《Fire and Blood》


 Chapter 1 - Fire and Blood

    I awaken to the stink of incense and... Is that blood? I blink my eyes open and am sure that I still sleep.


    A short man wearing magnificent robes in black and gold stands before me, dark hair turning grey, hard featured and perhaps looking a well preserved fifty. He is brandishing an elaborately curved and bloodied dagger in his right hand whilst bleeding from the left. He also seems exultantly happy about something.


    Behind him and around me... A temple? Marble, statues and elaborate carvings. My bare feet are surrounded by an intricate array of precious metals set into stone and channels filled with blood. Bronze braziers burn with something cloyingly sickly sweet and there are a number of men and women wearing less elaborate version of the costume sported by the knife wielding man in front of me. The only sources of illumination are the fires and glowing crystals upon pillars, is it night time? Underground? I have only a few seconds to take in the outlandish scene.


    ¡°By your seven names I bind you into servitude!¡± The dark haired men announces with a flourish of his bloodied knife, then I feel something tugging weirdly at me before dismissing it. I step forward, his face pales, everyone seems shocked. Several of the individuals I mentally dub as minions lower steel tipped spears whilst all of them back away. ¡°The wards! She ignored the wards!¡± Somebody screams this to my side then a rather tiny woman lunges at me with a spear.


    I slam my left hand out and into the haft just below the point, deflecting the sharp steel a fraction of an inch past my ear then pivoting on the impact to twist forwards and within her overextended reach. Abruptly something changes, it is as if a spotlight of impossible power is illuminating the scene and everything is cast into either searing brightness or knife edged shadows. People scream and flinch whilst the woman who just tried to impale me collapses bonelessly to the floor with a crushed windpipe. She barely had time to blink before my hand impacted her with an utterly precise application of force.


    I feel... Powerful. I am moving so easily as I settle the spear into my hands as if it was an extension of my body. Another of the goons, cultists? Tries with his spear but he is fighting as if blind and I dodge to the side almost weightlessly, a flick of my wings imparting impossible momentum to my movements as I neatly stab him through the face, in and out, a piston motion that sends the spearpoint entirely through his skull. The weapon is flicked to the side and, barely looking, I half bisect the throat of a stumbling victim.


    The wooden haft of the spear is smouldering and charring in my hands now, also I realize I am naked, also I have wings? This is not something I have time to consider, instead? Agony. I spasm and stumble, almost losing my footing, the haft of the spear snapping in my hands as I arrest my near fall. The man with the dagger is holding it toward me as lightning sparks from the outstretched weapon. Every muscle in my body attempts to seize up at once whilst I feel my skin burn. I scream and hold out a hand.


    A bar of white flame solid enough to seem like a liquid connects my hand and the man, for a fraction of a second it splashes against something intangible and then most of his torso is gone whilst his head, arms and hips are turned to ash that near instantly explodes outward. Cooked legs collapse whilst marble burns around a divot seared into the wall behind him. The others are running now, stumbling and still half blind, though the searingly bright light seems to not affect me. I throw the half of the spear I still hold, it pierces through a man''s back and he collapses to the polished floor.


    I still hurt, I fall to one knee, I pull in my wings against my sides as I draw deep and ragged breaths. I try to take stock of this situation because it is feeling increasingly less like some manor of insane dream and searingly bright light begins to fade.


    The last thing that I remember is crawling into bed exhausted after a long day of work, curling onto my side under the duvet and buzzed with a little too much alcohol after downing half a bottle of wine. The soft pressure behind as one of my cats curled up atop the duvet in the hollow of my knees then drifting into unconsciousness to the faint blaring of a car alarm several streets distant.


    Now I am naked in some kind of opulent temple and have just killed five people in robes, people using medieval weaponry and magic? Also the wings. I open my eyes again as I hug my arms to myself and inspect them. Rooted at the base of my shoulderblades, the first word I would use to describe them would be anglic and I appear to be pressing expanses of bright feathers to myself. They are huge and feel very much part of me not to mention horrendously strong despite the impossibility of any resulting shoulder joints, also rather than white they are shaded in autumn hues. A deep burgundy along the leading edges that shades through oranges and yellows to cream at the tip of each flight feather.


    Apparently I am also now a red head? Coppery curls that reach down past my waist, along with my being built like some manner of idealistic image of an amazonian goddess. This is not my body but the change does perhaps explain why I was able to stab through a man''s skull as if it was made out of paper. I start to utter a curse, flounder, I close my eyes and as I wince.


    Then, fighting against the throbbing pain in the wake of that electrocution, I force myself to my feet and hobble across to one of the people I just murdered. I poke the man with a finger, this time what I touch fails to begin to smoulder and burn and so I scoop up his spear, I can still hear retreating foot steps from the four or so oddly dressed people who escaped. Additionally everyone seems pretty short? Even the men are probably only five foot tall or so. Or am I just now freakishly tall myself?The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    I am trying not to focus on the big picture because this makes no sense at all, I am screaming in the back of my head as I feel myself tightly furling those wings in against each side of my back. First priorities. I need clothes and the woman who has just choked to death with a crushed throat seems the only place to obtain those which are not covered in blood. Also I take in more of the surroundings to find more corpses, ones pre-dating my arrival, a half dozen men and women in coarse woollen garments who seem to be piled to the side, the sweet stink of the braziers being the only thing mostly masking the foulness of voided bowels from the accumulated corpses.


    So it is not the worst smell I have ever experienced.


    As I inhale I do wince at least the people I slew were murderers? Also nobody has been dead long enough to start rotting. As I strip the woman of her outer robes I try to consider more minor details in order to not consider why I am in another body and being attacked by maniacs with spears. How did I kill them so easily? What was that light? Also how am I going to wear these robes whilst I have wings?


    Fortunately she has a nicely decorated leather belt with a very sharp seeming steel dagger sheathed upon it, I am able to awkwardly cut a scooped back into the thing before struggling into the too small robes, allowing egress for the feathered limbs. Everyone seems to be wearing soft leather shoes, none of which fit me because everyone is tiny, but I retain sufficient presence of mind to start stripping the corpses of their expensive seeming jewellery and improvise a sack from an unfouled portion of one of the men''s robes. One of them was also apparently wearing an arming sword, I take his belt and spend a moment hefting the unfamiliar weapon in my hand only to find that it is like an extension of my own body.


    This is not the first time I have held a sword but I have never more than dabbled and I know I do not have this kind of muscle memory, a few testing slashes are made as I hold the spear in my left hand then I stop as I hear the clash of metal, I look to the doorway.


    A half dozen men and women wearing partial plate armour and holding halberds rush in and I can see something glowing around them and their gear. I can feel a presence and sense that there is something altogether dangerous about their weapons, hurriedly I slam the sword back into its scabbard as I bring the spear back into a two handed grip and read it, weight rolling forward onto the balls of my feet, wings flaring outward and poising in the air. I have a sense of absolute balance and coiled energy, I commit to fight.


    And the light returns, the soldiers stumble and scream, I lunge forward and thrust into the air with the spear before a lance of flame bright enough that it seems it should sear and after image into the retina connects the tip of the weapon and the new arrivals. What happens to them is impossible to describe and once again I get the impression of some manner of intangible barrier seeking to protect against the attack but it gives way within a few seconds before all that is left is ash and twisted half molten metal. The doors are shattered, portions of the far wall are turned to glass, I feel drained and stumbling whilst the spear in my hands is simply gone.


    So now I run.


    Past the burnt corpses and twisted armour, my bare feet apparently unharmed by the glowing flagstones, through ornate corridors, out into manicured gardens which I crash through as I hear further shouts of alarm in the distance. Some manner of castle or perhaps fortified manner is illuminated in the near distance and very much visible but whatever I just did to that squad of soldiers is not something I can feel I can replicate, I still ache and hurt from the lightning and I have no idea what is happening.


    I flee into the woods with just my too small and hastily modified robes, a sword, a knife and a bag of jewellery. No food, no water, no idea where I am going or what has happened to me. Also no shoes!


    *****


    I run at the start with but then drop to a jog, alternating that with speed walking as I flee through the night and fighting off the chill through activity. By the time dawn begins several hours have passed, but I honestly have no idea how much time, also I am feeling mostly recovered and barely exhausted despite a pace that would have been punishing in my prime. How long has passed? I really do not know, but I feel I have properly covered at least fifteen miles and it has all been through either forest or scrub land. My bare feet ache, but through some miracle are not reduced to bleeding ruin.


    At this point I can only hope that I am far beyond any pursuit from whatever kind of medieval insanity is happening. I collapse down against a tree only to yelp as that catches my wings, flaring them out and jerking forward, then draping the huge things to each side. Deep breaths, time to take stock.


    I am not in my own body. I am not in my own world. My family, my job, my pets? Right now I have literally no idea how to get back to that and instead I am a refugee in ill fitting clothes in a forest in some kind of what I can only presume is a fantasy world. The kind of fantasy world where I am... What, an angel who burns people? This seems distinctly other than angelic, but then I was also apparently summoned by the kind of people who sacrifice what I can only assume were villagers.


    I feel my head for horns and fail to find any.


    Okay. I am probably not a demon. Why I would be a demon, or an angel, I have no frame of reference for. Also I just killed a dozen or so people. How do I feel about that?


    It was easy. Am I even me mentally at this point? It is almost a decade since I stopped Muay Thai andfencing. The army certainly never trained me to crush the throats of people holding spears. Mostly it taught me that killing people is fucking awful and that I much prefer being a project manager for twice the pay and a third of the work. But I feel somehow detached from the violence and the moment that spear came for me I just moved without thought, hesitation or flaw.


    I am also ravenously hungry, thirsty and probably in the middle of a forest.

 Chapter 2 - Sheep

    Stranded in the middle of a forest the first thing you are supposed to do is find shelter, but I have absolutely no intention of holing up here given that there is absolutely no reason to expect rescue rather than pursuit. I need to find running water both to deal with hydration and because I can presumably follow it to civilisation.


    Civilisation that does not consist of weird human sacrificing cultists who... Summoned me? Magic is obviously real if that was not clear enough. Hopefully that means it is also possible to get home and return to my own body. Though do I want that last part? I am clearly something scarier than human even if I am not sure how to deal with having wings. Can I learn to fly? I seem to instinctively shift the feathered limbs as I move but I am not going to trust on stolen muscle memory further than I have to.


    First, now that dawn is breaking, where am I? The forest is not actually very dense and the ground seems slightly arid as well as verging on mountainous. I could see this being somewhere in Greece or Turkey? I crossed over a ridge in the night and so I am going to just continue downhill as hunger gnaws in my belly, my mouth dry, the burns from the lightning last night seem to be minor though and I do my best to ignore them.


    My bare feet continue to miraculously not be torn apart by the stony ground despite such immunity I still pick my way carefully and stop alternating between walking and jogging as I was when fleeing pursuit. As the sun rises over the hills I have to admit the view is quite beautiful and the near silence a pleasant change from urban life, I can hear nothing apart from birds and the rustle of trees, my own footfalls and breathing the only artifical sound. It reminds me of hiking when I was much younger and that is something that then reminds me of all of the things I do not have.


    Footwear, sensible and fitting clothing, food, a sleeping bag. Water. Also the inconvenience of a sword at my side is a constant minor frustration though the existence of wings does seem to lend me uncanny balance as I move downhill. And then, finally, water. A thin stream running between boulders, I charge down toward it, crash through a bush then sink to my knees and start to awkwardly scoop hydration to my mouth. What I would do right now for a canteen.


    I try not to think about contaminants or disease in the water but a fast flowing stream in hills like this should hopefully be clean enough. Once my thirst is slaked I continue on downstream and feel considerably better about my situation though I have more than enough time to mull over tit, interminable hours of travel. First of all I see signs of managed woodland then just before midday I emerge into the sight of pastures, open fields and sheep, a large fluffy dog, a teenaged girl looking tremendously bored.


    Just what am I going to tell people? I can hardly pretend to be a normal human but I have no idea what significance looking like an angel in this world might have. I settle for lying as little as possible, I will say that I was summoned through nefarious means, punished those responsible, but know nothing of the world and need help. Hopefully winged people are not horribly reviled but if that is the case? Better to find out as soon as possible.


    My emergence from the treeline is greeted by the dog barking aggressively and the girl jolting back awake where she was leaning upon her crook. She is, perhaps unsurprisingly, wearing wool, a rough garment of a smock and ankle length skirt with both dyed a faded blue, the jacket she wears atop her ensemble rather more intricately embroidered, a white scarf mostly covering her dark hair. She also stares in shock whilst her tanned face pale, then drops to her knees.


