Castra

Well, "Sir Castra of the House of Tempest" is now technically your name but you've been plain old Castra, or even Cas, for so long that your new title sounds foreign to you. Your surroundings are going to take some getting used to as well. The walls are all so straight and smooth that you wonder just how they could be built so perfectly. The distance between them is unnerving. So much open space in a single room among so many make it impossible to ignore the massive scale of the estate and how very tiny you are within its walls. The fire that slowly dies in the hearth reminds you somewhat of home, of your old home, as it casts a similar glow in the dark. But it also shows off the impeccable brick mantle, another unthinkable just a few days ago. Lying in bed you turn onto your side and stare out the window and into the bright, starry night. Beside the window rests a long piece of steel, scratched and dented in some places. A single band of long leather wraps the hilt of your sword, bleached of color over the years save where sweat from your fingers have left dark marks. Your bastard sword, not quiet long enough to be a true claymore but far too long for a longsword, is one of the few possessions you brought with you to this place. It's one of the few possessions you had until recently.

It was an odd job right from the start and your instincts were on edge the whole while. Your father, a retired soldier turned town guard turned merchant escort, had taught you the sword since as far back as you can remember. She was a cruel instructor, but a kind woman. When mother was dying of a pox she took care of her personally, not fearing the disease if it meant comforting her love. For a decade after she passed you were your father's whole world. And that meant a lot of training, some of which didn't make much sense at the time. But after many years the lessons began to sink in and your body, mind, and spirit were forged into a deadly edge. Father said that the disease that took her life, one so similar to the one that had taken mother, was proof she was blessed. The godesses had protected her from disease just long enough to see you become self-sufficient before sending her back to her love.

Life was hard after that. But not from a lack of coin. Your skills earned you money from merchants needing escorting through bandit territory, working security at keeps when their numbers were low, and a few peasant tournies (which you mostly won). You'd learned to trust your instincts and that night had all of them screaming at you.

"Are you the one called Cas?"

You'd looked up from your cup, the first of the still early evening, and saw a woman of middling age and a hard face. She had the short hair, scars, and grizzled expression of a veteran. Her body was mostly covered in a cloak but what little you could make out showed a tall, powerfully built woman. She couldn't hide the fine leather boots she wore, nor how thick and we'll tended the cloak was. This was a woman with resources. Not a noble, perhaps, but certainly more coins than you'd ever gotten together.

You nodded to her and said, "I be her. What business do ye have with me?"

"I've heard you're good with a blade. Care for a job?"

You waved her away and turned back to your table of friends, "See me in the mornin'. I only just got here, and I'm fixin' to..."

"You'll get double your usual fair," she said bluntly. "Upfront. And again upon the job's completion."

You look at her dubiously. In a flash of movement too quick for even your sharp eyes the woman tosses something at you. You barely catch the coin purse and frown. It feels awful light. But when you peak inside your eyes flash in wonder. Gold! Real, honest to goodness gold coins! Your normal rate is three silver a day for a basic job, maybe double that if trouble is expected. This was a lot more than double your normal wage!

You blinked, "Uh...Yeah. Alright then. Uh, sorry lasses but, uh..."

"Go on then," shouted Trisha, your loudest drinking friend, already on her third cup.

She grabbed Fiona, the skinny baker's daughter you once fancied as a girl, by the waist and pulled her squealing into her lap.

"I'll just have to take another girl home is all!"

"Trish you stop it!" giggles Fiona. "What'll folks say?!"

The table, and half the small tavern, laughed at her antics. It wasn't exactly a reputable place but it wasn't dangerous or seedy either. Raunchy jokes and the occasionally grabbing of a serving girl's backside were about as far as things went.

