Gypsie Eyes

gyrfalcon · 2006-10-09T02:05:10Z

Prologue The little gang of kids was not, as any casual observer would think, watching the storyteller. Instead their eyes were focused on the thin, frail boy who sat nearest her, who would make little sounds of annoyance whenever she lied. The children trusted him more than any adult, for he knew everything and could talk to the gulls by the river-port. His name was Avarn. He had slick black hair and vaguely effeminate features, which made the bigger boys pick on him, and disconcertingly pale blue eyes, which made them stop. No one, adult or child, strong or cowardly, could look Avarn in the eyes without feeling that to disobey him would be to disobey a king. And he was their king. Sitting to his right, half a head taller than he but about a year younger, was his second-in-command. She had long, curly brown hair that she refused to put in braids, as all the other girls were made to do. Normally, her dark brown locks hung in front of her face, hiding her eyes behind the wispy curtain. But all of them, even those who had never seen , knew what the brown curtain hid. They were even more afraid of her. Her name was Karenna. Finally the storyteller came to the end of her tale, unaware that she had been caught out in all the little human-superiority lies she had slipped in. All the children knew the real story; Avarn had told them often enough, and he would tell them again tonight. But for now they scattered, called to their separate homes for lunch by the tolling of the noon bell. Avarn and Karenna didn’t scatter. They obeyed the bell only when it suited them. They went together down to the docks and walked along the riverside until they came to the place where the fishermen dumped their garbage. There were gulls there, hundreds of them, calling and screaming and fighting over a scrap of fish or a half-rotten skeleton. Avarn gave a call in their own language, and one of the gulls fluttered over to him. This gull flew badly, for he had broken his wing only last week, and Avarn and Karenna had barely been able to set it properly. He looked scrawny and harassed and when Avarn gave him a crust of bread from his pocket, the gull swallowed it hungrily. Karenna smiled and stroked his head. The gull would have snapped at anyone else, but he knew Karenna, and knew that if he hurt her the boy with the water-like eyes would not feed him again. He was quite bright, for a gull. At length, Avarn spoke. “Karenna,” he said quietly, “do you think there’s something wrong with me?” She looked at her leader sharply; he had never said anything like this before. “No, of course not!” He smiled and looked at her. “My parents aren’t my real parents.” This was a well-known fact; the two people who had raised him were an elderly leather-merchant and his sister, both kind if fading people. “Neither are mine,” she rebuffed. He shifted his gaze back to the gull. “I think,” he said softly, “I think there may well be something different about me. I think that I may not be here much longer.” “Why?” demanded Karenna. “I saw a lady yesterday, a new lady. She had long black hair like mine and she said she was my real mother, that I was special, and that tonight, after the story, I must go away to stay with her and her husband.” “Your father?” Avarn shook his head. “No. She said she didn’t know who my father was but she was lying.” "How do you know she's your real mother?" Karenna demanded. Avarn gave her a half-smile. "Karenna, it's me." Karenna stayed quiet for a few moments, absently stroking the bird. “I don’t want you to go,” she said at last. She would probably be the only one in the village who wouldn't; even his adopted caretakers were slightly wary of him. “I don’t want to go.” “Then stay!” At her cry the gull squawked and threatened to fly off. “Why can’t you stay here, my parents can keep you, or you can hide with the gulls and tell them to attack anyone but me who comes near. Or we could—“ He held up a hand, and his eyes were serious. “Karenna,” he soothed, “I won’t be gone forever.” “I’ll never see you again.” She was close to tears, but she fought them back. “Of course you will,” he said. “I promise. Once I learn all I need to be a magician, for that’s what she said I was, I’ll come back to you. I promise, Karenna.” “Is she a magician?” Karenna knew how rare that particular mage was, and the thought of Avarn as one made the idea of parting a little less bitter. “Yes. And she says that’s why I can talk to gulls and things, because I have an afin…an affin-i-ty for them, for water and air things. She says she has an affin-i-ty for fire things.” Karenna considered. “But what if, once you’re a magician, she locks you up in a tower so you can’t be a better magician than her?” He thought about this for a moment. “Well then,” he said, “I’ll send a gull to come and get you and bring you to me, so you can free me from her and we can stop whatever evils she’s doing together.” She liked the thought. “Like they do in the stories?” Avarn smiled. “Yes, in all the best stories. But you have to promise to follow the gull when I send him.” Karenna clasped her hands to her heart. “I promise.” He put his hands over hers. “And I promise to never, never forget you, Karenna Morn.” Chapter One Tannar watched the young woman as she slept, wondering idly how much damage a well-placed hailstone could do to that long, willowy body. He decided against it, not only because a solitary hailstone in the middle of spring would be suspicious, but because he had been given specific instructions as to her safety. As he continued to watch her, scratching instinctively at the bronze bands around his wrists, he decided he didn’t really want to hurt her. He just wanted her to never have been born. The wagon they were in trundled along in its caravan, the ground beneath the wheels growing muddy from the mounting rainstorm. The water dripping through the canvas overhead inevitably woke her and she started, drawing her bag closer to her body and glaring at him. He didn’t stop staring. There was something about her eyes… “I’m Karenna Morn,” she said, snapping him out of his study of her. “How nice for you,” he said, a little harsher than he had meant to. He couldn’t see her eyes properly now, she had stopped looking directly at him. “What’s your name?” she asked. He wondered why she was so forward, introducing herself to a stranger, but perhaps knowing the name of the person you would be traveling hundreds of miles with in a confined space was some human custom he wasn’t aware of. For a moment, he considered the hailstone again. “Tannar.” She waited, presumably for a surname. He sighed. It wasn’t her fault, not really. It hadn’t been her idea to send him hundreds of miles from the mountains on this crazy task. “That’s it,” he said, waving his arms expansively, “just Tannar.” “Doesn’t that mean Windstorm?” He blinked. “How do you know Elemental?” Her cheeks reddened, but not out of embarrassment. She averted her gaze. “I know a few words.” He watched her with renewed interest. Maybe there was something special here. Avarn hadn’t mentioned any mage talents. Of course, Avarn hadn’t mentioned the eyes either. Tannar settled back, scratching at the flesh around his bronze wristbands again. This might be interesting after all. * * * Karenna didn’t like him. She didn’t like the dark, staring eyes and she didn’t like the way he kept scratching his wrists. It had been a mistake to look him that long in the eyes, she knew better. And the Elemental? She was smarter than that. He still hadn’t stopped staring at her, but at least the rain had slackened off. She tried not to stare back, but his dark eyes sought hers relentlessly. She held her bag tighter, feeling for the comforting shape of the oblong wooden box inside. It was there, sure and solid. She resisted the urge to bring it out and open it; that would be foolishness supreme. The wagon jerked suddenly, sending a wine barrel toppling down on top of her. It pinned her, some of the liquid sloshing through a crack onto her face. She spluttered, spitting the disgusting substance out of her mouth. Tannar watched her for a moment, then leaned forward and shifted the barrel off her with little discernable effort. For an instant he was above her, his soft black eyes looking directly down into hers. That small, treacherous part of her, the part that had driven her to spend three years saving up to buy the box and its contents, purred like a cat near a hearth fire. And then he was back on his side of the wagon, and she was able to squash that part of her back into the dark corner of her mind that it occupied. Slowly, she sat up, her hand still clutching the bag. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, and the traitorous part inside her wished that he would. With the strength born of long practice, she shut the door on those emotions and settled back to sleep. * * * That night the three wagons of the caravan drew together in a circle around the fire that one of the workmen had started. The handsome black coach that had joined them that morning sat a good distance away, its occupant not deigning to join his fellows. Tannar couldn’t blame him. There were five other youths heading for the Dirantyr Training Academe, all of them sixteen and most of them, from the way they huddled together, had never been more than a few miles from home before. While the Dirantyri government made it mandatory that all of their citizens attend the Academe for two years, beginning at age sixteen, they did not provide transport for those who had to travel from the middle-lands or even the coast to where the Academe was situated on the westernmost boundary of the kingdom. So most students hitched rides on the supply wagons that streamed westward every spring, in caravans for safety. The Academe would provide a somewhat higher degree of education than the reading, writing, and arithmetic that these children had learned at home, as well as generously training them in the basics of war-making such as archery, drill, and horsemanship. Of course, they would not do it for free. The cost was not exorbitant, but high enough to be felt, especially by families who already had trouble paying royal taxes. It was the cost, in fact, that kept many of the poorer children home, even with the threat of imprisonment. On top of that, Dirantyr was not quite as large and prosperous a nation as it would have its neighbors believe. But it knew how to use resources, and how to train its children. Those students who wanted to join the army or showed talent for senseless killing would be sent to a different location for further training. Their families would be reimbursed for their “investment in their child’s education.” And for those who showed mage talents—well, half the teachers were mages of one kind or another, and all Possible Mages were earmarked almost from the first day of classes. This was not a country where magic was wasted. But the five clustered around the bonfire didn’t look promising. Tannar hated fire. But he could not be seen acting like he didn’t need its warmth, especially as the night was a chill one for spring. So he sat as far away from the dancing flames as he could while still being touched by the heat. Karenna, sitting directly across from him, apparently had no more love for the element than he did. She was perched on the offending wine barrel, watching the flames with a definite air of malice. A man next to her, scarred and carrying a sheathed sword—apparently some kind of security—offered her a piece of cheese. She turned to accept it, but as soon as he saw her face he started, dropping the cheese to the muddy ground. “You’ve got Gypsie Eyes!” he exclaimed, more out of surprise than fear. Tannar tensed. If the caravan chose to make an issue of it, his job would get a lot more complicated. “It’s just a fluke!” Karenna shouted above the rising din of panic. “My father had green eyes and my mother had blue, that’s all!” The group around her still looked skittish. “I’m not a Gypsie,” she insisted. Slowly they settled down, all of them giving the girl a wide berth. She looked around at her suddenly distant companions, then stared, dead-eyed, at the fire. In a way he was not surprised that they calmed as quickly as they did. Once people got the idea of you as human fixed in thier minds, it was hard for them to change it, no matter their panic. He relied on much the same mindset. Tannar had learned the price of compassion; the bands around his wrists spoke volumes about the folly of pity. And yet he felt sorry for her. So, inwardly berating himself for his stupidity, he caught her gaze and waited until she put her full attention on him. Then he shifted his head slightly and tucked a lock of unruly black hair behind one slightly pointed ear. * * * Karenna lay, pretending to be asleep, in the wagon that had been her home for the past three days. That first night had been terrible, the fear of attack pressing down on her until she couldn't sleep. But as time went on and no one noticed her eyes, she had relaxed. Yet even now that they knew, or at least one of them had seen, she wasn't afraid. Perhaps it had something to do with the other person in the wagon with her. She heard Tannar’s breathing, steady and low, but it was not the breathing of