Chapter 7 Steps Forward, Part 1
Author's Note: Apologies for the long hiatus, hopefully I can get back on track from here. It feels somewhat wrong to be posting half a chapter, but I wanted to finally put something out. Part 2 will be out soon (I hope) and the two will be combined into one when the next chapter is posted. Would also like to take this chance to give a shout out to Bloodwitch Raven, for generously donating the OC Alice, who is briefly introduced in this chapter, thanks a lot for supporting my story.
Having just been relieved of guard duty, James and Owen made their way to the castle's courtyard. The tired English swordsmen settling in near the stables, and were soon joined by Malcolm. The three soldiers chatted ideally, about everything and nothing, for a short time when they noticed a French soldier approach, a bottle of wine in hand.
"What can we do for ya, Frenchie?" the archer asked, James and Owen eying the man.
Maurice, a swordsman, held out the bottle in offering, "Complements of Gilles de Rais. A peace offering of sorts."
Malcolm and Owen exchanged looks before deciding 'why not?', Owen gesturing for the blue clad soldier to join them. Maurice sat and uncorked the bottle, taking a swig and passing it to Owen. As the young soldier drank, Maurice looked to James, who so far had said nothing. "You're not one for wine, Englishman?"
"Prefer English beer," James shrugged, noticing Owen's look. The veteran soldier sighed and shifted in his seat. He turned to Maurice and spoke plainly, "To be sure, I don't like you Frenchie, I didn't even like you French before I joined the Army." He finally took the bottle, "But I've seen things in the last few days that've given me a new perspective."
As James took his first drink, Owen leaned toward Maurice with a good natured smile. "Tell ya what I think; with our prince and your w...maid, them beasts don't stand a chance."
Just as the young swordsmen finished shouting was heard and the four men jumped up in time to see griffons flying by. Maurice turned to his new friend and said, "I 'ope you are right, mon ami."
#*#*#
Several minutes earlier, the top commanders of the newly formed alliance were gathered in the same dining room Joan had eaten in the evening before. Noticing the awkward separation between the two nationalities, the Maid had decided to make the first move and made a show of talking with Edward and any other English interested. Seeing their champions getting along seemed to have a pleasant ripple effect.
Edward had to admit, he rather enjoyed talking with Joan. Being heir to the throne, he'd of course had more than a little experience with young women, but nearly all the girls who'd fawned over him in London were either social climbers looking to make themselves queen, or the daughters of ambitious nobles, pressured into trying to seduce Edward by their fathers. Joan, on the other hand, wanted nothing from Edward, and she'd made no judgment when she'd caught him in moment of weakness, and the prince was grateful. He also caught himself admiring her stunning eyes and beautiful hair.
It was while looking over the Maid that the prince noted the state of her trademark lily. "Joan, you're flower is starting to wilt." The French heroine pulled the lily from her ear and sighed in disappointment seeing the prince was right. "I seem to remember seeing lilies growing near the north wall, I could show you were if you'd like."
Joan smiled at the offer, "Thank you, Edward."
Just as la Hire approached to join the conversation, Joan noticed a lithe and petite girl, only slightly taller than Ilsa, enter the room, her long orange chain braid bobbing from side to side as she walked. The French champion also noted several chakrams hooked to her belt. The newcomer cast a glance toward Joan and la Hire, reveiling her eyes to be mismatched, the left was blue, and the right was green, and moved toward Iamarl and Hotspur.
"That's Iamarl's apprentice, Alice," Edward explained. Joan looked back to the assassins to see Alice seemingly waving her hands at Iamarl. "They communicate with hand singles, none of the rest of us can quite figure the system out."
"Can't they just talk?" la Hire asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Alice is mute."
#*#*#
Alice made her way across room toward her mentor, noticing Joan of Arc, la Hire, and de Rais with a quick scan around the room. This only confused things further for the young assassin. She'd been on a simple mission to spy on a village leader, suspected of selling secrets to the French, when the entire village had been raised to the ground by monsters. She'd barely managed to escape and sneak her way back to English lines, sleeping in a ditch at one point.
Seeing her apprentice, Iamarl breathed a sigh of relief, pulling Alice into a quick hug then stepping back to check the girl for injuries. Once Iamarl seemed satisfied, Alice brought her hands up. Master, what's going on? she signaled.
"Oh, Alice is safe," Henry sarcastically muttered, "Wonderful."
Alice flashed Henry a more recognizable, and very rude, hand gesture just before her mentor spoke. "Things have changed a great deal very quickly," Iamarl explained, "We've made an alliance with the French, or at least Joan of Arc and her forces."
Should we head back to England? Alice signed.
"They would only follow us, once they'd overrun the French," Iamarl reasoned, "We must stop the creatures here."
Alice considered this, finally nodding in acceptance of Iamarl's logic.
The older assassin's features softened, "Enough dire talk, rest, spend some time Branwyn. This new war will be where we left it in the morning."
Alice nodded and moved to find a seat when she was suddenly glomped upon by Branwyn with a shout of "Alice!"
The young assassin rolled her miss matched eyes with an annoyed "Hmm," in an attempt to maintain her 'tough girl' persona, but ultimately relented and returned the archer's embrace.
#*#*#
Chandos had kept mostly to himself throughout the gathering, even after his fellow English had begun to mingle with the French. It wasn't that the one eyed general was anti-social, even if he wasn't the friendliest man, but rather his concerns over one particular French commander; Gilles de Rais.
Chandos eyed de Rais suspiciously. The English general had been to distrust the long haired knight's intentions during the strategy meeting, when de Rais' knowledge of the monsters had proven much more extensive then what one could plausibly learn in the few days since they'd arrived.
"So far, the monsters have been moving in war bands of varying sizes." Edward explained, "Anywhere from a few score to over a hundred."
"Zat won't last," de Rais casually observed, "Before long, ze monsters will gather into hordes of thousands. Zey will no doubt target Paris; zey will want to destroy Notre Dame."
Deciding not to sit on his suspicions any longer, Chandos made his way purposefully toward de Rais. Seeing the older man approach, de Rais turned to the semi-hostile English and nodded in greeting. "Au revoir, Chandos, was it?"
"How do you know so much about these beasts, de Rais?" Chandos demanded, never one to beat around the bush.
"I'm well read." the long haired knight shrugged.
"Don't give me that tripe," Chandos snapped, "Hordes of monsters come rushing out of the damned woods and you just happen to have read about them?"
de Rais sighed and finally turned fully to the stern commander, "What are you accusing me of, Chandos?"
"Nothing...yet." Chandos said, noticing several officers listening in on the talk. "Just give me a damned straight answer."
"Call it...curiosity," de Rais hesitantly explained, "Ze church always spoke so vehemently about ze so-called 'unholy.' I was curious what could be so terrifying to an organization zat supposedly had ze authority of Christ. Ze clergy only offered more dogmatic platitudes, so I..." de Rais glanced at Joan, "...I sought ozere sources of information."
Before the dark haired knight could speak further, an English officer came into the dining hall and spoke. "Pardon the interruption, my lords, my ladies, but...there's a situation that requires your attention."