The Serialists - Scene 96

FINAL INSTALLMENT


My heartfelt thanks to all who have followed this tale along the way.


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


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 who must obey his own masters.


An attempt on the life of a young noble while on a hunt sent the falconer and his apprentice on abruptly different paths, bringing Scorpius into the service of Lord Thibault's noble house.


We now continue with Scorpius at age nineteen.


You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header. The Serialists - hosted by Alice Audrey - appears on Wednesdays.

Scene 96

“Is there a particular reason you’ve brought Lord Thibault’s man here, rather than your son?” Razlava said, turning to Pruzhnino.


“He’ll provide escort to your retinue as you depart the duke’s estate, Your Grace,” the chancellor said.


Both Pruzhnino and the chancellor looked at Scorpius. The unspoken questions hung in the air like an arrow sprung from its bow but not yet landed. Would Scorpius reveal himself? Would Razhlava claim a bastard grandson whose dark coloring spoke of scandal successfully hushed up for almost two decades?


Razlava bowed his head in acknowledgement of their dismissal. He stretched out his hand for his granddaughter’s.


This was it. Scorpius must choose.


Somehow this moment felt like all the others, those blinks of an eye where everything in Scorpius’ world had turned upside down. Why had he supposed that being given a choice would make any of it easier?


Turning swiftly to the chancellor, Scorpius knocked the advisor’s hat to the side as he made his reverence. For one terrible moment the close-cropped Sibian hair revealed itself before the chancellor replaced the hat with shaking hands.


Scorpius bowed low before the chancellor, raising his head to lock gazes with the shaken man. Turning elegantly to direct his bow to Pruzhnino, he likewise gazed up at the duke to see something even more out of character than the sweet nothings he’d been saying to Lady Aerthrudha—fear.


Well, he’d seen fear—real fear—on the faces of those slaves chased and brought down upon the hunting field by this noble, who had never claimed his own daughter’s child at the nursery all those years ago.


If Scorpius was really free to choose, how could he reach for a life that brought him into arms’ length of this man? How could Pruzhnino and the chancellor ask him to do it?


“With respect, Your Grace, my Lord Chancellor--duty calls. In fact I am sworn to protect my Lord Thibault, your son,” he said, sweeping an arm towards Pruzhnino. “I shall find another of the duke’s men to escort Your Grace and Lady Aerthrudha from the estate. One man is as good as the next, I’m sure you will find.”


The chancellor found his voice. “Send the guard down to the stables. No need to keep His Grace and the lady waiting.”


Bowing crisply, Scorpius said, “Certainly, my Lord Chancellor. Your Grace. Your Grace. My lady.”


Striding from the drawing room, Scorpius took only a few steps before he broke into a run, taking stairs three at a time until he regained the ballroom. It only took a glance and he knew his master was not there.


Looking left and right, Scorpius forced himself to stillness, listening for Lord Thibault’s telltale laugh. Wandering back to the staircase, he recalled his promise to send another in his place and dispatched a slave to the stables.


Suddenly he heard it. His master’s unbridled delight in his Sibian bride-to-be carried down the corridor and over the gallery railings. Scorpius followed the sound until it brought him before the dukessa’s door.


Lord Thibault turned and stared, his grin half-frozen on his face. Scorpius’ heart chilled even in the warmth of the dukessa’s drawing room at the thought of never seeing his master again.


Crossing the floor towards one another, Scorpius and Lord Thibault collided in the center of the room in a back-slapping embrace. When they released their hold, his master grabbed Scorpius by the face and kissed his forehead.


Scorpius fell to one knee and kissed Lord Thibault’s hand. “I believe in you,” he said. “In what you’re doing. And I shall serve you, my lord.”


Yashtii joined them, kneeling beside Scorpius to embrace him. The dukessa swept close and stood beside her son.


Then a member of Yashtii’s kinsmen fell to his knees between Scorpius and his master’s intended. Retrieving something from inside his tunic, he took Scorpius’ hand and dropped the dukessa’s dragon ring into his palm.


All the Sibiu gathered there drew around in a circle and began humming a mournful tune. Looking up into Yashtii’s face, Scorpius watched her nod solemnly, a tiny hint of a smile tugging at one side of her mouth.


Offering it back to the dukessa, Scorpius knelt there with the hair on his neck stirring as though the breath of the dragon blew through the drawing room. Lord Thibault’s mother took Scorpius’ hand in hers, lifted the ring with delicate fingers and placed the ring back upon Scorpius’ hand.


