The First of Many
Breathe in. Breathe out. Calm your mind. Steady your hand. Rain thrashed against the windows of the castle. Dark, scarlet-clad servants stalked down the lightless halls. Wind battered at the walls of the besieged bastion. The girl faced down the hall containing a handful of Griffon's twisted soldiers. Lightning blazed outside the palace. For an instant, the intruders were cast in vivid white before they receded back into shadow. They stood, swaying slightly, arms dangling by their sides in complete silence. She stared back in stubborn defiance. This was her home and she would fight back any who threatened it, no matter how much older than her they might be.
She was going to be a great warrior one day. Her father had told her so. He had taught her how to fight, how to protect herself, to be as great as the warriors who had ruled this palace before her. And no one was better suited to defend this place than she. She had been trained by her father, and who could be better than him? Compared to her father these mindless, murderous puppets were nothing.
Their silent staring contest lasted about two minutes. Then the soldiers charged. All thoughts of resistance fled her young, crimson haired head, at the sight of the warriors surging forward, and the girl fled. Panic leapt to her limbs and took possession of them, urging her to flee to where she knew she would be safe. She could barely see ten feet in front of her and fear drove any real thought from her mind, but her instincts and memory knew the way. All her short life she had walked these halls and her feet knew them well.
"Remember, Monica, the ones who walked these paths before you and I. They were not just strong of body, but of mind as well. A good soldier is capable of thinking, even in the midst of battle. Skill with a sword alone, is akin to fighting in the dark. An able mind lights the way and guides the blade."
She spared a fleeting glance over her back, mind recovering enough to note the two soldiers pursuing her, although the multitude of echoing footsteps suggested that the others were likely close behind. She'd be alright though. Just a few more hallways and she'd be safe. Sanctuary from these brutal mockeries of men was within her reach. If possible, her pace quickened, hope surging through her and granting strength to her small tired limbs. And then, like a mockingbird shot through with a sinner's arrow, her rising spirits plunged deep into the cold pit of her stomach.
The doors to her father's chamber were spread haphazard and wide, the interior of the room, however, was unlit. Temporarily forgetting her own predicament, her dismay formed into breathless words, "What!? Those monsters are in my father's room!? Father!" Fear churned anew in her gut, not only for herself now, but for the only family she had. The sound of glass shattering pierced her ears, and Monica was again forced to refocus on the newest threat before her.
A pair of Griffon's soldiers leapt through the window to her left, blocking the way to her father's room. She stumbled to a halt, regarding the two before her, then turning to face the two that were pursuing her. This turned out to be a wise course of action, as the pair took advantage of their prey's sudden halt to leap at her, arms swinging down and narrowly missing the girl. Monica dove to the side landing with her back to the wall and slowly inching along it, mind scrambling to find a way around the scarlet soldiers.
Scanning the hall, she noticed one of the many suits of armor that lined the halls, just near her outstretched left hand. More importantly, however, was the sword that the hollow shell's hands rested upon. The sword was functional and could detach from the rest of the armor, this she knew, after the many times she had run recklessly down these halls. Her father had warned her time and time again to please, for the love of the twin moons, be careful around the suits as they were old, somewhat fragile, and a hassle for the servants to reposition and the swords were sharp and could cut her if she did not watch where she was going.
Of course, being the wild, fearless child she was, she had done it anyways, sprinting down one of the passages at a reckless speed. Grinning like a fool and mentally congratulating herself on a successful heist into the kitchen to steal one of those small, but oh-so-delicious parfaits that the cooks guarded like a dragon's treasure. She risked a glance over her shoulder, just in case, to ensure that none of the chefs had caught her, and promptly slammed into one of the hollow knights lining the halls. She came to a few minutes later, much to the relief of the guards who had heard the noise and gone to investigate. Oh how fortunate she had been that day, as the sword had fallen just inches from her delicate head. She had gotten quite the lecture, but this time his words stuck. Swords were dangerous, regardless of whether or not they were wielded.
The blade that the ancient armor held would be wielded again, dangerous and in the childish but capable hands of Monica. A single warrior dove towards her, and Monica leapt to the side once more, hands closing around the handle of the blade. She turned to face her attackers. Right hand over the left she moved into a ready position, determined, clear-headed, and prepared to fight. Griffon's four soldiers fanned out across the hall, still eerily silent.
This time, Monica made the first move. She darted forward, blade swinging at the warrior to her left, getting in three strikes before she moved back out of range. Two more moved up to stand next to the stricken soldier, and she quickly swept her blade before her. Steel sang through her foes and she felled the first of many. One red-clad killer fell to the ground, dissolving into a faded aurora. Recovering from the strike, the two in front approached, swinging their sharp-edged limbs, leaning into the attack, undeterred by their fallen comrade. Raising her blade, she deftly blocked the assault.
Lowering her blade she prepared to counter, when the third soldier charged from its position in the shadows to her right, scoring a strike against her shoulder and shoving her back. She hissed, as pain lanced down her arm. It stung, but luckily, it hadn't cut her. The third assailant crept toward the center of the hall from the right to stand abreast with his dark brethren. Monica backed up, and thinking fast, moved her sword up to a new position at shoulder height, parallel to the ground, point towards Griffon's warriors. Taking a breath, she focused on the foes before her and jumped.
She could almost reach the ceiling, a fact she had proudly announced to her father after weeks of working on her "special" battle move. He had looked up from his book, and fixed his gaze on her, In part wondering what under the two moons she could possibly need to jump that high for, and in part immediately becoming concerned with the clear safety concerns of such a maneuver, particularly with a weapon. "I'm very proud of you, my dear, but could you explain to me exactly why you were trying to reach the ceiling? I was under the impression you were practicing a skill for combat, and I'm not entirely sure what jumping that high will accomplish." Monica grinned, "I'm not quite ready to show you, but it's all a part of the plan, father. It's gonna be the coolest trick you've ever seen!" "I'm sure it will be, dear."
That had been last week. Now it was time to put it to use. She had been planning to show it to her father next week, as she hadn't quite gotten the landing down yet, but it would be so much more impressive for him to see it in action. She felt the same rush she did every time she had launched herself skyward, and flipped once at the peak of her jump just as planned. Sword pointed downward, she landed, a small shockwave emanating outward from her blade, amplified with magic, to blast the soldiers back. The impact knocked them down, sending them sprawling to the floor.
Pride and accomplishment surged through her, an almost giddy smile lighting her face at her success. Father would be so proud.
Tamping down her excitement, she took note of the soldiers, two of which now knelt, disappearing into colorful mist. The third, slowly took to its feet, shaking its head as it recovered from its prey's unexpectedly powerful attack. The final soldier stumbled into a charge, swiping its arms in a weakened and flimsy attack, and Monica swiftly dispatched it with another strike to the head. She took one last look down the hall, were Griffon's soldiers had been felled.
Unbeknownst to her, these four were only the first of many of Griffon's troops to perish by her hand. Chest heaving, her gaze swept over the now empty hall. She had survived. The triumphant feeling of emerging victorious from her first real fight surged over her. Tamping down her burst of emotion, she turned towards her father's chamber and refocused. Monica ran down the hall, bursting into her awaiting sanctuary. Moments, or perhaps an eternity later, the sword clattered to the ground, forgotten.