Eragos Feareborne (proscribed) wrote in caeleste, @ 2009-08-06 01:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | a ruined way, eragos feareborne, sleeping tiger, thiele varchardt |
the red death (sleeping tiger, thiele)
"A minor question of land rights circa the fourth hundred years of the Free Cities..."
With Throstle on his right, and Gawain on his left, Eragos felt as though any attack would have been a mercy. Bahn had been right. The two Riders were extremely green. One was fat enough to concern Eragos, while the other was nothing but bone. He could have been with the Lady Vera, speaking of... Eragos felt his ears burn before he finished the thought. It was not proper. There was little of his behavior that could be considered proper of late. He still wore the mask, despite the civilian clothing draped upon his person. A single candle illuminated the table in the common area of this large home. There was a certain feel of a dungeon to it, with imposing stone walls and iron-crossed windows meant to keep in as much as to keep out. All gray and black, with little enough red in the carpet that ran like a guide through each room and corridor to each thing of value. The sconces were all carvings of dragons, ornate clutching torches as though their very existence depended on it. Eragos forgot for a moment that the fellow was talking to him.
"...the third daughter has common blood on both sides, and is deemed owner, but in the event of her death..."
It was unbearable.
Eragos glared murder at the glass in front of him, and through it, at Bahn. The man seemed to think good humor involved grinning as though all your teeth would disappear on the morrow, and today was your last chance to display them. Sleeping Tiger had long since lost interest in these affairs of obscure and arcane law. He was no doubt making the place as secure as he could. It was the sort of thing that would appeal to him. Gawan kept testing his sword, drawing a quarter inch of steel and then sliding it back home again, as though frost was a concern in this weather. He knew the movements of a swordsman but not their purpose. And it was for Eragos, apparently, to show him. The fellow kept eyeballing the armor that Eragos wore as though it held some divine secret. A new addition, one that had come with his sword. A gauntlet that seemed loose as leather when unused, but firm as metal, adhering to his hand and arm closely. It covered him completely from fingertips to shoulder, with a segmented pauldron that covered part of his chest and back. it moved like a second skin, but had the pattern of dragon scales, and in pearl-white tones. He'd paid a small fortune for the thing, not needing complete armor to cover him, but it was worth the price.
Even the fingertips had pointed ends, like talons, made for gouging. He could still work the sword in both hands if he needed to, or at least he thought. The experiment earlier had been cut short by an eager Gawain - wanting to practice his fencing. He had a hand-and-a-half sword, which was not the best for quick movement and unarmored combat. Eragos had made a show of it for a few minutes. That before cutting the fellow short, driving him off with talk of laws, which seemed to make Gawain's ears bleed nearly as much as it did Eragos'. That strategy had failed when Throstle, overhearing the debate from his perch beneath a window, had become enamored with the topic and begun assailing Eragos at length. Bahn had listened to the speech in its entirety, suggesting a revision of the hypothesis where his limited knowledge would allow, until a perfected spear point of dullness had been reached. At last he could take no more of it - and it was time for a patrol. Grees stood by the cloudy window, looking out as though he could see something, trying - apparently - not to listen to the chatter of the younger Rider.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Eragos told him with a glance at the clock. "But it's your patrol this hour, Throstle. Yours and Gawain's."
The young Riders sprang to their feet immediately, and bustled into the hall, both of them chattering about how attentive he was.
"You," Eragos told Bahn as soon as they were gone into the corridor. "Have a gods-damned cheek, don't you?"
"So I never did figure out who was legally entitled to the land," Bahn's grin did not fade.
"Whoever won the duel."
This was the home of one of the most honored and revered mages in Agethlea. He was not pleased to have them in his home. Not at all, but whatever High Lord Arand had written in their letter admitted them past his anger. It was a bland and empty thing in any case, but after one glance at the page, his face was white as a sheet. From fear, perhaps, or loathing. Eragos could not have said which and did not care. The young guard captain - Falvas - had posted two men outside of the mage's door and left strict instructions on how often he was allowed to leave. The fellow dragged a chest into his room and swore that he would not need to be disturbed until the thing was done. His words. Until the thing was done. There were twenty of those fools with lances prowling the grounds and corridors, taking up stations at obvious entry points to make the patrol of the White Riders easier. Every entrance and exit was secure. The Lady Thiele was asleep, so far as he knew, with four men at her door that would not sleep to see she woke. A fortress for all appearances, with enough men to hold it against persistent attack, but they did not know the shape and number of the enemy. That made it more difficult. Eragos glanced at the grandfather clock - he only owned one, and never looked at it - to find the time was just before midnight.
Tirad must have been making another round. The fellow had been fretting all night, muttering about assassins and constant vigilance.
"Are you sure you don't want to play cards?" Bahn asked with exasperation. "This place is locked down tighter than a drum. No one's getting in."
"I don't," Eragos grunted. "Play cards."
"Dice, then! Or have a go on that flute of yours!"
"Time passes more slowly the more you think about it."
"Bah."
Not that Grees and Bahn were much better company. Bahn had the strain of fatigue and tension around his eyes. Grees was communicating less than usual behind that aloof demeanor. Eragos wondered how he'd managed to wear armor before this piece of work. Dwarves from the Fire Mountains, working for a solid month, had managed the thing. It would stop almost anything. Even a pike could not break the skin of it, or so they said. In combat he did not know how useful it would be. Time would answer that question, or the loss of his hand. This had the result of all his scales being bandaged to his right arm, his sword arm, with the addition of the scale that he'd obtained in Hatharida. It felt monstrous to use the thing, but more monstrous to let an advantage pass when he did not have to. A scale of teleportation. It was persistent, so until he used another scale, it seemed to work, though he was winded after the fourth move. Perhaps not too much use then. Perhaps not too much. The grandfather clock was a thing of polished wood and gold, chiming ominously ever fifteen minutes, with a different gong at each interval. Eragos was starting to recognize the pattern. He knew then he'd been awake for far too long. It was almost familiar.
"Grees, you old salty dog," Bahn said it with a rough but jocular tone. "Are you going to stand there all night?"
Grees turned his head without looking away from the window. "Yes."
"I think he's serious," Bahn muttered.
Eragos glanced toward the entrance with a grimace. If Sleeping Tiger returned, they could speak in Draconic, and make Bahn uneasy enough to depart. There were too many faces unaccounted for in the last fifteen minutes. He could still see the Lady Vera, still smell her, closer than they'd been, nearer in body and in spirit than... it was Eithne's face that ruined his thoughts, not Bahn's. Why was she intruding on a moment like that? They'd split into two groups, with the rest following behind the Lady Vera, and worrying about their safety - her safety - would not do him any good. Their task was to provide additional security for the High Lord. Tonight was the night he'd named two days ago, but so far, not even a mouse had disturbed the quiet of the grounds. There were trees and bushes outside, but with windows such as these, how could they hope to enter? He hoped the steel box would keep them out and not give them a false sense of security. The soldiers seemed competent, and Falvas knew his business despite his youth.
Eragos had to stop worrying.