Something new, night 2

As noted last night I am offering the second 'stanza' so to speak of the short story titled The Dragon and The Princess. More to come each night until the story is complete. This should take no longer than a week, I would imagine.

Enjoy.

     The stones below now dance in the night as torches from the main gates flare to life one by one. Though they are still some ways off their presence is now known. The lone rider certainly has brought word. Still, I am surprised I had not heard an inkling of their passage from the West Country. Prisoner or no, my captor’s guards often have loose tongues. It is a common trait among bored men standing guard, idle chatter to pass the time. Some are stories as untrue as fairy tales, feats of bravery to impress their fellows yet snippets of truth may be gleaned if one has an ear to such.

     Another hour has passed and the horizon begins to show her colors to the east. The world begins to see a painter’s palette take rein over the dark sky. Though the western wall is still in shadow the fires that blaze atop the pitch-soaked poles begin to lessen. Soon they will be extinguished as dawn awakens the remaining world to her new day. The forward steps of the garrison, if that is truly what they are have come into view. Mortals with eyesight as weak as smoke in a windstorm would not be able to discern their distance, however I suffer not from their affliction. A line of horsemen shall reach the gates before the coming hour expires and I shall see what news they bring.

     As the forward line of the garrison makes the western wall I see their number is less than I believed. Curious. Yet my eye does see a tiny character embedded within their midst. A child, small, stumbling along the way as she, she... Hmm. Most unusual. She struggles to keep up with the troops her steps small, childlike. I wonder how far she has been forced to march with them? Surely not all the way from the West Country. As she falters, her body tumbling to the stones, a soldier, himself tattered and likely weary from the march swiftly takes her, pulling her up to his shoulder. Her body slumps as she clings to her savior, holding on for dear life as his form bounces up and down with his stride.

     My interest is now peaked! A child held within the garrison. A prisoner? It is most certainly tidings of what is to come. Is she the latest casualty of this war, this war with Jeshion that has left so many dead? What is now her place in this mess? A hostage? To what end? A ransom? Of course this is all just my random speculation, something that is quite normal in my current situation. My mind has little to do otherwise as over the decades it is all that I have to keep my sanity. Few if any are allowed within the tower, only those who summon me to my jailor.

     I hear the footfalls now as the garrison begins to enter Whitehall. The sound of heels as they leave the stone and tread onto the wooden planks has a distinctive tone; hollow, like the thrumming of soft drum skins cool from a wet morning dew. I am reminded of the call of the winds through distant wings as dragon-folk meandered about the upper reaches of the sky. It was a sight to behold. . Strange though it is still that they march i

Within minutes, the time it takes me to draw a few labored breaths the garrison disappears into the stronghold that is Whitehall and out of my sight. Long has it been since the walls of my prison were in need to turn away their enemy. It would seem that the power of Jeshion Hall is not what it once was. The passage of the garrison again leaves me alone as the dawn begins to push away night’s darkness. I will have to await the coming of the new day to see what this entails. An hour or two of sleep is more than I can hope for now. We shall see.