Princess Cecily Ruriksdottir crouched. She stalked a white rabbit through the foliage. Carefully, she drew back the string on her hunting wooden crossbow and quietly nocked a bolt. She halted and started aiming at her prey. Although she practiced a bow, crossbows made it much less difficult with built in-sights for a more accurate shooting than bow and arrow. She inhaled and slowly counted to three.

     “Your Highness! Your Highness! Where are you?”

     Cecily jolted, which made her squeeze the trigger too early. The bolt missed its mark two centimeters to the left. The commotion agitated the rabbit and he fled out of view.

     “How many times did I tell you, do not sneak up on me, Sir Robert.” She grumbled, “Your intrusion has cost me a rabbit.”

     “Forgive me for my incompetence. It’s my sworn duty to guard you with my life. Your father will have my head if anything were to happen to you. Now hand over the crossbow, Your Highness.”

     “Not until I hunt down one rabbit.”

     Sir Robert rubbed his chin, then snarled. Sir Robert was very handsomely built man in his early thirties. He had a mane of dark brown hair with a nicely trimmed goatee and square face. He was wearing a fine iron chainmail and dark silver iron armor. He served as one of Vanhold’s royal knights sworn to protect the royal family.

     “You know your father is being summoned to the Arkon? It would be a shame if you missed your ride. Who knows how long until another opportunity to Arkon will come.”

     “There has to be some mistake. It’s not until another fortnight.”

     “I’m afraid the time has come. The king departs this afternoon.”

     “It’s best we be on our way. This better not be a joke.”

     “I swear on my life, Your Highness.” He reached out, “Crossbow?”

     Cecelia sighed and handed him the crossbow. He then lifted her over the saddle before mounting the stallion. The stallion canted and went into a full gallop, leaving the forest behind them.

     She was ten years of age, just as Eddie.

     Trotting through the overgrown pathway back to the fortress, their path was suddenly blocked by several timbers in the roadway. There was no way through. They would have to trek. An uncontrollable jitter spiraled down her back. She could feel the tension in Sir Robert’s lower abdomen building up. The smell of burnt timber permeated the air. A black haze of smoke was seen rising from the eastern side of the Black Forest.

     The stallion became agitated and wary, sensing the danger that approached them. Sir Robert sensed the impending danger just in time to crook his head to the left as an arrow chafed alongside his right cheek. Sir Robert gripped the reins with brute strength and tugged on it. The battle horse hollered and reared on its back two hoofs. All in one motion, the stallion spun in the opposite direction and went into a full speed gallop.

     “Hold on tight, Your Highness!”

     Cecily cringed at the eerie figures in black rustic armors armed with pikes, swords, and axes, rustling from within the woods, flanking them from both sides. The figures were in hot pursuit.

     “Orcs!” He snarled. “It seems the village is under attack. We have no choice but to take shelter at the Temple of the Gods.”

     “But the villagers—”

     Sir Robert shook his head with concern, “We will mourn the loss once we are out of harm’s way.”

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     “Capture the princess! Kill the bodyguard,” one of the orcs said.

     “It seems like they are after you for ransom against your father and the entire kingdom! We must prevent that at all cost!”

     Most girls her age would have screamed in fear, but Cecily was well trained in military arts. She gritted her teeth and knew she would not show these foul fiends any fear. It was clear that she was the key to the destruction of her kingdom. Most kings would sacrifice their children for the sake of their nation, but she believed that her father—King Rurik—was more of a traditional father that cherished their children first before anything. She was very optimistic about her safety being top priority. Sir Robert was right. She could not afford to be taken captive. She forced herself to push daunting thoughts of her being abandoned by her father and focused more on the peril before her.

