My meeting notes from a recent meeting. Detailed and helpful, I think.
35-At the Cymerie
As the sun drew closer to the horizon we saddled Hook and Sinker with old tack from Ironsides’ storage shed then, Namal and Ayglos mounted and set out at a swift pace. I traveled behind, on foot with Quill and his men, cutting through the orchards at a quick jog. I was pleased that all the foot travel over the past week had made this pace quite reasonable. Our packs were freshly loaded with food but I had traded Quill the heavy crossbow from Gillenwater for his bow, and we were both happier for it. We were heading cross country to hit the main road where it crossed the Cymerie, an angry little tributary of the Bandui River. Quill had sent two men to track the progress of the prisoner transport and to slow them down if necessary so we could reach the Cymerie and prepare for them. I had never met the Cymerie, but knew it was smaller river, swift and scored with rapids and gorges. The Cymerie wasn’t the wide and deep trade conduit that the Bandui River was. In fact, it was mostly in the way. Which was perfect for us. Ayglos and Namal would reach her before we did, and were tasked with securing the river’s help.
As we jogged, my mind turned back to the morning’s counsels. There were thirty men escorting the barred carriage, which made any attempt at open battle on the road foolish. Neither could we wait for help inside Dalyn.
“The city is not ours yet,” Quill had explained, “The Nether Queen has many agents in the king’s court, and her ambassador is formidable. I cannot speak for my King to promise you a rescue within its walls. Such an event might destroy the rebellion before it has really commenced.”
So we had to be clever.
I grimaced and focused on keeping my footing in the less cultivated terrain. I hoped we were clever enough. Those of us on foot made good time cutting over the gentle land and I caught scent of the turbulent Cymerie long before we heard its roar. It was dark when the trees stopped and the silhouette of an arching stone bridge stood against the sky. Quill’s men scouted the area quickly and returned with Ayglos and Namal to announce that the road was clear in both directions and the Cymerie was, if not delighted to help, willing enough. We set to work with the yards and yards of thin cloth. At every moment I expected to hear the prisoner caravan on the road, but we finished our preparations without so much as a bat swooping overhead.
I took my place in the center of the road on Dalyn’s side, just far enough that you had to be quite across the bridge before your lantern would show my presence. Wide strips of the thin white cloth crisscrossed the road like the masterpiece of an ambitious spider. Perhaps several ambitious spiders. I stood in the midst of the cloth web, a swath wrapped around my shoulders and head like a hooded cape. My mind was oddly quiet as I waited, listening to the river and the sounds of the night.
I could not be sure how long it was before I heard horses and the jangling of harnesses. Then the lanterns carried by the caravan swung into view, moving at a good pace. As reported, there were mounted men riding ahead, and behind the barred carriage. The first of the horsemen reached the bridge and the clatter of hooves on stone sounded deafening to me after the stillness of waiting. The din only got louder as the carriage hit the rocks. The lead horsemen reached my side of the bridge and pulled up sharply when the light of their lanterns glanced off the gauzy web across the road. Their cries of “Halt!” traveled back over the vanguard and the whole company came to an abrupt stop.
The horses skittered about unhappily as the leaders dismounted and approached the web with their swords drawn and their lanterns held aloft. Before they got too close, I took a step. They startled, seeing me for the first time, “Who goes there?” they demanded.
I took another drifting step, “Have you seen him?” I asked mournfully.
“What?” asked the man on the right.
“Have you seen him?” I asked again, “He rode to the underworld, and I seek him.”
I felt the shudder of uncertainty rush through them, and then be replaced by impatient anger. “What are you talking about, woman? Clear the road, we are on the Queen’s business.”
I turned to face them and raise my arms. “The Queen of the Underworld?” I demand. “You took him! You slaves of darkness!” On cue, two crossbow quarrels flew through the air and the men dropped to the ground, their lanterns spun to the ground, casting bizarre shadows as they went. The other men in the column had been watching and they cried out, spurring their horses forward. I dashed forward for the lanterns. They were the same orbs dangling from polls that the patrols in Gillenwater used. I leapt back into the web as the first line of horsemen bore down. I needed to lure more away from the carriage.
