I had thought God's warriors were just a bunch of fanatics, but no, it turned out they were ordinary people trying to serve God in their own way. True, Anna and I were not a big fan of the Circle of God's Worshipers, mainly because we two knew real God. We had heard of the Archbishop's lie about God's decision on the next king. We saw what the Archbishop's minions had done in Montclam and Forez. Naturally, Anna and I thus expected these people to be evil, and that we were on the right side. But then, Vidame de Soilet was there, and I was starting to get confused.

Anna and I wandered around the area, not really knowing what to do. Marion and her Treedwelling kins were busy treating the wounded. The men of Armas were busy either setting up the camp or helping the defeated bury the dead. We had already pitched our little tent, took some hours of nap, but quickly got bored, and without much thought, we paced around watching people doing their things.

To the remaining soldiers of Soilet Diocese, Anna was an intriguing mystery. Among the scruffy-looking bearded men totted around a slender young maiden clad in armor underneath three layers of wool blankets draped over. Matted brown hair pulled to a short yet tight ponytail, her small pointy nose jutting out the face gritty from the grime covering the slightly rosy cheeks, her little mouth, a bit displeased by the pain in her shoulder and the back. Appearance-wise, Anna was a girl who didn't mind getting herself dirty and bloodied, which in itself was quite not to the norm of noble-born maidens. But she was not just any noble girl, but the heiress to a very esteemed Barony. A freaking La Rose. And they had witnessed her screaming and kicking and decapitating their fellows.

At first, they backed off, scared, getting out of our way, but slowly, curiosity won over. Eyes started to turn our way, and questions trickled in. How old is she? Where did she learn to fight like that? Why is she even here? Through these interactions, I managed to learn a few things about Vidame de Soilet and his father.

Antoine was a traveling merchant, moving goods from here to there, leading a small column of caravans. Things weren't looking too good, but on the other hand, not too bad. Antoine managed to get by. Living on the road, carrying money and goods, meant occasional encounters with bandits, in most of which Antoine and his fellows were successful in repelling. Blood and death were nothing new to him.

In his travel, Antoine fell in love with a village girl. After their humble marriage, she left her parent's hut to accompany her husband. To her, having never set a foot outside the small confines of her village, the life of a traveling merchant was an adventure beyond what she had ever dreamed. The excitement and the couple's passion-driven urge made their caravan rock at nights. When she eventually conceived a child, the couple were ecstatic. They upped their mercantile efforts, hoping to be ready to provide for the soon to be born child.

Understandably, Antoine was devastated when his son turned out to carry numerous defects. Ashamed, his wife threw herself off a cliff, which further drove the man to deeper sadness. But Antoine stood tall. He gritted his teeth and clawed out of bottomless despair. On the road, pitied and aided by his fellows, Antoine raised his son, Gaston, all by himself. And this endeavor, the very essence of father's selfless sacrifice and sleepless love, seeped into the fabric of Gaston's soul. The boy, despite his crippled physique, grew up alright with a more than healthy attitude.

Gaston's humble heart caught the eyes of a priest, who happened to tag along for an unspecified route Antoine's caravans were moving. They reached wherever the initial destination had been. But instead of parting his way, the priest stuck around and traveled with the merchants. The man of faith began to teach Gaston the words of God.

One thing led to another, and Gaston ended up in a small monastery to find his purpose in God's plan. Antoine was more than grateful. Not only the Circle had taken his crippled defect of a son in, but they welcomed Gaston as an equal, with no prejudice nor discrimination. The monastery became Antoine's beacon. A fixed destination for him to return to after every worldly travel. A place where his own blood dwelt, not shunned.

As said before, Gaston was alright. His devotion and hard work did not go unnoticed, and he soon began to rise in the ranks within the Circle, much to Antoine's delight. By now, the father himself had become a devout worshiper, and when he found faith, he also found peace.

