The Siege

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
A cannon blasts. A tower destroyed. A siege. One servant will face the odds and escape her fate, by any means necessary

Submitted: April 15, 2016

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Submitted: April 15, 2016

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NOTE: Errors in spelling / grammar may be present.  I don't understand the formatting system on this website. 

 

The washing room was in the highest tower in Brownstone.  It overlooked a small cove that acted as a makeshift port for the fortress. The tremendous height of the tower allowed one to gaze out over the summer sea.  Sometimes on a really nice day when the skies opened, you could see some of the tropical islands of the north.  It was not that kind of day.  The dusk had come early and both of the moons had risen high as Marsa stuck her head into the small stone chamber.  

She cursed the Barth family as she pulled herself through the floor and began to organize the lady’s silks.  Her small eggshell coloured pot sat in the corner with freshly poured warm water filling it.  Every day this was her last job before she was allowed to slip back into her tiny chamber and barely sleep before her nightmare of a life started again.

 Marsa pulled back her thick brown hair and used a crude string to keep it behind her. She pulled out a small black silk sheet from her woven basket and began to clean it gently into the waters.  The warmth felt amazing on her hands and every night the feeling was the only thing she was able to look forward too as she climbed up the overly long stone tower.  She was so enthralled in her meaningless job that she failed to notice the huge fleet of Mirrothian ships making their way into the Brownstone cove.  

 After a long while her hands became as wrinkly as a raisin and were pulling out the last of the silks from the basket when she heard the bleating terrifying ring of the alarm bell,  she threw the last silk into the water and quickly stood up to gaze out a small porthole which sat in the centre of the wall.  She could not count them all but it seemed to her that thousands of ships were pouring into the harbour, and already little black specks of men were rowing themselves towards the docks.  The faint dim of candlelight was barely visible within all the vessels, and the vast amount of them almost seemed like an army to her.  the grassy beach swayed back and forth in the wind, it was favourable weather for a siege.

 This cannot be happening she thought to herself as she attempted to grasp the weight of the event she was witnessing.

 BANG. The sound of a canon firing rung through the night, and she could hear it rushing through the air towards her.  Thinking as quickly as she could she jumped down the hatch in the floor just as a small metal ball blasted off the top of the tower.  Giant stone clumps fell heavily to the wooden floor and some crashed through it barely missing her. The sound was so loud that it took Marsa a couple seconds to regain her hearing before screamed and began to bolt down the long spiralling staircase.  spinning and spinning faster then she felt she had ever moved in her entire life.  Her simple frock was impeding her movements forcing her to move a little slower than she might have been.  The garment was a dark blue and had been patched up so many times that it was beginning to look like a rag.  The Barth family was not known for their luxuriousness, nor that of their servants.  She had always hated her outfit and she especially hated it now. 

 “fuck it” she finally screamed in frustration as she had almost again (and for the last time) tripped because of her outfit.  She reached down and with all of her strength ripped the bottom of the dress halfway up her legs.  The satisfying sound gave her the extra fire she needed to continue down the staircase.  She would not let her assigned garment be the end of her, she was stronger than that and she knew it.  The Barth’s would not care, hell they probably wouldn't even be alive by the end of this ordeal, but she would.

 After what felt like ages she finally reached the bottom of the tower and made her way through a small opening into the kitchen.  The fire was still burning in the oven as the cooks had probably just only left themselves to see what all the commotion was.  She could hear the terrifying sounds of steel against steel as she knew the independent Barth army was not nearly enough to fend off the bulk of the Mirrothian imperial fleet.  The numbers themselves predicted a staggering lose for the Barth’s, and Marsa wasn't one to go against the numbers.  Her hands hovered over the island in the centre of the room searching for any thing that could be used as a weapon.  At the end of the table there was the glint of a steel cleaver reflecting the fire and  she rushed over to pick it up.

 The black handle was large and easy enough to hold as Marsa wielded the giant cutting utensil in her hand.  The blade looked sharp and had enough space to do some serious damage to any unsuspecting Mirrothian soldier she might come across, or so she thought.  She would never admit it but she  was terrified as her eyes moved across the foreign item in her hands, she had never held a cleaver as a weapon, she had never even held one to cut vegetables or meat before.  She had no experience as a fighter and yet she believed in herself for some reason.  Her fear was slowly turning into courage her anxiety was shifting into ambition as she strode out of the kitchen confidently wielding the blade.  

 Her path was simple, she needed to cross down the servants corridor and up the stairs into the east hallway, from there she knew she would have to make a break for a small side room which hid a little servants passage that lead straight into the forest on the other side of the castle.  Marsa prepared herself mentally for the carnage she would be witnessing in the east hallway as she made her way down the unusually empty servants corridor and began to climb the stairs.

 Before she reached the top she paused and looked at her cleaver.  I have no loyalties  to the Barth’s she thought to herself and I have no loyalties to Mirrothia she came to only one admittedly selfish conclusion I will kill anyone who gets in my way.  With that extra boost of adrenaline she threw open the door at the top of the servants staircase and ran into the east hallway.  

 The screams is what she heard first, followed by the pleading cries of the fatally injured lying on the floor.  

