Upon hearing the rumor of skirmishes happening around Fort Soilet, we packed our things at once. Anna and Sieur Henry had had a brief discussion and decided we would leave first thing in the morning. The night passed slowly, for we could not sleep, each worrying and thinking about what the heck was going in Chartoise. Suffering from the flu, Anna spent the night buried deep in the bed, sniffing and shivering.

“Are you sure you are alright? Maybe you should stay here?”

‘I am alright,’ she insisted on coming along.

“Vidame de Soilet has already surrendered and seen our cause. It cannot be the Bishop of Soilet diocese whom our Comte d’Armas is fighting,” said Sieur Henry. It was the next morning, and he was bidding farewell to his friend.

“If that is so, then I fear the only remaining explanation is that the esteemed counts of Armas and Charotise are clashing,” Sieur Geoffroi frowned, worried.

Sieur Henry hesitated before finally asking,

“If His Lordship Comte de Chartoise called you to arms-”

“I doubt the Comte would,” the terminally ill man shook his head, “His Lordship is aware of my failing health.”

“I am relieved to hear we are unlikely to cross our swords, but at the same time, the underlying reason saddens me greatly.”

The two Sieurs did a manly hug, slapped each other’s back, and shook hands with firm eyes.

“Off you go, Henry. Do write to me when you find the answer to your little curiosity.”

With that, Sieur Geoffroi turned to face Anna and bowed. Anna, too, did her lady’s courtesy thing. We rode out of Castle Perpillon, into the field covered white by the snow. For a few seconds, I wondered what Sieur Geffroi meant but soon forgot about it.

###

We rode as fast as we could, but our progress was frustratingly slow, thanks to the heavy snow that poured down on us for the whole day. The world was engulfed in white and gray, and our horses and donkey grunted forward knee-deep in the icy layer.

A servant from Castle Perpillon rode with us, a messenger carrying Sieur Geoffroi’s letter to Comte de Chartoise. In it, Sieur Geffroi was urging His Lordship, Guimond the Count of Chartoise, to support His Royal Highness Prince Louis be crowned the next king.

“Perpillon has been loyal to Chartoise for long and has thus earned respect and trust. Even if His Lordship disagreed with my Sieur on the matter of the royal succession, that would be after much deliberation and consideration,” said the man confidently. I, for some reason, felt a death flag raised but kept my mouth shut, for I had yet another issue in my hands.

Anna was not well. She had a fever and was sweating cold, shivering like a wet dog every few seconds. Not only was Anna sneezing her brain out, but she also said her ears were ringing and head spinning. When we stopped for a break, Anna squatted down, and the resulting puddle was too orange, which made me worry. She threw up, also. I once again asked her maybe she and I should turn back and sit it out at Sieur Geoffroi’s castle, but Anna insisted that we check on Comte d’Armas as soon as possible. She said she had a bad feeling about the whole thing.

I discussed our options with Sieur Henry and the messenger. Wading through this near-blizzard in her condition seemed to be foolish. Still, on the other hand, our destination had Marion, the witch. Whatever Anna had was more than mild flu. The Perpillon’s man doubted neither Sieur Geoffroi nor his people would know what to do with Anna. Heck, the Sieur knight himself was dying. I shivered in horror as I imagined for a second the devastating effect it would have on the good Sieur if he were to catch whatever was making my Anna sick. I shook my head and shared my worries with the other two. Turning back was not an option. We needed to get Anna to Marion as quickly as possible.

So we pressed on. I piled some spare clothing and blankets on top of Anna’s small frame. It was hard to find a balance. She had a high fever; the excess heat had to go out, which in its escape cooled her and made her shiver. Us riding in a semi-blizzard did not help things either. I couldn’t afford to let the icy airflow steal too much of her warmth. She would die. On the other hand, I could not allow too much heat to accumulate in her body either. She would die. For god’s sake, there were very good reasons why people did not travel in the winter.

We did not make far, but the darkness came nevertheless. The snow had been stubborn and did not show any signs of easing up. It took us a considerable effort to make a fire, but we somehow managed. Keeping it going throughout the night was another issue, and we three men decided we would take turns on the fire duty.

I pitched our small tent, placed the bedrolls inside, and then came out to throw Anna in. Groaning, she flopped onto her bedroll and immediately curled up into a ball.

“Come, get undressed. We need to dry you off,” I told Anna, but I was already unwrapping her myself.

After wiping sweat off Anna, I let her put on a set of clean cloth and crawled out of the tent. The messenger guy made a potful of hot stew, which turned out palatable. When I brought a bowl into the tent, Anna was half asleep buried underneath layers of thick blankets. I had to sit her up and spoon feed her, as I had done countless times during our childhood.

‘This is good,’ she said with sluggish hands.

“You think so?” I was mildly surprised, for Anna had quite a picky taste. “Anyway, eat up, and sleep tight. OK?”

She nodded weakly and let me feed her the rest of the stew in silence, with her eyes unfocused and half-closed. Once done, I wiped her mouth with my thumb and told her to rest up.

Outside, the two men had finished their bowls and were getting ready for the night. The messenger was in his tent, and there was already loud snoring coming out. Sieur Henry lay on his belly in his tent, sticking his head out under the flap raised by a thin stick. He read a large book by the flickering light from the fire, occasionally brushing off the few snowflakes that blew in from the side. Henry had drawn the first watch and had a pile of logs outside the tent, covered by a thick tarp to keep them dry from the snow. As he turned pages, he would check the fire, and toss a log into the burning heap as needed.

I stood in the open, craned my neck, and scanned the distant horizon from east to south and then back. But I couldn’t see a damn thing. The visibility was severely limited thanks to the heavy snow, but I waited and kept looking just in case. I soon realized there was Mount Clam between me and Jehan’s forward base in Montclam, so I searched the southern sky. Jehan had last seen me in Forez, so if there were a Postier out somewhere looking for me, chances were they would be to my south. I had been scanning the dark sky for good twenty minutes, accumulating snow on my head and shoulders, when Sieur Henry finally spoke up.

“What are you doing, lad?”

“Ah, pardonez, Sieur. Have I been a distraction?”

“No, of course not. I am just curious.”

I ran my hand across the pitch-black sky dotted with blotches of gray-white.

“I am waiting to see if Les Postiers have a message for me.”

“Les Postiers?” Sieur Henry became curiouser.

“It is a group of highly skilled men and women, Sieur. They deliver messages.” I explained, rather proudly. After all, it was I who had ordered Les Postiers be created. They were, in all practical sense, postal ninjas. No matter where the recipients were, a Postier would track them down and deliver at all costs. Even when one actively avoided receiving a summon or tax invoice or such, a Postier would locate the person and shove the message parchment down the throat if it came to that. Welp, that would be a rare extreme case. In general, Les Postiers maintained the high-value network of information flow between the Baron’s Court and the administrators scattered around the Roseland. The secondary benefit was that the whole thing created jobs and churned out specially trained people who learned to be responsible, trustworthy, and reliable.

“-and they use floating lanterns to communicate among themselves. So I was looking if there were any,” I explained to the Sieur.

“The young rider from before. Who had come to you in Forez. Was he-”

“Yes, Sieur, he was a Postier. One of our best.”

Then we chatted a bit more, and I eventually became curious. About the book that he was reading.

“Ah, this?” Sieur Henry patted the open page. “This book is called ‘The First Book of Sixteen, Which Is An Extensive Collection Of Fragments, Records, and Depictions Of The Ancient Times, In Which Transcriptions, Observations, and Records of Lores, Artifacts, Relics, Paintings, And Sculptures And Such From The Times of our Ancestors Are Carefully And Truthfully Documented, Such That We The Descendant May Not Only Glimpse Into The Past And Reflect Upon Our Current Days, But Also Satiate Our, If Any, Curiosity,’ written by-,” he read off a ridiculously long name from the cover of the book.

I sighed. Yeah, books in this world really were titled like that. From its title alone, one could preview the entire content of a book. For instance, this particular one was an extensive collection of fragments, records, and depictions of the ancient times, in which fuck you that’s long enough. It was something to do with history and old times and relics of the past. An Archeology report, so to say.

“I am intrigued, Sieur,” I tried to be polite.

“I have read this before, and I must admit it is mostly boring, I am afraid,” the Sieur replied in an honest tone, “but I am looking for a passage that I remember from having read years ago.”

“In that case, Sieur, I won’t further disturb you.”

We bid goodnight to each other, and I went back into the tent to get some sleep before it was my turn to watch the fire. I had drawn the second watch, so the good Sieur would later wake me up. I checked on Anna, who was sound asleep. She still had a fever, so I wiped her with a wet cloth for sometime before falling asleep myself.

When it was my turn, my watch passed uneventfully. I kept the fire going by tossing a log into the flame every now and then. The night kept snowing heavily, and I worried our progress towards Fort Soilet would become even slower. After some hours of keeping everyone warm, I woke Sieur Geoffroi’s messenger up and then crawled back into my tent. I moved my bedroll closer to Anna’s and lay myself down so close to her that I could feel the heat radiating from the sick girl. I softly patted her sleeping forehead and closed my eyes.

###

Around the sunrise, I jerked my eyes open. Someone was letting out a bloodcurdling scream. I jumped and saw it was Anna. She was sitting up, with all the blankets thrown aside. My eyes bulged at the sight of the patch of dark, bloody stain on her pants’ crotch. Oh my God, why now?

“Calm down, Anna! You are not hurt!”

She kept screaming and showed me her hands. The bloodied fingers indicated that she obviously had felt around the wet area to check if anything was wrong.

“Calm down, please!”

I crouched down and grabbed her flailing arms by both wrists. She stopped screaming, but her eyes were wide and scared.

“It’s OK-”

“Lady Anna!”

Sieur Henry barged in with his sword drawn. He must have heard the scream. He saw bloody crotch, and then it took him less than three seconds to correctly assess the situation.

“Oh, my… erm… I will be outside.”

With that, he stepped outside. I saw the messenger’s head poking in for a second. Sieur Henry’s hand appeared and wrapped around the neck and dragged the man’s puzzled head out of our tent. I silently thanked the divine fat boy that the Sieur was aware of women’s monthly business. Seriously, I had seen enough ignorant men and boys who didn’t know jack shit. I shook my head to focus.

“Shh, you are not hurt,” I started, but in reality had no idea how to explain this shit properly. Yeah, sure, I had been taught about this in my previous life. But then I had paid more attention to the colored illustrations of female genitalia than to the texts and teacher’s tired voice. Besides, at that age, I had been more concerned about how to raise an occasion where my Jalapeno would be permitted to enter. Not about what periodically flushed out of the sacred vault.

“It is a natural event, Anna. Your body is discarding unused egg-, wait, is that right?”

Her eyes went even wider.

“For God’s sake, you should know. You girls have been girls for-”

‘I lay eggs?’

I face-palmed.

“No. Not eggs,” I tried once again, taking it slow. “There’s a room for a baby inside your belly, but no baby has come. Yes?”

Anna put her hand on her tummy. I knew what she was thinking.

“No, you’ve had no baby. Anyway, since no baby came, that room is cleaning itself by throwing everything out the door. Yes? It does so once every month. That’s why you are bleeding down there.”

