A Tale of Peretalia
“Far south on the great continent, there is a region split into many
petty realms. These realms were once each guarded by a knightly order,
all possessing empowered weapons and armour. But by the time this story
is set, most of these artifacts have been lost, or stolen; and few
remain in the realms built around them.
One of these realms, however, is an exception. In the republic of Peretalia there is a great iron tower, known as the Thorn Tower. Within it, a dozen knights of the thorn – those still armed with the ancient, empowered weapons they were gifted – live, and master the art of combat. But the true strength of Peretalia lies not in the Tower, but in the Petal Garden that surrounds it. Within the Garden, an order of lady knights lives, each granted power, armour and arms by the giant, imbued flowers within.
The Petal Garden has not withered in time, nor has it been burnt, nor stolen. With great care, and constant attention, the passage of time has allowed it to grow. Where once there was only a handful – perhaps twenty – Petal Knights, there are now almost three hundred. They have long since taken over the duty of the Thorn Knights in protecting Peretalia, and have kept the land safe and stable.
Peretalia has not expanded with time, however, and remains much as it was (excluding the secession of the Black Forest into the Inheritor Empire twenty years ago). If one could examine the entire history of Peretalia, it may seem a stagnant realm; but as its neighbours have risen and fallen, again and again, it has remained constantly prosperous.
One of these realms, however, is an exception. In the republic of Peretalia there is a great iron tower, known as the Thorn Tower. Within it, a dozen knights of the thorn – those still armed with the ancient, empowered weapons they were gifted – live, and master the art of combat. But the true strength of Peretalia lies not in the Tower, but in the Petal Garden that surrounds it. Within the Garden, an order of lady knights lives, each granted power, armour and arms by the giant, imbued flowers within.
The Petal Garden has not withered in time, nor has it been burnt, nor stolen. With great care, and constant attention, the passage of time has allowed it to grow. Where once there was only a handful – perhaps twenty – Petal Knights, there are now almost three hundred. They have long since taken over the duty of the Thorn Knights in protecting Peretalia, and have kept the land safe and stable.
Peretalia has not expanded with time, however, and remains much as it was (excluding the secession of the Black Forest into the Inheritor Empire twenty years ago). If one could examine the entire history of Peretalia, it may seem a stagnant realm; but as its neighbours have risen and fallen, again and again, it has remained constantly prosperous.
“In a field in Peretalia, a woman tills the soil of her family’s small garden. Though they are town folk – living in one of the many towns that dot Peretalia – they have a plot of land, and they grow vegetables upon it to supplement their diet, and their income. Her father is a basket weaver, weaving from straw (and sometimes supple wood) various containers for local use. Her mother keeps the house, delivers and takes orders, and keeps an eye on her children.
The eldest two – twenty-four and twenty-two years of age – have long since left, one apprenticed to the local tanner, the other married to the butcher’s son. The eldest of those younger than the woman is her father’s apprentice, and the younger two – fourteen and twelve years old – help where they can. But the woman, twenty years of age, has no craft, and no hope of marriage.
Once she was a clothmaker’s apprentice, but the old woman died before she could learn much of the craft, and the man who moved to town to replace her had no need of an apprentice. And the woman had no hope of marriage; for she had been the victim of a cruel attack when younger, that left her unable to bear child. Her parents despair for her; their plans for her life are in tatters, and they see no future but that of a useless spinster.
But the woman is not troubled. The attack in her youth left her strong-willed, not weak, and she bears the scar that serves as her right brow with pride. I’ll deal with it as I come to it, she thinks to herself, sinking the hoe into the ground once more. Her name is Refenne, and though she does not know it yet, there is hope to come.”
Refenne set the pen down, pushed the parchment aside and laid her head on her desk with a sigh. If only it was that certain that good things would happen, she thought. Her situation was just as she had written – but at the moment, she was not tilling the field. She was practicing her writing, to ensure her application to join the Petal Knights would be as good as possible. That was her only hope, really. To become one of the protectors of the realm. There was honour, glory, praise, and various other things she didn’t really care for. What mattered was that she would have a life to live, instead of being trapped without any purpose.
