Thistle

Prologue

Prologue

Darkness had befallen the kingdom. The outlying villages laid in ruins, the air smug with soot and ash. The air was heavy with the scent of burnt flesh and images of mother and children laid everywhere with their mouths agape. This horrific sight was nothing compared to the sight that was what was left of the castle. Windows were shattered, towers a crumble. The entire western wall was completely demolished. The castle of Argon was now nothing more than a scorched ruin of death and decay.

Just to the west a strong black mare pounded her hooves deep into the soggy soil of the marsh as her rider propelled her forward with all his might. Clearing logs and underbrush with much haste, careful not to upset the bundle he held in his arms.

The man slowed to a steady trot as he entered the wooded lands, but didn't seem to visibly relax his rigid exterior in the slightest as he slipped ever deeper into the thickening mass of trees, moss and vines. The thick luscious canopy overheard did much to block out the majority of the mid-day light that struggled to break through it's tangle of massive palm sized leaves and thick winding trunks.

He came to a stop at the deepest, darkest portion of the wooded lands and dismounted his horse with a swift easiness tightening his grip on the tiny bundle in his hand before tying off his horse to the nearest tree.

Patting the strong mare on the nuzzle he turned away and truggled his way up the steep incline. It rounded a sharp bend which opened to a massive meadow surrounded by a ring of trees. In dead center of the tall grasses and wild flowers sat a quant little cottage.

This structure was rather small only being about the size of a shack, it's roof just barely sat beneath the old maple trees that surrounded it. Shingles laid scattered around the ground, long forgotten. The patches in which they fell from could still be seen, even at the distance he was at. The door was partly split with age and well worn. The shutters were held closed by a severed vines. Flowers in a sill box were the only indicator that anyone even lived there as well as the freshly chopped wood on the log pile.

He brushed his hood back and made his way up the old oak steps that creaked under the pressure of his footing. He reached out his hand to knock on the old door but just before his knuckle made contact the door opened slightly and a tiny voice came from within, "Who goes there?"

The man masked his expressions and spoke in a deep monotone voice, "It is I, Sir Aaron, Knight of Argon." The door opened fully with a start and there stood a small mid aged woman with dark brown hair that came just above her navel. A shimmer of grey streaked her hair as she tucked it behind her left ear and bowed slightly as was expected. She moved back quickly and ushered him inside briskly before shutting the door quietly behind them using her back.

She breathed a deep sigh before pushing off the door, "Aaron I know why you're here," she stepped forward as Sir Aaron turned to face her, "May I see her now?" Sir Aaron grunted but nodded his head and pulled the blanket away to reveal a small infant. The woman reached for her and he handed her over stiffly before backing away.

Sir Aaron stiffened his stance and spoke huskily, "Elizabeth I would like to introduce you to Princess Thistle, the last air to the bloodline of Argon."