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Sci Fi & Fantasy / As Yet Untitled - Chapter 1
Chapter 1 – Rackan
Imperial Date – 1881
1293 years after the Sundering
Purple and crimson swathes of light suffused the darkening sky, a nightly tableau of wonder out in the wide expanse of the dusty Rackan Plains. The moon shone in diffuse beams, obfuscated by a single cloud, the light filtering the growing dark into a hue of rich colours before true night descended to cloak the earth in encompassing darkness – nature’s ultimate shadow.
Motionless, Sorren stood at the edge of the camp, where the flickering light of the fire ghosted his shadow in fleeting shapes around him. The night was cool, but not as chill as the previous two, when they had been forced to pitch high on a ridge with little protection from the winds that flowed across the harsh region at this time of year. The wind, swirling briskly and laden with eerie portent of unease, whipped noisily about the upper slopes of the rocky barriers.
‘High up for their own protection’, he mused. Those that had stalked them since they’d entered the area would not venture up onto the ridges that crisscrossed the plain, fearing to show aggression in the presence of the wind spirits they revered. Revered? More like feared, as if the extremes of violence they had perpetrated against the scattered border towns of the plain’s eastern edge had been a raid too far, that which even their holy spirits could not condone.
He continued to ponder the sudden change of character of their would-be enemies, who had stalked, yet not seized upon the countless opportunities to ambush or waylay the group as they crossed the plains. Why had they stopped even following them now they had descended from yesterday’s ridge? He could not put his finger on it – yet he had the nagging suspicion that they were being trailed. He dismissed the thought. Hard enough for a group of four to cross the plains without escort. A single traveller would be irresistible to the vicious horse raiders of the Rackan. Still, he could not shift the feeling that there was something else, something to explain this change in behaviour, and he was sure that it didn’t bode well for the group.
Yawning once more, he rubbed his eyes, fighting the tiredness he shared with the others. Fear had kept them awake previously, and now it was uncertainty that kept the exhaustion at bay. Listening to hear the sounds on the air for hints of their stalkers, pausing every now and then on their forced march to survey the surroundings for the slightest signs of pursuit.
A thought, like a passing breeze, a remnant of the wind spirits perhaps. He snorted at that. Wind spirits indeed. He could no more have accepted their existence than he could the mystical powers his younger brother had claimed to possess, until he’d seen them save all their lives scant hours before, a protective shield blossoming out from his outstretched hands, obscuring them from the view of the group of plainsmen that had threatened to ride them down.
I’d thought the Power of the Spires was long gone, but now we’re on a quest to the Monastery where those monks holed up after the Sundering. My Brother, how? where?, his power….too much I don’t comprehend, or maybe I’m just too old to accept change.
Pausing once more to reflect on that sudden thought, what is keeping the plainsmen away? and then he felt it again, more distinct now and yet still elusive in nature. Perhaps it was a wind spirit who’d floated down from the ridge to observe them. Fear flickered swiftly across his face, unknown, unseen, what is it damnit?
Not knowing was the worst bit, he considered. At least he could plan if he knew – the military mind would make its ordered presence felt, with plans, strategies and tactics flowing from the image of the pursuer. Not to be however, a nagging reminder that he had no real idea what it was, save for the feeling that it was probably less hostile to them than to the plainsman they kept behind them.
Coughing nervously at his brief loss of composure, the tall warrior brushed at his mail vest, the uneven jingling of links a reassurance to his troubled mind, and then turned to walk back to the fire and the others seated around it. Surveying the three before him, he smiled deliberately, a brief, wan smile that spoke volumes of the hope and fear they felt. Three similar smiles returned to the faces before him, acknowledgement of the situation, yet clinging to resolve still.
‘What now, my brother? Do we risk sleep and pray the plainsmen do not return, or stay awake another night, and push our fatigue beyond the limits of our fear?’ asked Kalen.
Sorren sighed and closed his eyes; a decision he knew he must make yet had hoped wouldn’t come, before turning to his brother to answer. An agonised pause. ‘Tonight we sleep Kalen. Call it a hunch, but whatever is keeping our stalkers away isn’t likely to vanish with this night. No, we sleep. We’re too tired to stay awake another night. I can feel naught but weariness now, and we are as much use in a fight now as if we were already asleep. Let your nervous horse be our night watchman, he’ll stir if there’s trouble.’ The reluctant leader turned to the other two, relief washing over them as they settled their bodies down by the fire to sleep, finally able to rest. ‘Yes, sleep. Another hard day tomorrow, if we’re to escape these cursed plains with our sanity intact and reach the Monastery of Spires.’ Sorren walked wearily to the far side of the fire, passing his brother, already asleep, and lay down on his bedroll, slowly relaxing his taut and aching muscles with weary exhalations. A few deep breaths more and he hovered on the edge of sleep, listening to the sounds of deep slumber already upon his companions.
Sleep indeed. How we need it after these nights. What keeps them away, does it shield us for protection, or perhaps it but guards its prey, waiting for a cleaner shot? These his final thoughts as the soft and smooth fingers of sleep wrapped around him, sweet envelopment to the troubles outside.
Silent, calm, essence of night itself the group’s protector rested against a boulder just short of the camp’s margin. The sleeping group behind him hadn’t really considered the reason for their comparative safety, alluding too much perhaps to the wind spirits they had felt the nights before, not thinking of perhaps a more tangible aid behind them. Let them sleep, he thought, even as I too must recover my strength. Deep breaths, arms folded across the chest, long bladed knives resting on the lap. The familiar pose of the Zanar Assassin in meditation, deep in relaxation, as beneficial as sleep, yet a heartbeat from readiness should danger suddenly appear. The lean, wiry killer had trailed them for a week now, not interfering until satisfied that these were the ones he sought. Too silent for the trailing plainsmen even, as they found to their cost as he rose amongst their discarded packs like a vision from a dream of doom as they camped one night. Five of the group killed with efficient strokes before anyone else had noticed, and then two more taken down as he exited the camp as quickly as he’d appeared, leaving the remaining two to flee on their horses in terror, cursing the vengeful wind spirits as they went. Swift and silent violence had always scared the superstitious plainsmen and herders far more than a charge of heavily armed Imperial cavalry could, and yet still they send out the ‘patrols’ in the name of protecting the border towns, repeatedly wondering what could possibly overcome such elite troops, before sending another squad out to their deaths, he sneered to himself.
The night darkened to a deep indigo now, scant moments from full night. Deeper breaths and more passing thoughts, Would that I were trailing less sophisticated thinkers. Their leader displays great patience and resolve in planning their movements. A lesser group, even perhaps an Imperial squad would have marched straight across the plains, easy prey for the plainsmen raiders. Keeping a squad of narrow-minded, arrogant troops alive would be rather easier in these hostile conditions, just let them go onwards and guard their backs from the inevitable attacks.
Reflection, detachment – the products of deep meditation and relaxation taught to all of the Zanar from the beginning of their investiture. Only by this controlled process can true physical recovery be started, as well as allowing time for correct analysis of recent actions. The most skilled students, it was said, could control the repair of many wounds and injuries, some serious, whilst in this state of oneness, directing blood flow away from certain areas, whilst speeding nutrient supply and skin repair in others. Like a complex diagram of lines and nodes can the body can be viewed, the nodes at risk assigned colours, the pathways set up along routes from the body’s reserves to allow damage to be healed in a co-ordinated manner. Proper sleep is only necessary once or twice for every cycle of the moon, to allow the mind to dream and fulfil its basic need for total rest.
