Beyond These Walls 03b

"That seems... less than completely honorable," said Miledha, when Roberr had finished telling her about the voices he'd heard in the night -- the voices that almost certainly had not been a dream.

Roberr shrugged. "Scouting and even spying are acceptable under a truce. I have some of our men out scouting the enemy -- for all the good that will do us -- and I'm sure they have their own scouts watching us."

Miledha frowned. "What happens if your scouts stumble into their scouts?"

"They look embarrassed and back away," he said. "The terms of a truce forbid fighting, and scouts aren't given the authority to negotiate, so that's really about all they can do. Magic doesn't really change that; they can look, but they can't attack."

Miledha grunted. That seemed like the sort of thing that would only work if everyone followed the same rules, but she didn't say so. People, she'd found, tended to get upset when she pointed out that even their most treasured customs were arbitrary and negotiable. "Well... the Shadir adepts aren't subtle. They probably didn't do anything especially clever; they probably just called up enough power to push through the protections in the walls." She paused, thinking. "That's probably why it woke you up, and why you could hear them. If I'd done it, you'd never have known I was listening."

Miledha had a brief moment to realize that she probably shouldn't have said that she could spy on Roberr; that was exactly the sort of thing that nobles tended to find threatening, but the words had come out before she could stop them. That's what I get for thinking out loud, she thought.

Roberr didn't react to that, though. Instead, he frowned thoughtfully. "You could spy on the Westerners without their knowing it?"

He wants them as much as I do, she realized, and found herself unaccountably relieved. And he trusts me, at least a little.

"Yes," she said. "I know, because I have." She paused, then added: "Not today, though. I'm setting traps along the road."

He chuckled. After a moment, he said: "I'll leave you to it. I assume if you knew any way to stop them from looking in on me, you'd have said so already."

"That's... true. Unfortunately."

He wasn't bothered by the knowledge that her arts had limits, either. "Take care, then. If we haven't heard back from Boeringen by tonight..."

She nodded. "I'll be ready."

Beyond These Walls 02b

Roberr had just reached the porch when Miledha emerged from the barracks. The courtyard was still dark, but the first light of dawn was just touching the high corner towers of the inner keep. The morning shift of guards had gathered in front of Shift-Captain Dorell, not quite in formal rows but not quite a disordered mob, either.

He couldn't think of a clever greeting, so he just spoke her name: "Miledha."

She yawned. "These guards of yours get up early," she said.

Roberr grinned. "You look like one of them," he said. "Except for the hair. And a sword-belt, you'd need a sword-belt."

"Not for me," she said. "Though I was going out to help them."

"Oh?" He wasn't sure what he'd expected Miledha to be doing, but helping with the earthworks definitely wasn't it.

"Traps," she said, "along the road."

"Ah." That made more sense. "Good plan." He paused, considering, then said: "Can you set them so they won't respond to small groups? If the Shadir send another messenger..."

Miledha blinked and tilted her head. "Yes, that would be a problem..." She trailed off, then nodded to herself. "It'll be more difficult, but yes: I can do it."

Roberr grinned again. "I'll look forward to seeing the results. First, though, I need your help with something..."

The Great Weapons: Beyond These Walls 01b

This replaces the original opening for Beyond These Walls (which is Chapter 2 of The Great Weapons -- which is, obviously, a working title, because yeah). My basic outline is still intact, it's just a question of getting through this section without A) getting too caught up in details, or B) writing myself into a corner.

Miledha woke early, feeling more rested than she had any right to. The sleeping area at the back of the barracks was broken into small cells, each with four bunks and four lockers. There wasn't room to do much more than sleep, but then there didn't need to be; there was a common room at the front of the building, and a covered porch outside. The older guard, Ishua, had pointed her to an empty bunk, and handed her a blanket. She didn't actually remember closing her eyes.

She pushed her blanket back and swung her legs off the bunk. Across from her, one of the guards -- a girl only a couple of years older than herself -- blinked sleepily and asked, "Are those the only clothes you have?"

Miledha shrugged. "I had a travel pack, but I lost it."

"Ah," said the guard. She turned and opened the locker at the foot of her bed. It was solidly built; all the woodwork here was. "I have some pants, and an extra tunic. You look like you're about my size."

"That's..." Miledha hesitated. She'd been about to refuse, but that was more reflex than sense. Her skirt and blouse needed washing, and the guard's outfit would be more practical if she had to do any sort of running or climbing. "Yes, that would be helpful. Thank you."

The guard smiled. "I'm Kierna."

"Miledha," she replied, and the guard bobbed her head with a quick Oh, I knew that already motion that made her look almost shy.

None of the guards had been at all hesitant about changing their clothes back here, so Miledha stood up between the bunks and stripped off her blouse and her skirt. She pulled the pants up and adjusted the ties so they sat comfortably, then slid the tunic down over her head.

"Not bad," said Kierna, as she buckled her sword-belt on over her tunic. "Why don't you hold onto those? I'm not likely to need anything but regulation wear any time soon. And you can leave your own clothes on the bunk. Nobody will touch them."

"...Thank you," said Miledha, again.

Another woman appeared in the doorway: Ishua, the older guard who had led Miledha to the empty bunk. "You ready, Kierna?" she asked. "Shift-Captain wants to say something inspiring before we go out to do make-work."

Kierna nodded. "Yeah, I'll come be inspired."

Miledha felt she should say something, but Ishua had already disappeared down the hall and Kierna was ducking out the door after her. Miledha took another moment to adjust the tunic, then pulled on her boots. She ran a hand through her hair, a mass of black curls that was probably tangled and lopsided after the night's sleep, and wished she had something to tie it back with. Oh, well. If I'm going to be doing witcheries today, at least I'll look the part.

The Great Weapons: Beyond These Walls 06

The common room was crowded. A handful of guards were rolling dice at a corner table, and seemed totally engrossed in their game; but most of the guards were talking. They stood together, or huddled over tables, conversing, commenting, or arguing. The air was warm from all those bodies, far warmer than the early spring evening outside, and the din was overwhelming. Miledha stopped just inside the door, feeling as if she'd walked into an invisible wall of noise, heat, and crowd.

One of the guards caught sight of her and waved, so Miledha picked her way carefully over. The doorway to the sleeping-rooms was just beyond the wide wooden bench where the guard was sitting, so Miledha would have had to pass that way in any case; she might as well stop and greet the woman. It was Ishua, a broad-shouldered guard, both taller and a bit older than Miledha, the same one who had stopped to thank her for healing her lover. Which meant that the woman Ishua had her arm so carefully around...

