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: As always, I enjoyed your summation of the elements that resonated with you. This tells me that I am hitting the right notes in my writing. The stranger from Cora's nightmares will reveal his identity in today's segment, so keep reading!

@ghastley: I haven't heard the term rounceys! And I thought I knew them all! No coursers here unfortunately. Most of what Cardonaccum breeds are chargers and palfreys (and we will see one or two of those later, I promise!). I'm glad that you are intrigued enough to try and locate Cardonaccum on a Tamriel map. Keep reading, more clues to come! One or two very large clues in today's post will prove to be helpful in your quest, I think. To be honest, I'm not using Scottish and Welsh history here, though there is a very strong flavor of those two cultures running throughout this tale. I admit that I've always found those two countries very fascinating. Someday . . .

@SageRose: Cora is not quite a Witchwoman, as we will soon see. But I'm glad that tidbit spurred your interest. I've been wanting to write a Witch character for some time, and when Cora first introduced herself to me, that's when I knew the time was now. Thanks for the linky to the vid! Goliath is actually the model for Nightshade - I kept seeing him as I was writing the stallion's passages. Friesian horses are so like Morgans that they are easy for me to write. I have actually met a Friesian stud who was as gentle as he was impressive. They're not that big, but their stance makes them seem bigger! As for Rutger Hauer, he is not quite how I picture Wallace, but he certainly has the heroic look down pat. I would be content to let him play Wallace! But I think he is better suited to play the man from Cora's nightmares. Gary Cooper, if he were still alive, would be better as Wallace!

@Grits: I'm glad you are enjoying this story. I love introducing my characters slowly, over time, just as we learn about each other in real life. Keep reading - I think it only gets better!

ThatSkyrimGuy: I'm glad to see you're still reading! Your fiction is actually on my list of must-read - I just haven't found the time to sit down and read through it yet. I did read enough to know it is Skyrim-based. Since I don't have Skyrim, it will be interesting to see how much I can follow without having played the game. Yes, the weather is proving to be as much a character in this story as the animals and the people! There is a lot of information in the Lore section on the UESP wiki, which is my major source of research. The in-game books in Oblivion were my starting point, and I am delighted that they are duplicated in full here. There are more to be found at the Imperial Library. I should warn you, though, they are vortexes that will suck you into the black hole of lost time!

The story so far: Wallace's body has been returned to Cardonaccum, along with injured soldiers and knights. But Cora does not have time to grieve, as the man from her nightmares show up with Nightshade in tow . . .

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Chapter Four

Lightning crackled above us and threw his face into stark relief. Dark hair, cropped short, and a close-trimmed dark beard framed a square-jawed visage that bespoke strength, cunning and intelligence. The neat mustache only emphasized the hard lines of his mouth and the cold cast to his eyes. The dark cloak cascaded from broad shoulders and hid his shape.

“Lady Cora?” he asked again, resuming his approach up the stairs. Nightshade tossed his head in protest, then followed the man with much blowing and snorting.

Robert shouted an order, and six of the castle thistlemen left the ring and ran to surround me.

“Easy,”I reached out to the one nearest me and pressed his spear upwards. Robert reached my side just as I stepped clear of the thistlemen. With his protective bulk at my right, I felt more confident facing this apparition from my nightmares. “I am she,” I said to the Colovian soldier.

He stopped two steps below me, his eyes level with mine. “I am General Talos, commander of King Cuhlecain’s Colovian forces.” As the stallion sidled around him, he stretched his right hand and held the reins to me. “I believe this horse belonged to your husband, and therefore to you.”

I took the straps. Once Talos released them, Nightshade calmed down and side-stepped to stand beside me, opposite Robert. He blew softly against my shoulder then became as still as a statue.

Talos’s gaze flickered over the suddenly docile warhorse, and his lips twitched in the briefest and faintest of smiles. I was glad of the sheltering bulks of Nightshade and Robert when his eyes returned to mine. “And I came to return these.” He threw his cloak back over his left shoulder in another flourish.

Again I had to deflect threatening spear blades when I recognized the red thistle of Cirsium. Talos held it out to me, tilted so I could take it by its edge. His gauntleted right hand disappeared behind the shield, then reappeared with Thistlethorn, held by its blade and hilt extended to me.

I nodded to Robert, who took the shield. My hands shook as I reached for the heavy greatsword, but I managed to grip it without dropping it to the stone steps. The massive ruby mounted in the pommel gleamed blackly in the storm light. Lightly I touched the blooming thistle inlaid in silver on the forte of its steel blade. Denying release to my tears, I shifted my gaze back to Talos.