“That’s about right,” Sieur Henry’s voice chimed in from outside the tent.

“Sieur!”

“Ahem. Sorry. I shall… erm… step away.”

Then came the sound of footsteps on the snow, walking away from our tent. I faced Anna again. She had somewhat calmed down. She nodded, then hesitated before asking.

‘Anyway, I think I want my egg back?’

“Oh God…. You really don’t have any idea, do you?”

I studied her face for a few seconds. Anna seemed lost. I laughed in defeat and pinched her cheeks. I told confused Anna that Marion would undoubtedly be able to explain things better than I. But really? All these years yet no maids, nor the Baroness herself, had told Anna about this stuff? I shook my head in disbelief. No matter, I thought. I reached out for my travel sack. From the bottom, I fished out a silk pouch that the maids had prepared for this eventuality. Now, the question was, do I do this or let her do it herself?

The considerate maids had prepared two solutions. One was a very long rag of cotton folded many times. They had told me to cut some lengths for each use. They had also supplied an alternative, a plug-in solution. A tampon, basically. A silver piece of a shaft that had a slit along its length. A small ring was fixed at the slightly wider bottom. A cotton thread was also included in the pouch. Apparently, I was to wrap either a strip or thread of cotton around the dildo- the shaft multiple times, and then plug the thing inside the… canal. Extraction would be done by pulling the thread that was tied to the ring at the bottom. The silver tampon was as thick and long as my finger, and I worried whether it would fit. I mean, the last time I had a really good look at Anna’s nether entrance was when she was still a baby, and I had to wash the shit out of the place whenever she creamed the nappies.

Anyway, I presented both options to Anna and explained what each did.

“One catches the blood that comes out, the other blocks,”

‘This looks nice. I will try this.’

Anna picked up the silver piece. I nodded and wrapped a strip of cotton around the thing. The slit along the length of the shaft was very smart, I thought. It allowed me to fix the cloth in place so the wrapped bundle wouldn’t slip off. Once ready, I placed the tampon in Anna’s hand.

“Now, I will go wait outside. You… jam it in, OK?”

She nodded.

“Now, where did I say it goes into?” I asked, checking if she understood.

‘Not the pee hole.’

“Good.”

###

Our progress towards Fort Soilet was slowed by the snow that showed no signs of stopping. We were cold and wet and miserable, but Anna was in a terrible state. Mind you; she was having her first monthly event on top of whatever the heck that made her sick. After a couple of hours on the road, she had to change to the cotton rag. Riding a horse while having a metal piece inserted into her orifice had turned out to be not a good idea. She said it hurt a lot, but also felt a bit weirdly funny, and I had to stop her from further exploring the unfamiliar sensation. Anna went behind a thick tree, did her thing, and reappeared adjusting her pants. The bitch could have at least thrown away the stained cotton strip, but oh no, she just tossed the whole thing in my general direction. I couldn’t quite catch it in time, and the thing flopped against my chest and dropped to the ground. The look of horror on Sieur Henry’s face was an exact representation of my mental state. The bloody thing smelled terrible, too.

We kept going anyway, powering through the snow that had now piled up significantly. Our horses, and the donkey, did a tremendous job keeping up with our unseasonal demands. So, when the snow finally stopped in the evening, we felt the brave mounts deserved a good night’s rest with bellies full.

Winter nights were dark in this world, but the low sky in the distant horizon was illuminated orange by a sea of lights. Campfires; a whole lot of them.

“That must be a sizable army,” commented Sieur Henry with a concerned expression. Whose army, though?

“If anyone is confident enough to field an army out in the open like this, in this weather… he must be a local,” the Sieur reasoned, “Logs and provisions are abundant and close. Attrition can be kept to a minimum. Sick and wounded can be sent back home.”

“So… Comte de Chartoise?”

“I am afraid it appears so.”

“Could also be the Bishop,” the servant from Castle Perpillon suggested. That also was a possibility, but then it would mean Gaston, Vidame de Soilet, had betrayed his peace with our Comte.

“We will soon see. Let us rest for the night,” the Sieur wrapped up the conversation. “How is your Lady?”

I sighed and flashed a troubled expression.

“Thank you, Sieur, for your concern. I am afraid Milady still suffers from this particularly nasty flu.”

“Let us hope Mademoiselle Marion has an appropriate treatment.”

I agreed. Marion would know what to do. Then I thought about how the witch of the land of Forez had so smoothly integrated herself into the Comte’s army. As the Sieur himself had done. I realized, just now, Sieur Henry and I talked as if Marion being there for us was a given. I then wondered what people thought of Anna and me. Were we also ‘in there?’ Would they point at Anna and me and say ‘one of us?’ I hoped they would. Well, they better, because we were on our way to check on them in this horrible weather.

###

It took us three more miserable days in the cold. The sky had been indecisive about whether to make it worse for us or not. The snow had come and gone in a seemingly random fashion. Still, the dark clouds consistently loomed low ever so imposingly.

Anna’s condition had worsened during our travel. She threw up all the time, shivered in the cold while she herself was steaming hot with a high fever. Her entire body ached and was numb and stiff. She complained of splitting headaches, which she described as if an icy liquid was sloshing around inside her skull. Her belly cramped and hurt, too, thanks to the on-going monthly event. Whatever the fuck it was making her sick, her body tried to get it out of the system by pumping shits out through both ends of the digestive lane. She was suffering from diarrhea as well, which made me really worried because she had not been able to eat at all. Her stomach was so empty she was vomiting and shitting pure liquid.

Thus I was relieved to see Fort Soilet in the distance. However, the feeling of relief was short-lived as I followed Sieur Henry’s finger that pointed slightly to the right. Countless columns of smoke were rising in the air. By squinting my eyes real hard, I could make out a vast array of tents dotting the snow-covered field. I approximated that the camp was about a mile from the Fort.

“Enough depth for army maneuvers, yet close enough to be imposing,” said Sieur Henry. He frowned. “As we have suspected, Fort Soilet is besieged.”

We rode the rest of the way in silence, and as we approached closer and closer, we could make out catapults and siege towers and assault ramps laid in neat rows before the siege camp. The good Sieur clicked his tongue and sighed.

“That is the advantage of fighting in one’s own land. One’s armory is close, and there are abundant men and materials.”

“But why, though?” I wondered aloud, my eyes noticing small dark blotches scattered across the snow near the Fort. Corpses. It was visibly evident that Fort Soilet’s walls had seen battles recently. There were also some remains of destroyed ramps and towers by the wall, which meant our Comte had been viciously fighting back.

“I wonder if Vidame de Soilet is involved in this?” I asked no one in particular.

“That would depend on His Excellency’s stance on this. We shall see.”

With that, Sieur Henry led us forward. The messenger from Perpillon kept his mouth shut, but his face was pale. He trotted along nonetheless.

“This does not look good,” Sieur Henry commented. He gestured for us to study the air above the Fort. I could see nothing too unusual except for three or four columns of smoke rising. But the Sieur had another assessment.

“It means not enough wood for the fire, my lad. Mind you; we are in winter.”

“Ah…”

I watched the smoke rising. True, there were too few.

“Raise Her Ladyship’s banner, René. They are bound to spot us eventually. We should be polite and identify ourselves.”

We stopped for some minutes for me to get the La Rose’s banner ready. I unfolded and assembled the metallic pole and attached the banner by rings and hooks. The big white embroidered cloth flapped above my head by a sudden gust of wind. Flying the banner high with my right hand, I glanced at Anna behind me. She was pale, sweating, huffing and puffing, and trembling. Her eyes were unfocused and were directed towards the ground. I moved my Slinky around to next to her and rubbed her back with a free hand.

“Are you alright?”

She shook her head weakly.

“Come. Just a bit more, and Marion will have a look shortly. We are almost there.”

So we resumed our course, towards Fort Soilet.

Soon enough, a group of horse-mounted riders galloped towards us from the camp. It was a sizable group. About half a dozen men with plated front, and a dozen or so in mailles and gambesons. They blocked our path to the Fort and eyed us cautiously. One of them, the group’s leader apparently, came forward and nodded his helmeted head.

“Who goes there, if I may inquire?”

I felt the man sounded rather funny as if he was deliberately straining his voice. No matter, I shook my head. Sieur Henry stepped up and did his knightly courtesy thing.

“Lady Anna La Rose of the Roseland, and her servant. I myself am Sieur Henry. Of Tyroux. Her Ladyship’s companion for now. Also with us is a servant of Sieur Geoffroi of Perpillon. Carrying a message to the esteemed Count of Chartoise from his master.”

There was a loud murmur among the riders. Some of them pointed at the banner I was holding, talking to themselves. Their leader cleared his throat.

“And what business brings a damsel of such honored family here in this weather, if the Lady does not mind me inquiring?”

“Surely you know, Sieur Pierre?”

The leader of the group, addressed as Sieur Pierre by our Henry, raised his visor. I could not see much of his face but an impressive mustache and witty eyes that were opened rather a bit too wide for my comfort.

“It was my voice, was it not, Henry?” He asked with a smile, in a plain voice that was deep yet soothing.

“Pierre. I could tell it was you right away.”

With that, the two Sieurs got off their horses, shook hands, bumped chests, and patted each other’s back. Seeing this, the riders blocking our path lowered their arms and relaxed. Pierre took a step back and nudged his chin towards the general direction of the messenger.

“I gather you are coming from Perpillon? Has Geoffroi recovered?”

Henry shook his head with a solemn face. Sieur Pierre sighed heavily, then shut his lips tight, almost grimacing and staring hard into the snowy ground. After a brief silence, he looked up with his normal expression back.

“Well, I better pay him a visit myself someday. Before it is too late, that is.”

“Pray, do tell me, Pierre. What is this about?” asked Henry, changing the topic.

“Oh, just a bit of bickering between the Comtes, I suspect. I am not aware of the details. I am here just to fulfill my obligation to Comte de Chartoise.”

“I presume the Counts are in disagreement over Baron Hugo’s-”

“Huh? The Baron? I hear it has already been settled. Apparently, the Baron is pardoned…” Sieur Pierre then had a look of realization, “Ah~, sorry, Henry. You have been away.”

Sieur Henry and I exchanged glances. Baron Hugo, pardoned?

“Pierre, you jest. Pardoned? Surely-”

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a new rider who had come all the way from the camp. Far behind him, in the distance, another group of riders was galloping towards us. Judging by the huge banner that was flapping in the air, I could tell the Count of Chartoise was among them.

“The Comte has recognized the La Rose’s banner. His Lordship wishes to greet the descendant of the Roseland’s Marquis in person,” the rider informed us. He got off his horse and bowed before Sieur Henry.

“Oh, no. Not I. The Lady there,”

The man gasped, apologized, and then did his greeting again, this time, directed towards Anna. Anna, unfortunately, was not in her best condition. She barely managed to return a weak nod.

“If I may,” I spoke up, “to eliminate any unpleasant surprises for the Comte, I suggest you let His Lordship know in advance that Lady Anna suffers from a silenced tongue.”

“Ah! I see…”

“The young Lady is, however, proficient in communicating by the shapes of the hands, for which I would provide vocal interpretation.”

“Very well, such an arrangement is acceptable. Kind of you to warn us beforehand.”

