The broader roads of Skipingham were wide enough for the waggons to navigate, but they were not straight by any measurement. So progress was still slow as we made our way towards the castle on its hill just west of the town centre. Said centre being a market square where a stone memorial, or something, stood much like a market cross would do on Earth. People were gathering around it, in a manner similar to a vigil. Fresh wreaths and candles had been placed around the stone pillar and many of the gathered held lit candles, even though it was only late afternoon.

As we navigated the difficult corner out the northwest corner of the market square Heather leapt from her seat on the lead waggon and ran the hundred odd metres down to the group gathered down at the memorial. I nearly went after her. The girl having forgotten how precious she was. Then I remembered that she didn’t know, and that neither did anyone else. A nombe was just another strange alien species to them. Just like they were to themselves.

We’d garnered some strange looks as we’d moved through the streets of Skipingham. But not many. Most people just seemed to be gathering here and there or wandering aimlessly. If something didn’t break us out of our shock quickly there would be more deaths.

“It’s a memorial to the dead.” Heather said as she climbed breathlessly back onto the waggon. ”And to ourselves.” She added. “They had a visitor, a divine messenger, appear there and give them the same basic message as blessed Tolyin did to us. It’s going around.” She shook her head. “Everyone died. You’re copies of the people you think you are, here to live the lives of strangers. It’s f- flipping apocalyptic!”

“You don’t have to say blessed Tolyin, Heather,” Amanda said.

“Yesterday I was trapped in that horrible wrong body I had back on Earth and now I’m here, and I’m a girl. And I’m happy at long last. So as far as I’m concerned Tolyin is blessed that I can live in this new form.”

“It’s worse than apocalyptic.” I said, once she’d finished. “Everyone here is lost. We’re in bodies we don’t know and our minds are those of twenty first century humans from Scotland. We know nothing of living at a mediaeval level of development. People are going to starve because nobody knows how to farm ridge and furrow. And that’s just the first example I can think of. The worst thing is.” I paused to breathe. “The worst thing is our bodies know how to do everything, but we’re the ones driving them. And most of us don’t know how to trust our instincts enough to listen to ourselves.”

“And what are your instincts telling you right now?”

“That some selfish piece of shit is up at that castle right now, drinking Merle’s booze, lolling around on their favourite chair, and congratulating themselves on landing the cushy job, without any actual intention to help anyone.”

“You’re angry Drake.”

“That’s my secret, Cap,” I quoted, “I’m always angry.” I was going off kilter. I took another deep breath to recenter. “That’s one of the reasons why I’m a pacifist.” I looked around. “Now I’m not saying we’re going up to the castle because I think I should be in charge. I’m not saying that I’m a better leader than anyone else. It’s not a job I’ve ever had and I’m probably the last person who should be in politics. But this body belongs up there and I’m trusting its instincts. So on y va.” I started forward, not entirely sure I was set on this course of action, but it felt right. Which wasn’t always a good sign, but it hadn’t led me wrong since waking up in Lusfell.

“On ee var?” I heard Heather ask Amanda.

“It’s French. It means ‘let's go’.”

As we approached the castle I took in its looming bulk. More curtain walls of woven and still living trees rooted in half tumbled stones of ancient mien. The towers were more of the same, the upper storeys being wood topped with those pointed fairy-tale spires. It was the sort of sight to bring to mind the stirring notes of Hoard Shore’s music to the Lord of the Rings movies. So why did I have Ennio Morricone’s The Ecstasy of Gold playing in my head?

To distract myself I examined the approaching edifice with the eye of an archaeologist. There was obviously some ancient history here waiting to be discovered. The mound that the city was built upon had the air of the Hill of Hisarlik in Turkey, where rogue proto-archaeologist Heinrich Schliemann had discovered and robbed the ruins of Troy. With my mind's eye I sliced through the side of the rise the castle sat upon, envisioning it layered with undiscovered strata of history like an overly complex cake. Perhaps it was woven through with tunnels and chambers. Filled with forgotten treasures, guarded by noisome and monstrous denizens. I shook my head at the foolishness; in real life dungeon delving would be a foul and unpleasant pastime and probably as rewarding as an archaeological dig. Not everyone would find as much gold as was discovered in Troy. Such troves were exceedingly rare.

I was wrong. They weren’t lounging on a big chair drinking Merle’s booze. No they were standing at the gate arguing with a woman, uh, wo-elf? Welf? The tall slim Tares male was standing at the gate with his; I want to say squad, as retinue gives him too much legitimacy. Meanwhile the lone female was trying to enter and insisting that she could help. He, of course, wanted none of it.

