Post by theantichris on Nov 4, 2009 20:03:27 GMT 10
Title: Knight of the Living Dead
Rating:Z for zombies PG
Prompt: #12, Behind Closed Doors
Summary: Kel faces an unusual enemy. Crack, obviously.
Kel reached the armoury door seconds ahead of the dead things, catching her glaive almost disastrously on the sill. She stumbled; half a dozen hands reached out to drag her and her weapon in, and half a dozen more lifted the heavy bar into position.
The damp air settled clammily around her, cooling the sweat on her skin without drying it. She fought to keep her features calm as she looked around the room at the other squires, counting them as much to reassure herself of their safety as to assess their resources. Neal, Merric, Faleron, Prosper, Seaver, Owen, more first- and second-year squires, all looking at her with varying degrees of fear and trust. A first-year she knew only by sight nursed his right arm in one corner, but seemed alert; perhaps he could be used to pass arrows, or to dress wounds...
Neal caught her gaze over Owen's curly head as she dragged herself upright. 'Situation?'
Hard to talk when she was this out of breath; stone, she was stone, and stones didn't need to breathe.
'Half a dozen behind me--you probably saw--and more in the practice yards. The grounds won't be safe.' For that matter, she wasn't sure how much longer the armoury would be safe; there was already a wet sort of scratching sound on the other side of the doors, and groans wafted through the arrow-slits high on the walls. The only chance was-- 'Neal. You mages - do you know what's causing this?'
Neal's voice was disjointed, the contrast with his usual fluent academic's speech frightening Kel almost more than what she'd seen outside. 'I spoke to Master Numair by fire-chat--Fal had a flint-box--he's never seen the like, but he and the king suspect necromancy.'
Not that that was hard to guess, given the crowds of walking dead at the door. Neal's quirked eyebrow suggested he'd had the same thought. Just think how scared we'd all be if you lost your sense of humour, Kel thought wryly.
'Got to be close,' Neal continued. 'Necromancy has a shorter effective range than most spells, so Daine's scouting. She took bird shape, and the... whatever they are don't seem to be interested in animals in any case, so--' He wiped his forehead on a dirty sleeve. 'Anyway. Now you know what the mages know.'
Distantly, Kel heard Lord Raoul's voice: If your survival depends on circumstances outside your control, assume everything will happen as you need it to. She hadn't understood at the time, but later, turning it over as she tried to sleep, the ideas had twisted and fallen into place; you couldn't control everything that needed to happen, but you could be ready to take advantage of it if the dice fell in your favour, and worrying did no good in either case. Raoul had never approved of worrying, and Kel rather thought he had the right of it.
So. Daine would uncover the necromancer; Master Numair or the Lioness would destroy him. All they had to do was survive until then. Kel risked a look out one of the arrow-slits, assessing numbers. Horribly, she recognised a number of faces from the stables and Rider barracks.
'Well, at least we're not short of weapons.' She managed a grin, which drew several shaky smiles in return. 'Prosper, Neal. Can you spell crossbow bolts to explode?'
Both squires nodded.
'Start on that, then. Pellis--' she'd finally remembered the wounded first-year's name-- 'watch the door. The rest of us will take it in turns shooting from the windows. Aim for the head. Anywhere else is a waste of ammunition, so don't rush. Got it?'
Each boy, as her gaze rested on him, nodded, some more firmly than others. Light flared in Neal and Prosper's corner, while Faleron clapped her on the shoulder as he climbed to an arrow-slit with the first batch of mage-spelled bolts. Seaver and Owen followed, and Pellis shuffled to get a better view of the door. Outside, she hoped, the larger tapestry was taking shape.
She stood, lifting a crossbow from the racks. 'Let's do this thing.'
Rating:
Prompt: #12, Behind Closed Doors
Summary: Kel faces an unusual enemy. Crack, obviously.
Kel reached the armoury door seconds ahead of the dead things, catching her glaive almost disastrously on the sill. She stumbled; half a dozen hands reached out to drag her and her weapon in, and half a dozen more lifted the heavy bar into position.
The damp air settled clammily around her, cooling the sweat on her skin without drying it. She fought to keep her features calm as she looked around the room at the other squires, counting them as much to reassure herself of their safety as to assess their resources. Neal, Merric, Faleron, Prosper, Seaver, Owen, more first- and second-year squires, all looking at her with varying degrees of fear and trust. A first-year she knew only by sight nursed his right arm in one corner, but seemed alert; perhaps he could be used to pass arrows, or to dress wounds...
Neal caught her gaze over Owen's curly head as she dragged herself upright. 'Situation?'
Hard to talk when she was this out of breath; stone, she was stone, and stones didn't need to breathe.
'Half a dozen behind me--you probably saw--and more in the practice yards. The grounds won't be safe.' For that matter, she wasn't sure how much longer the armoury would be safe; there was already a wet sort of scratching sound on the other side of the doors, and groans wafted through the arrow-slits high on the walls. The only chance was-- 'Neal. You mages - do you know what's causing this?'
Neal's voice was disjointed, the contrast with his usual fluent academic's speech frightening Kel almost more than what she'd seen outside. 'I spoke to Master Numair by fire-chat--Fal had a flint-box--he's never seen the like, but he and the king suspect necromancy.'
Not that that was hard to guess, given the crowds of walking dead at the door. Neal's quirked eyebrow suggested he'd had the same thought. Just think how scared we'd all be if you lost your sense of humour, Kel thought wryly.
'Got to be close,' Neal continued. 'Necromancy has a shorter effective range than most spells, so Daine's scouting. She took bird shape, and the... whatever they are don't seem to be interested in animals in any case, so--' He wiped his forehead on a dirty sleeve. 'Anyway. Now you know what the mages know.'
Distantly, Kel heard Lord Raoul's voice: If your survival depends on circumstances outside your control, assume everything will happen as you need it to. She hadn't understood at the time, but later, turning it over as she tried to sleep, the ideas had twisted and fallen into place; you couldn't control everything that needed to happen, but you could be ready to take advantage of it if the dice fell in your favour, and worrying did no good in either case. Raoul had never approved of worrying, and Kel rather thought he had the right of it.
So. Daine would uncover the necromancer; Master Numair or the Lioness would destroy him. All they had to do was survive until then. Kel risked a look out one of the arrow-slits, assessing numbers. Horribly, she recognised a number of faces from the stables and Rider barracks.
'Well, at least we're not short of weapons.' She managed a grin, which drew several shaky smiles in return. 'Prosper, Neal. Can you spell crossbow bolts to explode?'
Both squires nodded.
'Start on that, then. Pellis--' she'd finally remembered the wounded first-year's name-- 'watch the door. The rest of us will take it in turns shooting from the windows. Aim for the head. Anywhere else is a waste of ammunition, so don't rush. Got it?'
Each boy, as her gaze rested on him, nodded, some more firmly than others. Light flared in Neal and Prosper's corner, while Faleron clapped her on the shoulder as he climbed to an arrow-slit with the first batch of mage-spelled bolts. Seaver and Owen followed, and Pellis shuffled to get a better view of the door. Outside, she hoped, the larger tapestry was taking shape.
She stood, lifting a crossbow from the racks. 'Let's do this thing.'
Great fic! 
