Ulorna
So... I actually wrote just over 1900 words yesterday, and just thought it was a lot less. But, here's 4004 words anyway.
The serving maid brought a fresh basket of bread, followed quacking by another serving maid, who brought a platter of meat. Frey took the large loaf of bread and broke off the end, and handed it to Ulorna, before he passed a piece to each one of his guards, and kept the other end for himself.
“So, tell me, Mistrees Ghent, are you really the daughter of the Traveling Mage, as he claims?” Prince Frey asked. “He travels collecting many charges, undiscovered mages if you will, to deposit at the Academy.” Ulorna shrugged as she tore a smaller piece off of her bread and soaked it in the juice of the meat.
“He tells me nothing for certain,” she admitted. “And is very secretive of all his words.” The soldiers and the prince nodded and groaned in agreement.
“Such is the way of many mages,” said one of the guards.
“I am certain there is a class they teach at the Mage Academy which shows young mages these ways, to always guard their words and feelings and thoughts in secrets.” As he said this, the prince watched her eat her juice soaked piece of meat as if he had never seen a person do so before he broke off a piece of his own bread, and dipped it into the drippings, to try it himself. “That is quite good,” he declared once he had chewed and swallowed.
“You’ve never had it that way before?” Ulorna asked.
“Prince Frey believes that everyone from everywhere does all the same things,” said one of his guards. “Unless they come from across the sea, he’s convinced we’re all the same.” He too, broke off a piece of bread and dipped it in the pan drippings, though he ate it with less curiosity, as if he had only not tasted it for some time.
“I think, though, Mistress Ghent perhaps thought the same,” said Frey.
“I was wondering why no one was cutting into the meat, and why you all sit like you do for supper,” Ulorna admitted.
“Explain those customs to me,” Frey requested. “I want to know how one is to take meals in the mountains.”
“To start,” we never eat in such small groups,” Ulorna said, removing her hunting knife from her belt, and cutting into the meat and taking a slice to her mouth. When she had swallowed, she continued. “In winter especially at the very least a whole house will eat together, servants and chiefs alike. But the more it snows, the more we draw together and eat in the great feast hall in the village. Everyone eats there and the women stay and do their sewing or darning, then men sharpen their weapons and deal each other and the children play once the meal is done. We all eat with our legs tucked into us because even with great fires burning, it’s cold in the north. To sit still as we do for a meal means that our bodies do not make much warmth. Last, we do not use many utensils. A knife,” she said, holding up her own, a slice of meat still perched on it, “serves us most and each man and woman cuts into what is before him or her. We do not wait to be served or to go in an order to eat.”
“So there is no hierarchy when you eat?” Frey asked, cutting into the roast meat with special knives that had arrived with the platter.
“Not so; the best cuts and animals are always turned to the most highly ranked,” She said. “We sop the bread in the meat juice to soften it, but also so that nothing is left behind. It is a crime in the north to leave anything on a plate before you.” The prince held out a cut of meat toward her though Ulorna could simply stare at it. For, she had no way to take it other than her hands, which she felt sure would be rude, or her knife, which still had meat on it.
“If I may, lady?” asked a guard, and when Ulorna nodded, he took the smaller platter before her and held it out for Frey to place the meat on. He also dressed the platter with several other foods Ulorna had yet to try on her journey, but what she felt sure were vegetables.
“Thank you,” she replied, taking it back from him. The guard nodded and dressed his own platter. Frey was merry company to keep during supper, as were his guards, who queried Ulorna about anything she did which was strange to them, and in turn told her the ways of eating in the South. They were nearly finished when Ulorna felt a heavy hand fall on her shoulder. Boh’s face was grim as he looked down at her.
“Master Ghent!” Frey greeted cheerily. “Good eve! Would you join us there is still some supper left yet?”
“No, thank you, your highness,” Bohs grunted, his voice very still. “Ulorna go unto our room. I must have words with the Prince and his guards.”
“But why can I not stay? Surely anything you speak of cannot be inappropriate for me to hear.”
“Child do as I ask.” He gave her no room for movement, only held out the key stamped with the number fourteen. Ulorna took the key and rose from her seat, taking care to not stomp from the dining room, though it would accurately depict her feelings.
