“That’s a really handy spell, Frances,” said Hattie, running a finger down the tip of Morgan’s claw as she helped the harpy tighten the straps.
“Thanks! I do wonder why battle claws aren’t longer. Would make sense for them to be longer to hit enemies with.”
“It would also probably interfere with your landing,” said Frances. Lifting Alanna, she kept the estoc low, tip pointed to the ground. “Whenever you’re ready, Morgan.”
The harpy-troll grinned and drummed her claws on the ground, “Whenever you’re ready mom. You’re going to go down.”
Frances arched one eyebrow. “Oh? Why do you think so?”
Morgan lofted into the air, flexing her new weapons, grinning gleefully. “You’re a mage. You aren’t going to do well in a melee.”
A slight chill ran up Morgan’s back as she watched Frances stifle a giggle with the back of her hand, before resuming her guard.
“Let’s see about that.”
Eyes narrowed, Morgan circled her mother, watching her blade. Frances continued to keep facing the harpy-troll, sword still pointing toward the ground. To Morgan’s growing alarm, her mother’s footwork was rather smooth. Every step from her boots was perfectly placed. The tip of her blade didn’t waver, even as she turned.
Suddenly, Morgan pulled her wings close and dived. Her claws lashed out, aiming for her mother’s shoulder.
Only, Frances stepped to the side, blade whirring to parry her blow and send her flying off. Morgan nearly smashed into the ground, but pulled up out of the plunge at the last minute. Flapping as hard as she could, she managed to avoid the scything estoc.
“Mom, what the fuck?” Morgan hissed, turning around to hover mid-air.
A rare, cheeky grin split across Frances’s expression as she giggled, twirling her estoc with one hand. “Sorry! I do know some swordsmanship. I’m nowhere nearly as good as Martin or even Elizabeth, but I practise as much as I can.”
“Hmph, you got any tips mom?” Morgan muttered, starting to circle Frances once more.
“Yes actually. Keep circling. Like that. Watch for any weaknesses,” said Frances, circling as well.
Morgan narrowed her eyes, watching her adoptive mother’s slow, deliberate steps. The ground of the market square was uneven, and yet her well-chosen steps didn’t waver. She held the sword perfectly poised to rise to meet any opponent.
“But you have none,” Morgan whined.
“I do have weaker sides and guard positions. Change your altitude, try to disrupt my rhythm,” Frances suggested.
“Like with a magic duel?” Morgan asked, flapping higher. Maybe if she got right above Frances, she could dive down on her.
“Exactly like a magic duel,” said Frances, stepping back, craning her neck backward.
It took a second, but her mother took a bad step and had to take her eye off of Morgan. The harpy-troll didn’t miss a beat and plunged.
Claws outstretched, the metal tips clanged off of Frances’s desperately parry. Wheeling around, Morgan slashed again, aiming at Frances’s shoulder.
Her mother was, however, extraordinarily agile in her own right. She’d dived forward, rolling up and coming up on her feet to stab at Morgan. Instinctively, the princess blocked the blow with her greaves, knocking it off course, but Frances was coming in with a follow-up stab. It forced Morgan to leap back into the air and circle overhead.
“So like this?” she asked, panting, unable to hide her grin.
Frances giggled joyfully. “Exactly! Now come again!”
“You better watch out mom!” Morgan cackled.
***
Frances was very happy to get to practice with Alanna and while Morgan was young, she was quite a fun opponent. The fact that she could fly made it so that she could choose angles of attack that most humanoid species couldn’t was an interesting challenge. Sometimes her adoptive daughter would even try to grapple with her using her hands, while trying to hit her with her battle claws.
Despite the seriousness inherent with wielding weapons, it was very hard not to just laugh and chuckle as they exchanged blows. They were safe after all with their blunted weapons and armour. So the pair continued to banter, with Morgan teasing her, and Frances yelling encouragement.
Frances in fact found a giddy, lightening feeling in her heart as Morgan took her advice and put it in action in front of her.
The harpy-troll was now feinting, then attacking with or after a feint, trying to throw off Frances’s rhythm. She was moving at a far more deliberate and measured pace in order to conserve her energy.
“Very good, Morgan. Let’s make this your final pass. I think we’ve had enough fun for the moment,” said Frances.
“Got it, mom.” The princess suddenly slowed, hovering mid-air. Frances braced herself. It could be a feint or some kind of ruse.
