And now for your reading enjoyment . . . BY REQUEST!

   I am so excited! I actually had a request for more of my fiction. So, here it is . . . Chapter 3. You can read chapters one here and two here. 


I left early one morning, making my way across the fields of wheat stubble in the half-light just before dawn. I traveled lightly, knowing I had a good month before the weather turned really cold. By then, I planned to be far in the south, possibly even out of K’Attor, across the sea. My light pack contained very little, only my cloak, a piece of cheese, and half a loaf of bread. I felt that was all that I could honestly impose upon my hosts for, even though I had left a couple of coins on the kitchen table in exchange for what I had taken. My dagger was in my belt, and my staff in my hand. The pouch dangling inside my shirt from the cord around my neck contained flint and some tinder, as well as the remaining coins I owned. I was prepared for anything, at least anything my farm boy mind of sixteen could think of, preoccupied as it was with the thoughts of guilt that still plagued my conscience.

I traveled well that first day, staying close to the stream that meandered through what had once been my father’s farm, and following its progress toward the river. As evening darkened the sky, I found a copse of bushes in which to camp for the night. I lay wrapped in my cloak, staring at the stars above me for hours. For once, I was not plagued by the guilt that ruled my life at that point. Instead, a single question ran through my mind. Did I have my freedom, or had I enslaved myself? I didn’t answer the question that night, nor have I in the many years since.  

At some point, I did drift off to sleep, because I woke while the sun had not yet warmed the dew off the grass and leaves which scattered the ground near my resting place. I rose, drank from the stream, and set off again, still following its course. By midmorning, I reached the juncture of what I considered my father’s stream and the river. I began following the river, knowing that eventually it would reach the coast, and somewhere along the coast would be a port where I could find a ship on which to leave the land of my birth, the land I had come to curse.  

As I walked, my thoughts again returned to that fateful night, and once more I withdrew into my guilt, so that I no longer noticed the scenery around me. I traveled on for some days, alternating periods of self-deprecation with times in which I was almost happy, watching as the leaves began to turn, waking some mornings to find the dew almost frozen on my cloak. My bread and cheese were supplemented with fish I caught in the river and berries I picked from thickets along the river’s edge.

After nearly a week of traveling, I began to smell the salt in the air and knew I was close to the sea. I camped that night, eager to reach the sea, and be gone from this land of heartache. I rose with the sun the next morning, and continued on my way. In the early afternoon, I approached the seashore and a town simultaneously. I don’t recall the name of the town, but perhaps I never learned it.  It wasn’t much, just some docks where farmers could ship their wheat, along with the associated houses and buildings that would be found near any port, great or small. I had never been to this town before, as my father had always taken his wheat to the market to sell, perhaps believing the port too far away to be reached safely in an age when highwaymen abounded.

As I entered the town, I was somewhat surprised to see no one on the docks. There was a barge, a few fishing boats and dories tied up to the docks, but not a living soul stirred within the vicinity of the river’s mouth. A single tavern and a half-built church were the only buildings displaying any kinds of life. A lone man was struggling to lift large blocks of chuar wood into place on the wall of the church, sweating profusely in his brown cassock. The rest of the town, it seemed, was gathered in front of the tavern. I went to the tavern, not because of the company, but because I was eager to find work on a ship, and figured that this was the mostly likely place to find employment with the docks being deserted.  

I slowly shouldered my way through the crowd, listening to the murmurings, catching snatches of conversations and wondering what was so momentous as to disrupt an entire town during the peak season in which most earned their livelihood. When I reached the door of the tavern, I found by way blocked by two men guarding the entrance. I wasn’t eager to cross any man, but I had slept poorly the previous night, in fact, had slept poorly for an entire year, and was in no mood for any kind of tomfoolery.

“I’d like inside, please.” I stated, addressing the older of the two guards.

“No one is allowed inside while the princess dines.” The younger one growled, shoving me back towards the crowd.

My usual state of self-pity and self-blame vanished when his hands touched my chest, but I held my temper in check. You’ll admit that’s no easy feat for a redheaded K’Attorsman, and one just lately showing the beginnings of a beard. I again addressed the older guard, “Can you tell me how long it will be?”

Again the younger, and in my opinion, more foolish guard shoved me. “That’s none of your concern, boy.”

I bristled, both at his tone of voice and his use of the term “boy.” He was hardly any older than I, with no signs of a beard on his face, only a cruel sneer that lifted one corner of his mouth.

