Earthbow V.1 - Sample Extract 5
Earthbow V.1 - Sample Extract 5
(Please begin at the beginning)
Cenoc turned back and placed the point of the sword against the prisoner’s yellow-scaled throat. “What reason can you give me for sparing you?” Cenoc’s steely eyes narrowed. “How will your life benefit me?”
The prisoner considered the question only for a moment, then answered in the repulsively-silken voice of his race, “You should keep me alive for the information with which I was entrusted. You rule all the land of the Elder in Latimus. Would you like a wider kingdom and power over other lands?”
Ah, this was more like it! Without turning from the werewright, Cenoc spoke, “You see, Sevris. Sometimes you hardly need to spread the net at all and the fish swims in. Speak on, werewright. First, your name.”
***
The drummers and dancers were skilled enough, but the pipers were close to setting his teeth on edge. Thralls had cleared away the last of the supper dishes in the great hall. Cenoc had played the honored guest long enough and, besides, they had yet to perform a little test he had planned.
He leaned forward, nodded, and pounded applause on the table during a lull in the performance. In the uncertain silence that followed, Cenoc commanded that Alarz be brought into his presence.
By now, his guards would be glad to be rid of him - he’d ordered Alarz unbound when taken from the east tower. Even detained in a locked room, they doubtless had worried the werewright would disappear leaving nothing but the scent of brimstone to mark the end of his visit to the land of the living.
“Now?” Sevris wobbled upright on his reclining pillows, brought back to his senses perhaps by the sudden silence from the musicians.
Cenoc’s smile disappeared at the sight but, fueled by much less wine, his own wits were performing little better. He’d asked for the one ingredient for their experiment and nearly forgotten the other. Casting his mind over the day’s events, he remembered the infraction of a Young One scullery thrall. Proper punishment and a handy subject. That would do nicely. He called his ever-vigilant officer, Beroc, to him with a gesture and gave him his orders.
Beroc and one of his men had barely left to secure the scullery thrall when here came the werewright, fairly leading his relieved guards into the hall. Obviously, the prisoner had made no effort to escape as they accompanied him. And Sevris had thought it impossible to work with werewrights.
Guiding Alarz to a position a couple of yards from Cenoc’s seat at the head table, the guards saluted with fists to chests, and turned to leave.
Cenoc called them back. Palis and the other - what was his name? - deserved to be a part of this. Theirs had been a strange duty.
“Stay. I have an entertainment planned.”
The one guard grinned at the other, and they took places to one side. Cenoc approved of their anticipation. Such pastimes had helped sustain many of his following through long years of brutal war.
After a brief bow and nod, the werewright stood his ground with a confidence that, Cenoc suspected, few of the onlookers felt they could have matched under the same circumstances. Impudent. Well, things were not always as they appeared. Just two small matters and ready for his little test.
“Alarz! Welcome!” Cenoc picked up Sevris’ goblet and poured its contents on the floor. “We require that one more thing of you now. I’m sorry not to have mentioned the particulars during our earlier talk.”
Alarz’ eyes darkened from an amused red to the grim hue of dead blood. He gave a sharp nod, and then yanked on the rust-black of his tunic sleeve.
“Sevris. If you would be so good.” Cenoc handed the empty cup to the thunderstruck keep-master. “Fill this. It should hold a sufficient quantity. You’ve had enough for this evening in any case.”
Sevris gaped at his lord with bleary eyes. At Cenoc’s impatient shake of the vessel, he reached forward and took it, staring at it in turn as if Cenoc had just handed him some rotten entrails.
Cenoc had a great deal of trouble refraining from rolling his eyes. Blast the time wasted with those pipers. Was the man already too far gone to deal with a simple task? Or, maybe he just had no stomach for it?
The faces of his closest men tended toward the latter.
And wasn’t that a fine thing for a keep-master? Should be replaced became a firm will be replaced.
Sevris had managed to stand. With his hand resting on his sword hilt, he stumbled to the center of the room.
The werewright broke the anticipatory silence, “What does he intend, Cenoc? We have an agreement. Beware of breaking such an arrangement with those of the Shadow.”
“Peace, Alarz! This is a small matter and will take but a moment of your time. Sevris! Get on with it.”
Weaving a little and squinting at the werewright, Sevris drew his sword. Cenoc swore. A knife would be more practical. Was the man an incompetent fighter as well? He muttered through clenched teeth, “Your dagger, Sevris. It’s not a bucket.”
The spectators, who had seemed puzzled by all that had gone before, murmured. This they understood. Several, seeing Sevris’ condition, hastened to wager on the outcome. Cenoc considered shouting new orders, then forbore. The man was incapable of hearing him, and he would not give observers a chance to see his orders ignored. Well, they could always trap another werewright if Sevris botched this.
