"The Adventures of Tanwin Scathach: Chapter 1: A Change of Pace" by Mary Lynn E Longsworth

Crossing the main compound, Tanwin easily navigated through the ranks of students and teachers filing about the area. Approaching autumn, schooling was now back in full swing and the new initiates were being run through the rigors of assessment testing. Striding past them all she remembered how she had been where they were long ago, both as a watcher and a participant. Like them she had carried the dream of becoming a chevalier and perhaps even a knight should a knightly order invite her to join, or the King bestow upon her a knightly appointment. Still, to her knights and chevaliers were one in the same. Both had the same skills, abilities, and rights, but with a knight there seemed to be more restrictions, holding to the rules of an order, be they healing like the Knights Hospitaler, or policing the kingdom like the Knights Protectorate. Chevaliers on the other hand served where they were needed most, and that was what she wanted to do.

Arriving at the main hall, Tanwin made her way up stairs and down long hallways to the familiar location of her Uncle’s private office. The door, guarded by two young men in dress uniform, was closed and Tanwin rapped upon it only once before hearing the rich, deep voice of her Uncle’s single-word order, "Come!"

Tanwin stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and waiting directly in front of it to bed summoned in by the man who held the attention of the entire room even as she worked away looking to his papers, and making notes with his quill.

Her uncle, Lord Ioanan Marcan, head of the Citadel of Krak de Chevalier, sat behind a grand and ornately carved desk whose rich wood seemed to glow softly like honey. Years had turned his short-cropped hair gray and white with age, and although time had seasoned his well-worn face, in Tanwin’s eyes he seemed to grow more handsome and nobler with each passing day. He was a big man, with a barrel chest and huge hands that each wield a great-sword as she had seen on more than a few occasions. He was a stern man as well, and frowned often with the rigors and demands of his post. He did far more than just head an academy for future chevaliers and knights. He also provided training for most of the soldiers in the kingdom, as well as kept the Citadel ready as a place of refuge in times of war, the original purpose for which the ancient castle had been built hundreds of years ago.

Standing silently by the door she could not help but notice that seated in the plush, oversized chairs around the desk were several familiar faces of the people most influential in her life, and at that moment she realized that something important going on, and it possibly involved her

Glancing first at Peraduer of the Green, the elven bow-master of the Citadel, she looked to her surrogate father for any sort of clue, but at first only saw the normal calm neutrality on her guardian’s angular face. Then she saw something move across his hazel eyes, a curious kind of upset that gave her a clue. For a moment, a lock of his long red hair strangely out of its normal braids fell into his eyes. As he brushed it away with an idle hand, he shifted about in his chair a little, the fine-tooled leather of his jacket creaking as he crossed one leg over the other and pointed a booted toe at her.

The sign had been made. She was in trouble, and it was for something far beyond some idle mischief. Wondering what it was, she glanced the way of the chevalier she served to see if there were any clues as she stood there in respectful silence.

Chivalier Donigal Hillsfar’s ice-blue eyes rested solely on her uncle, his close-cropped blonde hair, and square jaw making him almost unreadable. The fact that her chevalier had not acknowledged her presence by even looking at her was unsettling, proving the gravity of the situation. Yet she tried to convince herself that he almost always looked this way, his broad shoulders and almost terse demeanor leaving everyone around him to think he was perpetually stiff with unspoken anger, a man no one wanted to cross. Then again, she felt she knew him well, having been around him some thirteen years to get a good measure of the man. No, he was not angry with her, not ignoring her, he was just being himself, which meant he was following military dictates. Of course he would not look to her, her Uncle had yet to acknowledge her presence as he finished up on his writing.

Looking over at the head of her unit for guidance, Tanwin found Leftenant Elsdon of Gosfrey was making no apologies as he stared straight at her, burrowing into her with his piercing dark-brown eyes. Seeing as that he had her attention, he raised his right brow, a sign more of questioning than displeasure as she had learned over the years. It did little to encourage though. She could not miss that he was frowning, and the two deep scars that ran from the corner of his lips nearly to his ears made it look far more severe. Dark-haired and handsome, Tanwin still thought of him as a kind watchful hawk, patient and always ready prepared to guard, to protect, and to guided just as he had seven years previous when the war had come to the Citadel. Now the only difference was the scar an orc had left him, and the almost overly protective demeanor he had towards her. She was beginning to regret that she had even spoken to him last night.

