Young Writers Society

Here's an actual chapter of my new novel; sorry for cluttering up Fantasy with all these pieces, but I promise from now on, it's going to be all in chapter order!

There's a prologue too, but I'm not too happy with it, so here goes with Chapter 1.

EDIT: Ahh no, actually this isn't complete. I found it too short, so what I was planning for Chapter 2 feels better here. So this is actually the first part of Chapter 1. *slaps self*

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The boats made little noise as they glided across the dark ocean, apart from the occasional splatter as the oars went in and out of the water. The night had been chosen well, as it was pitch black, no moon there to disrupt the advantage of darkness. Weather was perfect too; no disruptive winds and it was relatively warm, at least for this early in the year. So the two boats smoothly progressed towards the awaiting beach, and their passengers made ready for arrival.

On the first stood a tall man. He had a crude telescope out and was watching their destination calmly. His face was one of concern and worry. The men behind him were solemn and silent, some checking weapons, others staring nonchalantly into the distance. The tall man turned round and whispered, “It’s time, get ready. We need to be careful, something appears to be strange.” The men took no surprise to these news, such missions often went awry, and most just nodded indifferently. But they stood up and prepared themselves, except the rower. The same happened on the second boat. Both were full of six men and they were just seconds from landing. The tall leader signalled silently to his men to split into scout the area after they left the boat, and search for potential dangers.

A soft bump and they were ashore, ten men jumping out, leaving two to protect the boats. They quickly split into three groups, working quickly. Two groups went east and west, and the larger group went forward. With them was the tall leader, who had snatched a note from his pocket and was reading it carefully. His mind was engrossed in thought; the writing was vague, perhaps he didn’t mean tonight at all? Too late to forget it now, may as well wait now we’re here. He was distracted by the return of the first group.

“No sign of him, Rav, we’ve searched past all those dunes,” the speaker’s hand waved over to the right, “but there’s nothin. Maybe we got it wrong?”

The tall man didn’t reply. His name was Ravin and he was worried. Maybe they’d be tricked? It was perfectly possible for the contact to have been lying and playing them off to the authorities all the time, but he was one of the older ones and had been loyal in the past. But a bag of gold coins could change a man’s heart, and if he had fallen all his men would be captured and strung up on a rope. Along with him. It wasn’t something he intended to happen.

The second group returned a minute later, but the news was the same, no sign of the contact. The note had said, Dozen after Full Moon, usual place, usual time. Two score gold. He had assumed it meant days after the full moon, as hours was too short and weeks too long. Usual place was not always this beach, but it had been the last two times, and as for the time, it was always midnight. So why wasn’t he here? He’s sold you out, Ravin told himself. Tip-offs were frequent and often misled, sometimes purposely, but the army was still eager to capture any of them they could. This beach was relatively unknown and so they’d be safe, he hoped. Or by tomorrow he’d be struggling for breath and hanging above the ground.

“Rav?” said a bearded man, “What we gonna do?”

“We wait,” he said simply, because there was nothing else to do. And they all knew it. They needed the food, and they had to believe he was coming. Ravin doubted it though. All the army had to do was offer him more than forty gold pieces and he’d tell them anything. They were totally on the back foot and he knew it. The truth hit him hard. People were relying on them. Women and children were starving and without this shipment, he knew, his conscience would weigh even more.

A few weeks before Ravin had go on a similar mission, the instructions were simple, meet the contact, pay the money, receive the food, leave. As it always had been. It was a trap. He had narrowly escaped with several other men. Ten hadn’t, lying wounded or dead, he had left them on the beach, screaming, bleeding and betrayed. But that was his life. Survival. At least he had got the food, not just being a small consolation; it had kept hundreds of others alive.

At the expense of others. Was this how it was always going to be? Men like him died for others. Why did the proper authorities take no action? The food shortage could be solved easily, but the Norfor High Council said they just had no food to spare anywhere in the kingdom. The worst lie that Ravin had ever experienced. Yet, still, he was, but his own admittance, a selfish man. He’d never have imagined himself risking his own skin for people he had connection too, no responsibility for it. But if he didn’t do it, he’d starve too. It was well-paid work, if he was truthful, and the money allowed him to buy enough food despite the famine, because the cities were well stocked, and despite the guards not allowing in anyone, he found it easy enough to give them the slip. But this wasn’t the main reason, there were other jobs.

No, to be perfectly honest, he did it for the exhilaration, the adrenaline, and the chase. No job did it better. Having no real connection or love for the Norfor High Council, it gave him no end of pleasure to take food from their greedy hands, and watch them helplessly attempt to control the situation. They sat down. The sand was soft and scattered with wild weeds, yet it was still comfortable. Compared to the hardness of the boat, it was more like a luxury. It left Ravin more time to collect his thoughts, as well. Some of the men decided to play some cards. He declined to play, and sat a bit away from them. Never was a gambling man.

