Eponymous - Updated 10/21 ~ Interlude ~

Here is something new for you all, a bit of an experiment on my part. Hopefully I'll be able to keep it updated with my schedule going nova.

It was midnight, yet the skies in the east glowed orange.

The crenellated line of the wall top was black against the unnatural light. Shapes moved about it, low and quick, appearing and disappearing at intervals. Voices could be heard, shouts soft but insistent. Across several hundred feet of rooftops, no words could be made out, but it hardly mattered. Beyond the wall the sky bled in ominous premonition.

Elles bare feet made no sound as she slipped down the cobblestone street. The buildings that lined the narrow avenue were tall, two and three stories, and lent their shadow to a deeper darkness that swallowed Elle completely. Even so, she kept her face hidden and her back bent, shrinking beneath her black cloak. She crept close to the shops and inns, avoiding the dark windows with their secrets.

Somewhere in the darkness a door creaked. Caught in the open in front of a particularly large tailors shop, Elle dashed forward as quickly as she dared, her pulse quickening. Ignoring the enormous and expensive window that fronted the tailors, she traversed the width of the shop and slipped into the alley mouth at the corner. She retreated a few paces into the narrow space and pressed herself against the wall. She slowed her breathing and strained her ears, ready to flee at the slightest provocation.

Something thumped to the ground, and before Elle could so much as blink a shape flashed past her ankle. It streaked out of the alley and out of sight, mewling. Elle closed her eyes and permitted herself a small sigh of relief. When she opened them again, she was blinded by a sudden burst of light.

Shrieking, she turned to flee, but an arm got in her way and she fell, attempting to break free. She propped herself up on her elbows and tried to scramble backwards, but found a wall. Defeated, she squinted up at the light, trying to make out the face that hovered behind it. Well, look at that, said the face.

Her vision adjusting, Elle saw that the speaker was a man, tall and young, with a close-cropped beard and wavy dark hair. He leered down at her and said, You must be one of them informers. He set his lantern on the ground and squatted in front of her. Her hood had fallen back, revealing her blond hair, and her cloak had opened, revealing the short silken shift that was all she wore. The mans eyes noted that fact, roving over her body. Elle stared at him, her face reddening and her breath catching. Yes, definitely an informer, the man said.

Elle tried to speak, but the breath hissed out of her throat in an unintelligible rattle. The man laughed. Scared out of your wits, arent you? I cant imagine why. He stood and picked up his lantern. Get up. He held out his hand.

Elle stared at him in confusion. She ignored the proffered hand and stood of her own accord, drawing the cloak about her as tightly as she could. She finally found her voice. What are you doing? she stammered.

The man grinned. Courting conquest, of course.

The sound of heavy footsteps drifted into the alley, accompanied by voices and a metallic rattle. The mans smile fled, and he held out his hand again. Come, he said urgently. We must be off the streets. The soldiers do not take kindly to our sort.

Elle hesitated, but the sound of the soldiers patrol was growing louder. Wordlessly she took the mans hand and followed him deeper into the darkness.

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Short, but it's a start. Read, comment, critique, hate, whatever.

Behind him, what had once been the roof of a house sagged on the three walls that remained to it. One such wall was a hundred feet high and twenty thick, casting the shell of the house into deep shadow. Above the wall the sky burned, casting fingerlike stains across the clouds. Below the wall Sáne stood, bare-chested. Behind him, in the darkness of the dilapidated house, a pale dress glimmered, draped over a pile of rubble that stood next to a smooth patch of ground. What clothing Sáne had yet to don was also nearby: his boots, his shirt, and his armor.

In front of Sáne stood Francis Heyman, Captain of Section Eighty-Four of the Wall Guard.

Sir, I can explain, Sáne said. A completely useless and idiotic statement, he knew, but he couldnt find anything else to say.

Heyman knew it, too. This needs no explanation, Aman, he said, brushing past Sáne and into the opening of the houses fourth wall. His armor clinked as he moved, mail rustling over leather. It glimmered dully with the moons glow, in particular the highly polished helm and the heads of the arrows that swung from his belt in an open quiver. Heyman spoke with his back to Sáne, presumably surveying the damning scene. So you would rather be down here in the dark with your sweet wench than defending your city. He looked back over his shoulder, glaring at Sáne with flinty eyes. But of course, he continued, turning to face him, its not really your city, is it, Aman?