You were led away by the veteran and already you were cautious. What job needed doing in such a hurry? At such a late hour? For such coin? And what could this obvious soldier need from the likes of you? She took you to a corner table filled with women around your age. All of them wore long brown cloaks and hard expressions but your heightened awareness would not be fooled. Each of them puffed out their chest and raised their chin at you but it was to conceal something. Nerves, you figured. The only person who differed from them was a woman of a similar age to the veteran. At least, you assumed they were of a similar age since her eyes were too intelligent to be as young as yours. While the veteran's age was obvious from your time spent around similar types, this woman's was harder to place. Her skin was impeccable, her long blond hair straight and golden like a field of wheat. She too wore a heavy cloak that mostly concealed her but her face alone was so lovely that you could not put a number to her age. She could have been your mother or your sister for all you knew. Or perhaps a wife, you couldn't help but think with a blush.

"Thank you for joining us at such a late hour," said the mystery woman in a pleasant tone. You yearned to hear her sing, her voice was so lovely. "We find ourselves suddenly short on personnel and you come highly recommended."

You blushed and scratched the back of your head, "I weren't aware of that, mum. I'm a decent hand with a blade, aye, but never anything to write home bout."

She raised a delicate eyebrow and asked, "Are you questioning my judgement?"

"What?! No! Course not!"

She giggled, a beautiful sound, and said, "I jest. This night has been wretched and I fear I've used you to alleviate my strain. Forgive me."

You were confused as to why she was apologizing but said nothing.

The woman turned to the veteran and said, "There. You have your final rear guard, one with more experience than your 'green horns', I'm sure. May we leave now, before we miss the entire affair?"

The veteran looked around, ground her teeth, and finally nodded. You gathered your scale mail shirt and greaves along with your father's sword from your cottage and followed the group to a trio of wagon's a few minutes down the road. There you found more guards, mostly on horseback, and a few plain looking folk loading the wagon's with sacks and crates. It looked like a perfectly normal caravan. It wasn't even so unusual for a caravan to leave after sundown, as bandits usually operated during the daylight to have a better chance of finding targets. And you supposed your increased wages could have been on account of the suddenness of it all. But you knew that was wrong. Something was wrong.

"What're we haulin'"?" you asked the veteran.

She frowned and said, "Mind your damned business. I won't have a girl I barely know snooping around and stealing on the road."

It was a good dodge of your question. If she'd said wine or trade bars then some women would have tried to slip a few during the trek. But she was too harsh, too nervous herself, her eyes constantly scanning the treeline outside of town and glancing back down the road towards the city and the castle. Having no spare horses, you were relegated to walking behind the procession. You tried to listen through the darkening wood in which you travelled but the other guards always seemed to be chattering about something or another just loud enough to break your concentration. The veteran, atop her own stallion, had to come back and scold them more than once.

The only warning you received was the sudden halt of the wagons. You glanced around them and spotted the veteran with her fist up in the air, silently ordering you all to stop and be on guard, her eyes scanning the trees. You did the same and spotted the first figure just before a cry of alarm rang out. They came from the east, in the direction of a gully you knew well from childhood, and charged like a river breaking a dam. They flowed over the dense foliage of the forest floor like no bandits you'd ever seen. Their leather armor was tight against their lithe bodies and dyed a uniform black. While the guards around you all roared in bloodlust the assailants made not a sound. They darted in and out like serpents, shortswords and daggers flashing in the moonlight. Just as quickly as they came they vanished, running off as a single unit without a single call to retreat despite minimal losses.

That was the most dangerous sign of all.

"Don't let them get away!" called out one of the guards.

"No! Stop!" you cried.

"Stay in formation!" blared the veteran.

A few of the young women obeyed but most ran off after their quarries, yelling in triumph.

"Get back here!" screeched the veteran. "Eris take you, you unflowered cunts!"

A flap of the rear wagon pulled back to reveal the woman from the tavern, worry creasing her face.

"Belleria, what's wrong?" she asked the veteran.

She just gritted her teeth and scanned the woods, fear causing the few shaking guards that remained to do the same.

"In my experience, mum," you whispered. "If they give in that easy, it's usually the first wave. They soften us up, distract us, get our fighters to run after them like hounds on rabbits, and..."

