If I Were a Herald Chapter 20: Pennsic War, a valdemar universe fanfic

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 20

Pennsic War

Disclaimer: Both "Pennsic War" and "Falconsbane" belong to Michael Longcor. "Be Prepared" belongs to Disney. I am working on a way of stealing the rights from Disney. Maybe when I take over the world with my evil twin. Until then, I have to put up disclaimers. But someday I will own "Pirates of the Caribbean"! Oh, and I don't own Valdemar, either. Actually I think there's only one reference to Valdemar, and then the fact that King Roald puts in a few appearances.

A/N (11/22/05): I've gone back to previous chapters and added breaks between the different scenes and whatnot. Ff.mort is idiotic and strips my breaks as well as my paragraph indentations. Grr! It didn't used to strip the paragraph indentations—and it used to preserve scene breaks in word documents.

Tempeste-Silere: Hey, don't worry about not having an account. Mostly I was bitching at ff.mort. It's one of my favorite pastimes. What's with all the rules, anyway? It's not like I'm actually hurting anyone by including replies to reviews in the chapters. And thanks for your encouraging comments—though I'm definitely going to need to change that play if I want it to be publishing material!

Fireblade K'Chona: It's the fiddle, and I learned to play it during my classes at Bardic. That was one of the things I was doing in preparation for possible undercover work. Maybe someday I'll go back and add a music lesson or two into the story. Problem is, it's been so long since I've actually had one… but I do have a bit of background in violin, as well as cello and piano. And I figured three years of hard training was enough that I could play passably well. And yes, I'm very obsessed with Captain Jack Sparrow. Part of it's just the name, Jack. It's such an awesome name. I mean, there's Colonel Jack O'Neill, then there's Jack Dalton (MacGyver's sketchy friend). Then there's the drink Captain Jack, which admittedly I haven't had…

Nawyn: I'm glad you appreciated the "they're adopted" scene. And thanks for the ideas, although I'm not going to use them. They just won't work out with what I've got planned for later in the story. I need the kids safely in Haven while I go gallivanting after pirates—er, that is, evil mages.

Dark Angel Lytha: I love you! You are wonderful! And I love long, rambling reviews. And no, I don't have a beta reader—thanks for your commendations. What I do have is this little grammar cop sitting on my shoulder and yelling at me every time I make a mistake. lol. I'll bet it took a long time to read the story in one go—I doubt if I could have done that. You bring warmth and fuzziness to my heart. I don't exactly have Misty's cd, but I do have a whole lot of her songs—what's your email addy? That way I can send some of them to you. There's "Shadow Stalker," "Demonsbane," "Magic's Price," and the list goes on. I even have some that aren't about Valdemar, like "The Pattern of Amber," which is about Zelazny's Amber chronicles.

Syl: Hey, thanks for your criticism. I really need some of that now and then. I'll see about trying to get an antagonist... maybe Mortimer should make an appearance in an earlier chapter. But thanks. You're right, the story is much lacking in a coherent plot. Although I would like to point out that the first person perspective is sort of supposed to be obnoxious. As for the song lyrics… well, I'm not too sorry about it, and this one has the longest song yet. Mostly because it includes numerous footnotes. You're welcome to skip it if you like. Not the chapter, but the song. And keep reviewing! I have this burning desire to become a published author, and if that's going to happen I need criticism. I need suggestions on how to improve my stories. I need to know what I'm doing wrong.

Joann: Thanks for your review and encouragement; I shall add it to my collection.

D2queen: That jumping around was because I didn't feel like writing the entire play…lol. But I'm glad you were able to follow it.

About the replies to reviews. I saw someone who had a very ingenious way of finding a loophole in that rule. Her replies are actually part of the story. And it works out because of the way the story is written—total insanity and randomness. I wish I could write like that.

