by R A Oakes
“Not teaching women to defend themselves is irresponsible,” the general had told anyone who cared to listen, and many who didn’t. He had the ear of both Chen and Lord Pensgraft, and that’s all the authority he needed.
General Tark had spent countless hours helping his female recruits to build up their muscles and hone their skills. Skeptics had accused him of being a man possessed, so great was his grief over the loss of his wife and daughter. His family had been the center of his world, and now it was shattered. During the early stages of his grief, some feared the general had gone partly insane, but Chen asked Lord Pensgraft not to relieve Tark of command even temporarily. All the black leather panther knew was that the general was training women as warriors. It’s all she cared about.
“If fanatical devotion to our cause is insanity, then I welcome it!” she’d shouted at anyone who questioned the general’s fitness for duty.
When General Tark had 100 women fully trained as warriors, it was as if a great weight was lifted off his shoulders. Near tears, he’d expressed his relief to the male warriors in Lord Pensgraft’s army saying, “Now my wife and daughter have not died in vain.”
The men had been patient with his mercurial nature, which included explosive fits of rage followed by chronic depression, and they focused instead on helping him achieve his goal of having 100 well-trained warrior women.
The night the women had graduated from the training program, Chen and her own 100 warrior women were present in full battle gear cheering them. Exuding enthusiasm, the black leather panther was in her glory having become the de facto ruler of 200 leather-clad warrior women.
One of Chen’s maxims was, Warfare is more about force of will than force of arms. She knew a woman could rip through a larger male opponent, if she believed she could. Even more than muscle strength, Chen carefully evaluated the will-power of potential new recruits.
So, after Lord Pensgraft carried Chen downstairs to greet General Tark, she enjoyed seeing how his men feared her warriors for the women were following close behind and poured from the stairway surrounding the general and his men.
Having taken control of the situation, Chen focused on the next task at hand.
“What about Lord Stallington? How’s his health?” the new mother asked the general.
“He doesn’t look good, my lady,” Tark replied. “I fear he may be dying.”
“Right now?”
“No, my lady, but I don’t think he’ll live much longer.”
“Bring Lord Stallington here to the great hall, and tell him Lord Pensgraft and I will greet him shortly.” Then, with that matter settled, she allowed her husband to carry her back upstairs.
◆◆◆
When Lord Pensgraft and Chen returned, the aging ruler was warming himself by the fireplace, and his devoted daughter, Genevieve, was sitting next to him.
“I hope you don’t mind that I’ve made myself at home. I just can’t seem to get the chill out of my bones these days, and your servants built me a fire,” Lord Stallington said.
“You can use the fireplace whenever you want,” Chen smiled. However, it was a warm spring day and the black leather panther realized all was not well with their neighbor to the north.
“We really enjoyed seeing you at our wedding last year,” Lord Pensgraft said. “We’re sorry we haven’t been able to pay you a return visit.”
“As soon as you feel the baby’s able to travel, I’d love to have you come up to Skybrook Castle. And congratulations on the birth of your child. What’s her name?”
“Dylancia, and look at what my husband got for her,” the proud mother said showing him the little dagger.
“That’s wonderful, and I see I’ve come to the right people. But, Chen, I didn’t mean to intrude. You just had your baby a few hours ago.”
“What’s wrong, Lord Stallington, and how can we help you?” Chen asked deeply concerned. The black leather panther wondered what could bring the aging gentleman this far south. It was several days’ ride from Skybrook Castle to Crystal Castle. Not an easy journey for someone in his 70s.
“I want you to make my daughter, Genevieve, the next ruler of Skybrook Castle,” Lord Stallington said referring to the fortress he’d ruled for the past 40 years.
“No problem, just say when,” Chen replied.
“Well, it’s not as easy as that.”
“Sure it is.”
Lord Stallington smiled and said, “For you, it probably would be. But though I’m embarrassed to admit it, there are no warrior women or even female administrators at Skybrook Castle. The concept’s a little foreign up north.”
“So, what would you have us do?” Lord Pensgraft asked.
“Well, since I’ve arrived, several people informed me that you and General Tark now have 100 warrior women fully trained over at The Rock,” Lord Stallington said. “And Chen, you’ve turned Crystal Valley into a place that’s free of highwaymen, roving bands of mercenaries and other vermin.
“Your Aunt Glenitant never cared much about the northern half of Crystal Valley. She was content to spend her days here in this beautiful, black crystal castle, and I understand that,” Lord Stallington said. “But the northern end of the valley had turned into a sort of no-man’s-land and made my southern boundary very insecure. I used to have several hundred troops guarding the two mountain passes into my valley, now I have just a handful at each. That’s all because of you.”
“I have a weakness for flattery, so please continue,” Chen said.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Chen laughed.
Smiling at Lord Pensgraft, the elderly ruler threw up his hands and said, “She’s as incorrigible as ever, isn’t she?”
“Pretty much.”
“But she’s given you an heir who can wield the magic sword. I’d put up with a lot to be in your shoes.”
“If you were in my shoes, you’d be putting up with a lot more than you can imagine. I haven’t won an argument with this woman in the entire year we’ve been married.”
“Yes, but would you want to win?”
“No, not really. I’ve found that she has an almost uncanny knack for sizing up situations rapidly and accurately. I’ve learned to trust her judgment.”
“You’re very fortunate to have a grumpy wife you can trust. Chen, do you mind if I refer to you as being a bit on the crabby side?”
“Only you, Lord Stallington, only you. I’d kill any other man who’d dare to be so insolent.”
“So, you won’t have me murdered in my sleep?”
“No, if I was going to assassinate you, I’d do it in broad daylight in front of everyone.”
“Then I can rest easy in my bed tonight?” he asked smiling.
“Well, that’s how I feel. But I don’t know how Gwendylln, Malavika or Andrina might feel about it,” Chen said. “But let me be clear on one thing. Upon your death, you want Genevieve to rule Skybrook Castle rather than her older brother Rathlor.”
“Yes.”
“And you want us to help you?”
“I implore you! I beseech you! I beg you on bended knee!”
“Well, in that case, we won’t kill you just yet.”
“Thank you, but it will take some doing. And with my health the way it is, there’s no time to waste.”
“Okay, let me understand this. You’ve ruled for 40 years and haven’t done a thing to put this idea in motion. Now, you’re asking a bunch of women to rescue you from your own stupidity? And you’re giving us little time to accomplish this, so the transition will more than likely be hostile and filled with chaos?”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
Then, turning to the elderly ruler’s daughter who’d been silent so far, Chen asked, “What do you think of all this, Genevieve?”
“I find it a bit overwhelming. For all my 35 years, I’ve known nothing but male rule. Now my father wants to upend everything, and it puts me under an enormous amount of press
ure.”
“Genevieve, you’re intelligent, articulate, competent, and you have common sense. You can learn how to rule,” Chen said.
“I don’t know,” she said nervously.
“But you do understand the problem, don’t you? Your older brother’s as dumb as a stick, and my safe northern border would become rather precarious if Rathlor inherits Skybrook Castle.”
“I shouldn’t appear to want to become Lady Skybrook too badly.”
“Why not?” Chen almost shouted.
“There’s little support for what my father wishes. If we break with tradition, it could lead to civil war.”
“Better that, than an invasion from the south,” Chen glared at her. “Don’t think I’ll put up with an incompetent Lord Rathlor running things up north. He won’t last a year. I’ll unsheathe the dark sword, Crystal, to prevent that if I have to.”
Everyone froze.
Unleashing the evil sword was not to be taken lightly. Chen, herself, knew how dangerous it would be to set Crystal free.
“Is Crystal still packed in solid rock? Is she still encased in solidified lava?” Lord Stallington asked.
“Yes, and so is the Crystal Medallion, but that doesn’t mean they have to stay that way,” Chen said. “If I have to, I’ll risk becoming Black Scarlet again to protect Crystal Castle.”
The black leather panther was referring to the fire- breathing, black crystal warrior the dark sword had turned her into when she fought Lord Daegal’s troops a year ago.
“Let’s hope that won’t be necessary,” Lord Stallington said soothingly. “The cure could prove worse than the disease.”
“Genevieve, just don’t lie down and be a doormat for some outdated tradition of hereditary male sovereignty,” Chen said in frustration.
“When I return home, I’ll be under the influence of a totally male-dominated region. I’ll be isolated and alone. What am I to do about that?”
“You’re not alone now,” Chen declared.
“But it’s too soon for the baby to travel. It’ll be several months before Dylancia could make the journey, and you wouldn’t leave her behind, would you?”
“No, I wouldn’t. Plus, I want to nurse her myself,” Chen said.
“Then you can see my dilemma. Until you arrive, I’m on my own, and there are those who cater to Rathlor as if he were already lord of the castle.”
“I could send Corson back with you.”
“Oh, not that,” Lord Stallington laughed. “Doesn’t Corson believe in advancing women by assassinating some men who are currently in power?”
“She’s the one,” Chen said smiling.
“Well, what worries me most is what Lord Ridgewood will do if the transition doesn’t go smoothly. Since I’ve gotten older, he’s been watching closely for any weaknesses he could exploit. If my domain becomes unstable, it’ll encourage him to invade.”
Lord Ridgewood’s stronghold, Firecrest Castle, was located four-days’ hard ride east of Skybrook Castle. It was the power center of a domain made up of barren mountains with only narrow sections of bottomland at their base. It had been a hiding ground for villains, rogues, murderers and thieves for decades. Lord Stallington had led more than one punitive expedition into that bleak, rugged territory to hunt down those guilty of pillaging farmland in the eastern side of his domain.
“Maybe we should have Aerylln, Baelfire, Zorya and Marcheto travel to Skybrook Castle along with Corson,” Lord Pensgraft suggested.
“That would prove interesting,” Chen smiled.
Aerylln was Lord Pensgraft’s daughter and was in her late teens. Her boyfriend, Marcheto, was two years older and was General Tark’s youngest son. Zorya and Baelfire were Aerylln’s horse and sword. All were far more than they appeared.
“Chen, I’m sorry if I seemed indecisive,” Genevieve said. “I understand what’s at stake, the stability of the entire region. I just needed reassurance that I’d receive tangible support from you.”
