A to Z Blog Challenge - BOUND BY DRAGONSFYRE on Tour - F

On Day 6 of the A to Z Blog Challenge

F

is for

Falconer's cottage

Please join me at Ramblings of a Coffee Addicted Writer for my third interview as part of Black Lion Virtual Book Tours.

Billy asks me: "What is your favorite part in BOUND BY DRAGONSFYRE? What was the hardest part to write?" 

Find out why the major set piece that takes place at the falconer's cottage is the answer to both of these questions. The young hero of my book is the falconer's apprentice, and in this section of the story the day time hunt at which he's accustomed to serving runs long. The nobles appear to have no intention of leaving, and all Scorpius and his master can do is bear witness and pray that they're not tainted by the nobles' cruelty.   

Hatefest - scroll down for 5 on Friday

Tessa at Tessa's Blurb is holding a blogfest today focusing on the darkest of emotions - hate.

I'm reposting a poem for the blogfest which showcases this emotion.

This backstory poem for Richolf, the falconer character who appears in my Saturday serialized fiction, was written during the 3:15 Experiment in August of last year.

The 3:15 Experiment is going on now - I'm not taking part this year, as I'm focusing on writing my novels - but you can CLICK HERE to find out more about this poetry event.













Defining Moment #2


Delicious glances as they wove between the other dancers
Three sword points levelled at his face
The searing bite of the blade upon his brow

His invitation to the soiree
Had been heartfelt
By a grateful noble
One of the hunters who
Wanted to reciprocate
The falconer's hospitality

"Go on, go on"
His master had urged
Declining the offer himself
A twinkle in his eye

So many beautiful girls
So many intoxicating ladies
Richolf danced with them all
Smiled at them all
Clasped her hand
Brushed his lips upon her knuckles
Locked gazes
Felt the heat

Until he was called outside
Surrounded and threatened
In the chill night air
The sweat from the party
Turning to the sweat of fear

He'd danced with the wrong girl
He didn't even know which one
Had inspired these three sword points
To level at his face

A kick from behind
His cry hanging in the night air
The distant sounds of the soiree
His heart beating as he realized
All the moments of his life
Would end in this dusty moment

But the hands which held him
Only meant for the sword to
Kiss his brow
A reminder for life
Not to mix his lowly breed
With that of one born to the blood

They left him
Laying in the dirt
Dripping red between his fingers
That still held the thrill
Of all those girlish hands
Those womanly sighs

© Julia Phillips Smith, Aug. 25, 2010

To find out what the other blogfest writers are offering, CLICK HERE.

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 59

My Scorpius serial is now joining The Serialists as well as continuing with the Weekend Writer's Retreat.

To recap this dark fantasy story so far:

As a small boy of seven, Scorpius was fetched from the nursery where he'd been raised to live among the nobility - fetched not by his family, but by a falconer to serve as his apprentice.

Scorpius soon learned that a close encounter with a dragon was preferable to the cruelties of the nobles he'd once hoped were family. His master did whatever he could to shield Scorpius from the world outside their cottage, but the falconer was merely a servant, when all was said and done.

An attempt on the life of a young noble while on a hunt sent the falconer and his apprentice on abruptly different paths.

We continue with Scorpius at age sixteen as he enters the service of Lord Thibault.

You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header.


Scene 59

Rising stiffly to his knees, arms still wrenched behind him by the iron shackles, Scorpius glanced up into the eyes of the noble.

He was a heartbeat away from lowering his gaze. Serving such men at the hunt demanded it. But quick as a whip crack came Lord Thibault’s words through his mind: “They will not believe your master was the falconer.”

He saw clearly in his mind how the courtiers had sat there glaring, even chained to the hitching posts, even with bruises and swollen lips. The guard detachment had dealt them a bitter taste as to what they could expect, once it came time to answer for their assassination attempt upon his new master. But it had not altered their demeanor in the slightest. They’d not hung their heads nor cowered nor looked away.

So Scorpius wrestled down Richolf’s training to return the nobleman’s stare as though he had a right to do it. After all, hadn’t his former master fetched him from the nursery? Scorpius had been raised to be a little lord himself until the falconer had arrived, providing him with the sanctuary of life out at their cottage.

“Name,” the guard said.

Maintaining eye contact with the noble, as if it were beneath him to address a guard, he said, “Scorpius.”

“Your master,” the guard continued.

Scorpius turned his gaze toward him this time – and his breath hitched in his chest. It was the captain who’d ridden around the bend towards the cottage with the detachment, the same man who’d ordered the guard to dig the arrowhead from Lord Thibault’s shoulder. He’d seen Scorpius at the falconer’s cottage with his own eyes.

Blinking rapidly, Scorpius forced himself to trust in what his new master had said: “They will not believe your master was the falconer.” If that were the case, the guard captain could think as he liked. He looked away from the captain who’d carried himself like a prince that day, once again addressing only the noble. “I have none,” he said as dismissively as he could.

“All men have masters,” the lord said, his deep silky voice suited to a castle’s great hall and not this dank cell. His mouth turned up in a wry smile. "Even I have masters.”

The captain moved slowly to circle behind Scorpius. “You’re a mercenary, then.”

“No.” He’d almost said No, sir. “No, no mercenary.”

Yanking Scorpius’ head back hard, the captain said, “How much did they pay you?”

Turning his alarm into outrage, Scorpius stared down the noble and said nothing. These men no doubt assumed that eventually they would get what they wanted from him. Whether they believed he was a noble or a servant, it was held to be a truth that every man had his breaking point.

Yet Scorpius’ former master had been put to the question and had never broken.

True, his body held the scars that had given Lord Thibault the ammunition he’d needed for his current attempt to right an old wrong. It was also true that Richolf still woke in the night, shrieking and sweating, even all these years later.

But Richolf had survived their torments without giving up the information for which they’d pressed. Perhaps that is why Scorpius was able to meet the quizzical stare of the noble, even as the captain’s fingers pulled cruelly at his hair.

He knew it was possible to survive whatever these men had planned for him. He knew it, and they did not. Yes, he trembled – who would not, after the day he’d spent in chains? Yes, his stomach flipped with dread – if he did not fear what lay in store for him, having treated his former master’s wounds himself, he would not be in control of his senses.

“Come, come,” the noble said suddenly, addressing the captain and flicking his head toward the stool. “Let us not distress our guest.”

Hoisting Scorpius to his feet, the captain dragged him forward to sit roughly upon the stool. How he wished the captain would not stand behind him like that.

The noble rose from his chair to approach Scorpius. Taking deep breaths, Scorpius fought to ignore the way his heart hammered so loudly. In the few short steps it would take to reach him, the lord meant to unravel what his former master had suffered so much to give him.

Clenching his bound fists behind him, Scorpius held his head high, staring hard at the wall in the distance. Whatever they meant to ask him, he did not know the answers. It was just a matter of endurance.

“Why should you care about my master, my lord?” he’d asked Lord Thibault, when they’d still sat upon his horse in safety, on the edge of the estate. “What is he to you?”

“It is not what he means to me,” his new master had cautioned, “but what he means to you that concerns me. You will need to hold onto that dearly.”

