Post by Seek on May 4, 2013 7:08:25 GMT 10
Title: Orders
Rating: PG
Word count: 915 words
Summary: Raoul arrives, with their marching orders.
Pairing: Buri/Raoul
Round/Fight: 1D
Notes: Part of the Slow Burn series.
-
The Immortals War is a study of long, wearying rides, sleeping in the saddle, and eating dusty trail bread, because they’ve run out of other rations. Immortals and Scanrans crunch into Tortall, taking bite after bite out of undefended hamlets. The army can’t be everywhere at once. They’re not mobile enough and the Tortallan army has never trained for this kind of warfare.
The K’miri, children of the Blue Wolf and the Fallow Doe, have lived this ever-continuing war, clan against clan, clans against lowlanders. Battles are fought upon horseback, wheeling about, blowing the polished horn to signal the ambush and the hail of arrows that thin the enemy’s ranks. With the K’miri, the problem is forcing them to stand and fight.
Buri has grown up to these stories, been taught these tactics with her first taste of mare’s milk, has listened to the clack of wooden-lacquered armour and ridden with the Hau Ma horsemen as a young girl. She was born for this.
And now, it is under her leadership that Tortall’s first irregular force, born out of dire need, is mounting the untried horse. They will not let the horse buck them. All of them are stubborn that way. K’miri stubborn, she thinks, with a hint of a smile.
They break a spidren nest at Westover, and then break camp a day’s ride from there. Buri is wolfing down a cold cup of dried tea and trail bread when the outriders she’s posted sound the alert. Group Askew moves quickly despite its weariness, leaping astride horses and retrieving bows. Despite the unrelenting drizzle of the previous night, she’s proud to see bowstrings emerged from oiled covers—but in a quick moment, the whistled signal for allies sounds, and then in the next moment she sees first a horse and then a man she most certainly recognises.
“Raoul! So I’d heard a crazy man was riding out along the eastern road. Seems like it was you after all!” she calls out. To her surprise, she’s grinning. Raoul looks as tired as she feels; still, he dismounts from Drum and manages to clasp her hand briefly in greeting.
“And I was hearing that a Rider Group was camped here, in the middle of nowhere,” he remarked, “And I thought to myself—it has to be Buri, no one else would be strict enough to make her men camp out in the rain like that.”
The other riders file into the clearing; they’re the men of the King’s Own, a few squads of the Third Company, Buri recognises from the limp banner. “That’s what you say, sir,” one of the men quipped. And louder, and with a Player’s flourish, “When he heard you were camped out here, he said we couldn’t let the Riders show us up and had us riding all night in the rain to reach your position.”
Buri raises an eyebrow. Raoul grinned. “I have fresh supplies,” he taunted. “Fresh bread. Cheese. Ham. And proper tea, mind, none of the dried mixes they give you for the trail.”
Buri pretends to consider. “Done,” she says. “If you bribe me well enough, I might actually be in a good mood when I listen to the marching orders you’re carrying.” There’s really only one reason Raoul would make his men ride through the rain to meet her when they’re all so clearly exhausted, and she knows what that means.
Raoul sighs. “Buri…”
“Don’t ‘Buri’ me. Out with it.”
Raoul’s men are already unpacking the supplies. Her Riders help, and soon, they’ve got a nice fire going and blessed warm tea. Buri’s lived a good deal of her life on the trail, and even now, Raoul knows that she’d have killed just for a good warm meal before having to ride on again to wherever it is they’re being sent to.
“Kilvre’s Ford,” he says. He pulls out a leather carrying case from his saddlebags and produces the map, searching for only a few moments before a glowing ‘X’ of violet fire appears. He points to it. “There. Half a day’s ride south, with those scraggy ponies of yours.”
“Oh,” Buri says, showing teeth with her grin, “Those big horses of yours would give up and die before they made it there.”
Raoul’s expression is still serious. “Reports of man-eating horses. Possibly about twenty of them. That’s the best we have. No word’s come down ever since.” He takes a look at Group Askew again. They’ve suffered three casualties, and are down to six. Six against twenty man-eating horse-things. “I could offer you a squad of men.”
Buri shakes her head. “Don’t bother. You know they can’t keep up. And I’d put you on a pony, just for laughs, but you’d break my poor pony, you great giant.”
“Rider rules,” one of her Riders quips. “You can’t keep up, Mother Buri lashes you.”
Buri smiles at Oskern. “I didn’t know you missed having to clean up the horses, Oskern. Care to enlighten me?”
The other men laugh, and Oskern shuts it for a time. Raoul is still staring down at the map, where a second cross in black fire dances. Buri traces a route to the spot. The Own have remounts, she notices. “There’s an outpost here, isn’t there? What happened?”
Raoul is strangely silent. For a moment, Buri feels a cold shiver of fear. She lays a hand on his arm, about to shake him when he says, glumly, “Thee giants.”