He reached for his canteen at his waist and poured the cooling water down his desperate throat. The fresh sensation relaxed him and he lay back into the sand, letting his black hair settle into a comfortable position. And he stared up at the stars, twinkling and pretty in the dark night. They were almost entrancing…
The hours passed slowly, all the time edging towards the sunrise. If they were left here by then, their bodies would stain the sandy beach. So there was little time left. Still, nobody complained at the wait. Most of them were hungry, most of them had families back in the Isles, expecting. Coming back there empty handed was an embarrassment and a disappointment. But when you came back holding barrels, the crowds flocked and cheered, and for that day, you were a hero.

“Someone coming, Rav,” said one of the men, running back from his original position at the north of the beach, “I think it’s him. Bloody late, but man’s here.”

Ravin just nodded. They were sometimes late. Not this late usually though, and Ravin felt a strange chill down his spine again. He didn’t like the unusual. It usually meant something had changed, and change was usually for the worse.

The man appeared over a dune, dressed like a peasant with dull clothes. He was quite fat, and looked happy with himself. Ravin sighed. He obviously had no trouble finding food to satisfy his overgrown stomach.

“My friends…” he started, but as shocked by Ravin’s sudden interruption.

“No friend of ours leaves us here for hours without notice. Show us the stuff now or I’ll leave your corpse here for the birds,” Ravin said quickly.

The man regained his composure, and said, “I had other business. Surely you must understand! I am here now, and that’s all that matters.”

“I hope that business wasn’t swapping coin with any commanders,” Ravin muttered with an accusatory tone, looking the man up and down suspiciously, “Otherwise…” he patted his sword hilt with a smile.

“I have always been honest!” the man replied, but not with much veracity, he looked much more concerned with the weapon at Ravin’s belt, and beckoned them to follow him, turning to go, with just a faint hint of sweat forming on his brow.

“Sheyas and Reina, stay here with the boats. Rest of you come with me. Tantra, scout ahead. Make sure this filth ain’t lying to us.” They nodded, and went to their positions. Tantra, the man who had reported the initial sighting, moved off swiftly ahead, his eyes never stopping, his head turning ceaselessly. He was soon lost in the distance.

They made their route north across the dunes and were soon onto grass, in the form of a steep hill. The going wasn’t hard however, the path was yielding and they made quick progress. Soon, they had met the top and they stared down the other side. There, was a city, lights glistening in the darkness. Norforda, City of Stars. Ravin stared hard into its faint outline. It wasn’t the first time he had looked upon the capital or Norfor.

“Erm…excuse me….mister..?” stuttered the man, in obvious confusion as to how to address Ravin.

“Ravin,” he said without emotion.

“Mister Ravin, I would like to see…some of my gold now,” he said, his body action displaying sheer nervousness, as he took a step back, “If that’s okay.” He was clearly scared of the tall, hard man.

“Here’s half,” he said impassively, grasping inside his jacket and throwing a jingling brown bag into the man’s chest, “Other half when we get the stuff out safely.”

The man hesitated, but then nodded, and carried on the walk. The path tilted to the right hand side, as if it were to move away from the city, half a mile away. But Ravin sincerely doubted the food would be hidden in there, it was much easier to have it outside. Firstly, they’d have to sneak in eight armed men, and then they’d have to sneak out barrels of food. No, Ravin decided, it was most probably in some cave nearby, or some sort of hideaway. Either way, Ravin couldn’t help feeling a sense of disappointment, as it became clear they were not going to enter Norforda. Sometimes it was good to relive old times.

The hill dipped more so as they went down. It all felt very strange to Ravin, they could not see the ground they were heading towards, and it felt as if hey were descending into a sea of darkness. And anything, absolutely anything, could be waiting at the bottom. He tensed himself.

So that’s why, when he saw the torches burst into flame, when he heard the twang of an arrow being fired, when he smelt the ambush, he threw himself to the floor. The pain was worth it, he glimpsed an arrow flying over the top of him, the torches that had ignited had illuminated their surroundings.

He got up quickly and took in what was happening. It had been a trap. The fires had been lit by armoured men who were wielding swords and looking pretty pleased with themselves. Several archers, in dark clothing were firing at the isolated group. Two of his men were down already, the arrows taking their toll. Luckily the fires hadn’t turned away the cloak of darkness, and they were still partially hidden. And his men were fighting back, a few had got their bows, and they had the advantage here, the armoured men were totally clear next to the fires and totally vulnerable. One man died as an arrow slammed into his neck, blood spurting onto his neighbour, who had taken one in his thigh, and had collapsed to the ground. The rest had charged in to his other men, and a fast and bloody combat was ensuing in front of Ravin.

