Janiva stepped quietly around the corner and into the larger room beyond.
It had once been a hall of some sort, she decided. The floor was smooth and level, and the ceiling, though natural stone, was supported with columns and butresses. There were carvings everywhere, but she didn't stop to look at them. Her attention was drawn by the sound of voice, louder now, from the far end of the hall.
She released her spell and let the light over her head fade away. There was light at the far end of the hall, and she didn't want to call attention to herself. Here in the darkness under the ground, even the softest light became bright and glaring. At least the floor was bare; there wouldn't be anything to trip on.
Janiva started across the hall, circling towards the light. She kept her steps as soft as she could, and tried to use the pillars for cover. They were solid stone, and wide enough for two people to hide behind; but there was also a lot of open space between them. So she walked slowly and carefully, and all the while the voices grew louder.
They were definitely voices, though she didn't understand what they were saying.
She was halfway across when he heard a soft gasp, and turned to see a white, glowing face regarding her with wide, dark eyes. Janiva flinched back, and in that moment the face vanished around a pillar. It had been a child's face, she thought. At least, it was low to the floor, and had the soft roundness that would define an Imperial child's face.
Ste stepped forward, and saw a glowing shape retreating back through the pillars. It was running, but the movement was completely silent. A ghost? ...No. Despite the way it looked, it couldn't be a ghost. She would have felt it as it approached: the growing fear, the sense of profound cold, of life and magic draining away. However strange it might look, this was a living being...
...And it was running back to its friends. Janiva could see them, now; she'd come forward far enough. They were all of a kind: white skin, glowing from the inside; wide, dark eyes; soft hair of white, or pale gold, or the lightest gray. They were built along the same lines as Imperial men and women - or shimmers, or the beast-men of the great forest, for that matter: two arms, two legs, a single head with eyes and mouth and nose where she expected to find them. They were different sizes; Janiva suspected she'd found a group of children of various ages, though it might have been some sort of family group, with the largest two being the parents. She couldn't be sure.
They'd been gathered around some sort of square on the ground. They sprang up as she approached, still jabbering in their unfamiliar tongue, and three of them darted away through a nearby doorway. Their movements, like the little one's, were completely silent.
Before she could even lift a hand in greeting, the largest one scooped up the little girl and the remaining four retreated as well.
Janiva swore softly (using a word that wasn't at all fit for the lady she might become, but found a very great deal of use among the guards and soldiers with whom she'd been training), and turned back to find Cyjar and Morius.
Showing posts with label The Hunter Prince. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Hunter Prince. Show all posts
Monday, May 12, 2014
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
The Hunter Prince: Emergency Blades
Janiva walked calmly up the passage, then slowed. She heard... something. Ahead of her, or behind? She couldn't tell. She glanced back, and saw only Cyjar and Morius; Cyjar had created a light for them,
She glanced back, and saw Cyjar still standing beside Morius. Cyjar had conjured a soft light, like the one she was using, so that they could still see while she went ahead. Morius had moved over to lean against the wall, favoring his still-mostly-broken leg.
...That had been a bad moment. They'd been exploring the hall behind the steel door, when the floor had swayed and given way under their feet. Cyjar had crashed into a crossbeam, and Janiva had fallen on top of him; it had been enough to interrupt their fall, leaving them bruised and battered, but intact. Morius had been behind them when the ramp gave way; he'd fallen straight down to the stone floor. It had all happened in darkness, too: the shock of falling had caused them to release the spells they'd been using for light...
"Do you have a weapon?" asked Janiva, looking from Cyjar to Morius and back again. She was whispering, in case whatever she had heard could hear them as well; her feet had carried her back, even as her memory relived that horrible fall.
Morius shook his head, but Cyjar straightened and reached for his belt.
At fourteen, Janiva was taller than either of her friends. As the daughter of High Lord of the Western Marches, she was training for knighthood. It was necessary, if she ever wanted to inherit her father's title; but she would have done it anyway, for sheer love of the fighting arts. The only reason that she wasn't wearing a blade already was that she hadn't worn one to dinner, and she and Cyjar had followed Morius down here immediately after leaving the meal.
She wasn't surprised that Cyjar might have a weapon. He was the Crown Prince, and he trained with the Crown's Own just as she did. Morius had some training at arms, but his was oriented towards civilian concerns: self-defense and dueling. His line held a mid-sized lordship over a collection of eastern counties, with several large cities and two of the largest trade routes into the capital. Their concerns were focused on politics and economics, rather than battle and survival.
A year or so earlier, Cyjar had taken to wearing a set of leather pouches on his belt. He'd never said anything about them, and Janiva had never thought to ask. Now, as the prince twisted the leather strip free of the button and pulled the hardened leather cover up, she saw what was inside: the soft, golden glow of a containing-crystal. It dissolved in Cyjar's hand, spilling out into sparkling golden mist and leaving behind a set of blades. Cyjar fumbled and held on to two of them; beside him, Morius reached out and deftly caught the one that Cyjar had started to drop.
They were a matched set, Cyjar's favorites: the ones with the wolves' heads on the guards. Janiva reached out and put her hand on the hilt of the longsword. "May I?" she asked, suddenly aware that Cyjar was trusting them with one of his secrets.
He nodded, and his dark hair swayed with the movement. "Take it." He glanced at Morius, who was still holding the dagger. "Why don't you hang onto that one?"
Morius nodded, and arranged the dagger on his belt. Cyjar, following his example, hung the shortsword from his own belt.
Janiva took a moment to examine the longsword; it was a good blade, long enough to offer some reach, but not too long to be used with one hand. The hilt had been designed to work in either one hand or two; it was no wonder Cyjar liked it. If she was going to scout ahead, into an open area with something in it, she wanted to be holding a blade... and this one would do nicely. "Stay here," she said. "And, Morius?"
He looked at her.
"Quit whining."
As she walked away, she heard him whisper, "I didn't say anything!"
She glanced back, and saw Cyjar still standing beside Morius. Cyjar had conjured a soft light, like the one she was using, so that they could still see while she went ahead. Morius had moved over to lean against the wall, favoring his still-mostly-broken leg.
...That had been a bad moment. They'd been exploring the hall behind the steel door, when the floor had swayed and given way under their feet. Cyjar had crashed into a crossbeam, and Janiva had fallen on top of him; it had been enough to interrupt their fall, leaving them bruised and battered, but intact. Morius had been behind them when the ramp gave way; he'd fallen straight down to the stone floor. It had all happened in darkness, too: the shock of falling had caused them to release the spells they'd been using for light...
"Do you have a weapon?" asked Janiva, looking from Cyjar to Morius and back again. She was whispering, in case whatever she had heard could hear them as well; her feet had carried her back, even as her memory relived that horrible fall.
Morius shook his head, but Cyjar straightened and reached for his belt.
At fourteen, Janiva was taller than either of her friends. As the daughter of High Lord of the Western Marches, she was training for knighthood. It was necessary, if she ever wanted to inherit her father's title; but she would have done it anyway, for sheer love of the fighting arts. The only reason that she wasn't wearing a blade already was that she hadn't worn one to dinner, and she and Cyjar had followed Morius down here immediately after leaving the meal.
She wasn't surprised that Cyjar might have a weapon. He was the Crown Prince, and he trained with the Crown's Own just as she did. Morius had some training at arms, but his was oriented towards civilian concerns: self-defense and dueling. His line held a mid-sized lordship over a collection of eastern counties, with several large cities and two of the largest trade routes into the capital. Their concerns were focused on politics and economics, rather than battle and survival.
A year or so earlier, Cyjar had taken to wearing a set of leather pouches on his belt. He'd never said anything about them, and Janiva had never thought to ask. Now, as the prince twisted the leather strip free of the button and pulled the hardened leather cover up, she saw what was inside: the soft, golden glow of a containing-crystal. It dissolved in Cyjar's hand, spilling out into sparkling golden mist and leaving behind a set of blades. Cyjar fumbled and held on to two of them; beside him, Morius reached out and deftly caught the one that Cyjar had started to drop.
They were a matched set, Cyjar's favorites: the ones with the wolves' heads on the guards. Janiva reached out and put her hand on the hilt of the longsword. "May I?" she asked, suddenly aware that Cyjar was trusting them with one of his secrets.
He nodded, and his dark hair swayed with the movement. "Take it." He glanced at Morius, who was still holding the dagger. "Why don't you hang onto that one?"
Morius nodded, and arranged the dagger on his belt. Cyjar, following his example, hung the shortsword from his own belt.
Janiva took a moment to examine the longsword; it was a good blade, long enough to offer some reach, but not too long to be used with one hand. The hilt had been designed to work in either one hand or two; it was no wonder Cyjar liked it. If she was going to scout ahead, into an open area with something in it, she wanted to be holding a blade... and this one would do nicely. "Stay here," she said. "And, Morius?"
He looked at her.
"Quit whining."
As she walked away, she heard him whisper, "I didn't say anything!"
Friday, April 25, 2014
The Hunter Prince: Down In The Tunnel
So, I'm starting this episode over again. It's not that I didn't like the earlier bits, it's just that they were starting to A) get off-track, and B) become very long. Which meant they were delaying the interesting sections that I really wanted to get to writing. I'm fixing that by skipping over most what I've written already, like so:
"Explain to me again why you thought this would be a good idea," said Janiva, brushing a hand along the damp stone wall as she walked.
"It wasn't my fault," protested Morius, who was limping along with one arm on Cyjar's shoulder for support. "I just wanted to see what was behind the big metal door."
"So now we're stuck in this... cave. Tunnel. Whatever it is." Janiva sounded slightly disgusted. She was walking ahead of the two boys, and it was her spell that was providing the faint glow of light above their heads.
"Both, I think," put in Cyjar.
"Whatever," Janiva repeated. "Nobody knows we're down here, and we can't get back up."
"I didn't know the ramp would collapse," muttered Morius. "I didn't even know it was a ramp. I thought it was flooring. Who would build a wooden ramp to connect the wine cellar with a cave?"
"Somebody a long time ago," said Cyjar. "That wood was old, and I don't think that door has been opened in a long, long time."
"You're just lucky that the Armsmaster set me to study battlefield healing," said Janiva, then stopped.
Cyjar stopped behind her, but couldn't see what she might be looking at. The rough stone of the walls, floor, and ceiling faded into the darkness ahead of them.
