The Maid's War (Kingfountain 0.5)

There were small camps of Ceredigic soldiers outside the walls of the conquered part of the city, but not nearly enough to threaten seventy knights, and they withdrew back behind the fortifications as the Occitanians approached.

The inhabitants had made preparations for the arriving troops and several ferries issued out from the besieged part of the city, upstream from them. Their horses were blindfolded and led to the ferries, and oarsmen steered them into the waters as the current brought them swiftly toward the unoccupied half of Lionn.

“The towers there,” Alensson said to her as they gazed up at the fortifications, “they are called the Turrels. We can’t get too close or their archers will rain arrows down on us.”

Genette frowned. “Will they try with boats? I’d welcome a fight.”

He smiled at her enthusiasm. “The river is just as dangerous for them to cross as it is for us. See how our portion of Lionn is so much larger?” he said, pointing across the river. “They have a strong foothold in the city. But we hold the stronger part by far.”

She nodded and then stumbled into him as the skiff shook on the water. The water was rough, but he somehow managed to keep them both upright. In short order, they reached the safe side of Lionn, where they were greeted on the dock by the mayor, the nobles, and a screaming crowd. Genette carried her banner with her, and the people went wild when they saw it. Her message had been delivered to the townspeople. Rumors of her had spread like fire, and here she was in flesh and armor, looking like a soldier and a woman and a true champion of the Fountain. She smiled at those assembled, waving her banner triumphantly, and Alensson felt a thrill as he watched her ride forward through the crowd that parted to make room. This, he knew, was a moment the world would remember.

There was an equivalent set of towers on their side of the bridge, facing the Turrels. It was the most fortified portion of the city, and the Maid and her leaders were taken there through streets that were filled with well-wishers. When they arrived in the main gallery of the palace, they found Earl Doone had already arrived and was speaking to the garrison captain, a weather-beaten man in dented armor. He had fiery-red hair and a scar that split his lip by his nostril, giving him a fierce look. A huge sword was strapped to his back.

“I thought an army was coming with you,” the red-haired giant growled. “This is all? Seventy knights?”

Doone looked defensive. “Don’t be harsh, Aspen. The prince ordered the army to halt at Blais for a while. He wasn’t sure how ready the city was to receive us.”

The Maid looked to Alensson curiously, nodding toward the giant of a man.

Alensson lowered his voice and whispered in her ear. “That’s Lord Hext, my wife’s uncle. He’s been defending the city. His nickname is ‘Aspen’ because of the coloring of the leaves in the autumn.”

Genette nodded knowingly and then strode forward. The giant looked down at her, unimpressed. “You’re a little wisp of a thing, aren’t you, lass?”

She did not cower before his size. “My letter was given to Lord Tenby?” she demanded.

Aspen Hext chuckled sardonically. “Aye, lass. And they put the herald in chains afterward and barraged us with arrows for the insult.”

Alensson watched her nostrils flare white. “Did they? To a herald?”

“They weren’t of a mind to heed your threat, lass. I gladly accept the help. I don’t care if the Fountain sent a crowing rooster to liberate us. This is war, and war is a messy thing. I have a room waiting for you to take a nap, little girl. Leave the men to plan this thing.”

“But he answered my letter,” she said stiffly, eyes blazing hot. “Didn’t he?”

Lord Hext gave her a second look, this one more guarded. “Aye, lass.”

“What did it say?”

“I’d rather not repeat the insults. Especially in the presence of a maid.”

“What did he say?” Genette asked, her voice dangerously close to a growl.

Alensson saw that Hext was goading her. But it was obvious the big man didn’t want to repeat the words. They were probably unseemly.

Aspen Hext shrugged. He was a soldier. Rough language didn’t concern him. “In part, he asked me to tell the little whore from Donremy to ply her trade in another city.” He gave her a stern look as he said it.

Putting her hand on her hilt, Genette marched right past him, causing a ruckus of confusion. Infuriated by the insult, Alensson followed her, as did many of the men, Hext and Doone included. She strode confidently, as if she had been in the castle a hundred times, and headed directly to the tower stairwell leading to the roof. The clang of armor spurs on the stone steps rang through the tower like a bell as the group ascended.

When they reached the roof of the turret, Alensson watched as Genette strode to the edge of the barricade, the sun glinting dazzlingly off her armor. She stood facing the Turrels, the wind sweeping her cropped hair back from her brow.

She leaned forward, planting one hand on the stone, and cupped the other hand by her mouth. “Lord Tenby! I am the Maid! Surrender the Turrels before I take them from you! This is your final warning before you drink from the Deep Fathoms!”

Could they even hear her words across the river? She had shouted them with all the emotion and rage in her heart.

They did hear her, for Alensson heard a building roar of riotous laughter from the other side of the river. Instead of launching arrows, the men began to mock Genette in the most vile language he’d ever heard soldiers utter.

Her face went dark with danger while her mouth turned down into a stern frown. She listened and did nothing for a while. Then she said darkly, almost to herself, but loud enough that they could hear it over the noise. “Beware of pride, sirs. It is always the stone that causes the stumble.”





CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Siege of Lionn