The Arrival of Jaromir’s Army

A magnificent steed galloped through the village, its high-pitched whinny echoing as a scout reined it to a halt before the smithy. Village guards, panting heavily, trailed closely behind him.

A blonde woman, clad in chainmail, emerged from the smithy. It was Noren, trying on her newly adjusted armor.

Noren looked at the unexpected visitor. “How may I help you, Sir Knight?”

“Lord Jaromir’s army needs to encamp nearby for rest and recuperation,” the scout declared. “When the army arrives, please do not panic. Or rather, please do not attack them.”

“Is this the army dispatched to clear out the Opava rebels?” Noren inquired.

“Indeed,” the scout confirmed, before spinning his horse around. He let out a loud cry of “Hup!” and galloped away.

The guards looked ashamed. “We are very sorry, Young Miss. We couldn’t stop him…”

“Go tell the villagers to close their doors and windows, and to stay inside,” Noren instructed. “They should avoid contact with the soldiers as much as possible.”

Some of the guards looked perplexed. “Young Miss, why?”

Noren merely urged them on. “Go quickly! Every household must be informed!”

The guards, snapping to attention, jogged off to carry out her orders.

Noren held no illusions about the discipline of a medieval army; soldiers ransacking villages and harassing women were commonplace. She knew she wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, as she would have to patrol the village herself.

****

Svein emerged from the smithy at that moment. “Noren,” he asked, “who was that just now?”

“A scout rider,” she replied. “He announced that Jaromir’s army, sent to quell the rebellion, has arrived.”

Svein nodded. “Does the chainmail fit?”

“Let me try it out.”

With a burst of power from her legs, the young woman executed a sprint, followed by an abrupt stop. She flowed through a series of strikes—chopping, grasping, hooking, hitting, elbowing, thrusting, and spinning—all with effortless grace, completely unhindered by the armor.

Noren nodded. “It’s excellent, and remarkably light. Though, it would be even better if the front hem were a little longer.”

Noren’s chainmail boasted an appearance far ahead of its time. Its sleeves extended to cover her wrists, and the skirt hem reached below her knees, complemented by chainmail gauntlets and greaves. There was not a single gap between the intricately woven rings, a testament to its masterfully improved design.

The only minor imperfection was that the chainmail over her chest was pushed up by two large ‘grapefruits,’ causing the front of the skirt to be slightly shorter than the back.

Svein had, in fact, already lengthened the chest area of the chainmail. However, he hadn’t anticipated his daughter’s figure would be even more impressive than he’d imagined.

Well, that particular trait certainly came from her mother.

Noren donned her helmet, preparing to observe the approaching army, when Svein suddenly called out to her.

The old man hesitated, a hint of awkwardness in his gaze. “I may have been a little too harsh before,” he began, “my mind was muddled then, I…”

Noren laughed in response. “Father, I am a shieldmaiden. A few blows, a couple of punches—haven’t I been taking them since I was a child?”

The awkwardness in the old man’s eyes vanished. “Yes, you are a shieldmaiden. In the future, you will be a lord, a count, a duke, a king! If anyone ever dares to lay a hand on you again, to offend your dignity…

“Promise me, you will kill them, alright?”

Noren found herself disinclined to humor the old man. He had been acting quite absurdly lately. She truly suspected he was suffering from senility. Not only had he refused to forge her weapons, but he had also inexplicably beaten her.

And now, months after that beating, he was bringing it up again, telling her to kill anyone who dared strike her? ‘He’s truly ill! These Norsemen are all mad!’

Noren replied dismissively, “Ah, yes, yes, very well. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going now, yes?”

Svein did not forget to remind Noren, “Later, bring your brother and come with me to the army camp. We must at least meet their commander.”

She paused, turning her head to nod, then vanished from sight as swiftly as the wind.

****

Noren made her way to the carpenter’s house. The army camp was quite close to their home, and she felt a sense of unease.

Fortunately, Freya and Tolke were safe and sound, currently enjoying their dinner.

Tolruk was already in his armor, his splendid scale mail gleaming. His helmet rested beside him as he heartily devoured his meal.

Seeing Noren push open the door, he asked, “Have you eaten?”

“I have,” Noren replied, then turned to Freya. “You’ll stay at my house tonight, and sleep in my bed.”

Freya, who was cradling Hakimi while she ate, questioned, “Huh? Why?”

“I’m uneasy,” Noren explained. “At my house, at least Father and Aunt Anna can protect you.”

Tolruk grumbled, “I will protect my own daughter.”

Noren’s eyebrows arched in a mocking expression. “Oh, really? Who was it last time who couldn’t even handle a few caravan guards and ended up with an injured arm?”

Tolruk retorted indignantly, “That was an accident! I was drunk before bed! And they ambushed me in the middle of the night!”

“Then how can you guarantee that no soldiers will ambush us tonight?”

Tolruk declared, “A bunch of soft Bohemian soldiers! I won’t sleep tonight! If one comes, I’ll kill one. If a group comes, I’ll kill the whole group!”

The tall blonde woman clapped her hands. “Oh ho ho, you are truly impressive, aren’t you~”

Not wanting to embarrass her father, Freya said, “I’ll go home with you, Sister Noren.”

Noren gently stroked Freya’s head. “Good girl~”

Freya stroked the cat’s head, her curiosity piqued. “Will the soldiers really come to the village at night to cause trouble?”

Noren tilted her head. “Who knows… but it’s always better to be prepared.”

She turned to Tolke. “Put on your armor. We’re going to the army camp together later.”

“Won’t it be too dangerous?” Tolke asked.

“Father said we need to meet the army’s commander,” she replied. “Just come along.”

Tolke nodded, set down his bowl, and retreated to his room to don his armor.

Freya noticed the chainmail Noren was wearing. She put down her cat and approached her. “Sister Noren, when did you get this beautiful set of heavy chainmail?”

Before Noren could answer, the blonde little girl’s next question made her laugh softly.

“Don’t you feel suffocated?”

Freya was implying that Noren’s ‘grapefruits’ were too large, and she might feel constricted by the chainmail.

“A little, yes, but most of the chainmail’s weight rests on my shoulders,” Noren explained. “This set isn’t heavy at all, only 27 pounds. It feels feather-light to me. If I could, I’d wear double-layered chainmail.”

Tolruk, irritated by Noren’s ‘humblebragging,’ interjected, “With the linen gambeson you’re wearing underneath, that must be closer to 45 pounds, right?”

“Don’t you find that heavy?”

Noren jumped in place, effortlessly clearing 50cm without even fully extending her legs. She was careful not to jump too hard, fearing she’d hit her head on the ceiling.

Tolruk’s face flushed, then paled, making him feel utterly insignificant. He fell silent, concentrating on his meal.

A moment later, Tolke emerged, fully armored. He wore a heavy linen gambeson, likely made of sixteen layers of linen, generously padded with horsehair.

Noren tapped the young man’s chest; it was rock-solid. It could barely be called ‘soft armor’ anymore; the stacked layers of linen made it incredibly stiff.

A composite bow hung at Tolke’s waist, and a quiver containing thirty-six fletched arrows was strapped to his back, giving him the unmistakable bearing of a heavy archer.

Noren nodded approvingly, patting the young man’s shoulder. “Excellent. At least low-poundage, blunt-tipped light arrows won’t pose a threat to you now.”

“Move all the remaining household goods to our cellar,”

she instructed. “Then we can head to the army camp and see what kind of soldiers Jaromir has truly assembled.”