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edenfallingHere's the next bit of the NaNo thing. Again, please remember this is the rough draft.
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Chapter 1: I Will Show You Something Different, Parts II and III
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Talin sat silently in his father's study, waiting for Arhed ben Cilvar to join him. He and Bren had parted ways at the front gate, Talin entering the house and Bren continuing down the path to the stream and her family's land.
"I'll keep the sword safe," she'd said, to which Talin had nodded reluctantly.
Sumin, his father's steward, had escorted him into the study and gone to fetch the master from whatever business he'd accuse Talin of interrupting this day. Usually it wasn't anything important, but then, there was very little Arhed ben Cilvar didn't find more important than his only son, or at least claim to find more important.
The door banged open and Arhed stalked into the study, his lean, broad-shouldered frame marred by his stooped posture and gloomy, turbulent air. Nevertheless, he dominated the room, drawing the dim light from the oak-paneled walls to himself and leaving everything darker despite the additional light streaming in through the open doorway.
He scowled at Talin. "Shut the door."
Silently, Talin closed the door, turning the latch to prevent interruptions. He resumed his seat and watched his father pace around the small room.
"You're late," Arhed announced, facing out the window, not deigning to look at his son.
"My apologies, sir," Talin said, keeping his voice even and face blank through long practice.
"Why?"
"I was with Bren, touring the high pastures."
Arhed snorted. "That's a waste of time. You'll never understand running an estate, and that girl only fills your head with useless nonsense. She's as worthless as her father." He spun to face his son. "I've told you not to see her, yet you continue to disobey."
Talin didn't respond. Any defense of Bren would only degenerate into shouting and get him punished more than he was already going to be. And he couldn't deny that he'd continued to see his cousin despite his father's orders.
Arhed nodded fractionally. "No lies from you -- good. Now. You're eighteen, two years past manhood, and ready by law to assume some responsibility for your life. Obviously the law knows nothing of your case, but soon or late I won't be here to guide you and you must learn the right ways before then. Do you hear?"
Talin blinked. His father was acknowledging that he wasn't a boy anymore? He'd given up hope of that within a month past his sixteenth birthday, when it became clear that despite his legal adulthood, Arhed would never relinquish his authority. And nobody in the valley or on the mountain would dispute the word of the Cilvar. Lordship still meant that much in southern Kanos, though it was otherwise fading into little more than the right to sit in the Assembly and act as the local tax collector.
Talin nodded. "I hear, sir."
"Therefore," continued Arhed, "I have arranged for you to enter the service of Lord Teluran ben Marthicc of Meleddain. This is a great honor for us, to have a lord of the Inner Council grace our house with his notice and favor. It's taken me the two years since your majority to arrange this, and you will uphold my efforts with honor. We'll leave as soon as the Assembly is in recess and he returns to his lands; during this coming month, I expect you to review your court etiquette and attempt to behave in a manner befitting your station."
Arhed smiled, the thin, barely visible quirk of his lips that was as close as he ever came to pleasure. "I know you can make me proud. For once, live up to your potential. Dismissed."
He sat behind his desk and shifted a pile of closely-written accounts before himself, setting them into two stacks and running a finger across the columns, whispering numbers under his breath. His son might as well have become invisible.
Talin bowed anyhow; he was never entirely certain how much of his father's attention might still be on him, despite appearances, and now of all times he needed to mind his forms. He withdrew backwards to the door, unlatched it, and slipped out as noiselessly as possible.
Talin's mind whirled as he closed the door. A term of service to a lord of the queen's Inner Council? The attention of the great houses brought down upon Car Cilvar? What was his father thinking? They were of the south, the old kingdoms of Orifan! They lived in peace, except for the bandits and border raids, precisely because they were of no interest to the great houses. The middle south was the backwater of Kanos and Talin liked his home that way. What did his father see in the backstabbing politics of the great houses anyhow? They had no need of court influence, nor favors, and Talin would have sworn that Arhed stayed away from the Assembly because he loathed the other nobility. What was different about Teluran ben Marthicc?
