Weekend Writer's Retreat - 37

After a brief hiatus while I was on Christmas and New Year's vacation, 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 37


Scorpius watched as his master struggled to tie up the pelts for delivery to the estate. The dampness of the past three days of rain took its toll on the falconer’s joints where they had been pulled and wrenched in the interrogations, back when Scorpius was a boy.

Richolf was a little slower to rise from his chair these days, took a little longer to get through his work, grimaced when he thought Scorpius wasn’t looking. Another man his age wouldn’t be so hobbled. But another man had not tasted the bite of the nobles’ displeasure.

Turning the corner as though he’d not stopped to observe, Scorpius halted before Richolf and waited for instruction. His master seemed to block him out until he finished with his laborious knot. It gave Scorpius the ammunition he needed.

“Let me take that to the estate for you, sir.”

Richolf merely glanced up at him in irritation.

He tried another tactic. “I know I don’t drive as hard a bargain as you do.”

“You don’t drive any kind of bargain at all,” his master said, smiling slightly.

“Just tell me what you mean to get for it, and I promise I won’t leave without it.”

Richolf braced himself and then rose to his feet. “I’ve got other supplies to get while I’m there,” he said.

“Sir, you know I can get those for you.”

His master sent him a sharp look, and Scorpius realized he’d done it again. It was just that Richolf was so stubborn. Sighing, he looked away so his master couldn’t see his own frustration.

Richolf limped slowly to the door, gazing out at the downpour with his back to Scorpius. What could be so hard about collecting up an order of supplies, anyway? There must be some other business waiting for Richolf, something he couldn’t –

Scorpius’ face flushed with heat. Of course. How could he be so stupid? It must be Ingerith waiting for him. Of course it would be.

He looked over at his master with unspoken apologies. When Richolf faced him, Scorpius forced himself to meet his gaze. His master’s expression changed from weariness to curiosity.

“I suppose you can’t learn to drive a bargain if I don’t send you to make one.”

Relief and hope rose in Scorpius’ chest. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

“You’d better,” Richolf said. “Those traders will smell your inexperience and fall over themselves to fleece you.”

Scorpius bit back what he nearly said. He was so close to being granted permission. Biting his lip, he squared his shoulders and waited.

“I’ll draw up a list of provisions,” Richolf said at last. “I want four hundred for the lot. Nothing less.”

“Four hundred. Yes, sir,” Scorpius said.

“As soon as this rain lets up, you may head out.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Richolf eyes shadowed a little. “Let’s put on the kettle. I could use a hot tea just now.”

©

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 36

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, outgrown from the nursery where he'd been brought up with the other children of the blood. When no one from his family claimed him, Scorpius was released to serve a scarred and intimidating master.

The next twelve scenes follow Scorpius as a ten-year-old seasoned falconer's apprentice. The more he understands of his world, the more he learns to beware the nobles who come to the cottage for the hunt. The political intrigues that take the lives of its players can burn anyone who comes too close - including a falconer and his boy.

We rejoin him at age thirteen.

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


Scene 36

He watched the sweep of Ingerith’s skirt as she disappeared around the crest of the boulder. Scorpius scanned the sky for dragon signs, but in truth he sought to avoid hearing the bittersweet laughter, the muffled sounds of his master and his lover.

An hour passed while Scorpius sat on watch. His master had not seen Ingerith since that two-night absence, just before the nightmare hunt began. The two of them never knew when they would reunite, which served as a hurtful reminder that their lives were not their own. This meeting today set them all on edge, as Ingerith’s current noble patron had proven himself to be a cruel adversary.

Scorpius’ mind kept latching onto the way Richolf no doubt cradled his lover behind their screen of granite. Shaking his head to stop his mind from wandering back, Scorpius couldn’t prevent his memories of her neckline when he’d met her in the ravine, revealing her soft curves beneath her bodice. His body insisted on responding to something that was none of his business.

Whenever Ingerith smiled at him, even when she didn’t smile at him, merely looked at him, Scorpius’ skin shivered. Yet her sighs were for his master, and not for such as him.

His gaze scanned the treetops, recalling the horrible sight of the dragon on that morning years ago when he’d raced for the pillar rock. Clapping hands over his eyes, Scorpius grasped for something else to fill his mind. Insistent moans from Richolf and Ingerith brought the equally horrible images to mind from the slave hunt several nights’ past.

How his heart had broken for that poor girl who had not been able to stop herself from crying. Such a pitiful figure she’d made, her body ghostly as she struck out into the darkness. Lord Dirske had toyed with her, chasing yet not quite grabbing her down, until eventually she’d turned to face him in exhaustion, wordlessly pleading with him to get it over with.

Scorpius didn’t want to know what that moment felt like.

To be driven to the point of embracing his own ruin, it was starting to weigh on his mind, ever since the last of the nobles has ridden away for the estate.

Dwarfing leathery wingspan or vindictive lord – which was worse? The shrieks of his little friend just before the dragon fire burnt her down to cinders, or the cries of the slave as Lord Dirske pierced her body before the cheering assembly – all of it rattled around in his mind, dogging him when he tried to be about his work.

Hugging his knees to his chest, Scorpius thought about the guard who’d shared his food with him before the hunt had turned gruesome. He must have known what the evening would bring. He’d even grinned at him and said, “Well, aren’t you the sly pup,” when Scorpius had assured him his master provided successful hunts.

Should Scorpius feel repulsed by that young man? How could he when his attempts at preventing the crying slave from disrupting the surprise had not been blows but quiet words? How could he when the guard had walked toward his penance with calm dignity?

Things had seemed so simple only a few years ago. Back then he’d still longed to discover his unknown mother and father, nobles like the ones who attended the hunt of screams. He hadn’t known who might have come for him at the nursery. He’d been so crushed when it had been the falconer and not his father.

What would his life have amounted to, if it had been Lord Dirske to collect him? If his father had been such as that man, what would Scorpius be like now? If Lord Dirske had taken him to serve on his estate, would he have been able to bear each day as the young guard did?

Tears welled in his eyes. For a moment he resisted them. But he heard the sounds coming from behind the boulder, and so let them roll down his face with no one to see or hear.

© Julia Smith, 2010

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 35

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, outgrown from the nursery where he'd been brought up with the other children of the blood. When no one from his family claimed him, Scorpius was released to serve a scarred and intimidating master.

The next twelve scenes follow Scorpius as a ten-year-old seasoned falconer's apprentice. The more he understands of his world, the more he learns to beware the nobles who come to the cottage for the hunt. The political intrigues that take the lives of its players can burn anyone who comes too close - including a falconer and his boy.

We rejoin him at age thirteen.

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


Scene 35

His master didn’t have to light a fire under Scorpius when it came to removing any sign that the hunt of screams had contaminated their cottage. Richolf and Scorpius collected and burned the refuse, removed and soaked the bedding, swept and scrubbed every surface the nobles had touched.

Distress still rattled around inside of Scorpius, but the hectic pace of the work kept him one step ahead of remembering. Still, the sounds of the hunt repeated themselves in his mind. It was the sounds that he couldn’t escape. Sleeplessness warped his vision so that he dropped things, missed what he reached for and had to make three trips when one would have sufficed.

Taking a short break, Richolf found one nearly-empty tankard and poured a mug of ale for himself. He just reached out to grab it when Scorpius stepped into a patch of soapy water.

