The Channeling (Rise of the Witch Guard Book 3)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “We’re the Fighting Swan battalion, posted to a manor in the north for the winter. We’ve been recalled to the Keep to rejoin the Prince’s army,” Falon said firmly.

  The lordling looked down at her as if she were something that he had just discovered stuck to the bottom of his boot.

  “I didn’t ask who you were,” he declared loudly, accompanied by the laughter of the men behind him.

  “Peasants and up-jumped commoners don’t know how to answer a simple question,” chuckled a few of the men behind him.

  “My apologies,” Falon said blank-faced, to hide a growing anger at this patrol and its leader, “I simply assumed—”

  The lordling cut her off with an irritable gesture. “Assumptions like that make a right arse out of you, boy,” snickered the Lordling before once again glaring down at her, a definite feat considering he was standing on the frozen snow covered ground and she was still a-horse. Falon idly wondered if he practiced that look or if he was somehow just endowed by the gods with a naturally condescending manner.

  She maintained her silence since his last statement technically hadn’t been a question.

  Seeing that she wasn’t about to respond, the man looked at her in disgust and then sharply pointed to the ground with an imperious finger. “Off the horse. I’m not used to craning my neck to discourse with inferiors,” he declared.

  Wondering where a self-important man like this one had come from, after a moment’s thought Falon climbed down off her horse.

  “What did you want to talk…” she paused, seeing him open his mouth and looking eager to blast her again, and then decided to quickly change her word choice if only to trip him up, “I mean ‘discourse’ with the lowly me about?” she asked sweetly.

  His growing self-satisfaction twisted on his face until he was finally left looking at her scornfully in an attempt to retain his dignity.

  “Who wants to talk with a scrappy-faced cretin like you?” the man declared, looking off to the side and behind her by about fifteen degrees.

  “Scrappy-faced?” Falon choked, taking a moment to connect the slur with herself; a hand instinctively reaching up to feel her patchily bearded face before hurriedly dropping it back down to her side. She wanted to die of mortification. It was bad enough she had the awful thing but now she was being accused of looking ugly because of it. It fed right down into her greatest fears as a young woman.

  “Hurry up, boy, and produce your better,” the Lordling finally demanded growing tired of watching her silently floundering around.

  “My ‘better’?” Falon said flatly her temper rising. It was one thing to insult her youth and lack of seasoning but by insulting both her fighting men and her looks he’d just crossed her bottom line. All the previous embarrassment and tolerance for insults and injustice just burned away in a flash. She might look ugly but that was no cause for a foul tongue.

  “Your superior; your commanding officer; the one who leads you, whatever he’s called wherever it is you come from. Hurry up, lad, or you’ll be horsewhipped,” the lordling said idly, as if she were someone of no importance that he was now done dealing with.

  “I am the leader of the Swans,” Falon said flatly.

  “You?!” the lordling said in shock.

  Falon bared her teeth in satisfaction before giving her introduction. “Sir Falon Rankin, Knight by the grace of the gods and his Highness, Prince Marshal William Stag. Lieutenant and Acting Captain of these Fighting Swans by order of his lordship Lord Lamont, forwarded to the service of his highness the Prince Marshal for the duration,” Falon declared.

  “Rankin? A House I’ve never heard of,” the lord said, taken aback before a sneer once again graced his face. Flicking his pencil thin mustache with a middle finger and then looking at her like she was some sort of lowborn liar attempting to ape her betters and failing miserably, he opened his mouth, “cease the lies and bring out your captain, Sir Smythe!”

  Falon flushed and then paled with fury. He’d known who they were the entire time and still decided to twit her about her looks and insult their unit.

  “Smythe’s been landed by order of his highness,” Falon snapped, “I’m the Captain now.”

  “Reckless…irresponsible…this simply will not do!” the other man finally stammered in outrage.

  “Sorry you feel that way,” Falon said while hiding a smile.

  “Step aside,” the lordling declared.

