The Nature of Evil (Fantasy)

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On the night of his sixteenth birthday, Alandro Brightcloak, famed for his good fortune, stood Vigil in the chapel of his ancestors, according to our customs. Later that night, he killed his six year old brother as the child slept, and fled into the night. It is said that his legendary white cloak was forever stained crimson by the blood of the child.
-From A History of Betrayal, by Chronicler Allain


Anya Doveskin, knight of the castle Woodkeep, rode further into the forest. Alongside her horse, her hunting hounds walked, stopping now and again to sniff the trail, before bounding onwards.

The forest was dark here, a few leagues in, even though it was barely midday, and she had thought more than once of turning back, but she had resolved herself, and continued on.
A knight back in the castle had loudly pondered whether a female knight would be able to fulfil the customary duty of a knight to hunt a creature large enough to feed the lord of the castle at feast, and, sensing the implied slight, she had set out to seek a worthy meal.

So, here she was, dark hair flowing in the wind, her pale skin that had earned her name and the admiring glance of many a young squire chilled in the cold breeze, and her armour no longer glinted in the sunlight.

She jumped as she heard a howl in the distance, rattling the lance in her hand. Wolves, at this hour? Her dogs stopped short next to her horse, ears flat against their heads. Even her horse threw its head.
Another howl reverberated around the forest, and her dogs whimpered.
Dark forms moved all around her, and she halted her horse as they began to circle. Yes, definitely wolves. One by one, they stepped into view. Larger than wolves, with muzzles stained red, their eyes glinted hungrily.

She slowly hooked her lance back onto the sling beside her saddle, and drew her sword. She spoke a few soothing words to her horse and dogs, which recovered a measure of courage, and began to growl.

At once, the wolves lunged, and battle was joined. The dogs focused on one, tearing its throat, even as another seized a dog and worried its spiked collar, only gaining a bloodied mouth for its trouble.
Anya deflected a lunge with her shield, and followed with a stab that crippled the beast. A shrieking yelp from ahead told the death of one of her beloved dogs, and it was quickly followed by another, as her brave mastiffs both died defending their mistress. Two dead wolves lay beside them, testament to the ferocity of their bloodline.
A leaping bite ripped the shield from her arm, another scored her gauntlet. She slapped a wolf away with her blade, and another took the opportunity to latch onto her shield arm. Its razor sharp teeth bit through the metal, punching into her arm. It hung on tenaciously as she battered it with the hilt of her sword. The other wolves lunged, one taking the throat of her horse. It collapsed, sending her crashing to the ground in a cacophony of screeching metal. She lay, stunned, as the wolves stalked closely. They snarled, and lunged.
As she closed her eyes, waiting for death, she heard yelps, and opened them again. A dead wolf crashed into her head, and the last thing she saw before she blacked out was a flash of crimson, and a pair of emerald eyes.

[ October 30, 2006, 16:22: Message edited by: Daie d'Malkin ]

 

A promising start, you often have a fairly similar writing style to my own. I am especially curious as to the motivations behind this Alandro fellow.

I assume this is a typo and was intended to be 'sensing'?

Nevertheless, what you have done is good and if you continue the tale I, for one, will read it.

 

As I have said to you before, You must finish these stories. Leaving them half completed (or just started) is anoying the hell out of me.

 

I've got a plan for a sequel to The Spirit of the Forest, and this one, but it's NaNoWriMo month, so I'll do them in December.