Mini-Challenge: Loyalty
BEHOLD! THE FRUITS OF PATIENCE! or something. Actually I opened up the Talechasing Challenge Masterlist to start pondering over an update, given that it's the new year and all, and just happened to casually glance at this prompt, whereupon I was bitten.
Sososo happy, it's been forever! X3
Of course, as half-anticipated it's completely different to what I expected to be writing first, but it's short/welcome so I don't care ;) Good on you, Tintauri! Even if you are a freak.
Fortunes of War
The reins slipped from Asceal's fingers. His horse paused a moment, uncertain, then took advantage of its newfound autonomy to stray a few steps backward from the steeper drop of the slope.
"Hiarna!" he screamed out over the broken, steaming city-corpse down by the bay, plea and reproach. "Shield of my people, Hiarna, Hiarna, Hiarna!"
Still his horse backed away, made more restless by its master's outburst. Divine Hiarna did not answer him; clearly she had given her people no answer while the city crumbled, either. Avel Svaryn was a dead otherworld below, its walls jagged, tumbled and blunted like crumbling teeth, scarred by witchfire. A grey-black haze still hung over it, resisting the wind's relentless attempts to drag it all out across the dark waters of the bay.
Asceal wept and cried wordless curses out over his city's grave, choking on his rage and the thick stench of the scorched earth and smoke. Finally it was the Queen's man - not one of Asceal's numb, dumbstruck aides - who turned his own mount back from the ridge after a long study and leaned forward in the saddle to pluck up Asceal's straying reins.
"Behind us!" Asceal snarled at the winterknight - a white, blurry figure behind the screen of tears. "The Bronze King circled about behind us!"
"Well, yes, I can see that," replied Sir Tintauri, his pale eyes flicking out towards the crow-haunted stones.
"My army stood with your Queen while my own city was thrown to ruin and my own people slaughtered! I was not here!"
"Our Queen," came the correction, though its tone remained quite mild. "Yes, Lord Asceal, that too is something I would call a very accurate assessment of events. We should probably think about moving beyond the realms of the obvious now."
Asceal snarled out a curse and grabbed the saddlehorn, swinging down to ground with a throb of fury that promptly dissolved once his boots thumped loudly down on the trim-cobbled road, which now led to nowhere. The thought seemed to suck life and heat out of him. He sagged down on one knee.
"Quite a march Old Bronze must have made to get here and away again so quickly," mused Tintauri, looking out at the city again. "I wonder how many men he lost."
"Less than I," replied Asceal in the same drained despair. "Far, far less than I."
"I should think so, yes, but few to none of yours here were soldiers."
"I am glad," Asceal said, jaw tightening, "that your faithful allies' loss moves you so deeply, Sir Tintauri." The despair did not lift, but the weight of his mail reminded him of other things - war, leadership, the watching eyes of the ranks further down the hill.
"Let's not get sarcastic," replied Tintauri, waving one gloved hand in a quick prompt for Asceal to get up again. He too was clearly thinking about war and the watching soldiers - but then Asceal had never known him to think of anything else. "I was talking in practical terms, given that this would appear to be a situation that calls for practical measures."
"A situation." He could not rise, yet. "Divine! I've never met a man so cold."
"Unfortunate side-effect of being made from ice and deepwinter, you see," said the winterknight. "And for your information, I am in fact very, very angry indeed at this point. It may not show through this endearing, happy-go-lucky countenance of mine, but there you have it."
Tintauri grinned then, lopsidedly, baring some but not all of his teeth. "I find that a good, constructive way to deal with anger is to sort out the one who caused it, personally."
Asceal felt his lips twist with the bitterness that filled his mouth. "Why should I take any further part in this war when I've already lost my stake in it?"
"Because King Bronze should pay for Avel Svaryn. Because you don't have a city left to lose. Because the Queen is not to blame for the fortunes of war. Because a soldier understands the fortunes of war - or should. Because the Queen's favour would be a rather perilous thing to lose now. Because the Queen -" Tintauri eyed him significantly - "can give you anything you want."
"Can she indeed?" asked Asceal, more tired than defiant. It was true, all true, bar that foolish latter. "Can she give me back my city? My people?"
Tintauri sighed a little wearily. Then he swung down from his saddle, bending to take hold of Asceal's upper arm with a surprisingly gentle hand, and helped him to his feet again.
