were stopped before we ever reached open ground, and only the smell on the wind, increased presence of blood spatters, and macabre tree ornaments told of how close we were. One of the fifteen guards left with O’Conner.
The world has a lot of injustices. Nobles love to pretend they do not exist, but usually only for themselves. Any poor sod who gets caught on the battlefield can look to a short hard life inside of a mine, or perhaps a quick hanging, or a knife across the throat. Nobles, on the other hand, are whisked from the battlefield and treated as, well- nobles. I would have a note of genuine disgust at that, but I think it might be hypocritical since that self delusion is the reason I’m not being hanged, stabbed, or enslaved. It was especially useful, since winter came down upon us with the subtlety and kindness of a hurled anvil.
If only the sequence of events made sense.
Hour after hour passed, and though discipline became more lax, there wasn’t any kind of opportunity at escape that included the Lady and her carriage. The runner returned with food, bread for the boys and I as well as a cold repast of roasted fowl and fruit for her nobleness. We were all watered, and to Godwin’s relief (did I mention relief?) the horses were included and began to recover.
It was near night by the time O’Conner returned, a self satisfied grin firmly in place. I weighed his traits and decided that if I did anything next it would be met with violence. I took a guess at how much.
I stood up and put myself between he and Aelia, voice lilting, “Captain–“
I forced my hands to stay at my sides, I locked my legs to keep from moving, but I couldn’t stop myself from leaning away from the blow as he hit me again, this time across the cheek with a riding crop. The blazing column of pain caused the entire world to dissolve into bright white. I had planned to fall down, and it was a good thing too. I missed what he said to Aelia, but there was some shouting. Inside of my ringing ears, everything was confused.
At least I was able to get up by the time we were being collected to move on. O’Conner walked back by me, tantalizingly within reach when he paused.
“The next time you sully the memory of my noble lineage with words directed at me, fool,” O’Conner smiled grimly as he made what he thought of as a joke, “One of us is going to die.”
I bowed my head, meekly, but inside the Beast roared a promise loud enough to shatter mountains. There was no doubt that we were prisoners, but there was no explanation yet as to why. We had a cell large enough for thirty more people, and it was even out of the wind, though only through a quirk of history, and not due to any kindness of our captors.
The King came to power twenty years ago in The Reunification war between the Grand Dukes and Duchesses of the Kingdom. The civil war had raged for fifty years, enough for the Kingdom to be well on its way to considering itself a series of separate fiefdoms. That’s when the last of the great raids of Western Barbarians flooded over the Northern Ridge Mountains. They made it half way through our nation, laying waste to whole regions and demanding tribute from everyone else, before they were stopped.
A simple knight from an ancient family rode into the conquered territories and began organizing the people. Defeated knights, bow carrying woodsmen, and footmen wielding hastily forged spears became a tide behind him. He resurrected a tradition of our ancient fathers: The castra . It is a military discipline wherein, every night, soldiers cut down trees, raise a palisade, dig a dual–purpose trench and latrine around the walls, and fill the trench with sharpened stakes. Where there are no trees they use dirt, or snow, or even stacked rocks. Within these impromptu walls they are allowed to pitch their tents. It slows down
The world has a lot of injustices. Nobles love to pretend they do not exist, but usually only for themselves. Any poor sod who gets caught on the battlefield can look to a short hard life inside of a mine, or perhaps a quick hanging, or a knife across the throat. Nobles, on the other hand, are whisked from the battlefield and treated as, well- nobles. I would have a note of genuine disgust at that, but I think it might be hypocritical since that self delusion is the reason I’m not being hanged, stabbed, or enslaved. It was especially useful, since winter came down upon us with the subtlety and kindness of a hurled anvil.
If only the sequence of events made sense.
Hour after hour passed, and though discipline became more lax, there wasn’t any kind of opportunity at escape that included the Lady and her carriage. The runner returned with food, bread for the boys and I as well as a cold repast of roasted fowl and fruit for her nobleness. We were all watered, and to Godwin’s relief (did I mention relief?) the horses were included and began to recover.
It was near night by the time O’Conner returned, a self satisfied grin firmly in place. I weighed his traits and decided that if I did anything next it would be met with violence. I took a guess at how much.
I stood up and put myself between he and Aelia, voice lilting, “Captain–“
I forced my hands to stay at my sides, I locked my legs to keep from moving, but I couldn’t stop myself from leaning away from the blow as he hit me again, this time across the cheek with a riding crop. The blazing column of pain caused the entire world to dissolve into bright white. I had planned to fall down, and it was a good thing too. I missed what he said to Aelia, but there was some shouting. Inside of my ringing ears, everything was confused.
At least I was able to get up by the time we were being collected to move on. O’Conner walked back by me, tantalizingly within reach when he paused.
“The next time you sully the memory of my noble lineage with words directed at me, fool,” O’Conner smiled grimly as he made what he thought of as a joke, “One of us is going to die.”
I bowed my head, meekly, but inside the Beast roared a promise loud enough to shatter mountains. There was no doubt that we were prisoners, but there was no explanation yet as to why. We had a cell large enough for thirty more people, and it was even out of the wind, though only through a quirk of history, and not due to any kindness of our captors.
The King came to power twenty years ago in The Reunification war between the Grand Dukes and Duchesses of the Kingdom. The civil war had raged for fifty years, enough for the Kingdom to be well on its way to considering itself a series of separate fiefdoms. That’s when the last of the great raids of Western Barbarians flooded over the Northern Ridge Mountains. They made it half way through our nation, laying waste to whole regions and demanding tribute from everyone else, before they were stopped.
A simple knight from an ancient family rode into the conquered territories and began organizing the people. Defeated knights, bow carrying woodsmen, and footmen wielding hastily forged spears became a tide behind him. He resurrected a tradition of our ancient fathers: The castra . It is a military discipline wherein, every night, soldiers cut down trees, raise a palisade, dig a dual–purpose trench and latrine around the walls, and fill the trench with sharpened stakes. Where there are no trees they use dirt, or snow, or even stacked rocks. Within these impromptu walls they are allowed to pitch their tents. It slows down
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