Chapter 8: Volume 1 - CH 2.3

On we went, winding our way to the training grounds. In those moments, not infrequently did Emilie turn to me tellingly, as though there was a matter teetering on the tip of her tongue. Yet to indulge was a luxury none of the others would have allowed, and so with not a word shared between us, on we went to our destination.

Upon arrival, Gerd went ahead and pulled out a sword from a weapons rack nearby.

“The arms on these grounds, you can use as you like. Don’t worry: they’re feders, rounded proper, you see. The ones over here that number fewer—they’re of the silver sort,” Gerd explained, then handing to Emilie the sword he had picked up. “Here you are, then.”

“But an iron one will do just fine, I think… ‘Tis what I’m used to.”

“Now, Emilie. You count amongst the ranks of the Owlcrane Brigade. That makes you an executive officer, by rights,” Gerd reiterated. “Protocol compels you to make use of argent gear such as this.”

Raakel and Sheila both saw fit to further persuade Emilie, who yet seemed hesitant.

“No virtue in playin’ the mousy milquetoast now, Emilie, least not when it comes to arms. Top blades fer the top brass, they always say. Look here, me maul’s no diff’rent—aglint with silver, she is!”

“You must understand, Miss Emilie. The people look to us leaders of the Order to answer malice with might, and a mere miser of arms ill-avails them. The Order’s strength grows all the more should you brandish only the finest of weapons.”

“Yes… I suppose I should. Thank you, Officers Raakel, Sheila,” Emilie relented.

“An’ fettle that too, while yer at it,” said Raakel.

“F-fettle?”

“Ranks, titles, all that prim an’ prissy tongue waggin’, we don’t need aught o’ that here. Ain’t that right, Gerd?”

“Right you are, Raakel. We Owlcranes, we’re all compeers. Well, Sheila’s a mite different—won’t give up that polite talk no matter what. But you can relax round me and Raakel at least, all right Emilie?”

“Yes, si—ah, I mean, al-all right.”

Nodding with satisfaction, Gerd proceeded to give his lecture.

“Good. Right, we’ll start with the basics, then: channelling odyl through silver.”

“Got it, Offi—um, Gerd.”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Gerd chuckled. “Having said that, the basics of weaving odyl are well-put in that pate of yours, I take it? When the odyl was imparted to you, that is.”

“They are. That knowledge—it came along with Yoná’s grace.”

For someone forsaken by the Deiva Herself, this was news to my ears.

“Channelling will be child’s play to you, then. And with a bit of practice, you’ll be able to use all sorts of magicks in no time,” Gerd assured. “I must admit, I’m quite the cat taken with curiosity in seeing what heights you’ll reach, Emilie—or should I say, lady of the ‘Aureola’? Well, here’s hoping you’ll give us a nice show of it, eh?”

“Er, right, I’ll do my best!” answered Emilie.

From there, the training session stretched on for another two hours or so, by the end of which Emilie found success in channelling her odyl through silver. There she stood, her argent equipment properly suffused with the magickal power. Raising up her feder, she found its blade most mesmerising to the eyes.

“Gerd, have I… have I done it?” she said, unable to pry her gaze away from her achievement.

“That you have, Emilie. And a job well done at that; look, odyl flows clean through your gear,” examined Gerd. “And your blade is made more keen withal. Can you tell?”

“I, I can. When the channelling finished, it felt as though my feder became something else entirely,” Emilie confirmed, her voice aloft with high spirits.

“Mine eyes had not fooled me, then,” Sheila observed. “As with Mr. Gerd, it would seem you bear talent as a spellblade, Miss Emilie.”

“An’ a mighty fine one, at that!” lauded Raakel. “Though, I were wishin’ fer a warrior chum, if I’m honest.”

“It’s just as well. She’s long-practised in swordplay, from the looks of it,” said Gerd. “What of your armour, Emilie? You feel a paling all about your body, I take it?”

As if to confirm Gerd’s words, Emilie placed a hand upon her chest. “Y-yeah, I feel it. As though my whole being is well protected.”

