Autor’s notes: After many long tries I’ve actually got an original story that might be finished sometime. Go me.

For your information; English is not my first language and there are probably a lot of mistakes in this text, since Word’s grammar and spelling control doesn’t always agree with me. Please let me know if I have commited  any unforgivable linguistic sins!

The Jesters’ TalePrologue

A lonely soldier made his way, painfully slow and stumbling, through the deep, black Nima valley. The dark mountainsides seemed to close in around him, towering up so tall that the sky was only a dark indigo streak, speckled with stars, high above. The soldier did not notice any stars, his only coherent thought was to get away, far away from the horrible, frightful thing that dwelt in the long valley.

Tripping on some loose rocks, he fell to his knees, for which time in the row he did not know. It seemed like the whole night had been nothing but stumbling, falling, getting up again, staggering on until the next time he fell. He did not feel the pain any more, and something in the back of his head told him that it was a bad thing, but he ignored the voice, got to his feet and kept moving.

The rain that had been pouring down since they had set out the day before had plastered his hair to his head, and turned his torn clothes into nothing more than soaked rags. Oh, Lady, had it only been the day before? He felt like he had spent half his life in this cursed valley, trying to force his exhausted body to keep moving though all his strength was long gone. All he wanted was to lie down and sleep, sleep and forget, but he had to move on, he couldn’t stay in Nima, not after what had happened.

The new day was dawning when the soldier finally reached the end of the valley. Leaning on a large boulder for support he raised his head and looked out over the vast Jirac plains, the area that now was called ‘the Battle plains’, after years and years of war. Stopping had been a mistake, he realized, his head swam and his vision was hazy, or at least the little vision he still had left. The rain had diminished during the long night, and was now hardly more than a light drizzle. He forced his numb legs to move again, towards the camp they had left two days before.

He did not know how long he stumbled, only that he could not feel his left arm anymore and his throat was parched with thirst. The world had begun to swirl menacingly witch every step. Fear was the only thing that held him upright now, deep, gnawing fear that filled his whole being and kept him going even though he should be dead. Dead like all the others. If he stopped, It might catch up with him. He did not fear death, he had been a soldier for far too long, but there was death and death.

So he kept moving, step for step, slowly making his way back to camp, back to his comrades.

It was nearly midday when he heard the sound of someone approaching, even though his vision was nearly gone now and he could not see who it was, but the steady thudding of horse hooves against withered grass reached his ears. He stumbled and fell once more, and this time he could not rise again. He kneeled in the grass, listening to the furious sound of blood pounding in his ears, and the voices of the men approaching.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s one of Gelan’s, I think. What’s happened to him?”

  “Lady, look at the poor boy! It’s a miracle he’s even alive with injuries like that. Did he walk the whole way from Nila?”

  “Let’s get him back to camp. The General is waiting for reports.”

Back to camp. Back to safety. But there was no safety; he would never be safe again. Not on this side of the river. Not as long as It existed. Strong arms lifted him and supported him, guiding him towards the horses and helping him up. Someone mounted behind him and draped a steady arm around his waist. He could feel the warmth of the other man’s body, and the smell of the slightly skittish horse. Then he did not feel anything more as the soft, welcoming darkness finally closed in around him.   

*     *     *

  “General, these are the report from the mission to Nima valley.”

  “Just put it on the table, I will look at it later.”

The fifth ranking officer of Jirac’s Royal Army was greatly respected by her men, and for a good reason. There were few who could withstand her penetrating silver eyes and even fewer who dared to oppose her. The soldier who had brought the report to her tent counted himself as quite brave, but he still had to brace himself before telling her the terrible news.    

  “Yes General, but you should know… there has been…great losses.”

The tall, stern woman turned around, facing the young soldier with something quite similar to alarm painting her worn features.

  “I sent fifty men into Nima, lead by my best Captain! How great are the losses? How many have returned?”

The soldier cringed under her piercing gaze and whispered with trembling voice.

  “One, ma’am. Only one man made it back.”