"With the Scylding´s Heart" by Mary Lynn E Longsworth

By Mary Lynn E. Turner

Lord Belheris, God of the Silver-Tongue, bid my humble prayer to pass, written as it is in this imperfect hand of mine own and with a quill that threatens to fail me. Blessed have you made your bards, with the gift of song and story, traveling far throughout the lands to please commoner and king alike. Because of you, Mighty Lord, twinned all the other Gods who have deigned to grace me with their divine favor, my name has been given a greatness the likes of which I have only seen of the heroes of old. Oft have I heard my name carried in long bardic lays that flow from great halls, through public houses, and along the steady rows of soldiers’ tents as they wait out the night before battle. I am even told how at the mention of my name, hope comes to the hearts of the lost, and in battle cries of it rally troops and send the enemy fleeing in terror.

Holy Lord, Most Noble Gods, I, Tanwin Scathach, mother, daughter, sister, soldier, and wife, most humbly beg you to bless me with your art, if only for a time. Grant me that I might tell my own tale, of my own life, as I have lived it, in the hopes that those that I love dearly might learn the truth of it all. For I fear I am becoming a legend, and legends have a life of their own with a light that shines so brightly that a person might be lost within it. So I beseech you, let me tell mine own tale.

For those who might read this, I will admit that though I can be a teller of tales in a pinch, I am no bard, and inscribing tales to parchment is another animal completely, one I am not so sure I can tame. So I ask of you this, especially of my own children and husband to whom I devote this work, have patience with me. Have patience and all shall turn out well in the end.

As with all stories and all legends there is a beginning, heroes being born or sallying out into the world to accomplish marvelous tasks and the like. As for me, though, I shall not start there, for there is another tale unto itself and would only belabor an already difficult task such as this. Instead I shall start in a place far more important to me, in a time and with a peoples that I will say made me who I am. I will say now that my tale is thus: I was ten when I encountered my first battle, face-front and full of blood, but I was no neophyte to arms, for raised in the Citadel of the Scylding, though I was not one, I carried the heart of one, and went roaring into the fight without fear, much to the dismay of my elders, most notably my uncle!

Let me start instead at another beginning, one of explanations, for I fear that I must give them as that so much can get muddled in legend. Bards are good people, but in the end they, like everyone else, prefer a good story to what really happened.

When I was but four years of age, the people I called my parents, the Duke and Duchess Cadwalder, decided to put me in the care of my uncle and aunt, the Lord and Lady Marcan. To be polite, I will say that my so-called parents could not contend with me. It was not that I was an ill-mannered child, for I was always seeking their affections and their approval, but it was as if they could not bare to love me nor to care for me as they did their elder son and daughter. While the Duchess could only look upon me coldly, the Duke could hardly look upon me at all, and then only with such an appearance of profound sadness that it looked as if his heart might break. I do not know what was said, but it was an argument in the night between my them settled my fate, and in the gloaming of the next morning I was whisked away to the Citadel of the Scylding some days away.

I will be as brief as I can be in regards to the Citadel as that there are no doubt a number of tomes written on its purpose and history already, although hopefully I will not be as dry.

The Citadel of the Scylding was originally built as Havenold Castle in the western Wulfingum Mountains to serve as a place of refuge in times of war, as well as a storehouse for arms and a reserve of soldiery. After a time the soldiery became renown for their skills, even surpassing the knightly orders of the kingdom, and soon a military college was formed, the Citadel of the Scylding, and its graduates are given the title Scyld. I would like to note that the only difference between the Scylding and other knightly orders is that while the knights may serve a god or a noble, Scylding serve only the kingdom of Lleogyr and pledge their alliance to no other. For well over five hundred years it has been thus, and even today the Citadel and it’s surrounding town still serve it’s original purpose, and that is where I will finally start my story.

It was early in the winter of my tenth year when the rumors of war had reached the Citadel. For nearly half a century the Merovingas in the north had been trying to invade Lleogyr and its neighbors, led by their dark god, Cwome. They had been bent for conquest, but had been repeatedly fended off, and a wary eye was kept on their borders for their next attempt. It had been quiet for some years, though, as if they had been biding their time, and indeed they had. Heldan, our neighbor to the west, had been overrun and it was only a matter of time before the Merovingas would attempt to make their way east. With the Citadel guarding one of the mountain passes, we had no doubt they would head our way, and neither did King Vortigern. By the end of the winter all the Scyldings had returned to the Citadel from throughout the kingdom, and it was not long before more reinforcements were to come. By the time the first lords had come with their troops, along with the first of the refugees, we had already prepared the city and castle for siege, and kept watch over the wide river valley below.