“Paling emanates from silver armour and wraps round the body whole. As you are now, neither unmagicked blade can scratch you, nor unmagicked spear prick. You are as a fortress to them, as it were,” Gerd explained, before turning to me. “You. Go fetch yourself a feder and come here.”

“Aye, sir.”

His abrupt order came at the tail end of some hours spent being wholly unattended to. The only one to pay any sort of mind to me was Emilie, who had been glancing my way from time to time. But I suppose in reality, I hadn’t been entirely invisible to the rest. What an honour.

With an iron feder fresh from the weapons rack, I made my way to Emilie and Gerd.

“You, go ahead and attack Emilie with that weapon of yours,” commanded Gerd. “Emilie, you need not lift a finger. Stay where you are and enjoy the show. Got that?”

“I-I got it,” answered Emilie. “All right, Rolf. Shall we, then?”

“We shall. Let’s get to it, Emilie.”

“Hold!” barked Tallien. “Mind that tongue of yours, you churl! It’s ‘Lady Emilie’ to you! A proper dame and your superior officer, she is! Know your place!”

“Pardon my offence, lord Mareschal” I corrected myself. “Lady Emilie, by your leave.”

“…What…” Emilie was left utterly aghast.

Well, let’s not pretend this sort of thing was never on the horizon. I had suspected as much the moment I discovered Emilie and I to be in the same brigade.

The leadership of the Order were made well-privy to the particulars of each and every one of us recruits, that much is certain. Something in their designs compelled them to have me play as a servant to Emilie, my former fiancée of all people. After all, they fancied themselves just in tormenting an ungraced man such as I.

What looks Raakel and Sheila were giving was not known to me, but I spied a slight smirk leaking from Tallien’s lips. And for his part, Gerd’s face was twisted with animosity in one moment, then relaxing to one of disdain in the next.

“Now have at it,” he ordered after a scoff. “Aim where you please, it matters not.”

“Aye, sir,” I complied. “Commencing attack.”

I rushed forth and swung my sword down in a diagonal arc, targeting the tip of Emilie’s shoulder. But in the course of it, the blade stopped just a digitus shy of its mark.

I see. So this was the ‘paling’ Gerd was harping about.

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In my hands, however, my sword felt not as though it had struck any paling in the material sense. Rather, it seemed as if a pliant force, like a cushion, had wrapped about the blade and stopped its course. Feeling for myself this unseen armour through my weapon, I realised it then: there was no way I could penetrate such protection.

Then in that same moment, I was thrown back without warning, clear through the air.

“Gah…!?” I hacked, crashing and tumbling violently.

“Rolf!?” Emilie screamed.

“Hah… hagh… gah, agh…!” I was laid low, face down, flat on the ground, hand clenched to chest. Air left my lungs erratically as I struggled to rectify my breathing. Meanwhile, heat and pain wove together and gripped my entire body—a feeling of having my nerves uprooted and laid bare.

My vision dizzyingly convulsed, but with some effort, I managed to point it forth, that I may discern what exactly had assailed me. There, I found Gerd, half-turned in my direction with a sword dangling in his left hand. He had merely swung his weapon whence he stood, without so much a change in his stance. This motion—simple, trifling almost—was enough to blow me back like some toy.

“You see that, Emilie?” said Gerd.

“Gerd! Rolf, he’s—!”

“Listen, Emilie,” Gerd interrupted. “No speaking—not when I’m explaining.”

That’s right, Emilie. Listen to his next words. I must know as well. That’s what I came here for: to attain strength worthy for battle and become a knight.

“That fellow’s sword just now, it stopped before it even touched you. Why, you ask? Well, you’ve the paling to thank. Silver armour affords this magicked protection even to parts of your person that the armour itself does not cover. That is its very purpose: to provide an all-encompassing bulwark.”

With his sword now resting upon his shoulder, Gerd continued on in dramatic fashion.

“On the other hand, a magicked sword against an unmagicked mark yields the sorry farce before you—scant more than a flick of my sword-wrist showed us how well the clown cartwheels!”

