Lady looked at the people surrounding her, nobles, servants, wise men and children, and wanted to protect them. She hadn’t been the child prepped for the throne, which had always been meant for her brother, but it had never bothered her either, being second. She had wanted other things with her life, and now those dreams seemed like faded pebbles on a sweeping river bed, no longer within her grasp. Now she had no choice but to take the seat of power, Wolf being far too young. Another four turns of the seasons would pass before he was of age, though Lady herself was still another full turn herself.
She held her head high as memories of her father poured in. It held her steady as the anxiety of her new overbearing responsibilities began to build up, just before her first decree. Pylos would become a military state. All citizens were to receive training in the arts of the sword, including those who were of age, though they may still seem as children in the eyes of many. The right to bear arms became a necessity, and the skills to work metal an everyday necessity. The people, fearful of the horrors beyond, had little arguments to the change.
After her official crowning, Lady met with her brother in private. Putting her hands on his shoulders she whispered. “I have a special task for you. The old books, from the times long forgotten, you need to read them and find us hope. Diamond swords and arrows only do us so much good. In our bedtime stories there were legends of enchanted potions and magical weapons. We both know that they have some truth to them. Find them for us, and make us remember the powers of the old gods.” Wolf’s eyes widened at such an opportunity, he had never been allowed to read from the closed off section of the grand library. Lady’s hand took his, and a rusty key found itself in his grasp. Nodding with more excitement, he ran off at once, eager to begin.
Lady was envious as she watched her brother run off, but there was no time to worry about her own happiness. Squaring her shoulders, she turned back to the court to attend her first council, less than eager to make more decisions on matters which were above her head. She needed her mother’s patience and reasoning now. After all, she was just a child still, a young mind ready for the molding of manipulation. At least she had a colleague there who supported and faithfully advised her. It was none other than Sigurther, her father’s most trusted advisor, who met her and walked with her in silence to her first council meeting.
Lady listened and did her best to manage the issues at hand. The mining and manufacturing of Redstone was important, but so was the technology behind what could be used with it, and manpower was limited. She decided to divide the court so that all matters at hand would receive proper attention, dedicating the largest portion to the inventions of new technologies. Few could disagree with the notion of new weapons to protect people from monsters. However, all protested in her idea of continuing her personal combat training, wishing that she would give up the sword. Despite their objections, none could persuade her otherwise, and so the Master of Arms, her father’s faithful advisor, was given the responsibility to properly teach the Duchess.
She would not let her people fight while she did nothing, and perhaps there was something more in it than that. The darkness had receded for now, but was not gone. It would eventually return far more powerful than before and its recession could only mean the strengthening of its forces. Mardok’s evil had carved itself a place in her mind. The idea of the man brought out nightmares from the deepest recesses of her psyche, but little by little her thoughts isolated those fears, converting them into targets to be slain. He was a man. A powerful man, but a man none the less. And all men could be overpowered, defeated, killed. And that kept Lady going.
Soon enough Lady found herself standing atop of the outer wall just past nightfall, a bow in her hands as she stared down at her target.
“Your arm is too stiff, bend it a little,” suggested Sigurther, while his hands adjusted her posture appropriately. The torches upon the battlements had been extinguished, allowing Lady’s eyes to adjust to night’s darkness. Lady could see the ambling figure in the darkness and waited for the most opportune moment.
Her head was a swirl of mixed emotions. She was no stranger to the bow, having gone with her father hunting in the woods more than once. However, this was different. That was a man down there, turned with the illness, and had been an important part of someone’s life in the past. There still was no cure for the sickness and she became all too aware of the feel of the bow in her hands. For the first time in her life she was about to end a life, a life that had once been human. He could have had a family, or perhaps have been there on her day of birth, or have known her parents. He could have been many things at one point, but that was all taken away from him with the sickness. Like her and her brother, whatever destinies he once had it would be different now. She knew there was no honor or glory in this, only a hope to end the suffering of the individual’s soul.
Eyeing the unaware individual below her, she swallowed back the lump in her throat.
“Remember to breathe out when you take the shot, to steady your aim.”
A curt nod was given by Lady who had yet to make her choice to let go of the string.
“As he can never go back… neither can I.” Lady’s short prayer was said as she released the string. The sound of the arrow cut through the darkness and hit its indented target without error. Sigurther smiled, pleased with the quality of the shot.
But Lady’s eyes held nothing in them.
Far away, in a land never seen by those of the Kingdom, Mardok watched the event of the little Duchess’s kill and frowned. The strength to bear the weight of such things at her age was potentially troublesome in his eyes. It seemed he had to get rid himself of the entire family line after all. With a wave of his hand a servant approached. He whispered in its ear before it scurried off to do its master’s biddings. Rising from his obsidian throne, Mardok approached a dark marble pedestal, picking up a softly glowing arrow upon its surface.
“I was hoping to save you for a more worthy target,” he whispered to the arrow, “but I need to instill these people with fear should I ever be able to conquer them.” When the familiar rattle-clank of bones approached his ears he spoke aloud, taking his thumb and running it along the sharpened edge of a blackened arrowhead. “I have a special task for you, my general, as you are the only one I would trust with such a mission. You are to pierce the little Duchess with this.” He held the arrow high, its glow emanating a purple hue on the tiled floor.
The empty eye sockets stared blankly at its creator, but he could understand even if there was no sound to communicate between them. “Kill her if you can, but it is not required. Even should the shot fail to fatally would her, the arrow’s power will do the rest.”
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