One of These Knights

Prologue

I was 17 when it happened.

Fiery arrows rained down upon my home village. Black Knight of Admeta wreaked havoc on my homeland, they raided homes of all valuables, stole women and cchildren and mercilessly murdered the village men. 

I was from a poor family, very few goods and nothing of value adorned my home. My father had been a blacksmith my mother an in-home tailor, my older brother Kei was one of the King's Knights in training, while my elder sisters danced secretly, like Gypsies in the town square for a llittle extra change. 

Being the youngest of the family and also felmale, I had no respective job set aside for me, other than to find a wealthy husband who could support me and bring him children, which i wanted nothing to do with. So i spent my days on the hillside over looking the Village watching the herds of wild horses that ran free in the valley nearby. I had a passion for the majestic creatures that seemed to live without a care in the world, and no rules or expectations to live by. -- And that was what i was doing that dreadful day.  

Sitting in the tall green grass, the wind broling through her long black hair which she had rebeliously left unbraded, she rested her back against the large oak that sat alone at the hilltop. Her back turned on the village she gazed dreamily upon the wild herd of large black and white horses below in the valley. They were the only horses in the kingdom that were abnormaly large and with the  beautiful cow spotted coats. They were an Anomaly, but a beautiful one at that. 

The story behind their existance was that, almost a century ago wandering gypsies had passed through the nearby forest fleeing persecution from King Likya's men, who wished to chase them out of the kingdom, as their presence only brought theivery and scandal. 

The ancestors of the wild horses were used to pull the Gypsy caravans. When they were fleeing, they were in such a rush that they rarely had time to properly rest their horses, resulting in many horses dead, sick or worn out before their time. Many of those horses they released and left behind where they rested, fed off the lush green land and reproduced, creating the vast wild herds of the majestically beautiful draft horses. 

Sora was particularly fond of the large black and white stallion that ran this large herd of mares. he was tossing his large head in the air his mane whipping around his face as he playfully chased a young colt around the valley. Suddenly he stopped, his body rigid, his head jerked in my direction before rearing up on his hind legs and squealing out a terrified whinny. He raced in the direction of the forest at the edge of the valley, his herd chasing after his hooves. 

At first I had thought something I had done spooked the horses until I smelled the smoke. 

Jumping up from where I sat and spinning on my heels, my skirts flowing around my ankles, I turned towards the village only to see my entire home up in flames, troops of Knights flying a black flag, fleeing out the main gate which lay in rubbles on the ground. Sudden panic flared up inside of me. Fear for my family, friends, and neighbors was in the forefront of my mind. Bending down and grabbing my bag from underneath the tree, I quickly rushed down the hillside towards the village, occasionally tripping over a rock or two in my haste.

Jumping over the wall at the back of the village and passing the small field of slaughtered sheep, the entire herd dead, I entered the village only to be met with silence. No screams or cries for help, no crying or sounds of mourning. Only the sound of the crackling flames greeted me.

I walked barefoot through the cobblestone streets of the village in utter silence, refusing to make a sound in case on of the raiders were still here in hiding, searching for any survivors, I stumbled over something large. Looking down I noticed a small wooden board reading “BLACKSMITH” laying at my feet, torn from where it once hung above the small open walled shop now up in flames. I remembered when I was little and my father would let me help him while he fitted horseshoes, and repaired armor for the King’s Knights, now a place of such fond memories will soon be reduced to ashes and rubble.