Princess Interrupted, page 21
part #1 of Prophecies Series
Tabor looked on the ground between them and picked up an iron dagger. He pointed along its cutting edge. “Notice the straight edge of this dagger. It is good for a slashing motion to open someone up, and slicing attacks with a blade would be most effective against the soft tissues of your enemy.” He illustrated as he placed the dagger against his neck. “Either side of the neck will cut the blood supply to the enemy’s head. This is almost always a fatal strike that should cause unconsciousness in your victim within seconds.”
“What about if you want to keep them silent?”
Tabor gave her a devious smile. “Good question. Especially useful if your target is amongst others nearby who might be called to help him.” He illustrated the dagger travelling from one side of the neck to the other and said, “A similar but stronger slash is required to cut through the side and front of the neck. Breathing and speech travels through the middle of the neck, and to limit the sounds, your knife will need to cut through the sinew and cartilage that protects the throat. Realize it will take a well placed slash with a good amount of power to dig through it.”
“Almost like trying to slash through a steak?”
His eyes twinkled with amusement. “More like a steak with streaks of gristle and cartilage in it.” Tabor scratched his chin and continued, “Realize also that such attacks are oftentimes very messy. You must understand that such attacks spray blood in all directions.”
“What about stabbing your enemy? Are there ways to use a stabbing motion to achieve a quick kill?”
Tabor touched the tip of the dagger. “For quick kills, there are several locations, but they can be difficult to reach.” He touched the back of his neck. “A dagger plunged into the base of the skull is sure to cause an instant death, but be aware. There is a significant risk of your blade being deflected by the bones of the shoulder or spine.”
“Any other locations?”
Tabor touched two locations on his chest. “Your heart lies behind a bone in the center of your chest. If you stab off-center, at an angle, you should be able to cause a near instant death as well, but beware getting your dagger stuck. Your blade can get wedged in between the ribs and make it difficult to retrieve.”
“Hmm... so you mean I could stab someone and find myself unable to remove the dagger. If it wasn’t a lethal strike, the enemy might have a dagger sticking out of them, and I am left weaponless... not good.”
“Exactly, and that’s why –”
“But this dagger doesn’t have a straight edge.” Arabelle interrupted, retrieved one of her mother’s daggers, and showed it to him. “I’d always wondered why it was designed so, but the edge seems to have waves along its length. Should I stab with this dagger?”
Tabor’s eyes widened. “May I see that, Princess?”
She handed the dagger to him and he turned the edge up and stared down the length. He smiled as he passed his fingers gingerly along the flat of the blade. He carefully handed the dagger back hilt-first. “I haven’t seen that weapon in many years. I am pleased to see it has found its proper home. I assume you also have its mate?”
Arabelle nodded.
“Well, those daggers are specially crafted. Those are creations of the dwarven smiths many hundreds of years ago. They are made of the rare metal damantite. I don’t know for whom or for what purpose those daggers were originally created, but suffice to say that they are the ultimate in assassin’s weaponry. The metal the blades are made from is said to be unbreakable, and once set true by the smith, its edges never need honing. That odd wave you noticed serves a sinister but effective purpose. The waves along the edge cause more damage, and wounds from such a dagger often cause heavy bleeding. That is a most lethal weapon, my Princess.”
“So what about lethal stabs? For instance, in my vision, I saw myself approaching my enemy from behind – would a stab to the back prove lethal? What are the dangers or issues with that?”
Tabor frowned. He pointed to the right and left of his lower back. “Strikes here are mortal, but the victim will not die quickly. The danger would be his retaliation from such strikes. I wouldn’t recommend that approach.”
“What about a stab in the middle of the back?”
Tabor shook his head, “Even with your fine weapons, such a strike is risky. Although it can be almost instantly fatal, there is a lot of bone to protect the vulnerable parts.”
She looked down and sucked on her lower lip dramatically.
“What troubles you, Princess?”
Arabelle whispered, “I had another vision which troubled me. I wondered if my enemy was a demon.”
Tabor’s body stiffened and his eyes widened with concern. “Why do you say this? What did you see?”
“After I attacked my enemy from behind, instead of dying right away, he flailed about. There was almost no blood. Instead I saw lots of clear liquid ooze out of the wound. What could explain such a thing?”
With a sigh of relief, Tabor shook his head. “No, Princess – it wasn’t a demon, thank goodness. I can explain. Your attack must have been a lucky strike into the back that severed the spine. The spine contains a small amount of clear fluid which is necessary to live. Even mild injuries to the spine can result in paralysis, sometimes leaving soldiers unable to move their legs or even their arms.”
So that’s why the slaver’s legs didn’t seem to move.
Tabor picked up a piece of chain mail. “Let’s cover attacks on armored enemies...”
Arabelle turned in her saddle and watched the long procession of wagons trailing behind. The caravan was on the move again. To the south stretched the hints of a vast forest. Unlike the forest near Aubgherle where she’d met Castien and his people, the rumors that spread about the forest south of Cammoria were disturbing at best.
“It’s haunted I say...”
“The witch of the woods will capture your soul...”
