Annatrice of Cayborne

by Jonathan Davison

  “Do not kill her yet, I want her first. If I am feeling generous, you can share the spoils.” Drayk said sinisterly as he dismounted causing Annatrice to tremble, frozen to the spot. Even her intellect could not save her know, there was nowhere to run, she could not outpace the champion's steeds or outwit their humming blades.

  Suddenly both Annatrice and Drayk's attention was turned to the other knights, one who lay upon the grass having crashed to the earth with a thud, the other being wrestled from his horse with a dagger impaled in his throat. The fourth rider then sat astride his stallion, pulling his giant sword from its sheath with the apparent intention of bringing an end to Drayk's foul existence.

  Annatrice dove behind the cover of the large boulder and peered out over in simple confusion as the mysterious knight wielded his blade with great gusto. Having remained mounted, his was the battle to lose holding such great advantage.

  Drayk flipped down his visor and repelled an initial strike; the blades coming together caused a crashing sound which took Annatrice's breath away. The movements of the fully battle armoured warriors were laboured; it was as if two giants were pounding at each other in a dream where time itself had slowed down. The mounted knight over-reached his next strike and a quick witted and experienced Drayk took the opportunity to wrestle his opponent from his horse and take him to the ground. The plate armour glistened in the morning light as arms and legs were sent flailing and the large cumbersome blades were now of no use. A shorter bladed dagger was drawn by one of the protagonists, Annatrice could not tell which soldier from the next and holding a blade herself, she debated whether to join the fray and strike whilst she was in a position of power. The warriors grappling continued as Annatrice watched over the battle, dagger poised for an opportunity to pain Drayk as he had done to her.

  Suddenly, the knight on top gained an advantage and the dagger was primed and ready in his hand. He struck once, and then twice. His helmet was awash with the spurting life blood of his opponent and he staggered to his feet, breathing heavily his visor still down and Annatrice's heart still racing.

  The knight stood there, silently wielding his knife. Annatrice held her position, her own dagger ready in her defence.

  “Who are you?” She whispered, barely finding the air to breathe.

  The knight held his gloved hand to his face and slowly lifted the visor.

  “Your very worst nightmare.”

  Drayk's eyes were blazing; his battle face equalled any man’s for pure unadulterated terror. Annatrice gasped, she could not even scream such was her fear. She thought she might be able to outrun him, he was encumbered. She did want to run but her limbs were simply not moving, she felt feint as if the stress was about to rob her of her consciousness. Her body numbed and her mind so disabled she could only give in to the inevitable, a fate that she escaped some time ago but had now caught up on her.

  Drayk moved forward, he was cautious, she still held the knife although such a feeble child held no strength to overpower him. He motioned for her to hand it to him, his eyes never once blinking or finding distraction.

  Annatrice was just about to bend to his will when she averted her gaze to what could be her salvation and nothing short of a miracle in the making. The other warrior, his breastplate reddened with his own blood stood behind Drayk, his sword raised. Drayk barely had time to take breath before his head was cleaved in two, the mighty warrior's blade cutting down deep into his armoured torso.

  Drayk's remains flopped to the ground shortly followed by the staggering warrior who had been mortally wounded.

  Annatrice rushed to his aid as he lay there on his back, his visored helmet looking up to the heavens. She looked at his deep and fatal wounds and knew there was little that could be done. With tiny, shaking fingers, she prised his visor open and looked upon the eyes of the man who had not only saved her life but had now bought her the freedom she yearned at the highest cost.

  “Oh...my...” Annatrice words failed her as she recognised the ruddy cheeks and freckled nose of Heynagan. Tragian's soldier who had been afflicted with the guilt of such wicked sin but had sought redemption.

  “T'is you?” Annatrice whispered as she once again set eyes on the man who had aided the murder of her father and stolen her innocence.

  “Aye, t'is.” Heynagan's voiced was frail, his throat had been slashed and now he was about to meet his maker.

  “But why?” Annatrice asked needing to know.

  “When I heard rumours of a fearful but beautiful witch saving the King...I knew it was you.” Heynagan spluttered and coughed up a mouthful of bright red blood.

  “I wanted to right the wrongs of my doing, repent for my sins. I vowed to watch over you for I knew this day would come.”

  Annatrice pulled the warriors glove from his hand and held it tightly. In spite of his past, the young woman could not help shed a tear for him as he passed on.

  “T'is a great comfort...I shall go to my maker with a glad heart.” Heynagan's eyes started to glaze over as there was no more blood to spill.

  “Thank you.” Annatrice whispered her face close to his. She wiped the tears from her eyes and when she looked down once more, he was gone, his blue eyes gazing to the heavens, his face full of peace.

  EPILOGUE

  Annatrice of Cayborne rode upon the horse of her saviour across the bridge over the river Huk and the rolling hills of her childhood came into view. The still air of the approaching summer season was fragrant and reinvigorating. It offered hope, a new beginning.

  Annatrice reminisced about the good and kind people that she had discovered along her journey, those who made the world a brighter place. Despite her lack of faith in divinity, she prayed that they be kept safe and free.

  Finding her solace was always to be her greatest challenge, one that she embraced with all her guile and indefatigably. The new King of the unified lands of the south would never cease searching her out. She was too vital, too powerful. Even though the last thing Annatrice wanted was the sour taste of his extraordinary wealth in her mouth, Deo Canthi knew that one day she would return to claim what was rightfully hers.

  From the north a new storm was gathering in intensity, Annatrice felt it's approach. It was time to find sweet solitude and a suitable shelter away from the dark rains that were about to fall.

  The End

  144