|  Author | Topic: Changing Winds of Time by Remarque (Read 44 times) |
Remarque
Administrator
Maybe I'm nuts, and maybe I'm nots. You'll never know till you see what I've gots.[P:-225]
member is offline
![[avatar]](http://i31.tinypic.com/wl7u38.png)
...I don't even like Firefox. I use IE. But it's just...soo...funny...
![[msn]](http://s4.images.proboards.com/msn.gif)
Joined: Jun 2008
Gender: Female 
Posts: 172
Location: Hiding in the shadows
Karma: 3 |  | Changing Winds of Time by Remarque
« Thread Started on Jul 9, 2008, 7:55pm » | |
Changing Winds of Time
by Remarque
Chapter 1
There are a great many things in this world that have gone unnoticed, for many years. Many things that could change the way Deltora has lived, ever since it rose out of the sea as a volcanic island all those billions of years ago. Things that could change a country...change a world...change a life.
Yes, our beloved land of Deltora has gone unchanged for many hundreds of years. It has lived in a state of peace with its neighboring lands, and even its seven tribes, who fought so violently not so long ago, have been getting along rather well.
But there are those of us who can smell the winds of change, who can see them swirling around in the mists of time. For they are not too far off, these winds, and they’re bigger than ever before in living memory.
Beware, Deltora! Beware! Hark the Changing Winds!
...
"Blast!"
So uttered Marissa, the not-so-ladylike lady-in-waiting to Queen Verve.
Normally, she was everything you would expect a LiW to be - calm, polite, and dainty. This particular occasion, however, called for a more forceful exclamation.
There was a boy opposite her, perhaps a few years younger than herself. He held himself rigid, obviously very worried about something.
The boy, the tanned blonde boy with the dancing blue eyes, the eyes that had made the girls wink, was her little brother. And he had gotten himself in trouble.
Marissa’s own dark locks slid over her shoulder like water when she finally sat down on the armchair opposite him. Taking a sip of tea from the teacup that had been sitting delicately on the coffee table, she asked, "What made you do it, Bryan? What in the world persuaded you to do it?"
Looking uncomfortable, Bryan squirmed in his seat. He and his elder sister had never talked much, her being sent away to be a lady-in-waiting when he was a scarce seven years old, and when the two did talk, it was almost as uncomfortable as this. Almost.
Eventually, he decided to be honest. He shrugged.
Marissa sagged, then. She put her face in her hands, and looked at him with her dark brown eyes. He had always hated it when she did that. She and their mother, both, did that whenever they were at the end of their rope.
But their mother met the end of her rope, years ago...but he would not think about that. They had agreed, without speaking, not to think about that.
Hanged for high treason...
Stop it! He almost shook his head, until he remembered his sister’s gaze, and stopped himself before she started wondering...
Eventually, she rested her chin in her hands, and stated rather flatly, "One does not steal the Crown Jewels for no reason, Bryan." Her eyes still bored into his, deep with pain. He knew she was close to tears, and for him, that would be one of the worst things in the world.
...
He was seventeen - a man, almost - and had only seen her cry twice. Once, when she was eight, and had scraped her knee very badly, and once when she was sixteen. That was when it had started.
‘It’ had started as curiosity. Bryan had been twelve, and he was in a vendor’s stall. He had wondered if he could take the apple Marissa had so admired without anyone noticing, and he tried, and he found he could. So it became a hobby.
Eventually, after a few months, thievery progressed into a way of life, and his father and sister wondered how he got them their beautiful, expensive presents.
He had told them he had been employed as a servant to a noble family, and that these were bought with his pay. Old Gres had believed it. Marissa had not. She knew him too well.
It had taken her almost a year for her to figure out the exact problem. A piece of jewelry had been stolen from one of the other ladies-in-waiting. And then she found it on her pillow one morning as a birthday present, wrapped in silver paper.
She didn’t confront him about it, not right away. She wanted to make sure she was right. And, after asking one question about the clasp of the bracelet, she knew she was.
That night, she told him she knew about his pastime, and he admitted to stealing it, and then she made him promise to never do it again. And he hadn’t...not to her knowledge, at least.
...
Then, when he was fifteen, he had found some other people in Del who specialized in the same thing he did. They made a living off of it. They made a business out of it.
They accepted him into their circle eagerly, and he was admired for his skill and for his guts. However, when the time came for them to pull off a major heist, he found that he was the one ‘in front’: in the most danger, and with the most to lose.
He started to pull away from the group, slowly. They had named themselves the Black Raccoons after the slinky thieving beasts, and he wanted no part in some sort of cult.
So he started showing up less and less, until he hadn’t been at a meeting for almost a year.
But then the Raccoons got nasty. They seemed to have completely accepted him as one of their own, and it appeared that to them, just to leave would be even worse than turning treacherous.
Things started getting stolen from his father’s barrel-selling shop. Marissa would be terrorized whenever she came to visit by an unknown foe. Girls he spent time with would be delayed going home.
It was at that point that Bryan decided to stay with the Raccoons, for the safety of everyone he loved. It wasn’t like there was anything he could do!
And Marissa still didn’t know. That is, not the Raccoons landed him with a death penalty, and he and his sister were given one day to spend together before he was sent to the wolves.
I know. I know. It's not Randor. I am evilbad. My first real story, and it's not Randor! Meep!
The truth is, I'm lazy. Very, very lazy. I'm working on a Randoorian story...and I have been for more than a week. This story took mere days 
|
![[image]](http://i221.photobucket.com/albums/dd299/TheGoldenStar/moiii.jpg)
REMARQUE |
|
Remarque
Administrator
Maybe I'm nuts, and maybe I'm nots. You'll never know till you see what I've gots.[P:-225]
member is offline
...I don't even like Firefox. I use IE. But it's just...soo...funny...
Joined: Jun 2008
Gender: Female
Posts: 172
Location: Hiding in the shadows
Karma: 3 | | Re: Changing Winds of Time by Remarque
« Reply #1 on Jul 9, 2008, 7:56pm » | |
Chapter 2
Rigitus Barrud, Captain of the Guard, was sitting with the Queen herself in her chamber. Normally, he would be forbidden to do so, but this was a special exception.
"The Jewels have been found, your Majesty! And the thief, along with them! There’s no need to get upset, he’ll be - "
He was cut off as Queen Verve, who was still quite young, gave a great blubber, which sent fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. "He'll be killed! I know it! When did the Kingdom of Deltora become such a violent place?" she wailed. "Only a few hundred years ago we were fair and good!" and started crying again.
