The Dorston Fall [Book I in the Dorston Legacy]

Chapter 1 - Coming Home

Strolling out onto the balcony, her olive tinted gown flying with the breeze, Katelyn looked out onto the horizon; hair lashing across her face. The slopes of the valley stood tall, and protected her home from the harsh North wind. In the high summer, as it did then, the slopes were concealed in green; long grass, wild flowers grew and blossomed without a care. Herds of sheep and wild goats ran the slopes and grazed hungrily; no shepherd, completely free. Castle ruins and boulders were consumed by weeds and foliage; hidden from prying eyes. The sun, burning and glorious, moved slowly over the jagged mountain ridges, casting shadows on the land below. Everything was still, peaceful, as if frozen in a moment. Nothing and everything had changed in the valley, in Castle Sella, in the Princess since the announcement of war against the Justice.

Katelyn stood taller, bolder; ever proud of her Dorston blood and heritage. As ever, her skin was as pale as winter snow, and her eyes were the colour of rain clouds; silver and unique. Her copper brown hair had grown, to her elbows; she let it dance on the gentle breeze. She was stronger now, in both mind and body. Her hand, now better suited for a blade than a maiden's needle, was steady, fast and flexible. Given time, her footwork had become delicate, stealthy, and silent like a shadow. Her young eagle eyes saw everything. Her mind was trained to think faster. She could now calculate the path of her enemy, where they would step, how they would swing their sword, their points of weakness. She knew it all in one glance. She was the rose of the kingdom, with an intensely sharp thorn at her side.

She walked out, closer to the stone barrier, and revelled in the pure beauty of the land, her land. The terrain of marsh and shallow pools stretched for miles. A single dirt road divided the plain, leading the traveller to the gates of the castle, nestled comfortably on an epic hill in the heart of the valley. The last of the morning fog had faltered away, revealing a watercolour of green and blue and dancing light. The air was cool and clean, Katelyn breathed it all in; feeling calm in her body and thoughts. Further out, she could discern the three villages, which decorated the narrow mouth of the dale. She hadn't seen the communities for many years, but remembered most of their homes and buildings were made of old stone and brick, with thatch and small windows. Starting left, she happily recalled their names and landmark trades.

The best blacksmiths come from Harwood, she smiled to herself, remembering the place fondly. Longdale has the best seamstresses and musicians. People in Matlock make candles and shoes.

"And they have more than their fair share of taverns," Katelyn reminded herself, rather distastefully. She'd seen how men of her guard, her own father, acted when under the influence of mead, wine and other such revolting substances. She hated to imagine how the peasant man, lacking in responsibility and honour, handled their drink. Not well, she thought. She shot the thought away and explored further, seeing the beginnings of the Silverbell Forest.

As old as the valley itself, the forest stretched for miles in every direction; forging a wall that separated the greater, crueller world from this one. Oh, how Katelyn longed to see the forest. Her father, the King, had told her so many tales of the place. He had told her, with a tender smile, there were trees so mighty, they were impossible to climb. There were trees so thick and tangled, they were impossible to hug. The forest was as mischievous, magical, and as wild as the creatures that lived there; creatures of bedtime stories and daydreams. Goblins. Fairies. Imps. Herds of deer, packs of wolves, wild rabbits, they all made their homes in the Silverbell. Katelyn smiled, losing herself in her imaginings.

Then, against the whistle of the wind, she heard footsteps. Glancing over her shoulder, Katelyn saw her mother approach. Queen Agnes, however matured, still walked with amazing grace. Her burning, auburn gown trailed behind her, the threads and beads catching the sun and gleaming. Gold and jewelled to the brim, her petite tiara rested kindly on her head; her long dark hair falling just below her shoulder blades. She had a heart shaped face, a fine chin and jawline, cheeks that burned easily with flattery and long eyelashes which cast a seductive shadow over her brown eyes. In the past, Katelyn had tried to deny the resemblance between them. People made frequent references, it was tedious and frustrating. She was her father's daughter, through and through. Or so she liked to think.