someone who was asleep. It was more the breathing of someone who had only watched other people sleep. She opened her eyes a slit. “Having trouble sleeping?” he asked. Karenna’s heart thumped at the unexpected sound of speech. “Having trouble yourself?” she growled. He, or rather, his silhouette, shrugged. “I’m not tired.” No, of course you’re not , she thought. You haven’t slept for the past two nights in a row, ever since you joined. Why should this night be any different? The wagon wasn’t moving, the driver, at least, having the usual human requirements for rest. Karenna sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. It was dark, outside and in, and the thin layer of canvas and the homespun weave of her dress did nothing to stave off the cold. She shivered. He cocked his head to one side. “Are you cold?” Karenna bit back the urge to snap. At least he sounded like he meant it. “Yes.” Wordlessly, Tannar slipped off the dark cloak she had always seen him wear and passed it across to her. Karenna took it reluctantly. The fabric was thick, soft wool lined with something that felt like silk. Her mother was a weaver, and so she knew the world of fabric inside and out, but she refused to believe that a boy with a silk-lined cloak would travel to the Dirantyr Training Academe in a rickety, leaky wagon. She wrapped it around herself, feeling the slick fabric against her skin. Definitely silk . The cloak was not particularly warm, but it helped. “Thank you,” she said. Again, the silhouette shrugged. “You can keep it if you like.” Karenna gaped. Then, realizing he couldn’t see her expression, she said, “You’ve got to be joking.” Tannar did not answer for a long time, and Karenna got the impression that he was staring at her again. She folded the cloak more tightly around herself, aware for the first time that she was alone with him in a small, enclosed space. “What?” she snapped. He shook his head slightly. “Nothing,” he said, his voice softer than she had ever heard it. “Sorry for staring…yes, go ahead and keep the cloak, I don’t need it.” With that he lay down and rolled over so he wasn’t facing her. Karenna watched him for only a moment before doing likewise. * * * High in the mountains north of Dirantyr stood an enormous castle. Most of it was carved directly into the mountain behind it, and its spines jutted up to pierce the sky with more malice than any mountaintop. It was dark and looming and currently the home of two people only. One of them was in her study, pouring through huge leather-bound tomes as she always seemed to be doing. The other, her son, sat at a magnificent black piano in what passed for his bedroom. The ivory keys of the instrument glowed in the light of the roaring fireplace and the polished black surface gleamed. His fingers, long and thin, danced across the keys, sending beautiful music up to echo around the high, vaulted ceiling above him and through every room of the deserted palace. His eyes, as he played, were closed, but when he finished, they opened. Pale, pale blue, they stared at the spartan room around him. Avarn stood, keeping one hand on the top of the piano, and listened. He could just barely hear it, the sound of another’s heartbeat, the sound that had constantly filled his mind for the past six years. It was faint now, and very far away, but he could still hear it. Slowly he smiled, and felt his way to his favorite chair next to the fire. Sitting down, he picked up a slim book and leafed through it until he came to his bookmark. He lightly ran his fingers over the pages; he could feel the slight texture of the ink, but without the owner of the heartbeat he had no idea what it said. He sighed and gently closed the book, setting it carefully aside. His pale, pale blue eyes gazed unfocused into the fireplace as the heartbeat lulled him into a dreamless sleep. * * * Ravage stood in human form at the top of the cliff. Below him, the caravan was tucked in for the night, drivers and horses and pupils sleeping soundly. He could smell the all-too-inviting scent of warm flesh. Their numbers and the wagon-drivers’ whips may make thieves think twice, but his kind were beyond the mettle of such vagabonds. Keesha, his favorite mate, padded up next to him on all fours, her magnificent black furred body gleaming in the light from the half-moon. She licked his hand and whimpered. Ravage smiled down at her, and then changed until he too stood on four legs instead of two. He knew the stupid, human stories about Werewolves only being able to change on full-moon nights. They were always cause for a laugh among his pack. He grinned, showing long yellow canines, and howled. * * * Tannar had been lying on his back, staring sleeplessly at the canvas above his head, when the cry rent the still night air. In an instant he was up and shaking Karenna vigorously. “Wake up,” he hissed. She muttered something and rolled over. He looked around quickly to make sure no one was peeking through an open flap or rip, then doused her with a quick, controlled handful of ice water. She came up spluttering, “What in the name of—” “Werewolves,” he snarled. For a moment she stared at him. “Oh god.” He didn’t have time for her to come to grips. “Get whatever’s in that bag of yours and have it ready to defend yourself. The horses will have woken with that howl; the others won’t be far behind them.” “And what are you going to do?” “I’m going to try to make sure that at least this wagon and horse survive to get us to the Academe.” He slipped quickly out of the wagon; the horses whinnied when they saw him and pranced nervously away, jingling their harnesses. Like him, they knew what approached. Then, in the eerie half-moonlight, he saw them; over ten huge, wolf-shaped animals charging the caravan. Their leader was a big gray he-wolf, with long, powerful legs and mad red eyes. He stared directly at Tannar and let loose a challenging howl. There was no point in being subtle; the humans were only now waking up and it would be unlikely that any of them would be alive afterwards to report what he did. Massive storm-clouds gathered quickly in the previously clear sky and a great gust of wind shoved at the Werewolves, if not halting them then at least slowing them down. The enormous he-wolf locked eyes with Tannar for an instant and then, muscles bunching, he leapt at him. A concentrated beam of powerful blue light connected with the Werewolf’s chest, sending him sprawling in the thick mud. Tannar glanced over his shoulder to see Karenna, standing next to the wagon, her long brown hair streaming with water and her dress and cloak lashing back and forth in the driving wind. She held a wand. * * * All the occupants of the wagons, once they realized the danger they were in, rushed to the wagon that had been last in line as they traveled and was now nearest the center of the circle. Jataal watched them flock to him like chicks to be hidden under a hen’s wings, and watched the Werebeasts draw ever nearer. He sighed, climbed wearily down from the wagon seat where he had been dozing, and said, “Get into my wagon, you’ll all fit.” They obeyed without question, even the wagon-masters. Jataal was a battle mage, now a retired warrior and professor at the Academe. He was also one of those who volunteered to guard the caravans that brought batches of students and supplies every year. He was, moreover, half the reason it had been nearly five years since the last Werebeast attack. So it was to be Wolves this time, was it? Jataal drew his sword, a magnificent blade as scarred as he. One of the lead Wolves snarled and leapt at him. Jataal flicked his sword arm almost casually; the Wolf darted back, whining and licking a deep cut in its leg. The others approached more slowly. Jataal swung his blade casually. “Come on,” he said, “it’s been awhile since I had a workout against live targets.” * * * Keesha howled mournfully over the body of her fallen mate, but only for a moment. The rest of the pack did what they were supposed to do; they converged on the heart of the caravan. Only two she-Wolves stayed with her to seek vengeance—Ravage’s other two mates. As one, they charged the boy. He leapt higher than any man should have been able to leap, and landed several feet behind them. The three Wolves yelped and turned sharply, their claws digging into the soft earth. The young man smiled at them as they began to charge him again, then ran towards the cliff she and Ravage had just stood on, away from his fellows in the besieged caravan. Coward , thought Keesha. Only when they had gone nearly forty yards from the wagons without catching him did she register that something was wrong. He came up short against the cliff wall and spun to face them, still grinning widely. Before Keesha could tear his throat out, there was a strangled cry from the she-Wolf to her right. The damned girl with the wand had followed them. Keesha snarled a command for the remaining Wolf to deal with her, and didn’t look back again. She pounced on the boy, shoving him to the ground with her superior weight. Snarling, she clawed at him and tried to bring her tooth-filed mouth around to connect with his neck. He struggled, and he was stronger than she had expected, but fury filled her and made her stronger still. Just as she was about to close her jaws around his throat, something sharp and very cold pierced her side. She moaned and backed off him, blood streaming from the wound. He lay in the mud, one hand closed around the hilt of a knife that had not been there before. The weapon looked as if it had been made out of ice. Suddenly, Keesha realized what she had been fighting. Human wizards with wands she could deal with, but this was something entirely different. Without noticing that her remaining companion had fallen to a burst of blue magic from that same wand, she howled the retreat and ran. Her pack, yes it was her pack now, didn't even hesitate before following her. * * * Jataal watched the last of the Wolves scamper off with a small glow of satisfaction. Only one of them would probably die of the wounds he had inflicted, and that was a pity, but still. Not too bad for a man over three times the age of these youths. He stretched, cracking his back, and coolly sheathed his sword. “You can come out now,” he said to those cowering within the wagon. Slowly they emerged, and Jataal did a quick headcount and frowned. Two missing. He glanced up, and saw a young woman with long brown hair trying to move into the group without attracting attention. His frown deepened. He looked around for the second absent youth. He could see a young man, near the cliff, moving as if dragging something out of sight. If he had not been a battle mage and still coming down from the high battle always gave him, Jataal would not have been able to see what the boy was so carefully shoving into one of the niches the cliff afforded. Two Werewolf corpses. Slowly, the frown became a smile. That would be one worth watching. * * * Karenna had been lucky. Part of the cliff had been between them and the wagons, and the darkness and confusion of the attack had helped distract the workmen from the freak storm and flashes of blue light. She tucked her wand away inside her cloak and slipped in among the other students. One of the men, older and more scarred than the drivers, was checking that each student was all right. His eyes locked with Karenna’s for an instant, and she saw him smile, just barely. “You all right, miss?” “Yes, thank you.” He smiled his imperceptable smile again and moved on to check on the others. “Quite the adventure,” said a voice from behind her. Karenna turned to see a human girl about her own age with waist-length blonde hair and a fair complexion. She wore tight-fitting black trousers instead of a skirt and held a riding crop in one hand. All her clothes were black, come to that. The girl smiled like a snake with a bird’s egg, and extended a gloved hand. “I’m Shanna Liam, I’ve been riding in the coach.” Karenna took the hand gingerly, wondering if she was the bird’s egg. Shanna’s smile told her she was. “I wanted to say thank you,” she said. “For what?” asked Karenna carefully. “Why, for driving the Wolves away, of course.” Shanna’s smile didn’t even waver. “I’m sorry,” said Karenna, easing away. “I think you must have—” she was interrupted by the arrival of Tannar, who glared openly at Shanna. “Who are you?” he demanded. Karenna never thought she would be so glad to see him. This time, the girl did not extend her hand to shake. “I’m Shanna Liam. My father is Maraso Liam, advisor to the king.” “How nice for you,” said Tannar, as if she had told him her father was a common shopkeeper and not one of the most powerful men in Dirantyr. Karenna restrained a grin. Shanna’s eyes narrowed, but the smile remained fixed in place. “And who, may I ask, are you?” “You may not ask,” said Tannar, as he took Karenna’s arm and gently steered her away from the young aristocrat. Once they were a safe distance away, he said, “Friend of yours?” Karenna scowled. “I bloody hope not.” He smiled. “So…” Karenna looked at him sideways. “That was some interesting weather back there.” “So…” said Tannar without even glancing at her. “Those were some interesting flashes of blue light back there." Karenna said nothing, but smiled quietly to herself.