She raised her head, and shook it. Time to write my application, she thought. There are eleven – a record number! – new recruits required this season, and my chances are the best they will be in my lifetime. The season before, only three flowers had been ready; and she had been told by the recruiter (not a Petal Knight, but one of the garden assistants) that at most two would flower the next season. She clutched the desk tightly, took two deep breaths, and began writing.
One
month later, another recruiter came through town. They examined her,
and put her through some exercises, before leaving. A month after that, a
rejection letter came in the mail, along with an apology. They would
not accept those unable to bear children into the Petal Knights. Of course, since they rely on the bloody descendants of their retirees to help fund them, Refenne thought to herself, staring at the letter.
She tossed the letter across her desk, and started to cry. Fucking recruiter even said I was tough enough to be a fucking knight anyway, she thought, sobbing. Asshole bitches thinking with their fucking wallets, ah. She cried for hours, and then lay upon her bed, trying – and failing – to find another way.
Eventually, late at night, she felt a tug in her mind. She was half asleep, and couldn’t really understand, but it felt like… Hope? She rose from her bed, and crept from her bedroom to the cobbled street outside. It was… Weird. She could feel something leading her along the street, and as she walked it grew stronger, and stronger. Her dreams started to go through her mind, her desire to become a Petal Knight, her hope to do something great with her life…
She barely noticed as she started heading down some stairs, into someone’s basement, and then – suddenly – she tripped on something and fell face first onto a stone floor. She swore between gritted teeth, and pulled herself to her feet. She was in a small room – it looked like someone’s cellar – that was lit by shards of moonlight coming from small street windows. In the centre of the room was a statue of a large black war hammer. It seemed to be calling out to her, tugging at her mind…
This is probably very, very, very not good, Refenne thought, edging backwards. She bumped into what had made her trip, and she whirled around. Behind her, kneeling, staring at the hammer vacantly, was Tiegin. She was, as far as Refenne knew, one of the only people in town worse off than she. Cursed with stupidity, ugliness and infertility Tiegin had spent years as a beggar, before taking a job as a servant to a rich – and apparently abusive – second cousin of the local senator.
“Tiegin?” Refenne asked. “Tiegin, can you hear me? Where are we?”
Tiegin did not respond, instead continuing to stare blankly at the hammer. Refenne shook her, and then slapped her, to no response. Tiegin continued kneeling, completely unresponsive. Refenne felt the tug continuing in her mind – this close, it seemed to be offering her something; her dreams? She turned to look at the hammer, curious.
Then, with a sudden realisation, she turned back to Tiegin in horror. It offers us our dreams, to take our minds? To trap our souls? To do something that leaves us like that, Refenne thought. Refenne looked around for an exit, and finding stairs lit by moonlight, she went up them. She came out into a garden. Shutting the door behind her, she headed for a gate, and out to the street beyond. Looking back at the house she noticed that it was where Tiegin worked – the home of the senator’s second cousin.
What is that thing? thought Refenne, as she hurried of home. Whatever it was, it almost captured my mind.
She tossed the letter across her desk, and started to cry. Fucking recruiter even said I was tough enough to be a fucking knight anyway, she thought, sobbing. Asshole bitches thinking with their fucking wallets, ah. She cried for hours, and then lay upon her bed, trying – and failing – to find another way.
Eventually, late at night, she felt a tug in her mind. She was half asleep, and couldn’t really understand, but it felt like… Hope? She rose from her bed, and crept from her bedroom to the cobbled street outside. It was… Weird. She could feel something leading her along the street, and as she walked it grew stronger, and stronger. Her dreams started to go through her mind, her desire to become a Petal Knight, her hope to do something great with her life…
She barely noticed as she started heading down some stairs, into someone’s basement, and then – suddenly – she tripped on something and fell face first onto a stone floor. She swore between gritted teeth, and pulled herself to her feet. She was in a small room – it looked like someone’s cellar – that was lit by shards of moonlight coming from small street windows. In the centre of the room was a statue of a large black war hammer. It seemed to be calling out to her, tugging at her mind…
This is probably very, very, very not good, Refenne thought, edging backwards. She bumped into what had made her trip, and she whirled around. Behind her, kneeling, staring at the hammer vacantly, was Tiegin. She was, as far as Refenne knew, one of the only people in town worse off than she. Cursed with stupidity, ugliness and infertility Tiegin had spent years as a beggar, before taking a job as a servant to a rich – and apparently abusive – second cousin of the local senator.