“oh please!” she heard a familiar voice yell at her.  She didn't have time to feel guilty and so she began running down the eastern corridor thinking only of herself and her need to survive.  The fighting was happening all around her.  Mirrothian soldiers fought Barth soldiers in isolated little battles all across the eastern corridor, she thanked the gods that they seemed to be too busy to notice the insignificant servant running past them on a doomed escape plan.  Her freed legs moved her as fast as she could.  She soon realized with dread that up ahead there was one Mirrothian soldier standing over a newly dead servant.  It was her friend Preston, a young man training to be a butler.  He was a nice boy and had always had a kind word for Marsa. The Mirrothian had his helmet off and was polishing his sword with one of Lady Barth’s clean linens.  As she approached him Marsa noticed that he was blocking the entrance to the room that would take her out of Brownstone.  

She paused and looked behind her as she saw many Mirrothian victories and just as many Barth deaths.  I have to escape she told herself clutching the cleaver tighter than ever and this man must die.

“you aren’t the first servant that has tried to escape out this door,” The Mirrothian soldier confessed eyeing his longsword “and you wont be the last”.

 “why can’t you just let me leave!” Marsa exclaimed hearing the fear in her voice.

 The soldier stopped cleaning his sword and dropped the linen on the ground.  He slowly looked up at her and pointed his sword towards her chest.  “I have made a vow to kill all Barth men” he began “and all their servants”.

 Marsa only had a couple of seconds to act and she knew that these last moments would mean life or death for her.  “I haven't made any vows” Marsa stated, feeling the cool edge of the cleaver as she ran her fingers over the blade “but regardless I will kill you if you stand in my way.”

“And I ma’am will kill you if you try to escape.” The Mirrothian told her as he took one step closer “fore death waits for us all, and it waits for you here and now.”

 The Mirrothian underestimated her power.  He began pushing his way towards her with his sword pointed at her chest.  A simple move that usually worked on most servants Marsa thought.  but not this one.  Marsa waited until the sword got close enough to touch her before she stepped to the side over the body of her dead friend.  She used her cleaver to knock his heavy sword down and swung upward to hit his face.  The cleaver clipped to tip of his nose as he flung his head backwards and took a couple steps sideways.

 “bitch!” he screamed regaining his composure.

 His reaction was quicker than Marsa had hoped.  He put his sword back into position and she watched it as it flew sideways straight towards one of her ribs.  She gripped her cleaver tighter and lunged backwards as her cleaver caught the sword and deflected it so that it only nicked her leather vest.  She walked backwards a few more steps and the Mirrothian once again regained his stance quickly.  

 Marsa held her cleaver out in front of her with one hand, and used the other to bite her thumb at him. I can do this she thought as she watched blood trickle over his lip and down his chin.  

 my turn.

 

The sound of steel ringing pierced her ears as she swung her cleaver upwards so that his eyes would follow it which they did.  He countered by beginning to move his sword sideways and positioned it to block a downwards swing.  Maria took this opportunity and quietly thanked the gods that she was able to lift her leg unimpeded by her frock and kick him straight in the groin area.  

 “Fuck!” the Mirrothian screamed as he staggered backwards trying to keep his sword in hand.  This would be her only chance and she swung her cleaver quickly and brutally into the side of his head.  The Mirrothians eyes widened as blood began to find its way out of his skull.  Some even splattered on her face.  She couldn't care less.  He fell to the floor taking her cleaver with him.  That was the end of that Mirrothian soldier.  She felt no pity, and that was the only thing that legitimately scared her in the moment.  She calmly reached down and peeled the cleaver from the side of the mans head.  Once she had reclaimed her weapon the blood began rushing from the wound and staining the floor around her shoes.  The pool of dark red was a victory, the victory, one that felt like her very first.  Marsa looked back and was just able to see the second wave of Mirrothians breaking into the east hallway before she ran into the room on her left and into the semi-secret corridor.  

 Everything was pitch black, but she had been down there so many times that she was confident she could find her way out in the darkness.  She knew that no Mirrothian would be able to follow her through the small corridors, there was no possible way they could know of the passage.  Regardless she kept the cleaver in case she had to use it against something (or someone) else on her trip back to the Glass City.  Marsa moved slowly but confidently through the dark chamber, and found herself smiling, a sick thing to do she told herself after just killing man.  For Preston she thought.

When she finally reached the exit, she pushed open the large stone door and found herself in the middle of the woods.  The large elegant tress had thin trunks and extended upwards for what seemed like miles before they allowed a couple bright red leaves to grow off of their few branches.  The “Finewood” so it was called extended endlessly before her as she took in the vastness of her surroundings.  The sound of fighting could still be heard inside Brownstone, and canon balls were still being fired from the ships that were no doubt all docked at the harbor by now.  The Mirrothians were going to take this fortress, and that only meant one thing for Marsa.  War she thought to herself.  

Marsa quickly and eagerly began her journey to the Glass City by stocking up on some supplies.  She knew where the hunters shed was and found it with no difficulties, she entered and collected any sort of equipment or items she could use along the journey.  She found a blanket, torch, sword, pants and some petty rations to keep her from starving.  Finally she threw one of the hunters stark black cloaks over her soldiers and buttoned it up on the front. 

She exited the hunters cabin and began her trip with a newfound courage, and a surprising confidence she never knew she had.  She pulled up the hood of her cloak and smiled to herself.  my job is not with the Barth’s any more Marsa pondered as she held up her head with an air of nobility I am too good to die for them. Her legs felt freed in the new trousers which she had put on in the hunters shack.   Never again would she let the rule of man put her down and stick her in a box, never again would she ever wear any sort of dress, and never again would she hesitate before killing any man that got in her way.  

The hilarious sounds of defeat echoed behind her as she made her way into the future.


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