"Nadra Kings take his soul!" He wouldn't go. He'd done his best to be a dutiful son, done his best to follow his father's commands and still be his own man, but this was the breaking point, the final weight on the scales.
Talin was a man by law, and a man could make his own destiny. Arhed couldn't even bind him to his will under the laws of inheritance, if it came to the worst; Bren's father had as much right to the ben Cilvar estates as Talin, being Arhed's own brother.
Bren would know what to do, Talin decided. Bren always knew what to do, and if she didn't, she could at least take him somewhere private so he could yell while she thought of a plan.
He slipped through the house, silent through long practice, and escaped over the water.
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Ranna watched the students as they ran through sword drills -- some practicing patterns, some fighting mock-duels with wooden blades, and a few, under the instructors' watchful guidance, fighting with live steel. Tomorrow her brother would be one of them, just another body straining against its limits in the bare, sunlit practice halls.
"You're certain they'll accept Arik without too much resentment?" she asked, eyes fixed on the bright flashes of steel and the occasional touches of blood seeping through padded clothes.
Eydvar shrugged. "Who can say? But he's a friendly boy, and while he won't outshine them, he also won't lag behind. That should cut off many paths to resentment, my queen."
Ranna turned. "Eydvar..."
His mouth twitched. "Nine hundred apologies, my queen, but the forms are the forms. In our positions, we can't afford to flout them."
"Nadra Kings take the forms," Ranna muttered. "They keep me from accomplishing anything. How can I go anywhere or talk to anyone if they'll always be bowing and praising every five seconds? You saw what happened when I walked through the practice halls!"
"Eh, who can change it? The world is as it is." Eydvar patted Ranna on the shoulder, a gesture left over from her childhood when she had sneaked into the school and perched on windowsills to watch the students fight. She hadn't minded the blood in those days, but then, it hadn't been her brother who might be the next one bleeding.
"There is a way to change things," she said quietly. "You know I'm right. And I'm going to find it." She drew herself up against Eydvar's blank-faced worry and disapproval, wrapping the mantle of her position around herself.
"Thank you for this meeting, Blade-master Shvikur. I commend my brother, Arik Salomun Altus-Mordrin, First Prince of the Sword, into your hands. His blood is as yours; if one should die, so shall the other."
Eydvar bent in the stiff half-bow of a soldier to his commanding officer. "Your command is written on my heart, my queen."
Ranna nodded. "It had damn well better be, Eydvar. I'll be watching you."
She left the observation balcony, collecting her honor guard at the door and sweeping down the stairs. As she entered the first practice hall, the instructors barked commands at the students. Everyone pulled up, raised their swords in salute, and bowed. Ranna nodded habitually.
The ritual repeated itself as she proceeded through the school to the ironbound gates; the students and the Brothers of the Sword saluted and bowed, while the servants dropped to one knee and bent their heads.
It was all useless, Ranna thought as she stepped into her carriage outside the gates. The show of respect meant nothing; it was a tool to soothe her desire for power, no more. The lords had stolen power from her ancestors, and every generation they chipped away more of the queen's strength. Only the common folk still thought her position meant something, and only the soldiers knew she was all that held their country together against the competing lords inside and the hungry nations outside their borders.
The Assembly had elected her because she was young, because she was only a distant cousin of the old queen and hadn't learned to rule. They thought she'd be so easy to manipulate, so grateful to gain prestige, that they hadn't even bothered to wring more concessions of power in return for her ascension.
They had made a mistake.
Ranna smiled grimly to herself. She'd never wanted to be queen, never wanted to bother with politics and wars and money -- she'd planned on leaving the city after her sixteenth birthday, retiring to her estates to raise horses as a minor country lady -- but the Assembly had thrown a gauntlet at her feet and expected her to refuse the challenge. Instead, she'd picked it up.
And Ranna never lost.
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In other news, have been busy with my needle lately -- repaired some underwear with a ripped seam, stiched up the torn lining of my nice wool pants, and lowered the hems of another pair of pants. (I can't figure out why they were hemmed so high in the first place -- I got them 3/4" longer just by undoing the old hem and reducing it by half. *shakes head at silly clothing designers*)
I can't use a sewing machine to save my life, but I hand-stitch pretty well!
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Chapter 1: I Will Show You Something Different, Parts II and III
---------------------------------------------
Talin sat silently in his father's study, waiting for Arhed ben Cilvar to join him. He and Bren had parted ways at the front gate, Talin entering the house and Bren continuing down the path to the stream and her family's land.
"I'll keep the sword safe," she'd said, to which Talin had nodded reluctantly.
Sumin, his father's steward, had escorted him into the study and gone to fetch the master from whatever business he'd accuse Talin of interrupting this day. Usually it wasn't anything important, but then, there was very little Arhed ben Cilvar didn't find more important than his only son, or at least claim to find more important.
The door banged open and Arhed stalked into the study, his lean, broad-shouldered frame marred by his stooped posture and gloomy, turbulent air. Nevertheless, he dominated the room, drawing the dim light from the oak-paneled walls to himself and leaving everything darker despite the additional light streaming in through the open doorway.
He scowled at Talin. "Shut the door."
Silently, Talin closed the door, turning the latch to prevent interruptions. He resumed his seat and watched his father pace around the small room.
"You're late," Arhed announced, facing out the window, not deigning to look at his son.
"My apologies, sir," Talin said, keeping his voice even and face blank through long practice.
"Why?"
"I was with Bren, touring the high pastures."
Arhed snorted. "That's a waste of time. You'll never understand running an estate, and that girl only fills your head with useless nonsense. She's as worthless as her father." He spun to face his son. "I've told you not to see her, yet you continue to disobey."
Talin didn't respond. Any defense of Bren would only degenerate into shouting and get him punished more than he was already going to be. And he couldn't deny that he'd continued to see his cousin despite his father's orders.
Arhed nodded fractionally. "No lies from you -- good. Now. You're eighteen, two years past manhood, and ready by law to assume some responsibility for your life. Obviously the law knows nothing of your case, but soon or late I won't be here to guide you and you must learn the right ways before then. Do you hear?"
Talin blinked. His father was acknowledging that he wasn't a boy anymore? He'd given up hope of that within a month past his sixteenth birthday, when it became clear that despite his legal adulthood, Arhed would never relinquish his authority. And nobody in the valley or on the mountain would dispute the word of the Cilvar. Lordship still meant that much in southern Kanos, though it was otherwise fading into little more than the right to sit in the Assembly and act as the local tax collector.
Talin nodded. "I hear, sir."
"Therefore," continued Arhed, "I have arranged for you to enter the service of Lord Teluran ben Marthicc of Meleddain. This is a great honor for us, to have a lord of the Inner Council grace our house with his notice and favor. It's taken me the two years since your majority to arrange this, and you will uphold my efforts with honor. We'll leave as soon as the Assembly is in recess and he returns to his lands; during this coming month, I expect you to review your court etiquette and attempt to behave in a manner befitting your station."
Arhed smiled, the thin, barely visible quirk of his lips that was as close as he ever came to pleasure. "I know you can make me proud. For once, live up to your potential. Dismissed."
He sat behind his desk and shifted a pile of closely-written accounts before himself, setting them into two stacks and running a finger across the columns, whispering numbers under his breath. His son might as well have become invisible.
Talin bowed anyhow; he was never entirely certain how much of his father's attention might still be on him, despite appearances, and now of all times he needed to mind his forms. He withdrew backwards to the door, unlatched it, and slipped out as noiselessly as possible.
Talin's mind whirled as he closed the door. A term of service to a lord of the queen's Inner Council? The attention of the great houses brought down upon Car Cilvar? What was his father thinking? They were of the south, the old kingdoms of Orifan! They lived in peace, except for the bandits and border raids, precisely because they were of no interest to the great houses. The middle south was the backwater of Kanos and Talin liked his home that way. What did his father see in the backstabbing politics of the great houses anyhow? They had no need of court influence, nor favors, and Talin would have sworn that Arhed stayed away from the Assembly because he loathed the other nobility. What was different about Teluran ben Marthicc?
"Nadra Kings take his soul!" He wouldn't go. He'd done his best to be a dutiful son, done his best to follow his father's commands and still be his own man, but this was the breaking point, the final weight on the scales.
