pirates
Following this and this.
*
Things fall into a pattern of sorts. They set sail as per Nicci's directions, and if the wind is a little too favourable at times, Kahlan keeps her opinions to herself, just as she refrains from commenting on the second sword that now seems to be permanently strapped to Cara's back. It's as though Cara plans on combating Nicci's treacherous magic with the might of her blades alone.
'I've killed her once,' Cara tells Kahlan when she says so much in words, in the course of yet another nighttime conversation. 'I'll kill her again-or as many times as I have to.' It is spoken like the pirate Cara of yore, but her vehemence, for once, is reassuring.
Sister Nicci spends most of her time lounging in a hammock, not appearing particularly threatening or treacherous, but Kahlan keeps an eye on her all the same.
*
Nicci's directions take them close to the densely wooded southern plains of Hartland, a territory she is not particularly familiar with. It makes Kahlan uneasy. Even Richard looks a little perturbed when Nicci leads them to what is popularly known as the Bay of Thieves, called so for its treacherously rocky waters and pirates' penchant for lurking where they are least expected, leading to the doom of countless unsuspecting ships.
'Are you sure this is where we're supposed to be, Nicci?' he asks, giving voice to Kahlan's own feelings.
'Yes,' Nicci says shortly. 'Would you rather turn around and go home?' she sneers.
'That won't be necessary,' Richard says, but he does hand over the wheel to Cara, who navigates them through the perilous waters with a steady hand and a grim set to her shoulders.
Kahlan is only slightly less uneasy when they finally dock at Clearwater, unharmed and breathing.
'What now?' Cara demands of Nicci. 'Where do you suggest we look for these mythical Nightwisps?'
'The rest of the journey is by land,' Nicci shrugs. 'We can start now if you wish.'
'I think we could all use a good night's rest,' Richard says quickly, before Cara has an opportunity to retort. 'Right, Kahlan?'
'Certainly,' Kahlan agrees, despite her misgivings about spending a restful night at Clearwater, also known among the pirates as 'Devil's Gate'.
'I'm going to get a drink,' Cara says.
*
In the end they all head ashore in search of a warm meal and a drink or three; Kahlan can't say the prospect isn't appealing, even if it means spending the evening in some seedy tavern overrun by pirates and, possibly, being identified as a law-abiding officer of the Midlands Navy, which can only lead to trouble.
Clearwater was once just a port town-indeed, if her family chronicler is to be believed, a fine, flourishing port town when her great great great grandmother Admiral Raya Amnell first set foot on its soil, bearing gifts aplenty and various propositions for an improved trade relation. The marketplace was large and thriving, and merchants from all over would come to Clearwater with their goods-exotic spices, grain, fabrics, it is now said, unlike anything one will ever see, all the way from the Old World.
That was a long time ago, before the port fell to ruin-courtesy a weak leadership, as Kahlan's mother liked to say, shaking her head-and became the haven for thugs and pirates that it is today. As things are, Kahlan is more than glad to comply when Cara says, 'Stay with me,' leading the way with confident steps, perfectly in her element. Cara pauses at times to nod at people who very certainly are not honest, law-abiding citizens of anywhere. Kahlan is almost certain that the added swagger in Cara's gait is not just a product of her admittedly agitated mind.
There is a brief hush in conversation when they walk into the Lion's Den, all eyes at once upon Cara and her companions. Kahlan cannot help but make note of the weaponry in display-the sheer variety of it. The individuals wielding them; pirates and ruffians. The proprietor, a small, middle-aged man with countless scars on his face, grunts when Cara walks up to him, 'Causing trouble again, are we?'
'No trouble,' Cara says, almost polite. 'Just looking for a warm meal and a drink.'
'No fighting,' the proprietor says, 'no magic. No credit. And what are ya'll staring at?', the last being addressed to the other patrons. There is some shuffling of feet; weapons being surreptitiously placed out of sight. And then the conversation starts up all at once, and Cara says, 'No fighting. We have gold.'
The proprietor's response is another grunt. A buxom barmaid smiles widely at Cara.
The meal is indeed warm and delicious-a pleasant change, Kahlan thinks, from the indifferent meals on board, even if she will never have the heart to tell Richard so.
'You need to learn how to cook like this,' Cara tells Richard, matter of fact.
'Hey,' Richard says with a good-natured smile, 'at least I don't burn every meal I cook.'