"You must be Diessa," Miledha said, raising her voice in order to be heard. Diessa had a narrow face and a prominent chin, attractive though not conventionally pretty, and a broad-shouldered, wiry build. One of her arms rested in a sling; seeing that, Miledha added: "I remember you now -- the elbow."

"Sha Miledha," Diessa said. "It's good to meet you."

"Elbow?" asked Ishua, leaning in with a grin.

Miledha glanced at the larger woman. "We were more than a little busy," she explained. "I wasn't looking at faces -- only wounds."

One of the other guards -- heavyset, male, with hair tightly curled against his skull -- touched her shoulder and pushed a chair over; Miledha nodded gratefully and sat, and the man turned back to the conversation at his table.

"What did you think of the flaming horse?" asked Ishua.

"I don't know," admitted Miledha. "I never learned conjuration -- of any sort. Dame Naggia said it was too dangerous."

"The Order would agree with her on that," said Diessa. Her voice was smoother than Ishua's, and a little higher; something about it made Miledha wonder if she sang. "They use it themselves, of course, but part of their charter is to hunt down diabolists and rogue conjurers."

"Yes," Miledha said slowly. Now that Diessa mentioned it, she remembered the story: the Order had been established after one of the first mortal kingdoms was betrayed by a diabolist and usurped by a flight of demons. "Serendom, wasn't it?"
Diessa nodded.

"What happened?" asked Ishua.

Diessa looked at her, but Miledha didn't remember much of the details; so she nodded for Diessa to continue.

"One of the king's advisors was diabolist named Nerrila. She tricked a conjurer named Bristell into summoning her master, a demon named Raijth, and then set it loose. Raijth used the conjurer to open the way for the rest of its wing, from its most trusted lieutenants to its lowliest troops. Then they overran the palace, killed the king and most of the court, and took over the kingdom..."

Ishua's eyes widened as she made the connection with the stories she knew: "...which became the Demon Kingdom of Raijth. Five hundred years of fear and horror. Those stories, I remember."

"The reality may actually have been worse than the stories make it sound," said Diessa. "Still... that age has passed, and the Seven send it doesn't come again."

Miledha nodded at that. She remembered more of the story, now. The demon kingdom had lasted until one of the human kings, Lidon, had brought the Great Spear against it. It had been a terrible battle, with weeks of desperate fighting followed by months of tracking and destroying the last of the demons. The demon Raijth was trapped in the palace and finally fell to the Great Spear; that was what decided the battle. "Let's hope the Order knows what it's about," she said.

The Great Weapons: Beyond These Walls 05

Miledha watched the rider descend from the dark eastern sky. Galloping, the horse had left a trail of fire behind it, like a comet; but it slowed and descended as it reached the keep, and now she could see the tiny puffs of flame where each hoof struck sparks from the empty air. She settled herself on top of the wall, with her back against the crenelations, as it touched down near the center of the courtyard.

It wasn't a natural animal of course; it was something created, or more likely conjured. Miledha knew almost nothing of those arts; she could almost hear Sister Naggia repeating her opinion of such things: Why would you want such a beast? A horse'd carry you there just as well, draw less attention to you, and be far less dangerous to manage. Miledha smiled to herself. Unless, she answered her teacher's imagined question, you needed to get from Boeringen to Langoish Keep in a single night. It was quite a sight, whatever it was and however the Order had come by it: horse-shaped, but flat black -- even to its eyes, which were only visible when it turned its head enough that she could see their shape at the edge of its silhouette. It looked like someone had carved a hole in the world where a horse should be... and by its nature it couldn't be entirely in the world, not if it could run across empty air.

The rider dismounted, pulling a set of saddlebags from his mount's back as he stepped away. The beast shimmered, folded in on itself, and was gone.

Miledha nudged the winds to carry words from the center of the courtyard to her place on the wall, and was gratified to hear the gasp of surprise from the assembled guards and council members. Then Brother Wend stepped forward and said, "Addis?"
She couldn't decipher everything in his tone, but she thought she heard surprise, pleasure, and maybe a touch of worry somewhere down underneath it all.

"Wend!" The other man sounded relieved. "I came as soon as I heard."

"You can't dream how glad I am to see you. It's been..." There was a pause, and then Brother Wend said, "This is Viscount Roberr, the lord of Langoish Keep."

There was a brief pause as Roberr stepped forward.

"Be you welcome, and at your ease," said Roberr. "The Shadir have already sent us one messenger this evening; I doubt they'll bother us again. Come into the keep with us. We have food and drink -- not fancy, but filling. If you've come representing the Order, we have a great many things to tell you."

Wend continued, "This is Brother Addis, master sorcerer of the Renowned Eastern Order of the Hidden Arts."

Brother Addis offered Roberr his hand. "I'm grateful, Viscount; that was a difficult ride. I'd appreciate a bit of refreshment before we move to matters of sorcery and war."

Miledha grumbled to herself. No doubt the entire privy council would want to meet this sorcerer Addis, and no doubt they would have plenty of questions for the adept. It would not be a short meal, and it would not be a short planning session. Even more annoying was that listening in on them would considerably harder with everyone inside the inner keep; out here, she could use the night breezes, but in there she would need a mouse or something similar. She could try to follow them unseen, of course, but with a new adept of unknown abilities that seemed a foolish risk: likely he wouldn't notice her, but if he did then it would be that much harder to get Roberr out of the keep later on. It wasn't worth it.

Instead, she rose and started for the barracks, trying to reconcile herself to the fact that they weren't leaving the keep tonight.

The Great Weapons: Beyond These Walls 04

Roberr made a complete circuit of the outer wall, greeting the guards and checking on their placements. He didn't need to -- the Shift Captain, a veteran by the name of Tannis, had them well in hand -- but he wanted to give the rest of the privy council time to settle down. Then he turned his steps to the well-house, a small stone structure that guarded the keep's primary water supply. It was another pointless errand, since he knew that both the heavy wooden door and the iron gate in front of it were shut, but it was something he could plausibly inspect... and yet another way to use some time while twilight slowly faded into full night.

Finally, he turned back to the central keep, mounted the steps, and passed through the smaller gatehouse that defended its doors. The guards were quiet inside, the evening watch settling into the slow rhythms of their shift. He continued on, and saw that the doors to the great hall were open. They shouldn't have been; everything of interest in the hall had been removed and stored away.

He stepped through, and found Miledha a scant three paces ahead of him. Her head was tilted back, and her eyes were on the starry night sky that rose where the ceiling should be, overhead.

"It's beautiful," she said.

"It's considerably less interesting when it's cloudy outside." Roberr had been forced to sit through any number of social occasions in this hall, and bore the place no great love.

