Healers' Call

The General

The four of them came to a stop behind the leader and Tad. Valda looked around, wondering what they were waiting for, expecting to see other riders or possibly a patrol. But they were the only ones outside the fence.

With no warning, the fence broke apart and rope, thicker than her body, lowered that section to the ground. Seams, that she hadn't noticed, had concealed the drawbridge, blending it in perfectly with the rest of the fence.

Carrick whistled in appreciation.

"Yes, it is a rather marvellous piece of design if I do say so myself." Niamh admired her handiwork whilst Carrick looked at her, impressed.

"This was your design?"

"I was always more skilled with my tools than with my sword." Suddenly, she turned to look sharply at them. "But I could still disarm you where you stand if you ever attempt to hurt anyone in this stronghold, understand?"

Wordlessly, they all nodded, unhinged with her sudden change of mood.

As quick as Niamh's mood changed, it changed back, and she smiled. "Good." She spoke before pushing her horse into a canter across the drawbridge.

Tad fell back to take her place whilst she rode alongside the leader. "Don't mind Niamh, she can be a bit... changeable, but she is brilliant." Possibly sensing that he hadn't made them feel any easier, he was quick to try again. "Once we get you to the General, he'll be able to sort this all out. Don't you worry."

"Tad, I wish you wouldn't talk to our prisoners like that!" The helmet clad Boyd shouted again. He seemed to only have only one volume, and that was loud.

"They are not prisoners until the General says they are."

Valda and the rest followed Niamh, not wishing to get involved with the growing argument behind them. Whether or not they were prisoners really didn't make much of a difference in that moment.

Armed lookouts eyed them up as they passed under the fence, some looked interested whilst others sneered in their direction. Noting Valda's unusual clothes and the general grubbiness that seemed to cling to all of them after their journey through the tunnel.

People stared at them from every available door and window. A mixture of men, women and children all seemed to be housed inside the stronghold, living on top of each other in a hodgepodge of buildings.

They passed groups of young people, training with weapons, stabbing odd looking dolls on sticks. Passed forges were men and women, their faces covered in sweat and soot, worked with liquid metals and hammers.

Hundreds and hundreds of faces, so many they blurred together until they were just shadows surrounding them.

"General." The leader called out, dropping from his horse and saluting. "We have brought the stragglers."

Valda expected the General to be a hulking behemoth of man but what they got was someone entirely different. The General was about as tall as Carrick, with a firm jaw and narrow face. He was even less imposing than Niamh with his skinny frame and hunched shoulders. But intelligence flickered in his brown eyes as they roamed over their faces.

"My Prince and Princess," he gushed, rushing forward and embracing Carrick and Mauve like old friends. "How did you manage to escape?"

Carrick patted his back with familiarity. "It's a long story."

"So they really are the Prince and Princess?" Boyd leaned over, inspecting them further, though his helmet hid his expression.

"Of course they are." The General shook his head in disbelief.