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<blockquote data-quote="havenstone" data-source="post: 4715765" data-attributes="member: 61094"><p><strong>Hiding Atrix</strong></p><p></p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">DARREN RIDES STRAIGHT</span></strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"> for the merchant camp. Along the way he passes Lucian, who is heading to his planned sparring practice with Atrix. Darren waves him frantically away, not pausing to explain. Minutes later, he dismounts at the Perigords’ tent, his legs shaking. Kay sees the dirt and blood and tears on his face, and immediately brings him inside. “Darren – have some water, sit down. What’s happened?”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Kay...” Darren falters, despair cracking his voice. “It’s Atrix. They’ve killed him, Kay. This time, it’s real.”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">All the blood drains from Kay’s face, but her voice remains steady. “Who did this?”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“The Swordsmark who’s been following us, and Agerain d’Aramant. Ontaya got there and killed the Swordsmark, but not before Agerain showed up. He recognized Atrix and stabbed him over and over.” Darren shudders. “I couldn’t help myself, I attacked Agerain. I think I killed him. And we can’t keep any of it a secret, Ontaya was witness.”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Where is Atrix’s body now?” Kay asks sharply.</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Still there, as far as I know.”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Kay looks up at the sky, where a feeble sunset is barely visible through the massive thunderheads. “We need to get him back before the d’Aramants investigate the area. Can you lead me back there?”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The two of them creep past the cordon of guards and return to the afternoon’s battlefield. The only sound is the flapping and cawing of scores of crows, almost invisible in the evening dark, who have arrived to feed on the bodies. Darren sees two faintly shining lines course down Kay’s cheeks when they discover Atrix’s abused form, but she makes no sound as they chase away the indignant crows and struggle to carry the body away. They leave his broken saber where it fell. Minutes after they steal away, they see and hear a string of torch-bearing figures marching through the grasslands toward the scene of the crime; the investigation of Agerain’s murder is clearly underway. Tears are still streaming silently down Kay’s face an hour later, when they smuggle Atrix’s corpse back through the cordon. “Where can we hide him?” she whispers. “My father and uncle have nowhere that’s truly safe from search.”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Inside Guardwatch,” Darren offers desperately, recalling his brief excursion into the castle with Cannedun to attend to the knights’ gear (and find out roughly where Calla’s quarters were). “There should be other new bodies there, in the headsman’s court – thieves and killers from the camp, executed yesterday when the Senalline commanders arrived. When the time is right, we can get Atrix back for burial.”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Yes – for burial,” Kay says, voice numb and trembling. The dim, dappled glow of the moons behind the thick clouds vanishes as the rains finally break. Darren and Kay are thoroughly drenched by the time they get Atrix’s remains to the foot of the great fortress wall. During a thunderclap, Darren hurls a grapple to an unguarded battlement, then looks back at Kay. “Tie him to this rope. I’ll climb up and rig some sort of pulley so I can haul him up after me. Then you need to get back to your father’s tent and let him and Porphyry know what’s happened. I’ll hide the body and find my own way out.”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Kay throws her arms around him, and he can feel the pent-up sobs shuddering through her whole body. “Darren... I don’t know what to do.”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“We’re doing all we can,” Darren breathes. “Kay, we have to hurry.”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">She shakes her head, whispers, “Be safe,” and lets go of him. Darren scrambles up the wet stone and manages slowly to drag Atrix’s limp form up the wall. He can hear shouts and clashing steel inside the fortress, and can imagine the clashes between d’Loriads and d’Aramants that must be underway; the guards who might normally have been on the walls are down dealing with the fracas. Arms and back aching, Darren lowers Atrix to the headman’s court. As he slides down the line after his dead friend, he hears loud voices approaching. With no time for hesitation, Darren hits the ground, cuts the rope, grabs Atrix’s body, and rolls for the stinking lime-pit where the beheaded men were tossed. He pushes Atrix’s head under one of the corpses, then valiantly forces himself to follow suit.</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Half-smothered and fighting the urge to vomit or howl, Darren hears the rapid footfalls and shouts of a gang of d’Aramants. “There’s a rope there – has someone gone up the wall?” The young lords run around the lime-pit, sparing the headless criminals at the bottom only a cursory glance. They shake the rope and call for someone to head up to the battlements. Then they dash off in search of more d’Loriad prey. Darren shudders in silence for endless minutes until he’s sure they’re gone, then clambers frantically up out of the caustic pit. He tears off his shirt and tries to scrub himself clean in the downpour, casting an anxious eye up at the wall. Even if his arms could support him for another climb up the battlements, it’s too dangerous now. The only way out he can see is to sneak to the d’Loriad wing of the castle and hope that one of his friends there will protect him.