Writing Dares

Cool idea! Would we post what we've written here?

She was scared. More scared than she'd ever been in her life. Terrified would be a better term. Princess or slave girl, it didn't take more than the screams from outside the tent, the clash of steel, and the echoing curses to tell her that these men were mere mountain raiders. Or worse. They certainly weren't knights charging to the rescue from her father back in Vanya.

Her father. He'd probably forgotten her by now. He'd a dozen sons and even more daughters. What did one girl, more or less, matter in the end. He hadn't even remembered her name the last time he'd visited her and her siblings. The last time...it was nearly a year ago now. A year ago since she'd seen him; since she'd seen any of them. A year ago since she'd slipped from the palace in disguise, been caught by traders, and sold to this wandering tribe of horsemen.

She shivered, curling tighter on the floor behind the divan. They'd come for her. They'd find her and then...she shuddered. Death would be a mercy if half the rumors were true. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath, straining for the small grains of courage still hiding deep in her heart.

No.

She refused.

She'd not give in. Not this easily. Her father might have forgotten her. Her family; her people might have abandon her. But this would not be her fate, to be merely another casualty of the ruthless mountain bandits. She clenched her fist, the iron rings on her fingers cold against her palm.

She'd escape. She'd leave this place, leave this land. She'd find a place where she could live in peace; a palace where she was master of her own fate.

Slowly she raised her head, peering over the cushions toward the entrance of the tent. The screams had been replaced by crackling flames. Dark shadows passed between the canvas wall and the lurid light of the burning camp. Her tent would follow soon. Her life follow those of the others silenced outside.

It was time.

Whispering a prayer under her breath, she gathered her legs beneath her and then, refusing to give herself time to think, she leaped over the divan and sprang for the tent entrance.

Thanks...it's a little over the word count, but not by too much.

"No!" He whispered, staring at himself in horror.

The metal slithered down his arms, hissing as it evaporated. He fell to the ground as the armor that had protected him, held him up, for so long cracked and turned to mist, until all that remained was the mask. It glinted one last time before dissolving and floating away as well.

He vaguely heard the sounds of battle around him, without him. He was useless. Crippled. As he had been before the mask had come along, taunting him with it's allure of power and wholeness.

There was a war cry in front of him, and he flicked his fingers dismissively, without concious thought, before realizing that the armor wouldn't protect him this time. He didn't even look up to meet the eyes of his soon-to-be killer

The sword screamed in victory as it began its descent. He braced himself.

And then something darted in front of him. The person who had intervened was dressed in white leather armor, with a sword that caught the little light and tossed it everywhere in sparkling shards. They dispatched his attacker- probably one of his own soldiers, he thought wryly -and grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet. He gasped at the pain that stabbed at his legs, and tried to pull away. "Let me go!"

"Not a chance," she said, supporting him and dragging him from the cave.

Outside, he tugged himself angrily away from her grip. He nearly fell, but caught himself on the wall and held himself upright.

"What are you doing?" He leveled his most fearsome glare at her. "Who do you think you are?"

"My name is Sparrow." The girl said. "And I'm saving you."

"Who said I wanted saving?" He snarled, reaching for his sword only to find that it had dissolved along with his armor.

Sparrow shugged. "Nobody. Actually I believe I was specifically warned that you didn't want and weren't worth saving."

He scowled. "You're spilling nonsense."

Sparrow quirked a half smile. "I've heard that's a side effect of spending so much time around the Authors. Crazyness tends to rub off."

He stared at her. She was mad. Stark, blooming mad.

Sparrow waved a hand. "Regardless. Someone thought you were worth saving. So here I am." She bowed. "You're free of the mask. You aren't dead. You have a second chance- do with that what you will."

And then she turned and walked away, leaving him staring incredulously after her. Her words swirled. Not worth saving... Free of the mask... Second chance... Do with that what you will.

He slumped to the ground. You have a second chance. Do with that what you will

Love it!

One chance. He had one chance. The armor was failing, it wouldn't protect him much longer. The ancient enchantment was wearing thin, strained by betrayal and lies. Hylatha had warned him. She had told him it wouldn't last. But he hadn't thought it would end so soon. He needed more time.

He slowly sat up. His helmet cracked and fell to the floor. Gother stared at it in horror. He had several minutes before the end would come. He had known it would come sometime, it was unavoidable, but he wanted it to be much later. He steeled his muscles, willing himself to stand. He needed to get out before his protection was gone forever. A few more minutes, and he would be defenseless, helpless to escape and stop the evil that was darkening their world.

A scream escaped his lips as he straightened. The whip cuts on his back throbbed and burned, searing him with white fire. The strips of cloth wrapped around his forearm were once again stained with bright blood. His blood. Fire shot through his body again, sending him into spasms of pain.

Ethelyn. Think of Ethelyn. Her chestnut hair and green eyes. Her gentle smile and soothing voice. She was here, somewhere, and he had to save her before Traylor harmed her. The thought of his Ethelyn in the hands of that monster enfuriated him.

He scanned the walls of his prison, searching for the hidden latch Hylatha had assured him was there. He painfully stepped to the corner, feeling the stones for his way to freedom. There. He found it.

Gother pulled the lever. A stone fell away from the wall, revealing a dark crevice behind. A grinding sound from behind him told him the secret door was opening. He dropped to his knees and reached into the dark hole and pulled out a sword. His sword. Hylatha had kept her promise. His gauntlets cracked and hissed. He needed to leave, now.

Gother slowly turned and moved towards the hidden door, pushing himself on hands and knees, forcing his body through the flashes of fire, grinding his teeth against the pain. He needed to move faster. For Ethelyn's sake. He glanced up at the doorway, Horror gripped him and wrapped its cold fingers around his heart.