by Ellie Smith
Chapter 6
Yanar opened her eyes and looked around the bedroom that was lit by the first rays of sunlight streaking in the window. Oh no! She had overslept! She jumped from the bed and looked around for her dress then recalled the woman had said she would have it for her that morning. Yanar opened the door to call for the woman, was surprised to see her dress, freshly cleaned, mended and pressed, hanging on the door. She smiled at the woman's kindness, then quickly dressed and hurried downstairs.
"Good morning lass."
Yanar looked up to see the buxom woman coming out of the dining room. "Good morning madam," she smiled.
"I trust you slept well."
"Indeed I did. Your bed was like sleeping on a cloud."
The woman beamed. "I am pleased you liked it. Would you care for some breakfast before you depart? I have it prepared."
Yanar had thought about telling the woman no but then got a whiff of the food and smiled before seating herself at a nearby table. After polishing off several pancakes and eggs, Yanar bid her goodbyes to the woman and departed Modenista. She had barely gotten out of sight of the village when the brown dog bounded up to her, his tail wagging wildly.
"There you are," Yanar smiled and scratched his ears. "I thought you had run away yesterday." The dog yipped as if to apologize and Yanar patted his head. "I must hurry. My journey is almost over."
Several times Yanar stopped to pick some berries and filled her pockets as she had before, munching on them as she traveled. Her gaze was constantly scanning the horizon for the castle that she knew rose far above the village. It was long after the sun had passed overhead that Yanar rounded a corner and caught sight of the castle she had only ever seen pictures of. "Oh," she oozed and took in the wonderful sight that lay in the distance. She would be there in a matter of hours. Then she could send some of the guards back to tell her father of the terrible accident at the ravine. As she neared Tartania, Yanar looked around for the dog but he was gone again. She shrugged her shoulders then hurried into the town. The castle was in full view now and she relished in the sight of its gigantic towers. It looked just like the paintings that hung in the great hall. As Yanar reached the edge of the village, she frowned at the banners that seemed to hang on every post and light. Odd, she thought as she examined the fluttering banners that bore her father's colors. As she recalled, the king's colors were not to be displayed unless the king was in the village or, to be more precise, unless the king was in the castle. Of course, the colors were always displayed at the home castle; that was the king's permanent residence. But, according to what she had been taught, whenever he traveled, his colors went with him. If he were staying in an inn, his colors were displayed at its entrance and throughout the town; a sign to all that the king was in residence. Certainly Tartania did not display King Garron's colors simply because his ancestral home was here. As Yanar continued through the village, she eyed the banners then realized there were no townspeople on the streets. It was as if the town was deserted. She checked several store windows to see 'CLOSED' signs in their windows. Her frown deepened. Why were they closed in the middle of the day? That certainly was not good business. Yanar turned her attention on the looming castle and felt a welcome warmth flood over her. At least she did not have to worry about no one being home at the castle. There were always guards on duty. She recalled how, a year ago, one of her favorite guards had been transferred to the ancestral castle to head the guard staff there. It would be good to see him again.
As Yanar neared the castle, she heard a warning bell ring out and looked up on the parapet to see a guard appear on the walk outside the guard tower.
"State your business," he demanded from high above her.
Yanar did not recognize the guard. "Where is Bronstad?"
"Chief Guard Bronstad is quite busy lass," the guard said sarcastically. "Too busy to meet with the likes of a waif such as you."
Waif? "Oh," Yanar muttered and looked at her dress. Although the woman at the inn had mended it, it was still tattered. Yanar thought about telling the guard who she was then decided against it. He probably would not believe her anyway. Yanar decided her stubborn streak was exactly what she needed right at this moment. She went to the large wooden door she knew was barred and bolted from the inside and sank down in front of it.
"What are you doing?" the guard demanded.
"I shall wait for Bronstad," Yanar tossed up at him. "When he is not busy tell him I am here." She could hear his disgusted growl.
"Very well waif. Wait if you must. But Bronstad will not meet with you."
"Just tell him I am here waiting."
The guard stomped back into the tower, slamming the door behind him.
Yanar leaned up against the cool stone wall and smiled, relishing in the fact she had made it to the castle. She pulled an apple out of her pocket and took a bite of it. She was almost sure the guard would not bother passing on the message for a long time if at all. But, she also knew, if this castle was run like her home was, the guards would come out just before sunset and check the perimeter for the night. At home, the head of the guards always led that company. Certainly here would be no different.
It was almost three hours later when Yanar heard the clank of the bar and heard the wooden door creak open.
"The tower guard has said you wished to meet with me waif," a deep voice said from above her. "What is it that you want?"
