Blade Archer ~ Five
Nov. 6th, 2004 02:01 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 heatwave continued the next morning when Kael’s mother woke him. The sun had not yet appeared on the horizon, and still the air wavered dangerously, blurring the distinction between orange-red desert and scorching blue sky, warning the Raykinians that the present heat would only worsen as the day grew longer.
As did most of the people in the city on such nights, he and his family had slept on the flat-topped roof of their house, usually reserved for cooking. Despite the tiny windows in the house, the stuffy heat of the day still managed to seep in, and there was no way to flush it out at night, especially when the heatwave wasn’t accompanied by any sort of a refreshing breeze. The people who lived by the docks could at least dunk their blankets in the Ra-Lin to keep themselves cool overnight, but the southern districts were too far from the river for the journey to be worthwhile.
“Ye said they wanted ye at sunrise,” Kathani reminded him. “Grab a piece of fruit and be off with ye.”
Kael groaned as he pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes with the heel of one hand to rid them of sleep. His mother thrust a prickly pear fruit into his other hand and pushed a toe into the small of his back. “I’m going, I’m going,” the warrior-in-training grumbled, sliding bleary-eyed down the ladder. He hadn’t bothered to change clothes last night, and still wore his new, violet army shirt.
Something hit him on the back of his head as his feet touched earth. He turned and glared back up at his mother, who promptly dropped his other sandal. “Might come in handy,” she grinned.
Kael grunted something of a reply before slipping his feet into the sandals and traipsing off to the palace’s back entrance.
The guards there were obviously surprised to see someone approaching from the lower end of town, but they allowed him entrance, with an escort, of course.
“Does ye act as escort for every man, woman or child who comes into this place?” Kael demanded of the guard.
The burly man grinned darkly. “Only those who pose a threat.”
Kael slanted him a glance, but said nothing.
The guard led him to the nearest of the five buildings that made up the army barracks, where about half of the fifty boys who had been selected yesterday were waiting. Some were talking in hushed voices, most rested against the wall, anticipating the heat of the day that was to come.
Kael leant his back against the wall by the door, not bothering to sit down. The other boys drifted in over the following minutes. One of them, a skinny, wimpy-looking boy with shaggy, unkempt hair and a lilac shirt, stood beside Kael.
“We finally made it,” he sighed wistfully.
Kael grunted a reply. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation at the best of times, let alone in the morning.
“My name’s Mathyn,” the boy informed him.
“Kael,” he replied, hoping Mathyn would take the hint. Talking created heat, and Kael wanted to savour as much of the morning ‘relief’ as possible.
It worked, until Kael caught him peering at his right wrist.
“What?” he demanded, making the boy jump.
Mathyn flicked his eyes guiltily back at the scars. “Are those scars the same as I imagine them to be?”
“That might depend on what yer reckoning is, now, wouldn’t it?”
The boy blinked, obviously not expecting Kael’s southern districts’ accent and dialect. “You’re a thief,” he accused.
“Thank ye for that,” Kael replied dryly, “I never would’ve guessed it meself.”
At that moment, a tall, well-muscled man with entered the room. A white scar ran along his left jawbone and stood out from the short black hair of his beard.
“Morning, gentlemen,” he said, grinning broadly. The boys all grouped in front of him, some more reluctantly than others.
“You can all take a seat; I’ll be talking a while. I’m Ulan, and I’ll be teaching you fine young gentlemen the art of hand-to-hand combat, simply because I was never much good at anything else. Your other weapons masters will all have spent some time in the Own and will think themselves mighty high because of it, but I can tell you now, I can best the four of them did they not hold a weapon in their hands.”
Kael gave a wry grin. He liked this man; he knew the Queen’s Own for what they were.
“Ordinarily I would have you up and practicing a few stances and moves today, but to be perfectly honest, I really could not be bothered. Aeia’s dealing us with a might of a heatwave, if you haven’t yet noticed. It’s too hot for me to demonstrate anything, and hence, it’s too hot for you to perform them. I believe that sounds reasonably fair. So instead we’re going to talk.”
Kael rested his back against the wall, knees drawn up and wrists wrested on them, preparing himself for another day of doing nothing.
“I’ll introduce myself a little better first, then each of you boys can do the same for yourselves.”
Ulan was forty-one and had served as a pikeman in the army until three years ago when he decided he’d rather stick with his greater passion of weaponless-combat. He’d signed up for the army, like so many others, in the hopes of being part of the Own, but had given up hope on that when he had literally scraped through the examinations by the skin of his teeth.
“I got the lowest passable score for every weapon bar the dagger, which hardly makes a difference since it’s not a division of the army anyway.” He laughed ruefully, then began calling out names from his list.
The boys were all so similar. Sons of merchants, brothers of men in the First Company, sons of healers, sons of men who owned the largest farms in Ni-Yana, brothers of men who had trained with Prince Mithé… Five of the boys had been to the jousting tournament held in the eastern kingdom of Llayad earlier that winter. Three had been to the tropical regions of Kazin in the north. One had apparently met the king and queen of Tsayth, the white desert kingdom that lay south of Llayad. He said he didn’t believe them to actually be the king and queen—they weren’t dressed regally enough.
