Blade Archer ~ Three
Nov. 3rd, 2004 02:09 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
annarti.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
yrae
The First General’s office was at least the size of Kael’s house. Probably bigger once all the contents were removed. Kael had generally only thought of a building as somewhere to keep the sun or rain off and shelter him while he slept, but never as a place for storing things. His family owned only the clothes they wore, the rugs they slept under and the pots they cooked their food in.
The General’s office, however, was furnished. With wooden furniture, no less. True, the wood was dusty and greying with age, but it had to have been imported at some point. A long bookcase lined the left wall; a huge map of Raykin and the surrounding kingdoms was plastered to the right. The stone floor was covered with a once-brightly coloured rug, patterned with red, green and blue zigzags that marked it as another imported feature from the northern kingdom of Kazin.
At the far end of the room lay the General’s heavy wooden desk, its surface covered with another map and numerous other documents. Kael wondered vaguely how many words there were written in the room. Never had he considered the idea that a warrior would have to be able to read in order to defend the kingdom. The only things that marked the office as one belonging to a warrior were the sword and bow propped against the wall behind the desk.
The burly man gestured to a chair by the desk, upon which Kael sat. He couldn’t help but run his fingers over the plush fabric of the chair’s seat, soft and smooth against his callused fingers.
The General began rolling up the map, then set the sheets of paper to one side, took another blank one from a drawer and sat down behind the desk, greyish-blue quill in hand. He dipped the nib into an inkwell and made a few swirly marks on the page, his hand flowing over the surface with the monotony of a man who probably spent more hours a day with a quill in his hand than a blade.
Once he’d finished, he looked past heavy eyebrows at Kael, testing him before he’d even opened his mouth. His eyes hung for a moment on Kael’s right wrist, a look of dark amusement slipping into his eyes. “Once more and we’ll have to start taking your fingers,” he said, the look in his eyes slipping into his voice.
Kael silently cursed himself for not covering up the scars in any way. Outwardly, he jut gave half a shrug. “I stole some stuff and got done for it,” he replied casually.
“And have you ‘stolen some stuff’ on other occasions?”
Kael frowned at the question. If he answered yes, he’d be thrown out because he was untrustworthy. If he answered no, he’d be thrown out because it would appear he’d not had the fighting skills to avoid capture. “Whichever way I answer, ye’re not going to be none too pleased with it.”
The General grinned, but there was no humour in the gesture. “I’d very much doubt it.” He shook out his wrists and dipped the quill in the inkwell again, returning his eyes to the parchment in front of him. “Name?”
“Kael.” He watched carefully as the quill scrawled over the page, spelling out the three letters of his name. He’d never seen his name written down before.
“Date of birth?”
“Eighty-first of Autumn, 4009.”
“Parents?”
“Mama Kanathi is a seamstress. Papa Ril was a fisherman.”
The First General scribbled down the names and occupations of both parents with the same monotony of Kael’s other answers. Either he hadn’t noticed the past tense, or he chose to ignore it. Or maybe through years of commanding the Raykinian army, he had simply blocked out all emotion regarding death.
“Weapon of choice?”
“Dagger.”
The quill paused before it hit the paper, and the General glanced up again. “Dagger combat is not a singular division of the army. We expect that all men can fight with a dagger in his hand. Sword, archery, blade archery, pike or siege.”
Kael sighed. “Fine, throwing knives, whatever ye wishes to call them.” He gave another half shrug. “Same piece of steel, anyway.”
“Blade archery it is, then,” the General noted sourly. “Reason for joining?”
“People I know—people I don’t know, even—reckon I’m good enough.”
The General rested the quill on the table. “People in your district?” he asked.
Kael scowled. Another overstuffed rooster thinking he was better than the common folk just because his furniture was made of wood. “What of it? I can tell ye from personal experience that us guys from the southern districts can use a blade far better than most anyone from up north.”
The same dark, humourless smile stretched the General’s lips. “A dagger blade, perhaps. A sword blade may be another matter entirely.” He scratched down a last remark on the sheet, then rose from his desk, ushering Kael towards the door.
