Tonight we’re going to take a small break before getting to part six of Pushed to the Edge. I’m not usually big into poetry but I’ve been taking a creative writing class that is focusing on it. We were asked to write a sonnet and it’s the first chance I’ve had to write in the fantasy genre. I decided on a sonnet through the eyes of Alsalam as he’s watching the attack and defense of his village in last week’s episode. It peeks into a troubled and nervous mind. Of course, it has limitations by form alone, having only 14 lines to work with and only 10 syllables per lines. That really makes you consider each word carefully, a good writing lesson.

I think it worked in the end. I’m even a little impressed with what I came up with. Another fun twist was how David records the poem. The fun thing of poetry is that everyone interprets a piece differently. He really does a great job with the serious tone and it’s fun that his pauses come at different places than when I read it.

But enough of my rambling. I hope you enjoy it. Part six will be back next Tuesday!

Conflicts of Battle

Invading drums commence the steady beat
of a soldier’s march. The General calls
a charge, their avalanche of swords to meet
His own forest of spears. How many would fall?

Men shouted, men fought, men let out a call
of battle so sound it was heard around
Death’s field. Injured were forced to try and crawl
across hard packed dirt of striking red ground.

He watched the scene in a too common way,
A thought that wearied his soul. These brave men
wore masks of strategy, some would ever lay.
Tales would number those, rounding off to tens.

Yet to the man all fought at his command,
In time some might commend this brutal stand.

I’m getting back into things this week. I want to thank you guys for hanging around! I thought surely my subscribers were going to drop these last couple weeks. Happily, it has not been so! DaDave has had some positive news. His cancer hasn’t spread past the liver, and they expect a good outcome. We still have the highest hopes for a speedy recovery!

Next Tuesday we’ll get back into the weekly podcast. Next Sunday or Monday I’ll probably do a catch-up post to remind everyone what’s going on in Adventures Through The Window. I also have some reviews to catch up on, and a number of other things. Consider this fore-warning of many posts to come.

To get back into the postings, I’ve decided to share something I wrote recently. David, who narrates our podcast, has decided to get back into music and we’re talking about making some geeky rap songs with a medieval theme. I’m told the official term is Geek-hop, dig it. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity! This is the first song we’ve been working on. He’s a lot better at beats and such, and he’s helped me a lot with editing. I don’t know that this will be the final draft (I’m actually quite sure it won’t be), who knows what will happen once the recording starts. I feel like some things need tweaking, but I’m curious how he’ll interpret it and read it.

I hope you guys enjoy!

Ridin’ through the forest on the back of my horse,
behind me come shouts as they follow my course,
A glimpse of my face was enough for their advance,
Not all blindly came, but most would want this chance.

I leapt from the back and ducked quick into a roll,
the horse kept on running, knowing where to go.
I hid behind a tree as the guards rode on by,
the price on my head brought greed to their eyes.

As they pass I depart back the way that we came,
Snatching up an old cloak and dark, withered cane,
In seconds my appearance looks nothing the same,
Back at the gates to the castle I seem quite plain.

The guards seem suspicious but don’t sound the alarm,
All was going fine till that hand laid on my arm,
I snatch at a knife tucked safe in my cloak,
I slash across his neck and his blood starts to soak.

The alarm bells ring, but it’s part of the plan,
I dash toward the cellar of the King’s right hand,
I sit above the wine racks quietly in place,
A natural chameleon, a mark of my race.

The cellar door slams open up top of the stairs,
the heavy boots of guards pounding hard in pairs,
I watch as they search for any possible threat,
Then they push the king in panting, covered in sweat.

Convinced the king safe, most guards swept from the room,
Little did he know the guards were sealing his doom.
I leapt down from the racks throwing two daggers hard,
Each dagger flew true to the neck of his two guards.

Now alone with the King, I turned and drew my sword,
He falls to his knees saying feeble prayers and wards.
I claimed the Gods would answer nothing he said.
Those eyes showed defeat as I took off his head.

My duty complete, there’s no time to waste,
I had to get away and I knew they’d give chase.
I tossed the worn cloak in need of new garb
Beneath the old rags I was clothed as a guard.

Two more of them died outside the cellar doors,
A flash of surprise as they fell to the floor,
Along the west wall stood a gate to the drain,
A dozen gold coins meant that it wouldn’t be chained.

A breath of relief for the lock was open wide,
I grin at the convenience and then slip inside.
It’s now a straight shot right to the ocean,
That cool morning breeze there to greet my freedom.

