by Daniel Arndt
Cass’s eyes focused on smooth fabric. Beneath it a stoic chest was lightly accented with long strands of glowing hair. Cass moved her sight upwards tracing the soft rivers. The beautiful locks of hair trailed upwards to the smiling and brilliant visage. Elan nodded at Cass as she moved her rubbing hand towards her cheek to cover their redness. Elan looked over Cass’s shoulder regarding the sleeping mass behind her. His eyes gently lingered before they returned to the huntress.
“It’s time for you to get going. Gregor is waiting for you both in the dining room.”
Elan gave a respectful bow before turning down the hall.
“Try to remain quiet as my wife is still sleeping upstairs.”
Cass did her best to listen to the gorgeous man’s words, but the task remained arduous. To ignore anything else than his quaint, warm gestures and elegant mannerisms Cass was forced to nod to the floor below her. Elan’s light steps pressed and faded down the hall into the house. Cass leaned on the door as she brushed the red from her cheeks. She worked her shoulder deeper in the lean against the wooden door letting the subtle pain focus and wake up here body. She let her body wake up against the frame as her mind pieced together what it had discerned.
The sun glinted through the window casting an ever-growing line of light against the hallway wall in front of Cass. The brightened wood was warm and welcoming. Certain she had no desires to run in with the Iron Stars again, she pushed off the doorframe and strode to the chest. She aptly grabbed her cloak and fastened it and the rest of her gear upon herself once more. The sounds of movement scratched over the chest’s lid. Valente groaned as he instinctively brought the cover over his head to save him from the dread of morning and noise. Cass sighed and stepped forward as she adjusted the clasps of her belt. Grabbing hold of a bundle of the loose cloth she yanked the blanket free of the bed and the prince’s sleepy hands. The prince mumbled about the now necessary beheadings. Cass moved up and sat on the chest to tie her boots. She called to the ground letting her voice travel behind her.
“Get up fancy pants. We have to get going.”
The huntress continued to tie her shoes. Finishing her right foot, she turned to see how the prince’s revival was progressing. He blearily met the huntress’s curious gaze with a faded stare. Sleep had riddled his face with disarray and apparent discontent for the morning light. The huntress went to tie her second boot. Valente turned on the bed defeatedly feeling around for the friendly blanket that had been torn away from him.
“Hey, Cass.”
Cass pulled on the string completing the knot on her second foot.
“Yeah?”
Valente closed his eyes as he flopped on the bare mattress.
“How much gold do I have to pay you to carry me?”
Cass stood up testing her boots she had affixed with a twist as she turned to the prince. Valente’s very being was sprawled on the mattress as he searched for freedom from this inglorious morning. Cass happily smiled as she spun once more and moved towards the door. She intentionally pulled on the handle ensuring the door’s hinges creaked as loudly as possible letting the sound fuel her self-propelled grin.
“You couldn’t pay me enough to carry you.”
Valente reached out his desperate hand towards the huntress. She stood in the morning light. Her golden hair glimmered down from her high position. The dreadful realization and weight of responsibility of waking life had hit him.
“Please. I’ll build you a monument!”
The door creaked shut as it obliterated Valente’s hopes and dreams of a most beautiful and lazy future.
The hallway was a short trek away from the dining room. Cass tightened her braid as she fastened it with her silver clasp. She walked down the hall towards the sounds of hushed conversation. Turning the corner, the room opened up and Cass saw Gregor was wrestling on a surprisingly large fur cloak. It was quite apparently two sizes too small for the knight, yet the stitched fur could have served as a tent for the huntress. Gregor pushed past the limitations and donned the ill-fitting fur with a proud grin.
“Thank you Elan. I cannot thank you enough for your unpeered generosity!”
Gregor gestured to small pouched fixed to his leather belt.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take my silver?”
The elegant form of a man grinned back as he brushed back his flow of hair in an awe-inspiring deliberation.
