Elaina J. Davidson's Blog, page 345
May 26, 2016
May 25, 2016
The King's Challenge #308
TKC 308
I hear only a whisper of sound, which means Lorn is deaf to it. While I marvel at Gennerin’s ability to move stealthily, I silently urge him to be swift.
He is.
A bolt smacks into the arch of Lorn’s left foot, piercing the leather as if it is mere paper. As our uncle screams another bolt penetrates his right ankle. Screeching, Lorn Makar hits the floor hard. I sweat the second arrow shattered his ankle.
Lorn can no longer stand, never mind walk. Advantage is ours. Well done, Commander Gennerin.
Enris and Damin hurtle forward together and hold the flailing man down. He continues to scream, now obscenity and agony.
Kay whispers in my ear from behind, “Incapacitate his hands also. A sorcerer does not need his feet to dispense spells.”
The westerner is on the mark. I immediately stride forward to kneel beside our uncle. Without looking at either Enris or Damin, I smack my glowing hands onto my uncle’s and grip hard.
The man screams as if devils pursue him, and fire licks over my shin and his. Green fire. By the stars, it is an odd sight; there is actual fire and it is hot as hell’s acid, but my skin remains whole. Unfortunately I cannot say the same for Lorn’s hands.
His fingers blacken and curl, with foul tendrils twirling upwards. It is sickening to witness, but this man poisoned our father; there is no mercy he deserves.
Enris lays one hand on the burning clasp. “Enough,” he murmurs. He must feel the unholy heat, but he keeps his hand in place. “Let go, Iniri.”
I let go. Stumbling up, I turn away to retch repeatedly.
Lorn Makar is silent; he is unconscious and I do not care.
Siri kneels beside the prone form, touching him briefly. Drawing in a breath, she looks up at me. “We need him to talk, yes? Then he needs some healing. He will die otherwise.”
“I don’t care!” I shout.
“But I do,” Enris says grimly. “We have to know how far this goes. Siri, heal him only to stave off death.”
I hear only a whisper of sound, which means Lorn is deaf to it. While I marvel at Gennerin’s ability to move stealthily, I silently urge him to be swift.
He is.
A bolt smacks into the arch of Lorn’s left foot, piercing the leather as if it is mere paper. As our uncle screams another bolt penetrates his right ankle. Screeching, Lorn Makar hits the floor hard. I sweat the second arrow shattered his ankle.
Lorn can no longer stand, never mind walk. Advantage is ours. Well done, Commander Gennerin.
Enris and Damin hurtle forward together and hold the flailing man down. He continues to scream, now obscenity and agony.
Kay whispers in my ear from behind, “Incapacitate his hands also. A sorcerer does not need his feet to dispense spells.”
The westerner is on the mark. I immediately stride forward to kneel beside our uncle. Without looking at either Enris or Damin, I smack my glowing hands onto my uncle’s and grip hard.
The man screams as if devils pursue him, and fire licks over my shin and his. Green fire. By the stars, it is an odd sight; there is actual fire and it is hot as hell’s acid, but my skin remains whole. Unfortunately I cannot say the same for Lorn’s hands.
His fingers blacken and curl, with foul tendrils twirling upwards. It is sickening to witness, but this man poisoned our father; there is no mercy he deserves.
Enris lays one hand on the burning clasp. “Enough,” he murmurs. He must feel the unholy heat, but he keeps his hand in place. “Let go, Iniri.”
I let go. Stumbling up, I turn away to retch repeatedly.
Lorn Makar is silent; he is unconscious and I do not care.
Siri kneels beside the prone form, touching him briefly. Drawing in a breath, she looks up at me. “We need him to talk, yes? Then he needs some healing. He will die otherwise.”
“I don’t care!” I shout.
“But I do,” Enris says grimly. “We have to know how far this goes. Siri, heal him only to stave off death.”
May 24, 2016
The King's Challenge #307
TKC 307
Perhaps our father had prepared for the day his younger brother turned traitor. Watching Lorn, I give thought to that likelihood. Clearly Lorn had no hand in our father joining Enris and me, and thus is this magic something he is unable to manipulate. This is an advantage. Clearly also the joining had displeased Lorn when he learned of it, and it still did. This, too, is to our advantage.
There is also a chance, of course, that it catapulted Lorn into his devious plans. He hoped to have his son Brandt on the throne before Enris and I made our stand. That advantage is Lorn’s, for he knows the kind of detail we are only able to guess at.
Right now, the point of this trap is to keep us from our father. It means he is still well enough to cause issues of succession for Lorn. Well, we shall see who will be seeing whom soon.
