Furiko's Fantasy Novel Thing

Now, is it still cool rules-wise to post stuff in here for concrit and general whoring? If we don't do that anymore, I apologize and am the first to request a lock.

This is just a first draft or so, kind of a teen-lit thing, I suppose.

__________________________

Chapter One

Lucy Averill awoke with a start as a small barrel of water was dumped over her hooded head.

“’Mornin’, Miss Priss,” the small boy holding it said, laughing as she spluttered with rage.

“You little-!” Lucy lunged for him, but lost her footing and fell as the caravan went over a pothole. He danced out of the way, laughing. “Maybe next time you’ll actually listen when people ask you for help!”

“What are you flapping your lip about now, Marc?” asked a bundle of blankets wearily as the boy’s foot bumped against it. Propping himself up on an elbow, the occupant of the bundle immediately bit his lip to keep from laughing and averted his eyes from the indignant, soaking-wet girl to focus on his brother.

“Dad is going to kill you for losing him a paying customer, I hope you know that.”

“She had it coming!”

“And you have this coming,” Lucy growled, swinging her pack at his ankles. With a cry the boy tumbled to the floor, elbow banging into the front wall of the caravan. Abruptly, the whole room jerked to a stop.

“Oi!” Came a shout from up front, and a small window swung open to reveal a stern face. “You boys bothering Miss Lucy?”

“Mrs Carter!” Lucy said, trying and failing to keep the whine out of her voice. “Your son just emptied your rainbarrel over my head!”

The woman threw Marc a glare that quite plainly said Your Father Will Be Hearing About This In The Near Future and answered, “Perhaps he’d like to hop down and help me get the carpets unloaded, since he has so much energy so early in the day.”

The boy’s mouth dropped open, but as the glare intensified he closed it again and mumbled, “Yes, mum.” He shot Lucy a scowl before yanking open the back door of the wagon and jumping into the larger trailer that came behind.

“Paul-”

“Yes, mum,” the older boy said hastily, tapping his cap to Lucy and quickly stripping the soaked sheets from her cot. When the whole thing was bundled under his arm he looked up at her, expectantly. “We can hang your cloak out in the sun, too, miss,” he said, eyeing the item of clothing in question, “if you wish. It’s going to be a warm day, you probably won’t need it.”

The girl tensed under her cavernous hood. “Oh, no,” she said, trying to imitate what she thought of as her father’s business-voice, “I’m afraid I was told to report in as soon as possible after my arrival. But thank you,” she added awkwardly.

Paul stared at her for a moment, then shrugged and pulled the door open for her with his free hand.

When Lucy found Mr. Carter among the merchants along the bustling alley, he’d already led her horse out of his own wagon, and was alternating between shouting directions to the hired men unloading the other wagons and conversing with his wife. Catching sight of the tall hooded figure, he straightened his back and nodded hello.

“Miss Averill,” he began, “I wish to apologize for young Marc’s behaviour.”

Gathering what dignity she could, Lucy nodded in understanding, taking the reins from him. “That’s quite all right, Mr. Carter. I’ve had worse.”

“He’ll be corrected severely, miss,” the trader said, briefly shooting his son a dour look. “You can be sure of that.”

She pulled her still-water-logged hood lower over her eyes with a sigh. “Well, there’s no real harm done. Please don’t be too hard on him; just make sure he knows not to do it again.” With that, she handed over the second half of her fare (a bit more roughly than was strictly necessary) and led the black charger out into the street.

When she’d turned the corner Mrs. Carter smacked Marc in the back of the head. “What the hell are you thinking, boy? You think paying passengers with actual coin come along every day, hm? Or is that big melon of yours just for show?”

“She deserved it, Mum, you remember what happened last night in the storm!” the kid protested. “She didn’t even let us use that horse of hers to help pull us out of the ditch! Just sulked inside under that cloak while we-”

“She’s traveling with a writ from the Duke of Karling, you stupe!” Lowering his voice, the tradesman hustled his son back to work. “And that horse is Undine-bred or I’ll eat my hat. You’re lucky she didn’t have us all arrested for your little joke!”

“She can’t be an officer,” the elder boy said with a frown, still staring after her as his father took the other end of the top sheet in his hands and helped him drape it over a drying rack. “She’s too young.”

“Young or old, Paul, nobles are still nobles. You keep your head down around them, you hear me? And don’t let’s speak of it any further” Despite himself, the trader shuddered. “What with her keepin’ that hood over her face... They say the Evergreen Dukes hand-pick their spies when they’re small, so they can breed loyalty into ‘em early...”

“Are these the same ‘they’ that say the sun is golden because ‘Queen Adaryn’s eye is always looking down on us from the heavens’?” Marc asked sullenly, and received another smack for his trouble.

When she was sure she was out of sight, the girl tossed back her hood and hummed a single odd note lightly under her breath. Immediately the excess water leapt out of her clothes and into the gutter with a small splash. Refreshed, Lucy patted her horse’s neck and smiled. “Let’s see what the city has in store for us, Yala.”