    I observe that she, like everyone else I have met, is tiny. If this is some kind of medieval world then people should probably be shorter than I am used to but my perspective has everyone seeming like a midget. Am I huge? She is also calling out to me and though her tone is accented I can understand her perfectly clearly. ¡°Divine one! I am not worthy! Please oo-¡± I cut her off.


    ¡°My name is Alessandra.¡± I am not going to choose a new name then fail to remember it. ¡°I do not intend to be here and seek directions to the nearest town or village.¡± As I speak I find that I am flaring my wings out a little, the brightly hued feathers extending to each side and framing me in what is probably a rather impressive display. One somewhat marred by the fact I am forced into a robe several sizes too small, barefoot and dirtied from hours of travel through the forest.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The girl hesitates at this point. ¡°But... Divine one, surely you. Ahh. My family is up here with the flocks for the summer but. But the town of Heucia is about four hours walk to the south? I do not know how long that will take you in the air though!¡±


    Flying would be tremendously convenient but I have no intention of dashing my brains out trying to determine if it is even possible. I remain impassively silent as my mind races, do I even want to try pretending to be some kind of divine messenger? Does her family have food? Of course they do. Also I have the jewellery I stripped from those people in the odd temple. I let my wings slump a little before deliberately furling them in to minimise the presence of the things. ¡°Look. I cannot fly and I am quite lost. Please do not call me ''Divine One'', I have absolutely no idea what is happening or where I am but I can pay for food and proper directions. Can you bring me to your parents?¡±


    She is still kneeling and now seems even more shocked than she did when I appeared. The dog is growling low and prowling protectively in front of her, given what I did to multiple people with spears I do not really register the dog as a threat. ¡°I do not understand?¡± She speaks, looking at me more closely now after daring to life her head.


    ¡°I am lost and I do not speak for a god. And no, I am not a demon. I was.¡± Why did I have to put the idea I might be a demon out there. ¡°I was pulled here unwillingly by some manner of sorcerer.¡± No she is looking distinctly more alarmed after I mentioned the word demon. Of course she is, I hurriedly repeat. ¡°As I said, I am happy to pay for food and assistance. I have silver. Please. Stand.¡±


    But I do not bother showing it, the richness of the robes I crammed myself into combined with the ornately outfitted sword and dagger have to speak volumes?


    She fails to look entirely convinced as she rises to her feet and continues to watch me closely, as does the dog, who slinks in closer to her feet. I try to improve things. ¡°What is your name?¡± Tempting as it is to ask if I can share food with her, I pass on that for the moment. She continues to look utterly wary.


    ¡°Aspasia.¡± She then answers, not making any move to approach more closely, sheep continue to roam in an unconcerned manner and punctuate this awkward conversation with their annoyingly mindless bleating. ¡°So you are not here to... Smite something, or bless me, or pass on a message?¡±


    I shake my head whilst keeping my hands well away from my weapons and wings tight furled as possible, I really want to minimise their visual impact even if hiding them is impossible. ¡°I am lost and seeking assistance. I do not even know what country I am in. Can we begin there?¡± As I speak, I step to the side, not approaching the girl, but walking along before I seat myself upon a suitably comfortable looking stone. Reflexively, I flare out and lift my wings, keeping the feathers clear of the grass, also keeping my legs together because this too small robe is not the most modest of garments. Then I fold my hands in my lap, I look to her, I wait.


    Eventually she answers, still tense and very much on edge. ¡°Our king is Mathaios the third, he defends us from the Empire to the west. I saw some of his knights once! Ahh. The nearest town is Heucia? That is where the count lives. We go there a few times a year to market and to the temple.¡± She peers at me, narrowing her eyes slightly as she continues to fail to relax. ¡°There are marble statues of divine messengers who look like you. Angels. Why do you not have a halo?¡±


    This is something I have had time to think about and I reach up to tap the top of my head with a finger. ¡°Because if I manifest my halo then it might blind you. It would certainly startle the sheep.¡± I was absolutely the source of that searingly bright light that caused the cultists and soldiers to stumble and falter and I can half ''feel'' how I made it happen in the back of my head. It is not something I plan on repeating without extreme need.


    The girl, Aspasia, nod at that, is she relaxing slightly? Only slightly. The dog seems to have decided to stop being suspicious though and prowls closer before sniffing at my leg. I ignore it for now. ¡°... I was told that some angels have to cover themselves with their wings or blind people? You only have two wings though not six. Ahh. Not that I. Ahh.¡± She steps back, brings her crook forward as if that would help.


    I shake my head, sigh. ¡°I am not going to smite you. At worst I will just walk away Aspasia, what I would like though is for you to bring me to your parents. I have not eaten for most of a day and I am willing to trade for proper clothing.¡±

 Chapter 3 - Not An Instrument of Divine Intervention

    I am apparently about ten miles from the town of Heucia and for half of the journey there is not going to be anything beyond literal goat trails across hilly scrubland. Two hours should get me to the first village though and from then on my progress will be graced by tracks of stamped earth and cartwheel ruts, probably passable enough given the weather is dry and ground firm. Either way I am glad of the fact I now have footwear. Leather sandals, too small but hastily adjusted for my oversized feet, purchased along with a leather water flask and a thick woollen blanket. Even combined with a hearty cooked meal, sausages and strips of dried meat that I purchased I get the impression that the shepherds got the better of the deal given I left them with two thick silver rings.


    If silver is worth as much as it was historically... I do not know how much a ring weighs. A fiftieth of a pound? I suspect I gave them precious metal worth a few weeks of income. I would have liked clothing but the combination of my size and the wings made that impossible, though I did establish that I am indeed freakishly tall. Aspasia''s father and older brother were both tall men as far as I could tell, I must be around seven foot in height? I would probably be hitting my head into door frames even back home.


    Conversation with the family was rather limited though given their obvious terror of me. An amazonian giantess in ill fitting but rich attire, armed with steel, winged. Aspasia might have been shocked into conversation but it was clear that her parents wanted absolutely nothing to do with whatever I represented as soon as they learned I was not descended from on high to bless them or arrived to smite some monster. So what did I manage to glean?


    She has another brother, an adult, who left to fight in a distant war for their king. They are worried about monsters. Trolls? I did not want to betray my ignorance by asking more. Either way I appear to be in some kind of Lord of the Rings type affair with Greek flavoured names and I guess late medieval technology from the gear of the armoured soldiers whom I incinerated last night. Also I am here because some gaggle of rich... Wizards, cultists? I do not know, fucked up a ritual to summon and bind an angel. Angels being a thing albeit one that shepherds find rare to the point of disbelief and understandably terrifying.


    I chew on a sausage as I stride along, even though I have not slept and was jogging half the night and am operating without sleep I make better time than expected and I mentally revise just how far I made it when fleeing. I might miss my family, my colleagues, definitely my cats, but would I want to go back to not being this inhumanly fit? The only time I felt even nearly this good was when I was in my late teens and got back from a field exercise. Weeks of rigorous physical activity on little sleep and carrying forty pounds or more of gear only to get a full night of sleep and walk unencumbered the next day, that made me feel as if I was weightless.


    Now I feel like that all of the time, as if a spring of my feet could launch me into the sky. Given I am clearly not natural and have a twenty foot wingspan? Maybe it could. Not that I risk it. Instead I move through the scrub pastureland, I depart the realm of sheep and enter somewhere more civilised. I am reminded just why I really do need to try to find a return to my original body and to Earth as I am greeted with the sight of some medieval village.


    Rather dry fields are picked over by tanned, thin, extremely tough looking men and women in worn clothing. The village itself is surrounded by a twenty foot wall of rammed earth and logs and upon a hill, a switchback trail proceeding up past a little fort of sorts with a stone ground floor positioned to be behind anyone approaching the gate. I am an obvious target of interest as I walk along but it is not until somebody presumably notices my wings that a cry is raised.


    I do my best to continue past the village and the farmers seem loath to dare approach me, but within fifteen minutes or so a group close on horseback. A middle aged woman with a scarred face is leading, her hair greying, her horse larger than the others. She is wearing what I think is a brigandine? Scuffed bottle green velvet across her torso with a pattern of brass rivets and the rigidity that suggests plating beneath, a long bladed sword at her side that I feel some manner of pressure and menace from. Fine wool, heavy embroidery and jewelled rings suggest more than a little prosperity. Two men and a young woman follow behind with spears, shorter swords and in one of the men''s case a steel pronged crossbow.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    The crossbow is spanned and loaded, I turn to face them as I start to drop my hand toward the shorter sword at my own side. I tense, something tugs in the back of my head and I know that I can do -something- which will herald extreme violence. I refrain. Instead I raise my right hand away from my weapon and call out. ¡°Greetings! I am simply passing through, please do not concern yourselves.¡±


    The woman leading the group urges her horse forward, the two with spears fan out to each flank whilst the man with the crossbow keeps it not quite aimed at me. All of them give the impression that they are absolutely at home in the saddle and those weapons are held with nervous competence, they are terrified of me but seem grimly resolved. I try to smile and keep my wings furled in tight despite an instinctive urge to flare the feathery limbs out, perhaps to brace against the air? I try not to move very much. The lead woman, a knight? She replies.


    ¡°Greetings. I would normally expect to drop to my knees in thanks when visited by a divine messenger, the first to ever grace our village. Then beg to be gifted with whatever order or instruction you might issue. But you do not seem to have the expected aspect. Walking in the dirt, wearing what is obviously not holy raiment. What are you?¡±


    Time for honesty. ¡°I am Alessandra. I was summoned here through means I can only describe as foul and know literally nothing of this world. Those who summoned and attempted to bind me paid with their lives but I do not claim any divine mission or message. I am travelling to Heucia so that I can speak with the Count and the temple.¡± I still have no idea what kind of pantheon these people worship though I have picked up that they regard multiple gods. I guess more than one god has servants who look like stereotypical angels?


    She considers me intently, dark brows lowering, a gloved hand tight upon the reins of her horse, the other hovering not far from the wire wrapped grip of her longsword. How much danger am I actually in? If I can still do the... Fire thing, then I can no doubt kill them all but the crossbow has me worried and these four seem distinctly more dangerous than the wizards or whoever it was I cut down when I first arrived. Also I am wearing one of their robes, is that some kind of livery of a noble family I should be worried about? I am certainly conscious of the fact it is leaving my legs mostly bare as I am peered at by a posse of mounted types. I try to place them.


    The older scar faced woman is I can only assume a knight. Maybe she has more armour somewhere to look the traditional part? But did not have time to put it on before riding out to confront a random angelic amazonian roaming past her village. The man with the crossbow is probably in his late thirties and I immediately peg him as a sergeant, he looks tough as old leather and holds the weapon with complete assurance as he sits astride his horse. The other woman is built like an athlete, probably mid twenties? Blonde, blue eyed and not at all pretty. She has that light lance or spear held competently though and is obviously some kind of professional, her clothing of lesser quality than that of the ''sergeant'' but obviously still expensive.


    The last is a young man in his late teens who is dressed almost as finely as the knight and eerily at home on his horse. I am pretty sure he is her son from the resemblance, he would probably be holding his spear in a similarly menacing manner but is staring at my legs. Lovely.


    The knight retorts, tense and still very much on edge. ¡°I had hoped you were descended to help deal with our problems but if that is not the case then I was going to suggest that we escort you to the count. I... Do not believe we have a horse or tack suited to your size though?¡± She seems apologetic at the latter but I seize on the first part.


    ¡°I have not been sent here and cannot claim any kind of divine mission but I am not opposed to helping if you have problems? Assuming that I can assist. I can assure you I am profoundly ignorant on most subjects pertaining to this world.¡± Though that does get my mind working. I am a civil engineer, the Romans could make concrete, perhaps I am not useless here? They might need a new well.


    She seems to not feel the need to hover her hand near the hilt of that sword now and raises a gloved hand to motion westward, expression sour. ¡°There is a nest of trolls who have been ravaging crops and trying to eat people caught out after the fall of night. With half my retinue called off to the war I have been reluctant to try to root them out. Frankly if we tried then somebody is going to die and I was hoping the count would send troops. Then I was sent word of a gigantic winged woman with a sword and hoped that you were in answer to my prayers.¡± Then she hastily adds. ¡°Not that I ever presumed to be worthy of direct divine aid.¡±


    So what the fuck is a troll and do I want to try fighting them? Especially given this obviously formidable woman appears deeply reluctant to try facing them with a group of mounted professional soldiers whom I can only assume wear a lot more armour if deliberately going out to fight monsters.