With nothing else to do as she waited in the room, Ulorna sat on the bed and waited for Bohs to enter. It was some time before he finally did and when he did, he spoke nothing of his meeting with Prince Frey, but instead told her, “It occurred to me that you might not read south common as well as whatever you were taught in the north. I need to remedy this before we reach Capital Citadel.”
“Does it occur to you that I am incapable of defending myself?” she retorted. Bohs sighed, and rubbed his eyes, not looking at her as he removed his belt and boots.
“Ulorna, I have no doubt that in a test of body combat you would skin those three men alive. But there is another kind of combat, with words. This prince…” here he looked up at her and took her hands, “Frey is a good sort, compared to some other nobles, but he still has his own agenda under the surface of things. If he learned something of your past, or anything, which he could use against you, he could keep you as a pet mage to help himself rise in rank or do any number of things. I’ve no doubt that he or any other courtier would do this to you. You must remember the power of words and the things you tell other may affect you. What did he learn of you tonight?”
“The eating customs of the north and that I might or might not be your daughter. The same as I know,” Ulorna replied. “Unless eating with a knife most of my life can be used against me, I would like to know how.”
“There are men who would find a way,” Bohs told her. “Men with less honor than Prince Frey.” He dug into his pockets and pulled out a book. “A gift for you,” he said, wrapping her hands around it. “You may practice with it tomorrow. For now, you should sleep.” He gave her no choice, again, in the matter, as he blew out all the light in the room and lay in his own bed.
Ulorna collapse against the soft bed, and willed herself to sleep.
They stayed at the Crescent Inn for three days, which Ulorna found in strange contrast to the constant travel she had known now for many moons. Bohs often conferenced with the prince and his guards, and she was not privy to these conversations, nor was she allowed near Frey after their initial meeting. So, Ulorna simply found other ways to entertain herself.
She sharpened, cleaned and polished all of her knives, and gave a similar treatment to her bow and arrows. She longed to draw deep into a forest and hunt, but instead had to contend with wandering the stalls of goods near the inn. When Cathe could spare a moment or two, she helped Ulorna work out the differences between the language she had learned in the mountains and south common. Cathe also made Ulorna learn how to curtsy, how to properly use the dining utensils and how to address clergy, nobles and royals.
“You’ll need to know, I have a feeling,” was all Cathe said, with a wink.
On the third night as she studied from her book, Bohs told her to be ready to leave in the early morning.
“And be ready for company,” Bohs grumbled. “The prince and his guards ride with us.”
Ulorna had never ridden on a horse before and after a hard day of riding, she was grateful for the existence she had known before her bruised backside. They made camp the first night of travel on the far side of a major city they had ridden through, and though Ulorna wondered why they had not stopped at an inn, she did not ask after she saw Bohs eyes set more deeply in her face than they usually were.
Instead, she chose to listen to the mutterings of Frey and Bohs over the fires when they would stop for food or to res the horses. They usually spoke of how far they were from the capital and what kind of time they were making. They spoke of someone with no name, who appeared to be important, though Ulorna could not figure out how.
When she did not listen to the men talk, she listed to the mutterings of the woods all around her and judged how they were different from the north. The north was most definitely quieter; bird chirped more freely here, during the day and the night, and things scurried under foot. Wolves howled and panted close to them, though never close enough to be seen in the fire light. The leaves rustled, and she heard it all, her inner hunter begging to be released. Ulorna wished to extend the feeling from her feet to know exactly what was there, but Bohs saw the gleam in her eye, and forbade her without speaking a word.
This continued for three nights, the whispering over fires, when they thought she was not listening to them, as they all recovered from a hard ride. Untill the third night when Bohs roused them while the moon was still high. He said nothing but they knew he was demanding they ride.
They rode until they could exchange the horses and then rode again. More than once, Ulorna felt herself drifting to sleep in the saddle, especially as they rode on for another two days with as few stops as possible. Even the guards and the prince begged for relief then,
“We’re less than a day away from the Capital,” Frey reasoned and begged as one. “Please it would do us no good to face an enemy in this state.” Bohs though ton it for a good, long while, but finally relented and allowed them half a day’s rest at an inn before he put them back in the saddle.
When they were preparing the horses, to ride, Ulorna drew close to Bohs, her rested mind, catching something the prince had said the night before.
“What is this enemy we are running from?” she asked. Bohs glanced at her, but said nothing. “You do me no favors. The less I know the more vulnerable I become. I cannot fight something I know nothing about.”