Ravin withdrew both his swords and coolly addressed the situation. Don’t panic, his mind reminded him. Take out the first man nearby. The man was charging wildly, his sword high above his head in a rapturous fashion. Raving stepped in to meet him, and eyeing his target carefully, deflected his high attack. The second sword sliced across his neck at the same time. The man dropped. Ravin went in to meet his second opponent who had approached more carefully, loosening his grip and holding his sword outwardly. But suddenly he screamed and charged forward, and Ravin, disturbed by the sudden attack, lost his balance.

He managed to deflect the first blow, from luck rather than skill. He had tripped on the body behind him and his arm had raised his sword. The parry was weak though, and his sword slipped from his hand as he toppled to the ground. But his wits were unhurt; rolling to the side he missed the stab by his attacker. He quickly regained his feet, and the man, struggling to withdraw his sword, didn’t see him. So he slid the sword through the man’s side. The man spat blood and dropped backwards, his hand outstretched, as if still holding on to the threads of life.

Ravin grabbed the sword out of the ground with ease. The fight around him had stilled, his men had beaten back the attack, barely. Three of his men were lying on the floor; dead or wounded he could not tell. The rest sported cuts and blows.

Just then, a hair on his neck prickled. Without thinking, he switched his body round, reversed his right wrist and stabbed the sword, backwards, into the awaiting stomach. It obliged, and the man stopped dead, his sword clattering on the floor. He stood there, choking. Ravin casually pulled the sword out and walked away. The man stumbled for a while, but then fell. Another unnecessary death.

He didn’t have to talk to his men. They knew the risks, they knew the sacrifices, they knew the costs. He simply nodded respectfully.

Their ambushers had scattered. They had won, but he wouldn’t call it a victory. His men were tired, injured and betrayed. They had no contact, they had no food. They had no friends here. They had to get out. The boats!

“Quick, back to the beach!” he said, and dashed off back the way they had come. His men followed, knowing their only way to survival was back over the ocean from whence they had come.

He was a quick sprinter. It did not unduly concern him that he was much faster than his men, and soon a large gap was made, his prime concern was with the boats. It was entirely likely that a second attack had been made on Sheyas and Reina. His mind flickered to Tantra, who was missing. Perhaps he had sold them out? Doubtful, he reconsidered, he was always quiet, but he didn’t look like a traitor.

At last he reached the sand. After the hard drumming on the ground, the give of the dunes was relieving, but it dramatically slowed his pace. However he did his best, and his men soon followed him. But he didn’t have to get too close to smell what he had feared.

The scent of death lingered on the air. His eyes confirmed it; four dead corpses resting near the boats. Or more accurately, the remains of the boats. Strips of wood floated on the waves, surrounded by smaller counterparts. Their escape route had sunk with the rest of the boat.

He didn’t know what hit him harder, the fact he was responsible for the death of four of his men, or the fact that there was now no escape from here. They had killed several soldiers; they would be hunted down like dogs when the sun rose. He gulped.

Whichever way he looked at it, he was in trouble.

Yet, still, he was, but his own
admittance, a selfish man

But should obviously be by.....

But a bag of gold coins could change a man’s heart, and if he had fallen all his men would be captured and strung up on a rope. Along with him. It wasn’t something he intended to happen.

I really like this section. Very well written.

I enjoy this story, I can actually see myself picking it up and reading in a bookstore/library.
However, the problem with alot of Fantasy and sometimes with Sci-fi is that it can get very similar, which is to say, it all starts resembling Tolkein. So some sort of really big plot twist would add alot to the uniqueness of this story, rather than having it be another piece of Tanith Lee-meets-Robert Jordan-meets-George Lucas-meets-Tolkien.

Thanks.

However, the problem with alot of Fantasy and sometimes with Sci-fi is that it can get very similar, which is to say, it all starts resembling Tolkein. So some sort of really big plot twist would add alot to the uniqueness of this story, rather than having it be another piece of Tanith Lee-meets-Robert Jordan-meets-George Lucas-meets-Tolkien.

Ooh, I know. Don't worry, I've got big plans for the story. Hopefully it won't be run of the mill stuff.

Chapter 2


The cave as dank and smelt of rotting flesh, but it would have to do. Anywhere but the open as the sun ascends to it’s lofty perch in the sky, where it shoots down light. Anywhere within it’s grasp. Because they were hiding. The cave could have to do. It was hidden in a deep valley, guarded by two adjacent cliffs and shaded from the sun. And it stretched far inwards. With no bedding they found themselves uncomfortable on the bare stone. It was cold and they’d love to roll on the grass outside. But that would mean capture, and death. So they were cold instead.

Ravin had found the place. He had quickly regained his self-control and decided speedy action was necessary. Whichever group had destroyed the boats was still roaming, and the group they had fought off would have regrouped by now, and almost definitely told their superiors. So they’re first plan was to find good shelter. He had to admit they’d been extremely lucky; he’d gone west randomly and hoped to find anything. They climbed up to the top of the first hill, and found the deep cave.

