Golden Swords

On the run

The Snowbound was a hive of activity. Mycena quickly located Bethany, a bolt of bright ginger hair, boots and shouted commands. "Bethany," she called, jogging up to meet her, "I changed my mind. Can I still come?"

Bethany swung round, a massive smile tearing across her face, "Of course, little Myc, you are always welcome on my boat. Do you want to bring your horse?"

Yes please, if that's possible,"

"Anything's possible on board the Snowbound!" Bethany was in a good mood today, "Just bring her up and we'll stow her in the animal area."

Ebony was cross at being led up onto the cramped ship, but she settled down a bit once Mycena gave her some hay and rubbed her down with a blanket. Mycena then joined Bethany again up on deck. Everyone was rushing around, stowing this and that, coiling ropes and shaking out sails. Mycena felt awed and useless in the midst of all this activity, until a burly sailor shoved a pile of rope into her hands and told her to coil it. She'd been on a ship before, and she worked it out as she went along, copying the young ship's boy, who was working near her. She was just putting in the final twists when a column of riders crested the hill above the village. Even from this distance, she could tell the man in front was Dastar.

"Bethany!" she ran across the deck, "Bethany! He's come for me, he's gone mad, I, I don't know what to do...Can the ship leave any faster?" Bethany swung round, spotting the riders. "We need at least another hour... Quickly. Salvat can make the departure, we'll lead them off along the coast, there's a rowboat I've hidden in a cove three miles from here and the Snowbound can pick us up again." She turned, rattling off a series of instructions to her second in command, Salvat, before running off down the gangplank with Mycena close on her heels.

The two women raced through the town, Bethany leading, winding around carts and horses until they reached a stable. Bethany just grabbed the nearest horses, but Mycena left some gold bangles on the fence post as payment. The dapple grey stallion she leapt aboard wasn't a touch on Ebony, but they had a head start on Dastar, and with only three miles to run, they should be fine. They clattered out, Bethany's hair flying like a cape and the gold braided in Mycena's braids clanking.

They had just made it out of the village when Mycena turned and saw what was happening. Dastar and his men were heading straight for the Snowbound, they would surely wreck it searching for her. Standing in her stirrups, she screamed, "Dastar!! Dastar!! Over here!" She saw his head snap around, and waved wildly to get his attention. He spotted her, wheeling his massive white warhorse to face her, and the chase was on.

They now only had perhaps 100 metres on Dastar, which, had they been riding Ebony, would be more than enough, but on borrowed horses was cutting it close. "Quick, let's head into the forest to try and throw then off," Mycena called, nudging her horse faster. They flew into the trees, ducking as branches whipped at their heads. Dodging this way and that, they slowed their headlong dash slightly. They had to keep this up for an hour if they wanted to meet the Snowbound on time.

45 minutes later, and the horses were tiring. Mycena was leading now, cantering down twisty paths and across open glades. Then she caught the sound of something on the wind. Baying. The baying of hounds.

"He's set the hounds on us," she screamed to Bethany, "We need to go faster!"

"Hell," Bethany replied, "Man overreacting much?" Mycena snorted with amusement, but couldn't shake the feeling of dread from her stomach. Dastar would stop at nothing to get her back. Nothing. She swerved into a small creek, splashing upstream for several hundred yards, hoping to throw the dogs off their scent. She was sure the baying was getting louder. They dived through some bushes, heading deeper into a pine woodland.

After ten minutes of riding through streams and dashing through bushes, they turned back out towards the coast. They broke out of the dense woodland, the last trees falling away and the sea sparkling below them. Her clothes whipped in the breeze as she gave her tired horse one last push, heading at a gallop for the sandy cove at the bottom of the cliff. The grass was smooth and flat, perfect for sprinting, and she could see the tiny rowboat pulled up on the sand below. She twisted around in her saddle, scanning the woodland edge. Bethany gave her a grin from where she was riding half a pace behind her, wiping strands of hair from her eyes. The first hounds broke free from the trees.

The Snowbound lay peacefully in the water below the cliffs, close enough that the people on board could see the two small figures as they dashed for their lives along the cliff top. Could see the baying hounds, the group of riders, the massive white warhorse galloping ahead of them. But only Mycena could see the twisted triumph on Dastar's face as he raised his bow, only she could see the sun glinting off the steel arrowhead as it flew, flew, flew......flew straight down into the centre of Bethany Kyle's back. Only Mycena could see the laughter and excitement still playing across her friends face, even as the arrow bust through her chest, even as she toppled forwards off her horse.

Mycena screamed, wrenching her horse to a halt. She half fell, half jumped to the ground, wrenching her knee and staggering back towards where Bethany lay. She was oddly crumpled, strands of her bright hair caught around the shaft of the arrow that took her life. Mycena fell to her knees, retching, but she had no food to come out. Bethany lay still. Tears blurred her eyes, obliterating the world, obliterating everything as she sobbed over her friend's still form. Not Bethany. Not Bethany Kyle, who was bright and alive and happy. Who smiled like the sun and flipped her hair over her shoulders. Who swore at authority and spat on rules, who would never again feel the sun on her face and the breeze and the sea, never again stride the deck of the boat she'd won herself, never. Never.

Her fault. Her fault. Mycena's guilt poured through her in waves, curling her into a ball of hurt and hatred. Bethany Kyle. Her life ended. Mycena's fault, fault. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't move from her place beside the pirate queen's side. All that was there was grief, and guilt, and horror. She would never be whole. She was broken. She ruined all that she met, was hell walking. No. This couldn't be happening. She clung to Bethany, fists clenching in her tunic.

She didn't know how long she was there, only that strong hands lifted her, and Salvat moved her away from Bethany as the sailors came in to pay their homage to their fallen queen. Tears silvered every one of their faces, Salvat lifting Bethany's broken body like a doll. Then Dastar's arms wrapped around her, and she was too empty and tired and broken to fight him off. There was nothing left to her, he lifted her atop his horse and she only sobbed harder.