I was focused on Titus’ manner, actions and reactions throughout both the Broc episode, and the fireside chat. You were right – I do like him. He has the presence and polish of an officer that includes a noble and frank level of honesty.

“What Sir Broc said to you tonight was treason,” Titus would not let it go. “That is a punishable crime, at least in the Colovian Estates.”
“As it is here,” I answered. “But he was drunk when he said those th- things. Never has he been so blatant when he was sober. I’d rather wait until he condemns himself through s- sober, overt action before I punish him.”
- - I will not second-guess milady. Her choice was difficult and, likely, contained elements of both careful calculation and an element of tolerance. Naturally, I hope Broc fetches up again while sober and gets properly skewered so he cannot cause more trouble.

Just when I thought Sir Broc could not make a bigger ass of himself! At least it ended without bloodshed. For now at least. If Cora were a cold-blooded ruler, or a hot-blooded one, he'd be dead after that display. But luckily for him, I do not think she is anxious to execute people. Though I expect that by the end of this story, Sir Broc's head will be stuck upon a pike.

“I understand that when Lady Elspeth passed away, several of the local nobles tried to interest Lord Wallace in their daughters. Instead he went across the mountains and chose you. Why?”
Now that is the million drake question, is it not?

So Titus has a family. I was wondering about that myself. He is a young up and comer, if he was not married yet, I figured it could not be too long.

“He is cunning,” he said finally. “He is ambitious, and will stop at nothing to gain that ambition.”
That sounds like the Talos I expect.

The big question is whether Broc was sober enough that he'll remember any of this later. And will everyone else remind him, or just watch and wait? He does seem to be getting the proverbial "enough rope".

Oh, Broc, I don't think that thine lady started without thee. It's more like you started the heavy drinking without anybody else.

It was nice to see the dinner go so well (mostly) for Cora and her guests. The alternation of seating arrangements was a nice touch and a subtle way of pushing forward with her goal of integrating the legionaries into life at Cardonaccum. The discussion of tactics and the legion's success rate was particularly good, nothing beats a dinner conversation among knights and soldiers talking tactics over the roast beef.

I'll join the others in voicing my approval of this new light that's shining on Titus. He's articulate, honest, and personable, but you also see that he's unyielding and brutally cunning.

Also, the exchange between Lady Cora and Titus after everybody else is gone. I'm hoping that she comes to a better end, but Cora reminds me of Robb Stark remarking that a vassal who drew his sword "only meant to cut my meat for me." The new Lord Cardonaccum seems equally deft at (s)wordplay.



I retract earlier statements made to the contrary. That was what I was waiting for, to see if you would be bringing GENERAL TALOS STORMCROWN, DRAGON OF THE NORTH!!!! to the story. Now, let's see if he gets angry.

@Colonel Mustard: Don't worry, when Broc acts up again, we will see Lady Cora come down very, very hard on him. Thanks for your endorsement of my drunken dialogue, it is much appreciated!

@Acadian: Titus is a gem to write--I guess I can call this the secondary character syndrome. I love writing secondary characters, as you have seen with Jannet, Robert, Rodric, and now Titus. The problem is keeping their moments restrained so they don't take over the whole story! As for Broc, he will properly fetch himself up once more, so don't worry!

@SubRosa: Your expectations concerning Sir Broc are tempting! But events will take their due course, and you will see where Broc's head ends up.

@ghastley: Yes, that is exactly what Lady Cora is doing--giving Broc enough rope. Not only does she have to worry about the opinions of her own crofters, she also has to worry about those of the nobles surrounding Cardonaccum. Because of her position, any hint of tyranny on her part can lead to one of the other myriad minor nobles inhabiting that part of High Rock taking over her seat under the claim of "fighting tyranny." Her liaison with Talos is bad enough.

@BamBam: Titus is a really cool character in his own right. I'm glad that he has been so open about himself as far as his motivations and priorities. We will see more of these discussions between Lady Cora and Lieutenant Alorius. And yes, Talos is indeed THE DRAGONBORN OF THE NORTH!!!

The story so far: Titus's legion has come to Cardonaccum. A very drunken Broc has disgraced himself in front of Lady Cora and her guests. Now we move on through the winter into the following spring.

*******************
Chapter Twenty-three

I wiped my hands dry as I stepped out of the stables. Behind me, soft whickerings assured me that the latest foal was doing well. The mare, one of our saddle horses who had been bred to Wallace’s stallion Nightshade, had little difficulty with the delivery. She had accepted this first foal quickly, showing all the appropriate maternal behavior that I liked to see in broodmares. The foal, a sturdy little colt with spidery legs, was strong and energetic, whinnying before he was even completely discharged from his dam’s womb.

We will have to move them out to the stud farm. Nightshade, too, now that there is no one to ride him into battle anymore. I had stopped by his stall and whispered my congratulations into his ear. Standing next to him, I had noticed the fresh hoofmarks in the walls. He can’t be cooped up now that we’re moving into spring. Though the grooms exercised him daily on the long line, it was not the same thing as far as Wallace’s favorite mount was concerned.

“What did Foxglove have?” Enrick greeted me in the bailey as I made my way toward the donjon.

“A fine colt,” I answered. “Strong, healthy. Black, of course.”

“Not another Nightshade!” Enrick mock-groaned. “Two stallions in the same stable are too much already!”

I chuckled. “Actually, I am thinking of sending Nightshade out to the stud farm along with Foxglove and her colt. He needs the room to run.”

“Aye, where the grass is greener and the mares are prettier!” Enrick lifted his eyes to the blue sky above. I caught Titus’s approach.

“Except for R- Rosehill, you mean,” I said to Enrick, directing his attention to the Legion commander.

“And younger,” Enrick added hastily as Titus stopped beside us. “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, Captain,” Titus returned the greeting. “Lady. I take it you have another foal this morn?”

