The Legends of old Lies

4 - The Leader

...Once...

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Autumn wind drifted through bare branches and swirled a few of the loose narrow strands in her face that were not in narrow, strict, dark braids. He whispered into her ears, slightly reddened by cold air. Almost breathed a song of beckoning bloodlust. She looked down the cliff with narrowed eyes. Surely the rider had also seen her long ago. Behind him a cloak fluttered and even at a distance she thought she could see earth splashing up under the galloping horse's hooves. Any moment he would disappear at the bottom between some rocks and then he would only be seen again when he got off the saddle on official business to convey a message. One that didn't just mean his kneeling. At least, that would be better for him. And for the king who sent him.

"Ioanne!" a voice called behind her. She half turned away, keeping the rider in sight only out of the corner of her eye.

A woman was coming towards her. Her face still youthful and covered with freckles that did not disappear even when the days grew greyer and there was hardly any sun. She had braided and tied back her hair in much the same way Ioanne often did. It just looked different on her head. Blonder, brighter, friendlier.

Next to her walked a man who possessed nothing of friendliness. Neither in the coldly cut features of his face, nor in the way he pursed his thin lips as if he had never learned the ability to smile.

Meia, without restraining her speed, ran towards the edge of the cliff until small stones clattered down beneath her boots. "Is he bringing news of surrender?" she ventured hopefully.

"More like a renewed invitation for us to retreat for the winter," Ioanne guessed, stepping back from the cliff towards the camp as she watched the rider's billowing cloak disappear.

"And that's what we're going to do?" The man's voice was softer than his appearance and demeanour suggested. As if he had swallowed velvet at some point and then refused to spit it back out. Of the two eyes with which he looked at her, he only actually captured her with one. The other had lost all ability to see when his former master beat him half to death. This did not necessarily make him more sympathetic to her. They all kept their own very similar stories hidden behind proud expressions.

He had asked her a question, but whenever he did, he didn't ask it properly. He phrased it as if it were a test or a challenge.

"I'll decide that after I hear what he's asking this time," she gritted annoyed.

That he was unhappy with her answer was obvious.

"Things are getting on top of you," he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he looked down at her from a taller stature.

"Would you rather take the lead, Kenaen?"

He snorted. "Be careful what you say. If that was a challenge, I might be inclined to accept it." Something auspiciously dark shimmered in the sound of his voice and even as Meia placed herself between them, the wind seemed to howl louder. There was a murmur in the air that went up the back of their neck through the fabric of their clothes.

"Save your feelings for the guy with the crown. He thinks he has us in the palm of his hand, but he hasn't so far and he won't any further." Meia laughed nervously.

She hoped and she lied. For the first time since Ioanne had stopped to take what happened, she hesitated to move forward. As if the sharp blade with which she cut through the ranks of her enemies had suddenly become blunt. But he had managed to take prisoners. Important prisoners. Now he hid behind them and behind the civilian population of his capital. The people there were trembling with fear. The sweat of their panic drenched the area in bittersweet fear. He felt safe and yet he could not know how right he was.