Yet Morgan continued to hover in place. Beads of sweat from the exertion ran down her cheek as she continued to flap her wings. Her lips formed a crooked line as she continued to hold her place in the sky. Aside from the beat of her daughter’s wings, Frances suddenly realised she could hear something else.
Narrowing her eyes, Frances focused on the sound she heard. It sounded like humming. Morgan was humming to herself, her clawed feet sashaying side to side to the beat. It was a nice tune with a good rhythm that Frances couldn’t help but smile to—wait, why were her daughter’s legs glowing? And why did Morgan seem much closer than Frances had initially thought?
Too late, Frances realised that her daughter had been ever-so slowly hovering closer to her. Stepping back, she brought Alanna up but Morgan was already lunging forward. Purple-glowing claws lashed out.
Frances managed to get her blade in the way of the battle claws, but Morgan’s claws now seized Alanna. Bulling into her, the harpy-troll wrenched her estoc from her grip. Throwing the blade aside, moving with unerring speed, Morgan tackled Frances and the pair went sprawling to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
“Got you!” Morgan giggled, scrambling back to let Frances sit up.
Frances could only laugh at the grin on her adoptive daughter’s face, even as she took in Morgan’s new predicament. “That you did, but um, Morgan, you’re glowing.”
“I am?” Morgan got onto her feet and glanced at her claws. “Huh, this is new.”
“Are you alright? How are you feeling?” Hattie asked, rushing over while Frances pulled her wand from its holster.
Morgan flexed the ends of her claws. “A little tingly. But I don’t feel any pain.” She blinked, touching her thighs, just above her knee. “Did I…did I attune to the stones in my legs?”
Frances hummed a spell to extend her magical sense over her daughter’s legs and nodded. “Yes. The stones have activated. They’re forming a bond with the keystone in your chest.”
“But why aren’t I having a magical surge like before?” Morgan muttered.
Hattie pursed her lips, one hand holding her chin. “Well, you are happier now. Even if you were sparring with Frances, it was in a controlled environment. There wasn’t any real danger.”
“That could be it. Though, why have your claws not stopped glowing?” Frances muttered.
“And what else can I do now?” Morgan asked, a wide grin spreading the princess’s lips.
Frances and Hattie exchanged a glance, both shrugging at the same time.
“Well, let’s get you a target dummy,” said Frances, walking over to pick up her sword.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
***
The target was a wall, part of a fallen-in house. Morgan’s legs were still glowing purple, with the polished steel of the battle-claws sending motes of light in what seemed to Frances an almost disco-ball effect.
“Ready?” Frances asked.
“Let’s go!” Swooping forward, Morgan plunged toward the wall headfirst. At the very last moment, she twisted her claws up, slamming into the rubble with her battle claws.
Frances’s heart was in her throat as her daughter vanished in a cloud of debris. Running through the smog, she called up a spell to whisk the dust away. When the air did clear, she found Morgan still flying and very wide-eyed.
There was no wall left. Broken stone was scattered everywhere and beyond the wall, carved into the ground were huge slash marks. Morgan’s claws were no longer glowing, but the battleclaws looked as polished as the day Frances had handed them to her. They were just a bit dusty.
“I guess I am attuned,” said Morgan, giving her adoptive mother a sheepish smile.
“That you are. I just don’t understand how.” Frances glanced at her daughter, flashing her a smile. “Your claws started glowing in your final attack against me. What were you thinking or feeling?”
Morgan alighted on the ground, ruffling her wings before relaxing them against her back. “I don’t quite remember. I was…well I was having a lot of fun so I was feeling quite happy.” She scratched her hair, grimacing at the sweat matting the strands. “I think it’s easier to say I wasn’t really thinking you know? It felt right, you know? Like when you are just about to hit a high note or just before you finish casting a really complicated spell.”
“So it’s something linked to one’s emotions. Which specific one, though?” Hattie asked.
Frances nodded slowly. The sensation, the feeling she was on the cusp of something crawled up her back. Yet no matter how hard she thought, how hard she pursed her lips, she couldn’t find the words for the answer.
“I think I have felt what you have felt. I just don’t know how to describe it either,” Frances said. Patting her daughter’s shoulder, she sighed. “Whatever the case, I’m glad you succeeded, Morgan. Let’s go for dinner.”
The princess beamed up at her. “Sounds great, mom.”
***
Morgan and Hattie had gone to eat dinner with Renia, leaving Frances with Timur. As she sat down beside her fiance in front of the blanket they were using to set their rations upon, Frances found one of her eyebrows rising.
