Earthbow V.1 - Sample Extract 7
Earthbow V.1 - Sample Extract 7
(See previous extracts)
Coris decided to skip supper in the great hall rather than find himself part of Cenoc’s captive audience for his latest “entertainment”. That Cenoc’s most recent victim would probably be the werewright rather than some subhuman thrall made little matter.
So far, it seemed a good decision. Now that the sun was below the ramparts, the courtyard was cooler than it would be inside. The scullery would be another matter. The ovens would remain hot until Deadwatch. Consequently, he wandered about the courtyard, kicking a rotten tuber and waiting for the kitchen wench, Glisa, to finish her duties.
Heavy boots scuffled on the path behind him. He turned. Two men had just passed and were creeping up to the scullery door. Hand drifting to his sword hilt, he stared at the surcotes in the flickering torch light. The Screeching Hawk. Brother warriors, taking command from Cenoc like himself, rather than from Sevris.
He relaxed and decided to trail them to pass time.
Then he recognized the taller warrior-Beroc. They had nearly crossed swords back at Empsa Keep, thanks to some mix-up at the stable. They’d patched it over with a verbal shove from his captain. Even so, he’d been left with an unpleasant feeling about the senior officer, but he was too new to fish for gossip on the man. What mischief was Beroc up to now?
Coris frowned and quickened his pace. He reached the doorway’s amber pool of light just as the two men entered, eclipsing it. Coris glimpsed of Glisa’s white face as the men strode toward her.
Towering over the maid, Beroc demanded, “Where’s the thrall who frightened Lord Cenoc’s horse this afternoon?”
She curtsied and answered at once, “They’re not here, my lord. The thralls sleep in the stables.”
Beroc’s partner spun to his left and pointed beyond the scullery maid. Beroc glanced toward him and barked a rough laugh. Coris heard a growling curse, and knew too well what was about to happen.
Glisa stepped back but not quickly enough. Beroc’s gauntleted left hand smashed against the side of her face, knocking her to the floor. Drawing his sword, he smiled ferociously, his teeth white against his bronzed skin. Ignoring his subordinate’s call from the dark lean-to, he took a step nearer and raised his blade to strike.
With both men’s backs turned, Coris slipped through the doorway and stood close to the inside wall. Already sure he was going to regret it, Coris found himself shouting, “Beroc! Leave the girl alone.”
The knight turned to glare at him. “Coris? What’s she to you?” He laughed unpleasantly, “Ah! This is the one you were going on about this morning?”
Coris’ mouth moved in a silent curse. The other man called again from the room beyond the great ovens, “Beroc! I’ve got them cornered out here in the lean-to. What are you about? Cenoc’s waiting.”
The burly knight glanced irritably toward his partner, then back at Coris.
“Which one is it?”
Beroc shrugged. “Let’s take both.” He followed the other guard into the room.
As they passed by on their way out, Beroc turned back to Glisa. “The stables?”
The woman struggled to sit up, one hand clutched to her face.
With a wolfish grin, Beroc allowed his sword’s point to hover close by Glisa’s throat. The maid scrambled back from the blade. Her mouth formed a silent “Please!”
At that, Coris drew his own blade.
Beroc snorted his contempt. “I’ll not spoil your evening, Coris.” He withdrew the blade, studying the point just before sheathing the weapon. “Enjoy the little time you have left, wench. The master-cook will hear about your lie tomorrow.” He scowled at Coris, and then followed the others out the door.
After the guards shoved the thralls into the courtyard, Coris turned to help Glisa, only to find her already on her feet. Coris touched her blood-scored face. One cheek was puffed and red. The darkness of bruising hinted at the extent of the damage. If bones were broken, they’d need Mittlis the surgeon.
Glisa pulled away from him and ran through the door. “Why didn’t you stop them? Those boys are being taken to their deaths! Lord Cenoc asked for them.”
Coris grasped her arm and pulled her back inside. “I know, but you go running over to the great hall and you may well die, too.”
She tried to pull from his grasp. “Hurry then! We’ll overtake them! Stop them before they reach the hall.”
Coris shook his head. “And fight them-you and I, for two thralls--with Cenoc’s and Sevris’ men all around the courtyard? Look out there! Two men from each lord guard the inner gates. Two from Cenoc’s army stand with Sevris’ doorkeeper at the hall door itself. There’s Sevris’ own door guard just inside that door. Then, there are the poor fellows on foot patrol, circling the keep. It’s like a tinderbox within these walls--everyone watching everyone else. We’d be taken before I could even draw blade, and for what?”
