Thorne River by Luke Hodgson

His eyes strained against the midmorning sunlight as it poured into the wood. The light ebbed through the leaves and onto the tiny clearing where they had made camp the previous night. The night seemed so long ago but the way his body felt, it seemed as though it had just happened. He's been hunched over in-between the foliage nearly all morning, covered in dark paint, camouflaged, and waiting. Waiting for the riders to eventually come and try to take them. He knew they would eventually come sooner or later, it didn't really matter, but he also knew that they mustn't be taken.

The gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the bush where he crouched, cramped. The tiny breeze felt good and it put his mind at ease somewhat. Thoughts of the night before fell into place, somehow trying to make sense of what had happened. He remembered the great hall, all the officers where there as well as the King's Guard, some of the rangers, himself included, the King and his son. His left arm still hurt from the bloodbath that ensued. He was trying to sort things out when a voice cut through him from behind, like a dagger to the back.

"Thor!? Where are you Thor!?" The voice called rather loudly.

He knew the princess was awake now and something had to be done about her. Turning he silently slipped from the foliage, still covered in his thick paint, his eyes black like a raccoon's.

"Princess, you can't be screaming like that. And my name isn't Thor it's Thorne, Thorne," Thorne stressed the ending of his name for her. "Do you think I brought you out here for no reason? People are trying to kill us."

The princess was dressed in a sheer gossamer slip with long flowing sleeves. Around her waist was a silver thread that served as a belt of sorts but more for decoration. Thorne guessed that they could sell that for some lodgings and provisions but he didn't voice his thoughts. Her long auburn hair was tussled from sleep and even when she yawned her dainty hands clasped over her mouth to hide her sleepy state.

Her face was truly royal. Creamy white skin and soft brown eyes. He's heard stories that her smile could cheer a blind man up or send him mad from her frown. For the past eight hours he was waiting for her smile to cheer him up. Problem was her voice was driving him mad. All in all she was still beautiful.

Thorne got her a oversized bear's skin cloak and wrapped it around her. He knew the morning hours were cold and the shrill air played no favorites even with the royal house. He pressed a green and brown painted fingers to her lips, leaving a tiny trail of residue behind, signaling for her to be quiet. His eyes darted around and then traced their way back to her.

"Now, listen to me," he began with a whisper. "I'm not here with you because I want to be. I'm here to protect you. People want you dead, a lot of people."

"Like who?" Her voice trembled somewhat hearing of her impending danger.

"Like your brother, Leorn II, who's now the King, I think. Its unbelievable and inconceivable, I know, but you have to believe me. When I say quiet you stay quiet, when I say talk, you talk. Understood. Otherwise we can sit here and wait to be put to death."

He knew he was coming off too rough with the princess. He could see the tears welling up underneath her eyes the more he spoke. He was used to talking to no-nonsense officers and soldiers. He was used to harsh people, telling him how it was going to be. He wasn't suited for speaking subtly. He also knew that he was their only hope in getting through this ordeal alive, so he couldn't show any sign of emotion. He left her sob there and went back to their camp to start to pack for the day.

Thorne's dark brown leggings and boots were soiled beyond belief, the mud he caked on them had already started to flake off from the night before. His olive shirt and brown vest faired no better, yet they weren't covered in mud. His cloak swayed somewhat under the restriction of the mud he caked on it. Some leaves and twigs stuck to his cloak and shirt, cracking and rustling as he moved. He looked like a walking bush. His hand went to the whip that hung on his side. The leather was black and tight. When he heard her footfalls his fingers moved over the handle. The leather hissed through the air and snapped out, catching her around the waist. He knew she'd run just not when. It was good they were getting through all this now, in the early part of their journey. He knew she would be trouble, sooner rather than later he surmised when he first saw her frightened, beautifully disheveled appearance in her bedchamber last night.

She was bound to give away their position and probably get both of them killed or worse. She would be useless in a fight much less a real skirmish that he knew would be coming, probably on horseback. He didn't understand why the Lord Marshall ordered him away to care for a whimpering princess anyway. He belonged in the battle, fighting beside his commander, not baby-sitting some spoiled aristocrat. Thorne made an audible sigh.

She shrieked and lurched to a standstill. The whip coiled around her waist and trapped one arm to her side. The leather creaked and strained as she tried to wiggle free.

"Now, what were you planning on doing?" Thorne asked, disdainfully, knowing full well the answer.

"I was going to the castle, where I belong!" She shrieked again.

Thorne frowned and pulled her back to him, her feet scraping the ground beneath her royal slippers. Thorne wasn't used to this type of person. Arrogant, stubborn, headstrong, and loud.

"I'm going to change, when I'm done we'll talk. I'll tell you why you can't go back."

She listened to Thorne's voice change its temper, whether Thorne himself knew it or not. His voice was soothing she thought, all that she wanted. She only wanted someone to comfort her. Only when her mother was around did she ever feel comforted. The tears welled up in her eyes again and burst freely into crying. The tears flowed and flowed.

Thorne released the whip and wound it back up. Immediately she stood up and started quickly into the path, leading to the clearing. Thorne growled loudly, loud enough to scare some nosey whippoorwills into flight. Without saying a word Thorne went about his task of safeguarding the princess while he changed. Thorne wound the loose rope around her and the tree nearest their makeshift tent; he tied the knot and looked at her there, pouting silently, knowing she was outmatched and beaten. He disappeared into his tent and moments later he emerged with fresh clothes. Nearly identical to the ones that he wore with the mudcovering but clean this time.

