So, um. I hope to have 2 chapters every month. If not, I give you permission to email me repeatedly until I produce another chapter, unless I have limited access to a computer or am out of the country. Best Regards CDL. Enjoy!
Betrayal. It was an interesting concept. One Alanna, formally of Trebond, was not unfamiliar with, and yet, she was unable to deny the pain that accompanied being the victim of it. Choking back a sob, she urged Moonlight onwards, out of the palace and into the thundering storm. Riding down the Palace Road and crossing onto Market Way, she hugged her cloak tighter to her face lest anyone see who she was, not that anyone would be out on a night like this.
Pushing Moonlight faster, she rode on through the night along the Great Road East, heading for Tusaine. Whenever she came upon a lone traveller, Alanna would slow down and gently ease her mare past them and continue on.
It was well past noon when she finally asked Moonlight to halt. The mare gratefully slowed, her sides heaving and her flanks lathered with sweat. Sliding down from the saddle, a weary Alanna clung to Moonlight's mane in order to keep herself steady.
Wiping her hair out of her face, Alanna examined the road ahead. She had reached the Tortallan-Tusaine border. All through the night she had rode her faithful mare hard and with little rest. Often she had dismounted and ran through the piercing rain, dragging her horse behind her, trying to save some of Moonlight's energy. Faithful had clung to the special cup on her saddle without saying a word and for that she was thankful.
Her legs dragging, Alanna slowly stumbled closer to the border, and, as she approached, the guards turned her way and placed hands on their weapons. Keeping her hood covering her face, Alanna lugged the reluctant Moonlight along behind her.
Reaching the guards, Alanna tiredly reached into her shirt, unaware of the tightening of hands on weapons, and pulled out a scroll with the royal seal marked on it. Handing it to the nearest guard, she slumped against Moonlight while the sentries shifted around her. Upon seeing the royal seal that graced the parchment, the guards turned and yelled an order to get the commander.
Alanna stood unmoving as her vision wavered and she swayed on her feet. The commander, a balding man with blue eyes, walked up to her and glanced at the scroll in his hand. He had received orders directly from King Roald about what was to be done with the adolescent before him. Scratching his head, he asked if the teenager knew what was in the parchment. Alanna stared at him blankly, sure he was speaking, but she was unable to hear the words. "I have to leave," she finally slurred.
The commander sighed; the youngster was dead on his feet. He began yelling orders for the horse to be seen to, and the cat and the boy who blinked at him, his purple eyes droopy, to be cared for. At his command, the men-at-arms jumped into action. One leaned down to take Moonlight's reins and had to pry them from Alanna's stiff grasp.
A soldier, his polished armour gleaming in the sunlight, leaned down and swiftly picked Alanna up, wincing at how cold she was. Carrying her into the barracks, he took her to a room and laid her on the bed. "Your saddlebags will be bought up shortly," he said as he exited the room after shooting her a puzzled glance.
Alanna mumbled something in reply, closed her eyes, and fell into a fitful sleep.
The commander stared at his desk and then looked at the parchment again. Sighing, he poured himself a glass of the finest wine from a bottle next to the stacks of paperwork on his desk. Taking a swig, he re-read the orders signed by the king's own hand.
Commander Brophy, Great Road East Barracks, Tusaine-Tortallan border:
You are herby ordered to escort the rider who bears this scroll across the border without detection. Should said rider attempt to re-enter the Tortallan borders within the next few weeks, you are ordered to attack and kill said rider if you cannot chase aforementioned rider off. Once you have completed this task, send confirmation.
Signed,
King Roald of Tortall.
Brophy sighed and took another swig from his glass, draining it. Why would King Roald order the banishment of one of the most famed squires in the Eastern lands? For if he was not mistaken, the youth on the horse was none other than Alan of Trebond, squire to the prince!
Brophy sighed; maybe he could glean some information from the lad in the morning. Taking a gulp from the wine bottle, Commander Brophy pondered long into the night as to why Squire Alan was to be exiled.
Rising with the dawn, as he always did, Brophy readied himself for the new day and the many unanswered questions he had formed the night before. Moving into the mess hall, he saw a small-cloaked figure sitting alone in the corner, enduring the distrustful glances thrown his way.
