Castle Vervain

            Blaze looked bad-temperedly out of the large windows of her room. She watched the rain pour down, turning the world gray. With an outraged cry she flung the windows open, letting the rain in. She stepped into the icy falls of rainwater, letting it wash away her anger. They’d imprisoned her again. All she’d done was try to live. Staying in this prison of gray castle walls and red velvet wasn’t living. She smiled. It’s not as though they could keep her here. She turned and walked toward the large oaken door. Pressing her ear against it, she could here the guards snoring. Good, they were asleep. Maybe when Sir Lord and Master found she was gone, he’d kill the stupid pigs. She smiled again. The thought of their death pleased her. How many times had they leered into her room, wanting to pillage and destroy her? No more. She pushed her heavy ironwood chair in front of the door with strength unnatural to one of her size and stature. She had become strong enough to be a hindrance to them. She’d saved it for a moment like this.

            They were going to do the unspeakable to her should she remain. It was because of her ‘condition’ as they put it. Her power. They kept her as a sacrifice to resurrect Balthazar; their Demonic God. Her maid, Jocelynn, had told her. Jocelynn was killed. She’d broken her vow of silence to save Blaze.

            She swept up her soaked dress and un-did its laces. She could have slit the laces out of spite, but it seemed a shame to destroy something so fine. She stood there a moment, naked, before pulling a trunk out from under her immense bed. Upon opening it, she heaved a relieved sigh, seeing her familiar traveling clothes, her warrior ensemble. She dressed quickly, knowing she had to be as far away as possible by morning. The Sacrifice was to take place on the next Full Moon and that was only two nights away. Now dressed, Blaze swept over to the opposite end of her chambers, and wrenching a floorboard up with her bare hands, she revealed to the empty room a sword and scabbard. Beneath these was a long bow and a full quiver of flint tipped arrows. She strapped her weapons on. Under all this though, was something just as precious. Her ‘witchcraft’, they said. Medicinal herbs, a powerful Truth serum given to her by Old Jonas on her last escape attempt, and a vial of Deadly Nightshade. She’d meant to use the Nightshade on Lord Lazarus, but she’d been locked up again.

            She rose from her crouched position on the floor, moving resolutely towards the window. She walked by the full-length mirror, stopping as she caught sight of her own reflection. Blaze was lean and fragile looking, hiding her strength well. She had deep, guarded eyes of dark blue, and her long, dark brown hair was pulled into a tight braid trailing down her back. She’d always found herself rather nice-looking, but she attributed that to young men cat-calling whenever she escaped the Castle Vervain.

            She shrugged her shoulders decisively and pulled a rope and grapnel hook from behind the now drenched curtains. She vaguely wondered why the fools never searched her chambers. No time, she surmised. Whirling the hook a few times clockwise at her side she let it go rather lazily. It easily flew out and caught at the next turret. Her parents had done well giving her this room before their deaths at Lazarus’ hands. She had more than a few escape routes. She swung out into the rain without looking back.

            The rain made for excellent cover. Blaze inched along the turret’s outer-most edge, preparing for something she hadn’t yet tried. If it didn’t work, it would surely kill her. At least if it came to that, they couldn’t use her body for the Resurrection. She leapt off the turret and swinging wide of the tower, she let go of the rope.

…

            Outside the gates of Castle Vervain, all that was left of the Resistance had gathered. They knew Blaze would, of course, escape again tonight. She always had the Demon Worshippers underestimating her.

            “What is taking the young maiden so long to swing out from yonder turret?”

Dai Gabriev smiled reassuringly at the wizened old man who had asked the question in the old tongue. Blaze had them worried again; they should have been used to it by now.

            “It’s alright, Old One, she’ll not keep us long.”

A middle-aged woman had overheard, and shook a finger under his nose; no small task when his six-foot frame towered above her.

            “Methinks you’ve taken a fancy to the Chosen One- Ye’d do well to get these blasphemous thoughts out o’that head of yourn!”

Dai laughed, they were so serious these days! He knew he should heed her words, however. Love is blind.

            “Believe me, Mother, nothing will come of it.”

She shook her graying head.

            “If I were thy mother, I’d teach thee some manners.”

He smiled down at the woman. Bold though he was, he had his honor and sense of propriety. That was generally what allowed people to trust and respect him, as it were. Dai’s mind wandered to Blaze again. She’d been born the daughter of the people’s first true benevolent leader. Bryn Vervain had been the golden light of the people, so it was said. He governed with his beautiful wife Cassandra until he made his first and only mistake-welcoming Lazarus into his castle. Claiming to be of the Priesthood to the Northlands, he gained access to the old secrets hidden deep within the castle. In truth he was of the Old Worship; the demon callers, with their desire for other worldly powers. He’d found all he needed to resurrect Balthazar when Blaze was just two years old. A Chosen One-the proverbial necromancer; one with unusual powers of telepathy who possesses an enlightened spirit. Such a person, particularly a woman-child, was highly prized by the Old Order for her capacity to become the Sacrifice. Blaze’s mother, Cassandra, also possessed the gifts, but she was not of the proper age. It must take place on the girl’s sixteenth birthday at the stroke of midnight. First her wrists would be slashed just enough so as to let her blood flow down her naked body into runes cut into the stone floors. Then, the blood would be set afire around her, sending shocks of white-hot pain through her as her blood burned. With the priests of the Order chanting their Demonic verses around her, she would have her heart pierced with a blade of pure silver dipped in the vial of Balthazar’s blood so it would mingle with her own. Through all this she would not die, however great her agony was. A combination of her own powers and those of the priests around her would see to that. During all this, Balthazar’s remains would be laid in front of her still burning blood. When his own blood mingled with hers, it was said his fleshly body would return, and lapping up the burning blood, would rise again.

