On their way into Grenit the next morning, Diana told her friends of the strange happenings in their camp the previous night. They were all irritated they’d slept right through the encounter.
‘I’d love to meet Ellen; she sounds like someone who appreciates a good laugh.’ said Morgana, annoyance vying with interest in her voice.
‘I didn’t know that mountain people could be so nice; by all accounts they’re thoroughly unpleasant to outsiders.’ Liana added.
‘Somehow I got the impression that Ellen would be considered a bit of a wild card where she comes from.’ Diana reasoned.
A deep, booming bell rang out from the tower of the palace.
‘That’s the third hour, we need to get moving!’ Rowena exclaimed. ‘That’s your fault Sarah, you and your breakfast are going to make us late!’
Sarah replied with an impertinent gesture and rolled her eyes. Rowena hardly ever ate breakfast and couldn’t understand why Sarah insisted on it.
They reached the Palace with only moments to spare. A sour-faced groom in a stable near the gates found himself with two silver pennies in his hand and twelve horses to water and care for. Their owners had already departed in a great hurry.
  A pageboy in green and gold livery escorted them to a large chamber, lined with heavy columns and hung with bright tapestries depicting great mythical beasts. There was a table at one end spread with papers, and several chairs set around it, but the room was empty. Sarah moved as though to go and look at the papers.
Rowena grabbed her hand. ‘Don’t be so cheeky!’

The women did not have to wait long before a second door beyond the table opened, and the King entered, wearing a finely embroidered tunic and trousers in place of the less practical flowing robes he had worn for the public audience. He was flanked by four guards in armour, and followed by two older men.
The friends bowed low and waited apprehensively for permission to rise.
‘Do get up.’ The King ordered. ‘I wish you to meet two of my Generals. General Marl,’ He nodded towards the first of the commanders, a powerful looking figure with a rugged face and fiery red hair. ‘Commands my foot soldiers, all of the swordsmen and spear wielders, the main bulk of my army. He is originally from Solay, on the far southern coast. Whereas General Foust,’ Foust was a tall, wiry man in his early forties, who wore a soft, flat black cap. This was a common fashion amongst men of a certain age, as it worked well to disguise the loss of their hair. ‘Is from Eltar town on the eastern fringe of the forest, one of your own people. He is in command of all of my archers. Anyone with the ability to do damage at distance answers, via their chain of command, to him.’
Almost as one, the twelve forest women came to a rough approximation of attention and saluted. Although they had not been properly sworn in yet, it would not do to start with the wrong attitude towards their commander.
General Foust returned the salute languidly. ‘At ease.’
King Alan and the two Generals sat down behind the table. The rest of the party remained standing, more than a little nervous.
‘My Cavalry General, Sanor, is unfortunately unable to join us this morning. He is rather busy finding suitable horses from the herds for breaking in. I’m afraid we are all rather busy, as a matter of fact, so let’s get a move on, shall we?
‘Yes, sire.’ They mumbled.
‘So!’ the king clapped his hands, all business and seriousness. ‘You are here to face a series of tests, which will allow me to judge whether you are suitable for the high honour of being named the King’s Guard, or whether you will simply serve in the army as archers.  The first set of tests will take place here at the palace, today, while the second test will begin tomorrow, and take rather longer. You will be told what is expected of you before each test begins. I will test your martial skills and your mental skills, as well as your ability to work as a team. Is that clear?’
‘Yes sire.’
‘Good.’ He beckoned to one of the guards and gave the man his orders. ‘Guide them to the practice field and assign them each a sword and a horse.’ The guard bowed and turned to the nervous women.
‘Follow me, please.’

    In short order they found themselves back on the wide, grassy expanse of the Palace training ground, where palace guards were regularly put through their paces. A dozen such guards were waiting on the field, holding the reins of tall, powerful horses. A second group, this one of grooms from the palace stables, had retrieved the women’s horses and brought them to the training ground. They had clearly been given orders in advance, as they immediately handed the reins over to the friends and presented each of them with a blunted wooden practice sword.
King Alan, mounted on a proud gelding, rode smoothly over to the assembled party, the two generals flanking him on their own steeds.  
‘Mount up!’ The king ordered as he approached. The women fumbled a little in their haste to mount, juggling the unfamiliar burden of the wooden swords as they did so. ‘The first test is as follows: You must all ride at a walk, trot and canter around this ground to show your ability to control a horse. Basic enough for a start, I trust?’
The friends smiled faintly at the jest, despite their nerves. Leaving a few yards between them, they rode in wide circles around the field. Pelana led the line, calling out when they should change pace. All of them had ridden many times and, though their horse riding wasn’t faultless, particularly with a bulky sword in one hand, they were perfectly competent.
‘Fine, fine.’ The king murmured to his generals, then beckoned them all back to him. They trotted back, smiling more widely. ‘A fair start, let’s move on. Next, my men will each chase one of you. Your task is to shake them off. I think three at a time will be enough, we don’t want any collisions.’