And that got me puzzled. The stories of Antoine and the rise of his son Gaston to the position of Vidame de Soilet... in all that, there was nothing but the virtue of hard work and devotion and endearing hope. There was nothing evil about these two or the Circle. It was puzzling. Then why the fuck are they on the same side as a man like Hugo?

The news of the defeat at the bridge must have traveled fast. Men sent to scout ahead came back with the information Baron Hugo was not in Bourg.

"The Baron is most likely in Chartoise, where His Excellency the Bishop of Soilet is," Gaston, Vidame de Soilet, commented.

"What exactly is the relationship between His Excellency and Hugo?" the Comte asked.

"It has been that of mutual respect, albeit distant. Baron's Bourg, Bourgillet, and Chartoise make up the diocese of Soilet, so naturally, some of our activities have taken place in the land of Baron Hugo's jurisdiction. His Lordship has often supported the Circle's preaching, and in return, His Excellency prayed God's blessings unto the Baron's endeavors."

"Do such endeavors include the senseless killing of peasants and the like?" the Comte shot icily.

Gaston frowned, uncertain.

"His Excellency would never encourage such atrocity. My Comte, are you sure the Baron was acting in the name of God?"

Comte d'Armas scratched his bearded chin, thinking. He shook his head.

"No. It was done in the name of His Royal Highness Prince Charles. Nevertheless, it is a known fact that anything done in His Highness's royal name is the doing of the Archbishop."

Gaston sighed and shook his head, somewhat confused himself.

"Then His Eminence must have a good reason to tolerate such, although I personally disagree with the action."

"There shall never be a good reason to tolerate such horrible deeds!"

"My foolishness, My Lord. Tolerance might not be the right word. To endure, would be the correct term."

The conversation went on like that for some time, and by the time they got back on the topic, Anna was yawning, and I was doodling.

We were discussing what to do. Where to go from here. The Comte still wanted to bring Baron Hugo to justice. Since he had no authority to judge outside his own Armas, the Comte planned to drag Hugo all the way to the capital and accuse him in front of the Royal Court of Justice. Comte d'Armas had broken through the first obstacle, which was Vidame de Soilet. Still, there remained the Bishop, who had Baron Hugo under his protection. Apparently, Archbishop Thoumas had ordered all members of the Circle to provide their blessing unto any who acknowledged Prince Charles as the next king. This was an uncomfortable situation, as we would be treading on the sacred ground.

"With me defeated, His Excellency no longer has worldly means to stop you from plucking Baron Hugo out of the Circle's protection," Gaston said with a neutral face, "and I do believe Your Lordship has solid justification which would convince the Bishop de Soilet to let the Baron be taken. However, I am not certain how Comte de Chartoise would react."

"Ha!" the Comte scoffed, brushing off the concern, "the Count of Chartoise is a jolly good, righteous man with a strong sense of honor. Once I explain to him my actions, he won't object."

Vidame de Soilet shut up, but there was a small wry smile on the man's face. Not very convinced.

###

The sun had set, and the long day was ending. The firsts of the stars were lit over a large bonfire. We gathered in the open, before the rows and columns of freshly made graves. Vidame de Soilet, perched on his wooden cart, welcomed and thanked the men of Armas for joining. His father, Commandant Antoine, silently nodded to Gaston's words. The members of Soilet diocese listened to God's message, some weeping, some muttering prayers.

We, of the Comte's army, stood in silence and paid respect to the men who had been put down by our hands. Gaston's clear voice soothed the saddened souls and reminded us that one day, when the day would eventually come for each and every one of us, we, too, would be glad that God had led us through our lives. Anna and I stood still, watching and listening. Next to us stood Marion and the Barkskins. Not wanting to disrespect the dead and the mourning humen, they, too, kept their mouths shut and played along.

With a vocal prayer, Gaston sent off his fallen comrades, and now it was our Comte's turn.

The Comte stepped up and stood before Vidame de Soilet.

"Pardonez, but my men are not followers of the Circle's teaching. May we do it our way?"

"In essence, it is all the same," Gaston said with a genuine smile, "what counts is what lies in our hearts. Please, do proceed."