“Yes, Foxglove had a colt.”

“Congratulations,” Titus smiled at us. “The more time I spend here, the better I understand Cardonaccum’s reputation for fine horses. I am certain Foxglove’s colt is an excellent specimen.”

“Of course!” Enrick exclaimed. “He’s sired by Nightshade, no less!”

Titus rose an eyebrow. “I haven’t yet bred Inferno. He is still quite young. But I like to think he is at least close in quality as your Lord’s stallion.”

I laid a restraining hand on Enrick’s arm, but the captain was smiling. “Having seen your Rosehill,” he remarked, “I wonder if Inferno will pass on her docile temperament.”

“Inferno is a t- typical stallion,” I broke in lightly. “Just as Nightshade is t- typical himself. It would be wise not to deny them the prerogatives of s- stallionhood.” I turned to Titus. “If you think you can spare him for a s- sevenday, Inferno is welcome to visit our stud farm. I find myself curious about h- how he would cross with our bloodlines.”

“It’s all Cadric can talk about,” Enrick remarked. “He thinks Inferno would be a good cross on Nightshade’s daughters.”

“Rosehill is getting on in years,” Titus commented with a sidelong glance at me. “I am at a loss in finding her replacement--" His voice trailed off deliberately. Enrick’s grin widened.

“Then we have little time in finding a granddaughter of hers suitable enough to take her place!” I exclaimed. “Just tell Cadric when you want to s- send Inferno off, and he’ll see to it!”

Titus made a show of thought, rubbing his chin with overt deliberation. “Well, I suppose if I’m going to do it, it should be now. Before the ground dries enough for the bandits and war parties to come out of hibernation.”

“Then I shall leave you to it,” I gathered my skirts. “As for me, it’s been a long day already, and I have many h- hours to go yet!” It was true - I had spent the early morning hours sitting with Foxglove while she flirted with the idea of foaling. In the end it seemed as if the foal impatiently crawled his way out before the mare could decide what to do.

As I headed for the donjon, I heard Enrick ask Titus about the drilling patterns for the day. By the time the Legion commander replied, I was too far away to catch his words, but I could hear the easy tone of his voice.

In the beginning it had been difficult, but the early rapport that had developed between the Legion officers and my own endured. As I had hoped, seeing the leaders get along and work together with minimum friction had set the example for the rank and file. Now, with the scent of spring softening the chill air and the snow blanket shrinking day by day, the men drilled together quite often. Cardonaccum’s scouts and rangers taught the legionaries how to use the terrain to gather information, how to read the movement of hostile forces in the swirling of ravens in the hills, and how to predict the chaotic weather patterns.

In exchange, Titus’s men taught Enrick’s fighting soldiers the tactics of close-quarters combat, until my men could handle the gladii as handily as they did their own long swords and pikes. Robert’s own castle thistlemen soon took to carrying similar leaf-shaped blades on their hips along with their halberds.

The warmth from the weak sun lingered on my shoulders as I entered the shadows of the donjon. Robert met me in the center of the great hall. “Good morning milady, colt or filly?”

“A black colt with an attitude,” I replied. Robert laughed softly and shook his head. “Listen, I think it’s t- time to visit the crofters in the hills,” I continued. “It’s lambing season, and I want to make certain they lack for naught.”

“And find new sources for your alchemical fiddlings, I’m certain,” Robert added. “How many thistlemen, do you think?”

“T- two should be enough,” I answered. With Broc still licking his wounded pride at Northside Manor, both Titus and Robert fretted over my safety each time I ventured outside the walls of the bailey. While I understood and appreciated their concern, I refused to remain cooped up inside the castle. The guard escort was our compromise.

“And I will be taking Servius Terentius,” I named the Legion healer. “I hate to take Siné away from Cardonaccum when so many folk are s- still fighting the chills. Terentius has been interested in our folk ways, I think he’ll welcome the opportunity to learn new things.”

“The Lieutenant is fine with this?” Robert asked. I nodded. “Well, that’s good. The man carries a sword, too, after all.”

“Give me t- two of your bowmen.” I can use their keen sight to spot early blooms. The snowbells and the crocuses should be coming up in some areas.

Soon I was leaving Cardonaccum Castle behind. Two thistlemen, dark Rory and burly Mungo, accompanied me, one in front and one behind. Servius, lean in his ranger leathers, paced at my side. After a winter of foraging for alchemical flora with me in the dean south of the castle, he had become accustomed to my ability to travel barefoot over rough ground.

We headed to the eastern hills, past the clearing where Talos had pitched his headquarters. Beyond the bramble thickets we found snowbells and crocuses on the southwestern faces of the stones, where the sun had the longest to warm the dirt. They had not yet bloomed, but Servius found them very interesting nonetheless.

“So they’re at peak potency when they’re just blooming?” he asked. “About when would that be?”

I glanced at the sky. “As long as the sun stays out all day today, and we don’t get frost t- tonight,” I spoke slowly, “tomorrow or the day after.”

“That soon?” Servius peered closer at the tiny plants. I straightened up and glanced at Rory. Feet braced on the boulder above us, he scanned the area around us restlessly.

“Yes, that soon,” I answered. “If we get the chance, we should come back this way tomorrow.”

“I’d like that very much, Lady,” Servius unfolded his lean form from his kneeling. “And where are these crofts you seek?”

“Just over that ridge,” Rory answered for me, pointing up hill. “There’s a nice vale there where the grass is getting an early start. Good lambing grounds for the ewes.”

“Then let’s go,” Servius’s eagerness spurred the thistlemen on. Rory leaped down from his vantage point and took the lead up the slope. Mungo brought up the rear, constantly turning and stepping backwards to scan our back trail. Both thistlemen carried their bows ready in hand.

