Guarded Beauty

[Hannah Blake]

From a time long ago and a realm beyond imagination,
Dragons roamed the land with wisdom and fascination.
The light of day gives way to the dark of night,
With only the moons to seek and find sight.
A touch, a whisper, a sigh; love knows no confines,
Beauty overwhelms as day and night combine.
The memory of pain will flow but love can heal,
Beware the dark star, its power can steal.
Give to the dragons and they will guard thee.
As their power does will it, so shall it be!

Moonlight streams through the gap in the window coverings and it creates a silver streak across both small beds in the room. Marco kisses each of his daughters on the forehead and arranges the blankets over their sleeping forms. Before closing the door behind him, he takes a moment to study each of the girls’ faces. One so pale against the deep brown of her hair and the other’s honeyed skin glows under her blond tresses. One nearly a mirror image of her mother with her dark hair and eyes, the other, so much a copy of himself that it makes him sigh. The realistic side of him says that he may not return to see his precious children again so he emblazons their peaceful, sleeping faces in his mind.


Marco inherited the crumbling castle and a land filled with starving people when his miser of a father passed. He put all of himself into his rule, spreading his love and the wealth his father had hoarded. He gave all of himself to his people. Once they had roofs over their heads and food on their tables he would start to build his own home. Until then, he and his family would be happy with the old keep. Building another castle was far down on his list of priorities and his wife agreed.


Marco is a man devoted to his kingdom and his family, especially his daughters. At twelve winters, his twin daughters are both very much unspoiled and beautiful. Each held a special place in his heart and the hearts of his people. No matter if he had a hundred children, these two would always be special to him. His wife tried throughout the years to give him other children but until now had been unable to carry a child to term. This night he wrote a decree, to be brought forth in the event of his death, stating that his daughters would jointly rule the kingdom until his son was of age. They would rule together until such time and be wise queens. The people would accept them and follow them as they did him.


Now it was time to go and defend what belonged to him, and he would, even to the death. An invader is laying siege to his northern border and Marco knows he must lead his troops to ward off this enemy. He is forced to leave his family alone with only a handful of guards, those too young, old, or inexperienced to join him, including his only nephew, Egan, to protect them. All other able bodied men would be needed to meet and defeat this opposing force.

He whispers one last prayer to keep his children safe and then closes the door behind him. With his footsteps retreating down the hall, Anesta, the eldest, pulls the coverlet back and crawls out of her bed. She pulls two black cloaks from under her bed and tiptoes across the room to wake her sister, Anaisa.

“It is time,” she says in a whisper.


Her twin mumbles in protest and rolls to her other side. She is nudged and prodded until she wakes. Her blond hair tumbles down around her face as she attempts to sit.

“Come, we must go the lake.” Anesta arranged the coverlets over extra pelts she found in the room after dragging a half-asleep Anaisa out of bed. She wanted to make it look as though they were still in bed in case their mother checks in on them again. She then grabbed Anaisa’s hand and started for the door.

When Anaisa realizes they are leaving, she comes to a complete stop and forces her sister to look at her. “What has happened?”

“I do not know. I have a feeling and we must go with all possible haste. We had to wait for father to check on us though. No one should know we are gone.”

Not once does Anaisa think of raising the alarm to stop her sister. She realized long ago that her twin had a special gift of intuition. It was best to simply trust and go along with whatever she deemed necessary. Never had her sister been wrong with these feelings of hers so there was no reason to go against her now.

Shrouded in the dark cloaks, the two girls leave the room and travel down the servants’ staircase. It takes them a little while and a lot of effort to silently make their way to the stable and avoid the last of the troops leaving the courtyard with their father. The light from the moons is so bright that their movement could be easily spotted if they did not use extra care.


“Oh no,” Anaisa frets as she sees the only horse left and able to carry both of them is their mother’s stallion.


They both know the horse is unruly and only allows their mother to ride, but Anesta vows, “I can handle him. You worry too much.”


“I’ll stop worrying when we are both back in bed,” Anaisa replied while wringing her hands as she stares at the black beast.