Rigitus wanted to reach out, pat her on the shoulder, and comfort her, but he knew it would get him in trouble. Still, she was a young, unmarried, orphan queen with no siblings or close relatives. Who was to offer her comfort at times like this? (Which happened surprisingly often. Queen Verve was, though none dared admit it, a little emotional. In a good way, though.)
He tried to offer comfort without physically touching her. "You're the Queen of Deltora. Surely you could order his life be spared?"
She stopped crying at once. "Of course I am the Queen." And then she started again: "But what would the people think? They would think me petty and soft, unfit to rule! Oh, Rigitus..." and she laid her head on his shoulder, knowing that if she was the one to breach first, there would be no trouble...almost.
For wouldn't it just be that Marlo, the Queen's servant, would step in at that moment? Skinny, puny, doting Marlo, who had had eyes for the Queen since he had first met her (he was twenty now), who turned up a nose at Rigitus' profession? No, this would not go well.
...
"I've got to escape, Marissa."
Those five words captured her attention completely, though she had known, in the bottom of her heart, that she would hear them sometime that day.
She looked at her brother. His blue eyes, like their Mere father's, were earnest and serious.
"And how would you plan that, exactly?" They were in a room, guarded without pause by half a troop of Palace Guards.
"I don't know. Every time I think of a way out, I think up a reason why it wouldn't work. But I can't just let it happen, you know."
She knew.
Eventually, there was no more to say to each other. They thought up escape plans in silence.
...
The Queen knew she had acted girlishly, but, while she was ashamed, she wouldn't stand for a life to be ended, even for a crime such as that. Everything had been recovered. No one was hurt.
She was alone, sniffing, wiping the drying tears from her pale face. And at that moment, she knew what she must do.
I had forgotten with the first post to tell you this - it's a fanfic from the best book series ever, Deltora Quest. Pick them up at the library; you'll see what I mean.
|
REMARQUE |
|
Remarque
Administrator
Maybe I'm nuts, and maybe I'm nots. You'll never know till you see what I've gots.[P:-225]
member is offline
...I don't even like Firefox. I use IE. But it's just...soo...funny...
Joined: Jun 2008
Gender: Female
Posts: 172
Location: Hiding in the shadows
Karma: 3 | | Re: Changing Winds of Time by Remarque
« Reply #2 on Jul 9, 2008, 7:56pm » | |
Chapter 3
Bryan paced the cozy room, almost at fever pitch with anxiety
Bryan paced the cozy room, almost at fever pitch with anxiety. The daylight hours were fading and he and Marissa had only a few precious minutes left together before...but they were not going to think about that. They had made an unspoken agreement.
Oh, sure, they had come up with some ideas - prying the bars off the window, breaking the glass, and somehow surviving the four-story jump down to the ground without being detected, and so on - and, for lack of a better plan, they decided that Bryan was just going to have to wait for the perfect time, and act from there.
So when the guard came to take him away to the prison where he would spend the night, when he hugged his sister goodbye, he meant it more than either of them thought he would.
...
Marissa was left, for the most part, alone by the other ladies-in-waiting, not because they didn't care, but because they hadn't the foggiest idea of what to say to her. What do you say to someone whose brother has been sentenced to death?
Apparently, no one knew. Marissa walked the beautifully decorated hallways in utter silence, praying that her brother would be all right.
...
Rigitus walked down the narrow corridors, passing no one. He was to deliver the boy from the cell-room to the dungeon, and he was late enough as it was. He quickened his already-fast pace.
He still couldn't believe that one so young could steal ninety percent of the Crown Jewels from where they sat in the high tower without being caught for almost four weeks.
What he didn't know was that Bryan had had help...
...
A heavyset, black-bearded man, probably in his late thirties, was walking up the beautiful garden path to the forge. He had a special request, and he was sure that the old blacksmith had never heard of anything of the like before.
...
A dish dropped.
The blacksmith's wife was the one who dropped it, and she was almost never clumsy.
She had dropped it the second she had seen the man coming up the path. She knew her husband, the smith, would not want to speak with him.
...
The smith was in the forge, which was one of the two places he was happiest (the first place was anywhere with his wife). Caius had the strong arms and back of a blacksmith, but had managed to keep himself free of the sooty layer that usually accompanied his trade.
He was working on an order of nails for a carpenter who lived down the road, and had almost finished when Sarah, his wife, came rushing into the forge.
After a brief coughing fit (Sarah seemed to be slightly allergic to smoke), she gasped out what she had to say.
...
The lumbering man finally made it up to the oak door, and rapped the brass knocker four times. He was a generally impatient man.
Finally, Sarah came to the door, and, very nervously, let him in.
"Hullo, Sarah. Any chance that the smith'd be 'round?" His voice was guttural and rather low-pitched.
She nodded, once, and pointed to the smithy.
"Ah, yes, th' ol' forge. Caius loved th' ol' forge, if I can recall rightly." And, not caring to take off his muddy boots, he walked into the stairwell off the side of the room that left to the smithy.
...
Caius had just dipped the last nail into the water vat beside him to cool when he heard the heavy footsteps on the stairs. Knowing it would not be his wife, he stopped what he was doing and waited for the man he hated to appear.
...
"I see yer still hard at work. Makin' decent wages, heh?"
"I don't see how that's any of your business."
"It isn't. Jus wonderin'."
"I see..."
"Lissen, I came t' ask yeh somethin'. Special r'quest, see."
"Get to the point. And I don't do special requests."
"Thas what you say. My point'd be, I need a sword, an' a goodun, with where's I'm a-goin'."
Sighing, Caius leaned on a wooden column. "Where are you going, Vent?"
"To th' Shadowlan's. Heard there's good pickin's there."
"'Good pickings'? In what?"
"Gold, Caius! Heaps of it!"
"Vent, you've gone mad! Go the Shadowlands, for the sake of mere greed? You're out of your mind! Go to the Gnomes, if you want it that badly!"
Vent got up off of the workbench he was sitting on, and walked over to the smith, and stared him in the eye. "I don' like Gnomes, an' you know that."
"You'd be endangering all of Deltora by invading the Shadow Lord's territory. He'll see it as a threat."
"I'd stay hidden, yeh fool."
