Death Is Not The End (1)
The darkness in the skies thickened over the kingdom of IIrywn for the Blood Tournament was a night away. Icy winds howled as it blew through the forests hedging the kingdom about, the cries growing louder as the dragons emerged from their keep to settle upon the peaks behind the palace.
Princess Imogen watched the kingdom that would soon be hers, if she won the tournament, alone from the highest balcony of the palace. Below, the capital stretched out endlessly like a sea of silver lanterns.
She sighed as the bells of IIrywn tolled three times heralding the Blood Tournament.
Beyond the forest, crimson light burned in the northern horizon, the glow staining the sky like an open wound. That was the camp of Prince Kaelor of Grywod who would stop at nothing to win the tournament. It was a fight to the death and the royal who won took over the kingdom as theirs.
Princess Imogen had been prepared for the tourney from childhood. She spent years imagining the man who would one day cross the mountains to fight her.
Later on, messengers returned with stories of Kaelor's valor, often without drawing blood, he had taken over three powerful kingdoms. Some claimed he employed the strength of magic, others said he was silver-tongued, blessed by gods to charm anyone.
Imogen walked slowly across the palace grounds followed by her guards as she made her way to the temple. With a glance, she dismissed them and watched as they took up their posts outside the entrance before she quietly entered the sanctuary.
No servant of any class could enter the sacred space. Only the high priest, priestess, the princess and the queen could visit at any time except for worship ceremonies held every full moon where the people gathered reverendly to pay homage.
Imogen shivered as the cold breeze blew through her. A big fire burned in the hearth by the altar, thousand candles floated without wax at the four corners of the temple, yet she could feel the cold seep into her bones.
The pale light illuminated statues of past kings and queens lining the walls, her ancestors, whose names had become prayers because they sacrificed something valuable to keep IIrywn in the family.
Now, it was her turn.
She knelt by the altar and raised her gaze to the golden statute of their goddess. “I'm not afraid of dying,” she whispered, reaching behind the statue to pull out a long bundle wrapped in faded blue cloth. The high priestess had told her where to find it.
She unfolded the cloth to see a dagger that appeared to have been forged from moonlight. It hummed the instant she held its hilt. Without a second thought, she cut the centre of her palm and clenched her fist, dripping blood at the foot of the goddess.
A thunder rumbled in the dark sky.
It was time to don her armour for the battle that would begin at dawn.
[To be continued]
I hope you enjoyed reading this short fantasy. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "death is not the end”.
Thank you for visiting my blog.
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