“No doubt you’ve been told of your skill while flinging a dagger or two at Middle Red in your local tavern?” he asked as he led Kael to the archery ranges.
“What other targets does ye think I aim at?”
“People, perchance.” Kael could read nothing from the General’s flat tone.
“Am yet to target me fellow man,” he muttered.
The blade archery range was occupied by five other men, two of whom sat on the benches to the side, ‘ooh’ing and laughing as their companions flung an assortment of gleaming silver blades at their respective targets. Kael could feel their attention turn to him as he followed the General to the target on the far side.
The moustached man leant against the wall, arms folded as he nodded towards the wooden board that ran the width of the range, showing where the men were supposed to throw from.
“All yours,” he told the boy. “Show us what the boys from the southern part of town are capable of.”
Kael glanced down the length of the range as he set his feet in a comfortable position. The end wall lay a good twenty paces away, three times as far as he was used to throwing at the Charging Nira. The target itself seemed to only be made of black and white rings, with no red circle marking its centre.
“Where’s Middle Red,” he asked of the General.
He only gained a twisted grin in response. One of the other blade archers answered his question for him.
“It’s in the middle, boy, where it’s always been.”
He turned his attention back to the target, only now noticing the tiny red thumbprint dotted in the centre of the innermost white ring. He smiled wryly and shook his head, thinking back to his earlier conversation with the barkeeper.
He settled his feet again and drew his dagger, well aware of its blackened, tarnished appearance in comparison to the shimmering blades of the four men to his right. He took the blade tip between left thumb and forefinger, the familiar dents and patches of rust settling into his skin. Who cared what it looked like? So long as it hit home, it was just as effective as any blade held by the Own.
He took a calming breath, blocking out the amused murmurs of his small audience and, more importantly, the black-shirted presence of the army’s First General. The sharp heat of the early afternoon sun, only now beginning to affect him, jabbed at his back and caused sweat to slick his skin. The persistent desert breeze added to rather than diminished his discomfort.
He tugged absently at his short plait, wiped his left hand on his shirt to try and dispel the sweat, but gave up and washed it around in the dust instead.
“Just throw the thing, boy,” one of the blade archers taunted. “If that target were a Kazinian, he would have run a full quiver of arrows through you by now.”
Kael shot a quick glare in the man’s direction, then flung his dagger at the miniscule Middle Red.
He watched breathlessly as the dagger flipped and spun in its extended trajectory, weaving through the wavering air like an eagle targeting its prey.
Finally the blade hit home, embedding itself firmly in the innermost white ring. Had it been a normal target, the shot would have been branded a bullseye.
A loud ‘ooh’ reminiscent of the Charging Nira rose from the small contingent to Kael’s right. The General merely nodded and made a mark of charcoal on the piece of parchment he had been writing on. “Again.”
Kael paced down to grab his dagger and repeat the process. He was asked to throw it a total of ten times, hitting the inner white ring five times, the black ring surrounding it four times, and Middle Red once. That particular shot had even drawn applause from two or three of his audience members, along with several congratulatory cries of “Shot.”
Most of the black-ring shots came later in the round, when the sun beating down on his black hair had begun to make him slightly dizzy and unfocussed, and he found himself cursing the desert goddess Aeia for the weather so common in late Spring.
Finally, the General called him over into the shade of the wall. His face was as bland and unreadable as it had been all afternoon.
“Come back for the Summer Solstice celebrations in a month’s time,” he said, folding up the paper and slipping it in his pocket.
Kael blinked. “So I’m in?”
There was that enigmatic smile again. “Hardly.” He sighed, as though explaining something to a small child. “Fifty are admitted each year. I have seen upwards of one hundred boys already this Spring, and another hundred more to come. The Summer Solstice is when we announce the new training squad.”
“Don’t s’pose ye could give me an idea how I stack against the others ye’ve seen?”
The General pushed himself away from the wall. “Leave the same way you came in,” he said over his shoulder, then left.