I will not give a list of all the lords with all their troops to arrive to our defense, that can be found in the history books, but I will make note of one in particular, not because of who he was, but because of who was traveling with him.

As with all the pomp and circumstance that happens with the arrival of nobles in full military regalia, my cousin, Saorla, and I had made it a habit to join the rest of the inhabitants of the Citadel to watch every entry parade that came in. Although colorful, and a rather loud (some lords seemed to have more drummers than soldiers), I have to admit on the whole I was rather disappointed, but only because being raised among the Scyldings, none could best our soldiery, a bias which I still hold to this day.

It was early afternoon when Lord Dunegalan had approached with his troops, and at four years my senior, Saorla had once again dragged me from my perch in the tallest garden tree to go watch their arrival from the gate into the heart of the keep itself. I remember how sullen I was as I watched the soldiers and the knights parade in. The sound of the drums echoing off the walls and towers carved from the mountain itself was nearly making me deaf. My cousin had chided me on looking unladylike, while my best friend, Bran, watched in uncharacteristic silence as the soldiers moved through the gate below us. A wave of my own sadness washed over me, keeping me from arguing with Saorla as I glanced at Bran. War was coming, and his father was one of the Scyldings, and Scyldings never held back from a battle.

"That’s General Hugh ap Dafyth," Saorla continued in her litany of names of who was who, what their standard was, and why. She may have been schooling to be a healer to follow in the ways of my Aunt Aragwen, but she had an obsessive streak when it came to knowing nobility, and with all the arrivals, it was becoming maddening.

"Yeah, well, who’s that!" I growled, pointing down at the rather small person in new chainmail armor riding next to him.

"Tanwin, don’t be rude. Remember, you’re the niece to Lord Ioanan Marcan, and like me you represent the Citadel to the outside world."

I would have grumbled something back, churlish as I was at being confined within the walls of the Citadel (everyone may marvel at how massive it is, but to a girl who enjoyed playing on the mountain-side and in the valley, it was terribly small), but my attention was instead held completely by whomever it was riding beside General Dafyth. At first I wondered if perhaps the fellow was one of the mountain folk that some outsiders call dwarves, but he neither had the broad girth, nor any beard that I could see. He was too small to be the forest folk, the people some call elves, and I was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t something completely else. Here at the Citadel we had more than a few of the mountain folk in residence as teachers, craftsmen, and even a few Scyldings. Forest folk were a bit more rare though, and only a couple I knew lived at the Citadel, purely as teachers, one of whom was my assigned, and beloved guardian.

"Maybe he’s one of those halfling folk that I’ve heard of," I muttered, watching the horse grow closer, and trying to notice that the person I was staring at was staring back. Even from here I could see his sharp brown eyes. "You know, little people."

"That’s Carver ap Hugh, you dolt," Saorla was obviously growing tired of me, as she was want to do being that at her age she had already entered womanhood and I was still a child. "He’s the general’s son, and he’s ten-years-old. Father says he’s going to be admitted into the Scylding academy and start out as a page like all the others."

I glared down at the boy in armor who by now was glaring back up at me even as he started to ride beneath the main gate. I watched unblinking as the coif of his new armor slid from his head, revealing a mop of wild dark-blonde curls. How I hated him! My husband may laugh to read this, but seeing this boy in new armor riding into the Citadel to be admitted to the academy had struck such a pang of jealousy the likes of which perhaps he never knew. Other boys had indeed come to the Citadel over the years to start out their lives first as pages in their boyhood, then as squires in their teens, seeking to become gifted with the title and rights of a Scyld when they were in their twenties. Young and old, I had known them all, but this one, this one snot-nosed little brat in the shiny new chainmail had gotten my ire up! Never in my life had I seen a page show up in armor, let alone new armor, and bold enough to stare me straight in the eye and not stop staring. Even on the other side of the gate, as I watched him pass into the main courtyard to meet with my Lord-uncle and the Scyldings, he continued to stare back at me over his shoulder.

"You’re just upset about there not being any girls in the academy, Tan," Bran would later tell me as we dined in the common hall with all the other children that had been brought into the Citadel proper for safety.

"No I’m not," I lied, acutely aware that thus far there had never been a female Scylding.

"No girl’s been submitted to the academy so far," he said around a mouthful of bread.

"You mean no girl’s been accepted," I stabbed at a pea with my knife only to watch the green bead fly into my flagon for my troubles.

"No, I mean that no girl has asked for admission."

"I can’t imagine why."

Down at the end of the table one of the kitchen women aided by a couple of pages were tending to the younger of the children. The boy I had seen earlier, Carver, moved past them, only to pause and sweetly ask one of the women for a basket of bread which she happily gave him. No longer in armor, he was now dressed in a finery the likes of which I had only seen in court costume, angelic and perfect in his appearance, the son every parent would have wanted. If he had been closer I would have slapped the smirk from his face when he saw me and ambled back out of the hall with the attitude of the arrogant.

I would have to wait almost two weeks before I could do what I most desired on the field of opportunity, and a true field it was. Outside the Citadel the first skirmishes had begun, but in the heart of the Citadel, in the large castle proper, we children were allowed to play as we liked under the watchful eye of the elder pages, a few squires, and some of the adults who could do nothing else; in the Citadel whole, both city and castle, all served as they could in the times of need, ours was one of only two cities with our own militia as well as army.

Daneball is a favored sport among those of the Citadel, and of Lleogyr as a whole. Played by two teams, the field can be as large as necessary, and the teams as large as desired, with one goal post on either side of the field. Each team has a Quick armed with a padded representation of a dagger, and two Friends who stand a little ways behind the quick armed usually with a padded sword and shield. As for the rest of the team, they can be armed with whatever padded weapon or shield they wish, but until the game begins, they must remain at the goal post they are supposed to be protecting. The goal of the game is of course to get the ball to the opposite end of the field and tag the post to score a point. There are a couple of clinchers to this, though. Only the Quicks can touch or carry the ball, and while the rest of the team is trying to defend them, they are also trying to keep the opposing team from scoring, usually by "killing" the other quick by tagging them with a padded weapon. If both Quicks "die" then the game is at a draw and a new game begins. It’s a bit like a semi-organized field-battle, but with us youngsters it pretty much turns into a controlled moving mob. Just the way I like it!

"Daneball game!" Heldain shouted as he trotted into the garden where most of us were playing, talking, or watching over the little ones. "Who’s up for a daneball game?" he laughed, tossing the ball sky-ward and catching the big thing in one hand. As one of the larger, older pages, he was on the cusp of being chosen as a squire, but for now he was a fun kind of big-brother, and the instigator for most of our exciting group games.

I leapt to my feat, eager for a game, joining the throng that either wanted to watch or join in.

"Why don’t you go play with your dolls, little girl?" Carver said snidely, suddenly stepping into my path.

"Get out of my way!" I snarled, trying to push past.

"Why don’t you make me."

I gave him a gentle shove to just get him out of my way, only to find him shoving me back a few steps. Angered, I pushed him harder, only to find myself being pushed back hard enough in turn to set me on my rump. I glared up at him.

"What are you going to do, little girl, cry?"

"No," I said through gritted teeth as I started to get up. "I’m going to hand you your head."

"Tanwin, he’s just trying to get you angry," the unshakably calm Bran said at my shoulder. I had known him since I had arrived at the Citadel, and as children of the same age, we had become fast friends and the proverbial bookends. He had never once gotten me into trouble, and never once led me astray.

"Yes, listen to him, listen to your friend. He’s a boy" Carver goaded with another one of his infuriating smirks.

"Tan, you’re my Quick, got it?" Heldain interrupted, taking me by the shoulder and leading me to the field like a guardian brother he tried to be.

I have been reminded on occasion that I am not only rather stubborn, but apparently I have a bit of a temper, and as my husband likes to bring up on occasion when I am worrying over our own children, it was apparently far worse when I was younger.

I will concede here and now that remembering back on this, it is indeed the truth, as a child I had just a little bit of a bad temper, and in that daneball game, Carver got the worst of it. Heldain had chosen me to be the Quick on his team because I was small and fast, as opposed to the skinny runt that a couple of the kitchen-women chided me as being while they handed me sweetrolls aplenty. That day I did not disappoint him, although after a time he as well as the other team captain began to realize something was a bit amiss. It seemed that every time I had gotten my hands on the ball, I kept heading straight for Carver and either barreling over him myself or letting one of my "Friends" do it for me as they fought to keep up. I will admit that no matter where he was standing on the field, I was headed straight for him, deliberately running him over, running him down, or just plain kicking him in the shins to before knocking him over. Daneball is not a game for delicate flowers, and although I can already imagine my dear husband laughing to read this, I indeed had my sights on teaching the snot-nosed boy a lesson. Unfortunately for me, the teaching session didn’t last for long as that the captains decided to put him on my team for the rest of the game, but something rather interesting did happen. Cedric, who was playing one of the "Friends" had gotten wolloped a little too hard and decided to sit out to rest of the game. I don’t know what was in Heldain’s head, but he put Carver in the empty spot, and from then on our side kept winning. Carver had turned into the best "Friend" I had ever had on the field, and a perfect shield-man. By the end of the game I was wondering if I had been wrong about him, and by dinner we were comparing bruises and trading strategies.