Pelana, Isabel and Liana were the first to attempt the task. They stayed in their saddles, holding the wooden swords as well as the reins. Three guards mounted and immediately spurred their horses towards them. Ready for their opponents’ quick action, the women kicked their own mounts forward, galloping wildly away. They scattered across the sward and the guards followed. The three women twisted and turned with all the agility their horses could summon, seeking to evade the hunters. Isabel made a single mistake, missing a feint by the man chasing her, urging her horse off to the right, almost running right into the guard’s path. He leaned out of the saddle and seized the horse’s bridle.
‘Damn!’ Isabel swore, reining in her mare.
She looked hurriedly across at the King. He was talking to General Marl, a slight frown on his face. Isabel gulped.
Pelana and Liana were still on the run, and soon all the horses were lathered in sweat. At the king’s signal, General Marl blew a sharp blast on a whistle, ending the game of chase. Liana’s face was flushed with excitement as she rode back to the group. She smiled radiantly at the king and his generals, and was pleasantly surprised when King Alan returned the smile.
      Three more of the women took off across the field, hunted by the Palace guard, employing every evasion they could imagine, with reasonable success. Morgana allowed her horse to turn nearer and nearer to the trees at the edge of the field, eventually urging him to bolt straight for them. She stood up in her stirrups, dropped the clumsy sword and, just as she reached the leafy shelter, hauled on the reins with all her strength. Her horse scrabbled for purchase, and as it slowed she leapt from the saddle into the branches of the nearest tree. Her pursuer saw the trees approaching at high speed, dragged his horse’s head round and tried to turn. He was just too late, clipping a branch with his shoulder as he skidded into the tree line. The impact dumped him from his seat with a cry. The two rider-less horses stood beneath the spreading branches, their sides heaving. Morgana jumped down from her branch, grinning like a cat, to check that the man was alright. His arm hung at his side and his face was pale under the mud that caked it. Morgana shoved her wooden sword through her belt, grabbed the horses’ reins in one hand and helped him back to the others. King Alan looked approving at the sight of her helping the guard, and applauded her ingenuity as one of the grooms led the injured man back to the palace.
‘A different method, but certainly an effective one.’ he commented to General Foust. After several more minutes, when the guards had been unable to catch the other two, General Marl blew his whistle again.
      The third set of ‘fugitives’ included Fiona, who had been watching her friends’ ideas and had already decided on her own. She kicked her black horse away from the pursuers, angled away from the others to see who was set to follow her, and smiled grimly as one guard hared after her. Suddenly, she wheeled about and charged straight back at the guard, crying out in a loud, frightening voice. Terrified, his horse shied away as she barrelled towards it. It reared up, pawing the air, and its startled rider was thrown from the saddle. He landed hard on the ground. His horse took off like a bird, racing away from Fiona. Fiona halted her own mount, laughing blackly, and went to help the fallen man. He was shaken, but seemed to be suffering from no more than bruises. Her friends frowned at her as she rejoined them, concerned by the violence of the move, but King Alan seemed unconcerned. He nodded to Fiona, looking thoughtful rather than worried by her tactics. A young groom helped the second injured guard from the field.
      
The last trio to face the challenge was comparatively unspectacular, managing not to maim any of the Palace guard. Sarah, who was used to riding vast distances to carry messages, was far more attuned to her horse than the rest, and easily ran rings around her pursuer, giggling girlishly as she did so. She was evidently enjoying the thrill of the chase. A fourth blast of the whistle brought the task to an end. The remaining grooms took the reins of all the horses and led them to one side, leaving the friends and the ten Palace guards facing each other on foot. The King and the Generals remained mounted, speaking quietly together for a few moments before turning to the gathered women.
‘My compliments to you; you have shown yourselves to be capable of removing my guards from duty, at least!’ King Alan said, his tone amused, but with just a hint of annoyance. ‘In all seriousness, you showed admirable cunning, and each of you brought your own character to bear on the task, some more forcibly than others.’ He nodded cordially to Morgana, who grinned her feline grin again. Isabel, the only one of the group to have been caught, was looking downcast.
‘It’s Isabel, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, sire.’ She stared at the ground.
‘Do you know where you went wrong?’
‘Yes, sire. I took my eyes off of the guard chasing me before I turned.’
‘Very well. Do it again.’
Isabel’s head jerked up abruptly, surprised to have been given a second chance. She walked to her horse and took the reins from the groom, who smiled encouragingly. She mounted, aware of one of the guards doing the same, and kicked her horse forward. The guard gave chase. This time, Isabel kept an eye on him as she twisted her path, feinting, dodging and keeping as far ahead as she could. She spotted an opportunity and turned her horse sharply back towards the watching group. She pounded back towards them, circled the assembled horses and drove right through the group. The reins tore free from the grooms’ hands as the horses, driven by herd instinct, bolted with her, right towards the oncoming guard. He hauled his horse to a stop and sat, frozen with fear, as twenty-three horses charged around him, missing him by inches. Isabel blew past him with the herd and was gone, fleeing to the far end of the field. Her friends cheered appreciatively. General Marl blew the whistle, and her former pursuer dismounted; his legs rubbery. Isabel cantered back to the king, feeling far happier, while the grooms set about rounding up the escaped animals.
‘Much, much better.’ King Alan said, smiling broadly. ‘You certainly have the ability to approach problems in an unusual manner. I am glad to see that.’

