Blooded Crown Prompt Submission for Ironage Media: The Marquise M.C. Deltat
A gentle breeze blew through the King’s Wood, rustling among many newly sprouted branches and vines. Spring had sweeped the winter away, and with that came a revitalization of nature. Bright green trees casted massive shadows over vivid flowers, as the river raced along. All that was a distraction however, for while it seemed as if life burst at the seams of the forest, the end of the snow also came the end of silence. The winter truce, which had kept peace among the animals of the King’s Wood, was over. Prey animals once more returned to considering every shudder of nature, fearful of what hides in the bushes.
It was one such prey animal, a wandering direhorn wandering, which found itself in the unenviable position of being stalked. Not by another animal however, but by a human. The Dowager Queen hung at her position on the treetop, gripping her rifle, as she watched the massive deer-like creature wander to the river. There was hesitation after each step, as the direhorn watched for the dangers It would never find. Apprently it’s difficult to spot a human hiding twenty feet in the air. Safe at her location, The Dowager, meanwhile, aimed her rifle. She didn't shoot though. She wanted the beast to bend over for a drink, to expose more of its spine.
“Come on” she whispered, cheek against the butt of her bolt-action rifle. Direhorns, while large, were surprisingly fast. If the first shot missed, the beast would have a chance to flee. “Drink already.” She watched as the direhorn positioned itself vaguely underneath her. The proximity of the animal required her to shoot from a pretty extreme angle; almost upside down dangling from her knees, with rifle and blonde hair pointing down. Her core was burning, but she didn't allow that to distract her. She banished the pain and held her breath. The direhorn had finally gone down. The Dowager aimed, gun directed right at the beast’s spine.
Yet a moment before trigger-pull, a large crack echoed in the King’s Wood. Its otherness pierced through the usual cacophony of nature; audible to all.
The Dowager’s eyes unconsciously looked towards the source before refocusing at the direhorn. “Shit.” She cursed. The beast was readying to flee. The odds of success were rapidly decaying, and they only got worse each second. She fired.
Too slow. Just an audible crack left her gun, the direhorn was already escaping. The bullet flew faster than the eye could track, but even that was too slow. The animal had got away, escaping a certain death. The bullet meanwhile crashed into the river, launching water and broken shards of boulder into the air. The Dowager cycled the bolt of her gun as quickly as possible, but when the next round was chambered, the animal was already gone. She sighed.
Yet, as she listened to the fading footsteps, her eyes focused on the animal’s former spot. As the waves settled from the explosion, there seemed to be barest tint in the otherwise clear water. “Did I clip you?” The Dowager asked herself as her eyes narrowed. Was it a trick of the light, or perhaps some weirdly colorful fish?
She sighed in thanks. There was blood. The barest hint, but it was definitely in the impact zone, along with further drops following the direhorn’s path down river. The Dowager whistled, a sharp piercing noise, and enabled the safety on her rifle. Then, she rocked back and forth on her tree branch before building enough momentum to launch into the air. She quickly adjusted herself right-side up, before throwing her free hand at a nearby vine. The vine allowed her to slow her descent as she carefully fell to the ground. Waiting there was her mount, a massive white wolf named Frost; a precious gift from her late husband.
Once on solid ground, she walked to her happily dog. After a few pats, she unthreaded the barrel from her rifle and stowed the two pieces into the pack on her wolf. The dog’s grin drew a grin of her own out, but it quickly faded away once she heard a returning whistle. She didn’t turn. She knew who it was
“Marissa,” The Dowager croaked, “In case you forgot, quiet is a necessity when hunting.”
“Ya Marissa,” Another voice added, “Snapping branches generally warns the prey that they are being stalked.”
The Dowager watched as three women, each also mounted, came from various directions. They were her ladies-in-waiting, or what remained of them anyway. The only servants left from when her husband had ruled. They were all she had, so she made sure they joined in on this hunting trip.
Marissa approached first. “Sorry M’lady. It was an accident.” She bowed while still mounted. “It’s been so long since the last hunt, and we haven’t left the palace in so long.” She absent mindlessly began petting her wolf as a form of stress relief, before turning to the other ladies-in-waiting. “I am sorry it got away, Venalina.”
“She has a point, Venalina” A third lady agreed with Marissa. “To be totally honest, this whole hunting trip came out of nowhere.” She considered the situation, rubbing her chin in thought. “We haven't gone for a hunt since before … Ow, why did you hit me?”
“Quiet Annalee” Venalina smacked Annalee’s shoulder. “Don’t talk about that.” She side-glanced at the Dowager, nervous at the implication of their former lives.
The Dowager, however, didn’t react. Instead, she mounted Frost, and led him to the river. “Let’s go, we aren’t done.” Frost trotted towards the direhorn’s former spot.
“Um, are you sure m’lady?” Marissa asked. “Is it’s okay to chase?” Her mount caught up to Frost, so that Marissa more easily speak to The Dowager. “You know we aren’t supposed to leave the inner King’s Wood. I don’t even know if anyone is aware we left the palace in the first place.”
The Dowager waved the concerns aside. “I am sure no one will miss us for the next hour.” She answered. “Don’t worry about it. These are my husband’s lands anyway.”
“They used to be,” Annalee mumbled.
The Dowager ignored the slight. Instead, her heels gently tapped Frost’s massive flanks. He sped up to the bloody web still vaguely hovering in the water. Once there, he dipped a paw in, getting some of the blood onto his fur. Then, he pulled the paw out and sniffed.
“So, which way are we going?” Venaline asked. “It went down iver, but I couldn’t track any more beyond that.”
“Frost has a sample of his blood.” The Dowager pointed at the red-dyed fur. “I wasn’t able to kill it, but there certainly was contact. I suggest you have your wolves smell the sample as well.” she ordered. Without a word, her three ladies-in-waiting had their wolves join Frost. It was about 30 seconds later when the Dowager leaned down to Frost’s ear and whispered, “Do you have it?” she rubbed his chops. “Do you know where the direhorn went?”
