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Barsoom Tales I - COMPLETE
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<blockquote data-quote="barsoomcore" data-source="post: 1324642" data-attributes="member: 812"><p>Collette de Maynard ran for her life. Her bootsoles skidded over rain-slick cobblestones as she careened around a corner, cursing the name of Isaac del Valencia all the way.</p><p></p><p>Why the idiot thug couldn't have left well enough alone escaped her utterly. She'd been looking at lifelong wealth, honour and security until he chopped off Juan Antonio's hot-air-filled excuse for a head. The bastard. If he'd just waited a day, the King would have signed the agreement. By the time he found out about the affair his Queen was having with Juan Antonio, the deal would already have been in place. And Collette would be on a Salejo beach, reading congratulatory letters from Pilar del Orofin. Juan Antonio's mother.</p><p></p><p>But now Pilar had turned against her.</p><p></p><p>Collette ran. Pavairelle was a big city, and she knew a lot of people here, but the del Orofin family had a long, long reach. And Pilar was plenty angry about the death of her son. If Collette hadn't read correctly the glance from Fernandez, she'd have gone straight to her room -- and been in bed when the two Kishak thugs broke in, instead of hiding on the opposite roof to see what might happen.</p><p></p><p>Paranoia. Collette cultivated it.</p><p></p><p>She raced past shuttered windows and into an alley, paused, heaving, watching carefully back the way she had come. The street glittered, empty and silent. Collette let her breathing slow down fractionally and then sprinted off again. She was sure <em>somebody</em> was watching her.</p><p></p><p>This wasn't the first time Collette de Maynard had needed to run for her life. She grinned to herself.</p><p></p><p>It probably wouldn't be the last.</p><p></p><p>*****</p><p></p><p>The thin Naridic man held back his sobs as he pinned the scrap of paper with one hand, writing madly with the other.</p><p></p><p><em>Dearest Child:</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>I have only a few moments to scribble these lines, and I can only hope that the Shaeric captain of the airship will deliver them to you.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Your brother is dead. The Emir's Hejani came for his students and he was shot down in his lecture hall. They have dragged his body away, I know not why.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>My dearest, sweet Arrafin, my only consolation is that you are safe. All is chaos here. The al Gebel Library is burning, I can see the flames from here. The Kishaks have taken Sirhan and everyone says they will be here in a week. The Emir has gone mad -- he sees spies everywhere, especially among the intellectuals. I am afraid that I (and your brother, and you, Arrafin) are part of that group he suspects so much.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Thanks to Mullah that your mother did not live to see this!</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Do not return to Al-Tizim, child, until I write to you that it is safe. I will be staying with our old friend Sarras, at his home, for the next while. With Kateb gone I can't go home.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>If anything happens to me, Sarras will let you know. He will look after you if I am no more.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Go with the wind, child. I love you.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Your father,</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Reyhan al Fasir beni Hassan</em></p><p></p><p>Still containing himself, Reyhan folded the paper and handed it to the bold Shaeric waiting. "Take this to the del Maraviez house in Pavairelle," he said, "They will find her."</p><p></p><p>Later, sounds of violence in the streets outside, huddled with his old friend, Reyhan lost his composure. The death of his son overwhelmed him. He prayed for Arrafin.</p><p></p><p>*****</p><p></p><p>Countess del Istanzic rocked in her carriage as it spun up from the Docks to her estate in Palace District. She smiled in smug satisfaction. A deal that let her make a vast sum of money, irritate the del Maraviez, weaken King de Beliard and put the most feared mercenary company in the world in her debt was a deal to be savoured.</p><p></p><p>In a matter of days the <em>Sunset Hope</em> would arrive, bearing its stolen cargo of del Maraviez muskets. Once the money from the Dark Talons arrived, she could have the guns shipped to them and their mutiny against King de Beliard of the Gap. The del Maraviez robbed from. The King embarrassed and destabilized. The Dark Talons grateful to her. And thousands of florins pouring into her lap.</p><p></p><p>She leaned forward and pulled aside the curtain, watching the night-time streets rattle by. The alleys seethed with dark figures. Except for the main streets, Wharf District had become choked with Naridic refugees, fleeing the advancing Kishak armies in the deserts to the south. Bodies sleeping in doorways or camped in alleys had become commonplace. A squad of Kishak soldiers stood at a corner, kicking a ragged bunch of refugees as she watched.</p><p></p><p>If tensions continued to mount here the way they seemed to be doing everywhere else, soon Pavairelle would be seeing riots and looting. The Jeddakar's troops were getting more unpopular by the day, while Prince del Viandour's favour with the citzenry grew and grew. The Countess leaned back in her cushions and wondered how she would be able to make a profit off it all.