Tishlyn - The shadow war book one (chap 1 & 2)

Tishlyn drew in the charred scene before her; thin wafts of smoke drifted indolently through the air. A royal-blue banner flapped gently in the breeze while its pure-white griffin motif seemed to ripple with life. The black shells that once were houses still smouldered; glimpses of blackened wood still glowing orange.

A lump rose in Tishlyn’s throat as she slowly walked to the remnants of her home. She dared a look inside; her mother lay beside the hearth, a dark circle of blood staining the ground. Tishlyn whimpered then gave in to tears as she crumpled to the ground beside her mother’s body. Gone, all of them. Her mother, her father, and her brothers. All casualties of the harsh shadow war. They had gone into hiding not long after Tishlyn was born, but what good did it do them now?

She took a deep breath and wiped away the remaining tears. A shadow suddenly loomed over her. She swung around to face the intruder; a large soldier, the griffin on his blue jerkin, like lightning against a summer storm cloud. Tishlyn groped in vain for a weapon as the brute lumbered towards her. Her hands found a frying pan, its handle still hot from the fire. It burnt into her flesh but she ignored the pain. She knew more than anything that she had to stay alive.

When the soldier got close enough she swung her arm, hitting him across the shoulder. The frying pan broke in two leaving her with just the handle. Not seeing her mother’s body the soldier tripped, falling heavily onto Tishlyn. She wriggled free, and noticing blood on her hands she began to probe frantically for a wound. The soldier lay motionless so she rolled him over. The broken handle was protruding from his chest. It was as if fate had set it all up.

She stumbled onto the street, knowing now what she had to do. King Edward had to die, and she would not rest a single day until the griffin banner flew no more. But women were not allowed to fight, so she took the soldier’s discarded sword and began to cut her hair.

If women were forbidden from battle, then Tishlyn would become a man.

It had been three weeks since King Edward's soldiers had destroyed the villages to the north. Tishlyn, soul survivor of her village, had found refuge in the town of Turan, working for the tavern master, Jargor. She was watching a stranger in the corner; his face was familiar but she couldn’t place it.

"Boy!" Jargor called. "Go to the stables and tell Jon to send his fastest horse to Glatsby! This must reach the hands of the high mage before sunset tomorrow." He handed her a letter. Tishlyn raced to the stables.

"Jon, Jargor wants you to send your fastest horse to Glatsby. This letter has to reach the high mage of the monastery by sunset tomorrow." She thrust the letter into the stable master’s hand.

"Grey, take this letter to the high mage at Glatsby." Jon handed the letter to Grey, who jumped into his saddle and took off into the night.

Tishlyn walked slowly through the dark back to the tavern. "Tishlyn?" She swung around to see who had called her name. The man from the tavern stood behind her.

"How did you…?" He placed a finger on her lips to quiet her.

"We can’t talk here; come with me."

Tishlyn looked at the tavern, then back at the stranger. "How do I know I can trust you?" she questioned.

"I give you my honor as a soldier."