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The Skirmisher
I
Oft hath brought their kindred hither, and less than oft for aught but fray.
--Scribe Merton Waldrake of Diague
By the Saint, I have got a brother!"
Wilhelm looked at the astounded Pikaviant Lancast. Pike was on his toes, attempting to see over the crowds. "Incredible, I tell you, Wilhelm, simply bewildering!" Wilhelm nodded silently. He was never one for many words. His vocalizations were deeply accented, and instead of speaking much as many outlanders did in order to learn the language better, Wilhelm Saint-Gravenstiel kept his mouth closed.
"Father spoke of him once or twice, but I never thought I would actually see him." Cole, Pike's and Wilhelm's younger and quite hotheaded friend, was becoming less than patient.
"Well you're certainly not accomplishing anything staring at him through the crowd."
"It isn't as if I could just up and introduce myself, Cole. 'Hello, I'm your long-forgotten brother.' And what would he say?"
"Something pointless and illogical, if he is anything like his supposed brother," quipped Cole.
Pike sarcastically mocked a laugh. "Har-har. Maybe I should tell him you're his brother instead. That would certainly serve him justice after staying away for so long."
"No one," said Wilhelm in his deep, accented voice, "deserves such a thing as that."
"I find you two amusing as ever," said Cole, "but I really must get going. I need to speak with the Order Cardinal."
"Of what?"
"Of some matters."
"The Cardinal sees Cole's hot nature as a disadvantage to the whole of the Order," said Wilhelm.
Cole retaliated, "Oh what do you know, you're nothing more than a-"
"-third in command of the Order, third under the Cardinal."
Cole harrumphed and turned back toward the horses. "Well, anyway," said Pike, "I am simply stumped as to this whole thing with my sibling. I mean, what if he really isn't?"
"I think there is no doubt that he is," said the foreigner, as Cole drove his horse off. "The facial features are unmistakable: that backward-flowing straight black hair, those soft child-like features, and you both have ears the size of anvils."
"You're too kind."
"And besides," said Wilhelm, "you bear the same necklace." As ever, Pike wore his under his high-necked buttoned overshirt, but Wilhelm had seen it enough times in those late hours deep beneath the Great Chapel. The underground catacombs served as an eerie yet practicable center of operations for the Illustrious Order of the Brethren of the Sacred Xurevian Jackal-Hound, an Order to which Wilhelm, Cole, and Pikaviant considered themselves more than loyal.
The necklace was a small, silver circle, with a sort of gothic crux engraved in it, circumscribed in an inner rut.
"I don't know how you can see that from here."
"Look for yourself."
Pike did. It was there. He also noticed that four horsemen on brown steeds were flanking him, each with his rapier sheathed, each bearing an insignia patch on their shoulder drapes that displayed a coiled brown serpent gripping a sword.
It was the second surprise of the day, and this an unwelcome one.
"He is poisoned with love of the serpent."
Wilhelm nodded, having allowed his friend the discovery by himself. He did not want to break the news to him. They stood in silence for a long time. What little crowd did not follow the man along his circuit toward the Keep. Pike kicked a piece of gravel from the unpaved road.
"Shall we return to the Chapel?"
Pike did not even respond. Not with words, at least. He sighed heavily, blowing his cheeks up and his lips puttering with the outburst of air. He was disappointed. He mounted his horse, Netherwind, or Netsy, as he was accustomed to calling her, when no one could hear him.
They rode in silence and at a trot toward the Chapel. Adversity did not wait in ambush this time-it simply happened upon them at a the crossing of a street in the form of four of the blackguard Viper skirmishers.
"Ho now, snakes!" Pikaviant pulled his horse to a halt. Wilhelm did so as well, reluctantly. He'd intended to pass them by completely. They were standing on the porch of an alehouse. Three of them were harassing a woman who worked inside the alehouse beyond. The third was watching in disapproval. She was a woman of ill distinction, Wilhelm could discern that in a blink's time.
"Pikaviant," he warned. He would that they not tarnish their honor of their Order for the sake of such a woman.
"I fear I shall ask you to step away from that woman," said Pikaviant. The spark was lit, and the short-fused tempers of the enemy skirmishers were burning close already. Their attention dropped from the woman, and looked toward the two opponents with bloodlust in their eyes. They stepped off of the porch and approached them.
"As well you may ask," said the first. The disapproving one stayed where he was, on the porch. He was unwilling to fight, as was Wilhelm.
"Pike," said Wilhelm, again.
"Ye, I may demand it," said Pikaviant.
"Step down from your horse, lad." They stared at him. Pikaviant did not lower his glare at the first. Slowly, he slid one leg over, and plopped down to the dusty street.
"Pikaviant!" snapped Wilhelm. But it was too late. They could not turn from an imminent battle at this point.
"These serpents need to be taught the way to treat women, Wilhelm," he said, without turning back to him. He never took his eyes away from his enemy, especially not a Viper.
"She is a harlot!"
"'All mankind is treasure,' Wilhelm. You are fond of quoting that yourself."
Pikaviant heard the thud of Wilhelm's boots against the ground. The long-haired, tall dark, intimidating foreigner stepped up to Pikaviant's side. "I shall report you for this-oh yes, you can be quite certain of that, my boy."
Pikaviant smiled.
"A leader of the Dogs, this one," said one, noticing the patterns sewn on Wilhelm's vest. "I knew not the Jackals placed outlanders in their higher ranks. It bewilders me not."
"Nor I, Moreau," growled a second.
"Your insults shall not cause me to be the first to draw, snakes. And as for you, the correct syntax is 'Nor me.' You cannot say, 'It bewilders I.' What days are these when outlanders such as I must give grammatical lessons to-"
They drew and charged, enraged. Wilhelm was a very, very talented man. He'd caused them to draw their blades, and therefore they were the inciters of the combat.
Wilhelm's and Pikaviant's blade leapt forth. Only one of them attacked him. The skirmisher began with a chop, as all low-skill skirmishers do. He attempted to cleave Pikaviant's head, but was stopped by Pikaviant's horizontal block. Moreau then thrust at Pikaviant's gut. Pike down-turned his blade, to cause the thrust to miss him completely, then swung up, back, in an incomplete circle, and arced it forth at the blade-arm of the enemy. He felt the snap of some muscle giving way to his rapier. Moreau dropped his weapon and sank to his knees, hollering in pain and holding his arm. Pikaviant knew it was wrong, but he kicked him in the chest, knocking him backward, onto the ground.
Two were attacking Wilhelm. The first had struck at him vertically while the second thrust at his torso. Wilhelm gracefully blocked , then spun to dodge the second, who bumped into him, not expecting the outlander's maneuver. Wilhelm elbowed him in the eye, causing him to drop his blade.
He screamed. "My eye! You've gouged my eye, accursed immigrant!" The fight had stopped. Everyone was distracted. "You've destroyed my eye!" He screamed again.
A boot came from out of nowhere, cracking into his right knee. He dropped. "And I, snake, have kicked you in the knee!" triumphed Pikaviant.
"My knee!" he shouted, from the ground.
A sword was at the throat of the brash one who had lead the fight. He had let himself become distracted. The blade was Wilhelm's. The skirmisher swore. "Igel! You forsake us!"
"Igel" said nothing. He stood there, looking upon the Jackals.
"Kneel," said Pike, whose sword was also at the man's throat.
"Igel! Do not stand as a knave!"
"Better you should kneel as one," said Wilhelm.
"Or I shall slit you," threatened Pikaviant. The man dropped to his knees, put his sword on the ground. Pike was almost enjoying this.
"Tell us the name of the man you have brought to Severa today," said Wilhelm.
"Igel, help me!"
"Say it!" said Pikaviant, pressing his point into the man's neck so that he leaned his entire body away. He closed his eyes.
"Lancast," he said. Pike let him alone. Wilhelm did as well. It was over. They mounted their horses. Igel watched them leave, without moving. The woman dashed out toward them as they picked up their reigns. Pikaviant looked at her once and gave Netherwind a kick. Wilhelm spat before her, and followed.
Beneath the Great Chapel, Cole sat at the central table. The main cavern was lit by a large wooden chandelier, and had hallways radiating outward to other rooms. Cole looked like an insolent child who is put to a chair to wait for his father to return from a day's work to deal with him.
"Have they taken the switches to you yet, Cole?"
"Miscreant," muttered the young man.
Pikaviant grinned. "I drew the blood of snakes on the return to the Chapel." Cole stood.
"You killed them? How many? What were their names?"
"Calm yourself, hot one. We killed none of them, and there were four."
"Three," said Wilhelm.
"Four total," continued Pikaviant. Wilhelm rolled his eyes, hanging his shoulder drape upon a rack. "I suppose the first one I delivered to shall be learning to fight left-handed."
"You cut his arm off?" asked Cole, eagerly.
"Pikaviant gave him a scratch that will heal in a month."
"Three, at the very least, Wilhelm. Did you see the blood?"
"Names, names!" cried Cole.
"Ach, what are we! Must we ask each Viper as to his name and jot it down before we do combat?"
"I shall fetch you the paper and quill, if need be!" said Cole.
Pikaviant sighed. "Well, one I believe was named…." The Cardinal appeared from out of the second-level catwalk hallway, and descended the stairs. The three skirmishers closed their mouths.
"Brethren," he said. He wore a long white cape over his apparel.
"Cardinal," they all said, leaning forward in a half-bow. It was appropriate, due to the table taking up all the space in the room. He set the Text of Xurev before him on the table, a thick, worn book with a black cover, trimmed with fading gold. He sat. His guard-council stood, a group of four sabre-men. Pikaviant, Cole, and Wilhelm each sat down.
"I have not summoned Pikaviant or my third-man Wilhelm."
"We had news of-"
"But it is well that you are here." Good that we are here, thought Wilhelm. Good, not well. Well is an adverb, good is an adjective. "I have matters to discuss anyhow. The first order of business is a rap on the knuckles to you, Cole. You've been peevish and huffy to your brethren of late, more so in the past week than normal. Your hot nature will be the death of us all if you are not careful. Be not so proud, young one."
"I am repentant, Cardinal. I shall change my ways."
"Doubtful." Doubtfully, thought Wilhelm. It's "doubtfully." "But a man whose passion wields his blade is a man who ought to be a skirmisher, no matter the trouble it gets him into, that's what I say."
"I agree heartily, Cardinal."
"Now on to other matters. The Greater and Northern Order of the Serpent-Viper out of Lilligan has struck a political blow against us. They have invited a man of renown in the Northern continent down to be a guest of Severa for a while. He is a diviner of the countries far north of here, across the sea. His name is-"
"Lancast," said Pikaviant. Wilhelm elbowed him in the ribs, and none too gently, for interrupting the cardinal.
Cardinal Rasánt gave him a look of lifted eyebrows. "I should be irritated with you, Pikaviant, but rather I am wondering how you came about this knowledge."
"I'm sorry, Cardinal. I and Wilhelm-" he said as he caught a disgruntled look from the foreigner, which was probably directed at his misuse of grammar more than at dragging him into the circumstances, "did combat with some of the serpents today, and attained the information by force."
"Ver well. You are in quite a predicament, wouldn't you agree, Pikaviant? You finally meet your own brother, and he is an enemy."
"Yes, Cardinal, thank you for reminding me, m'lord."
"I'll have none of your sarcasm today, Pikaviant."
"Yes, Cardinal, forgive me."
"I shall. It is time for me to leave, to go on to other matters. Because this Lancast matter deals with affairs of the Order, I shall leave it in the hands of Wilhelm. But also I want you to have just as much a say in the ordeal, since of course the man is your brother. I appoint you both as a council to take care of it. My hands are clean of it. There now, I shall be late for my brunch with the Priest of the Keep. Excuse me, my Jackals."
The skirmishers stood, and the cardinal disappeared past one of the oak doors with his council-guard. "So," asked Cole when they were gone and the room empty save the three, "what of the diviner?"
Wilhelm looked at Pikaviant. "I should like to at least speak to him. I am certain he would be as moved about the sibling prospect as me."
"I," said Wilhelm.
"As I," Pikaviant corrected himself. "But how to get into the Keep without being turned away by the guard? They would never let a Jackal in at this time, what with the tensions between the Orders and all."
"Maybe you could get the Duke's daughter to fall madly in love with you, and she can let you in."
Wilhelm laughed.
Pikaviant looked at Wilhelm. "What is so humorous?" Wilhelm's smile diminished, and he gave Pikaviant a look.
"None of your mad schemes, Pike," said Wilhelm.
"She was supposed to be at a tent out near the hound-racing fields. What if-"
"No, Pike."
Pike's look went sour. "What if we can get her to listen to us? I have heard she is reasonable, more so than her father the Duke. She is to govern this city very soon, when he leaves to join the Northern Campaigns. What if we can get her to listen to us? She may allow me, at least, to see my brother."
"She will think it an ill-design. No one trusts the Orders now."
"Then I shall give them reason to." Pikaviant was indignant. He retrieved his shoulder drape and went out the door.
"I am with Pike in this," said Cole. He stood to leave.
"You've nothing better to do, of course," said Wilhelm.
"Right as always," said Cole, who did not bother to smile. "And it may get me closer to the Crestmont fellow."
"Yes, as we were saying before, we did not run into him. Will you ever tell me why you hate him so?"
"No." Cole was gone.
Pikaviant was mounted upon Netherwind. The old black one neighed impatiently. Cole was mounting his steed as well, and they gave Wilhelm time to join them. There really was no question that he would-the three were an inseparable triad of friends, and their fellowship obeyed a strict democracy, unobstructed by Wilhelm's rank in the Illustrious Order of the Brethren of the Sacred Xurevian Jackal-Hound.
"I shall report you for this."
"You always say that. Mount up." They rode.
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Log: Here's the First Chapter. I think this was the first time I attempted to write this whole thing, my freshman year at UGA.
For some reason, I had this whole Shakespearean thing going on. You can see it in the cheesy Victorian speech, and the fencing and dueling and whatnot. I didn't know anything at all about fencing at the time, and after I wrote all of this, I actually did take some fencing classes here at the university. After being shown how little I know, I didn't even attempt to write any more of The Skirmisher for a long time. Also, I thought it would be cool to have this dude Scribe Merton Waldrake just to make it seem a little more realistic. He could be the character that never makes an appearance, but you get little quotes and clippings from his writings so you know he is there, and therefore the reader could subconsciously infer that there is a greater world attached to these main characters.
"Netsy"?!!
I think I later changed Wilhelm's name to Wilhalm. I always pronounce it with the German "w" which would sound like /v/. His reputation was supposed to be the big foreigner with an accent, and I wanted him to feel German to the reader. His last name ended up kind of hokey now that I look back on it--"Gravenstiel." The German feel is evident there, a little too much so.
Cole is still my most beloved little hot-head. Incredibly one-dimensional. |