Yanar recognized the voice and looked up at the towering guard as a soft smile curled her lips. "Hello Bronstad." What she saw next frightened her. Instead of the warm smile she was accustomed to from her friend, Yanar saw only shock and disbelief on a face that had instantly ashened.
"Yanar?" His voice was nothing more than a weak whisper. His eyes, as wide as saucers, raked over her. "Princess, is that really you?"
"Of course," she said, the lightheartedness back in her voice.
"Oh the Gods be praised!" he cried as he scooped her up in his arms and rushed through the open door. "Shut that door!" he shouted over his shoulder at any of the guards that stood nearby. He looked down at the eyes that were searching his face quizzically. "You have no idea what a beautiful sight you are your highness."
Yanar wrapped her arms around his neck, felt his entire body trembling and she frowned at that. "Is something wrong Bronstad? You seem, almost frightened."
"I am not frightened any longer," he said with a broad smile. His gaze shifted away as he rushed down a long hallway. "Your majesty!" he cried loudly. "Your majesty! Come quickly!"
Your majesty? Yanar looked up to see a familiar figure come rushing into the room through another doorway.
“Yanar!” the king cried at the sight of the young woman the guard was carrying. “Yanar!” he cried again. “The Gods be praised!” he said brightly as he rushed forward when the guard sat the woman on her feet. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and buried his face in her hair. “Yanar, my precious child! By the grace of the Gods you are alive!”
"Father!" Yanar whispered as she clung to the man’s neck tightly. It was only then that Yanar realized why the banners were flying in Tartania. King Garron was in residence. But why was he here? She asked him.
Garron shoved her back enough to look into her face and he relished at the sight of that which he never thought he would see again. "When I got word of the mudslide and the accident, I was terrified," he said, the tears cascading down his cheeks. "I brought a garrison of men to the mudslide and we searched for any sign of you or Mimina." His body trembled. "We saw several guards and horses bodies in a deep ravine but found nothing else. I was sure you had perished in the accident."
Yanar told her story of the rain and the accident. She told how Mimina had made her lay on the coach floor and had covered her up with a quilt. "I am sure that's what saved me," she said. She told how she had crawled up out of the coach and had seen the devastation the mudslide had caused. She told how she had crawled to the road just before the coach had tumbled into the ravine.
/>
"But how did you get here?" Garron asked as he led his daughter to a nearby settee and eased down beside her, his hands still clutching hers.
Yanar told of the traveler and how he had helped her and how she had learned the castle was in the opposite valley, in Tartania. She told him how she had circled back the following morning to the correct road. She told him of the dog and of the woman at the inn at Modenista. "She said you have eaten there when you used to come to the castle."
Garron frowned. "There is no inn at Modenista my precious darling. It burned to the ground the year before you were born. The owner, a woman named Gretchen, died in the fire."
Yanar described the woman who had fed her then had given her a room for the night.
"Yes, that sounds like Gretchen. But it would be impossible. As I said, she perished in the fire."
Yanar was sure she had not been dreaming but decided to drop the subject. She wrapped her arms around her father's neck and hugged him tightly. "It does not matter. The Gods protected me and guided me here safely."
"Indeed they did," Garron agreed. "Now we must get you into a hot bath and get you out of this horrible dress."
After her bath, Yanar ate the food her father brought, then slipped into bed and smiled as he tucked her in. She looked out the window at the stars and thanked the Gods for bringing her safely back to her father. She said a prayer for those who had perished in the mudslide, asked them to watch over those who had helped her on her journey then rolled over and was quickly asleep.
For the next three weeks, Yanar relished in the ancestral castle. She learned to ride horses and often went riding with either her father or Bronstad. It was one day, while she and her father were riding that he told her he was returning to the castle the following day. Yanar said she would go with him but Garron insisted that she stay here; reminding her how bored she had been at home.
"I will have some of your things brought to you," he told her. "And I will see that one of your servants comes as well."
"Please father," Yanar had protested. "No servants. I wish to mourn Mimina. Perhaps later, after I do not miss her so much."
"Very well," Garron smiled and stroked her hair. "I do believe, after your recent ordeal, that you can, most assuredly, take care of yourself."
And so, the following morning, Yanar had said goodbye to her father and had returned to the confines of the ancestral castle alone. She had investigated the castle at great lengths that day, learning all of its secrets thanks to Bronstad. It was while she was strolling around the garden that Yanar encountered the guard who had been on tower duty the day she had arrived.
"Your highness," he said and bowed low. "Please accept my deepest apologies for not relaying your message to Bronstad earlier than I did."
The Chief Guard had already told her that the tower guard had been severely disciplined and if not for the shortage of castle guards, Bronstad assured her he would have dismissed him. Yanar had accepted his apology.