Kael was almost physically sick by the time his name was called out. The whole thing was merely an exhibition of wealth.
“I’d really rather not.” He could hear murmurs among the boys, though whether they were discussing the fact that he wouldn’t introduce himself or whether the topic of conversation was his uncultured accent, he couldn’t know. Or care, for that matter.
“Come on, Kael,” Ulan encouraged, “We’re all friends here.”
Kael stared incredulously at him. “We won’t be if ye wants me to spill me life at ye.” He raised his eyebrows: a silent ‘See?’ in response to the snickering that had broken out.
The weapons master shrugged, glaring at the sniggering boys at his feet. “Do you not wish to set the record straight? Dispel the rumours we’ve all heard of the lower city?”
Kael sighed resolutely, but didn’t bother to stand up. Instead, he stuck the back of his right wrist in the air, making certain his hand was in a fist rather than flat. Such a rude gesture would not be taken well.
The scars shone white against his olive skin, easily visible to everyone in the room. Faces showed a variety of expressions; smugness, shock, disbelief, curiosity… Kael was even annoyed to spot one or two looks of pity directed at the three lines on his wrist.
“First person to mention I need one more before I start losing me fingers, I take my blade to his fingers.” He dropped his hand back to his knee and raised his eyebrows questioningly at the weapons master. “Explain enough?”
Ulan, whose face had shown no hint of his thoughts, grinned sardonically. “You haven’t yet said a word, Kael.”
“Aeia,” the boy sighed, thumping the back of his head against the wall and staring at the ceiling. “Yes, the scars are exactly what ye thinks they are, and if the police’d had their way, I probably wouldn’t have any digits left for them to cut off. I’ve got a mother, older brother, older sister, no father. He was a fisherman, but he got killed about five years ago.” He snorted darkly. “Course, we were told he’d drowned in a boating accident, but we know he was killed.”
He rolled his head forward again to query the weapons master. “Didn’t do too good a job of dispelling them rumours, did I?”
Ulan cocked an eyebrow. “Pathetic job,” he agreed, but there was humour in his voice.
Kael imagined nobody much listened to the other stories the boys told. Glances were constantly cast in his direction, most of which Kael could read quite clearly.
‘You don’t belong here, street rat.’
~ ~ ~
Chapter~ 1517
Total~ 8567
Time~ 1hr 57mins
Total~ 11hrs, 23mins
As did most of the people in the city on such nights, he and his family had slept on the flat-topped roof of their house, usually reserved for cooking. Despite the tiny windows in the house, the stuffy heat of the day still managed to seep in, and there was no way to flush it out at night, especially when the heatwave wasn’t accompanied by any sort of a refreshing breeze. The people who lived by the docks could at least dunk their blankets in the Ra-Lin to keep themselves cool overnight, but the southern districts were too far from the river for the journey to be worthwhile.
“Ye said they wanted ye at sunrise,” Kathani reminded him. “Grab a piece of fruit and be off with ye.”
Kael groaned as he pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes with the heel of one hand to rid them of sleep. His mother thrust a prickly pear fruit into his other hand and pushed a toe into the small of his back. “I’m going, I’m going,” the warrior-in-training grumbled, sliding bleary-eyed down the ladder. He hadn’t bothered to change clothes last night, and still wore his new, violet army shirt.
Something hit him on the back of his head as his feet touched earth. He turned and glared back up at his mother, who promptly dropped his other sandal. “Might come in handy,” she grinned.
Kael grunted something of a reply before slipping his feet into the sandals and traipsing off to the palace’s back entrance.
The guards there were obviously surprised to see someone approaching from the lower end of town, but they allowed him entrance, with an escort, of course.
“Does ye act as escort for every man, woman or child who comes into this place?” Kael demanded of the guard.
The burly man grinned darkly. “Only those who pose a threat.”
Kael slanted him a glance, but said nothing.
The guard led him to the nearest of the five buildings that made up the army barracks, where about half of the fifty boys who had been selected yesterday were waiting. Some were talking in hushed voices, most rested against the wall, anticipating the heat of the day that was to come.
Kael leant his back against the wall by the door, not bothering to sit down. The other boys drifted in over the following minutes. One of them, a skinny, wimpy-looking boy with shaggy, unkempt hair and a lilac shirt, stood beside Kael.
“We finally made it,” he sighed wistfully.
Kael grunted a reply. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation at the best of times, let alone in the morning.
“My name’s Mathyn,” the boy informed him.
“Kael,” he replied, hoping Mathyn would take the hint. Talking created heat, and Kael wanted to savour as much of the morning ‘relief’ as possible.
It worked, until Kael caught him peering at his right wrist.
“What?” he demanded, making the boy jump.
Mathyn flicked his eyes guiltily back at the scars. “Are those scars the same as I imagine them to be?”
“That might depend on what yer reckoning is, now, wouldn’t it?”