Later that night, when all had gone to sleep, and even Bran had gotten tired of my storytelling and was snoring away in the large common room with the rest of the children, I made my way back to my private room in my uncle’s wing of the castle proper.

"Psst!"

At first I wasn’t sure where the sound was coming from.

"Hey, you, little girl," the brisk whisper made me turn to find Carver standing just outside of the doorway to the common room.

"I’m not a little girl." The need for sleep had made me surly.

"Well then I guess you need to tell me your name then so I can call you something else."

"It’s Tanwin Scathach, if you really need to know Carver ap Hugh."

Even in the half-darkness of the torch-lit halls Carver’s eyes sparkled brightly as he made a sweeping bow. "My lady," he smiled broadly. "If I may, perhaps I might show you a bit of a trick I have."

I raised my eyebrow at this.

"Wouldn’t you like a sweet-roll before retiring for the night? The cooks are already preparing them for the morning."

Sure enough, as I watched from the shadows as he blatantly walked into the kitchen, smiled his most angelic smile at one of the cooks, said something, and was rewarded with two sweet-rolls of which one he presented to me with another bow when he returned to the hall. He had done what few if any of the pages, squires, or scylding had ever done. He had gotten a cook to part with food before the meal was served. I was impressed.

Darkness and sadness descended soon enough even in the haven of the castle proper. The skirmishes had turned into a full-fledged siege, and we knew it was only a matter of time before the Merovingians would get their larger siege engines through the pass. For now they had us sealed within the city walls, and while the fields were still too wet with spring growth to burn, it did not mean that they had no other way of making our lives miserable. Fiery arrows and small catapults were the least of our worries.

One morning as I looked out my window and gathered myself for yet another boring day. I wished for the millionth time my guardian, Peraduer, could be with me, teaching me, playing with me, singing to me in elven to calm my fears, and aiding me in practicing the bow and wooden sword. I so wanted to feel that I was doing something to help my uncle and the people I had grown up knowing and loving as one large family.

I could only shudder as I watched from my high window as more than a hundred Scyldings stood in silent formation on the inner practice fields, fields I had played on only the day before. Fully armored, I saw only the color of gray with the familiar red and cold crest of the Citadel emblazoned on their left shoulder plates. Each face I could see I recognized: Scyld Donigal Hillsfar, Scyld Maelogan Cadwalader, and countless others I had been raised around. There were none there whose names I did not know like my family, only because they had become my family, as had everyone in the castle itself. Page, squire, scyld, forge-master, cook, I knew them all, and at the front of the Scyldings sat my uncle, and beside him my guardian Peraduer of the Green.

At first I thought it some horrible dream, some nightmare come to haunt me as I heard Uncle Ioanan Marcan call the orders. As one the Scyldings put their helms upon their heads, unsheathed their swords, and charged from the field, straight for the castle gates, and the city beyond. Although I could not see them, I could hear the thunder of the hooves, and imagine them riding through the six city gates, charging out of the seventh and onto the field of battle. My world was shattering, being destroyed by an outside force I could do nothing about, and while the people I cared about most were dying, I was being hidden away like the child I was.

Although I do not remember it, I have been told of it. That when Bran and Carver with their uneasy truce came to find me for breakfast, they found instead a couple of the castle guard and my Aunt Aragwen trying desperately to unlock the door as a shrill scream erupted unending from my room.

When the door was finally open it was said that I was found in my bed with my dagger and my bow in my lap, and blood on my hands as I rocked back and forth sobbing and screaming. The window had been broken, and my aunt being the healer she was, recognized easily that I had put my hands through the glass. I had pounded at the thick window so hard that I had broken it with the palms of my hands.

I do remember sitting in the large infirmary of the castle proper eating a bit of bread as I sat on the edge of a cot, wondering why my hands tingled so. I remember saying something about it to my aunt, who was sitting beside me, but I don’t recall her answer. All I know is that was when I heard the shouting in the hall growing closer, and a rushing of heavy footsteps my aunt was off to meet whomever was coming. That was when I saw Scyld Paelan Godswin, Bran’s father, covered in blood and gore with most of his armor gone being carried in on a stretcher, and he was only the first. From there the world became a haze of red confusion as I made room and tried to keep out of the way. Looking back, I know I was in shock as I wandered back and forth in the hall outside of the infirmary door, praying out loud to whatever gods would hear me that all the Scylding would live, that no one would die, and my home as I knew it would be back again, unchanged. Bran stood in pale silence against the wall opposite the infirmary door as Carver tried to quietly comfort us both as best he could. Eventually, he convinced Bran to come with him to at least get something to eat, but I wouldn’t go. This was my family, I thought, and I had to watch over them, praying with all my might to ensure their safety.

It was after they had gone that it happened.

Standing where I was, a frenetic calmness in a sea of controlled chaos, I had heard a scream, a familiar scream, and the sobbing of a breaking heart. Out of the infirmary Bran’s mother, Teagan, was being escorted, clutching what I assumed to be her husband’s sword to her chest. Two of the healers were trying to calm her, but I knew the truth even if they weren’t saying it. Scyld Godswin was going to die, if he wasn’t dead already, and there was nothing Lady Godswin could do about it. The war had shattered her world.

A shout for help and the arrival of more mangled Scylding summoned the healers away. I dared not look at them as they passed, but only watched Lady Godswin for fear that I too would break.

There is a kind of madness that takes some people when a loved-one dies. It is a madness of action, of violence, of revenge, and protection. It is a hate, a fury, a kind of berserker rage, and watching Lady Godswin, I was bearing witness to it. In a moment she was off, striding down the hall with such a mad speed I was racing to keep up. Out onto the castle grounds she went, out through the castle gates, and through each consecutive city gate. We seemed to be ghosts to everyone, as no one stopped the raging lady as she passed, nor the young girl running to keep up. To my horror, they never even looked our way.

The last of the gates, the one that leads down to the river valley, had been left open but securely guarded, allowing for the wounded to be returned from the battle below. Unfortunately, one of the enemy cavalry had slipped past, and rode up towards the Citadel with amazing speed.

All I could do was helplessly run after Lady Godswin, screaming her name as she charged the mounted horseman with sword ready for the killing swing. His was the strike that got in first, though, and as I watched my best friend’s mother, a potter known for her skill and art, drop like a boneless doll with her life struck from her, the rider went past me, leaving me unharmed.

Scyld Donigal Hillsfar made quick work of the man, though, running him through as he charged in unseen from the side. He also made quick work of me, as he grabbed me by the back of my tunic and hoisted me over the cropper of his saddle. I was all I could do not to retch as we went back through the city, although there was little but bread to regurgitate. I had seen war, I had seen death, and I had seen it all touch the people I most cared about.

"Why?" I asked weakly, barely able to breathe let alone speak. "Why Scyld Hillsfar?"

"It’s for your own safety, Tanwin," he replied brusquely as we reached the castle proper and he pulled me from the saddle as he dismounted and dragged me into the keep itself. "You are a child and you are not supposed to be out on the field of battle let alone close to it."

"But I can fight," I protested weakly, looking up at the man I considered second in greatness only to my uncle. "I know how to use a bow. I could shoot from the walls."

The change of light we entered the keep for a moment created a halo above the cropped blonde hair of the scylding’s head. He frowned hard as he made his way up the stairs, his hard blue eyes flashing in a way I had never seen before. It was not anger. It was something else.

"No, Tanwin," he answered firmly. "You’re too young."

"But I’ve learned how to use a bow since I was four. I’m ten seasons old now. I know how to fight. Please, I must go," I felt my voice growing stronger.

Hillsfar did not reply. He continued to walk, pausing only long enough to pick me up in his arms and carry me bodily towards what I knew to be the children’s common area.

"I can fight," I insisted, feeling a sudden surge of determination. I had to do something, something to protect my family. "I can use my bow and I can fight."

"Are you so eager to die, Tanwin Scathach?" Hillsfar growled so vehemently that I actually cringed. "I thought you would have learned by now after your little foray! After what you saw! Lest I remind you Tanwin Scathach, you are a ten-year-old girl, a child, and as such you are to stay as far away from battle as possible. You are to stay with the other children, and in case you do not understand, we are trying to keep you safe!"

I could say nothing as Scyld Hillsfar deposited me at the door of the children’s common room. I stared in at all the little ones playing, oblivious or ignoring the world around them beyond that room. They were innocent, they did not know, they had not seen, they had not grown up within the walls of the Citadel of the Scylding.

