A Tale of Glory, Shame, Honor, Treachery, Hope and Despair
I: Why Are You Here?
Conrad inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment, and raising his spear in front of his face. He nodded, once, and the row of crossbowmen facing him began to fire. He batted aside the first two bolts with the shaft of his spear, and then spun it to deflect one that would have lodged in his gut. He leapt forward, spinning in the air to avoid several more bolts. There was a sudden sharp pain in his shoulder, and without glancing down he reached for the shaft of the bolt and pulled it out.
Then he was among the crossbowmen, spear flashing out. Once, twice, and a dozen times it lashed out, each time drawing a small drop of blood from its target. His victims drew back from the melee, and finally there was only one woman left, the same one who had managed to shoot him. While the others had either dropped their crossbows to draw other weapons, or had attempted to use them as clubs, she had calmly reloaded, and now shot him at point blank range. The bolt grazed his leg as he leapt aside.
He thrust the spear down in front of him as he landed, using it to launch himself forward again, his uninjured leg snapping up to strike the woman who had shot him. The breath was driven out of her in a single explosive gasp and she fell backwards. Conrad spun the spear again and drove it down to her throat, stopping only once it had drawn a bead of blood from her collarbone.
There was the sound of slow applause. Conrad whirled to face it. There was the Captain of the Guard, leaning on his crutch and scowling from beneath his caterpillar-like eyebrows, but he was, of course, not clapping. Nor was the second figure Conrad lit on, a tall man completely covered in plate armor and wearing a leather cape over it. Rather it was the woman, initially hidden by her companions’ bulk. No, not the woman, he decided, taking in her lithe figure, too-large eyes and disturbingly prominent cheekbones. The She-Elf.
Conrad’s lips drew back from his teeth, but he considered that the Captain of the Guard showed no overt hostility towards the elf. So, instead of charging towards her, he snapped to attention, repressing a curse as the move caused the flesh around the bolt in his leg to tear further. The woman who had shot him scrambled to her feet and imitated his posture, as did the other crossbowmen.
“He is everything you promised,” said the She-Elf. “At least, in training. Has he been blooded?”
“He’s not eaten the heart of an enemy, if that’s what you mean,” growled the Captain. “But he’s seen combat in half a dozen Goblin raids. He won’t flinch on the battlefield.”
“And the female?”
The Captain stiffened. “Not part of the arrangement.”
“Come, if we’re to offer a choice to your little champion, it seems only reasonable to offer one to her who could have killed him a moment ago.”
Conrad’s instinct was to protest, but he reconsidered. Her second shot, certainly, had struck him only because he had dodged a moment too late, but given the cool she had kept as he charged at her, it was not impossible that she could have chosen to place the first shot in his heart or neck rather than shoulder.
The Captain sighed. “Conrad, have your wounds tended to, then meet me in my office. Elaine, you as well.”
Conrad locked eyes with the She-Elf, reached down, and pulled the bolt from his thigh. Blood spilled forth for a moment, running hot and sticky down his leg, and then the wound clotted. “I’m ready now, sir.” He responded. The leg would be stiff for a while, but a few nights’ rest would put it right.
The Captain gave a curt nod, and turned, followed by the massive armor clad man and the elf. Conrad and Elaine followed at a discreet distance. “You’re new,” Conrad said as they passed through the doorway from the training room into a long, wooden paneled hallway. “And you’re very good.”
“Do you only ever tell people things they already know, or is that special treatment for me?” Elaine shot back.
Conrad sighed and said no more. “Conrad, you first,” said the Captain when they reached his office. Elaine snapped to attention again as Conrad followed the Captain and his guests in.
The table in the Captain’s office was carved from the thighbone of a giant he had killed in his youth. The Captain, grimacing at the pain from a hundred old war wounds, sat in a chair that was believed to be as old as the kingdom itself, made from wood from a Dwarven wagon. Conrad remained standing, as did the armored man.
The She-Elf sat on the edge of the table nearest Conrad, studying him intently with yellow eyes that could have belonged to a hawk. “Tell me, champion,” she said, her every word chosen with precise care. “Why are you here?”
“I was rather hoping you’d tell me that,” Conrad said, now deeply confused.
“No!” The elf’s palm slapped against the table, and Conrad started despite himself. “Not in this room. On this world! Why are you here? Is it to live out your life fending off the occasional goblin raid, earn your names running through petty thieves and child snatchers? Watch as your kingdom sinks ever more into debt to your Dwarven masters?”
Conrad stepped towards the elf, and set a hand on the table on either side of her. He leaned forward, locking his cold grey eyes on her yellow ones, until their noses nearly touched. “You sound like you’re going to offer me another option.”
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Topic: The Doomed Seven (Read 644 times)