by Jenny McKane
They had passed scattered settlements, where the people would stop what they were doing and stare at them. Women walked along holding buckets of water, or carried baskets filled with items on their heads. The men were often in the fields, tilling.
Nobody hailed them or attempted to speak to them. They would simply stare impassively, and then dip their heads and continue with their work.
Groups of children would follow them though, at least until they had reached the edge of the settlement. They were ragged and barefoot. Eyes round, they would hold out their hands.
“What are they doing?” asked Avalon at one settlement, turning to one of the Grey Guards.
“Begging,” he replied, dismissively. “Just ignore them. If you give them anything, they never stop and keep following like a plague of flies.”
Avalon had stared down at the children from her horse. They smiled back, trying to engage her. She could see that many had missing teeth, or that some were black.
“Why do they need to beg?” Avalon said, frowning. “The Jarle look after them. They have enough food.”
The Grey Guard had simply looked at her, grinning. “Of course, they are looked after,” he said. “They have plenty, but they waste it, and then they look for handouts. Don’t encourage them. They are a simple-minded people, and they never learn.”
Avalon had bit her lip. They were only children.
Everard was surrounded by them. Avalon watched as he got out his money bag and scattered coins to them. They flocked around the fallen coins, desperately vying to get them.
He looked up and saw her gazing at him. He shrugged.
Did Everard Varr have a heart after all?
All the children were scrabbling on the ground, searching for the coins, except one. A little girl, with dark, matted hair and huge, brown eyes.
She was staring at Avalon, focused on her so intensely that Avalon felt as if she were being sucked into her gaze.
Time stood still. Everything else fell away. All that she could see was the little girl, somehow surrounded by an aura of light. A high-pitched ringing buzzed in her ears.
Then it all stopped. Suddenly. Sickeningly.
“Guardian Lund?” One of the Grey Guards was staring at her. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” she answered slowly. “I don’t know what came over me. I just felt dizzy for a minute.”
“It’s the higher altitude,” the Guard said. “It can affect people differently. You remember your training?”
Avalon nodded. “Drink more water. Chew on the bark of the water vetch, if a headache comes on. Try not to ascend too quickly.” She grinned. “We don’t have much leeway with that one.”
“No,” answered the Guard. “And we need to get going if we are going to make it to the headquarters by nightfall.”
They spurred their horses on. The children followed them to the edges of the settlement, before falling away, one by one.
Avalon turned and looked back. The little girl was still standing there, watching her.
***
They started to descend, just as the sun was beginning to set over the mountain.
One of the Grey Guards pulled up, and they all followed suit.
“We’ll stop here,” he said. “Have something to eat—quickly. We have to ascend the next mountain before we get to Vyheim Castle.”
“How much longer?” asked Everard.
“Probably two hours,” the Guard replied. “I will take the watch, while you all eat. As soon as the sun sets, we get movement around.”
“Isn’t there a curfew?” asked Avalon, dismounting. She rubbed her back.
“There is,” answered one of the other Guards. “They are all supposed to be in their huts by nightfall, but this is an isolated area. There have been groups of troublemakers, and because the distances are long between settlements, it’s harder to patrol.”
A soft flurry of snowflakes swirled around them. The weather had slowly gotten worse over their journey. Avalon pulled up the hood on her cloak. Her breath fogged as she exhaled.
She pulled out her travelling food from her bag, staring at it disdainfully. High-protein grains mixed into a log. Easy to eat quickly, and it filled you up. Not appetizing though.
She sat down on a rock, staring around her. There was a harsh beauty here. It was as far removed from the sleek comfort of the city as she could possibly imagine.
The Far North. The place that had fired her imagination ever since she had been a little girl. She was sitting here, in a darkening glade, while the snow-topped mountains surrounded her. She still could hardly believe it. Yesterday, she had been training as usual; today, she was heading out on her very first mission.
“How are you handling the cold?”
She started. Everard had sat down beside her. He was chewing on his food glumly. He had pulled up the hood on his cloak, as well. She could just see his pale face beneath it, as he turned toward her.
“It is what it is,” she replied shortly. “No point ruminating on it. It will be colder still when we reach our destination.”
“Listen,” he said, letting out a breath. “I just wanted to say sorry…for saying what I did.”
She turned toward him. “For calling me a Daddy’s girl? You know nothing about my life, Varr. Don’t assume things about me.”
He took a bite of his food. “Fair call,” he said. “But it works both ways. I know what you think about me – what you all think about me. You think that I only got into the Academy because they had to make a quota of country recruits, and that I don’t deserve to be there.”
She gazed at him. “I know you deserve to be there,” she said. “But I take your point.” She turned away, staring out over the horizon. “That was kind what you did today. Giving coins to those children.”
He shrugged. “I’ve grown up around them,” he said. “The Stromel don’t have it as hard where I come from, but it’s still tough going for them. Out here, it’s even worse.”
Avalon lowered her voice. “The Guard says it’s because they are wasteful,” she said.
Everard gazed at her. “Some are,” he replied. “But not all.”
Avalon frowned. “Then why are they begging? The Jarle look after them, make sure that they are fed and sheltered. It is written in the Grey Book.”
“True,” said Everard. He stood up, abruptly. “If it is written, then it must indeed be so.” He walked off.
Avalon stared after him. Everard Varr puzzled her. Up until now, she had only seen the arrogant side of him, but there seemed to be another side, a kinder, softer side. Who knew? She shook her head slightly. He was probably just trying to get along with her because they were about to be partners on this mission, just like she was. Once it was over, the real Everard would come back.
They couldn’t afford to be at loggerheads now. It could ruin everything they had both worked so hard for. And Everard seemed as ambitious as her. He wanted to go far with the Grey Guards.
They both couldn’t afford to jeopardize that.
Everard thought that she had gotten into the Academy because of her father. But he was very far from the truth.
She had gotten into the Academy despite Father, not because. And that made it even more urgent that she prove herself. Her father was watching her, waiting for her to slip up, so he could use it as an excuse to haul her out and marry her off to an eligible young Jarle.
She couldn’t let that happen.
She thought of the last evening at her home, before she had come to the Academy.
She hadn’t talked to her parents since.
***
She had been meaning to tell them that she had been accepted, but she kept putting it off. She knew Father would be angry, and Mother disappointed.
They had tolerated her enthusiasm for fighting, but they didn’t like it. They hadn’t even known how good she was with the sword or the crossbow. She had been training in secret. They knew she was interested in warriors and always talked about t
he Grey Guards, but it simply never crossed their minds that she would could actually become one.
At dinner, the night before she left, she was so nervous she could barely eat.
“Avalon?” Mother had said. “Don’t you like the food?”
Avalon had forced a smile onto her face. “It’s lovely, Mother. My compliments to the cook. I’m just not very hungry, that’s all.”
Father had stared at her, his eyes narrowed. “You should eat, Avalon. You’ve lost weight recently. No young man is going to ask you to court if you are a bag of skin and bones.” He laughed softly. “Anyone would think that you were a Stromel wench.”
Avalon flinched. He always said things like that, assuming all she wanted in life was a rich, powerful husband. She didn’t care how thin she was. She had lost weight because she had been training so hard, not because she didn’t eat.
She gazed at her mother, impeccably dressed, as always. Mother spent a fortune on clothes and was always having her hair dressed in different styles. Tonight, she wore a flowing gown of indigo silk, and her hair had been coiffed into an elaborate style of tiny braids, piled on top of her head.
It sometimes seemed to Avalon that Mother simply wasn’t interested in anything else. Her life’s work was this home, her image, and her marriage. Her children were simply necessary byproducts of that.
It was now or never. She put down her knife and fork.
“I got accepted into the Academy,” she announced. “I am training as a Grey Guard. I leave tomorrow.”
It was so silent she could have heard a pin drop.
“Excuse me?” said Father eventually. “What nonsense is this?” He turned to his wife. “Pass the salt, dear.”
Avalon’s heart sank. She took a deep breath. “It’s not nonsense, Father,” she said. “I applied three months ago, and I got the acceptance letter last week. I am leaving to start my training.”
“Avalon,” Mother said, glancing nervously at her husband. “This is madness! You cannot become a Grey Guard. It’s not…seemly.”
“No daughter of mine is becoming a warrior,” Father said. “You need to know your place, young lady. You are the daughter of the Minister for the Military. Your role is to marry well and produce the next generation of Jarle children.”
Avalon stood up, throwing her napkin down on the table. “No, that is what you want me to do,” she said. “I have never wanted to do that! I want to be a warrior. That’s all that I have ever wanted to be.”
Her parents exchanged looks. Father sighed.
“Alright, Avalon,” he said. “Since you have already been accepted, although I am far from happy that you applied without asking. But, if you do anything to embarrass me, I will pull you out – immediately. I have a sensitive job. I can’t afford to have it being compromised by you.”
Avalon let out her breath. “I won’t do anything to embarrass you.”
“I mean it,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “And you know I can do it. One slip up, young lady, and this warrior caper is all over.”
“I suppose it will keep you occupied,” Mother said, “until you find the man you will marry.”
Avalon had smiled at them both and left the table. It was impossible. They would never understand how passionate she was. It wasn’t as if she even had a choice; she felt like she was being compelled, in some strange way that she couldn’t fathom.
She was a warrior. It was as simple as that.
She had heard nothing from them the whole time she had been training. On the rare days off, the other recruits would head home, but she never did.
It was better this way. She could focus, but she never forgot that Father was seeing everything that she did.
And that he had the power to ruin it for her, forever.
***
Avalon could see the fortressed castle high on the mountain. They were almost there.
The snow had intensified, and for the last few miles, she could barely see two paces in front of her. It had been extremely hard going. The terrain was going to be a major challenge here, that much was obvious.
