"Well, then," said Mordreth, lowering his
voice, causing Gavin to quiver even more fearfully than before. "If
you don't have the information I seek, I don't have any use for you
anymore. You have until tomorrow afternoon to give me the information
I seek. Otherwise ... well, I'll leave it to you to imagine up what
I'm planning to do." The window was slammed shut and footsteps
were heard trudging away.
"You don't suppose he's going to give us seats of
honor in his parade tomorrow?" asked Leo, turning to his friend.
"Because that would be very fun."
"It would be, I'm sure ... but knowing Mordreth, it
would be a parade to our deaths!"
"You don't say? Well, then we ought to figure out a
way to escape before he has a chance to do so."
"And how do you plan to do that?"
"Haven't figured it out yet. No worries, though. We
have at least twelve hours before Mordreth's parade. We should have
plenty of time to figure out how to get out of here."
"Only twelve hours! Leo, there is no way to escape
Briton dungeons. No way!"
"That's what they said in the dungeons in Fronce,
too," said Leo, eating a bite of his gruel. "Now, be quiet
while I think. And eat up! We'll need our strength. Prison food may
be lousy, but it's what we have. No use complaining!"
"Dungeons in Fronce?" Gavin squeaked.
"Yes, now those were some dungeons. Be quiet."
Gavin fell silent and simply observed his friend, the
look on his face (if it had been visible in that dark cell) a mixture
of confusion, awe, and horror.
"You wouldn't happen to have fallen in love with
any young lady who might be able to arrange a soldier to play traitor
and let us go, now would you?" Leo suddenly spoke up.
"No ..."
"Ah, well I suppose not every young lady can be so
obliging. And, then again, falling in love with them is as good a way
into the dungeon as out. Now, where were we ... no, bribing the guard
is out of the question. We have nothing but gruel to call our own,
and I'm sure they have much better food in the soldier's quarters.
"There's no way that we'll be able to get out of
here!" Gavin moaned.
"That's what you think. That's what everyone
thinks. But I tell you, there's always a way out of every sticky
situation. You just have to be observant and look for it." Leo
frowned as he set his now-empty bowl to the side. "It's too bad
that Mordreth doesn't have any pretty daughters for us to charm. Only
that good for nothing Kew, and I really do not see him helping us.
And Prince Arthur's gone, of course, so that's out of the question."
"If Prince Arthur were here," said Gavin,
dryly, "We wouldn't be in the dungeon!"
"Good point," said Leo. "As I was saying,
we could always try to steal a key and unlock the door, but that can
be very tricky business, and it's very easy to get caught and then
where would we be? Probably talking about death sentences some more.
Honestly, I don't mind death sentences, it's all this talk of them
that annoys me."
- My Kingdom for a Quest
 |
| Via Pinterest |
The moment that
King Harold put a sword in Jyson's hands, he felt at ease. No queens
who knew more about yourself than you did yourself, or princesses who
look down their noses could be master over him. Not while he held a
sword.
“Well,
you certainly have a good stance,” said King Harold, approvingly.
“Now, let's see what you can do with it. Tomik?”
Tomik, the captain
of the guard, who would soon be captain over Samul and Jyson, ran
towards him, his own sword drawn. Jyson clicked instantly into fight
mode, raising his sword to meet Tomik's. He spun away, and made an
attack of his own, towards the legs. Tomik blocked it, but barely.
Taking a step
back, he prepared for the next attack, which proved to be a jab
towards the stomach. He stepped to the side, out of harm's way, and
returned a jab of his own.
Back and forth
they went, neither giving an inch. Jyson could tell he was wearing
Tomik down, however. It would only be a matter of time …
“That
is enough!”
The words cut into
his concentration for only a moment, but Tomik took a step back,
starting to sheath his sword. Jyson would have none of that, no one
should just step down from a fight. He launched himself forward …
“I
said, that is enough!” King Harold's voice thundered.
This time the
words penetrated into his understanding. Almost confused, he turned
to the king, unsure what to say … or even if he should say anything
at all. Maybe he should see how well he could fight. How …
“Jy,
put down the sword!” Samul's voice trickled in.
Jyson whirled on
his cousin, who seemed almost afraid. Perfect. He took a step nearer
…
“No,
Jy. Snap out of it! Put the sword down!”
