Skout's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Skout wanted to be a knight, but the realm gave swords to men, not girls. She stood in the yard behind her grandfather's cabin, gripping a broken broom handle. Tomorrow the knights would test recruits in the square. Every recruit needed a blade. She had none. She swung the handle at a fence post until her palms bled. A real knight had a real sword. She had a stick and a stubborn heart. Her father served as a knight's guard, but he had never offered her a blade. He believed the law. He believed she should stay home. The cabin door creaked. Samuel stepped out, leaning on his carved walking stick. Her grandfather had raised her since her mother left and her father drifted into service. He watched her hit the post and said nothing for a long moment. "That post never wronged you," he said. "I need a sword, Grandfather. The test is tomorrow. They'll laugh me out with a broom." Samuel studied her bleeding hands. He did not tell her to quit. He turned and went back inside. She heard him move something heavy across the floor. When he returned, he carried a bundle wrapped in oiled cloth. "This belonged to my grandmother," he said. "Women in our family were not always forbidden the blade." He unwrapped it. The sword was old but sound. The steel held a faint sheen, like scales catching light. Small marks ran along the flat, shaped like a coiled dragon. Skout took it. The grip fit her hand as if made for it. She swung once. The blade cut the air clean, no wobble, no drag. "It's warm," she said. Samuel's face tightened. "Then it knows you." He gripped her shoulder. "Say nothing of where it came from. Not to the knights. Not to your father." "Why?" "Because some things in our blood are older than their laws." He would not explain further. She saw fear in him, and love, and she chose not to press. She drilled until dark. The sword answered every move. For the first time she believed she could pass the test. She could show the knights she was ready. She could earn the right to be sworn. At dawn she wrapped the blade and walked to the square. Recruits lined the field. Her father stood among the guards. When he saw the sword at her hip, his face went pale. He crossed the field fast and caught her arm. "Where did you get that?" "It's mine," she said. "Skout, that steel is marked. If the master-at-arms sees those markings, he won't just refuse you." His voice dropped. "He'll ask questions we can't answer." She pulled free. She had her blade now. But the very thing that let her fight might expose the secret her grandfather feared most. The test would begin within the hour, and she could not carry the sword and hide it both.