Morius took advantage of the pause to bend down and massage his leg. "About that... Maybe you should study some healing healing. It would be kind of nice if you knew how to actually heal my leg, instead of just holding it together long enough to finish a battle..." Janiva turned back to say something, but Morius continued: "It's better than leaving it completely broken. It just hurts."
Janiva quirked her lips, then turned back to look down the tunnel. "It looks like it opens up ahead of us. You two stay here." She paused, then looked back at Morius. "...And quit whining."
"Explain to me again why you thought this would be a good idea," said Janiva, brushing a hand along the damp stone wall as she walked.
"It wasn't my fault," protested Morius, who was limping along with one arm on Cyjar's shoulder for support. "I just wanted to see what was behind the big metal door."
"So now we're stuck in this... cave. Tunnel. Whatever it is." Janiva sounded slightly disgusted. She was walking ahead of the two boys, and it was her spell that was providing the faint glow of light above their heads.
"Both, I think," put in Cyjar.
"Whatever," Janiva repeated. "Nobody knows we're down here, and we can't get back up."
"I didn't know the ramp would collapse," muttered Morius. "I didn't even know it was a ramp. I thought it was flooring. Who would build a wooden ramp to connect the wine cellar with a cave?"
"Somebody a long time ago," said Cyjar. "That wood was old, and I don't think that door has been opened in a long, long time."
"You're just lucky that the Armsmaster set me to study battlefield healing," said Janiva, then stopped.
Cyjar stopped behind her, but couldn't see what she might be looking at. The rough stone of the walls, floor, and ceiling faded into the darkness ahead of them.
Morius took advantage of the pause to bend down and massage his leg. "About that... Maybe you should study some healing healing. It would be kind of nice if you knew how to actually heal my leg, instead of just holding it together long enough to finish a battle..." Janiva turned back to say something, but Morius continued: "It's better than leaving it completely broken. It just hurts."
Janiva quirked her lips, then turned back to look down the tunnel. "It looks like it opens up ahead of us. You two stay here." She paused, then looked back at Morius. "...And quit whining."
Thursday, April 3, 2014
The Hunter Prince: The Impossible Climb
Janiva tested the wall for five full minutes before she gave up. She tried different places for her hands and feet; she leaned back to see if she could reach the far wall. She tried the other wall, went up a few feet, then slipped back down. Cyjar, watching quietly, nodded his head: it was too steep, and the stone was just damp enough to be slippery. After a moment, Janiva placed her hands on the heavy wooden beams that braced the remaining stairs. There was a crossbeam just above her reach, and she gathered herself to jump for it.
"Don't," said Morius. "With a section missing from the middle, those stairs are even more likely to collapse than they were when we were walking on them. The whole top section could tear loose, and drop you right back down here. That's ignoring--" he coughed, "--the likelihood that it, and you, would land directly on top of us."
Janiva frowned at Morius for a moment. Then her expression softened. "I suppose you're right," she said. She eyed the wood thoughtfully. "If we set it on fire, would the smoke bring help?"
Cyjar touched a beam. "It's pretty damp. That might mean a lot of smoke... if we can get it to burn at all." He looked down at Morius. "Would the smoke go through the door? Or past it?"
"I don't know," said Morius. "The door's heavy, but I think some smoke would go around the edges. It might not be enough, unless someone happened to be standing in the wine cellar. And we might be very uncomfortable while it was burning."
"Then we either wait here," said Janiva, "or we move away before we set the stairs on fire." She looked out to the edge of the magical light that Cyjar had summoned. They had fallen through the middle of the stairs, leaving a tall section behind them and a lower section blocking the way between them and whatever passageway the stairs were supposed to lead to. "Someone will come looking for us."
"We should wait," said Cyjar. "If nobody comes, we can rest - and then heal Morius' leg."
Janiva scowled. "I'd rest better with a blanket."
"Oh!" Cyjar fumbled at his belt, then opened a hard leather pouch. Reaching in with his his fingertips, he pulled out a containing-crystal. He examined it briefly, then tapped it with one finger.
The crystal dissolved, and a set of blankets blossomed in its place.
"I was thinking about the hunt," Cyjar said, apologetically. "I forgot I had them with me."
Janiva took a blanket off the pile, and spread it over Morius. "What else do you have?"
Cyjar hesitated. "Food and water, a sword. Arrows and bowstrings, but no bow."
Morius chuckled. "I thought I was the sneaky one. Well... rest if you can. I'd like to be healed."
"You two should rest," said Cyjar. "I'll listen, in case anyone comes looking for us."
"Don't," said Morius. "With a section missing from the middle, those stairs are even more likely to collapse than they were when we were walking on them. The whole top section could tear loose, and drop you right back down here. That's ignoring--" he coughed, "--the likelihood that it, and you, would land directly on top of us."
Janiva frowned at Morius for a moment. Then her expression softened. "I suppose you're right," she said. She eyed the wood thoughtfully. "If we set it on fire, would the smoke bring help?"
Cyjar touched a beam. "It's pretty damp. That might mean a lot of smoke... if we can get it to burn at all." He looked down at Morius. "Would the smoke go through the door? Or past it?"
"I don't know," said Morius. "The door's heavy, but I think some smoke would go around the edges. It might not be enough, unless someone happened to be standing in the wine cellar. And we might be very uncomfortable while it was burning."
"Then we either wait here," said Janiva, "or we move away before we set the stairs on fire." She looked out to the edge of the magical light that Cyjar had summoned. They had fallen through the middle of the stairs, leaving a tall section behind them and a lower section blocking the way between them and whatever passageway the stairs were supposed to lead to. "Someone will come looking for us."
"We should wait," said Cyjar. "If nobody comes, we can rest - and then heal Morius' leg."
Janiva scowled. "I'd rest better with a blanket."
"Oh!" Cyjar fumbled at his belt, then opened a hard leather pouch. Reaching in with his his fingertips, he pulled out a containing-crystal. He examined it briefly, then tapped it with one finger.
The crystal dissolved, and a set of blankets blossomed in its place.
"I was thinking about the hunt," Cyjar said, apologetically. "I forgot I had them with me."
Janiva took a blanket off the pile, and spread it over Morius. "What else do you have?"
Cyjar hesitated. "Food and water, a sword. Arrows and bowstrings, but no bow."
Morius chuckled. "I thought I was the sneaky one. Well... rest if you can. I'd like to be healed."
"You two should rest," said Cyjar. "I'll listen, in case anyone comes looking for us."
Thursday, March 27, 2014
The Hunter Prince: The Difficulty With Wounds
Morius was still breathing at the end of their attempts at healing; that was probably the best that could be said for it. They had wanted to lay him down, so he wouldn't move while his flesh was closing; instead, the change of position had hurt him even more. Cyjar had intended to withdraw the wood, so it wouldn't be in the way while Janiva's magic was trying to heal him; instead, the wood turned out to be holding back a river of blood, and it had taken all the magic Cyjar could muster to hold it back. It had been exhausting, since he had no particular skill to use for that; he'd done it with nothing but power and will, and by the time Janiva had closed that wound, Cyjar's whole body was shaking with exertion. Straightening the leg hadn't been so hard, but by then Janiva was too tired to finish the work.
They'd splinted the leg, using broken wood and bits of Cyjar's vest that they cut into strips. Morius was breathing more evenly, and more deeply, so Cyjar had tried calling for help.
He hadn't expected anyone to answer, so he wasn't disappointed when nobody did.
"Wait," said Janiva. "Somebody will come looking for us. If we're quiet, we can call when we hear them."
"We won't hear them," said Morius, sounding bleary. Then he drew a ragged breath. "I closed the door behind us, so we wouldn't be caught. They won't hear us, either."
Janiva and Cyjar exchanged a glance.
A moment later Morius asked, "How badly am I hurt?"
"Not as bad as before," said Cyjar, "but your leg's still broken."
"...And you two?"
"Battered," said Janiva, "but intact."
"Then I didn't get you both killed. Good." Morius paused to draw another ragged breath. "I would have felt bad about that."
"So would we," answered Cyjar, and Janiva chuckled.
Morius sniffed. "So what do we do now?"
"There are three of us," said Janiva. "You're injured, so one of us should stay with you, and the other one should go for help." She turned to look at Cyjar, who nodded.
"You have more reach," he said. "Can you climb back up?"
Janiva offered a small, determined smile. "I can try."
They'd splinted the leg, using broken wood and bits of Cyjar's vest that they cut into strips. Morius was breathing more evenly, and more deeply, so Cyjar had tried calling for help.
He hadn't expected anyone to answer, so he wasn't disappointed when nobody did.
"Wait," said Janiva. "Somebody will come looking for us. If we're quiet, we can call when we hear them."
"We won't hear them," said Morius, sounding bleary. Then he drew a ragged breath. "I closed the door behind us, so we wouldn't be caught. They won't hear us, either."
Janiva and Cyjar exchanged a glance.
A moment later Morius asked, "How badly am I hurt?"
"Not as bad as before," said Cyjar, "but your leg's still broken."
"...And you two?"
"Battered," said Janiva, "but intact."
"Then I didn't get you both killed. Good." Morius paused to draw another ragged breath. "I would have felt bad about that."
"So would we," answered Cyjar, and Janiva chuckled.
Morius sniffed. "So what do we do now?"
"There are three of us," said Janiva. "You're injured, so one of us should stay with you, and the other one should go for help." She turned to look at Cyjar, who nodded.
"You have more reach," he said. "Can you climb back up?"
Janiva offered a small, determined smile. "I can try."
Thursday, March 20, 2014
The Hunter Prince: The Fallen Stair
Pain and shock gave way to the awareness that someone was shaking him by the shoulders. "Cyjar? Cyjar?"
He opened his eyes, saw nothing but darkness, and squeezed them shut again. When he opened them a moment later, he still couldn't see anything. Someone, Janiva, was still calling his name: "Cyjar?"
He coughed. "I'm intact," he said, though he wasn't sure about that at all. His leg hurt; so did his belly. Still, he didn't hurt as much as he thought he should have... and there was the faint, lingering sense (not quite a smell, not quite a glow) of magic hanging over him. "Where's Morius?"
"I'm not sure," said Janiva. Cyjar could see her now: a black shape, her outline surrounded by a faint gray. It's the light from the door at the top of the stairs, he realized.
She let go of his shoulders, and Cyjar sat up. He'd been lying on his back, he realized, which meant that Janiva had probably rolled him over. He was pretty sure he'd landed with his face down, and the remnants of bruises on his elbows and knees seemed to support that memory.
He took a deep breath, then another. Forcing himself to concentrate, he shaped the words to call light. He even added the ritual gestures, though the court wizard had put them through enough drills that he ought to be able to call light without even the words. After a fall like that, Cyjar felt that he needed all the help he could find.
The darkness gave way to gloom, then slowly brightened. They were lying on a flat strip of stone, at the bottom of a crevasse that seemed half natural and half carved. Broken beams of various lengths were scattered around them. The stairs had obviously been built to connect the wine cellar to these deeper passages, but Cyjar couldn't remember ever hearing anything about tunnels under the keep: not lessons, not rumors, not even stories.
"There," said Janiva, and Cyjar turned his head to see Morius slumped back against the wall, with his right leg twisted in a way that no leg should ever bend, and a chunk of wood pressed up against his ribs, just under his left shoulder. His eyes were wide and dark, and he was breathing in quick, shallow gasps; his skin, usually quite pale, was now an almost deathly white.
She scrambled away from Cyjar, and stood beside Morius. Cyjar took a moment to count all the pains in his body, then took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet. He took a careful step, then another, and found that he could walk passably well. He wasn't completely healed, but he was well enough to move.
Janiva was looking over Morius. After a moment she turned back to Cyjar. "His leg is broken," she said, "and he's in shock. I don't know how deep that piece of wood went, but we'll have to get it out of his ribs."
Cyjar nodded. Now that she said it, he could recognize the signs. He couldn't remember where he'd learned them, but at this moment it didn't matter. "Can you work the healing?"
"Maybe," said Janiva. "Yes, if we can straighten the leg. Better, if we can can get all the wood out of his chest."
Cyjar drew a breath and tried to find his strength. "Yes. Let's try to lay him down, and I'll pull the wood. Then we can straighten the leg, and you can work the healing."
Janiva nodded. "Tell me when you're ready."
He opened his eyes, saw nothing but darkness, and squeezed them shut again. When he opened them a moment later, he still couldn't see anything. Someone, Janiva, was still calling his name: "Cyjar?"
He coughed. "I'm intact," he said, though he wasn't sure about that at all. His leg hurt; so did his belly. Still, he didn't hurt as much as he thought he should have... and there was the faint, lingering sense (not quite a smell, not quite a glow) of magic hanging over him. "Where's Morius?"
"I'm not sure," said Janiva. Cyjar could see her now: a black shape, her outline surrounded by a faint gray. It's the light from the door at the top of the stairs, he realized.
She let go of his shoulders, and Cyjar sat up. He'd been lying on his back, he realized, which meant that Janiva had probably rolled him over. He was pretty sure he'd landed with his face down, and the remnants of bruises on his elbows and knees seemed to support that memory.
He took a deep breath, then another. Forcing himself to concentrate, he shaped the words to call light. He even added the ritual gestures, though the court wizard had put them through enough drills that he ought to be able to call light without even the words. After a fall like that, Cyjar felt that he needed all the help he could find.
The darkness gave way to gloom, then slowly brightened. They were lying on a flat strip of stone, at the bottom of a crevasse that seemed half natural and half carved. Broken beams of various lengths were scattered around them. The stairs had obviously been built to connect the wine cellar to these deeper passages, but Cyjar couldn't remember ever hearing anything about tunnels under the keep: not lessons, not rumors, not even stories.
"There," said Janiva, and Cyjar turned his head to see Morius slumped back against the wall, with his right leg twisted in a way that no leg should ever bend, and a chunk of wood pressed up against his ribs, just under his left shoulder. His eyes were wide and dark, and he was breathing in quick, shallow gasps; his skin, usually quite pale, was now an almost deathly white.
She scrambled away from Cyjar, and stood beside Morius. Cyjar took a moment to count all the pains in his body, then took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet. He took a careful step, then another, and found that he could walk passably well. He wasn't completely healed, but he was well enough to move.
Janiva was looking over Morius. After a moment she turned back to Cyjar. "His leg is broken," she said, "and he's in shock. I don't know how deep that piece of wood went, but we'll have to get it out of his ribs."
Cyjar nodded. Now that she said it, he could recognize the signs. He couldn't remember where he'd learned them, but at this moment it didn't matter. "Can you work the healing?"
"Maybe," said Janiva. "Yes, if we can straighten the leg. Better, if we can can get all the wood out of his chest."
Cyjar drew a breath and tried to find his strength. "Yes. Let's try to lay him down, and I'll pull the wood. Then we can straighten the leg, and you can work the healing."
Janiva nodded. "Tell me when you're ready."
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
The Hunter Prince: The Unbarred Door
"Did you take the bar off?" Cyjar looked at the metal door, then at the thick steel bar that was leaning in the corner beside it.
"No," said Morius. "It was like that when I found it. You can see there's still dust all over it."
Cyjar nodded. Janiva rubbed her nose, then asked: "And how in the world did you find it?"
"I was in the kitchen, getting a snack, when Jonquil came by."
"Jonquil?" asked Janiva.
"He's the wine steward," answered Morius, "but I didn't know that at the time. I was in the kitchen, trying to find a snack, and he came marching through with about six other servants behind him. He was wearing a serving coat, but one that very finely cut, and ones following him were almost as nicely dressed."
Cyjar nodded at that. He and his friends were too young for wine; the most they were permitted was a single cup of hard cider at the feasts. Jonquil, though... Cyjar had seen his father consult with the man about courtly dinners and visiting dignitaries, and not all of the discussion had centered on wines. Jonquil wasn't a spy, exactly, but as a high-ranking servant who came from a noble family, he carried some unique insights on events and politics.
"It seemed like a good test of my magic," said Morius, "so I followed them. They came down here, past the pantries and into the wine cellar. I stayed out of the way, and none of them saw me." Morius' voice held a touch of pride at that. "So I could have followed them back up, but as they were working I noticed this door."
"You stayed because of a door?" asked Janiva.
"I stayed because of this door," Morius replied. "Look at it. Why is it here at all? The kitchens are on the ground floor, just behind the Great hall. The pantries are below them, in chambers carved out of the bedrock. The wine cellars are further down; they're almost caves. Wines are expensive, so they should be kept dark and cool and safe... so why is there another door here? And why does it open on a staircase leading even further down?"
Cyjar stepped forward and pulled the door open. As Morius had said, there was a short passage and then more steps, leading down. "So why did you bring us here?" he asked.
Morius hesitated. "I was afraid to explore it alone."
Janiva snorted. "That's not cowardice," she said. "That's just sense." She looked a Cyjar. "Well? Should we have a look?"
Cyjar felt himself smile. "I'll play if you will," he said, half-challenging. Knowing already how Janiva would respond to that (she was the daughter of the High Lord of the Western Marches, and in training to become a knight as a prerequisite to her inheritance) he turned and stepped through the door. He muttered a quick spell as he walked, calling a small, glowing light to float above his head. He could hear Morius and Janiva behind him.
He'd gone down sixteen steps when his light flickered and went out. The steps were regular, so he kept walking; but as he voiced the words to call back the light, his left foot found empty air and he tumbled forward.
The passage continued for three short paces, then turned downward. Cyjar set his foot on the first step and heard it creak. "Wood," he said.
Behind him, Janiva said: "Old wood."
...But Cyjar had already started down.
The stairs went down a long way, and they creaked with every step: his, and his friend's. He had just caught sight of the bottom, where dusty wood gave way to smooth stone, when something gave way with a loud crack. He stopped immediately, but it was already too late: the stairs were shifting under his feet, twisting and sinking down. Cyjar shifted his balance, and in the process lost his hold on his spell; the air above his head went dark. He had a brief moment to realize that the stairs were too dark, that one of his friends must have fumbled his or her spell also.
Then the last of the wood gave way beneath his feet, the last of the light went with it, and he was falling into the dark.
For a moment, Cyjar felt nothing but cold, paralyzing fear. Then he slammed into something hard, which pressed into his gut and squeezed the air from his lungs. A moment later something crashed into him from behind (or above) and the surface beneath him swayed alarmingly. Then there was another crash, and nothing but the sense that everything was falling in the darkness.
"No," said Morius. "It was like that when I found it. You can see there's still dust all over it."
Cyjar nodded. Janiva rubbed her nose, then asked: "And how in the world did you find it?"
"I was in the kitchen, getting a snack, when Jonquil came by."
"Jonquil?" asked Janiva.
"He's the wine steward," answered Morius, "but I didn't know that at the time. I was in the kitchen, trying to find a snack, and he came marching through with about six other servants behind him. He was wearing a serving coat, but one that very finely cut, and ones following him were almost as nicely dressed."
Cyjar nodded at that. He and his friends were too young for wine; the most they were permitted was a single cup of hard cider at the feasts. Jonquil, though... Cyjar had seen his father consult with the man about courtly dinners and visiting dignitaries, and not all of the discussion had centered on wines. Jonquil wasn't a spy, exactly, but as a high-ranking servant who came from a noble family, he carried some unique insights on events and politics.
"It seemed like a good test of my magic," said Morius, "so I followed them. They came down here, past the pantries and into the wine cellar. I stayed out of the way, and none of them saw me." Morius' voice held a touch of pride at that. "So I could have followed them back up, but as they were working I noticed this door."
"You stayed because of a door?" asked Janiva.
"I stayed because of this door," Morius replied. "Look at it. Why is it here at all? The kitchens are on the ground floor, just behind the Great hall. The pantries are below them, in chambers carved out of the bedrock. The wine cellars are further down; they're almost caves. Wines are expensive, so they should be kept dark and cool and safe... so why is there another door here? And why does it open on a staircase leading even further down?"
Cyjar stepped forward and pulled the door open. As Morius had said, there was a short passage and then more steps, leading down. "So why did you bring us here?" he asked.
Morius hesitated. "I was afraid to explore it alone."
Janiva snorted. "That's not cowardice," she said. "That's just sense." She looked a Cyjar. "Well? Should we have a look?"
Cyjar felt himself smile. "I'll play if you will," he said, half-challenging. Knowing already how Janiva would respond to that (she was the daughter of the High Lord of the Western Marches, and in training to become a knight as a prerequisite to her inheritance) he turned and stepped through the door. He muttered a quick spell as he walked, calling a small, glowing light to float above his head. He could hear Morius and Janiva behind him.
The passage continued for three short paces, then turned downward. Cyjar set his foot on the first step and heard it creak. "Wood," he said.