"It's still beautiful," said Miledha. She lowered her head and turned to face him.

He looked up, considered, and then nodded. "It is, at that. Are you ready?"

"Me?" Miledha looked surprised. "You're the one who keeps being interrupted."

"Viscount? Viscount Roberr?" The voice was soft, and still out in the gateway, but it had a certain... inescapability... to it. Roberr turned his head slowly, not quite believing what he was hearing. How hard can it possibly be to walk out a gate? He had the feeling he was still finding out.

The messenger spotted the open doors and looked inside. He was young, younger than Roberr, though old enough to fight. "M'lord? Viscount Langoish?"

Roberr nodded, resigned. "What is it?"

"There's a rider approaching."

Roberr frowned. "From the westerners?"

"No, m'lord. From the east. His horse... it gallops a trail of fire across the night air."

Roberr turned his head to look at Miledha, keeping his expression blank by an act of will.

Miledha was smiling. "Well," she said. "I always wanted to see a flying horse."

He closed his eyes for a moment, managed not to sigh, and then turned back to the messenger. "Show me."

Miledha followed him out of the great hall, and into the open air of the courtyard.

The Great Weapons - Beyond These Walls 03

"What happened?" demanded Steward Arkiber.

Roberr had sent the guards away, but the rest of the privy council had arrived on the top of the keep before the troopers had finished filing back down the narrow stone stairs. Miledha was nowhere to be seen, but then she wouldn't be -- not if she still hoped to take Roberr out of the keep tonight.

"It was a messenger," said Roberr. "Captain Dezarr had it sent to repeat the terms of his offer."

"It was a greater demon," pointed out Brother Wend, "one of the uppermost flight -- the dark world's equivalent of a duke or even an arch-duke. Did you feel its power? It could have torn down half the keep by itself."

"Well," said Roberr, "that was part of the message."

"That is... quite a message," said Brother Wend. "There are only a few conjurers in the Order who would deal with such as that. I don't know of any who would dare summon such a thing."

"Will they be able to protect us from it?" That was Sir Berrn, who managed to make the question sound like just another matter for consideration, rather than cause for screaming panic.

"Yes," answered Wend, "though we'll need a group of trained adepts. Battle is a very different matter from conjuration."

"It changes nothing," said Roberr. "We're safe until the truce expires. If we receive support before that, we have a chance. If not..." He shrugged. "We'll see. Now... can we get down off this roof, before anything else comes to visit us?"

The Great Weapons: Beyond These Walls 02 (revised)

Edited to improve (I think) the dialogue, and the description of the demon. I've left the original text crossed out at the bottom, if you want to compare.

It circled high over the keep, then descended in a slow, narrowing gyre. Looking up, Roberr had a brief impression of wide, dark wings and a lean form between them. He let his hand drop to his father's sword, though he couldn't bring himself to see this as a serious attack. Frightening as it might look, it was only a single beast -- and they were only reaching the end of the second day of the five that Captain Dezarr had promised them.

Miledha took a step forward as it circled in, but Roberr touched her shoulder and she stopped. It lit on the far side of the small upper tower from them, wings extended and cupped to slow its descent: man-shaped, black-skinned, broad-winged, and taloned at both hands and feet. Its wings extended from its shoulders, and showed the same lean, featherless impression as a bat's. It clutched at the top of a crenelation, sinking talons into the stone, and leered at the two of them. "Be at ease," it said. "I bring greetings from my master, and from his Captain."

Roberr found his voice. "If your masters wanted us to be easy, they wouldn't have sent something like you."

"Then be afraid," it said, "but I come under the same truce you were offered yester'morn."

"What is it you want?" asked Roberr.

"Oh, many things: blood, chaos, destruction." Aside from the wings, it was roughly the shape of a man, though its skin was entirely black and it bore fearsome talons rather than hands or feet. Its voice should have strange and terrible; instead, it was disconcertingly human, a rich baritone. "Still, it's not my wants that should concern you... At least, not yet. My master only sent me to repeat his captain's message: surrender the Gauntlet. Surrender the Gauntlet, and as they promised they will pass you by. Surrender the Gauntlet, and your lands will remain yours, in service to the High Lord of the Shadir."

He stood alone, facing the winged thing, and realized a moment later that Miledha was still there: she'd only faded out of notice, as she frequently did. He felt himself relax, though a healthy dose of fear remained in him: however powerful the demon might be, he was safe from it for as long as Captain Dezarr held to the truce. "Your master and Captain Dezarr may consider us reminded," he said drily, "but I cannot surrender what I do not hold."

The thing regarded him for a long moment: white eyes with burning red centers against hairless black skin. Then its wings spread wide, and clapped together as it fell back off the inner keep. It rose, flapping, into the gathering night.

That, finally, was when the guards arrived. For the life of him, Roberr couldn't decide if that was a good thing, or bad.

It circled high over the keep, then descended in a slow, narrowing gyre. Looking up, Roberr had a brief impression of wide, dark wings and a lean form between them. He let his hand drop to his father's sword, though he couldn't bring himself to see this as a serious attack. Frightening as it might look, it was only a single beast -- and they were only reaching the end of the second day of the five that Captain Dezarr had promised them.

Miledha took a step forward as it circled in, but Roberr touched her shoulder and she stopped. It lit on the far side of the small upper tower from them, wings extended and cupped to slow its descent: man-shaped, black-skinned, broad-winged, and taloned at both hands and feet. Its wings extended from its shoulders, and showed the same lean, featherless impression as a bat's. It clutched at the top of a crenelation, sinking talons into the stone, and leered at the two of them. "Be at ease," it said. "I bring greetings from my master, and from his Captain."

Roberr found his voice. "If your masters wanted us to be easy, they wouldn't have sent something like you."

"Then be afraid," it said, "but I come under the same truce you were offered yester'morn."

"What is it you want?" asked Roberr.

"For myself, I want only freedom -- but I've come to tell you of my master's wants. Surrender the Gauntlet, and as they promised they will pass you by. Surrender the Gauntlet, and your lands remain yours, in service to the High Lord of the Shadir."

"My answer hasn't changed." Roberr regarded the thing in front of him. Its torso was at least as large as his, heavy with muscle, and it wore neither clothes nor armor. With those wings behind its shoulders, he had no doubt it could cross the distance between them in the blink of an eye... or that it could have him up and away a heartbeat after that. Still, this wasn't simply a matter of power. Captain Dezarr had pledged his honor under flag of truce. "I don't have it. I don't know where it is. And if I did, I wouldn't surrender it to your captain; I'd be fighting him with it."

