Lara: Book One of the World of Hetar

“My fate isn’t with you and Da,” Lara replied. “I do not know where it will be, but I know it isn’t with you. Perhaps that is my faerie blood speaking.”

And then the winter was over and Lara celebrated her fifteenth birthday with the spring. The day of the applications was upon them. Her father had risen early, and Susanna with him. He had bathed himself completely in the wooden tub, not just his body, but his hair as well. Susanna had shaved his handsome face smooth, being careful not to nick and bloody her husband. She called for Lara to come and put the tunic on her father when he was garbed in his sky-blue trunk hose, and the dark blue shirt whose sleeves would show from beneath the tunic.

Together Lara and Susanna drew the tunic over John’s head. The garment fell, and Lara carefully closed the little silver frogs at the neckline. She stood back and smiled, pleased. “Da, you have never looked so grand. Sir Ferris told us that these are the garments of a Crusader Knight, and he was surely right.” Fastening the embroidered belt about the tunic, she knelt and fitted the soft leather shoes to her father’s feet.

Susanna handed her husband his velvet cap. He placed it on his head, drawing it to one side, and the hawk’s feather jutted jauntily. He strutted about the hovel proudly, and then turning to his wife and daughter he said, “Thank you.”

Lara went to the door of the hovel and unbarred it.

“Go now,” Susanna said. “When you return I will have a meal for you.”

He strode from the dwelling, and when he was out of sight Susanna turned to speak to her stepdaughter, but Lara was nowhere to be found. Susanna chuckled. Her stepdaughter, she had not a doubt, had followed her father that she might stand in the crowd in the City’s main square and watch John Swiftsword as he made his application to the tournament of the Crusader Knights, and was formally and publicly accepted. She was entitled to this little triumph, Susanna thought generously, for it was Lara’s sacrifice that had made this all possible.

Lara had snatched up a dark cloak so that she might remain anonymous as she hurried through the streets. Already the citizens were gathering to witness this rare event. Reaching the square she pushed herself to the front of the crowds, but no one seemed to mind. Her slender form was no more than a breeze as it brushed by them all. She saw her father standing in the long line that already stretched halfway across the square. Listening, she heard comments of the onlookers. They seemed to know most of the applicants either by name or by reputation.

John Swiftsword felt his heart pumping with excitement. Looking about him he decided that he was the best dressed of all the applicants, and he smiled at the prevalence of white plumes. Susanna had told him the story of shopping at the feather merchant’s, and Sir Ferris’s comment when he had visited the hovel. He tried to calm himself for the interview ahead. He didn’t want to sound like a bumbling idiot. It wasn’t just the honor of belonging to this order that thrilled him, it was the opportunity to truly serve Hetar.

The Crusader Knights were retained by the High Council as a deterrent against savages and chaos. They had always been, and they would always be. While there had been no great wars in many years, and Hetar was a peaceful kingdom, only the presence of the Crusader Knights protected Hetar from those in the Outlands. The Outlanders were barbarians with no rule of law, and he often wondered why the Celestial Actuary had created them at all.

The sun rose over the square, and the chill of the spring morning was warmed by its rays. Then suddenly John Swiftsword found himself facing a Crusader Knight, and his attempt to step into a better world began.

The knight behind the table looked him over very carefully. “Name?” he barked.

“John Swiftsword of the Mercenary Guild.” Was his voice squeaking?

The Crusader nodded and wrote it down. Then he said, “Turn about, please.”

John swung around slowly.

“Appearance, excellent,” the Crusader Knight said, and checked off a small box on the parchment application. “Place of origin?”

“The Midlands.”

“Father’s occupation?”

“Farmer.”

“How long a mercenary?”

“Since age fifteen.”

“Your age now?”

“Thirty-one.”

“Married?”

“Yes.”

“Children?”

“Two.”

“Have you sired sons or daughters?”

“A son with my wife, and a daughter with a Faerie woman,” he replied.

“And you desire more sons?”

“Aye!”

“Who is your sponsor, John Swiftsword?” the Crusader Knight asked.

“Sir Ferris Ironshield,” he replied. His throat was getting dryer by the minute.

“Any secondaries?”

“Sir Ajax and Sir Iven.”

“First battle skill?”

“The sword,” was the proud reply.

“Secondary skills?” the Crusader Knight demanded sharply.

“Lance, mace and axe.” Was that sweat running down his back?

“You are a talented soldier,” the Crusader Knight said with a small smile. “Your application is accepted by the tournament committee, John Swiftsword. What colors will you wear when you fight?”

“Green and gold,” John said. Green for Lara’s eyes, and gold for her hair. He would honor his daughter in this fashion.

The Crusader Knight marked it down on the application, and then wrote in large letters across the face of the parchment, ACCEPTED. “I shall look forward to seeing you on tournament day. You will draw a number now to determine the day upon which you will do battle.” He held out a velvet bag to the applicant.

John plunged his hand into the bag and drew out a tile. He handed it to the Crusader Knight. “It says one,” he noted.

“Then you fight on the first day. That is good. You will have time to rest up for the final battle. Congratulations! Step aside. Next!”

He stepped away from the table half-dazed, and walked into the crowds pressing in about the square. Suddenly he felt a small hand slip into his, and he knew at once it was his daughter’s. “Were you able to see?” he asked, not even bothering to look at her.

“I was right up front, Da. You looked so lordly, and your voice was so strong and sure. I was very proud. I’m sorry Mikhail wasn’t old enough to see this day, but you will tell him about it when he is, won’t you?”

“Aye, lass, I will. And I will tell him of his half faerie sister whose beauty made it all possible,” John Swiftsword said softly. “I have not said it before, Lara. Thank you.” Then stopping, he bent and kissed her smooth forehead.

“I am not unhappy, Da. I know my mother broke your heart. But the beauty I have inherited from her will atone for her sin, and we will both begin new lives. I am happy.”

“You are certain of that, Lara? I could not bear if you were unhappy. Aye, Ilona broke my heart, but your loving sweetness has healed my hurt long since.”

“I am happy, Da, I swear it! And besides,” she teased him, “it is too late to go back now, for I doubt the mercer would accept your tunic in exchange for his cloth.”