Martin had been roused with some difficulty as he was a deep sleeper, but Frances and Elizabeth had managed to do so, and after explaining that they had to be ready to leave to the bleary-eyed knight, the trio packed everything they needed.

The next morning, after a quick porridge for breakfast, Earl Darius provided them with horses, and two remounts each.

They set out at a blistering canter, Martin leading the way. The young knight was beside himself with worry, and for the first half of the day it was all Frances and Elizabeth could do to keep up with him.

Only once they’d stopped and dismounted for lunch, did Martin, slowly, shamefaced, face his friends.

“I’m sorry. I know I’ve pushed us too hard, it’s just that it’s my home.”

Frances was so sore that she had gotten off her horse and was rubbing her thighs through the trousers she wore under her loose dress. Nevertheless, she could imagine how Martin felt and she forced a smile to her face.

“It’s fine, Martin.”

Elizabeth had a much sourer expression, but she managed a bit of a grimace. “Yeah, we understand. Just… can we go a bit slower?”

“Yeah of course,” Martin said, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. They sat down for lunch then, and after washing their hands in a nearby stream, pulled out rolls of bread, salted beef, cheese, and a few carrots.

They ate in silence, too exhausted and sweaty from the trip to talk much. That and they were gulping down their bottles of water.

It was only when they’d finally started to remount that Elizabeth suddenly stiffened.

“Frances, didn’t you say Jessica and Leila bullied you at school?”

“Yeah. And yes, I know I’m going to be seeing them.” Frances nudged her horse into a canter, not realizing she was grimacing as she did so.

Elizabeth followed her. “You’re… not scared? Jessica’s a little less mean of late, but Leila is still… well—”

“A bitch? Yeah. I don’t expect either of them to see me as anything of a rival and I’ll be ready for them.”

“You… you are?”

At Frances’s grim nod, Martin spoke up, eyes narrowed, asked cautiously, “Frances, I don’t mean to say they don’t deserve rebuke, but you sound like you want to fight them.”

That made Frances suddenly sit straighter in her horse, her eyes wide with shock. Did she want a fight?

The answer was yes. She wanted to beat Jessica and Leila and show she wasn’t the weak, helpless target she’d been. Frances tried to force herself to calm down, exhaling furiously as if trying to blow her anger out, but she couldn’t forget. It was funny because she still had nightmares about her parents. But what once were memories that made her fear her bullies, now only brought forth anger.

Jessica, a tall blonde girl, liked being in charge. Frances was sure that most of the rumours and lies about her in school were Jessica’s doing. If she caught Frances after class, she would force her to do her homework, in a snobby, airy tone of voice. Frances could hear her even now, saying, “You better get my homework done by Saturday, Foul Francy.” If Frances didn’t get it done, or couldn’t get it done to her satisfaction, Jessica’s favourite tactic was to shove Frances into the showers and blast her with water. It’d force her to skip class, or dry herself off the best she could and sit through, shivering in her clothes.

If Jessica was annoyed at Frances’s latest effort with her homework, she’d set Leila loose on her..

Frances could remember the toe of Leila’s sneaker thudding into her stomach. She could remember the taste of her own bile as she curled up on the toilet floor, as kick after kick from the shorter, athletic East-Indian girl thudded into empty stomach. Sometimes, if her stocky bully was in a particularly bad mood, and if Frances couldn’t escape her, she’d just drag her into a school corner, and vent out her anger.

Leila had never hurt her as badly as her parents, but the bruises stung and she could still recall trying her best to dodge the pair.

“Frances? Frances!” yelled Elizabeth. Her friend had suddenly slowed to a stop. Her eyes were open, staring at nothing, breath slow and laboured, hands clenched around the leather reins.

A calmer, but grim-faced, Martin, guided his horse next to Frances touched his friend’s shoulders and gently shook them.

Frances blinked and realized where she was, and what she was doing.

“I… I spaced out didn’t I?” Frances whispered.

“Yeah. What did they do to you, Frances?” Elizabeth asked.

“Bad things. Which is why I am going to make sure they get the message if I see them again,” she muttered.

“Frances, you can’t just attack them, no matter how badly they hurt you. You’re both fighting on the same side,” Martin pointed out.