He found her just where he left her, sad and lonely, tied to a dying tree. He mentally slapped himself for treating her like that. His curt manners did nothing to help the situation, even less than his charge's arrogant stubbornness. He quickly released her, his knife easily cutting through the rope. He replaced the bearskin and took a seat beside her. She looked up at him as he sat. Her big brown eyes taking in his figure. His hard, painted face was washed away and beneath it hid a rather youthful visage. Light stubble clung to his chin and jaw. His hair was neatly combed and stopped just over his ears, hanging just slightly over his eyes as well. He still smelled like the woods and the mud but at least he looked clean, she thought to herself.

"Princess," Thorne began.

"Elina," she interrupted.

Thorne nodded and started again, "Elina, you can't return to the castle. Not until your brother is sane or dead." He felt the tears start again, knowing his bluntness wasn't appreciated.

"What happened?" She asked in between sobs.

Thorne frowned and didn't want to rehash what had happened, but he owed her that much. "It was last night. Your father and brother were in the great hall, talking when I and the Lord Marshall entered. Some other rangers accompanied me. The King's Guard was there as well as some other men, no doubt your brother's retinue.

"Your brother suddenly announced that he was the new King. Your father only laughed and looked a little embarrassed at that. If only your little brother was kidding. What happened next was a bit of a blur right now. Leorn summoned his retainers and they stormed the throne before the rest of us could react.

"It was a risky plan but it was well thought out. The retainers, probably mercenaries hired by Leorn took the King and killed him without hesitation. Blood was already running down the steps of the throne by the time we pulled our weapons."

"Father? Dead, killed?" Elina's bottom lip quivered, desperately holding back the flood of tears that threatened to drive her mad.

"Murdered, by your brother. The King's Guard was charging up the steps of the Thorne when the doors of the hall opened up. The doors where we entered housed twenty guards and the doors behind the King's throne housed twenty more, armored and ready for our heads. The Lord Marshall bade me find you and take you from the bloodshed. To take you somewhere where you could be kept safe. What happened next was the bloodiest and hardest thing I've ever had to witness.

"Inside the throne hall we fought. Forty well armored guards and then some against merely fifteen of us. Sil and Gerod, my brother rangers flanked me, hands gripping their steel. I could see the sweat peel from their foreheads. The Lord Marshall shouted and screamed for Leorn to call off his guards. Your brother smirked and shouted some orders. The guards charged, believing we killed the King. Leorn's mercenaries held the high ground against the King's personal guard, holding them at bay and outnumbering them two to one. Sil and Gerod drew forward, heading off the armored charge, allowing me time enough to find a window and start for it.

"I managed to climb some tapestry and vault to the sill, watching momentarily below me as Sil was cut in half by the charge, leaving Gerod to fend for his own. The steel mass engulfed Gerod, his screams were muffled. The Lord Marshall surrendered to the mercy of Leorn. I vaulted out of the window and started down the outer wall. That's when I entered your bedchamber.

"Now do you see why you mustn't go back? The King's Guard is no doubt dead or surrendered and the Lord Marshall probably dead as well. Your brother is blood thirsty, for your blood especially."

Thorne allowed her the silence of the mid-morning calm to wash over her sobbing. Elina held her head in her hands, the tears ran hot down against her cheeks and into her palms. Her world has turned inside out and upside down in a matter of moments. There have been wars before, wars with strangers and faceless villains but never have the villains held the face of her own little brother. She could see him doing everything Thorne told her, she was sure of it. That made it all too much to bare. Thorne hesitantly raised his arm, crooking it and draping it across her shoulders. Elina instantly leaned against him, an embrace they both welcomed in their own way.

The birds were long in their silence. The sounds of swords crashing together, men shouting, and men dying flooded the forest. Leorn was undoubtedly on the field with his generals, attacking his enemies. The morning calm was shattered and would continue to be shattered. Thorne helped Elina to her feet and they started packing. That's when he heard them.

Their horse's hooves pounded against the ground. Armored riders Thorne thought. He knew they were coming, he could almost feel the ground shake beneath him. They called the armored cavalry "Armored Lightning", it would no doubt be Vargin's men. Vargin supported Leorn, the little boy-King, and was in charge of much of the military. His men were ruthless and violent, like himself. They were fast when they needed to be and just as deadly. Their armored horses and bodies shone brilliantly through the forest with the sun reflecting off their adornments. The crashing sounds of the horse's hooves rocked their camp and Elina looked to Thorne nervously.

Thorne responded with one word, "Hide."

Elina looked around hurriedly, trying to find a hiding spot but she couldn't. She froze seeing the armor all ablaze in the midmorning haze. Her mouth hung open, her eyes gazing widely, sweat beaded upon her brow. Thorne saw what was happening but he dared not make a sound, he jumped to a nearby tree, he scaled the bark easily like the Lord Marshall had taught him so many years ago and knelt on one of its branches.

He camped where they did because he liked the relative seclusion of the clearing. The thick tree covering and the dense ground foliage in a fairly large clearing in the wolfswood was perfect. He knew they horses could only come one way, the way they came last night, through the path he made. Thorne steadied himself and unfurled his whip. He saw there was only three horsemen. He couldn't help but to feel slighted and allowed himself a quick smile because Vargin didn't think more highly of him. But Thorne couldn't recognize the sigil that flew behind on the third horse nor did he recognize any of the men's shields. Maybe these weren't Vargin's men afterall thought Thorne.

Thorne pushed these straying thoughts to the back of his mind and steadied himself, eyeing the lead horse. Elina stood there, frozen still as the horses and their riders galloped around the bend, leading into their camp. She could see clearly though she just couldn't move. Her body ached and she could see the blue eyes beneath the lead rider's visor. They burned through her, stripping her from her clothes and skin alike, straight to her soul beneath.

