NaNoWriMo 2017 - Day 2

Cassidy sliced the spearhead off this poor, piss-stained soldier’s spear. He was the only one nearby who hadn’t immediately fled after she had killed her mother’s cousin. It was a pity that he hadn’t accepted her request. Not unexpected, but still a pity. She had always liked Herrick A bit scrawny, the spearman was probably a few years older than he looked, which would put him in his early twenties, of an age with Cassidy.

“Open your eyes, soldier,” Cassidy finally had to say when he continued to stand before her, frozen in terror.

He opened one eye, just a teensy, tiny slit. He was shaking so badly that his knees were knocking together. “Please don’t turn me into a newt and eat me!” the spearman begged.

“Turn you into a newt?” Cassidy asked. Was there no end to the foolish tales that country lords told their common folk to convince them she was an evil sorceress? “Never mind that nonsense. You duck down here and wait for me. Try not to get shot by any arrows so I can offer you a job. You’re either very brave or very stupid, spearman, and whichever you are I have a place for you. If you want it, that is.”

He sputtered a bit, but there was no more time to waste on him. The archers were regrouping. Cassidy shoved the spearman down and took off at a run along the wall towards the nearest group of archers.

Arrows were clattering harmlessly against her new armor. It was the lightest set yet that Corbus had been able to forge and still be virtually impregnable. She leapt, using her air godstone to boost her up higher so that she could crash into the middle of the archers’ ranks. She spun, her Halcyon blades cutting through their leather armor like butter.

Cassidy’s siege towers were nearing the moat now. No army had ever taken Kilgrey Gap by force, which was no doubt why Baron Helshire had chosen it. The craggy mountains to either side of the castle just inside the mouth of the gap made surrounding it for a siege impossible and the narrow valley turned into a killing ground as archers could rain arrows down on attackers unable to make use of their superior numbers in an assault. That is, if the archers were paying attention to approaching attackers. Cassidy hadn’t seen a single arrow aimed at anyone but her, so Aunt Diana’s plan was working perfectly.

The archers around her were fleeing so she took off down along the wall to scatter the rest of them. Among the next group of frightened bowmen she found the man that had made her new suit of armor necessary.

“Cousin,” Cassidy said to the tall man in front of her. Uthor was as tall as his recently dead father, but not as broad. The archers had all retreated, but just behind Uthor a half dozen men waited in full plate mail with massive hammers instead of swords.

“Warwitch,” he replied. His Halcyon blade glowed bright red in his hand. Uthor’s mission this past year had been to assassinate Cassidy. His last plot had ended with him burning through Cassidy’s helm with his sword and leaving her with an angry red scar all along her left jawline. Uthor raised his blade, a longsword that he wielded in one hand so he could hold a double layered shield in his off hand.

Corbus, this armor had better work, Cassidy thought as she stepped forward to engage the only man who had ever managed to penetrate the armor her mad inventor had engineered for her. Cassidy attacked, swinging one sword at Uthor, which he caught on his unusually thick shield. Her blade began to burn through the steel so he swung his sword around at Cassidy’s side. He was expecting her parry with her other Halcyon blade so that she would be open to his hammer wielders leaping forward to batter her – Uther had learned that anything short of Halcyon steel had no chance of injuring Cassidy so his henchmen used hammers to knock her off balance and expose her to his Halcyon blade.

No doubt to Uthor’s shock and consternation, Cassidy let his blow land on her left side so that she could cleave the head from the nearest unsuspecting henchman who had leapt forward with his hammer raised, not a thought spared for defense. She felt the fire godstone set into her breastplate surge to life. As Corbus had explained to her – at painful length, as he was wont to do whenever he got excited about one of his discoveries – all godstones had two natures: a push action that could be used to flare the element and a pull that condensed it. Aunt Diana had used a water godstone to” push” the water from a nearby river into water vapor and create the fog that had concealed their approach. That same godstone could be used to “pull” water from its liquid state into ice. Almost no one used the pull action of a fire godstone and to Cassidy’s knowledge, no one had ever come up with anything useful to do with a fire pull until now. Fire godstones could be used to push a small flame into a roaring blaze or power the vicious heat of a Halcyon blade. The pull action of a fire godstone could be used to suck the heat out of an object. On the continent it was evidently a popular practice among nobles who had nothing better to do to use a fire pull to cool their soup. Corbus had, in his twisted way of approaching every problem from an utterly foreign perspective, devised a way to set a fire godstone into her armor that would pull away excess heat if she were to become engulfed in flames or attacked with a Halcyon sword.

Corbus’ invention worked and Uthor’s blade clanged harmlessly off her side. Cassidy shoved Uthor back with a blast of air and sliced clean through the arm of one of the hammer wielders. Two henchmen down and four to go. Uthor staggered back, confused by the lack of effect his trusty sword had yielded. His four minions backed up with him and Cassidy couldn’t help but smile. Uthor’s father had been a worthy adversary, but his son was a smarmy little sneak and she would be glad to rid the world of him.

Cassidy charged forward, forcing the hammermen back lest they lose limbs from her quick flurry of slashes. Uthor likely wanted to run, but the first platforms from the siege towers were crashing down behind him so he was stuck between Cassidy and her soldiers. Cassidy pressed her attack, taking advantage of the gap the hammermen had left. Uthor caught her first blow on his shield and parried her offhand strike, but by then she was already slamming her sword down on his shield again. Thick though it was, nothing could last long against a Halcyon blade and it was cleaved in two, leaving Uthor with nothing but his sword and his four frightened henchmen.

