Tales of the Crimson Hood: Jester's Fortune

1

Clumps of grass and dirt flung skyward, the field churning under hoof as the brown, white-speckled horse galloped onward.

"Yah!" shouted The Rider, digging his heels into his shining steed's hind quarters. The wind at his back, the blades of grass all moved with him, millions of inch-high cheerleaders guiding him to his destination. They swept ahead of him like a wave, rolling towards the castle.

The Rider looked back over his shoulder at the rise he had cleared, his whole body undulating with each powerful stride. "The castle, horse! We must reach the castle!"

The castle stood alone before them. The battlements were perilously high stone walkways, impervious to penetration, even to the harsh glow of the setting sun.

Atop the battlements, a soldier peered down at the glistening stillness of the water below. A moat, beautiful in its practicality. He observed the expanse of open grassland before him. "'Ere, Larry," he said, squinting at the lone horseman making impressive ground towards them. "Is that an 'orse?"

The Rider tugged harshly on the reins. The horse dug deep into the turf, halting abruptly by the moat's edge. "Who goes there?" yelled Larry. The Rider peered up at them.

"I am but a lowly peasant, sir, but I bring a most important message! 'Tis the Crimson Hood! He waits on the horizon for word of your surrender! His legion number in the thousands and they are tasked with razing this stronghold and burning all those who stand against them!"

"Well you best come in, then!" yelled down Larry, before both soldiers burst into thundering laughter. They fell about each other as the Rider grew impatient below.

"Fools," he said to himself as his steed trotted in place. He raised his voice for the benefit of the soldiers: "You'll be the death of your Lord and all those within these walls if your sole response is your inane laughter!"

The soldiers didn't hear him. A flag fluttering on the horizon had caught Larry's attention, the grin draining from his face. A nudged elbow, a follow of the concerned gaze and now both soldiers squinted at the flag and the growing number of bodies either side of it. They grew solemn, imagining their futures unfolding. Mud churned with blood. Screams of young and old. Points of accusation. 'You are the ones who doomed us all!' Hanging their heads in shame. The tightness of the stocks, the harsh grain tearing at their necks and wrists. Vegetables launched at them in various stages of putrefaction.

"Perhaps we better let 'im in," they said in unison, their words catching in their throats. "Lower the bridge!" The bridge lowered amidst the grinding of wood and chain. The Rider's steed bolted for the gates as they shuddered open.