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<blockquote data-quote="havenstone" data-source="post: 4759137" data-attributes="member: 61094"><p><strong>Out of the Ashes</strong></p><p></p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">THAT NIGHT, THE </span></strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">camp is filled with the cries of the wounded, the sounds of men being beaten, coarse laughter, choked-off screams. Atrix stands at the bars, his face ashen, trying vainly to seek out through the smoky darkness the cage with Kay and Agerain. Eventually he sinks to the cage floor, looking more miserable than any of his friends have ever seen him. One of Curago’s comrades, a one-eyed Kedrisman, regards Ash balefully from two feet away. “You were a scout, weren’t you? I think it was the scouts as betrayed us.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Shut your face,” Curago barks. “One of... <em>them</em> is coming.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">A tall, golden-skinned soldier with blue ribbons on his helmet strides up to the cage, carrying a torch and staring at all the prisoners inside. Kyla is startled when he speaks in fluent Arawai. “Does anyone in this group speak both Arawai and the tongue of the <em>kherasi</em>?”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“I do,” Kyla offers guardedly.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Some new captives have been brought in. Women. One is about to give birth. We need a translator, and another female captive to assist.” The alien soldier considers. “Also, if you have priests among you, you may wish to bring one. The birth is not going well.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Kyla tersely explains, and Carwyn and Meeshak agree to join her. The stranger calls over ten armed guards and unchains the door of the cage. The three Northerners step out past bristling spears and follow the soldier into the darkness. “Tell the priest that if he speaks without permission, not only will he be killed, but everyone in your cage will have their limbs and eyes removed and left for the crows,” their captor says emotionlessly. When Kyla translates, Meeshak’s lips tighten, but he says nothing.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The soldier leads them through the night to a tent littered with wounded and dying prisoners. Many are terribly burned by the fire the strangers called from the air. Others are bleeding from deep sword and spear wounds. Their moans and screams, however, are drowned out by a woman’s cries coming from behind a curtain at the far end of the tent.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Drawing aside the tattered cloth, Kyla and Carwyn see a Senalline noblewoman they recognize at once: Darcian d’Loriad, the young wife of <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4727938-post56.html" target="_blank">the late General Sarquin</a>, her belly distended under soot-stained silk. Darcian’s chalky face is distorted with agony as another contraction wracks her; blood is pooling thickly on the floor of the little enclosure. A haggard-looking half-Arawai midwife looks up as they enter. “You speak the <em>kherasi</em> tongue, outcast?” she says to Kyla in a sharp tone. “I need to communicate with the woman.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Is she of noble blood?” the soldier asks Kyla intently. “The Archmaster is sleeping and will not come to test them before the morning.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“I don’t know,” Kyla retorts. “Can my friend try to heal her?”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Let him do his best.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“If she is noble, it hardly matters,” the midwife says blackly.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Meeshak kneels beside the almost insensible Darcian and uses his invocations to cure her injuries and ease her pain. The midwife hands Carwyn a satchel of rags to mop up blood and sweat, while Kyla tries to get the pregnant woman to understand the Arawai woman’s questions. “It’s no use,” Meeshak says at last. “I don’t know enough to heal her. She is going to die. Tell the midwife to do what she can to save the child.” Despite their best efforts, the baby is born without drawing breath, and Darcian d’Loriad dies clutching Carwyn’s hand.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">While Meeshak is grimly murmuring last rites over the mother and child, he notices the seemingly stillborn infant suddenly stir and cough. To cover the sound, he dramatically beats his breast and cries out in a grief-stricken voice, “The baby is alive!” -- then drops a hasty Feign Death charm on the newborn. </span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Part of the <em>kherasi</em> death ritual for infants,” Kyla explains to the dubious-looking guards and midwife. “The priest shouts, ‘O the horror of untimely death,’ before saying... uh, a prayer for its soul.” </span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The golden-skinned soldier pokes suspiciously at the baby, who remains inert. “Barbarians often feel they must make a great noise in order to lay souls to rest.” Kyla feels a mild sense of vertigo at hearing the term <em>barbarians</em> applied to Senallines.