A Short Story

This may turn into something else, but for now, it is just a moment of clarity in my otherwise cloudy mind.

Chapter 1

 

Theneas awoke, and immediately knew that something was off.  There was a slight draft in his room, and the candle was out.  Those were his first clue.  The slight scent of jasmine was on the air and the incense he had burned just an hour ago was no longer prominent in the scents that lingered in the room.  He got out of his cot slowly, silently.  He grabbed the dagger he kept next to his bed, and drew it silently. 

Crouching next to the side of the bed, he quickly assessed his situation.  If there was an assassin, he would be dead before he could raise a call for help.  Additionally, he detested the thought of being rescued. He crept over to the window, closing it silently.  He deliberately let the clasp close loudly, and leapt aside, as a knife flew through the air towards him.  It passed by his face with chilling precision, and embedded itself into the wood of the window frame. 

He let out a breath he had held, his breath misting in the slight chill.  Late October, and the early snows had made it a harsh autumn.  He shook his head, berating himself for focusing on the chill, instead of the problem at hand.  He narrowed his eyes, the low light making it hard to make anything out in the room.  Vague shadows were all he had to go on.  He looked for a sign of movement, any sign of movement that his eyes could track, but there was none.  He did not move his head, so his vision was severely hampered.  Moving his head was a dead giveaway, for it would be seen, and he had to assume the intruder was looking for the same thing he was. 

Theneas breathed quietly, then carefully scanned the area he could see without moving, and still saw nothing.  He thought furiously for a moment, then made a decision.  He stood, grinning like an idiot.  His white teeth flashed in the low light, and he said, “You have got me in quite the predicament here.  Pray tell, what is next?”  He cocked his head, scanned the room.  He looked up, and barely saw a flash of red.  The assassin, for that was what he had to assume it was, was moving.  The individual was remarkably trained, to move that silently. 

The assassin was silent, deathly so.  Theneas could hear nothing that would even indicate that there was anyone there at all.  There was a slight brush of cloth on cloth, but that could just as easily be the thin linen curtains, in the wind.  He thought, and came to the conclusion that the assassin wanted him to beg for his life, or some such nonsense.  To this thought, he responded, “If you expect me to beg, you have the wrong man.  You are here to kill me, so get on with it.”  He stood there, in his smallclothes, waiting for the inevitable, the picture of pride.

He suddenly felt steel against his throat.  The assassin had approached, and dropped to the floor.  This was a mistake, for Theneas had the advantage now.  He knew everything about the room they were in, and the niches in the cobblestone that would trip someone not used to it.  He stepped on the assassin’s foot, hard, and then turned.  He cut himself slightly on the knife, but slashed once, twice, with his own dagger, cutting open the would-be assassin’s chest.  He placed a foot on the man’s throat, and then said, “You’ve failed.”  He plunged his dagger hilt deep into the man’s eye, and called the guards.

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Elsewhere, things were more peaceful.  Else looked at the crowded bar, and sighed.  Full again.  Would the pace never die down?  She walked out, and said, “What can I get you gentlemen?”  She forced a smile, for her father would notice if she didn’t. 

The men all said the same thing of course.  Newbury Brandy.  It seemed to be every man’s drink of choice.  She had tried the drink herself, and retched at the acrid odor before it had even hit her tongue.  She supposed that one wouldn’t care how it smelled when drunk, but had never been so herself.  She went to the back to fill the men’s mugs.  Her parents were rough folk, and were not accustomed to finery.  This was the reason for the pewter mugs.

Once the mugs were all filled, she carried them out on a tray, where they were roughly grasped in even more rough hands.  Some of those rough hands reached for her, but she quickly dodged, something learned over the years of being an innkeeper’s daughter.  One of the many things she was just expected to do, as a nice, boring, innkeeper’s daughter. 

She couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything more out there.  Wonder if there was any way she could become a part of that vast pool of people.  She desperately wanted to escape from the hopeless existence she lived now. 

She thought back to a story her father told her once.  Adriana and the Giant:  It was about a warrior princess, who ran away from the castle, and was taken in by a group of traveling mercenaries.  She grew up there, and when she returned to the kingdom, she came bearing the giant head of the kingdom’s greatest enemy.  She was welcomed back with open arms, and was a hero.

Else was lost in the clouds, when a sharp rap of knuckles on wood brought her out of her reverie.  She nodded with a slight smile, as she took the mugs from the men, to go refill them.  She went back to work as usual, the dreams of an innkeeper’s daughter lost amongst the shouting of hungry and thirsty patrons. 

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Author's Note

Don't mind the t's. It works in webdings.