It came from the west this time. The words had barely left your mouth when the first guard fell to the ground with an arrow in her throat. Others began to grunt and scream as shafts suddenly appeared in their flesh. You hadn't noticed before but could now see that beneath their cloaks they all wore basic plate armor. Full metal is hard to move in, however, and so there's always exposed places. Places these archers seemed incapable of missing. Your mail was meant to turn blades, not hold back arrows, and so you did the only sensible thing you could think of. You charged into the forest. After exploding through some brush you came face to face with a black hooded woman, her face painted with coal. The whites of her wide eyes stood out like candlelight in the darkness of her soot covered face. So that's where you put your sword.

The archers were as skilled as their allies but apparently hadn't bet on a lone guard charging their ranks. By the time they realized what was going on and drew their steel you'd worked your way through half their line. It was hard fighting then but the veteran, Belleria, led a charge of her own then with her soldiers at her back. The fighting was bloody and brutal but in the end you stood with the victors. Though, when the others returned and Bellaria started screaming at them for abandoning their post you felt a little less certain about that.

You heard a loud sigh right beside you and jumped. You'd been entranced by Bellaria's impressive shouting until your mysterious client drew you back to reality. She stood beside you, hood down, her violet eyes glistening in the darkness.

"I had so hoped to attend my cousin's wedding. But these despots seek to ruin even simple decency, it seems. I saw you, you know. You kept a more level head than these young knights and proved to be as brave and tactical as my captain. Tell me, what was your name, again?"

Confused, you stammered, "Um...Cas, mum. Er, that is, Castra, miss."

The woman nodded, "Lady Castra...A fine ring to it."

The following days were a whirlwind of activity. They'd had to make an official gown for you since your best clothes still had holes in them and were colored in brown and beige. They'd wanted you to wear special shoes as well but after seeing your inability to walk in the quasi-stilts they gave you something more comfortable but still pretty. They covered you in layers of blue and silver, the colors of the queendom of Gressia. You'd moved quietly down a long red carpet flanked by silent onlookers, all in brilliant gowns and suits that made you feel like the peasant you were. Some smiled, others frowned, but most looked rather bored. At the end of the long red carpet sat a throne of ivory and gold. Knights in literally shining armor stood at arms on either side, polearms at the ready. Belleria stood in a more casual set of armor that better hugged her curves and showcased her musculature while still making you feel like crap despite wearing the most gorgeous thing to ever grace your flesh.

And seated on the throne was the ultimate source of your embarrassment. You'd never seen Queen Elizabeth Dionnetta in person before and had only heard women describe her as being very pretty. They lied. The woman you had slyly pictured as wife material a few nights prior was radiant. Her golden hair was now tied into an intricate braid that fell into her lap. Her long dress was both elegant and form fitting, her ample chest barely contained by layers of clothing.

You remember kneeling and swearing a few oaths and being assigned to a noble house but the whole thing is still kind of a blur. You sigh and admit defeat. Sleep will elude you on your first night as a knight in the House of Tempest. Hopefully your new "father", Lady Belleria Tempest, Captain of the Queen's Guard, will excuse your being tired tomorrow. But, you doubt it. You pad across the soft rugs on the floor of your chambers and take the long trek to your private washroom. You take a drink from the cold water in the basin and look yourself over in the weirdly huge mirror. It's as tall as you!

The reflection is both familiar and foreign. Your dark hair is cleaner than it's ever been but still cut very short, if a bit lighter and fluffier than before. Your body is tall and strong but still curvy and head turning, if Trisha and her gang are any indication. Your breasts aren't huge but they were big enough handfuls to entice Fiona back in your teenage years (your father tanned your hide after catching you two feeling each other up!). Your skin is now almost gleaming after those washerwomen got you ready for the ceremony (Dione's tits, that was embarrassing). You've always washed regularly in the river but those soaps and scented water they had were outrageous. The sleeping gown feels so revealing compared to the usual loose tunic and trousers you wear to bed. It swishes around your knees and reveals a lot more of your chest than your used to. The underwear is nice though, very soft. You sigh again and splash some water on your face. Might as well get your first day started off early.