Post by Croswynd on Feb 11, 2015 20:55:02 GMT -5
"I shouldn't be out here," the young woman said. Her face was ghoulish in the low light of the moon. Already, moisture beaded in her hair as the mist swirled around the city streets.
"I know. We won't be long, Sam. Come on," Blain said, and he reached out for her hand.
Their boots tapped against the cobblestone beneath them as they ran. Blain could feel the nervous beat of her heart in her palm, hear the unsteady cadence of her breath. They stuck to the shadows of the buildings, careful to avoid the city watch, their lanterns like burning orange beacons in the fog. Soon enough, the gurgling of a nearby brook lilted through the air, carrying the scent of moss and loam. Fields of grassy knolls undulated across the Faestone River as the town proper disappeared behind them. The light of the day had long since dwindled behind the mountains far across the Fairlands.
"Almost there,” Blain whispered.
A sigh was the only answer.
He grinned as he plowed through the mist with unerring step, the cobblestone giving way to grass. "Careful."
"I know. I've been here before, Blain," she said, and he could already picture the scowl on her face.
"Not like this, you haven't," Blain replied. "You're always cooped up in that building all day, reading books."
"Something you could benefit from, I’m sure," Samantha replied sharply, "since you'll in charge of this place someday."
"That's a long way off," Blain scoffed. A prickle of uneasiness washed over him at the thought, but he brushed it away as quickly as it had come.
He stopped, and Samantha strode up beside him.
"May I have my hand returned?" she asked with an arched brow.
"Yeah, yeah," Blain replied, letting his hand fall to his waist, where he patted the belt and the small sword draped across his hip. "Are you sure my lady doesn't require assistance down to the river's edge?"
Samantha snorted in quite an unladylike manner. "I think I shall be quite fine, thank you. And this 'river' hardly bears the name well."
Blain shrugged, and he stepped down to where the grass fell to the soft mud at the brook's edge. The grass was cool beneath his trousers, and the air felt good on his toes as he began to remove his boots.
"What in the world are you doing?" Samantha asked, brows furrowed.
He looked up at her. Her brown hair and eyes were lit with the barest hints of the moon. Behind her, the mist fell about her as if a scarf of sheerest, otherworldly white, tumbling and twisting. "Cooling my feet off. They've been stuck in these boots almost as long as you've been stuck in your tower."
"Hmm," Samantha hummed, bending down beside him. "And you believe having muddy feet is going to be any better?"
Blain rolled his eyes. "I'll wash it off in the river, don't worry. Besides, I shouldn't get these boots dirty. They're kind of important."
"And yet you brought them here with you, to where they'd most likely be ruined with mud," she tutted at him.
He chuckled at her and wrenched the second boot off, setting the pair beside him on the bank. Free at last, he dug his feet into the mud beneath him with a satisfying squish. "You should try it."
Samantha sniffed. "I think I'd rather not."
"Too much for a girl?" he challenged with a fierce grin.
She looked at him with malice in her eyes, quickly replaced by pity. "You really think you're any better just because you love mud between your toes?"
"I'm just saying the mud feels nice and cool after a hot day."
A moment passed, and she sighed and stood on one foot, wresting one of her small boots off. "Fine, I'll join you, Lord Ashcroft."
Blain rankled at that. "Must you?"
Now it was her turn to snicker. "What do you mean, my lord?"
He pushed her lightly, sending her flailing back. A muted thump interrupted the night air, followed by a soft squelch.
"That was my boot, Blain."
Blain could feel the heat of her glare just before an aura of light appeared around one of his boots. The boot raised into the air and hung above the water of the river before he realized what was happening. He froze, a cold chill running down his spine.
"You wouldn't," Blain whispered, eyes wide.
Samantha grinned at him down her nose. "Wouldn't what, my lord?"
"Samantha, please don't," he begged. Blain wondered if he could jump and grab for the boot before she dropped it into the river.
"Still such a little boy." Samantha's laugh was like a wind chime. "Fine, here you go. But you shouldn't talk back to your betters, Lord Ash-... Blain."
