My last post was an idea... this is that idea realised. Enjoy.
Sellec stood to attention as the mounted officer passed, he waited until the hoof beats echoed from the closed streets, before he sank back against the wall his blewyn across his knees as he grated his whet stone along the blade to hone its edge.
Sellec had been a guard for eighteen months, two weeks, three days, and some four hours. He had come from a long line of warriors and as was the custom in the great city he’d followed his father into the guard. However Sellec was a poor soldier, he was good so much as he could fight well and was physically able, but he was too intelligent to just follow orders and to poor to gain a rank. It did not bother Sellec that he was constantly reprimanded for questioning and order. The guard, though well train and well equipped were largely a token force, the great walls of Dwyrain had never fallen even with the yearly skirmishes and sieges by the Llwyth tribesmen, those banished from the city and their descendants living out on the desolate western plains. They hated the city dwellers of the great city, whose walls surrounded half a continent.
Most residents of Dwyrain, lived in their white marble houses or tilled the fields in the farmers quarter or those high up who dwelt in ‘Castell’, the walled garden; the citadel those rose above all other buildings in the centre of the city. The average citizen never saw the faces of the tribesmen shot down every year by the Dolen of the men on the walls as they ran forward with their siege ladders; never saw the looks of desperation and anger as they threw away their lives against the walls.
Sellec finished with the whet stone and replaced it in the pouch on his belt, he lifted the blade to his eye line, it was sharp. There was still an hour to go of his watch, he replaced the Blewyn in the scabbard on his back and drew the Ochri from the scabbard on his thigh. Sellec carried the weapons he felt comfortable with as did most of the guards; upon enlisting each man was given a breast plate of tanned leather and a long spear though few kept the weapon. Sellec carried both Blewyn, a long curved sword that was wielded in two hands and the Ochri, a short straight sword for stabbing in close quarters. In battle he also carried a Tarian, a light shield metal round shield though he left it in the barracks for guard duty.
He sighted along the blade of the short sword, it was sharp already, he cursed and sheathed it. He stood, stretched his back and removed the stiffness from his legs. He stood at his post; shoulder against the wall his thoughts on Prisima, the young daughter of the barkeep of the ‘west wall’ tavern. He smiled at the thought of her curves and her full breasts as the sweat trickled down his body in the mid day sun.
Jarren lay in the dim purple light of the tent. It was hot out on the plain, even naked he could feel the prickle of heat on his skin. His woman Sumeris lay in front of him, the soft skin of her back pressed against him. His hands stroked her swollen belly, slipping up her body to her breasts.
Hr longed to make love to her, but the babe was dun in the next few days and she had refused him only the other evening. She rolled into him, they kissed, their lips lingered for a second before he stared into the enchanting green of her eyes and embraced her.
Two days before she had been his world, her and their child. The delegation had arrived the morning before however and torn his dreams asunder. They were planning a new attack, all the settlements attacking together under one leader, to try to breach the walls and take the east of the city. Jarren’s father pledged forty men, Jerran among them. They were to meet at the next full moon at an agreed meeting place with all the provisions and weapons they’d need. Jarren was loathe to leave the settlement; he knew there was little chance of returning.
The last attack on the city two years before had been a massacre, Jarren had watched from afar through his fathers spy glass. None of the tribesmen had reached the walls; they had all been slain by the Dolen of the men on the walls. Jarren’s uncle, the reason why his family were exiles had been killed by a bolt through the eye.
She kissed his neck, he moaned softly and lay back, she moved to his chest, He lost himself in his lust, he would think of the attack another time. They kissed again, and finally she gave in he lay her down on the rug, stared into her eyes and smiled.