Time passed in the small camp of rocky scrub, the moon’s arcing passage across the night sky the only measure. A study in silence, the Zanar remained as still as a statue, a deadly sculpture as homage to the barren and often dangerous lands in which it rested. In the camp the four questers slept, deep snoring and relaxed expressions testament to the exhaustion from which they recovered. Even their horses and pack mule rested, grateful of a night without constant checks from the humans, the unspoken fear of pursuit temporarily banished.
As the first glints of dawn peeped over the nearest ridge, the Zanar drew one deep breath and then unfolded his arms, eyes opening to take in the surroundings. He sheathed his knives and then stood, before facing the light and assuming a fighting stance. The sun’s rays poured into the clearing, warmth flooding into the assassin’s bones as he began his morning rituals. To be observed after each period of meditation and at the break of day if possible, the rituals consisted of slow flowing body movements, eyes closed, mind gradually focusing on the energy coursing through the body as it awakened to its full potential once more, swift and efficient, instrument of subterfuge and guile shaped from the willing mould of youth to form a Zanar, the name of Death itself to those who merited retribution. Few were their number, shrouded in secrecy, the very unknown itself an extra weapon to the assassins.
As the sun cleared itself above the ridge, a full disc rising imperceptibly in the air, the Zanar slowed and then stopped his movements before taking a few breaths while he looked around, scanning horizons for signs of movement. Satisfied that the camp had not been approached during the night, he moved over to a large boulder that lay between his previous position of meditation and the still sleeping questers. Feeling just above head height for suitable purchase, the Zanar slowly pulled himself off the ground, to where a lip protruded just above his chest. With consummate ease he raised his left leg level with his arm and angled the foot to grip in a hollow just above the lip, and then with strength borne of iron-hard muscular conditioning, rotated his body upwards to raise himself over the lip. Still in utter silence, the assassin worked his way up to the top of the boulder, fully three body lengths from the dusty floor of the plain. An alcove behind the top portion of the boulder provided a suitable hiding place, the stone’s weathered surface shaded from both light and heat by the jutting peak. The assassin settled himself into the darkened alcove and consumed some of his trail rations, a hard bread covered with dry, tough meat and tasting of little else but whatever herbs the maker could provide to alleviate the tedium of the fare. Raising an eyebrow briefly at the thought of the considerably improved rations that the slumbering group would later consume, he mentally chided himself for the momentary weakness and resumed his patient vigil, mind clear as the expansive sky.
An hour more, and as the earth began to absorb the sun’s heat, the questers slowly began to awaken to the new day, stretching in unison like a bizarre group of puppets, as random yawning and rubbing of limbs made for a wordless study of the range of movement of bodies granted overdue reprieve from ceaseless activity. Sorren woke first and added a small bundle of dry twigs to the fire, gently stirring the embers to renewed vigour. Grateful for the foresight he’d had to carry an armload of wood lashed to the side of a saddlebag, he unrolled a pouch of hide removed from his pack and pulled out a generous handful of meat strips, heavily salted to remain fresh for days. Wiping off the salt he laid the strips on a large griddle that Lania had insisted on bringing, against his advice he noted, and pushed it onto a flattened area above the fire’s base to cook. Mara, Lania’s younger sister sniffed the air and sighed happily.
‘Mmm, Deer……I thought we’d used our fresh rations up two days ago Sorren. Are you merely resourceful or stingy now you’re in charge of us?’ She stretched extravagantly and regarded him impishly. Sorren raised an eyebrow and a half smile stole over his rough features, saying nothing.
Lania leaned over and inhaled the fragrance of the searing meat before turning to her sister. ‘He does what he must to keep us alive, little one. I’m as thankful of the food as I was for last night’s sleep. Your teasing may be just fine back in Seakeep, but a little more respect and gravity must be observed out here in the plains.’ The elder sister reached into a pack for some plates and some hard bread for the meat. Mara pouted and stretched again before standing to rub the stiffness from her legs.
Swirling above them, flowing gently off the ridge in the distance, a sibilant whisper of soft harmonic intonations wreathed through the air, a call to any others nearby. The vague wisps of air coalesced into a cloudlike form, its edges flapping in the currents of air as it observed the questers. As old as the plains themselves some said, only the spirits themselves knew their origins, and not even the fearful worship of the plainspeople had uncovered much more than glimpses of their true forms. Air spirits, not wind as mistakenly believed, it mused. Wind was but a force, air the substance, and the worship was meaningless to the spirits, save that it allowed them to keep track of the various plains tribes by the rituals they performed, who sometimes gathering in their hundreds to pay homage to the vengeful malevolence of the mighty wind. The spirit chuckled, as only a bank of air could, its edges suddenly flaring wide before it settled down once more to watch. Always to watch, for study of these mortals was the only way to learn about them and their unusual ways.
Drawing on memories millennia old the spirit reached back into its own histories, searching for the link to the sight below it. Deeply hidden, layer upon layer of histories, events mingled with comments and its own thoughts like a precious tome with brittle pages, dusty writings of brief memories, the spirits often too skittish and flighty to concentrate long enough to fill even a page of recollections of a single event.
Time unreckoned passed, for the spirit delineated its life not by day and night but by its own cycles of impassioned mingling with fellow spirits to share thoughts, and periods of solitude like this in which to learn and study, adding to the collective memories of his species. Such a human folly, it considered, to so entrap the lifespan in days and nights, of being young and then older and finally too old to do anything, and marking each stage with occasions. Better to live each day as if it were the last, to embrace the full potential of one’s energy and make of it whatever one could. Still, the spirit thought, such regimentation of life had its advantages to the spirit, making them easier to predict and study.
A thought stirred from within, a name of a similar quest as the one it had been following below. Jhaerl. More memories came, unbidden now as the word brought forth unlocked the vault of its mind. Spires, tall and elegant, reached above the plains yet hidden from those who chose not to believe in the Monastery that had stood for aeons. The route that wound across the plains, a vast unrelenting expanse that seemed to defy life to survive across it. A group of four and one other behind, unseen but vital. Always the same number and in the same formation. How many times had the spirits witnessed this bizarre pilgrimage? Jhaerl, the trek to the Monastery, a hopeful initiate to be, only recently aware of his powers. Accompanied by an elder sibling and two companions, and shielded from the plains raiders by one of the Zanar. Always this was the way, and yet never recorded by the humans. None of them knew, not even in their huge libraries in the larger cities were there documents of such quests.
Its call went out once more, but no reply. No other of its brethren were in the vicinity, and it fell to this one alone to observe and learn below. The spirit descended further towards the small camp, drifting haphazardly down on a cooling column of air. It halted near the boulder where the silent assassin waited – the spirit noted his closed eyes and folded arms but the cant of his head betrayed his alertness to noises from the camp. All appeared as normal for humans, the group were clearing up after eating, the comfort of satiety clear to see. Perhaps too clear, the spirit thought, as if the vigour and normality of a full meal would banish the worry and fear of the day they knew they faced.
The spirit watched the group reluctantly pack up their camp, and then disturb the fire until it blew out, before mounting their horses and setting off westward again, towards the next line of low hills on the horizon, the day’s first goal.
A sudden cacophony filled the air – curdling, whooping screams that split the air like the violent rage of an unspent storm. From the boulders to the right of the trotting questers came the Rackan plainsmen – eight horsemen, armed with flashing scimitars raised above their heads, and countless knives stowed about their person, fearsome snarls and war cries issuing from their twisted mouths. They bore down on the group with frightening speed, raising a cloud of dust behind them as they came.
