencing bout. His personal instructor, Chevalier Anton Le Fort, was berating his current sparring partner, an aging Yeoman Sergeant, over his footwork in the last bout. Richard had to smile because despite his poor technique the Yeoman was the most challenging opponent he had faced since arriving at the Wynter Palace.
The Yeoman Sergeant, William he believed was his first name, was an intriguing contradiction. Everything about the late forty-something yeoman on the face of it seemed to speak of a skill with the blade developed through a series of hasty fights in back alleys outside public hostelry's and the uncultured melee of the battlefield. The jagged scar on the Yeoman's right cheek looked a few years old and was partially obscured by several weeks growth of the salt and pepper beard stubble on his face. His long hair was far from Yeoman regulation length and his uniform was comfortably fitted rather than regulation fitted. And yet despite this, he seemed to possess a sharpness of movement that suggested considerable formal training beyond that provided to enlisted Yeomen in basic training or learnt in the drive to survive on the battlefield. Indeed, were it not for the Yeoman's rounded ears Richard would have expected him to be á¦lfe blooded like himself.
"Chevalier, I am ready to resume," said Richard, accepting his face mask from his aide and placing it over his face. Once both men had accepted their rapiers they saluted each other and then the Chevalier before adopting the commencement en-garde stance.
As in the previous bout, the Yeoman waited for Richard to make the first move, seeking to defend rather than attack. Richard began with a flurry of movement, driving his blade forward in a series of feints, attempting to force his opponent to commit to a move that would allow for an opening. Again, he found himself marvelling at the tight blade work of his opponent, which firmly closed any openings that might have appeared.
The two men continued the pattern of attack and retreat for several minutes, each potential opening shut firmly by the Yeoman in response to the attack, while never making an aggressive move to Richard.
Richard pulled back slightly and circled his opponent looking for an opening.
"You're...probably...the...most...challenging opponent I've...fought," gasped Richard, trying to bring his breathing back under control. He noted that his opponent on the other hand, having adopted a minimalist defensive strategy was breathing calmly.
Attempting to distract his opponent, Richard stamped his forward foot on the ground in an appel and then lunged. The Yeoman quarter turned to the inside to dodge the lunge and parried Richard's blade away from him.
"Are...you...ever...going...to...attack...me?"
"You're good My Prince, possibly even great," said the Yeoman, parrying a further lunge from the Prince. "The easiest way for me to win this bout therefore is to not engage and let you provide me with the opening."
Richard recovered to the en-garde position watching as his opponent did the same.
"You say I'm only possibly great Yeoman. Yet I doubt you've ever fought against a more skilled opponent with the blade."
"Fought? No. Fenced with a more skilled opponent? Yes."
The colour rising in Richard's cheeks, he once more attacked with his blade slashing at the Yeoman in a rapid series of moves. To his annoyance each slash was parried by the Yeoman with minimal effort and turned away. Closing the gap with the Yeoman, Richard's blade clashed hard against his opponents as he lunged, momentarily binding the two blades together at the hilt guard. The superior quality of the Prince's sword showing as the ornate basket hilt cut into his opponents simpler hilt guard.
"Who have you fenced with that is more skilled than I?" asked the Prince through gritted teeth, sweat beginning to run down his neck as each man sought to push the other away by brute strength alone to break the bind.
"The Wynter Lion."
Richard stepped back in surprise, disengaging his blade from the Yeoman's. When he spoke, his voice hinted at the building anger within him.
"You dare rank that...that...freak...above me?"
The Yeoman moved forward in a lunge that slashed at the sleeve of the Prince's jacket. The Prince retreated desperately parrying the Yeoman's increasingly aggressive attack as he attempted to regain control of the situation. A sharp riposte from the Prince's blade following yet another parry drove the Yeoman onto the back foot, allowing the Prince to regain his composure. Letting his eyes briefly drop to his opponents feet, the Prince shifted his grip slightly to further down the hilt to extend the range of his attack in response to the Yeoman's forward foot twitching.
The Yeoman took a small jump forward in a classic ballestra attack, attempting to throw the Prince off-guard. As his blade sliced through the air towards its target however, the Prince rolled forward coming to a stop on his back just in front of the Yeoman and straining to extend his blade upwards so that the point rested gently against the underside of the Yeoman's chin.
"You yield?" asked the Prince, ensuring that enough pressure remained to hold the blade steady but without cutting the Yeoman.
"Yes...My Prince."
Letting his sword arm relax so that the blade tip dropped to the ground, the Prince pulled himself to his feet. He brought his sword arm up into a salute that was stiffly returned by the Yeoman. Removing his face mask, the Prince indicated to the Yeoman to do the same.
"So, do you still think the Wynter Lion is better?" asked the Prince, seeking the Yeoman's gaze to ensure the veracity of his answer.
"Yes."
The Yeoman's tone brooked no argument or uncertainty and the Prince felt a grudging respect for the common soldier who dared to disagree with a Prince of the Blood Royal.
"I see..."
The Prince indicated with his hand for the Yeoman to come closer, which he warily did. However, in keeping his attention on the Prince's face he never noticed the uppercut from his sword arm until the hilt guard smashed into the underside of his jaw, knocking him backwards to the ground.
"Well, in that case I think I need to practice harder, don't you?" said Richard, bringing his sword up again in a fencing salute. "I will see you the same time tomorrow and every day after that until you can admit that I, Prince Richard, am better than your precious Wynter Lion."
Turning his back on the Yeoman, the Prince walked towards the Chevalier and his awaiting retinue, pausing as he passed his rapier to an aide.
"I think Yeoman, that you will find that the Wynter Lion is second to the Lionheart in all things. Not that it will matter either way when I am the Heir."
As the Prince and his retinue left the clearing, two men in the outfits of the Yeomanry of the Household moved to join the Yeoman Sergeant lying on the ground.
"There really is no such fool as an old fool," said the oldest of the two yeoman as he extended an arm to pull the Sergeant to his feet. "And you William, should know better than to disagree with a member of the High Family. Especially a bastard son like Prince Richard looking to assert his authority."
William gingerly touched his chin, wincing slightly as he touched the soft underside. "You may be right, Arthur. You may be right."
"And I don't want to hear you ever disagreeing with a member of the High Family, regardless of the sort of example the Sergeant here is giving you. He's bloody lucky not to be under arrest or dead," said Arthur pointing at the remaining Yeoman, a young man of in his late teens.
"Yes, Corporal."
"Good lad. I'm twenty nine days short of my twenty and I don't want any trouble from either of you until I've been given my honourable discharge, land grant and pension. William here might be foolish enough to risk trouble but he's a three termer and if he hasn't learnt by now he never will. You on the other hand aren't even two years into your first ten. You could be gone, like that," said Arthur, clicking his fingers. "Just remember that, boy."
"Yes, Corporal," said the young yeoman contritely.
William chuckled quietly, sparing a quick wink to the young yeoman when he was certain the Corporal wasn't watching. Picking up his rapier, William walked over to the shrine in front of great tree and knelt down in front of it, bracing sore muscles against the pommel of the rapier which he stuck point down into the ground. He pulled a Copper Coronet coin from a pocket in his jacket and placed it on top of the Gold Crown left by Prince Richard.
"Your time will come, Richard," whispered William in a tone of voice so low that the others could not hear him. He placed the tips of his fingers on the feet of the small statute of Woden in the centre of the little shrine, as if in prayer. "And when she arrives, you will regret your insults towards her today."
William could hear the shuffling of feet behind him and turned to look over his shoulder at the young yeoman nervously looking in his direction.
"Sergeant...is it true that you met the Wynter Lion and fenced with him?" asked the young yeoman.
William smiled at the question and couldn't help but think how much the yeoman reminded him of his own children, so far away from the Wynter Palace. The hair on the yeoman's face was little more than peach fuzz and his voice was still soft, not yet stressed from drink or yelling instructions on the parade ground or in battle.
"What's your name, yeoman?" asked William.
"Bryan, sergeant. Bryan Hillis."
"Well, Bryan. It's true, as a young yeoman I did fence with the Wynter Lion on many occasions. Even won a couple of bouts though truth be told, I lost a lot, lot more than I won," said William, a wide smile crossing his face as his eyes took on a far away unfocussed look as if he was seeing events from the distant past and not those of the clearing around him. His silent reverie however, was interrupted by the young yeoman.
"Did you meet him Corporal?" asked Bryan.
"No lad. I've only been a Yeoman for twenty years. The Wynter Lion had been gone a couple of years when I enlisted. The old guys talked about him a lot though. Not one of them had a bad word to say about him either. Then again, none of the old timers had a bad word to say about the traitor Amherst before he killed a dozen yeomen and ran off with that princess, so you never can tell." The corporal spat onto the grass after mentioning Daniel's name.
Neither of the two yeoman, noticed the pained look that crossed William's face in reaction to the mention of Daniel's name.
"That being said, there's something odd about the whole thing concerning the Wynter Lion's quest to rescue the princess as well. Take the princess. You ask five different people want her name is and you'll get five different names. It's damn odd if you ask me," said Arthur, rubbing his chin in thought.
"W-w-what did the Prince mean when he said that the Wynter Lion was...'queer'?" said Bryan, switching his attention between the two older yeomen to see which would answer.
"Never you mind, lad. Never you mind," said Arthur, clearing his throat. "Old wives tales told amongst three termers who should know better. Isn't that right, William?"
William nodded his head in reply to the pointed look that Arthur gave him before turning back to face the great tree.
"Sergeant, what was the Wynter Lion like? As a person, I mean. The tales I was told as a kid say that he was fearless and had the strength of ten men and that his purity of heart meant that evil would wither at his touch. They say he swam across the Blue Ocean to the Starfall Lands in pursuit of the kidnapped Princess and that when he returns he will lead us all to glory."
William let out a deep laugh that echoed around the clearing, spooking a couple of birds from a nearby tree.
"What was sh...the Wynter Lion like?" said William pausing for a moment in thought. "The Wynter Lion was the best person I ever knew. Or ever will know. There isn't a day that goes by when I don't pray for the Wynter Lion's continued safety."
The Royal Botanical Gardens, The Wynter Palace, Isle of Avalon
12 June EY2441 (30 Years Ago)
In the twelve years of Daniel's young life he didn't think he had ever felt such soreness as he did today. Every muscle in his body cried out in pain from the exertion he had put it through and he was fairly certain that under his chainmail tunic were some serious bruises that would take more than his mothers kisses to make better. The most painful bruise wasn't under the chainmail however but on the back of his head, which he was gingerly prodding with his fingers trying to ascertain the exact size of.
"I said I was sorry," said the similarly attired young blonde haired boy walking beside him. Daniel noticed that his companion was trying to avoid looking at him in an attempt to hide the crimson flush on his face from view.
"I don't blame you Harry," said Daniel with a sigh. "I blame Sir Hugh for giving you a sword in the first place."
Daniel winced slightly as he pushed again at the bruise. "I've changed my mind Harry, I blame Sir Hugh and you."
Harry's head whipped around to look at Daniel, his mouth open in shock at the words of his best friend. The look of guilt and shock on his face quickly changing to that of consternation as Daniel erupted in a fit of giggles with the occasional wince interspersed as he moved his head too suddenly.
Harry gave Daniel a playful shove in the arm in retaliation, a small smile creeping across his face as Daniel's infectious laughter echoed around the gardens.
"Y'know, I'd never ever have guessed in a million years that you would be so good with that sword," said Daniel in admiration at his friends skill.
"Weeelll, it was only wooden," said Harry. A cheeky smile lit up his face as he continued. "And I was only fighting you."
Daniel stuck his tongue out at his friend in reply.
"It could have been worse. I could have hit a part of your body that gets regular use."
Harry dodged to the right as Daniel tried to push him back in retaliation.
"I am soooo going to make you regret that," growled Daniel, narrowing his eyes in an exaggerated scowl.
Daniel lunged at Harry, causing his friend to squeal with laughter as he dodged out of his grasp and race off down the path. Daniel chased after him, taking care to ensure that he kept close but not close enough to catch his friend, making the occasional good natured grasp at him that caused another outburst of squeals and laughter before he ran off again. On one occasion the two friends were chased off a flower bed by an annoyed groundskeeper as they trampled over freshly laid plants. They eventually came to a halt at a crossroads in the paved path, surrounded by ornate rose beds.
"I have to get back to the Palace," said Daniel with a frown. "My mother has hired a tutor to provide for additional Latin lessons. What about you?"
"I'm free until lunch. Unlike you, my Latin is fine," said Harry, sticking his tongue out at his friend again. "Mind you, your Latin might be better if you didn't spend so much time in the lesson annoying Matilda."
Daniel chuckled in response. "Your sister likes it really. Besides, no girl can resist my charms."
Harry rolled his eyes in response. He had a pretty good idea from conversations with his sister that she did in fact find Daniel annoying, particularly when he tugged at her braids.
"I'd stay away from Matilda when her sword lessons start next year."
"Yeah, yeah," said Daniel with a laugh. "What are you going to do?"
"I think I might take a walk through the gardens. It's been a couple of months since I've stopped at the shrine by Woden's Tree."
"See you at lunch?" asked Daniel.
"See you at lunch."
The two friends grasped wrists in the traditional yeoman style of farewell and set off down different paths. As he reached the wall around the Botanical Gardens, Daniel glanced back at the giant sequoia which towered above the other trees clustered around its base. He'd been taken to see the tree on his first visit to the Wynter Palace and his mother took him on every subsequent visit to leave a Gold Crown at the shrine in order to ensure that he continued to have the blessings of the á‰se.
However, what Daniel had always really wanted to do was climb the tree. Unfortunately, he had never been there alone to do it. Until now of course. Daniel chewed at the centre of his lip nervously and looked around. In the ten minutes he'd been walking along the path since parting company with Harry he had only seen one groundskeeper and she was intently concentrating on the flower bed she was working on.
'In fact,' he thought. 'I'm not even sure she saw me.'
Daniel looked back at the Wynter Palace a good fifteen minutes walk further on from the walled Botanical Gardens. He knew his mother would be extremely displeased if he skipped the Latin class.
"I can always learn Latin another day," mused Daniel out loud. "But will I get another chance to climb the great tree?"
With a mournful sigh turned back to face the Wynter Palace. He could picture just how cross his mother would be. He loved her very much and didn't want to disappoint her. Daniel took a last long look at the great tree in the distance.
"She'll get over it," he whispered as he turned and raced back down the path towards the tree.
Daniel burst into the clearing in front of Woden's Tree, breathing heavily from his running. He'd been pretty lucky he thought in that he'd only passed a couple of groundskeepers and they had done little more than glance up at him before returning to their work. He bent over to catch his breath for a second before looking up to see a blonde haired young girl staring at him with wide eyes and a startled expression on her face. Pulling himself upright, he gave the young girl a sheepish smile.
"Sorry if I startled you," said Daniel, stepping forward with his arm outstretched. "I'm Daniel."
The girl made no effort to move, continuing to stare at him. Daniel took the opportunity to take a better look at her. He guessed she was about his age, with an angelic face surrounded by a gender neutral page boy style much like that worn by Harry and himself. Daniel decided she was probably the most beautiful girl that he had ever seen. Even more beautiful than Matilda, though he noted that she did look a little like her.
Her attire however, surprised Daniel. Instead of the flowing gowns often worn by the young girls at the High Court she was clad in a chainmail tunic that seemed slightly too big for her. Not by much but it looked as if it belonged to someone slightly taller than she was and her leggings and boots were also a little baggy but not by enough to fall down. It was not unusual to see girls in armour on the training grounds and indeed the Founding Documents clearly stated that man and woman were equal in all respects. What was unusual however was to see one in chainmail so far from the training grounds.
He withdrew his proffered hand when she had made no effort to take and cleared his throat in an attempt to attract her attention.
"What's your name? I'm sorry again for y'know, surprising you."
The young girls lips moved slowly making the shapes of half formed words. Her complexion by now had turned from white to deep crimson.
Daniel tapped at the chainmail tunic he wore and indicated to hers. "I don't remember seeing you on the training grounds."
"Did you see me? You couldn't have missed me if you were there. My friend Harry nearly knocked me out during our bout!" exclaimed an excited Daniel. "Do you want to see my bruise?"
Daniel didn't know much about girls, only having a younger brother but his pretty sure a cool bruise would impress just about anyone. In response the girl just shrugged and Daniel thought she went a deeper shade of red if it was possible.
Daniel bent over in front of the girl, parting the hair on the back of his head to enable her to get a better view of his bruise.
"Does...it still hurt much?" asked the girl timidly.
"It hurt a little when it happened but I didn't cry or anything," said Daniel proudly. "Besides, you should see what it did to Harry's sword. It broke it in tw..."
Daniel stopped suddenly, seeing the broken sword tucked in the girls belt. Pulling the broken sword from her belt he reached into the dented helmet hanging by its chin strap from his belt and pulled out a pointed piece of wood. The girl made an attempt to grab at the broken sword put he turned his back to block her. Daniel pushed the jagged ends of both pieces of wood together to form a complete wooden sword. Turning to face the girl, he held the sword up so that she could see.
"What is this?" asked Daniel angrily. "Where is Harry?"
The girl collapsed to her knees sobbing, covering her face with her hands. Daniel's anger quickly evaporated and he found himself involuntarily rubbing her shoulder trying to comfort her.
"Shhhh! I'm not angry really. Honest. Just amazed that Harry would part with the sword. We promised we would always keep the bits as a keepsake of our first bout."
"I did Danny, I really did," said the girl in between sobs. "I never gave it up. It's me, Harry."
Daniel frowned looking around the clearing.
"Very funny Harry," he yelled. "Now why don't you come out from wherever you're hiding."
The girl sighed and wiped at the tears running from her eyes with the palm of her hands. Clasping her hands together as if in prayer, she closed her eyes. As her face screwed up in concentration, Daniel took a step backwards as she started to sparkle like she was covered in reflective fish scales. As each sparkle disappeared, Daniel noticed that the skin under it seemed to subtly change. He watched entranced for a few seconds before he realised how the girl was changing. Stumbling backwards he fell heavily onto his bottom as the sparkles faded and Harry was visible kneeling in front of him. The transformation took little more than ten seconds from start to finish Daniel guessed.
"H-h-h-harry?"
Harry nodded his head in response.
"How...long...have you..."
"Been able to change like this? About five years, though only in the last couple have I been able to change so quickly."
"Are you cursed?"
Harry pulled a face in response.
"No. That girl you saw is who I want to be. I can't really explain it but it feels like she is the real me rather than Harry."
"Wow."
"Yeah, wow," said Harry with a small smile.
"So...can you do other magic? Are you like the Earth Siden?" asked Daniel.
"I don't think I can do more magic, though I might be able to use a weaver bow."
"That would be so cool!"
"Yeah," said Harry with a grin. "I don't think I'm like the Earth Siden though. They are happy changing between forms but I only want to be a girl."
"So being a girl...makes you happy?" asked Daniel, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"Sort of. Being me makes me happy. And I'm a girl in here," said Harry gently touching his chest where his heart was.
The two friends looked at each other in silence for a few minutes, each trying to work out what to say to the other. Finally, Daniel broke the silence.
"Err...it's not y'know, contagious is it? Being a girl?"
Harry stuck his tongue out at a friend and laughed. Closing his eyes and grasping his hands together, the sparkles returned to his skin, quickly changing him back to the beautiful young girl of earlier. When she opened her eyes, a devilish smile appeared out of place with the sweet face that framed it.
"I've never tested if it is contagious or not," she said with a sly grin. "Let's find out shall we?"
The girl lunged at Daniel, falling on top of him as she tried to wrap him in a hug. Daniel's initial screams of outrage soon degenerated into laughter as he saw that nothing was changing in response to contact with her. The two friends roared with laughter before the girl rolled off Daniel to lie on her back next to him.
"I can't call you Harry when you are like this can I?" chuckled Daniel. "I guess that makes you Princess Harriet?"
Daniel glanced over to see her pull a face as she turned her head to face him.
"Ewww. No thanks. You remember my cousin Harriet? The one who called me all those names?"
"So what do I call you?"
"I...I kind of like Georgina. I mean my middle name is George anyway, so it's not that big a change."
Daniel held out his hand to Georgina.
"Nice to meet you Georgina," he said. "I'm Daniel."
"I'm ch-arrrrrrm'd," said Georgina in an exaggerated posh voice as she grasped his arm by the wrist in a yeoman style greeting. Daniel stuck his tongue out in response before a smile broke out on his face.