~ ~ ~
Chapter~ 1687
Total~ 5125
Time~ 3hrs, 8mins (I HATE grinding chapters Xx)
Total~ 7hrs, 35mins
The General’s office, however, was furnished. With wooden furniture, no less. True, the wood was dusty and greying with age, but it had to have been imported at some point. A long bookcase lined the left wall; a huge map of Raykin and the surrounding kingdoms was plastered to the right. The stone floor was covered with a once-brightly coloured rug, patterned with red, green and blue zigzags that marked it as another imported feature from the northern kingdom of Kazin.
At the far end of the room lay the General’s heavy wooden desk, its surface covered with another map and numerous other documents. Kael wondered vaguely how many words there were written in the room. Never had he considered the idea that a warrior would have to be able to read in order to defend the kingdom. The only things that marked the office as one belonging to a warrior were the sword and bow propped against the wall behind the desk.
The burly man gestured to a chair by the desk, upon which Kael sat. He couldn’t help but run his fingers over the plush fabric of the chair’s seat, soft and smooth against his callused fingers.
The General began rolling up the map, then set the sheets of paper to one side, took another blank one from a drawer and sat down behind the desk, greyish-blue quill in hand. He dipped the nib into an inkwell and made a few swirly marks on the page, his hand flowing over the surface with the monotony of a man who probably spent more hours a day with a quill in his hand than a blade.
Once he’d finished, he looked past heavy eyebrows at Kael, testing him before he’d even opened his mouth. His eyes hung for a moment on Kael’s right wrist, a look of dark amusement slipping into his eyes. “Once more and we’ll have to start taking your fingers,” he said, the look in his eyes slipping into his voice.
Kael silently cursed himself for not covering up the scars in any way. Outwardly, he jut gave half a shrug. “I stole some stuff and got done for it,” he replied casually.
“And have you ‘stolen some stuff’ on other occasions?”
Kael frowned at the question. If he answered yes, he’d be thrown out because he was untrustworthy. If he answered no, he’d be thrown out because it would appear he’d not had the fighting skills to avoid capture. “Whichever way I answer, ye’re not going to be none too pleased with it.”
The General grinned, but there was no humour in the gesture. “I’d very much doubt it.” He shook out his wrists and dipped the quill in the inkwell again, returning his eyes to the parchment in front of him. “Name?”
“Kael.” He watched carefully as the quill scrawled over the page, spelling out the three letters of his name. He’d never seen his name written down before.
“Date of birth?”
“Eighty-first of Autumn, 4009.”
“Parents?”
“Mama Kanathi is a seamstress. Papa Ril was a fisherman.”
The First General scribbled down the names and occupations of both parents with the same monotony of Kael’s other answers. Either he hadn’t noticed the past tense, or he chose to ignore it. Or maybe through years of commanding the Raykinian army, he had simply blocked out all emotion regarding death.
“Weapon of choice?”
“Dagger.”
The quill paused before it hit the paper, and the General glanced up again. “Dagger combat is not a singular division of the army. We expect that all men can fight with a dagger in his hand. Sword, archery, blade archery, pike or siege.”
Kael sighed. “Fine, throwing knives, whatever ye wishes to call them.” He gave another half shrug. “Same piece of steel, anyway.”
“Blade archery it is, then,” the General noted sourly. “Reason for joining?”
“People I know—people I don’t know, even—reckon I’m good enough.”
The General rested the quill on the table. “People in your district?” he asked.
Kael scowled. Another overstuffed rooster thinking he was better than the common folk just because his furniture was made of wood. “What of it? I can tell ye from personal experience that us guys from the southern districts can use a blade far better than most anyone from up north.”
The same dark, humourless smile stretched the General’s lips. “A dagger blade, perhaps. A sword blade may be another matter entirely.” He scratched down a last remark on the sheet, then rose from his desk, ushering Kael towards the door.
“No doubt you’ve been told of your skill while flinging a dagger or two at Middle Red in your local tavern?” he asked as he led Kael to the archery ranges.
“What other targets does ye think I aim at?”
“People, perchance.” Kael could read nothing from the General’s flat tone.
