A Song of Summer Winds Ch. 01

PROLOGUE

The two armies met in the field two hours before sunrise. At noon, the carnage still ensued. By the end of the day, however, the defenders had been beaten, driven back into the protective walls of the city they were desperately trying to defend.

The attackers were ruthless, renewing their assault upon the city day after day, without fail. Eventually, they starved the city, depriving it of badly needed food and water.

On the eighteenth day of the assault, the defenders surrendered. They opened their gates and raised a white flag.

The attackers descended upon the city like a swarm of locusts, devouring and destroying everything in sight, despite the offering of surrender. Men were slaughtered, women raped, and children mutilated or thrown from the city walls.

The proud city of Tyrsis was no more.

* * * * *

The bashar Myles Kelg was a vicious man. He enjoyed the slaughter. Called the Swinging Sword because of his prowess in martial arts and his insatiable bloodlust, it had been his decision to sack and destroy Tyrsis. The fire was within his veins, and nothing could stop him.

He had assaulted the city with a fury that was inhuman. Riding through the streets upon his great black destrier, he had slaughtered countless men and women as they fled before his wrath. Suddenly, another rider appeared. Cloaked in the green and silver coat of arms of the Tyrsian royal family astride a white courser, the newcomer charged him. Kelg was ready, moving his spear to impale the man as he came on.

But, the man was too fast. Using his shield, he nudged Kelg's spear aside, and dealt a wringing blow with his warhammer to the still surprised bashar. Kelg fell from his horse like a sack of bricks. He looked up, the face of his former prince burned into his mind.

He swore vengeance.

* * * * *

Prince Alyn Oakheart, rightful heir to the once magnificent city-state of Tyrsis, found himself without home and without family.

The pain ran deep. His father, mother, and sisters...all lost. Lost to the invading southron dogs, led by that traitorous bastard Kelg.

In the city, he had briefly been tempted to stop and finish the job he had started with Kelg, but his time in the city had ran out. The van of the Myrian armies was already on his trail, hot in pursuit. He escaped, though just barely.

His home had burned down, the great flames licking up to high heaven, visible from even 10 leagues. Sobs of pain and grief racked his body. The agony of the arrow wound in his shoulder and axe cut to his thigh made stars appear in his sight of vision. He lay down on the floor, and curled up, not caring anymore as to what would happen to him. Sleep took him, granting him merciful peace.

* * * * *

She was a princess, supposedly. Or, at least, that is what everyone told her. She did not desire her mother's life; she did not desire to be the Queen of Myr.

The countryside was her true domain. She had run away from home, evading the scouts that her mother and father had sent after her. She knew that eventually she would have to return, but she wished to enjoy the little time she had left free from the bonds of duty. Her thoughts were disrupted as she glanced at the road ahead.

In the distance, she saw a corpse, lying upon the ground in the middle of the road. Curiosity getting the better of her, she urged her horse forward. Creeping up to the man, she realized that he was not dead, merely asleep. He was a beautiful man, full golden hair and broad shoulders. A rictus of agony and grief contorted his beautiful face into a grimace that made her heart tighten.

Where had this man come from?

His sable riding cloak was sodden with blood in several places. He had several injuries, including a festering pierce wound to his left shoulder.

Startling her, the man groaned, feverish eyes flickering open for a moment. She stared, for a moment, into his incredible eyes. Violet orbs that penetrated into her soul, making her heart flutter. A spasm shook his body, and he closed his eyes again, barely aware of himself let alone the beautiful maid that now was cradling his head.

She tried to sling him over her horse, but he was too heavy. She finally dragged the man, as gently as she possibly could, to a nearby clearing in the forest off of the road. She stripped the riding cloak off of the man using her stiletto dagger, and froze.

Staring back at her was the surcoat of a Tyrsian prince. Her sworn enemy, though she did not know him. She struggled, unable to decide as to whether she should nurture the stranger back to health, or slit his throat.

* * * * *

He awoke with a start. His head hurt and he was bound to a tree, wrists and ankles tightly secured. The pain from his shoulder and leg were gone.