“Can you tell me where to find Maten?” I bark at the soldiers, hoping they knew their legends like Quill did. “Speak now and I may spare your lives!”
They couldn’t reach me in the web, not mounted. Swords drawn, three men jumped down as others rode up. I raised the lanterns, illuminating our little circle of road for my bowmen. “I gave you a chance.”
The quarrels flew, but the third man ducked into the web and charged at me. I swung the lanterns, deflecting his sword. He came again and I dodged backwards, bouncing off a swath of cloth right before he sliced through it. How long did it take to reload a crossbow? “Know the wrath of Nelia!” I cried and he dropped to the ground with a gasp of surprise. Not long.
More horsemen were gathering and dismounting. I couldn’t stay here. Even if I could dodge them, sooner or later one of them would produce a crossbow of his own. I lifted the lanterns again, they were sputtering now after being swung about—I guessed there were eight men coming for me, with five down, that meant only a little over half still close to the carriage. Those were better odds than we started with. Dropping the lanterns, I tossed aside my white trappings and ran.
Risking a glance over my shoulder, I saw chaos on the road. A couple of the soldiers had stopped to see to their comrades, and others were hacking madly at the cloth to clear the way for the carriage. Two of them jumped their horses over the tumbling web and thundered after me. Behind that, on the bridge, men were climbing over the sides of the bridge from where they’d hidden—dangling off the side like fish at a fish market. The bulk of Quill’s men, and my brothers, gathered at the carriage. They cut the horses free and while some held back the rearguard—taking advantage of the very narrow space—the rest heaved the carriage over the side of the bridge and into the turbulent Cymerie.
Night Horse art
Fighter sketch
Some quick pencil fun. Working on forms and motion.
34-Kindling
Balleck had carried his poi—chains with the weighted ends tightly wrapped wicking–with him all the way from the circus caravan. “You never know when you might need a diversion,” he winked, holding the poi while I used the flint from my daggers to light them. He had soaked them in kerosene from a lamp in the day laborers’ hall and the poi sprang to life with a gentle froosh. Most of the circus women, and the girls from Gillenwater, had followed us from the hall to watch.
Picking up the slender chains Balleck spun the weights till the fire looked like golden wheels. The wheels danced, interlaced, twisted and came apart again. I could see the world falling away from him; he seemed to forget about me as he moved with the fire, bending and turning and leaping like a flame himself. The rest of the circus people trickled out of the hall. Olena came to stand beside me, I put an arm around her shoulders. Balleck spun the flames in a fury of motion, between his hands like a potter’s pot, then arching around himself until it looked like he would be consumed.
Balleck ended with a backflip, the fire trailing from his hands stilled and, as if waking from a stupor, he noticed just how large his audience had gotten. He bowed deeply while his colleagues clapped. Seeing Olena with me, he came over and offered Olena the poi.
Hesitantly, Olena accepted them. With Balleck’s encouragement, she stepped out and gave the poi a test spin. The weights performed. She spun the other poi, then took another step or two and sunk into a deep lunge. Now the poi swept up in an arc and the red haired Olena followed them into a leap. The other circus women gave hoots of delight as Olena, too, threw herself into the fire dance. All her considerable skill came out as the poi danced at her bidding, as she danced, too. I stole a look at Balleck and noticed tears in his eyes as he watched his cousin. I wondered if he felt as I did—torn by a thousand emotions. Our parting, Olena’s ordeal, and even this bright moment of restoration all threatened to overwhelm. Balleck caught me looking at him—my ears turned red and he reached out and squeezed my hand. I quickly looked away before tears could escape my eyes, too.
Olena finished with her back to us, the poi spinning slower and slower until they stilled. The circus women cheered. I could feel the hope in their cheer—Olena had found herself again, so there was hope for each of them. Olena drew a deep breath and then faced us. She dipped her head shyly, like a child who has been caught singing when she was alone. Balleck walked out to her and folded her into his arms.
The crowd dissolved, some went back into the laborers’ hall, others lingered in clusters outside—a few started stretching. I imagined they were testing themselves, to see if they still were who they remembered.
That would suffice for my fire spinning lesson. Turning to go, I smiled my goodbyes to the few who noticed my departure and hurried off to find my brothers. There were preparations to be made, not the least of which finding something along the lines of armor. Our plan was on the wilder side, but at least this time there was a plan.
I hadn’t gone far down the lane when Jemin fell in step beside me. I looked at him in surprise, “Jemin! Hasn’t Quill got you busy?”
The bearded soldier laughed, “He has, he told me to watch over you.”
“Oh, of course,” I felt silly. Naturally. “Well, it’s good to see you again.”
“Thank you, milady,” replied Jemin, still smiling.
“Do you know where they are?” I asked, gesturing vaguely at the little dirt road and the surrounding fields and trees.
“I have an idea.” Jemin picked up the pace and I followed him at a trot along the dirt path until we came a large barn which had an entire side open to the air. Inside were huge wooden crates, stacked neatly. Also inside were ten of Quill’s men, along with Quill and my brothers. My brothers were outfitted with whatever bits of armor Quill’s men had spare, and were openly wearing their swords. They had one of the crates open and were pulling swaths of gauzy white material out of it.
They greeted me as I approached.
“Ironsides has taken his sons and gone to survey his fields and orchards,” said Namal, “Most of his servants have been given the day off or instructed to teach the circus women some tasks around the grounds so he can explain their presence if he has to.”
“That explains why I haven’t seen hardly anyone around.” I stepped closer to the crate to finger the cloth, though it was so thin it scarcely deserved the word.
“It’s for protecting fruit trees from pests,” explained Quill, sensing my question.
“It’s perfect,” I replied.
“Zare, try these on,” Ayglos tossed me a handful of hard leather.
Catching the bundle, I examined it, finding a pair of bracers, boots, leather breeches, and a leather jerkin that looked as though it had been folded for a very long time and just recently oiled. “Thank you.”
“I think the jerkin belonged to Ironsides when he was a boy,” said Ayglos apologetically. “Do you want to go back to the house to try them on?”
“I can just go around the crates to that corner,” I pointed with my chin. Months of living on the road had done much to change my sensibilities. Ayglos didn’t argue and I ducked around the corner between some crates and began shucking my shoes and trousers. I slipped into the leather breeches with some difficulty. They were newly oiled, but still a touch stiff with age like the jerkin. They fit well enough, and I was grateful to have them. Next were the boots. They were a little too big so I stuffed grass in the toes. The jerkin and bracers I applied over my blue shirt and it took a bit of fussing to get everything arranged properly. The final touch was belting on my daggers again. I twisted and kicked, testing out the motion of my new garb. That would do. I felt a smile. It was not as nice an ensemble as I’d had in Galhara, but it was closer than I’d been in a long while. The leather gear would offer more protection than the cotton, and every little bit helped. Gathering up my trousers and shoes I headed back to join the men.
I looked for you
This is an art piece I did for my novel–it’s set in the same world as Zare. In fact it’s about Shyr Valla–the first city Narya Magnific conquered, the one Quill says was wiped off the land as if it had never been.
The novel isn’t finished, but Zare is helping. She’s the best.
doldrums
Late Spring/early Summer is apparently a rough time on my writing! I apologize for the interrupted posting. It’s when all the travel wraps up that I tumble flat on my creative face and find that coloring books are about all I can manage. That and practicing my penmanship.
I promise I’m working on the story, too.
I even drew a little from scratch this week.
Ink
Messing around with a more minimalist style today.
I need to learn more about alcohol ink.
32- Tears and Breakfast
“It’s a good thing I kept those extra nanny goats last year!” announced Ironsides, setting the pitcher and mugs on the table and beginning to pour. “Otherwise we’d only be sharing thimbles of their milk instead of cups,” he smiled and Quill and I moved over to the table to receive our mugs. “Milda will be in shortly with the rest of breakfast.” Ironsides settled himself on a bench, and we sat across from him sipping our milk.
“It’s good,” I said, just to say something.
“Thank you,” replied Ironsides.
After that no one said anything, just sat drinking goat’s milk and observing the shape of the room. I wanted to ask more about Narya’s sorcery, Quill’s father, the new king, and everything else. But I wasn’t sure I should with Ironsides there. Finally, Milda came in with breakfast—a warm porridge with bacon and quince on the side. Then at least we had the food to discuss, even if it was in short bursts. I felt as if the reality of the Nether Queen’s sorcery was sitting at the table with us—silent, imposing, and superior. Was Ironsides right when he said she was already too strong…and if so, did that matter? To what hope did Quill refer? These questions took spots on the long benches also, and the room began to feel quite crowded to me. If Nadine were here conversation would have flowed easily in spite of all this. Or so I imagined. I hadn’t had the chance to discover if Nadine’s silver tongue had any effect on Quill’s stubbornness, but Ironsides at least would have talked. The princessly skill of table conversation was invaluable for diplomacy and information gathering—it was a tool I had to consciously pick up to use, whereas it was a part of Nadine. I wondered where my sister was, what she was doing, and if she were alright. Were they treating my family as valuable prisoners, protecting them as they should? Though nothing good could come of their imprisonment.
The porridge caught in my throat as grief from the past two weeks crashed down on me. A little food and sleep and suddenly I had energy to think about my problems again. My stomach turned over and I set down my spoon.
Quill and Ironsides both stopped to look at me. “Are you alright, my lady?” asked Quill.
I nodded. If by “alright” you mean “not choking to death,” then absolutely.
“What’s the matter, child?” asked Ironsides, setting his own spoon down, too.
I managed to meet his eyes. They were blue and kind, and if I looked too long I would cry. “I’m sorry,” I stood up, “I was thinking of my family—thank you for breakfast!” I nearly ran out of the great room and down the hallway that led out of the house. The air was cool but the morning sun was warm as I picked a direction and kept going out of the front yard. I didn’t go back into the orange grove, but cut right and discovered the barns. Past those, in a rocky paddock full of goats, I found Sinker and Hook browsing happily. I went to them and after a quick greeting, leaned into Hook’s shoulder and cried. The horses continued to clip grass, though Hook occasionally reached back to nose me while I sobbed about everything that had happened in the past year. My tears so rarely come there is a backlog of things to cry over. I thought of everything from my favorite gown that burned with the palace, to embarrassing flubs at the circus, to the certain doom of my sister and parents. Not even the circus master’s broken boxes went unmourned. Finally, when my soul had run out of even the silliest memory to cry over, the tears stopped and I pulled away from Hook.
The black turned his head to nudge me, I patted him. “I should probably go get cleaned up,” I told him. He flicked an ear and nibbled my cuff. “Aww, thanks, I’m glad you don’t mind my face.” I sniffed and turned to go back to the house. I hoped I could sneak in—but there was no chance of that. Ayglos was leaning on the fence, waiting for me.
I walked toward him, embarrassed.
“You OK?” asked Ayglos as I slipped through the fence.
“Yes,” I let him pull me in for a hug, “I’m feeling better now.”
“Quill followed you here, then when Namal and I got up he told me where to find you,” explained my brother as we turned together for the house.
“Kind of him.”
“He’s a royal guard,” smiled Ayglos, “There was no way he was letting you disappear.”
“I meant to let me wail in peace—although I suppose our royal guard would have done that, too.” I desperately wanted to rub my face, but my hands were covered in horse-dirt and would only make matters worse. “I must look a sight.”
My brother snorted. “Any knight would leap to right the wrongs that caused your tears.”
I noticed that Ayglos had new clothes, too; fitted deep brown trousers and a shirt that was a dusky cherry tone. Like mine, they were good thick cloth, soft with wear. “You look nice,” I commented as we entered the yard.
“Ironsides is most generous,” replied my brother.
“Ayglos,” I stopped him before we could enter the house, “I was talking with Quill this morning—he said that Narya really is a sorceress—that Shyr Valla and her armies are truly gone without a trace.”
Ayglos turned back to look at me carefully. “He did?”
I nodded. “That is how Dalyn fell: Her armies were—disappeared—poof—and did not come to lift the siege. When no rescue came, the city fell.”
Ayglos considered this for a moment. Before he spoke I knew he had decided on skepticism. “There are any number of things that could have happened to that army,” he said at last. “Perhaps they joined her army,” He held up a hand to stop my protest, “Stranger things have happened. Though the city is a harder thing. Did Quill see it?”
I closed my mouth. Quill hadn’t said he’d seen it himself, technically, though I was sure he had.
Ayglos knew he had won his point. “There now, nothing is certain. There is no use worrying.” He led the way into the house, and had the good grace to take me to the hallway where all our rooms were rather than to the main hall.
He left me at my room and I washed my hands and splashed more water on my face. Not feeling quite ready yet to face the others, I also unbraided and combed my hair before twisting it back into braids and curling these into buns at the back of my head. When I was finished I took a deep breath and walked back to the main hall.
When I arrived my brothers were standing, staring at one of Quill’s men, who was sitting on a bench with a weary slump that implied a hard ride and a recent arrival.
“You’re sure?” asked Namal.
The man nodded. “It looks like they had wagon trouble. The wheels were mismatched like they’d had to get new ones on their way.”
“But you’re sure it’s them?” repeated Ayglos.
The man nodded again.
Just then Quill entered the room from the kitchen door, carrying a tray with a porridge bowl and a mug. His eyes met mine and he nodded to me before going to his man and setting the tray down before him. “Here you are, well earned.”
The scout, for he clearly was, gratefully fell upon the porridge. I walked up to the table and my brother’s noticed me for the first time.
“Zare,” Namal turned to me and held out an arm. I stepped in to his embrace. “Zare, they found our family.”
31-History
When I awoke the room was awash with soft sunlight. I wondered on which end of the day I was waking. I rolled to my feet and looked down at myself. If I had been civilized, I would have shed my dirty clothes before sleeping. I shed them now, and finding a basin and pitcher of water on the little table by the bed, washed up in the chilly water. There was a pair of dark billowy trousers and a pale blue shirt waiting at the end of the bed. The cloth was a good thick cotton and some simple embroidery adorned the waistband of the pants. Nothing too fancy but well-made and worlds above the rags I had been wearing, I pulled them on gratefully. The trousers were slim through the hips and upper leg, then plumed out before coming back to wide cuffs at the ankles. The cut was more typical of summer, but this fabric was definitely suited for winter and I liked the way it fell. My daggers belted on much better over this ensemble and I felt pretty—it was nice. I pulled my sad shoes on and ventured out into the hallway and headed back the way we’d come the night before.
Ironsides’s home was uncomplicated, and I had no difficulty finding the central room with the fireplace. The fire was going and I saw Quill and Ironsides standing by the mantle looking quite serious. I approached and discovered they were arguing.
“It is too soon. The sting of her victory is too fresh,” said Ironsides.
“Shouldn’t that make the people all the more willing to rebel? They still remember what it was like before the Nether Queen!” replied Quill. “Wouldn’t it be better to stop her before she gets even stronger?”
“She is already too strong,” Ironsides countered, frustration in his voice, “Or have you forgotten what happened to Dalyn’s armies?
Quill paused, “I have not forgotten.” Each word stood by itself like candles in the night.
Ironsides softened then. “Then keep doing what you’re doing—be a thorn in her side—be a wound that festers. Be hope.”
Just then Quill noticed me. He turned, “Lady Zare,” and their serious air dropped to the ground like a magician’s cape.
