The first thing that Jamka noticed about her was the sword. Held in an overly ornate scabbard and slung on her hip, it was obviously a weapon of some value. And, of course, the way she wielded it was even more impressive than the weapon itself. She had long black hair, dark like night, but was slender, lacking a proper warrior's build. The myrmidon was clad in Isaachian clothes, light and easy to move around in. She had a haughty look about her, slightly abated by a pair of mysterious, dark brown eyes.
"Cimbaeth hired himself a pretty decent sword hand, looks like," the young prince mused.
She ignored him and continued practicing. Her deft strokes sliced through the air, each one a satisfying hiss.
Playing on the ground nearby with rocks and sticks was a young boy who looked very much like the swordswoman. While she wasn't old enough to be his mother, they could have easily been siblings. The boy glanced up from his game to the archer. "Auntie doesn't talk much," he explained.
The woman sheathed her blade, turning quickly to the boy. "Shanan," she snapped, "you know better than to talk to strangers."
The boy flinched from the severity in her voice. "I'm sorry," he mumbled sheepishly.
Jamka stifled a laugh, then turned to the warrior. "Don't mind me, ma'am. I'm Jamka, Verdane's youngest prince. Since you're working with Cimbaeth, there's a chance we'll be fighting alongside each other."
She pursed her lips thoughtfully, before offering a rueful bow. "My apologies, milord."
The archer shook his head. "Don't worry about it. What brings you here to Verdane?" Jamka asked, glancing sidelong at the two of them. "You obviously aren't from around here."
She nodded pensively. "Refuge. Our country, Isaach, is plagued by war right now, and we came here to escape from the conflict."
Jamka frowned, not knowing what to say. He'd been aware of the scrimmage between Grannvale and Isaach, as well that Verdane was the only nation not allied with Grannvale. It made plenty of sense for the two to seek refuge here. However, he hadn't realized the situation in Isaach was so dire. The journey itself to Verdane was quite the trek, especially since it involved passing through Grannvalian territory.
The prince reciprocated her bow. "What may I call you, fair warrior?"
She straightened, as though stung by his words. "Ayra," she finally answered. "The boy is my nephew, Shanan."
"Ayra, Shanan, it is good meeting you. We don't have much in the way of swordsmen here, so I'm glad to have you on our side. But hopefully we won't be needing your blade any time soon."
She gave him a stilted bow in response. "Of course, milord."
"Nice meeting you, mister Jamka," the young boy chimed happily.
Jamka smiled to the two of them. "I must be heading back to Evans. It was good meeting the two of you. Stay well."
"Of course, milord," she replied shortly.
"Bye-bye," the boy said, waving.
With that, Jamka turned and left.
The Verdanian prince had been stationed in Evans castle when his father, King Batu, issued the order to siege Grannvale. Munnir and an army of axemen had already begun marching on Jungy, thirsty for battle. Jamka immediately began riding back to Verdane, that he might convince his father to cease fighting.
While resupplying in Genoa, he was flagged down by the myrmidon from before. "Prince Jamka," she began, "is something going on? I saw Munnir marching through with an army not three days ago."
Jamka couldn't help but grimace at her question. "Father issued orders to attack Grannvale. I'm riding back to Verdane to convince him of his folly," the archer explained. "Nothing good can come of war with them."
The cast of Ayra's concern deepened. "King Batu has been a peaceful ruler until now," she said, bewildered. "What could have changed him to be like this?"
The prince breathed a painful sigh. "I... I don't know. But I've heard rumor of a dubious priest in the royal court named Sandima. He must have bewitched father somehow."
"Prince Jamka," she said, frowning, "I am sorry."
He shook his head quietly. "Don't be, Ayra. You've enough to worry you already."
The swordswoman was taken aback, unsure what to say. Shanan, playing nearby, glanced curiously between the two adults.
"In fact," Jamka continued, "I should be the one apologizing. The time may be coming when you do need to draw your sword, and it's not even for your own country. It simply isn't right."
Ayra scowled at that. "Lord Jamka, I do appreciate the sanctuary we've found in Verdane. But work as a mercenary is the only living I've managed for us here. For Shanan, I'll do whatever it takes."
"Of course," he replied. "Just don't get yourself killed, okay?"
Before a very impatient Ayra could reply, Shanan cut in. "Don't worry," he said confidently, "if those Grannvalians come to Verdane, aunt Ayra and I will beat 'em up for you."
Jamka turned to the young boy, smiling despite the situation. "Good. You take care of Ayra, alright?"
Shanan grinned from ear to ear. "If I had dad's sword with me, I could cut 'em all up into pieces," the boy crowed, throwing a fist into the air.
The archer blinked at the boy, surprised. Glancing across to Ayra, he saw brief panic flash across her face. There was definitely more to the pair than they were letting on, but Jamka didn't have time for it right now.
He graced them with another smile. "Ayra, Shanan, if you'll excuse me. I must be on my way to Verdane."
Ayra bowed once more. "Fortune keep you, Lord Jamka," she said solemnly.
Shanan bowed as well, mimicking his aunt. "Goodbye, mister Jamka."
The Verdanian prince nodded, taking his leave.
