Elaina J. Davidson's Blog, page 386
October 10, 2015
The King's Challenge #72
TKC 72
After guiding Forest behind other horses, I slip out; not unnoticed, but no one stops me. The roiling intimidation within the arch continues in the immediate vicinity, with less impact. Men run the gauntlet of a lash or two, while women and children scatter wide to escape harm.
I climb off Forest, for I am no longer parading as a master. The slaves may drag me off if they think I am not with them. I need not have worried; everyone is too engaged in flight. Fortunately they flee south. I head towards the plateau’s edge. Here the cliffs meander inland before sweeping wide again. This is why Porlese too sits on an edge although further east than Normur.
I find the Grenmassin knot in the shadows of the wall, waiting. Siri throws her arms around me. I am as happy to know she is fine.
“Now we head towards a fort further south,” I say to men and women I have known since childhood. There are four children younger than Horin; they are the only ones I do not know.
Artur steps forward. Ever has he been vocal back home. The man is huge, clever, and people trust him. “We need return to Grenmassin.”
I understand his position, but it cannot happen. “There is nothing to return to. Lyra and I saw what was left, and it is only death.”
Silence greets my words, and then Horin whispers, “Where is my mother?”
Swallowing, I meet his eyes. “Your mother is dead, Horin. I am sorry.”
The boy merely nods after a moment. He points up. “It comes. We can’t return home anyway.”
Someone snorts derision.
“It comes,” I state in a cold tone. “It is time to believe this reality or die.”
The sun lifts then into dawn’s light as if to underscore my statement.
After guiding Forest behind other horses, I slip out; not unnoticed, but no one stops me. The roiling intimidation within the arch continues in the immediate vicinity, with less impact. Men run the gauntlet of a lash or two, while women and children scatter wide to escape harm.
I climb off Forest, for I am no longer parading as a master. The slaves may drag me off if they think I am not with them. I need not have worried; everyone is too engaged in flight. Fortunately they flee south. I head towards the plateau’s edge. Here the cliffs meander inland before sweeping wide again. This is why Porlese too sits on an edge although further east than Normur.
I find the Grenmassin knot in the shadows of the wall, waiting. Siri throws her arms around me. I am as happy to know she is fine.
“Now we head towards a fort further south,” I say to men and women I have known since childhood. There are four children younger than Horin; they are the only ones I do not know.
Artur steps forward. Ever has he been vocal back home. The man is huge, clever, and people trust him. “We need return to Grenmassin.”
I understand his position, but it cannot happen. “There is nothing to return to. Lyra and I saw what was left, and it is only death.”
Silence greets my words, and then Horin whispers, “Where is my mother?”
Swallowing, I meet his eyes. “Your mother is dead, Horin. I am sorry.”
The boy merely nods after a moment. He points up. “It comes. We can’t return home anyway.”
Someone snorts derision.
“It comes,” I state in a cold tone. “It is time to believe this reality or die.”
The sun lifts then into dawn’s light as if to underscore my statement.
October 9, 2015
The King's Challenge #71
TKC 71
The horse will not survive the ledge, even with careful leading. As Artur and the others slip away through the small door, I eye Forest. Forest eyes me.
Fine, it may be stupidity, but I am not leaving him behind.
“You and Horin go with the others,” I tell Siri. “I will meet you outside.”
“No, Damin. Please, don’t leave me again.”
Siri’s tone is quietly desperate and afraid. Her long fair hair is filthy and knotted, her face and hands dark with dirt, but her blue eyes shine like lamps in the gloom. They beg me to stay. While she is a young woman now, I want to enfold her as I would a child. I glance at Horin. The lad is stoic, if as dirty as Siri. His dark hair is a mat of filth. I am beyond happy neither received the black mark of a slave.
“You need the horse,” he says, his childish tones sounding hoarse with thirst. “We need the horse to help us get to Lyra.”
His insight is remarkable. Horin and I need to talk before long. “Yes.”
He nods and takes Siri’s hand. “We will meet Damin outside, Siri. Damin looks like a master on his horse. He will be fine.”
That is my hope, indeed. “Go, girl. I promise I will be with you soon.”
Horin gives me a look and then tugs Siri with him firmly. She follows, but not without a final convulsive glance over her shoulder.
As they vanish beyond the door, I pray I may expect safe passage. I eye Forest anew. The horse dips his head as if in understanding and, swallowing a laugh, I clamber into the saddle.
“Best behaviour now, hear? You and me, we must seem regal. We are untouchable, Forest, get that?”
I nudge him onward.
The horse will not survive the ledge, even with careful leading. As Artur and the others slip away through the small door, I eye Forest. Forest eyes me.
Fine, it may be stupidity, but I am not leaving him behind.
“You and Horin go with the others,” I tell Siri. “I will meet you outside.”
“No, Damin. Please, don’t leave me again.”
Siri’s tone is quietly desperate and afraid. Her long fair hair is filthy and knotted, her face and hands dark with dirt, but her blue eyes shine like lamps in the gloom. They beg me to stay. While she is a young woman now, I want to enfold her as I would a child. I glance at Horin. The lad is stoic, if as dirty as Siri. His dark hair is a mat of filth. I am beyond happy neither received the black mark of a slave.
“You need the horse,” he says, his childish tones sounding hoarse with thirst. “We need the horse to help us get to Lyra.”
His insight is remarkable. Horin and I need to talk before long. “Yes.”
He nods and takes Siri’s hand. “We will meet Damin outside, Siri. Damin looks like a master on his horse. He will be fine.”
That is my hope, indeed. “Go, girl. I promise I will be with you soon.”
Horin gives me a look and then tugs Siri with him firmly. She follows, but not without a final convulsive glance over her shoulder.
As they vanish beyond the door, I pray I may expect safe passage. I eye Forest anew. The horse dips his head as if in understanding and, swallowing a laugh, I clamber into the saddle.
“Best behaviour now, hear? You and me, we must seem regal. We are untouchable, Forest, get that?”
I nudge him onward.
October 8, 2015
The King's Challenge #70
TKC 70
I put Siri and Horin on Forest. After collecting my pack from that seedy room, I lead the way into madness.
Porlese reels under an onslaught of running feet, chasing hooves, screams and gargles. Blood darkens the cobbles. Fires spring up at random everywhere. We hear the sound of whips, which causes Siri to flinch so hard I realise whips were commonplace in the slave pen. I want to ask if she felt the bite, but know also I cannot deal with my fury if she confirms it happened.
We go on, weaving among frantic and desperate others. I trust Artur and the Grenmassin men to keep us together from behind.
What feels like hours later, but is less than half of one, we see the southern city arch before us. We also notice a host of men on horseback wielding whips, clubs and swords. Slaves long downtrodden attempt to drag them from their mounts. The sounds raise every hair on my body.
Through that I cannot lead Siri and Horin.
Siri, from her higher vantage, notices something more and leans over to whisper, “Some are heading that way.” She points west.
A smaller exit only locals know about? It is worth a look. Nodding, I gesture to the others, and we swing off the main thoroughfare. Soon we enter a zone of silence filled only with stealthy footsteps. We follow the direction of those footsteps until a door in the wall is before us. One by one others open and close it as they vanish.
Artur shoulders forward. “I will check.”
He ducks forward and is swiftly at the exit. After a young woman flits through, he opens the door and quickly swings his head around. Moments later he runs back.
“A narrow ledge. One misstep and the cliffs have us,” he heaves.
I put Siri and Horin on Forest. After collecting my pack from that seedy room, I lead the way into madness.
Porlese reels under an onslaught of running feet, chasing hooves, screams and gargles. Blood darkens the cobbles. Fires spring up at random everywhere. We hear the sound of whips, which causes Siri to flinch so hard I realise whips were commonplace in the slave pen. I want to ask if she felt the bite, but know also I cannot deal with my fury if she confirms it happened.
We go on, weaving among frantic and desperate others. I trust Artur and the Grenmassin men to keep us together from behind.
What feels like hours later, but is less than half of one, we see the southern city arch before us. We also notice a host of men on horseback wielding whips, clubs and swords. Slaves long downtrodden attempt to drag them from their mounts. The sounds raise every hair on my body.
Through that I cannot lead Siri and Horin.
Siri, from her higher vantage, notices something more and leans over to whisper, “Some are heading that way.” She points west.
A smaller exit only locals know about? It is worth a look. Nodding, I gesture to the others, and we swing off the main thoroughfare. Soon we enter a zone of silence filled only with stealthy footsteps. We follow the direction of those footsteps until a door in the wall is before us. One by one others open and close it as they vanish.
Artur shoulders forward. “I will check.”
He ducks forward and is swiftly at the exit. After a young woman flits through, he opens the door and quickly swings his head around. Moments later he runs back.
“A narrow ledge. One misstep and the cliffs have us,” he heaves.
October 7, 2015
The King's Challenge #69
TKC 69
Concerted movement is unstoppable, particularly when a host moves as one. It is also dangerous. This kind of action flows through the city of Porlese, as the slaves and those less fortunate choose to take their chances by walking south. They are also choosing freedom from oppression and it makes them strong. Despite the screaming as the masters attempt to stop them, they are now of one mind and their choice will not now be denied.
Here, at these gates, concerted movement is as dangerous, for a different reason. The host here is bottle-necked. In their desperation for freedom, many will be hurt.
“Siri! Stay where you are!” I shout. “I will come for you!” I hope she hears me, for the noise of the rush is now overpowering.
I step aside as the gates crash down and people fall over each other to get out.
“Go south!” I shout. “Follow the others!”
As people flow past, I realise many hundreds were captured. I also understand, while they are panicked, injuries now are less than the death they approached from the edge of a cliff. I say no more. I hope the Grenmassin crowd has more insight and have stayed back.
