Cursing loudly, Clary kicked the locked door in her frustration when she realized Sebastian wouldn't be freeing her from her makeshift prison any time soon. The sounds of battle gradually closing in on her and the high-pitched screams of women and children grating on her ears, Clary's own panic started pressing in on her chest, making it hard to breath for a couple of moments.
The suffocating feeling forced her to take a couple steps away from the door, wanting to place herself as far away from whatever lied on the other side of the threshold. Wrapping her arms protectively around her middle, Clary yearned to be in her father's strong embrace, the sound of her mother's voice telling her that everything was going to be okay.
As if the thought of her parents was a punch to the gut, Clary jerked, the blood draining from her face immediately. Her parents. They were out there in that chaos, somewhere, possibly hurt or worse.
Clary shook her head, pulling her mind from jumping to any unnecessary conclusions. She swallowed against the rising lump in her throat; she was not some hopeless damsel in distress. She didn't need any to rescue her, she was Clarissa Garroway and she held her fate in her own hands.
Now that her mind had something to focus on, Clary felt her breathing even out, her eyes scanning the room's contents for anything to help free her from her confinement. The room was scarcely packed with furniture, a general room for guests that didn't have the station or reputation deserving of a more impressive room. Still, it had a nice sized fireplace, a table and chairs, a few dressers and desks, a bed, and finally, Clary noticed gratefully, a small, wooden sofa.
Perfect, she thought. Rushing across the room, Clary began dragging the small piece of furniture through the room, stopping when she was satisfied at it location just feet from the door, one arm of the couch perpendicular to the door's center.
Sending up a quick prayer for the strength, Clary dug her feet into the floor, leveraging her full body weight against the opposite arm of the couch, steering the couches direction towards the door. With each step, the couch moved a little faster, the momentum picking up.
With a final grunt, Clary pushed with all her might, sending both the couch and herself hurtling towards the doors. With a loud thump, simultaneously, Clary was tossed over the arm of the chair, her momentum suddenly obstructed by an unmoving couch, but not before she heard the unmistakable sound of wood cracking.
Clary scrambled off the couch, a small ounce of hope raising in her chest at the thought that maybe this sporadic plan to free herself could actually work. She moved the couch away from the door, and sure enough, a chunk of wood was missing from the door, a sign that her plan was working.
With a squeal of excitement, Clary took her place once more behind the couch. Her brows furrowing in concentration, Clary made sure that the couch's arm would penetrate the weakest part of the door. Once more planting her feet against the floor, Clary launched herself and the couch forward.
A loud splintering sound accosted her ears, startling her, the brief distraction forcing her to lose her balance, falling to the floor. Unwilling to lose a second of time, she quickly bounded to her feet, her eyes immediately focusing on her progress. She let out a sigh of relief, seeing that the couch had slid through the couch-sized hole between the doors. She could see shards of wood littering the floor of the hallway just outside the door and gave herself a nod of approval.
Pulling the couch out of the hole, Clary made quick work of checking the hall for any immediate danger (it was not lost on her that she could have very well put herself in more danger just by causing so much noise just now, but her only thought had been to get out.)
When the coast had been deemed clear, Clary gingerly walked into the hallway, her senses on full alert. She kept to the sides of the hallway, using the shadows to hide her movements as she made her way through the castle, eager to get to her room to fetch her bow and arrows. She wasn't naïve enough to think she could move through the halls without some sort of weapon. She would need every advantage she could get her hands on, even if that meant taking the precious time away from looking for her family. After all, she wouldn't be any use to them if she was dead, or worse, captured.
Though ironic, Clary briefly thanked Sebastian for locking her in a room that was just a few hallways down from her own bedroom. Just for that she would let him live, miserably, but he would still be living after she was done with him.
She quickly entered her room, her eyes narrowing on the bow and arrow lying haphazardly on her bed from when she'd thrown them down earlier before the banquet. Her mother always hated her leaving them out like that, but at this present time, she was glad for her laziness earlier. She immediately strapped the arrows to her back, feeling the familiarity of their weight between her shoulders, making her body come alive underneath it.
The smoothness of her bow was welcoming in her otherwise shaking hand, but once the wood made contact with her skin, her hand stilled, the stillness of a seasoned archer settling in. Feeling a bit of her self-control slip back into grasp, her mind was finally able to focus at it full capacity; she new what she had to do.
Turning towards the door, Clary jogged to her door, disappearing into the hallway, silently praying that she wasn't already too late.
No amount of sword training or hours spent studying tactical advantages and strategies could have prepared Simon for what was happening before him. He supposed that nothing could ever truly prepare someone for battle, but the chaos around him was certainly something he would have never truly understood until coming face-to-face with it.