This, of course, is a jibe at Kahlan, who protests, smiling, 'I don't burn every meal I cook.' She only burns some of them.
It turns out to be a fairly agreeable evening, and if Kahlan has to spend most of it with one hand placed deliberately on the hilt of a dagger-it will not do, letting her guard down too much in a place like this-the wine more than makes up for such minor annoyances.
She is close to being pleasantly inebriated when Cara pushes her own mug away and says, 'You should be back on the ship before it's too late.'
'You won't be joining us?' Kahlan says, somewhat taken aback. She was not prepared for this possibility.
'I'll see you in the morning,' Cara says, brusque.
'But where-' Kahlan begins to say, and closes her mouth abruptly when she spots the buxom barmaid, still smiling widely at Cara. 'Oh.'
The wine is oddly less appealing after that, although that might have something to do with Richard's increasingly off-key efforts at song.
*
Richard sings all the way to the ship, leaning on Kahlan and gesturing wildly with his free hand. It's somewhat like when they were young and foolish, and given to occasional revelry under the influence in the vast premises of the Zorander estate. Zedd was fond of such self-indulgences, plying them with the finest wine and singing the loudest and the raunchiest songs. Her own mother was less approving, and Kahlan still has memorized multiple speeches on conduct most unbecoming young lieutenants of the Midlands Navy.
It's less endearing now, surrounded as they are by drunken pirates looking to cause trouble. The absence of a valuable crew member makes matters even more complicated.
She cajoles, half-drags Richard to his cabin and is in the process of persuading him to stop singing when Nicci intervenes: a few muttered words and he collapses in Kahlan's arms, seemingly unconscious.
'What did you do?' Kahlan says, furious.
'Calm down,' Nicci says. 'He's just asleep. Don't tell me you were enjoying the noise.'
Kahlan wasn't, but that does not make such methods any less questionable.
'He'll be fine in the morning,' Nicci says, rolling her eyes. 'But I can't do anything about the hangover.'
'You've done enough already,' Kahlan snaps. She places Richard on his bed, gentle, tugging off his boots and neatly placing them by the bed.
'You'd do well to get some sleep yourself,' says Nicci, cool, watching Kahlan with a hand on her hip. 'We have a long journey ahead of us.'
Richard lets out a loud snore.
Kahlan has every intention of resting as much as possible, but somehow her thoughts keep drifting to Cara. She can feel her annoyance grow as she tosses and turns. A few dogs howl somewhere at a distance.
It isn't that she objects to Cara consorting with pretty barmaids with ample bosoms. It is only that, Kahlan thinks, throwing off the covers with perhaps more violence than necessary, it's irresponsible to simply disappear and indulge in pleasure, leaving Richard behind without a thought to his safety.
Sleep is a long way coming.
*
Kahlan does not feel particularly rested the next morning, but then, neither does Richard.
'I'm never drinking again,' he moans pitifully, resting his forehead on Kahlan's shoulder.
'It'll pass,' Kahlan says, patting his tousled head.
'Never,' Richard says.
'Did you have a good night's sleep?' Nicci says, faux concern all over her countenance.
Richard simply groans in response.
Cara is her usual brisk self when shows up shortly after, four horses and a nervous young man in tow. 'He'll keep an eye on things when we're gone,' she says, 'do you have everything in order?', eyeing Richard with some concern.
She appears well-rested, Kahlan thinks, fresh-faced and content after a night of irresponsible decadence. She can feel some the previous night's displeasure return, and she simply says, 'Yes,' stiffly, not quite willing to look Cara in the eye.
'Then we should be leaving,' Cara says. And perhaps her gaze is somewhat sharper, searching, but Kahlan does not care to dwell on such trivialities at the moment.
Soon they're out of Clearwater and moving steadily eastwards, Nicci in front on her fine black horse and Cara at the rear. Human habitat becomes scarce after a while, only a hutment or two in sight every few miles; the foliage grows thicker, until they're in the forest.
Kahlan, if she's entirely truthful, is a better navigator by sea than she is on land. The ground is too firm, the sounds less familiar. Her own steed is swift and surefooted, and generally of a gentle disposition, but Kahlan thinks she prefers the waves.
