Celine Hoisted the Blue flag she had taken from its bearer on her way up the tower stairs. She waved it about erratically, willing the passing horsemen to stop by the gates of the castle. In a flurry of hooves and dust, the riders paused at the foot of the tower, which rose where the North and west walls met, a tall roundish top, its conical roof giving the impression of a crudely speared fruit. Sir Galahad, leader of the expedition, calls to the flag waving maiden.
“Ho there, who calls for our diversion?”
“It is I, Celine of the Midland realm, daughter to King Jacob. I call in distress for aid and news of the Underworld Army’s advance. Whose men are you?” she asked imperiously, a slight quaver of voice belying her fear; the gravity of stopping complete strangers and giving air to the need for help now pressing upon her.
“We are men under King Ferdinand, good friend and ally of your father and kindom. Tell us, fair maid how may we assist ?”
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