sokool15

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Mon Jul 16, 2007 3:16 pm

sokool15 says... · Mon Jul 16, 2007 3:16 pm

CURSE YOU!!!

You sucked me into reading this story and I had to finish it so I stayed up until 3:00 A.M. !!!

*hem* anyway, congrats on a GREAT story! I spied a few typos here and there, but don't want to bother to go back and find them (good, aren't I)...and when you publish it, your editor will find them anyway, right? *meaningful grin*

Anyway, next part soon! Please?

Yours ingratiatingly,

"Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe."
~Albert Einstein

gyrfalcon

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Mon Jul 16, 2007 3:31 pm

gyrfalcon says... · Mon Jul 16, 2007 3:31 pm

hehe...sorry you stayed up so late, darling, but I'm glad you like the story!

"In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function...We laugh at honour and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful." ~C.S. Lewis

gyrfalcon

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Wed Aug 08, 2007 7:44 pm

gyrfalcon says... · Wed Aug 08, 2007 7:44 pm

Chapter 18

“Allarhana!” The word exploded into CavernLights and Cerreno, who had screamed it, dropped to his knees next to the corpse of Dosh. Kalab had launched himself from his chair and was at the king’s side before anyone else could move. He stared at the girl, who’s Royal Eyes were wide with fear and shock.

“Can it be?” he breathed.

“No,” whispered Cerreno. “Not Allarhana. Not my wife, but…”

He stood, unsteadily, and took a few halting steps towards the girl. She didn’t move, but gaped at him.

Suddenly a boy, dark-haired and dark-eyed but brimming with magical presence had imposed himself between the girl and the oncoming king. The shredded remains of golden bands were rapidly disintegrating on his body, and his protective arms, flung wide to shield her, were as solid as a stone wall. There was a faint rumble in CavernLights as the boy-giant, whom Kalab had heard was called Boom, took a single, unyielding step forward, his round face as hard as marble.

“You killed the man I swore to kill,” said the dark-haired boy. “I’m not sure whether to thank you or kill you in his place.”

A hundred Gypsies reached discreetly for their weapons.

Cerreno waved a hand. “Stand aside.”

“Make me,” said the boy. Boom took another, earth-shaking step.

“Child, you do not understand. I swear to you I will not hurt her, now stand aside!”

“Make me!” The form of the human boy wavered, and for a moment every Gypsie saw the silver-haired, translucent-winged Elementar who stood in their midst, and took a step back. Kalab felt his breath catch in his throat; the Windstorm!

The king stopped his advance, so did Boom. They stood in a stalemate for a moment until the girl said, quite softly, “Tannar, it’s all right.”

The Elementar whirled and stared at her. “Karenna, are you crazy!”

She looked over his shoulder at Cerreno, and said again, “It’s all right.”

Hesitantly, Tannar lowered his arms and stepped to one side. Karenna, her eyes fixed on the Gypsie king, took one cautious step forward. “I don’t know who you are,” she whispered. “But I feel as if I should.”

“You only knew me for a few short weeks,” said Cerreno, his voice trembling as no king’s voice should tremble before his subjects. “There’s no reason you should remember, you were just a baby.”

Kalab could feel the energy, the uncontrollable hope rising in the Gypsies around him. Could this be?

“Little one, little lovely eyes,” said Karenna softly. “Tiny feet and tiny hands. You reach for me as I sing my song, I sing my song for you, my little one.”

In the next instant Cerreno had swept her up in his powerful embrace and spun her. His clear, strong voice rang out, choked with tears and an overwhelming joy, “Little one, such a little life. Tiny ears and tiny nose. You seem to sing it back to me, you sing my song to me, my little one!”

Karenna was sobbing now, but she sang out with the king, with her father, as he spun her around and around and around, sang out the song that had lurked at the back of her mind for seventeen long years. CavernLights erupted as a hundred Gypsies cheered at the top of their powerful lungs.

And went silent as the chillingly near sound of Werewolves howling cut through any joy.

--- --- ---

Sorry it's so short...

"In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function...We laugh at honour and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful." ~C.S. Lewis

Twit

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Wed Aug 08, 2007 11:18 pm

Twit says... · Wed Aug 08, 2007 11:18 pm

WHEEEEEE!!!

Luverly!! And so nice - now Karenna's fitting in, and... wheee!!

Nitpick?

Well...

gyr wrote:The word exploded into CavernLights and Cerreno, who had screamed it, dropped to his knees next to the corpse of Dosh.

Dosh's corpse would sound better, I think.

gyr wrote:Suddenly a boy, dark-haired and dark-eyed but brimming with magical presence had imposed himself between the girl and the oncoming king.