"Does anyone else know about Georgina?" asked Daniel.
"Nope. Just you."
"I won't tell anyone."
"I know," said Georgina with a smile, releasing Daniel's arm.
"How do you think your parents would take it if they knew about you? I mean Georgina," asked Daniel.
"Not well Danny," said Georgina with a sigh. "Not well."
"It doesn't bother me, Georgina or Harry, you're my friend."
The two friends laid back again, staring up at the great tree towering above them both. They lay in comfortable silence, neither wanting to break the peace of the moment, and enjoyed the warm late morning summer sun. After lying in silence for what seemed like eternity, Georgina spoke first.
"What brought you to here anyway? I thought you had Latin?"
"Eh. Figured skipping a lesson wouldn't be the end of the world if it meant I got a chance to climb the great tree."
"Danny!"
"C'mon, what use am I ever going to have for Latin?"
"Apart from it being used in the law and trade, not much. But then I'm not the heir to a kingdom that gets most of its gold from trade with the Septem Provincae," said Georgina.
"Oh. When you put it like that..." said Daniel sheepishly.
"Oh, indeed," giggled Georgina.
The two friends lapsed once more into silence before Daniel spoke after a few minutes.
"So, are we going to climb this tree or not?"
"What do you mean 'we'?"
"It will be more fun if we both do it. It's not like anyone is going to know anyway."
"Except me of course," stated a third voice.
Daniel and Georgina scrambled to their feet to see a young man, probably not much more than a teenager himself Daniel guessed, in the livery of the Yeomanry standing behind them.
"How...how long have you b-b-b-been standing their?" asked Georgina.
"Not long," said the Yeoman with a smile. "Just long enough to hear of your friends climbing plans."
Daniel frowned, turning his head between looking at the tree and looking at the yeoman. "I'm not going to get to climb the tree am I?"
"No."
The yeoman reached into his tunic and pulled out a leather pouch from which he withdrew two coins. He tossed one each to Georgina and Daniel. While Daniel caught his one handed, Georgina fumbled with hers before grasping it in both hands.
"You can however, make an offering to Woden at the shrine," said the Yeoman. "And perhaps you, young man, might want to apologise to Woden for thinking about climbing his tree?"
Daniel reached out and grasped his friends hand, sensing her nervousness. Together the two friends walked over to the small shrine and knelt before it placing both their Copper Coronets on the offering place.
"We'll find somewhere for you to change on the way back to the Palace," whispered Daniel. In response Georgina nodded her head quickly, glancing back at the yeoman nervously.
"C'mon you two, it's time you headed back to the Palace so that I can continue with my rounds," called out the Yeoman.
Daniel and Georgina nodded and hurried off as quickly as they could back towards the Palace without attracting undue attention. Neither friend would realise for some minutes that they were still holding hands.
The Wynter Palace, Isle of Avalon
Woden's Day 24 April EY 2471 (The Present) - Late-Morning
Agnes Smythe, Principal Weaver of the Order of Water Siden, let out a tired sigh as she laid down on her bed. It was taking increasing amounts of her siden to keep moving and she had little opportunity to rest all morning. She'd excused herself from overseeing the daily minutiae of the Order's business, leaving it in the capable hands of Synnove and claimed that she wanted to meditate on some matters that the Readers of the Paths had mentioned.
In reality however, this was only a part of the reason for her need to rest. The other, and more compelling reason, was that the life stone around her neck was running out of charge and she was beginning to feel all of her one hundred and seventy two years of life and two weeks of death.
"Here, let me help you," said a figure materialising out of the shadows of the room. Agnes smiled at the woman, a portly matronly type with a blue dress and an oversized red bow.
"Thank you, my friend," said Agnes with a tired smile.
The woman removed a stone from a small ornate wooden box on the bedside table and reached around Agnes's neck to untie a leather cord. Pulling the leather cord from its hiding place under Agnes's clothes she grasped the dull red glowing stone on the end of the cord and exchanged it for the bright green glowing stone she had removed from the box. Tying it back around Agnes's neck, she noticed an immediate improvement in her mental alertness.
"I'm sorry to have asked you to stay Agnes's, I know how much you had wanted to cross over and be with your husband rather than clinging to the remnants of this life," said the woman with a sad smile.
"It's fine Saxnot. Really," said Agenes clasping Saxnot's hand in her own. "I understand the need to remain here for the next few weeks. If I had not, I would not have worn the life stone on the night I died."
"Thank you, old friend," said Saxnot. "It won't be much longer now. I sense that the pieces for this cosmic chess game are nearly all assembled on the board and Herla's proxy will be making his opening move within the next few weeks if he hasn't already."
"Let us hope so. You and I both know that my time here is limited. Life stones can only prolong life after natural deaths such as mine not reverse death and you cannot intervene directly to boost my siden under the rules of the Hunt."
Saxnot snapped the fingers of her free hand causing a chair at a nearby table to glide across the polished wooden floor of the room until it stopped next to Agnes's bed. Slipping her free hand behind her to smooth her dress, Saxnot gracefully sat down so as not to unduly crease her dress.
"Show off," laughed Agnes, a rosiness returning to her cheeks with each passing moment.
"Maybe," said Saxnot emitting a school girl like giggle that seemed at odds with her matronly figure.
Agnes closed her eyes, resting her head gently back against her pillow. "I still cannot tell who Herla's proxy is yet. The situation isn't helped by the lack of resources at my disposal of course. All of the Order of Earth Siden apart from Martha will be in Bernicia and Deira for another six to eight weeks and half of my order has been deployed to Mercia to deal with flooding from the Rivers Tame and Anker threatening Tamworth."
"Can Martha be of any use to us?"
Agnes sighed, opening her eyes to meet Saxnot's searching gaze. "On a good day when she's functioning well, yes. On a bad day...she's too fragile. I fear that she could not cope with the stress of the Hunt."
"I feared as much. I wouldn't put it passed Herla to have fanned the flames of the Pretender's Uprising all those years ago to have achieved such an outcome. Amongst the á‰se he is renowned for playing the long game. What of the Order of Air Siden?"
"Half are in Portsmouth with the fleet, while the remainder left I do not trust. Not even Principal Weaver Harrison if I'm truthful. He's the Lord High Weavers man through and through and far too focused on power and glory."
"What about Synnove?" asked Saxnot. "Can she lead our forces if needed?"
Agnes squeezed Saxnot's hand briefly. "I hope that she doesn't have too. Why else do you think I've stayed here?"
"If she had to though?" persisted Saxnot, her voice taking on an undercurrent of urgency.
"If she had too...yes, she could do it. But doing what may need to be done to win could tear her apart in much the same way as Martin's demons have him. If I can do anything to spare her that, I will."
Saxnot nodded in understanding and stood, releasing her friends hand so that she could pull a cover over her. "You my friend need to rest so that the life stone can replenish your siden reserves."
Agnes gently swept her hands over her face, nodding her assent to Saxnot's instruction. "Saxnot, can you tell me one thing? Will I live to see the return of the Wynter Lion?"
A small sigh emanated from Saxnot as she briefly looked heavenward.
"I do not know, my friend. The probable realities have yet to fully coalesce and the paths are still tangled. It might be better to ask a different question..." said Saxnot, gently tugging at the ends of Agnes's bed covers to ensure they were straight.
"The better question to ask is will the Wynter Lioness live long enough to see you."
Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to either comment, pm or kudos me in respect of the Wynter Lioness so far. It's been hugely appreciated on this story, given the length of it and the irregularity of the posting. As usual I would also like to thank Persephone for inspiring this with her stories and without which this story wouldn't be here.
Part of the delay for this chapter was I wrote 9,000 words of a 12,000 word Hallowe'en tale that missed the contest deadline. That story will probably be published when its eventually completed. I'm intending to produce at least one more chapter of WL before Christmas and then use the Christmas hols to try and regain the story buffer. Overall, we're nearing the end of the set-up section of the story, so we're more or less a third through depending on how the next couple of chapters pan out. Once more thank you for taking the time to read WL, it's greatly appreciated.
Prince Henry Wynter was the Heir to the High Throne of the Heptarchy and prophesised to one day lead his people to unparalleled greatness. Twenty two years after he abandoned his destiny and his throne for the chance to be the person he felt he was meant to be, he finds that Fate has not yet finished with him. The events surrounding the proposed appointment of a new Heir to the High Throne have consequences that reach as far the remote farmstead refuge of the former prince and threaten to destroy the new life that she has built for herself.
The slopes of the Downs Mountain Range, Kingdom of Cantia
Woden's Day 24 April EY 2471 - Late-Morning
Hal closed his eyes and carefully massaged the bridge of his nose in an effort to ease the dull ache building inside his head. Slumping forward in his saddle, he listened to the sounds of his two companions examining an area of forest off the trail leading from his family's cottage down to the lower pastures. He couldn't stop his thoughts drifting to how much things had changed in his life in so short a time.
Two days ago, Hal Stockbury would have described his home life as happy but perhaps a little dull. It was mainly composed of chores around the farmstead, with a little leisure time to read or practice his martial skills with blade and bow. Hal had a childhood many would consider idyllic, raised in a home environment where love and laughter were commonplace. His parent's, who were still at times embarrassingly devoted to each other after two decades of marriage and four children, had little in the way of ambition beyond running the farmstead and keeping their children safe and happy.
The closest thing to excitement in Hal's old life was the tourneys held during each of the seasonal festival's in Sarsen and the twice yearly tournament in Wye. He'd even had a couple offers to join the service of landless knights as squires based on his prowess with the sword although to his disappointment his mother had refused the offers.
Now, two days later, Prince Henry Amherst longed for a dull life after having had to watch as Sergeant Ackers and her Yeomen of the Household make his life interesting in ways he had never contemplated. His father was dead. His mother had been abducted and his sisters and brother were missing. At best he only had a faint hope as to where his sisters and brother might be.
The farm boy that had never been further than a couple of days ride from the farmstead was contemplating a journey to the Isle of Avalon, four weeks hard ride away, in the hope of saving his mother. His mother whom it seemed had once been the very male Wynter Lion, Heir to the High Throne of the Angelcyn. To complicate matters more, his only allies in all of this were the two men who had led the Yeomen to his home in the first place. Hoping that his instinct that the two men were trustworthy was correct, Hal slid off his horse and went to check on his father's body.
Stopping by the two aging destriers, Hal affectionately stroked their manes as he moved between the pair. Suspended in the centre between the two warhorses was a makeshift litter upon which his father's body rested. Pulling at the straps, he sought to ensure that it was still securely tethered without rubbing uncomfortably against either of the giant warhorses. Satisfied that all was as it should be, Hal responded to the gentle nudging from one of the horses.
"I don't have any carrots or apples with me today for treats," said Hal, with a laugh. "You'll just have to wait until we stop tonight, Val."
Canting it's head slightly, the great white charger gently nuzzled at Hal's pocket's attempting to verify his claim. Hal chuckled at the tickling sensation caused by the horse as it searched him for hidden treats.
A quiet warning whiney from the other horse signalled an end to the impromptu search as both Hal and the hungry horse turned to face the figure approaching. A subdued Sir Thomas came to a halt in front of the trio. His posture, with its tight shoulders, had the air of a man with the weight of the world upon him. In his right hand he held a scrap of cloth that Hal couldn't quite make out.
"Hal...something happened here yesterday," said Thomas, gesturing to a blackened tree trunk beside the trail with his free hand. "We've found pieces of a shattered weaver bow and traces of blood. None of my men carried weaver bows and I know your mother could use one..."
"Noah and Maddy were both gifted and could use a weaver bow," said Hal, gently stroking the neck of the white destrier beside him in a calming manner in response to the loud snort it sent towards Thomas. "If my mother sent them away from the cottage, she would have undoubtedly given them their bows for protection if she had the chance. The blood...do you think it's theirs?"
"Maybe," said Thomas, bringing the scrap of cloth up so that Hal could see it clearly. Thomas pulled at the material, separating it out into two separate pieces of cloth.
"This is definitely part of a yeoman's uniform," said Thomas indicating to the red and white chequered cloth. "But this isn't part of the standard issue uniform..."
Hal carefully pulled the second piece of cloth from Thomas's grasp and turned it over in his hand. He noted the intricately embroidered flower design and the golden yellow colouring of the material.
"It's from one of Maddy's bodices," said Hal, his voice catching slightly as he spoke. "D-did you find..."
"We've not found anyone. I'm going to join Jack in a thorough sweep of the area to see if we can find anything."
"I'll join you."
"No," said Thomas, placing his hand firmly on Hal's shoulder. "We need you to stay with your father and the horses. We'll be fine. Both Jack and I are experienced trackers and if there is anything to be found, we'll find it. Trust me."
"I guess..." said Hal uncertainly. "I'll..."
Hal lapsed into silence as he tenderly traced the embroidery on the fragment of his sisters bodice, unaware that tears were flowing unbidden down his cheeks.
Thomas hesitantly prodded with his dagger at the pile of broken twigs and small branches. The scrap of material he found at the scene matched that which he'd found earlier and he was in no doubt that this was where Madeleine came to rest. A scorch mark on a nearby tree further corroborated his suspicions. Siden energy didn't burn organic material in the same way that fire did and if you knew what you were looking for the clues were easy to find. Moving to the damaged tree he broke off a piece of blackened bark and rubbed it between his fingers, letting it crumble to gauge the degree of burn. Blowing the dust from his hand, he turned around and began to carefully inspect the undergrowth.
The absence of footprints between the trail and the site and the general impact pattern visible in the earth suggested to Thomas that when the weaver bow broke Madeleine had been thrown through the air and landed here. Having seen an overcharged siden stone explode before in battle, Thomas had a good idea of the effect it could have on those nearby. That the impact spot was , if he was an accurate judge of distance and he knew he was, a good seven hundred metres away from the trail was of no surprise to him.
What surprised him however, was the absence of a body or any evidence of anyone removing a body. Thomas rocked gently on his haunches as he tried to puzzle this latest enigma, soaking in the silence of the forest.
"People don't just vanish," he muttered under his breath as he scanned the surrounding forest. "So where are you if you aren't here?"
A hint of movement on the periphery of his vision, caused Thomas to turn his head sharply to get a better look. His senses alive to every sound and sight, he carefully scanned the surrounding forest for any sign of life. Oak and elms trees gently rustled in the light breeze and the occasional bird could be seen in the high canopy. Rising to his feet, Thomas's fingers lightly touched the pommel of his sword in reassurance. Every instinct he had was screaming at him that he wasn't alone, yet his vision and hearing kept telling him he was alone.
His attention flicked upwards at the sound of a branch creaking in the tree canopy above him but he saw nothing there. Yet despite what his five physical senses were telling him, his instinctive sixth sense of danger told him otherwise. He'd lost track of the number of times his 'old soldiers' sense of impending danger had saved his life and right now that sense was protesting that he was in imminent danger.
Clearing his throat, Thomas sought to coax a response from someone.
"Hello? Is there anyone there? Madeleine? Noah? I'm with Hal...I mean you no harm. Anyone?"
Thomas strained to hear anything over the deafening silence of the forest but the only noise he heard was again the faint rustling of tree branches in the wind. And then, carried on the same breeze he thought he heard the faintest sound of a voice to his left. Being careful to keep looking ahead, Thomas silently slid his dagger back into its small scabbard on his belt and firmly gripped the hilt of his sword.
Turning slowly to his left, he slid the sword from its scabbard and braced himself for the attack from the foe that wasn't there.
Thomas knew that without the life stone, which was around the neck of Daniel's body still, there would be no coming back. For the first time in nearly a year, death would truly mean death. And a part of Thomas sang in celebration, feeling alive for the first time in a long time. If he died today he would die an honourable death regardless of what the Yeomanry of the Household may believe of him. He would die in the defence of his friend's family not for a cause or a flag long since tarnished by politics. And he wouldn't give his life cheaply either. He would make them pay. He would make them regr...
"Sonuva!"
A loud crackling and snapping of branch and leaves followed by some inventive cursing from behind him drew Thomas's attention. Spinning around, he saw the prone form of Jack Fairfax tangled up amongst vegetation and wire.
"Damn poachers!" fumed Jack, hacking at the entangling mess with his sword. "Just you wait until I get my hands of them..."
Thomas turned back to face the unseen danger, taking a deep breath to steady his pulse and clear his mind. Screening out the noise from Fairfax, Thomas listened to the forest. Somewhere nearby a bird was singing. A deer moved quietly a few hundred metres away, trying to quickly distance itself from the predator attracting noise of Jack struggling to get free. In short, everything looked and sounded like it should.
Whatever hadn't been there was gone.
Sheathing his sword, Thomas crouched down by Jack and proceeded to help untangle the younger yeoman from the wire and vegetation he had become ensnared in. He resolved that as soon as Jack was free they would return to the safety of the trail and head for the barn.
The Lower Pasture Barn at the foot of the Downs Mountain Range, Kingdom of Cantia
Woden's Day 24 April EY 2471 - Late-Morning
Thomas cautiously examined the horse lying dead behind the back of the barn, noting the powerful bite marks that had ripped its throat open. From what he could see, the horse had died a relatively quick and painless death unlike the badly mauled human body lying next to it. It was the severed arm of the yeoman lying in some tall grass near the track that had first drawn his attention to the back of the barn and the rudimentary attempts by someone - or something - to hide the evidence of the kill.
Stepping over the corpse of the horse, Thomas knelt down next to the yeoman and gently reached out and closed the glassy unseeing eyes.
"I'm sorry Simon," he whispered. "I'm so, so sorry. I never intended this end for you."
Thomas tensed as he heard the footfalls of a second person before relaxing on seeing who it was.
"Where's Jack?" Thomas asked the newcomer.
"He's gone ahead to check the barn and outbuildings while I secured the horses. The arm you found..." said Hal, pointing to the body.
"Yes, it's his."
"You knew him?" asked Hal, pulling his kerchief up over his nose to mask the smell of death and decay.
"Yeoman Simon Hawkins. A first class tracker and a mean fiddle player," said Thomas, his voice tinged with sadness. "He was one of six yeomen in Jack's detachment."
"Do you think there are more around?" said Hal, glancing beyond the barn and related outbuildings to the sprawling lower pasture beyond it. "I never saw anyone else while I was tethering the horses."
"There's another dead horse about two hundred metres that way," said Sir Thomas, with a wave of his arm in the direction leading north away from the barn. "From what I can see, it was being used as a pack animal to transport the body of Sergeant Landon. There are signs that a third horse escaped but it's unclear if it had a rider or another corpse."
"So you think they are long gone?"
"Yes, they wouldn't have left their dead unburied if they were here," replied Thomas. "And there are no signs of any struggle beyond that which killed Simon and his horse."
"How did he die?"
Sir Thomas sighed, and ran his hand across the top of his short cropped hair. He took a second to momentarily look back at the bite marks on the horse before speaking.
"The pattern of indentation on the horse suggests that the killer was probably a dire wolf rather than a sabre tooth. While that's no comfort to Simon here, for us it is a small mercy as it means the wolf pack has probably moved on to easier pickings."
"You're sure it's a dire wolf?" asked Hal, a note of urgency entering his voice. Sir Thomas nodded an affirmation in response.
"Greytail!" shouted Hall happily. "The other's can't be far away!"
Thomas watched as Hal sprinted for the entrance on the far side of the large barn, calling out the names of his siblings as he ran. Rising to his feet, Sir Thomas jogged after him ensuring that he kept a keen eye on the tree line across the track as he moved.
Greytail let out a deep throated growl that seemed to reverberate around the cavernous barn as he barred his teeth at his prey. His flared nostrils drank in the smell of fear, the combination of sweat and blood that prey made when it's end was near. Watching his wounded prey crawl backwards until it finally propped itself up against one of the hay bales in the barn, Greytail's eyes sought to find any evidence of any other metal claws like the two lying under his right paw. Satisfied that none were in obvious sight, he flicked his attention back to the burrow behind him from which 'Little Cub' was peeking out. Shifting slightly, the pony sized Dire Wolf sought to block Little Cub's view of the prey in case he was required to kill it. He knew that Mother did not want her to see such things, even though to Greytail's mind the lesson of hunting was the most important lesson that a young cub could be taught.
The prey let out little yelps of alarm that Greytail had to silence by moving closer to the prey and barring his teeth in a pronounced snarl. More likely than not, Greytail thought, the prey had a pack. Not for the first time, he wished Mother had been more specific in what she had whispered to his mind. He knew it wasn't her fault. As far as he could tell Mother wasn't even aware of her whispering gift and the jumble of images and emotions that she whispered into his mind sometimes took time to decipher, cluttered as they were with the human tongue. What he did know was that Mother had whispered to him an image of humans in the prey's pelt associated with the emotions of fear and anger.