Now it was Caius' turn to draw himself up to his rather impressive height. He knew he was better-matched in a fight, and he knew that Vent knew it. "Don't call me a fool, fool. You're endangering your entire land, and all of your people, just by saying such a thing."
Vent backed down a little, and was even uncomfortable enough to wipe some rust off of the seat of his heavy leather pants. "I'ss not like he c'n hear me."
"He has spies everywhere, Vent. You know that."
"That was hundreds of years ago! Y' can't possibly think he's still around, and that he's still alive! It's been hundreds of years, like I says."
"He doesn't age like normal people do, Vent. He's a sorcerer. He can age at whatever rate he pleases. And for sure he's still around. An Ak-Baba was sighted, what was it, three weeks ago, wasn't it?"
"Them's wild birds. There's no connection."
"There is. What in the world were you learning in class?"
"I didn't oft go to class, yeh r'member that."
"I do. Bottom line is, going to the Shadowlands is a fool's idea. You could start a war that Deltora is not ready for."
"Not ready fer? We have th' Queen; we have th' Belt. And b'sides, it's not like I'll get caught. And it's not like he'd even take my intrusion as a threat."
"My answer is no. Please, please, do not endanger everyone like this!"
Vent only shrugged. Then he left.
...
When Caius told Sarah about it after, they were both very relieved, and they both knew it. Vent had a reputation to be a violent man, and Sarah had her own particular reason to hate him. Caius and Vent had never met, but the smith had hated him because Sarah had.
In the very least, Vent was arrogant and stupid. But lots of people were.
...
Bryan walked down the narrow corridors, searching desperately for a way to escape. Finding none, he hoped one would become apparent.
Knowing that, if it came to a physical bid for freedom, he would lose against the three armed guards and the large captain, he was searching for a break, a way to escape without a fight.
...
In the end, he found none. He was almost in a state of disbelief when he was led to his cell, and, not gently, but not roughly, either, pushed in.
Quickly, he scanned the relatively large cell. It was quite clean, for a dungeon, and the only window let in a decent amount of light. It was barred, however, and many feet up. Too far up to jump.
The floor was littered with slightly moldy straw, but it wasn't so bad. Just damp and stinky.
Though it was the country he had just robbed, by extension, he felt a glow of pride that Deltora's prisoners didn't lead a terrible life.
Hoping he might find something of use scattered in the straw, he searched on his hands and knees, but found nothing. In the end he sat, propped up against a wall, and re-lived his life.
Eventually he fell asleep from the boredom, but was awakened by an urgent hissing.
"Bryan! To the door!"
It was a female voice, but it was unfamiliar. He knew that a good portion of the Raccoons were girls, but that in itself might cause a problem: sure, she might free him, but she'd bring him straight to the Raccoons, where he'd be killed anyways. At least he had a better chance of getting away.
So he prepared himself for a fight - he had never hit a girl, and he hoped never to, but his life was at stake - until the girl's hood fell back and his Queen's pale face was illuminated by the failing light of the day, streaming through the barred windows.
|
REMARQUE |
|
Remarque
Administrator
Maybe I'm nuts, and maybe I'm nots. You'll never know till you see what I've gots.[P:-225]
member is offline
...I don't even like Firefox. I use IE. But it's just...soo...funny...
Joined: Jun 2008
Gender: Female
Posts: 172
Location: Hiding in the shadows
Karma: 3 | | Re: Changing Winds of Time by Remarque
« Reply #3 on Jul 9, 2008, 7:57pm » | |
Chapter 4
Bryan stared at the Queen for a little too long
Bryan stared at the Queen for a little too long.
"Hello." He said, rather awkwardly.
"I've got the keys. You're getting out." To prove her point, she jangled the keyring in her hand, making a tinkling sound.
"Pardon me, Your Highness, but...why wait until now to set me free? You could have decreed it at any time..."
The look she gave him was earnest and slightly guilty. "I didn't want my people to think me soft. You did a bad thing, but I don't think it was that bad. Obviously, I'd be happier if nothing had happened, but I don't think it's a crime punishable by execution."
"Well, thanks, then. ...But won't people wonder how I've suddenly gone missing?"
"I'm sure they'll figure something out for themselves. Daddy always told me that if you're going to lie, or even just hold back the truth, to your people, best to let them come up with their own explanation. Then you can go with that, and the people will believe you, because it was their idea all along."
Shocked, he said nothing. Instead, he got up, itching to help in some way, but the Queen had done everything that needed to be done. The key clicked in the lock, and she yanked on the heavy iron door, trying to get it open. It budged a little, but it was a tight fit.
Finally! Something to do. "Look out. I'm going to bash open the door."
After making sure she had moved out of the way, he rammed his shoulder into the iron panel of the door, where the key went in. It creaked a little, but opened.
"OK. You're out. Do you know the fastest way out?"
"I know the way I came in, but I doubt it's the fastest or safest way."
"It isn't. Follow this hall along until you come to an intersection. Take the right passageway. Then, keep taking rights. It was cleverly designed..."
"...Very cleverly. What then, or am I out?"
"You'll come to a room, by the very edge of the palace. It used to have a plinth on it, but a previous king or queen smashed it for some reason. Pull up on the tile exactly four from the doorway. Use the passageway beneath it to escape."
"Thanks. Anything else I should worry about?"
"Not that I know of, but of course, you'll be a hunted man. Flee!"
And he did, following her directions perfectly.
In one of the corridors, about halfway along, he almost ran into a guard, but he managed to lie his way out of a sticky situation, saying that he was an apprentice to the jailkeeper, and that he was going to get food for a prisoner.
Had he thought it out a little more carefully, he would have realized that his lie was full of holes, but luckily for him the guard wasn't all that bright, and he got through the trap door fine.
The tunnel was small, cramped, and smelled of peat, but he got out with no major problems.
Opening the panel at the end was harder than he suspected, for it had been years since it had been opened last, and the grass covering it had formed a mat, which he had to rip through.
Before he opened the trapdoor fully, however, he surveyed the area to make sure there was nobody around. It was almost dark - that deep blue color - and everyone was at home. He was alone.
Now he was faced with a problem - what to do, and where to go.
He knew he couldn't stay in Del - guards would undoubtedly be searching all households door-to-door tomorrow - so he decided to hit the road.
The Forests of Silence were considerably safer these days, but not safe enough for him.