Okay, this one was just so hilarious, and it's from an SCA reenactment, so it works out really nicely for this story. The singer is Michael Longcor, who is really very awesome. He also does some Kipling stuff, like "Smuggler's Song." If anybody can figure out how to spell "Merowald," input would be much appreciated! So, yeah. Basically I just copied down the song as I heard it. It starts off with him talking about the SCA and the Pennsic War, and he interrupts himself every once in a while with footnotes. To preserve the flow of the song, I have made the footnotes into actual footnotes to the best of my ability. Reference them at will. Um, I've already referenced this song once; my song "Dirty Dancing" is a parody of it.

Many many years ago, in an organization called the Society for Creative Anachronism, which tends to recreate the Middle Ages and which has an annual war every year in Pennsylvania, they had what was called the Pennsylvania, or Pennsic, War number Four. This particular war was much more authentic than anyone ever wanted it to be, because it rained for three weeks nonstop up to the beginning of it, and continued to rain a total of about nine to ten inches over the three-day period that most people were unhappily there. Things turned to a morass. The only way in was a quarter-mile cattle trail that turned to pea-soup consistency and ate all sorts of things: tents, sandals, knives, sheep, dishwashers, everything. It was one of the more memorable wars and one of those things that people love to talk about after they're finished and will never, ever go through again. So, with that—well, we'll kick in a few footnotes along the way to try and keep things up to date.

'Twas a dark and stormy night—

Okay, so not so much. It wasn't even night. It was the middle of the freaking day. And the storm wasn't all that impressive. A bit of rain every now and then, some drizzle. A couple gusts of wind. Maybe the odd lightning bolt or two. Back home in Florida, we wouldn't even have brought the kids inside.

Here in Valdemar, we weren't taking the kids inside, either. Oh, no. People were shrieking and running madly at every flash of lightning or rumble of thunder, but nobody suggested we should go inside.

Here's the deal. I'd had the absolutely brilliant idea of having a mock-battle. Out in the open, with armor, on horses (or Companions), with muchly blunted arrows and practice swords.

Of course, it hadn't gone quite as I'd planned. I usually didn't expect much rain after hurricane season ended. Well, that didn't hold in Valdemar. It was winter, but at the moment it was raining, not snowing. Although the water was certainly cold enough to be snow. I was miserable. So was everyone else.

I was the leader of the "bad guys." The rebels. The ones who dared to try to take over the throne. I had planned to set myself up as queen.

Roald had somehow arranged to have a few days off. He was leading the "good guys," mostly consisting of Heralds. There were a few Heralds on my side, the fun ones like Jorjie and Corwin, who thought playing the bad guys was a brilliant idea. We called our Companions "Hellhorses" for the duration of the fight.

The muck that we had to wade through had the look and feel of diarrhea, tinged an unhealthy green. Disgusting. This was not a good day to die.

After a few unsuccessful attempts to get into the king's camp, and many of my people either running off or succumbing to the weather—I swear I'd never seen so many colds in all my twenty-two years—I gathered my people around me to outline my nefarious plan. And yes, the song was totally stolen from Disney's "The Lion King." And no, I didn't particularly care. Actually I thought myself rather clever.

"I know that your powers of retention are as wet as a warthog's backside. But thick as you are, pay attention. My words are a matter of pride. It's clear from your vacant expressions the lights are not all on upstairs. But we are talking kings and successions. Even you can't be caught unawares.

"So prepare for the chance of a lifetime. Be prepared for sensational news. A shining new era is tiptoeing nearer. And where do you feature? Just listen to teacher. I know it sounds sordid, but you'll be rewarded when at last I am given my dues. And injustice deliciously squared. Be prepared!"

"Be prepared for what?" one of my followers demanded.

"For the death of the king!" I announced in a grim voice. "I am going to take over his throne.

"It's great that you'll soon be connected with a queen who'll be all-time adored. Of course, quid pro quo, you're expected to take some duties on board.

"The future is littered with prizes, and though I'm the main addressee, the point that I must emphasize is you won't get a sniff without me!