     Sir Robert took note that the archers and javelin throwers were not sending hazardous projectiles their way. This ensured that they didn’t mistakenly maim Cecily. Up ahead, the orcs formed a wall with their iron-plated shields. There was no way around the barricade. Sir Robert hauled forcefully on the reins and brought his stallion to an attacking stance. The stallions front two hooves trampled through the center front line of the wall formation. At the same time, Sir Robert, with lighting speed, brought his lance down in fine arcs, slashing thorough the front ranks. The orcs were disoriented and disorganized, unable to counter attack. However, more orcs emerged from within the woods and joined in the fray.

     Sir Robert took the opportunity to vault off the saddle with Cecily in his arms. The battle horse was pierced to death by numerous stab wounds from pikes and swords before it was decapitated by an orc. Sir Robert was saddened at his stallion’s passing. It was his favorite battle horse. Cecily covered Sir Robert’s back as she sent a crossbow sailing into the orcs’ hoard. Several orcs hollered and shouted curses as each bolt found its mark between the openings on the chest plates. Yet the number of orcs kept increasing. Sir Robert knew he couldn’t fight at one hundred percent while Cecily stood next to him. Escape was out of the question. He admired Cecily’s bravery, not showing fear of the enemies that swarmed upon them.

     Cecily yelled when the first orc managed to snag her arms, tugging her further away from her bodyguard. Just in the nick of time, a symphony of trumpet sound silenced the orcs. Cecily’s heart lurched as she recognized her father’s war-band. And there she saw in the distance, hundreds of King Rurik’s war banners. The orcs became agitated by their newly impending doom. Javelins thrown into the fray by the king’s men impaled the orcs viciously. The orc that currently grabbed Cecily faltered to its knees, eyes rolling in disbelief as a javelin tore through its jugular.

      Cries spluttered as the orc commander sounded the horn for a full retreat as one by one the orcs were cut down. She watched as her father plunged his falcon sword Basilisk straight through an orc’s heart. Stan shot the orcs beside him. His shotguns gave off a thunderous boom, startling the orcs momentarily. Morale was lost. Cheers were loud. Tears of joy ran down her cheeks as she sprinted and embraced her father passionately.

     “By Freya’s skirt, you are alright!” Rurik cupped her soaked cheeks and brushed her cheeks clean with his immense, calloused thumb. “How fares the villagers of Wayfarer Lodging?” Rurik asked Sir Robert.

     Sir Robert shrugged his shoulders, “I can’t be certain because Her Highness was out hunting stray rabbits during the horrific events that transpired. I can only assume the worst.”

     King Rurik shook his head mournfully, “We shall not let their death be in vain.”

     “Good Lord! I'm getting too old for this!” Stan sneered.

     There was laughter.

     Stan reached out to shake Cecily’s hand.

     “You sure do have your mother’s eyes, just as my grandson has his mother’s. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Your Highness.”

     Their greetings were halted when a sudden sinister aura was felt. With it came the putrid stench of ivory mists, which quickly blanketed the land. It was the foulest stench that mankind could ever breathe in. Flies swarmed the battalion. Inhaling clean air was not possible where they stood. In this situation, they were sitting ducks. Rurik’s eyes followed his daughter’s. She pointed up toward the sky as something tremendous was soaring down upon them with incredible speed. Spores flung from its scales, scattering in all directions.

     “Dragon incoming!” Sir Robert shouted out orders. "Formation!”

     “That’s no ordinary dragon,” Stan said with concern.

     “It can’t be! It’s Nidhogg! Everyone fall back to the keep!” Rurik shouted commands.

     “The Elder Dragon of the undead?” Stan muttered with disbelief. “According to the legends, each of the six Elder Dragons is said to be as gargantuan as a mountain range.”

     “That’s just his avatar, Lord Ferguson. It’s been sighted roaming the Eastern Sea of Desolation Basin.”

     “Look! Something emerging from within the spores!”

     Corpses and skeleton warriors began to flank Rurik’s army. The orcs that had retreated returned to the fray. Cecily could no longer hide her fear as her stomached churned. Rurik cursed as the commander, a decayed corpse of fallen female commando, gave the command to attack.

     “Kill . . . everything!”