Chapter 1 : Chapter One Of Jordon's Tale

A beam of early morning sunlight played on his face. He turned and scooted to another part of the bed in order to avoid waking. Within a few minutes the beam of sunlight had caught up with him again and was shining again directly on his eyelids. He lay there, his head in a fog, rubbed his eyes and stared at the white plastered walls trying to determine where he was and even who he was. The brightness of the room overwhelmed him with a fierce intensity. It was a few minutes before his eyes became accustomed to the light. He entertained his semi-waking mind by tracing patterns of the earthy colors on the tapestry that hung on the wall facing him. He rubbed his hands slowly on the bedsheet, felt a smoothness and said to himself, "This

He waited until the night’s 11th hour. By now the Princess rested in the highest tower of the castle, locked away from the dangerous world, yet so oblivious to the dangers that which fated the rest of her life. Silently the peasant journeyed outside, where he stopped at the wall of the tower where she lay. He watched her in the darkness from below, lifting his face to her, letting the light rest on his every surface of darkness. The night was cloudless. The winds wailed between the motionless oak trees as its thin branches clawed out, ever so slightly disturbing the leaves with its hostile screeches. Not the thick moss of the trees nor the damp leaves squirming in his toes could distract the peasant from so enticing a scent. All that encircled him was the sweetness of lavender and rosewood, filling his entire being as he sunk into the grass, like sand washed over by the water, with every breeze passing

Thunder growled in the near distance, rain pelting the tower as thick, drab mist swirled through the forest. The bright sun struggled against the cloudy blanket that spread across the dark sky. Through the dense trees, there could be seen a tower. It stood proudly, it's imposing presence known to it's vast surroundings. Stone upon stone had been covered by ivy and vines covering an expanse of the dank tower. Decorative bands of Caen stone could be beheld peeking out from underneath the moss. A single entrance was seen near the top of the tower, just below the pointed roof. It was large enough that a person, such as a rescuer, might easily fit through it. At the open window, stood a woman, dressed in burgundy with gold lining her sleeves and neckline. Her long, flaxen hair swayed behind her in the strong breeze, splashes of rain touching her blushing cheeks. Beneath elongated lashes sat dark cobalt eyes, wondering and curious. They rested on a man in front of her, clinging onto the window as they conversed. At almost six foot and a half, the man was typically heroic. His many sparkling embellishments showed his royalty as he waited for the damsel to take his offer of marriage.

Stepping off the gangplank of his beloved Apache Arrow onto the dew soaked grass, Wyatt paused as he extended his arms over his head and clasped his hands together. Groaning loudly, he proceeded to stretch his sore, tight muscles in a ballet like pose, that surely would have inspired a wise-ass remark from Jolker, had he been witness to it. Kneeling for hours, in that cramped mechanical space had taken its toll on his big, athletic frame. Now he realized why most mechanics he had met, were men of a smaller stature, then his. Jolker couldn't fit in that small space, until Wyatt had removed many of the smaller parts and components.

The day’s fine drizzle had broken and the sun gleamed on the cold, sodden village with its mud-slicked square and dark-stained wooden and clay buildings. Alyn remained in his battered and dented mail and plate, with a thin and billowy pale surcoat belted above in addition to sword and dagger which he had also borrowed from Lord Porter for the occasion. Rose had conjured up yet another dress, bright white and of thick, sturdy weave with a high

"All Rise," Mistress Meryl announced after the Royals had been seated and ready to proceed. She then continued to welcome everyone, "My Lords and Ladies, Knights, and Courtiers, and honored visitors from the Outer Bailey this aft, welcome to this session of Royal Court. It has been some eight moons since our last Royal Court was held and I know you are all eager to see the results of this Court's petitions. These will be pending shortly, of course, but first I would cede the floor to Her most benevolent Royal Majesty, and Her Royal

She stood, quickly, her head cast at the ground and her hands clasped before her, the chaffing marks on her wrists where the manacles dug in dripping the occasional speck of congealed blood. Without a word she was unchained from the wall and dragged up the steps, past the lower, grimmyer parts of the castle, up into the lofty chambers that housed Korvin and his guests. Raucous laughter spilled from the small dinning hall where Korvin hosted closer friends and his three generals, a small gathering of unquestioningly loyal men.

Late that morning, he received news that General Zhousbek had arrived and directed the guard to surreptitiously escort him to the throne room. Pleased at how fast General Zhousbek had responded to his summons, he entered the room to find the guard and General Zhousbek already waiting, and after guard’s formal introduction, ordered the guard out.

“She ran pass that way and up the stairs…” He never finishes as the men take off, running again in the opposite direction I am. Joy flitters through me. He didn’t turn me in. “You’re welcome!” Flich yells after them, sarcasm thick in his words. Minutes later after the yelling and footsteps died down, the door opens and there stand Flich, holding his side in pain, but a smile is on his face. His face is slightly bruised and swollen.

“My King,” Earl Michal says, moving through the door. “The nobles are clamoring for your presence. Word has spread throughout the castle of what has transpired between you and the Prince.”

By the time Joan returned to the castle, Perceval was already in training out on the field. She did not want to be one of those wives who interrupted her husband’s work, so she watched from a safe distance and planned to speak to her husband during his break time. Several other women stood off at a distance, too, and Joan considered approaching to introduce herself. She hadn’t lived in the castle all that long and there were still so many people to meet. However, she stopped short when she noticed Lady Elora sitting on a fine wool blanket not too far away. The woman wore a voluminous ornamented red dress more suited for a royal event than an afternoon outdoors.

THUNK. The large blade came crashing down on the man as his cries faded and his head rolled onto the floor, much to the horror of the gathered crowd.

“RESPECT...RECOGNITION...I WILL FINALLY BE ABLE TO JOIN THE ROYAL GUARD! PEOPLE WILL ASK TO, BE MY, ‘FRIEND?’. I WILL BATHE IN A SHOWER OF KISSES EVERY MORNING.”

Escorted by Captain of the Royal Guard, Chaol Westfall, she was presented to the king and judged suitable for the competition she’d later take part of.

Silent. At the edge of the sky there was a magnificent white patch, a turning page, catching the sun. The rest was ivory grey, with a subtle hint of mauve, just enough to announce the coming sunset. Scanning the horizon were the white cotton balls on cerulean satin, with a subtle layer of dove grey underneath, which was thin enough to let the light through. Stood there like a ghost, a silent observer of the venerable castle, and the clouds. The colossal mountains were shielding the inferior castle. Beyond the towering mountains was a decrepit, venerable and ancient castle like structure. The azure roof was coated and concealed by the thick opaque dust. The roof was as dusty as an abandoned warehouse floor. It was an elderly going paler as it got older and ancient. As I nonchalantly walked up the moaning narrow staircase, a thick mist of cold crisp air blew through me, rustling my hair and sending a chill down my spine.