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revenaWell, the next in-continuity Valmai Hammerhand story isn't finished yet... I keep thinking that I'll be able to get them out more often than once a week, but it sure hasn't happened yet, this semester... Ah well. Perhaps summer will be different.
In the meantime, though, I was inspired today (by watching Kingdom of Heaven, which I rather liked) to try my hand at writing an action sequence, which is something I don't do often enough. Mostly, because I'm not particularly good at it. But that just means I need more practice, right?
So, anyway, this out-of-continuity story takes place a year or more before "present time." I hope you all will enjoy it.
Bad Wine
“So,” he said, “are they true? The stories they tell about him?”
“Like what?”
“Like, that he killed a barmaid for serving him bad wine,” Marik said. “I’ve always liked that one.”
Wynn laughed, again.
“No, that’s not true,” he said. “The wine was poisoned, not bad, and it was Valmai who killed the barmaid.”
I thank the gods that Wynn noticed it in time.
We had just ordered a late lunch at the Dancing Needle, a tavern near the Plaza of Cloth. It was a nice place, clean, and with good food. We ate there often, and the bartender smiled and gestured towards the smaller dining room in a friendly way when we walked in the door. The private dining room, with its heavy, sound-muffling door, was one of the reasons that Emlyn favored the Dancing Needle, and he always preferred to take a meal there rather than in the common room, whenever it was available.
We had just gotten settled around the table in the center of the little room when a young woman came in to take our orders. She was new, a comely girl with soft brown curls and dark, wide eyes. Emlyn gazed after her appreciatively for a long moment when she went to fetch our drinks.
It was when the girl came back with our drinks on a tray, murmuring, “the food will be just a few moments longer,” that it happened.
I was sitting across from Emlyn, and my view of her hands as she served the drinks off the tray was obscured by his body. Wynn, sitting to the side, saw what I did not.
“No!” he shouted, lunging out of his seat to knock Emlyn’s goblet from his hand, just as our employer was about to take a sip.
“She put something in it!”
The goblet clattered to the tabletop, the red wine within it splashing over Emlyn’s sleeve. The girl’s eyes widened, and she drew a long, slender knife from her bodice.
“Emlyn!” I shouted, hooking the bottom rung of his chair with my foot and tugging hard.
He tipped backwards onto the floor, chair and all, and the maid’s knife sliced through the air where his throat had been but a moment before.
The girl snarled in frustration, and then hissed in pain as Emlyn’s booted foot connected with her wrist from below, sending the knife flying out of her hand and skittering across the floor. She aimed a kick at his ribs, as Emlyn rolled away, and then ran for the knife.
The girl had only managed a few steps before I caught up with her, lunging over the table and bringing her down to the ground under my weight. I pinned her hips between my knees, but she fought like a madwoman to get free, twisting beneath me until we were face-to-face. I captured her wrists briefly, but she wrenched free of my grip, clawing at my face as I reached for the knife in my boot. I growled as her nails tore at my skin, and abandoned the quest for the knife, backhanding her hard across the face, instead. She responded by kneeing me in the tailbone as I leaned forward and then throwing her weight sideways, against my thigh, pushing the two of us into a sideways roll across the floor.
Neither of us would submit to a pin, and we rolled over and over several times. She dug in her heels, putting on a sudden burst of speed, and slammed me into the wall as we reached it, but I would not submit. I pushed off against the hard surface, breathless as I was from the impact, and attempted yet again to catch her body beneath mine.
“Get off her, Valmai!” I heard Emlyn shouting. “Give me a clear shot!”
Just then, the girl rolled us over, again, so that she was above me, and drove her elbow down hard against my stomach, just below my sternum. I coughed as my lungs emptied, gasped for air. I felt her weight shift, and realized that she was reaching for something on the ground nearby, just past my head – the knife.
Still gasping for breath, I gathered my strength and, reaching up to grip her shoulders, thrust my forehead up against the bridge of her nose as hard as I could. She reeled backwards onto her heels as blood streamed freely from her nose, clutching at the knife, while I scrambled up onto my knees. I tried to grab her wrist, but she sliced at my hand, laying it open across the palm.
Her attention was focused on my left hand, and she never saw the right one coming. I balled it into a fist and delivered a wide, roundhouse punch, connecting with a satisfying cracking sound against the side of her jaw.
Too satisfying, as it turned out. Her head snapped sharply to the side under the force of my blow, and she slumped limply to the ground, knife falling from her outstretched hand.
It was silent for several long moments, my choking gasps the only sound in the room as I struggled to take in air even as my lungs refused to cooperate.
“Merciful Night,” Wynn said, at last, breaking the relative silence. “Is she dead?”
Emlyn crossed the room and knelt at her side, feeling for a pulse.
“Yes,” he said.
He turned to me, pulling a handkerchief out of his belt-pouch and pressing it against the side of my face.
“I told you to get off her, not snap her neck,” he murmured.
“My… Apologies…” I gasped.
“Are you all right?” he asked, pulling the handkerchief away briefly to reposition it before pressing it against my face again.
I saw that it was spotted with blood. She had torn my face with her nails.
“Fine,” I said, beginning to regain my breath. “And you?”
“The tunic is ruined,” he said, with a sidelong glance at his wine-soaked sleeve, “but otherwise I’m quite all right. Thank you.”
“I don’t think she was one of Sondra’s,” Wynn said.
He was holding her knife in one hand, and going through her belt-pouch with the other.
“It’s a Valerian blade, not something you’d find in the Barra.”
“If not Sondra, then who?” I asked Emlyn. “Who else would want you dead?”
Wynn looked up at me, raising an eyebrow.
“Who doesn’t want him dead?” he asked.
