Saturday, October 22, 2005
Chapter Five
The ships lumbered into the harbour on a foggy night, its rusty metal creaking with cold. General Nortrom, the French commander, stepped out of the commander ship, his eyes squinched with sleep. In the flesh General Nortrom was unprepossessing: squat, fortyish. Yet the sheen of success was upon him. His cheeks were plump and smooth, his coat uncreased, his body language subtly assertive. Along with General Nortrom was a temptestuous-looking young woman with slanting cats' eyes and a thrilling acreage of bare flesh, once again proving that the French are good with women.
Meanwhile, the English were preparing for the onslaught of the French. Knight Davion had ended up spending the few past nights on the training ground, among grey-faced soldiers slumped over their shields and swords and listless horses lying on the ground. It was a chilly night, and the hours passed in a fog of jumpy dreams, echoing commands and relentless internal voices that pursued him round and round. Nevertheless, his mind began to reminisce, about the princess, something he did not comprehend why.
Now Knight Davion was in this strange no-man's land in the sky, numbed by the life, sluggish from his life, dazed by his life, and he clearly knew that death would smile at him very soon, and he could just smile back. He just prayed that god would just grant him a wish, a wish that seemed impossible. He felt tired and sick at heart. He longed for oblivion, but the random scenes from the past few weeks played over and over in his head. He saw the princess bouncing on the four-poster gleefully hurling pillows, he heard her voice looming over his head. Most insistently of all, it was the stare from the balcony. A stare which he could never forget.
And he knew he would hav no chance to answer back.
Answers and explanations clamoured in his head, demanding expression. Knight Davion shifted this way and that on his seating position, edgy with frustration. Finally, he reached a conclusion. It was just a grave mistake.
However, a niggle of conscience told him that something about this was not quite right. But reality were now flooding back to him in a strong, stinging tide, filling him with rage and hopelessness.
He stood up to his feet, and then swinging his sword fiercely, with each swipe consisting of anger and rapture. Now he opened the floodgates, he needed to let his resentment towards reality rush and roar. He slashed, with a fierce, audible scratch of the sword into the air. He finally stopped and bit the end of his lips. And in that moment Knight Davion did reach down into the depths of himself. The seconds tolled past while his hand hovered, motionless. Then he slammed his sword, so hard that Knight Dwarven jumped in fright, and stared. Let him. He closed his eyes and sank his head back on the shield, which was acting as a headrest.
His mouth twisted with self-disgust. The real truth of life tore at his heart.
Knight Dwarven placed his hand on Knight Davion's shoulder, and heaved a sigh. "Davion, you are a nice chap. Sometimes we have to accept fate, because God is fair, he ripped on u sometimes, but he compensates u for what he had done. We have to face the French, not her."
Knight Davion reached out his big hand to smother the sand in his arms. He squeezed it in his fist, tighter and tighter, smaller and smaller.
He didnt blame her at all. He wouldnt.
To be continued...
Meanwhile, the English were preparing for the onslaught of the French. Knight Davion had ended up spending the few past nights on the training ground, among grey-faced soldiers slumped over their shields and swords and listless horses lying on the ground. It was a chilly night, and the hours passed in a fog of jumpy dreams, echoing commands and relentless internal voices that pursued him round and round. Nevertheless, his mind began to reminisce, about the princess, something he did not comprehend why.
Now Knight Davion was in this strange no-man's land in the sky, numbed by the life, sluggish from his life, dazed by his life, and he clearly knew that death would smile at him very soon, and he could just smile back. He just prayed that god would just grant him a wish, a wish that seemed impossible. He felt tired and sick at heart. He longed for oblivion, but the random scenes from the past few weeks played over and over in his head. He saw the princess bouncing on the four-poster gleefully hurling pillows, he heard her voice looming over his head. Most insistently of all, it was the stare from the balcony. A stare which he could never forget.
And he knew he would hav no chance to answer back.
Answers and explanations clamoured in his head, demanding expression. Knight Davion shifted this way and that on his seating position, edgy with frustration. Finally, he reached a conclusion. It was just a grave mistake.
However, a niggle of conscience told him that something about this was not quite right. But reality were now flooding back to him in a strong, stinging tide, filling him with rage and hopelessness.
He stood up to his feet, and then swinging his sword fiercely, with each swipe consisting of anger and rapture. Now he opened the floodgates, he needed to let his resentment towards reality rush and roar. He slashed, with a fierce, audible scratch of the sword into the air. He finally stopped and bit the end of his lips. And in that moment Knight Davion did reach down into the depths of himself. The seconds tolled past while his hand hovered, motionless. Then he slammed his sword, so hard that Knight Dwarven jumped in fright, and stared. Let him. He closed his eyes and sank his head back on the shield, which was acting as a headrest.
His mouth twisted with self-disgust. The real truth of life tore at his heart.
Knight Dwarven placed his hand on Knight Davion's shoulder, and heaved a sigh. "Davion, you are a nice chap. Sometimes we have to accept fate, because God is fair, he ripped on u sometimes, but he compensates u for what he had done. We have to face the French, not her."
Knight Davion reached out his big hand to smother the sand in his arms. He squeezed it in his fist, tighter and tighter, smaller and smaller.
He didnt blame her at all. He wouldnt.
To be continued...
# posted by Dao @ 6:52 PM 