I literally heard him claim to be the earl, and thus in charge, as I rode up. He was very brown. Not just the standard brown complexion of most Tares. He wore a brown coat over a black tunic. His breeches, shoes and gloves were also brown. Even the metal of his belt buckles and the buttons on his coat were a brazen brown. The only parts of him that weren’t brown was his shirt, black hair and goatee beard. I briefly wondered if in Lusfell it was a sancer beard. The most colourful part of his outfit was the crown he wore on his head. Strange and angular it looked nothing like anything I’d seen that was tares made, looking almost art deco. It was made of a purplish metal and had a single violet gem on the brown that I would swear glowed with a dim inner light. Behind me Amanda made a noise that I associated with her swallowing her rage. The elf before me looked up at me on my sancer, surrounded by my retinue of four guardians and a train of Rombe waggons and his first words, no word of a lie, was a reflexive:

“Your grace?”

He then took a step back and demanded to know who I was.

“I’m someone you instinctively call ‘your grace’,” I answered. “My name is Drake Dunn, but this is the body of Merle Sagado, the Earl of Manchwark, and I have the rings to prove it.”

“Bollocks!” declared the tall slim tares. “Who gives a fuck about whatever rings you might have. Rings don’t prove shit! I’m here and I’m in charge! I have the crown!”

“He does look like the guy on the big painting in the great hall,” one of his squad said.

“Shut up!” he turned on the welf and began to chew her out for undermining his authority. As he did so, Murdo drew my attention.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“If this is going the way I suspect it is, then maybe you should consider doing that thing that I said not to.” He said.

We turned back as there was a loud slap and the welf tumbled back to the flagstones, her hand to her cheek and tears in her eyes. I heard a collective gasp from the people behind and beside me and I knew I had the right people at my side.

As he turned back to face me he had one hand grasping the sleeve of the other arm, exactly where I had that slim assassin’s blade concealed upon myself.

“This is a new world and nothing about its old power structure is relevant any more.” He said. “Just as nothing about Earth is relevant any more. The crown means I’m in charge. Nobody else has the crown, only me. Rings don’t mean anything. If you want power now you have to take it. I took the crown so I have the crown. I have the authority to do what I want and anyone who thinks otherwise should get the fuck out of my sight before I have them removed.” He looked up at me. “Are you still here?” He glared daggers at me almost as sharp as the blades upon his person. “Perhaps I should make an example of you!” As he moved towards me I saw him snarl and hesitate. His lips moved to form the word “yes” as he took another step towards me. He began to draw his blade.

{[[Burghal] Tares] [Seneschal [Assassin]], [Gorred Carven], has revoked alliance with [Merle Sagado]. Reciprocate? [Y/N]}

No.

As ‘Gorred’ neared I heard Murdo yell “Now!” but I was already on it.

{[[Commanding] Aura] activated.}

I spoke but one word:

“Kneel.” Everyone before me, and quite a few behind me too, dropped to their knees.

I dismounted and walked over to ‘Gorred’. His knife had fallen to the flagstones beside him. I kicked it away from his reach.

“What is your name?” I kept my tone as even as I could manage, despite being angry enough to cut a bitch. As Lucia would say.

“Esmond Sergeant,” he said flatly, looking up at me dumbfounded. I caught movement in my peripheral vision as Murdo stepped up beside me.

“Local troublemaker, sovereign citizen, men’s right activist, incel and neo-nazi. The works.” He said through gritted teeth. Shit. I was going to need a new seneschal. “Thinks he should be in charge of everything and answerable to no one. Basically a nut job. I’ve collared him more than once over petty things. Nothing sufficiently actionable, unfortunately.”

I reached forward to remove the crown from his head but as I did so the gem began to glow brighter.

“Can you please remove the crown from him, Murdo,” I said, lowering my hand. That wasn’t my crown, I was sure, so I had no idea why it had reacted to me like that. I regarded Esmond for a moment, pondering what I should do with him. Some part of me, hopefully a remnant instinct of Merle, wanted him dead for his betrayal. But I am not Merle beyond inhabiting his body. I picked out two armoured figures from the kneeling crowd.

“You and you,” I said gesturing to them, “Take Esmond Sergeant the dungeon and make him secure. Everyone, I want to see you in the great hall at dusk. We have a lot to discuss.” I dropped my aura and moved over to welf that Esmond had been arguing with when we had arrived. I helped her to her feet as she introduced herself.