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Carwyn snatches up the infant’s body, allowing her tears to flow freely. “Kyla, tell them that I insist on bearing the baby to wherever they are burying the dead.” </span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“The barbarian dead are being burned, not buried,” the soldier says when Kyla translates. “But if she wishes to carry the child to the pyre...” He checks again to confirm that the infant is dead, then shrugs in assent. The Arawai midwife wipes her hands clean on the noblewoman’s silks, then leaves the tent. Kyla and Meeshak lift Darcian gently from the bloody floor and carry her behind Carwyn.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Her mind racing, Carwyn cradles the motionless baby at her side, just above the satchel of rags she received from the midwife. The little group is enveloped by choking smoke as they approach the massive pyre. Thousands of fallen soldiers and executed nobility are burning, with the fire being fed and kept under control by a hundred soot-stained strangers wearing gray loincloths. Meeshak and Kyla do their best to lay Darcian on the pile of bodies with dignity. Carwyn steps into the billowing smoke and -- with flawless sleight-of-hand -- throws the bundle of rags onto the fire while hiding the baby away in the satchel.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The guards are impatient to get the prisoners back to their cage, and within minutes the three of them are locked away again. Kyla leans through the bars to appeal to the soldier. “I have a baby of my own. He needs milk...” She sags to the floor as the stranger stalks coldly away.</span></p><p> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">THEIR FRIENDS CROWD </span></strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">around them, asking what happened. Meeshak looks around witheringly to deter their other cage-mates from eavesdropping, then draws his friends close together and speaks in barely audible tones.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“General Sarquin’s wife has died in childbirth. We weren’t able to prevent her death, but we were able to save the child. The strangers think he’s dead and on the pyre, but...” Carwyn opens her satchel to reveal the little Senalline newborn. Kyla’s baby T’harai stops crying for a moment and turns his head as if sensing the other infant’s presence.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Atrix looks into the bag, eyes shining. “Little cousin.” He touches the baby’s damp, sooty head, and for a moment regains something of his usual cheer. “Well, it’s a damned lucky thing he’s got me around to show him how to be a d’Loriad.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Atrix, he can’t know he’s a d’Loriad,” Carwyn breathes urgently. “The outsiders would kill him in a second if they knew. He’s got to be mine -- no one’s going to believe he belongs to Kyla or Ontaya. I’m... I’m going to be looking after him.” She glances over at Lune, thinking nervously, <em>We never spoke about children</em>. Her heart sinks at the stunned, unhappy expression on his face.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Reluctantly, Atrix grimaces his assent. “Well, all right then. I don’t suppose his mother told you his name?”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“His name will be Hamber,” Carwyn says. “For <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4341447-post9.html" target="_blank">my father</a>.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Atrix looks even more pained. “We can’t call him something a little more, well, d’Loriad? Maybe... um... Ambros? It’s close to your fathe...”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“His name. Is Hamber,” Carwyn insists in a tone that brooks no question.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“It’s a good, solid name,” Ontaya whispers.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“For an innkeeper,” Atrix grumbles inaudibly. </span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Meeshak holds up a hand, almost smiling, to forestall Carwyn from exploding in stifled indignation. “Let it go, Atrix. The baby’s got to pass as a Meadwater. Hamber’s a good name. Now, for the moment, the guards know we’ve got one baby in here, and might get suspicious if another one shows up; we’re going to have to keep one of them always hidden, and hope the guards aren’t too observant about the differences in pale skin. I can invoke Feign Death on one of them to keep him quiet for most of the day, and we can swaddle the hidden one tightly when he’s awake.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Is it going to be feigned?” Lune cuts in. “Kyla here can’t even get milk for the one. How are we going to keep them alive?”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">At that, there is a moment of silence. It is broken when Ontaya sighs deeply. “Blood,” she says in quiet resignation. “Watered-down blood is all we have for them. Meeshak, you can consecrate it, bless it for their drinking -- it won’t give it all the virtues of milk, but it might keep their bodies from rejecting it.” She bites her arm until a trickle of blood is flowing. “And we can try to heal them as they weaken, to keep them from dying.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“That’s grotesque,” Lune protests.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“But Ontaya’s right -- for now, it’s all we can do,” Meeshak says grimly. “Join me in praying it works.” He blesses the blood running down Ontaya’s arm. After a moment of hesitation, Kyla brings baby T’harai over and encourages him to feed.