Laufa, the Wild Card

The Lodrian Wall Foothills. February 2, 1435.

Eidar roared, his voice muffled by the fog as he burst into the clearing.

A soldier shouted across the enemy lines. “Adeus’s company!”

From the treeline, Laufa held her breath and watched her team charge into Mordhun’s, their training piercers held high. The forest’s shrubs snagged at her cloak as she shifted her weight.

Mordhun immediately snapped up, barking orders.

Steel clashed on steel as the group slammed into his disciplined line, their boots slipping in the mud, with Eidar engaging two men at once. He swung his piercer into one of their shoulders and, in the same motion, retracted it to smash the hilt into the other’s face with a thud. He didn’t even break his charge.

He’s pretty enthusiastic for someone who was just arguing about my plan.

Nearby, Laufa saw another teammate crumple to their knees. They were eliminated, their helmet rolling free into the tall, muddy grass. It made the same exact dull sound she’d heard a thousand times dropping her piercer in the training yard.

The trial might’ve been staged, but her teammate's grimace of defeat was real. And this time, it was because of her plan. She dug her fingers into the damp bark. Is this how Lady Eralia feels? Or maybe, she doesn’t feel anything at all. Maybe that’s her trick.

Laufa shuddered.

No, Eralia was cold. She wasn’t like her at all. Laufa’s plan was about trust. Her teammates, even the ones who’d argued against it, were relying on her. And it all came down to the two of them missing from the charge. Her attention jerked back to the field.

Mordhun lifted a hand from the reins and snapped his fingers. Instantly, a couple of soldiers rotated from his backlines.

He scanned the woods, completely ignoring their distraction. He definitely knew Eidar’s charge was a feint. He was searching for something…

Is he searching for me?

For a moment, a strong breeze scattered the smoke. Mordhun’s gaze swept across the field, then stopped completely. His dark eyes landed right on hers.

Her whole body went tight. Now. Before he can think, Now!

Laufa lunged from the woods, sucking in a breath of ashy smoke. She launched into a wide sprint, thick bushes and tall grass whipping across her legs. The field was a blur of green as she curved towards his flank, faster than she’d ever run before.

Stray arrows shrieked past her ears over her ragged breaths. One thudded into a pine tree only a couple of inches from her head. She threw barriers to her left, then to her right, deflecting the projectiles off shimmering screens as thorns and branches bit at her uniform. Something warm trickled down her lips. She swiped at it with her glove, smearing blood and mud across her cheek.

“There you are, commoner.” Mordhun flicked the reins, wheeling towards her. “Guards!”

Three men rushed out from his backlines. They planted themselves in front of his horse, piercers pointed straight at her approach.

“Predictable.” Mordhun nearly smirked. “Thoroughly orthodox, as your master would call it.” He jabbed the horse with his spurs.

It charged forward to meet her, the banner whipping in the wind behind them.

She was still running, a dozen yards away from them, then ten, and closing fast. Her eyes flicked to the undergrowth ahead of Mordhun, and to the second teammate missing from their charge: Nachkt, crouched deep in a bush, completely hidden by the smoke and tall grass. He’d used the chaos to slip in, right under their noses.

She screamed, her voice raw. “Nachkt!”

That was the signal. The moment the horse’s hooves galloped past Nachkt’s hiding spot, he lunged, his face pale and his eyes squeezed shut. He shot his arm forward. A barrier flashed into existence just past his outstretched fingers, right in front of the horse’s side.

The banner’s pole met the glowing screen and snapped with a loud, dry crack that ripped through the sounds of battle. The flag cartwheeled into the air, the golden silk rippling as it fell. The horse reared, and Mordhun’s head spun around with the same horrified look the guard earlier had staring at his splintered spear.

Laufa leaped out of her sprint. Mordhun reached for his blade. For a second, she was soaring. But it wasn’t far enough. Just as gravity started to tug her down, she focused on the empty space right under her. Suddenly, a glimmering, star-like barrier materialised in mid-air, below her falling boot. There!

She gritted her teeth. A grunt tore from her throat as she planted her foot on the solid-light platform and shoved off. The barrier shattered with a glassy crunching as she launched herself upwards again.

Her other foot stomped down onto a stunned guard’s steel pauldrons. He roared in surprise and stumbled, and she exploded off him in one final leap, vaulting past his head and past Mordhun.

Mordhun’s piercer sliced past where her head had just been, blasting Laufa’s cheek with cold air. A half-second too late.

