Knight's Struggle

by P. J. Cherubino

  Astrid had to think about it. “May… something…”

  “You don’t know when your birthday is?” Moxy asked with a confused expression.

  Astrid shrugged. “I know the year and the season.”

  “How do you celebrate birthdays? Don’t your people have a gift-giving season?”

  Astrid scratched her head. “My brother gave me his favorite boar hunting spear when I turned fifteen.” She wracked her brain for another example. “I gave my dad a turtle when I was five. We named him Robespierre.”

  Moxy slapped her forehead. Charlie stood and looked back and forth between them as they spoke. He was also clearly lost.

  “My people give each other gifts on our birthdays, and for the solstice and the equinox,” Moxy said. “And for having babies, for finding a new lover, and sometimes just for fun.”

  “Sounds…” Astrid said. “Fun?”

  “Ugh,” Moxy said, and whipped the canvas cloth away. “House dwellers are so strange.”

  It took Astrid a few blinks to understand what she was seeing. When it dawned on her, she gasped. Laid out on the table was a complete suit of light armor and a new rope weapon.

  “It’s…” Astrid said, hunting for words. “It’s…”

  She reached a hand under her furs to touch the armor made for her in this very shop. The blacksmith, his two daughters and son made the leather chest piece for her from two aprons and iron studs. They made matching leather leggings in the same fashion. Those simple garments had saved her from the worst of many sword strikes and dagger stabbings.

  The Village stitchers made a coarse, but very sturdy, wool shirt and pants that kept her warm even now.

  Moxy shook her head. “Don’t worry,” Moxy said. “You can keep your old leathers.” She snickered. “You’d probably like them as pajamas?”

  “What’s a pajamas?” Astrid asked.

  Charlie laughed and hooted. Apparently, he knew what they were.

  Moxy scrunched up her eyebrows. “I thought all house dwellers wore pajamas at night. Anyway, what do you think?”

  “You know me so well,” Astrid said. She gave Moxy a bracing hug, and Charlie, too.

  Astrid stripped down to her wool undergarments immediately.

  “Keep going,” Moxy said. “The suit is lined and tailored to fit against your skin.”

  That’s when Astrid noticed that the matte black armor plates were connected to some kind of fine cloth woven from charcoal-gray threads. She was so fascinated by the construction that she forgot to feel cold. The new rope weapon seemed to be made from the same material.

  “What is this?” Astrid said, running her hands over the material. It felt very much like the skin of the turtle she’d given her father so long ago. She rapped her knuckles against the chestplate. “This looks like it will fit me perfectly.”

  “It will,” Moxy said. “I’ve been studying you for months. My people are crafters, too.”

  Then, it dawned on her. All that time Moxy spent with Tarkon at the blacksmith’s and talking with Vinnie and Jordane. It was all for this.

  “This is like the armor that Tarkon wears. This is his Sacred Steel.”

  “And something completely new,” Moxy said. “Pick up the rope.”

  “It’s like silk!” Astrid said, letting the rope span her hands. “It’s so light and it flows like water.”

  “Because it is silk,” Moxy replied. “It’s spider silk combined with Sacred Steel. We call it silksteel.”

  Astrid stripped down the rest of the way and reached for the armor.

  “Oh! Ah! Whew…” the blacksmith said as he came around the corner from his hut built onto the back of the shop. “S-sorry, I ah…” he stammered, but didn’t look away.

  Astrid stood there naked as the day she was born and put her fists to her hips. “I’m getting new armor today,” Astrid said. “I understand you had a part in this, and I thank you for it.”

  “I see,” the blacksmith squeaked. His eyes fell to Astrid’s breasts and their reaction to the cold. He tried to hide the natural reaction in his pants as he stammered. “Well, I had your measurements… ah… that is… I know your shape… I mean… your body… I helped make your other armor, so I know what you… ah. See you later then… I mean…” He continued to stammer as he hurried off.

  “Men,” Astrid said. “I love them, but they’re such idiots.”

  “Your boobs have gotten bigger,” Moxy said.

  “Yeah, not enough to get in the way, thankfully,” Astrid said. “More calories since I came out of the wilderness. I also tend to put on some weight in the winter.”

  They talked casually as Moxy helped her get into the armor. It laced up on the left side.

  “Plenty of room up top,” Astrid said, adjusting the chestplate.

  The silksteel cloth held the slightly-convex chest plate and the flat backplate in place. There was no steel on the sides, but Astrid did not really need that protection. Moxy knew Astrid’s fighting style well. She needed freedom of movement over heavy protection. As long as her abdomen and chest were covered with at least basic protection, she would be happy.

  The leg protection was very similar. Light steel plates covered the front half of her thighs, knees and calves. The backs of the knees had a couple extra layers of the silksteel cloth, as did the heels.

  “Extra protection for the joints,” Astrid said. “You thought of everything. Even with my healing powers, tendons and joints are really difficult.”

  “I know,” Moxy said. “I was there when we had to put your greenstick collarbone fracture back together.”

  Astrid laughed. “Yeah, that still bothers me in the cold. But, oh well.”

  “And now you won’t have to get stuck with crossbow bolts when you want to save somebody’s life.”

  Not many people could move faster than Astrid could react. Vinnie was one and so was Moxy. She had a loaded crossbow up and aimed before Astrid could get out of the way. She was slowed by surprise more than anything.

  THOOM—TINK! The crossbow bolt glanced off the chestplate. Astrid barely felt it.

  “Crazy bitch,” Astrid declared.

  “Look who’s talking…” Moxy grinned back.

  Astrid looked down where the bolt had hit the plate. “It barely left a smudge,” she observed.

  “Yes. If an arrow or other spikey thing hits the cloth, it might go through just a bit, but It’s almost impossible to cut with normal steel.”

  “So, broken bones, but no cuts,” Astrid said, testing the cloth between the bracers sewn into the sleeve. “Moxy, this is amazing. I can’t thank you enough. I’ve never had armor like this. I’ve never even seen armor like this.”

  “Sacred steel is pretty amazing. It’s many times harder than… well… just about any metal I’ve seen. It’s far lighter than regular steel. But you haven’t even properly handled the rope yet,” Moxy said.

  Astrid turned back to the table where her new weapon waited for her. She stretched it out on the work surface and took a good, long look. A weapon like that was a lifetime thing. She took her time with it like a new lover. It was a six-braid rope, made up of strands with about a dozen threads each. When Astrid moved it, the rope flowed like a silk scarf.

  “Is this one strand of spider silk and another of fine steel?” Astrid asked, as she began to wrap the weapon around her waist.

  “No,” Moxy said. “I don’t know how, but Tarkon combined the properties of his sacred steel with the silk from my babies. The thread has the best properties of both.”

  Astrid coiled the rope around her waist several times, tucked one end into the coils, then slung the other end over her left shoulder. That way, she could snatch it with her right hand and start swinging it on demand.

  Then, she paused and looked over to the spider cages Moxy and Charlie had stashed in the rafters near the forge. She walked beneath them. “Thank you, little critters. You freak me out, but I thank you for giving me this.”

  Astrid closed
her eyes for a moment and recited a dedication to new weapons that was taught to her the day she became an adult.

  With these tools I honor the Well that sustains all life. Guide my hands, my heart and my will to serve the source.

  “Now,” Astrid opened her eyes and declared. “Let’s see what this thing will do.”

  “What do you propose?” Moxy asked.

  “I think there are some dead trees nearby,” Astrid replied.

  Moxy frowned and her brows furrowed. “Those dead trees are homes to owls and food stores for woodpeckers and lots of other animals.”

  “Oh, well, what about the wood pile?” Astrid proposed.

  “Perfect,” Moxy said.

  They walked back near the longhouse where cords of wood were piled up. Charlie ambled up behind them.

  “Stand back,” Astrid ordered.