She was in front of him again, the slight, elfish woman that he thought to be only a figment of imagination, a product of his head fever. Their eyes locked again, emerald green against gold-flecked violet. He could not understand his emotions for this strange woman.

Remembering his bonds, he called to her. She looked up.

"What is it?" Her voice had a soft and high singsong lilt. The voice captivated him and, for a moment, made him again forget about the world around him.

Recovering from his stupor a moment later, he asked "Why hast thou bound me, my lady?"

"You are my mortal enemy, and would do me and my family harm. Upon the morrow, we shall return to Myr. May god have mercy upon your soul."

Her remark surprised him. Mortal enemy? Myr? He did not know this woman, he would certainly have remembered meeting her.

"Pray tell, how have I incurred your family's wrath. I know not even who thou are."

"I am Princess Alysane Taligari, of the house of Myr. I know who you are, my lord of Tyrsis." Her voice was steely and cold, though it wavered slightly.

Her reply shook him to the bone. Despite his infatuation with this lithe, gorgeous creature in front of him, the urge to strangle her and spill her blood ran through him, coursing through his every fibre like lightening. She was the very enemy that he hated most, an anathema to his existence. Her family had ruined his life, destroying his family, killing his people, and driving him from his homelands, hunted like a common animal. She was right, if given half of a chance, he would slaughter her whole family. The look of fury and rage in his eyes showed through in his eyes. She flinched under his stare. It was almost...almost as if she felt unsure about holding him captive. But that would be impossible.

He brushed those thoughts aside. Instead, his mind bent towards escape...and revenge.

The princess had been thorough in her search of his body, removing all of his weapons and armor. However, she had missed the dagger that he kept sheathed in his boot. He tested his bonds. They were not tied tightly enough...slipping through them would be a simple enough job, though it would take time due to his still healing shoulder. That night, after Alysane had curled up in her furs and slumbered softly, he slowly freed himself from his wrist binds. Before an hour, he had succeeded in getting his left hand free. After cutting away the rest of his bonds with his boot dagger, he sprang upon the still sleeping Alysane. Roughly spinning her onto her stomach, he tied her hands and her ankles together. The shock in her eyes smoldered into uncontained fury. She bit at him, trying to tear his jugular out with her teeth, as dainty as they were. The captive was now the captor and the captor the captive.

He could not decide her fate. On one hand, he felt like strangling her until her soft, unblemished skin turned black and blue. On the other, he felt himself immeasurably drawn to her full red lips and jade eyes, resisting the temptation to hold her and caress her. Eventually, he decided to do neither. He would wait, after all, time was one thing he had in abundance.

* * * * *

Myles Kelg strode into the Grande Palais of House Taligari of Myr a hero and celebrity amidst the cheers and applauds of the whole city. His defeat of the long hated Tyrsians had given him almost god-like status in the eyes of Myrians everywhere. He felt invincibility cloaking him.

Later that same day, when he had the heads of King Taligari and all of his family mounted on spears in the Grand Palais courtyard, the cheering stopped. Myr had a new king, King Myles Kelg, the first of his name.

Overconfident as usual, he did not think it important that a Taligari elsewhere was still alive...

* * * * *

They headed north on the Elkroad, to the freelands away from Myr.

It had been three days, and his emotions concerning the girl riding in front of him had not cleared. At times, he found himself staring at her, lost in the littlest of things, like the smooth curve of her neck, or the bare skin of her shoulder. She held him entranced. At night, when the dreams of his family returned, the urge to do away with her returned, sometimes overwhelming all of his thoughts.

He still did know where he was going, let alone, what to do about her.

The Tyrsian prince was still a mystery to her. At times, he would look at her with the utmost tenderness and something that bordered on love. Other times, the hate in his eyes caused her to close her eyes and try to forget the world around her. He was a madman, that much was evident and, if she did nothing, he would eventually capitulate to one of his humors and either rape her or slit her throat.

She needed to escape this madman.