Blain sighed with relief as the boot floated across the river to his lap. It fell on his leather breeches with a soft thud, mud-free. He grinned ruefully up at his companion and set the boot to the side again. Finally, he patted the ground beside him. "Sit with me?"
Samantha complied, drawing her knees to her chest after removing her other boot. Her tiny feet rested on the soft grass of the bank, and she shivered. "It's cold."
Blain nodded, leaning back on his hands. "Yeah. Feels nice."
"Most boys would offer something to cover their lady," Samantha replied, idly picking at the grass with a hand. She lifted a green blade to her eyes, and a moment later, it blossomed into a small ball of fire. "Shame I'm no lady."
Blain shuffled uncomfortably. "Keep it small."
Samantha glanced over at him with a frown. "I know."
The twilight grew silent between them. Above them, the sky faded to a darker purple, the faintest hints of stars beginning to shine through the haze. Fog eddied across the brook in front of them, and creeped over the small bridge to their right. Light from Samantha's will-o-the-wisp sent a slightly orange cast to the mist and water, like the sun would across a great lake. Crickets began to saw through their nightly songs, replacing the chittering songs the birds sang during the day. Croaks accompanied them, and Blain heard a splash as one of the toads jumped off its rocky perch in front of him.
"Do you... think we could come here tomorrow?" Samantha asked.
"Of course," Blain said with false certainty. "Anytime you want."
Samantha sighed, finally letting her feet dip into the mud next to Blain's. "If only that were true. If only so many other things were true..."
Blain's skin prickled with goosebumps as a breeze rustled past them. "What do you mean?"
"Someday, I'll have a Warden," she replied. She squished the mud between her toes. "I won't be free anymore. I'll just be... a thing. Just a threat, a possibility...."
He remained silent, not knowing what to say.
"Someday I'll go crazy, Blain," Samantha said matter-of-fact, her face blank. "I'll stop being me."
"I won't let that happen," Blain said, grabbing her arm. This, he could understand. "I'll protect you, and you'll protect me. That's what we said, right?"
Samantha looked into his eyes, the flames of her magic casting sinister shadows. "That's what we—"
"Who's there?" a feminine voice called out, her voice like a whip. "I know you're there, so be named."
Immediately, they both started. Samantha's will-o-the-wisp extinguished itself, leaving them in darkness. Blain glanced up at the bridge where the mist was being burned away by an open lantern.
"Who asks?" he replied in a commanding voice he'd heard his father use.
The clunk and rustle of heavy boots accompanied a woman's frame crossing the bridge toward them. She drew closer, the lantern lighting up their small area and resolving her features into focus. Armored in Fairlands livery, the woman’s leather armor covered her chest and legs, the belt of a short sword's sheathe buckled around her waist. The steel of her weapon glinted in the hand not holding the lantern.
"Fairlands guardswoman," she replied without a hint of humor in her tone. "Now, I ask again, name yourselves."
"Samson, m'lady," Blain replied in a meek voice, bowing his head. "And this is my sister, Emily."
The guard looked at him and brought the lantern closer to his face. After a moment, she shined it at Samantha. Samantha looked away, hiding behind her hair.
"Emily, is it?" the guard asked blandly. "Pretty girl like you shouldn't hide her face. Chin up."
Blain's skin prickled, this time from fright. He leaned to the side slowly, reaching for his nearby sword, hidden from the guard's line of sight. "We were just about to go home. Honest."
"Oh, I believe that, son," the guardswoman replied.. "But I don't believe this girl's your sister. In fact, I think I know just what she is." She pointed the end of her sword at Samantha's throat. "Get up, witch. And don't think about casting any spells."
"She's not a witch!" Blain cried, jumping to his feet with sword in hand. His heart thundered in his chest. "Just let her go."
"Careful, son," the woman growled. "I've got my sharp friend here ready to separate her head from her body. Drop the sword."
"Bl- Samson," Samantha corrected herself almost too late. "Don't worry."
"Listen to her, boy," the guardswoman replied. "And drop your weapon."
