Time continued to pass, and Lady did her best to keep her promise. She personally led every military engagement along the front, never missing a single skirmish and never asking her solders to do anything that she herself could not do. She always had the making of a great warrior, but her proficiency as a ruler did not always reach the same level of distinction. Regardless, the people held her in high regard and waited patiently for her to grow into her new role, having faith that the heavy crown would one day fit properly upon her head. It was to be expected that the burden of responsibility would be hard to take upon at such an age when childhood was still clinging on.
But it wasn’t a child’s whim for adventure that stole Lady from the castle for hours at a time without notice or care. It unnerved her nursemaids when she disappeared, who fretted for her safety and constantly scolded her when she came back dirty and scraped up, looking as if she had been running throughout the woods all day. Fortune had favored her and given her a tall body, which masked her age when dressed in full armor. Her hair tucked within her helm, and chest plates which hid her feminine figure, she travelled among the people without issue. No one made the connection between Lady and the lone rider who exited the city into the dangerous country side.
The wind whistled into the iron helm and by her ears, drowning out her thoughts. The feel of her horse under the saddle made her forget her body, and in her mind she became one with her mount. They would ride faster and faster until Lady was not sure she had remembered to breathe, as if the wind in her face did it for her. She wanted to let her hair flow freely, but dared not let her crimson locks expose her identity. She instead took satisfaction in the music sung by the gust’s resonance. The sounds of the hooves galloping on the road melted away into a quickened heartbeat that mimicked her own. She never felt more alive in her life… the absolute freedom she felt with the world melting away into a blur of colored scenery. It didn’t matter where they were; it was all a distortion of constantly changing colors.
She sensed her steed tiring without having to check on him, and cooing into his ear, they slowed down to a trot. Having been her father’s war mount, he was very receptive to commands, and quite fond of his new rider, who constantly sought him out for companionship rather than leaving him in the small fields until next needed. But on her way back to the castle, Lady always found it difficult to stay on task. No matter where she went there were people in need; starved citizens who had been driven from their fields by the silent assassins that crept across the lands. Lady would look down to them, torn at the consequences of helping and the possibility of being discovered. A phrase began to form in her mind, one which played whenever she saw these needy people left to their own fates. “If not me, than who? If not now, then when?”
The iron helm hid Lady from the prying eyes of the sightless general whose agents hunted the lands. They dared not enter the keep itself, and Lady left the keep infrequently for patrol, preferring to work from behind her mask. But luck did not last forever. He knew Lady’s nature, and a raid on a smaller outlying village was soon to occur, with a single rider escaping through the surrounding Pickett lines.
Having arranged his men strategically for the best defense against the now improved weapons of the Dukedom’s men, he turned to his arachnid mount, and if there were lips still left on his face, he’d have smiled. This would be an easy assault; the woods were nearby and provided plenty of cover and time to retreat. With the clinking of bones he climbed up to his saddle, grabbing the reins and giving his men the silent orders that none could hear except through whatever perverted magic reincarnated their figures. Digging his heels into his mount, the creature climbed up the nearby tree effortlessly. And none would expect his attack from above.
Sure enough Lady came without hesitation, her squadron in tow, eager to help the survivors. Silently the archer watched the young Duchess fight alongside her people waiting for the precise moment that would guarantee a hit. Many people were initially in his line of sight and at one point he could feel the change of the wind in his bones and had to adjust his position from atop the treetop. But he had patience, and time on his side. Lady’s armor was chainmail, the lightness necessary for movement with flexibility. Nevertheless this was no concern for the general; the arrowhead was long and slender. A bodkin arrowhead could easily pierce through such armor and carry out its purpose. Then, when Lady had turned in her saddle, giving him a perfect shot at her torso, he let the arrow fly.
The breath escaped Lady as the arrow pierced through the chainmail and her leather undergarment. The force of the blow threw back her shoulder and the muscle in her arm convulsed, causing her to drop the spear. Lady was ignorant to the loss of weapon as she stared down at the arrow protruding from her chest, almost as if in disbelief of its presence. It had lodged in her left breast, but if it had pierced her lung or heart, she could not tell. She could not feel anything, and the pain she’d expected was absent.