With that, the man got back on his horse and rode towards the riders approaching from the distance. The rest of us stood there and watched the man reporting to the person riding in the middle of the pack, presumably Comte de Chartoise.

Guimond, the Count of Chartoise, arrived with his men. I silently groaned to myself. The horses on the scene alone were more than double of what Comte d’Armas had, and I could still see plenty more at the faraway camp.

Comte de Chartoise sat on his brown horse underneath his banner that depicted a sizeable prosperous town overlooking a river and lush field of crops. ‘Yeah, I get it. Chartoise is rich,’ I thought to myself. When the Comte removed his helmet, the face revealed was that of an old man, but at least ten years younger than the Count of Armas. He had a simple bowl cut that still had some color left, over the long sleek face with quite dry-looking skin. As was the norm to the few aged nobles that I had come across, this man also had sharp eyes that squinted to have a better look at my Anna. His thin lips remained neutral as Sieur Pierre was reporting what little had happened prior to the Comte’s arrival.

What struck me as odd was that the Comte did not wear anything too fancy. His armor was a simple, undecorated breastplate over maille, and pairs of equally simple plates guarding the thighs and shins. The sword that hung by his belt was also of minimalistic design; practicality over display. One could have easily mistaken him as just an ordinary warrior rider, not a commander of an army.

“Guimond. Comte de Chartoise,” the old man broke the silence and introduced himself, “host to His Excellency Bishop de Soilet, a member of His Majesty’s outer-region council, and many more names that are too trivial to mention.”

Anna, weak and in pain, forced herself upright and bowed slightly. The Comte nodded back and looked at me expectantly. I got off my donkey and bowed.

“The Lady Anna of La Rose, the heiress to the Roseland,” I raised my head and clasped hands in my chest apologetically. “Pardonez, My Lord. The young Lady suffers from flu and is not in the best condition. Please do excuse milady’s rather lethargic posture.”

“Yes, I can see that. I do not mind, so please be at ease.”

He eyed Anna for some seconds, before speaking again.

“Although I am honored to meet a descendant of the glorious Marquisat, I must admit I was not aware the now La Rose had an heiress.”

“Oui, milord. The Barony,” I stressed the word Barony, “has not been very communicative to the rest of the kingdom in that regard.”

“Yet here she is. The most precious of the faraway Roseland, nonchalantly trotting into a battlefield that reeks of death and decay. A fort, besieged, as had been in Montclam.”

“So, Your Lordship is aware?”

“I have heard from none other than the Baron himself. Though whether all of what he told me is true or not is another matter I have yet to see for myself.”

He then waved his hand in the general direction of the Fort. He continued.

“I presume the Lady wishes to enter Fort Soilet?”

“Yes, indeed, milord.”

The Comte turned around and faced Sieur Pierre.

“The noble hommes’ codes say that I allow the passage, but Sieur Pierre, what do you say?”

“My Lord, the Lady, for now, appears to be terribly sick and in need of a warm bed. In that regard, I have faith in Your Lordship’s compassion and honor. Besides, in the end, it would only amount to a few extra swings of our swords in the coming days.”

“Very well,” the Comte faced Anna again, and politely motioned for her to go ahead. “Please allow me to accompany to the Fort’s gate.”

With that, he moved his horse and came around to flank Anna’s right. Anna nodded and made some hand-signs, thanking the man for allowing us to enter the Fort. I got back on Slinky and positioned myself on Anna’s left. Sieurs Henry and Pierre fell in line behind us, followed by the Perpillon’s messenger and a rather slim rider in dented helmet and armors. I heard Sieur Pierre telling his men to wait here. He did not want Fort’s defense to misunderstand the intent and rain arrows down.

“Henry, would you face my men for a moment?” Sieur Pierre requested. Henry, not minding it, complied.

“My men, remember this Sieur Henry’s face and his armor,” Pierre told his people, “in the next battles to come, do not cross your swords with the Sieur on your own unless you wish to die a quick death. Step back, make way, and call for me. Call for help!”

Sieur Henry blushed and chuckled.

“Oh, Pierre. No need to flatter me!”

###

We headed towards the Fort’s gate at a casual pace.

“I have also heard from those few cowards who ran away from the battle of Bourg.”

The Comte mentioned. That remark made it clear what he thought of men who abandon their brethren. I leaned a bit, and across Anna, I studied his face quietly, waiting for him to go on. Comte de Chartoise had been ignoring everything but Anna. He hadn’t even glanced at Sieur Henry or the Perpillon’s messenger. Something was odd with this old man.

“I am intrigued. Does the Baron know that his daughter fights in battles?”

‘Mama, yes,” Anna answered with her hands.

“The Baroness is aware, milord,” I vocalized her words in a more acceptable form.

The old Comte noticed and raised an eyebrow at the change of the subject word, but he left it at that. Instead, he leaned a bit back and glanced behind before asking again, this time a bit timidly.

“Is… is the young Lady allowed to do so?”

‘Me, need, permission, no,’ Anna signed, and I dutifully and audibly word-processed.

“It is not a matter of being allowed, but of Lady Anna’s will.”

The Comte once again turned his head around towards the back of our progression. I followed his gaze and learned he wasn’t looking at Sieur Pierre but the one behind. The rider was rather diminutive, holding upright a deadly lance, clad in a dull set of dented helmet and plates that had obviously seen recent actions. The helmeted head noticed the old man’s gaze and returned a simple nod. The Comte turned his face forward again.

“Well, that is an inspiring answer. It truly is.” He sighed. “Sometimes, what comes with one’s statue and reputation are one’s worst enemies, not those with swords. Especially when one is a lady of noble lineage. Yet, the young Lady has conquered it all.”

‘I do not quite understand,’ said Anna, puzzled.

The Comte flashed a quick smile, then shook his head.

“What a shame. Would have been a wonderful friendship. Hmm…,” he muttered to himself, “perhaps it isn’t too late?”

As we trotted towards the Fort, the Comte kept throwing various questions. Who taught Anna the art of the sword? Is she any good with the bow? How about spears? Lances? Each time Anna answered, the old man nodded with approval. It felt as if he was comparing Anna to someone, running down a list of checkboxes.

“How would you fare commanding an army?”

‘I embody it, My Lord,’ was what Anna gave me to translate, but I toned it down to a slightly less snobby sentence. Aided by that gigantic innate ego, Anna was braving her sickness to appear lady-like. She did, however, look like she would drop dead any minute; pale, cold sweats, shivering, dizzy head, and so on. Nevertheless, she sat up straight and endured.

“Well, then, if it were you in charge of Fort Soilet, how would you break the siege?”

Anna stopped, thought about it, turned her head, and had a long look at the camp in the distance.

“I have a thousand men, a hundred horses, and a dozen siege engines, if that provides a bit of overview?”

‘And the Fort has about seventy, eighty-’

“About three hundred, actually. Vidame de Soilet is, regrettably, still in the Fort. Assume he is on your side.”

I became perplexed. Why were Gaston and his men still hanging around? ‘Wait, if Vidame de Soilet is with us, does that mean the Bishop is on our side, too?’ Anna tapped on my thigh to break me out of my thought. She needed my voice.

‘This is Your Lordship’s land,’ Anna started, ‘men are plenty, and so are the materials. Close, too.’

“Experienced also, and well-led, I am pleased to say.”

The Comte nodded to his subordinates. Sieur Pierre and the rider behind him appreciated the remark.

“Well, then, milord,” I interpreted Anna’s hand gestures, “Lady Anna would pray for a miracle.”

‘And she will perform one,’ I stopped myself from adding. The Comte laughed and turned to his men. The two nodded in agreement.

“Rather tragic, yet a sensible and realistic assessment, if I may say so,” commented Sieur Pierre. The other rider kept silent.

“My young Lady Anna, you have just foreseen the inevitable, yet insist on entering the besieged Fort? To oppose my army?” the Comte asked, bemused.

“A miracle is indeed performed every now and then, milord,” I answered in Anna’s stead.

“Well, you present a valid argument, my lad. You do have devout faithful within the Fort’s walls.”

I suspected that was meant to be a polite mockery. You wait and see, Comte de Chartoise.

Without me realizing it, we had come quite close to the Fort. The Comte stopped his horse.

“This is as far as I can to accompany the Lady. Any further, Marco would feel obliged to greet me with a hail of arrows,” he gave a slight nod to Anna as a farewell and sighed. As if on cue, Comte d’Armas’ silver head popped up above the Fort’s wall.

“Guimond!”

“Marco!”

“Don’t you have a county to rule? Go home! With your men, in haste.”

“Speak for your self! At least, mine home is only a few days away.”

“Go on then, to your comfortable manor. To your beautiful Comtess, and the lovely daughter! Please don’t mind us here. We won’t cause any trouble in your backyard, I promise.”

Comte de Chartoise chuckled and shook his head.

“Come, Marco. Promise you may, but I cannot allow an army in line with Prince Louis roam around the Kingdom.”

“Aw~ don’t be ridiculous, Guimond! We are merely a few dozen harmless men, not an army!”

“A few dozen harmless men? What a gross understatement! Besides, you could still knock down little houses, blackmail handful of Seigneurs, and topple a couple of Baronies. Bourg, for instance.”

The duo went on like this for a bit. I was beginning to wonder whether they were friends or enemies.

“My offer still stands,” Comte de Chartoise was saying, “pledge your allegiance to His Royal Highness Prince Charles, I guarantee your safe return to Armas.”

“You do know I cannot do that,” our Count of Armas rejected the idea right away. “Prince Louis is the first-born and thus is the rightful heir to the throne.”

“Merely by a minute,” Comte Guimond scoffed dismissively.

“That minute has set the course of the Kingdom, Guimond.”

Suddenly, Comte de Chartoise, face red, exploded.

“On what course, though?! That conveniently empowers the crumbling ways of the tradition? So that those few of linage continue to amass undeserved wealth and power? Look, here, a La Rose,” he tossed Anna into the conversation, “what has the La Rose family done for the Kingdom in the last hundred years? Nothing!”

I felt offended, but he was… sort of right as far as I was aware of the La Rose family’s history. In a way, yes. But still… he didn’t have to say it like that.

Our Comte d’Armas shouted from the Fort’s wall.

“Aha! I see it now. Is that your goal? You wish to see the Archbishop’s reform come to fruition? You thus assume young Prince Charles to be a puppet to His Eminence?”

“Marco! You have bled for the Kingdom. You have eradicated the sea bandits of the west. You have achieved so much. The reform will place much-deserved wings on your shoulders!”

Now, this was getting interesting. Listening to the conversation, I was able to get a glimpse of the root cause of the trouble. The information was packed too densely, but one thing I could decipher was that the conflict over who became the next King was, in fact, a conflict of ideals. Of the High Chancellor’s versus the Archbishop’s.

“I am content where I am,” our Comte shot back, and pointed his finger accusingly at the old nobleman standing next to Anna, ”You! On the other hand, you are trying to buy the said wings from the Archbishop! Your loyalty and honor are the price!”

Hurt, Comte de Chartoise flinched and bit his lips. He fell silent. To my surprise, the slim rider who had been quiet up to now came forward and placed a hand on the Comte’s back. When the old man turned around, the rider shook his head slightly. The Comte sighed.