“You do not fight a thing,” Bohs said, tightening one of the straps around his horse. “He is a man, a mage. He is very powerful and has been my enemy for years. Many years ago, he went into hiding, to regain strength. Not so many years ago, I began feeling his presence. I began to run to the furthest edges of the maps I knew. Led him on a wild chase, and yet still he found me everywhere. I am older than I look, and though I am conserving my strength, so he does not so easily find my energy, I fear I might not be a match for him. Now we travel south to seek the assistance of the mage council. And it is not your fight Ulorna. He is not after you, and it is not your destiny that such a thing would be.”
“Still, were I to become involved in the fighting, because I shall be around it, this is good information to know,” she replied. “Will he bring others?”
“That will be your job to tell us,” Bohs said. “Gamvin knows where we are, and knows where we are going. There is no sense in hiding your magic now. Spread out your feeling, and tell us when something is close enough for you to sense. The further out the better.”
They rode for hours more, her feeling extended out all around her for leagues, before she finally felt it enter her range. She started, making the horse rear as she did. One of the guards grabbed her reins and managed to calm the horse, as she looked back toward the north and the east, feeling a tremendous presence in her wake.
“It is him,” Bohs declared, not needed to ask her. “How many are there?” Ulorna closed her eyes and focused on the large energy and the forces around him.
“Twenty,” she said, opening her eyes. “Maybe a few more, but no more than two dozen.”
“We are but a few hours from the capital,” said Prince Frey. “How far are they from us?”
“And hour at best,” Ulorna guessed, turning her horse back towards the road, though they are moving much faster than we are.”
They spurred on the horses, but the forces drawing closer set them all on edge. But most especially Ulorna was affected by the simple power drawing close to them. They three men must have seen it in her eyes, her felt her tenseness, for everything she did radiated onto them and became a part of their demeanor.
At long last, they began to see spires and towers rising in the distance, and the men seem more hopeful as these grew larger and larger. Ulorna could not feel their hope though, as she felt the opposing force draw closer and closer, and when they were but mere minutes from the city gates, she felt the oddest thing. Though they had less than a quarter hour advantage on their pursuers, somehow that advantage nearly vanished within an instant. Ulorna tensed again, and the horse reared once more, this time throwing her to the ground. It ran away, feeling through her, and Ulorna stood drawing her knives, not caring to retrieve the horse.
“They did something, some magic,” she said. “They are nearly upon us.”
“Dav, Randin, the flares!” Frey called, causing one of the guards to light a strange canister he had been building on the road, and throw it into the air. It rose and combusted creating a cloud of red smoke. The two guards threw many more of these, lighting and tossing them as quickly as they could, Frey even taking a few.
“Keep riding highness, make it to the gate,” said Dav the guard. “Do not-”
“Too late,” Bohs said. And through the smoke, Ulorna could feel them descend upon the group. She raised her knife before she even knew what there was to bloke, but found the pressure of a sword against her. As soon as the metal clanged together, she found a man in full armor standing before her, swinging with his shield. Ulorna ducked and backed away fighting against his advantage, searching for a weakness. Instinctively, after only a few moments of dodging him, she reached out and slit open his throat, a weak point in his armor. Blood spit on her as he fell, but just as soon as he was down, another stood in his place, and he knew to protect his weak point.
Man after man fell to her blades, until finally, not one came right after the other. Ulorna found herself drenched in blood not her own, as she looked around their make shift battlefield. Frey and his two guards were fighting, though as she looked on, the three were not faring well. And then she saw her father, Bohs, faced against a single man, though they fought not with steel, but with a strange glow around their hands, never really touching each other.
As she watched, the man who fought Bohs, Magvim she thought he must be, let a bolt of the light fly from his hand Bohs did not raise his own hands in time to stop it, and it flew right into his belly. His tunic darkened with blood, staining it red. Her eyes widened, in her periphery absorbed her father’s fall, along with the fall of her other three companions, now left for dead. Blood dribbled into her eyes, and then Ulorna was not thinking, or seeing. She merely did.
What she did was this:
Being the only one left the soldiers converged on her, only to hear a roar, a howl, the likes of which they had never heard from another soldier ever before. Each man advanced on her, not to be cut down, but stepped on like stones in a river on her way to him. These cries called animals from the woods, wolves and bears thundered from the brush, hawks and buzzards swooped down from the sky, pecking away at the ones who dared stand before her. And Ulorna advanced, running with all the speed that was in her to the man who had killed her father. He turned to face her, just as she was within a hair’s breath of him. His last sight was a bloody, dirty woman, dressed in black, a knife raised to be plunged into his breath.