A slight movement out of the corner of her eye drew Tanwin’s attention to a figure on the far side of the room. Mehangle, one of her uncle’s mages, was the youngest of the lot of them at the Citadel, and the most handsome. More often than not he was the talk of the female staff, and she could not blame them. It was hard to not notice his clear-blue eyes, his almost black hair, and the way he carried himself. Although he sported a scar that ran from his upper lip to his nose, it seemed to add to his almost gentle features that made him so pleasing to look upon. He even carried himself as a gentleman, soft-spoken and almost shy, endearing him to women who had seen the harder side of both soldiers and mages. He was so unlike them all. Pulling the cuffs of his sleeves down, she watched as Mihangle tucked each hand into the other, covering them as if to ward off any chill. He glanced shyly up at her before quickly choosing something else in the room to look at, but still she caught his eyes returning to her repeatedly before darting somewhere else. As always, he was almost amusing to watch, a light heart in all this deadly quiet.

Still standing patiently at the door, and awaiting her uncle’s acknowledgment and orders to enter the room, Tanwin let herself turn her head a little to see who else was in the room besides the four men. She almost regretted it in an instant.

Just behind Leftenant Elsdon stood two of Tanwin’s fellow squires from her unit, Carver ap Hugh and Myrig Shreeves, both looking straight ahead and standing at proper military rest.

Even in such a stiff stance, Myrig Shreeves looked content and at ease, comfortable even in an environment that others would call intimidating. His easy-going and patient attitude had made him a good teacher to his fellow students, especially since his talent lay in understanding weapons, a subject he was eager to share. He was not a large man, nor imposing. Although pleasantly muscular without his tunic, in uniform it did not show. Short brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a two-week beard made him look like any other man of the region, plain but sturdy. Tanwin new him to be someone that got the job done, and did it without complaint. It was just how he was.

Carver ap Hugh on the other hand was Tanwin’s curse. A fellow squire she could barely tolerate, there were times it took every ounce of control she had to keep from cracking his skull open for the deep and biting comments he made to her. She had a feeling that his unruly mop of blonde hair would soak up and blow she made, though. The damnable stuff always looked like it needed to be cut, and that it had never met a brush before, but that was not what unnerved her the most. It was his ugly attitude, even now she could see him looking at her from under hooded lids, his brown eyes gleaming in cruel mirth, a smirk playing across his face. She knew Carver well, he was relishing her discomfort, knowing that she was in trouble with her uncle, and would most likely be disciplined, why else would she be left waiting at the door? Still, it was not entirely his cruelty towards her that had hurt her the most, but the fact that she had lost his friendship five years ago and did not know why. When she had turned twelve everything had changed. The boy who had been a best friend since they had met when they were ten had suddenly turned against her. The boy who once made her laugh now tore into her heart, his once welcome smile turning into looks of absolute derision. To make matters worse, he had grown more handsome, and much to her chagrin he had become as much talk of the Citadel staff as the Mihangel now was, and always there were the questions. Carver and Tanwin had been so close when they were young, what had happened that had changed that? Why were they no longer close? She could neither provide an answer then when it had first been asked, nor now while she saw him standing here in her uncle’s office, waiting for what seemed forever.

Across the room Tanwin heard scratching sound of her uncle’s clerk working at his own small table. With ink, quill, and paper, the sound of his writing matched that of her uncle’s for a moment creating an almost mesmerizing sound. For a moment she thought she would fall asleep waiting where she was, then she saw her uncle look up and she was wide awake.

"Come in, child," Lord Marcan said sternly.

Marcan nodded and proceeded. "I have discussed this with your mentors and they all agree that maybe a change of pace is needed. Your studies are all but completed and you were due to transition to the next evolution in your training soon anyway."

Marcan stood and walked to the nearby window. He gazed out across the courtyard, watching the students drilling on the grounds below. He stroked at his beard for a moment, leaving the room to sit in an uncomfortable silence.

"You are to accompany Chivalier Donigal Hillsfar, Carver ap Hugh and Myrig Shreeves on a mission. It is simply a diplomatic mission but one that will give you good experience in diplomacy and politics of court. You are to obey Chivalier Donigal Hillsfar to the letter and any deviation from his instructions will be met with dire consequences when you return. Do you understand?" Marcan turned to stare at Tanwin. It was clear to her that he was absolutely adamant of her loyalty to Chivalier Donigal Hillsfar.

As Tanwin turned to go back to her Uncle’s desk she caught Carver out of the corner of her eye. He was smiled at her, eyes glistening in cruel merriment, as he mouthed the words, "Don’t cry."