His eyes bulged, bolting between the crystal shards of her barrier hanging in the air. He couldn’t process what he was seeing.

Laufa finally realised her advantage.

She wasn’t like them. Not like Mordhun, not like the real Laufa, not like any of them. Not at all.

That half-second of hesitation was all she needed. Her fingers closed around the rough, tumbling pole with the same hand she’d injured earlier. She hit the ground hard with the banner, tumbling into the bushes and splattering her cloak with mud.

Laufa laid sprawled in the dirt, gasping for air. The impact had knocked the wind right out of her. Her mouth tasted somewhere between blood and mud, and her knuckles were white around the splintered wood. At that point, they would’ve needed pliers to wrench it from her.

The battlefield was dead quiet. She could hear the rain dripping from the pine branches. The smoke finally thinned, too, revealing patches of the beautiful blue sky. She rolled onto her knees, finally feeling the exhaustion in her legs set in.

Around her, the soldiers all slowly lowered their weapons. Their eyes weren’t on their captain, Mordhun, but on her. The commoner. The thing that came back from the dead and snatched up their banner.

Mordhun ran his eyes down the line of soldiers. Surprisingly, he was the one to break the silence. “Stand down.” His command was quiet but absolute.

A horn blared nearby. Then, a deeper one farther away, and before long, dozens of horns sounded across the battlefield. It’s… Over.

A choked laugh escaped Nachkt, like someone had just told the greatest joke he’d ever heard. “I—I can’t believe it!” He raised a trembling hand. “Laufa, did you see it? It snapped clean off!”

One of the bearers popped into her view, grinning from ear-to-ear. He offered a hand and helped her to her feet.

A rougher hand clapped Laufa’s back, nearly sending her face-first back into the dirt. “I thought we were finished,” Eidar chuckled. “You’re completely mad, no doubt. But, damn, you pulled it off.” He stared at the banner in disbelief.

Laufa’s gaze left Eidar and found Mordhun. She’d expected him to be furious, but his face was unreadable.

Mordhun’s eyes darted from her face to the flag in her hands. “This wasn’t Adeus’s doing.” His voice was monotone, without a trace of the mockery from earlier. “The feint, sure. But this. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Laufa looked from Eidar and Nachkt, to her teammates huddled around her. “It was… A team effort, I guess?” She gave a satisfied smile.

He stared at her, that strange look on his face again. It didn’t look like anger, or even frustration.

“Interesting.” He gave a sharp nod then turned away.

Laufa thought that, for the first time, he at least wasn’t looking down at her.

* * *

The Lodrian Wall Foothills. February 2, 1435.

From the massive, wooden watchtower above the battlefield, the chaos settled into a single, decisive image. The smoke beneath the observers had cleared, revealing the commoner girl who’d turned an entire match.

Typically, Lodran’s watchtowers were reserved for flashing manra signals, but today, the tower served as a spectator’s seat for the final trial. The distant blaring of horns was the only sound carried by the strong winds.

“A disgrace,” Warden Rustes said. “It’s a disgrace to the Compact itself.”

“I must disagree, Warden.” Beside him, Grand Master Vellen studied the field. “An impossible victory against a superior force. That is precisely what we value here, is it not?”

The Royal Inspector, Aldrich, stood behind them. His last visit to the Royal College had been for the entrance ceremony. He was now grateful to have been invited back, as two disciples in particular had piqued his interest.

The first was Eralia Adeus. The girl appeared to be as much of an outlier as her late mother: Lady Adeus. Just as clever and just as eccentric. Aldrich remembered the whispers surrounding the Lady’s death, and the talks of foul play. A convenient end to such an unconventional career. He paused, polishing his lenses with a soft cloth, and replayed the trial in his mind.

In a sense, the girl below was equally unconventional. It was a brilliant strategy, plucked straight from the Great Eastern War. Still, he had to question the oil’s presence. Far too convenient. She could have planted it herself, but the plan felt too improvised. He settled on a more likely suspect.

His eyes drifted to the warden in front of him. The man’s shoulders, caped in fur, were rigid, yet his anger seemed slightly… Misplaced. As if Rustes were bothered by the outcome itself, and not the fire that had supposedly cost his son the trial. An intriguing detail. But, that is an investigation for another day.

His gaze fell to the battlefield below, and to the commoner in the midst of it all. She was powerful. Dangerous. It was his job to recognise threats to the kingdom, and those two disciples were precisely the sort of anomalies he monitored. He slotted the pair into his running mental list.

