A partial cut of the second chapter...
Chapter Two
The creek whispered through the forest telling of the news. Fall had come early, and the trees began to show their royal colors of gold and red. A crisp breeze blew the scattered leaves across the mossy bed of the woodland floor. Sunlight danced through the tree branches at the leather boots of Kilaina. Fair-skinned, with hair of a dusky brown hue, she sat against a tree, watching the water pass over the rocky bottom of the creek. Red-lipped and brazen-eyed, she was the only thing standing between so much more than she knew.
It had been a difficult path getting as far as she had. First the death of her master, followed by the intrusion of the wolves, and finally, having to kill the leader of the pack. The leader was no less than a werewolf! How much more difficult would it get before she reached her goal, she wondered to herself. Ever since she killed the werewolf, Kiliana had the feeling that something in the forest was amiss, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, as far as she could tell; but looks could be deceiving.
In the distance, Kiliana heard laughter and the clitter-clatter of pot and pans, the crying of babes and the whinnying of animals, the creaking old wheels of wagons and the music of jingling bells. Great purple curtains billowed against the side of the front wagon, a symbol of royalty, but the way the company traveled without any guard or such made it certain to Kiliana that if the leader of the troupe was royal, then it must be a minor royal and not worth paying tribute to. A large band was approaching her swiftly, but not in a threatening way; the group lent a timeless quality to its self somehow. Quite perplexed at the manner in which the party traveled, Kiliana decided to approach it, but warily. She had no instinct about this being good or bad as she normally did, as if a mist shrouded the company.
As she walked on to the road, the hulky man driving the first wagon saw her and opened the front part of the curtain to whisper something to its contents. Good, Kiliana thought to herself, allow them a moment to react to me, and if they don’t care for me, I’ll run. Simple enough.
A man jumped out of the wagon behind the first and, seeing Kiliana, began to walk in her direction ahead of the assembly. Excellent, a messenger, Kiliana thought. Dressed in what Kiliana thought was puzzling attire for a woodland trip, he came within forty feet of her and stopped.
“So, milady, what brings an angel like you into a forest like this? And all alone, too!” The man called in a musical tone to Kiliana, with an unsettling smile.
Kiliana stood her ground and placed her hands on her hips, where her dagger lay sheathed. “I’m but a traveler, and I go forth to Otariu. Whose owner does this party answer to?”
The man laughed, “Ye don’t get around much, aye, milady? We are the protectors of this forest, and as such, our leader would like ye to pay a tribute in gratitude.”
Wonderful, Kiliana thought, just as I suspected. “Nay! A protector of a forest would not allow werewolves and such to roam about as they pleased. I will pay no tribute to such lax workers.”
“I’m afraid you will if you are to pass this party peacefully, milady.” The look of utter playfulness in the eyes of the emissary told Kiliana he wouldn’t use a weapon against her without being provoked to do so.
“Alright, sir, if a challenge is what you desire, you shall have it, but ere this hour passes, I will have free passage on this road,” Kiliana walked to the man undaunted.
Standing for a moment in disbelief, the envoy smiled to himself in a self-assured manner. He sauntered over to Kiliana and held out his hand. “A fair fight, milady?”
“Yes, quite, sir.” Kiliana put her hand in the man’s and suddenly found herself entangled in his arms. Lifting her arms above her head, Kiliana twisted around and kicked the man in his jaw. He let go of her and staggered back a few feet, feeling his lip: blood. Surprised at the sheer power of the woman he thought would be so easy to take advantage of, the man called out, “Mârcier!”
Another man, slightly larger than the emissary, hopped down from the wagon the first man had come out of.
“Aŕa tokâ mënǽnta,” the gypsy queen said to Kiliana, in a language known to few but her people.
“Kiliana, your majesty.” Kiliana bent to low curtsy but was raised by the queen.
“You know the language of the Old Tribe?” the queen asked suspiciously.
“Yes, your grace, I’m fluent in many tongues, as a gift of my former master.”
“Your master was a learned man.” The gypsy queen stared at Kiliana, and her eyes clouded over a moment, then returned to normal. “Lavido the hermit, wasn’t he?”
Kiliana looked at the old woman in wonder. “Yes, your Grace.”
The creek whispered through the forest telling of the news. Fall had come early, and the trees began to show their royal colors of gold and red. A crisp breeze blew the scattered leaves across the mossy bed of the woodland floor. Sunlight danced through the tree branches at the leather boots of Kilaina. Fair-skinned, with hair of a dusky brown hue, she sat against a tree, watching the water pass over the rocky bottom of the creek. Red-lipped and brazen-eyed, she was the only thing standing between so much more than she knew.
It had been a difficult path getting as far as she had. First the death of her master, followed by the intrusion of the wolves, and finally, having to kill the leader of the pack. The leader was no less than a werewolf! How much more difficult would it get before she reached her goal, she wondered to herself. Ever since she killed the werewolf, Kiliana had the feeling that something in the forest was amiss, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, as far as she could tell; but looks could be deceiving.
In the distance, Kiliana heard laughter and the clitter-clatter of pot and pans, the crying of babes and the whinnying of animals, the creaking old wheels of wagons and the music of jingling bells. Great purple curtains billowed against the side of the front wagon, a symbol of royalty, but the way the company traveled without any guard or such made it certain to Kiliana that if the leader of the troupe was royal, then it must be a minor royal and not worth paying tribute to. A large band was approaching her swiftly, but not in a threatening way; the group lent a timeless quality to its self somehow. Quite perplexed at the manner in which the party traveled, Kiliana decided to approach it, but warily. She had no instinct about this being good or bad as she normally did, as if a mist shrouded the company.
As she walked on to the road, the hulky man driving the first wagon saw her and opened the front part of the curtain to whisper something to its contents. Good, Kiliana thought to herself, allow them a moment to react to me, and if they don’t care for me, I’ll run. Simple enough.
A man jumped out of the wagon behind the first and, seeing Kiliana, began to walk in her direction ahead of the assembly. Excellent, a messenger, Kiliana thought. Dressed in what Kiliana thought was puzzling attire for a woodland trip, he came within forty feet of her and stopped.
“So, milady, what brings an angel like you into a forest like this? And all alone, too!” The man called in a musical tone to Kiliana, with an unsettling smile.
Kiliana stood her ground and placed her hands on her hips, where her dagger lay sheathed. “I’m but a traveler, and I go forth to Otariu. Whose owner does this party answer to?”
The man laughed, “Ye don’t get around much, aye, milady? We are the protectors of this forest, and as such, our leader would like ye to pay a tribute in gratitude.”
Wonderful, Kiliana thought, just as I suspected. “Nay! A protector of a forest would not allow werewolves and such to roam about as they pleased. I will pay no tribute to such lax workers.”
“I’m afraid you will if you are to pass this party peacefully, milady.” The look of utter playfulness in the eyes of the emissary told Kiliana he wouldn’t use a weapon against her without being provoked to do so.
“Alright, sir, if a challenge is what you desire, you shall have it, but ere this hour passes, I will have free passage on this road,” Kiliana walked to the man undaunted.
Standing for a moment in disbelief, the envoy smiled to himself in a self-assured manner. He sauntered over to Kiliana and held out his hand. “A fair fight, milady?”
“Yes, quite, sir.” Kiliana put her hand in the man’s and suddenly found herself entangled in his arms. Lifting her arms above her head, Kiliana twisted around and kicked the man in his jaw. He let go of her and staggered back a few feet, feeling his lip: blood. Surprised at the sheer power of the woman he thought would be so easy to take advantage of, the man called out, “Mârcier!”
Another man, slightly larger than the emissary, hopped down from the wagon the first man had come out of.
“Aŕa tokâ mënǽnta,” the gypsy queen said to Kiliana, in a language known to few but her people.
“Kiliana, your majesty.” Kiliana bent to low curtsy but was raised by the queen.
“You know the language of the Old Tribe?” the queen asked suspiciously.
“Yes, your grace, I’m fluent in many tongues, as a gift of my former master.”
“Your master was a learned man.” The gypsy queen stared at Kiliana, and her eyes clouded over a moment, then returned to normal. “Lavido the hermit, wasn’t he?”
Kiliana looked at the old woman in wonder. “Yes, your Grace.”