For a mage, she thought, as he slipped to the ground, her knife pulled free of his chest, he was incredibly. Slow.
In that slow minute of killing rage which encompassed her fully, Ulorna had forgotten that Bohs was dying, but now remembered him, and dropped to her knees by his side, gripping his hand.
“Don’t die,” she commanded. “You have so much…I need to know so much, Bohs. Father…” Tears streamed down her face, only making a greater mess of the blood which dried there. He gripped her hand, though not as tightly as he could. As he had once been able.
“Your mother…your mother was beautiful. Hair full of fire, but I knew,” he coughed, blood dribbling onto his chin. He pressed his free hand into his wound, and lit it with magic. “I knew I should not touch her, I felt fate following me, I had for almost a year that the next time I would lay with a woman, she would bear me a child, and then you would have to follow my path. A seer woman even gave me the clothes you were wearing when you found me. I left those with your uncle. But your mother was enticing as she slipped away from the festival fires. I told her there would be a child. I told her I would not return for many years. She did not care, and took me to lay beside her. Your uncle snuck me into the Forest of the Wild before dawn, and promised to…” he wheezed, “to raise you as his own, for he knew you would not be loved. That is the tale of how you came to be.”
Ulorna felt footsteps of men marching up the road as she held her father’s hand close to her face and cried onto it. “No…no matter what they tell you, child, Ulorna, you are not a wandering mage. It is not your destiny. You are different.” Bohs spat blood again, and his magic fist fell away from his wound. “I can tell, you are blessed. And you will make me very proud to be your father.” He died with his eyes open, like her uncle had, looking up toward the sky. Her tears fell onto his face, as she resisted the urge to close his eyes.
“You girl,” croaked another voice. Ulorna turned to the man, Magvim. He had fallen so that he lay starring at her, propped up by a tree. “I too have a charge for you.”
“And what charge would I accept from the man who killed my father?” she asked, spitting on the ground, to wash the distastefulness from her mouth.
“A dying man,” Magvim said. “A dying man, who wants peace. I sought your father for ten years of my life. I trained to kill him for twice that time. So much of my life devoted to catching a man I did not know and when the moment finally came, I could not think of what else to do. So I killed him, like he killed my father, and like my father killed his, and so on. And now you have killed me before I had the chance to get away.” Magvin ripped a chord from his neck, a metal sigil hanging from it. “Give this to the Council, tell them I forgive you. The feud is done. And should an heir of mine come… Oh, no, he lives…” Magvim coughed a laugh and spat blood. “Teach my son our ways. Teach him to be a mage. End this feud between our lines. That is my wish. Give a dying man his wish Ulorna Ghent. Swear to me.”
Ulorna snatched the pendant from his hands. “Swear it!” he commanded.
“I swear,” Ulorna retorted. “Go to your rest.” Magvim laughed.
“If there is any rest for me to be hand.” He closed his eyes and died.
Ulorna turned, surveying the death spread around her. She had not realized but now she felt the spirit between her father and Magvim. But, she was sure, death had not stood over Frey or his gaurds. She turned and saw the piles of soldiers and some of the animals who fought. There were those who were dead, lying just as still as the soldiers. But there were many, still alive, who seemed to await her command.
“It is done,” she said. The buzzards staid, but the rest of the wild ones reentered the forest. One, an eagle returned, and Ulorna watched as he sank his claws into the stomach of a wolf. He did it once, twice and thrice, and on the third time came spilling out a litter of cubs. From her spot, Ulorna marveled at this, and thought for sure, she must be dreaming. For the killing of these mean, had made her very tired, especially now that she had realized all that she had done.
But she could not sleep, not until she had done something, something to appease the blood she had spilt for the sake of her father, and for her own life. Gripping her knife, she held out her other hand and dragged the blade across it, offering it to the sky, her words sluring as she spoke,
“To you Hunter god, who left his mark on me, to Death and those who would take this battle as theirs. Take it then.” She knew not what else to say to the gods, and she certainly did not know what to say to the shouts that were rising as the people who made the footsteps in her feeling arrived at their scene. Ulorna knew there would be many questions when she awoke. But she could no longer think as sleep claimed her.
