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The Butterfly Sorceress, a serial novel

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Jimor:
Chapter 2, Part 4


As Belsira shuffled around her room, packing her meager belongings into her
saddle packs, she realized how familiar it all had become in ten short days.
She could hardly believe her former life had ever been real -- the memories were
so vague and distant.

It was probably her exhaustion.  These had been a hard ten days, with barely
even time to worry about Hylian and what she was doing.  Belsira welcomed the
monotonous drills, and the fatigue that carried away those negative thoughts.

But now they were pulling out of camp, heading south toward unknown dangers and
battles.  The Fourth Legion would have left sooner, Portik said they could have
continued training on the road, but all of the supplies hadn't come in yet.  She
was staggered by how much food and other supplies the legion needed for its travels.

Fortunately, she didn't have to worry about details like that, all she had to do
was prepare for her own small, yet important, role in this war.

She discovered that she actually preferred training with the sword, as tiring as
it was.  At least the fatigue was only physical.  It was the training of her
talent for the methods of war that brought real exhaustion to her mind and body.
Falling asleep each night came far too easily for someone about to face such a
terrifying future.

She folded and packed her three spare sets of day clothes, the heavy cloth
garments that would go under her armor, then placed her leather pouch of
personal belongings between all the clothes in the saddle bag to keep them safe.
There was also the cold/wet weather gear, though it seemed unlikely she'd need
it any time soon, so she placed that in the second saddle bag along with her
hygiene kit with soap, combs, brushes and such.

Then she prepared her bedroll, taking the blankets from the bunk, rolling them
up, then wrapping a weather-proofed leather cover around it and tying down the
flaps.  Next she carefully folded her light armor, which made a surprisingly
compact bundle, then tied it to the outside of the second saddle bag, then
covered it with the bag's generous flap.  She'd need to keep it handy in case of
battle.

Fortunately, she wouldn't have to worry about bulk supplies, so that her horse
wouldn't be overburdened when it came time to do battle, not that she expected
to be in the thick of the combat, but that Portik had drilled the need to always
be ready into her these last few days.  She was already starting to think like a
warrior, imagining how she would slip into her armor at a moment's notice in
case of ambush for instance.

Even so, this new life felt unreal to Belsira.  It was as if living without
Hylian's presence didn't count, that once this war was over and they were both
back at the cabin, time would start again.  Her mind demanded these terms in
order to accept all of these drastic changes.

And despite all of her training for using her talent in combat, she didn't quite
believe in that possibility either.  Nothing she could do about it, however, so
she followed orders as best she could, even when Kirtok forced her to destroy
five more horses.  It was no longer her choice about what she did, so why should
it bother her?

So she finished packing, hauled her gear outside, then tied it down behind the
saddle of the horse that had been assigned to her, a gentle brown mare named
Raitha.  Bel knew basic horsemanship, but would be hard pressed to control an
unruly mount.

She walked the horse out to the parade ground to assemble with the rest of her
unit.  Portik stood next to his steed, and Belsira could just tell they had been
together for a long time.  Veddi, the captain's dapple grey, almost seemed to
lean against Portik, and the man certainly held himself with a demeanor that
gave the indication he had the strength to spare.  Shouting order to his men,
inspecting each of their own mounts with a practiced eye, looking for flaws in
their packs or saddles.

Belsira still had a hard time thinking of this unit as her bodyguards.  She had
trained with them in unit drills designed to protect her, learning how to take
protective cover within their formations, but she didn't feel a part of them.
Despite Portik's earlier trick, after training they kept to themselves and let
her go back to her room alone. There was simply too much difference to overcome,
and even working closely with them, the same discomfort at having their emotions
not only read, but used, arose as always.

She did develop a growing sense of respect for Portik.  It was obvious his men
did as well, there was rarely a problem with discipline or unit cohesion during
the exercises.  Each man knew his job, and performed it admirably.  She came to
appreciate what the common soldiers of the legion would have to put up with in
combat, and that knowledge would probably come in handy when she was called upon
to assist them.

She had seen very little of Kirtok the past few days.  He must have been
extremely busy with preparing the legion with its nearly seven thousand men for
their journey.  His chief aide, Loric, did spend a lot of time observing her
progress, both with her battle talent training, and with her basic weapons and
tactics training.  He also spent long hours explaining battle strategy to her
after dinner each evening.  Loric wasn't as imposing, but he lacked Kirtok's
charisma, however, and Belsira could barely maintain her attention for his
lectures.  Hopefully Kirtok would have time to explain in more detail what he
expected of her once they were on the road.

"Guard, parade formation, dismounted!"

Belsira startled at Portik's order, but managed to remember where she was to go,
leading Raitha to his place among the other horses, then standing at attention
on the left side of her mare.  The other soldiers took their respective places
quickly and efficiently.

Portik turned to survey the rest of the legion's progress as they began forming
up into the various units.  The vast majority were foot soldiers, and would have
to march to the front lines.  Belsira thanked the gods that she would at least
be able to ride.

"Looks like it will be a short while yet before we're ready to leave.  Stand ready."

Just like Portik to want his unit sharp and prepared while everybody else was
still trying to figure out where to go on the parade grounds.  By the looks of
things, they'd be standing there a good hour at least.

So Belsira took the time to watch the rest of the legion gather together.
Besides the foot soldiers, there were about five hundred horse cavalry.  They
would be extremely important in battle, and one of her highest priorities for
protection via her talent.  She now knew all too well what havoc could be
wrought in their ranks by talent unleashed.

Almost as impressive was the tremendous number of supply wagons lining up along
the perimeter.  All last night, the camp workers transferred provisions from the
warehouses to the wagons.  Portik had told her that they would be hauling enough
supplies to keep the legion self-sufficient for two weeks.  Not only that, but a
constant line of supply would be moved to the legion from here and elsewhere in
the kingdom, not even considering what they would forage while on the move.
Belsira couldn't even imagine the logistics, and this was the smallest legion
going into the field from Mardya.

