Fort Bastil was protected from the insidious mangrove swamp on its northern border by an impressively high wall that even the desperate witches of the tribe within could not traverse. In fact the wall had to be so imposing in order to protect the fort’s inhabitants from the residents of the swamp, the original architects had studied the wall of the south at length. For if it could withstand the test of time and the monsters that battered themselves against it, then something similar should hold up against human witches.
And where there was no wall, there was a fence of sharpened wooden spikes facing both in and out, making the northern side of the fort impenetrable. However, once inside the fort’s elaborate defences, which did not include a moat for fear of slimy interlopers sneaking in from the swamp, the land was open and friendly and the people were pleasant.
Hal and his wife, Varia, Falin and his daughter, Iesha, travelled with Judd and his party to Fort Bastil. It had been all their intended destination regardless of the length of time it had taken to reach it. Hal and Falin had dismantled their farmstead and their ponies had carried all their belongings and a recovering Varia to the entrance where Sir Alaykin was the lord of the land.
At the mouth of the bustling marketplace, Hal and Falin turned to Judd and his company as they retrieved their packs from the cart.
“We cannot thank you all enough for what you have done.”
“We’re just happy to have been able to help.” Judd insisted and Aalis and Verne nodded while Caste looked undecided.
“Well, if you’re staying at Bastil for a while, you’ll find us in the farmlands. We both have family there and you’re more than welcome at any of our tables.”
“Thank you. We’ll keep that in mind.”
Aalis waved to Iesha who looked nothing like the wild little girl that had led them out of the swamp. She sat beside Varia on the cart as they skirted the outside of the markets, heading to the pastures of Fort Bastil. Judd turned to Aalis, Verne and Caste.
“Where shall we start?”
“You and I need to introduce ourselves to Sir Alaykin.” Caste said with great authority.
“Perhaps Verne and I could scout the markets for some supplies?” Aalis suggested.
In the end they agreed to meet back in the same place that they separated from in an hour. Judd was first to arrive and waited for the others while leaning on a fence post. He was not bored in the slightest as a minstrel sat on a bale of straw nearby, plucking at a rather plain lute, sang in a warm, warbling voice.
“Bestow upon me, the sweetest of berries,
The rich darkness of blue,
The sweet tartness of red.
Bless my lips with the taste of the best of the harvest,
Yet your kisses are the things I wish to taste best.”
Judd couldn’t help but grin as the minstrel, who was blessed, not only with a fine voice but a head of golden curls like a cherub and a handsome face to match, was surrounded by several young women who reclined in front of him, their eyes watching him in rapt adoration. At the end of the song they all put a coin in the cap by his feet, one young woman drawing it out of the bodice of her dress with a suggestive wink.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Judd rolled his eyes and chuckled as the women darted away, giggling after the minstrel thanked them with a practiced flirtatious air. He heard Judd’s chuckle and looked up, seeing the young man’s mirth.
“It is a hard life.” The minstrel grinned, tucking the money into his purse and slinging his lute onto his back.
“I can see that.” Judd nodded farewell to him as Verne and Aalis approached. Aalis turned and looked at the minstrel. Judd felt a small twinge of jealousy and wished he was not so plain to behold. There was something captivating about the minstrel’s blond curls and summer blue eyes that had just the right amount of sincere suffering coupled with rehearsed womanising.
Aalis shook her head and turned back to Judd, smiling as brightly as she could.
“Replenished your herbal stock?” He asked.
“Somewhat, although much of what I use, I gather as I travel.” Aalis admitted.
“Looks like you left something behind in the keep.” Verne remarked.
“Oh, yeah,” Judd chuckled, “I think the reason Caste wants us to announce our arrival to every knight in every fort is because every knight in every fort must have a cleric to keep them on the straight and narrow…and Fort Bastil’s cleric offered Caste a room within the fort.”
“You mean he willingly forwent sleeping on the ground and eating peasant food?” Verne smirked.
“It’s shocking to me also.” Judd laughed. “I thought we might take Hal and Falin up on their hospitality offer for tonight and then, with a little luck, be able to pay for our own accommodation and food.”
“So Fort Bastil do host contests here?”
“Just like Verne said,” Judd took Aalis’ pack from her so she could walk unhindered, “in fact, Sir Alaykin boasts that Ford Bastil, under the instruction of its sword master, has produced more soldiers of knightly quality than any other fort in Terra, even better than Astaril and the barracks of King Rocheveron’s military.”
“He sounds charming.” Aalis murmured.
“He was a bit boastful…but it sounds like he has a well established training arena.” Judd’s countenance fell a little. “When I asked if I could…avail myself of his sword master’s wisdom and experience...he was less than eager.”
Aalis looked at Verne. “He felt threatened?”
“No…more like…a little kid fishing with his reel going up against fishermen and their professional tackle…”
“Oh,” Aalis paused, “What did Sir Alaykin say when you told him about what happened with the swamp tribe?”
“He wasn’t overwhelmed,” Judd sighed, “and it turns out the next fighting tournament and archery contest is over two weeks away…but he did say I could go a few rounds with his sword master, Dalain Thiery who could give me some pointers…”
“That’s something.” Verne didn’t sound convinced.
They had to ask directions to where their farmer friends were stationed. Hal and Varia welcomed them to their shared home with several other families. Falin and Iesha were there also, Iesha playing with the children of the adults who worked the land. Judd found, while Sir Alaykin and his cleric were not impressed with his experiences thus far on his knighthood journey (which again seemed to have something to do with the fact that Judd was not high born enough in the eyes of tradition), he, Verne and Aalis were immensely popular amongst the farmers. Falin and Hal had been spreading the story of their survival of the swamp and the healing of Varia.
It was both thrilling and a little embarrassing. Judd tried several times to serve himself at supper and even offered to wash up but was refused and asked, instead, to tell the tale of the battle of the goblins of Fort Faine. By the time the night was cooling off and the children were being urged to bed, Judd was somewhat fed up with the sound of his own voice.
He slumped next to Aalis who was sewing a patch on her dress and gulped down half a stein of cider.
“Bravo. You are quite the storyteller.”
“Thankfully I have had a bit of practice.” Judd confessed.
“How so?”
“I’m the eldest son of a semi-largish family and I’ve regaled my siblings many times with epic narratives of knightly stories, complete with dynamic air-sword fights and dramatic dying scenes.”
“Are you in earnest?”
“Oh yeah,” Judd laughed, “no one has ever died more times than I have and my sword play was second to none.”
“I might have to start an ‘encore’ chant again just to see it for myself.”
“Not you too,” Judd moaned and she laughed, “if anyone else wants to hear the ballad of Judd LaMogre…I might just hire that minstrel to tell it for me.”
“The young man in the marketplace?” Judd nodded. Aalis frowned. “Did he seem familiar to you at all?”
“No, not really. I’ve never left Astaril before and unless he’s ever done a stint at the docks or one of my father’s boats…” He studied her expression which was pale, her sewing forgotten. “Why…is he familiar to you?”
“In a vague sense, perhaps…”
Judd recalled the eager women crowding the minstrel and his twinge of jealousy became a pang. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know if Aalis had met the young man before and was debating about asking her…when he opted for the coward’s way out, pretended to yawn and excused himself for an early night.