“Tiegin?” Refenne asked. “Tiegin, can you hear me? Where are we?”
Tiegin did not respond, instead continuing to stare blankly at the hammer. Refenne shook her, and then slapped her, to no response. Tiegin continued kneeling, completely unresponsive. Refenne felt the tug continuing in her mind – this close, it seemed to be offering her something; her dreams? She turned to look at the hammer, curious.
Then, with a sudden realisation, she turned back to Tiegin in horror. It offers us our dreams, to take our minds? To trap our souls? To do something that leaves us like that, Refenne thought. Refenne looked around for an exit, and finding stairs lit by moonlight, she went up them. She came out into a garden. Shutting the door behind her, she headed for a gate, and out to the street beyond. Looking back at the house she noticed that it was where Tiegin worked – the home of the senator’s second cousin.
What is that thing? thought Refenne, as she hurried of home. Whatever it was, it almost captured my mind.
Refenne returned home, wrote some notes on what had happened, and fell
asleep quickly. The tug that had called her from her home was gone; and
now that she was distant from the hammer the effect was no more. She
woke early the next morning – before dawn – and sat on the bed, staring
at the wall. She checked her notes – confirming that it was no dream –
and decided that she had to investigate. What the hammer was for, who
had put it there – she had to get to the bottom of it.
She had no tasks at home that day, and no errands to run, so her parents were glad to see her out of the house before midday. She returned to the house she had been drawn too, and knocked on the door. To Refenne’s surprise, Tiegin answered.
“Tiegin?” asked Refenne. “How are you?”
“I am just fine,” Tiegin said, somewhat blankly.
After waiting, only for Tiegin to stand there without answering, Refenne said, “Do you want to go for a walk and have a chat?”
“No, I should get back to my duties,” replied Tiegin.
“Oh, okay,” said Refenne. “Good day.” Refenne backed away from the door, and Tiegin shut it firmly. That was very strange, thought Refenne, I’ve never seen her turn down anything. Tiegin had been treated kindly by the old cloth-maker Refenne had been apprenticed too; the old woman had been one of the few people who had any real sympathy for her. This had led to Refenne knowing Tiegin fairly well.
With a start, Refenne realised something else. She wasn’t wearing her necklace, she thought. She always wears that thing! Tiegin’s only love – a young man she had grown up with, who died in a tragic fire – had given her a poorly made (and very tacky) necklace. Despite its quality, she wore it always – and became highly aggravated at even the suggestion she take it off (which had amused Refenne, when Tiegin had started screaming at the old cloth-maker when she stated that Tiegin needed to be completely naked to bathe).
Tiegin not wearing the necklace was very unusual. Refenne shuddered. I think I almost ended up like that, enslaved by that hammer, she thought. Refenne looked up and down the street, before quietly opening the unlatched door and sneaking inside.
She could hear Tiegin in the distance, working in the kitchen. Sulser won’t be back until the evening, if he follows his usual pattern, Refenne thought. Sulser – the second-cousin of the senator – headed out to one of the various farms he owned each morning to carry out an inspection, returning in the late afternoon. Refenne snuck up the stairs, and made her way into Sulser’s bedroom.
The room was immaculately clean – in fact, it looked as if it had just been cleaned thoroughly that morning – with the exception of the desk, which Refenne headed straight for. It was covered in letters and accounting documents regarding Sulser’s farms. Refenne shuffled through them, ignoring letters that were obviously about farms, until she came to a series that were signed with a small black hammer.
This is what I’m after, she thought to herself. She read every letter signed with a hammer, and also a couple of drafted replies that had been tossed aside into the general mess of letters. They detailed an offer of power and potential riches to Sulser, and the eventual delivery of the statue downstairs. The group responsible were – unsurprisingly – known as ‘The Black Hammer’, and apparently controlled a secret network of such devices throughout the Inheritor Empire (Peretalia’s neighbour to the east, which was not one of the petty realms).
