Lady Marcia was glad the young man in puthral armour was an idiot, lightening the mood within the air. It had allowed her a moment to gather her thoughts. Whatever the group was, and if Sir Vonda Eastlake was truly of Life’s Rose, she needed to be careful.
“It is not often you see an outsider wear an Iyrman’s steel,” Lady Marcia eventually called out, her eyes falling to Adam. “You must be a great warrior.”
“Oh, why thank you,” Adam replied, bowing lightly before the noblewoman. “Although I can’t match the likes of my brother, who placed first in the Noonval Tournament last year, nor my cousin here, who placed second in the Noonval Tournament, while holding back, I did still place third.”
“…” ‘What a braggart!’ The woman smiled, standing up straighter as her eyes narrowed, looking down at the young man. “You mean to say that we are not only in the presence of a Sister of Life’s Rose, but also in the presence of great warriors who have claimed the top three places in the Noonval Tournament?”
“I mean to say that not only are we in the presence of a Sister of Life’s Rose, but also in the presence of great warriors, with several of us taking the top three spots. Nobby here, the big one that’s not an Iyrman, placed first in his segment, with my cousins here placing second onwards, while Jurot and Kitool here came in the top two of their own segment, and I placed third in my own, only surrendering to Sir Roseia and Sir Karra.”
“Sir Roseia?” Lady Marcia replied, her lips pulled taut. She narrowed her eyes, thinking of the current King’s Sword’s daughter, who had faced her years ago. Had it not been for the fact the young had worn her cape, she would have certainly won the bout.
“The next time I join a tournament I’ll ask for the support of a greater noble so I can place a little higher,” Adam replied, sighing. “What am I to do when I am just a little boy without the backing of a greater power within the lands of Aldishmen.”
“You are not Aldish?”
“No.”
“Florian?”
“No.”
“Aswadian?”
“No.”
“Drakken?”
“No,” Adam replied. “I am from a very distant land, one which no longer exists.”
“I will pray for that which you have lost,” the young nobleman stated, bowing her head lightly.
An awkward silence filled the air.
“You say you wish to travel to East Port?” Lady Marcia asked.
“That’s right.”
“What is your business in East Port?”
“I wish to give up my noble title,” Sir Vonda stated, firm and clear.
The young noblewoman blinked, suddenly taken aback by the words, before she quickly gathered herself. She stared down at the young Sir Vonda, whose face had been burnt from neck to her lower jack. The young priest certainly had her own story, but to give up her noble titles? “You must pay the military tax of thirty gold. If the wolves cause trouble, we will put them down.”
Sky growled quietly, but fell silent at the gaze of the half elf in purple.
“What? You got some kind of problem, Sky?” Adam walked over to the wolf. “Are you going to start trouble?”
Sky almost spoke up, but realising the position they were in, merely shook his head.
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“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
The group were finally allowed into the minor fort, the large gate falling to form a bridge around the pit which had been dug. Adam noted the number of archers all around, and not just archers, but crossbowmen too. Almost everyone here wielded a bow or crossbow, save perhaps a handful of those who seemed to be the highest ranking individuals around.
“Whirlwind Arrow,” Kitool whispered.
“What?” Adam asked, before following the Iyrman’s gaze to an older woman who sat with a group of soldiers in the corner, playing cards. A bow rested beside her, beside a quiver of arrows, each with purple feathers. “Whirlwind Arrow?”
“One of the land’s greatest archers,” Kitool informed, before the Iyrmen took in the sights of the group around them.
The Iyrmen spotted how many of the archers around wore thin leathers stamped with small metal discs, almost like scales, and wore thin, light grey capes which fell down from their shoulders. They numbered at least fifty, forming up quite a number of the soldiers stationed here.
‘King Merryweather has moved the Whirlwind Arrows,’ Jurot thought, understanding such news needed to be sent back to the Iyr. Then his eyes fell across the rest of the archers and soldiers around, and the small bits of metal they all carried, typically as pins against their cloaks, or along their belts. Every soldier here had been commended for something, meaning they had all seen at least several battles, many of them seeing dozens of battles, and some no doubt in the hundreds.
‘Everything feels so heavy here,’ Adam thought, his eyes glancing all across the group. Though many of the soldiers seemed to be off duty, he couldn’t help but shake off the feeling that he was a lamb within the wolves den.
The group were led to a set of simple tents to one side where they could rest in peace. As Adam placed his things within the tent, he whispered to Jurot. “Isn’t Lady Marcia a big deal? If she’s the daughter of the current Storm Petal Knight, isn’t she, you know, a really big target?”
“Lady Marcia’s presence here means the minor fort is well defended,” Jaygak said. “The Whirlwind Arrows protect the fort, and the two knights, who are probably some of the Peachgrove’s best, are also defending her. If the Aldishmen want to take over the minor fort, they’re going to need a big army, and an even bigger army once the Storm Petal Knight marches her own army to save her daughter.”
‘Are all the great warriors in the south women?’ Adam thought. He looked around, noting the split between male and female soldiers. There were slightly more women than men here, with a similar split between male and female officers. ‘Now that I think about it, I have met quite a few male and female soldiers and officers thus far. Same with the guards.’
Lady Marcia motioned a hand for a few guards to keep an eye on the group, before making her way to the central command hut, where her aides worked on counting the supplies. She hoped another few thousand arrows made their way to the minor fort, though that wouldn’t come to pass for at least the next month, not since the dealings were being dealt with. The Order of Life’s Rose was currently mediating between the two sides, along with various priests to Lady Poli, the Goddess of Peace.
“Are you sure you should have allowed such a group within the camp?” one of her personal knights asked. “A large group of Iyrmen, and someone claiming to be a noble?”
“It is a simple matter to confirm whether they are truly who they say they are,” Lady Marcia replied, before writing down a message, placing it within a tiny scroll case to protect it from the elements. She handed it to the knight who made his way out to find one of the pigeons to send word back to Ever Green.
The young woman marched through the area with a knight in tow, before coming across the group which had already begun to settle down. She glanced between the Aswadians and then the Iyrmen. As much as the Iyrmen had fought against them during the war, they had done very little. Then there was the matter of the Aswadians, who had allied with Floria, or rather, Floria had allied with the Aswadians.
‘The previous King’s Sword raised his sword in rebellion against the King he had once sworn his blade to, and now sits upon a throne of blood,’ Lady Marcia thought. Of all the reasons why King Merryweather, that Merryweather, had raised his blade, it was for the Aswadians, who were in their own bloody civil war, which had only recently settled down.
“Mother’s blessings upon you,” Lady Marcia called out to Sir Vonda, flashing a warm smile.
“Mother’s blessings upon you,” Sir Vonda replied, flashing her own warm smile.
“I do not mean to intrude, but I was hoping if we could share in some entertainment,” the young noblewoman said, noting how the Iyrmen were suddenly focused on her and her words. “It has been some time since my soldiers here were able to stretch their muscles. I was of the hope you would be willing to spar with my soldiers.”
Adam glanced towards his companions, noting the buzz of excitement between many of them. ‘I really thought we were going to get through this place without any trouble.’
Lady Marcia’s eyes fell to Adam, wanting to see the braggart in action. Yet, something tickled the back of her head. Her eyes fell to his forehead, then to Jurot, and finally back to Adam, who wore a scarf over his head like that of an Aswadian.
‘Did he not refer to the Iyrman as his brother?’