We were careful, after that, never to make it a habit to eat at any one place too often.
In the meantime, though, I was inspired today (by watching Kingdom of Heaven, which I rather liked) to try my hand at writing an action sequence, which is something I don't do often enough. Mostly, because I'm not particularly good at it. But that just means I need more practice, right?
So, anyway, this out-of-continuity story takes place a year or more before "present time." I hope you all will enjoy it.
Bad Wine
“So,” he said, “are they true? The stories they tell about him?”
“Like what?”
“Like, that he killed a barmaid for serving him bad wine,” Marik said. “I’ve always liked that one.”
Wynn laughed, again.
“No, that’s not true,” he said. “The wine was poisoned, not bad, and it was Valmai who killed the barmaid.”
I thank the gods that Wynn noticed it in time.
We had just ordered a late lunch at the Dancing Needle, a tavern near the Plaza of Cloth. It was a nice place, clean, and with good food. We ate there often, and the bartender smiled and gestured towards the smaller dining room in a friendly way when we walked in the door. The private dining room, with its heavy, sound-muffling door, was one of the reasons that Emlyn favored the Dancing Needle, and he always preferred to take a meal there rather than in the common room, whenever it was available.
We had just gotten settled around the table in the center of the little room when a young woman came in to take our orders. She was new, a comely girl with soft brown curls and dark, wide eyes. Emlyn gazed after her appreciatively for a long moment when she went to fetch our drinks.
It was when the girl came back with our drinks on a tray, murmuring, “the food will be just a few moments longer,” that it happened.
I was sitting across from Emlyn, and my view of her hands as she served the drinks off the tray was obscured by his body. Wynn, sitting to the side, saw what I did not.
“No!” he shouted, lunging out of his seat to knock Emlyn’s goblet from his hand, just as our employer was about to take a sip.
“She put something in it!”
The goblet clattered to the tabletop, the red wine within it splashing over Emlyn’s sleeve. The girl’s eyes widened, and she drew a long, slender knife from her bodice.
“Emlyn!” I shouted, hooking the bottom rung of his chair with my foot and tugging hard.
He tipped backwards onto the floor, chair and all, and the maid’s knife sliced through the air where his throat had been but a moment before.
The girl snarled in frustration, and then hissed in pain as Emlyn’s booted foot connected with her wrist from below, sending the knife flying out of her hand and skittering across the floor. She aimed a kick at his ribs, as Emlyn rolled away, and then ran for the knife.
The girl had only managed a few steps before I caught up with her, lunging over the table and bringing her down to the ground under my weight. I pinned her hips between my knees, but she fought like a madwoman to get free, twisting beneath me until we were face-to-face. I captured her wrists briefly, but she wrenched free of my grip, clawing at my face as I reached for the knife in my boot. I growled as her nails tore at my skin, and abandoned the quest for the knife, backhanding her hard across the face, instead. She responded by kneeing me in the tailbone as I leaned forward and then throwing her weight sideways, against my thigh, pushing the two of us into a sideways roll across the floor.
Neither of us would submit to a pin, and we rolled over and over several times. She dug in her heels, putting on a sudden burst of speed, and slammed me into the wall as we reached it, but I would not submit. I pushed off against the hard surface, breathless as I was from the impact, and attempted yet again to catch her body beneath mine.
“Get off her, Valmai!” I heard Emlyn shouting. “Give me a clear shot!”
Just then, the girl rolled us over, again, so that she was above me, and drove her elbow down hard against my stomach, just below my sternum. I coughed as my lungs emptied, gasped for air. I felt her weight shift, and realized that she was reaching for something on the ground nearby, just past my head – the knife.
Still gasping for breath, I gathered my strength and, reaching up to grip her shoulders, thrust my forehead up against the bridge of her nose as hard as I could. She reeled backwards onto her heels as blood streamed freely from her nose, clutching at the knife, while I scrambled up onto my knees. I tried to grab her wrist, but she sliced at my hand, laying it open across the palm.
Her attention was focused on my left hand, and she never saw the right one coming. I balled it into a fist and delivered a wide, roundhouse punch, connecting with a satisfying cracking sound against the side of her jaw.
Too satisfying, as it turned out. Her head snapped sharply to the side under the force of my blow, and she slumped limply to the ground, knife falling from her outstretched hand.
It was silent for several long moments, my choking gasps the only sound in the room as I struggled to take in air even as my lungs refused to cooperate.
“Merciful Night,” Wynn said, at last, breaking the relative silence. “Is she dead?”
Emlyn crossed the room and knelt at her side, feeling for a pulse.
“Yes,” he said.
He turned to me, pulling a handkerchief out of his belt-pouch and pressing it against the side of my face.
“I told you to get off her, not snap her neck,” he murmured.
“My… Apologies…” I gasped.
“Are you all right?” he asked, pulling the handkerchief away briefly to reposition it before pressing it against my face again.
I saw that it was spotted with blood. She had torn my face with her nails.
“Fine,” I said, beginning to regain my breath. “And you?”
“The tunic is ruined,” he said, with a sidelong glance at his wine-soaked sleeve, “but otherwise I’m quite all right. Thank you.”
“I don’t think she was one of Sondra’s,” Wynn said.
He was holding her knife in one hand, and going through her belt-pouch with the other.
“It’s a Valerian blade, not something you’d find in the Barra.”
“If not Sondra, then who?” I asked Emlyn. “Who else would want you dead?”
Wynn looked up at me, raising an eyebrow.
“Who doesn’t want him dead?” he asked.
We were careful, after that, never to make it a habit to eat at any one place too often.
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Date: 2005-05-10 04:53 pm (UTC)