</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">He makes it halfway through the d’Aramant wing before another rampaging band of nobles charges around a corner and spies him in the shadows. His feeble protests fall on deaf ears. “For Agerain!” they howl as they pummel him with their boots and the flats of their swords.</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“I’m just a tinker,” Darren shouts. His leather jerkin provides only meager protection from the beating. “M’lords, have mercy, I don’t know who you’re talking about.”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">They squint at him. “You look familiar,” says one dubiously – Darren recognizes him with a sinking feeling as one of Calla’s cousins, who carried her away after the <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4703285-post46.html" target="_blank">battle with the bandits</a>.</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“I’ve been in here repairing saddle tack and armor, m’lords,” Darren pleads. “You likely saw me then.”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The lordlings confer and decide to tie him up to await judgment from a family elder. Darren meekly offers them his wrists – managing by sleight of hand to conceal the small <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4701793-post45.html" target="_blank">needle-shooter</a> under his right sleeve. As he still smells terrible from his roll in the lime-pit, his captors aren’t inclined to search him too closely. As soon the d’Aramant gang runs off to fetch General Mercon, Darren twists down to retrieve a specially sharpened coin from his boot and saws painstakingly through his bonds. Battered to the point where another attack or fall will likely render him unconscious or dead, he scrambles out onto the rain-soaked rooftops and heads for the nearest place of refuge: the cluster of rooms where Calla and the other d’Aramant families have been housed.</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">As he climbs past a narrow stairwell window, Darren freezes when he hears General Athriam d’Aramant’s growl: “I didn’t just bring you here to hide in a box, sage. We need the power you’ve promised us. My young cousin is dead.”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">His heart pounding, Darren sees the General walk past, followed by a gray-haired man who fits Ash’s description of <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4439076-post34.html" target="_blank">Aleander the Sage</a>. The old man says flatly, “What you ask is far beyond my abilities. You will need to speak to Astacius.” Then they disappear and Darren can hear no more.</span></p><p></p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">TO HIS UNSPEAKABLE</span></strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"> relief, Darren eventually spies Calla behind a casement, listening anxiously to the clamor outside her door. He makes his way onto a narrow ledge, shivering, and taps on her window; her face is ashen and drawn as she lets him in. “Shipboy – you’re hurt!”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Lock the door,” he whispers, slumping against the wall. She does so, then hurries back with sweet-smelling balm and several of her scarves to tend to his wounds. “Did my cousins do this to you?” she murmurs, and begins crying when he nods. “Darren, what’s happening?”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“I’ve got to get away, Calla,” Darren says weakly, the words tumbling out of him. “I’m the reason for the fighting out there. I... I killed Agerain. I hit him in the head with my club. I had to stop him – he was murdering my friend. I’m so sorry. If they find out, they’ll kill me.”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Ssssh,” Calla says, pressing a finger to his lips, her eyes wide and alarmed. “I... there’s a room where they won’t find you. I’ll see if the way is clear.” She unlocks the door and vanishes for several minutes. Darren drags himself limply into the shadows, hoping that no one will see him if they stick their heads into Calla’s room.</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Calla returns and closes the door, smiling bravely. “It’s ready. Just rest here a moment longer.” She sits down beside him, her pulse pounding visibly in her throat. “Darren... you know that most of my Family thinks me odd and doesn’t pay much attention to what I do, except to mock me.” </span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Darren grips her arm. “If they only took the trouble to know you...”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Calla looks down at him, with tears welling in her eyes again. “But Cousin Agerain was different. He... he protected me from the others ever since I was a little girl. He always showed me affection. When I heard he was dead today...” Her anguished voice breaks. “Darren, he was the closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had.”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Calla,” Darren breathes, heart-stricken. “Calla – I’m so sorry.”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">She stands up. The door opens, and General Mercon walks in, with six other d’Aramants lining the corridor behind him.</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Don’t say you weren’t warned, boy,” Mercon says bleakly. “Throw him into an oubliette. We’ll bring him out if the others don’t tell us everything we need to know.”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“<em>Calla!