For fans of The Night Angel Trilogy and fantasy author Brent Weeks
The Beginning Part 2
Ok so as the title suggests, this is the follow-on part to my last blog post (and is equally as long - sorry). Enjoy:
When he eventually regained consciousness he sat up quickly, tensed and expecting to see a Ghunai charging at him - but the pain in his head reminded him of the night before. He laid back down, his head feeling faint again and closed his eyes.
Subsequently frowning to himself, eyes still closed, he slowly took in what he thought he would see a second ago, and what he actually saw. His eyes snapped open again as he realised he wasn’t on the cold, hard stone floor of the inn, but rather a soft mound of straw. He sat up, slowly this time, peering through the burgundy veil that was only just beginning to clear from his sight. He instantly knew he was in the stables - with the mounds of hay, the few chestnut horses tied to posts, and the pungent stable smell that came with many livestock coming and going. As his sight improved, he was able to see his surroundings more clearly and realised with a jolt of surprise that he was not alone. There was a bowl of water next to him and a stout, homely woman was kneeling next to it holding a damp cloth in her hand and watching him with obvious concern.
“There, there,” she said softly, and continued tending to his injuries, “it’s only Matilda come to clean you up. You took a nasty blow there, but don’t you worry, we’ll get you all better again.”
“Um…thank you?” he replied, surprised and amused by her maternal way towards him, “I’m grateful for all this, really…but I could really use a good meal and a bath.” His stomach rumbled in response and Matilda chuckled,
“Well then, I’ll get you a bath running an’ you can come back in when yer ready,” she smiled gently.
“Thanks…uh…miss?” he said hopefully, not really knowing what to address her as, but giving her a sheepish smile all the same. She smiled broadly and got up to walk back to the inn; stopping at the door, she turned,
“Do call me Matilda.” Zachariah grinned in an unintentionally charming way and nodded again. She returned his grin, eyes sparkling and continued on her way.
Zachariah smiled to himself, shaking his head. He moved his arms and legs slowly feeling his muscles ache, but nothing was broken, amazingly. He tried to get up, first easing himself onto his hands and knees and then pushing himself up, using the stable wall for support. It took some effort, but finally he was standing, albeit shakily.
He started limping slowly to the door, still wondering how he was alive – not many people survived as a drunk Ghunai’s play thing. He reached the threshold, hesitating to study the inn carefully, but felt no further danger and so made his way awkwardly inside. When he reached the bar he leant against it, feeling his grateful muscles relax and concentrated on breathing deeply and locating any bruises; whilst making sure his feet still held his weight properly. He jumped when the Innkeeper spoke.
“I see you can still walk then,” he chuckled pleasantly. Bizarrely, yes actually. Zachariah thought to himself; he was well aware there were some things that just shouldn’t be shared: “Just,” he replied, feeling this was probably the response that was expected, “Thanks, um…sir…or – “
“Ha ha ha!” the Innkeeper boomed, “I can see Matilda ‘as filled you in on our ‘no formalities’ policy then - call me George.”
“Oh, ok, well thanks…George, for your help” Zachariah stumbled, feeling increasingly awkward.
George replied rather loudly, “I was just keeping these louts in line,” then, lowering his voice he leaned forward, “no problem lad,” winking at Zachariah and grinning he picked up another tankard, which he started wiping with a dirty cloth. Zachariah realised with a smile that he had just earned the respect of George and of Matilda. “Oh, here, you never told me yer name lad.” George said, looking up at him again expectantly.
“Zachariah.” he stated easily, he knew he would not have to continually repeat it as in the richer parts of the city: gossip travelled fast here.
“Mmmm,” George replied, thinking, “Good strong name tha’. Let’s just hope you live up to it, ‘ey lad,” he smiled in a friendly way, “anyway, Matilda tells me you need to eat,” he said, dismissing the previous topic and taking up his grubby cloth again, “so what will it be?”
“Oh, er…” Zachariah hesitated; somehow he’d forgotten his rumbling stomach, griping in almost painful churns and twists “just…just bread I think.” He answered, eyeing the cloth, not sure if the food here was clean enough to eat. His stomach churned again, but he clamped his mouth shut – there was no point in eating more if he was just going to bring it all back up again later. Instead he occupied himself with judging which unintentional bar-dressing puddle, that somehow used to be edible, would drip off of the side first. He predicted ten out of twelve times correctly before his food was place infront of him with a clatter and squelch.