As she watched, order slowly replaced chaos on the field.  Smart rows of
soldiers stood where only a few minutes before was just a milling crowd.  One by
one the units pulled together.  For some reason, Belsira found this much more
impressive than the standard formations during training.  For one thing, there
was a palpable purpose behind this particular gathering.  All that everybody had
worked for was about to become real; they were going off to war.

And she could see it in their faces.  There was none of the pride and bravado
they had before when all they had to face was the disapproving eye of the
officers looking for flaws in how their armor was fastened.  There was fear in
their eyes that she would've been able to notice even without the mass orange
aura her talent allowed her to see.  Even though she wasn't actively tapping
this energy, she still had to knead her worry stone vigorously to drain away the
pent up power.

She turned to look at Portik, but as always, he stood there impassive as he
watched the rest of the legion.  She could see the calculations running through
his head about how he would have had everybody ready minutes earlier, but he
still displayed no aura whatsoever.  That fact alone scared her.  How could a
man not feel at least some apprehension at what was going to happen?

Finally, the milling mass of men and horses coalesced into the precise pattern
of the final formation.  And showing an uncanny knack for timing, Kirtok marched
out of his office on the far end of the ground, mounted his black war horse,
then rode to sit before his legion.

No speeches today.  The look of pride on his face was more than enough to convey
his feelings on this day.  He simply raised his sword, then pointed it toward
the south.

One by one, each unit turned, then began the long march towards the war.  When
it neared time for her unit to move, Portik turned to them.  "Guard, mount!"  In
a single motion, even Belsira, they swung into their saddles.  Then when it was
their turn, the swung the horses to the south, and fell in behind a platoon of
foot soldiers.

From the back of her mare, Belsira had a better perspective on the legion.
Already, dust and distance obscured the frontmost units from her sight.  When
she turned around, she could see unit after unit falling into place behind them.
When she had raced to catch Hylian, she hadn't even noticed the awesome
spectacle of an entire legion on the move.

It was beautiful, even amidst the underlying ugliness of the purpose.

Steadily, the long snake of soldiers slithered through the south gate of camp
and onto the main road heading for Gelfont, the major trade center in the
southern district of Mardya.  When Belsira herself passed between the two watch
towers, her heart pounded in her chest -- another part of her life left behind,
probably for good.  Two weeks that now felt like a lifetime.

But she didn't look back, tried not to think about it.  Unbidden, memories of
Hylian filled her mind.  She fidgeted with her worry stone, ran through every
control exercise Hylian had ever taught her, but that just made the heartache worse.

Fortunately, the pace was slow for one on horseback, and her mare knew how to
stay in formation on her own, so Belsira could close her eyes, blank her mind,
and let the gentle sway of riding hypnotize her as she concentrated on her
breathing.

She could still sense the excitement of the soldiers around her, worked to
isolate herself from the emotional energy.  Then, she worked on her own state,
pulling her own emotions within herself, then sealing them away deep inside.
Between inner and outer worlds, she achieved a calm that would sustain her
through this journey.

When she finally opened her eyes again, the legion was well into the
countryside.  Behind her, no sign of the camp or city beyond.

Open grass fields swayed in the breeze around them.  Widely scattered trees
broke up the monotony, and far off to the right, she spied the angled roof of a
farmhouse.  Such a peaceful setting, yet marching right through the middle was
an incredible array of potential destruction.

Such a sad reality.

She just wished she didn't feel so excited by it.

Jimor:
Chapter 2, Part 5


"Looks like we're just about there," Portik said as he rode beside Belsira.

"Where's that?" she asked.

"Mirskon.  It's just a small farming community, but it will do for a
first-night's camp."

"There's still three or four hours of light, isn't there?"

"Yes, but you can't march an army much farther than we have already, especially
at the beginning of the journey when their walking muscles aren't developed yet.
In a couple of weeks, we could probably go an hour or two more each day."

"Oh.  Sitting up here, I didn't realize how tiring that must be.  Even so, I'm
glad we're stopping now."

Mirskon consisted of only a dozen buildings to the side of the road: inn,
stable, market, mill, tavern, warehouse, silos, and so forth.  A little further
back from the road, Belsira could see one of the farmhouses scattered around the
countryside.  As the head of the legion came into the town, they turned to march
toward this house, then spread out into a recently harvested field.

For the most part, soldiers just stopped and sat, resting from the march.  When
Belsira and her guards came upon the group, Portik told her to continue on
toward the farmhouse where Kirtok was waiting for her.

"Come on in, Belsira, I'm sure you need the rest as much as the rest of us."

She dismounted her horse and gave her over to one of the stable hands after
grabbing her packs, then followed Kirtok inside.

The house was simple, yet large enough to hold several people.  The main room
extended to the sloping ceiling above, and a hall to the right must have led to
the living quarters.

"Your room is the second on the right, Belsira," Kirtok said, pointing down the
hall.

"All right, thank you."

She wandered down the hall and into the room.  It was obviously a younger girl's
room, dolls on the dresser, flowers in the windowsill, bright covers on the bed.
In it's own way, as impressive as the suite in the palace, especially compared
to her simple room in Hylian's shack.

Belsira dropped her packs on the floor, not wanting to get any of the road dust
on the furniture.  Everything was neat as well, probably cleaned in anticipation
of their arrival.  Must have been a hurried departure, she could see a couple
toys still peeking out from under the bed.

She reached down, and pulled out a small toy wagon, much like the ones hauling
the legion's supplies, and a couple of carved wooden horses to go with it.  She
arranged them on top of the dresser, then carefully placed the thin leather
leads and yokes from the wagon to the horses.

But as she fiddled with the leads, the rear left leg fell off the brown horse.

"Oh no."