Over the course of their relationship, Frances had learnt some of Timur’s tells and he had recorded hers in a small notebook of his. It would be creepy to some, but Frances also found it sweet as her prince also wrote down her favourite things, important dates, and events in their relationship.
Timur’s tail used to be how Frances could tell what the trogre was thinking but it’d been injured in battle with his father. However, Frances had found that his eyes and the way he looked could tell what he was thinking.
“You can probably see it, but I got something to tell you that I don’t think you’ll like,” said Timur.
Frances let out a sigh. “What is it?”
“I’m going to try to infiltrate the enemy camp with Aloudin, Epomonia and Olgakaren.”
Parsing her fiance’s words took a moment. Actually thinking through the implications of it and whether she should freak out needed several more. By the time Timur had made his way by her side to hold her hand, Frances finally had something coherent to say.
“You’re right. I don’t like it, but I understand why you have to do this. We were surprised by Thorgoth’s diversion and his attack on the Lapanterians. We need to get a better idea of his situation and strategy,” said Frances. She squeezed Timur’s four fingers, looking up at his morose expression. “Just be careful alright?”
“I’ll do my best. Thank you for understanding,” said Timur.
Frances nodded before letting out a snort. “So long as you don’t prompt another rescue attempt. I can’t fight Thorgoth and stop Morgan from trying to rescue you. Did you know she attuned to the two keystones in her legs?”
“I did not! That’s fantastic isn’t it?”
Frances nodded, grabbing her loaf of bread to take a bite. “Oh yes, I’m just wondering…if her attuning to the stones could also be the solution to my problem with Song Magic. We know there must be an emotional aspect to casting it but the emotions needed to use the magic seem quite complex.”
“Or perhaps deceptively simple. Your lighting spell has an emotional aspect too, aside from understanding how lightning actually works,” said Timur.
“Yes. Though, the emotional range needed to activate it is more varied. It just takes focus, clear intent and the kind of calm that you feel when a storm is bearing down on you,” Frances explained. She blinked. “That…probably is why most people haven’t figured it out.”
“It’s certainly why I haven’t figured it out,” muttered Timur. He took a breath and gave Frances a quick peck on her cheek. “I’ll be going tonight.”
Frances’s heart skipped a beat but she forced herself to smile. “We better make the most of it then,” she whispered before she leant in for a deep kiss.
***
A while later…
Timur wiped the sweat off his brow. As much he preferred using a glamor charm, the duration of the infiltration necessitated actual disguises. Getting to Thorgoth’s camp had forced the small group to creep across the dimly lit battlefield, using both glamour, the broken ground and good camouflage to reach Thorgoth’s siege trenches.
They’d made it somehow, possibly due to the lack of guards in the trenches, but then they had to blend into the rest of the camp.
Thankfully, Colonel Tara and her defected troop had brought a bunch of up to date uniforms in Royal Purple and green. It was an altered version of one of these tunics that Timur now wore, along with a simple leather bicorn hat. Nothing about the uniform was comfortable, but it did the trick.
Glancing at Aloudin, dressed in a similar uniform, Timur whispered, “This is going rather well.”
Aloudin nodded as the group walked through Thorgoth’s camp. “The hard part was getting to the camp, but we had the cover of night and your magic for that.”
“We’ll have to get out the way we came…” Epomonia murmured.
“And we’ll be fine,” said Olgakaren, perched on the centaur’s back. “We just can’t get discovered.”
“Oi, you lot!”
The four turned around to see a bearded goblin with a peg leg strutting up towards them. “Where are you headed? That area’s for the fodder.”
“Fodder?” Epmonia asked, frowning.
The goblin frowned. Thinking quickly on his feet, Timur flashed a wry smile and shrugged. “Our squad just arrived from the Minairen garrison. We’re just looking for a place to bed.” Thankfully as part of their disguise, and as a just in case measure, the group had brought bedrolls and a tent.
The goblin gave them a once-over and pointed further down the Greenway. “Stick with us. You don’t want to get to know the lads of Augusta and Glowron’s divisions too well. They’re probably going in again on the next attack.”
“Don’t want—” it clicked in Timur’s head just as he took in Aloudin’s deep grimace. “Ah.”
“They’re that young and naive?” The captain asked.
The goblin shrugged. “Most of them are new recruits or conscripts barely sixteen years old. Those that survived two to three years become us.”