Delmore’s populace was a good deal more cosmopolitan than those of the towns and villages she’d had to pass through on her way to the Former Capital, so the stares were not as open and gawking. But she still would have had to be blind not to notice them.

In a way, the yokels’ interest had been less uncomfortable; at least in the countryside there’d eventually be a curious kid or two who’d break the ice by asking to see a magic trick, or a horse that needed a checkup. The children here seemed almost as guarded as the adults – the look in their eyes not quite hostile, but definitely unimpressed.

So much for “City folk are idiots who think all Undines have blue hair,” she thought bitterly. She briefly considered pulling her hood back up, but decided against it. If they could see her face, maybe they wouldn’t assume her horse was stolen.

Yala at least was taking the attention well; unlike Lucy, she’d been to the capital before, and after a week of being cooped up in a wagon for the better part of each day, the mare was a tightly-wound ball of energy. If she and Lucy hadn’t had such a good rapport, she’d already be trotting briskly and merrily down the street, tossing her mane and otherwise showing off, dragging her human escort behind her. As it was she confined herself to holding her fine head high and taking the most elegant steps she could muster, while Lucy tried not to roll her eyes. Undine horses might not actually talk, the way fairy tales sometimes claimed, but they were nearly as intelligent and twice as vain as some humans.

After about twenty minutes wandering around just taking in the sheer height of the buildings and their weighty beauty, Lucy was eventually forced to admit she didn’t have any idea where she was going, aside from presumably ‘uphill’; the ancient fortress of Castle Brinley loomed formidably over Delmore like a grandmother. It took Lucy a while to find someone actually willing to speak to her, but when she did the directions he gave to the Imperial Military College’s main gate were straightforward enough. “They usually receive tradesmen at the East gate, though,” was the inevitable addendum, but he clearly didn’t mean anything by it, so she let it slide and thanked him for his time.

The further up the hill they went, the narrower and cleaner the streets became, and the more people focused on the mare rather than Lucy. At this hour the only people customarily out and about were grocers and servants running errands, so a richly-dressed redhead leading a lively blue-black horse was an immediate and popular topic of discussion. She caught whispers speculating on whether the Duke’s son would be receiving an early birthday present, and what such a beauty must have cost, and what a charming picture they made, the warhorse and the proud barbarian woman! Surely she must be some chieftain’s daughter, to afford fashionable attire (well, not the very latest, of course, but what can one expect?) and wear it with such carefree grace. But of course; only the best mounts for His Grace, and the Undines get queer about their horses – she’s probably been sent as an honour guard. A shame about her looks, poor thing, but then, they really make the animal seem all the more splendid, don’t you think?

Lucy grit her teeth and tried to ignore them, but the pleased spring in Yala’s step whenever yet another girl stopped dead in her tracks with sparkling eyes made it difficult.

As they made their way around a corner into a plaza with a large fountain, Lucy realized they must be getting close; the streets of this district were swarming with young men and women in the green and maroon jackets of the Karling Armed Forces. A few, Lucy noted with a thrill, were even wearing theirs in personalized colours, marking them as either elite warriors or members of the great families allied with the House of Karling. Lucy fantasized for a moment about how dashing she’d look in Averill teal and blue, sitting astride Yala at the head of a victory procession.

Her father’s voice in her memory reminded her that insignificant country gentry were lucky to be attending the Imperial Military College at all, and that flaunting her family name was more likely to invite derision from the young lords and ladies than impress anyone. Well then, she thought with relish, I guess I’ll just have to be declared elite. Flush with an optimism that set little ripples to dancing in the lingering rain puddles, girl and horse continued on their way.

By the time she reached the castle gate, she was striding with such confidence that before the guardsmen could so much as open their mouths, she had declared, “Lady Lucy Averill of Mont Albertine, here to attend the College,” and swept past them in a swirl of fine skirts.

A stableboy ran out and bowed. “Good morning, milady,” he said, and, inclining his head to the mare, added “And good morning to you as well.” He turned back to Lucy. “Don’t worry, milady, the Karlings have preferred Undine horses for over three hundred years; we’re perfectly equipped to accomodate Miss...?”

“Yalamet.” Lucy grinned.

The boy smiled. “How fortunate! They respond better when we use their original names, as I’m sure milady is aware; we had quite a time getting Lord Grenville’s steed to answer to ‘Valiant’,” he confided in a tone that suggested he would dearly love to roll his eyes, but was forbidden from doing so while on duty.

The stables were surprisingly bright and clean, and an obvious relief to Yala, who on the road had become accustomed to lacklustre heaps of wet hay under a roof overhang being referred to as a stable in utter seriousness.

“Might Miss Yalamet’s other tack be among your Ladyship’s luggage?” the boy asked.

Lucy shook her head. “I was told suitable equipment would be provided upon my arrival,” she said, glossing over the fact that the heavy backpack she was wearing and the case in her hand were the entirety of her luggage.

