Earthbow V.1 - Sample Extract 2
Earthbow Volume 1
Extract 2
And he’d thought it hot near the scullery next to the bread ovens. They could bake bread on the courtyard stones. Coris stretched, and then tugged his sweat-dampened surcote back into place from where it clung to his sword belt. That same bug was flying about his head again! He flapped one hand at it and brushed its iridescent orange wings. It disappeared only to buzz annoyingly by his ear. Tempted to squash it between his temple and his palm, Coris restrained himself at the thought of what a fool he would look. Chances are it would escape anyway.
He shifted further into a tiny patch of shade, his eyes trained on the servant clad in Lord Sevris’ purple livery and Silver Fox tabard, who stood across the court from himself. The man paused briefly at the gate to joke with its sprawling keepers. After a moment, he strolled away and Coris relaxed. No conspiracy against his overlord there. Nothing anywhere, of course. He yawned. What a desolate, uninteresting land this southern province was! Did anything ever happen here?
Well, perhaps tonight, when it was cooler...That Glisa was pretty in spite of her ragged clothes and blood-tinged sweat ...He’d heard tales of Cenoc’s knights and the servant girls at the keeps they garrisoned, even while he was still only a squire...When he’d hinted at what he’d heard, Captain Riptis and the others...
A rattle of pebbles in the courtyard only feet away interrupted his thoughts. Coris spun to face the sudden sound, his hand instantly on the hilt of his sword but, before it was a quarter-drawn, he shoved it home with a self-conscious snort.
Two boys stood just beyond the door of the scullery and looked around furtively, then raced across the courtyard as though they thought themselves pursued. Coris grinned. They must be thick in some game of Elders and werewrights. The taller boy darted toward the stone stairs leading to the battlement overlooking the gate, and motioned for his friend to join him.
Too slender bodies. Misshapen long hands. Coris’ smile at their antics changed abruptly to discomfort. They were subhuman Young Ones captured probably on one of Sevris’ forays into the local, alien woods. Like all Young Ones, they were small-boned and rather short. From what he had heard between Tabistis and Glisa, it fell to their lot to do the most menial tasks in spite of their meager size. That explained their caution and the second thrall’s repeated refusal to climb to the battlement wall. Given no free time to roam about, the two were doubtless truants from some task and could expect to be whipped were their idleness discovered. Defiance of command or attempts to escape changed the sentence in degree only--death by the executioner’s whip.
Now what? It was his duty to report this, but he had no desire to reap the accompanying reward. The thought of personally wielding lash against such childlike beings, whether from an inferior race or not...
Coris glanced around for sign of Sevris’ men. Most of his fellow fighters wouldn’t care. One thrall was climbing up the deserted battlement steps. Coris stifled a groan of dismay. Worse and worse! The boy was going to get caught. Someone must be up there, even today with nearly everyone at the hunt. He trotted across the courtyard toward the Young Ones, still not sure what he was going to do when he got to the steps.
The Young One at the bottom of the steps called out softly, “Telkis, get down!”
Coris cringed at the sudden noise and glanced about him again. No one paid him any attention. The gatekeepers looked to be in a stupor, whether from heat or ale was hard to say. He clutched at the youth still standing in the courtyard and missed. Outside the walls, a hunting horn blew, bidding the gatekeepers open to their lords.
“Telkis!”
“Lanis!” came a voice from the battlements. “They’ve got a strange-looking man in a black hood and cape with them. He’s all tied up. Someone was hurt. I think it’s Nereg...”
Coris grabbed again and this time his hands closed on two thin arms. The Young One struggled feebly in his grip and cried out, “Telkis!”
“All right! I’m coming.”
Coris gathered up the little thrall in his arms. The guards hauled on the gate chains. In another moment, someone would ride through and see them. He raced toward the wall and slipped behind the inner gate as it was shoved back toward them.
The Young One in his grip kept struggling. He heard it whisper, “Telkis, no!”
Coris slipped beyond the edge of the open gate door and glanced back toward the battlement stairs. The other thrall raced down them, a man-at-arms in pursuit until the boy reached the ground.
The first of the hunting party clattered through the gates: two middle-aged lords, Cenoc and Sevris, with Sevris’ young cousin Ofemer. All were clad in the customary green parti-color for the hunt but the splendid satins and velvets were grimed with dust and sweat, and blood. More than bokhorn and boar had felt the blow of weapons this day. The lord’s faces were grim and preoccupied. One man in the party was moaning in fear or pain.
Telkis had just reached the courtyard when a ground bird, escaping from the clutches of an apprentice cook, fluttered near the feet of Lord Cenoc’s mount. The stallion bugled in challenge and exploded into a rearing mass of flailing legs. The next thing anyone knew, Cenoc, Telkis and the horse were all on the ground together. A disquieting silence reigned in the courtyard, broken only by the happy cluck of the escaped hen and the frantic fluttering of Cenoc’s bating hawk.
Coris looked on in horror as Cenoc arose without a word and remounted. He had been with the entourage long enough to guess the mood behind those white lips and pinched nose. Filled with dread, Coris heard Sevris murmur to a man-at-arms,
“Find out where that thrall is supposed to be and see to it that he’s properly punished.”
The keep-master reined his horse around to fall in beside Cenoc’s mount then added, as if nothing had happened, “My Lord Cenoc, have you decided on a suitable disposition of your captive?” He nodded toward a black-swathed figure, tied securely to a horse in the midst of the hunting party.
Cenoc watched Sevris’ man-at-arms lead the thrall away. He barely glanced at the huntsman by his side as the man eased the capped hawk from his wrist.
Coris felt the Young One is his grasp struggle. He tightened his grip with one hand and groped for the youth’s mouth with the other.