The serving maid brought a fresh basket of bread, followed quacking by another serving maid, who brought a platter of meat. Frey took the large loaf of bread and broke off the end, and handed it to Ulorna, before he passed a piece to each one of his guards, and kept the other end for himself.
“So, tell me, Mistrees Ghent, are you really the daughter of the Traveling Mage, as he claims?” Prince Frey asked. “He travels collecting many charges, undiscovered mages if you will, to deposit at the Academy.” Ulorna shrugged as she tore a smaller piece off of her bread and soaked it in the juice of the meat.
“He tells me nothing for certain,” she admitted. “And is very secretive of all his words.” The soldiers and the prince nodded and groaned in agreement.
“Such is the way of many mages,” said one of the guards.
“I am certain there is a class they teach at the Mage Academy which shows young mages these ways, to always guard their words and feelings and thoughts in secrets.” As he said this, the prince watched her eat her juice soaked piece of meat as if he had never seen a person do so before he broke off a piece of his own bread, and dipped it into the drippings, to try it himself. “That is quite good,” he declared once he had chewed and swallowed.
“You’ve never had it that way before?” Ulorna asked.
“Prince Frey believes that everyone from everywhere does all the same things,” said one of his guards. “Unless they come from across the sea, he’s convinced we’re all the same.” He too, broke off a piece of bread and dipped it in the pan drippings, though he ate it with less curiosity, as if he had only not tasted it for some time.
“I think, though, Mistress Ghent perhaps thought the same,” said Frey.
“I was wondering why no one was cutting into the meat, and why you all sit like you do for supper,” Ulorna admitted.
“Explain those customs to me,” Frey requested. “I want to know how one is to take meals in the mountains.”
“To start,” we never eat in such small groups,” Ulorna said, removing her hunting knife from her belt, and cutting into the meat and taking a slice to her mouth. When she had swallowed, she continued. “In winter especially at the very least a whole house will eat together, servants and chiefs alike. But the more it snows, the more we draw together and eat in the great feast hall in the village. Everyone eats there and the women stay and do their sewing or darning, then men sharpen their weapons and deal each other and the children play once the meal is done. We all eat with our legs tucked into us because even with great fires burning, it’s cold in the north. To sit still as we do for a meal means that our bodies do not make much warmth. Last, we do not use many utensils. A knife,” she said, holding up her own, a slice of meat still perched on it, “serves us most and each man and woman cuts into what is before him or her. We do not wait to be served or to go in an order to eat.”
“So there is no hierarchy when you eat?” Frey asked, cutting into the roast meat with special knives that had arrived with the platter.
“Not so; the best cuts and animals are always turned to the most highly ranked,” She said. “We sop the bread in the meat juice to soften it, but also so that nothing is left behind. It is a crime in the north to leave anything on a plate before you.” The prince held out a cut of meat toward her though Ulorna could simply stare at it. For, she had no way to take it other than her hands, which she felt sure would be rude, or her knife, which still had meat on it.
“If I may, lady?” asked a guard, and when Ulorna nodded, he took the smaller platter before her and held it out for Frey to place the meat on. He also dressed the platter with several other foods Ulorna had yet to try on her journey, but what she felt sure were vegetables.
“Thank you,” she replied, taking it back from him. The guard nodded and dressed his own platter. Frey was merry company to keep during supper, as were his guards, who queried Ulorna about anything she did which was strange to them, and in turn told her the ways of eating in the South. They were nearly finished when Ulorna felt a heavy hand fall on her shoulder. Boh’s face was grim as he looked down at her.
“Master Ghent!” Frey greeted cheerily. “Good eve! Would you join us there is still some supper left yet?”
“No, thank you, your highness,” Bohs grunted, his voice very still. “Ulorna go unto our room. I must have words with the Prince and his guards.”
“But why can I not stay? Surely anything you speak of cannot be inappropriate for me to hear.”
“Child do as I ask.” He gave her no room for movement, only held out the key stamped with the number fourteen. Ulorna took the key and rose from her seat, taking care to not stomp from the dining room, though it would accurately depict her feelings.
With nothing else to do as she waited in the room, Ulorna sat on the bed and waited for Bohs to enter. It was some time before he finally did and when he did, he spoke nothing of his meeting with Prince Frey, but instead told her, “It occurred to me that you might not read south common as well as whatever you were taught in the north. I need to remedy this before we reach Capital Citadel.”