Sáne did not reply. Heyman moved in close, standing almost nose-to-nose with Sáne, his helm framing his face. Once a Nerusian, always a Nerusian, he said, spitting in Sánes face. Sáne did his best not to flinch. He keeps his composure, I see, acknowledged Heyman, but a soldier is a soldier, no matter what side hes on.

Sir, Im not a traitor.

The hell you arent, snorted Heyman. We should never have let your sort into the city, much less the army. What was His Grace thinking? Youre all a bunch of bloody spies and cowards. Heyman called out, and two soldiers rounded the corner of the next building in perfect unison, coming to a halt in front of Heyman and standing at crisp attention. Clap him in irons and bring him with me, he said. And take his gear, too; someone can use it.

The soldiers saluted, and before Sáne quite knew what was happening his wrists were being bound, not by iron but by a course hempen rope. The soldier that was not shackling him had begun gathering up his strewn items, and Heyman was striding briskly away. Sánes gaoler gave his lead a tug and followed. Sáne needed little urging; he soon passed the soldier and came up behind Heyman.

What are you going to do to me? He knew he ought to keep quiet, that the one thing that had gone in his favor was his soldiers impassivity, but he was beginning to feel indignant. I told you, I am no traitor, I was --

Heymans backhand caught Sáne full across the face and nearly knocked his teeth out. Head ringing from the gauntleted blow, Sáne could only spit out a gob of blood as Heyman rebuked him. You would do well to keep your mouth shut. He considered for a moment, then resumed walking. Sáne followed at the other soldiers mercy. Heyman continued to speak. I suppose it wont matter if you know whats in store for you, since you cant bloody well change it. Its to the Capn o Capns for you, and most like a dungeon after that. Mayhaps I can convince him to get rid of all your little brothers in the guard, traitorous bastards you all are.

Sáne held his tongue, though it was less out of humility than it was the fact that his mouth hurt like a viper bite. Complete with the spreading numbness. He spat out more blood and tried to clear his head as he followed his captors along the base of the wall. The Capn o Capns was a hard man, but did not hold the same prejudices as Heyman. Perhaps the Captain of Section Eighty-Four had underestimated his chances to have Sáne put behind bars, and hanged. Hanged, without a doubt. Sáne knew that was where his story would end if Heyman were given the pen.

Before long they came upon a set of wooden stairs built against the wall, guarded by a pair of soldiers. They saluted as Heyman approached, and Heyman gave them a curt nod before sweeping between them and up the stairs.

If they were going up to the wall, Sáne knew, then the Capn o Capns was atop it. That could only bode ill for the defenders. Sáne stumbled up the stairs behind his leading soldier and wondered whether he would survive long enough to be thrown in a dungeon.

When they were a few yards from the top, there was a panicked shout. Heyman shouted back and dashed the rest of the way up. Sáne struggled to stay on his feet as the other soldier hastened to follow. Just as Heyman disappeared over the lip of the wall, the world exploded.

Sánes ears were full of a howling medley of sound. His vision was confused; he could not tell which way was up, and his hands were being jerked painfully. The maelstrom whirled around him, and he slammed into something solid hard enough to crack a few ribs. His arms were screaming in agony that wasnt lessening, but the insanity was. Sánes senses sorted themselves out, and a fresh wave of pain assaulted him as the price for his clarity.

He was staring at smooth dark stone. When he tried to pull back he screamed in pain. His arms were stretched above his head, held fast together by the hempen rope. Below him stretched ninety feet of emptiness. He dangled helplessly, biting back cries of pain as every movement threatened to wrench his arms off.

The pain multiplied a hundredfold, and suddenly he was on solid ground.

He was hardly aware of the hands that freed him from his bonds, nor of the voice that accompanied them. He scrambled to his feet, brushing aside a proffered hand. He was standing on a pile of rubble ten feet below the walls normal level, and before him lay a panorama of dread.

Above, the sky bled.

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Why is this forum so dead? Come on, people!

I hope this part was a bit more interesting than the first . . . tell me what you think, please. I need C/C.