“Quite so,” he replied smoothly, “I’ll assign her a saddle and other sundries right away. I’m told Miss Leto will meet your Ladyship in the entrance hall.” And with that he jogged off into the storeroom, before Lucy could even think to ask who Miss Leto was.

“Well, Yala,” she said, “we’re finally here. What do you think? Worth the trouble?”

Yala gave her a look.

Lucy winced. “Mum’ll be fine – she’ll just have to accept that this is what I want. By the time she finally hears where I’ve gone I’ll have been here too long for her to do anything about it. Even if she wanted to.” For that last remark she had to dodge a nip. “Hey! She said herself, I’m your partner now, not her; that means no biting!” She headed off to the side-entrance door, trying to ignore what passed for laughter among the other Undine-bred horses in the stable. “I’ll come back when you’re in a better mood,” she called over her shoulder.

The entrance hall was decorated Amuan-style, which shocked Lucy. Castle Brinley was considered the Eranmean castle, a treasure of the empire; the first fortress on the site was said to have been built in King Orion’s time, and the current castle dated from before the First Civil War. She’d grown up with a mural of both it and the great knights of history on her nursery wall (her father being unwilling to redecorate on what he called “such frivolous grounds as gender”). To see it decked out in rich silks and desert lanterns felt almost blasphemous. She’d heard the Duke of Karling was eccentric, but this was a little beyond what she’d expected.

Still, the ceiling at least was undoubtedly beautiful; it was of butter-coloured plaster, and pressed into it was what Lucy realized after a moment’s thought was a veritable forest of the Karling evergreen emblem and King Orion’s own cloudflowers, the national emblem of Eranme. It should have clashed with the overall theme of the hall, but everything was rendered in a simplified geometric style that Lucy found charming; the heraldic symbols were by no means the only pictures to be found in the pattern, and if she stared for a while in one place the ceiling would often flash surprise images off at the corner of her eye. By far the easiest shapes to discern were the words of the House of Karling’s motto, circling the central chandelier in a medallion: (to be filled in later).

She would probably have stayed there, staring heavenward for hours, if she hadn’t been interrupted by a low moan.

Turning around abruptly, Lucy saw a girl in uniform lying on one of the settees along the wall, stretching. Tilting her neck to one side and popping it, the young woman’s hair tumbled over the side of the couch in a smooth auburn cascade and brushed the polished floor. After a moment the figure relaxed, and her eyes blinked open.

Within a second the girl was on her feet, a delighted smile on her face as she fairly skipped over. “Lady Lucy Av’rill a’Mon’ Albertine, ‘r I miss my guess,” she chirped in a Delmorean street accent thick enough to float small change on, and, taking a bewildered Lucy’s hesitantly-offered hand, shook it firmly. “Alasdair Leto, 1st lieutenan’, Woodlawn’s Ci’y Cavalry. Pleased d’make y’r acquain’ance.”

Lucy tried to say, "Pleased to meet you too," but what came out instead was an astonished, "But you're so short!"

And she was. Alasdair Leto could not be called ‘petite’ with a straight face, because she was as far from the delicacy that word suggested as it was possible to be. It was as though all the energy needed to move a much taller girl had been forced into a smaller frame; standing, she looked as though she were constantly about to spring, and her voice had a resonance that was at odds with her age. She was not petite, because the word simply would not contain her.

Miss Leto looked surprised at Lucy’s outburst, but laughed. "W’ll... yeah. How tall ya think ya hafta be d’throw fireballs aroun’?"

Lucy flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sor-"

"Nah, 's cool,” the girl interrupted with a grin and wave of her hand. "The ‘cruitment posters and fashion plates do so love their gangly darlin’s. C'mon," she said abruptly, turning and pulling Lucy along with her down the corridor, "lea’e your stuff ‘ere; Nat'll sen’ someone down d’pick it up. Y’r La’yship’s bin travellin’ all nigh’, you’ll need some breakfast in ya b’fore we ‘ead out f’ p’trol."

“There’s no need for any ‘ladyship’ stuff, Miss Leto,” Lucy protested as she rushed to keep up. “Just Lucy is fine.”

“One minute and eleven seconds,” the girl said under her breath, with a hint of amusement.

“Pardon?” Lucy asked, confused.

“I sai’ thanks, Lucy,” Miss Leto smiled at her over her shoulder. “Jus’ Dare’s fine, as well.”

“Dare...” Is this girl really a soldier of the Empire? Lucy thought.

“Ah, here we are!” Rapping on a door in a small alcove and throwing it open, Miss Leto waved cheerily at the crowd of bustling cooks and bakers. “How’s ev’ryone this mornin’?”

“Oh, wonderful,” a man folding pastry muttered, “it’s the walking mouth.”

If Miss Leto took offense at this lacklustre greeting, it was impossible to tell. “In honour of Lt. Averill’s first day on th’ job, she’ll be takin’ breakfast on-site!”

“Um... good morning, everyone...” Lucy gave the staff a small wave. A few of the less busy ones nodded and smiled.