“Does it occur to you that I am incapable of defending myself?” she retorted. Bohs sighed, and rubbed his eyes, not looking at her as he removed his belt and boots.
“Ulorna, I have no doubt that in a test of body combat you would skin those three men alive. But there is another kind of combat, with words. This prince…” here he looked up at her and took her hands, “Frey is a good sort, compared to some other nobles, but he still has his own agenda under the surface of things. If he learned something of your past, or anything, which he could use against you, he could keep you as a pet mage to help himself rise in rank or do any number of things. I’ve no doubt that he or any other courtier would do this to you. You must remember the power of words and the things you tell other may affect you. What did he learn of you tonight?”
“The eating customs of the north and that I might or might not be your daughter. The same as I know,” Ulorna replied. “Unless eating with a knife most of my life can be used against me, I would like to know how.”
“There are men who would find a way,” Bohs told her. “Men with less honor than Prince Frey.” He dug into his pockets and pulled out a book. “A gift for you,” he said, wrapping her hands around it. “You may practice with it tomorrow. For now, you should sleep.” He gave her no choice, again, in the matter, as he blew out all the light in the room and lay in his own bed.
Ulorna collapse against the soft bed, and willed herself to sleep.
They stayed at the Crescent Inn for three days, which Ulorna found in strange contrast to the constant travel she had known now for many moons. Bohs often conferenced with the prince and his guards, and she was not privy to these conversations, nor was she allowed near Frey after their initial meeting. So, Ulorna simply found other ways to entertain herself.
She sharpened, cleaned and polished all of her knives, and gave a similar treatment to her bow and arrows. She longed to draw deep into a forest and hunt, but instead had to contend with wandering the stalls of goods near the inn. When Cathe could spare a moment or two, she helped Ulorna work out the differences between the language she had learned in the mountains and south common. Cathe also made Ulorna learn how to curtsy, how to properly use the dining utensils and how to address clergy, nobles and royals.
“You’ll need to know, I have a feeling,” was all Cathe said, with a wink.
On the third night as she studied from her book, Bohs told her to be ready to leave in the early morning.
“And be ready for company,” Bohs grumbled. “The prince and his guards ride with us.”
Ulorna had never ridden on a horse before and after a hard day of riding, she was grateful for the existence she had known before her bruised backside. They made camp the first night of travel on the far side of a major city they had ridden through, and though Ulorna wondered why they had not stopped at an inn, she did not ask after she saw Bohs eyes set more deeply in her face than they usually were.
Instead, she chose to listen to the mutterings of Frey and Bohs over the fires when they would stop for food or to res the horses. They usually spoke of how far they were from the capital and what kind of time they were making. They spoke of someone with no name, who appeared to be important, though Ulorna could not figure out how.
When she did not listen to the men talk, she listed to the mutterings of the woods all around her and judged how they were different from the north. The north was most definitely quieter; bird chirped more freely here, during the day and the night, and things scurried under foot. Wolves howled and panted close to them, though never close enough to be seen in the fire light. The leaves rustled, and she heard it all, her inner hunter begging to be released. Ulorna wished to extend the feeling from her feet to know exactly what was there, but Bohs saw the gleam in her eye, and forbade her without speaking a word.
This continued for three nights, the whispering over fires, when they thought she was not listening to them, as they all recovered from a hard ride. Untill the third night when Bohs roused them while the moon was still high. He said nothing but they knew he was demanding they ride.
They rode until they could exchange the horses and then rode again. More than once, Ulorna felt herself drifting to sleep in the saddle, especially as they rode on for another two days with as few stops as possible. Even the guards and the prince begged for relief then,
“We’re less than a day away from the Capital,” Frey reasoned and begged as one. “Please it would do us no good to face an enemy in this state.” Bohs though ton it for a good, long while, but finally relented and allowed them half a day’s rest at an inn before he put them back in the saddle.
When they were preparing the horses, to ride, Ulorna drew close to Bohs, her rested mind, catching something the prince had said the night before.
“What is this enemy we are running from?” she asked. Bohs glanced at her, but said nothing. “You do me no favors. The less I know the more vulnerable I become. I cannot fight something I know nothing about.”
