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]

@ghastley: As usual, you have presented a good summation of the quandary faced by both Talos and Lady Cora in this segment. Her solution? Wait and see!

@Acadian: Yes, I would hope that Talos's inside information is good enough that he would see Laird as acting as his own agent. I'm sure, though, that is exactly how Talos sees the idiot. After all, he chose to deal with Cora, not with Wallace's surviving knights. And yes, a touch of empathy with the critters is one of Lady Cora's meager talents.

@SubRosa: I agree with you that GT would not take Laird's actions as indicative of Lady Cora's response to his offer. Rather, I would expect, as I said earlier, that his inside information would be good enough that he knows the nature of Sir Laird does not allow for a female ruler.

@Grits: I'm glad you liked that little detail of the darkened armor! I got to thinking about night operations by the Marines and the Army light infantry and thought why not Legion armor too? I think the trickiest part of night operations for armored fighters is maintaining silence!

@McB: Stop slapping the back of your head! You'll have a bruise bigger than your brains! Sir Broc wasn't invited to this one as Lady Cora did not want to waste time with his insinuations. But yes, a conference of Top Knights, indeed! I suspect Sir Broc would rather wait for a more auspicious time as he doesn't see Lady Cora in quite the same way that Sir Laird did. Thanks for the compliment!

The story so far: Sir Laird has taken his retinue out of Cardonaccum and has encountered Legion forces on the road below the castle. His death was reported by a dying man-at-arms who returned to Cardonaccum. After a hectic day, Lady Cora finally finds time to give in to her own grief.

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Chapter Thirteen

Blue-green light gleamed at intervals along the shadowed corridor. Corbeled vaulting soared above me, and the cracked, crumbling floor, coated with a slick greenish material, twisted my ankles as I tried to hurry. Why was I hurrying? I couldn’t remember. I never did, not at this stage. All I knew was that something pursued me, and there was no way out of this maze. The stone of this mystery structure felt unnatural to my bare feet, as if something inimical to life coiled within its crystalline mass. None of the familiar energy of Nirn could be detected through this hostile surface. That little voice I always listened to was mute. I was hopelessly lost in this strange place.

Booted footfalls sounded behind me. I glanced back, reeling against one wall as a uneven aspect of the floor tripped me. Far off down the passageway, a hooded, cloaked figure strode through one of the isolated pools of light cast by those hateful crystals. His face did not show beneath the shadow of the hood, but the steel hilt of his sword depending from his side glittered in the harsh light. If I was afraid before, I was terrified now. How did I know he meant harm? I had no way of knowing, no way of being certain. Yet I was convinced that if he caught me, my life would be forfeit.

Ahead the corridor twisted to the right, then led down a narrow, winding staircase. I half-ran, half-fell down the ragged steps, my hands bracing me between the curved walls of the stairwell. It gave onto a high, narrow hallway with vertical slots in the walls. As I approached them, a grinding noise sounded from my left side. I barely ducked back in time to avoid being sliced by the razored edge of the bronze pendulum. Two more traversed the pathway beyond. A trap! Panic rose in my throat when I heard my pursuer’s boots on the stairs behind me. I hesitated as the pendulum disappeared within the opposite wall, then darted forward to pause between the first pair. They passed by me so closely that my skirts and my hair drifted in the breeze of their passing. Somehow I managed to skitter into the space between the middle and last blades. As they crossed the hallway, I glanced back in time to see a shadow fall across the floor at the base of the stairway. Then I was on the far side and ran into the darkness.

Several strides later, short of breath, I looked back again. This time I saw the stranger reach the blade trap. Without hesitation he strode unhurriedly through the speeding blades, untouched by them as if they weren’t there. His hood fluttered back from his face, and I had my first glimpse of the man who struck so much fear into my heart. Close-cropped dark hair, a short neatly trimmed beard outlining the squareness of his jaw, and wide cheekbones. Though I had never recognized him before, I did so now.

General Talos.

I half-whimpered, half-sobbed in panic and fled deeper into the maze.

I startled awake when Cinnie’s weight left the bed in a disgusted leap. She moved to the hearth and began grooming herself as I sat up, gasping for breath. I wiped at the tears the nightmare invariably brought. My right hand crept over the mattress to the opposite side of the bed, where Wallace always slept. A sob escaped me when I recalled his funeral pyre. With a shiver, though the room was warm thanks to the banked fire, I slipped from beneath the sleeping pelts and made my way to the tall, narrow windows that looked north across the moor. I pulled the heavy drapes back, essential at this time of the year, and gazed out into the night.

