Be Thou My Good: Chapter 1

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Chapter 1: Silver

"The Prince will speak with you now."

The words came from a young girl, the Page, who had brushed into my  small tent without so much as a 'how do you do.' I sighed, closing the  book on the desk.

Learning the writing systems of this world had been…difficult, as  whatever magic let me hear and comprehend didn't extend to words on a  page. The job was only made harder by the constant interruption.

"Will he now? I assume you'll be fighting the legions then."

The girl sniffed. Turning, she held open the flap of my tent with an  expectant look on her face. God save me from little girls in love.

And really, it was blatantly obvious how badly she'd fallen for 'her'  Prince. I'd like to think I hadn't been that bad with Brian, but maybe  that was only because I hadn't thought any guy would look at me twice to  begin with, back then.

In any case, her interest was no concern of mine. I could do without the sass, though.

"We'll be going to one of the hills?" I asked, rising.

The Page continued silently, leaving me to trudge in her footsteps. Or  at least, I'm sure that was the intention. In reality, my longer stride  easily kept pace, and before long we'd arrived at the crest of the hill  where the Exiled Prince stood. The young man had set up facing the enemy  camp, leaning into the breeze so that his cape and long blonde hair  billowing out behind him dramatically.

He was one of the vain ones.

"Page," he said, voice with a poetic lilt to it. "Taylor. You have my thanks for joining me."

"Of course, my Prince," she said, bowing.

I nodded, sidestepping the Page's attempt to step on my foot. "You called."

"What do you say you of the lay of things?" he asked.

I shrugged, glancing towards the field of battle.

The enemy soldiers were set up between two of the steeper hills, with  units covering the flanks and their backs to the river. Just from a  glance, it was easy enough to see that the Prince's Silver Spears  outnumbered them rather substantially. In addition, the legion had no  horses that I could see, while the Spears boasted a contingent of almost  a thousand cataphracts.

"Seems like an easy enough battle," I said. "You have numbers and  cavalry, so even if it's a slog the battle should turn out in your  favor." Of course, we both knew that wasn't the whole of it.
What a strange world I'd found myself in, patterned as it was off of the  faery tales I'd read growing up. The entire reason the Prince was  keeping me as a 'guest' was due to my grasp of 'divine providence' as he  so called it.

I called it genre savvy. It wasn't difficult to pick out the patterns  from the countless books I'd read and apply them here. Even if things  were more fluid when the heroes and villains were more than just  characters, there were only so many shapes a battle between the army of  good and the legions of terror could take on.

I found it odd, though, that my love of books was my 'power' in this world, where my passenger had abandoned me.

"It'll be even at first, I expect," I said after a moment. "The Lone  Swordsman said they have a magic user, correct? They'll probably turn  the tide with some devious sorcery, pushing your lines to the brink of  collapse, making an opening in your formation, that sort of thing. If  you lead a charge with your cavalry then, you should be able to carry  the day."

The Prince hummed at my assessment. "I could certainly go about things  that way. But on the other hand, I thought to offer the Squire a duel."

I blinked. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"The safety of my men, for one," he said, smile tugging at his lips. "And to defang whatever trap she might have laid."

I massaged my forehead. "It's war. People die," I said. "All you're  doing is giving her a chance to win, and if you lose that duel, even if  you somehow survive, then the battle is lost for certain."

"Ye of little faith," he said. I batted his hand away as he reached out  to brush my cheek, or some nonsense, but the Prince only laughed.  "Squire is a young villain yet, if she meets me in single combat, with  no tricks to save her, then victory is assuredly mine."

The most dangerous villains were the young ones, I did not say,  because there was a chance you were just part of their origin story. He  wouldn't listen to that, though. Everyone is the hero of their own  story, and that only became more insidiously true when some of those  people were Heroes by every definition of the word.

"You're turning a sure thing into a gamble," I said.

He gave me a winning grin, gold ringlets framing his face like a  picture. "Will you give me a favor then, my lady?" he asked. "A rose to  tuck into my hair so that I may fight in your name?"

I suppressed a weary sigh as the Page glared daggers into my back. I'm  sure Price thought I was some beautiful maiden hiding behind the veneer  of an ugly witch or something, but his attempts at courtship only  grated.

"I've given you my advice," I said. "If you turn that down why should I offer anything else."

He put on a forlorn air, placing a hand against his breastplate. "I will ride with you in my heart regardless."

"I'm sure you will."

The Page's glare intensified. Because of course the only thing worse  than getting between her and her true love was turning him down. And  people wondered why I hadn't been eager to join a team of super powered teenagers at the start of my career.

"You'll watch my duel, of course."

"Of course," I said, voice bone dry.

I placed my head in my hand as he rode down the hill, Page carrying his  banner high. Within moments the Lord of the Silver spears was out in the  middle of no man's land.

