Tuesday Serial / The Serialists - Scene 74

My Scorpius serial now posts on Tuesdays for Tuesday Serial.










I'm also 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 74

Already bathed and attired in his most tasteful doublet, Scorpius threw his master a linen to dry himself as Lord Thibault rose dripping from the water.

“I don’t know why she’s in such a scorching hurry.” His master scrubbed his hair back and forth until it stood on end. Stepping onto the soft mat beside his carefully arranged garments, Lord Thibault held his arms out so the slave could dry him off.

“Apparently, that is the way of mothers, my lord,” Scorpius said, leaning against his master’s bedposts, arms crossed before him. “Even the mothers of villagers and what-have-you.”

The slave drew a comb through their master’s hair. “And just what was so crucial at that precise moment that you left me to my mother’s scheming, utterly unprotected?” Lord Thibault asked.

“Do I not serve the chancellor before I serve my lord?” Scorpius watched as the slave deftly clothed their master in fine hose, hand worked linen and breeches cut to display Lord Thibault’s form as future sire of noble lineage.

Sulking darkly, Lord Thibault shrugged into a velvet doublet sparkling with silver stitching and gem stones.

“Permission to speak freely?” Scorpius asked.

“No,” Lord Thibault said, walking to the bench where he sat to be fitted with elaborate shoes. “You do not have my permission to speak freely, because I know what you’re going to say.”

Unfolding his arms to stand respectfully, Scorpius inclined his head slightly. “My lord.”

The slave pushed gingerly to slip the shoe on their master’s foot, taking care not to press too hard on the encrusted gem work.

“You’re going to tell me to stop being such a simpleton and at least have a look at these noble ladies before I reject them, simply because my mother has made a list of them. I still have a choice in all of this, do I not?”

“As far as I understand it, my lord.”

His master rose, shaking his head. “It’s my choice until my father informs me which one of them will be my mate.” Again spreading his arms wide, Lord Thibault stood as the slave buckled a ceremonial sword around his hips, draping a sash across one shoulder and fixing it with a jeweled clasp.

“You say the village mothers do this same thing to their progeny?”

“As far as I can work it out, my lord, they may chose whomsoever they wish, as long as the bride is one which the mother approves.”

“I suppose it’s entirely possible that there are ladies on the dukessa’s list who are convinced I am not a suitable choice for them.” Lord Thibault adjusted his sash and swordbelt to suit his own taste, now that the slave stepped aside.

“Without permission to speak freely, my lord, I would have to say that is highly unlikely.”

His master took a deep breath before leading the way into the corridor. “I don’t know why you should be so unkind to me today. Really, Scorpius, I could use cheering up.”

Keeping pace with his master, their footsteps striking the polished floor in unison, Scorpius dipped a hand into the fold of his doublet. He pulled the chancellor’s note free and offered it to Lord Thibault.

Gaze searching Scorpius for clues, his master checked his pace only slightly as he opened the note and glanced at its contents. Lord Thibault stopped walking then, and faced him.

“Another list?” his master said, grinning.

“The dukessa knows none of these, I think.”

“But the chancellor does.”

“He does, indeed, my lord.”

Lord Thibault tucked the note away, deep in the recesses of his velvet doublet. Continuing along the corridor, his master’s step grew lighter. “Look at us, Scorpius. We’re ridiculous.”

“Just for a few hours, my lord. Then we can shed all of this, and perhaps gentle hands will aid us in that endeavor.”

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2011

Tuesday Serial / The Serialists - Scene 72

My Scorpius serial now posts on Tuesdays for Tuesday Serial.










I'm also 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 72

Pulling free of her sleepy grip, Scorpius slid from under the covers, rummaging for his trousers.

His master lay sprawled in the arms of last night’s amusement, who now snored with indelicate persistence. The gray shadows warned of dawn. Time to be off.

Slipping outside to be sure the horses were saddled and ready, Scorpius returned to the slaves’ hut, ignoring the gaze of the older woman, now roused from her mat on the floor. She sat and watched him as he tapped Lord Thibault on the temple.

He hadn’t been able to make out whether she was the girls’ mother, or just someone who lived here with them. She said nothing as his master groaned loudly and stretched.

