Sharilla sat unmoving by the King’s
bedside, hands and eyes locked with his. His spirit surged through her body and
back into his own with a jolt that left them both breathless. She knocked over
the stool and stumbled to her feet, still trying to accept what they had seen.
“Fenestra!” the King said in a
stronger voice than she had heard in months. She looked up, and the fierce
light of his grin gave her unspoken command. She bowed low and turned with fast
steps to the door. Flooded with a wild, fierce energy of her own, she didn’t
bother to touch the stone, simply moved through it in the span of a heartbeat.
The young guard outside the King’s
chamber stumbled back in shock. The older widened his eyes but held his place.
She nodded to him, then whirled on the younger. “Come with me, Spear.”
Both guards hissed breath. The
young guard flushed scarlet. “Ma’am?” he questioned, looking behind her to his
companion.
She grabbed his shoulder and
looked him straight in the eye. “You follow me now. You are the King’s Spear.
We leave at once to destroy those who attack the King from hiding. But they no
longer hide from me.”
He quailed at her tone, but stood
straight and nodded his acceptance, matching her long strides through the
corridors. “What do we need? How many go with us? Where are we going?”
“We go alone. We must keep
surprise on our side.” Sharilla stopped suddenly and he skipped a step turning
to face her. “Spear, you can tell no one. There is a traitor in the King’s
Hold. Collect all the arms you can use and meet me at the stable.”
He paled when she said it, but
she saw his thoughtful look and knew the King had chosen wisely. If only he
proved as good with his weapons, but she and the King would help him there. As
the King’s Spear, he would not fight alone.
He asked, “But what do I tell my
Commander?”
Sharilla shook her head. She
could not overlook even the most trivial detail. She slid a ring from her
finger and grabbed his hand, sliding it tightly onto his smallest finger. He
stared at it in wonder. “You must say nothing. Simply show that, and whatever
you request will be done.”
He bowed and turned on his heel, racing toward the guards’ quarters. Sharilla continued to her own rooms. She had little time to change into travelling clothes and pack her own weapons of choice. They would be far different from the guard’s, and just as deadly.
She didn’t bother with her own
locked door, but flashed through it as she had the King’s. She felt his chuckle
in the back of her head. Don’t waste your
energy and enthusiasm before you even leave the Hold, Fenestra, the King
chided. She gave a tight smile and firmly pushed him out of her mind. He didn’t
need to see everything she did.
TBC (perhaps)
TBC (perhaps)
Music:
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Rachel Portman, Chocolat
soundtrack
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Time writing:
|
30 minutes
|
May word
count:
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5,895
|
Prompt: The King’s Spear
ReplyDeleteMaka gripped his spear and peered over the boulder. Three men strode past, their red armbands marking them from the other team and their slightly exotic look--taller and more wiry, skin a few shades lighter, skirts cut just a little more flared--marking them as from the far islands. Maka flexed his bicep until it pressed against the bind of his yellow armband. He felt a rush of pride, to finally be competing at spear-throwing with the men, and in this, the largest and last of contests, bringing together everyone before the stormy season kept all holed up on their own islands.
Even if his own team had discounted him as too young, leaving him alone to his own devices. He would show them. He was ready to compete with real men. But to do that, he had to throw his spear, at least once.
More footsteps, running this time--his own team. They were past before he could even think of trying to join them. Quickly following were four more men sporting red armbands. The other team moved in packs, making it hard for a lone contestant to get a shot.
Perhaps he should give up, admit that he had pressed too hard and too early for this privilege. He fingered his armband. A faint scuff cued him to look up. A single red-armbanded man crept along the path, almost silent. His chance!
Maka stood, cocked his spear, and let fly. Only after the spear had left his hand did his mind take in the feathers decorating the waistband of man's skirt. The man turned, but the wrong way, peering down the hillside at the sounds of an altercation--likely the four men catching up with Maka's teammates. Maka lept over the boulder, heart in his throat, reaching an arm out uselessly toward his spear as it bore down on the King's back.
Time writing: 35 minutes
I like how yours is developing!
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