The harsh, choking smell of smoke filled Malrin's nose, pulling her violently out of sleep. She struggled for breath as she sat up, the swirling air thick and murky around her. Coughing, Malrin sprang out of her coarse straw mattress, covering her mouth and nose. Flickering flames leapt rapidly up the walls of her room. The thin mud covering her walls was crumbling off, leaving the dry straw exposed to the blaze. Malrin pushed through the choking air, her lungs burning with the effort. The leap from the loft usually looked short and easily done, but now looked unfeasible. Her reliable stepladder, worn smooth from her hands, was now a black pillar of smoldering cinders, burning her hands when she touched it. Sucking on her fingers, Malrin groped for the edge of the loft. She let go of her mouth and nose and dropped, hanging by her arms and hands. For a second, Malrin gathered her wits before the loft started to sink, fire licking her fingers. Shrieking with pain, Malrin dropped, landing with a bump on the hard dirt floor. Her bones screamed in agony; her flesh ached from the fall. Malrin lay gasping before the smoke overtook her lungs once more. She forced herself to stand and move towards the woven curtain hanging as a door. A sudden panic overtook her mind, making her heart stop.
Her mother's rosary.
Malrin ran to the shelve next to the cold fire pit, grabbing her mother's silver and sapphire rosary. A earsplitting crash and blast of heat from behind her made her scream. Malrin pushed through the door, tearing the rough, woven curtain off the doorway as she dashed out. The house toppled in a split second afterwards. Malrin collapsed, sobbing, onto the grass as the boiling air passed its way over her back, blistering the skin beneath her thin wool shift. Malrin sat up, struggling to move her taut, fiery skin. Looking around, her breath caught in her throat. Women we fleeing, holding their children's hands as their homes burned. Horses caught in a barns screamed in agony as a barn collapsed around them. Blood flowed down the streets and bodies lay around the town, all men, women and children. Men on horseback raced through the town, lighting straw roofs on fire with torches, their stench carrying through the town, roaring and bellowing with malicious delight. Malrin rose, her knees quivering and put her mother's rosary around her neck.
Get to the woods.
Four words pounded in her head as Malrin dashed, pulling the drape up over her coiled flaxen hair. Her swift feet carried her through the burning town, past crying children, bodies in the streets and women as they lay bleeding. Her pounding feet created a rhythm as she ran, her mind focusing on the misty dark land that sat in the distance. Suddenly, a rider on a great ashen mare whirled straight toward Malrin. His facial hair was untamed and foul, his clothes soiled and torn. His mouth was open wide with a howl, his eyes wild. He pulled a sword out of his scabbard, and leapt off the mare, landing in a puddle of ash and mud. He grinned as he circled her, his teeth black.
"Petty lassie, ain't ye?"
He laughed a loud, hacking laugh and stepped towards her, ripping off her cloak, sending her sprawling into the street.
"Please don't touch me."
Malrin begged, but her cries were lost in the din of panic. The man laughed loudly again, forcing her to lay on the ground and sat on top of her, making it difficult to breathe. His harsh mouth met hers, giving her a nauseating taste of harsh wine and tobacco he had last smoked. She begged and pleaded, screamed and fought, but all to no avail. Finally, growing tired of her relentless cries, the man held her mouth with his dirty hand. Then, aggressively, he pulled her wool skirt up with a lusty growl and entered her, a flash of pain making Malrin shriek. Then she stopped fighting. She thought of her mother and her beautiful face, swimming lazily in her mind, the day after they had gone on a picnic with her father many years ago. They had swam in a lake with a waterfall, she remembered. It was cool and clean, cleaner than anything Malrin had seen in her short life. Her mother's laugh was high and joyful, her father's laugh deep and throaty. They ran together, under the hot sun. And as the sun went down, they walked back, her mother's long skirt swishing in the tall grass, and her father's muscular shoulders rippling under Malrin's jaw and he carried her over his shoulder. The man was moving now, grunting and sweating. The sound was nauseating. Malrin turned her head, looking towards the castle's shape in the smoke. How she had yearned, so long ago, to live there, as Lady Cathleen did. Now there was only darkness, and death, and pain.
This man is going to kill me, she thought.
