Untitled Short-Story - Part 4

This is the second part to my answer to Lindsay's (second) prompt:

The moment he saw her he couldn't take his eyes off her. The moment she slapped him he knew he would love her forever.

-> the beginning

-> previous part

The shrill shriek would have done any girl of 5 honour, but it was disgracing Alexander Knevash, who was old enough to be a squire, and he knew it. His shaking hands also shamed him, and for a moment he feared that he had even wet himself.
Then he registered that his fingers twitched in empty air and he remembered. The soft, moist nose of his sisters horse had touched him in the neck. He had been so focused on carrying that awful heavy bucket that this tickling sensation had scared him almost witless. Water had splashed on his trousers and the horse's legs - and apparently a girl that was now staring at him out of the shadows. Her red hair was so fiery bright that he could see it even in this poor light.
Alexander still stared when she stalked towards him, transfixed by the sky-blue of her eyes, noticing the knife in her hands only because its blade had the same dangerous glint. Even her dress was blue, although now stained with dark spots of water. And yet, he never hand seen something more beautiful. Never mind her angry glare, the threateningly raised weapon or her rather dishevelled and untidy state. Had Alexander been old enough, he would have known that he was about to fall in love.
"You idiot! You've ruined everything! Your scream will bring the whole castle into the stables! I should have stabbed you in the back and left when I had the chance!"
She ranted on like this for a few more seconds, but fell into a stubborn silence when the adults arrived and dragged her away. Just before his father and others blocked his view, Alexander saw how she turned her head and granted him a last scowl of sky-blue.

+++

Later, he had learned that she was Rianne of Duskandar, born to be a warrior-princess, and brought to the castle as a hostage. She and her guardians had only been on the journey through, so they had stayed apart from the rest of the household and guests. When the girl had gone missing, there had not been a great fuss about it, because certain people were not meant to know about her presence at all. They didn't underestimate her afterwards.
Alexander and Rianne had never been meant to meet, and the had never met again since that short episode in their childhood. Still, her fearless strength had made a heavy impression on him. He soon stopped being a naive weakling, although he might not have developed quite like his father would have liked.
Now he granted Valeria a sliver of that admiring stare. It was not enough to diminish his deep feelings for the red-head that had stolen his heart before he knew how to love. However, he acknowledged the strength and courage of the seer with a little smile, who met his gaze unfaltering. It was not her place to make demands. Neither her magic nor her birth granted her that right, and what independence she might have had got lost when she accepted the proposal.
He would consider giving in, nevertheless. Just a little. Just to see what her world might have to offer. In the end, she would be his wife. Her power would be his to command. She would help him find Rianne.

-> part five

I welcome any comment and critique on my writing, especially the helpful ones.

Untitled Short Story - Part 3

This is the continuation of the (still) untitled short-story I started with a prompt from my NaNo-Cheerleaders.

You might want to read part one and part two, first.

So, this is the second prompt I chose, given by Lindsay (again):
The moment he saw her he couldn't take his eyes off her. The moment she slapped him he knew he would love her forever.

Alexander's breath formed little, white clouds while he carefully placed his feet on the snow. Luckily, he had woken up later than he had planned and so the sun was already rising. In the night, his treacherous lungs would certainly have betrayed his presence to the guards on the wall. He could no more stop breathing than keeping the half-frozen snow from crunching beneath his high boots.
It never had occurred to him to pull up the bright red scarf he was wearing, or at least the gold-lined broad collar of his mantle. Unlike his older brother, he had never been trained to be a soldier, and just like his sisters he tended to act without thinking. A child of the royal blood had to mind consequences as little as he cared to leave behind his favourite garments. After all, the fine boots had been a present from his uncle, along with the brave, grey pony which waited for him impatiently in the stables.
At least, it did in Alexander's mind. To him, it was his closest friend, valiant like his father's best war-horse and more intelligent than the smartest hound of the whole court. Why else was Silverstar always eager to greet him and would let none else ride him? Together they had mastered to jump over the little stream behind the castle and bushes that were almost as high as his waist. And surly the pony hated to have to leave this place tomorrow, just as much as he.
His plan was simple: run away before the nurse came to fetch him for breakfast, hide in the woods until his sisters and their convoy had departed and then return to the castle. It would take at least a few days until another convoy could be organised, but he hoped that he had convinced his father to let him stay for much longer by then.
Of course, Alexander had never once in his life spent a night outdoors. He had come prepared, however. His favourite clothes were quite warm and comfortable, after all, and he carried some cookies and apples in a small bag. The snow was worrying him a bit, however. How were he and Silverstar supposed to sneak towards the side-entry when it made so much noise? Never mind that he should have been more concerned about the handful of servants that were already out and about. Luck was again on the boy's side, however, since their footsteps drowned his own to his way to the stables, and none of them knew he wasn't supposed to go there alone.