Bodies littered the halls, men, women and children, their eyes looking back at him, the light of life diminished from their faces forever. He kept his eyes forward as he ran through the halls, searching for his best friend, but the smell, the smell of blood, permeated the air and threatened to double him over as he spilled the meager contents of his already churning stomach.
He tried to focus on finding Clary, but something in the back of his head kept gnawing at the surface. Something wasn't right here, well, something other than the castle being overran by the pagans.
Simon slowed, coming to a hallway filled with men fighting each other, some in metallic, shining armor, the crests of kingdom close and far etched into their chests, while others wore more earthy tones, their clothing resembling sheep cloth and other furs. Pagans.
However, and this was very ironic, the fact that his fellow countrymen and allies were fighting the pagans wasn't the strangest thing going on at the present moment. In a couple of instances, Simon had realized that Northumbrian knights were becoming increasingly entangled in small skirmishes with knights from Mercia.
Simon stopped dead in his tracks as a single name crossed his mind, Sebastian. Could he really be so calculating and cold to use the threat of an invading pagan army to his advantage, hoping to steal the kingdom of Northumbria while it was under attack?
Simon scoffed to himself, as if the thought needed to be answered. Of course it was well within the realm of possible actions taken by the dark prince. Sebastian was diabolical and cruel, conniving and evil. He'd use any advantage he had to take what he wanted.
Simon's eyes widened in horror. "Clary," he whispered, his breath catching in his throat as her name flitted across her mind. He wants Clary.
Using the fear for his friend's safety, Simon let the thought of getting to her soon, propel him forward, doubling his speed and effort to get to her. He was making good time, swerving around small skirmishes in the hallways, careful not to engage in any battles; he wasn't stupid enough to think his skills with a sword could outmatch any man here today.
His worrying thoughts nearly blinded him to the group of Mercian soldiers walking in a huddle towards him. He brushed up against the wall, hoping they would pass him without noticing him, letting him skim by as he searched for Clary.
If the soldiers had noticed him, they didn't acknowledge him. Exhaling a breath he hadn't known he was holding, Simon turned to start running again, but a flash of red stilled him in his tracks.
Turing with wide eyes, fearing that the enemy had caught his best friend, he felt a cold rush zip through his body. Before he was thinking clearly, Simon cleared his throat.
"Halt in the name of the King," he said, his voice a little shaky, but held with enough fake authority that he hoped that maybe he had a slight chance of them listening to him. What he was going to do after they "halted" he didn't know, but he was thinking on the fly, one step at a time, something Clary had told him repeatedly that he wasn't very good at. He let her do all the quick thinking as they grew up, sometimes it getting them in trouble and sometimes it got them out of trouble. Right now, it was up to him.
Noticing that the guards hadn't even stumbled at his command, Simon jogged so that he could walk next to them.
"I said—" he started, but was interrupted when a feminine voice called out between the soldiers.
"Simon?" the voice said and he immediately recognized it as Clary's mother, Queen Jocelyn.
"My lady?" Simon choked, having to walk briskly to keep up with the long strides of the guards, "What's going on? Do you need help?"
"No, Simon, listen to me," her voice growing high with concern, "You have to find Clary. She isn't safe, Simon. You have to find her."
Simon slowed his pacing as he watched the guards drag his queen away, his honor as a future knight warring with his duty as a best friend.
"What about you?" he called, taking a few steps in his direction. Clary would never forgive him if something happened to her.
"I'll be fine, Simon," she yelled over her shoulder, "Just find Clary and run. GO!"
Simon swiveled on his heel, the urgency to find his friend nearly sending him into a blind panic. Things were so much worse than he had feared and he'd thought he had pretty much pegged tonight as the worse night of his life. It turns out, this night was going to be one of the longest as well.
Quickly growing frustrated by the amount of time it was taking her to find her parents, Clary eased herself around yet another corner, using the shadows of the walls to conceal her presence as small battles were raged all around her. She quickly sent a thank you to God, perhaps for the first time ever, thanking him for her small stature, which allowed her maneuver through the shadows undetected.
Finding her parents was her first priority, and using the guards that were no doubt surrounding and protecting them, then and only then would she turn her thoughts to engaging in battle. Though she knew she would have to convince her parents to help, she knew it was something that she had to do.
When her mind finally caught up with what she was seeing in front of her, Clary stopped dead in her tracks, her next breath firmly lodged in her chest. Her mouth dried immediately as she watched the small skirmish take place in front of her, the sounds of metal clashing against metal, sparks flying in different directions.
She recognized three of the fighters as her own, each of them proudly displaying her family's crest on their blood splattered armor, not to mention her families forgotten banner on the ground.