Gerd spoke the truth: his unannounced interruption was hardly what one would call an “attack”. Yet even then, I was sent hurtling back—easily so. Were his sword not dulled, that moment certainly would have been my last.

“Now Emilie, a quick quiz,” Gerd continued. “What happens, then, if magicked sword met magicked armour?”

“W-what…? I—” Emilie was on the verge of tears, her gaze darting back and forth between Gerd and I. Truly, a kind soul she is. How badly did she wish to forget the training and just have me seen by a surgien, I wondered? Unfortunately, this was a luxury she could ill-afford, as she stood to lose more than she could gain in choosing me over her duties.

What was fortunate, however, was that her worries were unwarranted: I had escaped with only cuts and bruises, and my bones were yet sound.

“Fret not, Emilie. I made sure not to end him,” said Gerd. “But the hourglass flows, and I would hear your answer.”

“Er… I, I don’t know.”

Such would depend on the prowess of each party, I silently assumed.

“The side that yields the most odyl wins, Emilie. But one does not win purely by strength of odyl, no. Train enough and you’ll soon find yourself weaving greater magicks for both attacking and defending. Understood?”

“Y, yeah…”

“Having said that, at the end of the day, your reserve of odyl is the hand that plays the checkmate. Now, do you see why you are as a king-piece to us, Emilie?”

So, a gap in prowess can be bridged through sheer output of odyl. I see. The odyl one attains at the Roun of Orisons is forever immutable in its capacity. It follows, then, that to be gifted with a large store of it affords one a vast and unmistakable advantage.

“Right then, be sure to take to heart all I’ve taught you, Emilie. We quit here for the day,” said Gerd. “Your very first training session and already you’ve come this far—quite impressive, I must say.”

“Thanks… Gerd.”

“Apply yourself well, Emilie,” remarked Tallien. “I expect wondrous things from you.”

“Thank you, Mareschal. I will.”

“And eh…” trailed Tallien, turning to me, “…’Rolf’, was it? I name you Emilie’s swain. Serve her well from here on out, will you?”

As I thought.

“Aye, sir.” I was now somehow back on my feet, with my breathing settled enough to form a coherent reply.

“What!? Wait—” exclaimed Emilie. “Why Rolf? And why a swain, for me?”

All recruits start their lives in the Order as swains to more senior knights—that is, if they aren’t anomalies like Emilie. At the same time, the knightly population naturally outnumbers the recruits’, so it would be untrue to say that all knights have a swain of their own. That a fledgling like Emilie be allowed one, however, was a worthy warrant for suspicion.

“‘Tis the knight’s duty to show his swain the workings of chivalry,” Tallien began explaining to a confounded Emilie. “As for you, young lady. What better swain for a fledgling dame such as yourself, than a flightless chick like him?”

Truly, words most vacant of subtlety. One would be justified in asking why Emilie be allowed a swain to begin with—but the effort would have proven fruitless, I’m afraid. That didn’t stop Emilie, however.

“Th-then, sir! With all due respect, would that not mean a swain for me is needless trouble? For his part, Rolf stands to profit more as swain to ano… another…” Emilie’s voice trailed into silence.

It seemed the realisation finally set in: under a different knight, what awaited me was nothing better than unmitigated oppression. Only, I would not have hesitated to suffer such a fate if serving Emilie proved a strain upon her heart. But alas.

“…Nay… I see now. Pardon my outburst, Mareschal,” she surrendered.

“You know each other well enough, yes? See to it that he doesn’t stray from his corral,” sneered Tallien, then turning to me once more. “And I trust you have no qualms? I made myself loud and clear—enough that a wastrel like you should understand.”

“I have none, sir,” was my immediate and unquestioning answer.

“You will maintain her equipment, tend to her steed, keep tidy her chamber, and—well, the list goes on,” explained the mareschal. “Do devote yourself to her and your duties, will you?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Rolf…” Sorrow shaded Emilie’s face.

And so it was that I was assigned to the Owlcrane Brigade as swain to my former fiancée.

Forgive me, Emilie.

There’s nowhere else I can go, nothing else I can do but suffer this place and wager my lot upon my sword.

────　Notes　────

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