“Horse lords,” Buri whispers.
Rating: PG
Word count: 915 words
Summary: Raoul arrives, with their marching orders.
Pairing: Buri/Raoul
Round/Fight: 1D
Notes: Part of the Slow Burn series.
-
The Immortals War is a study of long, wearying rides, sleeping in the saddle, and eating dusty trail bread, because they’ve run out of other rations. Immortals and Scanrans crunch into Tortall, taking bite after bite out of undefended hamlets. The army can’t be everywhere at once. They’re not mobile enough and the Tortallan army has never trained for this kind of warfare.
The K’miri, children of the Blue Wolf and the Fallow Doe, have lived this ever-continuing war, clan against clan, clans against lowlanders. Battles are fought upon horseback, wheeling about, blowing the polished horn to signal the ambush and the hail of arrows that thin the enemy’s ranks. With the K’miri, the problem is forcing them to stand and fight.
Buri has grown up to these stories, been taught these tactics with her first taste of mare’s milk, has listened to the clack of wooden-lacquered armour and ridden with the Hau Ma horsemen as a young girl. She was born for this.
And now, it is under her leadership that Tortall’s first irregular force, born out of dire need, is mounting the untried horse. They will not let the horse buck them. All of them are stubborn that way. K’miri stubborn, she thinks, with a hint of a smile.
They break a spidren nest at Westover, and then break camp a day’s ride from there. Buri is wolfing down a cold cup of dried tea and trail bread when the outriders she’s posted sound the alert. Group Askew moves quickly despite its weariness, leaping astride horses and retrieving bows. Despite the unrelenting drizzle of the previous night, she’s proud to see bowstrings emerged from oiled covers—but in a quick moment, the whistled signal for allies sounds, and then in the next moment she sees first a horse and then a man she most certainly recognises.
“Raoul! So I’d heard a crazy man was riding out along the eastern road. Seems like it was you after all!” she calls out. To her surprise, she’s grinning. Raoul looks as tired as she feels; still, he dismounts from Drum and manages to clasp her hand briefly in greeting.
“And I was hearing that a Rider Group was camped here, in the middle of nowhere,” he remarked, “And I thought to myself—it has to be Buri, no one else would be strict enough to make her men camp out in the rain like that.”
The other riders file into the clearing; they’re the men of the King’s Own, a few squads of the Third Company, Buri recognises from the limp banner. “That’s what you say, sir,” one of the men quipped. And louder, and with a Player’s flourish, “When he heard you were camped out here, he said we couldn’t let the Riders show us up and had us riding all night in the rain to reach your position.”
Buri raises an eyebrow. Raoul grinned. “I have fresh supplies,” he taunted. “Fresh bread. Cheese. Ham. And proper tea, mind, none of the dried mixes they give you for the trail.”
Buri pretends to consider. “Done,” she says. “If you bribe me well enough, I might actually be in a good mood when I listen to the marching orders you’re carrying.” There’s really only one reason Raoul would make his men ride through the rain to meet her when they’re all so clearly exhausted, and she knows what that means.
Raoul sighs. “Buri…”
“Don’t ‘Buri’ me. Out with it.”
Raoul’s men are already unpacking the supplies. Her Riders help, and soon, they’ve got a nice fire going and blessed warm tea. Buri’s lived a good deal of her life on the trail, and even now, Raoul knows that she’d have killed just for a good warm meal before having to ride on again to wherever it is they’re being sent to.
“Kilvre’s Ford,” he says. He pulls out a leather carrying case from his saddlebags and produces the map, searching for only a few moments before a glowing ‘X’ of violet fire appears. He points to it. “There. Half a day’s ride south, with those scraggy ponies of yours.”
“Oh,” Buri says, showing teeth with her grin, “Those big horses of yours would give up and die before they made it there.”
Raoul’s expression is still serious. “Reports of man-eating horses. Possibly about twenty of them. That’s the best we have. No word’s come down ever since.” He takes a look at Group Askew again. They’ve suffered three casualties, and are down to six. Six against twenty man-eating horse-things. “I could offer you a squad of men.”
Buri shakes her head. “Don’t bother. You know they can’t keep up. And I’d put you on a pony, just for laughs, but you’d break my poor pony, you great giant.”
“Rider rules,” one of her Riders quips. “You can’t keep up, Mother Buri lashes you.”
Buri smiles at Oskern. “I didn’t know you missed having to clean up the horses, Oskern. Care to enlighten me?”
The other men laugh, and Oskern shuts it for a time. Raoul is still staring down at the map, where a second cross in black fire dances. Buri traces a route to the spot. The Own have remounts, she notices. “There’s an outpost here, isn’t there? What happened?”
Raoul is strangely silent. For a moment, Buri feels a cold shiver of fear. She lays a hand on his arm, about to shake him when he says, glumly, “Thee giants.”
“Horse lords,” Buri whispers.