Sitting down in front of Alan of Trebond, he waited for the lad to speak. When the boy spoke, his voice was hoarse as though he had been crying.
"So, I suppose they told you about me?" he asked staring at his uneaten food.
"Told me about what?" Commander Brophy inquired, intrigued.
Alan looked quickly up at him, his eyes red. Yes, the lad had been crying. "Nothing."
Brophy cleared his throat and met the glances his men shot towards Alan. Picking up his eating utensils, he began to cram food into his mouth.
"I am to be banished for seven years," Alan said suddenly, moving his food around his plate. "And if and when I return, I am to be treated as a dignitary form another realm."
Brophy paused, slowly swallowing his mouthful. Moistening his lips, he dared to press, "What did you do?"
Alan's head jerked up "Do?" He asked raising his voice. "Do? All I did was follow my dream. All I did was please my teachers and save Prince Jonathan countless times!"
Brophy noticed his men turning toward Alan, hands flying to hilts as the hatred and anger in Alan's voice reached the men as Alan spat out his knightmaster's name.
"And for what?" Alan was screaming now, his voice filled with rage and loathing. "He would be dead if I hadn't saved him! And this is how they repay me?" The lad's fists clenched on the tabletop and the troops began to move forward. "Well, Mithros curse them! Curse the lot of them!" At his final outburst, there were angry mutterings around the men and the jostling of bodies as they moved closer still.
"Easy lad." Commander Brophy leaned over and forced the standing squire to sit once more. "Yelling gets you nothing except a loss of air."
"Sorry," Alan mumbled, lowering his eyes.
Brophy shrugged and then told him not to worry when he saw Alan wasn't looking. Sighing, he went on, "We are to sneak you across the border today, and then you are on your own."
The hooded head nodded and remained bowed. "I know," the lad whispered, sounding alone and scared.
Brophy nodded and then got to his feet. "Come on, lad. Let's get you ready."
Alan nodded and got to his feet placing his black cat on his shoulder and followed him out.
As the horse approached the barracks from across the border, the men-at-arms readied their weapons and sent for the commander. Looking through the telescope, Commander Brophy sighed and signalled "friend" to his men.
It had been a week since he had snuck Squire Alan, his unnatural cat, and his horse across the border. Now that same horse cantered wearily towards the Tortallan troops, rider-less and blood stained. A man grabbed Moonlight's reins and the horse stood still, its head lowered, exhausted. Running forward toward the mare, Brophy saw Squire Alan's cat, clinging petrified to the saddle; it too was covered in blood.
As he got closer, he saw the saddle had rips in it and around the girth there were amputated fingers between the strap and the horse. The saddlebags remained on the horse and the weapons' sheaths were all empty. Brophy turned to a man and ordered him to see to the mare and another to the cat before he spun and walked into his quarters. Poor lad, he thought, realizing that Alan of Trebond was probably dead.
King Roald looked across at his son and his friends. Gary gripped Raoul's shoulder as he glared at the Jonathan and the King in turn, tears welling in his eyes. King Roald continued reading.
"Horse returned rider-less and blood stained...Weapons were missing and only cat returned… No trace...couldn't find the body..."
Jonathan felt sick. It was all his fault that Alanna was dead. He felt like crying, but he would not-could not- shed a tear in front of his father and friends. Swallowing, he gazed out the window as a part of him withered and died. Turning abruptly, he stalked out of the room, guilt welling in him as he briefly met Raoul and Gary's eyes.
Walking into the stable, he walked aimlessly along the stalls until he came to the one with a mare the color of the sands to the south and the snow in winter, Moonlight. Entering the stall, he buried his face in her mane and cried, silent sobs racking his body. He had unintentionally killed the only woman he had ever fallen in love with.
In the middle of a slavers' camp, a woman silently cried, tears falling down her cheeks. Gulping, she wiped them away, wincing as her chains rattled and clinked with her movement.
Curling up to protect her wounded side, she dripped further tears into the earth. Her copper hair cropped short to her ears and her amethyst eyes full of fire, she silently swore revenge and an eternal hatred of the person she believed responsible for her pain. Her former knight master, friend, and lover, Prince Jonathan of Conté.