Cardonaccum, The beauty of a thistle. Options

[haute ecole rider]

A/N: Hello all. This is a story I began writing for NaNoWriMo in 2011. Now that Julian has finished telling her story, Cora is impatient to take her turn. So without further ado, I will allow her to introduce herself and begin her story. Hopefully it won't be as long in the telling as Julian's. It is not as epic, nor does it have sweeping consequences, but as I see it, without Cora we would not have Julian's story at all.

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Chapter One

“Milady!” The lean form darted through the tall panels, the storm following hard on his heels. The doorkeepers struggled to close the doors against the pelting rain. For a moment, I could not see the courier’s face against the lightning flashes that limned his figure.

Finally he halted before me, bedraggled and breathless. Rain dripped from his sodden clothes, and plastered his black hair to his forehead. As my vision readjusted to the torches that lit the main hall of the donjon, I could recognize the young man. I stepped away from my comfortable chair and nodded at Jannet, who turned and disappeared in the direction of the kitchens.

“Please sit down, Tavish,” I took the courier’s cloak and removed it from his shoulders. He reached for it reflexively, but I shook my head at him as Siné took the fabric from me and draped it near the fire to dry. I led him to my chair. He resisted briefly, but exhaustion enforced my quiet command, and he fell onto the soft cushion with a groan.

“I h- have n- news,” he met my gaze as I picked up the wine flagon and poured the mulled liquid into my goblet. I handed it to him with forced calmness. Around us gathered the thistlemen who had remained behind to defend the donjon, and those of our crofters who sought refuge from the oncoming winter in our snug shelter.

“I’m sure you do,” I answered quietly, gesturing for him to drink. “But partake of the wine first. You are shivering so much all of us can hear your teeth chattering!”

Jannet returned with more of the heated wine and warm blankets. She set the flagon down on the warming table beside the fire and turned to wrap the dry wool around Tavish’s shaking shoulders. He gulped at the goblet gratefully and snuggled deeper into the blankets before speaking again.

“Milord is at the Bluestone Tower,” the courier cradled the wine in both hands, seeking to warm his fingers against its heat. “The Colovian forces are there.”

“Who arrived first?” Robert Whitearm, the burly castellan, shouldered his way through the growing crowd to take his place at my right shoulder.

“Milord did,” Tavish responded. “But before he could take the high ground across the river, the Legions arrived. They possess the bluffs.”

I could see the dismay in Robert’s stony face as he absorbed the implications. From my own studies in milord’s library, I understood that Wallace had just lost the first battle. It would be far more difficult to take on the foe from downhill.

“How many are there?” Robert continued his line of questioning after a moment. Tavish met his gaze unhappily.

“There were three thousand there when I left,” he muttered into his wine. “Five cohorts worth. With more on the way.”

“Damnation!” Robert’s barely suppressed explosion lifted his heavy mustache away from his lips. I shook my head warningly at him. He fell silent, grumbling to himself like a cranky bear roused too early from his winter sleep.

“How are milord’s men?” I turned back to Tavish. He smiled bravely at me.

“They are in good spirits, m’lady,” he lifted the goblet at me. “The stores are full with provisions and arms, and their blades are keen.”

“Does milord require anything from us?” He shook my head at my question.

“M’lord asks that you see to the donjon.” His gaze shifted to Robert. “keep the men alert, and the crofters safe. Winter comes, and promises to be harsh this year.”

“Thank you, Tavish,” I murmured, then turned to Robert. “Please send the patrol out one more time, to try and bring in the rest of the crofters. Things will be very hard for them this winter.”

“You know how they don’t want to leave their livestock,” Robert began. I drew myself up to my fullest height, though the top of my head still fell short of his broad shoulders.

“Then we must find room for all their livestock within the bailey,” I answered. “With so many men away, it’s the only way to keep them safe with the limited manpower we have.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Robert inclined his head in gruff acquiescence. He turned and stalked through the throng, shouting over their gathered heads for his lieutenant. I searched the surrounding faces. A lean man with a hatchet face stepped forward and bowed to me.

“Niall,” I said to the steward, “please see Tavish settled into the thistlemen’s dormitory. Get those wet clothes off of him before he catches bloodlung. And feed him something hot and filling before he falls asleep.”

“As you will, milady,” Niall inclined his upper body again and motioned for Tavish to follow him.

“No,” Tavish rose unsteadily to his feet. “I have a message for m’lady’s ears only.” He turned to me. “Please let me say it before you send me away.”

“Then we will go to milord’s study,” I turned toward the stair set into the wall at the north side of the donjon. “Niall, Jannet, with us please.” I caught the breath of protest the young courier drew and shook my head at him. “Come,” I waved him ahead. He moved forward and fell in behind me obediently.

Wallace’s study sat on the second floor, at the south wall of the donjon. When we reached the entrance, I waved Tavish through, and paused in the doorway. “Niall, Jannet, wait out here. I’ll not keep you long.” They nodded their acquiescence and I closed the door before them.

In the center of the book lined room, Tavish turned uneasily toward me. “This is a message from milord,” he spoke quietly. I stepped forward so we were mere inches apart.

“Tell me.” I said softly.

“Milord says to make the donjon ready to receive wounded,” Tavish’s blue eyes grew unfocused as he recalled Wallace’s exact words. “He expects massive casualties at the blades of the Legions.”

“Does he still expect to defeat the Colovians?” I asked. Tavish looked down at me. Not quite as tall as Sir Robert, he still had height on me, as did most of the residents of Cardonaccum. “Tell me the truth,” I demanded softly.

“Yes, m’lady,” Tavish answered. “Though Sir Laird and Sir Rodric do not agree. Sir Broc sides with milord.”

Of course he would. I kept my initial response silent. “How soon?”

“As soon as their General brings up the rest of his Legions,” Tavish responded. “Milord expects tomorrow or the day after.”

So soon? I hid my dismay and nodded thoughtfully. “Anything else, Tavish?”

“That is all,” the courier ducked his head and swayed slightly. “Milord said you would understand.”

“Thank you, Tavish,” I returned to the corridor door and opened it. “Niall will see you settled for the night. Sleep well.”

“Milady,” Tavish bowed deeply to me. For a breath’s space I feared that he would pitch forward onto his face, but he recovered his balance and shuffled to the door and the waiting steward beyond. After the young man departed, I crossed the corridor to the sleeping quarters I shared with Wallace. Jannet followed me into the sitting room and closed the door behind her.

“I will make it an early night,” I said, turning for the connecting door that led to my sleeping room. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

Jannet banked the sitting-room fire and tidied up the reading table while I changed into my nightdress. She peeked into the sleeping room as I pulled the bedcovers back. “Will milady be needing anything else?”

I shook my head at the older woman. “No, thanks very much. Sleep well, Jannet.”

“You as well, milady.” She closed the door after her, and I listened to her footfalls as she crossed the sitting room to her sleeping alcove at the opposite side.

I slipped into the bed and drew up the thick pelts over my lap. Leaning back against the stead, I picked up the book resting on my nightstand. One of Wallace’s volumes, it detailed the attempts of King Vrage of Skyrim to free the Bretons of High Rock from their supposed enslavement. As I opened it to the place marked by a dark green ribbon, something landed on my feet. I looked up as the big black-striped brown moggy padded along my legs to settle beside my right hip. She curled up contentedly and began purring squeakily.

I smiled at her attitude and reached my hand down to stroke the soft fur of her back. The purring rose to thunderous proportions, and she adjusted her position slightly for better gratification. “Cinnie, let me read a bit,” I whispered to the cat. Then I returned to the book. Crossing the River Bjoulsae. I had read it once before, when I married Wallace ten years ago. I had found it difficult to understand then. Not so much now, thanks to my husband’s guidance.

