What I've missed, Slave King Ch 2

[Damiynn]

Chapter 2


Doral swept the outer chambers of the hall of war wizards with the straw, his head lowered. He knew from past experience not to make eye contact with any of the masters in their rune-marked black and silver robes. Behind him dragged his deformed dragged foot as he did this same task that he performed everyday, this same task that he had been doing since he had been a small child.

Eye contact usually brought derogatory statements about his master keeping him or scathing remarks about how he should be killed for having his deformity. He knew if not for his master's power the other war wizards would have done it a long time ago

Elvynn believed themselves perfect and considered Humans and other lesser races beneath them and one with a deformity was worthless. Luckily, none would act or speak out against his master’s.

That, he thought, balefully eying the back of one who wanted him dead, is probably the only reason I’m still alive.

Maybe, Doral thought hopefully, this year for my eighteeth named day, he might heal my leg, or, even better let me do it with the creational magic he has taught me. Bone mending spells aren’t that difficult.

No one but Loriass knew he had this ability. Doral doubted there was another human in all of Talathandria who knew how to work creational magic. It had been discovered early on in his childhood when he had started doing the things he had watched his master do in the privacy of his chambers.

Loriass figured that the ability probably had been forced into the newborn by all of the magic that had been wielded around him at his time of conception. Refusing to send him away, the supreme mage had instead kept him close. Saying, he was a reminder of what unrelenting pride and shame could be. He was to serve as that reminder all the time.

The Highmage had made him swear under penalty of death that he would never reveal that he could work creational magic or that he had taught some of it to him.

Teaching a slave, especially a human slave, the more superior forms of creational magic was a penalty punishable by death. Actually Doral knew a lot more magic than his master realized.

He had grown up here in the Wizards Tower of Talathandria and had learned early on where the Elvynn were concerned one never reveals how much power one has unless you were in the ruling family, or it could be used against you. But when it came to displaying magical prowess, they all took an exhorbitant amount of pride in their achievements. He watched and learned how to do all of the displays.

Also he had grown up in the chambers of the most powerful war wizard on the planet and had constantly studied his every move and every action both magically and physically every day for as long as he could remember. Despite his cruelness and ice cold nature, Loriass was the closest thing that he had to a family or father.

Unlike the other war wizards of the Tua-latin Loriass believed in the use of anything useful and practiced with weapons almost as much as he did with magic and, in spite of his bad leg and twisted foot, Doral was extremely proficient at both. As the Highmage of the Elvynn in
Talathandria, Loriass had a difficult time finding adequate training partners. Any he trained with would have to be killed sooner or later so that they could not reveal any of his skills or weaknesses to other war wizards who might seek his post.

Instead he had trained Doral to be his fighting partner. Despite his twisted and bent leg and foot Doral managed at times now to hold his own against his master.

Turning the corner in the cylindrical mages’ tower, his broom moving across the marble black floor, he saw a new addition. His eyes fixated on her. She was as elegant a beauty as anything he had ever seen in his entire short life. The sight of her face made his breath catch in his throat. Her dark eyed gaze caught his and seeing that there were no masters about she smiled.

Adjusting his sweeping a little, Doral angled in her direction. Slaves were not permitted to fraternize except during times of respite, early morning or in the late afternoon. Talking during working hours bought a harsh punishment that could vary depending on how severe the master was or, in his case, who the slave’s master was. Using hand signs, which was something that the masters in their arrogance of station hadn’t figured out, Doral asked what her name was. Using the same mode of speech that could almost work as well as any spoken language and had been developed over the course of thousands of years in chains the pretty new slave responded that her name was Bethany and that she was owned by Iindra Nye.

Iindra was a name barely known to Doral, but he knew she was an up and coming war wizard, one of the Tua-latin from a lesser house. When Doral told Bethany his master’s name, her eyes went wide with fright and awe and she almost dropped the rag she was using to dust the figurine in her other hand. She did drop the figurine. It shattered into small fragments. Bethany’s eyes flew wide with fright at both the mess and at the sound of the breaking statue.