The Questers horses wheeled and reared near uncontrollably, only Sorren among them with enough experience to fight the reins and remain mounted. He drew his longsword and turned to face the assailants, shouting at the others as he did. ‘Quick, up there on the mound ahead of you, get some elevation and I’ll join you soon’. A flicker of cloth on a boulder to his right told him that his suspicion of an hour earlier as they’d left the camp had been correct. He would not meet the plainsmen alone.
‘We must stand here and fight’, gasped Liana as she struggled to free the crossbow from her pack.
‘No, do as Sorren says. I trust my brother and we must get higher ground, if only to fire back at them. We are as good as dead if we fight on equal terms here.’ Kalen remounted and turned his horse, charging towards the mound, his horse eager to escape the violent cries of the attackers behind. The two women reluctantly raced after him, the younger of the two wiping tears of fear from her eyes as she rode.
Sorren watched his friends climb the mound, and turned to ride at the two horsemen nearest to him, as the other six arced around to race after the rest of the group. A last stand then? Perhaps, although we’ll see if our unknown ally is as good at fighting as he is at tracking. He yelled loudly as he raised his blade at the rider to his right, and levelled it suddenly to parry the swift hack of his enemy’s scimitar. The plainsman reached in his tunic for a long knife, his first attack unsuccessful, hoping now to unsettle Sorren with two attacks for his one. The ex-military man was not to be ruffled, however, and thrust with his sword inside the guard of the plainsman’s blade, slicing deeply into his knuckles. The plainsman cursed at the fresh blood streaming from his hand and kicked his horse to ride away from Sorren, leaving him to fight his comrade as he attempted to cover his hand before he returned to finish his prey off with his knives.
A grunt of satisfaction at the retreat, and quickly Sorren turned his horse to face the other opponent, who had ridden down behind his comrade. Having seen the brief encounter the plainsman was prepared for a more skilled opponent, and had already drawn a long knife to accompany his scimitar. He charged right up to the flank of Sorren’s horse and thrust straight at him, even as his knife was angled down to sever the straps of Sorren’s saddle. The ex-soldier ducked inside the longer blade, which cut through the air just behind his mail vest, and swung down with his sword to block the knife, having already swapped hands with it to meet the challenge. Metal clanged on metal, and the force of Sorren’s swing broke the plainsman’s grip on the long bladed knife, which fell to the dusty ground. With both of his opponents arms thrust outwards, Sorren improvised and swung his right arm straight at the plainsman, fist connecting with nose solidly. The plainsman screamed as blood gushed from his broken nose, dropping his sword and clutching his hands to his face. Sorren thrust forward with his longsword, and 18 inches of hard steel plunged through his enemy’s thin jerkin and out of his back, sending the man tumbling from his horse.
Meanwhile, up on the mound of packed earth, Liana had readied her small crossbow, her younger sister crouched protectively in front of her, armed with a dagger, eyes darting around fearfully, and Kalen was struggling around to the back of the small hill with the horses and the mule, which were rearing nervously at the commotion. Liana sighted the lead horsemen of the six galloping towards them, his snarling visage looming large at her as she squinted along the sight, exhaled and fired. The bolt sizzled through the air and tore into the horseman’s neck, who fell from his horse in a mixture of surprise and mortal anguish. Plainswomen did not fight, and the riders clearly expected the females of this group to cower in terror before being claimed as spoils.
The other five riders slowed momentarily, reassessing the defenders above them on the mound. There was much cursing and pointing as they delegated the task of riding up the mound to attack. One of them strayed within an arm’s length of a large boulder as he sought to ride up the left side of the mound and gain a flanking move. It was close enough for the Zanar, who leaped from a ledge atop the boulder, previously unseen by the plainsmen, and tumbled the rider from his horse, one of his long blades slicing across his throat as he rolled off him. The plainsman clutched his neck, gurgling his horrible agony, whilst the assassin leapt quickly up to the second of the group, twin blades punching into the ribcage of the rider who had only just turned his head in surprise to see the new attacker, but now gasped his last breath as his own blood filled his lungs. The assassin was completely silent, his movements lithe and his action smooth, so unlike the belligerent plainsman as to be utterly terrifying in violent intensity. The three remaining riders wheeled suddenly, deciding that the Zanar was a greater threat. One reached down to pull a second knife from it’s saddle loop, and continued his downwards motion as he stiffened with pain, a single throwing disc protruding from his chest. The poison on the razor edged disc was instantly lethal, the rider dead almost before he reached the ground. The rider who had taken a slice to the hand from Sorren had joined the others to attack the assassin now, whilst Sorren himself was trying to control his panicked mount. Gasping in horror he pointed at the Zanar and garbled mindlessly in his native tongue. Grasping the meaning and seeing the terror freeze them momentarily in their saddles, the assassin threw another disc, which tore into the lead rider’s face with a sickening crunch of bones and splattered blood. The last two riders, jolted from their stiff fear by the sudden thought of their own bloody demise, took heel and rode back the way they had come, away from the questers. Lania had by now reloaded her crossbow and took aim at the fleeing group. A sharp whoosh was followed by a scream as one of the plainsmen clutched at his spine, feeling for the embedded bolt, before leaning forward over the neck of his horse. His companion reached over to take his partner’s reins and rode them hurriedly both away in a cloud of dust, not daring to look back.
As suddenly as it had started, it was over, the attackers vanquished or retreating. Mara had not moved since gaining the mound and clutched at her sister in terror, still unable to comprehend the brutal efficiency of surprise and defeat for the Plainsmen, so quickly had it occurred.
Above them all, looking down on the grim remains of the encounter, the air spirit that had observed them at their camp had now absorbed the events of the fight, storing away the sounds and smells to share with his fellow spirits, that they might come to better understand the nature of conflict between these disparate groups of humans. It had seen similar scenes of melee, although usually the attackers, especially in overwhelming numbers had prevailed. The Rackan plainsman certainly seemed to believe that their fearsome reputation would be enough to break the enemy morale, and quickly crumbled into disarray when faced with skill at arms, as had been the case here. It pondered the near silent aftermath of the battle, as it slowly pulsed with the flowing breeze, noting the human reactions as the energy and bravado faded leaving instead a stark desolation on their faces, frightened that such violence had been promised, and shamed at the ruthlessness of victory.
Over on the ground by the fallen horsemen, the Zanar bent to retrieve his discs from their victims, carefully wiping them and his knife on a cloth produced from inside his tight fitting robe. Kalen, who had by now hidden the horses and mule and climbed up the mound from the steeper side, was standing next to Lania and a weeping Mara, struck with awe not only at the ruthless efficiency of the Zanar, but also at the courage of his brother, to take on the Rackan plainsmen with such skill and conviction.
Sorren dismounted and led his horse around the other side of the mound to join the others. He looked up the three on the mound and beckoned them downwards. ‘Come, down to me. Best to keep yourselves and the animals away from such a sight until we’ve all calmed down. There is no romance in the terror of ambush and the smell of blood.’
He heaved a deep breath and walked back towards the Zanar, who was surveying the scene of the brief carnage, looking as unruffled as if he’d just arrived. He bowed towards Sorren, hands together with flat palms, a deep bow of greeting and respect. ‘I sense the soldier in you. Great bravery to hold a charge of Rackan plainsmen, to allow your comrades to seek higher ground, as well as the puissant skill necessary to fight off two attackers with murderous intent. I am Th’Tan, third blade of Zanar, sent to protect a group matching your description. Two men, brothers from your similar looks, and two women, on a perilous quest to the Monastery of Spires. Am I not correct?’