“I yield!” Uthor shouted, spreading his arms to the side and sinking to his knees. His minions dropped their hammers and did the same. The heat was draining from Uthor’s blade as he disengaged the godstone in its pommel.

“You would,” Cassidy muttered disgustedly. “Drop your sword. It will make a fine addition to my collection.”

Uthor did as he was told, but then lunged to the side suddenly. A gust of wind hit Cassidy in the chest and she was sent tumbling over the edge of the wall. Whirling, she slammed one of her swords into the stone as she fell. The blade sunk in and she jerked to a stop a little over ten feet down from the top. Above, Uthor and his henchmen had recovered her weapons and were waiting to attack her when she climbed back up.

“That rotten little…” Cassidy grumbled to herself. She should have just cut his head off and be done with it. Oh well, no use crying over murders she could have done. It was time to focus on how she was going to kill Uthor now that she was in this predicament. He would have seen her latest trick of flipping herself around with an air godstone so that was no good. At this point in the battle she could technically wait until her soldiers pouring out of the siege towers finished taking the walls, but that was hardly satisfying. She could climb up the wall, ramming one sword after the other into the wall. It would be slow and that was probably what they were counting on…unless…

Cassidy began to climb, her Halcyon swords allowing her to scale the wall. Uthor and his goons waited eagerly at the top. Just out of reach of their hammers, Cassidy shoved her sword up into the wall at an angle instead of straight in, the point of her sword going up towards where Uthor and company waited. She began to shove the sword to the right, cutting slowly, but surely through the stone. After pulling the sword back out there was an angry gash across the face of the wall.

Uthor might have recognized what I’m about to do if he’d ever bothered to put in a day of honest labor, but if that stuck up rat has ever chopped down a tree in his life I’ll eat my boots, Cassidy thought as she rammed the blade back into the wall, this time at a downward angle. She pushed the blade through the stone until she felt the wall began to creak and groan under the pressure.

Cassidy pushed herself to the side and out of the way as the wedge of stone she had cut slid free and crashed down into the moat below. With a substantial portion of the wall below them gone, gravity took care of Uthor and the remaining hammermen. The wall above her wedge tumbled forward under the weight of the five heavily armored men atop it and Cassidy had the distinct pleasure of hearing Uthor scream like a little girl as he plummeted to his death.

NaNoWriMo 2017 - Day 1

Bimley told himself that he was shaking so badly because of the cold. It certainly wasn’t the terror of the upcoming battle. No, certainly not. And this fog that had suddenly rolled in out of the previously clear night was not ominous at all. He was a man who had been conscripted to fight for his lord before, not some peach fuzz faced boy awaiting his first battle. Still, he had never had to face anyone like her before. The rumors about her where just lies her grandfather spread to scare good men into joining his stupid kingdom…weren’t they? He heard a faint clang from somewhere in the mist, out on the flat plains across from the moat.

“Did you hear that?” Bimley hissed to the soldiers next to him on the wall.

“Hear what?” Fred asked nervously. “I didn’t hear nothing. Is she coming?”

“Will you two shut it?” grizzled old Tom snapped. Tom didn’t seem unnerved by the prospect of an attack from the Warwitch of West Wending. Then again, Tom had been sneaking swigs out of his flask for the better part of an hour so he could just be drunk.

Bimley heard another soft clang, closer this time. It was so quiet, if she was attacking why couldn’t he hear the thousands of rabid monsters in her army stomping across the glen? He couldn’t see anything in this fog. Nerves frayed to the breaking point, he gripped his spear tighter.

“How long ago did the fog roll in?” A deep voice behind them made Bimley nearly jump out of his skin and he definitely peed just a tiny bit.

They all spun to see a mountain of a man made all the more imposing by his spiked plate armor. Baron Helshire was the one who had gathered everyone here at Kilgrey Gap to try and break the tide of the Warwitch’s unrelenting conquest of the Brawgreen Isles. Bimley was proud that his lord was among these final heroes here on Vermatt Isle who had resisted her and her wicked grandfather. They were the last free men of the Isles and they bowed to no one, certainly not some fool old king on Raltattan Isle whom they had never even met.

“Less than half an hour ago, I’d say, m’lord,” Bimley answered, perking up a bit at the sight of their commander. Baron Helshire had never lost a battle and was a demon of a duelist. If anyone could put an end to that West Wending freak, it was him.

The baron considered this. Then he removed helm and cocked his head to listen to the foggy silence. Bimley did the same and thought he could just barely make out footfalls.

“Trying to sneak up on me?” Baron Helshire roared suddenly and Bimley hoped no one heard him yelp when he jumped in surprise. “Ha! I thought you had more honor than that, girl!”

Bimley strained his eyes to see if she really was there in the fog. Then he saw her, Cassidy Ryncaster, the Warwitch of West Wending herself. She wasn’t as tall as Bimley had thought she would be. Then again, she could hardly have been ten feet tall with a scaly and six inch long fangs as the rumors claimed. In fact, thirty-five feet down and across the moat as she was, the Warwitch hardly looked impressive at all. Bimley began to feel better about their chances. Baron Helshire would crush this foolish girl and Bimley could get back to his farm and hopefully convince Marta to marry him before the summer harvest took up all his courting time.