Neither girl awoke as Lord Thibault stumbled into his clothes, but the older woman’s gaze followed Scorpius as he prodded and cajoled his master to the door. As Lord Thibault shook the night off and placed his foot in the stirrup, Scorpius crept back to the woman’s side and knelt beside her.

“For your hospitality,” he said, placing a kerchief bundle in her hand. The aroma of spiced cakes filled the small space, bringing a surprised smile to the woman’s lips. Ducking out into the dew-heavy morning, Scorpius swung up into the saddle and nudged his horse forward with the heels of his boots.

Catching up with his master, Scorpius waited for the grin he knew Lord Thibault would flash at him.

“Determined to keep me on schedule,” his master said.

“If I do not, I shall catch it from the chancellor.”

“Remind me to somehow lace your drink with a sleeping draft next time, would you?”

“I shall do my best, my lord.”

“You shall do your best for the chancellor and not for your master,” Lord Thibault said, turning back to look at the slave hut with longing.

“He serves your house, as do I, my lord.” Scorpius had already pushed the slave girl from his mind. Her kisses and caresses had been ordered, making him long for their rooms and a hot bath.

“Can we refrain from mentioning my illustrious house, just at present?” Lord Thibault twisted back to gaze at the road that would take them home. “I shall be back in its clutches soon enough.”

They rode for a time in silence, the swaying gaits of their mounts the only thing to break the stillness of the morning.

“Do you know, when I first met you at the falconer’s, you gave no indication whatsoever that you would ruin lovely mornings like this one,” his master said.

Scorpius snorted derisively.

“And I went out of my way to find a sweet little thing for you to enjoy.”

“Your generosity is never in question, my lord. Merely your punctuality.”

“Who is asking for me at this time of day?” said Lord Thibault, sober realization dawning in his face.

“You take me for a fool, my lord?” Scorpius flicked his hair out of his eyes. “You shall find out only after I have you bathed and dressed.”

“Why did you let me drink so much? I feel like death.”

“You say you feel like death, and yet you repeat all the nights like last night,” Scorpius said. “Do you not tire of it?”

“Weren’t you drinking?” his master said. “Why do you look so presentable?”

“One of us has to keep his head.” His horse wanted to challenge his master’s, but that would not be tolerated as they neared the estate. He held his mount back to follow Lord Thibault’s horse just slightly.

“By the gods,” his master chuckled. “I’m a slave to my man.”

“You merely serve your house, my lord,” Scorpius said. “As do I.”

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2011

Tuesday Serial / The Serialists - Scene 69

My Scorpius serial now posts on Tuesdays for Tuesday Serial.










I'm also 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.

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 69

“Do you dance?”

“No…” Scorpius stumbled over what to call the chancellor. Why, oh why did Lord Thibault neglect to mention these little details before abandoning him here in the duke’s drawing room? “No, sir,” he said, certain that wasn’t right.

A fleeting smile grazed the chancellor’s lips. “ ’No, my lord’.”

Scorpius bowed slightly, face flushing hot. “No, my lord.”

The chancellor moved closer, so discreetly that Scorpius started. “Your former master, the falconer, never took you to a fête?”

“Ah…”

The chancellor folded his arms across his chest. “How many dinner guests would you suppose attended your largest dinner party?”

Scorpius thought back to the outdoor lunch they’d enjoyed in the forest – Richolf, Ingerith, Alegreza and himself. Where were they, now? “Just three, my lord.”

“Three, including yourself?”

“Four, my lord.” Scorpius shifted his body slightly to keep this man in his sights. He felt like he was circling the sword master.

“Do you ride?”

There was no point in puffing himself up. This chancellor would see through that in a blink. “Not well. Just enough to keep from falling off, really, my lord.”

Again, the barest of smiles. “What did Lord Thibault tell you when he brought you here?”

“That I would be his man, my lord.” Scorpius drew himself up, daring to look into the chancellor’s eyes. He hadn’t the slightest idea if it was forbidden. But a lord’s man must be bold.

“Do you even have a suspicion as to what that entails?” The chancellor gazed at him with a strange mixture of hope and disdain.

A jumble of memories crowded Scorpius' mind. The nobles who’d come to the falconer’s cottage for the hunt, some with a retinue of courtiers, some with harsh words and blows, some with laughter and wineskins. The depravity of the nightmare hunt chilled him now, recalling how they’d all served Lord Dirske, no matter how wretched it had felt to do so.

