10.1

Jewel was glad that she would be among her people for this. Marching with them, hearing their voices. It was like a bit of Rochford was there with her.

The footmen were all known to her by scent and sight if not name. Bromthil was Father’s captain aground organizing the levy and the footmen from horseback.

Kraok was even on a horse opposite of Bromthil in the formation. Although only a junior Knight, he had been training as hard as Jewel to try and be at least a partial match upon the battlefield to the riders of Thurzó.

As the middle of the formation that would offer battle, Rochford’s single troop of mixed bow and spear would actually be among the last to march from camp to the ridge. Only ahead of the archers from Kliatbatrn, there to further reinforce them in bows at their rear.

Breakfast had been rushed by all. The energy in everyone practically trembled in the air. Battle would be offered today at close to noon and all knew it. Despite this, a final affirmation of the Count Fiebron and Baron Kliatbatrn was made over breakfast, after messengers were running through the camp and captains yelling for levy and footmen to finish eating and secure their kit.

Jewel had needed to wait close to two hours before they finally set out, and in that time she was grounded.

But now they were on the path. Not really a proper road - yesterday jewel had seen it as only a bit more than a hunting trail through the woods. But now it was already cleared well ahead of them by the thousands of men already formed up and cutting through.

Jewel had made an attempt to sing something more palatable, keeping to the rhythm of the march, and was delighted to hear the simple song sung among the villagers working the harvest mirrored by her subjects.

The melody and rise and fall of voices spreading ahead and behind them among the other levy and footmen was a pleasant surprise and Jewel thought they probably would appreciate it.

It put some of her fear to rest about what was coming and it was far more pleasant than the awfulness they had been singing on the marches here day after day.

Although those she could hear further ahead did not have quite the same words for their own songs, the music held firm and the feeling and rhythm was the same.

However, for a few of the levy, it seemed to upset them somehow.

Younger and older, Jewel could smell the salt of tears on their faces. And yet those same faces seemed to sing with her all the stronger for it.

It seemed unseemly, but Jewel had long since learned tears were something not to comment on even when she noticed their presence.

Something shameful that men were not meant to share.

Jewel did not stop singing the songs and she did not acknowledge the failings of the men who sang in spite of whatever troubled them.

Bromthil’s voice was as strong as Kraok’s now as they chanted the song for cutting wheat.

And although it was subtle, Jewel thought she would be able to taste a bit of the salted water welling in their eyes if she deigned to let loose her tongue to sample the air.

An hour into their march, Jewel heard the cry of Cloudspear and then from much further afar, Zephyrvam.

Then unfamiliar Gryphons howled and the singing all stopped.

Bromthil and Kroak both grew rigid in their backs and turned their gazes up to the sky. Bows were unslung from shoulders and strung, arrows knocked among those so armed.

And then the scent of blood filled the air as Jaksa the Red appeared for once like a proper wizard amongst them.

His weaving of blood and air together settled over everyone around Jewel. Leaving only herself unshielded.

But that was alright, Jewel’s scales and bones would not break under the blows of even Gryphon bows. But still she turned to the sky as they marched. Looking for signs of unfamiliar fliers. Gathering an intentionally spurious and short reaching glob of Wyrmfire upon her tongue.

Father and the Generals had been very insistent. Until either Thurzó committed to the battle and could no longer retreat orderly or he allowed them to encircle his fortress and lay siege Jewel must not show her true ability in Wyrmflame or flight.

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It was as she understood it a snare.

Despite that she was a Wyrm her size was not yet any greater then the largest of the Lupine or the average of a Belaros Feral Wyrm.

As such it was expected that until proven otherwise that Thurzó and the lords of the Realm would expect her to be of a similar threat.

Even the most vicious and ancient of Lupine Wyrm, alongside a full pack of its lair spawn, was not insurmountable to slay.

It would always be a great deed worthy of ballad and song of course, an effort of monstrous risk and often terrible loss but experienced questers with only a company of Knights (as few as twelve combatants) had managed it.

And of the Belaros Feral wyrms? From the songs Jewel had heard and the (certainly exaggerated) boasts of Knights on Adventure that passed through Rochford? On the whole they were often considered the less dangerous of the two. Considerably more durable and difficult to injure to be sure, but what lairspawn they might have were often less coordinated and their aggression when roused was very direct, easily anticipated and simply maneuvered around.

Thus, with the known tales for these two most common Feral Wyrm of a similar size to Jewel was the snare for Thurzó fashioned.

So Jewel was grounded, as one might expect most ferals to be without an affinity for flight.

So would she be uncoordinated and short burning in her Flame.

Offering feeble and often poorly judged spittle of flaring Wyrmfire instead of what she could truly manage.

It was a feint.

Jewel knew this, but she could feel the tumult and worry that made her Wyrmfire try to rise.

She felt all the honed reflexes of her training fighting her here.

There were Gryphons in the sky against her, against Father, against the subjects of Rochford that were also hers.

This was not some simple exercise where a feint merely opened Jewel up to a smudge of charcoal on her scales or a risk that she might lightly slap a footman or levy and mark him as ‘out’.

Those arrows would slay unprotected men.

They would end lives for those she was among even if they did not harm her.

And she was holding back and risking them.

Jewel felt a tremble running through her coils at the thought of if Smithson was here with her.

Or worse Alexander.

If her brother was amongst the lightly armored and sorcerously shielded men (some of them if she was honest not very much past being boys themselves).

If he was at risk?

Jewel was not certain, if Alexander was here marching fearfully with eyes turned to the sky, that she could have held back and avoided ruining everything.

She was barely able to keep herself on the ground as she heard shrieks and cries of friend and foe among the flyers.

The trees made for a terrible obstacle to vision and the wind was strong today.

The sky was too high for her to hear or smell anything but the cries. Leaving Jewel with guesses at the maneuvers of aerial combat based on her own training and experience watching the Gryphon Riders sparring one another.

Braced and ready for what unlikely opportunity there might be for her to hurl an ineffective splash of wyrmfire into the air.

But the opportunity did not come.

The battle what there was of it did not spill into arrows raining against them or a passing strange Gryphon in sight of Jewel and thus a target for her to try and miss with her flame.

After an eerie quiet with only the sound of feet upon the road and the forest life of summer around them a new cry was taken up by their Gryphon.

The signal for skies clear.

Bromthil relaxed with Jewel almost immediately and then the levy and footmen were informed for those that did not know the distinct calls of Gryphons at war.

“Skies Clear! March at Ease!”

Jewel shivered again still glancing at the sky and trying to get her Wyrmflame calmed.

There came long tense moments before Kraok took up singing again, words for cutting free hay in summer sun and wheat after. He sang alone for a while. His voice was kind of poorly suited to it and he only just barely could keep rhythm. But slowly the words were picked up by all the men around Jewel.

Together what had been halting and rough became harmonious and true.

Surrounded by their voices Jewel’s shivers stilled.

The words filled her again with the comfort of home and soon Jewel found her voice again and sang with them as they marched to battle.