Earthbow V.1 - Sample Extract 3
Earthbow Volume 1
Extract 3
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.
At last, Cenoc glanced back toward Sevris, “A thought has just occurred to me. I’ll consider it. What did you call the remedy for your man’s injury?”
“Werebane, my Lord Cenoc. They’re taking him in now to be treated.” Sevris pointed toward the bailey.
“And only werebane will counter the effects of werewright blood?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Cenoc smiled unpleasantly. Coris shuddered. Sevris looked to be doing the same.
“Tell me more of this werebane, Sevris. But first, I’m parched. Have you anything worth drinking in this foul hole you call a keep? Or are your cellars as empty as your battlements?”
One man wearing the fox surcote behind them swore at those words. Cenoc ignored him. No hot-headed man-at-arms had any hope of challenging his authority and Cenoc knew it. Whereas, a keep-master with loyal followers... Cenoc’s gaze remained fixed on the middle-aged commander.
Coris grimaced, willing the man to be silent. Another of his lord’s studied insults. How better to measure loyalty?
Sevris’ eyes burned with impotent fury at the affront. For one perilous moment, his hand strayed toward his sword’s hilt... In that moment, a number of Cenoc’s men took a half pace forward.
The keep-master’s hand dropped back to his side, and Sevris forced a courteous, “I shall do my best to please you, my Lord Cenoc. Come to the east tower and you will have your pick of the cellar as we talk.”
Lord Cenoc studied him silently, triumph in his eyes.
Coris let loose a long-held breath, glad the challenge had passed, glad it had gone as he had hoped. Hadn’t his overlord and Captain Riptis explained it all to him at Empsa Keep? Sevris was of the old, outlawed nobility and had the bad sense to be openly proud of the fact. Potential trouble Cenoc had predicted. He had been wrong and Coris admitted to himself, he was glad. He, at least, wished to fight in no civil war between his overlord and the old nobility. That wasn’t why he had trained all these years.
As the lords rode away from the gate, a voice whispered, “You can let me go now.”
Coris moved away from the door so that the gatekeepers could do their work, and loosed his hold at the same time. “A little more and you might have ended up with your friend. No purpose would have been served by running out there. You couldn’t have helped.”
The brown-haired scullery thrall answered, “You’re right. But why did you risk punishment to protect a thrall of the Young Ones?”
Coris frowned, and answered as though speaking only to himself, “I don’t know... It was stupid, as stupid as what you almost...”
Coris’ eyes strayed to the prisoner which the hunters had brought back. As he watched him being hustled into the east tower, the thrall took the opportunity to ask,
“What is that creature?”
The door slammed shut behind the prisoner and his captors. Coris turned back to face the Young One. “Werewright. No wonder they took Sevris’ man inside so quickly! Some blood must have gotten into his wound when their band attacked. It’s poisonous if the wound isn’t treated swiftly.
“As for you, don’t you think it’s about time you got back to whatever it is you usually do? You won’t help your friend by being punished for your absence.”
“You’re right. Thanks!” The boy’s face broke into a fleeting smile. He darted across the courtyard and slipped cautiously through the scullery door.
Coris watched him go, but his thoughts remained on the werewright prisoner. Why had they taken him captive, instead of killing him outright? Coris shuddered. He had a pretty fair idea. Serving under Cenoc had not turned out quite the way he’d expected when he’d arrived at Empsa Keep. Cenoc was a brilliant military leader but he had barbarous ideas when it came to what constituted “entertainment”. And he expected his men to share his tastes.
Extract 3
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.
At last, Cenoc glanced back toward Sevris, “A thought has just occurred to me. I’ll consider it. What did you call the remedy for your man’s injury?”
“Werebane, my Lord Cenoc. They’re taking him in now to be treated.” Sevris pointed toward the bailey.
“And only werebane will counter the effects of werewright blood?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Cenoc smiled unpleasantly. Coris shuddered. Sevris looked to be doing the same.
“Tell me more of this werebane, Sevris. But first, I’m parched. Have you anything worth drinking in this foul hole you call a keep? Or are your cellars as empty as your battlements?”
One man wearing the fox surcote behind them swore at those words. Cenoc ignored him. No hot-headed man-at-arms had any hope of challenging his authority and Cenoc knew it. Whereas, a keep-master with loyal followers... Cenoc’s gaze remained fixed on the middle-aged commander.
Coris grimaced, willing the man to be silent. Another of his lord’s studied insults. How better to measure loyalty?
Sevris’ eyes burned with impotent fury at the affront. For one perilous moment, his hand strayed toward his sword’s hilt... In that moment, a number of Cenoc’s men took a half pace forward.
The keep-master’s hand dropped back to his side, and Sevris forced a courteous, “I shall do my best to please you, my Lord Cenoc. Come to the east tower and you will have your pick of the cellar as we talk.”
Lord Cenoc studied him silently, triumph in his eyes.
Coris let loose a long-held breath, glad the challenge had passed, glad it had gone as he had hoped. Hadn’t his overlord and Captain Riptis explained it all to him at Empsa Keep? Sevris was of the old, outlawed nobility and had the bad sense to be openly proud of the fact. Potential trouble Cenoc had predicted. He had been wrong and Coris admitted to himself, he was glad. He, at least, wished to fight in no civil war between his overlord and the old nobility. That wasn’t why he had trained all these years.
As the lords rode away from the gate, a voice whispered, “You can let me go now.”
Coris moved away from the door so that the gatekeepers could do their work, and loosed his hold at the same time. “A little more and you might have ended up with your friend. No purpose would have been served by running out there. You couldn’t have helped.”
The brown-haired scullery thrall answered, “You’re right. But why did you risk punishment to protect a thrall of the Young Ones?”
Coris frowned, and answered as though speaking only to himself, “I don’t know... It was stupid, as stupid as what you almost...”
Coris’ eyes strayed to the prisoner which the hunters had brought back. As he watched him being hustled into the east tower, the thrall took the opportunity to ask,
“What is that creature?”
The door slammed shut behind the prisoner and his captors. Coris turned back to face the Young One. “Werewright. No wonder they took Sevris’ man inside so quickly! Some blood must have gotten into his wound when their band attacked. It’s poisonous if the wound isn’t treated swiftly.
“As for you, don’t you think it’s about time you got back to whatever it is you usually do? You won’t help your friend by being punished for your absence.”
“You’re right. Thanks!” The boy’s face broke into a fleeting smile. He darted across the courtyard and slipped cautiously through the scullery door.
Coris watched him go, but his thoughts remained on the werewright prisoner. Why had they taken him captive, instead of killing him outright? Coris shuddered. He had a pretty fair idea. Serving under Cenoc had not turned out quite the way he’d expected when he’d arrived at Empsa Keep. Cenoc was a brilliant military leader but he had barbarous ideas when it came to what constituted “entertainment”. And he expected his men to share his tastes.