Denise Tanaka
Denise RobargeTanaka
I'm resurrecting an epic fantasy that I drafted many years ago. It already went through a cycle of critiques but for a variety of reasons, I put it aside until now. I've done some sanding and polishing. My question is, does the opening "hook" you in? The excerpt is about 1,000 words.
* * * * [TITLE UNDECIDED] * * * *
Condrie opened the shutters to welcome the silky air of late afternoon. Outside her window, the summer insects buzzed and purred. This was her favorite time of day when the glare of the sun was about to fade and the cool of night was at hand.
Townsfolk closed the awnings of their shops. The brewer, the cooper, the draper, and the chandler one-by-one latched their doors. They loitered in the street to share one bag of dried weed among four pipes. One of them cast a sideways smile to Condrie, but with the men's backs turned she could not identify his face.
Withdrawing from the window, Condrie returned to her routine kitchen tasks. From the wood box, she took an armload of kindling and a bellows, ready to revive the smoldering fire. It would be green pea and bacon soup for supper. A lump of bread dough, that had been rising on the mantle, was ready to be baked.
"Help me!" huffed a hoarse, male voice.
A man thrust his head and half his body through the open window.
Startled, she dropped her bellows. It fell loudly like the stomp of a boot on the wooden floor.
The man glanced backwards to the open window. Insects continued droning undisturbed. He appeared to calm down one notch from total panic.
Surprisingly nimble for a man his size, he tucked up his long legs and rolled over the windowsill. He slammed the shutters and dropped the bolt to seal them. Though he moved quickly, she caught the twinkle of jeweled buttons in a blur of elegant colors. Never had she seen such intense purple, crimson, and vibrant green except in a field of wild flowers. A gentleman... on this side of town?
Crouching beside the hearth, he looked up at her with vivid blue eyes. "Help me, please. They want to kill me."
She flapped her hand to draw him towards the center of the room.
The man helped her slide the heavy table aside. She plucked up an iron ring in the floor's hatch. He didn't balk at the dark pit that her sisters said was haunted. He didn't hesitate to plunge into the root cellar with the garlic bulbs, onions, smoked ham hocks, and radishes. Enough of a glow came from the oil lamp, ensconced on the wall, to see the top of his head. Shaggy, pale hair was like a sheaf of wheat stalks crouching among the vegetables.
Condrie let the hatch fall. The table was too heavy to drag back into place by herself, so she adjusted the stools then dropped a sack full of lemons over the hatch's iron ring.
Someone knocked on the back door.
Condrie swallowed her heart back down into her chest.
"Open in the name of King Davarche of Xol," demanded an angry voice. Several others muttered outside.
She frowned to wonder why agents of the kingdom to the south had ventured so far from their domain. Briefly she wished for the courage to shout at them, Go away, your hornets! You have no business here!
Condrie slid aside the plank that bolted the door.
Knights of Xol entered the kitchen – tall, muscled beings clothed in the black wool of foreign sheep. Metallic chips were riveted to the shoulder pads of their coats and the bracers on their forearms. Crescent gorgets hung over their chests. Their heavy boots pounded on the hard floor. Seven of them -- seven soldiers and seven swords -- entered to poke around. One stayed outside to watch the street.
One beardless knight spoke in a strong, clear voice. "Are you the mistress of this house?"
A woman! In the identical stiff uniform as the others, and with the mannerisms of a cavalryman, Condrie had not recognized this knight's sex until she spoke.
Condrie shook her head to answer. She continued gawking, not only because a woman bores arms in service of the southern king, but she had the exotic look of a foreigner. Pure Xol blood gave her wide-set pale eyes, a blunt nose, caramel-toned skin, and auburn hair that she had chopped short to the collar like the other knights.
"We're looking for a gentleman. Have you seen or heard someone run by?"
Again, she shook her head to answer.
The woman knight stepped in closer to stare face-to-face into Condrie's eyes. "Are you mute?"
"N-n-n-n-no... I-I-I-I-..." Condrie balled her fists, silently cursing her stubborn tongue. Of all the times for it to fail! Why could the words never make the journey smoothly from her mind to her mouth? Especially at a time like this. They'll think I'm nervous; they'll think I'm hiding something.
The other knights checked the window shutter, seeing it was bolted from inside. They poked their leather gloves into barrels of flour and pickles, knocked at the dirty pans, and even picked through the stack of logs by the smoldering hearth.
"Where is your husband?"
Condrie shook her head. "N-n-n-no husband."
"Surely you don't live alone in this grand house? It's got a second floor and, from the street, I saw at least six windows with glass panes! If you aren't the mistress of this house, then where is your master?"
Condrie's tongue gagged in the back of her throat. She wanted to cry out, Don't you know where you are?
"Answer me, wench," the woman knight snapped.
The knight from outside put one foot in the door. "Captain? There's a placard over the door. This isn't a home, it's a paintery."
"We're a b-b-b-b...," Condrie stammered, not sure what a paintery was supposed to mean. The correct word -- such a simple word -- would not come out of her mouth. "We, uh, we open for b-b-business soon."
"A paintery?" The woman knight snickered to her companions. "We're wasting time here. He must have gone the other way."
With a rattle of scabbards, the seven of them filed out the door. The vacant kitchen suddenly seemed enormous when she was alone.
Condrie carefully bolted the door shut. She listened at the open window until she was sure that their heavy boots had tromped farther down the street.
When she raised the heavy trap door, her arms trembled. She wasn't sure if it were from nervousness or the exertion.