The boy blinked, obviously not expecting Kael’s southern districts’ accent and dialect. “You’re a thief,” he accused.
“Thank ye for that,” Kael replied dryly, “I never would’ve guessed it meself.”
At that moment, a tall, well-muscled man with entered the room. A white scar ran along his left jawbone and stood out from the short black hair of his beard.
“Morning, gentlemen,” he said, grinning broadly. The boys all grouped in front of him, some more reluctantly than others.
“You can all take a seat; I’ll be talking a while. I’m Ulan, and I’ll be teaching you fine young gentlemen the art of hand-to-hand combat, simply because I was never much good at anything else. Your other weapons masters will all have spent some time in the Own and will think themselves mighty high because of it, but I can tell you now, I can best the four of them did they not hold a weapon in their hands.”
Kael gave a wry grin. He liked this man; he knew the Queen’s Own for what they were.
“Ordinarily I would have you up and practicing a few stances and moves today, but to be perfectly honest, I really could not be bothered. Aeia’s dealing us with a might of a heatwave, if you haven’t yet noticed. It’s too hot for me to demonstrate anything, and hence, it’s too hot for you to perform them. I believe that sounds reasonably fair. So instead we’re going to talk.”
Kael rested his back against the wall, knees drawn up and wrists wrested on them, preparing himself for another day of doing nothing.
“I’ll introduce myself a little better first, then each of you boys can do the same for yourselves.”
Ulan was forty-one and had served as a pikeman in the army until three years ago when he decided he’d rather stick with his greater passion of weaponless-combat. He’d signed up for the army, like so many others, in the hopes of being part of the Own, but had given up hope on that when he had literally scraped through the examinations by the skin of his teeth.
“I got the lowest passable score for every weapon bar the dagger, which hardly makes a difference since it’s not a division of the army anyway.” He laughed ruefully, then began calling out names from his list.
The boys were all so similar. Sons of merchants, brothers of men in the First Company, sons of healers, sons of men who owned the largest farms in Ni-Yana, brothers of men who had trained with Prince Mithé… Five of the boys had been to the jousting tournament held in the eastern kingdom of Llayad earlier that winter. Three had been to the tropical regions of Kazin in the north. One had apparently met the king and queen of Tsayth, the white desert kingdom that lay south of Llayad. He said he didn’t believe them to actually be the king and queen—they weren’t dressed regally enough.
Kael was almost physically sick by the time his name was called out. The whole thing was merely an exhibition of wealth.
“I’d really rather not.” He could hear murmurs among the boys, though whether they were discussing the fact that he wouldn’t introduce himself or whether the topic of conversation was his uncultured accent, he couldn’t know. Or care, for that matter.
“Come on, Kael,” Ulan encouraged, “We’re all friends here.”
Kael stared incredulously at him. “We won’t be if ye wants me to spill me life at ye.” He raised his eyebrows: a silent ‘See?’ in response to the snickering that had broken out.
The weapons master shrugged, glaring at the sniggering boys at his feet. “Do you not wish to set the record straight? Dispel the rumours we’ve all heard of the lower city?”
Kael sighed resolutely, but didn’t bother to stand up. Instead, he stuck the back of his right wrist in the air, making certain his hand was in a fist rather than flat. Such a rude gesture would not be taken well.
The scars shone white against his olive skin, easily visible to everyone in the room. Faces showed a variety of expressions; smugness, shock, disbelief, curiosity… Kael was even annoyed to spot one or two looks of pity directed at the three lines on his wrist.
“First person to mention I need one more before I start losing me fingers, I take my blade to his fingers.” He dropped his hand back to his knee and raised his eyebrows questioningly at the weapons master. “Explain enough?”
Ulan, whose face had shown no hint of his thoughts, grinned sardonically. “You haven’t yet said a word, Kael.”
“Aeia,” the boy sighed, thumping the back of his head against the wall and staring at the ceiling. “Yes, the scars are exactly what ye thinks they are, and if the police’d had their way, I probably wouldn’t have any digits left for them to cut off. I’ve got a mother, older brother, older sister, no father. He was a fisherman, but he got killed about five years ago.” He snorted darkly. “Course, we were told he’d drowned in a boating accident, but we know he was killed.”
He rolled his head forward again to query the weapons master. “Didn’t do too good a job of dispelling them rumours, did I?”
Ulan cocked an eyebrow. “Pathetic job,” he agreed, but there was humour in his voice.
Kael imagined nobody much listened to the other stories the boys told. Glances were constantly cast in his direction, most of which Kael could read quite clearly.
‘You don’t belong here, street rat.’
Chapter~ 1517
Total~ 8567
Time~ 1hr 57mins
Total~ 11hrs, 23mins
no subject
Date: 2004-11-05 07:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-05 07:50 am (UTC)I like 'im too, he's fun to write X3
no subject
Date: 2004-11-07 04:29 pm (UTC)chapters are too short~
no subject
Date: 2004-11-07 09:28 pm (UTC)...Ish. I'm behind a day >>;; *gets on with that*