In the damp echoing cell, Scorpius filled his mind with the memory of Richolf and held onto it. Richolf had endured. He would show Scorpius how to do the same.

© Julia Smith, 2011

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 56

For the first twelve scenes posted for the Weekend Writer's Retreat, we followed Scorpius as a seven-year-old, fetched from the nursery by a falconer to become his apprentice.

The next twelve scenes followed ten-year-old Scorpius as he discovered the dangers of serving the nobles he'd once imagined were family.

The third set of twelve scenes gave us a thirteen-year-old Scorpius, who discovered the true extent of his master's attempts to shield him from the cruelties of life outside their falconer's cottage.

We rejoin him at age sixteen.

You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header.


Scene 56

Lord Thibault’s weight dragged upon Scorpius’ shoulders, and upon his master’s, also. Every movement sounded so very loud in the stillness of night, but they kept onward all the same.

They could not afford a light, but Richolf’s years in these woods made their path clear. Stopping so the noble could rest every so often, they picked their way past branches and over stumps until Scorpius heard Lord Thibault’s mount jingling his tack in the darkness.

A wash of relief spread through Scorpius’ chest once they’d hoisted the noble into the saddle. He tried to look at Richolf through the gloom, but only his form stood out from the night woods.

“Scorpius,” Lord Thibault whispered.

He moved close to the horse, standing beside the noble’s boot snug in the stirrup. Realizing Lord Thibault was tapping the saddlebag, Scorpius’ fingers slid along the leather until he found the buckle. Unfastening it as quietly as he could, he reached into the deep pouch until his hand bumped against a cloth sack. He pulled its heavy weight up out of the saddlebag and moved to hand it to Lord Thibault.

The young noble wrapped his hands around Scorpius’. Looking up to see Lord Thibault’s silhouette against the trees, he heard the command to pass the sack of coins over to Richolf. But his heart started to pound with frightening insistence.

Dizzy with dread that pierced him like the killing talons of their falcons, Scorpius stumbled forward until Richolf stepped in front of him. His master’s familiar, weathered hands covered Scorpius’, helping him to withstand the burden of the coins for a long moment.

Tears burned down Scorpius’ face as Richolf took the sack and set it on the ground. Grabbing Scorpius by the arm to steady him, Richolf turned and Scorpius followed until they both stood beside Lord Thibault astride his stallion.

“My family is grateful for your service, falconer,” the noble said in a voice still weak with pain.

Richolf bowed even though it was so dark. “My lord.”

“We would not see you suffer on my behalf. Those who would have killed me here will send others to make you pay for their failure.”

Richolf took a deep breath, then said, his voice breaking, “I understand, my lord.”

Scorpius felt sick. He could hardly get his breath.

“He will come with me,” Lord Thibault said, as if Scorpius was not right there. “I cannot afford to lose him.”

It took a moment for Richolf to force the words out. “As you will, my lord.”

“Master,” Scorpius whispered. If only he could see Richolf’s face.

Strong arms wrapped around him. Scorpius grabbed hold of Richolf as if his embrace could stop this from happening.

“Take care, Scorpius,” Richolf said, stepping back, still holding him by the arms. “Promise me.”

“Where will you go?” Scorpius said, his voice thick with the sobs that were far too dangerous for this night.

His master grabbed hold of his face and kissed him hard on the forehead. “I will send word when I can. When it is safe enough.”

Scorpius trembled. This couldn’t be happening. But Richolf released him, bent to scoop up the sack of coins and disappeared into the black arms of the forest.

Gazing over to see the patient form of Lord Thibault upon his horse, Scorpius fought the urge to knock the young noble to the ground, wishing with all of his might that this lord had never ridden around the curve of the road that led to the home Scorpius had shared with Richolf for a decade.

It wasn’t too late. He could run after Richolf. The two of them could find another place for themselves, a place far away from all of the murderous games these nobles played, not caring whom they eliminated along the way.

He listened closely, but the forest was still. No sign of his master, nor which direction he’d taken.

There was only Lord Thibault, the memory of the weight of him Scorpius still recalled as he'd dragged the young noble to safety beneath the rock ledge and the roots of the ancient tree. The hair on the back of Scorpius’ neck prickled as he remembered the shrieks Lord Thibault had made as the arrowhead was dug out of his shoulder. Scorpius flexed his fingers, almost feeling the knife handle he’d gripped, ready to use it when Ingerith slid through the window with a healing draft for this young noble.

Swiping the tears away, Scorpius strode forward, taking his new master’s outstretched hand to haul himself up onto the horse. With silent signals between stallion and rider, Lord Thibault turned them away from the falconer’s wood, plunging deeper into the forest.

©

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 55

For the first twelve scenes posted for the Weekend Writer's Retreat, we followed Scorpius as a seven-year-old, fetched from the nursery by a falconer to become his apprentice.

The next twelve scenes followed ten-year-old Scorpius as he discovered the dangers of serving the nobles he'd once imagined were family.

The third set of twelve scenes gave us a thirteen-year-old Scorpius, who discovered the true extent of his master's attempts to shield him from the cruelties of life outside their falconer's cottage.

We rejoin him at age sixteen.

You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header.


Scene 55

His master’s tiny room grew stale with Lord Thibault’s fever sweat. The young noble shoved away the blanket or clutched it close in a rumpled knot, worrying Scorpius that the dressing would loosen.

Keeping to their normal schedule, Richolf saw to the falcons, took hunting parties out onto the field and prepared meals until Scorpius longed for nothing more than to have his old chores returned to him. But his master saw how Lord Thibault responded to Scorpius.

“He trusts you,” Richolf said in a low voice as Scorpius joined him for a brief supper at the table. “He’ll heal more quickly if he’s not on guard.”

Scorpius nodded wearily, wishing he could have even an hour to walk out into the forest. But when he gazed up at his master, he saw the deep lines in Richolf’s face, the shadows beneath his eyes, the hunched curve of his shoulders.

“Would you not care to sit with him awhile, sir? It will do you some good. I can see to the rest of the work before turning in.”

A rueful smile tilted his master’s lips. “Best for you to stay with him.”

Scorpius nodded, looking down at his plate of food, the weight of his responsibility to restore the young noble to health making it hard to take a breath. It wasn’t long before he sat on the stool beside the bed, coaxing Lord Thibault to take sips of broth from a worn mug.

The young noble trembled with the effort to sit upright. His color remained pale, his hair damp and plastered to his forehead. Had there been any complaints from this noble? Not even after they dug the arrow from his shoulder. He’d suffered through it all without a cross word.

Looking away in shame, Scorpius thought of the healing salve he’d need to mix up later this evening. He didn’t see the noble reach for him, and was startled by the touch of Lord Thibault’s hand on his own.

He dropped the mug into the noble’s lap, warm broth soaking into Lord Thibault’s trousers.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

As though freed from a spell, Scorpius jumped to his feet, whisking away the mug and grabbing the blanket to sop up the mess.

“I suppose that’s one way to make sure I get a bath,” Lord Thibault said.

“You needed one long before this,” Scorpius said, dumping the blanket in a sodden heap in the corner. The words were already out of his mouth before he realized how annoyed he sounded, how little like a falconer’s apprentice addressing a lord.

