Written by CJ Bishop
“Ya hear about Marsuia?”
“I was there, I watched the match.”
“Heard she sprouted wings and took off afterwards.”
“I saw her with my own eyes, she only scaled the walls.”
Taverns and pubs were bursting with news of the Blind Warrior. Those who had not been invited or had not attended the battle were especially susceptible to false rumors. There were many claims of what had happened; none were quite completely true, for the human eye deceives one who does not look for the right thing.
“What about Ollormania?”
All went quiet. The only noises heard were those drifting from the kitchen, along with the incredible smells that had been longed for but were now forgotten with the mention of the queen’s most prized warrior.
“Think he’s really the queen’s son?”
“I’d bet the cow that I’ll never own, he sure as death is.”
“But if that is so, then how come Queen Vermillne endangers him so? Why, she sticks him in gladiator fights ‘most every week!” The babble took up again, stronger this time as the men argued over their own creative theories. One believed Ollormania adopted, another claimed him a bastard, and a third was convinced that it was all a lie that Marsuia had conjured to set the kingdom in its present state of chaos.
“Now then!” hollered the bartender. “We don’t know and we shouldn’t be stickin’ our heads up e’ryones’ behinds tryna ask! I’m not having my tavern closed over some petty gossiping boys, so shut up or go home!”
At the end of this very noble speech, the door of the tavern, with its curled green symbol embedded in the wood, was pushed open, its hinges rattling in protest.
“Welcome to the Burnt Snake,” greeted a few servant boys as a few men snapped outraged cries at the drift of cold that had boisterously slammed into the room. The newcomer entered and pushed her hood back from her face, revealing neatly cut bandages over her eyes and honey gold hair pulled back upon the crown of her head. Up close, the cloth that confined and bound her vision were sliced in even rows wrapped tightly around, resting on the bridge of her rows and tied at the back of her skull beneath the band of her pony tail.
“Marsuia,” murmured one, and another whispered a hushed prayer.
“So, you know who I am—then it is in your best interest that you obey my orders.” Those who had witnessed the Blind Warrior’s battle with Ollormania shivered from the refreshed memory of her voice. “I need a meal and a place to sleep.” Tracing her finger on the unmistakable shape of a sword beneath her robes, she said, “I hope I will not have to remind you that I am armed. Any mention of me to others will get the tavern burned.” It was eery how she set her blind gaze upon each man in turn. “Others meaning I do not wish to be aroused suddenly in the night by the queen’s guards . . . you may feel free to speak of me after I leave.”
And talk about their visitor, they would, the members of the Burnt Snake, for they were human after all. The same could not be said of the Blind Warrior, and her sisters who have yet to be introduced.
No comments:
Post a Comment