“Good morning,” I said, stepping closer and resting my hands on the back of a big chair. “It is morning, isn’t it?”
“It is, indeed,” Ironsides smiled kindly, “I am surprised to see you up, you are the first.”
“Thank you for the clothes,” I dipped in a little curtsy, lifting the flowy sides of my trousers.
“You’re welcome, they become you,” Ironsides bowed in return and then turned toward the kitchen door, “I will let them know we’ve got one more for breakfast.”
I looked at Quill. He was watching me closely–but with a neutral expression which would make diplomats envious. “Ironsides doesn’t approve of Dalyn’s rebellion?” I asked, quietly.
Quill’s eyes sparked then, and he shifted, “You heard.”
I nodded. “What do you think?”
Quill met my gaze. His eyes were a deep brown and I was startled how unguarded they were. I felt like our souls were staring at each other. At first it was unsettling, but then I realized that I liked what I saw.
“Do you know how the wars started?” he asked, breaking the spell.
Of course I did, I was royalty. I recited, “Laird Wynn of Shyr Valla declared war on Narya Magnific of Hirhel because of repeated assassination attempts on the life of the crown princess, A’rora Wynn.”
“Do you also know how Shyr Valla fell? Or Dalyn?”
My heart jumped. Would he tell me? “Not really,” I said slowly, “Everything about battle is rumor: Convoluted tales told by spies and peddlers who insist that Shyr Valla is gone without a trace.”
Quill looked into the fire, “Dalyn, as you know, was Shyr Valla’s strongest ally. Due in large part to the engagement between our crown prince, Trinh Kegan, and A’rora Wynn. The day Shyr Valla fell Trinh Kegan was defending her with a large contingent of Dalyn’s army. My father was an officer among them.
“There was a mighty wind on the mountains that day, and then Narya Magnific and her army marched out of the hills and fell upon Dalyn. Dalyn, of course, was not so well defended as she ought to have been—with the bulk of her armies in the mountains. But the city also assumed that she was being attacked instead of Shyr Valla, and that Trinh Kegan would discover this and come to her aid. But days turned to weeks and no rescue came. Our fears grew wild and weakened the cities’ already tottering defenses so Dalyn fell to Narya’s horde. The king was executed, with many of his guard, and his younger son, Tar Kegan, who was only fourteen, was set up as a puppet king in his stead.” Quill paused.
I said nothing. This might have been my story if Galhara had fallen without burning to the ground.
“Later, when things were more settled under Narya’s thumb, our new king secretly sent scouts to Shyr Valla to find out what had happened. Except there was no Shyr Valla to find.” A bitter edge crept into his voice, “The city is gone. Gone as if she had never been. And whatever horror befell her also befell her armies. There were no bones, no bodies, no scorched funeral pyres, no burial mounds. No hint of a great battle of any sort. Just an eerie feeling and grass.”
I stared at him. I had been around overblown rumors so long I wasn’t surprised by the story, and was accustomed to wondering if the rumors were real. I had no doubt that Quill was one of the scouts who’d gone to Shyr Valla, and that he was telling the truth. This forced me from the comfort of uncertainty into a terrifying reality. What devilry simply wiped a city and army out of existence?
Quill tore his gaze from the fire and looked at me again.
I swallowed. “So she is a sorceress.”
He nodded. “But, she has not used magic like that since Shyr Valla. Its rumor goes before her and makes all her other conquests easier. Some cities have surrendered upon receiving her declaration of war. Magic is costly to her, I think, and she uses it shrewdly.”
“Oh, that makes it much easier to cope with,” I said.
“It does,” Quill laughed and I smiled in spite of myself. “My lady, we have hope now. My king desires to throw off her yoke and avenge his kin, and I serve my king. The Nether Queen hasn’t conquered all yet.”
Before I could ask Quill what hope he was referring to, Ironsides came striding back into the room carrying a pitcher and three mugs. I guessed that story-time with Quill was over.
The Legend of Zare Caspian 