Instead, Bryan turned west, and headed for Jaliad.
|
REMARQUE |
|
Remarque
Administrator
Maybe I'm nuts, and maybe I'm nots. You'll never know till you see what I've gots.[P:-225]
member is offline
...I don't even like Firefox. I use IE. But it's just...soo...funny...
Joined: Jun 2008
Gender: Female
Posts: 172
Location: Hiding in the shadows
Karma: 3 | | Re: Changing Winds of Time by Remarque
« Reply #4 on Jul 9, 2008, 7:57pm » | |
Chapter 5
There was something to celebrate in Jaliad.
Bryan knew nothing of this fact, of course, but, not wanting to come off as ignorant, quickly asked the friendliest person he could find what was up.
She was a local barmaid, large and ample but noble, as only a Jaliad lady can pull off.
After speaking with her for a few minutes, Bryan had discovered that her name was Trilla, that 'Deligonians' such as himself were not welcome here, now, and that one of the tribe's leaders had had a baby son.
She had first thought he was of the Mere, until he told her of his heritage - half from Del, half from the Mere - and she said that he looked very Merish, what with his blond hair and blue eyes.
Thanking her for her company - and information - he decided that it wouldn't be such a good idea to stick around, and, after buying a few provisions, he set out, north this time.
...
Marissa had been sent for by the Queen. Gathering her peach-and-rose-colored skirts, she made for the Queen's chamber, where she knew she would find her.
"Hello, Marissa...please sit down."
She took a seat, determined to be as ladylike as possible. This was only the second time she had ever met Queen Verve, and she wanted to make a good impression.
"Marissa, I'm sure you've heard of your brother's escape?"
Her heart caught in her throat. What if the Queen thought she had helped him? She hadn't, but there was no way Verve knew that...was there?
"I have, your Majesty."
"I have something to tell you about it."
Tell, not ask! This might not go as badly as she had initially thought.
"I was the one who helped your brother escape. I opened the door for him, and showed him the way out. I don't know what happened to him after that, but I know he was not executed as planned. I thought you should know."
Marissa's first reaction was that of relief, until she realized that it might be a trick. After thinking it out, however, she derived that there was no logical way for it to be. "Thank you, Queen. I had been wondering what had happened to him."
Verve nodded curtly. "You may leave."
Marissa gathered her skirts for a second time, and left, her heart light with the news.
...
As she opened the door, there was a skitter, and she turned her head just in time to see a leg disappear around the corner of the hallway.
"Did you hear that, my Majesty?"
"Hear what?" The Queen straightened herself in her seat, alert to any new noise.
"The sound of an eavesdropper."
Verve pursed her lips, very worried all of a sudden. "Did you catch a face, or anything that might identify them?"
"I saw a leg, but that is all. It was rather small, and was clothed by faded trousers."
Chewing a lip, Verve said nothing. No one came to mind with that description.
...
Rigitus was training a troop of new guards, who were eager and undisciplined. He hoped to change the latter and keep the first, but he knew it would be a hard job. He had done it one hundred and forty-three times before. Not that he was counting.
...
There was a watcher in the few seats scattered around the ring where the guards trained.
Marlo was taking careful notes for the Queen, cursing his bad luck. Of course, all of the other servants were busy doing other things. He was happy to do something for the Queen, of course - and more - but, once he heard what he was to be doing, his inner face scowled. Bleah. Noting how the guard training was coming along. One of his least-favorite jobs.
Sighing, he took another look at how the training was coming along. It bored him to death, personally, but he must do it. For the Queen.
It was the Queen who had commanded him to do it, right? If it wasn’t, then perhaps he could get rid of this perpetually happy fake smile.
...
Verve and Marissa sat in silence, thinking over what was said, and what might happen if that information got out to the people. Nothing good, surely. Depending on how much was heard, the Queen might lose trust in the people of Deltora for lying to them. What happened to Marissa was of no consequence, really.
...
Bryan entered a Jaliad shop cautiously. If what Trilla had said applied to all Jalis, or, at least, most Jalis, then he was not welcome here. But, of course, there was stuff he had to do, things he had to buy, and, after asking around, he had discovered that this was supposed to be the best place.
The very air of the shop smelled woody and damp, like the woods after a rain. Little bits of this and that hung disarrayed on rusting hooks nailed to the wall.
There was no sign of a shopkeeper anywhere.
As Bryan was walking around the shop, fingers itching like they did when he was eager to steal something, he noticed a birdcage, with a very old crow in it.
The crow had begun to go grey, it was so old. Its twisted claws were worrying a piece of dried meat, so he knew that there must be someone around. His fingers stopped itching at once.
As he was walking by, he almost tripped over the leg of a stand that was displaying packages of some green material, making a racket. Luckily, he righted the swaying stand before anything fell off, or any damage was done.
It wasn’t as if he had been quiet before - he was here to buy, not to steal - but, somehow, the racket alerted the crow to his presence. Bryan thought it might have been almost deaf.
It squawked, once, then seemed to shake its head, as if to say “Fool boy! I will not have you causing a ruckus in my shop!” Its beady little eyes were blacker than coals, blacker than black itself, even.
The crow was not the only thing the noise had alerted to his presence - out of a door Bryan had not noticed was there, came a huge, burly man. And he was angry.
|
REMARQUE |
|
Remarque
Administrator
Maybe I'm nuts, and maybe I'm nots. You'll never know till you see what I've gots.[P:-225]
member is offline
...I don't even like Firefox. I use IE. But it's just...soo...funny...
Joined: Jun 2008
Gender: Female
Posts: 172
Location: Hiding in the shadows
Karma: 3 | | Re: Changing Winds of Time by Remarque
« Reply #5 on Jul 9, 2008, 7:59pm » | |
[b]Chapter 6[/b[
The man was literally gigantic - at least six foot nine, and must’ve weighed at least three hundred pounds.
There was not a scrap of fat on him, either. He was a veritable ox.
Bryan could tell, however, that he was not stupid, as usually accompanied burliness. His deep-inset eyes, as black as his crow’s, sparked with something other than anger.
Bryan pointed to a thick woolen traveling cloak. “Er, hello, good sir. Is - is this for - “
“Not to the likes of you, it isn’t. Get out of my shop before I throw you out.”
Taking a hint, Bryan turned tail, and was about to flee when he thought of something.
“I have money. I’ll pay you twice as much as anyone else would, just for the privilege of buying it.”