Greytail had hoped to avoid a second confrontation with this pack after encountering one before the last moonrise. However, the stench made by the Big Hooves when they wintered here had permeated the barn and distracted him from noticing the newcomer until too late. If there were a pack, Greytail knew he would have to dispose of the prey quickly but away from Little Cub so that Mother's will would not be disobeyed. As Greytail approached he noted the prey's yelps of fear started again until he quickly silenced them by firmly grasping the prey by the neck. Carefully dragging the prey so as not to end its life it yet, Greytail headed for a darkened corner of the barn in which to make his kill.
"Maddy? Noah?" called out Hal as he burst in through the open door of the barn. Hal stopped briefly as it took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the gloom of the barn. "Anyone? Hello?"
"HAL!" cried a small voice from the centre of the barn floor. Hal ran towards the trapdoor in the floor of the barn, pulling it open to reveal the combination storm cellar and storeroom. Perched near the top of the ladder leading down into the storm cellar was his youngest sister, Charlotte. Hal pulled her up into his arms once she had scrambled clear of the trapdoor and gathering her in a tight embrace he spun around with her, laughing in relief at finding his sister safe. Charlotte in turn, giggled and squealed in his arms and the two siblings clung tightly to each other, both afraid to let go in case the other wasn't real.
Eventually, Hal gently lowered Charlotte to the ground and kneeling in front of her he took her hands in his own.
"Lottie, are you okay?" he asked. In response Charlotte nodded her head vigorously causing the tears on her cheeks to shake loose and tumble to the straw covered floor.
"Where are the others?" asked Hal, his voice a soft whisper. "Where are Maddy and Noah?"
"I don't know," replied Charlotte with a sniffle. "It's just me and Greytail. They were behind us and then...they were gone."
"Well, we will just have to find them, won't we?" said Hal with a smile conveying more conviction than he felt before once more wrapping his arms around his sister in a tight embrace. He could feel the tension drain from his sister as she sobbed gently into his shoulder.
"Greytail?" asked Thomas from behind Hal, where he had been watching the reunion of brother and sister and struggling with his guilt for the pain that he had caused their family.
"Our dog," said Hal with a smile. "Greytail! Here boy!"
The sight of the dire wolf padding out of the gloom from the far corner of the barn, caused Sir Thomas to take a step back in shock. The sight of Fairfax hanging limply from its jaws caused him to reach for his sword, resulting in a deep resonant growl from Greytail in response.
"Greytail! Drop!" called Hal, ensuring he held Charlotte tight to him so that she couldn't see the sight behind her. "Drop boy! Drop!"
Greytail with some reluctance released the limp form of Fairfax, letting him drop to the floor before slowly wagging his drooping tail in a hopeful manner. For a few seconds, neither man or wolf moved until Fairfax hesitantly reached up to his neck and started to wipe the mix of blood and the wolf's saliva away. Satisfied that Fairfax wasn't in any immediate danger, Hal released Charlotte with one arm and signalled Greytail to join them in a hug. Silently padding over to the two siblings, Greytail bent down to lick both their faces while a giggling Charlotte and smiling Hal both reached around his neck to draw him into a hug.
For a few moments, Hal revelled in the joy of being with family and the memories of happier times and briefly let go of all the tension and worry of the previous day.
Pulling the bucket from the well, Fairfax tipped its contents over his head washing away the mixture of blood and saliva that had coated his neck and chest. As the water cascaded over his bare chest and touched the healing stone hanging around his neck, it danced and shimmered as it purified on contact. The stone glowed a faint dull red signifying that the events of the last few days had left the charge of siden that powered it seriously depleted. Shaking his head to dislodge the excess water from his hair, Jack wiped his face with the small cotton towel that all yeomen carried in their travel kit and examined his right arm again.
The dire wolf's bite marks had now faded to just angry red marks on the surface of the skin and the flesh and muscle underneath had knitted back together returning full use of the arm to him. Satisfied that he would be fully healed in a few minutes, he picked up his blood stained and torn tunic before throwing it in disgust on top of his similarly torn and blood splattered riding breeches.
"How are you feeling?" asked Sir Thomas, offering a clean tunic to Jack.
"Well...let's see. As far as the world is concerned I'm dead. When Ackers gets back to the Wynter Palace she's probably going to spin a tale of treachery that will have my name read out amongst the roll of the dishonoured. Not that she even needs to concoct much of a story given I disobeyed royal orders. I got snared in a rather nasty poachers trap which I should have noticed. I've somehow ended up following a clueless farm boy on some hair brained quest. I spent five minutes as a Dire Wolf's chew toy. And oh... I'm down to my last tunic," said Jack, tugging the new garment over his head as he spoke.
Sir Thomas chuckled quietly at the last comment watching as the expression of righteous indignation on Jack's face softened to a rueful smile.
"At least you're alive," said Sir Thomas, resting his hand briefly on Jack's shoulder. Turning from the well back towards the barn, Sir Thomas returned his attention to the tree line that ran along the opposite side of the track from the barn.
"What is it?" asked Jack. "You've been paying an unnatural amount of attention to that tree line since about half way down the mountain."
"I just have a feeling that we aren't alone."
"You think Ackers left more yeomen?"
"No. It's not yeomen," said Sir Thomas, releasing the leather strap that held his sword in its scabbard while he was riding. "In fact I'm not sure it's any type of man."
"You think the smell of dead horse has attracted predators?" asked Jack, pulling clean riding breeches on. "The last thing we need is to run into a hungry sabre tooth, even with the wolf on our side."
Sir Thomas's paused before replying, his eyes focused intently on an area a few hundred metres away from them, just inside the edge of the tree line.
"Did you see it that time?" whispered Sir Thomas, nodding towards the undergrowth.
"No. Maybe...not clearly. I think I saw something..." said Jack, his own dropping to a whisper. "I didn't get a good enough look to see what it was."
"I did," said Sir Thomas, a tightness in his voice.
"What is it then?" asked Jack as he fastened his sword belt in place. "What is it that has you so spooked?"
"Dweorgas," spat Sir Thomas. "They are drawn to children and probably saw the girl go into the barn alone yesterday but the wolf has kept them at bay. I'm going to check to see if I can find the other two kids. It's most likely that Ackers has them both but I want to be sure."
A frown creased Jack's face in response. "Dweorgas? Are they even real? I thought they were just some form of mythical nature spirit. Stories to scare children and an excuse for the guilty to cover their crimes."
"No, they are real all right. When I was a young yeoman I escorted the High King to a meeting with one of the Clan Chieftains. His name was Finn if memory serves. Creepy little bastard but a damn good smith. Oh...and don't tell Hal or the girl, they've got enough to worry about at the moment."
"If you say so."
"I do."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to bury our dead and have a quick look at that tree line. You're going to take the Amherst's and make for the Paxton's."
"Oh yes...the babysitters," sighed Jack. "If we're really lucky they will take farm boy off of our hands as well as the girl."
"You don't have to come with us Jack," said Thomas, his eyes intently searching the tree line.
"Yeah...well, where you go, I go and all that..." mumbled Jack, before speaking more clearly. "I should come with you into the forest."
"No," said Sir Thomas. "While they normally stay in the forest, it's not unheard of for them to leave it in pursuit of a child. I need you here. Anyway, it's unlikely they will attack a rider unless provoked. They have no love for horses and horses no love for them. Besides, I need you to stay with the others and protect them. If I'm wrong and there is a sabre tooth in the area, the boy doesn't stand a chance defending his sister without your blade."
Jack grunted a begrudging acceptance to the plan.
"I'll do as you say," he said gathering his kit up from around the well. "You just be careful old man."
"Less of the 'old man' you young whelp," said Sir Thomas. While his voice contained a mischievous edge, his eyes remained hard and focussed on the tree line as he walked towards the back of the barn and the fallen yeomen.
Thomas rammed the shovel into the ground and stepped back to examine the two shallow graves he'd dug behind the barn. He hoped that this hasty measure would be sufficient to deter scavengers, particularly when the corpses of the two dead horses nearby would be easier pickings.
"I'm sorry lads," said Thomas. "You both deserve better burials than this. When we get to Canterbury, I'll ensure that the Cantwara are told where to find you so you can be buried properly."
The sound of his horse's agitated whinnying drew his attention back to the present. Fairfax and the Amherst's had been gone for a good hour now and he suspected the dweorgas were finally feeling confident enough to venture from the tree line. Banging his shovel against the side of the barn to dislodge the worst of the fresh earth from it, he unscrewed the metal sections of the handle as he walked and slotted each of the pieces into an open pouch on his saddle bags. Once it was secured away, he grasped the loose reins of his mount and began to rub its neck gently, whispering words of reassurance to the skittish animal.
"You can come out now," said Thomas, in a loud clear voice while focusing his attention on keeping his horse calm. "I'm alone. I may not be able to see you but I know you are there."
In response, the only noise was the gentle breeze rustling the branches of smaller trees. Yet when Thomas turned his head away from his horse towards the tree line, he was not surprised to see a figure standing on the trail.
"Well met, sir" said Thomas, bowing his head slightly out of respect to the figure before him. While his horses reins were held firmly in his left hand, the palm of his right hand gently rocked against the pommel of his sword. The figure closed the distance between them so silently that Thomas wasn't even certain he was walking on the ground, coming to a stop a couple of metres away from Thomas. Thomas's mount snorted its disquiet and scratched at the ground with its hoof, prompting a wary glance from the newcomer.
Now able to get a clearer look at him, Thomas compared the figure to the images popularised in the fairytales of the Angelcyn and his own, several decade old recollections of his meeting with Lord Finn.
Unlike the gruff stocky creatures of his peoples fairytales, Thomas guessed the newcomer to be just under a metre and a half in height. He would hesitate to call the figure a 'dwarf', given the perfect proportions of his comparatively short stature. His youthful, stubble covered face with its delicate features and flawless pale white skin spoke of a 'prettiness' rather than a 'ruggedness', an appearance that was not helped by his jet black shaggy hair which had been loosely pulled back into a waist length braid decorated with daisies and laurel leaves. A pair of coal black eyes peered out at him from under a precious stone encrusted gold coronet which Thomas knew denoted his status as a clan chieftain amongst the Dweorgas.
"Well met, Yeoman" replied the figure, his voice was surprisingly soft and light but his body language hinted at a firmness underneath not to be trifled with. "What brings you to this forest?"
"I'm searching for two children who I believe came upon this place sometime yesterday. Who do I have the honour of addressing?" said Thomas, his mind working hard to recall the appropriately respectful manner in which to address a Dweorgas clan elder.
"You may address me as Lord Nori...or simply My Lord...and I know of the children that you seek, Sir Thomas." said the figure, idly fidgeting with a sizable curved dagger in his hands as he spoke. The size and shape of the blade making it look more like a cleaving than a stabbing weapon.
"You know of me, My Lord?" asked Thomas.
"I know of many things. I know that the boy, Noah, is with the other yeomen. They are taking him eastwards, away from the your people for reasons I do not know."
"Is he unharmed?"
"Based on the last report from my rangers before the yeomen left the forest, I would say so."
"And the girl?"
Lord Nori, shifted uncomfortably for a minute, toying with the protective ring guard on the underside of the hilt of his dagger.
"By human standards, I am ancient," said Lord Nori, brushing his hair aside to reveal an ear with a pronounced point far in excess of that of the most noblest born á¦lfe descended human. "I was born in the twenty-third year of the reign of High King Theodore, which by your calendar would be EY1076. An unpleasant and ignorant man, Theodore would blame my people for the three year long Great Famine saying that our tunnels had drained the water from the soil. Complete rubbish of course but in the final year of the famine, Theodore would orchestrate a series of massacres against us to appease his peoples unrest and divert the blame from himself. As a result, the Clans withdrew from day-to-day interaction with your people to refuges deep underground and in the darkest forests..."
A bitter expression creased Lord Nori's face as unpleasant memories replayed through his mind.
"I tell you this because ever since then, your people have distorted and twisted their perception of my people to excuse their acts of barbarism against us. Your ancestors killed my mother and thousands more of my people yet in your eyes, I am the villain here. I am not what you think I am. I can tell from the fire in your eyes that you believe the stories of us as tricksters...inflictors of curses...and child snatchers. Tell me, Sir Thomas...have you ever heard the 'Charm Against A Dwarf' sung to cure those tormented by nightmares we've supposedly inflicted by taking their 'soul' for a ride?"
Thomas nodded his head in response, tightening his grip on his sword hilt.
"I know of you, Sir Thomas," said Lord Nori. "Do you think the nightmares that torment you of the innocent men, women and children you put to the sword in reprisals against the people of Deira and Bernicia are caused by my people or your own conscience?"
Thomas let go of the hilt of his sword and shook his head slowly.
"My demons...are my own."
"Aye lad, they are that," said Lord Nori, the barest trace of a smile playing on his lips. "If it helps you to understand me better, I would direct you to the name that your Norse cousins know us by. We are the 'Dá¸kká¡lfar' to them...the 'dark elf'. We are no better or worse than those of your own people who have the blood of the á¦lfe running through their veins."
Lord Nori paused and held up his hand in a beckoning gesture. In response a dozen Dweorgas clothed in green and brown patterned garments emerged from the tree line, holding an assortment of axes, bows and swords.
"I'm showing you my rangers so that you understand the need to temper your actions with wisdom after what I am about to tell you...I have the girl but I will not release her to you at this time."
Thomas's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword again in response to Lord Nori's comment.
"I must insist that she is released," said Thomas, his eyes not leaving the bowmen amongst Lord Nori's people. "Her brother wishes only her safe return, My Lord."
"From what I've observed of the him, Hal is a good lad," said Lord Nori with a smile. "A trifle blinkered at times when he has made his mind up but then he gets that from his mother. And yes, I know who she really is. I swore an oath to the Wynter Lion shortly after she settled here that I would bring no harm to hers if she in turn brought no harm to mine. I was not able to help Noah but I can help Madeleine."
"If what you say is true...if you mean her no harm...then you would have no objection to my seeing her then, My Lord?" asked Thomas.
Lord Nori exhaled in response and lowered his dagger.
"This is probably the longest I've spoken to a human not of the blood royal since High Queen Alexandra was sitting on the Wynter Throne...what, three hundred or so years ago. Now there was a fine woman...."
"My Lord," said Thomas, his voice taking on a more insistent quality. "May I see her?"
"You will see her," said Lord Nori, extending his free hand to Thomas. "Upon that you have my word."
Thomas felt a sharp pain as he grasp the proffered hand and pulled his hand quickly back. A thin scratch marked one of his fingers and he sucked at in an effort to staunch the bleeding and minimise the slight pain.
"I think I caught my hand on your ring, My Lo..."
Thomas collapsed to his knees heavily, pitching forward into the ground. His hand flailed at his sword but his muscles seemed oddly uncoordinated and he couldn't form his fingers into a firm enough grip on the hilt to draw it. As his vision started to blur, he saw the face of a smiling Lord Nori bend down close to his.
"You have my word that you will see Princess Madeleine when the time is right for her to be returned to you," said Lord Nori. "I give you my oath that she will come to no harm by my peoples hands while in our care."
Lord Nori signalled to figures outside of Thomas's range of vision and he felt other hands grasp him and move him into a sitting position.
"Wha..."
"It's a fast acting paralysing agent of our own devising. You may experience some difficulty in speaking as your lips and tongue go numb. Rest assured that you will have no lasting ill effects from it, although right now I'm sure you're wishing you were wearing that healing stone and not your compatriot," said Lord Nori with a chuckle. "I want you to remember what I say next, as it's very important. You may not think it now but we are actually on the same side in the coming storm. Everything I have told you today is true, although with one small exception..."
"Wa...x'eption..."
"What exception? I may have stretched the truth a tiny bit when I said we weren't tricksters by nature. It turns out that your people remember that part perfectly correctly," said Lord Nori, with a wink.
"Yewww...itl...baaa..." mumbled Thomas, before the power of speech finally deserted him.
"Anyway, I've got to be going. Things to do and all that. You just take things easy and enjoy a nice rest," said Lord Nori patting Thomas gently on the cheek.
The last thing Thomas saw before losing consciousness was two Dweorgas struggling with the reins of his horse.
The Paxton Farmstead, The Great Plains, Kingdom of Cantia
Woden's Day 24 April EY 2471 - Early afternoon
"Pa! Riders!" called a teenage boy from his vantage point standing in the open first floor doors of the barn.
Ambrose Paxton carefully placed the hay bale on the ground and turned to face the road leading from the farmstead to the plains. Shading his eyes from the low spring sun, he could make out the form of three riders and two accompanying rider less horses in the distance.
"Tony...can you see who it is from there?" he called up to his youngest son.
"Yeah...one of the riders is Hal Stockbury...it looks like little Charlotte is riding with him. I don't recognise the second man...but it looks like he's wearing some sort of uniform."
"Go tell your mother we've got company coming and then get your brothers together."
"Wayne and Robert are out in the Auroch pastures," called Tony in response.
Ambrose cursed quietly under his breath recalling he'd sent them out to the far pastures earlier that morning.
"Tell your mother anyway...and get your sisters together in that case."
"Okay, Pa!" called Tony as he headed back into the darkness of the barn.
Ambrose Paxton was the sort of man who people would often say that 'they wouldn't have wanted to cross when he was younger'. Even now in his early fifties, he was someone that you would have to think twice at crossing. Standing at just under two metres tall, he gave the impression of being at least that wide and while some of his muscle had faded away with age, work on the farm had ensured that the muscles in his arms remained largely unchanged. His light mocha coloured skin had a leathery quality typical of someone who had spent far too long outside unprotected in extremes of weather.
Ambrose leaned against the flat top of a post in the low wooden fence that surrounded the farmstead and waved with his free hand as the riders came to a halt in front of him. With an excited squeal, Charlotte slid off the side of her brothers horse and ran to embrace him.
"Uncle Ambrose!" squealed an excited Charlotte as Ambrose spun her around in his arms.
"Hey pumpkin!" greeted Ambrose.
Hal dismounted and shook hands with Ambrose in greeting, his own hand disappearing in the grasp of the older man's much bigger hand.
"Hal," said Ambrose.
"Unc...Ambrose," said Hal, blushing at his slip. It was still difficult for him not to refer to the older man as 'Uncle Ambrose' even though they were not related. However, he honoured the older man's wish that now Hal was of age he greet him as an equal.
"Who's your friend," asked Ambrose nodding his head towards the still mounted figure of Fairfax. "And what brings you to the farm?"
"Ambrose, this is Lieutenant Fairfax. Jack, this is Ambrose Paxton," said Hal. "As for why I'm here...things have...happened..."
In response to Hal's gesture towards the two aging destriers, Ambrose placed Charlotte on the ground and approached the litter.
"Is he..." asked Ambrose, letting the final part of the question remain unspoken as he glanced towards Charlotte.
"Yes, I think so..." replied Hal. "I had hoped that the life stone...I...that is, we..."
Ambrose reached over and embraced Hal.
"We'll get through this together," said Ambrose, releasing the younger man from the bear hug.
Turning to the farm house, he cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed at Tony standing uncertainly in the doorway.
"Tony! Ask your mother to set the table for three more and then get Sara and Rachel to come out here with you!"
Watching as his son waved in acknowledgement, Ambrose carefully scooped the body of Daniel from the litter with both arms.
"Yeoman, if you wouldn't mind seeing to the horses. The barn has a small stabling area at the back you can use. My children will help you find everything you need," said Ambrose. "Charlotte, Hal...we'll take your father inside to lay down in one of the spare rooms and we'll talk more over dinner if that's okay?"
Hal nodded his agreement. Any further discussion was curtailed by a cry from a young woman as she ran from the farm house.
"I see Sara is pleased to see you," said Ambrose.
In a hug that nearly knocked Hal off his feet, Sara threw her arms around Hal's neck and pressed her lips hard against his. Grasping her waist tenderly with his hands, Hal returned the kiss with equal passion.
Charlotte giggled softly at her brother and looked up to see a smile on Ambrose's face. Noticing that he'd be caught smiling, Ambrose cleared his throat and adopted as stern a visage as he could manage, trying to ignore the smile tickling the corner of his lips.
"Alright you two, enough of that. Sara, you need to help your brother and sister stable the horses while Hal and Lottie here need to go inside and talk."