</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="havenstone, post: 4759137, member: 61094"] [b]Out of the Ashes[/b] [B][FONT=Verdana]THAT NIGHT, THE [/FONT][/B][FONT=Verdana]camp is filled with the cries of the wounded, the sounds of men being beaten, coarse laughter, choked-off screams. Atrix stands at the bars, his face ashen, trying vainly to seek out through the smoky darkness the cage with Kay and Agerain. Eventually he sinks to the cage floor, looking more miserable than any of his friends have ever seen him. One of Curago’s comrades, a one-eyed Kedrisman, regards Ash balefully from two feet away. “You were a scout, weren’t you? I think it was the scouts as betrayed us.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Shut your face,” Curago barks. “One of... [I]them[/I] is coming.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]A tall, golden-skinned soldier with blue ribbons on his helmet strides up to the cage, carrying a torch and staring at all the prisoners inside. Kyla is startled when he speaks in fluent Arawai. “Does anyone in this group speak both Arawai and the tongue of the [I]kherasi[/I]?”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“I do,” Kyla offers guardedly.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Some new captives have been brought in. Women. One is about to give birth. We need a translator, and another female captive to assist.” The alien soldier considers. “Also, if you have priests among you, you may wish to bring one. The birth is not going well.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Kyla tersely explains, and Carwyn and Meeshak agree to join her. The stranger calls over ten armed guards and unchains the door of the cage. The three Northerners step out past bristling spears and follow the soldier into the darkness. “Tell the priest that if he speaks without permission, not only will he be killed, but everyone in your cage will have their limbs and eyes removed and left for the crows,” their captor says emotionlessly. When Kyla translates, Meeshak’s lips tighten, but he says nothing.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The soldier leads them through the night to a tent littered with wounded and dying prisoners. Many are terribly burned by the fire the strangers called from the air. Others are bleeding from deep sword and spear wounds. Their moans and screams, however, are drowned out by a woman’s cries coming from behind a curtain at the far end of the tent.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Drawing aside the tattered cloth, Kyla and Carwyn see a Senalline noblewoman they recognize at once: Darcian d’Loriad, the young wife of [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4727938-post56.html"]the late General Sarquin[/URL], her belly distended under soot-stained silk. Darcian’s chalky face is distorted with agony as another contraction wracks her; blood is pooling thickly on the floor of the little enclosure. A haggard-looking half-Arawai midwife looks up as they enter. “You speak the [I]kherasi[/I] tongue, outcast?” she says to Kyla in a sharp tone. “I need to communicate with the woman.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Is she of noble blood?” the soldier asks Kyla intently. “The Archmaster is sleeping and will not come to test them before the morning.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“I don’t know,” Kyla retorts. “Can my friend try to heal her?”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Let him do his best.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“If she is noble, it hardly matters,” the midwife says blackly.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Meeshak kneels beside the almost insensible Darcian and uses his invocations to cure her injuries and ease her pain. The midwife hands Carwyn a satchel of rags to mop up blood and sweat, while Kyla tries to get the pregnant woman to understand the Arawai woman’s questions. “It’s no use,” Meeshak says at last. “I don’t know enough to heal her. She is going to die. Tell the midwife to do what she can to save the child.” Despite their best efforts, the baby is born without drawing breath, and Darcian d’Loriad dies clutching Carwyn’s hand.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]While Meeshak is grimly murmuring last rites over the mother and child, he notices the seemingly stillborn infant suddenly stir and cough. To cover the sound, he dramatically beats his breast and cries out in a grief-stricken voice, “The baby is alive!” -- then drops a hasty Feign Death charm on the newborn. [/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Part of the [I]kherasi[/I] death ritual for infants,” Kyla explains to the dubious-looking guards and midwife. “The priest shouts, ‘O the horror of untimely death,’ before saying... uh, a prayer for its soul.” [/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The golden-skinned soldier pokes suspiciously at the baby, who remains inert. “Barbarians often feel they must make a great noise in order to lay souls to rest.” Kyla feels a mild sense of vertigo at hearing the term [I]barbarians[/I] applied to Senallines.