The next day, following a hearty dinner and prodigious breakfast seperated by most of a night's sleep, I am making my way to the town of Heucia. Grigoria was generous in the wake of my assistance and I now have a rather fine waxed leather carrying case for my few possessions, slung uncomfortably low on my back beneath my wings. My replacement sword is rather more substantial than the weapon that was ruined fighting the trolls, a tapered steel longsword with a two handed grip wrapped in wire, plainer but definitely better suited to my size. She also gave me money, a generous handful of coins that I suspect would represent a year or more of earnings for most people. But I did save her life.

I also did get a brief introduction to just what they are worth. The foundation of the currency is gold coins, reasonably fine gold coins of twenty carat and about seven to an ounce. They are tiny and apparently quite rare in practise, largely used by the nobility. Below this are what I initially assumed were silver but are actually copper coins with a silver wash and minimal bullion content, forty eight of them to a gold coin, with eighteen purely copper coins to one of the vaguely silver. This is not a financial situation that fills me with boundless confidence regarding the stability of the local regime. Apparently there are foreign coins with higher quality in circulation, but not in random villages.

That means there are eight hundred and sixty four copper coins to one gold, each copper coin slightly lighter than the gold one. Apparently fair pay to a skilled labourer for a day of work is one (slightly) silver coin or ten or so copper, with the 'silver' coins in practise exchanged well below their face value. All of the coins are tiny, with perhaps a hundred to the pound. Some of my stolen jewellery is gold and so whilst I am not wealthy I am certainly not lacking in currency for the moment.

I did not want to linger in the village for too long though and so I am still wearing the ill fitted robes I looted from the woman I killed immediately after my arrival, which does not help my comfort as I stride alongside Markos' horse. Ioulia is mounted behind us and leading a pack animal, we have plenty of time to chat as we proceed along the earthen path.

“So just what are your plans then, you mentioned that your sister stands to inherit?” His elder sister is apparently away right now along with half of his mother's retainers, hoping to earn her knighthood fighting against 'the empire' to the north. Markos shrugs slightly in immediate response them broods for a moment over his reply.

“I do not know, I was hoping that my mother would let me go off to war this season but she has spoken of sending me to the church or to become a mage.” The latter part absolutely catches my interest but he continues. “I would prefer to be a knight though. I need to attract the notice of some great lord and join his household. Perhaps the count will offer me a position after he is introduced to you Captain Alessandra! Angels normally only manifest in our world briefly and at extreme need.” This prospect does seem to perk him up. I do my best to limit his expectations.

“I am not planning to offer my services to your mother's liege Markos. I mean to introduce myself to him politely as I enter his demesne then speak with the local high priest. If, as I suspect, he cannot facilitate my return home then I am going to find a tailor and get clothing that fits.” To his credit he does not then glance down at my bare legs again, but he has done that quite a lot over the past day. I find myself reaching a hand back to smooth my feathers, that seems disturbingly natural.

Then I glance back to Ioulia, who has continued to not include herself in the conversation. “Ioulia.” She blinks and flinches a little as I address her, looking to me with an expression of surprise. “What about you?”

She seems unsure of how to answer. “I'm Dame Grigoria's groom and honoured to be in her household my lady?”

I press her further. “But what do you aspire to? Not that I want to insult your station, you are after all riding right now whilst I walk and your assistance with the trolls was very welcome. You throw a fine javelin.” Markos seems perturbed as I talk to his servant.

Ioulia glances to the young man, then back to me, she hesitates before she answers. “I would wish to be a knight your grace. But its not likely. The horses, the gear, not going to happen less I ransom a lord or something in the dame's service.” I consider a moment, that is... Not something I wish to encourage and frankly the young woman is riding on a horse, she is well fed, she is probably treated with respect by almost everyone in that village even if the knight's family treats her like furniture. She is one of the elite in this fucked up medieval world even if in the lower echelons of it. Also all evidence points to 'becoming a knight' probably leading to one having a village to literally lord over.

“Where I originate.” I remain as unspecific as possible. “Becoming a military leader is, at least nominally, not decided by origin. All equipment is provided, one can be a captain and be paid less than an experienced sergeant for that matter. Responsibility when it comes to waging war is not something to be taken up lightly.” Hopefully this sounds profound? Certainly both of them nod and look thoughtful.

