Geneve visited her tree a lot. It was peaceful standing in the field, surrounded by other trees waiting for their Knights to be strong enough. She didn’t understand how she’d ever be able to break hers. Five years of growth put thicker bark on the tree and it was now wider around than she was.  The trees were all planted from the same kind of acorn, yet flourished in a hundred ways. Hers was straight as an arrow as it reached for the sun. Israel said the trees weren’t oaks, elms, or hickory. Nothing here carried a name from the outside world. They were just trees, and each belonged to a Knight. Geneve expected all trees to grow strong and true, but many didn’t. Some carried myriad branching limbs, seeking the sky in all directions of the compass. Others were Read More …

Geneve was alone. She walked beside a Feybrind. She already felt the foundations of trust between them, or perhaps something more like friendship, but they needed to make it out alive first. She wasn’t sure of Sight of Day’s motivations, but his golden eyes made her feel warm. There was no malice there. The problem with the situation at hand was she wasn’t sure if they’d get time to be friends. There were a lot of Vhemin between now and five minutes from now. Ahead of her walked the sinner. His face was bruised, lip swollen, and he walked hunched around a pain he carried deep in his chest. But no part of him leaked red, so she’d see him to his trial. Except, neither he nor Sight of Day want him to go to trial. It’s just me trying to get him there. Read More …

When the Vhemin came, they weren’t gentle. Meriwether hadn’t expected any special dispensation, but he also hadn’t expected a kick in the guts to wake him up. He curled over his pain, retching. As he spasmed, he clutched his pole, knocking his forehead against it. The Vhemin towering above him laughed. “Get up, tiny human.” He was, like the rest of his kind, ugly as the sins Meriwether was accused of. And, let’s be honest, I’m guilty of as of a few hours ago. Meriwether groaned, rolled onto his knees, and with an effort found his feet. He watched as Israel and Vertiline stood. The Vhemin cut the bonds at their feet, and if they noticed their re-tied nature, frayed ends, or looseness they made no comment. Hands bound, cumbersome poles fouling their movements, the prisoners shuffled out of their cell. Read More …

While the years hadn’t made Geneve into a mountain like Israel, at ten she was taller than at her pint-sized introduction to the keep. Her memories of life before her arrival remained a mystery. When she’d talked to Israel about it, he’d offered a kind smile, saying only, “They’ll come back. Nothing that’s yours stays away for long.” The Tresward fed the Novices well. Meat with every meal. Fresh baked bread, and fruits brought from the warmer north. It meant her ribs didn’t show anymore, and with Kytto’s help she’d got a little lean muscle on her frame. She’d asked why she didn’t grow larger like the older kids nearing their Trials, and Kytto had laughed. Stop reaching for it. It’ll come to you when you’re ready, was all he’d said.  It was frustrating. Despite Kytto teaching her how to fight Read More …

Following the Vhemin wasn’t hard. The Feybrind could have been a blind human and managed it. The creatures trampled a swath through the forest about ten meters wide. Geneve wondered at their motivations. They normally took better care to cover their tracks. Leading people back to their lair wasn’t good leadership thinking. To be fair, they left you for dead. She winced, rubbing her shoulder. It felt hot, packed thick inside her armor. Getting the plate off would be painful, but that was a problem for Future Geneve. Today’s Geneve needed to get her friends back. They found the ashy remains of a bonfire. Geneve swung from Tristan’s back, the horse snorting as she clanked to the loam. She tried to avoid Sight of Day’s eyes, the Feybrind watching her from Fidget’s back. He leaned forward, as if observing a Read More …

I’m an idiot. That’s it! And it’s all my fault. Meriwether hung by his hands and feet from a pole. It was lugged between two hulking Vhemin. He didn’t like being trussed up and carried, especially since the Vhemin didn’t have the courtesy of using locks. He couldn’t tickle rope open. The strands were coarse and chafed his wrists as he swung like a dead hog. Above him, his knife skewered the wood, wedged in there nice and solid. Tied up as he was, he wouldn’t be able to work it free without attracting a great deal of attention, which he supposed was part of the cruel joke. If he craned his neck he could spy the giant Israel behind, and the slender form of Vertiline ahead. Both were trussed like he was, but also out cold, which was probably Read More …

Geneve liked Kytto. Not because he was nice, but because he spoke to her like she was already fully grown, with glass in her hand and steel around her body. He didn’t mind she was six years old, as long as she didn’t mind him swearing and ordering her around. She visited him as often as she could. Sometimes he got her to move armor. Other times, he gave her a hammer and let her beat glowing steel. Most of the time, she left tired, sweating, and happy. Kytto didn’t take it personally his orneriness didn’t leave a mark on her mood. He seemed to like her too, but never said. She got sore working there. “Your first problem is you’re small,” he observed as she struggled to carry a breastplate to a rack. The metal was shiny, like all Read More …