Valerna Noblis was in a foul mood, it has to be said, a foul mood indeed. She was wet, hungry, cold, and tired, and worst of all, she had mud in her hair. She had mud just about everywhere else too, she supposed, and it had been since she had taken a hard fall that morning when it first began to rain. There was just something mud getting into her hair, though, that set her teeth on edge. Valerna had always said that her hair was her best feature, and she wholeheartedly believed this.
The only positive thing that could be said about the situation was that she was so angry about her hair being a mess that she wasn’t distracted by anything else, and was actually on the path to reach Swallows Rest within the next few minutes. Unfortunately, she had been distracted over the past two days, causing her to lose her way, and turning what was supposed to be a single day trip into a three-day journey. The distractions had been innocent enough at the time, a curious trail of bright blue-green moss that glowed in the shadows and that she’d never seen before had stolen away an afternoon as she kept trying to see more and more of it, and kept wandering further and further off track in the process. Then there had been the unsuccessful attempt to find berries to eat that had stolen away the next morning.
So it was, that Valerna Noblis, eldest child of the Noblis estate, was entering Swallows Rest three days later than she would’ve liked, and with considerably less dignity and comfort than she was used to. Caj’s longsword rattled loosely in the ill-fitting scabbard on her back, and her feet slipped back in forth in what was left of her comfortable boat shoes, which were about as well-suited for a hike through the woods as the Dao sheath was for Caj’s sword. She winced at each step; the bottoms of her feet thoroughly abused. Valerna’s feet hadn’t blistered like this since the first trip she took to the Pewhoasil Desert, and the first time she had ever had to walk more than a mile on uneven ground.
It was about an hour after noon when she came across the recently constructed section of the king’s highway that snaked its way alongside the Dupandover, and about two hours later she entered Swallows Rest. When Valerna entered the town, she garnered some odd looks. A pretty woman travelling by herself was abnormal in general, a pretty woman travelling alone, in a torn shirt and leggings, with a sword across her back was more than just abnormal. It was highly abnormal. Most people were polite enough to pretend not to be staring, if badly, but some people pointed openly and whispered behind cupped hands, as though Valerna’s current state of cleanliness was also indicative of stupidity and hearing problems. Valerna didn’t particularly notice, distracted as she was by the mud in her hair, and her quest to find the town hall. Despite the fact that Valerna had travelled through Swallows Rest seven times in the past, she hadn’t the slightest idea where to find the building.
Every other time she passed through this town, she stayed in her carriage, as there was little of real interest to her in the town, just the town hall, a smithy, and a barber shop that served as the central location for haircuts, medical aid, dental work, tailoring, and most anything else. Everything else in the town was comprised of warehouses to store the many crates that shipped out on barges daily, or the inns and boarding housed that smattered the town to provide permanent housing for dockworkers, or temporary waystations for travelers. Valerna, naturally, had never had any need to avail herself of the aforementioned services on her previous visits, although after she obtained aid, and some coin, from the town hall, she fully intended to avail herself of the barber’s services as a tailor. Autumn was entirely too cold a season in Whoid Stria to be wandering about in nothing but a thin shirt and leggings.
It took Valerna another thirty agonizing minutes to find the town hall, mostly due to the fact that no one seemed particularly inclined to give directions to a filthy gypsy-tramp of questionable origin. One dockworker had suggested that he would be willing to give her directions and some spare spending money if she was willing to perform certain unnamed ‘favors for him’. She had kneed him hard enough in the portion of his anatomy that he had been thinking with to make him reconsider that particular proposition, as well as any other such thoughts for a few days, she was sure. If the world was particularly lucky, he might now be incapable of polluting Whoid Stria’s collective gene pool.
Eventually Valerna got directions from an off-duty prostitute that took pity on what she deemed to be a kindred spirit. Valerna tried not to take too much offense at that, and just took the woman’s directions with a smile and nod. A few minutes later, Valerna was at the gates of the only fenced building in Swallows Rest, the town hall. There was a little booth at the gate manned by a small, petty-looking man with pinched, rat-like features. The booth reminded Valerna of the time she went to the amphitheater in GreatRiver to watch The Tale of Two Bastards right after the playwrights finished it. It was a good play, though it was odd to watch a play in which your father was one of the main characters. When she went to watch that play, there had been a booth like this, where you paid for entry to the show, based upon where in the stands you were seated. The Teller had and ink stamp for each of the four sections, and then one for the Royal Viewing Box. Valerna wondered if the town hall had some similar function. Were numbers given to commoners, perhaps to designate the order for when they were to see the Count? Valerna was snatched out of her dazed consideration when the thin, squinty man cleared his throat and spoke, looking down his long thin nose at her.