“That is quite alright. Just make sure you and your companions are safely out of the town limits within the hour. You want to make sure you don’t have a chance to run into the Stars.”
The knight nodded and scratched his burning beard.
“Aye. We will not endanger your town or our kind hosts.”
Gregor fluffed his plume of fiery beard as he smiled thankfully at Elan.
“Thank you for harboring us. Very few would have been this brave knowing who we are.”
Elan raised one palm outwards as to block the appreciation.
“I live by the lessons of Shor. ‘Live out of love and kindness’. I do this in her honor and the hope that it may spark more acts of its kind. You need not thank me.”
Elan raised an eyebrow throwing a beautiful gaze towards the huntress that had just entered the room.
“Ah!”
His smile softly folded his cheeks.
“Cassandra was it? Come here, darling.”
Cass could not resist Elan’s beckons and euphonious tones as he took her by the shoulder. His light hand seemed to pull her with the strength of a massive Liosian knight as he led her to a thick fur cloak that lay on the wooden table. Elan opened his free hand towards the cloth.
“It is not much, but it should help keep you warm in your travels.”
Elan tilted his head down to the huntress.
“I would not want such a lovely lady to freeze out there in the dreadful cold.”
Elan’s kind smile and words melted away the regrets and aches of morning. Cass stood for a moment taken in by the smooth perfection of the man’s face. Shaking herself free from the trance and out of his potent gaze, she quickly picked up the overcloak.
“Thank you.”
Elan continued to humbly turn away the thanks. Gregor moved to the foyer as he heaved his claymore onto his back. He shuffled around as he picked up Cass’s bow and the prince’s blade. His step gently rumbled the dining room as he re-entered and passed a bow and quiver to Cass with a hearty grin.
“Where’s our little prince?”
Cass took the bow as she slung it onto her back. Its weight filled her with a familiar confidence. It rode a little higher on the fur cloak than she was used to, yet the warmth of the fur was undeniable. She wrestled the quiver to sit properly on her back.
“He’s almost done dreaming.”
Gregor gave a small chuckle.
“Good.”
The knight pointed towards a wooden platter of golden brown bread and chunks of white cheese near the end of the table.
“Elan was kind enough to set us out some breakfast. You should have a bite before we leave.”
Elan moved to the platter and shifted it over the table towards the huntress with a shimmering grin.
“Yes! Eat your fill and take anything extra you need for your travels. I’d offer you some meat, but Bell likes to keep that in reserve.”
The huntress happily complied and moved towards the collection of bread and cheese. She took a fluffy sliver of bread and a cluster of white cheese. Combining the two she munched on her breakfast. The chalky tang of the cheese intermingled with the fluff of the bread delivering a mouthful of satisfaction to the huntress. She was thankful for the fresh taste. It had been a special necessity for Cass to have something to eat for the morning. She would even prepare something the night before if she knew she would be out. A heavy succession of bangs rang out of the foyer, Cass nearly choked on her mouthful. Elan, Gregor, and Cass froze as the sound came again more urgently. They all looked to each other for answers or clues to the une
xpected noise. Elan let go of the tray. His perfected visage was tainted with a crease of worry that was not easily lost on the knight or the huntress. The bangs came again accompanied by a rough, growling voice.
“Smiths. We are here for our shipment. The King of Lios will not be delayed.”
The door did little to diminish the voice. Sounds of the voice’s call clung to the air. A drift of elegant hair bounced. Elan pointed down the hallway his eyes fixed on his guests.
“To your left at the end of the hallway, take the backdoor. It’s just through the inventory storage. Lots of weapons. You cannot miss it.”
The heavy thuds rose up against the door once more. Elan brushed his hair back into magnificent order and patted down his clothes. Hurriedly he walked towards the entrance. He placed a soft hand on the handle of the door. His eyes moved over his shoulder to look at his guests a stern, last nod. Cass hastily scavenged a handful more of the slices of bread and a grouping of cheese as she turned to duck into the hallway. Gregor stomped off towards Valente with the prince’s blade in hand. The huntress stopped herself at the door’s opening. She quickly returned to the table and picked up the cloak Elan had laid out for Valente. She moved to the hallway again. A powerful gaze brought her vision up. Elan met her eyes once more. They glinted just before he richly smiled. His knowing and ever understanding gaze caught Cass off guard. His supple cheeks moved as he hushed across the distance.