Thus the Comte turned around and faced his men. With his old and brittle, yet wise voice, he began to sing. One by one, the soldiers of Armas joined in. The song was about returning to the mother's bosom that birthed us. Mother awaits at home for us, but she has her hands full, busy tending to our beloved brethren. Thus she has sent for us. The song then sings about the kind aunt, who gently holds our hands and walks us back home to her sister, our mother. In the song, the child returning home says goodbye to his friends, wishing they meet again, while the patient aunt stands there and waits for the child to part with his mates.

'Iris and Eris!' I uttered under my breath. I glanced sideways and saw a faint smile of appreciation on Anna's face.

As he sang, the Comte paced slowly. He stopped and bowed before each grave that belonged to his men. Each time he bowed, the remaining soldiers of Armas banged on their chest and stomped their feet, and it was all too powerful to my young heart.

Marion started to groan and buried her head in her hands. She slowly, but gently, collapsed into the waiting hands of a Barkskin.

"Marion does this sometimes," the Treedweller explained, telling us she would be alright and should wake up soon.

Anna and I exchanged glances, elbowing, and nudging each other at the same time. We knew what was up with Marion.

Eris was there, invisible to everyone else, called upon by the mourning soldiers of Armas. Like a translucent ballerina, she waltzed around Vidame de Soilet as Comte d'Armas and his men sang. She swerved and twirled and pirouetted to the rhythm, her hands reaching out to the darkened sky as if calling. When the song ended, and the souls gathered in front of her like fireflies, Eris stopped her dancing. And with a loving smile, the goddess embraced the bright speckles suspended in the air. Then she raised her eyes and met mine. I nodded, and she nodded back with appreciation. Her eyes then moved onto Anna, and Eris' lips quivered a bit, holding back her emotion, seeing her friend face to face after so long. Anna wrapped her arm around my waist and pulled me tight. A gesture of assurance to her friend.

'We are alright.'

Eris nodded and beamed the brightest smile I had ever seen from her. With that, she left.

Some hours after Eris had left, Marion woke up and came to me. Anna had gone to sleep, but I was still awake. I lied in my bedroll laid in front of our tent, watching the stars, thinking about the graceful dance of the goddess.

"Twice today, René," said Marion and crouched down by my side. I half sat up and looked at her. Although the top half of her face was wrapped in clothing, I could still tell the signs of fatigue. She had had a busy day, first watching over us behind the enemy line, then taking care of the wounded the rest of the day.

"Are you alright? Your kin told us that you faint from time to time."

"Yes, I do that. Not always, though. Only when we mourn many deaths."

"Is that so?"

"Yes," she tilted her head towards the sky as if stargazing with her blindfolded eyes. Marion continued.

"I feel squeezed when that happens. As if something massively cosmic is descending unto us, engulfing the ground like a thick fog, drowning and choking me. But this time," she paused a bit, remembering, "today it was even more intense. And this time, it was on top of those darned trumpets and the light!"

I searched the sky, trying to find one of many Marion's eyes. There it was-- a speck of shadow outlined by the moonlight reflected from the clouds. An owl, perhaps? I waved at the bird, and Marion reached her hand out and waved back in front of my face.

"Fascinating, I know."

"It is indeed. How are you hearing me now, by the way?

I heard the sound of scurrying small feet behind Marion. A tiny mouse climbed up the robe and sat itself down on the witch's shoulder. Its eyes were studying me, questioning. I avoided the small beady eyes, lied down, and turned away from Marion.

"Look, young lad," I heard Marion standing up, "I don't think you are dangerous, but when you do that thing again, please, at least warn me beforehand."

"Do what thing?" I asked, still facing away from her.

"Whatever you did to frighten the Seigneur's horse. It was so intense it hurt."

I jolted a bit. Of course, Marion must have felt it. Even though she had stayed in the camp, busy tending to the wounded, she must have kept an eye on us and watched Anna's duel from afar. Even though she, like the rest of the men, had not witnessed the actual wrath of Firis, the goddess, she felt the lingering shock of divine manifestation. Now, she was mistaking it as my doing.

"Mademoiselle, I don't know what you are talking about."

Marion sighed.

"Well, good night, young lad. Keep it in mind that I am watching you."

I heard her leaving, the sound of her footsteps getting distant. I turned my head and shouted.

"Thank you for sending milady's sword this morning."

She did not turn around but just waved her hand in the air in an acknowledging fashion.

###

North of Bourg, west of Forez, was the land of Chartoise ruled by Guimond the Comte de Chartoise. An old acquaintance of our Count of Armas, Marco. Given how Chartoise was the largest and the richest of the lands that made up the diocese of Soilet, it was not surprising the Bishop's Court was located here, not too far from the Count's luxurious manor. Our first destination, however, was Fort Soilet, situated in the eastern part of Chartoise. A stone-walled monastery that had been converted to a fort. It was where Vidame de Soilet and his men generally dwelt when they were not out to do Bishop's worldly deeds. Gaston, the man in charge of the Fort and its men, kindly offered to accommodate the soldiers of Armas. By the time Comte d'Armas negotiated with and convinced the Bishop to hand over Baron Hugo, the winter would be upon us. And in winter, you do not want to camp your army in the open field.

"Thank you. Most generous," the Comte accepted with gratitude.

At this point, it was hard to tell who was the victor and who was the defeated. The men were cool and polite to each other. That, I found quite remarkable. Apparently, a fight was just a fight. Something in which you axe each other's head because it just was what you do. But once it was over, once wins and losses were settled and compensated, men were back to being polite and civil to each other, unless, of course, one had done something memorably horrible to the other. But in general, one would say 'You did bash me jolly good on me head, master,' and the other would laugh and say 'Ha! The thickness of your skull impresses me greatly. Come, join me for a jug of mead.' Such was the relationship between the soldiers of Armas and Soilet. It also helped that Vidame de Soilet was an open-minded person. Once the business of fighting was over, he was back to being the man of God. In his eyes, everyone was worth his love and compassion, no matter who they were.

Fort Soilet wasn't that big. Nor was it built for withstanding sieges. That was understandable, what with it originally having been a secluded monastery. Despite the appearance of an army they donned, Vidame de Soilet and his men were, in reality, just armed clerics. In essence, Fort Soilet was a small isolated village surrounded by the ten-feet high stone wall.

Anna and I stood by the deep well in the courtyard and watched people settling in. We were waiting for Antoine, who had promised me some winter clothing for the road. Soon enough, he came back, personally carrying a bundle of padded blankets and fur-lined coats and boots. I thanked the Commandant and stuffed them into the travel sack slung over Slinky's back.

"I am afraid these aren't exactly to the Lady's size," he said apologetically.

Sieur Henry walked over to us, his horse ready. The Comte and his Vicomte joined as well.

"Do you have everything you need?" the Comte asked, like a worried grandpa.

"My Lord," Henry said, patting on the travel sack on his horse, "it is only a few weeks. Please worry not."

Then the Sieur turned to face Anna and me. He asked once again.

"Are you sure you wish to come with me?"

'Yes, please!' Anna nodded eagerly. I, too, nodded.

Anna and I. We weren't really looking forward to attending the dealings between the Comte and the Bishop, negotiating the release of Baron Hugo from the Circle's protection. We felt we would be very uncomfortable in the Bishop's Court full of servants of God. Their God, fictional fabrication in our knowing eyes. On the other hand, Anna wasn't quite fond of the idea of staying put in the Fort while the negotiation went on. She and I learned that, whether we liked it or not, Hugo or no Hugo, it was given that we would be staying in Fort Soilet till the spring. Even if we got Hugo right away, the impending winter meant we would still stay put at least until the spring before dragging him to the Capital. Comte d'Armas was not the kind of man who would march his army in the snow.

