H'kela-Barcea Border Region
JoyThe first thought that ran through Joy's mind as she was landed roughly on the ground after being flung from her horse was the same one she had each and every morning:
Somehow I'm alive. Joy didn't have to see the trap to know she had been caught by one; she was too good of a rider to simply be thrown from her horse by her own fault. She propped herself up to her feet, her scabbard digging into the dirt as it supported her weight. A stinging pain circulated her face from where it had dragged across a few pebbles, and there was a shallowness of breath from having the wind knocked out of her. As well, her knee sung with agony, but that was a normal occurrence after a long day of being active. All things considered, she was dazed but okay. The same could not be said for her horse, if its whimpering was any indication of its fate. Its eulogy would have to wait. She heard the crunching of leaves. Her arrows had been scattered by her impact. Hopefully her ambusher wouldn't instantly turn her into a pincushion.
“My word, you're no elk.”
The voice belonged to a wiry, bearded man dressed in tanned, reddish leathers with a hunting bow slung over his shoulder. The worry in his eyes and the way he held himself made him look to be no bandit. Genuine concern was, generally, a rare trait in a bandit who was about to slay somebody for a lump of gold or a bite of jerky. She also somehow doubted that the man was doing it to lower her guard in someway. If he wanted to harm her, she was already at enough of a disadvantage to make such a tactic utterly pointless. Unless, of course, he had any idea who it was he was dealing with. She kept her hand on her hilt and her ears open just in case.
“Neither was he,” she said, gesturing towards the pit. Her horse had gone silent. Dead. “But I'm afraid when it comes to it pitfalls aren't the best at discerning their prey. Mind giving me a hand? I think I hurt my knee. You have a way of getting down into those pits, I assume. Could you fetch my things?”
“Suppose it would only be right.”
If there had been others she would have been aware of their presence by now. As the man disappeared down into the pit Joy set about recollecting her scattered goods. Her arrows had all been splintered during her spill.
Of course. It's what I get for trying to save money and make my own. Waste of time, she thought as she picked up her flask. Uncorking the top, she put it to her lips and...nothing. The only indication that anything had even been held in it was the lingering, smokey scent of wood. That was wrong, it had only been half-empty this morning. Had she already drained it all? It made a bit more sense to her now how she had found herself off the path.
I imagine the pain from this fall will be a bit rougher as the night goes on, she thought as the man came crawling out of the pit with the rest of her gear.
“I apologize for your horse,” the hunter said. “How bad is your knee?”
“I'll manage,” she said. She pointed at his waterskin. “Any brandy in there?”
“Water,” he said. He handed it over to Joy
“It'll have to do. Thanks,” she said, drinking from it greedily.
“Have some spirits back at my lodge. Food, too. It's not a far walk from here,” he said. “You won't be able to make it to any of the nearby villages before sunset. Least I can do is help you out for the night. The name's Rodger.”
“Joy.”
“A pleasure. Follow me,” said Rodger, turning his back and making his way towards a thicket of trees. “So, what were you doing off the path?”
“Hunting,” she said, her fingers teasing the hilt of her blade as she followed after the Samaritan.
* * *
The sun had gone down outside and the woods outside of the lodge were quiet except the occasional hoot of an owl. Joy sat on a stool next to the fire, her sword and bow propped up within arms reach of her as she devoured a bowl of stew. It's flavor filled her mind with painful memories. Memories which she promptly squashed with whatever swill she was poisoning her body with. The lodge was lined with many animal skins and had a well-lived in feel to it. A bed roll that the hunter said he used doing longer hunts had been laid out for her. It all had a quaint charm to it, really.Yet judging by the small cot and the fact that he only had one seat, Rodger lived there alone. The hunter had his back turned to the woman as he went about his work on the bench in front of him, skinning the hare one of his small traps had caught. Joy could smell the death even over the aroma of her stew.
“It's dangerous for a woman to be traveling on the roads these days, but it's even more dangerous to be going off of them...” said Rodgers as worked his knife. He had been talking at her for a hot minute, unable to take her dismissive hms and hahs as anything but continued interest in his ramble. Joy was more interested in what he had than what he said. His quiver by the door had a handful of quality-looking arrows left in it. The bottle she had helped herself to was absolutely foul at first, but the lingering burn covered up any vile aftertaste. If she was to be on the road she'd need a bedroll. Most importantly, she had spied a horse that Rodger used to cart skins into the neighboring village when he needed to trade.