“Milo!” someone called. “Plate up Lt. Averill’s brekkie; faster we feed her the faster we get ‘em both outta our hair.”

Dare opened her mouth, but the pastry chef who’d spoken earlier added sharply, “And get Lt Leto something, too; gods know we don’t need a repeat of Lt Miller’s first day.”

The girl’s smile broadened. “Bless ‘im, he r’members!”

A young man – Milo, Lucy assumed – grabbed a pair of trays with plates set on them and began making his way around the kitchen. Each of the cooks in turn tossed a little something on the girls’ trays; Delmorian potato dumplings, a heel of warm fresh bread, a cup of grape juice each, soft-boiled eggs, and a salad of fresh fruit. Setting the trays before them, he touched his cap and dove back into the fray.

Munching on a dumpling, Lucy took in the kitchen properly. It was much bigger than the one at home, and somehow less chaotic, despite the huge number of people in it. Father had only ever retained two cooks, both of whom were always complaining about not having enough help in their work and refusing to work with one another. Everyone here seemed to fit together like the ceiling in the entrance hall, from the shoppers carrying in the food from the markets all the way to the maids and valets who began to trickle down the spiral stairs around 7 o’clock. A few of them struck up conversations as they waited for their masters’ and mistress’ meals to be completed, and one of the maids had taken the only free chair to get some last-minute mending in.

“Do you often take your meals in the kitchen?” Lucy asked. “I mean, is it the usual thing?”

One of the valets unsuccessfully tried to turn a laugh into a cough.

“Nah, na’rilly,” Miss Leto said, tearing off part of the bread and dunking it in her egg’s runny yolk. “’f I come too often, they’ll d’velop a tol’rance.”

“Dare!” called a cultured voice from the top of the stairs.

At the sound of her name the girl grinned and hopped to her feet, giving her face a cursory wipe with her napkin. Lucy followed suit, staring anxiously at the staircase.

The owner of the voice descended... eventually; the first thing to actually emerge from the stairwell was a halberd with a foot-and-a-half-long blade. The person carrying it was a statuesque blonde girl in divided skirts, who promptly pointed the glaive at Dare’s chest. The smaller girl smiled as though she hadn’t a care in the world, and clicked her heels.

“Good morning, Captain Mimis,” she said cheerfully, in a much, much lighter accent. Lucy stared at her in surprise.

Captain Mimis scowled. "What did I say about hazing the new girl?”

“You didn’t say anything about depriving her of breakfast, Captain,” Dare replied with equal primness, though the small wink she sent Lucy’s way marred the effect somewhat.

The blonde sighed, then turned to Lucy. "I'm sorry; I'm Allora Mimis, how do you do?"

“Very well, thank you, Lady Woodlawn,” Lucy replied, trying to hold back the thrill that went through her. Allora Mimis – Lady Woodlawn, in the flesh! The youngest cadet-Captain in IMC history, in the Standard or Magical Forces! The girl who brought down Dragoneyes Desmoulins single-handed! “Lucy Averill, at your service.”

The blonde nodded politely, and all three girls sat down at the table. Turning to Dare, she asked, “Out of curiosity... how long this time?”

“One minute and eleven seconds,” the auburn-haired girl declared.

Captain Mimis laughed. “I think that might be a record. What say you, Lieutenant Leto?”

Dare shrugged. “She didn’t say it all sticky and sweet or anything. I say give ‘er a shot.”

Lucy looked back and forth between the two girls.

“Um... may I ask...?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Dare said, “I just like to get a feel for the new students socially before I have to deal with them professionally.”

“In Dare’s language,” Lady Woodlawn said dryly, “that means ‘I like to know who’s an Imperial before I assume they have my back in a fight’.”

“Not just that,” the auburn-haired girl objected. “It also means ‘I like to have a heads-up on which of the new cadets are the sort of Trads who treat commoners like pets’.” She made a face. “Those types are worse than some of the Imperials.”

All of this went completely over Lucy’s head. “Well... may I assume that I’m neither of those things, then?” she asked hesitantly.

This earned her a pat on the back from Dare. “Wouldn’t be having breakfast with you if you were, Luce. Don’t worry, you’re good.”

“As a matter of fact, you would be having breakfast with her, Dare.” Lady Woodlawn smirked. “The paperwork for her regimental assignment came through two days ago; Lady Lucy became a member of Woodlawn’s City Cavalry the moment she arrived.”

“Aww, really?!” Dare asked, excited. “We’re getting fresh meat, finally?” She grinned at Lucy. “Welcome aboard!”

Lucy was barely listening. I’m going to be working for Lady Woodlawn! Her nine-year-old self was dancing victoriously in her heart.

“I hope I’m able to satisfy your ladyship’s expectations,” she said enthusiastically.

Lady Woodlawn smiled brightly. “I’m sure you will, Lady Lucy.”

Lucy blushed. “Please call me Lucy, your ladyship,” she murmured.

“What did I tell you? It’s like a reflex!” Dare proclaimed, laughing. “Aren’t you used to your title?”