Slightly weird wording here. Perhaps, Suddenly a boy, dark-haired and dark-eyed but brimming with magical presence put himself between the girl and the oncoming king. I don't know, you decide, but I think this sould be tweaked.

gyr wrote:“Child, you do not understand. I swear to you I will not hurt her, now stand aside!”

Should this be a comma? Maybe start a new sentance after I will not hurt her.

gyr wrote:“Karenna, are you crazy!”

Question mark instead of exclamation mark?

gyr wrote:Karenna was sobbing now, but she sang out with the king, with her father, as he spun her around and around and around, sang out the song that had lurked at the back of her mind for seventeen long years.

I really like this bit. It's sweet and tender, and just makes me smile.

And foreshadowing.... dun-dun-dun-dun-dun....

"TV makes sense. It has logic, structure, rules, and likeable leading men. In life, we have this. We have you." -Abed Nadir

sokool15

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Thu Aug 09, 2007 1:33 am

sokool15 says... · Thu Aug 09, 2007 1:33 am

So, so good! I'm very glad you are continuing this, and despite the brevity, I enjoyed the chapter. I do hope the whole love thing with Tannar gets untangled...he's like my favorite character, so it had BETTER end happily for him!!! Or else... :smt021

So yeah.

Anyway, good job! Please keep posting!

Yours uselessly but fawningly,

"Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe."
~Albert Einstein

gyrfalcon

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Thu Aug 09, 2007 4:39 am

gyrfalcon says... · Thu Aug 09, 2007 4:39 am

Ooo, this is the first time I've ever gotten a threat from a reader.

Yay!

ShadowTwit: you are, as ever, my eagle-eyes. I'm also REALLY glad you liked the part when Karenna sings with her father, it was disgustingly cheezy for the longest time and I had to scramble like a mad thing to make it work. I'm glad that you, at least, think it works.

Sokool: again, thank you for giving my ego an unecessary stroking.

As for the romance angle, even I have no idea which way it'll swing right now. Currently I'm leaning towards her choosing Tannar, but Avarn is the one who's been waiting for her these 8 long years....

Edit: Sokool, I love your sig. Its is now in my quote book.

"In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function...We laugh at honour and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful." ~C.S. Lewis

sokool15

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Thu Aug 09, 2007 6:01 am

sokool15 says... · Thu Aug 09, 2007 6:01 am

Thanks, I like it too. Have you ever read 'The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants?" It's a crappy book, but the author starts every chapter with a new quote from somewhere. That's where I found it. So just get the book and flip through it, looking for good quotes for your quote book, but don't read the actual thing.

Unless you like that sort of book, which I guess some people do...

Anyway, seeya!

Yours,

"Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe."
~Albert Einstein

gyrfalcon

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Tue Aug 21, 2007 6:19 pm

gyrfalcon says... · Tue Aug 21, 2007 6:19 pm

Chapter 19

Nadak ran at the back of the Wolf-pack. Good thing, too, they were in a state to rip anything even vaguely Gypsie-shaped to pieces. He had no idea where Keesha had found them all, there must be nearly a hundred, but he didn’t care. He had his bow in his hand, quiver strapped across his back, his naked sword at his side and four throwing knives hidden about his person. He had privately bet himself that he would take down at least as many Gypsies as the berserking Werebeasts. And he never lost a bet to himself.

As they emerged out of the darkened tunnel into the huge, bright open space of CavernLights, he howled with the Wolves and let the battle mage’s bloodlust overtake him.

* * *

The last thing Karenna clearly remembered was Palla throwing her wand to her, and then the Wolves had poured into CavernLights, howling like demons. But now she doubted even that solid memory, for it was a sword in her hand now, not a wand, a sword she had never seen but that was still somehow familiar. All this was background thinking, however. At the forefront of her mind was Don’t die. And, just behind that, Kill the fanged bastards.

The sword, longer and slightly broader than the rapiers she was used to but remarkably light, sliced through fur and bone like water. It hummed when bloodied, and the longer she fought the warmer the handle grew.

Time became meaningless after that first howl, but at one point, Karenna felt her back hit something, and risked a glance to discover that she and the King of the Gypsies were fighting back to back in the middle of the largest Werebeast battle in a century. There must be hundreds of them. The black ones were the most frightening, huge and seemingly invincible they darted through CavernLights like dark fire, spreading and raging and consuming.

The motley-colored crowd of Gypsies was strewn with the grays, browns, whites, and blacks that were the attacking Werewolves. The din was incredible, Karenna was sure she would be deaf afterwards. Several times, though, the sound of Mirnar’s scream as she dove like a golden-feathered arrow or Boom’s heavy steps rose above the clamor. Aside from these moments she had no concept where her friends were. Her world consisted of the Gypsie at her back, the weapon in her hand, and the nearest growling monster she could reach.

* * *

“Menee!” Laroo screamed above the deafening noise of battle. “Menee!” He held the dagger his guard had dropped, but no one seemed to notice him. He was surrounded by unfamiliar smells—the smoke-like residue of magic attacks, the Gypsies’ sweat, the Werewolves’ reeking bodies, the blood. Oh god—the blood!

He slipped in a puddle of it, screamed in shock and hit the hard stone floor, cutting his arm with the dagger by mistake. He fought to sit up and found himself looking right into the face of a severed Werewolf head, the tongue lolling out and the mad eyes wide and staring.

Again, he screamed. A Gypsie tripped over him and a Werewolf leapt on the prone man as he tried to rise. Laroo yelled, half in terror, half in rage, and struck out blindly with the knife. There was a whimper; the Wolf backed off. The Gypsie, an exceptionally dark-skinned one with a shock of blonde hair, vaulted to his feet and finished the huge beast off with one swing of his rapier. He turned to Laroo, and the boy could see he was bleeding from the shoulder and forehead.

“You’re one of the twins, aren’t you?” said the Gypsie, helping Laroo to his feet. “Where’s your brother?”

“I can’t find him!” Laroo sobbed, shaking, with the bloody dagger still in his hand.

“I’ll help you.” He smiled, the expression robbed of all pleasantness by the dark blood that caked half of his face. “You did save my life. I’m Kalab.”

“Laroo,” said Laroo.

Kalab grabbed his arm and jerked him, almost nonchalantly, out of the way as two Gypsies and a Werewolf locked in combat barreled by. Then, above the immutable din of fighting, came a thin, weeping cry. “Laroo! Laroo!”

“That’s him!” Laroo shouted, and surged into the fray. Kalab snatched him back just in time to avoid a swipe from a rapier.

“Together!” he said, then plunged in, dragging the twin behind him.

The next few seconds were a whirl of absolute chaos. Laroo could distinguish nothing through the confusion until, again, he heard his name being called.

And then, suddenly, there was Menee, sitting on the floor against the wall, crying at the top of his lungs. His left hand was caught in the crushing jaws of a half-conscious Wolf. Kalab moved before Laroo could even register this, stabbing his weapon down through the brown-and-black streaked body. The Wolf released a groan and slumped, falling onto Menee’s small figure. Laroo yelled and rushed to him, shoving the beast off with a strength born of panic. “Menee,” he wept, “Menee!”

Tears blurred his vision for a moment and all he could hear was his brother’s cries of pain. “Sheai Werenna, boy,” said Kalab. The next thing Laroo saw was the Gypsie kneeling next to Menee, cradling the twin’s twisted, bloody left hand. “I’m no herbalist,” Kalab said as Menee whimpered.

“I am!” The words were out of Laroo’s mouth before he could think. “Not a herbalist, I mean, a mender, I have healing magic, a little.” He was nearly hysterical by now.

“Are you sure you can—” Kalab began.

“Let me try!” Laroo cut him off and tenderly took Menee’s hand in both of his.

“I trust you,” whispered Menee, tears still streaming down his cheeks.

Laroo closed his eyes and reached for that tiny, locked-off part of his mind where he could sometimes find the magic to heal. He prayed he would find it now.

Taking a deep breath, he began to chant the most advanced spell for wound-healing he knew. Unlike when he had done it in class, the words came out steady and whole, each syllable falling into place. He felt the warm glow of power that he had only ever touched in the Academe. Now it flooded him, filling his mind and streaming through his arms and into a nearly tangible sphere around Menee’s wounds.

Suddenly, agonizingly, Laroo’s left hand erupted in pain. He cried out and gritted his teeth, but didn’t stop focusing the magic on his brother. This was the price of the healer’s craft; he had known it going in. Gradually the pain mounted, threatening to block out all else in his mind. The only thing that made it bearable was the knowledge that as long as he hurt, Menee didn’t.

And then came cessation. The magic, the pain, and all sound cut out. Laroo was vaguely aware of falling to one side, of Kalab catching him. And then he blacked out entirely.

* * *

Tannar heard the Werewolf coming from behind and sprang up, letting his translucent wings billow out as the beast charged through the space where he had just been. Tannar coldly stabbed it through the heart. He had taken a rapier off of one of the dead Gypsies, cursing the fact that he could use none of his powers besides those inherent in his original form. He wanted a broadsword so badly; Jataal had only trained him in the very basics of fencing. And it wasn’t as if hovering over the battle and slashing at whatever Werewolf was in range could be called fencing anyway.

