The Call of Magic

1. On the March

One

On the March

Summer 918 MC* (*Mercerian Calendar)

The green flag of Merceria waved in the wind as a company of cavalry trotted through the town, kicking up dust in their wake. The standard-bearer held the pole proudly as they rode past the Baron of Hawksburg.

"They are a fine group of horsemen," observed a young boy.

"So they are, Robert," said Lord Victor Brandon.

"Where are they going, Father?"

"To the north, to Wickfield. Their captain tells me they’ve been resting and recruiting in Tewsbury."

"Isn’t the border dangerous?" asked Robert.

"No more so than usual. You know the Norlanders, never content to remain at peace for long. No doubt they’ll stir up trouble come autumn, but I hear things have been quiet so far over the summer months."

"Why so, Father?"

"The autumn brings the harvest, making it easier for the raiders to carry it away. They certainly don’t want to do the work themselves."

"What's that armour the riders are wearing?"

"It's called ringmail," replied Lord Victor. "It's made of iron rings sewn onto a leather jacket and helps protect them."

"Why don’t they use chainmail?" The young lad persisted with his questions.

Used to his son's curious mind, the baron calmly answered. "Chainmail is heavy. This is the Wincaster Light Horse. Do you know what light cavalry is for?" The boy's puzzled look told the baron all he needed to know. "Light cavalry is so named because it's lightly armoured and can travel quickly."

"But if the king wants to stop raiders, why doesn’t he send knights?"

"The Norland raiders are swift. Only the light cavalry can catch them."

They watched the remaining riders pass by in companionable silence. Behind the soldiers came all manner of men, women, and children, many of them on foot.

"Who are they?" asked Robert.

"Camp followers, although some of the soldiers will be amongst them to keep an eye on things. That looks like the captain there, walking beside that young girl on the horse."

"What’s a camp follower?"

"Wives and children of the soldiers, not to mention smiths and other provisioners. Some are even merchants that hope to profit from the soldiers' expenditures."

"Expenditures?"

"Yes," the baron explained. "A soldier's life is a hard one. They are paid for their efforts, but it's their responsibility to see to all their needs, such as food and lodgings."

"Wouldn't their lord take care of that, Father?"

"These are royal troops, Robert, sent by the king to guard the frontier. Their room and board are only paid when they are in residence at a royal keep or castle. Were they to be sent here, to Hawksburg, for example, it would be my responsibility to look after them, but Wickfield is a small village with no keep to house them."

"Isn’t there a Baronet of Wickfield?"

"Excellent, my boy. I see you’ve been learning your lessons well. Yes, there is indeed a baronet. Lord Anthony, to be precise, but he likes his house in Wincaster and has no keep in the north. These soldiers will have to fend for themselves."

"That doesn’t sound fair."

"It isn’t," Lord Victor replied, "but it’s the way of things. Don’t worry. They’ll often make up the extra costs by taking coins from the bodies of Norland raiders. They might even raid across the border themselves."

"Wouldn’t that cause a war?"

"Not likely. It’s been this way for centuries."

They watched as the last of the camp followers made their way north.

"There," said the baron. "You’ve seen enough excitement for one day. Go find your sister and fetch her for dinner. Your mother will be expecting both you and Evelyn."

The young lad ran off, his head full of excitement. Lord Victor looked north to where the column was just disappearing round the bend in the road.

"Saxnor protect you," he muttered, "for I fear no one else will."

Gusts of wind blew the girl's hair into her face. She shook her head to clear it, then spat a few stray strands from her mouth.

"How much farther, Father?" she asked.

The man beside her laughed. "We’ve miles to go yet, Albreda. We’ve only just made Hawksburg, and Wickfield is still several days past that."

"I meant until we make camp. I’m fully aware we haven’t reached our destination."

"Are you sure you’re only thirteen?" her father asked. "Sometimes, you sound more like an old woman."

"I’ll take that as a compliment, but you still haven’t answered my question."

Her father looked up at the sun, gauging its position. "Well, it’s only mid-afternoon," he mused, "and we’ll continue till we’re clear of town, then we'll set up camp."

"You don’t want the men sneaking back into town because they’ll spend all their coins on drink."

"Yes, and then they’d be hard to get on the move tomorrow." He looked up at his daughter as a thought crossed his mind. "How did you know that?"

"Really, Father? I’m not deaf and dumb. I see what happens in the camp at night. You believe that because you’re the captain, I must live some sort of sheltered life, but I’m the same as any other member of the company."