Whether it was luck or not all that mattered was that they had achieved their first aim. His second aim was food and water. Thirdly, to find transport out of here. But they must first survive. Keeping alive was more important than escaping right now. They had enough water for a few days, he’d made sure about that before they’d left. He wasn’t much of a forward thinker, but he surprised himself sometimes, but nothing more than that had been considered. Little food was available. The latest winter had been terrible, destructive. Hundreds had died. He doubted they would find food around here, unless some wild beast was seen and killed.

Deep in his heart he realised they might have to go to Norforda. That would mean walking right into the army’s hands. Or would it? Sometimes the safest place is the place the enemy least expects…so his father had taught him, all those years ago. He attempted to stop himself thinking back, suppressing and stemming the flashback, but the sorrow was so strong he let go…

He was ten years old all over again. Sat in a large room with a glazed wooden floor, animal carpets, and exquisite paintings lined up along the long walls. A tall powerful man stood in front of him, shouting. He couldn’t recall what he was saying, but he shouted a lot. In front of him was a table, filled with several wooden pieces representing army units. Ravin had smashed them onto the floor. His father had struck him hard on the face, his cheek was red and the pain watered his eyes. Then he remembered what his father had said,

“Real men don’t cry, Ravin, and I’m ashamed to see my son so weak. Get out of my sight and take your knickers with you. Go play with the girls if you want to blubber,” His father had chased him out of the room, kicking at his heels and shouting in his ears.

The memory was clear in his mind, it had penetrated his subconscious and stayed there. He had no idea why, just that it was obviously important in some respect. Perhaps it was just the start of his father’s hatred, and his mutual despise for the old man. He may have been powerful, but he had been old and it had showed, and Ravin realised it had done him no good to tease him.

Another memory flooded back to him…his father was being kind. He had held Ravin’s face to his chest and stroked his hair, and all was content. It had been the day of the local competition. Ravin had entered the sprint and his father had laughed at him, told him he should quit now, he was far too young and the more experienced runners would leave him choking on the dust of the arena floor. Ravin, in his youthful arrogance, had sworn to prove his father wrong.

But moments before the big race, Ravin had vomited to the side and was more nervous then he had ever been in his short life. His father, seeing this, grabbed him hard by the wrist and heaved him to one side.

“Look, you are my son, and I love you. You better damn beat those men out there and I’ll be too embarrassed to speak to you again. Now go, and win,” he said roughly. It was the man’s way, blunt, honest, whether you liked it or not.

Ravin realised encouragement was more of a motivation than hatred ever could be. He had left the other competitors far behind. And he experienced pride, for himself, for his family, and most of all, for his father, who stood there clapping and cheering harder than any man in the crowd.

“Rav?” His mind spiralled back to the present, the face of a young man looking hopefully at him.

“What is it?” he said, more harshly then he had intended.

“It’s Tantra…he’s returned,” the young man said, but then added, “He’s wounded though, pretty badly.”

“Take me too him,” and on command the young man directed Ravin half way into the cave, where a crowd had flocked around a silent figure lying on the stone. It was Tantra with his unmistakeable dark eyes and grave expression. Upon his stomach flooded much blood, leaking from a deep cut across his ribs. Two men had ripped off small pieces of clothing and had attempted to use it as a bandage, however it was weak and didn’t help much. But Tantra’s hand stretched outwards, and he managed to murmur, “Ravin…”

Ravin dropped to his knees and grasped his hand, “What it is my friend?”

Tantra choked but then said, “I’m so sorry…so sorry,”

“For what? You have done nothing…” replied Ravin, confused by the man’s remorse.

“I have done…a very bad thing…please forgive me,” he muttered, clearly finding it hard to speak. He was close to death.
“I forgive you,” Ravin said, “What is it that ails you so?”

“They saw me…and I killed one…but he had sliced my ribs,” he peered down at his wound before continuing, “And then I ran…but they followed me…I saw Robin…and came down here…but they’re coming…I’m so sorry.” He looked at Ravin with deep regret.

Ravin was about to reply but the man’s gargling stopped, his eyes rolled to the side and his arms went limp. He was dead.

Ravin stood up, released the man’s hand and looked grimly at the cave exit. He wasn’t in the mood for a fight, and couldn’t think of worse place to do it, here in this cave. There was only one way out, and that was forward. At least they couldn’t use their advantage of numbers. Yes, they would have more. He had no idea how many, but the could have alerted the whole of Norforda by now. That wasn’t a good thought.

The entrance was little more than a few metres wide. A few good men there, and some with bows behind. And we might make a fight of it. May as well take some of them with us. He was thinking of running, but realised in the open they would be at less of an advantage. There might even be cavalry.

He looked at his men, but there were no words. They nodded at him and he nodded back. Mutual respect.

They all drew their weapons and took their positions. Ravin stood in the front line. Now, come and get us, you whoresons.

* * * *

Captain Corda sat on his horse, looking might please with himself. He was on the summit of one of the tall cliffs surrounding the valley. He had killed several of the smugglers and had cornered the rest in a small cavern. Not a bad night’s work.

Promotion was on his mind. For too many long years he had been satisfied with the captain’s pay, but times were changing and the army was becoming far more powerful, especially as troubles were rife and the council needed the iron fist of the army to keep it down. If he could get control of a whole legion he might be getting somewhere. When the civil authorities floundered, he would be there with sword and shield to take hold of the situation. And then, and only then, would he be satisfied.

But first he must be rid of the cavern fugitives. Not hard, he mused, and decided to only send some of his men. No use sending them all. Instead he’d send one of his young lieutenants to see if was any use.

“Lieutenant Waldic!” he bellowed.

Waldic, sitting peacefully on the ground, contemplating, immediately shot to attention and went up to Corda on his horse, “Yes, Captain?” he inquired. Waldic wasn’t a particularly tall man, and the horse did nothing to increase his stature.

“You will lead the attack. Take two squads, no more,” said Corda. Waldic’s mind raced, twenty men versus at least five men. The Captain continued, “Make it quick. We don’t want to get into any sort of mess,” and smirked, before trotting away. Waldic felt a surge of pride. Corda had chosen him because he thought he was up to the job. He had been here only a couple of weeks and already things were looking up. His first fight. Better choose the best.

Wandering over towards where the majority of men sat, either eating, chatting or just staring. None of them wanted to fight, mostly, they just wanted some peace and quiet. A soldier’s pleasure. The times in between wars. Just a few isolated smugglers, no-one wanted to die over such a trivial cause. But some of them would be chosen, because the vertically-challenged Lieutenant Waldic stood over them with a beaming smile and asked, “Who wants to volunteer for the attack?” in his most dominative voice.

No one responded.

“I said, who wants to volunteer? You will stand to attention when your superior officer speaks to you!” he was annoyed now, annoyed that they weren’t respecting him like the training had always told him. The lesser ranks will always believe in you. Still, no one moved. A few of them looked up at him with the face of a man watching a mildly interesting play. Many just ignored him.

Waldic, wild with fury by now, found the nearest soldier. He was a well-built man and was one of the few that had bothered to look up. To him, the officer had asked for volunteers. And he didn’t want to volunteer. Waldic slapped him badly across the face and ordered him to stand. He did so. Disobeying a direct order was different.

“You, find me a score of the best men. Meet me armed and ready over there,” the Lieutenant pointed to a rocky outcrop just above the slopes down to the cavern. He walked off.

The man who had been fit was in a fit of rage, but he managed to suppress it in front of the officer. Attacking a superior was a hanging offence. Without much enthusiasm he picked some of the new recruits because the old hands looked at him with disgust. At least some of the recruits were more willing; they had only kept quiet because they didn’t want to act differently in front of the older ones.

Swords drawn and faces nervous, he led the young men to the Lieutenant, who was staring impassively at the cave. The man realised he was muttering something under his breath, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was. Not wanting to startle the officer who seemed quick to anger and a little too eager about charging down a hill to face death, he just stood there and waited till the Lieutenant realised he was there. No need to be in any sort of rush.

Waldic turned after a few moments and inspected his troop that would perform the assault. But he frowned at their fearful faces, “In a few moments we will be standing above the captured fugitives. You should be proud! This will be a great achievement, and you will be rewarded well,” he paused and considered what he should do. His training had taught him to always split his forces. Divide and conquer, his instructor had told him. If one group failed, the other may win. Together they would all fall.

It made sense. He told the man he would command ten, and Waldic would take one. One down from the left, one from the right. Now was his chance to prove himself. At the expense of the smuggler’s lives, but Waldic wasn’t going to lose sleep over it.

* * * *

Both groups had approached carefully down the steep grassy slopes, and were now close to the entrance. The occupants must be positioned further inwards, Waldic guessed because they were out of his sight. He motioned to the other group to match his attack. Walking carefully he pushed himself against the cliff wall and began to sidestep, slowly, towards the entrance. The men behind and opposite him followed suit.

It was quiet. Perhaps too quiet for his tastes. He yearned to hear the men unprepared, chattering and moving about. He wanted to hear their comfort, so when he threw himself upon them they would scream more. But there was nothing. Not the soft pat of footsteps against the rocky floor, nor the intake of breaths. Were they even there?

He had almost reached the beginning of the opening and so halted, and showed a flat palm to the men on the other side. They stopped too. His heart was pounding against his chest, adrenaline rushed round his body. This was life! Not the relaxed atmosphere of city life, not the eating of fine food or drink. They were pleasures, but nothing compared to the exhilaration of hanging on to the edge of one’s life and being in complete and utter control of your destiny. That was life.

So when he threw himself round the corner, he expected the men to be unwinding silently, but he was wrong. Instead he faced them, just thirty paces away. Two bows fired. They both went past him and struck men behind. One cried out in pain. The cave was only wide enough for two other men beside him. The rest were piling in behind, so he had to move quickly. The others chased after him as the charge rang out.

Two more arrows flung past him, again, and hit other targets. It was hard to miss the bulk of men running through the cave. It was getting narrower too. Soon there wouldn’t be enough space for three abreast. The light was lessening, too. But he could still choose his target. There were three wielding swords. He locked eyes with a tall, dark man with a curious yellow marking, holding two shorter swords, and was twirling them in his hands, casually. A mark of disrespect. He completely despised the man straight away. Too arrogant.

A couple more arrows were fired, one hitting the roof above him, another narrowly glancing his leg. It slowed his pace, which was lucky. He’d have probably died if he’d still been sprinting when he attacked. But the other men didn’t. The pressure was too much. And there was no space left.

The dark, tall man lifted his sword forward and allowed Waldic to fall into it. It went straight through his gut, with the effort of a knife into butter. He felt overwhelming pain, and the strange wet feeling of blood. It surged in his throat and slipped from his mouth. The man pulled it out and he fell. His eyes dazed. He looked upwards. The fight ensued.

The two other sword-wielders were killing with speed and ferocity. Their first casualties were easy ones – they had almost fallen into the weapon’s, too. But the other men were wary now. He saw the powerful man he had struck telling the men to approach more warily. He saw the two archers draw swords, too. He saw the tall man. He saw him move. He saw men die.

The tall man was a killing machine in such a tight, enclosed environment. His swords spun this way and that, always hitting something, never ceasing, never slowing. In an open space, men could dodge and parry better. But there was no such advantage here. Instead they just died.

But they were fighting back. The powerful man had sliced one of the smuggler’s necks, and another had cut a fugitive’s chest. But it wasn’t enough. They were forced back and they fled. Waldic counted eight men on the floor with him. He lost consciousness.

Wow. I need some tips from you on writing action. Just watch your grammer/spelling. You used 'too' when it should have been 'to'.

“Take me too him,” and on command the young man directed Ravin half way into the cave, where a crowd had flocked around a silent figure lying on the stone

That's about all I found, other than you like to use 'too' a lot. Thing would repeat less if you could replace one with a synonym (that spelled right?) and there was one case (that I cant find now) when you had a word in the present tense when it would have been better in the past. Still, a whole lot better than I've done.

Thanks a lot.

I do have a tendency to use "too" too much!

I don't know why. Should probably look back and change it. Thanks for the one you noticed.

Now I have 2 questions for you:
1) Do you have a name/nickname for the book?
and
2) Where's Chapter 3?

*muttering annoyedly* ...bugging me not to know what happens next...

1) The Sun Prophet

2) Working on at the moment! Give me a break

Got assessments all week! Musto revise! Done most of the chapter anyway...

Don't worry. I was only teasing you. I know how long it takes to write stuff.
I just made up a test for World History class. Lets see...about 10 days had gone by since we'd covered that subject . If I'm lucky, I got a high B.
What assessments do you have? I hate it when we have to take the ISATs all week.

Just ones to see whether we are keeping on target...one's in class, not real ones. But the results get sent to our parents.

I have an English Language one, a Staistics one, and a Maths one.

Chapter 3

Captain Corda wasn’t happy. Which wasn’t a good thing, because he had a bad temper and an aggressive nature. He’d already kicked away one aide and verbally assaulted another for getting on his nerves. He had seen the men flee from the cave, routed by a few pirates. The army was falling to the dogs. All these new youngsters joining, it just wasn’t the same as it used to be. Skill was being dropped in favour of numbers. Quantity over quality.

He did grudgingly admit it might have been partly his fault, allowing a young officer to take the responsibility, and then choose some of the newer soldiers. In hindsight, one of the more skilled and experienced officers could have pulled it off. But he didn’t want to risk them. So there was only one other man.

Himself. True, he hadn’t used a sword in real combat for many a summer, but he doubted his skills had dimmed over time. He practiced often and in his earlier years had been the Silver Fist Sword Champion of all Norforda for three years running. Those had been better days. Now he had his chance the feel the blood-rush feeling of combat again. Get down and dirty, fight properly. Not sitting down barking orders.