I really like my post today.  It is another one of my older pieces that got a face lift recently.  I wanted to work on my writing of characters.  In this piece I tried not to tell story that was happening, but to show it through this man’s eyes. The writing book I recently finished made a big point of this — of showing instead of telling — so I felt obligated to do service to his lessons and give it a shot.

The blacksmith’s apprentice pounded hard at the tough steel with great determination. Butterflies danced in his stomach. Not since his first days working with a hammer had he felt this way. He certainly showed no outward sign of it. When he was so engrossed in his work his face became as hard as the anvil he pounded on, and the hammer rang true with that deep concentration put into every strike.

In the back of his mind he could feel the sweat that poured freely down his muscular body. The burning fires of the forge cast a glow upon his slick chest. It was just another aspect of his duty, of the hours he had worked to perfect the shield. Great effort went into every aspect. His teacher and mentor would not be disappointed.

At long last he put down the hammer. In admiration the man inspected the creation carefully for any flaws, though he expected none. The Ingal was centered to perfection. The great dragon claw that symbolized the kingdom was unmistakable. Only the King’s personal guard received shields of this nature. It was a great honor to be allowed a hand in the creation of one.

The metal worker smiled at the achievement lying before him. He hung the shield with pride above his station. Tonight the ceremony would take place. His work would be admired by the entire court while the knight was inducted into the King’s Guard. After tonight, he would no longer be an apprentice.

I’ve been trying to think of a fun way to challenge myself in my writing. Today it came to me. A long time ago I was on a writing forum that had duels among members. They were always relatively short exercises of the imagination of or writing styles. Things like “a hero returns home” among others. What is so nice about it is that it gets authors out of their comfort zones. I know what I like to write about, and sometimes those topics made me really think outside the box.

So I’ve decided to carry it on here. I’m going to attempt an exercise like that once a month. Nothing incredibly long, but original pieces all the same. From time to time I plan to try extra hard to challenge myself. Since it’s the introduction to this new idea, I’ve decided to share my favorite of those duels. I hope you enjoy it!

Sorry if there are any errors, I didn’t have time to edit this post.

The black robed man stepped from the dark woods into the calm clearing. Few had stepped from them in many centuries, and those only by invitation. This man passed without fear. The trees around him leaned away as he walked. They creaked and groaned from his mere presence. Before him stood a massive stone gate. Steel bars, cut and shaped into the form of spider webs made up the ten foot barricade. With another step it too moved away from him, allowing entrance.

The gates clashed together again as he walked through, but the man did not flinch in the slightest. He kept on forward, coming to a small hill and a path leading up it. A dense growth of great oak trees surrounded the path in many areas, restricting view toward the hill top. He crossed under the trees in the dead silence. In fact, no sound had been heard since the gate closed. He remembered that clearly now, but it did not bring back any other thoughts.

As he arrived at the top of the hill, the rock path spread outward into a stone circle. In the center flowed an immense fountain. The figures of three women, carved from the finest granite were polished to a fine shine. They were his wives. He remembered that clearly now as well.

Gargoyles lined the outside of the circle. Each was carved from black obsidian. He remembered some of those: one of a snarling creature with claws ready, one staring intently toward the passage down, one poised in a position to take flight. The Temple behind them was no less spectacular. Wide balconies hung from the second story. Their edges were chiseled into symbols and scripture. The stone itself was dark gray, and the borders and trim were black as night.

He walked confidently up to the door. It was made of thick wood that stretched five feet across and more than twice that in length. It’s front was carved into an immense scene of war. Komdons, Kroluths, and Yzendri all battling, or slaughtering to be accurate, an ancient city that once was not far from here. He remembered it all now, at last. Grinning ever so slightly he urged the door aside, and it obeyed.

I’m excited to get to share this post. It was an event getting accepted into the contest. Those who have been following the blog already know about what happened, so I won’t repeat it. Feel free to read my previous post if you are curious. Needless to say, they accepted my entry despite the problems. I started this short story from a chapter of my Lands of Draknor series. I had to edit away 1800 words in the process because of the 3000 word limit, what a trial that was! Mostly I took away things that had to do with the back story relevant only in the scope of the longer series and not to the story itself.

I’m happy to say that the sickness is almost over. I spent the last three days on the couch doing absolutely nothing. I did get to watch a lot of movies though. I had some thoughts of The Dark Knight that I wanted to share, so I think I’m going to do it in its own post. Mostly it has to do with Heath Ledger.

