Post by squire on May 5, 2010 21:41:34 GMT -5
Here's a short story I wrote last semester. I would love to know what you guys think of it!
Siege
The stench of the surrounding enemy camp choked the whole castle. Odors of waste, foul food, and dirty horses wafted above the crenellations in the curtain walls to weigh on the crowded courtyard. The funk seeped in between the stones and through the arrow loops of the keep’s walls to pervade the corridors and chambers in which we, the miserable few, were lodged.
Two weeks into the stalemate, a mass of soldiers and siege machines passed over the horizon to annex their compatriots’ cause. The castle burst from its nervous quiet with the echoes of shouted orders and curses from Lord Gysbourne, his officials, and the soldiers. Constant movement left no mortal to rest. The courtyard and parapets clanked and glittered with the soldiers, forbidden to remove their armor. My father, the steward, directed the hiding and securing of the lord’s valuables. Even Marine, the lord’s daughter, and I distributed bundles of arrows and buckets of oil to the battlements.
We paced the castle compound, tracing from the kitchen out to the Machicolations of the towers and curtain wall. We bypassed the two treacherous parapets where smashed battlements bore evidence of the skirmish which began the siege. Though our mothers, Marine’s, the Lady Blanche, and mine, Lady Blanche’s chamber mistress, forbade us from lingering on the parapets, Marine and I stole frequent glances of the enemy camp out of our uncanny excitement for the impending foray.
“Adele,” Marine began as we ascended the stairs to the last tower awaiting our stock. “What trow you will happen now, with the new army’s arrival?”
I peered around the Merion behind which we stood and surveyed the vast encampment. It had grown four times its size overnight, and now spread around the castle like a monstrous dragon spreads its wings. How shall we defend ourselves against such as this? How could we have been so passive, even taking excitement in this? My pessimism chided. We shall no sooner survive this siege than a lame hare might outrun a pack of hounds. The weight of the siege suddenly plagued me so that I nearly retched into the moat below.
“I fear that, whether My Lord is able to drive them away or no, we shall forever be affected,” my voice quivered as I regained a weak grasp on my composure and tried to appear hale. I looked at Marine and prayed I had satisfied her. I did not wish to speak again, to anyone, for a long while.
She offered no reply, but gazed out at the enemy camp, her bright eyes glistening with excitement. Her innocent mind had misunderstood my comment on the inevitable outcome of this siege. I shifted and surveyed the hideous camp, again made aware of the putrid odors of raw waste, animal filth, and countless other undividable scents. I now knew the odor’s name; “Death.”
How, indeed, shall we survive?
Siege
The stench of the surrounding enemy camp choked the whole castle. Odors of waste, foul food, and dirty horses wafted above the crenellations in the curtain walls to weigh on the crowded courtyard. The funk seeped in between the stones and through the arrow loops of the keep’s walls to pervade the corridors and chambers in which we, the miserable few, were lodged.
Two weeks into the stalemate, a mass of soldiers and siege machines passed over the horizon to annex their compatriots’ cause. The castle burst from its nervous quiet with the echoes of shouted orders and curses from Lord Gysbourne, his officials, and the soldiers. Constant movement left no mortal to rest. The courtyard and parapets clanked and glittered with the soldiers, forbidden to remove their armor. My father, the steward, directed the hiding and securing of the lord’s valuables. Even Marine, the lord’s daughter, and I distributed bundles of arrows and buckets of oil to the battlements.
We paced the castle compound, tracing from the kitchen out to the Machicolations of the towers and curtain wall. We bypassed the two treacherous parapets where smashed battlements bore evidence of the skirmish which began the siege. Though our mothers, Marine’s, the Lady Blanche, and mine, Lady Blanche’s chamber mistress, forbade us from lingering on the parapets, Marine and I stole frequent glances of the enemy camp out of our uncanny excitement for the impending foray.
“Adele,” Marine began as we ascended the stairs to the last tower awaiting our stock. “What trow you will happen now, with the new army’s arrival?”
I peered around the Merion behind which we stood and surveyed the vast encampment. It had grown four times its size overnight, and now spread around the castle like a monstrous dragon spreads its wings. How shall we defend ourselves against such as this? How could we have been so passive, even taking excitement in this? My pessimism chided. We shall no sooner survive this siege than a lame hare might outrun a pack of hounds. The weight of the siege suddenly plagued me so that I nearly retched into the moat below.
“I fear that, whether My Lord is able to drive them away or no, we shall forever be affected,” my voice quivered as I regained a weak grasp on my composure and tried to appear hale. I looked at Marine and prayed I had satisfied her. I did not wish to speak again, to anyone, for a long while.
She offered no reply, but gazed out at the enemy camp, her bright eyes glistening with excitement. Her innocent mind had misunderstood my comment on the inevitable outcome of this siege. I shifted and surveyed the hideous camp, again made aware of the putrid odors of raw waste, animal filth, and countless other undividable scents. I now knew the odor’s name; “Death.”
How, indeed, shall we survive?
