1st 5 Pages July Workshop - Simonelli

Name: Danielle Simonelli
Genre: Young Adult fantasy
Title: The Blood of Runes

Pippa rolled the dice and winked.

She slid a tafl pawn three spaces across the checkered board, eyeing the
prize knife. Scrollwork snaked around its handle and a curious rune
decorated its blade. Her brother, Jamie, would love to add it to his
collection. He always sought weapons with character.

The ruffian sitting across from her scratched the faded scars puckering his
nose. He leaned over the game board and rolled the dice. Six marks. Sailors
trying to earn some quick coin exchanged bets and told him to move this
piece or that. They shouted drunken suggestions at Pippa too, but she
already had a strategy to capture the King-piece. Her opponent moved a white
pawn by six squares and muttered something in Norse. His sharp gaze met hers
with a look that said “That’ll show you!”

“Tricky move,” Pippa said. She bowed her head to hide her impish smile.
Jamie had taught her how to master tafl, which her opponent foolishly agreed
to play. He originally suggested a test of riddles, but the last time Pippa
attempted a riddle contest she lost a silver bracelet.

She scanned the mead hall, making sure Jamie wasn't around, because she
wanted to surprise him with the weapon.

Her father would have been furious at her for gambling. Furious, but proud
when she won the knife. Longing for his smile made her chest ache, so Pippa
lifted a cup of frothy ale. The faint scent of aged oak conjured images of
summertime mischief with her brother, when they had snuck a taste of ale
from the brewer’s barrels. She drank it with a single swallow and banged the
emptied cup next to the game board. Everyone cheered as she reached for a
nearby flagon and refilled her cup. Pippa could enjoy two drinks, maybe
three, without muddling her senses.

She tapped her foot to the warbled rhythm of a panpipe, relishing her
imminent win. With her turn came a squall of suggestions from the crowd, yet
one spectator remained aloof. The figure stood near the fire, fussing with
voluminous robes until they lay just right. By the look of his unscathed
leather boots and the flashing gold rings on his fingers, he wasn’t a farmer
or seafarer. She squirmed under his stare. A heavy hood framed his face, but
his eyes glimmered as he watched the game…and her.

She turned back to the board and rolled the dice. Seven marks. The ruffian’s
an idiot, but he needs to think he has a chance. Otherwise, he might end the
game. Pippa started to reach for a red pawn, hesitated, made a show of
sighing and tugging on her bottom lip, and then reached for another. She
moved it seven squares, diagonally.

The ruffian cracked his fat knuckles. “I need a break.” His voice grated,
like the jagged edges of raw, unforged steel scraping against stone. A
raider, no doubt. He clearly didn’t expect to lose to a sixteen-year-old
girl.

Pippa feigned unease by shifting uncomfortably on the wooden bench. “Já, I
could use time to think on my next move.”

He slapped his knee in agreement and retreated to a remote corner with his
friends.

She shut her eyes. She would have won two turns ago, if he hadn’t bumbled
into a lucky move. If she won the game, she’d claim his knife. If he won the
game…

She shuddered, determined to avoid that possibility.

Pippa stole another glance at the hooded stranger.

With a flick of his wrist, the stranger beckoned the innkeeper to him. They
spoke, huddled, heads bent. The innkeeper, a short man with a beard like a
bird’s nest, cocked his head toward Pippa. Even though the mead hall buzzed
with revelry, she swore the innkeeper mentioned her father’s name.

Bjorn.

As hard as she tried, she could not escape the memory of her father and
banged her fist onto the table.

The stranger smiled at her and nodded. Pippa looked away, reaching for her
ale and burning to know why he had asked about her father, unless she was
hearing things. She held the drink to her lips and watched him over the rim
of her cup.

He hardly noticed the girl who served him a horn of mead before she scurried
back into the crowd. The stranger waved a lazy hand over the mouth of his
horn, and a thin column of mead coiled up from the vessel. Pippa blinked.
With a quick, twirling finger, the mead made a loop in the air and wove
between his fingers before splashing back into the horn.

Pippa dropped her cup. Ale drenched her lap and trickled down her trousers.
Disbelief must have shown on her face, because the stranger chuckled and
tipped his horn to her. She wiped away the ale and fidgeted with her cloak,
not understanding what she had witnessed. She had seen extraordinary,
incredulous things, but nothing like twirling mead. This is why I shouldn’t
have come alone. She may have enjoyed too much ale after all. Although, the
room wasn’t tilting and the faces around her weren’t smeared in a blend of
drunken color.

A rowdy lout scooted down the bench to sit beside her. He leaned close and
draped an arm around her shoulders. The lout, smelling like pickled fish,
slurred gibberish in her ear. Pippa might have shrugged him off if she
wasn’t so stunned by the stranger’s magic.

A heavy hand landed on her back.

She turned to find Jamie looming over her, his face scrunched in an
unpleasant grimace. He flung the lout’s arm off her shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” Jamie asked, sounding both relieved and
frustrated. He didn't wait for a reply. “You’re leaving.”

He had no reason to be upset. “I'm fine,” Pippa said. “Besides, I have a
present for you.”

“She's not going anywhere until the game’s finished,” the ruffian said,
emerging from the far corner. His eyes flicked from her to Jamie, who
returned an unreadable, glassy stare.

“You.” Jamie pointed at Pippa and then the door. “Out.”

“If I win I get his knife.” She jutted her chin toward the game board,
wanting him to see how close she was to victory. “And if I win in less than
fifty moves, I get his fox fur as well.”

“What if you lose?”

Pippa’s cheeks warmed.

The ruffian shrugged. "I claim her best dagger.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes at her.

“If she wins, but doesn’t succeed in fifty moves,” the ruffian continued,
leering in her direction, “she still gets the knife, but I also get a
little…private time…with her in the back room.”

“What!” Jamie’s face flared.

Pippa pinched her eyes shut and cursed under her breath.

Jamie’s fist landed in the man’s jaw, snapping his head back and knocking
him off his feet. The ruffian flailed his arms as he tumbled. An avalanche
of wool and leather and men heavy with alcohol fell with him. Jamie flipped
the game table with a crash, splashing ale and flinging pawns across the
room. Pippa fell backwards off the bench. The wood floor smacked into her
back, forcing air from her lungs in a rushing gasp. She rolled to her side
and tried to run, but the stinking lout caught her arm and yanked her back.
He was drunk, and she was quick. She hooked a foot around one of his legs
and shoved him to the ground.

The ruffian stumbled to his feet.