tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5005584403004294112024-03-13T07:43:26.006-05:00Yarns and TalesAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-1331166357711501812017-06-22T10:26:00.001-05:002017-06-22T10:26:09.472-05:00Losing Hope<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y-o3_ZcXkSo/WUvfoKUMjAI/AAAAAAAABE4/MKcyJvTjaU4wi5Eix_NEt83mWMJD9b_iACLcBGAs/s1600/ABContactPhotoView_FullscreenPhoto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="577" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y-o3_ZcXkSo/WUvfoKUMjAI/AAAAAAAABE4/MKcyJvTjaU4wi5Eix_NEt83mWMJD9b_iACLcBGAs/s320/ABContactPhotoView_FullscreenPhoto.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Nearly a month after,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The absence should solidify.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Should close.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Should heal.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But the wound remains raw,</div>
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The void left behind open.</div>
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Still I wait,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Listening for the door.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
For the jingle of the bell</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
On the collar as she flicks her head.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Listening for the wail</div>
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Begging for food or attention.</div>
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Listening for the gentle pad of</div>
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Steps on the carpet.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
For the throaty purr rumbling</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
From the warm ball at my feet.</div>
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Still I watch for her</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
When I arrive home.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But her tiny frame never sits</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
At the corner of the house.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Her corner where she waited.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Her agile body does not race,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Trotting across the street,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Tail an exclamation mark behind her</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
As she talks to me</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
About her day.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
About the mouse she devoured.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
About her brothers leaving</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
A mess around the food dish.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
About how I am never home</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
As much as I used to.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
How I hoped and prayed</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
For God to bring her back</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
To me.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
What I would not give to see</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Her lapping water elegantly</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
From the fishbowl.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Or bossing her brothers.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Or sweeping up after them</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
With a dainty white paw.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
What I would not trade to</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Feel her curled behind my knee,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Her motor rumbling.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
To have one final conversation.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
To say goodbye.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
How I pray to God to,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
By some miracle,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Return her to me,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My companion for seven years.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But the void lingers.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The grief still too new.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It seems that I lost</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Hope</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In more ways than one.</div>
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<br /></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-10748783420002533052017-06-05T16:24:00.002-05:002017-06-05T16:24:33.050-05:00The Mark of the King: Chapter Twenty-Seven<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-08Wos7KOTCM/WTWq9am5hpI/AAAAAAAABEc/NHvxZkZ5_QgL8ihn2tKH3InutPmGl8WmwCLcB/s1600/IMG_2053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-08Wos7KOTCM/WTWq9am5hpI/AAAAAAAABEc/NHvxZkZ5_QgL8ihn2tKH3InutPmGl8WmwCLcB/s320/IMG_2053.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sighing audibly, Catrain crossed her room, a
well-worn path marked through the dust and dirt from where her feet traveled
for the past hour since the sun peeked over the horizon and flooded her room
with golden light. That early in the morning, it was atrocious. Yet there
proved little she could do to smother it before her body adjusted to the
prospect of day and, despite the sleep lingering in her eyes, and forced her to
awaken. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Flynn confused her. He posed an enigma, a puzzle
demanding to be solved. Something about him failed to add up, and she sensed
something about him of which she unsuccessfully named. His story rang true, but
she knew he omitted much of it. She never thought well remaining in one place.
So she began to walk back and forth from the window to the opposite wall, a
path she now traversed with her eyes closed and her thoughts elsewhere.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Why
Corrthaine? Why run to Lord Joran? Why would Lord Joran accept him and promote
him to his right hand for that matter?</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> The answers she sought, no matter how many times
she turned them over in her head, eluded her. More than once, out of sheer
frustration, she punched the wall, the pain exploding across her bruised
knuckles offering momentary clarity and an escape from the thoughts cycling in
and out of her mind in a ceaseless tirade of images and connections that never
yielded more information than what she already possessed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She swiveled hard on her heel near the inner wall
next to the grate above the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Cat, are you pacing?” Muriel’s muffled voice
wafted between the walls.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Nay,” her footsteps stopped. “Aye.” They resumed
again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> A groan sounded from the next room
along with the muted <i>whump</i> of a body
falling back against a mountain of pillows. “You will wear a hole through the
floor, and then where will you be?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The princess smirked. “One floor
below, I suppose.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Another groan, louder this time, and
Catrain snickered behind her sleeve. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Cat.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Startling at the closeness of Muriel’s voice, she
wheeled about and stared at the grate, which Muriel’s unamused, sleep-laden
face filled almost entirely, her temple pressed against the floor stones. Catrain
dropped to her knees and crawled to the grate, laying on her stomach on the ground
with her chin resting on her hands. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“When did you and Oliver plan for us to meet with
Morfael?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Mid-morning.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Catrain nodded. “I have a few questions for
Skandar that I hoped to ask of him before.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One of Muriel’s dark brows arched with curiosity.
“Of what nature?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Tiem nobility,” she sighed and rubbed the heels
of her palms against of her eyes until sparks of light appeared amidst the
blackness. “It is rather boring, actually. While in the dungeons, Flynn
mentioned his childhood in Tiem, and I wondered…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It poses an intriguing coincidence if he and
Skandar are somehow connected.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Coincidence or a divine plan? Personally I choose
to believe in the latter.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Alright, you piqued my curiosity,” Muriel scooted
closer to the grate.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You are welcome to accompany me if you wish.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Muriel beamed and lifted herself off the floor.
Catrain heard footsteps walking away from her as her friend called back, “Allow
me to dress and I shall meet you in the hall.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Popping onto her knees, and then to her feet,
Catrain discarded her night clothes and tossed a dress over her head, pulled
her hair into a loose plait that hung down her shoulders, and waited outside
her chambers for another minute before Muriel emerged. Together, they strolled
down the walkway and stopped before Skandar’s door. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Glancing over her shoulder, Catrain noted the
sunlight streaming through the iron-lattice window and knew that Skandar was
more than likely awake. She knocked, and at a welcome shout hollered from
within, they entered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They blinked as their eyes adjusted to the
darkness. Skandar sat with his back facing the window, over which hung a thick
blanket that dampened most of the sunlight. All the candles, misshapen sticks
of lumpen wax and sitting on metal holders, had long-since cooled and likely not
tasted the consuming bite of the fire since the night before. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Skandar, how are you?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Grimacing, he rubbed his sore arm. "According
to the physician, I fare better than I did yesterday. Thank you for
asking."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“He visited you already?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Earlier this morning, aye.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Moving to the window, Muriel began to pull aside
the blanket, a crack of light shining on Skandar’s face.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sharp needles of pain stabbed Skandar behind his
eyes. “Leave it!” he barked, his hands flying to shield his eyes, and she froze.
“Sorry,” he apologized softly, “Alasdair believes the fever weakened my eyes,
making them sensitive to light. He believes it will pass as I recover.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After dropping the blanket back in place and
returning the chamber to darkness, Muriel sat on the edge of the bed and touched
his shoulder gently, wary of his wound. “Still, if it persists—”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You will be the first to know,” he promised,
flashing her a quick, but genuine smile. Skandar’s gaze shifted past Muriel and
combed Catrain, taking in her weary face, plaited hair with wisps framing her
head like a halo, and the simple dress that fit her too loosely before focusing
on her hands, more specifically, her fingers, which she fidgeted with. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">His vision narrowed. <i>Does she mean to kill me?</i> Paranoia seeped in, wrapping its cold
tendrils around his bones, and his vision threatening to gray.<i> Now, while I remain in a weakened state?
Was that the reason for meeting Flynn in the middle of the night?</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"You wished to inquire something of me?"
He guessed, pushing aside the doubts lest she note his hesitation and perceive
his innermost thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Aye, I did."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Idiot,</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> he berated, <i>she extends her hand in friendship and you
see nothing but a cloaked dagger. </i>Skandar sat up and mustered a smile, patting
the edge of the bed near his legs. "Sit," he offered, and she
complied. "I've been dying for someone to ask me something other than how feel,
or what I wish to eat, or treating me as an invalid."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Well I can assure you,” her mouth tugged
into a smug grin, “you will not receive any coddling from me."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Amused, Skandar chuckled, then instantly regretted
it as the action sent needles of pain stabbing through him. When the spasm
passed, he propped himself up once more and turned an attentive ear to Catrain,
who stared at him with concern. Rising, Muriel strode to the pitcher on the
bedside table and poured a mug of water which he accepted gladly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Thank you,” he smiled at her when he
regained his breath. “Go on,” he urged Catrain eagerly after sipping the drink
and tasting instant relief. “Make your query; I am well."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"If you are certain," she folded her
hands in her lap, fidgeting with her fingers nervously. "Who were the
higher families in Tiem? And what of the nobility? Do you remember?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This
concerns Flynn. I knew it.</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> He suppressed the ire roiling in his stomach, wetted his
suddenly dry mouth again, and scrunched his face in concentration, mentally
compiling a list of names and people he saw regularly at market and counting on
his fingers. "Well, Lord Joran presided over the shire, but his Steward,
Bernard oversaw his personal lands in his absence. Since Peter and Elaine owned
their land instead of slaving over his, we hardly ever dealt with Bernard.
Fawkes, the sheriff," an involuntary shudder rippled through him, "we
encountered more often. One could easily mistake him for the lord of the
manor,” he added under his breath, disdain evident in his bitter tone. “The thanes
were," he listed several names, folding down a finger for each of them, in
addition to those for Bernard and Fawkes, until only two remained.
"Merchants traveled through, but never stayed long. Craftsman we had too,
but none I recall off hand."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Did any of them by chance have a son? A few
years older than you at the most...?" She asked hopefully.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Oliver, obviously."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Frowning, she folded her arms across her chest and
glared at him. "Besides Oliver."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Cat, it was only in jest."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She smirked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Well then, Bernard was old, his wife too. Far
past the age to bear children.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“So their son, providing they had one, would be Sir
Reuben's age or older.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Aye,” Skandar concurred, “Most of the thanes who
married were too young to have a son the age you say. And Fawkes," he spat
the name like acidic poison, "was the last person to have a child let
alone love it."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Something that Flynn said in the dungeon struck
Catrain as odd in that moment, and she pondered, <i>Flynn described his father as loving, caring for both him and his
mother. Yet he never joined them in Tir O Niwl unless...<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"What about <i>illegitimate</i> children?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar scoffed, "If one conceived a child
out of wedlock, I do not believe it would be common knowledge. Tiem was a
relatively private community; people never questioned what you did not say. If
a father acknowledged his bastard within the confines of his home, tongues would
not wag unless permitted."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Sounds lovely,” she mused.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“They were silent out of fear,” he stated,
unceremoniously ending her daydream. “The nobles maintained a tight grip on the
common folk, even those not directly subject to them. We feared stepping out of
line, else we suddenly discover ourselves indebted in some manner to them and
forced to repay them more than what we needed to survive.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"How did I not know this? All this time and I
was never aware of the happenings of my own country," she sighed, then
voiced a new idea, "Did any of them die? The nobles, I mean."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar scratched an itch beneath his hair, then
stilled and answered somberly, "One thane died in the first bought of the
Plague, the wave which stole my mother; the second, coming a decade later,
killed another thane, a couple knights in the sheriff’s manor, and Sheriff
Fawkes himself succumbed eventually."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"I see," she muttered glumly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Why the sudden curiosity, Cat?" he
asked, although he knew the answer already. Flynn.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rising from her seat, she smoothed her skirt and
shrugged, "No reason. As you said, it was merely curiosity."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Then why do I sense you concealing
something? Come, Cat, do you not trust me?" he prodded.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Do you not harbor secrets of your own?” one of
her eyebrows raised condescendingly. "I suspected so. But if all reveals
itself the way I believe it might, we may have one more ally than we thought. For
the time being, rest, Skandar," she advised, "You must be hale and fit
to continue your quest." Silently, she added, <i>Both of them.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She was nearly out the door when she turned and
poked her head into the room. “We planned to meet with Morfael in two hours.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“And you hoped I would join you for moral
support?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We hoped you would join us because you are a
member of our company. A critical one, at that.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“If that be the case, I shan’t miss it,” he
winked, but felt no mirth inside as his mind roved to find the connection around
which Catrain’s questions revolved before she produced it. He yearned to be one
step ahead, to maintain at least a semblance of advantage in one miniscule
area. To know his enemy entailed knowing Flynn, and already, Catrain ran far
ahead of him. But he resolved to catch up. To catch up and to defeat Flynn
before they turned against him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Feigning another coughing spasm, he assured them
that he only required rest and promised to see them soon and in better
condition than the present. When they departed, he leaned back and retreated
into his thoughts when the answer he knew all along struck him. “Ally? Oh Cat,
you could not be further from the truth.” He balled the sheets in his fists,
his body quivering with rage. Loathing erupted within him, coursing through his
veins from a bottomless well.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">King Morfael, with Princess Brynna and his wife
seated at either hand of the large table in the great hall, leaned against the
hard back of his chair and listened, stone-faced, as Oliver explained to him in
little detail the nature of their quest. He recounted their flight in the dark
hours from the Capitol in Corrthaine, their journey across the country, and
their ambush by bounty hunters, but omitted Skandar’s eyes and Catrain’s
bloodline. Whether Morfael chose to acknowledge Catrain as a servant as presented
earlier or a lady such as Muriel, Oliver left for the king to decide. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> From time to time, the others
interjected and commented bits and pieces of forgotten information to Oliver’s
account, but for the most part, they stood silent at his sides with the
exception of Skandar and Flynn, who, exhausted from the walk from their
chambers to the hall, sat at the table, a fair distance from each other. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When Oliver completed their tale at the point of
their imprisonment and release, they all held their breaths, waiting.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The fire crackled in the hearth and
the speckled falcon grazed its talons across the platform of its perch, but
otherwise, the hall remained utterly silent. Morfael’s scowl deepened with
every second that passed, seconds in which no one moved lest some spell break
and judgement fall. Brynna cast questioning, curious glances at Aidan as though
seeking his confirmation to their story. The queen, ever wraith-like, stared
ahead, her gaunt countenance pale and wrought with worry.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Then Morfael shifted, startling the
Corrthainians, and stroked his chin thoughtfully as a dark glimmer ignited in
his eyes and spread throughout his expression. The falcon spread its wings,
beating them against the still air, opened its curved beak and let loose a
screeching cry that resounded throughout the stone chamber. Even with the hood
cloaking its beady eyes, Skandar felt threatened by the bird and its master.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>Any
moment now guards will be summoned to drag us away to the dungeons, no doubt,</i>
Skandar grimaced, certain of their failure and resolving himself to death. If
he barely survived prison once, he surely would not see release a second time.
Swift execution, he reasoned, would be a mercy. The longer Morfael
contemplated, the more antsy Skandar grew. <i>I
cannot survive another night among the mold and rats. I cannot. Then all this
would be in vain. </i>His legs bounced against the bottom of the table, urging
him to summon whatever strength he retained and fly as far as possible before
being stuck full or arrows or spears from the guards. His gaze shifted around
the expanse of the hall, not daring to settle on any one particular thing,
drawn immediately to any sudden movement.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Instead, no knights with clanking
weapons and heavy footfalls appeared in the doorway to haul them away. Thrice,
the king tapped a finger on the table, the dull thuds echoing faintly off the
stones. “What you say, provided its honesty, unravels much of what I did not
comprehend. But by your story, you do not sound as those who are friends of
Corrthaine, and seeing as though I am a friend of Corrthaine, I cannot directly
aid you without breaking my alliance with King Fendral.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Do you fervently believe in your
friendship with Corrthaine? A country with leaders who would just as soon manipulate
you and therefore assume control over Tir O Niwl,” questioned Oliver.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> A sly, if sober grin tugged at
Morfael’s lips. “Do you think me a child that I do not know when I am tethered
by strings growing ever taut? My awareness of the noose around my throat became
present the very minute my father died.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Then speak plainly, Morfael, and
end your ceaseless riddles. They are tiresome and a waste of precious time,”
demanded Flynn.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Morfael’s smile curled and his fist tightened
where it rested on the notched face of the table. “As I said before, I cannot
help you directly. What I can do is have the memory of your stay slip my mind
if and when questions arise from our mutual friend. After all, you have
embarked on an honorable venture, and I feel as though I should atone for
delaying you. What a mighty feat the discovery of Bródúil would be. Many passed
through Tir O Niwl during my father’s reign. Unfortunately for some of them,
they did not request my father’s gracious permission beforehand and were struck
down in our market squares. I am not my father, and I am willing to extend protection
to you from my soldiers as long as you tread within my borders. What say you to
my offer?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Before the travelers agreed to a
decision amongst themselves, Oliver said, “We accept, but ask what you desire
in return. Such an offer cannot go unrepaid and we would be rude guests to not
inquire your price and endeavor to pay it to the full extent of our purses,” he
patted his sides. “Although we appear to be at a loss of funds in our treasury
at the moment, courtesy of our bounty hunter friends. They helped themselves to
all our supplies.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I require nothing save that, when
you locate Bródúil and return, you elevate my reputation as king among my people.
Rumor spreads through my country that I am incapable of leadership equal my
father’s.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “And are you?” Flynn goaded.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “That remains to be seen. Merciful and
helpful, I wish to be at times, and just and fair at others,” said Morfael. “Now
appears a time to exercise the former, to forgive past wrongs in order to
accelerate a better cause and a future. Tell me, please. What are your plans
once you attain Bródúil?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“A great ill lies upon Corrthaine,” Skandar said
after a moment’s hesitation, “I wish to avenge those fallen in its wake of
death and ruin.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Learning forward with interest, Morfael concluded
simply, “You desire to kill King Fendral and Lord Joran. Fear not,” he chuckled
upon observing the color drain slightly from Skandar’s ruddy complexion. “this
conversation, also, will conveniently slip from memory.” He settled back in his
chair again, exuding comfort and calmness. “Understand, though, that should
Corrthaine call for aid during your conquest, as an ally, I am duty-bound to honor
our treaty and give it. To deny so, I risk pouring Corrthaine’s wrath upon my
people.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It is not Corrthaine’s wrath you should fear,”
mumbled Catrain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cocking an eyebrow, his scar puckering, Morfael
inclined his head in her direction. “Pray, good lady, if not Corrthaine, then
whom should I fear?” He maintained an air of skepticism, although Skandar
perceived the king knew more than he let on, in fact, he appeared to test
Catrain, to evaluate her bluff.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Staring him unwaveringly in the eye, her gaze cold
and dead, Catrain responded, “Our mutual friend, as you so name him.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As though an arrow skewered him to the high back
of his chair, the young king sat bolt upright, the color draining from his tanned
cheeks. Smug pride inflated inside Skandar at the shift in the tables, but it
quickly evaporated with he noticed how Brynna surveyed her bother with wide and
fear-filled eyes, tears brimming in their depths and shining in the flickering
firelight. The weight of her concern for her brother touched him; these people,
same as himself and his companions, struggled to survive however they could in
the moment, seizing every opportunity to gain the advantage. Over them. Over
their mutual friend.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">No one but Lord Joran instilled that aura of
terror. Anger replaced smugness and boiled within Skandar, festering inside him
upon the realization that to this exact moment in their quest, Lord Joran had
them on strings, pulling and tugging, manipulating them like wooden puppets in
a child’s story in the middle of a market square for all to see.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Recovering, Morfael said softly, “Then I suggest
you gather your belongings and ready yourselves to depart as soon as your
companions,” he indicated Skandar and Flynn with a finger, “are well enough to
travel. If our mutual friend is to be feared and the outcome predetermined despite
our efforts, time is essential and I swear on my father’s grave I will help you
however I can. We all are slaves to this man, whether we realize it or not, and
I believe this present situation we now find ourselves addressing may be tailored
to benefit us all,” he rose and made for the door, beckoning them to follow. “Whatever
you require,” he continued, “I shall bestow it to the best of my abilities.
Forget our arrangement. My reputation among my people matters naught in light
of this. After all, of what use serves a favorable reputation for a dead man?”
He chuckled in spite of the situation and stood, crossing the distance between
them in a matter of mere steps. “Compile a list of all the bounty hunters stole
from you with as much detail as possible, and I shall endeavor to recover them
and return them to you before you are ready to resume your journey.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“If you care not about your reputation, yet you
claim to see mutual opportunities, what then do you name your price from us?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Morfael paused at the doors, “Freedom out from
under the thumb of a tyrant. I did not become king to become subject to another
man’s authority, nor subject my people to his rule. Your success on your Quest
is all I ask. Succeed, and you free us all.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Succeed? One minute he sought to deliver us up to
True King knows who or where, and the next, he burdens us to succeed, saying it
will deliver <i>him</i>. We have not
numbers! We do not even possess our weapons, because our weakness and the
traitor among us,” Skandar shot Flynn a wicked glare and wished his sword hung
at his hip so he might smite the knight, “caused us to <i>lose them.</i>” His hands trembled and his vision darkened as his grip
on his anxiety and rage slipped. “How are we to face Corrthaine and Tir O
Niwl’s armies combined—because Fendral or Joran or whoever rules at the time
will call upon Morfael for aid and Morfael already declared himself his
obligation to supply it—when we could not even fend off a band of thieves?” His
breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he struggled to calm his
inhalations. Panic escalated within him and he began to pace frantically across
his chambers, ignoring the pain shooting through his shoulder. They needed to
leave. And he needed answers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Flynn shot
to his feet. “Traitor?” he hissed, reaching for a dagger, but he grasped only
air and his hand fell back to his side. “I ran to try to spare you, to draw
them away! I ran to protect you imbeciles. Your capture is on your own head!
Your injury on your head because you failed to listen to my instruction!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You call beating me and belittling me training
and instruction?” Skandar’s voice rose along with his anger.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Only because you refused to listen like a petty
child!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You killed my friend!” roared Skandar, the world
flashing black. “You cut him down when he was defenseless, and you expect me
not to despise you for that with every fiber of my being? If my only crime is
pettiness then so be it! You murdered the innocent. You left children
fatherless.” <i>Just like your father.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Before Skandar’s eyes, something inside Flynn
broke. The fire died in his ice-blue eyes and his shoulders drooped, his
appearance withered and weary. “I am a murderer. That sin I confess to you and
to the True King. But I have not betrayed any of you since stepping foot
outside the Capitol walls. That I swear to you on my life.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You might have to give it before I could ever
trust you,” Skandar muttered, the world returning to normal. He became aware of
the others’ as they stood warily around the room, poised and ready to drag
Flynn and Skandar apart should they resort to blows. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Uncomfortable silence settled about
the chamber, thick with tension as Skandar and Flynn retreated to their
respective sides, locking eyes and glowering at each other with unspoken
malice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Then Catrain cleared her throat. “I
realize now that I should have told you about this sooner. Forgive me for the
delay.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Told us what?” asked Eoin, his query
supported by curious nods from the others.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Not a fortnight before we left
Corrthaine, a messenger arrived from Tir Thuaidh with a letter for Sir Reuben.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “What has that to do with anything?”
said Skandar.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Patience. The letter was from my
father.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Skandar’s jaw dropped and his
attention snapped from Flynn to her. “I believed Prince Garren was dead.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “We all did,” Oliver agreed, “Cat? The
Prince is alive?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> She smiled, and it irked Skandar
that she had not seen fit to trust them with this information until now. “It
was necessary for certain people to believe he was dead. In truth, he has been
amassing a steadily growing force in Tir Thuaidh. For over two decades now
refugees on the run from my grandfather have been smuggled out of Corrthaine
north into Tir Thuaidh and west into Tir O Niwl. Those in the north are
gathering, preparing to march on Corrthaine at summer’s end. Those hiding in
Tir O Niwl are waiting to receive the message to begin their exodus.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Why continue on the quest for Bródúil?
Why not, when Skandar and Flynn’s strength return, travel instead to wherever
your father is? We would join his army. If the prince is alive, Corrthaine is
saved!” Aidan rejoiced, his face alight with eagerness and hope. “Who has need
of a legend, after all, if the True King is on our side?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Bródúil holds no significance to me
aside from presenting an intriguing tale,” admitted Catrain with a sideways
glance at Skandar, “but Edmund is still lost, and my father’s letter mentioned
nothing of him.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “What did the letter contain, Cat?”
Oliver shifted his weight, leaning toward her with interest.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Instructions. He and other refugees
forced to embark on the Quest are scattered about the clans in the north, but
are slowly congregating. Others will join him, but my mission is to warn them
and urge them to begin to move. We have precious little time to act as it is. If
given to the right person, the one my father names the Wolf, word will spread
to the other sanctuaries.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Do you know who this Wolf is?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> She shook her head. “He was from
before my time. And if he was charged with the Quest, his name is forbidden to all
in the castle save the Keeper, but Reuben told me that to protect the Wolf, he
would not speak his name. Walls have ears, as I am certain you all are well
aware.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Eoin lifted his hand. “Where hide
the refugees?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I cannot disclose their exact
locations to you. Unfortunately,” she continued, her expression downcast, “I
myself know not where they all lie. Which proves a hefty problem if we aspire
to achieve success of this mission. Due to the manner of its orchestration, no
one person knows where they all hide. Specific people in Tir O Niwl who express
sympathy to our cause aided and supplied some locations, but others were lost.”
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Spies? The knight who died…” understanding dawned
in Eoin and his mouth opened to query again, but Flynn, who sat beside him, raised
his leg and brought his heel down hard upon Eoin’s foot. The younger man yelped,
falling into the wall as he massaged the top of his boot and stared at Flynn,
his face twisted with befuddlement. “Right, ears everywhere,” he mumbled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Muted whispers ensued, planning, questioning, examining
every contingency possible in the time that followed in vague detail as they
all wondered how much Morfael ordered the guards to relate to him during a debriefing
council later. Only Skandar feared not the guards stationed outside who
undoubtedly eavesdropped with the intent to report back to Morfael. No, he
feared the ears inside belonging to Flynn and the information he sent to his
master. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For two days they plotted and schemed, devising
traveling actions and scouring the castle maps for directions, which Princess
Brynna readily provided, along with anything else they requested. She often
stopped by their chambers, offering up what information she knew about the
terrain and travel time, and delivering extra food upon Aidan and Eoin’s frequent
requests.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar recalled the spare hours in his youth
spent bending over maps of the Four Kingdoms, however incomplete his supply, and
enjoyed adding more information of the plains, forests, and mountain ranges to
his memory. So far, their plans consisted of traveling further west into the
heart of the forests. Although Catrain refused to show them the framework of
Sir Reuben’s plans until they were miles away from the castle, she appeared
confident about the general direction and that it contained what they sought. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar slowly regained his strength, although his
sensitivity to light lingered on. Muriel and Oliver asked about it each day,
and every time he responded, “It has not changed.” With each acknowledgement of
his condition, his heart sunk deeper into confusion and discouragement, and he
itched to run. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The second night, he crept out of bed and walked
the length of the hall, pushing his stamina to the limits. He strolled from
window to hall entrance, smiling feebly at the guards who otherwise left him
be, stopping to rest only twice during his five laps. Exhausted, he slunk back
to bed and promptly fell asleep as soon as he dropped onto the mattress, too
tired to dream.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The following afternoon, Princess Brynna arrived
at their doors with summons from Morfael. They gathered in the hall eagerly,
their spirits rising when they beheld several servants standing silently along
the wall with large bundles cradled in their arms.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“My men recovered your weapons and other effects
in several outlying villages yesterday evening. It appears they wandered about
attempting to sell them. I fear they consumed your rations and spent your money
on ale among other articles of leisure,” a bemused look transformed Morfael’s
countenance from its usual glower. “Perhaps the latter helped you. They were
all too drunk to protest or resist. Tis also fortunate the craftsmanship of
your weapons is so magnificent, especially this sword,” he reached into a pack
and withdrew Skandar’s sword. His heart leapt at the sight of it; the gold
knotted cross weaving itself intricately around the hilt and crossguard
glinting in the torchlight, familiar, and bringing back a flood of comforting memories
of Sir Reuben and his family, of a better time and a better life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Holding it aloft, Morfael examined it, caressing
the blade with a gloved finger. “Utterly magnificent,” he breathed. “To whom
does it belong? You?” he pointed at Oliver.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar stepped forward. “Me. It was a gift from a
mentor and friend.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You are fortunate to know such a man,” Morfael sheathed
the sword and handed it to Skandar. “Never lose his favor. A handful of close
friends is worth more than an entire army.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“My thanks, your Highness,” Skandar bowed, and
then fastened the sheath belt around his waist, smiling as the comforting
weight rested against his thigh.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You need not concern yourselves with the rogues
again,” added Brynna as the servants relieved their bundles on the floor and
Skandar and his companions scurried to dig through them for their belongings. “Bounty
hunters we pay. Thieves we imprison.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar stared at the young woman. For all her softness
and grace, she possessed a hidden ferocity and determination that mirrored her
brother’s. A grin crept onto his lips, and he followed her line of sight to
Aidan, who beamed at her even as he unfolded his axes and tucked them into his
belt.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Seems the princess fancies your brother more than
I thought,” remarked Flynn to Eoin as they rummaged through a bundle beside
Skandar.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eoin choked on air as he inhaled sharply and his
eyes flicked to Catrain, who was elbow-deep digging around in a bag. “What?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Flynn smirked and nodded at Brynna. “<i>That </i>princess.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eoin threw a glance over his shoulder at the
blonde-haired woman lingering behind him, her attention riveted on Aidan with
timid curiosity,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You are mistaken,” Eoin argued, steadfast in his
denial.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It appears losing one’s heart to royalty is
common in your family.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eoin’s eyes bulged, and Skandar fought the urge to
laugh, ducking behind his hand. Chuckling, Flynn rose to his feet and snatched
up his ebony sword, strapping it to his side.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For the better part of half an hour, they swooped
upon various piles, sorting through the mess and trading others’ property for
their own, making quick work of the haphazard assortment.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I have five daggers unaccounted for,” Flynn
declared when the large pile dwindled into smaller, organized stacks of folded
clothes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“How large?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Small. The length of my hand.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sweeping the room lazily, Skandar said, “I fear
they are gone. Something so small would sell for a lower price while a sword
would be too expensive to purchase, thus the reason most if not all peasants
are <i>defenseless</i>,” he spat the last
word, envisioning Peter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You think I have not known poverty?” Flynn uttered
hoarsely, so low only Skandar, who sat closest to him, heard. And ignored.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“For one with such a weapon himself,” Morfael
implied the sword resting beside Skandar’s embroidered cloak at his legs, “how
came you by such personal wisdom?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I was raised in a farming village. I learned to
barter, how to ensure a greater profit, what common people tend to purchase and
what they overlook and dismiss as too great a cost for something they would not
use in their lifetime. As I said, many peasants spend their lives providing for
their families as well as possible. They cannot defend themselves, especially against
mercenaries who abuse their power.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Morfael stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I wonder,
what would happen if I trained those interested in learning to fight? Imagine
the prospects if an entire country knew how to defend itself as a military
unit. You pose an interesting idea; one I hope to pursue with every faculty
available to me.” He cleared his throat, “Five daggers, is that all you lack?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I believe so,” replied Oliver after receiving a
general tacit consensus from his companions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Good. Whatever happens from this day onward,
please remember the aid I have provided you and the hand I extend to you in
alliance. Remember me as I am here, for I cannot promise the same the next time
we meet. These only I request of you. Succeed, and remember me.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As always, comments are welcome and appreciated if you have any thoughts or questions. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I would love to read what you have to say!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Thank you for reading!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
-Abigail</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-66218978436843360352017-06-02T13:53:00.000-05:002017-06-02T13:53:41.954-05:00QUESTION NEEDING ANSWERSSorry for the all-capitalized title, but, as it states, I have a quick question that requires feedback from you, my lovely readers.<br />
<br />
I am considering taking the advertising option in order to make some money off this blog (because Heaven knows I need it), which would also require me posting more often, which means more chapters and random ramblings. However, my question to you is as follows:<br />
<br />
<b>Would the addition of an ad here and there be distracting and/or annoying to you? </b><br />
<br />
I haven't conducted much research on the matter, and am just considering it for the time being, but I doubt they would pop up very often. Probably at the initial visit to this blog page. Anyway, PLEASE comment your thoughts. Your feedback matters to me.<br />
<br />
Also, stay tuned for a chapter by the beginning of next week! My apologies for taking so terribly long.<br />
<br />
-AbigailAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-21221483436296819712017-05-07T20:07:00.001-05:002017-05-07T20:07:27.679-05:00It's Been a Long, Long Time...It's May.<br />
It's May, and I feel as though I'm just emerging from beneath a rock. In a sense, though, I am, if a rock is synonymous for college. (College is actually wonderful, if time consuming. Then again, I suppose everything consumes some fragment of time.)<br />
<br />
The past however-many-months-since-I-last-posted flew by in a flurry of papers and exams, and I wrote little outside of assignments, thus the reason for my temporary drop off the face of the sphere of blogging. Which I know wins first place among lousy excuses.<br />
<br />
Moving onward to the purpose of this particular post. Tomorrow marks the beginning of finals week, and with the extra time, I will begin writing <i>The Mark of the King</i> anew and in earnest and power through until its completion.<br />
<br />
Long story short: I'm still alive and will have a new chapter here sometime in the near future (within the next couple weeks at the most).<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-85693079489336786032016-09-22T21:38:00.002-05:002016-12-01T09:40:20.182-06:00The Mark of the King: Chapter Twenty-Six<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
For once, I have nothing other to say than 'enjoy'!</div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Oliver,
Muriel, Catrain, and the brothers waited outside Skandar’s room, hesitant, each
looking to one another to enter first, shifting from side to side as they
stood. Then Muriel separated from the small huddle and pushed open the door.
Those waiting in the hall heard the muffle of voices and the muffled rustle of
heavy fabric along the light airy breeze that wafted through the stuffy chamber
and into the corridor. One by one, they filed after another and each strained
for a glimpse of their recovering friend as they crossed over the threshold. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Skandar sat, propped upright by several pillows, and
groggily examined the room, his mouth pulled tight in a grim line and his eyes
wide and confused. Woolen blankets covered his legs and rippled around his
waist. His bare chest rose and fell shallowly as he breathed the fresh air
floating in through the open windows, layered with the earthy scent of grass. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Alasdair, who up until that point
had been bustling about his patient, proceeded to gather his belongings into
his arms and, with a dip of his head in respect to Oliver, sidled past them and
left them alone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Skandar?” queried Muriel, uncertain
whether, in his apparent delirium, he noticed their presence or not. He snapped
to attention at the sound of her silver voice and stared at them, his gaze hard
and piercing. Then it softened, and the corners of his pale lips tugged faintly
upward.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Muriel stepped to his side and,
ignoring propriety, threw her arms around his neck in hasty embrace, which
Skandar returned, albeit limply.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Forgive me,” he croaked, “it seems
my strength has yet to return.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Nor did I expect it to,” said
Muriel as she filled a mug with water and held it to his mouth, tipping it as
he drank. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “It is good to see you again with
the living,” Oliver reached across Muriel and clapped Skandar’s uninjured
shoulder, a hearty smile parting his face. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Tis good to be awake, however,”
Skandar glanced at the bandage around his arm and grimaced, “while asleep I did
not feel the pain.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “While asleep, you nearly died.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “So they told me,” he replied
flatly, unsurprised by his brush with death. His legs twitched beneath the
blankets. “How much time passed? The last I remember was the dungeon.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “You slept the past two days,”
supplied Catrain, who leaned against the wall alongside the brothers. “Rest as
long as required; we shan’t leave until you are hale and whole again.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Restless, Skandar readjusted his
position again and breathed deeply, impatience filling him as readily as the
air inflating his lungs. Every moment he spent recovering, he lost in his
quest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Reading his concerns, Muriel rested
a hand on Skandar’s buried leg and said gently, “If we leave prematurely, while
you are yet weakened, you do nothing to help yourself or us. You hinder your
mission. Patience comes not easily to you, I know, but when you feel ready to
resume our travels, we will do so and then retake the time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Skandar sighed, knowing that she, so
like Sir Reuben, spoke reason he could not deny. Her presence in that moment,
her attentiveness and serenity, reminded him of the Keeper and a raw emptiness
formed a cavity in his chest. Although he knew Sir Reuben for a matter of
months, Skandar missed him, the mentor who in a short time closed gaping
questions that had followed Skandar since childhood. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Then something cold slithered into
the hole inside him, and an eerie sensation similar to that elicited by the
tendrils of mist in his dreams coursed through him. Skandar shuddered and
squeezed his eyes shut, his fists balled at his sides. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Warm fingers pried open his hand and
slipped into his palm. “Is it the pain?” asked Muriel, her voice layered with
anxious and concern.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> His eyelids flew open; the room
flashed gray, but returned to color with such speed Skandar questioned whether
he imagined the change. His heart thumped and blood pulsed in his ears,
momentarily drowning out all other sounds. No one else moved. They stood rigid,
garbed in hues of reds, blacks, and browns. He blinked, and his attention
flicked to Muriel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “My shoulder,” he lied, “but it has
passed.” A calm, composed smile pulled his lips taut over his bared teeth in
such a manner that sent tingling chills dancing up the backs of his friends.
The irises of his eyes, once so purely silver, darkened another shade, but only
Muriel, sitting on the edge of the bed, noticed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> While the others were occupied in
conversation detailing events of the past days to Skandar, Catrain stole out of
the room and entered her chambers to retrieve a couple items she discovered
earlier in one of the table drawers. Through the corridors, she paced herself
so, to the guards stationed at the entrance, she appeared neither too fast nor
too slow, but determined if aloof, and with a destination at the forefront of
her thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Minutes later, she arrived before
the dungeons where the guards admitted her, but not without regarding her with
much scrutiny. With two unexplained visits in one day, this time unaccompanied,
one if not both men would talk. Gossip presented the likely reason for wagging
tongues, but Catrain refused to reason out loyalty or personal gain when considering
the motives behind how information traveled to the ears of the king. In this
case, Catrain favored the latter. Often in Corrthaine, she discovered that, to
win favor with those in authority, people suddenly remembered even the most
obscure details. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Flynn reclined on his back in his
cell, studying the ceiling with disinterest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I need your help.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Flynn eased himself into an upright
position, wincing and clutching his broken ribs. “For all that is worth,” he
grumbled. Then an eyebrow arched in mild intrigue. “About what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “The Legend of Bródúil- have you
read it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Indeed,” he frowned. “Lord Joran
required it of me before this frivolous endeavor, for all the good it did.” He
inched forward, his shackles scraping the stones. “What concerns you, Kate?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Shivering, Catrain vigorously rubbed
her arms before folding them around her lean waist to ward off the damp draft.
“Skandar concerns me. Something is happening to him… something the legend
warned about those who bear the Mark.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “So it is true,” he grasped the bars
and pulled himself closer, his face mere inches from hers. “I regarded it as
myth. A fantasy. Truly you do not believe the darkening. I do not. However, I
admit I witnessed things with Lord Joran that rivaled my doubt.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Catrain’s arms dropped from her
waist and her hands found each other. As was her habit, she began twisting her
fingers. “Lord Joran?” she prompted, but Flynn set his jaw and refused to
elaborate further. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Before leaving, Sir Reuben
entrusted to me a copy of the legend to give Skandar when, he directed, I
deemed it necessary he read it. I fear I waited too long. I fear I missed the
opportunity entirely. If things go awry, it will be my burden to bear.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Catrain’s lament confused Flynn. Her
words spoke volumes of remorse and worry, but her manner of speech and the tone
in which she said them held little to no amount of regret. It was as if she
thought aloud and followed a trail of musings, mumbling them to herself without
regard to anyone else in the room. She reminded him of himself, and a part of
him wished to protect her, if he possibly could, from becoming cold and
calloused like he so easily did. “I doubt you are to blame,” he responded after
a while, knowing nothing else to say that might draw her out of her mind. He
knew what a dangerous place, what a prison it could be when one resided in it
too long.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Regardless,” she sighed, “whatever
the outcome may be, it rests the hand of the True King. Do you believe in Him,
Flynn?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He pondered his reply, examining it
thoroughly for several moments, during which Catrain waited patiently,
statuesque in her stillness. “I admit to not knowing much about such a being.
