Prowl through the sands

Another piece written when I was a teenager

 

Prowl through the sands

 

Palace of Shirobir

King Goffir’s private chambers

Winter 

 

 

 

Rosaia, daughter of King Goffir, ruler of the lands of Shirobir, was sitting at her father’s desk, sulking one cold, winter morning.

 

The palace of Shirobir had awoken to a torrent of ice and snow, and even the horses, who never disobeyed an order, had refused to leave their warm stalls in the royal stable. The storm had commenced the night before, causing all the villagers and guards to take shelter whereever they found it. Winter had always been a time of death and sickness, so when several dozen frozen bodies had been found in the working fields that morning, no one had been shocked by the uneventful news.

 

Shirobir had always taken care of itself for centuries on end. The lands were well protected, the fields properly tended. The villagers got enough gold to last them the year, and the royal family lived in a some what less spoiled way then their neighbors did. The village was made of several thousand homes, all built with mud caked onto bricks, stacked up and left to dry in the burning sun. But the palace of Shirobir was a truly spectacual and breath-taking sight. A strong steel gate led to a wide court yard filled with large, fruitful trees, wooden benches and a handful of marble fountains. From there, a pair of wooden doors opened to reveal the palace of King Goffir. Hundreds of rooms inhabited the castle, each a different size, holding variant and unusual objects. The collossal librairy on the third floor, possessed volumes decades old, subjects that no one ever dared speak of, inventions beyond their wildest dreams.

 

The royal family of Shirobir was actually quite small. The King, Goffir had married two women. The first one, Laorra, had bore two children and then passed away one stormy night. The second, Jula, had bore him one daugther, Rosaia, his preferred child. Afterwards, Goffir’s half-brother, Kiddro, had come to live with them, accompanied by his wife and two children, Yamu and Fraski. Lastly, an old wizard, Tresar, a well-liked great uncle of Goffir’s had moved in, settling himself with his blind cat, Iye. Being so minute, the family had bought several bondsmen to keep the castle looking alive and healthy and out of harms way.

 

 

 

Rosaia, now 17, was at the age of demanding everything and wanting to know apsolutely everything. She accepted guidance from her father, but request that he tell her the whole about Shirobir and it’s troubles.

Now, sulking at his desk, eyes filled with unwanted tears, she sat quite still. Having just passed her birthday, she did not want to seem a burden on her father’s already drooping shoulders. He was a busy man, always making plans and meeting with imporant people of other villages and empires. He cared for her, quite deeply, but wished she’d let him work when he was busy.

 

At that moment, the King himself walked into the room. Rosaia sat up hurridly, smoothing out her robe, eliminating any wrinkles.

The King was a handsome man. He was tall, with a full head of dark hair pulled back in a tight braid. His body was bunched up with sinewy muscle, that had never gone a day without being worked. But his eyes were what Rosaia liked the best. They were the color of the sky on a day when the sun shined and the clouds were nowhere to be seen. She liked them becuase they reminded her of good memories, when she’d grown within the walls of his palace, learning every day, making him proud.

 

“My dear daugther, what do I see? A tear? Why?”.

Rosaia looked up at his youthful face.

“My father, I am unhappy” she replied simply.

“Unhappy, how can this be? My daugther cannot be unhappy in my presence. My dear, tell me, what is wrong?” he demanded at once.

“I feel useless. I want to take care of something, anything. But it’s already being taken care of. I feel like I live here, every day, for no reason. I could be doing things, helping people, doing something useful” she confessed.

Goffir squatted with ease in front of her, and put his hands on her knees.

“Rosaia, you are not useless. You are my daugther. I care for you more then anyone else. You are not useless, because when I see you, my heart is happy. I smile when I think of you. You are smart, cunning, sometimes demanding, but never the less, amazing” he explained with a smile.

Rosaia wiped away her last tear with the back of her hand and smiled also.

“Then let me do something, father. I promise nothing dangerous, just something to occupy my wandering mind” she asked eagerly.

“And what may this something be?”.

“Ride to the village and act like a villager, instead of a princess”.

Goffir gaped silently.

“My dear, what is this you are demanding? Go to the village, where disaster can strike you at any moment? Absolutely not! I am not giving my daugther permission to execute herself” Goffir told her, his tone final.

“But father, I would take care not to go where trouble is. I swear it” she begged.

Goffir stood, and she looked up at him with pleading eyes.

“My child, you are trouble, and my final word is this. The day you go to the village, blending in the crowds, I will not be King over Shirobir or over anything” he said, anger building in his eyes.

He swept out of the room, the door slaming shut behind him. Rosaia sat in his chair, her mouth twisted in fury and started crying once more, unaware that her father meant well.

 

 

 

Village of Ryhu

Tyre Inn

Winter

 

 

 

Railah layed in the bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, trying to fall asleep. The wind was howling outside and a draft of cold air was attacking her body, making it impossible for her to sleep. She curled up tighter, and closed her eyes, trying to conjure a memory that would help her drift off to sleep faster.

 

At once Quyll’s face filled up in her mind, smiling, eyes twinkling. Her eyes opened with a snap and the picture dissolved. Why did he always have to enter her mind, haunt her dreams everynight?. Was he trying to tell her something? Prove to her that she was a traitor, a lier? That she could’ve saved him, but she’d cared only for herself?

Railah shook her head angrily, lies, they were all lies. She’d done her best, she’d tried to rescue him from death, but she’d been to late.

 

On a warm, spring day, the year before last, Railah and Quyll had gone for a ride in the forest. They’d raced each other over broken down logs, through swamps and streams, even over huge bolders. But something had happenned that both of them had not expected. A pack of starved wolves had caught their sense from miles off and snuck on them while they had been eating their snack by the river. They’d attacked, and Railah had had only a second to climb her horse and gallop away before they ripped at her body. She’d looked over her shoulder, to see Quyll sprawled on the ground, the creatures biting into his dead corpse, snarling at each other, taking whatever they wanted and then leaving the rest to rot.

 

Railah had vanished from her hometown, escaping to the dark of her mind, not speaking to anyone for a whole year. She’d grieved for Quyll, for if she didn’t, he would’ve come to her when she was weak and taken her soul with him to the burning depths of hell. No one really knew what had happenned to him, except the victim and the witness. Railah had travelled as far away from the scene of the crime, staying at inn’s for a day or two, before departing once more. She’d been at Ryhu for two weeks now, feeling she’d journeyed far enough to be safe from the guilt that had tormented her for so long.

 

But now the guilt was back, worse then before. Squeezing at her heart is was, causing a wave of nausea to over come her everytime she thought of Quyll. Would she  ever be able to escape from it’s rigid, sharp sides? To be able to enjoy the sunlight, instead of hiding in the darkness? Only time could tell.

 

She slumped back against the rough pillow of her bed and finally fell asleep.

Reviews

[Alias Fletcher]

I am glad you accepted me as your friend. I see you are sharing your art and it is truly enjoyable. charly