Princess of Shadows

Part 1, The Phoenix - Chapter 1: Orlv Manor

“Aithne,” Saraid groaned, her long, deep purple dress dragging through the long grass. Her head was bowed slightly and her eyelids drooped. Her blonde hair, which fell to her shoulders in large ringlets, now looked darker in the twilight, it lacked the golden glow that it had shone with in the sun. “We’ve been walking all day, how much longer until we can rest?”

“Just a little further,” her companion, a girl of about seventeen, replied. She grunted as she reached the top of the hill she had been climbing. Then, without letting go of the reins of the packhorse that bore their supplies and belongings, she extended her hand to Saraid.

From their vantage point the girls surveyed the land before them. The most apparent thing was the enormous expanse of fields. From where they stood it all looked like grass, but they knew it to be various types of crops. Crops, which were sowed and harvested by the farmers who lived in the occasional small cottages that dotted the landscape. Apart from the small hill atop of which they stood, the rest of the land was fairly flat. To the east lay the Ymestyn Mountain Range that stretched through the entire country and beyond, to the west lay the Orllwein Ocean and to the south directly in front of them, but several hours walk away, lay Orlv Manor, the dwelling of Prif Arvel; Saraid’s uncle.

“Aithne,” Saraid groaned again, “Can it not wait until tomorrow? We can rest here tonight and set off again in the morning.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I would much rather sleep in a real bed filled with goose feathers and covered with soft woollen blankets than on top of this.” Aithne answered, indicating to the hard gravel road with her booted foot.

“But I am so tired,” Saraid sighed, dragging out the last two words. Beauty and grace she had in plenty, but stamina was not one of her virtues.

Aithne moved toward the packhorse, relieving it of several of its packs and strapping them to her own back. “Go on,” she indicated to the animal with her head, “On you get.”

Usually Saraid would have protested, going on about how Aithne shouldn’t burden herself because of Saraid’s exhaustion, or how it wasn’t fair that she should rest and Aithne shouldn’t. To which the older girl would have answered by saying that life isn’t fair, a lesson she had learnt the day she was born. But today, Saraid was either too tired, or too relieved at the chance to rest. Instead she complied silently and the pair was soon on their way, moving at a slightly faster pace.

By the time complete darkness had enveloped the land, Aithne, Saraid and the weary packhorse had reached the gates of Saraid’s uncle’s fortress. Usually the manors of men like Arvel were just big buildings amongst the smaller buildings of the townspeople. But because Arvel’s manor sat by the sea, pirates constantly raided him and his people. In the warmer months of the year, merciless warriors would come in huge ships from across the sea to wreak havoc by burning, raiding and pillaging. They took whatever they wanted and death was inevitable for whoever stood in their way.

The torch Aithne had lit earlier had nearly burnt itself out. She waved it above her head and yelled to the watchman above, calling them to open the gates. After a few moments silence, there was the sound of creaking and the two large, iron studded doors swung slowly inward.

Aithne tugged on the reins of the packhorse, dragging the tired animal inside the fortress. As soon as she had, a man emerged from the left gate tower and approached her, announcing, “State your name and business.”

“My name is Aithne, and this is Saraid daughter of Glenn, niece to your lord, Prif Arvel. Saraid is an orphan now, and we’ve come seeking the sanctuary of her uncle.” she answered, her eyes roaming over the man, taking everything in. In the wavering light of the torch the man carried, she saw that he wore worn leather boots that reached his mid calf, over thick woolen leggings. On top of a knee length mail shirt, rested a tunic that looked to be blue. On the blue was a grey tower that sat on top of a yellow triangle. His right hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and under his left arm sat his helm.