Very nice, I can't wait to read more.

I can't reall offer c/c, mainly because I can't personally find anything I didn't like, but mind you I'm not exactly the pickiest of readers. If this is just a side project, I think I will look into that book you're trying to get published.

So, I'm away for a couple days, and I miss this story. Great job man, keep up the good work :)

Man, I feel like such a comment-monger. (Is that even a word?) Ah well, it was a bit disheartening to see a whole bunch of stuff with 0 posts at the top of the forum.

The usual good read by NOM. I like how you're splitting up character scenes like that lovely book of yours. Also chuckled when I read "dilapidated" after we had that conversation about it the other day.

Hope this doesn't end up unfinished like the others though. That's why I was hesitant at reading this.

Man, I feel like such a comment-monger. (Is that even a word?) Ah well, it was a bit disheartening to see a whole bunch of stuff with 0 posts at the top of the forum.

That is because I was away for a few days. I am like the welcome party to this forum.

The midnight sky glittered with the light of a thousand stars, and the moon shone full from the apex. The entire dome was laid out to the eyes of the lords and ladies on the balcony, and all of them could see the fiery hue that bathed the eastern horizon. Most chose to ignore it, and its source, and instead partook of wine and small talk. The upkeep of the polished marble floor was a difficult task when it was exposed to the elements, but it shone nonetheless. The ladies slippered feet glided across it, and the lords embroidered boots strode. Their wearers did their best to remain oblivious to the city and its peril.

Ramsay was utterly bored.

He sipped his wine in a corner, next to a leafy potted plant taller than he was. He had dressed in his finery just like everyone else; his finest embroidered green coat over a snowy white shirt, and creamy leggings tucked into knee-high boots. It served nicely to camouflage him with the potted plant. He wanted nothing to do with the other lords of the court; he would sooner not be there at all, but for the Kings decree. Why would I wish to be here, he mused, where the flames are hottest?

His own seat at the Maze was far removed from the conflict, untouched by the flames. Although all it takes is one spark. He smiled at the irony.

Did you see that, Selyse? A smile, on the Garden Lords face!

A rather old, thin woman had appeared, tottering slightly, with a rather younger and curvier woman in tow. Ramsay could have groaned out loud, though not without an appreciative look for the brunette Selyse. The grey-haired one started squawking again. I say, for one who rules over such a pleasant place as the Maze, your face could chill ice, Ramsay. Where did that smile go?

A passing amusement, Lady Maribel, Ramsay said politely. Ruined by you.

Ah, yes, hiccupped Maribel. The Lady of the Near Fort looked as much like a vulture as ever, with her long and wrinkled neck and huge beak nose. Her daughter, however, was much fairer to look upon. It was a shame that Ramsay was compelled to feel irritation whenever the annoying old woman swooped in to shove her in his face. She is as subtle as a mongrel looking for scraps, and rather uglier. It didnt stop her from trying, or prattling on. I trust you would have many more, eheh, amusements with a woman for company.

No doubt I would, acknowledged Ramsay. But I do not particularly feel suited to a marriage at this time.

Why, now is the best time! Here we are, all herded together on this ludicrous floor, with our future uncertain. The Maze needs an heir, and its not like to have one if you dont take someone to wife, and soon.

I am sure that would be the height of courtesy, to go sneaking off while a guest of His Grace.

His Grace doesnt give a fig what happens in this castle tonight. Hes got other concerns. Ramsay glanced over the womens heads, to the red eastern sky. That he does. And you would need to marry first, of course. Why, I can have arrangements made quite quickly, you dont know --

Begging your pardon, but I havent agreed to anything, Lady Maribel, Ramsay said firmly. Excuse me.

It was a wonderful relief to be away from the crone, but Ramsay could not help but give the Lady Selyse one last look as he slipped away, one which she returned. He shook his head and threaded his way through the press of lords and ladies, who barely gave him a glance. He preferred that to the solicitous attentions of the Lady of the Near Fort.

He stopped at the edge of the marble-floored balcony and looked out over the city. It was utterly dark, the Kings curfew in full effect and his subjects wisely keeping it. He spotted a patrol moving down one street, but his eyes were inevitably drawn to the wall. The men atop it were but specks at this distance, moving restlessly. He averted his eyes from the sight beyond the wall. He felt as much a coward as the other nobles for doing so, yet he could not help it.

Ramsays gaze was drawn back to the wall, and he watched small group of tiny soldiers climb the stair on the city side. They were almost at the top when that section of the wall exploded.

The noise must have been deafening; it could be heard loudly at the top of the castle where the nobility was gathered. The lords and ladies behind Ramsay let out a general gasp and rushed to the edge to see what had happened. Ramsay kept his eyes on the wall, watching the dust settle to reveal a huge dent the straight line of its top. He did not notice Lady Maribel approach, and jumped when her cackle erupted in his ear.

Youd best be marrying my daughter now, or youll be dying a bachelor!

Beautiful man, keep this up :thumbup:

Nice new chapter.

Btw, I love your avvy.

I thought you might.

I have a better image, with a BORDER, but there's no option to upload straight from your computer anymore and Imageshack utterly butchers the quality. Oh well.

No update tonight, if I don't study for this math test tomorrow I'm going to get pwned even worse than I am already. Can't guarantee anything tomorrow either, but I'll try. The weekend fo' sho'. :thumbup:

Youre going to get yourself killed, you know.

The dust was still settling on the city wall as Samson climbed atop a rocky outcrop for a better view. The angry red sky was almost directly above their camp, which Mikhael found unnerving enough, and the city wall was a mere mile distant, which was enough to drive the older man to near wretchedness. Samson told him so, while he squinted at the cloud of dust and rubble that concealed were the projectile had hit.

You really are going to get yourself killed. Wretchedness. I find a corpse more pitiful than an old cautious fool, so get your [wagon] off that rock before someone feathers you.

Samson ignored him. The cloud had finally dissipated, revealing a sizeable dent in the top of the wall. He thought he could see figures moving around it, and even in it, but he couldnt be sure. The wall would survive, it was clear. Whatever had done the damage had not done a particularly good job.

The question of what had done it seized Samson, and he turned to the sprawling camp that covered every inch of the mile between his perch and the city and more. Behind him were the siege engines, being constructed at the rear edge of the camp to protect them from archers on the wall. None of them were finished. The trebuchets and catapults would not be ready for another few days yet. So what had hit the wall?

Armored soldiers moved about the camp everywhere in sight, evoking the image of an enormous anthill. The tents and pavilions were subdued, somber grays, except for the largest, near the center of the camp. These were bright and showy, the quarters of generals and lords. All of them, whether red, blue, green, striped or solid, were bathed in a ruddy, dancing glow like firelight. Left with nowhere else to look, Samson raised his eyes to the unnatural thing that dominated the camp.

Rising from the approximate center of the armys camp was a pillar of fire. A hundred feet thick, it shot into the air as high as the eye could see, vanishing among clouds that it stained red and orange and yellow. It stood straight, remarkably so, writhing and boiling but keeping its shape. Sometimes a tongue of flame would leap from it and crash back down in an intensely burning arc. It lit its nearest surroundings as if by day. Those surroundings were mostly parched grasses; the pavilions had been established two hundred yards away from the base of the pillar. Samson imagined that it must be scorching inside them.

The fire must have done it, he told Mikhael, watching one of the arcs flash and twist.

The fire? Are you daft, boy? It was a flaming rock. No arcane pillar of fire ever busted a wall down. Rocks dont burn, and fire dont have clout. Now get down.

It was the fire, Samson insisted. He didnt get down. None of the siege engines are complete. Go see for yourself. There arent any siege engines close enough to hit the wall even if they were. Did a giant throw the rock?

More likely than a flaming flame. The old mans face was deeply lined but rugged, and the look he gave Samson was dangerous. Get down, now!

Samson had just decided that it would be wise to listen to Mikhael when he heard a faint zip. Suddenly he was crashing to the ground at Mikhaels feet, his abdomen on fire. He felt bones break, and lost consciousness. When he regained it Mikhael was leaning over him, saying things that Samson didnt understand. Probably cursing. He blacked out again.

When he came to it was in a strange place. It was still dark, so he hadnt been out long. He sat up. In front of him stretched the sea. Puzzled, he stood, and nearly lost his balance at the edge of a precipice that dropped straight into the foaming waves below. The outcropping they had been hiding out at was a sort of coastal spit of rock. I must still be on it.

Hey.

Samson nearly lost his footing again as he whirled to confront the speaker. Mikhael was sitting on a nearby rock, watching him coldly. He twirled an arrow between his fingers. What happened? he managed to get out. The look on Mikhaels face was cowing.

Youve forgotten already? His voice was iron. That made Samson quail, too. Ill tell you what bloody well happened. You were being a stubborn [wagon] as usual, and got yourself killed.

Killed? That didnt make sense. Except . . . he remembered the twisting pain in his gut, and he felt the bones breaking, shattering

Yes, killed. Mikhael stopped spinning the arrow and held it out to Samson, point first. A drop of red liquid fell from the head as he stared at it. I was shot? he said incredulously.

I see youre as quick as ever. Mikhael withdrew the arrow and sat glaring at Samson for a long time. Samson could do nothing but stand and try not to meet the old mans gaze. He looked out across the water. He absently touched his stomach, feeling the smooth, unbroken skin. He had been shot. Why wasnt he dead? He had never known someone to survive an arrow in the gut. That was a dumb thought; he had never known anyone to show no sign of injury a few minutes later! He looked back at Mikhael.

The old man frowned more deeply. I dont know whether I should laugh or cry, he said finally. He stood and tossed the arrow over the cliff. It fell all the long way down, and Samson watched it rather than look at Mikhael. If I didnt know before, I sure as hell do now. Youre exactly what I need.

I just realized how much this story reminds me of WoT. From the character-by-character storytelling, to what I see as an almost identical setting, even Ramsay, who seems to be very similar to either Mat Cuathon or Rand.

Even with all the similarities, I still find it a refreshing look on Jordan's world. I badly hope that your book gets published so i can read it.

I just realized how much this story reminds me of WoT. From the character-by-character storytelling, to what I see as an almost identical setting, even Ramsay, who seems to be very similar to either Mat Cuathon or Rand.

 

 

 

Even with all the similarities, I still find it a refreshing look on Jordan's world. I badly hope that your book gets published so i can read it.

. . .

XD Actually it's modeled more after George RR Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire, which I just finished getting up-to-date on. Each chapter in those books is simply titled after the POV character. I'm also angling for the widest scope of moral ambiguity, so you'll find no Shai'tan vs. Dragon Reborn. I'm simply telling a story from mutliple POV's and letting the reader make the judgments based on the characters, which is what a good story is all about.

The medieval fantasy setting at this point is pretty generic, though I hope to add more specifics to give it its own flavor in time. The wardrobe, however, I admit to being inspired by Jordan. It just seemed to me like the best fit for the setting, and went well with the puffed-up Ramsay. Who doesn't have any magical powers. No one does, except for Samson, and I'll elaborate on that later . . .

I'm glad to see you look forward to my publication. Hopefully it will actually happen :lol: One step at a time. Can't screw the baby steps in this one; I have to finish the book first ;)

Now I think I'll get down to writing the next part.

The Lady rolled gently in the calm waters of the bay. The sea rippled prettily as far as the eye could see, disrupting the moons reflection with undulations that made it glitter. That was on the port side; to starboard, the sea was just as calm, but portrayed a far different picture. The sky reflected there was moonless, a roiling mass of dark clouds streaked liberally with the angry red of fire and blood. The ripples made it seem alive, twisting and pulsating. Above the reflected city rose the pillar of fire, tapering to a hazy end in the false world.

Rather than be cloistered in her cabin to while away the hours sleeping, Tandys was on deck, with only the night watchmen and her own beloved ship for company. Therefore she heard the impact, relayed to her ears as only water could do. She focused on the city to try and spot the disturbance.

The city wall extended a good ways out into the sea, like two arms reaching out to embrace the waters. The bay itself was a natural harbor, but very wide, and the city had merely claimed the choicest of locations to eliminate competition. The walls were a caution, a prudent one, but they did no good against a blockade. Half the Nerusian fleet was concentrated in the waters at the bays mouth, arrayed in a slight curve from one end to the other, completely cutting the city off from the sea. The army on the mainland served a similar purpose. The city was well and truly under siege.