“Father discouraged the use of it,” she explained, embarrassed. “He fired my first schoolmistress when she couldn’t stop calling me ‘your ladyship’; my new teacher just called me Lucy and the other children followed suit. Now hearing someone my own age call me Lady Lucy just seems... wrong, somehow.” She stroked the back of her neck nervously.

“I know something of the feeling,” Lady Woodlawn said sympathetically. “I’ll make a bargain with you; I’ll call you Lucy if you’ll call me Allie. Or if that’s too much,” she added, taking in Lucy’s rapidly-deepening blush and wide eyes, “at most, call me Captain Mimis. It’s more appropriate when we’re on duty, anyway.”

“Of course, L- Captain Mimis.”

“So! Another product of the state’s school system,” Dare said, still engrossed in her food. “That explains a bit. It’s lucky you are; if you’d had as little experience in getting along with people as some of the cadets here, we might not have been so welcoming.”

Lucy flinched, stung. “You mean you would have had me transferred to someone else’s regiment?”

“No, of course not,” Captain Mimis said, eyes flickering disapprovingly over Dare for a moment. “We’d have worked with you just fine; there’re definitely worse people to be stuck with than a snob.”

“We just wouldn’t have bothered to try to be friends with you off-duty,” Dare explained with a shrug, and popped the last of the apple-slices into her mouth.

“Oh.” Lucy went quiet for a moment, considering this. It was very strange to think of someone not wanting to associate with her for being too much a lady; her father’s prohibition aside, everyone at school had figured out who she was and what her social status meant by the time she was seven. And in a town Mont Albertine's size, being the baron's daughter meant quite a bit to some girls; she'd had her pick of friends for years. “You two must be very close. How long have you been partnered up like this?”

“Eight years!” Dare said proudly. “We’re both early immersion test subjects.”

Lucy blinked. She knew Lady Woodlawn had first been sent to the College nearly a decade ago, but this was the first she’d heard of anyone else being there a comparable length of time. “But then, how is it neither of you have graduated yet?”

“Dare, don’t,” Captain Mimis said warningly.

“I wasn’t about to answer with food in my mouth!” Dare protested around a mouthful of egg. “Go ahead, give her the standard line.”

“His Grace Duke Richard believes that it would be unethical to send underage soldiers into real battle,” the blonde explained. “The extra years we’ve had here have also given us a training advantage over other people our age, which is why not even Dare complains too loudly about being held back.”

“The reason I do complain,” Dare said after she’d swallowed, “is that it’s pretty blatantly a way to encourage the normal students academically; no one wants to get shown up by ‘the little kids’. We're like the cane, only more civilized. On top of that, ‘real battle’ apparently doesn’t include questing, since Allie wouldn’t be anywhere near the household name she is if we were kept out of that.” Tossing back the last of her grape juice, Dare licked her lips. “Full-fledged soldiers get hazard pay for quests; we get them assigned for homework.”

Captain Mimis shook her head. “Lucy, I present to you my best friend. If there is a silver lining to a cloud, rest assured she will chip at it in order to prove it’s only plating.”

Lucy blinked. “Best friends? Really?” I thought officers with different ranks didn’t socialize much.

Dare smirked. “My arrival meant she got an instant promotion, so she was inclined to like me from the start.”

“Can I count on that same goodwill from you, Miss... Dare?” Lucy asked.

“Hah! No fear of that, Luce.” The girl snatched one of Lucy’s leftover dumplings and munched it happily. “I serve under Allie. They can’t promote me without promoting her; the Imperials would pitch a fit.”

Captain Mimis opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by five low, descending tones emanating from both her jacket and Dare’s. Reaching into their inside pockets, both girls turned off the alarms on their hailing runes and got to their feet.

"That’s the call for patrol shift-change," Dare explained, cursing as they headed out the door. “Usually it doesn’t come until 9. Pinkwater’s mom must’ve invited him and his buddies to have breakfast with her again.”

“Can you blame her?” Lady Woodlawn shrugged. “The poor fellow’s built like a broomstick, he needs all the fattening up he can get. Come along, Lady Lucy,” she called over her shoulder, and Lucy followed the pair back down the hall and into the stables.

As attendants sprung from seemingly nowhere to fit out the horses, Lady Woodlawn caught sight of Yala. “Is that your mount?” she asked, and smiled with admiration and not a little envy when Lucy replied in the affirmative. “She’s magnificent. And to think, she doesn’t look a bit winded from your journey here.”

“I paid double the usual fare to keep her in a trailer for most of the trip,” Lucy explained, “in case we needed to go right to work when we arrived.”

“May I greet her?”

“Of course,” Lucy said, and was surprised to see the older girl knew all the words of the traditional Undine horse-introduction. In response, Yala batted her eyes at Allie, as she always did to people who pleased her, and bumped the girl’s cheek with her nose. If the grooms were amused to hear an already-legendary Captain giggle with delight, they gave no sign of it.