Yet through the course of this quest, I find myself encountering things, feelings,
stirrings in my soul foreign to me, that I cannot explain. I cannot refute nor
can I ignore their existence any longer. If there is a True King, as you call
Him, a Creator God who does indeed oversee and judge all that occurs in the
world, I believe that when He sets in motion His plan, we can do nothing to
corrupt or hinder it. We play the role He intended of us. There isn’t much we
can do to mar the course that He cannot remedy, considering the stories are
true,” he chuckled, bemused by his reasoning. “Odd how prison alters one’s
perspectives about faith. Until this time, I gave it little contemplation. But
time in solitude provided more than ample time to reflect. I admit that more
than once I hoped for His mercy upon my past deeds.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “You need not pine for His mercy as
though observing from afar. You ask.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <i>Sly
girl,</i> Flynn nearly laughed, but the conclusion she tricked him into
revealing lifted his heart so unexpectedly it shocked him. He would have to
remember her skill of sliding past his defenses in the future. Though
undeniably, the weight crushing him no longer drove him so deep into the mire
of his guilt that he feared suffocating. It was as though she threw him a rope,
a life line he need only grab hold of. Still, trepidation loomed as his sins
burned holes through his soul. “I would ask, but…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “But you are afraid,” she completed
his sentence. “You have yet to relinquish your pride. You wear both it and
arrogance the way I wear confidence: as a cloak to conceal the brokenness and
insecurities beneath. We both wish to instill intimidation lest others draw too
close, become too comfortable, and thus glimpse our true colors, our
vulnerability.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “By others, you mean Eoin? Days in
the dark yield light into many past interactions, especially between the Twin
Archers.”</span><br />
<div style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: andalus; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> She shot him an icy glare that turned bitter cold at his
use of the nickname.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Softly and with drudging reluctance, he whispered, “You
are not wrong.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Request the forgiveness of the True
King; in it lies the remedy to your condition. As you yourself declared, He
will grant you mercy without hesitation. With that comes peace and courage to
request forgiveness from others.” She paused thoughtfully. “The True King
softens the hearts of those He wills. Have faith.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Perhaps another time,” he shrank
back into shadows. “I deserve this prison.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “This physical prison, perhaps, but
remember that this prison of guilt you resign yourself to is of your own
decision. I will fight for your freedom.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I do not think your friends share
your enthusiasm.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Regardless, we need you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “So this is a matter of aim and
ambition?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Nay,” Catrain refused, but
rethought her denial. “In a manner, I suppose it is.” She changed the subject
as another thought of interest sprang from the depths of her mind. “A cook
today mentioned that they have not received word of any kind from Corrthaine
officials or the Niwl ambassadors. Do you know why that may be? Is it possible
Lord Joran’s plot involved confining them to the Capitol to control Niwl
royalty?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “He told me little, only what I
needed to know to fulfill the orders given me. Truthfully, I do not understand
why he sent me with you all when he could have easily commanded someone else.
He understood the dangers of my appearing in Tir O Niwl,” he sighed and stretched
out his legs, leaning back on his elbows. “Holding hostage the Niwls would
betray the accords agreed upon in the peace treaty; its youth weakens it
already, and Lord Joran would not jeopardize it further. Nay, more likely,
something happened to keep them there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “The death of a knight?” she implied
Sir Rupert. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> His face turned into the shadows.
“The death of a king. Or the rapid ailing of one at least. With the prince
presumed dead and the princess disappeared, the crown and rule falls-”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “To the lord possessing the majority
of the court’s support,” she finished. “My grandfather was a mercenary. People
feared him and swore their allegiance to him when he conquered. But even fear
can be swayed and won through a snake with a silver tongue.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Aye. Lord Joran rallied supporters
among other lords and peoples in lesser positions of power often overlooked by
King Fendral, each with warriors in reserve to back him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Why him? Why Lord Joran?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “You read the legend. I only saw it
myself a short time ago,” replied Flynn with a hint of smugness. “You will
understand without my telling you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Chewing on her lip in concentration,
her fingers twisting rapidly in her hands, Catrain mulled for a time before her
eyes widened and her jaw slackened. “How did I fail to see that before?” she
berated herself for her blindness. Of all the puzzle pieces she overlooked,
that proved the most vital to completing the picture.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Mayhap you saw, but tried to
understand the landscape rather than observe the flicker of a flame burning a
blade of grass.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “What of Corrthaine?” she asked, her
tongue thick and her mouth suddenly dry. “My people. My home.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Speak with Morfael,” Flynn
suggested, sitting upright once again with renewed interest. “Tell him the
truth, or as much as you deem necessary. He may be a reeking rat, but I believe
that he will grasp the gravity of the situation at hand, and once he opens his
eyes, he may be willing to aid us.” Flynn shrugged. “As king he answers to the
people of his country, therefore he is duty bound to seek their best
interests.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “About Lord Joran,” she said,
pulling a quill, inkwell, and parchment from the satchel draped around her
shoulders.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Flynn eyed them, asking, “What will
you have me do?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Inhaling deeply, she replied,
“Compose a letter to Lord Joran. Explain to him all that transpired during your
journey with us. Omit nothing, save our conversations and plans.” She slid the
items between the bars, holding them out until Flynn reached for them, lay them
on the floor, and brushed damp straw over them. “I intended to bring them this
morning. Eoin accompanying me was an unforeseen delay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Tell Lord Joran in what direction
we travel—west toward Talahm Glas—he studied the maps, yes?” she waited for him
to confirm her presumption before continuing, “he will no doubt send a small
force to track our progress from here, is that not what he commanded years ago?
A force to slay the dissenters among the groups or reinforce the loyalty of
those under his control. On horseback, the journey should not take them long.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Less than a week behind us, by my
estimation. To where do we voyage?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “To one of the locations drawn on
the map, although to complete it, I will require your copy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Flynn heaved a great sigh, “Which
you shall have once I reacquire my sword. Be careful. You underestimate
Morfael’s cunning. He laces spies in every village, every town, who report back
to him everything they see and hear.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> A dark brow quirked upward. “As you
yourself laced spies to observe and report Sir Reuben’s movements?” Color
drained from his already ghostly face, and she sat back, smugly satisfied with
his astonishment and his momentary panic. “Alas, even I know not what the maps
hide, so I doubt Morfael’s dimwitted, ale-sodden fools who listen for coins-”
she paused for a breath as Flynn smirked “-will achieve much more. I have
suspicions, formed through whispers, but…” her voice trailed off, her gaze
growing unfocused as her sight turned inward. “I will return at dawn to
retrieve the letter and send it when you finished.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “What then?” he asked turning his
back to her. Then dipping the quill in the inkwell, he began to scratch the nib
along the surface of the parchment, leaving scrawling black letters in its
trail that, when wet, shone silver in the sunlight before drying. “You play a
dangerous game, one filled with uncertain wagers. If plans go awry, and trust
me- they will, what price are you prepared to pay in recompense?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> She shrugged, indicating that, while
she considered the various outcomes, she forgot to weigh the cost. Swallowing,
she said, “You play your role, Flynn, and I shall play mine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “And what part is that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “The part I’ve played since my
childhood when I began to see things not as how they appeared, but as how they
were. I trust you. Betray me,” she added, lacing her tone with steel, “and you
will rue that day for eternity. I shall not kill you, but neither will I
prevent your death.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I would expect nothing less,” the
scratch of the nib paused. “Your trust I hold in the highest regard. I
understand you give it not without careful consideration.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Catrain nodded curtly, “Until the
morning.” Pivoting on her barefooted heel, she strode away, the distant
scratching of the quill echoing faintly in her ears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Wherever did you slip away to?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Catrain whirled around, her hand
flying to her plait and swinging down again, a long hairpin clutched fast in
her grip, and hissed when Eoin emerged from the concaved portion of the
corridor wall that marked a door. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Eoin’s eyes focused on the bone
hairpin and widened. “They allowed you that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “They provided me with it.” She slid
it back into her hair, wincing as the sharp point scraped across her scalp.
“Kind, was it not?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Foolish on their behalf, beneficial
on ours. Kind, however, even I recognize as a stretch of the truth.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> She glared, her green eyes catching
the light streaming through the iron grate window in the perfect angle that it
appeared they glowed, igniting feline ferocity that contrasted with the
fairness of her skin and the rich brown of her hair. The image stole his breath
away, for standing there, she resembled not a human but one of the faerie folk
of legends that enrichened his country’s culture. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Noticing his lingering gaze, Catrain
stepped away as in the heavens, a cloud drifted over the sun and the light
vanished from her eyes, breaking the enchantment. She turned completely and
walked to her chamber, more to prevent him from spying the dark red that
flushed her cheeks than to enter them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Forgive me,” apologized Eoin when
he realized how uncomfortable she became. “My intention was not to… Cat,” he
reached out and laid a hand on her arm as she paused to fumble with the latch.
At his touch, she flinched and bit her lower lip, and he withdrew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Clearing her throat, she said,
“Eoin, do you trust me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Taken aback by the abrupt query, he
paused. “Aye.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “If I requested your support, do I
have it?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: andalus; font-size: 12pt;"> “Always,” he replied, void of
hesitation. “Is this about where you vanished to? And about your conversation
with Flynn this morning?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> She lowered her voice barely above
the hum of a whisper. “I sought Flynn’s counsel on a matter and he suggested we
tell Morfael the truth. Part of it, at least.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Which part? <i>I</i> do not know it all, Cat. Do you not trust me with the truth?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I do, but I fear the burden will
harm you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Harm me? I-”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “No, not harm you…” her fingers flew
together, knitting and unknitting themselves in her anxiety. “…change you. This
is where I need you to aid me and convince the others so we may determine, as a
whole, what we disclose to the king. Will you do that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Aye, but why not you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “You speak more convincingly than
I.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “You convinced me to address them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “One person,” she said flatly, “not
a group. You asked to be included this morning…” she trailed off, effectively
transferring his attention from her to himself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Eoin stared at her, and she resisted
the urge to wither beneath his keen scrutiny. At long last, a boyish grin split
his lips and he agreed, adding over his shoulder as he walked away, “But I
shall not be the one to stand before King Morfael!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Smiling, she called back, “Nay, that
responsibility we defer to another!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Allow me one inquiry for the sake
of clarity,” Oliver ceased pacing across the width of Skandar’s chambers, his
composure slipping, slightly ruffled in his attempt to understand the
proposition Eoin presented to their gathered group. “Morfael is to be told what
we collectively know? That is not much.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “With embellishments, it will be
adequate,” Catrain assured.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Adequate? Embellishments, Cat?”
Oliver and Muriel spoke over one another.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Fine then,” Catrain resolved, “no
embellishments. The truth in its roughest form.” She strode swiftly from one
side of the room to the other, and stopped beside Muriel, her skirts swishing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Muttering to herself, Muriel glanced
at the floor and then frowned. “Cat, are you barefoot?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Catrain Garrendaughter!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Eoin hid his snicker behind his
sleeve.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Skandar, who had grown restless
lying in bed, sat leaning against a pile of pillows stacked beside him with his
legs hanging over the side of the bed. The meager effort strained him, proving
enough to produce a sheen of sweat on his pallid face. Nonetheless, he spoke
hoarsely in the following silence. “I concur with Cat. It is our only option to
avoid further detainment and continue on our quest.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “The truth frees us from bondage,”
Aidan mused aloud, the first he uttered in a long while. “We prayed to the True
King to reveal to us a way out. Mayhap this is it.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Simultaneously, the two undecided
members sighed, defeated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “We tell him,” said Muriel. Oliver
sidled to her and dropped his folded arms. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “And Oliver is our designated
speaker,” Eoin announced jovially. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Oliver’s eyes bulged. “I think not!”
he sputtered. “This is Cat’s plan and therefore, ‘tis only fair she present it
to the king.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Correction,” Catrain raised her
first finger in the air. “It was Flynn’s idea, and he currently sits in the
dungeon. You by far are the best orator among us.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Flashing a dark glare, Oliver jutted
out his jaw in her direction, “There are times when I detest the tutoring my
father forced me to suffer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “And there are times when you
appreciate it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He jerked his head to the side and
scrunched his face, as though the admonishment left a bitter taste in his
mouth. “Occasionally. I see a particularly blazing problem, though.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “And what, pray, might that be?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “None of us here collectively shared
anything with another worth mentioning to the king to clear us and prompt him
to release us from here, other than my paternal lineage.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Everyone in the room found sudden
immense interest in drab details- the reflection in the metal water pitcher,
the cracks and veins webbing through the floor stones, the birds dancing in the
sky outside the window; none forthcoming in their reasons, no one willing to
break the uncomfortable silence until Eoin piped up:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I came for adventure. A quest on
which no one succeeded? Cursed, says some. Ill-fated say others. I thought it
fascinating, more than sitting around the confines of the castle and endless
training. There,” he leaned back, resting his shoulders against the wall, “I
yield to you my reason.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Aidan followed, “I came to watch
over that one,” he pointed to his brother, “and to return to my homeland if the
True King wills it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I came to support my friend,” said
Muriel, looking to Skandar, and then to Eoin, “And because I also craved
adventure.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “To end my father’s tyranny and
bring about his downfall.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I seek vengeance,” confessed
Skandar, “And I seek my father or in the least, I wish to uncover his remains.
I quest for the Sword Bródúil, with which King Fendral and Lord Joran will pay
for their treachery and the ruin they brought upon Corrthaine,” Skandar fairly
growled the end through gritted teeth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Then after a long pause, Catrain,
the final to admit her purpose, said softly, “I came to right the error done by
my grandfather, and to fulfill that mission bequeathed to me by my father.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Another silence, and Oliver crossed
his legs and lowered himself to the floor, understanding that no short time
would pass before they puzzled out the entirety of their story, and he
entertained no intention to endure that time standing. “Right then. Let’s
begin, shall we?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> With that, they circled around and
discussed in detail their journey thus far, talking until their stomachs clawed
at their bellies with hunger and the light through the window dimmed. At last,
they settled back, satisfied, when a knock sounded on the door and Alasdair
entered, flanked by several maids carrying trays with platters and bowls. The
heavy aroma of roasted meat and the earthy scent of baked bread filled the
room, and mouths watered as they breathed deeply and savored the various
smells.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “King Morfael thought you might wish
to take the evening meal in your chambers, seeing as you neglected to appear in
the Hall,” noted the physician with some disdain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “We beg his forgiveness and hope he
understands that we had urgent matters to review now that Skandar is returned,”
said Oliver cordially, slipping back into his role as the son of Lord Joran,
although with less arrogance than when in the presence of the king. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Nodding,
Alasdair directed the serving girls to deposit the food items on the bedside
table before he conducted a brief examination of Skandar, declared him well
enough to manage solid foods, and promised to return in the morning before he
and the two women departed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The minute they were alone, Muriel
set about carving slices of venison from the platter and laying them on plates
along with brown rolls, distributing them to each member of the group before
sitting down herself to eat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Skandar’s hands shook as he raised
the bread to his lips, and he silently thanked the cooks for not sending up
something such as soup or broth. After he first awoke, the physician coaxed him
to swallow simple broth, feeding Skandar who, in his befuddled state, could
tell neither the handle of the spoon from the utensil’s bowl and would have
succeeded in sloshing the broth all over himself. Even now, while regained most
of his motor abilities, his shoulder ached acutely and caused his entire arm to
quiver. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The door flew open, cracking against
the stones; the abrupt sound echoed long after everyone in the room snapped to
attention, startled. Their mouths dropped at the sight of the figure standing
in the doorway. All but Skandar staggered to their feet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Morfael entered, cloak billowing
behind him, his head lifted proudly, brow sloping over eyes that passed over
them with condescending authority. Aidan and Eoin bowed while Muriel and
Catrain curtsied; Oliver, assuming his façade, dipped his head, as did Skandar,
unable to display more reverence from his position on the bed. But he managed a
nervous smile, and awaited the young king to address them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Sweeping the folds of his cloak over
his squared shoulder, expression grave in the dying light and the scar along
his brow adding a ferocity to his composure, Morfael announced, his words
forced, “I hope you find your meal adequate.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He paused, and silence ensued. If
Skandar listened carefully, he heard the dull clang of swords and the thwack of
arrows from a distant training field, and he longed to join them, not dally any
longer in a cramped chamber. <i>On with it,</i>
he urged, sensing his energy draining as the seconds passed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Clearing his throat, Morfael
continued, “After much consideration, and at the request of my sister, I
decided to release your final companion.” Turning to the door, he waved his
hand and ushered in a man lingering outside. Skandar’s blood boiled as he
recognized the tall frame of Flynn limping inside. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Flynn halted just inside, hesitated,
and swayed as though intending to retreat back into the corridor as an
uncomfortable and nearly tangible chill swept through the air. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> A sly twitch tugged at Morfael’s
smug lips as he surveyed the expressions of those in the room. The younger two
men, the brothers, he thought, looked indifferent; the vain Joranson appeared
truly shocked, as did his betrothed. The recovering man with the curiously
colored hair seethed and ire glinted in his black eyes. The serving girl amused
him, however, as she appeared neither shocked nor indifferent, rather
half-amused and pleased and with a coldness seeping into his chest, deep-seeded
fear, he wondered if she also lived beneath the thumb of Lord Joran. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">His son, his son’s betrothed, his lieutenant and assassin,
and a meager handful of guards. Theirs was no ordinary quest, to be certain. Swallowing
hard, Morfael maintained his composure, forcing himself to remain hardened and
unafraid. His concerns fled to his family—his sister, his wife, and his sons,
mere infants. Did the visitors intend to usurp his throne by regicide? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Their stares unnerved him; tension thickened in the air and
his throat tightened as he fought the urge to flee from his own guests, in his
own castle. He released Flynn. Surely he proved his loyalty; surely Lord Joran
would dismiss him as a threat and spare his family. He swallowed again, and
without further reflection, nodded and strode regally from the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Flynn remained long enough to meet
Catrain’s eyes and tap his vest, still splattered with mud and blood from
traveling and yet to be washed, before he, too, departed and wandered to his
own personal chambers, guards not two steps from his heels. <i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> When the knight was gone, Skandar
gawked at his companions. They all shared the same bewilderment as him, all
questioning to themselves what incited that change of mind, and each answering
the silent query with a single name. Then he yawned. His hunger satiated, he
suddenly felt the weight of exhaustion bearing down upon him as the flame of
rage at the sight of Flynn flickered and snuffed out, and his eyelids drooped.
Serving girls appeared and gathered up the supper items as Catrain and the
brothers excused themselves for the night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Swaying, he leaned back against the pillows, barely aware
of the rustle of movement around him until Muriel lifted the bowl from his
hands, saying, “You seem quite finished, Skandar, not to mention spent. We kept
you longer than we should.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Nay, forgive me,” he replied, his words slurring together
as though his tongue were weighted, “I make poor company. Perhaps tomorrow I
shall act more myself.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Muriel smiled and squeezed his hand affectionately, her
fingers cool against his skin. “Sleep well, Skandar. If you need anything,
hesitate not to call, regardless of hour.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Thank you,” he said, allowing his eyelids to fall shut.
To his ears came the faint click of the latch as Muriel closed the window, and
the thin membrane of his lids darkened from red to gray as Oliver extinguished
the main torch, leaving a candle burning in the holder on the bedside table.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Good night,” whispered Muriel from the doorway. “May the
True King bless you, Skandar.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Once outside, Muriel slipped her arm through Oliver’s
elbow, resting her head against his shoulder. “’Tis been an odd day,” she
murmured.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Odd indeed,” agreed Oliver, kissing the top of her hair.
“For a moment earlier this morning I feared Morfael would strike me. I was
almost astonished when he didn’t. Then he releases Flynn.” Oliver sighed and
massaged the back of his neck. “I don’t like acting this way. I worry that…” he
trailed off. They stopped outside Muriel’s room and she circled around to face
him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “You worry that acting like your
father, while temporary, will change you, will turn you into him,” Muriel
finished, voicing what he could not. With tender affection, she wove her
fingers through his and squeezed his hand tightly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Oliver gazed at her with burning desire before he threw
propriety aside, encircled his arm around her waist and pulled close, pressing
her against him in a tight caress. Her head nestled into his neck, and he
stroked her thick black tresses that hung in loose curls below her waist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I love you, Oliver. You. I know to whom my heart runs,
and it knows the truth,” she whispered tenderly and brushed her lips against
his sparsely stubbled jaw. Pulling away, she cupped his face; he leaned into
her delicate, but calloused palm. “Sir Oliver of the Silver Axe.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Silver Axe?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She smiled shyly, “I thought it befitting. More so than
Joranson.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“And you, milady? Will you take this Silver Axe as your
husband?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I gave you my answer once and I shall not revoke it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Heart gladdened, Oliver embraced her once more and bade
her good night as they parted ways, she entering into her chambers and he into
his, each pining for their reunion come dawn and dreading it, for soon after
that, they must face Morfael with the truth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Skandar awoke to a sound outside his chambers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The room was dark, save a candle, little more than a lump
of wax pooling around the candlestick, burned on the bedside table. He lay
prone, listening, unsure whether he dreamed the noise or not. Curiosity besting
him, he slid off the bed and onto the floor, the stones cold against his hands
and knees as he crawled, following the hazy glow of the grate in the wall.
Dropping onto his belly, he pressed his temple to the floor and peered through
the iron crossbars to the exterior passage where a figure moved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She stood with her back to him; her hair hung loose to her
middle back, and she wore a dressing gown, her bare feet dampening all sound as
she walked. <i>Catrain.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She stopped before the door to the chamber facing his.
Softly, she rapped on the door facing his, then knocked again when no one
answered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After a long silence following the second knock, she
detected the pad of footsteps hurrying toward the door, then the turn of the
lock, and she stepped back as it swung inward. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Flynn, pale and bedraggled for want of sleep, stared at
her foggily, violet circles rimming his eyes. He heaved an exasperated sigh,
folded his arms, and then accompanied her in the hall, but not before sweeping
it up and down for movement in the curtains of shadows covering the walls.
“’Tis the middle of the night, Catrain,” he grumbled crossly, “Careful or
people may talk. Tongues in every castle fly when fed a rumor or other
nonsense, and this one provides no exception.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I apologize for the hour, but I had a question for which
I required an answer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I will fetch the letter,” he made to reenter the room,
but she stopped him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Later,” she continued. “You said your father was
nobility, yet your mother worked here as a maid regardless of the papers of
credibility he sent with you. After promising to join you and her in Tir O
Niwl, he did not, nor did he send for you to return when the plague passed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Kate-” he cast a shifting glance toward the guards
stationed at the mouth of the corridor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You and Magge lived as commoners, starving during the
winter with, as you claimed, no position to your name.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Magge?</span></i><span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> thought Skandar, utterly
confused. He never heard the name mentioned before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Catrain-”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You knew Lord Joran would provide you with protection and
position in Corrthaine. I know Lord Joran, mayhap not as well as you, but for
him to act so welcomingly toward a stranger contradicts everything of his
character.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “<i>Princess</i>,” Flynn hissed, reverting to
her title to gain her attention. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In response, she shot him an indignant glare and continued
bluntly, “Who was your father, Flynn?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Expression dark, emphasized greater by the sleepless
shadows and bruises in the valleys of his face, Flynn leaned forward, hissing,
“Not Lord Joran if you imply that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“In that case, who are you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">His lips curled into semblance of a snarl as he replied,
“I am nobody. Goodnight.” Abruptly, he backed inside his chambers and closed
the door, leaving her to continue puzzling in the hallway, their conversation
unheard by anyone save Skandar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She sides with him,</span></i><span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> he thought, unable to banish the
malicious doubts from his head, recalling the phantom Flynn from his fevered
dream. His heart pounded with memory of the fight; he opened and closed his
fist around an invisible sword, envisioning Bródúil in his grasp, the sword’s
power flowing through his veins. On trembling hands and knees, his strength yet
to fully return, he crawled to the side of his bed; the distance short, but to
his weakened perception, he may as well crawl the breadth of the Capitol’s vast
training field. Once again lying among the feather pillows and thick blankets,
he mused angrily, “If the princess sides with him, who else will she rally to
them? Aidan and Eoin? Muriel?” <i>Not Oliver</i>.
“Nay, his disputes with Flynn ensure his loyalty, and with him, Muriel. Cat and
Flynn intend to steal Bródúil. Why else would they whisper at night? They
desire it for themselves. They seek to gain its power. She has legitimate claim
to the throne, but Flynn… that is why she concerns herself with his parentage.
He either poses a threat or an ally to her.” He balled the sheets in his fist
until his fingers ached and then numbed. “They cannot steal it from me.” His
breathing stilled as an ominous calm crept from the shadows and filled him,
allowing his focus to narrow to a point. “Bródúil is mine.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Quieting his mind with his
resolution, Skandar retreated into the realm of dream and mist. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus";">Comments are always appreciated, even if it's something as simple as "oh hey, I like this character" or "oh no" or "I can't believe this happened" or even the frantic "what are you doing???" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus";">As a writer, it's fun to read people's reactions and thoughts about my creations.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus";">So please comment if you feel inclined!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus";">You all are amazing, and I cannot thank you enough for reading.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus";">God bless,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus";">-Abigail-</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-8420671051714361042016-08-21T22:57:00.002-05:002016-08-21T23:06:50.540-05:00My TestimonyTonight I want to do something different. I want to tell you a story. My story.<br />
<br />
I don't quite understand why. I've never bared my soul to anyone; not even my closest friends. Only two people know the story I tell you: myself and God.<br />
<br />
But I want to share this with you now, a calling perhaps, a prompting that nudged me for a while. Until tonight I've been a coward. I don't wish people to get too close. I don't want them to look at me differently or with pity in their eyes. I"m sure some, if not all of you understand. My story isn't a grand redemption. But I share it with you with the hope that you will read it and be encouraged about the might, grace, and love my God abounds with.<br />
<br />
It began one night at supper with a bowl of macaroni and cheese. I was five months shy of my fifth birthday. Throughout my life, my parents brought me to church where I attended Sunday School; Wednesday mornings I accompanied my mom to Bible study. At both, I learned about Jesus sacrificing himself to redeem us from sin and about his resurrection. That night, as I sat at the dinner table over my bowl of mac&cheese, the pieces suddenly clicked in my tiny brain.<br />
I remember bursting into tears and when my mom asked what was wrong, I told her that I couldn't fathom why someone would go to such lengths to hurt someone else, or why someone would desire to endure such pain. She explained to me the reason, and I accepted Christ into my heart that night, praying to accept his salvation. I also told my mom that I never wanted to intentionally hurt anyone. That statement, however simple, lingers on, a shadow behind me at all times that has grown into another thing. More on that later.<br />
<br />
The years passed, and I regularly attended church throughout elementary school, middle school, and into high school; I participated in church choir (and the mission trips they included) and acted as many believe Christians should. I learned. Heaven knows I learned, but I never delved deep into my faith as I grew older. I learned, yes, but I never <i>studied</i>. Sure, I read my Bible on a regular basis, but more to mark a check off my daily list rather than because I possessed a hunger and desire to read.<br />
<br />
Trouble began my sophomore year of high school. As classes and homework piled up, I frequented the pages of my Bible less and less until finally I stopped reading it save Sunday at church. Then stress hit and with it, depression. And I fell deep. I've never been good with emotions; I bottle them up until the dam bursts and all that I pent up washes over me in a tidal wave of anger and rage because I lost control. Sometimes it would strike and I would be doubled over, unable to breathe because the pain stole the air from my lungs. I retreated inward; not outward to God. I thought that, in time, I would learn to control the depression, rule over it instead of the other way around. Needless to say, I've always struggled with control issues, a battle I fight even today and probably will over the course of my life.<br />
Eventually my mom and I analyzed what I was feeling, a process that took months (yeah, I'm that bad as deciphering feelings), and as the school year ended, so did my problems. Or so I thought...<br />
<br />
...when out of the blue my first full-fledged panic attack happened. Over the last two years I've learned somewhat to recognize my triggers, but again, I believe that's God reinforcing the notion that I cannot control everything. Depression came and went in waves. It still does. During the summer months I read my Bible consistently and through the process of familiarizing myself with the symptoms of anxiety and depression, I prayed the words "Okay, God, I 'trust' you," more times than I care to count. I write 'trust' because I trusted God in words only. Never once did I relinquish control of my life to Him entirely.<br />
<br />
Senior year. Not even twelve months ago. You've arrived at the part that only a couple people know bits and pieces of, and what only God and I know.<br />
<br />
Looking back, I realize how blessed I am to have been raised by my parents, to have the people in my life I do, and to have the church and mentors that surrounded me with the unfailing love of Christ during this particular period of time. It was only a short time ago that I came to the chilling realization that, had I not been a Christian, I could very well be in a wooden box buried six feet under, having committed suicide. Even as a Christian, I contemplated the outcome. But I believe that God values all lives. And I knew I couldn't pass the burden of my death onto my family. I couldn't hurt them. I couldn't. To my parents reading this now- please know that I'm sorry. This was never your fault.<br />
<br />
Again, I sidelined my Bible and it sat, collecting dust on my shelf. Dealing with depression for over a year provided insights about means to hide the pain. And hiding it, I excelled at. I wore a mask, became the happy Christian teenage girl people expected me to be. But inside, it felt as though someone hollowed out my chest, leaving a cavity filled with pain and anger.<br />
<br />
I cut in such a way that, if someone noticed and pointed it out, I blamed it on playing with our cats. I cut beneath the band of my watch, leaving it to conceal the scars. I also cut along those scars to cover up the number. I didn't want my parents to share my burden, my pain.<br />
<br />
This summer, on a mission trip, one of the adults accompanying my group, sponsors, we call them, shared her testimony and it convicted me. Again, I'm horrible with emotions and never cry when in a group environment. But I cried. I sat in the corner against a wall and cried. My heart broke, and later when our group dispersed, I confessed most of what I'm telling you now to my mom.<br />
<br />
I also rededicated my life to Christ.<br />
<br />
That was June.<br />
<br />
Since then, God has come through in more ways than I can name, but I'll list the most frequent one. I prayed about finding a small group in which to study and grow in my faith; out of the blue a dear friend, a brother of mine, invited me to attend his. Last Monday we switched some things up. Our group leader decided to send us out onto the streets and evangelize. Suddenly singing to inmates in juvenile detention centers seemed easy, preferable, in fact, to talking to a complete stranger about my faith.<br />
I prayed the entire drive to the leader's house, pleading with God to tame my anxiety and to provide me with a small group alongside at least two of the three people in the main group whom I'm comfortable with. And He did.<br />
At the restaurant, the three guys I was with began conversations with several diners, leaving me to scope out the room, reluctant to venture outside my comfort zone. On one of my sweeps, my eyes fell upon a middle-aged woman, and I felt a slight nudge in my heart, to which I immediately answered "nah." Another sweep, and the nudge returned, harder. Again, I thought, "nah." A third time, and the nudge practically shoved me out of my chair. The conversation with the woman was actually quite encouraging. Prior to that evening, I dreaded conversing with people, especially concerning my faith, but God is faithful and never ceases to work wonders. I won't delve into further details, and what I said probably passes for rambles, but it's important to the next event.<br />
<br />
Through Tuesday I floated on what I call a Jesus-high. It was as though I stood atop a mountain, close to God. Then before I knew it, I found myself lying in a crumpled heap on the pavement with no memory of falling.<br />
<br />
Depression sucks.<br />
<br />
Thursday it struck, and then I recognized a pattern: Confusion-> frustration-> fear-> anger. Confusion that my plans and God's plans conflicted; frustration because I prayed over them, so why shouldn't they line up? Fear because events appeared to spiral out of my control. Anger as a result of the mixed emotions I was clueless to direct or diffuse. All summer I've sought to retain control over circumstances in my personal life; that struggle with God causes pain. I know that battle I will fight for the remaining time I have left on this earth, but I've tried to resign myself with the peace of Jeremiah 29:11, which says "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord. 'Plans to prosper you, and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future.'"<br />
<br />
I still endure bouts of pain and depression. But it's aided in how I relate to other people.<br />
Part of how my anxiety and sensory sensitivity works is that I'm almost fine-tuned to analyze behavior and recognize subtle changes in body language, facial expressions, tones of speech, etc. (the downside of which this means problems due to my tendency to over-think nearly every memory and situation that occurred throughout any given day). But in regards to the people I care about, I <i>deeply and genuinely care about them</i>. A lot. I loathe seeing someone else hurting and feeling helpless to ease their pain. God answers prayer. He doesn't wish his children to suffer.<br />
<br />
For those of you whom I know personally, if I ask you often whether you're all right or not, it isn't because I wish to pry into your private life. It isn't because I'm trying to flirt (or however else I may come across). It's because I care and am concerned about you- more than I'm inclined to openly display.<br />
<br />
I apologize if I rambled a bit through this post. It's late here and I'm quite tired, but I knew I would be unable to rest until I shared what lay on my mind and heart. It is my prayer that my testimony is encouraging to those of you who may be struggling, and those of you who are not. I've bared my soul tonight, an uncomfortable and terrifying feeling, I admit, but God is greater than my fear and He works in ways I cannot begin to comprehend.<br />
<br />
I wish you all a good night. May God bless you,<br />
AbigailAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-35369743477233267032016-07-14T17:56:00.002-05:002016-08-17T13:14:31.646-05:00The Mark of the King: Chapter Twenty-Five<div style="text-align: center;">
As atonement for dropping out of the blog world for several months, here is an extra long chapter.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I've been working on writing <i>The Mark of the King</i> with the hopes of finishing the rough draft by summer's end. Unfortunately going back and typing up what I had previously written wasn't<br />
a main priority for a while, but when I changed my calendar to July, I realized that more time passed than I thought. Oops.<br />
Without further excuses (and time)...<br />
<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Time transpired
slowly within the mist-shrouded realm, so slowly Skandar believed a snail might
outpace it. Minutes elapsed into hours, and hours into days, during which he
wandered aimlessly, following whatever whim he fancied in the moment of its
birth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mist warped and rolled
around his legs, swirling whenever he stepped. He drifted to the precipice and leaned
out over the edge, watching as the fog wafted and tumbled over it and cascaded into
the unfathomable abyss. For countless miles he strolled beside it, balancing over
the rim, never once fearing the fall with the might of Br</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ó</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">d</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ú</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">il in his hand. The
phantom sword gleamed in the starless, eternal night, appearing to emanate a light
of its own that cast a spectral glow across his arms.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bored of walking,
Skandar veered away from the cliff and meandered inland, wondering why his
newest idea never occurred to him before. “How long since I last practiced with
a sword?” Vague memories, like those from a distant dream, flickered before him
in the whirling shapes created by the mist; first a castle and soldiers performing
combat exercises in an open field. Skandar stopped as the memories materialized
around him. Then they disintegrated before winding together and growing skyward,
forming the trunks and branches of skeletal trees and between them, the hazy
outline of six horses and riders. Those, too, blew apart when touched by the tendrils
of an icy breeze.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As he began to turn
away, the mist converged again and adopted the appearance of his parents. Skandar
inhaled sharply, blinking, certain his eyes betrayed him. But there they stood,
side by side, although paler, sharper imitations of the living, breathing
people he remembered. From behind them, a toddler emerged, brandishing a stick and
stabbing the curls of fog before running into the embrace of the mist and toddling
out of sight. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Edmund slid to Sybbyl’s
side and slipped a wraith-like hand around her waist. Lifting his head, he stared
at the elder Skandar, his gaze cold and unnatural in its ferocity. His lips
twisted into a smile that was eerie in its imitated warmth before he vanished.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“No!” Skandar cried
and dropped Br</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ó</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">d</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ú</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">il, the exclamation echoing through the ethereal stillness of the plain,
and lunged after him. His fingers encountered only air. Dismayed, he reached
out for his mother, but his hand passed through her. He recoiled. Sybbyl raised
her arm and her misty hand traced his jaw, her mouth moving as though trying to
speak. Despite the muteness of her voice, Skandar understood, by something in
her expression, a sense of urgency, that she meant to plea with him. Before she
finished her sentence, her apparition billowed and sank into the earth as the foggy
sea claimed her.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shuffling back to
where the spectral sword floated six inches above the plutonian ground, he bent
and grabbed the hilt with both hands. “Br</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ó</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">d</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ú</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">il or my family,” he decided aloud,
appalled at his apathy at losing his mother yet again and his desire for the weapon.
“I cannot gain one without losing the other.” Eyeing the weapon held in his clammy
grip, he memorized the way the flawless blade refracted its own ethereal light,
the dyed leather binding the hilt soft against his palms.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar observed the
barren plain around him and announced, “Here is as good a location as any.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Slowly and in a
controlled, methodical manner, he rehearsed every combat position and variation
he recalled from the fading tendrils of the memories granted him by the visions.
He held each until his muscles ached, and then moved on to the next consecutive
pose. As he exercised control over the foreign blade, he began combining defensive
and offensive patterns, and, as his phantom younger self had done minutes—or
were they hours? —before, began battling invisible foes. His imagination seized
control and he progressed, faster and faster, his feet flying over the flat
ground, and Br</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ó</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">d</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ú</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">il slicing through the air in frenzied motion.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Panting, he stopped.
“This is all well and good,” he said into the mist, awaiting the answer of the
disembodied voice that often called to him in his dreams, “however, would not
my skills be better tested against an opponent?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar walked in a
slow circle, awaiting a response from the void.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Out of the mist flew
the figure of a person. Black hair floated around his shoulders, glowering eyes
blazed through the darkness above a pointed nose. He barreled toward Skandar,
his arms upraised and a sword gripped in his gloved hands.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He swung, the blade
arching down toward Skandar’s head. Skandar whipped his sword around and parried
the impending blow, surprised when Br</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ó</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">d</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ú</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">il quivered as it absorbed the strike.
Skandar expected his opponent’s sword to disintegrate, the same as the other apparitions,
but instead it felt solid.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Barely had he
recovered before the phantom knight struck again, first at his chest, then spun
around and jabbed at his neck. Skandar blocked the first, his arm wrenched by
the unbridled strength of the knight. The second he dodged, ducking low and
rolling to the side. But the knight was ready, tossing his black hair out of
his face while Skandar stood upright and began to circle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar’s eyes
narrowed. Even though created by the writhing mist, the knight was unmistakably
Flynn, sneering at him out of the darkness. As Skandar continued to shift around
him with deliberate steps, his eyes roved over Flynn, searching for a vulnerable
point at which to focus his assault. When his cold stare met Flynn’s, Skandar stumbled,
his knees suddenly shaky beneath his weight. It was Flynn, that he knew beyond
a doubt. Only instead of the ice blue, the knight’s eyes burned molten silver,
penetrating the engulfing blackness. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“How?” he choked, blinking
rapidly, his sight and memory vying for truth. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">His attention broken
and his blood pumping ice though his limbs, Skandar fought to regain his
footing before Flynn lunged, but the knight was already in motion, hacking at
Skandar’s left arm, his weaker limb. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Again and again,
Skandar blocked and parried one attack after another, mind and body growing
increasingly weak as he shuffled away from the onslaught. Once he moved too
slowly, and the icy bite of a blade bit into his shoulder, the tugging sensation
familiar yet distant, a memory from another life. Ire burned hot and he howled in
both pain and rage. Skandar leapt forward stabbing at Flynn as he advanced, turning
the tables in their duel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He slashed at
Flynn’s leg, slitting open the knight’s calf as he turned to greet a blow that
never landed. Skandar snarled, pleased with the feint. Flynn shrank back,
careful to keep his injured leg behind him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Force him to place his weight on it,<i> Skandar thought, knowing that by doing so would upset Flynn’s compromised
balance. He jabbed at Flynn’s torso, his chest. Frustration grew as the knight,
although injured, refused to allow Br</i></span><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ó</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">d</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ú</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">il to land. Metallic peals rang
out across the empty expanse every time the blades met in lethal dance.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">An idea presented
itself in Skandar’s thoughts. </span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It may succeed…<i> he
thought, ignoring the dangers. </i>I cannot die here,<i> he reasoned, and implemented his plan.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He struck wide, to
the side of Flynn’s head. As anticipated, Flynn reached to block it, extending
his arm out, exposing his chest. In blind desperation, Skandar pulled back his
sword, threw himself forward, spinning around just before colliding with Flynn.
With a savage bellow, he cocked his elbow and slammed Br</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ó</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">d</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ú</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">il’s pommel into
Flynn’s face. Flynn’s head jerked back with a snap and he fell over backwards;
his sword dropped to the ground where it vanished into the swirls of mist.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Black blood poured
from Flynn’s nose, but the shadow knight paid it no mind. He knelt in
submission before Skandar, who prepared to finish their duel with a lethal
sweep of Br</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ó</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">d</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ú</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">il. But as he swung back, the sword vanished from his hands, leaving
him gripping only air between his fingers. Bewildered, he whirled about,
searching for it.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When he looked to
Flynn, his jaw hung agape as the tip of a sword burst through the kneeling
knight’s heart, black blood coating the point and oozing from the wound. Skandar
need not see the entire sword to know the slim tip as belonging to Br</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ó</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">d</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ú</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">il. Flynn disappeared
into a cloud of vapors, revealing another figure standing behind him, tall and
ghostly pale, a crown resting upon white-blond hair. Lord Joran. His thin lips
twisted into a cruel imitation of a smile before he, too, began disintegrating.
The silver orbs of his eyes were the final things to disappear, staring
hollowly, burning though the vapors and into Skandar’s troubled soul. Br</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ó</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">d</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ú</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">il floated to the
mist, hovering above the obscured ground. Skandar stared, fixated on it,
paralyzed save his hands, which quivered with fear. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What does this
mean?” he cried, his chest and shoulders heaving with every ragged breath. “Why
silver? Both Flynn and Lord Joran. What are you telling me?” Tendrils of warmth
seeped into his limbs, rendering him able to move. He paced, his mind a deluge
of unanswered questions laid out like a labyrinth, each one leading deeper and
deeper into confusion and despondency.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>Then
the wind raged. Mist swirled in a cocoon around him, pressing in on all sides.