“I… I'm not going to attack—” Frances winced and bowed her head, shamefaced. No, Martin was right. She’d been imagining squashing her old bullies with her magic. Blasting them with magic until they apologized. But she couldn’t, or shouldn’t. Edana’s magic wasn’t meant to be used to exact such petty revenge. “You’re right. Thanks for reminding me, Martin.”

Elizabeth swallowed. On one hand, she was glad her friend was no longer looking like an angry bear, but people did not just sit there remembering things without good reason. Plus, Leila and Jessica were infamous in the school. She heard tales of their terrorizing the student population, and often getting away with it. Apparently, Leila was related to one of the school board members and Jessica’s mother was the school district superintendent. If Frances, vulnerable, outcast, was one of their victims…

“Wait, Frances, you never explained what they did to you? I mean, I heard things… but I… well I want to know,” Elizabeth pleaded.

Frances shook her head, “We need to get to Conthwaite—” her voice trailed off. Elizabeth had pulled her horse ahead and blocked them off.

“Oh no you don’t. You’re telling us. If we are going to meet them, I refuse to meet them unprepared.”

“Frances is entitled to keep her secrets if she wants,” Martin said forcefully.

Elizabeth deflated slightly, but she held her head high. “Alright, but that doesn’t mean Leila and Jessica don’t deserve what’s coming for them.”

“They’re on our side—”

“They don’t have any other side but their own. Jessica still tries to intimidate and boss us around, and Leila still uses her fists, as well as her magic now, to bully others.”

Appalled, Martin immediately closed his mouth and glanced at Frances.

Frances could only nod. “She’s right. I… Jessica forced me to do her home—school work and if I didn’t, she’d force me to lick the sole of her shoes amongst other things. Leila was like my parents. She used me as a punching bag.”

“... and they haven’t stopped trying to bully other people?” Martin asked horrified.

“Lately, Jessica has been petty rather than mean, but Leila is still intimidating and trying to bully people,” Elizabeth said, still staring at Frances. “They have successfully completed their missions, so I’ve heard, but I… I never trusted them, and I don’t trust them now.”

Martin narrowed his eyes. “Either way, we need to tread carefully around them, and stick close to you, Frances.”

“Wait, why?”

“To protect you of course. They will think twice about trying something if there are people around,” Martin said. He grinned. “And if they do try something, I think we can take them.”

“Hell yeah!” Elizabeth exclaimed, she raised her fist to Martin, and he after a second’s hesitation, bumped it.

Frances for her part blushed, and sheer relief brought a bright smile to her face. No matter what, she wasn’t going to face her old bullies alone.

It took a week of hard riding and camping by the road or at stopover points to get to Conthwaite. Thankfully, for most of the journey, they could stop by inns and Royal waystations that gave them a roof over their heads and a semi-comfortable bed to rest their road-battered bodies on.

If Erisdale being the kingdom of valleys, Conthwaite was one of its least picturesque, and yet, prettiest.

Unlike Leipmont, which was filled with forest, and the bounty of nature, with towns interspersed, Conthwaite was a rocky wilderness semi-tamed into civilization, but the wilderness hadn’t quite given up. Conthwaite’s white limestone mountains were so steep and rugged that no trees could grow there. The only ones were young and man-cultivated. They all grew in the valley, which was heavily populated. Every scrap of available land not occupied by crop fields, small grazing fields, or terraced farms had a walled village or town. Streams were diverted through canals or aqueducts that crisscrossed the terrain. Yet, the weeds that grew along the roadside and the sudden cliffs and hills that cut through farmlands and towns made it quite clear that Conthwaite hadn’t been quite domesticated by its inhabitants.

Travelling through Conthwaite took an extra week. It wasn’t a large valley, but it was heavily populated and the roads were quite busy with soldiers, farmers, labourers and merchants.

It would have taken longer if Martin hadn’t worn his surcoat, a black tower on a hill with a field of white. This sped the way for them as while Martin didn’t lord over his status as part of the ruling house of the county, the surcoat did make people get out of their way. Martin wasn’t the heir to Conthwaite, but he was the second son, which gave him a bit more freedom, and also seemed to explain why Edana had asked him to accompany Frances and Elizabeth.