  Drawing from the Well, her eyes turned black, then aquamarine as she jumped ten feet from a standstill. She swung hard with the dart, letting the weight spin her around. She landed near a stump and planted her feet. The dart continued its lateral arc as she stopped.

  CRACK! Half the stump exploded into splinters.

  Charlie gasped and backpedaled as Astrid let the rope wrap back around her waist. She caught the dart and slung it over her shoulder again.

  “Sorry, Charlie,” Astrid said.

  The giant shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and gave a low grunt.

  “I think he was just startled,” Moxy said.

  Charlie grunted and nodded, and this time, he gave one of his famous face-splitting smiles.

  “So, can I do more?” Astrid asked. Charlie nodded again. “How about target practice?”

  “Grrmmummph?” Charlie said.

  Astrid chuckled. “See that log over there?” It was as wide around as Astrid’s waist. “Throw it at me.”

  “Rrrmph. Gnnnph,” Charlie replied, shaking his head.

  Astrid turned to Moxy. “Is it me, or is he starting to… kind of talk.”

  “It’s not you,” Moxy said. “He’s been doing that more and more.”

  Turning back to Charlie, she said. “It’s OK. You won’t hurt me. I will get out of the way if I can’t take care of it with this.” She patted the rope.

  “Rrmmph,” Charlie grunted. He ambled over to the stump while Astrid walked a few paces away.

  “OK,” Astrid said. “When I say—” Charlie picked up the stump and threw it casually.

  “Oh shit!” Astrid yelped, making the two words one as she drew her power and lashed out with the rope dart.

  The metal met log with a sharp crack, but the flight was barely altered. Astrid had to spin to the right and let the log glance across her shoulder blades. She followed through with the other dart, hitting the log again as it flew past. The second hit took a fist-sized chunk from the edge.

  “Ah, Charlie,” Moxy said. “You were supposed to wait for her to tell you to throw.”

  Charlie scratched his chin, then walked over to Astrid and patted her on the head. She reached up, laughing, and patted his massive hand back.

  “Moxy,” Astrid said, “this thing is amazing. There’s no way I can get this kind of swing out of any other rope.”

  “No sword will cut it, either,” Moxy replied.

  “Blocking was always a problem with the other rope dart. This is going to change my fighting style a lot.”

  “Do you think you need more practice?” Moxy said.

  Astrid just smiled. She’d forgotten more fights than she remembered. She’d been fighting or training for combat since the age of thirteen.

  “I think I get the idea of how the new rope dart works,” Astrid said. “Part of me wants to use it in action. Another part of me knows what that will mean if I have to.”

  “We’ll be ready to take the keep soon,” Moxy said.

  “That’s the hope,” Astrid replied. “It’s been long enough. Vinnie and Tarkon should be here soon with the first shipment of weapons.”

  “I can’t wait,” Moxy said, looking at some far-off point with a smile at the thought of seeing her man again.

  “They’re bringing in more fighters from George’s clan as well,” Astrid said.

  “We’ll be at full strength very soon,” Moxy said.

  “Soon enough,” Astrid said. “I hope.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Lungu Fortress

  Protector Lungu received reports all day from the keeps. He’d set up a messenger relay system from the Fortress to the various holdings using more than two-hundred of the best couriers in the system. He’d only lost a dozen to exposure. A few had lost ears and toes to frostbite. He had to pay the healers extra to keep those runners in service, but it was entirely worth it.

  His plan was moving right along. His First Lieutenants had replaced Commissioners as regional administrators. In just a few days, Lungu wouldn’t have to worry about pesky formal complaints and all those complex Charter rules. If he’d known the Charter could be used against him, he’d have dissolved it years ago.

  One message bothered him, though. It wasn’t from any of his Lieutenants. It was from Protector Vassilev. His colleague in the South raised some concerns about Lungu’s moves.

  It seemed that the other Protectors weren’t comfortable with him bypassing the Charter. They said that the news of events in Lungu raised awkward questions among their Commissioners, elders, and within their own institutions. People started questioning whether the other Protectors were following their own charters. Apparently, they were based on the same set of basic rules.