Anesta ties thick cloths around the wide-eyed horse’s hooves to prevent them from making noise on the cobbles. She then pulls a jar of salve from her cloak and applies it to the horse’s nostrils so he will be unable to smell other horses and neigh, possibly giving them away after they leave the safety of the stable. It took a little longer to get the bit in the horse’s mouth without losing her hand and she quickly realized that putting a saddle on its back would be impossible.


When Anaisa groaned, Anesta snapped at her, “Go see if anyone is about, and I’ll follow with the horse.”


Anaisa reluctantly exits the stable to check for any guards or other inhabitants. When she waves her hand back in the doorway, Anesta follows, leading the horse. The front gate is guarded and Anesta realizes then that they cannot pass unseen. A sensation washes over her and she feels an immediate need to get as far away from the castle as she can and by any means. “I have to go. We must go now.”


Just as she was ready to climb on the horse and try to ride through the guards and the gate, Anaisa grabs her arm. “Do you remember the goatherd’s pass? It will not be guarded. We can make our way through there if you feel we really must go.”


The pass was rarely used and barred from the inside. It is the perfect escape route for them. The narrow tunnel is slow going and the stallion is a real handful but they make their way through the goatherd’s gate and out beyond the castle walls.


Once they are far enough away from the castle for anyone to hear them, Anesta finds a fallen tree and climbs her way up and onto the horse’s back. The stallion begins to prance but she is able to control it enough to help her sister mount behind her.


“I’m scared ‘Nesta.” Anaisa buries her face in Anesta’s back and clings to her while trying to fight back tears.


“All will be well.” Anesta said through her clenched teeth as she fought to control the animal.


“Please, can we go back?” Anaisa begs her sister.


Anesta turns the horse in the direction of the lake and says to her sister, “just hold on.”


With a light tap of her heels the stallion lunges forward, barely leaving the girls enough time to catch their breath. The trio gallop through the woods at a break-neck pace and Anesta finally realizes that there is no way she can control the animal. Low hanging branches rip at the girls’ cloaks and scratch their arms. Anaisa is weeping loudly and slumps down low behind her sister.


Anesta clamps down her own fears and allows anger to wash over her. Better to be angry and let its power fuel her now. She begins to pull on the reins with all her might, holding on to their mount with only her legs. She hurdles curses at the horse that she remembered hearing from her father when his own mount was being unruly.


The horse turns from the path and plunges into a dense thicket. The limbs tear the reins out of Anesta’s hands and she lets out a bellow of rage. She takes a deep breath and leans low on the stallion’s neck to try and reach the reins. Just as she touches one the horse jumps a fallen tree and Anaisa is peeled off by another low branch.


“Anaisa!” Anesta screams her name but gets no response.


She struggles, trying in earnest to reach the reins but they are flopping just out of reach. “I can do this…” Anesta grabs a thick handful of mane and starts to climb toward the stallion’s head. She reaches out and snags the horse’s bridle and pulls sharply to twist the sweaty head to the side. Responding to the tactic, the stallion comes to a skidding halt almost off balance and Anesta is flung off the front of the horse. She retains her grip on the long mane though and is left dangling over the horse’s head.


Though her body is aching from the impact with the hard head of the stallion, Anesta hangs on for a moment to catch her breath then drops to the ground. She gives up on the idea of riding the stallion back to where her sister fell but picks up the reins and starts to limp through the woods with the horse in tow. After covering roughly half the distance, the horse suddenly rears, shrieking in fright and pulls itself free. Anesta whirls to grab the reins but the stallion already turned away from her. He quickly vanishes into the darkness of the forest.


Anesta is concerned at what could have made the horse bolt but she, again, tamps down her fear and continues her hike back to find Anaisa. Ensuring her sister’s safety must be her main concern now. The forest is dark and full of eerie noises and rustling leaves, sending chills down Anesta’s back. She is really frightened but knows she must stay calm and focused for her sister’s sake.


After several long minutes of walking, Anesta catches the hint of a smooth, soft, feminine voice singing an enchanting melody. Something about the voice plucks a memory but the fear she feels for her sister overrides anything else. She starts running toward the voice when she realizes it’s in the same direction when Anaisa must be.