++
[This is apparently a thing now? It would have probably helped if I wrote the beginning first. *facepalm* It's also rough and unedited, as you can see - I'll contemplate such things if it ever becomes a real story. Right now I'm just enjoying the silliness.]
http://swatkat.dreamwidth.org/307859.html |
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*
Things fall into a pattern of sorts. They set sail as per Nicci's directions, and if the wind is a little too favourable at times, Kahlan keeps her opinions to herself, just as she refrains from commenting on the second sword that now seems to be permanently strapped to Cara's back. It's as though Cara plans on combating Nicci's treacherous magic with the might of her blades alone.
'I've killed her once,' Cara tells Kahlan when she says so much in words, in the course of yet another nighttime conversation. 'I'll kill her again-or as many times as I have to.' It is spoken like the pirate Cara of yore, but her vehemence, for once, is reassuring.
Sister Nicci spends most of her time lounging in a hammock, not appearing particularly threatening or treacherous, but Kahlan keeps an eye on her all the same.
*
Nicci's directions take them close to the densely wooded southern plains of Hartland, a territory she is not particularly familiar with. It makes Kahlan uneasy. Even Richard looks a little perturbed when Nicci leads them to what is popularly known as the Bay of Thieves, called so for its treacherously rocky waters and pirates' penchant for lurking where they are least expected, leading to the doom of countless unsuspecting ships.
'Are you sure this is where we're supposed to be, Nicci?' he asks, giving voice to Kahlan's own feelings.
'Yes,' Nicci says shortly. 'Would you rather turn around and go home?' she sneers.
'That won't be necessary,' Richard says, but he does hand over the wheel to Cara, who navigates them through the perilous waters with a steady hand and a grim set to her shoulders.
Kahlan is only slightly less uneasy when they finally dock at Clearwater, unharmed and breathing.
'What now?' Cara demands of Nicci. 'Where do you suggest we look for these mythical Nightwisps?'
'The rest of the journey is by land,' Nicci shrugs. 'We can start now if you wish.'
'I think we could all use a good night's rest,' Richard says quickly, before Cara has an opportunity to retort. 'Right, Kahlan?'
'Certainly,' Kahlan agrees, despite her misgivings about spending a restful night at Clearwater, also known among the pirates as 'Devil's Gate'.
'I'm going to get a drink,' Cara says.
*
In the end they all head ashore in search of a warm meal and a drink or three; Kahlan can't say the prospect isn't appealing, even if it means spending the evening in some seedy tavern overrun by pirates and, possibly, being identified as a law-abiding officer of the Midlands Navy, which can only lead to trouble.
Clearwater was once just a port town-indeed, if her family chronicler is to be believed, a fine, flourishing port town when her great great great grandmother Admiral Raya Amnell first set foot on its soil, bearing gifts aplenty and various propositions for an improved trade relation. The marketplace was large and thriving, and merchants from all over would come to Clearwater with their goods-exotic spices, grain, fabrics, it is now said, unlike anything one will ever see, all the way from the Old World.
That was a long time ago, before the port fell to ruin-courtesy a weak leadership, as Kahlan's mother liked to say, shaking her head-and became the haven for thugs and pirates that it is today. As things are, Kahlan is more than glad to comply when Cara says, 'Stay with me,' leading the way with confident steps, perfectly in her element. Cara pauses at times to nod at people who very certainly are not honest, law-abiding citizens of anywhere. Kahlan is almost certain that the added swagger in Cara's gait is not just a product of her admittedly agitated mind.
There is a brief hush in conversation when they walk into the Lion's Den, all eyes at once upon Cara and her companions. Kahlan cannot help but make note of the weaponry in display-the sheer variety of it. The individuals wielding them; pirates and ruffians. The proprietor, a small, middle-aged man with countless scars on his face, grunts when Cara walks up to him, 'Causing trouble again, are we?'
'No trouble,' Cara says, almost polite. 'Just looking for a warm meal and a drink.'
'No fighting,' the proprietor says, 'no magic. No credit. And what are ya'll staring at?', the last being addressed to the other patrons. There is some shuffling of feet; weapons being surreptitiously placed out of sight. And then the conversation starts up all at once, and Cara says, 'No fighting. We have gold.'
The proprietor's response is another grunt. A buxom barmaid smiles widely at Cara.
The meal is indeed warm and delicious-a pleasant change, Kahlan thinks, from the indifferent meals on board, even if she will never have the heart to tell Richard so.
'You need to learn how to cook like this,' Cara tells Richard, matter of fact.
'Hey,' Richard says with a good-natured smile, 'at least I don't burn every meal I cook.'
This, of course, is a jibe at Kahlan, who protests, smiling, 'I don't burn every meal I cook.' She only burns some of them.