“Am yet to target me fellow man,” he muttered.
The blade archery range was occupied by five other men, two of whom sat on the benches to the side, ‘ooh’ing and laughing as their companions flung an assortment of gleaming silver blades at their respective targets. Kael could feel their attention turn to him as he followed the General to the target on the far side.
The moustached man leant against the wall, arms folded as he nodded towards the wooden board that ran the width of the range, showing where the men were supposed to throw from.
“All yours,” he told the boy. “Show us what the boys from the southern part of town are capable of.”
Kael glanced down the length of the range as he set his feet in a comfortable position. The end wall lay a good twenty paces away, three times as far as he was used to throwing at the Charging Nira. The target itself seemed to only be made of black and white rings, with no red circle marking its centre.
“Where’s Middle Red,” he asked of the General.
He only gained a twisted grin in response. One of the other blade archers answered his question for him.
“It’s in the middle, boy, where it’s always been.”
He turned his attention back to the target, only now noticing the tiny red thumbprint dotted in the centre of the innermost white ring. He smiled wryly and shook his head, thinking back to his earlier conversation with the barkeeper.
He settled his feet again and drew his dagger, well aware of its blackened, tarnished appearance in comparison to the shimmering blades of the four men to his right. He took the blade tip between left thumb and forefinger, the familiar dents and patches of rust settling into his skin. Who cared what it looked like? So long as it hit home, it was just as effective as any blade held by the Own.
He took a calming breath, blocking out the amused murmurs of his small audience and, more importantly, the black-shirted presence of the army’s First General. The sharp heat of the early afternoon sun, only now beginning to affect him, jabbed at his back and caused sweat to slick his skin. The persistent desert breeze added to rather than diminished his discomfort.
He tugged absently at his short plait, wiped his left hand on his shirt to try and dispel the sweat, but gave up and washed it around in the dust instead.
“Just throw the thing, boy,” one of the blade archers taunted. “If that target were a Kazinian, he would have run a full quiver of arrows through you by now.”
Kael shot a quick glare in the man’s direction, then flung his dagger at the miniscule Middle Red.
He watched breathlessly as the dagger flipped and spun in its extended trajectory, weaving through the wavering air like an eagle targeting its prey.
Finally the blade hit home, embedding itself firmly in the innermost white ring. Had it been a normal target, the shot would have been branded a bullseye.
A loud ‘ooh’ reminiscent of the Charging Nira rose from the small contingent to Kael’s right. The General merely nodded and made a mark of charcoal on the piece of parchment he had been writing on. “Again.”
Kael paced down to grab his dagger and repeat the process. He was asked to throw it a total of ten times, hitting the inner white ring five times, the black ring surrounding it four times, and Middle Red once. That particular shot had even drawn applause from two or three of his audience members, along with several congratulatory cries of “Shot.”
Most of the black-ring shots came later in the round, when the sun beating down on his black hair had begun to make him slightly dizzy and unfocussed, and he found himself cursing the desert goddess Aeia for the weather so common in late Spring.
Finally, the General called him over into the shade of the wall. His face was as bland and unreadable as it had been all afternoon.
“Come back for the Summer Solstice celebrations in a month’s time,” he said, folding up the paper and slipping it in his pocket.
Kael blinked. “So I’m in?”
There was that enigmatic smile again. “Hardly.” He sighed, as though explaining something to a small child. “Fifty are admitted each year. I have seen upwards of one hundred boys already this Spring, and another hundred more to come. The Summer Solstice is when we announce the new training squad.”
“Don’t s’pose ye could give me an idea how I stack against the others ye’ve seen?”
The General pushed himself away from the wall. “Leave the same way you came in,” he said over his shoulder, then left.
Chapter~ 1687
Total~ 5125
Time~ 3hrs, 8mins (I HATE grinding chapters Xx)
Total~ 7hrs, 35mins
no subject
Date: 2004-11-02 04:09 pm (UTC)am loving Kael and his "poliet" cockyness =P
no subject
Date: 2004-11-02 08:27 pm (UTC)