Gyse, Láréow, an excerpt

She blinked, but only blackness stared back. Her breath surrounded her face. Moist and warm. Heavy footsteps bounded around her. She pulled the blanket from her face and caught the flutter of shadows running from her and into the forest, until silence encompassed her. Light from torches floated along the road they had taken. The creak of wagon wheels and footsteps drew near. Cognizant of the fact that she was alone and defenseless, terror scraped against the edges of her mind. She stood, but pitched forward, landing hard on her hands and knees and jarring her senses.

Despite her acceptance in what was happening to her, she would go in her own accord. With tremendous strain, she mounted, pressed her body against its back and gently squeezed with her thighs. The animal ambled away from camp, following the shadows of the trees.

In the wake of her exertion, her head pounded mercilessly. A sharp pain shot down her legs. Like the pain which struck her without warning, so did the profanity which slipped from her lips. She gripped her thigh with her free hand. It was then she tasted blood in the back of her throat and her nose began to bleed. Frenzied horror seized her mind and tears formed at the corner of her eyes. She swallowed the blood and the ball in her throat and wiped the blood from her nose with her sleeve.

She placated her mind and closed her eyes against the throbbing which assaulted her body, but did not allow consciousness slip from her. If she fell from her beast, she would not be able to stand again, let alone mount.

Fever and exhaustion caused her muscles to spasms and her body to shudder. Her teeth chattered.

As twilight settled in her mind and her body resigning to the darkness, from the fog of her mind, she heard her name. Pulling herself from the murk, she slowly became aware of the gentle rock of the theriine still beneath her. Somewhere, the sunlight cast warmth against her skin. Opening her eyes, indistinct shapes converged around her. She was only certain she was no longer in the cover of trees. A circle of blood stained her sleeve which rested below her face.

Her name came again.

The swaying stopped and a heavy hand fell against her back. Pain. She lived. His face filled her vision. Finn's voice came to her ear, and he continued to speak, but comforted by another's presence, she allowed consciousness to slip from her. It was enough.

~~~

He collected stalks to fashion a small trap. Deep in the vernal marshland and far from the post, tracking in the soft ground and mid-afternoon light was effortless. Bird droppings marked the grass like white flags; large lizards marked by the drag of their tail; and rodents, their unique print, staggered small front feet paired with elongated hind feet. With the degree of settling of the mud; the hard hay-like fragments of plant cuticle and stalk made up the rodent's diet, he concluded they passed through twenty-two bells ago. In the distance, brushes surrounded a tree. Even further, the glimmer of water. The obvious path the lizards made, led straight toward the water. Birds also circled the area.

In the distance, Hugh approached a cluster of brush and trees with the breeze at his face. After several moments, he inched forward. Then stopped. Looked. Watched. He didn't proceed any closer to the brushes. Instead, he continued further into the marsh and disappeared under the grass.

He turned his attention back to his task and headed toward the brush where he quickly attached his simple snag on the branch of a brush. The rodent's white under coat caught in the twigs of the branches, a flurry of footprints and hard scat. He followed in the direction Hugh had gone. The flurry of padded foot in the mud gradually petered into single tracks. Keeping the breeze on his face and the scat and tracks between him and sun, he walked. Ahead, Hugh was on one knee with his bow drawn. A squarish head peaked over the tall grass.

The oversized rabbit took the both of them some time to gut and clean it in the pool of water. Although he knew the border guards would have appreciated the innards, they left it for the birds and lizards which inhabited the area.

At sun set, the cooks had prepared a thick stew and they ate. Raffe was missing from the mess tent.

He stepped from the tent and into the street of the sprawling compound recently erected after Belenus failed to overtake the syndicates by force. The Ira Border Observation Post, manned with no less than fifty border guards and a dozen construction personnel, stood five bells from the marshlands. It contained a total of thirty DRASH tents for sleeping quarters and command posts, two general purpose tents for dining and infirmary, two maintenance tents and two temporary watchtowers.

Stripped of his armor and in his infirmary garb, Raffe was a slight figure on a stool. He intently watched her from behind clasped hands. His head turned slightly and he stood upon his approach. "Brother Finn."

The lesions which plagued her body, blistered. Some had erupted and had stained her clothing and bedding with thick, yellowish liquid. The fetid odor of decay assailed his senses. It didn't seem to effect the attendant.

The youth chewed at the inner side of his lower lip. "I've never seen a case as severe as hers. The prisoners under Rougefort Castle suffered the same manifestation of fever, blisters, ulcers." He protracted her bottom lip. "Even in her mouth. For the moment, I have only given her basic remedies for ague and general discomfort."

by Jade Saelee

Read the complete version here: Gyse, Láréow 

The Hospitaller, an excerpt

Raffael squinted against the red setting sun which fractured and poured in as a figure stepped into the vacant infirmary. He greeted the Brother with a smile.

"You're still here," the stocky man in black said proceeding into the hall, his long robe rustling.

Raffael rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands. His fingers were stained with ink. "Almost finished."

"Go home, Raffe." His voice echoed against the stone walls before disappeared into the far room. "Did not your associates come earlier to invite you to an outing?"

"For drinks. You approve of these activities?"

Jariel laughed. "I made the oath of abstinence, not you." He re-emerged with a tray of tonics in vials, leaves and dressings. The Lacewurt treatment.

"Brother Jari," he said pushing his palms against the table to stand. "I said I would care for the old man. His bed wounds are quite severe. He's developed ague and redness around the -"

"I've watched you enough times to know what to do. Besides, there's nothing else a Hospitaller can do for him."

Raffe gave a tentative look, but could not deny the strain in the back of his neck which crawled up into his head and causing a small ache over his brows. The muscles in his shoulders were also taut. He unconsciously raised his hand to the back of his neck.

Jari paused before him. "Go."

He shifted his weight.

"I'll write you a detailed report." When Raffe didn't speak, Jari reached out and gave him an affirming grip on his arm and disappeared into the blinding sunset.

He wiped his hands on the stained cloth on the arm rest of his wooden chair before he gathered his papers and slid them in his boiled leather bag. With his bag and white emblazoned tabard in hand, he walked to the public house.

The city had come alive with the remaining light of the sun. Shop owners and vendors spilled water onto the streets to wash the debris which had accumulated during the day into the troughs at the sides of the wide streets. Shoppers, who waited until sunset, snuck in the last purchases of the day at a cheaper price. The noise of their bartering were no less abrasive than the yelps of scavengers. It was not until all of such activities ceased did he reach the Riceiu Tavern.

He was welcomed by enthusiastic waves and alcohol redden faces of three individuals at the far end of the room.

Safi was a pale haired Tibestian - or a dark haired Onranian. His mother was a pureblood Onranian with blanch hair and even paler skin. His father was only half Tibestian, so they produced the much admired specimen who greeted him with an embrace. "We weren't sure you were coming," he called over the din of the tavern. "We've already called for food."

Raffe shook his head with a smile.

Rao, born and raised in Rougefort, thrusted rolled leaves between his teeth and slapped Raffe's back. His neglected thick, dark curls jostled as he did. His long lashes was the target of many jokes pertaining to his masculinity.

The meek Soren, from a village north of Adino, had not a single interesting feature about him. It was only when he opened his mouth to speak, his voice, which he hid behind quiet humbleness, did he capture the interest of many.

When they were thirteen, they were his classmates. Four years later, they became his associates - Hospitallers of the Weal Wyrtha. Then, after two uneventful years serving their duties for the Court, they became his friends when they rejoined in Rougefort. He and Safi in the Ousbert Abbey, Rao and Soren in the Esbert Abbey.

