Queensfane Village lay at the core of Ravenswall’s crescent design. Geneve kept her eyes open and her mouth shut as they entered the city. They needed to pass three more walls to get to the hub of the city. Almost fifty thousand souls called this place home, and many would sell out a fallen Knight for a single silver regal. Her helmet drew the odd passing eye, but not so much as Armitage’s bear, Beck. People looked on in awe or scurried away in fear as their personal stock of courage allowed. Children followed in their wake, wide-eyed at first, then with laughter. Geneve felt her shoulder blades tense until it felt like they’d meet in the middle.  “Relax,” Meriwether suggested from where he strode by Tristan’s neck. His shiny boots walked the cobbles easy enough; she’d never have guessed Read More …

They set no guard. Exhausted as they were, they dropped off where they lay at the fireside. The night approached, cold and hard, waking Meriwether from a dream where he drowned in a sea made of doubts and fears. The night was alive with the sound of small insects singing for a mate, or whatever it was insects did at the border of a blasted desert wasteland.  He got up, eyed the stars, and decided it was about two o’clock. Too early for tea, and too late to return to sleep. Meriwether pottered about the camp, trying to move quietly. He rescued a blanket from their packs before finding Geneve. She slept, head back, one arm over her face, the other cast out as if warding off demons. Meriwether lay the blanket over her, then thought about going for a Read More …

“There’s nothing for it. You’re going to have to cheat.” Kytto scowled at her, as if his idea was her fault. Geneve picked up a breastplate from the floor, walking it to a pile. Her Trial was next month. She was out of time. “I don’t want to cheat.” “Do you want to die?” “No.” “Then you need to cheat.” “How?” Geneve dropped the breastplate with a clatter. The Smithsteel never scratched, no matter how indelicate she was with it. “How do I beat fifty Novices who can use the Storm without it at my side?” “That’s not the hard part,” Kytto said. “It feels hard!” “The hard part is the rest of the Trial, because we don’t know what it is. There could be tigers.” “You’re not helping.” “Sorry.” Kytto hid a grin. “They’ve never used tigers.” “This isn’t Read More …

The world swayed, a gentle rolling insistence that kept her mind at peace. Geneve saw light, then dark, followed by more light. Her body hurt, but her soul felt at peace, like she’d given away the piece of herself she didn’t want or need. She didn’t remember her failure commanding the Storm, how she let Israel and Vertiline down, or why she traveled with a sinner. If she’d died in this state she’d have thought, it’s enough. The gentle rolling led to discomfort. Light became heat, and the dark cold, until Geneve was reminded of having someplace to be, and something to do there. Her eyes were dry, and when she tried to rub them, her fingers found cloth. She pawed at her face and pulled away old, rough fabric that smelled of a beggar man who should be king. Her Read More …

Meriwether’s teeth hurt, and that was the good part. He’d grabbed the discs, hoping to give Geneve a rest from burning pieces of her life to ash to help everyone but herself, and that’s when the hurting started. It hurt a lot, and everywhere at once. It felt like a hot wire was pushed through his skin, into his bones, but all over his body. When he hit the floor, his mind drifted. He felt like a leech had sucked something out of him. A component without a name. While his hands were on the discs, he’d felt his life play before him. Not the ridiculous term flashing before your eyes, but a blow-by-blow recap of everything he’d done. It wasn’t the events that were important, but who he’d been with, and what he’d done to them, or for them. The Read More …

Geneve’s own Trial was a thing she grew to fear. The years marched on, relentless, and still the Storm evaded her. On her fourteenth birthday, it was announced her Trial would be next year. Kytto said it was ‘bullshit.’ No one forced a Novice to Trial, but he wanted to help her pass. The Smith never held the Storm, but he eyed her form, and swore it was the best he’d seen from any Novice. Perfection even Chevaliers couldn’t manage. Israel and Vertiline sparred with her. Blades of wood, not glass or steel, but even with a stick Israel could conjure the Storm. Clerics were brought to assess. Lucent Eleni feared illness, and wise heads nodded in agreement. It was a sickness, but one of the mind. She need only remember what happened before her fifth birthday. Seal the rift Read More …

Geneve felt sick. It wasn’t just the poison. It felt like her soul needed care, a little time out, to just put its feet up and relax. She knew it’d only been days, but Geneve felt she’d run north for what felt like forever. Cut off from her fellow Knights, Geneve had done the best she could. She’d brought the sinner north, and during their time together, she’d learned he wasn’t a sinner. Meri wasn’t evil, any more than Sight of Day was, or even the monster, Armitage. She’d met evil people before, and none traveled with her. Iz and Tilly arriving felt like a condemnation of her choices. Israel’s voice held such pain when he called her name, and then she’d left his storm to die against the rock of Nicolette. That’s a little dramatic. I was poisoned, dying, Read More …

This is bullshit. It’s a lot of bullshit! Meriwether sprinted until he couldn’t anymore, then tried to push himself to merely run, breath running ragged in his chest. I need a plan, and I need it fast. Fire chewed the camp ahead. Meriwether headed toward it, Sight of Day at his side. The cat’s golden eyes were hard, like he hunted dangerous prey. His bow was in hand, and Meriwether was reminded that here he was, with a borrowed knife and no skills. Hey. I’ve got some skills. He hunkered beside a tent as it verged a makeshift road. Vhemin ran past, heading south. Meriwether almost ducked from cover when ten passed, but Sight of Day held his shoulder. A woman strode by, all black armor and cruel smiles. She was beautiful, but like the sun was to ice. Her face was hard, skin Read More …

Geneve stood atop the keep’s battlements, watching Wincuf walk away. The thug limped. Lucent Eleni claimed his injuries were past her skill with Sway, but she’d re-attached the Novice’s arm in times past. Cleric Eleni wasn’t telling the whole truth. They’d turned him out with silver regals in his pocket, a good Tresward Smithsteel sword, and a total lack of their blessing. The young man cursed them all, and Geneve in particular. She didn’t take it personally because she’d won. Footsteps turned her from the view and her reflection. Tilly walked toward her, armor gleaming in the sun. “Novice.” “Hello.” Geneve returned to the wondrous sight of a retreating Wincuf. “That’s that, then.” “What’s what?” Vertiline placed her hands on the old stone, leaning forward, shoulders hunched. “No more Wincuf.” The Chevalier laughed. “There will be plenty more Wincuf. He’s Read More …

Geneve approached the temple with her head high, red locks flowing in the desert wind. She’d donned her armor for this, because challenging Vhemin without steel around your heart was foolish, no matter how many patterns you knew. She didn’t have her helm because she’d left it on the sands to signpost supplies for old friends, so she’d need to keep her guard up. At least, I hope they’re still old friends. The desert was uncomfortably warm, the sands radiating the day’s heat back at her. Armitage looked happy enough, his leather armor strapped on tight. If his broken arm bothered him, he didn’t let it show. His massive club was held loose and easy in both hands. The plan was simple. Walk to the front door, knock, and enter. When they were still a klick away, Armitage pointed a Read More …