Barsoom Tales I - COMPLETE
barsoomcore
Unattainable Ideal
It's Good To Be Home
Rain drilled into the soggy plain. The clouds hung low and grey and still.
Elena stepped in front of her friends, brandishing a huge greatsword that towered far above her head. Her feet sought steady footing in the ankle-deep mud. Behind her, a steady fire of muskets and pistols kept a giant four-armed monstrosity at bay.
What looked like a six-year-old Kishak girl stomped towards her, dull hunger in her eyes. Elena tightened her grip and thought about a whole lot of dead people. She could see bodies strewn all over the meadow. At least a hundred people had died here, just in the last few seconds. Under the steady thunder of the rain she could hear voices calling out in agony, wounded, lying in muck and blood.
Something about this scene gave Elena inspiration. She watched the little girl plod steadily up the hill. Behind her Elena's friends gathered close, all silent as they watched this monster, this creature that had just devoured hundred before their eyes, approach.
Arrafin had recovered and clung to Aubrey, unable to keep her footing in the slick mud. The Pavairellean bravo kept an arm around her thin waist as his eyes flicked back and forth between the little girl and the huge monster off to the right, still staggering about in a blind rage, unable to approach their hilltop.
Nevid held the staff he'd retrieved from the caverns, its three feathers now soggy and draggling down. He saw Elena, her faith in the sword evident, and held the staff inexpertly in front of him, like a sailor pushing off from a wharf.
Philip helped Michel loading guns for Boyce and Nervaine, keeping one eye on the approaching girl and Elena standing before her, that ridiculously huge sword wavering in the rain.
Elena stood very still. There was no doubt in her mind that Mara would come to her. Their eyes met and the Saijadani woman shuddered at the emptiness there. She found herself trying to gauge distances and forced herself to stop. Instinct. Elena was no duelist. She'd had no more than a lesson or two with a sword. She wasn't Aubrey or Philip, she had no skill or talent for this. She had to go on instinct.
Instinct let her down. The little red-skinned child charged, moving in a blur, inside the arc of Elena's over-sized blade before it could fall. Elena felt teeth dig into her stomach and a small hand push her thigh up. Bone snapped and Elena screamed as she crashed to the ground, the horrid squealing of the vampire child as it swarmed up her body all around. Her arms flailed and she struggled desperately to keep the little girl at bay, both of them covered in mud.
The black sword spiralled up into the air and plunged down pointfirst to stab into the muck. Elena saw it hit and reached out for it, but the little girl on top of her sank her teeth into Elena's throat and the Saijadani woman felt hot blood spray across her reaching arm.
Aubrey saw the sword hit the ground and left Arrafin's side, sprinting forward to wrap both hands around the yard-long hilt. With a great heave he hauled the blade free and whirled it over his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Philip charging in to help, and with a quick memory of the cherry trees along Duelists' Street in his mind he chopped downwards with all his strength, hoping he wouldn't cut Elena in half at the same time.
He didn't.
Instead, Aubrey recoiled in shock as a snarling, blood-covered six-year-old lunged at his face. The sword flew from his hand as she grabbed his wrist and bit savagely. Aubrey yelled and staggered backward, flailing, trying desperately to rip her from his arm. Her strength was terrifying and Aubrey felt her powerful jaws close on his wrist. All he could think of was losing his hand and the horror of that bloody stump.
Philip turned to see Aubrey falling backwards, the little Kishak girl clamped to his arm. Arrafin had fallen to her knees and crawled towards Elena, rummaging frantically for something to stop the bleeding, crying so hard she could barely move. Nevid was nowhere to be seen. Elena kicked in the mud, cursing in pain, and smacked Arrafin when the Naridic girl came close. The hungry grunting of the little girl filled Philip with horror.
The sword lay in the mud nearby. Philip grabbed it up just as Aubrey managed to tear the little vampire thing loose from his wrist. With a guttural roar he hurled her up into the air. Philip flashed on games of stickball with the other caravan youths as he cranked that massive black blade around.
The girl's shriek as the blade caught her in mid-section was that of a frustrated child denied some trinket. A sickening gout of blood exploded as Philip cut her right in half. The momentum of the huge weapon made him stumble backwards, panting, eyes wide, looking everywhere for the wee monster.
She was gone. Philip let the tip of the sword drop to the ground and leaned on it.
"Hey, come back!"
Boyce yelled curses after the retreating monster. He and his two companions put down their guns and surveyed the battlefield.
"What a mess."
Philip growled. He was too tired to find words. He watched dully as Arrafin bandaged a calmer Elena and as Aubrey got to his feet, clutching his wrist and staring about himself. The great big white monster seemed to have lost interest as soon as the little girl disappeared.
The rain kept drilling down. The clouds still hung, low and dark and grey. They were alone, surrounded by bodies.
*****
Gupta got the stories in pieces, in confused cries and broken Imperial Kishak.
There'd been a disaster of some kind in Chimney, that much was clear. If what these Yshakans were saying was true, they were the only survivors of the mountain village. Monsters and little Kishak girls and whatnot. Gupta made sure the shutters were locked tight, and he and his son, Arup, loaded their Saijadani muskets and sat up in the great hall where the refugees slept, wet and frightened and hungry. His daughter kept the stove going, brewing soup for the new arrivals. Children cried, worn out and many of them missing their parents.
The pounding on the door startled him and he almost discharged his weapon into the ceiling. He and Arup exchanged glances and made their way to the oaken door.
"Yes?"
"Master Gupta, do you remember us? Caravan guards from the del Maraviez, we went up to Chimney a couple of weeks ago."
He did remember them. Not the usual caravan guards, this group. Not with that skinny girl and timid young man with them.