The slow, cold laughter that floated up from the Warwitch set Bimley’s knees immediately quivering again. “Dear, dear mother-cousin you wound me,” Cassidy called back. Bimley gulped, he had never heard that the Warwitch was the daughter of Baron Helshire’s cousin. What did that mean? Surely the baron wanted nothing to do with her even if they were kin. He was the one who had organized this massive defense, after all.

Cassidy continued, “You have fought well this past year. Vermatt should have fallen months ago, but you’ve been an ever-present thorn in my side. Always turning up where I least expect with some clever ambush. Hell, from what I hear you’ve managed to get nearly every fighting man left on the isle behind those walls and all their lords sworn to obey you. Why not enjoy the fruits of your heroism? Name yourself Archduke of Vermatt Isle and let your men live in peace. You’ll rule them as you see fit, I’ll make sure grandfather offers you special terms. I’d say you’ve earned it and you have some distant royal ties through my mother. How does Archduke Helshire sound in those great hairy ears of yours?”

To a man, every soldier on the wall turned to look at the baron. His craggy, scarred face frowned down at the Warwitch. After what seemed an eternity, he spoke, “I promised these men they would bow to no king and that promise will be kept until I draw my last breath! Vermatt – free and true forever!” He roared and then slammed his helm back onto his head.

The Warwitch regarded him for a moment and then shook her head. “So be it,” she called back.

Bimley heard the scraping of her twin swords as she drew them from the sheaths on her back. There was a red stone in the pommel of each that began to glow bright red. Fire godstones. Bimley cursed under his breath. He had been hoping that if the rumors about her tail had been false then so would this one. The swords were remnants of the fallen Halcyon Empire when pagans had corrupted the beauty of the holy godstones into weapons. As the godstones’ heat flowed into them the blades began to glow red hot as though fresh from the forge, but the legends of the Halcyon swords said they would remain hard and sharp instead of becoming pliable as normal steel did at that temperature, the fiery metal were said to be able to slice into stone and armor like an axe chopping wood.

The fog around Cassidy took on an eerie orange glow from her swords. She planted her feet wide and then raised her arms. The ground rumbled below her and the earth began to undulate and heave like a stormy sea. Slowly, the Warwitch began to rise on a pedestal of dirt and stone as she used her earth godstone to create a pillar that was nearly ten feet high by the time Bimley recovered enough from his terror to hear Baron Helshire bellowing at the archers to open fire.

Arrows clanged harmlessly off of the Warwitch’s armor. It did not look nearly as thick as the baron’s heavy plate, but her armor was supposed to have been forged in the fires of hell by some devil she had pressed into her service. Her pillar of earth rose until she was level with the top of the wall. The moat was still between them, she couldn’t possibly jump that gap…could she? Bimley glanced nervously over at Baron Helshire. He had drawn his massive greatsword and had his eyes fixed on the Warwitch, waiting for her next move. Bimley did his best to stamp down his fear and did the same.

As he turned his eyes back to her, the Warwitch bent into a crouch and threw her arms down as she leapt. A blast of air – did she have godstones from all four elements?!? – sent debris spinning from her pillar as she threw herself into the twenty foot gap that separated her from Bimley.

She was flying! Glorious Savior and the Four Saints above, she could fly! She really was a witch! This time the stream of urine shooting down his leg was more than just a bit. He was going to die! He would never get to see Marta naked.

Then Cassidy began to fall, she wasn’t going to make it! The Warwitch dipped below the crenellations and out of Bimley’s sight. Evidently she couldn’t fly after all. Bimley heaved a sigh of relief. Tom was throwing up on Fred’s boots. Evidently the whiskey had been a bad idea to combine with the stress of thinking the Warwitch could fly. Baron Helshire did not look relieved at all though. He leaned forward to glance down towards the moat. Bimley did the same and his eyes bulged in shock.

Cassidy had burned her Halcyon blades into the side of the wall and was hanging about five feet below them. The baron readied his greatsword so Bimley leveled his spear and tried not to think about how sweaty his palms had become. The Warwitch planted her feet on the wall and kicked off. As she did Bimley could feel another blast of air and he saw the momentum of the gust fling her all the way around so that her feet crashed into Baron Helshire’s chest. The move had obviously caught him off guard, because he hadn’t had time to bring his sword down on her.

Bimley had assumed that she had been planning to claw her way up by wrenching one sword free at a time, relying on her armor to shield her from attacks as she used her devil blades to scale the wall, but he had been so very wrong. Now he was face to face with the most deadly warrior in the Isles. She had two magic swords and at least two additional godstones. He had a pointy stick…good thing his bladder was now empty.

“I-I-I’m warning you!” Bimley stammered. “Stay back!” He pointed his spear at her chest.

The Warwitch cocked her head to the side quizzically. Bimley hadn’t even seen her ram one of her Halcyon swords through Baron Helshire’s breastplate. His commander was dead. Behind her Fred and Tom had both thrown down their spears and fled. Across the moat Bimley finally noticed the army approaching through the fog. Massive siege towers rumbled forward with men carrying ladders hidden behind them. None of the archers were paying any attention to the attacking army though, all eyes were on the Warwitch and Bimley.

