CROWNS I: Of Desolate Hope | ✔

12. The Black Prince and The Storm

"What do we do?" asked one of the riders, with a distinctively deep and husky voice.

The Grey Hand thought deeply for a few moments as the clamour of whatever terrors lay behind the hill continued. "We can either try to flee, though I doubt we'll get anywhere in time, or we climb... we climb the hill and somehow get into Stormhall before they do," he replied, calmly, "use one of the tunnels to escape."

The Black Prince turned to him, his movements full of fear. "Well we have to get what we came here for and it seems like the only viable option anyhow but-" his voice faded away as he heard it. There came a dreadful chorus of deep roars that echoed throughout the land.

"What is that?" asked the Black Prince, trying his best to remain calm in front of the others, though his voice was audibly wavering.

"I don't know!" replied the Grey Hand, urgency resounding in his tone, "Up the bloody hill!"

Hastily though solemnly, the riders abandoned their horses and frantically began to try climbing the remains of the West Steps of Stormhill. They made it about a quarter of the way up before looking back to see whether the horses had fled from that horrible sound but they were nowhere to be seen. An abrupt silence soon followed as the harsh flapping wings of the bloodcrows and delsparrows became the only sounds heard. They perched sinisterly on the branches of the rotten trees of the Deadwood.

"Quickly," whispered the Grey Hand, appearing unphased, "Climb. Climb."

As the riders climbed higher and higher, the distance between the fragmented steps on which they ascended grew and grew. Despite this, the company was still making good progress up the hill. At this point, they must have been three-quarters the way up.

There came a sudden cry of "Nock!"

"Shit!" shouted the Black Prince, louder than he had expected as he slipped on yet another strange purple leaf, "Stick to the hill! Do you think they've seen us, Grey?"

"Draw!"

"I don't know!" replied Grey.

"Loose!"

A hail of arrows rained from Stormhall, each one whistling in the air as they seemingly found their marks. "Those idiots!" cursed the Grey Hand, "It doesn't take a scholar to know that whatever the hell's behind the hill will slaughter them ninety-nine from a hundred times!"

The Black Prince listened carefully to the dark roars looming from beyond. What's that? he thought. He had never heard anything quite like it. It was deep enough to echo through his body and loud enough to hurt his ears but there was something else...something eerie about it. No, it can't be...

"Release!" was the cry heard from above, as another volley of arrows was unleashed upon the unknown enemy.

"It won't be long until they're all dead at this rate," said the Grey Hand to the Black Prince. "Hurry!"

The Black Prince pounced ahead, leaping up the fragmented staircase rapidly. Suddenly he became very eager to see what awaited them and all fear seemed to have been expelled. That was until he heard the horns. The hill seemed to quiver at its magnitude and force. It was a hundred-thousand times worse than the roars, instilling an intense fear into the group. The Black Prince continued nonetheless, intending to discover the unseen terror. Moments later, with a large pull, he clambered up onto the hilltop and saw it. "Get up here!" he screamed in hysteria, temporarily forgetting that only Stormhall separated him from the archers. He removed his hood, revealing a grin ridden across his youthful complexion. Gods save us... please. He didn't care if he was recognised anymore, he knew that cutting off all his hair might not have been enough but it didn't matter now.