  “And why should I do that?” she didn’t really care what his answer to that question was. She wasn’t going anywhere this fool told her to go.

  Once again flicking his pencil thin mustachios, the Lordling looked at the men behind her with pity while continuing to totally ignore her.

  “Since you’re clearly too young and unseasoned for your position, I’ll be taking command of this company until the Prince can sort this out,” the lordling said grandly.

  “In a pig’s eye,” Falon shouted.

  The lordling whirled his hand dropping to the sword at his side. “A newly-risen battlefield Knight from a House I’ve never even heard of dares to speak to me this way?!” thundered the lordling

  “You could be bandits or rebels for all I know, as you’ve consistently failed to introduce yourself,” Falon said in a rising voice. “Furthermore, you’ll take command of this ‘battalion’ over my dead body! Only his Lordship or the Prince has the right to interfere with the internal workings of this war band.” The lordling purpled. “I am Jasper of the Riven Shield, survivor of Bloody Field on the Border and fourth son of the Earl of Warrick! I am a Lord Knight and member of the order of the Blue Garnet,” the lordling, this Sir Jasper, declared grandly in a voice tinged with outrage. How he managed to put both emotions into his voice was beyond a mere girl like herself. He must have practiced in front of a mirror a lot she finally decided. “Who are you to declare me a bandit or traitor?”

  “The word was ‘rebel’,” Falon corrected tightly, “and—”

  “Seize the scrappy face!” shrieked Lord Jasper.

  The two dozen men behind the lordling started to advance on her, and Falon stumbled back four steps in surprise

  “Battalion!” shouted Darius.

  “Company!” bellowed Sir Orisin belatedly, followed by Sergeant Jake.

  “Ha!” yelled the men directly behind her, leveling their weapons at Lord Jasper of the Riven Shield and stepping forward to form ranks around her.

  “For the Fighting Swans,” shrieked someone in the back lines.

  Sir Jasper staggered back in what appeared to be genuine befuddlement.

  “Kill the Rebels!” shouted someone that sounded decidedly like Sergeant Gearalt trying to disguise his voice and get her into trouble as he threw wood on the fire. “Wha…?” there was a snort and the sound of someone violently waking up. Then Schmendrick jumped up unsteadily from his bed atop the wagon. “For the Prince and the Fighting Swans!” cried the Wizard, pulling out his one and only fireball and setting it aflame.

  “Stay your fire, wizard,” yelped Sir Jasper backing away frantically, “there are no rebels here today!”

  “Are you sure?” Falon shouted, eyeing him coldly. “It’s said there’s a savage crouching under every bush and tree branch in the North, which is why we’ve been posted out on the frozen border of the Barony. Who knows what could happen if warriors like the Fighting Swans were not here to scare them away?”

  “Quite sure,” Jasper said hastily, and then waved his hand from one side of the road to the other before gesturing toward Ice Finger Keep, “you and your men are free to pass. No need for a gratuity; my compliments.”

  She stared at him before turning back to her men. No need for a gratuity? Had this entire ‘misunderstanding’ all been about a desire for a bribe, or had he really just tried to take over her battalion? She silently considered the possibility that it had been both. Lord Jasper was clearly a man interested in seizing whatever opportunities came his way.

  “Darius, form up the men and m
arch us out of here,” She ordered. “We’re nearly to the muster grounds outside the Keep it’d be a shame to spend another night out here in the cold.”

  “By your command, Captain,” Darius said, and then started barking orders.

  Meeting and holding the increasingly poisonous stare of the lordling while her unit marched past, Falon wondered if she was making a mistake leaving the man alive.

  While she was considering this, she failed to notice the significant glances exchanged behind her between the battalion’s training master and the sergeant in charge of the foragers.

  “I guess there’s not going to be a fight then,” Oliver, aka Schmendrick the insane magician, said as he finally doused his fireball. “By the earth, that’s hot!” he said, dropping the metal ball in the snow to cool off.