Raffe had not expected any visitors, and so he did not leave the tavern with this tabard pulled against his frame until the moon was at its apex. When he reached his cottage at the northeastern edge of Rougefort, a carriage stood idle beside the lean-to. On the rear panel, an insignia overlaid with the word Beodas, the Law.

Raffe entered the cottage through the lean-to door and kicked off his boots. Stacked along the table and floor before the hearth were a dozen or so crates. Beside them, plates of half eaten food and an unfinished bottle of wine.

The bedroom door was left ajar and soft snoring announced the presence of the person who occupied his bed. Light from the dwindling hearth fire seeped into the room to reveal a sun-drenched back and disheveled, short cropped hair.

by Jade Saelee

Read the complete version here: The Hospitaller

Owen and the Thaumatruge, an excerpt

He managed to focus his eyes just enough to see the person who had gripped and twisted his arms violently behind him. A Tibestian. There were others. Mismatched cloth. Mercenaries. A chill gripped him. He wrenched his arms free and pushed against the heaviness in the middle of his back and kicked at another. He bolted toward the door, but flames consumed his home beyond its frame. Bodies were entangled in melee. Four of them. Bursts of light blinked in his head. He stumbled and fell. His face was forced against the cool floor. His head swam in a murk. Hands subdued him, restrained him, gagged him.

He blinked and was alone. Lethargy and heat bore against his body. His head ached. He twisted his neck and peered out of his room. Bodies were in the flames. Two still stood. Their movements were a blur. Blades flashed.

Smoke. It consumed his room and fueled his fear, his panic, his body to fight against the ropes which bound him. His eyes burned; his lungs. Each breath he took, he sucked in the black smoke. Flames crackled in his head. His muffled cries did nothing to ward death. It came to him softly, gently, pulling his lids to close. To sleep.

He was floating. No, he was being dragged across the floor. His binds were cut, but he lacked the strength to move. He coughed listlessly as he was pulled out of his room and his home. The morning air was cold, but it spurred life into his labored breaths, into his body. He was hauled to his feet.

"Get up! Move!" A voice shouted. The person took off toward a carriage which thundered toward them.

He complied and followed, but his knees folded under him. He regained his footing and leapt at the carriage. He misjudged and his right shoulder struck the door. He gripped the frame with his left hand. The man who saved him, hoisted him in.

Dim light enveloped them.

He could barely sit erect let alone fight off the hands which jerked at his collar. The Tibestian hollered over the noise of the carriage, but the words did not penetrate the fog in his head.

The ride lurched. The pounding in his head became unbearable. His throat burned. A wheel struck a rock and the carriage tilted violently. His stomach retched.

A window exploded. The curtain over it, torn away. Light poured in. It brightened with the opened door.

A mercenary. They persisted.

The carriage jostled and he was tossed to the floor.

The Tibestian in the carriage faltered, regained his footing, and kicked at the other until the door dropped from view. "How many were there?" He leaned out.

Owen coughed. "I don't know."

"I think that's the last of them." Heaving him to his seat, he asked, "Are you hurt?"

His bloodied arm throbbed and hung at his side. His eyes still burned from the smoke. Every fiber in his body threatened to crumble. He shook his head.

In spite of his fatigue, the clear air allowed him to focus, though only sporadically. The Tibestian was clothed in a blue, sleeveless coat. The bands which encircled the pale sleeves of his tunic marked his rank. He finally recognized him. "Ealdwine Belenus." His throat burned.

The Court officer nodded, but said nothing.

Owen did not dislike the youngest of the Belenus brood. Neither did he feel any obligations of kindness toward the officer, but at that moment, he had come to appreciate him. He leaned his head back, felt his body ease into the seat and diverted his gaze through the missing door. He could not understand all the events of the morning, but he knew someone had wanted him dead. He had accepted it. Overcome with exhaustion and smoke, he could not gather himself to question where the officer was taking him. He was only grateful to be alive.

When the rumble of the wheels against the cobbled streets turned to the grind of pebbles and dirt, he was jolted awake. His headache had dulled, replaced by a deep throb in his shoulder. He had been laid flat and his arm was slung with a blue sash.

"You dislocated your shoulder. I did my best to set it," Ealdwine said. "Did you see them?"

Owen shook his head. "Barely. They were mercenaries."

Ealdwine nodded. "You're safe now."

"What did they want?"

"It's obvious what they wanted."

"I've done everything the Court asked. How did they find me?"

Ealdwine did not reply.

He sighed a ragged breath and followed Ealdwine's gaze to a residence. A spacious cottage amidst a field of wild grass and flowers.

"You can no longer stay here." Tenseness eased from Ealdwine's eyes and the corners of his lips. Then with nothing, but frankness, he simply said, "Farewell."

The covered vestibule to the sweeping cottage wrapped around the entirety of construct. In it were two persons. One in a wheeled chair and the other stood by the door. The attendant's visage was concealed by a cloth similar to the Sisterhood veil. The person in the chair, draped with a white, stained cloth from head to toe, had one recognizable article. A thick, silver ring was on his boney finger. The image of a lion's head was etched into a white stone set upon the ring.

Five steps from the vestibule, Owen dropped to his knees and sat on his heels before he pressed his palm into the dirt path. He brought his head down to meet his hand. It was a gesture he had never performed before.

"Rise and approach." The ragged and feeble words conjured no visceral reaction. "Walk with me."

They proceeded to the rear of the cottage where trees and fields dotted with the vibrancy and color of early summer, unfurled.

by Jade Saelee

Read the complete version here: Owen and the Thaumaturge

Uwe the Terrible and the Five Hostages, an excerpt

So from a scourged land of sun
and sand, rose the sons
of clansmen heirs. In
a singular search for power,
glory and unity
they set forth upon a serpent
canoe into the cauldronous
pits of the Pennines.

In this domain of demons
and beasts, they beheld a burghal
of unholy hosts. These cursed
beings, blind and
with bound, shrunken heads, bewailed
in their brethren's blight.
Upon them, the kinsmen were thrust.
With care and quelled chinks of mail,
they crossed the cache.
To the other side, they arrived,
but only to traverse endless tunnels
whence they wandered upon
an homely inhuman with
a hundred eyes and hands.
From its lips,
it craftily conveyed
through those poisonous pairs,
"A covenant for a kiss."

by Jade Saelee

Read the extended (though still imcomplete version) here: Uwe the Terrible and the Five Hostages