Another Wolf jumped at him, but a Gypsie cut it down mid-leap. He grinned up at Tannar, who smiled back, then froze as an arrow suddenly protruded halfway through the man’s skull. The Gypsie crumpled, and Tannar spun in midair, seeking the killer. None of the Gypsies were using bows, it was too close combat for that, and of course the Werewolves wouldn’t—there. Crouching behind the piled corpses of several Gypsies and Wolves was a young man, a battle mage by the scars, bringing down Gypsie after Gypsie with perfectly precise arrows. He caught Tannar’s gaze and smiled, before sending an arrow whizzing up to hit him between the eyes.

The Elementar shifted, feeling the projectile speed past him, far too close for comfort. He grunted as he felt another arrow, sent seconds after the first one, pierce his right wing. It flew through the thin membrane and the fabric of his wing closed quickly over the hole, but it hurt. Time to end this.

He dove at the battle mage, weaving to avoid the shower of arrows the man sent up at him, each one brushing the air around his body in deadly caresses. The battle mage dove to one side as Tannar came down on him, abandoning his bow and drawing a naked sword faster than thought. It was longer than a rapier and looked heavier. One edge was minutely serrated. Tannar planted his bare blue feet wide apart, bracing himself for the attack.

The battle mage grinned, and his red-tinged scars seemed to glow. “I’ll go down in history for killing you.”

“I’ll say ‘sorry to disappoint’ in advance, then, shall I?”

The mage attacked. Tannar, full of the calm fury Jataal had taught him to harness, slid to one side and brought his looted weapon around in a sweep that would have left a normal man with nothing bellow the knees. The mage leapt, vaulting over Tannar’s head and slashing at it in one smooth motion. Tannar ducked, but felt the saw-toothed weapon slice a good length off his flowing silver hair.

What followed was like a dance, smooth and rhythmic and the closest to death Tannar had ever been. The blades never met, each combatant was too fast to let the other land a blow. Tannar tucked his wings in close, wary of further injury, and forced his long body to occupy as little space as possible. This man was more than a battle mage, more than a berserker. Jataal was a Class 3 battle mage; this man would have killed him in five minutes. As it was, he nearly killed Tannar, far more times than the Elementar was entirely comfortable with.

Gradually, Tannar became aware that the noise of battle had died down. He risked a glance around him, to discover a corpse and blood-covered hall, with the winter forest illusion half-collapsed in places. All the Werewolves and perhaps half the Gypsies were dead; those that survived watched him and his opponent with expressions ranging from shock to confusion to rage. Tannar was not sure to whom the latter emotion was directed.

He was brought back to the reality of his current danger by a sharp pain in his leg. He moved instinctively—right into another attack. This one he barely managed to avoid, and he slipped his sword into the tiniest of openings that the battle mage had left in attacking him.

Silence, and the feel of blood flowing from the cut in his leg. The sound of the battle mage’s sword falling to the floor. Tannar looked up and saw that his pilfered rapier had pierced his opponent’s left shoulder, had gone straight through to peek out of his back like a long, red blade of grass. Not a killing blow, but as the man’s thick shirt became dark with his blood, his face grew pale. Tannar released his rapier and the mage dropped to his knees. He gripped the blade in his bare hands and pulled, barely groaning as the sword slipped gently from his body. Tannar’s rapier dropped from his hands, which he pressed uselessly to his shoulder to stop the blood loss. Not a killing blow, but he would be dead in a few minutes anyway.

A tall Gypsie that Tannar recognized as the king, Cerreno, strode up, his own bloody weapon in his hand. He looked from Tannar to the kneeling battle mage. “What is your name?” he asked, his voice like the coldest winter night that ever claimed a life.

“Nadak,” grunted the man.

“How did you find this place?”

“I followed a band of your people who had taken prisoner two individuals I was hired to kill. One was this creature, the other was the brown-haired girl.”

“That girl is my daughter, you sheczkall,” replied Cerreno calmly.

“Does it matter now?”

“No. Did you tell any besides those here dead our location? And be warned, I shall know if you lie.”

Nadak groaned and pitched forward, large drops of his blood flowing between his fingers to drop onto the hard stone floor. He took a few deep breaths. “No one outside this hall, besides your sentries, knows of the Palace’s location. You are secure, highness.”

“Good.” Cerreno lifted his rapier high, the tip pointing down so that it would pierce Nadak through the heart in one clean move.

Before he could deliver the blow, however, a voice rang out through the dead silence of the cave. “Wait, that’s our brother!” All eyes turned to where Laroo stood, supported by a dark-skinned Gypsie and a bandaged Menee. His eyes were wide and fixed on the condemned battle mage. “That’s our brother, Nadak Vocilia!”

"In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function...We laugh at honour and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful." ~C.S. Lewis

sokool15

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Tue Aug 21, 2007 7:21 pm

sokool15 says... · Tue Aug 21, 2007 7:21 pm

Goodness! That was unexpected. I thought you said you had a way to kill him? or is that not who you were talking about.

Anyway, nice chapter. I like the way you describe the battles, well done there. In the paragraph where you're describing Nadak's wound, though, you say 'Not a killing blow, but..." twice. Cut out the second time.

Anyway, nice job and keep it up!

~Madame Kool

"Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe."
~Albert Einstein

gyrfalcon

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Tue Aug 21, 2007 7:36 pm

gyrfalcon says... · Tue Aug 21, 2007 7:36 pm

hehe...yes, I do have a nice way to kill him, just not now. Oh, and btw, I did that "Not a killing blow" twice on purpose, parallellism, you see. *taps nose* However, if others also think it's a bad idea, I shall scrap.

Thankee much! *cookies*

"In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function...We laugh at honour and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful." ~C.S. Lewis

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Thu Aug 30, 2007 5:16 pm

Twit says... · Thu Aug 30, 2007 5:16 pm

I had a real nice review writ, and then I lost it.

*head/desk*

However...

Great bombshell (again)... great chapter (again)... very enjoyable (again).... not much to nitpick (AGAIN?)

Lol, there were a few things:

“I trust you,” whispered Menee, tears still streaming down his cheeks.

*cringe* Too soppy.

Silence, and the feel of blood flowing from the cut in his leg. The sound of the battle mage’s sword falling to the floor. Tannar looked up and saw that his pilfered rapier had pierced his opponent’s left shoulder, had gone straight through to peek out of his back like a long, red blade of grass. Not a killing blow, but as the man’s thick shirt became dark with his blood, his face grew pale. Tannar released his rapier and the mage dropped to his knees. He gripped the blade in his bare hands and pulled, barely groaning as the sword slipped gently from his body. Tannar’s rapier dropped from his hands, which he pressed uselessly to his shoulder to stop the blood loss. Not a killing blow, but he would be dead in a few minutes anyway.

Most of this fight scene was very well done indeed, but it got confused towards the end about who you were talking about, Tannar or the mage. When I first read, Not a killing blow, but he would be dead in a few minutes anyway, I thought you were talking about Tannar!! *recovers* Fix that, so you don't submit your readers to the possibilty of a nervous breakdown. ^_~

The din was incredible, Karenna was sure she would be deaf afterwards.

Semi colon instead of comma?

“Laroo,” said Laroo.

Maybe nix the last bit?

Methinks that was all.... nothing major, and another of your bombshells that you love to torture your readers with. :wink:

"TV makes sense. It has logic, structure, rules, and likeable leading men. In life, we have this. We have you." -Abed Nadir

gyrfalcon

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Sat Sep 01, 2007 4:23 pm

gyrfalcon says... · Sat Sep 01, 2007 4:23 pm

Chapter 20

“Did you miss me, little master?”

Avarn, curled in his chair before the fire, awoke to the smell of brimstone, burning, and the dry, desert-like breath that he knew all-too-well. “So,” he said calmly. “You’re back.”

Karoon chuckled. Avarn felt the heat from the beak-like mouth singe his eyelashes. “Yes, little master, I’m back.”

“I would have thought you’d be out there chasing Tannar right now.”

He could feel Karoon lean down over him and place his massive clawed hands on either arm of the chair. “You’re not in a position to be smart, little master. The mistress isn’t what I’d call pleased enough with you to stop me turning your bones to ash.”

“And I’m not what you’d call interested enough to care.”

The furnace breath came closer. “Shall I remove your speech next, little master? I can melt your mouth shut with only my breath. Blind and mute, that sounds just about right.”

“You won’t do that.”

“And why not?”

“Because you need me to be able to talk to tell you where Tannar is. And you don’t dare burn the information out of me because you know he’ll feel it and be warned. How can you be sure I haven’t mentally warned him already?”

