The Rokkoh Adventures

Rokkoh and the Princess, Chapter 5

The sudden slam against the carriage knocks me out of my reverie. Torvald's fearful screech as the carriage rocks back onto all four wheels wakes me up. The little princess, bundled up in her blankets, remains asleep. Silence overtakes the road. The nocturnal birds close their beaks. The little furry creatures cease their chittering. Our driver does not even whimper now. The world goes quiet, yet we do not move. We remain still on the road, dead in our tracks.

Dead. Hm.

Taking hold of Lavender in one hand and opening the carriage door with the other, I enter the night. The road is illuminated by the moon, but nothing else. The air is stagnant, the little flowers at the edge of the dirty too scared to fragrance the air with their sweetness. The trees are dark statues; their leaves and branches freeze in motion. Within the shadows of the forest, I expect the glint of an eye or two, but there is only the pure terrifying silent black.

The wood of the carriage exterior bears a dent the size of my head. Had it hit a few inches back, it would have shattered the little window on the door. There's no blood, no fur, no feathers. Nothing on the ground. No evidence of attack except for the dent. No footprints in the dirt, either. Had to have been something heavy, too, with how hard it hit. But there's nothing here, nothing but the point of impact itself.

Every footstep is a firing cannon in the smothering silence. A sliver of my blade breathes in the sill air as I approach the front of the carriage, ready to reveal Lavender in full to slay our mysterious assailant. Torvald, back straight as he sits at the reins, locks his eyes forward. The blond hair on his chin quivers, the ends tickling the ebony dagger held at his throat. A crimson groove runs down the middle of the metal, the blade itself curving back toward the one wielding it. A gloved hand holds the sharp thing to the driver's pallid sweating flesh, dark leather with almost invisible stitching. The cuff disappears into the tight arms of the coat, looking as if they are one piece. The back runs long, draping down past the crouching frame. The half-dozen buckles on the front glisten amongst the surrounding pitch leather. Under the black hood, the face is covered. Only eyes show, the color lost. Some skin shines through: a rich brown. The soles of the booths are thick, adding a few inches to her height.

Lavender remains in her sheath, and I let her go to cross my arms over my chest. My mouth splits into a grin.

"Took you long enough," her voice comes from under the cloth mask concealing her lips. But there's a smile. Small and coy, but it's there. I can even see it in her dark eyes as they flit from Torvald to me.

"I was sleeping," I answer.

She rises to her full height. Her blade disappears into a hidden place under her coat. With an easy step she descends from the carriage, little dust clouds forming and settling back down at her feet. Even with the help of her boots, she stands a foot shorter than me. Those dark eyes drink in my image, slow steps circling around my frame and reappearing in her landing spot. Her eyes find mine again, twinkling like stars in the night sky. She rests her hood back, removes the mask that hides all but her pretty eyes, and lets that bright little smile gleam.

"A knight of Oakwing, huh?" she muses. "They let any riffraff into their club nowadays."

"Paladin, actually," I correct her. My thumb slides under the tiny silver chain around my neck and reveals the pendant hidden under my armor. Molded into the gold circle is the shape of a faceless woman, hair flowing and arms outstretched. "Praise be to the All-Mother and whatnot."

"A knight with religion, then?" A laugh escapes her, the little cockeyed grin spreading to reveal straight, pearly teeth. "Since when are you a man of faith?"

"Ever since I started getting paid to kill weaker men," I tell her, letting the medallion slide back under the breastplate.

"And why would such a brawny manly man like yourself choose to worship Skrolba the All-Mother? Isn't She more for priestesses and midwives?"