Kingdom of the Faeries--Chapter One

         The wind from Aurora’s blade whistled in the empty training yard as it swung left and right at imaginary foes. At one point, she ducked an invisible blow and thrust her sword for the killing stroke, then whirled around to ward off another attack. Instead of piercing air, however, her blade clashed against another. Her eyes widened in surprise, coming face to face with Percy, the new Captain of the Elite Guard. Having caught her unawares, his lips lifted in a slight smirk.

          “Still play-pretending, I see,” he said, retrieving his blade.

         She blinked back surprise and lowered her own, taking a step back to collect her bearings. The glare of the sun, she noticed, reflected off the gold pendant holding his crimson cape together. Looking at it more closely, though, it bore the crest of a phoenix. An insignia of his new rank.

         She remarked, “Your new rank fits you well, Captain.”

         “As does this sword.” He extended out his blade, hilt first, for her to take. She handled it admiringly. The gold polished hilt and crossguard reminded her of leafy coils woven out of the blade. And set within the pommel beamed a polished blue stone in the morning light.

         She slid one finger down the blade’s spine, her eyes carefully following its course, and twirled it several times for good measure. Percy took a fearful step back, the wind from the sword becoming too close for comfort, and watched her perform an intricate back hand throw with it, switching arms and presenting the hilt toward him.

         "This is a fine blade," came her final observation. Percy, beaming, slapped it back into its sheath at his side.

         "It was made by the dwarvs," he said. "No faerie could hope to wield a finer blade."

         Aurora eyed him critically and began to circle around him. "I said it was a fine blade, but I wonder how good its master is at using it?"

         Much to her surprise, he didn’t rise to the bait. “I’ve no time for sword games, Aurora,” he said. “I’ve got responsibilities now that your father—I mean, the king—has entrusted to me.”

         She brought the circle to a close. “So am I to understand that the new Captain of the Elite Guard is…a coward?”

         The slither of his blade answered her.

         Widening the gap between them, she planted her feet firmly apart and awaited Percy with raised sword. He concentrated his green eyes on hers and moved inward. They circled each other, eyes locked, the tips of their blades softly skimming one another in a deadly dance. This was a game they were all too familiar with.

         She narrowed her gaze, challenging him to make the first move. While scrutinizing his every movement, she allowed her sword arm to relax. Her blood rushed through her hands, and she could feel and hear her pulse beating with each surge of adrenaline. The tip of her blade twitched with anticipation.

         Without taking his eyes from hers, he said, “No magic—and the first one to drop their weapon loses.”

         She raised her blade. “And no mercy.”

         She rushed forward with the speed and ferocity of a charging boar, and swung her blade in a deadly arc. Their swords met at the center with an ear-splitting ring that reverberated off the walls in the training yard and left a stinging sensation in her hand.

         Once their blades untangled, Percy used his strength to move forward and shove her to the ground. Before he could pin her down, as he’d planned to do, she swung her left foot out. Percy’s feet folded beneath him and he fell on top of her. There was a moment they locked eyes, the

         She feigned to the side as his sword hummed past her. The sudden movement threw him off, leaving him staggering to find his balance. She grinned to herself and closed in to finish the last stroke, but he succeeded in blocking it. The unprecedented repel caught her unawares, the impact jarring her wrist. She drew back with a hiss, bending down and holding her wounded arm to her.

         Percy’s features immediately softened, and he reached a comforting hand toward her. Finding an opening in his defenses, she sprung to life and thrust her sword with a quick jab to his exposed front. The blow would have succeeded in clipping his breast plate, if he had not raised his blade in time to ward it off. He staggered backwards from the sudden impact but quickly collected his bearings, and waggled an admonishing finger at her. Flashing him a rogue smile at his carelessness, she resumed a defensive position. Percy shook his head in return and repositioned himself a sword’s length away.

         “Didn’t they teach you in training that your enemies never play fair?” She mocked as they began to circle each other once more.

         “Didn’t you know that pointless chatter is a waste of energy?” He countered, out of breath.

         His short blonde hair stuck to his his brow, sheened with sweat. But she could see determination reflect within his eyes. Collecting her breath, Aurora twirled her blade for show then crouched. Throughout Silverbroke—the stronghold of the faeries—her skills with a blade were well renowned.

         And unmatched.

         Percy relished every chance he could to test his luck against her. But his luck, it seemed, along with his strength, were running out.

         His sword arm shook from exertion as he leveled his blade toward her. She fixed her eyes on her prey. She could smell victory. His eyes followed her every move, yet he kept a respectable distance from her blade. She mistook the gleam twinkling in his gaze, though.