He stopped what he was doing and turned to Lord Thibault, bowing his head low. “Forgive me, my lord.”

The silence stretched in the stuffy little room. Scorpius’ skin prickled as he waited, until at last the young noble said, “Come.”

Risking a glance up, Scorpius saw that Lord Thibault had moved as far from the damp spot as he could manage on his own. That effort had broken him into a new sweat. Scorpius strode forward and knelt close to the side of the bed.

Once again, the young noble reached his hand out and covered Scorpius’ with his own. Scorpius looked down at Lord Thibault’s fingers squeezing his with the promise of renewed strength.

“I was trying to thank you,” Lord Thibault said.

Scorpius shook his head, still not looking up. “No need, my lord.”

“Well, you don’t make it easy, I’ll say that.”

Gazing up then, Scorpius looked into Lord Thibault’s eyes. They twinkled with unspoken laughter. The young noble squeezed his hand again and let go, his body suddenly racked with coughing.

Passing him the only kerchief left – the one tucked in his own doublet – Scorpius watched as Lord Thibault checked the color of his spit. No blood.

The young noble looked at Scorpius with relief and gratitude so raw it made Scorpius uneasy. How hard it must be never to feel free to trust in anyone. He thought of how much he’d longed to leave Richolf to all of this nursing, but his master had known how it was for Lord Thibault.

“Shall I fetch you more broth, my lord?”

“As long as I may finish it this time.”

“The thing to remember is to get it into your mouth, my lord.”

Lord Thibault’s eyes widened, his lips opening to speak – but nothing came out. Scorpius couldn’t hold back a smile before he ducked out of the room for the kitchen.

© Julia Smith, 2011

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 53

Day 25 and 26 of the A to Z Challenge brings us to the latest chapter in my serialized dark fantasy story.



Y is for Yellow

Z is for Zest








For the first twelve scenes posted for the Weekend Writer's Retreat, we followed Scorpius as a seven-year-old, fetched from the nursery by a falconer to become his apprentice.

The next twelve scenes followed ten-year-old Scorpius as he discovered the dangers of serving the nobles he'd once imagined were family.

The third set of twelve scenes gave us a thirteen-year-old Scorpius, who discovered the true extent of his master's attempts to shield him from the cruelties of life outside their falconer's cottage.

We rejoin him at age sixteen.

You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header.


Scene 53

Scorpius stood in the kitchen with his master, watching carefully as the apothecary’s apprentice grated the fruit zest finely into the mortar. Raising one unimpressed eyebrow as he glanced up, checking to be sure they followed his instructions, the young man grabbed a pinch of forest herb from an open pouch on the counter, added a long list of ingredients and finally began crushing them all with the pestle.

Of course there was a particular technique that was vital to the success of the mixture. It was hard to take these edicts seriously, as there were so many of them, and so detailed. But Scorpius noted that Richolf paid very close attention and did not shoot him any sideways glances.

So Scorpius forced himself to do likewise as the occasional moan drifted up from Lord Thibault, who rested in Richolf’s shuttered room. The wound was deep and now festered, poison or no poison.

The young noble was too weak to be moved from the falconer’s cottage. It was up to his master and himself to nurse the noble back to health. Lord Thibault’s family could not afford to have their enemies track the comings and goings of healers to the falconer’s cottage. One visit of this apothecary’s apprentice was all that could be risked without arousing suspicion.

Granted, two of Lord Thibault’s guard remained behind until their master could recover himself. They were stashed out of sight but within earshot, in the closest falcon mews behind the cottage.

His master had no need to tell Scorpius that the guard stationed behind to protect Lord Thibault was also meant to tidy up any loose ends if he succumbed to his wounds. No matter how revolting the apothecary apprentice’s thick yellow paste looked and smelled, Scorpius memorized all of the ingredients used by the insufferable young man, his exacting methods in preparing them and in applying them.

For four days, his master cared for Lord Thibault. On the fifth day, a small group of nobles arrived at the cottage for a hunt.

Richolf took them onto the field while Scorpius sat with Lord Thibault, a damp cloth for the noble’s forehead in one hand, a concealed knife in the other.

And right outside the cottage window, he heard the stealthy approach of one of the guard, who stationed himself along the cottage’s stone wall. Scorpius looked down at the knife in his clammy hand.

What could he do against one of the hardened men who had disarmed Lord Thibault’s would-be assassins? And what about his master, alone with a hunting party who could be slitting the falconer’s throat instead of watching the hawks take down their dinner?

© Julia Smith, 2011

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This brings us to the end of the A to Z Challenge.

What an incredible month! I've enjoyed myself immensely. Hope to see you all next year.

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 52! - One Year Anniversary

Day 20 of the A to Z Challenge brings us to the latest chapter in my serialized dark fantasy story.

It also brings me to the one-year anniversary of delving into Scorpius' childhood backstory for this Weekend Writer's Retreat. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank those of you who have stuck with this story for a whole year.


Thank you!


T is for Trial









For the first twelve scenes posted for the Weekend Writer's Retreat, we followed Scorpius as a seven-year-old, fetched from the nursery by a falconer to become his apprentice.

The next twelve scenes followed ten-year-old Scorpius as he discovered the dangers of serving the nobles he'd once imagined were family.

The third set of twelve scenes gave us a thirteen-year-old Scorpius, who discovered the true extent of his master's attempts to shield him from the cruelties of life outside their falconer's cottage.

We rejoin him at age sixteen.

You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header.


Scene 52

The detachment of guards thundered around the bend, their horses just as fierce-looking as the men who dismounted to spread quickly across the clearing. The bound courtiers were made to regret their choices of loyalties, even with their trial some days away.

Richolf motioned for Scorpius to stick close as the commanding officer strode across the cottage’s stone floor. Scorpius’ gut twisted with dread for Lord Thibault, who lay on their table still drenched in sweat from his ordeal.

The commander poked and prodded the noble, who answered in moans. “Looks clean,” the officer said. “No poison.”

He carried himself like a prince, or at least what Scorpius imagined a prince might look like. If he ignored the scars and the uniform, Scorpius would have wondered if this wasn’t another royal sibling concealing his true purpose as Lord Nizhnii had done, years ago.

“Just the arrow, sir,” the guard who’d removed it said.

“Was there anyone with Lord Thibault when he was attacked?”

Scorpius’ heart stopped in mid-beat. Richolf stepped ever so slightly ahead of him.

Gesturing towards him, the guard said, “The falconer’s boy, sir.”

The officer glanced across the kitchen to hold Scorpius in his piercing gaze. Everything inside of Scorpius shriveled to nothing.

At first he took a step back as the officer walked towards him. But he forced himself to stand straight, reminding himself that he had in fact saved the young lord’s life. The sight of Richolf’s bowed head from the corner of his eye reminded him to do likewise, just in time.

“How did it happen?” the officer said.

Glancing up at Lord Thibault’s sprawled form and bloodied shoulder, Scorpius took a deep breath and explained how the hunting party had turned on itself, describing his flight with the noble into the forest and their concealment beneath the rock ledge. At the end, he dared to look up into the commander’s eyes.

The officer stepped even closer, nose to nose. Scorpius was forced to look down or be insubordinate.

For a long moment, the officer didn’t speak. He merely stood there, too close, his gaze raking Scorpius from top to bottom, delving beneath his skin like a cruel knife looking for arrowheads or poison.

Swallowing hard, Scorpius stood as still as he could, his mouth dry, his palms sweaty.

“How did you know to run?” the officer asked, finally.

With every part of his being, Scorpius wanted to leave his master out of this, just in case there might be more questions to make Richolf suffer. But Lord Thibault would tell his own version of the event, and the falconer was the one who’d alerted them to the danger. So that is what Scorpius told him.

Turning towards his master, the commander fired off a series of questions meant to trip up liars. But Richolf answered everything calmly and simply, with the right amount of deference and the dignity of having nothing to hide.

The officer signaled for the guard to follow him outside. Without another word, they were gone.

Scorpius and Richolf exchanged pale glances. But they were not as pale as the young lord, who at least moaned to reassure them he lived.

© Julia Smith, 2011

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 51

Day 14 of the A to Z Challenge!

Today brings us to the latest chapter in my serialized dark fantasy story.




And for today, N is for Notorious.









For the first twelve scenes posted for the Weekend Writer's Retreat, we followed Scorpius as a seven-year-old, fetched from the nursery by a falconer to become his apprentice.

The next twelve scenes followed ten-year-old Scorpius as he discovered the dangers of serving the nobles he'd once imagined were family.

The third set of twelve scenes gave us a thirteen-year-old Scorpius, who discovered the true extent of his master's attempts to shield him from the cruelties of life outside their falconer's cottage.

We rejoin him at age sixteen.

You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header.


Scene 51

Lord Thibault’s stallion barely tolerated Scorpius’ efforts to hang onto the reins, and that was merely to lead him to Richolf on the field.

The guard who’d sprawled nearby had regained consciousness. He rolled the still-bleeding courtier face down and secured his hands behind his back as Scorpius helped his master into the saddle.

“We’ll secure the grounds,” the guard said, nodding at another guard who had already rounded up two courtiers farther along the field. “Bring his lordship to your cottage.”

“Aye, sir,” his master said, reaching down to grab hold of Scorpius’ forearm. The horse side-stepped in a circle, forcing Scorpius to hop on one leg until finally Richolf hauled him up. Perching on the thoroughbred’s bare haunches, he wrapped his arms around Richolf and hung on, grateful beyond measure that he didn’t need to ride this beast by himself.

This forest was Richolf’s before it was Scorpius’, so a brief description was all it took for his master to pick their way through the dense growth. Scorpius stayed on the alert for the two courtiers who’d chased Lord Thibault and himself into these woods, but the only sounds were birdsong and rustling from small, skittish creatures.

When they finally closed in on the rock ledge sheltering the noble, the horse’s ears pricked forward as it sniffed the air. Scorpius slid off and helped Richolf down, seeing the blood caked in his hair for the first time.

Crawling beneath the gnarled tree roots gripping the rock, Scorpius found Lord Thibault insensible but breathing. Between himself and his master, they eased the noble from his hiding place and onto the horse with silent signals and practiced understanding, but not before stuffing a neckcloth in the lord’s mouth to stop the moaning.

Picking their way as carefully and quickly as they could, Richolf supported Lord Thibault from his seat behind him on the horse as Scorpius managed the animal with greater assurance. There was no time for anything else.

When finally they made their way to the field, there was nothing but mashed grass to indicate that anything had even happened here. Scorpius and his master exchanged grim glances as they headed along the mews, forcing themselves to ignore the falcon perched on the roof of his hut, untended after the hunt.

Rounding the corner of the cottage, Scorpius saw four courtiers tied to the hitching posts, some faint with their wounds, some glaring in dark warning. One injured guard stood over them, his blade at the ready.

The other hurried to assist Lord Thibault into the cottage. Scorpius had to secure the horse, though he still didn’t know what he was doing. All he knew was that the animal responded better when Scorpius acted as if he knew what was what. So that’s what he did. He ignored the size and power and aggressive temperament and treated the stallion as though he were their hunting dog.

When he finally entered the kitchen, he found Lord Thibault laid upon his stomach on the table, the arrow still protruding from his shoulder. The guard deftly probed with his fingers, moving the shaft this way and that until he was satisfied as to the placement of the arrowhead. Richolf held the noble down and jerked his head for Scorpius to do the same.

The guard rummaged through his leather satchel for a few items, asked for water and some cloths and wiped the sweat from his brow. Scorpius scurried to collect what he required. By the time he returned, the guard had collected himself and readied the small knife and clamp with confidence.

“Hold him steady,” the guard said. Scorpius and his master leaned into the noble, pressing firmly as the guard made the first slice to enlarge the wound.

All Scorpius could think about were the men who had once held his master when he’d been put to the question. At least Lord Thibault’s writhing and muffled shrieks were to heal a wound and not create one.

But the torment was the same, wasn’t it, whether it was inflicted with notorious brutality deep below the estate’s splendor, or whether it happened here in their cozy falconer’s cottage.

© Julia Smith, 2011

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 50

Day 8 of the A to Z Challenge!

Today brings us to the latest chapter in my serialized dark fantasy story.




And for today, H is for Horse.









For the first twelve scenes posted for the Weekend Writer's Retreat, we followed Scorpius as a seven-year-old, fetched from the nursery by a falconer to become his apprentice.

The next twelve scenes followed ten-year-old Scorpius as he discovered the dangers of serving the nobles he'd once imagined were family.

The third set of twelve scenes gave us a thirteen-year-old Scorpius, who discovered the true extent of his master's attempts to shield him from the cruelties of life outside their falconer's cottage.

We rejoin him at age sixteen.

You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header.


Scene 50

Scorpius ran with stealthy assurance back towards the hunting field. Lord Thibault was safely hidden beneath the rock ledge, though he couldn’t be sure the noble truly understood the instructions Scorpius had whispered to him.

No time to worry about that. He had to fetch his master to mend the noble, or there would be more lords descending upon this place, and they would demand crushing retribution.

It was already possible that Lord Thibault wouldn’t make it through this. Scorpius shoved that possibility far from his mind. The noble could not die. He would not allow it.

His master could never survive another round of being put to the question.

And what was to stop them from dragging Scorpius to the same fate? Was he not the servant who’d tried to shield Lord Thibault?

Scorpius’ footfalls padded softly through the forest, but his breathing sounded so loud, ricocheting off the trees. Darting glances showed no pursuers, but he felt the danger raking across his skin.

The light in the forest grew as he neared the field’s edge. It revealed two bodies splayed between fallen logs.

Checking his speed, heart hammering in fear, Scorpius glanced down to see the fine courtiers’ clothes marred with blood. His master was not among these.

Bursting from the cover of the forest, Scorpius saw another tangle of bodies among the tall grasses. The dog lay close to one of them.

Scorpius’ heart shot through with a sickening dread. For a moment he couldn’t bear to move.

But a groan wove its way into the sunshine. Forcing himself to walk forward, Scorpius found his master curled onto his side, the dog’s nose tucked into the little space between Richolf’s neck and the trampled field.

Dropping to his knees, Scorpius checked his master quickly for wounds.

“I’ll live,” croaked Richolf, rolling onto his back.

“Are there any others here?” Scorpius said, rubbing the dog whose tail wagged uncertainly.

“Two have not returned,” Richolf said, sitting up painfully. “They were after you.”

Scorpius gazed into his master’s eyes, almost unable to meet the worry that burned there. Bowing his head, Scorpius started to say how sorry he was, but his master interrupted him.

Cupping Scorpius’ face with his rough hands, Richolf said, “Where is Lord Thibault?” Assured that he was well hidden, Richolf rose to his knees, surveying the field, scanning the forest’s edge for any signs of the courtiers’ return.

“You’ll need to fetch him.”

“How, sir? He cannot walk.”

“We’ll get him out on horseback.”

Scorpius nodded, but his heart sank. He’d never ridden a horse in his life. And the young lord’s mount was a spirited, powerful animal.

But glancing again at his master, at the scars that had never faded on the falconer’s hands and neck, Scorpius knew he would do whatever it took to keep Richolf from the torments.

Which was easier said than done, as he rounded the corner of the cottage and saw Lord Thibault’s horse challenging him with raised head and suspicious black eye.

© Julia Smith, 2011

Weekend Writer Retreat - 49

Day 2 of the A to Z Challenge!

Having a lot of fun so far, meeting lots of new bloggers. To newcomers, welcome to my arts blog, which has a schedule of poetry / the arts / photography / lists of 13 things / music / and original serialized fiction.

Today is the latest chapter in my serialized dark fantasy story. And for today, B is for Beware.









For the first twelve scenes posted for the Weekend Writer's Retreat, we followed Scorpius as a seven-year-old, fetched from the nursery by a falconer to become his apprentice.

The next twelve scenes followed ten-year-old Scorpius as he discovered the dangers of serving the nobles he'd once imagined were family.

The third set of twelve scenes gave us a thirteen-year-old Scorpius, who discovered the true extent of his master's attempts to shield him from the cruelties of life outside their falconer's cottage.

We rejoin him at age sixteen.

You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header.


Scene 49

It all made sense now.

His master had not glared at him when Lord Thibault swept Scorpius to the hunt, leaving the rest of his retinue behind. That look had been a warning, the only kind permitted between a falconer and his apprentice.

Beware.

Suddenly Scorpius’ hands shook. His master seemed so very far away across the field, rather than not far enough.

Lord Thibault swiped a hand across his face, turning to gaze at Scorpius. It no longer seemed possible that they were close in age, not with the weight that seemed to bear down upon the noble.

Memories tumbled forward, stopping Scorpius’ breath.

They jumbled through his mind – a noble’s rod slicing the back of Scorpius’ head, the lords fighting on the doorstep, the sword plunging into the brother. They were all part of The Troubles, weren't they?

Across the field, Richolf appeared to be calmly collecting the braces of game, but he was staring over at Scorpius. Was he trying to tell him something, give him some warning?

His master carried the wounds from those days and nights of torture. He’d been put to the question because the royal brothers had decided the falconer’s cottage was tucked away enough to settle their score out here. Nothing to do with the falconer, and yet his body held the torment even now.

Of course, not even that could compare to the Hunt of Screams.

Scorpius met Lord Thibault’s gaze, suddenly angered by the noble’s tears. “The Troubles, my lord?” he said, his voice tight as he fought to control himself. “Yes, they've made their presence known, even to those who try to live apart from them.”

Once again, instead of taking offence to such a tone from a falconer’s boy, Lord Thibault dropped his reserve even lower. “Am I in danger here?” he asked plainly, staring deeply into Scorpius’ eyes.

Glancing over at his master, he saw his attempts to gather the courtiers and head from the field. Yet there were two laggards.

Scorpius busied himself with his own braces of game. “My master warns of it, my lord.”

Lord Thibault started to turn, to look toward the others.

“Don’t!” Scorpius hissed.

The noble froze.

“Carry on as you would, my lord,” Scorpius ordered, not caring that he did so. He risked another glance as he crouched to tie the games hens together. Those two courtiers bent their heads together. More to the point, one glanced in Lord Thibault’s direction.

“We must run for it.” Scorpius stopped his work but remained in position. “Will you do it?”

He wished he could look at Lord Thibault, but doing so now would plunge the knife in.

“Where do we go?” the noble said, his voice calmer now that it had come to this.

“They are in my forest, my lord. I know these trees, I know the hills, and they do not. Just follow me.”

Scorpius rose, leaving the brace of game and catching Lord Thibault’s eye. At his nod, they bolted toward the treeline. Just as they reached cover, the noble lost his footing and grunted. Scorpius turned to see Lord Thibault scramble up and shake it off. But he’d gone white.

Slipping between the trees, Scorpius ran as Lord Thibault kept pace beside him. He listened hard, but it was a good while before he made out their pursuers. They had a chance to reach the hiding place that would protect them.

The lord’s breathing labored. Glancing over at Lord Thibault, Scorpius saw the arrow shaft protruding from the noble’s shoulder. Speckles of blood dribbled from his mouth onto his hunting doublet.

Branches snapped loudly behind them. There was nothing else he could do. Grabbing Lord Thibault by the arms, he swung him around and onto his knees.

Eyes screwing shut with the pain, Lord Thibault stayed silent as Scorpius dragged him down and on top of himself, under a boulder ledge gripped hard by gnarled roots. They lay there panting in the gray light, yet quiet enough as their pursuers charged past them deeper into the forest.

Scorpius steeled himself to ignore the drops of blood that fell onto his cheek as Lord Thibault fought for breath. He remembered how safe he’d felt when his master had shielded him under a rock ledge very much like this one. Dragons or nobles, it was all the same.

Reaching up, he wrapped his fingers around the lord’s arm and squeezed a quick message. Lord Thibault passed out a heart beat later.

© Julia Smith, 2011

Weekend Writer Retreat - 48

Here's the latest installment of Scorpius' boyhood back story.

Scorpius is a character from my dark fantasy work in progress. For the first twelve scenes posted for the Weekend Writer's Retreat, we follow him as a seven-year-old, fetched from the nursery by a falconer to become his apprentice.

The next twelve scenes follow ten-year-old Scorpius as he discovers the dangers of serving the nobles he'd once imagined were family.

The third set of twelve scenes give us a thirteen-year-old Scorpius, who discovers the true extent of his master's attempts to shield him from the cruelties of life outside their falconer's cottage.

We rejoin him at age sixteen.

You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header.


Scene 48

The following week, Lord Thibault arrived with his retinue, sweeping up to the falconer’s cottage on his charger flashing with silver ornament. Richolf dropped his work, standing to greet them.

Scorpius trotted to join Richolf in time to see the noble brush past his master, instead heading straight for him.

“There you are!” Lord Thibault said, face erupting into a smile.

Scorpius bowed, his face heating at Richolf’s look of shock.

“I’ve had an abysmal week,” the noble said, forcing Scorpius to hurry along beside him as he headed toward the field. “Couldn’t wait to get back here for a hunt. Just the thing, eh?”

Scorpius darted a glance back at his master, whose expression darkened. “Apologies, my lord,” he said. “Shouldn’t we collect up a falcon, at least?”

