To Protect A Princess

The dull lamp behind her, barely threw enough light to see, but she had to get away. The sounds of swords ringing, the clash of weapons against soft bodies, the grunts and screams of dying men. Those echoed behind her as she ran blindly into the darkness. “Come Little-one! Hurry, please!” A strong hand came from the darkness and shoved her forward, causing her to stumble and fall to the ground, only to be righted again by that same hand. Hitching the skirts of her night-dress a little and kicking off her slippers, she planted her feet into the mud… savoring, for a fleeting moment, the sensation of wetness between her toes. The baying of hounds from behind ripped the moment from her and leaving the slippers discarded on the ground, she took off again. “It’s not far. I promise.” Her head turned to the man following. Barely past his sixteenth birthday, his face held scars which showed the life of a soldier, framed by inky black hair. The errant slice of a dagger across a cheekbone. The split eyebrow which did not allow hair to regrow in the same spot. One of her father’s loyalist warriors and Nymeira’s one true protector—Even at his tender age, he’d proven himself on more than one occasion. The day he’d officially joined her father’s guard, was the day Nymeira claimed him as her best friend. Her father hadn’t the heart to tear them apart— the young soldier had been by her side since then. A steady companion and fierce guard. The light of many lamps caught her attention and her head turned again, her pace increasing. She would not be caught… Through the dense woods they ran—knowing people were waiting for them. Ready to whisk them away to safety. “Faster, Little-one!” Hard body armor contacted with her ribs as the man picked her up and tucked her under his arm and his boot-steps gained in pace. “I can run on my own, Corban!” “Of course, you can…” his voice came in gasps. “But your little legs are not fast enough. They are no normal hounds which seek us. They will take you back and kill anyone who stops them. I can run faster.” Every single thought to kick and make him drop her, evaporated as a howl; closer than they would have liked; came from the darkness. Nymeira twisted in her protector’s arms and looked behind them as he ran. The torches were brighter, the shadows of the hounds chasing them, clearer now. For the first time, sickness crept into her stomach and she gripped Corban’s arm harder, digging fingernails into his flesh. “Don’t worry, Little-one. I won’t let them take you. I’ll keep you safe.” The tone which should have relayed how confident he was with their escape, was not there. Instead his voice was filled with doubt and it amplified her fear. The further they ran; the denser the forest grew. Smaller shrubs and trees were replaced with gigantic wardens of the forest, towering over them, older than the very kingdom they surrounded. Nymeira had never been this far into the forest, but she knew no harm would come to her from it. Thrumming started; biting into her bones and thrumming inside her skull, making her ears ache. Her tiny hands left Corban’s arm and she clutched at her ears, trying to make it stop. It’d never been this strong before… but her father’s words came to her in a flash. If you need it, run to the forest. It will always protect you. Corban’s voice broke through the pain. “What is it Little-one?” Through clenched teeth, she replied, “The droning. It bites into my head. It hurts, Corban…” “It’s the forest. Use it. Find the hounds and strike. Connect with the forest, Nymeira.” His voice was commanding, but she shook her head. “I can’t.” “Yes you—” Whistling… An arrow shot past the edge of her vision, narrowly missing her head and she squealed. Flites flared brightly for a moment, before disappearing into the darkness. Nymeira’s heart hammered in her chest as they changed direction slightly trying to duck behind a line of trees. It was no use… Another arrow; this time, finding its mark; slammed into her protector’s shoulder— Corban screamed in pain and he instantly dropped her. Nymeira thudded to the ground and her face connected with the soft dirt. Spitting out clumps of thick sod, she turned her head and looked back to the man who’d dropped her. On his knees, an arrow embedded in both his shoulder and thigh, the pain on his young face only amplified the fear which coursed through her. Scrambling to him, her filthy night dress tore on a branch as she tried to help the young man to his feet. Corban howled in pain and she jumped backward as he slumped forward, his hands digging into the soft mud. His head lifted to her and agony filled his voice, “Go, Nymeira. Run!” “No! I’m not leaving you here!” Nymeira lurched forward again and grabbed his arm. “I said go!” Corban’s hand was hard against her chest and she fell backward into the mud. Nymeira stared at the wounded soldier and her bottom lip trembled. A pouch came to his hand as he righted himself with a grimace. It landed heavily in her skirts with a rattle of coins. “Give it to Reglin. Tell him… tell him the debt is settled.” She looked down at the coins, before looking up at the young man. Her gaze slipped past him to their pursuers, then back to him. “Corban…” Footsteps echoed behind her and she turned, staring up at the figures emerging from the darkness. Bows taut, their arms lifted and Nymeira slammed her eyes closed, waiting for the inevitable thud of an arrow to her chest… Volley after volley. Her eyes opened and she looked up, in time to see their pursuers, just beyond the tree line, fall. Squeals of pain from both animal and man echoed around the forest and the droning in her head amplified again. “Run, Nymeira!” The voice which yelled at her this time, was not of her protector and she looked over at him. Corban groaned and his gaze lifted to hers. Blood pooled at the corner of his mouth; pain etched on his features and he growled, “Nymeira… run!” A gloved hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from the archers. “Come, Nymeira. Your safety is key.” She tried to fight, tried to wrench her wrist from the man, but he was too strong and all she could do, was turn back to where Corban had fallen. He had been helped to his feet and he lifted his hand, snapping off the arrows in his flesh. Corban’s hand fell to his sword and the clear ringing of the weapon as it left the scabbard echoed in the darkness. Soon the sounds from the ensuing battle were drowned out by the droning of the trees. Nymeira lost the sight of the soldiers and their attackers. Lost sight of her only friend. She was barely past her sixth birthday—she should be still playing in the courtyard, chasing fireflies, watching as the wyverns came to roost on the turrets. Hearing the guttural calls of her father’s dragons as they were groomed and oiled for the night. Waiting for the inevitable wallop to the castle roof as her father’s High Dragon landed for the night… Tears streamed down her dirt-stained face. Tears for her father—who had been slaughtered in his bed. Tears for the soldiers who had tried to avenge him—their bodies lying dismembered and broken on the cobbled stone of castle’s courtyard. Tears for her friend—her protector who risked his life to save the one he cared for most and would undoubtedly be killed for his sacrifice. And tears for herself. This morning, she woke as a Princess—revered across the land. Tonight— Princess Nymeira Drake was a fugitive.