Cassidy Ryncaster brought her sword around in a lazy backhand and Bimley shut his eyes tight.

Raynes of Power - 1

“Would that I had an unmarried son to wed your Shauna,” Count Rembold grumbled wistfully, “then I would be here negotiating their betrothal instead of demanding for the dozenth time that you remarry and sire a son.”

Inwardly, Baron Raynes frowned, but he kept his face cordial. This was his liege lord after all. Even though this was far more than the twelfth time the count had ordered him to remarry. “I have heirs enough in my three girls, my lord. Shauna is more than capable of carrying on my legacy.”

Remobld harrumphed, clearly perturbed at being defied yet again. “I am serious, Ian. The duke himself mentioned your lack of a proper heir the last time we spoke. Your house may be new, but the wealth accumulated since your grandfather was given this land has upset the balance of power in the whole western half of the kingdom! You remember what happened to your father.”

Ian could not quite keep himself from grinding his teeth. Having his father’s murder thrown in his face as though he did not recall every last detail was terribly rude, even for the boorish Count Rembold. “I remember slicing open the man’s throat who thought he could steal what my family earned.”

“Yes, the story of little Ian the Miniature Murderer was often told over cups of wine for years afterwards.” Rembold chuckled and swirled the expensive brandy Ian had offered him.

Ian’s grandfather had made a tidy little fortune trading with the exotic lands across the sea and Ian’s father had turned that into a veritable mountain of gold as well as the castle they were sitting in. Unfortunately, his father had not been the skilled warrior his grandfather had been and a neighboring baron had swooped in to take their land and their fortune. Ian had been barely fourteen when he had rallied what few fighting men his father retained and snuck into the keep to get revenge. House Raynes had kept a large enough army to make nearby counts nervous despite Ian being only a teenage baron.

“Indeed, my lord. I recall many found the tale quite diverting.” Ian managed to keep a civil tongue.

Rembold laughed again, swirling his brandy before taking another drink. The count was a pudgy man of forty-some years with a patchy beard that he hoped would hide his second chin, but failed to do so miserably. He wore rich clothing that it was whispered he cared more about than his two grown sons.

“And yet it is the future I came here to discuss, not the past. You must remarry and get yourself a proper heir so every damn upjumped knight in the West stops scheming to get your gold!” Count Rembold insisted.

“My lord, my late wife was the only woman for me. My daughters are the future of House Raynes,” Ian replied.

The count shook his head stubbornly. “I’m afraid not, my old friend. I assured the duke that I would settle this matter once and for all. I will be hosting a tournament in honor of my grandson’s first birthday and you shall attend and you shall find yourself a bride.”

“My lord – ” Ian began.

“No more, Ian!” Count Rembold interrupted. “This farce has gone on long enough. You will remarry or Duke Tenbore himself will be here to settle this matter. Do you at least want to choose your bride or have some ugly daughter of one of the duke’s toadies forced upon you?”

Baron Raynes took a deep breath. “Very well, my lord. I shall attend your tournament.”

“Excellent! Glad to have finally persuaded you. You are a stubborn devil, did you know?”

*

“Good, keep your eyes closed. Now picture it in your mind. Be the target,” Vera told the count’s nephew as she rifled through his pockets.

“You’re sure you can teach me how to shoot a bow with my eyes closed?” Horace asked. Horace was an ungainly lad of fourteen with buck teeth that made him look much more like his father than the count’s sister.

“Oh yeah! It’s a trick an old witch taught my grandmother under the light of a full moon,” Vera explained. She dropped a handful of gold coins into her jacket pocket along with some scraps of parchment. Not her best haul, but gold could always pay for future shenanigans. “Ready. Aim. Fire!”

Horace shot and the arrow flew wide, but Vera’s friend from the docks, Pieter, popped out from behind the target and jammed an arrow into the center bullseye.

“That’s amazing!” Horace gushed when he opened his eyes.

“Yes, truly amazing. Now run along, Horace,” Vera’s oldest sister Shauna said bemusedly. Seventeen year old Shauna was tall and had broad shoulders and thick arm muscles that visiting nobles’ sons were sometimes unwise enough to mock. Those unlucky enough to do so left with broken noses and bruised egos. Shauna had their father’s dark hair and serious demeanor. As always, her hair was wrapped up tight in a bun on the crown of her head, making her sharp featured face all the more severe looking. She wore armor with the storm cloud of their house painted proudly on her chest, and her favorite longsword on her hip.

Horace shuffled off eagerly. He had had his nose broken more than once by Shauna. “Oh hey! Shauna, great to see you. I was just going to go find father. He sent a servant. Said he needs me real bad. Important business.” Vera tried to slink away quickly.

“Keep the coins and give me any letters he had.” Shauna held her hand out.

“What? Letters? How would I know if he had any letters? And how would I have them?” Vera asked as innocently as possible…which she knew wasn’t that much, especially with Shauna.

“Very funny. Hand them over,” Shauna said humorlessly. “Pieter! Don’t think you’re getting away that easy!” Shauna snapped and Pieter froze. He had been trying to sneak away while she was focused on Vera.