He stood alone, facing the winged thing, and realized a moment later that Miledha was still there: she'd only faded out of notice, as she frequently did. If the demon broke the truce, it would be in for a nasty surprise.

The thing regarded him for a long moment: white eyes with burning red centers against hairless black skin. Then its wings spread wide, and clapped together as it fell back off the inner keep. It rose, flapping, into the gathering night.

That, finally, was when the guards arrived. For the life of him, Roberr couldn't decide if that was a good thing, or bad.

The Great Weapons: Beyond These Walls 01

Yes, we're on to a new chapter. I think the last two pieces -- Miledha finally going to sleep, and Roberr hearing the voices -- will end up being an interlude between the first and second chapters. I won't know for sure until I see if I can keep that up as a pattern; otherwise, they'll have to be an ever-so-slightly-clumsy close to the first chapter (which I'd prefer to end on the memory of Arimil and the First War of the Princes).

Roberr didn't see Miledha again until nightfall.

He was leaning against the curved wall of one of the small corner towers atop the inner keep. He'd found his father's spare seeing-glass in the arming chamber, and taken it up to highest place he could find, under the pretense of surveying the enemy forces. Mainly, though, he'd come all the way up here in order to be alone.

Langoish Keep was designed like many other border forts: a large central keep surrounded by a ring of outer walls. The inner keep was tall enough to for its defenders to see over the outer walls -- or to fire down on them if they were breached. Here, the outer walls formed an irregular pentagon, which roughly matched the shape of the hilltop. The mass of the outer gatehouse dominated the shortest section of wall, facing more to the north than anything else, while squat, sturdy towers defended each corner.

It had been an extremely trying day, one which had left Roberr feeling useless and drained. He had started by going to ask Brother Wend about the voices he had heard in the night; but Brother Wend could offer no help, and Roberr's questions seemed to leave him feeling just as inadequate as Roberr did. Since Miledha was nowhere to be found, Roberr had followed Steward Arkiber to the well-house, where he had discovered that the man had taken over a position as de facto quartermaster, and was well ahead of Roberr in checking over the quantities and distributions of the keep's supplies. The steward had also sent the four remaining knights out to scout for any forage or supplies that the peasants might have left behind. Roberr couldn't decide how he felt about that; it was only a minor usurpation, and it was certainly better to have the knights out doing something than it would have been to leave them trapped and waiting inside the walls. Then again, it was an order (or at least a request) that should have come from him, as well as a reminder that he should have thought of it himself...

He shook his head, and returned his attention to the glass. There was nothing of sorcery to the device, just carefully shaped glass in a collapsible brass mounting, but it let him focus in on the enemy camp. Looking through it, he could pick out individual cook fires, and the figures moving around them. How was their captain feeding all of them? The men alone must consume wagonloads of food in a day, and they had mounts, draft animals, and -- if rumors were to be believed -- other things as well. There were supply lines within the camp, but as far back as he looked he could see no indication of fresh supplies coming into the camp. Did they have some way of carrying all that they needed? Were their soldiers (as another rumor had suggested) all dead men with no need to eat? Could their adepts create food out of thin air?

Roberr shook his head and lowered the glass.

Miledha was standing beside him.

He was neither surprised by her presence, nor especially bothered. For all that he had wanted to be alone, he couldn't see her appearance as an intrusion. In fact, he was relieved enough at her arrival to suspect that some part of him had been waiting for her.

"Well met," he said, half-quoting an ancient piece of poetry and wondering if she'd recognize it.

"Petruvis," she answered. "Only you're not a knight, and I'm not the sort of witch who maintains an inn simply to test the worthiness of travelers. Still, since I am here to save you, I suppose it fits." She grinned at his look of surprised acknowledgement.

"You're looking cheerful," he said.

"I've been up to things," she replied.
His father's sword hummed appreciatively at his side, and he decided not to ask her what. She took his hesitation with good grace, and asked: "Are you ready?"

That was when they heard the sound of wings overhead.

The Great Weapons: Atop The Ramparts 12

Roberr woke in the dark, muddled and confused. He was still in his bed, but his thoughts were heavy with sleep... and with the three glasses of strong wine he'd consumed in order to get to sleep. Still, knowing that he was being watched, he struggled to come fully awake.

For a moment, he thought he heard whispers.

Still in his room, I see, said one voice, harsh and terrible even at a distance.

Yes, Captain. Either they do not have it, or it rests in their pitiful keep already.

The second voice was soft, deferential, pitched higher than the first. Roberr thought they were both male, but he couldn't be sure.

He wakes. Is he...?

He has some sensitivity, but little real skill. Such sorcery as we will face lies in the walls themselves, not in the men inside. Still, perhaps it would be best...

Withdraw. I've seen enough.

Roberr lay awake in the darkness, as the voices and the sense of being watched fell away. It might have been a nightmare, but he doubted it. He was certainly wound tight enough, but there was something about this that felt... intrusive. It didn't feel like something from his dreams, and the westerners had already proven the strength of their sorceries.

He was suddenly glad that he hadn't gone after the Gauntlet. The privy council hadn't intended this, but their stubborn resistance might have worked to the keep's advantage. It might even have saved his life. He and Miledha would have to be extremely careful; the Shadir knew, or at least suspected, far more of their plans than Roberr would have liked.

The Great Weapons: Atop The Ramparts 11 (probably)

The barracks were a long, low structure tucked against the outer wall. It roof was dark slate, and its walls were the same silvery stone as the rest of the keep. It held a common room, where the guards could gather, and two floors of smaller rooms filled with bunks. It wasn't crowded, but Miledha found herself approaching it just as several of the other guards were coming down off the walls.

One of them caught sight of her and waited, nodding politely as she neared. It was one of the women, though it was hard to tell with the matching chainmail shirts and uniformly short hair. She was taller than Roberr, and almost as broad through the shoulders; she'd probably come up from the farms to serve in the guard. "I wanted to thank you for restoring Diessa," said the woman. "Brother Wend... he tries, but he's no healer."

Miledha blinked, trying to remember. She'd gone through the hospital with Brother Wend's apprentice, doing what she could for everyone all at once, and the names and faces ran together in her mind. Still... "There's no debt," she said. "I want the keep strong."

The woman shrugged. "It was well done, regardless, and I'm grateful, regardless. Diessa... she matters to me."

Miledha nodded at that, and even managed a faint smile. She'd been walking the walls for hours, trying to exhaust herself to a point where she could fall asleep. Now she was beginning to worry that she might hurt someone in her dreams, or give everyone in the barracks a share of her nightmares. "I'm glad to help."