            After hearing the tales as a boy, he’d vowed to protect his people and vanquish the Old Ways once and for all. At the age of fourteen, he’d met a girl hiding out in the forest near his home. This had been the beginning of his infatuation with Blaze Vervain. She’d run away for the first time, and she’d been running all night. He’d brought her to his home, where his parents were glad to be of service to the Vervains. Dai had watched her as she slept soundly on his bed. He had thought her quite a beauty-fair skinned, dark hair like silk. When Lazarus’ men caught up with her, she’d promised to escape again, and thanked them for their hospitality. Dai found that he already was in love with her.

            Almost two years ago now. They’d often fooled around in play, he still hadn’t told her how he felt. If they still lived when this thing was ended, then he might tell her. But then again, he might not. Perhaps he would worship her as his Goddess from afar. Both had definite romantic possibilities in his mind, but the first option was far more desirable.

…

            Landing lightly on her feet, she breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t wanted to die, but she’d always know that the war was far bigger than she. She looked around, letting her eyes adjust to the dim. Suddenly sensing an approach, she stiffened, knowing movement would give her away. She saw the silhouette of a tall, lean man in the moonlight. Smiling, she crept up silently behind him. Lifting a hand swiftly to cover his mouth, she bit the man gently on his neck. Arching his back, the man twisted her around, pinning her against the tower wall and kissing her roughly.

            “Dai Gabriev, you fresh boy! I’d punished you severely, but we haven’t the time.” She gasped after he’d pulled away.

He smiled in the dark.

            “Ah, my young Lady-Love, punishment or payment; I believe a debt is owed.”

Then, taking her hand, he ran towards the gates.

            They hadn’t run too long before the pair met up with the Resistance. Blaze looked them over; a motley crew they were, but all of them strong, hard-working people. She made the necessary greetings and met quickly with the councilmen to confirm their status. The entire company (comprising of only thirty-odd individuals) moved out. They hadn’t been detected, so for now she was in the clear. Wistfully, she looked to her precious Dai. She’d loved him from the start, though she’d never said so, and she wanted nothing more than to be his; as a lover, as a wife even. He was witty, generous, caring, and strikingly hansom. She knew, however, that it couldn’t be. Not at the present anyhow. There was just too much at stake. She would have to be content with his occasional embraces and attentions. For all she knew, he had taken a lover already. She grew saddened at the thought. Blaze put it to the back of her mind, and turned her thoughts elsewhere.

            Though small it was, the Resistance was strong. They ran through the graying dawn towards their base at Fort Rowan. Fort Rowan was aptly named; it was in truth, a rowan tree that had been hollowed and magically enlarged so that many people could hide undetected inside, complete with dormitories and a small kitchen area. Their base hadn’t been easy to come by--enchanted trees were costly, and persuading their creators to give one up was a tricky business indeed. Elves were singularly infuriating creatures. They took a lot of pride in their magic, and would only give it up if they liked you. This usually involved a favor. The Resistance was lucky, however, that Blaze found Raziel.

            The young elf had been in a fair amount of trouble with the Elven Council, and for the price of a tree, Blaze had gotten him out of it. (It was rumor that she had elven blood.) She’d never really explained what sort of trouble Raziel had gotten into, but she’d muttered something along the lines of ‘adulterated little nit.’ Raziel himself had chosen to maintain the base and join the resistance.

            Upon reaching Fort Rowan, Raziel opened the doors to admit the force inside. As he did so, he playfully scolded Blaze:

            “And where were you, Miss? Been playing out in the rain again, I see. It’s a jolly good thing I’ve been making soup in there… well don’t dawdle! I shouldn’t think there’d be any soup left at all after those buggers get finished.” The irrepressible elf continued his nattering as he led Blaze inside, while making a point of ignoring Dai.

            Dai sighed deeply, and stared hard at the elf. Raziel was tall, blonde, and, like all of his race, quite beautiful. He wondered did the elf fancy Blaze. It was likely; she’d gotten him out of trouble and allowed him to stay at Fort Rowan. Dai wondered why Raziel didn’t seem to like him. He probably saw Dai as competition for Blaze’s favor. He cut his idle thoughts short and joined the meeting inside.

…

            “What’s to be done now, Lady Vervain?”

Blaze looked toward her questioner, the village leader, Azgaroth. She smiled wearily.

            “That was the easy part-getting away scott-free. The hard part’ll come after the Worshippers are cheated out of their little ceremony and go all out for our-‘scuse me-my blood.” She paused to observe the stony expressions surrounding her. “But for now, sleep’s to be done. Meeting adjourned to all except Sir Gabriev, Sir Azgaroth, Raziel, Sir Grinch, and myself. Good Night!” With a wave, Blaze sent the stunned force off to various rooms inside Fort Rowan. Then, sitting down in front of the soup Raziel had brought out for her, she looked at her Generals. “What is to be done? I’ve got no notion whatsoever as to what we’re going to do when a bunch of cracked old priests in robes come knocking on our doors.” As they took their respective places around the table, with Dai on Blaze’s right and Raziel to her left, Rangus Grinch, her spy, spoke up. “I’ve a small idea-but it would be dangerous.” He paused, “And it’s only a thought. Not even a real plan.” Blaze motioned for him to go on. “It would involve Sir Gabriev and Raziel…”

…