“Not that I am ungrateful, General,” I used Maester Oricharo’s trick to quell the stammer that threatened to surface. “But why did you not keep these for yourself?”

His brows raised at my question. “Lord Wallace fought bravely,” he said. “Single-handedly he and his horse kept off a full century until they were decimated. He was defeated only through bad luck,” he nodded at Nightshade. “The horse slipped in the mud and fell. Once Lord Wallace was unhorsed, my men were able to overwhelm him. Yet he fought on and refused surrender.” He inclined his head, the motion conveying the respect of one warrior for another. “For me to keep his horse and gear as trophies would be disrespectful of his sacrifice for his men and for his people.”

“My father and brother were among those you slaughtered at Sancre Tor last winter,” I made my tone hard. “What makes you think I won’t take these emblems of my husband’s authority and use them against you?”

Talos didn’t flinch. “I would expect no less from one such as you, Lady Cora,” he showed me the hilt of his own sword, resting at his side. “That is why I am here with a proposal. I hope you will take the time to hear me out.”

I felt my brows rise at his words as Wallace’s men shifted their feet. “A proposal?” I lifted Thistlethorn between us, its blade pointed downward between my hands. “My husband lies mere hours dead by your blades, and you come to me with a proposal? What makes you so confident that I’ll listen instead of having you struck down right here on these steps!”

Talos held my gaze steadily. “I’ve heard about you, Lady Cora ap Askey. You would be a formidable foe, and after your husband’s exacting toll, I’ve no more energy.” Again he inclined his head to me. “Please hear me out first, before you decide my fate.”

The sword slipped between my slick palms as my arms began to tremble with the effort of holding it upright. A cold trickle ran down my spine and I couldn’t suppress the involuntary shiver. I took a deep breath, then another. A shrill voice in the back of my mind screamed at me to have Robert cut this upstart general down. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to give the order, not with Talos standing right in front of me, his gaze so steady on mine. And not with my calmer inner voice, the one I always listened to, telling me to wait.

Finally I lowered Thistlethorn’s tip to the stones between my feet and cradled its hilt against my body. “We have wounded to tend to, and a lord’s funeral to carry out.” I caught the flicker in his eyes and wondered at it. “Robert.”

“Yes, milady.”

Without taking my eyes off Talos, I spoke slowly and quietly. “Take their weapons and their horses. Put these men up in the salt room. Make sure they have a fire to dry themselves, and something hot to drink.”

“Milady!” This from Laird, who stood at Robert’s other side. “Surely you wouldn’t consider -!”

“They brought Wallace’s emblems home,” I answered. “His ancestral shield, the sword of his forefathers. S- something that you,” I shot him a glare, “his own sworn knight, f- failed to do.” I lifted my chin until the rain camouflaged the tears I could no longer restrain. “For that alone, I owe the General th- this much.”

Robert shut Laird’s protests by handing him Cirsium. He stepped down to stand before Talos. “I believe you heard milady,” he said with neutral courtesy.

“Yes, I did,” Talos answered, unhooking his sheathed sword and handing it to Robert. “I shall wait until after Lord Wallace’s funeral.”

“Robert will see to your needs until then,” I picked up the sword and turned away. I did not look back as I entered the donjon. Behind me, the sounds of dismounting men, Nightshade belling as he was led to his stable, and the hoofbeats of the Colovian horses following after him trailed into the main hall.

Laird fell in beside me, matching his stride to my shorter steps. “Milady, you can’t trust that general -“

I stopped when my gaze fell on Broc, still standing next to Wallace’s still form. “There are those here I can’t trust, Sir Laird.” I turned to the aged knight. Older than Wallace, he had served Wallace’s father before swearing his allegiance to my husband so many years ago. Wallace had once said to me: “Laird is loyal to a fault. He is also hidebound and stuck in tradition going back to Aldmeri times. He’s a good man to have in a fight, but not such a good one to forge a diplomatic alliance.”

I regarded Laird’s visage somberly. He swayed a little, and I put my hand on his elbow. “You’re exhausted, sir. Please let your wife take you to her chambers, please rest. I will have need of you later, when we conduct the funeral rites for milord.” I caught Edine’s eye and waved her up.

As Edine led her husband away, Onchu, the rotund priest of Arkay, approached me. “Milady, shall we take milord’s body to the chapel?”

I glanced at the fire, at Rodric with Larena still sobbing beside him. “I have to take care of Sir Rodric first.” I met Onchu’s eyes. “But yes, take milord’s body there. I will join you there when Sir Rodric is tended.”