“For who! In the corridors! If no one saw us-”
“You talk as if there’d be no one else inside but us! Besides, Cenoc would wonder at the delay and send others to search for the thralls. Or, just find a couple of other ones. If we actually rescued them, where could we hide them in a keep filled past capacity?”
Her fingers curled close to her ears as if to rip them off. The answer was nearly a scream, “I don’t know! Coris, isn’t there anything?”
He murmured, “No. You know there isn’t. At least, not while they’re still in Cenoc’s presence. Perhaps later, after ...” He reached to caress her cheek, but she pulled away.
“They could be dead by then!”
“I know.” Coris answered.
Glisa was certainly attached to those two scullery thralls. Perhaps, he could have stopped Beroc and Tridias, here at the scullery. He glanced toward the bailey uncertainly. And risk his place in Cenoc’s personal guard? Or, worse, risk impalement for insubordination?
No, they were just thralls--subhuman Young Ones. To defend Glisa had been different. Hadn’t it? The words and the smile of one of them-Lanis-this afternoon returned to him even as he continued to stare down the path. He turned away in confusion, a confusion in which a vague guilt played no small part.
“Coris, I’m sorry. I promised their mother I would care for them.” Glisa added bitterly, “So ends my obligation.”
There. Even Glisa realized he couldn’t have done more. In relief, Coris repeated his claim, “There was nothing either of us could do. But you heard Beroc. He’ll report you in the morning. You have very little time.”
She laughed bitterly, “So Tabistis will have his way at last, and I shall have to give in to him or be the new kitchen thrall to, to replace...”
Coris sighed to himself. Why couldn’t she see reason? “I fear Beroc won’t be content with that. Leave right now. Gather together whatever you own, and pack some food. I’ll slip past Gamis and get you a draft animal. You can ride, can’t you?”
Her dark eyes snapped with fury as she answered, “Not like the grand ladies, sir knight, but I used to ride bareback on my grandfather’s farm, until Sevris took it!” She flung down the damp cloth she had used to wash her face, then watched it sink into the basin of water. “Why should I run? There’s no place to go, no place to hide anymore.”
“There are better places than this keep and better masters than that cook. Ride east, Glisa! You like Young Ones? Go to a wood of the Young Ones! I’ve heard there’s a Throne hidden to the east, a refuge for those without friend or recourse. Go there. Or do you prefer to take your chances with Beroc and Tabistis?”
Glisa’s eyes burned. “Meran’s Choices! As it has always been. Get me something to ride and I’ll leave. But some day I’ll come back to even certain accounts.” She grabbed his arm. “Come with me! You’re too decent to be taking orders from the likes of Cenoc.”
He looked down at her with a grin. “Strange compliment. Meet me at the gate in five minutes. We must find a way to have it opened without arousing suspicion.”
Glisa shook her head. “I know of an old postern gate beyond the stables, nearly covered by vines from the grape arbors. Sevris hasn’t posted a guard there in years.”
Coris snorted in disgust at the bald allusion to Sevris’ carelessness.
Ignoring the snort, Glisa added, “The thralls and I use it for unauthorized outings.” She turned to face the hall. “Used it.”
“There’s nothing you can do for them. Come on!”
He freed a donkey with little trouble, and it would have to do. He waited hidden in the deepest shadows at the edge of the grape arbors, watching as Glisa crept toward the curtain wall, a few pitiful things dangling within the knotted shawl by her side.
The donkey snorted and began a dismal bray of protest. Coris got his palm over the creature’s nostrils just in time. It tried to shake his hand away but it shut up.
Glisa walked out of the moonlight and into the shadows. She gave a great gasp on spotting him and stumbled to a stop. “Oh, it’s you. We go that way.”
The murmur echoed in his ears and he winced. All his fellow fighters must be deaf tonight.
She led him through the tangle of old vines amid the faint scent of fermentation, then along the south curtain wall to the postern gate hidden behind the arbors. Moonlight shown vividly through the gate’s iron arabesques and the brittle remnants of dead vines. With it came the faint hint of a cool breeze, a taste of the freedom just beyond its confines. The metal hinges were thick with corrosion and the gate opened reluctantly, Coris pushing it inch by inch to avoid a telltale groan.
Glisa turned to face him. “May Alphesis reward you, Coris.” She put a hand on his arm. “If they still live, help them. Promise me.” She looked searchingly into his eyes.
His heart sinking at the commitment, he nodded. “Remember. Go east to the Young Ones.” Stumbling over the unfamiliar words he added, “May Alphesis protect you.”
Then she was gone. Closing the gate carefully, Coris raced toward the great hall, cursing himself for a fool at every step.
