Mistress of the Mountains
I promise I'm not forgeting about my other story, but I would love an opinion on this. Should I continue? Rubbish? Awesome? Meh? Tell me what you think so far.
-Lilly
Mistress of the Mountains
High up in the mountains stood a dark castle, It had been there for so many years that no one alive could remember it being built. More than that, no one remembered any stories about it being built. It was as if it had been born with the mountain, shoved skyward from within the earth itself, born of fire and earthquakes. Its parapets and towers were just visible above the clouds on a clear day. It nestled in between crags of black rock that seemed impossible to scale, and they were, from the valley below, though there were speculations that if you were to circle round to the other side of the great mountain range, that there was a way into the castle from the rear. But no one knew for sure. No one had tried to travel that far, and of the people passing thru, anyone headed in that direction had never returned to tell of the castle's other side.
But on this night, faces lifted to the darkness and eyes peered dimly at the mountain, where distant torches could be seen in the far off castle. Many figures huddled closer into their winter garb and scurried to the safety of their cabins and huts, fearful at what the ghostly light meant.
"How DARE you!"
Princess Sarangerel Highdeath purred inwardly at the way her scream of indignation echoed thru the stone chambers. She liked this place. The acoustics were perfection. Not that she was going to let her Uncle know that little morsel of information. She paced, and uttered a snarl that caused instant panic in the servants that were carrying heavy boxes into the room. The rock spirits made excellent labor, but were fairly useless for anything else, falling to shadowy pieces over the slightest thing. They had better not drop her belongings. She had an image to uphold, and right now, it included being furious over being relocated to this distant fortress. "You and my Step-mother planned to get rid of me the moment Father's spirit abandoned his body." She hissed with all the venom of a viper. She narrowed her emerald gaze at her uncle, Baron Evask Greenside, who had the good grace to look slightly guilty as he stood by, watching more shadow spirits scrubbing the walls and floors of the long unused castle.
"Now, Saran-" He started, only to chuff and clear his throat nervously and begin again at her murderous glare. "Please, Princess." He smiled nervously. "Queen Bolormaa is in mourning, all she asks is for you to live here in luxury for a year. You look so much like your father, you know...you..." He trailed off at her bared fangs. Physically, Sarangerel was much larger than her uncle, for she did indeed take after her Father. The Highdeath family was proud and strong, her white fur with rosette spots marked her as one of the elite snow cats with that name. Her Step-mother and her brother had some of that noble blood, but not with the strength that Sarangereland her Father, King Ganbaatar had. The family of her Step-mother's origin had moved south out of the mountains centuries ago, and lorded over less harsh climes than The Highdeaths had, and it had thinned their blood, darkened their fur, and weakened their constitution. Luckily, her own mother had been of better stock, now long dead from glorious battle with the demons of the deep. She did not mourn her Mother's magnificent death, but only wished she had chosen to go later. It would have saved Saran the trouble of living among weaklings, she thought as she glared at her Uncle.
"You know as well as I that the only reason she is able to do this is because tradition prohibits me from taking the throne before my eighteenth birthday." She splayed her long silver whiskers in a supremely smug grin. Her broad head held high, she strode from the room and to the staircase, her luxuriously long tail held in a perfect crescent curl. She didn't catch the look of murderous hate the Baron shot at her back, because he had cleared it to one of carefully constructed politeness by the time she reached the landing and turned back.
"So I will stay here until then, Uncle... But warn my Step-mother not to get too comfortable on her stolen throne." She called. There was no answer, but then, she hadn't expected one. Exiting the tower thru the second story doors she strode along the broad inner stone walkways that circled the courtyard below, headed for the stairs that would lead to the outer wall. They had arrived at the castle thru the underground tunnels, and she had yet to see the valley and the surrounding mountains. She wished to see her new territory. Up another flight of stairs, she leapt them seven at a time effortlessly, the slits in her heavy grey overskirts allowing surprisingly agile movement. The blue woven underskirts flashed with each leap and in four jumps she was standing on the smooth ashlar stones of the wall walk. The wind had picked up and whipped her black braided hair against her shoulders and dragged at her clothing, pulling her towards the parapet wall. She went steadily, unafraid, to the wall and looked out over the vast valley below. Looking down, cliff faces plummeted hundreds of feet to the crags below and she smiled in predatory glee. She had always loved heights. Opening her mouth and grimacing she drew the air into her sinuses and onto her tongue, tasting the glacial air. She did it several times, reveling in her new home. Living lower in the foot lands was no place for a snow cat, and she growled as she tried not to think of how many years had been wasted in the country her Step-mother called home. This was the land of her father, King Ganbaatar, this castle, his birthplace, and hers. And now it belonged to her alone. Highdeath Castle... She put her left fist out and drew an imaginary arrow back with two fingers of her right hand, held in perfect position below her ear. She spotted a great black eagle soaring fifty yards below, and let her imaginary arrow fly. Yes. This was a good place for her to be.
The blue square cut bodice she wore was woolen, but finely woven, and over her thin chemise the chill of the wind was starting to bite. Saran turned and headed back inside, narrowing her eyes against the wind. She was weak from living in the low country, she realized with irritation. The first thing she was going to do was set up a training schedule for herself to get back into battle condition for this altitude. She would not be weak. Though Saran had been born in Highdeath castle, she had started her life in Skyclap Keep, a lower built fortress where they had moved to more closely oversee the kingdom during the war, and then shortly after her Mother's death, to the lowlands, so as much as her heritage proclaimed her as a high mountain cat, she would have to work hard to become one in truth. She snapped her fingers and immediately three shadow servants appeared, glowing softly as she entered the sheltered shadows of the inner walkway.
"Is the castle in good repair?" She asked. All three nodded their bowed and shrouded heads in affirmation.
"Good." She began walking and the spirits followed her dutifully floating a few feet behind her. She made her way into the great inner hall, frowning at the vast empty space and naked walls. "Are my Father's banners and tapestry's not in storage below the castle?" She asked, stopping abruptly. The middle spirit, who carried a slight resemblance to a ground squirrel stepped forwards and knelt.
"Princess, the doors are bolted with magic we cannot unlock." It spoke with a whispery voice, like air moving through a cavern. Saran growled, frustrated for the millionth time in her life over her Father's weakness for his second wife. It irked her to no end that her Mother had been forgotten over such a simpering puss of a female. When her Father had re-married, the new female had hissed and yowled to no end over the tapestries depicting the war, and the royal bloodline banners. Mostly because they featured the King and Queen of the time together in all sorts of backdrops as well as Saran's Mother's family crest slashed with her Fathers. She'd had them locked away in all the castles, so that she would never have to look at them, and her Father had let her. Saran's own colors, chosen by herself at the age of sixteen had been picked to anger her Stepmother specifically. She had taken the gray background with the sky blue quarter with a bow and arrow crossed by a saber. Her Mother's colors with her mother's weapons. This was most likely her way of getting some small amount of revenge.
"Show me." She demanded of the spirits, and they rose immediately and headed off to the stairs leading down below the castle.