Wonders & Woes of Writing: The Birthright, Part Two

           The early morning murmurs of Lysander’s war camp were interrupted by the hunting shriek of a falcon.  Everyone looked to the sky in surprise and saw one of the familiar homing pigeons flying frantically towards them, a falcon closing in behind it.

            Pandemonium broke out, Lysander hollered to the archers who were already frantically running for they bows and quivers, tripping over each other and adding to the clamor.  Yul was also shouting orders which were lost in the general confusion of things.

            Ieda was the only one who stayed seemingly calm.  She left the fire where she had been assigned to turn the spit and grabbed a bow that had been left nearby.  She hurriedly fitted an arrow to it and carefully, but not quickly took aim.

            The falcon shrieked in pain and fell from the sky, dead.  Surprised silence fell on the camp as the panicked pigeon rushed to the safety of Lysander’s arms.  While trying to calm it Lysander turned to his archers, “Well shot.  Whose arrow?”

            The archers shook their heads and their captain, Brett, stepped forward.  “The arrow is mine, but I did not hit the bird.  I couldn’t find my quiver and bow in time.”  Brett ducked his head, his face read from admitting.

            Lysander’s forehead wrinkled, “Did one of your men grab your equipment by mistake?”

            All the archers shook their heads and each claimed to have their own quiver.

            Lysander shook his head, his forehead still wrinkled, and waved the archers away, turning his attention to the nervous bird he was holding.  He was about to read his sister’s message when Yul appeared and said in a whisper, “It was the foreign girl who shot the bird.”

            Lysander blinked stupidly for several seconds before exclaiming, “Impossible!”

            Yul shook his gray-haired head, “I saw her do it,  Lysander and if you look towards the cooking fire you’ll see Brett’s bow lying on the ground nearby.

            Lysander turned and saw it was true.  He sighed, “It doesn’t make sense.”

            “It makes perfect sense; she lied to you.”

            Lysander shook his head and turned once more to his sister’s note.  “Yul!”  He screamed seconds later.

            His second in command came rushing back over.  “What is it?”

            “Syriah.  We’ve got to get her out of there!”  Lysander thrust the note to Yul and started pacing frantically.

            “Calm down, Lysander.  I’ll work out something.  Get out of camp for a while; clear your head.  I’ll take care of thing here.  Oh!  And take the girl with you.”  When Lysander and Ieda were gone, Yul pulled out the maps that he and Lysander had drawn and carefully studied the castle and its fortifications.  His finger traced two lines that marked the two large bridges that spanned the river less than a mile from the castle.  “Maybe…”  Yul bit his lip,  “It all depends on how close those mercenaries are, and the timing.  If it was night…” He tapped his chin thoughtfully.  “This might work.”

…

            “Ieda!”  Lysander hissed, scanning the woods around him.  She’d just vanished when he hadn’t been looking.  He placed his hand on his hilt and moved slowly forward, “Ieda,” He called again.

            “Quiet!”  She appeared between two trees, her finger to her lips.  Lysander was about to say something when she continued.  “I’ve found the mercenaries.”

            “What?”  He hurried forward as she disappeared again.  “Ieda!”

            “Get down.”

            He hurriedly obeyed and crawled in the direction of her voice.

            She was crouched below a sudden rise in the ground.  “Be quiet and stay low.  Otherwise, we’ll get caught.”  Then she scurried up the incline.

            Lysander crawled up after her, poking his head out carefully so that he was shoulder to shoulder with Ieda.  “Which one do you think is their leader?”  He whispered.

            She gestured to a man sharpening a sword by the fire.  “That one.”  Her voice was strangely hard and Lysander gave her a quick look before turning back to study the man.

            The mercenary had dark skin and was rather young looking.  His black hair had no streaks of gray or white.  “How do you know that’s him?”

            “He’s not sharing his fire.”

            “Oh,”  Lysander quietly started to count the men, but Ieda stopped him.

            “Let’s go.”

            “But I need to know how many there are.”

            “I would estimate around five hundred.”

            “Why?”

            “The number of campfires.  Now let’s go.”  Her fists were clenched tightly as was her jaw. 

            Lysander gave her another strange look and carefully followed her back to the gully where they had been before.

            “Come on,” Ieda hissed as she took off like a deer,  “I don’t want to get caught by their scouts.” 

            Lysander quickly followed and together they made it safely back to their camp. 

Yul was sitting by the fire and he motioned the young king over.  “Did you find anything useful?”

Lysander nodded, “We found the mercenary camp.”

“Really?”  Yul looked surprised and relieved, “They’re close then?”

The king nodded again, “So what’s the plan?”

Unnoticed to both of them Ieda sat across the fire, listening.

“It will require lots of quick work, but I think we can do it.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes, tonight.”