“Fine,” Vera grumbled. She handed the pieces of parchment to her sister. “Now I’ll just be going…”

“Stay,” Shauna commanded as she read the letters. Vera stopped in her tracks. Unfortunately, gigantic though she was, Shauna could still catch Vera if she tried to run. Shauna could sprint for a full mile even with her armor on. Vera had seen her practicing and wondered who was madder, Shauna or their cousin Kaia who had inherited their uncle’s actual madness.

“Anything good?” Vera’s middle sister Millicent drawled in her usual bored monotone. Millicent – and it was always Millicent, never, ever Millie – was by far the scariest of the Raynes daughters. Where Shauna would happily break your nose and then stroll away, Millicent would find the one thing about yourself that you hated the most and with a few carefully chosen words have you sobbing like a baby for weeks. She was much shorter than Shauna, that is to say a perfectly normal height for a fourteen year old, and much more typically proportioned from not spending all her time training in the practice yard like Shauna. Millicent’s hair was an extremely dark red, Vera had heard that was a rare mix of father’s black hair and mother’s bright red. Vera had mother’s red hair, of course.

“It seems our father’s liege lord is hosting a tournament to celebrate his only grandson’s first birthday. Horace was conspiring with some of his friends to have one of them enter as a mystery knight.” Shauna chuckled. Horace was terribly awkward on a horse and it would be a laughably poor mystery knight who was unhorsed in his first tilt.

“A tourney! Yes!” Vera cackled with glee. “I’m going to make so much money!”

“We don’t have to go, do we?” Millicent groaned. “Tourneys are so boring. A bunch of idiots on horses with sticks. Why don’t they just strap the sticks to the horses and cut the idiots out entirely?”

“Or pigs!” Vera exclaimed. “We could strap training lances to pigs and make them joust each other! We’ll charge admission and then take bets. I’ll make a fortune! Now what to sell for the concessions? We’ll need ale of course. Can’t have jousting pigs without ale…”

“Enough, Vera,” Shauna scolded. “I think the count might have another motive for the tournament.”

“Oh?” Millicent asked.

Shauna nodded. “A simple letter would have been enough to invite father to a tournament. The count coming all the way out here just to see one of his barons is suspicious. He’s up to something.”

Millicent rolled her eyes. She had green eyes like the rest of them, but hers were just a little bit paler; a little bit colder. “Wonderful. A tournament and a mystery. My favorite.”

“What do you think he’s up to?” Vera piped excitedly. “Is he training killer bees? Turning squires into vicious bear-men? Breeding six legged horses?”

“No, Vera, knowing Count Rembold I’m sure it’s something to do with our gold.” Shauna answered, a little bit annoyed by her outburst.

“Maybe he spent his last penny on fox-fur slippers and needs a loan from father to pay for this dumb tournament.” Millicent snickered.

“Perhaps…” Shauna pondered Millicent’s snide suggestion. “I’m going to go see what father’s spymaster has to say.”

When Shauna was gone Vera turned eagerly to Millicent. “Listen! I didn’t want to say my best idea while Shauna was around, but I’ve a fool-proof plan to make some serious gold at the tournament.”

“Not interested,” Millicent replied blandly and began to turn away.

“Oh – ho! I think you will be! You get to make prissy little knights and squires cry.” Vera chortled malevolently at her own genius.

Millicent turned back, scowling at having her rude exit spoiled, but curious about a new way to hurt people’s feelings. “Fine. Whatever. I’m listening.”

“We place bets against the favorites in a ton of matches and then right before they fight you make them cry. It will throw their focus off and they’ll lose for sure!”

Millicent stared at her for a moment. “That’s actually not a terrible plan. You can be less of an idiot than most people sometimes, Vera.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for years!” Vera squawked animatedly.

*

Baron Raynes rode at the front of the column with his eldest daughter. They were leaving behind the grey drizzle that perpetually loomed over the Soggy Citadel and its surrounding lands. So named both for the weather and the rainy battlefield on which his grandfather had saved a prince and thus earned his knighthood, the Soggy Citadel had begun as a lonely watchtower at the tip of a remote peninsula and grown into the mighty fortress and prosperous port it was today.

"Spymaster Jace tells me you have been making inquiries regarding our beloved count," Ian began.

Shauna nodded. "He has plans for our house in this tournament. Master Jace agrees with me."

Ian felt his lips quirk up into a small smile. "Count Rembold schemes to have me remarry and bear a son so that there is no longer an absence of a male heir to inherit. No doubt he has some woman loyal to him in mind who he will want to influence me in his favor."

"I learned as much from Master Jace, but it's what he intends to do with that influence that worries me. The count is an ambitious man and if we were more closely bound to him we could further whatever schemes he has planned with our ships, soldiers, and gold," Shauna insisted.

"Daughter, it is the spymaster's job to be paranoid, but it does not become a baroness to see vipers under every stone and stick," Ian chided gently. "No doubt the count has some grand plan, but it is his place to have such plans given his lordship over a sizable chuck of the West."

"And if he means us ill in this grand plan of his?" Shauna asked stubbornly.

He looked down at the sword on his daughter's hip. "Then you know what we will do."

Shauna smiled at him and they rode on.

*

Vera quickly spun on her heel. "AHA!" she shouted, but once again no one was there. She had been feeling as though she was being followed all day and it was driving her crazy. She was the one who was supposed to drive people crazy, not the other way around!

