NaNo WriMo Day 10: Brother

Chapter 10: Brother

“I am not his brother.” Gurley’s tortured speech bounded around the dank cellar walls.  “He would not want you calling me that.”  Orten did not treat him like a brother.  There was no point in admitting brotherhood.

“You are of the same mother are you not?”  The obscured light and shadows cast by the stone restraints prevented Gurley from identifying his questioner.   

“You do not understand.”  Gurely protested.  The question had seemed odd.

“Oh I think I do.” The man slipped his gauntlet off.  The strike was harder than the previous, but at this point Gurley did not notice.  He lay limp, strung like a puppet from the stone pillars below the grate in the ceiling.  He could hear the click of boots on the floor above.

His captor motioned in the shadows.  “Splay him open until he talks.”  A crowd of hooded figures crowded into the cellar.  “Slowly.”  As the speaker passed out the door way torchlight lit his face just enough for Gurley to make out a smirk on the man’s face.

You fool. You will get nothing. Gurley prepared himself as the cold smoothness of a blade pressed against his inner thigh.

***

Orten hated the feeling.  He had hated it as much that day outside the jailers yard so many years ago as he did now.  Pain; it was not something he was accustomed to.  He grasped his leg as the sensation cut into him.  He cursed his mortal form taking no solace in it’s nearby end.  It only troubled him slightly as he thought it over.  His path was set.

“Mister you aww right?” the little boy asked snapping Orten back to the fact he was standing on the beach on the outskirts of a small fishing hovel.  Smoke clouded around him and flames spurted from every crevice of his body.  His clothing no longer disguised the effects of being so far away from the castle.

Not long at all now. “A boat.”  Orten coughed.  He watched as the little boy pointed towards a row of skiffs.  Smoke trailed as he cut his way across the beach.  Looking up the coastline, he hurried himself as the outer edge of the storm blackened.  

***

Enlil could hear the screaming from down the hall.  He wondered where Govad was.  Was he alive?  Were these his screams that tormented this night?  He did not have time to linger on the question as the pounding headache wracked him again.  Wincing in pain he slumped in the chair before bunching into a ball.  

“We can do this all night Captain.”  The Thunderer sat behind a simple wooden desk adorned at the corners with raised pillars.   The chair back reached just enough with matching pillars to exceed the height of the man sitting there.  He spoke again. “It is very simple.  What did the Wind Lords charge of you at this camp.”

“Again, nothing.”  Enlil did not lie.  “The camp was fake.  A show.  That is how it was when I arrived.”  Enlil found it easier to speak to the facts without the looming threat of violence standing next to him.  It was apparent the Thunderer had a different interrogative style and motive than that of Clydas.  Enlil could not help but feel like he was suddenly needed, as if some key was locked away in his knowledge.  The only problem was he didn’t know what it was and therefore could not leverage it.

A meal was brought in as Enlil covered the details of his siege and his attempt to cut off the cliff-side supply line.  This seemed to intrigue the Thunderer momentarily as he inquired about the details of what was pulled over the castle walls.  As far as Enlil’s recollection, it had always looked mundane, food crates and barrels of drink.  

Enlil continued into the downfall of the camp after the bloody siege.  He hadn’t really thought about the aftermath much.  The camp had fallen into chaos quickly.  Quicker than even he had imagined.  He began to piece together a picture bigger than what he had paid attention to at the time.  The more he spoke to the Thunderer, the more he found the signs of something greater at work.

First there had been the delayed influx of new recruits, shortly followed by the first late gold shipment.  Then there were the paymaster visits and wage cuts.  Then the supply shipments disappearing without word, communication break downs to the southern most Albian strongholds.  What he had first assumed was punishment for his poor judgement started to feel suspicious.  It was clear from the force that the Thunderer brought upon Castle Black that it was important.  Yet, not important enough for a force from the midlands to contain until now.  Enlil had assumed this was due to the proximity.  Alb was directly north of the land bridge that Castle Black sat upon.  It only made sense for the Wind Lords to pledge troops to the cause.

More details sprang to mind as Enlil spoke with the Thunderer.  The conversation turned towards the arrival of the Fravashi and his unfortunate treatment at their hands.  The Thunderer had seemed amused at the situation though, which disheartened Enlil slightly.  Chewing ate a piece of boned meat, Enlil spoke about the storm.

