Category Archives: Knights of Herongarde

25 Days of Writing – Day 20

Day 20: Your character is in a new place. What brought them there? Why are they there? How are they reacting to this change of scenery? Write a scene of your character in this new place.

——

A light shown in his eyes. Trey forced his eyes shut from the onslaught, and tried to turn his head when that failed. His head wouldn’t move and the light came again, this time in the other eye. He thought the sun was behaving strangely.

Voices were surrounding him. He didn’t quite understand what was being said. It sounded like orders and instructions. He tried to speak by something was in his mouth and throat. He reached toward his face and quickly found his arm restrained.

People touching him. He tried to pull his arm away again but it was held fast. Something was around his neck and face. A pillory? He couldn’t move. A light moved over and past him. No. He was moving.

There was a bump and pain shot through him. He tried to cry out. Nothing. He began to recognize pain in his body. Everywhere.

Someone touched his hair and said something soothing that he didn’t understand. He opened his eyes and saw a masked woman bending over him. She was speaking the soothing syllables. His eyes rolled and he saw himself surrounded by people in masks and thin blue robes.

Another bump. He shut his eyes.

The motion stopped and the discussion rose. Trey opened his eyes again and saw the robed men in discussion with others dressed in solid black. Nods were exchanged and he was moving again. The men in black were left behind and there was another bump.

Brilliant light blinded Trey. He squeezed his eyes shut. He felt himself going light and the noise of discussion quieted. He was lifted up.

—

The hissing sound repeated, over and over. Trey found it comforting until he started to wonder what it was. He heard footsteps and the gentle humming of a woman. She was speaking to him. He’d heard that accent before.

Hanna? He wanted to speak, but still something remained in his mouth and throat. He tried to reach up, but found that his arms were restrained. He fluttered his eyes open, but closed them in the uncomfortable brightness.

The hissing sound continued.

Trey felt his arms being touched. “Let’s see how you’re doing,” said the woman. It wasn’t Hanna’s voice, but it was her accent. He tried to open his eyes again, blinking in the brightness.

The woman didn’t see that he was awake and watching her. She lifted the blankets off his body and looked at the multiple bandaged wounds on his body. She seemed to be a nurse-maid of some sort, dressed in a brightly patterned tunic and… hose?

He could barely see the bandages she was attending to. Whatever was in his mouth was blocking his view. He again tried to reach for his face. The nurse-maid saw him moving and looked up at him.

“Well, look who’s awake!” she smiled.

Trey pulled again against the restraints on his arms.

“It’s OK. It’s OK. Shh-hh-hh,” said the nurse-maid, stroking his hair.

He felt panic creeping in. He struggled weakly to free his arms.

“Shh-hh-hh,” said the nurse-maid again. “Let’s get a doctor in here.”

In moments, the room was filled with people, and Trey felt full-blown panic set in. Several people were now leaning on him to keep him still.

“Easy. Easy!” said a man who had entered. The man looked at the nurse-maid, and nodded. “Let’s get him to relax.” The woman did something, and Trey felt his body grow numb.

The hissing sound continued.

Herongarde – The Pitch

I’m experimenting with a pitch for my novel/screenplay. And it’s a short synopsis of the story. Would you be interested in this story?

—–

Herongarde

Medieval speculative fiction; Drama

Trey of Herongarde is a disenchanted Prince. His world has been dark to him since the loss of his beloved wife and son in childbirth ten years earlier. It grew still darker when, soon after, his elder brother – the heir to the throne – was killed. For years, Lord Trey has moved through life, disinterested in everything except for a good duel at tournament and the unconscious hope for his own death. Though heir to the throne of Herongarde, Trey has done all possible to avoid the politics of the realm, preferring to ride wide and dangerous patrols. He refuses to be addressed as royalty. He wishes only to be acknowledged as a warrior and a Bearer of the sovereign Mark of Herongarde.