So, when Sieur Henry, Anna's prisoner, came up to her and asked for permission so he could go north and visit his friend, Anna jumped right in and demanded that we tag along.

"Hopefully, I come back with good news," said the good Sieur, addressing the Comte.

Henry's friend, apparently, suffered from deteriorating health and thus had asked Sieur Henry to go help Baron Hugo in his stead. Henry wished to check on his friend but also at the same time persuade him to switch the side to Prince Louis faction.

After a long session of exchanging hearty words with the Comte and his entourage, Sieur Henry finally led us out of the Fort. Anna and I, on Lilly and Slinky, followed the Sieur knight. According to him, our destination wasn't too far, just a couple of days ride if we hurried. A bit more if we traveled at a leisurely pace. So, we set off. To north. To yet another unfamiliar ground.

###

Perpillon was the name of the place we were heading. According to Sieur Henry, it was a tiny little land wedged between the corners of Chartoise, Forez, and Montclam. At the foot of the slope on the southwestern side of Mount Clam's spinal ridge.

On the road, Sieur Henry and we talked about many things. He was very eager to learn about our Roseland. Hence, it was mainly him asking questions, and we providing answers and our own anecdotes.

Just as Henry had told us, Perpillon was close. Even though we took our time on the way, it only took four days. But in those four days, the weather had changed for real. Days were still sunny and dry, but the air was icy. During the night, I had no other choice but to join Anna in our small tent or risk freezing. When we were alone in the tent, sitting up on her bedroll, Anna would strip her top and turn around so I could apply the balm Marion had given. It was different from the substance Marion used on wounds. This one was rather thin and bluish-white in color and fittingly smelled of mint. Anna wasn't quite fond of the gooey sensation, but whatever the heck it was, the balm did wonders on the bruises on her back and left side of the ribcage.

On the fourth day, we crossed a narrow stream, and just like that, we were in Perpillon. A rolling plain of crop field lay before us, all harvested, of course. The field's soil, having done the job for the year, had dried and chilled to almost sandy-brown, ready to soak in whatever the coming winter threw at it. Across the fields, to the north, was a small village, the presence of which was highlighted by a windmill. To the east, the southern tail of Mount Clam stood tall, its long, spine-like ridge already white from the high-altitude snow. At the foot of the slope, I could make out a small collection of huts and cabins with smoking chimneys. Between these two settlements, some hundreds of yards away from each village was a modest miniature castle.

"That is Sieur Geoffroi's castle. A good friend of mine," Sieur Henry informed us, "I will have you know Sieur Geoffroi is one of the few who's on par with the esteemed General Guillaume."

Henry's voice was proud, but I sensed a slight hint of sadness.

"In swordsmanship, you mean?" I asked.

"Indeed. I do hope he is in good enough of health for a round of..."

The good Sieur trailed off and sighed. I decided I would not press further.

On our way, we crossed a few peasant farmers. Henry must have come to Perpillon many times, for one of the farmers recognized the Sieur knight's face. Anna and I stood aside while they had a brief chat. Whatever he heard from the farmer, it wasn't good news. The Sieur's face darkened, and when we resumed trotting towards the castle, Henry remained silent.

About a hundred yards away from the castle, I assembled my pole and raised La Rose's banner, which Anna appreciated very much. Squinting my eyes, I could make out a man's head on the lookout. He must have spotted us, too. Soon, I heard the distant shouting from the top of the castle.

"It's Sieur Henry!"

###

Castle Perpillon was a rectangular structure, stone-built, with flattop cylindrical stairwell towers rounding up the corners. In the middle of the south-facing wall was the main gate, heavy double door that opened inward, under a tall archway.

The servants led us into the small courtyard about the size of a tennis court. Immediately next to the gate was a tiny stable, with just one stallion resting. It eyed Lilly only once and stayed away. On the other side was a couple of straw dummies and a wooden plank practice target propped up against the wall. It seemed they hadn't seen much use lately.