“Jyson
son of Dular,” a third voice floated across the courtyard. A
woman's voice. Queen Blanche's. It was gentle, yet commanding. He
slowly turned, and saw her standing behind the fence that marked off
the area that was designated for weapons practice. “Now is not the
time to fight. Save your fire for the true enemy. Do not waste it
now. Not with friends.”
Jyson had no
choice. He dropped the sword. As it clattered to the ground, he came
back to his senses. Sheepishly, he turned to the king. “Uh sorry,
sire. I … got carried away.”
“You
are a fighter, Jyson,” said Queen Blanche. “I expected no less of
you. Your father would be proud to have a son who walks so close in
his footsteps. I know …” she suddenly broke off. Jyson turned
back towards her in surprise, and found that the expression she wore
was now pained. “No … I mustn’t think of the past,” she
whispered. “It is gone.” Her eyes fell onto her hands, which she
glared at for a moment before she looked back up. “His father was
very known for losing himself in a fight.”
“I
know,” said King Harold, thoughtfully. “He would have made a good
soldier but for the fact that he refused to take orders.”
“He
never had to before,” said she.
“Well,
Jyson,” said King Harold, turning back to Jyson. “I think I shall
take advantage of your skills, but I do not know how well you will do
as part of an army, but it is likely that you will do as poorly as
your father did. It may be a while before I find a task suited to
your unique talents.” He turned to Tomik. “Now, if you are not
too tired, do you mind if I ask you test the skills of his cousin? I
hear that he is not quite so … enthusiastic.” He bent down and
picked up the fallen sword and handed it to Samul.
Part of Jyson
tried to protest to this – that was his sword! – but he forced
himself to stand still. The king could do whatever he wanted to.
Right?
“I
think I could handle another fight, now that I have my breath again,”
said Tomik. “Shall we begin?” He drew his sword again.
Samul fought no
worse than he usually did, and very little better. Having already had
his own fight with Tomik, Jyson had already acquainted himself with
the captain's fighting style, so he soon lost interest in the fight,
and unconsciously drifted over towards the queen.
“You
fought well.” Her voice suddenly cut into his thoughts, causing him
to spin to face her again. “Do not believe for a moment that your
skill escaped my notice. I have not seen such a natural fighter in a
very long time … and yet your skills are unpolished. Ah, I would
that I could gain for you the instructors who taught Stardrana, but I
do not know if it is time for them to know of you.”
“Stardrana?”
repeated Jyson. “Who's he?”
Her mysterious
smile only made him more uncomfortable. “One whose future is, I
have no doubt, very entwined with yours.”
“What
do you mean?”
“No
questions now,” said she, shaking her head. “For I am not yet
permitted to give answer. Hopefully, soon, however all will make
sense.” With those words, she turned, her cape billowing around her
like a cloud, and walked away.
- 300 Dragons
“Nay,
I shalt not bury thee nor shall I ever!” declared Doranna, staring
up at the painting that sat opposite her bed. A painting of Grumadam,
the Evil Enchanter, the ugliest man she had ever laid eyes on, and
the worst mannered.
With a sigh, she hopped out of bed and marched over to the painting.
She stuck out her tongue at the hideous man, then pulled her
chalkboard over to cover him. She knew that it would only last a few
hours before it rolled back again, it always did, but she hated
having that man's eyes on hers … even if they were only paint.
Then
she walked over and rang a bell for her servant and sighed. After
28,439 days stuck at the top of this mountain, her daily routine was
starting to get a little boring … okay, maybe it wasn't starting
to. It
WAS boring.
“What
would you like to wear today, milady?” asked Maria, entering the
room.
“Oh,
how about the growing chest?” she said. “I have a pretty day
ahead of me, so I need something radical.”
“What
dost thou plan to do?”
“Oh,
read Fibonacci’s
Rabbits for
the one thousand and fiftieth time, discover the one hundredth
twenty-third place in pi, roam the garter, talk with my birds, and,
if I can squeeze it in, boredly watch as quinces try to rescue me.”
“Ah,
thou dost have a busy day ahead of thee! I hope that thou mayest get
it all done!”
Doranna sighed. “Well, if I get started at once, I just might!”
