If Martin had to remark on the most bizarre thing that he’d realized over the days he spent with the Otherworlders, it would be that they were human, and painfully so.

He hadn’t actually wanted this assignment. He’d grown up on the legends of the Otherworlders that had repeatedly saved this world. However, in his year of serving as a knight, he’d heard much from his fellow knights about these Otherworlders.

The unanimous declaration was that these Otherworlders were little more than children brought to fight the monsters. And yet, once Martin met the pair, he found he couldn’t blame them. They were young, and Elizabeth wasn’t even fifteen yet.

Instead, Martin found that the pair were also very easy to get along with. Particularly Frances.

Yes, in some ways, Elizabeth in particular, reflected her age, but not in an unpleasant way. She didn’t look her age, being rather tall with plenty of lean muscle, and her shoulder-length black hair held back by a ribbon, made her look older. Her dark brown eyes and lack of any pimples betrayed her younger age.

Elizabeth was also extraordinarily curious about life in Durannon and his life as a knight. It was enjoyable, relating his childhood stories to her. Martin was not, however, ignorant of how Elizabeth seemed to look almost lost and lonely. She rarely talked to anybody in the camp and continued to seek the company of either him or Frances.

Speaking of Frances, she was strangely enough, more mature, and a lot more like a soldier than he’d expected. She didn’t talk much, but always had something to eat for her two escorts, and was content to answer his questions about her world. He’d expected her to be like some of the haughty mage apprentices that knights found themselves unlucky to escort. Stories about how these apprentices threatened to curse his fellows unless they were brought whatever they needed were frequent amongst the Erisdalian military. In fact, he’d been enslaved— well, forced to assist several Red Order apprentices many times.

Yet, he rarely saw Frances in fancy robes, and most of the time she was near-in full war gear, often wearing her unflattering quilted jacket over a simple cream dress. Her only status symbols were her dark brown-purple yew wand, held in a fine wand holster at her belt, and a fine estoc, which was a two-handed stabbing sword. The mage demanded nothing of him, apart from doing his job. There wasn’t much to do at the moment as they were building the requisite siege equipment to bring down Kwent’s walls

Rather, the Otherworlder mage merely asked if he could spare with her so she could improve her own swordsmanship. He’d agreed, mostly because he wanted to keep his own skills sharp, and found her an apt pupil with the estoc. She was nowhere near as good as a trained knight, but better than some squires he’d fenced with.

That had gotten Elizabeth interested and she’d proven to be a rather intense sparring partner. She kept him on his toes and his arming sword flickering to block her heavy blows. He had the advantage of skill, but as an Otherworlder, she had better reflexes and he suspected she was stronger than him. It also helped that even though she was fourteen, she was quite tall, taller than Frances actually, and he suspected she would only get taller. They were so equally matched in fact that one of their matches lasted up to five furious minutes, only stopped by their exhaustion.

Today, they’d taken a break from sparring and were just chatting in front of Frances’s tent. She’d prepared some Hearthsange for them and there was nothing like that drink on a cold day.

“So, let me get this straight. You found out that I liked Kimchi by asking your mentor to ask one of my instructors?” Elizabeth asked.

Frances winced, and her eyes dropped as if she wanted to disappear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry, but I thought it would make you feel more at home. Lady Alice seemed to think it was alright telling my Master.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Oh no, Frances, it’s fine! I was just surprised you went to so much effort.”

“It’s no effort. I had to make it for my parents after all,” said Frances.

Martin couldn’t help but narrow his eyes slightly at Frances’s expression. They’d spent a lot of time together, and he’d started to realize that every time her parents were brought up, she’d grow increasingly uncomfortable.

It was happening right now. She was trying to smile, but it was weak and her shoulders were tensed.

“What do your parents do by the way?” Elizabeth asked, a sunny smile on her face.

“They’re real-estate agents. They buy, sell land, and develop it by building buildings or improving it in some fashion,” Frances said, glancing at Martin, who nodded in understanding.

The answer, however, seemed to take Elizabeth aback and her brow briefly knitted together.

“They must make pretty good money then,” said Elizabeth.

Frances nodded shortly, but again, her smile seemed to weaken.

As much as he was curious about her reaction, he decided to change the subject.

“So I heard—” he stopped. Earl Darius was storming up toward them. Martin rose to his feet, followed shortly by Frances, and finally by Elizabeth, who was smoothing her chain mail shirt.

“Alright, time for you bunch to prove your mettle. As you know, bands of goblins and centaurs have been raiding our supply lines. Frances, you and your escort are to meet the next supply caravan at the Westfall Pass and escort them to our camp. They’re carrying our crucial cannon so do not fuck this up,” Darius growled.

Martin nodded and he noticed Frances gave a sharp Erisdalian salute, crossing her right arm to her left shoulder. Elizabeth on the other hand, froze.

“Milord, are they waiting for us at the pass?” Frances asked.

The Earl’s grouchy look turned into one of contemplative thought. “They are due at the pass in three hours. Take horses.”

“Yes sir. I will mirror-message Mage Bernard if there is trouble,” Frances said.

Earl Darius nodded and stomped off to somewhere else. Frances was already putting away her kettle of Hearthsange.

“I’m sorry everybody,” she said.

“No sorries required, Frances. We have a duty. I’ll meet you at the horse’s corral?” Martin asked.