"Word from the watch-captains is that we may be building earthworks and setting traps tomorrow." The guard sounded reflective. "It'll be make-work, like as not, to keep us busy and stop us thinking too much... but I can't say I'm sorry for it. Still... if you know of any traps to set that might be more effective than ours..."

Miledha stopped, suddenly and inexplicably delighted. She felt herself grin. "I believe I might manage something," she said. It would take work, and thought, and probably more work after that; but the opportunity to do something now, something that would hurt and confuse the enemy... That was too much to pass up.

The guard's lips quirked in an answering grin. "I'll look forward to seeing what you sow," she said. "For tonight... if you want some company while you sleep, you're welcome to share my bunk. Diessa will understand."

Miledha shook her head. "I've slept so long by myself, sleeping with anyone else just sounds... crowded."

"Then I wish you a good night's sleep," said the guard. "If you change your mind, ask after Ishua."

She turned, and continued towards the barracks. At the doorway she paused and turned back. "I'm glad you fight with us, Sha Miledha," she said.

Miledha, who was still baffled at holding any sort of title, just nodded. Then she followed Ishua into the barracks. Hard as it might be to relax, she still needed rest... and the prospect of setting traps for the Shadir had shifted her from frustration to anticipation. Looking forward to that, she could finally sleep.

The Great Weapons: Atop The Ramparts 10

It seemed like a perfectly sensible plan until he tried to explain it to his advisers. He'd started with Brother Wend, hoping that the scholar could help make the case to the others; but whatever the Order knew about the Great Weapons, Brother Wend was firmly of the opinion that if one of them was here, it should stay buried. Steward Arkiber, who had remained to help govern their supplies, had worried over the effect of Roberr's absence on the men under his command. Sir Berrn had pointed out that as the lord of Langoish Keep, in the face of the enemy he could not abandon the keep for any reason. Sha Lindlen had pointed out that the simple fact that the westerners were willing to wait might indicate that they thought they could retrieve the Great Gauntlet even if he wore it. Others chimed in as well, and they went on and on until Roberr began to wonder if maybe he was the crazy one.

Afterwards, Roberr had returned to the practice field. He'd intended to practice basic exercises with his father's sword, letting his own training and its guidance find a common ground. Instead, he found himself destroying the straw men used for cutting practice, with either the blade in his one hand or a particular gesture that he'd taught to his other hand.

"It didn't go well," said a soft voice, and Roberr turned his head to find Miledha sitting off to one side of the practice area. She was looking at his last target, which sagged and burned on its frame.

"No," he said, and sheathed the blade. It protested, but not with any particular vehemence; it was a soft whine, and no real resistance to the movement. He patted it softly, reassuring the weapon that he valued its abilities and its service.

She stood in a single, fluid movement, and made a sweeping gesture accompanied by a low word that was almost a hiss. The remaining four targets burst into flame, and Roberr felt a wave of heat roll past him. His father's sword moaned at his side, recognizing the strength of the sorcery; it sounded almost jealous.

She closed her eyes and the fires went out.

She did, he thought. She killed their adepts and took back the sword. He had no doubt of it, now. If she was serving the Shadir, she could have killed him and been gone from the keep before anyone noticed.

"They're scared," he said. In the face of her anger, he could offer them a charity that he couldn't have given when he was angry with them himself. "Scared of what might happen if I leave the keep, scared of what I might bring back... scared of what might happen if we try to hold out here."

"They're fools," she said, but the venom had gone out of her. "I can still take us outside, if you will."

Roberr took a long moment to consider. "Tomorrow," he said. "If we haven't heard from Boeringen or the Order, we'll go quietly tomorrow."

The grass at Miledha's feet caught fire. She glanced down, and the flames snuffed out. "Tomorrow," she agreed.

Roberr glanced down as well; something was sparkling. Where there had been flames, now there was a dusting of frost over the battered grasses of the practice field. He nodded, recognizing her anger and her power, and turned away. She was sleeping in the barracks, he knew; while his own place was, and had to be, on the uppermost level of the inner keep. His anger and his grief were locked away, buried beneath the solid stone weight of his duties... but seeing them reflected in Miledha, they suddenly became acute again.
Whatever his privy council advised, he wanted that gauntlet. It might be possible to hold the westerners here, to deny them a victory in much the way that he had described after hearing out their messenger. He didn't want that. He wanted them defeated. He wanted their leaders slain and their ranks shattered, so that they would spend generations humiliated and frightened. He wanted them to regret their dreams of invasion and conquest; he wanted them to suffer for the death of his father.

That had been Arimil's conceit, he remembered. The Last God had given his weapons to his sons, thinking that he had guaranteed peace by making the prospect of war too horrible to contemplate. His children could tend their own kingdoms, as they were born to do, secure in the knowledge that each held an equal share of ultimate power and none would dare to use it.

That peace had lasted three generations -- three long generations, for Arimil's children and grandchildren were partly divine -- before Arimil's death and the short memories of the mortal world had touched off the First War of the Princes.

You cannot leave the keep...

I'm still having trouble with the next scene. I know where this is going; I know more or less what has to happen to get us from where we are now to that point. And what needs to happen is, basically, that Roberr gets blocked from leaving Langoish Keep. He says, "I'm going to go get us a weapon that would let us win," and everyone else says, "You can't just go charging off to do that, and it's far more likely to turn out badly than you even begin to think it is."

Problem is, the first three times I've taken a run at writing that, it comes out... flat. Bloodless. Boring. The summary version didn't seem to do it justice as something that Roberr would perceive as a major stumbling block. The arguing-in-council version was worse; I don't really think of dialogue as my strong suit, and this was like listening to your local city council meeting: if you weren't involved in the issue yourself, it would be unbelievably boring. The version where Roberr tried to recruit Brother Wend to help persuade the others is probably the best, but it's still basically the two of them arguing; it offered some reasonably interesting exposition, but ultimately it just bogged down.

So instead, I think I'm going to read back through what I have so far, and see what - if anything - flows naturally into the next place.

But hey - if anybody wants to suggest an approach, I'm open to alternatives... up to and including the possibility of having Roberr and Miledha go ahead and try to retrieve the Great Gauntlet; there's plenty of potential for conflict that way, too, including an all-too-probable I-Told-You-So moment with the rest of the advisers.

Hm. You know, I might just try that.

Anyway, suggestions: if you have 'em, sing out.

On Not Writing...

I was doing pretty well with The Great Weapons, I thought. I'm not talking about the quality of the writing; I really have no way of evaluating that until long after it's done. I'm really just talking about moving forward, about having my mind deep in the story, and -- as a result -- about Getting Things Done.