Sorren was briefly stunned as a thousand thoughts tumbled through his mind. Cold fear was replaced by manic paranoia as his mind leapt wildly. How does he know our quest? How did he follow us for so many days with no horse? A Zanar, sent to protect? Quickly recovering he bowed in a mirror of the Zanar’s pose, and then turned to regard his friends, who were staring in wonder at this exchange, having ventured around the side of the mound.
The two men paused. Silent communion of shared experience, cleansing the self of the bitter victory that left others dead about them. No romance for either of them, for they had seen fights such as this countless times; dirty, ugly skirmishes with little time for tactics. It was mastery of the emotions that won these encounters, learning to override the panic and fear of ambush, thinking quickly to adapt to the enemy attacks, no time for speeches or bravado. This was blood and death in all its visceral reality.
Sorren licked his lips, searching for the words to temper his caution and hope. ‘I sensed we were being followed earlier, yet with no horse I can’t understand how you stand here now looking as fresh as the morning sunlight. When I saw you briefly, leaping between those boulders, I instantly thought of the Zanar, and hoped you were on our side, whatever your reasons.’
‘On your side?’ the assassin mused. ‘As it suits my masters, I suppose. Sent to protect, and ensure your safe arrival at the Spires. Now, before we do aught else, we must take what we can from these bodies and make good our departure. They will return.’
‘More plainsmen?’ said Sorren. ‘I thought these were the ones who had followed us since we entered this godforsaken region.’ He crouched down and began rifling through the sprawled corpse at his feet, removing two knives, a small pack of dried meat strips, and a spare flint.
‘You are too hopeful in your assessment. The ones trailing you met their ends but two nights ago. A worthy challenge. Two managed to escape on horseback, which is why this group sought us out today. I meant to take them all, but my skills are rusty after some months, shall we say…away from my training’. The assassin smiled thinly, lips crooked at the inner thought. Away indeed. Fools to blame me for Th’Krill’s failing. I shall yet mete out my exaction.’
Sorren stared into the glittering eyes of the Zanar, trying to look behind to Th’Tan’s hidden meaning in that phrase. Away from training indeed. I am suspicious of his motives, but necessity requires such contrasting partners. ‘I am Sorren Marl, my brother is Kalen, and Lania and her younger sister Mara stand with him. Yes, we are on our way to the Spires. My brother has had…a calling, and so we set out, although to be honest I only know that it’s at the western end of the Rackan, and not much more’. He smiled ruefully, hoping to tease more from his erstwhile protector.
Th’Tan chuckled. ‘Do not think I do not sense your ploy. One as skilled at breaking camp and fighting as you surely knows more of his proposed route before venturing into these murderous plains with but three companions.’
Sorren smiled in reply and bowed again. ‘A worthy protector indeed, Th’Tan’. He reached inside his jerkin for the yellowed parchment held close to his chest, more valuable than all their possessions save their skins of water. He carefully unfolded the map and laid it out on the smooth side of a boulder to his left, motioning the assassin over as he did. A musty smell greeted their nostrils as they perused the fine lines on the parchment, the scent of antiquity pervading every pore of its weathered surface.
Th’tan gestured with his hand diagonally across the map. ‘Here. The next ridge we will cross is the last before the Monastery. Curved in a crescent, away from the dried river bed that trails down to the Sundered Coast’. With luck we can camp in its lee this night, and reach the Spires tomorrow.’
Sorren nodded thoughtfully before folding the map back up and secreting it away. ‘You’ve travelled these plains before then’.
Th’Tan nodded mutely.
‘Right, we’ve lingered here enough. I’m anxious to move on before the plainsmen return in force. Do you think they know our course? I’m not sure Mara could cope with this kind of thing again’. He gestured at the dead bodies with a sweep of his arm.
The assassin nodded. ‘Yes. Agreement. The plainsmen do not fight, or die prettily. As for our course, I don’t think they care, even if they do know. They kill and plunder as a way of life, and as surely as the sun rises and sets do they cause havoc along the border region.’ He moved off towards the others, leaving Sorren to stand and stare at the littered corpses. He sighed and remembered his promise. Yes, Father. I will take Kalen to the Monastery of the Spires. Sitting there with his father’s frail hand in his, feeling the life ebb from him as he made his vow. Too long have I been a soldier, following someone else, sharing the joint destiny of the Imperial forces, the personal whims of the Emperor. Now I will forge my own path. After taking Kalen to the mystical retreat I will escort Lania and Mara back to Seakeep and then leave on my own errands. Things I’ve needed to do for many years. He straightened his jerkin out, checking his now sheathed sword for any new notches, and then walked to join the rest, who stood in a circle regarding Th’Tan.
Kalen had a look of calm acquiescence on his face, accepting the addition to the group as adding to the sum of the parts. Mara’s gaze was one of childish curiosity, hoping to learn all she could about the mysterious figure. Lania however, had eyes of disdain tinged with a cold glint of fear as she coolly looked the Zanar up and down. Sorren sighed inwardly. He’s not the same one Lania, nor should you treat them all so. It was so long ago now, that terrible night that shattered your world. Don’t dredge it up just to help you feel superior.
He rejoined the group. ‘Come on, let’s be off. There’ll be time enough to swap stories round the fire tonight. We’ve still a long trek ahead, and it could be more dangerous after their tribe hear of this little incident.’
Wearily he remounted his equally worn horse. It needed a week’s rest as much as he did, he considered.
Perhaps when this is done, we can both rest awhile. No need to rush the rest of our lives eh?
‘Bring him to me this instant! I demand to hear Makal’s feeble attempts to absolve his guilt in this.’
As the aide scampered away to fetch General Makal, High Commander Morvenna’s harsh tones rang out in the oversized chamber as she paced the floor by her desk, the metallic heels of her boots clanking on the polished marble. She exhaled through clenched teeth several times, outward frustration at her temporary impotence.
For three days now she had been confined to the Imperial Keep – heartbeat of the Imperial forces and official residence of the High Commander. The freak storms that had whipped across the capital city and its hinterlands all week had made even the simple act of walking along the Imperial Way to the Palace a perilous undertaking. Most civilians had been ordered to remain indoors, and trade and commerce had seized up. Kcerre had become a ghost town, for only the vicious wind and torrents of rain travelled the broad avenues and narrow alleys of the Empire’s centre.
Inability to act made Morvenna angry. In fact, most of her advisory staff had come up with half-baked excuses to be elsewhere in order to avoid her presence; such was the fear of her rages. A host of treaties suddenly needed poring over, logistics requisitions appeared by the armful in administrators in trays, and armour that gleamed like the day it was made needed a touch more wax.
Fools, she thought. Do they think I can’t see their treachery? Their shameless cowering? I shall note their names, remember their faces, yes. When time for promotion comes, long shall they rue their craven shunning of me.
Her boots continued their clank back and forth across the floor, a stark and insistent proclamation of her authority and anger. Far above, in the cornices of the high-vaulted chamber, the wind could be heard beating on the domed roof, as if daring to challenge the Commander’s superiority with its own relentless power.
The huge double doors at the other end of the chamber opened, swivelling inwards on oiled hinges, their faces richly inlaid in silver and gold with two halves of a long-forgotten battle scene. Adjunct Tarok entered, flanked by a nervous looking figure who shuffled with a peculiar gait and turned his head this way and that to take in the opulent surroundings. Morvenna straightened herself up and assumed a regal pose.
‘Yes Tarok? Only with a visitor do you dare entertain me with your presence. Speak up, what have you brought with you?’ She cast her eye over the cloaked figure, lips curling in disdain at the worn and ragged appearance of the stranger’s garb.
