Thread: Winter's Kiss (Ursus Peregrinus & Candy_demon21)

The snow crunched underfoot in the market square, large flakes drifting down into a soft blanket that covered the valley and seemed to just drink in every sound, leaving it muted. Everywhere but here in the small city of Eisengrad, at least. The streets were alive here for the midwinter festival. the lamp posts and houses strung with bunting and with pine boughs. People from across the valley had converged on the capital, here on the banks of the Lynsk river. Food and drink stalls filled the square, and several bands were competing for the attention of the merry-makers. Winter in the valley of Einhard was long, cold and bleak, but tomorrow the days would begin to grow longer once more and that was reason enough to celebrate. More, the Prince's packs of wolves had driven two dozen deer and elk from the forest just days before and the men of Eisengrad were roasting the meat. Everyone would feast, and for the first time in months no one in the city would go to bed hungry. In the center of the square, the Mayor stood wrapped in a heavy coat trimmed in silver fur. The silver chain of office hung about his neck, and his round cheeks were red from the cold and from the hot mulled wine that was flowing so freely. People of Einhard! MidWinter is here! Spring is coming, and thanks to our gracious monarch another year has passed. Our borders are safe, our crops bountiful and our families are cared for. There was cheering and the Mayor paused to lift his cup, then drained it again. But it is time for us to send our yearly tithe and accounting up the mountain to our lord. To do this, we need a representative. Undoing his heavy coat, he pulled at the neck of his tunic and showed the white, hand-shaped scar on his collarbone, plainly visible against his ruddy complexion. Those who have served once are exempt, of course, but everyone else who has come here today has had their nameall of you who have come here today have had your names placed in the barrel. In a moment I shall pick one... unless, of course, some brave soul would care to volunteer for this signal honour? He smiled and his assistant began to spin the barrel, a repurposed butter churn. As he waited, a carriage entered the square. Drawn by four black horses with white manes and feathers, wearing heavy quilted blankets under their harnesses to hold back the winter's chill. The carriage itself was of polished wood, pale birch varnished to the silvery sheen of the finest bronze. Driven by a burly, bearded man with a bald pate and a pale hand-scar on his bare bicep, he seemed not to notice the chill, wearing a thick vest, his fur cloak thrown back to show off his muscular arms and the heavy silver vambraces he wore. More silver decorated the carriage, shaped into roaring dragons at the four corners and lining the curtained windows. The inside was too dark to see, though there might have been a shape there. Beside the carriage stood two great timber wolves, their fur greyish-white and their manner aloof. They growled anytime anyone came too close, and folk melted away from their intent, intelligent stares. No one expected the Prince to appear. No one but the kingdom's representative ever expected to see the Prince. He lived alone, it was said, or attended by a handful of servants. Some claimed that the servants were the ghosts of those envoys who never returned down the mountain. All anyone knew was the the Prince was pale, and that he dressed in black and silver. Now and then someone would have a tale of seeing a figure who might be the prince abroad during winter's snows, or up in the mountain passes that never thawed even in the heights of summer. The statue that stood behind the mayor was supposedly the Prince. A tall, noble figure of white marble brought far from the south at great expense long ago, after the monarch of this peaceful valley had turned back an army invading from Espada to the southwest. But even the statue had little true detail, with his face hidden in the depths of his cloak's hood and body wrapped in plate armour. The hands that held a sword and shield, resting before him were long-fingered and slender, and the body seemed tall and straight but that was all that could truly be told from the statue. That and the crest on the shield, of a mountain with a snowy peak and a sword point down thrust through it. Odette's mother discouraged all talk of the Prince. Even mentioning him in passing was sure to result in some punishment and a stern talking to. Asking questions was liable to result in going to bed without dinner and a rap on the knuckles with a switch. But Moriwin was away for three days every year at Midwinter, on some errand that absorbed her time and returned her exhausted in body and spirit. Often it would be a week after her return before she would truly be herself again. So it had been easy enough for Odette to slip away from home and make her way to the high road. Their cottage and small farm lay in a little forest grove only a few miles from Eisengrad, and her friend Livia Petrov from the next farm was happy to convince her family to bring her along on their cart to the small city that was capital to their kingdom. Geoffrey Petrov was a kind man and a hard worker, though homely as the day was long. He doted on his three daughters and his wife, and it was rare that he would refuse them anything for long. Julia was married now, to Alexander the local blacksmith's apprentice, and Livia's eldest sister Marta had been married for two winters to Yaros the miller's son down in the town of Werden, with a son of her own and another child on the way. Are you excited Odette? Livia grinned a little nervously. It was the first year she had been old enough for her name to go in the draw. It was an honour but also a cause for fear... everyone knew of at least one person who had made the journey up the mountain but never returned again. Some said that the Prince kept them as servants, others that he ate their hearts to keep his youth. No one knew for sure. I hope it isn't me. I'm afraid I would say something foolish. The blonde girl, a year younger than her friend, laughed and shook her head, blonde ringlets bouncing. Perhaps someone will volunteer? Then they won't need to pick. Radek volunteered two years back, do you remember? To impress that girl Ziva the tinker's daughter? But she went off and married George instead so it was all for naught. Livia's bantering gossip was neverending. She sometimes seemed to know everything that was going on in the whole kingdom. tag