“Get away from her!” Anesta shouts as she breaks into the small clearing. There, bathed in moonlight is a cloaked figure clutching her sister. She can see her sister’s blond hair and fair skin nearly glowing in the light peaking through the forest canopy, as she lies motionless in the stranger’s arms. Anesta draws her dagger from beneath her cloak and rushes closer. “Get away from her I said!”


When the stranger looks up, Anesta finds herself staring into eyes just like those of her mother, just like her own, only these are ancient and all knowing in their depths. “I mean no harm, I am only here to help, child,” replied the old woman bent over Anaisa. Anesta is soothed by the voice and knows without question that she can trust this woman. Part of her is relieved not to be alone in the forest any longer.


“I am called Verona by some, kin to you and yours,” the stranger introduces herself as she picks up Anaisa’s still form. “Follow me, child.”


They walk in silence for a long time. As they round a large tree there is another break in the forest, revealing a meadow bathed in moonlight, the lake just beyond. They continue through the meadow and Verona then settles Anaisa in the soft grass on the lake's shore.


“I am worried about my sister,” Anesta confesses. She lovingly stroked her sister’s brow and smoothed her hair back.


“She has broken nothing but has hit her head and it makes her sleep. We will let her rest for a time while we talk.” Verona then turns and takes Anesta’s hand in hers. She leads her over to a large rock and sets the girl down facing the lake, situating herself on a smaller rock nearby. “I sent for you this night, Anesta.”


The girl’s eyes swing around to meet those so like her own. “You called to me?”


“Yes, and you came,” the old woman replied. “The power I have, so have you. We share more than appearance little one.

Anesta is mesmerized by the old woman. She looks so much like an older version of her mother but she knows this cannot be her grandamere; she had been told her mother’s family had been murdered years ago. Her mind is ablaze with questions to ask Verona and just as she opens her mouth a voice whispers in her mind, “Be patient, all things will be revealed to you in time.”

The two, older and younger versions of the other, sit in silence for a short time, gazing at the moons as they grows larger above the water. Finally Verona spoke up, “I assume you have plenty of questions tumbling through your head so I will try to answer them for you. I will start by telling you about who we are.”


When Anesta nodded her consent, Verona continues. “We are Weill. Our kin are magic folk, we have can use the moons’ light to see into the future. We can summon fire with our thoughts, and most sacred of all, talk to the mighty dragons. Only the eldest child of every sorceress has these powers and only the royal line of Weill carry the same features as we do. No one in this kingdom knows what you are, child, but we accept you, our Weill princess. Our kind hides what they are and live in secrecy for fear of what others will do when they learn of our powers.”


“I do not understand,” Anesta interrupts, her eyes questioning and her expression disbelieving. “My mother has no power, she is not a sorceress.”


“Yes she is little one. Your mother, Veliesa, is indeed a sorceress. We do not know why but she was stolen and hidden away from us as an infant. When she was just a little older than you are now, she ran away from her captors and before we could reach her, she met your father. We saw what the near future held for her and decided then that she would not be receptive to our ways. We had to be patient and awaited your birth. We never expected your mother to give birth to twins though, it was not foreseen.” Verona paused to swipe the hair from Anesta’s eyes and tried to sooth her worried brow.


“Why did you call me here? Why did you not call to my mother?” Anesta tentatively touches the old woman’s hand that now rests comfortably in her own lap as she asks her question.


“I needed to ensure your safety this eve so I called to you and you came. I called to your mother as well but she refuses to listen. It is time for you to learn what you are. Your powers will be needed at another time and I will teach you all you need to know.” They held hands and Anesta found herself smiling and feeling such warmth and contentment from the old woman that she actually felt happiness override the worry in her mind.


“Wait!” Anesta’s mind clears and she remembers what Verona told her only moments before. “I can talk to dragons?” The little girl’s expression quickly changed to confusion. “But dragons are not real, are they?”


She sounded so stunned that Verona chuckled lightly. “Dragons are very real, little one, but they do not to show themselves to just anyone. They fear for their lives the same as we do and remember all too well the pain that has been caused them throughout the years. Only the Weill have the power to sometimes see through the dragon’s guise.” She studied Anesta’s face, “This may be too much for you to understand.”


