At Dawn's Light

Chapter 5: Lessons on the Road

Phalen leaned on the table with a heavy sigh, “Again, tell me about the war between the Elves and Humans causing the end of the Golden Alliance."

Rowan rolled her eyes and leaned back far enough to view the yard outside. The palace guards were training mounted exercises today, and she was more interested in joining those lessons than the history poor Phalen had to teach her.

“Rowan, please."

She brought her chair back to sit flat on the ground and eyed the captain. He was a good teacher, although her uncle said he was a little soft on her. Rowan felt a pang of duty and opened her mouth to answer her father's old friend.

“Captain Phalen!"

The call came from outside. Both lady and captain went to the window to find General Tarik standing nearby.

“Can you come to assist with the training? We have some new recruits who can't seem to sit on a horse."

Before Phalen could refuse, Rowan smiled, “Of course he can, we are just finishing up."

General Tarik smiled and nodded, heading back to his post on the field. Phalen gave Rowan a tempered look of frustration before heading out the door. He seemed a little surprised when he reached the training field and she was still behind him.

“What are you doing?" He asked.

“I'm learning," she answered slyly.

“Um, no."

“I can ride Dunvelli."

“I said No."

It was Rowan's turn to be frustrated, “I have to learn more than history!"

“I'm sorry, my lady, but I can't let you."

The slender woman stood tall and lifted a hand to point at the nearby training.

“I'm not asking to lift a sword, I can shoot arrows."

“Rowan," Captain Phalen snapped, “This isn't your father's Keep! You can't just do things."

The captain immediately regretted his words, but as he stuttered an apology the tears fell from her eyes. He watched as she tried to hide the pain of his words, but someone else had noticed.

“Why do I see tears in the lady's eyes?"

Phalen saluted Tarik, and explained, “I was a bit too harsh when telling the lady she could not participate in the training."

The General looked shocked, “The training? The mounted archery?"

“Yes, General," Phalen responded quietly. “She learned archery back home, but I can't let her train with the men."

“I feel it would benefit me to have some warrior skills to complement the ones I get from books," Rowan interrupted. “What good am I if we ever come under attack? I just want to try it, to learn."

Tarik raised both hands as if to surrender, taken back by her attack.

General Tarik quietly looked down at the grass while rubbing his chin.

“No, my lady. Not today. Your uncle already said no."

Leaving Rowan fighting hot, bitter tears of anger and embarrassment, the two men turned and walked away. Rowan placed her hands on her hips and looked around, her gaze resting on the stables.

'I'll go ride Dunvelli, then. I'm still allowed to do that,' she thought.

As she passed the training grounds, she noticed something resting against a barrel, unattended. It was a quiver, and it was full. Slowly and smoothly, Rowan picked up the quiver and continued into the barn.

In a matter of minutes, Rowan was beaming as she unleashed another arrow into the target. Dunny galloped steadily around and around the manure pile. Rowan examined her bulls-eye and knocked another arrow.

The niece did not see her uncle watching silently from the palace window, and she did not see the conflicting emotions in his eyes. Rowan noticed the king during her last pass by.

“My King!"

The King signalled to Rowan to stop. Rowan couldn't tell what her uncle was thinking, his brow was creased and he was rubbing his lower lip. She dismounted quickly and prepared for the storm.

“What do you think you are doing?" He asked coldly.

“I finished my lessons," she began breathing so her temper would not match his. “I just wanted to practice."

“I said no. You disobeyed again." Gregan was shaking his head. “You stole my men's arrows to do something I forbade."

Rowan gripped Dunny's reins tightly, “I didn't think I'd harm anyone by practicing alone. I'm sorry."

“I said no!"

Once again, tears threatened to fall, Rowan felt defeated, “Father taught me to do this. He said a woman must be able to protect herself and others. I thought it would be a useful skill."

King Gregan paced by the gate, “Why don't you listen? When will you learn?"

“Please, your Majesty, let me just have this one thing from my home. I will increase my other lessons, and follow your rules."

King Gregan stopped and crossed his arms, regarding his niece with a combination of frustration and bewilderment. He looked over at the stables and back at the palace. He stared long the arrow-pierced grain bag balanced on the manure pile. Finally the king looked Rowan in the eye.

“You'll need your own set of arrows, so you'll stop using mine," Gregan decided. “Come with me tomorrow when I pick up my sword. I'm sure the blacksmith will have some quality arrowheads."

Rowan couldn't help but break into a huge smile and called to the retreating back, “Oh, thank you, uncle!"

The next morning found uncle, niece, general, and captain trotting down a narrow road away from the city. When she had asked Gregan why he didn't use the city blacksmith, he made a face like he had eaten sour berries and waved his hand.

“Only the best for the King," Tarik winked.

Movement on the river caught Rowan's eye. A small group of fishermen slowly glided by and Rowan recognized their particular features. Their faces weren't as narrow as Elves, nor were their ears as pointed. Her father had often traded with the half-elven settlements that dotted the river. She waved, and the fishermen bowed their heads, placing a hand on their hears. Her uncle rebuked the action immediately.

“Don't do that again."

Rowan shrugged, “Why not?"

King Gregan spat and glared at the fishermen, “They refuse to take a side in any dispute between the nations, and you can never trust them. They are not part of any land."

As if that answer were enough, the king turned back around and rode on.

“But," Rowan dared to continue. “My father traded with them all the time, my Lea is..."

The King's horse was reined in so quickly it almost reared. Gregan's face was red with anger.

“Your father is dead! Where were the half-elves and their medicine when he needed it? When your mother and brothers needed it? Where were they when the Golden Alliance fell?"

Rowan surprised at her uncle's hate, looked down to signal she had nothing to say.

The rest of the ride passed in awkward silence, but soon the steady sound of hammering could be heard above the rustling of leaves. A low stone wall lined one side of the road, with a wide, wooden gate in the centre. The gate opened into a small, dirt yard. Modest stables sat on the left of the yard, with a comfortable-looking cottage and forge on the right. Phalen and Tarik took hold of the horses, while Rowan entered the forge with her uncle.

“Stay quiet. Just observe."

They didn't have to look far to see the blacksmith working hard on an orange-coloured piece of metal.

The King seemed to have little patience, “Blacksmith, I've come for my sword. Is it ready?"

The blacksmith barely turned from the forge. He finished heating the metal, then brought it to the anvil and began pounding. Between hits, he answered.

“Yes. One moment, your Majesty."

Finally, he set his work aside and came closer to the group. The blacksmith took off the scarf covering his head, Rowan couldn't help but stare. Honey-coloured hair was pulled back into a short braid, framing a narrow face with serious, sky-blue eyes and long, pointed ears.