The Shining Wyrm

8.1

Jewel was not sure why, but the biggest shock that the coming war had brought to her home was that Samuel’s gardens had been taken down from the walls.

For all their trip to Kaeketeh had been its own kind of trial.

For all the shifts in her routine towards martial training nearly every single day.

For all the rearranging and opening up of long unused wings of the Manor and the use of the mustering grounds in the courtyard for its original purpose.

Seeing the soil from the gardens emptied into pots and taken away to storage and then the frames of the raised beds themselves taken apart to clear the fortifications struck Jewel as incredibly sad.

For all of her life, Samuel’s gardens had been there.

The bubbling confusion of exposed stones now feeling sunlight for the first time in generations spoke to how long they had been there.

Rochford had long been distant from any border concerned with war.

But now, instead of merely the works of the fields and farms, the Barony was already mustering and preparing for war.

The granaries of the village were emptied, the precious cargo moved to within the manor itself.

Alongside what remained from the winter sillage and any other items or goods deemed too precious for their owners to risk being taken by marching armies that, until this year, had been neighbors.

A good number of the doves taken to Taeketeh with their visit had already returned with missives for Father. Some of them had flown even in the dead of winter!

Other birds flew from all eight directions of the wind as soon as the spring thaw came.

Not all of them were bound for Rochford, but it was hard to miss for Jewel’s eyes, even amid dodging and sparring with Zephyrvam and Father.

The white feathers of messenger doves were distinct from any other bird or gryphon that flew in this season.

Jewel heard Father and Mother discussing the situation.

Bathory was preparing.

Testing what alliances would hold strong in the coming war.

Finding pledges from others to if not join her in support with arms at least offer contracts ahead of time for passage by her armies or sworn oaths to not raise their own armies against her.

Jewel saw her home changing everywhere.

But Samuel’s gardens left her heart feeling like it was tearing.

The stones were pallid where once they had sheltered under good, rich earth.

Raised slightly still where their fellows had been smoothed and slowly worn away by passing feet.

“Jewel! Focus!”

Muriel’s voice cut through her pain and called her attention back to the task at hand.

Another melee. This time with all the household footmen in attendance against her.

When she had gotten less than one mark per opponent against her they had doubled the number for her training.

Then another ten had been added to it.

And then the method of melee was changed. The footmen were given time to position themselves, plot how would be most advantageous a situation they might catch Jewel in.

After the first time she overheard them right before the bout, Jewel was sent to perform other duties or training while they plotted.

For twelve days the marks against her in the melee once more grew to more than twice per opponent.

But even then she had dragged herself back to keeping it to only one or less.

Muriel, Father and Bromthil had finally conferred and now her melee bouts were staggered almost as much as the archery practice.

Needing time to recover, plot and plan for the footmen and Bromthil.

Father still mostly did not take to the field amongst them, but with their captain the fifty armored and armed soldiers were significantly harder to avoid.

There was no longer a signal. At least not one Jewel could hear.

The footmen moved in ambush, their spear heads, like the arrows, were burnt cinders so that any strike upon her of force would leave a black smudge.

It had taken almost all winter but none of them held back anymore.

All the strength of a man was barely enough to bruise Jewel.

She had grown again.

Not as much as when she was three but there was definitely an extra foot added to her. Precisely where exactly was not entirely certain.

Jewel thought it mostly went in her middle between her hips and shoulders. Mother and Tsulogothulan disagreed and insisted she got more of it in her tail and neck.

Jewel swung her tail with consideration. Trying to avoid impacting with the full force she could actually muster.

That was for the training she now undertook far from the fragile bodies of the footmen.

Jewel had found that if she ran Wyrmflame through her bones and flesh as well as her scales, she could strike stone as hard as she wanted and only get light bruising.

But for the melee where friends and allies were trying their best to help her improve Jewel held back.

The rules were simple.

Any contact from her was grounds for the men to have a mark against them.

Some of them had tried to cheat. Held back from letting whoever was scorekeeping know that Jewel had touched them.

But a few times slapping the offenders clean off their feet in the next round quickly cleared that up.

Father and Bromthil had told her to do that.

This was not just training for Jewel. It was for the footmen as well.

If they grew complacent, then they might be less careful against a Gryphon or one of the other trained warbeasts of The Realm.

Jewel twisted and bounded around spears. Trying to keep them from touching her.

It was so awkward, she had to stay below the walls. There was so much more of her to hit and she needed to move both swiftly and gently in every single strike.

While her opponents could throw all their might into every attempt.

But she did not complain.

Father had ordered this and despite all her efforts she could not rid him of his now omnipresent stink of fear.

Not the terror of battle as Kraok felt against the boar.

But the lingering, sapping fear which could build for seasons in the body.

Father smelled like the fear of a maimed peasant unsure how they would manage harvest.

Of a child recently thrust into the position of the head of a household without an elder for guidance. Struggling with a scythe day after day.

Father smelled of the kind of fear that clung to those with cursed humors who likely would not see another spring but yet had to suffer through the summer.

And his fear was for Jewel and Alexander and Mother.

He assured Jewel, when she asked after one of their flying spars, that her progress did his worries good.

Lessened his burden.

“Hold! That’s enough! You lot of milk sops are obviously not prepared to face the coddling of a Ten Winters Old Lady!”

Bromthil had called an end to the melee before the allotted time. He did that some times.

Usually when Jewel was barely taking one mark per four footmen.

She let her feet settle to the ground and shook out her coils and wings.

Trying to ignore the stink of thunder and storm that poured off of her despite not even releasing a flash of her breath to distract.

She could hear Muriel and Bromthil speaking off to the side as the entire contingent of Rochford’s footmen groaned and in a few cases limped from sprains or bruising Jewel had failed to avoid inflicting.

There was some blood from split lips and scrapes made against the packed dirt of the mustering ground.

“She’s gotten wise on how to fight against these numbers. We’re using her more to test the men’s metal then teach her anything new by this point.”

Her Governess then spoke firmly.

“Then let's raise volunteers from the levies. Divide them amongst your men, Say train them to manage ten to each?”

Bromthil muttered then shook his head.

“Lord Rochford believes we can spare no more than two hundred and some come the marshaling. Best to train with what we will have and stick to five each.”

Muriel replied. Their words surrounded and buffeted by the noise of the footmen removing their gear and gingerly poking their injuries.

“That will likely require every able bodied person among the village and staff combined join in a bout.”

Jewel pretended not to listen but she winced inside. The footmen were not quite as carefree with her as they once had been before the melees started.

And now the villagers were going to join in that?

She wished the war was gone and settled already. That it did not insist on forcing itself upon her life like this. That she didn't need to train so harshly with those who did not flinch away from her or mistake her for a beast.

But Father said this would help.

So Jewel did not complain about how unfair they made her training.

She’d fight all the village raised in arms stripped of her Wyrmfire and somehow win, if it would save her Father just one day of that terrible, lingering fear.