On his patrols, Lord Trey has become increasingly convinced that the neighboring nation of Falgarth intends to make war upon Herongarde. Alas, his pleas to the King (his father) for caution are not taken seriously. Trey has only been able to provide circumstantial evidence that Falgarth means to attack, and in light of Trey’s increasing agitation, all the nobles of Herongarde fear that Trey is on the brink of madness. Trey is correct however, and the story opens as Trey rides on the patrol which finally provides proof of the imminent danger to Herongarde. And it nearly costs him is life.

Hanna Tisdale is a tenured academic in a functional, but dull, marriage, facing mid-life with a sense of apathy. Due to a fluke of relativistic physics, a thunderstorm, and a poorly-timed cell phone call, she finds herself wrenched from her comfortable New England life and plopped into the middle of the brewing war between Herongarde and Falgarth. Unaware of this war, and mostly certain that she is merely dreaming, Hanna boldly rescues Trey from certain death and returns him safely to Herongarde Castle. War begins, and an unlikely bond forms between Hanna and Trey, one that saves a nation and heals the broken heart of a weary Prince.

It is not a smooth path. While the nobles and armies of Herongarde are away at war, Trey is left behind at Herongarde Castle, the seat of the nation’s government, to attend to the prosperity of his country. Trey must also recover from the physical injuries that nearly killed him (and that ignited this war), and in doing so must put faith in a woman he barely knows. This trust his hard-won. He has despised women since the loss of his love. Hanna earns his trust in an unexpected sword battle with men of Falgarth that have infiltrated deeply into the lands of Herongarde. This small attack is the harbinger of a much larger plan to occupy Herongarde Castle, and destroy the nation from within.

Though there was some warning about the assault on Herongarde Castle, with the armies away, the defense of the castle goes poorly. Trey does not have the mind for strategy as other lords of Herongarde and makes crucial errors, ultimately finding himself staring down the business end of a longsword. At that moment, he discovers that he loves Hanna, but he is certain that she has fallen in battle. Hanna is clever, however, and is able to once again protect Trey from a gruesome fate.

As they sit later, hidden in a culvert, battle raging about them, Trey professes his love. Hanna accepts his affection, but only if he faces the reality of his fate. He is heir to the throne of Herongarde, and that throne is on the brink of destruction. Though all seems hopeless, Trey agrees and they plunge again into the fury. Herongarde survives when a small force from Herongarde arrives from the battle front and repels the enemy.

Herongarde will live for another day. Its Prince has once again found his heart – and love – and is willing to proudly lead his nation. But when the war ends, Trey must face the reality that his relationship with Hanna is forbidden by the Codes of Herongarde, and that the King will never approve of their courtship. He is torn between his country and his love, ultimately respecting Hanna’s earlier wishes and standing with his nation. The day before Hanna is to be sent away, she finds herself challenged at tournament. She is battered by some of the finest warriors of Herongarde, but keeps her feet under her. Though she is defeated in the end, it gives the King and the other nobles pause for thought. Maybe she was worthy of the Prince after all?

100-Word Story (more or less)

April 9, 2012 was the 100th day of 2012. To celebrate, April 9 was National 100-word story day. I wrote one, and posted it on the 100-Word Story Facebook page.

Here’s my entry – a vignette from that one book I’m working on:

He looked out over the tournament grounds. All was silent. No evidence remained of what had taken place there. Her cries of frustration still rang in his ears, though she no longer was there. The only part of her remaining was the bit of lace he held between his fingers. He looked back at the castle walls. This was his home. It should be her home, too. Instead, it was her prison. He looked at the fabric in his hand. No, this had to be her home, and he was intent to make it so.

25 Days of Writing – Day 17

Day 17: Your character has fallen in love. With who? Is it serious? Are they in a relationship with this person? How did they meet? Write a scene of your character either contemplating this significant other or directly interacting with them.

——

Trey was overwhelmed. Each of his arms was gripped by at least two men. His sword was wrenched from his fingers. A blow came from behind and he dropped to his knees. His arms were pulled back painfully. He bent forward, trying to fold over and protect his exposed belly. The mail coif covering his head was torn off. It caught his ear and he felt his flesh tearing. A huge fist then gripped his hair and yanked him backward. He was forced onto his back, with his legs still bent beneath him. He felt his thigh muscles stretching. Firey agony radiated from the older stabbing wound to his leg.