Thorne lassoed his whip and made a small knot. When the horse and its rider came below where he was he dipped it down, catching the man's helmet, beneath the chin. Quickly Thorne jumped backwards, using the branch as a brace for his noose. The rider lurched up and Thorne bounded backwards, Thorne took hold of the second man around the back. The first rider coughed and squirmed, barely able to hold on as Thorne hooked the handle of his whip in the belt of the second rider. Thorne jumped as the third rider spurred his horse, lowered his spear and thrust at them. The spear cracked and splintered inside the second rider. Blood flowed freely beneath the mail coif and plates.

The rider slumped from his mount and tumbled atop the ground, dead. This only caused the first rider to continue to hang, weak and loosing air fast. Thorne rolled onto the ground, avoiding the horse's hooves. The third rider, pulled his shield from the side of his saddle and drew the reins with his sword in hand, spinning him around to find Thorne. The rider's shield was emblazoned by a dark black winged dragon set over a crimson back. This rider's armor looked more rugged and worn than the other two. The man's helmet was different, his visor covered his eyes and left his mouth exposed with his big, ebony beard. The armor was tinted a darker gray and atop his black mount he looked imposing.

His sword glistened in the air, the only shining piece of equipment this knight held, came thrashing towards Thorne. The blade bit into the ground, a portion of Thorne's cloak was ripped from him. Fabric and dirt were strewn for the moment as Thorne made his way into a nearby bush.

The man held the reins and pulled his horse to a standstill. The beast was larger than the other two auburn geldings. The horse whinnied and huffed while his master looked into the brush for Thorne.

"Come on out little rabbit," the monster atop the black horse announced, "I already have taken part of your pelt, I need the rest of it now to finish my cloak. My shoulders grow cold these nights."

Thorne's voice soared in the battle scarred clearing, "A wolf's coat makes a much warmer cloak. Take my word for it because you'll never get mine!" Thorne leapt from behind Elina, still frozen in fear and mounted one of the smaller geldings. He pulled a longsword from the saddle and held it fast, watching the knight, focused.

The gray knight's eyes darted from where Thorne disappeared into the brush and to where he is now, "You still move like a rabbit and you bare your teeth to soon boy-cub. I'll have your pelt yet."

The gray knight tossed his broadsword to the ground and with it his shield. He reached behind him and brandished a twisted mass of metal, wound around a oak and iron shaft. The double bladed axe he held easily in his right hand. The black steel glimmered in the fluttering sunlight. The axe had two immense blades on either side of the shaft and a long fluted spearhead crowing the head of the shaft. The knight spurred his horse forward as did Thorne.

Thorne snarled, his eyes narrowed into the knight's visor. The knight leaned to his right, in his hand the axe spun easily. When the horses nearly met the knight shifted his weight. The knight brought the axe around his back and clutched the shaft with his left hand, in a wide arc to his left. The move caught Thorne off guard. Thorne saw this too late, he pulled on his horse's reins, the mount kicked back, reared up on its hind legs. The knight's axe caught the horse deep in its chest, straight through to the bone and the soft organs beneath. The twisted metal blades lodged deep within the horse's chest, the shaft all but disappeared inside.

Thorne pulled on his horse to his right, the knight's left. With a moment to react Thorne slashed with his longsword at the knight's horse, cutting it underneath its chin, against its throat. Blood spilled quickly from the wound. With a final slash, Thorne connected against the knight's horse's forehead. The blade struck through the horse's flesh and locked in its skull. Thorne's horse was the first to fall but the knight didn't relinquish his grip on his weapon and fell beneath the beast. The black charger died before it hit the ground from Thorne's death blow. Thorne was flung forward, he landed face first in the bloody, dirt of the clearing.

Thorne groaned and struggled to get to his feet. He could hear the labored breathing of the knight on the other side of the fallen, black charger. He could see the knight's mailed hand held up into the air, a signal that he was still alive. Thorne lurched to his feet, staggered from side to side, his cloak was dirty and blood stained, yet it billowed out around him in the calm morning breeze.

Thorne screamed, looking about for a sword or weapon, with staggered steps towards the fallen knight.

"Thorne! Don't! Let's leave!" Elina's voice broke out of the aching world behind him, exploding in his head.

Elina had taken the third and final gelding, mounted him and tossed whatever she could, nothing more than two backpacks and some odd bits of clothing, atop her horse. She sat there, hand outstretched to Thorne, inviting him.

Thorne glanced to the gray knight, blood flaked and streamed from around and in his beard, he was breathing, but barely. His hand still held onto his axe but from the looks of it he was badly broken beneath his suit of armor. Thorne looked back to Elina and nodded.

He leapt and with her help he sat behind her, his weary arms held her tightly around her waist. She reined up the horse and pulled him towards the pathway when Thorne stopped her.

"My whip, I need to get it," Thorne insisted.

"But, what about him?" Elina nodded towards the fallen gray knight, his hands clenched as he began to move more now.

"I'll hurry as best I can manage. I can't leave my whip behind."

"Hurry though," Elina turned the horse to the swinging knight and his speared comrade.

Thorne dismounted, Thorne winced from a sharp pain, his side burned but started to loosen the knight's belt which held the whip handle. In a crashing metal heap the knight that hung from the branch fell to earth. Thorne untied the knot and coiled his whip; and with Elina's help again mounted the stallion.

Elina and Thorne rode off from the clearing, they left much of their equipment and items behind which worried Thorne. The gray knight rolled over, finally releasing the axe shaft, blood cascaded from behind his breastplate. Blood spilled from the fallen man's mouth as he scrambled to remove his helmet and mailed hood. The gray armor looked a bleak and dismal color, dark in parts with the thick blood of the fallen horses and his own.

Kneeling, he straightened up and looked around with his dark gray eyes at the landscape before him. A grim smile raced over his thin crimson lips. Some more blood spilled from between his teeth as his mouth opened taking in a large breath. He clutched at his wounds as he stalked, wearily out of the clearing and back to the castle.