Seeing the distress on her face and the look of fear Doral did the one thing he never was allowed to do. Hastily throwing a look about the hall and seeing no masters in sight, he quickly and softly he sought out the lines of force and gathered his magic to him.

Using a small trickle of creational power, he hurriedly remade and reformed the small shattered statue back into one solid piece and bonded them back together with a holding spell.

The female slave’s eyes went even wider than they had a moment before, and looked like they were going to drop out of their sockets. Quickly she dropped her gaze down to the floor as if she was being spoken to by one of the masters and gasped in a soft voice, “You can work magic?”

Doral gaped, fear coursing through his veins like ice in a frozen river. He couldn’t believe he had done that, not in front of someone. Quickly, before any masters appeared he anxiously hissed, “only that much and that is all. Please don’t tell.”

“You did it to protect me,” she said softly, trying to ease his fears. “I had heard that some of the humans in the Du’artha slave mines could work magic but I didn’t believe it. Anyway, according to my mistress, they were all killed for doing so in a revolt.”

Now Doral’s eyes bulged with surprise, “A revolt? Du’artha? Where’s that? I’ve never heard of such and my master is Highmage.”

A small hard smile curved the edge of her lips. “Your master keeps you safe and protected and sheltered in his chambers. Dwelven, dwarves and humans in the slave mines tried to launch a rebellion. The humans tried to learn the dwelven’s magic to overcome the masters, some did but most failed and they were all according to my mistress put to death. Hung on chains, she said, throughout the tunnels above the heads of the rest of the slaves to serve as learning lessons as they rotted away.”

“How do you know all of this, how is it possible that you have heard this and I have heard nothing of it when my master is who he is?”

“My mistress is Iindra Nye. She rules over the slave mines and is here to report to the Queen about this revolt. You are probably learning about it now from me while your master is learning of it from mine in the Highchambers.”

Doral shook his head. This news would put his master in a foul mood. Staring down at his deformed leg and foot, he knew that would mean he would have to live with it a little longer.

 

[HBrookhouse]

Hi

Well, that's a first ... I've started to read a few sample chapters but haven't got further than the second paragraph. Yours kept my attention throughout until the conversation. I'll get onto that in a second.

First, there are grammatical errors (mostly in the form of a lack of commas) but that seems a bit too picky for me to comment on in any detail. There are way too many ands. I like "and" and am not pedantic about them! but if there are too many for me, there's likely to be too many for an agent/publisher!

Perfect example of both ... "Despite his twisted and bent leg and foot Doral" ... lack of comma ... "leg and foot, Doral ...". ... "Twisted AND bent leg AND foot." But also, we've got the picture. You could, by this time, merely refer to his deformity, because we know the deformity relates to his leg and foot.

I got introduced to the Mazalan (hope I spelt that correctly) Books of the Dead and enjoyed them for the same reason as yours gripped me. But not having read many books in this genre, I don't know whether or not this is much of a muchness. I liked it, that's all I can say. I like the way you write. There are errors and things I could pick at, but I actually don't want to detract from how much I liked the pace and flow, the ease of character building and atmosphere. The fact that you had me reading right through (until the dialogue, when you completely lost me) ignoring the errors because I was too keen to know what was going on, means that to focus on the errors now seems ... wrong. Does that make any sense? It only seems wrong for me (like scrubbing down the walls of a small room, so thick with grime it's taken 10 hours, only to have someone come in and point to a spec and say "You missed a bit.")

The conversation, however, is a problem. You're using the dialogue to perform the function of the narrative and people don't talk that way. For example ... “My mistress is Iindra Nye. She rules over the slave mines and is here to report to the Queen about this revolt. You are probably learning about it now from me while your master is learning of it from mine in the Highchambers.”