(Please begin at the beginning)
Cenoc turned back and placed the point of the sword against the prisoner’s yellow-scaled throat. “What reason can you give me for sparing you?” Cenoc’s steely eyes narrowed. “How will your life benefit me?”
The prisoner considered the question only for a moment, then answered in the repulsively-silken voice of his race, “You should keep me alive for the information with which I was entrusted. You rule all the land of the Elder in Latimus. Would you like a wider kingdom and power over other lands?”
Ah, this was more like it! Without turning from the werewright, Cenoc spoke, “You see, Sevris. Sometimes you hardly need to spread the net at all and the fish swims in. Speak on, werewright. First, your name.”
***
The drummers and dancers were skilled enough, but the pipers were close to setting his teeth on edge. Thralls had cleared away the last of the supper dishes in the great hall. Cenoc had played the honored guest long enough and, besides, they had yet to perform a little test he had planned.
He leaned forward, nodded, and pounded applause on the table during a lull in the performance. In the uncertain silence that followed, Cenoc commanded that Alarz be brought into his presence.
By now, his guards would be glad to be rid of him - he’d ordered Alarz unbound when taken from the east tower. Even detained in a locked room, they doubtless had worried the werewright would disappear leaving nothing but the scent of brimstone to mark the end of his visit to the land of the living.
“Now?” Sevris wobbled upright on his reclining pillows, brought back to his senses perhaps by the sudden silence from the musicians.
Cenoc’s smile disappeared at the sight but, fueled by much less wine, his own wits were performing little better. He’d asked for the one ingredient for their experiment and nearly forgotten the other. Casting his mind over the day’s events, he remembered the infraction of a Young One scullery thrall. Proper punishment and a handy subject. That would do nicely. He called his ever-vigilant officer, Beroc, to him with a gesture and gave him his orders.
Beroc and one of his men had barely left to secure the scullery thrall when here came the werewright, fairly leading his relieved guards into the hall. Obviously, the prisoner had made no effort to escape as they accompanied him. And Sevris had thought it impossible to work with werewrights.
Guiding Alarz to a position a couple of yards from Cenoc’s seat at the head table, the guards saluted with fists to chests, and turned to leave.
Cenoc called them back. Palis and the other - what was his name? - deserved to be a part of this. Theirs had been a strange duty.
“Stay. I have an entertainment planned.”
The one guard grinned at the other, and they took places to one side. Cenoc approved of their anticipation. Such pastimes had helped sustain many of his following through long years of brutal war.
After a brief bow and nod, the werewright stood his ground with a confidence that, Cenoc suspected, few of the onlookers felt they could have matched under the same circumstances. Impudent. Well, things were not always as they appeared. Just two small matters and ready for his little test.
“Alarz! Welcome!” Cenoc picked up Sevris’ goblet and poured its contents on the floor. “We require that one more thing of you now. I’m sorry not to have mentioned the particulars during our earlier talk.”
Alarz’ eyes darkened from an amused red to the grim hue of dead blood. He gave a sharp nod, and then yanked on the rust-black of his tunic sleeve.
“Sevris. If you would be so good.” Cenoc handed the empty cup to the thunderstruck keep-master. “Fill this. It should hold a sufficient quantity. You’ve had enough for this evening in any case.”
Sevris gaped at his lord with bleary eyes. At Cenoc’s impatient shake of the vessel, he reached forward and took it, staring at it in turn as if Cenoc had just handed him some rotten entrails.
Cenoc had a great deal of trouble refraining from rolling his eyes. Blast the time wasted with those pipers. Was the man already too far gone to deal with a simple task? Or, maybe he just had no stomach for it?
The faces of his closest men tended toward the latter.
And wasn’t that a fine thing for a keep-master? Should be replaced became a firm will be replaced.
Sevris had managed to stand. With his hand resting on his sword hilt, he stumbled to the center of the room.
The werewright broke the anticipatory silence, “What does he intend, Cenoc? We have an agreement. Beware of breaking such an arrangement with those of the Shadow.”
“Peace, Alarz! This is a small matter and will take but a moment of your time. Sevris! Get on with it.”
Weaving a little and squinting at the werewright, Sevris drew his sword. Cenoc swore. A knife would be more practical. Was the man an incompetent fighter as well? He muttered through clenched teeth, “Your dagger, Sevris. It’s not a bucket.”
The spectators, who had seemed puzzled by all that had gone before, murmured. This they understood. Several, seeing Sevris’ condition, hastened to wager on the outcome. Cenoc considered shouting new orders, then forbore. The man was incapable of hearing him, and he would not give observers a chance to see his orders ignored. Well, they could always trap another werewright if Sevris botched this.