“I’m councillor Leslie Craig,” she said, “Although apparently now I’m Vestele Valbanise, mistress of the labourers guild.”

“I’m pleased to meet you councillor. You’re just the person I was hoping to meet. If you’ll come with me, once I’ve seen to a few matters first.” I turned to see that the welf that Esmond had been abusing was already being attended to by her colleagues and Lauchlan had joined them. He gave me a thumbs up as I looked over, but I still joined him. The welf had spoken up for me and gotten abused for it. I owed her. Not that there was much I could do for her right now. Her name was Laura Bonner, in the body of Lenna Zylneiros, a [Servant(4)]. Well that could have been worse. It could have said “slave”.

I let my feet take me though to the castle. The whole building was crafted in the fairy tale style I’d come to associate with the tares. Woven and shaped wood, peaked roofs formed of leaves, that also spoke of cold winters and heavy snows. I wondered what would happen during the winter. Would the roof shed leafy shingles like an autumnal tree? Arched windows were formed with branches for lintels, sills, and jambs. With transparent leaves for window panes., or perhaps the entire window itself. It looked more like a mansion than a fortified keep. Inside was clean and clear of clutter. Furnishings not dissimilar to what we’d expect to find at home on Earth. The entrance hall of the castle reminded me of the lobby of an office building. Leather sofas, arm chairs and occasional tables were scattered around the room. All that was missing were a reception desk, stacks of magazines, and brochures. Since this was probably going to become, as if it wasn’t already, the seat of local government, the addition of a reception desk would be a wise addition.

I was painfully aware that I was just waltzing in and essentially seizing the place myself. But at least I, or rather my body, had a legitimate claim to it. But for all of his arrogant idiocy Esmond Sergeant did have a point; right now everything was up in the air and up for grabs. Every manner of proving one’s identity on Earth, was left behind on Earth. And every way to prove one's identity on Lusfell was meaningless to us. Who knows how many more Esmond Sergeants were out there carving miniature empires themselves right now.

The feet that I was more and more comfortable thinking of as mine continued on their merry way, leading me through to what I decided was the great hall. Not only was it a hall, with long tables and many chairs, but above one table at one end, perpendicular to the others and up on a little stage, was a vast portrait of Merle, sneering down at all of us from on high. I disliked him more.

Up a flight of stairs and through a series of doors and unoccupied guard posts, to another flight of stairs. To cut a long walk short we arrived in a well appointed solar, that looked out from the highest part of the castle, over the town and lands beyond.

In the centre of the room was a large table the surface of which was an impressive map. It was the immediate focus of all of us.

“All it’s missing is the game of thrones theme and little animated locations,” Murdo said as we gathered around it.

The continent looked like a pair of misshapen hands , fingers trying to form the inner sea into a love heart and instead getting a butterfly. The northern fingers did not quite come together. The northernmost fingers of the right hand formed the Kingdom of Tares. A little brass flag marked the location of Skipingham, and seemed quite close to the centre of the kingdom, and on a road formed out of fine golden wire. Another brass flag marked a mountain range on the border between The Kingdom of Waringia and the Soutlian Theocracy. Between the Soutlian Theocracy and Tares was another theocracy; the Arenian Theocracy. A weird spike of ire rose up as I regarded those names and I had the sense that Merle did not like them. But that pin in the mountains, that brought forth a sense of loss and longing I could barely fathom.

“I’ve found Nottingham!” Murdo announced and pointed to a kingdom called Warhamia. “Oh and look next door, the Republic of Newbig.”

“The Tyranny of Pean.” Leslie Craig pointed to the middle of the map where a nubby bit of land stuck out into the central sea. We all looked at it. It felt important.

“The women of both worlds have known that tyranny, I’m sure,” Amanda said, joining us.

I looked around at the four of us. Leslie was an unknown factor, although I knew I trusted her enough because I’d voted for her back on Earth. I agreed with most of what she stood for.

Murdo I had grown to trust in the short time we’d known one another. He was a cop, sure. And thus a bastard. But I had the sense he was a magnificent bastard; also he read Pratchett, so he couldn’t be all bad.

Amanda I not only trusted implicitly, but I knew she reciprocated.

It’d have to be enough for now.

“And so to work.” I said. Suddenly feeling like I should be proposing a toast. Did Merle have any booze to hand?