Gupta opened the door. It was still pouring outside, and water glittered on the broad-rimmed hat of the Saijadani standing there at the head of the group. Behind him, the rest of the group, battered, exhausted, bleeding, frightened, frustrated, and hungry. They stumbled into the welcome heat and dryness of the inn, crashed down at a table and stared at each other.
Boyce took out a gem-encrusted necklace and tossed it at Elena.
"Compliments of the King of Bayonne."
Blank looks replaced blank looks as everyone turned to the grinning scoundrel. He and his companions stood up and Boyce saluted, still grinning.
"We're off to deliver the rest of these goodies to our liege."
Philip's mouth dropped open.
"What did you think, I was just a thief?"
"Well, you are."
"True. But a thief with a cause. If you lot are ever in Bayonne, look me up. It's been fun."
The three Gap rogues strode out into the rain. Everyone stared.
Then jumped as a stick came out of nowhere and clouted Ilonka hard across the back of her head.
"Bad! Bad! Bad!"
Philip fended Atranztipac off as Aubrey checked to see Ilonka was not badly hurt. The Pavairellean woman glared at the Yshakan child for two seconds, then burst into tears. Uncertain, Atranztipac dropped the stick. Her belligerent expression softened and then she too began crying.
Elena looked over at the two dozen Yshakans huddled around the fireplace. She thought of the hundreds of people who had once lived in Chimney. Now bodies scattered across muddy fields. A hot bowl of soup appeared in front of her as Gupta's daughters served them. Her friends ate mechanically, unable to meet each other's eyes.
"There is a letter for you, my friends."
Gupta laid a sealed envelope on the table. The wax bore the crest of Isabella del Maraviez. Their boss. The woman who had sent them to Chimney to investigate the drop in silver production. Now she had some other task for them.
Nobody opened it.
Rain drilled into the soggy plain. The clouds hung low and grey and still.
Elena stepped in front of her friends, brandishing a huge greatsword that towered far above her head. Her feet sought steady footing in the ankle-deep mud. Behind her, a steady fire of muskets and pistols kept a giant four-armed monstrosity at bay.
What looked like a six-year-old Kishak girl stomped towards her, dull hunger in her eyes. Elena tightened her grip and thought about a whole lot of dead people. She could see bodies strewn all over the meadow. At least a hundred people had died here, just in the last few seconds. Under the steady thunder of the rain she could hear voices calling out in agony, wounded, lying in muck and blood.
Something about this scene gave Elena inspiration. She watched the little girl plod steadily up the hill. Behind her Elena's friends gathered close, all silent as they watched this monster, this creature that had just devoured hundred before their eyes, approach.
Arrafin had recovered and clung to Aubrey, unable to keep her footing in the slick mud. The Pavairellean bravo kept an arm around her thin waist as his eyes flicked back and forth between the little girl and the huge monster off to the right, still staggering about in a blind rage, unable to approach their hilltop.
Nevid held the staff he'd retrieved from the caverns, its three feathers now soggy and draggling down. He saw Elena, her faith in the sword evident, and held the staff inexpertly in front of him, like a sailor pushing off from a wharf.
Philip helped Michel loading guns for Boyce and Nervaine, keeping one eye on the approaching girl and Elena standing before her, that ridiculously huge sword wavering in the rain.
Elena stood very still. There was no doubt in her mind that Mara would come to her. Their eyes met and the Saijadani woman shuddered at the emptiness there. She found herself trying to gauge distances and forced herself to stop. Instinct. Elena was no duelist. She'd had no more than a lesson or two with a sword. She wasn't Aubrey or Philip, she had no skill or talent for this. She had to go on instinct.
Instinct let her down. The little red-skinned child charged, moving in a blur, inside the arc of Elena's over-sized blade before it could fall. Elena felt teeth dig into her stomach and a small hand push her thigh up. Bone snapped and Elena screamed as she crashed to the ground, the horrid squealing of the vampire child as it swarmed up her body all around. Her arms flailed and she struggled desperately to keep the little girl at bay, both of them covered in mud.
The black sword spiralled up into the air and plunged down pointfirst to stab into the muck. Elena saw it hit and reached out for it, but the little girl on top of her sank her teeth into Elena's throat and the Saijadani woman felt hot blood spray across her reaching arm.
Aubrey saw the sword hit the ground and left Arrafin's side, sprinting forward to wrap both hands around the yard-long hilt. With a great heave he hauled the blade free and whirled it over his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Philip charging in to help, and with a quick memory of the cherry trees along Duelists' Street in his mind he chopped downwards with all his strength, hoping he wouldn't cut Elena in half at the same time.
He didn't.
Instead, Aubrey recoiled in shock as a snarling, blood-covered six-year-old lunged at his face. The sword flew from his hand as she grabbed his wrist and bit savagely. Aubrey yelled and staggered backward, flailing, trying desperately to rip her from his arm. Her strength was terrifying and Aubrey felt her powerful jaws close on his wrist. All he could think of was losing his hand and the horror of that bloody stump.
Philip turned to see Aubrey falling backwards, the little Kishak girl clamped to his arm. Arrafin had fallen to her knees and crawled towards Elena, rummaging frantically for something to stop the bleeding, crying so hard she could barely move. Nevid was nowhere to be seen. Elena kicked in the mud, cursing in pain, and smacked Arrafin when the Naridic girl came close. The hungry grunting of the little girl filled Philip with horror.
The sword lay in the mud nearby. Philip grabbed it up just as Aubrey managed to tear the little vampire thing loose from his wrist. With a guttural roar he hurled her up into the air. Philip flashed on games of stickball with the other caravan youths as he cranked that massive black blade around.
The girl's shriek as the blade caught her in mid-section was that of a frustrated child denied some trinket. A sickening gout of blood exploded as Philip cut her right in half. The momentum of the huge weapon made him stumble backwards, panting, eyes wide, looking everywhere for the wee monster.
She was gone. Philip let the tip of the sword drop to the ground and leaned on it.
"Hey, come back!"
Boyce yelled curses after the retreating monster. He and his two companions put down their guns and surveyed the battlefield.
"What a mess."
Philip growled. He was too tired to find words. He watched dully as Arrafin bandaged a calmer Elena and as Aubrey got to his feet, clutching his wrist and staring about himself. The great big white monster seemed to have lost interest as soon as the little girl disappeared.
The rain kept drilling down. The clouds still hung, low and dark and grey. They were alone, surrounded by bodies.
*****
Gupta got the stories in pieces, in confused cries and broken Imperial Kishak.
There'd been a disaster of some kind in Chimney, that much was clear. If what these Yshakans were saying was true, they were the only survivors of the mountain village. Monsters and little Kishak girls and whatnot. Gupta made sure the shutters were locked tight, and he and his son, Arup, loaded their Saijadani muskets and sat up in the great hall where the refugees slept, wet and frightened and hungry. His daughter kept the stove going, brewing soup for the new arrivals. Children cried, worn out and many of them missing their parents.
The pounding on the door startled him and he almost discharged his weapon into the ceiling. He and Arup exchanged glances and made their way to the oaken door.
"Yes?"
"Master Gupta, do you remember us? Caravan guards from the del Maraviez, we went up to Chimney a couple of weeks ago."
He did remember them. Not the usual caravan guards, this group. Not with that skinny girl and timid young man with them.
Gupta opened the door. It was still pouring outside, and water glittered on the broad-rimmed hat of the Saijadani standing there at the head of the group. Behind him, the rest of the group, battered, exhausted, bleeding, frightened, frustrated, and hungry. They stumbled into the welcome heat and dryness of the inn, crashed down at a table and stared at each other.
Boyce took out a gem-encrusted necklace and tossed it at Elena.
"Compliments of the King of Bayonne."
Blank looks replaced blank looks as everyone turned to the grinning scoundrel. He and his companions stood up and Boyce saluted, still grinning.
"We're off to deliver the rest of these goodies to our liege."
Philip's mouth dropped open.
"What did you think, I was just a thief?"
"Well, you are."
"True. But a thief with a cause. If you lot are ever in Bayonne, look me up. It's been fun."
The three Gap rogues strode out into the rain. Everyone stared.
Then jumped as a stick came out of nowhere and clouted Ilonka hard across the back of her head.
"Bad! Bad! Bad!"
Philip fended Atranztipac off as Aubrey checked to see Ilonka was not badly hurt. The Pavairellean woman glared at the Yshakan child for two seconds, then burst into tears. Uncertain, Atranztipac dropped the stick. Her belligerent expression softened and then she too began crying.
Elena looked over at the two dozen Yshakans huddled around the fireplace. She thought of the hundreds of people who had once lived in Chimney. Now bodies scattered across muddy fields. A hot bowl of soup appeared in front of her as Gupta's daughters served them. Her friends ate mechanically, unable to meet each other's eyes.
"There is a letter for you, my friends."
Gupta laid a sealed envelope on the table. The wax bore the crest of Isabella del Maraviez. Their boss. The woman who had sent them to Chimney to investigate the drop in silver production. Now she had some other task for them.
Nobody opened it.
barsoomcore
Unattainable Ideal
That's the end of Dead In A Box, Part One of Barsoom Tales. Hope y'all enjoyed it -- leave a note if you did. Or if you didn't, but in that case, lie.
Next up is Bayonne Opera Blues. Wacky fun and more melodrama!
Next up is Bayonne Opera Blues. Wacky fun and more melodrama!
barsoomcore
Unattainable Ideal
Interlude: Current Events, Winter 1657
Amongst the massive sand dunes of the Eastern Naridic desert, the banths prowled. Titanic felines thirty feet high at the shoulder, their broad paws spread across the sand as they walked under the pink sky. On their backs perched wide platforms, each roofed in colourful silks and home to dozens of soldiers. No less than thirty of these colossal beasts travelled in a line, three abreast, keeping formation with unnatural precision. Behind them, thousands of soldiers marched, a massive army beyond anything the desert had seen before.
At the center of the platform atop the lead banth, protected by ring upon ring of fanatical bodyguards and swarming bureaucrats, sat the Khadisan. Sharina al-Sharina beni Howetait, grand-daughter of the legendary Sharina herself, liberator of the Narid and leader of the Banthriders. The Khadisan was blessed with foresight and the indomitable will to drive the hated Kishaks from their desert. Her army marched west, towards the great city of Al-Tizim, towards the final confrontation with the Tyrant's Shade and his mercenaries.
Eventually, even prophetic visions become old hat. The Khadisan swayed and her attendants, used to this by now, moved in practised synchronicity to steady her. Once her tremors had died away, Scribe sat ready, pen in hand, to record the holy words of his living saint.
"He's not very attractive."
Scribe frowned. He wrote it down, of course, but for a vision that seemed a little, well, pedestrian. Not full of the fire and fury he'd come to expect. He hurriedly bent to his task as she continued speaking.
"Dispatch two kithraks to the dar Than ruin. Harim and Aran. They should take an extra kithrak, for they will be meeting a man named Dominic. They are to take him to Mullaham dar Than and then to rejoin me here."