"Are they gone?" the man whispered from deep down in the hole.
Condrie nodded.
* * * [END OF EXCERPT] * * *
* * * * [TITLE UNDECIDED] * * * *
Condrie opened the shutters to welcome the silky air of late afternoon. Outside her window, the summer insects buzzed and purred. This was her favorite time of day when the glare of the sun was about to fade and the cool of night was at hand.
Townsfolk closed the awnings of their shops. The brewer, the cooper, the draper, and the chandler one-by-one latched their doors. They loitered in the street to share one bag of dried weed among four pipes. One of them cast a sideways smile to Condrie, but with the men's backs turned she could not identify his face.
Withdrawing from the window, Condrie returned to her routine kitchen tasks. From the wood box, she took an armload of kindling and a bellows, ready to revive the smoldering fire. It would be green pea and bacon soup for supper. A lump of bread dough, that had been rising on the mantle, was ready to be baked.
"Help me!" huffed a hoarse, male voice.
A man thrust his head and half his body through the open window.
Startled, she dropped her bellows. It fell loudly like the stomp of a boot on the wooden floor.
The man glanced backwards to the open window. Insects continued droning undisturbed. He appeared to calm down one notch from total panic.
Surprisingly nimble for a man his size, he tucked up his long legs and rolled over the windowsill. He slammed the shutters and dropped the bolt to seal them. Though he moved quickly, she caught the twinkle of jeweled buttons in a blur of elegant colors. Never had she seen such intense purple, crimson, and vibrant green except in a field of wild flowers. A gentleman... on this side of town?
Crouching beside the hearth, he looked up at her with vivid blue eyes. "Help me, please. They want to kill me."
She flapped her hand to draw him towards the center of the room.
The man helped her slide the heavy table aside. She plucked up an iron ring in the floor's hatch. He didn't balk at the dark pit that her sisters said was haunted. He didn't hesitate to plunge into the root cellar with the garlic bulbs, onions, smoked ham hocks, and radishes. Enough of a glow came from the oil lamp, ensconced on the wall, to see the top of his head. Shaggy, pale hair was like a sheaf of wheat stalks crouching among the vegetables.
Condrie let the hatch fall. The table was too heavy to drag back into place by herself, so she adjusted the stools then dropped a sack full of lemons over the hatch's iron ring.
Someone knocked on the back door.
Condrie swallowed her heart back down into her chest.
"Open in the name of King Davarche of Xol," demanded an angry voice. Several others muttered outside.
She frowned to wonder why agents of the kingdom to the south had ventured so far from their domain. Briefly she wished for the courage to shout at them, Go away, your hornets! You have no business here!
Condrie slid aside the plank that bolted the door.
Knights of Xol entered the kitchen – tall, muscled beings clothed in the black wool of foreign sheep. Metallic chips were riveted to the shoulder pads of their coats and the bracers on their forearms. Crescent gorgets hung over their chests. Their heavy boots pounded on the hard floor. Seven of them -- seven soldiers and seven swords -- entered to poke around. One stayed outside to watch the street.
One beardless knight spoke in a strong, clear voice. "Are you the mistress of this house?"
A woman! In the identical stiff uniform as the others, and with the mannerisms of a cavalryman, Condrie had not recognized this knight's sex until she spoke.
Condrie shook her head to answer. She continued gawking, not only because a woman bores arms in service of the southern king, but she had the exotic look of a foreigner. Pure Xol blood gave her wide-set pale eyes, a blunt nose, caramel-toned skin, and auburn hair that she had chopped short to the collar like the other knights.
"We're looking for a gentleman. Have you seen or heard someone run by?"
Again, she shook her head to answer.
The woman knight stepped in closer to stare face-to-face into Condrie's eyes. "Are you mute?"
"N-n-n-n-no... I-I-I-I-..." Condrie balled her fists, silently cursing her stubborn tongue. Of all the times for it to fail! Why could the words never make the journey smoothly from her mind to her mouth? Especially at a time like this. They'll think I'm nervous; they'll think I'm hiding something.
The other knights checked the window shutter, seeing it was bolted from inside. They poked their leather gloves into barrels of flour and pickles, knocked at the dirty pans, and even picked through the stack of logs by the smoldering hearth.
"Where is your husband?"
Condrie shook her head. "N-n-n-no husband."
"Surely you don't live alone in this grand house? It's got a second floor and, from the street, I saw at least six windows with glass panes! If you aren't the mistress of this house, then where is your master?"
Condrie's tongue gagged in the back of her throat. She wanted to cry out, Don't you know where you are?
"Answer me, wench," the woman knight snapped.
The knight from outside put one foot in the door. "Captain? There's a placard over the door. This isn't a home, it's a paintery."
"We're a b-b-b-b...," Condrie stammered, not sure what a paintery was supposed to mean. The correct word -- such a simple word -- would not come out of her mouth. "We, uh, we open for b-b-business soon."
"A paintery?" The woman knight snickered to her companions. "We're wasting time here. He must have gone the other way."
With a rattle of scabbards, the seven of them filed out the door. The vacant kitchen suddenly seemed enormous when she was alone.
Condrie carefully bolted the door shut. She listened at the open window until she was sure that their heavy boots had tromped farther down the street.
When she raised the heavy trap door, her arms trembled. She wasn't sure if it were from nervousness or the exertion.
"Are they gone?" the man whispered from deep down in the hole.
Condrie nodded.
* * * [END OF EXCERPT] * * *