"Finally snapped, didn't you?" Millicent asked from the lavish plaza terrified servants had set up outside her tent. They had stopped for the night and Millicent was seated on a cushioned throne ringed with lanterns of varying sizes and colors as a chef specially prepared meals for her and a juggler twirled knives to the beat of a string quartet. She even had potted topiaries scattered about on the rich rug that covered her pampered little domain. One of the bobcats Millicent had trained and domesticated sat in the middle of the rug grooming itself.

"What's all this?" Vera gaped at the decadent display. She reached for a chocolate tart the chef had set out and the man smacked her hand with a long wooden spoon, leaving an angry red mark as he shouted some foreign gibberish at her and brandished the spoon menacingly under her nose.

Millicent sneered, not at Vera per se, but at the whole world as only Millicent could. "I dislike travelling."

"Yeah...but all this!" Vera gestured to the extravagant display. "How much did it all cost?"

"Nothing," Millicent replied evenly.

"Nothing? NOTHING? Are you crazy? With the gold this cost I could buy a ship and finally turn pirate like I've always wanted!" Vera moaned.

Millicent shrugged. "It didn't cost me a thing."

"But...but...but how?!" Vera demanded.

Now Millicent finally grinned. Whenever her middle sister grinned it gave Vera the shivers; like a fox watching a particularly fat chicken waddle towards its hiding spot. "I am owed a great many favors."

Vera wandered away, shaking her head. Not for the first time she wondered if Millicent might actually be a witch like some people whispered behind her back. But there was no such thing as witches. Believing in them was for babies and old ladies!

Pieter had been conscripted by one of father’s knights to help take care of the horses, so Vera was wandering the camp by herself instead of with her usual partner in crime. Perhaps that was why her cousin chose this moment to final jump out from behind a wagon and startle her half to death.

“Lord Waters sends his regards!” Kaia screamed as she dove from the shadows in a flying tiger tackle that drove Vera into the mud.

Vera squirmed and twisted out of Kaia’s grasp. “Who the hell is Lord Waters?”

Kaia shrugged. “How should I know? He just sends his regards.”

“Right.” Vera wiped some of the mud off of her face. Kaia’s father, Vera’s uncle Douglas, had been taken captive when Vera’s grandfather had been executed and seeing his father beheaded had driven dainty ten year old Douglas completely out of his mind. He would gibber about shadows trying to steal his soul or insist that he could read the servants’ evil thoughts. Father had kept Douglas close at hand as he grew up, but once he was an adult father had finally relented and let Douglas sail the world in a quest to vanquish his inner demons. He sought out various gurus and holy men, but none could cure his madness. At one point he had settled down with some madwoman he met and fell in love with in the sandy deserts of Evernia. Kaia had been born, but neither Douglas nor his insane bride had been capable of caring for the child so the crew of Douglas’ ship had brought her back to the Soggy Citadel for Vera’s father to raise. Last Vera heard Douglas and Kaia’s mother had still been traveling the world in search of a cure for their madness.

Kaia was two years older than Shauna, so she was nineteen, and while she had a fair amount of lunacy from both her parents, father had set her to a rigorous training regimen that kept her mind focused so she was far more functional than Uncle Douglas. Of a height with Millicent, Kaia had her mother’s dark olive skin and oval eyes, but one of those eyes was blue like Uncle Douglas and the other was brown like most Evernians. She was well muscled, but she was lean and lightning quick rather than burly like Shauna. Her hair would have been jet black if she did not keep her head shaved bald.

"I didn't think you were coming to the tourney," Vera said.

"I'm not." Kaia winked conspiratorially.

Vera considered for a moment if her cousin was being coy or crazy. She decided it was the former. "I see...and what exactly are you doing while you're not on your way to the tourney?"

"Oh, you'll see!" Kaia beamed brightly. "I just wanted to let you know you aren't the only one with big plans. I'll be around if you need any help with yours." And just like that Kaia flicked the hood of her robe back up and disappeared into the darkness.

Vera sighed. Knowing Kaia she would be trying to start a cult and hold the count's chapel priests hostage or brewing a potion that she thought would transform her into a phoenix...Vera just wondered how she could make some gold off of whatever insane plan her cousin had in mind.

*

Baron Raynes received word from his outriders early on their fourth morning of travel towards Count Rembold's Amber Keep that one of his bannermen would soon be catching up to them. Ian nodded and sent the scout away with his thanks. House Raynes had been granted its barony after Ian had killed the treacherous Baron Hargrave and his three sons for murdering his father. Count Rembold's father had transferred all of the Hargrave lands as well as their title to Ian since there was no one left alive to inherit either but for a few nephews from Hargrave's female line. Ian had been rather hot headed as a young man and had been preparing for a protracted war against all of the knights still loyal to House Hargrave when the old count had come to call on him. Peace and loyalty to House Rembold was all the old man wanted and in exchange he would give all Ian he hoped to win with his war of vengeance.

Sir Garis Wandermann had been the first knight to make the trip to the Soggy Citadel to swear fealty to Ian as his baron. Sir Garis was ten years Ian's senior and more than half a foot taller, meaning he had been a young man of six and a half feet at the time, but unlike his Wandermann forefathers before him, Garis had a mind for science as well as war. House Wandermann was know for its prodigiously large men and the men of the West all feared to face them either in tournaments or on the field of battle. Garis had taken the notion one step further, after having become obsessed with breeding the perfect hunting dog as a young boy, Garis had applied that knowledge to his own selection of a bride and subsequently the brides of his sons and the husbands of his daughters. He had insisted on marrying a woman over six feet tall and, though she had come from a poor family with hardly any land, he had found her and sired eight children. All five of the boys were more than six foot eight and the shortest of the three girls was six foot two.

