| Subject: Thankee matey. I'm glad ye like it so much. Next part's ready to be read inside. |
Author:
Sekin
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Date Posted: 19:57:57 10/15/04 Fri
In reply to:
Windy
's message, "That is really really good... I've heard some good stories before but this is a seriously good one congrats mate!" on 01:18:20 10/15/04 Fri
When people looked at Mavahon Scahach, they saw the perfect example of a war-hardened soldier. She stood straight at her post, arms over her chest and feet planted firmly apart. Her body was neither rigid nor relaxed, but tensed as if she was ready to spring, but not on the verge of doing so. And although the pieces of armor she wore were not light, she bore the weight stoically, neither shifting her helmet nor tugging her steel-backed gauntlets on tighter.
Her companion was not quite the same. Twirling his cloak uneasily, he kept darting glances sideways at the door they were positioned on either side of. Licking his lips, he looked at Mavahon’s face, hidden in the shadows of her helmet and whispered, “How long will it take?’
Mavahon’s disapproval was clear in the way that she stiffened slightly. Her eyes remained on the corridor in front of her however and when she spoke her voice was curt but gentle. “Lord Iadorn will take as long as he needs. Now eyes forwards please Chembrawn. Thank you.”
Chembrawn waited for a more elaborate answer but when her ensuing silence convinced him that she was done talking, he sighed. Resting a hand on the pommel of the sword at his side, Chembrawn traced the inscription on the hilt with a wandering finger. “Amen’o’min, lastith o gadhar,” the young Guard whispered. Those words were engraved on every sword hilt in the Tower.
A slight smile played around Mavahon’s lips. She remembered her curiosity at that strange inscription too, when she had first become a Guard. “The Tower is my blood,” she translated, “my blood is its.”
He glanced at her in surprise. “That’s what it means?”
Mavahon gave one curt nod. “Aye, the words are written in Sea Speech, but converted, that’s what they say.”
Chembrawn’s eyes shone with agreement. “How true,” he whispered.
Mavahon laughed softly. “Wait until you have served longer than one year to say such things.”
Chembrawn stiffened as if struck, scowling angrily. “I’ve bled for this Tower already,” he growled sulkily. “You’re not the only one who bears scars.”
Her eyes darted to him for a split second. “My apologies Chembrawn. Sometimes I just forget how much is demanded even from young recruits.” Her gaze then snapped immediately back to the corridor that stretched before them.”
Iadorn had asked that only six candles be lit in the tall, bronze candlesticks that lined the hallway. Six, he had said, was a powerful, lucky number. Mavahon didn’t quite agree. With only the designated amount of candles illuminating the entire corridor, the shadows held sway, covering almost everything in darkness. She felt slightly handicapped and weakened, especially because she knew much of an edge the shadows gave to potential assassins. Had she not respected Iadorn as much as she did, Mavahon would have long since lit the rest of the candles.
To make matters worse, her partner the-wet-behind-the-ears Chembrawn, seemed more intent on staring at her than the corridor they were supposed to be watching. Then again, Mavahon had that effect on most male Guards. She was pretty, if in an imposing way. Her dark hair fell just past her shoulder and was framed by the shinny silver of her helmet. She had a tall, lean body that moved with all the gracefulness of a stalking cat. Yet she looked more natural in the armor of the Tower Guards and seldom wore anything else. Her arms and her back especially, bore scars both recent and old that had been won over her long years of service. To top the whole image off, her deep brown eyes were sharp and piercing. All in all, she was more like a dagger than anything else. A dagger is admired for its lethal beauty, but try to play around with it and you will get cut.
Chembrawn was just realizing this. “Mavahon is it true?” he asked, “That you almost died to save Lord Iadorn? Is it true that you took the spear thrust aimed at him by the Barbarian King?”
Mavahon sighed and uncrossed her arms. Leaning over, she grasped the sides of his helmet and pulled his head to the left until he was gazing down the hallway. “Keep your eyes there,” she muttered, withdrawing her hands.
Chembrawn was not put off so easily. “And did the Barbarian King stand ten feet tall? Did he have glowing purple eyes with pure white pupils and was his spear made out of-“
Mavahon’s sword hissed out of its sheath, causing her partner to rapidly close his mouth and stand to attention. “Lies,” she said calmly. She hefted her weapon and an unspoken threat settled between them. “The truth is not glamorous at all. If you must know, I was almost killed, but by my own foolishness, not by bravery. I thought that I could tackle a demon by myself and I paid the price…But I was young and foolish then. I now know that vigilance and awareness can save you, and it helps if you have a whole lot of common sense.”
“Oh,” Chembrawn said quietly in a small, lonely voice. For a long time, he was blissfully silent, following Mavahon’s lead and surveying the shadows for a hint of danger. When he next spoke, his voice was even softer. “The Tower claims many lives, doesn’t it?”
Mavahon was about to reply when footsteps rang out of in front of them. Glancing at Chembrawn, Mavahon noted that he had not yet drawn his swords. She took the initiative to shove him firmly behind her and face the corridor herself. Through the shadows, she could see a tall figure striding towards them, the blade of some broad weapon rising above his shoulder. Mavahon curled the fingers of one hand around her sword even tighter and clenched her other hand into a fist, waiting for the figure to take several more steps and walk into a pool of candlelight.
The unknown intruder came forwards, neither calling out a password of recognition or a welcome. Mavahon tensed as with one more stride, the person walked into the small patch of bright light.
She sprang just as she recognized him. It was all she could do to avoid impaling him on her sword blade as she lunged. He sprang backwards with a muffled curse and Mavahon skidded to a halt as she regained her balance. “Radan! Have you gone suicidal?” Mavahon demanded, slamming her sword back into its sheath.
Radan lowered his hand that he had raised to unsheathe his battle axe. “Mav, I was actually waiting for you to say something like “Halt and be recognized.” Normally you ask BEFORE you come out swinging.”
Despite herself, Mavahon smiled. “All right, I’m sorry.”
Radan grinned back. “It’s been a while Mavahon.”
She rolled her eyes but her hug told him that she agreed. “Too long.”
“Ahh, tell me about it,” he laughed. “Been too busy eh?”
“Overworked is more like it. I’m glad you came!”
Radan winked at her. “I’m glad that you didn’t behead me.” They both laughed.
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