"You can't take her," Blain said in a calm voice, belying the sweat breaking out on his skin. "My name is Blain Ashcroft, son of Lord Amberly Ashcroft. I order you to let her go."
The guardswoman shifted her weight to the other foot. "Oh, I knew it. You're the Lord's brat. And this is your little witch friend, isn't it?"
Blain wrinkled his forehead. "It doesn't matter who she is. I gave you an order."
"I don't take orders from you, boy.” She glanced at Samantha like she were a dangerous animal. “And the orders I do obey tell me exactly what to do with a witch without her Warden."
He gritted his teeth, taking a step forward with a confidence he didn’t feel. "Let her go. Now."
"You couldn't take me in a hundred years, bra- aaaaah!" She was cut off by a burst of fire exploding in her face.
Samantha rushed toward him. He grabbed her hand. "Let's go, now."
"We can't, Blain. She knows who we are. Who I am." Samantha said, her eyes locking with his.
Blain's mouth dried out. "No. Sam..."
A manic gleam appeared in her eyes. "We'll always protect each other, right, Blain? That's what you said.”
"You bitch!"
Blain reacted without thinking, bringing his sword up to block the one descending toward him in an overhand chop. The clang of their blades meeting sent a sharp pain down his arm. He grunted, fear clawing at his throat, and forced the blade to the side like he'd been taught.
Before he could situate himself, the guardswoman stabbed forward.
Before he could situate himself, the guardswoman stabbed forward.
He darted to the side, barely managing to deflect the blade from his ribs, and stumbled as one of his feet fell off the grass bank into the mud. Panic nearly overcame him, tears springing to his eyes. The whisp of the sword thrusting into the spot his head had just inhabited sent a shiver down his neck, and he raised his sword to deflect the next blow he knew was coming. Once again, the strength of the blow sent a pang down his arm, this time turning it numb. He gasped, off balance. The woman's sword was coming for him again, and this time, he couldn't do anything about it. Already, he could imagine the cold steel biting down on his neck...
A lance of ice sang through the air, impacting the guard's chest. The blow wasn't enough to pierce through the armor, but it was enough to send her off balance and stumbling into the mud the same way Blain just had. The lantern she carried fell into the water with a splash, banishing the light and returning the twilight.
Blain immediately stabbed forward with his sword, again without thinking, as hard as he could. This time, his weapon penetrated the woman’s armor. She roared out in pain and fell back, curses springing to her lips. Blain's sword went with her, out of his numb hand. He heard it splash into the water in front of him, but couldn't see a thing, still blinded from the former lanternlight.
Something bright whisked by his head, accompanied by a chill, and thudded sickeningly into the shape of the guardswoman. A gurgling grunt answered it, followed by another thud.
"Sam!" Blain twisted around, barely able to make out his companion pulling another shard of glowing ice out of the river. "Stop!"
"I can't stop," Samantha replied woodenly, sending the next shard forward. Another thud, another gurgle, this time weaker. "We can't stop, Blain. She knows."
Blain rushed toward her and slapped her hand out of the air. "Stop this, Sam."
"She'll tell," she said with a tremor in her voice, staring at him with wide, white eyes.
"And if you kill her, what then?" Blain asked, and grabbed her by the shoulders. "They'll find out it was you. Stop using magic."
"But—," she muttered.
"Stop," Blain said. He gulped, and felt like he had to throw up.
He turned away from her, his feet squishing loudly in the mud. The shape of the woman was nearly indistinct in the shallows of the brook. She coughed weakly, wetly. He stood over her, and crouched down to examine her wounds as best he could in the darkness. The woman's sword arm was a disgusting mess, gored by the ice shards. There was another hole in her leg, bleeding profusely.
"She...," the guardswoman croaked, and fell into a fit of coughing.
Blain reached to the side, where she'd dropped her sword, and hefted the weapon. A chill went through him. His hand shook. He stared at the gleaming steel. The whole world suddenly felt surreal, like he was watching himself from above.
"Help..."
With a soft shik, the night fell to the crickets and frogs once more.