So he was going to take the second attack. From the mouths of the original attackers, he’d realised the cave was both narrow and dark, and that too many numbers was not necessarily a good thing, rather a hindrance. The best thing to do would be too lure the smugglers out of the cave. He’d dreamt up a variety of methods, from telling them they would negotiate to tempting them with food and water.

Of course another way would just be to leave them in there until they stumbled out crying for water. But that just wasn’t as fun.

No, he’d rather feel the surge of power as his opponent lies, crippled, against the floor, beaten, humiliated. In that one moment he’d once again feel like he was young and invincible. He wasn’t young anymore, he knew that. Grey hairs stained his scalp and wrinkles disrupted the skin. And he couldn’t fight all day anymore, he’d be happy with just a couple of hours. So he needed to shed blood to feel dominant, to feel younger. Many of the men had told him about a dark individual with spinning swords. He was going to challenge him and if the man had any honour, face him one on one. And he was going to win. You don’t become a sword champion if you can’t fight, and he was confident, more confident than he’d been in many years.

It was all falling into place. Take him on, kill him, regain your old-self, get a promotion, in a few years you’ll be full commander of the city garrison. Then he might be satisfied. But he wasn’t sure; dreams are a fickle thing. Smiling, he withdrew his sword, a gift from the Council. It was light but beautifully made and could slice through the hardest of armours. Soon it would be red.

* * * *


Ravin wasn’t happy. One man was dead, another wounded. He himself had endured several blows and cuts but was able to fight. Three competent fighters were ready for another attack. He knew he should just give himself up, but he would die that way too. There had never been a case when a smuggler had been caught that they’d been spared the rope. They uses it as an example to others, do this and hang, don’t do this and live. Ravin didn’t have the luxury of choice available any longer.

“No arrows left, Rav,” said one of his men. That just added to the misery. Too many things they didn’t have. No food, no water, no rest, no arrows…what else? No escape…the list grew and grew. No medicine either. What might not have seemed a bad injury soon turned into a death inflicting one after a few hour after blood loss. They’re only prevention was some clothing and determination to live. But that had almost gone now too.

All he had left was hatred. Hatred for the men who had killed his men, anger for his situation and utter despair. But most of all hatred. He needed one strong emotion to save himself; hope had gone, hatred had taken its place. Not the best replacement, but it would have to do.

A man stood in the entrance of the cave. Ravin’s eyes glimpsed him first and heard the call.

“You!” he shouted, “I challenge you to the death. Refuse and I will have your men slaughtered.”

“And what if I win?” Ravin replied.

“You won’t win laddie, so let’s not think about that,” Corda said.

“Arrogance is a weakness, my friend. One advantage to me already,” Ravin said with a rare smile, “I accept, as long as none of your men interfere.”

“They won’t,” said Corda.

Ravin just nodded, drew his swords, glanced round at his men and winked. His walk forward was confident, but he was wary of the angry man who was so certain of his own ability. Fear took hold of his heart, and it pumped harder. It soared around his body, attempting to stop his movements, prevent him from approaching. His brain was stronger though. Fear makes us strong, without fear we are nothing. That’s what his father had said.

They faced each other outside the cave, circling, watching each other carefully. The sun was bright, the wind was still, and the day was quiet. Hundreds of men sat or stood on the slopes following the fight with eagerness; a duel was an exclusive thing to view. It broke up their boredom.

Nothing happened for a few minutes. The men seemed to be attempting to understand the other man’s movements, comprehending his style, pace and strength. Then Corda was the first to attack. He brought his sword down quickly. Ravin was equal to the pace and parried easily. But Corda was a fast old man, which surprised Ravin. He was immediately on the defensive as Corda’s attacks swept up, down, everywhere. He blocked furiously looking for a break in the onslaught, but none came. Corda’s sword was like an extension of his arm, smashing and hacking here and there, making Ravin use every ounce of his skill to stay alive. The man was too fast for his age. Ravin concluded he must be a brilliant swordsman still.

Soon the fight dragged on and Corda lost some of his momentum. Ravin had surprised him with his good parries and blocks and had lasted the assault. Corda looked as if he was sweating profusely and let his wrist drop and went for a slower route.

Ravin saw this. He realised the man’s arm was weakening and two fast, and reckoned simultaneous strikes with his swords would probably do it. Excitement swept through him and he realised this was his chance! Moving his feet quickly, he stepped in. His left hand sword he brought downwards on the man’s right, while swinging his right in low threatening his leg.

Corda had feinted. He pushed the left attack away, spun to the side to dodge the second attack, and while Ravin attempted to regain his balance, stumbling in the grass, he struck. He kicked his leg out and Ravin dropped the floor, but as he made to get up again, his eyes met the glare of a sword point.

“You lost, lad. Surrender,” Corda said and beamed.

Ravin nodded and the sword was moved, but was quickly swapped for two soldiers who grabbed his arms and took him away.

“What about my men?” he shouted as he was pulled against his will.