“I was knocked out as it passed, but the bloody thing was beyond spectacular when it first anchored.  It felt like we were surrounded by solid walls of gray.  No one dared pass through the storm initially.  It took a day or so for the men to realize the Fravashi were gone and for the storm to break enough for travel.”  Enlil quite enjoyed the fruits that abounded a bowl that had been set before him.  He sipped again at the reddish liquid in the goblet he had been given.

“That is good for now captain.  I am going to take my leave for the night.”  The departure of the Thunderer had almost saddened him.  Enlil had started to enjoy the talk, but that enjoyment was cut short as the headache returned.  He faded back into his chair as the door clanked shut.  The solid click of the lock echoed through the room as darkness crowded in.  At least Enlil wasn’t hungry.  The screams continued.

Word count: 9897

NaNo WriMo Day 9: Back to Castle Black

Chapter 9: Back to Castle Black

Gurley was surprised when Jacco cut his restraints.  He would have stood if his legs would cooperate, but pain still burned deep within his crippled leg which was now probably broken.  Yet, the feeling of a miniscule freedom of movement washed over him like the cool water of a mountain spring.  His momentary rejuvenation was interrupted by the sudden cracking sound of Jacco’s whip.  In the broken silence, a  stinging sensation across Gurley’s back.

“Get tup.” Jacco’s splintered speech rubbed Gurley’s anger.

“My leg.” Gurley tried not to plead.  “My leg you slant-eyed fucker.”

“You midlanders, always wit ta curses.”  Jacco strutted around Gurley as if he was a prized pig, prodding and examining him.  The look on Jacco’s face seemed to confirm Gurley’s complaint.  The word midlander stuck in Gurley’s mind.  He was tempted to reveal the fact that he was not from the midlands, or the east, or anywhere Jacco would know of, but the moment passed while Gurley reflected on the naivety of Jacco.  Why or how Orten withstood such stupidity was beyond Gurley.

“Tis is tow tis gonna work.”  Jacco went on to explain how Gurley was to act the part of a runaway slave that Jacco had been sent to retrieve.  As those within Castle Black probably did not know of Orten and the boys departure nothing would seem suspicious.  After all, Jacco had made a habit of coming and going unseen from the castle for years.  It would not be the first slave he had returned with.  Maybe the first male slave, but that was not of concern at the moment.  What worried Gurley was why Jacco wished to return to the castle.  Worse, why did he need him when he did return.

***

Enlil did not know quite what was transpiring.  The days and nights had spiraled about him in a patchwork of flashing colors and a web blurred talk.  He could sense things taking place but his mind lacked control of his physical self.  It was not long before he felt his mental state slipping into the void as well.

So when he opened his eyes and felt the cool roughness of wet beach sand clinging to his cheeks he did not question it.  He felt his fingers first, then his toes.  The directness of the midday sun forced him to squint.  The beach stretched about him in all directions.  He could tell immediately that he was a good distance from the camp as the cliff which Castle Black sat upon loomed over him like an angry god looking upon a damned sinner.  The sheer cliff face that had so tormented him stood clean of it’s normal ropes and pulleys.  He took mental victory of this fact.

However, when an itch came across his nose he realized he couldn’t raise his hand.  Terror struck him as he realized he had been buried up to his neck in the beach sand.  The tide was out, but Enlil knew that was the point. A slow and painful death at the hands of tide awaited him.  Enlil broke into a furious struggle which turned on him as he became further entrenched in the sucking mud.

A cacophony of metal and men brought his attention upwards.  He knew these sounds well from his many days as a soldier.  A siege had set upon the castle above him.  Ladders and orderly lines of men poured over the castle walls.  A crumbled tower could be seen collapsing in on itself.  

What Enlil saw next stunned him.  Thunder slammed through the area as bolts of lightning streaked into the castle.  Generous plumes and wisps of smoke rose from the inner walls, a new one appearing with every bolt.  The Thunderer.  Stories and children’s tales ran through his mind.  Years of service, dozens of bloody battles, and his time at the Academia.  Nothing compared to seeing the truth.  Had these great powers been kept secret from the nation of Alb?  What else had this midlands King held from the eastlanders?