Skandar rooted himself to the ground, screaming, pressing his palms to his ears
to dampen the deafening shriek. Despite his efforts, it wormed its way between
his fingers, penetrating and stabbing. Tears welled in his eyes, stinging,
burning, and he collapsed onto his knees, his forehead pressed to the ground.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> A
wailing scream tore from his throat, but the howling gale stole it away,
rendering him breathless. His screams died, leaving him alone.</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Muriel awoke to the slamming of a
door and the rapid scuffle of footsteps proceeding hastily down the corridor. Shadows
shrouded her chamber. Dawn had yet to paint the sky with morning colors.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> A scream echoed through the room,
entering through the grate that glowed faintly, pale orange from the light of a
passing candle in the hall outside. She sat upright, shoving off the blankets
that warded off the damp chill and shivered when cool drafts shifted through
her nightdress. Fighting the urge to sink beneath the blankets and lose herself
in the warmth of the bed, she slid her legs over the side and glided
soundlessly toward the door. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On the way, she lifted a thick robe from where it lay
across a carved trunk at the foot of the bed, and wrapped it around her, the material
soft and comforting. To her delight, she discovered the latch unlocked. Opening
it, she poked her head through the crack and into the hall. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">From around the corner of the entrance to the corridor, a portly
gentleman emerged carrying a small box in one hand and a flickering candle in
another, umber robes flapping wildly behind him. The two guards nodding off at
their posts stirred as he passed, but he paid no mind to them or Muriel, continuing
past all three before throwing open a chamber door. It banged against the stone
wall before closing shut behind him, echoing the sound that first woke her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>Skandar’s
room,</i> she realized, and she shivered as cold numbed her body, cast not by
any draft, but by dread. She slipped outside and trotted after him, jiggling
the handle and pushing the door ajar.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The scene inside halted her at the
threshold. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Four torches burned in brackets fastened
to each wall, their smoke drifting through the open window. The gentleman in
brown robes bustled back and forth across the chamber, muttering to himself.
Sweat poured down his face and his gray-flecked beard bristled wildly, as
though he had risen from bed without any time to groom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Who are you and what are you
doing?” demanded the physician, noticing Muriel in the doorway for the first
time since her arrival.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Lady Muriel of Corrthaine,” she stated
hesitantly, and gestured toward Skandar, who lay in the bed. “This man is my
friend.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> With critical, deep-set eyes rimmed
with dark circles, he surveyed her for mere seconds before beckoning her
inside. “Come in, come in, I could certainly use the help. Your friend here has
become entombed in delirium. A maid I stationed here found me when the fits
began. It seems for the moment that they have ceased.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Muriel crossed the room and stood
before an empty chair positioned in the corner near the bed. “Your name, Sir?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Alasdair,” he replied, noting something
in a thick ledger he pulled from the mantle above the empty fireplace.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Pleasure to meet you.” She offered her hand. He reached
to take it, but an agonized wail seized his attention, and he turned away, bustling
across the room and dropping the ledger onto the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the bed, Skandar thrashed wildly about as Alasdair
struggled to pin his arms to his side; one of Skandar's rigid limbs tore free
from Alasdair’s grasp and swung to the side, striking the physician in the
temple. Muriel observed in horror, too stunned by the violence of Skandar’s fit
to move. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Alasdair muttered an oath and staggered back, his hand
pressed to the side of his head. He blinked several times before returning to
Skandar in renewed effort to calm the young man. He managed to hold Skandar's
arms down against the mattress, veins bulging on his smooth forehead with the
effort. A deep red mark colored his temple where the heel of Skandar's palm
landed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Unable to loosen himself from the physician's vice, Skandar
arched his back. A throaty scream erupted from his mouth. It echoed off the
walls and reverberated through the hall, so long Muriel thought the strain
would tear Skandar's vocal chords in half.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"What is happening to him?" Muriel shouted above
the commotion.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"If only I knew!" <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar's howl ceased in a gravely rasp, and his body fell
limp. Sweat broke across his brow and began to roll in drops down his clammy
face.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Alastair slumped into the empty chair beside her and there
dabbed at his forehead with his sleeve. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Muriel stared wide-eyed at the physician, awaiting an
explanation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Instead, Alasdair leaned forward and laid a hand on
Skandar’s clammy forehead. "His fever has broken," he puffed and
eased his bulk against the back of the chair. "Whatever held him in its
claws did not want to release him without a fight."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Relief swept through Muriel, a tidal wave of cleansing
water washing out the scum of dread and worry that clung to her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"He may yet sleep a while longer while he
heals," Alasdair continued. "When he wakes, I will send a page to
fetch you and your friends."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Clasping her hands before her, Muriel smiled, nodded, and
said, "My thanks, sir. My friend and I are in your gratitude."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Alasdair slowly pushed himself off the chair and began
heading toward the door. Reaching it, he paused, turning, and bowed.
"Think nothing of it, my Lady. I am merely doing the job assigned
me." With that, he opened the door and gestured for Muriel's departure,
but before she crossed the threshold, he said, “I’m no superstitious man, my
Lady, but I do wonder why the fits and fever possessed him as they did. Never
have I seen the like in all my years, though I have witnessed many a strange ailment…”
he trailed off, leaving Muriel to wonder whether his musings were of
significance, of the ramblings of a sleep-deprived aging man.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Offering a weary smile, she slipped across the hall and
into her own chambers, where exhausted, she fell into bed. However, her
thoughts refused to quiet and, resigning herself to the understanding that, for
her, the night had thus ended, she padded to the window where she waited until
dawn painted the sky pink and then gold.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When at last the gold of the morning faded into light blue
and the sun hung above the hills, she arose, stiff from sitting against the
wall. She stepped away from the window at the same moment a short knock sounded
on the door, and a maid entered with a fresh dress draped over her arm.
Wordlessly, she aided Muriel out of her night shift and into the thicker day
attire.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Muriel thanked the girl, the simple appreciation the only
Niwl she knew, and in response, the girl dipped her head and curtsied before departing.
Muriel followed a minute later, sweeping into the hall and bumping into
Catrain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The princess scowled, a momentary lapse in her customary controlled
expressions, but recovered and mumbled a barely audible greeting.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You left supper early last night,” Muriel said, ignoring
Catrain’s glare.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I cared not for listening to Eoin’s incessant chatter
about the weather and whatever whim he fancied at the time. Leaping from topic
to topic like a frog bounces in the shallows…” she sighed, dodging the real
reason for her early departure. “It’s exhausting. Even prison offered silence
and solitude.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Do you honestly think so little of him?” queried Muriel, stopping
to scrutinize her friend and gauge her response.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Catrain shrugged, her lips pursed in a tight line, and to
Muriel’s annoyance, uttered only one word. “Nay.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Nay,” echoed Muriel with a hint of teasing mirth in her
eyes that had been absent for some time, prompting her to continue. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Although normally I would suffer Eoin’s pleasure of
hearing his own voice resound off the walls, I was tired and decided it best if
I retire early and rest.” Catrain resumed walking, and Muriel hastened to catch
her, lest she be left behind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Is that all?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What other reason do you see?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Jealousy, perhaps.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Jealousy?” Catrain scoffed. “As though I would be plague
to such a petty disease,” her mouth twitched, itching to smile and betray her amusement
at Muriel’s assumption. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Muriel stared at her for a long moment. “Cat, do be
gentle,” she cautioned, her tone serious.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Whatever do you mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You know what I mean.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I assure you,” Catrain’s brow furrowed with confusion, “I
do not.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When Muriel refused to elaborate further, Catrain fidgeted
with her fingers, twisting them between her hands, uncomfortable beneath her
friend’s gaze. “What?” she demanded, unable to withstand the sensation of
someone boring a hole through her soul, even a friend.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“For someone as keen and perceptive as yourself, Cat—and
forgive me for being blunt—you are blind to things before you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Not everyone can enjoy the luxury of short sight,”
Catrain snapped, “Some of us must look ahead to benefit others, not ourselves.”
The remark stung, as she intended it to; however, when she noted the effect in
Muriel’s glassy eyes, she regretted it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Before she swallowed her pride long enough to utter an
apology, Muriel already turned on her heel and walked away, wiping her thick
lashes free from the tears that clung to them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I may be narrow sighted in your opinion, Catrain, but at
least I suffer through petty speech and countless other drudgeries because I
care about the people and refrain from treating them as something to use and
then discard.” <i>Lovely, Muriel,</i> she
berated the instant the words entered the air, <i>lovely. What would Father say?</i> She needed no large amount of
imagination to hear his disappointment. “I’m sorry.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“As am I. It appears I still lack more sleep than I gained
last night.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Dreams?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Thoughts. They swirled too thick to relax and dream.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Skandar’s fever broke an hour or so before dawn.
Alasdair, the physician,” Muriel explained and Catrain nodded, “promised he
would send a page to alert us when he wakes.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Catrain squinted. “That isn’t all you know.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Fits overtook him before the fever broke, violent fits. He
said nothing; only screamed,” she shuddered, shaking the unpleasant memory to
the back of her mind. “I cannot remember a time when I was so scared.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Alasdair believes he will wake today, though?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“He appeared confident enough. Did you hear nothing else?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Nothing else I care to dwell on. He heals, that blessing
is enough.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">By this time, the young women arrived at the closed doors
to the dining hall where they met Oliver, who paced outside with his hands
clasped tightly behind his back. Muriel stopped and watched him, a comforting
warmth creeping though her that only presented itself when in the presence of
her love. He was clad a clean burgundy shirt and black pants; she grinned
slightly when she noted the worn boots covering his feet. Dusty and ragged, they
were the only articles of the Oliver she adored so dearly he refused to cede in
this place. Even his pale hair, which he normally wore loose around his
shoulders, was pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck. <i>All part of a role he assumes. My Oliver
will return when we depart from these walls.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oliver noticed them standing at the intersection where
corridors met and ceased his pacing, crossing the gap between them in two
strides, and embraced Muriel with a light kiss on her cheek. Muriel beamed
while nearby, Catrain took interest tracing the cracks spider-webbing the wall
stones. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Morfael awaits inside, but I wished to wait for you and
Cat, as it happens,” Oliver whispered, his breath hot near her ear. He slipped
his arm through the crook in hers and escorted her to the door. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Great Hall of the Niwl castle differed greatly from
its Corrthainian counterpart. To Muriel, it resembled a grand hunting lodge more
than it did a hall to entertain, feast, and receive disgruntled gentry. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Where elaborate tapestries hung in the Capitol, the walls
here were decorated with the ivory skulls of deer, their long and pointed
antlers adorning them like jagged, rustic crowns. Soft pelts hung on the red stone
walls, serving the dual duty of sealing in heat and dampening sound. A fire
blazed hot and bright in a massive hearth in the wall opposite the main
entrance to the hall; smoke rose a hundred feet to the flat ceiling above and
disappeared through special vents leading outside. A lonely rough table, notched
with evidence of countless years of drunken knife-wielding guests who, eager to
carve into their meat, wounded its surface instead, sat in the middle of the hall,
three occupants in seated in several chairs around the head it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">King Morfael sat at the end of the table, his perpetual
scowl decorating his chiseled face. The scar along his forehead, deepened the
wrinkles, casting a darker gloom across his countenance. His wife sat to his
right, her presence silent and ghostly. She appeared lost in the vast environment
of the room and in Morfael’s brooding nature, but Muriel observed by the way the
king’s fingers rested against the pale skin on the back of her hand that he
cared for her a great deal. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Fluttering of wings drew Muriel’s attention to a speckled
falcon perched upon a stand behind Morfael’s high-backed chair. A leather hood covered
its eyes, and its head jerked around constantly as it listened to the slightest
sound in the hall. It bobbed up and down, yearning to stretch its wings and take
flight, but a strap fastened above one of its razor talons restrained it to the
perch.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Behind her, the door banged ajar, and Aidan and Eoin rushed
inside, falling in line on either side of Catrain, who glared at both, a silent
rebuke for their tardiness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As the small group approached, Morfael stole a piece of
raw meat from a small plate near his elbow and held it up to the falcon, who
snatched it up with its wickedly curved beak and proceeded to rip apart the meat
with its talons. Then Morfael stood and waved a hand in the air over the table
and its furnishings, waiting until they were all seated before resuming his
place. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Please excuse the absence of my sister. This morning
finds her unwell,” he apologized stiffly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“She is all right, I hope?” Aidan inquired cordially, ripping
apart a meat pie. Although he tried to sound indifferent, his concern was
evident in the slight crease along his brow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Catrain’s curious gaze flickered to meet Eoin’s, who sat
across the table from her and beside his brother. He regarded her with impish
amusement, but betrayed nothing, leaving her to draw her own conclusions. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Brynna took ill with a headache,” Morfael replied, and
said no more.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Attempts at further conversation were futile; everyone
seemed content to sit in uncomfortable silence and eat, save the occasional
screech of the falcon. Oliver abandoned antagonizing the young king, and even
Eoin, who leaped at the opportunity to converse with someone new to his
acquaintance, remained uncharacteristically quiet. Catrain and Muriel shared a
relieved glance. If no one spoke to them, they were not obligated to reply.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The meal dragged on until, to everyone’s immense
gratitude, it ended, freeing the members to go their separate ways. Muriel,
along with Oliver, made to show the other three around the castle with
Morfael’s consent, which he yielded reluctantly at Oliver’s bidding. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Outside the hall, Muriel turned back when she noticed
Catrain pausing at the doors, noticing her apparent confliction.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Aren’t you coming?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Nay,” she shook her head, “at least, not yet. I will meet
you later. For the moment, I wish to retire to my chambers and rest.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I think I will do the same,” Eoin said, wheeling about on
his heel and strolling casually back. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You need not-” Catrain objected, but he smiled and side-stepped
past Muriel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Come now, I will escort you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The battle lost, Catrain relented, nodding, her gaze
locked on the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Very well. Until then,” Muriel smiled, and then hastened
to catch Oliver and Aidan, leaving Catrain to slip down the passage to the courtyard
with Eoin at her heels.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We are not retiring, are we?” asked Eoin.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“No.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Knowing no other way to the dungeons, Catrain skirted the edges
of the near vacant courtyard, which contrasted eerily with the bustle of the
previous day, and entered the door the guards had escorted her through. It was
unlocked, swinging open at her push. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Village life treated you well, I suppose?”
she asked once they reached the solitude of the corridor. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Terribly, actually. I nearly died
from boredom.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “While you suffered at boredom’s
hands, we starved in cramped cells. But we devised a ploy, and Oliver vouched
for us all. Most of us,” she sighed. “If Morfael expected Lord Joran’s son,
then that is the man he sees.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Even so, he plays his role quite
convincingly. For a moment yesterday I believed he had reverted to his old self
as a result of some confinement-induced ailment.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Where are our weapons?” she changed
the subject, noting the dagger strapped to his side. His and Aidan’s larger
weapons—Aidan’s axes, Eoin’s bow, and their swords—likely not permitted by
visitors roaming freely about the castle, were stored away in their chambers. Catrain
hoped they discovered a means to retrieve the rest of their collective arsenal
and provisions from the bounty hunters. Alas, such a chance, she realized sadly,
was slim.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>I
was fond of my bow. And my sword.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Gone. However,” Eoin added, “Aidan thinks
he may know who to entreaty to have them returned.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “The princess?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “The princess.” Then he frowned. “Why
do you want to speak with Flynn?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> She chewed her lower lip, conjuring up
a viable story to satisfy him. “If you were in a cell, would you not want
someone to talk to? I know you, Eoin. After a while, you crave interaction. Who
denies that Flynn does not require the same? Plus,” she patted her skirts where
a slight lump bulged at her hip, “the food from this morning is better by far
than that they served in the dungeon. I cut a slit along the seam of my skirts,
which I will mend later, and tied a satchel around my waist. I stowed food into
it when no one watched.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Thief!” he exclaimed and laughed.
“I assumed you to be abnormally famished.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Frantically, she shushed him, fretting
that a guard posted at the end of the corridor might overhear the echo and lock
her away. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I was quite famished, but not
enough to eat all that.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I do not suppose you brought
anything else,” Flynn licked the meat juice from his fingers and eyed the
satchel in Catrain’s hands with hungry desire. He wiped his mouth and unkempt beard
with the back of his hand.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Unfortunately we gave some to the
guards to buy their silence and gain entry.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Well,” he exhaled and shifted to
lean against the wall, “I suppose that will suffice.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Always the grateful one, aren’t
you?” Eoin snapped, his hostility toward Flynn unbridled in his contemptuous glare.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Pardon me, but I fail to remember
requesting your visit.” He turned to Catrain, “And I do not recall any promises
on your behalf, unless,” he paused and a mirthless chuckle reverberated from deep
within him, cut off by a groan as he disturbed his broken ribs. “The food.
Indeed, it appears I underestimated you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I am not callous, regardless of
what you may believe,” Catrain declared, kneeling beside the iron bars opposite
Flynn. “I seek answers, as do you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Kate,” Eoin hissed, wary of the
guards, “you deal with the devil!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Merely one of the devil’s minions,”
Flynn replied smugly. “Make your query. You provided me sustenance, and in
return I shall provide an honest answer.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “If you cede the truth, omitting
nothing, I believe we may aid each other’s causes.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “You have my word, however much it
is worth to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Swallowing hard, Catrain organized
her words, habitually twisting her fingers. Order was a simple thing, yet to
her, imperative, for she feared speaking wrongly. “First, of something
predating this venture. Sir Rupert, the slain Niwl knight, carried with him a
piece of a map. I know you know of what I speak.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Indeed.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “After acquiring those pieces from
him and the other lords you assaulted, you delivered them to Lord Joran,
correct? What did he do with them?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “You draw many conclusions,” speculated
Flynn, his steely gaze boring into her unwaveringly. “And you are not wrong. Lord
Joran consulted known maps of the Four Kingdoms, as did Sir Reuben, and by them
he constructed a map containing the information carried by Reuben’s circle.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Your copy. Where is it?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Expression darkening and wrought
with malice, Flynn stared into the shadows. “Hidden within the hollow hilt of
my sword, which per my great misfortune, lies in the hands of the bounty
hunters who captured us,” he spat bitterly and cursed beneath his breath.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Catrain groaned inwardly, her
stomach plummeting. Without his half, her copy of the map remained incomplete
and useless, unless by some miracle they recovered it along with their other
belongings.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “How is it you kept hold of yours? Mine
I hid well, but they searched everything." Flynn squinted at her sharply with
hollow eyes surrounded by ghostly pale skin marred in places by dark bruises.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Heat flushed Catrain’s cheeks. "Everything but us. I
kept it…” she bit her lip, “close.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Clever,” admitted Flynn with a hint of pride lacing his
tone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Crouching at her side, Eoin leaned close and whispered,
“We should go.” The sensation of beady eyes peering at them from skeletal faces
of which he caught faint glimpses in the scattered shafts of sunlight unnerved
him, sending chills up his spine. Jealousy, too, tugged at his heart, jealousy
that she withheld something so vital from him. And the fear that she had done
so with such ease caused him to question what else she might have hidden. Once,
he had thought her open. Now, he realized with numb recognition that her
openness was a shield protecting the things she wished no one to know.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He soured at the notion. Then, looking at her, he saw her
anew and pitied her. <i>She does it to protect
another. The burden of that I cannot imagine.</i> In contemplative silence, he
watched as Catrain bade Flynn farewell, and guided her from the stench of
mildew and the dank darkness of the dungeon. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When beyond earshot of the guards posted at the outer
door, Catrain pulled him aside, admonishing, “It is imperative we see our
weapons returned to us. Also, what you heard in there must remain confidential
while inside these walls.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nodding profusely, he began to stride away, but she caught
his arm and forced him to meet her stare. “Not even your brother may know.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Understood. What now?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We meet the others. Oliver, Muriel, Aidan, where are
they?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oliver mentioned that after they tour the castle, they were
to attempt to gain access to Skandar’s room. His fever broke, did you hear?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Muriel told me before breakfast.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Shall we see if they aren’t there?” he offered his arm.
She hesitated, her own half raised, before slipping it through the crook of his
elbow and allowing him to guide her down the corridor. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar lay on the bed, propped up by several pillows, still
and asleep. Sunlight streamed through the open window, the light falling across
Skandar’s face, illuminating it beneath the shaft’s warm glow. Faint traces of
his ruddy pallor tinged his cheeks under the red wires of his beard. Sweat beaded
along his forehead and dripped from the ends of his damp hair. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Muriel sat in the chair at his bedside whispering to Oliver,
who leaned against the fireplace and stared at the grey ashes that littered the
hearthstones. Aidan sat with his back to a wall, legs splayed out on the ground
before him. His head rolled upward when Eoin and Catrain entered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“He has not woken?” Catrain eyed an empty space on the simple
woven rug at the foot of the bed and sat, tucking her legs beneath each other. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Not yet,” Oliver replied, rubbing his temples, and then
explained the absence of Alasdair and the physician’s assistant. “He journeyed
into town to replenish his medicinal stores, and the girl needed food. We
volunteered to watch over him until she returns, which should be any minute.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“And Skandar’s arm? How long until it heals?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Alasdair stitched and bound the wound. He believes that
Skandar will recover fully in time and will regain the strength to travel in a
few days.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They listened to Skandar’s breathing, shallow, but no
longer labored, accompanied by the distant chirping of songbirds drifting in
through the breeze. With it, the light, sweet aroma of budding flowers wafted through
the open window and scented the air in the room. Despite the draft, the room grew
stuffy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The door swung inward and a girl with dark hair and watery
eyes stepped in, a small platter of bread and cheese held loosely in her hands.
She ushered them away, sending the group filing out the door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They stood in a circle, staring at each other with the
same questioning look, each wondering where to spend the remainder of the
morning. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“The ramparts offer a view of the valley,” suggested
Muriel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oliver stepped aside, allowing an opening to the remainder
of the hall. “Lead on, Milady.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">By midday, after losing their way thrice through the winding
passages, they emerged out onto the high parapet overlooking the rolling hills
that sheltered the village, the edges of which they glimpsed below, a thick
spattering of sloped rooves. From their vantage point, the land stretched out around
them, an emerald sea broken only by the silver sliver of the river that cut its
way through the dale. Beyond that, the hills continued to ripple, cresting and
sloping through the countryside; in the distance, if Catrain and Eoin, who saw
better than their friends, squinted hard and focused on the horizon, they recognized
the dark and ragged border of the forest. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What are you doing?” a soft, female voice carrying a
thick Niwl accent called up to them from inside the castle’s courtyard below. Aidan
leaped to the side and peered over the wall. His face brightened instantly,
breaking into a wide smile.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Princess, I hope the morning finds you well!” He ran a
nervous hand through his mop of tawny curls.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I fare better than earlier today, yes,” came the reply. “What
are you doing?” she repeated.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Admiring the scenery,” Aidan explained jovially. “It is
quite lovely.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It is,” she agreed. “Wait a moment and I shall join you!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Aidan,” Catrain beckoned when Brynna vanished from sight
into the stairwell at the corner of the bailey, “please entreaty her to
consider reacquiring our belongings, if she is able.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I shall. Cat? Forgive us for abandoning you all in the
dungeon for so long. We tried.” His shoulders drooped.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“In the end, we were released, were we not? It made no
difference. The bounty upon Flynn’s head no one, not even I foresaw, and that he
personally knew King Morfael never crossed my mind. He hides his accent well.
You and Eoin acted as well as you could, considering the circumstances,” she commended
him, “Well done.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Aidan’s gaze flicked over her shoulder and he dipped his
forehead forward. “There is the princess. I’ll ask her, but Cat, why don’t
you?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Shrugging, she said, “You are acquainted with her. I am
not.” Turning, she walked past Brynna to the gaping maw of the turret stairwell.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Where are you headed?” Eoin called after her. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“To find something to eat. I’m famished.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh, if so,” Brynna chimed in her lilting voice, temporarily
pausing her conversation with Aidan, “allow me to tell you the way to the
kitchen. The head cook is a friend of mine. Tell her I sent you, and she will
provide you with what you desire.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Catrain recited the directions as Brynna administered them,
thanked the princess cordially and dipped, bending her knees slightly and
bowing her head as would a maidservant, before entering the shadows and
descending the steps, flanked by Muriel and Oliver. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the kitchen, down in the lower bowels of the castle, the
cook, a short, round woman with a gentle, flushed face, and frizzy, fading red
hair tucked beneath a white cap, at first denied the request of the three
Corrthainians, but as Oliver dropped his façade and told her who sent them to
her, she obliged. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Anything for the dear princess,” she beamed, setting
before them plates of leftovers from the midday meal. “True King bless her.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Truly, it is good to hear another speak His name!” Muriel
remarked, delicately chewing and swallowing a bite of brown bread.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Aye,” agreed the cook as she bustled around the table the
three sat at. “But not often does one hear it here. Princess Brynna, sweet
soul, myself, and a few other servants are the only ones.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I cannot fathom you few are alone.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Years ago, we were not. Then one-by-one, they left.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Any particular reason for their departure?” Catrain
queried, suddenly interested.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh,” she sighed, “some married. Others simply left.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“At the same time?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“No, miss, here and there.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“One more question,” this time, Oliver spoke. “When is the
ambassador expected?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The cook planted her hands firmly on her wide hips. “Funny
you should query that. ‘Tis an odd matter, really. We do not know. And the
maids usually know everything that happens, gossiping about it all the day
long.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Odd?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She moved to stir a roiling pot. “We have not heard from
him. King Morfael is concerned, you understand. His agitation is due to that,
not you, I hope you know. He has never been the agreeable sort, but he conducts
his affairs diplomatically.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Who?” Aidan appeared in the doorway with Eoin, both youths
breathless and their shoulders heaving as they collapsed onto vacant stools.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Have a nice run,
did you?” muttered Catrain. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Quite nice, aye,” Eoin reached for a hunk of bread, “What
were you discussing?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Strange dealings with Corrthaine. We will elaborate
further at a later time. You spoke with the princess?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Aidan took a swig of ale from a mug Oliver passed to him.
“The men have not left the village; they await their payment. She promised to
pay whatever necessary to see our belongings returned to us.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Then as soon as Skandar recovers his strength and our
supplies are back in our possession, we depart.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Pardon me for asking, miss, but where are you headed?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Catrain’s wary gaze shifted between her companions. “You
claimed that the maids gossip about all occurrences. Have you heard tell of secret
villages?” She shifted uncomfortably under the fixated stares that turned on
her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The cook paused, tapping a spoon against the rim of the
pot, and tossed another log into the stove. “I have. A girl mentioned them, some
three? Four years ago? Poor dear. She appeared out of nowhere, not much older
than yourself, miss,” she indicated Catrain. “Seems she just lost her husband
and her baby and desperately required a job. I could not refuse her, and I was
not disappointed. For a feisty, little thing, she worked hard. I was sorry to
see her go.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yes, but what did she say?” prodded Catrain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If the cook was even the slightest bit irritated with the interruption,
she concealed it well, answering placidly, “I recall something about refuges,
nothing more. She set out northwest of here. That’s all I know, miss.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You have my gratitude,” Catrain said, standing and placing
her empty plate in a sudsy basin filled containing other dishes waiting to be
scrubbed. “I warn you: careful who you speak of this to.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It’s no secret, however, most consider the villages a
myth.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Catrain blinked, disbelieving that information so vital to
her mission passed from person to person as common folklore. “I suggest you flee
yourself, lest the man in Corrthaine who detains your ambassadors sends
soldiers to question people for information.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Me?” the cook laughed, displaying a few missing teeth,
and patted her round belly. “I am much too old to attempt a journey like that.
These weary bones would not last ten miles. Besides, I am safe enough here.
With me gone, who else would cook the king his favorite stew? Been making it
for him since he was a child. I appreciate your concern, miss, but I’ll stay
here.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">From the doorway, someone coughed, and the group spun
around, frightening a young page, where he stood attentively. “Pardon me,” he
said once he recovered from his fright, “the physician sent me to fetch you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Muriel’s brow knit with worry. “What has happened?” She
need not voice the horrid possibilities flitting through her head that grew
worse with anticipation; her friends read it plainly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Nothing at all, my Lady,” the page shook his head. “Your
friend is awake.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Thank you for reading! </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As always, comments are more than welcome!</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">By the way, I mentioned earlier in this post about writing ahead of what I have posted.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As of right now, I have about a fourth of story remaining until the rough draft of </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The Mark of the King</i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> is complete. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Needless to say, I am quite excited!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, I wish you all a lovely week.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">~Abigail</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-85607555391079707532016-06-06T14:55:00.004-05:002016-06-23T10:52:16.052-05:00Crocheted Animals<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fhGX3zTrUPE/UtcTiERh2VI/AAAAAAAAAN4/uedCZs2qodg/s1600/IMG_3296%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" closure_lm_965143="null" height="240" hua="true" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fhGX3zTrUPE/UtcTiERh2VI/AAAAAAAAAN4/uedCZs2qodg/s1600/IMG_3296%5B1%5D.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Shadowfax</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Inspired by the horse from "The Lord of the Rings Trilogy" by J.R.R. Tolkien)</div>
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Horse pattern found <span style="color: #3d85c6;"><a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/60845532/little-horse-crochet-pattern?utm_campaign=Share&utm_medium=PageTools&utm_source=Pinterest" target="_blank">here</a></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jonHGkH0S8w/VhqvKQLRI2I/AAAAAAAAAtI/vQBN1NZKHpU/s1600/IMG_5148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jonHGkH0S8w/VhqvKQLRI2I/AAAAAAAAAtI/vQBN1NZKHpU/s200/IMG_5148.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E0ueQUXG5oY/VhqvKWWuGHI/AAAAAAAAAtE/ildZ8ck0T8E/s1600/IMG_5151.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E0ueQUXG5oY/VhqvKWWuGHI/AAAAAAAAAtE/ildZ8ck0T8E/s200/IMG_5151.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o2vAqtCw1So/VhqvKXUcdrI/AAAAAAAAAtA/PgMNlYcH-7c/s1600/IMG_5150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o2vAqtCw1So/VhqvKXUcdrI/AAAAAAAAAtA/PgMNlYcH-7c/s200/IMG_5150.jpg" width="200" /></a> <a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GuhkmlTl3Kk/VhqvKuGiLRI/AAAAAAAAAtg/ogTPs7jNoAQ/s1600/IMG_5152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GuhkmlTl3Kk/VhqvKuGiLRI/AAAAAAAAAtg/ogTPs7jNoAQ/s200/IMG_5152.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Toothless </div>
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Inspired by Dreamwork's "How to Train Your Dragon"</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_NlFvBle-S0/UsGxV2AKmbI/AAAAAAAAALc/q01fhJ7l9cI/s1600/131121_0001%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" closure_lm_304221="null" gua="true" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_NlFvBle-S0/UsGxV2AKmbI/AAAAAAAAALc/q01fhJ7l9cI/s320/131121_0001%5B1%5D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Tiny Turtle </div>
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(Pattern from Ana Paula Rimoli's "Amigurumi Two!<i>"</i>)</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XgQjjN2KTpE/UsGza7OnV7I/AAAAAAAAALo/OcP0POn7SRg/s1600/131103_0000%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" closure_lm_304221="null" gua="true" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XgQjjN2KTpE/UsGza7OnV7I/AAAAAAAAALo/OcP0POn7SRg/s320/131103_0000%5B1%5D.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Hedgehog</div>
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<div>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QxhhhdWzDvA/Ut7gHY6MJmI/AAAAAAAAAOI/VjrU7wJb8kQ/s1600/IMG_3294%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" closure_lm_175948="null" cua="true" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QxhhhdWzDvA/Ut7gHY6MJmI/AAAAAAAAAOI/VjrU7wJb8kQ/s1600/IMG_3294%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Moose</div>
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Pattern found <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/crocheted-moose" target="_blank"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">here</span></a></div>
</div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Kk-oRbAuXg0/V1XXHxoPs5I/AAAAAAAAA5Q/qeuMQiAm4u0ZJkBVihnOoAkKruw3rKUegCLcB/s1600/IMG_8340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Kk-oRbAuXg0/V1XXHxoPs5I/AAAAAAAAA5Q/qeuMQiAm4u0ZJkBVihnOoAkKruw3rKUegCLcB/s200/IMG_8340.jpg" width="150" /></a> <a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-knS-5OJ6nDA/V1XXIKd70WI/AAAAAAAAA5c/OJpRUtzUua0x7X_XW3Tb-6Gx2XZpm_NJwCLcB/s1600/IMG_9568.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-knS-5OJ6nDA/V1XXIKd70WI/AAAAAAAAA5c/OJpRUtzUua0x7X_XW3Tb-6Gx2XZpm_NJwCLcB/s200/IMG_9568.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4Bh3xB0hdSY/V1XXH8UqlaI/AAAAAAAAA5U/NYp8Od3Z6801JrIE2qjVNRieAONAUCN0gCLcB/s1600/IMG_9008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4Bh3xB0hdSY/V1XXH8UqlaI/AAAAAAAAA5U/NYp8Od3Z6801JrIE2qjVNRieAONAUCN0gCLcB/s200/IMG_9008.jpg" width="150" /></a> <a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mt8J8ZXyvCc/V1XXH2_XyGI/AAAAAAAAA5Y/6NrTWjT6WOIbvJ3G7Eh8VIVJcifVR08rwCLcB/s1600/IMG_9438.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mt8J8ZXyvCc/V1XXH2_XyGI/AAAAAAAAA5Y/6NrTWjT6WOIbvJ3G7Eh8VIVJcifVR08rwCLcB/s200/IMG_9438.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
Chubby Elephant<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-46173976865460096222016-06-06T14:48:00.004-05:002016-06-28T11:07:43.702-05:00Mini 5" Crocheted Dolls<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Mini 'Vengers</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Inspired by characters from Marvel Comics)</div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EwfI67ATqGU/V1XC9z-dsvI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/3jZdTzoB-30kozCoNjgE5kj4UV6tqGPBwCKgB/s1600/IMG_8964.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EwfI67ATqGU/V1XC9z-dsvI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/3jZdTzoB-30kozCoNjgE5kj4UV6tqGPBwCKgB/s200/IMG_8964.jpg" width="150" /></a> <a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XC4IIsdJbws/V1XC9XmFjQI/AAAAAAAAAzE/aEDzrukjdvANoWn0noV8IoZKBCQY6AbJwCKgB/s1600/IMG_8963.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XC4IIsdJbws/V1XC9XmFjQI/AAAAAAAAAzE/aEDzrukjdvANoWn0noV8IoZKBCQY6AbJwCKgB/s200/IMG_8963.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">
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Captain Steve Rogers/Captain America</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MpQHPcW7c7s/V1XCwsTseVI/AAAAAAAAAx0/A-amnymp17QoFuon8uxmSSn0P0N67vfywCLcB/s1600/IMG_8972.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MpQHPcW7c7s/V1XCwsTseVI/AAAAAAAAAx0/A-amnymp17QoFuon8uxmSSn0P0N67vfywCLcB/s320/IMG_8972.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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Tony Stark/Iron Man</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FJW_WWh1qkk/V1XC7K48SzI/AAAAAAAAAx8/zaUwYd3VS90c5C15kRPV4sYz4jEPjQ1aACLcB/s1600/FullSizeRender%2B%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FJW_WWh1qkk/V1XC7K48SzI/AAAAAAAAAx8/zaUwYd3VS90c5C15kRPV4sYz4jEPjQ1aACLcB/s200/FullSizeRender%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="149" /></a> <a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yanYjLwi6pI/V1XC8JdhIOI/AAAAAAAAAyc/8accgl9WK0IA-Xed481l2tnhyl679z_IgCLcB/s1600/IMG_4778.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yanYjLwi6pI/V1XC8JdhIOI/AAAAAAAAAyc/8accgl9WK0IA-Xed481l2tnhyl679z_IgCLcB/s200/IMG_4778.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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Dr. Bruce Banner/The Incredible Hulk</div>