The Sibiu finished their song. His master bid him rise and join him as they waited for his father the duke to arrive to hammer out the marriage bargain.


Scorpius wished Lady Aerthrudha all the happiness in the world, truly.


Looking down upon the dragon ring, all at once the spectre of dragon’s fire which had haunted him all of his life blackened and shriveled, floating away like so many embers. He placed his ringed hand on the pommel of his sword, gazing upon it, knowing for the first time what it truly meant to belong.

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2012

The Serialists - Scene 96

SECOND LAST INSTALLMENT


Join me next week for the conclusion to this serialized adventure, first posted in the spring of 2010.


The novel-length version is set to release by the end of this month. I just shot the book cover and book trailer on the weekend.


On Thursday I'll be posting a sneak peek at the shoot.


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


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 who must obey his own masters.


An attempt on the life of a young noble while on a hunt sent the falconer and his apprentice on abruptly different paths, bringing Scorpius into the service of Lord Thibault's noble house.


We now continue with Scorpius at age nineteen.


You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header. The Serialists - hosted by Alice Audrey - appears on Wednesdays.

Scene 95

“My darling girl,” Razlava said, kissing her forehead.

“Grandfather,” she said, her voice tight with unshed tears.


“I do hope you have enjoyed your stay here,” Pruzhnino said in a tone Scorpius had never heard coming from Lord Thibault’s father before.


Lady Aerthrudha released her grandsire’s hands and curtsied deeply before the duke. “A peek inside the heavens could not have been sweeter.”


“My dear,” Lord Thibault’s father said, bending to sweep the lady’s fingers up to his lips, “my House will be the poorer for the loss of such a luminous guest as yourself.”


Scorpius stood seeing and hearing, yet none of it seemed to make its garbled way past the memories which swarmed foremost in his mind. He saw the image of the pale slave girl tiring of being run down in the hunting field, finally turning to meet her fate at the hands of Lord Dirske. Now Duke of Razlava.


Someone joined him, brushing beside him as if to hold him up.


“Remember what I told you,” the chancellor said.


Scorpius glanced sideways. The duke’s advisor wore a grim expression, yet he nodded and flicked his head forward as if to coax Scorpius toward the nobles.


“You may be every bit a lord in your own right,” his master had said on the stairs.  “It will all be up to you, Scorpius. Make yourself known.


“Make yourself known to the Duke of Razlava, with whom my father wishes to form an alliance.”


Scorpius shook his head, no.


“We can yet secure an alliance with this House if they claim you,” the chancellor whispered.


“No!” Scorpius whispered hotly, as both dukes and the lady turned to regard him.


“Problem, my Lord Chancellor?” Razlava said.


Scorpius fought the urge to leap forward, sweep Lady Aerthrudha from her grandsire’s reach and flee before it was too late.


The chancellor stepped forward slightly, grasping Scorpius by the elbow and pressing him closer to the rival dukes. “No trouble, Your Grace,” the chancellor said. “We were discussing our duties, only.”


Scorpius glanced sideways at the chancellor. Duties. What duty did he owe this House, other than to Lord Thibault, to whom he owed everything?


“I never thought to help you search out your family when I brought you here,” Lord Thibault had said on the stairs. “I just wanted you for my man.”


A cascade of memories assaulted him, filled with laughter, brotherly embrace, meeting blade with blade.


Razlava turned back to Pruzhnino, smiling the same hard smile he’d once used at the falconer’s cottage. “Dutifully, I sent my granddaughter here, and dutifully I fetch her back again.”


Lord Thibault’s father nodded sadly. “Time seems so strangely to fly, does it not? Seems too short a time has gone by for this to be your granddaughter, and not your daughter, the gods show their mercy.”


Razlava took a tiny step backwards. Thrusting his chin forward, he said, “I thank you for your memories of her.”


“Lady Aerthrudha is the spitting image of her, don’t you think?” Pruzhnino said, stepping forward to grasp the maiden softly by the chin.


She gazed intently into Pruzhnino’s eyes. “Do you think so?” she asked. “No one ever speaks of her. My mother.”


Scorpius’ gut hollowed out inside him. He could barely get his breath.


“What could she have been, other than a beauty?” the chancellor said. “Seeds don’t drift far, only far enough to bloom.”