Time passed slowly as a she-crab skittered across the sand before being consumed by the hungry waves.  Enlil had given up following the battle above as the sounds of men dieing trailed off and the sky grew silent.  Enlil surmised that the castle was taken.  Not even the finest cavalry in the land would have survived the force the Thunderer rained from the heavens.

The longer Enlil watched, the slower the waves seemed to encroach.  Death sat an eternity away choosing to punish him slowly.  Enlil slowed his breathing after realizing the harder he breathed the more the sand pinched.  Hope was fading, but his instincts failed to allow his body to quit.  

Enlil was on the verge of fading when the shadowy figures appeared at the range of his blurry vision.  It had seemed hours had passed since the crab, but the distance of the waves told him it had not been long.  

“Dig him up.”  The smooth voice cut through Enlil’s labored breathing.  It wasn’t long before Enlil could feel his body being escorted across the beach.  Wet sand faded into dry sand.  The late afternoon sun became hidden beneath a tent’s roof.  Slight comfort was found as he was propped into a padded chair, yet his vision had not fully returned.

“First the Fravashi and now that bastard Orten.”  Enlil could just make out the one speaking.  Golden brown hair stuck at ear level in knots of sweat.  “We have much more to discuss than I had thought Captain.  Our little ruse here seems to have escaped your minuscule understanding.  Years of planning wasted.”  The man paused.  “Do you know who I am?”  Another pause.  “What I am?”

“The Thunderer” It came out more of a question than an answer.

“Yes, Thunderer.  This is what you eastlanders call me in your stories. Stories no doubt until today you knew as nothing but fiction.  A man who calls upon the power of the gods to strike furious destruction from the heavens.”  The words flowed into Enlil.  “I am no story Captain.  I am the justice of the gods manifested in man.”

“My scouts saw no one leave the castle and only saw two men enter.  From the accounts of your paid man and smith, and those paltry fellows back in town who likened you more to a fart in the wind than a feathered Captain of the winded ranks, no one has left Castle Black in years.”  The Thunderer continued.  “I find it hard to believe a man as fat as Orten Fareen escaped unnoticed.”

“Not all is lost.  We have taken captives, two of interest above the others.  One of those being his brother.  When we have the garrison placed in the castle proper, you and I will be having a very long talk about things.  I suggest if you wish a better fate than the rest of your nation you start remembering some things.”

Word count: 8848

NaNo WriMo Day 8: The Sentinels

Chapter 7: The Sentinels

Orten had found the Sentinels just outside the reach of the storm’s edge. The smooth marble pillars hovered above the tree tops and stood silent, uncaring of his approach. Each was evenly spaced from the next one in a line as far as the eye could see, a visible barrier to the lands of Reichland to the south. He knew he was at the right location when he saw the jagged stones that criss-crossed the top of the hill. A single Sentinel pillar popped over the tree tops and overshadowed the area. The sudden realization that it had been almost twenty years since his last visit hit Orten with a saddening relief.

The ride through the storm had worn on Orten and as he dismounted the signs of exhaustion draped him like a cloak. A crackling sounded as he stepped through the dry leaves and tied his massive mount to a nearby tree. The beast stood eerily silent. He propped himself against a nearby stone and eased himself down. Streams of water cascaded off his outer clothing as he removed it. The hiss of steam could be heard escaping into the air as his rear settled neatly into a newly created puddle that had taken resident in a crevice between two stones. Orten knew the farther he went the worse it would get. The rising smell of smoke closed in on him. He drifted off to sleep as he waited for the boys to come through the storm and meet him.

***

It wasn’t often the hunter moved north beyond the protection of the Sentinels unless something interesting was to be found. The presence of the six women on the other side of the border had definitely scratched at his curiosity. He followed them slowly as he worked his way through the underbrush. He watched as their dresses flapped in the wind and they pointed this way and that. They seemed visibly uncomfortable standing in the open, yet none of them spoke or voiced a complaint. No horses or other mounts followed them. The women were traveling by foot.

At first he had assumed the group was lost, traveling on the outskirts of the storm to the north in the vain hope of staying dry. It wasn’t obvious at first, but the more he observed of the women the more he realized they were actively searching for something. While the women were interesting, the hunter figured it was best that he did not become that which they searched for. Once they had gone from the immediate area, the hunter worked his way back through the Sentinels to the south.