Scribe finished writing and passed the message through the curtain to one of the pages waiting just beyond. He waited for the Khadisan's next decree.
*****
A ruined castle perched high on a rocky precipice overlooking the Shaer Channel housed nameless, shrieking things. Things that lived in corners no mortals could perceive, but whose aura had sent all mortals fleeing from this place years ago. Only in whispers was Castle Dannockshire spoken of by those few who still remembered it was there. Black stone and dust filled the echoing hallways where storm winds howled. Strange lights danced in hollow windows and some nights, endless giggling danced from one empty chamber to the next. The castle was dark, cold, half-ruined and filled with spirits of a most disturbing nature.
"This is lovely! Kani, stand by that pillar for a second. Oh, yes, I think that red will do perfectly."
All haunting-like activity ceased when she appeared. Oh, sure, she came with a dozen or so others, some mortal, some not so much, but all the current inhabitants of Castle Dannockshire paid no attention to them. SHE was all they could see.
Madame Yuek Man Chong, formerly Countess of An Mei, formerly the Demon Goddess, emerged from faint wisps of shadowy darkness along with her varied attendants. She was fully six feet tall, not including the immense baroque architecture of black hair, gold bands and jade pins that towered above her alabaster face. A face that stopped every heart that beheld it. She was gorgeous and she was terrifying.
Madame Yuek had taken her beauty for granted for the past two and a half centuries. The residents of Castle Dannockshire had never seen anything like this towering image of bone-white skin, thick robes of embroidered silk and unearthly power. Sorcery practically oozed from her. Her massive, high-collared robes swayed and danced in a non-existant breeze like some sort of undersea creature, all tendrils and fronds. She smiled and inhuman hearts broke all over the castle.
"Hurry up, dear, don't make such a face. Won't this be lovely? Perfect!"
The most powerful sorceress in the world clapped her hands in girlish delight as one of her entourage, a surly Lohanese woman, took up a pouty stance next to an unsteady pillar. Her pout faded as Madame Yuek rushed up to her and took her hands, giddy to the point of irrationality.
"This will be so nice! What a wonderful spot. Kani, dear, you're so clever. We'll have such fun here."
She gestured imperiously to the rest of her group and a young girl, not more than fifteen, came forward and knelt at Madame Yuek's side. The tall woman looked down curiously for a second, and terrible hunger came to life behind her dark dark eyes. She descending, growling.
Kani looked away as blood spattered on the pillar. The girl never moved.
*****
Shadows whirled in a frenzy behind the fortress door. Out of the sudden darkness stepped a tall, black-skinned man with a massive curved blade in his hands. He moved forward quickly, light and quiet for such a big man.
Five Hinsuan men sat around the guardroom at their ease, feet on the rickety table as they chatted. One managed to get to his feet after the door burst open but even he took no more than a step before his body, cut into three pieces, fell to the floor. He was the last to die.
Laughter of Stones, 34th of the Scar'ith Tushan, moved on. Death came wherever he went. An alarm was sounded and he faced more alert foes. It did them no good, though the occasional blow did no good to him, either. By the time he reached his goal, he'd left behind most of his left arm and had two knives still buried in his chest. None of the wounds appeared to incommode him very much, and he did not bleed.
"Scar'ith Tushan. I have been awaiting you."
"You will still die, Keyad'ar. We have taken the oath. We are three hundred. We will hunt you down, each one of you."
"Let us see."
*****
Isabella del Maraviez fretted. Outside her cabin she could hear the constant grinding of timbers driven together by the wind and waves as their little cutter made its way around the headlands of Alquesta.
She fretted over what might be happening while she was so out of touch. One message a day from Kalibar was not enough to keep her feeling in touch with her myriad schemes. Without her army of couriers and messengers and spies and reports coming in hourly, Isabella felt lost.
The ship reeled over a wave and she nearly vomited. Again.
Isabella hated travelling. She heaped all sorts of obscenties on the head of her uncle, Marques, who had insisted she come to Pavairelle to master this caravan herself. She was happy for the chance to meet her latest agents, young Nevid and Elena and Philip and Aubrey, and of course for the chance to meet this Arrafin person face-to-face, but as the ship continued on its unsteady way she wondered if it was really worth it.
*****
Countess del Istanzic looked up from the letter she was reading to count sails. Counting sails had been a pastime of hers since her childhood, when she sat in the parlour waiting for Mother and Father to finish meeting with some merchant or captain.
Seventeen.
The waters beyond the sheltered harbour of Pavairelle were choppy as storm clouds threatened an unseasonal blow. The white triangles out there, most making for the Jewel City's protective breaks, rocked back and forth as the waves rolled underneath their hulls.
The Countess dropped the letter on to the polished surface of her desk. She pondered the wisdom of getting caught up in mainland politics (Pavairelleans always referred to the rest of Barsoom as "The Mainland", even though Pavairelle had ceased to be an island more than two centuries ago) and decided that this time, the potential rewards outweighed the possible risk. The attack on the del Maraviez vessel had gone off without a hitch and the guns were now on their way to Pavairelle. Which, of course, they had been originally, only now they were in her vessel. Fernandez del Orofin would be pleased -- any chance to black the del Maraviez eye put a smile on Fernandez' face.
She opened a drawer in the side of her desk and took out a clean sheet of white paper. As she dipped her pen into the inkwell she stared out at the sea.
Seventeen.
The Countess knew she was risking her entire fortune, her reputation, even her life on this gamble. The del Maraviez family were not to be crossed, nor was King de Beliard of Bayonne to be trifled with, for all his foolishness. She suppressed a thrill of excitement and told herself this was just business. A smart business deal.
Somewhere out there a ship was making its way towards Pavairelle with a cargo of muskets that once belonged to the del Maraviez, now secured on board her vessel, now for her to sell to de Beliard's mutinous mercenaries. She grinned.
Eighteen.
Amongst the massive sand dunes of the Eastern Naridic desert, the banths prowled. Titanic felines thirty feet high at the shoulder, their broad paws spread across the sand as they walked under the pink sky. On their backs perched wide platforms, each roofed in colourful silks and home to dozens of soldiers. No less than thirty of these colossal beasts travelled in a line, three abreast, keeping formation with unnatural precision. Behind them, thousands of soldiers marched, a massive army beyond anything the desert had seen before.
At the center of the platform atop the lead banth, protected by ring upon ring of fanatical bodyguards and swarming bureaucrats, sat the Khadisan. Sharina al-Sharina beni Howetait, grand-daughter of the legendary Sharina herself, liberator of the Narid and leader of the Banthriders. The Khadisan was blessed with foresight and the indomitable will to drive the hated Kishaks from their desert. Her army marched west, towards the great city of Al-Tizim, towards the final confrontation with the Tyrant's Shade and his mercenaries.
Eventually, even prophetic visions become old hat. The Khadisan swayed and her attendants, used to this by now, moved in practised synchronicity to steady her. Once her tremors had died away, Scribe sat ready, pen in hand, to record the holy words of his living saint.
"He's not very attractive."
Scribe frowned. He wrote it down, of course, but for a vision that seemed a little, well, pedestrian. Not full of the fire and fury he'd come to expect. He hurriedly bent to his task as she continued speaking.
"Dispatch two kithraks to the dar Than ruin. Harim and Aran. They should take an extra kithrak, for they will be meeting a man named Dominic. They are to take him to Mullaham dar Than and then to rejoin me here."
Scribe finished writing and passed the message through the curtain to one of the pages waiting just beyond. He waited for the Khadisan's next decree.
*****
A ruined castle perched high on a rocky precipice overlooking the Shaer Channel housed nameless, shrieking things. Things that lived in corners no mortals could perceive, but whose aura had sent all mortals fleeing from this place years ago. Only in whispers was Castle Dannockshire spoken of by those few who still remembered it was there. Black stone and dust filled the echoing hallways where storm winds howled. Strange lights danced in hollow windows and some nights, endless giggling danced from one empty chamber to the next. The castle was dark, cold, half-ruined and filled with spirits of a most disturbing nature.
"This is lovely! Kani, stand by that pillar for a second. Oh, yes, I think that red will do perfectly."
All haunting-like activity ceased when she appeared. Oh, sure, she came with a dozen or so others, some mortal, some not so much, but all the current inhabitants of Castle Dannockshire paid no attention to them. SHE was all they could see.
Madame Yuek Man Chong, formerly Countess of An Mei, formerly the Demon Goddess, emerged from faint wisps of shadowy darkness along with her varied attendants. She was fully six feet tall, not including the immense baroque architecture of black hair, gold bands and jade pins that towered above her alabaster face. A face that stopped every heart that beheld it. She was gorgeous and she was terrifying.
Madame Yuek had taken her beauty for granted for the past two and a half centuries. The residents of Castle Dannockshire had never seen anything like this towering image of bone-white skin, thick robes of embroidered silk and unearthly power. Sorcery practically oozed from her. Her massive, high-collared robes swayed and danced in a non-existant breeze like some sort of undersea creature, all tendrils and fronds. She smiled and inhuman hearts broke all over the castle.
"Hurry up, dear, don't make such a face. Won't this be lovely? Perfect!"
The most powerful sorceress in the world clapped her hands in girlish delight as one of her entourage, a surly Lohanese woman, took up a pouty stance next to an unsteady pillar. Her pout faded as Madame Yuek rushed up to her and took her hands, giddy to the point of irrationality.
"This will be so nice! What a wonderful spot. Kani, dear, you're so clever. We'll have such fun here."
She gestured imperiously to the rest of her group and a young girl, not more than fifteen, came forward and knelt at Madame Yuek's side. The tall woman looked down curiously for a second, and terrible hunger came to life behind her dark dark eyes. She descending, growling.
Kani looked away as blood spattered on the pillar. The girl never moved.
*****
Shadows whirled in a frenzy behind the fortress door. Out of the sudden darkness stepped a tall, black-skinned man with a massive curved blade in his hands. He moved forward quickly, light and quiet for such a big man.
Five Hinsuan men sat around the guardroom at their ease, feet on the rickety table as they chatted. One managed to get to his feet after the door burst open but even he took no more than a step before his body, cut into three pieces, fell to the floor. He was the last to die.
Laughter of Stones, 34th of the Scar'ith Tushan, moved on. Death came wherever he went. An alarm was sounded and he faced more alert foes. It did them no good, though the occasional blow did no good to him, either. By the time he reached his goal, he'd left behind most of his left arm and had two knives still buried in his chest. None of the wounds appeared to incommode him very much, and he did not bleed.
"Scar'ith Tushan. I have been awaiting you."
"You will still die, Keyad'ar. We have taken the oath. We are three hundred. We will hunt you down, each one of you."
"Let us see."
*****
Isabella del Maraviez fretted. Outside her cabin she could hear the constant grinding of timbers driven together by the wind and waves as their little cutter made its way around the headlands of Alquesta.
She fretted over what might be happening while she was so out of touch. One message a day from Kalibar was not enough to keep her feeling in touch with her myriad schemes. Without her army of couriers and messengers and spies and reports coming in hourly, Isabella felt lost.
The ship reeled over a wave and she nearly vomited. Again.
Isabella hated travelling. She heaped all sorts of obscenties on the head of her uncle, Marques, who had insisted she come to Pavairelle to master this caravan herself. She was happy for the chance to meet her latest agents, young Nevid and Elena and Philip and Aubrey, and of course for the chance to meet this Arrafin person face-to-face, but as the ship continued on its unsteady way she wondered if it was really worth it.
*****
Countess del Istanzic looked up from the letter she was reading to count sails. Counting sails had been a pastime of hers since her childhood, when she sat in the parlour waiting for Mother and Father to finish meeting with some merchant or captain.
Seventeen.
The waters beyond the sheltered harbour of Pavairelle were choppy as storm clouds threatened an unseasonal blow. The white triangles out there, most making for the Jewel City's protective breaks, rocked back and forth as the waves rolled underneath their hulls.
The Countess dropped the letter on to the polished surface of her desk. She pondered the wisdom of getting caught up in mainland politics (Pavairelleans always referred to the rest of Barsoom as "The Mainland", even though Pavairelle had ceased to be an island more than two centuries ago) and decided that this time, the potential rewards outweighed the possible risk. The attack on the del Maraviez vessel had gone off without a hitch and the guns were now on their way to Pavairelle. Which, of course, they had been originally, only now they were in her vessel. Fernandez del Orofin would be pleased -- any chance to black the del Maraviez eye put a smile on Fernandez' face.
She opened a drawer in the side of her desk and took out a clean sheet of white paper. As she dipped her pen into the inkwell she stared out at the sea.
Seventeen.
The Countess knew she was risking her entire fortune, her reputation, even her life on this gamble. The del Maraviez family were not to be crossed, nor was King de Beliard of Bayonne to be trifled with, for all his foolishness. She suppressed a thrill of excitement and told herself this was just business. A smart business deal.
Somewhere out there a ship was making its way towards Pavairelle with a cargo of muskets that once belonged to the del Maraviez, now secured on board her vessel, now for her to sell to de Beliard's mutinous mercenaries. She grinned.
Eighteen.
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Joshua Randall
Legend
Am I the only one wondering what the @$#%^! is going on? 
But in a good way, 'cause I am intrigued to read more.
MORE! MORE! MORE!
But in a good way, 'cause I am intrigued to read more.MORE! MORE! MORE!
barsoomcore
Unattainable Ideal
Bayonne Opera Blues -- Part One -- A Book By Its Cover
Elena concealed her amusement at the sight of Arrafin's wide eyes turning into massive circles of surprise as the girls descended on her, giggling.
The Naridic scholar made a few, mild protests, but was entirely too shocked by the sudden attention to do anything but make querulous comments about was this really necessary and would anybody really notice and wasn't it awfully hot in here all of sudden? The wagon rocked its way along the unpaved road, setting curtains swaying, but Nitara's girls, eager to turn the shy Arrafin into a glamourous dancer like themselves, had no problem applying fine lines of kohl, rouge and other substances to their new friend's face. Elena couldn't even see Arrafin anymore; the girl had entirely disappeared behind the silks and long black hair of the Hinsuan women now attending her.
The Saijadani woman looked around, wishing she was outside, helping Isaac with the big parasaurs hauling the wagons down the riverside road to Bayonne, home of the King Percival de Beliard. King of the Gap.
My friends, Isabella's letter had read, I have learned of a secret agreement now being brokered between de Beliard and the del Orofin Familia. The del Orofins have promised to support de Beliard's efforts to subjugate the rest of the Barons if he will grant them rights to collect any and all tariffs and tolls throughout the Gap. We must oppose this not only because of the economic implications, but because we believe a strong Gap is one governed by independent Barons, not a single despot. A civil war now will fatally weaken the Gap, and that will expose Burnoll and all of Saijadan to Kishak expansion, which we fear will fall our way soon.
What the del Orofins are doing is in direct contravention of the Customs Act, and if we can acquire evidence it could not only preserve the strength of the Gap, it would be a great blow against the del Orofins themselves.
Go to Bayonne, acquire the agreement, and find your way down the Bayonne River to the sea. Our agents will meet you there.
My thanks, as always.
Isabella del Maraviez
Elena sighed. She didn't have any great loyalty to the del Maraviez. She'd never even met Isabella. Nevid and Isaac jumped to this woman's every request, sure enough, but infighting between Las Familias held no interest for her.
The idea of a Kishak invasion, however, gave her pause. She'd been born years after the Battle of Fort Burnoll, of course, but her parents had both fought Kishak armies, and their stories of the ferocity of the red-skinned devils of Kish had kept her awake many late nights as a child, either terrified that in the shadows lurked some agent of the insidious Nevakada, the Kishak secret service, or daydreaming that a Kishak army would come over the ridge and she would have to organize the defence of the villa, heroine of the day.
Arrafin squawked as evidently Bel or Jesara pinched a little too hard while curling eyelashes. Elena chuckled, but her laughter died off as the dancers stepped back to show off their handiwork.
"Arrafin?"
The transformation in the young girl was remarkable. She'd gone from unkempt, unpolished and frantic to coiffed, pristine and gleaming. Her usual grubby robes replaced with a fine silk gown and her hair drawn back, she fit right in with Nitara's troupe. Elena grinned, then scowled as the dancers turned to her, makeup at the ready.
"No, I don't need anything..."
Bel, the sauciest of the troupe, smirked.
"You don't want anyone recognizing you, now do you?"
This time, it was Arrafin who watched in bemusement as four slender Hinsuan girls transformed a scowling Elena from Saijadani ranch hand into beautiful Hinsuan dancer.
Isaac and Nevid looked at each as laughter exploded yet again from within the wagon they were driving. Up ahead they could see the lights of the border fort shining in the dusk shadows. Their parasaurs bellowed, calling out to the beasts already tethered outside the fort's hostel, and soon the twilight air reverberated with the drawn-out croaks and roars of the animals as they greeted one another.
The presence of other draft animals reassured Isaac. At least they wouldn't be the only travellers on the road, rumours of war notwithstanding. This would be the first test of their anonymity -- if the Bayonne soldiers were looking for them, here was where the journey would end.
Unless the disguises that Nitara had promised were as effective as Isaac was sure they wouldn't be. Until the wagon door opened and six beautiful Hinsuan girls stepped into the flagstone courtyard, stopping dead in his tracks the young ostler come to lead the parasaurs to the cavernous stables. Isaac, expecting to see such a gaggle appear at their day's journey's end, didn't look twice.
Something in the voices made him look back, however, and that's when Isaac's eyes fell out of his head and landed on the mucky flagstones at his feet.
At least, that's how it felt.
"Elena?" His voice was little more than a squeak. He stood rigid for just a second, then realised that Arrafin as well was among that group. Both of his companions suddenly radiant in flowing, if not especially modest, gowns, hair piled high and gleaming, faces perfectly polished and eyes unbearably bright beneath lines of kohl and dark lashes.
Isaac fled. The parasaurs needed looking after, and the wagons ought to be checked and...
Nevid stood by the other wagon. He helped the elderly Kalibar down from his seat, the thin Hinsuan man smiling his thanks. Nevid swallowed as Kalibar's companion, Nitara descended, offering her his hand. She smiled graciously, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement at the giggling of her troupe. The dance mistress stood taller than Nevid, dark-skinned and lovely enough to stand out even amongst the beauties that formed her dance company. She allowed the Saijadani youth to accompany her to the rest of the group and they entered the hostel together.
*****
Isaac had not before considered the advantages of attractive women when attempting to travel under assumed identities. The fort commander barely even remembered to ask their names before planting himself next to the newly-made-up Arrafin and paying her more compliments than she'd received in all her years at the University.
Arrafin, for her own part, although she certainly was aware of the make-up (her face felt all stiff and she kept wanting to rub at her lips), was entirely ignorant of the effect she was having and proceeded to ply the commander with all sorts of questions about the history of the fort, the Barony of Bayonne, the rise of King Percival and every other detail that caught her attention. Which, predictably enough, had the effect of only increasing her charm in the eyes of the dashing commander, who came to the conclusion that he was succeeding very well indeed with his exotic lovely.
Elena ignored the other garrison members, and one particularly insistent Bayonne merchant who claimed to possess the perfect fragrance for one of her complexion, and found herself next to the elderly Kalibar. He smiled paternally, his eyes studying her with an intent quite different than that of the merchant.
She noticed the fine tracery of what looked like tattoos all around his throat, descending down beneath his collar. The lines were impossibly thin and perfectly formed, as if somebody had draped his skin with black thread, woven together in a loose arabesque. Kalibar saw her studying him and smiled again. Elena blinked.
"How long have you known Nitara?"
"There are two paths. The path of the child and the path of the mother. I have walked the path of the child, but you, Elena, you walk the path of the mother."
Elena blinked again.
"Is one of us confused?"
Kalibar only smiled.
*****
To Elena's disappointment, Kalibar refused to become any more communicative. To her further disappointment, the evening remained civilized and quiet. She half-expected to find herself and her friends arrested in the morning, their disguises seen through and their mission a failure.
But nobody troubled them as they organized the wagons and set out down the road to Bayonne, where the King and the del Orofin family were cooking up plans that Elena didn't much care about.
Elena concealed her amusement at the sight of Arrafin's wide eyes turning into massive circles of surprise as the girls descended on her, giggling.
The Naridic scholar made a few, mild protests, but was entirely too shocked by the sudden attention to do anything but make querulous comments about was this really necessary and would anybody really notice and wasn't it awfully hot in here all of sudden? The wagon rocked its way along the unpaved road, setting curtains swaying, but Nitara's girls, eager to turn the shy Arrafin into a glamourous dancer like themselves, had no problem applying fine lines of kohl, rouge and other substances to their new friend's face. Elena couldn't even see Arrafin anymore; the girl had entirely disappeared behind the silks and long black hair of the Hinsuan women now attending her.
The Saijadani woman looked around, wishing she was outside, helping Isaac with the big parasaurs hauling the wagons down the riverside road to Bayonne, home of the King Percival de Beliard. King of the Gap.
My friends, Isabella's letter had read, I have learned of a secret agreement now being brokered between de Beliard and the del Orofin Familia. The del Orofins have promised to support de Beliard's efforts to subjugate the rest of the Barons if he will grant them rights to collect any and all tariffs and tolls throughout the Gap. We must oppose this not only because of the economic implications, but because we believe a strong Gap is one governed by independent Barons, not a single despot. A civil war now will fatally weaken the Gap, and that will expose Burnoll and all of Saijadan to Kishak expansion, which we fear will fall our way soon.
What the del Orofins are doing is in direct contravention of the Customs Act, and if we can acquire evidence it could not only preserve the strength of the Gap, it would be a great blow against the del Orofins themselves.
Go to Bayonne, acquire the agreement, and find your way down the Bayonne River to the sea. Our agents will meet you there.
My thanks, as always.
Isabella del Maraviez
Elena sighed. She didn't have any great loyalty to the del Maraviez. She'd never even met Isabella. Nevid and Isaac jumped to this woman's every request, sure enough, but infighting between Las Familias held no interest for her.
The idea of a Kishak invasion, however, gave her pause. She'd been born years after the Battle of Fort Burnoll, of course, but her parents had both fought Kishak armies, and their stories of the ferocity of the red-skinned devils of Kish had kept her awake many late nights as a child, either terrified that in the shadows lurked some agent of the insidious Nevakada, the Kishak secret service, or daydreaming that a Kishak army would come over the ridge and she would have to organize the defence of the villa, heroine of the day.
Arrafin squawked as evidently Bel or Jesara pinched a little too hard while curling eyelashes. Elena chuckled, but her laughter died off as the dancers stepped back to show off their handiwork.
"Arrafin?"
The transformation in the young girl was remarkable. She'd gone from unkempt, unpolished and frantic to coiffed, pristine and gleaming. Her usual grubby robes replaced with a fine silk gown and her hair drawn back, she fit right in with Nitara's troupe. Elena grinned, then scowled as the dancers turned to her, makeup at the ready.
"No, I don't need anything..."
Bel, the sauciest of the troupe, smirked.
"You don't want anyone recognizing you, now do you?"
This time, it was Arrafin who watched in bemusement as four slender Hinsuan girls transformed a scowling Elena from Saijadani ranch hand into beautiful Hinsuan dancer.
Isaac and Nevid looked at each as laughter exploded yet again from within the wagon they were driving. Up ahead they could see the lights of the border fort shining in the dusk shadows. Their parasaurs bellowed, calling out to the beasts already tethered outside the fort's hostel, and soon the twilight air reverberated with the drawn-out croaks and roars of the animals as they greeted one another.
The presence of other draft animals reassured Isaac. At least they wouldn't be the only travellers on the road, rumours of war notwithstanding. This would be the first test of their anonymity -- if the Bayonne soldiers were looking for them, here was where the journey would end.
Unless the disguises that Nitara had promised were as effective as Isaac was sure they wouldn't be. Until the wagon door opened and six beautiful Hinsuan girls stepped into the flagstone courtyard, stopping dead in his tracks the young ostler come to lead the parasaurs to the cavernous stables. Isaac, expecting to see such a gaggle appear at their day's journey's end, didn't look twice.
Something in the voices made him look back, however, and that's when Isaac's eyes fell out of his head and landed on the mucky flagstones at his feet.
At least, that's how it felt.
"Elena?" His voice was little more than a squeak. He stood rigid for just a second, then realised that Arrafin as well was among that group. Both of his companions suddenly radiant in flowing, if not especially modest, gowns, hair piled high and gleaming, faces perfectly polished and eyes unbearably bright beneath lines of kohl and dark lashes.
Isaac fled. The parasaurs needed looking after, and the wagons ought to be checked and...
Nevid stood by the other wagon. He helped the elderly Kalibar down from his seat, the thin Hinsuan man smiling his thanks. Nevid swallowed as Kalibar's companion, Nitara descended, offering her his hand. She smiled graciously, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement at the giggling of her troupe. The dance mistress stood taller than Nevid, dark-skinned and lovely enough to stand out even amongst the beauties that formed her dance company. She allowed the Saijadani youth to accompany her to the rest of the group and they entered the hostel together.
*****
Isaac had not before considered the advantages of attractive women when attempting to travel under assumed identities. The fort commander barely even remembered to ask their names before planting himself next to the newly-made-up Arrafin and paying her more compliments than she'd received in all her years at the University.
Arrafin, for her own part, although she certainly was aware of the make-up (her face felt all stiff and she kept wanting to rub at her lips), was entirely ignorant of the effect she was having and proceeded to ply the commander with all sorts of questions about the history of the fort, the Barony of Bayonne, the rise of King Percival and every other detail that caught her attention. Which, predictably enough, had the effect of only increasing her charm in the eyes of the dashing commander, who came to the conclusion that he was succeeding very well indeed with his exotic lovely.
Elena ignored the other garrison members, and one particularly insistent Bayonne merchant who claimed to possess the perfect fragrance for one of her complexion, and found herself next to the elderly Kalibar. He smiled paternally, his eyes studying her with an intent quite different than that of the merchant.
She noticed the fine tracery of what looked like tattoos all around his throat, descending down beneath his collar. The lines were impossibly thin and perfectly formed, as if somebody had draped his skin with black thread, woven together in a loose arabesque. Kalibar saw her studying him and smiled again. Elena blinked.
"How long have you known Nitara?"
"There are two paths. The path of the child and the path of the mother. I have walked the path of the child, but you, Elena, you walk the path of the mother."
Elena blinked again.
"Is one of us confused?"
Kalibar only smiled.
*****
To Elena's disappointment, Kalibar refused to become any more communicative. To her further disappointment, the evening remained civilized and quiet. She half-expected to find herself and her friends arrested in the morning, their disguises seen through and their mission a failure.
But nobody troubled them as they organized the wagons and set out down the road to Bayonne, where the King and the del Orofin family were cooking up plans that Elena didn't much care about.
barsoomcore
Unattainable Ideal
At long last. Sorry about the HUGE wait. Hopefully this tale will carry on in a timely fashion.
barsoomcore
Unattainable Ideal
The complete Dead In A Box tale is available... um... wherever Morrus keeps the Story Hour uploads...Avarice said:Barsoomcore lives?! Ah, it's good to have the old story hour back, though I may have to do some serious re-reading to get back up to speed. Not that that's a bad thing, mind...
Mathew_Freeman
First Post
Barsoomcore! I made it! After all this time, I finally read your story hour.
And verily, it doth rock muchly.
Keep up the good work, mate. I'm really enjoying this!
And verily, it doth rock muchly.
Keep up the good work, mate. I'm really enjoying this!