She picked up the leg, fearful that she had broken it, but saw that it had been
broken before, and then somebody had tried to fix it with a small peg connecting
the horse to the leg.  But it was a weak fix, and looked like it would keep
falling away as it had with her.

"The least I can do is fix it I suppose."

Belsira inserted the peg into the horses body, aligned the leg properly, then
concentrated.  Thought of the joy that these beautiful toys brought to the girl,
allowed that same joy to permeate her own body.

When the joy was pure, her thoughts in tune with her purpose, she placed her
fingers over the joint and began to knead the wood.  First she loosened the
fibrous material, then visualized the joining of these tendrils between the two
pieces.  Closer and closer they enmeshed, then she pulled them tight, into a new
bond of wood unifying it into a new whole, stronger than the original.

When she was done, she set the little brown horse on the dresser to be sure that
all four legs were level with the surface.  Perfect.

She then fastened the harness to it again and arranged the set on the dresser.
It was a fine piece of work for a farmer's daughter to own.  Either they had
purchased it in the city as a gift, or there was a fine craftsman in this small
town.  Probably the former if the leg had never been properly fixed.

Belsira went back into the main room of the house, and found a couple of cooks
busy preparing the officers' mess for the evening.  Smelled like the typical
stew that she had had so often back at the training camp.  The fare may be
boring, but she had to admit that it was filling and nutritious enough to keep
up her strength despite all of the hard work she had been doing.

She wandered outside to see how the rest of the legion was getting on.  Already
a huge tent city was sprouting from the empty field behind the house.  The smell
of food permeated the air outside as well, as she could see the smoke of dozens
of cookfires spread throughout camp.

And as she wandered through the tents, she could see that most of the men were
grateful for the respite from the march.  Many tended to blisters or other
soreness in their feet, making her very glad she was one of the few in the
legion with a horse.  Ironically, it was because of her presence on the
battlefield that very few horse cavalry would be used.  Horses were too
vulnerable a target for the opposing battle talent, and if she spent too much
effort protecting them, she'd potentially leave the men vulnerable to attack.

Despite their grumbling about sore feet, just about every man had a smile for
her as she passed through the camp.  She was far from another anonymous soldier
in the legion, so everybody knew who she was.  She was also among one of the
very few women in the legion.  There were perhaps another thirty or so spread
among the combat units.

Actually, every person in the legion was part of a combat unit.  They didn't
have the luxury of purely support personnel, so cooks, blacksmiths, armorers,
supply masters and various other tasks were performed by people from regular
units.  The only significant exception was the supply-wagon drivers, who would
take their wagons back to supply depots for another load once the one they
carried was used up.  Already a handful of empty wagons were waiting to go back
to Letham for another load and this was only the first day on the road.

Not much happening in the camp, so Belsira started walking toward the village.
As she passed the farmhouse on her way, Portik came out and joined her.

"Going into town?"

"Yes, I just want to look around before it gets dark."

"I'll come along then."

Bel shrugged.  No reason he shouldn't.

As they approached, Belsira saw several soldiers in a cordon between the village
buildings and the camp.  She looked at Portik.

"Off limits except to authorized personnel on official business."

"Oh, I didn't know.  Is it all right if we go in?"

"Certainly.  This is primarily so that the soldiers don't disturb the populace.
Far too many soldiers for any of the businesses here to handle them all.  I
don't expect any trouble this soon, but after a few days, some of them will get
restless I'm afraid.  Kirtok would rather head off that possibility before it
happens however."

"Sounds reasonable."

They passed through the checkpoint and Belsira headed for the general store,
Portik right behind.

When she entered, there were several soldiers roaming through the store, picking
and stacking supplies near the door.  She looked again to Portik.

"Supplies for the legion.  We can never quite supply everything we'll need from
the various depots, so we have to forage a bit from each community as we pass."

She nodded, but when she looked around, the growing pile seemed to be much more
than a "bit."  The only items left on the shelves were generally either luxury
items or purely decorative.  Other items like cloth, foodstuffs, utensils, and
tools were constantly being added to the pile by the dozen men in the store.
The shop owner fretted the whole time, and Belsira could well understand with
most of his stock about to be taken away.

She turned her attention to the ignored trinket shelves and examined some of the
pieces.  There were a couple of carved farm animals -- cows, pigs and such --
lining one shelf.

"How much?" she asked the shopkeep.

He shot a nervous glance at Portik before answering.  "Three coppers apiece for
the smaller animals, five for the larger."

"Hmmm, all right, I'll take two cows, three pigs, and three sheep."  She picked
them off the shelf and placed them on the counter.

The shopkeep looked upward, mumbled his calculations to himself, then declared,
"twenty-eight coppers, or two and four."

Belsira reached into her belt purse and gave the keep three silvers.  He wrapped
the small animals and placed them in a small draw bag then gave her eight
coppers in change.  "Thank you, Dear Lady."

"Thank you, Sir.  These should be perfect."

She took the bag and headed back outside, leaving the soldiers to finish their
gathering.

Portik followed.  "We could have added those to the bill for you, you know."

She looked at him, puzzled.  "Nonsense, these have nothing to do with the war
effort, and I can well afford them.  Besides, it's nothing compared to the
business he's going to do today."

Portik snorted.  "Unfortunately, your two and four is all the coin he'll see
today.  We pay him with a note authorized by General Kirtok.  Once the war is
over, all of the notes can be redeemed throughout the kingdom.  The total amount
will be so much, however, that the treasury will be lucky to be able to cover
half of the total, more likely a third."

"What?  He's losing all of that merchandise without compensation?"

"He's not the only one, Bel.  Look around."

Belsira looked around the village, and at practically every building, a detail
of soldiers was loading a wagon full of goods from the inhabitants of Mirskon.

"But what will they do if we take all of this away from them and they don't get
paid for it?"