“Please go on,” the child urged when Verona paused again, “I want to learn.”


“Very well.” Verona is pleased by Anesta’s eagerness. “Dragons are very magical creatures and have the power to disappear from sight all together or take on other guises, they are shape-shifters,” she explains. As she proceeds, she holds Anesta’s hand lightly in her own and brushes the tiny hand with her fingers in a soothing fashion.


At the intrigued but confused expression on Anesta’s face, Verona changes her tactics. “Maybe I should start from the beginning. A thousand winters ago, besides the immortal dragons, ruled three races of mortals: the Durwin, the Weill and the Verden Horde. The Durwin are the un-gifted, as we call them, such as your father. They were, and still are, a very gullible and superstitious race. Their kind can be led easily by any who need to add sheep to their flock or soldiers to fight their causes though their rulers can be very cunning.


The Verden Horde were much like the Durwin in the beginning though their numbers were not vast. All lived in harmony at that time but the Horde could see the dragons’ power, they thirsted for it, and would do anything to have it. Amongst themselves, they devised a fiendish plan to take what they wanted. They beseeched the dragons to help them defend themselves against the Durwin armies by sharing their gifts. Those who did were abused and when it became known, the dragons shut themselves off from the Horde. But it was too late.


The Horde had already learned that in finding out the true name of a dragon, it is possible to control that dragon and his powers along with him and although some gave their names freely and were used evilly, most fought back and died for their efforts. It was then found that dragon’s blood was just as powerful as the magic the creatures produced.


The Verden Horde incited fear of the dragons into some of the Durwin people and lured them into hunting the beasts to near extinction while the Weill fought to save the blood of those they worshiped and loved. The dragons rewarded the Weill for their loyalty with the power to see through their guises or feel their presence when fully cloaked. Only a handful of dragons were born with the power to totally cloak themselves from all others, including other dragons.


Although the Verden Horde was defeated by the combined efforts of the remaining dragons and the Weill, many of the Durwin still live in fear of magic and would hunt those whom they believed were their enemies. We believe the Horde has all but dies out, but there still may be those hidden from us with magic. None of the Weill are safe and that is why only a few who still embraced the craft are left in the world. The dragons watch over those they can, but so many were lost before they could be protected.”


As she paused, the old woman’s eyes flashed fire for only a fraction of a second and it startled Anesta. She immediately begins to feel leery around the old woman and it shows on her face. She tries to slip off the rock but Verona grabs her hand and holds her still. She soothes the child, “Do not be afraid of me child. I am only tired and need to rest my eyes.” She sends a silent message to the girl to be calm.


Anesta is uneasy but feels a soothing calmness wash over her. The two sit in silence staring at the rippling water before them. When a spasm rips through Anesta, she clutches her stomach and cries out, “What is happening?”


“Breathe, little one. You are safe here with me. There is something evil lurking and it is closing in. It wants to destroy the good that has been created here.” She kneels in front of Anesta and takes the girl’s face in her hands as her eyes begin to drift shut from the pain.


Verona takes the time to study the child that will soon be so important to the Weill. Such a strong willed girl, she decides. This one will be able to handle the path that lies before her.


“Anesta!” Verona barks out her name and the girl’s eyes fly open. The two are linked staring at one another and Anesta feels warmth once again streaming down over her body removing the pain. When the old woman steps back from her, she is left in a near trance state.


“I want you to look at the largest moon and concentrate on its brilliance. Watch the light from it dance and sway. Follow the light to revel in the warmth of it.” Anesta follows the instruction without pause. She cannot stop herself from drinking in the sensations. She feels herself drifting and being enveloped by the light. “Reach out to your mother, Anesta. Help me to do this. Tell her to come here before it is too late.”


As she looks into the depths of the moon, she sees her mother sitting in a chair by the open window of their chamber. She calls out to her mother and sends her energy rushing toward her but she cannot seem to break through an invisible barrier surrounding the castle. Nothing seems real anymore but it all appears as she knows it to be. She feels the overwhelming need to hover here and watch her mother. Not even Verona can pull her back.


