Martin Gill
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- Oct 17, 2015
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Take two on Chapter 1. I've split these out now as combined its longer that 1500 words and I don't want to abuse the system here. But rather than start a separate thread, here's a new version of C1. Thanks in advance to everyone who's commented and will hopefully comment again 
CHAPTER 1: THE TRAITOR’S GATE
Kai sheltered in an archway hewn from the bedrock of Norholm. Rain lashed down, running in quick rivulets over stone. The short sprint across the upper ward had left her panting and drenched. The archway did little to shield her from the foul weather, and less still to hide her from the eyes of her Da’s guards that must surely pass by soon. She muttered under her breath, scanning the ward with a furtive glance, straining into the gloom.
Best be quick. Don’t get caught.
A steep stair hugged the inside of the seaward wall, plunging into blackness beyond the gate blocking her way. She rattled the gate, cold iron rough in her hands. White knuckled, gripping the bars with all her young strength, heaving her body against the thing. It barely moved, locked tight.
Course it is. Folk ain’t welcome, not down there, not beyond the gate.
Ghost stories spun in her head, tales of the traitors, the blackest of sinners who lay bloated and rotting and maggoty below. Only the dead lay beyond, cold and uncaring as winter. Or worse still, ravenous and envious, clutching for life. She was a fool to even think of this.
Be brave, like in the tales.
Something moved behind her, the brush of a shadow, the faintest of echoes dulled by the patter of the rain.
Guards.
She ducked, wormed her way into shadow, fast against iron and stone. Chill trickles of rainwater found bare flesh, the cold hands of corpses on her neck. Her heart hammered, loud enough, surely, to rouse even the most slack-witted of the hearthtroop. She strained to see, to hear, yet to remain hidden.
The ward, wide and muddy and wreathed in shadow, was empty.
“Spooking yourself.” She muttered words like a devotion to the Good Mother, as if they could protect her from what lay beneath. Kai knew the undercroft and the tunnels, the dark voids and the tight spaces that wormed beneath Norholm, knew them better than anyone. The dark held no fear, not for her, not like it did for some. But the Traitor’s Gate was another thing. It stood before her, solid, unpassable, looped with thumb-thick links of rusted chain, gnarled and pocked like the bones of a long-dead sea snake. None but the Laird of Lachlann could pass beyond the gate, or so Kai’s Da once told her, and the Laird was far from home beneath the King’s banner waging bloody war on the Francoii.
Naught but ill will come of this.
Grey’s voice still rang in her ears. His stubborn refusal to believe the ragged old man who’d appeared in the night. You’re a fool, he’d said, to heed his word, his claims, and you’re a fool to face the dead. Kai had known differently. She’d seen the truth in his old eyes, or at least bathed in the warmth of the forge fire she thought she had. Now, here, in the dark, she was less sure. But, of all the places beneath Norholm, of the cellars and caves, the twisting tunnels and long-forgotten nooks, beyond the Traitor’s Gate was the one place she’d never been. Perhaps she’d wanted to believe the old man. Perhaps he knew she’d say yes, that her curiosity, her bravado would trump caution, the fear of being caught, the fear of the dead.
The flicker of firelight caught her, jerked her away from thoughts of Grey and the old Druid. Someone was definitely coming. She squirmed lower against the gate, turning her head down, letting her matted braids cast her face in shadow, willing herself to be small, still, unseen. A noise, a muttering. Someone cursing under his breath. Footsteps splashing through the mud, moving quickly.
Kai glanced up. Light glimmered at the rim of the stair, dancing from slime slick stone. No way out that way, and the gate at her back. The rim of the stair, where it dropped behind the seaward wall, was beyond her reach. A short and easy climb in the day, but in the sodden dark with a guard bearing down on her, less so. She braced a foot on the gate and pushed, hauling herself upwards, hands grasping for the lip high above her head. Fingers brushed stone, slid, slipped and with a yelp, she tumbled backwards to crash in a heap by the gate.