Sara leant into Hal, sneaking one last quick kiss before grasping the reins to his horse.
It took all of Ambrose's willpower not to laugh at the goofy smile that was plastered onto Hal's face as he walked towards the cottage.
The Clan Laurel Refuge, The Downs Mountains
Woden's Day 24 April EY 2471 - Late-Afternoon
Lord Nori slumped into a heavily padded chair with a sigh and crossing his legs, rested them on the surface of the large oak desk in front of him. With a practiced ease, he used each foot in turn to remove the boot from the other and kicked off his thick woollen socks, enjoying the feeling of cool air running over aching, hot feet. Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the chair and cleared his mind of everything, feeling the tension start to wash away.
"I'm getting too old for this..." he whispered, though truth be told he knew that in his heart a part of him enjoyed today even if his body was paying the price for it now.
"NORI DAVLINNSSON!" shouted a voice from outside his chambers. A voice he recognised all too well.
Lord Nori hastily pulled his feet down from the desk and straightened up in the chair as the door burst open. A quick scan of the room told him that there were far too many potential projectiles in the room for his liking and he wondered if it would make things worse if he went for his shield, hanging on the wall behind his chair.
Two figures entered through the doorway, one, an attractive Dweorgas woman, marching towards him with her face full of thunder while the second, a late middle aged human male, nervously shuffled into the room behind her.
"What do you think you were doing?" shouted the woman, grasping the edge of his desk as she leaned forward to poke him in the chest. "What on Eorá°e possessed you risk your life in such a manner?"
"Dorlin...sweetheart..."
"Don't you 'sweetheart' me, Nori Davlinnsson!" shouted Dorlin, her volume getting louder and her complexion getting redder by the second. "You promised me that you would delegate the task of tracking the other Amherst children to one of the ranger commanders. Promised me! So imagine my surprise when Captain Alaricsdottir said that you were leading the rangers!"
Nori's eyes briefly flicked to the ornamental iron ore paperweight that his wife was grasping in her left hand and not for the first time in their marriage gave serious consideration to wearing his battle helm more often in the Refuge. Glancing up, he noticed the anxious expression on the human hovering in the background.
"Sweetheart...not in front of the child," hissed Nori, gesturing with his eyes towards the human.
Dorlin's head turned to look back at the other figure in the room, briefly giving him a warm smile before turning back to face Nori.
"Don't think this is over Nori Davlinnson!" she snarled back before dropping heavily in one of the two chairs on her side of the desk. "Just you wait until tonight."
Patting the second chair, Dorlin gestured to the third figure in the room to join them.
Accepting the truce with relief, Nori slumped back into his chair with a loud sigh. He couldn't help but smile as he recalled the words of advice his father gave him as a child about selecting a mate. 'Marry a woman with iron in her veins'. Lady Dorlin Hergersdottir certainly had that in her veins he thought. And also in her grasp he noted with some unease as he watched her shifting his paperweight from hand to hand.
"So Gareth, how is the girl?" asked Nori, hoping to change the conversation to safer ground.
"Her physical injuries are healing well and she should look none the worse for her injuries by tomorrow morning," said Gareth. "Our weavers have significant concerns about the shards of siden stone lodged in her though. They've only been able to remove a fraction of the shards, mainly the smallest pieces. In your absence, father, I advised Lady Snorrisdottir and her weavers to keep her asleep until they've removed as much as they can and completely healed her burn wounds."
"Given how badly burnt she was when our rangers found her, I think you are doing her an act of kindness by not letting her see her injuries," said Nori, nodding his assent. "It's better that she wake up tomorrow and be none the wiser as to how close to death she was when we found her. Well done, lad."
A shy smile tugged at Gareth's lips as he blushed in response to Nori's praise.
"When do you intend to release her back to her family?" asked Gareth.
"I've given my word that we will release her when the time is right," said Nori with a wink. "And that will be when I am certain she can come to no harm. My oath to the Wynter Lion still stands."
"I've never seen a human with that much aelfe blood in her before," said Gareth, running his hand through his thinning short cropped salt and pepper hair. "Is all the Wynter line like that?"
"No...not to that degree. The Amherst's are a family unusually rich in the blood of the aelfe which helps but the Wynter Lion herself is the purest aelfe blood I've ever met outside of our own people. Far more so than her parents oddly..."
"Ahhh...a mystery to pique my father's curiosity. Though if you will forgive me, mother...father...I'm due at Court shortly to hear petitions relating to families wishing to undertake exploratory mining in the eastern zone," said Gareth easing himself to his feet with a grunt.
"Joints playing you up again, son?" asked Nori, his face softening in response to the pained expression on Gareth's face.
"No worse than usual father," replied Gareth, grasping his mother's outstretched hand to reassure her. "It's already passing."
Straightening himself up to his full six foot, Gareth turned and bowed slightly to both his parents. Both Dweorgas watched as he limped out of the room and once the door closed behind him, Dorlin burst into tears causing Nori to hastily move around the desk to take her in his arms.
"Shhhhhhh...sweetheart, it'll be okay," whispered Nori, lightly kissing the top of his wife's auburn hair. "I'll speak to Lady Snorrisdottir later and get one the weavers to visit him and relieve his pain. While she has done a tremendous job in retarding the visible signs of his ageing, she expected his pain to return sooner or later. Even the power of siden has its limits."
"My baby...he's too young for this..." said Dorlin, punctuating her speech with diaphragm heaving sobs. "too young..."
Balancing on the arm of her chair, Nori pulled his wife closer to him, so that her head rested gently against his chest.
"The trouble is he's not young though is he? For one of us, seventy-five would be early adolescence...for a human lacking the blood of the aelfe in his veins...he's in the early part of his old age," said Nori, his voice heavily tinged with sadness. "I don't regret for a moment rescuing him from those outlaws that murdered his family. It seemed like a gift from the á‰se at the time, holding that orphaned four year old in my arms so soon after losing our own newborn child...and I've never been prouder than when he was sixteen and he choose to remain with us...his family...rather than return to the human world."
Nori blotted at his eyes with the back of his hand before continuing.
"I consider myself to have been blessed. I married a beautiful woman who has become more beautiful with each passing century and I have a son to be proud of...Gareth Norisson's kindness and bravery will be sung in the history of our people for generations to come. And if he only has a short time left with us, then I intend to make every day of them count."
"I wish there was something we could do..." sighed Dorlin, snuggling against her husband's chest.
"I've asked Lady Snorrisdottir to speak to the other clans and consult the old knowledge. I give you my oath that no stone will be left unturned in an effort to find some way of giving our son the life span he should have."
"You're a good man, Nori Davlinnsson..." said Dorlin as she wiped the tears from her eyes. "I know you will do everything within your power to save our son from his mayfly human life."
Nori rested his chin on top of his wife's head and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her body against his. The couple held each other in silence for a few minutes before finally Dorlin stirred. Rising to her feet she kissed her husband lovingly on the cheek before leaving the room. Stopping at the door, she looked back at her husband watching as he collected his socks from the floor.
"Nori..." asked Dorlin in honeyed tones.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"I love you..."
"I love you too."
"Nori..."
"Yes, sweetheart?" answered Nori, a hint of irritation in his voice.
"I haven't forgotten you're still in the doghouse," said Dorlin, flashing an evil grin at her husband as she exited the room.
"Marry a woman with iron in her blood..." muttered Nori looking heavenwards. "Sometimes father, I think that advice was the biggest trick you ever pulled on me..."
The Paxton Farmstead, The Great Plains, Kingdom of Cantia
Hal gratefully accepted the wooden salad bowl passed across the table to him by Jeanie, helping himself to a large scooping before passing it onto Ambrose sitting beside him. The general hubbub of conversation in the kitchen reminding him of meals at home.
Taking a bite from a honey cake, Jack let out a little sigh of appreciation. "This is good. Better than good. We need some of these for the road if it's possible."
Ambrose chuckled in response. "Jeanie can bake like no one else I've met."
"Marsha, Jean..." said Jeanie, turning to her youngest children. "Why don't you take Lottie and go out back and feed Greytail. I'm sure he would like the salted leg of lamb I've put aside for him."
"Yes, momma!" responded Marsha excitedly, getting down from her seat. "Come with me Lottie!"
"Momma..." whined Jean. "Can't I stay with you.."
A stern look from Jeanie silenced her twelve year old daughter and she reluctantly headed out to the back of the house after the two giggling younger children. Once she was certain they had gone, Jeanie turned to face Hal once more.
"What have you told Lottie?"
"About father?" asked Hal, around a mouthful of beef and salad. "I've said he's very sick and I'm going to take him to a physic. I still live in hope that we can find a weaver who can revive him but either way, the life stone is preventing his body suffering any decay."
"She needs to know the truth sooner or later," stated Ambrose, breaking a chunk of bread from one of the loaves in the centre of the table. "Whatever you hope, you can't deny her the chance to say goodbye to him if he is gone."
"I know...I intend to tell her before I head for Canterbury how serious father's condition is. If I can't find a weaver who can heal him once we reach the city then I will ensure that he is buried in keeping with the customs of our people."
"Hal, where is your mother, your brother and other sister?" asked Jeanie softly.
Closing his eyes momentarily, Hal's head tilted forward allowing his hair to obscure some of his face before he spoke.
"The yeomen have momma..."
"Noah and Maddy?"
"I think they have them as well. I'm not sure. I'm not sure about a lot if the truth be known..."
"What do you think...Jack wasn't it?" asked Jeanie, recalling the hasty conversation with Hal while the horses were being stabled that had established that Jack was to be considered trustworthy and posed no harm.
"I know for certain that Sergeant Ackers has their mother. If she or any of the troop had come across the children, they would have taken them as well," said Jack. "From the evidence on the trail, we think Maddy fought with some of the yeomen and lost. We did a thorough search and found no trace of a body."
"Girl has spirit," said Ambrose, an appreciative tone to his voice. "No way she went easy. Too much like her mother."
"Of that husband, I have no doubt," said Jeanie. Reaching behind her, she twisted her long dark hair up into a high pony tail that revealing a small delicate point to her ears. "On a related note, Hal...how much do you know about that ring you are wearing?"
Hal turned his hand around taking a closer look at the ring. "Everything. It's my father's birthright. How much do you know about it?"
Jeanie exchanged a glance with Ambrose, and at his subtle nod continued speaking.
"I know it is the ring of the heir to the Kingdom of Cantia. I've never seen that particular ring before today, but I saw similar ones on the fingers of King Justin and Queen Aldeberge when I swore an oath to serve the crown."
"Like Jeanie, I've never seen that particular ring before today either," added Ambrose. "But I have also seen your grandparent's rings. I even kissed them when they offered me the farm."
"Cantwara militia?" asked Jack, canting his head slightly to reappraise the bigger man.
"Yeah...I'd completed my ten and was looking to leave and take the five hectares I was entitled to by service and rank. Jeanie had already had our first two children and we wanted to raise a family in peace with the little money we had saved. That was just under twenty-two years ago. You can imagine our surprise when the King and Queen invited us to a private audience and offered to provide me with an even bigger pension and land grant than I would have got as a three termer. All I had to do for it was accept the specific twenty hectares they offered me...this farm...and promise to come to the aid of their son and daughter-in-law should they ever need it."
"We'd intended just to be friendly neighbours originally as your parents were unaware that we knew who they really were but I think your momma was feeling a little lonely when we called around and well...we formed a friendship that developed from that," said Jeanie. "We took the task as a duty...but over time it became something we would have done anyway for a friend without the promise of all this..."
"Wait...Hal's royalty?"
Ambrose turned to his eldest daughter, Sara who along with two older other siblings had been listening raptly to the conversation going on around them.
"Yes, Hal is technically Lord Henry Amherst, second in line to the Kingdom of Cantia," said Ambrose.
"Bet she didn't know that when she was kissing him," stage whispered her younger sister Rachel to Tony. In response, both Hal and Sara shyly blushed prompting a smirk from Jack.
"Oh...but it gets even wilder than that," said Hal, pulling at the ribbon buried under his clothes. Looping it over his head, he tossed the ribbon and its attached ring to Ambrose. "Do you know what this is?"
Ambrose examined the ring, noting the richness of the material and craftsmanship. On the ring was the symbol of the Angelcyn dragon, with its raised clawed front leg, and above that an image of the High Crown similar to that shown on all official documents from the Wynter Palace. Turning it over in his hand, he passed it to Jeanie.
"So the rumours were true then? Your mother was really a princess and eloped with your father?" asked Ambrose.
"She was a princess. She did elope with my father...but that's not what that ring symbolises."
"Hal...where did you get this?" asked Jeanie, staring intently at detail engraved into the side of the ring. "These are cadency marks for the first born child of royal lineage."
"That can't be," said Ambrose looking between Hal and Jeanie. "The first born child was the Wynter Lion. You aren't seriously telling me that Georgina is a man?"
"Was. Not is. I don't claim to understand it all but I do know this. My mother regardless of accidents of birth was a wonderful woman and proud mother," said Hal.
"Then that makes you..." asked Sara in a quiet voice.
"Prince Henry Amherst at your service," said Hal.
"And she didn't know that when she was kissing him either," said Jack with a chuckle, enjoying the opportunity to watch Hal squirm again.
Standing by the sink in the Paxton's kitchen, Hal accepted the wet plate from Jeanie and proceeded to start drying it, as he had every time he'd eaten at the family's house since he turned fourteen. Leaning against a big welsh dresser nearby was Ambrose, quietly drinking beer from a plain glazed earthenware bottle.
"Thank you for that lovely meal," said Hal accepting another wet plate from Jeanie. "You're a wonderful cook and I particularly enjoyed the bread. My mother never could quite get her bread to rise properly."
"Thank you Hal," said Jeannie. She gave Hal a wink before turning to face her husband. "You know you're always welcome here and it's so nice to have a man about the house who pulls his weight cleaning up after a meal."
"I harvest the wheat and slaughter the cattle to put food on the table," said Ambrose in reply with a snort of disapproval. "Besides, you always moan that I don't clean the plates properly anyway."
"Can't or won't clean them properly?" asked Jeanie teasingly.
Hal couldn't help but chuckle at the domestic interplay, so similar to that he experienced at home. He distinctly remembered his father saying that the á‰se blessed him with children so he never had to wash up again.
Her face turning serious, Jeanie reached out and gently touched Hal's arm.
"Hal, there's no good time to say this, so I'm going to say it now, okay? Stop me if I have this wrong but my understanding from what you said at lunch is that you intend to march into the public assembly room of the palace at Canterbury, convince the King and Queen of your lineage using the ring and sword, and then raise an army to march on the Wynter Palace and take back your mother and avenge the death of your father?" asked Jeanie.
"A little over simplified but, yeah, basically. Why?"
"Because it's a stupid plan," said Jeannie.
"Well what choice do I have?" asked Hal, putting down the plate he had been drying. "It's not like I can get a private audience with the King by just sidling up the gates and saying 'psst! let me in to see the King, I'm his grandson, honest!' is it? The only way I'll be able to get in to see him is during the public petitions session. In case you haven't noticed my sole assets are a couple of yeomen, a dire wolf and my father's ring and sword. I have to hope that by creating as much noise as possible and using the public testimony of the two yeomen that I can pressurise the High King into returning my family. If the King of Cantia can sway enough of the other Kings to our cause, the High King can be made to acquiesce. It's not like the High King is going to just return my mother if I pitch up at the Wynter Palace and ask for my mummy back is he?"
An agitated Hal slid to the floor with his back against the kitchen wall, and pulled his knees to his chest.
"I wasn't raised to be a leader or a diplomat or a prince. My father is probably dead. The á‰se only know what has happened to my sister and brother and I'm kind of making this up as I go along, running on bravado since yesterday. I had to do something...or I'd just have curled up into a ball and stayed there. If you've got a better plan...please...let's hear it."
"Okay...well, the ring combined with my contacts will get you a private audience with the King. I can guarantee that much."
"Wait...your contacts?" asked Hal. "I thought it was Ambrose who was in the militia?"
"Yes, that's true. Ambrose was in the militia. He left after reaching the rank of sergeant-at-arms in fact," said Jeannie, her voice filled with pride. "However, I also worked for the Cantwara Crown."
"Were you a lady-in-waiting? Is that how you have contacts with the King?"
Jeanie let out a light giggle, a broad smile on her face as she recalled the past.
"I was many things. I was a lady-in-waiting, a scullery maid, a baker, a flower seller and more...but that was always in the pursuit of my true occupation."
"Which was?" asked Hal, his curiosity peaked.
"I was a...creative problem solver...for the crown."
"What does that mean?"
"You had to go and ask," grumbled Ambrose, closing his eyes and slumping back against the dresser.
Jeanie reached behind her apron and pulled a small throwing dagger out from behind it. In a flurry of movement the dagger had flown from her hand and was projecting from the wooden dresser just above Ambrose's head. Open mouthed Hal turned from looking at Ambrose, to Jeanie and then back to Ambrose.
"I also bake," said Jeannie smugly before selecting another dirty plate to wash.
The Clan Laurel Refuge, The Downs Mountains
Woden's Day 24 April EY 2471 - Early Evening
Nori pulled a chair up next to the bed and took a proper look at Madeleine for the first time since she was found by his rangers. The dark brittle skin from the siden burns had been changed to a more normal angry red burn by the efforts of his weavers. Within a few hours, the only mark left from the incident would be the faint scaring from small shards of siden embedded in her skin that they couldn't remove. What worried Nori more was that none of his weavers could tell him what the effect of having the shards of siden stone trapped in her skin would do to her. He hoped whatever it was that it wouldn't be harmful to her.
"Unexpected...but fortuitous..."
Nori turned at the sound of the woman's voice to see the matronly form of a middle aged human materialise at the foot of the bed. Fussily adjusting her oversized red bow around her neck, she also fluffed the bun her hair was tied up in before gracing Nori with a smile.
"She nearly died SaxnÅt," said Nori, turning back to face Madeleine.
"But she didn't and your people saved her."
"You didn't know that though!" shouted Nori, rising to his feet. "You would have let a child die!"
"I think by human standards, seventeen is considered to be nearly an adult. But as I said...this development is unexpected but fortuitous. It provides a valuable new piece for the board. When will you be returning her to her brother?"
"When I'm confident that she will be suffering no ill effects from the siden shards."
"You don't have to worry about that."
"I'd rather take the advice of my own weavers and physics first thank you," said Nori indignantly.
"Her welfare is secondary to that of the role she can play. I had thought her mother would be crucial to my goals but now I see other options available. More reliable options not tainted by prophecy."
"I've met the Wynter Lion. You will be hard pressed to find a more loving and honourable person."
"That was before, when Daniel was alive," said SaxnÅt. "I have read the paths. If the High King restores her to her original form then the outcomes are not good. Not good at all, unless you consider a bitter, rage consumed, insane warrior king to be your idea of a good ruler."
"And you want to put the child in the way of that?" asked Nori.
"Not particularly. However, if it saves the three billion lives on this planet...then the needs of the greater good must take precedent over the welfare of this one girl. Rest assured if Herla wins you will all die, crushed beneath the might of the Angelcyn High King."
"I don't believe that the life of one innocent is ever an appropriate trade off, regardless of the outcome."
"You will honour your promise to Sir Thomas," said Saxnot, her face a mask of exasperation.
"I gave my oath. We aelfe keep our oaths."
"I sense trickery, my Lord," hissed SaxnÅt, moving to stand behind Nori. He started slightly when he felt her hands on his shoulder.
"I've already given my word to Sir Thomas that she would be returned to him when the time is right."
"Yes...but is your definition of when the time is right the same as mine? I would hope that you wouldn't be trying to deceive me Nori Davlinnsson...I have many agents here on Eorá°e who could make life difficult for you and your clan."
"Difficult? How do you make life more difficult for a dying race?" snarled Nori, shrugging the hands off his shoulders. "The star fall that shattered a continent and killed the Old Worlders deprived my people of the cure for the affliction that limits our ability to bear live offspring. We were just about maintaining a static population until the massacres committed by King Theodore pushed my people's numbers below that which is viable. If it wasn't for our long life spans we'd already be a footnote in history and as it is we will be extinct as a clan within three generations and as a race within five. No one clan on its own has a viable population base and even if we merged all the clans together we would only delay the inevitable. Already Clan's Eagle and Granite are lost to us...their remnants scattered and absorbed into the others."
"I understand that Lord Finn believes he has a solution. Is your need for personal power greater than that of your peoples survival?"
