Sides of War

Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Silhouetted Frame

 The next morning Jorlin groggily sat up as she awoke, not having returned to her room until shortly before sunrise. She leisurely got dressed and tried her best to at least look presentable. After taking a stool from the room, she headed out the door and limped to the balcony.

As she closed the balcony door behind her, she noticed that it wasn't as magical as it was at night. She placed the stool next to the low wall and sat down, resting her chin on her arms. The sound of the blacksmiths hammering away at weapons and armor mingled with the noise of the horses in the stable, and smoke from the forges and chimneys climbed into the sky before fading into the air. Soldiers paced back and forth on the battlements, and the banners flapped in the warm breeze. Her eyelids slid shut as she was lulled back to sleep by the gentle rays of sunlight.

 When something touched her shoulder, Jorlin abruptly stood, knocking over the stool and unsheathing the dagger she kept hidden in her boot. Draven stood before her, hands held in the air.

"It's just me," he said.

Once she caught her breath, she replied, "You scared me," and returned the dagger to its original place.

It was sunset, and orange and purple colors were streaked across the sky. The bustle coming from outside wasn't as loud as it was earlier, and crickets were beginning to chirp, their songs wafting up to the balcony on the mild breeze.

"I was asleep longer than I thought," she muttered halfway to herself. She turned around with a start when she heard faint rustling in the bushes on the ground below, or maybe it was just a fancy spurred by paranoia.

"I figured you wouldn't want to spend the whole night out here," he stated, already heading towards the door.

As she followed him back inside the castle, she asked, "Is there any way for someone to get in through the balcony?"

"Not really," he replied. "It would be a climb straight up the face of the castle. It might be possible with a ladder, or maybe a siege tower, but I don't see why anyone would go through all that trouble. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," she muttered as they drew near to their adjoining rooms. As she opened the door to her room, she said goodnight to Draven and slipped inside.

She undressed and climbed into bed. Since she wasn't that tired because of her nap, she lay there on her back, staring up at the ceiling and tracing the cracks in the stones with her eyes. For a while she closed them, simply thinking, and when she opened them again a silhouetted frame stood in the doorway. Her heart wrenched in her chest as she sat up abruptly, the figure bolting the door shut.

Jorlin didn't have much time to think. Instinctively, she dove out of bed and towards her boots where her dagger was hidden. The man was faster than her, and he kicked her onto her back and pressed a knee into her stomach. His dark hood concealed most of his face, and he held her throat with one gloved hand as the other unsheathed a broadsword at his hip. Even though she could barely breathe, she let out a shriek and tried to wriggle free of his grasp. With one of her hands she gripped the hand at her neck, and with the other she tried to hold the hand with the weapon away from her. She screamed again, her heart pounding erratically in her ears. The edges of her sight dimmed as she helplessly gulped for oxygen.

There was pounding on the door. "Jorlin? Jorlin open up!" It was Draven.

With the rest of the strength in her, she kicked the intruder off her, giving her just enough time to roll out from underneath him.

"Draven!" she screamed.

The man grabbed her leg, and she crashed onto the floor. She surged forward and grabbed her boot, unsheathing the dagger and rolling onto her back. As he shoved his knee into her stomach again, she stabbed her weapon into his face, and he let out a roar of pain. He reeled back, ripping the dagger out of her grip, clawing at his face and screaming.

"Jorlin!" came Draven's frantic voice again. She could hear him trying to open the door.

She tried to make a break for the door, but the man threw her own dagger at her, and it took a chunk out of her right leg before whizzing into the wall. Jorlin cried out and fell, the man pouncing onto her again, gripping her throat with one hand. The blood coming out of his face dripped down onto hers and stained her shift. He held up his broadsword, but she kicked him in the side and sent him onto the floor. She managed to pry the weapon out of his hands, and without hesitation she stabbed it through his chest. He cried out, and she plunged it into his torso again. Then again. And again. He had been dead for a while by the time she finally stopped, several stab wounds gaping in his chest.

"Jorlin?" Draven shouted again from the other side of the door. "Jorlin, are you there? Say something!"

"I'm..." She panted for a few seconds as she tried to catch her breath. "I'm alive."

Shakily, she got to her feet, the blood rushing out of her leg, and stumbled to the door. She unbolted it and threw it open as she sagged to the ground. Draven rushed in and caught her in his arms.

"I'm alive," she said through tears. She could feel the man's blood dripping down her face. "I'm alive." Her breathing wouldn't slow down, and it came out in ragged gasps. Her trembling hands gripped his arms.

Draven glanced down at her bleeding leg. "Great God," he breathed out. It only took one glance for him to see that the intruder was dead. He scooped her up in his arms and sprinted down the hallway.

Her lungs cried for air even though she panted, chest heaving. As he descended the stairs she watched his shadow speed over the wall, her sight unusually acute. He wound through hallways and swung around corners, his speed making her bloodied hair rush into her face.

The next thing she was aware of was Draven gently setting her down in a large room on the first floor, a surgeon rushing to her side.

"Here," Draven said, pointing to the gash in her leg.

The surgeon inspected the wound then bound her leg with a bandage after cleaning some of the blood off her skin. She couldn't do much other than gulp at the air, even with the pain shooting through her body.

"Breathe," Draven urged, supporting her head with his hand. "Just breathe."

Tears began to stream down her face as her lungs were finally able to find satisfaction in the amount of air she was inhaling. Her heart sped up, if possible, when she looked down and saw her trembling, blood-smothered hands. Everything was confusing.

"There's someone trying to kill me!" she screamed, grabbing his arm, wiping the blood on the fabric of his shirt. "He's going to kill me!"

"It's okay!" he said, easing her back down. "He's dead. He's dead. You're okay. You're safe."

The surgeon murmured something to Draven, who nodded his head. "She's losing too much blood," he said, already replacing the bandage and holding another one up to the wound.

The edges of her vision began to darken as she continued to pant. Her head was swimming, and her eyes began to drift shut.

Draven said something, but his words were drowned out by the pounding of her heart in her ears. Her sight dimmed, and she slipped out of consciousness.