“I do, my lord.”

The chancellor turned and walked towards the ornate desk. “The duke has doubts that you are up to the task.” He turned and regarded Scorpius, the hint of kindness in his eyes giving Scorpius the heart to press on.

“The falconer fetched me from the nursery, my lord.”

Eyebrows raising only slightly, the chancellor said, “Did he?”

“While I was a small boy, I was treated as a noble. After that, I was trained to serve them.” He shrugged at the oddity of his own life.

“As Lord Thibault’s man, you will need to ride,” the chancellor said. “You will need to wield a blade. You will need to do both things better than he does. You must protect him at every hour of the day. You cannot leave his side for long. You must attend the same dinners, cut figures at the same dances.”

Closing the distance between them, the chancellor looked deeply for something as he gazed for several moments upon Scorpius. “The duke has doubts about you.”

Scorpius bristled inside. The duke had barely glanced at him. Richolf had trusted him. Richolf had saved him from turning into…only the gods knew.

He felt the outrage flowing through him. The chancellor nodded, as if engaged in an internal conversation.

“I do not,” he said. “You will be trained, and Lord Thibault will have his man.” Turning away, the chancellor slipped into the shadows of the vast drawing room, just as Scorpius noticed the double doors swinging open behind him, as if by some silent command.

Though apparently gone, Scorpius felt he had to acknowledge the man whose opinion had been the deciding factor. “My lord,” he said, bowing smartly to thin air. Then he turned and left the drawing room behind, nearly failing to nod at the servants standing at each side of the doorway.

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2011

Tuesday Serial / The Serialists - Scene 68

My Scorpius serial now posts on Tuesdays for Tuesday Serial.










I'm also 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.

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 68

“My father has asked for you,” Lord Thibault said in an offhanded way, dismounting from his horse.

A groom moved forward, taking hold of the reins as Scorpius slid smoothly out of the saddle. He dropped to his feet, trying to catch his master’s eye.

“Yes, my lord,” Scorpius said, following behind, dread rolling heavily through his guts. They left the sunshine and the carefree afternoon behind, heading into the cool stone passageway at a brisk pace.

His master led Scorpius to his own room, where a new set of clothes had been laid out on his bed and a basin of fresh water awaited. Lord Thibault supervised every aspect of Scorpius’ preparations, fussing over him like a valet over a bridegroom.

“You mustn’t worry,” Lord Thibault said, tying his sleeves into place with care.

“I won’t, my lord.”

“I have already informed my father that you will serve as my man.” He grabbed Scorpius by the shoulders and turned him toward the door. “The duke must accept you as my acquisition.”

Scorpius nodded, heart leaping as his master nudged him forward. Only when they were both out in the corridor did Lord Thibault take his habitual lead.

“My brother, the markiisi chose his own man, and I am now of an age to do the same.”

“The duke will not be pleased, I take it, my lord.” Scorpius recalled the dark chuckles of his master’s uncle and the guard captain at mention of Lord Thibault's father. As they rounded a corner and the gallery widened to a polished grandeur, Scorpius fought to still his fear.

“He means to assess the damage, so to speak. You see what faith he has in me.”

Scorpius recognized the double doors from their first meeting with the duke. Servants pulled with practiced ease at the golden handles, stepping back as the doors swung open. It was all happening too fast. Scorpius and his master stood before the duke and there was nothing for it but to bow deeply and sweep his arm to his chest.

He straightened only to catch a glimpse of Lord Thibault backing away and striding out through the doors, which closed with a smart click behind him. Like a flash freeze, Scorpius’ blood seemed to stop in its tracks.

“Step forward.”

Scorpius forced himself to move, crossing the carpet which was soft as flower petals. He got as near to the duke as he dared, his gaze solidly averted.

“Where did he find you?”

“Your son arrived at my master’s – my former master’s cottage for a hunt. I served a falconer, Your Grace,” he said, voice breaking just then. He felt his face flush hot.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the chancellor standing once again at a respectful distance.

“So there are none to recommend you.” The satisfaction at this glaring lack made Scorpius shrivel inside.

“Could we not pay this falconer a visit, Your Grace?” the chancellor said.

Was Scorpius prohibited from speaking without first having been spoken to? Why didn’t Lord Thibault take as great care with these few simple rules as he’d done with this jerkin?