"We try not to take too much, but the ensuing hardships are unavoidable.  Most
people understand the need, however.  Better than losing their freedom to
Relath.  I have to admit that I was happy to see that you paid for your
purchase.  I've seen too many officers or talents that would happily charge such
things to King and Country.  It's certainly your privilege since you're risking
your life for these people, but I'm glad to see you're different anyway."

"Thank you, Portik.  Hyl brought me up well.  I could no more imagine not paying
for my own purchases than I could...."  She realized that she was about to say
hurt somebody but knew that was no longer true.  She had pledged to do far more
than that.

She looked around once more, but seeing so much of these people's hard-earned
possessions being piled into wagons made her uneasy.

"I might as well head back to the house.  There's not as much here to see as I
thought."

"As you wish, Lady Belsira."

They walked back in silence.  Once at the farm house, dinner was ready, so they
sat at the main table with the rest of the top officers of the legion.  Most of
the table talk was about logistical matters that needed to be smoothed out in
the days to come, but Belsira didn't pay much attention.

All she could think about was how her basic, guiding moral principles had been
undermined by this war.  Hylian had always taught her to use her talent only to
benefit herself and others.  But if she had already made the decision that using
her talent was all right when it came to killing others, why did it matter if
she paid for those little animals when it was perfectly acceptable to let the
legion pay?

She finished her meal, then left the room silently as Kirtok and his staff
continued their deliberations.  When back in the bedroom, she unrolled her
package on the bed, then unwrapped the different animals that she had purchased.

Carefully, she arranged them on the dresser beside the horses, then closed the door.

Belsira felt silly as she realized she hadn't really bought the toys for the
little girl that lived here, but for herself.  She'd leave them here all right,
but for one night at least, they were all hers, and she wasn't going to waste
the opportunity.

Dredging up distant memories, she re-enacted scenes from her childhood where
she'd pretend to be the animals as they had fantastical adventures in faraway
lands.  She whispered their lines, moved them around the dresser top, and
allowed her imagination to run free.  Fortunately, nobody disturbed her as she
played with the little animals right until the last waning light of the evening.

With barely enough light to see anymore, she finally arranged the creatures in a
pleasing array for the little girl to find after Belsira left with the legion.
As she lay in bed to sleep, she thought that if nothing else, this war would
leave a small present for a little girl that Belsira would never meet.

Jimor:
Chapter 3, Part 1


As usual these days, Belsira was in her room when the wagon pulled up before her
home.  She peeked through the curtains and watched the old woman dismount and
greet her father as he exited his workshop.

He was shrouded in an anxious pale-green aura, but the woman had none, so she
was sure this was the person her parents had sent for after the accident.  She
lost sight of them as they entered the front door.  Through the wall, she could
hear the muffled sound of her mother's voice join the conversation, but she was
unable to hear the words.

After three weeks of fearful neglect from her family, Belsira was almost glad to
be going away with somebody else.  Her mother still fixed her meals, and she had
been allowed to go wherever she pleased, but she preferred to keep to herself in
her room.

"Belsira, could you come out here, honey?"  No matter how she tried, her mother
couldn't disguise the waver in her voice when she talked to her daughter.

Belsira slipped quietly into the kitchen and examined the old woman as everybody
waited in uncomfortable silence.  She was taller than Bel's mother, with long
silver hair tied into a ponytail behind her.  Her pale blue eyes smiled from
behind deeply lined eyes, but Belsira still couldn't detect an aura that would
confirm or deny the impression.

Her father cleared his throat.  "Bel, this is Hylian.  She'll be your teacher
from now on like we discussed.  You'll be going to live her in her cabin out
back of Crossley down the road."

Hylian smiled and bent down to greet her new charge.  "Hello, Belsira, I've
heard a lot about you."

That couldn't be good, so Belsira shied away.

Bel's mother broke another awkward stretch of silence.  "I'm sure Hylian and you
have a long journey ahead of you, so perhaps you'd like to get started?"

Belsira didn't need to be told twice.  She retreated from the kitchen and went
to her room.  She efficiently pulled her clothes from her dresser and stuffed
them into the trunk and travel bag her father had put there the previous night.
With the essentials packed she looked around the room.  She decided against
taking her collection of clay animals on the top of her dresser and on the shelf
above her bed, they might get broken on the trip, and besides, she could always
make more.

She also decided against bringing the rag doll propped against her pillow.  For
some reason, Wessa no longer provided the comfort that Belsira used to cherish.

When she turned to the door of her room, she saw her parents and Hylian standing
beyond the door.

"I'm ready," she said in a voice too small for the occasion.

Hylian's eyes flicked to the bed and a hint of yellow surrounded her for a brief
moment.  "Very well.  Your father can get your bags.  Come."  Belsira placed her
small hand in Hylian's outstretched hand and let the leathery warmth lead her
from her room, from her home, and into the waiting wagon.

Bel's father lifted the trunk and bag into the back while her mother held back
in the doorway.

"Good-bye, honey," he said.  He even managed to give her a light kiss on the
cheek.  "Take care of yourself, Bel."

"I will, father," she said, eyes focused on the tail of the horse in front of her.

"I think Tam is at Jes's place..."

"That's all right," she said quickly to cover her father's embarrassment.  Tam
hadn't spoken a word to her the entire time and had rushed from the room
whenever she entered.

Belsira so wished to be able to take everything back so that it never happened,
but knew she couldn't.  She didn't even hear the last few words between her
father and Hylian before the woman clucked to the horses and they were underway.

She fixated on the swaying tail, ignoring the stares of Aberley's townspeople as
the wagon passed through the square and onto the main road.  She tried not to
think about what she was leaving behind and about where she was going.  Whatever
life with Hylian would be like it had to be better than the utter rejection she
had experienced over the last three weeks.

She couldn't blame her family, though, especially Tam.  She was actually
surprised that they had let her stay in the house with them.

"It's not your fault, Belsira."

How could this old woman say such a thing, she wasn't there, she wasn't the one
who had to leave her home, her family because... because...