“Excuse me… Miss.” he looked her up and down with pursed lips and a faintly annoyed expression, apparently less than pleased to see her. “How may I help you?”
Valerna drew herself up to her full height, which was not inconsiderable, being well above the average for Whoid Strian women. She adjusted her clothes as best she could, and harkened back to what little she remembered of her many different Governess’s lessons regarding manners and etiquette. Admittedly, Valerna had been far from a good student in such regards, having forgotten most of what little she bothered to remember in the first place. However, she didn’t have access to any prodigy pupils in etiquette at the moment, so she would have to settle for a prodigal pupil instead. Hopefully, this was one of those situations where she could just bull her way through and use her rank and station as a shield.
“I need to see the Count.” Valerna said simply, figuring that the less she spoke, the less she could actively screw up. She seemed to recall several occasions on which Natalia had told her something very similar. Considering that Natty was a prodigy pupil, it was probably best for Valerna to take her advice in this situation. She waited for a response, but the rat-faced man just stared at her blankly. After a moment he let out a great sigh.
“I don’t suppose you could explain why you wish to see the Count? Perhaps what your name is and on whose behalf you wish to see him?” He spoke slowly, like he was talking to a small child, which annoyed Valerna. Not because he was talking down to her, but rather because she always had an easier time following a conversation the faster that it flowed. When conversations were too slow-paced, she got distracted and lost the thread of the discussion. Valerna let out a loud huff, and said yet another relatively simple sentence, trying her damndest to stick to her just made resolution.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“It’s a matter of personal and military urgency.” The attendant raised an eyebrow and met Valerna’s gaze derisively, beginning a long moment of silence.
He does a great derisive face, Valerna thought. The slight curl of his lips in an almost patronizing smile, and then the slight upward cant of his pointy chin set off by the rightward lean of his murine head, all brought together by the cold gaze from his beady black eyes travelling down the plane of his sharp nose. Valerna filed the expression away. Promising to practice it in the mirror later. Such a work of art must not be allowed to fall by the wayside unappreciated, after all.
The man let out a sigh and straightened, frowning. Valerna snapped away from her distraction, and back to the moment at hand.
“Look… Miss,” The attendant grimaced at the use of the modifier, “At the risk of being rude, the Count doesn’t have time to listen to every moonsick gypsy that wanders in from the woods asking for an audience.” Valerna flushed at that ready to launch back into the man with an ill considered retort, but the man simply held up a single finger cutting her off. “Count Hadren also lacks the time or patience to entertain beggars who are only here to ask for money. It’s a waste of both his time and mine, and also illegal.”
The man met her eyes, and saw her anger ready to boil over. He sighed in a rather patronizing manner, albeit not entirely unsympathetic. He reached down out of Valerna’s sightline, and pulled out three copper pennies and tossed them to the ground at her feet, then nodded at them.
“Those’ll get you a bath at one of the inns, after which I suggest you head down to the docks and start whoring. You’ll have better luck with that than with begging.” He gave her another peek at his excellent derisive expression, accompanied this time by a smirk. “Maybe I’ll stop by down there later tonight and give you another three pennies, eh?”
Valerna went dead still, blood draining from her features, and all her focus snapped onto the ratlike man in his booth. Valerna Noblis no longer noticed her matted, muddy hair that had scraped nails along the chalkboard of her mind all morning long. Valerna Noblis no longer noticed the blisters on her feet, which had sang sharp notes of pain all the last three days. Valerna Noblis no longer noticed the cold autumn wind, biting straight through her thin clothes and worrying her skin. Valerna Noblis no longer noticed anything at all aside from the man in front of her, and the predatory feeling she was quickly developing towards him.
There were two types of predatory feelings Valerna Noblis got towards men. There was the first one, which in her experience most men enjoyed. And there was the second one, which in her experience, most men did not.
Before Valerna was even entirely conscious of what was happening, the three coppers were in her right hand along with a rather sizable portion of gravel that had been laying on the side of the road. She smoothly stood up, cocked her arm back, and chucked the whole load right into the attendants rat like face. The coins bounced off without much effect, but some pieces of gravel drew blood. The attendant sat back in his chair, momentarily stunned. Abruptly, Valerna was flushed and furious again, her Taqat Almaeraka, or battle energy as the Sheikh would say, thrumming through her veins.
