Camaro's Tale

Part 1 Written by Lady Isolde Soft light shone through the thin curtains that decorated the tiny, sparse one room home. It was dawn, and with all new days, this day as well showed promise. Though a common enough day, the girl that lived in the home awoke as the light of the day touched her face with its soft glow. Stretching herself to her full five foot plus stature, on her unadorned plain mattress that was her bed, she curled her toes in greetings to the new day. Her arms became her pillow as she folded them beneath her head. Contentment was evident upon her face as the feeling itself wove through her well rested body. Letting her mind wander, as some do when first waking, she daydreamed once again, of what it was like outside the village square. For the past year, more and more strange folk had been passing through the small village that was her life. Some were stout-hearted knights, in shining armour who proudly rode their horses down the dirt trail that was the road. Others, wore robes with strange scribings on them, hoods folded up to cover their faces. Some were simple fighting men, selling their sword to whatever cause had the most gold to offer. Ladies in gilded carriages, wearing soft silks and satins also came through, their baggage piled high as they continued onward to some unknown destination. So many came through the tiny farmers' village now. Folk of dark skin, and of light. There was even talk of Elven races seen slipping like shadows through the forest. All coming from the East and headed west. The talk of the small village was of war which at first was not believed till lately. Stragglers now came. Beaten and weary, clothes in disarray, soldiers, fighting men, families. The last residue to escape the wars of the East.   The girl lay there on her mattress, thinking of all she had seen. It was the first stranger, that she met, who had given her head the notion to follow along, and head west as well. But the winter had held her, and spring came so sweetly, now summer gave its promise of good crops for the harvest, and the inn keeper's own wife, who was not of the village born, had decided to take it upon herself to teach the young girl letters and words. Nay, something always seems to hold her back. Just like it was this morn. The warm sun making her hesitate to leave her bed and start the day. It was then she remembered that she would be allowed to use parchment this day to scribe. Not the flint on stone, but real ink and parchment. With a smile at her memory, she stood, and readied herself for the day.   The basin sat near the window, and as she washed the sleep from her face she looked out to see others start their day as well. It would be a fine day she thought to herself. Donning her green woven wool skirt, she pulled her white tunic over her head and fastened it about her waist with a simple leather belt. Her soft tooled leather boots were ideal for the dusty trail that was the road. Her face now dried and shiny clean, she shouldered her satchel upon her back and stepped onto the dirt path of the road outside her door. Her ponytail tied with ribbon bounced in time to her steps.   Sweet scents of spring accosted her as a light breeze played with her soft tawny brown hair. Her Hazel eyes shined as she looked about and saw as always, new faces, that dotted the morning crowd. Her step was light as she thought of all the wonderful words she would be allowed to scribe this day. She could barely contain herself as she thought of being allowed to touch the silver feathered quill of the inn keepers wife. She had never been allowed to touch it. Always it stood upon the mantle, almost taunting her as she scratched into the soft shale that was her only tablet. Time and again she had been promised that if she studied hard, she would one day be allowed to use the quill and dip it into the valuable and rare ink to make words she could keep. And this day was that day. Faces were only a blur to her as she stepped past the market tables laden heavy with their wares. She nodded to those who knew her, although she was so excited she really didn't pay attention to whom it was that greeted her. Without her knowledge her steps became quicker at the thought of being able to scribe fully. It seemed forever to her to make it to the inn at the end of town, only minutes had passed really, when she did at last open the door to the inn and step inside.    A simple room greeted her eyes. She stood still for a moment letting her eyes adjust to the gloom of the common room. A small blaze danced in the hearth by the far wall. More for the light than heat. A smell of ale, bread and sweat greeted her nose, and she smiled, for these scents had become so familiar to her. These scents meant words, and learning...and scribing.    The room was very quiet, as it usually was at this time of the day. As her eyes adjusted she became aware of a stranger watching her from a table set in the corner across from the door. She narrowed her eyes as she peered through the gloom to see who it could be. Grey eyes met hers, hair almost white in colour was the mane that adorned a strong and handsome face. Clean shaven jaw with a crooked smile marked his face as one who laughed even when others would not. Medium frame more slim than heavy marked his bearing as one who worked best with bow or slender blade. And she did indeed catch the tip of a bow peeking out from behind the soft grey cloak that marked him as a traveler as well. His clothing was almost colourless, greys and browns, greens, silvers, all worked together well to make him seem almost a part of the shadow itself. But it was his eyes that caught her...and kept her standing rooted to the spot like one who is caught unaware and know not what to do. They looked to each other for a moment...then his smile became open and lit his face as he leaned forward and with an ancient accent in his gentle voice spoke her name.    She moved not, wondering who it was that called her such, then remembering it was indeed her name looked behind her thinking for certain perhaps there was another who had the same title as her. There was only herself and him in the room....and she looked back to him. Deciding that this was her home and that stranger or no, she would present herself with pride she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath...and looked him in the eyes with a kurt nod...then waited for him to speak again.   He watched her, and saw each nuance she went through, confusion, surprise and then bravery and resolution. He knew it was she that he had been sent to guide to the westmark. Though much younger that he had thought, she did indeed show that she was made of sterner stuff than the others of the village. He smiled....and gestured to her to join him at the table. The early part of the morning had already passed and he was eager to leave the small village and begin the long journey. She nodded once again to him and stepped to the bench, he could see her hesitation, smart girl he thought, and delighted as she also kept the widest part of the table betwixt them, her legs not fully under the table, ready to dart for the door at a moments notice as she settled herself. She sat erect, and met him squarely gaze for gaze...hazel eyes to grey...and waited for him to speak. A cautious one he thought to himself as his eyes met hers....this would be an interesting journey indeed. He sipped at the bitter wine that sat before him, testing her patience a little. She did not squirm about. He smiled at her but she would not return his smile. He leaned back, resting his arm on the back of the bench he sat at...and still she only looked to him...one eyebrow bent a little high with wonder at why he wanted to speak with her. In truth it was her lessons from the innkeepers wife that had instilled the patience she now displayed. Often she had been told, to wait things out, and let the other squirm, for when one was nervous, they usually spoke more than they should have. Inside it was almost to the point of her leaping from the table and running from the room, so unnerving it was to watch him as he watched her but yet, she held herself...and tested herself by keeping silent. At last, he smiled and nodded to her and spoke once again. So smooth was his words, soft and almost hushed, like the way one spoke in a library and yet, his words carried well. His name was Anthimiliam...or Liam...for short...and he was hired by the innkeeper's wife...to escort her to WestMarch. She had best gather he meager things, be smart about it, meet him at the stables in one hour, and be dressed for riding. She was also to be a good lass and bring some supplies of bread and dried meat, water and cheese. Her hand was a blur as she was so taken back by his words she made to slap him for them. Her eyes widened as his hand came about and stopped hers with ease. Locked about her wrist his grip was firm and frozen. His eyes met hers....and danced in merriment and delight. Hers were dark with anger and embarrassment. How dare he talk to her like she was a childe. How dare he tell her to do such things and expect to her to follow like a well-scolded childe. His hand encompassed her wrist with ease. Taking his other hand from the back of the bench he even took up his cup and sipped at it as they battle of wills went on unnoticed within the room. Then with a chuckle, he released her wrist...stood...and bowed his head to her...turning on his heels, he made for the stables...and did not look back....if he had he would have seen her blush, and look to her wrist in wonder.    Shaking herself from her revelry she stood and hurried to the kitchen to find the innkeeper's wife. She would tell her all was a mistake, that she knew no one hired to escort her from the village, that she had never heard of any Liam. That it was all a mistake. She would tell her, and all would be well again.    