Corda spat on the ground, “You won’t see them again, trust me,” and walked off, happy.

Ravin heard their cries echo from the inside the cavern.

Chapter 4

The ground was awash with blood and the smell of fallen corpses. Birds squawked and landed on the bodies, pecking out entrails of flesh and guts. Except for their cries and the odd flutter of a wing, the place was eerily silent. Strange, because in the morning of the same day it was ringing with the noise of clashing swords and dying screams. Now it was nothing but a forgotten graveyard.

The Break of Shas’er was the only suitable way for an army to pass through into Western Shas’er, the place of civilisation and cities. The towering Mountains of Shas’er prevented any other routes. At least, for tens of thousands of bloodthirsty savages.

Neka Dahara, barbarian warlord, stood triumphantly in the middle of the Break of Shas’er on the remains of the Tentak army that had dared to face him. Stupid really. Waste of life. How could they ever think a bunch of farmers could stop the ever-growing horde that followed him to death and glory?

Unbeknown to him, Neka Dahara was the first foreign ruler to ever set foot past the Mountains. Never before had an invading army won at the pass, yet he was the first, because in recent years, it was not as protected as it used to be. The old fortress had fallen into disrepair, the great wall little more than a pile of rubble. They had simply walked in. Centuries ago, the fortress had been impregnable. Supported by a few thousand men, the place was impossible to scale. But now, it’s glory days had long gone, and it was nothing more than an old ruin, something to gaze on and remember better days.

But Neka Dahara didn’t care about that. He was just happy that he was on the first steps to bringing down the civilisations he’d hated since childhood. No longer would they raid his city, steal his women and kill his children. He couldn’t take it lying down anymore; the memories of his past still haunted his mind. At night they invaded his dreams, he remembered the echoing screams as clear as water.

He had been just a carefree child at the time. They came in their mighty ships, they came in their shining armour, and they came with their weapons of destruction. He had watched as they massacred the inhabitants, hunting down and killing anything that moved. Tears had streamed down his eyes as he saw his father dragged down and killed by sheer numbers, he had fought bravely. His mother was abused hideously.

They had let him go. They told him he was to tell the rest of the cities what they could do. He hadn’t understood, what had we ever done to you? And now, he would see the same people dragged down from their thrones and killed. They deserved it. They would die. They would fall at his feet. He spat on the ground. They would feel what had felt.

Soon orders would be sent for them to begin the first invasion. Once Tentak had fallen, he would take out the other nations, one by one. The all of Shas’er would be his, and the place would be peaceful and tranquil. And he could go back to living a normal life. Once everyone had died. War for peace. Death for love. This was to be the last war.

Sheesh. Nice guys. Remind me never, ever, ever to get on your bad side.
My curiousity is like an itch. If you scratch it, it only itches more.
Ravin is becoming more and more deadly as time goes on. he now knows that he can improve on his skills. Even more, though, is my opinion. A man with nothing is more dangerous than one with everything.

You'd better not have killed Ravin . I'll never speak to you again if you did.
Kidding.
Darn you! When I go to school tomorrow, I won't be able to get this out of my head. That is, assuming I can get to sleep. Oh, well. I asked for it.

Yeh, I do have a lot of quite violent guys in this story don't I? Really, don't get on my bad side Just kidding! I'm a nice guy...riiiight?

Lol!

You'll just have to wait for the next chapter!

OK, time for a bit of my inexperienced critiquing.
Chapter 3:
The first two paragraphs can stand for a brush-up.

Captain Corda wasn’t happy. Which wasn’t a good thing, because he had a bad temper and an aggressive nature. He’d already kicked away one aide and verbally assaulted another for getting on his nerves. He had seen the men flee from the cave, routed by a few pirates. The army was falling to the dogs. All these new youngsters joining, it just wasn’t the same as it used to be. Skill was being dropped in favour of numbers. Quantity over quality.

The second sentence, you are telling. Either work that sentence over, or take it out. I'd give you an idea as to how to revise it, but I don't know. The following sentences imply what the second states.

Umm...The sixth paragraph, first line... try leaving the comma out after 'lies' so it's 'lies crippled' instead of 'lies, crippled'. Line two of same para, 'grey' means old and 'gray' is the color. Or, that's what my handy dictionary says.

Five para after the duel starts, you had 'two' instead of 'too'. ( you have a tough time with that little word, don't you?)


Chapter 4:
Hmm...not much... you live in the UK, so 'civilisation' is correct...
It feels like you're introducing a new character here. These characters all have depressing pasts.

Well, that's it for now. I scratched my itch, and it itches even more now. I knew that would happen, but I scratched it anyways. Typical.
You might see me on here tomorrow, but not likely.

Oh, well.



Posted: Sun Dec 05, 2004 2:06 pm Post subject:

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