The Maid's War (Kingfountain 0.5)

Ankarette was startled. “Truly?” It was especially curious since it was also her method for replenishing her Fountain magic. It made the Maid feel more real—less like a story, and more like a girl from the village of Donremy.

He nodded emphatically. “So few know anything about her at all.” He cocked his thumb and jabbed it into his chest. “She earned her skill with the blade from me. I taught her to fight. She was a natural, there can be no doubt of that. The Fountain had endowed her with multiple gifts, but she needed to sew to fuel them. Repairing shirts and clothes would work, but she loved to embroider the banner she carried into battle. She worked on it constantly, adding little embellishments. What? I’ve startled you again. I see it in your eyes. You weren’t just surprised it was sewing.”

“You read people too well, my lord,” Ankarette said. She had let down her defenses, something she rarely did. “I flinched because that is my . . . my favorite thing. I love to sit and think and do needlework. I always have. Whenever I have a thorny problem, I reach for my needles.”

Alensson smiled approvingly. “As did she. As did our little Genette.” He sighed, lost in a memory. “When we returned with her blade, it was further evidence the Fountain had chosen her as its champion. The prince commanded that a suit of armor be fashioned especially for her. A woman’s set of armor. The blacksmith was agog at the request! The steel was so well polished it was practically white, and the suit was measured and fitted for her. There was a design on the breastplate, a little embellishment like ivy and thorns. The blacksmith was inspired by her, I think. I was given a suit of armor myself. Lord Doone was to command the army to be sure nothing foolhardy was attempted, but I was given orders to train the Maid in the arts of war—to teach her to fight, to ride, to understand the supply wagons and such. It took time for the armor to be done and for the army to muster together.”

Ankarette saw the faraway look in his eyes. “Did your wife return to the cottage with Alix?” she asked delicately.

Alensson looked chagrined. “I sent her away too quickly. She feared being a woman in a soldiers’ camp, as I mentioned.” He put his foot down and then went for his goblet. After taking a healthy sip, he started to laugh. “She shouldn’t have worried about that.”

The poisoner gave him a puzzled look. “And why not? Armies do tend to be rowdy and vulgar. I speak from experience, my lord,” she added.

“As do I, of course,” the duke said with a meaningful look. “I’ve never fought in an army that wasn’t. Except for one. Hers. Genette was different. She was . . . how can I put this? She demanded us to be better. She was intolerant of vice and as outspoken as a deconeus. She never tried to persuade or influence, mind you.” He chopped the edge of his hand against his palm. “She was Fountain-blessed and that was authority enough. So she demanded the army to behave. Yes, there were camp followers there at first, but the Maid ordered them out.” He grinned at her. “At the point of her own sword too!”

Ankarette stifled a laugh. “I wish I had seen that.”

He nodded appreciatively. “It was a sight to behold! Imagine it: a girl of seventeen railing on brazen women of twenty and five, some even older! I remember the night she drove them away from the camp. That was before we marched to Lionn.” His eyes took on that deep feeling again, as if he were reliving memories that were sacred to him. “Who can forget the siege of Lionn? What feats we accomplished.” His lips were quivering with emotion. Then he straightened. “You recall, Ankarette, that Lionn had been under siege for years. The city and duchy belonged to my father-in-law, who was a prisoner in Kingfountain. The city held for him, but they were losing hope.”

“How did the city hold out so long?” she asked him.

He nodded, pursing his lips. “A good question. People rarely ask good questions anymore. But you do. I like that about you.” He set the goblet down on the table. “I’ll tell you about Lionn and how Genette finally broke the siege. But first, let me help you understand who the Maid was. She led us to victory through the force of her personality. She was so certain the Fountain was with her. And it was.”





CHAPTER NINE

Resurgence





Spectators flocked to the training fields in Shynom to watch the impoverished duke of La Marche teach an unskilled peasant girl how to fight. Bawdy jokes were only half hidden behind hands. Bets were passed from purse to palm. There was the perception that it would take more than a few weeks to train such a peasant, Fountain-blessed or not, in the arts of war.

Then, on the third day, stunned silence fell on the onlookers as Genette disarmed him. Twice.

It was the sword, they said. The blade that had been drawn from the fountain at Firebos was enchanted. In defiance of such talk, Genette exchanged weapons with Alensson and repeated the maneuver that had disarmed him. Within moments, she sent Firebos flinging out of his hand and thudding onto the packed earth.

Alensson stopped wondering how she did it. And he began teaching her in earnest. Soon he was also defending himself in earnest.

He’d learned some tricks from the soldiers of Ceredigion during his long confinement in Callait. Alensson deflected a blow that made his elbow ring with pain, then stepped in and hooked his foot around Genette’s ankle. He was taller and more muscular, and he levered her backward as their sword guards locked, trying to trip her. Her hand reached up to grab his belt as the momentum between them shifted. Alensson realized he’d fall right on top of her; he hesitated. Anger flashed through her eyes, and she twirled away and rounded on him.

“Gentle duke, you are too gentle!” she scolded. Her dark cropped hair stuck to her face and she was breathing heavily, nearly as heavily as he was.

He paused to catch his breath. “Are you chiding me?”

“I am,” she replied, shaking her head. “You should have let me fall!”

“I didn’t want to crush you,” he countered.

Her eyes flashed with anger again. “What do you think I am made of? Glass? When we fight against Ceredigion, do you think our foes will treat me with delicacy?”

He stared at her curiously. “You are planning to fight at Lionn?”

“Do you think the men will fight as hard if I’m not fighting with them? Of course I will fight. Which is why you must train me!” She shoved him hard and then lowered into a battle stance, her eyes narrowing.

Alensson followed suit, preparing again to wage war on this peasant girl who had somehow already learned to beat him. She had a sense about her that was eerily akin to magic. It was as if she could sense his weaknesses, sense where he was going to attack and when. But perhaps these too were gifts from the Fountain.

He did a feinting thrust and then whirled around. She deflected the blow, whirled around as he had, and then suddenly her blade was at his throat, pausing just before his quivering skin. He stared at it in shock, realizing that she could have taken off his head.