Sorceress of the Second Sphere

2. Darke Retribution - Loldirr

The thump of the arrow hitting the centre of the straw target had started to sound like a metronome to Loldirr as she reached for another arrow to find its new home beside the previous one.

Pulling the string back so her fingers brushed the side of her cold reddened face had become second nature to her during the hour she had been repeating this exercise.

As she exhaled, a cloud of condensation escaped her mouth. The bitterness of the breeze echoed the bitterness in her heart; this was the beginning of her nineteenth winter, and it was by far her most troublesome yet.

The arrow released, before thumping its way to the side of the previous arrow at the centre of the target.

Loldirr reached for another arrow but realised she had inadvertently fired her last one. Cursing under her breath, she pushed a strand of her fire-kissed hair away from her emerald green eyes. Placing the bow over her shoulder, she began the hundred-and-fifty-yard trek to retrieve the arrows embedded deep within the target.

If anyone had known that she was here, they would have instantly retrieved them for her, allowing the rightful heir to the throne to bask in her successful archery practice, but she was alone, desperate to untangle the many thoughts that plagued her mind, eager to find some form of peace in the decisions that lay ahead for her.

In the previous winter, her thoughts were focused on the boring winter and year ahead and how much she wanted to escape the monotony of her pointless existence. Now, she worried about Ravenscourt's repairs, the fragile Fæordic alliance, retaking her throne and today's main talking point, Kirken Merrithorpe's trial.

As she trudged through the beginnings of the settled snow, she stroked her left cheek along the large gash that extended almost to her ear. A reminder of how the Death Wraith known as the Shadow almost ended her life in the barren snow wasteland deep in Fæordic territory. The last cycle had been all about life and death, mostly hers, and now she could potentially hold someone else's life in her hand.

How should she treat the man that was mostly responsible for her good friend Ethelston's mother's death and her guardian, Edric's exile? He was also with the forces that attempted to retake Ravenscourt for the usurper and as a result of Loldirr's victory, had become her captive.

Kirken was not just a treacherous snake, but his punishment would be symbolic of the Aex-Igh dynasty under Loldirr.

If she was too lenient on him, Loldirr would be considered weak, and the lords of the Isovine Empire would not respect her. If she was too strong, then future alliances could be scuppered from fear of Loldirr's long-lasting memory of treasonous leeches.

If only she could turn back the clock and tell her younger self what a fool she was for wanting an adventure.

There was another crunch in the snow, louder than the quietened steps she was making, but quieter than anyone of significant size. As Loldirr turned, she spotted the warm welcoming small of Erdudvyl Ar Moal. Her short elven friend and mentor who had become immensely valuable since they met each other at Gryffinfall, some moon cycles ago. A woman of small stature but huge importance to Loldirr as her wisdom and sometimes selfless acts had kept them all on a difficult path of survival.

Watching Erdudvyl glide down the snow in her heavy wolf-furred coat was something remarkable. How she could remain so graceful while dressed in something that enveloped her almost entirely was something that Loldirr envied.

"I thought I would find you here." Erdudvyl commented with grace, her blue crystal eyes glancing towards the grouping of Loldirr's arrows on the unfortunate target.

Loldirr remained silent, looking towards her elven friend with little enthusiasm.

"You know why I have come?" Erdudvyl asked, seeing the misery in Loldirr's eyes.