“What are you doing here, Cora?” Wallace’s gentle voice reached me from the doorway of his study. I jumped guiltily and clutched the heavy book to my bosom, afraid of dropping it. The sun shone warm on my back as I turned away from the window to face him. Instead of the wrath I expected to see, his weathered face held only surprise.

“I- I was c- curious,” I stammered, bowing my head in shame. “Forgive me, milord.” I moved to return the book to its place among its brethren on one of the library shelves. In a long stride Wallace placed his sword hand on my wrist, the calluses of its palm hard against my skin.

He plucked the book from my hands and glanced at the cover. “Crossing the River Bjoulsae?” He turned to me. “Look at me, Cora.” Hesitantly I obeyed, looking up into his lean visage. “Why are you reading a military history book? My first wife’s romances are over there.” He gestured to the opposite side of the room. I flinched at the reminder of my predecessor.

“Th- they’re n- not in- interesting.” I managed to get the words out. His grey brows rose, startled.

“Not interesting?” he repeated disbelievingly. “And this is?” He hefted the thick volume and regarded me thoughtfully. Silently I nodded. “Do you understand any of it?”

I had to shake my head. “I- it’s not e- easy, milord.”

He touched my lips. “It’s just the two of us, Cora. You don’t need to address me so formally.”

Again I lowered my eyes. “Yes, mi - Wallace.”

My husband set the book back on the shelf with greater ease than I had in obtaining it from its high perch. “Come, sit down a moment, Cora.” He drew me to one of a pair of leather upholstered chairs placed near the fireplace. “Why do you want to learn military history and tactics?”

I looked up at him as I took the indicated chair. He met my gaze when he had seated himself in the twin. When I didn’t answer, his brows rose. I found myself still fascinated by them. Wonderfully expressive they were, as were his stormy grey eyes. For all that he was so much older than me, by a good thirty years, Wallace was still clean-jointed, still limber and trim after years of fighting and training. Once again I saw the sadness in his gaze, the sadness that never left. Once again I renewed my private vow to dispel that private grief.

“When I sit with you and your men at dinner,” I made myself speak slowly. I didn’t stammer, and felt proud. “I want to be able to understand your conversation.”

He leaned back, his eyes steady on me. “Really? Even when their wives discuss things with you?”

I shook my head. “Talk of spinning and dyeing wool, of crocheting, of pickling and salting food for the winter doesn’t interest me.”

“They should,” he shook a callused finger chidingly at me. “The work of women are just as important as that of men. More so, even. For without their hard work, we’d be too hungry and too cold to fight!”

“And without men who know how to fight, there’d be no women to feed and clothe them!” I countered with some heat before I caught myself. My eyes sought the fire. “I’m sorry, mil - Wallace.”

“Don’t be,” Wallace’s tone turned gentle again. “Cora, are you truly interested in our conversations over dinner?”

I peeked warily at him. Unlike my guardian, who had scorned and ridiculed my interest in military tactics, Wallace seemed genuinely accepting. I nodded.

“Very well,” he set his hands on the arms of his chair. The leather-covered wood frame creaked as he pushed himself to his feet. “Then it would be wise to begin with this,” he moved back to his collection of military books and ran his finger along their spines. Finding the one he sought, he pulled it out. “This book is the first book I ever read. It will explain the basics you need to understand everything else, including Bjoulsae.” He tapped my ambitious selection with a knuckle, then returned to the hearth with the slimmer volume. “Start with this one, and work your way up to that one. We’ll talk about it some more after you finish reading it. Understood?”

I looked at the cover of the book he handed me. Art of War. Breathlessly, I looked up at him. He smiled, that sadness not quite disappearing, and waited for my answer. “Yes, I understand, Wallace,” I managed to whisper. He touched my cheek with his fingertips before turning and leaving me alone in his study.

“Yes, I understand, Wallace,” I whispered as my eyes refocused on the book in my lap. Cinnie picked her head up at the sound of my voice and yawned, before shifting back into sleep.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Jul 1 2013, 03:03 AM

[haute ecole rider]

@Acadian: Thanks for your affirmation of my attempt to develop Cora's character while diving right into the story. I like writing stories this way - get right to the action and let my characters' reactions and responses describe their personalities and histories to us the readers. Yes, I wanted to create the sense of dread Cora is struggling with in her Lord's absence.

@SubRosa: I wouldn't say Cora has been sheltered all her life - let's just say that her early experiences have not been delightful. Honestly, this marriage scared her when she first came to Cardonaccum, but turned out to be so different from what she expected. We will find out later in the story more about her early upbringing. I do think you need to think about the time frame first before you can place Cardonaccum. Not to worry, we will learn later in the story where it is really located.

@KC: I think it goes without saying that Lord Wallace enjoyed his meal! I'm sure Acadian did! Jannet is a special lady, and I'm glad that came across.

@TheSkyMan: I've always seen Niall as the epitome of the English Butler - stiff upper lip, dry sense of humor that is never revealed, and exacting service without servitude.

The story so far: We get a sense of Cora's beginnings at Cardonaccum and the dread she feels about her husband's fate as he heads off to face the Colovians. Now we begin to see the aftermath of that confrontation.

Chapter Three

Mist rose from the valley floor and piled up around the base of the castle wall. I stood next to Robert, looking out over the holding. Silence enfolded us in mutual worry as we gazed along the road that led south from Cardonaccum. Our breaths merged with the wispy fog that began to swirl around the tops of the gate towers.

“They should be sending messengers soon,” Robert’s gruff voice sounded muted in the gloomy afternoon light. I nodded silently. And the wounded, too. If Robert thought the same, he kept it to himself. Yet I knew he was too experienced a soldier to not consider the things Wallace had warned me about.

Moisture collected on my bare cheeks. It’s drizzling. I drew the hood of my thick cloak up over my hair and tucked my hands into the long sleeves of my overdress to keep them warm. The afternoon light grew perceptibly darker with the lowering overcast.

“It’ll rain again soon,” Robert turned to me. “Milady, you should go inside by the fire. The men will keep watch here. I’ll make sure they send word to you as soon as they see something.”

I touched his mailed arm. “Come in, too, Robert. At least eat something hot.”

He gave a final glance outward before nodding his acquiescence. Gallantly he gave me his arm as we headed for the stair leading down, now slick from the drizzle. We soon reached the courtyard and started toward the donjon.

Robert stopped in the center of the open space. I turned to look up into his shadowed face. His heavy mustache hid the expression of his lips, and I couldn’t see more than a glimmer of his eyes in the gloom. “What is it, Robert?”

“Milady, you know I’ve never spoken of your - “ his voice trailed off. I waited, wondering at his pensiveness. “They say you’re a Witch, that you can foresee one’s fate.” Again he stopped.

“I’m not sure that I’m truly a Witch,” I answered softly. “I know little of magic spells and such. Potions and poisons are more my expertise, as you well know.” I shook my head. “Though I will not deny that my father was one of the Witchmen. Yet I have not even a glimmer of his gift. Foretelling futures? Nay, that I can not do.”

Robert turned his gaze to the high stone wall of the donjon before us. “Then you canna ken the outcome of this battle?”

I sighed, feeling again the foreboding that had rested heavy in my belly since Wallace’s departure. “No, Robert, I can’t. But that’s not to say I don’t have a bad feeling about this -“ I stopped myself, unwilling to share more of my unease with him. However much I trusted Robert, and Jannet, I could not burden them with my dread. What if it means nothing? I would have worried them for naught.

“Aye, that I have, too,” Robert muttered, turning his gaze back to me. “I fear for milord and the others. But most of all, I fear for you and the good people of Cardonaccum. If milord falls -“

“I promised milord I would look after his folk,” I stopped Robert with a gesture. “If it comes to it -“ my voice wavered, and I swallowed. “If it comes to it, may I count on you to stand beside me and help me keep that promise?”

“I swear by Shor that I shall stand beside you and support you to the end!” Robert’s vehement whisper caused my shoulders to straighten involuntarily. I squeezed his wrist in gratitude.

We walked slowly up the wide steps leading into the donjon. Behind us a shout echoed across the bailey. “Stay here, milady,” Robert started back down to the courtyard. The wailing note of a war horn reached us. The big castellan broke into a run, his cloak shedding droplets with his rapid pace.

“It’s milord!” One of the thistlemen shouted down from the gate towers. “He’s hurt, from the looks of it!”

My heart leaped into my throat and stayed there as Robert shouted for the thistlemen to unbolt the gates. Golden light surged across the stairs and into the courtyard from behind me as the donjon doors were flung open. Niall stopped next to me. “Is it -?”

“Get the priest,” I said to him. “And f- fetch bandages and potions!”

“Yes, milady!” Niall disappeared back into the donjon as crofters, servants and ladies crowded behind me.

Thistlemen ran to the gates as they swung ponderously open, creaking in the damp twilight. Now I could hear hoofbeats thundering across the moat bridge outside the castle. My feet ached to run toward that tall portal, but I forced myself to wait.

Four dark figures on horses surged through the gateway to the center of the courtyard. The animals slithered and slid on the stones, fighting to stay upright beneath their burdens. None of them were Nightshade. I took a step forward to the edge of the top step when I saw that two of the horses carried double. Thistlemen swarmed around the jittery horses, trying to steady them long enough for the riders to hand down their burdens. I recognized Sir Laird’s big grey. He held someone in his arms across his saddle. So did Sir Broc on his red chestnut with the blaze. The younger knight looked up at me as he handed his burden down to the thistlemen’s waiting arms.

“My husband!” Larena exclaimed as Laird nearly dropped the broken form into the thistlemen’s hands. She ran forward as they bore Sir Rodric’s bloodied body to the stairs. Laird dismounted from his horse and staggered, exhaustion in every line of his form.

“Bring them inside, quick!” I waved for the men to carry their burdens into the keep’s main hall. I stood aside to let them pass, my gaze moving back toward the gates where more riders galloped through. Nightshade wasn’t among them, either.

I looked down just as they carried Broc’s wounded past. My breath disappeared into the night as my gaze fell on Wallace’s bloodied face. The flesh had been torn from the left side of his head, leaving bone gaping through the red mess. His face was nearly as white as his skull, and his eyes were closed.

Somehow I found the strength to follow the thistlemen bearing my husband’s inert form into the hall. Sir Rodric struggled against the pain of his broken limbs as they bore him to one side of the hearth. Larena fell to her knees beside her husband, sobbing. I turned my gaze from them to Wallace as they laid him onto the adjacent cot.

“Milord!” I leaned down to him as the thistlemen drew back. He did not respond. I felt tears burn the backs of my eyes as I gazed onto that weathered face and felt the deathly stillness in his body. All the warmth in the world fled from me and I dropped to my knees beside him.

No, it’s just a nightmare. One of my nightmares. He’ll put his arms around me and tell me it’s just a nightmare. Arkay, Kyne, please let it be just a nightmare! I laid my cheek against his blood-stained surcoat, over that great heart of his. I heard only Larena’s weeping. I closed my eyes. Please Arkay, don’t take my husband. Please! I haven’t given him a child yet! You can’t take him away from me! Please! It’s just a nightmare. Wallace will wake me up with his arms around me. Please!

His arms did not enfold me in the embrace I so desperately prayed for. His body did not move beneath me, his chest did not rise. Those sad, expressive eyes remained closed.

“I’m sorry, milady,” Broc’s voice reached me. A hand touched my right shoulder, lingered just a little too long. “He saved Sir Rodric’s life, but died in the melee.”

“You’re the reason he’s dead, fetcher!” Rodric shouted as I shook off Broc’s hand. I rose to my feet and turned toward Rodric. “He saved my life, true, then he saved yours! But damned fool you, you let him be struck down by Colovian blades!” Laird clamped his hand on Rodric’s good shoulder and pressed him back down on the cot. Larena pleaded with her husband to lie quietly.

I did not look at Broc, only turned back to Wallace. My blurred vision saw his empty hands, the fingers on the right flayed to the bone. The left forearm bent at an unnatural angle. Dark viscera protruded through a rent in the left side of his mail coat.

“Sir Rodric is not himself,” Broc stepped to my side and took my elbow. “It was so chaotic, so confusing, he must be mistaken -“ Reflexively I struck his shoulder, knocking him back.

“Where is milord’s sword? His shield? And his horse?” I drew myself up to my fullest height and faced Broc. “If you were with him when he was killed, why did you not take his gear?”

He bowed his head in overt grief. “When milord fell, all I could think of was to get him to safety. He still lived when we left the battlefield -“

“So you left Cirsium, Thistlethorn and Nightshade behind for the Colovians to take?” I cut him off, anger replacing grief.

“Nightshade was cut down when milord came to Sir Rodric’s aid!” Broc protested, his hands lifting to my shoulders. I stepped back until my thighs met the edge of the cot, now my husband’s bier. “And I couldn’t fetch his weapons and hope to save milord!”

“That’s enough!” Robert’s stentorian voice cut through the whispers around us as he stepped to my side. He glanced briefly at Wallace, then turned to me, blue eyes dark. “What will ye have me do, milady?”

Shouting stopped my answer. Everyone glanced toward the front of the hall, where the doors still stood open to the courtyard. Thistlemen darted outside, spears and halberds lowered. Sir Laird and Robert pushed their way through the crofters after the men. They stopped in the doorway, and I saw Robert’s face turn back toward me. Then the two men drew their swords and stepped out. Angry shouting reached me, though I couldn’t make out the words. But some of the voices were new to me.

Let Robert and Sir Laird take care of them. I turned back to Wallace and touched his cold face, the tears warm on my own.

“Lady Cora ap Askey!” The unfamiliar voice shouting my full name brought my head around. Who dares call me by my father’s name? “Lady Cora ap Askey! I have something that belongs to you!” More shouting drowned him out, but not before I identified the accent as foreign.

I walked to the open doorway as the clouds broke open and released a downpour. In the courtyard, three men astride dark bays clustered around a white horse and a black destrier. The dark one tossed his head high, eyes showing white, and pealed defiance to the skies. The castle thistlemen ringed the group, spears and halberds leveled. But the strangers’ own swords remained sheathed at their sides. The fourth man, unmounted and with his back to Nightshade, for it was Nightshade standing there pawing furiously at the cobblestones, looked up from beneath his hood as I stepped out into the rain.

“Take them!” Sir Laird shouted. I glanced at the thistlemen, and caught Robert’s eye. He tipped his head toward the strangers, and I shook mine. No. Let them speak their piece.

“Put up your blades!” Robert’s voice drowned out Sir Laird’s shouted commands. “Milady commands it!”

The one who met my gaze held Nightshade’s reins effortlessly. The stallion, known for his viciousness toward enemies, did nothing more than stamp sparks from the granite paving. The cloaked, hooded man gazed at me for another moment more, then stepped forward, the wild-eyed destrier following him.

Laird spun toward me, but my gaze remained locked on the cloaked, hooded stranger leading my husband’s stallion to the steps. He stopped on the first step, and I could see that he carried something beneath his cloak.

“Lady Cora?” His voice was quieter now, barely audible above the downpour that soaked all of Nirn. Silently I nodded. He bowed low, then straightened up with a flourish that swept the hood back over his shoulders.

Again my breath fled at the face that looked back at me. The face I had seen before - the man of my nightmares.