Frost huffed, as if insulted by the implication that the answer could be no. Immediately, he pivoted his head not quite down the river, but adjacent to it. He seemed to be implying that the direhorn had followed the river before ultimately going deeper into the forest.
“Alright,” The Dowager chuckled. “Sorry for questioning you.” She looked at the three joining her. “Ready?” she asked.
“Yes m’lady,” The three answered in unison. As they spoke, their wolves positioned themselves behind Frost, ready to follow the moment the charge began.
Once more, the Dowager clicked her heels against Frost. “Onward.”
Frost exploded into a charge. He ran out of the river, through the cobblestone shore, and straight into the forest. However, instead of running on the forest floor, Frost expertly leaped from branch to branch until he was almost flying amongst the treetops. Only the occasional give caused by a tree reacting to a massive wolf’s weight clued her to the reality of Frost’s locomotion. There was not a single wasted movement in Frost’s pseudo-flight. There was no fear, only freedom, as the wind flew past the Dowager’s face, causing her hair to trace her path.
It was joyous. As her rude ladies-in-waiting had so unceremoniously mentioned, it had been long since she the last hunt. And Marissa hadn’t been wrong with her objection, although not in the way she had thought. It wasn’t that the Dowager had to stay within a certain portion of the King’s Wood, she technically wasn’t allowed to leave the palace period. It was an old restriction, one that was enacted right after the October Revolution. Before, she had been allowed to do anything. Her husband had put no limits upon her behavior in those carefree times.
Then his head was cut off and she became a prisoner of the victors, trapped in her own home. They had never ordered her death, and she constantly wondered why. Was it some sort of pardon, to pander to the supporters of the prior government? Maybe it was a way to temper the aggression of the revolution? The Dowager had thought about it for years, but had arrived to a satisfying answer. Instead, she just wondered if she was happy that she had been kept alive. That question was easier; usually it was no. Not today though; everything changed today.
The Dowager’s thoughts were disturbed by Frost’s bork. She paused the introspection and refocused. “Are we close?” She asked her dog.
He nodded, still leaping from branch to branch.
The Dowager returned the nod. She threw her right hand far out and shouted. “Break off! Make sure it can’t flee this time!”
Without a word, the three ladies dutifully went their separate ways. Frost meanwhile, continued forward. After a few seconds later, Frost cut the speed and landed on a particularly rigid tree branch. Once stabilized, the wolf got low and inched forward, queit as a mouse. As Frost went, the Dowager began tightly strapping herself into Frost’s saddle. Once she confirmed the bond, she took out her rifle and reassembled it. By the time the barrel was re-attached, she had visual on the direhorn. It was sitting near some small pond, with its back against some exposed bedrock. It hadn’t noticed her, but that seemed mostly due to how intensely it licked at its wounds rather than Frost’s quiet approach. It helped that, once more, the pair was about twenty feet above the animal.
“Alright Frost,” She silently clicked as she undid the safety on her gun. “Sloth-grip.” She requested.
The wolf murmured in displeasure. Sloth grip was not his favorite, but he obeyed in the end. With practiced movement, Frost locked his legs around the tree branch and rotated down. The result was that both Frost, and his rider, found themselves upside down, staring at the direhorn. The Dowager shifted maybe an inch during the translation, but the straps, and the firm grip her thighs had around the wolf, kept her stable.
Hair once more dangling freely below her, the Dowager aimed her rifle at the direhorn; hopefully for the last time. Yet it was as her rifle locked on target that she paused in consideration. The wound she had inflicted on the beast looked far worse than originally assumed. She had thought it would be a mere flesh wound, but one look at the gaping wound on igx rear thigh clearly proved that notion false. Either way, the discrepancy breed hesitatation.
“Maybe its escape aggravated the wound?” she considered. It almost made sense. While fleeing her, the animal ran recklessly enough to rend an already weakened thigh apart. ‘Or maybe…’ She trailed off as she hard a faint, yet intense, growl.
The Dowager watched as the direhorn stood, doing its best to put no weight on the weakened leg. A lion had approached, one with blood already coating its mane.
“Or something else attacked.” The Dowager realized. She found herself completely frozen as the lion pounced. Injured as the direhorn was, its defense could barely be considered as such. It tried to evade the lion’s bites, to kick when it had to, but the physical disparity between the beasts was just too massive. The only reason the lion didn’t immediately win was because it found joy in playing with its food. The direhorn did eventualy realize that, attempting to turn and run in repsonse, but it didn’t make it far.
With the game over, the lion leaped onto the direhorn. Both crashed to the ground as claws stabbed into the direhorn’s back. With escape impossible, the lion finished its job with the thigh wound. In a single bite, the direhorn’s leg was ripped clean off its body.
The resulting scream was distinctly inhuman. A loud braying which a human could never replicate. Yet, the pain represented by the screech stirred something deep inside The Dowager; memories once long repressed. Memories which proved strong enough to rouse her from her stupor. She re-aimed at the lion and fired.
She didn't miss. The bullet flew clean into the lion, freezing it mid-maul. Then, it stayed frozen until the barest breeze nudged the mighty animal onto the ground. Nothing more was required. It collapsed in a massive plume of smoke, coated in blood and sand.
“Drop.” The Dowager ordered. Frost obeyed immediately. In a blink of the eye, Frost released his grip on the branch and allowed gravity to take over. During the fall, Frost used his tail to rotated himself rightside-up mid-fall. He landed gently on his paws, as gracefully as a falling leaf. Then, he trotted over to the pair of dead animals. Once a few steps away, The Dowager stepped off Frost’s saddle and carefully approached the lion, rifle at the ready. She put the gun down upon seeing the massive hole in its skull. She rested the rifle against her shoulder and kneeled, inspecting the massive predator.
“You’re pretty big aren’t you?” She asked the corpse. “Pity there is no one home to show you off to.” She continuned to inspect the corpse until the sound of breathing startled her. In a shock, she turned to the direhorn. There was not even a five-inch patch of unmarred skin; everything had been slashed. That combined with the missing leg, it was a massive suprise when she saw the direhorn’s chest rise and fall. It was ragged and pain-ridden, but the animal was still alive.