I squeeze Enris’ fist. “Keep it strong,” I whisper and sense rather than see his nod. Releasing our hold, I step aside. “Gennerin, aim for his feet.”
It occurs to me a sorcerer is ever protected by a personal shield, but few think to guard their feet.
“Iniri, I must have words,” Lorn states.
He is uncertain of my actions. He cannot hear me, but he sees my movements. Thus I shall keep his attention focused on me. I step into position alongside Enris, thereby blocking Gennerin from view. I hope the man is swift and silent; I shall gift him greater cover.
“Where is our father, Lorn?” I demand loudly, flapping my hands in a beseeching manner. “Please. Our father needs us.”
“Lorn, is it? No more ‘uncle’?”
“You lost the connection of family when you poisoned our father!” Enris growled.
Excellent. He has shifted Lorn’s attention … as Commander Athol Gennerin acts decisively for the future of the Ilfin.
Perhaps our father had prepared for the day his younger brother turned traitor. Watching Lorn, I give thought to that likelihood. Clearly Lorn had no hand in our father joining Enris and me, and thus is this magic something he is unable to manipulate. This is an advantage. Clearly also the joining had displeased Lorn when he learned of it, and it still did. This, too, is to our advantage.
There is also a chance, of course, that it catapulted Lorn into his devious plans. He hoped to have his son Brandt on the throne before Enris and I made our stand. That advantage is Lorn’s, for he knows the kind of detail we are only able to guess at.
Right now, the point of this trap is to keep us from our father. It means he is still well enough to cause issues of succession for Lorn. Well, we shall see who will be seeing whom soon.
I squeeze Enris’ fist. “Keep it strong,” I whisper and sense rather than see his nod. Releasing our hold, I step aside. “Gennerin, aim for his feet.”
It occurs to me a sorcerer is ever protected by a personal shield, but few think to guard their feet.
“Iniri, I must have words,” Lorn states.
He is uncertain of my actions. He cannot hear me, but he sees my movements. Thus I shall keep his attention focused on me. I step into position alongside Enris, thereby blocking Gennerin from view. I hope the man is swift and silent; I shall gift him greater cover.
“Where is our father, Lorn?” I demand loudly, flapping my hands in a beseeching manner. “Please. Our father needs us.”
“Lorn, is it? No more ‘uncle’?”
“You lost the connection of family when you poisoned our father!” Enris growled.
Excellent. He has shifted Lorn’s attention … as Commander Athol Gennerin acts decisively for the future of the Ilfin.
May 23, 2016
The King's Challenge #306
TKC 306
Lorn Makar is a tall man, spare of frame, his hair long and dark. He too possesses two different coloured eyes, but it is hard to discern on first viewing. One knows there is something odd about his eyes, and yet it requires close scrutiny to realise the blues are of different tones. After a time of knowing him one does not see it anymore; it is simply who he is.
The tall man, cloak swinging, laughing, wanders out of the darkness eclipsed by mine and Enris’ combined green glows.
Lorn Makar.
Uncle Lorn.
Sorcerer Extraordinaire.
Enris hisses and releases my hand to shape a fist. This he raises towards the approaching man in warning, while keeping his sword levelled. “Stay back, uncle!”
Damin makes a sound; he has understood who it is we now face. This is not a Glonu; this is an Ilfin who set a trap and has now sprung it.
“Please, whelp,” Lorn murmurs in his gravelly voice, “you cannot frighten me. Douse your light; you are blinding only yourself.”
Rarely have I known Enris to doubt himself, and now I see it in him. His sword shivers and the greenness wavers markedly. With resolve I thus clasp my hand over his raised one. The eerie glows strengthen again.
“Where is our father?” I demand.
Coming to an arrogant halt a few feet away, Lorn regards us with his superior smile, eyes flicking from me to Enris and back. “I admit I am surprised you two survived despite all that has happened. It appears you father knew what he was doing.”
“Meaning?” Enris frowns. I feel how his hand shakes under mine.
“Your father told me, his younger and loved brother, how he created in you the ability to act as one entity, claiming it would stave off death and also engender in you strength. And here you are.” Lorn spreads his hands.
Lorn Makar is a tall man, spare of frame, his hair long and dark. He too possesses two different coloured eyes, but it is hard to discern on first viewing. One knows there is something odd about his eyes, and yet it requires close scrutiny to realise the blues are of different tones. After a time of knowing him one does not see it anymore; it is simply who he is.
The tall man, cloak swinging, laughing, wanders out of the darkness eclipsed by mine and Enris’ combined green glows.