“Oh, he’ll see to it, won’t you?” the noble said to Richolf.

“Certainly, my lord,” the falconer said, bowing with a sidelong glare at Scorpius that shot a chill through him. Shaking it off, Scorpius passed by all the mews with their hawks perched in the shadows. To be dragged ahead like this, with nothing to be done but obey the young lord gave Scorpius a strange sensation of freedom from the choke hold Richolf had lately placed upon him.

Lord Thibault’s guard stood at a respectful distance, his courtiers remaining with Richolf as Scorpius entertained the young lord. Making their lethal dives, the falcons took out the game hens that Scorpius’ master coaxed from cover. An odd afternoon indeed.

“I can’t tell you what a relief it is to come out here,” Lord Thibault said as the hunt began to wind down.

At first, Scorpius started to answer as he would to any noble. But there was something in the young lord’s tone, something in the way he kept looking at him. Perhaps he should beware. Perhaps that’s what his master’s expression had been, earlier – a warning to be careful, and not the outrage of being made to serve his own apprentice.

But he felt differently with Lord Thibault. He was just as glad to see him ride around the bend towards the cottage as the noble seemed to be here. So instead he said, “Are you troubled, my lord?”

The young noble glanced quickly at Scorpius, fixing him with an appraising stare that made Scorpius suspect his master had indeed been sending him a warning. After a long moment, Lord Thibault chuckled. “I dare say I have a kingdom’s worth of those.”

“We’re pleased to offer this small consolation, then.”

“You know, ever since our last conversation, well…frankly I’ve been dreaming about what it would have been like to have never been collected up from the nursery, as you were not.”

Scorpius looked at Lord Thibault, trying to gauge the young man’s mood before looking away in time to avoid eye contact. The noble gazed out over the woods, lost in troubled thought.

“Surely not, my lord,” Scorpius said finally.

“Do you even know what’s brewing?” Lord Thibault asked. He turned and looked at Scorpius as though the lighthearted noble who had arrived earlier had been merely a front for the sake of his companions.

Wishing he could dart a glance at his master for any kind of sign or direction, Scorpius took a breath, gathered himself and made his choice. “Can’t say that I do, my lord.”

Nodding his head toward Richolf, the noble said, “Wonder if he knows, and he just hasn’t told you.”

It was Scorpius’ turn to chuckle. “That would be just like him, my lord.”

“Really. Perhaps our masters aren’t very different after all.”

Hearing this noble try to bridge the gap between them made Scorpius’ heart ache with such unexpected force that he took a step back.

“Well, I shall tell you a little something, then. Something your master should know, if he doesn’t already.”

“My lord.” Scorpius looked into Lord Thibault’s eyes, surprised to see the depth of weariness suddenly exposed.

“The Troubles have begun.” Lord Thibault’s voice caught as he said it. He blinked rapidly and looked away.

©

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 46

Here's the latest installment of Scorpius' boyhood back story.

Scorpius is a character from my dark fantasy work in progress. For the first twelve scenes posted for the Weekend Writer's Retreat, we follow him as a seven-year-old, fetched from the nursery by a falconer to become his apprentice.

The next twelve scenes follow ten-year-old Scorpius as he discovers the dangers of serving the nobles he'd once imagined were family.

The third set of twelve scenes give us a thirteen-year-old Scorpius, who discovers the true extent of his master's attempts to shield him from the cruelties of life outside their falconer's cottage.

We rejoin him at age sixteen.

You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header.


Scene 46

When Alegreza left, Scorpius stood beside Richolf, somehow pulling together the appearance of an obedient apprentice. He didn’t know how he managed to make himself stand there, suddenly sick to death of suppressing his every desire in order to serve, always serve.

It was in that nearly imperceptible moment before Richolf turned to say something to him that did it. Scorpius watched that little hitch in his master’s shoulders that told him Richolf had to gather himself up in order to do something that he didn’t want to do.

It all boiled over inside of Scorpius. He couldn’t bear to have his master look at him, to have him say the words he’d have to dredge up from somewhere deep, deep down inside of him. Scorpius spun on his heel and made to bolt away from this hideous ache in his chest.

But Richolf yanked him to an awkward halt.

For a split second, Scorpius nearly threw his master off. Fighting to control himself, he kept his gaze from meeting Richolf’s. But his master pulled him close.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Richolf said.

Scorpius stiffened, looking at the empty bend in the road.

“You are not going to ruin her chance for a good life,” his master said, squeezing his arm and shaking him slightly.

“Please stop saying that.” Scorpius heard the catch in his voice, hating the way his sense of futility sounded.

“There are too many things you don’t understand.”

“Are there?” Scorpius dare not look at Richolf now. The fury that built inside him was too wild. If his master kept patronizing him, Scorpius wouldn’t be able to crush it all back any longer.

Richolf loosened his grip slightly. “Believe me, Scorpius. If there is anyone who knows how you feel…”

Scorpius couldn’t bear it. He wrenched free, looking at his master in time to see the shock on Richolf’s face. Thrusting his arms forward with all his considerable strength, Scorpius pinned his master against the cottage.

“Why? Did your master sign Ingerith up? Is that how it’s done?”

He let Richolf go and took a step back. Scorpius’ anger didn’t soften the stab of regret coiling through his gut. He shouldn’t treat his master this way.

Before he could blink, Richolf grabbed hold of him, switching places to slam Scorpius face-first into the stone cottage wall. Scorpius grunted, his master’s grip on his twisted arm forcing him to squirm.

“I won’t have any comments like that from you about her, is that clear?” Richolf said in the most chilling voice.

Icy dread dribbled down Scorpius’ spine. He nodded, barely stifling a cry as Richolf shoved him painfully against the cottage, the pressure on his arm close to the breaking point.

“Of all people, Ingerith deserves better than what she’s endured,” Richolf said. “You think I'm going to stand here and listen to your judgement upon her? Do you?”

Scorpius pressed his forehead against the cool stone, breathing deeply to bear the pain.

“I understand how you’re feeling, Scorpius. I’ve been wrestling with those same exact feelings every day, since before I brought you here from the nursery.”

“Just because you’re used to it doesn’t mean it should be this way.”

His master let him go. Turning as quickly as he could, Scorpius kept Richolf squarely in his sights.

“No,” his master said, eyes dark with warning. “It shouldn’t be this way. No one should have left you at the nursery, either - if you were an embarrassing reminder of an unseemly affair, why raise you to be a noble if they were going to hand you over to someone like me?”

His master’s words drove a dagger of pain to scrape against Scorpius’ heart. Tears stung his eyes, but he blinked them back.

“I have tried to shield you, Scorpius. There’s enough misery waiting for you out there. I tried to make your life here as good as I could make it. But there’s only so much a falconer can do.”

All Scorpius could see in his mind’s eye was his Alegreza stretching out upon a bed before the gaze of a noble. He swallowed thickly against the sick feeling that threatened to choke him.

“Shielding you – it’s turned around to haunt us both. How can you entertain thoughts that this world is in any way fair? Where did that come from?”

Scorpius straightened as tall as he could. “Can’t imagine, sir.”

Richolf’s eyes narrowed at Scorpius’ tone. “You will speak to me with respect.”