Darkness still lingered in the hay-padded corners. The voiced and steps her keen ears picked up from outside told her that she had slept too long. It would be nearly impossible to escape now, no matter if one dared to sneak away or simply stole a horse.
The dark-brown mare who kindly had allowed her to share her quarters last night whinnied uneasily. Someone was coming. Pressing even deeper into the shadows, the girl watched with narrowed eyes how the back-door opened a little. Even if the shape that slipped in was only small, she clutched the hilt of her knife with a fierce grip. Nobody would call her anything but brave, but she tended tense up and get ready for a fight at the slightest sign of opposition. Usually she got what she wanted, because she had been taught to do anything to earn it - even if that meant to fight, steal or lie. And right now, she wanted out of here, and that boy, he just passed through a patch of early morning light that fell through a slit in the wall, was coming ever closer to her hiding place and so to keep her from getting out of here.
"My dear, brave Silverstar, have you slept well? Are you ready? Here, have an apple."
A young boy. A rich boy, considering the fine embroidery which was all over his clothes. Some of it even shimmered in the dim light. He had stopped at the opposite box, the one with the white pony. It was an unfriendly, little beast, and she was disappointed when it didn't kick and snap at him like it had at her last night. She would never again believe those plumb and cuddly looking creatures were all friendly and tame.
"All right, what next? I'll need to saddle you, I guess. That can't be too hard, if Rodric can do it."
She rolled her eyes. 'Don't these royals here learn anything? He looks around like he doesn't even know where the saddles are stored.'
"Or do you want some water first?" The boy's face light up with relief and satisfaction about his great new idea when he spotted a bucket half full with water.
'No, go away, you fool!' The bucket stood far too close to her hiding place. He would have to be blind or dumb to not discover her.
He came over, grabbed the wooden handle and heaved it up with an obvious lack of strength. The girl almost pitied him. He appeared to be taller than her by a hand-width, but he was weak and incompetent like a little child. When he turned away, groaning softly due to probably the first manual labour in his life, she relaxed a bit. He had not seen her.

-> part four

Untitled Short-Story - Part 2

This is the second part to my answer to Lindsay's prompt:

He offered her the world. She said she had one of her own.

-> part one

Valeria had considered ignoring the Traveller as long as possible. After all, everyone knew she often was deeply occupied with a vision and might not notice the presence of someone for an hour. But the silvery lines on her face appeared to tingle, as if the outward signs of her power wanted to remind her to not debase it. The seer in her had known about this day for ages, so she should at least act like the grown woman she had become.

Besides, a vision in the flame was not the same as seeing with your own eyes, and she could not deny a certain curiosity. There was no mistaking the man who climbed up towards her secluded abode, countless times had she seen his stature and even had been able to get familiar with his unique way of his movements. Usually, her gift had shown her this very moment in numerous variations. Sometimes he came riding on some kind of beast, once or twice he was shrouded in dark robes, but in the end the most likely and thus most frequent vision had come true: he wore a jacket and trousers of some rich, shiny material, almost mirroring the heather-colour of her shawl.