    I remember the light and the fire. I consider that one of this woman''s ''soldiers'' is obviously her own son. Of course I am going to help. Though I am going to have to remember to ask for people''s names first.

 Chapter 4 - Respite

    ¡°I will assist you, but I did not exaggerate when I said I know nothing of this world. I do not know what a troll is or how best to face them. If we are to fight alongside each other can I ask your names however?¡± I make sure to meet each of the four in the eyes as I say that, not simply addressing the scarred woman, hopefully not a faux pas.


    Fortunately she takes it well though she is distracted by appearing altogether surprised at my answer. ¡°Ahh. Well I am Dame Grigoria Ballea. This is my son, Markos. Photios and Ioulia are my householders.¡± Photios being the veteran with the crossbow and Ioulia the heavily built young woman with a lance. She continues. ¡°I welcome you to my village as a welcome guest but what honourific should we use? I do not feel comfortable addressing one... Such as yourself, as Alessandra alone.¡±


    I instinctively want to simply assure the woman that no honourific is necessary but then catch myself. This is not an egalitarian society, this woman likely owns the village. Maybe she owns most of the people living here? Those farmers who are lurking in the middle distance and gawping at the exchange? I might be gigantically tall and have wings but I am pretty sure even petty nobility treat anyone who they feel is a commoner with far less respect. ¡°Captain Alessandra then though I have not used that rank for some time. Shall we proceed? I will walk, I doubt any of your horses could carry me.¡±


    Also I have ridden a horse all of three times and an absolutely not dressed for it. At best I would embarrass myself. Markos moves his mount alongside as we start to return to the village, Photios turns in the saddle to shout at the farmers. ¡°Back to work! Our noble guest will be aiding us against the trolls but that is a matter for when I address the council this evening!¡± This... Actually does not stop most of the farmers from watching as I stride along between the horses.


    ¡°Captain Alessandra.¡± Markos is careful to keep his gaze upon my face now, or perhaps my wings, which I am keeping tightly furled despite their inclination to shift with each step or try to telegraph my insecurity by flaring and twitching. ¡°Does that mean that you commanded a force of your kind? That must be a mighty force indeed.¡± His mother, Grigoria, seems curious as to my reply and does not interrupt.


    I carefully phrase my answer. ¡°In my home we do not raise armies as levies or utilise mercenaries. We have a host tens of thousands strong who are all volunteers and who have no role beyond training and fighting as commanded. It is an honoured position but not one coupled with great influence or power. I served during a great war against a far weaker foe and after we slaughtered them and my term of service was completed, I resigned my commission.¡±


    This has them all looking perplexed as we continue toward the village and there is a pause before Grigoria answers. ¡°I had imagined that things were more abstract in the higher realms? I know that angels have appeared to the high priests and greatest of saints or nobles on occasion but they are far more imperious. They certainly do not offer explanations as you do. Captain Alessandra.¡±


    I work to avoid flaring out my wings, they still twitch. ¡°I imagine that they are here for a particular purpose and mission rather than having been pulled to this world unprepared and unwillingly. They probably also know how to get back. I just had to kill about ten people then walk thirty miles across hills and forest without sleep and I do not have the assurance of some manner of divine missive to deliver. Still. Apparently you asked for help and I have arrived, my being grumpy and cynical is it seems part of the bargain.¡±


    Photios, the veteran, smirks at this, the as yet silent Ioulia seems to frown. It is Markos, the knight''s son, who speaks first. ¡°Might I ask which god you serve, Captain Alessandra?¡± This one I have prepared for given it is an obvious inquiry and I do not actually know the names of any of the gods.


    ¡°No.¡± Having shot down Markos I turn my attention to his mother, we are moving up the switchback trail, past the ''castle'' and toward the open village gates, he seems offended, she seems amused. ¡°So, Dame Girgoria, what can you tell me of trolls? I literally do not know what they are. Do they fear flame?¡±Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    She gives a glance to her son, we proceed on through the gates, she shrugs her armoured shoulders. ¡°They are at least as tall as you and heavier. Thick, tough skin, claws and fangs but smart enough to make clubs or crude spears. They see freakishly well in the dark, mostly active in twilight, heal fast but mostly? They die slow and hard. You can run one through the chest with a lance and still die to it.¡±


    I consider my current armaments, or lack of them, just a single handed sword. We are moving through the village now along a cobblestoned street, the houses seem to be mostly wood though several of the more prosperous looking are stone and all are tiled rather than thatched, ahead of us is the small ''castle'' and there seem to be relatively few people around. ¡°I am going to have to ask for a spear then. Or some kind of polearm? I am going to need more reach than I can get with just a sword.¡±


    Markos interjects again as the group drop down from their horses, I am envious of the facility with which they do so and also on some level gratified to be looming instead of looking up to people. I fight an urge to drop back behind the group and instead follow only Grigoria through the iron banded gate, Ioulia seems to be collecting the horses. ¡°Can you strike them down with magic, Captain Alessandra? I have heard of such miracles.¡±


    Can I? I muse on that for a second, I consider how drained I felt after unleashing it before and that, on some level, I am still not fully recovered. ¡°I can but my ability to do so is not unlimited. Additionally I would probably start a widespread fire and would risk blinding you all. It is not... Subtle. Do any of you have magic of your own?¡± Now this I am curious to hear.


    Grigoria shakes her head, we emerge into a narrow courtyard centered around a well, doors heading off to each side and a wooden stairwell heading up to the first floor, it is this that she leads us up, it creaks worryingly under my sandal clad feet and Markos apparently opts to wait until I and his mother have ascended before following. The knight taps a gloved hand to the pommel of her sword.


    ¡°My blade is well enchanted, we have protective runes on my armour and that of my son. The only practitioner in the village is the priest though and he is too old to ride with us.¡± She pushes open a door and we proceed on into a wide plastered and painted chamber, a dining hall of sorts? The floor is tiled, the table ornately carved if obviously not new, open shutters let in plenty of air from above the courtyard whilst arrow slits punctuate the opposite wall. After ducking through the doorway I find that I am still not quite able to stand upright and I hunch my wings down some to avoid brushing the ceiling.


    Which is annoying but not something I am going to raise to my host. I note that only Markos follows us in, the two retainers apparently having other duties or simply not being allowed inside, it rankles a little.


    ¡°So a polearm... I can only assume you do not have any armour that would fit me.¡± Their expressions answer that for me and I continue. ¡°If you could provide travel necessities better than those I bargained with shepherds for then it would be appreciated though, along with an escort to meet with the authorities in the town once we are done. I do not mean to impose overmuch upon your hospitality Dame Grigoria but I am lost in a world completely unfamiliar to me.¡±


    The woman shakes her head at that as she strips off her gloves and deposits them upon the table, her sword belt following to be hung from a peg upon the wall as her son Markos follows, then an expansive gesture to the table. ¡°Not at all Captain Alessandra. Please, be seated and make yourself at home. What you ask for would be the least I could offer to any woman skilled at arms who offered to fight alongside me let alone... Well. I can only imagine your magic to be formidable and I have never seen anyone with your stature.¡± She fails to not peer at my wings for a moment as well.


    Limbs I am acutely conscious for as I sit, almost as bad as the too small robe, I keep my legs together and adjust it with one hand, I find myself frowning. ¡°If you could recommend me a tailor in the town as well. Such stature does not make it easy to find clothing.¡± Markos is pointedly not looking at me as he retrieves flagons then moves to pour wine, for me first, then his mother, for himself last. This seems significant and I give a bow of my head to Grigoria, suppressing a flare outward of my wings as I do so. This seems acceptable?


    Also I am glad that only the knight''s chair has a back to it. Nobody seems to be drinking and I am being watched so I try a sip of the wine, it is moderately awful but I have tasted worse, so I smile. ¡°Thank you Dame Grigoria, your hospitality is welcome though I do not want to over indulge. Actually, I have not slept at all last night so if we plan to seek out these trolls in the evening, could I ask for somewhere to catch a few hours of rest?¡±


    Maybe if I sleep I will feel up to more magic? Whatever I did before reduced a half dozen soldiers in what I now strongly suspect was magical armour to ash in a second. Is that something I can do on a whim? Or will it take me weeks to recover? I have no idea. I am not sure I want to discover that the first option is the case.

 Chapter 5 - Trolls

    I do not sleep untroubled, it is a fitful slumber where I constantly imagine I have awakened to find something terribly wrong. I have somehow missed work for a week, perhaps I cannot contact my family, perhaps something is wrong with my pets, perhaps I am reliving something from earlier in my life but twisted wrong. As such I feel far from refreshed when I jerk awake at the sensation of feathers against my back.


    The alien limbs flare out and shove the blanket mostly away from me before hitting the wall and I barely avoid shoving myself off the straw mattress I was ''resting'' upon. It takes me long moments to remember where I am, why my bed is a straw mattress and why I have wings. I remain half convinced that I have not yet woken up. Dragging my fingers through the unruly main of my far too long and far too red hair helps focus a little before I then fussily straighten feathers with muscle memory not at all my own.


    Sadly this bizarre state has a reality absent from my unfocused half dreams and it fails to end as I scrub my face and hands before getting dressed into my stolen garments once again, apparently honoured by being given a private bedroom in my host''s tiny castle. There are obvious signs that the cramped chamber belongs to somebody else, somebody absent, I got the impression that Grigoria has two children and that the eldest of them is currently absent and I was given her chamber to sleep in.


    Two hours later I have been gifted a very lethal looking poleaxe and have spent far too long trudging through farmland and pastures while the four with me alternate between walking and leading their rangy horses. The weapon in my hands is all polished wood and gleaming steel, a broad axe blade counterweighted by what I can only describe as a meat tenderizer and capped with a near foot long spike atop a five foot pole, steel strips set flush into the wood ensure reinforcement for the last two feet of its length whilst a nasty looking spike weighs the butt.


    Somehow, I seem to handle the heavy weapon as if it was an extension of my own body and without thought, I hold it in a way that seems to impress the quasi professional soldiers accompanying me. A quartet who seem all the more martial now that they have had time to prepare for battle.


    Gregoria, the landed knight who rules this little territory, is almost entirely clad in steel. She is still wearing her brigantine from before, dozens of steel plates riveted to an exterior layer of velvet over her torso. This is worn over layered and padded linen whilst her limbs are clad in articulated and intricately overlapping steel, the fabric beneath woven with mail that covers her armpits and groin to ensure there are literally no gaps in the metal coverage apart from the eye slits of her helm, though she wears the visor up for now.


    I can sense a certain presence from the black lacquered steel, a subtle pressure, when I peer very closely I can discern impossible to describe and glowing runes somehow set into the metal. Her son Markos is wearing very similar gear that emanates a less forceful presence and lacks as much in the way of black lacquer or brass ornamentation though he is similarly clad in steel.


    I rather wish I was clad in steel.


    The other two accompanying us are distinctly less protected. Photios, the middle aged sergeant? He is wearing a brigantine of similar design over mail, solid metal protecting his elbows and knees along with plated gauntlets and a similar helm to his employer, though lacking that pressure of magic. His legs are unprotected below the knee outside of layered fabric and thick leather boots. Conversation before we set off has established he is the head of Grigoria''s household when not looking grim and cradling a crossbow.


    Ioulia, the final member of our party, is a muscular woman in her mid twenties who is apparently responsible for the horses. She is also six foot tall and built like a brick shithouse, though fighting is very much a part time thing for her? She is wearing layered and quilted wool, a helmet, gauntlets, then linked iron rods along the outside of each of her limbs. I can only suppose that this is much cheaper than the more comprehensive protection of the others.


    All four of them are on rangy looking horses with the two fully armoured individuals having two handed swords and lances, the others with lighter spears, one handed swords and either a crossbow of javelins. We are patrolling through the evening twilight for trolls and I actually find that keeping pace with the horses is surprisingly easy.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Some mental conversion of measurements has established that I am roughly six foot nine inches tall and I suspect that I weight close to three hundred pounds with a distinct lack of body fat outside of that require to provide a weirdly idealised female figure. It is hard to judge though given I have no idea how much wings weigh. Also I am focusing on that kind of thing rather than the real implications of my being in a weird fantasy medieval world in a body not my own. Certainly my sense of ''power'' remains barely increased after some hours of fitful sleep, whatever I did to incinerate those soldiers was apparently a long term drain and not something I plan to repeat.


