Hi everyone Just a small A/N...on underwear, of all topics. Now, despite an extensive search of my internet resouces, I could not find any information on men's undies between the 17th century and the 19th century, and this is supposed to be set in 1767. So, I have used braies as this was what they wore up to the 17th century. Pics are available if you type it into google, kind of like a nappy/diaper actually. So, in case you were wondering, thats what braies are! Now I bet you're wondering why I have a chapter including men's undies...you'd better read on and find out!
My thanks again to all my wonderful reviewers and Trudi, my beta. I would also like to give thanks in advance to Alex i.e disneybubbles who has very kindly agreed to do an artworkcommision for me of Chip sometime over the summer! I can't wait! Shameless plug warning: check out her work on deviantart!
Chapter Seventeen: Threat on a Moonlit Night
Chip awoke invigorated, the memory of last night's accomplishment as fresh as the gently glowing embers in front of him. The fire had lasted all night despite its small size and the constant winds that even the tallest trees had failed to quash. Its brightness was still as intense, even against the sunshine all around it. The sun was not yet at its highest position in the sky. Chip estimated the time as between ten and eleven, though it really mattered none.
Chip's confidence was high. His whole body tingled with anticipation. For the first time in days, he felt he had a sense—just a small sense—of who he really was, and the fact that there was more, maybe much more, about him to discover made his heart pound just thinking about it. It was potentially a whole new identity, even though it had been secretly lurking underneath his old one all his life. No, not a new identity…an improved identity. He was still himself. He was still Chip, but with power.
He wanted it all, he realised with sudden insight. All, and as soon as possible. Then he'd be more than a match for any creature, mortal or no. He just knew it.
But not yet...starting a fire was one thing, defeating evil was quite another! There was much he had to learn, but then he had brought a person back from the dead. Surely that was a sign that he could do anything, even defy the apparent certainty that was death. Or maybe that had been just the beginning. Maybe there were feats even better and more magnificent still…
His mind raced with endless possibilities, each one more ambitious than the last as he loaded his pack, now a lot lighter than had been, onto Ambrosius and climbed into the saddle. A click of his tongue, and they were away, galloping through the forest into the open underneath a sea-blue sky.
The fire they left behind died as soon as it was out of Chip's mind. Nothing but some strewn blackened twigs and the lingering smell of smoke hinted that anyone had ever been in the clearing.
It was enough though. Enough for another horse and rider to find barely an hour later. The cloaked figure jumped down from the horse, a large and mighty black stallion with dark, thunderous hooves, and walked slowly towards the extinguished fire, burnt and fragile twigs snapping underfoot.
A sniff of the air, and the figure crouched down, removing a glove to feel the embers with bare hands, looking for the slightest trace of warmth that would dictate how long ago the fire was left. The same hand picked up leaf and twig, examining each carefully to determine type and origin. There were leaves with lobed edges, charred until they were hardly recognisable, in the ashes. That pointed to the nearby towering oak and the area around it. Sure enough, a quick inspection of the bushes and undergrowth nearby revealed disturbance. Whoever had been here last had not ventured far for kindling. Why could that have been? Fear? Laziness? Fatigue?
An overhanging branch that intruded into the clearing caught the rider's attention. The bark was chipped and scratched, most likely from tightly-bound leather straps—a horse's reins.
Someone on a horse had clearly arrived, spent the night and left recently, having lit a fire during their time here that had lasted longer than it should have done. But who? That was the most important question. It would take a keen nose and a keener eye to deduce the identity of the man the rider was tracking. Luckily, the rider had both, and this particular man had an extremely distinctive scent: the scent of magic. It hung everywhere around the clearing, on everything he'd touched, but most strongly around the embers of the fire. This fire, then, was not started from candle or taper or spark from flint—hardly surprising as there were none of these about—but from magic.
He could start fires from nothing. Impressive, but still a very basic elemental spell. The most established of enchanters could make molten fire or flames that burned any colour of the rainbow and smelled of any fragrance. This had been just an ordinary fire, albeit one that had lasted as long as it had been needed.
Most of the rider's questions had been answered. It was time to leave, but not without collecting a few supplies. A deceptively small leather pouch hung from the rider's belt, among other things. It contained several varieties of fauna, each one carefully separated from the others and wrapped in linen, each one kept for a specific purpose, and now about to be added to from the abundance of vegetation around the clearing.