The walls were lined with stairs and servant's accesses. But the northern wall had a small platform with carved stone railings, from both sides of which two stairways arced down to the ground. The double door to the balcony flung open, and a young servant emerged and bowed before us. Then a sickly thin man in his long nightshirt appeared.

"Henry!"

"Geoffroi!"

Sieur Henry ran up the stairs in two steps at a time, and the two knights shook hands and hugged and patted each other's back. Anna and I stood at the foot of the stairs and waited, letting the good friends greet each other plenty. After some chitchats and banters, Sieur Henry finally remembered us. He beckoned us to come up, and Geoffroi leaned on the railings, studying with curious eyes Anna walking up the stairs.

"What are you doing, René boy? You come, too!" said Sieur Henry. I bowed a bit and ran up the stairs and stood slightly behind milady.

While the nobles did their courtesy thing and introduction, I noticed the distinct lack of color on Sieur Geoffroi's face. Henry had told me that they were of the same age, but contrary to Henry's healthy tan and solid build, this man was as pale as wax. And thin. Way too thin, his bones were visible. Even his dark brown hair was thin and matted in a way typical to any person who spent much of his day in bed. The nightshirt showed the same clues. The wrinkles and creases and stains indicated this man spent more time lying in bed than standing. The only redeeming qualities of this knight's appearance were his eyes and the handlebar mustache. The reddened eyes sunk deep, but there still remained the glimmer of brilliance. And the mustache was... the way the pointy tips majestically... Oh boy, it was so impressively sexy I can't even- I decided then and there that if I ever let my facial hair grow, this would be it.

"La Rose? You jest, Henry. La Rose?"

Sieur Geoffroi's voice broke my trance-like state of admiring his mustache. Anna did her courtesy thing again, bowing and smiling, elbowing me in the ribs.

"Lady Anna La Rose, the heiress to the Roseland, the sacred maiden who grants victory," I uttered automatically.

Henry nodded with a broad smile that was a bit smug. Yes, to the rest of the kingdom, a La Rose was a rare sighting.

"Pardonez, My Lady. I have not expected a guest of your statue-" Geoffroi apologetically bent forward, but he then doubled down and coughed uncontrollably, almost collapsing to his knees. Both his servant and Henry rushed to his side and helped him up. Sieur Geoffroi, face pale and sweating cold, wiped his mouth, and apologized.

"I beg for your forgiveness, My Lady. Please excuse my pitiful state."

Anna made a series of hand signs.

"Her Ladyship minds not, my good Sieur. She, in fact, worries we might be imposing at a time inconvenient to the Sieur."

Sieur Geoffroi blinked and stared at me for some seconds before a look of realization dawned on his face. The eyes shook for a bit but stabilized very quickly. He cleared his throat and faced Anna.

"No, My Lady, you are not imposing. The young Lady of La Rose is always welcome in my estate. It is just..." Geoffroi sighed. "It is just my end is near, and I am thus not very well at any given moment."

"Do not speak such nonsense," Sieur Henry slapped the man's back, trying to cheer his friend up. "You will recover in no time."

He tried his best to sound upbeat, but even I could sense the good Sieur knew himself that it was a lie. Sieur Geoffroi was dying.

###

We were led into Sieur Geoffroi's study, which also served as his office. The walls were lined with shelves so full of books and parchment and scrolls; it made me salivate. We sat ourselves down at a small wooden table, and soon a servant brought mead and bread.

"So, my good friend, how went Montclam?" having recovered from the previous coughing fit, Geoffroi asked rather gingerly.

Henry gulped down the content of his cup and sighed.

"My friend, I believe you will be disappointed in Baron Hugo."

With that, Sieur Henry explained what had happened in Montclam. He told what he had seen in Forez. He told the epic tale of our assault on the Bourg's bridge in our attempt to go punish the Baron in question.

"My! I cannot believe the Baron would do such horrendous things!"

"But, it is true."

"My God! What have I sent you into!"

There was a genuine look of remorse on our host's face. Then he glanced at Anna, who was fidgeting with the wooden cup in her hand.