On the fifth day of travel, the opportunity presented itself. The prince allowed her to ride without her restraints. Taking advantage of the lull of late afternoon, she dug her heels into the horse that she was riding, urging it to surge ahead and carry her to safety. She could hear his curse as she took off. She reached the bluff a hundred meters off before he caught up with her. Her pony was nowhere near as fleet as the white courser he sat astride. With one muscular arm, he swept her entirely off of her pony and dumped her unceremoniously on the ground. She fell and the wind was knocked from her. She looked up at him and saw that, surprisingly enough, he was chuckling to himself. The sight she made, she admitted to herself, was quite humorous.

The prince, not wanting to take anymore chances slung her over the horse and tied a rope to the headplate of her pony so that he could control its movement. She had realized the futility of escape and gave up trying to resist him.

* * * * *

Myr was slowly losing its magnificence. The once great city continued to suffer under the boot of its new ruthless king.

King Kelg was in a rage that day, killing two people for just having looked at him from outside of the Palais. He still had not found Alyn. It had been only one week since the sack of Tyrsis. The thought of Alyn escaping him infuriated his sense of pride. Calling upon his viziers, Kelg ordered them to make it known throughout the lands that he would offer a rich reward to whoever caught the Prince and brought him back to Myr, dead or alive.

Within a day, hundreds of freeriders everywhere began searching for the missing prince, each intent upon gaining their own fortunes.

* * * * *

They arrived in the free city of Nymeria three days later. Exhausted and in want of a hot meal, they took lodging in a local Inn, posing as husband and wife. The world swirled around her and her gut wrenched within for some inexplicable reason. Something felt horribly wrong to her.

As they sat at a small table, eating a meat stew with bread out of a clay bowl, she herd snippets of the conversation going on around the bar.

"King Taligari is dead, you say?"

"Yeah, the traitorous Tyrsian bashar killed him and the rest of the royal family. They say the butcher left their bodies for the dogs and mounted their heads on spikes in the courtyards for the crows and vultures."

"Ah well. The whole south is going mad these days. If we aren't careful, it will spread here. Say, did you here that Caddy Barbuckle was in town last week? No, really..."

Before realizing what was happening, she was on her feet and running. Surprisingly, her captor let her run...after all, where could she go? She ran to the room they were occupying and threw herself onto the bed, great sobs of grief shuddering through her body.

She heard the door open and close. The bolt was slammed home, locking the door.

Rough hands grabbed her and quickly covered her mouth, stifling the scream that formed in her throat. She looked up. A rough, ugly man with a puckered scar on his left cheek held her. She could feel him against her body.

His hands wandered over her smoothe supple body, eliciting another feeble attempt at escape as she came to know of his intent.

His rough callused hand reached under the hem of her skirt and slowly stroked up her leg. He ignored her renewed thrashing, his hand continued to wander higher, and higher, and higher...

* * * * *

A part of him rejoiced. God had delivered justice and House Taligari was no more. The contentment in his heart curdled sourly when he saw the face of Alysane. Her green eyes had gone blank and moist, and her mouth quivered. She bolted for the door, unaware of the man that she knocked over in her haste. He slowly followed after her, unsure as to whether he should offer his condolences to her or not. After paying the innkeeper for their dinners and helping the fallen man to his feet, he went upstairs.

Something was wrong. The door was locked. Quietly, he brang his eyes to a crack in the door. There was an intruder, and he was all over Alysane, roughly pulling her clothes off of her as she attempted to struggle.

Without thinking, he kicked the door open. The man, surprisingly enough, was on his feet with shortsword drawn in the blink of an eye. His own sword sang as it was drawn forth from his scabbard. The two met in a clash of steel. The mystery man and the prince were both strong and very skillful. In minutes, both of the combatants were covered with minor cuts. The prince finally gained the upper hand and forced the man to his knees. As the man stumbled and tried to get up, the prince stabbed forward with his longsword, piercing the heart of the man, twisting as he withdrew his blade. The man was dead before he even hit the ground.

The prince turned to Alysane. She was trembling, still dealing with the shock of her family's death and her near-rape. She was half naked and shivering. The prince, without thinking, moved towards her, tenderness and compassion in his eyes. Taking her into his embrace, he led her to the bed. That night, they lay in the bed together, she softly crying as he tried to console her.