"You’re not a member of the company. You’re my daughter!"

"Yes, but since Mother isn’t with us anymore, the company has become my family. Take Dagger, for example."

"My horse?" said the captain. "What in Saxnor's name are you talking about?"

"Who do you think looks after him when you’re out and about doing all your captain things?"

"Sergeant Walker."

"Is that what you think? He’s usually following you. You two are as thick as thieves."

"Well, I can’t say I blame him. Dagger is a cantankerous beast at the best of times."

Albreda leaned forward, rubbing the horse between the ears. "I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s always so sweet for me."

"I have to admit you seem to have that effect on him. You must get that from your mother’s side of the family. Do you remember them?"

"Not really. Some days I can barely remember Mother."

"You were only eight when she passed. Should I get remarried and give you a new mother?"

"Don’t be silly, Father. I’m more than capable of looking after you."

"You? Look after me?"

"Who do you think does all the cooking?" Albreda asked. "You’re an important man. You have to command the men."

"One day, I’ll have enough saved up so we can live in a proper house," he promised.

"I don’t want to live in a house. I love living out in the open. It’s so… refreshing."

"Refreshing?" challenged her father. "What’s so refreshing about it? Waking up to frosty breath, finding leaks in the tents, making ends meet? I’d hardly call it refreshing."

"I suppose you’re right. Maybe refreshing isn’t the right word. How about invigorating?"

"Where do you get all these expressions from?"

"You and Mother were the ones who got me those books. You can’t blame me if I actually read them."

"Oh, now I see; it’s all my fault." Her father smiled.

"It most definitely is," she said. "After all, I’m only a little girl."

"Hmm. Not so little if you ask me."

They were interrupted by the approach of a horseman, riding back from the head of the column. As he drew closer, Albreda recognized him as Sergeant Walker.

"Sir," he called out as he rode up.

"What is it, Norbert?" the captain asked.

"There’s a nice field up ahead with a clear stream and lots of wood for fire."

"Good," said the captain. "We’ll make camp there. Set the pickets, and have the men cut wood for the fires."

"Aye, Captain."

"Will you join us later?" asked Albreda. "I’ll make sure to save you some food."

"I’d be delighted," Norbert replied, then hurriedly looked at the captain. "If that’s all right with you, sir?"

"Of course," her father said. "Now be off with you, man. There’s plenty of work to be done before we eat."

The sergeant wheeled his horse around, heading back to the front of the column.

"I’m going to need my horse now," said the captain, "if you think you can spare him?"

"Of course, Father. After all, he is yours."

"I was beginning to wonder," he said with a grin.

Albreda halted Dagger, then dismounted with her father's help.

"He’s all yours," she offered.

Her father placed a foot in the stirrup and grasped the saddle to haul himself up, but the beast shied away from him.

"Damned animal," he said.

Albreda touched the horse on the cheek to soothe him. "There, there," she cooed. "There’s a nice horse." The creature calmed almost immediately, allowing her father to pull himself into the saddle.

"I honestly don’t know how you do it, but thank Saxnor you do, or I’d be here all day."

"Language, Father. What would the Holy Brother say?"

He looked down at her in surprise. "Where in the Underworld did you get THAT from? We don’t have a Holy Brother."

"It’s from The Rivers En, by Califax."

"Those damn books again," he muttered. "We should never have gotten them for you."

"Would you rather I took up with boys?" Albreda asked. The stunned expression on her father's face told her otherwise. "I thought as much," she said. "Now, you’d best be on your way, Father. There’s a camp to oversee."

The captain spurred his mount into a gallop, heading north.

The fire spat as fat dripped into the flames. Albreda waited for the hissing to finish, then reached forward, sprinkling herbs onto the hare that lay roasting on the spit. She stood back, admiring her handiwork, the smell filling her nostrils and making her hungry.

"What do we have here?" came a voice.

"Dinner," she replied, turning to see her father approaching, tugging on the straps that held his armour in place. He stopped moving to undo the last one, then pulled the ringmail vest over his head, dropping it to the ground.

"There," he said. "That’s better."

She looked at him expectantly, her hands going to her hips. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Getting out of my armour. What does it look like I’m doing?"

"You can’t just leave it there. It’ll get dirty, and we can’t have a captain with dirty armour." She marched over, grabbing the vest from where it lay.