"Finn is a bigot and a fool. I...and my people...would rather Clan Laurel ceases to be, than join that man and his twisted plans to use fire siden to ensure the survival of Clan Blackthorn. I'd rather die an aelfe than live as the creatures his people will become. Besides, the human children we rescue and that opt to stay with us will ensure that our culture if not our bloodlines will survive in some small way. Finn treats the human children his people 'rescue' as little more than chattel. It is the fault of his people than the humans mistrust us in the first place."
Saxnot bent down to stroke a stray strand of hair from Madeleine's forehead.
"Suppose it doesn't have to be this way, My Lord Nori? Suppose your people can have their fertility boosted to human norms. Imagine Dweorgas families with three or even four children rather than the one or sometimes two you have now."
"Two in itself would be a miracle. Our people have struggled to have more than one live birth per family for the last five hundred years."
"Mother and daughter must be reunited," said SaxnÅt. "It is the only way to ensure my victory. Do this for me and I in turn will grant your people an enhanced reproductive rate for five generations and...I'll heal your son as a sign of good faith. In return, I want your oath, given freely now, that you will have mother and daughter reunited before the anniversary of the High Kings coronation."
"Do you know what you are asking? The risk to the girl would be extreme," said Nori. "Our people consider harming a child to be the greatest crime imaginable."
"I know what I am asking. Madeleine's condition is unexpected. In most of the time lines she died in that confrontation with the yeoman or shortly afterwards. That she survived in the prime reality is something that Herla would not have counted on and even now I'm working to obscure her existence from him. So if you think about it, she is - on the balance of probability - already dead."
"You heartless ba..."
"Ah-ah-ah!" said SaxnÅt, wagging her finger in front of Nori. "That's no way to speak in front of a lady is it?"
"You are no lady." snarled Nori. "You're not even human are you?"
"No...I'm not human anymore. Once I was but not now," said SaxnÅt sadly. "Your oath, Nori."
"I want Gareth healed now, as proof of your intent," stated Nori.
"That is acceptable."
"Then I, Lord Nori, give you my oath that I will reunite this girl with her mother before the anniversary of High King Henry's coronation this coming May."
In response SaxnÅt snapped her fingers.
"If you speak to Lady Snorrisdottir tomorrow morning you will find that she had a document in her possession that will heal him all along without realising it. She will find the document later tonight."
"Then I will honour my promises."
"Ensure that you do Nori," said SaxnÅt fading from view.
Slumping back into his seat, Nori placed his head in his hands.
"Nori Davlinnsson, what have you got yourself into this time you old fool," he whispered to himself.
To be continued...
Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to either comment, pm or kudos me in respect of the Wynter Lioness so far. It's been hugely appreciated on this story, given the length of it and of course, like all authors, comments do help encourage me. Hopefully, the current popularity boost of the fantasy story might garner the odd new reader, which given a further drop in reads last chapter would be welcome! At just over 12,000 words this chapter is probably one of the longest yet. I just couldn't break it without the final scene with Lord Nori though, so it felt right to go over my normal 10,000 words. Expect a chapter a month from now on with the story finishing late 2011-ish.
As usual I would also like to thank Persephone for inspiring this with her story 'The Frozen Balance' and without which this story wouldn't be here.
A quick mention to the Dweorgas. Modern fantasy dwarves and anglo-saxon / norse dwarves are not quite the same thing. I have taken elements from both in my Dweorgas with a heavy reliance on the beauty of norse elves and other elements of them. What fascinated me most about them is the association with 'black' or 'dark' elves in early norse literature and I've played with that a lot. I did forgo that early norse dwarves were human height compromising on them being short but not really, really short. One of the things I really wanted to get away from was the whole bearded bit as well, so that's gone. Think of them really as short elves who are good with metalworking and caves. As for the metrical 'Charm against a Dwarf', it does actually exist and can be found by a google search fairly easily. It's open to a lot of interpretation but the view I liked was that "among the Germanic peoples nightmares were believed to be caused by various wights who attack people in their sleep and then take their souls out for a ride' The mare was apparently a metaphysical wight whose whole purpose in life was to ride both men and horses in their sleep. In the morning men so afflicted would wake up exhausted and it was believed that if a man or horse were so ridden long enough he would die of exhaustion..". So, that was the bit I absorbed into my world for the meaning of the charm.
Prince Henry Wynter was the Heir to the High Throne of the Heptarchy and prophesised to one day lead his people to unparalleled greatness. Twenty two years after he abandoned his destiny and his throne for the chance to be the person he felt he was meant to be, he finds that Fate has not yet finished with him. The events surrounding the proposed appointment of a new Heir to the High Throne have consequences that reach as far the remote farmstead refuge of the former prince and threaten to destroy the new life that she has built for herself.
The Golden Hall, The Wynter Palace, Isle of Avalon
The Coronation Anniversary Masked Ball, 15 May EY2446 (25 Years Ago)
The sky was so full of stars that Daniel thought if he had asked the Woden himself to show him all the stars in the heavens there would not be so many as were in the sky tonight. Intellectually, he knew that this was a once in twenty-five year occurrence when Fá¦dera was in a new moon phase and Má³drige was in a dark moon phase but romantically he preferred to see it as a blessing from the á‰se, a gift to the boy with his head in the heavens.
Reaching out with his hand in front of him, he lazily traced the outline of the constellations... Beowulf... Thunor's Hammer... the Grendel... and more. He knew the names of them all and as a small child he had enjoyed spending evenings camped out in the Palace Gardens back home in Canterbury gazing up at the stars trying to imagine where in the distant heavens lay the Old World from which his distant ancestors, the á¦lfe, had travelled to settle Eorá°e. He knew from his mother and other wiser heads than he, that the Old World's star wasn't visible to the naked eye in the night sky but as a child he had believed that if he looked long enough and hard enough that one day he might by rewarded by Woden with a glimpse of it. Even now, at the age of seventeen years, whenever he had the chance Daniel still gazed hopefully at the stars.
Taking a long swig from the open bottle of wine in his other hand, Daniel listened to the soundtrack accompanying his stargazing, the beat of the bodhrá¡n and the gentle buzz of a thousand conversations from the ballroom behind him. The edge of veranda overlooking the Summer Gardens may only have been five metres away from the French doors to the ballroom but the acoustics and still night air made it feel a lifetime away.
The ball had been an impressive event even by the standards of the Wynter Palace and it was the first time that Daniel could ever recall that all seven of the kings of the Heptarchy and their heirs were present in the same place at the same time. While Daniel had enjoyed seeing so many of his friends at the ball, that pleasure had been outweighed by the apparent declaration of the opening of hunting season on eligible heirs and he'd spent much of the evening dodging the most persistent of his would be suitors. He'd felt particularly sorry for Harry, who as the Heir to the High Throne had been a powerful magnet for those looking for a socially advantageous marriage. Knowing there was nothing he could to help his friend, Daniel had grabbed a couple of bottles of wine and retreated to the peace and quiet of the dimly lit veranda. That had been nearly two hours ago.
Alone with his thoughts, the wine and the stars, Daniel pondered the future. His time as a yeoman cadet officer would come to an end in just over two years and he would have to make a choice between accepting a full commission or leaving the Yeomanry to return home. In his heart though, Daniel knew that the mantle of yeoman was ill fitting at best to his temperament. His heart yearned for adventure, excitement and romance, not discipline, duty and orders. He wanted to be a hero like in the tales of old and overcome daunting odds to rescue beautiful damsels in distress. And the Yeomanry didn't offer that any more than being the heir to the richest of the seven kingdoms did. The world of his father was all about commerce, laws, responsibility and Latin. And he hated Latin. With a deep sigh Daniel took another drink from the bottle.
The sound of the French doors opening behind him interrupted his thoughts and he turned to see an agitated young woman closing the door hurriedly behind her before pushing herself into the ivy that climbed the exterior of the palace walls. Like all those with large amounts of á¦lfe blood in their lineage, Daniel was able to see clearly in low light conditions and the faint illumination from the palace gave him sufficient light in which to see. Even pressed into the shadow of the ivy covered walls and wearing an ornately decorated half mask, the woman couldn't hide her beauty. A sly smile tickled the corners of Daniel's lips as he thought that perhaps tonight he would have a beautiful damsel in distress to rescue.
"My Lady?" called Daniel softly as he took a step away from the stone balustrade running along the edge of the veranda. "Do you require any assistance?"
Before she could reply however, the French doors were thrown open and Daniel watched the woman press herself even further into the ivy, screwing her eyes shut as if to deny the existence of the silhouetted figure standing in the doorway. Blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the bright light from the ballroom, Daniel's heart sank when he saw who the new arrival was.
"Amherst," growled the figure.
"Repton," replied Daniel.
"Should have known a misfit like you would be out here. Frankly, you'd do us all a favour if you just went back home."
"It's always a pleasure to see you too Lawrence," said Daniel, taking a swig from the wine bottle in his hand. "To what do I owe this visitation from the youngest and least pleasant son of the ruling house of Mercia?"
"Are you drunk?" asked Lawrence, wrinkling his nose in disapproval.
"Not anywhere near enough to endure your company for any longer than the bare minimum that I have too. What do you want Lawrence?"
At one hundred and ninety-three centimetres in height, Daniel knew he was far from short yet in front of Lord Lawrence Repton he couldn't help but feel small next to the veritable bear of a man. Lawrence not only topped him in height by a good ten centimetres but also in width by what seemed a similar amount and Daniel half-expected the ground to shake with every step Lawrence took to close the gap between the two of them. Not wanting to expose the woman hiding in the ivy any more than he had too, Daniel quickly advanced on Lawrence ensuring that he had only gone a few steps onto the veranda before he pair stopped within sword distance of each other.
"Are you looking for trouble, Amherst?" asked Lawrence, lightly fingering the ceremonial rapier hanging from his belt.
"I'll ask the question again, slowly so you might understand. What. Do. You. Want. Lawrence?"
The two locked gazes for a moment, before Lawrence looked away with a snort of derision.
"I'm looking for a woman."
"The ball's full of them. I'd suggest you try there," said Daniel. "Alternatively, you have the coin to procure what you need assuming you can't find a lady at the ball who hasn't met you before or heard of you."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Exactly what it sounded like. You have a reputation Lawrence and not a good one. If I ever find out that it's true..."
"You'll what?" asked Lawrence, once more touching his sword hilt.
"Whoever you're looking for, she's not here," stated Daniel.
"You never answered my question."
"Let us hope for the sake of peace amongst the seven kingdoms that I never have to Lawrence," replied Daniel taking another drink from the wine bottle. "Just go Lawrence. Just go..."
The two young men once more locked gazes, measuring each other's resolve. This time Daniel broke the stare, turning his back on Lawrence and returning to the balustrade looking out onto the Summer Gardens.
"The day will come when you can't hide behind the shield of Cantia or the protection of the heir to the High Throne, Amherst. I look forward to that day..."
Daniel didn't reply, instead focussing his gaze firmly on the orderly patterns of the flower beds of the Summer Gardens. When he heard the retreating footsteps of Lawrence and the click of the French doors closing, he finally released the tension from his body leaning heavily against the balustrade.
"Wait a few minutes longer," he said hearing a rustling from the ivy. "He'll take another pass by the doors in a few minutes to check that I'm not lying."
Hearing the rustling stop, Daniel took it as confirmation that she'd heard him.
Taking a deep breath Daniel placed his trembling hands flat on the balustrade, letting the feel of the cool stone calm him. The adrenalin high receding, he knew it was foolish tempting fate like that by annoying Lawrence. The older boy was not only physically bigger than him but also by all accounts a very gifted swordsman. Added to that the man's grip on sanity was tenuous at best if the rumours were true. Daniel silently thanked the á‰se for the fortunate blessing of Cantia not sharing a land border with Mercia.
The light from the ballroom dimmed slightly and mustering his best devil-may-care smile, Daniel turned waiving his bottle in salute to the silhouetted figure on the other side of the French doors. Watching Lawrence stalk off back into the ballroom he cocked his head towards the woman in the shadows.
"He's gone now. I wouldn't recommend returning to the ball unless you have some friends who can protect you from Lawrence. He's going to be in a bad mood for a while, which unfortunately is my fault. I'd offer you my sword but I fear I may be a trifle intoxicated." Or not intoxicated enough to fight Lawrence, added Daniel silently.
Stepping hesitantly out of the darkness, the woman nodded her head in acknowledgement. Daniel watched as she chewed the corner of her kissable plump rose coloured lips in thought for a moment before hiking the folds of her ball gown up slightly to approach him. The expensive ornate dress, though clearly not tailored for the beautiful woman in front of him, was vaguely familiar leading Daniel to wonder if she was the younger daughter from one of the lower rungs of the aristocracy reusing an older sisters clothes. As she neared Daniel his eyes drifted towards the plunging décolletage of the gown, a sight he found pleasing to more than just the eyes. Maybe risking a slow death at Lawrence's hands was worth it after all he thought to himself with a chuckle.
As the woman neared Daniel he tore his gaze away to more respectfully meet her eyes. Resting her hands lightly on his arm she leant upwards on tip toes and pressed her lips softly against his cheek.
"Thank you," she whispered breathily in his ear, her breath causing his skin to rise in small goosebumps. With a smile she turned and with a rustle of fabric hurried off into the darkness of the veranda leading to the gardens below, leaving only the memory of the touch of her lips and the faint smell of strawberries in the air.
Daniel smiled goofily at the darkness as his fingers absently stroked the spot on his cheek that she had kissed.
"I'm going to start rescuing damsels more often if that's the reward," he whispered to himself.
The faint smell of strawberries haunted Daniel even as he weaved between the ornamental flower beds in the Summer Gardens and not for the first time he found his thoughts returning to the damsel he had rescued earlier that evening. He had not seen her further during the night much to his disappointment but given the mood Lawrence had been in when he saw him it was probably for the best. With a frustrated sigh Daniel slumped heavily against one of the palace exterior walls and upended the wine bottle in his hand, taking a deep drink from the bottle. Wine running from the corners of his mouth he discarded the now empty bottle and closed his eyes as he relaxed against a trellis laced with ivy that clung to the cool stone walls.
"Hey!" exclaimed Daniel as an object bounced off the top of his skull, shaking him from his stupor. Bending down he picked up an ornate rose coloured shoe.
"Hello?" called Daniel looking around but seeing no one. Peering inside the shoe he saw the signature symbol of Mason and Willow, royal dressmakers by appointment. A chuckle worked its way out of Daniel as he recalled an Old World fable his mother would tell him as a small child.
"I shall marry the fair maiden who doth fit this shoe," he said, theatrically holding the shoe aloft, adding sotto voce "Who knowing my luck will turn out to be covered in warts and have a face like the back end of a cow."
"Ow!"
Daniel bent down to pick up the matching shoe to the one already in his hand. Standing up he glanced around noting he was still alone and he desperately wracked his brain for any knowledge of tales of evil shoe throwing Wights, absently wondering if it possessed more than two feet. Being pelted by a centipede like wight, each foot adorned with a rose coloured shoe had little appeal he concluded.
A startled feminine squeak from above caused him to look upwards to be greeted by the sight of dainty bare feet swinging frantically from the trellis several metres above him. His aelfe enhanced senses allowed him a reasonable view of the woman suspended above him, though the angle prevented him from getting a good look at her features. The gentleman in Daniel blushed as he followed the swinging feet up long stocking clad legs to an array of petticoats but the teenage boy in him kept looking.
"Hello?" he called out. "Do you require assistance?"
"Piss off!" hissed the swinging figure above him. Stepping back slightly, he could see she was trying to work open a window leading to the royal bed chambers.
"That wasn't a particularly ladylike response," said Daniel with a smirk.
"Like it is gentlemanly to stand there looking up my dre--"
The woman's sarcastic retorted turned in to a distressed scream as with a loud crack, the trellis supporting her weight came apart from the wall. Discarding the shoes, Daniel braced to catch the woman only for her momentum and his inebriation to drag them both to the ground in a tangled heap.
After recovering his breath from the knee he took to the stomach as they collapsed in a heap, Daniel peered at the figure laying prone across him, the hem of her ball gown lying around her waist to reveal an abundance of undergarments. Reaching to pull her dress back down to restore her modesty, Daniel found his hand being slapped away as the woman struggled to turn over and sit upright.
"What sort of catch was that you idio..."
The words died on the woman's lips as she got a good look at Daniel.
"Danny?"
Not believing his own ears, Daniel reached out and gently pulled her ornately decorated rose half-mask up to her forehead so as to better see her face.
"Georgina?"
The two friends stared at each other stunned for a few moments before Daniel broke the silence.
"It was you earlier at the ball!" he exclaimed taking in a good look at the woman sitting in front of him. "What in Woden's name are you doing going to the ball like that?!? For á‰se sake suppose someone saw you?"
"Lots of people saw me," hissed Georgina in an angry retort. "And why should they not have? I am an attractive woman I will have you know."
Daniel snorted in response to Georgina's pout. "An attractive woman who also happens to be the very male Heir to the High Throne."
"Do I look like the male Heir to the High Throne?"
Daniel had to mentally admit she didn't. Blushing a little, Daniel shifted uncomfortably where he lay and sought to untangle their legs.
"Wait a minute...you were at the ball as Harry. How did you manage to change? Where did you even get that dress?"
It was Georgina's turn to blush now and she focused her attention on the her hands resting in her lap when she spoke.
"Matilda. Matilda gave me this dress."
"Your sister? She knows?"
Georgina nodded her downcast head in response.
"You told her?" asked Daniel, surprised at how hurt he felt about Georgina sharing her secret with someone else, even if it was her sister.
"Not exactly..." said Georgina in a soft voice. "She...she walked in on me changing from Harry to Georgina in my chambers six months ago. I did not really have much choice in the matter about sharing my secret."
"She's...she's okay with you... with Georgina?"
"Surprisingly so actually," said Georgina, looking up at Daniel with a shy smile. "We have spent a lot of time together in the evenings when you are off doing boy things..."
Daniel couldn't help but smile at that comment. 'Boy things' was Harry's phrase for any traditionally masculine activity or pastime. It was the use of such common phrases that always reassured Daniel that Harry and Georgina really were just the same person in different packages.
"This is one of her gowns in fact. It's a little tight in the bodice but fits surprisingly well," said Georgina as she tugged at the top of the bodice to make it sit more properly after being disturbed by her fall.
Daniel's face burned as he looked at where Georgina's hands were. He knew that seventeen year old girls had curves in places that seventeen year old boys didn't. What his brain was struggling to rationalise right now though, was that his best friend was a seventeen year old girl with all the developing womanly curves that entailed. Intellectually, he knew Georgina was a girl. They had grown up together after all and he'd spent nearly as much of his leisure time with Georgina as he had with Harry. However, in all the time he had seen Georgina to date she'd been wearing Harry's clothes. Harry's oversized, slightly baggy clothes on her slimmer and shorter frame. And the older Harry got...the taller Harry got...the broader Harry got... the more Georgina was lost in a shapeless mass of fabric and chainmail. Sitting before him in a ball gown, a slightly tight ball gown if anything, this was the first time he had seen Georgina in clothing appropriate to her gender. In fact, seeing her for the first time in a dress he had to admit that she filled it out in a way that he found very pleasing.
"Danny?" asked Georgina.
"Hmm?"
"I asked if you were okay?"
"Oh. Sorry. Yeah fine," said Daniel struggling to meet Georgina's quizzical gaze as his gaze kept being drawn to the ample cleavage framed by the bejewelled décolletage of her gown.
"You seem distracted," said Georgina with a smirk, noting where his gaze fell.
"Errrr... well, you've got bony knees that kind of knocked the wind out of me," said Daniel, rubbing his stomach as an afterthought.
"Yeah," giggled Georgina. "I'm sure that's what it is."
Daniel stuck his tongue out at Georgina in response.
"Very mature."
"Yeah well, what were you doing up there anyway?" asked Daniel.
Untangling their legs, Georgina carefully moved to sit next to Daniel smoothing out her gown as best she could when she sat down.
"Matilda figured that if I slipped out from the ball after establishing my presence there that I could return as Georgina. If anyone asked where Harry was, she would claim she just saw me and send them in some random direction. The plan was I would spend an hour or so like this and then slip back and change but then I bumped in Lawrence..."
"I meant to ask. Where did you go after we met?" asked Daniel.
"I had intended to return to my chambers and change but my mother had one of her 'headaches' and retired early. Every time I approached the royal chambers they were swarming with maids and the like, so I spent the last few hours sitting in a pergola one of the gardens. Matilda was supposed to leave one of the windows open for me just in case anything went wrong but either she forgot or someone helpfully closed it."
