chopper
Steven Poore - Epic Fantasist & SFSF Socialist
right. my writing group thought that Chapter1 (part already posted here) was too slow to start the book with. fair enough, i did originally intend to go outside Cassia's POV to set up some of the backstory, but at the time i didn't want to give too much of the plot devices away and i wanted to see if i could stay in Cassia's POV all the way through the book.
i think i can still do that, but with the exception of the prologue - now reinstated and devised over the last 2 nights. possibly a bit of a long piece, but you'll get the full effect this way
all comments (good & bad) gratefully received, as ever.
Prologue
The castle was being pulled down around his ears.
Baum couldn’t waste time attempting to dodge the stones that fell from above. They thumped onto his back and his shoulders, unbalancing him as he took the steps two at a time; they rattled off his helm and disoriented him, and he staggered and slipped, bracing himself against a wall he knew could give way at any moment. The low, primal roar that shook the stones and clawed through his bones underpinned everything, overpowering and nerve-shattering.
But it could not overcome the raw screams of terror that still echoed up from below.
Thin streams of sorcerous energy trailed around him, blindly seeking him as he climbed. Translucent tendrils that burned when they touched him, searing his skin and scorching his clothing, raising sparks from his armour.
If this was the very edge of the warlock’s rage, then Baum did not dare imagine what it was doing to those left below in the Great Hall. The screaming told enough of a tale.
His entire world jerked, dragged a few degrees awry, and he fell onto the spiralling stairs, his calloused palms tearing on the corners of the stones, his breath torn away for a moment.
A high-pitched cry of agonised pain.
Aliciana -
Even the Queen, he realised, numbly. Not even their beloved Queen would be spared. A vision rose into his mind: the very first time he had seen her, a beauty blazing in the morning on the ramparts above Canevaril’s gates. He had carried that moment in his thoughts for the last five years. Now it was overlaid, horribly, with what he knew would be the last time he would ever see her. Rising slowly from her throne, her face blossoming into dread, the colour all but gone from her unblemished skin, one arm outstretched as if to ward off the approaching danger.
Baum had fled the Great Hall then. And the warlock had unleashed a vicious torrent of magic upon the castle.
"This is how I am repaid? With treachery?"
He didn’t understand. What had they done? What had the High King done to provoke Malessar’s wrath? The warlock had been their ally for the best part of a decade - had helped Jedrell in his plans, had advised him in his steady conquest of the Northern lands. Baum had been there himself when the two men - the two most powerful men in all of Hellea, they had been called - when they had stood on the high peaks above Canevaril, surveying the kingdom below, discussing how to move against the ancient, impregnable fortress. Then, they had shared hot wine, they had laughed and jested, and divided the world between them.
"With treachery?"
But Jedrell was an honourable man. An ambitious man, surely, even a brutal man at times, but treacherous? Baum could not think it of him.
The top of the stairs, at last. Baum staggered as the entire tower shook. He didn’t have long, and he was certain Malessar’s fury would topple the structure very soon. He thought he might have to find a different way back down.
The door already hung ajar, no longer fitting its twisted frame. He could hear two voices in the room beyond, one sobbing, the other a child’s frightened wail. He barged through the door and cast about quickly for the child.
The wet nurse huddled on the floor by the child’s crib, her eyes wide with terror, pleading him to save her. But his attention was focused on the small bundle in her arms - the most important person in the castle now. The most important person in his life. His sworn duty. He had failed to protect his liege, down there in the Great Hall; now there was only one part of his oath to fulfil.
Even as he ripped the child - the High King - from the wet nurse’s arms he was looking desperately around the room for something, anything, that could be used to assist his flight from the lethal powers below. But the nursery was spartanly furnished: only the crib and the wet nurse’s own pallet lined the walls, while the table and two chairs in the middle of the room would be of no use to him. That left the thick woollen curtain that had been pulled across to prevent the night’s chill touching the room -
Of course. The curtain. It was as insane a thought as he had ever had, and he could only pray that the tower would fall in the right way, but if there was nothing else to work with…
Hands tugged at his shirt, pulling him back. He tore himself away, backing towards the curtain, and the wet nurse fell onto her knees.
“Please, sir! Save me! For Pyraete’s sake, save us both!” she cried.
She was young, a distant cousin of the Queen, he’d understood, and the resemblance usually tugged at his heart. But even so he already had little enough chance to live through the night.
A resounding crack, then a rumble from deep underneath. There was no more time, he realised.
“I cannot,” he said simply, and leapt through the curtain to the small balcony outside, the world tilting madly to one side as he moved.
The tower was coming down - the warlock’s fury had destroyed the foundations, ripping them from the ground. Baum was assailed by tiles that slid from the roof, smashing into his head and back as he shielded the child in his arms. He felt his stomach lurch as his field of vision wheeled about and the castle’s curtain walls seemed to surged upward to meet the tower.
He had only one chance for this insane trick, but judging the right moment was nearly impossible with the stones flying apart around him. Not even time for a prayer.
He hurled himself into the air, away from the crumbling balcony, twisting his body in mid-leap, and landed hard on the rampart, skidding along on the backplate of his armour until he hit the wall under the crenulations, the infant still clutched tight to his chest. His helmet flew off and disappeared over the edge of the rampart, lost forever.
Baum gasped for breath that wouldn’t come and turned once more, keeping the child under his body while the ancient tower finally collapsed in on itself, spraying stones and thick, lung-clogging dust with a long series of shuddering roars.
This is what a castle sounds like when it dies, he thought, knowing that he could never forget it.
He could not stay where he was - he was still not safe. He clambered to his feet and staggered along the wall in the direction of the postern gate, furthest away from the chaotic wreckage of the Great Hall. It was hard to tell - his eyes streamed as he tried to blink away the thick clouds of stone particles - but he thought the gatehouse still stood.
He cast a quick glance behind him: the curtain wall itself was beginning to yaw outwards dangerously. It would not last long.
One man can do all this? It seemed that Jedrell had seriously underestimated the warlock’s powers. But we knew he was a dangerous man.
Baum summoned the last of his strength and sprinted along the wall as fast as he dared, gathering new hope when he saw that the gatehouse was indeed intact. It was deserted - the guards had already fled - and he followed after them, taking the road north, out of the kingdom.
There were others on the road around him, crying, angry, afraid, wounded: he jogged on, paying them no heed. They would try to return to the castle, to salvage what they could, but Baum knew there would be nothing left for them but death.
Malessar would be true to his word: he would extinguish the people of Canevaril forever.
At last exhaustion took its toll on his muscles and he subsided into a weary limp as he passed the waystones that marked the kingdom’s northern borders. The child had long since stopped crying and now slept peacefully in his arms. Baum lowered himself into the grass by the side of the road and gazed down at the boy for a while, waiting for the morning to come.
“You will never come into your inheritance,” he told Jedrell’s son softly. “Malessar has made certain of that. Your life will be miserable and incomplete. But I swear this, and I swear it to Pyraete: I will not rest until I have broken the curse that Malessar has set upon Canevaril. Whether it takes one year, ten, or ten hundreds of years, I swear that I will revenge the High King of Canevaril.”
A soft breeze swept over them as he finished, and Baum thought he heard a single word carried upon the air.
Sworn.
i think i can still do that, but with the exception of the prologue - now reinstated and devised over the last 2 nights. possibly a bit of a long piece, but you'll get the full effect this way
all comments (good & bad) gratefully received, as ever.
Prologue
The castle was being pulled down around his ears.
Baum couldn’t waste time attempting to dodge the stones that fell from above. They thumped onto his back and his shoulders, unbalancing him as he took the steps two at a time; they rattled off his helm and disoriented him, and he staggered and slipped, bracing himself against a wall he knew could give way at any moment. The low, primal roar that shook the stones and clawed through his bones underpinned everything, overpowering and nerve-shattering.
But it could not overcome the raw screams of terror that still echoed up from below.
Thin streams of sorcerous energy trailed around him, blindly seeking him as he climbed. Translucent tendrils that burned when they touched him, searing his skin and scorching his clothing, raising sparks from his armour.
If this was the very edge of the warlock’s rage, then Baum did not dare imagine what it was doing to those left below in the Great Hall. The screaming told enough of a tale.
His entire world jerked, dragged a few degrees awry, and he fell onto the spiralling stairs, his calloused palms tearing on the corners of the stones, his breath torn away for a moment.
A high-pitched cry of agonised pain.
Aliciana -
Even the Queen, he realised, numbly. Not even their beloved Queen would be spared. A vision rose into his mind: the very first time he had seen her, a beauty blazing in the morning on the ramparts above Canevaril’s gates. He had carried that moment in his thoughts for the last five years. Now it was overlaid, horribly, with what he knew would be the last time he would ever see her. Rising slowly from her throne, her face blossoming into dread, the colour all but gone from her unblemished skin, one arm outstretched as if to ward off the approaching danger.
Baum had fled the Great Hall then. And the warlock had unleashed a vicious torrent of magic upon the castle.
"This is how I am repaid? With treachery?"
He didn’t understand. What had they done? What had the High King done to provoke Malessar’s wrath? The warlock had been their ally for the best part of a decade - had helped Jedrell in his plans, had advised him in his steady conquest of the Northern lands. Baum had been there himself when the two men - the two most powerful men in all of Hellea, they had been called - when they had stood on the high peaks above Canevaril, surveying the kingdom below, discussing how to move against the ancient, impregnable fortress. Then, they had shared hot wine, they had laughed and jested, and divided the world between them.