The device supposedly enthralled people who were desperate by offering them their greatest desires. Once brought before it, they become trapped in a fantasy world within their own minds. Within it they possessed whatever they desired – riches, power, or the return of a loved one. To the rest of the world, however, they became a near mindless slave to the hammer, taking commands from those who controlled the artefacts (who were also somehow connected to the hammers). Sulser had agreed to become a lesser controller of the devices – a ‘Servant of the Black Hammer’ – in exchange for access to one, and supposedly the possibility of immortality.
It seemed that the creators of the statue wished to use Sulser as a means of contacting the senator in the hope of bringing him into their conspiracy. This is… Insanely evil, thought Refenne. She considered her next move, and decided on the simple and sensible one – going straight to the town’s police with the letters, and taking him to see the statue. Refenne unlocked and opened Sulser’s window, and snuck back out of the house.
She had no tasks at home that day, and no errands to run, so her parents were glad to see her out of the house before midday. She returned to the house she had been drawn too, and knocked on the door. To Refenne’s surprise, Tiegin answered.
“Tiegin?” asked Refenne. “How are you?”
“I am just fine,” Tiegin said, somewhat blankly.
After waiting, only for Tiegin to stand there without answering, Refenne said, “Do you want to go for a walk and have a chat?”
“No, I should get back to my duties,” replied Tiegin.
“Oh, okay,” said Refenne. “Good day.” Refenne backed away from the door, and Tiegin shut it firmly. That was very strange, thought Refenne, I’ve never seen her turn down anything. Tiegin had been treated kindly by the old cloth-maker Refenne had been apprenticed too; the old woman had been one of the few people who had any real sympathy for her. This had led to Refenne knowing Tiegin fairly well.
With a start, Refenne realised something else. She wasn’t wearing her necklace, she thought. She always wears that thing! Tiegin’s only love – a young man she had grown up with, who died in a tragic fire – had given her a poorly made (and very tacky) necklace. Despite its quality, she wore it always – and became highly aggravated at even the suggestion she take it off (which had amused Refenne, when Tiegin had started screaming at the old cloth-maker when she stated that Tiegin needed to be completely naked to bathe).
Tiegin not wearing the necklace was very unusual. Refenne shuddered. I think I almost ended up like that, enslaved by that hammer, she thought. Refenne looked up and down the street, before quietly opening the unlatched door and sneaking inside.
She could hear Tiegin in the distance, working in the kitchen. Sulser won’t be back until the evening, if he follows his usual pattern, Refenne thought. Sulser – the second-cousin of the senator – headed out to one of the various farms he owned each morning to carry out an inspection, returning in the late afternoon. Refenne snuck up the stairs, and made her way into Sulser’s bedroom.
The room was immaculately clean – in fact, it looked as if it had just been cleaned thoroughly that morning – with the exception of the desk, which Refenne headed straight for. It was covered in letters and accounting documents regarding Sulser’s farms. Refenne shuffled through them, ignoring letters that were obviously about farms, until she came to a series that were signed with a small black hammer.
This is what I’m after, she thought to herself. She read every letter signed with a hammer, and also a couple of drafted replies that had been tossed aside into the general mess of letters. They detailed an offer of power and potential riches to Sulser, and the eventual delivery of the statue downstairs. The group responsible were – unsurprisingly – known as ‘The Black Hammer’, and apparently controlled a secret network of such devices throughout the Inheritor Empire (Peretalia’s neighbour to the east, which was not one of the petty realms).
The device supposedly enthralled people who were desperate by offering them their greatest desires. Once brought before it, they become trapped in a fantasy world within their own minds. Within it they possessed whatever they desired – riches, power, or the return of a loved one. To the rest of the world, however, they became a near mindless slave to the hammer, taking commands from those who controlled the artefacts (who were also somehow connected to the hammers). Sulser had agreed to become a lesser controller of the devices – a ‘Servant of the Black Hammer’ – in exchange for access to one, and supposedly the possibility of immortality.
It seemed that the creators of the statue wished to use Sulser as a means of contacting the senator in the hope of bringing him into their conspiracy. This is… Insanely evil, thought Refenne. She considered her next move, and decided on the simple and sensible one – going straight to the town’s police with the letters, and taking him to see the statue. Refenne unlocked and opened Sulser’s window, and snuck back out of the house.
