*first draft, so very sketchy - will need a lot of help with this...*
Chapter II
Garam wiped away the sweat that slicked back his red-brown hair, stepped back lightly and held his sabre so that it was parallel to the ground. Then thrust, block, and thrust again. A quick turn using his back foot and he blocked an imaginary attack to his left knee, before leaping forward to meet an invisible foe. This sequence of actions was one of the first taught to his soldiers, and one of the easiest. The more difficult sequences involved lower stances, higher leaps and quicker movements.
He stopped suddenly, and began to breathe deeply, in through his nose and out through his mouth. Beads of perspiration gleamed on his face, cooling as the night’s breeze hit him. He had not even noticed the sun setting. Not yet down, but the sky much darker nonetheless.
He sheathed his sword, and began to walk down a shady tree-lined avenue; he was alone, and this part of the gardens was near to silent. It was peaceful here, red and yellow roses climbing up and across wooden archways, sweet-smelling flowers attracting butterflies and other flying insects. The garden was not large; it did not take long to walk though the grounds to the sleeping quarters. Even servants were relatively rare in the corridor at this time. He stopped one of them, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder, who jumped, startled.
“I forget, has Lord Garanhe told you where I am to be staying?”
The man nodded humbly, and led the way. He stopped next to a door near to the end of the corridor; motioned for Garam to go inside, and left quickly before he could be asked any more questions.
Garam watched him as he hurried away, and laughed softly. As he reached for the door handle, he caught a small movement from the corner of his eye. A tall, dark man stood a few doors down from where he stood, and for a moment their eyes met. Pulling his gaze away required effort. So, it seems the man fears more than just spies. He shook his head and pulled the door open.
Samal had not been altogether inhospitable; a room had been prepared for him at short notice and, although a little on the small side, Garam appreciated it greatly. In the other man’s mind, there had been every reason to turn him away, yet he had not. The room he had been given was clean – not a spot of dust showed on the mantelpiece – and let in as much light as was possible at this time of the evening. His possessions had been brought here for him. Everything he had not left at his soldier’s camp, at least.
After a little searching, he found a wad of paper that he kept held together with string and stored in a leather pouch. For the most part, these were letters and reports, but a few were journals written in his own hand. From a leather pouch he produced a fine quill and a small bottle of ink and began to write, recording his progress as he did every night. Adventurous as he was, he had ambitions of writing a book based solely on his travels, although such activities were usually only taken up by those of a lower class. A childish fancy, he supposed, taken up after reading the countless books and maps from home.
He paused for a moment, as though in thought, dipped his pen in the ink, and began to write. Instructions for the most part, a command to stay put. He addressed the letter with the name of the officer in charge of his men and sealed it with a drop of red wax, before shoving it roughly back into the pouch. Time to deliver that in the morning.
It was completely dark outside now; the only light in the room came from the flickering candle on his bedside table. He sighed, removed his coat and pulled off both of his boots, placing them side by side underneath the window. He got no further before he heard a sharp crash from down the corridor, and then a shout. Grabbing his sword, Garam ran barefooted into the corridor.
Chaos outside, and in its purest state. Doors were opening and faces peered out, some frightened, some angry. A few men had swords drawn, but fewer than Garam would have thought. He rushed to what he thought was the right room, and pulled the door open.
Samal half-stood inside, hair and clothes a dishevelled, bloody mess. Behind the bed in the middle of the room, so that Garam did not see the body of the dark-haired man until he was standing right beside him.
Samal turned to face him with cool, dark eyes. “You,” he said calmly, “came here to kill me.”
Garam could only stare in disbelief. How could the man even think of such a thing? “No! I –“
“I believed you!” Samal shouted. “I believed all of your lies, even if I didn’t want to. Of course you do not hate your father; he sent you, sent you to kill me, and here is the proof of that!” He pointed a finger accusingly at the man on the floor, whose blood was already staining the floor with red.
“I’ve never seen that man before today.” Garam realised the man was the same as the man he had seen in the corridor earlier. “Not before a few minutes ago, when I saw him outside in the hallway. I’m sorry, I could have warned you if I had known but I assumed then that he was a servant or guard of sorts.”
The expression on Samal’s face had not changed, if indeed there had been any before. If anything, Garam thought he looked resigned for a moment, if only for a moment. He pointed out a dove on a silver chain around the man’s neck. “Then what is that? Only try to tell me you don’t know it.”
“That-“, Garam’s breath caught in his throat. “That is the symbol of my House.”
Samal nodded triumphantly. “And such a coincidence, that the two of you should both be here at the same time. Together perhaps?”
Garam shook his head. His tongue seemed stuck to the roof of his mouth.
“And after I was gone?” Samal’s voice seemed almost taunting. “What then? What would you have-"
“I came here for help!” Garam shouted hoarsely. “I told you already. I’ve never seen this man before in my life!”
“Can it really be merely coincidence that you and he should be here at the same time, both of you from the same House; is that what you’re suggesting? I’m not sure I can or should believe that.”
Garam’s voice had turned to a whisper. “Please… believe me; I had nothing to do with this.”
A groan came from the man at Samal's feet and Garam started, surprised. Before that moment, he had thought the man dead.
“We’ll see.” Samal wasn’t ready to give up just yet. “A guard will be watching your door tonight. I want no moving from your room tonight, understood?”
Garam nodded miserably, and Samal waved him out of the room, leaving the servants to deal with him. They had, no doubt, heard at least part of the conversation. Already two armed guards had been found to stand outside both the door of Samal’s room, and that of his own. No use in arguing now. He glanced up at the lean man by his door, and hurried inside. No, no use tonight, he reasoned, he wanted help, not hostility.
Why had the man come? he wondered, and what was Samal going to do with him?
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