However, it was the three foreign invaders that pulled her attention, and seemingly stopped her body in every way possible, save from the rapid beating of her heart, otherwise she remained perfectly still, her fear planting her feet in her place.
The three foreigners, based on their apparel and homemade weapons, fought for the pagans, but that wasn't the most bizarre and dangerously intriguing thing about the trio. To Clary's astonishment and, to be honest, a hint of intrigue, the three young people fought with the charisma and balance of a team. They worked as a team cutting down the men in their paths one by one. It would almost be poetic if Clary hadn't grown up around these men, knew their wives and children.
Still, she couldn't seem to move a single inch of her body, seemingly frozen to her spot as she watched the chaos ensue. Her eyes fell immediately to the two dark headed figures- one male and one female. They raven dark hair, tall statue, and blue eyes were strikingly similar, leading Clary to believe that they were somehow related.
The older male constantly had his eyes on the younger woman, seemingly watching out for her, but to Clary, it seemed as though the girl, probably a year older than her, could handle herself just fine. She wielded her weapon against her opponents as if it were a mere extension of her arm. A brief moment of jealously and awe ran through Clary, wishing that she'd had this type of training, but the moments she stole to work on her sword skill or archery, were eons short of the grace and fluidity the dark-haired girl presented in front of her.
Clary's eyes shift to the other male in her room and suddenly her eyes grew even larger. She recognized him instantly, it was him, the one from the archery contrast. She remembered those eyes, their brilliant shade of gold, giving lightness to his eyes that she had never seen before. His movements were fluid and calculating, besting his opponents one by one. He seemed to enjoy it as a smile was plastered to his blood splattered face.
The dimly lit chandelier feet above them made his blonde hair glow, reminding Clary of an avenging angel sent her to purge the world of all its evil. It was ironic, since his very existence was the epitome of evil.
Clary was immediately pulled from her thoughts when all noise in the room disappeared. Her mind pulling from her thoughts, registering what her eyes were seeing before her, she swallowed audibly. Three pairs of eyes, two blue and one gold, were staring back at her, the bodies of her countrymen at their feet.
It's as if time stood still, the breath she took into her lungs seeming as though it took years to exhale. She couldn't move if she wanted to. The logical part of her mind was telling her to run, but something was blocking the command from her legs and so she stood there, her eyes wide in fear, her hands shaking.
Jace studied the young, red head. He hadn't heard her approach them as they fought, a note of annoyance brush over him at the thought of leaving him, Alec and Izzy vulnerable. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Eyeing the girl, standing there, he saw the way she stood, facing them, bow in hand. She didn't immediately take aim at them, which was intriguing in itself, but they way her eyes flashed before him, the green irises darkening, caught his attention.
He felt a smile turn the corners of his mouth upward, she's afraid of us. As well as she should be, he thought, he knew that with Alec and Izzy beside him, the trio was a formidable foe- especially for some palace princess with a bow and some sticks.
He took a step towards her, unsure of what he was going to do once he closed the distance to her, but still took the step just the same. However, it was the only step he took before an arrow was knocked into place and aimed at his chest.
He stilled, not missing the knocking of another bow, Alec's, just over his shoulder, no doubt pointed back at the one pointed at him.
Jace shifted his gaze from the arrow leveled at his chest returning to the green eyes before and was startled to see the resolve behind them. Gone was the look of fear behind her gaze and in its stead, stood determination and maybe a tinge of rage, darkening her irises into an emerald green. He couldn't move his eyes from her's, mesmerized by the change he saw before him. She was a fighter; he could admire that about her. Useless against him and his partners, but he could respect her on putting up a fight.
Not taking his eyes off of the archer before him, Jace turned his head to the left, shaking his head, signaling for Alec to drop his aim. Jace didn't miss the grunt of frustration slip from Alec's mouth, or the muttering under his breath, but he was pleased to hear the loosening of the bow's string over his shoulder. He turned his full attention back to the girl in front of him, expecting her to lower her arrow in good faith as he had just ordered Alec to do, but to his amusement, her posture remained straight and poised, ready to let the arrow fly at a moments notice.
Not taking her eyes from the boy she had her arrow trained on, in her periphery she saw the older, dark-haired boy lower his arrow. A moment of irritation flashed through her mind. Surely these brutes wouldn't surrender so easily would they? No, that couldn't be it. Could it be that the golden-haired boy didn't see her as a threat?
Clary had to physically restrain herself from rolling her eyes. She was tired of people, mostly men, underestimating her because she dared to be born a girl. She with that thought, she kept her stance planted to the spot and kept her arrow pointed at the young boy's chest.
His eyes bored into her's and she felt as if he could see directly passed her fake façade of bravery. He gaze slid over her form as if he was gauging whether or not her arrow would hit it's target or not, but still, his eyes on her were beginning to make her weak in the knees and that really pissed her off. So what if he was gorgeous to look at? He was a murderous, godless man and he deserved to be put down for the death and chaos he had brought down on her home this very night.
As if sensing the train of her thoughts, she watched as the boys eyes grew a shade brighter, his mouth quirking up in the corners, a smirk forming on his stupid, beautiful face. Temper flaring, Clary did the only thing she could at that precise moment (okay maybe not, but she had to wipe that smirk off his face).
Simultaneously exhaling, Clary relinquished the arrow from its notched, the arrow buzzing straight for its intended target. Its as if time stood still for the second time that night, as she watched the arrow pierce the air honing in closer and closer. Her heart skipped a beat; a brief moment of clarity nearly choking her when she realized this could be the night that she kills her first person. Something cold and dirty claws in the pit of her stomach, but all of her senses are trained on him.
In a flash, quicker than her mind can follow, the blonde haired boy knocks the arrow away from its original trajectory. The only sound in the room is the clanging of her arrow hitting the ground and her rough breathing. She just stares at him for another minute, unsure of what to do next. She desperately begs for her fight or flight response to kick in, desperate to have some sort of action to focus on, anything, she can't stand here any longer under his unwavering gaze.
Gold irises fell on her's once again, this time with slight amusement and curiosity, that same damn smirk on his face, his devilishly handsome face. Its not until he takes another step forwards, that Clary is able to move her limbs voluntarily again.
Before she fully registers his renewed advancement on her, she knocked another arrow into her bow, her drawing hand lightly resting on her cheek, poised for another round of shooting. This one wouldn't miss her target; she wouldn't let it.
"That's far enough," she muttered, her own voice, low and firm, sounding foreign to her own ears, but she didn't let it show on her face. She kept her eyes trained on the boy who came to a brief stop, looking back at her quizzically.
Clary briefly calculated her odds at taking at least one of them out before they pounced on her and new that the odds weren't in her favor. Not only were the boy's reflexes remarkably fast, but just by the shear talent and expertise they exerted in their fighting capabilities left her firmly in the notion that her luck was the absolute worst. Still, she had to hope that there was some justice to be done here; someone had to pay for the lives taken today. She wanted it to be here to give a little bit of that justice to these heathens, even if that meant never seeing her family again. As her mother had told her, sometimes we have a bigger duty to our people than the hopes and dreams that they harbor for themselves.
Jace was growing more amused with the young woman before him the more he studied her, her stubbornness in the face of certain death, one of the most intriguing things about her. He had half expected her to turn tail and run as soon as they had acknowledged her presence, but as soon as the initial shock and fear had washed away, a warrior, someone with a lot of fight in them stood before him, and that's all he needed to know.
Jace couldn't help the smile crossing his face, something that he was sure to piss her off anymore. It hadn't escaped him that his smirk earlier, might have been the tipping element that initially sent the first arrow flying. Typical woman, his smirk was both a blessing and a curse when it came to the opposite sex.
"Are you sure you want to try that again, woman?" he asked, nodding his head towards the arrow, trained once again at his chest. He had no fear of the arrow trained at him. She was a good shot, but the momentum behind the arrow was typical of an archer who wasn't properly trained, therefor allowing his quick reflexes to block any of her blows.
When the women narrowed her eyes at him, he continued, "It didn't work out so well the last time." He watched amused as green eyes darkened in her anger and could only smile wider in return. He enjoyed pissing her off, he thought, it was fun. She had so much passion just in the small pupils of her eyes and it fascinated him.
"Shut up," the woman scowled, her anger stirring something in him that he couldn't quite name.
Jace's eyes narrowed in thought, pressing his lips in a line of mock thought, "But how would we discuss you surrender if we cannot converse?" The fakeness in his own tone grating against his own ears, but he was having entirely too much fun.
"This is the only communication you'll get from me," Clary muttered, sending the second arrow hurtling towards his chest. She should have expected it, but when the infuriating boy knocked the second arrow from its target, Clary had to restrain herself from stomping her foot like a child and sticking her tongue out at him.
Watching as the trio advanced on her, Clary took another arrow from her back, training it on her, an idea forming in her head.
"By the gods, woman," the golden haired boy muttered in disbelief, "Give it up. You're outnumbered and out-skilled. Surrender."
"Never," Clary muttered and with a flash of movement, trained her finely tipped arrow towards the ceiling. Letting the arrow fly, all the eyes in the room swung upwards as the arrow cut through the single chain link, holding the very heavy chandelier to the ceiling. Instantly, the single light source in the hall was extinguished, plunging the space into darkness, the threat of a heavy chandelier falling towards the trio below.