Elina reined the stallion through the path they traversed the previous evening, back to the castle. Elina's hair billowed out and around Thorne who hung close to her, his weary arms around the fair maiden.

"Why are we going back?" She shouted over her shoulder, her soft voice loud enough to cut through the racing wind around them.

"I want to see how the battle fares. We have to pass by there anyway, a minute or two out of our way is nothing to worry about now."

They mounted a hill, near the southern portion of the battlefield, a half mile away from the main fighting. Flags and banners of all kinds flew and raged in heated contest. Leorn's banner was the most prevalent and largest. The flying red dragon banner held the eyes of all who looked upon the field. The second largest was the flying serpent, Leorn II's chief rival, Lord Joywin. Joywin's banners held the northern portion of the field but the King's forces were pushing him back, away from the castle, cutting off Thorne and Elina's escape.

"Thorne, if my brother pushes Joywin's forces back," Elina started, "We're as good as dead."

"I know."

Elina spurred the horse, looking to make a break across the swarming battlefield when Thorne tightened his grip on her shoulders, causing her rein the horse to a standstill.

"Why did you do that?" She snapped.

"You're too impetuous like your brother, have patience."

"I am not like my brother!"

Thorne didn't want to get into a shouting match with her about her nativity, willfulness, and otherwise blatant resemblance to her younger brother. He shook his head and pointed across the field, straight to her brother.

"Leorn, your brother, is an immature boy playing as BattleKing. Joywin has superior battlelords, your brother probably has killed off most of his own already. Keep your eyes on his main force, there. See it, swelling, forcing Joywin back. Like I was saying, Leorn is impetuous like you, he's pushing too hard, too fast. He's not thinking ahead.

"Joywin's ally, Allister, is pushing in front of us, making short work of Leorn's light infantry with his armored lance. Leorn doesn't see them. They'll take him totally by surprise. There'll be a path in the lines, one way or another. Wait until you see it, then push fast."

Elina saw what Thorne was talking about and understood. Allister's armored lance division were riding over Leorn's infantry, even though the infantry outnumbered the horses four to one. Leorn apparently thought Allister would be intimidated by the numbers. The numbers apparently only spurred him on. Elina remembered something that made her smile. She remembered something her father had said about KnightLord Allister, something about he couldn't count.

"What's so funny?" Thorne asked.

"I was just thinking about," She started to answer him but he cut in again.

"Now! See the line where Allister just past, over through there, behind Joywin! Now Elina, now!" Thorne shouted as he spurred the horse with his own heels.

Elina tightened her grip on the reins and fought to keep herself in the saddle, nearly falling over if it weren't for Thorne's tight embrace. As the two of them picked up speed down the hillside Thorne tightened his embrace even more and Elina allowed herself the tinniest of smiles, her eyes cast downward for only a moment to his hands.

For the first few moments the only sound they could hear was the whip that whipped past them and then out of nowhere shouts and cries went up all around them. The horse bounded through what looked like a sea of bodies. Moans and wails penetrated her ears, cutting deep into her mind. The misery was thick and one was hard pressed to try to cut straight through it. Elina struggled to control herself as well as the horse. Blood and bodies jumped and darted in front of them, mangled humanity threatened to unhorse them and swallow them in this fatal embrace that they cut into.

The horse snorted loudly as they passed behind Allisters army.

Joywin spied them coming in his direction even before Allister's men saw them. He had his men turn, making a buffer for them to ride around. Joywin and Allister's men now made a snakelike "S" in the battlefield, striking and hissing with steel against Leorn and his newly appointed battlelords and their men. Leorn looked on from behind the safety of his minions. His men started to swing to meet Allisters lances. Joywin's host surged forward.

"That can't be her," Leorn mouthed to himself over the roaring voices of the battle. "Maladuke! Maladuke, who is that rider behind Joywin's men?"

Maladuke, one of the mercenaries that Leorn used to kill his father, addressed his employer, "My King, I can't see but the rider looks like a woman and with her rides a man. His markings make him out to be a ranger my King."

Leorn watched Thorne and Elina race behind the armies, his eyes strained to get a better focus on them but in his mind he knew all to well who they were. His blood caked hands tightened into balled, bloody fists.

Elina and Thorne raced behind Joywin's host. The loud clash of steel on steel rang loudly in the mid-afternoon air. The birds fought against the constant noise of death and misery for audience to their songs. Arrows streamed to and fro, from both sides of the battle. Men died quickly on either side. Hatred poured freely from both sides in kind. Death raced across the battlefield, snatching up souls with a staggering pace.

Lord Joywin rode out behind his host to meet with Elina and Thorne. He held his mailed fist up to them, and with his two sons on either side of him, he beckoned them to halt.

"Hold!" Joywin shouts, "Rider hold!"

Elina slowed the horse's gait and stopped it, its breathing labored and quick. "Lord Joywin," Elina pronounced with accuracy, "It is a pleasure to meet you again. How fares the battle against my little brother?"

Joywin was unaware of who she was until then. He nodded politely, "I beg your pardon Princess. I don't mean to disrespect you. I did not know it was you whom I spoke to. Pray forgive me."

"How goes the battle?" She asked again, his apologies unheard.

"Leorn is a dangerous foe. He has mercenaries who fight braver than any I've seen on both flanks. It appears his light infantry is exhausted but his horse will give Allister a go for it. My armored divisions and his were locked stalemated only but a moment ago. To further our dilemma we don't know what kind of reserves are waiting in the castle. In my estimation we'll both run the other into the ground by nightfall and it will come down to single combat by tomorrow morning."

Elina nodded and looked back to Thorne, who, by now has released his hold on her waist. His eyes were cast somewhere far off into the fray below them. She could only guess that he wanted to be there, fighting for his King, her father. Thorne sighed and looked back to Elina. Her stare caught him off guard and he was startled. Thorne nodded and they silently agreed to flee.

