New Topic cos the other one's getting a bit long....
Anyhoo, Chapter 5, fresh from the oven, not checked, full of holes probably....
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Councillor Armen was worried, for several, differing reasons. Firstly, the whole of the nation was enduring a food shortage. Secondly, he felt he Aranion was intentionally intimidating him in an attempt to gain his support in the High Council. And thirdly, his daughter was missing.
He stood gazing out of his arched window. His house was placed well on the most central hill, and it gave him a beautiful view of the city and it’s surrounding landscape. Many times he had just stood here to relax and feel at peace. Today, it wasn’t working. Instead he only suffered fear, regret and concern.
Concern for Norfor. For centuries upon centuries it had stood as the beacon of the whole Shas’eran continent for stretching the boundaries of education and learning, but now, in its current state, it was little more than a floundering, famine-stricken state. And he was worried for it. With just a small stroke of bad luck, the whole of Norfor could be wiped off the map. They balanced on a thin knife-edge. The exit was nowhere to be seen. Armen’s heart and soul belonged to this nation, the one he had served since birth, and the one he wished to serve until his death. He belonged here.
Fear of Aranion. You would have to be a fool not to be scared of the old General. Since his election to the Council, and his recent ascendance to the position of First Councillor, his power had only grown. Now he could touch anyone he wanted, threaten anyone he liked. That includes Councillors, who Armen was sure had been bullied into electing Aranion for the position. Now Armen was his new target. Twice he had had Aranion confront him and warn him that he must choose his allegiance. Aranion had subtly meant, choose to support me, or die.
Regret for his daughter. He had never been a talented father. He had always looked in jealousy at those men who could always stop their daughter’s tears, hold them close and slowly rock them to sleep. He was never a man for sympathy or understanding, it was how he had ruthlessly made his way to the top. But it didn’t improve his family life. Always on the move, always away from home. And then, with the death of his dear Elareena, he had been left to the task alone. To be perfectly honest, he had never got to know his daughter, and didn’t have a chance of knowing where she could have gone too.
It had been several days since she had gone. He had immediately doubted she had been kidnapped, as he would of received some kind of ransom by now. In fact, he knew, deep down, she had run. He experienced a heavy sense of guilt weigh down his troubled soul. It was his fault she had left.
He sighed deeply. Times were bad, “Now, my dear Shas’er, what other bad news do you have for me, I wonder?” he murmured to himself.
Just then a knock rang through the room.
“Come in,” Armen said, without turning.
“My lord, a notice from Aranion, he calls the Council together right away,” said the man. He was a servant, and looked quite frightened.
“Thank you,” he said simply. The man left.
Call the Council straight away? It must be important. He opened the envelope quickly, but with a slight wariness, knowing what lay inside couldn’t be good. Shas’er, he thought, has good timing. He read the note quickly and throwing it on the floor, ran from the room. It definitely wasn’t good.
* * * *
As Armen slammed open the large door, he revealed a wide circular room. With no windows gracing the walls, the only light came from a dangling oil lamp. It was hardly sufficient to keep the whole room bright, but it added to the sinister nature that the dark walls, floor, tables and chair had already created.
The table was round, black and glossy. Around it sat four men, originally deep in though, who had looked up upon Armen’s arrival. One particularly big man sat on a taller chair, while the other three men sat on lower ones. Only one smaller chair was left, and Armen took it quickly.
“Ah, Councillor Armen, you made it at last,” the man on the high chair said with a slur.
“My apologies First Councillor Aranion, I’m sure you can understand my late coming was not of my doing,” Armen replied coolly.
“It was not the Council’s fault, either,” Aranion added, eyeing Armen carefully, “But we must discuss the matters at hand. I presume you all received the message? Ah, but you must have, for most of us were sat here promptly. The threat is a large one. If Tentak falls, Norfor is next.”
“And we are in no position to withhold attack,” said a plumb short man on the right of Armen, “Our army has been reduced to half it’s number, the southern colonies are in active rebellion leaving the outposts unmanned. The Barbarians could wander all the way up to Sorforda and we would have no notice.”
“Then, Councillor Orden, how do you suggest we stop them?” said Aranion, staring into the small man’s eyes. Orden shifted uncomfortably under the man’s gaze.
“In my opinion we have only option. Send for aid to Sepra, Ontria and Creva. They must surely send help in our hour of need,” Orden finally said with confidence.
There was burst of outrage from the table, the man across from Orden, a tall beady eyed fellow, threw up his hands and cried, “There will be public riots! No-one will accept such an old law!”
Armen sat watching and eventually spoke. “Perhaps what Councillor Revolion was suggesting, although less eloquently, is that a new strategy will be needed to raise the needed men in time. Perhaps our famous General can give us some ideas?” Armen knew he was playing a dangerous game, but in such situations, he had realised, it was what was needed to provoke action.
Aranion reacted much calmer than Armen had expected. Perhaps he embraced the compliment, “Have you ever heard of the region called Machulia?” All of the men around the able nodded. Aranion rose from his seat and began to pace the room before continuing, “Most of Machulia is covered by acres of dense rainforest, but it said that in the very centre of the region there is a city, protected by tall walls and strong gates. Inside there are many thousands of great thousand fighters, whose skill in battle is unsurpassed.
They are a proud race, and do not forgo their territory to any invaders, and fight with passion and ferocity. I fought them myself once long ago. They have never been friendly with Norfor. It is my opinion, that, if we should maintain an alliance with these Machuli, as they call themselves, we would have a great fighting force worthy of battle with this barbarian horde.”
No one spoke for a long time as they considered this information. The room was silent with thought and contemplation, but before long it was Councillor Orden that spoke up. “How have our previous negotiations with these…Machuli…progressed?”
“Badly,” admitted Aranion, “They do not accept any of our deals. In fact…none of our ambassadors have ever returned. With their heads on.”
“So, you’re saying,” said Armen, “Our best chance of fighting back the hordes lay in the hands of a fiercely independent state who despise our trespassing and general presence?” It was spoken with just a hint of amusement.
“Yes, I am. If you perhaps, wise Armen, have any other ideas, I’m sure you’ll contact me?” replied Aranion.
“I’m sure I will,” said Armen. The enmity between the two men was obvious, however their tongues remained civil in such a formal environment.
Councillor Orden decided to break the uneasy atmosphere of the room by continuing the conversation, “You say no Norfor ambassador has returned from Machuli?”
Aranion smiled, “You remember the story of poor Ellaron? How he disappeared when en route to Norforda after talking to the Ontrians?” the room nodded, “A lie, a cover-up. He was killed in cold blood while on a mission to Machuli. I don’t think it would do the country good if the public knew how many had died in that place.”
“No, definitely not,” spoke the only Councillor who had remained silent yet. He had surveyed the conversation taking everything in before deciding to speak. He was the oldest of the men, and from the many wrinkles plaguing his face the age was obvious. “I propose we approach the situation from an entirely different angle.”
Aranion frowned, “What are you suggesting?”
The old man sighed, brushing his hand through his short white hair. “First Councillor Aranion, you say these Machuli have slain our previous negotiators? It is my own thinking that these…savages…respect strength and ferocity, rather than intelligence. Their society is quite primitive and a more…how shall I say this? A rougher man is needed, someone they could relate to more easily. Some sort of rogue.” His words were spoken calmly yet shrewdly. His years had not gone unspent, wisdom rebounded from his voice and the men sat around him all respected the older Councillor. His advice was often sought.
“And where would we find such a man, Abalith?” Orden said sceptically, “I severely doubt we can grab any old ruffian from the streets.”
“Neither do I, my dear Councillor Orden. You misunderstood me. I refer to a different sort of rogue. I do not speak absently when I say these smugglers intrigue me greatly. How they manage to slip past our nets more and more all the time commands great cunning,” replied Abalith.
“So instead of killing them we’re going to send them off to another place, away from our authority! You may as well give them a weapon too and some food at that rate!” Orden had stood up and was throwing his hands around as he answered back to Abalith, “And I don’t know how we’d get one of them either! There hasn’t been one caught for months!”
Aranion interrupted their conversation, “I’m afraid you are wrong Orden. One was brought in this afternoon, in fact.”
* * * *
Despite the cell stinking like a sewer, his leg feeling bruised from the old man’s kick and his head feeling incredibly dizzy, Ravin wasn’t in too bad a fix. At least now he had food and water. In fact, he was in a better situation than the night before. If you ignore the problem of being executed.
He had a bed, if you could call it a bed. A better and more accurate description would be a long wooden plank nailed to the wall. The wall itself being square limestone rocks, dripping in moisture. Ravin realised that cleaning cells wasn’t high on the list of priorities. No matter, he reckoned, only one night.
The other cells were largely empty. He was at one end of a long straight corridor, bars glaring at him from both sides. Only two others were imprisoned, one a few down from him, another right at the other end. The man nearest was sleeping softly. Light emerged from the flaming torches at each end of the passage. They didn’t dare risk a window. Ravin thought they were underground anyway, from his memories of his journey, they kept walking downwards.
He sat down feeling very light-headed. The guard hadn’t appreciated it when he decided to smash his elbow into his face, so he’d smashed his shield into the back of Ravin’s head and it hadn’t helped his brain. Instead it had given him a nauseating headache that made him want to empty the little food in his stomach onto the stone floor.
He was cold too, the flimsy garments he had been issued little protection against the chilling breeze that swept the prison. Brown and simple, it encompassed an old shirt and ripped trousers, and to add to it all, it didn’t fit. Being a slim figure, Ravin doubted he was made to wear clothes for the fatter of individuals.
So feeling chilly, dizzy and injured, he lay his head down onto the hard platform and feel quickly asleep.
* * * *
A dark shape darted across the open ground. With the moon shining above, even at night it would be easy to spot anything that moved, so speed was the key. The air was calm yet the tall bulrushes swayed to the side. Someone was running from someone.
She wasn’t going to be caught though. The timing of her escape had been perfect. Her pursuers were far behind, and with the pace that her legs were running; she sincerely doubted they’d catch up. Not with her on this night. Determination was strewn across her face as she pushed away the last long grass in front of her, and stepped out onto a muddy field.
Immediately she dropped to her knees. Despite having extreme confidence in her own ability, it was never good to be too confident. Anybody could be roaming this place, and she didn’t want to be seen by anyone right now. Putting distance between her ex-captors was the only thing on her kind. She didn’t want it to be disturbed by anyone else. It was quiet though, nothing stirred, and she was relieved. She moved smoothly across the field, low down, avoiding craters of brown water and overflowing puddles. Taking a few glances behind her, she saw nothing, and relaxed a little. Before long they’d give up, and she’d find somewhere dry and hidden to rest for the remainder of the night.
The Mountains flanking her were evident, dominating the surrounding countryside. To her other side laid low fields and meadows for many miles. In front of her were ever-heightening hills and ridges. She narrowed her eyes in an attempt to see further in the dim light but it didn’t have any effect, so she kept moving.
Or, she tried too. Instead of hills in front, their lay a sharp spear point inches from her throat, not moving but balancing completely straight. She gulped. She was well and truly caught.
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Ta, FS.
I don't usually like omniscient povs, but I think it works well in the first scene. I like your descriptions.
)
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This really is EVIL for you. With this too, you know it's correct if you can safely substitute 'also' for it.
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