Laufa, the Peeping Tom

Laufa felt a faint draft itching at her neck. The College’s strategy hall was pointlessly tall. It carried the lector’s voice almost too easily between its stone benches. They were arranged around a massive sand table that had to be more than ten feet long. It was framed in a polished pine, little golden and green painted blocks scattered across its miniature terrain.

“Kres’thar’s death left his successor to combat the unrest of the Broadlands.” Lector Teldrus’s wooden pointer scraped across the sand. “The year was 982. Internal rivals pressured the new ruler. His army faced a fortified coalition of rebellious plains lords controlling the Uiasge River port. How should Lodran secure a decisive, overwhelming victory in this situation?”

Teldrus’s movements were deliberate and slowed by age. He whisked his pointer towards a noble girl. The girl blinked, turning her head in the hopes of finding another disciple behind her before realising she was the sole target of his questioning.

She swallowed. “Well… In this case, sir, a frontal assault—“

“Would be the perfect way to squander our troops.” The lector scanned the room from behind his lenses. “Next.”

Another disciple straightened. “If we were to target their grain silos, we could starve them—“

“And forfeit the element of surprise?” Teldrus’s eyes settled on Laufa. “Next.”

Damn it. Laufa’s gaze swept over the map. Golden Lodran miniatures faced a swarm of green blocks defending a port, carved wooden boats speckled a river.

She’d barely managed to memorise the geography of this world, much less its military theory. The Broadlands were definitely the least memorable subject. The details blurred together, all tallgrass and farmers. What’s memorable about that!? Agh… I guess most of their army would be farmers, right? Maybe they didn’t want to fight?

“Their army, it’s mostly conscripted farmers,” Laufa’s voice sounded small, but it echoed through the hall. “What about… a temporary truce? We could allow the civilians and conscripts to surrender. We could guarantee their safety.”

She trailed off into silence. Her neck felt hot. Was that stupid?

“A unique perspective, to be sure. But, one riddled with risks. What of spies among the refugees? Expended resources on prisoners? That’s not even mentioning its outward appearance.” Teldrus raised his pointer. “The Lodran Standard is one of absolute strength. To offer a truce at a time of such political unrest would be an invitation for rebellion.”

“Well said.” A smooth voice chipped in from a nearby bench.

Mordhun rose, and strolled up to the sand table. “If I may demonstrate, Lector Teldrus.” He swept a block of golden miniatures forward with the back of his hand. “A central unit. Standard heavy infantry. They engage the enemy’s main line here, and fix them into place.”

He grasped two sets of Lodran miniatures and arranged them on the flanks. “Two wings of our elite infantry and bearers.” He inched them forwards. “They curve around both sides. Our bearers flash a continuous, rolling barrier.”

The golden miniatures encircled the green. “A moving wall...” He flicked a green piece onto its side with a sharp clack. “Impenetrable and inescapable. The enemy is annihilated in a single, decisive engagement.”

The disciples could only stare at the map, then at Lector Teldrus, awaiting his verdict.

“Commendable.” The lector adjusted his lenses. “You committed your strongest force to neutralise the enemy’s maneuverability. I see you’ve inherited the Warden’s wisdom.”

A wave of applause filled the hall. Laufa followed along, her hands coming together in a half-hearted clap. I don’t see how his massacre is that much better than my idea, though…

“You’re too kind, Lector,” Mordhun said with a bow. “Your own wisdom undoubtedly outshines mine,” but his gaze coasted past the lector, scanning the benches.

Laufa followed his eyes as they swept over the disciples, landing on a lone figure near the back. A young woman, her attention wasn’t on Mordhun, but on the sand table. While the others fidgeted, she sat completely still. So still, it looked as if she wasn’t even breathing. In all honesty, she was a little unnerving.

“And with that exemplary showing from Rustes,” Teldrus said, “Class is dismissed.”

Belts and pommels clinked as the disciples rose. They erupted in comments on the lecture and congratulations for Mordhun. They swamped him, a boy clapping him on the back as they all funnelled towards the hall’s massive doors.

Laufa shuddered at the thought of squeezing through that jumble of bodies. She rubbed her thumbs together on the stone bench, waiting until the hall emptied. Only then she let out a long, shuddering breath.

At least, she thought it had emptied. A pair of footsteps approached the sand table, Laufa flattened against the shadowed wall behind her.

It was the young woman from earlier. She stalked towards the table as her long hair lagged behind her. It was the blonde of a wasp’s nest, reaching all the way down to her tailbone. She studied the pieces, unblinking. Her stare’s a little scary… But I guess she’s not all that bad-looking.