As it turned out, the food was very satisfying, and the dark ale was equally as good. He strolled back to the bar, one hand supporting his stomach, the other balancing his empty plate and bowl,
“Thanks for the meal, truly - compliments to the cook.”
“Ha ha ha! Well ya can tell ‘er yerself when you go up fer yer bath, “George replied proudly, “only Matilda can make stew as good as that.”
“I don’t doubt it.“ he said, his face the picture of sincerity, “How much do I owe you?”
“Six coppers I reckon,” George replied, stopping mid-wipe and looking up as he worked it out, “tha’s about right isn’t it…yeah.” He said, answering his own question and then focusing on Zachariah again, “four fer the food an’ two fer the ale.”
“Right.” Zachariah agreed, pulling some coins out of his shirt-pocket and holding them in his left hand whilst sifting through them with his right. When he had acquired the right amount he dropped them on the bar and the rest back in his shirt pocket. He was half turned and about to walk away when something suddenly occurred to him.
“Tell me something,” he said, choosing his words carefully so as not to offend the Innkeeper, “I don’t remember letting go of my sword, and I didn’t wake up with it.”
“Ah, yes, I almost forgot,” the larger man replied, eyebrows raised in honesty, “I had Matilda take you out to the stables while we cleared out tha’ bloody Ghunai, an’ once we got rid of ‘im, I picked yer blade up - to make sure no one stole it like – ‘cause it’s a fine blade if I may say so…” His voice trailed off as he waddled into one of the backrooms bringing out the longsword a few seconds later. As he handed it back, Zachariah looked over every inch of it to make sure it was just how he left it. The Bronzed handle was actually solid silver coated with bronze, the length of the blade plain silver: sleek and shiny. Satisfied he sheathed it carefully, keeping the hilt a little loose and thanked George again before he made his way to the stairs.
“Second door to the righ’,” George called, just as he rounded the beginning of the spiral. Zachariah nodded and raised a hand to show he had heard. As he made his way up the curved stairway, he noticed there were paintings hanging on the walls and stopped to study one. It was a depiction of an area he recognised in one of the forests to the north of the city. He wondered who had painted it and, more importantly, how they had managed to get in and out of the forest to paint it. That particular area of the forest was very dense and thus difficult to navigate; the scene painted here was one of the few clearings it contained. He had also heard rumours that creatures had started guarding the city since he had arrived, which lead him to also wonder how recently it was painted.
“Miss Wynn painted that, sir.” Came an unexpected statement from the servant girl behind him.
“Thank you, lass, I must admit I did wonder who had such talent.” He turned, knowing full well she had been expecting to startle him with her sudden appearance, and flashed her a charming smile. She quickly covered her surprise with a small return smile and continued on her way down the stairs, making sure to keep her head bowed. He allowed himself an impish grin, like a small boy proud of a prank he had just pulled on some unsuspecting innocent, and dismissed all thoughts on the paintings. He could investigate that later: his bath being a much more enticing use of his time and continuing up the winding stairway. His muscles were protesting the entire way up, still bruised from earlier. He reached the top with relief, slowly making his way to the door.
He was just about to knock when a striking, slender woman floated through the doorway. She had obviously just finished a bath as her long, dark red hair was wet and tangled and she was wrapped in a single length of cloth. She flashed him a radiant smile and stood still expectantly. It took him a moment before he realised he was blocking her way. With a mumbled apology he stepped aside to let her through; she thanked him just as quietly before starting down the corridor. He watched her with false nonchalance, for in reality his heart was pumping quite a bit faster than normal, as she reached her door and turned her head slightly as if she was searching for some sound he couldn’t hear. He could tell the corner of her mouth had pulled up in a smile before she entered the room.
As she closed it behind her, he finally remembered how to breathe.
*
Copyright © (2009) by Stevie-leigh Harmer. All Rights Reserved.
Thanks for reading! And again, any comments and/or criticisms are very much welcome :)
When he eventually regained consciousness he sat up quickly, tensed and expecting to see a Ghunai charging at him - but the pain in his head reminded him of the night before. He laid back down, his head feeling faint again and closed his eyes.
Subsequently frowning to himself, eyes still closed, he slowly took in what he thought he would see a second ago, and what he actually saw. His eyes snapped open again as he realised he wasn’t on the cold, hard stone floor of the inn, but rather a soft mound of straw. He sat up, slowly this time, peering through the burgundy veil that was only just beginning to clear from his sight. He instantly knew he was in the stables - with the mounds of hay, the few chestnut horses tied to posts, and the pungent stable smell that came with many livestock coming and going. As his sight improved, he was able to see his surroundings more clearly and realised with a jolt of surprise that he was not alone. There was a bowl of water next to him and a stout, homely woman was kneeling next to it holding a damp cloth in her hand and watching him with obvious concern.
“There, there,” she said softly, and continued tending to his injuries, “it’s only Matilda come to clean you up. You took a nasty blow there, but don’t you worry, we’ll get you all better again.”
“Um…thank you?” he replied, surprised and amused by her maternal way towards him, “I’m grateful for all this, really…but I could really use a good meal and a bath.” His stomach rumbled in response and Matilda chuckled,
“Well then, I’ll get you a bath running an’ you can come back in when yer ready,” she smiled gently.
“Thanks…uh…miss?” he said hopefully, not really knowing what to address her as, but giving her a sheepish smile all the same. She smiled broadly and got up to walk back to the inn; stopping at the door, she turned,
“Do call me Matilda.” Zachariah grinned in an unintentionally charming way and nodded again. She returned his grin, eyes sparkling and continued on her way.
Zachariah smiled to himself, shaking his head. He moved his arms and legs slowly feeling his muscles ache, but nothing was broken, amazingly. He tried to get up, first easing himself onto his hands and knees and then pushing himself up, using the stable wall for support. It took some effort, but finally he was standing, albeit shakily.
He started limping slowly to the door, still wondering how he was alive – not many people survived as a drunk Ghunai’s play thing. He reached the threshold, hesitating to study the inn carefully, but felt no further danger and so made his way awkwardly inside. When he reached the bar he leant against it, feeling his grateful muscles relax and concentrated on breathing deeply and locating any bruises; whilst making sure his feet still held his weight properly. He jumped when the Innkeeper spoke.
“I see you can still walk then,” he chuckled pleasantly. Bizarrely, yes actually. Zachariah thought to himself; he was well aware there were some things that just shouldn’t be shared: “Just,” he replied, feeling this was probably the response that was expected, “Thanks, um…sir…or – “
“Ha ha ha!” the Innkeeper boomed, “I can see Matilda ‘as filled you in on our ‘no formalities’ policy then - call me George.”
“Oh, ok, well thanks…George, for your help” Zachariah stumbled, feeling increasingly awkward.
George replied rather loudly, “I was just keeping these louts in line,” then, lowering his voice he leaned forward, “no problem lad,” winking at Zachariah and grinning he picked up another tankard, which he started wiping with a dirty cloth. Zachariah realised with a smile that he had just earned the respect of George and of Matilda. “Oh, here, you never told me yer name lad.” George said, looking up at him again expectantly.
“Zachariah.” he stated easily, he knew he would not have to continually repeat it as in the richer parts of the city: gossip travelled fast here.
“Mmmm,” George replied, thinking, “Good strong name tha’. Let’s just hope you live up to it, ‘ey lad,” he smiled in a friendly way, “anyway, Matilda tells me you need to eat,” he said, dismissing the previous topic and taking up his grubby cloth again, “so what will it be?”
“Oh, er…” Zachariah hesitated; somehow he’d forgotten his rumbling stomach, griping in almost painful churns and twists “just…just bread I think.” He answered, eyeing the cloth, not sure if the food here was clean enough to eat. His stomach churned again, but he clamped his mouth shut – there was no point in eating more if he was just going to bring it all back up again later. Instead he occupied himself with judging which unintentional bar-dressing puddle, that somehow used to be edible, would drip off of the side first. He predicted ten out of twelve times correctly before his food was place infront of him with a clatter and squelch.
As it turned out, the food was very satisfying, and the dark ale was equally as good. He strolled back to the bar, one hand supporting his stomach, the other balancing his empty plate and bowl,
“Thanks for the meal, truly - compliments to the cook.”
“Ha ha ha! Well ya can tell ‘er yerself when you go up fer yer bath, “George replied proudly, “only Matilda can make stew as good as that.”
“I don’t doubt it.“ he said, his face the picture of sincerity, “How much do I owe you?”
“Six coppers I reckon,” George replied, stopping mid-wipe and looking up as he worked it out, “tha’s about right isn’t it…yeah.” He said, answering his own question and then focusing on Zachariah again, “four fer the food an’ two fer the ale.”
“Right.” Zachariah agreed, pulling some coins out of his shirt-pocket and holding them in his left hand whilst sifting through them with his right. When he had acquired the right amount he dropped them on the bar and the rest back in his shirt pocket. He was half turned and about to walk away when something suddenly occurred to him.
“Tell me something,” he said, choosing his words carefully so as not to offend the Innkeeper, “I don’t remember letting go of my sword, and I didn’t wake up with it.”
“Ah, yes, I almost forgot,” the larger man replied, eyebrows raised in honesty, “I had Matilda take you out to the stables while we cleared out tha’ bloody Ghunai, an’ once we got rid of ‘im, I picked yer blade up - to make sure no one stole it like – ‘cause it’s a fine blade if I may say so…” His voice trailed off as he waddled into one of the backrooms bringing out the longsword a few seconds later. As he handed it back, Zachariah looked over every inch of it to make sure it was just how he left it. The Bronzed handle was actually solid silver coated with bronze, the length of the blade plain silver: sleek and shiny. Satisfied he sheathed it carefully, keeping the hilt a little loose and thanked George again before he made his way to the stairs.
“Second door to the righ’,” George called, just as he rounded the beginning of the spiral. Zachariah nodded and raised a hand to show he had heard. As he made his way up the curved stairway, he noticed there were paintings hanging on the walls and stopped to study one. It was a depiction of an area he recognised in one of the forests to the north of the city. He wondered who had painted it and, more importantly, how they had managed to get in and out of the forest to paint it. That particular area of the forest was very dense and thus difficult to navigate; the scene painted here was one of the few clearings it contained. He had also heard rumours that creatures had started guarding the city since he had arrived, which lead him to also wonder how recently it was painted.
“Miss Wynn painted that, sir.” Came an unexpected statement from the servant girl behind him.
“Thank you, lass, I must admit I did wonder who had such talent.” He turned, knowing full well she had been expecting to startle him with her sudden appearance, and flashed her a charming smile. She quickly covered her surprise with a small return smile and continued on her way down the stairs, making sure to keep her head bowed. He allowed himself an impish grin, like a small boy proud of a prank he had just pulled on some unsuspecting innocent, and dismissed all thoughts on the paintings. He could investigate that later: his bath being a much more enticing use of his time and continuing up the winding stairway. His muscles were protesting the entire way up, still bruised from earlier. He reached the top with relief, slowly making his way to the door.
He was just about to knock when a striking, slender woman floated through the doorway. She had obviously just finished a bath as her long, dark red hair was wet and tangled and she was wrapped in a single length of cloth. She flashed him a radiant smile and stood still expectantly. It took him a moment before he realised he was blocking her way. With a mumbled apology he stepped aside to let her through; she thanked him just as quietly before starting down the corridor. He watched her with false nonchalance, for in reality his heart was pumping quite a bit faster than normal, as she reached her door and turned her head slightly as if she was searching for some sound he couldn’t hear. He could tell the corner of her mouth had pulled up in a smile before she entered the room.
As she closed it behind her, he finally remembered how to breathe.
*
Copyright © (2009) by Stevie-leigh Harmer. All Rights Reserved.
Thanks for reading! And again, any comments and/or criticisms are very much welcome :)
Tags: marblelight, swords, zachariah
Comment
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Comment by Heaven-leigh on May 19, 2009 at 7:39am - Lol, thanks :D
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Comment by Taylor on May 18, 2009 at 2:12am - :D :D that was even more awesome then the last one!
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Comment by Heaven-leigh on May 10, 2009 at 12:50pm
- Hehehe :D
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![[e]LiFaN[t]™©](http://api.ning.com/files/iIp--UyNHl9P-hiFESEIHoM5KHPepjgaPsO5nPTE2BWBSrOB7r6Gfo83j5z8ubziaVA*IyRbe8sKPA69hsa*3J86gEqWsNEm/tattoo.jpg?width=48&height=48&crop=1%3A1)
Comment by [e]LiFaN[t]™© on May 7, 2009 at 6:21pm - ooh ooh!! omg..... MORE!!!
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Comment by Heaven-leigh on May 4, 2009 at 2:10am
- I'd love to! :)
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Comment by FireLight on May 3, 2009 at 2:35pm - im going to post something here in a moment, if you care to read it.
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Comment by Heaven-leigh on May 3, 2009 at 2:12pm
- Really? :O thanks. And yes I do :)
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Comment by FireLight on May 3, 2009 at 1:56pm
- Again, amazing. You are very talanted, if you have more, i would very much wish to read it!
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