She nodded in a fashion I took as acceptance and held up a hand. She turned her head to the forest around us and her lips parted. I recognized the sound she made immediately, and if I hadn’t been just outside of arms reach to see her call, I would’ve thought I was standing next to an angry squirrel. As I scanned my surroundings, the forest around us came to life with the echoing calls of squirrels. Not a single elf in sight, save Aoife.

  The elf’s attention slid back to me. “I served my Lord as a scout before he was called to his final journey. Humans have as many philosophies on violence as they do opinions on proper drink. What are yours?”

  “On violence or drink?”

  Her eyes twinkled as a grin surfaced. “Why both, of course.”

  “Always be polite. There will always be plenty of opportunity to be less so. The person who can shift between them the fastest, who can go further, faster, than the enemy, is the one who goes home alive often than not.”

  Aoife’s grin widened as she looked away. “I see now why Lady Rowan speaks highly of you. It’s a shame you’re not Syr.”

  I let my attention follow hers out into the forest. “Why’s that?”

  “Because after everything we’ve suffered, my people will not accept you the way we would have before.”

  “Is that a roundabout way of saying I’d make a good Harvester?”

  “Amongst other things. Your choice of drink, then?”

  “What’s the mood?”

  Her eyes sparkled as she cast a glance toward me. “Why would that matter?”

  “Well, if I’m drinking to relax, I’d prefer something with flavor. If I’m drinking after a hard day in the field, a decent beer would do. I don’t drink to forget anymore, but back when I did, I didn’t care what it was so long as it was strong.”

  I heard Aoife breathe in deeply and only the songbirds’ calls filled the air for several pregnant moments. “Some things, no matter how painful, should never be forgotten. Some amongst us believe the memories we leave behind are all that remains. I can’t say if that’s true or not, but I have many, many friends I will never forget, even if my last memories of them haunt me.”

  Odd, I’d figure having gods at hand would clear up that kind of mystery. I shot her a quick glance and found her stoically surveying the forest with an ear to the wind, clearly listening.

  “Where I come from,” I quietly stated, “Quite a few believe the same. Can’t say how my load compares to yours, but it can feel awfully heavy some days.”

  “It never gets any easier,” Aoife nearly whispered, her low voice burdened with something heavier than mere regret. “I remember how young I was when it happened, and the older I get, the more I realize how young we were, just how little of life they’d supped from, how bitter what’s followed is without their voices. Before the Fall, we joked about how we’d want to be remembered if we went to war, as if any of us had a clue what any of that meant.”

  I clenched my jaw and breathed out as slowly as I breathed in, fighting memories of similar shit talking dredged up from her words, and how things had ended for several.

  Every unit I’d been in, these sorts of discussions were avoided until you were well and truly part of the team. I couldn’t help but wonder if this meant she accepted me or if things had just been that bad for long enough to eat away at that instinctive prohibition. Regardless, never leave a battle buddy behind. I glanced over. “What about you? How do you want to be remembered?”

  When her eyes met mine, gone was the glitter of mischief and humor. Sorrow and loss traced a shine around those blue orbs. “Back then, I laughed at their imagined tales of valor. I said I just wanted to serve long enough to prove my worth, to get seconded for some higher duty like scribe or artificer. I said that if the end came for me, I wanted to greet it at home, surrounded by friends and family. They laughed back.” Her face darkened and she shook her head derisively. “Family. Another dream lost to the mists. Now? I just want it to end with me thrusting my knife into the enemy one last time so my brothers and sisters might live another day.”

  I swallowed and cleared my throat. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

  Her eyes trembled ever so slightly, and she turned her attention outward once more. “And you?”

  In a pile of hot brass, if it comes to it. It took me a second to translate that thought into something she’d understand. “Taking as many of them with me as I could, hoping someone, anyone, would remember me as someone who mattered in their life.”

  I couldn’t think of anything else to say and the way her gaze focused on our surroundings, I got the impression she fought her own demons. We both stood, mutely observing the leaves drifting in the gentle breeze around us, for many a moment.

  I’m not sure how much time passed before Aoife broke the silence.

  “They used to make a decent mead at the Green, back before the Fall. Mayhap they still do, if you’d care to share some with me.”

  I tried for a comforting smile. “I’d be happy if it were only passable, if I’m honest. It’s not like I have high standards.”

  She exhaled sharply, biting back a sudden laugh, and wiped at her eyes with the back of a glove. “Then pray for merely passable. With the Lady’s favor, we’ll at least get that.”

  With that, we both sank into routine the Army had spent literal years teaching and reinforcing: hurry up and wait. Minutes flew by. Birds came and went, as did a variety of local wildlife. The wind picked up, slackened, and returned several times, all without a spoken word, save for the periodic chittering of squirrels.