“Many a soldier has entered that misty forest, never to return.”
As a young girl, she’d explored some of the caves near the forest in the southwest portion of the Trimorian Valley. She remembered hearing a haunting song that chilled her from head to toe. Arabelle recalled being scared of it and running back to Tabor who had always been nearby to watch over her and crying on his shoulder as he picked her up. When she told Father about it later that night, he’d forbidden her from going near that forest, and uncharacteristically she obeyed. She never considered exploring in that area again.
They were now east of Cammoria, having finished trading with a small cluster of villages that specialized in leather goods and were famous for high quality farming supplies. The caravan traveled north, their next stop a collection of villages known to grow the best grapes and produce the best wines in all of Trimoria.
Father was ahead of her, surrounded by his guards and speaking animatedly to some of the merchants about their next stop. Father enjoyed his wine, and she smiled as she thought of the enjoyment he got taking tiny sips of a new year’s vintage and talking with his people. Father was a great parent, but he was also a very loyal and committed friend to his people. He’d oftentimes told her when she was younger, “Arabelle, our respect isn’t given to us by virtue of my being Honfrion, Sheikh of the Imazighen, or you being my daughter. We earn our respect by looking after the welfare of those who depend on us. If one of our people’s merchants are ailing, the Imazighen must try to aid them. Always treat people the way you hope for them to treat you. My heart, this is the way of our family and our people.”
As the sun approached the horizon, Father called a stop to the procession. A buzz of activity surrounded several of the supply tents as their traveling quarters were erected and the caravan settled for a night’s rest.
Arabelle lay quietly onto her bed and patted her full stomach as she listened to the camp buzz with activity. Soon enough, the only sounds she heard were the creaking of leather armor as guards patrolled the length and breadth of the caravan. As the crickets echoed their shrill rhythmic calls, she settled into a disturbing fit of dreams.
From a vision of white materialized a scene with a regal-looking elf as she walked through the woods. She approached the edge of an empty uncultivated land that seemed very familiar and paused. She seemed to be waiting for something. The brown-skinned elf stood half-way between five and six feet tall, with the pale blonde hair universal of her race along with their distinctive pointed ears.
As she stood at the edge of the woods, a look of concentration crossed her face. She closed her almond-shaped eyes and from her fingers bloomed a crackling ball of sparkling energy that moments later faded into nothingness.
In mid-air, a dark line appeared with sparkling ribbons of energy flowing out from it. Within seconds, another elf stepped through the purple-colored, sparkling maelstrom. The new elf held a look of disdain on her otherwise beautiful face. She had raven-black hair and a pale white complexion. The moment the new elf stepped through, the line snapped shut and the elves greeted each other with one open hand raised with splayed fingers.
The darker-skinned elf gasped at the appearance of the new arrival. “Avud!”
The pale elf shook her head with a dismissive wave. “I will not own that name, Queen of Seder. We were never lost. I say that it is the women within Eluanethra that remain in ignorance of what true power is. My people simply seek fulfillment of our true power through our Lady and mistress Lilith.”
Upon hearing this, the darker-skinned elf cringed. Her opposite laughed, flashing serpent-like fangs that caused the first elf to step back.
“What can I do for you, lost one?”
The pale-skinned elf leaned forward. “I seek a discovery of the Ta’ah. Those dwarven wizards will not speak to us, but I know that you maintained a relationship with their cousins. They hide an artifact that Lilith would cherish.”
The dark-skinned elf flinched. “Anything she would cherish is no concern of mine. The dwarves of this time barely recognize the existence of their brethren, and I, Ellisandrea, will never help you find what you seek.”
The pale elf gave a guttural snarl, pulled back her lips and showed her fangs. Ellisandrea raised a glistening barrier between the two and braced herself. Realizing the stand-off served no purpose, the pale elf spit on the ground. “Fine! I’ll find the object for my queen, even if it requires me to dig up all of Trimoria.”
With a wave of her pale arm, purple-colored flashes appeared before her and the strange elf vanished, leaving no hint that she’d ever been there.
Ellisandrea shook her head. “What has your evil mistress done to you, lost one?”
The scene flashed white and Ellisandrea stood at the entrance to a large underground chamber, holding a magical shield against an onslaught from a demon that towered over her. The demon’s skin had been torn and ripped from the elf’s attacks, and their battle had damaged the entrance to the chamber that lay ahead. The demon spied a crack in the wall and dove through it, into the adjoining chamber.
Ellisandrea slowly advanced toward the crack and knelt at the entrance when the floor shook. The elf reeled backwards as clouds of dust burst from the fissure.
As the world shook around her, the elf turned toward the exit and heard a shriek coming from the chamber behind her. The demon reemerged, crackling with a mystical energy. It wielded an orb of glowing white, which throbbed as if in time with a heartbeat. The look on the demon’s face went from triumphant to one of surprise and then pain. Its body cracked and the demon’s skin burst as steam erupted from within the creature.
Black streams of power erupted from the orb and speared into the mouth of the demon. A black nimbus of power grew around its head as licks of flame flashed in the expanding torrent of power coming from the orb. A cloud of steam obscured the demon, and the sound of tearing flesh and shattering scales emanated from the dark swirl of energy. Within the darkness an unearthly scream of pain erupted out of the maelstrom.
