Emma's Viewponts: The Great Road South
Emma flexed her aching muscles. To ease the cramps that came naturally after riding at a trot for the better part of a week, she hooked her knees on the swells on either part of the saddle horn, and lay with her back flat on Vervain's rump. She was travelling through Tortall's lake country, and as she came to a small stone bridge, her gelding stopped.
With a groan, she hauled herself upright. She saw figures down the road. Using her magic, she intensified her sight, disliking what she saw.
The men were haggard and scraggly, and both they and their horses looked like they could make use of quite a few meals each.
She made sure that her dirk was in a ready position to draw. It was good that at home they had learned a few tricks of the dirk, the Gallan short sword. Emma was travelling alone, and the new pages had just barely begun learning the sword. In both of her boots, strapped to her wrists, and hidden in her braid, she bristled with a collection of daggers and small throwing knives.
There were only two of them, but Emma wondered if they really held the advantage. Neither of them looked as if they could put up much of a fight.
As she approached them, one smacked the other. "Git an eye open, you toothless oaf, someone's a-comin', and a girl, it looks." They both chuckled wheezily, and a cold fury filled Emma's chest. She could guess that they weren't so glad of a girl because she seemed easier to fight.
"Oh really." Emma pulled her small, round shield off Vervain's hind, and settled it in her left hand. "It looks so."
One of them leaned on a battered staff. He grinned drunkenly at Emma until his companion hit him again.
"Oh, yisss. Ye see, dearie, this be a private road. Ye got te pay us somehow or ye can't pass."
Idiots, Emma thought. She shifted, and drew her dirk. "My name is Lady Emma of Silvertree, Noble of the realm of Tortall, royal page and messenger to His Highness King Jonathan III and Lord Wyldon of Cavall, member of the Cold Mountain Glory of unicorns, and someone you would severely not like to cross. I demand that you let me pass."
The bandit with the staff looked a little dazed at her full title. His younger counterpart sneered. "A lady page, well well. I'd bet that yer title is true and I'm Crown Prince, and this be me old dad Jonathan. Pay up."
Emma waggled her dirk to distract them, then reached back on pretense of scratching her head. "Well, see, boys, I'm fresh out of coin, maybe at the next-"
Her knife flashed, embedding itself at the top of the oldster's staff, just missing his chin. In the moment of confusion, she swung her dirk up, the fine Gallan blade slicing the younger bandit's bow in half, and brought it back up to rest at his throat. "See here. You keep quiet, and I only turn you in to the local magistrate. You make trouble, and I'll leave parts of you here and turn the rest into the magistrate." She twisted the blade, pressing it into the man's throat, as it gleamed in the hot noon sun.
He looked terrified as he eyed the blade. To Emma's right, out of the corner of her eye, the older man made a lunge. She snaked out her foot and curled it around the youngster's feet, knocking him to the ground. Emma whirled and struck out with the dirk, before she could even think. He dropped the knife he was holding, his sleeve blossoming with blood.
Emma lowered her blade, still ready to fight. The younger man looked like she had knocked the breath out of him, and the older man was nursing his wound. Emma exhaled sharply when she saw that he was cut to the bone. Quickly, she took a lenth of rope from her saddlebag, and tied them both. "You're under arrest. I'll hold you until I can get you to the next town. I can bet that they'll want to deal with you there."
She sheathed her dirk, pulled a dagger out of her boot, and tugged them to their feet. Once she had Vervain's reins, she mounted and made them walk beside her.
Her reception in the next town was as she expected: they were road bandits that had bothered the community for a while, and charged in the rape of the mayor's daughter. These two had evaded a company of Riders, the magistrate told her. No one questioned her status as courier to the King; she wore royal uniform. Emma gave her last name of Salven. No one knew what sort of rumours would spread about her, so she travelled under an alias.
The townspeople were happy to re-provision her and give her a bed for the night. In the morning, refreshed, she travelled and delivered a letter to the baron of a local fief, and completed her first task as a King's courier.
Well, how's that? I put Emma as a messenger/courier right now, and she may or may not change jobs later. After all, she's immortal, she has all the time in the world. Amice comes next, I guess.
Emma flexed her aching muscles. To ease the cramps that came naturally after riding at a trot for the better part of a week, she hooked her knees on the swells on either part of the saddle horn, and lay with her back flat on Vervain's rump. She was travelling through Tortall's lake country, and as she came to a small stone bridge, her gelding stopped.
With a groan, she hauled herself upright. She saw figures down the road. Using her magic, she intensified her sight, disliking what she saw.
The men were haggard and scraggly, and both they and their horses looked like they could make use of quite a few meals each.
She made sure that her dirk was in a ready position to draw. It was good that at home they had learned a few tricks of the dirk, the Gallan short sword. Emma was travelling alone, and the new pages had just barely begun learning the sword. In both of her boots, strapped to her wrists, and hidden in her braid, she bristled with a collection of daggers and small throwing knives.
There were only two of them, but Emma wondered if they really held the advantage. Neither of them looked as if they could put up much of a fight.
As she approached them, one smacked the other. "Git an eye open, you toothless oaf, someone's a-comin', and a girl, it looks." They both chuckled wheezily, and a cold fury filled Emma's chest. She could guess that they weren't so glad of a girl because she seemed easier to fight.
"Oh really." Emma pulled her small, round shield off Vervain's hind, and settled it in her left hand. "It looks so."
One of them leaned on a battered staff. He grinned drunkenly at Emma until his companion hit him again.
"Oh, yisss. Ye see, dearie, this be a private road. Ye got te pay us somehow or ye can't pass."
Idiots, Emma thought. She shifted, and drew her dirk. "My name is Lady Emma of Silvertree, Noble of the realm of Tortall, royal page and messenger to His Highness King Jonathan III and Lord Wyldon of Cavall, member of the Cold Mountain Glory of unicorns, and someone you would severely not like to cross. I demand that you let me pass."
The bandit with the staff looked a little dazed at her full title. His younger counterpart sneered. "A lady page, well well. I'd bet that yer title is true and I'm Crown Prince, and this be me old dad Jonathan. Pay up."
Emma waggled her dirk to distract them, then reached back on pretense of scratching her head. "Well, see, boys, I'm fresh out of coin, maybe at the next-"
Her knife flashed, embedding itself at the top of the oldster's staff, just missing his chin. In the moment of confusion, she swung her dirk up, the fine Gallan blade slicing the younger bandit's bow in half, and brought it back up to rest at his throat. "See here. You keep quiet, and I only turn you in to the local magistrate. You make trouble, and I'll leave parts of you here and turn the rest into the magistrate." She twisted the blade, pressing it into the man's throat, as it gleamed in the hot noon sun.
He looked terrified as he eyed the blade. To Emma's right, out of the corner of her eye, the older man made a lunge. She snaked out her foot and curled it around the youngster's feet, knocking him to the ground. Emma whirled and struck out with the dirk, before she could even think. He dropped the knife he was holding, his sleeve blossoming with blood.
Emma lowered her blade, still ready to fight. The younger man looked like she had knocked the breath out of him, and the older man was nursing his wound. Emma exhaled sharply when she saw that he was cut to the bone. Quickly, she took a lenth of rope from her saddlebag, and tied them both. "You're under arrest. I'll hold you until I can get you to the next town. I can bet that they'll want to deal with you there."
She sheathed her dirk, pulled a dagger out of her boot, and tugged them to their feet. Once she had Vervain's reins, she mounted and made them walk beside her.
Her reception in the next town was as she expected: they were road bandits that had bothered the community for a while, and charged in the rape of the mayor's daughter. These two had evaded a company of Riders, the magistrate told her. No one questioned her status as courier to the King; she wore royal uniform. Emma gave her last name of Salven. No one knew what sort of rumours would spread about her, so she travelled under an alias.
The townspeople were happy to re-provision her and give her a bed for the night. In the morning, refreshed, she travelled and delivered a letter to the baron of a local fief, and completed her first task as a King's courier.
Well, how's that? I put Emma as a messenger/courier right now, and she may or may not change jobs later. After all, she's immortal, she has all the time in the world. Amice comes next, I guess.