“...my cousin warned me that I'd be smart to cross the border into H'kela since the bandits only seemed focus on Barcea villages. The other day I heard a rumor of bandit attacks happening on the other side of the border too. Nowhere's safe, even with the Sentinels out here patrolling. That reminds me, did I ever tell you of the time I met the Princess...”
Joy felt that it was no longer a question if whether or not Rodger lived in the lodge alone. He seemed so absolutely desperate for company that he didn't even mind if they didn't talk back, and if he spent more time in the civilized world perhaps he would know that almost anyone had a story of the time they had met a royal. Joy couldn't go into a bar without hearing of the time the bartender had served a beer to the Prince himself or how one of the lads had gotten the once-over and approving smile from the Queen. People would get in to contests to one up one another, each tale more tall and unbelievable than the last. There was little appeal to hearing falsities about people you had seen grow up. When not guarding her father, Joy had taken to escorting the then-princess Kori around the Capitol. She had taught Cyril how to properly hold a sword and how to take a hit. She had been there for Ayano's birth. Every time somebody spoke of how the Queen ate this and the Princess touched that was like a dagger being shoved between Joy's ribs.
“...and she said I was red, whatever that meant, and told me to take care. She was like this close,” he said, measuring with his blood-stained fingers before going back to gutting the hare. “I think they were still in town when I left yesterday.”
A spark clicked in Joy's mind.
You must be drunk if you think that's a good idea,she thought, corking the bottle of spirits. She stumbled up to her feet, steadying herself against the wall as the alcohol resisted her sudden movement. It would've been a smarter idea to wait until morning, but this idea required she take action now. She grabbed her weapons.
“Which town. Where?” she said, slinging her bow over her back and silently sliding her blade out its sheath.
“Hillsborough, to the North. Why do you...” he turned, the carving knife dropping from his hand as his voice fainted into a concerned whisper. “...ask?”
“Like I said, I'm hunting. Kick the knife away,” said Joy, taking a step towards the hunter. “Here's how it's going to go. Although I appreciate your hospitality, the slaying of my horse was a great inconvenience. The way I see it, you owe me. Now, there are a couple of ways this can go. Namely, you can lie down on the floor and not get up until I say so, or I can lie you down on the floor and you can never get up. Either way I'll be taking your horse plus some interest. The choice is yours.”
“Y-you can't,” said the hunter, already getting on to his belly—the cowardly yet smart option. “Without my horse I can't sell my skins.”
“You should be more concerned about saving yours. Now shut up and close your eyes,” said Joy with a growl, banging the hilt of her weapon against the wall to add emphasis to her threat.
She didn't plan on hurting the bearded man, but she was out a horse because of his trap. There was no other clear answer to the woman. Keeping one eye on her victim, she went to wrapping up the bedroll with the bottle of spirits in it. Cradling it under one arm, she limped to the door and took a second to refill her quiver before walking towards the tiny lean-to that served as the horse's stable. Saddling the sad looking animal, Joy clambered on top of it and cut free the rope that was keeping it from wandering. With only the light from the moon and her lantern Joy navigated her way through the woods, regret weighing heavily in her heart.
* * *
Joy had set out the next dawn after a rough sleep near the edge of the treeline. She had been right that she'd feel her fall in the morning; her entire body ached with a dull pain. Still, she could not dwadle. Riding down the road through a grassy plain, distant hills gave her a sense of relief that she was on the right track. However, as the sun rose higher in the sky and the hills drew closer the relief was turned into a feeling of dread, for Joy could see a very familiar plume of black smoke rising in the air. Kicking the sides of her stolen horse she burst into a gallop, knowing already that there was little hope for getting her plan to work if they were all dead.
Neziul,
Antlers,
CassidyTheButch,
ML,
Simply Not Real,
Cosmic,
NoriWasHere,
Blizz,
Passable Writer,
Evil Ghost Note
