Estrilda woke to the sound of argument from outside the cottage. Was that Nathyn’s voice? Her son sounded panicked. As the fog of sleep lifted, she heard a stranger’s voice, low and gruff” “Put that thing down before you hurt yourself, boy.”

“Not until you leave, villain.” Nathyn’s voice sounded shrill and thin in the night. His courage warmed Estrilda’s heart. She threw on a cloak and stepped out into the darkness.

Nathyn stood with his back to the door, struggling to hold up his father’s sword. Before them stood a pair of knights in dark plated steel. Armed and armored as they were, the two men staggered at the sight of her. “The sorceress!” One of them cried, lowering a pike.

“Silence!” Nathyn cried out, swinging the blade wildly. “You will not speak ill of my mother again.”

“Enough Nathyn,” Estrilda said. “This man names me truly.”

“See there, lad?” the other knight said, taking a step forward. “Now stand aside.”

But Nathyn wouldn’t relent. He took a quick step to place himself between the knight and his mother and raised the sword again. “Nathyn.” Estrilda’s voice was a gentle as a pale spring morning. “Don’t throw your life away on my account. Stand aside.” Teary eyes turned up to his mother. The sword in his shaking grip finally fell to the ground, embedding itself in the earth. “My cou rageous son,” Estrilda said with a smile. “I wish I could stay to see what an honorable man you will become.”

“So then,” one of the knight’s grunted. “You’ll come along peacefully?”

Estrilda’s smile widened as she raised her gaze to her assailants. “No, I don’t think I will.” She was glowing. The soldiers started shouting, but it was already too late. She was burning. Then, she was gone.

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox