Chapter 3; Brightmoon paling
An angry genesis of daylight arrived; a sky besmirched in the colors of summer, shades of pestilence, yellow and green painted the horizon in disease ridden hues before yielding the heavens up to a brilliant but no less wretched blue.
Dawn, the favorite time of day for the rebels. Each offering the promise of rebirth and new hope. This dawn was different however, for hope was conspicuously absent
A muggy, moisture hung in the air, stale moldy droplets of misery and the stench was gagging. Angella surveyed her city Brightmoon outside the castle walls, her eyes heavy with unbridled worry and sorrow. More refugees crowded into the jewel of the northern continent each day, fleeing their homes in the countryside, fearful of Onyx's rage. The refuse this many people encumbered coupled with the fact that many of them were uneducated and refused to wash made her fair home reek of human waste. She had her soldiers out Ordering mass communal baths and conscripting refugees into cleaning the streets but her people simply could not keep up with the strain the refugees were putting on the city. Food was in short supply as was patience.
A hollow knock echoed resoundingly through her throne room and she stood, raising her chin with a defiant energy she did not feel. It would not do to have any one of her people see the depths of her dejection.
"You may enter." She called majestically, hands fisting at her sides, resting lightly on her slender hips. The large ornately scrollworked doors were pulled outward by her guards and General Gawain entered, his blue helmet under his arm, keeping his eyes to the ground, he knelt at the feet of his queen.
"Majesty, our scouts have returned. It is as you feared." Angella tried keeping her face impassive, even as her heart sank and the last shreds of hope fled. Gently, she clasped his shoulder in a firm grip meant to offer courage.
"Rise, General, and report." Gawain stood, raising amber eyes to the queen he served, they shone with anger and sorrow.
"Legis and Riley are wounded, but they report Glendale has fallen. The entire command wiped out to a man." Angella gasped in spite of herself. There had been a full contingent of Brightmoonian soldiers to reinforce the militia at Glendale. General Gawain looked away, discomfort in his stance at his queens distress. Nevertheless he continued. "Many of the survivors were staked out on the roads between Brightmoon and the cities; Strathmoore, Thaymoore and Glendale, but your daughter Glimmer hounds Onyx's troops, nipping at their heels, costing them time and manpower. Her forces release as many captives as Onyx leaves behind on the roads." The pride the General felt for his princess was evident in his voice. Angella smiled through her tears.
She wondered briefly how her daughter was doing, it had been a full cycle of the moon since their last meeting, much had changed.
"Tell me of the refugees." She commanded, her voice husky. Turning from her general, walking to the window she gazed on her city as he spoke, not wishing him to witness her moment of weakness as yearning for her daughter ripped through her, tearing at her defenses, leaving her emotionally ragged. Gawain's deep voice droned on, reverberating through the chambers.
"Tempers are frayed, majesty, people worry. With all the refugees piling in, the water is turning bad. Food is in short supply. People leaving the city are captured by Horde forces outside the city walls. Brightmoon is under siege my lady." His voice cracked at this last part, as if he himself could not believe the dire straits to which his city had fallen.
She sighed. She could not afford to share her pain. This man needed assurances. Turning a piercing gaze on him, all her uncertainty and concern hidden, she stepped forward, projecting an air of confidence she did not wholly feel.
"Worry not Captain aid is coming. I have received word from Netossa that the Unicorn King is sending two of his people to purify our waters. As you know, Unicorns have magical powers that we humans do not fully understand but one of them is the ability to purify water. As for the food, Madame Razz is looking into that very matter herself and I assure you the shortage will not last long. And the refugees-" Angella sighed softly, "Brightmoon has long been a bastion of hope for those who wish to be free, we can not turn our own people away." Gawain still seemed troubled.
"This is indeed reassuring tidings majesty, yet the water is so fouled now my troops have been hard pressed to keep the people from rioting. Is there nothing that can be done now?" Angella closed her eyes, raising her fingers to massage her temples.
"I believe I can purify the waters of the Singing River. Strengthen the forces on the southern wall. The majority of my powers have been focused on strengthening our defenses against the Attacks of the horde there. They have catapults, General and flaming pitch. When I clean the river my powers will lose cohesion on the wall. You must keep the horde from punching through our defenses. I will be unable to help you while I am concentrating my power else where."
The man looked relieved. "It will be as you say my Queen."
"Very well. Inform the people of my decision." General Gawain bowed low, his hand thumping his heart as he did so before whirling smartly on his heel and leaving to carry out her orders. His footfalls echoed loudly in Angella's ears. She was so tired. Yet she was unable to rest. Returning to her spot in the window, allowing her shoulders to fall, Brightmoon's monarch inhaled a deep weary breath. It would be at least an hour yet before she could relieve her powers from the south wall and purify the cities water supply. Gawain's words echoed in her mind.
We are a city under siege… any caught leaving the city are captured…
That included any refugees turned away at the gates.
None were turned away. Her shoulders slumped in sorrowful gloom. If things didn't change soon, Brightmoon would fall. She sat in the window with one knee drawn up in her arms, her wings folding over her body as if to protect it from the pain in her heart, her cheek resting in exhaustion on her leg. Her eyes glistened with futile tears she would not shed. She learned long ago the uselessness of crying; when the horde stole her husband she cried then she was forced to rule alone in his absence. She did not cry again.
When she was captured by the Horde and given to Hunga she did not cry, when Hunga had her tortured and beaten, she did not cry, when the foul creature taunted her with the fate of her people, her city, her castle in the hands of the Horde, she did not cry. When Adora returned to the Horde as Onyx she did not cry. This time it would be no different. The sorrow was there, inside of her, and there it would remain.
She hoped Glimmer was alright. She closed her eyes seeking strength for the task to come.