Her hand hovered over a large group of Lodran miniatures before she plucked two pieces. She nudged them downstream, away from the fortified port, and placed them near a cluster of carved wooden boats… A wharf?

Then, she slid the boats upstream. They formed a line in front of the rebel’s port. No, not a line… A blockade.

Laufa’s eyes followed the river downstream. No boats would be able to pass. That meant no supplies, no reinforcements… and no escape. All while ignoring the main army. A smile curled the woman’s lips. Scary.

Footsteps echoed from the entry hall. Laufa’s attention snapped to a clatter from the sand table. The young woman had swept her arm across the map and scattered the miniatures.

Mordhun slammed the strategy hall door open with a bang.

“Adeus,” he said.

Adeus gave a curt nod. “Rustes.”

Mordhun rolled his eyes and strode towards the benches. Laufa’s breath hitched, the cold stone pressed against her back. He grabbed a leather book from the bench, but froze right as he turned to leave.

His gaze was fixed on the center of the hall. “The sand table.”

“Ah, I must have brushed across it by accident.” Adeus gave a shallow bow. “My apologies.”

“Bowing doesn’t suit your station, Adeus,” he said. “Though I suppose a woman has her fancies.” His eyes studied the scattered pieces. “You do have a habit of meddling with subjects that don’t concern you.”

“Not at all, Rustes, I was simply admiring your handiwork.”

“Is that so?” Mordhun’s eyes narrowed. “Did you find something interesting?”

Adeus slouched over the table. “Certainly. Your solution was quite…”

“Quite what?”

“Satisfactory.”

From her hiding spot, Laufa suddenly felt the air in the hall go cold. “…Satisfactory?” Mordhun took a slow step towards Adeus.

“A thoroughly orthodox, satisfactory solution.” Her fingers traced through the table’s surface. “Fitting for the son of the great Warden Rustes. The Marches have always favoured traditional approaches.”

“Those very approaches are why my father’s name is renowned across Lodran.” Mordhun’s jaw tightened. “Not whispered about due to some unfortunate family squabble. Unless, you presume to have a superior solution?” He leaned over the table.

Adeus picked up a miniature from the sand. “I wouldn’t dare suggest such a thing.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” he said, tapping the pine. “My approach was flawless.”

Adeus straightened, meeting his gaze. She rolled the wooden piece between her fingers. Her mouth formed a smile, but her eyes were blank.

Mordhun scoffed. “You may stare all you want, Adeus. It changes nothing.” He straightened a stray miniature before turning away. “Ensure you clean up after your mess.”

His boots thumped as he marched from the hall. Adeus returned the miniature to the table, pressing it into the sand with a soft hiss. She stood perfectly still for a moment. Then, her head pivoted until her eyes landed right on Laufa’s hiding spot. Laufa swallowed, the air felt thick with chalk dust.

“On the topic, it is rude to stare, Laufa.”

Laufa jumped, her shoulder knocked against the stone. “I wasn’t, How’d you—”

“You stand out too much.” Adeus flicked a hand dismissively.

Laufa rubbed the sore spot on her shoulder. “Sorry, Lady Adeus—“

“Eralia.”

“Sorry… Lady Eralia?” Laufa lifted her eyes from the floor.

“The lady isn’t necessary. And there’s no need to apologise. Every disciple spies,” Eralia continued. “You just happen to be considerably worse at it.”

Laufa stumbled forward. “But I wasn’t trying to spy!”

“Then what were you doing?”

“I was… Waiting for everyone to leave.” Laufa’s shoulders slumped.

“A poor strategy when you’re the most conspicuous disciple here.” Eralia gave a dry smile.

“What do you mean?”

“All the College’s eyes are on you. It’s not everyday a commoner outshines half the nobles in the entrance ceremony.” Eralia drew a clean line in the sand. “You’re different. That scares them, people like Mordhun.” She turned towards Laufa, taking a step forward.

“That’s… That’s not my fault! I didn’t ask for any of this,” Laufa took an involuntary step back. “He’s a noble, anyways! Why should he be afraid of me?”

“Because nobles aren’t equipped to handle a commoner with a raw, unheard of power.” Eralia stood only a breath away. She loomed over Laufa. “Then again, they aren’t equipped to handle a noble lady who refuses to be married off like a commodity, either.” Her gaze met Laufa’s. “We have more in common than you think.”

Without another word, Eralia turned and followed Mordhun through the entryway, leaving Laufa alone in the empty hall. Laufa let out the breath she'd been holding and walked to the table, her hand hovering over the surface. Her fingertips pressed down. It was gritty, a single miniature still stood, crooked.

She straightened it. Yeah, she’s still scary.