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(Banner fits inside the Hulk)</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RzkjcUuuwpE/V1XC92Sp0ZI/AAAAAAAAAzI/KrBBY4ZgaSsKg2rkRVfGrpcbhjLOSFlVgCKgB/s1600/IMG_8965.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RzkjcUuuwpE/V1XC92Sp0ZI/AAAAAAAAAzI/KrBBY4ZgaSsKg2rkRVfGrpcbhjLOSFlVgCKgB/s320/IMG_8965.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow</div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oXuiu5_AiWY/V1XC7l6vSMI/AAAAAAAAAyM/bbHbO6XYH4gtrI7vj49Sr2pSZu_eKoUXwCKgB/s1600/FullSizeRender%2B%25284%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oXuiu5_AiWY/V1XC7l6vSMI/AAAAAAAAAyM/bbHbO6XYH4gtrI7vj49Sr2pSZu_eKoUXwCKgB/s320/FullSizeRender%2B%25284%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Clint Barton/Hawkeye<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TXbzLldoeEY/V3KgoV3zaCI/AAAAAAAABAY/LVttV3JhHUE3Gd41Lsgk5KgN-rT2LDR6QCLcB/s1600/IMG_0435.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TXbzLldoeEY/V3KgoV3zaCI/AAAAAAAABAY/LVttV3JhHUE3Gd41Lsgk5KgN-rT2LDR6QCLcB/s320/IMG_0435.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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Thor</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pMJwk0q1ls0/V1XC7HknS1I/AAAAAAAAAyE/piK1ytUogM4pP7CDvYoK7_bLusGJ1USGQCKgB/s1600/FullSizeRender%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pMJwk0q1ls0/V1XC7HknS1I/AAAAAAAAAyE/piK1ytUogM4pP7CDvYoK7_bLusGJ1USGQCKgB/s320/FullSizeRender%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Loki</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ia6J1RP6NFs/Vhqs5SUnhiI/AAAAAAAAAsI/DwL-nJsqDBM/s1600/IMG_7044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ia6J1RP6NFs/Vhqs5SUnhiI/AAAAAAAAAsI/DwL-nJsqDBM/s320/IMG_7044.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Pietro Maximoff/Quicksilver and Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9PnO-iEvJsg/Vhqs5-yS8LI/AAAAAAAAAsY/ugIu3-IqDbA/s1600/IMG_7207.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9PnO-iEvJsg/Vhqs5-yS8LI/AAAAAAAAAsY/ugIu3-IqDbA/s320/IMG_7207.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Vision</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sxfayzfw1tY/V1XC763eLdI/AAAAAAAAAzg/CZBk6QP_j1kvBtMxpxnIQnp21GIzvDR7ACKgB/s1600/IMG_0080.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sxfayzfw1tY/V1XC763eLdI/AAAAAAAAAzg/CZBk6QP_j1kvBtMxpxnIQnp21GIzvDR7ACKgB/s200/IMG_0080.jpg" width="150" /></a> <a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MqVUyFXQF-k/V1XC8FJGicI/AAAAAAAAAzg/vmczZAHASFAmf1bJTKL-kInUQAnWUNPAACKgB/s1600/IMG_0081.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MqVUyFXQF-k/V1XC8FJGicI/AAAAAAAAAzg/vmczZAHASFAmf1bJTKL-kInUQAnWUNPAACKgB/s200/IMG_0081.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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Scott Lang/Ant-Man</div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ipvvz0gzoEI/V1XC7LXIIeI/AAAAAAAAAyA/b1A9jXOr5G8UO61ACNhW0Z6Y8RwhCoL9ACKgB/s1600/FullSizeRender%2B%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ipvvz0gzoEI/V1XC7LXIIeI/AAAAAAAAAyA/b1A9jXOr5G8UO61ACNhW0Z6Y8RwhCoL9ACKgB/s320/FullSizeRender%2B%25283%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes/Winter Soldier</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SD5DAh5ZsTk/Vhqs5WFhOvI/AAAAAAAAAsQ/bCNqlrkVXcg/s1600/IMG_6603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SD5DAh5ZsTk/Vhqs5WFhOvI/AAAAAAAAAsQ/bCNqlrkVXcg/s320/IMG_6603.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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Sam Wilson/Falcon</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HH7_9NlUTZA/Vhqs6P61ISI/AAAAAAAAAsU/MXWarXVLAmk/s1600/IMG_7214.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HH7_9NlUTZA/Vhqs6P61ISI/AAAAAAAAAsU/MXWarXVLAmk/s200/IMG_7214.jpg" width="150" /></a> <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LjdN7jLQUeM/Vhqs5ixL-NI/AAAAAAAAAsM/Tj_LokSCV2g/s1600/IMG_7206.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LjdN7jLQUeM/Vhqs5ixL-NI/AAAAAAAAAsM/Tj_LokSCV2g/s200/IMG_7206.jpg" width="149" /></a></div>
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Matt Murdock/Daredevil</div>
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(Black Ninja suit and the Red Devil suit)</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OG5Y74dVdt0/Vhqs4YjSZPI/AAAAAAAAAso/I5tB6Rmfbg0/s1600/IMG_4407.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OG5Y74dVdt0/Vhqs4YjSZPI/AAAAAAAAAso/I5tB6Rmfbg0/s320/IMG_4407.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Wade Wilson/Deadpool</div>
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<b>Mini Leaguers</b></div>
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(Inspired by characters from DC Comics)</div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FTsqbIgORhs/V1XE7ITotbI/AAAAAAAAA04/ewfHKxi1pDIOY8AcFbHK7rei-KF0j7k-gCKgB/s1600/IMG_8957.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FTsqbIgORhs/V1XE7ITotbI/AAAAAAAAA04/ewfHKxi1pDIOY8AcFbHK7rei-KF0j7k-gCKgB/s320/IMG_8957.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Clark Kent/Superman</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pjkmyVMA5dg/V1XE7fhR-7I/AAAAAAAAA04/CMdFmUNXWMYagu4WUKsBS5XdR2LxIgyywCKgB/s1600/IMG_8958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pjkmyVMA5dg/V1XE7fhR-7I/AAAAAAAAA04/CMdFmUNXWMYagu4WUKsBS5XdR2LxIgyywCKgB/s320/IMG_8958.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Kara Zor-El/Supergirl</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ieclbXSSmZ0/V1XE8Te7hpI/AAAAAAAAA04/Nh2O9bHzHPQVvZilW-sPb50vLv-PId9zACKgB/s1600/IMG_8962.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ieclbXSSmZ0/V1XE8Te7hpI/AAAAAAAAA04/Nh2O9bHzHPQVvZilW-sPb50vLv-PId9zACKgB/s200/IMG_8962.jpg" width="149" /></a> <a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oCWWI3JHV-s/V1XE8BI-hLI/AAAAAAAAA04/1133krhg4dcMm7ORNfNPSaAX7bm7UPBbACKgB/s1600/IMG_8961.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oCWWI3JHV-s/V1XE8BI-hLI/AAAAAAAAA04/1133krhg4dcMm7ORNfNPSaAX7bm7UPBbACKgB/s200/IMG_8961.jpg" width="149" /></a></div>
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Bruce Wayne/Batman</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5U-cuz75s70/V1XE7apEosI/AAAAAAAAA04/b2tRFD_S_k82MSJ02bkdnWtoJqdxrBn2gCKgB/s1600/IMG_8960.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5U-cuz75s70/V1XE7apEosI/AAAAAAAAA04/b2tRFD_S_k82MSJ02bkdnWtoJqdxrBn2gCKgB/s200/IMG_8960.jpg" width="150" /></a> <a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zjrre83vH1w/V1XE7a23QcI/AAAAAAAAA04/nSK_aPyE-SUoLCfPRaEIv-DSC_-3FbCGwCKgB/s1600/IMG_8959.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zjrre83vH1w/V1XE7a23QcI/AAAAAAAAA04/nSK_aPyE-SUoLCfPRaEIv-DSC_-3FbCGwCKgB/s200/IMG_8959.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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Barry Allen/Flash</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ubGlixcosKM/V1XE8mC_D2I/AAAAAAAAA04/R4oVlJf0WVkmlL-DW9EDLOXXSpoJFFaXACKgB/s1600/IMG_9156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ubGlixcosKM/V1XE8mC_D2I/AAAAAAAAA04/R4oVlJf0WVkmlL-DW9EDLOXXSpoJFFaXACKgB/s320/IMG_9156.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Diana Prince/Wonder Woman</div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W9EkSCyzzzg/V1XE86aK5UI/AAAAAAAAA04/JqqBLBdc8TY9f5QvGJcFEyd3qlE2HvbLgCKgB/s1600/IMG_9526.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W9EkSCyzzzg/V1XE86aK5UI/AAAAAAAAA04/JqqBLBdc8TY9f5QvGJcFEyd3qlE2HvbLgCKgB/s200/IMG_9526.jpg" width="150" /></a> <a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dCayeASUVDg/V1XE869zcjI/AAAAAAAAA04/YvKYTO7glEcJoF227C38OevGAErSQSY3ACKgB/s1600/IMG_9527.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dCayeASUVDg/V1XE869zcjI/AAAAAAAAA04/YvKYTO7glEcJoF227C38OevGAErSQSY3ACKgB/s200/IMG_9527.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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Shayera Hol/Hawkgirl</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ja0nb7yRw5M/V1XP7MLqwQI/AAAAAAAAA3Q/s8tVEulg69wCVQNMQhHyHEQT7s_5qMHfgCLcB/s1600/IMG_9084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ja0nb7yRw5M/V1XP7MLqwQI/AAAAAAAAA3Q/s8tVEulg69wCVQNMQhHyHEQT7s_5qMHfgCLcB/s320/IMG_9084.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
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Dick Grayson/Nightwing</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mKFac6XeYIc/V1XE8W7u4sI/AAAAAAAAA04/IiCqgcRCuzwY26x1b70xYMHvkflvfdgLACKgB/s1600/IMG_9053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mKFac6XeYIc/V1XE8W7u4sI/AAAAAAAAA04/IiCqgcRCuzwY26x1b70xYMHvkflvfdgLACKgB/s320/IMG_9053.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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Harley Quinn</div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5VHvunpLTec/V1XE8XQzZgI/AAAAAAAAA04/mMnQATcnJHk2zY7ILY7zMioCcz_Pd9RGwCKgB/s1600/IMG_9083.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5VHvunpLTec/V1XE8XQzZgI/AAAAAAAAA04/mMnQATcnJHk2zY7ILY7zMioCcz_Pd9RGwCKgB/s320/IMG_9083.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Dinah Laurel Lance/Black Canary </div>
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(Partially inspired by the CW's "Arrow")</div>
<div>
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<div>
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8EFbmWWBhEM/V1XE6_iq08I/AAAAAAAAA04/HeYzwcA32hAnFn1WzslRmcGEdSEQ-Xx4gCKgB/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8EFbmWWBhEM/V1XE6_iq08I/AAAAAAAAA04/HeYzwcA32hAnFn1WzslRmcGEdSEQ-Xx4gCKgB/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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John Diggle "Dig" </div>
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(Inspired by the CW's "Arrow")</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7pfscc-wtt4/V1XE6_H-jHI/AAAAAAAAA04/-f_HX6YC0zs8sxXQkrqYCpvKE7MM4V5fgCKgB/s1600/IMG_8150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7pfscc-wtt4/V1XE6_H-jHI/AAAAAAAAA04/-f_HX6YC0zs8sxXQkrqYCpvKE7MM4V5fgCKgB/s200/IMG_8150.jpg" width="150" /></a> <a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VYjEQVqTcWM/V1XE7JwugcI/AAAAAAAAA04/-XA6LCXO_uw5BZKp3m9ZA5NptK6vPCQWgCKgB/s1600/IMG_8152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VYjEQVqTcWM/V1XE7JwugcI/AAAAAAAAA04/-XA6LCXO_uw5BZKp3m9ZA5NptK6vPCQWgCKgB/s200/IMG_8152.jpg" width="148" /></a></div>
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Roy Harper, casual clothes </div>
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(Inspired by the CW's "Arrow")</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--b2S8HjnP4A/V1XE6yxzPLI/AAAAAAAAA04/DHeupvqOQrYR8SoTIITTBUJCIWVBP1qAQCKgB/s1600/IMG_8148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--b2S8HjnP4A/V1XE6yxzPLI/AAAAAAAAA04/DHeupvqOQrYR8SoTIITTBUJCIWVBP1qAQCKgB/s320/IMG_8148.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div>
Floyd Lawton/Deadshot</div>
<div>
(Inspired by the CW's "Arrow")</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Mini Disney</b></div>
<div>
(Inspired by Disney Characters)</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dXFApg-5Qc4/V1XRU8xssYI/AAAAAAAAA3w/cvn5kVmVaNgLWPsU8dNEYShM5YT5PDvAQCKgB/s1600/IMG_8973.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dXFApg-5Qc4/V1XRU8xssYI/AAAAAAAAA3w/cvn5kVmVaNgLWPsU8dNEYShM5YT5PDvAQCKgB/s320/IMG_8973.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div>
Cinderella</div>
<div>
"Cinderella"</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NHqDDTorNv8/V1XRUZDqykI/AAAAAAAAA3s/okQoLPRyl3MPJjp5trP5GjrqtWGhj_IWgCKgB/s1600/IMG_8969.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NHqDDTorNv8/V1XRUZDqykI/AAAAAAAAA3s/okQoLPRyl3MPJjp5trP5GjrqtWGhj_IWgCKgB/s320/IMG_8969.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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Snow White</div>
<div>
"Snow White and the Seven Dwarves)</div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BGbxN1Ya5cI/V1XRUhabctI/AAAAAAAAA30/sg9M7Wo5_nsbEwqvXvodJiGcs-4VSZ7UQCKgB/s1600/IMG_8971.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BGbxN1Ya5cI/V1XRUhabctI/AAAAAAAAA30/sg9M7Wo5_nsbEwqvXvodJiGcs-4VSZ7UQCKgB/s320/IMG_8971.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div>
Belle</div>
<div>
"Beauty and the Beast"</div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5o4-bnrky7E/V1XRUe9iT3I/AAAAAAAAA3o/BVYJ_Q5OqJgStm62z6trvTBZ03EnSR9VgCKgB/s1600/IMG_8970.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5o4-bnrky7E/V1XRUe9iT3I/AAAAAAAAA3o/BVYJ_Q5OqJgStm62z6trvTBZ03EnSR9VgCKgB/s320/IMG_8970.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div>
Ariel</div>
<div>
"The Little Mermaid"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Us22GKtfmu4/V1XRUUaYdsI/AAAAAAAAA3k/V_mXpInISdwL8aNEBnwGdIIxXg7TLSbGgCKgB/s1600/IMG_8968.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Us22GKtfmu4/V1XRUUaYdsI/AAAAAAAAA3k/V_mXpInISdwL8aNEBnwGdIIxXg7TLSbGgCKgB/s320/IMG_8968.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div>
Anna and Elsa</div>
<div>
"Frozen"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s7SNUEgg828/V1XSDS-ELzI/AAAAAAAAA4s/jdK6gJ_5u5gBC5wD_wyquYqtJuecSAlqQCKgB/s1600/IMG_9565.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s7SNUEgg828/V1XSDS-ELzI/AAAAAAAAA4s/jdK6gJ_5u5gBC5wD_wyquYqtJuecSAlqQCKgB/s320/IMG_9565.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Winnie the Pooh</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
"Winnie the Pooh" movies</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>Other Minis</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-21YRbhpGTUc/V1XSDW15eJI/AAAAAAAAA4o/TKiWb25OlO4F1UQPsLozMkRI8n5BmPt8gCKgB/s1600/IMG_9566.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-21YRbhpGTUc/V1XSDW15eJI/AAAAAAAAA4o/TKiWb25OlO4F1UQPsLozMkRI8n5BmPt8gCKgB/s200/IMG_9566.jpg" width="150" /></a> <a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pVGSNtO4vDU/V1XSCqk55YI/AAAAAAAAA4Y/WlUXQPW8DKIFrEDQMX3XERU7Wrk1n97LwCKgB/s1600/IMG_8205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pVGSNtO4vDU/V1XSCqk55YI/AAAAAAAAA4Y/WlUXQPW8DKIFrEDQMX3XERU7Wrk1n97LwCKgB/s200/IMG_8205.jpg" width="149" /></a></div>
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Bilbo Baggins and Gandalf the Grey</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Inspired by "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings" by J.R.R. Tolkien</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fc5x0ktX670/V1XSDfGfx-I/AAAAAAAAA4g/Q6FD-ZSVRdcKkTGg3VSFXhqKKhoXny9dgCKgB/s1600/IMG_9564.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fc5x0ktX670/V1XSDfGfx-I/AAAAAAAAA4g/Q6FD-ZSVRdcKkTGg3VSFXhqKKhoXny9dgCKgB/s320/IMG_9564.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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Hermione Granger</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Inspired by the "Harry Potter" books by J.K. Rowling</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FOvCj6y4im0/VhqvLNzKjrI/AAAAAAAAAtk/kBTtFHdHFUQ/s1600/IMG_5630.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FOvCj6y4im0/VhqvLNzKjrI/AAAAAAAAAtk/kBTtFHdHFUQ/s200/IMG_5630.jpg" width="150" /></a> <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ksSAhSYIMoc/VhqvK8esnZI/AAAAAAAAAtc/SE_s6p9ZUTU/s1600/IMG_5629.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ksSAhSYIMoc/VhqvK8esnZI/AAAAAAAAAtc/SE_s6p9ZUTU/s200/IMG_5629.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Inspired by the characters from "The Hunger Games: Catching Fire" by Suzanne Collins</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lpfNSp1sV1I/V1XSCgwEw-I/AAAAAAAAA5A/I1IHZ0th38ctm6EMadPDnEYG09NUE6cSgCKgB/s1600/IMG_7061.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lpfNSp1sV1I/V1XSCgwEw-I/AAAAAAAAA5A/I1IHZ0th38ctm6EMadPDnEYG09NUE6cSgCKgB/s320/IMG_7061.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Merlin</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Inspired by the BBC show "Merlin"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6xVZEvSv6qQ/V1XSCtOFFuI/AAAAAAAAA5A/R2SHOO0AdhI6PlWLOtI5svKv_INnaZgfwCKgB/s1600/IMG_8269.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6xVZEvSv6qQ/V1XSCtOFFuI/AAAAAAAAA5A/R2SHOO0AdhI6PlWLOtI5svKv_INnaZgfwCKgB/s320/IMG_8269.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Leonardo and Donatello</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Inspired by the characters from "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dPosYzBk3nc/V1XSD0dlO8I/AAAAAAAAA5A/1RsX3___mqYeQ811m9uM1ogsV3ZaTx24wCKgB/s1600/IMG_9584.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dPosYzBk3nc/V1XSD0dlO8I/AAAAAAAAA5A/1RsX3___mqYeQ811m9uM1ogsV3ZaTx24wCKgB/s200/IMG_9584.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KFNZlNZCkE8/V1XSD7EwQEI/AAAAAAAAA5A/9RXrNRhRFpsYN18UGdndOoA8d6Yri_TCgCKgB/s1600/IMG_9585.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KFNZlNZCkE8/V1XSD7EwQEI/AAAAAAAAA5A/9RXrNRhRFpsYN18UGdndOoA8d6Yri_TCgCKgB/s200/IMG_9585.jpg" width="148" /></a></div>
<div>
Garden Gnome</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-68425235057720776912016-06-06T14:18:00.001-05:002016-06-06T14:18:36.012-05:00Large 10" Crocheted Dolls<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pDItVU05hyg/V1XITHGWP3I/AAAAAAAAA1g/D3JkCnYJKrwNZVUudXdzusEj8K9t7gyoQCKgB/s1600/IMG_8857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pDItVU05hyg/V1XITHGWP3I/AAAAAAAAA1g/D3JkCnYJKrwNZVUudXdzusEj8K9t7gyoQCKgB/s1600/IMG_8857.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Inspired by the Disney Characters)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PFhT9047tHI/V1XITSld8rI/AAAAAAAAA1o/YZ3w7qej5oIIN2nwFZfJwwujxXm--d5WwCKgB/s1600/IMG_8859.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PFhT9047tHI/V1XITSld8rI/AAAAAAAAA1o/YZ3w7qej5oIIN2nwFZfJwwujxXm--d5WwCKgB/s1600/IMG_8859.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Elsa and Anna</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Inspired by the characters from Disney's "Frozen")</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pk_dLcJaRxU/V1XITTxOVJI/AAAAAAAAA1w/QQnbdUixHOA6LdBPIiJpZuY7JrN5vI8VwCKgB/s1600/IMG_8862.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pk_dLcJaRxU/V1XITTxOVJI/AAAAAAAAA1w/QQnbdUixHOA6LdBPIiJpZuY7JrN5vI8VwCKgB/s1600/IMG_8862.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Tinker Bell</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Inspired by the Disney Character)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PMS5lw1Vv_k/V1XISgYjVrI/AAAAAAAAA1I/0B6Mptoj5z0dSksWKQ2b6AaRkZf9XEp1wCKgB/s1600/IMG_8089.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PMS5lw1Vv_k/V1XISgYjVrI/AAAAAAAAA1I/0B6Mptoj5z0dSksWKQ2b6AaRkZf9XEp1wCKgB/s1600/IMG_8089.jpg" /></a><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J-cOvnJBwic/V1XISRxAvkI/AAAAAAAAA08/ze1CWTVjiswUiRmsp7pn5IfNGXYAThhGACKgB/s1600/FullSizeRender%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J-cOvnJBwic/V1XISRxAvkI/AAAAAAAAA08/ze1CWTVjiswUiRmsp7pn5IfNGXYAThhGACKgB/s1600/FullSizeRender%2B%25281%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Vanelope von Schweetz</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Inspired by the character from Disney's "Wreck-It Ralph")</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LQGLVjzptzI/V1XITr1RP1I/AAAAAAAAA2c/9vVK40VWfEsCGkVHYfP-qeWlTOAMJY2DwCKgB/s1600/IMG_8905.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LQGLVjzptzI/V1XITr1RP1I/AAAAAAAAA2c/9vVK40VWfEsCGkVHYfP-qeWlTOAMJY2DwCKgB/s1600/IMG_8905.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Wonder Woman</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Inspired by the DC Comics character)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PuzigZ2lyRA/V1XIT62h-SI/AAAAAAAAA2c/g9JxU5xXWJUhzwli2uN3ETW1xqOpDqQZQCKgB/s1600/IMG_8907.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PuzigZ2lyRA/V1XIT62h-SI/AAAAAAAAA2c/g9JxU5xXWJUhzwli2uN3ETW1xqOpDqQZQCKgB/s1600/IMG_8907.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Supergirl</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Inspired by the DC Comics character)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bSPjfgSy0IA/V1XIT2UJdcI/AAAAAAAAA2c/KExtorrW4tU_fYKtZ8KXGkJY1ti80cmyQCKgB/s1600/IMG_8908.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bSPjfgSy0IA/V1XIT2UJdcI/AAAAAAAAA2c/KExtorrW4tU_fYKtZ8KXGkJY1ti80cmyQCKgB/s1600/IMG_8908.jpg" /></a><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Jcl07OJ28JY/V1XIT18GsOI/AAAAAAAAA2c/HjYTSQV85h4sk8WKAapG_ekd5wyW4dghACKgB/s1600/IMG_8909.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Jcl07OJ28JY/V1XIT18GsOI/AAAAAAAAA2c/HjYTSQV85h4sk8WKAapG_ekd5wyW4dghACKgB/s1600/IMG_8909.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Batgirl</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Inspired by the DC Comics character)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D7LXxi1oxsk/V1XIUPhFCFI/AAAAAAAAA2c/hbxufc42z-0_5j9VadOlTdlQoRuQFpFjwCKgB/s1600/IMG_9048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D7LXxi1oxsk/V1XIUPhFCFI/AAAAAAAAA2c/hbxufc42z-0_5j9VadOlTdlQoRuQFpFjwCKgB/s1600/IMG_9048.jpg" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_wbYHcNS0Dg/V1XIUdfi2qI/AAAAAAAAA2c/IFUSd2MjPbYTChV2cLT-X9gR4Yp-foZLQCKgB/s1600/IMG_9049.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_wbYHcNS0Dg/V1XIUdfi2qI/AAAAAAAAA2c/IFUSd2MjPbYTChV2cLT-X9gR4Yp-foZLQCKgB/s1600/IMG_9049.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Miss Captain America</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Partially inspired by the Marvel Comics character Captain America)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CqKXMQo2fgg/V1XIUCKAPwI/AAAAAAAAA2c/ZNg0j5hTYHoifzdJMuTsHGPOe35Kng_ZACKgB/s1600/IMG_8918.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CqKXMQo2fgg/V1XIUCKAPwI/AAAAAAAAA2c/ZNg0j5hTYHoifzdJMuTsHGPOe35Kng_ZACKgB/s1600/IMG_8918.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Pete the Cat</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Inspired by the character from the books by Eric Litwin)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Characters Inspired by "The Lord of the Rings" and "The Hobbit" by J.R.R. Tolkien</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4KSJexLZR0w/UtcONZxjpFI/AAAAAAAAAM4/XRIogJ2gH1k/s1600/IMG_3309%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" closure_lm_965143="null" height="240" hua="true" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4KSJexLZR0w/UtcONZxjpFI/AAAAAAAAAM4/XRIogJ2gH1k/s1600/IMG_3309%5B1%5D.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Bilbo Baggins</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9nUauX4uQ3E/UtcOazvj4BI/AAAAAAAAANA/vd224SnDcbs/s1600/IMG_3299%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" closure_lm_965143="null" height="320" hua="true" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9nUauX4uQ3E/UtcOazvj4BI/AAAAAAAAANA/vd224SnDcbs/s1600/IMG_3299%5B1%5D.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Legolas Greenleaf</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mLmF8vRcfGc/UtcTc28e-8I/AAAAAAAAANw/xz1GJf9d3fY/s1600/IMG_3301%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" closure_lm_965143="null" height="320" hua="true" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mLmF8vRcfGc/UtcTc28e-8I/AAAAAAAAANw/xz1GJf9d3fY/s1600/IMG_3301%5B1%5D.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Thorin Oakenshield, Kili, Fili,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Bilbo Baggins,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Dwalin, Balin,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Gloin, Oin, Bofur, Bombur, Bifur,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Dori, Nori, and Ori</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZfqOelWSnfM/U0mZ-dPxbkI/AAAAAAAAATk/sZk6DKmpsJI/s1600/IMG_0815%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" closure_lm_402677="null" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZfqOelWSnfM/U0mZ-dPxbkI/AAAAAAAAATk/sZk6DKmpsJI/s1600/IMG_0815%5B1%5D.jpg" width="240" yta="true" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Gollum</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-10453686197457567302016-04-15T11:30:00.003-05:002016-05-09T12:37:12.575-05:00The Mark of the King: Chapter Twenty-Four<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
To atone for my lack of posting any of <i>The Mark of the King</i> last month, I compiled an extra long chapter for your enjoyment. Or, at least I hope you enjoy it. If not, then I did something wrong.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Here's to wishing I wrote it right.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4CvHvuEljWA/VxED1H0A1DI/AAAAAAAAAxg/_A5g4L_k8WUk6_2bmO6u3Shb7Kfk1w07wCLcB/s1600/IMG_9995.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4CvHvuEljWA/VxED1H0A1DI/AAAAAAAAAxg/_A5g4L_k8WUk6_2bmO6u3Shb7Kfk1w07wCLcB/s320/IMG_9995.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After
the commotion in the dungeon waned to naught but distant and whispered memories
and the foreboding silence once again reigned solemn king over its dismal
domain, Catrain settled back against the wall and brooded. She and Flynn devised
the plan in the beginning, and now it had moved on without them. Watching it
walk out the door, leaving her behind and helpless to intervene if interference
of any ilk occurred, gnawed at her. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>Skandar’s
illness was an unforeseen circumstance,</i> she thought, her mind racing with
various schemes and contingencies, <i>one
that worked out for the better, thank the True King. Yet should his infection worsen,
we shall gaze upon a dead body and an empty throne. Or worse,</i> she shuddered
involuntarily, <i>the crushing throne of a
tyrannical monster.</i> Her throbbing heart sank. <i>Time wanes, and we cannot wait for another.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Sighing, she fingered the makeshift
straw knife and mumbled, “I guess I shan’t need this any longer.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Stretched out on the ground on the
other side of the iron barrier separating them, Flynn groaned and rolled lazy
eyes toward her. They widened as he saw the crude thing in her hand. He uttered
a half-amused, half-strained chuckle. “Had I a sister, I should think she would
be a bit like you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Catrain blinked and held it out to
him between the bars. “Do you want it?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Chains scraped as he rolled over and
propped himself up on one elbow. He hesitated, casting shifting glances between
the knife and the guards, who sat oblivious at a table with their backs to the
prisoners, before sliding a hand toward her. Quickly, he balled his fist and
pulled it back as if contemplating an obscure consequence. Drawing to a silent
agreement within himself, he reached out again and took it from her open palm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> He rubbed his fingers over the blunt
edge and the sharper tip. If applied with enough force and in the proper place,
such as the abdomen or the small of the back, it could inflict injury enough to
temporarily incapacitate an opponent and allow a window of time in which to
flee. Applied with brute force to a softer area such as the neck…Flynn’s mouth
curled into a wicked smile. “If they caught you with this-”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “-the consequences would be severe;
you needn’t remind me. If Muriel and Oliver act according to my speculation, I
will be gone from here by tomorrow evening. Concern you show for my well-being,
but do you spare none for yourself?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Morfael would not dare harm me,” Flynn
replied with self-assured confidence and slipped the straw knife down into his
boot. “Harm me and he suffers the wrath of Lord Joran.” Mirthless chuckles
penetrated the darkness before lapsing into agonized groans; Flynn lay back,
gasping wheezing breaths, his features contorted with pain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Stop pretending. The others are no
longer here,” Catrain ordered when he regained his breath. “How bad is it?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Wordlessly, he struggled to sit and
lifted his shirt to reveal his torso. Catrain grimaced. Deep purple, black, and
red mottled bruises covered his lean abdomen, reminding her of rancid raw meat.
One in particular spread from his side inward across his ribs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Broken?” she inquired, internally
processing the likely cause of such a livid mark.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Flynn nodded grimly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Someone should bind it. That would
promote healing and provide support,” she suggested, as much to herself as to
him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I’ve broken ribs before,” he
snapped harshly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Yours or another’s?” she mused.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Tone softening, Flynn mumbled a
hasty apology.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Apologize to me only if you inflict
physical harm or if you betray me. I care not whatever else you do that might
offend someone of lesser fortitude.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Very well,” he agreed, “as long as
you vow the same.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Consider your terms accepted,
although forgive me if I struggle. The desire for control consumes me at times,
thus I feel indirectly responsible for occurrences within my faintest grasp or within
the farthest reaches of even my most fragmented plan.” <i>Although I refrain from admitting it, at the time or any time hence.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “A flaw you must overcome. Holding
yourself accountable will allow your enemies control over you; they will
exploit it as much as they are able.” He began to lower his shirt when another
mark caught her eye.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Wait,” she exclaimed, leaning
forward and squinting to examine what appeared to be a knife wound, yet it was
neither open nor scarred. The torn edges of the surrounding flesh, puckered and
singed, appeared to have been fused together.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Reading curiosity in her unwavering
stare, Flynn said, “That, I received in the skirmish.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “How came it to heal so readily?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Earlier today, rather,” he
corrected himself, “yesterday when Morfael confronted me, he took a burning rod
and seared it.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Remarkable,” she breathed. “I wonder;
could the physician perform the same procedure on Skandar after the infection leaves
him? We could renew our journey with haste, or, in the least, as great a haste
as your injuries allow.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Think nothing of me. Our quest
demands hierarchy over all other problems, my current physical condition included.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “And Skandar’s?” In her mind’s eye,
she saw him carried out of the prison, unconscious and lost in delirium. The
panic initially felt earlier that night reared its head again, and she fought to
keep it at bay. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “He’s a paltry farm boy, not of
noble birth and therefore has no right to the position granted him by this
quest. His blatant stubbornness and refusal to heed instruction or advice will inevitably
result in his injury or death. He sustained injury during one skirmish. Need I
remind you that this entire quest and the recovery of Br</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ó</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">d</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ú</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">il balances solely on him?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Catrain stretched out her legs and
drummed her fingers against her thigh. “You despise Skandar,” she said, playing
out Skandar and Flynn’s interactions in her mind. Hostility, biting remarks,
and mutual loathing and suspicion pierced the memories like a volley of lethal arrows.
“Why do you care whether he succeeds or whether he fails and we all die on this
fools’ errand?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “His success and mine are bound
together,” hissed Flynn. “He acquires Br</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ó</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">d</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ú</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">il, we return to Corrthaine, and my
head remains firmly on my shoulders where it belongs.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Puzzled by his sudden mood change,
Catrain’s brows furrowed. “Lord Joran keeps his sword, you keep your head and your
coveted power,” she declared coolly, “at the expense of Skandar’s life; do not
deny that your master will slay him upon your return if you do not do so
before.” In the silence that followed, she bit her lip until warm blood
trickled into her mouth. Spitting toward the opposite corner, she curled her
knees closer to her chest again and rested her chin atop them. “Oliver, Muriel,
Aidan and Eoin… they die as well,” she stated, barely above the hum of a
whisper.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Flynn swallowed hard, his throat dry
and rough. Agitated, he kicked out, striking the empty wooden mug and sending
it tumbling into the darkness. The guards startled and turned around in their
seats, but soon shrugged the disturbance away and returned to their dozing
states. “Lord Joran ordered me to ensure Oliver’s safety; despite his lack of
affection, Oliver is his sole heir. Aidan, Eoin, and Muriel should never have
accompanied us. Their fate rests not in my hands but in their own, and they
chose to toss it away.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “And what of me?” she dared to
query, but cut him off before he could reply. “If you must kill me, promise to kill
me swiftly, and with a real weapon, not that useless bundle of sticks I gave
you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> A rat scuttled across the chamber in
the darkness. Startled, Catrain flinched away from the faint sound and pressed
herself closer against the wall. Moments elapsed unbroken by nothing save the
whispers of shallow breathing that drifted through the stagnant atmosphere of
the prison. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Catrain cleared her throat. “I’ve
kept you awake long enough. Until the morning.” With the rattle of her
shackles, she rolled onto her side, her back safely against the wall, and
stared at the rectangle expanse of pale moonlight shining on the straw-covered
stones.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Less than an hour after dawn and
minutes before the changing of the guard, the jailer roused Catrain by kicking
his boot against the cell door. Alert, her eyelids flew open and she leapt to
her feet then leaned against the wall as the cramped room spun. When the
dizziness passed, she straightened and stepped forward. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Reluctance hanging onto him like a
boulder lashed to his arm, he fitted the key into the lock. “The Lady Muriel wished
for your presence, and his Majesty Morfael accommodated her request and
commanded your release. You are to meet them in the outer courtyard.”<b><i><u><o:p></o:p></u></i></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The door swung outward, squealing on its hinges. Almost
haughtily, Catrain thrust her shackled hands toward the jailer, her glare
boring holes through the man as he twisted the key in the lock and the cuffs
snapped open. She wriggled her hands free and allowed the bonds to fall to the
floor with a loud clatter and clink of the chains.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cloaked by shadows, Flynn appeared asleep. But the moment
she turned her back she felt his stare follow her until she exited the dungeon.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Aidan and Eoin reached the peak of
the long road leading uphill from the village to the castle, their legs aching
and sore from the climb. In front of them, the crimson rim of the sun peeked over
the top of a hill, painting the clouds shades of rose and gold. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After breaking fast on porridge, the brothers set out for
the castle, their Niwl accents improved and fluent. They paid the tavern owner,
and departed, dressed in new clothes they purchased in the village, believing
it prudent to appear as ordinary wandering Niwl freemen than travelers from
Corrthaine. Swords hung from their belts; Eoin’s quiver and bow were slung
across his back, and Aidan’s twin battle axes rested in their straps against
his shoulders. If anyone questioned them about the weapons, they agreed to attribute
them to combating the dangers of the road and for hunting. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Have you your story, Eoin?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Panting, they stopped. The castle gate lay a short
distance away. A group of mounted men-at-arms rode through and thundered past, kicking
up a spray of dirt clods and clumps of grass. Both brothers coughed as the dust
cleared. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Aye,” Eoin affirmed at last, ruffling a hand through his
hair. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Do you plan to tell me?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Nay.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You sound like a horse,” Aidan intoned, attempting to
cheer his brother. Noting the lack of a return quip, he added, “So, you expect
to talk your way into the castle and rescue the lot while I wait and try to
predict your next action. Waltzing in with our weapons warrants suspicion,
unless getting captured is part of your scheme. Or are you merely hoping to
alieve your guilty conscience about obeying Cat and abandoning the rest of our fair
companions by dressing up in chains?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eoin’s jaw stiffened, the single outward sign that Aidan
struck a tender nerve.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You have nothing to prove nor a wrong to amend.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Observing the new guard, a short, stocky man with
close-cropped dark hair and an air of false-confidence, Aidan asked, “Are you
waiting for an invitation?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mustering his courage, Eoin approached, his stride
noticeably lacking his usual swagger. Aidan matched his step, lingering behind,
waiting for an obscure cue to enter into the charade.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Before they crossed under the portcullis, the stocky Niwl barred
their path.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Pardon me,” Eoin hailed in his practiced and perfected drunken
drawl. “My brother and I wish to make an inquiry about five prisoners recently captured
and housed in the dungeons.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Go on then,” grunted the guard without any intention of
permitting them through; his watchful eyes flicked to their weapons. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Pardon?” repeated Eoin, exchanging a bewildered glance
with Aidan, who nodded and urged him to continue.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Make your inquiry to me. I know most of what goes on
around here; who enters and who leaves?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Is that so?” the youth challenged, resisting the urge to call
the man’s bluff outright, and proceeded to return with a bluff of his own. “My
wife is a lady’s maid, you know sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Aidan’s jaw slacked and he nearly gaped in astonishment. <i>What is the fool thinking?</i> It was a game he, Eoin, Catrain, and Muriel
often played during the long summer days of their childhood. As the elder,
Aidan and cousin Muriel filled the roles of Lord and Lady of their respective
providences. Eoin fulfilled his duty as Aidan’s loyal knight, and Catrain as
Muriel’s maidservant. The game ended one evening when Eoin, ignoring the wiser
judgement of his brother, tried to convince Catrain that their characters would
wed, thus binding the two estates. Catrain had turned scarlet with
embarrassment and her temper flared. <i>If
she reacted that way then, imagine how she’ll react now.</i> Visions of his
brother skewered by dozens of arrows, much like a giant pincushion, flashed
before his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Meanwhile, Eoin elaborated his fabricated story. “Milady
and her betrothed journeyed to visit milady’s sister in Hen Dref. My brother
and I were members of their company, us and two of milord’s trusted men; he only
selects the best. As it happens, we split away from the main host to hunt. Imagine
our surprise and distress when we returned to the camp and discovered they
disappeared. Word in the town says that bounty hunters apprehended a group of people
matching our companion’s descriptions. One of our party must have been mistaken
for a wanted man, else I see no other reason—”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The guard, all the while stifling a laugh, could not
contain himself any longer and threw back his head and roared. “Your wife?” he cackled
uncontrollably, “You look hardly past a lad, let alone wed!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sensing the agitation rising in his brother, Aidan took
hold of Eoin’s arm to prevent him from acting out in his rashness. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eoin grinned, a strained effort to hide his vexation, “The
former is an unfortunate circumstance, the latter however, is one of great
fortune.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The guard snorted with amusement, but still refused to
grant them entry. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Please, sir. Please,” Eoin let his voice thin, the final
plea fading to a husky whisper invoking desperation and adding a hint of drama
to the performance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Aidan fought the urge to shake his head, wondering how
long it would take to flee downhill before knights on horseback ran them down
for lying.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Why should I?” argued the guard, his stance rigid. “For
all I know, you could try to break them out, <i>if </i>I believe your story.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eoin folded his arms and shifted his weight away from the
guard. He inclined his head toward Aidan and with a wave of his hand, gestured
for him to intervene.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Then we seek an audience with the King Morfael. Understand
that this is a matter most dear to us both.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Return on the morrow,” the impudent guard insisted,
finalizing the conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A protest smoldering on his tongue, Eoin opened his mouth,
but the guard turned a deaf ear. Seething with frustration, Eoin allowed Aidan
to lead him away like a docile pup. They meandered down the center of the road.
Already, the sky dome overhead shone pale blue, all traces of the brilliant colors
gone. Down below, people milled about the spattered houses of the sheltered
village. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“This is hopeless,” Eoin moaned and clenched and
unclenched his fist, scanning the area for an object other than Aidan to punch.
A fence post, part of the rows lining the road, had broken from the crossbeam, the
end of which lay angled on the grass. Unleashing a frustrated bellow that
rasped in his dry throat, Eoin wheeled about and kicked at its base, striking
it hard with the inside of his foot. The weathered wood cracked and splintered,
broke in half, then toppled over, the top of it narrowly missing Eoin’s foot. Three
villagers struggling to haul a cart of grain uphill to the castle, stopped and gawked
at the ruined post.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Not your wisest move,” Aidan commented under his breath
after they moved on, the cart trundling over the ruts dug into the road. “We
will try again, little brother, you shall see.” Even to his ears, the words
sounded monotonous, repetitive, and forced.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“When? Tomorrow? Next week?” Eoin sighed and ran his hands
down his weary face. “I fear next week will be too late.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Before Aidan replied, the ground trembled and shook as
another troop of horses surged out of the castle gate and careened toward them,
nearly trampling Eoin. Wind rushed past him as Aidan hauled him out of the way by
the hood of his worn cloak. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Heart pounding in his ears, his younger brother safe at
his side, Aidan’s nerves snapped. “Watch it!” he shouted, realizing too late by
the billowing, deep purple cloaks and jerkins embroidered with a silver dragon
worn by the men that he had not yelled at ordinary knights, but at members of
the Niwl royal guard. Fear seized his chest, rendering him immobile.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He and Eoin stood to the side of the road as the company,
five guards accompanying a young woman, reined in their steeds. The excited
beasts stamped and pawed at the earth, unable to completely quell their restlessness.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The young woman disentangled her horse from the center of
the herd and dismounted. Two of the guards followed suit, while the other three
remained in their saddles. The young woman approached the two brothers, clearly
upset.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Large hazel eyes set above rosy cheeks locked onto them; her
full pink lips were parted slightly, the corners downturned in horror. Long
golden curls framing her oval face cascaded over her narrow shoulders and past
her slender waist, where they brushed against the folds of her obsidian skirt.
A thin circlet of gold crowned her head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Forgetting his anxiety, Aidan gaped at the beauty of the Niwl
princess. Then Eoin jabbed him in the side and he snapped his mouth shut.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Forgive me!” the princess exclaimed, her accent light and
breathy with a slight lisp. “I hope you are not hurt.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Certain the young woman spoke to
someone else, Aidan whipped his head around, searching for whomever she indicated.
He saw no one within speaking distance, blinked rapidly several times, and turned
toward the girl. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Recovering faster than his dumbfounded
brother, Eoin’s mouth slid into a charismatic grin and bent at the waist. “We
suffered not even as much as a scratch, your highness. Ours was the error; we
should have been aware of you and your guards, but,” he added, grabbing the
opportunity to play to her compassion, “we were preoccupied with an urgent
matter.” Stiffly, Aidan offered a latent bow as well, though neither as
smoothly nor as charming as he hoped. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The young woman’s features glowed, “What
matter? Perhaps I may offer help and in that way amend this matter.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Irritated with Eoin’s flippancy, he thought,
<i>What did we discuss just yesterday?</i> Finding
his voice, Aidan shook his head and began, “That shan’t be necessary.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Eoin shot him a warning glare and said,
“If the princess wishes to aid us, who are we to refuse? Such would be
disrespectful, would it not, your highness?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> She inclined her head in a graceful
nod, smiled, and presented a silk-gloved hand to each of them. Respectfully, both
of them took it, at the same time bowing once again. Aidan’s fingers lingered
unconsciously around hers longer than necessary, but she regarded him shyly and
appeared not to mind. “I am Brynna,” she introduced in a soft-spoken manner.
“Princess of Tir O Niwl, and sister to the King Morfael, son of Caddock.” At
the mention of her father’s name, a glassy mist fell over her hazel eyes. “Forgive
me,” she apologized, dabbing at her eyes with a finger. Composing herself a
moment later, she smiled, “Concerning your predicament.” She turned to the two
guards standing like stone pillars a pace behind her, “Thank you for
accompanying me, however, I shall forgo my morning ride now that I have other
matters to attend to.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> With a swish of her skirts, she pivoted
and glided back to her horse, followed by the knights. Fondly, she rubbed the steed’s
white muzzle as she spoke to the three mounted men. When they received their orders,
they lowered their heads and rode away. One of the remaining guards boosted her
onto her horse before he and the other swung themselves into the saddle. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They trotted forward, halting before Aidan and Eoin. “If
you will follow us, I shall arrange an audience with the King,” said Brynna
before wheeling her mount around and galloping down the road toward the castle,
leaving the brothers to hurry along behind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Kindly explain to me what happened?” Aidan scolded when
the riders were out of earshot.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You rediscovered your voice,” noted Eoin, “funny, but I
was about to inquire the same of you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Aidan grabbed his arm in a tight grip, forcing him to meet
his furious gaze. “You manipulated that poor girl with your forward whims!” he
lowered his voice, “That may be tolerated in Corrthaine, but here we are
strangers, ill-versed on Niwl customs, not to mention Corrthainians parading as
Niwls. What punishment such a crime deserves, I know not, save that at the
least we wind up in prison for spying. At worse, we will become acquainted with
the gallows. Your readiness to flirt might one day cross a dangerous line.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eoin listened to the rant with a placid expression, but an
impish spark glowed in his deep blue eyes. Across his face fell the dark shadow
of the castle’s outer and inner walls that, joined by the rampart, blocked the
morning sunlight from shining on them as they strolled beneath it unopposed. “Be
that as it may,” he granted, grinning slyly. Leaning close to Aidan’s ear, he
whispered, “Look around you. We’re inside.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Servants bustled about the courtyard in a morning frenzy,
crossing from one side to the other. Some toted drab bundles of silks and linins
heaped in their arms while others balanced covered platters on the palms of
their hands in a complicated waltz. Horses stamped, their hooves clomping on
the cobblestones as stable hands cinched girths around their rounded bellies
while the riders, an arrayment of a half-dozen knights and squires, lingered in
a close circle nearby. None of the inhabitants appeared to notice the newcomers.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Three boys led three horses, one of whom was snow white,
through a wide, outside corridor. Aidan stood on his toes and craned his neck to
scope the crowd for Princess Brynna. He spied her with her guards on the steps up
to the largest set of rectangular doors, presumably those accessing the heart
of the castle. Briefly, their eyes met and she pointed in the brothers’ direction,
sending one of the guards to wade into the crowd.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Come,” he said before rotating on his heel and marching away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> No sooner than their boots touched the
first stone step than the doors swung open and a small procession filed out. All
activity in the courtyard ceased. Guards and servants alike dropped to their
knees with a whoosh of motion.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Recognizing the arrival of a royal,
Aidan and Eoin immediately mirrored the crowd and knelt on the hard step, their
eyes averted. In the distorted, blurred reflection of a silver bowl clenched in
the hands of a servant girl, Eoin saw a young man in the forefront of the group
dressed in formal black mourning attire, a purple cloak fastened across one
shoulder and falling over the other billowing in the breeze. On his hip not obscured
by the cloak hung a longsword. Gold glinted on his head, nestled atop ash brown
hair. A woman hung on his arm, garbed in an ebony gown; her pale skin and white-blonde
hair gave her a phantom appearance. Behind her loitered two women, wet nurses,
Eoin guessed, by the twin babes cradled in their arms. The other members of the
party remained encased in shadow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Detaching himself from his wife’s touch,
King Morfael strode to the edge of the platform and barked a single command in
Niwl that reverberated throughout the enclosure. In unison, everyone rose and continued
about their responsibilities as though nothing paused them in the first place. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The brothers gaped in shock as the figures
behind the king and queen entered the light. Oliver, washed, shaven, and dressed
in a clean shirt and trousers, and Muriel, her raven hair plaited neatly down
the back of a deep emerald gown, gazed down at them with blank expressions at
first. Joy dawned on Muriel’s pale face at the sight of her cousins, however, Oliver
stared at them, his eyes cold, condescension riddling his manner. He portrayed
the essence of his father. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The resemblance was enough to make
Eoin’s blood run cold.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “You know these men?” King Morfael
inquired, his noble forehead furrowed, marred by a white scar striping his tanned
skin from above his left eye to his temple.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Oliver nodded, his jaw uplifted and
he peered. “They were members of my company before our unceremonious assault.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Morfael’s jaw tensed and his eyes
narrowed. “An occurrence that I apologized profusely for, and shall not again. Your
father’s influence sanctioned your release and protection, among countless items
of trifle leisure, but does not grant you authority nor does it garner you the
privilege of disrespect.” He wheeled on Oliver and snarled, “So for the final time,
I suggest you know your rank.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Tension stifled the air until Brynna
broke it. “These are your men?” she asked, her confusion evident. “When I spoke
to them, their accents were clearly Niwl, yet they spoke Corrthainian I
assumed, because they lived near the border.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Aidan squirmed, silently cursing his
brother’s foolish lies. He prayed the guard stationed at the gate would not come
forward and disclose their other falsehood.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> To his left, a set of doors opened
and a prison guard emerged, Catrain at his heels. She squinted against the
brilliance of the outside sun and threw her hand up as a shield, a dark shadow streaking
across her pale face. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “As promised,” Morfael was saying, “I
ordered the release of your betrothed’s maidservant.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Kate is her name, your highness,” Muriel
declared, loud enough for her friends to hear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>How…?</i>
Wondered Aidan, preparing himself to endure Eoin’s gloating later. <i>No way they planned this together; when
creating the ruse, Catrain must have thought of the same game…</i> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> With confident strides, Catrain traversed
the stretch of empty space between them, ascended the steps two at a time, and assumed
her place behind Muriel. Nudging Aidan’s elbow, Eoin jerked his head in the
direction of their friends, and mounted the stairs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Kind of you to drag me into another
one of your spontaneous schemes,” muttered Muriel out of the corner of her
mouth to Catrain. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “My schemes are never spontaneous,”
Catrain returned, “they are carefully considered. This is and has been my plan
from the beginning in the event we find ourselves in such a situation as this.
And,” she added, helping herself to an apple from a basket carried by a passing
servant and taking a crunching bite, “thus far you and Oliver have executed it
well. Good thinking about my name; that was a detail I overlooked.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I thought it simple and close
enough to the truth that in the event one of us should slip, the error could be
amended.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Have you eaten breakfast?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “No, King Morfael announced that he
wished us to accompany him into the courtyard, for your release, it seems.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Good. I’m starved.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Aidan and I ate already, but,” injected
Eoin, leaning his head between them and ignoring the glares they shot at him, “I’m
a bit famished now that you mention it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Catrain rolled her eyes in irritation,
muttering an incoherent phrase about silence before Muriel spoke again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “You should change first,” she said,
indicating Catrain. “I argued on your behalf that you are to stay near me for
the duration of our stay, including dining and rooming. Oliver would have pent
you with the castle servants. He has taken his role with too much vigor, in my
opinion.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “So I noticed.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> At a silent command from Morfael,
the company departed the courtyard, leaving behind the warmth of the sunlight
and spring air, and entered the drafty corridors of the castle, lit by torches fastened
at intervals where arching windows cut through the stone were absent. They
proceeded inward and around several corners, Oliver and Morfael’s arguments revived,
waking the sleeping twins, who added their wailing cries to the discord resounding
through the hall. The cacophony masked all conversations from prying ears.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Leaning toward Muriel while training
her focus on constructing a mental map of the halls, Catrain asked, “Have you
seen Skandar?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “What’s the matter with him?”
queried Aidan.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “He was taken ill with fever early this
morning.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “How ill?” Eoin asked, voicing his
concern.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “The physician refuses to admit anyone
until later this afternoon,” replied Muriel, her voice taut with worry. “Oliver
petitioned to move him to the hall our chambers are located in, so he is near. After
all of Oliver’s outrageous demands, King Morfael was only too willing to comply
to such a small thing if it meant satiating him for a time.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Eoin’s mouth formed another question,
but before it travelled out, Catrain answered it, as though reading his thoughts.
“A bounty hunter inflicted a sword wound to his shoulder.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Ah.” He grimaced. “Painful.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Clearing her throat, Catrain turned
to observe a bird pecking at the soft cracks between two stones high in an
arching window set in the wall above them. Four more windows illuminated the long
corridor the group strolled down, passing first through shadow, then the sunlight
wafting through the gaping opening in translucent shafts. She lifted her face
to the sun, drinking it in.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> When she opened her eyes, the sun struck
them in such a way that they appeared to glow, as though the vast forest within
them was aflame. Eoin, who dropped to the back of the assembly, observed her
from a distance. He smiled to himself. With his brother beside him and his friends
before him, he felt at home, despite the alien surroundings and their ambitious
masquerade that tottered on the precipice of disaster.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Muriel pointed past Morfael and
Oliver at the head of the procession, saying, “Kate, the hallway leading to our
rooms branches off just ahead.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Catrain nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> When they arrived at an intersection
between the two perpendicular corridors, Muriel hastened forward and tapped
Oliver on the shoulder. His counterargument combatting Morfael died in his
throat as she whispered a short sentence into his ear. Then he snapped his
fingers twice attracting the annoyed attention of King Morfael. Ruddy color deepened
in the king’s cheeks, flushing his cheeks with renewed anger.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “What?” he demanded, his voice
tearing through his throat like a vicious growl.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “The Lady wishes that a guard escort
her maid to her room,” Oliver said, exuding a false humility that took Morfael
aback. Eoin recalled that game from his youth, when Oliver bullied and
manipulated him into obeying his every beck and call. First he engaged his
target in a heated argument, and then feigned the meekness of the victim. Years
past, before Oliver changed, Eoin had discovered through Catrain that Oliver used
this as a defense against his father.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> And it worked. Morfael shouted, and moments
later, a guard rushed down the hall to their right. When he assessed that no
danger threatened his king, he bowed, received his orders, pivoted on his heel,
and marched into the passage. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Should one of us accompany you?” asked
Eoin.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Catrain shook her head and without
another word, trailed along behind the soldier.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Eoin watched her turn a corner
before asking Muriel and Aidan, “Should one of us have accompanied her?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “If she refused your offer the first
time,” Muriel admonished, “then ‘tis possible she believes herself capable of managing
on her own.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> With a sideways look at his brother,
Aidan whispered, “Let him go, else we shall never hear the end of it until she
returns.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Understanding dawned on Muriel’s
face, and Eoin jumped at the opportunity to explain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I only thought that, after all that
you and she endured in prison with strangers, perhaps a friend’s presence reduces
anxiety-”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Cutting him off, Muriel beamed, “Go,
in case she requires a guide to the dining hall.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Eoin wheeled about and trotted away.
He stopped after three paces, a sheepish grin creeping over his lips. “Where is
the dining hall, lest I lead us both astray?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Catrain followed the guard deeper into the castle. New
lines etched themselves in her mental map and staircases added depth until the picture
formed and she felt confident that, if necessary, she could navigate her way back
to the main hallway if necessary. When they arrived at a vestibule on the east wing
of the castle, the guard stopped abruptly and Catrain, lost inside her mental map,
veered to the side to avoid bumping into his armored back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Glancing up at her surroundings, she
gaped. Before her, at the end of the hallway, a high, arching window spanned from
floor to ceiling, but, what captured her awe were the diagonal bands of iron trellised
across its width. Outside, hills rolled in emerald waves of a gentle sea. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> A maid, a woman near the age of Lady
Morgaine, appeared carrying a fresh dress draped over one arm and directed her
to her chamber. The maid entered first, striding toward a four poster bed positioned
against the far wall. She lay the dress atop a trunk at its foot and inquired if
Catrain required anything else.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Catrain replied, “No, all is well,” and
the woman departed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Her footsteps resounded louder than normal,
drawing Catrain’s attention to a grate about a foot long and a half foot tall
fitted into a hole cut into the bottom of the wall. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>I
must be mindful of that</i>, she thought, wary of wandering ears.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Overwhelmed by the myriad pieces gyrating
around her slowly forming plan, Catrain sank onto the bed, relieved at feeling
the goose-feather mattress beneath her back instead of stiff, pricking straw. Exhausted
and her bones aching, she stared at the ceiling until the pattern of every
crack in the stones seared itself onto her memory and basked in the solitude. At
least on the road, watch duty allowed her ample time alone, a luxury denied her
in prison.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> She patted the front of her leather jerkin
that she wore over her shirt, hearing the satisfying, muffled crinkle of fresh
parchment. Clenching her fist, she recalled the cramps that had nearly
paralyzed her hand while she rushed to copy it down on Sir Reuben’s behest. <i>Skandar lies ill and he has yet to read it.
Did I wait too long?</i> Doubt teased her. <i>Everything
we worked for ruined because I misjudged timing.</i> Unfastening the cords that
bound the vest up her back, she removed it and pulled the flat, leather-wrapped
package from a pocket stitched inside. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> It smelled of sweat and ink and
weeks of travel, but otherwise both documents—the parchment and the soft, thin
leather folded around it—remained intact. For the first time since capture, she unwrapped
the leather and examined it, as was her custom the nights she assumed camp watch.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> An incomplete map of Corrthaine, Tir
O Niwl, and Tir Thuaidh decorated the smooth surface, with large patches vacant
from inside the borders of Tir O Niwl. While the pieces brought by Sir Reuben’s
contacts within the Niwl ambassador’s entourage contained only Tir O Niwl, the
Keeper had taken the liberty to include Corrthaine and the kingdom to the north
so that, when they completed their quest, they would know where to meet with her
mother, Sir Reuben and his family, and the rest of their amassing army in Tir
Thuaidh.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Giddy anticipation pounded her
heart, squelched in a single instant by frustration at the empty gaps staring
her in the face, resembling the missing pieces of her plan. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Then the realization struck her like
a lightning bolt. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “He has them!” she exclaimed and
smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Footsteps in the outside hall
alerted her attention to the grate. She flipped over the side of the bed,
landing in a crouch, and tucked the parchment and map between the mattress and
the bedframe. She reached for her sword, cursing when she grabbed at air. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>Thieving
scum</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> A knock rapped on the door and
Eoin’s familiar voice called out, “Kate?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>Guards
are outside,</i> she noted at his use of her alias.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Here,” she replied over her
shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The latch rattled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m dressing,” she added, shrugging out of her dirt-stained
shirt and slipping the dress over her head. Retrieving the parchment and map
from beneath the mattress, she cinched them beneath the bodice against her stomach.
Once she unlaced her boots, she discarded her mud-splattered pants with her
shirt and proceeded to finish the difficult task of tying up the back of the
dress. She uttered an aggravated groaned. The shoulders were too narrow, the
sleeves tight, and over an inch of fabric dragged on the floor, covering her
bare feet.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “No boots then,” she decided.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> She
loosened her tangled plait of hair, combing her fingers through the snarls as
she padded to the door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Eoin leaned against the wall
outside, one foot tucked under him. When she emerged, still fussing with her
hair, he shook his head and chuckled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Permit me?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Fine,” she grumbled and froze as he
gathered her tresses and gently tugged them into a neat braid. He passed her
the end, which she tied off with a strap, mumbling a quick thanks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Muriel sent me,” he said. “She
worried you would forget to eat.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Did she?” Catrain mused.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> As they passed a closed door, it
opened and a portly gentleman garbed in rich brown robes stepped from the room,
carrying a thick ledger in one hand. He scanned the pages with deep-set eyes,
his mouth pressed in a thin line above a trimmed brown beard that was flecked
with gray hairs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Are you the physician?” Catrain
queried of the man.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> His head lifted from the ledger and
he glanced around for a second, as though confused about who addressed him. His
gaze rested on Catrain, and he bobbed his head. “Alasdair, court physician. How
may I be of service to you?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Not I, sir, but my friend. I
believe you treat him?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Ah, yes,” Alasdair motioned at the
closed door. “The young man acquired a wound to the shoulder as well as a minor
cut on his side. The injury to his arm, I fear, contracted an infection.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Catrain’s eyes flicked back and
forth as she processed his assessment, which agreed with her own diagnosis. “And?” she prodded.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Sighing, the physician closed his
ledger, holding it against his round belly. “While your friend is strong, and I
believe that, allowed rest his condition will improve, the fever has not yet
released its hold on him. ‘Tis rather strange, though.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Strange?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Alasdair leaned closer. “I tell you
this in confidence because you are the lad’s friends. Some years ago, King
Morfael sustained a similar injury during a hunt. His wound, too, became
infected, however, while my medicine cured him of his fever within a matter of
mere hours, it works much slower on your companion.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Forgive my ignorance, sir,” Eoin said
before Catrain peppered the physician with another question. “but what do you
mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Either his affliction is worse than
I suspected,” Alasdair paused and grimaced, “or he does not wish to fight it. Wherever
he is,” he added, “he does not wish to depart. I, however, do want to leave. If
you will excuse me, I am late for breakfast.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “Please assure me you do not believe
him,” Eoin scoffed when the brown robes of the physician vanished around the
corner. “Skandar unwilling to fight? His father, Br</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ó</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">d</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ú</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">il, reasons enough to fend off the
fever!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The princess set her jaw and balled
her fists at her sides. Without explanation, she walked away, tripping on the
too-long hem of her dress.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Eoin trotted after her. She turned
down a lonely passage and began descending a flight of stairs when he matched
her rapid pace and caught her by the arm. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Cat, tell me your thoughts.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “There are too many at the present to
decipher any explanation concerning Skandar’s ailment save that the medicine works
slowly on him. Prayer ebbs my concerns about that, for the solution lies
outside of my control,” she declared, twisting free of him and continuing down
the stairs, she skipped the bottom most step and alighted on the landing. “My foremost
thought is one of hunger. Where is the dining hall?” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Comments are welcome, as always.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I wish you all a good weekend, and God bless!</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">~Abigail </span><span style="font-family: "andalus";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-37619242038536480682016-03-30T14:57:00.002-05:002016-04-07T14:06:33.124-05:00A Broken Image in a Shattered Mirror<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I don't have a chapter in posting condition for you all yet. At the moment, it's a mangled mess of words and scenes yet to be placed in order. However, I wanted to post something personal, for a change. I don't do that often, mainly because I loathe opening up to people, even those I consider my closest friends. But after much introspection and God shoving my eyeglass in the right direction, I've learned something about myself I may have otherwise missed.</div>
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In a college psychology class (of all things), we recently discussed motivation, touching on characteristics of people with Type-A Personalities, and the Need to Achieve. Both described me nearly perfectly, with some of the identifiable factors as being competitive, preferring clear goals and feedback, displaying regulated efforts when working on a long-term project, persistent toward goals, and accomplishing more in school and in work. Not a month before highlighting that topic in class, my mom and I discussed my work ethics after one of my stress-induced meltdowns (for the record: I hate admitting that I cry. Ever. If I could purge myself of select emotions and simultaneously my tear ducts, I would in a heartbeat). During that conversation, she mentioned something that stopped me in my mental tracks and prompted me to reflect on it. She said that I base my self-worth on my achievements in academics and work (be it my performance in sports, my actual job, my writing, etc.).<br />
<br />
To understand where I'm coming from and why this realization struck me the way it did, bear with me while I share a bit of history.<br />
<br />
From early childhood, I've always sought competition and achievement. That desire stemmed from a deep well of internal motivation and propelled me forward in nearly all aspects of my life that even mildly interested me. Even things that I loathed, I sought to earn the highest mark possible, (well, in all but math. However, even it remains one of the only exceptions). Some people seek out competition in physical beauty or popularity, in that way striving to be considered better than others in their social group. Others seek admonition in the arms of a relationship partner. Honestly, I've never considered myself <i>that</i> pretty, and I've never cared about other people's views about my physical appearance. I'm not fishing for compliments; I'm merely stating my opinion, which I honed with the knowledge that beauty only lasts a few decades and popularity ebbs with the social tide. Relationships break up (and frankly, I don't see the point in investing my heart in someone until after I graduate high school). I realized that beauty was irrelevant. I accepted the fact that I cannot bear to linger in crowds and that I shy away from the spotlight.<br />
<br />
Physical appearance and popular esteem may open doors, but intelligence opens worlds.<br />
<br />
So instead, I resolved to be intelligent to the point of straining and stressing and working myself into the ground in order to maintain my sense of identity until recently, when I discovered that I've spent years of my life staring at a broken image in a shattered mirror.<br />
<br />
For over a decade, I based my identity off how well I met my own expectations. Failing meant a loss of that, a loss of who I am, a loss of my self-worth. A loss of my pride. I forgot that my worth isn't in what I can and cannot accomplish. It isn't in beauty, popularity, or relationships either. It isn't in whatever else you may base your self-esteem on, because I know we all cling to something or another.<br />
<br />
We should seek our identities in Christ. I've struggled beneath the weight of the oppression that is the idea of failure. While it loomed over me, my pride taunted me, beat me when I fell, waved my short-comings in my face. Jesus Christ is the exact opposite. He carries me when I fall, fills me with hope, and uses my failures as lessons.<br />
<br />
As a Christian, He is and should be my identity. I am His child, and nothing I do alters His perception of me, which is one of grace and love. Not my perception of trepidation and dismay.<br />
<br />
Long ago, I chose Philippians 4:13 as my life verse. For those of you unfamiliar with it, it reads, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." To me, seeing it was like seeing a mirror of who I could become. But that mirror broke with the confines of humanity. When I was younger, my focus lay on the line that says, "I can do all things." That, right there, was my identity. That was what I hoped to see when I looked into that mirror, but due to my distorted image of myself and the fact that I sought it in the wrong place, all I saw staring back were the broken shards of a fractured image. <br />
That verse contains a deeper meaning for me now. My worth is in Christ. He repairs the mirror. His is the reflection I strive to see staring at me from the other side of the glass, not my grades, not my intelligence, not my accomplishments. Those, like beauty, fame, and relationships, fade away. In the end, they're all shattered mirrors. Christ's image, His love, His appraisal of you and I does not.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-11971049199326288342016-02-24T20:33:00.001-06:002016-02-24T20:33:14.842-06:00The Mark of the King: Chapter Twenty-Three<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Sorry for the wait- life happens, and things not concerning life or death </div>
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(academic life or death, that is) are pushed aside.</div>
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I hope you enjoy this, and as always, I love to hear your thoughts.</div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-85OWiy4neZI/VrkHqoaw8lI/AAAAAAAAAwo/HtG0SvD1Ygo/s1600/IMG_9523.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-85OWiy4neZI/VrkHqoaw8lI/AAAAAAAAAwo/HtG0SvD1Ygo/s320/IMG_9523.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Andalus; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Muriel lay awake in the dark cell
long after the changing of the nighttime guards, unable to capture sleep and
claim it for her own. Her mind and heart conflicted, torn between fretting over
Oliver and reasoning his well-being, realizing he likely slumbered soundly on a
proper bed and not a heap of straw and adorned in iron chains. To make matters
worse, she heard the constant scratch of rats’ claws between the stones and
feared that one of the bolder vermin would test her flesh for food. She did not
blame them; she had eaten only a bit of burned bread twice a day for the past
two days, and her stomach churned uneasily, growling for sustenance. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The night before, Oliver had talked her to sleep, but now
Flynn occupied his place in prison, and she had long since resolved that there
would be no speaking with him. He too, tossed and turned, visibly little more
than a dense shadow amidst the moonless prison; Skandar lay near the wall on
the farthest side away from him, asleep. Catrain, curled up in as tight a ball
as her body allowed, breathed deeply, lost in dreams. Muriel envied her,
wondering how it was her friend slept at a time such as this, and with such
ease.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the darkness, a rat squealed. She startled, her arms flying
out to her sides in an attempt to push herself away from the straw; her chains
rattled loudly in the quiet of the dungeon, and the cuffs tore at her swollen,
chafed wrists and caused blood to bubble and ooze from her skin. She bit her
lip as tears stung her eyes; the shackles hurt terribly. “True King,” she
whispered, her lips mouthing the words and her parched voice barely slipping
through, “deliver us from this prison. Protect Oliver this night and the days
to come, however Your will deems, but please, deliver us.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To pass the time, she sang softly into the crook of her
elbow, the thick fabric of her sleeve muffling the sound. The melodies she
chose were some her mother sang to lull her and siblings to sleep, and they
comforted her, for they reminded her of home and the family she missed so
dearly. Then the tears fell, running down her cheeks and dripping from her nose
and wetting her sleeve. Her father’s gentle voice drifted through her mind,
saying, “Do not lose yourself in misery. You’re my strong girl, aye?” He would
tap her nose lovingly, then add, “‘Tis all right to cry a little, but remember
that when the tears have come and gone, you stand to your feet and march on.
And if you cannot muster the strength to do so, the True King will carry you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hooking a thumb beneath the collar of her shirt, careful
not to disturb her shackles again, she lifted out the delicate chain she wore
around her neck that held her betrothal ring, grateful the bounty hunters had
not helped themselves to it as they had their weapons and other provisions. Even
with their greedy plunder, the rogues neglected to search both her and her
friends for any hidden articles of value. She fingered the ring, a simple band
of gold strands braided together with a single sapphire inset in the center. Pressing
it to her lips, the metal warm from lying against her skin, she closed her eyes
and mouthed silent prayer for Oliver and her family. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I am praying for a
deception to succeed,</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
she pondered, amused and somewhat ashamed. <i>Yet
by the time this quest draws to an end, I doubt now will be the only time I offer
such a plea.</i> A hopeless laugh escaped, and she murmured, “What would my
father say about this?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“He would say that you may go crazy talking to yourself.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Muriel stifled a scream as Flynn suddenly interrupted her musings.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Especially if you find yourself beginning to answer,” he
added, then groaned as he raised himself to a sitting position.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“And how do you know this?” she dared to query.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“After hours of enduring torture, men speak nonsense, an
endless flow of garbled words and whimpers, questions and answers which they
provide for themselves- their only solace before death.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I dare not ask how you know <i>that</i>,” she shuddered. “Cat may enjoy listening to your tales, but I
do not. You and I are far from friends.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“While we are on the subject of incessant talking,”
continued Flynn, ignoring her last remark, “Skandar will not cease his
mumbling. I kicked him a couple times, but he would not wake. Does he usually
talk in his sleep?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Muriel frowned, recalling the nights she stood on watch
duty, and shook her head. “He suffers from nightmares, but I cannot name a time
he cried out. You however…” she trailed off, glaring at his shadow and willing
her stare to transform into one of her daggers. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Test his forehead,” Catrain whispered harshly from behind
her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What?” asked Flynn.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Test his forehead. His temperature,” she urged.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Flynn hesitated before replying, “Very well.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The scrape of his chains across the stones caused both
women to cringe, the sound grating like fingernails on glass and piercing to
the bone. They sat still, waiting anxiously for Flynn to appear on the other
side of the bars once more. In the eerie silence that settled over the dungeon,
their ears caught the faint, frightened whispers uttered by Skandar.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Can you make out what he is saying?” queried Catrain to
Muriel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Muriel strained her senses, focusing
her hearing, her mouth set in a grim line. “He is saying something about mist,
I believe? Water? Br</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ó</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">d</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ú</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">il, yes, just now, he mentioned the sword.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The clanking scrape of Flynn’s
chains announced his movement; he exerted no effort to attempt to quiet them at
all. “Fever burns within him,” he announced when the dreadful noise waned to a
faint echo.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Are you certain?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Indeed. Though how the fever set upon
him, I haven’t the slightest notion.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “His arm,” Catrain said flatly,
although inside she blamed herself for forgetting his wound, “During the
skirmish on the cliffs, one of the men struck Skandar in the arm. The injury was
not too severe, but no one ever tended to it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “We must wake the guards,” Muriel
suggested. Wide awake with fear pumping through her body, she began banging on
the bars and walls of her cell, shouting hoarsely. Mimicking her example, Catrain
added her voice to Muriel’s, inviting an onslaught of complaints and curses from
the other prisoners, which only served to increase the chaos and attracting the
attention of the guards. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Soon, the jailer stormed into the hall,
his rat-like features livid with rage. He screamed in Niwl above the clamor, and
though Muriel did not understand the language, his domineering tone was clear
enough; her shouts died in her throat as did the others, plunging the dungeon into
a sudden stillness wrought with tension. The jailer squinted into the recesses
of the cells. He spoke again, and Muriel frowned.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “He demands to know who started the disturbance,”
Flynn, who sat unmoved on the floor, translated, “he adds that they will
receive a flogging in the morning. Wise plan,” he muttered condescendingly, “that
will make them eager to step forward…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Bony fingers, pale and dirty and protruded
from spindly arms suddenly appeared from within the cells, pointing accusingly at
Muriel and Catrain. The jailer’s beady eyes laid to rest on the two women, and
Muriel fought the urge to shrink away. She watched as the jailer ripped a torch
from the wall and shoved his way between the guards and stopped directly in
front of her. He craned his thin neck, his grimy face uncomfortably close to
hers, and the rank odor of stale ale wafting from him nearly caused her to gag.
Face souring, she stepped back, but met the man sternly in the eyes, emboldened
by Catrain’s presence hovering half a pace behind her. With a hand that
trembled of its own accord, she pointed to Skandar, whose limbs twitched and
head lulled from side to side, all the while mumbling incoherently.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The jailer waved the torch near the bars,
illuminating the front portion of the adjacent cell in a flickering ring of
firelight.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Our friend is ill. His arm is infected,”
Muriel explained.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “As if I have not heard that before,”
the jailer grunted dismissively, “That does not save you and your pretty friend
from a date with the whip.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> However, Muriel remained calm and
diplomatic. “You dare question my word?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Depends,” he shrugged.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “On what?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “On how much your word is worth,” he
leered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “How dare you speak to her ladyship
in such a manner!” Catrain snapped, prodding Muriel with her elbow in silent
instruction to play along. “She is the Lady Muriel, betrothed of Sir Oliver
Joranson, the man released by King Morfael earlier today. In Corrthaine you
would be hanged for your insolence.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Is that supposed to mean anything
to me?” he asked, and prepared to return with another remark when Muriel
intervened:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Forgive my lady’s maid, she forgets
her place. Now, will you see to his lordship’s squire or not?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> After shooting her a nasty glare, the
jailer signaled to the guards behind him, six in all, with a jerk of his free
hand. Passing the torch to one, he unlocked the door and allowed three more to
file inside. Two assumed a careful watch over Flynn while the last man removed a
glove and touched Skandar’s clammy forehead, waited a moment, then withdrew his
hand and nodded a quick affirmation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The jailer groaned. Unknown to his men,
he was under specific orders from his king about this specific troupe of
prisoners. “I will see what the king will have me do, but as it is the middle
of the night, I will not disturb him until morning.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “He cannot wait that long,” her
throat constricted, as though even her body wished to swallow the words and banish
them from reality.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “That is not my problem,” he lied,
knowing well that it would be. Still, he received hardly better care than the
prisoners under his charge, so what did it matter, orders or not?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “It will be your problem when Morfael
discovers you knew and forgot to tell him,” Flynn absent-mindedly flicked the
chain links, appearing disinterested but all-too familiar with the truth that
lay beneath the pretense the jailer would have them believe.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “<i>King</i>
Morfael, scum,” the jailer hissed, eyes narrowed and flashing. “And why should
I worry? Who’s going to tell him?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I will,” Flynn clicked his tongue
against the roof of his mouth. “Ah, that got your attention,” he said wryly. “As
for king or not, he is no king of mine, is he? He certainly will not be yours
when you are dead. Do you believe that prison awaits your failure? A prison
certainly, inside a wooden box buried in the earth after your neck stretches at
the end of a rope.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The jailer blanched and his hands
fluttered to his throat. He growled an order to one of the guards in Niwl, and
the knight scampered away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Where has he gone?” inquired Muriel
under her breath to Flynn, loathe that at the moment he was closer to Skandar
than she; though she had only known him for a few months, she loved him as her
own brother. Seeing him lying there, delirious and in agony, she felt drowned
in helplessness, but determined to maintain a stiff upper lip. <i>Think stone column,</i> she thought, <i>Think like Cat- confident, capable of
anything.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “…and return with help,” Flynn
concluded.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>Capable
of anything except hearing the answer to my own question,</i> she groaned
inwardly, inhaled a shaky breath and asked, “Could you repeat that? My mind
wandered, and I...”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Waving her off, Flynn sighed, “The
jailer ordered the guard to wake Morfael and receive orders; should that prove
optimistic,” he intoned sarcastically, “he will return with help, and Skandar
at least will be free from this stinking pit.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> True to Flynn’s word, the original guard arrived
some time later accompanied by six sleep-deprived servants who yawned and shuffled
their feet. They walked in two lines, carrying a long, thick cloth folded
between two sturdy poles each line bore across their shoulders. At the cell
door, they stopped, waiting for the reluctant jailer to open it; once he had,
they filed inside. Laying the sling flat on the ground beside Skandar, they
lifted his limp, lanky body up onto its center. The jailer paused, appearing to
contemplate whether or not to remove the shackles around his prisoner’s wrists,
even beginning to pocket the key, but shook his head in resignation and unlocked
them. He waved the servants to continue. They stooped and hoisted the poles onto
their shoulders again, the extra length of the cloth enclosing Skandar and shielding
him from Muriel’s concerned gaze, then they carried him out of the dungeon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> While the jailer swung the door shut,
the guard whispered something in his ear. The jailer’s rat face scowled,
twisting his grotesque features into greater resemblance of the vermin that
shared his quarters. Unlocking Muriel and Catrain’s cell, he held it ajar. “King
Morfael also requested the release of the Lady Muriel.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Muriel heard her name through a fog
and it wasn’t until Catrain nudged her in the back that she realized the jailer
referred to her. He gestured for her hands. Fitting the key into the lock, he
turned it, and the iron cuffs sprang open. <i>At
last!</i> She rejoiced, tenderly rubbing the swollen, red, and bleeding rings
around her wrists. Her joy was short-lived as she thought of Catrain. She stole
a glance over her shoulder at her friend, who nodded and urged her to go. Even
so, she queried, “What about my lady’s maid?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Just you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “But-”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Just you, or you both stay. Get on
with you. Servants outside the dungeon will escort you to your chambers.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “True King be with you, milady,” Catrain
called after her as Muriel neared the door to freedom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “And with you,” she echoed, casting
a final look back before stepping through the doorway and into the hall. Clean
air, free from the rank odor that festered in the dungeon entered her lungs
when she breathed; she swallowed gulps of the stuff in such a manner her mother
no doubt would have disapproved of. As it happened, the Niwl servants regarded
her oddly, unsure what to make of the lady from Corrthaine, with straw in her raven
hair, dirt streaking her ivory skin, and garbed in a shirt, trousers, and boots
like a man, of all things. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Muriel, suddenly aware of her state
of appearance, felt heat rising to her cheeks, and frantically began to brush away
bits of hay clinging to her clothes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Are you ready, my Lady?” a young
man around her brother’s age stopped her fussing after a moment.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I am,” she replied, “Lead on.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Through the drafty corridors of the castle
she followed them, traversing countless hallways until they arrived in the
eastern wing of the castle, the side facing the forest spanning the borders
between Tir O Niwl and Corrthaine. They stopped in a single, lonesome hall, at
the end of which stood a massive window, stretching from floor to ceiling and
covered by an iron trellis that crossed the empty space with diagonal intersecting
lines. The flickering flames from the torches mounted along the wall reflected
in the many panes of the glass.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Turning her attention on the multiple
closed chambers, she inquired, “The other man, the one who has taken ill, is he
staying here?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “He stays in the medical wing under
the care of the court physician.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> She smiled, “If one were to try to
find that area, could they entrust one of you to direct them there?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The servant, his companions having
silently slipped away, sighed heavily, “Milady, with respect, I would not
trouble yourself at this hour. That is your room,” he indicated one of the
doors with a nod of the head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “And Sir Oliver?” her fingers brushed
the cool metal of the curved handle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “In the chamber adjacent. Will that
be all, my lady?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Thank you,” she nodded, “and yes,
that is all.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> After she stepped inside the dark
chamber, her gaze immediately fell on the dark outline of the four-poster bed,
illuminated by a single candle burning on a table near its head. Feet fairly
dancing, she crossed the room and leapt into bed, burrowed under the blankets,
and lay awake listening to the silence void of rats scratching, prisoners
coughing and wheezing, and no echoes of the clink of shackles that drew fresh
blood from her chafed wrists... Guilt gnawed at her heart. <i>Catrain… tomorrow I must arrange her release, if I am able. True King,</i>
she prayed, <i>Protect Cat this night, alone
with the rats. Guide Aidan and Eoin, wherever they may be and bring them to us.
Give Oliver wisdom and foresight of the days to come, and please,</i> tears
pooled at the corners of her eyes and trickled down the sides of her face, <i>please heal Skandar. True King, please,</i>
she repeated,<i> heal Skandar, heal his
wounds and his heart.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>Every
night the dreams began the same, and, fever or not, this was no different. <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar drifted through the ocean
of darkness, the mist wafting around his knees, an eerie stillness long since
settled around him, a stillness the disembodied voice would eventually
penetrate at some point. No wind howled yet, no rain dumped a torrential deluge,
and no tidal waves crashed upon his head. He floated, weightless, through an
endless wasteland, at the end of which he knew loomed the chasm, but for all
his straining, he failed to determine where the mist billowed over the edge and
into nothing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I should be afraid,<i> he thought, recalling the past nights when
he awoke stifling a scream in the hem of his cloak. </i>I should be terrified.<i> But instead he stood calmly, his bare feet
rooted to the ground, cocooned by the emptiness that encompassed his fevered
dream’s blackened reality. Come water, come wind, come falling over the edge of
a fathomless abyss, he cared not. So he set out, curious and emboldened beyond
his reasoning, to explore the boundaries of his nightmares.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> For
ages he wandered, testing the ground before stepping in a painstakingly tedious
process he hoped would prevent him from plunging over the mist-shrouded cliff. The
silence ate at his mind, and he found himself wishing for the roar of the
cyclone or the waves, the whisper of the voice, or anything to distract from the
dream. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Hello?”
he cried out in desperation, the dank atmosphere swallowing his voice. “Are you
there?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> No
one answered, but he suspected as much.</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>As
the mist swirled, something caught his eye in the distance- a gleam of silver,
the only hue other than black and gray in the drab void. Ignoring his fear of
falling, he raced toward it, running tirelessly for what seemed hours. When he
neared it, he recognized the shape in an instant, even with the distortion by
the mist. </i>A sword!<i> He rejoiced, and
quickened his pace, reaching it in no time at all.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> A
longsword, it stood upright, held straight and above the ground by an unseen
force; power radiated from it, pulsing through the vapors that whirled around
it but never once touched it with their icy tendrils. The blade, the thing that
first claimed his attention, shone pure silver, flawless with twin fullers
running down the center length of the flat side, which bowed in the middle
before broadening out and then finally tapering into a lethal tip. The gilded
crossbars curved down toward the blade like talons, razor-sharp and cruel; the hilt
was wrapped in dyed crimson leather and was long enough for Skandar to take
with both hands and still allow plenty of space to fit a third between them and
the diamond-shaped pommel that hovered at his shoulder level. On closer
inspection, he discovered a delicately engraved dragon in the center of the
pommel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Suddenly
his sword, given to him by Sir Reuben, seemed plain and drab when compared in
his mind’s eye with this piece of wicked beauty. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> He
reached out and seized it by the hilt with both hands, turning it so the tip
pointed toward the empty expanse above. The minute his fingers encircled the
hardened leather, his vision flashed, and the dismal world turned black before
his eyes. Several seconds elapsed with him lost in temporary blindness, before slowly,
his vision regained the varying greys of the mist and the black of the sky. A
chill rippled through the air, and Skandar shuddered, naming the sword aloud
with the awe of a child seeing a coveted prize for the first time. “Br</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ó</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">d</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ú</span></i></span><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">il.”</span></span><span style="font-family: Andalus; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: Andalus; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Andalus; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Andalus; font-size: 12.0pt;">I'll post the next chapter as soon as I can. I hope you all are well!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Andalus; font-size: 12.0pt;">God bless you,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Andalus; font-size: 12pt;">~Abigail~</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-73937138336686951092015-12-17T13:58:00.001-06:002015-12-17T16:15:33.002-06:00The Mark of the King: Chapter Twenty-Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I am genuinely excited for you all to read this chapter. </div>
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Not that I'm typically not excited for you to read anything (what kind of writer would I be if not?) but this one.. Oh this one. Fret not! Nothing extraordinarily terrible transpires. It's basically a lot of sitting around in a dark dungeon deliberating delivery during which we learn a character's backstory (Alliteration anyone?). Anyway, it's a character who, from what I've heard from you lot, is quite the favorite.</div>
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Also, I made some alterations to the ages of the main characters to better suit the story. In case you're interested, here are their ages from youngest to oldest:</div>
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Catrain - 17</div>
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Eoin - 18</div>
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Aidan - 19</div>
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Muriel - 19</div>
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Skandar - 20</div>
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Oliver - 21</div>
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Flynn - 23</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GVonvO4vtYs/VlukTxsj8WI/AAAAAAAAAvE/WxtKmw_UKB0/s1600/IMG_8816.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GVonvO4vtYs/VlukTxsj8WI/AAAAAAAAAvE/WxtKmw_UKB0/s320/IMG_8816.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Aidan
and Eoin had tracked the hunters tirelessly for days, sleeping fitfully, and hardly
concerning themselves to eat regardless of how their stomachs complained. With
their throats tight from apprehension, neither thought they possessed the
capability of swallowing. From behind the safety of arborous branches high
aloft in the trees, they observed, biding their time as Catrain instructed,
although neither particularly patiently. Eoin grumbled constantly, his
displeasure and tension looming over them like a thundercloud fed by his hunger,
ready to break at any moment. At first, Aidan tried consoling him, but he felt his
brother’s anxiety amplifying his own, and exhausted his efforts preventing
himself from bending beneath the weight of his own fear. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> So they waited. Besides, aside from
malnourishment and the occasional slap in the face, their friends suffered no
immediate threat. Once, when a renegade began to play with a strand of Muriel’s
hair, she had whipped her head around and bitten him, sinking her teeth deeply
into the soft flesh below his thumb. With a howl, the man recoiled, clutching
his hand. Eoin had caged the laughter that shook him, nearly falling from his perch
in the process. After that, no one dared come near Muriel again except to adjust
the ropes around her wrists. He worried not about Catrain’s well-being at their
hands, for a hostile glare darkened her expression, never leaving. With such
ferocity, Eoin wondered, smiling for a fleeting moment, how her face did not
hurt by the end of the day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Then he remembered that she was
absent from his side. The inseparable archers, the other knights in Corrthaine
dubbed them the time she first held a bow and he began teaching her what he
knew. <i>Inseparable,</i> he scoffed miserably.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> In sullen silence they trailed the bounty
hunters to Pennaeth, but remained behind in the town while the others journeyed
on to the castle. With what little money remained in their purses, they paid for
a room at the tavern and spent the day inside huddled in a corner against the
wall, listening to gossip and practicing the heavy accents of the Niwls. Each
of the Four Kingdoms had their own individual language, but being the largest, Corrthaine
was spoken as a common language among them all. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “How does this sound?” Eoin asked. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Good, but not exact. Slur it,
perhaps,” suggested Aidan, running his hands down his face. “And what of this?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Eoin shrugged indifferently. “You
don’t sound drunk enough.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “If I have another ale, I will,”
Aidan joked, humor void in his tone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “It has been two days. Two days of
doing nothing while our friends sit in prison or worse,” Eoin seethed, “Do you
think that Cat,” he berated himself for not catching her name before it alighted
from his tongue, “that they will…?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Reaching across the table, Aidan
grabbed his brother’s shoulder and shook him fondly, sensing his despair and regret.