“Some seeds drift, my Lord Chancellor,” Razlava said. “Some seeds only produce chaff.” As he spoke, he stepped slowly toward Scorpius, looking him up and down.


“My dear,” Pruzhnino said, cupping his palm gently on Lady Aerthrudha’s cheek, “you may be sure your mother held every man under her spell. Including me.”


“Would that my daughter had been your choice of bride, then, Pruzhnino,” Razlava said, stopping before Scorpius and gazing down in haunted distraction.


“Who could say if that would have saved her." Pruzhnino took the maiden's face in his hands and kissed the tears away.

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2012

The Serialists --Scene 92

I'm posting with The Serialists which appears on Wednesdays.


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 who must obey his own masters.


An attempt on the life of a young noble while on a hunt sent the falconer and his apprentice on abruptly different paths, bringing Scorpius into the service of Lord Thibault's noble house.


We now continue with Scorpius at age nineteen.


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

Scene 92

            “Yashtii’s people,” the duke repeated. “You think to align the House of Pruzhnino with a girl whose ‘people’ hide in mountain passes?”

            Lord Thibault crossed his arms before him. “And which bride did you have picked out for me, Father?”

            “That little golden-haired morsel sent by Razlavha,” the duke said. “You were not averse to her charms, by all accounts. And she brings a much-needed ally from the north.”

            Scorpius’ master gazed down at the carpet for a long moment. Holding his position, still several paces away from their confiscated swords, Scorpius locked gazes with the chancellor. With his own secret to hide, the duke’s advisor--whose Sibian hair markings remained concealed beneath his hat—kept his eye on Scorpius’ attempts to reclaim his weapon while choosing not to alert the duke.

            “A northern ally will not make one speck of difference to The Troubles.” Lord Thibault looked up at his father, his eyes once again lit with an internal fire. “But Yashtii’s people can call forth the most destructive force in the eight kingdoms combined. If we could hold that terror over the heads of the other houses, The Troubles would cease.”

            “If all it took to end The Troubles was the dragon, the Sibiu would have called one forth, generations past,” the chancellor said.

            “How do we know they didn’t, Your Grace?” Scorpius said. “Perhaps no one ever bothered to connect the sightings with alliances and clashes between the houses.”

            All heads turned to regard him. Scorpius swallowed.

            “Every sighting is recorded,” the chancellor said.

            “By ourselves and the Sibiu, both,” Lord Thibault said with excitement coloring his cheeks. “Imagine what we could accomplish if it could be shown that we have the power to aim the stuff of nightmares into the hearts of our enemies’ strongholds?”

            “You sound bewitched, boy,” the duke said.

            Instead of taking offence, as Scorpius had been certain his master would do, Lord Thibault grinned widely. “I am, Father. As will you be.”

            “You are my second son, Thibault, and with the possibility that my heir, the markiisi might one day come to harm, you must marry as if it were you and not your brother who is marked to ascend to the dukedom.”

            “Of course, Father.”

            “An alliance with a hidden people who lurk amongst us, concealing their flocks among ours, using our resources but shouldering none of the costs—this kind of alliance will weaken ties between the House of Pruzhnino and many other families.”

            “The Troubles have kept every tie between us and the other families so stretched that many have snapped of their own accord. Why not try a new way? The old way has brought nothing but distrust and destruction.”

            The duke stood gazing at his son for a long, long moment.

            “You will announce an intimate soiree, Thibault,” the duke said at last. “Invite a handful from the fete. You will include the golden haired northerner, and you may invite your Sibian candidate. I will take another look at this girl.”

            Lord Thibault’s father started to turn back towards his desk, when his son flung himself to one knee and grabbed the duke’s hand in his own.

            Kissing his father’s ring, Lord Thibault’s smile filled the drawing room with his joy.

© 

The Serialists - Scene 91

I'm posting with The Serialists which appears on Wednesdays.


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 who must obey his own masters.


An attempt on the life of a young noble while on a hunt sent the falconer and his apprentice on abruptly different paths, bringing Scorpius into the service of Lord Thibault's noble house.


We now continue with Scorpius at age nineteen.


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

Scene 91

“You asked me to choose a bride,” Lord Thibault said.

The tension in the duke’s drawing room tightened like a wire noose embedding itself into Scorpius’ neck.

“Well, I have chosen her. She comes with a dowry of gold and jewels, but no land. Her people will deliver to the House of Pruzhnino a sceptre of power unparalleled among the kingdoms.”

The fervor burning in his master’s eyes held them all in its hypnotic sway. “Our House will be held highest in the annals of glory as the first of any generation to control the dragon.”

After a tomb-like silence, Scorpius being certain the duke could hear his nervous swallowing, Pruzhnino uncrossed his arms, making his way over the patterned carpet to stand before his son.

“Do they know of this choice of yours?” he said, so casually it made the hair on Scorpius’ neck stand on end.

Lord Thibault drew himself up tall before his father, only the clenching of his jaw giving himself away. “I am your son, Your Grace,” he said, inclining his head warily. “I seek permission to join this House with another.”

When his words failed to provoke a blow, Scorpius’ master raised his head to meet his father’s gaze. “It’s true--I beg you to consider that which has never before been attempted. And yet, Father, I would have this union arranged in accordance with our customs.”

Scorpius’ heart seized tight in his chest as Pruzhnino’s expression darkened. The ornate drawing room seemed only a heartbeat away from igniting in the shrieking flames of that mountain pass, among the Sibiu.

“There is a reason that no other noble house has attempted a union with the Sibiu,” the chancellor said in his calming tone.

Unable to stop himself from glancing at the man who’d revealed to Scorpius his secret Sibian heritage, he saw that the chancellor took note of Scorpius’ attempts to sidle unnoticed closer and closer to the confiscated swords atop the duke’s desk.

“A formal one, you mean,” Pruzhnino said. “There isn’t one noble line without its Sibian bastard.”

Scorpius forced himself to stare at the floor. If the duke or his master were to discover their chancellor was one of these bastards because of any clue Scorpius gave away, he would never forgive himself.

“Yes, and that reason is fast becoming pointless, Father,” Lord Thibault said. “We bury ourselves further and further into The Troubles, and no one has ever found a way out of it. Well, if our Houses fall, the Sibiu fall with us. Yashtii’s people agree with me. Let it be our House  that leads the way out of the mess we’re in.”

Scorpius held his breath as a timepiece ticked, ticked in the heavy afternoon.

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2012

The Serialists - Scene 90

I'm posting with The Serialists which appears on Wednesdays.


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 who must obey his own masters.


An attempt on the life of a young noble while on a hunt sent the falconer and his apprentice on abruptly different paths, bringing Scorpius into the service of Lord Thibault's noble house.


We now continue with Scorpius at age nineteen.


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

Scene 90

“I don’t expect you to understand, Father,” Lord Thibault said as Scorpius rose to his feet. “But how can it be so--that I should be the only one to have considered such a course of action?”

Scorpius braced himself for the duke to lash out once more at his son’s impudence. Strangely, Lord Thibault’s boldness only seemed to soothe his father, who crossed his arms and said, “Go on.”

“The fables that warn of the Sibiu’s ability to call forth the dragon are not stories, Father.” Extending his arm to indicate Scorpius, Lord Thibault locked gazes with him for a suspended moment. The master who could meet anything with a cavalier grin had only resolute warning in his eyes. “My man is a witness to it.”

Blinking back the dread that stopped his tongue, Scorpius squared his shoulders and held his ground as Pruzhnino turned his attention to him.

Forcing himself to speak in a measured voice, Scorpius explained all he had seen in the hidden mountain pass. He told the duke about the rejected offer from his master until Scorpius used the dukessa’s dragon ring as surety. He described the sacrificial stabbing of the Sibian, the praying of the men, the eerie playing of the pipes until the great dragon itself appeared in the air above them.

A withering gaze from the duke raked Scorpius from head to foot before Pruzhnino turned back to his son and said, “The Sibiu still have your mother’s ring in their possession?”

Bowing slightly, Lord Thibault said, “They do, Your Grace.”

The duke was so quick, his master gasped to find himself half lifted off his feet, the neck of his doublet in his father’s iron fists. Before he could stop himself, Scorpius’ hand flew to his hip, where his sword no longer hung. Thank the gods no one but the chancellor had seen what amounted to an attempt on the life of Pruzhnino.

Gazing over in fear at the chancellor, Scorpius was met by a gaze dark with grim reassurance.

“They will trace that ring to this House,” the duke said.

“Let them,” Lord Thibault said.

“I will do no such thing.” Shaking his son before shoving him away, the duke moved to join the chancellor.

Recovering his balance, Lord Thibault drew himself up and once again carried on his conversation as though nothing was amiss. “The stories are not stories, Father. We have amongst us a means of drawing forth the thing which every kingdom in every land fears above all else.”

The duke and the chancellor turned to give Scorpius’ young master their full attention. The air crackled with all that was forbidden.

“It was my man’s idea to give them the ring. I’d forgotten that it bore a dragon upon it. They took it as a sign, and thank the gods they did. Otherwise they may never have called what cannot be called.”

“And what should that mean to me?” the duke said. “Other than to draw up a plan to retrieve your mother’s ring before word reaches any other House that it’s in Sibian hands?”

Once again the duke raked his gaze over Scorpius like a swipe from a claw. Scorpius’ heart pounded in his chest. Did his master know what he was doing?

If this all blew up in his master’s face, where would that leave him? The rage at being at the mercy of these struggles for dominance, at having his fate decided by whichever set of nobles held the winning hand, pushed down the fear that threatened to choke him.

He remembered the look on his master’s face as they fought in the mountains. “You forget that I’ve never had the luxury of choice, my lord,” Scorpius had said.

Lord Thibault stared down his father the duke and his chancellor. What choices did his master have, other than to obey his father’s will and that of his House?

Still, Scorpius calculated how far he’d have to dive to retrieve the swords from the duke’s desk, if it came to that.

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2012

The Serialists - Scene 89

I'm now posting with The Serialists which appears on Wednesdays.


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 who must obey his own masters.


An attempt on the life of a young noble while on a hunt sent the falconer and his apprentice on abruptly different paths, bringing Scorpius into the service of Lord Thibault's noble house.


We now continue with Scorpius at age nineteen.


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

Scene 89

Riders met them on the approach to the long road that led through the estate. There was nothing for it but to coax their mounts forward, surrounded by the duke’s men. The disapproval of his master’s father dimmed the cheer of the sunny afternoon, preventing even Lord Thibault from mustering his customary grin.


By the time they’d dismounted to enter the echoing corridors, Scorpius wondered if he was in fact being delivered to the duke for judgment. The fact that Lord Thibault was hemmed in by guards alongside him certainly confused the issue.


How would anyone here know what had happened between his master and himself, anyway? Yet the guards flanked them forward and back, on the left side and the right.

They all turned the corner heading for the duke’s drawing room, every man pulling himself a little taller, taking a breath for courage before crossing the threshold.

Fanning out across the back of the room, the guard halted as Lord Thibault and Scorpius stepped forward. Together they bowed, Scorpius bending lower in a reverence. Two of the guard placed the swords they’d confiscated upon the duke’s desk and backed away as Lord Thibault’s father rose to his feet.


The Chancellor stepped out of the shadows to round the enormous desk as though clearing the way for his master, the duke. Scorpius raised his eyes to lock gazes for a brief moment with the Chancellor, whose grim expression did nothing for the sinking feeling in Scorpius’ gut.

Black boots polished to an impossible shine came to a stop before Lord Thibault.

A crisp gesture from the Chancellor sent the guard turning on its heel to file out through the golden double doors. Only when the click of the door handle drenched the room in heavy silence did Lord Thibault straighten.

His Grace the Duke of Pruzhnino swung a jeweled hand.

Scorpius’ master sprawled on the patterned carpet, his shocked grunt hanging in the air.

“I don’t need to tell you there was a dragon sighting,” the duke said. “Do I?”

Lord Thibault touched the back of his hand to his bleeding lip. “I was aware of it.”

“Were you planning to inform me as to what it was you were doing in the very path of that thing?”

“Not really.”

Scorpius saw the glint of fury light the duke’s eyes a split second before he swung again. As though time had somehow slowed, Scorpius flung himself down in time to cover his master’s body with his own. The duke’s powerful blow drew a cry from Scorpius but did not dislodge him.


Only the wrenching yank of the duke’s hand grabbing his hair managed that.


Fighting the urge to grab the duke’s wrist in order to take some of the pressure from his scalp, Scorpius raised himself to his knees but it did no good. A few sharp shakes from the duke and tears clouded his vision.

“Please, Papa!” Lord Thibault called, a note of real fear exposing itself in his voice. “My man seeks only to protect me.”

“He did a piss poor job of it.”

“I beg Your Grace’s forgiveness,” Scorpius said.

