Chapter 1
Incredulous gaze
Blades sang slicing through air while eight massive legs swung and venomous pincers graded, snapping—anticipating delicious delivery.
“Shit!” Lanico had long forgotten about the Nargast, a foul beast of the grasslands that burrows in connected channels belowground. And of course, he would have forgotten. Their sightings were indeed rare…and often fatal. Treva herself hadn’t even seen one—and she had seen just about everything these lands had to offer!
“Duck!” He yelled just as she dove into the yellow grasses. A daggered claw barely missed her foot, stabbing the ground instead. She rolled, springing into a fighting stance. Lanico’s eye connected with the monster. He was reading every move. It was fast, but Lanico was faster—he knew it. He had to be.
Felena and Freck remained mounted, but had their weapons drawn dutifully; just as commanded. While the group of four had been traversing, the Nargast had leaped from the ground as Lanico’s and Treva’s mounts were midstride. They were tossed as their horses reared.
Lanico made more unsuccessful swipes. “Tre, get behind him!” he shouted.
Treva sprinted behind the massive arachnid. Its legs pounded the ground moving quickly—legs that seemed to have minds of their own. She couldn’t manage a stab to the body. The beast had moved as if to keep its legs from blocking his middle section and then swung at Lanico, sending his Reluctant Leader flying in a silver whirl. Treva growled trying and failing to hack away at its…anything. She wanted to injure it, kill it—it didn’t matter. She lunged just as the monster did—toward Lanico. He swung back, but the pinchers, roughly the size of his waist, were inches away, snapping. Now unarmed, Lanico found himself inside the arachnid’s legs, in its space! In a flash of a moment, there was nowhere for him to go!
“Hah!” Treva gave a war cry from somewhere above. She thrust her falchion into its thorax and twisted. The creature screeched vociferously. Just as it had managed to corral Lanico into its pincers, it collapsed in defeat.
It was close.
The pincers remained open, still circled around him. A slick yellow ooze ran from the arachnid’s top and dribbled to the grasses below. Finding her breath, Treva stared down at Lanico from her place atop the creature. He was frozen, his eyes wide. He slowly lifted his incredulous gaze to hers.
Treva panted a laugh, but then noticed the look on his face. “You-you, look at you. Ha! You look like you thought that was the end. Do you really l think I would have allowed you to be killed?” She really wanted to add that he looked scared enough to have shit his pants—but didn’t. That remark probably wouldn’t be received well and he was already vain as could be. She pulled her sword from the demolished beast and jumped to the ground.
“I-I-you…” Lanico was stunned, at a loss for words. He felt his waist, the pincers only just wide enough for him to fit, had they snapped closed... He shuddered at the nearness to death – at the manner of it.
Treva wiped, then sheathed her sword in a smooth drag. “You know… I couldn’t get a clean space to attack from behind, so I figured, I may as well attack from above.” It was a good strategy; one that had saved her countless times. “I don’t know why I hadn’t considered it before.” She gave him a crooked smile. “Wow!” She continued in his silence and placing a tentative hand on the lifeless creature, “I had never actually encountered one. I remember Silham telling me about these years ago.”
“Uh-huh,” he managed, but only blinked. He was staring unwaveringly at the dead Nargast before him. At the collection of clustered eyes of varying sizes—all large.
Treva casually wound through the enormous unmoving legs with a hint of gaiety in her steps. She closed the space between them until her breath puffed across his neck. Standing on her toes, she angled up at his wooden face and purred against his jaw, “Well, are you going to get out from there, your Highness, or are you going to kiss it?” She tossed a lock of her emerald hair back. “I may get jealous, you know.”
It was that question that had him moving again. He didn’t know if he liked her calling him, “your Highness.” He was still a General Prince in title, even though he was the heir to the throne. Her calling him that—he merely shook his head and maneuvered through the pincer encirclement.