Most of it is unnecessary to actually say. Especially the last sentence. The fact that Doral's master is learning about the revolt for the first time in the Highchambers implies the fact that they are leanring about this simultaneously. There's really no need to spell out that which is already obvious. That's why, in spite of being gripped by the rest, you completely lost me when you got to the dialogue. Your narrative writing has an ease about it. Your dialogue isn't believable.

Does that help? I'll leave others to point you to the technical errors.

 

[Gudanov]

I kinda feel like I'm just being told a lot of stuff and it doesn't hold my attention well.

I liked this part better ...

Iindra was a name barely known to Doral, but he knew she was an up and coming war wizard, one of the Tua-latin from a lesser house. When Doral told Bethany his master’s name, her eyes went wide with fright and awe and she almost dropped the rag she was using to dust the figurine in her other hand. She did drop the figurine. It shattered into small fragments. Bethany’s eyes flew wide with fright at both the mess and at the sound of the breaking statue.

Seeing the distress on her face and the look of fear Doral did the one thing he never was allowed to do. Hastily throwing a look about the hall and seeing no masters in sight, he quickly and softly he sought out the lines of force and gathered his magic to him.

Using a small trickle of creational power, he hurriedly remade and reformed the small shattered statue back into one solid piece and bonded them back together with a holding spell.

The female slave’s eyes went even wider than they had a moment before, and looked like they were going to drop out of their sockets. Quickly she dropped her gaze down to the floor as if she was being spoken to by one of the masters and gasped in a soft voice, “You can work magic?”

Doral gaped, fear coursing through his veins like ice in a frozen river. He couldn’t believe he had done that, not in front of someone. Quickly, before any masters appeared he anxiously hissed, “only that much and that is all. Please don’t tell.”

“You did it to protect me,” she said softly, trying to ease his fears.

...because something actually happened.

I'd try to tone down the exposition and have more stuff happen.

I've very short on time so I'll just look at one part of that section I quoted.

Iindra was a name barely known to Doral, but he knew she was an up and coming war wizard, one of the Tua-latin from a lesser house. (Leave out the barely known stuff, he apparently does know about her) When Doral told Bethany his master’s name, her eyes went wide with fright and awe and she almost dropped the rag she was using to dust the figurine in her other hand. She did drop the figurine. It shattered into small fragments. Bethany’s eyes flew wide with fright at both the mess and at the sound of the breaking statue. (Too wordy. Maybe "At the sound of his master's name, Bethany trembled and dropped the figurine she had been dusting. She jumped as the little statue shattered against the floor." Just an example, but I don't think you should use words like "fright" and "awe" since they tell the emotions that you are trying to show. Just show. The rag seems like an unnecessary detail that makes the scene flow awkwardly for me. Also, you keep using her eyes going wide, so if you can avoid it here you've still got in reserve for a bit later. Just my opinion.)

 

[FionaW]

Well, here's my opinion - it's not a line edit; I'll leave that to some other enthusiatic soul, and chris will probably be along with his punctuation hound.

I hope it's useful - you have some good ideas here, and I think you just need to think about each piece of backstory and how it could come out in a fully realised scene rather than as dry narrative.

Chapter 2


Doral swept the outer chambers of the hall of war wizards with the straw, his head lowered. He knew from past experience not to make eye contact with any of the masters in their rune-marked black and silver robes. Behind him dragged his deformed dragged foot as he did this same task that he performed everyday, this same task that he had been doing since he had been a small child.

The scene you set up here is a good one, but your description feels flat and your sentence structure is somewhat haphazard. All we have is visual impressions; if you want to take this up a level you need something to pull us firmly into the scene. What is Doral feeling - I mean his physical sensations? he's sweeping - is there dust tickling his nose, or is whatever he sweeps slick and pungent? Does his leg hurt? If so, does it burn, or ache, or feel cold? Maybe he has a sore or ulcer where it drags on the ground. The 'past experience' bit isn't needed. Have him duck his head or cower, then later fill in as backstory exactly what happened to make him afraid. The 'same task since a small child' is flat as well - how about showing that he knows every flagstone, every crack, every mousehole because he's swept here so often?

Eye contact usually brought derogatory statements about his master keeping him or scathing remarks about how he should be killed for having his deformity. He knew if not for his master's power the other war wizards would have done it a long time ago

I would have the passing wizard actually say this, or have two passing wizards so you can get both styles of opinion.

Elvynn believed themselves perfect and considered Humans and other lesser races beneath them and one with a deformity was worthless. Luckily, none would act or speak out against his master’s.

Again, you need to show this in your narrative, not state it like this.

That, he thought, balefully eying the back of one who wanted him dead, is probably the only reason I’m still alive.

Maybe, Doral thought hopefully, this year for my eighteeth named day, he might heal my leg, or, even better let me do it with the creational magic he has taught me. Bone mending spells aren’t that difficult.

No one but Loriass knew he had this ability. Doral doubted there was another human in all of Talathandria who knew how to work creational magic. It had been discovered early on in his childhood when he had started doing the things he had watched his master do in the privacy of his chambers.

Loriass figured that the ability probably had been forced into the newborn by all of the magic that had been wielded around him at his time of conception. Refusing to send him away, the supreme mage had instead kept him close. Saying, he was a reminder of what unrelenting pride and shame could be. He was to serve as that reminder all the time.

The Highmage had made him swear under penalty of death that he would never reveal that he could work creational magic or that he had taught some of it to him.

Teaching a slave, especially a human slave, the more superior forms of creational magic was a penalty punishable by death. Actually Doral knew a lot more magic than his master realized.

He had grown up here in the Wizards Tower of Talathandria and had learned early on where the Elvynn were concerned one never reveals how much power one has unless you were in the ruling family, or it could be used against you. But when it came to displaying magical prowess, they all took an exhorbitant amount of pride in their achievements. He watched and learned how to do all of the displays.

Also he had grown up in the chambers of the most powerful war wizard on the planet and had constantly studied his every move and every action both magically and physically every day for as long as he could remember. Despite his cruelness and ice cold nature, Loriass was the closest thing that he had to a family or father.

Unlike the other war wizards of the Tua-latin Loriass believed in the use of anything useful and practiced with weapons almost as much as he did with magic and, in spite of his bad leg and twisted foot, Doral was extremely proficient at both. As the Highmage of the Elvynn in
Talathandria, Loriass had a difficult time finding adequate training partners. Any he trained with would have to be killed sooner or later so that they could not reveal any of his skills or weaknesses to other war wizards who might seek his post.

Instead he had trained Doral to be his fighting partner. Despite his twisted and bent leg and foot Doral managed at times now to hold his own against his master.

All of the above (between here and my previous comment) is very risky as narrative. I'd suggest you either expand it into a series of scenes that actually show some of this, or drop it from here and then weave all these facts into later narrative. You're infodumping here; I know it feels as though the reader won't understand what's going on unless you do, but readers are (usually!) smarter than we give them credit for. Read Pawn of Prophecy, the first Eddings book, and notice how the first part is about Garion growing up, the realities of his aunt's kitchen, his friends etc etc. There's nothing about who he is or what's going to happen, and yet we read on because we trust Eddings and know that he is going to give us a story that's about more than life on a farm. If you're writing a fantasy novel, you've got 150 000 words to play with, so there's no need to rush at it like this.

Turning the corner in the cylindrical mages’ tower, his broom moving across the marble black floor, he saw a new addition. His eyes fixated on her. She was as elegant a beauty as anything he had ever seen in his entire short life. The sight of her face made his breath catch in his throat. Her dark eyed gaze caught his and seeing that there were no masters about she smiled.