His feet shot out from under him. Flinging his arms out to stop his fall, Scorpius knocked the mop handle which had leaned against the table. The mug of ale flew into Richolf’s chest. The last of the brew soaked his master’s tunic, the mug rattling and bouncing off the wall, the mop clattering to the floor. Scorpius knocked his head against the flagstones and fought for breath as the wind knocked out of him.

He rolled and gasped like a fish, lungs seizing painfully. Then his gut relaxed and breath inflated his body once again. He sprawled on the floor until he realized his master was laughing.

Scorpius rose to his knees. Richolf hunched over the table, slapping it as he couldn’t get the laughs out fast enough.

For a moment, Scorpius knelt there, soaked and sore, still getting his breath back. His master’s hair dripped with the ale he hadn’t had the pleasure of drinking. The dog stood at the ready, tail half-wagging with the uproar coming from the falconer.

But he couldn’t listen to the laughter without joining in. It was too contagious. When he took a moment to think about it, the way he must have looked as he tried to break his fall, at the look on his master’s face as the mug was struck from his grasp, well it just made him laugh harder.

When the dog sniffed around and discovered the dashed contents of the mug, licking it up with relish, Scorpius and his master howled until they cried.

When they’d had their fill of it, Richolf bundled up an extra set of clothes for both of them and bade Scorpius to join him at the stream. They walked together in silence, the sun warm and renewing as though nothing terrible could have happened only hours earlier.

Reaching the deep bend in the stream where they bathed, the two of them peeled their wet garments off, reeking of soap and ale. They waded into the water, beginning seriously enough but soon degenerating into horseplay. Water splashed everywhere. Richolf dunked Scorpius, while Scorpius nearly dunked the falconer but not quite.

When they tired of even that, they crawled onto the bank and stretched out on the grass to dry off. At that moment, it didn’t matter to Scorpius that his master sported such gruesome scars that he could never quite escape seeing. It didn’t matter that a lump had formed on the back of his head from the fall, which now throbbed.

For a moment, he felt clean and warm and spent from laughing. He would hold onto this moment so that he could find it again in the dark hours of the night.

© Julia Smith, 2010

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 34

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, outgrown from the nursery where he'd been brought up with the other children of the blood. When no one from his family claimed him, Scorpius was released to serve a scarred and intimidating master.

The next twelve scenes follow Scorpius as a ten-year-old seasoned falconer's apprentice. The more he understands of his world, the more he learns to beware the nobles who come to the cottage for the hunt. The political intrigues that take the lives of its players can burn anyone who comes too close - including a falconer and his boy.

We rejoin him at age thirteen.

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


Scene 34

Lord Dirske rejoined Richolf and Scorpius, leaning in to say, “So far I’ve been pleased with this event, Falconer. This is merely housekeeping.”

Richolf nodded but said nothing, glancing down at Scorpius, his eyes shadowed with warning. Scorpius’ heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t want this to happen. He didn’t want to be here. But the noble stood right beside them. There was nowhere for Scorpius to go.

Lord Dirske got what he requested at the very first cut of the lash. The young guard, who’d seemed so worldly and seasoned when they’d stood together watching the hunt, now screamed so that Scorpius’ hair stood on end. He couldn’t look, repelled by the way the young guard’s body flailed against his bonds. But there was no way to stop up Scorpius’ ears.

He was a heartbeat away from puking by the time the young guard was cut out of his bonds. How he wished he hadn’t glanced up at that very moment when two men from the detachment took the faltering guard by the arms and dragged him away. It was only a glance, but it was enough. More than enough.

Lord Dirske turned to Richolf, making final adjustments to his doublet. “The cottage will make for a nice little nest,” he said, a terrible smile playing over his face.
But Richolf simply bowed smartly and deeply. “My pleasure to serve, my lord.”

The noble turned while Richolf was still in the midst of speaking and strode away. Scorpius’ master froze for a moment. Then he let out a deep sigh, straightened and ran a hand through his hair.

“I want you to find out where they took that poor bastard,” Richolf said in a low voice. “Get him some water, some fresh cloths to clean him up with. You can’t enter the cottage. You’ll have to take the bandages from the hawk supplies.”

“Yes, sir,” Scorpius said. He dashed off in the direction they’d dragged the young fellow. It didn’t take long to spot the huddle of guards and to hear the moans of the one who’d failed to silence the only slave to have responded to her circumstances as logically as possible.

Scorpius passed the supplies to the man who’d swung the lash. Up close, he could see the dismay in the older man’s eyes at what had just transpired. The young guard’s moans continued in a stream of mindless suffering. Glad to be rid of his duty, Scorpius hurried away to rejoin Richolf, but his master was not where he’d left him.

Once he found him, Richolf ordered Scorpius to do this for the nobles and that for the servants, ensuring that everyone had whatever it was they needed. His master didn’t stretch out on the grass for a few hours of sleep until the night was nearly over.

Scorpius resorted to shaking his head and hopping in place to stay awake so he could assist his master. Once everyone was settled, Richolf chose a patch beneath a giant tree and stretched himself out. With a private nod between just them, Richolf motioned for Scorpius to join him.

Laying on the lumpy grass beside his master, he returned Richolf’s sad gaze for a long moment. Then the falconer reached out his hand and brushed Scorpius’ cheek where it was still tender from the blows his master had given him at the start of this nightmare hunt.

How mortified Scorpius had felt to suffer that first physical correction before this assembly.

“Problem, falconer?” Lord Dirske had asked, just after Scorpius had informed Richolf of his error in judgment, the one that had led him to feed the hawks before the hunt. His master had hesitated. Panic had flooded his master’s eyes, panic stemming from Richolf knowing only too well what type of man was asking as to whether Scorpius had created a problem.

Before Richolf’s hand withdrew from Scorpius’ cheek, Scorpius reached up and clasped it with his own. A bruise was not a lacerated back. Hurt feelings and confusion when he hadn’t realized, well they were not the same as those shrieks the guard had made.

© Julia Smith, 2010

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 33

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, outgrown from the nursery where he'd been brought up with the other children of the blood. When no one from his family claimed him, Scorpius was released to serve a scarred and intimidating master.

The next twelve scenes follow Scorpius as a ten-year-old seasoned falconer's apprentice. The more he understands of his world, the more he learns to beware the nobles who come to the cottage for the hunt. The political intrigues that take the lives of its players can burn anyone who comes too close - including a falconer and his boy.

We rejoin him at age thirteen.

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


Scene 33

The young slave raced away from the others, driven onto the open field by a shove and the crack of a whip. Her body gleamed in the torchlight, the sound of her ragged breathing tearing the air and battering Scorpius’ chest. She got about as far as a game hen would have reached.

To the approving roar of the assembled nobles, one of the lords tore after her, his battle-hardened body closing the distance between himself and his prey in seconds. Stripped down to leggings and boots, unencumbered by sword or finery, the noble cut an impressive figure as he tackled the slave to the ground, rolling them both to a stop.

Scorpius’ heart seized with dread, just as it had done the night of the cupboard, just as it had done when he’d entered the sick room to collect Richolf. Protesting incoherently as the crowd applauded the capture, the slave pushed at her attacker but he would not be denied.

His master steadied Scorpius by the shoulders when he tried to recoil. “Don’t look away,” Richolf said in the barest of whispers. “There are eyes everywhere. Our enthusiasm as hosts must not be questioned.”

Nodding once, his heart sickened by the display, Scorpius glanced over at the group of frightened slaves and wondered why only one of them had cried before it all began.