"So prepare for the coup of the century. Be prepared for the murkiest scam. Meticulous planning, tenacity spanning, decades of denial is simply why I'll be queen undisputed, respected, saluted, and seen for the wonder I am. Yes my teeth and ambitions are bared. Be prepared!"

My scheme didn't work too well. I lost about a dozen more vassals to the now-pouring rain. They just got lost. A few more ran into each other and knocked themselves out. But I did manage to sneak all the way up to Roald's tent. I almost had him. I was so close. Unfortunately, Melissa managed to find me. Probably through the same bond that allowed us to have the same dreams.

Roald and his forces gathered around me to gloat. I began to sing.

"At last, the chase is over. You have taken me at bay. The rats of righteousness crowd in to make the villain pay. You shriek I am unnatural; you say I am accursed. But hear me out and heed me now lest you should turn to worse.

"I don't ask for forgiveness, for it isn't yours to give. I made my way and lived my life as I saw fit to live. I've never moved to help you, nor to hurt you, as I might. I've powers that could help you now; the choice is yours this night.

"I know life is never pretty, and no fight is ever fair; and the power and the glory go to those with strength and flair. Those who cross me never prosper; those who threaten end up dead. I don't get mad. I don't get even. I make sure I get ahead.

"You may cry that I'm the villain, and you whine that I am bad, while I give your life some interest and a reason to be sad. You're all unfit to judge me, yet you'll judge me if you can; and if you think I'm evil, clearly you don't understand.

"I have lived a hundred lifetimes in a hundred different shells, asking only to be left alone to live life as I will. I've known no love or kindness, only loathing, hate, and spite. Ah, you sympathize. I smile. You drop your guard. And then I strike.

"I'm a most superior being. I'm the hero of my mind; well equipped to rule and dictate to the cattle of your kind. Though I'm blamed for all your misery, for each sorrow small and large, I don't want to be a monster. I just want to be in charge!"

They were all dumbfounded at my performance. I had held them enthralled, almost as if I had the true Bardic Gift. But I didn't, only a Wild Talent. Melissa had divulged me of my weapons, but I quickly Fetched a disappearing knife and threw it at Roald's chest. He wore no armor. The knife struck, and he executed a dramatic death scene, complete with twitching spasms as the life flowed out of his veins. I grabbed his crown. "I crown me, Kali, queen of Valdemar." Then I threw down some flash powder and pulled a disappearing act.

That took all of one day. We still had three more left. Okay, so Roald was dead. But he still had an heir, who wanted the crown back. It had turned into a glorified version of capture-the-flag. We were at a slight disadvantage because we'd lost more people. So far we'd only managed to kill the king. Pathetic. Although they'd lost more people to the rain. Us bad guys were the more enthusiastic. We'd all volunteered to be the villains. Still, they'd "killed" more of us than they'd lost to the weather, so we were outnumbered.

We finally found our way back, and the final figures state: Middle Kingdom 3, East 2, and Mother Nature 48.

Two days into that soggy battle, we found ourselves surrounded. But this time I wasn't alone. My people were with me. "Protect the queen!" Jorjie yelled. Some of them listened; some didn't. Actually, most of my people surrendered. They thought it hilarious to act as real bad guys would.

"Cowards! I'll skin you alive! You won't get away with this." Then I was too busy fighting to think of anything but the next stroke. I fought my way out of the ambush, forming a trio with Jorjie and Corwin. By the time the short skirmish was over, we were the only three left standing. Those who had surrendered were on their knees.

"I sentence you to death for treachery and cowardice. You abandoned your queen under fire." I "executed" them methodically, mostly ignoring the ones who ran. The elements would take care of them.

It was a motley assortment who made our way back to camp that night. We were all soaked to the skin, and had no chance of drying off, or even getting warm. The fires wouldn't light. They were covered, so the rain wasn't getting on them directly, but the dampness had soaked into everything. Worse, I knew that if I'd just bend a little, I could make some heat. But that would involve magic, and I couldn't risk it.

