Thorns

Chapter One

        Briallan Galloway let out a heavy sigh as the carriage bounced along the uneven, broken cobblestone road. The footmen traveling with had warned Bria that this part of the journey would be rough and uncomfortable. They said it was because Oldingham Road was difficult to maintain -- for several reasons, or so she’d heard tell at the inn where they’d rested the previous evening. Two in particular had stood out in the young woman’s mind the most - perhaps because of their macabre nature.

        The first, and main, reason was the wolves. They were quite common to the area and fearless when it came to men. Every time a group was sent to repair or rebuild the road the men disappeared - presumably dragged off by the beasts for food. It began to happen so frequently that it wasn’t long before men refused to take on the work.

        The second reason was far less sinister, but no less shrouded in mystery and general creepiness. The road wound through some of the densest parts of the Shaldorn Forest before breaking free and proceeding in more rigid, northerly direction. At the end of the road was the infamous Braewood Castle, towering over marshlands that stretched for miles to the north and south. Many believed the location to be haunted, those who had dared venture near it claim to hear wails of agony - the remnants of tormented souls - carried away from the castle on the wind.

        A loud cracking sound jerked Briallan from her thoughts before a rather hard bump sent her careening across the inside of the carriage. She hit the opposite wall with enough force to knock the air from her lungs. The carriage lurched forward again and once more she found herself at the mercy of momentum. She hit her head this time, a glancing blow against the door handle as she tumbled forward. It left her dazed and confused and would likely result in a rather nasty headache, but otherwise she was no worse for wear.

        For several seconds she waited and once she was certain the carriage had stopped moving she made attempts to get up off the floor. The carriage itself was tilted completely on its side, making maneuvering difficult. She could hear voices outside, their alarm evident. Without warning the door above her opened and the coach, an older gentleman by the name of Elias Farrier, leaned into view.

        “Are you alright, highness?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. Briallan still felt strange whenever someone addressed her so formally. She was still getting used to all the pomp and circumstance that came with such exclusive titles.

        “Yes, I’m fine, please… just help me out of here,” she said growing more and more aware of how confining and almost tomb like the space had become. When she was just a child she had fallen into a well and spent nearly an entire day trapped in the chilly depths. Her only salvation had been a rotted wooden bucket hanging from a thread worn rope. She’d been sick for nearly a week, the doctors fearing the worst when the fever had refused to break. In the end the only casualty was her long dark curls. Had she been a vain child this might have devastated her, but she took it in stride, like she did most things, and made sure to steer clear of that old well. Ever since the incident, she has found tight spaces to be uncomfortable, though not entirely unbearable, so long as she had easy access to an escape.

        “Of course, your highness,” he reached down and wrapped his large hands around her outstretched wrists. "Try to step on the seat as I lift you.” He instructed. She did as he asked, her fine slippers sliding against the velvet seat coverings. She kicked them off in frustration and managed to finally find enough purchase to escape. She took a deep breath of cool, fresh air as Elias waved over one of the footmen attending to the frightened horses. “Ezra, I need your assistance.” The footman nodded and wound the reins around a low hanging branch before joining Elias by the carriage. In a maneuver that impressed even Briallan she was lowered gently to the ground, kept steady by the hands of the footman wrapped securely around her waist.