(no subject)
When the madness had begun I'd been en route to the Compound. Quickly understanding that it was not the safe haven I, and probably many others, had assumed it to be, I turned and began to make my way to Serenity, where I knew Doctor Tam and probably Lady Inara would be. I dearly wished I could return to the treehouse for Joscelin and Alcuin, and to go by Hyacinthe's hut looking for him, but I could only hope that when this had all started Joscelin had gotten the two of them to safety-- for surely wherever he was, there safety would be also.
I was not on my guard, I admit; mostly I was keeping my ears tuned to the possibility of cries for help, mindful as ever of the fact that I was a student of medicine and was like to be able to help someone in distress. People were passing me on the path at varying rates of speed, but I paid them no heed except to check if they were injured; however, they all seemed to be in the same state as I, simply looking for a safe place to wait out the tumult. So it was that when I heard a heavy tread behind mine I thought nothing of it, though I soon came to regret it dearly. A hand closed on my shoulder with considerable force, and I froze, for it was not a presence I recognized-- and yet it was, the bulk of the man and the scent of his furs terribly, awfully familiar, and the soft menace in his voice as he hissed into my ear, oh, that I would recognize anywhere.
"Hello, Faydra," said Waldemar Selig, and spun me to face him with a dreadful grin on his face.
Selig was angry-- angry at being brought to this place, angry at being away from his thanes, his steading, everything to which he was accustomed as the ruler of all Skaldia. This anger, it was nearly as hot as the rage that had burned him upon realizing Kilberhaar had betrayed him, and now, as then, he could think of no better subject on which to vent it than this most willing of slaves. His dagger was already to her pale throat, his free hand bruising the tender flesh there, and Selig laughed at the prospect of finishing the work he'd begun on the battlefield of Troyes-le-Mont. He put his face close to hers, his D'Angeline bed-slave, and leered. "I think you are not happy to see me, Faydra," he said. "This is not good for me. A slave should welcome her master's touch, no?" And he ran a finger down her cheek, relishing the feel of soft D'Angeline skin under his touch.
I shuddered when he touched me, afraid of what the look in his eyes promised, but there was enjoyment in it too, and I shut my eyes, wondering if I should laugh; what else, when I'd begun to wonder if my lord Kushiel had withdrawn his hand entirely from me? But to find out like this I was mistaken... well, no one had ever said being god-touched was not a mixed blessing, least of all me.
Selig turned me around again, almost gently, but the hand on the back of my neck was firm to the point of harshness, guiding me down the path. Some small distant part of me was shouting of escape; that I knew the island better than he, I was small and unencumbered by weapons, and if I ran I would likely get away. But likely was not definitely, and I knew that whatever he planned to do to me now, if I ran and he caught me again it would be so much worse-- he might even kill me out of hand. I was almost solely responsible for the downfall of his nation, after all; I was hardly his favorite person. And if I stayed, played his game, I heightened the chance that someone would come upon us and stop him doing whatever it was he planned.
The fear was churning in my stomach as we walked, Selig whispering sibilant taunts in my ear the whole time, insults about my soft nation of whores and milk-faced boys, traitors who wore the faces of noblemen and lived to tell their stories to their children.... I steeled myself against it, against the sick feeling rising in me as his breath ghosted over my skin, and was so focused on it that when we stopped abruptly and his voice in my ear ceased, I was momentarily dizzy. Selig had come to a clearing lined with white birches, and it was against one of these that he turned me once more to face him.
"What will I do with you, Faydra?" he mused, tapping the flat of his dagger against his lips. He paced back and forth like a caged lion before the D'Angeline, splendid (and he knew it) in his furs and braided hair. It was infernally hot, but it would not be right to array himself as anything less than the feared king of the Skaldi; not if he was going to have his revenge on the D'Angeline and her pretty consort. "I should finish what I started, eh?" His eyes went to her shoulder, where he was sure the scar of his dagger would be if he looked. "Skin you alive and hang you from a tree so all may see the glory of the Skaldi--"
He stopped then, cut himself off and whirled to look back up the path they had come down, hearing someone coming at a fast pace. It would not be well if he was discovered, something told him, and so he stepped closer to her, the dagger still at her throat. "Make a sound and you die," he promised softly, moving so it looked as though they were embracing.
I heard someone coming and shut my eyes again, praying they would come this way, praying it would be someone I knew who would not think to see me embracing anyone against a tree but Joscelin. I did not dream that it would be Joscelin himself who crashed into the clearing like a juggernaut, daggers drawn and a wild look on his face, his beautiful hair straying from its Cassiline club to make something that startlingly resembled a halo around his face. I could see in his face he knew what was happening-- had known it, somehow, before now, and come looking for me a-purpose to prevent it.
I had often had cause to be glad to see Joscelin in my life, but I had to own, there were few that surpassed this. As he skidded to a stop a few paces behind Selig, one dagger disappeared into its sheath and he reached over his shoulder, his sword ringing free and swinging round to point directly at the back of Selig's neck. "Stand down, Waldemar Selig," he said, his voice full of a deadly calm despite the fact he looked as though he'd just won a footrace.