He was also inordinately fond and proud of his home. Even as they rapidly cantered, he pointed out landmarks, explained the history of certain towns in Conthwaite, and discussed the economy of the valley.

From the non-stop lecture that Frances and Elizabeth tried to listen to (because Frances was interested in how the people of Conthwait lived and Elizabeth was curious about Martin’s family) the girls picked up a few things.

First, being on the border next to Alavaria, Conthwaite was a highly militarised county. It was divided into shires and burghs, all of whom would contribute highly trained militia in times of crisis. This explained the many bands of archers and men at arms that were marching down the roads. However, the county’s main export was high-quality limestone and marble rock, which explained the large number of quarriers they passed by and the well-paved, but also well-worn roads that carried their heavy carts.

What guarded the gateway to all this, was the fortress at Freeburg.

“So, what does Freeburg look like?” Elizabeth asked one evening. The three were seated at the end of a long table at the Three-Way roadside inn and had just finished a dinner of mutton stew. Martin apparently knew the owner of the inn, a portly man called Galveston. Apparently, Galveston was a former cook of the Conthwaite’s house and when he left their service, Martin had invested money in his former servant’s inn and soon had a stake. Thus, the trio had been given some free ale to enjoy.

Martin grimaced. “Scary. It is built…. well it is the only road from Conthwaite to Alavaria. Think of a road that falls off into an abyss, divided into several castle courtyards that extend to the cliff face. Each section is protected by a gatehouse. ”

Elizabeth whistled. “Wow. Going to be hard to retake then.”

“Yes, it will be.” Martin glanced around the inn, before leaning in. “What I’m more concerned about is what Master Edana meant by treachery. I mean, we used to garrison the castle, but ever since the war started, a Royal Army garrison took over. That they will betray the castle to the enemy seems inconceivable.”

“Every person has their price,” Frances said in a dry voice, repeating something from a novel she read that sounded particularly apt for the moment.

That made Martin grimace and Elizabeth furrow her brow.

“You’re not wrong there,” muttered the knight, taking a sip from his tankard.

Frances mirrored his movement, licking her lips to savour the almost biscuit-like malt of her drink. “Huh, this ale is really good.”

“I wish I could taste it all,” Elizabeth muttered. Her ale had been watered down slightly due to her younger age.

“Conthwaite ale is also one of our specialties,” Martin quipped brightly before smirking at Elizabeth “When you are fifteen Elizabeth, come to Conthwaite and I’ll treat you as many as you’d like.”

“Perhaps not all at once,” Frances said evenly, but she couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey, Liz! What’s up?”

Frances and Elizabeth both stiffened at the voice, which they both instantly recognized. Martin, who was sitting beside Elizabeth, saw a tall statuesque blonde, and a shorter, dark-skinned, dark-haired girl built like a tank, strut into the inn like they owned the place, and frowned as he noticed the reactions of his companions.

Frances didn’t move a muscle as haunting memories assailed her like waves against a beach. She daren’t turn around at the girl she knew was coming up.

“Jessica, Leila. Fancy seeing you here,” said Elizabeth, fingers clenching her mug. Martin’s eyes widened for a brief moment, but he smoothed his features into a practiced court smile.

Meanwhile, Frances sat silent, shivering, a desperate look in her eyes. Immediately, Elizabeth and Martin knew that their friend was in no shape to face her former bullies.

“You must be Jessica and Leila. I am Sir Martin of Conthwaite. My friend Elizabeth has told me quite a lot about you,” said the knight, standing up, extending a hand. He had to draw attention away from Frances.

He also noted that both Jessica and Leila were dressed in scarlet Erisdalian Red Order robes.

“Oh, how did Elizabeth find you, handsome?” wondered Leila in a husky voice, as she extravagantly extended her hand to shake Martin’s.

Jessica rolled her eyes slightly at Leila, but she had an almost fond smile on her lips. “Do you mind if we join you both and your silent friend over there? We kind of want to know what’s best to order,” she asked.

Martin and Elizabeth paused. The knight let Leila’s hand go, practically dropping it whilst Elizabeth stalwartly did her best to focus her gaze forwards. However, from the corner of both of their eyes, they were watching their frozen, hunched over friend.