The sun was at its zenith when we reached the first of the five crofts clustered at the head of the vale. Sheep filled the stone pens up on the windy slopes, and crofters moved among them with their herding dogs.

One of the croft wives gathered at the stream spotted us. She shaded her eyes with her hand, then waved. I waved back. The women collected around us as we drew near.

“Greetings, milady!” they spoke together. “Welcome to Pyke’s Dell!”

“Thank you,” I answered. “We came to see if you needed anything after the winter. It hasn’t been too hard on you, has it?”

“No worse than usual,” the senior woman shrugged round shoulders. “Old Mam Pyke passed at midwinter,” she turned and indicated a fresh cairn that had not been there last fall. “And Annie’s lost her wee bairn to th’ plague last month.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Mona,” I said. “It’s so hard when a little one dies. Do you still have the plague here?”

“Ah, no,” Mona shook her head. “It was just th’ wee one. And Mam was old an’ forgetful, you recall.”

“Yes, I had noticed that she was not recognizing very many of her family when I last visited,” I agreed. “And she had become so frail. How many years did she s- see?”

“Let’s see,” Mona put her hands on her hips and tipped her head back. “She was twenty-three when I was born, and I’m thirty-nine now. That would make her -“ She paused as her fingers ticked off the sum. “- sixty-two years.” She nodded decisively to herself. “Yes, that’s right. Sixty-two.”

Servius’s brows rose. “Only sixty-two?”

“Only sixty-two?” Mona echoed him indignantly. “I’ll tell ye that’s a nice, round age! I’m past me prime as it is!”

I could see Servius struggling to understand the highland burr. “This is Servius Terentius,” I introduced him. “He is a h- healer from the Colovian Estates.” I turned to him and quickly translated Mona’s accent.

“Ach, part of th’ truce?” Mona eyed him speculatively.

Servius understood that much. “Yes, ma’am,” he bowed to her. “And I’m here to learn new things.”

“Ach, you’ve come to the right place, then!” Mona exclaimed. She turned to the other women and made shooing motions. I noticed a couple of the younger ones, still unmarried by their flowing hair, eyeing Servius speculatively as they lingered behind the others. Rory caught my gaze and smiled wryly. In his late thirties, he already had a daughter approaching marriageable age. Often I overheard him complaining that she was giving him grey hairs where the sun didn’t shine with her growing interest in boys.

“It’s spring,” I said to Rory, gesturing toward Mungo, who was watching the girls with an interest of his own.

“So it is, milady,” he responded as Mona drew Servius after him toward the rough stone building in the center of the settlement, where they pooled their alchemical resources. “At least Mona’s happily settled with her man!”

I felt a twinge at the reminder of my own happiness with Wallace. The buried grief stirred deep within my breast.

“Forgive me, milady,” Rory turned his face away. “I didn’t mean to remind you -“

“It’s all right,” I answered. “I’d rather remember the good times we had together, than the end.” And it was true, I could easily forget the sight of Wallace’s ravaged face now, simply by recalling the moments we had shared. “I’ve been blessed to have been s- settled with a man I loved.”

“And now we are all blessed with you, milady,” Rory bowed to me. He stepped back and whistled to Mungo. “We’d best check the perimeter. Send word when you’re ready to leave.”

Nightshade and Foxglove. I love your horse names, even if they are a bit poisonous! Now I expect the other horses to be named Monkshood, Hemlock, Oleander, Yew, Larkspur, and so on...

With all the talk of stallions, I could not help but think of Sir Broc. He is a typical stallion as well. I expect that after spending the winter cooped up in his manor, there are hoof prints on his walls as well.

Robert’s own castle thistlemen soon took to carrying similar leaf-shaped blades on their hips along with their halberds.
An army equipped with Stings! Seriously though, I have always loved the elegant flowing curves of the Xiphos. The Gladius looks like a butcher's tool in comparison. Which I suppose is rather appropriate...

“And I will be taking Servius Terentius,”
I wonder if four centuries from now, Servius will have an descendant who becomes a wastrel of a Count?

I loved all the time spent on everyday country life. The discussions about horses and their breeding, likewise with the sheep, the gathering of ingredients just when they come to ripeness, and so forth. It is a wonderful little touch that adds a great sense of realism to the entire story.

In the beginning it had been difficult, but the early rapport that had developed between the Legion officers and my own endured.

I love how this part comes after the little scene with Titus and the horse planning has provided an example. *takes notes*

I like Servius already. Secondary character syndrome? Yes, please!!

grey hairs where the sun didn’t shine

Lol. That was a real tea-spitter. Never saw it coming!

Devoting the first scene of this episode to horses – what’s not to love about that?

I’m pleased to see the truce held through the winter and that the disparate forces even grew close enogh to share some of the unique features of their own tactics. It seems the only hoof marks on the walls from being cooped up all winter are those from Nightshade. And perhaps from Broc inside his manor?

Then off to chase flowers and sheep.

‘she was giving him grey hairs where the sun didn’t shine’
- - Hey! Who’s been peeking under my kilt?


'I felt a twinge at the reminder of my own happiness with Wallace. The buried grief stirred deep within my breast.
“Forgive me, milady,” Rory turned his face away. “I didn’t mean to remind you -“

- - Rory’s pretty insightful here. . . . And again, here:

“And now we are all blessed with you, milady,” Rory bowed to me.‘

Ooh arr, that were right proper parochial, that were.

The transition from winter to spring was well handled, and works as a way of showing how the Legion is integrating into Cardonaccum, and the season itself served as a nice little allusion to new life etc springing forth. The glimpse into the daily workings of the area around Cardonaccum was interesting as well, and the setting was nicely evoked; made me think a bit of The Chalk from Terry Pratchett's Nac Mac Feegle books.

Glad I commented on the previous one before this story pulled a time-skip.