The Dowager stared at the animal. Why did this animal still fight to live? Even now, is it scared of death? Maybe there was some primal urge to survive, one that refused willing passage into the other.
“Would I have the strength that you have?” The dowager whispered. “Would things have been better if I was? Was resistance all that was needed for survival?”
But then again, some fates were worse than death. For this animal, there is no happy ending. At best, it stumbles along until the next lion or tiger or whatever comes by. All the pain would have meant nothing more than a late night meal to something else.
The Dowager sighed. She reached to a holster at her side and pulled out a pistol. With a slightly shaking hand, she leveled it at the direhorn’s head. For a second, she thought the eyes of the animal were looking at her, but it was a mere trick of the light. They were completely glazed over. “I grant you the Queen’s peace.” She fired.
Without a second glance, she returned to Frost, who nuzzled his overgrown head into her arm, doing his best to comfort her. “Thanks Frost.” She chuckled, petting him. “It’s funny, I came to kill this animal, but I wasn't prepared for this level of suffering.” She let the silence swallow her as she enjoyed the ambiance of being in the King’s Wood with her wolf.
It didn’t last. Three sharp whistles pierced the calmness. An anxious frown formed on The Dowager’s face. She leaped into Frost saddle and urged him forward. Also knowing what the whistling meant, Frost immediately leaped into the trees.
Life at risk.
‘Who dare threaten my ladies-in-waiting?’ The Dowager thought. ‘Did a magic beast attack them? Surely they could handle that much’
Yet as Frost charged through the branches, the noise definitely did not suggest an animal attack. “Are those gunshots?” She asked. She hoped it was her ladies shooting, but she knew it wasnt. The echoes were too powerful to have been caused by her ladies-in-waiting’s rifles.
“Faster.” She urged her mount. Frost barked in confirmation and sped up. He was leaping entire trees at this point. They were close. The shooting had paused but the final three echoes had been extremely loud.
“No!” Dowager cried as Frost ceased running. The issue with charging into conflict is that you also risk charging into tragedy. About thirty feet below, a little way from the river, she saw the bullet-ridden bodies of Annalee and Venalina, along with their wolves. The Dowager’s eyes grew wide. Immediately, she turned Frost around. “Run,” She yelled. “We must leave!”
The massive wolf barked. He turned and leaped away, fleeing in the direction of the river. Before he could get far however, another set of cracks echoed.
The Dowager could feel the vibration caused by the bullets passing into Frost’s body. Due to the pain, he misplaced his paws as he landed on the next branch and fumbled. He tried to correct, but his fine motor control was gone. Both of them crashed to the ground as the assailants continued to fire bullets at The Dowager.
With the last of his strength, Frost maneuvered his body to position himself in-front of his rider. Such that his body was in-between the source of the fire and The Dowager. Unfortunately, such a position also prevented him from landing safely.
There were several cracks as Frost hit the ground. The Dowager could see limbs at incorrect angles, along with his pure white fur rapidly reddening from the bullet holes. Quickly, she undid the straps securing her to the saddle and hide behind her wolf. All of a sudden, the gunfire paused. “Four pairs of bullets.” The Dowager had counted, but it was hard to plan ahead when Frost’s mutilated body was right in-front of her. She kissed the wolf’s forehead, tears trickling down her cheeks as she closed Frost’s eyes. “I love you. You were the last gift I had left…” She thought before forcing the thoughts away.
Mourn later, survive now. Don’t let Frost’s death be meaningless. She wiped the tears away as she thought. ‘Both rifles fired four rounds before they had to stop. Pretty sure that’s it before reload.’ Quickly, she reached for the pack alongside Frost’s flank and grabbed a few rounds to reload her pistol and rifle. The shaking prompted more bullets sent her way. “Trigger happy too. Good.” She considered as she untied the lace keeping her clock on. She counted the impacts, even as they eviscerated her friend. “Two pairs.” She thought. “Alright.”
She readied her rifle and threw her cloak into the air. Immediately, the latter set of bullets came, completely destroying the garment. The Dowager meanwhile, used the distraction. She popped over Frost, and aimed. It wasn’t hard to find the pair of men firing at her. They were still using their winter uniforms. As such, the dark blue vests juxtaposed obviously from the bright green welcomed by the spring. Two quick shots, in-between a single breath, and the two bodies fell. She didn’t wait to confirm though, as right after shooting, she immediately turned and ran to the river. Jumping into the water was her greatest chance of survival.
Unfortunately, those two soldiers were far from it. More bullets flew in from her sides. The Dowager did her best to strafe between the rocks and trees, but it had cost her momentum. She was moving at a crawl at this point and that was bad. If she got stuck, her life became forfeit. It would have to come down to a test of fate. Counting to three, The Dowager magdumped vaguely where she thought her attackers were. Then she sprinted. There was nothing for a few seconds, but soon her attackers grew some balls and resumed their attack. She gritted her teeth as splinters and rocks exploded at her sides did their best to stop her charge to the river.
She made it. With a running leap, she dived into the water. Her head and chest made it in, but just at the last moment a lucky round pierced her thigh. The pain made her gasp and inhale a mouthful of water. Completely underwater, she had to decide what was worse, death from drowning or from getting shot. Eventually however, the decision was stolen as her body’s automatic survival instinct kicked in. Her head exploded out of the water, liquid being painfully coughed out of her lungs… or maybe the pain was that bullet wound in her thigh?
Luckily, the river did save her life. The water flow was fast and erratic. That combination of factors made aiming difficult, apparently far beyond the skill of her attackers. Yet, it was not all good news. With her injured leg, it was all she could do to not drown as she went along for the ride. The current,decided to take payment for her trip away from death. The water crashed her into roots and rocks. There was no way to fight the current in her present state, so she just tried to survive, however long or far the water took her.
Eventually, the river followed a sharp curve. One sharp enough that she slammed onto a small sandy beach. Slowly crawling pver the sand on all fours, she shivered due to a combination of freezing cold and raw pain. Her entire body was covered in welts from her many impacts, and the wound in her thigh had only grown worse.
