Mythas' Return: The Lost Princess

Chapter Ten: By Any Other Name

Chapter Ten: By Any Other Name

Deacon clipped several metal rings to the sides of his steed's saddle and Order whinnied anxiously as he was hooked up to the rickety carriage; the horse could smell Ficnam's still fresh blood stained through the torso of the boy's black robes as he lay motionless in the back of the wooden wagon. Reape already sat in the front of the caravan, legs crossed and arms folded as her now stringy, deep red hair tangled in front of her sober face. The second in command was known for her sensual appearance, her sultry demeanor, her flawless makeup and full figure that swayed effortlessly with each step the woman took - but now, Reape looked heavy where she sat, she appeared misshapen like a bruised apple that had taken a hard fall out of its tree.

"Deacon...I'd like to get this over with before nightfall...I want my son's condition preserved properly." she demanded.

"An assault will surely not be possible by this eve, my dear..." Deacon calmly reminded her. "We simply do not possess the numbers for success, I'm afraid...yet."

"I do not speak of assault, I'm referring to thine plan to parade my poor Ficnam's beaten body about like a showcase..." Reape snarled.

"Our boy is a martyr, whether you approve of it or not...Ficnam's death will not be in vain, if I can help it! Cerros' people deserve to know who walks among them." Deacon declared.

Reape pushed her greasy locks away from her forehead and shot her multicolored glare toward her leader - it was as if the blue parts of her irises had caught fire, and her pupils were the coals left behind. "His death will not be permanent, if I can help it. This had better garner enough attention...to bring down that castle, to destroy their walls and allow me to cast my boy into the sea...the gods shall bring him back to me." she warned.

"Are you sure you wish to...leave him in the Unmelting Ice?" Deacon asked with a subtle frown.

"Why would I not be?" Reape hissed.

Deacon sighed and looked away from her, "....well, I fear that...I fear that if he is found...that he may be defiled by the wretched satyrs that inhabit the place."

"He has already been mangled!" Reape shouted, slamming her hands on the dry wooden planks that she sat upon, shaking the whole wagon. "It is a risk we must be willing to take...it will be Ficnam's only chance of survival, now!"

"Yes, of course...it will be done, my love." Deacon assured her, climbing up onto the bench beside her, gripping Order's reins tightly, causing his own leather gauntlets to squeak against the hide straps in his fists.

"To Yagrivan." Reape insisted, turning away from Deacon to look out at the clouds that now dissipated in the afternoon sunlight.

"Unfortunately." Deacon muttered under his breath, snapping the reins against Order's sides and causing the stallion to hurriedly take off down the stony path.

For a moment, Reape worried about her son rolling about in the wagon, but recalled back to how Deacon had wrapped him in several layers of cloth as well as essentially strapped him to the carriage's lower planks with two of his own belts to prevent Ficnam from being able to flail at all. Watching him be rolled so tightly into the muslin brought Reape back to when she had swaddled him as a baby, with the help of Gearson's calloused hands as he would gently fold the knitted blanket around their newborn son. She could see the twinkle in her dwarven lover's green eyes, as if he may shed a tear every time he laid eyes upon their precious baby boy. Reape quickly shook the memory away, rubbing her eyes and smudging the sharp red streaks that she had freshly painted down her cheeks.

When she returned her gaze to the woods, she was met with a face she recognized only from afar - a painted piece of parchment crookedly nailed to a young pine tree, its bark still soft and untouched by moss.