“I had quite a mad passion for Undine horses as a child,” Lady Woodlawn said with a small smile, patting Yala on the neck. “My father prefers Adelian-bred, though, so I’ve never had one of my own.”

“Lady Lucy,” called the groom she’d met earlier, carrying a saddle with the Karling fir tree emblazoned on the stirrups, “I trust this will serve?”

Lucy blinked, and looked over at the other two girls in surprise. “Lady Woodlawn... you mean for me to join you?”

The blonde shrugged. “You said yourself you kept Miss Yalamet well-rested just in case.”

“Well, yes, but...” Lucy’s eyes gleamed. “I can really start immediately?”

Dare laughed. “Don’t get too excited, Averill. You’re in for four-and-a-half hours in the saddle doing basically nothing but trying to avoid eye contact with any City Guardsmen who happen by.”

As Lucy told the groom that the saddle was more than satisfactory, a dark man in an elegantly-tailored suit entered the stables, carrying an IMC jacket over one arm.

“Allie,” he said, startling Lucy with his familiar tone, “his Grace’s secretary says you may have the use of the Memorial Library from 4 this afternoon, but that your father will expect to see you at the ball this evening.”

Lady Woodlawn sighed. “Thanks, Nat; I suppose it was a long shot with the centennial scholars always in there lately.” She smiled apologetically at Lucy for ignoring her. "Nataraj Chavali," she said, nodding at the dark man, "please permit me to introduce Lady Lucy Averill. Lady Lucy, this is Nat; he's our chaperon."

"Charmed, I'm sure," Nat said with a nod.

“How do you do?” Lucy returned the nod.

"’Chaperon’ my ass," Dare muttered to Lucy, "His job is basically to fetch and carry for us.”

"There is no shame in honest service, Miss Leto," he said sternly. To Lucy, he said, gesturing with the arm carrying the coat, “Forgive me if this is a poor fit; your own jacket is set aside for your tailoring appointment this afternoon. But you’re almost the same height as Allie, and you can’t go riding out without your uniform.”

Taking the jacket, Lucy shrugged it on and quickly buttoned it. “Thank you.”

“There remains one final bit of business,” Nat said, smiling at her. “In addition to my duties as caretaker to Captain Mimis, I am currently serving as the Magical Institute’s interim Gatekeeper. I understand you have some letters for me?”

“Yes, of course!” Crouching next to her bags, Lucy clicked open her traveling case and pulled out the Duke’s invitation and her father’s introductory letter. The dark man took them and tucked them into an inside pocket of his jacket. Then he looked her up and down.

“Unless I am very much mistaken, you are the first of your line ever to attend IMC,” he said.

Lucy ducked her head. “Yes, that is true.”

“Then allow me to congratulate you, and to wish you good fortune in your choice of friends.” He winked, and Lucy suddenly realized where Dare must have gotten the habit. Then he nodded at Lady Woodlawn, admonished her to be careful, and left.

”I hadn’t heard the ladies of the College were provided with male chaperons,” Lucy said as they rode out, eyes wide. Clearly her father hadn’t either; she’d still be at home if he had.

Captain Mimis laughed. “Oh, Nat’s been with me for years; when they sent me for early training his Grace promised my father I’d have the best live-in tutor he had, and the best he had was Nat.” She pointed at her halberd, currently at rest on her arm. “Nat’s the one who taught me how to use this, among other things; he doesn’t have magic himself, but he’s quite well-versed in ways to apply it to standard martial arts. He’s like an uncle to us.”

“To you, y’mean,” Dare grumbled.

“To us,” Captain Mimis repeated, smiling and reaching over to pat Dare’s arm. Turning back to Lucy, she said, “If your father has any objections to Nat or any of my other servants, let me know and I’ll write to him with my personal assurances of your safety. For now,” she smiled, “let me just say that I trust him with my life, let alone yours and Dare’s.”

Lucy returned the smile. “I’m sure he’s a fine man if you think so highly of him, La- Captain Mimis.”

Dare grinned at her friend. “And so it begins. The first generation of your fangirls has arrived among us.” It was the blonde’s turn to blush.

Paul Carter’s forecast had proved correct; the sun was already hot as the three girls turned onto the main thoroughfare.

“We’ll split up in about half an hour,” Dare said, “to give you a chance to get to know the city better.” She pointed out a pub called The Breeze and Cloud, whose sign was in the shape of a crowned woman. “We usually meet there for lunch. They’ve got an absolutely luscious beef stew that you have to taste to believe.”

Is she thinking about eating again already? Lucy wondered incredulously. How on earth does she stay so thin?

Captain Mimis sighed. “Dare? Focus.”

“Right, right.”

“Now, this neighbourhood is called Turtledove,” Lady Woodlawn said in a lecturing tone of voice. “It was first built around the same time as the castle, which is why the streets are so narrow and curving; the idea was to hinder an invading force and stall them until the townspeople could evacuate to the castle. If you get lost, the hailing rune sequence is-”

A chorus of distant screams met their ears; up ahead they saw people begin pouring out of a sidestreet on the right.