However, out of the corner of his eye, his curiosity was peaked again. A plume of smoke rose from the top of a nearby hill at the edge of the forest with a peculiar stone outcropping. Again, it was on the other side of the Sentinels. The hunter worked his way to the trees and Sentinel overlooking the area. The source of the smoke stopped him from crossing the Sentinel line. The rancid smell of burning flesh attacked him as he surveyed the scene.

At first it was a single burnt skeletal carcass propped up like a child’s doll against the rocks. More remains could be seen scattered throughout the stones. The hunter couldn’t put a solid count on it, but several doomed souls had met their demise here. A darkened circle on the ground crept outwards as more of the forest floor caught and the fire spread. A wide-shouldered horse stood tied to the tree nearest the stones, seemingly unphased by the fire and corpses.

The hunter turned and broke into a sprint. He headed south, not looking back. Sentinels save me he prayed silently as his lungs sought to keep up with his rapid pace.

***

Orten caught a second wind as he passed another marble pillar. A mental click turned over in his head noting the number of Sentinels he had passed. He knew the momentary burst of energy that the boys had provided him would only allow him to maintain his guise for a short period and the blasted storm whores had cut him off from his horse. Which may have been for the better as on horseback his guise would not have worked at all. His speed afoot sufficed to see him safely away.

Orten knew he couldn’t head back into the storm, their storm. Heading south was not a viable path either. First, there were the Sentinels to cross and secondly there were the Reichland forces. Not that the Reichs were particularly of concern, but he did not need any delays. And it did not matter as the presence of the Sentinels deterred any further movement south. He couldn’t be sure why that was the case; passing the Sentinels may be inconsequential or it may be disastrous. Orten was not a gambler at this stage and lessons taught long ago echoed in his mind. Mother had always warned of the Sentinels. Your kind is not meant in the south she was fond of telling him.

So Orten worked eastward towards the sea. The storm visibly curved back north towards Castle Black and it was very likely a boat could be found amongst the numerous fishing villages along the coast. He looked down at his hands and for the first time realized that years of hiding his true self were near their end. Streaks of crackling fire began to burst from the pores of his skin with tiny wisps of smoke disappearing into the air around him. Not long at all he thought to himself.

And on the 7th day he rested, #nanowrimo

Ran out of juice today and didn't get more than a couple hundred words in which will roll over into tomorrow.

NaNo WriMo Day 5 & 6

Note: I didn't get a good chance to edit this as I typed it offline and while away from home, so my apologies for any incompleteness if I left off anywhere.

Chapter 5: The Guildsman

Rodhero was the first to notice the rider as he approached.  It did not take Enlil and Govad long to follow the smith’s gaze up the road.  Govad fanned out, away from Enlil, as he put his left hand upon his sword hilt. He did not draw his blade.  Enlil took the lead and raised his hand to wave the rider in. 

As the rider brought his horse to a stop he reached up and pulled back the hood of a rain-soaked cloak.  Beads of water trickled down the stitched seam, down the laces of his boots, onto the underside of his horse, and eventually raced towards the ground in alternating plops.  The distinctive crimson star upon the white of the band about the rider’s head revealed him as a King’s man.  A messenger no doubt.

“Captain.” The rider nodded.  “I seek the one in command here.  Is that you?”

“I suspect I still command.”  Enlil paused.  “At least the little bit that is left here.” Enlil swept his arm out to point at the destruction that lay about the camp to ensure the rider had noticed.  “Bit of a storm rolled through here a few days past.  Most of my men are back in Gray Court while we survey our losses.”  It wasn’t a complete lie.  The men were back in Gray Court or scattered to the winds.  Whether they were truly his men any longer or whether they ever had been his men was debatable.

“Vigor.” The rider pounded his chest and gave a salute as he procured a scroll of parchment from his undercoat.

“Mortalis.”  Enlil returned the salute, stating his half of the confirmation and acknowledging his station.  He took the ornate scroll from the rider.  A wax seal featuring a crimson star sealed the scroll shut.  Thumbing through the wax, he knew almost instantly that it was not a message, but a writ of passage and supply penned by the King’s own scribes.