After reading the letters, and listening to her testimony, the town sheriff grabbed four of his men and followed her to Sulser’s home. They headed in the back, through the garden and down the stairs into the cellar. The statue still stood where it had the night before, but before it knelt three newcomers. Refenne recognised two – one was one of the town drunks – but the third looked like a traveller.
“Unrik, get up,” said the sheriff, approaching the drunkard. Unrik merely stared, unresponsive, at the hammer. The sheriff shook Unrik’s shoulder, and got no response. His men attempted to rouse the other two, also to no response.
“This is what Tiegin was like, last night,” said Refenne. “I guess they’re… waiting for orders?”
The sheriff shook his head sadly. “It’s good that we’ve caught on to this so soon. Mind-affecting magic is outlawed in almost all the realms because of stuff like this,” he said. “Jure, smash the damn thing.”
Jure (one of the sheriff’s men) pushed the statue over and hit it with his club, to no effect. “Doesn’t look like we can destroy it easily, sheriff,” he said.
“Alright. Hunter, help Jure grab it and take it back to the station. Lock it up, and make sure nobody is allowed near it! Hopefully these unfortunates will follow you – see ‘em locked up if they do. Don’t want ‘em doing anything at Sulser’s order,” ordered the sheriff. “Refenne, Dorrey and Joller, with me. We’re going to grab Tiegin and take her in too.”
As Refenne followed the sheriff up the internal stairs, the two constables grabbed the statue. As they moved it, the three people under its control stood and began to follow. “Expected that,” muttered the sheriff. “It’s how these damn things always work.”
As they exited the cellar into the house, the sheriff called out, “Tiegin! Come here! We’re placing you under arrest for your own good!”
Tiegin popped in from a neighbouring room, and said, “What for, sheriff?”
“Being under control of that damn hammer down stairs,” said the sheriff.
“Oh, there’s nothing going on,” said Tiegin. “I should get back to my duties.”
“Tiegin, girl, not only is saying that horribly unusual for you I ain’t believing anything you say. That necklace Wern gave you – where is it? I’ve never seen you without it, you near bit my damn finger off when we brought you in for public drunkenness and I tried to remove it.”
“Oh, I threw it away. It was a tacky old thing. Now I sh-“ Tiegin was interrupted before she could finish.
“We’re taking you in. You can attend to your duties later.”
“No, I mu-“ Tiegin was unable to finish her sentence before the sheriff brutally clobbered her over the head, knocking her unconscious.
“Joller and Dorrey, stay here and wait for Sulser to return,” the sheriff said as he bound Tiegin. “Refenne, you may as well come with me so we can get a signed statement to go with the proof. Actually, Dorrey, while you’re here take a look around, see if there’s any more evidence about. Especially if Sulser’s been up to any other crimes.”
The sheriff picked up Tiegin, and tossed her over his shoulder. The constables saluted as he and Refenne left. Maybe I should just join the police, or something, thought Refenne. Or the army. It’d be just like what I’d do as a Petal Knight, only less glamorous. Which is fine, I guess...
The sheriff had Refenne write up what she had seen and heard, and then sign it. He thanked Refenne again, and sent her home with one of his men (to guard her home as her family slept). It was just before midday when she returned home.
After explaining what she had been doing that morning, her father gave her a hug and said, “Well done.” Her mother hugged her as well, and Refenne spent the rest of the day helping around the house.
Nothing further happened that day, nor that night. The next day the Sheriff visited, and she learned that Sulser had been captured easily, and had admitted his crimes. In exchange for his life (he was to be sentenced with a life sentence on a chain gang, rather than being executed) he divulged everything he knew about the conspiracy of the Black Hammer.
“I may as well tell you everything he knew,” said the Sheriff. “Seeing as you were nearly a victim, and the reason we uncovered this plot. Might keep you from becoming paranoid.”
Refenne nodded, and the Sheriff continued. “They come from the Inheritor Empire. The Emperor caught wind of what they were doing, and wiped most of them out, so they’ve fled to the small kingdoms. They haven’t managed to make much progress here, but they claimed to Sulser that they were gaining power rapidly further south.