Behind him, Janiva said: "Old wood."
...But Cyjar had already started down.
The stairs went down a long way, and they creaked with every step: his, and his friend's. He had just caught sight of the bottom, where dusty wood gave way to smooth stone, when something gave way with a loud crack. He stopped immediately, but it was already too late: the stairs were shifting under his feet, twisting and sinking down. Cyjar shifted his balance, and in the process lost his hold on his spell; the air above his head went dark. He had a brief moment to realize that the stairs were too dark, that one of his friends must have fumbled his or her spell also.
Then the last of the wood gave way beneath his feet, the last of the light went with it, and he was falling into the dark.
For a moment, Cyjar felt nothing but cold, paralyzing fear. Then he slammed into something hard, which pressed into his gut and squeezed the air from his lungs. A moment later something crashed into him from behind (or above) and the surface beneath him swayed alarmingly. Then there was another crash, and nothing but the sense that everything was falling in the darkness.
Monday, March 3, 2014
The Hunter Prince: An Invisible Friend
Cyjar was on his way to dinner when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, but nobody was there. A ghost? Puzzled, he started walking again. Three strides later, someone tapped his shoulder - this time on the other side. He stopped and took a careful look around.
This hallway ran along the outer wall of the central keep, so there was light from the arrow slits along the left-hand wall in addition to the glow-glasses in their sconces. Glow-glass was created by enchanting regular glass, so it could be made in any shape. In this area of the castle, the glow-glasses had been shaped to resemble flames, and they lined the hall at regular intervals. There was no shortage of light here, and no place for anyone to hide.
There was also nobody else anywhere nearby.
After a moment Caijar shrugged and started walking again. This time, when he felt the touch on his shoulder, he reversed directions and swept his arm out in a wide circle. He felt his fingers brush across something (it felt like cloth) and heard a sudden intake of breath.
A moment later Morius was standing beside him.
Cyjar took a quick step back, raising his arms to a fighting position. Morius wasn't going to attack him, so he didn't really need to defend himself; but having someone appear out of empty air beside him was startling enough that it took a moment for the recognition of his friend to catch up with Cyjar's initial, startled response. As soon as it did, he put his arms back down.
Morius looked apologetic. "I'm sorry," he said. "I've been studying illusions, and the best way to practice is to try them out on people who aren't expecting them."
"Well," said Cyjar, adopting a tone of careful judgement that sounded as much like their teacher, Master Barigil, as he could manage. "I trust you've learned a valuable lesson about the effectiveness of illusion magics: they work far better if you don't go around touching people when you're trying to remain unseen."
Morius grinned. "A valuable lesson indeed. I shall mark it down in my notes, alongside the one that says, 'Never be late for dinner'."
Exasperated, Cyjar asked: "Well, whose fault is that?"
"Not mine," said Morius. "Not if we hurry."
This hallway ran along the outer wall of the central keep, so there was light from the arrow slits along the left-hand wall in addition to the glow-glasses in their sconces. Glow-glass was created by enchanting regular glass, so it could be made in any shape. In this area of the castle, the glow-glasses had been shaped to resemble flames, and they lined the hall at regular intervals. There was no shortage of light here, and no place for anyone to hide.
There was also nobody else anywhere nearby.
After a moment Caijar shrugged and started walking again. This time, when he felt the touch on his shoulder, he reversed directions and swept his arm out in a wide circle. He felt his fingers brush across something (it felt like cloth) and heard a sudden intake of breath.
A moment later Morius was standing beside him.
Cyjar took a quick step back, raising his arms to a fighting position. Morius wasn't going to attack him, so he didn't really need to defend himself; but having someone appear out of empty air beside him was startling enough that it took a moment for the recognition of his friend to catch up with Cyjar's initial, startled response. As soon as it did, he put his arms back down.
Morius looked apologetic. "I'm sorry," he said. "I've been studying illusions, and the best way to practice is to try them out on people who aren't expecting them."
"Well," said Cyjar, adopting a tone of careful judgement that sounded as much like their teacher, Master Barigil, as he could manage. "I trust you've learned a valuable lesson about the effectiveness of illusion magics: they work far better if you don't go around touching people when you're trying to remain unseen."
Morius grinned. "A valuable lesson indeed. I shall mark it down in my notes, alongside the one that says, 'Never be late for dinner'."
Exasperated, Cyjar asked: "Well, whose fault is that?"
"Not mine," said Morius. "Not if we hurry."
Monday, February 24, 2014
The Hunter Prince: Crystal Resolutions
The Queen's Garden was on the north end of the castle, tucked into the corner between the Keep and the high outer wall. It was a place where gravel paths wound gently through beds of flowers, or turned off to secluded resting-areas shaded by chaba-trees and siv-vines. In the spring, both trees and vines added their flowers to the cultivated arrangements below; summer began, by tradition, when the flowers of the trees and vines fell away, to drift to the ground like brightly-colored snow.
Cyjar was lying on a stone bench in one of those enclosures. Siv-vines wound through a set of trellises all around and overhead, offering plenty of shade but still letting in the late-summer breeze. The small, red-brown siv-fruits were almost ripe; he'd eaten a couple of the redder ones already, fresh from the vine.
The book was another history, an account of the Accord of Ironthorn that had united the people of the empire with the people of the hills. His father had suggested that he read it, since in a few weeks Cyjar would go to join the hill people on their great summer hunt. It was interesting stuff, even if it had all happened two hundred years ago. One to the princes, second-prince Biltrop, had been given charge of the western outliers - a group of farming settlements that had grown up against the edge of the great forest where the hill people lived, at a time when the hill people were raiding heavily. Biltrop had begun trying to strengthen the outliers' defenses, before eventually realizing that the outliers were plundering the great forest every bit as much as hill people were raiding the towns. With that knowledge, he had taken a small force and gone to find the Forest King...
Cyjar was so caught up in his reading that, while he heard the footsteps on the gravel path, at first he didn't realize they were coming towards him. He looked up to see his cousin Seshil standing hesitantly at the entrance of the resting-area. He marked his place and closed the book, then greeted his cousin: "Seshil."
"Cyjar." Seshil hesitated, then came and sat on a nearby bench. "I wanted to talk to you."
Cyjar looked at him. They were close to the same age, and close to the same size: they both had inherited the trim, compact build common to the royal bloodline. "It's strange to see you without Dabin," he said.
Seshil chuckled. "I suppose it would be." He drew a breath. "Did you ever have something that seemed like a clever idea, something far too fun not to do... and then, looking back, realize that it was incredibly stupid and could easily have turned into a disaster?"
Cyjar considered that. There'd been a few things, after all. Once he'd gotten into the candied chaba-fruits, and eaten enough to make himself sick; once he'd decided that it would be fun to try sleeping in the stables, and awakened to the panicked sounds of guards and servants searching for him. None of that was really important, though. Seshil wouldn't be asking the question if he hadn't done something himself. And he wouldn't be asking Cyjar unless whatever he'd done had been directed at Cyjar. So while Seshil hadn't said, "I'm sorry I left a grabby-monster in your room, I shouldn't have done that," this was still a confession of sorts.
"Was it your idea, or Dabin's?" Cyjar asked quietly.
"I'm not sure," Seshil said. "A little of both, I think. That it was possible, that was my idea. Dabin was the one who thought we should really do it, though."
Cyjar frowned, turning that over in his mind. "Easy for him to say," he told Seshil. "He isn't studying with Magister Hollint. He wouldn't have to face the consequences if you were caught."
"I realize that," Seshil said, suddenly angry.
"Do you?" Cyjar pressed gently. "It's always been like this, with the two of you. You come up with these ideas, and Dabin presses you to go through with them... and lets you get in trouble for them. Dabin might not have come up with it on his own..."
"I don't know," Seshil interrupted. His anger had melted away and he suddenly looked thoughtful. "He left a Spineback in my boot when I was seven. I didn't know until I put it on. It burned, and my foot swelled... they had to cut the boot off, and the healer said I nearly lost two of my toes."
Cyjar looked appalled. "Perhaps he could have come up with it on his own, then. But you wouldn't have gone through with it if it wasn't for him. You need to stop listening to him so much." He reached down to his belt, and untied a small pouch that hung there. "Here." He tossed the pouch to Seshil.
Seshil caught the pouch and opened it, looking at the soft glow of the golden containing-crystal inside. "Thank you," he said simply.
"I haven't said anything, and I don't think anyone's checked the inventory in the King's Menagerie, so you should be able to put it back with nobody the wiser. But, Seshil... what I said a moment ago? I meant that. You and Dabin together are trouble, and sooner or later it's going to get you into trouble. Either stop listening to him, or rein him in, or... or something. He's your brother; I dont know. But think about it."
Seshil drew a deep breath. "I'll think about it. And, Cyjar? Thanks."
Cyjar was lying on a stone bench in one of those enclosures. Siv-vines wound through a set of trellises all around and overhead, offering plenty of shade but still letting in the late-summer breeze. The small, red-brown siv-fruits were almost ripe; he'd eaten a couple of the redder ones already, fresh from the vine.
The book was another history, an account of the Accord of Ironthorn that had united the people of the empire with the people of the hills. His father had suggested that he read it, since in a few weeks Cyjar would go to join the hill people on their great summer hunt. It was interesting stuff, even if it had all happened two hundred years ago. One to the princes, second-prince Biltrop, had been given charge of the western outliers - a group of farming settlements that had grown up against the edge of the great forest where the hill people lived, at a time when the hill people were raiding heavily. Biltrop had begun trying to strengthen the outliers' defenses, before eventually realizing that the outliers were plundering the great forest every bit as much as hill people were raiding the towns. With that knowledge, he had taken a small force and gone to find the Forest King...
Cyjar was so caught up in his reading that, while he heard the footsteps on the gravel path, at first he didn't realize they were coming towards him. He looked up to see his cousin Seshil standing hesitantly at the entrance of the resting-area. He marked his place and closed the book, then greeted his cousin: "Seshil."
"Cyjar." Seshil hesitated, then came and sat on a nearby bench. "I wanted to talk to you."
Cyjar looked at him. They were close to the same age, and close to the same size: they both had inherited the trim, compact build common to the royal bloodline. "It's strange to see you without Dabin," he said.
Seshil chuckled. "I suppose it would be." He drew a breath. "Did you ever have something that seemed like a clever idea, something far too fun not to do... and then, looking back, realize that it was incredibly stupid and could easily have turned into a disaster?"