    So I trudge through arid fields, at the moment my armoured companions are all on horseback, we hear a scream in front of us. Spurs are wielded and the group surges ahead, I instinctively flare out my wings to catch at the air and charge after them with frankly inhuman speed, though I fall behind.


    When I arrive? I see three hulking dark green figures who can generously be described as humanoid in the middle of a field of grass. One looked to be in the middle of tearing a goat in half, there is a woman in rough clothing running away and shouting, Photios is firing his crossbow into one of the others as it brandishes what looks like half of a small tree.


    The bolt strikes home and the brutishly featured creature roars, Grigoria and Markos hold back as Markos starts to work on reloading the weapon and Ioulia rides forward. She casts a steel tipped javelin into another of the trolls and catches it in the outside of an arm to what seems like minimal effect, turning abruptly and galloping her horse to the side. I labour onward on foot, the three trolls seem concerned.


    Another javelin, this time hitting the creature in the stomach and stumbling it, though Ioulia is now left with a light spear and her one handed sword as she brings her horse around. Whilst the monsters are obviously quick they simply cannot catch the horses and Photios then fires his crossbow once again into the unmolested but goat blood stained third troll. It sprouts a bolt from the side of it''s head but mostly seems annoyed.


    This is apparently the signal for Markos and Grigoria to spur their horses forwards with lances levelled and they each take an oblique approach, not frontally charging but heading past the two forward most trolls. Each is nearly impaled through the torso before the two fully armoured individuals peel off, Grigoria doing so neatly whilst Markos is clipped by a crude club, nearly falling from the saddle and obviously hurt.


    Neither troll simply falls to the ground though both roar in agony, Grigoria smoothly unsheathes her longsword and I can see the blade glowing with light even as her son fumbles with his own weapon, is his right arm even working right now? His armour seems merely scuffed. I get within reach and lunge for the closest creature.


    Instinctively, I flare my wings, gull flight feathers, I feel a purchase upon the air that launches me forward with inhuman force as I impale the leading troll''s head with the spike of the poleaxe. The wooden haft simply shatters in my grasp and the creature collapses dead, I drop into a low crouch amidst flared pinions as my sword leaps to my hand with reflexes absolutely not my own.


    Somehow I take in the situation. Photios is working to reload his crossbow, Ioulia, apparently the groom and wearing only light armour, circles with her spear levelled. Markos is feeling in the saddle with a half drawn sword and his mother Gregoria charges one of the injured trolls. She turns her horse at the last moment, the monster stabs with a wooden spear only for her to slide both the weapon and her foe''s arm in a single slash, her glowing blade cutting through oak and flesh as if passing through water.


    The third troll is sporting a crossbow bolt from the side of his, its? Whatever, from the troll''s face as it turns to me with what looks like half a tree in its burly hands. It swings and a snap of my wings brings me backward with inhuman agility and speed before I flick my sword forward, it bellows as I neatly amputate two fingers from my new foe.


    Ioulia charges in and grazes my opponent with her spear before galloping away on horseback, Grigoria keeps slashing at the trolls she is facing, forcing it back, the monster streaming and bleeding. Then something impacts her and she is thrown from her saddle, her enchanted armour holding firm though I wince a little at the though of what the impact does as she hits the ground and her horse flees.


    Two more trolls surge from the hedge, the pasture ''fenced'' with a dense line of brambles and piled stone that seems to leave no impression upon the thick skin of the creatures, one of whom just tossed what looked like a thirty pound boulder into the knight and cast her from her saddle.


    Obviously I cannot afford to hesitate. My foe is reeling, missing two fingers, grazed by a lance, I step forward and cut at them. Low, they try to parry, high, I clip their face. Wincing they try to sweep their falteringly held club at me only for me to leap atop the weapon and lunge high once again. The monster falls with my sword buried in its head and I pull the steel blade clear.


    One of the monsters is rushing for the downed Grigoria and nobody seems positioned to respond. I burn and the evening grey is abruptly turned to searing light as a ring of sun bright fire manifests above my brow. Everything is delineated by knife edged shadow, in the light, or cast into darkness.

 Chapter 6 - Incandescence

    I am surrounded by screams from man and monster along with the sound of panicked horses as I am surrounded by incandescent light. The sun had set, we were in deepening twilight, the illumination is eye searing as my immediate surroundings are lit as if it was a scorching mid summer noon. The two charging trolls, having forced through the bushes, falter in their rush, wincing and trying to shield their eyes. Rushing forward, I find myself launching with frankly inhuman speed as I instinctively beat my wings, a fifty foot leap from the troll I just slew that terminates with my sandal clad feet impacting the chest of one of the creatures. I hit hard enough that it begins to topple and the resulting roar cuts to a strangled scream when I stab the blade of my sword in and out of its eye socket. It is a precise, unthinking motion, a flickering jab that punches a foot of steel through wet tissues and bone in the time it might take to blink one''s eyes. Also I am smouldering, flames licking along my arms, my brightly hued plumage glowing and literally burning as I turn to parry a crude spear thrust to the side whilst I ride the twitching corpse to the ground.


    At this point it is growing increasingly clear to me that my allies in this fight, apart perhaps from the downed Grigoria, are largely irrelevant, when I took over this body I seemingly inherited the ability to move and kill with horrifying ease. I am vaguely conscious of the downed knight clambering to her feet, her armour apparently undamaged from the impact of a boulder hurled by a moderately sized giant, though there is a stiffness to her motions.


    The remaining troll is stronger than me though, taller, massively built, a greyish green skinned creature wearing rotting pelts, hairy and brutally featured. It, I have no idea as to the troll''s sex, is wielding a weapon however, presumably trolls reason and think. I sense something fundamentally... wrong about it though, as if this is something that should not exist. I am intently dubious as to how far I should trust such feelings but for now I have a seven foot plus monster trying to kill me with a spear.


    But it is half blind, I shift my footing, wings instinctively adjust to balance as I flow forward with weightless grace and flick my sword to clip away several fingers from the closest hand. The troll screams and flails its weapon in a broad horizontal sweep, when I block I am sent skidding several feet backward from the impact and am stopped as much by the flare of my burning wings to catch the air as I am by the scrape of sandal clad feet. Also my sword has buckled, left bent and ruined, I toss it aside before grabbing hold of my oponent''s spear and performing an unfeasibly athletic skin that vaults over it. I draw my dagger mid air and reflexively slice a foot long and eight inch deep canyon across the monster''s stomach before landing back upon my feet.


    It roars again but seems barely slowed even as its stinking guts begin to spill, I lose my dagger as I counter the swing of its unmaimed hand with a stab only to find the weapon torn from my grasp after lodging in bone, so I kick at a knee. My feet are on fire as well it seems and the cracking of bone is combined with a scorching of flesh, as my foe reels I duck forward and slam a wing up and forward.


    The impact shatters the troll''s skull and sends it bowled over backward with a head distorted into a very different shape, eyes boiled from their sockets, a stink of unclean smelling cooked meat as it absolutely does not move further. Any doubts I might have had about my wings being strong enough to lift me are gone at this moment, apparently those feathery limbs are utterly, terrifyingly powerful, though I do ache vaguely where I struck.


    I take a deep breath, close my eyes, work to calm myself as I feel for... That. The light begins to dim and the flames playing across me fade.


    When I open my eyes everyone is staring at me. Of course they are, I just killed four of the enemy with minimal help and am completely untouched, though my sword is a buckled ruin whilst I do need to recover the dagger and poleaxe. Grigoria is on foot and looks to have hurt herself when she was thrown from the saddle, though her armour seems untouched, she swings up her visor, seemingly less dazed than the other three. Perhaps she was not looking when I did whatever it was I did?Stolen novel; please report.


    Then she bows. ¡°Thank you for your aid Captain Alessandra, for answering our prayers. After your mundane arrival and speech I felt myself doubting you but you were obviously concealing your true might from us for our own safety.¡±


    Which. Ahh. Hmm, I really need to know just what happens there, another deep breath as I calm myself, then I make a show of nonchalantly stepping over the the corpse of the last troll before retrieving my dagger, jerking it out of a meaty forearm then wiping it clean before sheathing the weapon. ¡°I promised that I would assist you Dame Grigoria, though I am curious just what, from your perspective, you saw?¡±


    I try my best to look not terribly interested as I then step over to retrieve the polearm, the other three are dismounting and closing. Markos actually speaks up first. ¡°The moment my m- Dame Grigoria was struck down your halo became visible Captain Alessandra. It was like looking directly at the sun if the sun was a ring above your brow and you were wreathed in flame, your wings glowing. I can still see your halo in truth, it is a fading after-image burnt into my eyes. Also. Well you fought like ten knights despite being unarmoured and with mundane weaponry.¡±


    Photios is rather less verbose. ¡°You blinded everyone. Then killed the brutes, fuck it, before that you were the most dangerous thing I''ve ever seen.¡± Ioulia for her part just nods as she sets about retrieving javelins and crossbow bolts from the dead, blinking repeatedly, reaching up to rub her eyes with a leather clad hand then retrieving an axe. Our conversation from this point is punctuated with wet thwacks as she starts cutting off the monster''s heads.


    Grigoria tugs off her helmet now. ¡°I will replace your sword of course. Then send you to meet my liege with my son and Ioulia to escort, if that is acceptable Captain Alessandra?¡±


    ¡°It is.¡± I reply. ¡°But as I mentioned I know nothing of this world. Just what are trolls, what brings them to raid like this? I admit I am somewhat troubled at having slain thinking creatures without knowing what drives them.¡± I make an expansive motion toward the increasingly decapitated corpses, one of my wings flares out hugely to make the motion vastly exaggerated and emphatic. I did not do that deliberately.


    The knight looks surprised at this and pauses in working her plate clad arm, I think the arm she landed on? ¡°They are spawn of Druj. When men and women perform wickedness or carry out deceit it weakens the order of reality, despite our duty to further the cause of order and righteousness. Where we do not impose good upon the world it allows cracks to open and that evil can then manifest in things which are inimical to good. Trolls do not know love or laughter, they do not understand generosity or truth. They have low hungry cunning and lust only for destruction or pain, manifesting into existence in the wild places of the world as a result of human evil. They are far from alone.¡± She winces as something pops, also she is examining me closely.


    ¡°They are among the least of demons. Surely you have faced them before? Though perhaps not.¡± She seems to be reasoning out loud at this point and I see little reason to interrupt her. ¡°You are. What are you exactly? You slew four of them without a scratch and without even using your fire directly.¡±


    I try to be enigmatic. ¡°Evil takes different forms upon different worlds. There was no shortage of evil where I last dwelt but no creatures such as this, they would have been irrelevant in the face of more direct human wickedness.¡± Which is no lie, though outside of the scale I doubt inter human warfare here is any prettier. I also remain rather sceptical as to the truth behind her statements though my impression is that she is being as honest as she knows with me.


    Ioulia finishes her sullen decapitation, the axe blows quieten. It is time to return to the village it seems.

 Chapter 7 - The Town of Heucia

    The next day, following a hearty dinner and prodigious breakfast seperated by most of a night''s sleep, I am making my way to the town of Heucia. Grigoria was generous in the wake of my assistance and I now have a rather fine waxed leather carrying case for my few possessions, slung uncomfortably low on my back beneath my wings. My replacement sword is rather more substantial than the weapon that was ruined fighting the trolls, a tapered steel longsword with a two handed grip wrapped in wire, plainer but definitely better suited to my size. She also gave me money, a generous handful of coins that I suspect would represent a year or more of earnings for most people. But I did save her life.


    I also did get a brief introduction to just what they are worth. The foundation of the currency is gold coins, reasonably fine gold coins of twenty carat and about seven to an ounce. They are tiny and apparently quite rare in practise, largely used by the nobility. Below this are what I initially assumed were silver but are actually copper coins with a silver wash and minimal bullion content, forty eight of them to a gold coin, with eighteen purely copper coins to one of the vaguely silver. This is not a financial situation that fills me with boundless confidence regarding the stability of the local regime. Apparently there are foreign coins with higher quality in circulation, but not in random villages.


    That means there are eight hundred and sixty four copper coins to one gold, each copper coin slightly lighter than the gold one. Apparently fair pay to a skilled labourer for a day of work is one (slightly) silver coin or ten or so copper, with the ''silver'' coins in practise exchanged well below their face value. All of the coins are tiny, with perhaps a hundred to the pound. Some of my stolen jewellery is gold and so whilst I am not wealthy I am certainly not lacking in currency for the moment.