The cloth which he had wrapped around his head was something unexpected, though, and seer's aren't used to being surprised. It drew her gaze to his face. A bit flushed from the climb, but with a ready smile. Brown eyes greeted her, they had the same colour as the hair that spilled out beneath the strange head-cloth, falling in slightly unruly waves onto his shoulders. Clean-shaven, although he certainly was old enough now to grow a beard. There appeared not to be much of the boy she had known left in him. This made her uneasy. For the first time since her early training she doubted herself. Was this really the right one? Perhaps the right man was still on his way and this was just someone who had sought her out for one of the usual reasons. And yet, the way he looked at her touched something in her that had slept so long that she could not put a name to it.

Alexander drank in every bit of the woman who stood about five long strides away from him. The hood of her garment concealed her hair, just as the wide, flowing dress and shawl obscured her body. Her stance was as straight and elegant as the long staff of twisted wood. In the eerie light of the magical flame on it's top, the markings on her face shimmered like silver tears. In the first moment, her eyes still had held that particular mat look of a vision, but then they had come alive.

Of course, he had met other seers before, but none of them had he known before they had reached their full power. Now, his mind tried to unite the serene figure before him with his memory of a certain girl. They had both grown to almost the same height and she had maintained her open and alert gaze of green-blue. Even at this distance he could make out this rare, uneven colouring he always had found fascinating.

He could not quite read her expression. Surely she was not surprised by his arrival? And most certainly she had not forgotten why he was here? Or had a vision told her something he should know?

He never had been one of the hesitant or careful sort. After granting them both a few heartbeats to take each other in, and to regain some of his breath, he made two easy but long strides towards her. Her mien did not betray how she felt about that, and yet her eyes were fixed on him like he was a dangerous animal. With a fluid, elegant movement, he bowed to her, lowering his gaze only briefly enough to acknowledge her status. After all, he himself was of royal blood. She might be able to see the future, but he could wield the power to make it happen.

"Valeria Temerit, in accordance with the treaty to which our guardians agreed many years ago, I, Alexander Knevash, am here to ask for your hand in marriage."

He offered her the traditional coin-shaped talisman of his home-country on a gloved, open palm. Somehow he had put it there with a slight-of-hand while he had courtesied, because Valeria was sure he had at first approached her empty-handed.

Alexander hoped his face did not betray his feelings. Nobody liked to be betrothed to someone you had known only for a short while as a child. He may be allowed to rule a country or start a war, but he was neither allowed to choose his own wife, nor when or how to propose to her. And yet, she had to make the next move. Why didn't she say something? Would she refuse? Could a vision have changed the rules? And why did this idea stir a sick feeling in his stomach?

A crunch, of the staff meeting the pebbles between two cobble-stones, a step forward while the free hand extended at the same time, like the start of a court-dance. Her hand was bare and he wished he had removed his glove so that their skin could touch. But the slender fingers hardly made contact with his hand, while she covered the wedding-talisman in acceptance.

After the proposal, Valeria had invited her future husband into her tower. Although their union was already binding, there still were the necessary rituals and sacrifices to make. They would need a witness for that, too, but for now, Alexander was glad to be offered a chair on the little balcony and a tray of food.

"This is an amazing view over the valley. I know of some places that are just as beautiful, and a handful that are even more astonishing. I will show them all to you!" He took a bite of the bread and washed it down with a gulp of mild wine. Raising his eyebrows at his future wife, he savoured its smell. A seer usually did not drink alcohol, and indeed her own cup appeared to contain only plain water.

"Have you ever travelled by the water-bridge? I'm sure you have, how stupid of me. We will be in the White Palace in no time. And after the celebrations, we can go wherever you want. I offer you the world, Valeria!" The precious wine would probably have sloshed over the rim, if Alexander had not down half of it already. According to his grand gestures, one could think he was entertaining a whole court, instead of talking to only one rather unimpressed looking woman.

"I don't need the world, I already have one of my own."

Those were the first words she had spoken to him since their childhood.