(See previous extracts)
Coris decided to skip supper in the great hall rather than find himself part of Cenoc’s captive audience for his latest “entertainment”. That Cenoc’s most recent victim would probably be the werewright rather than some subhuman thrall made little matter.
So far, it seemed a good decision. Now that the sun was below the ramparts, the courtyard was cooler than it would be inside. The scullery would be another matter. The ovens would remain hot until Deadwatch. Consequently, he wandered about the courtyard, kicking a rotten tuber and waiting for the kitchen wench, Glisa, to finish her duties.
Heavy boots scuffled on the path behind him. He turned. Two men had just passed and were creeping up to the scullery door. Hand drifting to his sword hilt, he stared at the surcotes in the flickering torch light. The Screeching Hawk. Brother warriors, taking command from Cenoc like himself, rather than from Sevris.
He relaxed and decided to trail them to pass time.
Then he recognized the taller warrior-Beroc. They had nearly crossed swords back at Empsa Keep, thanks to some mix-up at the stable. They’d patched it over with a verbal shove from his captain. Even so, he’d been left with an unpleasant feeling about the senior officer, but he was too new to fish for gossip on the man. What mischief was Beroc up to now?
Coris frowned and quickened his pace. He reached the doorway’s amber pool of light just as the two men entered, eclipsing it. Coris glimpsed of Glisa’s white face as the men strode toward her.
Towering over the maid, Beroc demanded, “Where’s the thrall who frightened Lord Cenoc’s horse this afternoon?”
She curtsied and answered at once, “They’re not here, my lord. The thralls sleep in the stables.”
Beroc’s partner spun to his left and pointed beyond the scullery maid. Beroc glanced toward him and barked a rough laugh. Coris heard a growling curse, and knew too well what was about to happen.
Glisa stepped back but not quickly enough. Beroc’s gauntleted left hand smashed against the side of her face, knocking her to the floor. Drawing his sword, he smiled ferociously, his teeth white against his bronzed skin. Ignoring his subordinate’s call from the dark lean-to, he took a step nearer and raised his blade to strike.
With both men’s backs turned, Coris slipped through the doorway and stood close to the inside wall. Already sure he was going to regret it, Coris found himself shouting, “Beroc! Leave the girl alone.”
The knight turned to glare at him. “Coris? What’s she to you?” He laughed unpleasantly, “Ah! This is the one you were going on about this morning?”
Coris’ mouth moved in a silent curse. The other man called again from the room beyond the great ovens, “Beroc! I’ve got them cornered out here in the lean-to. What are you about? Cenoc’s waiting.”
The burly knight glanced irritably toward his partner, then back at Coris.
“Which one is it?”
Beroc shrugged. “Let’s take both.” He followed the other guard into the room.
As they passed by on their way out, Beroc turned back to Glisa. “The stables?”
The woman struggled to sit up, one hand clutched to her face.
With a wolfish grin, Beroc allowed his sword’s point to hover close by Glisa’s throat. The maid scrambled back from the blade. Her mouth formed a silent “Please!”
At that, Coris drew his own blade.
Beroc snorted his contempt. “I’ll not spoil your evening, Coris.” He withdrew the blade, studying the point just before sheathing the weapon. “Enjoy the little time you have left, wench. The master-cook will hear about your lie tomorrow.” He scowled at Coris, and then followed the others out the door.
After the guards shoved the thralls into the courtyard, Coris turned to help Glisa, only to find her already on her feet. Coris touched her blood-scored face. One cheek was puffed and red. The darkness of bruising hinted at the extent of the damage. If bones were broken, they’d need Mittlis the surgeon.
Glisa pulled away from him and ran through the door. “Why didn’t you stop them? Those boys are being taken to their deaths! Lord Cenoc asked for them.”
Coris grasped her arm and pulled her back inside. “I know, but you go running over to the great hall and you may well die, too.”
She tried to pull from his grasp. “Hurry then! We’ll overtake them! Stop them before they reach the hall.”
Coris shook his head. “And fight them-you and I, for two thralls--with Cenoc’s and Sevris’ men all around the courtyard? Look out there! Two men from each lord guard the inner gates. Two from Cenoc’s army stand with Sevris’ doorkeeper at the hall door itself. There’s Sevris’ own door guard just inside that door. Then, there are the poor fellows on foot patrol, circling the keep. It’s like a tinderbox within these walls--everyone watching everyone else. We’d be taken before I could even draw blade, and for what?”
