Thursday, 18 July 2013

A Combat Of Cocks

posted on 7/18/2013 by the Salt City Sinner 



At dawn’s crack in the hollow betwixt two hills, the hairy clusters of men bunched and steamed in the chill air. The mighty fist of loyalty had jerked them all rudely from their homefires, jerked them all the way to the root of the Short Tower.

Lord Dickens Smallwood was Warden of the Short Tower, a stub of a man only as tall as he was wide, and given to agitated frothing at the slightest provocation. He dug his thighs into his mount and pulled up short before a banner bearing the sigil of his house: a wilted orchid, purple on a pale field. Ser Boner Cartwheel, Smallwood’s strong right hand, planned to take the Rear Guard into battle.



“There,” he spat, veins bulging beneath his squat lavender helm as he stabbed at a map with a long, hard finger. “We shall penetrate them THERE.”

“I know not,” Smallwood replied, chewing one slick, hairy lip. “Ser Hardpole, called the Cock of the Fountains, will be standing tall in that tight pass with seasoned swords and lances aloft.”

“You think me soft, Smallwood,” Cartwheel foamed. "We shall see which cock struts away from this fracas."

“Soft, ser!” Dickens bubbled with a laugh. “Never soft, no – but testy.”


Smallwood ceased his burbling and ruminatively drew his squat head further into his neck as though to retreat from the decision. Ser Boner was an upright man, and full of rage, but when steel slapped steel and Hardpole rode into battle, the gods would decide who the harder man was.

(h/t to Alex Horwood for Ser Boner's name)

No comments:

Post a Comment