Cyjar considered that. There'd been a few things, after all. Once he'd gotten into the candied chaba-fruits, and eaten enough to make himself sick; once he'd decided that it would be fun to try sleeping in the stables, and awakened to the panicked sounds of guards and servants searching for him. None of that was really important, though. Seshil wouldn't be asking the question if he hadn't done something himself. And he wouldn't be asking Cyjar unless whatever he'd done had been directed at Cyjar. So while Seshil hadn't said, "I'm sorry I left a grabby-monster in your room, I shouldn't have done that," this was still a confession of sorts.
"Was it your idea, or Dabin's?" Cyjar asked quietly.
"I'm not sure," Seshil said. "A little of both, I think. That it was possible, that was my idea. Dabin was the one who thought we should really do it, though."
Cyjar frowned, turning that over in his mind. "Easy for him to say," he told Seshil. "He isn't studying with Magister Hollint. He wouldn't have to face the consequences if you were caught."
"I realize that," Seshil said, suddenly angry.
"Do you?" Cyjar pressed gently. "It's always been like this, with the two of you. You come up with these ideas, and Dabin presses you to go through with them... and lets you get in trouble for them. Dabin might not have come up with it on his own..."
"I don't know," Seshil interrupted. His anger had melted away and he suddenly looked thoughtful. "He left a Spineback in my boot when I was seven. I didn't know until I put it on. It burned, and my foot swelled... they had to cut the boot off, and the healer said I nearly lost two of my toes."
Cyjar looked appalled. "Perhaps he could have come up with it on his own, then. But you wouldn't have gone through with it if it wasn't for him. You need to stop listening to him so much." He reached down to his belt, and untied a small pouch that hung there. "Here." He tossed the pouch to Seshil.
Seshil caught the pouch and opened it, looking at the soft glow of the golden containing-crystal inside. "Thank you," he said simply.
"I haven't said anything, and I don't think anyone's checked the inventory in the King's Menagerie, so you should be able to put it back with nobody the wiser. But, Seshil... what I said a moment ago? I meant that. You and Dabin together are trouble, and sooner or later it's going to get you into trouble. Either stop listening to him, or rein him in, or... or something. He's your brother; I dont know. But think about it."
Seshil drew a deep breath. "I'll think about it. And, Cyjar? Thanks."
Monday, January 13, 2014
The Hunter Prince: Containing-Crystals
Magister Hollint, who was responsible for the King's Menagerie, was an enormously fat man. He had the skin of the peoples of the western islands, dark brown with undertones that were almost gray, and enormous black eyebrows that emphasized the baldness of his head. He rose gracefully when Cyjar entered his office, seeming almost to float rather than to move. "My prince," he said , and offered a broad smile. "What brings you here? As you can see, you've caught me at my breakfast."
Cyjar would have expected an enormous plate of food: sausages and vegetable rolls, cooked eggs and pastries, fruits and sauces. Instead what he saw was a small plate, holding a single roll, two shimmer-berries, and a modest slice of meat. It was less than Cyjar would have eaten himself (had he been sitting to his own breakfast, instead of making a visit to the menagerie this morning). "I wanted to ask you a question or two," he said.
"I am at your service," said Magister Hollint, still standing behind his simple wooden desk.
Realizing, belatedly, that the man was waiting on him, Cyjar said, "Please, sit. Eat." The Keeper of the Menagerie was treating him as the crown prince, rather than a thirteen-year-old boy. Cyjar was more used to people who treated him as a boy in need of teaching, watching, and discipline - who saw him more as a child, and less as a prince. "This isn't urgent."
"Thank you, my prince." Magister Hollint drifted back down into his chair. "What is it you wish to know?"
Cyjar took the second chair, a simple wooden one that was placed in front of the desk. "I'd like to know more about the beasts that you store here: where they come from; how they're stored; how they're released. Things like that."
Magister Hollint swallowed a bite of his meat, and smiled. "You need help with your lessons?" he asked. "Or are you thinking of becoming a conjuror, like your cousin?"
...Like my cousin? Cyjar wondered. He took a moment to turn that over in his mind. "I didn't know Dabin had taken up conjuring," he said, puzzled.
"Dabin?" asked Magister Hollint. "No, not the older one. It was Seshil who came to me and asked to learn. He is a good pupil: talented, studious."
Cyjar thought quickly. If Seshil was studying under Magister Hollint, then he was almost certainly the source of the grabby-monster. It might even have been his own idea; Dabin and Seshil did everything together, and it was often hard to tell which of them was leading and which, following. Either way, though, it was almost certainly something the two of them had come up with, and not a part of any larger intrigue.
Should he tell Magister Hollint? Cyjar didn't want to, for the same reason that he hadn't called for the guards, or said anything about it to the wizard. He wanted to deal with this himself. He needed a better plan.
"Ah," he said, to cover his moment of thought. "No, I'm not ready to take up conjuring. What I wanted to know about was the spells for the containing-crystals. I have something I'd like to store in one of them."
"They are simple enough," said Magister Hollint, and took a bite of his roll. When he'd finished chewing, he added: "I have time this morning, if you wish."
Cyjar shook his head. "I'm due in the hall for blade practice this morning. Could I find you here this evening?"
"The pleasure is mine, my prince," said the Keeper of the Menagerie.
Cyjar would have expected an enormous plate of food: sausages and vegetable rolls, cooked eggs and pastries, fruits and sauces. Instead what he saw was a small plate, holding a single roll, two shimmer-berries, and a modest slice of meat. It was less than Cyjar would have eaten himself (had he been sitting to his own breakfast, instead of making a visit to the menagerie this morning). "I wanted to ask you a question or two," he said.
"I am at your service," said Magister Hollint, still standing behind his simple wooden desk.
Realizing, belatedly, that the man was waiting on him, Cyjar said, "Please, sit. Eat." The Keeper of the Menagerie was treating him as the crown prince, rather than a thirteen-year-old boy. Cyjar was more used to people who treated him as a boy in need of teaching, watching, and discipline - who saw him more as a child, and less as a prince. "This isn't urgent."
"Thank you, my prince." Magister Hollint drifted back down into his chair. "What is it you wish to know?"
Cyjar took the second chair, a simple wooden one that was placed in front of the desk. "I'd like to know more about the beasts that you store here: where they come from; how they're stored; how they're released. Things like that."
Magister Hollint swallowed a bite of his meat, and smiled. "You need help with your lessons?" he asked. "Or are you thinking of becoming a conjuror, like your cousin?"
...Like my cousin? Cyjar wondered. He took a moment to turn that over in his mind. "I didn't know Dabin had taken up conjuring," he said, puzzled.
"Dabin?" asked Magister Hollint. "No, not the older one. It was Seshil who came to me and asked to learn. He is a good pupil: talented, studious."
Cyjar thought quickly. If Seshil was studying under Magister Hollint, then he was almost certainly the source of the grabby-monster. It might even have been his own idea; Dabin and Seshil did everything together, and it was often hard to tell which of them was leading and which, following. Either way, though, it was almost certainly something the two of them had come up with, and not a part of any larger intrigue.
Should he tell Magister Hollint? Cyjar didn't want to, for the same reason that he hadn't called for the guards, or said anything about it to the wizard. He wanted to deal with this himself. He needed a better plan.
"Ah," he said, to cover his moment of thought. "No, I'm not ready to take up conjuring. What I wanted to know about was the spells for the containing-crystals. I have something I'd like to store in one of them."
"They are simple enough," said Magister Hollint, and took a bite of his roll. When he'd finished chewing, he added: "I have time this morning, if you wish."
Cyjar shook his head. "I'm due in the hall for blade practice this morning. Could I find you here this evening?"
"The pleasure is mine, my prince," said the Keeper of the Menagerie.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
The Hunter Prince: The King's Menagerie
The King's Menagerie occupied a sprawling courtyard on the west side of the castle. Caijar had visited the public exhibits many time when he was younger; as a boy, he'd enjoyed looked at the plants and animals, many of them from distant lands. His favorites were the fluff-bears, whose fur was so thick that it served as a kind of armor. They were large and fairly sociable animals, and lived in family groups. Some of the tribes of small near-men in the western hills of Dartland were said to have trained them for riding. Caijar had always wanted to ride one, but his parents had forbidden it. Now he was almost too big to try it.
The King's menagerie was much more than just the animals in their little courts, though. The larger building on the far end, where the keeper had his office, was a veritable library of plants and animals. Some were common and some were rare; some were local and others were exotic; some were natural, while many were conjured. They were kept in golden containing-crystals which protected them from the passage of time and held them ready for any need that might arise.
It was only in the last year that Caijar had realized just how important the King's Menagerie was to the kingdom's military. A conjuror on the battlefield could summon three or four fighting-beasts, at most. A conjuror whose beasts were were already held in keeping-crystals could command dozens, even hundreds. And that, as his mother had noted, left aside the importance of the seed crops that were also stored here in case of famine, plague, or some other disaster.
Saisha had been absolutely right. The wizard said the grabby-monster couldn't have been conjured. Caijar supposed that it could have been smuggled into the castle unnoticed, but that seemed very difficult, if not impossible. No, the only place for someone living in the castle to obtain one of the beasts was here, in the King's Menagerie.
The King's menagerie was much more than just the animals in their little courts, though. The larger building on the far end, where the keeper had his office, was a veritable library of plants and animals. Some were common and some were rare; some were local and others were exotic; some were natural, while many were conjured. They were kept in golden containing-crystals which protected them from the passage of time and held them ready for any need that might arise.
It was only in the last year that Caijar had realized just how important the King's Menagerie was to the kingdom's military. A conjuror on the battlefield could summon three or four fighting-beasts, at most. A conjuror whose beasts were were already held in keeping-crystals could command dozens, even hundreds. And that, as his mother had noted, left aside the importance of the seed crops that were also stored here in case of famine, plague, or some other disaster.
Saisha had been absolutely right. The wizard said the grabby-monster couldn't have been conjured. Caijar supposed that it could have been smuggled into the castle unnoticed, but that seemed very difficult, if not impossible. No, the only place for someone living in the castle to obtain one of the beasts was here, in the King's Menagerie.
Monday, January 6, 2014
The Hunter Prince: A Chest Full Of Grabby-Monster (Version 2)
Caijar returned to his room before dinner. It was quiet, and Caijar wondered if the grabby-monster was still alive. The chest where he'd trapped it had only a single keyhole for air, after all. He carefully unlocked the chest, and slowly lifted the lid...