“There are supposedly no other groups in Peretalia. If there are, we can find them – Magus Odlin says he can trace the magic, so stronger mages should be able to find hammers hidden in any other towns. News of this will go right to the senate; hopefully they can discover why the Inheritors never gave a warning. Or, perhaps, they’ll realise that they should have taken a warning more seriously.
“One last thing – thank you. You’ve saved everyone a lot of trouble at least, and might just have saved us all. So thank you. I don’t know what I can offer you as a reward, but ask, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Refenne sighed, and said, “A good word with the Petal Knights would be fantastic.”
“You want to join them?” asked the Sheriff.
“I sent an application, the examiner saw me when they came through town,” Refenne replied. “I got rejected.”
“They must have a lot of very good candidates this year,” said the Sheriff. He paused, before continuing, “If they rejected you, they won’t change their minds. But, a trio are coming to town to assist the investigation – the mayor called them in. They’ll probably want to talk to you; I don’t know what you can say but maybe they’ll be impressed enough to accept you next year? I can explain to them your bravery and cunning in all this.”
Refenne groaned, and rubbed her face. “There’ll be fewer flowerings next year. But thanks anyway. I…” Refenne paused, and forced a smile. “I guess it can’t hurt.
The Sheriff rose to leave, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said, “There’s more than one force for good in the world you can join.”
Refenne spent the next couple of days getting back into her fitness routine. After the Petal Knight examiner had come through, she had fallen out of the routine; but she wanted to be in as good shape as possible when the knights arrived. She couldn’t help but hope that, as unlikely as it was, they would accept her next year – or even for the year after. There were many stories of women achieving great feats being accepted into the Petal Knights, or even being outright offered membership.
When they arrived, the Petal Knights were giving a suite at the best inn in town to conduct their investigation from. Rumour of what had happened – and of Refenne’s involvement – had spread about town, and although the sheriff had clarified things as much as he could (especially that the threat was no more) the townspeople were much relieved that the Petal Knights had arrived.
In the early evening, on the day they arrived, a constable (aiding the Petal Knights by serving as a runner) came to bring Refenne to them. I’m so excited, thought Refenne. I thought I was more bitter and cynical than this. I just have to keep my expectations low, hope for some meaningless praise. She kept her breathing tightly under control, prompting the constable to ask her “Are you meditating?” on their journey; to which Refenne smiled and said, “No.”
She was led to the inn, and upstairs to the ‘senatorial suite’. Refenne had never seen in the room – in fact, she had only seen some of the inn’s rooms when lending a hand during a feast – and was disappointed, as it was not as amazing as she had expected.
The Petal Knights, however, were. She had seen a few from a distance before – they came through town from time to time – but she had never been close, nor spoken to one. They were beautiful – at least the two standing up were, the third was sitting at a desk across the room writing quickly (but also, strangely, elegantly).
“You must be Refenne,” said one of the Petal Knights. She was perfectly – to an almost ridiculous extent – pretty. Her smile, which she flashed after she finished speaking, was the beautiful kind of smile that makes you unable to do anything but smile in response. She was a fair bit shorter than Refenne (who was, in truth, very tall) but she gave an impression of strength despite her petite-ness. Her brown hair was tied up behind her head in a bun.
“Please take a seat,” said the other, “I am Voena, and this is Julene. Xelen will join us in a minute after she finishes writing.” Voena was incredibly beautiful. Refenne couldn’t help but compare her to the rich courtesan who had come through town once – a beautiful seductress. Although Refenne doubted Voena’s beauty came mostly from – or in fact, at all from – large amounts of makeup. She had golden blonde hair curling down to just below her shoulders. Refenne suspected that, if she were male, she would have trouble refusing Voena anything. Both she and Julene seemed young – though as Petal Knights, they could be as old as their mid-thirties and still seem so.
“Yes, I’m Refenne,” Refenne said quickly. She made her way to the table, trying to get a hold on her nerves.
“Calm down, we don’t bite,” said Voena, grinning. Her smile, unlike Julene’s, was somewhat predatory.
Julene looked at Voena, and as they all seated themselves she said, “The good sheriff told us of your application, and how hard you tried. We may talk about that afterwards, but for now we need to ask you some questions.” Julene was smiling warmly – and Refenne found herself calming down.