"Can't it wait till after we’ve eaten? I’m starved." He looked at the hare with interest. "Is it ready?"

"It was ready some time ago. I’m keeping it warm. I know you like it that way."

"I take it you’ve already eaten?"

"Why would you think that?" she bit back. "Does it look like part of that hare is missing? Of course I haven’t eaten. I was waiting for you!"

"I’ve told you before, Albreda. You don’t have to wait for me. There’s no reason for you to go hungry."

"I wasn’t," she lied. "Besides, someone has to feed you. If I wasn’t here, you’d probably starve to death."

"Nonsense. I can take care of myself."

"So you don’t want the hare?"

He paused for a moment, seeing the trap for what it was. "Of course I want the hare, but you must have some too."

"I’ll fetch some platters," she said, disappearing into the nearby tent.

Sergeant Walker approached their fire. "Things are all settled, Captain. There was a little trouble with one of the pickets, but it’s all taken care of."

"Samuels, again?" asked the captain.

"Yes, sir. How did you know?"

"Let me guess— he found some kind of drink?"

"Yes, ale this time."

"I swear that man could find alcohol in the middle of the desert."

"He’s reliable in a fight," defended Norbert.

"Yes, he is, thank Saxnor. I take it you confiscated the ale?"

The sergeant produced a clay bottle. "I have it right here, sir. It feels about half full."

"Well," said the captain, "we’ll have to do something about that. Pass it over." He took the bottle, unstopping it and taking a swig. "Gods, but that’s foul stuff!" he said. "You try it. Tell me what you think."

"I already did, but beggars can’t be choosers." Walker took the proffered bottle, taking a small sip. "It tastes all right to me."

"What does?" came Albreda’s voice.

"Hello, Albreda," said the sergeant. "I didn’t see you there. Your father and I were just discussing the troops."

"Really? I’m thirteen, you know. I’m not a child anymore. I can tell when you’re giving my father ale. Did you confiscate it from Samuels again?"

"She’s sharp, this one," said the sergeant.

Albreda stared back at him for a moment. "And I suppose you haven’t eaten either?"

"As a matter of fact, no, but don’t worry about me."

"Nonsense. There’s plenty of meat here, and that’s my job. You soldiers are all alike—you believe you can get by on ale and bravado. Sit down, Sergeant. I’ll fetch another platter, and you can share our food."

Sergeant Walker looked at the captain for permission.

"You heard the lady," her father said. "Have a seat. She won’t put up with excuses."

Albreda disappeared back into the tent, emerging shortly with an additional wooden platter, and then handed them out. "Give me a moment to carve the hare," she said, removing the spit.

They watched her work as she pulled forth her knife and began cutting into the juicy meat.

"She looks to know what she’s doing," observed the sergeant. "She’ll make a fine wife one day."

"What are you suggesting, Sergeant?" asked the captain.

"Nothing, sir. I merely meant she’s getting older."

"And?"

"And you’ll have to start giving some thought to her future. She’ll be of marrying age soon."

"What do you think of that, Albreda?"

"I’m kept far too busy looking after you, Father, to think of such things." She handed a wooden plate to him, the meat still steaming.

"There, you see, Norbert? She’s not ready to get married yet."

Albreda handed another platter to the sergeant.

"She’ll change her mind eventually," said the sergeant. "All girls do."

"Clearly," chided Albreda, "you have little experience with girls."

"Hah," said the captain. "She has you there!"

A distant barking interrupted the conversation.

"It’s that damn dog again," said Sergeant Walker. "I swear he barks at everything."

They listened carefully, the distant sound of cursing echoing through the camp.

"I don’t know why I let Hagswill have that blighted beast," said the captain. "It barks at everything."

"Toby is supposed to be a guard dog," said Albreda. "He’s trying to keep us safe."

"Well, he’s not much use if he barks at our own people," said the sergeant.

"I’ll see to it," said Albreda.

"Your food," said her father. "It will get cold."

"It’ll only take a moment. I’ll be back soon. I promise."

"Off you go, then. See if you can tame the vicious brute."

She left the campfire, fading into the darkness. Moments later, the barking ceased.

"I don’t know how she does it," said the captain. "No one else can even get close without it howling like some creature of the Underworld."

"She has the touch," said Sergeant Walker. "I wonder if she’ll have the same effect on men when she’s older?"

The captain gave him a stern look, causing the sergeant to fall silent.