‘Ahh, erm. He gave no name, most noble Commander. He showed this scroll and insisted he speak with you. He claims to have very important news, and he has travelled many leagues to reach here. I know that you may have more pressing matters on your mind…’
‘Silence Tarok’, the Commander’s curt reply cutting him short. ‘Scroll? Show me and then begone, lest I reconsider your father’s wishes and have you stationed on the Border with the Third.’
Tarok shuddered before straightening and handing over a small, crisp scroll. He turned to the guest and hesitated, then returned his gaze to Morvenna and snapped a perfect salute before marching out of the chamber, the doors closing perhaps a touch more forcefully than was necessary.
A chill silence blanketed the room as the stranger and the Commander regarded each other. Finally Morvenna’s patience snapped and she asked, ‘To what do I owe this presence?’ She unrolled the scroll and began to read. The stranger merely stood and allowed her to simmer as she read the scroll. By the time she reached the end, twin points of red stood in her cheeks and her nostrils were flaring wildly. She screwed the scroll up into her fist and muttered curses under her breath, visibly shaking with rage.
‘Why now? Why in the middle of this accursed storm must this message be brought to me? I can do nothing, nothing. The Imperial Meteorological Office has stated that it may be another week before the city can get back to normality.’ Her voice rose an octave as she trembled. ‘Another week! What would you have me do?’ She resumed her pacing once more, drumming the frustration out onto the unyielding marble floor.
The stranger coolly watched her metronomic striding before pulling back his hood and freeing his hands from the folds of his tattered cloak. Dark brown hair topped his head, and beady green eyes stared out from deep sockets, atop a misshapen nose. He coughed violently, clearing his throat of seeming ages of misuse before addressing Morvenna.
‘Ware that message well High Commander. It was not lightly that I was sent across two hundred leagues and into the eye of this unnatural storm to bring you such a missive. You are charged with the instructions in that scroll. The debt is due, and you must commence repayment on our terms.’
‘Yes, yes. Well am I aware of the terms of the agreement. I do not flinch from my side of the bargain. I consider it a price well worth paying, and it may well even turn out to my advantage to carry this out as put forward. But right now I am stranded here, surrounded by incompetent fools and chained in by this godforsaken weather. Can’t your masters do anything about it? Surely the mighty Xa’charn can deal with a piffling storm. Or are the rumours of their power merely bluff and bluster?’ Morvenna raised an eyebrow and stared at the stranger long and hard, searching for a crack in the façade.
The old man smiled and raised a hand. ‘Calm Commander, be calm. The Council of Mages are aware that the present situation is, unusual. However, we are unable to act to counter this right now. Careful study is required. Mighty as the Xa’charn are, we would not dare strike down a force about which we know very little. Strange things are afoot, but rest assured that we are poised to act the moment we know exactly how to deal with the phenomenon.’
Morvenna blinked and then laughed shrilly. ‘So the mighty Council of Mages doesn’t know who or what has caused this storm, or even how to deal with it? Aah…so they play the waiting game then.’ She snorted. ‘Very well. I can wait too. How long until I must complete the requirements of this?’ She held up the ball that had once been the neatly penned scroll.
‘You will be made aware if you are slipping from the timetable, Commander. For now, you have time enough to plan how you will achieve the objectives. Once the matter of this weather is solved , you may take as long as is necessary to implement the plans, so as not to bring undue attention to yourself of course. It is in the Council’s best interests that their part in this, or your duplicity, remains anonymous’ He saw Morvenna twitch at the word ‘duplicity’, a reminder to her of who was really in charge here.
‘The Council. Corrupt and selfish they may be, but I do not forget what they did for me, nor will I renege on my agreement. Tell them that. Now go, and leave me to plot my next move.’
He nodded his agreement and drew his cloak about him. ‘Very well. I shall leave now.’ Noting her disdain at his garb he added, ‘a necessary illusion as I’m sure you understand. I can hardly amble around the Imperial Keep dressed in my wizard robes.’
Morvenna nodded, lips tight. The doors at the other end of the chamber opened again. She looked over the Mage’s shoulder to see the aide at the door, General Makal standing by his side, red anger flushing his swarthy features. She smiled at the contest to come and dismissed the Mage with her left hand, whilst beckoning the aide and the General forward with her right.
The mage bowed obsequiously and departed, garnering a swift glance from the General, and more nervous muttering from the aide who got within ten strides of Morvenna before once more losing his nerve and fleeing. Morvenna rolled her eyes theatrically at Makal, attempting to force his guard, but he remained impassively angry, body straight as he saluted, lips held taut in annoyance.
For long moments they faced each other, she staring down at him from the raised platform, he forced to raise his chin to meet her eyes. Finally he scowled and asked, ‘for what must I absolve myself Morvenna? Your orders were to let the fleet sail out to calmer anchor until this accursed storm blew over.’
‘Calmer anchor, you fool! Reports suggest that a squadron of the fleet has been seen in the harbour at Seakeep, requisitioning supplies of wine and fine foods. Your ships were provisioned most plentifully before you set out. Why do you have need of more, unless you and your Colonel’s of fleet have a little contraband operation running. I’d thought we’d agreed that death was the penalty for being caught on the water with unlicensed goods.’ She raised an eyebrow questioningly.
Makal spluttered. ‘Reports? Spies hidden away amongst my junior officers you mean! I know about your web of informants. Why do you have Captains and Colonels trained for years through the Academy if you do not trust them to even resupply after enforced periods at sea?’ Sweat beaded across his forehead, and his gaze flickered around the room to avoid his Senior Officer’s stony gaze.
‘You push me too far Makal. I am all for the perquisites of higher management. I consider it a suitable reward for surviving in this bureaucratic mess of an Empire long enough to gain a decent rank. But an entire squadron as near as counts raiding a home port for contraband. Too far Makal.’ She turned to her desk, mulling over her next words, a line between enough reprimand to reinforce her authority and too much that would force Makal to join the small band of conspirators that she knew existed within the upper echelons of her Armies. She needed him as a willing ally for the moment, until her plans were fully in motion.
To her surprise and suspicion, Makal spoke first. ‘I accede that perhaps Colonel Peetros took too much upon himself when he made such a reckless move. I think an enforced period behind a desk in the Naval Command would better suit him at the present time. Perhaps I could interest you in some of the finer goods obtained; Skoramian Brandy, Lowlands cheeses and seasoned meats. Perhaps some fine Silk from Seakeep’s famed Tailors Row would interest you?’ His words came quickly, rolling off his tongue to shield his nervousness.
Morvenna swivelled during his concessions, her anger softening to grudging admiration. ‘You have a knack for drawing my temper Makal. One of your better assets I must say. As for the bribe, how dare you suggest I can be bought. This is serious Makal. We must not allow dissension to spread, the morale of the Armies is weak enough as it is. One force can not be seen to be taking advantage where the others are not.’
She breathed out heavily, and fixed the cold impassive stare back onto her face. ‘Go now Makal. Assign some paperwork to our troublesome Colonel. Think more carefully of your actions in the future. You are lucky I am in such a good mood at the moment, despite this weather.’
General Makal nodded and saluted, brief curiosity plain to see in his eyes. What is she up to? I had half expected to be keelhauled for the actions of Peetros. Still, get while the going is good. He turned and began his march to the door. Barely had he reached the ornately gilded handles when he heard Morvenna’s crisp tones reach him from across the chamber.
‘Three bolts of Seakeep’s finest Makal. You may choose the colours’.
