Anne Woodland

Lysander stood in the darkness, the stones of the second bridge smooth and worn beneath his feet.   Two of his men stood next to him, ready to lift their barrel of oil and set its contents cascading down on the approaching mercenary fleet.   By now the fleet had passed under the first bridge and the blockade had been raised. Ieda appeared next to him, shifting uncomfortably.   “Lysander, I… I haven’t been completely honest with you.   I wanted to just pass through with as little fuss as possible, but seeing what you’re up against I don’t think that I could do that and still live with myself.   I want to fight with you.” Lysander rubbed the back of his neck.   “I knew.   Yul saw you shoot the falcon.   Do you have your own weapon.” Ieda nodded and produced a smooth and well-polished bow.   The wood was some strange species not found in Marovia or the surrounding area and the feathers on the arrows were from some tropical bird.   “I...

            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.          ...

            I was going through some of my old things, and I found this short story I wrote in my high school creative writing class.   I got the idea from a really bizarre dream I had...    Admittedly most of my dreams are strange.  Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!   Here’s part one: The Birthright             The charcoal fire burnt smokelessly and Lysander stopped his interrogation as dawn drew near.   Picking up his harp he leaned back and plucked out a simple tune.   The girl sat quietly across from him, her black hair falling across her face.             Yul, Lysander’s second-in-command silently appeared.   “Is she cleared?”             “She appears to be harmless enough,” the king replied, nodding, “No weapons trai...