He cried out, as he continued to struggle. He managed to twist his legs out from under his body, but was immediately restrained once he tried to push up with them. The weight of at least one man crashed down across his knees.

Trey cried out again. He heard the men laughing. He tried to pull his arms free and felt the sole of heavy boots crush his hands. Bones broke. He stopped fighting. Stillness surrounded him.

From afar, he heard the sounds of a sword fight, and the grunts of the opponents grappling in mortal battle. One of the fighters was a woman. It was Hanna. He could tell from her voice that she was struggling. He heard her cry out. Her opponent’s sword had met its mark. A couple more clangs of steel on steel and she screamed. There was a distant thud of a body falling. There was silence.

She was dead. Trey screamed for her. “Hanna!—” He was cut off by a sharp kick to the neck. He remained still for a moment, regaining his senses.

“And good riddance,” commented one of his attackers.

“His sword, my Lord,” another voice.

“A man of the Mark, aye? Is this true?”

Trey felt his hands being crushed further by heavy boots. The sleeve of his right arm was pushed up and his flesh twisted to expose the tattooed Mark on his forearm.

“Aye, indeed.”

Trey felt a boot stomping down on his hair. It pulled painfully. A slap came across his cheek. His eyes snapped open. A filthy grizzled old warrior bent over him, sneering. “Mark-bearer, aye? See? You are nothing.”

Trey renewed his efforts to escape the grasp of these men, but it was futile. He couldn’t move. Trey cried out in frustration and shut his eyes once more. He listened as the men moved around him, discussing his fate. His mind wandered to Hanna. He realized he was crying.

Hanna was gone. Really gone. She didn’t believe in the afterlife, so she was gone forever. Trey found himself praying. He prayed to God; he prayed to Rosaline. Please, take her in and keep her safe.

A kick in the ribs brought him back to his situation. The men stood over him and laughed. Trey’s eyes rolled. He would be dead soon as well. He must pray for his own deliverance.

But his mind traveled to Hanna again. He realized that he had wronged her. He treated her so badly. She had never done anything but care for him and he treated her like a dog. He had forced this situation upon her, and she had died. It was his fault. That was two women he had killed. Another cry escaped his lips.

Oh, to have the chance to make it right! She had trusted him. He had killed her. His tears flowed freely. He knew now that he had loved her for a while – maybe since the moment they had met. It all made sense to him now. He had held her that whole night after she killed the man of Falgarth and had discovered the plans for this battle. Of course! Why else would he have held her so? He had ignored his feelings, though. He blatantly refused to love her. He lied to himself and he treated her like garbage. He was worse to her than ever after that. Maybe.

He did give her that necklace, and the coins she needed for a new dress. His desire to do those things had surprised him. The clues were all there, but he denied them.

And now she was gone. He wanted her safe. He regretted dragging her into this war. But she served her duty. Valiantly. And she was dead. He killed her.

He prayed again. He prayed that he would see her in the afterlife. That she and Rose would know each other and be friends.

Suddenly, he could not breathe. A great weight was upon his chest. His eyes snapped open. The old warrior stood over him, with one foot firmly in the middle of Trey’s chest. The man held Trey’s own weapon, dangling it over Trey’s face.

“Too fine a weapon for the likes of you, boy,” grumbled the man. Then he laughed. The others around him laughed as well.

“Tis fitting that your own weapon shall be the one to kill you, aye?” laughed the man further.

Trey groaned and tried once again to pull away. It was to no avail.

“Let’s see here,” growled the man. He pressed the tip of Trey’s sword to Trey’s cheek. “Who do you belong to?” The man cut into Trey’s flesh, starting to carve out the letter ‘F.’ Trey jerked his head to the side. The blade cut his cheek to his ear.

“Damn!” exclaimed the man. “Hold him!”

Trey’s head was turned and held in place by a younger, brutish warrior. The old warrior began to carve into Trey’s other cheek. Trey lurched, and the blade slipped again, this time not just cutting into his own flesh, but into that of the man holding his head. A minor victory.

