(no subject)
Mocha #25. Mind Your Manners with Hot Fudge and Sprinkles
Story : knights
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1250
Word Count : 1246
“Nice little army you’ve got going here.”
Berwyk grit his teeth. He’d seen the man on the grounds that morning, and it was only a matter of time before he made a show of his presence, but that hardly made it any more pleasant. Guilford Branimir, vaguely related to more nobility than he could count, on more sides of the family than a man should have. Never the center of attention, always the distant branch you didn’t know your family had. The sort of fellow one might expect to find standing beside thrones, whispering in ears, waiting for convenient accidents. Not that Berwyk was one to judge, but he was never quite certain if he was being called in as a coconspirator or if he was the stooge on the throne in Guilford’s game.
Back to the wall, hands in his pockets, Berwyk didn’t dignify the new arrival with so much as a glance. “You would see it that way, wouldn’t you? It’s more like a school, really.” Ephram had the lot of them on the lawn, a jumbled pile of something quite dead spread among them and being prodded from all sides. The thought of any of the boys launching an attack on anything more than their smaller peers nearly made him laugh.
“And the imperial oaf,” said Guilford, “lumbering about the grounds with a sword half the width of a man?” A hand trimmed in gold and gems flicked past Berwyk’s shoulder to wave at Hakaro, occupied in his usual sentry-like pacing of the perimeter.
Berwyk sniffed and waved off the thought with a hand of his own. “He’s Ephram’s.”
“That hardly means you can’t make use of him.” Guilford swaggered out from the shadows of the doorway into the sunlight. Berwyk cast him a sideways glance, never taking his shoulder from the wall. He was dressed more finely than when last he saw him, riding boots barely broken in, cloak stitched with gold along the collar. Dressed a bit more tightly too. Some poor sap was feeding him well. Guilford never was one to fend for his own stomach.
He turned his attention quickly back to the slowly marching Hakaro as he caught eyes on him. “He hasn’t even the slightest grasp of magic.”
“So narrow sighted. You have a few dozen lads, all trained in the arts. With the things I’ve heard you’ve been raising, you could take out a small city.” His voice dripped, thick and smooth, like the pile of gold around his neck. Always the politician, just whose pockets had he wormed his way into now? “I take it instead they are solely for purposes of research.” Berwyk scowled and Guilford shook his head. “You, my friend,” he carried on in his buttery tones, “are missing out here.”
Berwyk shoved off from the stone, stalked a few feet down the wall. “Since when am I your friend? For that matter, when did I invite you?”
“You didn’t,” said Guilford, casually buffing a ring against the lapel of his coat. “Lord Eldis invited me.”
“Lord Eldis?” He laughed. “Is that what he’s calling himself now?” Trust Wilifred to be putting on borrowed airs. Lord Eldis indeed. Inviting people as if he owned the place. Well, in a way he did, but that was beside the point. The point was he had no business thinking it mattered.
“Might as well,” said Guilford. “How is his dear brother, by the way?”
Berwyk shrugged. “Rotting, I suppose.”
“Nice of him to leave you his estate.”
“Wasn’t it though? We’d rather outgrown Lirander’s.” Berwyk caught himself smiling and swallowed the urge to give himself a good kick in the shin. The man wasn’t making pleasantries, he was looking for openings.
“An army would land you a better lot yet.” Trust Guilford to quickly prove him right.
“And have to defend it?” he said. “I think I’ll pass.”
“Oh, but again you miss the point. A lord will pay at least as dearly for a retinue of beasts as he will the potions you’re peddling.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain.” The boys had finally gotten their beast together and it swayed on shaky legs as Ephram darted about fuming and flailing at them. Hakaro had come to a halt, hand draped over the pommel at his shoulder, quietly watching the spectacle. He could imagine the dealings. Give us a week, full access to your graveyards, and we'll bring you, er, lumbering monstrosities such as this. Guaranteed to crush your enemies…if it falls on them. Not that they didn’t get it right, quite often they did. But it was best to trust one’s own skills instead, and potions never failed to impress. “You wave the prospect of immortality in a man’s face,” he said, “and see how high he jumps for you.”
