Driving Me Crazy

What you see...(The Mercian Texts)

Hidden behind thick shrubs she placed her right ear against the ground. They were near. She signalled behind her and stealthy crept forward. Uneven breathing followed her. The scent of decomposing bodies fragrance the air. All of them carried injuries and the urge to regurgitate was difficult to resist. She stopped as the earth trembled.

"Watch me," she whispered.

Her soldiers nodded in agreement. They waited as man in red and gold headgear led the riders into the deserted battlefield. One of the horses nearly tripped over a corpse. The man who led them slowly dismounted. Removing his helmet he took in the image before him. They were a small group and looked exhausted. Rogen solemnly scanned his surroundings. His family's colours shone lifelessly. Collapsing in anger he threw his helmet against a nearby tree. One of his men hurriedly jumped off his horse and ran towards him.

"Sir, are you okay?" he asked

"I...I have made a mistake," he mumbled.

"They died in your honour Sir," assured the warrior.

"Are you blind? Look! Look!" he shouted.

Another warrior whistled to them. He spoke roughly. The others shook their heads in resignation.

"Please sir, you must get up," the warrior shoved Rogen to stand.

All the warriors dismounted and surrounded him. They were choosing to fight. Holland shrugged in disappointment. There was a fine line between stupidity and courage. Increasingly that line was becoming exhausting. Looking up towards the trees to her left, she raised a hand. Piercingly arrows descended. The remaining warriors yelled in horror.

Rising she beckoned for some of her soldiers. They heard a hissing. Gracefully she allowed her fingers to dance above her. Her men never saw the signs she made. They couldn't. The noises stopped. There was no need to worry. She would end it herself. She walked towards the surviving group. Fanatically the warriors looked about them seeing a figure emerge. It was not alone. As it neared, the warriors muttered fearfully. Rogen knew that whatever was approaching them was a bad omen. As it came closer, sweat began to form on his hands. Holland faced them as her soldiers stood slightly behind her. She spoke in their tongue.

"Surrender," she said.

The warriors did not remove their eyes from her. Rogen remained silent. She was far younger than what the council had estimated. Her eyes held something that made his skin crawl. Looking skywards he wondered. Would he die at the hands of a hallucination? His throat went dry.

Holland's face remained expressionless. This entire ordeal was frustrating. She had heard this fool was stubborn but she never hesitated to throw a bone. If he complied she could spare them. Wondering perhaps if they were frightened of her attire she patted the head on top of her own. Parting her lips slowly she willed herself to contain any irritation. Her voice rang.

"Did you believe them?" she asked

His warriors shuffled uneasily.

"I do not understand," he said.

"Your eyes?" she pointed to herself

Rogen lowered his head. She was toying with them. His conquest for territory in the east and south was filled with rumours of her. She was omnipresent and, in his ego, reduced her to a myth. He had been frequently told by those they conquered that he would feel her wrath. He would cackle at their words and retaliate with his brutality. Ignoring any symptom of regret he answered.