“For who! In the corridors! If no one saw us-”
“You talk as if there’d be no one else inside but us! Besides, Cenoc would wonder at the delay and send others to search for the thralls. Or, just find a couple of other ones. If we actually rescued them, where could we hide them in a keep filled past capacity?”
Her fingers curled close to her ears as if to rip them off. The answer was nearly a scream, “I don’t know! Coris, isn’t there anything?”
He murmured, “No. You know there isn’t. At least, not while they’re still in Cenoc’s presence. Perhaps later, after ...” He reached to caress her cheek, but she pulled away.
“They could be dead by then!”
“I know.” Coris answered.
Glisa was certainly attached to those two scullery thralls. Perhaps, he could have stopped Beroc and Tridias, here at the scullery. He glanced toward the bailey uncertainly. And risk his place in Cenoc’s personal guard? Or, worse, risk impalement for insubordination?
No, they were just thralls--subhuman Young Ones. To defend Glisa had been different. Hadn’t it? The words and the smile of one of them-Lanis-this afternoon returned to him even as he continued to stare down the path. He turned away in confusion, a confusion in which a vague guilt played no small part.
“Coris, I’m sorry. I promised their mother I would care for them.” Glisa added bitterly, “So ends my obligation.”
There. Even Glisa realized he couldn’t have done more. In relief, Coris repeated his claim, “There was nothing either of us could do. But you heard Beroc. He’ll report you in the morning. You have very little time.”
She laughed bitterly, “So Tabistis will have his way at last, and I shall have to give in to him or be the new kitchen thrall to, to replace...”
Coris sighed to himself. Why couldn’t she see reason? “I fear Beroc won’t be content with that. Leave right now. Gather together whatever you own, and pack some food. I’ll slip past Gamis and get you a draft animal. You can ride, can’t you?”
Her dark eyes snapped with fury as she answered, “Not like the grand ladies, sir knight, but I used to ride bareback on my grandfather’s farm, until Sevris took it!” She flung down the damp cloth she had used to wash her face, then watched it sink into the basin of water. “Why should I run? There’s no place to go, no place to hide anymore.”
“There are better places than this keep and better masters than that cook. Ride east, Glisa! You like Young Ones? Go to a wood of the Young Ones! I’ve heard there’s a Throne hidden to the east, a refuge for those without friend or recourse. Go there. Or do you prefer to take your chances with Beroc and Tabistis?”
Glisa’s eyes burned. “Meran’s Choices! As it has always been. Get me something to ride and I’ll leave. But some day I’ll come back to even certain accounts.” She grabbed his arm. “Come with me! You’re too decent to be taking orders from the likes of Cenoc.”
He looked down at her with a grin. “Strange compliment. Meet me at the gate in five minutes. We must find a way to have it opened without arousing suspicion.”
Glisa shook her head. “I know of an old postern gate beyond the stables, nearly covered by vines from the grape arbors. Sevris hasn’t posted a guard there in years.”
Coris snorted in disgust at the bald allusion to Sevris’ carelessness.
Ignoring the snort, Glisa added, “The thralls and I use it for unauthorized outings.” She turned to face the hall. “Used it.”
“There’s nothing you can do for them. Come on!”
He freed a donkey with little trouble, and it would have to do. He waited hidden in the deepest shadows at the edge of the grape arbors, watching as Glisa crept toward the curtain wall, a few pitiful things dangling within the knotted shawl by her side.
The donkey snorted and began a dismal bray of protest. Coris got his palm over the creature’s nostrils just in time. It tried to shake his hand away but it shut up.
Glisa walked out of the moonlight and into the shadows. She gave a great gasp on spotting him and stumbled to a stop. “Oh, it’s you. We go that way.”
The murmur echoed in his ears and he winced. All his fellow fighters must be deaf tonight.
She led him through the tangle of old vines amid the faint scent of fermentation, then along the south curtain wall to the postern gate hidden behind the arbors. Moonlight shown vividly through the gate’s iron arabesques and the brittle remnants of dead vines. With it came the faint hint of a cool breeze, a taste of the freedom just beyond its confines. The metal hinges were thick with corrosion and the gate opened reluctantly, Coris pushing it inch by inch to avoid a telltale groan.
Glisa turned to face him. “May Alphesis reward you, Coris.” She put a hand on his arm. “If they still live, help them. Promise me.” She looked searchingly into his eyes.
His heart sinking at the commitment, he nodded. “Remember. Go east to the Young Ones.” Stumbling over the unfamiliar words he added, “May Alphesis protect you.”
Then she was gone. Closing the gate carefully, Coris raced toward the great hall, cursing himself for a fool at every step.