Across the field of the narrow embrasure, a scattering of stars lay across the black land, glittering with a softer, redder glow than the stars in the firmament above. I studied the bits of the constellations visible through rents in the overcast. There’s the Mage. It’s late. Or rather early. Dawn is just a couple of hours away. I could barely make out the heavy frost that lay on the manicured grass between the bailey walls and the moat, now full and reflecting black. Feels like snow. As I watched, the open spaces among the clouds disappeared.

Drawing the drapes closed, I returned to the bed and sat on its edge. We can hold out through the winter. But can we survive an attack? If Talos digs in for the winter, he’ll be exposed to the weather. He’ll lose more men to frostbite and cold-wrought disease than he would assaulting our walls. There is also the problem of securing supplies for his army, so far from the Colovian Estates. The lands won’t support an army of his size for long. The seas will soon be too stormy for shipping. Time is on our side. But he knows this, and he won’t likely sit this one out. He intends to take us by force. Then why did he come to me with the offer of truce? Why bother when he can just overwhelm the castle and occupy it with his own forces?

Cinnie leaped back onto the bed and rubbed her body against my side before padding into my lap. As I absent-mindedly stroked her fur, she arched her back beneath my chin, then turned around and repeated the same procedure from the other side. She continued purring as my thoughts returned to the problem of the siege.

Do I dare hold out? Without Laird’s men, my forces are badly depleted. I can’t count on Broc to keep his men on alert, though I did see a few of them on the walls today. On the plus side, the stores we have laid by will last longer. If we can just hold Talos’s men off, we can make it through the winter. But when spring comes, then what? If Talos digs in for the long haul, he can keep us from replenishing our stocks. And if our crofters can’t get to their fields, what will they do? They may start drifting away from Cardonaccum. And I can’t keep so many people confined within the bailey for so long - we’ll suffer cold-wrought disease too, and those diseases common where people are forced to live on top of each other.

Suddenly I couldn’t sit still any longer. I caught Cinnie in the act of settling herself into my lap and scooped her into my arms. I hugged her soft body before setting her down on the bed. Disgusted, she watched as I changed my clothes, pulling out my winter kirtle. The thick creamy linen fell around my slender body and covered my feet. Unlike the shorter skirts of the other women at Cardonaccum, which stopped at the ankles to both keep the hems from dragging in the dust and mud and to show off fancy shoes, mine trailed a little on the ground, keeping my feet warm.

When I had first come to Cardonaccum, a scandalized Jannet tried to get me to wear shoes. As I had been barefoot as long as I could remember, I had been resistant at first. Finally I had given in when I became tired of the constant stares from the crofters and other folk who sought audience with Wallace. But wearing shoes severed my connection with Nirn in ways that stone and timber floors did not. My normally healthy appetite disappeared. I began experiencing my nightmares almost nightly, instead of once a sevenday or two. A chill settled into my lungs, and I began coughing blood. Then my menses stopped, and everyone thought I had become pregnant. Everyone except me. I knew something was wrong with me. I lost weight and became too weak to tend to my new duties as Lady of Cardonaccum.

It was Wallace who saved my life. Wallace who plucked me from my sickbed and carried me out into the moat, dry at the time. Wallace who forbade me to ever wear shoes again, and helped me stand on my bare feet in the reeds and mud at the bottom of the moat. It was Wallace who taught me not to hide from myself, but to accept me for who I am - a magicka-less Witch with a deep connection to the bones and blood of Nirn. Ever since then, I had worn the long skirts so strangers wouldn’t stare so much at my feet, their soles callused and hard from a lifetime of contact with ground, stones and timber.

If I had ever doubted that Wallace loved me, those doubts disappeared that chilly spring day in the moat beneath the drawbridge. And I had loved him with my whole heart ever since. And tonight - tonight my heart felt empty, bloodless, a hollow husk of its former self.

Enough of this self-pity. What would Wallace want you to do for Cardonaccum? I fished out the dark brown woolen cotehardie and slipped it on over the kirtle. As I laced up the front, my fingers hesitated. What would Wallace do for this place? Why was this so important to him? I caught up the black winter cloak and Thistlethorn. With Cirsium gone, I’d best keep Thistlethorn with me at all times.