Makal smiled and raised his arm in acknowledgement before opening the double doors and striding away.
Morvenna smiled to herself as she resumed her pacing once more. Well handled Morvenna. He understands the situation well, and now thinks I am favourable towards him for accepting the bribe. Hmmm, Seakeep Silk. What shall I have made of it?... Enough, more pressing matters to consider. This message for one, and how I should best implement my plan. The only thing that bothers me is the last line, ‘Seek aid from the Rackan, where unfettered rebellion can be harnessed to form the sharpest weapon’. Head down, deep in thought, the High Commander planned her treasonous victory.
Outside the wind and rain lashed the Imperial Capital, a tirade of sorcerous power from sources unknown. The city itself seemed to shudder with the strain of the elements, and its embattled citizens peered nervously from their windows, hoping for respite.
The Questers, now five strong, moved onwards during the day, a journey across expanses of plain and unusually shaped ridges. The very surface of the land became more folded and less arid as the day progressed, leaving Sorren to remark that perhaps they had reached the far side of the plains and were now entering the mountains. Which range is it? Ghahan I think. Its been a while since I saw detailed maps of this corner of the Empire. In the far distance he could just see the darker haze of mountains growing from the horizon. He looked at the group around him, tired and weary all, but moving onwards relentlessly towards their goal. Th’tan had taken point and was some hundred paces ahead on a tall horse he’d acquired from the fallen Rackan plainsmen. That the Zanar had so willingly adapted to a group arrangement puzzled Sorren. The legendary assassins were most often lone operators, and contact with ordinary people was usually limited to giving information under duress or being the Zanar’s target. He turned to observe the three friends to his right. His brother Kalen rode with the same impassive stare he’d had since this quest had started. Too little emotion, my brother. You’re not a Monk yet. The sisters, Mara and Lania talked quietly to each other, their soft tones a welcome distraction from the overwhelming silence of the rarely travelled landscape.
Still on about Th’tan aren’t you eh Lania? Sorren sighed. We will need his company to get home in one piece, if the trip so far is anything to go by, and alienating him now isn’t too clever. Since joining the group that morning, Lania had shunned the Zanar, muttering her grievances to her younger sister and casting accusing, pained looks at Sorren from time to time. Taking another swig from his dwindling canteen, he raised his eyes once more to the series of ridges ahead of him, and with a comforting pat of his horse’s neck resumed his silent progress.
Above, constant in its fascination, the air spirit bobbed with the wind currents as it followed Kalen. He was the one it was most curious of, despite his near silence during the day. It was the movements in which the spirit took note. The young man sat his horse confidently, yet scanned the surroundings constantly to check, presumably thought the spirit, for signs of approach by a similar group to the one that had attacked them that morning. The spirit wasn’t sure, but recognised a change in the group, something different to the stored memories of all the previous groups that had undertaken Jhaerl. It searched deep within its shared experiences for the answer, combing through dozens of records of similar trips. As it attempted to find the differences it looked ahead, over the horizon from the Questers, towards their target, as yet obscured to mortal eyes by protective wards.
The spirit suddenly stopped as realisation hit it. It had found the one aberration. The difference between this quest and all of the previous ones. As it observed the Assassin out at the front of the group, it considered this dilemma. Will it make a difference to the outcome? Jhaerl must be completed according to the text of the Ghahanian Histories. Information flowed through the spirit now, as it called upon its entire memory, searching for any clue as to the possible consequences of a misalignment. The assassin and one of the female Questers. It is with them that the misalignment lies. Are they the wrong ones? It cannot be altered now, the course must be run to its conclusion. Fretting now, the wispy outer surface of the spirit undulated rapidly in alarm as it wildly considered the worst possibilities. Then, forcing calmer air through itself, it slowed its movements and returned to following the group, deciding for now to observe, hoping for more clues later that might give sufficient explanation to its dilemma.
The Questers reached the top of the final ridge and stared out into the haze of the grassy terrain before them. Th’tan had told them this would be the first vantage from which they’d see the Monastery. After a night camped without incident in the shelter of a crescented ridge, and bolstered by the addition of the Zanar, the group had recovered more strength. Fresher legs mounted the rise, and brighter eyes searched the horizon, but to no avail.
Lania screwed her eyes shut in annoyance. ‘Where is it? Where’s this damn Monastery eh Th’tan?’ She turned to the cloaked figure, every line of her figure demanding an answer. Beside her, Mara began to weep. Kalen stood, arms outstretched and closed his eyes to the bright sun, facing the mountains that rose in the distance, the highest peaks capped with snow just visible. Sorren coughed and approached Th’tan.
‘I did not say that you would all be able to see the Monastery Lania. If you recall correctly, I was speaking to Kalen. He can see it, look at him. The radiance of the Spires fills his being. It is always there for those who know how to look.’ He bent to remove a skittering lizard that had ventured up his leg, placing it on a nearby rock, where it returned to basking in the warmth.
‘Just relax Lania. If Kalen can see it, then that’s enough for now. He can guide us there. Comfort your sister. The weariness of the trip is getting to her.’ Sorren exhaled heavily, the strain also telling, and walked over to his brother, who still stood enraptured. Laying his hand gently on his shoulder, he spoke quietly to his sibling. ‘Tell me what you see Kalen’.
His brother lowered his arms and opened his eyes, blinking as he adjusted to the light. He smiled as he replied, ‘It’s glorious Sorren. Such magnificence. You will be impressed by the architecture, I can remember the times you would stare at Father’s drawings while he worked’.
Sorren smiled and thought back to happier times. The nights he’d fallen asleep in his father’s workroom, head resting on the latest draught for a new commission. ‘Yes. Its been awhile since I’ve seen some decent buildings. Seakeep has the air of something finished decades ago and barely improved since.’
‘You know why Lania dislikes Th’Tan don’t you?’
‘Yes Kalen. I do. She told me all about it a few months ago. Remember the Merchants Convocation? She had a few too many cups and spilled her guts about her troubled life. I can imagine its hard to see a reminder of that night, but it wasn’t him. The Zanar in question was found a few streets away, dead from his own poisonous dagger’.
‘Th’tan has mentioned nothing to you?’ Kalen turned his head to his brother.
‘No. Nor do I expect him to. He senses her feelings, and he is respectful enough to ride point to keep away from her. That’s enough for now. Once we get you to the Monastery and work out what to do next, then, maybe we can all have this out. I’d rather it didn’t fester. We need Th’tan on the way home. You and I would have been corpses by now if it weren’t for him, and as for the girls…’
Kalen nodded. ‘Yes, Rackan treat women as slaves and whores, I know. The Zanar is certainly impressive, and seems particularly affable considering his trade. I would like you to tell me more of him when you next visit.’
Sorren raised an eyebrow quizzically. ‘You are going to stay at the Monastery, permanently?’
‘Yes. You knew it might be so, Sorren. I have been called, and I must serve. I don’t understand yet how or why, just that I can feel the tug of the power. I think it was that which saved us a few nights ago, not me. Whatever called me to the Monastery wanted to protect us, to make sure we arrived safely.’
‘Ok. Yes. I understand you want to go. I don’t understand much else, but even this crazy trek beats being back in the Second Army, watching the shores for Raiders.’
Am I that glad of leaving the military behind then? The order, the safety of mindless routine. He nodded at that and stretched his arms, working out the tension of holding reins for half a day.
‘Right then you lot. Let’s be off. Kalen – you aim in the direction of the Monastery and we’ll just follow in a nice orderly fashion. Th’Tan, would you scout wide for us, over there a bit’. He pointed at some flatter ground beyond which the haze stretched for miles, before moving forward.
