Eragos Feareborne (proscribed) wrote in caeleste, @ 2010-10-22 00:37:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | close to home, eragos feareborne, sleeping tiger |
what the stars saw (sleeping tiger)
Rain was driving hard against the burlap surface of the tent. Here, as in the other tent, one barely felt the wind that shook the poles. Eragos was surprised at the sudden difference - humid rain, cooler than summer but not quite comfortable, gave way to an almost frosty interior. How such a thing was accomplished Eragos did not know, and was not sure that he wanted to know. What concerned him was not the temperature of the place, but what lay beyond the immediate. Upon entering they were greeted by a rectangular foyer, composed entirely of silk screens surrounded by wooden frames. There were two torches - bronze bowls filled with wood which burned brightly in the dimness, casting light upon the screens that blocked shadows from the receiving area. And in this area a soldier waited, stripping his gloves from his hands with great impatience. He wore the uniform of Faxril's men, but his head was not shaved clean, and there was no helmet on his person. He bowed when Eragos entered, and Eragos returned the bow.
This was a strange way to keep a prisoner.
"Lord Feareborne, isn't it?" the soldier asked in a soft drawl. "Sleeping Tiger? And Bahn, of course. I am Drazan."
"You don't have a rank, Drazan?' Eragos asked as he untied his cloak.
"That is not," Drazan paused, his sharp nose peered at the silk screens. "The sort of work to which I am accustomed, sir."
A torturer, more than likely. Or a spy. He was wearing the uniform to blend in at the camp instead of sticking out like a sore thumb. That hardly mattered. Drazan had shoved his gloves into place at his belt. Now there was a sturdy wooden pipe in one corner of his mouth, and the fellow was lighting it with one of the small wooden sticks that had been bundled into some unseen pouch. Not wealthy enough for matches, Eragos supposed, or didn't like them. Only when smoke was streaming from one corner of his mouth did Drazan clamp his teeth down on the pipe and begin to speak. When he did, it was with the same soft drawl that he seemed not to notice or care about. The fellow did not look human, but the skull cap he wore covered his ears, and it was impossible to say if that named him elf or otherwise.
"The prisoner's name is Eyeless Serpent, as he gives it," Drazan studied the opening of his pipe as if he expected some form of serpent to erupt out of it. "That makes him one of yours, I think, Sleeping Tiger. Or at least, formerly one of yours. He gives us little, beyond that. Driving a nail into the back of his hand did little to loosen his tongue. That was before I arrived, of course; I have no fondness for torture. I did manage to anger him by suggesting that Feareborne - the other Feareborne - left him to die. He seems convinced that he was left here as a message. A message to you, Lord Feareborne. I have not tried to extract any information from him beyond that. It seemed unnecessary, given your proximity."
There was a servant at his elbow, quite suddenly, and this servant was collecting their cloaks. Eragos surrendered his without argument. Trying to protest against a servant's actions was usually the activity of a madman. And Eragos did not think of himself as a madman, no matter what some might say. Drazan adjusted the sword at his hip, and the twinkle in his eye was invigorated by the direction of his gaze.
"You believe he's going to tell you where your brother's hiding?"
"I think that's the only reason he's still alive," Eragos answered.
"I'll leave you to it, then," Drazan wasted no time; he didn't even put out his pipe.
"What are you going to say to him?" Bahn wanted to know.
That was the first time Eragos had considered it. Yet he doubted he would need to say much of anything to Eyeless Serpent. Here he was, alive and disgraced, waiting only to tell Eragos what had become of Talon Feareborne before he could die in peace. It would not be honorable to strike him down where he stood, yet it was something that Eragos had considered quite seriously. There was something to be said for death as the ultimate punishment and release. No. He was not an executioner. If nothing else, he could hold to that. Yet how different was this from what he planned for Talon? Did the sheer numbers attached now and forever to Talon's name make it more or less worthwhile? Bahn was wearing a blue scarf, tied to his arm just above the elbow.
In other words, being ridiculous. Had he been challenged on it, the White Rider would have denied everything.
"I don't know," Eragos answered slowly. "Wait here, Bahn."
The silk screen was pushed aside, just enough for Eragos to enter. It rasped against the dirt beneath their feet. Against Eragos' sleeve. Against nothing and everything. In this section of the tent, there was no light save the candle in the center of a square wooden table. Eyeless Serpent fittingly sat at one end, still shrouded in his cloak, with his eyes closed and his hands beneath the surface of the table. Drazan had not mentioned whether or not the fellow was bound. Eragos had no reason to think that he was. And as little reason to think that he was not. Here the light from the silk screens, filtered as it was, seemed distant and insufficient. Yet there was enough of an orange glow to make Eyeless Serpent's eyes shine when they opened.
The bastard smiled.
Eragos remembered how odd it had been for him to see one of his kinsmen alive after all these years. The fact that his kinsman had been homicidal and near-mad with the desire to fight, and die, and prove his glory through combat only added to the general confusion of the situation. There was little that could be done about that. You either had what it took, or you did not. Sleeping Tiger had confronted one of his old comrades before and lived to tell the tale. As for Eragos, he did not think he could ever be so easy as the younger Dragon Knight in the presence of those who had defied the teachings of their order. Of course, at least part of that was Eragos' own crime, which Sleeping Tiger as much as pretended had never happened.
Now, here they were, with the smell of wet hills and damp sky in their nostrils, a slight wind filling one wall of the tent, and a pair of shining eyes just above a smile.
"Sleeping Tiger," the Dragon Knight said agreeably. "I remember you when you were a boy. You stole dried vanilla beans from the pit master, and you cried when he whipped you. I think only so that he would stop. Yes?"