“She’s strong, little brother. They all are. Give it another day. You have
feelings for her?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Eoin looked up with the expression
of a startled deer before hastily glancing at a knothole in the table and
admitting softly, “I cannot lie to you. I myself didn’t realize it until recently,
a day or two before the hunters abducted them.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I suspected as much. But pray, why flirt
with all the other girls in Corrthaine? Surely there is a reason.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I suspect I wanted to attract her
attention; she never appeared to acknowledge me as anything other than a friend
when in her company,” he began tracing the darkened patch of wood with his
finger, uneasy beneath his brother’s inquisitive gaze.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “You attracted her attention, little
brother. I’ve never seen her so jealous, though she masked it well with indifference.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “She despises me.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “She does not.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Why else would she send us away
from the fight when I could have prevented her capture?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “You do not know that; for all you
know you could have died in the fight, and then neither Cat nor I would forgive
ourselves. Or you for your stupidity. Mayhap she understood your rashness,”
seeing his brother’s scowl, he said, “aye, rashness! Deny it or accept it but it
drives you. Mayhap Cat wanted to protect you the only way she was able at that
time.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Meanwhile, Eoin’s finger paused its
circling and he stared thoughtfully into the grain of the table. Then clearing
his throat, he changed the subject back to the matter at hand. “What did you
see when you went to the castle this morning? You should have woken me; I
wished to accompany you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “You were sound asleep. You haven’t
slept well for days and I did not want to disturb you. As for the castle, it
was boring, really. Nothing happened aside from the scurrying of servants and
knights and the usual bustle that occurs within a castle. I could not gain
entrance, but I lingered outside the gate for a time and tried to glean
anything useful.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “And?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> A serving girl passed by and laid a
platter of bread on the table.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “There is a new guard,” Aidan said,
tearing a handful off the loaf, dipping it in his nearly empty ale mug, and taking
a bite. While chewing, he continued, “They stationed him at the gate during the
second and fourth watches, from what I gather. They operate things differently than
Corrthaine Castle, but I noticed some similarities. Anyway, mayhap we can
persuade him to allow us through. Other than that, I doubt he will prove of use
as far as an audience with the king is concerned. Oh, that reminds me of
another thing,” he swallowed and explained about the death of King Caddock and the
coronation of the former prince, Morfael. “He, his wife, and young sons, babes
by the sound of it, are observing the mourning rituals with the rest of the
castle. They say the king has a sister, but from what I heard she hasn’t left
the castle since her father died.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Again, no use there,” groaned Eoin.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “At ease,” Aidan attempted to
reassure him again, although he himself felt crushed beneath guilt and despair.
“We shall go together tomorrow, I promise, and there decide what shall be done
about rescuing our friends.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Time passed sluggishly within the confines
of the castle dungeons, the day dragged on seemingly without end. Skandar and
his companions attempted to track the hours by the amount of light seeping
through the small windows in the wall, but soon fell prey to boredom and abandoned
the boorish notion. The light appeared and disappeared with the daily birth and
death of the sun, reminding them that, as the heavenly orb hung in the
invisible sky, so their lives hung in uncertain balance. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You would think someone would have done something
with us by now,” Oliver paced the length of his shared cell. “Tortured us, killed
us, or at the very least offered us decent food and water, not bits of charred
bread.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “We are their prisoners, Oliver, not
their guests,” said Catrain, who bound straw into what curiously resembled a
crude knife. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Even so, why go to all the trouble
to bring us here to rot?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “And why not? Your father and Flynn
intended the same for me had not Sir Reuben intervened,” remarked Skandar, his speech
slurred. He lay on the straw, curled into as tight a ball as his aching body
allowed to ward off the chills that shook him, even though sweat glistened on
his skin.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Not true,” Flynn corrected, “Lord
Joran wished me to instruct you, as I did. Sir Reuben’s negotiations resulted
only in you residing with him and not in the Knight’s Quarters.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “So why the dungeon then?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Lord Joran did not want you to miss
the customary welcome.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Skandar sat up abruptly. The prison
cell swam around him in a fit of sudden dizziness. When it passed, he spat, “So
you toss all your visitors in the dungeons? Funny, I did not see the Niwl ambassador
and his knights-”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Fools!” Catrain hissed, cutting him
off. “The castle is in mourning. Have you not heard the guards?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Their collective silence granted her
the answer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “King Caddock died. According to Tir
O Niwl’s customs, no executions are to be carried out within the period of
grief out of respect for the dead.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Then without warning, the door to
the dungeons flew open, banging sharply against the wall. In a fluid motion
barely noticeable to anyone, Catrain stuffed the improvised straw weapon behind
her back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Four armed guards clad in dark
purple tunics, black trousers, and padded leather jerkins entered, stopping
before Flynn’s cell. The rat-faced jailer heaved a raspy cough into his fist
before unclipping a ring of keys from the hook on his belt, fumbling around for
a moment before selecting one and unlocking the door. It creaked as it swung
open on rusted hinges. Two of the guards unchained Flynn from the wall and
snapped shackles around his wrists before escorting him down the corridor. To
his left, Flynn saw the corridor turn sharply, branching to another hall full
of prison cells. He and the guards walked only a few more steps before they stopped
at the end of this hall and the wooden door. They disappeared inside, returning
momentarily without Flynn, and rejoined their companions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> One of the prisoners muttered under
his breath.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “What was that?” asked Skandar
groggily.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Eh?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “What did you say?” he tried again. “I
do not speak Niwl...”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Torture,” the man replied. “That is
where they take them. Expect to hear your friend’s screams soon.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Well, Oliver,” Skandar said smugly,
turning to his friend who ceased his pacing and stood staring fixedly at the door.
“You did mention torture, did you not? Better him than any of us, I say.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Watch your tongue, Skandar,” warned
Muriel. “Any one of us may be next. Perhaps they selected Flynn first because his
cell is nearest the entrance of the dungeon. If that be the reason,” her lower
lip quivered, “then either Catrain or I are next.” Panic seized her, her
bravery faltering and she whispered, “Oliver?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> In two strides he reached her side
and, reaching through the bars, brought her slender hands to him, kissing her
fingers gently before rubbing them, encouraging the warmth to return.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>This
is my fault,</i> Skandar thought, redirecting his anger now that Flynn was no
longer around to receive it. “At the tavern… if I had not…” he stammered aloud.
“The hunters would not have seen Flynn and we wouldn’t be here.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “You acted right at the tavern,
rescuing that girl,” assured Oliver, his back still to him. “You have a heart
for the weak, Skandar, for those defenseless. No one questions your courage
when it comes to protecting another. I saw that clearly the first day we met
and you wished to go back to the farmer’s wife and her daughters. You care. Do
not blame yourself for that and never apologize.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Muriel pulled away from him and curled
into a ball on the floor. Straw stuck in her disheveled hair and her clothes bore
stains of mud, dirt, and ash from campfires. Her shackles clanked together
around her inflamed wrists, the skin beneath them once pale, but now cracked
and bleeding. When she moved her arms and the cuffs scraped against the tender
flesh, she moaned between closed lips, unable to ignore the pain any longer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Skandar’s heart sank. <i>She deserves better than this. She deserves
to be wed to Oliver, happy and safe, not here.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> As though reading his thoughts,
Muriel said, “I made a choice, Skandar, whether I wished to aid you or journey
to Tir Thuaidh with my family.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Seething in anger, Skandar sought
someone else to blame, scouring the visages of everyone remotely responsible. Sir
Reuben, King Fendral, even his own father. <i>But
Lord Joran manipulated and used them all. This is his fault. Not mine. Whatever
happens from now on is his fault, and he will pay the price demanded, not I. I
swear he will pay by the Sword of Bródúil.</i></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Then the door opened once more and a
young man, trailed by a single guard stormed in, purple robes billowing behind
him, his legs churning and carrying him swiftly through the hall, hardened
stare fixed on the opposite door. Ash brown hair lay in short curls atop his
head, his brow slanted sharply, overshadowing deep brown eyes; in the light,
Skandar caught a glimpse of a pale white scar streaking from just above his left
eyebrow to the side of his temple. His deep mahogany boots, polished until they
shone, clopped like horse’s hooves on the stone floor, the sound resounding through
the dungeon. When he reached the torture chamber, he paused, hesitating for a
mere second before throwing open that door and disappearing inside.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Who was that?” Skandar breathed,
breaking the stillness that had fallen over the prison in the wake of the man’s
absence. A coldness seeped through the stones and seemed to settle in the air.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “King Morfael,” replied Catrain. “I
know him by reputation only, from what my grandfather said while holding court.
What little I heard is far from agreeable. Not unlike his father, Morfael is
stubborn and wily, oftentimes refusing the simplest of requests for the sake of
argument. A thousand curses my grandfather heaped upon his father’s head. Alas,
it would not be foolish to consider that, in his grief, Morfael may prove either
more compassionate that usual or he may exact greater penalties.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “But no executions?” wondered Muriel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Not until the end of the month, I
venture.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “What do you suggest we do now,
Cat?” inquired Oliver, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “We pray that the True King softens
and bends Morfael’s heart in our favor, and,” she added smugly, “we introduce
him to the son of Lord Joran. Your father orchestrated the alliance with Tir O
Niwl, did you know that? He negotiated the terms on behalf of Corrthaine, what promises
he made and favors he ensured even I do not know their extent, and I doubt my
grandfather understood what he signed in his illness. Therefore it is not overly
ambitious to assume that King Morfael is acquainted with your father and his,”
she coughed, “means of authority.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “You wish for me to adopt the guise
of my father?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “What else would he expect from the
son of Lord Joran?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “This is Flynn’s idea, isn’t it,”
sighed Oliver, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. “He addressed me
with this plan earlier on in our venture, lest something happen that my
father’s reputation could absolve.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Catrain nodded. “He said as much,
and also that, although you were wary, you agreed that it may indeed be the
best course of action.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Aye, and reluctantly so I did. What
else did Flynn say?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Nothing. We spoke only a few words
last night, enough to concoct the framework of a plan. Then the guards moved
closer.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Ah, and when Morfael returns…”
Oliver’s voice trailed off as dreams mingled with reality in Skandar’s drowsy
mind. He heard his friends as though listening to someone speak through several
wool blankets, muffled, slurred, and indistinct. His limbs felt heavy, and he
wished to cure the persistent, unrelenting throb of his side and arm with sleep.
It called to him, inviting and comforting. Never mind the fact that he slept in
a cell; never mind that his life hung upon the decision of one man; never mind
that he might never find his father or Bródúil. Chills wracked his body and
fevered dreams enveloped his senses. He yearned solely for sleep and an end to
his suffering. In moments, he succumbed to its summons.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Even when the door creaked ajar, Flynn
did not lift his head. The cramped chamber reeked of decay and the pungent
stench of death and agony. Metal instruments of horror hung along the wall to
his back, some coated in rust and the dried blood of the last victim they greeted
in their cruel embrace. The room itself was stifling hot despite the coolness
of the dungeon outside, for but for a single chimney, beneath which a fire
blazed, no windows allowed for ventilation or exits for the smoke of the
torches that adorned all four walls. Sweat already formed beads on his face and
bare chest; the guards had removed his shirt and discarded it in a heap in a
corner. His arms, the chains secured through a ring on the ceiling, held him on
his feet, which were likewise chained to a ring fitted between the stones. A
man of average height would be dangling with his toes brushing the floor until
his shoulders popped from their sockets. Flynn himself witnessed that happening
on more than one occasion, heard their screams of agony vividly in his memory.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>There
are too many,</i> he thought, <i>too many voices.
Too many screams.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> He sensed the other men standing in
the room and still refused to look up. It mattered not who inflicted the pain,
only that he managed not to disclose information fatally harmful to Lord Joran
or his traveling companions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> In Niwl, a familiar voice spoke,
“When my men reported to me of your imprisonment, I accused them of falsehood,
for surely a man of your talents would not so easily be brought down by the ilk
of bounty hunters.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Flynn raised his head and squinted
with his good eye through the hazy light of the small chamber. Though four years
passed since last he heard the speaker’s modulated voice, it was one he could
not readily forget. Two foggy silhouettes loitered beside the door, one
presumably a guard, the other… On unsteady legs, Flynn shifted his weight; white
sparks flashed before his eyes as he disturbed his broken ribs with the action,
and he stifled a groan, lest he display weakness of any sort. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I refused to believe the news until
this morning until I finally settled to see for myself. It would be a lie to claim
that I hoped it was merely a man who resembled you,” King Morfael stepped
closer, frowning and examining Flynn with a critical eye. “You have the scar I
gave you?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Aye,” Flynn spat, knowing that his dark,
wiry beard concealed the wound along his cheek and jaw. “It split open again,
no thanks to the accursed bounty hunters. I see the one I gave you healed
nicely,” he noted, implying the thin line across Morfael’s forehead, barely
visible in the flickering light. The young king reached up and touched his
temple lightly, as if testing it for fresh blood.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Then he strode toward the rack containing
the instruments forged from cruelty in its purest essence. Flynn knew how each
of them worked. He knew the different screams each one caused, and he trembled.
Fear of this nature was a new sensation for him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> His rapid pulse pounded, deafening
in his ears, matching the speed of his breath. Salty sweat dripped down from his
soaked hair, as wet as if someone tossed a bucket of water over him, running in
rivets into his eyes, parched mouth, and open cuts, stinging and burning the raw
flesh and the cracked skin of his lips. He strained to see out of the corners
of his eyes in a vain effort to discern which device Morfael selected with the
hopes of knowing what to prepare himself for, but the young king stood in his
blind spot. So he waited, feeling as though eternities passed, gazing at him
with their unseen, mocking gazes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> He heard the clink and rustle of iron,
then heavy footsteps behind him, echoing as though they carried the burden of a
thousand ages when they only carried a young, uncertain king still raw in his position.
They were, Flynn realized, reminiscent of his own. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sensing an opportunity, he asked, “Do they haunt
you?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Who?” replied Morfael as he circled around and
stopped, a glowing brand held firmly in his hand. His shadow stretched out in
odd directions, distorted across the blood-stained floor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">‘Tis not so
bad,</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Flynn
thought, regarding the orange, blazing tip. <i>Not
when compared with the others…</i> Aloud, he continued carefully, “Their faces.
When you close your eyes at night, do they haunt you, prevent you from sleep?
Does your wife wake you from the nightmares that plague you each night?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Out,” the king ordered the guard gruffly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Sire, are you certain?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You are dismissed, or are you deaf? Out, I say.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ducking his head in a half-bow, the guard obeyed,
closing the door tightly behind him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A long silence hung, tangible in the thick, hazy air,
all the while Morfael examined Flynn, his expression sullen and unwavering. “They
do,” he surprised Flynn with the answer. “However, how could you know of such
things? Guilt is not your nature, or so I believed, and my belief remains so. Am
I wrong? Never mind; your lack of defense against my claims allot me the answer
I seek. How different we two have become in these four years. Both of us sought
power, you and I. You gave up everything you had and fell to ruin. I obtained it,
and gained what you lost, yet I am no happier for it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Leave her out of this,” Flynn growled, fighting
against his bonds. The violent strain tore at a knife wound at his side, and he
gasped as blood oozed down his skin.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Grimacing, Morfael inspected it and said, “Come
now, tis but a graze. You’ve suffered worse.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Indeed, but it does not make it hurt any less,”
retorted Flynn, breathing deeply, fighting for untainted air.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then Morfael pressed the brand against his side.
Flynn ground his teeth against the pain until an agonized roar ripped from his throat
as the acrid odor of his own burning flesh flooded the stale atmosphere of the
chamber. When the king pulled the brand away, Flynn’s head dropped to his chest.
The pink skin around the wound smoked, but the blood had ceased to flow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“That should help it heal,” Morfael crossed to the
table and lay the brand on top of it. “My father is dead. Power I inherited
from him, but even now that power’s limits and reaches are tested. My kingdom
lies in a state of disarray; many are angered by the treaty with Corrthaine, a
treaty my father signed and I must uphold. I do not yet have the respect of my
people. Should I seize it from them, and punish dissenters with an iron fist? For
your crimes of murder, theft, and treason you deserved the axe and block under
my father’s rule. Unfortunately, the mourning period must be observed, and it
prevents executions from occurring. Or should I stay my judgement?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“If it is the respect of your people you desire, that
would prove to them that you are a merciful king.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Morfael
laughed, a mirthless bark that bounced harshly off the stones. “You would say as
much, be that it is your head at risk. What of your companions? The other two
men and the two women curiously garbed in pants and jerkins like a man,” a disdainful
look flitted across his features. “Does Corrthaine allow their womenfolk to
dress as such these days?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Nay, but it is less cumbersome to ride astride a
horse in pants rather than a dress.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Is it now? But enough of these exchanges. Should
I pardon you?” he inquired, a hint of a sardonic tone fringing the edge of his words.
“Or should I execute you and your friends?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Do the latter,” Flynn replied, implementing the plan
he and Catrain conjured together, “and our mutual friend will seek to destroy
you with everything in his power, which by now could be the entire force of
Corrthaine.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the darkness, Morfael paled, resembling a deer caught
in a trap during the final moments of a hunt. “What could possibly be of such
importance to him?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“His son is among my companions. The fair-haired man
named Oliver,” he smirked, pleased with the exchange of fear for control.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“If you lie, Flynn,” Morfael hissed, “I swear I
will swing the axe myself. Until I can be sure, you and your companions shall remain
imprisoned.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I expect nothing less.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Casting a final scornful glance in his direction,
Morfael opened the door and departed, his purple cloak swishing behind him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The young king stormed through the hall toward the
entrance, and stopped before Oliver, who rolled to his feet and sauntered up to
the front of the cell, his shoulders and back erect, his stature exuding
condescension. Both men stared daggers at each other, mutual skepticism and
rancor fairly oozing from their countenances. In that moment, Oliver became his
father, adopting the cold malice and antagonistic confidence born by Lord Joran
that caused even the noblest of men to shrink away in fear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was Morfael who first broke the cold and
stifled silence. "Flynn tells me that you are the son of Lord Joran? Is
that true?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Yes," answered Oliver, sighing heavily
as though the encounter bored him. "My father will be displeased at our
treatment. My servants and I," he nodded toward Muriel, Catrain, and the
sleeping Skandar, "travel on orders from my father. Flynn acted as my
personal guard."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Your guard? He will as soon stab you in the
back as protect you."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"If that be the case, my father will have him
hunted and when he catches him, which I assure you he will, he will have Flynn
executed. Flynn fears my father for good reason and trust me," Oliver
leaned closer to the bars and to Morfael, his face contorting into a vicious
snarl, "you would be wise to fear him also."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"So I have heard," Morfael shifted away
uneasily, "they say Lord Joran's eyes are black as pitch, black like a
raven, black like the devil's soul."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oliver's lips curled and he sneered, "Imagine
what lengths he will go to in order to avenge my imprisonment and that of his
second in command."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tense silence stilled the air; the nearby
prisoners craned their necks to see who it was that dared to challenge the king
and strained their ears to hear. Muriel and Catrain held their breath.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Very well," replied Morfael, mustering
his air of authority about him like a shield of protection, "Guards!"
He bellowed sharply, and two stepped forward from the wall. "Find the
jailer!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As they hastened away, he turned back to Oliver,
who grinned smugly, and said, "You will be released as soon as that
imbecile of a jailer returns. Your friends will remain here as insurance."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Insurance of what?" Oliver demanded.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"In case you lie. Guards!” He yelled again,
and though loud and sharp, Oliver did not even flinch. Too accustomed was he to
his father’s outbursts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The two guards scurried from around the far corner,
the rat-faced jailer trailing behind and fumbling for his keys.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Release our <i>friend</i>
and deliver him to the guest chambers,” ordered Morfael, and the guards quickly
set about obeying him. They led Oliver out of his prison, marching him toward
the door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oliver cast a final hesitant glance over his
shoulder at Muriel, a glimmer of uncertainty flickering in his bright green
eyes, and then he left.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Catrain released her held breath slowly and
whispered, “Well done, Oliver.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the moments that followed Morfael’s departure
before the guards entered to release him, Flynn mulled over the nagging
question that power did not satisfy Morfael. <i>Why?</i> <i>How could it not? When I
have striven for it all my life, how can he stand there and claim to be no
better for it?</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Instead of returning him to his lonely
cell, the guards threw him into the one occupied by Skandar, finding to Flynn’s
mild amusement and satisfaction that Oliver was gone. Catrain’s plan worked. Still,
the answer to his question continued to elude him. Creeping to the darkest
corner, the one beneath the window, he leaned against the damp wall, drinking
in the cool relief the stones offered. The sweat on his body grew cold.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> He stared, past the cell door and
its bars, into the shadowed recesses of the opposite prison. Vaguely, he was
aware of Catrain sitting down in the adjoining corner of her shared confines,
but did not acknowledge her until she spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “How do you fare?” she whispered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Fine,” he snapped distantly, perturbed
by her interruption. “I have suffered worse. Oliver played his role?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Aye, he did marvelously. The king regarded
him oddly, half-frightened out of his wits, which I took to be a favorable sign.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Indeed. What of Aidan and Eoin?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “No word yet, although I wonder how
they would send it…” her voice trailed off. “Nevertheless, they will not
abandon us. And though my frequent attitude of them suggests otherwise, I know they
are truly clever. More so than most others credit them with, which works in
their advantage.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I fear you put too much faith in
them.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I do not have faith in them. I have
faith in the True King. The brothers are loyal, time upon time have they proven
that. Anyway, when they arrive, Oliver will be ready to receive them and vouch
for their lives.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Sighing, Flynn said, “Even the
deepest loyalty between friends lasts only so long before it is broken and
betrayed.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “You mentioned betrayal last night,”
she prompted gently, “and although you refused to elaborate on it, your guilt spoke
volumes.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Speak not of my guilt,” he snarled,
the flaming tendrils of his ire singing the air between them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Boldly, not unsettled in the least
by his outburst, she pressed, “You’re protecting yourself, but in doing so, you
also destroy yourself.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Masking his discomfort with
indifference, he indulged her, replying, “Quite perceptive, aren’t you? Fine,
then I yield. From what do I seek protection?” <i>This becomes too personal,</i> his mind warned. Too close to the past of
which he never spoke to anyone, not even Lord Joran. However, though he wished
to keep it hidden, he yearned to tell someone. Despite the inner turmoil waging
a civil war in his heart, he decided to trust her, knowing somehow it would not
be mislaid in Catrain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “You shield yourself from your guilt
and your pain, so you bar them from entering, or so you try.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> He swallowed, nervous, for she
guessed the truth. “How do you know this?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Catrain hesitated, a flicker of distrust
lighting in her eyes, green gateways to knowledge beyond her years. She fiddled
with her fingers for a moment before admitting, “I see an expression similar to
that you wear on my own face, a sorrow in my own eyes not as great as yours,
but there nonetheless. And now that I have taken lives, I imagine more resemblance
in them than before.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Guilt have I, and pain accompanying it,” he
confessed, but yielded nothing more on his own accord.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Chewing her lip thoughtfully,
Catrain considered the possibilities in his past, weighing them against each
other, before selecting one she deemed the most fruitful. “Have you ever loved
anyone, Flynn?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> She heard his sharp intake of breath
and knew the answer before he spoke it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Aye,” he breathed after a long
while. “Before I came to Corrthaine.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “What was her name?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Magge,” he whispered reverently and
so softly that Catrain barely caught it. “Her name is Magge,” he leaned his
head back, eyes closed, and a faint blissful smile tinged with sorrow toughed
his lips.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “That’s a beautiful name.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “It is,” he replied, “A beautiful
name for an equally beautiful maiden. She was small-smaller than you, even. Her
head didn’t quite reach my shoulder even when she stood on her toes. But she was
strong. Strong and spirited with a temper that matched the deep red of her
hair,” he smiled again as though the memory of her caressed his soul. Then he
paused and asked, “How many years are you?”<br />
“Seventeen. Eighteen this
spring.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Nodding, he continued, “She was your
age when we wed and I a year older.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “You were married?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I <i>am</i>,” he corrected.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Where is she now?” Catrain
inquired, crawling closer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Gone.” The single declaration weighed
heavily in the air for it bore the pieces of not one shattered heart, but two. “We
were poor, but happy. And then an early winter struck with fury during our
first year of marriage. Our crops and livestock died, despite our desperate
efforts. Work was scarce; I found nothing. We were starving, and Magge was with
child; she had to eat.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Catrain stared at the grey cracks between
her boots, envisioning their struggle, their misery, and their fear. She
listened quietly, without interruption as the pieces of his heart fell out of
the shadows. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I began to steal a little money
here and there; only enough to purchase food, nothing more. One thought angered
me, that if my father had not sent my mother and me away from Corrthaine that my
wife would not be in anguish and that hunger pains would not wake her during
the night. In Corrthaine my family had position, wealth, we would not starve
there. I stole more, hoping that we could pay for passage from Tir O Niwl to
Corrthaine. One night a nobleman caught me fleeing with a chest of silver. I
panicked and killed him. He was highly esteemed in the Niwl court, and outrage broke
out. No one knew of my involvement, but when the hunt began to find the killer,
I turned to the only friend I could trust.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Morfael,” Catrain guessed. “How did
you meet him?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “As I said, my mother and I left
Tiem at my father’s bidding. The plague was coming, and he wished to protect
us, promising he would join us later.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Tiem?” she interrupted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “My birthplace,” he enlightened.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>What
a coincidence that he and Skandar once shared the same town as their home.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “My mother and I travelled with letters
of credentials explaining my father’s position of nobility, but even still my
mother worked as the queen’s maid. Morfael and I were playmates, schooled
together and trained together. Hearing my plight, he agreed to cover my secret.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “With conditions and his own agenda.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Indeed. I would kill those who
opposed him, and in turn he would offer me protection and payment. I traded my
soul for money, but in the end, none of it mattered,” his usually smooth voice became
husky and raw with grief. “There were complications the night the child was
born. He was early, much too early. There was nothing anyone could do. Magge
survived, but my son died. When Morfael demanded my continued services, I
refused, and he turned on me, betraying my thievery and assassinations. King
Caddock placed a price on my head, thus the bounty hunters. Like the coward I
am, I<span style="font-family: inherit;"> fled, abandoning my grieving wife and ran until I arrived in Corrthaine’s
Capitol."</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “You wear black because you are in
mourning,” she said thoughtfully.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> His
shoulders sagged when he sighed.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “Lord Joran offered me the power I
desired. I had nothing left to trade, so I traded the lives of whoever he
wished for that power which is my birthright.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Love, be it for a person, power, or
riches can provoke a man to do foolish things he else would not do,” pondered
Catrain aloud. “Yet love grants us the thing we all pine and hope for.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “What is that?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Salvation, forgiveness, and hope.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “So much evil have I done that no
good I accomplish in what little life I have left could ever atone for it. I am
a dead man already; a dead man waiting to die. After the grievances I have
committed, why should anyone forgive me?”<br />
“You are not the same man who
left Corrthaine,” she said. “That man would never appear as you do now.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> He hesitated before asking, “And how
do I appear?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Broken.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Sniffing, Flynn tilted his chin up,
peering down at her in his arrogant manner, all traces of the broken man swept behind
his lordly mask. “If that so-called salvation and hope rescues us before we all
rot, then I may consider asking for forgiveness. That is,” he cast a wary
glance at Skandar’s sleeping form and half-laughing, “that is if he does not
kill me first.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The shadows in the dungeon cells
deepened as outside, the light diminished as the sun slipped behind the unseen
hills. Night fell upon them, and Catrain, fingering the completed makeshift
weapon and allowing a smug smile to pull at her mouth, vowed that, one way or
another, it would be the last night she and her friends endured in the prison. </span><span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As always, your comments are welcome.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
I wish you a Merry Christmas as we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ!</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
And for those of you who celebrate other holidays, I wish you a wonderful time.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
God bless you!</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
~Abigail</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-66298127579111720012015-12-02T16:10:00.000-06:002015-12-02T16:10:04.990-06:00Ask the Blogger: A Q&A Blogging Tour<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zIRwJIcK7Q8/Vl9qZbigbaI/AAAAAAAAAvs/4p2Is759vHE/s1600/IMG_8865.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zIRwJIcK7Q8/Vl9qZbigbaI/AAAAAAAAAvs/4p2Is759vHE/s320/IMG_8865.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
While I edit chapter twenty-two, I thought it would be interesting to do a couple question and answer posts. Basically, you ask a question in the <b>comments of this post</b>, as many as you like but please I ask only that you <b>keep it clean</b>, and I will answer as many of them as possible in my next post.<br />
<br />
Please not that while I shall endeavor to answer them all, I won't if I feel that the question is too personal for the internet (it is the internet, after all, and there are safety measure that must be heeded). I hope you understand that this may be the case if I do not reply in the following post.<br />
<br />
I will write up the answer portion of this tour in a week or so, so that allows you plenty of time to think of questions! I look forward to reading them!<br />
<br />
God bless you,<br />
Abigail<br />
<br />
<br />
Fellow bloggers- feel free to use the photo attached to this post if you wish to do a question and answer of your own!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-58067387768671911982015-11-14T14:45:00.003-06:002015-11-14T14:45:50.795-06:00For ParisAfter the brutal terrorist attacks in Paris yesterday, I want to tell my French readers, if I have any, that you are in my prayers. Paris is in my prayers. My heart and thoughts ache for you.<br />
<br />
Stay strong, my friends- all of you, wherever you are. God is with you, and nothing happens without His prior knowledge. He is in control of all things, and for now, the best we can do is to have faith and trust in His will. And the most important thing we can do in times such as this is pray. He will deliver us from these troubles and from our fears.<br />
<br />
Jeremiah 29:11 "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'"<br />
<br />
Psalm 34:17 "The Lord hears His people when they call to Him for help. He rescues them from all their troubles."<br />
<br />
Romans 8:28 "And we know that God causes all things to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to His purpose for them."<br />
<br />
Isaiah 41:10 "Don't be afraid, for I am with you. Don't be discouraged for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious righteous right hand."<br />
<br />
Paris, my prayers are for you.<br />
~AbigailAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-66741912672837800872015-11-02T16:11:00.002-06:002015-11-08T13:10:56.287-06:00The Mark of the King: Chapter Twenty-One<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I hope I didn't lose any of you in the wait, for which I offer my sincerest apologies.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
(Anybody hearing a broken record...?) </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Shall we say that there is a reason I earn no money blogging, the reason being that, frankly, I'm awful at balancing it within my other activities, namely an insignificant little thing known as 'education' (intense sarcasm intoned). No, really, I'm grateful to live in a country where I am given the opportunity to learn. It's a blessing I often take for granted. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Since it's been so long, here I am including the link to the previous chapter in case any of you forgot where we left off (mainly because when I haven't read something in a while, I tend to forget the plot, so this is for those of you who are like me in this aspect): <a href="http://bootsgirl-philippians-4-13.blogspot.com/2015/08/the-mark-of-king-chapter-twenty.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">Chapter Twenty</span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Seeing as I've stalled enough, here's chapter twenty-one of <i>The Mark of the King.</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Stop!”
breathless, Aidan called to his brother, whose silhouetted figure bobbed through
the trees ahead. Once more he shouted between breaths, and this time, Eoin’s
form stilled. “We can’t track them tonight, not without the moon.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> During the skirmish commencing atop
the cliff, they had reluctantly obeyed Catrain’s hasty orders to abandon the
rest of their company in favor of escape. After dispatching the final hunters
on either side of the ravine, they turned and ran back to its mouth, exiting well
after dusk. It would have been foolish to attempt to scale the wall when there
could be hunters lying in wait for them. They stopped only momentarily to
refill their water skins at the stream they fished in earlier that afternoon.
Darkness crept into the woods when they began the hike up the rising walls of
the ravine, walking away from the edge so as not lose their footing and plunge
to their deaths. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Eoin lifted his eyes to the inky
skies. Stars glittered in the darkness, but the pale orb was shrouded in
shadows. “Perfect time for a new moon,” he grumbled sourly. The shadow of his
hood fell on his indignant face, but Aidan detected the anger and frustration
blazing in his brother’s eyes. Both emotions burned deep in his own heart. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Dawn’s first light, we resume, alright?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eoin nodded, but inside his temper boiled. He
leashed a rough growl, loosing pent up rage and frustration, and drove his fist
hard into the trunk of a nearby tree. Bark chips flew from the impact. Pulling
his hand away, the archer fumed, glaring at the droplets of blood oozing from
the raw wounds on his knuckles inflicted by the tree before smearing them
across dry skin.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I hope that tree deserved the blow,”
remarked Aidan soberly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Why did Cat go with them?” Eoin whispered,
disregarding his brother’s comment. “Rather, why did I allow her to leave? She
may be dead. They were outnumbered.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “You know as well as I that Cat does
as she pleases, and,” he added, “can defend herself. She would be fuming if we
did anything but follow her instructions.” Clapping a hand fondly on his
brother’s shoulder, Aidan shook him reassuringly. “Have faith.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I have faith,” whispered Eoin, his
voice raw and husky. “But I also have fear.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “It is well to have fear, as it
strengthens your faith,” Aidan said, reading the angst in his brother’s blue
eyes. “However do not allow your fear to stifle your faith.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Shaking Aidan away, Eoin stepped
back, studying his brother by the scarce starlight. “Since when did you become
wise?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Aidan chuckled heartily. “I do not
know. What now shall I do with this new-found wisdom? Advise the king?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Not King Fendral, certainly,” Eoin replied,
adopting a lighter tone. “And Catrain wouldn’t have you any more than she would
have me. She would laugh and call us fools before ordering us to clean the
stables.” Then his mood dampened. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “What is in the satchel she gave
you?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Eoin’s hand strayed to the bag
hanging around his body. Flipping open the top, he squinted and held the bag
nearer to his face. “True King bless you, Cat. She packed extra food rations.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Is that all?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “What else did you expect?” Closing the
flap, Eoin dropped the satchel once more to hang against his hip.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Nay,” Aidan paused, “but she did
seem quite urgent for only food.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Are you suggesting the satchel
contains something valuable?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The swish of Aidan’s cloak indicated
that he shook his head by way of response. “Check tomorrow, when we have light.
Make camp where we are. The ground seems decent enough to sleep without rocks
or roots digging into our backs.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“In Talahm Glas, who would be king now?” inquired
Eoin after several moments.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I know as little as you do on
matters of our homeland,” Aidan lay back, the hood of his cloak folded beneath
his head and the rest of the thin fabric draped around his body. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “The older I get, the less I
remember of home,” he heard his brother lament. “I miss it. I miss Ma and Da. I
miss the archery lessons Da used to give me.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I miss watching him work, fletching
arrows, forging their heads,” reminisced Aidan, in his mind’s eye suddenly
transported to his childhood. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “His fiddle,” they named in unison.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “And Ma’s voice when she sang to us
at night.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Eoin’s silence hung between them
before Aidan prodded him in the ribs with his elbow. “Are you alright?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I cannot remember how it sounded. The
melodies are clear, the words less so, but her voice…” his hoarse words fell
away. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “If the legend is right,” Aidan
attempted to cheer him, “Bródúil lies hidden in Talahm Glas. We are going home,
little brother.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “What then? Mayhap we bring them to
Corrthaine with us; the plague is gone and work is plenty. Famine is naught
there as well.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Perhaps so.” Aidan did not voice
his concern aloud, knowing that his brother worried enough about Catrain; the
burden of their parents he would bear alone until clarity returned to Eoin. <i>Perhaps so if they still live,</i> he
thought glumly. <i>True King, please let
them still live. </i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Sleep visited Eoin, but detected
Aidan’s wakeful mind and passed him by. He listened to Eoin breathe rhythmically
in the stillness of the night, revisiting treasured memories and praying.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>True
King, make their path obvious and clear to us tomorrow. Show us a plan, show us
how to rescue and save our friends. Please do not let us lose hope. Please do
not let </i>them<i> lose hope. Give them
strength. Your will be done.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar lurched as the rope binding his wrists
tightened, wincing as the coarse hairs bit into his chafed flesh and drew fresh
blood. Willfully, he forced his pace to quicken to a trot, and then stumbled on
a tree root. What meager sleep he was allowed the night before little replenished
his drowsy state. Exhaustion lingered on the edge of consciousness. The only
thing keeping Skandar alert was the ceaseless tug sending needles of pain through
his arm and side. Blood oozed hot from both wounds, trickling down his
sweat-soaked skin. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He cast a sideways glance at Flynn, grimaced as
bile rose in his throat, and quickly averted his gaze. The knight’s pale face was
badly bruised, discolored, and disfigured where bloody cuts and puffy skin met.
His body moved limply with the motion of the horse on which he rode; the
hunters lent him use of the bay after he collapsed for the third time the night
before. Ropes looped through the bridle and tied to the saddles of two hunters
riding closely on either side prevented him from fleeing. In his current
lethargic state, Skandar doubted Flynn was aware enough to concoct even the simplest
fragmented idea, let alone formulate a strategy of escape. Occasionally, Flynn
moaned, the only reassurance for Skandar and his friends that the knight still
drew breath. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oliver, Muriel, and Catrain suffered little
physical injury during the fight. Cuts and bruises were the only outer marks
they bore. By their hollow stares and listless ambling, Skandar sensed that inside,
they were as lost and hurt as he. <i>I
killed a man. Left him bleeding on the ground.</i> The guilt washed over
Skandar in a continual deluge. <i>In
self-defense,</i> he reasoned. <i>He would
have just as easily slain me.</i> But the man’s agonized groans and cries echoed
through Skandar’s memory, refusing him peace. And when the other hunters sprung
from the forest, he had faltered instead of fighting with his friends. That
error, he believed and blamed no other for it, allowed the hunters to capture
them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Birds tweeted mockingly in the leafy shelter
provided by the trees. From time to time, one ventured to spread its flighty
wings and glided from branch to branch. Skandar envied their freedom as his
bonds grew taut again. The sun burned in the clear spring sky, sending antagonistic
heat waves beaming down through the budding arbor and glistening off the beads
of perspiration forming on Skandar’s brow. Worse, with his hands bound and fastened
taut in front of him, the sweat ran into his eyes with nothing to wipe it away.