Wandermann had heartily approved of Ian's devastating response to Hargrave's betrayal. Garis was a man who respected force from his liege lord above all else. It likely came from living on that island of theirs that was filled with such hideous beasts.

Once the scout was gone Ian sighed. Even before all the nonsense that had come with Count Rembold's visit last month, Garis had been eager to make a match between either his youngest daughter and Ian or Shauna and one of his two youngest sons. It was Shauna he truly wanted in his family, the girl was somewhat tall, but it was her strength and ferocity that Garis admired. Ian was a consolation prize to Sir Wandermann; if he could sire a daughter like Shauna with a mother as normally sized as his first wife, no doubt Garis only dreamed of what one of his daughters produce. Granted, there was a chance they might turn out average sized like Millicent or scrawny like Vera, but Garis seemed willing to take the risk. As such, he would be spending the next two days listening to Garis boast about how healthy and talented his children and grandchildren were.

A small price to pay for having a wrathful giant and his brood of warriors on my side, Ian reminded himself. Perhaps he would marry Yolanda, if only to thwart Rembold's schemes and relieve Shauna from the regular showering of gifts and letters from Gregory. The girl was pleasant enough, but Ian could not help feeling like a lecher at the thought of marrying a girl more than twenty years his junior - barely four years older than Shauna!

Not that whoever the count and any other would-be matchmakers at the tournament would be any better. In fact, he would count himself incredibly lucky if he did not have girls as young as Millicent thrust in front of him as potential matches. It was going to be a very long week at the tournament.

*

"And then I kicked him in the chest and sent him sprawling over the bow, but his tunic caught on the ram so he was stuck dangling there, screaming his pirate lungs out the rest of the voyage!" Shauna exclaimed over gales of laughter from Garis Wandermann and his son Gregory. Father was pretending to have urgent business somewhere else in the column riding east for the Amber Keep. It was small wonder Millicent was so antisocial, given how their father dodged small talk as though it were one of Vera's flaming bags of dog feces.

Sir Garis wiped a tear from one of his big brown eyes. Like all Wandermanns, he was a great boulder of a man; more than six and a half feet tall and at least half as broad across the chest. A thick, wiry brown beard covered much of his homely face. A wide thrice broken nose jutted out from above his moustache and bushy eyebrows so long they nearly made up for his bald head. His son Gregory was eighteen, two inches taller than his father, but not nearly so wide…at least not yet. Gregory’s older brothers were veritable mountains just like their father.  His face was certainly not as battered as Sir Garis’, but he still had a great hooked nose and thick eyebrows that made him look very much like his father’s son.

“Your stories are hysterical as ever!” Gregory gushed.

Shauna nodded gracefully and decided to change the subject. Gregory had a tendency to go overboard with his compliments when given the opportunity. When the flurry of compliments had first begun Shauna had been quite oblivious as to why Gregory was suddenly showering her with courtesies. Father had explained it though and Shauna had been thoroughly embarrassed. She had been thirteen at the time and enjoying the new strength her growth spurt had given her in the practice yard. Marriage and courtship had been the furthest things from her mind. Such nonsense was for fripperous little tarts mooning over love poems until their fathers sold them in exchange for an alliance or a water mill.

“What events will you enter at the count’s tournament?” Shauna asked.

“The melee, obviously,” Gregory grinned proudly. He and his brothers always formed an alliance at the start of the melee and often as not one of them came away the victor.  A wild free for all with blunted swords and axes, the melee favored the gargantuan Wandermanns. “The joust as well, though I fear my second oldest brother, Wallis, is the best jouster in our family.”

“I don’t know about that,” Sir Garis cut in, “young Rowen will surely give him a run for his money if they face each other this week.”

Gregory smiled pleasantly at his father. “Perhaps…though I still think my eldest nephew has an overinflated estimation of his skill with a lance. If they face one another I would place my wager on Wallis’ experience over Rowen’s bluster.”

Shauna laughed along with Gregory as Sir Garis harrumphed into his great bushy beard. Garis was incredibly proud of his firstborn grandson Rowen…though not so foolish as to try and match him with Shauna. Rowen was an arrogant ass of sixteen who thought himself God’s gift to all things martial. There was a certain cunning in Sir Garis that Shauna had come to appreciate over the years. He was proud of his children and grandchildren, but he was not blind to their shortcomings as many proud lords were.

“I plan to race one of the horses I have bred as well,” Gregory continued. The Wandermanns bred massive beasts to carry them into battle and no doubt they would have won every race if they did not have to carry an equally massive Wandermann on their back. Knights wore full armor to simulate a charge in battle.

“So every event but the archery competition,” Shauna chided playfully. The Wandermanns were famously bad archers. Perhaps their great giant hands were not delicate enough to aim a bow.

Gregory blushed. “Indeed. Although there will also be a feast and dancing each night with a costume ball on the final night. Will you be dancing?” Gregory blurted out in a rush.

