In the heart of the Great Forest, nothing is as it should be. Sir Vladisal and her Knights of Boska are lost and far from home. The son of their Duchess has been kidnapped, spirited away to a nameless place within these dark and endless woodlands. V...
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Deep inside the Great Forest, night had cast its shroud.
The air was rife with the damp and earthy scent of leaf-mould. Thin tendrils of mist crept over twisting roots, weaving between skeletal trees like lost ghosts searching for a place to haunt. A new moon hung in a clear sky, its blue-grey light casting long shadows in the forest. It was a chill night, not long from winter's passing, and the first flowers of spring had started to bloom. Cold and colourless in moonlight, they served as a teasing promise of warmth from a summer yet to come.
Sir Vladisal of Boska stood atop a ridge, her silver armour dulled by dirt and moss. The forest floor sloped away from her, down into a moon-bathed clearing where mist hung as a thin veil a foot or so above the ground. Behind Vladisal, her women stood shoulder-to-shoulder along the ridgeline: some eighteen knights and five archers in all. Loyal and brave, their collective breaths rose in cold, spiralling plumes.
With a gauntleted hand, Vladisal pushed back dark and lank hair from her face. Her eyes trained on the small figure a little further down the slope. Statue-still, Abildan the assassin stood with her back to the knights, watching the clearing below with limitless patience that irritated Vladisal.
She looked back at her company. Each knight was as grime-smeared as their captain; each of them stripped of House colours, wearing no helm, carrying no shield. In the depths of the Great Forest, these brave knights of Boska were far from home.
Üban, the oldest among them, stepped forward. Thickset and gruff, the veteran knight was clearly in ill temper as she wiped moisture from her face.
"Damned fool!" she growled, indicating to Abildan. "What's she waiting for?"
"I am unsure," Vladisal said. "Perhaps she senses the approach of our reinforcements." Though, in truth, this statement was made more from hope than any genuine expectation.
Üban cursed under her breath. "I don't like it, Vlad. Nor do the women. These woodlands feel dead."
She was right. For four days Abildan had been leading the company through the Great Forest, and they had not heard the sound of a single living thing since breaking camp two mornings past. Vladisal could see the trepidation in the eyes of her knights. Not for the first time since leaving Boska, she questioned her own judgement. They were all beginning to understand that their guide enjoyed her little games and secrets.
"Stay with the women," she told Üban before carefully making her way down the slope to Abildan.
The stillness was unnerving, as if the forest itself held its breath. Only the occasional clank of armour broke the silence like nervous twitching in an uncomfortable moment. Aware of the sound her footfalls made upon dead leaves and needles, Vladisal came alongside Abildan and stared at her expectantly. Instead of speaking, the assassin raised a curt hand, demanding continued silence.
Vladisal bit back an angry retort. It would not do well for her knights to see her so easily ordered. She glared, gripping the pommel of her sword.