The stench of hot horse choked the air, adding to his misery.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sullenly, he shuffled on. Anger burned in his
heart, boiled over, and spilled its heated fury into Skandar’s eyes. His vision
grayed. The instant Skandar became aware of the color change in his
surroundings, he suppressed the swelling hatred. <i>Harbor my rage for a later time. </i>He shuddered, realizing that he
sounded reminiscent of Flynn. <i>I will
never be like him,</i> he vowed before contemplating another pressing problem.<i> Where are Aidan and Eoin?</i> Wondered
Skandar, not for the first time. Whether they were shot down by archers or if
they failed to complete the climb up the cliff face, Catrain yielded no
information. Not a word had she uttered since their capture nearly a day
before. If the hunters discovered one of their prisoners was Corrthainian
royalty with the treaty fresh and yet to be enacted, Skandar feared the
consequences that may befall her. She had become like kin to him. She, Oliver,
Muriel, and the brothers he thought of as his family. He despised the notion of
harm visiting any of them. <i>I would die
before that happens.</i> A strained chuckle escaped his lips. In all
likelihood, he <i>would</i> be the first to
die, having received only a few months’ worth of training compared to their
years.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Not to
mention they stole my sword.</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> The loss of Sir Reuben’s final gift disheartened
him more than he expected it would. In the fortnight he possessed it, he had,
in a queer sense, bonded with the sword. It served him well in the skirmish,
and he loathed parting with it. He especially despised seeing it hanging from
the belt of one of the hunters, so he avoided glancing in that direction as
much as possible. He found it difficult. Both his mind and his eyes wandered
from person to person, tree to tree.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Muriel’s muted sobs broke him from his trance. The
fear and guilt gnawing at her all night and into the morning finally burst in
the tears that streamed down her cheeks, leaving streaks in the dust and grime
coating her skin. Oliver slowed his pace to walk alongside her, whispering things
in his soothing voice. Too far away to clearly hear, Skandar guessed what his
friend said. Always optimistic, sometimes naively so, Oliver likely comforted her
with hollow promises. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ahead of Skandar and to his left, Catrain marched,
sullen and silent in her stiff expressionless manner Skandar had come to
recognize as the façade she wore when around strangers or when contemplating
some deep matter. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hours dragged on. The sun shone in front of them
as it began its lazy descent behind the western horizon, its crimson top peeking
above the arborous treetops. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At the first star’s appearance in the fading sky,
the hunters stopped and set up camp. Flynn they strung between two stout trees,
his long arms, spread out to his sides like wings, weakly supported his
battered frame. His head bobbed against his chest. Blood dripped onto the thin
woven fabric of his loose-fitting black shirt. His jacket, like all their other
supplies and belongings, the hunters seized.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar relived his surprise at how rapidly the
hunters had forced Flynn into submission. The knight was a fighter, a murderer;
ruthless and cunning. Why would he allow himself to lose so easily? <i>Is it a ruse? A plan to get us all captured?</i>
The severe beating he endured at their hands proved otherwise. <i>What if it was a ploy to aid us escape?</i> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Before Skandar delved deeper into that possibility,
one of the hunters appeared before him. His, Oliver’s, Muriel’s, and Catrain’s
hands he and three other rogues untied, only to rebind all together, connecting
them in a tight circle behind their backs. Skandar’s fingers tingled. He
wiggled them, encouraging the feeling to return. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the meantime, the hunters constructed a fire,
which they all circled around, wineskins in hand. Boisterous, rowdy laughter erupted
from the group. The loss of some of their own affected them little, if at all. Fortunately,
their loud behavior provided Skandar and his companions with the opportunity to
speak without fear of being overheard.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Cat,” whispered Skandar over his shoulder, glad
to finally voice the concern bothering him all day. “What happened at the
ravine? Where are Aidan and Eoin?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“They did what I asked of them,” she responded cryptically.
“They’re close by.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As if on cue, two owls hooted from the depths of
the trees.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“How are you certain?” Oliver queried warily. He
rotated his wrists to a more comfortable position. That action, however, pulled
on Skandar’s arm. Skandar bit his lower lip as the sharp throbbing began anew.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We three played mimicking games as children,”
Catrain explained briefly. “I know.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Flynn cracked open a swollen eye, a dry smirk appearing
on his lips. <i>The princess is cleverer
than I credited her for.</i> Shifting his weight to relieve pressure from his broken
ribs, he sighed, stifling a groan, and continued to listen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The princess nodded at Skandar’s wounded arm. The
bleeding hadn’t ceased. “That will need to be cleaned, dressed, and stitched
before it becomes infected.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Do you see clean rags, and perhaps a needle and
thread? Out in the woods, finding anything beyond healing herbs is a failed
cause. Even locating herbs is impossible when we are bound.” The hairs on the
back of Skandar’s neck prickled, and he imagined the icy glare Catrain shot
him. “The arrow, thank you for that,” he amended. “I would probably be dead.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You have too little faith in yourself. Flynn
trained you, and despite your sentiments toward him, he is a good teacher, and
you a good student.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I faltered, hesitated when I should have defended
myself, fought back harder. I gave fear the reins to control me, and it did
just that.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Fear is a powerful thing. It is an easy matter to
allow it to overcome you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yet you seemed unafraid,” Skandar pointed out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Truthfully, I was terrified. I still am.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Where are they taking us?” inquired Muriel, her
silvery voice thin and raw from lack of water.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">No one answered. No one knew until finally Flynn
murmured hoarsely through closely parted lips, “Pennaeth.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tir O Niwl’s
capitol?</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Skandar
pictured the maps he poured over in Tiem. “Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“They are not ordinary hunters,” Flynn rasped.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What does that mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Flynn swallowed, winced, and said, “Bounty
hunters. None of you were the target,” he breathed as deeply as his broken ribs
allowed, shifting his weight. “You were merely caught in the presence of a
fugitive.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You ran,” Muriel speculated, fitting Flynn’s
thoughts into her own mind, “not because of cowardice, but because you wished
to draw them away from us. You tried to protect us.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It was neither cowardice nor courage,” hissed
Skandar. “It was a trap. Lies to imprison us all.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Put your petty hatred and your pride aside for
once,” Catrain snapped bluntly. “The True King foresaw this long before it ever
happened. I know you reject Him and our belief, but nothing occurs without a
reason. He brought us all, even Flynn, together for His purpose.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Whatever His purpose may be,” he whispered
bitterly, squeezing his eyes against the throbbing ache in his arm, “He isn’t
doing it fast enough.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The bounty hunters ran them behind
their horses for another day, forbidding them food, water, and respite until Skandar
and his fellow prisoners believed they might faint from exhaustion. Flynn crumpled
and was dragged roughly across the rocky ground for several yards before three burly
men hefted his unconscious body onto the back of a spare horse. Skandar envied
his rest, however fitful and uncomfortable.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Night after night, dreams plagued
Skandar; what little sleep he attained was wrought with fear and apprehension.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> By morning, the onset of the third
day, the forest ended abruptly as rolling jade hills spanned from horizon to
horizon, encompassing them on all sides. They stole Skandar’s breath away, reminding
him of home. A well-tread dirt road cut through the countryside like a brown snake
in the tall grass that tickled the bellies of the horses as they waded through.
The hunters steered their mounts toward it, riding between the deep cart and
wagon ruts carved into the hard-packed dirt. After what Skandar estimated to be
an hour during which they passed no one, the road branched, becoming more
populated with travelers who glanced curiously at the bounty hunters and their prisoners
in tow before hurrying on in their separate ways. Most were indifferent to the plight
of Skandar and his companions, but one or two turned an apologetic eye toward
Muriel and Catrain. With their faces streaked with dirt and flakes of dried
blood, their eyes hollow and shadowed by violet circles, and their long hair loose
and wild, no doubt the young women no doubt appeared to the travelers as
helpless victims of the brutish men. Skandar nearly smiled. <i>If they only knew how frightening they are
in battle…</i> he left the thought incomplete. Better Catrain and Muriel appeared
innocent. <i>It may spare their lives,</i>
he dared to hope. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> As they crested a hill, Skandar saw their
destination. A rust colored castle encased by a wall lay ahead of them. The
road stretched to it, broken only by a silvery river in the deep valley below
it. Shading his eyes from the sun, Skandar made out the dark purple background
and the coiled silver dragon of Tir O Niwl on the pennants flapping in the breeze
atop the broad turrets. Then they descended the slope, and the castle disappeared
behind the wall. Nestled between the hills on the way to the ford, simple
two-story beige plaster houses with thatched roofs and smaller single story
dwellings constructed of stones clustered together formed a small but
prosperous village. No wall enclosed the village, but wooden towers stationed at
intervals along the perimeter allotted for some protection. Across their flat tops,
behind shallow battlements paced sentries clad in leather armor. Skandar
gathered that in case of war, the royals of Tir O Niwl regarded the safety of
their own lives above those of their citizens. The guards stationed at the
towers cast lazy eyes toward the odd company as they rode and walked by, but
otherwise offered no challenge. Upon entering the village, the hunters located
the stables, boarded their horses, and continued on foot through its center.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Townsfolk appeared in the doorways
of their homes and shops. Mothers placed protective hands on the shoulders of
their children, silent warnings to run from troublemakers and renegades. Skandar
remembered the rare occurrences in Tiem when Sheriff Fawkes’ knights paraded through
the streets with a thief or another petty criminal, cautioning those who dared to
break the town codes. For his faults and his severe nature, Fawkes judged and
sentenced fairly; treatment Skandar only hoped would be dealt to him and his
friends. Flynn, for all he cared, could hang in the gallows he spied looming down
a side street.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> They exited the village, continuing
down the road toward the swollen river, which ran between the hills and snaked
around to circle the castle and disappeared from sight. Subconsciously Skandar
held his breath and, despite his raw, bleeding feet and his exhaustion-weighted
limbs, he nearly sprinted to the safety of the firm earth on the opposite side.
Instead, he forced himself to walk, slowly, painfully, dread threatening to
sweep him away with the water that gushed beneath the bridge. The bridge itself
was solid underfoot, albeit weathered, its planks hewn from sturdy oak. Skandar
latched on to the rail, an action made difficult with his hands bound, but he
managed and tentatively trusted his weight to it as they crossed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Although steep, the hike to the top
of the hill and the gate permitting access through the outer wall was nothing
compared to the trek before the bounty hunters captured Skandar and his
companions. <i>Imagine laying siege to this
castle dressed in armor,</i> Skandar thought, panting. Drawing nearer, Skandar
saw what he missed before. The banners on the wall and castle flew lower than
their poles allotted. <i>Mourning?</i> He
recalled King Fendral mentioning something about King Caddock being ill and ailing
the day of the banquet. Even the air around the castle seemed thick, heavy with
palpable grief. Skandar deciphered no other reason save that their king was grievously
sick. Perhaps dead.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The portcullises were raised, and the
hunters lead them through the gates of the outer wall and the inner wall of the
castle. Like Corrthaine castle, the gate opened up into a courtyard filled with
gloomy-faced peasants standing about as though life offered and reeked of nothing
but sorrow and death. Before Skandar reflected any further, guards having taken
one glance at Flynn, pushed the people aside and surrounded them. Once the
guard in charge approved the bounty hunters, he bade them admittance into the innards
of the castle. As for Skandar and his companions, shackles replaced ropes. None
too gently, the guards marched them into a gaping door different than that
their captors had entered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Skandar blinked as the corridor
swallowed up the light from outside. Torches hung on the walls offered little respite
from the darkness. At the end of the hall, stairs rose in the interior of one
of the turrets, wide and tall. The jangling of chains and the heavy thuds of
their boots on stone echoed, becoming almost overwhelming the higher they
ascended before emerging before a door sealed with an iron lock on the outside.
Behind it, a hall of cages, prison cells, stood awaiting its newest residents. Another
closed door marked the end of the long passage.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The guards threw them into adjacent
cells without bothering to remove their shackles- Muriel with Catrain, Oliver
with Skandar, and Flynn alone. The dungeon, noted Skandar, was far more
agreeable than Corrthaine’s. Only a few prisoners inhabited the other cells,
silent as men awaiting their deaths. No screams of terror and anguish emanated
from behind the wooden door at the end of the corridor. Straw covered the floor;
dust particles rose from it and swarmed in the air, illuminated by warm shafts
of sunlight beaming through small, rectangular windows cut just below the
ceiling. Skandar sniffed, <i>At least the
straw is fresh and not mildew-infested. Infested. </i>His eyes darted about the
tiny confines, seeking the slightest movement that indicated a rat or other
rodent. The search was in vain, as most of the cell was shrouded in shadows. Kicking
the straw into a pile, he lay down. To him, he may as well been laying on a feather
bed in Corrthaine castle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Flynn groaned, gasped, and then
groaned again, louder, spoiling the peace in the prison. Iron chains bound him
to the wall of his cell, which was located on the opposite side of Catrain and
Muriel’s. Smugly, Skandar grimaced. Part of him pitied the agony Flynn felt,
but another part of him believed Flynn received the punishment he deserved for
all the lives lost at his hands. <i>My hands
are not clean anymore, either, </i>Skandar realized somberly. <i>But that man would have killed me had I not…
Nay. Focus on something else. Why can I not focus? Everything seems so…
muddled.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Whispers captured his attention. Oliver sat against
the wall separating him from Muriel, she on the other side, mirroring him,
their hands clasped and their fingers entwined. In the deepest shadow of the corner
furthest from them, Catrain hid. The only thing clearly visible were the dusty tips
of her boots. She had hardly spoken since the first night. The first night
after they killed. Skandar remembered every detail about the gory memory. The
scar from the sword slash on his arm would serve as a constant reminder. <i>Is this how Flynn became a murderer?</i> <i>Does the guilt ever wane? Or does it linger
on, numbed by time and still more death?</i> But he couldn’t dwell on it. Not
now. Now, he desperately needed sleep. Every aching muscle, every wound, every weak
and heavy limb screamed at him for rest. He shivered violently as a sudden
chill ripped through him although he felt no wind, no draft blowing through the
tiny windows. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar rose from the pile that only moments
before seemed so comfortable but now grew prickly, jabbing him in the side and
back. He scooted across the floor and wedged himself in the corner, seeking
solitude in the shadows. Tucking his knees against his chest, he wrapped his
arms around his legs, willing warmth to creep into him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>Back
to the beginning,</i> sighed Skandar inwardly. <i>If I continue this quest, it is possible that I will see the inside of
every dungeon and prison within the Four Kingdoms.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> His stomach growled. Heat flushed
Skandar’s cheeks as the three sets of eyes belonging to his friends turned quizzically
toward him. Uttering a nervous, exhausted laugh, Skandar feebly attempted to
joke, “At least now we get to eat.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Princess?” Flynn rasped, hoping it
fell on the sleeping ears of others save hers. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Catrain lifted her head. Night
blanketed the dungeon in complete darkness, and she strained to peer through it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Princess?” he tried again,
desperation thick in his tone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Here, Flynn,” she replied. “But never
speak to me by that name while here. Call me Cat, or at least, Catrain.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Idiot,</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> he thought of himself.
Surely he knew better. <i>The beating addled
my mind. I am not thinking clearly…</i> He heard her crawl hesitantly across
the floor, the straw swishing and scraping as she brushed them aside, heard her
sharp intake of breath when one of the stiff ends stabbed her palm, heard the
scrape of the chains. With each sound, he winced. In the silence of the prison,
the noises may have been a thunderclap, certainly drawing the unwanted
attention of the guards.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Catrain,” he tested the name,
finding it unfamiliar and odd. “When are Aidan and Eoin coming? They must break
us out, and soon, before our time- my time -expires.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Shaking her head, forgetting he
could not see in the dark, she said, “They will come when they have a plan.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “True King have mercy if they must concoct
a plan on their own.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Indeed,” she smirked. “Flynn, why
is there a bounty on your head?” She asked bluntly, finding no reason to skirt
the evident cause of their dismal state.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I angered an old friend, one of my
only friends. He believes I betrayed him four years ago before I arrived in
Corrthaine. In truth, I only betrayed one person, and,” his voice cracked, filled
with unbridled emotion and grief, “and it was not him.” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Well, what do you think? </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 16px;">Please comment your thoughts, ideas, criticisms, and whatnot- they're welcome, but if you comment, I ask that you keep it clean (not that I think you won't, but it happens).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I will try to post one chapter at the very least before the end of November if school allows. If I can't do that, I'll see about possibly posting a (very) short story for you all.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Thank you for reading, and may God bless you!</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Until the next time,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Abigail </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-58412803551883887832015-10-11T13:55:00.000-05:002015-10-11T13:55:31.331-05:00Yarns and More YarnsAs promised, I uploaded more photos of my Yarn work to my <a href="http://bootsgirl-philippians-4-13.blogspot.com/p/story-li.html" style="background-color: white;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">Crocheted Creations</span></a> page. Click on the link I just provided, or go to the right and follow the link that way. As I said in my last post, I am going to begin an Etsy store soon, and will put the link in a post about it.<br />
<br />
I wish you all a wonderful Sunday and a blessed week!<br />
<br />
May God bless you!<br />
~AbigailAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-85473743464004601032015-10-07T13:38:00.001-05:002015-10-07T13:38:13.148-05:00Long Time and Still... Coming...Okay, it has been my discovery that whoever said that senior year of high school was supposed to be carefree and easy is a liar. Really, that couldn't be further from the truth. I am trying my best to type out and edit chapter twenty-one of <i>The Mark of the King</i> so I can get it posted for you, but finding time has been difficult with school and homework.<br />
Some days I feel like I'm drowning in paper and ink, and the last thing I want to see is more paper and ink in the form of my pleasure writings.<br />
That being said, my goal is to get chapter twenty-one posted by the end of October, after midterms are over.<br />
Thank you for your extreme patience! Honestly, I do not deserve you all when I feel like such a slacker sometimes.<br />
Oh, jumping subjects here, I realized I haven't posted any photos of my crocheted items in over a year... Fortunately, a year had been adequate and ample time to create a basket load of things to post, which I shall endeavor to do by this weekend. Also, I am checking into the possibility of opening an Etsy shop where I will sell said crocheted items if any of you are interested.<br />
<br />
It's back to studying for me, so farewell for now!<br />
<br />
~AbigailAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-46394406551376182022015-09-11T11:00:00.002-05:002015-09-11T11:00:35.506-05:00May the Memory Never FadeSeptember 11.<br />
For Americans such as myself, it is a day we somberly remember as we recall the 3,000 lives lost fourteen years ago in the terrorist attacks. In light of that, I wanted to write a few short sentences, and then I will leave you to your day.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I truly cannot thank those of you enough who serve or have served our country, whether on domestic or foreign soil. You embody the definition of heroism. And for those who have lost someone in the line of duty, may God bless you and your family. May the memory of your loved one never fade.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">~Abigail</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-60111253355582013812015-08-22T19:10:00.001-05:002015-10-22T10:02:08.936-05:00The Mark of the King: Chapter Twenty<div style="text-align: center;">
Hello all! I hope you have had a lovely Saturday.<br />
Alright, so chapter twenty is significantly longer than those I've posted recently. Which really isn't saying much, but it's long...ish. So I hope you enjoy it!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That's all I'll say for now. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>Chapter Twenty</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The ground sloped down sharply
before leveling and flattening again as gradually, cliff walls rose on either
side of Skandar. Even so, the constant shifting and turning of pebbles and
stones underfoot made walking difficult. Skandar stooped, knees bent, arms
hovering out to his sides to maintain his balance when he slipped. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>It
is almost profitable we lost the horses when we did,</i> he thought gratefully
as he narrowly avoided losing his footing. <i>They
would not have fared well.</i> Most of their group at one time or another
misstepped and slid a brief distance across the rocks before either a friend
caught them, or they themselves latched on to a tree branch or root, ceasing
their fall. When it happened, Skandar’s heart seized in momentary fear and
thumped seconds later in anxious relief. Only Flynn and Catrain remained
sure-footed during the trek, even when the path dropped off and they leapt the
short space to the flat ground below.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Skandar hopped and landed
off-balanced, but righted himself easily enough. While the rest of his
companions followed suit, he gaped at the beauty that surrounded him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> To either side, rocky cliffs jutted
skyward; feathery trees growing along their tops. Moss mottled the stone face,
green among the varying grays and browns. Between them, as Flynn promised, a
stream bubbled up from a hidden underground spring and ran through pebbled
banks. Skandar licked his parched lips, staring greedily at the clear water. Hours
before, his water skin had run dry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> The same thought likely crossed the other’s
minds as well, for each took one look at the stream before racing to reach it. As
they ran, Aidan, Eoin, and Oliver kicked off their boots, unfastened their
cloaks and satchels and, whooping gleefully, they splashed into the
stream. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> At the bank, Skandar halted and
dropped to his knees; the water around the rocks dampening the legs of his
pants. Cupping his hands beneath the rippling surface, he allowed the water to
play over his skin before drawing his hands to his mouth and drinking eagerly. He
lapped it up until his thirst had been quenched, then splashed some onto his
face and the back of his neck. Droplets rolled down his now slightly crooked
nose and plopped onto his pant legs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Laying on his back, Skandar closed
his eyes and felt the spring rays from the sun warm him. The babble of the
stream, and the gentle rustle of the breeze through tree leaves lulled him into
a sense of false-security. Although his body was at rest, his mind wandered,
restless and contemplative. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>What
spooked the horses so?</i> He mulled over the pressing question throughout the
morning and into the afternoon. <i>Catrain
said the reigns had been cut, but surely Aidan and Eoin would not do such a
thing,</i> he reasoned.<i> If not them,
however, then who?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> A shadow passed over him, and his
eyes snapped open. Too late, Skandar was assaulted by a wave of water. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“What was that?” he sputtered before Oliver, the
source of the shadow, sent another spray of water in Skandar’s direction with a
sweep of his hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Gales of roaring laughter erupted
from the brothers and Oliver. They waded near the middle of the stream; the
water lapped at their bare legs and the base of their pants, which they rolled
up to their knees.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Come in,” Oliver invited and said
something else Skandar failed to decipher over the rowdy shouts from the
brothers. Quieting them, he repeated, “The water will soothe your blisters.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “But you are scaring the fish away!”
Catrain and Muriel shouted simultaneously, and for the first time Skandar
noticed them downstream, perched on a cluster of boulders that had fallen from the
cliff into the stream. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Skandar’s attention darted between them,
and the brothers and Oliver. Between his fear of being thrice bombarded with
water or the unpleasant task of gutting fish, Skandar opted for the latter. “I
will manage,” he replied to Oliver, and jogged over to Muriel and Catrain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Catrain stood poised atop one of the
giant rocks with an arrow on her bowstring. Her head moved up and down as she
searched the water below her. On the bank, Muriel crouched, her sapphire eyes
intensely scanned the ripples for the flash that signified the presence and
location of an unsuspecting fish. Skandar observed with fascination as Muriel
would spot a fish and point in its direction. Then Catrain sent an arrow into
the water with the hopes of hitting the creature. It took her several attempts,
but she finally managed to skewer one. Scaly body wriggling and fins flopping,
it plopped to the surface, arrow clean through its center.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Skandar, it’s there! Do you not see
it?” asked Muriel elatedly. “Can you fetch it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Casting a tentative glance at the
stream. Near the bank, the current moved and swirled lazily, but in the middle
of the stream, white foam capped the tips of the waves. The fish writhed not
far out from the bank, but far enough that the water would be well over
Skandar’s knees.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>If
I keep to the shallows, I should be alright,</i> Skandar assured himself. <i>If I use the larger rocks as stepping
stones…</i> He proceeded cautiously and sprung from the bank to the first rock.
<i>That was not so bad. </i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As he bent his legs to leap to the second, he
glanced down at the water running between the rocks. Images from his dreams
ripped through his mind, consuming his senses with the petrifying sensation of
drowning he experienced when the wave hit. Crouching on all fours, Skandar
clung to the jagged stone with quaking fingers. The playful gurgle of the
stream turned to a deafening roar in his ears, joined in cacophonous melody by
the pounding of his heart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Calm yourself, Skandar,” a musical voice penetrated
through Skandar’s panic. “Turn around.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar obeyed and laboriously, he turned wide
eyes on Muriel. She stood at the border of the bank and stream, only about five
or six feet away, but to Skandar it may as well been half the ocean. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Move to the first rock and jump to
the ground,” she instructed, her serene face knit with concern.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Skandar stood; his knees wobbled
beneath his weight. Sliding a toe to the edge, he steadied his body and mind,
and managed to push off and land safely on solid ground beside her. Instantly,
his knees buckled and he fell, gasping for breath, his chest and lungs heaving.
Muriel lowered herself to his level and placed her arm gently around his
shoulders. Nausea overcame him, and Skandar staggered unevenly to a nearby bush
and emptied his stomach. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> A damp cloth was placed across his
neck. Skandar sat heavily on the ground, Muriel at his side. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I am sorry,” she apologized softly.
“Had I known, I would never have asked you to retrieve the fish. Cat and I are
fully capable. I only wished to include you in something…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Skandar wiped his sleeve across his
mouth. “I should have told you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “If you wish, you can tell me while
we make a fire,” she patted his hand. “When you are ready.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> They gathered fallen branches and
pine needles from along the base of the cliffs until they amassed a sizeable pile.
Retrieving an iron fire-striker from one of the packs, Skandar struck it
against a rock, sending sparks flying. A few more strikes and the dry kindling
snapped and fizzled to life. Skandar blew on them gently, coaxing them to flame.
In minutes, the wood caught and orange fire danced between the sticks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Catrain, having fetched the fish
herself in addition to shooting three more, strode over along with Flynn, who
appeared from nowhere. More unsettling to Skandar was the notion that he never
saw Flynn leave. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Only four?” asked Muriel. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> The princess stuck four arrows, each
with a tender pink fish atop it, at an angle near the flames to cook. “One for
you, me, Skandar, and Flynn.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “What about Oliver? And the
brothers?” Muriel regarded the three in question, who, when the smell of
roasting meat touched their noses, began to emerge from the stream. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “They can hunt for themselves. You
helped me locate the fish, Flynn cleaned them, and Skandar aided with the fire.
They did nothing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Flynn smirked, and Skandar glared at
him. “Where did you run off to?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Scouting ahead,” Flynn replied,
toneless. “I followed the river until it bent, and then I returned.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Anything interesting?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Nay.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “What a shame,” Skandar quipped
dryly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> In the meantime, Oliver, Aidan, and
Eoin grabbed their boots, cloaks, and various arsenals and ran barefoot up the
shore. Their faces eager and eyes alight with hunger, they inspected the
browning meat. The wistful expressions slid away, replaced with confused
dismay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Only four?” Eoin noted, repeating
Muriel’s earlier query.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Oliver, reading the disapproving look
his betrothed offered him, nudged Aidan’s arm. After lifting Catrain’s bow, the
two turned and padded to the cluster of boulders. Only Eoin remained behind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Aye, four,” Catrain echoed, not
bothering to glance from the flickering flames.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “What have we to eat then?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “You have a bow.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Wood is not appetizing, Cat,
neither is it satisfying,” he teased.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> He received silence by means of
reply. Abandoning his attempts to win her over, Eoin joined his brother and
Oliver. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> When he was beyond earshot, Muriel said,
“I understand that you are irked with him. I do not lie that I am disappointed
with Oliver. But Cat,” she caught her friend’s gaze, “did you have to be so
cold?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I am not upset,” the princess poked
at the fire with a stick, causing the branches to shift and send up a shower of
sparks. “Nor was I cold. Eoin will survive.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Muriel sighed and shook her head.
Flynn crossed his arms and chuckled, as if he knew an amusing secret and
refused to share it with anyone else. “I suppose you will douse the fire when
you’ve finished to spite him as well?” he asked, the corner of his mouth
twitching.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Mayhap I shall,” she smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Oliver and the brothers returned a
brief time later. Shortly after that, the group ate. Before Skandar wished it,
he found himself lacking a fish and licking the juice from his fingers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Stomp out the fire and distribute
the ashes,” Flynn instructed as he swallowed his last mouthful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Everyone pitched in; the larger
charred branches they tossed in the water to be carried by the current while
the smaller twigs they ground to blackened smudges against the rocks. The ashes they kicked, scattering them both on
the bank and into the breeze. Satisfied with their work, they gathered their
belongings and followed the path of the stream further into the ravine. After a
couple miles, the stream dwindled, becoming a trickle before disappearing underground
altogether.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> The path it left proved easy to journey
along. Emerald grass sprouted between rocks and around the occasional tree; where
boulders had long-since fallen, rich brown soil lay in patches. Skandar glanced
skyward at the jagged tops of the cliffs and grimaced. <i>Imagine traversing that,</i> he mused. <i>And Flynn wished us to travel that way.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> As they progressed, however, the
sides narrowed, casting dark shadows on the ravine floor with a thin sliver of
sunlight between them. Skandar estimated no more than ten men walking abreast could
pass through. A shadow moved, and a shower of pebbles plummeted from above. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> All heads lifted skyward. Warily,
Skandar scanned the tops of both walls for any signs of movement. He saw
nothing. Not even the scurrying of a rodent or the flight of a bird. Even the
air stilled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Reaching for his sword, he heard
Flynn say, “I do not like this.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Catrain and Eoin shifted to the
center of the group, their bows drawn, arrowheads glinting in the scant, fading
light. Flynn drew his ebony sword and whispered just loud enough for Skandar,
the farthest from him, to hear, “This is the ideal location for an ambush. I
fear we have walked into one already.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Who would want to ambush us? My
father’s men? Niwl warriors?” Oliver tugged at names. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Our friends from the tavern,” Flynn
responded tensely. “Princess, Eoin, do not hesitate to shoot if your instincts urge
you to.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “True King be with us,” Muriel
murmured, her porcelain skin ghostly white. Despite that, her face hardened and
she became the fierce fighter Skandar trained with. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Skandar nearly uttered a silent
prayer, but stopped. <i>When has the True
King come to my aid?</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Through the enveloping silence, Skandar felt the
tension rising. It hung, a heavy, smothering cloud upon them, the very air
thick with an unforeseen danger. To Skandar, it seemed his senses heightened. Grouped,
they walked onward, anxious and aware. The tops of the cliff walls receded, shortened
gradually as once again, they began to widen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Skandar relaxed, and his grip on his
sword loosened. But as they emerged from the passage, an arrow whizzed by his
ear, narrowly missing his neck. Startled, he cried out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Keep to the sides!” Flynn bellowed,
his voice strained. More arrows rained down upon them from both cliff tops. Skandar
sheathed his sword, useless to block the lethal projectiles, and for once,
obeyed the knight. He threw his cloak around him, a temporary but effective
shield. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> They sprinted along blindly, dodging
arrows as they ran, each unable to spot their attackers. The shafts snapped
against the rocks and clattered to the ground where they were trampled
underfoot. Skandar ducked when one flew over his head, his hair moving with the
minuscule wind it generated. Another penetrated his cloak, the sharp head stuck
in the thick fabric. One managed to slip through his guard; he gasped as the
honed tip sliced through his shirt and grazed his side. Hot blood trickled
across his ribs, but he ignored it and continued to press on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Disturbance, a rustling in the brush
and trees above and opposite them, alerted them to their pursuers. Skandar chanced
a sideways look to his left. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Along the rim of the cliffs ran
about a dozen armed men. <i>Hunters,</i> he
realized. He assumed as many hailed them from the ridge directly above. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> A gray wall appeared before them as
the cliff walls met in a shallow bowl. Skandar and his companions skidded to a
halt, keeping low as arrows continued their volley now from behind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Shadows moved as the hunters spread out along the top;
more joined their numbers. Now Skandar guessed there to be at least thirty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Thirty to
our seven.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar whirled around, surveying every angle. The
hunters at their backs held bows, those ahead, swords. Hopelessness surged
within him. “You!” he screamed, pointing accusingly at Flynn. “You lead us
here!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“As I recall it was you who begged to venture this
way!” the livid knight returned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Cease your bickering!” Catrain intervened. “I
have a plan.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Six pairs of frantic eyes locked onto her, then
hastily shifted back and forth between her and the men on the ridge, who watched
the spectacle below with amused interest; their attack held at bay for the
present.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Well, hurry up then!” Skandar urged. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“We climb. Here it isn’t so high.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“We will die up there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“We <i>will</i>
die down here!” she argued. “At least if we climb we possess a chance. You,
Flynn, Oliver, and Muriel go first. Eoin, Aidan, and I will remain behind. If
they,” she indicated the men surrounding them, “try to stop you, we can offer
you some protection.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Why me as well?” Aidan protested. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar thought the same. <i>After all, he uses no bow! He would serve a better purpose by our side.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Trust me,” Catrain nocked an arrow onto her
bowstring. “Now fly!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Reluctantly, Skandar agreed, finding that when he
turned around, Flynn had already scaled half the wall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As the assault of arrows began anew, Skandar ran
to the wall, tossed the folds of his cloak down his back, and placed his hands
on the rough surface. Inwardly he groaned, pushing thoughts about the steep
drop and sudden death he would encounter if he lost his grip or footing and
fall out of mind. Then he clambered up after Muriel and Oliver. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Inch by inch he discovered a crevice into which he
inserted his fingers or toes. After testing it gingerly and deeming it reliable,
he hauled himself up to the next. By the time he climbed a few feet, he glanced
up and saw Flynn swing himself over the ledge, his black boot disappearing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Shouts and grunts, accompanied by the peal of
swords clashing echoed off the stone. <i>Let
him die</i>, Skandar thought angrily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Poorly aimed arrows bounced off the walls on
either side of his perilous path. The twang of Catrain and Eoin’s bows reached
his ears from below. Too quickly, the number of enemy arrows decreased as his
friends dispatched the men. Skandar tried not to imagine their bodies tumbling through
the air like ragdolls or lying lifeless in broken heaps at the base of the
walls. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Instead, he kept his eyes up, forcing himself to
focus on the climb. His limbs ached and trembled when he reached halfway. He
resorted to mentally reciting his actions. <i>Hand,
hand, foot, foot, up</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Oliver eased his body over the top, reached down,
and swung Muriel over. Their voices, Muriel’s blade, and the wet whacks of
Oliver’s axes joined the fray. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Battling exhaustion, Skandar pushed himself faster.
“Whoa!” he exclaimed as one foot slipped. It dangled dangerously in the air
before Skandar located a narrow ledge. Clinging to the rocks, he steadied
himself, inhaled shakily, and pushed upward, grateful the arrows ceased altogether.
The archers, he gathered, were either dead, shot down by Catrain and Eoin, or had
gone to aid their companions in the fight with Oliver, Flynn, and Muriel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>They need
help,</i> Skandar
reminded himself, and with one final effort, he grasped the top of the cliff
and lifted his leg over the rim. He flipped onto his back, reveling in the
solidity of the ground beneath him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His respite was short-lived. A tarnished silver blade
appeared at the corner of his vision, descending rapidly in a swift arc toward
his neck. Eyes bulging, Skandar rolled to the side, toward the blood-stained
boots of the hunter. The sword whistled as it sliced the air and stuck in the
dirt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar kicked at the ankles of his attacker,
throwing the man off-balance and allowing Skandar time to rise and draw his own
sword. Facing his rival, Skandar revolved around the man and distanced himself
from the cliff edge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">With a start, he recognized the short, burley man
as the leader he encountered in Carn. Skandar’s nose throbbed, remembering the
man’s knuckles. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As though reading his mind, the thug snarled and chuckled
darkly. “How’s your face, boy?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Through narrowed eyes, Skandar glared at the man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’ve been looking forward to this,” he taunted,
twirling his sword in one hand and gripping a dagger in his other. “And this
time, your friend will not save you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar scanned wildly around. Oliver and Muriel
fought nearby, each engaging five or six hunters. <i>Where is Flynn? And where are the other hunters?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“He ran off,” the leader said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Wait for him
to strike, </i>Skandar
subconsciously recalled Flynn’s tutoring. <i>Then
parry and use his force to your advantage.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The man sprang forward with surprising agility.
Skandar caught the strike near his knee and twisted to block the dagger aiming
to impale his side. The movement tugged at the cut along Skandar’s ribs and he
winced as warm blood slid down his stomach. The leader swung again, and Skandar
spun to the side, momentum driving the man forward. As he stumbled, Skandar shoved
the man square between the shoulder blades with his elbow, sending him reeling.
The thug tripped, his dagger flying out of his hand and over the edge of the cliff.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Emitting an ominous, guttural growl, the hunter lunged,
driving his sword once more to a point at Skandar’s upper thigh. Skandar bent
to block it, but met nothing. <i>It’s a
feint!</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The man slashed; the sword’s razor edge bit deep
into the flesh of Skandar’s upper left arm. Skandar gasped and cried out
through clenched teeth as tears welled in his eyes. The sword came away, dripping
blood, leaving a ragged hole in Skandar’s sleeve. The light brown of the fabric
quickly turned deep scarlet as blood soaked through from the wound.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar’s opponent stepped back, grinning. “Never
felt the sting of a blade before, eh boy?” he mocked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar’s head spun, his strength waning, his
sword heavy and foreign in his hands. The man swung at him again, unleashing
the brunt of his fury, invigorated by Skandar’s weakness. It was all Skandar
could manage to evade the onslaught. Back it drove him, nearer and nearer the
cliff’s edge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Rocks shifted under Skandar’s heels.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I am going
to fall</i>,
the notion settled in his mind, but did little to wash the exhaustion addled fog
away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">An arrow flew from Skandar’s right and embedded
itself in the thug’s shoulder. Startled, the man whirled to his left to face
the shooter. Even through his delirium, Skandar possessed clarity to seize the
opportunity. <i>Cat,</i> he issued a silent thanks.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mustering what power he retained, Skandar lunged,
driving his sword forward and slashing. It sliced with a wet squelch, through
the man’s wide belly. He froze, his sword dropping from his hand, and clutched
at the wound, dark blood gushing between his fingers. It poured in a seemingly
endless wake from his middle as he crumpled and fell, twisting and writhing. The
dirt soaked up the blood, which bathed the grass in crimson. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Queasy, Skandar turned from the dying man. Bile
rose in his throat, and he forced it down. Two hunters, not including his opponent,
lay dead; three more injured. Oliver, Muriel, and Catrain engaged four at the border
of the forest. There had been over thirty at the onset of the ambush. He
checked behind him and saw the forms of six or seven dead in the ravine. <i>Where are the rest? </i> With a start, he remembered the brothers. <i>Where are Aidan and Eoin?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Pushing his fear to the side and ignoring the sharp
ache in his arm, Skandar breathed deeply, and then hurried to his friends’ aid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Only seconds after Skandar entered fray and evened
the odds, a dozen hunters sprung from the surrounding greenery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Flynn’s long legs carried him further and further
from the fight. Being the first to the top of the cliff, he permitted the
hunters time to study his face, allowing them certainty that he was their
prize. He fought through them, dispatching a few in mere seconds. Then he ran. That
act of supposed cowardice, he hoped, would draw the majority of the hunters from
his companions. Judging by the crashes of people trampling recklessly through
the underbrush, his ploy worked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The stab wound in his leg a distant memory, he
sprinted on, zigzagging between trees and shrubs, ducking behind boulders, all
the while dodging the arrows that flew like a lethal flock around him. Each transition,
each shift of movement he made certain his pursuers saw. He slipped behind the thick,
mossy trunk of a tree and noiselessly drew his sword. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Approaching footsteps warned him the hunters drew
near. When one drifted too close to Flynn’s tree, he jumped quietly into the
man’s path. Startled, the rogue’s mouth fell open, but snapped it shut. Flynn waited
calmly and ready, awaiting the man to strike. <i>Patience is the key to success,</i> he thought; Lord Joran’s strategy proving
time upon time to reap benefits. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Without fail, the man charged, twin daggers poised
at Flynn’s heart, greedy eyes gleaming with malicious intent. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Amateur</i>, the experienced knight
criticized silently. Effortlessly he stepped and thrust his sword forward,
shortening the distance between the two men faster than the hunter expected. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He slowed his bull-like advance, but it was in vain.
His eyes widened and his mouth gaped in surprise as the tip of Flynn’s blade
pierced his chest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Flynn felt the tension as his sword struck bone, forced
it forward, and smiled, grimly and with tight lips. The sword slid through the
man’s body before bursting through his back. He gurgled and coughed, spraying blood
across Flynn’s face. Flynn grimaced, resisting the urge to jerk backward. Instead,
he held the hunter closer as hot blood seeped through his gloves, watching as
the life drained from the man’s eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Something odd stirred within him, fleeting. He had
blocked it out for so long that was several seconds before he named it. He
dipped his sword, the man’s body sliding off. Stunned, he stared at the corpse,
lying spread out at his feet, glassy eyes naught but unseeing, soulless orbs in
his rough, gaunt face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The other hunters caught up, led by the scarred
man from the tavern. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>So they banded
together. That explains their numbers.</i> Regardless, Flynn knew he must prolong the fight.
Just long enough for the others to flee to safety. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Take him alive,” the scarred leader ordered in
Niwl. “Money’s halved if he’s dead.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His men wasted little time, attacking as one.
Flynn struck blindly, carelessly. It mattered not to him whether he contacted an
enemy or emptiness. His capture he knew to be unavoidable, undeniable. <i>No use prolonging the inevitable. </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Someone caught his hand, forced his wrist back,
slamming it against a tree. He dropped his sword. Another fist drove deep and
hard into his ribs. Flynn grunted and doubled over. Blow upon blow reigned down,
driving the air from his lungs. One of them grabbed his hair, slick with sweat,
and jerked him upright. Fists pummeled his ribs and face; it was all he could
do to throw his arms up to protect his face and head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Memories of a young boy, small, living off the
streets being beaten to a bloody mess and abandoned in a back alley flooded
into his consciousness. Flynn choked it back; he had thought it buried deep and
locked away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A blow broke through his defenses, splitting open
the scar along his jaw. Blood filled his mouth and ran down the outside of his cheek.