“Very well, milady,” Onchu bowed. He turned away as I made my way toward the wounded knight. Before I reached his side, Broc stopped me with a hand on my arm.

“Milady, tend to my wounds,” he said plaintively. “I would tell you how your husband died.”

“I know how he died,” I shook him off and stepped away. He followed me, staying too close to me for my peace. A glance around at the castle inhabitants revealed a pretty red-haired girl watching us. I waved her up. “Morna can ease your injuries. Go with her.”

Broc regarded me for a moment more, his jaw working with frustration. Then he rounded on the servant girl and brusquely gestured her to lead him. She bobbed a curtsy to me before moving away, the lean knight on her heels.

Will Morna realize her wish? I knew how she had dreamed of snagging her own knight, as she imagined I had done ten years ago. Little does she know that I had no say in that matter. Will it work out as well for her as it did for me? I didn’t like Broc’s familiarity with me, his overt advances that implied disloyalty to my husband.

Finally I reached Rodric’s side. Larena still wept beside him. He lay back, his face white beneath the blood splatter. His right arm and left leg lay at painful angles. Jannet was already at work, cutting away his armor. I set Thistlethorn against the side of the fireplace and leaned down to my husband’s most loyal knight. “Sir Rodric?”

He opened his eyes and blinked momentarily. When recognition flickered through his gaze, he drew breath to speak. I shook my head. “Be quiet. Let me examine you first.” I laid my left hand on his forehead. “Close your eyes, Sir Rodric.”

At first the pain I felt through that light touch was overwhelming. But soon I could determine the sources of the worst injuries. Broken right arm, left leg just as I suspected. Broken ribs on the right side. Torn ligaments in the right knee. He won’t be able to stand for days, if not weeks. And a sore head. No wonder he’s so dizzy, too. I broke the contact and looked across him at Larena, who watched me with bated breath.

“He will live,” I assured her softly. “Maybe a permanent limp, but he’ll walk again. It’s his head I’m most worried about. He’s dizzy, and that can get worse, or it may get better. We’ll have to see. I’ll have Siné take care of his injuries.” I turned to Jannet and began murmuring to her. She listened intently, then nodded and departed to carry out my instructions.

I moved to rise, but Rodric laid his good hand on my wrist. “Milady,” his weak tone pleaded, “will I be able to fight again?”

I took his hand in both of mine. “I don’t think so,” I said quietly. “Best to think about sending your Torquil to take your place in the vanguard.”

“But he’s only thirteen!” Larena protested, her voice cracking. “So young!”

“I was younger than he when I first took up the sword for Wallace!” Rodric growled at his wife. She relapsed into sobbing. He met my gaze. “It will be done.”

“Larena has a point,” I responded. “I think it will be best if he were to train with Robert for a year or two first. We’ll see how he comes along. Until then, we’ll muck along as best as we can.” I squeezed his hand. “For now, you need to think about recovering your strength.”

Jannet returned with two maids in tow, their arms laden with splinting materials, bandages and potions. The older woman put them to work cleaning Rodric’s wounds. I rose to my feet and stepped back to give them room. “Jannet, I will be in the chapel if anyone needs me.” I turned away.

Jannet followed me into the corridor that led back to the chapel. “Milady, do you require help?” Her wide gaze on me was uncharacteristically expressive, reflecting the grief I felt.

“No, I will do this alone,” I answered. Jannet glanced around to make sure we were alone, then wrapped her arms tightly around me. I gave in to the sorrow and leaned gratefully into her embrace. She patted my back gently as I wept into her shoulder.

Footsteps reached us, and I stepped back. Jannet’s arms fell to her sides, but she kept her gaze on me. “Thank you, Jannet,” I murmured as Machara appeared, a covered tray in her hands. “Please look after Sir Rodric for me. For milord.”

“Of course,” she nodded curtly, then turned on her heel and moved away. Machara stopped before me.

“Milady, I am so sorry,” she began, then stopped on a sob. I looked up at the big Nord. “Tell me how you want the funeral feast prepared?”

“I will let you know when I decide,” I answered. My gaze fell on the tray.

“Hot bergamot tea for the prisoners,” Machara lifted the platter slightly. “And haggis. We’ll see if they have the stomach for real food!”

I smiled through my tears at her vehemence. “Be sure they have no reason to complain, then!” I stepped aside. “Robert can see to it if you bring it to him.”

She bobbed a knee, then marched on down the hall. I leaned against the wall for a moment, fighting for breath against the sobs that threatened to overwhelm me. After a few moments, I found the courage to continue to the chapel.