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Author’s Ramblings: This snippet is part of a character sketch for Eredas, a companion warrior from my 2011 NaNoWriMo, who was charged with protecting his mentor’s daughter, a reckless lady knight. This was to help me decide and flesh out exactly what kind of gift or talent I should give to him. It’s during a raid on a suspect’s estate and Eredas has a bit of a flashback at the worst possible time. It’s a bit rough, but fun to write. I do hope you enjoy. Happy weekend!
When I saw it, I thought of her.
The color was too bright and everything else in the room was rather dark and dreary. But the scrap of ruffled yellow brought back a slew of memories that I wasn’t prepared to push away. In the moments before the raid ended, I didn’t remember it starting.
I remembered everything else instead, even the things I swore I’d forget.
Sirens, screams and glass breaking played a song that I wouldn’t soon forget and everything about Griffiths settled south of my stomach.
I remembered her apple pie on Winter Solstice and her smile with a cracked, bleeding lip, after she’d just hit the minister of soulless idiots.Well, minister for something important, I was sure, but a lady knight cares little for those kind of distinctions when she’s got the crown’s protection riding boldly on her staff in the form of the royal colors.
Something about her fearlessness screamed of strength and courage.
The kind of courage I couldn’t even summon with a bottle of Bergland’s best. Not that I would try, drink doesn’t hold well with my kind–not if we want to live to see the next few hundred years. I’m not particuarly fond of dying. I knew it hurt in more ways than one and that this last death would most certainly hurt worse than all the others.
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| Found on Google Images. Nalia’s Standard Symbol |
But I did promise him and when the raid began, I could only think of getting to her. She caught my eye halfway across the battlefield. Blood, guts and glory was the warcry, but to her, it was nothing more than duty and necessity. She was the spitting image of her mother, all done over twice, with a
cherry and a half on top.
They said that she picked up her new skills in the Western Lands, but all I knew was that the deadly blade in her gauntleted hands had grown darker overnight. Yet, when we crashed though the walls and into the estate, somehow I got tangled all the way to the kitchens.
Somehow she got tangled right along with me. When I saw her beside that chicken yellow apron, I could only see a
little girl with her father’s eyes. Eyes that haunted, eyes that hurt and eyes that helped, even when there was no honor to be gained by it.
Everything went wrong in a smattering of seconds. I realized she was outnumbered before I managed to piece together the fact that the had been anticipated. It wold seem that we’d walked straight into a trap of the worst kind.
The kind of trap that would require thinking to get out of the entire mess.
Stupid trap.
Stupid idiots.
Stupid thinking.
Nalia would laugh if she knew what I was thinking. Thankfully she doesn’t. But that doesn’t help the situation. I’ll have to actually think and then follow through. I hate following through. It’s always a pain in my head.
“Eredas!” Her scream ripped me from my muddled mind and she flew forward, bringing a momentum that drove us both to the ground. “Now is not the time to get lost in your mind, man!” She panted into my ear and suppressed a wince.
The very fact that she let it show on her face instead of hiding it, spoke volumes more than anything else she could have said. Surprisingly, thinking didn’t seem like such a bad thing to do after all. All I’d have to do was calculate the necessary points for–she whimpered.
I nearly died. “Nalia!”
“Lucky blow. That’s all it is.” She grimaced. “A really lucky blow. Halls are clear. I think there’s one left. You handle it, okay? Just get…please, get us out of here!” She coughed and spat blood on the ground near my left ear. “Think!” She pleaded. “Just use your head.”
Oh how I hate that phrase.
But I would.
I’d do it for her, if no one else. I owed him–no, her, that much, at least.
There were more ways than one to get her out of there.
There were also two left, not one.
Bother that.
(c) Sara Harricharan