"I have to fight," I announced, turning on my heel to face the behemoth of a man Hillsfar was.

"Don’t!" he pointed a gloved finger sharply at me, pinning me in place. "As niece to Lord Marcan there are certain things expected of you, and one of them is to behave and follow orders. Now be quiet."

"But I can’t," I protested as Hillsfar turned to go, just as quickly turning back.

"What has gotten into you, child?" he demanded. "Do you think this siege is some kind of game, your playground to play in?"

"No," I replied truthfully.

"Then stay here."

"But I can’t!"

"Tanwin Scathach, I am a scyld, and as a scyld I am expected to be at the city walls right now fighting. Instead of taking on the enemy in combat, I am here arguing with an obstinate child. I expected more of you. Now behave! I will have no more of it!"

"But it’s my fault," I cried out as Hillsfar turned his back on me to go. "It’s my fault she died! It’s all my fault! If I’d had my bow I could have saved her. I could have saved her!"

Hillsfar looked at me, the brilliance gone from his ice-blue eyes. "Tanwin," his voice was soft, "you could not have saved Lady Godswin. If you had had your bow, then you would have been a target too. They would have killed you as well. Because you were unarmed, they saw you only as a girl-child, and so they let you live."

"But I know how to fight," I could feel the tears slipping down my cheeks. "I have to fight. Everyone with a weapon and training is expected to be at the city wall, expected to fight."

"Tanwin, you are ten years old, be reasonable!" the growl was starting to return to Hillsfar’s voice. "You’re too young! All the other children of the town have been safely tucked out of harms way in the Citadel, and so you should be too."

"But it’s my home too!" I nearly shouted. "It’s my duty to protect my home, to protect my people, to serve the kingdom!"

Hillsfar smiled without merriment. "You are not a scyld, you are a child."

"Then why did you let Lady Godswin fight!" I screamed more to the world at large and to myself than to him. "Why did you let her die! If I had had my bow I could have protected her! But which is worse, not being able to protect those who cannot fight, or letting those who cannot fight into the battle, and getting them killed! She was a potter and an artist, not a warrior!"

Silence.

I could feel my body trembling even as I dared to look at Scyld Hillsfar again. A painful kind of understanding seemed to flick behind his eyes.

"Lady Godswin made her own decision to take up arms, it was regretful," he said quietly.

"She took up her husband’s sword because he died! She took up Scyld Godswin’s sword because she had her family to protect."

"She was mad with grief."

"Was she mad because she went to do what she felt she had to do, that she had to fight to protect her family and her city? Am I mad because I want to do the same? Are you mad because as a chevalier it’s your oath to do exactly what Lady Godswin sought to do, to protect the people around her, especially those she loved?" In silence at the back of my mind I was thanking my tutors for learning how to argue with eloquence even at such a young age. Just because I had not been accepted into the Scylding academy did not mean that I could not learn at least a part of what the pages did.

Hillsfar was quiet.

"I am Duke Cadwalder’s daughter, and Lord Marcan’s neice. I understand there are certain things that are expected of me. One of them is to protect my own people, those of this city, and those that I love and care about. I know how to use a bow. I must fight."

"What is it that you really want, Tanwin?" asked the scyld wearily.

"I don’t want you to die. I don’t want my uncle to die, nor Peraduer, nor anyone else." I replied. "I don’t want anyone to die, save for the enemy that would kill us all. I want to be like you. I want to be a Scyld. I want to protect the people who cannot fight, like Lady Godswin."

Removing his gauntlets and placing his right hand gently atop my head, Hillsfar smiled wanly.

"They say that those with red hair are notorious for their tempers, but I think they’re wrong," he said as he gently tousled my flat locks. "Perhaps it is not temper, but spirit. Aim that spirit true, Tanwin, and you’ll have all that you need in your life. Aim that spirit true, and I can see you becoming the first woman scyld ever to ride from the Citadel."

Turning once again to go, Hillsfar paused a moment before adding, "Until then, Tanwin Scathach, you are no more than a girl-child, and here you will stay until your uncle or your guardian comes for you. Be strong, Tanwin, and pray for all of us."

In a moment he was gone, leaving me staring after him in silence, feeling unheard but not un-cared for, and resolved to do something.