She glanced at the mirror for a moment, trying to perfect her
expression of complete and utter boredom, but instead burst into
laughter. Maria soon joined her, shaking her head in amusement.
“Any
other princess,” said Maria, as their mirth died down, “wouldst
be in tears after spending … how long has it been? Fifty? Sixty?
Seventy years trapped in a castle caught in time. But thou, Princess
Doranna, thou art a wonder.”
“Seventy-seven years and three
hundred and three days,” said Doranna, automatically. She sighed. “Verily, it hast been far too long. I tire of my confidence, yet my
only other option is unthinkable.”
“Well, thou never knowest. Today
just might be the day that thy true prince gets past the challenges
frees thee,” said Maria, encouragingly.
“Aye, he could,” said Doranna,
brightening for a moment. “But after all this time, I begin to
think them too impossible. Even Maxie wast unable, despite his
immunity to mangoes, and I wouldst have though him a true Quince.
Though why he attempted my resurrection is quite beyond me, save that
something happened to dear Shira.”
- "Woodcutter Quince"
Melisza was nearly giddy with excitement.
“Tonight's the night!” she announced in English, as soon as
Tabetha entered her room. “Tonight all of the Lilnia finally find
out about us!”
Tabetha's face, as usual, registered no
sign of understanding. “Where is the dress which you are to wear
tonight, Dizalay?” she asked.
Her friend's stiff attitude dampened her
enthusiasm. “On the bed,” said Melisza, still in English.
“Milady?”
said Tabetha, in a questioning voice. “I do not understand the
human tongue, as you full know. Where is your dress?”
Wincing at her slip, Melisza repeated her
words, this time in elvish.
“Oh,
Beth, I feel as though I am betraying you,” said Melisza, switching
back to English as Tabetha began undoing the fastens on the back of
the dress she was wearing. “Here I am, living in the lap of luxury,
while you are a servant and little more than dirt!”
Tabetha as usual, did not respond.
“There
are days when I wish we could go back to the orphanage,” she
continued. “We weren't liked there … but we were friends then. We
could be friends. Alistaar doesn't feel the same way … he thinks
you're better off here, but … I don't know what's gotten into him.
Ever since he found out that he was a Nalish, he's resented ever
living among the humans, ever letting you and your brother become
close.”
The fastens were all unlatched and Tabetha
helped her to step out of the dress. Then the fancy ceremonial dress
was pulled over her head.
“He
thinks you're better off here as servants, but I …”
“We
are,” said Tabetha, suddenly, though in elvish. “Don't fret for
us. We have friends among the Harshia now, and our work isn't too
hard.”
Melisza turned to face her friend, blinking
in surprise. “But …”
“Do not
let your thoughts dwell on my brother and me,” said Tabetha,
shaking her head. “We are cursed Harshia, and not worth your
notice. You are the Dizalay, and your thoughts must be for the
bettering of the Lilnia.”
Melisza wanted to tell Tabetha that she was
wrong, but the girl's face was so set, so sure. Her gaze fell to her
hands as she fidgeted with the embellishments of her dress. “I just
…”
“If I am
not stepping beyond my place,” continued Tabetha, and Melisza
caught a slight tremble in her voice. “I would ask that you please
stop speaking in English. You live among the Lilnia now, and should
forget the humans. Besides, it makes it harder for me to serve you.”
Melisza opened her mouth, but Tabetha had
turned away. “You are ready, Dizalay. The Lilnia await your
announcement.”
As if Tabetha had planned it, the door
opened at that moment, and in walked Liya, all smiles. “Ah, what a
wonderful day it is today, granddaughter!” she said, triumphantly.
“At long last, the Lilnia will see again that Elonodi does smile
upon them.”
Melisza forced a smile. “Yes, tonight.”
“Nervous,
dear?” said Liya, brushing the backs of her fingers against
Melisza's cheek. “I suppose that's understandable. You're not used
to the crowds yet. But keep your chin up, it shan't be as bad as you
think.” She turned to Tabetha, “That's all, Harshan. You may
return to your quarters.”
Tabetha, who had been standing, still as a
statue, hands folded in front of her, eyes fixed on the floor,
snapped to attention, bowed slightly, then left the room. Melisza
swallowed. Her best friend was gone for good. Oh, why did the Harshia
have to be cursed?
- The New Division.
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