But she couldn't stop. She had to survive.
“There she is!” A female voice yelled.
“Fuck!” The Dowager screamed as she watched five soldiers charge her. Her hand went to her side holster and grabbed her pistol. Barely holding herself up with three limbs, she shakily aimed and fired.
Three bullets exploded out before the gun clicked without a fourth bullet leaving the barrel. It was a jam. The rounds already in flight each dropped a soldier, but there were still two of them left. And instead of scaring them away, the remaining men only charged faster. A few steps away from the attacks, The Dowager watched as they lifted the butts of their rifles. She frantically tried to clear the chamber, but just couldn’t do it.
Her clammy hands failed her. The rifle that slammed into her face didn't hurt. She blacked out before the pain could register.
The Dowager Queen awoke some time later. Now her face hurt, swollen to the point that she couldn't see more than five feet out. Past that, it was all a foggy mess. That wasn’t the most distressing part of her situation however. The truly horrible part was that both her arms were held at her sides by soldiers, and she was forced to remain on her knees. For the longest time, no one spoke, content to keep her trapped as a prisoner; a painful memory experienced once more. Eventually however, many dozens of heartbeats later, she heard footsteps. As she heard them approach, she decided to try. “How do you suppose the people will react when they learn how you’ve treated the Dowager Queen?” She asked.
No one replied. Instead, the footsteps finally ceased as a man stepped within her presently limited frame of view. She was being held down, so at first, she only saw his knees. To resolve that, he bent down so that he could clearly see her face. Still quiet, he reached out and roughly grasped the Dowager’s chin. He turned her head to one side, and then to other, carefully inspecting each of her many bruises.
“This will not stand,” She tried to be menacing, despite the obvious look of discomfort on her face. Every touch stung intensely.
The man eventually let go of her chin and leaned in close, right to her ear. “Just between us,” he whispered, “What was your plan after you blew up the palace with your bomb? What were you going to do after killing every single person with experience in running a government?” He leaned back to see if she reacted.
She didn’t. She maintained silence.
Unperturbed, the man didn’t continued. He stood up, but also signaled his men to release her head, so that they could maintain eye contact. “Did you think that after committing a massacre, you would be allowed to just walk back into leadership?” He chuckled. “I should hope not. It was a role you never had.” He paused, making a show of considering the thought. “I wonder what your perfect world would look like?”
“I have done nothing.” The Dowager Queen could no longer bite her tongue. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” She eventually replied.
A boisterous laugh filled the air. “I am sure you don’t.” In a single moment, the smile faded into a scowl. He bent down and leaned in. “Your time has been over for a long time, crone.” He poked her forehead as he spoke. “You were kept alive only to serve as a reminder; so that none would ever forget the failures of the past.”
“My era was peaceful and prosperous!” The Dowager yelled. “Everyone had food and clean water, there was no war! What more could you have asked for” She did her best to look defiant. “Could you say the same of today? Your revolution killed thousands. It took my family, and for nothing. Your king, my husband, was kind. He didn’t deserve what the lot of you put him through.”
“Really?” The man was shocked. “Still lying till the end, I see.” He grew angry, as his gaze pierced her. “I lived in the palace during your time, you know. I worked bringing logs to fireplaces, a role generally ignored by royalty. And do you know what I saw?” He paused to see if she would ask. When she didn’t, he continued.”You are right. Your husband was kind.” He grabbed her broken nose, causing her to cry out in pain. “You weren’t.”
The Dowager didn’t respond; coping with the pain took much effort. All the man got from her was extremely heavy breathing.
He continued none-the-less, although he did pivot the conversation. “Do you know why I know that you planted the bomb?” He stood back up and stretched. Then he whistled.
The Dowager squinted. The pitch of the whistling sounded familiar. However, before she could ponder it, a figure began their approach from beyond the current abilities of her vision. At first, it was blurry that she couldn’t tell whom it was. Once the women snapped into focus, she wished she hadn’t. “Marissa!” The Dowager screamed. “How could you? I trusted you.” A force rose from somewhere, causing her to shake in fury. The guards which held her arms very quickly forced her back down. “How dare you betray my confidence!”
“Betray you!” Marissa yelled. “As if you are in any position to judge me.” She closed the distance separating the two of them. “I was your lady-in-waiting. I saw everything!” She blinked, choking back whatever still remaining loyalty tried to suppress the outburst. “Even if you didn’t realize it, I saw everything.” She repeated.
The Dowager gasped. “You mean…”
Marissa nodded. “Yes. I saw how you constantly flirted with other heads of state. How carelessly you betrayed your vows with the king. But above all, I saw when you took it a step to far and traded secrets for young men and favors!”
“You knew about that?” The color had drained from The Dowager’s face. The stoicism in Marissa’s face was her answer.
“But trying to destroy your home once wasn’t enough for you, was it?” Marisass accused. She turned around and began walking away. As she did, she spoke to The Dowager for the last time. “I used to look up to you. Now, I never want to see you again. I don’t regret reporting you.”
And with that Marissa disappeared from The Dowager’s gaze. The man however, stepped right back in front. In his hands, he was fumbling around with a pistol, her pistol. “As I said, you were kept alive as a reminder. But I can now see that you refuse to die silently. As long as you lust over what was once yours, there will always be danger clouding around you.”
The Dowager opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead, she painfully gasped as tears rolled down her face. She watched as he pulled the slide back on her gun. She closed her mouth.
“Jammed you know?” He said. “When you went into the water, everything got damp and muddy. Blowback mechanism failed to cycle the casing out, and bring a new round in.” He manuelly pulled the spent bullet out, unjamming the gun. Once a new round was in the chamber, the man pointed it right at her head. Before he pulled the trigger however, he spoke his final words to her.
“I have one final question.” He asked, staring into The Dowager’s eyes. “If you were successful and got the kingdom you wanted back, what would you have done to the troublemakers? In your brave new world, what do you do to the people like you” His grip was firm and steady as he spoke.
The once and former queen didn’t answer verbally. Instead, her gaze shifted from the man’s eyes to the gun in his hands.