“The Thunderer travels from the north by King’s command.   By dark his host will be through the storm.” The rider stopped and handed the scroll over to Enlil.  The rider looked over the miscellany of the camp.  “Where shall he be received?  He requests it be of distance from the latrines.”

Enlil motioned towards his command tent which seemed to be the lone solid structure left.  “Not much left standing.  May I ask his business?”

“That should suffice.” The rider failed to acknowledge Enlil’s question.

“If you can take a message back to your lord, I will draft one quickly.  I would like to prepare him for the state of the encampment here.”  Enlil motioned for Govad to get quill and parchment.  However, something in the reaction of the rider’s face told him it wasn’t necessary. 

“I provided the writ as courtesy.  Not that there is much this camp can surrender in the King’s name.”  The rider again looked over the camp.  He continued, “The host will set camp on the grounds as well.  I’m here to lay the groundwork and plan out the camp.  Do you have a guildsman among you?”  The irony of the question hit Enlil.  He had petitioned for a member of the Guild to oversee the camp months prior and been rebuffed at the request. 

“Rodhero there is probably the closest we have, but he’s a simple smith.  Not a right King’s man either.”  Enlil didn’t bother to point out Rodhero.  It was evident the rider understood Govad was a paid man, leaving Rodhero to be the only possible craftsman among the trio.

The rider dismounted and removed his cloak.  The notches on his sleeve and the bronze crossed hammers attached to his collar revealed his membership in the Guild.  “Rodhero” the rider shook the smith’s hand, “good to meet you.”

Rodhero stepped in and spared Enlil and Govad from the monotony of laying plans for the Thunderer’s arrival.  Rodhero and the Guildsman seemed to build immediate camaraderie as they labored over details and spent copious amounts of time drawing detailed maps on the few dry sheepskins that Rodhero had stashed away.   Chuckles could be heard as the two counted off paces near the former latrine pits which had all but washed away in the storm’s passing.

After observing the pair for a while, Enlil retreated to his tent motioning Govad to follow.  Once inside the tent, Enlil discarded the scroll and dug a cup out of the scattered items at the end of his table.    “Find me a drink.”  The words were depressed.

Govad found a cask of ale nestled near the bedside and worked the stopper out.  He poured it slowly into the glass that Enlil held.  Enlil tipped it back and with an audible gulp emptied the cup.  Govad did not hesitate to refill it.

Enlil took a little longer with the second cup.  Standing near the entrance of the tent, Enlil pulled back the flap and looked out again on the two men he had left out in the camp.  Rodhero and the Guildsman had moved on from the latrines and appeared to be evaluating the stability of the stockade walls that now hugged the earth. 

On his third cup now, Enlil watched through the folds of the tent as the sun began to set.  “We’re right fucked my western friend.”  Friend.  Govad did not much care for Enlil’s use of the word.  The crack of thunder howled in the distance as lightning raced across the interior of the formidable storm wall.

***

Gurley awoke to the rumbling sound of thunder and the smell of fresh horse dung.  Aches throttled him from every limb and muscle.  A distinct and sharp pain emanated from his bum leg.  He moaned as he lifted his head and found himself sprawled across the back of a horse.  A moment later the reality of the situation dawned on him.  His hands and feet were bound, tied crudely together with rope.  A brief moment of struggling convinced him of his predicament.

“Is funny story.”  The voice was familiar to Gurley, but the waning light of early dusk combined with his restraints prevented him from looking his captor in the face. “A funny little man fell down and no fat ben broter around to pick him up.”  Jacco.  Gurley’s heart sunk in his chest.  “Good ting Jacco was dare.” 

Chapter 6: The Prisoner

Gurley didn’t struggle as Jacco eased him off the horse.  The ground was a welcome relief to what had been an uncomfortable eternity on the back of Jacco’s stead.  Tears drew silver lines down his dusty cheeks as his face nestled into a nearby clump of grass.  The silhouette of Castle Black in the distance was barely visible as he looked through the blades of grass encompassing his face.  His eyes slid shut as sleep set upon him like a wave upon the beach.

The looming darkness at the bottom of the stairs did not scare Gurley.  There was a renewed spring in his step as he bound around the final corner in the stairwell.  He felt the darkness wash over and cover him.  “Orten.” He called into the shadows.  No response came.