The donjon was quiet as I slipped out into the bailey. I could see movement on the walls caused by the watch pacing their rounds. Stamping sounds reached me while I crossed the courtyard. Instead of entering the gate towers, I used the exterior stair to gain the parapets atop the walls.

The thistlemen greeted me with some surprise as I passed them, one after the other. The watch lieutenant, a burly-chested Breton, met me as I stepped into the southeastern corner tower. “Milady?”

“I just c- came to see how everything was atop the walls,” I answered his unspoken question. “It’s a miserable t- time of the night, and miserable weather.”

“Aye, that it is,” he agreed, nodding his shaggy head. “Do you need to speak to Robert?”

Suddenly I knew what I needed to do. “Yes, please. Please ask him t- to meet me over the postern gate.”

“Very well, milady,” he bowed, then opened the door to let me onto the eastern wall of the bailey.

Robert met me on the north wall, his cloak snapping in the breeze that had built up as the sky crept toward dawn. As I looked up at him, snowflakes hit my cheeks. Robert glanced at the dark overcast. “Bad weather on the way. It might work in our favor.” He lowered his eyes to me. “What is on your mind, milady?”

“Where would General T- Talos pitch his tent?” I got right to the point. It was too cold to take longer.

Robert’s brows rose in startled bemusement. He lifted his eyes to the scattered campfires spread across the moor. “He’d want to be on high ground, where he can see as much of the area as he can,” he said finally, turning to point eastward. I gazed at the foothills that sprawled along the base of the snow-capped Wrothgarians. Already I could see snow dusting the higher peaks of the hills. Robert regarded me silently for a few moments. “You can’t be thinking what I’m thinking you’re thinking,” he muttered.

I met his gaze. “And what is that?”

“You’re going to accept his proposal,” Robert stepped past me to lean his roughened hands on the stone parapet. He gazed out over the moor.

“Do you see any other way to keep Cardonaccum alive?” I asked. “You and I both know that General T- Talos can’t stay here much longer. It’s because time is so limited for him, that it’s limited for us.” I moved to stand beside Robert, gazing out at the constellations of campfires a few miles away. “We can resist him, withstand anything except dragons -“

“And there are no dragons left,” Robert added. “But I hear he has a very powerful battlemage allied with him.”

“Yes, and that’s why we can’t be too c- complacent about waiting him out.” I drew my cloak closer around me against the wind. “The General can’t stay here and starve us out - his supply lines are too vulnerable. And he can’t turn back south and leave a hostile holding in his rear.”

“But can you trust him to keep his word on the truce, any truce you may strike with him?” Robert asked. “After all, he slaughtered your kinsmen after they surrendered to him.”

I closed my eyes at the reminder. “Don’t forget, we don’t have the entire story,” I responded. “For all we know, th- they were plotting to stab him in the back, and he was just taking care of a threat in the most effective way possible.”

“How can you say that about your own father and brother?” Robert exclaimed softly, turning his head in my direction.

I kept my eyes on the distant encampment. “I know th- them too well,” I could hear the coldness in my voice, the coldness I felt every time I thought of them. “My father turned on my mother when she trusted him. H- he betrayed me, too, though it’s nothing compared to the other.” I shook my head. “It wouldn’t surprise me that they were going to t- turn on the General once they had what they wanted.”

“So slaughtering twenty-three countrymen in cold blood can be forgiven?”

I sighed. “I don’t know what to th- think,” I said finally. “But after having met the General, I’m not so certain he’s so cold-blooded as the stories say.” Or as he appears in my nightmares.

Robert paced away from me, then spun slowly on his heel and returned, his expression inscrutable in the torchlight. Finally he lifted his gaze to me. “How do you propose to do this?”

“I must go to him,” I answered slowly, hoping my stutter wouldn’t worsen. “And I must do it now. Neither of us has time. If he hasn’t attacked us yet, h- he’ll do it tonight for certain.” I inhaled slowly, drawing on the strength I could feel in the stones beneath my feet. “But I can’t leave Cardonaccum without a leader. I’ll go alone, and you must lead h- here until I return.” I faced him fully. “It would be best if folk didn’t know of my absence as long as possible.”

“You should have someone accompany you, one of the thistlemen -“ Robert began, but I shook my head.

“There is a reason I go barefoot even in the coldest depths of winter,” I said softly. “I go alone, and I will be fine.”