~
Taking a purposeful route, they had traveled for days, and though they had taken some rest and cleansed at the Great Mist village following their victory, black blood still stained, ground into their leather armor, still dotted their worn boots. Unlikely to ever come out. Now, there had been this, an unexpected threat. The Great Mist had been all that Freck and Felena had ever known. The comfort and familiarity of the village they called home, now unimaginably far behind them. But the group remained determined. They’d make it back to Fray Greta even if it meant coming back in shambles. Coming back different.
For the young warriors, the images were still so fresh and haunting—those Lanico hoped would fade out. It had been surreal. Exhaustion swept over them all. It had been hours and the young warrior’s legs, thighs, and bottoms, unused to all this riding, were now throbbing over the strong gallops beneath. For them, the young warriors, everything it seemed, had turned another reality. Their weary minds still danced around the images. The images now engraved would be of battle. Of death. It was a hardening. Like swallowing a smooth, heavy stone of acceptance. It weighed in the gut. Killing. Slashing through limbs and bodies of an unknown number of Mysra enemies. The sight of thick, black, Mysra blood flying through the air.
There would remain a pit in Freck’s gut; one that he’d never be able to remove. He now understood what it meant to be battle-hardened. This is what his grandfather had tried to explain to him—to prepare him for. He could feel this new thorn budding within. This dark acceptance of what he saw—of what he’d done. The irreplaceable damage of having taken lives that would never return. He knew he had to. Freck knew that they had intended to take his life one way or another. Slavery or death—that’s what he’d seen in the Mysra eyes. What had been confirmed.
All those years spent playing with his cousins in the forests with sticks and pretending to be in battle like the Great Mist elders...none of it had ever entered into his mind, the reality of it, the sound of it, the smell of burning flesh, the beating of his own heart so rampant that he felt it would burst. Nothing in his life could have prepared him for that, not even his grandfather’s warning.
He took in a breath.
The pain, the tightness in his chest at the final images of his grandfather, Fenner. No. No, he’d want Freck to move forward and not dwell. Freck swallowed his pain down, a hard stone. And decided to push onward. Every step forward from his mount. Every beat of his heart. He chose acceptance and onward movement.
His thighs remained taut around the horse’s sides. Despite the time spent, it still felt strange, having a large living creature sway and clop beneath him. The pair that he and Felena followed behind had a lighter mood. Perhaps even... happy. Lanico and Treva talked at length in quiet voices. Barely audible. It was on purpose.
Freck rolled his eyes at them.
Yes, by now, after this time traveling, Freck had determined they were somehow together. He had heard Lanico call Treva his “Emerald Queen.” It was strange seeing Lanico in this new way, a dashing warrior, popular with a gorgeous lady... it was... strange.
And Felena, just next to him, was as silent as a stump. When Lanico had said it earlier, Freck had shot a quick, grinning, disbelieving glance to her, but to his disappointment she didn’t appear nearly as interested in Lanico’s dubbing Treva a Queen—his Queen. It was said very low and it was possible Lanico didn’t intend for the young pair to hear him. But still. Still he had expected some type of reaction from Felena instead of the glassy, fixed gaze. It was the battle. She had still been recovering from this.
Freck knew it would take time. Time for Felena and he himself to recover from that. They were strong physically as well as in their spirits too. He dared to take another glance at her. Her sun-warmed face angled toward the endless horizon; the golden strands of hair that breezed beneath her chin.
She was...
He didn’t quite know. But she was not bad. That, he knew. However, she had yelled at him before, but of course, it was while she was retching after the battle.
Then again, she also took my hand...
He glowered.
Oh fires! Why does this even concern me? Why am I wasting thoughts over this?
I’ll be changing words capitalized for emphasis to italicized. Using capitals for emphasis sometimes comes across as “yelling” (which he is doing here but not always the case) and/or as amateurish.
I like it – makes sense.
What exactly is the Great Mist? Is it a place? A river, waterfall, village etc? I don’t have a sense of it right now. Maybe clarify with a few lines of description here?
Hoping this is better – let me know.
Much better! I kind of assumed that but you don’t want to leave things open for wrong interpretation.