“I think that is a good idea.” Frances turned to Elizabeth. “Um, Elizabeth?”

Martin glanced at his friend and grimaced. The Otherworlder warrior was paling and clasping her hands together.

“Elizabeth, you’re going to be fine,” said Martin.

“I… It’s my first mission. How do I know I won’t screw it up?” Elizabeth stammered.

“You don’t,” said Martin, bluntly. That made Frances’s eyes widen and Elizabeth stare at him, but the knight forged on nonetheless. “You don’t know, but you don’t know until you try. So let’s go. You Otherworlders have trained two years for this.”

“Yes, but…” Elizabeth sighed. “None of us have done very well on our missions.”

That took Martin aback. Glancing around, he stepped closer to the two girls and lowered his voice. “What do you mean? You’re the Otherworlders summoned to protect the Human Kingdoms from the Monster King and the Kingdom of Alavaria.”

“Yes, but…” Elizabeth cringed and bowed her head. “Most of us are only fifteen-year-olds—I’m not even fifteen—and our world is a peaceful one. While most of us want to help, before we got displaced here, many of us have never seen any kind of fighting, or ever expected to fight.”

Martin blinked. That explained a lot about what he heard about the Otherworlders. If that were true, then they might be going into a far more dangerous situation than he thought. That all being said, he thought that they really should start getting to the horses.

“Elizabeth, I don’t think it’s our classmates’ fault. I know you are all being trained equally, and you’re really good with your hammer. It has to be some other circumstance that caused this,” Frances said. She smiled kindly. “You’re going to be fine, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth’s only response was to mutter. “Not everybody is as talented as you are.”

Martin stared at the warrior, and to Elizabeth’s credit, she looked immediately contrite, but it was too late, as the smile on Frances’s face vanished into one that ached with hurt and confusion.

“Sorry."

Elizabeth waved her hands placatingly. “No, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean that. I mean, it’s true, but I don’t mean to say that. I mean—”

Martin sighed loudly, cutting Elizabeth off and drawing Frances’s attention. “Look, I’m sorry to interrupt, but we can talk about this when we’re on our horses, so can we get ready to leave first?”

Elizabeth flashed him a dirty look, which he glared back at, but Frances nodded. “Alright.”

Martin wore half-plate, half-chain mail, and so unlike other, more wealthy, Erisdalian knights who wore full plate, he could actually get his equipment on quickly. One hand carrying his spear, his primary horseback weapon, he trudged out to the corral to his warhorse, Killian, briefly glancing at his belt to check that his two-handed arming sword was in its sheath.

Frances was already standing by her horse, checking the pouches on her broad waist belt, which was also where her wand hung from.

Martin blinked, his blue eyes wide. He thought he had changed quickly, and that Frances would need more time to get on some of the gear that was more typical of her occupation. However, she still didn’t wear any of the flamboyant robes preferred by other war mages.

Instead, the slender Otherworlder was wearing almost exactly what she’d worn earlier. A yellow dress cut right above the knees, and almost completely covered with her heavy quilted jacket. Said jacket was slightly worn, but neatly repaired in several places. In addition to her wand, Frances estoc now hung at her side. She also now wore a rather beautifully forged helmet with steel cheek guards.

Elizabeth arrived a moment later, panting. She was wearing a long chain mail shirt, with her war hammer at her side and a wooden shield on her arm. The tall warrior’s dark-brown eyes were glancing awkwardly down towards the shorter Frances, clearly trying to figure out how to approach her, but unable to. Instead, Elizabeth anxiously twisted the curls at the end of her shoulder-length hair with a gloved finger.

The knight glanced at Elizabeth's bare head and frowned. “Elizabeth? Where’s your helmet?”

Elizabeth’s hand shot to her head and she gasped. “Oh no! I forgot it. Sorry I’ll get back—”

Frances whistled several short, lively notes, and a helmet with a visor flew from Frances’s horse and slotted itself onto Elizabeth’s head, the visor slamming into place.

Spluttering, Elizabeth fumbled with her visor, trying to get it open, and gave up. “Wha—how? Did you go into my tent?”

Frances flinched and scurried backwards. If Martin was being honest with himself, he did too. Although he was older than Elizabeth by a year, she was taller than him by about an inch. With her visor on, turning her eyes into a single menacing slot. It was like being confronted by a steel cyclops.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have forgotten your helmet in the first place,” said Martin in a deadpan tone.

“She didn’t, or not quite." Although quiet, Frances's voice drew both Elizabeth and Martin’s attention. “You were musing that you might forget your helmet in an emergency, and so I suggested that I keep it because my gear is always ready to go. You agreed.”

Elizabeth stared at Frances for several long seconds, before her hand slapped her metal visor. “Frances, I’m so sorry. I—”

Martin grimaced. “Look, ladies, save it for the road, let’s get our horses saddled.”

Frances coughed. “Already done. I first requested the grooms to get them ready for us."

Martin blinked, walked over to Killian, and looked over the gear. His gelding was indeed ready for action. He turned to Frances and gave an approving nod.

“Thank you, Frances.” He was quite glad that the slender girl seemed so prepared.

The knight was far more worried about Elizabeth, who he examined out of the corner of his eyes. He could tell, even though the chain mail she wore, that her shoulders were sagging as she clambered up her horse. As skilled as a warrior she was, the pre-battle nerves were leading her to lash out. Martin could only wonder how Elizabeth would react when actually in battle.