“You think about him more than you’d admit.”
Cass could not respond as the front door quivered once more from the heavy thuds. A grumpy grunt came howling from upstairs.
“Elan! You loafing freeloader! Answer that godsforsaken door already! If it’s those cocky mercenaries, tell them I’ll be down in a bloody minute!”
Cass broke away from Elan’s gaze. She ran down the hall. He turned the handle, and the door swung open.
Valente violently stumbled out the doorway of the room. A heavy slap to the back propelled him forward. The knight did not attempt his friendly control of strength. Valente felt as though his spine had been massaged with a mace. He was awake now. Judging by the thick ridge in Gregor’s brow and the alert and focused eyes of the huntress heading down the hall, things pretty serious. Cass shoved a fur cloak onto the prince nearly suffocating him. He moved a clump of fur out of his mouth just as a blade was thrown at him. Fortunately, it was in the sheath. Unfortunately, it was thrown by Gregor. Valente and his bruising body were not enjoying this new morning ritual. Cass yanked on the prince’s arm tumbling him deeper down the hall. In the sudden chaos and rude awakening, Valente did his best to figure out how to wear the cloak. At the pace things were going he figured he could use its protection. Cass strained on Valente’s arm more.
“We have to go.”
Valente was tired of hearing that.
“Iron Stars.”
The words hit the prince harder than Gregor as he kicked into motion. The fur cloak had settled on his shoulders. Gregor had already run forward and had left an open door behind him. Valente was quick to follow. Cass moved in the back keeping a vigilant eye towards the distant argument of a rudely awakened smith and an impatient captain. The three ran through the hall. Gregor quickly turn left into a heavy door. It stood no chance as the knight nearly yanked it from its hinges.
The room was still dim as it reminisced of the night before. It lacked windows or any other obvious opening besides the door that had been rudely disturbed. However, the morning light refused to let this hamper it as it threw its bright rays from the hallway into the room. Rows and racks of assorted iron goods lined the walls. The tools, weapons, bars and their kin were well-organized in several large crates. A familiar sigil of a six-point star adorned and surrounded by blades and pikes branded each box. Gregor did not care to inspect them. He was at the back heaving a wood plank that barred the door there. The plank was tossed aside as though it were a stalk of grain. The door swung free and a burst of cold air hit them all. Light danced off the pure snow blinding the three in the morning brilliance. Their valiant cloaks fought off the worst of the chill and their raised hands gave a desperate shield to their eyes from the white brightness. As the trio stepped into the fresh snow, they found themselves near a smoldering forge. The weak embers looked dull. Smoke poured from them awaiting their master’s reviving touch. The glitter of fading fire in the dark coals hissed in the chilled winds. Something in the dying heat of the furnace pulled at the prince. Valente shook it away. Raising their new fur hoods, the group hastily returned to the main road and began their instilled march North. The small village was not large, but each step on the path dragged on as they waded through the snow and the tension. Valente nervously looked back towards the smithy as a weight tug at his chest.
Several fully armored guards scowled in front of the Smith’s home. A large pair of horses impatiently snorted under the reins of an armored cart. The armed men waited in the snow. The plume of their helmets frigidly refused to sway.