So, Sir Broc's been packed off for the winter, and without the drain on the cellars the tempers have cooled and the rapport has grown. I wonder, though, has his time at his manor been spent fomenting insurrection, or was he content to ferment drink for his inebriation. Perhaps I forget that my wordplay requires previous inoculation.

So, it's off to the crofters, while Titus looks into trading stud services for a new travel-horse. Cyrodillic mercantilism at its finest.


Of course, it looks as though Inferno isn't the only Cyrod stallion whose stud services may be required.

The pacing and material of this installment was a touch. The immediate domestic matters of Nightshade's new son, followed by the discussion of logistics for the new season and then Lady Cora's decision to begin visiting the crofters helps work in the feel of having spent a winter in Cardonaccum with spring now upon them. Just don't rush off to summer.

Also, wanted to ask, 450 years, give or take, is enough for a true-breeding, black stallion's bloodline to eventually produce true-breeding, white stallions of High Rock, yes?

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: Dec 9 2013, 01:17 AM

@SubRosa: Thank you for your endorsement of my decision to linger over this aspect of life at Cardonaccum. I wanted to show how involved in day-to-day management our Lady Cora is, and how seriously she takes her responsibility to her people in the wake of Wallace's passing and the drama of the previous fall. Also thanks for the additional horse names! I have them saved to my hard drive somewhere!

@Grits: I didn't even plan the timing of the scene you mentioned and the line you quoted, but now that you pointed it out, I'll have to make a note of that myself! As I'm sure you have seen with my previous writing, I prefer to show how relationships develop over time through little vignettes like this rather than just tell it.

@Acadian: Looks like I'm suffering badly from secondary character syndrome! First Servius, now Rory! I've always pictured him as a smallish, wiry, dark Welshman -- the kind that gave the Saxons grief when they came to England, the kind that hung on to their independence through the succession of English kings that followed. This is the Welsh flavor that shines here -- in the description of the people of Cardonaccum. When I think of the Bretons of 450 years later, this is the model I draw upon - the tough no-nonsense Welshmen and Welshwomen. I'm glad you enjoyed the little insight into his character that I've put here.

@Colonel Mustard: I've not read much of Terry Pratchett, but I do know he is a genius of a fantasy writer. I read one of his stories a long time ago (I can't even remember which one it was) and laughed myself silly. I'm glad you were reminded of his work in reading mine!

@BamBam: I don't think we will be rushing off into summer anytime soon! I think you will have your answer concerning Sir Broc's winter activities in today's episode. That little section you quoted? Well, I wanted to highlight how fascinated people are by the exotic. Women seem to be strongly attracted to that unknown stranger from outside their village, and I'm sure men are the same way whenever a female outsider rides into town. Oh, and stallions don't provide brood services, they provide stud services! After all, we have broodmares but not broodstallions! Interesting thought of yours about any possible link between Nightshade and Blanco. TBH, it was not something that crossed my mind, as Nightshade is purely a mortal horse, while Blanco is a Witchhorse from the Western Reaches. But it wouldn't surprise me to see a descendant of this black stallion among Julian's white stallion's ancestors. Many breeds are the result of mixtures of older breeds. The Lippizaner that Blanco is based on is the result of several other breeds, including the older Neapolitano, the Iberian horse (which also formed the basis of the Andalusian and the Lustitano breeds and is itself the product of Berber and Arab horses on local Spanish horses), and the local Karst horses in what is now Yugoslavia.

The story so far: It is now early in the spring, and the snow is melting away. Cora has taken two thistlemen and a Legion healer, Servius Terentius, out into the hills to check on crofters and look for early blooms.

******************
Chapter Twenty-four

It was late afternoon by the time Servius finally worked himself free of Mona and her husband Tael. They had taken us around all the lambing pens, showing Servius how they treated the most common ewe ailments. As he listened to them, Servius became more animated, and I realized that he was becoming used rather quickly to their highland burr. He will have much to tell his comrades when we get back home.

As we started down the trail back to Cardonaccum, Servius turned to me. “Thank you for inviting me along, Lady. I learned much today.”

“Including the h- highland dialect?” I teased him. He laughed heartily and agreed. As we walked along, we began discussing the variety of tidbits he had picked up from the crofters.

“Lady,” Servius paused on the boulder strewn slope above the bramble thicket separating the hills from the moor. “Just how long do Bretons live?”

I glanced at him in some surprise. “Sixty, seventy years in th- these parts,” I answered. “That’s a good, full life for most.” My eyes narrowed at him. “Just how long do C- Colovians live?”

“One hundred years is not unusual,” he navigated a particularly rough patch, offering me his hand over the rockier parts. “I wonder, though -“

A shout from Mungo, in the lead this time, alerted us to potential danger. Rory leaped down beside us and pushed me down beside a high boulder.

Servius transformed from an easy-going healer to a professional soldier in an instant, drawing his gladius and glancing at Rory for information. Signals I failed to grasp passed between the two, then I heard the twanging from lower down the slope.

Rory scrambled up onto the rock above my head as Servius crouched beside me. “Outlaws in the clearing, Lady,” the legionary said to me. “Stay here.” Then he scooted out of sight around the curve of the boulder.

Soon I could hear the clattering of arrows as Rory landed beside me. “Don’t move, milady,” he said before running up hill, crouched low to take advantage of the cover from the rocks. More shouting, some far away, others nearer, none belonging to my escort, told me that we were outnumbered. My heart in my mouth, I plunged my hands through the cold snow onto the thawing ground beneath.

Arkay, Kyne, give me strength. Don’t let harm come to these men protecting me. See us all home safely. I could feel the power of Nirn oozing between my fingers, a slow pulsing that calmed my own heartbeat.

Servius reappeared, his blade bloodied. “Mungo’s down, Lady,” he gasped as he reached down for me. “Let’s go, we need to fall back.” His tone was clipped, quiet, but I could sense the urgency in his manner. His hand on my elbow steadied me as I scrambled to my feet and ran after him.