It turns out to be a fairly agreeable evening, and if Kahlan has to spend most of it with one hand placed deliberately on the hilt of a dagger-it will not do, letting her guard down too much in a place like this-the wine more than makes up for such minor annoyances.
She is close to being pleasantly inebriated when Cara pushes her own mug away and says, 'You should be back on the ship before it's too late.'
'You won't be joining us?' Kahlan says, somewhat taken aback. She was not prepared for this possibility.
'I'll see you in the morning,' Cara says, brusque.
'But where-' Kahlan begins to say, and closes her mouth abruptly when she spots the buxom barmaid, still smiling widely at Cara. 'Oh.'
The wine is oddly less appealing after that, although that might have something to do with Richard's increasingly off-key efforts at song.
*
Richard sings all the way to the ship, leaning on Kahlan and gesturing wildly with his free hand. It's somewhat like when they were young and foolish, and given to occasional revelry under the influence in the vast premises of the Zorander estate. Zedd was fond of such self-indulgences, plying them with the finest wine and singing the loudest and the raunchiest songs. Her own mother was less approving, and Kahlan still has memorized multiple speeches on conduct most unbecoming young lieutenants of the Midlands Navy.
It's less endearing now, surrounded as they are by drunken pirates looking to cause trouble. The absence of a valuable crew member makes matters even more complicated.
She cajoles, half-drags Richard to his cabin and is in the process of persuading him to stop singing when Nicci intervenes: a few muttered words and he collapses in Kahlan's arms, seemingly unconscious.
'What did you do?' Kahlan says, furious.
'Calm down,' Nicci says. 'He's just asleep. Don't tell me you were enjoying the noise.'
Kahlan wasn't, but that does not make such methods any less questionable.
'He'll be fine in the morning,' Nicci says, rolling her eyes. 'But I can't do anything about the hangover.'
'You've done enough already,' Kahlan snaps. She places Richard on his bed, gentle, tugging off his boots and neatly placing them by the bed.
'You'd do well to get some sleep yourself,' says Nicci, cool, watching Kahlan with a hand on her hip. 'We have a long journey ahead of us.'
Richard lets out a loud snore.
Kahlan has every intention of resting as much as possible, but somehow her thoughts keep drifting to Cara. She can feel her annoyance grow as she tosses and turns. A few dogs howl somewhere at a distance.
It isn't that she objects to Cara consorting with pretty barmaids with ample bosoms. It is only that, Kahlan thinks, throwing off the covers with perhaps more violence than necessary, it's irresponsible to simply disappear and indulge in pleasure, leaving Richard behind without a thought to his safety.
Sleep is a long way coming.
*
Kahlan does not feel particularly rested the next morning, but then, neither does Richard.
'I'm never drinking again,' he moans pitifully, resting his forehead on Kahlan's shoulder.
'It'll pass,' Kahlan says, patting his tousled head.
'Never,' Richard says.
'Did you have a good night's sleep?' Nicci says, faux concern all over her countenance.
Richard simply groans in response.
Cara is her usual brisk self when shows up shortly after, four horses and a nervous young man in tow. 'He'll keep an eye on things when we're gone,' she says, 'do you have everything in order?', eyeing Richard with some concern.
She appears well-rested, Kahlan thinks, fresh-faced and content after a night of irresponsible decadence. She can feel some the previous night's displeasure return, and she simply says, 'Yes,' stiffly, not quite willing to look Cara in the eye.
'Then we should be leaving,' Cara says. And perhaps her gaze is somewhat sharper, searching, but Kahlan does not care to dwell on such trivialities at the moment.
Soon they're out of Clearwater and moving steadily eastwards, Nicci in front on her fine black horse and Cara at the rear. Human habitat becomes scarce after a while, only a hutment or two in sight every few miles; the foliage grows thicker, until they're in the forest.
Kahlan, if she's entirely truthful, is a better navigator by sea than she is on land. The ground is too firm, the sounds less familiar. Her own steed is swift and surefooted, and generally of a gentle disposition, but Kahlan thinks she prefers the waves.
++
[This is apparently a thing now? It would have probably helped if I wrote the beginning first. *facepalm* It's also rough and unedited, as you can see - I'll contemplate such things if it ever becomes a real story. Right now I'm just enjoying the silliness.]
http://swatkat.dreamwidth.org/307859.html |
comments | Comment at Dreamwidth