Selig half turned so he could see both the warrior and the girl, his dagger not moving a fraction. "It is too easy!" he exclaimed, grinning in exultation. "Father Odhinn smiles on me this day, for true. D'Angeline, I will not stand down, and you will not move, lest you see your beloved Faydra's blood spilling on this forest floor. Throw down your sword-- the dagger too." For he was not stupid, and he had seen what the man could do with but his daggers for company.
Joscelin struggled to control his breath, though he'd just raced from one end of the island to the other, chasing Selig as he moved in search of Phedre, any Phedre, real or not. "Have you not spilled enough blood already this day?" he asked, voice low and deadly. "Have you not taken enough, not had your fill?" Joscelin shifted his grip on his sword, debating whether or not to disarm. "Your dead are everywhere. There is no land for you to invade here. You have nothing to gain."
"Throw down your arms," Selig repeated, twisting again to face Joscelin better this time, so Joscelin could see Phedre, too. "Throw down your arms, and perhaps I will kill you first." He would rather the Cassiline see his beloved little queen of whores die, but but maybe, just maybe if the damned man listened for once, he would give him the benefit of dying first.
"No," Joscelin said, lowly. "Fight me," he said, shifting his sword in his hands. "If you win..." He swallowed heavily, knowing what he was bargaining. "If you win, you win. And I'll lay down my arms then, and you--" He laughed, a little wild and broken. Joscelin had seen nothing but death this day, more death than he'd seen in a very long time, and it drove him to the brink of madness again. "You can kill us both."
He truly was mad, and Selig loved it, loved seeing this warrior who he knew to be so bold and naive. He laughed broadly and cast Phedre away from him, sending her tumbling roughly to the ground. He drew his own sword, raising it high, while Joscelin breathed heavily, imperceptible to anyone who did not know the discipline with which he ruled his life otherwise. "Let us dance, then, Josslin Veray," he said. "Let us dance."
"Phedre, go," Joscelin said, not caring that Selig would hear and understand. "Go" He angled his sword across his body and prepared to fight.
Oh, it was murder, leaving him that way, knowing what hung in the balance-- his life, and his alone, and he must have known it was so, that I would run for the Island police the second I was free to do so-- but Selig couldn't have known, wouldn't have, if he'd only arrived today-- and of that I was certain, for I did not think Waldemar Selig the kind of man to wait on vengeance when he knew it to be close at hand. And so, with no way to protect him but to leave him, I ran, grateful for the trousers and shoes that made it far easier to flee than a D'Angeline gown would have done.
I ran, and prayed to Elua I could find someone who was not too far gone into their own personal hell to help me.
I was not on my guard, I admit; mostly I was keeping my ears tuned to the possibility of cries for help, mindful as ever of the fact that I was a student of medicine and was like to be able to help someone in distress. People were passing me on the path at varying rates of speed, but I paid them no heed except to check if they were injured; however, they all seemed to be in the same state as I, simply looking for a safe place to wait out the tumult. So it was that when I heard a heavy tread behind mine I thought nothing of it, though I soon came to regret it dearly. A hand closed on my shoulder with considerable force, and I froze, for it was not a presence I recognized-- and yet it was, the bulk of the man and the scent of his furs terribly, awfully familiar, and the soft menace in his voice as he hissed into my ear, oh, that I would recognize anywhere.
"Hello, Faydra," said Waldemar Selig, and spun me to face him with a dreadful grin on his face.
Selig was angry-- angry at being brought to this place, angry at being away from his thanes, his steading, everything to which he was accustomed as the ruler of all Skaldia. This anger, it was nearly as hot as the rage that had burned him upon realizing Kilberhaar had betrayed him, and now, as then, he could think of no better subject on which to vent it than this most willing of slaves. His dagger was already to her pale throat, his free hand bruising the tender flesh there, and Selig laughed at the prospect of finishing the work he'd begun on the battlefield of Troyes-le-Mont. He put his face close to hers, his D'Angeline bed-slave, and leered. "I think you are not happy to see me, Faydra," he said. "This is not good for me. A slave should welcome her master's touch, no?" And he ran a finger down her cheek, relishing the feel of soft D'Angeline skin under his touch.
I shuddered when he touched me, afraid of what the look in his eyes promised, but there was enjoyment in it too, and I shut my eyes, wondering if I should laugh; what else, when I'd begun to wonder if my lord Kushiel had withdrawn his hand entirely from me? But to find out like this I was mistaken... well, no one had ever said being god-touched was not a mixed blessing, least of all me.
Selig turned me around again, almost gently, but the hand on the back of my neck was firm to the point of harshness, guiding me down the path. Some small distant part of me was shouting of escape; that I knew the island better than he, I was small and unencumbered by weapons, and if I ran I would likely get away. But likely was not definitely, and I knew that whatever he planned to do to me now, if I ran and he caught me again it would be so much worse-- he might even kill me out of hand. I was almost solely responsible for the downfall of his nation, after all; I was hardly his favorite person. And if I stayed, played his game, I heightened the chance that someone would come upon us and stop him doing whatever it was he planned.