Somehow I managed to keep up with his longer strides. Rory fell in behind us from out of nowhere, pausing long enough to send several arrows whizzing into the brambles at the foot of the slope. I glanced back in time to see him toss his bow into the brush, his quiver now empty. He spun on his heel and bolted after us, his gladius drawn. “Run, milady!”

I gathered my skirts to my knees and darted after Servius, skipping between the boulders. We had nearly reached the crest of the first ridge beyond the clearing when shouting stopped me in my tracks. I whirled back in time to see Rory’s flashing gladius drive back three attackers. They wore leathers, much like Rory and Servius. Unlike Servius’s red cloak, and Rory’s forest green, these men’s tattered cloaks were a nondescript grey.

Another flurry and clashing of blades, and Rory dropped from sight beneath descending weapons. “Rory!” I shouted in horror at the swiftness of the attack. Servius seized my arm and hauled me over the top after him. We ran down the opposite slope into the hawthorn woods, their gnarled branches snagging my full skirts and Servius’s cloak.

The frenetic pace began to burn in my lungs, and I gasped desperately for air and speed. Though the rocks were more sparse here, the jutting roots of the trees threatened to trip me if I let my attention wander.

Servius stopped so suddenly that I slammed into his back. My hands on his left arm, I looked past him to see two forms blocking the faint path between the trees ahead. Their long blades shimmered dully in the striped shadows cast by the bare branches overhead.

I cast a desperate glance around. Behind us, I could hear Rory’s killers crashing through the woods. To the right, the ground sloped down, and I could see a glimmer of water through the black trunks. Suddenly I knew where we were.

“Servius, this way!” I managed to gasp, tugging him in that direction. He turned and followed me without hesitation as I bolted down the tumbled slope. Thunkings warned me that our pursuers were now shooting arrows after us. Fortunately the hawthorn trees got in the way and blocked them.

Most of them. Something slammed into my right shoulder hard, sending me reeling over a jutting root. The rough bark caught my left foot and wrenched me off balance. The adjacent trunk slammed hard into the left side of my face, sending stars swimming through my vision. Dizziness drove me to my knees. Hot fluid surged down my neck, sending trickles onto my ribs and onto my left cheek.

The trees spun around me as Servius reached down for me, but I knocked him away. “I can’t run anymore!” I gasped. “You have to go back to C- Cardonaccum! Keep running down hill until you find the brook th- then follow it west! Go!”

“No!” Servius hauled me back to my feet. “I will not leave you!” Before I could protest, he was running again, his left hand holding my elbow in a hard grip. My legs managed to move just well enough to keep me upright.

I could feel the ground beginning to level out as we approached the watercourse. Arrows still smacked around and behind us, as Servius wove his way between the trunks. I bit back my pain and dizziness until I tasted blood, but it still overwhelmed me at intervals as I reeled against his side.

One of the thudding noises hit with a different, duller pitch from the others, and Servius staggered. As I lurched away from him, my spinning vision caught sight of a shaft sticking out from between his ribs. He turned toward me, and another arrow appeared in his right biceps. The gladius clattered to the ground beside me as he fell.

Desperately I dropped to my knees and reached for the leather-wrapped hilt, but a pair of long blades touched my throat. I froze in place, the gladius just past my fingertips.

“Don’t move, Witch,” a growl drew my eyes upwards. I stared at the bearded face above me, unrecognizable in the gloom. “Try for that sword,” he shifted his blade to hover above Servius’s chest, “and this man dies.”

“H- how do I know you’re not going to k- kill him anyway?” I shot back breathlessly, but I drew my hand back.

“Tie him up,” the outlaw ordered one of the other men beside him. He grinned maliciously at me. “Because he may be of some value alive,” he answered. “As are you.” His gaze flickered, and hands seized my arms and drew them back. I cried out as the arrowhead grated in my shoulder. “Get up, Witch!” He seized the front of my kirtle and hauled me upright. I nearly collapsed when the rough handling set my vertigo into mad activity again.

“Boss, I think her head’s broke,” one of the men holding me volunteered. The outlaw’s grin widened.

“Good.” He remarked. “Then she can’t run away.”

Someone hoisted me roughly over a broad shoulder, stirring up the pain in my shoulder yet again. I caught whirling glimpses of Servius being hauled to his feet before blackness filled my vision.

Arkay, Kyne - - I never completed my prayer.

Once again I stood in that eerie passageway beneath corbeled arches. Once again the old fear surged beneath my breastbone at the sound of slow footsteps. Once again I sought the power of Nirn and failed.

As I did every time, I ran down the corridor toward the stairs at the far end. I glanced back once to see the dark figure following me. The winding stairway drew me down further into the maze. I managed to duck the swinging pendulums of the blade trap and reach the far side. As I fled deeper into the maze, I listened to the rhythmic swinging of those heavy bronze blades. They didn’t stop, nor did the sound of footsteps that followed me.

I kept running, further into the maze and deeper into the nightmare than I had ever gone. Suddenly the corridor opened into a small room, with a descending stair ahead of me and two more passageways, one on each side, leading away into immense darkness.

Pain in my shoulder roused me from the terrifying indecision. I opened my eyes to a campfire just past my curled knees. Biting back a whimper and tasting fresh blood, I lifted my head. It was then I realized that I lay on my injured shoulder.

A moan escaped my lips as I shifted onto my back, momentarily forgetting about the arrowhead still embedded in my flesh. I cried out as the steel ground against my shoulder blade and struggled to rise from that agony.

“Lady?” Servius’s pained voice cut through the red haze over my mind. “Don’t try to get up, it will only hurt worse.”

I lay still, fighting for breath against the pain. Finally I managed to open my eyes and look in the direction of his voice. He half-lay, half-sat beside me, bent protectively over me. His arms were still bound behind him, and I could see the blood coating the right sleeve of his leather jerkin.

“Where are we?” I whispered.

“Looks like a camp of theirs,” he whispered back. “It’s north of where the General had his headquarters last fall.” His head turned away from me for a moment, then back. “I overheard them talking. Sounds like we’re hostages - they were speaking of contacting someone for payment.”

“Did th- they mention a name?” I struggled to make sense of his words. At least I’m laying on bare ground. They may think it’s being cruel, but it’s a blessing for me. I could feel Nirn’s cold strength beneath my bruised cheek. Already the pain in my shoulder and head were subsiding beneath her comforting touch.

“No, I don’t think so,” Servius answered. I fought my bonds a moment before I realized that I couldn’t lift my hand to touch his skin. He sounds terrible. Shocky. Like Sir Rodric before Siné got to him.

“How are you h- holding up, Servius?”

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered. “Just flesh wounds.”

I didn’t believe him. Not that first arrow. That went between his ribs. It’s got to be in his lung.

“And you, Lady?” he would not dwell on himself. Typical healer. “Are you feeling much pain?”

“It’s better th- than it was,” I murmured.

“Be quiet!” A rough voice stopped Servius’s response. Bulky forms loomed over us and grasped Servius. He groaned as they dropped him a like a sack of potatoes a few steps away. “No talking!”

The outlaw who had spoken to me earlier knelt beside me, so close his lack of bathing stopped the breath in my throat. “Ye may charm that Colovian fetcher, Witch, but ye’ll never escape the fate that awaits ye.”

What fate is that? I gasped when his grubby hand closed around my throat. He applied just enough pressure to constrict my breathing and brought his hairy face down to mine. He took a long sniff of my hair, now sprung loose from its bindings. No! Not that!

“Don’t worry, Witch,” he whispered into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “A better man than me awaits ye!” He flung me back so I landed on the arrowhead still embedded in my shoulder, causing me to writhe in pain. He rose to his feet and moved away.

“You sent for me?” A new voice, with none of the rough accent of these outlaws, drew my attention back to the fire. My tormentor strode to stand before him, feet braced apart and hands gripping his belt.

I blinked away the panic and tried to focus on the newcomer. Who is that? I didn’t recognize the fair-haired soldier, but I recognized the emblem fastening his blue cloak to his shoulder. One of Broc’s men? So he’s plotted this?

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Dec 9 2013, 10:09 PM

How easily a nice highland stroll can turn deadly! There seem to be an awful lot of bandits, and their accuracy with those bows, and their swords, seems a bit too good for mere outlaws. They are a match for the veteran soldiers guarding Cora, which tells me that they are no mere criminals. They strike me as being professional mercenaries sent out to ambush her. The only question is who sent them? Broc, or Onchu, or both?

“Don’t move, Witch,”
And how did they know that? Their boss obviously told them.

Ahh, and it was Broc after all.

BROOOOOOOC!! *Shakes fist at sky*

So Cora's been kidnapped (LordCardonaccumnapped?) and all she has on her side is a wounded healer/scout. She's a resourceful lady, mind, so I'll be interested to see what she thinks up to get out of this situation.

P.S. You haven't read much Terry Pratchett?! Egads, H.E.R., you have not lived!

So a pastorally pleasant day turns on a Septim into an ambush, then a frantic and heart pounding chase! And finally, captivity for Lady Cora.

I liked the subtle energy of her direct contact with the ground easing her pain somewhat.

Although his plans are not exactly clear, it seems Broc did indeed spend his winter plotting.


Nit? ‘Unlike Servius’s red cloak, and Rory’s forest green, these men’s tattered cloaks were an nondescript grey.’ - - I expect you wanted 'a' instead of 'an' preceding 'nondescript'. Heh, I imagine an earlier draft had an adjective that began with a vowel or vowel sound (like indistinct) before you perhaps changed it and overlooked the a/an.

Broc has of course abducted a legion man along with Cora, so he's got them to deal with regardless of his main target.

They're racking up a good list of paybacks when the chance comes, too.

Oh noooo!!

I loved this bit:

Servius transformed from an easy-going healer to a professional soldier in an instant, drawing his gladius and glancing at Rory for information. Signals I failed to grasp passed between the two, then I heard the twanging from lower down the slope.

At least Lady Cora still has Servius with her, though it sounds like he’s in bad shape. If nothing else I hope he complicates things for Sir Broc.

That was a very exciting chase and capture!

Okay, okay, I fixed the brood-or-stud nomenclature.

Have I mentioned that my knowledge of matters equine has come to total only the information previously detailed in your various posts?

And on a related note, the matter of fascination that people will have with exotic individuals is probably a manifestation of evolutionary behaviors designed to increase our chances at producing stronger offspring: Heterosis (Hybrid Vigor), which coincidentally relates to the chances of producing better horses at Cardonaccum with the stud (see, I can learn) services of a certain red, Cyrod-warhorse.

But enough about that. On to the post!

The first thing that struck me was the discrepancy in life-spans you put between Bretons and Imperials. I must admit that I work through the games on a similar basis, albeit I switch the two: the elven blood in Bretons makes them likely to live closer to the 100-year mark, and in my work I've already statted Hannibal Traven to be a spry 95!

The chase scene was very well put together. The urgency of the Thistlemen's actions, the attempt to use the terrain to elude the pursuit, and then the capture was well-executed.

Then you have to go and run through all the actual fears Cora would be having at realizing the threats facing her in her current predicament.

And we learn that Broc is involved. You did answer my questions. Now I have more.

@SubRosa: Yes, how suddenly things turn from one to the other, indeed! Obviously those men were hired by another. Yes, you guessed right!

@Officer Condiment: Terry Pratchett is on my bucket list. So someday . . . Yes, Lady Cora is resourceful, but not quite in the way you think! You'll see!

@Acadian: Thanks for catching the nit! Your eagle eye is, as always, much appreciated! Yes, I think this chapter is where we really begin to see the source of Lady Cora's strength--and her weakness.

@ghastley: Payback will come very soon! Just not from the Legion or the thistlemen, at least not for these outlaws.

@Grits: I'm glad you picked out one of my favorite lines in this chapter -- the transformation of Servius from healer to soldier. I really wanted to show how fully integrated Titus's Legion and Lady Cora's thistlemen have become, that they can work together so seamlessly as a team.

@BamBam: You're right, the attraction to the exotic (or merely the strange) has its roots in evolution. I agree, the Elven blood in the Bretons should make them the longer-lived race of the two, but something in the Lore caught my eye and I figured, what the heck? It would explain more than a few things later in the story. I hope to answer your new questions and raise even more with this chapter!

The story so far: Lady Cora and legion healer Servius has been captured by a band of outlaws as they return to Cardonaccum after a day spent with hill crofters. Both of them have been injured in the mad chase through rough hill terrain. We have just learned that Sir Broc is behind the men's actions.

*********************
Chapter Twenty-five

Servius struggled to sit up as I watched the conversation near the fire. Broc! This is what he plotted after I kicked him out last fall? What does he plan for me? Kill me? Then how can he claim Cardonaccum? With no heir, Rodric would stand next in line. Unless he plans to oust Rodric, too. I gasped at a sudden realization. Would he dare kill Rodric too? Yes, he would.

“Servius,” I whispered. The healer’s head turned toward me. “That’s one of S- Sir Broc’s men.”

“I thought I recognized that blue cloak,” he muttered over his shoulder. “Lie still.”

“We h- have to get away,” I rolled onto my left shoulder and curled myself into a sitting position beside him. “Once we arrive at Northside Manor -“ my voice trailed off in despair at the thought of the stone keep. Like Cardonaccum, it was built to withstand siege. The last thing I wanted to see was that place brought to ruin in any attempt at rescue.

“I know,” Servius growled softly, his wrists working in frustration. I saw fresh blood glimmer down his leather sleeve.

“Stop,” I urged him. “Rest. C- conserve your strength for wh- when we get a chance.”

The blue-cloaked man clasped wrists with the outlaw leader in agreement. Then he strode over to us. His blond mustache barely hid his grin as he gazed down at us.

“Well, Witch, looks like you’re coming with me,” he reached down and grasped my shoulder. I managed to twist away and scooted backwards from him.

“What about him?” I jerked my chin at Servius.

“The outlaws can have him,” the Northsider shrugged his shoulders. “I’m here only for you, Witch.” He moved swiftly and caught my right shoulder, sending a fresh wave of pain coursing through my body.

I screamed.

Servius threw himself at the other man’s legs, toppling him away from me. I fell back, breathless from the pain and fighting a new wave of dizziness and nausea. One of the scruffy outlaws ran up and kicked Servius savagely in his back, over the arrow wound I knew was there. The legionary groaned and collapsed, his body becoming deathly still.

The Northsider regained his feet and caught my left arm. He pulled me up to my feet, and kept lifting me until I fell over his shoulder like a sack of grain. As he turned and marched away, I caught a last glimpse of Servius laying unconscious before outlaws ringed him and began kicking. My vision blackened to the sound of hard blows landing in rapid succession.

Arkay, Kyne - They hadn’t answered my pleas. I recalled my mother’s prayer to one older than these two, one so old no name could be remembered. Goddess, help Servius. Save Cardonaccum. Save me!

I heard snorting of a nervous horse, and the Northsider’s grumbling command to his mount to stand. Then I was thrown across the skittish animal’s rump. I sensed the horse’s pain as the man yanked hard on its rein. Then his leg brushed across my back as he mounted up and settled into the saddle.

“Damn ye, fetcher!” he growled again as the horse sidestepped and tossed its head. “Settle down!” Again the animal skittered, and bucked. I slid off and fell to the ground. Something hard came down on me, and ribs cracked below my left breast. Agony escalated to an unbearable point, stealing the very breath out of my throat.

Nirn surrounded me in its cool embrace as the Northsider landed beside me beneath the horse’s kicking heels. His face had disappeared in a mass of blood and gore, and I saw blood splattered halfway up one of the steed’s hind legs as the horse bolted into the woods.

My pain subsided enough for me to take a stabbing breath. The world around me trembled, the branches above me shaking. That’s odd. There’s no wind. Black spots danced like a swarm of bats between me and the campfire, which shook itself apart in a shower of sparks. A grinding sound emanated from everywhere beneath me. Nirnquake? Goddess! Not Servius! Don’t take him!

The outlaws fell back from their savage onslaught in terror and consternation. They exchanged glances with each other, then seized their scattered weapons and faded back into the woods. The trees above and the ground beneath grew still. Only collapsed tents and a bloodied pile of leather and fabric remained.

“Servius!” I tried to call but my voice could only come out as a slightly louder whisper. I stifled a moan at the pain in my side. That heap did not stir. I couldn’t even tell if he still breathed. By Oblivion, I can’t even breathe myself!

I glanced at the Northsider, still crumpled up beside me. He was most certainly dead. My gaze fell on the steel dagger at his belt.

Shifting my body to place my bound hands onto the hilt of that dagger took an eternity. Pain squeezed my chest and kept me from pulling a full breath. My vertigo worsened, as did the swarm of bats in my vision. I must cut these bonds away. I can’t help Servius until I do. I must get them off!

Somehow I managed to sever the ropes around my wrists with only a minor cut on my left forearm. The strength gone from my legs, I managed to crawl through the snow-covered mud toward the legionary.