“You do not have it,” the duke growled, shoving Scorpius forward.

“Well, he has mine, and he’s my man.” Lord Thibault regained his feet, shaking off the last few moments as though none of it had happened. Shooting a glance down at Scorpius, he flicked his head up as if to say that Scorpius should join him.

“You were consorting with the Sibiu,” the duke said, taking a few strides away from his son, stopping to turn. The look that promised retribution on his face turned Scorpius’ insides to jelly.

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2012

The Serialists - Scene 88

I'm now posting with The Serialists which appears on Wednesdays.

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 who must obey his own masters.

An attempt on the life of a young noble while on a hunt sent the falconer and his apprentice on abruptly different paths, bringing Scorpius into the service of Lord Thibault's noble house.

We now continue with Scorpius at age nineteen.

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

Scene 88


Scorpius fought the urge to look back into his memories, needing every part of him to remain here in this moment. Pressing his master firmly into the dirt, Scorpius kept his dagger blade trained a mere whisper away from Lord Thibault’s eye.

“So the lord exercises his right to choose,” Scorpius said between clenched teeth, admitting for the first time how wide the chasm between them truly stretched.

“That’s right. I refuse every excuse for a bride they’ve been parading before me.”

He couldn’t help it. Scorpius’ mind cast back to the last time he’d seen his master with the Sibian maiden, clutching her to him, pulling sighs from her lips.

That was all it took, one split second of distraction and Lord Thibault made his move. Scorpius’ dagger spun from his hand. His master rolled forward, crushing Scorpius’ neck and shoulders into the ground. The motion wrenched Lord Thibault’s arm, ripping a cry from him but failing to block his escape.

Scorpius scrambled to retain a hold upon his master, but found himself pinned instead.

“This is a death sentence,” his master had said.

Lord Thibault’s rigid fingers pressed like darts into Scorpius’ throat.

Working to catch his breath, his master said, “After everything we have been through. You would fight to stop me in this.”

Scorpius struggled to read the emotion in Lord Thibault’s eyes. A lifetime of training cloaked his master’s heart from revealing itself.

Words could not form with Lord Thibault’s fingers choking him. Still, he forced his lips to move, his breath to rasp out whatever it could.

“Why bring down your noble house?” he said.

“You fight even me to protect my family?” Lord Thibault said.

“Can you not simply flee?” Scorpius said. “You seek union with her. Can they not take you to live among them?”

After a long moment, his master eased off the pressure on Scorpius’ throat. But he kept him firmly pinned down. “If I had done that, would you have followed me there?”

A flare of anger filled Scorpius with reckless disregard for his own self-preservation. “You forget that I’ve never had the luxury of choice, my lord.”

He was unprepared for the emotion that flooded his master’s face. “So you would have elected to stay in my father’s house.”

“How do I know what I might have chosen? You did not give me such a gift.”

Abruptly, Lord Thibault pushed up from the hold he’d used to immobilize Scorpius. Gazing down as he fought to conceal the myriad of feelings that battled within him, his master said, “No, I did not. Instead I have an attempt on my life.”

Pacing in agitation, Lord Thibault halted in his tracks. “We will return to the palace,” he said, stooping to pick up the scrap of Sibian cloth. “If any word of this circulates, I will know its source. At which time, my memory of your dagger drawn against me will surface.”

Scorpius regained his feet. “Understood, my lord.”

“I don’t think I understand you, Scorpius. If you only knew who it was that the Chancellor suspects of siring you. If you did, you would not be so quick to defend my father, the duke. You would be just as eager as I to leave them all behind.”

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2012

The Serialists - Scene 87

I'm now posting with The Serialists which appears on Wednesdays.

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 who must obey his own masters.

An attempt on the life of a young noble while on a hunt sent the falconer and his apprentice on abruptly different paths, bringing Scorpius into the service of Lord Thibault's noble house.

We now continue with Scorpius at age nineteen.

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


Scene 87

The chill that squeezed Scorpius’ guts splintered into icy clarity.

Before he dare let reason intrude, Scorpius burst forward to charge his master, taking him down in a breath-stealing crash. Too late, Lord Thibault fought to hang onto the scrap of Sibian cloth sent from the envoy in the secret mountain pass.

Scorpius had been bound, blindfolded, delivered to the Sibiu, charged with delivering a message whose contents he did not know and ordered not to return without an answer. He’d been thrown to the ground, threatened by men and blistered by the heat of the gliding leathery monster of his nightmares.

If the telltale patterned scrap of cloth sent by the Sibian commander--which had cost Scorpius dearly to retrieve--threatened the security of his master’s house, after all that he had been through...and his master, of all people, was the one to send him to fetch it...well, something snapped inside of Scorpius.

A sharp blow from his elbow numbed Lord Thibault’s fingers. Scorpius peeled the cloth free from his master’s grip, but Lord Thibault would not give up so easily.

Hurling himself in a roll forward, his master grabbed Scorpius’ legs to prevent his escape. Scorpius grunted as his chin hit the ground, but he kept hold of the scrap of cloth.

A flashing glance toward his master showed the chilling truth. Lord Thibault’s expression was the same one any adversary would see, just before the killing stroke slipped between unsuspecting ribs.

As cleanly as his former falcon master Richolf’s red tail hawk took down a game hen, Scorpius butted heads with his master, knocking Lord Thibault off balance just long enough for Scorpius to swipe the small dagger from its place at his hip.

Recovering, his master kicked up to wrap his legs around Scorpius’ hips, rolling him. There was no keeping hold of both the cloth and the dagger. As Scorpius’s face ground into the dirt, he loosened his grip on the cloth but tightened his fingers around the dagger hilt.

With all of his might, Scorpius tried to push the momentum farther than his master intended, but Lord Thibault had trained with the same sword master as he. For a crushing moment, Scorpius was immobilized.

Both of them panted for breath.

He knew his master would reach for the cloth. All he had to do was wait.

At the split second when he felt Lord Thibault’s weight shift, Scorpius made his move. Twisting hard to face up towards his master, Scorpius forced Lord Thibault’s attention away from the cloth. Planting his feet solidly against the ground, Scorpius bucked hard with his legs, pitching his master forward.

A mad scramble scattered dust and pebbles along with limbs, fists and feet. Scorpius dug in hard, pinning Lord Thibault’s head in a choke hold with his legs, locking one of his master’s arms awkwardly to the side. With his other hand he slid the dagger within a hairs-breadth of his master’s eye.

Lord Thibault stilled. “This is a death sentence,” he said.

Scorpius snorted wearily. “Bringing down your noble house would end in the same way for you.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to bring it down.”

“You said the cloth made way for the fall of the House of Pruzhnino.”

“I didn’t say that’s what I wanted,” his master said, his voice tight with pain.

“You don’t say it because I have a dagger in place to put out your eye.”

“Why should you care?” Lord Thibault’s voice rose with unaccustomed passion. “What possible difference does the Pruzhnino line make to you?”

“You ask that of me?" Scorpius said, his voice thick with emotion. "Me, with no father. No mother. Me, who only ever had Richolf, and you sent even him from me.”

“And yet you have served me. All these years, you have served me.”

“Do you think a falconer's boy had a choice?” Scorpius fought the rage that wanted to set him shaking. He concentrated on keeping the dagger tip still as Lord Thibault’s lashes blinked against it.

“What do you think that cloth represents?” his master said, pulling his gaze away from the blade to look deeply into Scorpius’ eyes. "That cloth is my choice. And she said yes."

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2012

The Serialists - Scene 86

I'm now posting with The Serialists which appears on Wednesdays.

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 who must obey his own masters.

An attempt on the life of a young noble while on a hunt sent the falconer and his apprentice on abruptly different paths, bringing Scorpius into the service of Lord Thibault's noble house.

We now continue with Scorpius at age nineteen.

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


Scene 86

With trembling fingers, Scorpius reached inside his jerkin to pull out a patterned cloth. He passed it to Lord Thibault, who saw the shaking and placed his hand upon Scorpius' for a moment, to steady him.

Scorpius looked into his master's eyes to see dread rising close to the surface. It seemed it was Lord Thibault who needed reassurance.

With a rough squeeze, his master released his hand. "I did tell you not to leave the Sibiu unless you'd secured an answer."

Nodding wearily, Scorpius said, "You did, my lord."

Lord Thibault squeezed the scrap of cloth as though it were someone's neck. "Of course, I may have left out the caveat concerning dragons."

"That's not all you failed to mention." A burst of anger rose in Scorpius' chest, forcing him to turn away from his master.

Closing the distance between them, Lord Thibault stood in silence until Scorpius' skin crawled. Still, he could not force himself to speak, to say words he did not mean.