Said friend was trying not to bolt and run, doing her best not to plan an escape route, like she always tried to do the moment she heard the voices of these two girls.

Leila, groaning, threw her hands up in the air. “Oh come on, what did we ever do to you, Elizabeth? We left you well enough alone.”

Before Elizabeth could even think of a response, Jessica nudged her friend with her elbow and raised her hands. “Look, Elizabeth, seriously. I don’t know what you heard of us, but it’s not half as bad as you think. Really.”

Elizabeth snapped to her feet, arms crossed. “Shoving a girl into the showers and blasting her with water isn’t half bad?”

Jessica’s eyes widened. “That’s—”

“Yeah, that’s right. I know exactly what you did to Frances. Forcing her to do your homework? Making her lick your shoes? Kicking her half to death?”

Frances barely dared to breathe. She was hiding her trembling hands under the table, trying to get her breathing under control. She was glad, really glad, that Elizabeth was distracting her bullies, but with every word her friend spoke, phantom pains, and invisible memories of water soaking her clothes, crawled up her skin. Tremors of fear forced her to brace herself against the table, as every instinct in her body told her to run, and yet, her muscles were locked in place, refusing to obey her.

Elizabeth’s hands, without thinking, rested on her warhammer. “Get out of here. Both of you.”

“How did you even… who told you this?” Jessica stammered.

Leila scowled, ugly violence twisting her lips into a snarl. “That’s beside the point, Jess. Why don’t we take this outside Liz—”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Martin coughed officiously. “I am the second son of the Lady of Conthwaite. I would take great offence if you harm my friend. So why don’t you take your company to another table and don’t bother us.”

Jessica frowned and shook her head disbelievingly, looking over Frances (who she barely even registered) to roll her eyes at Elizabeth. “Liz, who is this idiot? Seriously, what did you do to get someone to pretend to be a noble? Preach him to death about your imaginary sky daddy and his dead as nails son?”

Leila added a snort, and quipped, “How can you even think that shit's real anymore?”

Elizabeth visibly recoiled and Frances winced at the pain she knew Jessica’s sharp tongue was inflicting on her friend. She’d been on the receiving end of it many times.

But an undaunted Martin rolled his eyes, cupped his mouth and yelled out to the bar. “Oi, boys. Master Galveston. These ladies say that I’m pretending about who I am and are beginning to rightly annoy me. Do you mind removing her from my presence?”

Master Galveston, the innkeeper, was a big burly man. He had a belly, but that didn’t hide the muscles in his arms. He strode up, hands on his hips, backed by a couple of bouncers.

“You heard his lordship. Why don’t you settle down and take your company elsewhere ladies—”

Galveston immediately stepped back as Leila whipped out her wand, pointing it at his nose.

Her back wet with cold sweat, reminding her too much like the showers she was shoved under, Frances nearly burst out crying as she saw her bully sneer. It was all turning out like the last time. It didn’t matter what she learnt, what she did, she was helpless against the two. How was this possible? Didn’t Edana teach her to be better? To be strong? To change? Just what would Edana do in her place?

“No. I’m an Otherworlder mage of the Red Order and you will afford my friend and me the respect we deserve,” Leila hissed.

Jessica looked somewhat annoyed, but she raised her staff threateningly making the inn’s patrons all slowly back away. Martin stared at the pair, stunned.

“You… you idiots. You’re threatening a knight and the people you’re supposed to protect,” he spluttered.

“To be quite blunt, Sir Martin, you escalated the situation first, and you need us more than we need you,” said Jessica. She gently nudged Leila again, and her companion grudgingly lowered her wand, but only slightly. “Look, all we wanted was a drink. But now that you mentioned it, how do you know about Frances?”

Galveston stepped forward, a dangerous growl in his voice. “Look, lady, we don’t want no trouble. Why don’t you all just go outside and talk it out like civil folk,” he said, extending his hand toward Leila’s shoulder.

Seeing this, Leila pointed her wand back at the innkeeper, hissing, “Back off!”

Galveston immediately did so and Frances suddenly found her arm instinctively grabbing her wand, as if wanting to cast a spell. Ivy’s Sting’s wood was cool to the touch of her clammy fingers. Her soft presence was like a balm on her skin because Frances, though, still scared, terrified even, suddenly, she didn’t feel so alone.