It took all my remaining strength to free his arms and roll his slumped form onto his back. Blood gleamed blackly against the dark leather of his jerkin, in stark contrast to the whiteness of his face. For a moment the image of Wallace’s face in death swam into my vision, but I shook it away. No. Enough. This isn’t Wallace, though he risked everything to protect me.

As I wadded up his tattered cloak against the wound in his back, I prayed again to the Ancient One. Goddess, return this man to life. Let him recover. You have Mungo, you have Rory. Please don’t take Servius too. Haven’t you taken enough? But I knew her will was implacable.

The brush beyond the shattered fire rustled softly. I reached for the dagger and turned my head to look, still fighting for breath.

A feline face emerged from the thorn thicket, tawny gold with black stripes and glowing green eyes. Damn! A saber tooth? But that face was high above the ground, higher than my own height. I frowned at it as it moved forward. No, wait. I blinked at the bipedal form that now drifted slowly around the edge of the clearing toward me. It was dressed in leathers, much like the outlaws, much like my own escort, but its hands were covered in fur. A long tail trailed behind the creature.

The apparition crouched a short distance from me, and I spotted a bow mounted at its back. Sudden realization hit me. A Khajiit! But what is one doing here? They live on the opposite side of the Colovian Estates from here!

“Is the Lady hurrt?” The hissing voice brought me back to the present. I locked eyes with the Khajiit, who looked away first, scanning the surrounding forest. Its pointed ears twitched and swiveled, then those green eyes returned to me.

“Who are you?”

“This one is Do’saka,” it - no, he, drew out a handful of small vials from his belt pouch. “This one has healing potions to give the Lady.”

At first his form of address confused me. Finally I realized he was addressing me, not some invisible noblewoman, and I shook my head. “No, give them to S- Servius.” I indicated the legionary.

“That one’s wounds are grrievous,” Do’saka’s voice turned soft and his ears turned back. “That one will not live.”

“He must!” I took the potions from him and uncorked the first one. My hands shaking with the effort to breathe, I dribbled the violet fluid between Servius’s lips.

“It is morre important that the Lady live,” Do’saka insisted, gently retrieving the rest of the bottles from my shaking hands.

“They won’t work on me,” I gasped. “I - I have no magicka for th- them to draw on.”

His eyes widened and his ears twisted upright. “No magicka? How can the Lady be a Witch?”

“Give them to S- Servius!” I pleaded. “Please!”

Do’saka moved to the fallen legionary’s other side and cradled his head gently in one furry hand. With a dexterity surprising for one with claws, he administered the remaining potions carefully. After an eternity, Servius's breathing deepened, and Do'saka sat back.

"The Lady is hurrt as well," he purred. "Let this one cast a healing spell on herr."

Again I shook my head. "If you try to c- cast a spell on me," I whispered, "you will only end up losing your magicka. It will drain away like water on th- the desert sand."

Do’saka stared at me, his pupils dilating. “Then how can the Lady heal?” He reached out and touched my right shoulder with a gentle claw. As I flinched away from the contact, his gaze caught the stub of the arrow shaft protruding from the mangled flesh. “That wound is serrious,” he continued, “as arre the Lady’s otherr injurries.” He drew a line across his right brow, mirroring the gash above my own left one.

“I am a ch- child of Nirn,” I placed my palms flat on the cold ground before my knees. “My strength c- comes from her.”

Comprehension gleamed emerald in Do’saka’s gaze. “Ah, this one sees,” he purred. “Then this one shall ensure the Lady continues to drraw herr strrength from Nirrn.” He reached down to Servius’s face. “And the man wakens soon. This one will get the Lady and herr champion away from this place.”

“Do you know the way to C- Cardonaccum, Do’saka?” I asked as the cat-man sprang upright. I accepted his proffered hands and rose to my feet.

“This one has spent the winterr learrning the countrry,” he purred in satisfaction. “The way to the big castle is well known.”

“The winter!” I exclaimed. “But I heard no r- reports of K- Khajiit in the area!”

His formidable teeth showed in a feral grin. “This one knows how to live in the shadow.” He reached down and pulled Servius into a seated position. The legionary groaned, and his eyes fluttered awake. “Can the man stand up?” Do’saka asked, tugging on Servius’s left arm.

His right arm as useless as mine, Servius managed to stand with Do’saka’s support. He wavered, his left arm over Do’saka’s shoulders, his head hanging down, his breath wheezing hard and fast between clenched teeth.

“Therre is a place to stay the night, to rrest,” Do’saka said to us. “Neitherr the Lady norr herr champion will make it to the big castle tonight. This one has found a safe place to keep warrm and drry. Follow Do’saka.”

I thought Servius was a goner once the kicking started and Broc’s minion started carting Lady Sack-o-Grain away.

Cora’s prayer worked! You did a great job letting that gradually dawn on us. In retrospect, it is clear that the imminent disturbance telegraphed warnings to the horse before things really began to manifest. Critters are neat the way they sometimes. . . just know stuff.

And Do’saka the Khajiit to the rescue. Whew, what a relief to see Servius recovering. Cora’s manner of healing gives whole new meaning to ‘hug the ground’!

The attempted escape went no better than I expected. At least until Cora dispensed with her prayers to the Nine and got down with her Witchy roots. Her ability to feel the horse's pain from the bit in its mouth was the first hint that her prayers to the (Nirn?) goddess were answered. It may have cost her a few broken ribs, but that is certainly far better than Broc's man fared!

But I knew her will was implacable.
Speaking as a Witch I found this to be very apt. The sort of Earth Deity you are describing is indeed as relentless as you describe. She gives birth to all life, and she takes it all back in the end. Because nature is voracious, all-consuming. I have always liked these kinds of deities, because they symbolize not only the natural world's power to both create and destroy, but also humanity's ability to do the same.

This one is Do’saka
Now I see what you meant about the name! Thank goodness for that one making an appearance.