I hope you enjoy the story, please make a comment if you do. It’s always nice to hear feedback on my writing. I’ll keep everyone posted about how it does in the contest. I found out the weekend of the convention, February 20-22, if I won or not.

Prince Renier Matrala was escorted through the halls of the High Keep. The final part of the ceremony had not been explained like the rest.  He assumed it had to do with the serpentine tattoo of Nyxor.  Each member of the Draknor Society had one on their left arm.  The two men escorting him each had one.  Only one was visible to him, but it was safe to assume the other had one as well.  After all, this ceremony was the most trusted secret of their society.

It seemed obvious that everything up to this point was for show.  Not that the written tests he had taken were easy.  They tested him in subjects such as history, philosophy, mathematics, and what felt like a dozen others.  For him, they had added special lessons on top of that, ones taught by his own people of Palsarrien.  Lessons of state, politics, social behavior, and the history of his people were as required of him as studies here, if not more so.  It was one of the stipulations for his father’s acceptance to be sent to this place so far from their kingdom.  A prince worked twice as hard as everyone else with his studies.

He knew the real reason his father had sent him, or thought he did anyway, and that was the extended life of his only heir to the throne.  It was another of the effects of being a Draknor.  He supposed it shouldn’t still bother him; it was a sound decision for the good of his kingdom.  Or the good of his bloodline at least, and was that not the same thing?  His father would say it was.

The young prince found himself wondering again about what was going to happen, where he was going, and about that tattoo.  He wasn’t afraid of the pain, but he still felt nervous.

They turned one last corner and came to a doorway with sconces lit on either side.  He tucked his thoughts away and found the calm he sought easily.  The two men positioned themselves to either side of the door, facing him.  So, they would stand guard while he was in there.  He moved forward.

“When you enter, disrobe and prepare your mind.  You need not be nervous, it is better that you not be.”  The man on the left said, and the other picked up where he left off.

“This is a ceremony of faith, may your Will be strong and reliable.  If it is, Nyxor will accept you.”

Cryptic to be sure, he had no idea what it meant.  He wasn’t going to walk away now though, how could he?  He walked up and pushed on the doors with some surprise at their balance.  As heavy as they looked, they moved easily on their hinges and opened into the room beyond.  The room was simple with only a circular red rug and a rack that he assumed to be for his clothing.  They had made him remove his shoes before entering the fifth floor, where the ceremonial chambers were housed, so all he had were his pants, smallclothes, and bandana.  Without clothes he suddenly felt the need for a bath.  The perspiration from his weapons demonstration had dried quickly in the cold night air, but he still felt dirty from it.

Renier stepped through the doors, again noting the balance, and into an enormous room.  His breath caught at the vastness of it.  A long, red carpet was spread along the center, interrupted only by a large pool of water, sunken into the floor, in the very middle of the chamber.  From the walls hung wide tapestries depicting the Alindrak crest, as well as the Draknor crest, Nyxor encircled into an image of her eating her own tail.  Suits of armor lined each wall to the left and right, separated into intervals that matched the tall windows stretching up to the ceiling.  Each of the suits of armor had both hands resting on a long two-handed sword.  He felt like they stared from the edge of vision.  The leaded windows were set in diamong patterns that obstructed most of the view out or in.  In the back of the room there were stairs that rose up several levels to a flat dais where Kaiyren, Queen of Alindrak, was garbed in a ceremonial robe.  She began to the take the steps down toward him.

He froze in embarrassment.  This was certainly not what he had expected; he was naked!  Her beautiful young face showed none of his embarrassment though, so he worked hard to compose himself.  He sought the calm again and it came, if a bit reluctantly.

“You have masked yourself faster than most, young Matrala.”  She said with a motherly smile as she approached him.  She took his arm and began to lead him forward along the red carpet.  “I expected nothing less from you; still, your successes are not ordinary.  The blood of your father’s line is both strong and proud, and I suspect the same of you mother’s.”  They approached the edge of the pool and she stepped in.  There was no reaction in her face, but to him the water looked cold.  She was holding her hand out to him.

The water was cold, and he didn’t do nearly as well at masking the fact as she had.  The woman must not feel the cold at all for all the expression she gave.  They walked down into the water and she stood up next to him.  The bottom half of her robe was thoroughly soaked.  She put one hand on his chest and lightly pulled him backwards, he didn’t fight it.  After submerging his entire head she pulled him back up.

“You are cleansed, Renier Matrala.  Cleansed of past mistakes; cleansed of false actions and false pride; cleansed of wrong-doing and hatred.  You are cleansed.”  She chanted the phrases in a melodic voice that reverberated throughout the chamber.  There was a great deal of power in the words.  The hand she had laid softly on his chest felt warm, but more than that, it felt energizing.  It was as if she was lending him her own energy.

He felt different, and understood the symbolism.  He did feel cleansed; he could no longer feel the dried perspiration from his demonstration earlier.  With her arm intertwined around his, she lead him forward again this time out of the water.  Together they climbed the steps and stepped in front of a simple wooden pedestal.  On it was a ring and nothing else.

“Kneel now, Renier Matrala, Price of Pallsarien, Lord’s of the East.”  She said the official titles softly, but he obeyed immediately as if forced.  The ring was magnificent, the very image depicted everywhere: Nyxor eating his own tail.  The symbol of the Draknor Society; the symbol found upon flags, cloaks, banners, tapestries, and dozens of other places around the great city.  The ring was simple metal.  It looked to be silver.  She picked it up and asked him to raise his hand.
She paused as she put it to the tip of his finger.  “Your test begins now, Renier, it is not a test that I, or any other Draknor can give you.  It has been said by those who went through this in the past, that Nyxor herself tests you.  Are you ready?”

He nodded without a second thought while she slipped the ring on his finger.  She stepped backward and waited in silence.  For a few minutes they waited in that silence together, but alone all the same.  Then he felt a tingling in his finger and blinked in surprise.  The ring was still, but the dragon began to spin around the band.  That seemed impossible to him, but it was exactly what he was looking at.  Then it left the band of the ring all together!  Slowly it worked onto his finger, working its way around it, slithering like a snake.  As it encircled his hand it seemed to grow larger and larger.  When Nyxor’s eyes rose to meet his own, he lost consciousness.

He felt like he was falling, but not exactly, almost floating downward.  He couldn’t see any ground; he couldn’t see anything at all.  Everything around him was black.  He looked down and found that he was still completely naked.  That was great, floating in emptiness and wearing absolutely nothing.  It couldn’t get much worse than this though, so he relaxed a bit.  Then it seemed as if gravity returned to him.  He fell quickly, but stopped short after a few seconds when his feet touched a solid surface.  The darkness disappeared and he was back in his kingdom.  With some relief he saw clothing when he looked down.

A cry of alarm interrupted his thoughts.  “Invaders are upon us, to arms, to arms!”  It was responded to by many calls, but they were all the same.  It was a standard battle alarm for the palace soldiers, but who would ever attack the palace?  It hadn’t happened in his lifetime, and by all reports centuries before that.  A guard seemed to notice him standing there and ran over.  “King Renier, they are advancing, you must get to safety!”

“Where is my father?”  He asked.

The guard looked confused; when he answered it came strained.  “Your father…is dead, my King.  We have held the city for these last months since then, but they have made it within the walls now.  The inner keep must be barricaded, you must get moving!”  His father was…dead?  Many months ago?

He walked to the palace window and could see the battle below.  There were men fighting and dying to defend their nation.  My nation, the thought came more natural than he felt it should.  He could not see the enemy, just shadows.  He couldn’t help but think that it would be important for him to know his attackers.  Except that he couldn’t because of the shadows.  His fist came down hard on the stone window sill.  Angrily, he turned to discover who they were, how long the attacks had gone on, the condition of troops, and again it all felt just a little too natural.

His questions were ready, but he was in blackness again, floating.  Confusion set in, and he looked down to find himself naked once more.  What was going on, where was this place?

He was falling again, and again it was only for a few seconds before touching the ground.  His mother was brushing his sister’s hair as she used to do when he was a child.  They were both smiling and talking, it was about boys tonight.  Apparently his little sister had become interested in boys since he was away.  It wasn’t that surprising.  He could hardly remember much about her; he left for Alindrak when she was but a toddler.  Neither saw the door open enough for a group of men to slip in.  They hadn’t noticed him either, and he was starting to wonder if they could see him at all.  But they spun in a fury when he screamed out “NO! You cannot take them from me!” and bolted toward the men.

“Renier, my boy is it you?”  His mother asked in a confused tone, and then she noticed the men.  She immediately had her young daughter around the neck walking swiftly to the back wall.  Renier was bolting toward the men unarmed, but he knew he would be okay.  He had trained for years in unarmed combat as well as armed.  Still, the confidence did not seem to fit him.  The three men were armed, each with two daggers with blades that zig-zagged back and forth similar to an artist’s rendition of a lightning bolt.  He dodged the first two daggers that came toward him and his knee instinctively went for one man’s groin.  The attacker cried out and fell to the ground with his hands between his legs.  Renier’s attention was already on the other men though.  He needed to take them down quickly.