"Bran’s in the chapel with his father," Carver said quietly as I found him sitting on the corner of my bed in my room. "He said he wanted to be alone. I don’t know what happened to his mother, they said she just ran off"

I pursed my lips, fighting back the threatening tears as I belted on my dagger, and picked up my bow and quiver of arrows. "Lady Godswin is dead," I said. "She went to take on the enemy in Scyld Godswin’s place and barely got out of the main city gate."

Carver was silent, and I didn’t dare to look at him as I adjusted the quiver on my back.

"And what are you doing?" he finally asked after a moment.

"I’m going to do what Lady Godswin couldn’t," I replied firmly. I would leave no room for argument here.

"And what is that?"

I could feel the fire in my chest, tightness in my jaw, strength in my legs and arms I had never known before. "I’m going to kill those that would kill my family. I am going to kill the Merovingas the best way I know how, with my bow, and from the city walls."

"Your mad," his brown eyes were wide.

"No, I’m enraged," I corrected him. "Now are you going to help me, or do I need to worry about slipping through the city myself. I got through once, now that they’ve seen me and know what’s happened, I don’t think the guards are going to let me through again on my own volition."

"Just like daneball, huh?"

"Just like daneball," I nodded.

"Then let’s go!"

I don’t know how he did it, but Carver was true to his word, and as on the daneball field, he had gotten me through the city and to the city walls without incident, and without anyone noticing me. At the steps to the battlements by the main gate, it was another matter though.

"They spotted me," Carver shoved me up the steps. "I’ll lead them off! Just go! Do it!"

Scrambling up the wooden stares on my hands and feet, I felt my legs and arms go wobbly and my stomach synch up in fear. For a moment I was wondering what in the great heavens had gotten me here, what crazy, childish notion I had as I watched the flurry of activity on the battlement walkway. None had seen me, their attention was out onto the field, and by the sound of it our soldiers were hurrying back in through the city gate even as the Merovingians were reaching the walls. Archers were pulling back on their bowstrings and letting loose as fast as they could while others were preparing the catapults, pots of boiling oil, and other weapons of war.

Feeling the bow in my hand I knew it was time. I was no longer a child. I may not have been a scyld, but like the fellow inhabitants of castle and town, I was not about to let the enemy take what was mine. Still unnoticed by those around me, I found an open space at the battlement and took my place in it, knocking my first arrow and preparing to take aim.

I will be truthful and say that when I first laid eyes on the field I nearly lost both my arrow and my nerve. I thought I had seen blood and death in the infirmary and with the loss of Lady Godswin, but it was nothing compared to the carnage I saw now on the ground below. I could not believe it, all the dead, but who I could not tell. Then I spotted my uncle’s shield laying discarded in the mud and my world changed forever as I let loose my first arrow in combat and watched it lodge into a Merovingian’s throat. Power and the feeling of righteousness surged through my veins as I watched the man clutching helplessly at his throat and then fall over dead. I had taken a life to save my people, and I was determined to save more.

I was no helpless child!

My second arrow penetrated a Merovingian breastplate, my third only struck a soft leg, but someone else finished that one off.

Something flashed in front of me, past me, but I paid it no mind as I knocked my fourth arrow, took aim and let loose into a Merovingian’s arm. I was growing frustrated that my aim had not constantly killed a man with each shot, and I told myself I would make time for more practice later.

It was after I let loose my fifth arrow and was watching the results that I realized that a siege ladder had been hooked into the battlement wall right in front of me. As I knocked my sixth arrow I saw an armored shadow rise above me, and as I looked up to take aim I stared directly into the eyes of my enemy, and my rage knew no bounds. Even as he smiled at me, I wondered if the thought he saw only a child with a toy bow, a little nothing girl pampered and preened in the houses of lords and dukes, a little girl whose only worth in age was for a contract marriage to bind two powerful houses together.

The Merovingian waived his sword in the air playfully, smiling and laughing.

My sixth arrow went into his left eye, and when he slowly toppled over onto the battlement, I had time to not only step out of the way, but pull out my dagger. I ended his pitiful wails by ramming my dagger into his heart and twisting, engorged on the hate and the power that moved me.

"I am no child," I heard myself shout, and then I felt the hands grabbing at me, pulling my dagger and bow from my hands and lifting me off of my feet.

Terror and rage had me shrieking at the top of my lungs for help as I found myself being carried from the battlements. The enemy had taken me, alive, thought me a child, and now this.

"Tanwin," I heard a familiar voice cry out and I craned my head to see my guardian, Peraduer, upon a horse, arms open and receiving and they received me pulling me up to sit in the saddle before him.

