IP: 82.19.140.112
Posted on September 17, 2013 at 07:25:48 PM by t r i s t a n
“I like you,” Tristan laughed, turning back towards Alistair as they emerged on the other side of the wall, and the wind hit them full in the face. They were standing on top of a flat expanse of roof, on a level with the castle’s second story. The stone slabs on which they were standing were sunken below the line of the edge of the building, so that their waists were on a level with the battlements that surrounded them on all sides. “I don’t always know what I’m doing,” he confessed, hoisting his bag a little higher on his shoulder, walking from one side of the roof to the other, before leaning over the edge. A drainage pipe ran straight down to the ground, and, about three quarters of the way down was the uppermost branches of a small but sturdy tree. Grinning again, he sat down on the battlements, his back towards the tree, “but ask anyone...I’m damn good at making it up.” Tristan moved the strap of his satchel over his head, so that it crossed his body from one side to the other, giving his arms greater mobility. “You can stick that on your head,” the prince said, nodding at the helmet in Alistair’s hands, “or it can go in the bag, up to you.” With the decision made, Tristan, supporting his weight on his arms, lowered his legs over the edge, and moved his feet until he felt resistance, “wait there.” He slid down the pipe a little way before letting go of the stone. His hands gripped the metal as they lowered him further. It wasn’t the longest drop he had ever climbed, and although his heart was beating strongly in a sudden burst of adrenaline, he was not as nervous as he might have been. Once he was in line with the tree, he transferred himself from the pipe to its branches and wedged himself firmly in place close to the trunk. “Come to the edge,” he shouted up to Alistair as he rested his hand flat against the bark. The branches began to move, expanding outwards until they were in line with the roof upon which the older boy was standing, an easy step for someone with an injured arm to make. Navigating one’s way one-armed through a tree, Tristan knew from experience, was much easier than trying to shimmy down a drainpipe. When both boys were safely on the floor Tristan lead the way to the stables, checking the scene for guards before they entered the stalls. Hal, his own horse, was already fully tacked, and the prince directed Alistair towards a black horse in the next stable but one, who was bridled but unsaddled. The prince lowered his bag to the floor again, and pulled it open, removing the armour from within piece by piece. Once it was all out he started to put it on, or, at least, he started to put on the pieces he could do himself. He had to ask Alistair for help with a few of the buckles. Once that was done, he pulled the circle of keys out of his pockets again and unlocked another cabinet that stood opposite Hal’s stable. Inside was more equipment, weapons and some old dented armour. Tristan located a breast plate that was not too badly damaged, tested its integrity and then passed it to Alistair for him to put on. A sword followed not long after. Whilst the boy was occupied, the prince moved to the back horse, and put on its saddle, his ears straining to hear any indication of approaching footsteps. Mercifully they did not come until the horse was ready. “Ready to have some fun?” Tristan asked, as he swung himself up into Hal’s saddle and gathered up his reins. Whilst the stable was built tall enough for a man to sit atop his mount within, it was not usual practice, and so the doorway was not so accommodating. Tristan was forced to lean forwards and flatten himself against Hal’s neck as they passed through. He stopped briefly on the other side, looking back once at Alistair, and then over at the guards who were jogging towards them over the cobbles. Encouraging his horse forwards with his heels, the prince lead the way around the stable block at a trot, until they came to dirt track that lead off into the trees. As soon as Hal’s hooves struck it, Tristan urged him into a canter, throwing up a cloud of dust behind him which mingled with the particulars already forced into the air by the ever increasing winds. The guards, he knew, would not give chase. He would have to face the music when he returned that evening, but that was hours away, and, somehow, it didn’t seem to matter as he gave a whoop of enjoyment, and Hal increased his pace.  |
Replies:
- Can you hear the magpie? - By Alistair September 23, 2013 at 08:53:17 AM
- may you sing the deeds of glory - By t r i s t a n October 6, 2013 at 06:28:17 PM
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