Talin was a man by law, and a man could make his own destiny. Arhed couldn't even bind him to his will under the laws of inheritance, if it came to the worst; Bren's father had as much right to the ben Cilvar estates as Talin, being Arhed's own brother.
Bren would know what to do, Talin decided. Bren always knew what to do, and if she didn't, she could at least take him somewhere private so he could yell while she thought of a plan.
He slipped through the house, silent through long practice, and escaped over the water.
---------------------------------------------
Ranna watched the students as they ran through sword drills -- some practicing patterns, some fighting mock-duels with wooden blades, and a few, under the instructors' watchful guidance, fighting with live steel. Tomorrow her brother would be one of them, just another body straining against its limits in the bare, sunlit practice halls.
"You're certain they'll accept Arik without too much resentment?" she asked, eyes fixed on the bright flashes of steel and the occasional touches of blood seeping through padded clothes.
Eydvar shrugged. "Who can say? But he's a friendly boy, and while he won't outshine them, he also won't lag behind. That should cut off many paths to resentment, my queen."
Ranna turned. "Eydvar..."
His mouth twitched. "Nine hundred apologies, my queen, but the forms are the forms. In our positions, we can't afford to flout them."
"Nadra Kings take the forms," Ranna muttered. "They keep me from accomplishing anything. How can I go anywhere or talk to anyone if they'll always be bowing and praising every five seconds? You saw what happened when I walked through the practice halls!"
"Eh, who can change it? The world is as it is." Eydvar patted Ranna on the shoulder, a gesture left over from her childhood when she had sneaked into the school and perched on windowsills to watch the students fight. She hadn't minded the blood in those days, but then, it hadn't been her brother who might be the next one bleeding.
"There is a way to change things," she said quietly. "You know I'm right. And I'm going to find it." She drew herself up against Eydvar's blank-faced worry and disapproval, wrapping the mantle of her position around herself.
"Thank you for this meeting, Blade-master Shvikur. I commend my brother, Arik Salomun Altus-Mordrin, First Prince of the Sword, into your hands. His blood is as yours; if one should die, so shall the other."
Eydvar bent in the stiff half-bow of a soldier to his commanding officer. "Your command is written on my heart, my queen."
Ranna nodded. "It had damn well better be, Eydvar. I'll be watching you."
She left the observation balcony, collecting her honor guard at the door and sweeping down the stairs. As she entered the first practice hall, the instructors barked commands at the students. Everyone pulled up, raised their swords in salute, and bowed. Ranna nodded habitually.
The ritual repeated itself as she proceeded through the school to the ironbound gates; the students and the Brothers of the Sword saluted and bowed, while the servants dropped to one knee and bent their heads.
It was all useless, Ranna thought as she stepped into her carriage outside the gates. The show of respect meant nothing; it was a tool to soothe her desire for power, no more. The lords had stolen power from her ancestors, and every generation they chipped away more of the queen's strength. Only the common folk still thought her position meant something, and only the soldiers knew she was all that held their country together against the competing lords inside and the hungry nations outside their borders.
The Assembly had elected her because she was young, because she was only a distant cousin of the old queen and hadn't learned to rule. They thought she'd be so easy to manipulate, so grateful to gain prestige, that they hadn't even bothered to wring more concessions of power in return for her ascension.
They had made a mistake.
Ranna smiled grimly to herself. She'd never wanted to be queen, never wanted to bother with politics and wars and money -- she'd planned on leaving the city after her sixteenth birthday, retiring to her estates to raise horses as a minor country lady -- but the Assembly had thrown a gauntlet at her feet and expected her to refuse the challenge. Instead, she'd picked it up.
And Ranna never lost.
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In other news, have been busy with my needle lately -- repaired some underwear with a ripped seam, stiched up the torn lining of my nice wool pants, and lowered the hems of another pair of pants. (I can't figure out why they were hemmed so high in the first place -- I got them 3/4" longer just by undoing the old hem and reducing it by half. *shakes head at silly clothing designers*)
I can't use a sewing machine to save my life, but I hand-stitch pretty well!