The old warrior pressed more of his weight onto Trey’s chest. Trey found he couldn’t breathe. The tip of the blade was pressed against Trey’s throat, just under his chin. “You die anyway boy,” the man growled.

Trey squeezed his eyes shut. He felt the blade digging into his neck. He knew that it was sharp enough that if the man simply let the weight of the sword press on his neck it would pierce his throat. He was dead.

His head swam. He searched for prayers but thought of Hanna. Please God!

“Please, don’t,” an angelic voice said. Trey cried loudly. In his mind he begged for swift passage into the next life.

“Please don’t kill him. I love him,” said the angel.

Those words echoed in his ears. He recognized the voice. It was Hanna. He was relieved. The weight on his chest lifted. He knew he was dead. But she was with him, and he was happy.

25 Days of Writing – Day 16

Day 16: Your character is going on a trip. Where to? Who with, if anyone? Why are they going on a trip? Write a scene of them either getting ready or departing on their journey.

——

Trey walked into Hanna’s chamber. Lord Dean sat with her, staring confused at the needle and thread he held in his hand. Hanna wore a weary smile. Trey felt his heart warm. It was good to see her smile. She looked up, noticing him in the doorway. She continued to smile, but behind her expression was pain. Trey smiled back, softly.

“Aye! Lord Trey!” exclaimed Dean. “Come you to relieve me of this struggle?” Dean held up the sewing he was attempting to do.

Hanna glanced over at Dean. “Real men can sew,” she muttered with a slight smile, then turned her attention to her own hands.

“Aye?!” roared Dean. “Then I am not a man!” He laughed loudly and was joined by Trey.

“We are only men by your graces, my darling,” said Trey. His smile faded. He bored heavy news.

“Aye Dean, I do bring you respite from your stitching,” Trey said. “His Majesty sends us to Taryn. We depart in the morning.”

“Taryn, my Lord?” asked Dean.

“Aye, Dean. Lady Marta has passed. Lord Donnal retires his seat to his eldest son and requests to spend his remaining days here in Herongarde serving his King. We travel to Taryn to deliver Donnal safely to his new home.”

Trey turned his gaze to Hanna. She was looking up at him, gaping in shock. “You must leave?” she whimpered.

Trey sighed. “His Majesty’s order is that I, Dean, Orrin, and Balayn travel to Taryn on the morrow and return as quickly as possible.”

Hanna looked away, tears filling her eyes.

Trey sat beside Hanna. “His Majesty also instructs,” Trey spoke softly into her ear, “that you should travel with us.”

Hanna turned and looked at him. “He does not make an order. It is your choice,” continued Trey. “However, should you travel with us, His Majesty does order that you carry your weapon, and serve Herongarde as you have in the past – with steel if needed.”

Hanna looked at Trey in silence. She was uncertain how to respond.

Dean moved awkwardly. He realized that he should probably leave. Hanna and Trey seemed quite oblivious to his presence. He stood and set the sewing he was holding onto the table. “My Lord. Hanna,” he said politely as he prepared to leave.

Trey looked up. “Aye Dean. Prepare for the journey.”

Dean bowed and left.

Trey turned his attention back to Hanna. She sat hunched over, with her face buried in her hands. “My darling?” he said to her. “It is with heavy heart that His Majesty gives this order.”

Hanna nodded.

“Lord Donnal is Rose’s Father, Hanna. We are kin.”

“I know, my Lord,” Hanna muttered.

“I would have you with me.”

Hanna sighed, and nodded again, turning to look at him. “Then I will travel with you, my Lord.”

Trey smiled faintly. “Please, my love. Call me Trey.”

“It has been a trial.”

“I know, love.” Trey paused. “You— You will travel with us?”

“Aye,” said Hanna “I will.”

Trey smiled, more broadly this time.

“My love,” whispered Hanna as Trey wrapped her in his arms. They sat in that embrace for a long time, sitting in silence, breathing in the scent of the other.

Shuffling in the hallway broke the silence. Their embrace broke and they straightened up to look at each other. Trey kissed Hanna softly on the lips.

Balayn cleared his throat. He was standing in the doorway. Trey looked up. “My Lord Balayn,” Trey greeted.

