Chapter 7 (work in progress)

This chapter is not finished. It is a work in progress and focuses on Delone and the "city of death"

He lay back on his cot, the furs soft against his massive back as he felt the soft touch of the woman's finger dancing along his stomach from his navel to his throat. He watched her for a moment, feeling her finger tips playing along the scars that decorated his torso before moving along up his stomach to his chest. She looked up at him, green eyes staring at him from under long lashes, her legs intertwined with his under the large fur cover. She lay against his chest, her feet barely reaching to his knees as she had almost every night this week. He reached down and grabbed her wrist in his stopping her annoying touch. He stared down at her before forcing her form from his bed without a word and motioned for her to leave. She knew the routine and grabbed her garb from the floor, wrapped a small shawl over her frame tucked her brown hair under a hat and bolted out the tent before his mind could change.

He watched the woman as she scrambled to cover her tiny frame and he chuckled, his mind racing as he thought of how many ways he could break her fragile body. He saw the tell tale tremmors that ran through her as she looked for her clothing, as her fingers shook as she forced her hair clumsily into a hat. He found this game of cat and mouse amusing and fun, licking his lips as he sat up, hands resting on the mound of thick furs under him. She let out a small squeal as she bolted of the tent, the flap closing tightly behind her. After a few moments he hefted his body off of the cot and over to the wooden chest in the corner of the large tent, pulling out his undergarments.

He stared at the rough cloth for a moment before pulling the rough breeches over his thick legs. He sat down on the chest, pulling on thick woolen socks. He turned the tunic, a worn brown, over in his hands a few times before pulling it over his head, lacing the small opening at his throat closed quickly. He stood up crossing the room and decided to wear one of his gambeson and put it on, lacing it up. He slipped on thick leather pants over the trousers and paced back to the trunk and sat down stamping his foot into his boot. He laced his boots up and stood, grabbed a belt, tied it into place and looked at the weapons along the wall. He decided quickly on a morning star. He smiled, running his hands along the long shaft a moment as if he was fondling a lover and chuckled to himself before sliding the weapon into his belt. He also grabbed a dagger and what for him was a short sword, but for a normal man would have been a hand a half blade.

He ran a hand through his hair, looked around his room and saw that all was in place and strode out of his tent. He looked around, his eyes cutting through the smoke and fires. Soliders made theirs rounds, cries could be heard from the makeshift prision cells, horses nickered and stamped at their tethers and pastures. He closed his eyes for a moment as he could hear the pitter-patter of footsteps and he braced himself for the monotony of dealing with another day. “Delone, sir!” snapped a voice behind him. He turned looking at the greasy face staring up at him.

He did not speak for a few moments, his stare full and firm, cold and empty. He watched the slow shudder through the knees that fought to buckle, the beads of sweat that betrayed the false calm on the face in front of him. After another moment of what he considered fun he spoke, a single word, but to the man in front of him, one would have thought a mountain had moved. “Yes?”

Simone almost shed his skin, if one could actually do that. He side stepped quickly, not expectint to actually be addressed, at least not by name. He pulled himself together quickly and shook his head, fingers pushing his hair from his eyes. “I received a report by raven this morning from Lord Warret sir.” He stated, pausing for a moment waiting for any sign or expression but seeing none continued. “It seems that the messenger you sent arrived and is on his way back, my lord.”

“And?” Delone asked, bored already. He was intriqued but also annoyed that he was being bothered so quickly about this and being fed such silly tidbits that he could have found out at any time. This was not important in the least. Warret was useless, the pig, but to know the messenger had gotten him to move; now that was interesting.

Simone swallowed the invisible lump in his throat, scuffling his boots in the dust. “I thought you might want to know, sir, that Warret is unhappy at the attempt on his life.” The man waited for the blow to come but jumped when he heard the gwafaw from Delone and his eyes opened wide at the sound of a laugh.

“An attempt on his life?” Delone repeated. “Warret must really forget that I do not make attempts. I never fail.” He laughed again, a gleam in his eyes, moving away from Simone deeper into camp. The greasy man forgotten, the captain tore through camp, a gleam in his eyes.

Author's Note

rough draft. ignore grammar issues.