Elizabeth, after a quick glance at the still wide-eyed, still-frozen Frances, smiled grimly.

“No, you back off. You can’t take on all of us, even if you are mages,” she said pointedly.

Martin, whose hand had been resting on the hilt of his sword, wrapped his fingers around the handle and drew his weapon slightly out of its sheath, to emphasize the point and also as a “just-in-case.”

However, the moment his fingers started to pull on his weapon, Leila having caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, spun around and slashed his wand at him, crying out a word of power.

Martin, reacted, ducking, lunging off the bench. He moved just quickly enough that the spell, a bolt of scarlet energy that crackled like fire, spat past him and hammered into the far wall.

Before the bolt exploded, Frances moved.

All the worry about what she should do, what was right, what might happen to her if she did act, disappeared. The thoughts about what her Master would have done in her place, what Edana would tell her to do, thoughts that paralyzed her, were blasted clear. The terror, all the memories that played across the forefront of her mind were banished and replaced with a single thought.

Protect, my friends.

Ivy’s Sting rose to point to Leila’s chest. Thanks to the efforts of her friends, Leila had barely even noticed a person was sitting right under her nose. Even as her former bully’s eyes widened, Frances was already crying out the principal note to her spell, the image clear in her mind.

Her broad-shouldered bully torpedoed backward, feet dangling in the air, her arms cartwheeling desperately to stop her impromptu flight. Before she could yell out another spell, Frances slammed her into the ground. Still singing, Frances dragged the bench that Martin and Elizabeth had been sitting on to the still-groggy Leila and locked it on top of her, pinning the girl to the ground. She added a final high note to rip Leila’s wand out of her hand.

While this had been happening, Jessica made to yell out a word of power, but Elizabeth leapt over the table and tackled the girl to the ground. Wrestling for control over the blonde’s staff, the pair rolled over one another again and again.

Martin, after a moment to time himself, kicked at the pair, his boot thwacking right into Jessica’s back. She gasped, and instinctively clutched her spine, allowing Elizabeth to wrest control of the staff and roll away. Jessica yanked a dagger from her belt, but she found the tip of a wooden wand pointed right at her face.

“Hello, Jessica,” Frances said. Her voice was quieter than she expected, even though she wasn’t trying to hide her long-suppressed fury. Seeing her bully at the point of her wand was… extremely gratifying.

Jessica blinked, staring up at Frances. She dropped her dagger with a clatter and raised her arms. “Sorry, do I know you?”

At first, Frances thought Jessica was playing a bad prank on her, but no, Jessica did not recognize her. This… was crazy. Jessica knew what she had done, remembered what she had done, but how could she not have recognized her?

Frances was so taken aback she was silent as she wracked her brain for an answer. That was when she realized that the last time Jessica and Leila had seen her, she’d been a malnourished, scrap of a child in ill-fitting clothes who was too afraid to even look up at her bullies.

Jessica, by now, seemed to realize Frances looked familiar, but her eyes were narrowed in confusion or glancing at the struggling Leila.

“Let us go! You bitch! Whoever the fuck you are! Or we’ll talk to the Red Order and they’ll have your heads!” Leila snapped.

Martin burst out laughing, and Elizabeth after a beat, also found herself chortling after her friend, even as Frances found herself shaking her head.

“Tell the Red Order that they’ll be looking for Frances, apprentice to Edana Firehand, Grandmaster of the White Order,” said Frances shortly.

Jessica was thunderstruck and she sat down on the ground, her jaw agape. Leila blinked, staring at Frances.

“Frances—wait. Foul Francy? How. What? No fucking way.”

Frances flinched at the nickname and found her wand pointed back at Leila, a note on her lips, begging to be sung.

At that, Frances instantly felt the comforting presence of her wand abruptly recoil, as Ivy Sting protested what her master wanted to do.

Swallowing, Frances forced herself to lower her wand and stepped back.

“Yeah, it’s me.” She closed her eyes, fighting the urge to hurt them, to pay the pair back for what they did to her. It was an exhilarating feeling that also made her feel like she wanted to vomit. “Martin, what… what now?”

“I’d call Edana, Frances. She probably is the best person to figure out this mess,” said Martin.