The oak tree in particular proved very useful. The rider removed several stems of lichen from the trunk as well as pieces of bark, carefully sliced off of the wood with a sharpened knife. Attention was then turned to a small cluster of yellow flowers at the other side of the space. These were cut, pressed and wrapped along with the oak and placed in the pouch.
Satisfied, the rider returned to the horse, remounted and, spotting a trail of snapped branches and ruffled bushes, as well as tell-tale hoof-prints on the dusty ground, rode straight towards them, confident that they were swiftly gaining on the traveller they sought.
Chip rode on firmly until sunset, choosing to ignore feelings of hunger or thirst. He was being driven by a different need now: one that was not as easily quenched or fed. The need for knowledge and progression.
However, riding hard in the warm and sticky summer heat in the same clothes he had been wearing for days was starting to have an effect on his wellbeing. He'd last had a bath three taverns before he'd stopped staying in taverns, and perched atop a hot and bothered Ambrosius with his hair hanging limply over his forehead, the normally fairly well-groomed Chip suddenly felt ashamedly filthy. Wiping a sleeve over his unshaven cheeks and sweaty brow, he banished all other thoughts from his mind and succumbed to the very human desire to be clean.
The sun was barely visible on the horizon now, its reddish-gold rays making way for the grey shades of early evening, but the air was still muggy and weighed down on Chip's every movement as he and Ambrosius plodded wearily along the road, his eyes scanning the land ahead of him for the tiniest hint of water.
Just as the stars began to peer out from the black velvet night sky, Chip found a river running lazily out from between two hills in the distance and disappearing into a dense forest nearby. A sudden urge to nervously check for waterfalls was soothed as he realised thatt the water was smooth and calm; the only movement being a gentle flow of water from west to east and the only noise the soft sound of cool liquid caressing earth and stone.
As Chip dismounted, he ran his hands over Ambrosius' coat. It was damp and matted beneath his fingers. The mane was tangled and strewn with the debris of travelling. Sighing, Chip began untacking him, wincing as he noticed patches where the horse's hair had started to wear away under the heavy saddle, His normally took exceptional care of his beloved steed, but his mind had been elsewhere ever since they'd ;left the castle, and he'd allowed Ambrosius to be neglected.
"What I wouldn't give for a curry comb and a brush," he murmured as he inspected the rest of the horse's skin for any serious sores. Alas, there was nothing he could do, save to try and coax the horse into the river with him. At least that would clear away some of the muck, but Ambrosius had never been a lover of water. Once his harness had been removed, he trotted off to a plentiful patch of grass nearby and had his nose buried in the nourishing food before Chip could even think about guiding him to the water.
Not wasting another moment, Chip removed his shirt, his breeches, his stockings and boots, and finally his braies and waded into the river up to his waist. The water was absolutely freezing, especially to Chip's overly-warm skin. He swore loudly and bit his lip as it chilled his blood and numbed his muscles. Taking a deep breath, he dropped to his knees, plunging his head and shoulders under the surface for as many seconds as he could stand it. Gasping, he stood up again, his hair now plastered to his head like a helmet and dripping in his eyes. An involuntary full body shiver took him over, causing him to grit his teeth against the cold. Grimacing, he began to wash.
After a while, his body temperature adjusted, however, and he began to enjoy himself a little. He even attempted to swim, managing a few strokes before giving in and floating on his back, watching the night sky above him. He had just shocked a surprised Ambrosius by playfully splashing him with water as he drank at the water's edge when he suddenly got an overwhelming feeling of being watched. On instinct, he ducked down so only his head was above water and stayed there, hardly daring to move, for several minutes. He heard and saw nothing out of the ordinary during this time, but it did not ease his mind one bit.
Suddenly realising just how vulnerable he was while naked in the middle of a river, his eyes flicked to his belongings on the bank. His dagger was there, along with his clothes, about twenty feet from where he was in the middle of the river. Oblivious to his master's anxiety, Ambrosius continued to drink nearby.
Chip was torn between slowly and quietly moving towards the bank, and leaping for dry land as fast as possible, no doubt making lots of noise and drawing attention to himself while he did so. His heart pounded as his eyes scanned everywhere around him for signs of movement. There was none, but Chip trusted his instincts more than his sight. Just because he could see no-one did not mean that he could not be seen.
