Forlorn Hope - Chapter 2
Women and War
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Lothan rolled over and threw his arm around the naked woman lying next to him. It felt like an axe had split his skull in the night and the taste of sour wine on his tongue was almost enough to make him throw up. Instead he kept his eyes sealed to the morning sun and kept the warmth of the woman close. Eventually he would remember her name. He pulled the furs under his chin and wished to dream again.
The door swung open, cracking against the stone wall, sending a goblet of half drank wine crashing to the floor from the table beside the bed. Lothan snapped awake and reached for a sword but he all he found was a handful of breast. The woman screamed like a wraith, her pale blue eyes fixing him with a glare. ‘Apologies, Prince, but…’ Tamon averted his eyes from the woman, sitting up topless in the bed. She glared at Tamon, his father’s eyes and ears, and wrapped the furs around her.
Lothan still could not recall her name. ‘What is it that couldn’t wait till midday?’
‘A raid. Several in fact. The Gör Khāni,’ Tamon was hunched over, consequences for spending his days tucked away in books and scrolls. Though he couldn’t fight, not with one good arm, the other withered since birth, nor pull a bow, and so the gods had deemed him a man of letters. Though rumour had it he was decent with throwing spears and knives.
Lothan cleared his throat at the news as it gleamed the surface of his hangover away. ‘Gör Khāni? Why?’
‘No idea. The summons was short.’
‘Summons? I have no intention of attending court. Father can manage better without me. Besides,’ he leered at the woman next to him. Her name came to him in a spark that cleaved off another bulk of hangover, ‘I’d rather spend my day with Pomae.’
Pomae ran a hand through her dark tangled hair and grinned, ‘A whole day with the gallant Prince Lothan,’ she spoke with a flowing coastal accent of drawled out consonants and clipped vowels.
‘It is that gallantry your father, the King, wants,’ Tamon stood taller, though he was still hunched. He fiddled with the string of his fur lined coif.
A gravelled laugh boomed through the hall and Chatogan strolled in, tall as the Temple of Sel and as wide as the Font of Wroth. He clapped Tamon on the back with a bear paw he called a hand and grinned manically. ‘What you doing interrupting our Prince’s morning?’ Tamon staggered forward, the breath forced out of him in a wheeze.
Pomae bit her lip and drank Chatogan in with her eyes, sweeping up and down, and lingering on his scarred and thickly bearded face. Lothan rolled his eyes, ‘Both of you get out.’ He turned Pomae’s chin, her eyes followed after, and kissed her while easing her down in the bed. She wrapped a leg about his waist and brushed her nose against his. Tamon mumbled some distress while Chatogan hmm’d as he watched. They aren’t leaving. ‘Nothing can be this important,’ Prince Lothan twisted his neck to see the two men at the door. They were like statues. He rolled off Pomae, the excitement well and truly strangled limp.
‘The King wishes your attendance in two days. Failure means exile,’ Tamon said.
‘Exile? From the city? I haven’t been there in years.’
‘From the land. Either do your duty or you will be cast out into the Drifting Sea,’ Tamon went ashen as he said the words.
‘You said the summons was short,’ Lothan barked. ‘We don’t even border the Drifting Sea,’ he added.
‘It is,’ Tamon pulled out a scroll of wooden slats from a pocket in his sleeve. Six slats crammed with characters unrolled with a clatter. ‘War is here, Prince.’
‘Where is the fearless warrior from the songs who would rescue the women, protect the children, and steel the hearts of men?’ Pomae sat up, one arm covering her breasts. She leaned in close only to pull away before Lothan could steal a kiss.
‘Right here,’ he reached out to her but she pulled away.
‘All I see is a horny hungover man. No hero,’ her eyes went glassy, the power of song had faded.
Lothan fell back against the pillows, laid low by mere words. Chatogan’s booming laugh was like a spear in the gut. Pomae slipped from the bed, naked and uncaring, she found her underdress and deel and fastened it by only handful of buttons so the top fell open a little. She sidestepped the two men by the door. ‘Call by my room after breakfast, Pomae,’ Chatogan grazed his calloused fingers along her cheek. Her cheeks reddened as she darted from the room, the pad of her feet the only sound.
Tamon clicked his tongue, ‘You won’t have time.’
‘There’s always time,’ Chatogan said.
Lothan lay, his head reforming in painful bouts, ‘War. Truly?’
‘Afraid so, Prince,’ the bed bounced as Chatogan sat in the warmth Pomae had left. ‘But new songs are crafted from wars, new magic made, the arkhi flows, riches and women follow.’ He slapped Lothan’s thigh and cheered up to heaven, though the sound rebounded off the ceiling.
‘War is not fighting bandits and rebels. War is… big,’ the thought made Lothan nauseous.
‘Bigger battles, bigger songs, more arkhi, more women,’ Chatogan shrugged. ‘I see no problem here. Tamon, get his clothes. Apologies, Prince, but you need breakfast,’ Chatogan threw off the furs and dragged Lothan from the bed by his ankles. Lothan flailed and gripped the wool of his pillow but it was no use against Chatogan’s pure strength. He thudded onto the cold stone floor and cursed his friend. ‘I don’t want to be exiled in the desert or the sea or anywhere. I like this land at the end of the world and if that means fighting a war against the black hearted Gör Khāni, SO BE IT!’ Chatogan roared and hoisted Prince Lothan to his feet by his shoulders. ‘Get dressed. Eat. Then I will fuck and then we go,’ he grinned and slapped Lothan on the arm.
The brute didn’t know it but Lothan’s whole core shook from the impact. ‘I fear for your enemies, Chatogan, though they do not live long enough to feel the bruises and broken bones of your love so perhaps they are better off than your friends.’
The tower of a man just laughed and sauntered out of the room, ‘I’ll find the meat and cheese!’
Tamon approached, hunched and offering a pitying smile, with Lothan’s wool and silk deel. ‘This will be good for you. These past years have seen you go flabby with drink and soft with women. War will bring back the man.’
Lothan shrugged into the long blue and gold robe embroidered with galloping horses around the torso, ‘You only say that because you won’t have to fight. You will be within the walls of Silicia talking of strategy and tactics while I perform the hard and bloody labour.’
‘Don’t forget scheming against your rivals at court and curtailing your father’s eccentric fancies. He barely remembers the feel of the bow in his hand, last I heard,’ Tamon gulped and stared at the floor. ‘Forgive me, it is not my place.’
Lothan shrugged, ‘You’re right, all of that and more is why I left.’ He brushed off spilt kumis that had crusted over the toe of one of his boots. ‘Let us find Chagotan and the others. We need to ride before the brute beds my girl.’
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Not as riveting as the opening chapter, but I have to say, you write a MEAN hangover!
Dang, this makes me want to get back to writing fantasy. You tend to have that effect on me.