09-22-2006, 10:21 PM
Now that a three year break has passed, it is time to take up, once again, the story of Angeleyes and Mikal, the pursuit of Orthas the Vile Necromancer, and Natalya's Zucchini Garden. Of course, being a bit deranged by the caffeine, I wrote the last chapter of this tale a few days ago, and must now fill in the blanks. Small wonder Paolini published before I did, or likely ever will. :lol:
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Burlap and Hammers and Guards, Oh My!
Fara's hammering settled into a slow, steady rhythm as she became absorbed in her task. Mikal squirmed, his impatience with this new game growing as his aunt lay curled around him. The burlap sacks they were hiding under made his nose itch.
"Are we playing a new game or not, Aunt Occhi? You didn't make anyone count to ten, or a hundred. Is something wrong?" The disappointment in his voice washed over her, but she bit her lip to prevent a hasty reply.
What amazed her was the resliance of children. Here was a boy who, until yesterday (the day before?) had been captive of a necromancer, marched about by his dead and reanimated father and grandmother, rescued from a closet where he was held prisoner, then held by Greiz' guards after he saw his rescuer knocked out and dragged away to a dungeon. Mikal's main concern? Playing a game of Hide and Seek.
"I am sorry about the game, Mikal, but we are in some trouble. Orthas kidnapped you, someone thinks I killed a guard, and I just escaped from prison before Jehryn was done with me." She stopped to let these facts settle in. "I have no money, a knife, and Aliza doesn't know where I am. My dearest friend has been trying to arrange my freedom. She is unaware of the trouble she is in, and of the bodies in the dungeon cell where I was held captive. She is my only way out of town, and thus your only way out of town."
She stopped, her thinking aloud likely confusing him with detail while she organized her problems as a way to find a solution. Shadow would be little help until her own mana was restored by rest. The key to her continued freedom was the rogue, but locating her and sending her a discrete message was not going to be simple.
"If you want to leave town, Aunt Occhi, use the magic squares. They are fun." Mikal's suggestion made no sense. Magic squares? Did he mean a magic carpet?
"Mikal, what magic squares have you used? Did your father teach you Paladin magic?" Groping for a hint, Angeleyes dug back into her education and training on magic arts, trying to recall what magic a Paladin had to transport or fly with. Square? She drew a blank, and hit the burlap bags in frustration.
Fara's hammering continued, its loud metallic rhythm oddly comforting. Abruptly, the sharp blast of a tin whistle exploded neear her head, and the sound of booted feet thundered along the street just outside the tent's wall adjacent to the sack pile. A thrill of fear shot up her spine as her illusion of security was shattered by the whistle's blast, and the reply blast from the other side of the tent, out in the square facing Fara's open tent flap.
"The magic --" began Mikal, but she put her fingers to his lips and quietly shushed him. In a hoarse whisper, she warned, "Shhhh, Mikal, we can't talk when the guards are hunting. Think of it as the game."
The heavy tramp of booted feet approached Fara's tent. Ominously, the hammering stopped. Angeleyes sensed more than saw the shadow fall into the tent's interior as the tall guard seargent stepped into Fara's shop.
"Mistress Fara, we are looking for an escaped prisoner who has now kidnapped a young boy. He's blond, about 8 or 9. She is black haired, wearing little, and armed. Have you seen them?"
Fara's voice flowed out in a controlled alto.
"Sergeant Chalan, as you can see I'm in the middle of some work. I pay a tax each week for the "security" you spear pulling mercenaries supposedly provide. For this, my work, my means of income is interrupted as you ask me to help you do your job?" Her voice implied obvious disbelief.
"Ma'am, each citizen is to assist the guards in pursuit of criminals, you know the Lords edict --"
"I've no time to waste on you, Sergeant, so please let me get back to my work. I've been in my tent all morning. No, I went fishing at dawn to catch breakfast. If you see any fugitives in here," here she paused, and Angeleyes imagined Fara gesturing about the dark interior of the tent, "you are welcomed to arrest them." An unintelligible response from the man was abruptly interrupted.
Fara's voice came out harder than her anvil. "As you can see, Sergeant, this isn't a kidnapper's lair but a working woman's tent. If you leave now, I'll forget you came by. If you want to harass me further, I'll be happy to provide Sergeant Sarissa with the name of who actually bent the standard's pole last Moonfest. Do I make myself clear?"
Chalan's voice came back dry and thin. "Perfectly."
Bootsteps moved away from the tent, followed by the general shuffle when the patrol moved out into the general throng of the marketplace.
Angeleyes breathed out and hugged Mikal to her fiercely. How ever was she to repay Fara for this immense favor? The answer would have to wait, as Fara resumed her hammering with a will. Patience, Occhi, she thought to herself, patience before payback.
To be continued . . .