It was now after midday, and the sun shone upon the grass with the heat of an oven. The friends were hot and thirsty, but none of them would say anything. A little discomfort was a small price for such a legendary opportunity.
‘Your next task,’ the young king continued. ‘Has been chosen by General Marl. He is particularly anxious to ensure that your melee skills are up to scratch.’
At his nod, the General explained their task. His voice was rough, gravelly beside the rich tones of the king. ‘You were given practice swords at the beginning of the morning. Using similar weapons, the Palace guards will now attack you. You must defend yourselves and counter attack. Fights will stop when a “crippling” blow is struck.’  
There was a short delay as two more Palace guards were sent for, to replace those who had been injured. The friends stood together in silence, waiting. When it finally began, this trial was the hardest yet for all of them; they were good archers, but not swordswomen. They struggled against the skilful men, who had trained hard all their days as part of the Palace guard. Several of the women were defeated immediately, with wooden blades to their throats. General Marl called a halt to all but one of the fights when it became obvious that they could only frantically defend themselves, and they would be defeated as soon as they tired. Katherine, however, handled her sword with more ease than her friends. After a few minutes she disarmed her opponent, winning with reasonable finesse.
   They handed back the swords and stood waiting. The king rode a little way off and spoke with the infantry general. There appeared to be some argument between the two men. The dispute continued for some time, with Marl gesturing strongly towards the nervous women at intervals. Eventually General Foust joined them and, after a few more minutes of heated discussion, the three men returned to the group. It was now mid afternoon and the sun shone gold through the very tops of the trees to their left. King Alan looked at the forest women thoughtfully for a moment before he spoke.
‘I have had to have a serious discussion with my trusted generals. Your riding is perfectly fine, and you deal with problems well. However, your sword skills are non-existent. It’s clear you’ve never learned the necessary skills. General Marl believes that this fact alone should immediately disqualify you from the position of King’s Guard. What good are a Guard who are incapable of fighting, of protecting themselves or their King?’
The women’s faces fell as he spoke, it had been looking so hopeful.
‘All except you,’ the king interrupted himself, looking at Katherine. ‘You show reasonable technique. Who taught you?’
‘My father, sire. He was a blacksmith and a swordsmith. He taught me using a pair of swords that he had made but that had never been collected. I once thought highly of my skills, but having a raider slash my face open in a fight taught me otherwise.’ She realised that all the guards, and the generals, were staring at her terrible scar. She lifted her chin and stared defiantly back, she was used to it after nine years.

There was another pause as King Alan considered the tale. ‘Your skills are not so little as you think, if you can best one of my Palace guard, even once.’ He sighed. ‘I am also concerned by your lack of training, but I disagree with General Marl. Swordsmanship can be taught, with training, and there are skills far more precious and difficult to learn. Skills which I believe a Kings Guard must have, which I believe you may already have.’ He looked at them sternly. ‘If you continue now, it is on one condition: Should you be named King’s Guard, you will train each and every day, meticulously, until you can beat any soldier in my army. Is that clear?’
The friends felt their hearts leap with his words. All was not lost. ‘Yes, sire!’ they chorused eagerly. General Marl looked sour.
‘Good. The next tasks will tax your minds, not your bodies. We will retire now, it is getting late and both people and horses need to eat.’ He waved a hand, dismissing the grooms and the horses. ‘Wait here a moment, if you will. A serving boy will be along shortly, he will take you to eat, drink and rest. There are further tests to come this evening. I will see you then.’
The women bowed as deeply as they could, still desperately glad not to have failed already, and watched as the king rode away, followed by his generals and the Palace guards.