Bursting into the kitchen her words broke forth with unfinished sentences as she found the Innkeeper's wife rolling bread for the oven. So angered and frustrated at the man who made her feel like a childe she did not notice the good wife as she stopped her rolling and stood staring out the window. It was not until the girl stopped her torrent of words to catch her breath did she hear the shouting and screaming from outside. Stepping next to the goodwife she looked out the small window at the horror that was being played outside.    Animals, or what is best described as animals but were really men were running and riding through the small village cutting down anything or anyone in their way. War it seemed...had come at last to the quiet village. Large men dressed in ragged rough cut furs and plates of armour screamed in fury as they struck the helpless folk of the tiny hamlet. Chaos seemed to revel in the fabric of time as she and the Innkeeper's wife could only stand a moment and watch as the innkeeper himself was cut down just feet from the window where the women stood. The girl looked to the goodwife in shock and saw a change come over the woman who was known for her gentle manner and good tasting bread. For the first time, she saw something in the wife she had never noticed before. Her hair was silver, not with age, but due to her lineage. She was tall and e'en though her husband had just been struck down before her eyes, she still pervaded a sense of dignity and calm. She watched as the goodwife removed her apron and reached for the bread knife laying on the counter...and then...the goodwife turned to her.    In a soft voice, as how one speaks when they wish to be understood the first time...she explained that she did indeed know Liam. He was kin to her and had come to take the girl to safety, for she had many dealings with the fair race of elves and knew the war was coming. The girl was to go swiftly, and to heed all that Liam bade of her. As she spoke she handed the girl a bag. Obviously it had been prepared earlier for the journey she was to face. The goodwife had wanted to speak to her all of what she knew but now that the village was under attack, the words would be left unspoken...grabbing the girl by the arm, and holding the blade ready...the goodwife guided her to the door. Stopping a moment, she turned to the young girl and caressed her cheek, a tear showed on her face and the girl realized it was the first time she had e'er seen the lady display any outward emotion. Another scream broke the moment asunder, and the goodwife flung the door open....to be greeted by chaos.    Holding her back, the goodwife, Altheas was her name, held the blade high and her grey eyes darted left and right before hauling the girl after her...hurried steps were taken as they made their way to the stables at the back of the inn. Alsheas did not even stop to mourn her husband's body as they made their way past. It was as they were to the door of the stables that one of the attackers came about the corner...a leering smile to his face as he saw the two women before him. His smile turned to delighted surprise as Alsheas pushed the girl behind her and waved the bread knife before her to the large man. The girl shivered as she saw the look to his face, no remorse, no kindess, only anger and violence showed in his manner and face. She shrank back against the wall of the stable without realizing it was his gaze that made her physically move away from him. Alsheas smiled, a cold and calm smile...as she stepped towards the soldier. Her stance was easy, the skirt hampering her little as she assumed a fighter's stance. The blade weaving easily though many forms before her...she was no stranger to holding a blade in battle...and the girl could only stare at the woman she thought she had known. With a yell the soldier lunged at Altheas, his blade turned so the flat end would stun her, for he had other ideas besides death for them both. Altheas slipped easily under the path of his blade and righting herself flung her arm back as he passed and buried the blade deep into his open side. The girl watched as the evil grin on the man's face turned to one of surprise as he felt the blade find the one spot not protected on his body. His eyes wide as he turned and touched his gloved hand to see it was covered in red. A low growl escaped his throat...yellow teeth shone though the tangled unshaven hair on his lip. His eyes no longer leered with lust....only death now, to the silver haired wench who dared to mark him so. Perhaps it was chance, or fate, either one will do, but as Altheas spun to meet the man once again, her sandled feet slipped on the smooth stone of the cobble that made up the walkway. Sandles made for comfort only, not traction in fighting was her downfall. Her skirts became tangled, and she fell forward to the ground. Too long it had been since she had hunted in the wood. Too long it had been since she had last taken up a blade. Too long she had been wife, to a simple man. Too long.