Thorne spoke up from behind Elina, "Lord Joywin, I am honored with the charge of guarding the Princess Elina and I intend to fulfill that order. I wish you the best of luck in this battle in hopes that you'll send word when Leorn is dispatched whereas the Princess and I will return."

Joywin understood and bade them farewell. The late afternoon sun relents in its heat and both hosts continue to mercilessly pound against one another. Elina and Thorne gallop away from the sea of the dead bodies and Leorn's cruel sight.

"Will we be safe Thorne?" Elina asks over her shoulder again, hopefully disguising her quivering voice.

"Maybe in a week, a day, an hour, or never. I can't see the future."

They rode slowly down the beaten dirt rode until they came upon a welcome sight, an inn. The Lonely Torches Inn the sign read, written against a single red torch on the swinging shield sign. Weary travelers shuffled out of the inn;they loaded their cart and hurried off when Thorne and Elina stopped in front of the inn. A voice arose from inside, a woman's voice, firm but ringing with sweetness all at once.

They dismounted and tethered their horse to a post and entered. The inn was a welcome sight regardless of the patch work roof, leaking slightly from the morning dew. The torches hung limply in their sconces and the fire blazed vibrantly, casting a warm orange glow over the oaken furniture. Birds sung sweetly in the rafters of the inn, adding to the homeliness. The innkeeper slowly made her way towards them. She was a round woman, a semi-clean apron hung stretched across her jovial body. Her face was round as well, with cooking flour dabbed upon her cheeks and nose. Her eyes were small and beadlike, with some stray strands of gray hair clinging over her brow.

Thorne gave Elina's hand a slight tug, "It would be best if people didn't know who you were, understand?"

Elina nodded and smiled warmly to the approaching innkeeper.

"Well , w'at do we 'ave 'ere? You poor dears, come in, come in 'ere," the woman's voice poured out under the thick forest-folk accent.

"We'd like a room for the night, can you spare one?" Thorne asked hurriedly.

The woman eyed them carefully and smiled, they saw some teeth were missing, near the sides of her mouth, "Of course I can, of course. Five o' six gold should 'over it. Rooms are running scarce lately with all the fighting going on south of 'ere."

"How long have men been staying here because of the fighting south? They battle just broke last night," Elina looked to Thorne with an uneasiness in her eyes.

Thorne's eyes widened and he gave her hand a harder tug, his lips thinned out, his jaw shut tight, with a sharp glare at her. His gaze returned to the innkeeper who explained that mercenary types were staying here for at least a week or so.

Thorne paid the woman for the room and board with Elina's belt. They switched clothing. Thorne changed into something clean and Elina changed into something less royal. She allowed Thorne to re-enter the room after she finished and there she stood, dressed in long black pants, tucked into high black, leather riding boots. She wore a feather white long sleeved tunic that tightened around at her wrists. Her hair was braided into a long single braid cascading down her back. Lastly, she wore a smile that made Thorne feel like what they went through and undoubtedly will go through will be well worth it.

"Better?" She chimed, color returned to her once flushed face. Her eyes beamed.

"Much," Thorne returned a smile of his own. "Ready to get something to eat? I'm famished."

"Yes, so am I."

Elina took Thorne's arm in hers and they walked downstairs to the dining room laughing easily at the sudden change in their appearances. They ate and drank heartily. The fresh meat and cider was delicious. Their fingers were lined with grease and sauce on the barbecued pheasant. When they finished they warmed themselves by the fire as night slowly crept across the world, waiting outside.

Thorne sighed, relaxing into a large, overstuffed chair opposite the flames.

"What's the matter Thorne?" Elina asked, tying back her hair. The firelight casting a welcoming glow to her features. The soft light danced across her rosy cheeks and over her nose, alighting gently under her eyes.

"Just thinking about what to do next, that's all."

"And what would that be?"

"Your father's kinsman lives far to the north, in Martinshire. I was planning to take us there."

Elina only nodded, so easily she heard the forlorn in Thorne's voice. She relaxed as best she could in her chair and watched the fire, watching them. Their conversation once again turned somber, with talk of their journey the next day. Their answers were short and cursory. Not even the flickering tongues of fire could help with the sudden chill in the inn. Once there was nothing more to talk about and the sweet taste of dinner had been forgotten they both retired to their chambers. They walked up the stairs wearier than before, the thought of their next days let alone the rest of their lives started to take its toll on them.

The sun rose slowly the following day as Elina collected her belongings and started down the stairs. Thorne was already there, fully dressed and pacing the inn impatiently. His clothes were different. He traded in his rangers garb for a more comfortable fitting garments. He had simple brown pants and boots, with a long sleeve leather jerkin. His vest was boiled leather and clung tight to his broad shoulders. At his side hung a dagger and his whip, as usual, hung against his other hip, tapping gently against his leg. She came down to him and smiled good naturedly.

"Sleep well?" Thorne asked her. His eyes were red and looked tired, dark blotches hung beneath his eyelids, testifying that they had little rest. "You have everything? When we leave we can't come back."

"Yes, I slept fine." Something inside her tightened. Something that, last night had been relaxed and comfortable around the ranger tightened and hardened within her. She felt as though he didn't want to be around her anymore, that she was just another duty for him. He seemed colder and more distant, like the first night he came to save her from her bedchamber.

"I sold off most of our clothes and used the money to pay for our lost provisions." Thorne informed her with military demeanor, "These should last us until we reach the towns outside Martinshire."

Elina pursed her lips in thought and nodded, answering with a simple, "They should do just fine, ranger."

They saddled the horses Thorne had bought and secured their belongings, what was left of them. Thorne had managed not to sell all her clothes but most of his. The only weapons that she saw was his dagger and his whip. Elina wondered if they would be enough to save them again.