The chase was repeated until every slave had been run down and plundered by a noble. Scorpius hoped that none of those eyes keeping watch had seen his tears when the crying slave was forced onto the field.

At first he didn’t see Lord Dirske, but all at once he caught a glimpse of the noble shrugging back into his doublet, emerging from the darkness. Scorpius started backwards, but Richolf’s solid form prevented him from retreating. Grateful for the night with its cloak of shadows, Scorpius worked hard to pull himself together, hoping his tears had dried on his face.

“I have a bit of business with my guard detail,” the noble said. “Where do you take care of that sort of thing?”

Richolf paused, but only for a moment. “The…ah…the hitching posts, out front.”

“A bit of a trek, that. Nothing to hand?”

“I must consider the falcons, my lord. They’re likely to join in the screeching. Can be rather ear-splitting.”

“Ah. Well, the hitching post it is, then.”

The golden boy guard who’d shared his food with Scorpius made his measured way along the corridor between the mews, hemmed in by four of his fellows. Scorpius followed behind Richolf, who followed behind Lord Dirske. They rounded the cottage, which was being readied to house the most regal of the guests for the night.

Scorpius glanced with longing at the warm glow of the windows, knowing he was barred from his own bed. If only this was a nightmare.

But there was no waking from the sight of the young guard removing his jerkin and tunic. Why was this happening? What had the guard done, exactly?

Sick with dread, Scorpius watched as the young man was pushed to his knees, his wrists tied to one of the wooden posts. Uncoiling his lash from his belt, the sergeant stepped forward and silently offered the guard a folded piece of leather to bite upon.

The young man took the leather in his teeth and looked up for a moment at his commander. Something passed between them, something that helped the guard to brace himself.

But the sergeant had barely turned to take up his stance behind the guard when Lord Dirske strode up to yank the leather from the young man’s mouth. “It was their sniveling I didn’t want to hear,” he said. “I’m very much interested in yours.”

© Julia Smith, 2010

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 32

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, outgrown from the nursery where he'd been brought up with the other children of the blood. When no one from his family claimed him, Scorpius was released to serve a scarred and intimidating master.

The next twelve scenes follow Scorpius as a ten-year-old seasoned falconer's apprentice. The more he understands of his world, the more he learns to beware the nobles who come to the cottage for the hunt. The political intrigues that take the lives of its players can burn anyone who comes too close - including a falconer and his boy.

We rejoin him at age thirteen.

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


Scene 32

Scorpius stood in the shadows at the forest’s edge. His poor judgment in feeding the falcons, not realizing that a hunt was imminent, had not resulted in catastrophe after all. He watched the dependable red-tail take down the game hen he’d just flushed from the bushes. A smattering of applause from the ladies’ gloved hands traveled on the breeze.

He caught sight of one of the guards a short distance away, ever vigilant. Still smarting from Richolf’s blows, Scorpius turned away from the imposing young man, the sort of fellow who would never disappoint his master. Ever.

Scorpius’ heart sank when he heard the guard approach after several moments. He was in no mood to make conversation with a golden boy. Especially one who had witnessed him receiving his first physical correction at his master’s hands.

The guard swaggered over with an appraising air, nodding once in greeting. They stood in blessed silence for a time, gazing out at the hunt, watching as the dog trotted back to Richolf with the game hen.

Dipping his hand into a pocket inside his leather jerkin, the guard retrieved a flat biscuit, snapping it in half. He offered a piece to Scorpius, who accepted the food though he was anything but hungry.

Up close, it was easy to see the faint slash scars peppering the guard’s jaw and temple, forearms and hands. Weapons practice, likely. Scorpius once sported scars from the falcons when he was younger, learning how to handle the birds. The guard’s scars somehow carried more prestige than his own faded marks from the king hawk’s talons.

“It’s a good place out here,” the young man said.

Scorpius shrugged. “Serves us well.”

“You’d think Lord Dirske would have staged one of his entertainments out here before this.”

They’d certainly never had this many nobles at one hunt before, and never had there been any noblewomen out here. Did that make it an entertainment? “Far as I know,” Scorpius said, “all of our guests have had good results here. My master ensures a successful hunt.” His skin prickled at how close he’d come to casting a blot on Richolf’s reputation.

The guard looked at him sideways, a wicked grin playing over his lips. “Well, aren’t you the sly pup.”

Scorpius felt certain the guard misunderstood him. But the young man was so delighted, all of a sudden. Gazing back out at the hunt, Scorpius waited for a signal from Richolf.

When it came, he dashed to the next course point that held the highest likelihood of sheltering game. He didn’t think again about the young guard’s words until much later, closer to sunset, after he and Richolf had roasted the game for the nobles. A small retinue of servants brought along for the event laid out a vast feast to which the fresh meat was the centerpiece.

Marveling at the amount of food, at the raucous level of celebration, Scorpius wondered if it was always like this with the nobles. Neither the guards, nor the servants, nor his master seemed to bat an eye at the noise and at the way they carried on.

As the day lengthened into evening, the arrival of yet another group caught Scorpius’ attention. He straightened, wondering how they would accommodate so many new guests. Looking to Richolf for direction, he watched his master take one look at them and turn away, his face a grimace, his head shaking.

Scorpius didn’t understand until he heard the crying.

When he looked closer, he realized this new group was made up of slaves, bound to one another and huddled in the grass near the corner of the closest mews. The young guard he’d encountered earlier was in charge of them. He bent his head low to speak to the girl in tears.

The other guards shifted their weight uneasily, one whispering heatedly, “Will you shut her up?”

Lord Dirske stood staring at them all from across the field. By the expressions on the guards’ faces, something had not gone according to plan.

Richolf joined Scorpius as the crying slave girl finally ruffled the attention of the entire hunting party. “Gods save us,” his master said, as though certain they’d already abandoned every one of them.

© Julia Smith, 2010

Weekend Writers Retreat - 31

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, outgrown from the nursery where he'd been brought up with the other children of the blood. When no one from his family claimed him, Scorpius was released to serve a scarred and intimidating master.

The next twelve scenes follow Scorpius as a ten-year-old seasoned falconer's apprentice. The more he understands of his world, the more he learns to beware the nobles who come to the cottage for the hunt. The political intrigues that take the lives of its players can burn anyone who comes too close - including a falconer and his boy.

We rejoin him at age thirteen.

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


Scene 31

Returning from the mews, Scorpius rounded the corner of the cottage to discover a dozen mounts and several guards lounging on the grass beside them. Before he could panic, several nobles filed out of the cottage door, laughing and talking, followed by Richolf, the guards rising to their feet.

But his master moved to the side as several noblewomen swept through the door and into the sunlight. Scorpius had never heard of women being on any hunt. His body chilled in alarm.

His master caught sight of him and called him over with a nearly imperceptible jerk of his head. Obeying Richolf at a run, he skirted the line of nobles and ladies and was at his master’s side in a trice.

Richolf began to list supplies he required in a low voice meant for Scorpius alone. Interrupting his master, though his gut warned him not to do it, Scorpius said, “But I’ve fed them all.” He flicked his head toward the mews and their falcons. “I didn’t know they were coming.”

Richolf’s eyes shadowed with something worse than disappointment. A satisfied hawk made for a poor hunt. One of the nobles noticed them talking and joined them.

“Problem, falconer?” he said, his voice measured but his gaze hard.

For one moment Richolf hesitated. Then he grabbed a fistful of Scorpius’ tunic, yanked him around to face him, and slapped him twice across the face.

Scorpius gasped in shock. The look on his master’s face turned him into a complete stranger. Richolf’s mouth was a grim line as he shook Scorpius to rattle his brains.

“Ready the red-tail, the gray and the king hawk,” Richolf said, shoving Scorpius away so that he nearly sprawled on the ground before the nobles and guards.

Face burning from the blows and disgrace, Scorpius took off for the mews as fast as his legs would carry him. Why hadn’t he waited an hour longer to feed the bloody birds? There had been any number of jobs to do before getting to the falcons. He and his master had put together hunting parties more than once for nobles that showed up at any time without warning.

A hungry hawk was a precision hunter. A hungry hawk ensured a successful hunt. A successful hunt sent away happy nobles.

Bursting into the red-tailed mews, Scorpius set the falcon flapping as he rushed through his preparations. Of all the hunts to set out from a bad footing, his master didn’t need the ladies to witness a poor showing on their first time in the field.

Slamming the supplies into a leather satchel, Scorpius grabbed up the jesses and fought to settle the bird on his arm. He scurried to join the party as it ambled in high-spirited conversation along the corridor created by the mews.

Richolf waited glowering beside the noble. Rejoining his master, Scorpius extended his arm so Richolf could transfer the falcon to the noble’s gauntlet-clad arm.

Dashing away before he could meet his master’s gaze, Scorpius learned nothing from his encounter with the red-tail, sending the gray into flustered screeching with his sloppy grabbing and yanking.

By the time he’d delivered the king hawk to Richolf, Scorpius knew the strange master who had returned from those two days he’d been gone without a word would have something to say to his apprentice, once the hunt was over. He had failed Richolf by losing Ingerith's message. That mistake was sure to cost him more than a red face, once the nobles were gone.

© Julia Smith, 2010

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 30

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, outgrown from the nursery where he'd been brought up with the other children of the blood. When no one from his family claimed him, Scorpius was released to serve a scarred and intimidating master.

The next twelve scenes follow Scorpius as a ten-year-old seasoned falconer's apprentice. The more he understands of his world, the more he learns to beware the nobles who come to the cottage for the hunt. The political intrigues that take the lives of its players can burn anyone who comes too close - including a falconer and his boy.

We rejoin him at age thirteen.

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


Scene 30

He barely noticed the darkening of the sky through the dense canopy of trees, until the persistent drip-drip began to fall on his lashes. Blinking away the vision of Ingerith, of her haughty stare and her smooth curves beckoning from the drape of her bodice, Scorpius tapped the message she’d given to him and tucked securely beneath his vest.

Satisfied that it was still there, he increased his pace, glancing up at the heavy sky. Just when he would have appreciated the protection of the forest, his path took him onto the road now bordered by scrub brush and boulders. Before long he was splashing through puddles, the rain coming in sheets.

He finally rushed up to the door of their cottage, shaking the water from his fingertips before going inside.

His master greeted him wordlessly, tossing him a linen to wrap around himself. As Scorpius shrugged out of his vest, he grabbed it back from where he’d been about to drop it on the sodden pile. Fishing around for the pocket opening, his heart stilled as he realized the paper was soft and about to fall apart at his touch.

He looked up in alarm at Richolf.

His master returned his gaze with a dawning understanding. Turning, he strode across the room, rubbing a hand over his face.

Scorpius carefully retrieved the soaked message, as limp as pastry dough. He laid it on the corner of the table, wishing the cottage was somehow bigger. He peeled out of his leggings and grabbed the linen tightly to cover himself, standing awkwardly for a long moment as Richolf said nothing.

His master had never been one to raise his voice. But Scorpius could feel the unspoken shouting hanging in the air between them. Collecting the drenched bundle of clothes in one arm, he dumped them into a bucket, turning to see his master sit at the table.

Richolf stared unseeing at the wooden surface. More than anything, Scorpius wished he could dash past his master and burrow under his blankets. But the falconer had not raised him to be such a coward. Forcing his feet to take him forward, Scorpius took his own seat at the table.

“I don’t suppose you read it,” Richolf said, finally.

“No, sir.” He wanted to look up, to look into his master’s eyes. He wanted Richolf to know how sorry he was. But he dreaded the disappointment he knew would meet him.

The memory of Ingerith’s gaze blazing down at him in the forest jogged him to recall the words she’d bade him repeat. “Talon,” he blurted without warning. “Gauntlet. Jess.”

Richolf rose and stood there for a terrible moment. He walked slowly to stand beside Scorpius. “What did you say?” he whispered.

“Talon,” Scorpius said as clearly as he could, though he shook. “Gauntlet. Jess.”

“In that order?” Richolf said, his voice stronger now.

“Yes, sir.”

His master walked to the door and strode out into the downpour. Scorpius didn’t see him again for two days.

©

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 29

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, outgrown from the nursery where he'd been brought up with the other children of the blood. When no one from his family claimed him, Scorpius was released to serve a scarred and intimidating master.

The next twelve scenes follow Scorpius as a ten-year-old seasoned falconer's apprentice. The more he understands of his world, the more he learns to beware the nobles who come to the cottage for the hunt. The political intrigues that take the lives of its players can burn anyone who comes too close - including a falconer and his boy.

We rejoin him at age thirteen.

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


Scene 29


Ingerith gazed at him, haughty and frightened. Her lips parted as she caught her breath, her cheeks flushing so prettily. A cautious gaze in every direction made her seem like a girl scrambling to avoid self-made trouble. But when she closed the distance between herself and Scorpius, she moved like a queen.

He returned her gaze as long as he dared. When finally he bowed his head, Scorpius’ skin tingled with her nearness.

“You were not followed?” she asked, a note of admiration in her voice if he wasn’t mistaken.

“No, miss.”

Reaching down to lift her skirts, Ingerith ran her fingers along her stocking, along her thigh to a garter that hugged her there. Scorpius was certain he should not be witness to this. But there was no one here but the two of them. Besides, he’d already seen her with her skirts a-tumble in the woods that day. Though she didn’t know that.

He watched as she slipped a sealed note from between the garter and her firm skin. Swallowing against the lump that seemed to block his throat, Scorpius held a hand out to accept the message from her. When she kept it back from him, he looked up into her eyes.

They danced with amusement and...something else.

“This is for your master’s eyes only.”

Scorpius’ face grew hot with annoyance. “Of course,” he snapped.

Lifting her chin and an eyebrow, Ingerith offered the message to him a second time. Scorpius reached out and took it, being very careful not to make contact with her. He wasn’t sure why.

“In the event that something happens to it,” she said, gesturing regally at the note, “I need you to remember three words.”

Scorpius was about to protest that he wouldn’t let anything happen to the message when his master’s lover placed two fingers over his lips. He couldn’t prevent a gasp escaping him.

Her eyes met his, welling with raw emotion. His heart forgot to beat as she loosened the ribbons at her neck, tugging her neckline to the side, exposing her throat. An ugly red welt encircled her there.

At first he couldn’t imagine how such a mark could have got there. Then he remembered which man Ingerith had laid with in the woods that day. He remembered the blow which that same noble had given him, and the horrible burns and bruises and torn flesh his master had returned with, from that noble's questioning.

Ingerith retied the ribbons, bowing her own head under his scrutiny. When she finally looked up again, her face was clouded with shame. How it hurt him to see it. He’d dreamt of seeing it, had burned to see it in the private moments of the night.