Greed and anger weighed together, and Bryan could see the cogs working in the big man’s head.
In the end, though, greed won out, and he grunted, “Ten gold coins, for everyone else. Fifteen for you. Give me twenty and I’ll throw in a good pair of boots, too.” Bryan suspected that he would have given him the boots anyway, but this was almost a truce, and if the boots were any good at all, it would be worth paying.
“Done, if I can see the boots before paying.” He was already scrabbling around to find some money.
His answer was a non-committal grunt, but the shopkeeper went around back anyway. He emerged a few moments later with a pair of high-quality leather boots grasped in his meaty paw.
“Here. Where’s my money?”
Handing over the money, Bryan knew he had made a good choice. Good boots such as these were hard to come by, and with winter about to set in, he would need a cloak...boots...and...what are those?
“How much for there?” He was holding up a jar of strange glass beads, which he had picked off a shelf, out of a dusty corner. The beads were glowing red, orange, and yellow in the inside, and they looked almost alive.
Much to his surprise, the man started laughing. “Those are worth more than your sorry little hide. No one makes them anymore, and I’ll be d**ned if I’m going to sell them to anyone, let alone a Merish.”
“I’m half Merish and half of Del, actually. How much?”
“They’re not for sale. I had forgotten I had them, actually.”
“I’ll offer you two hundred gold coins for them.” Something about them intrigued him - he just liked looking at them. It didn’t matter that if he paid that, he’d be left with only a few coins. He wanted them.
“Pay me twice that, and you’ve got a deal.”
“What? Four hundred gold coins? What do they do, anyway, to merit such a mad price?”
The man took a seat, and leaned forwards in it. “They start fires, sonny. Our land would probably still be under the hand of the Shadow Lord, if our good King Lief and his companions hadn’t had a bottle of ‘em.”
Well. Now he really wanted them. Stealing them was out of the question - he had given up thievery ever since he had been arrested.
“I’m afraid I don’t have the money.”
“Then I’ll just keep them, won’t I? Now go on with you, unless there’s something else you’d like to buy from me at an obscenely high price.”
Bryan almost smiled. “Do you have any good, warm blankets? If you do, I’ll take five...better make it six.”
“What’re you needing all of these warm clothes for, boy? There are plenty of inns in this city that’ll take you, and cheaply, too.” As he was speaking, he took down an assortment of blankets from a shelf.
“I have stuff to do.”
The big man was skeptical. “Stuff that requires goin’ out in the cold?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
Shrugging, the man said, "I wouldn't want to be you, boy. Here are the blankets. Seven of them, best I've seen in a long time. Five silver coins each."
Bryan was shocked. "They must be worth far more than that!"
"If I priced them at what they were worth, they wouldn't sell." Bryan knew it was a cover-up, and suspected that the shopkeeper was fast becoming a friend, of sorts.
"I'll take them all. Here you go."
And he was out of the shop before the shopkeeper had time to count the money given him, and realize that he was given two extra coins.
|
REMARQUE |
|
Remarque
Administrator
Maybe I'm nuts, and maybe I'm nots. You'll never know till you see what I've gots.[P:-225]
member is offline
...I don't even like Firefox. I use IE. But it's just...soo...funny...
Joined: Jun 2008
Gender: Female
Posts: 172
Location: Hiding in the shadows
Karma: 3 | | Re: Changing Winds of Time by Remarque
« Reply #6 on Jul 9, 2008, 7:59pm » | |
Chapter 7
The big shopkeeper sat in a dusty seat in the house behind the shop, bouncing the extra coins in his huge hands. He knew a friendship had been made, and not just because the boy - did he even mention his name? - overpaid him, but instead because he knew he had been overpaid with good reason.
...
Rigitus had warned his guards beforehand that Marlo would be watching, to make sure they performed extra-well.
He was proud of what he had refined in them, but he knew that Marlo was a very hard man to please, doubly so because he despised anything that had anything to do with physical exertion.
He, Rigitus, Captain of the Guard, knew that they were ready for just about anything anyone could toss their way, but the Queen had to be convinced before he could move onto the next set, and if Marlo's notes were the only way to convince Verve, so be it. They would find an extra enlightenment, if they were accepted as ready, in the knowledge that they had performed twice as well as they would have had to.
...
It had been almost two weeks since the eavesdropper heard her conversation, and nothing had happened yet, so Queen Verve wasn't worrying too much. Yes, she would worry if something was said, but until something happened, she was just going to let it go. There are enough things in this world to worry about, without having to worry about things that haven't happened yet!
...
"Are you insane?"
Caius the blacksmith paced back and forth in the forge, ranting to one of his two companions at random.
One of his companions, his beloved wife, would smile quietly to herself whenever he erupted at his second accomplice - a large, heavyset man with watery eyes.
"I've told you once, and I'll tell you again - the Shadowlands are no place for Deltorans, let alone for fools like yourself!"
Vent winced visibly. Caius plowed on:
"No sword. Sorry. I know we've known each other for years, but I know what you did to my wife, and I shan't forgive that. Plus, any sword you come into possession of will just fuel your insane plan! Go be a normal human being - not that I expect you to succeed at that!"
Vent winced again.
Caius finished, and, crossing his arms over his chest, glared at Vent. "Now get out, before I really lose my temper."
With a grunt, the large man managed to extract himself from the wicker chair. Somehow. Then, with a shuffling of his leather boots, he turned around and left, without a word, or even a glance.
...
Bryan was in reasonably good spirits for a hunted criminal.
It was late afternoon, bordering on evening - the best time for traveling - and there were few bugs. The birds were singing, and frogs from a pond just close enough to be heard from were croaking.
He wasn't quite sure what to do with himself, yet - he couldn't go back to Del, that was for sure - but he hoped to stop by Rithmere, perhaps find work and stay there. Part of him, also, hoped to find out more about his Mere father, who died only a couple of years before, and who had never said anything about his life before coming to Del and meeting Bryan's mother.
Judging by the sun, he had about an hour's good sunlight left before he'd have to make camp. He didn't want to waste a second of it.
...
Apart from the two people talking, only a dog by the side of a road, sniffing something's entrails, would bear witness to what happened next.
To the dog's point of view, two humans had come along (walking so awkwardly on their two legs!) from opposite ends of the road, and had met in the middle.
The dog, whose name was Musk, or something like that, was mildly curious, so he tagged along what seemed to be the nicer of the two.
Now we must leave the dog's narrative, because he became engrossed in something's guts. (If we were to ask Dusk, or whatever his name was, he would have been able to say exactly what type of beast it had been, and what had killed it, and then he would have remarked about the futileness of a human's nose, but we're not asking him, are we? Possibly for that exact reason.)
Bryan had come along from North to South, making very good time. He had enjoyed the company of a dingy, black-and-white dog for a time, until it had left him for some carcass. He had smiled at that.
...
The other person, coming from South to North on the same road, was unremarqueable in every way, except for the fact that he carried a gleaming broadsword.
As they passed, nothing was said, though they nodded in acknowledgement to each other's existence. There was tension in the air, and each could feel that they wouldn't like the other very much.
Bryan, however, broke the silence. "I'm no blacksmith, but I've never seen a sword like that before. Where'd you get it?"
The man turned and stared at him. He said nothing.
Feeling awkward, but stubborn, Bryan persisted. "I asked, 'Where'd you get it?'"
The man bared bright white teeth. This in itself put Bryan on edge, and it was that edge that saved his life a fraction of a second later, when that selfsame broadsword whipped out and around faster than the human eye could track.
If it had not been for that uncomfortable edge, Bryan would not have drawn back slightly, and the point would have ripped out his stomach.
As it was, it sliced a good way into the skin, but not deep enough to do any lasting damage. It bled a lot, though, and he felt hot blood drip down his abdomen into his pants.
His opponent's eyes glinted dangerously on finding that Bryan was not, in fact, dead. Drawing back for another stroke, it occurred to Bryan that that inhumanly-quick slash drew a lot of effort from his opponent, and he couldn't easily do it again. This gave him a surge of hope - he carried no weapon - and, instead of calmly accepting his fate, began to look in earnest for a way of diverting it.
The dog had been barking since the first blow - Must, or whatever, could sense the tension in the air - and he wasn't about to stop.
There was a stick lying by the side of the road. It was decently thick, and wasn't rotting, and would do as a staff, or at least something to parry the coming blow.
He grabbed it just as the sword came down. He blocked the blow with the stick (nicking the wood), and the man was offbalanced enough to stumble a little.
Seeing his chance, Bryan twisted the stick in an interesting way and the sword ripped out of the man's hand, went end over end, and, with a shnick, embedded its gleaming point into the dirt of the road, somewhere behind Bryan.
Both man and boy were utterly amazed.
What ensued was a race to the sword, which Bryan won. He was faster, and closer, and younger, and all of those gave him an advantage.
He reached the sword with the man feet behind him and coming fast.
Yanking it out of the ground, he swung it around, where it caught the man in the chest.
He died. Almost instantly.
Panting, and aware now of the pain in his abdomen, he pulled the sword from the gaping hole. It was lubricated with blood, and slid easily.
Marveling in its balancing for the few seconds before he dropped it, he noticed something interesting on the blade near the hilt, which was apparent now because the rivuleted letters had filled in with red blood.
It was a symbol of a snake, with the word "TYSOL" beneath.
He had never seen either before, and it caused him to drop it, wondering what in the world it meant.
Settling down to clean the sword, he remembered the dog, which had stopped barking, and was busy sniffing the body of his opponent.
Feeling sick suddenly, he waved the dog away, yelling at it.
The dog backed off, wary of his raised hand, but still stared intently at the body, which had stopped bleeding.
|
REMARQUE |
|
Remarque
Administrator
Maybe I'm nuts, and maybe I'm nots. You'll never know till you see what I've gots.[P:-225]
member is offline
...I don't even like Firefox. I use IE. But it's just...soo...funny...
Joined: Jun 2008
Gender: Female
Posts: 172
Location: Hiding in the shadows
Karma: 3 | | Re: Changing Winds of Time by Remarque
« Reply #7 on Jul 9, 2008, 8:00pm » | |
Chapter 8
"Hello? Anyone home?"
Bryan knocked on the door of an inn, feeling foolish. Of course there was nobody home! The building looked like it hadn't seen paint for centuries.
He had kept the sword, because it was so beautifully made, and because he had no other means for defense, but he still remembered what he had done with it. He didn't look at it any longer than he had to.
He had also kept the dog, bribing it with little tidbits of meat, because he was bored and lonely and because, if anything happened, the dog might come in handy.
Of course, not many people liked dogs that much, especially inn owners, so he'd have to train it to wait outside. All night.
He hadn't thought of training it to do that yet, and unless the inn owner was very lenient, he'd either have to sleep outside or hope the dog would stay.
He knocked on the door again.
Finally, he heard movements from within the house, and he stayed put until someone opened the door.
He had been looking at the spot where the owner's face would appear, but when he found nothing there, once the door had opened, he took a look downwards, into the blue-grey face of a Ralad man.
"Er, hello…may I stay here the night? I have money."
"Yes, of course, of course, come in! And bring the doggie with you if you like."
At that, the little man walked into the inn, beckoning behind him to come. Bryan liked him instantly.
Entering the threshold, he took a moment to survey the lovely architecture of the building. The ceiling was high, and crossed with thick beams, naked to the air.
There were lofts supported on the beams on both sides, but very soundly. The little bathroom was cleverly concealed behind a decorated wall.
Every square inch of wood was carved into delicate designs, depicting birds, horses, other animals, and even dragons, vrral, Soldeen, and the Wennbar.
As the little Ralad man led him through the building to the back, where stairs to one of the lofts were located, Bryan got to see the entirety of the building.
The kitchen was just a very cozy, sweet little room with an iron stove in the centre. A pleasantly plump Ralad woman worked there, cheerfully humming something with no particular tune.
Clearly the dog knew stairs and had been in human dwellings before, because when the man led Bryan up the stairs, the dog pushed his way past. He only made it to the top a few seconds earlier, but he seemed to count this as some great victory, tail wagging and ears floppy.
Only when Bryan was at the top of the stairs did he notice that there was a sturdy-looking bridge from the loft at the left, where he was, to the loft at the right.
Struck by a sudden thought, he asked the man, "Is there anyone else staying here?"
The innkeeper nodded, red hair bouncing. "Only a few hours ago, a traveler off the road came in. Didn't say much, and didn't do much either. He's been sleeping in his bed since then so I don't know anything about him. Why do you ask?"
Bryan shrugged. "Just wondering."
He would have continued talking with the innkeeper, who he liked immensely, but was interrupted by a snarling hiss, followed by a yelp.
Moments later, the dog emerged from a doorway, bushy tail between his legs, followed by a streak of orange fur.
His dog dived behind his legs, cowering from the spitting mass of fur that seemed to be a demented cat.
Laughing, the innkeeper scooped up the orange beast in his arms. It stopped hissing instantly, but it's blazing orange tail continued to twitch.
"This is Feire. She doesn't take well to visitors of the doglike sort."
Bryan chuckled, and examined his dog's nose, because it was bleeding. It wasn't more than a scratch, and luckily it was also clean, thanks to a cat's meticulous grooming.
They were still laughing about it that evening, at suppertime.
The Roadside Inn, as it was called, was famous for its baked potatoes, so Bryan tried one.
It was good. He didn't notice the flavour as much as he would have, however, because the mysterious other occupant of the Roadside wasn't at the table, which interested and scared him at the same time.
Curious, but smart enough to leave it be, Bryan went back upstairs to the loft after dinner and got ready for bed.
Unable to stop himself, he stole a glance at the other loft.
It was empty.
So that explained that.
He wouldn't have thought any more of the matter if he hadn't found a note under his pillow.
Beware. Not what things seem. Leave while you still can.
Bryan stared sceptically at the note, dark eyebrows raised. 'Beware'? Beware of what? The cat?
Shaking his head amusedly, he re-read it. He had never been a good reader.
Because he was staring at the note, he didn't see the cat sneak up behind him.
He didn't see her ripple, changing shape into a woman with bright orange hair and yellow feline eyes.
He didn't see her draw a knife from the vase on her right.
He did, however, catch the slight sound of the blade scraping in its sheath, moments before it was thrown.
Once again, luck and instinct saved him from death, and the blade hissed over his right shoulder and embedded itself, razor-sharp point first, into the wall in front of him.
Whirling around, he faced the woman for the first time, whose fanged teeth were bared in frustration, and who was already drawing another knife.
He knew that the next throw of the knife would mean his death. So he acted.
He didn't have time to draw his sword, so he yanked the knife out of the wood.
It was embedded deep, but he had momentum and weight at his advantage, and it came loose just barely fast enough to block the next throw.
As it was, the second knife grazed his knuckle, but luckily not badly.
The woman - who he just now realised was stark naked and very beautiful - hissed, baring her teeth again, and he guessed she was out of knives. So she scampered to the spot where the second knife had landed, as fast as the eye could track, delicately picked it up by the point and whipped it around again.
She never got to let go. From around the corner came someone - a man, judging by his height and build - and whapped the catwoman on the skull with a resounding thwack. She collapsed, knife still in her fingers.
Bryan and the stranger stared at each other for a second too long, each in their own little astonished surprise.
The stranger was tall - about two inches taller than Bryan, who had the tall Merish roots - and had a hood over his face, and a cloak covering his back.
Seeming to realise that it was bad manners to just stare like that, the stranger pulled back his hood, revealing a face.
Bryan could see that the man was older than himself, but not yet old - perhaps in his late twenties - and a week's growth of beard dotted his chin.
His eyes were quite startlingly blue, and had wavy black hair, which was dirty after spending a week in the woods.
Offering a hand, the stranger said, "Hello, Bryan. I'm Jal. Sorry about that." He motioned towards Bryan's bleeding knuckle.
"It was the cat…the woman…whatever…that did it, not you."
"Yeah, but I'm supposed to look after you. And she's a felis, by the way. Comes from Jaega."
"You're supposed to be looking after me? Why?"
"You're on the run from the Queen and from the Racoons, are you not?"
"Well, yes, but…"
"Say no more. Let's just say that I'm supposed to make sure you get to wherever it is you're going safely."
Looking at Jal sideways, Bryan said, "I don't need help."
He nodded at the felis. "And I imagine you could look after yourself fine after she threw that final shot. Felids rarely miss, by the way."
Sighing, Bryan decided that if he were to have a nursemaid, he might as well find out why. "Why in the world was she coming after me?"
"Can't tell you that." and he winked. Bryan was becoming very irritated with this man and his mysterious ways.
"Why not?" Whoops. He was whining.
"Because I said so. C'mon, we're getting out of here before the owners of the house come upstairs and discover that their little ploy failed."
Bryan was so used to being bossed around - first by his mother, then by his father after she died, and then by his older sister - that he abided without complaint.
|
REMARQUE |
|
Remarque
Administrator
Maybe I'm nuts, and maybe I'm nots. You'll never know till you see what I've gots.[P:-225]
member is offline
...I don't even like Firefox. I use IE. But it's just...soo...funny...
Joined: Jun 2008
Gender: Female
Posts: 172
Location: Hiding in the shadows
Karma: 3 | | Re: Changing Winds of Time by Remarque
« Reply #8 on Jul 9, 2008, 8:00pm » | |
Chapter 9
They decided to escape out of the window, in the hopes that they'd avoid the innkeeper.
Bryan carried the dog, which he now realized was a lot lighter than he thought. It must be skin and bone.
Just as they were leaving the window and jumping down from the tiled half-roof, however, a tile slipped out from under Jay's boot, and clattered along the roof before landing with a thud on the tuft of grass growing around the foundation.
Both he and Jay froze solid. Even the dog noticed the tension and stopped his bored panting.
When nothing seemed to occur, however, after a brief hiatus where they weren't sure the coast was clear, they started forwards again, cautiously.
After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the ground.
They had agreed previously to drop right down to the ground after landing, in case someone was looking out a window.
Luckily for them, however, there were no windows on that section of wall, which came out from the rest in a bump. Perhaps it was a pantry of sorts.
Again, Lady Luck smiled on our trio - the woods were thick on this side of the inn. Darting into them, they ran for a few minutes, before they sat and rested for a few moments, partially to regain their breath, and partly to listen for footsteps.
They started running again. The dog would disappear for minutes at a time, then return, panting heavily, but quite happy.
It was at this time that Bryan's wound on his stomach broke open and started bleeding again.
He swore, then tapped Jay's shoulder, asking him to stop, so he could find something to pad it with.
Jay stopped running, then turned around and gasped when he saw the blood soaking Bryan's shirt.
"Good lord, man, how did you get that?"
"Same way I got this dog and this sword. There was a man on the road who seemed to have something against me."
"Sword?"
"Yeah...hold on..." Bryan drew the beautiful sword.
"Take a look at that...was is that?"
The embossed snake and the word TYSOL reflected the murky forest light in abstract ways.
Jay's eyes, which had been wide with shock a few seconds before, narrowed to slits when he saw the two of them.
"I'd keep this sword hidden."
"...Why?"
"Because I said so. Just don't draw it unless you really have to. It's hard to explain."
"Tell me."
Shaking his head, Jay smiled roguishly. "Not till you're older."
Scowling, ears blushed red with anger, Bryan sheathed the sword, which was balanced so perfectly that it felt almost weightless.
"Now, we're resting for a while. I'll get some stuff to put on that cut of yours. You stay here and don't move, or twist, or anything like that. I might be a while, so sleep if you can. I think we've come far enough, fast enough, to deter any trackers."
Without waiting for Bryan's answer, he turned heel and disappeared into the dense forest.
Steaming, Bryan saw the logic in what Jay had said, and settled down against a tree.
He was awoken to the crunch of Jay's heavy studded boots on last fall's leaves. He was carrying an armful of leaves, which he dropped practically onto Bryan's face.
Sputtering, and spitting the last of some small leaves out of his mouth, he straightened himself. He had slumped against the tree in sleep, and his back ached.
"I really don't know why you hate me so much. I'd ask you, but knowing you, I wouldn't even get an answer."
The only response he got was another of Jay's lopsided smiles. He was sitting on the forest floor, attempting to light a fire.
"Now you're not even talking any more. What on earth are you doing?"
"I'm lighting a fire."
"I could see that. Why?"
Sighing in exasperation, Jay struck a piece of flint across a tiny piece of iron. "Some of the leaves you'll need have to be cooked."
"Cooked leaves? Like soup?"
"You can call it whatever you like."
It was at that point that the dog came back, carrying a stick that he was obviously very proud of. The conversation, such as it was, dropped off soon after that.
The dog accidentally put out the tiny fire twice, much to the frustration (and curses) of Jay. Just to spite Jay, Bryan laughed at both of these times, which earned him a glare.
Both humans would have come to blows by the time the leaves were cooked, were it not for the antics of the dog.
Jay had obviously had enough, so he took his water flask and filled it with the resulting mixture, then handed it to Bryan with the instructions, "Smear it."
Rolling his eyes, Bryan took a finger-full of the stuff, which was pale green and grainy, and applied it to his slice.
Jay had started to pack up, because they really weren't far enough away yet, and because there were still a few hours left in the day.
"C'mon, you're not infirm just because you have a wound that would have ripped out your gut were it a little deeper. Help me."
"No way. If you make me help, I'll go ahead and die on you. That'll teach you and who ever you have to take care of me for."
"I'm serious, man. Help me pack up or I'll tie you to the tree."
"Try it. I'll die."
"You over-exaggerate. You'll be fine. C'mon."
"I mean, I'll die purposefully if you tie me to this tree."
"Fine, and then you'll be dead and I'll have a nuisance out of my life."
"You'll still have the dog."
"I like the dog."
"It's my dog."
"Not if you're dead, it isn't."
The banter continued on like this for quite some time, until a compromise was made - Bryan would help pack up in return for the possession of the dog, who, as far as the dog was concerned, belonged to himself.
After setting up camp for the second time that day (Jay made Bryan promise to help set up and pack up again, on pain of nothing), they made supper out of mushrooms and leaves, then put out the fire just as the sun was setting.
The dog had left, and come back a little later, stinking like something that had been dead for weeks. He was then banished to the outskirts of the camp, where he lay, all night, enjoying his own stink.
After packing up in the morning (luckily for the reluctant Bryan, there wasn't that much to pack), they decided that the dog needed a name.
Had the dog known what they were saying, he'd say that he already had a name, and that it was...Musk? Dust? Something like that.
Jay suggested Stinker, due to his stench the previous night. It was quickly dismissed by Bryan, and unknowingly by the dog, who sneezed at that precise moment.
Jay started calling the dog Stinker, but was punched idly by Bryan, who was still thinking.
He remembered the name of one of the jesters that he had seen, once or twice, while visiting his sister in the palace (and swiping a few jewels in the process). It wasn't like he thought the dog was jester-like. It was just...the name seemed to suit him.
"How about...Jervyl?"
"Sounds like 'gerbil'."
"Suits him, though."
"Almost as much as Stinker does." Indeed, the dog still smelled terribly.
He got another half-hearted punch. "I like Jervyl."
"Go ahead an like it. It's your dog, after all." This was a reference to the previous night.
And so the dog was named Jervyl. Bryan was pretty sure, however, that he heard Jay calling the dog Stinker when he thought Bryan couldn't hear.
Indeed, Jervyl stank. Luckily for Jay and Bryan, however, it was licked off after a few days, as even the dog himself got sick of the stink.
Though Bryan had been pestering him, Jay kept quiet about anything that Bryan did not know already. This included where they were going, when they were going to get there, what they were going to do once they got there, what Jay did for a living and where he lived, why Bryan was supposed to hide the sword, what TYSOL and the snake meant, etc.
Because that was all Bryan wanted to know, or to talk about, and because that was exactly what Jay did not want to talk about, the long trek through the woods to who knows where to do who knows what was almost devoid of human voices.
Most of Bryan's questions were answered a few days later, when the little group emerged from the woods and crossed a rocky grassland.
They made camp a couple of hours later, in a copse of trees.
Bryan set to work pulling ticks off the dog - who didn't seem to mind them, though they clung to his body like swollen raisins - because it had become his job, gross as it was.
Jay started a fire, because it had become his job, frustrating as it was.
All this was done in relative silence - not because they were angry at each other, but because everything that could be said had been said already. (Although Bryan was very annoyed at Jay's withholding of seemingly important information.)
The reason that Bryan discovered the answers to his questions, however, was an unexpected visitor, just as dusk was setting in.
The visitor was an old, old man, probably even older than he looked, and he looked very old indeed. A white beard hung past his stomach, and it had been brushed, then braided with beads and multicolored string. He was dressed in shades of tan-grey.
|
REMARQUE |
| |
|
![[Search This Thread]](http://s4.images.proboards.com/search2.gif)
![[Send Topic To Friend]](http://s4.images.proboards.com/buttons/sendtopic.gif)
![[Print]](http://s4.images.proboards.com/buttons/print.gif)
Logged