Young Writers Society

Wordcount:1795+

With a will of iron, I clenched back the retort on the tip of my tongue. “Why not now?”

“Why? Am I being asked things nicely now?” He continued laughing. Suddenly, his face contorted into a swirling mask of rage and pain as he crescendoed his words. “Why not skin me alive? Be done with it? Today. Now. End it all.”

As abrupt as his face had turned to fury, it softened into placidity. His eyes, however, retained the fiery light which had been sparked moments before.

"Never, old man! Hear the sound of hammers, up far away? That's the pit building for you. I bet we both want to see a unicorn killing something."

"Ha!" He spat out the words. "You think I like what you like. I know a thing or two about what we both like too!" He chuckled. "A bet. Winner keeps the sword." A smile broke out on his face.

"I'm not betting with fishbrains!"

"I was not aware of your mental condition. I'm truly, truly sorry." He spoke this in a brilliant mockery of sincerity.

"I was not speaking of myself!" So saying, I brought my knee up fast between his legs. "Nescient fool. To think I would ever trade something so priceless!!"

Dragging the man back into the cage, I screamed shut the bars and went back up. The whistle of hammers, just an echo a moment ago, now resounded to the heavy crack of their masters' swings. I gritted my teeth. Sleep was misting over my eyes. Rapid blinking did not seem to help. I yawned. Beer. I need beer.

Stumbling from the castle, I emerged into a rutted gravel path, which felt like spong cake under my suddenly wearied feet. Wobbles came and went.

The town of Rivercross sat on the Berlisia side of the Rune. Conflicting interests of the townsfolk had placed an uneasy truce over this petite place. It was as though trade with Verlisia was more valuable than the Emperor's punishment. Not that many cared to have their guts pouring on the floor. The hammering continued.

I ignored the swarm of carpenters working noisily to construct the pit. Too large. Waste of the Emperor's resources. I noted, making a point to berate Raymond.

The town was a fortress surrounded by thick miles of forest on three sides. It forced aggressors to take the bridge or a very narrow and rutted path, the very one I rode in on. It also kept the community from easy mingling with the rest of Balasi. Between muck filled streets and thieving two-footed vermin, no resident escaped unscathed in this ruffian hole.

Mansions rose around the castle like vultures to carrion. They stood in all te ruinous glory of times gone long past. The mist in my eyes clouded them from view as I shuffled past. My feet, perhaps by the frequency of my visits, took me along to the only tavern I cared to frequent here.

It was along the river, a small grime filled place swelled with moving grime. I shouldered the door and dragged myself to a bench backed against the far wall. Here I commanded a view of the entire premise. A drowsiness seized me. I called for ale and lolled my head against the wooden planks. Butterflies raged in my belly. I shivered.

"Where's my ale?" I hollered, "Bring a trencher and something to eat, too!"

"Just a moment, lady." The old innkeeper, a thin and pale woman, croaked. "We are getting it for you. Just a moment." She hobbled back into a hole of a kitchen.

I peeled open my left eye. There were three other benches backed up to the walls, on the three other sides of this square room. I sighed wearily as I took in the view. Six scruffy men with beards and tatoos of panther visages. No, not panthers. Those were prakfuras. The glowing red eye gave them away. Not to mention the twin sabers pouting from their mouths.

I gritted my teeth. At least they were all sitting on my right side. The tallest stood at some six feet, his skin a light tan. A jovial smile decorated his features as he regaled some tale with enthusiastic gesticulating. His laughter shook the inn.

The other five men wore different shades of skin. Fom the very dark, to the very light. Their hair shone with color, some green, some black, some yellow, but all with a streak of red racing out from above the right eye. News travels too fast. I mourned in desperation.

I pulled my eye away from them. How hadn't I noticed them before? I cursed my sloppiness. The bench on my left was no better. Two archers sat, their bows carefully aligned in front of their mugs. No red streaks of hair, no prakfuras tatoos, but I knew immediately they were Ryandrol's women. If you could call them that. They stared at me. I stared back.

A cranky old harpist plied his strings on the bench nearest the door. He cried in a cracked voice his love ballad. I tune him out.

Three benches and tables stood in the middle of the room, all filled to raucous with townsfolk, enjoying a late meal.

A small lad, his erect hair barely reaching the tabletop, came carrying my order in petite copper hands. I ruffled his hair, and slipped two brass coins to him. They disappeared. I realized, disconcerted, that he looked like me, a very puny me. How have I not noticed him before? I shook my head.