He remembered the day he received the cut. Remembered how she tenderly stitched
it up; remembered how the pale winter fire gleamed off her auburn tresses.
Remembered her melancholy smile. Tears swam in his eyes, not brought about by his
pain, but by memories of her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Knuckles connected with his temple knocking her
away. Sparks flew across his vision, accompanied by a blinding ache. A knee
collided with his gut at the same moment someone kicked the inside of his knee.
His leg crumpled, and he landed in a heap on the ground, his consciousness
slipping.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Blood oozed from a cut above his eye; it poured from
his nose and ran from the corners of his mouth. He fought to rise as the men
hammered him mercilessly. A sickening crunch sounded as several of his ribs cracked
and snapped. A strained, agonized howl escaped Flynn’s lips. It was cut off
with a series of Niwl curses and taunts from the hunters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Is it odd I
find it a comfort to hear my language?</i> Flynn’s mind wandered in its muddled state.
Blackness enclosed around his sight. The excruciating agony was nonexistent as
he surrendered to its cruel embrace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He heard the leader bark a muffled command and
expected the barbarous beating to cease. It didn’t. With a final cry, Flynn
curled his spine, tucking his knees toward his chin and wrapped his arms around
his head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A woman’s distressed scream pierced the air.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Stop!” roared the leader in Niwl. Instantly the onslaught
ended. Flynn rolled onto his back, gasping. Searing flashes of pain shot
through him with every breath. His head lolled to the side. Squinting between
swollen eyelids, he peered through the legs of his attackers. Over a dozen
hunters stood behind the leader, eight of them holding Oliver, Skandar, Muriel,
and Catrain, knives at their throats. Muriel had been the one to scream.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You fools,” Flynn spat, a gob of blood flew from
his mouth. Hands reached under his arms, forcibly lifting him to his feet. Flynn
groaned as they dragged him. He hung like a dead man between two hunters, too weak
to bear his own weight. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“What fortune found us, meetin’ ya in that
tavern,” the leader mocked in heavily accented Corrthainian, looking Flynn up
and down with his one good eye. “Had I known ye’d fall so easily, turnin’ tail
and runnin’, I’d have ordered my men ta grab you there. Either way,” he leaded
close. The rank odor of dried blood, grime, and sweat infiltrated Flynn’s
nostrils. “The bounty on your head will dress us up like kings.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The hunters drove their captives deeper into the
woods where their horses were left tied to stout trees. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>They spooked
our horses,</i>
Skandar realized drowsily. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">They bound his hands with a coarse rope and fastened
the end to their saddles, even though many of the steeds would be riderless. Skandar’s
heart sank. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In their already disheartened and wounded state,
they would be forced to run behind the horses. Skandar and his companions had
no choice. It was either keep pace, or be slaughtered where they stood.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm afraid that's all for now. With school starting next week, I will try to post a chapter a month, maybe more depending on homework and such. For those of you beginning school as well, I wish you the best this coming semester! May God bless you!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And as always, feel free to comment your thoughts, ideas, of even just to say hi. I love hearing from you, my dear readers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">~Abigail~ </span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-8903347418821736942015-07-25T17:12:00.005-05:002015-10-22T10:01:55.003-05:00The Mark of the King: Chapter Nineteen<div style="text-align: center;">
Well this has been a while coming. I apologize (yet again) for my tardiness. Is anyone sensing a theme here?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This summer has run away from me and here I find myself nearing its end with still a million things on my To-Do list that I had hoped to accomplish. Oh well.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
One thing I <i>did</i> do today was post Chapter Nineteen on here, so that's something.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>Chapter Nineteen</b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It seemed only seconds before an alarmed shout
jolted him awake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“No!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar groaned and turned over on his side, away
from the noise. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“No no no! No!” the cry repeated as another voice
joined in. “Come back!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The ground rumbled and shook with the pounding of
horses’ hooves. Skandar bolted upright as their horses galloped past, their
mane streaming and their tails flying. Aidan and Eoin sprinted after them,
dodging trees and bounding over roots and bushes, pleading frantically with the
spooked animals. By this time, the entire camp was awake and on their unsteady
feet, groggily scrambling after the horses across the soggy ground. Their
efforts proved futile as the horses quickly outdistanced them and disappeared. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As soon as the last tail vanished, Flynn wheeled
on the brothers, “I thought I specifically instructed you two to secure the
horses!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“We did last night and checked them again when we
began our watch.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“They were secure,” Eoin added.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Then how did they escape?” Flynn snapped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Something startled them-”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“-In the woods; we did not see what-”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“-and they broke loose,” the brothers spoke over
each other. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Your ignorance means that now, not only must we
walk, adding both time and unnecessary dangers to our journey, but our extra
weapons, supplies, and rations stored in the saddlebags will be too much for us
to carry without the horses. We must take only what is necessary and what we
can carry in our bags and on our backs. Any extra supplies, food, and weapons
will be left behind,” veins bulged on Flynn’s forehead and neck, pulsing with
his ire and something else. <i>Fear? What
has Flynn to fear?</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Eoin and I,” Aidan said softly, “we can track the
horses and rejoin you once we found them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Nay, it is pointless. By now they are long gone. Captured
by hunters or villagers.” Glowering, a black cloud hanging over him, Flynn
stalked back through the trampled underbrush. “Back to the camp,” he snarled
over his shoulder. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I believe you,” Skandar heard Catrain whisper to
the brothers over the squelch of the damp leaves underfoot. “And it was a good
thought, Aidan, but Flynn was correct. We will never see them again. To search
for them further would be in vain.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“We will examine the branch where you tied the
horses after we pack,” Skandar added, more to further spite Flynn than reassure
the brothers. He wished they would discover something proving their competence,
if only to witness Flynn’s sour reaction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Flynn oversaw the sorting of the supplies stored in
the saddlebags, determining what they would bring with them, and what they left
behind. When they gathered what few belongings he permitted them to carry- an
assortment of mostly spare knives and smaller weapons, and dried, salted meat –they
prepared to depart, but not before Catrain inspected the tree. To Skandar’s bitter
delight, she returned with short fragments of rein in hand; frayed ends dangled
from her fist. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Aidan and Eoin are not entirely to blame. They
did secure the horses, as you,” she indicated Flynn, “ordered. The knots are
still intact; inspect them yourself if you doubt me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Flynn snatched the pieces from her with a dark look.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“They were cut,” she added. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Move,” Flynn said, his voice hoarse, quiet. Skandar
barely caught the command at first. “Are you deaf?” the knight snapped when no
one even so much as twitched. “Move. Now!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">On and on they walked; Flynn driving them like
cattle, constantly urging them faster. Every tree, every rock, every root appeared
the same to Skandar. He wondered how Flynn and Oliver kept them on the correct
path through the forest that seemed to stretch on in all directions. <i>Or are we blindly traveling in circles?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">At first, Skandar counted trees, sorting them in
his head by type, or at least, attempting to while his brain awoke. Many he did
not know the names of. Abandoning that effort, he resorted to counting them,
then counting rocks, then counting his own steps. Chatter behind him from
Catrain, Aidan, and Eoin distracted him; more than once he lost the number and
began anew. Finally, that, too, he abandoned. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Gradually, Skandar became aware that the ground,
slick from the night rain, sloped gently downward beneath his feet. They slowed
as the descent steepened. When Flynn urged them on again, his tone was rough, laced
heavily with agitation, as though he struggled with the very earth itself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">By midday, blisters on the soles and heels of
Skandar’s feet burst, leaving the raw skin to rub painfully against the inside
of his boots. Wincing as each step increased his discomfort, Skandar shuffled
along, falling further behind the group. When at last his heel slipped,
whisking his feet from under him, and he fell with a startled cry, his
companions took notice of his pitiful state. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Blisters?” asked Catrain bluntly. “We all have
them. Aye, they hurt. You are not the only one in pain. And yet the rest of us
manage to summon the strength to continue onward.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“That was cruel, Cat,” Muriel chastised, casting
Skandar a sympathetic glance. The princess shrugged unapologetically,
irritation with both Skandar and her own blisters evident in her rigid shoulders.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar reddened with embarrassment as Oliver
helped him stand. Brushing off his pants, he tried to brush away the
humiliation. Only the dirt fell away. His bruised pride, on the other hand, lingered
on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">”Tired so soon?” Flynn taunted, doubling back to
see what kept them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar’s temper snapped. “Not everyone here has
spent their entire life running, Flynn. Until recently, some of us lived
pleasant lives in peaceful places where we belonged and where we were <i>welcome</i>,” he hissed, laying heavy
emphasis on the final word. Widening his stance, he stood his ground. When
Flynn erupted and lashed out, Skandar would be ready to counter his fury and
this time, would not lose his footing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Do you not think I once had a home? A family?” Flynn,
his voice taut, strained.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar balked. He expected an emotional reaction
from Flynn. He goaded him into one, but he failed to anticipate anything other
than rage from the knight. His shoulders slumped as his mind rapidly worked to readjust
to this new dilemma.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You do not,” Flynn was saying. “You think of no
one but yourself.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“And you do not?” Skandar retorted, the words
slipping unregistered from his mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The hard, unreadable expression Flynn so often
wore blanketed his face. Setting his jaw, he growled between his teeth, “Rest
here for a short time and only a short time if we are to cover more ground
before dusk. Ahead the terrain worsens. I will continue on, scout for a gentler
path for the,” he glared at Skandar, “weaker members of our company. When I
return, we walk. I’ll accept no excuses.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar, the brothers, and Catrain sat with their
backs against a fallen, moss-covered tree near the edge of their path. Relieved
to be finally seated, Skandar sighed and gingerly pulled off his boots, cringing
at the sight of his red, raw heels.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Those look how mine feel,” Eoin remarked sorely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I would not recommend removing your shoes just
yet,” Catrain advised, too late. “But seeing as you have, bind your feet tightly-
not too tightly mind you –so you can slide your feet back inside your boots.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Bind them with what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Tear the hems off your shirts?” she suggested.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">While Skandar ripped at his shirt, he tuned out his
immediate companion’s conversation and focused his ears on Oliver and Muriel.
They stood a short distance down the trunk. Either they wanted to steal time
alone, or they wished to discuss matters without eavesdroppers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>This is my
quest to find my father and Bródúil,</i> Skandar reasoned. <i>If it concerns that, it is my right to know.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> He watched
Oliver take from his satchel a folded piece of leather. Opening it, he pointed
to several places, and then looked to Muriel for her opinion. She frowned,
worry creasing her brow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Could it be
a map?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Cat,” Oliver called, “could you come here for a
moment?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar scooted closer, straining to hear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“This is incomplete,” Oliver said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I am aware of that,” Catrain replied. “Sir Reuben
said that he encountered complications, and that you knew of them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Complications?
The dead Niwl knight?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Knew of them, aye,” Oliver sighed. “But I had
hoped that they would not negatively impact the outcome of this. We miss at
least half.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Half your father likely possesses,” Muriel pointed
out. “It is too late to return to Corrthaine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“We need not return to Corrthaine. The other half
is with us.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“How do you figure that?” asked Muriel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Flynn is Lord Joran’s second in command. Did he
say anything to you, Oliver, about your father giving him something? Anything?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Nay,” Oliver replied slowly, hesitantly, as
though he himself were unsure. “Nay,” he repeated, this time with conviction. “However
it was he who suggested we locate Bródúil, although I believe Skandar’s plan from
the day I met him was to find his father and Bródúil, if he could.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Subconsciously, Skandar bobbed his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You think Bródúil is connected to this? That
mayhap theses are locations where those before us searched and did not discover
it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Muriel is right; Sir Reuben <i>did</i> know many of the knights. They could very well have sent
information back with the Niwls. It would have been a simple task.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Catrain was thoughtful as she mulled over their
ideas. “I agree with Oliver that the information was sent with the Niwls. Sir
Rupert’s death confirmed that. However I disagree that this concerns Bródúil;
the secret to its location, rather.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“What do you think, then, Cat?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I would rather not say until I know for certain,”
she resolved firmly. “Please understand.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“We do, but I will not pretend I like this notion.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oliver, believe me when I say that I will inform
you when I have solidified my assumption with valid facts.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“We do,” Muriel laid a hand on Oliver’s arm as
though the physical connection would in turn reap an agreement. Oliver refolded
the map and held it out stiffly to Catrain. With a puzzled expression, she took
it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You should have it, then. Mayhap it will help you
find your answer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When the princess slipped it into her satchel and rejoined
Skandar and the brothers, Skandar waited, listening to Oliver and Muriel. Guilt
nudged at him inside, prompting him to turn away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar relented, but not before he caught Muriel say,
“I know how much this means to you. I know how you wish to prove your father
wrong about you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“It isn’t that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Curiosity overcame Skandar, and he shifted back in
their direction. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You and I both know that it is. You needn’t prove
yourself to anyone. Your father, my father… me,” she peered up at him through
her eyelashes. “I love you. My father loves you like a son. It matters not what
your father says or thinks of you. He does not see what I see.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bending, Oliver stooped and brushed a kiss on her
cheek.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar’s stomach tightened. He looked away and
pretended to study the bark and moss pattern on the fallen tree, but continued
to listen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“There is something else, isn’t there? You are
still troubled.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Flynn,” Oliver admitted. “I cannot help but feel angry,
jealous when he is near. My father replaced me with him. He <i>replaced</i> me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Skandar heard the weight of Oliver’s words falling
like rocks in a deep pond, sinking to be smothered by the pressing waters of his
friend’s soul.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“And when Flynn claimed that my father threatened
his life,” he laughed bitterly, “Muriel, I was glad. Finally he was out of my
father’s favor.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Why did you allow him to come when you know he
would be killed if he stayed?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Silence hung between them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then Oliver murmured softly, “If I had done that,
I would be no better than my father. Sentencing a man to death… I cannot do
that. This Quest is my father’s way of executing people he opposes or, rather,
who oppose him. People who are threats to him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Muriel’s voice dropped to a whisper, “He doesn’t
believe Bródúil exists, then?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“He does. Certainly he does. That is the only thing
he strives for in this life. Bródúil and the power it will bring. I know my
father.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Do you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“There is a ravine ahead,” Flynn announced, appearing
from the woods like a phantom. His interruption abruptly silenced Muriel and
Oliver’s conversation. “If we continue straight we end up in its center, between
the walls. There is a stream that runs through it. It emerges from the ground
at the ravine’s mouth; we can refill our skins there, and then travel by way of
the cliff top. It is a steep trek, but we can climb it without much struggle.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“What about the banks of the stream?” Skandar
asked, dreading another grueling hike. “Are they wide enough to walk beside?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“At the stream’s mouth, aye, but further in the ravine
I do not know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Why not travel through it, then?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Because I do not know if it cuts through the land
or if it ends in a dead end.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“But it might.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“But it might not,” Flynn growled. “And with the
high cliffs on both sides, we could be trapped. Without horses we cannot flee.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“We cannot flee when we are stumbling, sliding,
and slipping on a cliff top,” Skandar resisted the urge to shout.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Veins bulged on the sides of Flynn’s forehead and
neck; a terror-laced ire flickered in his cold gaze. Then it smoldered and went
out. “Very well. Though I believe it unwise, we go through the ravine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“What about food?” Eoin piped up when the tension
had lessened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You have a bow,” Catrain muttered, “use it. Pren
Gwyn is home to countless birds and other forest creatures, and you are the
best marksman I know. It should not be too difficult for you to shoot something
to eat.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Pren Gwyn?” Skandar repeated the name, spinning
slowly in a circle, studying the trees and breathing in the air. <i>Pren Gwyn. The forest along the border of
Corrthaine and Tir O Niwl. We are in Tir O Niwl.</i></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
That's it! As always, feel free to comment your thoughts.<br />
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">And I have a question my inner fangirl longs to know (but do not feel obligated to answer):</span><br />
Do you have any ships in <i>The Mark of the King</i>? I'd love to know!! ;) </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Quick blog promo:</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
A friend of mine recently began his own blog. Here's the link if you are interested in checking it out! He may be more consistent than I when it comes to posting.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><a href="http://foggy-day-in-london.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">Rainy Days and Coffee Mugs</span></a> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Thank you for reading, and may God bless your week.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
~Abigail Blair</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-59377334295682544242015-07-01T12:41:00.000-05:002015-07-01T12:45:57.121-05:00Lamenting AmericaNearly a week ago, my country made a decision. A decision that shattered the walls of my world. A decision that broke my heart and bruised my spirit. In doing so, you denied me my right- my right to freedom.<br />
<div>
America, you are no longer my country. You have decided to hunt me and my Brothers and Sisters in Christ, branding us as the enemy; turning your sights on us with your finger on the trigger. You have betrayed me. You have betrayed us.</div>
<div>
Now that Independence Day is upon us, no longer can I celebrate the way I did as a child- innocent, naive, and secure in a sense of safety. You have taken that away from me. </div>
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I live in this country, yes, but I am no longer proud to call myself an American. No longer can I ask God to bless you, because you have turned your back completely on Him. I can only fall to my knees, weeping, and beg for Him to have mercy.</div>
<div>
You have chosen to rewrite the definitions of God. You have made lawlessness law. You have made immorality right. You have fled from God, from the very morals you were founded upon.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My prayer everyday is for God to have mercy on you. My prayer is for Him to give me and other Christians strength as we face persecution from our neighbors, our friends, and our families. My prayer is for our faith to grow in Him, and for Him to show us how to love those who mean us wrong.</div>
<div>
My prayer is for you, America, to repent and run back into the arms of God.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It has taken me nearly a week to write this. I have been in mourning. As I write this now I am fighting back tears. For the past five days, I have had a line from a song stuck in my head: "Brothers, sisters, the ending is coming. We are fallen."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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America, your only hope lies in He whom you rejected. I beg now that He have mercy on you.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
To my fellow believers, I pray for the Lord to give you strength as we face our tribulation. Remember that the rainbow is not the symbol of immorality- it is the vow God made to give us <i>hope</i>!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
All these things have been weighing heavy on my heart. I needed to write them down, to share my sorrows.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
May God bless you, and may God have mercy on America.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
~Abigail Blair </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-81258131338568250712015-06-11T19:27:00.000-05:002015-10-22T10:01:39.377-05:00The Mark of the King: Chapter Eighteen<div style="text-align: center;">
So a bit of a shorter chapter, but hey, it's a chapter nonetheless. Besides, shorter chapters make the story move faster, right? Maybe not. I don't know. I'll let you be the judges of that as my readers.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>Chapter Eighteen</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Skandar bounced on his toes in the
stable yard the next morning. His sore jaw opened wide as he yawned, and
blinked his swollen, puffy eyes. A result of his broken nose, Catrain had said.
His dreams that night he wished to blame on pain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> In them, mist shrouded him, except
that this time it swirled around in a cyclone, Skandar trapped in its center. Panic
rising, he frantically scoured the whirling surface of his prison for a way
out. There was none. The water vapors stung any bit of exposed skin they
contacted. Skandar threw his arms over his eyes, shielding them from the raging
torrent. Blindly, he stumbled around, the wind and mist driving him in a single
direction. Alone and powerless to fight any longer, Skandar felt emptiness
beneath his boots as his toes reached the edge of a chasm. Skandar removed his
arm in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of what lay beyond the mist. Immediately
the wind died, and the mist settled, falling to drift around his legs. It
rolled over the edge of the chasm, which spanned the endless space before him. Behind
him, a distant roar sounded. Paralyzed with fear, Skandar’s legs refused to
budge away from the cliff. Too late, he recognized the roar. Wet, powerful, and
dangerous. A tidal wave of water. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Skandar panicked again, his wobbly
knees yielding to terror. They folded beneath him, and he plummeted headlong
into the chasm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Shuddering, he awoke himself from
the memory. There had been no taunting whispers in the darkness. No alluring
summons. Only his fear behind him, the unknown before him, and he teetering on
the edge of uncertainty. He knew not what it meant. It played over and over in
his mind, different than the previous dreams, more ominous. Trepidation
lingered in his thoughts and heart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> In the time it took them to collect
the fresh horses, Skandar spoke nary a word. Not until Carn was a mere speck in
the distance did he relax. For the present time, Muriel, Aidan, and Eoin occupied
Oliver with merry chatter. Oliver’s constantly cheery disposition was, at
times, helpful and appreciated, but grew tiring and exhausting to Skandar. He
wished to be left alone, a request his companions appeared happy to grant. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Just before he fell into the chasm,
he had looked up and seen…what? <i>What did
I see?</i> Skandar shouted in his mind. Growling with frustration, he smacked
his hand flat against his thigh. The horse startled and lunged forward, but
calmed when Skandar stroked the young stallion’s neck in a gentle apology. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Does something trouble you?” Catrain’s
voice broke through his chaotic thoughts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “No,” Skandar lied, wincing as the
princess stared holes through his feeble falsehood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Are you certain? Your horse senses
your distress. That is why he is so jumpy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Skandar stared at the back of his
horse’s head, avoiding her analytical eyes. When still he refused to provide
her with an explanation, she rode ahead and began conversing with Muriel. Guilt
riddled him. He thought of Catrain as a sister and loathed lying to her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <i>I
cannot share with anyone my dreams, at least not yet. Not until I myself am
certain of their meaning. They must be associated in some way with Bródúil.
Finding it means their end. I can do this on my own. I can. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The next morning he found himself
sandwiched between Aidan and Eoin, laughing heartily at their ceaseless jovial
banter. Out of the two, Eoin was quicker and possessed a sharper, if more
abstract wit than his brother, but he lacked the direct, deep focus of Aidan,
which the older boy used often to stump Skandar with riddles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “When you see him, what will you
say?” asked Aidan during a lull. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “What?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Your father. What will you say?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> It was a question Skandar had
pondered often working long hours in Peter’s fields. “That depends on the
circumstances of our meeting, I assume. After years of rehearsing various
scenarios in my head of what I would say or what I will do, I am still uncertain.
Of course, none of that matters if he is dead.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “We understand,” Aidan offered, his
brother unusually quiet. “Ages have passed since we last saw our Ma and Da.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “We do not even know if they still
live or if the plague stole them away after we left Talahm Glas.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I forgot about that,” Skandar hung
his head. “I have been selfish and never once did I stop to consider another’s
troubles. Your troubles.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “In this world, ‘tis easy to do, I’m
afraid.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Skandar frowned. “What do you mean,
‘this world’?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I mean now. It’s human nature, the
desire to satisfy our desires, to focus on our needs. I am thankful the True
King does not, otherwise we would all be dead and in a place worse than death.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Skandar recalled his mother saying
something similar when he was a child, barely waist-high. He remembered the
calm serenity that washed over her face the night she died, even after years of
constant worry and suffering. In the end, her tears were gone and she had known
peace. <i>Is it possible? Is it possible for
someone, the True King, to bring about such peace in a world as ours? </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Skandar, are you alright?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Skandar cleared his throat and
dodged the query, “What happens when we reach Loryl?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Same as in Carn, I imagine,” Eoin
answered in a bored manner. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Skandar winced, his face swollen and
sore. “Hopefully not the exact same.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Right,” Eoin grinned and lightly
tapped the side of his own nose. “After Loryl, the real adventure begins.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Skandar caught himself looking over
his shoulder more and more often. In Loryl, an unimpressive village serving as
the final official Corrthainian town before the border with Tir O Niwl, he
spied both of the hunting parties they had unpleasantly encountered in Carn. They
seemed to have settled their dispute and grouped together outside a tavern.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The other members in Skandar’s
company dismissed it as a mere coincidence, assuming they traveled for spring
hunting in Tir O Niwl. Skandar found their presence odd and unsettling. Flynn
alone shared his concerns, which irritated Skandar. <i>My friends should support me, not my enemy.</i> Even still, they
collectively agreed to depart Loryl immediately. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"> As dusk fell across the sky, Flynn
brought his mount around behind Skandar’s. Skandar’s fingers twitched. He
released the reigns, gripping the horse’s sides with his legs, and reached
across his body for his sword. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;">“At ease,” Flynn ordered. “I will not harm you
here. Not now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;">Skandar paused with his fingers curled around the
hilt of his sword and pulled it partially out of the sheath. Pale moonlight
reflected off the flawless blade. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;">Flynn’s mouth curled at one corner. “I advise you
to put the sword back before you sever a finger. That is not a training sword,
remember. The blade is sharp.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;">Skandar shoved the weapon back in the sheath with
a sharp scraping sound.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I came to inform you that you and I will take the
first watch tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I refuse.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Tell that to Oliver or Aidan who have so
graciously taken your watch for the past week, denying themselves rest so you
could.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;">“With the others asleep, and the two of us awake
and alone, what is to reassure me that I won’t drift off to sleep and then
awaken to the bite of your blade between my shoulders?” Skandar spat the acidic
words at Flynn’s snide face. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;">At last, Flynn replied hollowly, “Nothing. None of
us know if we will wake up tomorrow the same people as those who fell asleep.
But if you refuse to sleep while I remain awake, then I suggest you rest during
the day. Or prepare yourself for a long night.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;">“There’s a clearing up ahead,” Oliver called to
them from the front.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Good,” Flynn barked. “Send Muriel and the
Princess to gather firewood, and the brothers to catch something to eat. A
bird, rodent, whatever you manage to kill, I care not as long as it is fresh
meat. No! On second thought, scrape together what food you find from Loryl. There
will be no fire. Not tonight,” he cast his gaze skyward, where wisps of clouds gathered,
blowing in from the north. On the tops of the trees, they piled atop one
another, creating towering, billowing clouds, moving with the damp, earthy
wind. “There will be rain tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nearly two hours into Skandar’s watch, when everyone
else lay deep in slumber, the clouds loosed their cargo, dousing the forest
with a deluge. The rain began, gentle at first, a pitter patter in the leaves
of the trees and dripping to plop on Skandar. Then all of a sudden, the sky
released, and water poured from the heavens. Skandar pulled his soaked cloak
tighter around himself, the cloth heavy and doing little to dry him. He settled
against the rough base of a gnarled tree, its canopy providing Skandar with some
coverage and protection. Across the small clearing, Flynn paced, the folds of
his black cloak billowing behind him. Skandar’s other companions tossed and
turned, moaning and groaning in their sleep from beneath the trees as the
intrusive rain stirred them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;">Skandar arose, his legs and back stiff, and
stretched them gently. The rain slowed to a drizzle, ebbing from the downpour. The
air hung heavy with the earthy smell of damp soil and leaves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;">“How long are the watches?” Skandar yawned. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Three hours,” Flynn replied. Stroking the long
nose of his horse, he uttered a clicking sound that turned the creature’s ears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sighing, Skandar turned and began to pace. Having
nothing else to occupy himself with, he counted his steps. <i>One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven…Twenty-six. Twenty-seven.
Twenty-eight.</i> He reached the edge of the trees. <i>Turn</i>. Over and over, back and forth, edge to edge until the final
hour passed. With each second that ticked by, Skandar’s legs became heavier
until he dragged them across the mud, unable to lift them any longer.
Gratefulness surged through him when the hour ended and Oliver was woken to
replace him. Skandar shuffled to his damp blanket laid out on the ground
beneath a tree. His knees finally buckled, and he collapsed, barely managing to
unbuckle his cloak with fumbling fingers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;">His final thought was of the water. Not the rain,
but the wave washing over him, engulfing him. Before panic overcame him, sleep
did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This month, very soon actually, I have the opportunity to go on a mission trip with my church. I like to ask you to please pray for safety and health for all of us going, for strength to spread the Word of God, for courage when mocked, for compassion toward the people we are witnessing to and toward each other, and finally for hearts. That our hearts will be right with God so He is able to shine through us and work through us, and also for the hearts of those we are going to witness to, that they will soften to His Will and be receptive and open. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I also have a personal request that my anxiety will not be a problem, and that God will remind me that He is in control and that His plan is perfect, I need only to trust Him. As a control freak, it is difficult for me to remember that. Thank you!</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Where God opens doors, His work will be done. We are the tools, He is the Builder. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He is the True King. I believe that. Do you?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">~Abbie~</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02984996408541371625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500558440300429411.post-13879066447998119262015-05-08T12:46:00.000-05:002015-10-22T10:01:06.607-05:00The Mark of the King: Chapter Seventeen<div style="text-align: center;">
I was able to type up and edit Chapter Seventeen a lot faster than I thought, especially with finals looming right around the corner... Speaking of that, I have a chemistry final next week. I would really appreciate the prayers- that God will help me with recalling the information I need, and that He will keep me from getting too anxious about the test. Thank you so much!!</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>Chapter Seventeen</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Tensions broke and tempers flared. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">With an irate bellow, the scarred leader shoved the other in the chest with the heels of his hands, knocking him tottering back. Chaos erupted instantaneously. The few ordinary guests on that side of the room fled, tripping over tables and upsetting chairs in the mad dash to escape and evade injury. Fists and mugs- both tin and wooden– flew in all directions; chairs were broken and their legs used as clubs. Unable to tear his eyes away from the brawl, Skandar watched. As far as he could tell, neither side drew their weapons. Yet.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Two figures darted across the room from the bar and joined the fray. Oliver bolted to his feet and began to shout. Flynn simply hung his head, sipped his ale, and muttered, “Fools. Told them to keep out of trouble.”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>With a start, Skandar recognized the two newcomers and understood instantly Oliver and Flynn’s reactions. “Oh no,” he groaned. Aidan and Eoin. He was vaguely aware of two women joining them at their table.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Oliver stepped in the direction of the brawl with the intent to draw the over-eager brothers away when Flynn grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Your presence will only make it worse, not better,” he cautioned Oliver. “I know how these things work. Best to let it play out until everyone beats the other senseless or until weapons are drawn. In the case of the latter, run.” He took a swig of his ale again, and Oliver uneasily resumed his seat. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Skandar’s feet tapped, and his hands shook. Helplessly, he watched as the brawl continued, yielding no evidence of stopping anytime soon. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Then a thug grabbed the wrist of an unfortunate maid, yanking her into the fray. Terrified, she screamed. Before Skandar knew what he was doing, he had leapt out of his chair and dashed to her aid, leaping over chairs as he crossed the room in a few strides. When he reached them, he wrenched the man’s hand off of the girl and pushed her out and away from the skirmish. But he forgot about the fight itself. Once he assured the girl’s safety, he wheeled around- right into the iron knuckles of the short leader, the brute who seized the girl. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Skandar’s nose cracked loudly. He staggered backward, tumbling into the legs of an upturned table. They collided in the small of his back, momentarily knocking the breath from his lungs. He lay on the floor, stunned. His nose smarted and his eyes welled uncontrollably with tears. Blood poured in a scarlet flood from his broken nose into his cupped hand and soaked the front of his shirt. The red-faced leader grabbed a fistful of Skandar’s shirt collar and hauled him to his feet. He drew a dagger from his belt and held it against the side of Skandar’s neck. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The fight concluded the instant the weapon appeared. Skandar swallowed, initiating a new bout of pain and salty tears to blur his vision. He remained perfectly still. The cold, sharp point of the dagger bit into the soft part of his throat. His courage, bountiful when he saved the girl, dwindled into nothing. He knew only pain and fear.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Locking eyes with the man, whose face leered merely inches from his own, Skandar summoned what little bravery he could muster. Mostly, he utilized it to keep himself from shaking and thus impaling his throat on the knife. Aidan and Eoin appeared behind the man, ready to act if necessary. Skandar reached down to his side, forgetting he left his sword in the room upstairs.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>A hand roughly gripped Skandar’s shoulder and pushed him away from the dagger and the brutish hunter, and Flynn positioned himself between them. The hunter’s face went livid, turning purple with outrage. Skandar knew the man thirsted for blood. Skandar’s blood.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Cautiously, Flynn raised his hands to the level of his shoulders, never breaking eye contact with the leader. From behind him, Skandar noticed about six daggers stuck in easily accessible pockets in the back of Flynn’s jacket. For once, he found himself grateful for Flynn.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Put it down,” Flynn ordered sternly, his eyes flicked downward, implying the dagger, which the hunter now pointed at him. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah?” the man sneered. Beady eyes scanned Flynn’s face, and Skandar though for a moment he detected a brief note of familiarity in their dark recesses. However, he was uncertain. He pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, trying to cease the blood flow.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The hunters by this time split into their separate parties; the men under the scarred leader smirked in a corner of the room, while the men under the red man nursed their bruises in another. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What happens if I don’t?” the man queried with arrogance rivaling Flynn’s.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Widening his stance, Flynn kept one hand in the air while bringing one around slowly to his back where it hovered just above a dagger. He stared down his sharp nose at his adversary. Having fallen victim to that condescending manner on more than one occasion, Skandar almost pitied the hunter. His stinging injury and pride, however, reminded him against it.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ever so, the dagger in the thug’s hand trembled. He dropped his arm to his side and slid the weapon into a sheath. Begrudgingly, he ambled back a step.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“My squire,” Flynn shot a dark look over his shoulder at Skandar, “is young, eager, and inexperienced. The ale helped not to sharpen his mind.” Chuckles arose from various persons around the room. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Be certain he will be punished severely for his foolish behavior and his insolence.”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The hunter mulled over this for a minute. “That’d be satisfactory, I s’pose, Sir.” To his men, he growled, “C’mon.”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The tavern keeper emerged from behind the safety of the bar and, waiving a broom in the air, shrieked, “Look at the mess ye made! Out, the lot of ye!”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When the last of the hostile parties exited the tavern, Flynn whipped about, striking Skandar in the face with the back of his hand, though not as firmly as usual. It seemed to Skandar, that, although it stung considerably and caused hot blood to seep from his nose again, the gesture was more for show than anything. Flynn grabbed him by the shirt and held him close.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Do not expect my intervention every time you choose to blindly save someone, however valiant your reasons,” he hissed, and then released Skandar, adding remorsefully, “You can’t save everyone.” </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Excuse me, but I do not recall asking for your assistance.”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Flynn’s uppercut caught Skandar’s chin, snapping his head back and sending him reeling again to the floor. Two pairs of hands caught him before he landed. Aidan and Eoin lifted Skandar up and supported him between them until his head stopped spinning. That time the punch had been for real. Rage coursed like fire through his veins. Skandar’s vision darkened entirely; he saw no color at all. He shook himself free from the brothers and at the same time arched his fist toward Flynn. The knight, anticipating his action, caught his hand easily and, wrenching it downward, forced Skandar to his knees.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Go clean yourself up,” Flynn snarled, spun on his heel, and limped back to the table. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Humiliation rose inside Skandar. The feeling intensified when he saw the disappointed faces of Oliver and Muriel. In Muriel he pictured Sir Reuben, and he hung his head in shame. He rescued the girl, yes, but his display afterward…</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Color returned to his vision and clarity to his mind. He staggered across the room and up the rickety stairs, ignoring the burning, curious stares that followed him.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Upstairs he soaked the rag in the cold water and pressed it against his tender face. He caught his reflection in the rippling surface of the water from the metal basin. Blood stained his upper lip and chin, the latter of which already displayed the deep purple and blue beginnings of a bruise. His nose, red, swollen, and slightly crooked, throbbed relentlessly. Gingerly, he scrubbed the rusty stains, wincing every time he accidentally bumped his nose.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He waited until his temper cooled before returning downstairs. In the time he spent upstairs, the room quieted and many of the visitors dispersed, whether to their rooms or to their homes elsewhere in the city. The fight, apparently, drove many of the tavern’s prior occupants away. Those tables and chairs not broken and smashed by the hunters had been righted by volunteers. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>His friends gathered around two conjoined tables. They leaned in, discussing something in hushed tones. Judging by their serious expressions, the topic was urgent. <i>Not urgent enough to include me.</i> Their whispers ceased when Skandar approached and slid into the vacant chair between Oliver and Catrain. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You look awful,” she remarked dryly. “That was exceedingly stupid. What were you hoping to accomplish, mouthing off at Flynn like that? He risked his own life for you.”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I do not think it was that. He needs me alive,” Skandar stated harshly. “Seems to me you should be scolding Aidan and Eoin. Not me.”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I already did,” she smirked, “They, like you, refused to listen.”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I am not refusing to listen!” he hissed.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She quirked an eyebrow at him critically. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Mayhap a little,” he admitted. To the rest of his companions, he grunted, “Go on. I know you spoke of me. Why else would you stop?”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>At first, no one uttered a word. Eoin broke the silence first, his voice trembling with hesitation. “Your eyes… when you went after Flynn…” he trailed off.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What about my eyes?”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Skandar, they turned black.”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Skandar’s heart skipped a beat. He fumbled for words, for some excuse. “I know.”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You know?”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Skandar’s heart raced. “Have you gotten a decent view of me? My face is black and blue; the area around my eyes is especially dark. They’re so swollen I can barely see.” The half-truth rolled off his tongue easily. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That is not what they meant,” Oliver said.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>That, I know. What they meant, I do not.</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><i> </i></span>Aidan explained, “Just after Flynn knocked you down, the silver part of your eyes changed, as if someone dropped ink into them. They clouded; one minute they were silver, and the next…”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“They became darker and darker until they turned black,” Eoin concluded with a glance at his brother, seeking his agreement.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The same time my vision grayed. </i>Inside Skandar, turmoil raged, questions crashed in a tidal wave of confusion and fear. He hoped on the outside, he appeared as calm and composed as possible and focused on controlling his breathing. <i>What is happening to me? Did Sir Reuben know? Did my mother know? Did she experience this?</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Did anything else happen?” Skandar asked, his voice wavering.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Seated on the other side of Catrain, Eoin raised a tentative hand off the table, signaling his desire to speak, although normally he simply voiced his open opinion. “Your eyes lightened back to silver as Flynn walked away.”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Again, the same time my vision cleared.</i> The two events connected in some way, but Skandar failed to see the significance. Delving deeper into his mind, he attempted to discern some sense of it. At the same instant, everyone else at the table save Flynn and Catrain began speaking over each other. As they prattled on, Skandar picked out what he thought were pieces of valid information, but their voices jumbled together in a mass of unintelligible babble. Catrain stared into the flame of the candle alight on the top of the table. In the candlelight, her face, although serene, held a level of fierceness unknown to Skandar before now. Her mind, wandering far beyond the flickering fire, heavily contemplated something, weighing pieces of the puzzle and locating their appropriate place.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Cat, you look as though you are about to slay someone?” Muriel pointed out, and the conversation died. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I was thinking,” was all the princess offered, and returned to her introspective state. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Everyone at the table lost the urge to converse further. Grateful for the silence, Skandar leaned against the back of the wobbly chair. <i>Every night I dream about the mist. Since then, my vision grays, and I can only assume my eyes darken with my vision.</i> Resting his head in his hands, he gently massaged his temples with his fingertips.<i> There will be plenty of time to ponder this when I am not so tired. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>A slender, pale hand placed a mug of warm cider on the table directly in front of Skandar. He lifted his head.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I did not request-”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I know you didn’t.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He blinked, recognizing the girl he pulled from the brawl. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Thank you,” she said shyly. “I am sorry you were hurt because of me.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Skandar sipped the spiced drink and smiled at the girl. “Think nothing of it.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Called away by some other customer, the girl left. When Skandar turned around and faced his companions, he felt the urge to explain himself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“After my mother died,” he began hastily, “the neighboring family took me in. They already had three daughters of their own, but they treated me like a son. Their daughters were like sisters to me. The elder girls worked in an inn in Tiem, smaller than this or those in the Capitol, but no less dangerous. The sheriff’s men hardly frequented it for disturbers of the peace,” he recalled.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Flynn sat up and leaned closer to hear, suddenly interested.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Skandar continued, “At any rate, when I saw that girl, I could not help but think of one of them. I do apologize if my actions aroused suspicion or unwanted attention, but I do not regret my actions,” he firmly concluded.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Nor should you. I would have- should have –done the same,” Oliver agreed, casting a disdainful glance at Flynn. No doubt Flynn’s interference left a bitter mark in Oliver’s mind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Aidan and I were there,” Eoin said. “If anyone is to receive blame for what has happened this night, it should be us.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Aye,” his brother echoed. Their Corrthainian accents unnerved Skandar. They sounded odd and foreign to his ears, so accustomed was he to the Talahm Glas lilts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Why <i>were</i> you there?” Catrain inquired, muttering slightly under her breath. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Both boys shrugged. “It’s in our blood.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Save it for the battlefield,” Flynn remarked. “Do not waste energy on a fool’s fight when you could be fighting for your lives tomorrow.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">His words penetrated Skandar to the bone, chilling him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Do you believe there will be a battle?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Undoubtedly.”</span></div>
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I do believe that is all! If you have any questions or want to give your input, as always feel free to do so (just keep it clean, not that I'm worried).</div>
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I have nothing more to say, other than I wish you a blessed weekend!!!</div>
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~Abigail</div>
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