But I want to get back to an early subject. “Markos, you mentioned becoming a mage. How does that work in this world?” I try to mask the fact I have no idea how being a mage works at all, in any world. He seems eager to reply.

“First one needs to have been graced with magic by the divines but that is true of almost all members of the gentry. Harder is awakening it, the mage guilds or the priesthood do so with secret rituals after years of induction. The problem is that it takes years to learn how to use real magic, requiring advanced mathematics and mental exercises repeated tens of thousands of times.”

This sounds absolutely nothing like when I used fire, I just pushed something out from myself, or unleashed it. Perhaps because I am not in a human body? Or perhaps I was doing it wrong? I will have to learn more.

“And enchanted items such as your armour or your mother's sword?” I continue to question him as we travel along. He shrugs. “I have no idea how they are made Captain Alessandra? It is expensive but not ruinously so compared to the cost of fine armaments. We have some lesser enchantments in the castle, barrels that preserve food, charms upon the well, that kind of thing. Even richer farmers have weak wards or charms on an heirloom tool or home warding.”

None of which I can feel in the way I did the magical armour and weaponry. So either I can only detect magic of a certain potency or my sensitivity is limited in it's field. I nod before asking. “So most men at arms have such armour?”

“Many do.” He answers. “The cost of good plate is high enough that having it receive basic enchantment is almost always worthwhile. Weapons are rarer, but powerful! You saw my mother's blade, my elder sister has a weapon like it.” Left unsaid is that even with his mother ruling a village there was obviously not the budget for him to have a magical weapon.

Cultivation grows denser as we approach the town and more than a few farmers or herders pause in their labour to watch, or even follow, calling out for blessings from me. Initially I try to answer them, reluctantly assuring them that I can offer no such thing, which... Hurts when people are asking that I heal a sick family member. More worryingly some do ask to be saved from their lord and I start to feel increasingly uneasy about this visit, Markos trying to direct Ioulia to show the peasants off until I interject.

As a result both are in stony silence by the time Heucia comes into view, we crest a low hill, thick with fields, to see a small town with a stone wall nestled in a loop of a narrow and fast flowing river. The walls are extended across an arched stone bridge to link with a curtain wall and castle on the far bank, wooden buildings nestling around a squat and square stone keep. Most of the town is stone though, slate roofs, a church or temple of sorts soaring high over the other buildings and at least clad in marble with a green roof of old copper. I do not really know how to judge it's likely population. Two thousand people? Three? This is no bustling metropolis though it seems lively enough and there are a pair of armoured guards standing at the gate we approach.

I consider them carefully, both are armoured in a similar fashion to how Ioulia was yesterday, layered and padded cloth with linked chains (jack chains) to protect the outsides of the limbs, plate at the knees and elbows, heavy boots and simple metal gauntlets lacking individual fingers. Combined with this are broad rimmed helmets and in the case of the main, a knee length vest of mail. They have halberds along with short swords and daggers at their sides.

The guards also immediately come to attention as they first see a gentleman, Markos, on horseback, then double take as they realize the oversized pedestrian at his side has wings. The two of them, a man and women both who look to be middle aged, then rally with the woman stepping back to the open gate whilst the man warily approaches us, a bow once he is at a suitable distance.

“Greetings, Divine Messenger. What brings you to our humble town?” The woman sticks her head through a doorway in the gatehouse, speaking urgently to somebody. Markos looks about to answer, glances to me, I nod to him. He replies. “I am Markos son of Dame Grigoria. My mother has asked me to escort Captain Alessandra.” He motions to me with a gloved hand. “To meet with Count Sallotis. She has been of great assistance and saved my mother's life only yesterday.”

This is when I speak up, whilst looming over the guard. “I am not here to deliver a special message to your lord. I am paying respects as I enter his demesne and do not plan to occupy overmuch of his time.” At this point I mentally brace myself for stomaching an encounter with a feudal lord whom I am increasingly convinced I do not want to accidentally come across as endorsing or blessing.