Lorn Makar.
Uncle Lorn.
Sorcerer Extraordinaire.
Enris hisses and releases my hand to shape a fist. This he raises towards the approaching man in warning, while keeping his sword levelled. “Stay back, uncle!”
Damin makes a sound; he has understood who it is we now face. This is not a Glonu; this is an Ilfin who set a trap and has now sprung it.
“Please, whelp,” Lorn murmurs in his gravelly voice, “you cannot frighten me. Douse your light; you are blinding only yourself.”
Rarely have I known Enris to doubt himself, and now I see it in him. His sword shivers and the greenness wavers markedly. With resolve I thus clasp my hand over his raised one. The eerie glows strengthen again.
“Where is our father?” I demand.
Coming to an arrogant halt a few feet away, Lorn regards us with his superior smile, eyes flicking from me to Enris and back. “I admit I am surprised you two survived despite all that has happened. It appears you father knew what he was doing.”
“Meaning?” Enris frowns. I feel how his hand shakes under mine.
“Your father told me, his younger and loved brother, how he created in you the ability to act as one entity, claiming it would stave off death and also engender in you strength. And here you are.” Lorn spreads his hands.
May 20, 2016
The King's Challenge #305
TKC 305
“Go back,” Damin whispers on the edge of hearing.
Tap tap tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
No one moves until Leffandir suddenly shifts through us to stride into the darkness ahead. Then we are all in motion; in fact, I am running to catch up with her. Damin is on my heels, swearing foully under his breath.
“Empress!” I hiss.
“Iniri, this must be done.” Her voice floats back disembodied.
The sense of enclosed space abruptly gives way to a sensation of limitless nothingness. My immediate thought is that we fell into a void between stars.
Two beams bob nearer from behind, strengthening as Kay and Ross close in. In the resultant illumination, I stare into a massive area of the ship, a space empty, a space comprised of darkness.
Damin is beside me. “What is this?”
“A hold,” Gennerin murmurs, one of his cheekbones highlighted by Ross’ torch.
“It feels empty,” Mirlin murmurs somewhere.
“Something must be here,” Enris says.
“It is not empty,” I hear Leffandir state, but I no longer see her.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. TAP.
Utter silence arrives then, filled with the echoes of our breathing. Briefly I wonder what our expressions would reveal had there been light surrounding us. Most of it will be fear, I think.
Laughter erupts to bounce off metal walls, insane cackles. “Welcome to my parlour!” a gruff voice declares.
“By the sands!” Mirlin blurts.
I cannot know what caused his reaction, but mine is one of fear. Without thinking, I launch the orb, hurtling emerald brilliance into the darkness. Hissing, Enris draws his sword and points it – a twin emerald fire spews from it into the emptiness. He approaches to take a position at my side and we, again without thought, link our free hands.
The mighty green brilliance intensifies into light able to blind.
From that intensity, a man emerges, laughing and shaking his head.
“Go back,” Damin whispers on the edge of hearing.
Tap tap tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
No one moves until Leffandir suddenly shifts through us to stride into the darkness ahead. Then we are all in motion; in fact, I am running to catch up with her. Damin is on my heels, swearing foully under his breath.
“Empress!” I hiss.
“Iniri, this must be done.” Her voice floats back disembodied.
The sense of enclosed space abruptly gives way to a sensation of limitless nothingness. My immediate thought is that we fell into a void between stars.
Two beams bob nearer from behind, strengthening as Kay and Ross close in. In the resultant illumination, I stare into a massive area of the ship, a space empty, a space comprised of darkness.
Damin is beside me. “What is this?”
“A hold,” Gennerin murmurs, one of his cheekbones highlighted by Ross’ torch.
“It feels empty,” Mirlin murmurs somewhere.
“Something must be here,” Enris says.
“It is not empty,” I hear Leffandir state, but I no longer see her.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. TAP.
Utter silence arrives then, filled with the echoes of our breathing. Briefly I wonder what our expressions would reveal had there been light surrounding us. Most of it will be fear, I think.
Laughter erupts to bounce off metal walls, insane cackles. “Welcome to my parlour!” a gruff voice declares.
“By the sands!” Mirlin blurts.
I cannot know what caused his reaction, but mine is one of fear. Without thinking, I launch the orb, hurtling emerald brilliance into the darkness. Hissing, Enris draws his sword and points it – a twin emerald fire spews from it into the emptiness. He approaches to take a position at my side and we, again without thought, link our free hands.
The mighty green brilliance intensifies into light able to blind.
From that intensity, a man emerges, laughing and shaking his head.