“Fine, Marco!” he shouted, “we shall further discuss this after your humiliating defeat that is oh so imminent!”

It was Count Marco’s turn to scoff and shake his head.

“I am sorry about that,” Comte Guimond apologized to Anna. “I had hoped for a healthy exchange of witty banters, but it turned into something unpleasant.”

He craned his neck once again shouted to his friend-slash-enemy on the Fort’s wall.

“By the way, Marco, Lady Anna is unwell. Suffering from some… some…”

“Flu, milord,” I hissed.

“Flu, yes. Do you have enough firewood? The young Lady is very cold.”

“I am afraid not,” answered our Comte d’Armas honestly, “would you care to lend me some?”

“I will have a few days worth delivered to the gate, but please do promise you will burn them for the Lady only.”

“I give you my word. Thank you, Guimond. Very kind.”

I was baffled. The codes of noble hommes was indeed a mystery. Nevertheless, Anna thanked the man, and I translated accordingly.

“Now, this is where we part our ways,” the Comte besieging Fort Soilet said, bidding farewell, “Thank you for enduring my presence. Next time we meet, I hope to see Your Ladyship fully recovered, healthy and well, so that my men would slay in clean conscience.”

“I would be honored if the young Lady granted me first the opportunity,” Sieur Pierre butted in.

We bid farewell to the Count of Chartoise and the Sieur, and headed towards the Fort. The messenger from Perpillon stayed behind, for he had his master’s letter to deliver. He wished us good luck surviving the siege, and hugged us goodbye.

After some distance, I looked back over my shoulder. Comte de Chartoise was reading the letter that had just been handed over to him. Sieur Geoffroi’s messenger was standing on the ground, off the horse, waiting patiently. And then, all of a sudden, the Comte crumpled the scroll into a tiny ball and shouted something in anger. The nameless rider in dented armor raised his lance, and from above on horse, jabbed the thing down the messenger’s neck. It went in deep.

“No!”

I screamed as the poor man slid down along the lance and flopped on the snow-covered ground. Anna and Sieur Henry snapped their heads around, and they, too, were shocked by what had just happened.

The Comte was saying something to his two subordinates, his hand pointing towards the distance, in the direction of Perpillon. After that, the three turned around and galloped towards the rest of the men waiting in the distance. It was then that I finally saw the back of the quiet rider. Wearing a dented helmet and bruised plates. Rather short and slim for a warrior knight compared to others. Flowing out from the low end of the helmet’s back, a long golden braid swayed left and right in the air as she rode side by side with Comte de Chartoise.

###

Comte d’Armas wasn’t happy at all to see us.

“As much as I am glad to see the radiant face again, I must say this. Next time, please do turn back if you come and find me under siege.”

Victor, the Vicomte, studied Anna’s face.

“The face is indeed radiant… literally?”

“Lady Anna has a high fever,” I explained. “Is Mademoiselle Marion available?”

A man told us Marion would be found in the Fort’s courtyard. The courtyard was filled with tents pitched in a seemingly random fashion. There were fires lit here and there, but clearly not enough. Disheveled men bunched up around those few fires to warm their bodies, many of them wounded and bandaged in bloody rags. I spotted Marion emerging from a small tent, shaking her head. Her robe was stained dark, and her arms were coated with dried blood up to the elbows. There was a large rat perched on her left shoulder, acting as Marion’s eyes and ears.

“Flu?” Marion sounded irritated when I spoke to her. “I have people dying. You come back to hamper my vision and hearing when I need them the most. Yet, you have the audacity to bother me with flu?”

I flinched and fidgeted. She was quite right. But I insisted.

“’tis milady… we came because you are here. We thought you’d have a look.”

“Fine!”

Marion threw her hands in the air, stomped the mushy ground a few times, but then followed me to the small fire where Anna was warming herself squatted down among the Comte’s men. Without a word, Marion bent down and grabbed Anna’s throat.

“My! You are as hot as an oven!” She let go of Anna’s neck. “Sore throat, too, I presume?”

‘Yes,’ recovering from Marion’s sudden grasp, Anna answered, borrowing my voice.

“She also has a runny nose, uncontrollable vomit and diarrhea- I mean diarrhea, and uncontrollable vomit,” I fumbled but went on, ‘and aching limbs, ringing ears, and headaches, too,” I added, like a worried mom describing her child’s symptoms to a doctor.

“That don’t sound too good. Are you alright, milady?” said one of the men around the fire. Anna shook her head in response, and the men looked at her with the concerned uncle’s eyes.

The rat on Marion’s shoulder wiggled its nose.

“You are on the rag, too?” Marion noted, then scowled. “Something must be wrong there, too. This rat says you smell extra bad?”

“Hang on, please, Mademoiselle,” I stopped Marion from further inquiring, and then turned to Anna to question her in our silent language.

‘Have you not been changing the cotton?’ I asked.

There was a flash of uneasiness on Anna’s face.

‘Was I supposed to?’

I exploded. This girl!

“It’s a simple hygienic practice!” realizing I shouted it out too loud I quickly switched back to the sign-language. ‘Why do you think I gave you a new one every time you went to relieve yourself?’

‘How would I know? You never tell me anything!’ Anna was fuming, too. ‘I wiped with those!’

‘You what?’

‘I have been spewing muddy water out my ass! What did you expect?’

I shut up and face-palmed and whimpered. I could not be mad, because what she said made sense, although in a disgusting way.

In the meantime, Marion had gone and came back with a small leather pouch. She dipped her hand inside and shoveled out a handful of small spherical berries. Each was about the size of a child’s tooth, deep red originally, but now dried and shriveled to dehydrated brown. Marion dumped those into my palms.

“Boil five or six of these for a cup, and drink the tea hot. Don’t eat the berries themselves, though, understand?”

“Thank you. How often? Can I reuse the boiled ones?”

“Drink it instead of water, and no, throw them away after each brew.”

I repeated her instruction in my head. It sounded simple, and simple was good. Hopefully, it worked, too. Now, to the other issue. I stopped Marion from leaving.

“Erm… milady is… erm… it’s her first monthly bloodletting, and it turns out nobody has told her about this before.”

“So?” Marion raised her eyebrow.

“Would you please talk to her? Explain things?”

Marion opened her mouth, but quickly shut tight. She opened her mouth again, but only to take in a deep breath to calm herself down. With her both hands, she displayed the scene behind her and mouthed ‘Voila.’

“Look. I have hands full. I will, but not now.”

“Of course,” I nodded vigorously, “whenever it is convenient for you.”

“Good,” said Marion and stomped away. But then she returned after only a couple of steps.

“And you and your lady. You keep yourselves away from other men,” she said, frowning, “the last thing we need is flu going around inside the Fort.”

###

Thus Anna and I were holed up in a spacious room on the second floor of the large central building that overlooked the courtyard. It turned out it was Gaston’s private chamber. The generous Vidame de Soilet had offered his own bedroom so that the sick noble girl would at least have some comfort and privacy. There were three windows on a wall, each with double wooden panels. I opened one to get some fresh air into the room, and through this window, I could see the courtyard and the gate.

Comte de Chartoise had made good on his promise and had a cartload of firewood delivered by the sunset. I could hear men grumbling and complaining. They enviously eyed the nice dry logs being carried into our room. There was a big fireplace in the wall opposite side of the king-sized bed. Anna had already buried herself deep under the blankets by the time I managed to get the fire going.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” I told her as I brewed her medicine tea. After boiling the berries for a bit, I removed the kettle from the fire and poured the hot liquid into a wooden cup. Careful as not to spill, I tiptoed across the room and sat on the bed next to Anna. I propped her up and watched as she drank the tea, with blank eyes, a small sip at a time.

“Do you feel better?”

I asked when she was done.

‘I don’t know, but it does feel warm,’ she flashed me a weak smile then flopped back down on the bed. Lying there with her eyes closed, she reached out and squeezed my hand briefly.

“I want you to change the rag-”

Eyes still shut, Anna frowned and waved for me to fuck off. So I sat there and waited in silence until she began to snore lightly. I double-checked to make sure the door was locked, just to be safe, then came back to the bed and lifted the blankets. I pulled down Anna’s pants. The now-discolored cotton was stuck over the skin by the accumulated moisture. When I peeled it off, I was greeted with a whiff of rotting squid, and the ghastly sight of curly tuft tangled in half-dried blood. Without much thinking, I went and came back with a wet towel, but thought better of it and stopped myself right before actually cleaning the messy part. Anna was a woman now, and I should not be rubbing this place. I bit my lips. Washing? She can do it herself later. I would just change the damned thing and get it over with.

It took me only a minute to replace the dirty cotton rag with a clean one. The waste was a mess. It looked horrible and smelled disgusting, having absorbed days’ worth of blood and internal tissues and some piss. In fact, I was impressed by how it had managed to hold the contents up to now without leaking too much. Impressed, but not curious. I wasn’t going to investigate. I tossed the thing across the room, into the flame. I thanked God that the fireplace was well-built and nicely ventilated. The smoke traveled upwards via the duct built in the stonewall, to eventually exist the building through a chimney.

Apart from shivering a bit from the sudden chill felt in her lower body, Anna had remained asleep and motionless. I put her pants back on and checked her temperature by the throat as Marion had done earlier. I couldn’t really tell whether Anna was doing better or worse, but she still was very hot.

I felt the room was a bit stuffy and decided to open another window. The moon was rising, and there were already some stars out in the darkened violet sky. Movement in the courtyard caught my eyes, and I noticed men gathering at the gate. About a dozen men and the three Barkskin warriors were readying a cart driven by two horses. Another group, about six knights in armors, were standing by, mounted on horses.

“What’s happening?” I asked no one in particular.

“Going out to gather firewoods,” came a reply from below, directly underneath my window. I leaned out and learned it was Commandant Antoine. He was leaning against the building’s wall, watching the men across the courtyard.

“Commandant, it has been puzzling me. Why the shortage?”

“We had had plenty of provisions, more than enough to last through the winter,” said Antoine, looking up, “but we had taken almost all with us. To Bourg.”

“Ah…”

“Of course, we had not expected certain someone would destroy most of the supplies that we had brought with us.”

I shriveled down to a small ball. Yes, that certain someone, in her fit of rage and frustration, had rampaged through God’s Warriors’ camp. She had set things ablaze, crushed, and trampled everything in her path. The very same girl, who was now sleeping in a cozy bed, in a room nicely heated by plenty of firewoods earmarked for her use only, while the rest of her friends were freezing their butts off. Even in the heat of the moment, Anna had stayed true to her hidden identity and had strategically destroyed the then-enemy’s resources. Now the consequence of her action had come around to bite us hard. I had no words to say; thus, I shut up. I watched in silence the men getting ready to leave.

A man on the wall had been looking out. He turned and waved. With a creaking sound, the heavy gate groaned open outward slowly. The horse-mounted knights rode out first, then the footmen went out, urging the horses pulling the cart.

“Is it safe to go out?” I had to ask.

“Not absolutely, but in general, yes,” answered Antoine, and proceeded to explain how it worked.