But she didn't really mind. Her body seemed separate from her mind, floating through the air. Screams from the survivors reverberated everywhere and as she lay, limp, she yearned for death. And then, abruptly, a crash reverberated around the town, knocking some sense into her. She moaned, and the man responded, moving up to kiss her neck. Malrin reached into his cloak carefully and grabbed the man's sword handle, pulling up and then thrusting in. The man screamed and stood, holding his side, where a deep gash was oozing crimson. He yelled angrily, his trousers around his ankles, and pulled a short dagger from his boot. He threw it at her rapidly, before she could move. It stuck in her shoulder with a sickening thud. She gasped, her breath catching in her throat before she fell to her knees. The man laughed maliciously, and stepped toward her, pulling the dagger out slowly, relishing in her pain. Malrin did not make a sound. She tilted her head up, making eyes contact with the man as he raised the dagger to penetrate her head. Before the glinting blade came down upon her head, an arrow, silver and wickedly fast, whizzed straight through his skull. He screamed, and collapsed. He was dead before he hit the ground. His body landed close to her, but Malrin did not move. She sat there, numb as the blood pooled around them. Suddenly, a pair of rough, gentle hands lifted her into a standing position.
"Come along now, milady."
The voice was deep and melodious, a man's. His hands wrapped around her waist and held her upright, and whistled softly. The sound of pounding hooves filled the air, and a tall, silver horse stopped in front of them with a snort. The man's voice carried through the air, murmuring soft words of encouragement as he lifted her on the horse with ease. He leaped gracefully behind her and grasped the leather reins, keeping a steady hold on her. He whispered something in a strange tongue, and the horse whinnied, flying off towards the east. Malrin leaned back, breathing in the man's fresh smell, like the sunshine and flowers in the spring. His long, pale blonde hair was soft, brushing her neck. She leaned her head back into him, feeling the rich silk brocade that made up his tunic. It was tight, his well formed, lean muscles rippling as they flew away from the stench of decay. The screams died, replaced with a cool silence. The wind whipped her face, bringing feeling back to her limbs. Malrin groaned, turning her head to the side.
"Everything will be right with the world."
The man murmur softly, slowing the horse momentarily to cross a river. The freezing water splashed over Malrin's bare feet and knees, soaking her woolen skirt. The horse made it across, scrambling up the steep bank and taking off like a flash in the dark once again. They raced through the woods. Trees stretched their malicious limbs out to them, beckoning them into the dark. Suddenly, Malrin noticed a flickering dot in the darkness. It was warm and welcoming, hope on the shady horizon. The man tensed and leaned forward, kicking his heels into the horses flank and clicking his tongue.
"Our destination draws near. "
The flickering light grew steadily larger, and men's voices filled her ears. As they approached the clearing, a man's rumbling voice rose in anger.
"What folly is this, Legolas?"
"She is injured. Our aid is needed."
"You could have been seen! We have no time for this."
Malrin moaned suddenly, her head whirling. She heard a shout as the saddle left her legs.
"Catch her!"
She felt a pair of rough hands grab her and darkness seized her vision.
When Malrin awoke, she was laying on her side on a rough woolen sleeping mat. Men were talking in hushed voices as a pair of coarse hands felt her stinging shoulder gently.
"Tell us what happened, Legolas."
Malrin gritted her teeth, keeping her eyes closed.
"I went to the village as planned, but I found chaos when I arrived. Men from another realm had reduced the village to ashes. I attempted leave but found...them at the edge of the town."
Malrin winced and moaned. Silence followed, along with a gentle brush to her hair, before the chatter resumed.
"There was a mortal- He was standing just above her with a dagger, already bleeding. I simply finished the job. I pulled her up, and found her shoulder. I knew she was losing too much blood to survive. I thought you could help her, Aragorn"
The man above Malrin stopped, and took a deep breath.
"Good riddance to filth I say. But what are we gonna do with the girl?"
The men paused, and Malrin felt pairs of eyes on her. She made her breathing even and serene, hoping they wouldn't notice her shaking. Finally, after a pause, the same deep voice from above her cut through the silence.
"We wait until she awakes, and see what shall happen from there. We must reach north Calomel before tomorrow's sunset."
The group made noises of agreement.
"Lovely. Now rest. And someone watch the girl. I don't doubt she will be plagued by nightmares."