OK. Are we in omniscient POV here? You need to be clear on this. You've just slipped into the POV of a woman 'seeing there were no masters about' and left the POV of Doral. You then jump back to his POV in the next para. This looks clumsy - if it is deliberate, I'd advise you to reconsider, because omniscent POV is very hard to do well, and still harder to get past an editor/agent.

Secondly, incredibly beautiful women are one of the biggest fantasy cliches. All of a sudden I don't care about your protagonist any more - he's just your typical fool panting after a two-dimensional beautiful woman. If she's not beautiful, that's far more interesting. If she's ugly, then there has to be something special about her - or him - to strike a spark between them. If she's disabled as well, then you could have the potential for the sort of characters rarely seen in fantasy.

Adjusting his sweeping a little, Doral angled in her direction. Slaves were not permitted to fraternize except during times of respite, early morning or in the late afternoon. Talking during working hours bought a harsh punishment that could vary depending on how severe the master was or, in his case, who the slave’s master was. Using hand signs, which was something that the masters in their arrogance of station hadn’t figured out, Doral asked what her name was. Using the same mode of speech that could almost work as well as any spoken language and had been developed over the course of thousands of years in chains the pretty new slave responded that her name was Bethany and that she was owned by Iindra Nye.

Again, this is an infodump and deserves a whole scene by itself.

Iindra was a name barely known to Doral, but he knew she was an up and coming war wizard, one of the Tua-latin from a lesser house. When Doral told Bethany his master’s name, her eyes went wide with fright and awe and she almost dropped the rag she was using to dust the figurine in her other hand. She did drop the figurine. It shattered into small fragments. Bethany’s eyes flew wide with fright at both the mess and at the sound of the breaking statue.

Seeing the distress on her face and the look of fear Doral did the one thing he never was allowed to do. Hastily throwing a look about the hall and seeing no masters in sight, he quickly and softly he sought out the lines of force and gathered his magic to him.

Using a small trickle of creational power, he hurriedly remade and reformed the small shattered statue back into one solid piece and bonded them back together with a holding spell.

The female slave’s eyes went even wider than they had a moment before, and looked like they were going to drop out of their sockets. Quickly she dropped her gaze down to the floor as if she was being spoken to by one of the masters and gasped in a soft voice, “You can work magic?”

Doral gaped, fear coursing through his veins like ice in a frozen river. He couldn’t believe he had done that, not in front of someone. Quickly, before any masters appeared he anxiously hissed, “only that much and that is all. Please don’t tell.”

This is better - we have some action!

“You did it to protect me,” she said softly, trying to ease his fears. “I had heard that some of the humans in the Du’artha slave mines could work magic but I didn’t believe it. Anyway, according to my mistress, they were all killed for doing so in a revolt.”

Now Doral’s eyes bulged with surprise, “A revolt? Du’artha? Where’s that? I’ve never heard of such and my master is Highmage.”

A small hard smile curved the edge of her lips. “Your master keeps you safe and protected and sheltered in his chambers. Dwelven, dwarves and humans in the slave mines tried to launch a rebellion. The humans tried to learn the dwelven’s magic to overcome the masters, some did but most failed and they were all according to my mistress put to death. Hung on chains, she said, throughout the tunnels above the heads of the rest of the slaves to serve as learning lessons as they rotted away.”

“How do you know all of this, how is it possible that you have heard this and I have heard nothing of it when my master is who he is?”

“My mistress is Iindra Nye. She rules over the slave mines and is here to report to the Queen about this revolt. You are probably learning about it now from me while your master is learning of it from mine in the Highchambers.”

I would second the comments on the dialogue here - it does need work.

Doral shook his head. This news would put his master in a foul mood. Staring down at his deformed leg and foot, he knew that would mean he would have to live with it a little longer.

 

[Nik]

Um, I think you have the makings of a good story here.

Snag is, at this stage, it reads like the notes I'd scribble before fleshing out a tale. Too much reads like the intro to a second book in series...

IMHO, this exposition should be spread across a bunch of minor incidents. As it was, I began to glaze over...