"You could have asked me for help you know," said Daniel with a sad smile. "I would have helped."
"I know. It's just that...I thought you might tease me dressed like this," replied Georgina blushing.
"Oh, I'm going to tease you about it," chuckled Daniel. "But I would have helped. You're my best friend, either way, and I will always sta--"
Daniel stopped at the sound of raucous laughter from the garden.
"Down!" hissed Daniel, pulling Georgina to the ground. A small cry of protest died on her lips as Daniel cupped his hand over them. The friends laid there silently listening to the sound of footsteps echoing on the paved pathway some metres away. After waiting a few minutes Daniel craned his head from left to right searching for any sign of the third person in the gardens, ignoring the muffled squeaks of protest from Georgina.
"I can't see him," whispered Daniel. "He must have headed back towards the ballroom. We'll give it a few more minutes and then see about moving on, okay?"
An indignant squeak from Georgina reminded Daniel that he still had his hand over Georgina's mouth.
"Sorry," mumbled Daniel, noting the anger dancing in his friends eyes. As he removed his hand, he felt a stinging slap on his arm from Georgina.
"Will you be quiet," hissed Daniel as he glanced around them. Holding himself slightly above Georgina by his arms, Daniel drank in the faint sweet odour that seemed to emanate from her. Bending down he took a deep inhale from close to Georgina's neck, noting the goosebumps that appeared on her skin as he exhaled.
"Strawberries..." he whispered.
"It's a side effect, I think, of the magic," replied Georgina in a quiet voice, blushing profusely. "Besides, I like the scent of strawberries."
"I kind of like the scent of strawberries on you too..." said Daniel, blushing when he realised he had said that out loud. Clearing his throat, he clambered unsteadily to his feet to ease their mutual embarrassment. Observing the problems Georgina was having with her ball gown, Daniel extended a hand to help her up and pulled her to her feet.
"Danny, how much have you had to drink?" asked Georgina as she canted her head noticing for the first time Daniel's impaired balance and the bottle of wine lying on the ground near them.
"Given that I'm intent on sneaking a member of the fairer sex into the royal bed chambers, probably not enough," said Daniel adjusting his clothing. "Now where is my sword?"
"Over here," replied Georgina, hooking her foot under the centre of the scabbard before kicking it up into the air and catching it. Accepting the sword from her, Daniel slid it back into the belt loop that held it.
"Show off."
"A true swordsman is an artist, a performer...a show off," said Georgina sticking her tongue out at Daniel.
"Right, let's get out here," said Daniel grasping Georgina's hand. "As quickly and as quietly as possible too."
"I need my shoes," said Georgina looking around for her discarded footwear.
A deep baritone chuckle stopped the pair in their tracks as a figure stepped out of the darkness from behind a nearby sycamore tree. The dim light glinted off the edges of his drawn rapier as he raised it.
"If this is you two sneaking off quietly, I'd hate to see how noisy you were when you weren't trying to be quiet."
"Lawrence," said Daniel releasing his grip on Georgina's hand to grab the hilt of his sword.
"Amherst," replied the figure stepping out from the shade of the tree.
"You have something of mine Amherst," growled Lawrence nodding towards Georgina.
"I think no one owns the lady but the lady herself," replied Daniel, noting that his mouth had gone dry and he suddenly felt a lot more sober than a moment ago.
"Larry?" called a slurred, slightly whiney voice and Daniel noted the presence of a young woman leaning heavily against the tree as she emerged into sight. "Can we go now?"
"Be quiet woman," snapped Lawrence as he moved his rapier to an en-garde position.
"So do you intend to fight?" asked Lawrence pointing to Daniel's sheathed blade. "Or are you going to give me that teasing harlot?"
"I suggest you apologise to the lady for impugning her honour and leave Lawrence," replied Daniel, an unnatural calmness to his voice in the circumstances. "Before I do something I won't regret."
"Now wait a minute," interrupted Georgina from beside Daniel. "Stop this foolishness."
"Madam, the defence of a woman's honour is never foolishness," said Lawrence. "Even one as lacking in honour as you clearly are, bare foot and dress all askew from your recent liaisons."
"It's okay Gina," said Daniel placing a hand on Georgina's arm. "He doesn't care one way or another about your honour, do you Lawrence?"
Lawrence chuckled in response. "Truthfully...no. I actually hope you have no virtue to defend for it would make things much easier for you later on. Not that it matters even if you did have virtue. I've grown up in the royal palaces of the Heptarchy and know every woman of note. You are not one of them... and therefore you mean nothing to me. I will take what I want...one way or another...and as an added bonus I find myself with the opportunity to rid myself of a particular annoyance."
"If you intend to lay a finger on her you'll have to come through me first," said Daniel pulling his sword free of the belt.
"That was the plan. You've had this coming for a while Amherst."
"En garde!" ordered Lawrence bringing his blade up. Daniel responded into a similar position before Lawrence lowered his blade chuckling. "Amherst, your blade...it's still sheathed."
Daniel lunged forward slapping Lawrence hard across the side of his head with the flat of his sheathed blade.
"If you think I'm risking war by killing you, you're dimmer than I thought," said Daniel. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to beat some sense into you though."
With a roar, Lawrence charged at Daniel thrusting at his chest with his blade. Shoving Georgina to one side, Daniel clumsily parried the blade before slapping Lawrence's arm with his own blade in response. Stepping back a couple of paces, Daniel returned his weapon to an en-garde position as he waited for Lawrence to re-engage.
The two men moved more cautiously now, the initial rush of emotion subsiding to be replaced with a colder, more calculating approach. Lawrence circled his sword lazily as he stamped his foot loudly on the stone path, causing a startled Daniel to stagger backwards, before probing Daniel's defence for weaknesses through a series of controlled feints. Breathing hard from the effort of defending against a flurry of blows, Daniel sought to turn his latest parry into a riposte, twisting his sheathed blade under his opponents in an attempt to disarm him. Momentarily finding their blades bound together as Lawrence's snagged on the leather of Daniel's scabbard, Lawrence used his superior physical strength to wrench Daniel's blade from his grasp. With a flick of the wrist Lawrence sent Daniel's blade spinning away from the pair as Daniel back peddled quickly out of range.
"Cheer up," said Lawrence, a lecherous leer on his face. "I may let you watch me have my fun before I finally kill you."
Scrambling out of the way of Lawrence's thrust towards his stomach, Daniel dodged under the follow up slash and charged headlong at his opponent. Briefly grappling with his opponent, Daniel struck Lawrence's sword hand hard against his lower thigh causing him to lose his grip on his weapon.
"Yeah, well I'm going to enjoy this," snarled Daniel, slamming his fist into Lawrence's jaw with a sharp upper cut. Daniel cursed clutching his sore knuckles as the bigger man took the step backward and spat out a small amount of blood.
"Almost felt that."
Lawrence's punch spun Daniel round and he collapsed face down into the ground. Rolling onto his back, Daniel was greeted to the sight of Lawrence scooping up his rapier.
"Any last words?" asked Lawrence as the tip of his sword pricked the skin of Daniel's throat. The look of delight on Lawrence's face as he stood over his defeated opponent faded as he saw the look of relief that replaced the mixture of confusion and horror that had been there moments before.
"Three actually. She's. Behind. You."
Lawrence turned his head just in time to see the tan leather scabbard encasing Daniel's sword swing for his face. With a shout of pain, Lawrence staggered backwards as his nose received the brunt of the impact.
"Bitch!" cursed Lawrence looking at the blood that covered the palm of the hand that he had cupped over his broken nose.
With a flick of the wrist, Georgina discarded the rapier's scabbard and beat her sword against Lawrence's in a torrent of blows. The sound of steel ringing against steel echoed around the gardens as Lawrence desperately sought to defend against his opponent. Spotting an opening, Lawrence used his height advantage to launch a slashing attack only for Georgina to duck under his blade and thrust her own blade through his thigh. With a scream of rage, Lawrence stamped down hard on the retreating hem of Georgina's gown causing her to stumble as the fabric pulled taught and fall to the ground.
"No scream?" asked Lawrence mockingly. "I like it when they scream."
Gazing up at him, it became apparent to Georgina just how much Lawrence liked it.
"Gina!"
Lawrence spun around slashing at the charging form of Daniel, a crimson scar of blood indicating where his blade had passed. His moment of triumph was short lived however as Daniel's momentum carried him into Lawrence, sending the pair tumbling to the ground. Pushing Daniel clear, Lawrence clambered to his feet only to feel a sharp pain as the point of Georgina's rapier emerged from the front of his shirt where it had pierced his side just under his rib cage.
"If you've hurt him..." snarled Georgina, leaving the rest of her statement unfinished as she pulled her blade clear.
Turning to face Georgina, Lawrence dropped his sword as she thrust her blade through his body again, this time on his other side. Falling heavily to his knees, he watched as Georgina's raised her weapon in a preparation for a decapitating strike that was stayed by a cry from Daniel.
"Stop!"
"He deserves it," said Georgina in an angry tone.
"Yes. Yes, he does. Not just for now but for half the things he's rumoured to have done."
Her blade which had started to dip at Daniel's intercession once more raised to a striking pose.
"Good. Then we're agreed."
"No! I said he deserved it. I didn't say you should do it."
"There's a difference?"
"Yes. We call it the rule of law," said Daniel pulling himself gingerly to his feet. Placing a hand over his wound, he staggered forward to stand beside Georgina. "This isn't the heat of battle. He's disarmed and incapacitated."
"A law which the likes of him flout with impunity."
"Because the High Court turns a blind eye to his transgressions unless it affects one of their own. Something he well knows."
"Then we're back where we started. The law is an ass and he deserves to die."
"The law isn't an 'ass', as you so delicately put it. Those that apply it are. A good man...or woman...on the High Throne could change all that. She could restore meaning to the law but only if she was not tainted with the excesses of wrongdoing," said Daniel, gently lowering Georgina's sword. "Taking one life, the life of a man who may even deserve to die, may not seem a bad thing but it is. If you decide who lives and who dies without recourse to the law you are as bad as him. It's also the start of a slippery slope. What happens the next time you encounter someone who you think deserves to die? What happens if that next man is me?"
"I would never kill you. Could never kill you," whispered Georgina.
"And already you have started applying the law unfairly. You've just given me carte blanche to do what I will without the same sanctions as others who would commit the same crimes that I might."
"I..."
"Debates as to the balance between law and justice are better served another time," said Daniel, noting the distant sound of voices approaching. "Right here, right now, all I'm asking is for you to be the better person and spare his life."
Georgina let out a scream of frustration as she punched Lawrence in the face with her swords hilt guard, sending him tumbling to the ground unconscious. Letting Daniel take the blade from her hand she spat at the prone form of Lawrence and kicked him hard in the ribs for good measure.
"I hope that never heals!" shouted Georgina, noting the deep scar the hilt guard had left on Lawrence's cheek.
"Feel better?" asked Daniel as he staggered over to check on Lawrence's companion lying against the nearby sycamore tree.
"Yes, thank you. I do. How is she?"
"I think she passed out. She reeks of wine," said Daniel, wincing as he pulled himself up from kneeling in front of the woman. "Probably for the best really."
A rattling of distant gates to the Summer Gardens caused the pair to glance at each other nervously.
"Grab your shoes and let's go," ordered Daniel. "The yeomen should be able to get medical attention in time to Lawrence but we need not to be here when they arrive. I'm sure you wouldn't want to answer questions as to your identity."
Georgina nervously nodded her head in reply.
"I have a room in a set of ground floor chambers Cantia maintains not far from here for state purposes. We should be able to find you some alternative clothing there," said Daniel gesturing away from the direction of the yeomen. "Let's go."
The Downs Forest, Kingdom of Cantia
Woden's Day 24 April EY 2471 - Early Evening (The Present)
Georgina wrapped the coarse woollen blanket around herself as she sat on a fallen log staring up at the brightest stars visible in the late twilight sky. The trees around her blocked any view of the setting sun but from the deep crimson tinge to what light was visible from the last of the sun's rays she knew it had been a mockingly beautiful sunset. What right she wondered, did the sun have to taunt her with the hint that there was still beauty in the world when her husband was lying cold and dead some miles away, not even given the respect of a decent burial.
Glancing around the clearing she noted the burley yeoman hovering some metres away keeping a wary eye on her, his hand not far from his sword. A pleasure less smile alighted her lips briefly when she made eye contact with him and she noted with some degree of happiness he subconsciously rubbed the bandage on his forearm. She knew it had been a foolish move on her part but she had allowed the rage roaring inside her to guide her actions the moment they had first placed a knife in her hand. Had it not been such a blunt cutlery knife and had the yeoman not squealed like a stuck pig she was pretty certain she could have killed him before the others could have stopped her. Still, it had underlined a point she had been keen to make and it had certainly decreased the amount of general lustful leering she'd been the subject of when she first regained consciousness, particularly from the now wounded Yeoman Lang. She would need to be smarter next time though and she regretted that she had wasted the element of surprise.
Pondering her situation, the rich plumy tones of her former swords master, Sir Hugh Leyton, regarding unconventional warfare sprung unbidden from the depths of her memory.
"There is no advantage to attacking by the expected means and methods."
They would expect her to attack them directly now, head on. She'd need to find a more oblique weapon than the blade now. Would they feel comfortable enough to let her make a meal for them she wondered? Ground glass always made an interesting special ingredient in the sauce after all.
"Momma?"
It was a tentative question, almost pleading for proof that she was who she said she was. Still it was enough to quench the rage inside her, turning a roar to a soft purr at the sound of her youngest son's voice and she opened the blanket enough to let him share its warmth as he slid onto the log next to her. As he adjusted it around his shoulders she flashed him a cheeky smile and snaked her free arm around his ribs to pull him closer to her.
"You are not too big for a mother to hug yet," she giggled at his brief discomfort as she pulled him to her. "Even if you are taller than me."
As a man, Georgina had been tall, standing a similar height to Daniel's impressive 193 centimetres but as a woman the only member of her family she was taller than now was her youngest child, Charlotte. The loss of nearly twenty centimetres of height was possibly the only thing she missed about being 'him'. Even sharing a log with Noah, she was conscious of his extra five centimetres of height. As she felt Noah settling into her hug, she returned her gaze back to the stars.
"Your father loved watching the stars. I would wake up sometimes and find him gone from the bed and he would always be in the same place, sitting underneath the oak tree in the courtyard. We would sit together and he would point out the constellations to me and tell me the stories behind them," said Georgina, her eyes misting slightly at the memory.
"I...I wish I'd paid more attention to what he'd told me," sighed Noah. "I never shared his passion for the stars in the same way Hal or Maddy did. And now...now, I'll never..."
"It is okay Noah," said Georgina tightening her grip on her son. "Your father was never one to force anyone to share his interests. He was always proud of your ability to walk your own path. Anyway, you were always more the artist than the star gazer."
"I'm not sure exactly what I am now," said Noah with a shrug.
"Noah?"
"The yeomen call you 'princess', momma."
Georgina hesitated, mulling her options before she spoke, her voice little more than a whisper.
"I know."
"Are you? A princess, that is?"
"Yes," said Georgina, a hint of resignation entering her voice.
"You said that you had married father against the will of your parents which is why we never saw them. The coat of arms you said was your family's. The one Hal never used at tourney. It's a white lion on a blue background. The personal crests of members of the Wynter family have white heraldic beasts on a blue background don't they?"
"..."
"Don't they?"
"Yes."
"You're the missing princess."
It wasn't a question but a statement from Noah.
"Yes," said Georgina, the twilight hiding a single tear as it ran down her cheek.
"What does that make me?"
"My son."
"Am I a prince?"
Georgina let out a deep sigh. When she spoke again, the strain of the emotions she was trying to control could be heard in her voice.
"I turned my back on that life a long time ago, Noah. I will tell you everything before we reach our destination should we not find a way to escape from our captors, that I promise you. For now though, you only need know that you are Noah Amherst not Noah Stockbury. Whatever I am, nothing changes the fact your father is...was... the heir to the throne of Cantia. You are an Amherst and you should wear that name with honour and pride. As for myself, you are going to hear some things soon that will make you question everything you know about me. The most important thing I need you to remember though is you are my son and that I love you very much. Nothing you will hear about my past changes that, okay?"
Noah bit gently at the corner of his lip for a moment in thought. When he released his lip, he nodded his agreement.
"Thank you."
"Momma... that sergeant... Ackers. She says that no one is coming for us. That they are all dead. Are they?" asked Noah after a few minutes of awkward silence during which mother and son had been lost in separate bouts of introspection.
"I will not lie to you Noah, it is most probably the truth. I pray to the á‰se that Charlotte got away though, maybe even has made it to the Paxton's farm, but from what you say about Maddy and what I saw at the cottage, there is no one else left to come for us," said Georgina, unconsciously biting her lip nervously in a shared trait between mother and son.
"So, what do we do now?"
"We cannot help Charlotte if we are dead. First order of the day is to survive. The second order is to be free, so that we can go back for her. Someone your father and I studied under often quoted from the accumulated wisdom of the Old World. Right now the words of a man called Sun Tzu would seem to relevant - 'he who knows when he can fight and when he cannot, will be victorious'. Tonight we bide our time, tomorrow we look to seize any opportunity that circumstances may gift to us. Until then, watch our captors. Learn their strengths and weaknesses. When the time comes we may need to move quickly and you need to be as prepared as possible for that, okay?"
"Okay, momma."
"I need you to be strong for me, Noah," whispered Georgina. "Your father...your father was an example who by his actions made me a better person than I was. I need you to keep his memory alive and be strong, so that I do not forget that I can be that better person he saw in me."
"I'll try," said Noah with a frown. "I guess as the man of the family now, it is my responsibility."
Georgina squeezed her sons shoulder affectionately and gave him a smile brimming with pride.
"I wish you had more time to grow up, Noah. Yet, while I know there is still so much more you need to learn about the blade, I have no doubt that where it counts you are a man," said Georgina, tapping her sons chest above his heart to underline her words.
Noah nodded his head briefly before looking up into the darkening nights sky.
"I...I know I shouldn't say it but...but..."
"I miss him too," said Georgina, kissing her son's cheek lightly. "I miss them all so much."
Woden's Day 24 April EY 2471 - Late Night (The Present)
Digging with his thumbnail to work loose a scrap of meat stuck between his teeth, Lord Finn Einarsson lounged on his throne watching as his rangers dragged the beaten and bloody figure of a Dweorgas male into the chamber. Flicking the offending piece of meat away from him, Lord Finn turned to a courtier lurking in the shadows behind the throne and beckoned him closer.
"Let us see what our erstwhile allies think the future looks like," ordered Lord Finn.
"Yes, My Lord."
Lord Finn reached out to stop the courtier as he went to move past the throne. "Wait. Just in case, ensure my bodyguard stay close by."
"Yes, My Lord."
The courtier scurried down the dais and across the room to the central fire pit that warmed the royal chamber. The courtier whispered a message to a hooded figure whose face was partially obscured by the brightness of the roaring flames. Dismissing the courtier with a nod, the figure grasped a set of long handled blackened metal tongs with his thickly gloved hands and used them to remove a small unnaturally glowing stone from the centre of the fire pit. The cloaked figure advanced on the prisoner with the tongs outstretched before him leaving a trail of steam behind him as the stone hissed angrily in the cooler air. As the robed figure neared, a third ranger took a firm grip of the prisoners jaw and prised it open to allow the tongs to be inserted deep into the unresisting mouth. Ensuring the prisoners head was held tilted upwards still, a wine skin was poured into his mouth to force him to swallow or drown. Despite the prisoners choking struggles, the rangers kept pouring until the wineskin was completely emptied and they were satisfied that the burning stone had indeed been consumed.
"Let him go," said Lord Finn, moving forward to sit on the edge of his throne.
The rangers let the gasping prisoner fall to the floor, where he collapsed in a heap spitting up a mixture of wine and blood. As he prisoner lay there, the trauma of near drowning was soon replaced with an urgent clawing at his stomach and a quiet whimpering that slowly turned into an agonised scream as the lining of his stomach burnt under the heat of the stone. Pulling his hood back to reveal a grey haired Dweorgas male, the figure knelt in front of the prisoner.
"You can make the pain end with a single word. Would you like to know what that word is?" he said, in soft soothing tones.
His broken fingernails digging into the flesh of his stomach the prisoner could only nod in reply.
"Changement...you can say it. Go on."