    I did not want to linger in the village for too long though and so I am still wearing the ill fitted robes I looted from the woman I killed immediately after my arrival, which does not help my comfort as I stride alongside Markos'' horse. Ioulia is mounted behind us and leading a pack animal, we have plenty of time to chat as we proceed along the earthen path.


    ¡°So just what are your plans then, you mentioned that your sister stands to inherit?¡± His elder sister is apparently away right now along with half of his mother''s retainers, hoping to earn her knighthood fighting against ''the empire'' to the north. Markos shrugs slightly in immediate response them broods for a moment over his reply.


    ¡°I do not know, I was hoping that my mother would let me go off to war this season but she has spoken of sending me to the church or to become a mage.¡± The latter part absolutely catches my interest but he continues. ¡°I would prefer to be a knight though. I need to attract the notice of some great lord and join his household. Perhaps the count will offer me a position after he is introduced to you Captain Alessandra! Angels normally only manifest in our world briefly and at extreme need.¡± This prospect does seem to perk him up. I do my best to limit his expectations.


    ¡°I am not planning to offer my services to your mother''s liege Markos. I mean to introduce myself to him politely as I enter his demesne then speak with the local high priest. If, as I suspect, he cannot facilitate my return home then I am going to find a tailor and get clothing that fits.¡± To his credit he does not then glance down at my bare legs again, but he has done that quite a lot over the past day. I find myself reaching a hand back to smooth my feathers, that seems disturbingly natural.


    Then I glance back to Ioulia, who has continued to not include herself in the conversation. ¡°Ioulia.¡± She blinks and flinches a little as I address her, looking to me with an expression of surprise. ¡°What about you?¡±


    She seems unsure of how to answer. ¡°I''m Dame Grigoria''s groom and honoured to be in her household my lady?¡±


    I press her further. ¡°But what do you aspire to? Not that I want to insult your station, you are after all riding right now whilst I walk and your assistance with the trolls was very welcome. You throw a fine javelin.¡± Markos seems perturbed as I talk to his servant.


    Ioulia glances to the young man, then back to me, she hesitates before she answers. ¡°I would wish to be a knight your grace. But its not likely. The horses, the gear, not going to happen less I ransom a lord or something in the dame''s service.¡± I consider a moment, that is... Not something I wish to encourage and frankly the young woman is riding on a horse, she is well fed, she is probably treated with respect by almost everyone in that village even if the knight''s family treats her like furniture. She is one of the elite in this fucked up medieval world even if in the lower echelons of it. Also all evidence points to ''becoming a knight'' probably leading to one having a village to literally lord over.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Where I originate.¡± I remain as unspecific as possible. ¡°Becoming a military leader is, at least nominally, not decided by origin. All equipment is provided, one can be a captain and be paid less than an experienced sergeant for that matter. Responsibility when it comes to waging war is not something to be taken up lightly.¡± Hopefully this sounds profound? Certainly both of them nod and look thoughtful.


    But I want to get back to an early subject. ¡°Markos, you mentioned becoming a mage. How does that work in this world?¡± I try to mask the fact I have no idea how being a mage works at all, in any world. He seems eager to reply.


    ¡°First one needs to have been graced with magic by the divines but that is true of almost all members of the gentry. Harder is awakening it, the mage guilds or the priesthood do so with secret rituals after years of induction. The problem is that it takes years to learn how to use real magic, requiring advanced mathematics and mental exercises repeated tens of thousands of times.¡±


    This sounds absolutely nothing like when I used fire, I just pushed something out from myself, or unleashed it. Perhaps because I am not in a human body? Or perhaps I was doing it wrong? I will have to learn more.


    ¡°And enchanted items such as your armour or your mother''s sword?¡± I continue to question him as we travel along. He shrugs. ¡°I have no idea how they are made Captain Alessandra? It is expensive but not ruinously so compared to the cost of fine armaments. We have some lesser enchantments in the castle, barrels that preserve food, charms upon the well, that kind of thing. Even richer farmers have weak wards or charms on an heirloom tool or home warding.¡±


    None of which I can feel in the way I did the magical armour and weaponry. So either I can only detect magic of a certain potency or my sensitivity is limited in it''s field. I nod before asking. ¡°So most men at arms have such armour?¡±


    ¡°Many do.¡± He answers. ¡°The cost of good plate is high enough that having it receive basic enchantment is almost always worthwhile. Weapons are rarer, but powerful! You saw my mother''s blade, my elder sister has a weapon like it.¡± Left unsaid is that even with his mother ruling a village there was obviously not the budget for him to have a magical weapon.


    Cultivation grows denser as we approach the town and more than a few farmers or herders pause in their labour to watch, or even follow, calling out for blessings from me. Initially I try to answer them, reluctantly assuring them that I can offer no such thing, which... Hurts when people are asking that I heal a sick family member. More worryingly some do ask to be saved from their lord and I start to feel increasingly uneasy about this visit, Markos trying to direct Ioulia to show the peasants off until I interject.


    As a result both are in stony silence by the time Heucia comes into view, we crest a low hill, thick with fields, to see a small town with a stone wall nestled in a loop of a narrow and fast flowing river. The walls are extended across an arched stone bridge to link with a curtain wall and castle on the far bank, wooden buildings nestling around a squat and square stone keep. Most of the town is stone though, slate roofs, a church or temple of sorts soaring high over the other buildings and at least clad in marble with a green roof of old copper. I do not really know how to judge it''s likely population. Two thousand people? Three? This is no bustling metropolis though it seems lively enough and there are a pair of armoured guards standing at the gate we approach.


    I consider them carefully, both are armoured in a similar fashion to how Ioulia was yesterday, layered and padded cloth with linked chains (jack chains) to protect the outsides of the limbs, plate at the knees and elbows, heavy boots and simple metal gauntlets lacking individual fingers. Combined with this are broad rimmed helmets and in the case of the main, a knee length vest of mail. They have halberds along with short swords and daggers at their sides.


    The guards also immediately come to attention as they first see a gentleman, Markos, on horseback, then double take as they realize the oversized pedestrian at his side has wings. The two of them, a man and women both who look to be middle aged, then rally with the woman stepping back to the open gate whilst the man warily approaches us, a bow once he is at a suitable distance.


    ¡°Greetings, Divine Messenger. What brings you to our humble town?¡± The woman sticks her head through a doorway in the gatehouse, speaking urgently to somebody. Markos looks about to answer, glances to me, I nod to him. He replies. ¡°I am Markos son of Dame Grigoria. My mother has asked me to escort Captain Alessandra.¡± He motions to me with a gloved hand. ¡°To meet with Count Sallotis. She has been of great assistance and saved my mother''s life only yesterday.¡±


    This is when I speak up, whilst looming over the guard. ¡°I am not here to deliver a special message to your lord. I am paying respects as I enter his demesne and do not plan to occupy overmuch of his time.¡± At this point I mentally brace myself for stomaching an encounter with a feudal lord whom I am increasingly convinced I do not want to accidentally come across as endorsing or blessing.

 Chapter 8 - A Virtue of Flame

    If the streets of Heucia are paved it is beneath a layer of compacted and only mostly sun dried animal droppings, I am now reminded once again of why everyone rich enough prefers to ride. It is not somewhere I am altogether happy to walk with only a pair of too small sandals and I am as careful of my footing as I can be whilst our little party moves through the town.


    Fortunately we have a straight shot to the castle, two guards from the gate escorting us down the main street and a small square that I assume holds markets but is currently mostly empty. The buildings facing this main promenade are largely stone and three stories in height, mostly with narrow facings and seeming to be shops or businesses of various types. We pass the temple as well then pass through another, smaller, gate in order to proceed onto the fortified bridge, the whole way people stop, stare and talk excitedly to each other upon spotting me.


    The alarmed gate guard lets us onto the bridge then similarly excited armed individuals allow us through the far larger and more heavily fortified gate into the castle at the other end, I glance up to notice what are obviously murder holes between a pair of rusting iron portcullis though I am not getting an impression of some vast garrison. In total I have seen evidence of maybe a dozen soldiers and apart from those guarding the gate to the city most do not seem to be in their full armour. A servant was sent ahead of us though and the only delay in the castle courtyard is for Markos and Ioulia to dismount and have their horses attended to.


    Also, something that I was not expecting, they hand over their weapons along with the horses, disarming themselves of their swords and lances, their armour already on the pack animal. This is done without question and apparently assumptions I had of knightly swords striding around castles with swords at their side may be incorrect, at least for this culture? A young woman in cheap orange and black livery approaches me and I give a shake of my head. ¡°I am not planning on remaining here as a guest ma''am and will be departing in a few minutes. Thank you.¡± She seems at least as much shocked by the term of address as anything else and, eyes wide, she backs off.


    Markos frowns faintly but we do not have more than moments before a middle aged woman with greying hair and distinctly finger clothing than anyone I have seen before steps out from the keep. She has a rather prominent silver chain hanging around her neck and across her chest, some type of badge of office? A few rings on her fingers, heavily embroidered and new looking clothing with crisp colours albeit in the same unattractive hues of orange and black. She also bows to me. ¡°Divine messenger. Welcome!¡± The sword at my side glanced at for a moment but apparently left without a voiced comment. ¡°Welcome to Heucia, please allow me to conduct you to my liege. Squire Markos, if you would please accompany us?¡±


    Which he does, falling in to flank me as I proceed up the stone stairs that rise along the outside of the keep. We climb a good fifteen feet or so above the ground before there is an abrupt turn to an iron banded door, though it is wide open, as is a second door six down a six foot corridor lined with arrow slits. I keep my wings furled in close but still scrape the stonework with feathers, this would be a confined space even if I was not looming a head or more above even the tall.


    Fortunately once past this entrance gauntlet we head straight into a vaulted hall that must take up most of this floor of the keep. It has a mezzanine double level and the ceiling is a good twenty foot overhead, two rows of arrow slits providing muted but adequate illumination whilst colourful paintings of martial and obviously religious scenes decorate the plastered walls where they are not covered by intricately embroidered tapestries. The vast fireplace is currently empty, a blessing in the summer warmth and there are a number of richly dressed people in attendance.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Primary is the man who I assume must be Count Sallotis. He is in his fifties and occupies what I can only describe as a wooden throne, an ornately carved and raised chair that his heavily built figure amply occupies. He gives the impression of a physically powerful man going to seed, broad shoulders and a heavy stomach, greying black hair, jowls, dark eyes and also a left leg that ends just below the knee. That would explain why he is home rather than off engaged in this war I keep hearing about.


    There are another eight or so men and women to each side who all wear obviously expensive attire and jewellery, probably at minimum on par with what Dame Grigoria was wearing in her home? They vary from late teens to middle aged and all seem to be in excellent shape, I am guessing more knights or members of the count''s family and thus military aristocracy, nobody wears anything more dangerous than a large and dangerous looking knife though. The count does not rise but does bow in his chair, hands gripping the arms of the throne.


    ¡°Divine messenger! Greetings and welcome to my humble home. I would rise but as you can see that is not easily practical. What news do you bring me and what can I do to be of assistance in your mission?¡± He seems genuine enough, but I am not going to mislead him as to my intentions. I also do not bow in response, I have been considering my options and I am not going to show deference to nobility. Given the wings? I can probably get away with this and far more of everything else than if I begin showing deference.


    ¡°Count Sallotis. Thank you for your kind welcome, I am not bearing you any message though and have no mission related to your lands. I am here merely to pay my respects before I meet with the head of the local temple and must excuse myself rather than impose upon your hospitality.¡± An expression of unease flashes across his face, several of the others attending look very much as if they want to say something only to remain silent.


    ¡°I hope that I have done nothing to offend you? Ahh, Captain Alessandra? We can bring the high priest here whilst you enjoy the hospitality of my keep. Surely you wish for better clothing, armour perhaps, a fine mount?¡± He speaks like somebody who is nervous and seeking approval which is not quite what I expected.


    I have been careful since I arrived here, I have been restrained, I find myself loosely clenching my left hand as my wings flare out slowly behind me. They do not extend out to their full extent, but I am framed by sunset hue plumage as I speak my next piece. ¡°As I approached this town count Sallotis, I was approached by people in the fields.¡± Markos winces now and looks to interrupt before silencing himself. ¡°Many of them begged for blessings, or healing. Others requested that I save them from you. Are you a righteousness man above all others? Are you selfless and true, striving to make the world a better place every day? I do not know and I will not judge you but I am not descended from the heavens to confirm you in virtue.¡±


    Markos is at this point looking appalled, about half of the people in the room are looking appalled, the count upon his throne looks stony faced and deeply angry. He lifts a hand, he looks about to speak, then Markos abruptly steps forward from behind me. ¡°My liege! Please. I know you would not consider any actions insulting to our guest but I bring word from my mother. Captain Alessandra is not a messenger angel. She slew four trolls without taking a single injury and without use of her magic. Dame Grigoria believes that the good captain must be a warrior of the second sphere. Likely a Virtue given her manifestation of holy flame when angered.¡±


    Apparently Grigoria and Markos must have had a conversation when I was not present, one involving a lot of terms I am oblivious to. He did mention that she was planning to push him toward a career as a priest or mage though? I remain silent and find it oddly easy to remain calm faced, was the count about to order something violent then? I give a casual stretch of bright feathered wings before then furling them in loosely to each side of my back, in the wake of Markos'' words.


    ¡°I will be departing for the temple. My thanks for welcoming me Count Sallotis. But I am afraid I am here only in passing.¡± With that spoken, I pivot on one crudely sandalled foot, turn then stride for the doorway. Nobody seems inclined to stop me and the hall is filled with silence in my wake. I have probably just made an enemy.

 Chapter 9 - The Holy Flame

    Nobody actually tries to stop me as I leave the castle though the servants and guards do seem alarmed at my immediate departure. Nobody questions me either though and given my unreasonable height I have the extremely useful ability to simply power walk and ensure nobody can keep up with me without at minimum jogging.


    Thus I stride back across the bridge and into the town, past the wide eyes of various merchants or whomever they are who turn out to stare at me, across the cobblestones and to the marble of the copper roofed temple. It strikes me very much as a cross between a stereotypical Greek or Roman affair and a medieval church, Corinthian pillars combined with a vaulted roof and marble. The main doors are also green patina copper whilst being both huge and open, I step inside to find the leaded glass windows ensure good illumination.


    The intricately tiled floor is decorated in abstract patterns but most striking to me are the statues lining the nave, winged figures cast in polished bronze, male and female, staring beatifically down and in every case not wearing clothing though some do wear stylised armour. I look back down again as I feel heat rising to my cheeks, a shake of my head then flick of my own wings as they flare a little to each side. At the far end is a vast brazier with a low flame and this appears to be the ''altar'', several white robed men and women staring in shock at me.


    I step forward. ¡°I wish to speak with the head priest. In private.¡± Everyone looks to an older woman who wears a number of jewelled golden rings and has heavier embroidery upon her robes, I think depicting very abstract flames? Grey haired, blue eyed, she immediately bows to me whilst the others drop to their knees. ¡°Leave us.¡± This she says to the other three who then hurry back to their feet and file to a side door without ever facing away from me.


    The woman, the high priestess? Drops rather stiffly to one knee and I feel something subtly pressing at me, magic? It is almost impossible to discern but I find myself flaring my wings. The woman does not raise her head but keeps it down, waiting until the others have close the door before she speaks. ¡°Burning One. How can I serve you?¡±


    I swallow, hesitate, then make a vague upward motion with my right hand. I hope it looks like an upward motion, my right wing flicking out as I do so and adding vast feathery emphasis. ¡°Please, stand. Also I have a great many questions. First, what is your name? Second, please address me as Alessandra.¡±


    The woman looks slightly confused there but does push, rather awkwardly, back to her feet, I get the impression she does not have very good knees. ¡°Bur- Alessandra. That name does not seem right? I have many questions of my own but please direct me how I can best serve your needs. I do not wish to waste a second of your time.¡± She seems to be in a rush, even frightened? But mostly urgent.


    I shake my head. ¡°I was summoned here through foul means rather than being present under my own power or with a particular mission. More importantly I do not know anything about this world or my significance to it.¡± I do have no intention of letting her know that I am, or was, a human though. I have no idea what the response to that might be. Still... ¡°First of all tell me what I am, as understood by the people of this world. I know you used magic, perhaps to check these were not illusions?¡± I wriggle my outstretched wing as I pull my hand back to my side.


    She stares in shock and tenses ever so slightly, I definitely sense... Something intangible, what is she doing? I just cannot tell but it does not seem to be directed at me this time. ¡°You are a Virtue of Fire, a warrior angel of the fifth order. For you to be here? To physically manifest would allow the Dreq, Lies and Corruption, to touch the world in equal measure. Also your power is an order of magnitude greater than the archangels who, we hope, appear in hours of darkest need. Hence my urgency. Every heartbeat you exist here brings terrible evil into the world. But you were summoned?¡±


    That is a lot to take in. ¡°I was summoned. Some manner of sorcerer carried out blood sacrifices and attempted to bind me into service. I killed him and his... cultists? Along with a group of guards better equipped than any knight I have seen so far. This was perhaps thirty or forty miles to the north in the grounds of a castle though I am unsure, it was night.¡±This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The priestess looks horrified at this, then smiles. ¡°You smote the castle then? This is excellent news B- Alessandra! The forces of darkness brought you into the world themselves, there may be no counterbalancing wicked influence. Now you can help us bring love and righteousness without constraint!¡±


    Smote. A castle. I do not get the impression that this is an exact analogue for Christianity but I have read the Bible and I am familiar with the idea of individual angels burning entire cities to the ground. I burnt a half dozen or so people and felt drained from the exercise, I doubt I will be recovered for at minimum a week. This woman seems to have no doubt that I am some manner of extremely powerful angel so I am obviously missing something.


    ¡°Normally.¡± I venture. ¡°An angel would only appear in this world with a particular mission, planning to be in a physical body. I was ripped hear unwillingly. I did not smite the castle, I do not think I could smite a castle, cutting down a small group of armoured soldiers left me exhausted, am I... Missing power, or did I do something wrong?¡±


    I feel more subtle something, again I suspect she is using magic and directing it at me but I have no idea exactly what is happening, though it does not feel dangerous. A frown, the woman moves a careful step to the side as she examines me. ¡°You do feel drained but you are a terrifyingly potent well of power. You probably hold hundreds of times as much of the divine light as I would be able to direct. What did you do exactly? Could you demonstrate, using the nave and trying not to damage the temple?¡±


    She seems helpful and I desperately do need to know what is happening here. ¡°Please be careful of your vision.¡± I note to her before extending my hand. Then? I push with my mind, or relax, it is more as if I stop holding something back though I do my best to limit this release. My halo burns, a flash of light that overwhelms the illumination through the wide windows and a bright summer day. Brighter still is the lance of white hot fire that stabs out from my hand for a fraction of a second to then burn a trench in the flagstones over a foot deep. A short trench, I keep this as controlled as weak as I can manage though I feel a noticeable drain on something intangible within me.


    The old woman is staring in horror. The horror does not seem to be directed at the state of the floor. ¡°You. I could not hope to channel such power in an entire day but it was almost all wasted!¡± I do some mental calculations. Markos mentioned years of study to become a mage, complex mathematics and mental conditioning. I... No, it gets worse as I prevaricate and the priestess looks to me in shock.


    ¡°You are over six thousand years old! The archbishop spoke of seeing an angel weave magic, sublime skill and subtly, a minor incantation leaving a blessing that held for years.¡± As she half accuses me I try to come up with a mental comparison.


    Building a tower? One can fairly simply design a tower that extends to an arbitrary height by simply proposing a solid vertical block of metal. So the Eiffel tower. I think just over three hundred metres tall? Made out of wrought iron and just over seven thousand tons of structural weight. That is presumably what she expects of a ''spell'' cast by an angel. Instead I present a three hundred metre tall, hundred odd metre on a side, box of solid iron. It reaches the same height and is structurally sound! But would need I think about thirty five million tons of iron?


    That seems a valid theory but what do I tell this woman about why I am using magic so very, very badly. Of course, vague and mysterious and without my offering full explainations. I ahem. Also I flare out my wings, an abrupt motion that immediately takes up a great deal of space.


    ¡°As I said, I was not at all prepared for this world and know nothing at all of it. When I use my power? I simply express it instinctively. The world I was pulled from had no magic whatsoever.¡± This does not seem to stop her from looking concerned and she is pacing now, also she makes a dismissive gesture as the side door behind the altar opens and a young priest peers out. The door is slammed shut, I guess they were concerned about my melting a hole in the floor?


    A shake of her head then. ¡°We need to hide this, if you use magic in front of any awakened mage they will be able to see how crude it is. Can you even do anything apart from blast things?¡± She shakes her head. ¡°Nobody can stop you from blasting things but far too many unscrupulous and powerful individuals would want to tap you to channel their own spells.¡±


    She seems to reach a decision and turns to me, eyes bright, excited. ¡°We need to get you trained! In the Holy City! With you permanently manifest in the world? Once you have learned to properly wield your power we can ensure that the true faith is forever triumphant. We can banish wickedness and falsehood entirely!¡±

 Chapter 10 - Learning

    Banish wickedness and falsehood? A Holy City? True faith forever triumphant? The elderly priestess in front of me seems genuinely thrilled at the prospect of my being trained by her church and then, it seems, wielded as a weapon by it. Alarm bells are ringing in the back of my head and not just because I have zero trust in a quasi medieval religious organisation to be objectively good.


    She mentioned her superiors having interacted with real angels and, though she was obviously not expecting my arrival, this was not something absolutely outside of her realm of expectations. She has detailed knowledge of types of celestial being, she seems to be able to... View me, or search me, with magic to ascertain my identity. If the head priestess of a market town has that level of knowledge and ability how long am I going to be able to hide that I am very much not an angel in my head when meeting with those more senior?


    Just what is some kind of wizard bishop likely to do if they find out I have a human mind walking around in the body of one of their precious angels? I do not even know who their gods are or what they espouse, just snippets taken from what people have said around me. Also I have caused horrible damage to the temple''s rather nice floor, which I frown at, then back to the priestess.


    ¡°I think that first of all we need to move to somewhere more private and allow work to begin on restoring the floor. Also I have yet to learn your name?¡± She blinks, peers to the burnt and torn extent of flagstones, then sighs and gives a nod before motioning to the door. ¡°My name is Tereza Jindrova, Alessandra.¡± She seems to be using my name an an honourific rather than speaking the word casually, which is I think about the best I am going to get for now. Also her name does not seem to match with those of everyone else I have met, neither do the blue eyes, she is likely from somewhere else? ¡°Tereza then.¡± I answer before stepping across and pulling the door open.


    I find myself looking down at the other three priests, all of whom stare up at me in alarm from the other side of what seems to be some sort of study or perhaps dining room. Well lit, centred around a large table. There are even a few books on lectures in front of a strip of windows, distorted glass set between lead. Tereza calls through to them. ¡°There is damage to the main temple after I requested a demonstration from our guest. Do your best to tidy it and enquire with the mason about repairs. All of you!¡± I pull in a wing as they file past and then step on inside, the Tereza following and firmly closing the door in our wake.


    ¡°How long would it take for you to teach me the very rough basics of casting spells in this world Tereza?¡± That is the first thing I ask her as I step on further into the room, peering at the windows a moment. All of the pieces of glass are smaller than my hand and whilst they let light through they are not good for much else. The elderly priestess does for her part remain standing near the door and watching me, not relaxing at all. ¡°I would normally instruct a novice for several months before letting them risk channelling, Alessandra.¡± She answers. ¡°But you are no doubt familiar with magic from other worlds? What miracles did you carry out where you were last?¡±


    It now strikes me that I have at no point told a lie since arriving here. I have been deliberately obtuse, I have obfuscated things, but I have not said a word that was not true. I am not, now I consider it, sure that I can lie and I hesitate as I frame the response. ¡°In the world I last walked people were able to travel faster than a galloping horse for hours without slowing along properly prepared roads. Flying vehicles were common and able to move hundreds of leagues a day, instantaneous communication across the entire world was available to all but the poorest and farms were productive enough that only three in a hundred worked the fields whilst ensuring that there was more than sufficient food for everyone.¡±


    Briefly, I consider what I might be able to replicate technologically. Gunpowder, that is the first thing everyone thinks of, they may already have it though given this all seems very late medieval? I can remember the proportions of the materials and roughly where to source them, along with having the vaguest of ideas about corning to make it several times as powerful. That would not actually help anyone though.