         Allowing him only a brief respite, she lunged out at him again. He confronted her forthright attack as if he’d been expecting it, resulting in their blades clashing together in a crisscross of steel. Further blows and parries were exchanged in a heated battle for dominance. As their battle unfolded, their movements became more fervent. Their swords clanged together in a vicious onslaught, rebounding and sparking off their armor. Percy’s unrelenting blows rained upon her without an end. He’d deceived her into thinking he had been fatigued. His newfound strength put her on the defensive.

         Without intending to, he dealt her a clean blow. The edge of his blade nicked the side of her face, leaving a thin red line. He gave a bark of surprise, but his short-lived triumph disappeared and a frown creased his lips. He paused in the stroke that would secure his victory.

         Something warm and wet trickled down her cheek. When she ran her fingers over the wound, blood appeared on the tips of her fingers. She cocked her head in approval then rushed ahead.

         Their swords interlocked once again, but this time there was a weakening in his stance. She felt his blade falter against hers and using the error against him, she wound her sword around his and jerked back. The sudden movement disarmed him before he could register what had happened.

         With the point of her sword trained below his neck, he said, between breaths, “Your father… taught you well.” Aurora returned her blade back into its sheath, an innocent smile playing on her lips. “Don’t tell anyone about this,” he said, retrieving his sword from the ground. “I don’t think it would look good on me for the men to know I was bested by a woman—and by the princess at that! Not after I just got promoted.”

         “Ahem.”

         They looked up in surprise, finding an audience. From the visible carrot-colored beard beneath the helmet, Aurora immediately recognized Pierce, the Warden of the Elite Guard, and Percy’s second in command. Despite his collected stature, she could see the suppressed amusement on his face.

         “What are you gawking at?” Percy snapped.

         Pierce jumped at Percy’s brusque tone and immediately wiped the grin off his face. “N-nothing, Captain! I didn’t see anything.” The Warden turned and left in a hurry, as if he had something more important to do. Percy glared daggers in his direction.

         Aurora laughed, and Percy gazed at her with a look that said he didn’t find anything funny. “You’re a good soldier, Percy,” she told him, clapping him on the shoulder. “Better yet, you’ll make a good captain.”

         “You think?” he asked in a tone of uncertainty, then cleared his throat, “I mean, of course I will.”

         Without warning, he brushed a lock of her golden hair back from her face and cupped the side of her cheek. She caught her breath from the unprecedented move, and felt her stomach tumble. A soft blue light illuminated against her skin proceeded by a tingling numbness. But when he drew his hand away, the warmth vanished. She touched her cheek. The cut was gone.

         “Thank you,” she managed to say, trying to suppress the rising temperature flooding through her body.

         A small blush tinted his pointed ears. “It’s the least I can do,” he said, and then added suddenly, “By the way, I heard Mitas is looking for you.” He grinned from ear to ear. "Wouldn't want to keep her royal highness from her studies. Back to the tower with you, milady."

         She pinched his ear, making him wince. "Tease me all you want to, but I actually enjoy my lessons."

         "I'm surprised Mitas hasn't bored you to death yet," he said with a snort.

         "He's not just an old, kooky hermit everyone believes he is," she defended. "He’s the eldest amongst our people, and I believe in his wisdom…however far-fetched it might sound.”

         Percy didn’t grace her with a reply, instead shrugging his shoulders with a deep sigh.

         “If you see him, let him know I'll be with him shortly," she added stiffly, putting an end to the conversation.

         “Yes, princess.” He crossed his arms, giving her one of his self-satisfied smirks.

         She rolled her eyes. “Percy, don’t start with me. I have a name. Use it.”

         “I'll try, princess.”

         Knowing that nothing infuriated her more than being addressed by her proper title, she set her jaw and felt the rising heat in her cheeks. Before she could retort, however, he bowed swiftly to her and left her standing in the training yard. As he went, his cape billowed out behind him trying to catch up with his long strides.

         She crossed her arms in his direction and blew out a frustrated sigh. But as always, she did not stay mad at him for long. Something else distracted her thoughts.

         A wind had risen, blowing her hair into her eyes and obscuring her view of him. A low rumble off in the distance, with a deep sounding echo that caught her unawares disturbed the quiet afternoon. She glanced northward.

         Her keen eyesight narrowed her search to a migration of dark clouds, which basked the forbidden kingdom of Rimscour in shadow. The hair on the nape of her neck rose, evoking a shiver from her. Many times, she was told never to venture there. That it was beyond their border and control. But strangely enough, the kingdom of Rimscour was wilting under a mysterious manifestation.

         Over the past few hundred years, strange rumors had begun to spread and due to them troops had been sent to excavate the area. They were never seen again. Whole armies have disappeared without explanation. Some said it was a plague brought forth from somewhere overseas. Others believed Rimscour to be haunted, and then there were those who believed it was a curse doomed upon the land. As a result, the northward kingdom had been restricted to travellers and guarded night and day.

         Being practical, she knew this: darkness had blanketed its lands in shadow. But why and how? She did not know. Now, it seemed that those shadows were creeping closer to the rim of Edenhart's borders. Goosebumps covered her flesh at thought. For some odd reason, the brewing storm put her on edge. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something didn't feel right.

         With an audible sigh, she cleared her mind of the troublesome thoughts and started from the training yard, when a braying horn cut her short in her steps. She smiled with uncontained joy and left the training yard in a hurry, her chainmail rattling as she ran. Reaching her destination, she paused to gaze over the terrace overlooking the high-walled garden courtyard.
Another horn blast echoed down the path followed by a troupe of faeries on horseback. A line of knights formed an honor guard on both sides of the causeway, swords lifted high in salute. Among the Elite Guard stood Percy at their head. Catching her gaze, he winked up at her knowingly.

         At the troupes’ lead rode the King of the Faeries, clad in the ornamental armor of the Elite Guard. The golden-feathered plates shimmered in the sun, and reflected off the lustrous, golden crown above his long silky auburn hair. Behind him flew the red and gold banners of the king, a gold phoenix embroidered on them. Its wings were spread in flight, with the head bowed amongst its breast.

         She caught her father’s gaze and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. But the king’s eyes quickly averted when a guard strode forth from the ranks and took the reins of his white mare, Sassafras. He slipped free of the saddle, landing with graceful poise. She counted the soldiers with him. Only a few saddles lay bare. By his hopeful smile, it was clear the threat of Mountain Thraws had been dealt with.

         She yearned to greet him. It had been weeks since she had last seen him, but she knew he had other important matters to deal with before they would have time to talk. She sighed, her smile slowly fading as the sinking feeling in her stomach settled.

         She valued her father more than anything. He was both an honored hero and a great swordsman. Many looked to him for guidance to lead their people into a prosperous age. And being well respected by all the other races, he commanded respect from their leaders and kept the peace between them. A trait she greatly admired about him. But ever since she was young, he was hardly there in her life. His attentions were always drawn in politics or war, and she had been given care to her handmaidens and her tutor, Mitas the Scroll Keeper, who was like a wise grandfather in her aspect. To her it seemed her father valued the kingdom above his own daughter.

         Her frown deepened as she watched him walk away with his entourage into the throne room. She drew back from the balcony and slipped away quietly.

         She returned to the training yard and took up a bow from one of the training racks. Lining herself up with her first target, she notched an arrow to the bow and held it steady for a moment, letting the tension in her arms build before finally releasing it. Arrow after arrow she let loose, releasing the anger she felt within at the same time.

         She retrieved the arrows and took up her stance once more. Within a second’s calculation, she released the string and let the arrow slip through her fingers. A soft thud greeted her ears as the arrow lodged itself into the center. She smiled triumphantly, but jumped when something whirred past her head.

         Blinking in surprise, she found her arrow split down the middle by another and whirled around to find her father standing behind her. He replaced the bow he held on the rack next to him and closed the gap between them.

         "I take it the battle went well?" she asked, breaking the awkward tension that had fallen between them.

         "The Mountain Thraws are defeated," he answered. Even though he carried himself with dignity, she had come to rely on the subtle differences in his voice to tell him apart. He was weary from battle. She could hear it in his tone and see it in his eyes; they were heavy with fatigue. She could tell just by looking at him that he had not slept much. "We left none alive,” he said. “But we lost a few good men."

         She nodded, wordlessly.

         "I came to see you before I left," he said.

         She blinked in shock. "But you just got back!” she exclaimed. “Why so soon?"

         He sighed. It was clear he had expected her sudden reaction. "There's trouble near the Border Mountains."

         By the way he frowned, it was cause to worry. “What kind of trouble?” she asked.

         “There have been goblins sighted near our borders,” he answered. “They’ve somehow snuck past our defenses.”

         "You have soldiers who can fight in your stead," she protested, trying to suppress the rising anger in her voice. Taking a step forward, she pleaded, "Please...stay."