Continue with part three.

Comments and critique are very welcome.

Untitled Short-Story - Part 1

During NaNo 2011 I found and got found by the Chick Lit Cheerleaders.
They are a great band and always ready to encourage and advise, no matter what you are writing.
Their latest idea was to do some short-stories based on prompts we give each other during March.

The first prompt I chose was given by Lindsay:
He offered her the world. She said she had one of her own.

Countless tales got carried past her in the gentle breeze that made her shawl dance like a flag. It's colour mimicked the violet heather on the hills to the east. From there, her gaze wandered along the river, which flowed down into the valley. It turned and twisted, like it had no sense of direction at all. In truth, these lands were covered with patches of unyielding rock, leaving little room for farmland. There even were some rapids where the blue, clear stream got turned into white, dangerous traps. The fisher-folk, who were one of the few inhabitants of the valley, stayed well away from them, especially when the spring melt has hidden the riverbanks under icy cold masses of water. And still, she had had to save the one or other from drowning. In return, they brought her gifts, like the blue and white striped long dress.
The flame on her staff flickered, although the wind had ceased completely now. In a soft crackle she learned about the Traveller who was about to arrive soon. She didn't need to turn her head to see him, for she had mastered the visions long ago. There was no need to call them, she just listened to what the fire had to tell her. When she sought an answer, either for herself or for one of those who desired her help, it didn't take long until the wood that did not burn revealed what was to come.
It had taken her a while to learn how to recognize a true vision from a false one. The latter were caused by wishful thinking more often than by fear or hate. In time, those like her learned to control their feelings, which was one key to the secret. Every seer had to follow his or her own path. In Valeria's case it had lead her to the solitary tower on top of a steep hill, where she had dwelt alone until today - most of the time with the knowledge that the Traveller would decide on her fate.

Strong, confident steps carried him from the shore onto the cracked, dusty road. As usual, every fibre on him was soaked. So far, no mage had mastered to eliminate this side-effect of the water-bridge. He couldn't help smiling at the irony of that, although the joke was old by now. An ordinary bridge connected two sides of a stretch of water and was supposed to let you cross it without getting wet. The magic which transported you from one place to another via any accumulation of water large enough to stand in, no matter whether it was connected to each other or not, always drenched you. It was generally believed that this was part of how it worked, but some kept wondering if it wasn't rather a deliberate 'mistake' of the spell-casters.
Fortunately the sun shone bright and warm on this day, drying his clothes and hair, while erasing his damp footprints on the road as well. By the time he reached the first bend, he actually felt so hot that he pulled out the scarf, which was stowed away in his pouch, and wound it several times around his head. The cloth and indeed the style of wearing it had been picked up by him on one of his previous journeys. Never once did his feet slow down or falter, carrying him ever onwards towards the tower on the hill.
Soon it became obvious that the main-road, if it deserved that name considering its poor state, would not lead him to his goal but rather to a little settlement at the river-bank. Longingly he regarded the fisher-huts, smelling supper and hearing the laughter of undoubtedly lively, young women. Surely they wouldn't mind a visitor who could repay their hospitality with entertaining stories and rare trinkets? He could imagine it just too well, and found himself smiling contentedly at the prospect of encouraging a little village-feast, so that he could dance with some of the prettiest girls.
The ground beneath his boots suddenly grew softer. Despite his daydreaming, some part of him had noticed a half overgrown path that diverged from the road. While the laughter of the fisher-folk grew faint behind him, he soon had to pay attention on where he placed his feet. It was a rather straight trail of stones that lead up to the tower, and in the steep places they reminded of old, weathered stair-steps. Moss and thick grass padded them and made them probably very slick after a rainfall. He was glad it was not winter right now.
When Alexander's head came level with the top of the hill, all distractions of the valley, lazy mages or previous adventures were forgotten - the wind itself seemed to push him gently upwards until he stepped on the old cobblestones and approached the woman he was meant to marry.
 
To be continued ...
-> part two