Veliesa looks out the castle window, and stares at the moons. She feels the power of them calling to her but she shakes the feeling off, rises and walks to stand by the fire. It is a warm night but she cannot rid herself of a chill.


She places a hand on her rounded belly, feeling a kick from the child within. This will be the son Marco deserves, she tells herself. For twelve long years, since giving birth to the twins, she has tried but cannot carry a baby to term. Three accidents have ended the lives of the sons she carried. With this child she stayed close to the castle and only ventured out when it was absolutely necessary. Only a few more days, she told herself, and when her husband returns, she will place a male heir in his arms.


Veliesa feels another chill race down her arm but shrugs that one away as she had done the last. Having her husband gone and worrying for his safety is making her nerves crawl. As she turns to walk back to her seat by the window she realizes there is a hooded and masked figure in her way. Before she can scream, the intruder grabs her and clamps a hand over her mouth. She is held tight up against his rigid form and can taste the fear welling up inside.


The man’s breath is hot on her cheek; his raspy voice hisses in her ear, “You will die this night, witch, as will the rest of your family. I have sent your precious husband on a fool’s errand. He will learn of your death only to turn around and be caught in my trap.”


Veliesa struggles in earnest with tears streaming down her face and lashes out to no avail. The man drags her out of her room and down the corridor to her daughters’ chamber. There are two more hooded men waiting with crossbows at the entry. Her captor gives the men a nod. They burst through the door and fire immediately at the twin bodies in their beds. Veliesa tries to scream but the hand covering her mouth almost suffocates her. She feels as though her world is coming to an end. Her daughters lie dying in their beds and she is in mortal danger but none of that matters now. She only wants to kill that which harms her own. As she is being dragged back to her chamber the man whispers in her ear, “Now it is your turn to die as well as that brat you carry.”


Veliesa lets herself go limp and the man falters, dropping her limp body on the ground. She rolls as soon as she hits the floor and scrambles toward the bed as fast as her swollen belly will allow. The man grabs at the mantle to steady himself as he nearly falls into the fire. “You bitch!”


He whirls around to find Veliesa gripping the edge of the bed, heaving in gulps of air. “You will feel pain when you die, witch.”


The moment she looks up at him, sparks fly and his cloak spouts fire, singing a large star shape on his chest and forcing a scream from his lips. He pats out the fire quickly enough but now there is rage in his eyes now as he locates his prey.


Veliesa managed to stand and she found a candlestick to defend herself with. She is stunned that her thought of burning him with fire became a reality and tries to focus the thought again. She raised the makeshift weapon to wave off her assailant but as she does, a contraction rips through her body. She falls to her knees. “No!” is all she can scream while gripping her stomach.


As she looks up again, she finds the man directly in front of her. She is not given a chance to act. He plunges a dagger into her heart and she falls silently to the floor.


“No!” Anesta screams as her mother cannot. As her mind returns to her body she is nearly blind and is shaking uncontrollably. Verona gathers her up and tries to hold onto the child as she attempts to bolt. Anesta buries her face and continues to scream for her mother.


Verona cradles the screaming child. She does not know how to tell her that this is not just a vision but life as it was unfolding. “I am so sorry child.” She rocks the shaking child in her arms. “I have not been able to see what would come to pass this night or I might have spared you from it.”


It takes a long while for Anesta to raise her head again. She is still jerking with spasms; her eyes are red rimmed and tear filled. “It w-w-was real?” she asks. “M-my m-m-mother is dead?”


“Yes child,” was all Verona could manage over the lump in her own throat. They clung to one another for a long time and then Anesta sat up again.


There was a new light in the child’s eyes. “He will pay for what he did to my mother. Someday I will find him, who ever he is, and kill him.” The quiet admission washes over Verona and she silently makes a vow to help this child in any way she can.