Was a blizzard coming? By the time they had passed through the gates and wearily dismounted, her hands were so frozen she could hardly move them.
She stared, taking in the high walls, and the Guards in every tower. So, this was it. Vyheim Castle, the headquarters of the Jarle in the Far North. She had heard of it, but to be standing here, knowing that she was a part of what was happening here, was simply amazing.
Everard seemed overwhelmed, too. He gazed about him, his eyes shining.
They walked inside. In the entrance foyer, a man in black stood. He had his hands on his hips, and he was frowning.
“I am Commander Kallio,” he announced crisply. “And you two must be the recruits I have been saddled with from the city. You’re late.”
He turned and walked away. Avalon and Everard looked at each other, and without a word, they followed him.
Avalon was so tired, she could barely stand. She had been hoping that they could go straight to their dormitories, and she could collapse into bed. No such luck.
Commander Kallio had other ideas. And he didn’t seem happy that the newest members of his team were two green recruits, who hadn’t even finished training. No, not at all.
Chapter Four
Avalon opened her eyes slowly and gasped. A large man, with a heavy brown beard and rough clothing, was looming over her, the tip of his sword pressed against her neck.
“Don’t move,” he growled.
She flicked her eyes around the room, desperately assessing the situation. Sunlight streamed through the window; it was morning. Behind the man who had the sword held to her throat, she could see Everard. He was standing to the side, another man holding him roughly.
“Now, my pretty, get up slowly,” said the bearded man.
She complied, pulling back the bed cover and standing. She was dressed in the long white shift they had supplied her back at headquarters; apparently, it was what all Stromel women wore to bed. It was thin, and it didn’t quite fall to her feet. The bearded man’s eyes raked over her, and then he grinned.
“You are good looking, for one not quite right in the head,” he drawled.
Everard struggled in his captor’s arms. “Leave my sister alone,” he said. “She doesn’t understand. If you must do this, then let’s do it, but leave her out of it.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” the bearded man growled.
Avalon gulped. Her first instinct was to try and talk her way out of this; she had to swallow the words that had risen in her throat. If she said one word, then all was lost; their cover would be destroyed immediately. And that was why she couldn’t fight the man either. It would be relatively easy – a sudden kick would send his sword flying out of his hand.
Everard stared at her. He shook his head, just slightly. No. He was trying to tell her not to do that. He knew as well as she did what the consequences would be. If these men were suspicious of them now, they would be sure of it if they fought back. They were at the start of their mission, and it would be compromised.
Everard had to do the talking. He had to convince these men that they were who they said they were.
“Friends,” he said now. “This can be resolved. We have no wish to fight with you. We are simple travelers and can be on our way.”
The bearded man turned to him, casting a keen eye over him. He looked Everard up and down slowly. His eyes were cold.
“No,” he said.
He turned back to Avalon, staring at her. Abruptly, he smiled.
“Let’s get started,” he said. “You say you are travelers from the south? I must tell you, I believe no such thing.”
***
It had been Everard’s idea that Avalon not talk, back at Vyheim Castle when they were being briefed on their mission.
Commander Kallio had led them into a room, down a flight of narrow stairs. It wasn’t large, and there were no windows. A table sat in the cente
r, with chairs on either side. The commander sat at the head, indicating that they should sit also.
Avalon studied the room. She could see an adjoining room on the left. Instead of a regular door, it had a door with bars.
The commander followed her gaze. “Sometimes we put a prisoner in there,” he remarked. “If we are holding a lengthy interrogation. Away from the others. They break more easily, if they are isolated.”
Avalon nodded. She remembered that from her training.
“Now,” said the commander. “I am going to get straight to it.” He smiled. “I know that you are both tired from your long journey, but we do not have much time to waste.” His eyes scanned the letter that had accompanied them from the Academy. “I see that Commander Vasslo thinks highly of both of you. His star recruits, who haven’t quite finished their training.”
“Yes, sir,” said Everard.
The commander looked at them. “It doesn’t sit well with me,” he said. “I would normally have much more experienced operatives up here. The Far North is a hothouse of rebellion, the worst area in the realm. The rebels are cunning and merciless, but in this instance, I have no choice, having lost a lot of my guardians recently.”
He sat back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. “Good guardians,” he said, his jaw tightening.
He looked back down at the letter, reading quickly, then turned to Everard. “Commander Vasslo says that you know a Stromel dialect and are very familiar with their customs and way of life, Guardian Varr.”
Avalon gazed at Everard in surprise. She hadn’t known that.
“Yes, sir,” answered Everard. “I grew up in a district in the Lowlands of Agnoria. I interacted with the Stromel there daily and learned their dialect to communicate better.”
“Good, good,” said the commander, nodding. “The Stromel in the Far North have a different dialect, of course, but they will respect you if they think you are one of them, even with a southern accent and mannerisms.”