The fighting on the battlefields had ended. Lord Raul of Goldenlake and
Malorie's Peak stood before the king of Tortall and Lord Wyldon. He shook
with anger and grief and worry. "What did you say?" He murmured, half
hoping he'd dreamed their tale.
"The camp is completely wiped out. The walls have been burned or knocked down, the fields burned, the houses ransacked, and there are hundreds of dead, but we have found that many of the women and children are missing; including Keladry of Mindelan." The king sighed heavily as he got up from his chair, wearily. Raul stood still, letting the news poleax him. He couldn't breath. All those dead, and Keladry was missing.
Suddenly, at the thought of Keladry and the few survivors being taken as prisoners, he turned and strode quickly to the king, his hands coming up and moving as he lined out his plans. "Well, if there are missing bodies, there must be survivors, which mean prisoners, which mean we can rescue them." He was pacing.
Lord Wyldon's eyes narrowed. He recognized the movements of a desperate man. He felt that same worry, that same tangible urge to rush to the saddle and ride out and wrest the refugees from the Scanran's grasp. But the plan Raul lined out was detailed and as he continued to line out the finer points of his ideas, both Wyldon and King Jonathen began to believe that they could save the refugees.
The plan was outlined and approved, however, the king frowned down his nose at the now seated Raul. "Only volunteer fighters can accompany you. The war itself is over, I do not want to have to send those young men and women back out into the fields for a handful of people on a seemingly foolhardy ideal." Raul rose and grinned, bowed.
"I assure you, Jonathen, most of those young men and women will be. You may not understand how important Keladry is, sire. She's a friend and comrade to almost everyone of those soldiers out there. If you'll excuse me." Raul bowed.
Wyldon turned to the king. "As you said, my lord, this war is over. I wish to accompany Lord Raul and his followers on this mission. If you'll excuse me." Bowing low, he left the tent. Leaving a worried king in his wake.
The Scanran commander strode before Keladry. She was chained to a great structure, wrists and ankles, both, shackled. She could stand and she could take only three steps forward before the chains rattled and she had to strain to move any further. He grinned wickedly as she tried again and again to yank the chains from their holding points. She kicked at the large wooden structure. Hissing at the pain and in anger that the wood barely shook she turned and glared at the commander.
His name was Haelgrg. He was ruthless and hateful and he loved breaking his enemy commanders. He had heard much about this Keladry of Mindelan, and he had ordered his men to capture the weaklings of the encampment, so he could watch her crumble.
Haelgrg turned on his heel and shouted, clapping his hands in quick time fashion. The women and children were led out of their cells. Turning back, he watched with an evil glee as Keladry's face lit up and she strained more against the chains. He would admit to himself that her muscles were impressive. Keladry slowed and stopped, choosing to stand there and wait for whatever this little, greasy man did. Her face turned from desperate and joyful to Yamani smooth.
And that smoothness, Haelgrg swore, would crumble. And it did. He had the refugees forced inside a circle, surrounded by Scanran soldiers. He sneered as the mothers shielded their children from the warriors as best they could. Haelgrg gave one quick smirk Keladry's way, and raised his hand and shouted in fast Scanran dialogue that sounded to the Tortallans as babble. His hand dropped, and the execution began.
Oh, her mask crumbled alright. She screamed, she strained against the chains, she beat at the structure that held her until her hands bled and her muscles quivered. She attempted to strain one more time, as the last child screamed, and fell to her knees. As her tears began to fall from her glazed and broken eyes, the rain did, too.
The sky darkened and water fell from angry clouds. The commander whistled and his troops backed off, into their sheltered homes. He sneered once more, and then walked away, towards his own home. They would leave Keladry there, in the rain, in the cold, with the dead, until she too, died.
Keladry didn't notice the rain. She stared at the pale faces of the dead. She had worked with those women. She had joked with them, laughed with them, taught them to protect themselves from overenthusiastic suitors. She simply stared. The water dripped down her face, fresh and salt water mixing, tears and rain. The pale hand of a young girl, maybe 8 years of age, was only a few feet away from her. She couldn't reach it. She couldn't touch it and will it back to life. She couldn't close those dead eyes. But she could cry.
