“See what I mean?”
Lucien shook his head, his laughter echoing through the trees in the forest. “Gentlemen, please. Let’s save the theatrics for now. We’re almost there. Game faces on, everyone.”
Part Two
DUSK’S HARMONY
Chapter Fourteen
Nestled within a normally tranquil vale by the mountains was the remnants of the small village known as Green Tryst. Though small, it was just last week a thriving village, as it sat on a major trade route between Saeren and Eslirie, the two capital cities of the neighbouring and previously friendly nations. But the village was now scarred by tragedy.
The cobblestone streets, normally bustling with activity, now bore the obvious signs of destruction as the skeletal remains of proud buildings stood like burnt carcasses still smoking against the setting sun on the horizon.
Once the beating heart of Green Tryst, the village square lay in ruins. The fountain in the centre was shattered and streams of water spurted up with nowhere to go, leaving a growing puddle of murky water around it. Market stalls were reduced to sites of broken wood andcharred fabric, their wares strewn across the ground, so woefully forgotten and unimportant since the carnage of the attack.
Charred remnants of homes were still smouldering, and wisps of smoke curled into the air as a haunting sign of the devastation wrought by the wyvern’s wrath.
Of the many taverns in the village, only one remained standing, the rest now hollow shells, most with their roofs collapsed, and their windows shattered, glinting glass lying on the floor and threatening further injury to the already beaten and broken villagers.
“We’re staying in the only tavern that is still operational,” Lucien explained. “We’ve had a hard day of riding, if we freshen up and rest, we can start tomorrow.”
“I suggest we start now, my prince,” Verin muttered, glancing around with a pained expression. “I won’t be able to sleep while I can sense all this suffering.”
Weary as he was from travelling, Leander agreed with his brother’s assessment of the situation. When they should have been hearing laughter and joyous merriment, it had been replaced by the eerie silence of abandonment. The very village felt wounded, its residents reduced to shells of their former selves, with nothing left but misfortune and torment: the memory of carnage and the fear it might happen again.
Amid the destruction, there were signs of life flickering faintly. Huddles of survivors hid together in what houses had remained standing, sorrow and fear radiating off of them like violent waves clashing against a ship at sea. Mourning the sudden loss of friends and family, the grief was a palpable presence in the air that couldn’t be ignored.It caused Leander’s heart to clench, and he wanted to claw at his throat to rid himself of the horrible sensation.
As the villagers saw the four nobles ride into town, surrounded by the retinue of soldiers, most remained inside, watchful, but some came into the ruins of the village square to meet them. Even in the face of destruction and despair, Leander could feel the threads of hope lingering like a fragile ember.
Some of the villagers, the resilient few who had not been injured in the wyvern attack, had already begun the arduous task of rebuilding some of the houses. There was determination there too, Leander felt, determination to rise from the ashes and reclaim that which was lost.
As the sun finally set on the ravaged village, casting long shadows across the scarred ground, the villagers’ spirits remained unbroken. Left with little except unwavering resolve and hope, a beacon of light in the darkness.
Dismounting, Leander shivered. Having led a relatively sheltered life, he had never seen such devastation.
“I would say you get used to it... but you never really do,” Verin murmured softly into Leander’s ear as the pair took in their surroundings.
“I can’t quite decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” Leander said.
“Definitely good,” Verin replied quickly. “I cannot ever imagine losing my humanity to the extent that I accept such devastation as this.”
“But Leander isn’t a human,” Jarryn interjected before Leander could reply. “He already said that himself.”
“Give it a rest, Jarryn.” Lucien’s amusement from earlier had vanished, replaced with a wary sombreness.
The displaced prince said no more as two of the soldiers collected the four horses from the nobles.
Leander took the opportunity to stretch and bend his legs, shaking out the restlessness that lay heavy on his limbs. “Let’s get to it, then,” he announced and he looked to Verin and Lucien for guidance, as they were more experienced, as well as being in charge of their expedition.
The soldiers with them split into two groups at Lucien’s command, the smaller group would stay with the four nobles, whilst the larger group would help the villagers to rebuild.
A woman approached, flanked by two smart looking officials. The woman, whilst not dressed in finery, was quite obviously a lesser noble, the ranking individual in this village. Her garb, dust and soot ridden as it was, with a charred hem, was not the simple cotton of a commoner, but a dyed satin. She had perhaps been at dinner when the wyvern had attacked yesterday evening.
“Your Highness.” She bowed at the waist to greet Lucien. “Thank you for your speed in coming here. There are too many who are lost to us and countless more who are suffering greatly. I am Ayla. My father is—was—the mayor of this village.”
“I am deeply sorry for your loss, Ayla.” Lucien took the young woman’s hands, inviting her to stand out of her bow. “We are here to do what we can to help you and the people of this village. If it suits you, we would like to get started immediately.”
“Yes, of course, Your Highness.” She inclined her head at the others. “My lords, please follow me.”
