Due North

Chapter One - The fall festival

The festival was in full swing when she descended the stairs from the palace, the noisy crowd hushed momentarily and bowed slightly as she passed, as was the custom when a member of the royal family arrived. The silence was only momentary however as laughter ensued when the women smacked their men for their stares.

The princess was beautiful beyond measure, and she had many men both commoners and of royal blood try for her hand, but she seldom gave them much attention. Her heart belonged to another, no other man stood a chance, though they never stopped trying for her hand.

She walked slowly and gracefully towards the small pond that was the center piece of the courtyard. It was large enough for a small island with a small bridge leading to a gazebo in the center. She paused half way across to watch the exotic  fish that was continually stocked just for her enjoyment. Normally when she was here and especially when a festival was going, she greatly enjoyed it. But not today and that did not pass unnoticed as she stared wistfully at the court yard gates.

Her father, the king, had tried for days to cheer her up, with out success. He knew it was a losing battle because he knew why she was so unhappy, but he tried none the less. ‘He’ was late in arriving and still had not arrived even though the festival was in it’s third day.

Suddenly the crowd grew silent as if a spell of silence was cast upon the court yard. A very large timber wolf was slowly walking through the gates, the crowd giving it a wide path, even though they knew the wolf would not harm a soul unless commanded to do so or to protect it’s master. While the wolf caused caution, it’s master caused greater caution, where the wolf was it’s master was never far behind.

She smiled finally at the sight of the wolf, as it walked slowly up to her for his customary scratch, it was almost a ritual between the wolf and the princess. As the wolf satisfied and content laid down at her side his master slowly passed through the gates and made his way to the gazebo.

Now it was the women’s turn to be smacked by their men. He was not the largest or look to be the strongest man in the kingdom. However appearances can be deceiving, as they often are. He was no exception and many had made the mistake of forgetting that simple life lesson.

When he walked it was with a feline grace on the hunt, silent and sure footed. Long accustomed to being in the wilds for months at a time, it was a second nature and did so with out realizing it. He was not dressed in the finest of cloths, but as a ranger. Bow and quiver over his shoulder, sword at his side and a cloak partly concealing both.

The silence had deeper if that were possible, as he approached the pond. Briefly he stopped by the king, clasping his hand and giving a brief report of the happenings in the wilds. The king would have liked a fuller report, but knew that it would come later in the evening. He knew his daughter commanded this mans full attention, even if he was the king.

The ranger then made his way across the small bridge, pausing only to lay his weapons against the wall of the gazebo before the two melted into an long embrace.

Chapter One- The Fall Festival by James W. Winegard is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://duenorth.typepad.com/terms-of-use.html.

The Battle Song

The morning found him standing at the rise of the small atoll, alone and beaten. The heavens opened and rained upon him, matching and masking his tears of never ending sorrow and strife. So many broken and maimed bodies lay about him, some of the enemy, some comrades in arms. All have passed this realm in a senseless violent and abrupt end.

He falls to one knee, body racked with pain, his heart over whelmed with grief, head bowed as if in silent prayer. Eyes closed he tried to make sense of it all, tried to pin point when the tides had changed. It seemed so long ago this war had started, so long ago that those that now fought have long forgotten the reason and the cause.

Silence had fallen upon the surrounding land , save that of the rain. As if afraid to break the spell of reprieve, momentary peace. He knelt there it seemed as if for hours, resting and waiting for an answer to come, that would explain why, to give justification to it all. But there was no answer to come, only the rain and the sound of distant thunder far off in the distance.

He became aware of things around him again, the slight rustling of amour against amour, sword against shield, slowly moving closer. And the sounds of claws scraping against the rock, the silent whisperings in the distance. W either they be in his head or not, he was never certain, but he heard them all the same.

For those still standing with him, could never be certain when the stories were told years after around the camp fires and taverns. They were not certain wither it was the thunder or the growl from deep with him, was keeping pace with the other. But it was there, a storm was approaching, keeping tempo with his growing rage of it all. All they could say for certain was what happened that day.

For he stood tall that day, trembling with the rage, the growl becoming deeper and louder, as he pulled his sword from it's scabbard. The ring of cold steel ringing in the air loud and clear, as the lightning and thunder kept pace. They were not certain if he called the lightning or it called to him. It did not really matter, one was feeding off the other. Fanning the outrage with in him that day, calling him forth to finally release, to accept his destiny that was foretold many many years ago.

Nothing else mattered, the battle that raged had to end. Though he knew, he would always fight, never resting. With a deafening yell, that startled those closest to him, and the enemy, he leaped into the enemy battle lines, sword working it's magic, singing to him as he tore his way through. The blood lust completely taking over, killing those that would harm others. And perhaps a slight cry of the sorrow deep with in, knowing the battle will never end. It has been so through the ages, it will continue now......

As the years passed, no one saw or heard of him again. Save for the stories and the rumors of a man high in the mountains standing watch at night. Forever alone, forever watching and waiting for the next fight to fight for those that could not. They say, when the breeze in the night is just right, you can still hear his cry of pain and sorrow, and his sword singing to him.... for ever more.

 

The Battle Song by James W. Winegard is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://duenorth.typepad.com/terms-of-use.html.