‘As you wish Sorren’, replied Th’tan, who led his horse off to the right of the group, almost out of eyesight after a minute or two.
‘I know what you’re doing Sorren’. Lania at his side. ‘Why does he do as you say so readily? I want answers from him. He must know something.’ She seethed quietly, frustration building in her tone.
‘No, Lania. Leave him be. We must deliver Kalen to the Spires first. This is the reason we’re out here.’ He sighed and nudged his horse around a collection of large, misshapen rocks, lying in their path. ‘Perhaps afterwards, when we get back to Seakeep, you can ask of him what you will. I don’t know why he’s with us, but he saved our lives today, and kept those Rackan madmen off our backs before that. We owe him some trust at least.’
Lania grasped her reins more tightly and pushed away from Sorren to return to a trot beside her sister, the burden of frustration and pent-up anger simmering within.
The group moved onwards through the day, the landscape slowly changing from dry dusty plains to more verdant lands, small hills with increasingly abundant swathes of green. Nature seemed to assert itself in patches here, forcing its way past the barren reality of the Rackan to form a wide Oasis against the Ghahanian mountains that stretched for many leagues beyond the horizon. Later, sounds of birds began to reach the group, and then sparse clumps of trees, before, most amazingly of all, they sighted a stream which ran from a series of rocky outcrops to form a wider flow, increasing to ten or twelve feet in width as it ran in lazy winds off to their right. The group stopped as one at the stream side, and laved their faces and arms, before drinking their fill and refilling their near exhausted canteens. The water found on the plains was scarce, and often too dusty to be drunk without first filtering through gauze.
They stood and stretched as the horses drank gratefully from the stream. The beneficence of this sudden change in terrain was lost on none of them, and palpable relief washed through the group as they realised that had the Plainsmen known of this Oasis, they would have a camp here, with raiders waiting to ambush anyone who stumbled across it. Surely then, they thought, it must be hidden, perhaps only revealed to those travelling to the Monastery.
Suddenly, Th’tan raised his head and asked. ‘Did you all have the same unbidden thought just then. That the plainsmen know not of this sacred place, and it is part of the Quest to the Monastery?’
They all nodded save Kalen who pointed ahead of them, through the sun’s haze. ‘Look, it calls us. We are safe now. The Oasis is respite from the plains for those worthy enough to undertake the journey. We are almost there.’
They followed the point of his arm. Gradually the haze lifted, and a huge building appeared, cut into the sheer wall of the mountain behind it. They gasped in unison, amazed at the sight that unfurled before them. Towering spires, four of them, leapt upwards from the main body of the building, high into the air, glistening in the sunlight with an unearthly rich glow. The Monastery itself sat atop a large rock, folded and lumpy, protruding from the floor of the semicircular valley end, its walls highly stylised and carved with intricate shapes, suggesting an array of ideas and thoughts without identifying anything conclusive. Twin ridges of the mountain reached down to partly enclose the Oasis, stretching for half a league around the group as it lowered in height to no more than a man’s height at its entrance. A path, smooth and arrow straight began from the grass just ahead of them, leading to the front of the Monastery, towards a huge double door that filled half the front wall of the building.
As Lania and Mara gaped at the sight, their exhaustion and fears temporarily eased, Th’tan approached Sorren and Kalen, who sat on their horses nearest to the path.
‘A wondrous sight for tired eyes indeed. You have reached your destination young man. Now begins your real Quest.’
Kalen nodded and smiled. Sorren pointed at the Monastery. ‘You know about the Oasis then. You could have told us before, something to hope for perhaps.’
‘I knew, but did not know. It is the protection of the Spires Sorren. Now I am here, I can remember my last trip here, but before we entered the Oasis, I knew only that Kalen would know the way and we would follow. Hence the Rackan have never found the Monastery, and the monks have been isolated and safe for centuries.’
‘Yes. That does sound reasonable. Well, as reasonable as anything I’ve seen or heard since we left Seakeep. Tell me – the rock that the Monastery sits on, it is so different to the ground or the mountainside. Is it magical too?’
Th’tan shook his head. ‘No magic. It is a wholly natural formation. Aeons ago, Volcanic activity racked this area. The unusual rock you see is lava that bubbled up from the earth. The outside of it cools, yet the inner core remains molten for a great length of time, allowing the rock to relax into formations like this, as gravity and cooling affect it. Your Imperial Geologists would call it Hyaloclastitic. It is highly porous rock, yet also extremely solid, and highly suitable for building upon.’
Sorren whistled through his teeth. ‘You’re a right font of knowledge. I guess you pick it all up on your missions, unless you have a secret library hidden away in your Guild buildings’ He grinned at the Assassin.
Th’tan smiled and nodded his assent. ‘I had a life before the Zanar. Quite the scholar at school. Still…’ His voice trailed off into the fresh, cool air.
Sorren straightened himself in the saddle. He swivelled to locate the sisters. Lania stood by her horse at the stream’s bank, whilst Mara was at the foot of a large tree, its myriad branches without leaves, but supporting a murmuration of starlings that had gathered and now chirped happily at her.
‘Right. Off we go again. Might as well actually turn up at the Monastery, instead of gaping at it like fools all day.’ He nudged forwards and his mount moved off. The others fell into line behind him, Th’tan at the rear, Kalen between him and the two sisters as they gained the path and headed for the imposing entrance to the Monastery. Mara turned in her saddle and stared back at the tree wistfully, the starlings still making sweet music in its boughs.
Satisfied for now, the air spirit took up a position above the tree in which Mara had taken such great delight. It listened to the music of the birds, sweet melody which never sated its joy in hearing. The Questers had safely reached the spires, and it would await the departure of the group, less the one who had been called to the Monastery.
As it watched them reach the entrance of the building, it felt a call on the wind, a gathering susurrus that whispered through the branches of the tree below it. In excitement at the call it almost raced off to rejoin its brethren for the gathering that would enable it to share its memories of all that had passed recently. Then it remembered its plan to follow the Questers back, at least as far as the borderlands where the dust of the Rackan gave way to cultivated farmland and civilisation. It teetered on the decision, its unease displaying in the rapid shifting of form it experienced. Finally it decided – it would remain to follow the group. They would not be long in the Monastery, if previous cycles of Jhaerl were a measure, and it wished to examine the uneasiness between the Zanar and the elder of the two females of the group more closely. It sent out a reply to the call, a fluttering along the breeze. It would join the others at the following gathering, with much more to share then was possible now.
Below, the starlings chirped on, their own songs twisting into the wind to form a joyous chorus. The five Questers, upon reaching the entrance, were greeted by Acolytes and taken into the Monastery, there to await the completion of their Quest.
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solarflare reviewed Version 1 -
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I kind of doubt you got carried away. I just think the story started unfolding for you and you had to keep writing. Right away you grab the readers attention with revealing what is going on. Sorren is worried about the people following his group and wondering why they haven’t been attacked yet. You give a bit of information but leave a lot more out and slowly start to reveal it as the story goes on. One thing you may want to do is when someone is thinking, put those sentences in italics to make it stand out more. From what I have heard on here, to do that you simply put an underscore right before and right after the words or sentences you want in italics. The story will read a bit better with that. Also the way you jump around from one person’s thoughts to another is a little distracting. From what I have seen in books, you should only be able to see one persons thoughts in a certain section. If you want to write what another person thinks, you may have to start a different section after. That is what is usually done I think, unless the point of view is like that of a god perspective and you want the reader to see everything.