Karoon chuckled. “Because, when I last saw him, he was headed into a place where even my magic would be choked out by the presence of so many mages. The Palace.”

“So you do know where he is. Why the interrogation then?”

“Mistress wants to know who the wench with Nemekar’s Wand is,” said Karoon bluntly.

Avarn crossed his arms over his chest and snuggled down into the chair once more. “Ask me when I wake up.”

Karoon beat his wings threateningly. “Maybe I decide I don’t care whether that water-boy can feel your pain through the Palace. Maybe I decide I can kill you fast enough.”

The young magician yawned, enjoying the impudent sense of power that rose within him. He was right, and he knew it. “Let me know when I wake up, then,” he said, and fell back asleep.

* * *

For what seemed an infinity, CavernLights was silent. And when the silence was finally broken, it was not the clamor of many voices that Karenna had expected; only Cerreno spoke. “You claim this man as blood-kin?” he asked Laroo.

The twin looked directly at the wounded Nadak. “He is our brother, your highness. If I may beg mercy—“

“You may not!” The words rang through the high, empty cavern. What Gypsies had survived shifted, making their bloody weapons ready should their king command more killing. “I will ask you once more, and I advise you to answer carefully, do you claim this murderer as kin?”

“Shut up, boys,” growled Nadak. “Father won’t thank me for getting you killed as well.”

“We do claim him!” Menee announced, only barely trembling with fear.

“He is our brother!” said Laroo, looking Cerreno directly in the eye.

“Can you comprehend the carnage this man has wreaked!” the king all but screamed. “Nearly half of my people have died here today—because of him! One death will not be enough to revenge this massacre!”

There was a rumble as Boom took one, solid step towards the twins. “Not their fault,” he said.

Again the Gypsies shifted, and this time there was genuine intent in the movement. Mirnar, who had been gliding above their heads, gave a raptor cry and landed abruptly in front of Laroo and Menee, changing to human form as she hit the floor. She said nothing, but her flashing yellow eyes and outstretched clawed hands spoke well enough.

“I thought Gypsies didn’t go in for petty vengeance,” commented Tannar, twirling his stolen sword.

“You call this petty!” roared Cerreno, sweeping a hand out to encompass the bloody scene. A murmur of hostility swept through the remainder of his people. “Our laws demand blood for blood, water-sprite.”

“No,” said Karenna. All eyes turned to her.

“What.” The king was staring at his daughter.

And as what was left of the Gypsie nation watched, the beautiful sword in her hand shrank and darkened until it became fourteen inches of intensely magic-charged wood.

* * *

The gavel came down with all the finality of eternal judgment. The former Headmaster watched the judge calmly as his fate was decided. “Wizard Third Class Ashter Tavrinal?” the judge said, peering over his half-moon spectacles.

“That’s me, your honor,” said Tavrinal, wondering who else the old man thought he was speaking to.

“Do you deny that on the aforementioned date you did allow a fire Elementar of considerable power to terrorize and destroy the Dirantyr Training Academe, did indeed do nothing to abate the attack?”

“As I have said before, many times before, there was nothing I could do. My dear associate Ekano has, I’m sure, told you as much. He was there as well, and with a wand, which, as you know, does more damage to an Elementar than any spoken spells. I have been trying to discern why he is not on trial with me.”

“That is enough!” the judge snapped.

Tavrinal sighed. He had known this was coming for a long time—a seemingly indestructible establishment had been razed, and the government needed someone to blame. Tavrinal was the perfect choice—as headmaster, care of the grounds and buildings came under his jurisdiction, and as such it was, technically, he to blame if they were destroyed by the most powerful fire Elementar to show his face in a hundred years.

The judge regained his composure quickly, and gave a haughty sniff. “Your friends in the government,” he said disdainfully, as if being on a nearly first-name basis with the king was something to blush about, “have prevented you from receiving what I would consider the full force of judgment in this matter. As such you are hereby officially stripped of your rank as Headmaster, removed of those honors and citations you have garnered in your lifetime, and no longer have the right to purchase or bear any magical paraphernalia beyond those trinkets allowed to Normals. This means no powerful amulets or talismans, no wand—though I know you don’t own one—and, of course, all your magical tomes are now the property of the government. Is that quite clear?”

Tavrinal knew that had he been just that tiny bit more distant from the king, or if even one student had died in the attack, that the judge would be reading his death sentence now. As it was, only the loss of his books really hurt, and there were ways to get those back. “I do, your honor.”

Again the gavel banged. “Then this court is dismissed and this case closed. Good luck, Tavrinal.” He seemed to take an inordinate amount of pleasure in not saying “Headmaster.”

The wizard swept out of the court room before the judge could make it to the door, drawing stares once he was in the corridors of the main justice building. “That’s Ashter Tavrinal,” they would be whispering. “The one who let the Academe burn.”

He gritted his teeth and speed up until he was outside in the biting cold. Snow began to fall gently down, and he hadn’t brought a cloak. Fighting back the instinct to work a simple warming spell—here it would be perceived as arrogance—he rubbed his arms and walked down the broad flight of steps to the main street. There he stopped, looking first to his right, towards the Palace District, then to his left, towards the Marketplace. Dirantyr’s capitol city wasn’t its largest or its most architecturally impressive, but Ashter had always felt it had a more subtle sense of wealth and power than any of the costal metropolises he’d visited. Still, he hesitated, unsure for the first time in a long time about where to go.

“Headmaster!” called a voice from behind him, and Ashter turned instinctively—to see Jataal hurrying after him out of the justice building. He gaped; he hadn’t even known the old battle mage was in the city.

“What—?” he started, but Jataal grabbed his arm for support and breathed heavily, waving a hand for silence.

“Sorry I couldn’t make it to the trial,” he said. “The trip here took longer than I though.” He straightened, looked the wizard square in the eyes. “How are you doing, Ashter?”

The wizard shrugged. “As well as can be expected.”

“I always hated that saying.” Jataal grinned.

“What brings you here?”

The battle mage clapped him on the shoulder. “Let me take you out to lunch, Headmaster,” he said. “I’ll tell you all about it.”

* * *

“Nemekar’s Wand.” The whisper blazed through CavernLights like wildfire, until it was on the lips of every Gypsie present.

Tannar stared. Karenna didn’t seem to notice any of the excitement; her gaze was firmly fixed on her father. “You will not hurt the twins.”

“You do not yet understand our ways, little one,” he said softly.

“I don’t care. They are my friends; it’s my job to take care of them. If you mean to harm them, you will have to go through me.”

“Not to mention an Elementar, Boom, and I,” said Mirnar off-handedly.

“My lord.” All eyes turned to the dark-skinned Gypsie who helped support Laroo. He looked pleadingly to Cerreno. “This boy helped save my life, then selflessly took on his brother’s pain to heal him. They are not like this monster that has brought the Werewolves into feud with us. Please, my lord.”

“You as well, Kalab?” said Cerreno quietly. He took a deep breath and his shoulders slumped. “You all make your points well, and show me the sense of compassion. The twin humans will not be harmed for their brother’s crimes.” He straightened, turned to Nadak. “But this battle mage must die.”

“A quick death, highness,” growled Nadak, still bleeding pools onto the stone floor. “My cunning, at least, has earned me that.”

“Indeed.” Again, the sword went up, ready for the killing blow.

“Wait.” The one word echoed around the enormous cave, and once again every being looked to where Karenna stood, hand clasped tightly around the most powerful article of magic to ever be created. She was trembling slightly, the hand that held the wand shaking. She took a step towards the king. “Please,” she said. “Laroo has asked mercy for his brother. I now ask the same.”

Cerreno’s eyes went steely. “Why?”

“He still has a part to play.” The words were not Karenna’s, and the king spun sharply to see Laarhana, his little blonde-haired niece, sitting against the far wall of CavernLights, hugging her knees. There was a dead Werewolf on either side of her, and in one of her small hands she held a long, bloody dagger. In the silence of the huge hall, her soft voice echoed like an oracle’s. “I have seen him standing beside her in my visions,” she whispered. “Protecting her. Serving her. He still has a part to play, uncle.”

“Whatever her vision,” said Karenna, “I ask you for his life. If only for the sake of Laroo and Menee, who have been my loyal friends and followed me through trials they didn’t have to endure.”

For a long time, the hall was silent. The Gypsies, as ever, looked to their king. Cerreno stood there, looking from Laarhana to his daughter to Nadak and back again. At length, he said, “Have the murderer taken to one of the lowest dungeons until this matter can be resolved. We have the dead to tend to, among other things.”

Two Gypsies moved hesitantly towards Nadak, who didn’t struggle, but cried out in pain as he was lifted from the floor. Laroo lurched towards him, leaving Kalab and Menee’s support. “Wait,” he said, “please, let me just heal him enough so he won’t die.”

Cerreno didn’t say anything, so the two Gypsies allowed Laroo to approach. Menee came up next to him, cradling his injured hand to his chest. “You’re too weak,” he told Laroo. “You just healed me, let me help.”