So I was doing pretty well. I'd been making steady progress, and even when I tripped myself up I was able to go back and correct it with a different version of the scene. It was a lot like how writing used to be for me, when I was younger: I knew where I wanted to go, it was just a matter of figuring out the best way to get there.

And then, after that, I just sort of... ran out. This happens to me with depressing regularity. I had a lot going on at work (I still do, may the dark gods preserve me); I had a lot going on at home (ditto); and I've been hugely tired for something like five straight weeks now, when I wasn't busy being sick instead. And yet, my interest in the story has persisted.

It's even persisted through the last... What has it been, a week? ...of being too tired and too stressed out to write. This isn't completely unprecedented, but it's been a couple of decades since I've had one really stick with me like that.

All of which is a very long way of saying that, just for a change, I actually am coming back to this. Right now, if I can manage it.

For those who are curious about such things, I usually write while listening to music. For this story I've been cycling through three albums from Diabulus In Musica, which appears to be a symphonic metal band from Spain: Argia (their newest), The Wanderer, and Secrets. If you like that sort of thing, give 'em a listen.

The Great Weapons - Atop The Ramparts 09 (Only Different)

"My lord..." Miledha licked her lips, suddenly nervous.

"Please," he said. "Call me Roberr. You've certainly earned the right, and anyway I never had the impression that witches much cared about nobility or titles."

"I don't," said Miledha, and looked away over the walls. Roberr was looking at her, and she found it easier to speak if she was looking at something else; the steady movement of animals, vehicles, and people along the road would do nicely. "Very well: yes, I have an offer for you. I know of something that could turn the tide of battle and avenge your father. Except... I can't use it myself, and I can't tell you what it is, and I can't bring it to you. You'll have to come with me to retrieve it." She drew a breath and turned her head to look at him again. "And yes, I know how lunatic that sounds, and no, I don't see how you could fail to be suspicious."

Roberr blinked. "Suspicious," he repeated. "Yes, I suppose it should sound suspicious. Only... this time last year, the biggest threats to Langoish were small troops of bandits, and the occasional troublemaker sent across the border by lord Borilar. It was three months after that when we first heard that Drajindom had been invaded from the west."

He paused and looked away, remembering. "My father refused to credit those stories. No army could be so large, he said. No one in this Age could command such dark and ancient sorceries. He was still saying that when Drajindom fell. I think he only really believed the stories when the Shadir finally reached Borilar. Now they're here: an army powerful enough to overrun an entire kingdom in a matter of months. They've crossed our border. And here they've... stopped. They've offered us five day's grace, in exchange for an artifact that hasn't been seen in a thousand years, if it ever existed at all. That's the part that sounds lunatic."

He looked back at Miledha. "No, the only way this makes any sense at all is if I take them, and you, at your word: the Left Hand of Aribil is here, hidden away in some obscure corner of Langoish."

Miledha blinked twice. Maybe she didn't sound as crazy as she expected. That would be a welcome new experience. "You'll come with me, then?"

Roberr nodded. "As soon as I can. Like it or not -- and I don't -- I'm the Lord of Langoish Keep. With the enemy sitting almost on top of us, I can't just leave everyone here and walk out the gates -- not without making some arrangements, first."

Miledha nodded. She didn't like that, but she couldn't really argue it, either. A loud voice in the back of her mind was ranting that they needed to be moving, they needed to go before it was too late; another voice was reminding her that no, she couldn't force this, he had to help her willingly, and she should be grateful that he was willing. "How soon?" she asked.

"Tonight, if the Seven allow it." He looked thoughtful. "We can leave after dark, and be clear of the keep by moonrise."

Relief flooded through her. "I'll be ready," she told him.

So, with the slightly-spoiler-ish understanding that they won't be able to just walk off and retrieve the artifact as easily as all that, which version do you like better? To be honest, I prefer this one, and that's probably reason enough to keep it... but I'd still like to know what you think, O my readers.

The Great Weapons - Atop The Ramparts 09

"My lord..." Miledha licked her lips, suddenly nervous.

"Please," he said. "Call me Roberr. You've certainly earned the right, and anyway I never had the impression that witches much cared about nobility or titles."

"I don't," said Miledha, and looked back out over the ramparts. Roberr was looking at her, but she found it easier to speak if she was looking at something else. The retreating line of carts and peasants would serve nicely. "I care about revenge. Your father... he found me when I was child, when I was hungry and afraid, and he took me in. He taught me to read and write; he recognized my talents and brought me to dame Naggia to train them. He was... I wished he was my father." She risked a glance at Roberr's face, and saw nothing but attention there: no shock, no disapproval, not even a hint of pity. "I want to protect our lands, but more than that I want them to pay: the soldiers, Captain Dezarr... even the High Lord of the Shadir, if we can manage it."

"I want your help," said Roberr suddenly, not quite interrupting her. "I think we need it. Brother Wend knows many things, but he isn't trained for battle... and the Shadir sorcerers, as you said, are strong."

Miledha nodded. Her next words... she had the impression of stepping out onto a frozen pond, not knowing if the ice would crack underneath her, or whether she could keep her balance. "I know something," she said. "I can't speak of it. It could help you against them; it could make you a champion. Only I can't bring it to you; you'll have to come with me to retrieve it." She drew a deep breath as he looked away. "Yes, I know how lunatic that sounds, and yes, I don't see how you could fail to be suspicious."

Roberr closed his eyes and rested his weight on the cold stone of the ramparts. "Is it nearby?" he asked.

"A day, to get there and back. A little more than half that if we raced."

Roberr leaned his head against the stone. "I can't do it." He straightened, and turned to look at her. "I can't leave the keep. With the enemy sitting just over the border, I can't abandon my post. Not even for something that might help me defend it."

Miledha drew a startled breath. "You don't want to avenge your father?" she asked.

Now Roberr's face looked shocked. For a long moment he didn't say anything. Then he said, "Go away."

Oh gods, did I just say that? "I'm sorry," she said.

"Leave. Now." He placed a hand on the hilt of his father's sword, which moaned in its case on his hip.

She recognized the look in his eyes, the murderous fury barely restrained. It was the same rage that haunted her, the same feral impulse that had prompted her outraged words.

She went.