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Blooded Crown
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Blooded Crown
Prompt Submission for Ironage Media: The Marquise
M.C. Deltat
A gentle breeze blew through the King’s Wood, rustling among many newly sprouted branches and vines. Spring had sweeped the winter away, and with that came a revitalization of nature. Bright green trees casted massive shadows over vivid flowers, as the river raced along. All that was a distraction however, for while it seemed as if life burst at the seams of the forest, the end of the snow also came the end of silence. The winter truce, which had kept peace among the animals of the King’s Wood, was over. Prey animals once more returned to considering every shudder of nature, fearful of what hides in the bushes.
It was one such prey animal, a wandering direhorn wandering, which found itself in the unenviable position of being stalked. Not by another animal however, but by a human. The Dowager Queen hung at her position on the treetop, gripping her rifle, as she watched the massive deer-like creature wander to the river. There was hesitation after each step, as the direhorn watched for the dangers It would never find. Apprently it’s difficult to spot a human hiding twenty feet in the air. Safe at her location, The Dowager, meanwhile, aimed her rifle. She didn't shoot though. She wanted the beast to bend over for a drink, to expose more of its spine.
“Come on” she whispered, cheek against the butt of her bolt-action rifle. Direhorns, while large, were surprisingly fast. If the first shot missed, the beast would have a chance to flee. “Drink already.” She watched as the direhorn positioned itself vaguely underneath her. The proximity of the animal required her to shoot from a pretty extreme angle; almost upside down dangling from her knees, with rifle and blonde hair pointing down. Her core was burning, but she didn't allow that to distract her. She banished the pain and held her breath. The direhorn had finally gone down. The Dowager aimed, gun directed right at the beast’s spine.
Yet a moment before trigger-pull, a large crack echoed in the King’s Wood. Its otherness pierced through the usual cacophony of nature; audible to all.
The Dowager’s eyes unconsciously looked towards the source before refocusing at the direhorn. “Shit.” She cursed. The beast was readying to flee. The odds of success were rapidly decaying, and they only got worse each second. She fired.
Too slow. Just an audible crack left her gun, the direhorn was already escaping. The bullet flew faster than the eye could track, but even that was too slow. The animal had got away, escaping a certain death. The bullet meanwhile crashed into the river, launching water and broken shards of boulder into the air. The Dowager cycled the bolt of her gun as quickly as possible, but when the next round was chambered, the animal was already gone. She sighed.
Yet, as she listened to the fading footsteps, her eyes focused on the animal’s former spot. As the waves settled from the explosion, there seemed to be barest tint in the otherwise clear water. “Did I clip you?” The Dowager asked herself as her eyes narrowed. Was it a trick of the light, or perhaps some weirdly colorful fish?
She sighed in thanks. There was blood. The barest hint, but it was definitely in the impact zone, along with further drops following the direhorn’s path down river. The Dowager whistled, a sharp piercing noise, and enabled the safety on her rifle. Then, she rocked back and forth on her tree branch before building enough momentum to launch into the air. She quickly adjusted herself right-side up, before throwing her free hand at a nearby vine. The vine allowed her to slow her descent as she carefully fell to the ground. Waiting there was her mount, a massive white wolf named Frost; a precious gift from her late husband.
Once on solid ground, she walked to her happily dog. After a few pats, she unthreaded the barrel from her rifle and stowed the two pieces into the pack on her wolf. The dog’s grin drew a grin of her own out, but it quickly faded away once she heard a returning whistle. She didn’t turn. She knew who it was
“Marissa,” The Dowager croaked, “In case you forgot, quiet is a necessity when hunting.”
“Ya Marissa,” Another voice added, “Snapping branches generally warns the prey that they are being stalked.”
The Dowager watched as three women, each also mounted, came from various directions. They were her ladies-in-waiting, or what remained of them anyway. The only servants left from when her husband had ruled. They were all she had, so she made sure they joined in on this hunting trip.
Marissa approached first. “Sorry M’lady. It was an accident.” She bowed while still mounted. “It’s been so long since the last hunt, and we haven’t left the palace in so long.” She absent mindlessly began petting her wolf as a form of stress relief, before turning to the other ladies-in-waiting. “I am sorry it got away, Venalina.”
“She has a point, Venalina” A third lady agreed with Marissa. “To be totally honest, this whole hunting trip came out of nowhere.” She considered the situation, rubbing her chin in thought. “We haven't gone for a hunt since before … Ow, why did you hit me?”
“Quiet Annalee” Venalina smacked Annalee’s shoulder. “Don’t talk about that.” She side-glanced at the Dowager, nervous at the implication of their former lives.
The Dowager, however, didn’t react. Instead, she mounted Frost, and led him to the river. “Let’s go, we aren’t done.” Frost trotted towards the direhorn’s former spot.
“Um, are you sure m’lady?” Marissa asked. “Is it’s okay to chase?” Her mount caught up to Frost, so that Marissa more easily speak to The Dowager. “You know we aren’t supposed to leave the inner King’s Wood. I don’t even know if anyone is aware we left the palace in the first place.”
The Dowager waved the concerns aside. “I am sure no one will miss us for the next hour.” She answered. “Don’t worry about it. These are my husband’s lands anyway.”
“They used to be,” Annalee mumbled.
The Dowager ignored the slight. Instead, her heels gently tapped Frost’s massive flanks. He sped up to the bloody web still vaguely hovering in the water. Once there, he dipped a paw in, getting some of the blood onto his fur. Then, he pulled the paw out and sniffed.
“So, which way are we going?” Venaline asked. “It went down iver, but I couldn’t track any more beyond that.”
“Frost has a sample of his blood.” The Dowager pointed at the red-dyed fur. “I wasn’t able to kill it, but there certainly was contact. I suggest you have your wolves smell the sample as well.” she ordered. Without a word, her three ladies-in-waiting had their wolves join Frost. It was about 30 seconds later when the Dowager leaned down to Frost’s ear and whispered, “Do you have it?” she rubbed his chops. “Do you know where the direhorn went?”