"You must believe me, dear, there was no way you could have known what would
happen.  Talent as strong as yours is rare.  How could you understand the
consequences of such power when you've never seen it before?"

Belsira had nothing to say to that.

"Don't worry, though.  That's why you're coming with me -- so I can teach you to
control your talent, understand your abilities."

She didn't want to understand them, she wanted them to go away.

"For example, there was never any danger of you hurting any of your family or
friends.  It's impossible to use talent on people, at least directly."

What about Tam, though?  How could she have hurt him any more than she did?

"Here."

Hylian's offer startled Belsira out of her reverie.  "Huh, what?"

The woman was holding out a rock on a string to her.  "I think you need this
more than I do right now."

Bel reluctantly reached out and took the offering.  "What is it?"

"It's a worrystone.  Go ahead, put it on."

She did as she was told, then examined the stone more closely.  At one end of
the almost coal black stone was a smoothly molded hole for the string.  The rest
of it was strangely misshapened, almost like the fingermarks in a lump of clay.

"Whenever you feel your talent overcoming your control, just direct the energy
into the stone, work it in with your hands.  Stone can absorb a lot of energy
before it starts to break apart.  Of course negative emotions weaken it faster,
but even so, I've had this one for nearly ten years."

Belsira rubbed the stone between her fingers.  Nothing happened, but this wasn't
like her butterflies -- she felt no joy to give to the stone.  Neither did she
feel the anger that had gotten so horribly out of control, she would never use
that feeling on anything ever again.

As much as she tried to hide it from herself and others, though, she experienced
a deep sadness, a longing for things to be the way they used to be.

With the thought, came the warmth in her hands, in the stone.  She rubbed again,
and this time the rock stretched and slid beneath her fingers.  A ridge that
used to be here was now there.  Once started, the flow continued unchecked,
breaking her little heart with the sadness she shouldn't have to endure.  She
squeezed the stone between her tiny fists, crushed and reshaped the stone,
emptied and released the despair.  Her tears, almost unnoticed, fell onto the
stone, and she kneaded them into the stone until they disappeared.

When she was finished, the sadness was forgotten, her tears dried, her situation
a distant concept as she sat next to Hylian, eyes closed, fists clenched around
the saving stone.

She heard Hylian say, "Poor child," but there was nothing left in her for the
moment to care what it meant or why Hylian thought so.

Jimor:
Chapter 3, Part 2


After two weeks of travel, Belsira had become accustomed to the pace and routine
of the road.  She could trust her mare to stay with the formation, and she could
either meditate on her control exercises, or even sleep in the saddle for a
snatch of time.

Not much else to do, the terrain was still flat and open -- either fields or
farms -- and the warm, dry, dusty conditions weren't conducive to much more than
silent trudging.  That suited her fine.  The more she could retreat within
herself, the less she had to think about what was to come.

"Good day to you, Belsira."

"Huh?  Oh, good morning, Cayrn."  The young man, one of her guards, had ridden
up alongside.

"I hope you pardon the intrusion, but I noticed that except for Portik or Kirtok
on official business, nobody talks to you much.  So I just wondered if you'd
like some company for a while."

Not really, she thought, but he had always been nice enough to her these last
few weeks, so she didn't turn him away.  She smiled, noticed a light blue aura
arise from him as he smiled back.

"Sure, I'd like that."

He hesitated, probably because he hadn't thought of anything beyond his opening,
so she started.  "Where are you from, Cayrn?"

"I'm originally from Grendon, but my family moved to Fletchton when I was fifteen."

"Fletchton?  That's not far from Aberly, where my family lives."

"I've been there a few times about three or four years ago, riding along as my
father delivered grain to the mill there.  Small town.  Very nice.  I don't
remember seeing you there, though."

"No, I haven't lived there since I was eight.  That's when I went to live with
Hylian, so she could teach me about my talent."

"Ah.  That must have been tough."

Belsira quickly washed away the feelings that came with that subject.  "No, not
really.  Living with Hylian has been wonderful."

Cayrn at least had the sense not to pursue that line, and he thought a moment
for a new subject.

"Have you ever been this far south before?" he asked.

"No, never traveled much beyond Aberly or Crossley.  I never realized that a
city could be as big as Letham."

"That's why I joined the legion, I wanted a chance to travel, see the rest of
the land, not just my home province.  It's been a lot of hard work, but I've
been all over Mardya.  One time, I was even part of a diplomatic contingent to
Thantium, part of the honor guard."

"No offense, Cayrn, but isn't that unusual for somebody so young?"

The young man laughed at that.  "Yes, I suppose so.  I'm twenty-two, though I
know I look younger, but I've been in the legion four years now, and I've worked
hard to get where I'm at now."

Belsira caught the pride in his voice, but couldn't resist teasing.  "I don't
see any insignia on your armor yet."  She smiled to make sure he didn't take it
the wrong way.

Oh, there's more to this job than rank.  Being part of a Talent Guard is one of
the most elite positions in the legion.  Even Kirtok's personal guards aren't as
highly trained as we are, after all, if he fell in battle, Loric could step
seamlessly into his place.  There is no replacement for you, Lady Belsira."

Belsira blushed, not at the implied compliment, but because of yet another
reminder that her status had little to do with anything beyond an accident of
nature.  Cayrn could at least point to his own hard work and training when
talking with pride at his position.  While she had also worked hard to manage
her talent and gain the kind of control that made her useful to the legion, it
was solely born of necessity, not her own wants and desires.

Cayrn however, didn't notice her look away, and continued.  "And I'm especially
honored to have been chosen by Portik for this duty.  I don't think there's a
company commander in all of Mardya with his reputation as a leader."

"Portik?  Really?  He seems rather... I don't know... bland."

Cayrn laughed out loud at that description.  "Yes, I suppose that fits, though
don't tell anyone I said so!  No, it's not his charisma that makes him such a
good leader.  He not like Kirtok at all in that regard.  No, it's just his drive
for perfection, his demand for the best from each of us.  And he doesn't have to
scream or jump up and down to get it from us either."

"I noticed that.  When he gives an order, it just seems to be best to follow it."

"Yes, that's it exactly.  A combination of trusting that he knows what's best,
his experience, and well... I just don't ever want to disappoint him.  The
thought that he would believe I haven't given my best is just too much to bear."

Belsira found herself fascinated by Cayrn's take on his commander.  She had felt
much the same way, but since she hadn't been able to pinpoint why she reacted to
Portik the way she had, there was always a level of discomfort when dealing with
him.

That, and the pronounced lack of aura about him.  The only other person with
that much emotional control that Belsira had seen was Hylian.  But that was for
a very good reason; if a talent didn't have control, life became nearly impossible.

"One question, Cayrn.  If Portik is so good, why is he only with the Fourth Legion?"

"That's a good question.  He's a far better guard captain than Natairden of the
First or Treshem of the Second.  I think most of it is loyalty to Kirtok --
they've worked many years together, and know each other very well.  Part of the
reason is also personality.  Portik won't play the kind of politics that one
needs to get a job with the First or Second Legions.  Neither will Kirtok for
that matter."

"What do you mean?"

"They'd both rather stay as part of the Fourth Legion, which is largely
non-existent except in times of war like now, where they can maintain absolute
control over their own standards of conducting business.  The only permanent
postings to this legion otherwise is the officer corps, the general's guard, and
the Talent Guard.

"But don't think that we're unprepared because of that.  I've been watching the
training that the rest of the soldiers have been receiving, and even though they
are only reserves compared to the standing core of the first two legions, I'd
like our chances man-to-man against any legion in any kingdom."

Cayrn's confidence was good to hear, but Belsira still regretted that his theory
would really be tested, and probably soon.  She didn't doubt that he was right
when it came to the soldiers and their training, just to whether she'd be able
to provide them with adequate backup as the legion's battle talent.

Fortunately, topics drifted back to lighter fare as they rode on, and time
seemed to pass quickly until the mid-day break from the march.  As usual, Portik
put Belsira and her guards through even more drills.

"Regarth, close formation!  You're leaving a gap I could drive a herd of
mountain buffalo through!"

Actually, she felt incredibly claustrophobic with all of the guards crowded
around her like this.  She left her own short sword firmly in its scabbard, more
afraid that she'd poke one of her own men.

That wasn't good enough for Portik.  "Belsira, draw that sword!  Remember,
you're your own best last line of defense.  No matter how well I drill these
men, nobody will care about saving your life as much as you do."

She pulled out her sword, then took a defensive stance among the men.

"All right, men, box formation," Portik called.  "Cayrn, you'll be back."

"Yes, Sir," Cayrn replied.

With Belsira in the middle, Cayrn stood back to back with her, while Portik
armed himself with a pike and crouched in front of her facing forward.  The
other twenty-four soldiers in her guard force formed up in a diamond shape
around the center formation.  The four points of the diamond and two men on each
of the four sides armed with pikes, and three men armed with swords on each side
standing between the pikemen.  Quite a formidable array of steel that an enemy
would have to penetrate to reach her.

A contingent of ground soldiers from the legion "attacked" the formation in slow
motion, banging swords, shields and pikes in an incredible cacaphony of sound
even at this practice speed.

Belsira's task was to tap the auras of only the attacking men and ignite a bale
of hay a good stone's throw away from the battle.  Besides defending her, the
exercise was designed to help her tune out the immediate action enough to
continue her duties as battle talent for the legion.

Even without any tricks to increase their emotions, there was enough energy
among the attackers to ignite the bale, if only she could concentrate for a long
enough moment to focus.  The men around her were doing a good job of play acting
the battle, however, with men on both sides "falling" creating an ebb and flow
that was quite distracting.  She was about to succeed, however, when she sensed
Cayrn go down behind her.

She turned, swinging her sword so hard that the soldier who had taken down Cayrn
had to quickly raise his shield to avoid the blow.  The clang of her sword on
the shield shocked her into stillness.

"Halt!" cried Portik, and all the men on both sides instantly stopped their mock
combat.  He turned to Belsira.  "What happened?"

A simple question, but at first she didn't know the answer.  Then when it came
to her, she blushed in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, Captain," she said.  "The battle lust that I was channeling must
have overwhelmed me temporarily.  I felt Cayrn go down behind me, and I just
reacted."

Portik considered what she said for a moment.  "Your instinct was a good one,
Belsira, but I expect more than that from you or anybody else here.  That's what
this training is for, to show you and everybody else here that there is no
substitute for knowing exactly what you are doing at all times."

She bowed her head, chastened by his words.  She wanted to explain that she was
concentrating on other things than the immediate battle, which was her duty, but
that answer seemed so inadequate when facing Portik like this.  He wasn't angry,
didn't show disappointment with her performance, yet every fiber of his being
conveyed that he fully expected her to be able to handle both chores at once.

But she also got the feeling that he believed she was capable of all he asked of
her, and she didn't want to abuse that faith in her.

"I'll do better next time, Captain."

He nodded, called for the formation again, then they tried the exercise once more.

Then again.

Then three more times before she was able to successfully light the bale on fire
while following in detail the battle around her.

When the legion was once again on the second leg of the day's march, she felt
pride in her accomplishment, and rode in silent contentment.

Portik came alongside.

"You did very well today, Belsira."

"Thank you, Portik.  I think I'm getting used to things now."

"Of course, you'll have to do much better by the time we face a real enemy, but
I think we can get you ready."

Her smile disappeared.  She couldn't detect any malice, but why would he
compliment her, then instantly tell her she still wasn't good enough.

"During the first exercise, you reacted far too strongly to Cayrn's fall."

"I'm sorry, Portik, I didn't realize what was happening."