Without a moment’s hesitation Lucy shouted “Yala!”, and horse and rider took off down the nearest alley. Dare shouted something after them, but all Lucy could think was There’s an adventure over there!

A thought at the back of her mind told her, as Yala leapt easily over the clusters of people fleeing the scene, that she’d just basically abandoned Lady Woodlawn and Dare; Adelian horses were obedient and nimble, but they didn’t have the confidence to navigate complicated terrain and crowds the way Yala did. Lucy didn’t care; at this moment all that concerned her was getting to whoever was screaming like that and helping them.

Emerging two blocks over, Lucy took one look at the scene and gasped. She realized with a jolt that the summons had not been an early shift-change.

It was a call for reinforcements.

The cadet nearest her, his voice and lips both cracked and raw, was throwing spell after spell with both hands; all with different names, all to no avail. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead into his right eye, which was squeeze shut. One of his comrades was leaning against him with an arm slung over his shoulder, because – Lucy tried and failed to prevent herself from vomiting – part of his thigh had been slashed off of him. She could see the remaining muscles trying to support his weight, twitching and spurting blood as he clutched at the wound and screamed out healing spells, clearly trying to hold together until a medic could arrive.

Why didn’t I take those nursing lessons when Auntie offered why why why why...? The word repeated until it was a steady beat, attaching itself to other thoughts; why had she left the two more experienced soldiers behind to hog the glory? Why couldn’t she think of anything to do? Why had she thought she would be able to handle being a combat mage? Why had she ever thought this was a good idea?

Making their way up the street, close on the heels of the fleeing citizenry, was an army of golems. Each no less than six feet tall, they marched steadily toward her, identical scowls on their earthenware faces, identical vicious swords in their hands.

They were less than ten feet away.

Not that there's anything wrong with this thread, but we have this, now, which might be a better bet...

I do like it. Interested to see more. The world looks interesting.

Completely fine to start your own thread. I'll read this later, gotta grab dinner.

Furiko...I'm actually going to applaud you for actually showing what you already wrote before talking about it first.

I'm of the res ipsa loquitur school of attention whoring.

There are people in this thread, including me, who just keeps on talking about their works and never actually get any writing done.

-takes out whips-

Well, since I don't belong in that group... -Evil Grin-

Wait, I'm in-between projects—

Hey, not bad. I do have to frown at your use of 'fangirls'; kind of jolts me out of suspension of disbelief for a moment, but I figure that you couldn't resist. "Questing" also jerks me out of the story a little; it feels too much RPG-ish, perhaps?

You also feel like you've stolen Mercedes Lackey's muse, in this one. Though to this point without the wangst.

Magic seems pretty high-tech here (given communicating runes and the like) — I'm curious to learn more about the world, this gives me a lot of curiosity about it.

So far, all three girls seem to be a bit too perfect, pretty and pleasant. Though you haven't had much time to really show their personalities — a lot of people only show their flaws under stress. I don't think everyone should have such a positive response to Lucy, and indeed your travelling merchants or whatever they are don't quite have the same thing, but there should be some others among the cadets at the academy who show a dislike to her, or at least some competitiveness.

I hope you have her fail a little, make a rash mistake, or something like that. She's good-hearted, smart and well-educated, but she hasn't had a huge amount of experience, and there should be a time or two that her classroom and training-yard practice doesn't lead her right.

Something about the tone of this reminds me of Robin Mc Kinley's The Blue Sword; not so much the setting, but the language, perhaps, the slightly breezy tone you have. I'm guessing that it's probably aimed at about the same market; young-people fantasy that adults can enjoy.

Oh, Morven. It's understandable you'd say that, you haven't had much exposure to her writing. But you don't understand; Furiko doesn't throw her characters under a train for the sake of a plot.

She gets an entire fleet of trains, then throws each character under a different one especially for them.

I have no exposure to Furiko's writing but this, so all I can go on is this. I'm glad that there are likely to be hidden trains sneaking up on these too-nice characters who need a little breaking to be interesting.

Re: the questing thing: Yeah, I can see how it'd be jarring, what with the pseudo-mid-nineteenth century thing I've got going on otherwise, but it's hard to think of another word for 'magical police work in the wild countryside' that doesn't sound twee and overly precious. And I suppose fan might work better than fangirl - it was in use by at least the 1880s, I think.

I don't think I've ever actually read a Mercedes Lackey book. My big influences for this project are Joan Aiken and CS Lewis, with a side order of my childhood frustration with their unwillingness to let anything really bad happen to their characters. And a healthy dollop of shoujo for dessert. In short, the angst is on its way - sit tight.

I'm gonna level with ya; they have hailing runes so I can have them make radio transmissions and phone calls. Yes, I really am that lazy.

Oooh, I can't wait to parade their flaws for all to see! ^/////^ Rest assured, I wrote this chapter (and a few of the subsequent ones) to show off their good sides, just because they all get their turn at being bitchy later on to the point that I sometimes don't like them very much. Well, Allie less so - she's mostly just a stressbucket and a control freak. She's my attempt at The Good Captain, after all.