  The other heads of state argued that the Charters gave them legitimacy and stability. Vassiliev had the audacity to suggest that Lungu change course.

  Protector Lungu’s great grandfather was one of the original signatories to the original documents. Shouldn’t that give the current Lungu some say in making rules? This Lungu had no doubt that was true.

  “Stability,” Lungu said, taking another slug of strong beet wine. Only the weak craved stability over authority. “This is temporary,” Lungu said. “They act like it will change everything.”

  Lungu’s first order of business was to re-establish control over his people. Only then would stability mean something. Without a strong hand in control, the state was nothing more than a bunch of pencil pushers and dirt-scraping peasants.

  There came a knock at the door. That must be that fool Balan.

  The Lieutenant strode into his office, still dripping from his long ride in the snow. Lungu came around from his desk and stood inches from Balan.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” Lungu asked after a few solid moments.

  To his credit, Balan stood firmly at attention staring straight ahead—not into his Protector’s eyes, but at some faraway point.

  “I failed, Protector,” Balan said in a firm, even tone.

  “That’s all?” Lungu asked.

  “It’s enough for me to understand that I am not worthy of service to you,” Balan said.

  Lungu sighed and sat back down behind his desk. He did not release Balan from attention. “While I appreciate your contrition,” Lungu said. “You skirt the line of self-pity.”

  Balan said nothing and stood still as a statue. The Protector leaned back in his chair and counted the few branches on his decision tree. Normally, he’d kill the idiot and be done with it. But he was short on Lieutenants, having deployed them to take control of his domain.

  “You are demoted to High Charge. You’ll be responsible for border security in the South. I’ll send you with papers to relieve the current officer.”

  “May I make a request, Great Protector?” Balan said, his face trembling.

  “You may make one,” Lungu said with a sadistic smile.

  “May I leave for the border by way of my Estate? I’d like to say goodbye to my fighters—to prepare them for the change.”

  “Denied,” Lungu said. “Your replacement at the estate is perfectly capable of managing things there.”
<
br />   “Replacement…” Balan stammered.

  “Yes, you and the High Charge of the Southern Border are swapping places. He can’t do much worse than you.”

  “He’s… barely a Mover, Protector,” Balan whined.

  “So are you!” Lungu bellowed. He threw the first object in reach, which happened to be an inkwell. It glanced off Balan’s forehead, then made a spiky ink blot on the door behind him.

  Balan turned and ran from the room.

  “Dismissed,” Lungu chuckled. “Hey… Close my damn door!” he shouted at the open portal.

  A very disturbed-looking attendant came and hastily moved to shut the door.

  “Not so fast, you. Clean up that mess.” Lungu waved his hand at the shattered glass and splattered ink.

  Keep 52

  Cosmin’s broad grin made him wince as he and Raluca looked up at the approaching gates of Keep 52.

  “So cold it hurts your teeth,” Raluca remarked. “Don’t get cold like this in the lowlands, eh?”

  “Oh, we do,” Cosmin said. “Colder with the winds we get. We’re not that far south. It’s just that Reachers don’t have much practice in smiling.”

  “We’ll have you grinning like an idiot before too long,” Raluca said. “Welcome to our new power base. From here, we restore the Protectorate.”

  She no longer felt it necessary to hide her true plans from her fighters. They were convinced that Astrid was the symptom of rot within the Protectorate. In the scenario Raluca imposed on reality, Astrid was just an insect queen taking advantage of a rotten tree stump to establish her colony.

  Raluca assured them that killing Astrid would make her the queen ant and all the little soldiers she didn’t find it necessary to kill would follow her.

  Her fighters were disciplined, trained, well-armed, and dedicated to Raluca’s vision. As soon as she let off just a little bit of the pressure, she was sure the villages would come over to her side, too. Raluca aimed to play Astrid’s game better than her.

  At the gates, she relieved the token force left behind by Balan. Her own troops hopped down from their wagons and replaced them. Her First Charge fell in behind her and Cosmin as they marched towards the administration building in the center of the keep courtyard.