</em>” Darren yells in disbelief as the young nobles drag him out of the room. The last thing he sees before the door swings closed is Calla falling onto her guardian’s shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="havenstone, post: 4715765, member: 61094"] [b]Hiding Atrix[/b] [B][FONT=Verdana]DARREN RIDES STRAIGHT[/FONT][/B][FONT=Verdana] for the merchant camp. Along the way he passes Lucian, who is heading to his planned sparring practice with Atrix. Darren waves him frantically away, not pausing to explain. Minutes later, he dismounts at the Perigords’ tent, his legs shaking. Kay sees the dirt and blood and tears on his face, and immediately brings him inside. “Darren – have some water, sit down. What’s happened?”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Kay...” Darren falters, despair cracking his voice. “It’s Atrix. They’ve killed him, Kay. This time, it’s real.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]All the blood drains from Kay’s face, but her voice remains steady. “Who did this?”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“The Swordsmark who’s been following us, and Agerain d’Aramant. Ontaya got there and killed the Swordsmark, but not before Agerain showed up. He recognized Atrix and stabbed him over and over.” Darren shudders. “I couldn’t help myself, I attacked Agerain. I think I killed him. And we can’t keep any of it a secret, Ontaya was witness.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Where is Atrix’s body now?” Kay asks sharply.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Still there, as far as I know.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Kay looks up at the sky, where a feeble sunset is barely visible through the massive thunderheads. “We need to get him back before the d’Aramants investigate the area. Can you lead me back there?”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The two of them creep past the cordon of guards and return to the afternoon’s battlefield. The only sound is the flapping and cawing of scores of crows, almost invisible in the evening dark, who have arrived to feed on the bodies. Darren sees two faintly shining lines course down Kay’s cheeks when they discover Atrix’s abused form, but she makes no sound as they chase away the indignant crows and struggle to carry the body away. They leave his broken saber where it fell. Minutes after they steal away, they see and hear a string of torch-bearing figures marching through the grasslands toward the scene of the crime; the investigation of Agerain’s murder is clearly underway. Tears are still streaming silently down Kay’s face an hour later, when they smuggle Atrix’s corpse back through the cordon. “Where can we hide him?” she whispers. “My father and uncle have nowhere that’s truly safe from search.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Inside Guardwatch,” Darren offers desperately, recalling his brief excursion into the castle with Cannedun to attend to the knights’ gear (and find out roughly where Calla’s quarters were). “There should be other new bodies there, in the headsman’s court – thieves and killers from the camp, executed yesterday when the Senalline commanders arrived. When the time is right, we can get Atrix back for burial.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Yes – for burial,” Kay says, voice numb and trembling. The dim, dappled glow of the moons behind the thick clouds vanishes as the rains finally break. Darren and Kay are thoroughly drenched by the time they get Atrix’s remains to the foot of the great fortress wall. During a thunderclap, Darren hurls a grapple to an unguarded battlement, then looks back at Kay. “Tie him to this rope. I’ll climb up and rig some sort of pulley so I can haul him up after me. Then you need to get back to your father’s tent and let him and Porphyry know what’s happened. I’ll hide the body and find my own way out.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Kay throws her arms around him, and he can feel the pent-up sobs shuddering through her whole body. “Darren... I don’t know what to do.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“We’re doing all we can,” Darren breathes. “Kay, we have to hurry.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]She shakes her head, whispers, “Be safe,” and lets go of him. Darren scrambles up the wet stone and manages slowly to drag Atrix’s limp form up the wall. He can hear shouts and clashing steel inside the fortress, and can imagine the clashes between d’Loriads and d’Aramants that must be underway; the guards who might normally have been on the walls are down dealing with the fracas. Arms and back aching, Darren lowers Atrix to the headman’s court. As he slides down the line after his dead friend, he hears loud voices approaching. With no time for hesitation, Darren hits the ground, cuts the rope, grabs Atrix’s body, and rolls for the stinking lime-pit where the beheaded men were tossed. He pushes Atrix’s head under one of the corpses, then valiantly forces himself to follow suit.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Half-smothered and fighting the urge to vomit or howl, Darren hears the rapid footfalls and shouts of a gang of d’Aramants. “There’s a rope there – has someone gone up the wall?” The young lords run around the lime-pit, sparing the headless criminals at the bottom only a cursory glance. They shake the rope and call for someone to head up to the battlements. Then they dash off in search of more d’Loriad prey. Darren shudders in silence for endless minutes until he’s sure they’re gone, then clambers frantically up out of the caustic pit. He tears off his shirt and tries to scrub himself clean in the downpour, casting an anxious eye up at the wall. Even if his arms could support him for another climb up the battlements, it’s too dangerous now. The only way out he can see is to sneak to the d’Loriad wing of the castle and hope that one of his friends there will protect him.