That woman can really smile, thought Refenne. I wish I could smile like that.
A sigh came from the corner of the room. “That’s that done,” said Xelen, pushing her chair out from the desk. She stood and turned towards the table, making Refenne gasp.
Xelen had a huge scar across her face. From her left eyebrow, around her left eye, through her nose and from the middle of her mouth to the far left of her face was long, mangled scar. Her nose looked as if it would barely be able to function, and her mouth looked as if it was twice as long as should have been. When she saw Refenne’s reaction, she made a twisted grin. “Not all of us are beautiful,” she said, walking over.
“Sorry!” said Refenne hurriedly. She looked away from Xelen’s face, and settled on her armour. It consisted of a large segment of plate over the top half of their chests, shaped like a pair of leaves, and a cloth segment bearing a stylised rose over the lower half. Apart from a few bits of plate here and there, it seemed to mostly be chainmail (although what it was made from was odd, and did not seem to be a metal). She had been too distracted by their beauty to look at Voena or Julene’s, but quick glances showed that theirs were much the same.
Xelen chuckled. “Not all of us are young and unscarred, either,” she added, taking a seat. “Now, how about you tell us your side of the story, from the start.”
After going through what she had seen, and answering a few questions, Xelen said, “Thank you. You are a very brave and resourceful young woman.”
“Thank you,” said Refenne, smiling.
“Do either of you two have any reasons against choosing her?” asked Xelen, looking at Julene and Voena.
Voena shook her head, and Julene said, “No.”
“Huh?” asked Refenne, confused – but also immediately hopeful.
“You made an application to be chosen as one of this year’s recruits, correct?” asked Xelen.
“Yes, I did,” replied Refenne.
Xelen picked up a group of bound documents from the table. “This is the report on you we assembled while considering the recruits. You were-“
“Xelen!” said Julene.
“I’m going to tell the girl the whole story, Julene,” said Xelen. “You made it to the last eleven.”
“That’s g-“ said Refenne, pausing. “Wait, aren’t there eleven flowerings this year? That means-“
“That you were to be chosen? Yes,” said Xelen. “You can blame Garesia if you ever meet her. The idiot flowered one of them early, and hopped in. It happens from time to time – garden staff are mostly part of long lines of gardeners, loyal, respectful… But still subject to temptation. We had to cut one of the eleven chosen out at the last moment. So close to the last moment I’d even penned your damn acceptance letter.
“Of the eleven, there were two candidates who were not completely on level with the rest. One of them because she was a little too weak; and you – despite being a damn side stronger than almost every other candidate – because your family is poor and because you’re plain. Of which neither is a good reason, in my opinion, but we have to play politics to keep on everyone’s good side. And the other girl’s father is a senator, and rich. So she was in, and you were out.”
Xelen paused. Refenne was shocked; unable to speak. She could feel anger beginning to boil deep down inside her, although she had no idea where it would be targeted. However, Xelen continued before Refenne could say anything.
“You might be wondering why I’m telling you this. I’m telling it to you in full because I believe you deserve to know – it should’ve been in your damn rejection letter – but also because I have an alternative for you. Up until thirty or so years ago, there was a female Thorn Knight. About three weeks ago, the Thorn Knights finally recovered her armour from the pit it was lost within. They asked us to go through our candidates, and to test the strongest to see if any were suitable to take up the armour and serve as a Thorn Knight.
“We are the group assigned to the task, though the assignment of three Petal Knights is mostly to honour our many debts to the Thorn Knights. We were, in fact, going to come through town and test your fitness again in about a week. But with this… I would like you to come with us, to be the candidate we present to the Thorn Knights to join them. I cannot guarantee that they will accept you; but I can think of no reason why they would not. Will you?”
Refenne’s took a moment to get her thoughts in order. They quickly coalesced – the Petal Knights were the heroes of Peretalia, known by all and respected. But the Thorn Knights… The Thorn Knights were living legends. Fewer in number, but barely lesser in deed. Stronger, braver, tougher – Refenne had dreamed of joining the Petal Knights, but she had never considered that she could join the Thorn Knights. “Yes,” she said in a rush, “Definitely yes.”