The orb dropped and rolled toward Ellisandrea as the demon rapidly grew. The elf grabbed the orb and ran for the exit as the chamber collapsed behind her. The sound of laughter rolled after her as she fled from the chamber.
The scene flashed white once more and a view of mist-covered woods appeared. The vision flew through the woods, eventually piercing through to the clearing that the forest encircled. The motion slowed as the focus of the vision travelled around a wooden building in the midst of the clearing. Behind the building lay a dark black altar. From the altar an almost imperceptible throbbing could be heard – as if coming from a heartbeat. The image closed into the altar while the heartbeat’s volume increased. The scene zoomed into the altar until the dark stone structure dominated the entire image and the booming of the heartbeat was deafening. The heartbeat increased its pace and, as the altar shook with the reverberations of the sound, a geyser of poison erupted from the altar, filling the scene completely...
Arabelle screamed as she jumped out of her bed, her heart raced and her clothing soaked with sweat. She looked around, took in her surroundings and calmed her breathing as a guard outside raised his voice, tight with anxiety. “Princess! Are you well?”
“Yes, I’m fine. It was a nightmare. Sorry.”
The soldier let out a long breath. “Nothing to worry about, Princess. If you need anything, simply ask.” She heard his footsteps recede.
She stretched her muscles carefully and, as was her habit, Arabelle completed a brisk workout composed of her normal arm and leg exercises. She also worked on focused exercises to control the sound of her breathing, even when she exerted myself.
Over the last year, she’d given much thought to all of the things that could conceivably give away her location when she wanted to remain hidden. Controlling her breathing seemed to be her biggest challenge.
Arabelle stretched one last time, climbed under the sheets of her bed and promptly fell asleep.
The next two days of travelling sped by and she was thankful that they’d left those dreaded woods far behind. She spent the days contemplating the visions she’d received and worried what they could mean.
When she asked Father whether Mother understood her own visions, he laughed. “Your mother spent a lot of time contemplating her visions, and she was almost always left utterly perplexed. Time was what usually helped the mystery unfold and the answers revealed themselves when the moment was right.”
“But how could she use her visions if she didn’t understand them until much later?”
Father turned in his saddle and looked intently at her, he eased his horse closer to hers. The guards encircled them as the caravan continued to plod along around them. He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Are you having visions, my flower?”
She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know the difference between a vision of truth and a dream of something I might want to be true.”
Father nodded. “That is how it was with your mother. She was always frustrated by just that question. Like I said – time seems to help with such things. Your mother was usually able to determine the truth of her vision when such truth was needed.” He flicked his reins and his horse moved forward as the circle of guards parted.
Arabelle was glad to see the outline of villages ahead. They’d settle here for at least a week so the merchants could complete their transactions and exchange the goods that were her people’s life-blood.
That night, her dreams were troubled with flashes of scenes she couldn’t place, but when she awoke, holding onto them was like grabbing mist. It was nearly dawn as she lay her head down to finish her night’s sleep when she was hit with the unmistakable beginning of a vision.
The scene flashed white and Arabelle saw the blue-eyed boy from her dreams appear in a boat floating on a river. She smiled as she watched the boy, and what Arabelle took to be his mother, race with another boat that carried his father and brother. As the race concluded, the blue-eyed boy smiled triumphantly with his mother and they hit their palms together in celebration.
Moments later, all four of them guided their boats into a cave. Within the cave, the family climbed out of the boat. That was when she noticed what looked like a very small swamp cat hop off the mother’s lap. They were busily rummaging through their supplies when the earth began to shake and the panic-stricken look on the family’s face was evident as they grabbed each other. The scene flashed white.
Her eyes opened and she felt a catch in her throat. Arabelle controlled a sob that threatened to erupt.
Say it isn’t so. Please don’t let it be...
She used her inner sight, praying to see the boy as she always had before. Floating overhead. She concentrated –then bolted up with a gasp. Tears flowed as she cried without any feelings of shame.
Her inner sight pointed north.
Grisham
Chapter Twenty
A Major Decision
“I pray that the Princess never has to use the skills she now possesses.”
Tabor
The gray mare nudged past one of the other horses and extended her upper lip, trying to grab at the quizoa Grisham held in his hand as he sternly told her, “Wait your turn you greedy beast, that is your third one.” He pushed her nose gently away and fed the quizoa to the white mare that had been waiting patiently as the other horses surrounded him, knowing it was time for their treats.
“Grisham!”
Nicholas was hobbling toward the edge of the corral, limping on his splinted leg. Grisham pushed through the herd of horses, pleased to see that his friend’s arm was out of the sling. “How are you doing, Nicholas?”
Nicholas smiled. “I’m doing as well as can be expected.”
He nodded toward the horses and joked, “I see you’ve developed lots of close friends.”
Grisham absent-mindedly patted one of the noses that had placed itself on his shoulder. “They seem to enjoy their treats and they especially seem to appreciate the person who grooms them.”
