Stories Thread

[TheFlax]

Somewhere in the Alps, 1087

The rhythmic sound of hooves echoed through the low valley, lazy snowflakes slowly covering the rocky landscape. Huddled in her cape, Constance peered pass the score of armed men escorting and into the valley proper, filled with jagged outcroppings which left only a narrow path on which to travel. As her party lazily made their way through the treacherous pass, a shiver ran down her spine. Nervously, she brought the cape tighter around her body with one hand, while clutching the reins of her horse in the other.

A blur of movement to her right grabbed Constance's attention, but before the princess could say anything, the twang of crossbows broke the cadence of the hooves, something whistled by her and the world exploded in a cacophony of shouts and screams. She immediately froze in terror, yet her horse reacted differently, bolting through the narrow path and clipping another rider on the way which almost unseated Constance. In a few moments she would have been away from the fighting and relatively safe, were it not for a deft hand that caught her billowing cape.

At first, the clasp choked her, until she was pulled off her horse and into the snow-covered dirt. In shock she tried to cry out, but only a gurgle came out. Clutching her throat, she rolled in the dirty snow, wheezing. Pain racked her body from the fall, but Constance rose to her knees as her breathing came back. That is, until she was violently pushed back into the frozen dirt. The princess pushed herself on her back and finally got a look at the assailant. His clothing was tattered, stitched together in many places and his features were similar in many ways; his olive skin was pockmarked, his dark hair in disarray was greasy and the stubble of a uneven beard on his chin was messy.

With a grin, the man threw aside his shoddy spear and picked up the princess by the folds of her ample bliaud. As she was inexorably pulled to him, Constance desperately tried to pry his hand away, to no avail. Back on her feet, inches from his face, both their gazes interlocked. There was a pause while they eyes stared at each other, while both man and woman were surprising impassive. The princess' assailant broke the moment first, his features twisting in pain as he let out gasp.

Both of their gazes dropped to the man's side, where a gem encrusted dagger was lodged, the small pale hand gripping it already mostly covered in blood. For some reason unknown to her, Constance locked sight with the man and was riveted by what she saw in his eyes. His life ebbed as his eyes glazed over and seemed to look past her, to something far away. Constance knew she should have felt some sort form of disgust or remorse at the still warm blood on her hands and the lifeless shell of a man now at her feet, but she felt elation instead. She now felt more alive than at any instance in her life, she felt in control, she felt powerful.

The din of battle behind her diminished and Constance, bloody dagger in hand, turned to realize she was in deep trouble. Most of her escort were now dead or routed and the last few were on the verge of being dispatched. There was no where to run and however easy it had been to kill one of them, she doubted she could repeat the exploit on so many. Nevertheless, she steeled herself, clutching the dagger tightly in her right hand, Constance decided she would go down fighting.

Her bravado was interrupted by the thundering sound of many hooves and they were getting closer. The motley band of men, at least those still alive, looked at each other with questioning glances before scrambling in all directions. Constance remained still in the middle of the path, a cool breeze played in her brown hair, partly covering her hair. She had all but forgotten the blood caking on her hand and small blade, her gaze completely focused on the newcomers, absently she sheathed the dagger in her belt.

Instantly Constance recognized the livery of Hermann von Munich. How could she not? The man had hounded her ever since they had met briefly in Bordeaux. Despite his keen interest in the princess, she did not reciprocate and up until now, her escort had kept him at bay. Part of her was grateful for his timely arrival, but another more suspicious part of her found all this highly suspicious. As Hermann himself neared her, she sighed in resignation, there wasn't much she could do about those last thoughts and so she decided not to dwell on them.

"Highness! We heard shouts and..." Hermann finally noticed the blood on her hand and his eyes widened considerably. "Are you injured?"

"No, I am fine." She answered curtly.

He managed a weak smile before continuing in his broken french.

"You were lucky Highness that mein men and I were nearby. I am glad to see you are unharmed."

"Yes, lucky."

If he was put off by her dry reply, Hermann showed no sign of it.

"I was on mein way to Bologna, but if I remember correctly, you were heading for Rome, ja?"

Constance nodded and kept a blank visage.

"That is... correct."

He gave her a hearty smile before motioning her closer.

"Sehr gut! You should ride with me, for your safety of course."

"Of course..." She muttered sardonically as she grabbed the offered hand and deftly climbed on the horse to rest in front of Hermann. With a few words in German, he and his men set off and Constance rolled her eyes as his hands moved closely around her lower body, ostensibly trying to grab the reigns. It was not long before they had left the site of the battle, but Constance found her mind wandering back to what happened. especially to the blank look of the man she had killed; and she smiled.