Warden Rustes turned to Vellen. “Do you truly intend to honor these results? What would the Noble Senate think?”

The Grand Master shook his head. “Her victory was absolute.”

“Very well. I won’t challenge your judgement.” The Warden planted a gauntlet on the watchtower’s railing. “But don’t forget. When your fancies are put to the test, it won't be points lost. It will be blood.”

Rustes drew himself up. “I pray your prodigy won’t be granted command where her gambles have actual consequences.” He gave the Grand Master a stiff nod and turned to descend the staircase.

Vellen stood, his gaze drifting to Adeus and the commoner in the clearing. The Warden’s fading footsteps echoed from the stairwell.

“Those two are rather interesting,” Vellen said. “They remind me of you at that age, Inspector.” He addressed Aldrich without so much as a glance.

Aldrich’s expression didn’t waver an inch. “Doubtful, Grand Master.”

“Perhaps not,” Vellen chuckled. “It was merely the auburn hair, I suppose.” He followed Rustes down the tower’s stairs.

The Royal Inspector lingered for a moment longer, then turned to his clerk. “Find me the registers for Eralia Adeus and the commoner.” He paused. “Corvan Adeus, as well. Have their household ledgers sent to my quarters.”

* * *

The Lodrian Wall Foothills. February 2, 1435.

The horns were still blaring, ringing in Laufa’s ears. Her face felt hot, and her lungs burned from the ash, but she couldn’t stop the shaky laugh bubbling up in her throat. No way.

“We actually did it!” Laufa gasped.

Eidar didn’t exactly smile, so much as smirk at her. Still, it was leagues better than the scowl he’d been wearing the whole trial. “Team effort, huh?” He crossed his arms.

Nachkt wiped a smear of mud from his grinning face. “The hard part was all her, though.”

“No, definitely not!” Laufa threw up her hands. “I couldn’t have even done it without you, without everyone—”

“But it was your idea. You trusted me with it,” Nachkt said. “I just did what you asked. You leapt off an entire barrier.”

She opened her mouth to argue, when a calm voice interrupted their celebration. “Impressive, indeed.”

Laufa snapped her head back to find Eralia. Her ordinarily blonde hair had been soiled to a damp, dirty brown that stuck to her face. She swung a leg over her horse’s saddle and climbed off, landing with a perfect grace that didn’t match her current appearance at all. Her emerald eyes swept over the group, and Laufa braced herself for whatever was coming next.

“Well done, Laufa.” Eralia gave a small nod.

Laufa stared at her blankly. The compliment hung in the air. It felt cheap somehow.

Her hands balled up into fists. A desperate, hollow feeling welled up inside her. It wasn’t anger, but something far, far more confusing. Like being cheated.

She swallowed. “That’s it?”

Eralia tilted her head.

And suddenly, it all rushed out of Laufa at once. Before she even knew what she was doing, she lunged straight at Eralia. The noble girl must have seen it coming. Eralia barely moved, easily twisting her torso out of the way. Laufa’s arms grabbed at empty air, and she pitched forward, tumbling into the mud right at the horse’s feet.

Eralia blinked slowly. For a second, her usual, emotionless mask slipped. She looked down at Laufa with an expression of pure bewilderment.

Laufa jumped back to her feet. “That’s really all I get!” She jabbed a muddy finger at Eralia. “You left me in the dark, playing your stupid guessing games. I had to figure out my own damn plan,” Laufa shouted, her eyes stinging. “And that’s all you give me? A ‘Well done!?’”

She ran at Eralia again, swinging harder. This time, Eralia didn’t dodge.

Eralia’s hands clamped down around Laufa’s flailing arms. The impact jolted her back, stopping her dead in her tracks. Laufa panted, pinned just inches away from the other girl.

She could smell the damp wool of Eralia’s uniform. Her warm breaths melted the winter air away.

Eralia’s hands were even warmer. And strong. Her eyes were swimming with confusion. For a moment, they seemed to flicker down to Laufa’s own lips.

“I…” Eralia started, then closed her mouth. Her eyes dropped to Laufa’s face, then to her own hands. She abruptly let go and took a half-step back. “I suppose you’re right.”

Laufa’s arms dropped to her side. She stood there, heaving. “You admitted it.” Laufa looked at Nachkt, at Eidar, then threw her hands in the air, laughing wildly. “She actually admitted I’m right!”