“And the chosen?” said Guilford. “Are you going to ply them with potions when they come round?” Berwyk studied the man idly polishing his jewelry as he watched the lesson unfold. What was his game? Did he know something of the others, anticipate a struggle? Five of them against his one, he‘d seen enough of a chosen’s powers to know that was something he‘d rather not face. “I hear you’ve taken one on again. Did you learn nothing from the disaster with Filas?”
So that was it. He wanted a look at Sethan. Who didn’t? He was certainly straining hard enough to peer into the crowd of boys, weighing one against another. Hopefully Sethan had the sense not to show off. Generally, he did manage to keep quiet when Ephram was about. “This one is not my apprentice, he’s merely one of the lot.”
“I hear differently.”
“Good for you,” said Berwyk. Was he here looking for allies, or scoping out potential foes? There would be words later for Master Wilifred and his choice of houseguests. “So, does anything of actual merit bring you’re here, or are you so bored as to require the company of ‘old friends?’”
“You flatter yourself, Berwyk,” said Guilford, with a flourish of one gem lined hand. “I told you, I’m here to see His Lordship. I shall…leave you to your playthings.”
After he’d heard the door shut behind him and watched the construct stagger about in the grass for long moments, he strode across the yard.
“Master Hakaro,” he said, drawing up alongside the big man.
Hakaro peered down at him, eyes narrowed, hand still on his weapon. “Yes?”
“Master Hakaro,” he repeated, in his own best buttery tone. “I think I should like to take you up on that offer to teach the boys a bit of sword play.”
The mountain of a man lifted one thick silver brow. “Oh?”
“Yes,” said Berwyk. So he had no aspirations for military might. It never hurt to protect oneself. There were five more of Sethan out there somewhere after all. “Now what might I do to help this along?”
“Swords would be a good start.” His hand tightened over his own as the boys went scurrying out of the thrashing demon’s way.
Berwyk put a hand to his head as Hakaro went stalking towards the fray, ran it over the slim remains of his hair. What was he thinking, putting swords into the hands of this lot? Better him than Guilford. It was still his throne for now, and he’d have none of the fool’s whispering or his waiting if he had anything to say about it.
Story : knights
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1250
Word Count : 1246
“Nice little army you’ve got going here.”
Berwyk grit his teeth. He’d seen the man on the grounds that morning, and it was only a matter of time before he made a show of his presence, but that hardly made it any more pleasant. Guilford Branimir, vaguely related to more nobility than he could count, on more sides of the family than a man should have. Never the center of attention, always the distant branch you didn’t know your family had. The sort of fellow one might expect to find standing beside thrones, whispering in ears, waiting for convenient accidents. Not that Berwyk was one to judge, but he was never quite certain if he was being called in as a coconspirator or if he was the stooge on the throne in Guilford’s game.
Back to the wall, hands in his pockets, Berwyk didn’t dignify the new arrival with so much as a glance. “You would see it that way, wouldn’t you? It’s more like a school, really.” Ephram had the lot of them on the lawn, a jumbled pile of something quite dead spread among them and being prodded from all sides. The thought of any of the boys launching an attack on anything more than their smaller peers nearly made him laugh.
“And the imperial oaf,” said Guilford, “lumbering about the grounds with a sword half the width of a man?” A hand trimmed in gold and gems flicked past Berwyk’s shoulder to wave at Hakaro, occupied in his usual sentry-like pacing of the perimeter.
Berwyk sniffed and waved off the thought with a hand of his own. “He’s Ephram’s.”
“That hardly means you can’t make use of him.” Guilford swaggered out from the shadows of the doorway into the sunlight. Berwyk cast him a sideways glance, never taking his shoulder from the wall. He was dressed more finely than when last he saw him, riding boots barely broken in, cloak stitched with gold along the collar. Dressed a bit more tightly too. Some poor sap was feeding him well. Guilford never was one to fend for his own stomach.
He turned his attention quickly back to the slowly marching Hakaro as he caught eyes on him. “He hasn’t even the slightest grasp of magic.”