</p><p></p><p>*****</p><p></p><p>The emeralds would work. The very very old man smiled.</p><p></p><p>His was not a pleasant smile. Not the kindly smile of a loved grandfather. Not the confident smile of man who knows of what he speaks. Matai Shang's smile raised hairs on the backs of necks, made dogs growl and whine, and, quite possibly, curdled milk.</p><p></p><p>A child began to scream nearby.</p><p></p><p>Matai Shang sat, wizened and nearly helpless, perched amidst a great mechanical construct of legs and levers and spines, looking like a gigantic steel spider. Shang had not been able to walk unaided for centuries. His mind still burned with feverish intelligence, and he cackled as his schemes began to unfold.</p><p></p><p>The little girl's pleading rose high and then cut off. Blood sprayed. Unsightly minions grovelled and cringed. Shang ignored them.</p><p></p><p>The table before lay strewn with charts and calculations, and he surveyed the work with satisfaction. The emeralds would work. His calculations were indisputable. All that remained was to build the device, test it, and then use it against she who had most unwisely rebelled against him. Scars still ached within him at the memory of her treachery, even as the image of her beauty triggered blind desire.</p><p></p><p>He would possess her again. Yuek Man Chong, the Demon Goddess, would be his once more.</p><p></p><p>Shackles rattled, iron on stone. Another child was drawn forth. The stink of blood and urine filled the air.</p><p></p><p>Matai Shang, very very old, surrounded by death and pain and foulness, began planning his victory.</p><p></p><p>*****</p><p></p><p>Kimiko lowered her knife and pointed at Kendorik. The crowd shrieked in delight.</p><p></p><p>Kendorik, ever graceful, bowed to her and cleaned his rapier, turning his back on his gasping opponent. He joined his friends, the portly Captain Staznoyan and the towering Yshakan woman Mallitza, accepted their congratulations, and made his way off down the street. Kimiko Torokan, High Blood Sister of the Pavairelle Sanctuary, sheathed her wavy-bladed knife and watched the lithe, profoundly handsome man walk away.</p><p></p><p>Her face gave no sign of her inward appreciation of Kendorik's fine appearance. In her high-collared, shimmering kimono of blood-red silk, Kimiko had long since ceased to display any emotion whatsoever, as befit a member of the Blood Council. She watched Kendorik's unfortunate opponent sag, his breath shortening as the end of his life bore down upon him. Duelists' Street was as ever packed with shoppers, gossipers, drinkers, dancers, singers, tradesmen and waiters and at times it seemed like everyone in Pavairelle was here, wandering between stalls and sidewalk cafes, under the spreading cherry trees that shaded the long, curving boulevard.</p><p></p><p>Another victim of the handsome duelist's sword. Kimiko turned her icy gaze on the poor man's supporters, nodded to her attendants and strode away from the scene. The duel was over. The Blood Council was no longer needed here.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="barsoomcore, post: 1324642, member: 812"] Collette de Maynard ran for her life. Her bootsoles skidded over rain-slick cobblestones as she careened around a corner, cursing the name of Isaac del Valencia all the way. Why the idiot thug couldn't have left well enough alone escaped her utterly. She'd been looking at lifelong wealth, honour and security until he chopped off Juan Antonio's hot-air-filled excuse for a head. The bastard. If he'd just waited a day, the King would have signed the agreement. By the time he found out about the affair his Queen was having with Juan Antonio, the deal would already have been in place. And Collette would be on a Salejo beach, reading congratulatory letters from Pilar del Orofin. Juan Antonio's mother. But now Pilar had turned against her. Collette ran. Pavairelle was a big city, and she knew a lot of people here, but the del Orofin family had a long, long reach. And Pilar was plenty angry about the death of her son. If Collette hadn't read correctly the glance from Fernandez, she'd have gone straight to her room -- and been in bed when the two Kishak thugs broke in, instead of hiding on the opposite roof to see what might happen. Paranoia. Collette cultivated it. She raced past shuttered windows and into an alley, paused, heaving, watching carefully back the way she had come. The street glittered, empty and silent. Collette let her breathing slow down fractionally and then sprinted off again. She was sure [i]somebody[/i] was watching her. This wasn't the first time Collette de Maynard had needed to run for her life. She grinned to herself. It probably wouldn't be the last. ***** The thin Naridic man held back his sobs as he pinned the scrap of paper with one hand, writing madly with the other. [i]Dearest Child: I have only a few moments to scribble these lines, and I can only hope that the Shaeric captain of the airship will deliver them to you. Your brother is dead. The Emir's Hejani came for his students and he was shot down in his lecture hall. They have dragged his body away, I know not why. My dearest, sweet Arrafin, my only consolation is that you are safe. All is chaos here. The al Gebel Library is burning, I can see the flames from