*******

While Verona continues to rock Anesta on her lap, Veliesa’s murderer notices that a spark had fallen from his cloak and has caught a portion of the rug on fire. He grins evilly and allows the flames to consume as they will. After reclaiming his bloodied dagger, he calmly walks through the door and down the corridor. The two men who assisted him are waiting on him at the head of the stairs. “We must hurry now or this old heap will fall down around us before you know it,” and he takes to the stairs between the two men. Halfway down he calmly turns and slits the throat of the man behind him. When the man in front of him hears the noise he whirls but it is too late as the dagger finds a home in his chest. The assailant smiles at his handiwork. He likes the way a body gathers a certain pose in death, twisted and mangled. He rips off his mask and steps over the dead man on the stairs in front of him, snagging his dagger as he goes. Once he reaches the main hall, he starts screaming, “Fire!” The few servants who had not followed their king into battle came alive from their slumber and scattered.


Upon hearing the alarm raised, one old guard crashed through the main door and ran headlong into Egan, Marco’s nephew. “I will get the queen and princesses out,” the old man assures him. “You help the rest of the castle folk to safety.” The guard started up the stairs and after a few steps he heard someone behind him. He realized too late that they were out of earshot of the other castle inhabitants and the only choice he had was to fight his way out. Egan was much stronger and easily overpowered the old guard, his dagger once again finding its mark.


Egan left the castle unnoticed. No one realized the queen and her daughters had perished until it was too late and the castle was all but rubble.

*******

Anaisa awoke with a start. She did not remember how she ended up on the ground. Night was starting to give way to morning. Anesta was curled around her sister, calm now in sleep. Anaisa realized her sister was close and closed her eyes once again.

Before she had instructed Anesta to lie down with her sister, Verona made her promise that neither of them would leave the safety of the lakeside meadow during the day. It was very important that they obeyed her in this. She told Anesta that she would leave food for them and return at nightfall. There were important things for her to attend to and she vowed to return.


As the sun started its long journey across the sky, the two girls stirred and Anaisa turned to her sister. She could tell something was wrong when she saw the puffiness of Anesta eyes and the haunted look she wore. “What has happened, ‘Nesta? I cannot remember. Why are we outside?”


Anesta led her sister to the shelter beneath an old oak on the edge of the lake and there they sat while she slowly recounted the events of the night before. It was hard for her to speak of her mother’s death but Anesta spared her sister no details.


Anaisa could see everything in her mind. She sat shaking her head even as tears began rolling down her cheeks. “It’s not true!” She screamed at her sister. In anger, she lashed out. “It was only a dream!” Deep down though, she knew it was true.

Anaisa threw herself into her sister’s arms and the two sat, clinging to each other and crying for most of the morning. When Anaisa cried herself back to sleep, Anesta huddled together with her in silence for the remainder of the day.

As the sun neared the horizon, both girls awoke and decided to stretch their legs. They saw a dark shadow sweep over them and then vanish. They searched the sky for a bird large enough to create such a shadow but their search was in vain. They were both startled by the old woman as she came out of the high grass near them. Anaisa’s mouth dropped open and felt wonder at the sight of the old woman. She looked so much like their mother except for her eyes. The fire red eyes gave her away to Anaisa though, and Verona knew she could not hide from this child. It was a predicament she never expected.

Anesta placed her hand on Anaisa’s shoulder, “This is Verona, she is the one that helped us. Do not be afraid of her.”

“I am not afraid,” she told her sister. Then to Verona she added, “You are one of them?”

The old woman said simply, “Yes.” Both of them realized that Anesta had not guessed what Verona really was. Verona quickly whispered in Anaisa’s mind, “Do not tell her. She needs to know more before she is ready. You and I will talk though, little one.”

Anaisa smiled up at Verona and then turned to follow her sister to the water’s edge. After the girls washed in the lake, Verona fed the girls the meal she brought with her. As they finished, the old woman spoke up, “Your father is returning safely and it is time to go to him.” Relief washed over the faces of both girls and they hugged each other close. Verona held out a hand to each of the girls and they eagerly placed their small hands in hers.

*******

The sun was hanging low in the sky as Marco and his weary troops were nearing the castle remains. The king had pushed his men hard and rode like the hounds of hell were on his heels. When the rider bearing the tragic news caught up to him it had been shortly after dawn. Marco refused to believe any of it until he could see for himself. As he called for his men to turn and eerie shadow crossed his path and Marco was struck with an odd sensation. A magnificent voice echoed in his head, “The path that brought you to this place is not safe. You must return at once, but find a safer route.”

