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bedlamsbardThis one is pretty short -- it's not the one that came up with the next highest number of votes, but I don't feel like going through and formatting Tuesday, so! Susan killing people it is.
The premise for "How High the River Rises" was pretty simple, which is one of the reasons it never went very far. I think the basic idea comes through pretty well at the beginning. Dating on this -- mmm, early Golden Age, probably. Somewhere in the first five years, probably? It doesn't have any particular date markers within the text, so I'm not entirely sure. Writing-wise, it post-dates the beginning of Dust; you can tell by all the econ stuff at the beginning. I think I probably started it in 2010? Maybe 2009, but probably last year. As usual, further notes at the end.
Content advisory for violence and threatened sexual assault.
“You’re a fool,” Susan says, and knows that her smile makes her look like a madwoman, but she doesn’t particularly care at the moment.
She’s kneeling on the stone floor of some border lord’s keep, somewhere in the no man’s land between Archenland and Narnia (not unclaimed; claimed by both of them, and the border lords, most of them little more than glorified bandits, have been unsure which way to jump for the better part of a decade now), her hands bound behind her back and a lump growing on her forehead where some idiot hit her with his sword hilt. The stone is hard beneath her knees, the thick fabric of her skirts not much of a cushion, and she has a pounding headache she’s shoving into a corner of her mind by sheer force of will. She’ll pay for it later, she knows. She’s not the only one who’s going to pay.
She tilts her head up to look Duke Rumon in the eye. “How much is Lune offering for me?” she asks.
“Enough,” he scowls. “And don’t try and tell me your brother can pay more; everybody from Harfang to Tashbaan knows that Narnia doesn’t have so much as a copper star in its treasuries.”
Lie: the discovery of the salt mines in the High Reaches and the silver veins in the Southern Marches has saved Narnia from bankruptcy; they’re already eighteen thousand suns in debt to the Emerald Bank of Terebinthia, but they’re paying it back fast, and Lucy, with the gleeful suspicion that there are even more secrets that Narnia’s hiding beneath her skirts, has been on a wild rampage back and forth across the country for months now.
“I didn’t say that,” Susan says. “I was just wondering if whatever it is Lune’s giving you for me is worth what you’re going to lose.”
“And what’s that?”
“Your land,” she says, “and everything you hold dear, and just possibly your life if you give me enough reason.”
Rumon leans forward to whisper in her ear. “Your brother isn’t going to make it here in time to save you.”
Susan smiles. “Who says I was talking about my brother?”
He pulls away with a snarl and steps away from her, giving short, harsh orders to the guards in the room before he leaves. Susan sits back on her heels, testing her bonds thoughtfully and debating the merits of dislocating her wrist to get out before she decides it’s not worth the trouble and probably won’t help much anyway. She tilts her head up to watch the two guards Rumon’s left in the room. Both of them are human, both of them are male, and they’ve likely lived their whole lives in the border lands; those who haven’t have a certain amount of sympathy towards Narnia. They’re armored in the poor man’s version of chain mail; thick leather vests with metal rings sewed on. Better than plain boiled leather, but not by much. Both of them have Archenlander short swords and one of them has a small hand-crossbow as well. It’s probably stolen from the traders that have to pass through the no man’s lands to get from Archenland to Narnia; bandits have been a problem in these parts time out of mind and Rumon’s nothing more than a jumped up one, albeit a bandit with a fairly substantial keep and a yen to try and reach respectability in his old age. It’s nearly certain that King Lune is offering a title and the protection of the Archenlander crown in exchange for her or one of her siblings, delivered into his hands alive and unhurt.
“It would be better if you both ran now,” Susan says, watching their heads turn toward her with barely-concealed lust in their eyes. “Just do it. Open the door and walk out. Don’t look behind you. Take your horses and ride as far and fast as you can.”
“Or what?” one of them – she mentally labels him One for convenience, which makes his companion Two – asks, approaching her. He’s the one with the crossbow. Good.
She has to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes, making sure not to let her voice tremble as she sees his hands drift close to his belt buckle. “Or you’re going to die.”
One grins, revealing a matching pair of chipped front teeth on top and bottom. “I don’t think so,” he says. “See, we’re going to be king’s men. And king’s men…king’s men ought to have a queen, you know. And look what we have here!” he exclaims, turning to his companion and gesturing at her as he steps closer. “What do we have here, but a nice Narnian queen to fuck sideways while we wait for Lune’s dogs to –”
Susan twists, snapping her legs out from beneath her to sweep One’s out from under him. One’s crossbow goes skittering across the stone floor and Susan catches his neck between her ankles. He’s only just moving to grab at her when she flexes her calves, gritting her teeth at the effort it takes, and snaps his neck. One goes limp between her legs and she scrambles upright.
It makes Two come out of his horrified daze and come abortively toward her, reaching for his sword before Susan slams her booted heel into his wrist, sending him staggering back before she kicks again, this time into his calf, hearing the bone break as he goes forward onto the floor.
“Narnian bitch,” he gets out, and Susan kicks him in the face hard enough to knock his head back into the wall with a horrible crack, like a watermelon hitting stone. Two goes limp, blood running the back of his neck and dying the stained collar of his shirt red where the stone opened up his skull.
She twists around, groping for the hilt of his sword before she gets it drawn. It clatters down onto the stone floor and she squats down, twisting it awkwardly around with her fingers before she can get it against the bond between her wrists, nearly slicing her arm off before she gets the ropes cut and her hands free.
“Told you,” she whispers, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth before she straightens up, divesting Two of his sword belt – after checking One as well; Two evidently took better care of his weapons – and both of them of their admittedly meager purses, because she might as well get something to show for all her trouble. Besides, they’re dead; it’s not as if they’ll care. And once she might have been offended at the idea of robbing the dead, but that time is long past. Narnia hasn’t paid back all her debts yet and every little bit helps.
Susan takes the case of crossbow quarrels from One’s belt and the crossbow from the floor, checking that it’s spanned.
*
This was seriously just going to go on with Susan sneaking through the castle and killing people, silently. I have no idea why she doesn't just steal a horse and escape. Thus why it never got finished; the whole premise of it was Susan, killing people in the shadows! And that gets old even for me. (And I didn't even finish the last sentence, I added the period on the end of "spanned" as I was formatting it. Er.)
The premise for "How High the River Rises" was pretty simple, which is one of the reasons it never went very far. I think the basic idea comes through pretty well at the beginning. Dating on this -- mmm, early Golden Age, probably. Somewhere in the first five years, probably? It doesn't have any particular date markers within the text, so I'm not entirely sure. Writing-wise, it post-dates the beginning of Dust; you can tell by all the econ stuff at the beginning. I think I probably started it in 2010? Maybe 2009, but probably last year. As usual, further notes at the end.
Content advisory for violence and threatened sexual assault.
“You’re a fool,” Susan says, and knows that her smile makes her look like a madwoman, but she doesn’t particularly care at the moment.
She’s kneeling on the stone floor of some border lord’s keep, somewhere in the no man’s land between Archenland and Narnia (not unclaimed; claimed by both of them, and the border lords, most of them little more than glorified bandits, have been unsure which way to jump for the better part of a decade now), her hands bound behind her back and a lump growing on her forehead where some idiot hit her with his sword hilt. The stone is hard beneath her knees, the thick fabric of her skirts not much of a cushion, and she has a pounding headache she’s shoving into a corner of her mind by sheer force of will. She’ll pay for it later, she knows. She’s not the only one who’s going to pay.
She tilts her head up to look Duke Rumon in the eye. “How much is Lune offering for me?” she asks.
“Enough,” he scowls. “And don’t try and tell me your brother can pay more; everybody from Harfang to Tashbaan knows that Narnia doesn’t have so much as a copper star in its treasuries.”
Lie: the discovery of the salt mines in the High Reaches and the silver veins in the Southern Marches has saved Narnia from bankruptcy; they’re already eighteen thousand suns in debt to the Emerald Bank of Terebinthia, but they’re paying it back fast, and Lucy, with the gleeful suspicion that there are even more secrets that Narnia’s hiding beneath her skirts, has been on a wild rampage back and forth across the country for months now.
“I didn’t say that,” Susan says. “I was just wondering if whatever it is Lune’s giving you for me is worth what you’re going to lose.”
“And what’s that?”