Light blossomed in the stairwell, the guttering flame of a brand hissing in the rain. A shadow loomed. This wasn’t how things went in the bard’s tales. The fear of the dead beneath, the fear that the tales might be true, that they did walk, that they did hunger for the warmth of the living, those fears were naught compared to the hollow churn in her belly. She’d face the birch now, for sure, but she’d endured that before. Worse was the burning guilt that her Da would wield the branch, for with the Laird away, justice was his to meet out. His disappointment fell like the weight of a mail hauberk across her shoulders.
She stood, head bowed. Caught.
“Kai?” It wasn’t a guard. It took her a moment to recognize the voice, hushed and hesitant in the dark.
“Grey?” She looked up. Grey padded down the stairs, towering over her, his face flushed amber in the torchlight. “What are you doing here?”
“Couldn’t let you do this alone.” He shrugged, as if this were nothing, but Kai knew him well enough to see the same fear she felt. He brandished a stout iron bar. “Besides, how were you going to get through the gate?”
Perhaps I only wanted to say I tried. Perhaps I don’t really want to know what’s beyond.
Her turn to shrug, as if it were nothing. As if she didn’t need him. As if the familiar scent of leather and oil wasn’t a comfort here in the night. He’d come, and that was enough. She stood aside as Grey jammed the bar between the gate and the stonework and leant his bulk against it. Ground his teeth, strength built from years bending metal to his will at the forge. A creak of rusted iron, of grinding stone and the chain popped, snaking off with a jangle and a crash. Too loud. Someone would hear.
“Are you sure?” He glanced back at her. She nodded, trying to look confident. Grey pushed the gate open with the bar, as if touching it with his hand would compound his guilt. It scraped in protest, an angry iron sound. Unoiled. Unopened for a decade or more. “There’s a reason they keep this thing locked, you know?”
“Don’t worry.” Fear growled in her belly and even she could hear the waver in her voice. Grey was right to be worried. “I’m sure my Da will understand. This is important.”
Grey sighed. “I know. It ain’t your old man I’m worried about.”
CHAPTER 1: THE TRAITOR’S GATE
Kai sheltered in an archway hewn from the bedrock of Norholm. Rain lashed down, running in quick rivulets over stone. The short sprint across the upper ward had left her panting and drenched. The archway did little to shield her from the foul weather, and less still to hide her from the eyes of her Da’s guards that must surely pass by soon. She muttered under her breath, scanning the ward with a furtive glance, straining into the gloom.
Best be quick. Don’t get caught.
A steep stair hugged the inside of the seaward wall, plunging into blackness beyond the gate blocking her way. She rattled the gate, cold iron rough in her hands. White knuckled, gripping the bars with all her young strength, heaving her body against the thing. It barely moved, locked tight.
Course it is. Folk ain’t welcome, not down there, not beyond the gate.
Ghost stories spun in her head, tales of the traitors, the blackest of sinners who lay bloated and rotting and maggoty below. Only the dead lay beyond, cold and uncaring as winter. Or worse still, ravenous and envious, clutching for life. She was a fool to even think of this.
Be brave, like in the tales.
Something moved behind her, the brush of a shadow, the faintest of echoes dulled by the patter of the rain.
Guards.
She ducked, wormed her way into shadow, fast against iron and stone. Chill trickles of rainwater found bare flesh, the cold hands of corpses on her neck. Her heart hammered, loud enough, surely, to rouse even the most slack-witted of the hearthtroop. She strained to see, to hear, yet to remain hidden.
The ward, wide and muddy and wreathed in shadow, was empty.