==================================================================
Burlap and Hammers and Guards, Oh My!
Fara's hammering settled into a slow, steady rhythm as she became absorbed in her task. Mikal squirmed, his impatience with this new game growing as his aunt lay curled around him. The burlap sacks they were hiding under made his nose itch.
"Are we playing a new game or not, Aunt Occhi? You didn't make anyone count to ten, or a hundred. Is something wrong?" The disappointment in his voice washed over her, but she bit her lip to prevent a hasty reply.
What amazed her was the resliance of children. Here was a boy who, until yesterday (the day before?) had been captive of a necromancer, marched about by his dead and reanimated father and grandmother, rescued from a closet where he was held prisoner, then held by Greiz' guards after he saw his rescuer knocked out and dragged away to a dungeon. Mikal's main concern? Playing a game of Hide and Seek.
"I am sorry about the game, Mikal, but we are in some trouble. Orthas kidnapped you, someone thinks I killed a guard, and I just escaped from prison before Jehryn was done with me." She stopped to let these facts settle in. "I have no money, a knife, and Aliza doesn't know where I am. My dearest friend has been trying to arrange my freedom. She is unaware of the trouble she is in, and of the bodies in the dungeon cell where I was held captive. She is my only way out of town, and thus your only way out of town."
She stopped, her thinking aloud likely confusing him with detail while she organized her problems as a way to find a solution. Shadow would be little help until her own mana was restored by rest. The key to her continued freedom was the rogue, but locating her and sending her a discrete message was not going to be simple.
"If you want to leave town, Aunt Occhi, use the magic squares. They are fun." Mikal's suggestion made no sense. Magic squares? Did he mean a magic carpet?
"Mikal, what magic squares have you used? Did your father teach you Paladin magic?" Groping for a hint, Angeleyes dug back into her education and training on magic arts, trying to recall what magic a Paladin had to transport or fly with. Square? She drew a blank, and hit the burlap bags in frustration.
Fara's hammering continued, its loud metallic rhythm oddly comforting. Abruptly, the sharp blast of a tin whistle exploded neear her head, and the sound of booted feet thundered along the street just outside the tent's wall adjacent to the sack pile. A thrill of fear shot up her spine as her illusion of security was shattered by the whistle's blast, and the reply blast from the other side of the tent, out in the square facing Fara's open tent flap.
"The magic --" began Mikal, but she put her fingers to his lips and quietly shushed him. In a hoarse whisper, she warned, "Shhhh, Mikal, we can't talk when the guards are hunting. Think of it as the game."
The heavy tramp of booted feet approached Fara's tent. Ominously, the hammering stopped. Angeleyes sensed more than saw the shadow fall into the tent's interior as the tall guard seargent stepped into Fara's shop.
"Mistress Fara, we are looking for an escaped prisoner who has now kidnapped a young boy. He's blond, about 8 or 9. She is black haired, wearing little, and armed. Have you seen them?"
Fara's voice flowed out in a controlled alto.
"Sergeant Chalan, as you can see I'm in the middle of some work. I pay a tax each week for the "security" you spear pulling mercenaries supposedly provide. For this, my work, my means of income is interrupted as you ask me to help you do your job?" Her voice implied obvious disbelief.
"Ma'am, each citizen is to assist the guards in pursuit of criminals, you know the Lords edict --"
"I've no time to waste on you, Sergeant, so please let me get back to my work. I've been in my tent all morning. No, I went fishing at dawn to catch breakfast. If you see any fugitives in here," here she paused, and Angeleyes imagined Fara gesturing about the dark interior of the tent, "you are welcomed to arrest them." An unintelligible response from the man was abruptly interrupted.
Fara's voice came out harder than her anvil. "As you can see, Sergeant, this isn't a kidnapper's lair but a working woman's tent. If you leave now, I'll forget you came by. If you want to harass me further, I'll be happy to provide Sergeant Sarissa with the name of who actually bent the standard's pole last Moonfest. Do I make myself clear?"
Chalan's voice came back dry and thin. "Perfectly."
Bootsteps moved away from the tent, followed by the general shuffle when the patrol moved out into the general throng of the marketplace.
Angeleyes breathed out and hugged Mikal to her fiercely. How ever was she to repay Fara for this immense favor? The answer would have to wait, as Fara resumed her hammering with a will. Patience, Occhi, she thought to herself, patience before payback.
To be continued . . .
Cry 'Havoc' and let slip the Men 'O War!
In War, the outcome is never final. --Carl von Clausewitz--
Igitur qui desiderat pacem, praeparet bellum
John 11:35 - consider why.
In Memory of Pete
In War, the outcome is never final. --Carl von Clausewitz--
Igitur qui desiderat pacem, praeparet bellum
John 11:35 - consider why.
In Memory of Pete