“You have it,” Chen said firmly.
“Then my sword is yours.”
“Do you know how to fight?” Chen asked surprised.
“No,” she laughed. “But I figure Corson will take care of that soon enough.”
“You’re right! She’ll meet you at dawn for physical conditioning and weapons training,” Chen said.
◆◆◆
Lord Pensgraft’s daughter, Aerylln, was in her chambers at Crystal Castle sitting by an open window admiring the jewels in the hilt of her sword. However, this was no ordinary weapon, it was Baelfire, the half-sister of Chen’s dark sword, Crystal. Around 500 years ago, a great wizard, who was also a master craftsman, had brought both Baelfire and Crystal to life.
Those were troubled times, and trolls had been roaming the countryside attacking villagers who strayed too far from protective fortifications. People who’d been brave enough to venture forth did so only on horseback, and even then the animals needed to be both swift and strong. The trolls had traveled on foot and hunted in packs, and they stalked their prey with animalistic cunning, targeting the slowest or weakest horse in any group of travelers.
In those days, having a fresh mount had taken on a whole new meaning, a freshly killed horse tasting best at a feast. And the rider had the honor of providing the entertainment, his screams being a pleasant change from having to listen to their own guttural sounds. In typical troll fashion, the creatures had staked out the rider and slowly cut him to pieces while he was still alive. A strong, robust adult had often lasted the entire evening and into the early morning hours before dying. Revelers who’d stayed up were rewarded with a late-night meal of roasted man flesh.
Young girls who’d been taken captive died the quickest, but their voices were considered the most exciting. Their stunned disbelief, wailing and panic had been followed by incredibly high-pitched screams as the girls were driven insane. When the mindless agony had reached its peak, all would stop eating their horsemeat and fall silent to appreciate the sweet sound of innocence gone mad.
Amidst this wicked, perverse and endless suffering, a legion of disciplined mystics, the College of Wizards, had struggled to keep hope alive, if only by the slimmest of margins. The mystics had embarked on a quest to find a scarce metal called megentum, and the mission had been cloaked in secrecy with few knowing the exact reason for it.
For over 100 years, the mystics had persevered in a search that proved to be slow, hard and dangerous. They’d found an ounce of megentum at the source of an ancient, underground stream and a half-ounce at the peak of the region’s highest mountain. The wizards had stumbled upon another ounce in the depths of an endless cavern. Painstakingly, the megentum had begun trickling in, sometimes in amounts no bigger than a thumbnail.
Eventually, rumors had surfaced regarding the quest’s purpose, and talk began circulating about the creation of a magic sword. In response to this, the dark lord, Balzekior, had outlawed megentum declaring that any attempt to find it was punishable by a horrendous fate. Several wizards had been captured and imprisoned in a netherworld being neither alive nor dead. There, they’d existed within an evil darkness so foul and deep that they never recovered.
Undeterred, the College of Wizards endured in their mission, and finally the day came when enough of the metal had been found.
Megentum had a unique quality that was of great interest to the wizards. It was able to absorb the energy of whatever was around it, at least at the beginning. Knowing this, the master craftsman had the College of Wizards, over 100 strong, surround the good sword during the entire time it was being forged. The magic sword had taken into itself the power and wisdom of a long line of wizards stretching back over thousands of years.
Its name was Baelfire. It was also called the Sword of Light and was a weapon of incredible power, wisdom and sensitivity. It had been infused with so much life energy that it became a living, sentient being.
The evil demon, Balzekior, was a woman. Thus the good sword had been created with a
feminine spirit in the hopes that this would help her anticipate Balzekior’s thoughts and feelings. The wizards were warrior mystics and understood the importance of knowing one’s enemy. Baelfire had exceeded all expectations, and the forces of darkness found the good sword to be a determined and relentless adversary.
But even wizards don’t know everything, and megentum had proven to be far more absorbent than anyone anticipated. Even a little counted for a lot. Unaware of this, the master craftsman had made a serious mistake. A tiny bit of megentum had been left over, and he used it when making another sword, one of lesser quality.
Only a few wizards had come to observe this sword being forged, but the new sword had an enormous appetite and was ravenous. It absorbed all that the wizards present had to give and still wanted more. Alarmed, the mystics had sought to bring other wizards to the master craftsman’s forge, but by then the damage had been done. The new sword had saturated itself with the spirit of the iron used in the anvil and in the pot used to hold the molten metal. It had drawn upon the wooden beams and boards of the walls and ceiling. It had become full and overflowing but mostly with plain, ordinary things.
The sword’s name was Crystal. She was a sentient being, like Baelfire, but had become infused with the weaknesses and frailties of the world. This had made her susceptible to corruption, and there was an even greater danger. The tiny amount of megentum used in Crystal’s blade had created a thread of a connection to both Baelfire and the College of Wizards. It proved to be an opportunity that the dark lord, Balzekior, had exploited more than once over the centuries.
But at the beginning, Crystal had been deemed unimportant and was of little interest to the wizards. Feeling rejected, she welcomed the attention of the dark side, and Crystal became a dark light shining brightly in a way no one had ever seen before.