"Ch-ch-ch..."
"Changement...come on, you are so close. So close to the pain ending."
"It b-b-burns," stuttered the prisoner, his voice hoarse and cracked from the effects of the burning stone he was made to swallow. "P-p-please help me, it b-b-b-burns..."
"Of course I will. I'm trying to help you remember? All you need to do is say one word and the pain will end."
"cha-chan..."
"C'mon, nearly there...say it with me...ch-ange-ment."
"ch-ch-ch-changement!"
"Thank you," said the grey haired Dweorgas smugly as he took a couple of steps backwards.
The prisoner emitted an ear splitting scream as the bones in his shoulder cracked from the force with which his left arm jerking upwards. Looking on in fascination, the assembled rangers saw the flesh rippling like a wave from the shoulder to the fingers. As the ripple passed, the skin that was left behind took on an black sheen ending in dark black pointed nails. The Dweorgas around the prisoner took a step back at the sound of bone cracking and grinding as the arm elongated slightly, taking on a more defined look as muscles reshaped.
The arm hung unnaturally suspended in midair, loose at the wrist like some life sized marionette. For a moment silence reigned in the hall with the only sound a quiet panting from the prisoner lying face down on the floor with his arm suspended above him. And then with a final scream, his whole body jerked upwards into the air, the obsidian sheen creeping across his skin bringing similar changes with it as it had caused on the arm. The pitiful scream ceased as the flesh on his throat transformed and the noise that replaced it was much more guttural. Almost a growl. Next the skin on his face rippled replacing the naturally elegant features typical of the Dweorgas with something more rugged. Most strikingly the dip of the nose bridge rose to the same height as the brow ridge and the cartilage and bone thickened to create a flat, broad nose much like the nose guard on a helmet. Finally, his eyes changed to animal like slits before rolling backwards to reveal the off-whites of his eyes.
Lord Finn beckoned two of his bodyguards closer to the throne as he watched the prisoner fall to the ground. All was quiet in the chamber as the newly transformed figure carefully rose to its feet and slipped into a dark robe that was held for it by one of the rangers present.
"My Lord?" asked the grey haired Dweorgas figure, peering carefully into the face of the transformed figure.
"Edmund my faithful retainer," he growled. "It is me not some perfect stranger."
Edmund nodded his head and took a deep breath before turning to face Lord Finn.
"My Lord Finn," said Edmund with a deep bow. "I have the pleasure of introducing you to my master, the Principal Weaver of the Order of Fire."
"Does your master have a name?"
"Names are power," hissed the transformed figure "And I would not want our relationship so soon to sour."
"Then we are at an impasse rhymer, for I will not do business with a man without a name," said Lord Finn.
"My patience you should not try, unless you have a desire to die."
"If I may be so bold my master," interjected Edmund. "Perhaps the solution is to take a name to be used once that has no spiritual connection to you? That way Lord Finn has his name and you have given up no power to him."
"You have a name in mind?" asked Lord Finn.
"May I suggest Obsidian?"
The newly christened Obsidian turned to face Lord Finn and nodded his head once in asset to the suggestion.
"It will do. Welcome 'Obsidian' to the Refuge of the Clan Blackthorn."
In response to Lord Finn, the black robed figure bowed deeply. Rising from his throne, Lord Finn descended from the raised dais, stopping before the last step so that he was face-to-face with the slightly taller Obsidian.
"This...this is what we will look like?"
"It is My Lord," said Edmund.
"And everything you promised?"
"Is there. This form is stronger, tougher, quicker and yet still retains the blood of the á¦lfe as promised," said Edmund.
"And the other thing?"
"You worry about your seed?" growled Obsidian, canting his head slightly as if to appraise Lord Finn. "Have no worry you will once more plentifully breed."
"I would have preferred it had you come to me in person," muttered Lord Finn. "This telepresence trick while impressive doesn't demonstrate trust, something of particular importance I would have thought given that your sort...rhymer...do not naturally engender trust."
"We trust you no more than you trust us," said Edmund with a chuckle. "This isn't about trust. This is about mutual needs and the alignment of goals. We will deliver you the means by which to save your people and make Clan Blackthorn dominant. No more will the likes of Lord Davlinnsson and the others belittle you, shun you...disrespect you. No, instead they will swear fealty to you or feel the force of your displeasure."
"And in return for me you will destroy," said the figure "The Wynter Lion's eldest child, that meddlesome boy."
"You know his location?"
"While others may be seeking him high and low, we know the route his party doth to go."
"He's heading from the eastern slopes of the Down's Mountain's for Canterbury," said Edmund.
"Nori's territory," said Finn, his face wrinkled in displeasure. "I'll need more than one unwilling transformee for this. You know what Nori's like about protecting children."
"Give me one score men, brave and true," said Obsidian "And in return the might of an army I will give to you."
"Do we have enough siden stones?" asked Finn turning to a court official hovering a discreet distance behind him.
"Barely my Lord. Our weavers have only just over two score."
Lord Finn chewed at a broken nail for a moment in thought, spitting the pieces to the floor.
"I want one score of a my rangers converted to stop the boy and another score converted so that I may have the means to get more stones," said Lord Finn.
"That was not the deal," said Edmund angrily. "You stop the boy first. The sun must set on all the ties that bind the Wynter Lion to her old life for the son to rise in his new life and prophecy be fulfilled. Only then will our aims have been achieved and only then will we give you the means to save the rest of your people."
A feral smile crossed Lord Finn's lips as he turned to face Edmund. "For whatever reason, you cannot stop the boy yourself. You need my involvement and if I understand things correctly if you don't stop the boy you don't achieve your goals. This makes my assistance much more valuable than originally thought, and in a seller's market..."
The words of a sharp retort died on Edmund's lips as Obsidian held up a hand to silence him.
"Lord Finn, beware you don't endanger my plan, or else you may just wind up a dead man."
"I do not take to threats well Obsidian," said Lord Finn, turning his back on Obsidian to ascend the dais to his throne. "I have chosen to change the deal. These are the new terms. Take it or leave it."
The fire pit in the room flared up, sending tufts of flame skittering across the flagstones of the chamber before they burnt themselves out. Calming himself, Obsidian gave Lord Finn a broad smile showing the points of his enlarged canine teeth.
"Change the terms again... and I will end your reign."
"So you accept my terms?" asked Lord Finn seating himself on his throne.
"I accept," replied Obsidian. "Just do not give me cause to regret."
"Good. Then as soon as my men are changed you can send them whence they need to go."
Lord Finn picked idly at a scab on the exposed skin of his arm watching as Obsidian signalled to Edmund to step closer and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. Straightening up after their brief conversation, Obsidian bowed deeply to Lord Finn.
"Now I must leave you to your fun, for my time here is done. As a last gesture of goodwill you will find, when I leave this vessel he will be of loyal mind. I would advise that you do not give me cause to return, less in my enmity you do burn."
With a wave of his hand Obsidian caused a blue flame to engulf his body. As the flame dissipated Obsidian's eyes rolled back, showing the animal like pupils once more. For a moment the creature swayed slightly blinking as he became aware of his surroundings until his eyes settled on Lord Finn. Dropping to one knee, he bowed his head to Lord Finn.
"I am yours to command My Lord," he growled.
Edmund half-heartedly bowed to Lord Finn before pulling the hood of his robe once more over his head.
"I will return to my workshop, My Lord," said Edmund. "If you can have the necessary siden stones sent to me within the hour I will give you two score of transformed rangers for tomorrow morning."
As Edmund exited the room, Lord Finn beckoned an advisor to the throne.
"Ensure that Edmund has the siden stones within the hour," ordered Lord Finn. "And summon my war leaders to meet with me immediately so that we may review our plans for an assault on Clan Oak's mines. An army while useful will not increase the clans birth rate. We need more siden stones quickly and I will have the raw material for them in my hands before sunset tomorrow or the heads of my war leaders on a spike."
Thunor's Day 25 April EY 2471 - Early Morning (The Present)
Lady Ingrid Snorrisdottir swept her fringe of jet black hair from her eyes, once more re-reading the ancient scroll in her hands to satisfy herself that she had the sequence correctly remembered. High á†lfe was the language of her Old World forefathers, the basis upon which all the languages of Eorá°e were derived, and had a complex phonetic structure that she needed to pronounce perfectly to allow her to weave the siden so that it had the desired effect. Letting the scroll curl back up around the slim wooden rollers at each end she cleared her throat quietly to attract the attention of Lord Nori standing nearby.
"I believe I am ready to proceed My Lord."
Lord Nori tore his gaze away from his adopted son and the small group of novice Weavers inscribing symbols in chalk on the stone floor of the room around him. The grimace on his son's face showed an uncertainty about siden that he had gained from his mother who was wringing her hands nervously just outside the chalk circle.
"Let's just run through this one more time," said Lord Nori with a tight lipped smile. "The scroll will rejuvenate my son restoring his health and giving him extra years of life?"
"That is my understanding My Lord."
"And this scroll, which you found late last night, was in your possession all along?"
"Yes. It was amongst my grandfather's journals. From the notes written in the margins of the scroll, I'm assuming he had removed it from his personal library sometime shortly before his death."
"And you'd never thought to check there before?" asked Lord Nori, his eyes narrowing.
Lady Snorrisdottir blushed slightly, understanding immediately what her clan chieftain was asking. He had sought her assistance on several occasions over the years as his adoptive human son aged in an effort to extend his quality and length of life. A life span which by Dweorgas standards was barely more than a fleeting handful of years.
"No. In fact, I've no idea what made me even think to look there last night..." said Lady Snorrisdottir with a frown.
"I think I've got a good idea," muttered Lord Nori. Noting Lady Snorrisdottir's raised eyebrow at his words he waved off any comment from her. "It's not important right now. Tell me Ingrid, honestly, what is the chance of it working?"
She exhaled loudly as she studied the floor intently for a moment before looking up to make eye contact with Lord Nori.
"You're what now? Fourteen hundred?"
"Just shy."
"And I'm a little younger but only by a few decades. If we're lucky, we've both got another four centuries in us if we live to a similar age as our parents generation..."
"Probably less," interrupted Lord Nori. "Whatever has affected our ability to reproduce seems to be shortening our life spans as well. Sixteen hundred seems to be a good old age for us now."
"Yes, yes it does... Nori, my grandfather was nearly three and half thousand years old when he died in EY134 and according to his journal, he had expected to still have best part of another thousand years of life in him. I point this out because most of our parents generation were either born during the journey from the Old World to Eorá°e or in the early years following their arrival here. So much knowledge was lost when Meomer's Well was destroyed in the star fall of EY26, not least the cure for the illnesses that claimed so many of our parents and grandparents generation and still to this day limits our ability to bear life offspring."
Lady Snorrisdottir gestured with the furled scroll to Lord Nori.
"The wonders that my grandfather thought nothing of performing are simply staggering and his grasp of the mechanics of the Siden are breathtaking. He talks of changing reality just by the mere act of observing it. My grandfather was developing this spell in an attempt to save the surviving members of his generation from the sickness that claimed so many of them though he was hampered by the knowledge lost to them when Meomer's Well was destroyed. It appears he completed the spell but he was unable to tell anyone before he died. My father was little more than an adolescent, a mere one hundred and forty years old, when my grandfather died and appears to have just boxed his possessions without properly examining them. This scroll was found amongst others that were incomplete that my grandfather had been working on."
"Given its never been tested, do you think it will it work?"
"Yes. Yes, I'm certain it will. I'm just not sure exactly how it will work. The knowledge of siden here is far beyond my own capability to understand but the feel of the siden when I test manipulate it suggests it will work."
"Suggests?"
"I won't lie to you, Nori. There are risks in using it and risks in not using it. If we use it, you have to realise this scroll was designed for someone with our stronger constitutions in mind and the rejuvenation effect may kill him. If we don't use it, Gareth's health will continue to worsen. He's a seventy-five year old human with no á¦lfe blood in him. I've reinforced his heart on three occasions in the last two years and he has fairly constant pain in both knees. And finally, as our leader rather than his father, you will know that the Readers of the Path are becoming increasingly agitated that we will face a peril within a matter of days on a par with the pogroms the humans waged against us during Theodore's reign. If this is so, you will need my Weavers for more pressing things."
"The most common paths read in the last few hours show the emergence of a previously unforeseen threat that will destroy the Refuge and scatter our people across the land," said Lord Nori with a sigh. "If this is true then Gareth needs to be as fit as possible for the coming storm, not least so that he may guide Dorlin and our people to safety as I fear my destiny and that of the young human in our care are now interwoven."
"What aren't you telling me old friend?" asked Lady Snorrisdottir, resting a hand on Lord Nori's shoulder.
"Many things Ingrid. I fear that the time may well come when Dorlin and Gareth will need your wise counsel in the leadership of our people. For now though, I'm still Clan Chieftain and my son has agreed to undergo rejuvenation," said Lord Nori, placing his hand on top of hers. "I would be grateful if you could proceed at your leisure My Lady Snorrisdottir."
"As you wish My Lord Nori," replied Lady Snorrisdottir. She briefly squeezed Nori's hand before pulling her own free from his and with a clap of her hands she signalled to the novice Weavers her intention to proceed. She smiled fondly at Gareth while she waited for the last of the Weaver's to finish their chalk inscribing and nodded respectfully to Lady Dorlin. When the novices were clear she took a deep cleansing breath and unrolled the scroll.
The air around Gareth sparkled as she began her barely audible recitation of the enchantment on the scroll and soon a ball of glittering light surrounded him. Slowly at first, the individual points of light drifted towards Gareth, flaring briefly as they touched him. As the volume rose in Lady Snorrisdottir's voice however, so the speed of the process increased and the points of light rained down on Gareth. From within the centre of the circle Gareth let out a light chuckle.
"It tickles," he said examining holding his hands up to examine more closely the changes being wrought by each point of light as it struck him.
"But it's working," breathed Lady Dorlin in hushed tones.
Lady Snorrisdottir noted the rejuvenated look to Gareth's skin as it plumped up with the smoothness and elasticity of youth. Releasing hold of the bottom of the scroll she swirled a finger in the air watching as a smattering of white points of light appeared rotating next to Gareth. Adding a second raised finger to her swirling motion she noted red points of light emerging amidst the white. Adding additional raised fingers to the swirling motion of her hand she added blue, silver and finally with her raised thumb, yellow. The resulting multicolour helix rotated lazily next to Gareth, who was staring at it with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Moving her hand in a fluid motion, she shifted from swirling it to a horizontal flick that batted the helix into Gareth, flaring in a kaleidoscope of colour as it merged with him.
"Remplacez!" shouted Lady Snorrisdottir throwing her arms wide. In response, Gareth's body shook and he collapsed to his knees gasping, his once thinning short cropped salt and pepper hair now a deep black as it fell across his face. The room remained silent for a moment, no one daring to breathe as they watched Gareth. Lady Snorrisdottir let out a sigh of relief when a much younger looking Gareth tilted his head up and gave them all a joy filled smile as he panted heavily getting his breath back.
"I feel...great...tired but...great," he rasped.
"Is it over?" asked Lady Norlin, nodding towards her son.
In reply Lady Snorrisdottir nodded as one of her novices helped her to a nearby chair and pressed a goblet of water into her hands which she drank from greedily. Passing the empty glass back to the novice, she smiled contentedly as she watched Gareth being embraced by both of his adoptive parents. It was moments like this where she could bring joy into people's lives that made all the training involved in becoming a weaver so worthwhile.
"Make sure this goes back to my personal library," Lady Snorrisdottir said, indicating to the scroll resting in her lap. "I think we will have cause to call upon it again for others in the nea..."
Her words died in her throat as she watched Gareth convulse, spittle forming on his lips as he slumped into his parents arms.
"Gareth!" screamed Dorlin as the larger form of the human threatened to drag both Nori and Dorlin down to the ground with him.
"Stop!" shouted Lady Snorrisdottir rising to her feet.
She frantically waved her novices away from the chalk circle lest the enter the maximum range of the enchantments effect. With concern she noted the multicoloured tendril of siden that had erupted from Gareth's back and speared first Dorlin and then through her, curved around into Nori, before re-entering the front of Gareth.
"What is happening My Lady?" asked one of the Novices hesitantly.
Gareth once more convulsed, his long auburn hair sticking to his face as sweat poured from him.
"I don't know. The enchantment had worked. He was rejuvenated," said Lady Snorrisdottir, her face creased in confusion.
"Did the enchantment go wrong somehow?" asked another Novice. "Was it flawed in some way?"
Lady Snorrisdottir gestured for the scroll as she watched Dorlin and Nori struggle to lower their son to the ground. Unfurling the scroll, Lady Snorrisdottir read through the enchantment silently searching her memory to confirm that each section had been pronounced correctly by her during its casting.
"I read it correctly," she said with a frown. "And during the casting it felt right. I could feel the rejuvenating energy flow into Gareth."
"He definitely looked younger," said another novice, nodding towards the circle. "If he'd been one of us I'd have said he lost several centuries in fact."
"One of us..." whispered Lady Snorrisdottir with wide eyes. "One of us! The enchantment worked! Or rather, is working!"
"My Lady?" asked a confused novice.
"The enchantment was designed to rejuvenate one of us! A Dweorgas, not a human! Had Gareth had á¦lfe blood in him it would have completed but he didn't and the stimulation of that was a key part of the rejuvenation process. The siden worked the changes it could without that and appeared to finish. In reality it went dormant waiting on what it needed to finish the process. When Dorlin and Nori entered the circle they provided the siden with what it needed to complete the enchantment and create a rejuvenated, healthy Dweorgas. It is fortunate that they did in fact, as unfinished the enchantment may well have killed him trying to find within him that which he did not have."
"Then Gareth will become?"
"One of us. Not just one of us in fact. The very essence of Dorlin and Nori will be a part of him. He truly will be their son in more than law and name," said Lady Snorrisdottir.
A brief blinding flash drew everyone's attention back to the circle as the stream of siden energy pulsed rapidly before fading away. Blinking away the spots from her eyes, Lady Snorrisdottir moved to the very edge of the chalk circle.
"Nori! Bring him outside the circle! Quickly!"
Nori turned to face her, his face a mask of confusion at the changes taking place in his son.
"Damn it Nori! Do it now!"
It was Dorlin who moved first, grabbing her son by an arm and dragging him towards the circumference of the circle. Nori quickly shook himself from his momentary stupor and grabbed the other arm. As they cleared the threshold of the circle both sagged from exhaustion and fell into the waiting arms of Lady Snorrisdottir's novices.
Crouching next to Gareth Lady Snorrisdottir swept his long auburn hair from his face, the colour an almost perfect match for that of his adoptive mother. The face revealed underneath had changed even more so than the colour of his hair and it had the delicate beauty common to both genders of Dweorgas. The unfocused coal black eyes reminded her of Nori but the button nose and plump cupid's bow lips were most definitely that of Dorlin's. The jaw line though was neither Nori's or Dorlin's but something else, a fusion of two respective sets of genetics but the overall shape of the face made reminded her strongly of a young Dorlin. Delving into the long empty sleeves of Gareth's shirt, she sought his wrist to check his pulse.
"How is he?" asked Dorlin as she gently extricated herself from the arms of a novice.
"She's fine," said Lady Snorrisdottir with a sad smile. "A trifle disorientated at the moment but that should pass shortly."
"She?"
"She. I've not done a full physical check as I think that might be more befitting a mother - daughter conversation but noting the absence of an Adam's apple and the general appearance of her features, with their strong resemblance to yourself, and certain changes to her chest... I think it's fair to say you were the primary template the enchantment used to rejuvenate and as it saw it, 'heal' Gareth. The older she gets the more like you she will look I would guess, though some elements of Nori's family line will be visible in her features."
"She?" asked Nori, kneeling down beside Dorlin.
"Do try and keep up Nori. Yes, she," muttered Lady Snorrisdottir.
"He...she looks so young," whispered Dorlin, gently stroking her child's face.
"The rejuvenation spell took a couple of decades off her age. Rather than seventy-five, I'd hazard her to be little more than fifty. Going back to school's going to be an unpleasant shock," chuckled Lady Snorrisdottir. "As is waking up to find yourself both a girl and little more than a teenager, the equivalent of fourteen or fifteen in human years."
"Damn it Ingrid, this isn't funny!" snapped Nori.