"You'll have to be careful of that.  The more you work with these men, the more
you will come to care for them.  But you always have to be aware that at any
moment, they may be killed right before your eyes.  Unfortunately, you or I
haven't the luxury to mourn their deaths until much later, if at all."

Belsira hesitated.  "I don't know if I can remain that stoic when the time
comes, Portik.  I've never witnessed anybody dying before my eyes.  And you know
as well as I do that the emotional burst from a death, particularly a violent
death, may be overwhelming."

"I know, Bel.  But you must learn to see it as no more than another source of
energy for your talent, and channel it outside of yourself as quickly and
efficiently as you can."

They rode in silence for a couple minutes as Belsira tried to absorb what Portik
had said.  Then she turned to him.  "How do you do it, Portik?  How do you not
care what happens to the men around you?"

That was a question that Portik didn't seem prepared to answer.  Even when he
finally did, he didn't look directly at her.

"It's not that I don't care, Bel.  It's that I can't afford to react as if I do.
There's far too much at stake to allow personal feeling to interfere.  Not when
I'm training you and the men, nor when we're embroiled in battle."

She had nothing to say to that.  At least she understood him a bit better, knew
part of the reason why he never projected an aura that she could detect.  But
what price did he pay for such control?  For somebody with talent, it became a
tiresome yet necessary requirement for everyday living, and she knew well the
strain it was to maintain.

But here was a man who did the same, but for completely different reasons, and
without the means to channel any stray emotions away from himself.  Belsira had
the constant companion of her worry stone.

What did Portik have?

Jimor:
Drat, forgot to post Thursday, here's that part, and then I'll be back on schedule Sunday.

Chapter 3, Part 3


Bel finished washing up, then dumped the basin of water outside her tent.  Not
much water to clean with, especially with her long hair, but she managed to eke
out a good washdown with the help of a couple of rags.

It wasn't as if everybody else wasn't under the same restrictions.  Supplying
enough fresh water for five thousand people on the road was one of the trickiest
tasks for the quartermaster.  Even when they camped by a river, the only benefit
was that the barrels could be filled -- no one was allowed to bathe in it.
Kirtok wanted to be very careful not to spoil the land he was trying to protect.

So Belsira didn't complain, just did the best she could with what she had.
Unfortunately, she couldn't use her talent on herself to untangle her hair, so
she had to comb out the inevitable knots before going to bed.  That was fine as
well, because it gave her a good opportunity to meditate.  She blew out the
lantern in her tent, then began the process of disentangling her hair.

She took deep breaths, eyes closed in the darkness, and allowed her senses to
extend outward.  She heard the footfalls of men still about in camp, as well as
the regular rhythm of the guard that Portik always posted for her at night.

She also sought the auras of people, trying to extend her sensitivity to the
emotions of others.  She'd have to work at extended distances in battle, so the
more she could seek out any available energy, the better she'd be.

But there was very little to find at this time of night.  Perhaps a bit of anger
at a night's gambling loss, or some good cheer as friends talked around a camp
fire, but nothing intense.

Or was there?

At the edge of her senses, a darkness loomed.  She turned her head, tried to
find the direction of the aura.  Black against blackness, though, so she found
it hard to focus.  It was still distant, so must be a strong hatred indeed for
her to sense it so clearly.

And it built in her awareness, the person was coming closer then.

Should she warn somebody?  She felt it likely he meant harm.  But how could she
prove it?  What if it just a soldier who had just received a reprimand and extra
duty?  She knew that some high emotions showed through under those
circumstances, and it usually came to nothing after the soldier had time to cool
down.

But no, this was different.  The blackness was all encompassing, and that was
unusual.

And it came closer.

Now he stopped.

While repulsed by the flow of hatred, she was also fascinated by her ability to
track this person as if she could see him on open ground rather than through
numerous tents and minor auras of other people around the camp.  There, to the
left of the entrance to her tent, perhaps three rows over, the black man stood
motionless.

Then he started moving again, more toward the left as she followed him with her
head, her hair all but forgotten now.  Eyes closed, she tracked his black aura
as it swung toward the back of her tent, still about two tent rows away.

Now he approached again, but slowly, far more slowly than a walk.  Sneaking
around perhaps?  But what was his goal?  Most of the tents around her were
officers tents.  Kirtok's was in the other direction, though.  Somebody seeking
revenge for punishment handed out by a superior officer?

Perhaps she should report this.

Belsira opened her eyes, stood to go outside to tell Cayrn what was happening
when the blackness rushed towards her tent, running now, swiftly closing the
ground.  She turned to face it again as the growing blackness overwhelmed her,
then a she could hear something, felt a sharp stab of fear and pain coming from
just beyond the rear wall of her tent.

Cayrn!

Then the back flap rose up, and the blackness entered, and it finally had form,
a man.
Light from outside dimly illuminated him before he again dropped the flap to the
ground, but not before she saw the glint of steel in his hand, not a sword, but
a long knife.  Shiny with Cayrn's blood?

Her own sword was by her bed, useless to her now.  The man took a moment to
gather his bearings in the darkness, recognized her standing shadow at the other
end of the tent.

And rushed toward her.

Instincts took over, she gathered her own anger at the intrusion, drew in his
black hatred, combined the two, then sent them forward, focused on the blade.

He tackled her, his fist around the hilt crashing into her ribs and her without
armor.

They tumbled to the ground, falling out through the front tent flap onto the
ground outside in a great commotion.  She rolled to get him off of her, but
never lost her concentration on the main task.

She sucked the hatred out of him faster than he could supply it, sucked the will
that he used to attack her, sucked any trace of joy he felt at accomplishing his
mission, left no emotion or energy for him to tap for his own purposes.

Instead, she used them, focusing them into the knife planted against her body.
She had already weakened the blade too much to penetrate her flesh, so now she
used the blade and hilt as a reservoir for all of the hatred, fear, anger and
triumph of this stranger.