Though his stomach felt like he’d taken a punch, Scorpius fought the urge to bow his head. “Sir.”

“Get inside before I lose what’s left of my temper.”

Darting a glance at the empty bend in the road, Scorpius felt Alegreza’s absence like a severed limb. With heavy steps, he turned and made his way through the door of the cottage.

He stood unseeing before the sideboard. Everything felt like a nightmare. Nothing made sense anymore.

According to his master, he should be grateful that his sweetheart was heading for the arms of a noble. And why not? That’s how his master’s lover made her way through life, through this unfair life full of cruelly-used slave girls and abandoned market girls. To the nobles, they were all game hens, anyway, weren’t they? Flapping madly in a doomed bid for life, while the hawks calmly climbed to that sweet spot in midair before diving in for the kill.

© Julia Smith, 2011

Weekend Writers Retreat - 45

Here's the latest installment of Scorpius' boyhood back story.

Scorpius is a character from my dark fantasy work in progress. For the first twelve scenes posted for the Weekend Writer's Retreat, we follow him as a seven-year-old, fetched from the nursery by a falconer to become his apprentice.

The next twelve scenes follow ten-year-old Scorpius as he discovers the dangers of serving the nobles he'd once imagined were family.

The third set of twelve scenes give us a thirteen-year-old Scorpius, who discovers the true extent of his master's attempts to shield him from the cruelties of life outside their falconer's cottage.

We rejoin him at age sixteen.

You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header.


Scene 45

Scorpius grabbed at her skirt as she rose, but Alegreza darted just out of reach. Her giggle filled the secluded grove where the last bites of a delicious meal remained on the cloth spread beneath the trees.

Richolf and Ingerith already clapped a merry tune, so Scorpius joined in as Alegreza danced for them. Ingerith hummed and Alegreza spun, her quick little feet tapping an irresistible rhythm.

She flashed her legs now and then with a deft twist of her hands upon her skirts, shooting glances at Scorpius that sent the heat to his face. Ingerith got the same looks, however, so they must be a part of the dance. Still, an odd feeling came over him that his master and his lover should be witness to them.

When she finished, everyone clapped and laughed in delight. Alegreza flopped down on the forest floor beside him, catching her breath. She glanced at him but looked to Ingerith, who nodded.

Richolf rose slowly to his feet as his old injuries protested. “I feel like a walk just now,” he said, catching Scorpius’ eye.

Indeed, the two women bent their heads together in whispered conversation. Scrambling awkwardly to his feet, Scorpius joined his master along the path which had brought them here for this dreamlike afternoon.

“Are they…?” Scorpius said.

Nodding, Richolf left it at that until they were well out of hearing range. Then he stopped short and looked Scorpius squarely in the eye. “I know it’s all happening rather quickly,” he said.

Scorpius’ stomach knotted up. “Ingerith found a position for her.”

The expression on his master’s face did nothing to reassure Scorpius. “She may have. Everything depends upon the patron, and whether Alegreza is suitable.”

Fear for the market girl reared up in Scorpius' chest, scattering the laughter of their outing like a whirlwind. Words and questions caught in his throat, words he dare not speak. If he remained silent, the images that sprang to his mind might yet be beaten back.

“In a few days time, a noble will come to us for a hunt,” Richolf said. “He will also collect Alegreza – if she pleases him.”

Scorpius turned away, the memory of his master’s lover in the arms of another man blinding him. All of the secrecy, the notes passed through third parties, Ingerith’s threats that she would discover the names of the men responsible for torturing her beloved – all of it made sense in a flood of clarity.

“But does she know?” he said. “Does she understand where she would be going?”

“She already knows,” Richolf said sadly.

“There’s nothing else she could do?” Scorpius said, his voice tight with emotion. ‘Did Ingerith even inquire?”

“She wouldn’t make this offer lightly.” A tone of warning rose in his master’s voice.

Scorpius ignored it. The hammering of his pulse drove all caution from his mind. “I can inquire, sir. Let me go to the estate.”

“I told you she’s aware of the offer.” Richolf’s face darkened.

The remains of Alegreza’s kisses clung to Scorpius’ skin, driving him to blurt out, “But sir, you’re not giving her a chance!”

His master grabbed him roughly by the arms, pulling him close. “What sort of chance do you think she’d have if she was a housemaid? You don’t remember what it was like for those slave girls they brought out here?”

Scorpius returned Richolf’s burning gaze. “I do remember, sir. Yet you send her to the very same fate, only in finer clothing.”

Richolf shoved him away so that Scorpius stumbled and nearly lost his footing. “Ingerith enjoys some portion of power over herself. That is more than most penniless market girls with no families could hope for. So you would do well to thank Ingerith for going through the considerable trouble to procure this patron for Alegreza.”

Biting back more words, Scorpius nodded, his helplessness burning behind his eyes like tears. He too had no family, only a master with a courtesan for a lover.

© Julia Smith, 2011

Weekend Writers Retreat - 43

Here's the latest installment of Scorpius' boyhood back story.

Scorpius is a character from my dark fantasy work in progress. For the first twelve scenes posted for the Weekend Writer's Retreat, we follow him as a seven-year-old, fetched from the nursery by a falconer to become his apprentice.

The next twelve scenes follow ten-year-old Scorpius as he discovers the dangers of serving the nobles he'd once imagined were family.

The third set of twelve scenes give us a thirteen-year-old Scorpius, who discovers the true extent of his master's attempts to shield him from the cruelties of life outside their falconer's cottage.

We rejoin him at age sixteen.

You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header.


Scene 43

He melted at the look of delight on her face when she saw the tiny bells from her ma’s market stall, now tinkling on the leg of the red-tail. Stretching his arm toward the hawk, Scorpius waited for the bird to mount his gauntleted perch. As much as he wanted to show Alegreza what he did out here at the falconer’s cottage, there was no hurrying a hawk.

The dog trotted happily beside him on one side, Scorpius keenly wishing it could be Alegreza. But she lagged behind, still skittish around animals.

He led the way out to the field and began the hunt, explaining every aspect of it to her, relishing her focused attention, the way she noted everything as though he meant for her to apprentice along with him. For a heady moment, as he watched her follow the trajectory of the hawk as it soared after something in the tall grasses, Scorpius wondered if there had ever been such a thing as a girl for a falconer’s apprentice.

As though someone had taken a swing at him, Scorpius’ head rocked backward as he remembered the screams of the slave girls running naked across this very field, chased down by the lords in the torchlight.

He shook his head to clear the memory, but his hands shook and his breath came in shudders. Distracted by the hunt, Alegreza seemed oblivious to his sudden distress. At least, if she noticed, she didn’t let on.

It struck him hard that the falconer’s cottage was no place for her. Richolf would be glad that he’d come to this bit of truth on his own. But it didn’t stop Scorpius’ heart from weighing heavily in his chest.

When she turned to gaze up at him, a mix of wonder and dismay in her eyes at the skill of the hawk as it took down the game, Scorpius seized inside with too many feelings bursting up from his gut. He dropped his satchel and grabbed Alegreza by the arms. Before he knew what he was doing, his lips covered hers.