The Page planted his pennant in the ground, marking it. Her horn sounded  an earthshattering note, one that echoed across the hills and brought  silence to both armies. A good way to start, if nothing else. Prince  spurred his horse another step forward and then…

I stopped, rubbing my ears for a second. Then I sighed. "What a mess."

A gruff looking sergeant glanced over at me. "How do you figure?" he asked, ambling over.

"He's monologuing," I said. And indeed, the Exiled Prince was reciting  his challenge to the Squire couched in full courtly diction, even going  so far to call her a 'witch.'

The sergeant grunted. "Our boy is good enough to put any of them Blackguards in the ground, either way."

"Is he?" I said, as a stir went through the opposing army. "I suppose we'll find out."

Speech delivered, the Exiled Prince sat silently on his steed, like a  statue carved from marble. From this distance, it was difficult to see  exactly what was happening among the Legions of Terror, but they were  clearly gearing up for something. "If she rides out to meet him," I  murmured under my breath, "she's an even bigger idiot than this one."

"Whazzat?"

"Nothing."

There was a moment of stillness and then a crossbow bolt lanced out from their lines, streaking through the air.

I didn't even have a chance to blink before it took the Prince Full in the throat.

And like that it was over before it even began.

A gasp, a collective exhalation, ran through the Silver Spears. Slowly,  Prince titled, sliding from his saddle. He hit the ground with a crash,  horse rearing in fright.

The Page threw herself at her liege's body, as if she could somehow take  the fatal wound upon herself, even as shouts and yelling began to rise  up from the ranks of the Spears.

"What the hell?" I said.

Beside me, the sergeant let out a pained groan. "His armor!" he said. "The armor was enchanted to deflect projectiles."

I grasped what was unsaid immediately. The Prince had always disdained his helmet.

"Sergeant. Sound the retreat," I said. He turned to me, eyes wild.  "Sound the retreat," I said again. "This is a story you can only ever  lose."

"What the hell are you on about?" he said. "Like hell are we gonna let the bastards go after that!"

I shook my head. "It's already over. The Prince bet the battle on  winning his little duel." I pointed to the field, where even now the  page was dragging an armored corpse back towards our lines. "That is not a victory!"

"It's not the end of it!"

"Yes," I said. "It is. You are in want of a nail, sergeant."

He looked at me blankly.

I shook my head. "Haven't you heard the story?" I said. It was easy  enough, to recite it from memory. The words though, they felt heavier,  almost weighted as I said:

"For the want of a nail the shoe was lost,
For the want of a shoe the horse was lost,
For the want of a horse the rider was lost,
For the want of a rider the battle was lost,
For the want of a battle the kingdom was lost,
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail."

I turned back to field, where a dozen men gathered around a pretty corpse. "Or for want of a helmet, as the case may be."

The man gaped at me, silent. I could see as the wheels started to turn  in his head, the fear beginning to overtake his anger. It would be  enough, I thought, if I could save all these men from needless deaths.  No matter their cause or creed, there was no reason for one more soul to die here.

For a moment, I thought the man in front of me was going to understand  and get to the people in charge of this newly christened shit show.

Then a horn sounded. General advance was called, echoing over the ranks of men who had but to die to finish their story.

At once, the sergeant's face hardened, resolve firming. Perhaps he  thought 'the gods are with me' or 'my cause is just,' perhaps he thought  nothing at all, and this was just the rage rising back to the surface.

Either way, the moment had passed. I did not resist as he pushed me off  on one of the footmen, to escort me back to my tent. There was nothing  more I could do now. Already the cataphracts were massing for their  charge, the rest of the silver spears forming ranks behind them.

It would be a gruesome affair, I thought, and then I was through the flaps of my tent and could see no more.

But thin canvas could not keep out the sound of battle, the clash of  steel, the screams of the dying. I couldn't tell what was happening for  certain, but it was hard fought either way.

Then an explosion rocked the battlefield, deep and loud enough that I  could feel it in my chest, through the soles of my shoes. That would be  the trap then, and with no Prince to rally his men for a charge of the  light brigade, this story could only have one ending.

I sat in the tent as the sound of battle slowly petered out.

I sat as the sound of men, gasping for breath and grabbing for what they could carry faded into the surrounding hills.

I sat as one of them thought to take his fun with me before he left, before I opened his throat with a dagger.

And I sat as a green skinned man, an orc, in legion armor pushed open the flap to my tent
.
He took me in, the bleeding corpse at my feet and flecks of blood on the  front of my borrowed dress. I could manage one or two more, perhaps, if  they weren't cautious. This orc was larger and broader than any man I'd  seen in my life though. If he thought to call another, well…

My dagger might be better served decorating my own throat at that point.

"Tribune!" the legionnaire called over his shoulder, his voice a deep  rumble. "We have a live one here!" In indistinct reply came, and he  turned back to me, "With me, prisoner. Leave that dagger on the ground  and we won't have any trouble."

For a moment, I considered throwing myself at him and making a run for  it, but the time for that had long since passed. I rose, tossing my  dagger to the ground. "Lead the way," I said.