“Lord Trey. Hanna,” greeted Balayn in return. There was silence as the men looked at each other.

“Balayn,” said Trey, “Hanna will travel with us to Taryn.”

Balayn, bowed slightly and smiled. “Excellent, my Lord. We will enjoy her company.”

Trey nodded.

“I come to ask for how long of a journey I shall collect provisions? Also, I suppose, I might as how we might arrange camp?” asked Balayn.

“Ah, aye,” said Trey, still sitting with one arm around Hanna. “We will make haste on our travel there. I believe we can make the journey with only one night spent camping – though it would be wise to bring provision for two nights.” Trey turned and looked upon Hanna. “For sleeping, well I know not. Perhaps it best to conserve heat and all share a single tent.”

Hanna shrugged. She had spent many nights camped out, sharing bedding with Trey and Jason or Karrick, and most recently with the King himself. It didn’t bother her too much – as long as the men weren’t bothered.

Balayn nodded. “Aye. T’would seem most reasonable. I have spoken with Lord Orrin, but not Lord Dean.”

“I have informed Lord Dean of his duties myself,” said Trey.

“Excellent. Then we leave at first light, my Lord?”

“As soon as we can, Balayn.”

“Then I shall attend to the preparations, my Lord.”

“As should I,” said Trey. “And you, too,” Trey said to Hanna.

Balayn bowed. “My Lord,” he said, then he left.

Once again Trey turned his attention to Hanna. “Then gather your things, my dear.”

“I fear I may be ill prepared for cold weather,” Hanna said softly.

“Speak of this to my mother,” Trey said. “Surely, she can offer help.”

Hanna rose, then squatted beside the bed, reaching beneath it. “I guess I’ll need this,” she muttered as she withdrew her sword, in its scabbard attached to its belt, from under the bed.

“Aye, Hanna, you will need that,” said Trey. “I would that you would hang it proudly, rather than hide it shamefully.”

Hanna looked at the sword, drawing it partially from the scabbard. “I despise this thing,” she muttered. “And yet, I continue to bear it. It is like a sad addiction.” She sighed.

Trey stood up beside her. “You are a swordsman – er, swords-woman, I guess – but you are good and should bear this weapon proudly.”

Hanna shrugged. “Maybe one day.” Hanna set the sword on the table beside her sewing and scratched her head, looking at the disarray in her chamber. “What a mess,” she grumbled.

Trey came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, leaning forward to speak into her ear. “Gather your things. Speak to Mother about preparations for the cold. Provisions will be gathered by Lord Balayn. You need not worry about that, aye?”

Hanna looked up at him over her shoulder, smiling slightly. “OK.”

“And polish that sword,” Trey said. “We will meet to ensure all is in order this night before we rest, aye?”

“Aye, my Lord.”

Trey frowned. Hanna smiled. “My love,” she said. “My Trey.”

Trey smiled. “My darling.” He kissed her then bowed deeply. He turned smartly and left, with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step. She would come with them. He was happy.

Knights of Herongarde: Chapter Seven – Hanna Awakes

Hanna rose to her knees. It was fortunate that she had fallen into a soft patch of leaves and moss. The air was crisp, and she saw her own breath in front of her face. She was in the woods. It was early spring, where some trees had already started showing a flush of new leaves, while others still remained apparently dormant. Tiny rays of sunshine cut through the trees. It was morning.

She ran her hand over her face. Wait. Where am I? she wondered. Where were Davin and the car? Or her phone? She stood quickly, and whirled around trying to orient herself. A wave of panic began to build in her belly, followed immediately by a strong sense of woosiness. She dropped to her knees again, grasping the ground in an effort to stop the world from spinning. Nothing here looked familiar to her. Maybe she had hit her head. She looked at herself and saw that, despite being dirty, she still wore what she last remembered wearing: The long spring dress that Davin liked so much, and those marginally comfortable flats that she wore with everything that wasn’t jeans. Her hands were still adorned with the rings that Davin had given her over the years. She felt her neck and discovered her favorite necklace still hung there.