As we rode off back towards the castle, I saw the faces of people I knew looking worried, looking proud, looking haggard, but all looking hopeful. These were the people who had carried me from the battlement away from harm into the arms of someone I considered my second father.

"Scyld Scathach!" I heard someone shout, but Peraduer said nothing as we rode on into the heart of the city and then into the heart of the Citadel itself.

"Down," he said gently, offering me a hand after dismounting first. I gratefully took, sliding from the saddle only to find my legs hardly under me.

"My uncle," I gasped, fearful, terrified to the core.

Green eyes smiled gently, knowingly under dark brows. "You saw his shield," he nodded. "Have no fear, he only dropped it when he was forced to wield a second sword. He is safe. You would have heard him calling orders to the archers to pull back from your position had you been listening."

I could feel the heat of a blush coming on, the bane of fair skin.

"Did he see?" I asked hoarsely, my eyes cast to the ground.

"Yes, he did," I heard my uncle reply. Apparently he had ridden ahead of us and was waiting, though I could not bare to look up at him. Though a wonderful and warm man, he was a terror to me in his anger, not for fear of violence, but for fear that I had failed him.

"I see you did not change your mind, Tanwin," I heard Hillsfar add. "I am disappointed in you."

"Well," my uncle said tersely, "what do you have to say for yourself, young lady?"

My head snapped up and all the tears that I had held back for so long turned traitor on me and burst forth. "I am no little girl," I said so firmly I thought that even the gods believed it. "I may not be a Scyld, I may not be a woman yet, but I sure as the heavens will protect my family and the people of this city. Lady Godswin may not have known how to fight, but I do, and I will!"

"Indeed?" was all my uncle said, looking at me with that calm gaze that told me he was thinking, calculating, assessing, and planning what he was going to do with me next. "And so you have chosen to put yourself and others at risk by placing yourself with your bow on the battlements and taking potshots at the enemy?"

"I was aiming, sir," I replied, unwilling to yield my ground. What I had done was right, and I knew it to the marrow of my bones.

"So you were," he nodded. "So you were, but were you thinking of those around you? Were you thinking of yourself, or were you just thinking of revenge for the Godswin’s deaths?"

"I was thinking of killing the enemy, sir," I said in quiet truthfulness as I came to realize what I had done. "I was thinking of revenge."

"Well, Page Scathach, until such time as you learn the ways of organized combat, I would advise you to remain here at the castle and to move your things into the dorms. Leftenant Elsdon of Gosfrey will come to collect you at your room, but I will add that you are on probation." My uncle held up a warning finger. "Every six months I will be receiving evaluations from your teachers and trainers, and I expect them to be exemplary. If they are not up to standards, then I shall pull you from the academy without so much as a second thought. Am I understood."

"Yes, sir," I nodded, completely caught off guard by what my uncle was implying, as well as his calm demeanor. Frankly, at that moment I was confused, and apparently he saw it.

"Tanwin," he placed his large hands on my shoulders, "I know you are young, and you are strong, and you are very capable, as well as rather brash. But your heart and your ideas are in the right place. I know why you did what you did, and it was far more than revenge. No, your are not a little girl, you are a girl with the heart of a scyld and with your drive I have no doubt you will attain that title, but for now we must teach you how to aim your energies, teach you how a real battle is fought. Daneball may be a fun game, but it is lousy for the strategies of large groups in combat."

The siege at the Citadel was a brief one as I later learned, lasting only a couple of weeks as compared to the months and even years other fortified cities had faced. Attrition had caused the enemy to finally flee as death came to them in a three-fold fashion. It was not just those of the Citadel that culled their hideous ranks. Winter winds had come late that year, bringing a killing cold in the night to those caught unprepared. I believe in the end, though, it was the wolves that convinced the remains of the army to leave. Although none in the Citadel had seen anything more than a rare large shadow the size of a horse in the gloaming before sunset or sunrise, we had all heard their howls to the hunt followed by the screams of the confused and dying. In the morning we could see their handiwork and carnage though, and the huge paw prints they left behind.

It was not long thereafter that a herald came from the king announcing the end of the war. He declared no victory, as I remember, only a cessation to the war. The Merovingian armies had left the lands, leaving the kingdom completely, not caring of the dead they left behind. We had survived, those who had lived counted their blessings as they gathered together once again, but we mourned those that we lost.

As for Carver ap Hugh, Bran Godswin, and myself, well, those are other tales for other times when Lord Belheris grants me blessings again. For now, I can only thank Him, and the other Gods who have looked upon me with favor, and finally finish this tale of mine.