“Stand aside.” Karenna strode through the carnage to where the Vocilias stood. Elkarn trotted by her side, his left ear in tatters and his body bleeding from half a dozen places, but looking as determined as a half-grown fox cub could manage to look. The daughter of the king of the Gypsies knelt next to the dying battle mage, and looked him in the eyes.

* * *

What are you planning to do? asked Elkarn in her mind as they stopped in front of Nadak. You’re not a healer and you’re practically dead on your feet as it is.

Please just be quiet, she said wearily. I don’t know what else to do.

There was a cool breeze at her shoulder and she half-turned to see Tannar in his natural form beside her. Same question, said the Elementar.

“What about you?” she asked aloud, too tired to keep up the mental dialogue.

“You’re asking me to heal the wound I just inflicted on a man who was trying to kill me?” he said.

Karenna didn’t answer. She dropped to her knees in front of Nadak. “I don’t know what to do.” The battle mage knelt down until he was on her level. He didn’t speak, but she managed to raise her eyes to meet his. They were grey, like his brothers’, and unwavering despite the pain he had to be in.

“Before I die,” he rasped, his voice so low that only she could hear it. “You deserve to know who wants you dead.”

She started. “Who?”

He groaned and pitched forward. Karenna caught him by the shoulders, being careful not to touch the hole Tannar had made in his chest. “Shana Liam,” he ground out.

“Shana…” she repeated.

“What?” snapped Tannar. “That blonde wench?” He stepped forward, grabbed Nadak none-too-gently and hauled him to his feet. “Why?” he demanded.

Nadak didn’t answer, his scarred fact growing pale. “Please,” Laroo begged, “let me try to heal him.”

Without a word Tannar stepped forward, splaying his long, blue fingers around the wound he had inflicted. His large, glowing azure eyes flashed, and there was a swift flare of blue light around the open hole. Nadak cried out and pitched forward, unconscious. The skin where the wound had been smoked for a moment, wreaths of cerulean vapor rising from his shoulder. And then the smoke cleared, and the whole assembly could see that where the wound had been was only a circular, faintly blue scar.

"In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function...We laugh at honour and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful." ~C.S. Lewis

Skell

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Mon Sep 03, 2007 1:06 pm

Skell says... · Mon Sep 03, 2007 1:06 pm

First off i still love the characters and the story, but just one thing, the gypsies go from revengful and angry at what happened to suddenly seeing compassion ect for the brothers. Its seems like a bit of a quick jump to me.
Plus he (Nadak) was stabbed in what you pointed out was a fatal wound but he is taking his time in dying, i mean almost any wound is fatal if you give it enough time, with infection ect. So when you said fatal i thought you ment he was not going to last more then a minute or two.

they were just two things i noticed, over all i still love the story.

In the shadows i walk, through the light of life.

gyrfalcon

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Wed Oct 17, 2007 11:03 am

gyrfalcon says... · Wed Oct 17, 2007 11:03 am

Chapter 21

Nadak floated through dreams, half-memories, half-fantasies. A proud father, welcoming him home; the terror on the faces of those he killed; his smiling mother stroking his hair and singing; the blood caking his arms and legs. He couldn’t distinguish the reality from the wishes as he drifted through them; he only knew that he was afraid.

“A monster!”

No, that one was real enough; he recognized Heneshan Vocilia’s angry voice, his father’s voice. “The work of a battle mage is honorable. The work of this creature is murder!”

“Heneshan,” his mother’s voice, soothing.

“No! Even the twins are better than he; they may not bring honor the Vocilia name, but at least they will not shame it as he has! He has already killed three men, Balaa, in cold blood—murder! You yourself predicted this—I should have listened! Would you keep such a monster under our roof?”

“He’s just a boy—”

“He’s sixteen! That’s old enough to be tried as a man!”

“Hadn’t you made you first kill by the time you were that age, Heneshan?” Balaa’s voice was calmly accusing.

Heneshan took a deep breath. “He can’t stay.”

“Where will he go?”

“That’s not our concern anymore, Balaa.”

The ripping pain in his shoulder called him back to reality. He struck out, only to find that he was chained. The seat below him was hard wood, cushioned by a thinly-stuffed mattress. Intense light filled his closed eyes and he cried out, thrashing violently against his bindings.

“Calm down!” commanded a voice.

He threw an arm over his eyes, pulling against the shackles. “Remove the light,” he growled.

The light retreated; he dared to open his eyelids a slit. He was in a small cell carved from stone. The offending light came from a candle in the hand of…a girl. A Gypsie girl, by her eyes, and with long brown hair that curled beautifully down her back. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he knew her from. Then he thrust himself back, again straining against the chains. “You.” It would have been a shout if he had had the strength to raise his voice above a whisper.

She stood there calmly, no longer dressed in the muddy, torn uniform he had last seen her in. Now she wore the tight, patchwork clothing of her people, though the fabric was of better quality than most and thick for winter. “How long have I been down here?” he demanded.

“Only two days,” she said.

Nadak licked his lips. “I’m thirsty.”

She set the candle down on a rickety table that, along with a wobbly stool and the bench he had apparently slept on, made up the furniture in his cell. Carefully, she picked up a bowl of liquid and helped him bring it to his lips. When he sipped he was surprised—it wasn’t the stale prison-water he had expected, but fresh and flavored with some kind of herb that probably had healing qualities. He gulped it down eagerly then stared at her. “You’re the princess,” he said flatly.

She blushed a little in surprise. “So it seems.”

“What’s your name? Shana told me…I can’t remember.”

“Karenna Morn,” she said. “But here, they call me ‘Cerenna’, from the words Hisht Cerro, meaning—”

“Royal Eyes, I know. And for your father, King Cerreno.” He looked around the cell again. “Why am I still alive? And…whole?”

Karenna smiled a little. “No one’s quite sure what to do with you. Between Mimoa and Laarhana’s assurances that you have a place in my future and the twins’ begging for your life…well, everything’s quite confusing.”

“So sorry to cause you trouble,” he ground out.

She grinned wryly. “Was that a joke?”

He scowled. “Why are you here? Why am I being so well treated?”

“My doing,” she explained.

His scowl deepened. “I don’t appreciate pity.”

Karenna didn’t answer for a long time. She just stood there, looking at him. “Strange,” she said. “The twins told me you were only about twenty or so. You look older.”

“Life of a battle mage, highness,” he sneered.

“You’re very flip to one who’s preserving your life.”

“No one asked you to.” He settled back and closed his eyes. “It’s not like you can really change the king’s mind anyway, not after what I’ve done.”

“Can’t I then?” He heard her flounce out and slam the barred door behind her.

* * *

Tannar sat in human form at the top of one of the huge oaks that surrounded the Palace. He stared out across the snowy expanse of the Gypsies’ Forest, the setting winter sun caressing his shoulders and tousled hair. She’s a princess.

He set his back against the thick trunk, braced one leg against a branch opposite him, and wrapped his arms around the other knee. And not just any princess, but a Gypsie princess. A Gypsie after all, one with a wand.

A Gypsie princess believed dead for seventeen years had now resurfaced and she wielded Nemekar’s Wand. No one, not even her father, had yet asked her how she came by the magical weapon of the most powerful wizard of all time. There were other things to see to. Like the burial of almost a third of the Gypsie nation. Three whole clans had been wiped out, and none of the remaining ones had escaped without casualties. Nearly a hundred Gypsies dead because of the actions of one man.

The Elementar started as he realized there was someone settling onto the branch next to him. Cerreno smiled wryly. “You are in my tree, you know,” he informed the boy.

Tannar shrugged. “Did you want something?” He didn’t use any of the normal honorifics, but there was respect in his voice nevertheless. This was a man he had fought alongside, had killed next to.

The King of the Gypsies arranged his long body over several thick branches and seemed more comfortable on the hard wood than he had in CavernLights. “Karenna has told me of you and Avarn and your mission in regards to her.”

“Yes.”

“So, basically, you mean to separate the princess of the Gypsie nation from her people when she has only just been recovered, as it were, from death.” There was no threat or accusation in the words, only inquiry.

Tannar looked the man straight in the eyes. “I have to. But I don’t mean to do it immediately.”

“Why did your master wait six years to send you after her?”

The question surprised Tannar, he had not expected the king to know so much. “As I told your daughter, that is for Avarn to say, not I.”

Cerreno leaned back against the rough bark of the tree and closed his eyes, his breath coming out in visible puffs. For a long time he stayed like that, perfectly motionless except for his gentle, steady breathing. Tannar watched him in silence. “You know the prophesy concerning you, boy?” said the king at length.

“I do.”

“And are you prepared to live up to it?”

“If I have to.”

The king opened his eyes and sat upright again. He looked Tannar up and down, and the Elementar didn’t speak or squirm in the man’s gaze. At length, Cerreno said, “That’s good.” And then he was gone, climbing down the mighty tree as swiftly and silently as he had ascended it.