“I’m more surprised you can tell how long we’ve been in this mess just by looking at us, old-timer,” said Olgakaren.
“That’s captain Harald to you you upstart. And of course I can tell. You’re not a teenager and you actually have battle injuries. Now get yourself some rest,” barked the goblin as he turned to leave.
“Thank you, Captain Harald.” Timur pursed his lips and suddenly stepped forward. “Do you know where General Helias’s tent is by the way?”
The goblin turned around one eyebrow arched. Somehow he didn’t noticed Epomonia’s eyes widening at him. “The fuck do you want to know that for?”
Timur snorted. “So we can stay as far away from him as possible.”
“Hah! It’s that grey and purple tent over there,” said Harald, pointing further down the Greenway. “Thing is, General Helias’s has somehow mellowed out ever since he got hitched. General Augusta is the one you want to stay away from. She might think a young thing like you is a snack.”
“I’m already being snacked upon! But thank you sir!” exclaimed Timur, snapping a salute.
The goblin waved him off, and kept walking while the group sauntered down the Greenway.
“Good thinking. Helias would be ideal to spy on,” said Aloudin under his breath.
“Helias is a mage, though. Do you have any ideas on how to get past his privacy spells?” Olgakaren asked.
Timur nodded looking around his surroundings. The general’s tent was pitched a little further away from the other soldiers by some covered crates of supplies. This afforded it some privacy and some cover for their approach.
“I plan to—” The prince froze and stood to attention. Aloudin quickly followed him and a second later, Epomonia and Olagakaren followed.
General Helias and his wife, who Timur believed was Sara Sparrowpeak were walking past them towards their tent. Timur resisted the temptation to wince at the brace that clung to the harpy-orc’s wings.
Glancing at Epomonia, the prince nudged the centaur with his elbow. His touch seemed to calm the flicking tail of the centaur as the general and his young wife approached.
“Evening,” said Helias.
“Evening general, and milady,” said Aloudin in a curt tone.
“Thank you.” The general continued until he slowly came to a stop in front of Epomonia. With half-lidded eyes he looked up at the slightly trembling centaur and the harpy perched on her back. “Miss, I require a favour of you if you don’t mind.”
“Yes sir?” Epomonia asked, her voice just a half-note from full on panic.
“I require that contraceptive charm of yours. I will pay you right now for it,” said Helias, reaching into his belt-pouch.
“Oh. Um, of course sir,” said Epomonia, reached behind her neck. “Gylia, can you help me?”
“Of course,” said Olgakaren. Balancing on one foot, she used her other to undo Epomonia’s charm, which the centaur handed to Helias. The general dropped a few gold coins—about a month’s worth of pay—into her hand and picked up the charm.
“Thank you, sir!” Epomonia stammered.
Helias simply nodded and walked on without any further comment, his wife’s hand on his arm. The pair vanished into the tent, saying something to the two guards at the entrance, who left.
The moment they were out of sight, Olgakaren nuzzled Epomonia’s cheek, “Epomonia, talk to me. How are you feeling?”
Both Aloudin and Timur reached out to pat their barrel as she took in deep, calming breaths. “I’m…I’m fine. Yeah, I’m actually fine. I’m more confused than anything. Why would he ask for a woman’s contraceptive charm and why doesn’t she already have one?” Epomonia muttered.
“Well, we’re about to find out. Aloudin, Epomonia, watch the entrance. Olgakaren you’re with me,” Timur hissed. Taking a look around the group scattered, the troll captain and the centaur taking up a guard position a little ways in front of the tent, whilst Timur and Olgakaren walked toward the tent itself.
Drawing his wand, Timur also pulled out what looked like a normal stick. Olgakaren’s keen eyes also picked up the fact that this “stick” shimmered slightly.
“What’s that?” whispered Olgakaren.
Timur raised the stick. “This enchanted stick will let me bypass any privacy spell. Most spells are intended to isolate any sound within a logically closed off area, but this lets me… open it up and render the spell useless. Should work if we slide it under the tent cover.”
The harpy nodded and followed the trogre to creep around to the back of the tent. Stepping lightly on the earthy ground, the pair lay down on their stomachs. The prince then slowly jimmied the stick underneath the pavilion, making sure to hold onto it.
Suddenly, Timur could hear the conversation and he grinned. Gesturing the harpy to hold onto him, he allowed the magic to flow from him to her as the pair started to eavesdrop.