The queasiness in my stomach doubled. The ale swirled in my mouth like molten metal. I swallowed the brew.

Tearing off a chunk of bread, I dipped out the steaming broth. Floating chunks of meat and vegetables littered the trencher. The stew was sweet.

My head cleared slightly. We like the meat! I turned around to face the wall, startled. Silence descended on the inn. I searched around for the owner of the voice, but could not pin him down. The burly storyteller hunkered up from his seat. I dropped my left hand to unlatch the sword.

All eyes were on me. I drew in a deep breath. "Everyone!" I raised my mug with the right hand. "To the Emperor! May he live forever." Benches creaked. I galloped the rest of the ale into me. It stank.

The queasiness in my stomach grew yet more. I put it down to drunken hunger. "Well then, I thought we had more loyal folk out here on the border." I swiveled the cup in an arch. "Seems like we have only a load of traitors."

"I'd say that." Storyteller smiled, a jagged line of teeth showing.

"Right then. All of you, back to." Here I paused, unsure of how to proceed. "Whatever it was you were doing." I looked around with an expectant face. The archers stood.

"Hey! hey!" I said in a calming voice, "easy there."

"Do we look like horses to you? Or unicorns?" The girls chuckled. They strung arrow to bow.

"Ah, just wait. No. No. Don't make me kill you." I commanded.

"Try to, dear. We won't shoot you yet." They cackled.

With my left hand, I pulled the sword. It felt heavy and leaden in my grip. I placed my other hand on the hilt. "Come on!" My voice taunted. I felt like I was holding a full suit of armor in my hands.

"Strike us!" Storyteller bellowed. "Strike us now!"

A small tendril of blue light cackled from the hilt to curl on my arm. I looked down in alarm. The tip of the blade followed to poke the mud floor. My hands seemed glued to the hilt. I couldn't let go. Some meat can't be eaten. That voice again.

A vicious throbbing pounded my ears. My vision narrowed. I tried to speak, but no words came out. The floor rushed up to greet me. Booted legs tramped towards my eyes. A face lowered itself into view. It was pale. Deadly pale. His mouth moved, but I heard nothing. I could feel nothing. It was as though I had been liberated from my body and yet still was stuck in its embrace.

Hands which I recognized as my own were lifted, one still grasping a hilt. I felt no emotion. No terror, no anger. Nothing. I tried to worry myself, to no avail.

They were bound tightly together. My captors, despite an apparent haste, took care not to touch the sword. They spoke to it with soothing motions, as though it were an agitated pet.

I saw the ground slip from under me. In the embrace of three scruffy ruffians, I was carried out into the darkness. I could not count time. That sense had deserted me as well. The tramping continued.

My captors broke their march in a small clearing, just large enough for them to sit down. I was unceremoniously dumped on the very edge, among the trees. I could see them laughing among themselves as they started a fire. They seemed to believe that no danger could befall them as they chanted and sang themselves to sleep.

A sleep of stupor came to me. I did not wake until I was placed down again, my senses suddenly returned to me. I was bound to a tree, my hands tied round it. My feet barely touched the floor.

The sound of song and mirth came to my ears. Light streamed in beautiful petals down between the leaves. Birds chirped an unfamiliar song. As far as the eye could see, trunks sprouted from the ground. I craned my neck upwards, but could not see through the leaves. The crunch of boots on leaves came to my ears. I braced myself with a deep breath.

A small wiry man stepped into view. His hair had the red streak I saw before. Dressed in gaudy stripes of orange and yellow, his clothes seemed untouched by wear. He halted in front of me. "So, a little girl. Now a," he paused, chuckling. "Not so little girl."

"What is the meaning of this? I am a captain of his Imperial Calvary. Do not think I will not be searched for."

"Ah, you have your father's temper, if not his wit." He stroked my chin with a finger.

"What do you know of my father?" I asked, bewildered.

"Not a little. In fact, I've known him since we were both children, younger by far than yourself." His eyes focused on something distant, and I knew he was remembering days long gone.

"The man you know isn't my father."

"Oh?" He raised his eyebrow. "I'm not so sure, my dear. You both have tortured your own fathers."

I interrupted him. "I have no father!"

"Yes you do." He paused. "Yes you do, Aley Trant.

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Rushed dont expect anything brilliant