here. The Kishaks have taken Sirhan and everyone says they will be here in a week. The Emir has gone mad -- he sees spies everywhere, especially among the intellectuals. I am afraid that I (and your brother, and you, Arrafin) are part of that group he suspects so much. Thanks to Mullah that your mother did not live to see this! Do not return to Al-Tizim, child, until I write to you that it is safe. I will be staying with our old friend Sarras, at his home, for the next while. With Kateb gone I can't go home. If anything happens to me, Sarras will let you know. He will look after you if I am no more. Go with the wind, child. I love you. Your father, Reyhan al Fasir beni Hassan[/i] Still containing himself, Reyhan folded the paper and handed it to the bold Shaeric waiting. "Take this to the del Maraviez house in Pavairelle," he said, "They will find her." Later, sounds of violence in the streets outside, huddled with his old friend, Reyhan lost his composure. The death of his son overwhelmed him. He prayed for Arrafin. ***** Countess del Istanzic rocked in her carriage as it spun up from the Docks to her estate in Palace District. She smiled in smug satisfaction. A deal that let her make a vast sum of money, irritate the del Maraviez, weaken King de Beliard and put the most feared mercenary company in the world in her debt was a deal to be savoured. In a matter of days the [i]Sunset Hope[/i] would arrive, bearing its stolen cargo of del Maraviez muskets. Once the money from the Dark Talons arrived, she could have the guns shipped to them and their mutiny against King de Beliard of the Gap. The del Maraviez robbed from. The King embarrassed and destabilized. The Dark Talons grateful to her. And thousands of florins pouring into her lap. She leaned forward and pulled aside the curtain, watching the night-time streets rattle by. The alleys seethed with dark figures. Except for the main streets, Wharf District had become choked with Naridic refugees, fleeing the advancing Kishak armies in the deserts to the south. Bodies sleeping in doorways or camped in alleys had become commonplace. A squad of Kishak soldiers stood at a corner, kicking a ragged bunch of refugees as she watched. If tensions continued to mount here the way they seemed to be doing everywhere else, soon Pavairelle would be seeing riots and looting. The Jeddakar's troops were getting more unpopular by the day, while Prince del Viandour's favour with the citzenry grew and grew. The Countess leaned back in her cushions and wondered how she would be able to make a profit off it all. ***** The emeralds would work. The very very old man smiled. His was not a pleasant smile. Not the kindly smile of a loved grandfather. Not the confident smile of man who knows of what he speaks. Matai Shang's smile raised hairs on the backs of necks, made dogs growl and whine, and, quite possibly, curdled milk. A child began to scream nearby. Matai Shang sat, wizened and nearly helpless, perched amidst a great mechanical construct of legs and levers and spines, looking like a gigantic steel spider. Shang had not been able to walk unaided for centuries. His mind still burned with feverish intelligence, and he cackled as his schemes began to unfold. The little girl's pleading rose high and then cut off. Blood sprayed. Unsightly minions grovelled and cringed. Shang ignored them. The table before lay strewn with charts and calculations, and he surveyed the work with satisfaction. The emeralds would work. His calculations were indisputable. All that remained was to build the device, test it, and then use it against she who had most unwisely rebelled against him. Scars still ached within him at the memory of her treachery, even as the image of her beauty triggered blind desire. He would possess her again. Yuek Man Chong, the Demon Goddess, would be his once more. Shackles rattled, iron on stone. Another child was drawn forth. The stink of blood and urine filled the air. Matai Shang, very very old, surrounded by death and pain and foulness, began planning his victory. ***** Kimiko lowered her knife and pointed at Kendorik. The crowd shrieked in delight. Kendorik, ever graceful, bowed to her and cleaned his rapier, turning his back on his gasping opponent. He joined his friends, the portly Captain Staznoyan and the towering Yshakan woman Mallitza, accepted their congratulations, and made his way off down the street. Kimiko Torokan, High Blood Sister of the Pavairelle Sanctuary, sheathed her wavy-bladed knife and watched the lithe, profoundly handsome man walk away. Her face gave no sign of her inward appreciation of Kendorik's fine appearance. In her high-collared, shimmering kimono of blood-red silk, Kimiko had long since ceased to display any emotion whatsoever, as befit a member of the Blood Council. She watched Kendorik's unfortunate opponent sag, his breath shortening as the end of his life bore down upon him. Duelists' Street was as ever packed with shoppers, gossipers, drinkers, dancers, singers, tradesmen and waiters and at times it seemed like everyone in Pavairelle was here, wandering between stalls and sidewalk cafes, under the spreading cherry trees that shaded the long, curving boulevard. Another victim of the handsome duelist's sword. Kimiko turned her icy gaze on the poor man's supporters, nodded to her attendants and strode away from the scene. The duel was over. The Blood Council was no longer needed here. [/QUOTE]
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