“Faster! Faster! He’s comin!” The little girl’s words were lost in the adrenaline of the moment. The horse raced on through the dark undergrowth as the branches above twisted and groaned under the force of the Southern wind.

“Faster Mari, we’re almos’ home!” The little girl squealed as the horse jumped over a fallen bough. “Shut up!” Mari barked as the wind blew her fair hair into her eyes, “I'm going fast as I can Sara!” 

Before the girl could hurl back a reply a glistening black blur shot out of the trees to their left. The destrier was a large, powerful beast, bred for charging through soldiers and hunting Drakes. The beast was nearly as imposing as its rider. 

Nearly.

The mounted man loomed over his horse, his mail, blued and oiled clinking under his rich blue kaftan. His helmet, long since lost, exposed his hair, short and well managed which stood in stark contrast to his beard, thick and wild as was the manner of a devotee of the One. In his hand he held a slender curved stick and bore upon the two girls.

Mari drew a similar stick from her belt and held its tip facing the blue rider. With a smirk she hit her horse’s rump and launched ahead of the destrier.

“Good” The rider spoke with a loud guffaw, “But I’ll get you!” He turned and vanished into the trees.

Mari rode on, quickly but alert, she imagined every dark spot between the trees as the great destrier. Soon she imagined that she was being followed by a hundred destriers mounted by a hundred proud Sipahis, and leading them all was her, Mariyah the Lioness the proud, strong and Beautiful Warrior Queen that-

The sharp crack of the stick on her shoulder and her sister’s scream snapped Mari out of her fantasy.

“Mari, are you alright?” the bearded man helped her off her horse, “You should have seen me a hundred yards prior, what happened?” “Nothing Papa, just daydreamed a little tha‘s all” the girl searched for her stick amidst the foliage. “That is all, and you need to be more focused my dear, a Crow would not show you as much mercy as I did” Her father picked up her stick from between his feet and handed it to her. The girl took the stick from his hand and looked down in shame.

“Daddy, Daddy, can I get a s’ord too? The younger girl was still in the saddle and holding her arms out, looking for a way off the beast she thought she would love.

“You will when you’re older child” He lifted the girl out of the saddle and sat her on his shoulders, “Go Mariya, find my helmet.”

“Yes Papa” the older girl said sullenly, her shoulder and pride still sore. She mounted her horse and galloped down the trodden underbrush. She came upon  a dying Oak tree, its once lofty branches stood bare and pale against the cool green canopies flanking it. Her father’s helmet rested at its foot, its cheek guards and half unfurled turban were spattered brown by the mud. The helm nonetheless was beautiful, its brow and spiked dome was richly adorned in gold calligraphy, with a pale blue sapphire, denoting a Sipahi, resting on a langet above its forehead. Mariyah continued to ogle the helmet until she noticed a glint of metal behind the tree. She gingerly laid the helmet upon her head. She was twelve years old now, braver and better with a sword than any of the boys at the estate, she was a warrior like her father, the Gray Bear. Drawing her stick, she confidently proceeded to walk around the tree before halting with a choked gasp.

The glint had come from the tip of a saber, its belly and the hand grasping it were black with dried blood. The mangled body lay crumpled against the tree, its stomach cut open leaving his innards and life's blood like a cruel sacrifice before the dead oak. its chest was caved in and the space where half of its head once was left a cruel black stump with the lower half of his jaw resting loose and bloody on the soft underbrush. 

Mariyah stepped back, her heel brushing against hair. She looked down and glimpsed a set of cold milky eyes staring under the brim of a battered helmet caked with mud and blood.

 Her short hurried breaths and the soft whistle of the wind were the only sounds in this part of the woods but Mariya heard nothing, she knew nothing, she felt nothing. 

Nothing except fear.

Mariya dared not look away. She had seen executions before but this was different, this was not justice, this was cruelty. Promptly Mariya’s stomach gave way and she vomited onto the ground next to the corpse. As she recovered she noticed faroff sounds of a struggle, faroff, but in the direction of the clearing. 

finding her stirrup, the young girl effortlessly glided onto the saddle and galloped down the road to her father. 

“Sara!” She heard as she neared the clearing, a scream of anguish followed close after. Bounding into the treeline she saw her father wild eyed, with two arrows in his back, and a mace in his hand. He held a battered shield, probably taken from one of the three dead men surrounding him. He stood against six men, all with the Black Eagle of Vlaskia painted on their shields.

“Go Mariya! Go to Kraljigrad!” He blocked a blow of a falchion and gave one from his mace in return. The man let out a howl of pain.

 “But what about-” she stopped as she noticed her sister lying softly on the grass, her fair hair billowing around her head. She looked as though she was sleeping peacefully amid a field of red flowers. The arrow stood darkly upon her chest, a shot to the heart.

Mariya let out an agonizing scream. A soldier rushed at her, groping for her legs. Crunch. The man let out a howl as her father’s mace buried itself into the small of his back. 

“Mariya! Go!”

Mariya could not remember what happened next. One moment she was in the clearing, the next she was barreling through the woods. The sounds of the engagement moving farther and farther into the green darkness behind her. She heard her father yell before it was quickly cut off. 

The thunder of the hooves masked her sobs.

 

I have been working on this for a while, I have a nice idea of the plot, some big events and the final battle. My main issue is the stuff in between. As in there are lengthy sections of time between one main event and the other and I am unaware of how to bridge them. My writing style has been heavily influenced by G.R.R. Martin but I adore the Lord of the Rings, Redwall, Dune, and plenty of Historical Fiction works that I also try to apply to my writing.