They followed the main road for a good portion of the day, taking in the scenery as it passed by them at their leisure. Some breath taking sights held their attention. Scores of deer and antelope roamed the woods as they passed, venturing close to the roadway. They no doubt had little to fear of the travelers of this road in the past. A wide, expansive lake loomed beside them at one point. The crystal blue water shimmered and twinkled in the passing breeze. A serene mist ebbed off the surface patting their faces as they pressed on. Fish burst from the water to only submerge again in a show of nature's athleticism.

But what the couple did not, could not see were the shadowy figures lurking in the underbrush as they trotted along. Their crimson eyes raged a fierce fiery gaze through the leafy foliage, marking the duo for themselves. The gray furred beasts bounded over the fallen, dying trees and followed Thorne and Elina, saliva lapping at their snouts.

The landscape grew rougher and more hills sprang up around them. The ground hardened further the farther north they traveled. Two days passed since they left the battle outside the castle. Elina and Thorne's cheeks burned from the constant winds, screaming across their faces. Their clothes and garments were tossed in the formidable northern winds, looking disheveled and worn. Every once in a while a wolf or two would make themselves known, jumping out ahead of their horses atop a high hill, silhouetted against the bleak sunlight. Elina reined her horse closer to Thorne's as they continued when they heard the sound of rushing water, it echoed up ahead of them, through a rough, mountainous pass.

"We're at the Nameless river!" Elina exclaimed, spurring her horse past Thorne's, her cloak and hair whipping behind her.

"Wait up! Elina!" Thorne tried to call over the ever approaching sound of the raging river. He dug his heels into his mount and galloped up behind her. The two of them raced through a series of passes. Mountainous walls of rock on either side of them sprouted up in a sudden fury.

Elina stopped with Thorne close behind her at an old, rickety bridge swaying in the breeze over a large chasm with the river far below. The wind was even more piercing this close to the river and it nearly deafened them. The old bridge wasn't very sturdy, at least it didn't look it, and appeared to allow only one column of riders, riding single file. The wooden planks looked as though time itself had forgotten about them. Shards of wood lapped in the wind and suddenly broke off, splintering in the deadly breeze.

"I remember coming to the other side of the bridge when we went to see my father's brother. Martinshire is just a mile or two beyond the pass that leads from the other side, " Elina shouted over the torrent of the wind.

"Good, I'll go first and make sure it's safe, " Thorne screamed back, announcing every syllable so she could hear him perfectly.

"No," Elina shook her head and shouted, "I'll go first."

"Elina listen to me, I'm going first."

Elina pursed her lips in defiance and snarled, she dismounted before Thorne and started off before him onto the bridge. They pressed on at a snail's pace, crossing the bridge with Elina in the lead and Thorne following just behind her when they heard a sound resonating off the surrounding cliffs. The ground echoed the thunderous claps behind them. Steel rings and mail crashed together, a deafening crescendo even over the loud wind of the river chasm.

Elina looked behind towards the exit of the pass they left. There she saw a flag surrounded by three mounted knights. The flag was flying the sigil of Allister. Leorn must have been defeated and Joywin sent Allister to meet up with them to tell them to come back home. "What are you doing?" Thorne screams to Elina, who's smiling, trying to turn around to go to Allister and his men.

"It's Allister, Thorne, can't you see that! He's waving us to come to him. There's his banner and his armor is plain to see for yourself!"

"It's his armor all right!" Thorne shouted, excited seeing him for the first time since the battle.

Elina nodded and waved behind her to Allister and his two companions when she heard a voice growl from behind her as well, "Where are you two going?! We've come to bring you news of the battle! Come join the three of us and all five of us can return to safety!"

Elina's eyes widened as she listened to the voice creep inside her. The memory of her father's jib about KnightLord Allister exploded in her head. He can't count her mind shrieked. "Thorne hurry up!" She called out ahead of him.

Thorne could hear the desperation in her voice, the quavering inflection of her scream. He looked behind him once more and studied the armor of Allister. Even at this relatively far distance he could spy a tear over the heart of the breastplate. A killing gash to be sure he thought. Thorne opened his cloak, exposing a crossbow. Almost methodically he loaded a bolt into the lock, turned, and started away from Elina.

"What are you doing!" Elina screamed excitedly, exasperated at him.

"That's not Allister, Joywin and Allister lost. Those three have come to kill us, you know that. I've got to stop them."

"You've got no horse, you won't be able to escape if something goes wrong!"

"I'm not looking to escape," the rage of the river swallowed his words.

"Thorne, you can't be serious!" She started until he silenced her with a finger pressed to his lips.

"Martinshire is about a mile or two up ahead like you said. Cross this bridge and don't ever look back, understand? Your uncle will take excellent care of you." His voice was desperate and gentle even against the roaring winds.

He saw the tears in her eyes but somehow she was able to stop them and simply nodded, turned and started once more towards the three assassins. One of the mounted knights were already on the ground, moving on foot to the edge of the bridge. Thorne with a steel bolt locked into the crossbow he purchased from the innkeeper at the Lonely Torches, aimed at the shoulder of the knight, and fired.

The bolt screeched through the roaring air, it turned and wobbled in mid-flight. The sharp point pierced through the mesh chainmail that the knight wore beneath his heavy plate. Thorne could see the shoulders and underarms were the most vulnerable and exploited that knowledge. The wounded knight spun like a top as the bolt struck dead its mark. The knight wobbled and fell to the ground on one knee. The knight tried vainly to pull free the bolt but got only painful moans for his trouble.

The lead knight and his remaining companion reared their horses and made for cover. Thorne looked behind him and saw Elina's back treading the bridge cautiously slow. He smiled grimly and knew he had to hold them off long enough for Elina to make it to the other side, then whatever happens happens. Thorne continued moving towards the trio of knights as he loaded another bolt into his crossbow. Gaining the rocking landing without argument he turned his crossbow around, seeking out the two remaining knights when a voice growled from behind a boulder.