* * *

Karsh walked through the silent corridors of the Palace, shivering from the unnatural stillness. Normally, with over three hundred Gypsies gathered in one place, the hallways and caves would be ringing with noise: laughter, singing, squabbles, reunions, conversations, the hundred and one sounds he had come to associate with the Winter Festival. He wandered more or less aimlessly, encountering few of his people as he walked. Eventually, he found his way to the infirmary.

He poked his head in and saw that most of the Gypsies that had been in there yesterday were now gone, the herbalists having done their work well. There were still two small figures lying on beds in the far corner, one sleeping and one sitting up and reading something. For a moment Karsh thought they were just Gypsie children, but when he took a second glance he saw that they were the human twins who had come with Karenna.

For a moment, he hesitated. But then natural curiosity took over and he ambled in and down towards the beds, nodding to the herbalists as he passed. Old Barshno, sitting by the entrance with his feet up, winked at him.

The twin who was awake started when he saw him, then smiled broadly. “Yeshne,” he said, the word for “hello” in Gift.

Karsh blinked in surprise. “Lrhey grettene fra Gifte?” he said. “You understand Gift?”

The boy shook his head. “I’m sorry, I only know a few words.” He waved the book, “Out of this.”

Karsh saw that it was an old Gift-to-Dirantyri dictionary. He sat on the edge of the bed. “Why are you studying our language?”

The twin shrugged. “There’s not much else to do here, and I thought it might be useful.” He set the book aside. “My name’s Laroo, what’s yours?”

“Karsh. My father is husband to the king’s sister.”

He watched Laroo figure out the relationship. “So, you’re next in line then? The king’s nephew.”

“Thank Werenna, no!” Karsh laughed. “Your friend, Karenna, will be queen after her father. I would hate being king.”

Laroo looked puzzled. “A woman can rule alone?”

“Of course. But I have heard it is not so in your country.”

“No, we’re always ruled by a king. Or sometimes a queen, but she always has a prince or consort or husband of some kind to rule alongside her.” He settled back into the comfortable white sheets and pillows and smiled at Karsh. “So how does succession work for the Gypsies? Bloodlines?”

Karsh loved having an opportunity to show off his knowledge. “Yes, the ruler is always a member of the king’s clan. But more importantly than that, they must have the Royal Eyes. That’s another reason why I could never rule.” He gestured at his own eyes, gray and blue.

“You aren’t upset about it?”

The Gypsie looked puzzled. “Why would I be? I’m a chantier, like my dad. I can make things or fill things with magic, not rule a kingdom!” He shifted. “But why are you so curious?”

Again, Laroo shrugged. “Like I said, there’s not much else to do.”

Karsh frowned a little. He was only now remembering that this boy’s brother was the one who had brought the Werewolves down on them. “You’re kin to Nadak, aren’t you?” he demanded, suddenly regretting that he had revealed so much.

Laroo’s face flushed. “He’s my brother, I can’t change that.”

“But you could deny him.”

The twin’s gray eyes flashed with a fire that seemed out of place in them. “Would you deny your own blood?”

For a moment Karsh felt his own cheeks flush. “If a member of a clan has done something to hurt his family or his people, we do not consider him a Gypsie any longer.”

“What about Dosh?”

This time the blush turned the Gypsie’s coppery cheeks scarlet for several seconds. He hung his head and mumbled, “He was executed.”

“Trah vish,” said Laroo.

Karsh’s head snapped up. “What? Why do you want a drink? Aren’t you too young for alcohol?”

The twin’s eyes widened. “What did I say?”

“Vish is the imperative form of ‘give;’ trah is one of our fermented berry juices.”

Laroo’s face turned bright read with embarrassment. “I meant to say ‘I’m sorry,’ I thought ‘trah’ was ‘apologies;’ ‘trah vsih,’ ‘give my apologies,’ ‘I’m sorry.’”

Karsh chuckled. “That would be treeh vish.” He tried to hide his snickers behind a hand, but they grew into deep rolls of laughter and soon he was shaking back and forth with the force of his mirth.

Laroo grew even redder. “Whoops,” he said.

The Gypsie boy managed to get control of himself. “Why apologize anyway?”

“I didn’t mean to get into an argument with you; you and your people are very kind to let us stay here. But,” he paused, hung his head, “I cannot abandon my own brother.”

Karsh placed a wiry, copper-toned hand over Laroo’s scratched white one. “I understand. I am sorry for thinking less of you because of loyalty.”

Laroo smiled. “Ashirr?” Then his face twisted with panic, “That does mean ‘friends,’ right?”

Again, Karsh could not stifle his laughter. “Yes,” he managed. “Ashirr.”

* * *

Karenna sat outside the Palace, her back set against the rough stone slope that was the outside of the huge cave. Despite the thick motley she was dressed in and the warming spells she had worked, she shivered in the dark night. Everything around her was pitch black, but through the bare branches above, starlight and moonlight spilled down to paint the black with silver shadows. Her breath hung in white clouds before her face.

In the black midnight that enfolded her, the princess of the Gypsie nation shivered.

Elkarn trotted up to her from the depths of the Forest, a scrawny rat hanging limp in his jaws. He dropped it at her booted feet and whined a little.

She smiled and scratched behind his ears. “Have a good hunt?” she whispered; somehow saying anything in louder than an undertone seemed disrespectful to the perfect silence of the night.

Not much there in the winter.

“Of course.” She leaned back again. Elkarn pawed his way up onto her lap, and she began to stroke his thick coat. “They gave you a bath, I see,” she murmured.

Yes. For another moment the silence persisted, then Elkarn said, Karenna, why are you hiding things from me?

“Is it too much to ask that I have a little privacy? Right now there are three distinct entities with access to my mind—is it such a bad thing that I keep my own consul on some matters?”

Elkarn licked her chin. What’s bothering you?

She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling the air like frozen crystals in her throat. “My father wants to kill Nadak for brining the Wolves to the Palace.”

The Familiar didn’t say anything.

Karenna closed her eyes and he could see the tears forming at their corners. “But it wasn’t Nadak’s fault,” she said. “It was mine.”

Elkarn shifted. How can you think that?

“If he hadn’t been following me, Nadak never would have been anywhere near the Forest. If it hadn’t been for me he would never have found this place. And now dozens of Gypsies have died and a human is about to die because of me.”

The fox could hear the tears in her voice and felt her shudder as she drew in breath. He growled deep in his throat. It is not your fault, he snarled.

Karenna seemed not to hear him. “And now the relatives of the people I’ve killed smile and bow to me, and call me ‘Cerenna,’ and ask how they may please me. Everybody wants to see my eyes but no one wants to hear my voice.”

They love you. And you did not kill any of them, indirectly or otherwise.

She took another quivering breath. “Then why does this love hurt so much?”

Partly because it’s new, said the fox. You’ve never been truly accepted before, never been truly loved. Certainly your adopted parents loved you, but even they were afraid or your eyes, weren’t they? That’s why they held you back, kept you inside. He paused, and glanced at her sideways with his intelligent eyes. That’s why you bought the wand.

She felt for it; ever since the day they had fled the Academe she had always had it close to hand. Gently she fingered it where it lay, tucked away beneath her tunic. “I didn’t know what it was.”

You sensed.

Karenna rose, spilling Elkarn from her lap. He didn’t complain as he hit the frozen ground, but re-gathered himself and looked up at her. “I want to go home,” she whispered to the darkness. “But I don’t know where that is any more.”

Elkarn nudged her leg. Then make a home.

She looked down on him, smiled a little, and picked him and the dead rat up, setting him on her shoulder and the rat in his mouth. Elkarn trapped the rodent between his paws and gnawed at it, quickly stripping it of what little meat still clung to its bones.

Karenna gave one more glance at the dark and shadow-painted Forest before turning to go back inside the Palace.

sorry it's taken so long to get this up!

"In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function...We laugh at honour and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful." ~C.S. Lewis

Twit

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Points 1979

Reviews 1176

Wed Oct 17, 2007 12:19 pm

Twit says... · Wed Oct 17, 2007 12:19 pm

I didn't read the bit before this! Shock and horror!

Without a word Tannar stepped forward, splaying his long, blue fingers around the wound he had inflicted. His large, glowing azure eyes flashed, and there was a swift flare of blue light around the open hole. Nadak cried out and pitched forward, unconscious. The skin where the wound had been smoked for a moment, wreaths of cerulean vapor rising from his shoulder. And then the smoke cleared, and the whole assembly could see that where the wound had been was only a circular, faintly blue scar.

W00t! Tannar in action!

She said nothing, but her flashing yellow eyes and outstretched clawed hands spoke well enough.

Two "ed" words too close together.

I'll try and do the next chapter as soon as I can.

Suffice to say, this one was great as well.

"TV makes sense. It has logic, structure, rules, and likeable leading men. In life, we have this. We have you." -Abed Nadir

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