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]He makes it halfway through the d’Aramant wing before another rampaging band of nobles charges around a corner and spies him in the shadows. His feeble protests fall on deaf ears. “For Agerain!” they howl as they pummel him with their boots and the flats of their swords.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“I’m just a tinker,” Darren shouts. His leather jerkin provides only meager protection from the beating. “M’lords, have mercy, I don’t know who you’re talking about.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]They squint at him. “You look familiar,” says one dubiously – Darren recognizes him with a sinking feeling as one of Calla’s cousins, who carried her away after the [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4703285-post46.html"]battle with the bandits[/URL].[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“I’ve been in here repairing saddle tack and armor, m’lords,” Darren pleads. “You likely saw me then.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The lordlings confer and decide to tie him up to await judgment from a family elder. Darren meekly offers them his wrists – managing by sleight of hand to conceal the small [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4701793-post45.html"]needle-shooter[/URL] under his right sleeve. As he still smells terrible from his roll in the lime-pit, his captors aren’t inclined to search him too closely. As soon the d’Aramant gang runs off to fetch General Mercon, Darren twists down to retrieve a specially sharpened coin from his boot and saws painstakingly through his bonds. Battered to the point where another attack or fall will likely render him unconscious or dead, he scrambles out onto the rain-soaked rooftops and heads for the nearest place of refuge: the cluster of rooms where Calla and the other d’Aramant families have been housed.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]As he climbs past a narrow stairwell window, Darren freezes when he hears General Athriam d’Aramant’s growl: “I didn’t just bring you here to hide in a box, sage. We need the power you’ve promised us. My young cousin is dead.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]His heart pounding, Darren sees the General walk past, followed by a gray-haired man who fits Ash’s description of [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4439076-post34.html"]Aleander the Sage[/URL]. The old man says flatly, “What you ask is far beyond my abilities. You will need to speak to Astacius.” Then they disappear and Darren can hear no more.[/FONT] [B][FONT=Verdana]TO HIS UNSPEAKABLE[/FONT][/B][FONT=Verdana] relief, Darren eventually spies Calla behind a casement, listening anxiously to the clamor outside her door. He makes his way onto a narrow ledge, shivering, and taps on her window; her face is ashen and drawn as she lets him in. “Shipboy – you’re hurt!”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Lock the door,” he whispers, slumping against the wall. She does so, then hurries back with sweet-smelling balm and several of her scarves to tend to his wounds. “Did my cousins do this to you?” she murmurs, and begins crying when he nods. “Darren, what’s happening?”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“I’ve got to get away, Calla,” Darren says weakly, the words tumbling out of him. “I’m the reason for the fighting out there. I... I killed Agerain. I hit him in the head with my club. I had to stop him – he was murdering my friend. I’m so sorry. If they find out, they’ll kill me.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Ssssh,” Calla says, pressing a finger to his lips, her eyes wide and alarmed. “I... there’s a room where they won’t find you. I’ll see if the way is clear.” She unlocks the door and vanishes for several minutes. Darren drags himself limply into the shadows, hoping that no one will see him if they stick their heads into Calla’s room.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Calla returns and closes the door, smiling bravely. “It’s ready. Just rest here a moment longer.” She sits down beside him, her pulse pounding visibly in her throat. “Darren... you know that most of my Family thinks me odd and doesn’t pay much attention to what I do, except to mock me.” [/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Darren grips her arm. “If they only took the trouble to know you...”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Calla looks down at him, with tears welling in her eyes again. “But Cousin Agerain was different. He... he protected me from the others ever since I was a little girl. He always showed me affection. When I heard he was dead today...” Her anguished voice breaks. “Darren, he was the closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Calla,” Darren breathes, heart-stricken. “Calla – I’m so sorry.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]She stands up. The door opens, and General Mercon walks in, with six other d’Aramants lining the corridor behind him.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Don’t say you weren’t warned, boy,” Mercon says bleakly. “Throw him into an oubliette. We’ll bring him out if the others don’t tell us everything we need to know.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“[I]Calla![/I]” Darren yells in disbelief as the young nobles drag him out of the room. The last thing he sees before the door swings closed is Calla falling onto her guardian’s shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.[/FONT] [/QUOTE]
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