They have. After most have fled the pen, a group of around twenty approach more slowly, among them Siri … and Horin.
Siri flings herself into my arms and holds on, sobbing. I clutch my sister to me and then raise an arm to Horin. “Lyra is safe too,” I murmur. He hurtles into our embrace, tears flowing.
“We must go, Damin,” Artur, the village stonemason, says as he closes in. “We are beyond happy to see you, but it is time to leave.”
He is right. Disengaging, but holding onto both Siri and Horin’s hands, I say, “Follow me. Quick now.”
Concerted movement is unstoppable, particularly when a host moves as one. It is also dangerous. This kind of action flows through the city of Porlese, as the slaves and those less fortunate choose to take their chances by walking south. They are also choosing freedom from oppression and it makes them strong. Despite the screaming as the masters attempt to stop them, they are now of one mind and their choice will not now be denied.
Here, at these gates, concerted movement is as dangerous, for a different reason. The host here is bottle-necked. In their desperation for freedom, many will be hurt.
“Siri! Stay where you are!” I shout. “I will come for you!” I hope she hears me, for the noise of the rush is now overpowering.
I step aside as the gates crash down and people fall over each other to get out.
“Go south!” I shout. “Follow the others!”
As people flow past, I realise many hundreds were captured. I also understand, while they are panicked, injuries now are less than the death they approached from the edge of a cliff. I say no more. I hope the Grenmassin crowd has more insight and have stayed back.
They have. After most have fled the pen, a group of around twenty approach more slowly, among them Siri … and Horin.
Siri flings herself into my arms and holds on, sobbing. I clutch my sister to me and then raise an arm to Horin. “Lyra is safe too,” I murmur. He hurtles into our embrace, tears flowing.
“We must go, Damin,” Artur, the village stonemason, says as he closes in. “We are beyond happy to see you, but it is time to leave.”
He is right. Disengaging, but holding onto both Siri and Horin’s hands, I say, “Follow me. Quick now.”
86 000+!
Thank you for visiting!
xxx
xxx
October 6, 2015
The King's Challenge #68
TKC 68
Knowing the Grenmassin men will move into positions where they will be effective, I ignore the captured to concentrate on the two guards.
I will now do something Delvers are not meant to do, but are capable of. Instead of reading their emotions, I aim to project to them. While I receive emotions as images, what I see is a personal interpretation. Thus, sending coiling snakes, which to me speaks of fear, may achieve nothing, for they may not feel that fear. Emotions are personal; therefore imagery is personal.
This is where imagination comes into play. I shall create a situation and project it as their reality. Delvers have rules of conduct, but what happens here to innocent people does not deserve adherence to those rules.
They will know fear, as their prisoners have known it. This is part spite, but it is also justice.
I do not have time to become too creative, however. Keep it simple, Damin. Use something most people fear, something that will have them open the gates to run away.
Spiders tend to work really well for this. Grinning to myself, I imagine a host of hairy monsters scuttling from the wall before them.
One guard nudges the other, and points. His mate stares at the wall, gaping. Both shudder.
The spiders reach the bottom and veer onto the cobbles and head directly towards them.
Both men retreat a few paces, eyes widening.
The monsters gather to rush at them.
Boots thud as the men jump in place, gasps of horror accompanying every action.
Spiked limbs start climbing towards their groins.
Both men scream and hurtle at the gates. Within seconds they are running into the city.
Only moments later I am fighting with the lock at the second set. “Siri!”
Then I hear my sister. “Damin? Damin!”
Knowing the Grenmassin men will move into positions where they will be effective, I ignore the captured to concentrate on the two guards.
I will now do something Delvers are not meant to do, but are capable of. Instead of reading their emotions, I aim to project to them. While I receive emotions as images, what I see is a personal interpretation. Thus, sending coiling snakes, which to me speaks of fear, may achieve nothing, for they may not feel that fear. Emotions are personal; therefore imagery is personal.
This is where imagination comes into play. I shall create a situation and project it as their reality. Delvers have rules of conduct, but what happens here to innocent people does not deserve adherence to those rules.
They will know fear, as their prisoners have known it. This is part spite, but it is also justice.
I do not have time to become too creative, however. Keep it simple, Damin. Use something most people fear, something that will have them open the gates to run away.
Spiders tend to work really well for this. Grinning to myself, I imagine a host of hairy monsters scuttling from the wall before them.
One guard nudges the other, and points. His mate stares at the wall, gaping. Both shudder.
The spiders reach the bottom and veer onto the cobbles and head directly towards them.
Both men retreat a few paces, eyes widening.
The monsters gather to rush at them.
Boots thud as the men jump in place, gasps of horror accompanying every action.
Spiked limbs start climbing towards their groins.
Both men scream and hurtle at the gates. Within seconds they are running into the city.
Only moments later I am fighting with the lock at the second set. “Siri!”
Then I hear my sister. “Damin? Damin!”