I almost screamed when my spies reported that the enemy camp had fires going. Of course. They had Firestarters.

"Mommy, mommy, look what I can do." I recognized Marky's voice. His face was muffled in about ten layers of fabric. Most likely he was at least warm, if not dry, under all that. He had insisted upon being included in our little war, and had insisted upon being a bad guy. So I had named him my heir upon my conquest of the throne.

"What can you do, honey?"

Sizzle. Hiss. Snap!

The soggy pile of logs that was supposed to be our firepit sprang to life. Orange glow had never looked so beautiful. "Warm," Marky said.

I hugged him tight. "You are a life-saver, you know that? Think you can do that for the other fires?"

He nodded. So I took him to all the other firepits and had him light them as well. Oh, what a beautiful sight. He collapsed into my arms, exhausted. "I'll see that you get a medal for this."

The third and final day of battle dawned in a fiery haze of red. I was just grateful that I could see the sun.

Battle was joined a few minutes after dawn. The enemy far outnumbered us, and they had righteousness on their side. Roald's heir, a young Herald named Carla—not the true Heir, but just someone who had been chosen to play the part—made a rousing speech about returning her to her rightful throne, and driving out the vicious, blood-sucking invaders. I made vampire-hissy noises at her. Those children who had remained turned and ran. Even those on my side backed up a few steps.

All but Marky. He giggled and waved his sword. Somehow he'd managed to survive all this time. Probably because no one wanted to "kill" a four-year-old. It would have ruined his fun.

I took an arrow in the shoulder and had to drop my sword. I quickly picked it up with my left hand and continued fighting with almost as much skill. I had continued my daily training regimen after graduation. Part of that was training my left hand to do anything my right could do. I knew from first-hand experience just how easy it was to get injured. Back in elementary it seemed that I sprained a different finger every other week. Writing with a sprained finger was painful and awkward. So I taught myself how to write with my left hand. On a whim, I'd trained myself in other ways, playing tennis left-handed and doing a bit of fencing with my left hand. When it turned out that this could at some point save my life, the training had begun in earnest.

Knowing that blood loss would weaken me, I purposefully fought badly. Thus my opponent was able to get in a lucky thrust into my side. No permanent damage, but if I didn't get help soon, my character could die from loss of fluids.

"To the queen! Our queen is injured!"

My troops spirited me away as others closed in ranks around me. "Marky," I gasped. "Take my crown. I am most grievously wounded. You, my heir, must lead our troops, for I am unable to bear the burden."

He took the crown and solemnly placed it on his blonde curls. My people carried me to safety.

Now the rain was pouring in earnest, and freezing cold, too. And—ouch! Were those hailstones? They were! "Bloody hell," I muttered. "Someone go get Marky. Get him in out of this hail. We need to get the kids to safety."

The hail fell harder. Corpses littered the ground. Suddenly they weren't corpses any longer. And then we hit the beehive, and the corpses jumped and ran. That was about what was happening now. Animate "corpses" ran in all directions, seeking shelter from the pounding hailstones. The army, led by Marky, pulled back in a disorderly manner.

The hail lasted all night. It precluded any further skirmishing, although I did catch a group of people sneaking into the camp to try to steal my crown. I shouted for my guards. Before they could come, however, the sneaky sons of ancestors managed to drive a disappearing knife into my chest. I was too weak to fight back. But my death was avenged by my loyal, power-hungry followers.

The next day we counted up the losses. Those due to nature were high, those due to enemy action were not so high. And my side still had the crown, along with enough people to protect it. So Marky was declared the victor, and allowed to keep the fake crown we'd used for the game. We all packed up and headed back for the warmth and dryness of the palace.

:Well, at least the young trainees got a taste of what real fighting's like: Lyrna said, trying to keep a cheery attitude. :Now maybe they won't be so eager for battle.:

Thanks again to all my wonderful reviewers! Have some CyberRum! And a cup of hunch punch for each of you. Again, I love you all very muchly. Please continue to review.