  “Rejoice, Samuel,” Aoife said. The noise and sudden clap on my back startled me out of my patient wakefulness. “The convoy approaches. We’ll be off soon.”

  “Convoy?”

  “Fiachra’s mission here was to sift what had been left behind for anything useful, send back what he could, and catalogue what could not. Most of the convoy will return to the Glade, but the rest carry supplies for our little venture.”

  I closed my eyes, listened intently, and heard nothing but the same forest chatter I’d spent all afternoon listening to. “Are you sure? I don’t hear anything.”

  She grinned. “That is the hint. It’s what you’re not hearing and where. There’s no shame in missing it though. Took me quite a while to figure that skill out. With enough practice, you’ll do just fine.”

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  Skeptical as I might’ve been, I didn’t argue. Sure enough, a short while later the faint sound of hooves reached us.

  Aoife made another squirrel call, a different pattern from the last, and as I watched at least a dozen elves seemingly materialized from the surrounding foliage to make their way toward us.

  I leaned my head slightly in her direction. “And this is militia?”

  “Aye.”

  “Considering militia’s usually a step down from active service, I wouldn’t want to face the Syr military proper.”

  Her lips wavered on the border between faint smile and slight frown. “If we had any left. Few seldom made that mistake twice when the green banner still filled the skies.”

  “Might be you’ll see those days return,” I offered warmly while the elves formed up a short distance in front of us.

  The smile she replied with before speaking never reached her eyes. “Sergeants, standby. Your people are detailed to help the Sage’s team move recovered items to the approaching wagons. All others, eyes out. This may be home, but we are well outside the warding line.”

  I glanced over and spoke quietly. “We’re outside the line? Doesn’t this place have its own?”

  She replied just as quietly. “It does, but we have only the one mage. You can have a strong barrier or a large one.”

  “That’s fair. I suppose I made some bad assumptions.”

  Before I could say more, the sound of heavy shoes scraping against wood echoed out of the passage behind us. I turned in time to see Millwall and Jenna emerge from the shadows.

  Jenna’s eye lit up the moment she saw me and an enthusiastic smile blossomed on her face. “Sam! Oh my god, you won’t believe what’s in there. It’s fucking crazy!”

  “Like, slit throats in a 7/11 kind of crazy or here’s a winning lottery ticket crazy?” I asked back.

  She gave me the weirdest quizzical look I’d seen on just about anyone’s face. “Both? Yeah, both. Magic swords! Holy shit, all the weapons. Multiple armories, mostly empty, but what was left? The designs, beautiful.”

  I eyed the long bundle of dark cloth she carried in both arms with a newfound wariness. “And what’s that you have?”

  “Fiachra let me set aside some things for you.”

  I pursed my lips, wondering what was in store. “Judging by the size, definitely not an AT-4.”

  Jenna rolled her eyes and knelt nearby to slowly unwrap the bundle. “Why would I give you an AT-4? They’re single shot and it’s not like I can make more.”

  “No, but that one shot? Damn good one. Pretty sure we could drop a dragon with an AT-4.”

  Half-way up, she paused a moment with a ceramic-looking bottle in her hands. “Do dragons even exist here? No, I think if you could get it to recognize the target, you’d be better off with a Javelin. Pretty sure dragons are more maneuverable than tanks so guided munitions would be a must. Anyway, check this out.”

  I looked over the bottle she handed to me. The entire thing was a dull gray, save for the retained stopper, which looked to be mostly some kind of blackened nickel. “Okay, so what’s this?” When I shook it, it sloshed and I raised an eyebrow at my sister. “A bottle of water?”

  Jenna grinned. “Yes!”

  I frowned and started to set it down next to me. “Great.”

  “No! I mean, it is a bottle of water, but it’s more than that. Fiachra said it’s a prototype his master made, a proof of concept back when he was still an apprentice. You remember the whole endless jug thing from D&D right?”

  I eyed the bottle in my hands skeptically. “So this thing is one of those?”

  “Sort of. The contents refresh daily, but what you get depends on how it’s stored.”

  My narrowed eyes drifted to my sister, then the bottle and back again. “Right. How’s that work?”

  Her grin returned. “If it’s upright and stable, it produces some kind of wine. Some kind of fruit.”

  “Kain fruit?”

  She nodded. “That’s it! Yeah, and if you leave it on its side, you get water instead.”

  I turned the bottle around, looking for any markings at all. The arrangement suddenly clicked in my head and I smirked. “Huh. Okay, so yeah, that’s kinda neat. You get water on its side because you drank the wine the night before and knocked it over.”