“To which estate were you attached?” the duke asked.

“Lord Dirske’s, Your Grace. But you will not find my master – you will not find the falconer there. Lord Thibault sent him away.”

“Did he?” The duke strode forward. Scorpius had grown accustomed to being the tallest person in any room, but Lord Thibault’s father matched him and more. Everything inside Scorpius cried out to back away, but he recalled his master’s words: The duke must accept you as my acquisition.

He remembered the shrieks of that poor young guard, flogged by Lord Dirske during the nightmare hunt. He glanced quickly at the duke and his chancellor, but neither appeared to wield anything that could repeat such a scene.

The guard captain had fully expected to find the scars of similar floggings across Scorpius’ back. That must speak highly of Richolf, surely. Of Scorpius' own level of service. Forcing himself to hold his ground as the duke looked him over, Scorpius bit back the words that wanted to tumble in explanation from his lips.

“You saved his life,” said Lord Thibault’s father. “But who put him in jeopardy? No one to speak for you. No one but the grateful lord you now serve.”

No one but Ingerith, his former master’s lover, whose identity must remain secret.

Scorpius swallowed hard, glancing up to see the chancellor staring intently at him. “Your son showed great mercy to my master, Your Grace,” Scorpius said, his mouth dry with fear. “As my master showed always to me.”

“Thank the gods that Thibault is only a second son.” The duke turned away, heading for the doors. Scorpius’ face grew hot once more, bearing the insult to his new master as if it were his own.

“I shall leave you to it,” the duke said, striding out into the gallery.

Scorpius straightened from his bow to meet the appraising glance of the chancellor, whose gaze took in everything, whose expression gave away nothing.

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2011

Tuesday Serial / The Serialists - Scene 67

My Scorpius serial now posts on Tuesdays for Tuesday Serial.










I'm also 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.

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 67

Scorpius’ sharp cry ricocheted through the stone gallery, his hand pinned by the sword master’s boot, the pommel grinding his knuckles into the floor.

A kick to his leg knocked his feet from under him. Slamming to the ground, he lost his hold upon the sword. An iron grip encircled his throat, choking him, just as the merciless tip of a blade hovered over his eye.

All he could do was stare down the length of steel into the swordmaster’s cool gaze.

With a grunt, the older man thrust Scorpius from him and stalked away. Pressing hard against the wall for support, Scorpius bent, coughing. Sweat rolled into his eyes.

“Again.”

With barely enough time to lift his head, Scorpius saw the swordmaster bearing down on him, weapon raised over his head. A chill gripped Scorpius’ limbs. But in two strides the man was upon him. All he could do was roll and scramble to his feet, his sword lying too far away.

The other man whirled to keep Scorpius in his sights, already lunging forward, his long blade blocking Scorpius' escape route. So he dove under it, sliding along the smooth floor, rolling once more towards his blade.

Scorpius was sure he heard a curse as he scooped up the pommel and regained his feet. A surge of purpose burst up through his chest, clearing his head so that he had the chance to think, though his body moved with all the speed he could muster.

Just in time, Scorpius braced himself with both hands on the pommel. The swordmaster brought his blade down in a bone-jarring arc, the steel ringing in the gallery. Laboring hard to meet the man’s powerful blows, Scorpius gave ground, stepping carefully backward, trying to stay free of the wall.

Panting hard, Scorpius blinked against the sweat but dare not let go of the pommel. The swordmaster suddenly charged forward, pulling back when Scorpius moved to parry. With a lunge and a twist, the older man threw Scorpius down at his feet, knocking the wind from his chest.

Gasping at the painful pressure in his lungs, Scorpius watched the swordmaster kick his sword away for a second time, until the breath burned back into him. Once again he lay pinned beneath the older man’s boot.

The only thing he could do was return the swordmaster’s gaze. But this time, the cool stare warmed into a spark of respect.

The older man dipped his head in salute, lifting his foot from Scorpius’ chest, bending to offer a hand of assistance.

Scorpius rose just as his master, Lord Thibault crossed the gallery to join them.

“A falconer’s boy, you say?” the swordmaster said.

“Yes, sir.” Scorpius still gripped his weapon as though the other man might press on with more training. But his master arrived instead, to give him a hearty swat on the back.

