the Leathermines

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It was morning.

Laun looked around, confused for a moment.  She had been drugged?  No.  She knew the aftertaste to that.  She had just been so tired, and the food had stuffed her so much, that she had just slept.

The sun was starting to color the horizon on the eastern part of her window view.  It was beautiful, and now that she was rested and not cranky, she could enjoy what was outside the windows.  She lay there in bed, watching the colors grow in the sky she could see.  It was beautiful.  It was also lazy.

Laun started to move under the covers and she saw movement outside the bed.  She stopped and then saw that is was one of the blue and grey dressed servants.  Laun kept going to the edge of the bed.  She looked over the side and saw that it was a long ways down.  She swung her legs over and her feet found the step, hard and cold on her feet.

The rug runner was warmer, though the painted design around it not as much.  She was able to pad her way to the bathing chamber door before the servant was able to catch up with her and open it for her.

Laun was tempted to play with the privy.  Her body reminded her that it was a necessary thing to do, not something to play with.  Laun found the basket of paper flowers next to the privy and played with those instead.  She tossed one into the air and as it floated down tossed another up.  She had three in the air at one point until she could not delay using one of them. »Read More

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Laun was too tired to cry.  She just sat on the window seat and leaned against the clear glass.  She knew the dark clad servants were waiting for her to say or do something.  She was just too tired.  Physically.  Emotionally.  Mentally.  Especially mentally.

It had taken all of her will power to glide through the Palace, gracefully smiling at those who looked in her direction.  Not cringing when she saw eyes go from her face to her belly and back again.  Sorting out why she said anything about her observations of the Ambassador.  Why he seemed familiar to her.

And now...  She had to ignore the servants who stood impassively in the shadows of the room.  She would not be able to forever.  Just for right then.

Taken away.  Given to her.  Taken away.  Her life went in surges.  She was not sure if this was a good one or a bad one.  How to turn one into the other?

She glanced out the glass and saw the Southern part of the Capitol City.  There was the Midland’s River to the South, a line of masts making a bare, moving forest.  The streets that seemed to point towards where she was, some with crowds, some empty.  The greens around the hill that the Palace was on, the rich and noble having homes and estates bordering that green.

It would have been awe inspiring if Laun had not been so tired. »Read More

Back to Chapter 8

The herald who announced them was slightly confused, but read out the names.

“Prince Fallion Silar Khan and Lady Salam-Dir.”

Falmir turned from the window and looked at the two who had just been announced.  Prince Fallion he knew, and had written off months ago.  But to have the largest thorn in his side with him?

Silar bowed.  Laun stood straight.

Falmir motioned and the wall of servants left the room.  He stepped away from the window overlooking the Eastern streets of the Capitol City and slowly walked to them.

“Stand, Fallion.  You bring me this prize?” »Read More

Back to the last chapter.

There were many days when she really regretted having been thrust into the leadership role of the household.  This was one of those.

The proceedings were being held in the tent in the garden to keep it as sequestered as possible.  The equipment that the protectors used to work out and practice with was either set to the side or put into one of the smaller tents along the far edge.  Three chairs were set on a piece of old, heavy canvas close to the middle of the floor.  Several teams of protectors were stationed at the way back into the keep and the tent walkway to make sure that things were kept private.  At least while the tribunal was being held.

She hadn’t even heard the word tribunal until the day before.  Trial was what it was, a lapse of judgement was what it was about and she was one of three who were about to decide the fate of the man standing before them.

Laun wanted to stand to say her piece, but her back still was sore from the cart ride several days before.  She sat forward in her chair and looked at the man.

“Kell.  I am...disappointed in your actions.  You have not denied what was found and yet you do not claim responsibility, either.  What appalls me the most is that you thought you had to.”  Laun could not look at him any longer.  She sniffled a little and felt the tear trying to come out of the corner of her eye. »Read More

Back to Chapter 3

Packing up the tent took longer than it had to set it up.  The cart had become mired in the back trail they had used to bring the props and supplies to the spot.  The temperature started to drop as clouds started to come overhead.

Laun was still not speaking after the messenger had left.  She was thinking and tapping out dance rhythms on the side of her mug of tea.  Edgar wanted to know what she was thinking, but the way she worked, she had to be left to come out of her thoughts.

She spotted horses being led across the field by Ali and smiled.  She clicked her tongue and the small bay pulled away and trotted to the tent.  Her head went down and her soft nose nudged a forgotten small bread before mouthing it and eating.  Laun put out her hand and the mare’s nose went into it, blowing hot air through her large, soft nostrils.

“How did it go?”  Ali looked like she was in a good mood, though tempered by the reason they were all out there.

Laun nodded to her and smiled.  “I think I just tempted fate once too often.  Sent the messenger away with a message Falmir is not going to like.”

Edgar’s hand was on Launs’ shoulder as he said, “I don’t think he would like anything but you on your knees before him.”

Laun did a sideways nod and had a sideways smile.  “Wouldn’t he be surprised.” »Read More

Back to Chapter 2

The day was bright and sunny.  It was also warmer than it had been for a while.  The mud was drying out on the roads, but not completely.  It made it easier to set up a small pavilion in one of the fields that faced the main road.

An escort was sent to the trading post to collect the messenger who had spent the night in the converted farmer’s huts.  A sturdy plank was placed over the ditch on the side of the road to allow the messenger and escort over the plain looking mud.  Everyone in the household knew that it was filled with crap.

What the messenger saw as he was led across the plank was a brightly colored tent, it’s sides up to make four awnings around the main square.  There were brightly colored dressed women floating around under the canopy.  A table was set up and a brasier with a water kettle on it was being tended by one of the women.  They all were beautiful and well dressed with hair up and colors well placed on their faces.  They all seemed happy and content and smiled at the messenger as he approached.

It was nothing like what he had been told.  The mercs that had come back from the Salam-Dir lands were few in number, about a third of what had been sent out.  The timing was supposed to make the people and their leader weak, concentrating on First Feast, not battle.  The three men who had come back to Falmir with their leader’s head said that the woman who led them was a fierce warrior who had dressed all in furs and leather.  She had taunted Harcem, he had swallowed the bait and they had fought, the outcome to determine who had the lands.  They gave their King Falmir the message she had given them when she won, “Salam-Dir will not be taken.”  They had told of the legion she harbored inside her walls who had barely let them out with their lives. »Read More

To chapter 1

Everything that was not snow had suddenly turned to mud.  There was no way to avoid it.  Both courtyards were ankle deep mud.  The road was slick mud.  The garden outside the tent was gravely mud.  Even under the canvas that the protectors used over the winter as a practice area had areas where it was dangerous to walk or else you would slip or even sink in deep enough to loose a boot.

Orgia had wondered out loud on several occasions if boots produced boot bushes when mud covered protectors came limping in, covered with mud and missing footwear.

Mud meant that Laun’s palfrey, Butterflies Grace, did not want to step one hoof out of the stables.  She was a natural ambler, safe for Laun to ride at about any time, but the bay horse had a mind of her own.  And when a war-trained horse refuses to go outside, you do not tempt fate by trying to force her.  Laun tried several times to lead the horse out.  The third attempt and Grace knew what was happening and sat down in the middle of the stable aisle, refusing to go anywhere.

Laun understood and when she dropped the lead and stepped back, Grace stood back up and went back to the stall she was sharing with one of the smaller mules.  The mule butted Grace in the side with her head and Grace nipped at the mule.  They had been forced to be together, but seemed to now play at the aggression.

Thwarted.  Yes, Laun thought to herself.  Thwarted.  She would not be able to walk in the mud by herself with the way her stomach had started throwing off her balance.  She did not want anyone to know that, yet.  She was round and she felt herself waddle a little bit if she did not work at walking somewhat normally. »Read More