It jumped at him.
Caijar had been half-expecting it to attack, so instead of wrapping itself around his torso, it ran head-first into his fist. A moment later it dropped back into the chest, thrashing angrily. "Stop that," Caijar snapped.
The beast went still.
"That's better," he said. He wasn't sure if he was talking to the grabby-monster, or to himself. "Well... You lasted this long. You can stay in there until I puzzle out something better."
He tucked a couple of stray tentacles into the chest and closed it again. Then he sighed, and stood. It was going to be a busy evening, and he was already tired, bruised, and sore from laughing.
He was halfway to the door when someone knocked on it.
Caijar opened the door to find Saisha standing outside. "Janiva and I were going to take our dinner out to the western wall. Are you coming? I think Morius was planning to join us."
Caijar hesitated, but only for a moment. The hallway was empty, and Saisha was a good person to ask. He motioned for her to step inside.
She followed him in and closed the door behind her. She looked around the room, then settled her attention on him.
Caijar drew himself up, in deliberate imitation of Lord Jasrad. "As your prince," he intoned solemnly, "I must require you to speak of this to no one. What you are about to hear is a matter of utmost secrecy."
Saisha giggled, and Caijar grinned. Lord Jasrad might consider himself the very incarnation of dignity and decorum, but everyone else considered the man a pompous windbag. Then Caijar nodded at the chest. "Someone left a grabby-monster in my room."
"Oh," said Saisha, and then fell silent.
Caijar waited. He knew she would do her thinking first, and her speaking afterward.
"...So that's why you were late," she said.
Caijar nodded. "I went to talk to the wizard. He told me it couldn't have been conjured here, and that it wouldn't have come here on its own."
Saisha blinked. "Does he know it's here?"
Caijar shook his head. "No. He seemed to think that someone had been scaring me with stories."
Saisha nodded silently; he could almost see her fitting that piece of information into the rest of the puzzle. "So how...?" She stopped, blinked again, and nodded sharply. "You should check the King's Menagerie."
It took Caijar a moment to get the measure of that idea, though he knew from the way Saisha said it that she was probably right. Then he nodded. "I will." Then he started for the door. "Dinner first, though?"
Saisha raised an eyebrow. "Eating is more important than finding out who put the grabby-monster in your room?"
"Not exactly," he said, as they stepped into the hall. "I was hoping that if pretended like nothing had happened, whoever did it would get curious, or maybe worried. After all, if the grabby-monster somehow got out of my room before I got there..."
There was a brief pause: Saisha was thinking, again. "I like that," she said at last. "It's simple, and it might actually work."
It jumped at him.
Caijar had been half-expecting it to attack, so instead of wrapping itself around his torso, it ran head-first into his fist. A moment later it dropped back into the chest, thrashing angrily. "Stop that," Caijar snapped.
The beast went still.
"That's better," he said. He wasn't sure if he was talking to the grabby-monster, or to himself. "Well... You lasted this long. You can stay in there until I puzzle out something better."
He tucked a couple of stray tentacles into the chest and closed it again. Then he sighed, and stood. It was going to be a busy evening, and he was already tired, bruised, and sore from laughing.
He was halfway to the door when someone knocked on it.
Caijar opened the door to find Saisha standing outside. "Janiva and I were going to take our dinner out to the western wall. Are you coming? I think Morius was planning to join us."
Caijar hesitated, but only for a moment. The hallway was empty, and Saisha was a good person to ask. He motioned for her to step inside.
She followed him in and closed the door behind her. She looked around the room, then settled her attention on him.
Caijar drew himself up, in deliberate imitation of Lord Jasrad. "As your prince," he intoned solemnly, "I must require you to speak of this to no one. What you are about to hear is a matter of utmost secrecy."
Saisha giggled, and Caijar grinned. Lord Jasrad might consider himself the very incarnation of dignity and decorum, but everyone else considered the man a pompous windbag. Then Caijar nodded at the chest. "Someone left a grabby-monster in my room."
"Oh," said Saisha, and then fell silent.
Caijar waited. He knew she would do her thinking first, and her speaking afterward.
"...So that's why you were late," she said.
Caijar nodded. "I went to talk to the wizard. He told me it couldn't have been conjured here, and that it wouldn't have come here on its own."
Saisha blinked. "Does he know it's here?"
Caijar shook his head. "No. He seemed to think that someone had been scaring me with stories."
Saisha nodded silently; he could almost see her fitting that piece of information into the rest of the puzzle. "So how...?" She stopped, blinked again, and nodded sharply. "You should check the King's Menagerie."
It took Caijar a moment to get the measure of that idea, though he knew from the way Saisha said it that she was probably right. Then he nodded. "I will." Then he started for the door. "Dinner first, though?"
Saisha raised an eyebrow. "Eating is more important than finding out who put the grabby-monster in your room?"
"Not exactly," he said, as they stepped into the hall. "I was hoping that if pretended like nothing had happened, whoever did it would get curious, or maybe worried. After all, if the grabby-monster somehow got out of my room before I got there..."
There was a brief pause: Saisha was thinking, again. "I like that," she said at last. "It's simple, and it might actually work."
Monday, December 30, 2013
Rethinking The Hunter Prince...
I have this thing I do when I'm writing. It's especially common when I'm just noodling my way through a story, with no particular goal in mind, but it happens even I have a pretty clear idea of where I want to go. Basically, my brain just throws a new story element into the mix, and then refuses to let go of it.
Case in point: the formal dinner in The Hunter Prince. It popped in at the end of "A Chest Full Of Grabby-Monster", because apparently my brain decided that writing an age-appropriate story for Firstborn about a prince trying to figure out what to do with the grabby-monster in his room... just wasn't complicated enough.
All right, I thought to myself. I can deal with this. I'll just work it in. So I bravely soldiered on, and set the scene with "Two Views of the Great Hall". So what was I setting the scene for...?
No idea. Absolutely none. I've played with a few, but none of them really work for me. (Probably the best of them was the idea of visiting noble's daughter, who enticed Caijar's cousin into putting the beast in the prince's room as "a prank" - but that places her as part of a larger conspiracy, which means mapping out backstories and motivations for both factions and individuals, and honestly I have neither the time nor the interest for all that. This was meant to be a collection of interrelated short stories, not a full-length fantasy novel. Sheesh.)
My general attitude to writing is to let the story lead, and the writing follow. That means, basically, letting the story play out in my head, and then figuring out how it all fits together, and putting it all into words. There's nothing wrong with that approach in itself, but... well... over the years it's become increasingly obvious that my imagination, when left to its own devices, is ambitious. Hugely ambitious. Wildly ambitious. Ambitious far beyond the scope of the resources I have available to actually, you know, finish my writing projects.
So while I agree with the idea of Following Your Intuition in principle, in practice I really need to learn when (and how!) to rein it in.
In this particular case, the whole formal dinner element was a colossal mistake. I should never have tried to include it. Trying to include has effectively caused the entire story to grind to lurching, ugly halt.
So it's coming out. That's the plan. It means going back and editing "A Chest Full Of Grabby-Monster" and essentially deleting "Two Views of the Great Hall" (though I may add that back in at some later point, in some other story). It's a bit of a pain, but it will also allow me to continue the story, and - dare I hope!? - perhaps even finish it someday.
Case in point: the formal dinner in The Hunter Prince. It popped in at the end of "A Chest Full Of Grabby-Monster", because apparently my brain decided that writing an age-appropriate story for Firstborn about a prince trying to figure out what to do with the grabby-monster in his room... just wasn't complicated enough.
All right, I thought to myself. I can deal with this. I'll just work it in. So I bravely soldiered on, and set the scene with "Two Views of the Great Hall". So what was I setting the scene for...?
No idea. Absolutely none. I've played with a few, but none of them really work for me. (Probably the best of them was the idea of visiting noble's daughter, who enticed Caijar's cousin into putting the beast in the prince's room as "a prank" - but that places her as part of a larger conspiracy, which means mapping out backstories and motivations for both factions and individuals, and honestly I have neither the time nor the interest for all that. This was meant to be a collection of interrelated short stories, not a full-length fantasy novel. Sheesh.)
My general attitude to writing is to let the story lead, and the writing follow. That means, basically, letting the story play out in my head, and then figuring out how it all fits together, and putting it all into words. There's nothing wrong with that approach in itself, but... well... over the years it's become increasingly obvious that my imagination, when left to its own devices, is ambitious. Hugely ambitious. Wildly ambitious. Ambitious far beyond the scope of the resources I have available to actually, you know, finish my writing projects.
So while I agree with the idea of Following Your Intuition in principle, in practice I really need to learn when (and how!) to rein it in.
In this particular case, the whole formal dinner element was a colossal mistake. I should never have tried to include it. Trying to include has effectively caused the entire story to grind to lurching, ugly halt.
So it's coming out. That's the plan. It means going back and editing "A Chest Full Of Grabby-Monster" and essentially deleting "Two Views of the Great Hall" (though I may add that back in at some later point, in some other story). It's a bit of a pain, but it will also allow me to continue the story, and - dare I hope!? - perhaps even finish it someday.
Friday, December 13, 2013
The Hunter Prince: Two Views of the Great Hall
This section won't be part of this story. I have, upon consideration, decided to remove it. It may yet make an appearance in some other story about Caijar and his friends, but for this story it's a distraction (and from a writer's perspective, therefore a roadblock as well).
The last time that Caijar had visited the great hall was a full season earlier, when Master Barigil had brought his students there. The great hall, he explained, was older than the rest of Castle Eldwark. Once it had been a hall unto itself, the last building standing amid the ruins of a fallen fortress-city. The castle had taken shape around it. In its earliest form, the castle was little more than a fort: a crude stone wall built from the stones of the older city, to hold back the beast-men of the hill tribes. The hall was the center of the fort, and the only stone building in the compound.
When Lord-General Edorn was banished to Castle Eldwark by order of the Immortal Imperor, he brought no only his soldiers and his serfs, but crafters and stonemasons as well. He established a new outer wall, marking the boundaries of a much larger town. Rather than tear down Eldwark Hall, he made it a part of his keep. The stone building, with its great double doors, became the great hall at the heart of the keep, where Edorn received petitions, entertained guests, and passed judgements.