The rustling of blankets followed his words. Malrin froze, waiting. Loud snores from all corners filled the clearing after some time. Malrin stood up slowly, holding her shoulder. Nothing stirred. She stepped lightly over a sleeping figure next to her, grabbing his thick cloak as she went. Malrin put it on, pulling the dark hood over her head. She winced, her shoulder stinging fiercely as she moved to the edge of the clearing.
Almost there...
Suddenly a glint caught her eye. It was a sword of exquisite quality, sitting a few inches away from a snoring figure. She hesitated, her mind whirling. Then, making up her mind, Malrin grabbed the hilt, pulling it out slowly. She reached the point of the blade when the snap of a twig behind her made her reel around, holding the sword out in front of her, her body shaking from loss of blood. A deep, rumbling chuckle came out of the darkness.
"Come, milady. Didn't anyone teach you to pick your fights more sensibly?"
A young man stepped into the light of the campfire, a smirk on his face. He was exceptionally handsome, with snapping blue eyes and strong jaw. He leaned against a tree, his body language cocky.
"My, my. A lady really shouldn't be playing with swords."
Malrin glared at him, moving forward so that the sword tip touched his throat. He snorted, a sneer on his face.
"Leave her be, Vice."
Malrin gasped, letting the sword slid out her weak fingers. Vice caught the handle in his strong hands. She spun around, finding herself in front of a short, plump figure with an stylishly braided, crimson beard.
Dwarf?
"Come now, Gimli, just a bit of fun."
The Dwarf studied Malrin through tiny eyes filled with a merry fire.
"Starting a brawl with Vice, are we lassie?"
Malrin backed up, frightened, and bumped into a tall, wiry figure, spry like a young tree. She turned, frustrated, and found herself staring into the most incandescent blue eyes she had ever seen. They were gentle, wistful and intelligent, sitting in a chiseled, handsome face. Pale blonde hair, which was swept away from pointed ears in a half-braid, fell down past his slender shoulders, complimenting his face.
"Are you recovered?"
His voice was the same, low and gentle, his smile comforting, like the warm sun on a icy day. Malrin felt draw to him, linked by an unseen ribbon of fate.
"You...saved my life."
His smile died on his face, replaced by a troubled look. He stepped back, not looking at her.
"Indeed..."
She reached toward him, but hesitated, drawing her arm back with a grimace and brushed her shoulder.
"I suppose we should introduce ourselves."
The gruff voice came from behind Malrin made her start. A tall man stood there, broad-shouldered and powerfully built. He had peppered dark hair that fell into his ruggedly handsome face. His clothes were dirty and torn, stained by travel and excessive wear. Looking around, Malrin noticed the groups clothes, which were torn and dirtied as well.
"My name is Aragorn."
He nodded to the elf behind her, his arms crossed.
"The elf is Legolas, the dwarf Gimli...and the man in the tree is Vice."
Malrin turned, curious, to find herself literally nose to nose with the arrogant man from before, hanging upside down in a tree. She gasped, scrambling back as he jumped down nimbly, doubling up at her expression.
"Pleasure, milady."
Vice said, bowing low. He stood up, a grin on his face. Legolas nodded his head at her, while the dwarf, Gimli, heaved a great breath and slug his great axe on his shoulder. Malrin swallowed before replying in a voice that sound breathy and exhausted in her ears.
"My name is Malrin."
Aragorn bowed low, keeping his deep, golden-brown eyes on her. She tilted her head up wearily, studying him intently.
"I need to see your shoulder, Malrin."
Malrin hesitated, taking a step back, but seeing Aragorn's stern gaze, she nodded, wincing at the searing pain in her shoulder. She sat on a tree stump by the flickering fire, watching its dancing flames. Her skin glistened with sweat while sparks spun and danced, weaving through the air delicately like burning snowflakes. Aragorn pushed her dress down gently, revealing her slender shoulders and a crimson river dripping down her breast and covering her arm. It saturated her woolen dress, baffling her by the metallic smell and iridescent sheen it gave off in the firelight. Aragorn took a pot of boiling creek water off the fire and set it down near her. He dipped a rag in it and held it gently to her shoulder. Steam swirled in the chilly air, distracting her from the burning pain in her left shoulder. After clearing the blood off of her skin, Aragorn sewed the deep would closed with a needle and thread. His stitches were small and neat, like soldiers marching in a line, starkly contrasting with her pale skin. He poured some sort of alcohol from his canister on the lesion, making it bite, and wrapped a tight bandage around it. Then he pulled her dried, bloodstained dress back up, washing his hands with a fresh rag. Malrin swallowed.
"Thank you."
Aragorn didn't answer. He poured the rest of the water in the grass, making steam rise into the air. Then he sat on a fallen tree and pulled out a pipe. He lit it and leaned back, crossing his arms. Smoke coiled around his face, whirling up before vanishing into the treetops. Legolas stood at the edge of the clearing, a bow and arrows slung over his shoulder, complete still, staring off into the darkness of the trees. Gimli sat against a tree, pulling his cap over his eyes and crossing his arm over his long beard. Crickets chirped, and an animal called from the trees. Malrin's head nodded to her chest. She started, blinking to stay awake. The fire cracked as a log fell, and the flames turned a deep purple. The flames changed into the shape of a running horse, then spun and turned into a beautiful, terrible woman. She grew, twisting and climbing into the dark sky, extinguishing the stars.
When Malrin awoke, her face was in the fresh, dewy grass, her back to a large log. The air was breezy and serene, the clearing filled with snores and slow, even breathing. The sun was just reaching its bright rays across the treetops, filling the clearing with a rosy light. The fire had died during the night, and embers were barely glowing in the ring of stones. A twig cracked in the trees in front of her, making her freeze, still laying on the cool grass. Soft, growling noises floated from behind trees, completely surrounding them. Aragorn was asleep against a tree, his face peaceful and even more handsome in sleep. Gimli was in the same spot Malrin had last seen him, his cap still over his face, snores floating across the clearing. Malrin barely moved, searching the clearing for Legolas. He was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, a hand clamped down over her mouth. Malrin did not make a sound, grabbing the hand with both of hers, any possible cry muffled by the rough hand gently covering her mouth. The figure put his mouth close to her ear, his hair caressing her shoulders.
"Hush. We must not be seen."
Legolas?
Malrin stopped struggling. Legolas pulled her up over the tall log and let go of her mouth, pulling his bow off of his back and a single arrow out of his quiver. He prepared his bow and arrow, drew back and fired into the trees on the other opposite side of the clearing and the log that was hiding them from sight. A scream of pain followed, and angry shouts filled the clearing. Legolas crouched down again, resting his bow on the ground.
"There are 9, maybe 10 in the trees surrounding us. Can you use this?"
He pulled a sword out of his belt, and handed it to her, trepidation in his voice. Malrin smiled.
"My father taught me how, yes."
Legolas fired another arrow into the trees and a roar of pain again reverberated around. This time, Aragorn and Gimli awoke, both shouting in surprise, grabbing their weapons. Bodies burst from the trees with deafening bellows. Their skin was a sickly grey, and they stood taller than a horse. They carried huge, spiked clubs, dried blood covering them. The smell was horrendous, like decaying meat and sweat. Malrin leaped over the log and stood by Aragorn, her weapon at the ready. The creatures eyes were tiny and pale. They blinked and turned their heads rapidly, listening and smelling carefully. When Malrin ran, their eyes did not follow her. Instead, the swish of her dress caught their attention. She picked up a stick and threw it into the underbrush, watching as the creatures bawled and turned toward the noise.
They are blind.
Gimli swung his axe excitedly. Vice dropped down next to them from a tree, swinging two thin, curved blades joyfully.
"Well, well, well, seems like you get a little excitement your first day, Lady Malrin."
Malrin couldn't help but laugh at his face. It was boyish, handsome and his cobalt eyes sparkled in the dazzling morning sun. The creatures roared again, shuffling around so that they surrounded them, but didn't attack.
What are they waiting for?