  Rolling her eyes, Falon made sure that their only wizard wasn’t forced to leave his lone fireball behind before finally following the rest of her warriors down the road to Ice Finger.

  Chapter 9: Arriving at Ice Finger

  At first blush, the majestic-looking Keep nestled within an exterior retaining wall showed evidence of someone’s desire to turn it into a proper castle. And after their trudge through the elements, as far as Falon was concerned, it was a sight for sore eyes.

  However, upon being directed to their campsite area in the mustering grounds—well clear of the castle walls—Falon couldn’t help feeling a massive upwelling of disgust.

  One look at the muddy, dung-covered field showed that their new campsite had only recently been the home of a large group of animals. The ground was a muck and mire filled area that, in her opinion, was fit for inhabitation by neither man nor beast—to say nothing of women or children who were following behind her unit.

  “What, did the quartermaster bring out the dung-heap just for us?” demanded Gearalt, and for the life of her Falon couldn’t say he was far wrong off the mark with his question. “I feel welcome already.”

  “Control your men, Lieutenant, or they just might lose their heads if words like those reach royal ears,” said the Quartermaster’s Clerk, who had just directed them to this dirty, churned up field. To either side of the muddy area were fresh, snow-covered grounds that didn’t look half as awful.

  “You’re implying that the Prince himself sent us here,” Falon asked just to clarify.

  “I did no such thing. The doings of Princes and Kings are not to be commented upon by the likes of a quartermaster’s clerk,” the Clerk sniffed loudly.

  “So you’re saying it’s the quartermaster we should be taking this issue up with?” Gearalt demanded, and the Clerk stared back at him coldly.

  “Stand down, Sergeant,” Falon commanded before turning back to the clerk. “But the question stands.”

  “If you don’t care for it, you’re free to sleep in the trees,” the Clerk smirked, pointing across the vast open field that was the castle mustering grounds-slash-killing field, which had been kept clear so that Ice Raiders couldn’t sneak up to the walls of the keep.

  “I don’t think I like your tone,” Falon said evenly.

  “I don’t think I take orders from you, Sir Knight,” he paused, raking her up and down with a belittling look, “what was it your name was again?”

  “You know my name,” Falon said, returning the favor by raking him with her own withering glance, “but right now I don’t know yours and I think you want to keep it that way.”

  “Is that a threat? Are you threatening a member of the Royal Quartermaster’s Department?” blustered the Clerk.

  “It’s only a royal department because the Prince is here. Continue to jerk us around and I guarantee that I’ll not only learn your name—I’ll remember it,” said Falon.

  “Fine!” the Clerk said, throwing up his hands in the air. “I don’t need any thanks or a gratuity. Set your tents wherever you feel like it,” he snapped. “Just clearly set stakes with blue ribbons around the perimeter so there are no disputes.

  Storming off he muttered something under his breath about ‘uncultured battlefield hedge knights and their uncultured minions.’

  Falon eyes bulged and she blinked rapidly as she once again discovered that half her problem might have been her failure to recognize that the other party was expecting a bribe.

  “Oops,” she muttered, wondering just how badly she might have messed things up.

  “Your orders, Sir Captain?” Darius asked appearing at her elbow and startling her.

  Giving her head a quick shake, she gestured to a part of the field directly beside the former animal field. “Set us up over there, Sergeant.”

  “Yes, Captain,” said Darius and then waited for a beat.

  “Yes, Sergeant?” Falon asked with a hint of irritation.

  “I was wondering if it might not be best, next time, if we have myself or the Clerk deal with lower level functionaries like the quartermaster department,” the former Imperial said respectfully.

  Falon’s teeth gritted. “Yes,” she said after a long moment, “we might want to try that.”

  “By your leave,” Darius said, backing away and then returning to his duty directing the men to the new campsite.

  Fuming, Falon glared at the ground while all around her the men of the company happily headed over to the snow-covered area and started setting up camp.

  She had no one to blame but herself, and could only point to her lack of experience as the cause for the latest series of near disasters. Being the head woman in charge of this man’s fighting battalion was turning out to be a little bit more difficult than just leading one company within that battalion. She was definitely going to have to redouble her efforts and step up her game.

  Chapter 10: Not Everyone Ignores the Swans

  “Mum! Mum!” yelled a smallish boy as he ran up to Tulla’s tent and scratched urgently at the flap.

  “What is it now, boy,” Tulla demanded irritably, “another public flogging? If so, you can tell the gentles that old Tulla’s all bound up with the flux and can’t get up off her bed, much less leave her tent for public events.”

  “What…do you really have the flux, Mum?” asked Dani.

  “Irritable boys should be seen and not heard,” snapped the Old Branch witch, “of course I don’t have the flux. What kind of witch would I be if I was taken to my bed over something a simple potion could fix?”

  “Oh…that’s good,” sighed Dani.

  “Out with it, boy: why have you come? And if I hear one more ‘Mum’ out of thy mouth, I’ll box pop you with a stick!” Tulla huffed.

  “It’s the ones ye’ve been waiting for Mu—I mean, Madame Tulla, ma’am,” Dani said, quickly changing over to a respectful tone and ducking his head to avoid the stick that switched over it as the tent flap was abruptly thrown open, “word on the street is the Prince is readying to march south and them Swans ye’ve been looking fer are back in the camp. Set up where the Prince’s herd’s been parked before they ate ’em all for that banquet. I really enjoyed the leftovers they threw to the people. Got me a joint and—”

  “Enough about thy gastric conquests, boy,” Tulla said, her head snapping around to stare around the muster field looking for a specific set of banners. “We’ve just about frozen our jugs off in this frozen wasteland; hardly a tree could consider taking root in. Hurray for spring’s approach and curse that Prince for throwing his camp followers out of that nice, warm keep of his to freeze and die if we can’t find enough wood to keep us warm in the night. Now where are those Swans camped? Quickly now!” she urged.

  “They’re just over there on the other side of the castle next to where the Prince was keeping his herd like I said,” Dani exclaimed before looking worried, “but ye oughtn’t go around speaking ill o’ the Prince, Mum. If anyone heard you, then…” he made a creaking sound, stuck out his tongue and acted as if his hand was holding a rope as he pulled it up into the air signaling a hanging.

  “I’ll speak about whoever I want, however I want, and no little boy is going t
o tell me otherwise,” Tulla declared, glaring down at the boy. “That said…there’s a copper in it if you deliver a message for me,” she said enticingly.

  “To that same Lieutenant as you had me do it last time?” Dani asked eagerly, the starkly stretched skin over his facial bones indicating that here was one boy eager for any scraps he could get his hands on.

  “The very same,” Tulla smiled.

  “Then I’m your boy,” Dani said proudly.

  “Alright then, lean in close so as I can give you the message,” Tulla said and then whispered the message into the boy’s ear. “Now, have you got all that?” she asked strictly after straightening back up.

  “Got it right as rain, Madame Tulla,” Dani said respectfully.

  “Well then,” Tulla demanded irritably, “off with you then.”

  With a bob of his head, the boy scurried off and Tulla promptly pulled back closed the tent flap in order to keep the heat in and then went back to huddling around the brazier that supplied what little heat could be found inside a tent on the muster field while there was still snow on the ground.

  This season of suffering and cold was about to come to an end. Others in the camp may have died of the cold or miserable food, but not this Old Branch witch. She was too wise and to ornery to die before her purpose was complete.

  ****************************************************

  “Message for the Lieutenant. Message for the Swan Lieutenant,” piped a young-sounding voice. “Make way for a messenger!” cried the young boy’s voice from outside.

  “What is it and who’s it from?” Falon asked, stepping outside her tent and looking around until she spotted the boy, “I’m the Lieutenant,” she said, identifying herself taking a step outside the tent.

  The boy hustled over.