"With treachery?"
But Jedrell was an honourable man. An ambitious man, surely, even a brutal man at times, but treacherous? Baum could not think it of him.
The top of the stairs, at last. Baum staggered as the entire tower shook. He didn’t have long, and he was certain Malessar’s fury would topple the structure very soon. He thought he might have to find a different way back down.
The door already hung ajar, no longer fitting its twisted frame. He could hear two voices in the room beyond, one sobbing, the other a child’s frightened wail. He barged through the door and cast about quickly for the child.
The wet nurse huddled on the floor by the child’s crib, her eyes wide with terror, pleading him to save her. But his attention was focused on the small bundle in her arms - the most important person in the castle now. The most important person in his life. His sworn duty. He had failed to protect his liege, down there in the Great Hall; now there was only one part of his oath to fulfil.
Even as he ripped the child - the High King - from the wet nurse’s arms he was looking desperately around the room for something, anything, that could be used to assist his flight from the lethal powers below. But the nursery was spartanly furnished: only the crib and the wet nurse’s own pallet lined the walls, while the table and two chairs in the middle of the room would be of no use to him. That left the thick woollen curtain that had been pulled across to prevent the night’s chill touching the room -
Of course. The curtain. It was as insane a thought as he had ever had, and he could only pray that the tower would fall in the right way, but if there was nothing else to work with…
Hands tugged at his shirt, pulling him back. He tore himself away, backing towards the curtain, and the wet nurse fell onto her knees.
“Please, sir! Save me! For Pyraete’s sake, save us both!” she cried.
She was young, a distant cousin of the Queen, he’d understood, and the resemblance usually tugged at his heart. But even so he already had little enough chance to live through the night.
A resounding crack, then a rumble from deep underneath. There was no more time, he realised.
“I cannot,” he said simply, and leapt through the curtain to the small balcony outside, the world tilting madly to one side as he moved.
The tower was coming down - the warlock’s fury had destroyed the foundations, ripping them from the ground. Baum was assailed by tiles that slid from the roof, smashing into his head and back as he shielded the child in his arms. He felt his stomach lurch as his field of vision wheeled about and the castle’s curtain walls seemed to surged upward to meet the tower.
He had only one chance for this insane trick, but judging the right moment was nearly impossible with the stones flying apart around him. Not even time for a prayer.
He hurled himself into the air, away from the crumbling balcony, twisting his body in mid-leap, and landed hard on the rampart, skidding along on the backplate of his armour until he hit the wall under the crenulations, the infant still clutched tight to his chest. His helmet flew off and disappeared over the edge of the rampart, lost forever.
Baum gasped for breath that wouldn’t come and turned once more, keeping the child under his body while the ancient tower finally collapsed in on itself, spraying stones and thick, lung-clogging dust with a long series of shuddering roars.
This is what a castle sounds like when it dies, he thought, knowing that he could never forget it.
He could not stay where he was - he was still not safe. He clambered to his feet and staggered along the wall in the direction of the postern gate, furthest away from the chaotic wreckage of the Great Hall. It was hard to tell - his eyes streamed as he tried to blink away the thick clouds of stone particles - but he thought the gatehouse still stood.
He cast a quick glance behind him: the curtain wall itself was beginning to yaw outwards dangerously. It would not last long.
One man can do all this? It seemed that Jedrell had seriously underestimated the warlock’s powers. But we knew he was a dangerous man.
Baum summoned the last of his strength and sprinted along the wall as fast as he dared, gathering new hope when he saw that the gatehouse was indeed intact. It was deserted - the guards had already fled - and he followed after them, taking the road north, out of the kingdom.
There were others on the road around him, crying, angry, afraid, wounded: he jogged on, paying them no heed. They would try to return to the castle, to salvage what they could, but Baum knew there would be nothing left for them but death.
Malessar would be true to his word: he would extinguish the people of Canevaril forever.
At last exhaustion took its toll on his muscles and he subsided into a weary limp as he passed the waystones that marked the kingdom’s northern borders. The child had long since stopped crying and now slept peacefully in his arms. Baum lowered himself into the grass by the side of the road and gazed down at the boy for a while, waiting for the morning to come.
“You will never come into your inheritance,” he told Jedrell’s son softly. “Malessar has made certain of that. Your life will be miserable and incomplete. But I swear this, and I swear it to Pyraete: I will not rest until I have broken the curse that Malessar has set upon Canevaril. Whether it takes one year, ten, or ten hundreds of years, I swear that I will revenge the High King of Canevaril.”
A soft breeze swept over them as he finished, and Baum thought he heard a single word carried upon the air.
Sworn.