She attempted again to look around. None other of her personal articles were around. No purse or car keys. Of course they were probably still in the car. But where was the car? Where was Davin?

“Davin?” she tried to call for her husband, but her voice seemed weak and distant. She tried again, “Davin!”

Where is he?

She stood again, this time moving more slowly. She scanned the terrain for any familiar features, but found that everything seemed wrong. There were far too many trees here, and none of them seemed familiar. Last she remembered, the trees were fully leafed out for the summer, so why were so many of these trees still in bud? It was much colder than she expected. And damp. Everywhere there was moss.

She circled around the small clearing where she had awakened, trying to find any evidence that might explain how she got there. Her body ached as if she had fallen from a great distance. Or had been in a car accident. Where was the car?

“DAVIN!”

She limped another circle around the perimeter of the clearing. The road – a road – surely must lie nearby. She could discern a slightly clearer path though the dense forest in one direction, and decided to walk that way.

She felt as if she had been walking for hours. The day had warmed a bit, and the walking had loosened her stiff joints. She was moving pretty comfortably now, but she was growing thirsty. All the while, there had been no sign of a road of any kind. She’d spotted a few game trails, but definitely nothing man-made.

The terrain had remained relatively flat as well. This bothered her. At last she recalled, she had been in the foothills of some significant mountains. Here, there was no evidence of any mountains nearby. Everything was relatively flat. What had happened?

She had stopped calling for Davin more than an hour ago. But the silence of this place frightened her, so she sang quietly to herself, as she often did when she was hiking alone. She wondered if there were bears in this forest, and opted to make noise to frighten the would-be predator off. But she worried of attracting the attention of others who may be less intimidated by the human presence.

She stopped suddenly. She thought she heard something. A voice. Maybe not. But then, a shout. A woman’s voice. And a man’s. He sounded angry. The gentle breeze carried the voices away and silence returned. Hanna strained her ears. Voices again wafted on the wind into her ears, and she began to move in the direction of the sound.

Hanna walked on, carefully tracking the voices for about a half mile. As she got closer, she could tell that there were more than one woman and more than one man shouting and carrying on. At least one of the women was crying and begging, so far as Hanna could tell. The men seemed to be taunting the women.

Hanna dreaded what manner of scene she was approaching. Every bad horror movie she’d ever seen came into her mind. All she could imagine was a scene of rape and butchery, and she didn’t know if she wanted to see that. However, so long as the women continued to cry out, she felt obliged to move closer and see if there was anything she could do. She nearly turned back a dozen times, when renewed cries drew her forward. Hanna wasn’t sure where she was, but she knew that something was amiss. She felt she should do something.

And she could not convince herself that she was not simply dreaming. Maybe this was all just a dream and she would awake soon next to Davin. Maybe the men’s shouts were simply her brain’s interpretation of Davin’s snoring. She would wake soon to force him to roll over. Yes, that had to be it.

It sounded as if the tussling parties were directly in front of her, just below the little rise she was climbing up. She squatted down to approach more carefully. If there was some wickedness going on, she did not want to march into the middle of it. It would be best to sneak up and assess the situation before moving forward with any plan of action.

What she saw when she crested the hill caused her to shake her head in wonderment. This must be a dream. She observed two women being prodded by four men. The women – girls actually, teenagers at best – were crying out and begging the men for mercy. They wore what looked like frilly nightgowns of some ancient age. The girls were bare footed, and bloodied, from the blows and prods of the men.

The men wore outfits straight from Arthurian legends, so far as Hanna could tell. Or maybe crusaders, with chain mail and helmets and swords slung on their hips. They wore cloth coverings over their mail which bore an eagle-looking insignia. Four horses stood nearby, wearing rigid saddles that reminded her of the knights she’d seen jousting at renaissance festivals. The horses were also decorated with this eagle insignia.

Hanna listened carefully to the men’s jeers. She thought that they were speaking English, but they had a very thick accent. Irish, maybe? She could only pick out a few words, but what she heard did not bode well for the girls. As close as she could gather, these men meant to rape then possibly kill the frightened girls. Hanna wondered what she could do to prevent this.