Now he would give anything if she would only cloak herself in her imperious manner. Anything so he wouldn’t have to admit to himself that nothing was as black and white as he wanted them to be.

Taking a deep breath, Ingerith said, “Promise you’ll remember.”

“I swear it,” he said, recalling how his own master had spoken those words after kneeling before the lord who had murdered in the name of the prince. Bending his knee, Scorpius lowered himself before Ingerith. It was a relief to be forced to look up at her.

Her face took on a resolute gravity. Not the arrogance he’d craved, but it would do. She took hold of his shoulders. “The words are ‘talon’, ‘gauntlet’ and ‘jess’.”

“’Talon’, ‘gauntlet’ and ‘jess’,” he repeated.

Her fingers grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look into her face. Ingerith’s eyes now blazed with warning, and that was so much better than the suffering that had darkened her face, moments before. It felt good that her grip was too tight. It served him right for having wished something like the mark around her neck upon her.

“Again,” she said.

He said it as many times as she demanded it. She released him without warning, striding away to head back into the forest. “Remain here for awhile. We cannot be seen together,” she cautioned.

“Yes, miss,” he said as she gave him one final glance. Then she wrapped her kerchief over her face and slipped between the trees into the shadows.

©

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 28

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, outgrown from the nursery where he'd been brought up with the other children of the blood. When no one from his family claimed him, Scorpius was released to serve a scarred and intimidating master.

The next twelve scenes follow Scorpius as a ten-year-old seasoned falconer's apprentice. The more he understands of his world, the more he learns to beware the nobles who come to the cottage for the hunt. The political intrigues that take the lives of its players can burn anyone who comes too close - including a falconer and his boy.

We rejoin him at age thirteen.

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


Scene 28

Twisted log to the left, a ways back. He was on the right path. Jogging to stay ahead of his jittery nerves, Scorpius kept his sights forward, looking for the second marker.

This one was harder to see. Luckily, he was used to finding game birds sitting silently in their camouflaged plumage. A mossy stump, blending seamlessly with cool leaves, barely caught his eye. Scorpius halted, listening carefully, scanning the forest to be certain he wasn’t being followed.

He turned to face south. To one of the residents of the estate, it might seem that there was no path in that direction at all. Yet to a hunter, the way beckoned, clear and insistent.

Making his way over and under, pressing through the dense weave of branches, Scorpius neared the meeting place. Something his master had expressly forbidden.

“You must not give this directly to her, you understand.”

His stomach twisted into knots. “Meet me,” she’d written. “Do not fail us.”

How could he refuse? Would his master have forbidden this if he’d known she would write such a thing?

So he’d waited out the time she’d set down, picked his way through the woods and now stepped out of the trees into a gorge that opened up without warning. Two rock faces blocked the sun, making him shiver in the cooler air. The cliffs were heavily overgrown with moss, bracken and decaying logs. No paths found their way down. There were no signs of any human travel through the ravine.

The evidence of isolation brought comfort. This was the place.

Choosing a tucked-away lookout, Scorpius settled upon a long-ago toppled tree to await his master’s unfaithful lover. He wasn’t sure why the memory of another man’s hands upon her should hurt so much. Nor why his cheeks flushed.

He tried to think of something else as he waited, but his mind was full of her. He thought of the smile which filled their cottage with joy. He remembered the sound of her throaty laugh, which lifted his heart even as it stirred his body.

Fidgeting on his perch, Scorpius stilled when he thought he’d heard something. There it was again. A flash of movement through the leaves could have been an animal trundling past.

But he was certain it was Ingerith.

She emerged into the ravine clad in tones of brown and black, the need for discretion demanding her face be concealed by a wrap. Scorpius rose to greet her, when a terrible notion struck him. What if this wasn’t Ingerith?

He froze, his heart thudding loudly, so loudly he was certain she could hear it. What if she revealed herself and it was a complete stranger? Would she bring a message, keeping to the plan as Richolf had insisted?

Perhaps this woman was here only to tie up some irritating loose ends.

Scorpius shut his eyes, remembering the terrible wounds his master once wore. The look of absolute dread on Richolf’s face when Scorpius had tumbled out of the cabinet, so near to discovery by the murderous prince. The sound made by the brother as the sword was drawn from his chest.

Richolf had forbidden this. His master knew intimately the consequences of failure. Yet knowing all of this, he’d still sent his apprentice to bring a message to Ingerith. Richolf must have some sort of faith in him.

Scooping up his courage from where it had tumbled away into the ravine, Scorpius drew a deep breath and opened his eyes, just as the woman drew the kerchief down to reveal her face.

© Julia Smith, 2010

Travis Cody says Excellent tension here.

Alice Audrey says Oh sure. Leave us with a cliff hanger.

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 27

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, outgrown from the nursery where he'd been brought up with the other children of the blood. When no one from his family claimed him, Scorpius was released to serve a scarred and intimidating master.

The next twelve scenes follow Scorpius as a ten-year-old seasoned falconer's apprentice. The more he understands of his world, the more he learns to beware the nobles who come to the cottage for the hunt. The political intrigues that take the lives of its players can burn anyone who comes too close - including a falconer and his boy.

We rejoin him at age thirteen.

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


Scene 27

Scorpius ran as though demons and dragons were on his heels. When Richolf returned to the cottage, he must never suspect Scorpius had witnessed this latest insult from the noble.

He wove and dodged through the brush, silent and swift. Why hadn’t his master slipped out his own knife? Perhaps if Scorpius had made his presence known, maybe if his master had realized there were two against one, perhaps the noble would have been made to pay for his master’s treatment.

But all he had to do was recall the expressions of dread upon the guards’ faces that night, when the prince had arrived to collect his brother. In truth, it was Richolf and himself who were surrounded. There would be no satisfaction for insults suffered at the hands of any noble who chose to remind a falconer as to who served whom.

For a winded moment he stood before the door, wondering if there was any chance his master could have reached here before him. But upon entering the cottage, he found it empty, his ragged breathing filling their home.

Scorpius wearily scrounged a few bites of food as he’d been told to do, guiltily chewing as he remembered the look of pain on his master’s face. Richolf had known it was bound to happen, hadn’t he? That’s why he’d sent Scorpius away instead of welcoming the assistance of his apprentice on the hunt.

There were things a master did not want his apprentice to see. Scorpius had not listened, and so he was now a witness to things he would never be able to strike from his memory. He stopped chewing, the biscuit dry in his mouth.

From now on, he would obey. From now on, he would be an apprentice his master could be proud of.

It was hard not to jump in alarm when Richolf finally flew through the door. But Scorpius could not let on he expected anything other than a slightly tired master back from serving at the hunt.

Luckily, the look of panic on the falconer’s face would have been enough to make him drop his food in the dish, which is what he did. Scorpius got to his feet. “Sir, what’s the-”

“I need you to hurry to the estate.” Richolf dashed into his room for ink and paper.

Scurrying to set his dish on the sideboard, grabbing up his leather satchel, Scorpius longed to ask his master what was going on. But he’d just now resolved to be good, hadn’t he? Could he not keep that promise for even a moment?

He stood ready and waiting, listening to the scratch-scratch of writing. Richolf rounded the corner into the main room, his attention very far away. He’d neglected to wipe the dirt from his face. Scorpius looked down, reminding himself he would have remarked upon it if he hadn’t already witnessed its origin.