"Forgive me, my gallows humour was not appropriate," said Lady Snorrisdottir with an air of contrition. "Still...don't you see Nori? This is the answer to our prayers. Those of us with adoptive human children no longer have to watch them wither and die, prisoners of their mayfly lives. They can become like us, with our life spans and even have our bloodlines running through their veins. Gareth is as truly your child now as if Dorlin had carried him to term. It resolves the issue of our birth rate and it will enable us to offer our adoptive children the chance for a real future. Imagine families of three or four children again! Our children in every way that matters! Your daughter is for all intents and purposes the first child of a new generation."
"She's my son," said Nori bitterly. "And I want him back."
"We'll work on that," said Lady Snorrisdottir, clasping her hands over her nose and mouth, almost in prayer. "I don't understand why this happened given you were both in the circle. There must be something in the enchantment that for some reason sees the subjects sex as something that needs to be corrected. Human and Dweorgas are biologically different in some very significant ways despite our external similarities, so maybe it's something to do with our very essence? The trouble is, as I said before, I don't truly understand half of the scroll. My grandfather's skill was far greater than my own."
"Someone must know of something, surely?" asked Dorlin.
"I don't recall our people having had the need for such an enchantment, it's inherent in our nature as creatures of siden that our spirits and body are in alignment at birth. In that respect Gareth may be your child but he was not 'born' your child, rather he was re-born and not blessed with that balance between spirit and body. I've heard of it happening amongst the humans though, that of spirit and body not being in alignment."
"What about the practitioners of Earth Siden? I remember my parents introducing one to me as a child and seeing him..her...change between sexes," said Dorlin.
"Maybe. Maybe not. Their ability to change is inherent in their duality of spirit and only works on themselves as far as I know. The twisted practitioners of Fire Siden may have something but there is a price to be paid in using Fire Siden that I find unpalatable. My loyalty to my Clan Chieftain is almost limitless but using Fire Siden is that 'almost'. In fact, I know of no cases of the practitioners of the pure three elements changing another's gender...save one, little more than a rumour in weaver circles."
"The Wynter Lion," said Nori, mulling over Lady Snorrisdottir's words.
"I understand that the Lord High Weaver of the Wynter Court tried to change her sex back to male. If I could see the enchantment I would have a feel for its potential to work on Gareth. My skill at manipulating Siden is likely to be far superior to any humans and I should be able to resolve whatever flaw stopped the spell from working when the Lord High Weaver cast it. Sadly, given her proximity, the Wynter Lion herself is of no use because she overcame the enchantment likely removing all trace of it in that act."
"You...you mean...this could be temporary?" asked Dorlin a hint of hope creeping into her voice.
"Have no doubt My Lady, we are talking of an enchantment at the blurry outer limits between Earth and Fire Siden but I believe it might be safe enough to work on Gareth," said Lady Snorrisdottir. "But I need sight of that enchantment..."
"And therein lies the problem," sighed Nori. "Given the strained relationship between the Clans and the High Family since Theodore's Reign they aren't likely just to give us something like that. There will be a price...one I may not be comfortable in paying."
"Nori Davlinnsson!" snapped Dorlin, waving a finger at her husband. "You will do all that is necessary to restore our son, do you hear?"
"Dorlin, sweetheart, it's not that simple..."
"Yes it is! 'Our son' and 'Our people' come before the petty affairs of the humans! You promised to protect and honour our family when we were hand fasted and I'm holding you to it. Torhild Knutsdottir's adopted daughter died of old age last month, a mere 83 years. That could have been our son or Ingrid's daughter! And now, through the blessings of the á‰se we have a way of giving our children the proper lifespan they deserve and our people the children of their blood that they deserve. The only thing standing in the way of our children's happiness is you, Nori Davlinnson! You!" screamed Dorlin, her face flushed with anger.
Lady Snorrisdottir watched carefully as Nori's face contorted between a range of emotions as he weighed up his options. Her breath caught in her throat as her thoughts drifted to her own adoptive daughter and she was surprised at the strength of the revulsion she felt at her child being placed in a similar situation to that facing Gareth without help, the anguish of living a millennia and half in a body she was not comfortable with.
"Nori...please," whispered Lady Snorrisdottir, her eyes blurring with tears. "Please."
"And you, Ingrid? And you?" he chuckled mirthlessly, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Fine. So be it. You win. I will leave as soon as the Wynter Lion's daughter is fit enough to travel for the Wynter Palace. I don't however expect to hear a word from either of you in remonstration of the price that must be paid though. Are we clear?"
Nori's body rocked as Dorlin threw herself into his arms, whispering sobbed thanks of joy into his chest. Resting his chin on his wife's head, Lady Snorrisdottir met his gaze only to recoil at the sorrow she saw reflected back at her. A sorrow that silently spoke of tragedy yet to come.
Thunor's Day 25 April EY 2471 - Early Afternoon
Georgina gently tugged on the reins of her horse to slow it as the party emerged from the forest trail onto the sloping shores of Lake Vortigern. Ahead of her Corporal Wyndham rose slightly in his saddle to get a better view of the shore line.
"I don't see anyone Sergeant," he said over his shoulder. "Are you sure this is the right place?"
"It's the right place Corporal," said Sergeant Ackers with a smirk as she fumbled with the clasp on her saddle bags. "Fitzpatrick, Lang...stay here and keep an eye on the princess."
Ackers carefully urged her horse forward bringing it briefly level with Georgina. "The boy comes with me. For his safety you understand, given we do not yet know whether the weaver charm that has caused the poor princess to see us as enemies rather than friends is still in effect. She's been docile enough today but you never can tell."
With a knowing wink to Georgina, Sergeant Ackers spurred her horse on to the edge of the waters nudging the pack pony Noah was riding forward with her. Georgina nodded her head slowly at her sons questioning glance back at her and he reluctantly allowed Ackers to move him forward.
"Ma'am? If I may have your reins?"
Georgina turned to see Yeoman Fitzpatrick's horse pull to a halt next to hers and she let him take the reins when he reached for them. Georgina found herself relaxing in the presence of the shy young yeoman who reminded her so much of her eldest son at times.
"Yeoman Fitzpatrick...that sounds terribly formal," said Georgina with a kindly smile to the young yeoman as he steadied his mount next to hers. "I am sure you must have a given name or a nickname of some sort rather than have to keep addressing you so formally?"
"I...Fitz...the men call me Fitz," said Fitzpatrick blushing deeply.
"Well, Fitz, I just wanted to offer you my thanks. You have perpetrated no harm directly on my family through your actions and you have always treated my son and myself with the greatest respect. I will not forget your kindness."
"Ma'am?" asked Fitzpatrick hesitantly. "I don't understand?"
"You do not need too," said Georgina with a genuine smile as she gently patted the yeoman's arm. "Just remember Fitz I bear you no ill will."
"I...I never liked Fitz to be honest ma'am. You could call me Dan or Daniel, the name my family call me if you liked?"
A small gasp escaped Georgina's lips at the mention of her husband's name.
"Ma'am? Have I said or done--"
Georgina held her hand to silence the yeoman, taking the time to blink away the tears that had welled up in her eyes as her thoughts had drifted back to the death of her husband. Taking a deep breath, she offered a strained smile to the young yeoman.
"It's fine. Really. It's just Daniel is...was...my husband's name."
"I'm sorry, ma'am. Had you been married long?"
"It would have been Twenty-two years this summer."
Noticing the frown that crossed the young yeoman's face, Georgina gently brushed back her hair to reveal the pronounced points on her ears.
"I do not look forty-two do I?" asked Georgina, a little pride creeping into her voice. "A gift from my á¦lfe ancestors."
"Truthfully ma'am, you don't look much more than a couple of years older than me."
"What are you? Nineteen? Twenty?"
"Nineteen, ma'am. Completed basic training and passed out from the School of Arms last summer," said Fitzpatrick proudly.
"It is not everything you expected is it, Daniel?" asked Georgina, recalling her own graduation from the Royal Academy as an officer and her disillusionment at the level of politicking in the yeomanry.
Fitzpatrick's eyes flickered in a sidelong glance at Sergeant Ackers before he spoke. "No, it's not at all what I expected. We all know something's not right but Lang says we shou--"
"Don't fraternise with our guest Fitzpatrick, you feckin' idiot," barked Yeoman Lang as he pulled his horse to a halt on the other side of Georgina, interrupting the young yeoman. "And make sure you've got a decent grip on those reins of 'ers for á‰se sake, boy!"
"How is the arm Yeoman?" asked Georgina in honeyed tones as she favoured Lang with a feral smile that betrayed the true intention behind her words. "I can assure you that it was never my intention to injure you..."
"I've no doubt what you intended alright you bloody bitch..." muttered Lang under his breath as he pulled at the reins of his mount to put an arm's length distance between himself and Georgina.
With a satisfied smirk, Georgina leant forward in her saddle and gently stroked the neck of her mount while focusing her attention for the moment on Ackers. The Sergeant had pulled from her saddle bag a small metal tube inscribed with artificer marks and was unscrewing the top. She carefully tipped a smooth looking pale orange coloured stone from a small silk purse on her belt into the open end of the tube before rising slightly in her saddle.
"Fusée!" exclaimed Ackers, extending the tube as high above her as her arm would stretch.
With a loud fizzing noise, the stone shot straight upwards into the sky leaving a sparkling orange trail in its wake. The higher the stone rose the greater the fizzing noise become and the brighter the trail before with a loud crack the stone exploded in a burst of orange light high above the lake. Streamers of crimson red and golden yellow light spiralled away in all directions from the flickering bright light hanging in the air above them before the dimming orange light faded leaving just a faint smudge of colour drifting on the breeze.
Georgina smiled to herself as she watched Noah's look of wonderment, remembering that her son has seen very little use of artificer made products in contrast to her upbringing at the Wynter Palace. In happier circumstances she would have delighted in watching his expression at what was to happen next. Now however, she hoped that he could keep his wits about himself to respond when the moment presented itself to them if she was right.
"They'll see that won't they Lang?" asked Fitzpatrick excitedly. "I bet you could see that from the whole lake!"
"Hope so lad. Hope so. Still it could hours yet before we see 'em depending where they are around the lake. If we're lucky they're close by, 'cause the sooner 'er highness here is someone else's problem the better for my liking."
"I will miss you too Yeoman Lang," said Georgina, favouring the yeoman with a wink.
A strengthening breeze tugged at the loose strands of Georgina's golden hair that weren't probably tucked into her braid. A faint rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance despite the blue sky overhead.
"Damn it," spat Lang. "Last thing we want is to get caught out in the open between a forest an' a lake in a thunderstorm."
"Sergeant Ackers doesn't seem bothered..." observed Fitzpatrick, nodding towards the calm looking woman gazing up into the sky. By now some of the smaller branches on the trees at the edge of the tree line were starting to sway.
"Well then, that'll be the proof that she ain't right in the head then won't it?" said Lang, rising in his saddle. "CORPORAL?"
"Hold fast," ordered Ackers in response, oblivious to the concerned expression on Corporal Wyndham's face next to her.
The gusts were now becoming a constant wall of wind and were accompanied by a loud deep rumble that seemed to vibrate through their bones. Either side of Georgina, the two yeomen had to fight with the reins of their horses to still the skittish beasts. In contrast Georgina leant forward gently stroking her mounts neck and whispering words of reassurance to it.
"I don't see any thunderclouds!" shouted Fitzpatrick, the sound of his voice drowned out amongst the roar of the wind. Both hands gripping his reins he struggled to stop his horse from bolting.
"This ain't natural. It's weavery!" shouted Lang, an edge of panic creeping into his voice. Grasping his reins he turned his mount towards the direction of the forest. "We need to get to cover now!"
"HOLD FAST DAMNIT!" screamed Ackers. Reluctantly Lang circled his horse back to its original orientation after a moment's hesitation, the deeply ingrained instinct to obey orders trumping his fear.
Georgina pushed her head close to her horses neck for protection as a blinding maelstrom of dead leaves and dust buffeted the party, carried at speed through the forest and erupting on the lake shore.
"Lang? I don't like this. What's going on? WHAT DO WE DO?" shouted Fitzpatrick, his forearm shielding his eyes against the debris.
"I DON'T KN--"
A smug smile teased Georgina's lips as the noise and wind suddenly died leaving an unnatural stillness around them.
"--ow?"
The two yeomen exchanged confused glances at one another, neither daring to say anything least they tempt fate. Finally, a nervous chuckle of relief escaped from Fitzpatrick as he wiped the dust from his face.
"Whatever that was, let's not do that again."
"Damn right," laughed Lang warily. "I'd have seen you alright though lad. Unlike the Corporal and Sergeant you didn't see me freeze up wh--"
The yeoman's words died on his lips as the top of the trees near the shoreline shook violently scattering leaves like confetti down on the party. With a deafening roar of wind the prow of wooden ship came into view, its keel skimming just barely a metre or so above the tree tops as it passed over them throwing the shoreline momentarily into shade. The bark of orders high in the rigging could be heard as the lateral sails were trimmed and the ship slowed and descended towards the lake.
The party watched in silence as the vessel skimmed the surface of the lake before a loud thunder like splash signalled that the keel of the vessel had briefly broken the water's surface before rising clear. Large drag sails were unfurled at the stern and the second time it broke the water's surface the whole length of the keel submerged before re-emerging from the water. Finally, with a deep hissing roar the keel of the vessel broke the surface a third time and this time sank further into the water and didn't re-emerge.
"Is that?" asked Fitzpatrick, his voice hoarse as he gestured to the ship in silent completion of his question.
"Aye lad. It's a sky clipper a'right," replied Lang, spitting after he said the word 'clipper'. "Unnatural is what it is though if you ask me. Ships float not fly. It's the way of things."
"I...I've always wanted to see one," said Fitzpatrick. "Do you think we will get to go on it?"
"Don't know. 'Er highness will though," said Lang gesturing to Georgina who was still lying flat against the body of her horse between the two yeomen. "Make sure you've got a good grip of 'er reins lad. If she's going to try somethin' it'll be now or nev--"
Lang's stared in horror at Fitzpatrick as he noted that both of his hands were grasping the reins of his own horse.
Kicking her legs out into the side of the flanking yeomen's horses making the started beasts move away from her, Georgina dug her heels into the flanks of her own horse urging it at the gallop towards Sergeant Ackers. Unlike her own prized destrier, the rouncey the yeomen had was lighter and smaller and fought her as she slammed it into the side of the Sergeant's horse. While the Sergeant fought to stay in her saddle from the force of the impact, Georgina pulled Acker's cavalry sabre free from its saddle scabbard and turned in her saddle swinging it wildly at the nearby Corporal Wyndham forcing him to back away from her.
"Ride Noah! Ride!" screamed Georgina at the top of her voice as she spurred her protesting horse along the shoreline. Behind her she could hear Sergeant Acker's ordering her men in pursuit of them.
Georgina let Noah's slower pack horse in front of her on the muddy narrow shoreline, thanking the slippery surface for reducing the disadvantage the pack horse had over the less encumbered rouncey's of the yeomen.
"Make for the clearing up ahead!" shouted Georgina, knowing that their chances of escape were all the greater if they could make it into the forest. A couple of crossbow bolts whistled past her from the pursuing yeomen making Georgina smile as she knew they were little more than a warning as the yeomen would not risk killing her and this allowed her to use her body to shield Noah.
As the pair neared the clearing, Georgina's horse reared up in fright as an blinding orange ball of light fizzed past exploded in front of her. Tumbling from her saddle, Georgina landed heavily in the water dropping her stolen sabre and was forced to roll out of the way as her horse turned and bolted away from the flare.
Pulling herself to her knees, Georgina groped around her in the shallow water for her sabre unable to see clearly as she tried to blink the spots from her eyes.
"Momma?" called Noah from the other side of the rapidly dimming flare as her fought to control his own scared horse.
"Go Noah! Go!" cried Georgina as her hand grasped the hilt of the submerged sabre. "It's up to you now to find Lottie!"
Pulling herself to her feet she brought her sabre into an en-garde position as Lang and Wyndham warily dismounted ahead of her and drew their own long swords. Lang was the first to move, feinting a thrust to her right in an attempt to open her up her left for Wyndham. Georgina quickly parried Lang's sword away, spinning to block Wyndham's lunge towards her leg. Kicking a spray of water up at Lang causing him to momentarily shield his face, Georgina beat the middle of Wyndham's blade knocking it aside long enough to execute a slash at his chest as she pulled her blade back. Cursing her, Wyndham staggered back pressing his free hand over the wound in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.
Any advantage was short lived as with a grunt Lang lunged at her forcing her to take a step backwards as she parried the blade. Losing her footing in the muddy water, she stumbled backwards only just parrying a thrust at her arm at the last moment. Sliding the cutting edge of her sabre down Lang's blade Georgina twisted her blade forcing his arm downwards before spinning her own blade upwards and slashing across the back of his arm. With a shout Lang withdrew from the engagement bringing his blade back up in a defensive position.
Breathing hard, Georgina returned her blade back to its en-garde position as Wyndham once more rejoined. She feinted towards Wyndham driving him defensive before switching to a lunge at the injured Lang forcing him to stumble backwards as he frantically parried her blade. A counter thrust from Wyndham forced Georgina to take a few steps backwards under a rain of attacks from the corporal.
"Momma!"
The shout from Noah caused Georgina to spin around and parry an attack from Ackers who had managed to flank her without her noticing. The attack from Ackers forced Georgina to take a step backwards forcing her deeper into the lake, the water now lapping at her knees.
"Noah, go!" she screamed, horrified to see her son hadn't moved from where he had stopped as a result of the flare.
Ackers pressed Georgina's distraction with a series of stinging blows, the sound of metal on metal ringing out across the lake. Binding her cross guard against her opponents, Georgina forced their blades up in a struggle of strength as both women sought to push the others blade away and create an opening.
"You might as well give up," snarled Ackers through gritted teeth. "You can't beat us all."
"Right now, I would settle for just killing you."
"You couldn't stop me killing your husband or son, so what makes you think you can kill me now, freak?"
With a roar Georgina twisted the cross guard of her sabre against Ackers blade, snapping it and pushing Ackers backwards with a shove that sent her tumbling to the ground.
"Die bitch!" hissed Georgina, tightening her grip on her weapon.
"No!"
Georgina spun around at the shout from her left to find herself enveloped in a tackle from Fitzpatrick that knocked the wind from her. Staggering under his weight the pair both fell to their knees, Fitzpatrick's iron grip pinning Georgina's arms at her side.
"Why?" asked Fitzpatrick, a look of confusion crossing his face as it drained of colour.
"I...I don't know," replied Georgina, a tear falling from her eye as she looked up into the young yeoman's face.
"You said you wouldn't..."
"I-I-I know. I'm sorry."
"Oh..."
Georgina struggled to keep Fitzpatrick upright in her arms as he slumped forward, the blood covered blade of her sabre coming into view where it projected through his back.
"I'm sorry," whispered Georgina, resting her chin on the top of his head as she held him tightly. "I'm sorry."
"Lang, get the boy," ordered Ackers as she pulled Georgina upright by her braid, twisting it painfully. "Wyndham, see to Fitzpatrick."
Ackers dragged Georgina to the shore where she threw her face first into the mud. Kneeling on top of her, she pulled some rope from her belt and tightly bound Georgina's hands together. Only when she was satisfied that the rope was tight enough that it was biting into Georgina's wrists did she move her weight off her.
"Ahoy the shore!"
Pulling Georgina to her feet, Ackers twisted her around to face the arriving long boat.
"Ahoy the boat," said Ackers with a smile.
"Is that her?" asked a young dark haired man, wearing the light blue diamond chequered tunic of the Angelcyn navy.
"It is."
Jumping from the boat with a small splash into the shallow waters lapping at the shore, the new arrival approached Ackers grasping her wrist in a traditional yeoman greeting.
"In which case, on behalf of Admiral the Lord Repton, may I welcome you on board the royal clipper Prince Henry. I know he is particularly keen to reacquaint himself with your guest."
Firstly, I would like to apologise most profusely for the delay in posting this chapter. I'll try and post the next chapter more quickly but no promises as this one went through a lot of rewrites and that was with the bonus of the story being fully plotted. So sorry once again, and I hope it doesn't spoil your enjoyment of the story too much.
Secondly, as usual, I would also like to thank Persephone for inspiring this with her story 'The Frozen Balance' and without which this story wouldn't be here. I'd also urge you to read her latest work. :-)
Finally, I would like to thank everyone who has taken the time to comment and kudos to date. All are most gratefully appreciated though I will spare you the horror of being subjected to the little dance that achieving a three figure kudos total provoked. You'll thank me for it, I promise. As for Chapter 8...it's coming soon-ish.