The army of Chartoise, naturally, did not want to camp the nights right underneath our wall, because that would mean us raining shits down on them at our discretion. Even hardened veteran soldiers needed some well-deserved rests. Posting fast riders at bay, ready to intercept our gatherers, was a better solution, but that also posed another risk. If there were too few, then we would simply rush out and swarm them and quickly return to the Fort before the rest of our enemy could react. On the other hand, if they stationed too many for the night, too many would be restless and tired for the next day.

“Or what is also possible is that a simple skirmish escalates to a full-blown night battle, which everyone is trying to avoid,” Antoine added.

So, what really had been going on was half-hearted actions of principle. When our men went out to axe trees down in the distant woods, a small group of horse-mounted enemies, who loitered somewhat close to their camp, would rush out and give a half-hearted chase. Our knights would ride out and meet them to engage in a very limited skirmish, while the cart and the footmen ran as fast as they could away from the scene. To the knights of Chartoise, going after the cart would mean having our riders on their tails, so they had no choice but to fight it out with the knights of Armas. I could already hear the distant shouting and steels clashing as Antoine went on. The armored warriors would duke it out until the cart was sufficiently far away for Chartoise to do anything without engaging the Fort itself. The same theatric would play out once again when the cart and the footmen returned around the dawn. The whole thing, basically, relied on the reluctance that was shared between both sides. The reluctance to initiate a full-scale battle in the cold winter night.

“Erm… Commandant Antoine?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for kindly explaining, but what happened while we were away? Why are we in this situation in the first place?”

###

Antoine was kind enough to fill me in on what I had missed.

Mediated by Gaston, the defeated Vidame de Soilet, a visit to the Bishop’s court had been arranged. Comte d’Armas, accompanied by Victor, Antoine, and a handful of soldiers, went over to the Bishop’s court and presented his case. He demanded Baron Hugo be handed over.

“Was His Excellency upset over your defeat?” I asked cautiously.

“He was, indeed, but the Bishop also saw the delicacy of the situation. The case presented against the Baron was clearly that of a mass-murder of peasants,” said Antoine, his voice rather sad. “Further protecting the Baron would have meant the Bishop would then interfere with the state’s legal affairs.”

“But what happened then?”

Comte de Chartoise happened, according to Antoine. The Bishop’s top boss, the Archbishop, had declared that all those who serve Prince Charles’ causes were to be blessed and protected by the Circle of God’s Worshipers. On the other hand, though, the Bishop also was obliged to let the accused Baron of Bourg be appropriately tried by His Majesty’s court. Troubled, the Bishop of Soilet diocese sought the advice from Comte de Chartoise, his earthly counterpart.

“And the Comte stormed right in. With his men armed to the teeth. With the young Lady Valérie by his side as always,” said Antoine.

“Lady Valérie?”

“The damsel of Chartoise. Comte’s daughter,” Antoine brushed it off as if it that information wasn’t important to his story. “Anyway, since the Count of Chartoise has jurisdiction over Bourg, unlike Comte d’Armas-” Antoine went on. After hearing things from both sides, Comte de Chartoise swiftly took over.

“Since I happen to be the law around here, I shall bear the burden then,” the Comte of Chartoise had said, according to Antoine. To everyone’s surprise, Comte de Chartoise held his court right there right then. He then had Baron Hugo brought in, heard the accusation, nodded, then, not even batting an eye, found the Baron guilty as charged, only to pardon the convicted right away.

“He… what? Why? Can he do that?”

“Guilty of massacring peasants of Forez and Montclam, yes, but because the deeds had been done in the Baron’s endeavor to enforce Prince Charles’ legitimacy in this time of extraordinary circumstances, thus pardoned.”

I was horrified. Pardon the maniac who had committed massacres? Could the Count of Chartoise really do that? Did he even have the authority?

“Your Comte was furious, understandably,” Antoine added, recollecting the scene. Then he frowned and shivered. According to him, things got ugly very quickly. Comte de Chartoise had then proceeded to call our Count of Armas a traitor to the throne, for siding with Prince Louis and having hindered Baron Hugo’s effort to exert Prince Charles’ legitimacy.

“Your Comte was to be put under arrest and be tried right there,” Antoine shook his head, sad, “we had to fight our way out. Many good men had fallen by the hands of Lady Valérie… How blasphemous! We were forced to unsheathe our swords! Right in the Bishop’s court!”

I was stunned. I stood there by the window, mouth agape, trying to make sense of what I had just heard. And who the fuck was this Valérie? All of this was-, wait a second, something wasn’t quite right.

“I gather then that is why we are under siege, but Commandant, why are you-, I mean... why is Vidame de Soilet on this side of the wall? Where does the Bishop stand in this?”

I was confused. The Archbishop wanted Prince Charles to be the next king. Hence his directives to the Circle of God’s Worshipers. Comte de Chartoise was, evidently, siding with the Archbishop, too. That was why he wanted to destroy the army of Armas. Because we, including Comte d’Armas, were on the opposing faction, of those who wanted Prince Louis to be crowned. Logically, Vidame de Soilet and his soldiers should have been fighting us from the Fort’s inside.

“Lad, I take offense in your insulting question, but I forgive you,” Commandant Antoine said with a stern face. “My son Gaston has surrendered to your Comte. God has placed our fate in the hands of Comte d’Armas.”

“My apologies, Commandant, for having offended you. But what does the Bishop say?”

“His Excellency eagerly awaits the day that Comte de Chartoise rescues us.”

“Rescue you? But you have been fighting alongside the men of Armas, have you not?” I recalled the wounded soldiers in the courtyard being treated by Marion. Many of them had a red circle somewhere on their attires.

“We do honor our surrender to Comte d’Armas for so wills God,” Antoine answered matter-of-factly. He continued. “And if Comte Guimond does manage to triumph, then we shall be released from our obligation to Comte d’Armas.”

“Erm… So, please do correct me if I am wrong, but you maintain that Prince Charles is the heir to the throne?”

“Absolutely.”

“But you will fight alongside Comte d’Armas until his defeat?”

“Correct. I am glad you understand honor.”

“And the Bishop does not mind? Comte de Chartoise doesn’t mind?”

“Well, the Bishop is indeed a bit worried Gaston might get hurt. The Comte, on the other hand, respects Gaston’s position. Comte de Chartoise sees nothing wrong with my son honoring the surrender.”

Fuck you, Fuck all of you! I held myself from shouting it out loud. I took a sharp breath in and retreated a few steps from the window so Antoine could not see my raging face. These men were crazy. Everyone. The Archbishop. The Bishop and the Vidame of Soilet. And Comte de Chartoise. Everyone was crazy. Get the fuck off your high horses of honor and faith, and see the reality laid bare before your eyes! Men are fucking dying!

###

I woke up around the dawn, to the sounds of men shouting and steels clashing. The noise then died down rather quickly. The men who had gone to get firewood must be returning.

I could not remember how I had ended up in the bed. I found myself next to Anna, but upside down, the toes of her bare feet pressing against my forehead. I pushed them away from my face. Anna groaned and balled up, kneeing my morning wood in the process. I let out a silent scream and rolled off the bed. It took me some minutes for the pain to pass, after which I went to the windows and looked out.

The gate was being shut as our knights trickled in from the obligatory skirmish with their counterparts of Chartoise. To my relief, it seemed no one was seriously hurt. Comte d’Armas’ men were already unloading from the cart, and Fort Soilet was starting another besieged winter day.

I returned to the bed and checked on Anna. Her face was flustered, and in her closed eyes, beneath the long eyelashes, a bold line of orange gunk had formed that upon closer inspection resembled mushy sugar crystals. I gasped. This was not a good sign. Even her eyes were desperately dumping shits out of the system. I quickly checked her temperature; Anna felt burning hot, and she was whimpering in her sleep so faintly I had not even noticed it until this moment. She was sweating profusely, too, and shivered and clattered her teeth. I did not understand. The medicine tea should have worked, but on the contrary, Anna had gotten worse.

Marion was quickly ushered into the room. She checked Anna’s temperature, frowned, and asked me whether Anna had had the medicine as she had instructed.

“Yes, of course!”

“Hmm, then this does not make sense,” Marion fell into deep thought. The rat perched on her shoulder bobbed its head, its small eyes studying the sleeping girl. Marion cautiously sat on the bed and brushed Anna’s hair aside and lightly patted the girl’s forehead. She then put a finger on Anna’s neck and checked the pulse for a minute or two. Meanwhile, I kept my mouth shut. I watched and gulped at Marion’s every movement. Then Marion did something strange. With her fingers, she ever so carefully picked the orange gunks off Anna’s closed left eye, then, to my surprise, put the excrement in her mouth. She rolled the thing on her tongue for some seconds before spitting it out.

“I had been wrong. This isn’t flu,” Marion concluded. She lowered herself on Anna, sniffed, and licked the sweat off the girl’s neck.

“What are you-”

“Shh…” Marion shushed me. She gestured for me to help her flip Anna over, which I did. Anna briefly opened her bloodshot eyes, groaned, then went back into her comatose state again. The rat dove under the blanket, followed by Marion’s right hand. The shape of the movement happening underneath the blanket indicated Marion was scraping Anna’s rear hole with her finger. Soon the rat and the hand reemerged, and Marion, to my horror, sniffed and licked her finger. She then took out the mildly toxic balm, that I had seen in use before, from the pouch by her belt. She washed her fingers and her tongue with a small amount of the substance. Having done that, Marion finally smiled a little.

“I see. I haven’t had this for a while,” then her blindfolded head turned towards me. “Lad, what happened? This is some serious infection your Lady is having.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Has she come in contact with something unclean? Anything?”

I couldn’t think of any, but Marion kept pressing for an answer.

“Something that was festering? Seething with the invisible agents of decay. Something that had been rotting in the dark and wet?”

Something clicked in my head. Oh, my!

“She had worn an old discarded grain sack as… shorts first, then as a skirt-”

“What? Why?”

“Erm…,” I fidgeted. “Lady Anna had wet her pants.”

Marion face-palmed.

“Correct me if I am wrong, but I presume the lady had worn that over her bare bottom?”

“You are right.”

Marion sighed and rubbed her face.

“Right. I now know what this is. I am afraid your Lady is going to die unless properly treated within the next days.”

“But, you can treat her, right?”

Marion bit her lips, which made me worried.

“I can, but, unfortunately, the flu berries are not going to help us here. I need something else,” Marion squeezed my should assuringly before continuing. “But do not worry. I have done this before, and I know what I need.”

Marion told me she needed some bark of a certain tree. My hope went up.

“Maybe we have it here already? Don’t our men bring some woods from the nearby-“

“No, René,” she shook her head. “The tree that I speak of is rather keen on retaining moisture. It is unsuitable as fuel for fires.”

She went to the windows, stuck her head out, and shouted something in the Treedweller’s language. Within minutes, her three Barkskinned kins came up to our room. Marion had them gathered around, and the four had a long discussion. One of the Treedweller warriors noticed my concerned face. He gave me a smile and a nod.

“Do not worry, human. I saw. Some nights ago,” he pointed somewhere to the west, “in the woods. That way. Not too difficult.”

