Sivian's Story: Part 5 - The Setting Sun

  • Prince


    The ships horn was unmistakable, the two short and one long was the sound to recall. A signal meant more for Sivian than the soldiers disembarking the ships pulling into the small dock of the arena city. The Banners of House Worden and Vansen were seen whipping in the wind from the upper masts of the warships.

    The Worden marines were adept at their craft, ship based ballista were expertly aimed to disable the limited coastal defenses before they even pulled into the docks proper. The beach head was quickly snatched, those who thought it wise to raise a weapon were cut down just as efficiently. The Worden marines were there only to take and hold the landing, it was up the Vansen to rescue their leader, a point of pride rather than necessity.

    With them was the hooded man that had seen her originally. His hood was swept back showing his face, short white hair and pointed ears, he was a cousin of Sivian’s, long since gone from the Helian homeland to make his own mark, but he couldn’t stand by and see the head of his house left in bondage.

    The Vansen warriors were Sivian’s own men at arms, led in part by her squire. And two other knights and their men at arms. Dame Genefel of Novia, the Silent and Sir Geoff Marvell, the Jewel of Lorna. The group was small but enough to hit hard and move. The Arena was visible from the docks and the raiding party moved quickly through the wide streets towards the arena proper.

    They hadn’t hit more than a couple of too-brave shop keeps until they got to the arena. The guards at the gates were overwhelmed before they could even make an alarm.

    Screaming came from the entrance of the arena, then bloomed from there. No one knew what was happening in the gathered throng of people in the arena. But the truth of it became evident as a wave of people rushed from the dock-facing entrance trying to escape the armored death that had poured into the arena seating.

    Sivian looked up to it, the flag that whipped from the ends of spears swelled her heart. The pain in her back and her hands was gone in the fervor. She charged the remaining soldiers she had been fighting but they were struck with well placed arrows before she could even make contact. The Pathfinders had gotten to the edge of the arena railing.
    She turned, dropping her gear and sprinted to the far wall. She blazed past the other slaves, who had no clue what was going on, she didn’t care for them anymore.

    One pathfinder lept over the low railing that was meant to keep patrons from falling into the arena pit. He grasped the waiting hand of his partner and dangled down the wall of the arena, acting like a living rope ladder for their leader to grasp. The action was so smooth as to be a testament to their training and trust in each other. Sivian planted her feet on the wall and took two steps upward on it and grabbed onto the outstretched hand of the dangling pathfinder. She pulled herself up climbing up the two men until she was over the railing. She reached over and pulled the other pathfinder up.

    “Sivvy. It seems we came in just the right time.” Sivian’s cousin said as she walked up to her, he already had a warpick in his hand for her. She grasped the thick wooden handle in her hand it felt right. She leaned in and grasped her cousin in a too-tight hug.

    “Truly you were sent by the Gods Favian.” She whispered to him.

    He didn’t reply, but the hesitation was clear. He broke the hug. “Let us get you home Lady Vansen. You have a house to run.”

    “No.” Her voice was cold. “Squire! Setting Sun. To me!” She called out and it was barely a half beat before her squire was standing before her, and the two nights made their way as well. “Pick two men each that you trust, armed for speed.” They didn’t question and called out name and their choices came just as quickly as they had.

    Favian furrowed his brows. “Sivian we don’t have a real attacking force, we can’t linger. What is it you even mean to do? ”

    Sivian smiled at him, fangs tarnished with blood. “I have one last meal.”

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