At last, the queen

We stood outside the doorway and I suddenly had no idea what to say. Not too long ago, my life had been fairly simple. I went places, documented events, described places, updated maps, filed those histories and then received enough coin--barely--to go on to the next one. I was a falcuhn, a historian in Queen Phaedra's employ--loosely, at least. It was Phaedra's idea to preserve the past in a centralized system for future scholars. She was responsible, ultimately, for funding it. We had, in fact, met in the past, but it was long ago and I doubted she would have any recollection of it, or of me. I hardly considered myself that memorable.

That was how I thought my life would be: my Great Work. That was also before I first met Seymuhr, who abducted me and thrust me, unknowingly, into an ongoing war between good and evil. Or at least, between good and not-quite-as-good. Things were often murky in Korin. I wasn't sure if I could go back to the days of merely chronicling the events of the land.

After a short period of time, the great doors in front of us opened. I smoothed my tunic and attempted to wrangle my nest of hair into order as they swung inward on near-silent hinges. Broo-Fang Tane stood a little straighter, while Seymuhr picked at something wedged deep in his jaw, lifted his right foot and broke wind. I glared at him.

Two huge figures stood in the open doorway. Nearly as wide as they were tall, they towered over us, with squat legs supporting barrel-like chests and arms as thick as tree trunks and ropy with muscle. Their ears were flat against the side of their head and pointed at the lower lobe. Yellowed tusks protruded from their snouts. Westonaks. Each had a perfectly-sculpted coiffe, a horn-like protrusion above their brows--it was actually the wiry, bristling hair the creatures grew on the top of their heads, swirled and plastered into place with a sticky substance made in part from their own phlegm. They wore breastplates and skirts over their grayish scales and held a sturdy pole-axe in one hand. The other was covered by a half-opened gauntlet with jagged blades above the knuckles. 

They sized us up, their gaze lingering on Seymuhr. Squat and bald, he was shorter than I but his quiet swagger always attracted the notice of anyone--or, in this case, anything--that might have to fight him. He succeeded in digging out whatever he had been searching for among his teeth and held it up triumphantly. 

"You must be proud," I murmured. "Do me a favor, will you? Be quiet and try not to get us killed." 

I stepped up in front of the Westonaks, cleared my voice and said with as much confidence as I could muster: "I am Esmiralda, a falcuhn and servant of the most blessed queen, here for an audience with her. These are my companions, Broo Fang Tane, a monk of the Order of Optimists, and Seymuhr…." I could think of no other words for him. 

The Westonaks did not move aside. One of them stood in front of me and to my left, directly in front of Seymuhr. His brow furrowed, he leaned in slightly and sniffed the air. After a sideways glance to his colleague, he flexed his fists. I heard knuckles crackle like a spirited fire. 

"We have an appointment," I added, in a slightly smaller voice.

"Stand aside," a voice rang from the room beyond. It was deep for a woman's, yet possessed a touch of music. I could almost envision a smile curling dark, full lips. "They are here at my request. I am in no danger."

The Westonaks pivoted, opening a path for us to enter the room beyond. "Mind yourself, irf," one of them rumbled.

That startled me. Irf? I glanced at Seymuhr, who took no notice. Had the Westonak noticed something that I, despite traveling with Seymuhr for so long, had not? Was he of the old blood? I forced myself to move, even though my knees were stiff with sudden shock. It would explain his height--or lack of it--and, perhaps, his strength. Of course, it could be only an insult, hurled at a man of small stature. Males were fond of that sort of thing, no matter what species.

We walked into Queen Phaedra's private audience chamber. The doors swung closed behind us and I heard the Westonaks settle into position in front of them. Phaedra was on her feet, leaning over a table that had no chairs around it. Her hand was resting on one portion of it, her long fingers absently stroking it like a pet. A pensive look suddenly let her face and she looked up and a brilliant smile replaced it.

"Mira," she said, and my spine tingled at the sound and warm familiarity in her tone. "How good to see you again. What news do you bring?"



Author's note:
Thanks for reading! Admittedly, I don't always put a lot of thought into these entries; they are merely a way for me to: (a) test out a few jokes and make fun of the genre; (b) work on dialogue and scene; (c) develop the world of Korin, where my real fantasy stories take place and (d) appear busy while I eat lunch, so I can avoid human interaction. Feel free to let me leave a comment or critique. I always like to know what works and what doesn't.