“Your land,” she says, “and everything you hold dear, and just possibly your life if you give me enough reason.”
Rumon leans forward to whisper in her ear. “Your brother isn’t going to make it here in time to save you.”
Susan smiles. “Who says I was talking about my brother?”
He pulls away with a snarl and steps away from her, giving short, harsh orders to the guards in the room before he leaves. Susan sits back on her heels, testing her bonds thoughtfully and debating the merits of dislocating her wrist to get out before she decides it’s not worth the trouble and probably won’t help much anyway. She tilts her head up to watch the two guards Rumon’s left in the room. Both of them are human, both of them are male, and they’ve likely lived their whole lives in the border lands; those who haven’t have a certain amount of sympathy towards Narnia. They’re armored in the poor man’s version of chain mail; thick leather vests with metal rings sewed on. Better than plain boiled leather, but not by much. Both of them have Archenlander short swords and one of them has a small hand-crossbow as well. It’s probably stolen from the traders that have to pass through the no man’s lands to get from Archenland to Narnia; bandits have been a problem in these parts time out of mind and Rumon’s nothing more than a jumped up one, albeit a bandit with a fairly substantial keep and a yen to try and reach respectability in his old age. It’s nearly certain that King Lune is offering a title and the protection of the Archenlander crown in exchange for her or one of her siblings, delivered into his hands alive and unhurt.
“It would be better if you both ran now,” Susan says, watching their heads turn toward her with barely-concealed lust in their eyes. “Just do it. Open the door and walk out. Don’t look behind you. Take your horses and ride as far and fast as you can.”
“Or what?” one of them – she mentally labels him One for convenience, which makes his companion Two – asks, approaching her. He’s the one with the crossbow. Good.
She has to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes, making sure not to let her voice tremble as she sees his hands drift close to his belt buckle. “Or you’re going to die.”
One grins, revealing a matching pair of chipped front teeth on top and bottom. “I don’t think so,” he says. “See, we’re going to be king’s men. And king’s men…king’s men ought to have a queen, you know. And look what we have here!” he exclaims, turning to his companion and gesturing at her as he steps closer. “What do we have here, but a nice Narnian queen to fuck sideways while we wait for Lune’s dogs to –”
Susan twists, snapping her legs out from beneath her to sweep One’s out from under him. One’s crossbow goes skittering across the stone floor and Susan catches his neck between her ankles. He’s only just moving to grab at her when she flexes her calves, gritting her teeth at the effort it takes, and snaps his neck. One goes limp between her legs and she scrambles upright.
It makes Two come out of his horrified daze and come abortively toward her, reaching for his sword before Susan slams her booted heel into his wrist, sending him staggering back before she kicks again, this time into his calf, hearing the bone break as he goes forward onto the floor.
“Narnian bitch,” he gets out, and Susan kicks him in the face hard enough to knock his head back into the wall with a horrible crack, like a watermelon hitting stone. Two goes limp, blood running the back of his neck and dying the stained collar of his shirt red where the stone opened up his skull.
She twists around, groping for the hilt of his sword before she gets it drawn. It clatters down onto the stone floor and she squats down, twisting it awkwardly around with her fingers before she can get it against the bond between her wrists, nearly slicing her arm off before she gets the ropes cut and her hands free.
“Told you,” she whispers, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth before she straightens up, divesting Two of his sword belt – after checking One as well; Two evidently took better care of his weapons – and both of them of their admittedly meager purses, because she might as well get something to show for all her trouble. Besides, they’re dead; it’s not as if they’ll care. And once she might have been offended at the idea of robbing the dead, but that time is long past. Narnia hasn’t paid back all her debts yet and every little bit helps.
Susan takes the case of crossbow quarrels from One’s belt and the crossbow from the floor, checking that it’s spanned.
*
This was seriously just going to go on with Susan sneaking through the castle and killing people, silently. I have no idea why she doesn't just steal a horse and escape. Thus why it never got finished; the whole premise of it was Susan, killing people in the shadows! And that gets old even for me. (And I didn't even finish the last sentence, I added the period on the end of "spanned" as I was formatting it. Er.)
(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-22 02:06 am (UTC)This predates Corin becoming a ward of Narnia by at least five years, maybe more.