“So narrow sighted. You have a few dozen lads, all trained in the arts. With the things I’ve heard you’ve been raising, you could take out a small city.” His voice dripped, thick and smooth, like the pile of gold around his neck. Always the politician, just whose pockets had he wormed his way into now? “I take it instead they are solely for purposes of research.” Berwyk scowled and Guilford shook his head. “You, my friend,” he carried on in his buttery tones, “are missing out here.”
Berwyk shoved off from the stone, stalked a few feet down the wall. “Since when am I your friend? For that matter, when did I invite you?”
“You didn’t,” said Guilford, casually buffing a ring against the lapel of his coat. “Lord Eldis invited me.”
“Lord Eldis?” He laughed. “Is that what he’s calling himself now?” Trust Wilifred to be putting on borrowed airs. Lord Eldis indeed. Inviting people as if he owned the place. Well, in a way he did, but that was beside the point. The point was he had no business thinking it mattered.
“Might as well,” said Guilford. “How is his dear brother, by the way?”
Berwyk shrugged. “Rotting, I suppose.”
“Nice of him to leave you his estate.”
“Wasn’t it though? We’d rather outgrown Lirander’s.” Berwyk caught himself smiling and swallowed the urge to give himself a good kick in the shin. The man wasn’t making pleasantries, he was looking for openings.
“An army would land you a better lot yet.” Trust Guilford to quickly prove him right.
“And have to defend it?” he said. “I think I’ll pass.”
“Oh, but again you miss the point. A lord will pay at least as dearly for a retinue of beasts as he will the potions you’re peddling.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain.” The boys had finally gotten their beast together and it swayed on shaky legs as Ephram darted about fuming and flailing at them. Hakaro had come to a halt, hand draped over the pommel at his shoulder, quietly watching the spectacle. He could imagine the dealings. Give us a week, full access to your graveyards, and we'll bring you, er, lumbering monstrosities such as this. Guaranteed to crush your enemies…if it falls on them. Not that they didn’t get it right, quite often they did. But it was best to trust one’s own skills instead, and potions never failed to impress. “You wave the prospect of immortality in a man’s face,” he said, “and see how high he jumps for you.”
“And the chosen?” said Guilford. “Are you going to ply them with potions when they come round?” Berwyk studied the man idly polishing his jewelry as he watched the lesson unfold. What was his game? Did he know something of the others, anticipate a struggle? Five of them against his one, he‘d seen enough of a chosen’s powers to know that was something he‘d rather not face. “I hear you’ve taken one on again. Did you learn nothing from the disaster with Filas?”
So that was it. He wanted a look at Sethan. Who didn’t? He was certainly straining hard enough to peer into the crowd of boys, weighing one against another. Hopefully Sethan had the sense not to show off. Generally, he did manage to keep quiet when Ephram was about. “This one is not my apprentice, he’s merely one of the lot.”
“I hear differently.”
“Good for you,” said Berwyk. Was he here looking for allies, or scoping out potential foes? There would be words later for Master Wilifred and his choice of houseguests. “So, does anything of actual merit bring you’re here, or are you so bored as to require the company of ‘old friends?’”
“You flatter yourself, Berwyk,” said Guilford, with a flourish of one gem lined hand. “I told you, I’m here to see His Lordship. I shall…leave you to your playthings.”
After he’d heard the door shut behind him and watched the construct stagger about in the grass for long moments, he strode across the yard.
“Master Hakaro,” he said, drawing up alongside the big man.
Hakaro peered down at him, eyes narrowed, hand still on his weapon. “Yes?”
“Master Hakaro,” he repeated, in his own best buttery tone. “I think I should like to take you up on that offer to teach the boys a bit of sword play.”
The mountain of a man lifted one thick silver brow. “Oh?”
“Yes,” said Berwyk. So he had no aspirations for military might. It never hurt to protect oneself. There were five more of Sethan out there somewhere after all. “Now what might I do to help this along?”
“Swords would be a good start.” His hand tightened over his own as the boys went scurrying out of the thrashing demon’s way.
Berwyk put a hand to his head as Hakaro went stalking towards the fray, ran it over the slim remains of his hair. What was he thinking, putting swords into the hands of this lot? Better him than Guilford. It was still his throne for now, and he’d have none of the fool’s whispering or his waiting if he had anything to say about it.