Frost huffed, as if insulted by the implication that the answer could be no. Immediately, he pivoted his head not quite down the river, but adjacent to it. He seemed to be implying that the direhorn had followed the river before ultimately going deeper into the forest.
“Alright,” The Dowager chuckled. “Sorry for questioning you.” She looked at the three joining her. “Ready?” she asked.
“Yes m’lady,” The three answered in unison. As they spoke, their wolves positioned themselves behind Frost, ready to follow the moment the charge began.
Once more, the Dowager clicked her heels against Frost. “Onward.”
Frost exploded into a charge. He ran out of the river, through the cobblestone shore, and straight into the forest. However, instead of running on the forest floor, Frost expertly leaped from branch to branch until he was almost flying amongst the treetops. Only the occasional give caused by a tree reacting to a massive wolf’s weight clued her to the reality of Frost’s locomotion. There was not a single wasted movement in Frost’s pseudo-flight. There was no fear, only freedom, as the wind flew past the Dowager’s face, causing her hair to trace her path.
It was joyous. As her rude ladies-in-waiting had so unceremoniously mentioned, it had been long since she the last hunt. And Marissa hadn’t been wrong with her objection, although not in the way she had thought. It wasn’t that the Dowager had to stay within a certain portion of the King’s Wood, she technically wasn’t allowed to leave the palace period. It was an old restriction, one that was enacted right after the October Revolution. Before, she had been allowed to do anything. Her husband had put no limits upon her behavior in those carefree times.
Then his head was cut off and she became a prisoner of the victors, trapped in her own home. They had never ordered her death, and she constantly wondered why. Was it some sort of pardon, to pander to the supporters of the prior government? Maybe it was a way to temper the aggression of the revolution? The Dowager had thought about it for years, but had arrived to a satisfying answer. Instead, she just wondered if she was happy that she had been kept alive. That question was easier; usually it was no. Not today though; everything changed today.
The Dowager’s thoughts were disturbed by Frost’s bork. She paused the introspection and refocused. “Are we close?” She asked her dog.
He nodded, still leaping from branch to branch.
The Dowager returned the nod. She threw her right hand far out and shouted. “Break off! Make sure it can’t flee this time!”
Without a word, the three ladies dutifully went their separate ways. Frost meanwhile, continued forward. After a few seconds later, Frost cut the speed and landed on a particularly rigid tree branch. Once stabilized, the wolf got low and inched forward, queit as a mouse. As Frost went, the Dowager began tightly strapping herself into Frost’s saddle. Once she confirmed the bond, she took out her rifle and reassembled it. By the time the barrel was re-attached, she had visual on the direhorn. It was sitting near some small pond, with its back against some exposed bedrock. It hadn’t noticed her, but that seemed mostly due to how intensely it licked at its wounds rather than Frost’s quiet approach. It helped that, once more, the pair was about twenty feet above the animal.
“Alright Frost,” She silently clicked as she undid the safety on her gun. “Sloth-grip.” She requested.
The wolf murmured in displeasure. Sloth grip was not his favorite, but he obeyed in the end. With practiced movement, Frost locked his legs around the tree branch and rotated down. The result was that both Frost, and his rider, found themselves upside down, staring at the direhorn. The Dowager shifted maybe an inch during the translation, but the straps, and the firm grip her thighs had around the wolf, kept her stable.
Hair once more dangling freely below her, the Dowager aimed her rifle at the direhorn; hopefully for the last time. Yet it was as her rifle locked on target that she paused in consideration. The wound she had inflicted on the beast looked far worse than originally assumed. She had thought it would be a mere flesh wound, but one look at the gaping wound on igx rear thigh clearly proved that notion false. Either way, the discrepancy breed hesitatation.
“Maybe its escape aggravated the wound?” she considered. It almost made sense. While fleeing her, the animal ran recklessly enough to rend an already weakened thigh apart. ‘Or maybe…’ She trailed off as she hard a faint, yet intense, growl.
The Dowager watched as the direhorn stood, doing its best to put no weight on the weakened leg. A lion had approached, one with blood already coating its mane.
“Or something else attacked.” The Dowager realized. She found herself completely frozen as the lion pounced. Injured as the direhorn was, its defense could barely be considered as such. It tried to evade the lion’s bites, to kick when it had to, but the physical disparity between the beasts was just too massive. The only reason the lion didn’t immediately win was because it found joy in playing with its food. The direhorn did eventualy realize that, attempting to turn and run in repsonse, but it didn’t make it far.
With the game over, the lion leaped onto the direhorn. Both crashed to the ground as claws stabbed into the direhorn’s back. With escape impossible, the lion finished its job with the thigh wound. In a single bite, the direhorn’s leg was ripped clean off its body.
The resulting scream was distinctly inhuman. A loud braying which a human could never replicate. Yet, the pain represented by the screech stirred something deep inside The Dowager; memories once long repressed. Memories which proved strong enough to rouse her from her stupor. She re-aimed at the lion and fired.
She didn't miss. The bullet flew clean into the lion, freezing it mid-maul. Then, it stayed frozen until the barest breeze nudged the mighty animal onto the ground. Nothing more was required. It collapsed in a massive plume of smoke, coated in blood and sand.
“Drop.” The Dowager ordered. Frost obeyed immediately. In a blink of the eye, Frost released his grip on the branch and allowed gravity to take over. During the fall, Frost used his tail to rotated himself rightside-up mid-fall. He landed gently on his paws, as gracefully as a falling leaf. Then, he trotted over to the pair of dead animals. Once a few steps away, The Dowager stepped off Frost’s saddle and carefully approached the lion, rifle at the ready. She put the gun down upon seeing the massive hole in its skull. She rested the rifle against her shoulder and kneeled, inspecting the massive predator.
“You’re pretty big aren’t you?” She asked the corpse. “Pity there is no one home to show you off to.” She continuned to inspect the corpse until the sound of breathing startled her. In a shock, she turned to the direhorn. There was not even a five-inch patch of unmarred skin; everything had been slashed. That combined with the missing leg, it was a massive suprise when she saw the direhorn’s chest rise and fall. It was ragged and pain-ridden, but the animal was still alive.
