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He wasn't hideously ugly, but that didn't mean he was easy to look at either. Long, lank black hair hung lifelessly just past his strong, broad shoulders. His face was young and shapely, almost gaunt, and deadly pale from the lack of exposure to light. There was no sunlight, not even a single ray, shining through the black, thick clouds that hung over the mountains year round. Every form of life affected and was affected by the dismal world around the cliffs and caverns of the ancient mountains. Due to the seclusion and danger, it was the known stronghold of the family and all its followers. Including HIM. He was the son of the late Lord and ruler of them all. The rest of the world feared his son more than they feared Vlad. When the older man was alive, he made sure every living soul knew it. He and his army would storm down the mountain every night, their mammoth, bloodthirsty steeds thundering along the winding, sloping paths leading down to the plains leading to the kingdoms. They were no ordinary soldiers or horses...the Devil himself had touched them with his evil, grotesque hand. Their eyes, alone, sent every formerly brave knight running in the opposite direction, only to stop short and fall to the ground, never to run again. And when they spoke, their breathless voices rose hairs as well as goosebumps on the skin of peasants and lords alike. Then, they way the spoke, the words they used...it was unfathomable. Unpredictable. Horrible. But this was no more, not since Vlad was killed in battle by one of the kings in the valley. It was unlikely, unexpected, and one of the biggest mistakes ever made in history's stories. While they battled together in a thick, eager circle of onlookers tirelessly, their bloodied steel swords clashing like thunder bangs, sparks flying from the grinding blades like shards of fire, catching the dry grass under their feet and burning up into flames. A single, third person stood in the circle with the two snarling, screaming men at war with each other. It was HIM, only one would never know it was the same man as the one he became in the years after his father's demise. He stood, his thick arms folded across his chest, his feet planted firmly shoulder's space apart, leering under his furrowed brow at the two of them, unsure whose neck he wanted to drive a blade into more. His father for actually being challenged in battle, for once, or the only man to ever live who was powerful enough to challenge him. Watching his role model, his master, his father struggle was a disgusting sight, one he wanted to end. Vlad just couldn't kill the king, no matter how hard or strong he fought him. It was weakness...and it was all the boy could do to remain in the circle, watching and waiting for his father to prevail like he had always done. When the final blow came, he didn't stay to watch him fall. When the sword came down and through with a numbing, soundless blow, he turned and shoved his way back and out of the crowd. Then they vanished. The army never flew down the mountain again and ambushed and attacked the cities below again. Every now and then, rumors of sightings of one of them around the base of the hills or in the forests nearby would circulate through the villages and cities but over time, they lost all their bite in the hearts of the people. The boy became Lord and he held the army back behind the walls of the fortress in the mountains, refusing to let them ride and satisfy their urge and need for bloodshed. He himself had not forgotten the feel of thrusting his blade through thick, firm flesh of a faceless man or woman but he did not exercise the fantasy further. No one could offer explanation why the young man had not followed in the footsteps of his mentor but no one was allowed to be close enough to him to inquire why or discover his motivations. Sealed behind the stone walls and great wooden doors high in the mountains alone with his people manifested something deep in their souls. Their fury and intense hatred with the outside world magnified with each passing day. Changes on their outsides began to take over more rapidly than before with this new absence of activity and, some day, violence. Already animals, no longer human, with the death of his father, the new king began to shoulder the burdens his father carried tenfold. They affected hot only his appearance, which was the most shocking of all. Another misconception of what was brewing behind closed doors was that there was nothing brewing behind closed doors up in the mountains by the kings, queens, nobles, soldiers, and peasants elsewhere in the world.
A single bead of sweat trickled down Peter's forehead. He was growing cramped and agitated by his position laying on the slope of the steep, sharp hill peering over. Below sat a small, flawless little blue pond in a bright clearing completely surrounded by closely growing pines and other ancient trees. There was a large, male deer approaching the pond from Peter's left, completely unaware that it was being watched, let alone hunted. The string of his bow was cutting into his fingers, making a raw, red line across the inside of his knuckles. Beside him, his friend Bentley didn't break the silence by so much as breathing. The drop of sweat made its way past his eyes, thankfully, but stabbed him in the back by seeping into his open mouth instead. The deer lowered it's large, graceful head and touched it's nose to the surface of the flat water before extending a pink tongue and drinking. The disturbance sent ripples dancing along, away from the deer's face in opposite directions. They grew bigger and bigger until they finally crashed against the reeds encircling the water, then went back again to the source. Peter squeezed his left eye shut and took careful aim at the deer's long, smooth neck. Beside him, Bentley also had steady aim; he laid still as a statue, oblivious to any discomfort or pain. Suddenly, there came heavy traipsing through the woods behind them. First in the distance it came softly, but grew as the horses approached. It happened in the blink of an eye - Peter turned, saw the soldiers coming, then threw what was left of his attention and concentration back to the deer, who also had noticed. He looked up, his ears perked up straight on its head, and turned to dash away in fright. Peter and Bentley both desperately fired their now poorly aimed arrows and both of them missed; the deer had managed to escape in the nick of time. Peter's arrow landed at an angle in the water where his mouth had been, Bentley's stood upright here the body had been. By now, six soldiers on horseback stood at the base of the hill behind the two men, their horses snorting and stomping impatiently below.