Suddenly, the creatures whimpered and retreated into the forest, waiting just along the sides of the clearing. Legolas joined Malrin, an arrow at the ready. They stood back to back, their weapons held out. As though they had suddenly been signaled, the creatures roared, throwing themselves at the mismatched group. Legolas shot one in the eye, readied another arrow and let it fly, hitting another through its open mouth. Aragorn swung, missing at first, then swung back, chopping one of the creatures' leg off. It screamed, falling back. Its blood was a sickly green color, splattering against Malrin's skirt. Malrin ducked and dodged, frightened to make the first blow. Gimli roared, hacking away at the monsters' knees. Vice laughed gleefully, springing from creature to creature as he chopped off head after head. Finally, the clearing was quiet, except for the groups labored breathing. Malrin's clean sword glinted in the sunlight, a severe difference from Aragorn's, which dripped green slime onto the damp grass. Legolas retrieved most of his arrows, gently cleaning each with a cloth and putting them back in his quiver to sharpen later. Aragorn cleaned his heavy sword on the grass.
"We need to move. Valigraths rarely move in packs."
Vice wiped his in the grass as well, sliding them easily back into his scabbard. He grabbed his bedrolls, threw the rest of the drinking water into the burning embers, and went into the trees. He returned with the largest horse Malrin had ever seen. He was jet black, at least 18 hands high, with feathery hair on his giant hooves. He reached his glossy neck down, sniffing gently at Malrin's hair. She blew in its nose, and he nuzzled her hair. Laughing, Malrin reached up and stroked the horse's silky neck.
"Donovan doesn't usually take well with women."
Malrin stepped back, turning her head. She felt Vice's gentle hand on hers waist, leading her forward. A hand guided hers to the horse's flank, where a long scar ran down. The horse's muscles trembled when Malrin touched the scar, but he didn't move.
"See? You're special."
Malrin caressed the horse's glossy coat.
"What happened?" She whispered.
Vice laughed.
"Orcs are nasty creatures. And they don't mix well with horses."
Suddenly, an arrow whizzed by, embedding itself deep into Vice's forearm, just barely missing Malrin. He yelled, pushing her back towards the trees. Legolas grabbed her by the waist, swinging her back.
"No!"
Malrin cried, reaching for Vice. He was clutching his arm where the arrow was, blood staining his already soiled shirt. Vice's face was pale as he grabbed Donovan's rein and pulled him into the dark of the trees. They all pulled back, the dark shadows hiding them from view. Over head, a winged creature soared over them, circled, and disappeared.
They waited with baited breath for what seemed like hours. Then, slowly, like mice from their burrows, they crept out, scanning the skies for any sudden movements.
"C'mon lad, up and at 'em."
Gimli was helping a stumbling Vice onto a log. The arrow pierced through his arm clear to the other side. Aragorn started for Vice, but Malrin got their first. Tearing off the bottom of her slip, she tied it tightly above the wound. Legolas grasped his comrade's chest and studied her, saying nothing. Aragorn set a pot of boiling water close by, while Gimli, mumbling something about stinging nettles, set plants close to Malrin. Malrin took a deep breath and broke the arrow in half. Vice was pale, but he gritted his teeth and said nothing. She slid the arrow out straight and very quickly. Vice groaned and threw his head back, his muscle tense. Malrin ripped another large section of her slip, using it as a rag. She cleared the wound of blood, and set the plants in the water, and then crushed them between two large stones, applying the pulp to the wound and wrapping it tightly with a clean bandage.
"Quite the little medic."
Vice urged, watching her inquisitively. Malrin looked up, her focus broken.
"Yes...my father was a physician."
Legolas let go of Vice and picked up the bloody arrow.
"This arrow is of Cakkrith origin. We must depart."
Legolas mounted his dignified, silvery mare, while Gimli rode a sturdy russet pony. Aragorn helped Vice up on Donovan, and turned. He studied Malrin attentively, his stern brown eyes weary and troubled. Suddenly he broke into a swift stride, mounting a good-natured brunette mare with white socks. She shook her mane, prancing, eager to leave. He raised his gloved hand in farewell, doubt clouding his face.
"Farwell, Malrin, Lady of Dubliran. We pray you safe travels."
They all turned their mounts toward the east, all except Legolas, who dismounted gracefully.
"Come with us, Malrin."
His voice was calm, but his green eyes gleamed with longing, and held out a lean hand. Malrin reached for him, but hesitated, turning away. She felt a gentle kiss on her cheek and heard his gentle command in foreign tongue. The horse whinnied, and took off on a trot to the east. Malrin turned, remorse ripping her chest in two.
Hope you liked...more will be uploaded soon! Let me know how bad it is :)