"So, my friend, Henry, you are now Her Ladyship's prisoner, you say?"

"Indeed, but I would rather say..." Henry searched for the words for a moment, "I would say I am drawn to her beauty."

Anna blushed.

'Please! You flatter me, Sieur,' she said, borrowing my voice, which was rather embarrassing for me, too.

"No, no, milady. I am not saying you are beaut-"

Sieur Geoffroi smacked his friend's head.

"What are you saying to the Lady, Henry!"

"My apologies," Henry rubbed his head. "The young lady is indeed much pleasing to the eyes, albeit rather on the thin side, but what I meant is the essence... as a warrior. The radiating core that triumphs over everything else."

"Ah~," Geoffroi leaned back on his stool, his eyes staring into the distant dreamland as if he, too, was seeing what his friend had seen. "You've glimpsed the absolute, Henry, haven't you?"

"The absolute, Sieurs?" I could not resist but to ask. Was it some lingo specific to men of swords? As if one, the two knights ran their eyes up and down on me, then shook heads.

"Lad, you have never fought for your life and lost, have you? Until you have, you will not understand what it means to witness the inevitable."

I fell silent, thinking. Have I ever fought for my life AND lost? But wouldn't that mean, erm..., dying? Dying, I had done that, yes. I threw a glance at Anna. She was having a hard time hiding her glee. She must have understood what these two warriors meant.

The conversation drifted into the territory of politics. Sieur Henry was trying to persuade his friend to support His Royal Highness Prince Louis.

"Look what men are drawn to the Archbishop's schemes! Bigotry and senseless killing and dishonor," he shook his fist in the air. He continued, "but look who flocks to His Highness Prince Louis. The wise and honorable Comte d'Armas for one! And lo, even La Rose!"

At this moment, a servant came in and announced supper was ready.

"Let us continue afterward," said our host and led us down a flight of stairs into a small chamber lit by wall-mounted candles. There stood a long table, on which the servants had laid out their attempt at preparing a feast. There was a roasted pork leg in the center, surrounded by bowls of boiled peas and carrots, pickled cucumbers and onions, and a ravish amount of bread loaves. I felt a little pang in my heart. The extra amount of bread was probably meant to make up for lack of other offerings. It paled in comparison to everyday meals Anna and I used to have back in the Roseland. Clearly, the knight of Perpillon wasn't well off. Yet, he dug deep into his larder in order to welcome his dear friend.

The Sieurs insisted that I sit at the table and eat with them. So, I sat next to my Anna but felt immensely awkward. I could feel the subtle change in the way the servants eyed me. They first brought out wooden bowls of potato soup, and mine was laid in front of me with a hint of envy and a 'clack.' The soup was rather thin but still tasted quite good with the bread. Next, the servants brought a flat disk of bread for each of us. Sieur Henry carved a chunk of pork leg and put it on his bread plate along with the peas and carrots. I noticed Sieur Geoffroi just sitting there, watching his friend. He became aware of my curious gaze and smiled.

"Due to my condition, I am afraid I can only stomach simple foods. But please. Do not mind me. Go on."

As if on cue, a servant brought a bowl of porridge for his master. The knight smiled again and gestured for Anna and me to dig in. Anna, that spoiled brat, did not even lift her finger until I cut a modest chunk of pork and put it on her plate. She let me add the pickles and peas but pushed away the chopped carrots. I tried once more, and she pushed my hand away again.

"Milady! You will-"

I stopped and flashed an awkward smile at the two Sieurs. They were watching. I quickly and defiantly dumped a spoonful of chopped carrot slices on Anna's plate, and she and I exchanged a series of profanities in our silent language.

'You will eat this!' I insisted.

'No. I am not a horse.'

'True, but you are an ass.'

I chuckled to myself. That was a good one. Even she herself almost laughed. Defeated, Anna finally accepted her fate.