         Her father drew himself up, his expression devoid of emotion. For once, his steel blue eyes held hers without uncertainty, and there was a hardness to their core that stunned her into silence. "Aurora, my duty is to the kingdom. I swore an oath to protect my people, and defend them. One day you will understand."

         Biting her lips shut, she suppressed the emotions boiling inside her. How much she wanted to tell him that he’s never been there for her—that he doesn’t show any love or adoration toward her. Then something within his gaze changed, and he drew closer to her, the hardness within his eyes softening. Unfamiliar with this sudden movement did she come to realize that the twinkle in his eyes reflected concern and compassion.

         As if reading her thoughts, he said, "I know I haven’t been much of a father to you since your mother passed away, but I do all of this for you. I strive every day to make the kingdom a safer place for you. When I die—"

         "Don't say that," she cut him short.

         He raised a hand for silence. Not wanting to anger him further, she stilled her tongue.

         "If it comes to pass that I die, you will have to rule in my stead, Aurora." He reached up and stroked her cheek softly. She froze at the sudden contact, unable to grasp why her father was telling her this. "Don't think because I put the kingdom first that I don't love my own daughter. I promised your mother I would keep you safe,…and I will fulfill that promise. Even if it kills me."

         He closed the gap between them, pressing their foreheads together in a lingering embrace. “Hliallu,” he whispered in her ear.

         She started, shocked by his proclamation of his love for her. The word sounded almost foreign to her ears coming from him.

         He withdrew and the rims of his eyes were damp. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left without a backwards glance. She followed him, wishing that he would stay and not go to battle. Something felt wrong. But she was powerless to stop him. A troop of guards assembled on horseback were waiting for him in the courtyard.

         As Homleck mounted Sassafras, Percy came and stood beside her. He must have sensed her discomfort, for he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She fought to remain silent, wanting more than ever to stop her father. Homleck turned in his saddle to face them. The tears that had rimmed his eyes before were gone, as if they had never been there.
"Captain, keep my daughter safe," he said, the authority in his voice ringing clear. Aurora caught the undertone in his voice that hinted that it was more of a command rather than a request.

         "She'll be in good hands, your majesty," Percy replied with a slight bow. "Alon de amara.” May your sword guard you.
Forgetting herself, she rushed forward and seized her father's reins. "Don’t go!"

         Homleck glared down at her solemnly. Stirring Sassafras around, he set off down the path toward the gateway with a handful of troops. She didn't wait to watch them leave. Once the flags were out of sight she rushed back into the castle, ignoring Percy's shouts echoing behind her.

         She ran headlong through the main entrance. Soldiers and retainers bowed after her retreating form, which she barely acknowledged as she strode up the stairway to the second floor. At the top, she darted through a side passage and climbed the spiraling staircase of a tower.

         With her chainmail ringing in her ears, she rushed up the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her. She dashed through the door at the top and came to an abrupt halt over the balcony. She gazed beyond the castle walls, watching her father and his guards until the glint of their armor could no longer be sighted. She remained there for the longest time crying, and gave a silent prayer to their maker Eladar that he would return.





         The passing few days were unbearable. Aurora spent most of her time in the tower, waiting for her father's return. It had been a week since his departure with not a word, heightening her fears that something bad had happened to them. The Border Mountains were only a day’s ride away. They should have returned by now, or at least heard some news of them. It appeared, though, that she was the only one worried. Mitas would come to comfort her often. “That man can kill a goblin with his eyes closed,” he reassured her once with a light-hearted chuckle. But even his assurance could not soothe her worries. The villagers as well didn’t seem unnerved from his prolonged absence or see any cause to dote upon their king. He always returned. But despite that fact, Aurora couldn't help but feel something was terribly wrong. But what?

         One quiet afternoon found her scanning the road northwards from the tower window. She had been there an hour at least, maybe longer. She couldn't remember anymore. The track of time had long been accounted for. Her mind buzzed with horrible thoughts and pressing questions as she paced back and forth. They should have returned by now. Where are they? What if they were attacked? Should I alert the guard?

         In her cloud of worries, she nearly missed the glint of armor and dust on the road, heading in their direction. The sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach vanished, and she rushed down from the tower. A fanfare signaled the king's arrival, and those in the courtyard gathered to greet their king. But it was not their king who greeted them.

         Aurora emerged through the palace doors and froze at the top of the steps. One of her father’s guards rode up, but he was slumped over in his saddle at an odd angle with an arrow protruding out of his shoulder. The loss of blood was significant. She rushed forward before the guard fell out of his saddle from exhaustion. Percy was beside her, helping her carry the wounded soldier from his horse to the ground.

