Re: A Kindred Spirit
Augusta Fields rumbled with the sounds of dun horses and mustangs, and wailed with the cries of men and boys. The intermingling of these noises sent a cold chill through Cadenza's small frame as she neared the woods where Augustan forces had felled a vast number of the stoutest Choras patriots.
Her peacock feathers grasped tightly by her graceful fingers, she surveyed the grounds for the tallest of trees from which to attack. One thick-trunked pine that poked out over the tops of its neighbors, like a great, needle-adorned spire won her favor, and she dashed up to it with the agility of a renowned gymnast or sprinter. Holding the feathers between gritted teeth, she climbed the sturdy trunk and launched herself up into the large branches, keeping an eye out for Augustans below as she did so. Once perched atop one of the strong boughs, amongst the aromatic, viridian needles and cones, she drew her feathers, now in her hands once again, closer to her rouge lips and spread them like a fan, beginning an incantation that had saved her life on many occasions. She had neither the time nor the energy for Mesmerize, she deduced, so it was to be her Enchantment spell that paralyzed the Augustan forces and gave Hildegard and the boy trailing behind her time to rescue the prince and his comrades.
As she chanted, the worry of being accused of witchcraft came to her mind, but the sharp-minded gypsy promptly laid the concern to rest. They would have to be fools to condemn someone who just saved their hides, she assured herself. Betrayal doesn’t seem to be the prince’s game, at least.
Scores of men bearing Augusta’s coat-of-arms became captivated by the spell, mindlessly drawing closer to its mysterious source like a sailor allured by the song of an insidious siren. They groped about in the dark gloom, proceeding deeper and deeper into Cadenza’s trap. With a swift movement of the woman’s arm, the soldiers, once brimming and vital in their youth felt a strange, creeping numbness climb up their bodies, rendering them immobile. As they stood huddled together, dumbfounded by their sudden weakness, Hildegard and the meek young soldier began ushering Choras soldiers back to camp, and carrying those who could not move on their own.
While they did so, Cadenza took aim, her keen vision finding an opening in the foggy twilight to the Augustan captain, and shot him dead, eliciting a gasp from all who were present to witness it. The men watched helplessly as their leader fell in a pool of blood, an arrow at his throat.
“Phantoms of the night…” one uttered, “Dealing out retribution for our wrongdoings.”
They all shared a quiet moment, thinking back on all of the innocent young boys from Choras who they had killed in their raids. A question ran through all of their minds: When would it all end?
Cadenza bowed her head in reverence for the necessary, but still lamentable death of the soldier, and then silently back into the dark night the gypsy crept, leaping from treetop to treetop until she reached the Choras army’s encampment and the cowhide tent where she was to be waiting. She sensed Hildegard in the misty dusk when he entered, and he gave her a meaningful nod.
“He’s alive.”
Last edited by Altamira; 02-14-2007 at 06:26 PM.