"Your teeth have grown boy-cub. But the dragon's bite is far worse than any wolf's."

"I never knew a dragon to hide behind and kill like a thief, snake!" Thorne shot back at the hiding knight.

The wounded knight squirmed, wrenching the bolt free from his shoulder, blood spilled against the rocky soil. Horse's hooves crashed against the ground, their echo distorted in the billowing winds as Thorne turned around a second too late.

Thorne caught only a faint glimpse of the black iron battleaxe, its girt eclipsed the sun's light. With blinding fury the sun was exposed and the axe came straight towards his skull. Thorne dug his heels into the earth and pushed with all his might and forced himself away from the axe and the knight but not far enough away.

The blade caught him. Bits of cloth, skin, blood, and shoulder bone flew in the raging wind. Thorne gasped and choked back his scream, he tumbled and spun out of control to the ground; his back slammed against a withering tree. The crossbow was flung from his hand as he clutched at his ripped shoulder. The warm feeling of free flowing blood raced through his fingers and immediately started to stain his clothes. The world grew hazy as the wind's voice increased, threatening to deafen.

The knight's impressive figure stood over him, blocking out the sun completely. Thorne felt cold in the screaming air, his blood spilling freely from his shoulder and his face was no doubt flushed. His eyes glanced up at the silhouetted knight.

"I think its time for me to get that wolfskin cloak."

"You want a wolfskin cloak? The price will be heavier than you imagine," Thorne snarled. He willed what was left of his strength and forced himself from the tree.

The knight wheeled his horse around, his axe readied for another strike. Thorne's agile frame just barely darted beneath the knights' horse, avoiding the powerful hooves of the charger. With his good, useable hand Thorne freed his dagger and sliced across the stomach of the horse, through the saddle clasps and horseflesh. The beast buckled and shrieked in pain and fell to the ground. Thorne's feet carried him towards the bridge again, there he saw the other knight, already dismounted, his sword brandished advancing towards Elina. Elina was stopped near the other side of the bridge watching the melee.

Thorne snatched his crossbow and forced himself to steady the weapon with his bad shoulder. He screamed out in pain, aimed for the advancing knight on foot and pulled back on the trigger. The crossbow's butt slam against his broken shoulder. He cried out and tossed his crossbow away as fresh blood poured from his wound. The bolt searched out its quarry, wobbling and weaving as did its kinsman bolt. The sharp metal shaft struck against the soft joint of the knight's armor, just behind the kneecap. The metal point pierced through the cloth there and broke the skin, easily tearing through the man's leg. He shrieked like a wounded animal and fell to the bridge's floorboards. His swordarm tightened on his weapon as he fell. Without provocation the blade caught one of the two suspension ropes that tied fast the bridge. The old knotted hemp rope severed almost immediately.

The wounded knight on the bridge tumbled off the wooden planks causing it to sway even more violently. Elina was thrown to her knees and nearly thrown into the river below.

Through painfilled fits Thorne could see Elina crawling, nearly reaching the other side. He struggled to his feet and made his way to the bridge, "Elina!" Thorne shouted, "Hang on! I'm coming!"

Thorne concentrated and thought of a way to reach Elina and help her. Lost in thought as he was, Thorne didn't see the gray knight, with his helmet off, his gnarled beard, blood soaked as usual creep up behind him. With a mailed fist the knight leveled a heavy punch into Thorne's back causing him to reel forward, slipping, and falling over the cliff. With strength unrivaled Thorne clutched the cliff's wall with his only good arm. The knight smiled a bloody smile and slowly made his way away from where Thorne hung and found his crossbow.

The Knight turned to look at Thorne and jerked a glance to the escaping princess, "You think I can make this shot?" He raised the crossbow, braced against his shoulder and commented out of the side of his mouth, "It's a pity I won't get my wolfskin cloak, isn't it boy-cub?"

"Can you fly dragon?" Thorne asked, his eyes narrowed, rage surged through his veins. Thorne's hand released the cliff wall and darted to his hip, his fingers wound around his whip's handle. The leather was slippery with blood and sweat and grime. The leather uncoiled from around his belt clasp and hissed in the air. For a moment Thorne hung there, free in the raging wind above the river.

The knight inclined his head a little and took aim when he heard the snap of Thorne's whip crackle in the air. The next thing the gray knight knew was the whip was around his wrists, Thorne and himself tied together. The crossbow fired and the bolt sailed violently towards the princess. Thorne planted his feet deep into the cliff, his back arched and strained, the whip held with his good arm. Thorne grunted and cursed and pulled the gray knight towards edge.

Then, in one momentous surge of adrenaline the gray knight staggered and flipped over the edge of the cliff. Thorne watched in suspended animation as the gray knight's mouth opened and nothing could come out. Then, in another instant Thorne himself was lurched from the cliff and flung headlong downwards towards the river, swallowed up by the mists below.

Elina clawed her way to the edge of the bridge; she struggled to stand after having to traverse the swaying bridge. All of a sudden a bolt crashed against one of the post supports, her hand nearly severed from her arm. She shrieked and turned to look where it came from. There she saw Thorne, as the knight was pulled from the cliff. She watched the gray knight somersault off and flipped over Thorne, then Thorne himself fall with knight, both of them still tied together with the whip.

She screamed Thorne's name for as long as she could see him and then some time afterwards. Her body went limp to the ground, prone, her heart felt no greater a loss. Her protector had fulfilled his vow to her, to deliver her to safety. She knew Martinshire was close but somehow it seemed different knowing she would enter there alone.

She continued to Martinshire, cold and alone, alone with her thoughts and feelings.