In the morning, they were off again. Something had changed in between them. During their journey, he never looked at her with hate and scorn as he had earlier. Something in him had changed. He knew, with certainty, that he loved the small wisp of a woman that rode before him. The soft silkiness of her colt black hair, the inviting promise of her sweet red lips, the swell of her breasts, and the flair of her hips all intoxicated him. He felt emotions rising in him that he had never felt before. God save him.

She had cried and cried each night that they were abroad. The hot summer nights reminded her of her home, of her father and mother, her brothers and sisters. Each night, she would give herself into the arms of her enemy, seeking solace in his strong embrace. At night, they would lay together, sharing their strength and finding comfort in the other.

Fate had tossed them together. She was sure of this. The "madman" of before had been tempered. He no longer bound her and, for her part, she no longer felt like escaping. He was the only attachment she had to the real world, everything else was gone.

* * * * *

That night, in their bed, she snuggled in closer to him, pressing the curves of her body into his body. He was surprised when her mouth found his and covered it. His lips tasted salty like the open sea, he returned the kiss, exploring her mouth in unbridled passion. His arms circled around her slender waist and gripped her closer. She breathed in his musky scent, it made her heady and dizzy.

His left hand found her breast, and slowly teased her nipple into erection through the thin cloth of her bodice. Her hands wandered across his chest, removing the shirt that he wore to gain access to the broad valley of muscle that rippled in desire underneath.

His hands wandered across her body, teasing her, electrifying her, setting her on fire with desire. He unlaced her bodice, releasing her breasts to his skilled hands. In savage lust, he ripped her skirt off of her, leaving her completely naked except of a small band of cotton, covering her femininity. Looking down at her body, she became embarrassed and quickly tried to cover her full breasts with her hands.

Gently, he took her hands into his own, and kissed them. He lay her down on the blanket and kissed his way down her neck. Her smooth, soft skin rippled with desire under his ministrations. A heat that she had never felt before began to grow in between her thighs. She moaned and grasped his head, running her small hands through his luxurious mane of silvery blonde hair. He looked up, the amethysts in his eyes searching her face. His hands wandered down her body, carressing her muscular, toned legs, stopping finally at the curve of her buttocks. He pressed his fingers against her panties, feeling the extent of her arousal through the thin material. His flickering fingers elicited a drawn out moan of pleasure from her as he kissed the juncture between her thighs, making her panties wet. He inhaled her scent, marveling at the simultaneously sweet and tangy scent of her nectar. Her hips gyrated around his head as she continued to whimper in ecstasy. His tongue snaked out again, rubbing into her silken flesh through her sodden panties. She cried out loudly, hips bucking in wild abandon. Her body gleaned in the soft moonlight with a slight sheen of sweat.

Unable to control himself any longer, Alyn hooked his fingers through the top of her panties and slid them down her long, shapely legs. Her own hands sought out the tie in the breeches that still confined him, quickly freeing his cock from its woolen prison. She took hold of him, gasping at the rapidly expanding size of his chamber. He positioned himself above her, ready to plunge his raging member into her fiery depths. He slid in slowly, relishing the friction and wetness. A quarter of the way down, he encountered a barrier, Her hymen. She was still a maid.

Pressing his mouth onto hers, he savagely thrust downwards, breaking through her maidenhood. Her scream disappeared into his throat. He began to pump in and out of her, slowly at first but picking up speed as he went. Her initial pain quickly transformed into unimaginable pleasure. His face hung above hers, tender and loving. She brought her hand up to his jawbone, languorously drawing a line across his face from cheek to jawbone. At this time, his tempo increased to a inhuman speed. The heat in her thighs exploded again, this time much stronger. The combined convulsions of her inner muscles and the expression on her face pushed Alyn over the edge. Soon, his flaccid member slipped out of her, wet with the juices of their combined love making. She collapsed atop him, and they both slept.

* * * * *

The amorous couple woke before dawn, still remembering the night of passion from the night before. They were bound by more than physical attraction. Something much deeper and everlasting linked the two. Maybe it was their similar status as orphans, or possibly the intense grief they both had experienced. They no longer questioned their purpose. Both of them lived for revenge, the chance to bring Kelg to justice and make him pay for his double betrayal. With that, they set out south once again, on their way to Myr.