Not a moment was spared to eat or rest. They had already traveled the most direct route so now they would return through the mountain pass. It was hard riding and nearly twice the distance but Marco was determined to heed the voice he heard. As they neared home, the men were nearly falling from their tired horses. Marco did not want to believe but finally did when he cleared the forest edge and saw the rubble that was once his home. He let out a bone-shattering cry.

Egan left his place on the gates surrounding the courtyard and ran out to meet his uncle. He tried to hide his surprise at seeing the older man and quickly forced a look filled with grief.

Marco was inconsolable and his grief was a tangible thing. He pushed Egan away without a word and started running toward the courtyard. It took several men to hold him back and keep him from running into the smoldering remains. Tears were streaming down his face as he tried to reach out to the ruins.

The soldier standing nearest to him is Garret, his closest friend and confidant as well as the captain of the guard. He placed a comforting hand on Marco’s shoulder, “Do not despair my king. They may not have been inside the castle. We will find them for you.”

At Marco’s nod, Garret orders men to start searching the rubble for any remains they can find. They know it will be a slow process but this task was of utmost importance to all of them.

Egan held back and watched his uncle. He could not think of why the older man was here. By all accounts, he should be dead. This plan had been devised long ago and the others would not back out with the end so near at hand. They would not have failed to kill Marco if given the chance. They were all in this deeply and it disturbed Egan to know that because of someone else’s failure he was being denied his reward. He, himself had started the wheels in motion by killing his parents. His father’s brother, Bastian sent him to live here so he would be named heir to the throne and he had ensured that right. The deaths of the witch’s unborn had been easy to arrange with simple accidents but the twins had proved harder to kill. Now they were all dead and only Marco stood between him and his kingdom. There was still hope in his black heart that when Marco saw the remains of his dead wife and children it would be enough to kill the king and he would still gain the crown.

On the other side of the courtyard, Marco’s mind cleared enough to demand answers and since his nephew had been left in charge, he would be the one held accountable. He strode across the courtyard and the soldiers there cleared the way.

Egan saw him coming and thought quickly of the story he would tell. He chose the words of his speech carefully and nervously babbled it out before Marco could demand an explanation, “Assassins made their way into the castle and killed the princesses and my queen plus a number of the guards.” He tried to inject sorrow into his voice as he continued, “I too was injured, uncle,” showing off the burn that marred his chest. “I killed the intruders with my own blade but I could not save the others.”

Marco felt the distrust slithering up his spine. Until this point his anger was barely checked but now he unleash it. He felt the need to bury his fist in Egan’s face and without a moment’s hesitation, did just that. Egan flew backward and landed in a heap on the ground. As he struggled to sit up, Marco leaned close and in a low voice told him, “You failed me Egan. You are no longer fit to be my heir.” Marco watched as his nephew wrestled with the blood streaming from his nose and what he just said to him. Whatever he felt for his sister’s only child soured and he could not stand the thought of having him stand beside him a moment longer. “Leave and do not return so long as I am king.” Before Egan could react, Marco turned and strode back to what had been his castle.

Egan was speechless but his eyes blazed in fury. How dare his uncle treat him in such a fashion and order him away. He was the heir to the throne. This was, by right, his. He is the one who planned and worked so hard to have this throne. He vowed then and there to finish this. He jumped to his feet and ignored the blood that splattered from his nose. “It is mine!” he screamed at his uncle’s retreating back.

Just as he started to draw his dagger and send his uncle to meet his beloved family, two guards stepped in front of him. Garret walked up behind Egan, “The king has requested that you be escorted off his land. You will go with the guards now.”

Egan’s frustration was written on his face but he allowed himself to be pulled toward the horse that awaited him. He would come back and claim what is his soon enough.

The guards mounted their horses and rode with Egan in the middle of them through the gates. Marco saw the look of murder in his nephew’s eyes and had a chill running down both arms. Egan was not mean by nature but he was ambitious and that ambition had caused too many fights between them. He prayed his instinct was wrong and Egan had nothing to do with the events of the night before.