The fear was churning in my stomach as we walked, Selig whispering sibilant taunts in my ear the whole time, insults about my soft nation of whores and milk-faced boys, traitors who wore the faces of noblemen and lived to tell their stories to their children.... I steeled myself against it, against the sick feeling rising in me as his breath ghosted over my skin, and was so focused on it that when we stopped abruptly and his voice in my ear ceased, I was momentarily dizzy. Selig had come to a clearing lined with white birches, and it was against one of these that he turned me once more to face him.
"What will I do with you, Faydra?" he mused, tapping the flat of his dagger against his lips. He paced back and forth like a caged lion before the D'Angeline, splendid (and he knew it) in his furs and braided hair. It was infernally hot, but it would not be right to array himself as anything less than the feared king of the Skaldi; not if he was going to have his revenge on the D'Angeline and her pretty consort. "I should finish what I started, eh?" His eyes went to her shoulder, where he was sure the scar of his dagger would be if he looked. "Skin you alive and hang you from a tree so all may see the glory of the Skaldi--"
He stopped then, cut himself off and whirled to look back up the path they had come down, hearing someone coming at a fast pace. It would not be well if he was discovered, something told him, and so he stepped closer to her, the dagger still at her throat. "Make a sound and you die," he promised softly, moving so it looked as though they were embracing.
I heard someone coming and shut my eyes again, praying they would come this way, praying it would be someone I knew who would not think to see me embracing anyone against a tree but Joscelin. I did not dream that it would be Joscelin himself who crashed into the clearing like a juggernaut, daggers drawn and a wild look on his face, his beautiful hair straying from its Cassiline club to make something that startlingly resembled a halo around his face. I could see in his face he knew what was happening-- had known it, somehow, before now, and come looking for me a-purpose to prevent it.
I had often had cause to be glad to see Joscelin in my life, but I had to own, there were few that surpassed this. As he skidded to a stop a few paces behind Selig, one dagger disappeared into its sheath and he reached over his shoulder, his sword ringing free and swinging round to point directly at the back of Selig's neck. "Stand down, Waldemar Selig," he said, his voice full of a deadly calm despite the fact he looked as though he'd just won a footrace.
Selig half turned so he could see both the warrior and the girl, his dagger not moving a fraction. "It is too easy!" he exclaimed, grinning in exultation. "Father Odhinn smiles on me this day, for true. D'Angeline, I will not stand down, and you will not move, lest you see your beloved Faydra's blood spilling on this forest floor. Throw down your sword-- the dagger too." For he was not stupid, and he had seen what the man could do with but his daggers for company.
Joscelin struggled to control his breath, though he'd just raced from one end of the island to the other, chasing Selig as he moved in search of Phedre, any Phedre, real or not. "Have you not spilled enough blood already this day?" he asked, voice low and deadly. "Have you not taken enough, not had your fill?" Joscelin shifted his grip on his sword, debating whether or not to disarm. "Your dead are everywhere. There is no land for you to invade here. You have nothing to gain."
"Throw down your arms," Selig repeated, twisting again to face Joscelin better this time, so Joscelin could see Phedre, too. "Throw down your arms, and perhaps I will kill you first." He would rather the Cassiline see his beloved little queen of whores die, but but maybe, just maybe if the damned man listened for once, he would give him the benefit of dying first.
"No," Joscelin said, lowly. "Fight me," he said, shifting his sword in his hands. "If you win..." He swallowed heavily, knowing what he was bargaining. "If you win, you win. And I'll lay down my arms then, and you--" He laughed, a little wild and broken. Joscelin had seen nothing but death this day, more death than he'd seen in a very long time, and it drove him to the brink of madness again. "You can kill us both."
He truly was mad, and Selig loved it, loved seeing this warrior who he knew to be so bold and naive. He laughed broadly and cast Phedre away from him, sending her tumbling roughly to the ground. He drew his own sword, raising it high, while Joscelin breathed heavily, imperceptible to anyone who did not know the discipline with which he ruled his life otherwise. "Let us dance, then, Josslin Veray," he said. "Let us dance."
"Phedre, go," Joscelin said, not caring that Selig would hear and understand. "Go" He angled his sword across his body and prepared to fight.
Oh, it was murder, leaving him that way, knowing what hung in the balance-- his life, and his alone, and he must have known it was so, that I would run for the Island police the second I was free to do so-- but Selig couldn't have known, wouldn't have, if he'd only arrived today-- and of that I was certain, for I did not think Waldemar Selig the kind of man to wait on vengeance when he knew it to be close at hand. And so, with no way to protect him but to leave him, I ran, grateful for the trousers and shoes that made it far easier to flee than a D'Angeline gown would have done.
I ran, and prayed to Elua I could find someone who was not too far gone into their own personal hell to help me.