    Portland cement. Coke for fuelling furnaces, I really doubt they have the surplus labour to make building roads actually practical but judging from what has been underfoot during my travels so far, they are in dire need of assistance there. Double entry bookkeeping perhaps? It is not worth going down that route right now or trying to explain. Also if magic does involve mathematics then I probably have some advantages? I was never one of those absolutely dedicated maths nerds but I do know modern calculus and can probably remember pie to more characters than they have it calculated to.


    ¡°Most of this requires infrastructure, specialists and training impossible to replicate in this world though. I need to know how to wield my magic here, what is possible and how to do it.¡± I consider first options. ¡°For example, is it plausible to hide my wings so that I am able to move without everyone assuming I am not human?¡±


    She seems more than slightly intrigued as I explain possibilities from another world only to then sigh a little as I follow with them not being possible, a slump of shoulders before then double taking at my first request. A glance past my shoulders, at those brightly hued feathers. The priestess hesitates. ¡°There are two options Alessandra. The easiest would be to bend light around them but it would be imperfect. Your wings are a complex shape, a shape that changes as you move them. Your back would remain partially in shade I think, it might work for casual observation but there would be a distortion in the air and from different angles, at best it would be like looking through an intensive heat haze.¡± I nod and remain silent, letting her continue.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Potentially more effective would be an enchantment to cloud the minds of all who behold you so that they simply cannot perceive your wings. That is probably how an angel would normally pass without notice but with my meagre skill? Such a working would be useless against any with magical sight of their own and it would draw increasingly more power the more people it was trying to deceive at most.¡± She adds a little primly. ¡°My skill is with blessings and healing primarily though. Not with deception.¡± The last word is said with a certain venom, the very idea of lies seems to hold a strong and entirely negative connotation.


    What follows takes hours as she slowly demonstrates the most minor of cantrips. Lighting a candle, lifting an apple, creating a barrier sufficient to slow a gently tossed apple, I find them almost impossible to replicate without obliterating whatever I magically ''touch'', it is like trying to perform origami with earth moving equipment. The whole thing is very much a cerebral exercise though, first quantifying and classifying one''s own magical energy then learning to calculate precise applications and release them. To lift an apple? Determine it''s weight, determine the energy to lift it then cut back to the degree required for levitation whilst reaching the desired height.


    Once I start getting a mental handle upon limiting my expenditure of power the exercise is child''s play to me but I do still have to stop and think about performing even these basic actions if I want to achieve something more subtle than unleashing unfathomable strength obliterate things. Outside of my having just too much magic I apparently reach a point it takes a student weeks or months to achieve in these few hours, but then again the typical student seems to be a teenaged minor noble from a largely illiterate society? Also if anything my progress is what Tereza expects and reassures her, she does think that I am some millennia old angel after all.


    Tereza explains that most ''spells'' of any actual power are pre calculated, rote learned then practised until they become mental ''muscle memory'' able to be executed without hesitation or conscious thought. Improvisation is time consuming and in some cases dangerous though for somebody with forty years of experience such as herself she is comfortable doing so as part of demonstration. Most mages seem sharply limited in power though and my initial guesstimate is that I must have thousands of times that available to the woman teaching me, who herself explains she is of slightly above average but unexceptional potency.


    I wonder at the danger. People accidentally accelerating objects into themselves seems an obvious one but I am not actually seeing very many limits to what magic can achieve with enough power. Have people irradiated or blinded themselves? Accidentally teleported parts of their own body? Any number of other fates? Regardless, my goal of masking the presence of my wings does not seem practical unless I can spend months training. We pause for one of Tereza''s subordinates to bring us wine and food, I consider as I eat, then.


    ¡°How do I defend against others using magic?¡± For some reason this seems to surprise her and she pauses in sipping her wine. ¡°You can raise a shield as I demonstrated, but of greater power. But in almost every circumstance why would you?¡± I regard her, looking as neutrally blank as possible, this seems to have the desired effect and she then explains. ¡°Magic has less effect on those magically charged. Trying to levitate even a mundane human is far harder than a rock of similar weight, trying to do the same to an awakened mage more difficult still. Trying to directly touch you with magic? I could release every thaum of energy in my body in my most practised assault and it would probably just irritate you.¡± Well that would explain why being zapped with lightning was ''merely'' agonizingly painful rather than fatal but raises another question. Just who was that man who summoned me and was then incinerated at my hand.


    So I ask. ¡°Tereza. I was ''summoned'' to this world about two days fast travel to the north north east and it was in the grounds of a castle or at least a fortified manner. Can you tell me who holds that territory?¡± She frowns and drinks more of her wine as she considers my question, I consume more of the vegetable soup, it is pretty good and I am hungry. ¡°I am not sure y-Alessandra. Two days travel to the north would probably be in the Empire and the border region is thick with fortifications.¡±


    I have an obvious next question. ¡°Tell me of the Empire then, not to mention this kingdom I am within right now?¡± She nods, another sip of wine as she considers. ¡°The Empire used to rule the whole civilised world and champion the true faith but is now a diminished remnant, schismatic and faded as decadence overwhelmed their former virtue.¡± I retain a neutral expression in the face of this obviously partisan assessment. ¡°Seventy years ago this area, formerly part of the Imperial heartland, along with the capital, was conquered by church blessed warriors from the south and returned to the true faith. A new kingdom was established by our current sovereign''s grandfather and he claimed the imperial throne but thirty years ago, in the reign of Mathaios the Second, the Empire''s legions invaded from the east and took back the capital.¡±


    ¡°And the Holy City?¡± I then ask. Tereza is happy to explain there. ¡°The Holy City is to the south west, the original capital of the Empire and home to the Voice of Light. Ruled by no king, the Holy City is subordinate only to the divine and the Voice''s ascent is required to appoint true Emperors.¡±


    And now an important question. ¡°Has the Voice ever spoken directly with an angel then, Tereza?¡± She frowns and peers at me. ¡°... I am sure that the Voice communes directly with the Light? But it is difficult for an angel to commune with anyone in an important city. Human sin obstructs the descend of glory and even the court of the Holy City is filled with lies and wickedness from those seeking advantage or influence. It would normally require an angel great effort to speak with anyone there, and direct guidance from even the least of angels is often limited to the most virtuous and holy performing righteous acts and deeds in places of isolation. Hence why it is so vital that we bring you to the Holy City! Your unique circumstance mean that you can ignore such!¡±


    I have a sinking feeling that I am in the aftermath of something approximating the Fourth Crusade and that nobody in this ''Holy City'' has ever spoken to these, apparently very real, angels. I mentally note that I should avoid it.

 Chapter 11 - Dawn

    Whilst I have decided that I will avoid entanglement with the ''Holy City'' I do have every reason to remain and enjoy Tereza''s hospitality. She is teaching me at least the very basics of how to use magic, along with how to avoid the apparently shocking inefficiency when I attack with it. I have a place to rest, good food, also through the intermediary of her junior priests I have commissioned clothing that will fit me from one of the town tailors. I am disinclined to lead until that is finished especially given how expensive a few sets of good clothing and a decent pair of boots has proven.


    A single new outfit in decent wool is costing me over a thousand copper coins, months of pay for most people. Despite any wish I might have to avoid entanglements I am going to have to find some way to pay my way but my first opportunity to earn my keep comes in a manner I had not anticipated. I learn that the next day, at dawn, is to be the Holy Day and the temple will be packed. Tereza has let it been known that a higher angel is resident within the temple and though she has kept away supplicants, I will be addressing the assembled faithful.


    My knowledge of theology is to put it bluntly, very, very limited but I do at least look more the part of an ''angel'' once I am wearing tailoured clothing, an embroidered tunic cut for my wings over a similarly fitted white chemise, stockings and breeches, knee hight boots. The garments feel odd but not entirely uncomfortable, my impractically long and voluminous hair combed, my wings preened. I do wear my sword as well, it is very quickly starting to feel natural to go armed, though I notice that almost nobody else does inside of the walled town.


    As the sun rises I find myself standing in front of the fire altar and faced with a temple utterly packed. At the forefront are nobility, including most of those whom I saw when I visited the Comtal castle but absent the Count himself, though there are a number of children and spouses in similarly rich dress. Behind are wealthy commoners in clothing that often over-matches that of the nobles in sumptuousness, merchants, the mayor, master craftsmen and a handful of major landowners. Behind are ranks upon ranks of the common folk and the doors are wide open, the courtyard outside also packed.


    It is not the largest crowd that I have spoken in front of but it is the most eager to hear my words and the tension is palpable. Fortunately I have new props for giving speeches, I begin with a dramatic flare of bright feathered wings, unfurling them huge to each side and bringing an abrupt silence to the assembled people. I bite back on a part of my mind that wants to take this opportunity to run the hell away.


    ¡°Citizens and denizens of Heucia!¡± I pitch my voice to carry, something that seems far easier than it ever was before, I do not need to shout to be clearly audible across a great distance. ¡°I cannot deliver to you any great secrets, I will not dictate to you how to live your lives. All that I can do is offer you advice, advice that is applicable to any person in any time and any world. None of you have easy lives, all of you have suffered and struggled, all of you have seen unfairness and railed against it, internally or externally.¡±


    ¡°But.¡± I continue. ¡°All of you can work to make this world a better place. If another slights you, consider not that this is unfair, do not contemplate them as your enemy. They are a person in just the same manner as you and may not even have realized the harm they did. Extend to them the same consideration you would wish to be offered to yourself. Do not seek enemies, seek a better and more harmonious world. Firstly, most of all?¡±


    This is where I have to lean into what I have gleaned of the dominant faith here. ¡°Be honest. A lie is a terrible thing and brings at best momentary relief. A lie hurts you most of all, it weakens the fabric of society and reality. Speak and act with honesty, consider how you conduct yourself in all of your affairs and seek to behave always in a way that honours yourself.¡±


    The temple is set out for maximum impact with such sermons, the sun rising through stained glass behind me, along with the fresh stoked pyre of the ''holy fire'' burning, it casts me in silhouette with the light shining through and past my outstretched wings. That is an unfair advantage when it comes to making an impression.


    ¡°Act. Thinking righteous thoughts is merely the first step toward living a virtuous life. You do not need to carry out grand and dramatic deeds, but every day strive to leave the world a better place than it was when you awoke. Wh-¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    I had a whole speech planned out, cribbed together from what I have been able to gleen of the moral imperatives of this culture along with my memories of seminars, leadership courses and similar events in my past life. I was not planning on boring anyone to death and so it did not continue for too much longer. But I am interrupted by the tolling of a bell.


    The change in the crowd is immediate, shouts of panic, people looking to the doors, or to me, hopeful. I have absolutely no idea what it means but Tereza helpfully rushes forward to speak to me, ducking beneath one of my wings as I hurriedly furl in the outstretched feathery limbs. She keeps her voice low. ¡°It is the attack bell! We need to get everyone out of here without a stampede.¡±


    She strikes me as making a great deal of sense. I pitch my voice to carry again. ¡°Hold still! Those at the far edge of the crowd disperse first, do not run. The walls will hold and the worst thing we can do at this juncture is panic.¡± I assess the presence of most of the nobility in the town right in front of me, along with most of the notables who should presumably be leading any kind of defence. ¡°I will proceed to the walls personally to see what threatens this place!¡±


    Then to Tereza. ¡°Can you keep too many people from bolting through the side entrance and causing a jam? We need to get the knights out, along with me.¡± She nods, motioning to several of the other more richly dressed merchants and similar. ¡°The master crafters as well. They will need to don their armour and marshal their apprentices. But go! Hold against whatever this is.¡±


    I definitely see pushing as I head for the back, through the priest''s quarters, the ''elite'' of the town who were at the front following behind me with an urgent intensity to their expressions and motions. I step out... Then step with long legged strides for the nearest gatehouse, those behind me dispersing to their homes, I hope to retrieve weapons and armour, or rally the militia, or whatever it is they do. Several of them call out benedictions or encouragement to me though, which is nice?


    Regardless I make am very fast indeed and hammer upon the iron shod door to one of the gatehouse towers, the gate itself closed and barred. There is no immediate response, I hammer my fist against the door once again before shoving. ¡°Open up!¡± I get no response.


    I give the thick wood a frustrated kick, I glance up, I reflexively angle my wings and poise them in the air. Thus far I have not risked flight, I am near absolutely certain that I do not know how to steer myself and have no wish to hit the ground at high velocity. But when fighting those trolls I did find myself jumping something ludicrous like fifty feet with a beat of my feathered pinions? I crouch and brace, I feel my halo burning into incandescent light above my head as everything seems to become intangibly easier.


    Then I leap, dust blasting to each side as my wings beat down, lofting myself to at least triple my own height in a fraction of a second. Then I kick off against the stones of the tower with booted toetips, another beat of my wings, again. Within moments I have cleared the battlements and rise glowing skyward before I arrest my upward motion with an angling of vast feathers. Then I drop rather heavily and fail to entirely suppress a wince as I hit wood, only the impeccable balance offered by an additional pair of limbs preventing me from stumbling.


    Atop the tower are two guards in partial armour who were looking outward but are now reeling and half blind after turning astonished to look at me, both have, or had, crossbows, though one has just dropped hers. The other tower seems to be similar, albeit with three guards one of whom was ringing the bell.


    Beyond the gatehouse? The road is crowded with armoured figures, hundreds at least, mostly on foot and drawn up on battle array out of bowshot. A large party seem to be in the middle of tearing a building to pieces whilst quite a few of the banners display abstract eagles. I have to distract myself from exalting at the fact that I (sort of) flew. ¡°Who are they?¡±


    This I direct my words the guard who is still holding his crossbow and seems to have managed to retain some vision, shielding his eyes with the brim of his helmet. He still seems stunned though, I step forward and take hold of his plate armoured shoulder. ¡°Who is attacking the town?¡± I repeat with different words.


    He finally recovers sufficient faculties to answer me. ¡°The. The Empire!¡± Then. ¡°Defeat them Divine one, please!¡± I look past him, the party tearing the building apart seem to have finished demolishing the roof and have the main beam down, ahh, a battering ram. Heavily armoured infantry seem to be assembling but activity seems to be faltering and people are pointing to where I glow atop the tower. Several men in full armour on horseback are spurring forward and I can feel presences from them.


    I have absolutely no doubt that those individuals are absolutely ladened with enchanted armour and weaponry though they seem to be approaching for something other than an assault. Unless they can charge their horses up or through stone walls? I suspect not given they were preparing the battering ram.

 Chapter 12 - Hubris

    The trio of mounted and armoured men below pause, angling their helm clad heads to look up but not quite at me, shielding their eyes from the radiance of my halo. All are fully encased in steel, gilt and intricately engraved, with my new trained ability I can tell that this is far more protective than mere metal and there is a terrible weight of potency to the weapons they carry, lances and swords, the only visible skin is their faces below open visors.


    The man in the lead calls out. ¡°I am Magister Tribune Sisenna Horatius! We are here to liberate this town, if you are a divine messenger then stand aside from our holy cause!¡± Then, brusquely directed back to his fellows and the assembled soldiers. ¡°Smash the gate! She will stand aside or else she is a woman under an illusion. Go!¡± The troops with the improvised battering ram are clad in near complete plate and mail, visors closed. Where they had hesitated they now jog rapidly forward. A snap from the other tower follows as the trio of guards there fire crossbows. The armoured soldiers with the ram do not hesitate but continue to rush forward as bolts ricochet off metal.


    I am torn. If I start burning people then I may well be able to incinerate a hundred or more but that would leave me drained and vulnerable, more to the point do I actually want to get involved in whatever this is? Then again whilst they speak of ''liberation'' this town has been under it''s current rulers for seventy years and I am under no illusion that a sack is going to be anything but horrible. Fuck it, I cannot just passively stand by.


    I turn, the two guards in the tower with me looking shocked, shielding their eyes from the glow above my head. ¡°What did they say?¡± The man, I think the sergeant type who was on duty when I first arrived a few days ago asks this. I am slightly confused, why was he unable to understand? ¡°They are hear to assault the city and will do so regardless of my presence. Work those crossbows! I tuck in my wings as I grab for a spear, as with every other weapon I have held since my incarnation into this new body it feels like an extension of my arm and it is with improbable precision that I lob it down toward the onrushing soldiers. Improbable precision and frankly inhuman force given my terrifying strength, there is a muffled scream as the spear point punches through mail links and deep into a burly woman''s shoulder, she drops to the ground as the ram team continue forward.


    More crossbows fire from the towers but there are only five guards here and I have no idea how long it will take for more to arrive or for the town''s militia to arm themselves, none of them seem to succeed in doing anything against the armoured troops rushing the ram to the gate.


    There is further shouting below as blocks of organised infantry move forwards and I flinch back only just in time as soft crumps echo from one. Stone splinters whine lethally overhead as metal impacts the crenellations, though the crossbow wielding woman next to me collapses with her head a ruined mess beneath her open helm. This is no crisp volley, it is a ragged barrage as probably a hundred people fire crude hand cannons by touching burning slowmatches.


    I take the woman''s crossbow, spanning it by hand rather than bothering with the ratcheted crank and slotting a bolt into place. Then, having no intention of popping back up in the same spot, I crawl across the stone, though this may be a futile effort given the glowing ring burning above my brow. Then I stand between two battlements and loose, the bolt unerringly aimed for the open visor of one of the mounted men below, the self identified ''Magister Tribune''. Of course something surges and the bolt is deflected some inches away from his face, the trio slamming down their visors as they spur their horses away. I duck back down as several crossbow bolts then fill the space I occupied a moment ago.


    Should I burn them? I could no doubt cause horrible disruption to the hand cannoneers, but.


    Crunch.


    The ram hits the gate far harder than it should. I feel something surging from one of the mounted and armoured men, what should ''merely'' be a huge beam of oak being swung by twenty burly soldiers strikes with inhuman force and I can hear the iron banded planks of the gate below cracking after a single blow.


    I reload the crossbow, crawling back across to the side of the tower that will allow me to fire down upon the ram crew below.


    Crunch


    They strike again, faster than I would have expected and again with that impossible force. I look to the terrified guard in the tower with me. ¡°Keep firing. I will hold the gate.¡±


    Crunch


    I vault over the battlements and drop fifty feet to the ground below, flaring my wings as I descend and making a better go of landing this time as I impact behind the buckling gates. The cross bar is already splintered and the brackets for iron bolts pulling free, I close my eyes. A deep breath, I draw my sword and settle it into a relaxed two handed grip as I wait.


    Crunch


    The gates burst asunder, the ram is dropped, twenty fully armoured men and woman rush toward me with a roar, axes, maces and swords readied though most of them keep shields angled to ward off continued crossbow fire from the towers. I do not step forward, I lunge, a snap of huge wings propelling me in impossibly fast as I slide the point of my blade over the top of a shield and below the rim of a helmet into the face of a bearded young man. He does not get to scream, he simply dies as I flicked steel through into the back of his skull before darting back.


    These are not cowards though and whilst they flinch at the incandescence surrounding me, the soldiers move to circle around my flanks beyond the reach of my sword, three rush in. They move together as if they have practised, a woman leading with a short sword and large shield, a man with an axe to the right, a figure anonymous behind a full face helm to the left with a heavy singled edged chopping blade. The woman to the fore appears to be some kind of officer, I sense protective enhancements upon her armour and she is clad in articulated plate better than that of Dame Gregoria, though designed for infantry, it leaves her unprotected below the knee.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    I block an axe blow with a wing, slamming the feathered limb up and forward into the haft hard enough that it hammers the weapon back into the man''s iron clad skull. A strangled mewling gasp follows as that skull is caved in and he stumbles back in a state that could barely be described as alive, an eye dangling from a socket, crumpling into a heap as I block a blow from the office in front of me with my sword. I parry her blade to the left, the point of my weapon cutting under the guard of the fully armoured figure there and taking their gauntlet clad hand clean upon a finger.


    Metal buckles and something snaps but they merely flinch back behind their shield without losing grip on their sword. The woman in front of me is more active though and punches me with her own shield, leaving me wincing as a metal bossed piece of wood is rammed into my unarmoured form. I am huge compared to the people I am fighting though, towering easily a foot taller than them and as I have observed, weirdly durable.


    The impact hurts but I do not feel anything break until I grab hold of the top of her shield with one hand and ram it hard down upon her booted feet. That shatters bone and she falls screaming to the floor, but now I am near surrounded. I have no choice it seems.


    Whilst I have had only a few days to learn how to channel magic I have now a very basic idea and this time I do not simply unleash an uncontrolled stream of power, instead I emit a brief, focused pulse. A narrow torus of flame, burning bright enough to be a searing liquid white, only an inch across at at waist height. It retains this coherency for an eyeblink before then emanating in all directions and the effect is horrifying.


    Those closest to me are simply bisected through shields and armour. Steel melts, wood is seared, bodies boil. The next ring of people perhaps survive if their armour was particularly good and shields raised, but are left writhing in agony with cauterised limbs half turned to ash or flesh charred by molten metal. Those further out still might even live, potentially, but right now they are very much on fire as I stand looming in the gate, my wings flared and glowing like the dawn.


    The officer survived though, she is groaning on the floor with broken feet and my attack passed clear over her.


    I wonder how many times I could repeat this and so I bellow to the soldiers arrayed outside. ¡°Leave this place! Heucia shall not be yours this day!¡±


    One of the mounted individuals urges a block of infantry forwards, they do not look to be as heavily protected as the party with the ram, wearing mail under breastplates rather than more extensive armour worn by the first group, but they all have long spears in combination with oblong shields. ¡°She is a mage trying to trick you, not an angel, and will be exhausted soon. Forward before the militia form behind her!¡±


    I am conscious that there are people moving behind me but do not take the time to glance back as the wall of spearpoints advance. Unarmoured, wielding a sword? I am definitely not achieving anything through conventional force of arms but I am conscious that my ability to unleash magic is finite and wait for the last moment. I also try something new for greater efficiency and focus power into my sword.


    It is not a magical weapon, this is not something it will survive for more than minutes, but the weapon starts to glow in much the same way Dame Gregoria''s did, only brighter. Bright enough that it is likely retina searing like my halo and certainly bright enough that I doubt any of the soldiers advancing can directly look at me as I step forward and cut through their spears as if they had the consistency of soft plastic. Their shields fare no better, mail clad bodies only moderately so. Half blinded, they find themselves helpless and I shear through fifteen or twenty before I feel a spike of agony as one stabs me through the calf.


    Another half dozen people die, pain in a wing, blood is flowing freely now and I barely avoid losing a finger as my left hand is sliced open. This is using far less magical power but I am paying for it in blood and would likely be incapacitated if not for the ludicrous durability of this body. Another two handed sweep kills three men and women, I roar in pain and fury. At this point they break and I refrain from striking down any of the fleeing troops as they run, many dropping spears and shields, several nursing the seared stumps of severed hands.


    I stand panting, bleeding, also wincing as one of the fleeing soldiers drops unmoving to the ground with a crossbow bolt in their spine. ¡°Captain Alessandra?¡± It is Markos, I glance back to find him in obviously borrowed armour and holding a pole axe, a steadily growing crowd of variously armoured townsfolk with weapons from spears to enchanted blades, along with a trio of knights who are still being strapped into their plate as they assemble behind me.


    I take a deep breath. ¡°There are about five hundred of them, three armoured mages on horseback, a company of gunners. We probably need to get more people with ranged weapons onto the walls if we are going to hold the gate but for now I can kill anyone who tries to get through. For now.¡± I put particular emphasis on the last words.


    He nods, one of the knights steps forwards, I recognise the man from when I first visited the count''s keep. ¡°If you can hold for now that is enough. The rest of the militia and garrison are on the way, they must have been hoping to storm by surprise. I-¡±


    He cuts off as one of the mounted ''magisters'' comes into view through the open gate in front of the hand cannoneers, a hundred or so men and women in half armour with rapidly levelling weapons and smoking slow matches. Two tumble to the ground as they are shot from the walls. ¡°Get back!¡± I turn to the gate as I shout to the assembling militia. No point holding back now, I raise my bleeding left hand and unleash a focused lance of flame.


    I feel myself draining as I attack at range, it is not as bad as it was when I used magic purely by instinct in the minutes after my arrival, but this is still not something I can sustain for long. The mage attempts to block, raising an intangible barrier ahead of his troops. It lasts for all of half a second before buckling and then a wave of fire rolls across the company of gunners. He starts to scream. ¡°She is a real ang-!¡±


    His horse dies first as the wards upon it''s enchanted barding fail, then runes set into his magnificent armour starts to glow as fire washes around him to play across soldiers who die like guttering candles. Twenty, thirty, forty, maybe fifty men and women are simply gone within a second and I begin to sweep across their line. Several explode as their gunpowder detonates, most try to run but none have time to react.


    Then I feel an agonising pain in my side and collapse to the ground. The fire dies, the world begins to spin, turning grey as I sprawl bonelessly. Of course. Somebody shot me. Everything fades.