It was quite a magnificent city, even in the darkness of the days earliest hours. The wharves were sprawling, covering every inch of the considerable shoreline ensconced by the walls. Tall, skeletal shapes rose up, attesting to the presence of many vessels, all anchored, all stranded. Higher still rose a secondary wall that separated the docks from the main bulk of the city, and highest of all rose the outline of the palace, the only structure large enough to peer over the walls. Its many turrets and towers were dark, save for one. That one shone brightly, its flat top among the highest points of the palace. There was something going on up there, Tandys knew. Perhaps they were planning a counterattack. It certainly had to be a war council. Many of the windows below the balcony were lit as well. That tower was the center of enemy resistance.

Was it enemy resistance that had made the noise? Tandys could not tell. This side of the city was all calm, her fleet seemingly asleep. She knew that every ship was alert and ready, but they did not show it. Nothing had changed at sea, so something must have happened with the landed siege. It made her uneasy. A well-directed navy could be the deciding force in a battle, even a war, but seagoing vessels could not destroy an army, as little as an army could affect a war fleet. There were two very separate battles being fought, and Tandys could not trust the rabble on land to do their job properly.

She called out to a nearby watchman. The man hurried to her and stood at attention. Yes, captain. As a watchman he wore no armor, simply a dark tunic and pants with the insignia of the Nerusian fleet on the chest: a six-pointed star worked around an anchor.

Send for Melissa, Tandys instructed him, and be quiet about it. I will keep your watch until you return. Quickly.

The man saluted and hurried belowdecks. Tandys turned back to her study of the city, though she scarce expected to glean any new insight in the short time it would take for Melissa to come.

The girl did not disappoint. She arrived within moments, clad only in a short sleeping shift that was obviously discomfiting to the watchman. Her dark hair was tousled from sleep, but her golden Nerusian eyes were awake and alert. Tandys dismissed the watchman and beckoned Melissa closer.

I have an assignment for you, she said quietly. There is something going on the other side of the city; I heard some sort of disturbance, and it sounded big. Go get dressed. Youre going to investigate. Hurry.

Melissa dropped a curtsy difficult, in what she was wearing and said, Yes, milady. She retreated belowdecks once more.

Tandys summoned the help of two watchmen and readied one of the boats, loosening it from its harness and assigning them to hold the ropes until it was time to lower Melissa into the water. The girl returned speedily, now clad in dark blue pants and shirt, tight-fitting and invisible in the dark. A wide belt girdled her hips, a dagger swinging from one side and a pouch from the other. Tandys beckoned her closer.

Be exceptionally careful, she said. Do not let yourself be seen at any cost. I dont know what has been happening over there for the last few weeks, and they dont know what has been going on here. Nothing, as it happens, but that is beside the point. She waited for the girl to nod, then pointed to a rocky outcrop that tipped the southern end of the bay. Land somewhere near there. Hide the boat, dont destroy it, I expect you to return. Gather what information you can, and do not be seen. Understood?

Of course, milady. Melissa dipped her head in acquiescence. The Lady of the Waves is most wise. Shall I be going?

She climbed into the boat without help, and the watchmen lowered it into the water with nary a sound. Once it floated firmly in the water, Melissa shoved away from the hull of the Lady of the Waves and began to row south with strong, sure strokes. She would not be challenged as she threaded her way through the blockade; the nearest watchmen had seen her depart, and would pass the word along.

Tandys went back to the deck rail to study the city once more. She knew she should retire, but something kept her awake. Melissa would be a long time in returning, and nothing had happened of note since the siege began, weeks ago. So why did she feel so uneasy?

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I have decided on a total of six different POV's for now, so expect one more new one. I may add more as the story continues, but for now there will be six.

6 different POVs? Wow, and I thought some bourne books were confusing. :lol:

6 different POVs? Wow, and I thought some bourne books were confusing. :lol:

Thats cuz your Brain cannot comprehend American literature...

6 different POVs? Wow, and I thought some bourne books were confusing. :lol:

 

 

 

Thats cuz your Brain cannot comprehend American literature...

Well, I have an excuse... I'm Canadian! :lol: