KGWrites

Iona

Hunter’s Haven Forest, Northern Realm of Aldiron

“Ravellans all have our destinies. Mine is to stand with Aldiron. Yours is to save it.”

Her father’s words echoed in her head, an ever-present reminder of pain and loss. A reminder of the duty she now held. A duty gods-given.

A duty she was abandoning.

Iona had told Alyx once that she was a Falcon, that she needed to rise above the pain and loss and be strong for her people.

But this didn’t feel like strength.

This felt like running away and hiding in the woods while her realm burned, while her people suffered.

While my father died.

Iona closed her hand around the leather bundle that contained the hilt of the Brightblade, hanging from a string around her neck, and squeezed her eyes shut as she felt tears begin to fill them.

The last thing King Samuel Ravellan had done before turning to face Lord Draconeus in a doomed battle was press the hilt into her hand. She remembered his smile, the way he had stepped close and kissed her on the forehead, just as he had done when she had been a small girl being tucked into bed. And she remembered him turning to face the demon and sealing her behind a wall of unforgiving stone. Leaving her alone in a void of misery.

But not a void without purpose.

He had given her the Brightblade piece, the message within clear.

Kill the Demon, protect our people.

She had wanted to step up to that duty immediately, to take the blade and cut Draconeus’ head from his shoulders. To deal him every pain he had dealt to her, a hundred times over.

It had been James Cobalt that had broken her from the rage long enough to flee.

“Do you want to kill him? Or do you want to die fighting?” That was what he had asked her. And in that moment, Iona had looked at James and seen a kindred spirit. Someone who knew the rage and the pain that she had been feeling so intimately that she felt it lapse with his understanding.

“I want to kill him.” She had said. She’d understood him then, that at that point, to face him would have been to make a stand. To fight for her beliefs and her people and her vengeance. And to fail, to die making that point but to abandon all other wants and needs and duties before her.

“Another time.” James had told her, and it had felt like a promise. Like his words would hold the world to rights and that the gods themselves would keep to his word.

But now Iona was starving, cold and far from her justice and James Cobalt continued to deny her a chance to claim it.

She couldn’t face Draconeus, she knew that. Without the Brightblade, no mortal wound would take to him, he could not be slain. And she could not face down his army and live. Caution and stealth ensured her safety, ensured that her task could continue.

But while she slunk through the shadows, her people suffered beneath Draconeus’ rule. Friends like Violet, Marius and Lillian were all left trapped in a kingdom controlled by monsters. She had always been taught that the crown was as much an oath to stand for Aldiron’s people and be their symbol and protector as it was any right to rulership and loyalty over the kingdom.

She may not wear her father’s crown, nor sit the throne in the Falcon’s Nest. But she was still the Princess of Aldiron, and that oath still had to stand. Now, in Aldiron’s darkest days, more than ever.  

And yet, here I am.

“Here” was trudging towards the edge of the Hunter’s Haven Forest, her eyes fixed firmly on the bouncing iron pot attached to Meghan’s pack ahead of her. Somewhere behind her, Iona heard Alyx mutter a curse as she stumbled over a root half hidden beneath the snow.

They were at least coming towards the edge of the forest, the tree cover was beginning to thin out and the ground was less choked by shrubs and weeds. They’d been walking most of the day, setting out westwards just after sunup. Now the light was ahead of them as the sun began to dip below the treeline, filtering through the thinning canopy.

While it would be nice to breathe air not constantly enclosed by the trees, leaving the woods came with its own risks for the group and the unspoken tension was thick between them.

James walked at the front of the group, his head constantly turning from side to side, eyes scanning the horizon, always listening and watching for any potential threats before they emerged into the afternoon sunlight.

Suddenly, his hand shot upwards, held in a fist. As one the group came to a stop, all looking around themselves, instantly alert. Iona’s hand closed around the hilt of her sword, lifting it slightly from the scabbard.

But there was nothing, no ambush came from the trees around them, no arrows flew from the dark treetops. Even the moaning wind seemed to die away, leaving only the faint sounds of distant birdsong.

No. Not birdsong. Iona realised with a chill. Screams.

They were screams, terrified screams. They were the sounds made by people fearing desperately for their lives. They echoed across the forest edge from somewhere ahead of the group, hidden from their view by a small rise.

Ahead of her, James dropped into a crouch, moving carefully forwards to the foot of the rise before he lay down on his chest, crawling up the slope. Movement caught Iona’s eye as Alyx emerged to her right, moving in tandem with her brother. Iona was struck with amazement at the silence in which they moved. Barely even a rustle of clothing or crunch of snow marked their passage up the slope.

A moment later, Meghan began to follow, moving much slower. It was likely her way of compensating for being far less experienced in stealth than their companions. Iona followed her lead, though she still managed to crunch down on some dead leaves, causing her to wince. No-one turned to look at her though, so clearly it couldn’t have been that loud.

The frost covered ground instantly began to soak into her clothes as she lay and began to crawl up the slope, but the anticipation of what could be awaiting her at the top numbed the cold away.

After a minute or so of crawling, Iona came to a stop atop the rise between Alyx and James. Meghan was to James’ left and all of them were laid low in the frost covered ground.

Looking down the other side of the rise, Iona could see a small track, winding along the forest’s edge as it made its way northwards. On that track, only a short distance away, were a number of people, rushing around a couple of small carts hitched to ponies. They weren’t close enough to see details of the people themselves, but Iona could still make out the armour some of them wore.

“They’re Aldiron legionnaires!” She whispered. Excitement bloomed in her chest. Soldiers of her father’s legions, if they were here, perhaps they needn’t worry about running into Draconeus’ forces along the road. They could have an escort to Blueholdt, and even beyond. A force to fight back with.

She was pulled from her thrilling imaginings by Alyx’s hand suddenly and roughly pulling her hood up over her head, hiding her fiery orange hair. The suddenness of the movement surprised Iona and her face briefly dipped down into the cold ground, coming up wet and freezing. She stared at Alyx, incredulous, but the woman only smiled apologetically quickly before raising a finger to her lips and then pointing down the ridge again, her face growing serious.

Iona turned back to the road and the legionnaires, in time to see one of them grab the shoulder of one of the non-armoured figures, a man by the look of them, in common garb. The legionnaire spun the man to face him, and his arm sliced quickly upwards.

Iona may not have been close enough to hear words, or see faces, but the spray of scarlet that followed the legionnaire’s arm when it passed the man’s throat was bright and clear.

 “I’m not sure they’re anyone’s legionnaires anymore.” James whispered, his voice grim as he watched the scene below them unfold.

Iona’s blood was ice in her veins as she watched what she now realised was a massacre continue. Around the scene the legionnaires tore through the carts, searching them, throwing aside boxes and bundles with abandon as others chased down the people, cutting through them with ease. A woman ran back down the track towards the bottom of the rise, sobbing and crying. Iona felt sure that at any moment she would look up and see the four of them watching, she could see the woman’s head lifting, looking towards the sky and the gods, about to pass across the group.

And then the woman fell forwards, the tip of a spear emerging in a bloody spray between her breasts. Wordlessly she hit the dark earth of the path and lay still as the legionnaire that threw the spear approached her.

Astonishingly, as the legionnaire reached the woman and wrenched the spear from her back, she lifted her head and weakly began to drag herself forwards. Still trying to escape the bloodbath behind her.

The legionnaire took a half step back, tilting his head in wonder at the woman, practically a corpse already, still crawling away. And then he raised the spear again and plunged it downwards. He repeated the attack once more before the woman finally stilled, a red pool staining the ground beneath her. Then the legionnaire scoffed once and turned back towards his comrades, calling out with a laugh to tell them what had just happened.

Iona’s cold veins turned to fire as rage overtook her. She only became aware of her arm drawing her sword when James’ three fingered hand closed like a vice around her wrist, holding it in place. She turned to glare at him and found his gaze steely, though his eyes were wet with tears.

“There are twelve of them, at least. In an open field, with us exhausted and hungry. All we’d do is die too.” He told her, his voice firm. Iona glared at him.

“They’re my people. You want me to just let this happen?” She hissed, pulling her arm against his grip, but he held fast.

“If we want to live to save all the others? Yes.” James replied simply. Iona couldn’t believe what she was hearing. James wanted her to just stand by, to let people die, so that she could live.

Our lives are our people. Our duty is to serve them, to protect them. It was a lesson Iona had been taught since she had been old enough to understand it. But this… this was breaking that duty, deserting her people in order to live.

She knew James was right, she knew why he was saying what he was. But Iona felt tears sting her already frozen cheeks as she clenched her teeth and shook her head.

“I can’t.” She said simply. James sighed, closing his eyes. Still though, his grip held fast.

Hands, their touch soft and gentle, took Iona’s arm at the elbow and began to pull softly at her.

“Come away Iona. Come with me.” Meghan’s voice came from behind her. It sounded like it was buried beneath the piles of bodies Iona could see down the hill, distant and muffled. It too was asking Iona to turn away, but what it asked was easier somehow. At least with Meghan she could be somewhere else.

Feeling a deep, black pit forming in her chest, Iona loosened her grip on her sword and allowed Meghan to lead her carefully back down the rise and into the treeline. They walked for at least ten minutes away into the forest, neither woman willing to say a word, until the scene was far behind them.

Even then though, the screams followed the princess deep into the trees. And didn’t stop even when she clamped her hands over her ears.

Hunter’s Haven Forest, Northern Realm of Aldiron – An Hour Later

“They’ve moved off westwards.” Alyx reported as she sat down heavily next to Iona, her back pressed against the trunk of a tree. The princess didn’t respond, just remained staring upwards towards the frosty canopy.

She was dimly aware of Meghan asking about survivors, of James telling her there were none. But her senses sharpened again as she heard James talking about returning to the scene.

“Go back? Why?” She asked, confused. “If there’s no-one left, what’s to go back for?”

“They were raiding those people for valuables and coin. They left a lot in those carts.” James replied, as if that explained everything. Iona just shook her head, still not understanding.

“They’ll have left food and supplies, things too heavy or bulky to carry. Things we can use.” Alyx explained, filling in the gaps James had left unspoken.

“We’re too low on food to let that opportunity go to waste.” James concluded.

Iona stared at them both in disbelief.

“Not only did you stop me from helping, now you want to scavenge the dead?”

“Dead won’t be using it.” James’ voice was detached, matter of fact. Like he was picking up supplies from the market.

“If it’s not us that uses it, then bears and wolves will get to it all soon.” Alyx added. Unable to think of a response, Iona returned to the whirlwind of her thoughts, the images of wolves descending on the defenceless bodies, feasting on what was left of the people she had failed while their dull lifeless eyes stared at her. You failed us. You were meant to protect us.

“We’ll make camp here tonight.” Meghan was saying, somewhere in the distance. “It’s too risky to be out at night, especially so close to those deserters. We’ll let them get some distance and move from the forest in the morning.”

“I’m not putting up the damned tents again.” Alyx replied, shifting her back against the tree. “I’ll go back to the road and see what I find. You get the camp ready.”

“I’m coming with you.” Iona said, her voice small and quiet.

“What?”

“I’m coming with you. You could make use of an extra pair of hands to carry anything you find. And I need to see it.” She wasn’t sure why. It wouldn’t undo what she’d done. But she could face it. And if nothing else, perhaps it would help her sleep that night.

The fact no-one argued surprised Iona. Indeed, no-one even spoke a word. They all just looked at her for a time before James and Meghan wordlessly began preparing the camp and Alyx stood, offering Iona her hand.

They walked back to the rise in silence again, though this time it was more out of unease than anything else. Every sound within the forest had both women reaching for their swords, but nothing came out of the shadows for them.

Enough horror is already waiting for us. Iona thought bitterly.

They crawled again to the top of the rise and waited, listening and watching carefully for a few minutes before they were satisfied no more deserters waited in ambush. Which gave Iona plenty of time to count the bodies and survey the scene, her stomach sinking lower with every moment.

Twenty-three people. Dead because we did nothing.

As quietly as they could, Iona and Alyx moved down to the road. Both held their swords now, ready for combat as they moved slowly towards the carts. One of the carts had been entirely emptied, broken boxes and sacks scattered around it. The other was still partially covered by a sheet. Both ponies were missing, presumably taken by the deserters.

Iona’s pace slowed to a crawl as she reached the scene, suddenly surrounded by the stench of blood and death. The silence of the air was louder than any sound Iona had heard before. No birds sang or insects buzzed. Even the wind had dropped to a whisper. The sunset set the sky and ground afire, highlighting the already drying pools of blood all around.

Ahead of her, Alyx began grimly taking stock of what was in the cart, packing things into her bag, now half empty without the tent and sleeping supplies in it. Some distant part of Iona’s mind thought that at least it seemed Alyx had found plenty of supplies in the cart.

But Iona shut that part away. She couldn’t move to help Alyx anyway. She was stood frozen, rooted to the ground as she stared into the wide, terrified eyes of the man she had first seen die. He was young, perhaps no older than Iona herself. His face and clothes were dirty, the marks of a farmer. His mouth was curled in a final desperate plea that had gone unanswered.

Silent tears began to run down Iona’s cheeks and her body began to move on its own. Without thinking, she bent down, laying her sword on the ground and lifting the man into her arms.

Then she walked to the empty cart and laid him down inside, clasping his hands together on his chest and leaning down to close his eyes.

“May the Gravekeeper lead you home, and the Village greet you as family.” She said softly, her voice cracking as she began to cry. “I’m sorry.” She added after a moment.

And then she moved to the next body. And the next. And the next. Each one she laid to rest in the cart, eventually laying them atop the others. Each one she spoke the blessing for. Each one she apologised to.

Iona wasn’t sure when exactly Alyx began helping her. She just became aware suddenly of the woman helping her lift a body. Alyx didn’t say a word, simply allowing Iona to numbly carry on with the words while she helped move the bodies and eventually helped Iona to secure the cloth sheet over the top of the cart.

As she secured the last knot of the rope to hold the sheet in place, Iona caught sight of her hands. They were dark, stained with the cold dirt of the ground. And sticky with blood.

The image of the running woman impaled by the spear flashed into Iona’s mind, her blood spraying forth from her chest as she fled looking for a saviour. Blood quite literally now on Iona’s hands.

She felt something rise in her throat and sprinted to the edge of the road, falling to her hands and knees. A horrific combination of dry, heaving, retches and racking sobs shook her body violently, her chest aching with tight muscles. But her empty stomach had nothing to give her and so she just heaved and retched.

It felt like an endless eternity of pain as Iona’s vision swam with faces and images, memories of home blending with the horror she’d seen. The face of her father, smiling at her. The spray of crimson as the man’s throat was cut. Violet Hills running from the burning palace with a mob of refugees. The spear bursting through the fleeing woman’s heart. The people of Aldiron, gathered in the throne room. A pile of sightless bodies, gathered beneath a shroud.

And then a hand was on her back. And another on her chin, gently lifting her face up to meet hazel eyes beneath brown waves.

“It’s alright. You’re alright.” Alyx told her softly, her usual sharp tone absent from her voice. When she spoke softly like this, Alyx sounded to Iona to be almost like a minstrel, so soft and tuneful. Alyx repeated the reassurance. Over and over. Her voice barely above a whisper.

Eventually, Iona managed to lift herself forwards enough to move into Alyx and bury her face in the other woman’s hair, still sobbing uncontrollably. She felt Alyx’s arms wrap around her shoulders and hold her tight, drawing her into the embrace.

A long time passed before Iona was able to finally bring herself back to the present, her breathing slowly returning to normal. All that time, Alyx held her, whispering reassurance that only she could hear.

Finally, Iona was able to pull away from Alyx and bring herself to her feet. She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand as Alyx stood. Then she smiled sadly at the woman.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Alyx replied simply, offering her a smile.

Iona turned away from Alyx, at least partially to hide the warmth she felt rising on her face, and looked towards the cart that Alyx’s pack now rested against.

“Did you find much?” She asked, starting towards it. She made a point of averting her gaze from the other cart.

“A little. Most of it’s wool and stuff, must have been sheep farmers. But there’s some mutton, and some potatoes and vegetables. Enough to see us a couple more days with proper meals.” Alyx told her, reaching the cart.

Iona was about to respond about how good it was to hear that when she heard a soft thud down at the wheel of the cart. Looking down she saw that Alyx’s foot had caught a little brown bundle. It looked almost like a sack, but misshapen and far too small to be useful.

Bending down, Iona lifted it. It was light, even for something that size, and it shifted beneath her fingertips as she gripped it. She turned it over in her hand slowly, and sighed, closing her eyes as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

She wasn’t surprised at all to find the little stuffed bear amongst the wreckage. She’d been dreading something like it since arriving. But in lifting it, two things had become apparent.

The first was the blood stain, splashed up across its front. And the second was the small pale arm now lying limply in the mud, poking out from beneath the cart.

Twenty-four. Iona thought as her chest hardened to cold iron and she glared down towards the footprints of the legionnaire boots that disappeared westwards.

Twenty-four. And no more.