“You do not fight a thing,” Bohs said, tightening one of the straps around his horse. “He is a man, a mage. He is very powerful and has been my enemy for years. Many years ago, he went into hiding, to regain strength. Not so many years ago, I began feeling his presence. I began to run to the furthest edges of the maps I knew. Led him on a wild chase, and yet still he found me everywhere. I am older than I look, and though I am conserving my strength, so he does not so easily find my energy, I fear I might not be a match for him. Now we travel south to seek the assistance of the mage council. And it is not your fight Ulorna. He is not after you, and it is not your destiny that such a thing would be.”
“Still, were I to become involved in the fighting, because I shall be around it, this is good information to know,” she replied. “Will he bring others?”
“That will be your job to tell us,” Bohs said. “Gamvin knows where we are, and knows where we are going. There is no sense in hiding your magic now. Spread out your feeling, and tell us when something is close enough for you to sense. The further out the better.”
They rode for hours more, her feeling extended out all around her for leagues, before she finally felt it enter her range. She started, making the horse rear as she did. One of the guards grabbed her reins and managed to calm the horse, as she looked back toward the north and the east, feeling a tremendous presence in her wake.
“It is him,” Bohs declared, not needed to ask her. “How many are there?” Ulorna closed her eyes and focused on the large energy and the forces around him.
“Twenty,” she said, opening her eyes. “Maybe a few more, but no more than two dozen.”
“We are but a few hours from the capital,” said Prince Frey. “How far are they from us?”
“And hour at best,” Ulorna guessed, turning her horse back towards the road, though they are moving much faster than we are.”
They spurred on the horses, but the forces drawing closer set them all on edge. But most especially Ulorna was affected by the simple power drawing close to them. They three men must have seen it in her eyes, her felt her tenseness, for everything she did radiated onto them and became a part of their demeanor.
At long last, they began to see spires and towers rising in the distance, and the men seem more hopeful as these grew larger and larger. Ulorna could not feel their hope though, as she felt the opposing force draw closer and closer, and when they were but mere minutes from the city gates, she felt the oddest thing. Though they had less than a quarter hour advantage on their pursuers, somehow that advantage nearly vanished within an instant. Ulorna tensed again, and the horse reared once more, this time throwing her to the ground. It ran away, feeling through her, and Ulorna stood drawing her knives, not caring to retrieve the horse.
“They did something, some magic,” she said. “They are nearly upon us.”
“Dav, Randin, the flares!” Frey called, causing one of the guards to light a strange canister he had been building on the road, and throw it into the air. It rose and combusted creating a cloud of red smoke. The two guards threw many more of these, lighting and tossing them as quickly as they could, Frey even taking a few.
“Keep riding highness, make it to the gate,” said Dav the guard. “Do not-”
“Too late,” Bohs said. And through the smoke, Ulorna could feel them descend upon the group. She raised her knife before she even knew what there was to bloke, but found the pressure of a sword against her. As soon as the metal clanged together, she found a man in full armor standing before her, swinging with his shield. Ulorna ducked and backed away fighting against his advantage, searching for a weakness. Instinctively, after only a few moments of dodging him, she reached out and slit open his throat, a weak point in his armor. Blood spit on her as he fell, but just as soon as he was down, another stood in his place, and he knew to protect his weak point.
Man after man fell to her blades, until finally, not one came right after the other. Ulorna found herself drenched in blood not her own, as she looked around their make shift battlefield. Frey and his two guards were fighting, though as she looked on, the three were not faring well. And then she saw her father, Bohs, faced against a single man, though they fought not with steel, but with a strange glow around their hands, never really touching each other.
As she watched, the man who fought Bohs, Magvim she thought he must be, let a bolt of the light fly from his hand Bohs did not raise his own hands in time to stop it, and it flew right into his belly. His tunic darkened with blood, staining it red. Her eyes widened, in her periphery absorbed her father’s fall, along with the fall of her other three companions, now left for dead. Blood dribbled into her eyes, and then Ulorna was not thinking, or seeing. She merely did.
What she did was this:
Being the only one left the soldiers converged on her, only to hear a roar, a howl, the likes of which they had never heard from another soldier ever before. Each man advanced on her, not to be cut down, but stepped on like stones in a river on her way to him. These cries called animals from the woods, wolves and bears thundered from the brush, hawks and buzzards swooped down from the sky, pecking away at the ones who dared stand before her. And Ulorna advanced, running with all the speed that was in her to the man who had killed her father. He turned to face her, just as she was within a hair’s breath of him. His last sight was a bloody, dirty woman, dressed in black, a knife raised to be plunged into his breath.
For a mage, she thought, as he slipped to the ground, her knife pulled free of his chest, he was incredibly. Slow.
In that slow minute of killing rage which encompassed her fully, Ulorna had forgotten that Bohs was dying, but now remembered him, and dropped to her knees by his side, gripping his hand.
“Don’t die,” she commanded. “You have so much…I need to know so much, Bohs. Father…” Tears streamed down her face, only making a greater mess of the blood which dried there. He gripped her hand, though not as tightly as he could. As he had once been able.
“Your mother…your mother was beautiful. Hair full of fire, but I knew,” he coughed, blood dribbling onto his chin. He pressed his free hand into his wound, and lit it with magic. “I knew I should not touch her, I felt fate following me, I had for almost a year that the next time I would lay with a woman, she would bear me a child, and then you would have to follow my path. A seer woman even gave me the clothes you were wearing when you found me. I left those with your uncle. But your mother was enticing as she slipped away from the festival fires. I told her there would be a child. I told her I would not return for many years. She did not care, and took me to lay beside her. Your uncle snuck me into the Forest of the Wild before dawn, and promised to…” he wheezed, “to raise you as his own, for he knew you would not be loved. That is the tale of how you came to be.”
Ulorna felt footsteps of men marching up the road as she held her father’s hand close to her face and cried onto it. “No…no matter what they tell you, child, Ulorna, you are not a wandering mage. It is not your destiny. You are different.” Bohs spat blood again, and his magic fist fell away from his wound. “I can tell, you are blessed. And you will make me very proud to be your father.” He died with his eyes open, like her uncle had, looking up toward the sky. Her tears fell onto his face, as she resisted the urge to close his eyes.
“You girl,” croaked another voice. Ulorna turned to the man, Magvim. He had fallen so that he lay starring at her, propped up by a tree. “I too have a charge for you.”
“And what charge would I accept from the man who killed my father?” she asked, spitting on the ground, to wash the distastefulness from her mouth.
“A dying man,” Magvim said. “A dying man, who wants peace. I sought your father for ten years of my life. I trained to kill him for twice that time. So much of my life devoted to catching a man I did not know and when the moment finally came, I could not think of what else to do. So I killed him, like he killed my father, and like my father killed his, and so on. And now you have killed me before I had the chance to get away.” Magvin ripped a chord from his neck, a metal sigil hanging from it. “Give this to the Council, tell them I forgive you. The feud is done. And should an heir of mine come… Oh, no, he lives…” Magvim coughed a laugh and spat blood. “Teach my son our ways. Teach him to be a mage. End this feud between our lines. That is my wish. Give a dying man his wish Ulorna Ghent. Swear to me.”
Ulorna snatched the pendant from his hands. “Swear it!” he commanded.
“I swear,” Ulorna retorted. “Go to your rest.” Magvim laughed.
“If there is any rest for me to be hand.” He closed his eyes and died.
Ulorna turned, surveying the death spread around her. She had not realized but now she felt the spirit between her father and Magvim. But, she was sure, death had not stood over Frey or his gaurds. She turned and saw the piles of soldiers and some of the animals who fought. There were those who were dead, lying just as still as the soldiers. But there were many, still alive, who seemed to await her command.
“It is done,” she said. The buzzards staid, but the rest of the wild ones reentered the forest. One, an eagle returned, and Ulorna watched as he sank his claws into the stomach of a wolf. He did it once, twice and thrice, and on the third time came spilling out a litter of cubs. From her spot, Ulorna marveled at this, and thought for sure, she must be dreaming. For the killing of these mean, had made her very tired, especially now that she had realized all that she had done.
But she could not sleep, not until she had done something, something to appease the blood she had spilt for the sake of her father, and for her own life. Gripping her knife, she held out her other hand and dragged the blade across it, offering it to the sky, her words sluring as she spoke,
“To you Hunter god, who left his mark on me, to Death and those who would take this battle as theirs. Take it then.” She knew not what else to say to the gods, and she certainly did not know what to say to the shouts that were rising as the people who made the footsteps in her feeling arrived at their scene. Ulorna knew there would be many questions when she awoke. But she could no longer think as sleep claimed her.