The Maiden's Song (draft-editing)

Chapter 1 Prologue of an Unexpected Death

***Disclaimer:
This is a rough draft of the first story I've ever written in my life. It's unedited, so you'll find grammar issues and typos. It's completed and the most charming story you will ever read and I hope you enjoy it.

The Maiden's Song

Chapter 1
Prologue of an Unexpected Death

The sun almost set in the horizon painting in different shades of orange blending where the sea and the sky converged. As busy as every day, the Merchant's Trail was a mayhem of goods and sales, of clinking of silver pieces and closed deals. Businessmen and traders from all parts of the Northern Kingdom packed merchandise in their carts, ready to head back home after a long day of work at the Sea Border's Market.

It was finally afternoon when Anibal rode his cart home, self-satisfied with the day's profit. Books and oriental antiques were highly appreciated in the Northern Continent.

The tree branches swayed to the gentle breeze as the sun kissed the mountains on its way down. Anibal sang in his native tongue, recalling with bitter-sweetness the Moor's invasion to Iberia. His eyes watered as he remembered the bloody events that lead to his family's assassination, war that forced him to escape from his birthplace to the Northern Kingdom of Abhainn, place he called home now.

Anibal de Albis was a 'scribano', the term used to name a person who deals with books, scripts, parchments, and literature masterpieces. Being so wise and respected, the King used to call upon him often to perform notary works for him or to do some translations of scripts or letters in foreign languages, for he mastered five idioms, including Greek, Latin and Arabic. Anibal was born as a nobleman, descendant of medics and artists, but when the Moors advanced to the north of the Peninsula, his family was killed and he was forced to the exile.

It's been twelve years since de Albis arrived to Abhainn, carrying with him his precious cargo of rare books, ancient scripts, invaluable art work, and tapestries. Some of what he was able to rescue after his villa in Lérida was set on fire by the Moors, while some other treasures were bought or traded on his way up north. While on the South wisdom and religion was suppressed, in this part of the continent, books and tapestries were highly valued and soon he made a small commercial empire.

A handsome and so smart young man, immediately acquired fame amongst nobility. Just 30 years old,  his olive tanned skin and yellowish almond shaped eyes were, only to mention, a simple decal within his two meters tall and muscular body frame. Like a Saracen Adonis, his dark long mane and exotic features, were a total opposite to the pale complexion of the locals, making it hard to go on by unnoticed.

On his way home through the woods, the idea of coming home and be welcomed by his beautiful wife Jocelyn and his adorable Amalthea shook away the memories of those terrible days. And amongst all the invaluable things brought from far-away lands to sale or trade, above all his wisdom and knowledge in history or politics, his wife and daughter were his most rich possession. Anibal loved them with all his life and soul, making it worth sacrifice of spending two or three days away from home every week.

The rumbling noise of horses approaching alerted him, as he look over his shoulder he saw they were two riders, their faces covered. Fearing the worst, Anibal ordered his Arabic black stallion to speed-up, but the cart's wheels bounced clumsily on the road's uneven path, making it hard to keep a safe distance. Soon the thieves passed him by, only to stop a few meters ahead. Menacingly, they chased back and Anibal knew there's no way to make it through. He'd have to play it with audacity.

The riders blocked his path, still the Spaniard tried to regain his composure."What do you want gentlemen?"

"What else? Your precious cargo and today's profit!" One of the riders retorted.

"What if I refuse?" Anibal held firmly the horse's reins, his left hand slowly sliding out a dagger off his right boot.

The rider next to him moved nearing the Spaniard. Anibal swung the blade only to strike a slight cut on the rider's face. The other thief, after noticing Anibal's movement, charged, climbing up the cart. Still mounting his cart, Anibal struggled with the injured burglar, nonetheless he wasn't able prevent the second thief's attack. Unmercifully, the man stabbed his knife in the Spaniard's back. He twitched still trying to defend himself, but the violent attack threw him off of the wagon plummeting on the dirt.

Unable to recover, Anibal was left on the floor bleeding to death, while the filthy burglars stole everything they could in gold and silver and rode away without looking back.

Crawling on his side, Anibal tried to reach his cart, but he was too weak. The knife hit badly in his lower back. Blood gushed profusely. Memories soon vanished, clouding into darkness. Drop by drop, death took strengths and hope away, leaving him only the chance to whisper one last time the names of his wife and daughter...  "I love you Jocelyn and Amalthea..."