"My lord!" one of the soldiers called up to Peter. "Your father asks for you."
Peter stared at Bentley incredulously; his friend returned the understood look of anguish and frustration. He threw his bow aside as his friend reluctantly stood and halfheartedly made his way down the side of the hill and out of sight to collect the arrows. Peter looked over his shoulder, almost as if hoping to see his deer within shot standing a few yards off in the woods. But there was nothing.
"Perfect timing!" Peter called to the men. "Did you not see us? What could my father possible want that could not wait?!"
"Apologies, my lord," he replied impatiently. "He did not say. Only requested for his son to return."
Bentley returned and stowed the arrows safely away in his quiver. He met Peter's bright, green eyes and offered a small smile, one of knowing and understanding, one that implied that they would not go home empty handed next time. Although he appreciated it, Peter waved his friend away and turned to the group of intruders on their haven of solitude.
"We came here by foot." Peter said firmly. "If it's not urgent we will return by same method."
"It's not necessary, we have horses," the soldier replied. He waved to one of the men behind him and he obediently slid off his saddle and led his horse by the reins to Peter and Bentley. "and, I'm afraid it is urgent."
"What was that? Urgent? But you said my father did not detail why he needed us to return..." Peter said, taking the reigns offered.
"Aye, he did not, my lord, but..." he hesitated. "Everyone knows why he wants you back."
"Everyone, you say?" Peter said, exchanging glances with Bentley. "Everyone but us, it seems. Did we miss something since we left a perfectly peaceful and calm castle this morning?"
"Well...aye, my lord." the man answered uneasily. "Best your father informs you, however. Come, we best not linger here alone."
Peter thought to argue for a moment but thought better and silently mounted the horse. Behind him, he allowed Bentley to join him. His anger of being disturbed and loosing his prize had faded from his mind and he had grown concerned with this news and it's apparent secrecy. How could everyone know something he, the son of the king, did not? Was someone hurt, did something horrible happen? Peter decided against it, for in such a case the urgency would be far stronger than this. Only six soldiers sent to retrieve him, yes, it would have been twenty had there been something truly wrong. The party began its journey through and out of the sunny, green forest in a single file line along a winding, grassy path. High above them sparrows flew over the tree tops and called back and forth to each other brightly. Peter ran a hand through his short, light brown hair, though slightly damp and stringy from his earlier sweating, and peered up at the leafy canopy in hopes of catching a glimpse of the birds. They were like bodiless spirits: there, but unseen. It reminded him of one time when he was a small boy, he had been exploring the woods just outside the castle and found a baby bird laying on the forest floor. It was alive, though injured. Heart aching for the poor little creature, Peter had attempted to bring it home and ask his mother if he could keep it and heal it. She very pointedly told him to take it back outside and put it where he had found it, thus leaving it to die. It was nature, she had told him, and if it was meant to live it would. Peter reluctantly obeyed his mother and placed the crying bird back under the tree where he had found it. The next morning when he went back to check on it, there was nothing there. At the time he had been comforted by allowing himself to believe that the mother came back for her baby. Arriving at the edge of the forest, the castle in the valley came into view. It was a brilliant castle, made from layers of dark gray blocks almost three feet thick. A tall, winding wall encircled the castle and its city, protecting it from outside invaders. The castle itself towered tall into the heavens and was speckled with little black windows and adorned with ornate, carved balconies and towers. Great care had been taken to please the first king with his new castle hundreds of years ago. Swirls were carved out of the manes of lions, who were caught forever in mid roar. Mighty eagles stood perched on the balconies, their intent eyes gazing off over the horizon towards the mountain tops visible over the tops of the trees of the forest.
ThaddeusTheThird · Sun Oct 05, 2008 @ 10:13pm · 0 Comments |
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