The others all filed out, including the clerk, and the door closed leaving just Tanwin and her Uncle. Marcan continued to read for several long moments, peering down the bridge of his nose through a pair of spectacles he had been given by a traveling dignitary from the port city of Abergair. As great and powerful a man as Lord Ioanan Marcan truly was, his vision had always been his one downfall. In fact he rarely even sparred anymore and rumor had it that he no longer had the vision for such things.

Marcan laid the parchment down and looked at Tanwin thoughtfully. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "How long have you been here Tanwin? Twelve, thirteen years perhaps?"

"And in all that time," Marcan continued, "have I not treated you as one of my own?"

"Then why do I hear of these problems from physics and damnable mages!" Marcan roared, shooting upright to pound both fists into the desk before him. Papers and scrolls scattered in all directions and the chair Marcan had been seated in moments before flew from under him and crashed against the far wall. Glaring at her, Marcan’s eyes bore into Tanwin and his face was red with anger. Never had she seen her Uncle loose his temper like this, and she took a cautious step back.

The door behind Tanwin creaked slightly and a young voice asked, "Is everything all right my lord?"

Marcan did not take his eyes off Tanwin, but responded in a stern voice, "You would be wise to close that door squire."

The door promptly shut.

Marcan finally stood to his full height and the desk groaned as his weight was released from it. Slowly her uncle walked around to face Tanwin directly.

"Tanwin," he began soothingly, searching for the right words. "You have been like a daughter to me all these years. If I have been harder on you it is only because I wanted your best."

Marcan reached out and placed his powerful hands on Tanwin’s shoulders. Leaning down a bit, he looked her fully in the eyes. "And you have given me that and then some. You have worked twice as hard for half as much and not a single word of protest. All of your mentors say you are one of their best in ages."

"I let you visit your parents in hopes that you might rekindle some of the bond between you," Marcan says, his voice growing softer with each word. "And yet I come to find that not only was the trip a disaster, but now something new lingers in your mind. Why did you not come to me child? Why would you not bring this directly to me? Something of this nature is not a burden that you should be carrying alone."

Marcan listened to Tanwin intently, never taking his eyes off the young lady. She could see the genuine hurt in his eyes. As if he held a dying soldier in his arms and could do nothing to save him. When Tanwin finished there was silence, neither spoke.

"You poor child," Marcan whispered, barely audible. Reaching out, he took Tanwin in his arms and pulled her close. He hugged her with his powerful arms and patted her hair for some time, saying nothing. It was the most affectionate he knew how to be, especially with Tanwin who had always been an enigma of sorts to him.

"You child have not done poorly at all. I am so proud of you. If ever I have driven you harder than the others it is only because I expected the very best from you…and not once was I disappointed." Marcan let those words linger for a moment.

"I do not wan to see you die young. You are a beautiful young lady and deserve much more. Your parents are cowards for turning a blind eye to you and I shall see to it that they know how I feel." The rage had returned to Marcan’s eyes, only this time focused and controlled. In his eyes his brother was now an enemy and he would be certain to let him know this.

Marcan nodded but it was clear in his eyes that he did not want to agree. "Fine child, I will say nothing to them…for now."

"When your time comes," Marcan said. "I shall be at your side to face this specter which haunts you. I swear to you now, if you go, I go with you." Marcan smiled, a single tear now tracing the lines of his cheek to disappear in his beard. Leaning over, he kissed the young squire on the forehead.

Stepping back, Marcan nodded to the door. "Go ready yourself for your journey. Enjoy this time and learn all you can from it. When it is done, and you return, we will discuss your sabbatical."

Tanwin turned for the door but was held short by Marcan. "Wait child, there was something I wanted to give you." Marcan crossed the room to a cabinet behind his desk and opened it to reveal several weapons hung neatly within a rack. Selecting one, a bastard sword, he returned to Tanwin. He held the weapon affectionately, as if it were a baby almost, and stared at it with a gleam in his eye.

"This was given to me by your great Uncle, Morbirsh Aridian Marcan. He was a great weapons master and wielded this blade single handed." Marcan handed the blade to Tanwin, allowing her to feel the weight. At two and a half times the weight of the swords Tanwin was used to the blade felt terribly heavy. Wielding such a weapon in combat would be tiring indeed.

"It was my first blade. One of the finest swords I have ever wielded in combat. Biggamore’s Dredge, the battle of Critwall, Flight’s landing. It became a good luck piece to me and I took it everywhere with me, even when I did not use it. I want you to carry it with you now. Do not feel you have to learn it, simply carry it to remind you of me."

Marcan hugged Tanwin once more before escorting her to the door. "God speed my dear, I will be here for you anytime you need me. Know this now, from this point on. You are not alone."