The Dowager stared at the animal. Why did this animal still fight to live? Even now, is it scared of death? Maybe there was some primal urge to survive, one that refused willing passage into the other.
“Would I have the strength that you have?” The dowager whispered. “Would things have been better if I was? Was resistance all that was needed for survival?”
But then again, some fates were worse than death. For this animal, there is no happy ending. At best, it stumbles along until the next lion or tiger or whatever comes by. All the pain would have meant nothing more than a late night meal to something else.
The Dowager sighed. She reached to a holster at her side and pulled out a pistol. With a slightly shaking hand, she leveled it at the direhorn’s head. For a second, she thought the eyes of the animal were looking at her, but it was a mere trick of the light. They were completely glazed over. “I grant you the Queen’s peace.” She fired.
Without a second glance, she returned to Frost, who nuzzled his overgrown head into her arm, doing his best to comfort her. “Thanks Frost.” She chuckled, petting him. “It’s funny, I came to kill this animal, but I wasn't prepared for this level of suffering.” She let the silence swallow her as she enjoyed the ambiance of being in the King’s Wood with her wolf.
It didn’t last. Three sharp whistles pierced the calmness. An anxious frown formed on The Dowager’s face. She leaped into Frost saddle and urged him forward. Also knowing what the whistling meant, Frost immediately leaped into the trees.
Life at risk.
‘Who dare threaten my ladies-in-waiting?’ The Dowager thought. ‘Did a magic beast attack them? Surely they could handle that much’
Yet as Frost charged through the branches, the noise definitely did not suggest an animal attack. “Are those gunshots?” She asked. She hoped it was her ladies shooting, but she knew it wasnt. The echoes were too powerful to have been caused by her ladies-in-waiting’s rifles.
“Faster.” She urged her mount. Frost barked in confirmation and sped up. He was leaping entire trees at this point. They were close. The shooting had paused but the final three echoes had been extremely loud.
“No!” Dowager cried as Frost ceased running. The issue with charging into conflict is that you also risk charging into tragedy. About thirty feet below, a little way from the river, she saw the bullet-ridden bodies of Annalee and Venalina, along with their wolves. The Dowager’s eyes grew wide. Immediately, she turned Frost around. “Run,” She yelled. “We must leave!”
The massive wolf barked. He turned and leaped away, fleeing in the direction of the river. Before he could get far however, another set of cracks echoed.
The Dowager could feel the vibration caused by the bullets passing into Frost’s body. Due to the pain, he misplaced his paws as he landed on the next branch and fumbled. He tried to correct, but his fine motor control was gone. Both of them crashed to the ground as the assailants continued to fire bullets at The Dowager.
With the last of his strength, Frost maneuvered his body to position himself in-front of his rider. Such that his body was in-between the source of the fire and The Dowager. Unfortunately, such a position also prevented him from landing safely.
There were several cracks as Frost hit the ground. The Dowager could see limbs at incorrect angles, along with his pure white fur rapidly reddening from the bullet holes. Quickly, she undid the straps securing her to the saddle and hide behind her wolf. All of a sudden, the gunfire paused. “Four pairs of bullets.” The Dowager had counted, but it was hard to plan ahead when Frost’s mutilated body was right in-front of her. She kissed the wolf’s forehead, tears trickling down her cheeks as she closed Frost’s eyes. “I love you. You were the last gift I had left…” She thought before forcing the thoughts away.
Mourn later, survive now. Don’t let Frost’s death be meaningless. She wiped the tears away as she thought. ‘Both rifles fired four rounds before they had to stop. Pretty sure that’s it before reload.’ Quickly, she reached for the pack alongside Frost’s flank and grabbed a few rounds to reload her pistol and rifle. The shaking prompted more bullets sent her way. “Trigger happy too. Good.” She considered as she untied the lace keeping her clock on. She counted the impacts, even as they eviscerated her friend. “Two pairs.” She thought. “Alright.”
She readied her rifle and threw her cloak into the air. Immediately, the latter set of bullets came, completely destroying the garment. The Dowager meanwhile, used the distraction. She popped over Frost, and aimed. It wasn’t hard to find the pair of men firing at her. They were still using their winter uniforms. As such, the dark blue vests juxtaposed obviously from the bright green welcomed by the spring. Two quick shots, in-between a single breath, and the two bodies fell. She didn’t wait to confirm though, as right after shooting, she immediately turned and ran to the river. Jumping into the water was her greatest chance of survival.
Unfortunately, those two soldiers were far from it. More bullets flew in from her sides. The Dowager did her best to strafe between the rocks and trees, but it had cost her momentum. She was moving at a crawl at this point and that was bad. If she got stuck, her life became forfeit. It would have to come down to a test of fate. Counting to three, The Dowager magdumped vaguely where she thought her attackers were. Then she sprinted. There was nothing for a few seconds, but soon her attackers grew some balls and resumed their attack. She gritted her teeth as splinters and rocks exploded at her sides did their best to stop her charge to the river.
She made it. With a running leap, she dived into the water. Her head and chest made it in, but just at the last moment a lucky round pierced her thigh. The pain made her gasp and inhale a mouthful of water. Completely underwater, she had to decide what was worse, death from drowning or from getting shot. Eventually however, the decision was stolen as her body’s automatic survival instinct kicked in. Her head exploded out of the water, liquid being painfully coughed out of her lungs… or maybe the pain was that bullet wound in her thigh?
Luckily, the river did save her life. The water flow was fast and erratic. That combination of factors made aiming difficult, apparently far beyond the skill of her attackers. Yet, it was not all good news. With her injured leg, it was all she could do to not drown as she went along for the ride. The current,decided to take payment for her trip away from death. The water crashed her into roots and rocks. There was no way to fight the current in her present state, so she just tried to survive, however long or far the water took her.
Eventually, the river followed a sharp curve. One sharp enough that she slammed onto a small sandy beach. Slowly crawling pver the sand on all fours, she shivered due to a combination of freezing cold and raw pain. Her entire body was covered in welts from her many impacts, and the wound in her thigh had only grown worse.