And she did.
"The camp is completely wiped out. The walls have been burned or knocked down, the fields burned, the houses ransacked, and there are hundreds of dead, but we have found that many of the women and children are missing; including Keladry of Mindelan." The king sighed heavily as he got up from his chair, wearily. Raul stood still, letting the news poleax him. He couldn't breath. All those dead, and Keladry was missing.
Suddenly, at the thought of Keladry and the few survivors being taken as prisoners, he turned and strode quickly to the king, his hands coming up and moving as he lined out his plans. "Well, if there are missing bodies, there must be survivors, which mean prisoners, which mean we can rescue them." He was pacing.
Lord Wyldon's eyes narrowed. He recognized the movements of a desperate man. He felt that same worry, that same tangible urge to rush to the saddle and ride out and wrest the refugees from the Scanran's grasp. But the plan Raul lined out was detailed and as he continued to line out the finer points of his ideas, both Wyldon and King Jonathen began to believe that they could save the refugees.
The plan was outlined and approved, however, the king frowned down his nose at the now seated Raul. "Only volunteer fighters can accompany you. The war itself is over, I do not want to have to send those young men and women back out into the fields for a handful of people on a seemingly foolhardy ideal." Raul rose and grinned, bowed.
"I assure you, Jonathen, most of those young men and women will be. You may not understand how important Keladry is, sire. She's a friend and comrade to almost everyone of those soldiers out there. If you'll excuse me." Raul bowed.
Wyldon turned to the king. "As you said, my lord, this war is over. I wish to accompany Lord Raul and his followers on this mission. If you'll excuse me." Bowing low, he left the tent. Leaving a worried king in his wake.
The Scanran commander strode before Keladry. She was chained to a great structure, wrists and ankles, both, shackled. She could stand and she could take only three steps forward before the chains rattled and she had to strain to move any further. He grinned wickedly as she tried again and again to yank the chains from their holding points. She kicked at the large wooden structure. Hissing at the pain and in anger that the wood barely shook she turned and glared at the commander.
His name was Haelgrg. He was ruthless and hateful and he loved breaking his enemy commanders. He had heard much about this Keladry of Mindelan, and he had ordered his men to capture the weaklings of the encampment, so he could watch her crumble.
Haelgrg turned on his heel and shouted, clapping his hands in quick time fashion. The women and children were led out of their cells. Turning back, he watched with an evil glee as Keladry's face lit up and she strained more against the chains. He would admit to himself that her muscles were impressive. Keladry slowed and stopped, choosing to stand there and wait for whatever this little, greasy man did. Her face turned from desperate and joyful to Yamani smooth.
And that smoothness, Haelgrg swore, would crumble. And it did. He had the refugees forced inside a circle, surrounded by Scanran soldiers. He sneered as the mothers shielded their children from the warriors as best they could. Haelgrg gave one quick smirk Keladry's way, and raised his hand and shouted in fast Scanran dialogue that sounded to the Tortallans as babble. His hand dropped, and the execution began.
Oh, her mask crumbled alright. She screamed, she strained against the chains, she beat at the structure that held her until her hands bled and her muscles quivered. She attempted to strain one more time, as the last child screamed, and fell to her knees. As her tears began to fall from her glazed and broken eyes, the rain did, too.
The sky darkened and water fell from angry clouds. The commander whistled and his troops backed off, into their sheltered homes. He sneered once more, and then walked away, towards his own home. They would leave Keladry there, in the rain, in the cold, with the dead, until she too, died.
Keladry didn't notice the rain. She stared at the pale faces of the dead. She had worked with those women. She had joked with them, laughed with them, taught them to protect themselves from overenthusiastic suitors. She simply stared. The water dripped down her face, fresh and salt water mixing, tears and rain. The pale hand of a young girl, maybe 8 years of age, was only a few feet away from her. She couldn't reach it. She couldn't touch it and will it back to life. She couldn't close those dead eyes. But she could cry.
And she did.