“Spooking yourself.” She muttered words like a devotion to the Good Mother, as if they could protect her from what lay beneath. Kai knew the undercroft and the tunnels, the dark voids and the tight spaces that wormed beneath Norholm, knew them better than anyone. The dark held no fear, not for her, not like it did for some. But the Traitor’s Gate was another thing. It stood before her, solid, unpassable, looped with thumb-thick links of rusted chain, gnarled and pocked like the bones of a long-dead sea snake. None but the Laird of Lachlann could pass beyond the gate, or so Kai’s Da once told her, and the Laird was far from home beneath the King’s banner waging bloody war on the Francoii.
Naught but ill will come of this.
Grey’s voice still rang in her ears. His stubborn refusal to believe the ragged old man who’d appeared in the night. You’re a fool, he’d said, to heed his word, his claims, and you’re a fool to face the dead. Kai had known differently. She’d seen the truth in his old eyes, or at least bathed in the warmth of the forge fire she thought she had. Now, here, in the dark, she was less sure. But, of all the places beneath Norholm, of the cellars and caves, the twisting tunnels and long-forgotten nooks, beyond the Traitor’s Gate was the one place she’d never been. Perhaps she’d wanted to believe the old man. Perhaps he knew she’d say yes, that her curiosity, her bravado would trump caution, the fear of being caught, the fear of the dead.
The flicker of firelight caught her, jerked her away from thoughts of Grey and the old Druid. Someone was definitely coming. She squirmed lower against the gate, turning her head down, letting her matted braids cast her face in shadow, willing herself to be small, still, unseen. A noise, a muttering. Someone cursing under his breath. Footsteps splashing through the mud, moving quickly.
Kai glanced up. Light glimmered at the rim of the stair, dancing from slime slick stone. No way out that way, and the gate at her back. The rim of the stair, where it dropped behind the seaward wall, was beyond her reach. A short and easy climb in the day, but in the sodden dark with a guard bearing down on her, less so. She braced a foot on the gate and pushed, hauling herself upwards, hands grasping for the lip high above her head. Fingers brushed stone, slid, slipped and with a yelp, she tumbled backwards to crash in a heap by the gate.
Light blossomed in the stairwell, the guttering flame of a brand hissing in the rain. A shadow loomed. This wasn’t how things went in the bard’s tales. The fear of the dead beneath, the fear that the tales might be true, that they did walk, that they did hunger for the warmth of the living, those fears were naught compared to the hollow churn in her belly. She’d face the birch now, for sure, but she’d endured that before. Worse was the burning guilt that her Da would wield the branch, for with the Laird away, justice was his to meet out. His disappointment fell like the weight of a mail hauberk across her shoulders.
She stood, head bowed. Caught.
“Kai?” It wasn’t a guard. It took her a moment to recognize the voice, hushed and hesitant in the dark.
“Grey?” She looked up. Grey padded down the stairs, towering over her, his face flushed amber in the torchlight. “What are you doing here?”
“Couldn’t let you do this alone.” He shrugged, as if this were nothing, but Kai knew him well enough to see the same fear she felt. He brandished a stout iron bar. “Besides, how were you going to get through the gate?”
Perhaps I only wanted to say I tried. Perhaps I don’t really want to know what’s beyond.
Her turn to shrug, as if it were nothing. As if she didn’t need him. As if the familiar scent of leather and oil wasn’t a comfort here in the night. He’d come, and that was enough. She stood aside as Grey jammed the bar between the gate and the stonework and leant his bulk against it. Ground his teeth, strength built from years bending metal to his will at the forge. A creak of rusted iron, of grinding stone and the chain popped, snaking off with a jangle and a crash. Too loud. Someone would hear.
“Are you sure?” He glanced back at her. She nodded, trying to look confident. Grey pushed the gate open with the bar, as if touching it with his hand would compound his guilt. It scraped in protest, an angry iron sound. Unoiled. Unopened for a decade or more. “There’s a reason they keep this thing locked, you know?”
“Don’t worry.” Fear growled in her belly and even she could hear the waver in her voice. Grey was right to be worried. “I’m sure my Da will understand. This is important.”
Grey sighed. “I know. It ain’t your old man I’m worried about.”