He pivoted his weight for momentum and shot his right hand toward a second assassin’s face.  The man pulled up his daggers predictably and Renier slammed his left hand into the man’s face instead.  Few had powerful strikes with both arms, but Renier did.  His father said it was a sign of a good leader, being balanced equally to the left and right.  The man slammed against the wall and lost both daggers on impact before falling hard.

He was about to go for the third man when he heard, “BEHIND YOU!” from both women.  It was too late though.  Four arms wrapped around his and he was stuck.  In a rush a handful of men ran toward his mother and sister and stabbed at them viciously. Again and again their blades ripped apart his family while he watched, arms bound.  Tears formed in the corners of his eyes and his body slumped.  The men released their grip, and as he fell to the ground he thought he heard the end of a sentence from one of the men standing near his mother, “…from your sister, Tirayla.”

Then he was floating again.  It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair!  More times he fell a few seconds and entered a reality that he did not like.  Through them all he did his best to keep calm and cool.  He made collected decisions, defended himself, and fought when necessary.  He wasn’t sure what exactly it was he was doing, so he did his best to act as his father would expect of him.  He did his best to act like a king.  Sometimes he was a king, other times he wasn’t even a prince.  In one his family had been pulled down and replaced, and they were outcasts.  Another visit ended only in darkness again, Tirayla had stabbed his father in the back and taken the throne with another man, and he suddenly realized a link.  He stopped floating the darkness.  They were all fears, his fears.  He was being forced to face his inner-demons head on, and to fight back.

His eyes opened and he gasped a deep breath.  The dragon had just climbed around his forearm and settled there.  The creature’s tail wound all the way back to his finger.  Kaiyren removed the ring and took the hand in hers to help pull him to his feet.  He felt tired, worn out, as if he had spent the entire night practicing the sword.  He shifted his balance to his other foot and nearly fell over again; maybe he was even more tired than that.

“There are truths, and there are falsehoods to what you have seen tonight, Renier.  I do not know what it means any more than you, probably less.  Your needs, your fears, were no doubt different than my own.  What happened is not to leave this room.  If you wish to speak of it, you must do so now.”

“My fears, I had to face my fears.”  He could tell his voice was strained.  He was so tired.  “I saw…”  He fell silent instead of speaking, he couldn’t even remember what he had been about to say.  Kaiyren nodded slowly; did she understand what he meant?  He wondered what she had seen; he wondered if he was allowed to ask.

“I do not know what truths are there to find.  Some things I saw have played out already, and still others have not.  I think some will never come to pass, and I wished some would never, but have.”  A frown touched her lips, but was gone almost as fast.  Renier wondered if she saw her own father’s death, his murder.  What if what he saw was true too?

His eyes fell upon his arm.  A red dragon, stretched out its serpentine form, encircled it.  He vaguely remembered watching the dragon crawl onto his skin, and then up it.  There certainly was a tattoo of Nyxor clearly on his skin regardless.  He looked up into Kaiyren’s eyes.  She was looking back into his when he met them.

“Welcome to the Draknor Society, Renier.  Now you probably want to sleep.  We will step into the pool, and you should feel refreshed enough to walk back to your room.”
He hadn’t even noticed they were walking before they had gone down the steps and were standing before the pool of water.  They stepped into the water together.  He expected, and was reluctant, for the cold.  The water didn’t feel cold at all though.  It brought a sense of alertness.  He felt as if he had rested for most of the day.  It was odd, that feeling had certainly not come before.  He turned a wide-eyed stare upon Kaiyren who only smiled at him.

“It is remarkable really, the only two devices of their kind that have been found of the first age, to our knowledge at least.  The ring and the pool both are remarkable.  It is not a connection, not exactly; you will feel heat and cold less now.  That much is the ring.  The pool offers the refreshment.  But together…” Her voice trailed off then, whatever she had been about to say was gone.  “You should be going, Draknor Renier, by the time your head hits your pillow you will be reminded of your fatigue.  If you don’t make it… well you will be reminded of it on the way.”  She spoke with a smile as she walked him toward the entrance to the chamber again.  Would he really fall asleep in the middle of walking?  He remembered the tiredness before stepping into the pool and thought he would hurry, just in case.  “Tomorrow we shall feast in your honor.  Sleep well, young Prince.”

© 2009 – Robert W. Leonard