###

I spent the day cowering. It was the first time ever that I experienced what it meant to be at the receiving end of stones and arrows lobbed across the air. The soldiers had cleared the tents and their stuff from the courtyard, stashing things under heavy roofs. The men of Armas and God’s Warriors generally stuck to the wall. The laws of physics created a small zone of safety at the base of the Fort’s wall, where the hurled projectiles could not land due to their arced trajectory. The soldiers ON the wall, on the other hand, had to survive the storm. The wall had to be manned, no matter what. Shits had to be thrown down unto the heads of the assaulting enemies. Flame arrows had to fly out and discourage the siege towers. Ladders had to be pushed away, and those few who managed to climb up the wall to the top had to be cut and sliced and skewered.

Every now and then, a rock as big as my head would hit the outer wall of the building I was in, and I feared the whole structure might collapse. The arrows kept coming non-stop. They drummed on the wall and the wooden window pane. I cowered on the floor and screamed in fear, but could not help myself from raising my head every now and then to look out the window.

Sometime well after the sunrise, a man on the wall shouted and pointed outward. I saw Sieur Henry and Victor rush up the stairs and look in that direction.

“My God! They are sending men to Perpillon!” I thought that was what Henry was shouting. He seemed very distressed.

The noise was deafening, but it got more intense around noon. Men were shouting and throwing their bodies at the gate, which buckled each time a loud thud came from the other side. More soldiers went up the wall and hurled deaths down, and after a while, the gate was secured once again. The battering ram must have retreated.

Throughout all this, Anna and I remained in our room. She had opened her eyes two or three times, but each time she fell back into unconsciousness immediately. I had rolled her down and pushed her under the bed, hoping that would provide some protection even if the walls collapsed or stones and arrows crashed through the windowpanes.

Upon Marion’s advice, I had striped Anna to cool her down. Her period was ending, and she wasn’t pumping out too much blood down that hole. I tried and managed to fix the cotton rag in a fundoshi-like fashion around Anna’s pelvis. That should suffice, for now, I hoped. For the remainder of the day, I bunkered down and prayed the night would come soon.

When the evening came, and the sun began to set, the battle died down. I heard the sound of horns and bugles coming from the outside, and the defenders of Fort Soilet seemed relieved. No more stones nor arrows flew over the Fort’s wall. Today’s battle was done. I couldn’t help myself. I rushed out, ran across the courtyard, and up the stone stairs. From the wall’s platform, I peered outside. The soldiers of Chartoise were heading back towards their camp in the distance. But amidst the moving mass of men, a group of armored knights sat on horses, in a wedge formation. They were facing the Fort. Their leader in the front-most position, the slim knight, took her helmet off and wiped the sweat off her face. I could not quite make out the features of her face from this distance, but her long braided blond hair flung left and right as the woman faced this and that way, pointing, giving instructions to her subordinates. I craned my neck and looked left and right, but could not locate Comte de Chartoise. He was nowhere to be seen, although I did see Sieur Pierre, who was conversing with the lady knight. She, too, was flying the Comte’s banner.

I came down from the wall. Men were already cleaning the courtyard, removing the debris of today’s battle. Tents were pitched again, and fires were lit, albeit few. Marion was going around, checking up on the freshly wounded. I felt heavy. These men were carrying things out so systematically. As if all this was just a daily routine.

Shaken, I returned to my room, where Anna was still asleep. I spent the rest of the evening looking after her, although there wasn’t much I could do for the unconscious girl. I stayed with her nevertheless, because if there was one certainty in this world, it was that what she meant to me, or vice versa.

When the stars came out, the men gathered at the gate again. Horse mounted Sieur-Knights were fixing their helmets for yet another nightly skirmish with their counterparts. The Barkskins were talking to footmen, discussing tonight’s destination. The men were a healthy mix between the soldiers of Armas and God’s Warriors. They were readying to head out. To gather another day’s worth of firewoods. I strapped on my coat and hurried across the courtyard.

“I am going, too,” I said, joining them.

The men looked at me once then shrugged. Fine by me, their eyes were saying. Somebody pushed a sword into my hand.

“Run along the cart, as fast as you can,” another was saying to me, “and if you become separated, stay low, stay hidden, until the next night comes.”

“Run fast. Stay in the dark,” I repeated a couple of times, and the person patted on my back.

But a Barkskin wasn’t having any of it.

“I have seen you not fighting,” said this particular Treedwelling man. “You coward. You stay.”

“No, I must go,” I said firmly. “You are going out to get a cure for my Lady. It won’t be right that I sit here and wait for your return. It is not right.”

“You mistaken,” the Barkskin said rather harshly, “we go for woods. Your Lady’s medicine, second.”

“Still, I insist.”

The Treedweller wanted to say something, but we were interrupted by a knight on his horse.

“Men, be ready.”

“Mademoiselle, if you please,” somebody hissed in the dark, and I heard Marion answering yes from somewhere. I followed others’ eyes to the sky, and soon enough, a dark shadow flew in and circled high above us. Perhaps an owl, judging by the size. A man on the wall had been looking out. He waved and hissed.

“Go.”

The gate creaked open, and the knights rode out first, their horses neighing and galloping. Our horse-driven cart started moving, heading out. I took a deep breath and jogged along, out into the open. I clutched the sword in my hand. My palm was already sweaty. The cart made a wide turn and picked up speed. I ran faster and faster. Somewhere in the dark, I heard yelling, that was soon followed by the sounds of horses running and steels clashing. The Sieur-knights from both sides were going at each other. Led by the nocturnal eyes of the Barkskins, we went the other direction, and the noise of the fight grew thinner and thinner as we ran into the darkness.

###

We must have run two or three miles. The sound of the skirmish happening around the Fort was no more. Either we had come too far, or the knights had called it a day.

I had no idea where we were heading, but I kept up nonetheless. The winter night’s air was cold as fuck, but I was hot and sweating from running.

But then, all of a sudden, the owl dived down from the sky and hooted like crazy before going back up.

“Halt,” one of the Treedwellers hissed, and we came to an abrupt stop.

“What’s going on?” I asked a man next to me. A God’s Warrior.

“That was Mademoiselle Marion telling us it’s not safe ahead,” the soldier kindly explained in a hushed voice. I kept my mouth shut and focused ahead. I could not see jack shit but still could make out the shadow of a tall Treedweller who crept forward. After a while, he returned and shook his head.

“Many men ahead,” the Barkskin warrior informed us. “Waiting in the dark. It is a trap.”

“Merde!” men around the stopped cart cussed.

“We go other one,” another Barkskin pointed to another direction and added. “There, we have not been. For days.”

So, we changed our course. But after a couple of miles, the same thing happened again. The owl came down, a Barkskin went ahead to scout, only to come back, shaking his head.

“Again. Trap. Many are hiding in the woods and waiting.”

“Damn it!” men cursed and spit on the snow-covered ground.

“No choice. Let us return,” said a voice in the dark.

“No! But my Lady’s-” I objected, but one of the Treedwellers told me to shut up. The three held a short conference among themselves in their mysterious language. After a minute or two, they seemed to have reached an agreement.

“Wait here. We go get it.”

“Will you be alright?” asked a soldier near me, worried.

“We can see in the dark. They cannot,” said a Treeweller, “We keep quiet, we unseen.”

The three Bark-skinned warriors told us to wait here, and then crept forward, each armed with a hatchet and a bow. They soon disappeared into the darkness.

It felt like an eternity waiting for their return. We bundled up around the cart and waited, keeping quiet. Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t leave. We weren’t going anywhere without the eyes that can see in the dark. The three Treedwellers had become valuable assets to the army of Armas. As had Marion. The owl kept circling above us, scanning the land engulfed in the nightly darkness.

“Argh!”

A sudden scream of a dying man echoed across the plane. It stopped abruptly with a gurgling noise as if one’s throat was flooded with blood. The sound had come from quite far up ahead. Then, as if one cue, the horizon lit up with torches. The sudden brilliance blinded my eyes, from which it took me several seconds to recover. The torches in the distance were moving. Accompanied by loud yelling and cussing. I saw shadows running.

With the torch-lit illumination on their back, the three Barkskins were running towards us.

“Allez!”

As one, the men around me shouted. The horses were whipped, and the cart started moving. I began to run after the cart, glancing back every second.

The Treedwellers were fast, and they soon caught up with us. They took the lead and corrected our course in the right direction towards the Fort. Far up ahead, I saw the lights appear on a small lump of dark shadow. Fort Soilet was lighting up its walls. Through the owl’s eyes, Marion had seen our trouble, and she promptly alerted Comte d’Armas.

“Here, hold this!”

A Treedweller warrior tossed me something that resembled a small shield. It was about the size of a child’s torso but only half an inch thick, and felt rough yet soggy and woody to the touch. Running as fast as I could to keep up with the men, I had a brief look at the thing that was supposed to cure my Anna of her deadly infection. It was a piece of bark torn off a tree. An actual tree, not these bark-skinned humanoids.

“I felt bad peeling it off,” said the Barkskin, then stopped, turned around, and sent an arrow towards our back, before resuming running.

There were lots of shouting and jingling of metals as our enemy chased after us. The torches were coming closer and closer.

“You are too slow!” a strong voice yelled at me, then lifted me up. I was tossed onto the cart, and the group as a collective immediately gained speed. OK, so I had been slowing us down, damn it. My ride was bumpy as fuck. The horses were galloping like crazy. The vibration shook me so hard. I realized there were many axes on the cart, and they jumped and clattered tonk tonk tonk as the wheels rolled madly. I carefully pushed them away from my vicinity.

###

I lost track of time. I did not know how long we ran, but the Fort, lit by the torches on the wall, was getting closer. Men on the wall were shouting. I looked ahead. There were galloping sounds of horses approaching from our enemy's camp. It was coming towards us. The Fort's gate opened, and our knights rode out. But suddenly, the dark of the seemingly empty space before the Fort lit up. Like a fuze train, torches went up from left to right at an incredible speed. The illumination displayed something dreadful. Armed men closing down on the Fort.

“My Lord, Comte d’Armas!”

A woman's voice rang out from not too far away. I felt a chill run down my spine. The voice went on.

"My father has been benevolent, but I not. You would be mistaken to think that I further allow the trees of my Chartoise to be stolen by thieves! It ends now! You shall freeze tonight onwards!"

More torches went up. It was clear. The army of Chartoise had somehow managed to slip past Marion's airborne eyes and crept up in the dark. Maybe the witch had been too focused on us? Perhaps she had been just too tired? Either way, we were now in deep shit. They had been waiting to spring on us… or what was supposed to be left of us after having been ambushed at the woods. Our riders, who were heading towards their counterparts, suddenly found themselves in danger. A new group of enemy knights was galloping towards them from another direction in a flanking course. I heard the shouting voice of Comte d'Armas, and a horn was sounded from the Fort. The horse-mounted knights first hesitated, then turned around. They went back into the Fort, and the gate was shut tight.

"No!"

I screamed. Fuck. We were locked out. The men around me gritted their teeth. We kept rushing forwards, for we still had a sizeable group of enemies on our back. By the time the cart reached the closed gate, Chartoise's footmen were converging on us fast, with spears and pikes ready. The God's Warriors among us banged on the heavy gate, while the men of Armas turned around, readying their weapons.

"Open it up! Let them in!"

It was Commandant Antoine's voice. I looked up the wall. Antoine had gotten hold of Comte d'Armas and was shaking back and forth, demanding that the gate be opened.