Silently, he half-walked half-drifted to the water's edge, waiting until the sediment beneath is feet began to slope upwards. Once he felt the sand between his toes, he looked for his bag. It was an arm's length away with the cord at its neck loose where he'd dropped it on the floor in his haste to be in the river. He would just be able to reach it while he was still in the water but if he got out, his general field of vision would be greatly improved.
Without another thought, Chip scrambled out of the water. His left hand scooped up the bag while his right fumbled for the dagger inside and held it aloft, so any attackers could see he was armed. He immediately felt safer…until he remembered he was still completely naked. He grabbed his braies and pulled them on as fast as possible, barely registering the bleeding grazes on his both his knees where he'd scraped them on the hard soil of the river bank. Now armed, dripping and with his modesty preserved, Chip began to look for his foe. He was not a fighting man. His use of blades had until now been restricted to carving and whittling pieces of wood whilst bored during his duties at the palace. He was fully aware that he was woefully ill-equipped for an ambush or robbery. Not that he had anything of value on his person at that moment in time, but he had heard the stories--tales of bands of men who roamed the countryside looking for easy prey, attacking more for sport than for monetary gain. If he was a target now, it was more than likely his quest would be cut short. He could hardly search for the princess if he was left lying bruised and broken by the side of the river.
Cursing under his breath, he forced himself to get rid of such thoughts. He was on this quest alone because he could easily take care of himself. Not all battles were fought with knives and fists, though he was damned if he could think of anything useful at the moment.
A sudden movement out of the corner of his right eye caught his attention. His focus shifted to the clump of trees to one side. Was it his imagination or had some branches been pushed out of position? He struggled to see in the darkness. The moon was full and high in the sky, but its light was currently shining on the opposite side of the river, its beam partially blocked by clouds. It was no help to him as he peered into the shadowy areas between the tress.
There it was again! Unmistakable, this time. A flash of something light in the gloom. His opponents lack of stealth on this occasion cheered him a little, though his grip never loosened on the dagger's handle. Cautiously, he approached the copse, his heart thumping in his chest, his mind tuned to every sight and sound; the rustle of the leaves, the shades and shadows in front of him, his own footsteps, and the scrape of dirt on heel as he edged forwards.
As he crossed the boundary between copse and pasture, he changed his mind. It was instantaneous, like a wave that washed away his strategy and left a new one in its wake. Instead of going further into the trees, he decided to wait. Crouching down behind a thick hawthorn bush, he felt fresh anticipation as the balance of power shifted. The hunter had become the hunted. With a clearer head, he observed the area he had just come from. A few trees to either side, mud, the grassy bank and then the river beyond it, with Ambrosius still drinking his fill to one side.
Stupid horse, he thought, shaking his head in fond disbelief.
Wait…there was something else…someone else moving out of the trees to his right….a cloaked figure walking towards the horse. It stopped as it appeared to notice his discarded bag on the grass. He watched it stoop in order to pick it up.
This was his chance! Slipping seamlessly out from his hiding-place, he crept up behind the figure. In one swift action, he had the dagger held across what he estimated to be its throat. All the energy he had went into holding the dagger steady as he instructed the figure to get up in a hoarse and scratchy voice he didn't recognise as his own.
"Stand up…slowly…that's right…stand up!"
It did as he asked, rising gradually up from the ground with two arms spread wide in the traditional gesture of surrender. With a hesitant smirk, Chip realised that his would-be assailant was at least a half a foot shorter than he. He lowered the arm holding the knife to adjust.
Now what?
"Er…turn around…slowly."
There followed a moment of physical awkwardness as the figure turned around and Chip realised he had to change hands in order to stop his arm being twisted the wrong way. A hood obscured the whole of the person's face, apart from a section of smooth pale chin and throat, partially obscured by the blade of the knife.
"Show yourself!" demanded Chip.
A gloved hand slowly was slowly brought up towards the hood. It was jerked backwards. What Chip saw upon this revelation almost made him drop the knife in shock. He managed to control it by moving it slightly…just slightly away from her neck.
Green eyes, bright in the darkness and beneath fine raised eyebrows, looked straight into his own, as they had done before. It was the flame-haired girl from the tavern.