The Great Weapons - Atop The Ramparts 08

Roberr leaned against the crenelations and watched the wagons depart. It was nearly noon; his plan to have the wagons moving at dawn had failed miserably. The wagons, at least, had been ready. They were loaded with a few items of value and such supplies as the keep could spare. Mainly, though, they had been readied for the ones who couldn't travel any other way: the very young, the very old, and two of the worst-injured soldiers

No, what had kept them from leaving was the people. They had created the steady stream of delays, milling around or standing uncomfortably; none of them wanted to be the first to leave. Then there had been the ones who needed to go back for one more thing, or the ones who had to stop and rearrange their possessions - usually because they were carrying too much. There were children who got bored and wandered off, and then had to be found; there were elderly servants who had lived in the keep all their lives, and had to be coaxed into leaving.

It was only when his mother mounted her horse and started for the gate, with the guards and scouts scrambling onto their mounts in order to follow her, that the crowd finally began to move. It began as a slow ripple around the edges, and continued until everyone was flowing out the gate. Well, almost: there was still a pair lingering near the walls, with the woman standing patiently while the man sorted items from his knapsack. Whatever he decided not to take would probably be left there in a pile; the courtyard was littered with discarded items already. The guards were going to complain about being made to pick them all up, but it would have to be done.

"Are they going to make it? I've never seen people move so slowly. They're strung out for half a mile already."

Roberr turned his head, and found Miledha standing next to him. "They'll make it," he said. "It'll be an unholy mess, but they'll make it."

"It's already an unholy mess," said the witch.

"It could be worse. Most of our bandits came from across the border, and there's nobody left over there." He paused at that; it hadn't sounded as reassuring spoken aloud as it had in his head. "The Shadir haven't crossed yet, except for maybe a few scouts. If there are any problems, they'll come from other refugees... but my mother knows what she's doing, and the troops that went with her are experienced."

Miledha turned her head, looking out over ramparts again, and Roberr took the opportunity to look as well. Already the group was growing. They'd sent fifty or so people in the company of two wagons, but smaller groups of peasants were already moving to join them. Some had carts or wagons, while others were leading animals; it looked as if one fellow was pushing a wheelbarrow, though it was hard to be sure at this distance.

"So," said Roberr at last, "you said you had some sort of offer for me?"

The Great Weapons - Atop The Rampart 07

"You asked to see me?" Miledha attempted a curtsy, imitating the ones offered by the servants who had hurried out when she arrived.

Lady Langoish turned to regard her. She was tall, slim, and graceful, though her age showed somewhat in the lines on her face and the gray in her hair. She wore black, of course, and managed to look elegantly beautiful even in mourning. Until now, Miledha had only seen her at a distance; standing in the same room with her, seeing her as another woman, was an odd sort of shock.

"I did," said Lady Langoish. "Would you care for some spiced wine? The servants brought enough for four of me."

Miledha nodded, feeling at a loss. She'd come to the keep because she needed Roberr's help. She hadn't given any thought to what it would be like to spend time here; she hadn't thought that anyone would take much interest in a peasant witch. That seemed foolish, in retrospect. Still, she was here, and the people of the keep were interested in her, and she would have to deal with that as best she could.

The lady turned to a small table, where she poured two cups from a silver pitcher. She handed one to Miledha, and sipped from the other herself. Unsure of what to say, Miledha took a sip from her cup; it was good wine, sweetened with fruit, and flavored with a touch of something warm and slightly bitter. Shadeleaf? She sipped again.

"I'm told that the servants are calling you Sha Miledha," said the lady.

Miledha swallowed, suddenly nervous. "That was... not my idea."

"I know," said Lady Langoish. "Sha Lindlen believes it to be her fault. I'm not so certain; you fought with my husband in battle, and brought his sword back after he... fell. That would merit respect, even if Sha Lindlen had never spoken a word." She paused, and Miledha fought a sudden urge to fill the silence with words.

After a moment, the lady continued: "I've come to believe that I made a mistake, where you are concerned."

"How so?" asked Miledha. She heard the fear in her voice, and knew that the lady heard it, too. Lady Langoish was looking for something, and the wrong answer could get her... well, probably not killed, but possibly a lot less welcome here in Langoish Keep. Still, she cursed herself for answering without thought. She had to do better than this.

"I left you entirely to my husband," said the lady, and her gaze drifted off into the distance. "I saw only an orphan that my husband had decided to care for, and so I let it be his business alone. He always wanted a daughter, and since Roberr was our only child, I hoped the time he spent with you would satisfy him."

That wasn't entirely true, Miledha remembered. Lady Langoish had given birth to three others: two stillborn, and one who had lived for less than a moon. "He was a good man," Miledha said, hoping the lady wouldn't guess the direction of her thoughts. "At least, he was good to me. He taught me letters and numbers, and brought me books. Dame Naggia always claimed to disapprove, but when he was gone she had me read to her from those books."

"I think I should have taken the time to know you myself," said Lady Langoish. "It seems obvious now, with Wilmont gone and you so vital to the defense of the keep. Only now, of course, we have no time."

Miledha swallowed and looked away. "There isn't much to know."

"But there is," said Lady Langoish. "Can we trust you? I've counseled my son to accept your help. Was I wrong to do so?"

"No," said Miledha. Suddenly, she was on solid ground again. "I want them, those bastard Shadir and their monstrous captain." Her fist clenched, and she forced her hand to relax. Calmly, she said: "I want them dead."

She took a breath, then drank the rest of her wine in a single gulp. "I can't do it alone. I have to have help, and it has to be Roberr. Nobody else can--" She cut herself off. It couldn't be the wine; not this quickly. No, it was rage, and rage alone, that was loosening her tongue. She was less and less in control of herself, and she couldn't afford that.

Lady Langoish turned her head slightly, and regarded Miledha thoughtfully. "Nobody else can wear it?" she said, in a tone that made the words something more than a question, something less than a confirmation.

Miledha raised her head. "What do you know?" she asked softly.

"I know nothing," said the lady. "I've made my studies, and I have my suspicions. Very few things are completely secret, if someone knows where to look; and Sister Naggia would be a fool not to realize that the local nobility would make some tentative guesses about her true role in this place."

Miledha kept her face blank by an effort of will. "If you know that much," she said slowly, "then you know I can't answer you."

Lady Langoish nodded. "My son is busy making arrangements for me," she said, "and so he hasn't given any thought to arrangements for you. There are empty bunks in the barracks, and the women of our guards would consider it an honor if you would sleep among them."

"That... sounds more comfortable than what I had in mind."

Lady Langoish looked amused. "You were considering the stables?"

"Or the hospital," answered Miledha.

"I see." Lady Langoish smiled, and for a moment her face was unguarded: not just beautiful, but friendly, welcoming, approving... accessible.

She's right, thought Miledha. We should have known each other earlier. I could care for her as much as I did for her husband, as much I do for Sister Naggia. If we had time...