Several shouts came from the smithy’s direction. Gregor picked up his pace, but Valente could not bring himself away. The captain stepped out of the stone house. Valente clenched his teeth. A sour reminder filled his mind from Rythor’s unmistakable grimace. Behind the captain, a furious smith stormed out. The captain turned and shouted at the woman ironsmith. The altercation was not easily missed by the rest of town. Bellie jabbed a pointed finger into the captain’s chest forcing him a few steps back in the snow. Rythor removed his helm letting his full snarl out as he snapped at the smith. His anger subsided for a moment as his head tilted towards a soldier exiting the smithy. The armed man handed two objects to the captain before saluting and returning to his duties. Rythor stood in front of the smithy. He held the item up letting the light dazzle off of it. He held up a small shimmering disk of metal. Valente’s body froze in the cold. The silvery glint flashed off the emblem in Rythor’s hand. The captain slowly returned his helmet to his head as he stepped to the shouting smith. He lowered his face to hers as he snarled something lost in the snowy wind. Bellie shouted back louder. Her face mimicked the fire of her forge, and she did not stop there. She threw a fist into the captain’s unprotected jaw. The cracking strike sounded over the small town. The captain was sent skidding on his rump. He collapsed into the snow. Shamed and now enraged, the captain shouted and pointed at the woman. The surrounding guards collapsed on Bellie. They restrained her and accompanied it with several encouraging hits against the outnumbered smith. The captain pushed off the ground and brushed the white dust from his metal gear. Rythor stepped towards the smith who struggled against several soldiers. Bellie painfully howled as the captain delivered a massive blow to her gut with his metal gauntlet. Pleased with his enforced justice, the captain readjusted his crooked helmet. The rigid plume turned to the men as the captain barked out commands.
Valente’s arm was yanked again. Cass tore him from his distant watch. He stumbled behind her in the stilted retreat. The edge of town came nearer as the lightly maintained road twisted once more into a frozen and unwelcoming path. Gregor’s claymore swung like a war-driven pendulum from his long and heavy strides. Valente’s gaze moved to the sides of the main path. Several of the villagers were out of their small stone houses and onto the streets. Each of these miners was beckoned forth by the rising commotion and the loud swarm of royal mercenaries. Many of the villagers looked towards the south. Valente could not help himself as he looked again to the smithy.
Bellie was nowhere to be seen. Several guards were exiting the back. Many of them hauled the marked case and were loading them into the armored cart. A handful more of the mercenaries were boarding up the front door with hammers and nails. A dreadful few more were holding newly lit and blazing torches. Valente stopped in his tracks as his heart dropped. The distant shout did not have to be heard to be understood from Rythor’s validated grimace.
“Burn it.”
The mercenaries followed their captain’s command and lobbed their torches. The burning blaze
flew into the air and fell like murderous shooting stars. Each of the flames found their rest among the heavy wood and thatch. The fire paid no heed to the growing cold as it ravenously leaped across the smithy’s roof. Valente looked back in a terrible concoction of disbelief and horror as he reached for his Tharian Crest for guidance. He patted his chest looking for his vest pocket, and then his vest. The moment hit him harder than twenty Liosian knights. He had left his leather vest in the room. Horror changed to dread as he looked again searching for the glint he had seen before. The captain was barking orders in front of the cart as he happily flipped the object in his hands. Valente’s eyes focused in as his fears coagulated into a gut-wrenching panic. Captain Rythor had the Liosian Royal Crest. Cass grabbed and pulled on Valente once more. His body was cemented in overwhelming regret. Cass pulled and pleaded harder.
“Come on Valente! We have to get out of here before they spot us!”
Valente turned to Cass as her force dragged at this body. The prince seemed absent as he stared back at the huntress clinging to his arm.
“I… I killed them…”
Cass’s confusion did not mix well with her stress. The collaboration resulted in angered impatience as her grip on the prince’s arm lost all consideration.
“What are you talking about? We have to get out of here.”
Giving a rough tug, she pulled the prince into a march behind her. The weight of his guilt crippled his mind and his body dragging the soles of his boots deep into the mountain making every step laborious.
The black line of smoke trailed across the sky as a tormenting shadow. Valente refused to avert his sight away from his sluggish feet. He could not bring himself to do otherwise. Cass released her constricting grasp on Valente as she angrily spun to face him. Her blood burned.