“I told you he’d be worth the trouble,” Lord Thibault said, his smile wide.

“He’s got size, and he’s got speed. Often there is one but not the other.” The swordmaster looked Scorpius up and down, which only served to make him draw up as tall as he could.

“If he is to serve me, he must protect me,” his master said, addressing the older man but looking at Scorpius.

“He is accustomed to serving birds of prey, my lord. They have taught him to read the lay of the land, to move with assurance, to be ready.”

The swordmaster closed the distance between himself and Scorpius, coming nose to nose, which forced him to look up slightly. But he remained just as intimidating. “You are used to letting the birds do the killing. Do you have what it takes?”

Scorpius glanced over at his master, who watched with a slight air of uncertainty. Though the swordmaster’s rank was a servant of this noble house, in the matter of whether he would agree to train Scorpius, it appeared Lord Thibault was prepared to defer to the man who ruled in this domain.

He didn’t know how the idea came to him. But when it struck Scorpius, he knew he must carry it through.

Without warning, Scorpius thrust the pommel of his sword up and out, clipping the swordmaster on the chin, putting the older man off-balance. Scorpius charged forward, using his superior weight to pin the man to the floor.

He was just maneuvering his blade to hold it across the swordmaster’s throat, when the older man grabbed Scorpius’ arm, thrust hard to the side and rolled them both over. The swordmaster was like a snake, wrapped tightly around Scorpius’ arms and legs.

A sharp blow to his arm forced his numbed hand to drop the blade. A knee to his gut forced a cry from him.

For a brief instant, Scorpius saw the fierce glow of the kill flash through the swordmaster’s eyes. But it passed just as quickly.

The intense pressure eased off, and the older man released him, gazing down with the slightest suggestion of admiration. “That’s a start,” he said.

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2011

Tuesday Serial / The Serialists - Scene 66

My Scorpius serial now posts on Tuesdays for Tuesday Serial.










I'm also 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.

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 66

He couldn’t stop himself from looking into the dukessa’s eyes.

His young master’s mother returned his gaze, eyes shining with gratitude and tears. Scorpius knelt before her once more, extending his hand so she could place the ring upon his middle finger.

In a silver setting worked to resemble plumes of wind or smoke, the rectangular black onyx lay along the base of his finger to the center knuckle. A strange sense of well-being came over him, as though his hand had always longed for the weight of this stone upon it.

As he turned his hand slightly, the carving over the onyx revealed itself – a dragon in flight. The sound of the dragon’s wings filled his mind, raising the hair along the back of his neck. At just that moment, the dukessa wrapped her fingers around his jeweled hand and calmed him.

Scorpius bowed his head. “Your Grace.”

“You have returned my son to me. When a mother has already lost one child, the joy you now bring cannot be truly expressed.”

Another subtle nudge from Lord Thibault helped Scorpius rise to his feet. His master's young sisters surged forward to take up his hand and admire the ring.

“Have you showed Scorpius his new home?” the dukessa asked.

“We went to my father straight away, and then to you.”

“You must show him the estate and grounds, then, but take a guard with you.”

“Yes, Mother,” his master said, leaning close to kiss the dukessa warmly upon the cheek.

“May I come, too?” the boy said, suddenly forlorn.

“Hurry, then,” Lord Thibault said, already striding from the room. Scorpius bowed deeply and backed away as the boy dashed past him.

Catching up to his master easily, Scorpius fought the urge to gaze at the hand that now wore a ring such as he’d never imagined. It turned his falconer’s clothing into shabby rags, but no doubt that would be remedied before he turned in for the night.

As he hung back from the sight of the two brothers delighting in one another’s company, the younger one skipping along and dragging on Lord Thibault’s hand, Scorpius felt the keen loss of Richolf.

A part of him didn’t want to think of his former master ever again. But that would be an insult too horrible to contemplate.

He would just have to learn to live with the stabbing ache that erupted inside of him from time to time, wouldn’t he? He had done so as a boy, even younger than his master’s brother. He’d learned to live with the loss of the parents who’d never come for him, unlike the duke and dukessa who had come for Lord Thibault when it was time for him to leave the nursery.

They passed through gleaming corridors, polished and smooth enough to slide upon, as the boy did with practiced ease. They rounded corners and flew down staircases, made their way through galleries and ducked through servants’ entries. Staff stepped artfully out of the way as the brothers raced for the door to the grounds.