"No! Do not open the gate!"

As one, the proud soldiers of Armas standing their ground shouted up. I shivered. Yes, opening the gate now would risk the Fort's defense being breached. It was a sensible decision. But how could these men just accept their imminent deaths so matter-of-factly? What about me? Am I going to die here tonight, too? I looked down at my hands and realized that for some reason, I had lost my sword. Fuck.

The three Barkskins were also getting ready to fight. With them, the Comte's men formed a row before the now-stopped cart. The men told me to get off, which I did. The two horses were untied and slapped on the arse, freed so they would not die. The horses neighed and galloped into the darkness.

Behind me, the few God's Warriors were still banging on the door, begging for their lives. But before me stood the real soldiers, facing the enemy who had now stopped some hundred feet before us. Chartoise's men were forming up, readying themselves for an order.

Our men moved quickly and pushed the cart forward, and then toppled it over, denying some space. The axes tumbled down and scattered on the ground.

“Zaggech! Tuguem! Doshraque!”

Marion's desperate voice rained down from the wall. She was reaching out as if that would amount to something. Her Treedweller kins looked up with determined faces. In their woodland language, they shouted their final words to the witch of the land, and bid her farewell.

"Watch me, humen!" one of them shouted. "Watch us Barkskins fight and die in glory!"

I, not knowing what else to do, called Marion.

"Mademoiselle! Here!"

I tossed the special bark of the special tree in the air, as high as I could. Some arms shot out and caught the thing before it fell back. Welp, at least Anna would eventually get her infection dealt with.

"How cowardly the Comte has become!" the woman's voice rang out again, from the far back of the rows and rows of men before us. "Letting his men die so helplessly."

Comte d'Armas, wisely so, did not respond.

Having done the obligatory mockery and sneering, the woman barked out an order. About two dozen spearmen formed in three rows stepped up. With their pointy thing ready, they approached us one step at a time.

Then, suddenly, there was a commotion above our heads. After much shouting and metallic clanging, Sieur Henry dropped down behind me. He landed rather heavily on his ass, but the man braved the pain and quickly jumped up on his feet. With a sword in his hand, the good Sieur limped past me, ruffling up my head while passing, and without any words, joined the front row of our men. Marion's wailing became more intense.

The enemy spearmen stopped for a second. They waited to see if any more would jump down the Fort's wall, but seeing none, they resumed the deliberate advance. The God's Warriors behind me, who had been banging on the gate to no avail, finally gave up. They, too, readied their weapons, but trembled in fear, like I had done so all this time. I was praying, too. To Iris and Eris and Miris and Paris and the whole lot of those similarly named motherfucking goddesses and the fatboy God. Girls, do something! Please!

Spears were thrust forward, only to be blocked by round wooden shields. Our spears going the other direction generally suffered the same fate. But the Chartoise' men had the numbers, and we were few, our shields, small. Sieur Henry was fighting like a lion, and the Barkskins were hacking and slashing with their hatchets madly. But we were being pushed back. Some of our men fell, and the enemy poked many holes on the downed soldiers, who screamed in pain and cursed dreadful words before dying. Metals banged on woods. Metals scraped past each other and sprayed yellow sparks. Flesh, ripped and pierced and sliced. Bones, crushed and severed. Someone pushed me back real hard, and I was thrown against the shut gate. There, with my back against the heavy wood, I watched the bloody fight happening right before my eyes. I was hyperventilating. Men were falling, screaming, spewing blood out of recently created holes. My turn was coming.

There was yet again a commotion above my head.

"Né!"

Ah… a maiden's voice. A familiar sound that spoke no words.

"Né!"

Then something white fell from the air. The thing landed heavily on the snow-covered ground that was so trodden it was now muddy and squishy. After landing, it rolled and then jumped up. Anna La Rose, my precious, bare feet, clad in nothing but her white nightshirt that was now all covered in mud. Underneath the freshly applied dirt, her face was pale, sweating, panting, enraged.

"Anna, what the fuck are you doing!"

She did not answer. Instead, she fumbled all over my body, checking if I was hurt anywhere. When she was finally convinced that I was OK, Anna sighed in relief and hugged me and squeezed me real hard. I was lost. I stood there with mouth opening and closing like a stupid fish. Anna was still burning, and her motions were weak. Yet she turned around and surveyed what laid before her. Men of Armas, whom she had gotten to know in the last many weeks. They were dying. Our rows were in shambles, pushed back, yet somehow still standing. But it was a matter of time before the enemy spears reached me.

Anna bonked the head of the nearest God's Warrior and snatched his sword out of the trembling hands. Before I could stop her, she, with a ferocious roar, dashed forward and threw herself into the fray. Anna rushed past our men, past Sieur Henry and the Treedwellers, and then dived into the waiting forest of sharp spearheads. She effortlessly brushed aside the deadly weapons and slid her thin body between the long pointy sticks, gaining a foothold among the ranks of the enemy. Anna jabbed and sliced and stabbed in all directions. She punched and head-butted and kicked and bit anything that came in the range.

The twenty-something men of Chartoise were too few to deal with this angry goddess. They backed off, giving a bit of breathing room for our soldiers bunched up before the closed gate. I saw Anna plunge the sword down through a retreating man's back. The blade got stuck in the dead body, and she wasn't able to pull it out. There was shouting, and new rows of men armed in swords and shields advanced towards the maiden. Anna looked around and picked up an axe that had tumbled off from the upturned cart. She once again dived into the thick of the enemies and began hacking and smashing like a storm. Chartoise had no solution against this menace; they had to back off, which resulted in men cheering from the Fort's wall.

But to my eyes, Anna appeared sluggish. She swayed quite a bit. Her footings were unstable, and her swings weren't deliberate. Her chest heaved up and down as Anna huffed and puffed for air, her face white and sweaty, eyes bloodshot. She took a few backward steps, slipped on the flat of a shield that was lying on the ground, and fell on her back in a spectacular fashion. In the process, she narrowly missed cracking her own head open with the axe in her hands.

Chartoise's men grinned at this display of Anna's weakness. And of her bare bottom. Few more rows of spearmen advanced, but they were suddenly pelted by arrows coming down from our Fort's wall. Comte d'Armas was shouting orders to his men on the wall. Our enemy raised their shields and backed off further.

There was a lull in the fight, where both sides just glared at each other. I took this opportunity to hiss at Anna, who was standing in some sort of a no man's land. I worried she was too far forward.

Anna was indeed too far forward, and also the center of our enemy's attention. A small group of horse-mounted knights maneuvered around their footmen, and charged towards my Anna from a side, their long lances ready in couch hold. Comte d'Armas was quick to react and redirected his archers' priority. Most of the knights were discouraged by the hail of arrows, worried that their horses would get hurt. But three remained stubborn and kept pressing on. Within the blink of an eye, they were on Anna.

The mortal goddess took a couple of well-timed steps and weaseled herself past the incoming lance-tips. She swiftly swung the axe in a tight arc and managed to hack off the leading horse's front knee. The poor animal tumbled forward and rolled over its head, along with its armored master. The other two knights sped past Anna to maneuver their horses around. In the meantime, Anna quickly moved over to the fallen knight. The man was on all fours, about to get up. Anna raised her axe and then brought it down heavily unto the back of the man's neck. The axe precisely landed on the vulnerable gap between the helmet and the neck guard. Kicking away the severed head, she then dropped her axe and picked up the dead man's lance instead. Clearly, it was too long and too heavy for her even if her illness hadn't already weakened her, but she seemed to have a plan. The two riders had turned around and were already charging towards Anna. Our archers on the wall couldn't deal with these two as they feared Anna would also get hit. Instead, they kept shooting at the rows of footmen to keep them at bay.

The half-naked girl on the ground glared at the incoming horses, then let the tip of her lance touch the snow-covered ground at an angle. Anna firmly held the free end of the shaft, then pivoted the eight-feet long stick in a large circle, like a compass, by pirouetting on her feet. She turned faster and faster. The two knights were charging in. Anna let go of the lance, and it flew like a helicopter blade. The lance's heavy tip pierced through the chest plate of an unlucky sieur, and the man was thrown off his horse, dead. Seeing this, the remaining Sieur-knight wavered, the tip of his lance dipping low. Anna let the pointy bit slide past her, and, with her both hands, assertively pushed the passing shaft away but downward. The sudden force applied to the lance was enough to upset its relative placement with respect to the horse. The tip swayed and got in front of the running legs, resulting in yet another poor horse tumbling down, and a metal-clad man flying across the air. The night air was briefly filled with stunned silence. The men of Chartoise were no more gloating.

I thought it was a good time to reel Anna back in a bit. I mustered up enough courage to run forward. I grabbed Anna's shoulder and spun her around.

"Come! Step back a little!"

'Would that matter?' she asked. I knew what she meant. The gate would remain shut because our enemy was too close. Nevertheless, Anna let me hold her hand. We took backward steps, and were quickly retreating-

"Men!" the woman's voice rang out suddenly, it startled me. "Let us not be reckless. No need to risk more lives," the voice was saying. The footmen moved a few steps back. The unseen woman continued, "archers! Finish them!"

My heart sank. I glanced at the gate. It remained shut. Many of those who had gone out to gather firewoods were either dead or hurt. Only a few and the Barkskins and Sieur Henry were standing upright, exhausted. They, too, heard the woman's voice.

"My Lady! Please retreat!" Sieur Henry shouted.

I pulled Anna, but her legs buckled and she almost fell. Great. An ideal time to remind yourself that you are sick to death. Shit. There were jingling noises. The front formation of Chartoise's spearmen was making space, dispersing, and through the gap, I saw rows of archers readying their bow. Oh, shit.

Our men out at the gate quickly grabbed whatever shape of shields they could find, and bunkered down. Anna and I, though, we had nothing. Heck, this girl had nothing but a thin linen shirt on her. I eyed the enemy archers quickly. They were about to send the first volley.

I must have lost my mind. My intelligence must have dropped to a single-cell organism level. I got in front of Anna, pushed her down, and smothered her with my body. I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes shut.

###

It wasn’t supposed to happen. It defied the common sense of noble ladies. But Anna did it nonetheless. She slid out of my grasp, swiveled around me, and placed herself between the angry archers and me. By the time I had realized what the fuck was happening, Anna pushed me down, knelt, balled up on me, and hugged my head tight, burying it in her bony chest.

I heard shits flying past. I heard the sound of arrows drumming on the shields our men were holding up. I also heard quite many thuds, arrowheads burying into meaty flesh. One such sound, though, came from rather too close. Then there was a silence, quickly followed by confused murmurs.

I screamed as something struck my left cheekbone. It felt as if a small hammer had hit my face at full force. Soon followed the sensation of hot liquid on my cheek rapidly cooling. Blood. My eyes went wide. I pushed Anna away, but what the fuck? With a sharp burning pain, my head was pulled along.

Then I realized. Anna and I were connected. Moving my eyeballs desperately, I glanced down. An arrowhead was half-buried into my left cheek. Through the torn hole, trickled a mini-waterfall of warm blood. My eyes followed the offending arrow-shaft, which was jutting out of Anna’s chest, a bit to her right. From the pierced hole on her already-dirtied nightshirt, a dark circle was growing too quickly. Horrified, I glanced up.

