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]

@SubRosa: Yes, Wallace anticipated that Lady Cora would experience resistance to the idea of her becoming Lord of Cardonaccum after his passing. Yet he chose her as his successor, though apparently he thought he had some time to make this clear to his knights. Not that it would have changed anything with Sirs Laird and Broc, or with the Pillsbury Priest of Arkay Onchu. We will see (eventually, at this posting rate!) that General Talos wants Cardonaccum (and Lady Cora) as his ally for more than just its strategic geographic location . . .

@McB: Yes, Cardonaccum sounds like it should be on the National Register of Historic Places (the U.S. version of the National Trust)! I would like to visit it with you at such a time! As for Robert, he holds a special place in my heart just for being the big, loyal, shaggy bear of a Nord that he is!

ghastley: Sir Laird will find that he is stuck between a rock and a hard place soon enough . . .

Acadian: Yes, Lady Cora has a gem in Robert our castellan. He is rock solid, dependable, reliable, and pretty smart up top as well as handy with his weapons. He continues to be her strongest support through this challenging time.

Mr. Stratocumulus: Congratulations on catching up! You should find this leisurely pace fairly easy to keep up with, even if you miss a week or two. As for why Lord Wallace didn't get rid of Sirs Laird and Broc, let's just say that politics has a way of - umm - getting in the way. As for the presence of magic in this story, it's there, but quite low-key. We will learn why Lady Cora does not use magic so much. As for General Talos moving his men in position, let's just say that he is comfortable with ambiguous situations, and is well-prepared for whichever way Lady Cora is going to jump, and he doesn't mind letting her know that he is ready for anything.

The story so far: General Talos moved his men into position to surround the castle from a distance. Lady Cora has placed Cardonaccum on siege footing to prepare for the worst. She also delegates the tactical decisions to Castellan Robert, whom Captains Enrick and Padriac both trust.

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Chapter Eleven

Siné finished her report on an encouraging note. “We’ve replaced the potions that were lost on the battlefield.” She smiled calmly at me. Eight years older than me, Siné was always quiet, yet competent as the chapel healer. She did not engage in the same bluster as Onchu, nor did she ever berate me for being born a Witch. Her manner toward me remained just the same since Wallace’s death, a minor fact that I somehow found reassuring.

“Thank you very much, Siné,” I answered. “H- how is Sir Rodric doing?”

“Being very difficult,” she replied wryly. “The idea of forced rest when we are besieged does not sit well with him.”

“I’ll th- threaten to chain him to his bed if he doesn’t follow your orders,” I offered in the same vein. She chuckled before nodding to me and walking away. I turned toward the kitchens. While headed to the kitchens to check on Machara, I had encountered Siné on her way to the cellars, where she maintained an alchemy lab and created her healing potions.

Chaos greeted me as I entered the kitchen. Machara berated two teenaged boys over their treatment of a side of mutton. She paused long enough to scold one of the girls for letting the bread burn in the oven before turning back to the amateur butchers. I eyed the meat and thought it looked acceptable, but kept silent as the burly cook wound down. When she finally released the boys back to their tasks, she cast a baleful glare around the kitchen.

Her ire disappeared when she saw me, however. Wiping her hands on her apron, she hurried up to me and bobbed a greeting. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, milady,” she exclaimed, pushing flaxen tendrils from her flushed face with the back of her right hand. Her cheeks puffed as she blew between pursed lips. “You’d be wanting to tell me what you want for dinner, no?”

“To tell you the truth, Machara,” I had to admit, somewhat ruefully, “I’ve been somewhat remiss in my duties. I haven’t given a th- thought to eating.” I moved past her into the center of the immense chamber. “How are you feeding the fighting soldiers?”

“Hot and hearty, just the way they fight!” Machara responded as she followed me. She gestured toward the two young butchers, chopping up the mutton on a broad table scarred by past battles with cleavers. “Mutton stew with mirepoix and gravy. Siné’s recipe - fennel seeds and peony seeds ground together and simmered in strong tea to keep them awake on watch. Plenty of bread and cheese!” Her eyes shifted back to the bread ovens against the far wall. “Conny! Didn’t I tell you to stop burning the bread!”

As far as I could tell, the bread the poor girl was pulling out of one of the ovens was perfectly golden. It’s just Machara’s way of getting things done. All of these people are used to her ways. “Then I’ll h- have what the men are having, Machara,” I diverted her away from her latest victim. “No need to make anything special for me.”

“But milady, all that’s so common!”

“We’re under siege, Machara,” I responded, raising my voice to be heard above the commotion. Everyone paused in their frantic activity and stared at us. Now’s the time to bond everyone together. “The most important people in this castle r- right now are those men standing up on the walls,” I continued so everyone heard me. “It’s cold and wet out there. If it isn’t raining, there’s frost falling. If the temperature drops any further, they’ll be shivering in the snow while the rest of us are t- tucked away inside this warm donjon. It’s up to all of us to support those men, for without their strong arms and brave hearts, we’ll have more important things to worry about th- than what’s an appropriate dinner for a barefoot Witch.”

“Of course, milady!” Machara exclaimed, bobbing her head in vigorous agreement. Suddenly she stopped and shot a glare around the chamber. The noise level increased as her underlings hurriedly returned to their labors.

I turned back to the cook. “An army travels on its s- stomach,” I lowered my voice so only she heard. “Feed our men so well that those Legions out there start thinking about defecting to us for your food!”

Machara giggled, a surprisingly girlish response from such a buxom woman. “That I can do, milady!”

I gave her a smile before I left her domains.

By the time I returned to the great hall, torches were being lit under Jannet’s supervision. She caught my glance across the hall and raised her brows in an unspoken question. I shook my head and continued toward the stairs to the second story.

My foot was on the first step when I became aware of a rising commotion from outside. I paused and turned toward the great doors. Are we under attack? I ran my hand across the baldric holding Thistlethorn at my back.

“Milady!” The left hand panel swung back, and a thistleman ran into the donjon. His eyes swept the great hall. “Milady?”

“Here,” I answered, leaving the stairs and moving as quickly as I could without running toward him.

“Robert wants you in the east gate tower,” the young man exclaimed. “Quickly, please?”

“What is it?” I started toward the door with the thistleman falling into step beside me.

“Wait just a minute, milady!” Jannet called from across the hall. “You’re not going out there dressed like that!”

I paused and turned back, looking down at the kirtle and cotehardie I had worn all day. “What’s wrong with th- this?” I raised my eyes to see Jannet bearing down on me with my cloak billowing in her hands.

“It’s cold out there!” She tipped her head toward the soldier next to me. “He’s wearing a cloak!”

“Yes, milady,” the thistleman’s tone took on a sheepish note. “It’s gotten colder since the noon.”

I took the heavy woolen cloak from Jannet and flung it over my shoulders, leaving the pommel of Thistlethorn exposed. Fastening it around my throat with my left hand, I nodded for the thistleman to lead on.

As I stepped onto the top of the stone stairs that led up into the donjon, I gasped as the frozen wind sliced through my cloak and set my teeth chattering. My breath was flung back into my face, leaving icy crystals on my cheeks. “C- cold?” I shivered at the thistleman. “We’re not in the Wrothgarians, damn it!”

His long stride faltered on the stairs as he glanced back at me, but he did not stop. I followed closely on his heels as we crossed the bailey. I could see the great gates ahead, thistlemen lowering the bolt home.

“What just h- happened?” I demanded. “Did we open the gates?”

“I’d best have Robert tell you,” the young soldier avoided my gaze. He led me to the base of the eastern tower and wrestled the door open. I ducked into the warm interior, lit only by braziers and torches. Within, I saw more thistlemen hunched over the flames, warming their hands. Some of them nodded to me.

The soldier who had fetched me headed for the narrow stairs leading upwards around the walls of the tower. “Be careful, milady,” he paused after the first few steps to offer me his hand for support. Gathering up my skirts, I accepted his assistance gratefully up the steep stairs.

By the time we reached the third floor, I was out of breath again. Robert turned from one of the south-facing slot windows as I approached him. I stopped at the black look on his face.

“Did Colin tell you anything?” he asked, his eyes flickering toward the thistleman.

“No, just that you would t- tell me,” I answered, gasping for breath. “But did I just s- see the gates being closed?”

“Aye,” Robert scowled, then waved me to the window. I moved forward and peered out.

The sun was now low enough in the sky that the road descended into gloom. I could see flickering torches signaling a fast-moving procession winding its way down the east side of the dean to the valley floor. “Who is th- that?” I demanded. I could just make out the shapes of armored horsemen and foot soldiers. In the rear of the train, more horsemen surrounded a woman seated sidesaddle on a white palfrey. “Is that -“

Just then the lead rider drew rein and spun his grey horse on its hocks. I recognized Sir Laird by his lean figure, angular even in plate armor. “What!” The exclamation burst from my lips as my eyes fell on the familiar emblem on his left arm. “He has C- Cirsium? How dare he?” I slammed my fist into the stone at the side of the window. Then I saw the woman again. Edine. Does he know Talos holds the road?

I backed away and spun around to stare at Robert. “Tell me how he left C- Cardonaccum,” I said coldly.

“He pulled rank on the soldiers manning the gates,” Robert answered. “They thought he had your permission to sally out with his men and strike a blow. They didn’t realize their error until his wife and sons passed them.”

“S- stupid fetcher!” I exclaimed, my fists clenching at my sides. “Does he think he c- can get past General Talos?”

“Apparently he thinks the General will give him safe passage for his family.” Robert shook his head.

“He does, does h- he?” I shook my head fiercely, my loose hair tangling in the pommel of Thistlethorn. Impatiently I pulled my locks over my right shoulder and turned back to the window. “Why would a general who ordered the s- slaughter of unarmed Bretons give safe passage t- to armed Bretons? He’ll keep th- them from passing th- through.”

“Should I send a detachment after them?” Robert asked. “Maybe we can convince Sir Laird to return.”

“Can’t,” I shook my head. “I t- told him if he left th- this donjon, h- he wouldn’t be welcomed back.” Below, the flickering torches disappeared through the trees lining the valley. I closed my eyes. Edine. She’ll be caught in the middle. It won’t end well for her. I sighed. This conviction came from the same source as my nightmares. Though I possessed no magic of my own, Nirn gave me her own. My bare feet kept me in constant contact with her power, through stones and wood and dirt. Sometimes Nirn showed me possible futures, and I saw one now. “I will not ch- change my mind on the matter. He betrayed C- Cardonaccum by stealing Cirsium and leaving th- the donjon during a siege.” I turned back to Robert. “Where is Onchu?”

“He left with Sir Laird,” Robert answered.

Good riddance. We never needed that fat hypocrite here anyway. But now I have to find someone else to tend Arkay’s chapel. “R- Robert, make certain everyone knows that no one, absolutely no one, is to leave th- the donjon without your or my permission. The two of us are the only ones with the personal authority t- to open these gates, and the postern gate up on the moor.”

“As you will, milady,” Robert inclined his head.

From the shadows behind him stepped one of the other men in the shadowed room. I recognized Captain Padriac. He bowed to me, his face grim. “My pardons, milady. This is my fault.” Robert shifted toward him, lifting a hand to stop the other soldier.

“Your fault?” I repeated, meeting Padriac’s uneasy gaze. “H- how so?”

“Sir Rodric warned me that Sir Laird was likely to cause trouble,” Padriac answered. “It was my men on the gate, my men who let them through. I neglected to tell them to keep Sir Laird confined to the bailey.”

I sighed. “It isn’t your fault, C- Captain,” I said firmly. “If any one of us is at fault, it is me. I sh- should have ordered him c- confined to quarters this afternoon. Instead, I let him escape because I did not c- communicate the necessity to everyone on th- the walls.” Robert shook his head slowly until I shot him a glare. “But we h- have more important things to do th- than figure out where the blame lies,” I continued. “Sir Laird was planning to betray me and Wallace - he s- said as much to me. By Arkay, we may be better off without him h- here!”