“You can take you three pennies and shove them up your ass, Chelb, then make your way down to the docks and try whoring yourself! Maybe one of your customers can give you another three pennies to add to your collection up there, eh?”
***
For all the issues her governesses took with Valerna as a girl, her ability to project her voice while singing or acting was never one of them. This caused some dismay, as both Valerna and her father had about the same amount of ability to carry a tune as a fish did to fly. She had just put this to good use now, and all who were out on the street were now watching closely, and those for the next four streets over were stepping it out in order to arrive before the drama completely unfolded, all hoping for a story to tell over beer at a tavern, or a session of needlepoint.
By the time the witnesses had made it one street towards the commotion, the rat-like attendant was on his feet. By the time they made it two streets he was screaming ever known Whoid Strian curse, and making up more besides, and by the time they made it three, he had his left hand on the latch to the booth’s door, and his right on a dagger at his waist. But as the curious onlookers from four streets away reached their destination, as they reached that last street, something changed; for by the time they reached the fourth street, the final street, there was a clang.
***
There was a hand on the metal door that led into the attendants booth, Valerna saw. It was large, wide hand, with thick, blunt fingers. It was attached to a large, plate-armored arm that was attached to a large, plate-armored man with the sigil of the king’s regulars engraved upon his breastplate, and the knotted rank of Major around his right shoulder. That large armored man had a wide face, with thick, blunt features, a heavy brow, and a jawline wide and hard enough to use as a blacksmiths hammer. He had a wide, expressive mouth, which was currently expressing his displeasure in the form of a frown.
If Valerna hadn’t been caught up in the moment, with Caj’s sword halfway out of its ill-fitting scabbard, ready to kill a man in broad daylight on the streets of Swallows Rest, she would’ve noted that it was an exquisite displeased expression. Not a glare, not enough squint for that, and not a glower; not nearly enough grimace for that. Just a light frown, and a slight lowering of the brows. If Valerna had noticed these things, she would’ve tried to file the facial expression away for later practice in her mirror, along with the attendant’s derisive look. She would’ve found herself unable to adequately perform the facial expression, however. She simply hadn’t this man’s blunt, powerful features that made this expression so compelling.
As it was of course, Valerna was currently looking at the man’s hand that was on the gate. The gate that he had just slammed shut with a great resounding clang, sending the rat-like man flying back into his hole, and silencing all sound on the street around them. Valerna’s gaze followed that wide hand up to the large, armored arm, and that up to the large armored man, her eyes finally coming to rest on his rocky-featured face. He had deep, dark brown hair cut close to the scalp, and the charictaristic bushy brown horseshoe mustache of Strian men over thirty, although Valerna thought that he, like Caj, might be growing it in earlier than traditional. Day old blonde-brown stubble played across his wide jaw, leading her to think that he might dye his hair, since it was such a different color. He had dark green eyes, and a cast to his features that reminded her of someone, although she couldn’t say who. Her examination ended along it the silence, when here eyes alighted upon his left earlobe, which had a large ruby stud earing in it, which seemed oddly out of place for the man before her. It was distracting enough to cause words to spill out her mouth before she could stop them.
“Why don’t you let that little rat out his hole pretty-boy, and let us finish our conversation.” She snarled, now glaring at this officer, angry that he had interfered. There was a moment of incredulity that played across the man’s features, and then a loud bark of laughter from Valerna’s left. She turned her head and nearly jumped at what she saw. There was a Vencheng soldier, here!
The man had the characteristically slighter build of the Vencheng people, although he was tall for his people, close to average for Strian men. He was well muscled and wore a short-sword at his hip. Over his right eye, three tattooed lines arced backwards and met at his temple forming a point. She almost attacked before she saw the emblem of the King’s regulars on his armor too, and the knotted rank of Captain at his shoulder. Then she remembered him. She had seen this Vencheng on one of her trips to Greatriver, only remembering him because of the rarity it was to see a foreign officer in the Kings army. The out of place officer trailed off in his laughter, all twenty or so witnessed staring at him confusedly, including the rat-faced man, who was now recovered.
“I’m sorry, Major,” The Vencheng Captain said to his Major in very lightly accented Strian, “But I think that may be the only time I’ve ever heard someone refer to you as ‘pretty’, sir.”