Scorpius trotted to keep up, crossing the threshold into the sunny afternoon. He paused to take in the bustling village of outbuildings and servants behind the estate, which was impressive enough. But as he jogged ahead to rejoin his master and his brother, they crested a small slope that opened onto an ornate garden and revealed rolling parkland beyond.

Lord Thibault turned to smile at him. Scorpius fought the sense of betrayal towards his former master, the falconer, for his heart soared with the sense that he had finally come home.

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2011

Tuesday Serial / The Serialists - Scene 65

My Scorpius serial now posts on Tuesdays for Tuesday Serial.










I'm also 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.

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 65

For a moment, Scorpius remained in the corridor with the two servants who flanked the doors. The emotion from within the dukessa’s drawing room was too raw.

He tried to make eye contact with one of the lads. When the young footman resolutely averted his gaze, Scorpius wondered at his own role here. Was he not considered a servant? It seemed Lord Thibault’s father, the duke thought him nothing more than a stray dog.

“Scorpius? Where have you got to…?” Lord Thibault rounded the door, face wet with tears. He brightened as soon as he caught sight of Scorpius.

“Come and meet my mother,” he said, taking hold of Scorpius' shoulders to usher him forward into the dukessa’s presence.

Scorpius’ heart stuck in his chest at her shining beauty.

Lord Thibault’s mother sat upon a lounging sofa in a cloud of silks, surrounded by two girls and a boy, the youngest of whom raced forward to grab Scorpius by the hand, dragging him forward. Every face shone with tears.

As soon as the young boy released him, Scorpius made the same reverence to Lord Thibault’s mother as he’d made to the duke, bowing deeply, sweeping his arm to his heart.

“Mother, this is Scorpius. I would not be here standing before you, if it were not for him.”

Scorpius heard the tremble of emotion in his master’s voice. Stealing a glance at Lord Thibault, he saw the humbled gratitude which his master had dared not show his father. It made Scorpius’ face flush hot.

“Come closer,” the dukessa commanded. Scorpius’ skin prickled as he straightened and approached her.

“Closer,” she said, so he knelt before her. When she took hold of his face with delicate fingers and kissed the top of his head, Scorpius could not stop the gasp from escaping his lips.

Nearly bolting backwards, Scorpius regained his feet and took a step back, bowing his head.

The young boy wrapped his arm around Lord Thibault as the girls giggled at Scorpius. It was easier to glance at them than at the dukessa’s radiance.

“He will be my new man,” Lord Thibault said. Scorpius’ heart warmed at the pride in his master’s voice. It gave him the courage to look up, just as the dukessa’s dark-eyed gaze came to rest upon him once more.

Scorpius couldn’t shake the unsettling impression that this woman could somehow see through him, as though he were a veil. He saw understanding dawn in her eyes before he forced himself to look away.

“You must tell me everything,” she said.

Glancing at the children present, Scorpius wondered for a moment whether he should spare the grimmest of the details. But when he looked again at the dukessa, a part of him cautioned that she would somehow know whether he held anything back.

So he began at that moment when his former master, the falconer silently warned him from across the hunting field to run from the assassins. He watched as the boy’s face paled when Scorpius described how he’d hauled the injured Lord Thibault to safety beneath the rock ledge. The girls dissolved into tears as he told of the terrible removal of the arrowhead from their brother’s shoulder, while the dukessa wiped at her cheeks when he told of Ingerith’s risky visit, bringing the tonic that cured Lord Thibault of the wound fever.

When he got to the part when Lord Thibault passed the sack of coins to his former master, parting so suddenly in the night woods, Scorpius’ voice thickened and he couldn’t go on.

Lord Thibault placed his hand upon Scorpius’ shoulder. “He is a jewel among men, Mother.”

“If it was an easy thing to unearth such treasures, my darling, they would hold no worth. Agridha, please fetch my trinket box.”

The eldest girl crossed the room to retrieve a simple-looking wooden box from a drawer. Accepting it from her daughter, the dukessa opened the latch and lifted the lid.

Suddenly Scorpius realized that every eye was upon him.

A firm nudge from his master forced Scorpius to step forward, until he saw the ring laying in the dukessa’s outstretched palm.

© Julia Smith, 2011

Tuesday Serial / The Serialists - Scene 64

My Scorpius serial is now joining Tuesday Serial which moves my serialized fiction series to Tuesdays.










I'm also 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, 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 64

Scorpius followed Lord Thibault down the long gallery, their footsteps echoing against the polished wood. His master’s cheeks flushed as they neared the double doors, which only served to make the pit in Scorpius’ stomach grow heavier.

“Remember to address him as Your Grace,” Lord Thibault said in a low voice.

“I’ll remember, my lord.”

The two servants flanking the doors turned to grasp the handles.

“I am not a favorite of his,” Lord Thibault said.

The doors pushed open, to reveal a dark room that bristled with mounted weapons and hunting trophies. An imposing man turned from conversation to regard them as Lord Thibault stiffened, though forcing himself to walk forward.

Scorpius’ heart forgot to beat. Then it pounded so loudly he could barely think. His legs threatened to buckle, yet somehow he kept pace with his master and entered the duke’s reception room, the doors shutting solidly behind them.

The man speaking with the duke withdrew to a respectful distance as Lord Thibault approached his father. Scorpius halted, hoping he’d not already overstepped his place. But the duke was too focused on his son to notice anyone else.

Lord Thibault dropped to one knee, surging forward to grasp the duke’s hand and kiss it. “Father,” he whispered in a thick voice.

The duke’s face softened for a fleeting moment. Then he bid his son to rise.

Scorpius used every shred of courage he possessed to remain standing as his master and his father, the duke turned to regard him. Gazing down at the impossibly ornate rug upon which he stood, Scorpius felt his skin prickle with the desire to be anywhere but here.

“And whom have you brought before me?” the duke said.

Lord Thibault swept his arm wide to invite Scorpius closer, which set off a great battle inside of him. Move, his brain commanded, but his limbs would not obey. Was he to kneel? Kiss the duke’s hand?

His whole body trembled. His stomach rolled as if he might be sick.

But his master stood with arm outstretched, the duke looking on. He must not humiliate his master before such a father, especially as he was not his favorite.

Though it felt as though he lurched forward like a drunk, Scorpius strode towards the duke and bowed with deep grace, pulling his arm elegantly towards his heart.

“This is Scorpius, Your Grace,” his master said. “He’s the one who saved me from my murderers.”

“Is he, now?”

Scorpius remained bowed, especially as the duke closed the distance between them.

“He looks a sight. Did you not think to refresh yourselves?”

When the duke turned, Scorpius shot a look over at Lord Thibault, who flicked his head to indicate that Scorpius could release his reverence. Taking his cue from the other man still in the room with them, Scorpius straightened, standing tall but with lowered gaze.

“You think to keep him, do you?” the duke said, his voice tight with derision.

“He has already served me as well as anyone has ever served our House.”

The duke turned, grabbing his son and roughly yanking away his doublet and tunic from his shoulder. Lord Thibault’s raw scars from the arrow brought the attempt on the young noble’s life into the room with them.

“Could he not prevent this?” The duke released Lord Thibault to stumble and hurriedly cover himself.

“The only one who could have prevented it, is the one who sent his assassins after me,” Scorpius' master said.

With a dismissive grunt, the duke paced around Scorpius before returning to the man whose conversation they’d interrupted. “Your mother awaits you,” the duke said.

Lord Thibault bowed. “Your Grace,” he said, already sweeping away to grab Scorpius by the arm and head for the double doors in long, bounding strides. The servants scrambled to open the doors in time.

“The fates have blessed us,” Lord Thibault whispered, dashing along the corridor so that Scorpius had to scurry to keep up.

“My lord?” Scorpius asked.

“That was the chancellor in there with him. My father the duke was much distracted by whatever business they had together.”

Scorpius thought of the rough way the duke had disrobed his son. “This went well, then?”

“Very well,” Lord Thibault said, a wide grin lighting his face. Scorpius hadn’t seen its like since the young noble had first rounded the corner of the falconer’s cottage on his black stallion.

He followed his master through a maze of twists and turns, until one of the corridors unfolded to reveal another set of double doors. This time, Lord Thibault was too quick for the young lads on either side of it. He yanked both doors wide open.

“Thibault! My darling boy!” a woman’s voice called from within, until all was kisses and sobs of joy.

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2011