Chapter 7 BlazeBlaze
The long column that her father had sent to escort her to Kingshill stretched out behind her young dark grey charger, a few men bearing her father's standard marching before her; a golden heart wrapped in a thin red ribbon on a black background. Her stallion wanted to charge forward, to moved his long black legs and gallop over the horizon, yet the soldiers that the king had sent to meet her at the port kept the pace steady.
She looked over to Ash, flanking her left on his sturdy little bay filly. And he's a good lad, strong and a good fighter, Ser Basil had said. You're besotted, the pair of you. Blaze looked out of the corner of her eyes to watch his strong hands keep the young filly in check. He was handsome, there was no doubt, with his smoke coloured hair and grey eyes. I've seen the way you look at him, the knight had said.
Does everyone know?
Dark clouds hung low ahead, over the last hill before Kingshill. Their path cut through dense forest, yet the well trod dirt track w
Chapter 6 ChiltonChilton
He stared across the cold wasteland that had become his home, the wind whistling in his ears behind his white wolf pelt hood. A few flakes of crystal snow settled on his grey gloves, the warm wool layers inside the only things keeping his fingers from freezing. It was a warm day, for Moorland, but Chilton craved the warmth of Azaria's winters, warmer still than the Moorish summers.
"Come inside, my love. Come sit with me by our fire."
Edlyn was a short plump woman, made rounder still by the countless layers of wool and fur that she wrapped around her stout body. Her nose was wide, as were her fat lips. She had three chins and hardly a neck. Chilton could hardly bare to look at her, yet he forced a warm smile on his blue tinged lips for her, doing as she bid.
"I have sent for a bard to come play for us, my love. Dolma, his name is."
'Dolma the Dull', he thought. He had played at their wedding feast three months ago. A long tune, thankfully drowned out by the feasting soldiers an
Chapter 5 HarrisonHarrison
The clouds hung dark as the king's retinue came ever closer to the great city of Kingshill. They had left the cover of the tall spruces and oak trees early that day, and now the horses would shy at the gusts of wind, and the courtiers were not so happy either.
Harrison rode dutifully behind Lord Llewellyn, Clyve marching his charger beside him. Their three horses walked briskly in the blustering afternoon air, their strides longer than those of the prancing ponies that the lords and ladies in their rich satins and silks rode. The black wool jerkin that was the young squire's uniform clung to his wiry frame. He had saddle sores and his legs were numb, but he knew better than to complain as loudly as the courtiers that they rode steadily past to head to the front of the column.
His lord had been restless since they had left, yet only now had Harrison begun to hear muttering from others of his troubles. It was that Lovegard girl's fault, he knew it. If she had not had not spurned
Chapter 4 LlewellynLlewellyn
It had been three weeks since the great mass of King Truman's court had left the comforts of Shellhall for the road to Kingshill. Llewellyn had cherished every moment of the journey, finding ways of avoiding his uncle whenever the Lovegard girl and her cousin were near.
He had already learnt to hate her, the smiles that never left her sweet face, those too white teeth and her curved body. At first he was sure it was just spite that consumed him, the foul memories of the war against her kin. The fact that her father had killed his. But now he was sure it was something more.
His Grace had continued to suggest a marriage between Llewellyn and the Lovegard girl, yet the heir to Goldmead would not yield.
Llewellyn kicked his heels in his horse, racing past the column of servants, a few carriages carrying the women and the helmetless knights astride their steeds. Sir Rosbert, ever the faithful friend, was right behind him as they slowed to walk next to the king's horse.