She stiffened, so Scorpius pulled away, letting go of her arms to cover his mouth with his hand, as though he could retrieve what had already escaped. Forcing his scrambled mind to snap back into place, he gave the order to the dog to find the downed game. Bending low to pick up his abandoned satchel, he thought ahead to the next part of this demonstration, wishing he hadn’t brought her out here, not wanting to speak, or look at her, or be this close to her.

But she crouched beside him and helped him gather his things. He stopped and gazed at her.

She was still grieving her mother, the loss darkening her eyes. He’d brought her out here because she had no place else to go. She must feel as trapped as he’d felt that day, so many years ago, when Nurse had released him and he’d been forced to follow the falconer to this strange place.

They gathered everything in silence, following the dog to the kill.

When they’d collected a small brace of game, Scorpius led them back to the cottage so they could prepare the meat for roasting. It went so much quicker with Alegreza nearly taking command of the kitchen. His master exchanged amused looks with Scorpius as they worked.

Assuring them that she could finish the meal, Alegreza all but chased them outside while she bustled about inside the cottage. Richolf stepped out into the cool evening, stretching his stiff limbs and turning to Scorpius.

“I know, sir,” Scorpius said first. “I know she can’t stay.”

Nodding, Richolf let that settle for a moment. Then he said, “I’ll send word to Ingerith. She may know of a position for her.”

The crush of worry over Alegreza lightened inside him. Ingerith. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

Nodding to his master, Scorpius settled in to wait for the call to step inside their own cottage by the market girl. The dog pressed against his legs, so he rubbed him absently.

The fact that he had no idea where his master’s lover actually lived, and that all communication between them had to be done in the strictest of confidences, drew a new slither of worry along Scorpius’ spine. Surely Ingerith would never deliver Alegreza into the hands of a master as cruel as the lord who’d organized that terrible hunt.

He thought of the whole crowd of them, cheering one another on as they each took down a slave girl, ladies applauding as well as lords. He had to believe there were some nobles who didn’t murder their brothers on the falconer’s front steps, or rip open a young guard’s back for displaying common humanity.

Somewhere there had to be a noble house where the market girl could serve, have a bed and food and not have to fear being grabbed for a kiss as Scorpius had grabbed and kissed her in the field.

© Julia Smith, 2011

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 42

Here's the latest installment of Scorpius' boyhood back story.

Scorpius is a character from my dark fantasy work in progress. For the first twelve scenes posted for the Weekend Writer's Retreat, we follow him as a seven-year-old, fetched from the nursery by a falconer to become his apprentice.

The next twelve scenes follow ten-year-old Scorpius as he discovers the dangers of serving the nobles he'd once imagined were family.

The third set of twelve scenes give us a thirteen-year-old Scorpius, who discovers the true extent of his master's attempts to shield him from the cruelties of life outside their falconer's cottage.

We rejoin him at age sixteen.

You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header.


Scene 42

Scorpius strode through the gates of the courtyard, his gaze immediately seeking the market stall where Alegreza sold her ma’s wares. The cobblestones lay bare beside the stall where one could purchase leather from the tanner.

Perhaps it would have been wiser to inquire about the market girl right away. Scorpius forged ahead with selling the pelt bundle, even though his mind was far from the business at hand.

“Would you know that market girl who sells trinkets?” he asked as the old trader counted the coins and passed them to Scorpius.

“Alegreza?”

“Yes, that’s the one.” A murmur of unease rustled in Scorpius’ mind at the look on the trader’s face.

“Her ma died, poor thing.”

“I wondered,” Scorpius said, gazing at the missing market stall.

The trader turned to be on his way.

“Ah, would you…do you know where, ah…” Scorpius stammered.

Not smiling exactly, the trader said, “You’ll find her in the room above the clothier’s.”

Nodding as though he might have the slightest inkling where he might find such a place, Scorpius waited until the trader was gone before pointing himself in the direction of the more permanent row of buildings at the edge of the courtyard. He strolled slowly and carefully past all of them before he encountered one that held bolts of brightly-colored cloth and an excitable man gesturing instructions to his apprentice.

Gazing up, he noticed a second storey above this place with a small window.

Well, best go in and ask whether this was the place or not.

“By all means,” the clothier said in an irritated tone. “Perhaps you can do something with her. She’s got until tomorrow before I call the bailiff to remove her from my premises. I have another family who can pay, and the room is theirs the day after tomorrow. So, please.”

He swept an arm to indicate the ladder propped against a hole in the ceiling. Scorpius nodded his thanks and climbed up into the dim interior.

Her sniffles filled the tiny, barren room, reaching into his gut and yanking without warning.

“Afternoon,” he said softly, and her expression almost broke him. She folded into his embrace as he slid by her side and knelt, wrapping his arms around her. Scorpius rocked her, her choked cries reminding him of a day long ago when a falconer had come to fetch him from the nursery. He hadn’t cried that day, but he’d wanted to.

It didn’t take too much convincing before he’d tugged her to her feet, helped her to pack her few things in a bundle and climb down the ladder. A brief scuffle ensued as the clothier attempted to stop Alegreza from leaving before her rent was paid.

At her renewed tears and pale despair, Scorpius blocked the clothier from reaching her, barking at her to leave.

“I demand my money!" the clothier said. "This is not a charity house!”

For the briefest of moments, Scorpius thought of the coins weighing his master’s purse in his own satchel. Then he remembered the way Richolf had grabbed the remainder of the sum when Scorpius had overpaid Alegreza for the stolen bells.

Stepping towards the clothier, who was also a tall man but slender, Scorpius tried to emulate the manner of that cruel lord from the Night of Screams. “Have you no feeling?” he said, his voice squeaking as it did without warning these days.

“Don’t think I don’t know who you are, falconer’s boy.” The clothier stepped even closer, standing nose to nose with him. “I shall pay your master a visit and see where my missing rent has gone.”

Gazing down at the clothier’s slippered feet, Scorpius said, “Don’t forget, it’s half a day’s walk. Until then,” and he forced himself to bow slightly.

Collecting the market girl and heading out onto the road, Scorpius felt a surge of excitement swirling through the worry about Richolf, the disputed rent and permission to bring this girl to his master’s cottage. The heady thrill made his long legs bolt too quickly, and Scorpius kept backtracking to catch up with Alegreza’s distracted pace.

As she was clearly in no mood for conversation, Scorpius left his whirlpool of questions unspoken. Instead, they walked most of the way in silence. At any rate, she’d stopped crying.

Rounding the bend towards the cottage, Scorpius smiled at the dog’s breakneck welcome as he barreled towards them. Alegreza huddled behind him, so Scorpius coaxed her to let the dog near for her scent.

Satisfied that she was friend not foe, the dog bounded back to the cottage, where Richolf stood waiting in the doorway. A chill of nerves washed through Scorpius suddenly. After all, this cottage was where he lived but it did not belong to him. He had no right whatsoever to offer shelter to anyone.

As they neared, he tried to think of all the things he might say to sway his master into accepting the market girl even for one night. But his mind emptied of anything but the memory of her sitting alone in the nearly-empty room.

They stood before Richolf, who took a long look at the two of them before standing aside so they could walk through the door.

© Julia Smith, 2011