By the time of the Great Death, when the Immortal Emperor was slain and the empire fractured, Eldwark had grown from a border keep into a massive, sprawling castle that covered the whole of the hilltop: well beyond the boundaries that Lord-General Edorn had marked for his town. The town, now a city, lay at the foot of the hill. It stood outside the castle walls, and was surrounded by a wall of its own. The beast-men of the hill tribes were no longer enemies; they were citizens, and they remained citizens of Eldwark even after the empire fell.
When they had come as students, the great hall had been dark and cold, empty and echoing. Even with a dozen servants bearing lamps, it was little better than a cave. It was easy to see it as something apart from the rest of the castle, something old and dark and private. Columns and arched ceiling aside, the room was basically a large rectangle, with the double doors at one end and the throne at the other.
Tonight, Caijar barely recognized it. The tall, heavy doors stood open, guardsmen posted like statues in front of them. The room inside was warm and bright and loud. Caijar stepped inside, and waited while the steward announced his arrival to a crowd of people who probably couldn't hear the man at all.
A single season, Caijar thought, and the contrast couldn't be more complete. The fireplaces had been filled and lit, one at the center of each long wall. Shimmers danced overhead, their small, graceful forms filling the room with soft light as they moved. Paintings had been hung, and busts and statues had been set in place along the walls and among the columns. Each had been carefully chosen for the occasion; Caijar knew that from talking to his mother. Over and around the toneless hum of conversation, he heard a soft, soothing tune: a group of musicians occupied one of the four balconies that overlooked the hall.
The crowd was not large; even counting the children, it numbered only fifty or so. The great hall could hold far more, and Caijar could remember several times when it had. Most were people, as Caijar knew the term: finely dressed, in the bright colors dictated by current fashion. Some were part of the court; others were visitors from other courts.
Still, there were others, and it was there that Caijar found his attention drawn. By the fireplace to his left, he saw a pair of the hill people, their fur carefully cleaned and in places braided, talking to the emissary of the Botarin, who had a well-known fascination with the not-people of Eldwark. To his right, and well away from the fires, stood one of the Deathless Ones of Farmont. It was easily indentified its dark gray robes and black veil, but if there had been any confusion the eye-cystal in its staff would have settled the matter.
"Do you plan to stand here all night?" asked Janiva, and Caijar realized that he'd been standing just inside the doors for several minutes.
"Of course not," he said, to cover his embarrassment. "At some point, there'll be food."
He looked back at the crowd, and saw that servants were moving among them, directing people towards the tables that had been set in front of the throne. "Now, I believe," he said, and stepped forward.
Janiva snorted and walked with him.
When Lord-General Edorn was banished to Castle Eldwark by order of the Immortal Imperor, he brought no only his soldiers and his serfs, but crafters and stonemasons as well. He established a new outer wall, marking the boundaries of a much larger town. Rather than tear down Eldwark Hall, he made it a part of his keep. The stone building, with its great double doors, became the great hall at the heart of the keep, where Edorn received petitions, entertained guests, and passed judgements.
By the time of the Great Death, when the Immortal Emperor was slain and the empire fractured, Eldwark had grown from a border keep into a massive, sprawling castle that covered the whole of the hilltop: well beyond the boundaries that Lord-General Edorn had marked for his town. The town, now a city, lay at the foot of the hill. It stood outside the castle walls, and was surrounded by a wall of its own. The beast-men of the hill tribes were no longer enemies; they were citizens, and they remained citizens of Eldwark even after the empire fell.
When they had come as students, the great hall had been dark and cold, empty and echoing. Even with a dozen servants bearing lamps, it was little better than a cave. It was easy to see it as something apart from the rest of the castle, something old and dark and private. Columns and arched ceiling aside, the room was basically a large rectangle, with the double doors at one end and the throne at the other.
Tonight, Caijar barely recognized it. The tall, heavy doors stood open, guardsmen posted like statues in front of them. The room inside was warm and bright and loud. Caijar stepped inside, and waited while the steward announced his arrival to a crowd of people who probably couldn't hear the man at all.
A single season, Caijar thought, and the contrast couldn't be more complete. The fireplaces had been filled and lit, one at the center of each long wall. Shimmers danced overhead, their small, graceful forms filling the room with soft light as they moved. Paintings had been hung, and busts and statues had been set in place along the walls and among the columns. Each had been carefully chosen for the occasion; Caijar knew that from talking to his mother. Over and around the toneless hum of conversation, he heard a soft, soothing tune: a group of musicians occupied one of the four balconies that overlooked the hall.
The crowd was not large; even counting the children, it numbered only fifty or so. The great hall could hold far more, and Caijar could remember several times when it had. Most were people, as Caijar knew the term: finely dressed, in the bright colors dictated by current fashion. Some were part of the court; others were visitors from other courts.
Still, there were others, and it was there that Caijar found his attention drawn. By the fireplace to his left, he saw a pair of the hill people, their fur carefully cleaned and in places braided, talking to the emissary of the Botarin, who had a well-known fascination with the not-people of Eldwark. To his right, and well away from the fires, stood one of the Deathless Ones of Farmont. It was easily indentified its dark gray robes and black veil, but if there had been any confusion the eye-cystal in its staff would have settled the matter.
"Do you plan to stand here all night?" asked Janiva, and Caijar realized that he'd been standing just inside the doors for several minutes.
"Of course not," he said, to cover his embarrassment. "At some point, there'll be food."
He looked back at the crowd, and saw that servants were moving among them, directing people towards the tables that had been set in front of the throne. "Now, I believe," he said, and stepped forward.
Janiva snorted and walked with him.
Monday, December 2, 2013
The Hunter Prince: A Chest Full Of Grabby-Monster
I'm revising this one, so while I'm going to leave the original here, I'm also going to cross out all the text. The new version can be found here.
Caijar returned to his room before dinner, and found that his valet had already come and gone. There was a fresh outfit waiting on the bed.
The room was quiet, and Caijar wondered if the grabby-monster was still alive. The chest where he'd trapped it had only a single keyhole for air, after all. He carefully unlocked the chest, and slowly lifted the lid...
It jumped at him.
Caijar had been half-expecting it to attack, so instead of wrapping itself around his torso, it ran head-first into his fist. A moment later it dropped back into the chest, thrashing angrily. "Stop that," Caijar snapped.
The beast went still.
"That's better," he said. He didn't think the grabby-monster was smart enough to understand his words. Apparently, though, it was smart enough that it could be trained... and this one had been. "Well... You lasted this long. You can stay in there until I puzzle out something better."
He tucked a couple of stray tentacles into the chest and closed it again. Then he sighed, and stood.
Usually, he ate with his friends in a small serving room near the kitchens, but tonight was a formal dinner. That meant dressing nicely and eating in the grand hall. It also meant that Saisha wouldn't be there, though Janiva and Morius would. His cousins, Dabin and Seshil, would be there too. They weren't much fun at the best of times, and Caijar had hoped to avoid them until he learned whether they'd had a hand in putting the grabby-monster in his room.
Unfortunately, there was no way to avoid a formal dinner. Caijar's mother insisted that he must be there for the sake of appearances, while his father considered such experiences "training in diplomacy". Neither of them would excuse him from the event.
So much for my evening, Caijar thought. The meal would run for at least two hours, and after that he had to write his description of the use of armor-statues for Master Barigil. He could write that from memory, so at least he wouldn't need to do research; but it would still take time. Finding something to do with the grabby-monster would have to wait.
The room was quiet, and Caijar wondered if the grabby-monster was still alive. The chest where he'd trapped it had only a single keyhole for air, after all. He carefully unlocked the chest, and slowly lifted the lid...
It jumped at him.
Caijar had been half-expecting it to attack, so instead of wrapping itself around his torso, it ran head-first into his fist. A moment later it dropped back into the chest, thrashing angrily. "Stop that," Caijar snapped.
The beast went still.
"That's better," he said. He didn't think the grabby-monster was smart enough to understand his words. Apparently, though, it was smart enough that it could be trained... and this one had been. "Well... You lasted this long. You can stay in there until I puzzle out something better."
He tucked a couple of stray tentacles into the chest and closed it again. Then he sighed, and stood.
Usually, he ate with his friends in a small serving room near the kitchens, but tonight was a formal dinner. That meant dressing nicely and eating in the grand hall. It also meant that Saisha wouldn't be there, though Janiva and Morius would. His cousins, Dabin and Seshil, would be there too. They weren't much fun at the best of times, and Caijar had hoped to avoid them until he learned whether they'd had a hand in putting the grabby-monster in his room.
Unfortunately, there was no way to avoid a formal dinner. Caijar's mother insisted that he must be there for the sake of appearances, while his father considered such experiences "training in diplomacy". Neither of them would excuse him from the event.
So much for my evening, Caijar thought. The meal would run for at least two hours, and after that he had to write his description of the use of armor-statues for Master Barigil. He could write that from memory, so at least he wouldn't need to do research; but it would still take time. Finding something to do with the grabby-monster would have to wait.
Monday, November 25, 2013
The Hunter Prince: Lessons
"Where were you?" asked Saisha, as they were rolling up their palimpsests and gathering their writing boards.
"The very question I came to ask," observed Master Barigil, standing over them.
"My apologies," said Caijar, looking up at his tutor.
Master Barigil was a tall, lean man, too muscular to fit the typical look of a scholar. He practiced with the King's Guard in the evenings sometimes, having made his name among them before retiring to teach the children of the Court. Rumor said that he was born of noble blood, but the details varied: sometimes he was a second or third son, unwanted and bereft of inheritance; sometimes he was the illegitimate child of some unknown lord. Caijar thought it very likely that the man was nothing more or less than he appeared.
"Did you have to see a healer?" asked Janiva. "I didn't..."
Janiva was the one who'd knocked Caijar off his horse in the morning's cavalry training. Though they were almost exactly the same age, she was taller than Caijar and at least as strong. She was training for knighthood, and she was serious about it.
"No," said Caijar. "I was only bruised. There was a mess at lunch, and then..." He shrugged, not wanting to tell them about the grabby-monster. "It was a day where one thing went wrong, and then another. I came as quickly as I could."
Master Barigil glanced at Saisha, who nodded. She was the teacher's daughter, which put her firmly at the intersection of two worlds: courtly, but not noble. She was quiet, but that had nothing to do with being shy or deferential. She was just... observant.
"Well," said Master Barigil, "It's clear you've done the reading, at least. I'll expect a written description of the use of armor-statues in the Third Southern Rebellion for tomorrow, and we'll say no more about it."
Caijar bowed his head. "I'll have it ready." From the corner of his eye, he saw his cousin Dabin throw a disdainful glance his way. Dabin was a year older, and disdainful of almost everything; the few things he did admire, he admired in a way that bordered on worship.
Master Barigil turned away, and Dabin departed with his younger brother Seshil trailing behind him. Caijar watched them go, and wondered if either or both of them had left the grabby-monster in his room. They would, he thought, if they could manage it. He just didn't believe that either of them could acquire the beast without help, let alone get it into the castle.
"The very question I came to ask," observed Master Barigil, standing over them.
"My apologies," said Caijar, looking up at his tutor.
Master Barigil was a tall, lean man, too muscular to fit the typical look of a scholar. He practiced with the King's Guard in the evenings sometimes, having made his name among them before retiring to teach the children of the Court. Rumor said that he was born of noble blood, but the details varied: sometimes he was a second or third son, unwanted and bereft of inheritance; sometimes he was the illegitimate child of some unknown lord. Caijar thought it very likely that the man was nothing more or less than he appeared.
"Did you have to see a healer?" asked Janiva. "I didn't..."
Janiva was the one who'd knocked Caijar off his horse in the morning's cavalry training. Though they were almost exactly the same age, she was taller than Caijar and at least as strong. She was training for knighthood, and she was serious about it.
"No," said Caijar. "I was only bruised. There was a mess at lunch, and then..." He shrugged, not wanting to tell them about the grabby-monster. "It was a day where one thing went wrong, and then another. I came as quickly as I could."
Master Barigil glanced at Saisha, who nodded. She was the teacher's daughter, which put her firmly at the intersection of two worlds: courtly, but not noble. She was quiet, but that had nothing to do with being shy or deferential. She was just... observant.
"Well," said Master Barigil, "It's clear you've done the reading, at least. I'll expect a written description of the use of armor-statues in the Third Southern Rebellion for tomorrow, and we'll say no more about it."
Caijar bowed his head. "I'll have it ready." From the corner of his eye, he saw his cousin Dabin throw a disdainful glance his way. Dabin was a year older, and disdainful of almost everything; the few things he did admire, he admired in a way that bordered on worship.
Master Barigil turned away, and Dabin departed with his younger brother Seshil trailing behind him. Caijar watched them go, and wondered if either or both of them had left the grabby-monster in his room. They would, he thought, if they could manage it. He just didn't believe that either of them could acquire the beast without help, let alone get it into the castle.
Monday, November 18, 2013
A Brief Dissertation Upon The Ghastly Subject Of Grabby-Monsters
"The grabby-monster," said the wizard, ponderously, "is a product of dark magic. It was first conjured into our world from the outer reaches of Nightmare, by a young man named Orbil Mithrump. According to the records, young Mithrump had grown tired of leaving frogs and snakes in his sister's bed, and wanted something that would really scare her. Nowadays, of course, they can be found in marshes and swamps. A few foolhardy souls even raise them as pets.
"Grabby-monsters do not breed as natural animals do, neither laying eggs nor giving birth to their young. Instead, once every six years, all their tentacles fall off and grow heads, becoming young grabby-monsters themselves." He paused. "What else...? They're predators, naturally. They tickle their prey until it can no longer breathe; their victims usually suffocate. Then, of course..." He trailed off, looking at Caijar. "Well, their eating habits are a nasty business."
Caijar nodded. "Could someone conjure one? Here, inside the castle?"
"Of course not!" The wizard's hand curled through his long, white beard. "Every stone in this place is woven through with protections. And a rift like that would not go unnoticed. Nor, for that matter, would a grabby-monster come here on its own: the beasts prefer isolated hunting grounds, where they can strike from hiding." He shook his head, sending waves through his fluffy mane of white hair. "Fear not, my prince. You're quite safe here."
Caijar nodded, though he wasn't really surprised. It was a plot. Of course it was a plot. Some days it seemed that everything that happened here was either part of a plot, or the result of one. His father had once remarked that if it weren't for plotting, the court would never accomplish anything at all.
He thought of the grabby-monster, still locked in the chest in his room. He hadn't told anyone about it; though he'd drawn the breath to do so, Caijar hadn't yelled for help. He was thirteen years old now, and that (as his father liked to remind him) was more than old enough to start solving his own problems.
Right now, though, he had more urgent concerns: he was late for his studies, and Master Barigil would not be pleased.
"Grabby-monsters do not breed as natural animals do, neither laying eggs nor giving birth to their young. Instead, once every six years, all their tentacles fall off and grow heads, becoming young grabby-monsters themselves." He paused. "What else...? They're predators, naturally. They tickle their prey until it can no longer breathe; their victims usually suffocate. Then, of course..." He trailed off, looking at Caijar. "Well, their eating habits are a nasty business."
Caijar nodded. "Could someone conjure one? Here, inside the castle?"
"Of course not!" The wizard's hand curled through his long, white beard. "Every stone in this place is woven through with protections. And a rift like that would not go unnoticed. Nor, for that matter, would a grabby-monster come here on its own: the beasts prefer isolated hunting grounds, where they can strike from hiding." He shook his head, sending waves through his fluffy mane of white hair. "Fear not, my prince. You're quite safe here."
Caijar nodded, though he wasn't really surprised. It was a plot. Of course it was a plot. Some days it seemed that everything that happened here was either part of a plot, or the result of one. His father had once remarked that if it weren't for plotting, the court would never accomplish anything at all.
He thought of the grabby-monster, still locked in the chest in his room. He hadn't told anyone about it; though he'd drawn the breath to do so, Caijar hadn't yelled for help. He was thirteen years old now, and that (as his father liked to remind him) was more than old enough to start solving his own problems.
Right now, though, he had more urgent concerns: he was late for his studies, and Master Barigil would not be pleased.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
A Story For Firstborn
I was going to explain how Wednesday kicked my butt, between the sinus headache, one or both of the cats peeing on the clean laundry, and the discovery that I was vastly more tired than I'd heretofore believed. It would have been a wonderfully depressing and self-indulgent post. However, as a small service to humanity in general and my readers in particular, I'm instead going to post a bit of fiction. Or a piece of a bit of fiction, anyway. I have no idea if this is shaping up into an actual story; it was something that I came up with at bedtime on Tuesday, when Firstborn was suggesting that we should stay in his room and tell stories, instead of reading quietly and falling asleep. That may have shaped the course of the narrative somewhat...
Once upon a time there was a prince named Caijar. Caijar was having a very bad day. In morning cavalry practice he fell off his horse. Then at lunch, the Jester slipped while juggling fifteen wooden balls, and one of the balls landed right in Caijar's soup. Soup splattered everywhere, but mostly on Caijar.
The servants brought towels, of course, but there were still bits of soup dripping from Caijar's hair as he opened the door to his room.
His valet should have been standing ready with fresh clothes for the prince. Instead, the room was empty. Caijar sighed and stepped into his room, then pulled the door closed behind him.
That was when the grabby-monster grabbed him.
Prince Caijar started to laugh. That was the worst part about being attacked by a grabby-monster: it didn't hurt, it tickled. Grabby-monsters made you laugh, so everybody would think you were having fun, and nobody would think you were being attacked.
The second-worst part was how it grabbed you. Grabby-monsters looked like big, flat snakes or worms, but they had rows of tentacles on both sides of their bodies. They wrapped all around you, and tried to pull you into a little ball so that you couldn't get away or call for help.
Caijar kept his arms out and grabbed for the tentacles, trying to pull the monster off him. When that didn't work, he used one hand to reach back and hit its head. When that didn't work, he used his other hand to push the tentacles away from his ribs and belly, trying to stop the tickling so he could breath. His ribs ached from laughing, his face hurt from smiling, and despite the laughter he was furious. So when that didn't work either, he turned around and slammed himself backward into the corner of a table. It would have really hurt, but there was a monster on his back, so it hurt the monster instead.
The grabby-monster grabbed tighter, but it stopped tickling him. Caijar could have called for help, but he was too angry. He slammed his back into the wall, then into a desk. Finally he threw himself back into a chair, trying to squish the grabby-monster.
It struggled, and this time he was able to tear the tentacles loose from one arm. He held them tightly with both hands. He pulled on the tentacles until the monster slipped forward and he could reach its head. Then he grabbed its head, and used its head to pull it off his back. It tried to escape, but he stuffed it in a chest and closed the latch.
Then, finally, he could get enough of his breath back to call for help.
Once upon a time there was a prince named Caijar. Caijar was having a very bad day. In morning cavalry practice he fell off his horse. Then at lunch, the Jester slipped while juggling fifteen wooden balls, and one of the balls landed right in Caijar's soup. Soup splattered everywhere, but mostly on Caijar.
The servants brought towels, of course, but there were still bits of soup dripping from Caijar's hair as he opened the door to his room.
His valet should have been standing ready with fresh clothes for the prince. Instead, the room was empty. Caijar sighed and stepped into his room, then pulled the door closed behind him.
That was when the grabby-monster grabbed him.
Prince Caijar started to laugh. That was the worst part about being attacked by a grabby-monster: it didn't hurt, it tickled. Grabby-monsters made you laugh, so everybody would think you were having fun, and nobody would think you were being attacked.
The second-worst part was how it grabbed you. Grabby-monsters looked like big, flat snakes or worms, but they had rows of tentacles on both sides of their bodies. They wrapped all around you, and tried to pull you into a little ball so that you couldn't get away or call for help.
Caijar kept his arms out and grabbed for the tentacles, trying to pull the monster off him. When that didn't work, he used one hand to reach back and hit its head. When that didn't work, he used his other hand to push the tentacles away from his ribs and belly, trying to stop the tickling so he could breath. His ribs ached from laughing, his face hurt from smiling, and despite the laughter he was furious. So when that didn't work either, he turned around and slammed himself backward into the corner of a table. It would have really hurt, but there was a monster on his back, so it hurt the monster instead.
The grabby-monster grabbed tighter, but it stopped tickling him. Caijar could have called for help, but he was too angry. He slammed his back into the wall, then into a desk. Finally he threw himself back into a chair, trying to squish the grabby-monster.
It struggled, and this time he was able to tear the tentacles loose from one arm. He held them tightly with both hands. He pulled on the tentacles until the monster slipped forward and he could reach its head. Then he grabbed its head, and used its head to pull it off his back. It tried to escape, but he stuffed it in a chest and closed the latch.
Then, finally, he could get enough of his breath back to call for help.
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