He marched me out through the Silver Spears' camp. There were few other  prisoners, it seems that the rest of the Prince's retinue were well and  truly routed. All that remained were legionnaires picking through the  spoils of their victory.

Soon enough, we came to a woman holding a tablet and a slightly fancier helmet, who I assumed to be a centurion.

The orc escorting me saluted. "Tribune Bishara!" Close enough.

Bishara turned, regarding me with a raised brow. I took her in easily  enough. She had vaguely middle eastern features, in that way that  everyone in this world vaguely mapped onto ethnicities from  Earth, but with enough cultural differences to throw off any comparison  before it could form. Beyond that, the cast of her features and her  bearing marked her as an aristocrat. She held the stylus in her hand as  one might an elaborate teacup as she recorded the spoils of war.

"Soldier," she said. "Your report."

"Found this one in one of the tents, she slit one of the spear's throats by the looks of it."

Bishara turned to me. "I didn't enjoy the idea of being his personal camp follower," I said.

The Tribune hmmed at that. "And why were you with them in the first  place?" she asked. "Were you the Exiled Prince's paramour perhaps, or a  foreign…advisor?"

She managed to pack a whole book worth of implication into that one  sentence, but if she was looking for some sort of reaction out of me  then she'd just have to settle for disappointment.

"I'm no one of consequence," I said. "The Prince happened upon me  wounded on the road, and his chivalry hadn't allowed him to leave me to  my fate."

"Quite," she said. Then, to the soldier. "Hand her off to Nauk's tenth, Lady Squire will no doubt want a word with her."

So it was Lady Squire now, I mused as I was handed off to another  set of men and armor, this one mostly comprised of Orcs. I ignored the  jeering of the goblins and the like as I was led to the legion's camp  and up to a table set out on the crest of a hill.

The soldiers presented me to the Squire in an eerily similar manner to  how the Prince and I had conversed just an hour before. In fact, if I  had a watch, I'd put down money that exactly an hour had passed between these two meeting. Call it Narrative Causation.

"What do you have for me," the Squire asked. She was short, I thought,  with dark hair and dusky skin. Beyond that, her armor was smeared with  blood and soot from the fighting. No armchair general, this one.

What drew me more was her eyes. She looked…tense, like she was barely holding herself together in the wake of the battle.

She was a young villain, Prince had said. She looked young, like a child playing in her father's armor.

Her eyes were familiar though. They were the eyes of a girl who had set herself against the world.

I should know.

"Lady Squire," I said, before the soldiers could speak. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Was it projecting, that I saw something of myself in this villainess?

"She was with the Spears?" Squire asked.

"Yes, ma'am!"

"What do you think, Masago, one of Heiress's?" she asked. "She'd be the type to play both sides."

I felt something wash over me, and I contained a shiver as a tired  looking young man walked past me. He was a bit on the pudgy side, I  noted, which is probably why he looked more exhausted than Squire in the  wake of a major battle.

"She does not have the gift, as far as I can tell, and no sorcerous  means of communication beyond that," the boy, Masago, said. "Lady  Heiress wouldn't be one to leave her servants without the means or  method of contacting her, if nothing else."

"You're right, she's never been the hands-off type, what about her  belongings?" One of the soldier's stepped forward dumping a small bag on  the table in front of her. Within were the few things I could call my  own, namely, a couple of simple books.

She raised an eyebrow at the titles. "These are children's fairytales."

"I appear to have an enchantment on me, that lets me comprehend the local languages," I said. "It does not apply to text."

She gave a sharp grin. "So, you're illiterate?"

She thought she was clever, how wonderful.

"Something like that," I said.

Squire frowned at my non-reaction, "Sure," she said. "Now what the hell  are you doing in Callow? There's no room at this table for another  player."

"I'm just a traveler," I said. "The Exiled Prince kept me as his guest  for his own reasons, beyond that, I have no stake in this conflict."

To the side, Masago laughed. "Pardon me," he said.

"And your relationship with the Exiled Prince was…"

"He asked me for advice, on occasion."

A smirk crossed her lips at that. "Including whether helmet hair was  worth the protection from arrows?" she said. "What a soothsayer you  turned out to be."

I shrugged. "Actually, I suggested he skip the whole honor duel, and  then skewer you with his cavalry the moment you pulled out your magic  tricks, but you know how men are."

Here gaze sharpened on me, at once turning assessing, deciding whether I  was a threat, whether I was something that could be brought around to  her side, or if I would have to be removed. Again, it was like a mirror,  all my paranoia and inability to back down, it struck me just how raw  she looked. Just how raw I'd been, when I was that young.

"Weeping heavens," she said at length, running a hand through her hair. "Why is nothing ever simple."

Maybe I was just reading into things that weren't there. But, on the  other hand, if I had a daughter then I could imagine her turning out  just like the girl in front of me.

And wasn't that just the scariest thought.