Gallimaufry

Old Stories # 1

This is the first scene of the first book I ever wrote.  The book is done, but probably nothing good enough to publish. Forgive me.  Whiskey, you told me not to open up this chest of old writing. I should have listened. 

Court of the Night Book 1: Trial And Error

Let me start my story by describing where I am at this very moment; as free as any soul wishes to be, as content as a lone soul could ever become. I have left battles behind me in fear and charged headlong into insurmountable odds to triumph. The things of legends and folk stories, perhaps, but for now I am just a normal woman.

The breeze is warm through the new green grass as the sun sets to my left, stirring my free flowing hair, the smell of life, leather and horse is around me and mingling with three days worth of sweat. Some would call that a less than savory, I would agree if I were still among other people, but for me alone under the beautiful blue sky, it isn't so bad. I am traveling, stopping only when the pain my joints bother me or my mount needs a rest. There's the constant and soothing creak of leather with each half-trotted step of my horse as we gobble up the ground beneath us. I have no where to be, but I do not want to be where I was yesterday or the day before.

Perhaps I am running again, having had my fill of bravery, away from some unseen treachery. Perhaps, but that is not my story today, my story is what happens next. Will the past return and catch up with me along this trail? It is quite possible, but I have so many, that it's hard to pinpoint which one it would be. For now I will just enjoy the warmth of the fading spring sun and the rolling hills around me while yearning for those mountains in the distance.

I will introduce myself now, under the titles I hold true to my name at this moment. Do not be upset if someone calls me differently later; for I do not do this to mislead you, but merely because it is who I see myself as. We all have so many masks throughout our lives, there should be no problem if mine take on a tangible form to hide from those I do not wish to find me again.

I am the Jackal of the Court of the Night, the last Knight left standing from a bloody battlefield where I survived my comrades, listening to them scream as the enemy rode away. I would have followed and avenged my brothers and sisters, but I was choking on my own blood, struggling to breathe in my tight metal and leather armor. It is a name I have not carried for a long time, since before the past I do not wish to be present today or tomorrow, but it is the heart and soul of what I really am. They used to call me Djesandra, the name my father chose for me. It means Dog of War to my people.

Jesa the Jackal.

My father is long dead as well. Though, despite this, I believe he lives in the far south, enjoying what is left of his old age in luxury and corruption. A contradiction I really am not in mind to go into, again it is the past and that one is something I would not like to revisit, for all the gold in the world.

I get away from myself though, the night is falling and I must make camp before my mount trips and breaks his leg.

***

How could I have been such a fool? She had seemed so helpless, so cultured and so fragile a lady in the most dangerous Court of the Seven Lands, such an ironic and impossibly naïve cover, but I had fallen for it. She avoided me, tried to tell me she was not interested but I had entertained her, wooed her and courted her thinking she had been merely shy or playing hard to get. I had reached her, she HAD fallen for me, of that I am sure. I saw it in her eyes when she watched me loose control of my body. She had drugged me on the night I asked for her hand in marriage. She tucked me into bed and took off that necklace that hung around her neck, leaving the damned thing in my hand. 
What had she said to me? Oh yes, I remember now: