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The Ghost Master (![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} ghostmaster) wrote,@ 2006-11-03 13:22:00 |
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The Servants of the Worm
My first attempt at NaNo. Don't tell me how dry my style is; I know. I'm just going to write it, and then have it professionally edited into something readable. Everything else is fair game, though.
The city of Roan’s Peak sprawled across the land at the base of its mountainous namesake, glittering like diamonds in the night air. Cormac sighed as he stared across it, blue eyes fixed on the palace. He would go there some day, he thought. He would go there, and Princess Corinne would be awed by his blond hair and handsome grace. She would toss aside her other suitors and rush to his side, as was only proper. His was an old family, after all.
A servant cleared its throat inconspicuously, and Cormac waited until he heard the door close to turn. The foul creatures knew better than to remain where he could see them. He hated having to rely on them, but as the other option entitled doing actual work himself, he tolerated it. No one would mistake Cormac Meagher for a common laborer. That tolerance did not extend to letting the beasts touch his skin, however, and he was grateful he needed no help to undress.
He lowered himself into his scented bath and languished in the blessed warmth for a long time. He closed his eyes, far too comfortable to consider moving right away. The winter was far too cold and, he was sure, existed only to give the noble population a time to host all their parties.
Cormac blinked and shook his head; he had almost fallen asleep, but the idle thought of parties reminded him of his purpose. He had finally received a coveted Invitation From Lady Belinda, which would allow him to meet the King’s Brother. Nothing would deter him from that goal. He gave a thin-lipped smile of determination as he climbed out of the bath and began the lengthy process of re-dressing himself.
By the time he had finished, someone knocked unobtrusively at the door. He stepped onto the cold, marble floor of the hall to see his valet, who held the present for Lady Belinda in a protective grip. He could never remember the man’s name, as they avoided each other as often as possible. The valet was a fellow nobleman, but one who had chosen theatre as his calling and was frequently out of money. He was the only servant Cormac would have anything to do with, and that was only out of necessity. Someone needed to talk to the underlings for him.
They walked in silence to the carriage, where the valet handed him the glittering silver box with a strangely knowing smile. He pushed it out of mind, paying little attention as his valet climbed onto the roof, and then he was staring out at the city again. Flower gardens and granite statuary represented the quarters of the most elite citizens of the kingdom. Even the cobblestones were flawless there, in the temple district. Cormac drew a circle on his forehead with his fingers as they passed the Temple of the Brightness, then leaned back to pass the trip in boredom.
His thoughts ranged far into future, and to the life of leisure, he would have as Crown Prince. If only his parents had lived to see their son so successful. The Meagher family had lived as merchants in Roan’s Peak almost since the city’s founding, but they had never had the drive to become more.
“But I do,” he whispered fervently. He sat up again in eager anticipation as they drove onto Lady Belinda’s palatial lot. His first view of the manor was breathtaking, but he quickly composed himself lest someone mistake him for a gawking tourist. He waited with barely suppressed impatience while his valet climbed down to open the door and lower the step, but he managed a graceful enough nod to the doorman as he passed the threshold.
Tom, the down on his luck noble turned valet, hid a smirk as Master Meagher presented his invitation and strutted into Lady Belinda’s manor. The Lady had some very interesting plans for the night, something that would ensure people talked for years to come. He climbed back onto the roof with the driver and murmured, “Just go forward. You’re going to follow the drive to the right up there and stop when they come out. We’ve got to let them park the carriage while we go to a special room they have set up. People will think something’s strange otherwise.”
Nalharuu nodded, just barely visible inside his heavy hood, and asked, “They not think something wrong me?”
Tom took a moment to puzzle through the driver’s heavy accent and slur. “Oh, you mean something wrong with you? Probably, but I’m going to tell them it was your birthday today. Just don’t say anything and nod if anyone tries to offer sympathies. They should leave you alone, though.”
“How that will help?”
“They’re going to think you’re suffering from too much alcohol.” He chuckled a bit at the driver’s derisive snort.
He was honestly surprised Nalharuu performed so well. The Shalen’Dari was not their usual driver; Tom had paid that man a substantial sum to be anywhere but the city that day. Money was of no concern when Lady Belinda was involved. She had organized everything down to the smallest detail and was more than willing to pay any amount necessary.
The carriage rolled to a somewhat haphazard stop, and Nalharuu fell to the ground in a confused heap. Tom feigned an embarrassed laugh as he “helped” Nalharuu to his feet, slipped the stableman a coin, and murmured, “It’s his birthday.”
The man would likely share the anecdote. There would be laughter. Someone might decide it was worth telling the masters. On any other day, Tom might even have been concerned for his job.
Tom allowed Nalharuu to lean heavily on his shoulder as they staggered into the servants’ quarters where he mingled with the servants, careful to spread the report of drunk driving. No one thought it remarkable when Nalharuu dashed back out the door, ostensibly to find a bush in which to be ill. A few even asked Tom to pass on their sympathies.
Lady Belinda was a very important person. She had spared no expense for her party. Cormac forced himself not to gawk, but it was a difficult feat. He wondered for a moment how the servants were able to light the chandelier without catching themselves on fire; what must have been a hundred candles flickered amongst the crystal.
The Meaghers were an old merchant family, and their fortune was not to be dismissed. The Lady, however, was a favorite of the King. Rumor held that she received an allowance straight from the Royal Coffers in addition to the sum left by her deceased husband.
Cormac smiled gracefully at a few of his gossip contacts but waved off their flirtatious offers of the latest news, unwilling to be deterred from his purpose. The Lady Belinda hid her surprise and annoyance behind a bright smile as she saw him cross toward her. What she thought of him was of no concern. He reached her and sketched a courtly bow, and presented her with his gift. “A reminder,” he said, speaking quietly enough that the ambient sound masked his words.
The Lady’s mask slipped ever so slightly as she opened it to see a single lilac blossom, and then the box was closed again. “I need no reminder,” she replied, the barest hint of a threat in her voice. Louder, she went on, “Come, my dear! You simply must meet Cornell!”
Cormac forced away the sudden burst of excitement and kept his voice level. “I would be honored.” It was the moment he had been waiting for all of his life: a real meeting with Duke Cornell. The Duke would introduce him to the King. All he had to do then was be his usual charming self; he was certain the King would be impressed, perhaps even enough to consider Cormac as a potential suitor for the Princess. And once he met her…
Suddenly, the great doors slammed open and caused the candles to flicker, eliciting a few squeals from the gathered patrons. Cormac felt his mouth drop open at the sight of his seal clipped onto the apparition’s cloak and realized it was his driver. He took a breath to demand that the man explain himself, but the sounds of breaking glass distracted him. The “driver” yanked off his cloak as his fellow raiders dropped through the high window from the roof.
There was a single moment when everyone was too shocked to react, during which they processed glowing green eyes and coal black skin that shined like polished obsidian. Then the moment was over, and everyone started to panic. A thousand thoughts, all voiced by someone somewhere, flitted through Cormac’s head. They were nobles, not warriors. Being kidnapped by Shalen’Dari slave traders was something that only happened to commoners. They were all going to be killed.
Someone pulled him beneath the nearest buffet. He thought he heard Lady Belinda say it was not part of the plan. An upside-down face with a fang filled grin dropped into his sight and something slammed into his head.
Cormac blinked and stared, uncomprehending, at his surroundings. His head felt as though it would split open if he moved wrong, and his mouth could have been stuffed with cotton. As his brain slowly caught up again, he realized that his mouth was filled with cotton and tried to spit it out. After a few minutes failure, his brain tentatively nudged the idea that it was tied around his head, which meant it was a gag. Why would anyone want to gag-
And then the Shalen’Dari strode into view, its arms folded across its chest. Or were they braced against its hips? Cormac blinked again and shook his head, groaning as his abused skull complained. He thought he must have blacked out again because the Shalen’Dari was gone when his vision cleared.
Cormac carefully looked around again and finally noticed that he was in a darkened cave. A single torch several yard away provided just enough light to see that he was not alone. Lady Belinda leaned against something nearby; the Duke was just beyond her. There were several other bodies in various states of wakefulness, some that he knew and some that he did not.
A different Shalen’Dari strode, bird-like, into view; Cormac thought it might be female. She was short, he realized, barely four feet tall. Although he had been too startled to notice during the attack, he realized that all of them had been that short. As she walked closer, he saw that she held a cup and a rag in two hands…and a bucket full of some liquid in two others.
Everyone knew about the Shalen’Dari, but no one in Roan’s Peak had ever seen one. If they had, they were remarkably closed-mouthed about it. Cormac had always envisioned them as black-skinned humans, like the desert men from the south. As she approached, he realized that was akin to mistaking a hawk for a mockingbird simply because they both had wings and beaks.
The female reached for his face; he shook his head and tried to back away. In response, she huffed irritably and put two hands on her hips, then mimed drinking from the cup and held it out for his inspection. He shook his head again and said around the gag, “Get away from me!” He cringed back again as she reached out, but she merely pulled the gag from his mouth and stepped back. She waved the cup in front of eyes, dipped into the piqued, and took a sip, looking at him expectantly through the whole process. Cormac shook his head; he knew she wanted him to drink, but he was not about to trust her.
“It’s just water,” Lady Belinda whispered. Her voice was heavy, and she failed to look at him.
Cormac pushed away his doubts at the memory of her words. “Are you sure?” It did not help to lift his spirits when she shook her head, but he allowed the Shalen’Dari girl to give him a drink. He leaned back against the cave wall. “This was your doing, wasn’t it?” he asked quietly.
There was a long silence, and he thought she might refuse to respond. Finally, she tilted her head and gave him a small, weary smile. “You didn’t think I’d let you get away with that extortion, did you?” She sighed and leaned closer to say in an even quieter voice, “You had to know your days were numbered the moment you saw Cornell and I. He is a married man, after all. Neither of us could afford the scandal.”
“I never expected this,” Cormac replied to hide his naïve trust in her promise.
The Lady made a noncommittal hum. “Neither did I,” she allowed. “You were never supposed to reach my soirée.”
“Everyone awake?” boomed a gravelly voice, startling a few squeals from the assorted humans. “Good! My name Nalharuu! I your master, now! We reach sea, then you have new master. You pray new master good.”
“What do you want with us?” someone cried. “We won’t make good slaves! We’re not made to do labor!”
Nalharuu flashed his fangs in an expression that was part grin and part snarl. “Noble make good gold. Rashka…” He shook his head and corrected himself. “…female maybe make good pet. Male maybe fun for breaking.” He turned to his followers and spat a few commands in their native language. The eight Shalen’Dari each pulled a human to his or her feet, and Cormac recognized the water girl as his guard.
Nalharuu extinguished the torch.
The panic threatened to rise again. By the sounds, his fellow humans agreed. To keep it at bay, he turned back to his merchant heritage. It seemed strange that, out of the dozens of candidates, the slave traders only took eight people. None of them were slave material; despite Nalharuu’s assurances, nobles did not make good slaves. They were too soft. Even if he had been telling the truth about selling the women as concubines, they were older women. No one in their right mind would pay top price for an older woman whether she was a virgin or not, and he knew first hand that not all of them were.
Someone tried to speak, but a guard silenced him with an audible smack. One of the women whimpered, earning what Cormac assumed was a snarled curse. He glanced at the glowing eyes of his captor and saw them turn slightly in response. It occurred to him that he might be able to charm his way out, but he tripped over a rock and lost the idea again.
Suddenly, Cormac had the disturbing thought that he was in for a very long walk.
Part Two
Part Three
My first attempt at NaNo. Don't tell me how dry my style is; I know. I'm just going to write it, and then have it professionally edited into something readable. Everything else is fair game, though.
The city of Roan’s Peak sprawled across the land at the base of its mountainous namesake, glittering like diamonds in the night air. Cormac sighed as he stared across it, blue eyes fixed on the palace. He would go there some day, he thought. He would go there, and Princess Corinne would be awed by his blond hair and handsome grace. She would toss aside her other suitors and rush to his side, as was only proper. His was an old family, after all.
A servant cleared its throat inconspicuously, and Cormac waited until he heard the door close to turn. The foul creatures knew better than to remain where he could see them. He hated having to rely on them, but as the other option entitled doing actual work himself, he tolerated it. No one would mistake Cormac Meagher for a common laborer. That tolerance did not extend to letting the beasts touch his skin, however, and he was grateful he needed no help to undress.
He lowered himself into his scented bath and languished in the blessed warmth for a long time. He closed his eyes, far too comfortable to consider moving right away. The winter was far too cold and, he was sure, existed only to give the noble population a time to host all their parties.
Cormac blinked and shook his head; he had almost fallen asleep, but the idle thought of parties reminded him of his purpose. He had finally received a coveted Invitation From Lady Belinda, which would allow him to meet the King’s Brother. Nothing would deter him from that goal. He gave a thin-lipped smile of determination as he climbed out of the bath and began the lengthy process of re-dressing himself.
By the time he had finished, someone knocked unobtrusively at the door. He stepped onto the cold, marble floor of the hall to see his valet, who held the present for Lady Belinda in a protective grip. He could never remember the man’s name, as they avoided each other as often as possible. The valet was a fellow nobleman, but one who had chosen theatre as his calling and was frequently out of money. He was the only servant Cormac would have anything to do with, and that was only out of necessity. Someone needed to talk to the underlings for him.
They walked in silence to the carriage, where the valet handed him the glittering silver box with a strangely knowing smile. He pushed it out of mind, paying little attention as his valet climbed onto the roof, and then he was staring out at the city again. Flower gardens and granite statuary represented the quarters of the most elite citizens of the kingdom. Even the cobblestones were flawless there, in the temple district. Cormac drew a circle on his forehead with his fingers as they passed the Temple of the Brightness, then leaned back to pass the trip in boredom.
His thoughts ranged far into future, and to the life of leisure, he would have as Crown Prince. If only his parents had lived to see their son so successful. The Meagher family had lived as merchants in Roan’s Peak almost since the city’s founding, but they had never had the drive to become more.
“But I do,” he whispered fervently. He sat up again in eager anticipation as they drove onto Lady Belinda’s palatial lot. His first view of the manor was breathtaking, but he quickly composed himself lest someone mistake him for a gawking tourist. He waited with barely suppressed impatience while his valet climbed down to open the door and lower the step, but he managed a graceful enough nod to the doorman as he passed the threshold.
Tom, the down on his luck noble turned valet, hid a smirk as Master Meagher presented his invitation and strutted into Lady Belinda’s manor. The Lady had some very interesting plans for the night, something that would ensure people talked for years to come. He climbed back onto the roof with the driver and murmured, “Just go forward. You’re going to follow the drive to the right up there and stop when they come out. We’ve got to let them park the carriage while we go to a special room they have set up. People will think something’s strange otherwise.”
Nalharuu nodded, just barely visible inside his heavy hood, and asked, “They not think something wrong me?”
Tom took a moment to puzzle through the driver’s heavy accent and slur. “Oh, you mean something wrong with you? Probably, but I’m going to tell them it was your birthday today. Just don’t say anything and nod if anyone tries to offer sympathies. They should leave you alone, though.”
“How that will help?”
“They’re going to think you’re suffering from too much alcohol.” He chuckled a bit at the driver’s derisive snort.
He was honestly surprised Nalharuu performed so well. The Shalen’Dari was not their usual driver; Tom had paid that man a substantial sum to be anywhere but the city that day. Money was of no concern when Lady Belinda was involved. She had organized everything down to the smallest detail and was more than willing to pay any amount necessary.
The carriage rolled to a somewhat haphazard stop, and Nalharuu fell to the ground in a confused heap. Tom feigned an embarrassed laugh as he “helped” Nalharuu to his feet, slipped the stableman a coin, and murmured, “It’s his birthday.”
The man would likely share the anecdote. There would be laughter. Someone might decide it was worth telling the masters. On any other day, Tom might even have been concerned for his job.
Tom allowed Nalharuu to lean heavily on his shoulder as they staggered into the servants’ quarters where he mingled with the servants, careful to spread the report of drunk driving. No one thought it remarkable when Nalharuu dashed back out the door, ostensibly to find a bush in which to be ill. A few even asked Tom to pass on their sympathies.
Lady Belinda was a very important person. She had spared no expense for her party. Cormac forced himself not to gawk, but it was a difficult feat. He wondered for a moment how the servants were able to light the chandelier without catching themselves on fire; what must have been a hundred candles flickered amongst the crystal.
The Meaghers were an old merchant family, and their fortune was not to be dismissed. The Lady, however, was a favorite of the King. Rumor held that she received an allowance straight from the Royal Coffers in addition to the sum left by her deceased husband.
Cormac smiled gracefully at a few of his gossip contacts but waved off their flirtatious offers of the latest news, unwilling to be deterred from his purpose. The Lady Belinda hid her surprise and annoyance behind a bright smile as she saw him cross toward her. What she thought of him was of no concern. He reached her and sketched a courtly bow, and presented her with his gift. “A reminder,” he said, speaking quietly enough that the ambient sound masked his words.
The Lady’s mask slipped ever so slightly as she opened it to see a single lilac blossom, and then the box was closed again. “I need no reminder,” she replied, the barest hint of a threat in her voice. Louder, she went on, “Come, my dear! You simply must meet Cornell!”
Cormac forced away the sudden burst of excitement and kept his voice level. “I would be honored.” It was the moment he had been waiting for all of his life: a real meeting with Duke Cornell. The Duke would introduce him to the King. All he had to do then was be his usual charming self; he was certain the King would be impressed, perhaps even enough to consider Cormac as a potential suitor for the Princess. And once he met her…
Suddenly, the great doors slammed open and caused the candles to flicker, eliciting a few squeals from the gathered patrons. Cormac felt his mouth drop open at the sight of his seal clipped onto the apparition’s cloak and realized it was his driver. He took a breath to demand that the man explain himself, but the sounds of breaking glass distracted him. The “driver” yanked off his cloak as his fellow raiders dropped through the high window from the roof.
There was a single moment when everyone was too shocked to react, during which they processed glowing green eyes and coal black skin that shined like polished obsidian. Then the moment was over, and everyone started to panic. A thousand thoughts, all voiced by someone somewhere, flitted through Cormac’s head. They were nobles, not warriors. Being kidnapped by Shalen’Dari slave traders was something that only happened to commoners. They were all going to be killed.
Someone pulled him beneath the nearest buffet. He thought he heard Lady Belinda say it was not part of the plan. An upside-down face with a fang filled grin dropped into his sight and something slammed into his head.
Cormac blinked and stared, uncomprehending, at his surroundings. His head felt as though it would split open if he moved wrong, and his mouth could have been stuffed with cotton. As his brain slowly caught up again, he realized that his mouth was filled with cotton and tried to spit it out. After a few minutes failure, his brain tentatively nudged the idea that it was tied around his head, which meant it was a gag. Why would anyone want to gag-
And then the Shalen’Dari strode into view, its arms folded across its chest. Or were they braced against its hips? Cormac blinked again and shook his head, groaning as his abused skull complained. He thought he must have blacked out again because the Shalen’Dari was gone when his vision cleared.
Cormac carefully looked around again and finally noticed that he was in a darkened cave. A single torch several yard away provided just enough light to see that he was not alone. Lady Belinda leaned against something nearby; the Duke was just beyond her. There were several other bodies in various states of wakefulness, some that he knew and some that he did not.
A different Shalen’Dari strode, bird-like, into view; Cormac thought it might be female. She was short, he realized, barely four feet tall. Although he had been too startled to notice during the attack, he realized that all of them had been that short. As she walked closer, he saw that she held a cup and a rag in two hands…and a bucket full of some liquid in two others.
Everyone knew about the Shalen’Dari, but no one in Roan’s Peak had ever seen one. If they had, they were remarkably closed-mouthed about it. Cormac had always envisioned them as black-skinned humans, like the desert men from the south. As she approached, he realized that was akin to mistaking a hawk for a mockingbird simply because they both had wings and beaks.
The female reached for his face; he shook his head and tried to back away. In response, she huffed irritably and put two hands on her hips, then mimed drinking from the cup and held it out for his inspection. He shook his head again and said around the gag, “Get away from me!” He cringed back again as she reached out, but she merely pulled the gag from his mouth and stepped back. She waved the cup in front of eyes, dipped into the piqued, and took a sip, looking at him expectantly through the whole process. Cormac shook his head; he knew she wanted him to drink, but he was not about to trust her.
“It’s just water,” Lady Belinda whispered. Her voice was heavy, and she failed to look at him.
Cormac pushed away his doubts at the memory of her words. “Are you sure?” It did not help to lift his spirits when she shook her head, but he allowed the Shalen’Dari girl to give him a drink. He leaned back against the cave wall. “This was your doing, wasn’t it?” he asked quietly.
There was a long silence, and he thought she might refuse to respond. Finally, she tilted her head and gave him a small, weary smile. “You didn’t think I’d let you get away with that extortion, did you?” She sighed and leaned closer to say in an even quieter voice, “You had to know your days were numbered the moment you saw Cornell and I. He is a married man, after all. Neither of us could afford the scandal.”
“I never expected this,” Cormac replied to hide his naïve trust in her promise.
The Lady made a noncommittal hum. “Neither did I,” she allowed. “You were never supposed to reach my soirée.”
“Everyone awake?” boomed a gravelly voice, startling a few squeals from the assorted humans. “Good! My name Nalharuu! I your master, now! We reach sea, then you have new master. You pray new master good.”
“What do you want with us?” someone cried. “We won’t make good slaves! We’re not made to do labor!”
Nalharuu flashed his fangs in an expression that was part grin and part snarl. “Noble make good gold. Rashka…” He shook his head and corrected himself. “…female maybe make good pet. Male maybe fun for breaking.” He turned to his followers and spat a few commands in their native language. The eight Shalen’Dari each pulled a human to his or her feet, and Cormac recognized the water girl as his guard.
Nalharuu extinguished the torch.
The panic threatened to rise again. By the sounds, his fellow humans agreed. To keep it at bay, he turned back to his merchant heritage. It seemed strange that, out of the dozens of candidates, the slave traders only took eight people. None of them were slave material; despite Nalharuu’s assurances, nobles did not make good slaves. They were too soft. Even if he had been telling the truth about selling the women as concubines, they were older women. No one in their right mind would pay top price for an older woman whether she was a virgin or not, and he knew first hand that not all of them were.
Someone tried to speak, but a guard silenced him with an audible smack. One of the women whimpered, earning what Cormac assumed was a snarled curse. He glanced at the glowing eyes of his captor and saw them turn slightly in response. It occurred to him that he might be able to charm his way out, but he tripped over a rock and lost the idea again.
Suddenly, Cormac had the disturbing thought that he was in for a very long walk.
Part Two
Part Three