The whole part with Morvenna is a bit confusing. It doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the questers and their story so you may want to seperate the two and put it in the next chapter. I’m sure they will come together eventually but they don’t seem to have anything in common right now. I like the way you wrote in the air spirit. It added a little something to the story. I’m not sure if it will turn into something important or not but the way the spirit seems to have been alive for a long time and has seen many things is a neat idea. I see a few similarities with the Zanar and something I’m using in my book but I think that sort of thing will pop up many times. You have a bit of background on the Zanar but it would be interesting to see more of them and why they do what they do.
This is quite long for a first chapter. If you hold off and put Morvenna’s section in the next chapter I think the story might flow a bit better. Overall not too many mistakes. You have a good idea of what you want to write and where you want the story to go. Keep it up.
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TheWorstRobot reviewed Version 1 -
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“Those that had stalked them” should be, “those who stalked them”. Which brings me to the second problem i had with this sentence which was “them” i re-read that part a couple of times and still couldn’t figure out who the “them”. You continue with the they/them without really going into an explanation, i’m assuming maybe they are villages but i feel you should have some way of making that really clear.
“Yawning once more” i don’t want to be a stickler for this kind of stuff i just thought maybe it’d help if you decide to finish the book. He never yawn before this in the story.
You use a lot of obscure words, these can be kind of off putting if there is no way to tell what they mean from the context of the words around them. Especially right in the beginning. If the reader feels stupid at the start they are less likely to be hooked into reading more. Another off putting this is the size, it’s very important that you find a way to break this up into many smaller chapters.
However, i do feel that this is very well written and pretty interesting. The sentence structure is good and you “show not tell” which i hear is very important. i hope that you decide to finish this book, i think it has a lot of potential.
andersda reviewed Version 1 -
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You have a pretty good command of the language, and you tend toward more complex sentence structure – which is a truly outstanding quality in a writer if you can do it – but often the main thought in your sentences falls apart and your meaning becomes muddled. This apears throughout the work. I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think you’ve spent enough time editing the piece. It helps to read it out loud to find the awkward bits. Also, simpler is usually better. The following are examples of what I’m talking about.
“ridges that crisscrossed the plain” Ridges don’t criss-cross a plain they rise up out of them.
“pitch high on a ridge” pitch what tent? make camp?
“High up for their own protection’, he mused” the next bit says they wouldn’t venture that high up for fear of the wind gods.
“Why had they stopped even following them now they” that lost me needs revision.
“The reluctant leader” who? Use a name.
“stalked, yet not seized ” vs. who had stalked, but had not yet seized
“awake previously” vs. awake.
There are so many little things here that take the reader away from what you are writing that you should probably hold offf on any more reviews, revise, and repost.
Huntress080 reviewed Version 1 -
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It plays out like an old fashioned action adventure tell and with some scifi to boot. Have you ever watched the old scifi progams when they run on the scifi- channel. When reading this chapter I got a distinct feeling of nostalga. I think you have definant talent that is worth shaping and pursuing even further than you have already gone.
hellbunny reviewed Version 1 -
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This story was wonderfully written with beautiful imagery.
“Why had they stopped even following them now…” The wording on this is a little off.
He scoffed at the idea of wind spirits, saying he coundn’t believe it any more than he could believe his brother had powers, but then he went on to say he now believes his brother has powers because he has seen it. Does he believe in wind spirits or not anymore? Your wording on this passage is a bit confusing.
I really like how you characterized Morvenna from the way she walks to the way she commands. The reader could tell right away she is a very formidable person.
pipiluv69 reviewed Version 1 -
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First of all just let me say you definitely have potential for writing Sci Fi fantasy. Your story is very descriptive and detailed, which is something I seem to lack in my own storylines when writing, but you’ve managed to incorporate a great deal of imagery in yours here.
On a more negative note, though, I found myself, as the reader, a little confused at times when new characters were being introduced into the storyline. It was sort of jump-rope style of writing, in that you went from one scene with a group of characters to a whole entire different group of characters which left me, as the reader, a little confused to how these new characters fitted into the whole scheme of things within that particular scene. Perhaps also, a little punctuation/grammar/spelling corrections throughout the piece and you’re looking at a very creative piece of Sci-Fi writing.
Yet, overall, very nice writing. I could definitely envision this being written as a screenplay or movie script. Long read..but..Great work.
swebat822001 reviewed Version 1 -
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Im not normally a big fan of science fiction but this i found quite enjoyable. You obviously have a good imagination. You also have a huge vocabulary which somtimes makes it a hard read. I definately think you have a talent for this kind of writing. in my opinion anyway. I would definately recomend this to my friends if it was published.
jamesholmes reviewed Version 1 -
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Having read the prologue to this novel earlier, i feel that this chapter flows on perfectly. Although a little long, i think it would be better cut down into a few shorter chapters might help and stop it seeming so much hardwork to read. The opening paragraph was good however, nice description of the night approaching. The attacks were well written and action packed, especially when sorren is attacked. All in all, a well written and enjoyable piece. Look forward to reading more.
Mario007 reviewed Version 1 -
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I like your story a lot. It starts off with a nice hook where the reader is taken into the world and is helped to get familiar with the protagoinist in though circumstances as he is expreincing the chasing.
The world you’ve drawn us into is very nice as well. I like the mention of Monks and I wonder if you have posted the prologue here on urbis because I have a feeling I’ve read something of a similiar topic.
One advice, if you want to actually potray your character’s thoughts I’d advise you to use italics, here on urbis you do that by putting _ in front of and after the thoughts.
Nice and good luck!
Calypsoidal1 reviewed Version 1 -
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This seemed like at least two chapters, probably four or five. If you can fix the problems in any one of them, you’ll know how to fix them in the rest.
The text was overwritten to the point of being painful. Various tangentially-related thoughts were crammed together into long, unwieldy sentences. These were then crowded into wandering paragraphs. It was hard to know what to focus on, and that made it tedious to read and nearly impossible to simply enjoy.
An hour more, and as the earth began to absorb the sun’s heat, the questers slowly began to awaken to the new day, stretching in unison like a bizarre group of puppets, as random yawning and rubbing of limbs made for a wordless study of the range of movement of bodies granted overdue reprieve from ceaseless activity… What the hell is this? The earth is the subject of the first clause, the questers the second, their limbs the third. then their bodies, then their ceaseless activity…Break it up! The piece is littered with these, and it draws attention to your writing, which should be as invisible as your assassin.
Even something like this: As Lania and Mara gaped at the sight, their exhaustion and fears temporarily eased, Th’tan approached Sorren and Kalen, who sat on their horses nearest to the path. What is this sentence about? Lania and Mara? What they saw? Their relief? Th’tan? The horses? The path?
In the fight, this is even worse. Action needs short sentences. Each word must work. It must move.
There was also far too much telling of things, especially things that you had ample opportunity to embed in the actions, motives, and feelings of your characters. You tell us everything about Zanars, but nothing about THIS ZANAR – who did he learn from? How old was he? What happened if he failed? Was there a school? Was it in a building, with a garden? Did he have friends who helped him practice these things? (And don’t think you have to answer these questions, but any one of them could provide a frame for introducing the Zanar practice without YOU having to come in like a footnote to do it.)
If this is the start, then you need to introduce your party before you introduce the air and the assassin. Who are these girls? Why are they there?
So you got carried away – good for you. That’s what first drafts are for. Now this needs work. Read it aloud to yourself and cut out as much redundancy as you can. You’ll find it, I’m sure.
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