Shauna saw Sir Garis purse his lips at his son’s awkward halfhearted invitation. She tried to deflect as politely as she could. “Would that we could dance as a team on the melee field where I’ve seen you move much more gracefully than on the dance floor.”

“If only we could!” Gregory exclaimed. “What a whirlwind we would be together! But I’ll have you know, I have been practicing my dancing as well. I promise not to step on your toes this time! Or…at least not as many times…” Gregory mumbled as he trailed off lamely.

It was difficult for Shauna to stifle a bark of laughter when she saw Sir Garis roll his eyes at his son’s continued awkwardness.

“Come along, lad,” Garis commanded. “I need to give you another ‘dancing’ lesson.” As they turned their mounts around to join the rest of their family Shauna saw Garis clout Gregory on the back of the head and begin berating him for his poor showing at inviting Shauna to dance.

Shauna shook her head. She wasn’t sure who she felt worse for, Gregory or Sir Garis.

*

“Witches’ charms! Guaranteed to improve your jousting skill!” Vera shouted at the passing knights and squires. “You won’t want to face an opponent with one, look at how powerful this old crone is! She’s three hundred years old and laid the curse that felled the evil wizard Girkopolis herself! Get your witches’ charms here!” They had finally arrived at the Amber Keep and Vera had immediately set up shop in the quickly growing open air market surrounding stands Count Rembold had erected to host his tournament.

“What is it with you and witches?” Pieter whispered. “And who the hell is Girkopolis?”

“Hush!” Vera hissed back. A customer was approaching.

The young knight looked the elderly beggar woman who Vera had given a hot meat pie in exchange for pretending to be a witch up and down then rubbed the peach fuzz on his chin consideringly. “Exactly what kind of powers will this charm grant me?” he asked.

“This one will help your lance strike true, my lord.” Vera held up a twisted knot of horse hair.

“And will it help me in the melee?”

Vera guffawed. “Move along, sonny! This witch only sells to serious knights, not cheapskates trying to get one medallion that will help them in two events!”

“No! Wait! I can buy two! I was only wondering! Please!” he begged.

Vera crossed her arms and walked a lap around the hopeful teenager, examining him. “Well…maybe. But she’ll want an extra silver each for your insolence.”

“Done!” The young fool heaped silver into Vera’s outstretched hands and in exchange she handed him two of her medallions made out of garbage.

“Man, knights are stupid,” Pieter said as their latest happy customer walked away.

“And thieves are greedy,” a gruff voice sounded behind them.

Vera and Pieter spun to see a knight in plain, yet clean armor with his helm covering his face. His shield bore a black stingray on a silver field. He was not quite as tall as father, had broad shoulders, but was otherwise on the thin side for a knight.

“Lucky for you, I have need of a greedy young man.” The Stingray Knight held a silver coin in front of Pieter’s face.

Pieter’s eyes went wide at the promise of coin. Not that Vera didn’t reward him for the parts he played in her schemes, but this was silver all for himself.

“Yes, I see I have your attention. I need you to enter me in the melee and the joust with the master of games,” the mystery knight told Pieter.

“I…I can do that!” Pieter told him eagerly.

“Of course you can.” The knight dropped the coin into Pieter’s hand. “And two more when the job is done. Meet me at my pavilion at the north end of the market.”

“A mystery knight!” Pieter exclaimed when the stingray knight was gone.

“And everyone will think you’re his squire after you enter him in the games! There has to be a way to use that…” Vera pondered.

“We have to go to the master of games now!” Pieter was hopping up and down with glee.

“Alright,” Vera told him. She turned to the old crone and handed her five coppers. “Get yourself another pie and meet us back here in an hour.”

Their witch tottered off and Vera had to sprint after Pieter as he raced towards the Amber Keep. They darted between the tents of butchers and blacksmiths and knights until they found their way out of the vast sea of tents that made up the market.

The Amber Keep was an old fortress overlooking a diminutive lake and an amber mine. The market and tourney stadium were between the lake and the castle. Supposedly, the interior was as richly decorated as Count Rembold dressed, but it was the exterior that caught Vera’s eye. Perhaps she had been spending too much time with Shauna, but it seemed to her that the walls and towers were not in good repair and the gate could have been knocked down by one of Beany Bill the guardsman’s farts.

Pieter found the master of games in the office he had set up just inside the keep across from the stables. “I need to register my master for the joust and the melee,” Pieter announced proudly.

The master of games looked down at Pieter suspiciously. “You are…a squire?”

“That’s right!” Pieter declared. Vera had been teaching him to be confident when lying. “The Stingray Knight. He’ll win the joust for sure and maybe the melee too if he can last until the Wandermanns turn on each other.”

“And does this Stingray Knight have a name?” The master of games inquired.

“Might be he does.” Pieter smirked. “But giving away a mystery knight’s name to the master of games would make me a poor squire, now wouldn’t it?”

The master of games considered this. “Still…I can’t have every dirty boy who stumbles in claiming to be a squire enter a supposed knight in my games.”

“This is my loyal friend Pieter! He is going to be a knight someday!” Vera burst in. “I’ve known him as long as I can remember and if you dare question his honor again I swear my father, Baron Raynes, will hear of it! If you have half the brain between your ears this squire has you’ll know that your precious count has plans for my father and it would not do well to anger him!”

Frowning, the master of games added the Stingray Knight to his list of jousters and participants in the melee before gesturing for them to move along.