         "Get a healer!" Percy ordered to one of his men. The soldier's face was barely recognizable from the cuts and blood that marred his face. "Who did this?" Percy asked him, tilting the guard’s head up.

         The soldier gazed up at them through half-lidded eyes, his mouth unable to form words. Not waiting for the healer, Aurora pressed her hands against the wound. Almost instantly there was a wave of warmth that rushed through her hands. In answer, her palm glowed and a red light spewed over the wound. The soldier's eyes widened as his body tensed in response to her magic.

         Percy cupped the soldier's face so that he was looking at him. "What happened? Where is the king?"
The soldier's lip trembled as he struggled with his words. Aurora could feel his life ebbing away despite her attempts to heal him. In a desperate rush to save him, she concentrated more of her energy into the wound. The process was grueling, and she fought the urge to pass out from exerting her magic. She could feel her hands shaking against the heavy pressure bearing down upon her.

         "Tell me, who did this to you?" Percy asked again, more fervently.

         In a failing voice, the guard said, "It was...an ambush..."

         "Is the king alive?" Percy asked, shaking him conscious.

         The soldier opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Aurora kept her hands pressed against the wound, but she had no more strength nor the willpower to continue. A hand squeezed hers. She looked up at Percy.

         “He’s gone,” he told her.

         Indeed, when she looked, the guard’s eyes were closed, and she could no longer feel his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Percy crossed the guard’s arms over his chest as was customary when one of their own fell in battle. To her eyes, he looked like he was in a peaceful sleep. But then the dead faerie’s skin began to deteriorate, and his body turned to dust before them, returning to the earth. Aurora had never seen death firsthand and watched in quiet reverence as the body dissipated before her eyes. It was quick, and nothing remained of the body afterwards besides his armor.

         "There wasn't enough time," she choked out. “The wound was too deep. I-I tried…”

         Percy laid a firm grip on her shoulder. He didn’t cry, nor did his voice break when he spoke. She knew, though, that being a soldier he had fought in battles before and used to witnessing such horrors. He was all too familiar with death unlike herself. But she knew Percy well enough to see the unspoken sadness in his eyes.

         “You did what you could,” he assured her. “It’s not your fault.”

         She noticed the blood on her hands and swallowed, trying to suppress the bile building up at the back of her throat.
The healer, Sable, finally appeared, looking as though he’d been woke up, and out of breath. When he saw the empty armor, he sighed dejectedly, having arrived too late.

         Percy rose to his feet and barked out orders. "Get my horse."

         Aurora seized him by the arm. "I want to come."

         Percy faced her. "No. It's too dangerous."

         "Percy—"

         "I promised your father that no harm would come to you," he said with force. The hard edge to his tone stunned her into silence. As if to apologize for raising his voice, he inched toward her and took her limp hands in his. "I will return,” he promised with a quick smile. As always, his smile never failed to reassure her. So she let him go. He turned to Pierce who stood nearby looking worried.

         “Double the guard until my return,” Percy ordered him in a hushed tone. “Keep everyone safe.”
Percy mounted his horse and with a quick goodbye, he galloped away with a handful of warriors. In the downpour that followed, Aurora watched them depart. She let the rain wash away the blood that still stained her hands and watched it run through her fingers. Her hair and dress were matted from the rain, but she no longer cared. Fearing for her father, fresh tears surfaced only to be washed away by the rain.

         When she moved, something cracked beneath her feet. She lifted her foot and there was the broken shaft of an arrow. It must have splintered off the dead soldier, she thought. But there was something different about this arrow.
Crouching, she picked both pieces up for a closer look and ran a tentative finger over the worn black feathers. She thought back. Her father had said that goblins had invaded their borders. But goblin arrows were made from rough, hewn bone, usually tipped with red feathers. This arrow was barbed to the shaft and black as ebony. With this realization, only one conclusion came to mind: this was no goblin raid.

         "Come inside, milady.” Her thoughts were distracted when Sable wrapped a shawl around her slim shoulders. Without anyone noticing, she hid the broken shaft in the pocket of her dress to further investigate later.

         The welcoming warmth the shawl provided drove away the unwanted chill. With some reluctance, she allowed him to lure her away into the safety of the castle. But the storm wouldn’t keep her cooped up for long, she thought grimly to herself. She had some serious investigating to do. Even if she had to pour over every book in the entire castle, she was determined to find out the one responsible for the life she couldn’t save.