"You remember what I told you that morning, before we sought shelter with my uncle," his master said.

"I remember it all, my lord."

"Is it now the duty of a duke's son to beg the pardon of his servant?"

Burning anger turned quickly to a sickening chill in the pit of his stomach. Still, Scorpius could not make himself speak.

"It has ever fallen to nobles to send men to their deaths, if need be," Lord Thibault said. "To ask them to suffer, even when they don't understand what they're suffering for."

"You've claimed your birthright, then." Scorpius half turned, but could not face Lord Thibault. Not if he wanted to spare his master the shock of a fist to the jaw.

"Dashed it to pieces, you mean." His master circled around to stand before him. He held up the wrinkled cloth for both of them to see. "You have brought me the keys to the destruction of the House of Pruzhnino. If I had told you this, would you have delivered the scroll to the Sibiu?"

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2012

The Serialists - Scene 85

I'm now posting with The Serialists which appears on Wednesdays.

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 who must obey his own masters.

An attempt on the life of a young noble while on a hunt sent the falconer and his apprentice on abruptly different paths, bringing Scorpius into the service of Lord Thibault's noble house.

We now continue with Scorpius at age nineteen.

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


Scene 85

It was difficult but not impossible to ride, considering the horse was as determined as Scorpius to leave the Sibiu behind. They’d left him the saddle, at least, which he grabbed with his bound hands wrenched fast behind his back. Leaning as far forward as he could without losing his grip, Scorpius hugged the horse with his legs, trusting it to pick its own way back out of the pass.

They raced against the lengthening shadows with the stink of scorched flesh clinging fast. Hoof beats drummed in time to Scorpius’ heart, filling his mind so that he strained to listen for the rhythmic flapping of leathery wings.

Fighting the panic that stole the breath from him, Scorpius stared straight ahead but saw nothing except the horrible memory of the Sibian herd in his mind’s eye, blooms of flame rolling forth from the shrieking mouth of the dragon. He and the horse were both intent on barreling past his master when he emerged at a run toward them.

“Whoa!” Lord Thibault said, waving his arms in broad circles.

The horse halted, sending Scorpius to slide abruptly forward. Tumbling onto the rocky ground, jagged pain greeted his landing. His master jogged to grab the horse’s mane, coaxing it to put aside its mindless flight for the time being.

Groaning, Scorpius struggled to his feet. Straining to see if the nightmare followed them, he scanned the horizon but found it to be made of only sunset hues. The mountain pass gaped black and still, like a lie.

“Did you bring the message?” Lord Thibault asked.

“No message,” Scorpius said, working to catch his breath.

The look of sickened disbelief that washed over his master reached into Scorpius’ heart, still numbed by fear. Taking a few steps to close the gap between them, Scorpius kept his voice low so as not to distress the horse any further.

“No scroll, I meant to say, my lord.”

“But there is news?”

“Did you not see?” Scorpius said, hearing the stricken edge to his own voice.

“Of course I saw,” Lord Thibault whispered.

Pulling himself as straight as he could, Scorpius fought to keep a normal tone to his voice. He grasped at this semblance of normalcy as though it could protect him like a charm.

He told of the Sibian’s reaction to the scroll’s suggestion, until Scorpius had offered his dragon ring in order to vouch for his master’s word. Lord Thibault grabbed hold of him then and spun him around.

Scorpius’ body jerked as his master sliced through the rope pinning his arms back.

“You gave them my mother’s ring?” said his master.

Turning to face Lord Thibault, Scorpius said, “I did, my lord.” He watched in fascination as his master flushed red.

“You shame me, Scorpius.”

“My lord?”

“You forced their hand with that offer. I assume then that they refused my first one?”

“They did, my lord.”

“But the herd was cleansed.”

“The herd? The herd was burnt to a crisp!”

Stretching a hand out to clap it on Scorpius’ shoulder, Lord Thibault smiled grimly. “The herd was ill. A herd which they hide amongst our own in order to graze them. There was much at stake.”

Nodding, Scorpius gazed once more upon his master’s red face, at Lord Thibault’s dust-worn doublet, at the worn lines around his master’s eyes for such a young man. The news he craved hadn’t been passed to Scorpius in a scroll. A few words and Lord Thibault would have his answer.

“My lord,” Scorpius said. “My lord, there’s something you must know.”

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2012