The Great Weapons - Atop The Rampart 06

Miledha was standing atop the gatehouse, looking out at the enemy legions. Their camps were calm and neatly arranged, spreading out and back as far as the eye could see. I should be out there, Miledha thought. I should be killing their adepts, poisoning their troops, disrupting their supplies. They shouldn't be able to just sit there, as if they had nothing to worry over.

She drew a breath, seeing fire and death in her mind. No. I shouldn't. If she did, the men of the camps would assume that the attack had come from Langoish Keep, a dishonorable betrayal of their captain's offer and the flag of truce under which it had been made. They would attack immediately, before the keep was truly prepared, and they would overrun the walls and kill everyone inside. She couldn't allow that, let alone provoke it.

Dezarr the Dreadful had given them an opportunity, and she would be a fool not to take advantage of it.

"Sha Miledha. You've been busy."

Miledha turned. She wasn't the only one staring at the enemy. One of the knights, Sha Lindlen, had come up to join her. "You're the second person to award me that title," Miledha said quietly. "I don't deserve it."

"You do," the knight corrected her. "I saw that adept. He wasn't preparing some general malefice. He was looking directly at the Viscount... and you turned his sorcery back on him."

Miledha looked away. "That wasn't heroism," she said. "That was desperation."

"What's the difference?" asked Lindlen. She was tall and strong, with a square, heavy musculature. Her voice was sure and certain. "You saved the life of our lord, and wiped out a dozen of the enemy in a single stroke. Titles have been granted for less. I'd knight you myself, if I thought you'd take the oath." She paused, then added: "I suspect a great many of history's heroes would laugh at what we've made of them. Fate has always had its jokes."

Miledha sniffed, but found herself smiling against her will. She'd never thought much of heroes.

"And what have you done today?" continued Sha Lindlen. "Restored our wounded, healed our mounts, strengthened our arms. Am I wrong?"

Miledha turned to look at the knight. Lindlen's hair was pale, and cut short enough that it seemed to disappear against her skin. Her eyes, unlike the rest of her, were dark. She stood in a simple tunic and pants; if the cold of the gatehouse stone bothered her bare feet, she didn't show it. The only thing that marked her as a knight was the blade at her hip, a slender piece designed for a single hand. It was as much a part of the way she stood and moved as a mount would have been part of the way she rode.

"You've been tracking me," said Miledha.

"You don't show yourself willingly," replied Lindlen. "I had to know."

Miledha closed her eyes, turned to face the ramparts, and opened them again. "You're not wrong," she said. "I'll help if I can."

"Good," said Lindlen. "The Lady of the Keep would like to speak with you. So would the young lord, but he can wait; the lady leaves in the morning."

The Great Weapons - Atop The Rampart 05

Miledha wandered the keep and wondered what it might have been like to grow up here -- if the man she called father had actually been her sire, if her blood had been noble, if everything in the world had been different. Foolishness, she knew, but she couldn't help indulging it.

The stables were clean and well-kept, the as were the horses inside. Would she have learned to ride them? The barracks were neat and orderly, for all the evening's chaos and disarray; would she have known the men there? In the corner behind the barracks sat the smithy; though it was nearly dark, the smith still worked with his apprentices. They were forging arrowheads, by the look of it. Dark and heavily muscled, the smith seemed a stolid and practical man. Would she have known his name? Made time with his apprentices? Or simply passed them all by, as beneath her notice?

If everything was different, what would be the same?

She ascended the steps to the keep, and passed between the guards without difficulty. It had always been a small thing for her to deflect the notice of others; it had taken desperation and practice to turn her skills the other way: to attract notice, and coins, and food. Still... she had learned, and it had saved her. The Viscount of Langoish had noticed her, and brought her to study with Sister Naggia, whom the villagers, in their ignorance, considered a witch.

The passage into the keep was a gatehouse in miniature, with its heavy outer doors and tracks in the walls for two separate gates that could be lowered from above. There were murder-holes in the stone ceiling, and arrow-slits in the walls. There were guardrooms to either side, each with its own cache of supplies and steps leading up to whatever passage crossed overhead. In one, a group of group of armed and armored men and women played at dice around a circular wooden table; in the other, the guards had moved back against the walls to observe a pair who practiced against each other with heavy wooden swords.

Weapons like these didn't interest her. For Miledha, they would never be worth the time and effort it would take to learn to use them. She passed by, and found herself facing the massive, ornate doors that opened onto the great hall. They were closed, but Miledha found herself wanting to open them. The great hall of Langoish Keep was said to rival the finest palaces of much greater lords in its elegance and taste. Even if it were bare at present, its tapestries and paintings hidden away, it was said to have the feel of a forest chapel: the columns and buttresses carved with vines and the leafy faces of wood-spirits, reaching up to an ensorcelled ceiling that offered all the light the room might need, or displayed the sky overhead as if its own stones and the keep above did not exist. Even with the fireplaces cold and dark, and the tables stripped or removed, it would be magnificent.

Miledha wished she could have seen it in its glory. Would she have appreciated it with the same strength of feeling that she longed for it now, if she had been born to life in the keep?

She didn't know, and she supposed it didn't matter. She would find the new lord of Langoish Keep, or he would find her; and if he was willing, then they would go together to avenge the man who had been the father of his blood, and the father of her heart. Maybe then she could turn loose of this rage inside her, this simmering need to lash out, to damage, to hurt. Who was it, in the old stories, who had fought the sea itself? She couldn't remember the name, couldn't really remember the story. She only remembered that after his son had died, he had taken his sword and stood fighting the endless waves. Three days it had taken, to exhaust his grief and rage. She knew now how that felt; it seemed she could pound mountains into gravel and still not be satisfied.

She pulled her thoughts away from that; someone was approaching. It was a serving-woman, wearing a simple dress and blouse; not so very different from the peasantry Miledha lived among. She let herself be seen, and the other woman slowed... and then stopped. "Miss? Are you... are you Sha Miledha?"

Miledha turned, surprised. Sha was the femine version of sir, a term used for female knights, military officers, or others who merited respect. She would never have imagined it connected with her own name. It didn't sound like sarcasm, but for a moment she couldn't conceive of it being used any other way. "I am Miledha," she said. "The witch."

The woman was nearly twice her age, but still handsome; she squeezed her hands together and said: "I mean no offense. My brother... he rode out with the lord. He was one of the few who made it back." She looked away. "He has wounds, and they've taken on badly. He's feverish, and keeps speaking to our parents... They've been dead for three and four years. Can you help him? Would you?"

Miledha blinked. She was, she reminded herself, not the only one with griefs to bear. "Take me to him," she said, as gently as she could manage. "I'll do what I can."