She left nothing to chance, took all of his will, drained it into his knife.  He
lay still now beside her, unable to gather the will or need to move.  She
finished rolling him off of her, stood up, and gazed at the metallic powder on
the ground that used to be his knife.

The commotion attracted other from the area, who rushed up and seized the
assassin.  Before Belsira could even explain, she sensed the pain and fear
coming from the other side of her tent.

"Cayrn!"

She jumped up, ran around to the other side, several soldiers following close
behind.  Cayrn lay motionless, but his intense terror showed the life still in
him.  Somebody brought a lantern, and they could all see the growing splotch of
blood on his shirt above his belly.

"Surgeon!" called a soldier to the night, and two others immediately ripped open
Cayrn's tunic and applied pressure to the wound.

Little good it did, the gash extended the entire width of his stomach, running
diagonally from upper left to lower right.  The assassin had done his job well.

Belsira took away some of the fear, attenuating the emotion but not eliminating
it, focusing the energy into her worry stone.  She didn't want to take away
Cayrn's drive and energy to survive such a horrendous wound, but he needed to be
calm to reach within himself for any inner strength he had.

He even managed to open his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Bel, I never saw him coming."  Then he closed them again and
retreated into his world of pain, fighting to survive.

"But I did," she whispered to herself.  Why hadn't she called out to Cayrn, warn
him that something was happening?  She could still feel the absolute dark hatred
directed at her.  At her!

She backed away when the surgeon arrived to care for Cayrn, but his reaction was
disheartening.  Other soldiers arrived with a litter to carry him to the
surgeon's tent, and with a moan and whimper, Cayrn was taken away.

Just then, Kirtok arrived, and Belsira realized that Portik had been by her side
the entire time.  His cool presence never registered with her among all of the
nervous, frightened, and confused soldiers around her.

"What happened?" Kirtok demanded.

Portik faced the general, ramrod straight.  "Assassin, Sir.  One of my men was
wounded.  Belsira had to handle the situation herself."

Kirtok looked at her, his eyes peering into her soul.  She could detect his
anger, but it was controlled, just as his demeanor was.  But apparently the
anger wasn't directed at her; he turned again to Portik.

"You know that this is unacceptable.  We didn't drag her from the back of
nowhere just to get her killed before a single battle has been joined."

"Yes, Sir," Portik replied.

Kirtok turned on his heel, then marched off into the dark, leaving Portik and
Belsira alone with... with the other twenty-three of her guards.  When did they
arrive?  The whole experience was like a dream; she wasn't sure what was real
anymore.  All that felt real now was the palpable anxiety among the men that she
could have detected even without her talent.

Portik turned to the men.  "This is my fault, and I take full responsibility.
Even though we're still several days away from any potential action, I should
have considered that Relath would try to eliminate our remaining battle talents,
even if they were under full protection of the legion.  From now on, night guard
will consist of five men in four shifts during the night.  At no time is Lady
Belsira to be without the protection of at least four of her guards, even in camp."

He picked the first five for tonight's duty, divvied the remaining shifts, then
dismissed the rest.

"How are you, Bel?"

"I'm fine, I think.  I'll have a nasty bruise where he tried to stab me, but he
didn't break the skin."

"Can you tell me what happened?"  They walked back around and into her tent
where somebody had lit her lantern.

She thought about what had happened, and her guilt at not saying anything to
anybody, wondered if she should mention it.  But then she remembered Portik's
matter of fact acceptance of the blame for his role in not posting enough guards.

"I felt his hatred long before he came close.  At first I was mesmerized.  How
could anybody's hate be that encompassing?  I could see him through the walls of
the tent, through the bustle of the camp.  But I didn't react, I only watched
him come closer, wondering what his purpose could be.  By the time he attacked
Cayrn, everything happened too fast for me to do anything but fight him off with
my talent."

Portik nodded, staring at the flame of the lantern.  "In a way, this is very
good.  You've learned to react by instinct, to use your talent for a very
specific action in a stressful situation.  I think you're learning your lessons
well."

Belsira jumped up, furious.  "How can you sit there and talk about lessons when
Cayrn is near death?  What makes you so cold you don't care about your own men?"

A flicker, but only that, escaped from Portik at the accusation, far too fast
for Belsira to even identify the emotion.  He looked up at her.

"That's the nature of war, Bel.  Today Cayrn, tomorrow Hersoth, the next day me,
or you.  There isn't time for mourning, or worry about things we cannot control.
Cayrn is under the care of the best surgeon in the legion, if it's his fate to
live, he's in the best possible hands to make sure that happens."

She wanted to scream.  How could he take this all so calmly?  She kneaded her
worry stone relentlessly, trying to drain her own emotions away.

"We have to move on, Bel.  The only way either of us can make Cayrn's sacrifice
mean anything is if we both learn something from this night.  I was caught far
too unaware of the dangers here so far within our homeland.  I let the illusion
of normality lure me into complacency.

"Likewise, you've learned to trust your instincts, to let yourself go when it
becomes necessary to do so.  You've also learned that if you sense something
amiss, you should tell me or one of the guards.  Your ability is useful for more
than just fighting, Bel."

Right now, she wasn't much interested in contemplating her talent.

"What's going to happen to Cayrn?"

"The surgeon will do his best to sew up the wound and repair the damage.  We'll
then send him back to the previous village with one of the empty wagons so he
can recover."

She looked Portik in the eyes, if she couldn't read his aura, she'd at least try
to read his soul.  "Do you think he'll make it?"

Portik met her glance, paused.  "I honestly don't know.  He's a strong lad, but
the wound was deep, and there's no telling which organs may have been damaged.
Billick's a genius with the knife, though, so Cayrn may survive."

He dropped his gaze, shuffled toward the flap to leave.

"At least I dearly hope so," he said to the darkness, then slipped into the night.

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