Well, here it is. This is my first full-length story and probably the only one I've ever really finished. It's set in medieval times and is about an English boy who is captured by Viking raiders. I won't give away any more than that. It's a very long story, about 25,000 words and 50 pages in MS Word, so I've attached the .doc file. I decided not to post it in the Advanced Critiques forum since it has already been thoroughly edited for grammatical errors. Here's a sneak peak at the first chapter.
Chapter 1: Captured
The harsh peal of a war-horn jolted me from my deep slumber. Within seconds I had thrown back the covers and was standing at my window, my eyes scanning the seas and surrounding countryside. It was a gray morning, with dark clouds in the sky and thick fog drifting out at sea.
My gaze was drawn to a dark, almost imperceptible silhouette far out in the ocean. As I watched, more dark shapes appeared, moving rapidly toward shore. The fog obscured their outlines, but I could easily tell it was a small fleet of longboats. Raiders had come to pillage Reymont fief.
Below my chamber window, sentries rushed about, issuing orders and rousing soldiers from their slumber. I knew I must join them in the defense of my home. I threw open the doors of my wardrobe and gathered my suit of leather armor. It was deceptively strong, backed with mail to protect from the slashing of blades. I fumbled clumsily with the straps of the vest. It was difficult to put on without help, being rather heavy and cumbersome.
After ten or so minutes, I was fully garbed, and I strapped my scabbard round my waist and slid in my rapier. Once more I went to my window and scanned the sea. I could now clearly see the small, agile ships, and some were almost close enough to land. Archers on the battlements of Castle Reymont were already showering the raiders with volleys of arrows, but most thudded harmlessly against the hulls of the ships or entirely missed their mark. While I looked on, a team of soldiers readied a ballista and drew it back. When the great projectile was loosed, it sped blindingly fast toward the fleet. The massive arrow punctured the sail of the lead ship and became lodged in the hull of the vessel behind it. I could hear it smash into the wood from my vantage point.
I knew I mustn’t waste anymore time, so I tore my gaze from the battle raging outside and broke into a run, flinging open my chamber door and starting down the stairs. I passed through halls where groups of soldiers were pouring out to defend the castle. Some nodded respectfully to me, acknowledging me as the son of Lord Barrington of Reymont. Before moving on I exchanged solemn greetings with a few younger soldiers I knew from training. A grim mood hung over the castle.
I was panting with exertion by the time I made my way to the courtyard and entered the keep. Captain Brendon Powell, overseer of castle defenses, conversed with soldiers there. He was a massive, muscular man, with short-cropped brown hair and friendly brown eyes. There was always an air of confidence around him, and he was a personable, likeable man. If there was anyone I trusted to lead the castle through this raid, it would be him. Despite the gravity of our situation, the big man called out a cheerful greeting as he saw me enter.
“Aric!” he called to me, and I slowed my pace and walked toward him. “You’re up early today!” He gave a chuckle at his own joke, since I usually slept rather late. I tried to paste a smile on my face.
“Morning, Captain Brendon. I hear we’ve something of a problem on our hands,” I replied, now standing a few feet away. My hand rested on the reassuring hilt of my rapier. His playful air vanished and he suddenly became grave, his brown eyes deepening in thought.
“We’ll need everyone we’ve got and then some to fend off these raiders,” he said. “Glad you decided to join us. I’ve sent guards to protect your father, so you need not worry about him.” I gave an involuntary sigh, relieved to know that my father was safe. He would be a choice target for the raiders, being one of the most powerful men in England. He was close friends with the king and he would be a hefty bargaining tool in the hands of the raiders.
“Where are these filthy pirates from, anyway?” I asked. I guessed they were probably Norsemen, judging from their craft, but I wasn’t certain.
“We’re almost positive they’re the same band that we sighted off our shores last autumn, the Scandinavians,” replied Brendon. “They’re right nasty fighters, what with their massive axes and hammers and such. An all around rather barbaric bunch.” A sentry called to Brendon then, and he hurried away, leaving me to ponder what he had said.
Moments later, an ominous pounding, like the beating of some great drum, began. It was an unnervingly steady “Boom-boom. Boom-boom.” The wooden keep doors shook with each pound, and I knew that it they were being smashed repeatedly with a battering ram. All conversation in the keep rapidly ceased, and everyone’s attention became fixed on the doors. The attack had begun.
There was nothing to do but wait as the doors grew looser and looser on their hinges. Archers continued to rain arrows upon the attackers, but the raiders knelt down and covered their heads with their large roundshields. The pounding continued for several minutes, and still not a word was spoken. Then, as soon as it had begun, the beating stopped, and the doors gave an ear-splittingly loud creak before falling inward. They sent up a cloud of dust, and for a moment it was difficult to see.
I took a step backward and attempted to shield my eyes. As the dust cleared, a roar like a thousand angry wolves rose up from the raiders outside. They rushed forward, unstoppable as the ocean tide, the pounding of their feet sounding like the rumble of thunder. I drew my rapier with a metallic sliding noise from its scabbard.
The first raider to enter the keep was felled with a well-placed arrow to the heart. My eyes locked with his for a fraction of a second, and I saw the spark of life drain from them as he slumped to the ground. Tens of his comrades replaced him in an instant, shouting and shaking their fearsome variety of weapons. Some held axes, war-hammers, polearms, and spears, but most wielded short, blocky swords and roundshields.
As their ranks collided with ours, the ringing and clashing of metal, the unearthly screams of dying men, and the unmistakable metallic scent of blood filled the air. I threw myself into the fray without thought, my rapier becoming an extension of my arm as I danced with deadly grace through the enemy force. I drew upon years of tirelessly honing my skill in this one moment, and now no weapon scathed me as I cut these barbarians down, one after another.
My vision took on a red haze and time seemed to slow down. The blades of my foes moved so slowly to me that I dodged blows with ease. One raider clad in a bearskin charged me, his hammer raised above his head to strike. I darted deftly out of his path, but stumbled on a body and fell to the ground with a thud, the air knocked from my lungs. The last thing I felt was something smashing forcefully into the side of my head, then the world went black.
Enjoy!
And the MC actually finds out later that they aren't quite as barbaric as he once thought.
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