Anna had her eyes shut tight and was grimacing. She could not hold it anymore and coughed, spraying blood on my face.

“Anna!”

She opened her eyes and looked down on me, then gasped in surprise. Her face, distorted. Gritting her teeth, Anna grabbed the little section of the arrow-shaft between my face and her chest, then, groaning and whimpering, pushed herself away from my head, and pulled the damned thing out of my face. With a squelching sound, the arrowhead popped out of my facial meat. It felt like a hot iron was pressing on my cheek, but it did not matter. I was frozen. My eyes were fixed on this motherfucking arrow that was stuck in my Anna. She coughed another fine mist of blood on my face.

“Anna!”

I quickly turned my head, hoping our friends would help. I saw Sieur Henry had survived, mainly thanks to his armor. The Treedwellers… were like porcupines, but they seemed alright. Barkskins for the win. The four were dazed and disorientated, though, having suffered numerous high-energy impacts. The rest of the men were dead. Sprawled on the dirty ground with their mouths gruesomely contorted and eyes wild. From the top of the Fort’s wall, Marion was wailing.

Two small hands grabbed my head and turned it back to the front. Anna was screaming. She was fuming, her face red from the rage. Anna fumbled her trembling fingers over the hole on my cheek, and wept, like an upset mother. She genuinely wept over this tiny little scratch on my face. I could not help but notice the hissing sound of the air escaping through the puncture in her chest.

Then Anna bit her lips. Her eyes, that had been weak and unfocused for the past days, suddenly glistened. The dark oily iris of her eyes swirled and reflected the torchlight in many different colors. Anna jumped up and turned around to face the enemy.

The men of Chartoise had been silent, stunned. They had just witnessed a noble Lady throwing herself between arrows and her servant. It wasn’t normal. Now, this raging girl was glaring at them.

“Gyaaaah!”

Anna screamed, further deflating her damaged lung. She threw her right hand back. I, her herald, sensed the divine. I heard Marion yelping in immense pain.

Fort Soilet’s massive gate exploded outward, disintegrating into a hundred splinters of hardwood and metal. I was bombarded on my back as sharp fragments pelted me ruthlessly. A particularly large piece of solid wood hit my head, and I collapsed face-first. I raised my head from the mud. My vision was rapidly blurring, but I saw that the sword of Firis had answered Anna’s call and came to its master. Anna stood there with her back turned on me, dripping blood from her chest and down her bare thigh. She held the diamond-like sword sideways. Anna was so upset and enraged that her hands shook, and the blade trembled and whined. It was glowing scorching white.

The last thing I saw before losing my consciousness was goddess Firis releasing one of the many colorful deaths that were stored in the translucent blade of the sword. The air sizzled and crackled and burnt white. I fainted, listening to the ripping sounds of hardboiled flesh separating from bones. And lots of agonized screams.

###

I snapped my eyes open to the sound of things being hammered. For some reason, I had turned over while I was passed out. The night sky was pitch black, and the distant stars blinked occasionally. The air smelled bad. Of shits and piss. I sat up and shook my head. I was facing the Fort’s Gate… OK, the gate was no more. Men were trickling out of the Fort, their face pale. Something was odd.

The hammering noise stopped, then resumed after a few seconds.

I saw Sieur Henry’s frozen face. The Barkskins, too. They were rooted where they stood. Their eyes, frightened.

The hammering noise stopped, then after a few seconds, resumed.

The men who came out from the Fort stopped a few feet before me. Their eyes were wide, mouths agape and shaking. The smell of shit had become more intense. I noticed many men had sagging pants.

What the hell? I turned around. There was nothing. I mean, nothing. The army of Chartoise was fast retreating and had already gone quite a distance. With their torches gone, we had only the lights from the torches our men carried and those on the Fort’s wall. The shadows flickered, and it was dark, but still, I noticed the ground immediately before me was snow-less. It was all mud. The snow had evaporated.

The hammering noise stopped, then started again. It was coming from quite nearby. I slowly stood up, felt my cheek and winced, and craned my neck. I peered into the semi-darkness.

Anna was on the ground. On all her fours. She held a helmet in her right hand, which she raised high and smashed down on… a clean white skull. She repeated this until the bone was nothing but a pile of fine dust and shattered pieces. Then she crawled to the next one. And she bashed. My eyes went wide. The field was littered with skeletons, picked clean of skin and flesh. Heaps of white dust told me what had happened to the actual meat. There were about twenty or thirty of those remains of the recently cremated scattered on the ground. Quite many of them already had their skulls pulverized.

“Urgh! Urgh!”

Anna was groaning and wheezing and coughing blood. This girl was mad.

“Milady!”

I hurried to her but stopped after a few steps. It felt and sounded different. The ground wasn’t actually mud, but heavily trodden earth that had its surface baked to a thin layer of hard ceramic, which cracked and fractured under my feet. I shook my head. It wasn’t important. I rushed to Anna and grabbed the wrist that was in mid-swing. Anna growled like a beast and faced me with murder in her eyes, but then realizing it was me, her expression changed. Her face was blue and sweaty, out of breath. The bloody hole on my cheek reminded her that I had come so close to dying. She stood up and hugged me and wailed, but the arrow sticking out of her chest got in the way between us. Anna coughed some more blood, slumped, then slid down over me and collapsed.

A strong hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. It was Marion. She had rushed out of the Fort.

“What have you done!”

Marion was screaming in my face. What? What did I do? Marion pushed me aside and knelt beside Anna. She felt around the wound, then proceeded to check the girl’s breath. Marion’s face went pale. She sat up and waved the soldiers over.

“Quick! She is going to die!”

Anna was carried inside, to the kitchen. Marion had demanded a place to lay Anna down, hot water, and fire, to which Antoine suggested the Fort’s kitchen. Led by the Commandant, we carried the dying girl into a large building, rushed through dark hallways, and kicked a heavy door open. Indeed, there was a large cooking table built out of stone. Things were swiped off the table, and Anna was carefully laid sideways on the flat surface. Men began to get the fire going, tossing in the precious woods and fanning the flame furiously.

A fleet of rodents came running into the kitchen and climbed up the shelves and stools to provide more than enough eyesights for the witch. Two went up on the table and fixed their eyes on Anna from both sides of my precious girl. Marion ripped Anna’s nightshirt open and revealed the bare bluish-gray skin. By now, we were so desperate and beyond the point of caring about the exposed skin. I saw small bubbles of blood oozing out along the arrow’s shaft that was jutting out of the pierced chest.

“Mademoiselle, do something!” Comte d’Armas yelled, his voice brittle and worried. He leaned over and grabbed the arrow.

“No, not now!”

Marion swatted the Comte’s hand off from the arrow. She lowered her head and placed her ear on Anna’s chest. Then she jolted up.

“René, you ass! I cannot hear a damned thing! Stop those idiotic trumpets!”

“I cannot!”

I took over the position and listened to Anna’s breathing. Her heart was weak, limping along just for the sake of keeping it up. Each time Anna’s chest went up and down, there was a distinct hissing noise and the sound of something gurgling and sloshing inside. I informed Marion so.

“That is bad. Her lung is flooded,” Marion’s face went even paler. She put a hand on Anna’s neck and checked the pulse, counting as she timed the interval.

Anna opened her eyes and coughed a pool of bluish blood onto the table. Before anyone could stop her, she grabbed the arrowhead, screamed, then snapped the shaft.

“You dumb little-” Marion slapped Anna’s hand, but it was already too late. Anna reached around and pulled the now-headless arrow out her back. Everyone heard Anna’s lung deflating, and foams of blood gushed out through both holes. We stood there, blinking, mouths shut. The idiot girl chuckled, waved us off, then rolled onto her back. She coughed and wheezed some more, looking up at the ceiling with frightened eyes.

Marion checked the pulse again and coiled at how cold Anna was. She gritted her teeth, faced me with her blindfolded head. She shook her head.

“I see,” I said. My voice was strangely calm, even to my surprise. “Would you please leave us alone for a while?”

Marion waved her hand, and one by one, men shuffled out of the kitchen. The Comte squeezed my shoulder with tearful eyes before leaving. Henry hugged me without saying anything. Marion was the last to leave.

“It won’t be long,” she said, very sorry. “Make her feel comfortable, at least.”

“Thank you, Mademoiselle.”

When everyone had left the kitchen, I bolted the wooden door shut. I walked over to the table and stared down at Anna. Her face was now very blue and covered in droplets of sweat. She was gasping for air, but the other lung could not keep up. Anna was half-drowning, half-suffocating, bleeding, and dying.

###

It was some kind of an emotional defense mechanism. I hadn’t even known that I had such a function within me. I shut down. My mind was numb, my face blank. I took hold of Anna’s hand, which was cold and blue and wet from sweat.

“Anna, you are going to die,” I dutifully informed her. She nodded and squirmed her hand out of mine.

‘You are free,’ Anna gestured. ‘Forget about me. Live well.’

“What will happen to you?”

‘Eris will return me to nothingness.’

I held Anna’s hand again. I squeezed it hard. She was trembling, but her eyes were locked onto mine. She was scared. I now held her hand with my both hands and squeezed even tighter.

We were like that for some minutes. Silent.

Anna then gasped harder and faster. Her face distorted in pain and turned real blue. With the free hand, she desperately clawed her chest and throat. Anna thrashed on the table, like a fish out of water, as all of her cells screamed for oxygen and the organs began to shut down. I held her hand firmly and, with gritted teeth, watched her suffer the agony. I prayed to no god in particular that it won’t last too long, and she would die quick.

I don’t know how long. Maybe five or six minutes. Or a bit longer. My Anna went limp, and she was dead with her frightened eyes open wide. I squeezed her hand for one last time, released it, and closed her eyes. I leaned over and kissed goodbye on Anna’s cold forehead.

I looked around the kitchen and found a knife that looked big and sharp enough to do the job. I clutched it tight, took a deep breath, and raised it high above my-

“René!”

Marion screamed from the other side of the locked door. She began to bang on the heavy wood.

“René! Are you alright? René! The trumpets have stopped! The light is gone! René!”

She kept banging on the door that it buckled. I walked over and confirmed the door was indeed bolted shut from the inside. Satisfied, I turned around and leaned on the door. I chuckled.

Yes, Marion. Thank you. Anna is dead. Thank you very much for giving me the final confirmation.

All of a sudden, my emotions rushed through my mind like a tsunami. I cried and wept and shook my head as the grief of losing Anna swept across my existence. I wiped my tears off and took one long breath. I hold the knife in both hands, adjusted my grip, did a couple of back and forth stabbing motion aimed at my heart. I then raised it high once more. I stopped for a second and looked at Anna for the last time.

Live well, she said. Sorry, Anna. Now that you are gone, I’m done.

I shut my eyes and-

“Kyaaargh!”

Marion screamed, once again interrupting my suicide. I heard running footsteps and men gathering. Marion’s banging on the door became even more vigorous, desperate even.

“René! Get out of the kitchen! Now! Oh, God, what’s in there? René! Open the door! Something is in there!”

The fuck is she talking about?

“Come out! Now!” Marion was screaming like crazy. “Something has come! René!”