Extract 2
And he’d thought it hot near the scullery next to the bread ovens. They could bake bread on the courtyard stones. Coris stretched, and then tugged his sweat-dampened surcote back into place from where it clung to his sword belt. That same bug was flying about his head again! He flapped one hand at it and brushed its iridescent orange wings. It disappeared only to buzz annoyingly by his ear. Tempted to squash it between his temple and his palm, Coris restrained himself at the thought of what a fool he would look. Chances are it would escape anyway.
He shifted further into a tiny patch of shade, his eyes trained on the servant clad in Lord Sevris’ purple livery and Silver Fox tabard, who stood across the court from himself. The man paused briefly at the gate to joke with its sprawling keepers. After a moment, he strolled away and Coris relaxed. No conspiracy against his overlord there. Nothing anywhere, of course. He yawned. What a desolate, uninteresting land this southern province was! Did anything ever happen here?
Well, perhaps tonight, when it was cooler...That Glisa was pretty in spite of her ragged clothes and blood-tinged sweat ...He’d heard tales of Cenoc’s knights and the servant girls at the keeps they garrisoned, even while he was still only a squire...When he’d hinted at what he’d heard, Captain Riptis and the others...
A rattle of pebbles in the courtyard only feet away interrupted his thoughts. Coris spun to face the sudden sound, his hand instantly on the hilt of his sword but, before it was a quarter-drawn, he shoved it home with a self-conscious snort.
Two boys stood just beyond the door of the scullery and looked around furtively, then raced across the courtyard as though they thought themselves pursued. Coris grinned. They must be thick in some game of Elders and werewrights. The taller boy darted toward the stone stairs leading to the battlement overlooking the gate, and motioned for his friend to join him.
Too slender bodies. Misshapen long hands. Coris’ smile at their antics changed abruptly to discomfort. They were subhuman Young Ones captured probably on one of Sevris’ forays into the local, alien woods. Like all Young Ones, they were small-boned and rather short. From what he had heard between Tabistis and Glisa, it fell to their lot to do the most menial tasks in spite of their meager size. That explained their caution and the second thrall’s repeated refusal to climb to the battlement wall. Given no free time to roam about, the two were doubtless truants from some task and could expect to be whipped were their idleness discovered. Defiance of command or attempts to escape changed the sentence in degree only--death by the executioner’s whip.
Now what? It was his duty to report this, but he had no desire to reap the accompanying reward. The thought of personally wielding lash against such childlike beings, whether from an inferior race or not...
Coris glanced around for sign of Sevris’ men. Most of his fellow fighters wouldn’t care. One thrall was climbing up the deserted battlement steps. Coris stifled a groan of dismay. Worse and worse! The boy was going to get caught. Someone must be up there, even today with nearly everyone at the hunt. He trotted across the courtyard toward the Young Ones, still not sure what he was going to do when he got to the steps.
The Young One at the bottom of the steps called out softly, “Telkis, get down!”
Coris cringed at the sudden noise and glanced about him again. No one paid him any attention. The gatekeepers looked to be in a stupor, whether from heat or ale was hard to say. He clutched at the youth still standing in the courtyard and missed. Outside the walls, a hunting horn blew, bidding the gatekeepers open to their lords.
“Telkis!”
“Lanis!” came a voice from the battlements. “They’ve got a strange-looking man in a black hood and cape with them. He’s all tied up. Someone was hurt. I think it’s Nereg...”
Coris grabbed again and this time his hands closed on two thin arms. The Young One struggled feebly in his grip and cried out, “Telkis!”
“All right! I’m coming.”
Coris gathered up the little thrall in his arms. The guards hauled on the gate chains. In another moment, someone would ride through and see them. He raced toward the wall and slipped behind the inner gate as it was shoved back toward them.
The Young One in his grip kept struggling. He heard it whisper, “Telkis, no!”
Coris slipped beyond the edge of the open gate door and glanced back toward the battlement stairs. The other thrall raced down them, a man-at-arms in pursuit until the boy reached the ground.
The first of the hunting party clattered through the gates: two middle-aged lords, Cenoc and Sevris, with Sevris’ young cousin Ofemer. All were clad in the customary green parti-color for the hunt but the splendid satins and velvets were grimed with dust and sweat, and blood. More than bokhorn and boar had felt the blow of weapons this day. The lord’s faces were grim and preoccupied. One man in the party was moaning in fear or pain.
Telkis had just reached the courtyard when a ground bird, escaping from the clutches of an apprentice cook, fluttered near the feet of Lord Cenoc’s mount. The stallion bugled in challenge and exploded into a rearing mass of flailing legs. The next thing anyone knew, Cenoc, Telkis and the horse were all on the ground together. A disquieting silence reigned in the courtyard, broken only by the happy cluck of the escaped hen and the frantic fluttering of Cenoc’s bating hawk.
Coris looked on in horror as Cenoc arose without a word and remounted. He had been with the entourage long enough to guess the mood behind those white lips and pinched nose. Filled with dread, Coris heard Sevris murmur to a man-at-arms,
“Find out where that thrall is supposed to be and see to it that he’s properly punished.”
The keep-master reined his horse around to fall in beside Cenoc’s mount then added, as if nothing had happened, “My Lord Cenoc, have you decided on a suitable disposition of your captive?” He nodded toward a black-swathed figure, tied securely to a horse in the midst of the hunting party.
Cenoc watched Sevris’ man-at-arms lead the thrall away. He barely glanced at the huntsman by his side as the man eased the capped hawk from his wrist.
Coris felt the Young One is his grasp struggle. He tightened his grip with one hand and groped for the youth’s mouth with the other.