* * *

Elina's footfalls on the cool marble floor of the keep felt like the she was walking in her sleep. Her body hurt and ached and her heart was heavy with the grief from the long and arduous journey she had endured both physically and emotionally.

The white marble columns sprung up around her and supported the large arching gothic cathedral ceiling. Her father's kinsman's banners were flapping in the light breeze. It was morning and only a few servants were busily finishing their chores. Her clothes were newly cleaned and pressed and felt good. She looked like the princess she was except her eyes held no more innocent luster. Her eyes were two pools of sorrow and grief. Her one thought this morning was to find her father's kinsman, Lot du Martin. He would surely help her but to what end? His loyalty to her father was unquestionable but to her she would still be seen as merely a little girl, unfit for such musings such as war.

She was fit for those musings now and nothing would sate her more than to deliver the same amount of sorrow onto the very person that took everything from her, her brother, Leorn II. She was stronger now but knew she still had a long way to go.

She could hardly believe that she had actually survived to be able to walk in Martinshire's great hall. She wrapped her royal blue cloak around her tighter as the morning breeze increased, snapping at her as she exited the hall. She entered through the large oaken doors without announcing herself. The guard that stood there was taken by surprise at her agility and attitude and tried futilely to stop her.

"Lot," Elina called to a man flanked on both sides by imposing knights.

"Princess Elina," Lot answered, his dark gray hair was mused from what looked like a weary night's rest.

"Why was I not informed of this meeting?" Elina asked with resounding contempt. She was strong now and ready to take back her happiness no matter the cost. She knew somehow she would be pushed aside and must now push herself back into the fray. She was angry and sad with rage and used that to strengthen herself against any obstacle or surprise these men might throw at her. But nothing could prepare her for what happened then.

"Please forgive Milord Lot Princess, he and I both believed you needed your rest after your long journey," a large man to Lot's left spoke up.

He stepped into the morning light and Elina recognized the man's face. He was the same man that would take them, her brother and herself, hunting at dusk, the best time to see all of nature unfold upon the earth. The very same man that her father trusted with his life. Lord Marshall Arkan.

"You're alive," Elina whispered, no longer the strong woman she thought she was. She felt herself shrink amongst the knights in the room. She felt her anger replaced by embarrassment and all her mind screamed at her to do was run away and never return something else inside her told her to stay put. She could sense all the eyes in the room bore through her; they waited for her to do something.

She hadn't realized it but she was looking down at the floor. She took in one deep breath, an almost inaudible sigh, and raised her head. Her eyes and the Lord Marshall's locked.

* * *

Darkness was nothing new to Thorne. He was used to working in complete and utter darkness, his senses always worked well enough for him to survive. When the time the Orcs raided the southern caravans and disappeared underground to their staging bases Thorne was the one ranger the Lord Marshall turned to to lead the pursuit underground. Underground he was not only blind but he couldn't smell anything, like he could in the open forest, he could only listen and feel his way through the twisting tunnels. That darkness didn't bother Thorne, he knew somehow he would be all right.

This kind of darkness scared everything holy out of Thorne. He felt as though he was falling, quickly towards an inescapable end. His limps were hot and cold at the same time and every once in a while a sound would rush past him or he by it. He was scared.

It hurt to breath and that scared Thorne even more. His arms and legs were heavy and moved awkwardly in his descent. The sound loomed just out of reach from where he was but seemed to always be coming closer. Then finally something broke through the floating darkness. A twisted grimace appeared before Thorne's own eyes. If Thorne didn't know any better he would say that his eyes were closed and he still saw the image.

The mangled shape tried desperately to grapple with Thorne as they both fell. The specter took form and then returned to its original twisted visage. Thorne reached for his knife but he could barely move his arms. He felt the specter's icy grip climbing all over his body. His limps were no longer burning hot and he wished desperately to feel that again. Thorne mentally counted at least four skeletal hands gripping and he only saw one specter.

Thorne tried to scream but nothing in the void produced any sound. His mind tried to fight and combat this evil but found nothing. It was as if Thorne's own being was being reduced and eaten by this unholy ghost.

Thorne had never given up on anything before but now he was beginning to feel extremely helpless. "There was always a way out," the Lord Marshall had told him when he was first being trained. "Never give up, something will come to pass where you can turn things to your favor." He felt as though the specter was enjoying his suffering.

It started out a small pin-prick in his left arm, just above his elbow. Soon the sensation spread to his other arm. Both his arms were burning. From either side of him hot strikes lashed at his arms. Surprisingly it felt good. The ebony specter shrieked in silence the more his arms began to burn.

Soon Thorne could almost see his arms glowing a gentle orange, illuminating the specter's twisted visage. In the next few moments Thorne felt a blinding fury wash over him and his body or perhaps his being broke through something, almost like liquid. Air filled his body and he heard himself gasp out loud. He struggled to open his eyes and when he did he saw a cloud of dark gray smoke dissipate over him.

Through the smoke he saw two large, sweet innocent eyes peering down over him. Soft blonde hair framed an angelic face albeit a confused one. He tried to move and speak but found out he could do neither. Her hair moved slightly as another figure entered into the room he was in. The breeze brushed over him and it felt so good, like millions of soft feathers alighting gently over tired muscles. As his eyes began to close he saw the angel move her hair over and around her ears and saw they were pointed.

Ó 2000 by Luke Hodgson

Bio: My name is Luke Hodgson. I live in the suburbs around Buffalo, NY. Yes Buffalo, the city (in)famous for the Buffalo Bills consecutive Super Bowl failures and the Sabres failed Stanley Cup attempt, though I live here happily. I am currently an education major studying at the local university Buffalo State College where I also play on the volleyball team and act as Vice President of the organization. I have been writing consistently for the past four to five years.