I feel constrained to note that it's not prejudice against Undines that leads the good townsfolk to compare Lucy unfavourably with her horse; she's, uh... well, the nice thing would be to say that she can be a handsome woman. Just not in direct sunlight, usually. With Dare and Allie it's a fair cop, though; they wouldn't be out of place on a pulp fantasy cover, if you took most of their clothes off.

One thing that I am worried about portraying effectively is something I came across in the novel Vanity Fair and wanted to replicate in a world of my own. At one point the scumbag beloved of Amelia-the-disgraced-but-pure-chick is pressured by his parents to marry a former schoolmate of hers, an heiress from the West Indies who is half black. His objection to her on the charming grounds of personal aesthetics (scorn heaped on her 'woolly hair' and so forth) is treated as utterly childish by mum and dad, who only seem to care that she's obscenely wealthy and very well-bred. I thought that emphasis on class over race was really kind of interesting, and it was part of my inspiration for the complicated relationship Eranme has with its Undine minority, and the way it ties in to the national identity and the past century's political history.

Yeah; it's that kind of book. ^_^; Or rather, the My First version of that kind of book.

Ninja'd by the best compliment ever from the best boyfriend ever.

edited 30th Oct '11 12:04:20 AM by FurikoMaru

All this makes me want to read it more. If you don't write more I shall hunt you down and put nasty flavors in your toothpaste. That'll show you.

Oh, and Dare's transcribed accent could rapidly turn annoying; I generally find that such things have to be laid on pretty sparingly — a bit much in the beginning, an occasional bit of flavor, and whenever she says something that REALLY shows her origins. Mimic the way that if you get introduced to someone with an odd accent, it's noticeable all the time at first but after a while you don't really notice it unless they say something really odd. (I'm guessing that you know this, but still ...)

I want angst. Just not Lackey's wangst, but I don't think you're quite that type; that kind of precious self-pity I doubt could get much sympathy from you, from what I know of you from here.

"Fan" works, just not "fangirl". Fine with that. I think I could deal with "quest" and "questing" given time; it's not a dealbreaker.

You haven't really explained what an Undine is in your world yet; the word tends to mean some kind of water-spirit type woman in mythology, but I have a feeling it isn't quite the same thing here. Of course, I'm also very biased by being over-familiar with Gene Wolfe's Book Of The New Sun, where the undines are female giants so huge as to need to live in water permanently. Not at all applicable to this

Don't worry, after that first taste of HER ACCENT IS MAXIMUM I don't really mention it again. I just wanted to give the reader an idea of what a Delmorean street accent sounds like so they can just assume she sounds like that later. It's actually a pathetic attempt to transcribe my own Torontonian accent, as it sounds when I speak too fast.

Good, 'cause if she talked like that throughout the whole thing I'd have to choke her to put her out of my misery.

The biggest thing that kinda jerks me about is that our introduction to Lucy is through interaction. So we've got four, five people going at once and it's difficult to keep everything straight, even considering some of them are bit parts there to serve the characterisation of Lucy (presumably). Usually, character introductions (especially for main protagonists) tend to begin with just them and their observations, or interaction with one other character. Introductions, to my mind, are like climaxes. They require the greatest degree of focus. 'Cause mostly, you want to establish a character in clear terms without distraction.

That said, I've not read the entire chapter yet, which I shall remedy forthwith. But that's the one thing that's jumped out at me so far.

It's a shame that gaming has ruined the term "quest" somewhat, given how, well, questy it is. One of those brilliant words that should be exotic through disuse and here we are, bored with it.

edited 30th Oct '11 5:54:12 AM by MadassAlex

Oh, so that's why you guys are havin' trouble with it. /non-gamer Arthurian myth fan

I think using 'quest' in the sense used here is doable, it's just likely to raise odd looks. Possible alternatives...'mission' has a more modern feel, 'expedition' if you emphasize exploration or searching, 'seeking' has about the right feel but sounds really odd. Not really any good ones.

Yeah, it gives me RPG flashbacks. I expect there to be questgiver NPCs round the corner, with yellow exclamation marks over their heads.

See, I could use 'adventure', but adventure just sounds so trite. It's what the naive kid calls the group's potentially lethal experiences; it's what your dad says you're going on when he takes the backroads instead of the highway to get to the same damn place, just ten minutes later.

Glad I'm not the only one whose dad's lameness ends up being heartwarming.

Perhaps the word "task" would be better? There's a sense of urgency about it. And then you could use an adjective once in a while to restock on the urgency and then go back to "task" vanilla.

'Labours', like Herakles, maybe?

That sounds more like a proper noun, somehow. More the sort of thing you'd apply to some specific set of particularly impressive quests/missions/whatever than a collective term for the endeavor.

Bookmarking this to stalk this thread.

I have to get to my own Na No, but I will be back. Mark my words.