An angry genesis of daylight arrived; a sky besmirched in the colors of summer, shades of pestilence, yellow and green painted the horizon in disease ridden hues before yielding the heavens up to a brilliant but no less wretched blue.
Dawn, the favorite time of day for the rebels. Each offering the promise of rebirth and new hope. This dawn was different however, for hope was conspicuously absent
A muggy, moisture hung in the air, stale moldy droplets of misery and the stench was gagging. Angella surveyed her city Brightmoon outside the castle walls, her eyes heavy with unbridled worry and sorrow. More refugees crowded into the jewel of the northern continent each day, fleeing their homes in the countryside, fearful of Onyx's rage. The refuse this many people encumbered coupled with the fact that many of them were uneducated and refused to wash made her fair home reek of human waste. She had her soldiers out Ordering mass communal baths and conscripting refugees into cleaning the streets but her people simply could not keep up with the strain the refugees were putting on the city. Food was in short supply as was patience.
A hollow knock echoed resoundingly through her throne room and she stood, raising her chin with a defiant energy she did not feel. It would not do to have any one of her people see the depths of her dejection.
"You may enter." She called majestically, hands fisting at her sides, resting lightly on her slender hips. The large ornately scrollworked doors were pulled outward by her guards and General Gawain entered, his blue helmet under his arm, keeping his eyes to the ground, he knelt at the feet of his queen.
"Majesty, our scouts have returned. It is as you feared." Angella tried keeping her face impassive, even as her heart sank and the last shreds of hope fled. Gently, she clasped his shoulder in a firm grip meant to offer courage.
"Rise, General, and report." Gawain stood, raising amber eyes to the queen he served, they shone with anger and sorrow.
"Legis and Riley are wounded, but they report Glendale has fallen. The entire command wiped out to a man." Angella gasped in spite of herself. There had been a full contingent of Brightmoonian soldiers to reinforce the militia at Glendale. General Gawain looked away, discomfort in his stance at his queens distress. Nevertheless he continued. "Many of the survivors were staked out on the roads between Brightmoon and the cities; Strathmoore, Thaymoore and Glendale, but your daughter Glimmer hounds Onyx's troops, nipping at their heels, costing them time and manpower. Her forces release as many captives as Onyx leaves behind on the roads." The pride the General felt for his princess was evident in his voice. Angella smiled through her tears.
She wondered briefly how her daughter was doing, it had been a full cycle of the moon since their last meeting, much had changed.
"Tell me of the refugees." She commanded, her voice husky. Turning from her general, walking to the window she gazed on her city as he spoke, not wishing him to witness her moment of weakness as yearning for her daughter ripped through her, tearing at her defenses, leaving her emotionally ragged. Gawain's deep voice droned on, reverberating through the chambers.
"Tempers are frayed, majesty, people worry. With all the refugees piling in, the water is turning bad. Food is in short supply. People leaving the city are captured by Horde forces outside the city walls. Brightmoon is under siege my lady." His voice cracked at this last part, as if he himself could not believe the dire straits to which his city had fallen.
She sighed. She could not afford to share her pain. This man needed assurances. Turning a piercing gaze on him, all her uncertainty and concern hidden, she stepped forward, projecting an air of confidence she did not wholly feel.
"Worry not Captain aid is coming. I have received word from Netossa that the Unicorn King is sending two of his people to purify our waters. As you know, Unicorns have magical powers that we humans do not fully understand but one of them is the ability to purify water. As for the food, Madame Razz is looking into that very matter herself and I assure you the shortage will not last long. And the refugees-" Angella sighed softly, "Brightmoon has long been a bastion of hope for those who wish to be free, we can not turn our own people away." Gawain still seemed troubled.
"This is indeed reassuring tidings majesty, yet the water is so fouled now my troops have been hard pressed to keep the people from rioting. Is there nothing that can be done now?" Angella closed her eyes, raising her fingers to massage her temples.
"I believe I can purify the waters of the Singing River. Strengthen the forces on the southern wall. The majority of my powers have been focused on strengthening our defenses against the Attacks of the horde there. They have catapults, General and flaming pitch. When I clean the river my powers will lose cohesion on the wall. You must keep the horde from punching through our defenses. I will be unable to help you while I am concentrating my power else where."
The man looked relieved. "It will be as you say my Queen."
"Very well. Inform the people of my decision." General Gawain bowed low, his hand thumping his heart as he did so before whirling smartly on his heel and leaving to carry out her orders. His footfalls echoed loudly in Angella's ears. She was so tired. Yet she was unable to rest. Returning to her spot in the window, allowing her shoulders to fall, Brightmoon's monarch inhaled a deep weary breath. It would be at least an hour yet before she could relieve her powers from the south wall and purify the cities water supply. Gawain's words echoed in her mind.
We are a city under siege… any caught leaving the city are captured…
That included any refugees turned away at the gates.
None were turned away. Her shoulders slumped in sorrowful gloom. If things didn't change soon, Brightmoon would fall. She sat in the window with one knee drawn up in her arms, her wings folding over her body as if to protect it from the pain in her heart, her cheek resting in exhaustion on her leg. Her eyes glistened with futile tears she would not shed. She learned long ago the uselessness of crying; when the horde stole her husband she cried then she was forced to rule alone in his absence. She did not cry again.
When she was captured by the Horde and given to Hunga she did not cry, when Hunga had her tortured and beaten, she did not cry, when the foul creature taunted her with the fate of her people, her city, her castle in the hands of the Horde, she did not cry. When Adora returned to the Horde as Onyx she did not cry. This time it would be no different. The sorrow was there, inside of her, and there it would remain.
She hoped Glimmer was alright. She closed her eyes seeking strength for the task to come.