  As Jenna chuckled, Millwall stopped long enough to drop my pack at my feet on his way back inside.

  “You doin’ okay, Millwall?”

  Walking onward, he glanced back. “Never better. Just busy.”

  I turned back to Jenna who shrugged. “There is a lot of stuff. I really should finish up and get back to it.”

  “Never thought I’d have a Jesus jug,” I commented while looking for a place I could safely stuff the bottle.

  Jenna sighed. “Mom would—”

  “Light into me with hell and fury for my irreverence, I’m aware. So what else do we have? A magic lunch box that makes bread and fish?”

  Jenna leveled an unamused stare at me and stuffed a thin book in my hands. “This is one of those messenger books they were talking about. Fiachra said he’d explain everything once we’re at the Green.”

  I eyed the remaining wrapped bulk in the bundle while sliding the book between a few things in my pack’s main compartment. Whatever lay under the dark cloth was long and thin. “What’s that?”

  Jenna glanced down at the bundle and picked it up as she answered, “Uhm, this caught my eye. Fiachra was a little hesitant, but Cailleach said it might be useful.”

  She gently rolled the cloth back, revealing a worn, beaten length of dark wood that had once, long ago, been polished. The part of me that lived for the dojo guessed it might be an ancient wooden training sword. The dimensions don’t quite mesh, though.

  “A walking stick?” I asked as she held it up to me on both palms. When she merely smiled sweetly, I mentally shrugged. The moment the weight transferred into my hands, I knew it wasn’t merely a stick. It was too dense, the weight distributed too evenly for its appearance. My eyes went back to my sister. “What is this?”

  A hand gripped my shoulder and then Cailleach leaned around me to lay the other on the object in my hands. “Lady Badb, hear the plea of this lowly follower, forever loyal. Grant this stranger from foreign lands the use of your tool so the world may again bear witness to the length of your reach.”

  The wood under my fingers parted in a rapid whirl of dark smoke, leaving a matte black scabbard in my hands. My eyes followed the textured surface back to the guard, a circle of blackened steel shaped into what appeared to me to be a Celtic knotwork triskelion. Similar to the scabbard, a finely textured black wrap had been wound and twisted around the grip.

  Cailleach came around to my front and Jenna took several steps back with her. “Accept the blessing my Lady offers, Samuel. You know the way.”

  I moved one hand against the guard, bracing a thumb against it as I stood. As a test, I applied a little pressure and the weapon refused to even remotely budge. Holding the weapon out before me, horizontal, I placed my hand on the grip and took a slow, even breath.

  “The bell of Duty peals, Sister. All that remains is—” I pushed with my thumb. “Silence.”

  A quick electric jolt jumped between my hands as the sword separated from the scabbard. My ears popped and every inch of my skin, even along the feet in my boots, instantly felt icy from the sudden pressure shift. Having involuntarily closed my eyes, I opened them to find the world around me several shades dimmer and noticeably, oddly quieter. I blinked a few times and only recognized the feeling because I’d stood in an anechoic chamber before, once.

  I felt, more than heard, a wordless voice drawing my attention down to the black blade in my hand, to what looked like gray, misty clouds running the entire length just above the thin, silver cutting edge. The mist parted and for the length of several breaths, it looked like the emerging moon illuminated the entire blade before the mists closed again to leave the surface dark once more.

  As I slowly sheathed the blade, I still felt echoes of what seeing that moon imparted upon me. Desire, not for pleasure, but vengeance; a deep, abiding need for justice; and an implacable sense of permanence, eternity.

  The moment the blade seated home, the sound of the forest filled my ears again, this time loud and proper.

  Cailleach smiled. “You have heard the bell of duty, Samuel, and answered the Lady’s call. Welcome to the House, brother.”

  Jenna’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me? Welcome to the House?”

  Cailleach glanced over at my sister. “The Lady of Silence chooses as She will, aids who She will. Without oath or contract, House associates are to keep their blades pointed out, never in, and come to the aid Her agents when called. So long as the pact is honored, the House offers succor.”

  Cailleach’s attention came back to me with earnest eyes. “Admittedly, our known numbers are quite few; the blade must do for now. Be wary of those who recognize it yet do not call you brother, brother. While the Lady’s servants recognize each other, the House was not the only hunter of mages gone mad, nor the only to lurk in shadow at the behest of a sovereign, just the most feared. No kings today call us friend so expect no quarter from their agents.”

  “First to get noticed dies,” I replied to her warning along with a sober stare. She nodded. “Not my first time with those sorts of ground rules, though I knew what to look for the other times.”

  “We can talk on the way to the Green, but if we’re to leave anytime soon, I must return to the task.”