Despite the modest offering, Anna and I enjoyed our meal. We were sort of getting sick and tired of stew stew stew and stew on the road, so any variation was welcomed. The roasted pork leg was excellent. The exterior felt greasy yet crispy and oozed juiciness as I held it with one hand while cutting with the knife held in the other. The boiled peas and carrots and the sour pickles were a fun experience to the taste buds. As the host had intended, I also ate a healthy amount of bread to fill up the rest of my stomach. By the time I was almost full, the meaty grease and vegetable juice had soaked into the bread plate, which should be a good snack for the servants afterward.

###

The two knights were served large tankards of ale. After consulting me, the servants brought watered honey mead for Anna and me. The Sieurs were talking again, and the conversation resumed from where it had been left.

"Chartoise has helped me greatly with Perpillon. Thus my obligation is to Comte de Chartoise," said Geoffroi, sighing a bit. "I follow the Comte's decision."

"Good, Geoffroi. Fulfill your obligation by helping the Comte make the right judgment."

"I am not sure," there was a look of sadness in Geoffroi's face, "if His Lordship would listen. He has learned of my failing health, and ever since has not called for me."

"Perhaps the good Comte is considerate of your health. Wants you to rest-"

"No," our host shook his head. "I believe His Lordship no longer sees the need for my service."

"Yet, you will follow Chartoise?"

"Wouldn't you?"

Sieur Henry sank back and sagged.

"I would, yes."

His friend flashed a smile, satisfied with the answer. But the smile waned quickly.

"Besides," Sieur Geoffroi started with a troubled look, "I am dying. I cannot even handle the little trouble in my own land; I doubt I can afford to spare my strength in the matter of the throne."

Henry leaned in, reaching out and grabbing his friend's hand.

"What troubles you, my friend? Can I be of help?"

The night of Perpillon sighed again and explained his situation.

He had a harpy problem. For years, the harpies of the mountain and the human of the land lived in peace, not troubling each other. In fact, the harpies even came down from the mountain one day and begged for a small patch of land so they could try wheat farming.

'That's odd,' I thought. So had Sieur Geoffroi and his people, but they helped the harpies anyway, and in the process, built a friendly relationship. They helped each other out here and there for years. But lately, something changed. The harpies started raiding barns and stole precious grains. Wanting to resolve the matter peacefully, the Sieur Knight sent his trusted men to reason with the harpy tribe up on the mountain. The men were turned away and were threatened never to come up again.

"Thankfully, they haven't hurt anybody yet, but still... my people cannot have their harvest stolen. The winter is upon us."

"Hmm..."

Sieur Henry drummed his fingers on the table. He shot a glance towards my Anna.

"My young Lady, I vividly remember hearing you have hunted harpies-"

"Hunted harpies?" Geoffroi interrupted, having trouble believing it. "How?"

"With the bow, Sieur," I answered in Anna's stead.

"Nonsense. Harpies are as nimble as-" he trailed off, noticing Sieur Henry's face. "Really?"

"Geoffroi, I have seen Her Ladyship penetrate a helmeted skull from two hundred yards away."

I disguised my choking as a cough. Anna blushed a bit, too. I cleared my throat and leaned in on the table.

"Good Sieurs, if those harpies are who I think they are, then milady's bow will not even be needed."

The two knights raised their eyebrows. Anna grabbed my attention first.

'Do you think they are-'

"Yes, milady," I nodded, and faced Sieur Geoffroi with a question.

"Sieur Geoffroi, where are these harpies?"

"They dwell high up on the southern ridge of Mount Clam. About two days of climbing from the foot of the slope."

"And, they appeared some twenty or so years ago, I presume?"

"How do you know?"

Anna and I exchanged glances. 'Yeah, we know this tribe.'

"And, they call themselves the Icerocks tribe, do they not?"

Geoffroi was stunned, his mouth agape.

"My lad, how do you even know all this?"

'We could be of help,' Anna offered, 'they should know me.'

"Yes, indeed," I added, with a bit of smug face. "The Icerocks shall answer to the Roseland's child."