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Carwyn snatches up the infant’s body, allowing her tears to flow freely. “Kyla, tell them that I insist on bearing the baby to wherever they are burying the dead.” [/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“The barbarian dead are being burned, not buried,” the soldier says when Kyla translates. “But if she wishes to carry the child to the pyre...” He checks again to confirm that the infant is dead, then shrugs in assent. The Arawai midwife wipes her hands clean on the noblewoman’s silks, then leaves the tent. Kyla and Meeshak lift Darcian gently from the bloody floor and carry her behind Carwyn.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Her mind racing, Carwyn cradles the motionless baby at her side, just above the satchel of rags she received from the midwife. The little group is enveloped by choking smoke as they approach the massive pyre. Thousands of fallen soldiers and executed nobility are burning, with the fire being fed and kept under control by a hundred soot-stained strangers wearing gray loincloths. Meeshak and Kyla do their best to lay Darcian on the pile of bodies with dignity. Carwyn steps into the billowing smoke and -- with flawless sleight-of-hand -- throws the bundle of rags onto the fire while hiding the baby away in the satchel.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The guards are impatient to get the prisoners back to their cage, and within minutes the three of them are locked away again. Kyla leans through the bars to appeal to the soldier. “I have a baby of my own. He needs milk...” She sags to the floor as the stranger stalks coldly away.[/FONT] [B][FONT=Verdana]THEIR FRIENDS CROWD [/FONT][/B][FONT=Verdana]around them, asking what happened. Meeshak looks around witheringly to deter their other cage-mates from eavesdropping, then draws his friends close together and speaks in barely audible tones.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“General Sarquin’s wife has died in childbirth. We weren’t able to prevent her death, but we were able to save the child. The strangers think he’s dead and on the pyre, but...” Carwyn opens her satchel to reveal the little Senalline newborn. Kyla’s baby T’harai stops crying for a moment and turns his head as if sensing the other infant’s presence.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Atrix looks into the bag, eyes shining. “Little cousin.” He touches the baby’s damp, sooty head, and for a moment regains something of his usual cheer. “Well, it’s a damned lucky thing he’s got me around to show him how to be a d’Loriad.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Atrix, he can’t know he’s a d’Loriad,” Carwyn breathes urgently. “The outsiders would kill him in a second if they knew. He’s got to be mine -- no one’s going to believe he belongs to Kyla or Ontaya. I’m... I’m going to be looking after him.” She glances over at Lune, thinking nervously, [I]We never spoke about children[/I]. Her heart sinks at the stunned, unhappy expression on his face.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Reluctantly, Atrix grimaces his assent. “Well, all right then. I don’t suppose his mother told you his name?”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“His name will be Hamber,” Carwyn says. “For [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4341447-post9.html"]my father[/URL].”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Atrix looks even more pained. “We can’t call him something a little more, well, d’Loriad? Maybe... um... Ambros? It’s close to your fathe...”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“His name. Is Hamber,” Carwyn insists in a tone that brooks no question.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“It’s a good, solid name,” Ontaya whispers.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“For an innkeeper,” Atrix grumbles inaudibly. [/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Meeshak holds up a hand, almost smiling, to forestall Carwyn from exploding in stifled indignation. “Let it go, Atrix. The baby’s got to pass as a Meadwater. Hamber’s a good name. Now, for the moment, the guards know we’ve got one baby in here, and might get suspicious if another one shows up; we’re going to have to keep one of them always hidden, and hope the guards aren’t too observant about the differences in pale skin. I can invoke Feign Death on one of them to keep him quiet for most of the day, and we can swaddle the hidden one tightly when he’s awake.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Is it going to be feigned?” Lune cuts in. “Kyla here can’t even get milk for the one. How are we going to keep them alive?”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]At that, there is a moment of silence. It is broken when Ontaya sighs deeply. “Blood,” she says in quiet resignation. “Watered-down blood is all we have for them. Meeshak, you can consecrate it, bless it for their drinking -- it won’t give it all the virtues of milk, but it might keep their bodies from rejecting it.” She bites her arm until a trickle of blood is flowing. “And we can try to heal them as they weaken, to keep them from dying.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“That’s grotesque,” Lune protests.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“But Ontaya’s right -- for now, it’s all we can do,” Meeshak says grimly. “Join me in praying it works.” He blesses the blood running down Ontaya’s arm. After a moment of hesitation, Kyla brings baby T’harai over and encourages him to feed.[/FONT] [/QUOTE]
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