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 Posted: Fri Jan 04, 2013 1:04 pm
ERE THE FALCON FLIES
Between Hayat, Nicholas, & Claune
In central Mishkan on an early winter's evening
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Posted: Fri Jan 04, 2013 1:07 pm
This area of central Mishkan was undoubtedly beautiful in the summer, but now, in early winter, the fields were bleak: the grass was faded beneath a featureless slate-gray sky, and even the silhouettes of the bare trees in the distance, brown on brown with a faint blush of red, looked raw and abraded by the wind. Night was fast approaching, but the sun was nowhere to be seen; the transition to dusk was marked only by a gradual deepening of bluish shadow.
Nicholas sat on the side of the road with everything he owned in the world, the lonely breeze tugging at his empty right sleeve. He was not, however, alone. A stranger observing from afar might think him fixing a lace on his shoe, as he was hunched over in the right sort of way, but he was in fact tuning his Plague, who stood braced against a wooden trunk for the procedure.
"Try it this time?" Nicholas asked, and his eyebrows drew in slightly when Claune replied with a discordant squeal. He carefully pressed the peg on the Plague's back counterclockwise. "And again?"
Claune stared out across the empty fields, then sang in a high, pure, and surprisingly carrying voice:
"The wind blows ere the falcon flies;
It carries fast her lonesome cries—
While in the grass the field mouse sighs,
And dreams of flight before she dies."
A children's rhyme, and a melancholy one at that—but Nicholas supposed it was only natural, given that Claune had recently lost his two young friends in Clearbarrow to the Plague. He had no comfort to offer him now—he knew Claune wouldn't accept it—so he sat back and looked down the road, resuming his vigil for an approaching wagon. Thus preoccupied, he entirely missed the man on horseback advancing from the other direction until the tack jingled and a vague shadow fell across him.
He stood up and turned, placing himself in between the horseman and Claune. "Can I help you?" he asked quietly, but his eyes were grim. The man had an unsheathed shortsword casually on display across his thigh and was looking at Nicholas's trunks instead of Nicholas. The doctor had never been inclined toward fighting, but now he keenly felt the loss of his missing arm; he might as well have had the words "rob me" painted in red across his person.
"I'll be the judge of that," the rider said, and went to dismount.
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Posted: Sat Jan 05, 2013 12:29 pm
The months spent in Ashcroft has been both long and short, as seasons changed from the height of Spring, through Summer, the beginnings of Autumn, and now fading into a muddy, stark Winter. Not a time many would choose to travel, but before long, many trade and travel routes would close due to snow, unable to open until after the March floods. It was a journey that would last at least a month, the ride from Mishkan to the eastern coast of Imisus, but a necessary one.
Hayat had been riding for three days, at a determined but even pace north and east of the Guard's Headquarters. It was as she came to the less mountainous region near Ironvale that she heard the jarring squeal of something out of tune. The unnatural sound caused the soldier, for she wore the uniform of an officer despite her bright eyes and tattoos, to slow her horse, tilting her head as the breeze carried a louder, sweeter sound to her ear.
"The wind blows ere the falcon flies;
It carries fast her lonesome cries—
While in the grass the field mouse sighs,
And dreams of flight before she dies."
It was as sure as summons as she had heard, and Hayat's uncanny sight scoured the fields as if finding her prey, adjusting to the distance to pick out the figure of a hunched man and... There was truly only one thing so small, and so animated. Her kin.
Though she had already adjusted her trajectory to encounter them, Lady Hayat encouraged her horse to increase his pace, as another rider drew near. Upon his dismount, the blade became apparent, and she drew back the string of her bow, trusting the wind to carry her calm, feminine voice as if she was much closer.
"Sheath your blade, in the name of the Guard." It was an order, not a request, though not a particularly alarmed one. Hayat had decided that Nicholas must be a Grimm, to step between the interloper and his young charge. He was missing an arm, and he appeared to have no weapon at hand. Hayat was inclined to assist him.
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Posted: Sat Jan 05, 2013 2:01 pm
Claune was the first to notice Hayat; he turned where he stood and gravely watched her approach. Nicholas, on the other hand, only looked over his shoulder when she spoke, and then did a double-take—her strange eyes were unmistakable despite (or perhaps because of) the encroaching dark. His gaze did not linger long, however, for he was unwilling to take his attention from the highwayman, and as Hayat drew closer he took two slow, measured steps back toward Claune to give her a clearer shot.
The robber, for his part, paused halfway in and out of the saddle looking confused—confounded, perhaps, by Hayat's swift arrival and the unnatural projection of her voice—but eventually the reality of Hayat's uniform and drawn bow appeared to sink in. He reseated himself, sheathed his blade, and made for the trees, his horse kicking up clods of mud in his wake.
Nicholas immediately reached down and picked Claune up. The Plague did not even seem to notice his change in altitude. He was still staring intently at Hayat, and his head turned to continue watching her as Nicholas moved aside another tentative step, uncertain whether she would stop or ride in pursuit of the highwayman. If the latter, he didn't intend to get in her way.
Claune, however, asked as she approached: "Did you hear me squeaking in the grass?" There was a note of fascination in his high, peculiar voice, and his eyes searched her face as if seeking the answer to a different question there.
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Posted: Sat Jan 05, 2013 2:20 pm
Perhaps, if the highwayman had stayed and tried to explain his situation, things might've gone differently. He would have been taken into custody, and Hayat and Nicholas would have gone their separate ways without much discussion, as she escorted the criminal back to Ashcroft for sentencing. Instead, the armed man broke for the forest, presenting the risk that he would attack the very next person on the road. That was unacceptable.
He was pursued by Hayat's arrow, not her horse, its delivery enhanced and guided by a puff of air from her own lips. She stared after the man only long enough to watch the force of the arrow knock him from his horse, before turning her gaze upon the pair from her own mount. "Yes." The answer was delayed, but directed toward Claune, who naturally posed the most interest to her, as a caedos most handsome. "You have a lovely voice."
A slight furrow touched her brow. "Where is your wagon?"
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Posted: Sat Jan 05, 2013 4:07 pm
Nicholas watched the arrow hit home and his lips thinned in sympathy. Though no longer a doctor in trade, one could never quite stop being one in spirit. He knew enough about the human body to recognize an instantly fatal blow, however, and was at least grateful for the man's swift death.
Claune hadn't looked at all; he twitched at the distant thunk of the arrow colliding with flesh, but continued to stare. "A mouse's voice only," he said finally, dismissively, and freed one of his arms from Nicholas's grasp to spread his long, slender fingers across his breast and give Hayat a bow. The bells on his hat jingled. "I'm glad you haven't come to eat me."
It was clear that Nicholas, for his part, was no stranger to violence. When he turned back around, his composure was steady. He tried not to stare openly at Hayat—she was the first Anhelo he'd ever seen at close range, let alone spoken to. "Ah, well," he said, and paused, with a brief, sad glance down at Claune. "I'm afraid the one we were traveling with had to take on more pass—"
"They found me hiding in the luggage and kicked us off," Claune interrupted mercilessly. "Nicholas is a horrible liar; I can't bear listening to it. Are you a Plague?"
Meanwhile the riderless horse stood gazing about near the tree-line after its initial spook, apparently at a loss for what to do next. One of the dead highwayman's feet was still stuck in its stirrup.
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Posted: Sat Jan 05, 2013 4:38 pm
"You would require far more salt than I have on hand, mouse." The falcon's dry voice was at odds with her neutral expression, though she responded to his bow by dismounting. She much preferred the taste of flesh than that of the plague.
The Locos's bright eyes had snapped to Nicholas as he began to explain away their circumstance (Hayat found the societal norm of lying quite displeasing), a slight frown touching her full mouth. Her momentary flare of distrust faded, however, as Claune interrupted, clearing the air and reminding her why she so often preferred the company of her own and why the mission posed to her Grimm by the Plague General was so very important.
"I am," she nodded once, in understanding the difficulty of existing as a plague, and even moreso as an excito. "The Panymese are often quite superstitious about our kind." And they were of one kind, despite the difference in their 'alignment'. "My name is Hayat." By way of explanation she continued. "I serve as a Corporal in his Emperor's Guard and as a Lady of the Saleh Family, an ally of the Fellowship."
It was clear, by her pause that she expected the caedos and his grimm to identify themselves similarly. Once they did, she continued, in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Can you ride?" She addressed Nicolas. "If so, you shall take that horse. I doubt it was his to begin with." Quite obviously, he no longer had a need of it. "Ironside is not a far ride from here. If your belongings are hidden for the night, I may purchase a cart for you and we may return for them in the morning." It did not occur to Hayat that this was an odd thing to do for a stranger.
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Posted: Sat Jan 05, 2013 5:55 pm
"Aha! There you are mistaken," Claune replied merrily, though there was a strange, haunted look in his eyes. His features glowed the eldritch blue of foxfire in the gathering dusk. "I was born in salt, and bathed in it. I'm sure there's plenty in me yet."
Nicholas transferred Claune to his shoulder, looking weary. His Plague's words clearly meant something to him; he had been the one to throw the painted violin to its ruin in the sea. "Thank you for coming to our aid," he said, with the profound sincerity of the truly exhausted. His efforts not to stare at Hayat continued for a moment in earnest, but he finally gave up—he had neither the energy nor the inclination—and just looked steadily into her extraordinary eyes. "I'm Nicholas Glass, and this is Claune. We're on our way to Gadu to begin working for the Council."
He glanced over at the animal in question, which, having evidently decided that keeping company with Hayat's horse was the only option left to it, had begun plodding unhurriedly in their direction. Thankfully, the dead highwayman had come detached after a bit of dragging. "In a manner of speaking," he answered hesitantly. At least, he'd ridden a horse several times before without falling off of it, but that had been many years ago and with twice as many arms at his disposal. He supposed he might at least manage it passably; it would likely be uncomfortable, but Nicholas wasn't one to sacrifice practicality for pride.
Hayat's next offer left him momentarily speechless. "I couldn't possibly—although that is very kind of you—" or was it? Hayat's cool gaze, Nicholas thought, suggested a motivation other than sympathy "—fortunately, I'm not sure anything of the sort will be necessary." He went over to the large wooden trunk and flipped it open. It was filled mostly with smaller bags and cases, none of them heavy. "If we could, ah, affix these to the horse somehow…" He cast the horse an extremely dubious look.
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