He continued down the hallway as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light.  It didn’t take long before the underkeep’s features came alive to him in the darkness.    It was not often that his sibling chose to play games with him, let alone treat him a brother.  Even though mother had cautioned him to keep away from Orten, Gurley craved Orten’s attention.  He was convinced Orten was drawing him into a game of hide and seek and he was going to take advantage of the rare opportunity.  The crypt was a perfect place to play as long as the boys did not stray near where the prisoners were kept.  The guards did not care much for meddling children.

Gurley cleared the immediate area he was used to before continuing around the final corner before the hall that lead to the cell block.  He meticulously checked every nook and cranny up and down the hallway, each more painstakingly than the last.  Orten was nowhere to be found.

Taking silent footsteps Gurley approached the cell block entrance.  The ancient, heavy oaken door was held open by a stone that had been rolled over.  Curiosity took over and he looked further into the cavernous hall that held the various imprisonment cells.  The guards were nowhere to be found.  Their swords stood idle leaning against the table.  A discarded meal could be seen on the table as well.  Maybe there were no prisoners to watch?  Gurley took another step letting his eyes readjust in the presence of torch light.

What he saw next froze him in his tracks.  Orten sat cross legged outside of one of the far cells.  His voice echoed outwards through the entrance door.  He was talking to someone.  Mother would not be pleased with Orten.  Gurley took a step back, but fear struck him and before he could think he burst into a run.

He scrambled up the stairwell and back into the bright sunlight of mid afternoon.  His eyes could not adjust to the speed at which he exited the underground entrance and he was momentarily blinded.  Before he could see he slammed into the wagon that he knew was near the fence.  With hazy vision he struggled up into the cart and relied on his blind judgment to secure a foothold on the fence. 

He felt a pair of warm hands heft him from behind.  Without time to look he pulled himself upwards and he knew he was cresting the fence.  The hands suddenly changed the direction of their assistance and pulled him sharply backwards.  The screeching rip of cloth made way to the sickening sensation of torn flesh.  Bone grated along the metal of the fence.

Gurley screamed as dark crimson stains sprouted around the impaled fence post sticking through his upper thigh.  He floundered as his body lay stretched across the top of the fence.  He forced his eyes open and searched for his assailant half expecting to see find Orten running from the yard.  However, the yard sat idly by, not a soul in sight.  No one heard his screams.

Gurley awoke in a cold sweat clutching at his upper leg.  You bastard Orten, never where I need you.

***

Enlil looked to his left.  The sour look on Govad’s face told him everything he needed to know.  Bloody Thunderer is all he could think before another fist struck his face.  “I’ll ask you again Captain.  Where are the Fravashi.”  The brusque voice rang in Enlil’s ears as the man standing over him fixed his hand back into his ironed gauntlet. 

“They said…” Enlil spat blood and watched as it congealed in the dirt below his face.  “They said they came for the justice of the Thunderer.  They were not to be found after the storm.”  Enlil shook his head hoping for a moment of reprieve from the pain.  “My paid man here, the truest of trackers could not even find them.” 

“You are not a true King’s man.” This voice was different.  It came from a different direction than the man who had been striking him.  It was neither as harsh nor tormenting as his abusers.  This one had a soothing quality about it.  “No true man for that matter loses sight of the Fravashi.”  A thin grain of laughter coursed through the gathered crowd.

“Albs sir.” His abuser spoke up again.  “Not much more than pretty feathers.”

“Clydas let us not be inhospitable.  It is not often we find much company following a good storm.”  Clydas: Enlil took mental note of the name.  He had saved enough strength to lift his head and look this new speaker in the face.  Swept backward by the wind, the man’s hair shined with a dusty gold coloring.  It was neatly cropped below the tips of his ears.  Solid features highlighted his squared jawbone.  The handsome, powerful man stood at least a half stone taller than any other that Enlil could see.  “Captain, I suggest you start making some sense to Clydas.”

With a wave of his hand, the man disappeared back through the crowd.  Enlil’s head sagged down again, while his wrists continued to burn in the restraints that suspended him between two poles.  He could hear as Clydas slipped his gauntlet off again.


Word Count: 6730