Erin of Milen - The Ink Well Fiction Writing Challenge #1 - Realms of Fantasy

Erin of Milen: Mission One

This is my entry for The Ink Well Fiction Writing Challenge #1 - Realms of Fantasy, which begins with this prompt by @stormlight24, co-founder, curator and moderator at @theinkwell.

Night fell as I rode into town, the same place where I was taken from so long ago. The calm summer evening awakened memories and emotions that I thought buried deep after the torments I had endured.

I headed straight for the Shining Knight inn, knowing it was the only one in town. After all this time away I felt like a stranger. I couldn’t bear to look down starling street as I rode by quickly, fighting those memories that threatened to break through. That street led to the slum where my house where it all happened. Was it still the same? Some other people probably inhabited it now.

I tied my horse to a tree at the entrance to the inn, and a gruff old man's voice startled me as I filled the horse’s nosebag.

''You’re, alive. I always knew you would come back, Erin ... ''

Through the dim light of evening I saw the feeble old man on the porch of the inn leaning on a walking stick. He cried, his sobs shaking his whole body.

''You’ve returned at a terrible time Erin! You should go back from where you came, the city is full of enemy troops. The Milen Empire lost the city years ago.''

''Hey, you there, unbutton your belt and lower the sword to the ground.'' A sharp voice barked from behind him.

“No sudden moves or we’ll stick you full of holes like a pig on market day.”

---

My continuation
No sudden moves.

That worked because my mind worked faster than my fingers, and I was planning my next move. Disarming myself wasn't part of the plan.

That feeble old man sobbing on the porch was a strapping soldier when I saw him last--Ezra, the battle-scarred but still indomitable warrior who taught me how to use a weapon. He was looking vomitously domitable now. The sight of him made me sick.

go back from where you came
the city is full of enemy troops
unbutton your belt, lower your sword

No sudden moves. My lips moved, though: "Unbutton? I think you mean unbuckle. And this isn't a sword. It's a falchion."

The voice emerged from the shadows in the form of a man wearing leather armor reinforced with riveted bronze plaques. He held a wooden shield banded with iron in one hand, a backsword in the other.

Sudden was what defined my moves now, and before Ezra could blubber another warning, I squeezed the object in my left hand, whispered an incantation, and flung my little friend at the No-Longer-So-Shining Knight. The grenade burst into a compact fireball, flattening the man in leather, and headed straight at the inn. Flash, bang, flash, screams, flash. I moved fast, avoiding the heat of the fire but not its roar.

Sorry, not sorry, Ezra, you has-been, you fool.

I moved fast enough to escape the volley of hands, boots, scattered weapons, eyeballs here and fingers there, shattered timbers, shrapnel, and flying metal, but not fast enough to avoid the sight of torsos with fire-blackened or blood-spouting stumps. My horse leaped over slick, glistening guts and innards. Screams of anguish and horror drove us faster, farther, through a hail of arrows that fell short of their mark, me, the girl who was supposed to be dead.

Stuck full of holes like a pig on market day? Not me. Not D-Rex, the fastest horse in all of Milen, or what once was known as Milen.

Mission One, accomplished.

On to Mission Two.