Handing the sealed paper to him, Richolf said, “This must get to Ingerith.”

Scorpius looked up, making sure he stared pointedly at the dirt still clinging to his master’s temple and beard. “Yes, sir.”

Richolf rubbed at the dirt, irritated. When recognition dawned, the defenseless expression clouding his master’s face made Scorpius want to turn away. He swallowed hard.

The falconer drew himself up, as if shrugging off the fear that still darted through his eyes. He ushered Scorpius through the door. “You must not give this directly to her, you understand.”

“No, sir.”

Taking one of Scorpius’ hands in his, he pressed several coins into his palm. “You may need these.”

Scorpius gazed down at the money, the danger pressing down on him. So many questions. Yet he would ask none of them.

Nodding once, he set off at a jog away from the cottage, not looking back. He’d had his fill of seeing that which his master did not want him to see.

© Julia Smith, 2010

Travis Cody says The self-discipline to show us Richolf only through Scorpius enhances the emotional investment in turning the page.

Alice Audrey says I get the feeling they are so far in over their heads that being a good boy won't do Scorpius any good.

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 26

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, outgrown from the nursery where he'd been brought up with the other children of the blood. When no one from his family claimed him, Scorpius was released to serve a scarred and intimidating master.

The next twelve scenes follow Scorpius as a ten-year-old seasoned falconer's apprentice. The more he understands of his world, the more he learns to beware the nobles who come to the cottage for the hunt. The political intrigues that take the lives of its players can burn anyone who comes too close - including a falconer and his boy.

We rejoin him at age thirteen.

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


Scene 26

Richolf had barely released the falcon when the noble grabbed him by the hair and forced him writhing to his knees.

“What game are you playing?” the lord asked, a note of amusement in his voice.

Scorpius rose from his half-crouch, concealed by the forest. The knife slipped from its sheath like his next breath. But he must wait. He must wait.

“No games, my lord.” Richolf twisted in pain but made no sound.

“Do you know, I’ve just now left my newest diversion. Met her for a tumble in the woods a ways back, there.” The noble tightened his hold on Richolf’s hair and shook the falconer. His master’s eyes screwed shut. “But you see, the odd thing was, we had no plan to meet up this morning. I just came across her on the road. Don’t you find that strange?”

“Yes, my lord,” Richolf gasped. “Very strange.” His face drew with more pain than the noble’s grip upon him.

With sudden viciousness, the lord kicked Richolf to the ground. With his polished boot he crushed the falconer’s face into the dust. Scorpius’ fingers gripped his knife handle as he readied himself, remaining hidden as though chained there.

“I never suspected you’ve been running a little love nest out here, falconer,” the noble said. “Very shrewd.”

“No, my lord. I haven’t.”

“No?” He stomped harder on Richolf’s head. His master cried out then. “Then what would a governess be doing out here, all alone? Hmm?”

When Richolf didn’t answer, the noble grabbed him up to his knees again, grabbing fistfuls of doublet. For a long moment he gazed deeply into Richolf’s eyes, finally smiling a terrible smile. “We both know you can keep a secret. Don’t we?”

Scorpius’ heart chilled as his master bowed his head and said nothing.

“You held out for days when we wanted to know what happened to Nizhnii. Dragon, was it?” He shoved Richolf and took several strides away from him.

The falconer collected himself but stayed on his knees, bracing for anything. Scorpius knew his master had his own knife strapped to his hip. Why didn’t he reach for it?

The noble stopped and gazed into the forest for a long moment. When he finally turned back to face Richolf, his expression promised bloodshed. Scorpius crept forward, as close as he dared without giving himself away.

But the lord stood where he was. “I’m not one to stop a man from making a few coins when he can. I salute your enterprise, falconer. Who better to ensure that our indiscretions remain hidden from wagging tongues?”

He strode towards Richolf, who did not shrink or falter, only lowered his gaze as he must. “Other tongues will spill, though, won’t they?”

The noble turned and walked away from the hunt he’d never been interested in. Richolf remained on his knees until the lord was out of sight.

As his master got to his feet, running a shaking hand through his hair and gazing after the noble with a look of pure fear, Scorpius nearly stepped out of the shelter of leaves and branches. But something cautioned him, something held him back.

He waited till Richolf went to collect the falcon from where it pecked hungrily at the game it had brought down. Gazing down at the knife still gripped tightly in his hand, Scorpius wondered what it would have felt like to plunge the blade into the noble’s belly.

© Julia Smith, 2010

Travis Cody says Self preservation...stay hidden and observe. Self defense...stay hidden, observe, be prepared to act as necessary.

Alice Audrey says I'd love to see that particular noble turned into dragon bait.

Weekend Writers Retreat - 25

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, outgrown from the nursery where he'd been brought up with the other children of the blood. When no one from his family claimed him, Scorpius was released to serve a scarred and intimidating master.

The next twelve scenes follow Scorpius as a ten-year-old seasoned falconer's apprentice. The more he understands of his world, the more he learns to beware the nobles who come to the cottage for the hunt. The political intrigues that take the lives of its players can burn anyone who comes too close - including a falconer and his boy.

We rejoin him at age thirteen.

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


Scene 25


The urge to gouge his eyes out spun him away from the scene but it was too late. He’d seen them.

Scorpius crashed through the brush like wounded prey. He should flee as silently as he’d stumbled upon the two of them, but the need to put distance between himself and detection cautioned speed.

Branches whipped his face. Unseen dips in the forest floor grabbed to take him down. Scorpius ran on. They must never suspect he was anything but a startled animal.

They.

His master’s love, Ingerith, entwined in the arms of a man who was not Richolf. Far worse – the man was a noble, his steed grazing quietly a few yards off.

He cursed the gods for leading him to that particular spot in the forest. For giving him the afternoon away from his duties, for Richolf’s leave granted to enjoy the day in any way he sought fit.

How could he enjoy anything anymore? She was untrue. It was only a matter of time before Richolf’s heart – the heart that was braver than any man’s – would suffer the killing stroke at last.

Scorpius kept running until his chest burned for air. He stopped by a brook which meandered over stones and under moss, sitting himself upon a flat rock that cooled him. Scooping water to his lips, he drank and then splashed a few handfuls over his face.

He looked back the way he had come. Nothing stirred. Nothing made a sound.

He didn’t think they’d seen him. How could they, when they were so intent on devouring one another’s mouths?

If only he could doubt that it had really been Ingerith. But the gods offered no kindnesses for the likes of him. She’d gazed straight in his direction when he’d first come upon them, creeping forward unseen behind the leaves and shadows. She’d gazed but hadn’t seen him, her attention quickly turning back to the noble who ran his hands along her body with possessive familiarity.

How would he be able to keep such a thing from his master?

Scorpius’ stomach clenched at the prospect. All he could think of was the way she’d coaxed those smiles from Richolf when his body lay broken after the questioning, several years past. For that, Scorpius would always be grateful to her. For that alone, he would have kept her terrible deceit to himself.

Ultimately, though, he was only an apprentice, and he served the falconer. What business did he have, an unclaimed boy given over to a master, to open his mouth only to cause fighting or even bloodshed? Such knowledge could lead to very dark places.

If he were honest with himself, withholding the information from Richolf was really a little seed of hope. The ways of men and women were foreign to Scorpius, who’d spent half his life now in the company of his master and the men who came to the hunt. Perhaps there was something he just didn’t understand.

The little seed was soon pulverized when he arrived at the falconer’s cottage to see the same steed from the forest tied to a post in the yard.

His master and the noble turned at the same time to regard Scorpius as he rounded the corner of the mews and found them just as Richolf secured a falcon to his gloved forearm. Scorpius’ body froze, his heart beating like the furious flight of a doomed game bird. It was the same noble. The same.

It was the man who’d strode down to the rushes with Scorpius, who’d peppered him with questions, who’d taken the game-flushing stick to leave a burning welt along the back of Scorpius’ head. The noble who’d crushed Ingerith’s body to his own, just now in the forest, it was the same man.

Scorpius barely had time to lower his gaze before the noble could return it. Just enough time to see the blank expression on his master’s suddenly gray face.

The memory of Richolf’s wounds rose up to shake Scorpius violently inside. He looked at the noble’s hand and remembered how it had swung the stick to strike him, how it had just run along Ingerith’s body in the forest.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Richolf said, his voice betraying nothing.

Quick – he must think of something. Anything. “I got hungry, sir. Saw the mount and hurried down, sir.”

Richolf nodded to the noble, who led the way out of the mews. “As there is only this one lord for the hunt, you may eat,” his master said.

Scorpius nodded and struck out for the cottage, watching the lord stride across the field with his master. His palms grew sticky with sweat. He must follow them. He must keep his master safe. No one would ever hurt his master like that again.

Wrapping his fingers around the knife he always kept strapped to his hip, Scorpius slipped between trunks and around rock ledges, keeping the two men in sight. The feel of the knife handle lessened his trembling. He knew how accidents could happen to the wrong noble on the wrong hunt.

© Julia Smith, 2010

Travis Cody says I like the insight you put in this one...Scorpius admits to himself that perhaps there is something he doesn't understand. And yet, what he has seen cannot be unseen.

Alice Audrey says I'm betting the noble at least suspects she's unfaithful to him with Richof. Did I mention I love speculating? Thanks for putting up with me. :)

Janet says I loved the previous scene - and agree with Travis about your storytelling ability from one POV. I wonder if perhaps Ingerith is working on payback!

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 24

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 I've posted for the Weekend Writer's Retreat, we've followed him as a seven-year-old, when he outgrew the nursery where he'd been brought up with the other children of the blood.

But when no one from his family came to claim him, Scorpius was released to serve a falcon master as an apprentice.

We rejoin him at age ten.

An incident that took place at the falconer's cottage three years ago has political repercussions that now haunt Scorpius and his master, Richolf.

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




Scene 24

Standing off to the side, Scorpius tried not to watch his master’s farewell to his love. But their passion filled the gray dawn, only growing in intensity the more they tried to hide it.

Finally Ingerith forced herself to step back, to turn away toward Scorpius. Her face crumpled into tears, but she walked calmly towards him as though she was fine.

Glancing over at the falconer, he saw the same pained expression. Dread laced Scorpius' body, his breath coming rapidly, though he did as they did and carried on as though it were a normal morning.

As Ingerith passed him and headed down the road, Scorpius locked gazes with Richolf. Warning blazed from those eyes. No harm shall come to his beloved. No harm.

Scorpius’ body went rigid with shock, never having met the side of his master that promised cool destruction. Somehow he gathered himself and nodded, man to man, before following Ingerith around the bend.

Something about the force of her strides cautioned Scorpius to keep a few paces behind her as they began their journey back to the estate. When she stopped suddenly in the road, Scorpius halted at a distance until he saw her body shudder with sobs. He was about to go to her when she turned and lunged for him.

He gasped as she grabbed him by the shoulders, her face made somehow beautiful by the ferocity of her despair. Her fingers were like talons piercing his flesh, but he refused to grimace. The unspoken order to watch over her gave him clarity now that she’d revealed herself.

“Who were they?” she said between sobs.

“Who?”

She could barely get the words out. “Who…who hurt him?”

Now he understood. His first glimpse of Richolf huddled in the dim room at the estate had filled him with the same fury. It had given him the words to make the guard jump to his demands.

It was hard to look into her eyes. The pain behind them squeezed Scorpius harder than her crushing hands. But he forced himself to do it anyway. “My lady,” he began, then grunted as she shoved him to the ground.

“I am not a lady. Don’t call me that!”

Scorpius scrambled to his knees, keeping her in his sights. He raised both hands before him in a halting gesture. “My apologies, Ingerith.”

“Who hurt him?” She stood over him, and every instinct cautioned him to retreat, but he held his ground. The look on his master’s face as they’d departed made more sense now. The danger Richolf had faced had not ended in the dungeon.

Well, Scorpius would not betray him. The horror of the wounds Richolf still wore deserved to be honored. “I don’t know their names, lady – Ingerith.”

She grabbed his tunic and shook him. Scorpius held onto her hands and braced himself against her onslaught. “Don’t start!” she said. “Tell me what they looked like. What were they wearing?”

It would be so easy to describe them. He would remember everything about that afternoon as long as he lived. “I don’t know – they were just nobles come for a hunt.”

Ingerith froze, her expression rapidly reevaluating Scorpius. She released him and strode away from him for a few moments. He got to his feet, wary of her next move, haunted by his master’s gaze as they’d left.

“Don’t you want to help him?” she said finally. She turned and looked at Scorpius, and he no longer felt like a boy looking at a woman. She looked so fragile. He felt like he should comfort her. And he recognized this as the greatest threat of all.

“He never broke,” he said, gesturing back towards the cottage. “Whatever it was they wanted from him, he never gave it to them. I will do as he commands me. That is how I can help him.”

She closed the distance between them. “I know certain people,” she said, just as cool as Richolf’s warning. “They can make those bastards suffer.”

Scorpius shook his head no.

Ingerith took a deep breath. “I will make enquiries. It will merely speed things if you tell me now.”

Bowing his head, Scorpius remained silent. When she did nothing but stare at him, he moved forward along the road in the direction of the estate. “Come!” he said at last when she gazed back toward her love, who remained hidden beyond the curve of the road.

Ingerith wiped her tears from her face, turned back to face the road and began walking. But it was merely the ghostly remains of the woman who’d brought smiles to his master’s battered face.

For a terrible moment Scorpius almost told her. Why shouldn’t they suffer, if she knew someone who could make that happen?

Instead, he set the pace for the long walk back to the estate. He ignored her crying which didn’t stop for a long, long time. When they reached a certain landmark known only to her, she told him to stay.

“No one must see me with the falconer’s boy,” she said.

He nodded, watching her wipe her face with a delicate pocket cloth. She smoothed her hair and brushed the dust from her skirts. Then she turned and walked to his side, placing a kiss on the top of his head.

“I know you’ll keep him safe. Remember all the things I told you about the salves.”

“Yes, miss.”

Then she walked down the lane and out of sight.

Scorpius decided the safest thing to do would be to duck into the woods beside the road itself for a time. He followed the route from a discreet distance, pausing like those little game hens behind the safety of the branches every time a traveler appeared in the road.

When he finally spied the falconer’s cottage, he stood in the dappled shade and took in the sight of the falconer standing watch at the door. He did eventually emerge to rejoin his master and settle him back on the pallet.

He didn’t shrink from the penetrating stare heavy with questions. But no more was said of Ingerith for some time, as though she’d never arrived with her smiles, her tonics or her tears.

© Julia Smith, 2010

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 23

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 I've posted for the Weekend Writer's Retreat, we've followed him as a seven-year-old, when he outgrew the nursery where he'd been brought up with the other children of the blood.

But when no one from his family came to claim him, Scorpius was released to serve a falcon master as an apprentice.

We rejoin him at age ten.

An incident that took place at the falconer's cottage three years ago has political repercussions that now haunt Scorpius and his master, Richolf.

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



Scene 23

With the arrival of Ingerith, Scorpius was free to sleep in his own bed for the first time in over a week. He hadn’t realized how poorly he’d rested until that first night. No more keeping an ear out for Richolf. No more dodging out of the way before his master bolted awake from nightmares.

He awoke the morning after her arrival to find the day well underway. He leaped out of bed, hopped into his clothes and tore across the main room. He nearly collided with Ingerith, who juggled several dishes in her hands.

“Watch yourself!” Richolf barked.

He couldn’t even apologize. Words lodged in his throat at the sight of his master’s sweetheart once again preparing a meal for them all to share.

“Come and sit,” was all she said.

Scorpius stole a glance over at Richolf, who simmered with the ill temper of a man too long abed who is used to full days of activity.

Gathering his courage, Scorpius said, “I should see to the falcons, sir. It’s late.”

Before his master could answer, Ingerith pulled a chair from the table and bade Scorpius to sit. “A few moments more won’t be missed by the birds. You need to start your day with something in your belly. Now come.”

Something about her manner made any thought except obedience completely out of the question. Scorpius walked over the stone floor and sat on the chair, gazing down at the plate of food piled generously and artfully.

Stealing a glance at his master’s pallet still set up on the kitchen floor, Scorpius watched as Ingerith knelt beside his master, already coaxing a reluctant smile from his lips. Her care and her presence here had pulled Richolf from the low mood that had dogged all of Scorpius’ efforts to get the falconer back on his feet.

“You mustn’t give me trouble,” she said to Richolf, both of them smiling at one another. It astonished Scorpius that she could lift his master’s mood so completely.

“I thought you told me it’s the only thing I’m good at,” Richolf said.

‘It is the only thing you’re good at,” she said, forcing him to bite into a sweetcake she’d made for him.

Scorpius shouldn’t listen to them. He should eat up and run out back to start attending to the birds. A few of the falcons would be fussy and hard to handle by now. But there was something about Ingerith that made Scorpius tingle all over whenever she spoke. Why should he hurry? She’d gone out of her way to prepare this lovely meal for him.

His master and his sweetheart laughed softly as she continued to feed him. Scorpius could not get over the shock of discovering this side of Richolf. Everything about his master brightened when she said things to him, when she smiled at him, when her fingers brushed Richolf’s temple.

She worked miracles with her salves, as well. All of Richolf’s burns, slashes and bruises were well on their way to disappearing since she’d come to the cottage.

Scorpius concentrated on his dish of food. He sometimes felt a stab of jealousy when all of her efforts bore such wondrous fruit, while the hours he’d stayed with Richolf, dressing the nauseating wounds, listening to the midnight ravings, when none of these had brought relief to his master.

“…won’t be able to stay much longer,” she was saying.

Scorpius stopped chewing.

“I know what it means that you came out here,” Richolf said.

“Yes,” she said, rising to her feet. “It means you very rudely missed our appointed meeting time.”

“I tried telling them that, but they’d have none of it,” Richolf said.

Glancing up again, Scorpius saw the playfulness dancing in his master’s eyes as he followed her movements. Was he truly joking about the torture whose memories pierced the nights with his cries?

Ingerith sat at the table beside Scorpius, leaning her chin into her palm. “When you’re done eating,” she said, “and when you’ve seen to all the birds out back, I’ll need to go over his care with you.”

As though she could feel the stab in his chest at the suggestion that he didn’t know how to care for his master, Ingerith leaned in close. “I’ll show you what all the salves and tonics are for. You’ll need them. The better he feels, the more insufferable he becomes.”

She smiled a conspiratorial grin, wrapping Scorpius in a blanket of acknowledgment that warmed him like afternoon sunlight. Still, no words would come to him. He simply nodded and forced another bite of food down his throat.

© Julia Smith, 2010

Galit Breen says Julia, what an exciting and amazing work in progress! I'm so impressed and inspired.

Naquillity says This story gets better with age. I'm loving your characters and this Ingerith is bringing a certain bit of mystery to the story as well.

Ann Pino says I love the psychological things going on here. So much is happening just below the surface. Intriguing.

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 22

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 I've posted for the Weekend Writer's Retreat, we've followed him as a seven-year-old, when he outgrew the nursery where he'd been brought up with the other children of the blood.

But when no one from his family came to claim him, Scorpius was released to serve a falcon master as an apprentice.

We rejoin him at age ten.

An incident that took place at the falconer's cottage three years ago has political repercussions that now haunt Scorpius and his master, Richolf.

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



Scene 22

He should have thought it strange about the dog.

Scorpius rose from the pallet, his master’s soiled bandages in his hands, just as the dog picked up its head expectantly to gaze at the door. Bleary from looking after Richolf and the falcons and the dog on his own, he didn’t question the lack of barking or the slight tail wag as the door to the cottage swung open.

A woman swept inside, her strangled cry at the sight of the falconer reducing Scorpius to a stranger in his own home. She collected herself enough to ask, “Are you Scorpius?” Her stricken expression made her calm question surreal.

Looking back at his master, who lay in a half-sleep, tunic spread wide to allow for new dressings, Scorpius bowed to her and nodded.

“May I?” she asked, indicating the pallet. He nodded again and stepped aside.

She moved gracefully across the rough cottage floor, kneeling in a billow of skirt to take Richolf’s face gently in both of her hands. She couldn’t stop the tears then. His master’s eyes opened to focus upon her face.

With surprising strength, Richolf grabbed her to him, both of them crying and kissing and laughing all at once. Scorpius had never felt the desire to be elsewhere so intensely.

Dropping the bandages in the basin, he signaled the dog to follow and the two slunk out into the morning. He should see to the birds, but he was so tired. He’d just take a moment.

Settling himself in the shade of a tree, he nestled in the soft grass, the dog curling beside him. When he woke the sun was past the midday position.

Getting groggily to his feet, Scorpius lurched toward the cottage, not sure at first what he’d been doing sleeping outside. As he neared the cottage door, the memory of her cry and their kisses quickened his pulse.

The dog barged past him as he paused on the threshold. His master and the woman both sat at the table. The smell of food filled the cottage, and a dish of it sat waiting for him.

“Come,” Richolf said, gesturing. “I’d like you to meet someone.”

Scorpius closed the door and slid onto his chair, too shy suddenly to gaze into her face which now shone with joy.

“Scorpius, this is Ingerith.”

All he could do was nod, staring instead at the feast she’d somehow conjured up while he slept.

“She tells me you’ve taken very good care of my wounds,” Richolf said.

Scorpius glanced up then, to see her gazing at him with gratitude. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. There had been many beauties come to the nursery to fetch their sons and daughters. But she was the first gently-bred woman to ever look him in the face, the first to see him.

A shiver of delight ran over his skin.

© Julia Smith, 2010

Travis Cody says This made me smile. There has been so much tension, and now suddenly a bit of gentleness. This segment is well-timed.

Janet says This is a wonderful scene after so much tension and turmoil for Scorpius! And I'm thinking, perhaps his first crush?

Ann Pino says I'm glad to see Richolf is better, but it seems there's a new mystery now. I can't wait to learn more about Ingerith.