The men spoke among themselves, clearly planning a coordinated attack. At once, they lunged forward, two men grappling each woman, forcing them to the ground and attempting to bind their hands. The girls cried out in terror, and Hanna took this as a call to action. She gripped a straight and green tree branch which lay nearby and pulled it from the ground. It was rooted firmly, but she was able to pull it from the soft soil. She hoped it would suffice.

She leapt up and ran toward the group, planning loosely to bash each man on the head, so that the girls could escape. Her first swing did meet its mark, but did not knock the consciousness from the man. It did, however, alert the men to her presence. Quickly, the men shifted their attention from the girls on the ground in front of them, to this woman attacker behind them. One man, the man she had struck, drew his sword.

The girls, perhaps too frightened to see this as an opportunity to escape, barely moved. They gawked at Hanna, crying in their terror.

“Run!” shouted Hanna. “Get out of here!”

The girls were frozen. The men circled Hanna, jeering at her. Hanna positioned herself between the men and the girls. “Run, you idiots!” she shouted at the girls.

The injured man swung his sword and Hanna blocked it with her stick. He swung again and she blocked. The other men taunted and goaded. This man was furious.

Hanna suddenly realized that this was not likely to end well.

Knights of Herongarde: Chapter One – Green Lightning

Hanna smiled at her husband Davin as he folded himself into the driver’s seat of the car. “Whew!” he said, as he shook the rain off his hair, like a dog who’d just come out of a pond. She squealed, blocking the drops of water, despite being thoroughly soaked herself.

“Nothing like a good shower – ,” Davin said.

“Yeah, but not so much when one is in formal attire,” Hanna responded.

“Ah, but maybe we can avoid doing laundry tomorrow!” Davin started the car.

Lightning flashed across the sky, causing Hanna to jump. “I’ll be glad to get home and dry,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean that you need to hurry,” she quickly added. “We don’t want to get into an accident.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s always something,” said Davin as they pulled from the parking spot. “Drive safe! Don’t kill me! Blah-blah!” he added in a falsetto voice. He chuckled at her.

“But seriously…”

“I know. I’ll be careful.”

The road was dark as they passed through the foothills toward their home hidden in the mountains. Lightning illuminated the rocks, providing sporadic images of the torrents of rainwater flowing off of them. Hanna was concerned about rock or mud slides, which were common on this stretch of road. “Please slow down a bit, sweetie,” she asked her husband.

“Whoa!” said Davin as he observed a brilliant green flash emanating from the valley perhaps a half-mile ahead of them.

“Wow!” exclaimed Hanna. “The substation, you think?”

“Yeah, maybe,” replied Davin.

“Y’know, I’m gonna call Mom and make sure everything’s ok there.”

“Good idea,” mumbled Davin, as the road in front of them lit up green again.

Hanna dialed her cell phone and held it to her ear. The phone rang, then connected. “Hello?”

“Mom! How are things?”

“Well, the power just went out,” Hanna’s mother replied.

“Yeah, it looks like the substation has gone up. Can you unplug our computers?”

“Um, sure. Just the ones in the office, right?”

“Yeah, those are the important ones,” said Hanna. “How’s Jack?”

“Jay-Jay is fine. He seems to be sleeping through this. I’m glad. OK, I think I found the plug. Is there just one?”

“Yea—Wow!” Hanna saw great green bands of sparks arcing across the sky. “This is amazing!”

“Whoa,” mumbled Davin as he gawked at the same scene.

“What is it dear?” Hanna’s mother asked from afar.

“This substation is going nuts,” Hanna replied.

“I’m gonna get around that as fast as possible,” said Davin, pressing down the accelerator.

“Davin? I don’t—,” started Hanna.

“Dear?” Hanna’s Mother.

The phone crackled. The engine roared. More green flame arced over the substation. They drew closer.

“Davin!” Hanna cried. The green flames reached from the substation toward their car. Davin floored it. The phone crackled louder. Through the static, she heard her mother’s voice, “Hanna!”

Hanna noticed that the green flame also made a noise. Static. Loud static. Her phone. The cry of the engine. Squealing of tires. A pop. Then she fell to the ground, and there was silence.