The sun long gone, the moon well high; letting the branches whipping by become long grasping fingers that ripped cloth, the wind an unseen and incomparable force whipping hair around, and the invisible ground riddled with obstacles and holes causing stumbles and jumps. The groans and creaks of the trees surrounding them, urged the horse onwards in a panic. Its rider lying as low as possible wishing for nothing but for time and speed. The muffled sound of thundering hoofs and the rustling of plants as they past filled the empty forest. And glimpses of moonlighted silver flashed through the trees. Breaking from the forestry the full moon burst fully upon the horse and rider.
The sight one to behold, as the perfect pair stormed across the field: She, dressed in a torn and bloodied silver gown, a sword at her hip and her hair in disarray as it came down from what was once a beautiful chignon lined with pearls, her feet bare in the silver stirrups, scratches and cuts lined unprotected skin. He, bred for royalty, his well-formed muscles bunching and releasing beneath a black sweat matted coat, his powerful hooves pounding the earth as he raced against time. Together they headed for a distant tower, their only hope. As they passed the tower, she slowed her horse to a stop and turning around she looked towards the forest, her mind at war. She steeled her nerves, wheeled her horse around and raced on, to what she could only hope was a warm welcome, followed with food, bed, and protection.
A few miles from her destination her horse could run no further, and she dropped to his side and continued walking on. Her mind wondered at the actions that had occurred earlier that night, the horror that her birthday party had ended in. It was to be a grand affair, as it was her sixteenth and her father, King Deon the First, invited many royal guests. Princes from neighboring kingdoms danced with her, and the princesses gossiped, while lords and ladies had congratulated her and gathered amongst themselves. Everything had been bright and cheerful, her older brother Prince Deon the Second, whom she wonderfully admired and greatly loved, had swirled her around his friends and guests and had been proudly proclaiming her as his sister.
And as he gracefully led her to the thrones for the royal speech, screams tore the air and blood seemed to fly everywhere. In an instant the sounds of screams, swords being drawn and met as men charged the ballroom one after the other. After being pushed around and tugged in other directions, she had found herself pressed against a wall watching. Her attention had quickly been turned from one body to another. She had stared naming them as if in a trance: Nichole, her mom's lady in waiting. Sara, the princess of Mendalic. Ferendic, he had taught her to use a sword. Tomula, he usually ended up chasing her around the castle when she was little. Seredata, Princess of Kindell. Hontel, Prince of Grountel. Brena, daughter of Nichole. Her mother and her father were the last she had seen, her attention had turned to the man advancing towards her. Looking around quickly she had grabbed a sword from a form she recognized as Gilbert, her schoolmaster.
With a cry to fight on, she parried and slashed at her attacker. Hearing her cry, the mass had fought back gallantly. Slowly she cut down one after another, backing up the stairs to the dais. She had slashed yet another when she felt herself being pulled away. She fought to be released, struggling heavily against her captor, his voice and words not reaching her. The figure had spun her around and her eyes had come to rest on a familiar face. All the fight had drained from her and she leaned into her brother, pale and shaking. He had quickly dragged her away through hallways, down stairs, and in emergency passages that winded underground. It was dark and damp. A musty smell attacked her nose, and caused her eyes to water. She tripped on roots and rocks. Sighing as they finally cleared the dark and damp passage, amongst forestry and a group of her brother's friends.
She remembered mounting one of the horses that where at the ready, and riding off in the center of the group. How Glenendor, the son of The Duke of Kindell, held a bleeding wound on his hip. How Sien, the second prince of Grountel and Hontels little brother, rode with red sword in hand. How the group split, heading for different countries. How her brother and her long time crushes' brother Andreo, The Prince and heir of Kindell, had smelled and looked as they hugged her. How Andreo had given her the royal pendent of Kindell, for a hopefully safe passage. She remembered the pain she felt in her heart as she headed her horse towards Kindell without them.
She pulled to a stop as the sound of hooves came from the road before her. She stood her ground and raised her head defiantly. Six men dressed in the colors of Kindell and bearing the royal symbol, riding tall muscular horses, pulled to a halt in surprise. Eyebrows furrowed the Captain call out:
'Who comes?'
She replied with a hand on her sword and another grasping the horse as if to be ready to mount.
'Princess Lea of Chearona, and she humbly asks for protection and an audience with the great King of Kindell'
They looked startled for a second, then seeing as it seemed serious; they asked her to remount, as they would take her strait there. Yet not a few moments later the horses began to get nervous and exited, and the sound of pounding hooves sounded from the path behind them. Wheeling her horse around, she drew her sword, her new guards quickly followed suit. Four masses of hot sweat muscles bounded over the hill, eyes rolling back and agape mouths flicking flecks of foam everywhere, their rider's swords were drawn and they were red faced, looking like hot blooded demons. Roaring out orders as the demonic riders closed in, the captain urged her down the path telling two of his men to guide her.
Then once again horse and rider were galloping at a breakneck pace, a horse in front and another behind. Once again racing away, she leaned down low against his sweaty neck and into his long mane; slowly she drifted in and out of consciousness. She was barley aware when they had arrived at the large gates, large hands gently pulling her of her horse as they cut the part of his mane that her fingers where tangled in, the murmurs as she was carried into the castle, her head bobbing and her hand hanging limp. She heard urgent voices calling to one another, some booming out hurting her ears. She felt some one try to rouse her barking out questions she desperately tried to understand, and then all gave away to peace.
Deaths stench plagued her in her dreams. She twisted against them but found herself unable to leave the terror behind. It seemed as if every time she struggled to the surface of awakening, she was pulled into the depths of the nightmare. All around her mutilated bodies stared at her, their glazed eyes seemed to plead with her, as if they were trapped in their cold lifeless bodies, pleading her to free them. Yet she was unable to move towards any of them, just turning in circles looking at them, unable to turn her eyes away. Around and around over and over, just looking, nothing more.
- Just an idea... tell me what you think?-