But she couldn't stop. She had to survive.
“There she is!” A female voice yelled.
“Fuck!” The Dowager screamed as she watched five soldiers charge her. Her hand went to her side holster and grabbed her pistol. Barely holding herself up with three limbs, she shakily aimed and fired.
Three bullets exploded out before the gun clicked without a fourth bullet leaving the barrel. It was a jam. The rounds already in flight each dropped a soldier, but there were still two of them left. And instead of scaring them away, the remaining men only charged faster. A few steps away from the attacks, The Dowager watched as they lifted the butts of their rifles. She frantically tried to clear the chamber, but just couldn’t do it.
Her clammy hands failed her. The rifle that slammed into her face didn't hurt. She blacked out before the pain could register.
The Dowager Queen awoke some time later. Now her face hurt, swollen to the point that she couldn't see more than five feet out. Past that, it was all a foggy mess. That wasn’t the most distressing part of her situation however. The truly horrible part was that both her arms were held at her sides by soldiers, and she was forced to remain on her knees. For the longest time, no one spoke, content to keep her trapped as a prisoner; a painful memory experienced once more. Eventually however, many dozens of heartbeats later, she heard footsteps. As she heard them approach, she decided to try. “How do you suppose the people will react when they learn how you’ve treated the Dowager Queen?” She asked.
No one replied. Instead, the footsteps finally ceased as a man stepped within her presently limited frame of view. She was being held down, so at first, she only saw his knees. To resolve that, he bent down so that he could clearly see her face. Still quiet, he reached out and roughly grasped the Dowager’s chin. He turned her head to one side, and then to other, carefully inspecting each of her many bruises.
“This will not stand,” She tried to be menacing, despite the obvious look of discomfort on her face. Every touch stung intensely.
The man eventually let go of her chin and leaned in close, right to her ear. “Just between us,” he whispered, “What was your plan after you blew up the palace with your bomb? What were you going to do after killing every single person with experience in running a government?” He leaned back to see if she reacted.
She didn’t. She maintained silence.
Unperturbed, the man didn’t continued. He stood up, but also signaled his men to release her head, so that they could maintain eye contact. “Did you think that after committing a massacre, you would be allowed to just walk back into leadership?” He chuckled. “I should hope not. It was a role you never had.” He paused, making a show of considering the thought. “I wonder what your perfect world would look like?”
“I have done nothing.” The Dowager Queen could no longer bite her tongue. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” She eventually replied.
A boisterous laugh filled the air. “I am sure you don’t.” In a single moment, the smile faded into a scowl. He bent down and leaned in. “Your time has been over for a long time, crone.” He poked her forehead as he spoke. “You were kept alive only to serve as a reminder; so that none would ever forget the failures of the past.”
“My era was peaceful and prosperous!” The Dowager yelled. “Everyone had food and clean water, there was no war! What more could you have asked for” She did her best to look defiant. “Could you say the same of today? Your revolution killed thousands. It took my family, and for nothing. Your king, my husband, was kind. He didn’t deserve what the lot of you put him through.”
“Really?” The man was shocked. “Still lying till the end, I see.” He grew angry, as his gaze pierced her. “I lived in the palace during your time, you know. I worked bringing logs to fireplaces, a role generally ignored by royalty. And do you know what I saw?” He paused to see if she would ask. When she didn’t, he continued.”You are right. Your husband was kind.” He grabbed her broken nose, causing her to cry out in pain. “You weren’t.”
The Dowager didn’t respond; coping with the pain took much effort. All the man got from her was extremely heavy breathing.
He continued none-the-less, although he did pivot the conversation. “Do you know why I know that you planted the bomb?” He stood back up and stretched. Then he whistled.
The Dowager squinted. The pitch of the whistling sounded familiar. However, before she could ponder it, a figure began their approach from beyond the current abilities of her vision. At first, it was blurry that she couldn’t tell whom it was. Once the women snapped into focus, she wished she hadn’t. “Marissa!” The Dowager screamed. “How could you? I trusted you.” A force rose from somewhere, causing her to shake in fury. The guards which held her arms very quickly forced her back down. “How dare you betray my confidence!”
“Betray you!” Marissa yelled. “As if you are in any position to judge me.” She closed the distance separating the two of them. “I was your lady-in-waiting. I saw everything!” She blinked, choking back whatever still remaining loyalty tried to suppress the outburst. “Even if you didn’t realize it, I saw everything.” She repeated.
The Dowager gasped. “You mean…”
Marissa nodded. “Yes. I saw how you constantly flirted with other heads of state. How carelessly you betrayed your vows with the king. But above all, I saw when you took it a step to far and traded secrets for young men and favors!”
“You knew about that?” The color had drained from The Dowager’s face. The stoicism in Marissa’s face was her answer.
“But trying to destroy your home once wasn’t enough for you, was it?” Marisass accused. She turned around and began walking away. As she did, she spoke to The Dowager for the last time. “I used to look up to you. Now, I never want to see you again. I don’t regret reporting you.”
And with that Marissa disappeared from The Dowager’s gaze. The man however, stepped right back in front. In his hands, he was fumbling around with a pistol, her pistol. “As I said, you were kept alive as a reminder. But I can now see that you refuse to die silently. As long as you lust over what was once yours, there will always be danger clouding around you.”
The Dowager opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead, she painfully gasped as tears rolled down her face. She watched as he pulled the slide back on her gun. She closed her mouth.
“Jammed you know?” He said. “When you went into the water, everything got damp and muddy. Blowback mechanism failed to cycle the casing out, and bring a new round in.” He manuelly pulled the spent bullet out, unjamming the gun. Once a new round was in the chamber, the man pointed it right at her head. Before he pulled the trigger however, he spoke his final words to her.
“I have one final question.” He asked, staring into The Dowager’s eyes. “If you were successful and got the kingdom you wanted back, what would you have done to the troublemakers? In your brave new world, what do you do to the people like you” His grip was firm and steady as he spoke.
The once and former queen didn’t answer verbally. Instead, her gaze shifted from the man’s eyes to the gun in his hands.
“I thought so.”