"Oh, yes, Lord Asceal," the winterknight replied, mist-pale eyes bright. "In fact I'll give them back to you right now."
Sososo happy, it's been forever! X3
Of course, as half-anticipated it's completely different to what I expected to be writing first, but it's short/welcome so I don't care ;) Good on you, Tintauri! Even if you are a freak.
Fortunes of War
The reins slipped from Asceal's fingers. His horse paused a moment, uncertain, then took advantage of its newfound autonomy to stray a few steps backward from the steeper drop of the slope.
"Hiarna!" he screamed out over the broken, steaming city-corpse down by the bay, plea and reproach. "Shield of my people, Hiarna, Hiarna, Hiarna!"
Still his horse backed away, made more restless by its master's outburst. Divine Hiarna did not answer him; clearly she had given her people no answer while the city crumbled, either. Avel Svaryn was a dead otherworld below, its walls jagged, tumbled and blunted like crumbling teeth, scarred by witchfire. A grey-black haze still hung over it, resisting the wind's relentless attempts to drag it all out across the dark waters of the bay.
Asceal wept and cried wordless curses out over his city's grave, choking on his rage and the thick stench of the scorched earth and smoke. Finally it was the Queen's man - not one of Asceal's numb, dumbstruck aides - who turned his own mount back from the ridge after a long study and leaned forward in the saddle to pluck up Asceal's straying reins.
"Behind us!" Asceal snarled at the winterknight - a white, blurry figure behind the screen of tears. "The Bronze King circled about behind us!"
"Well, yes, I can see that," replied Sir Tintauri, his pale eyes flicking out towards the crow-haunted stones.
"My army stood with your Queen while my own city was thrown to ruin and my own people slaughtered! I was not here!"
"Our Queen," came the correction, though its tone remained quite mild. "Yes, Lord Asceal, that too is something I would call a very accurate assessment of events. We should probably think about moving beyond the realms of the obvious now."
Asceal snarled out a curse and grabbed the saddlehorn, swinging down to ground with a throb of fury that promptly dissolved once his boots thumped loudly down on the trim-cobbled road, which now led to nowhere. The thought seemed to suck life and heat out of him. He sagged down on one knee.
"Quite a march Old Bronze must have made to get here and away again so quickly," mused Tintauri, looking out at the city again. "I wonder how many men he lost."
"Less than I," replied Asceal in the same drained despair. "Far, far less than I."
"I should think so, yes, but few to none of yours here were soldiers."
"I am glad," Asceal said, jaw tightening, "that your faithful allies' loss moves you so deeply, Sir Tintauri." The despair did not lift, but the weight of his mail reminded him of other things - war, leadership, the watching eyes of the ranks further down the hill.
"Let's not get sarcastic," replied Tintauri, waving one gloved hand in a quick prompt for Asceal to get up again. He too was clearly thinking about war and the watching soldiers - but then Asceal had never known him to think of anything else. "I was talking in practical terms, given that this would appear to be a situation that calls for practical measures."
"A situation." He could not rise, yet. "Divine! I've never met a man so cold."
"Unfortunate side-effect of being made from ice and deepwinter, you see," said the winterknight. "And for your information, I am in fact very, very angry indeed at this point. It may not show through this endearing, happy-go-lucky countenance of mine, but there you have it."
Tintauri grinned then, lopsidedly, baring some but not all of his teeth. "I find that a good, constructive way to deal with anger is to sort out the one who caused it, personally."
Asceal felt his lips twist with the bitterness that filled his mouth. "Why should I take any further part in this war when I've already lost my stake in it?"
"Because King Bronze should pay for Avel Svaryn. Because you don't have a city left to lose. Because the Queen is not to blame for the fortunes of war. Because a soldier understands the fortunes of war - or should. Because the Queen's favour would be a rather perilous thing to lose now. Because the Queen -" Tintauri eyed him significantly - "can give you anything you want."
"Can she indeed?" asked Asceal, more tired than defiant. It was true, all true, bar that foolish latter. "Can she give me back my city? My people?"
Tintauri sighed a little wearily. Then he swung down from his saddle, bending to take hold of Asceal's upper arm with a surprisingly gentle hand, and helped him to his feet again.
"Oh, yes, Lord Asceal," the winterknight replied, mist-pale eyes bright. "In fact I'll give them back to you right now."