The king walked over to the smoldering tower and found a large block of cooling rock to sit down on. He wanted to rage over his loss but tamped it down inside himself. He would find whomever did this and they would pay, that, he promised himself.


It was not long until Garret walked over with his head hanging low and knelt down in front of his king. When he raised his head, he looked up into Marco’s eyes with tears in his own. “We have found our queen,” he said simply. The two men, brothers in all but blood, shared a tortured moment and then walked together to where Veliesa’s charred body had been laid.

There was very little left to identify the body as his wife’s but Marco sees the ring, he himself gave to her the day they joined hands. He sunk to his knees and not caring who saw, wept for his beloved wife and unborn child.

The first moon was rising high in the sky when Marco heard several startled gasps around him. Someone shouted, “The princesses!” but he could not make himself look away from Veliesa’s body. He could not stomach the thought of looking at his dead children and no longer cared what went on around him. His life ceased to have meaning.

It was several long minutes before he felt the hands on each of his shoulders or heard the crying that was not his own. He glanced over his left shoulder, expecting to see one of the servants but saw Anesta instead. His eyes widened and his head turned to his right to see Anaisa. He sprang back to life and wheeled around to gather both girls in his arms, trying to shield them from the gruesome sight. Marco struggled to stand and lift both children into his arms. He shook his head when Garret tried to come and help him with his burden. He had his girls back from the dead and he was not about to let go of either of them.

[starpanda]

Official Writer's Beat Critique by Starpanda
Hello Hannah,

This is a very nice piece, it has much promise in it and yes you should be hung drawn and quartered for the length of it! (Only joking - heehee.)

This feels like its missing chunks and chunks of storyline and there is a timeline issue. Its big on action and little on much needed description and way to much telling of the back-story.

You say you haven’t thought of breaking it up into chapters. If this were mine I would be looking at 6-9 chapters of work at this point in the storyline with at least one chapter begging to be written - Marco’s battle.

Which brings me to the time-line issue. Marco and his entire army move to meet his enemy in battle at the northern border. They travel there, at night, fight, and return before sunset the next day. That’s way too quick.

Although you don’t say how far away the border is, we assume its far enough away for the locals at the Keep to be undisturbed by it, as you don’t mention any kind of defending of the Keep just in case the battle goes badly.

So say he leaves at 10pm, and returns by 5pm the following day, its only nineteen hours. I would have thought he would have been away at least a couple of days.

I mentioned, it lacked description, here’s a randomly chosen example

He whispers one last prayer to keep his children safe and then closes the door behind him. With his footsteps retreating down the hall, Anesta, the eldest, pulls the coverlet back and crawls out of her bed. She pulls two black cloaks from under her bed and tiptoes across the room to wake her sister, Anaisa.

What does the room look like? Stone floor? Wooden Floor? What colour are the coverlets? I’m assuming they are wearing some sort of clothes – what are they like?

I’m sorry but I could pick any paragraph of this and put it through that kind of questioning, you need to start ‘painting the picture’ in the readers imagination, by filling in the gaps made by the lack of ‘poetic devices’ such as metaphor, similie, descriptive juxtaposition, alliteration etc - there is hardly imagery in it.
No imagery - no emotion.

I joked before that it was too long at over 7000 words. It is for a critic, but this should be at nearer 10,000 – 15,000 words at this point in the storyline.

You need to keep plugging away girl…it’s a long way from finished.
However, rest assured, it is a fantastic start. I found it very reminiscent of Stephen King’s ‘Dragons Eye’s’. (Which I loved)

[tarakan]

Hannah,

Just a quickie to say that I loved it, but agree with Starpanda. You are short a couple of thousand words of description and scene setting. All I ask is that you don't over embellish with prose, let it into the story slowly, and in manageable bits. Build it up like a Turner watercolour, don't slap it on like a Pollock!

Looking forward to seeing a revision.

Tarakan.

[starpanda]

originally posted by: Tarakan
Turner watercolour, don't slap it on like a Pollock!

Great way of putting it...I like...and what's more, I agree