Something was wrong though as Lady’s arm on the reins dropped and her body sagged forward on her horse. She was losing consciousness and two soldiers came up to steady her. One of them calling out her name, but she was unresponsive, her eyes staring at them but not seeing. A curse was uttered by the man who was attempting to get a response from the child. He turned to the other soldier, quickly giving orders for cover as he climbed up onto lady’s saddle. Taking the reins he steadied the panicked horse while pulling Lady up against his chest with the other. Digging his heels into the mount they were off in an instant, riding to the castle as fast as her horse could carry them. The skeletons disappeared back into the forest, much to the concern of the remaining men, no longer carrying out their attack. Their task was completed; no further reason to continue the fight.
There were bigger concerns though as men of medicine gathered around the small child who still had the arrow lodged within her chest. They had to be careful and swift, taking advantage of her unconscious state where there was little they could do to ease the pain. They didn’t know for certain if the arrow was barbed or the exact extent of the damage yet. Breaking off most of the shaft they worked quickly to remove the chainmail and undergarments, and examined the wound. “Good… see how narrow and even the wound is, it’s a puncture wound, unlikely barbed.” Remarked a surgeon who had been on many battlefields during his time in court. “I’ll prepare the needle and thread.” Dressings and hot water were prepared for the extraction of the arrow. A healer stepped up and felt around the wound and determined that it was very unlikely that the arrow had hit any vital organs; while the chainmail had not prevented the arrow from piercing Lady, it had slowed its entry, preventing the depth such a shot would have on exposed flesh. “Pull it out slowly, we don’t want it to break in her.” The surgeon said as he poised, ready to quickly sew the gap closed before precious blood was lost.
The healer did as instructed whilst assistants held Lady down, gently extracting the arrow in anticipation to see what exactly had pierced the child. None were prepared though as her eyes shot open in a wild panic coupled with howling screams, her whole body convulsing from the movement of the arrow within her body. Assistants threw their whole body weight on her as she struggled to break free. Her eyes were white, the iris lost in whatever poison the arrow had been coated in, and her mouth began to foam, causing her to choke on her own saliva.
“Bind her down! Don’t let her choke on her tongue!” Panic grasped the people as they attempted to control the seizures that wracked Lady’s body that was trying to bend and contort in ways that no bone structure could handle.
“I got it!” exclaimed the healer, but his face immediately paled as he showed his results to the surgeon. It was a blackened arrowhead, made of obsidian, and there was only one type of magic that glowed with such a purple hue. Worse still, the arrowhead had chipped. A piece of it still lodged in the girl’s chest.
“Those fiends shot her with a fragment of a nether portal?!” All eyes in the room were upon the healer with the fragment of arrow in his hands. Fear and panic swept the room before the surgeon took command of the situation. “We have to seal the wound.” There was no way to dig out the shard, it could potentially kill the girl if they opened the wound more to search for it. Watching as the nurses cleaned the wound best they could, the healer had an idea. Without a word, he quickly ran out of the room in a desperate search for someone who might be able to help.
It was after the surgeon had sealed and dressed the wound that they had placed the feverish girl in a bed, bound so that her hands could not scratch and tear at her chest. She was turning paler by the moment as whatever darkness worked through her body caused small shivers that wracked her exhausted being. This is how Caesaris the druid found her, her condition rapidly worsening and death immanent. However, in his hand he had a small golden glowing sphere. He had been growing a cure for the green illness and had been waiting for the fruit to mature to see if it worked, but now it had to be picked before it was ready in attempt to save his young duchesses’ life.
Working quickly, he finely cut the golden apple up and placed it into a bowl and ground it up with a pedestal. There was no way to get the girl to swallow food without fear of her chocking, but he had another way. Pouring what little juice there was in to a small flask he took out a golden spike. It had a broadened hollowed out base where medicine could be poured into it while the center was hollowed out so that medicine could flow through it and into the patient. “Someone hold her up for me.” A nursemaid hurried over and sat Lady up; her eyes were cloudy and unfocussed as she stared blankly forward, unable to see those who were around her. Without saying a word he plunged the hollowed needle into the base of her clavicle and poured what little juice there was into it. “Lay her down now, and go fetch the surgeon, he’s got another hole to sew up.”
Return to Table of Contents
