Conquer the Castle - A Legend of Oescienne Short Story
Page 2
* * *
As the three friends rode their horses in the direction of the Wreing Florenn, the forest that loomed just beyond the old ruin where Jahrra and Hroombra lived, they animatedly discussed the plan for the following day. Professor Tarnik, their stodgy, overbearing boor of a teacher, had decided to test their survival skills this year by pitting them against one another. Conquer the Castle, a competition where the goal was to steal the banner from another team’s camp while trying to protect your own, was his idea of examining how they would fare should they find themselves lost in the wilderness. Jahrra didn’t think it was the best way to test their survival skills, but the anticipation of a good competition kept her silent on the matter.
“Why do we have to wear all white?” Gieaun complained as their horses kicked up dust from the road. “I don’t look that great in white.”
“Obviously so the dye will show up Gieaun!” Scede said, giving his sister a perturbed look.
They hadn’t been given too many details about the rules of the game yet, but they had been told it would involve crossbows, soft-tipped arrows, dye pouches and white clothing. The class had already been divided into five teams of six, and they knew that they had the entire city of Aldehren as their battle ground, so long as they avoided the townspeople during their game.
“Like Eydeth and Ellysian would even notice a local shop owner if they tripped over him,” Gieaun sniffed.
“They would if it made them easy targets,” Scede countered with a mischievous grin.
That made Jahrra snicker, for there was nothing better, in her opinion, than having a good laugh at the twins’ expense. Eydeth and Ellysian had been tormenting her since she was small and it had become second nature for her and her friends to blanch whenever their names were brought up.
Soon the three companions spotted a tangled bramble growing on the edge of the forest and all talk of the evil Resai twins and their unpleasantness was over. Jahrra climbed down from Phrym as soon as they reached the bramble patch and sighed with glee. The bushes were heavy with a dark purple berry. Archedenaeh, the enigmatic Mystic who lived in the center of the forest, had once shown these berries to Jahrra and her friends.
“They taste terrible,” she had told them, “but they make an excellent dye for face paint if you mix them with white mud.”
Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede had gathered some of the white mud near the creek the day before. Now all they had to do was mix in the right amount of berry juice to make the pasty paint the same violet shade as the banner they were charged to protect in tomorrow’s grand battle.
“What should we paint on our faces?” Gieaun asked, wrinkling her nose at the dollop of purple mud on her fingers.
Jahrra grinned, then proclaimed, “Dragons!”