C/o/n/t/e/s/t/a/n/t snippet #3
Sep. 15th, 2009 07:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deborahjrossDanilo has disappeared while searching for Regis's brother, Rinaldo, lost somewhere in Thendara. Regis asks Linnea for help in finding him.
"Think of Danilo . . . the last contact you had with him . . ." Linnea's laran caressed his own psychic energy fields, as deft as a feather brushing the breast of a new-tamed hawk . . .
Regis remembered his first view of Dom Felix Syrtis, the stubborn pride of the old man, the dark eyes so like his son's . . . He drifted with the images.
Danilo standing on a ladder in the apple orchards, wearing a much-patched farmer's smock --
Abruptly, the scene changed. Danilo walking in a darkened street, his figure outlined by lamps to either side. Underfoot, cobblestones gleamed wetly.
Concentrate on the image, Linnea's thought touched him like spidersilk. Hold it steady . . .
Then he was inside Danilo's mind, seeing the street through Danilo's eyes, . . . men in fur-lined cloaks, the thin drizzle of rain . . . the smell of wet cobblestones and grime. In his gut, a rising sense of urgency. Thinking, This district isn't safe for a man alone and unarmed, an innocent with a purse worth the taking. He could just make out the towers of Comyn Castle, glittering above him in the gloom.
"Whatever possessed Rinaldo to wander into this pit?" he muttered.
Peering into shadows, searching . . . Breathing, "Thank the blessed St. Christopher!" as he hurried toward the tavern with its brightly painted sign of stars.
"Dom Danilo Syrtis?"
At the sound of his name, he paused. Instead of Rinaldo, grateful to be rescued, he saw it was one of the Ridenow cousins by the green and gold trim of his cloak. Haldred, he thought, but could not be sure. For a moment, it seemed there were more men hiding in the shadows.
"What brings you here alone at this hour, my lord?" Yes, it was Haldred by his voice.
"I am looking for Lord Hastur's brother, Rinaldo. He has taken it into his head to go sight-seeing and went off without an escort. Or even a guide . . ."
"Between ourselves," Haldred replied, slyness edging his voice, "that loss would not grieve me much."
Danilo felt a touch of anger that anyone would speak so of any Hastur. "Be that as it may, Dom Haldred, he is one of our own caste. I ask you in all charity and honor to help me. I do not know these streets well."
"I suppose you are right." Haldred stepped from the shadows into the pooled light beneath the tavern lanterns. Teeth glinted in a humorless, almost feral grin. "It is indeed my duty to assist you --"
Haldred's shoulders twisted, then steel whined as he pulled his blade free.
Instinct and training sent Danilo reaching for his own sword. Even as he drew on Haldred, he sensed a second assailant coming at him from behind, and another --
Darkness.
. . . lying on a thinly-carpeted flood, by its lack of vile smells not a tavern . . . leather thongs tight around his wrists . . . pain throbbing through his head . . . voices, too distorted to recognize . . . struggling to clear his vision -- the huddled forms of two other people. Sleeping? Abducted as he had been -- or even -- O Blessed Bearer of Burdens, may it not be so! -- dead!
. . . more voices . . . Some time must have elapsed, for now there was but one other body. Slender as a youth, flax-pale hair like a golden waterfall -- Mikhail?
"Think of Danilo . . . the last contact you had with him . . ." Linnea's laran caressed his own psychic energy fields, as deft as a feather brushing the breast of a new-tamed hawk . . .
Regis remembered his first view of Dom Felix Syrtis, the stubborn pride of the old man, the dark eyes so like his son's . . . He drifted with the images.
Danilo standing on a ladder in the apple orchards, wearing a much-patched farmer's smock --
Abruptly, the scene changed. Danilo walking in a darkened street, his figure outlined by lamps to either side. Underfoot, cobblestones gleamed wetly.
Concentrate on the image, Linnea's thought touched him like spidersilk. Hold it steady . . .
Then he was inside Danilo's mind, seeing the street through Danilo's eyes, . . . men in fur-lined cloaks, the thin drizzle of rain . . . the smell of wet cobblestones and grime. In his gut, a rising sense of urgency. Thinking, This district isn't safe for a man alone and unarmed, an innocent with a purse worth the taking. He could just make out the towers of Comyn Castle, glittering above him in the gloom.
"Whatever possessed Rinaldo to wander into this pit?" he muttered.
Peering into shadows, searching . . . Breathing, "Thank the blessed St. Christopher!" as he hurried toward the tavern with its brightly painted sign of stars.
"Dom Danilo Syrtis?"
At the sound of his name, he paused. Instead of Rinaldo, grateful to be rescued, he saw it was one of the Ridenow cousins by the green and gold trim of his cloak. Haldred, he thought, but could not be sure. For a moment, it seemed there were more men hiding in the shadows.
"What brings you here alone at this hour, my lord?" Yes, it was Haldred by his voice.
"I am looking for Lord Hastur's brother, Rinaldo. He has taken it into his head to go sight-seeing and went off without an escort. Or even a guide . . ."
"Between ourselves," Haldred replied, slyness edging his voice, "that loss would not grieve me much."
Danilo felt a touch of anger that anyone would speak so of any Hastur. "Be that as it may, Dom Haldred, he is one of our own caste. I ask you in all charity and honor to help me. I do not know these streets well."
"I suppose you are right." Haldred stepped from the shadows into the pooled light beneath the tavern lanterns. Teeth glinted in a humorless, almost feral grin. "It is indeed my duty to assist you --"
Haldred's shoulders twisted, then steel whined as he pulled his blade free.
Instinct and training sent Danilo reaching for his own sword. Even as he drew on Haldred, he sensed a second assailant coming at him from behind, and another --
Darkness.
. . . lying on a thinly-carpeted flood, by its lack of vile smells not a tavern . . . leather thongs tight around his wrists . . . pain throbbing through his head . . . voices, too distorted to recognize . . . struggling to clear his vision -- the huddled forms of two other people. Sleeping? Abducted as he had been -- or even -- O Blessed Bearer of Burdens, may it not be so! -- dead!
. . . more voices . . . Some time must have elapsed, for now there was but one other body. Slender as a youth, flax-pale hair like a golden waterfall -- Mikhail?
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Date: 2009-09-15 03:10 pm (UTC)thank you once again for the post.
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Date: 2009-09-15 05:02 pm (UTC)What did you think of the first 4 I did -- the 3 "Clingfire" books and THE ALTON GIFT?
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Date: 2009-09-20 12:29 am (UTC)honestly i just found you so i haven't really had a chance to catch the rest of your stories. but i will now that i've got a good internet connection.
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Date: 2009-09-15 03:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-15 05:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-15 04:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-15 05:05 pm (UTC)The world, Darkover, was created by Marion Zimmer Bradley and the first published Darkover novels date back to the early 60s. One of the truly brilliant aspects of the world is how adaptable it has been to changing sensibilities. Even though the cultures are traditionally patriarchal, there's plenty of scope for stories of strong women. Marion's original focus, the clash of cultures and how individuals bridge the gulp, is still as fresh and exciting today as it was then.
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Date: 2009-09-15 04:53 pm (UTC)Alrighty then...just made sure there's a space on The Darkover Shelf of the bookcase! :)
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Date: 2009-09-15 05:06 pm (UTC)