“Friend,” I said, looking him directly in the eye, “I asked a simple question. If you don’t know the answer, simply say so, and don’t let your delusions of authority cause problems where there need be none.” Now I felt more alive than I had since I woke to the news that my family was dead. I could feel the blood pulsing in my temples.

The younger guard started to reply to my statement, but was cut off by his companion, “The lad’s right, Rupert.  Now leave him be.”

Rupert was either hard of hearing, or didn’t know good advice when he heard it. He reached for the cudgel leaning against the wall next to him. “Get out of here, boy.”

The cudgel wasn’t there when he closed his hand over where he thought it should be, probably because I had toed it out of the way when he opened his mouth.

Again the older man spoke, “Rupert, leave it alone. You don’t want to risk the wrath of who’s inside over some imagined slight to your honor.”

“No, this stripling needs to learn a lesson.”

“Aye, perhaps I do.” I admitted. “But I’ll not learn it from the likes of you.” By this time, my anger had seethed through to the surface.

Rupert charged me and I tripped him neatly with my staff, stepping out of his way as he stumbled into the dust. He got up, spitting and pulling a dagger from the sheath hanging off his belt. I glanced at the old man, but he was gazing out into the crowd, ignoring the drama unfolding between Rupert and I.  He seemed to feel Rupert deserved whatever I could give him, or that I deserved any punishment I received for not leaving well enough alone.

A lad of sixteen I might be, but no stranger to the rough and tumble ways of most any child’s education, especially if that child had brothers, as I had. I might have wandered around in a daze for a year, but I was still a farm boy, and probably stronger than this city boy was used to dealing with.

“I wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourself in front of a crowd.” I taunted. “Answer my questions and we can settle this dispute later, in a more gentlemanly fashion.”

“You may use big words, boy, but you’re no gentleman.” was Rupert’s reply. You’re the one who’s going to be embarrassed.”

I shrugged my shoulders and gripped my staff more comfortably. “If that’s the way you want it, then.”

By now, the crowd had drawn back a few paces, leaving and open area in front of the tavern for my opponent and I to do battle. Rupert paused for a moment and stared, as if seeing something he hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps it was my scar, which runs down my forehead from above the hairline, then crosses my left eyebrow before fading out on my cheekbone. I don’t know and never found out what gave him pause. In any case, he advanced slowly towards me rather than charging as he had the first time, prompting the thought, “Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he can be taught.” While part of my mind made light of it, another part of me realized that this was a man not likely to make the same mistake twice, and a man used to getting his way.

We began to circle, waiting for the other to make the first move, trying to get an estimate of how the other would fight.  I have never been the patient kind, especially in my youth, so it was I who began our melee. My right foot slid forward over the hard packed dirt and my staff fell towards Rupert’s head as I advanced. He jumped back, and tossed his dagger back and forth between his hands. I noticed it only peripherally, watching his eyes for a sign of his coming attack.

I almost missed it, because he attacked with his feet rather than the dagger I had expected him to use. As it was, I managed to knock his kick away with my staff, and then had to twist out of the way as his dagger darted for my belly. I realized then that he meant to kill me, not simply defeat me.

What happened in the next few moments I remember little of. I do know that when it ended, Rupert lay dead at my feet, the handle of his dagger protruding from his chest. My staff was broken into two pieces, and I had so much blood on my hands I remember thinking I must have slit his throat, rather than merely buried his dagger in his heart.

The older guard approached me with his sword drawn. “I’ll have to arrest you lad. You’ve killed the Princesses personal bodyguard.”

“What princess?” I cried out. “What kind of royalty allows her personal guard to provoke and attack one of her subjects, then arrest him for defending himself?”

“I’m sorry, lad.  I . . .”

This time it was he who was interrupted by a soft, melodious voice speaking from shadows of the now open door. “My name is Arianne, and I do not allow my personal guard to provoke attacks by my citizenry, nor do I punish those who defend themselves. I believe everyone has a right to protect their life and the lives of those they love.”

I turned toward the author of those words. “That’s a very pretty speech, miss, but even a poor farm boy from the country knows better than to trust royalty.” I couldn’t help letting the disgust I felt at how I was being treated creep into my voice.

The guard advanced at my imprudent words, emotion finally displaying itself on his face like thunderheads on the horizon. “I’ll not allow anyone to impugn the word of Princess Arianne and live!”

As his sword swung back in what was probably the beginning of an attempt to separate my head from my shoulders, an amazing thing happened. A slight figure, dressed in silks and furs, interposed itself between me and the man who would have been my executor.

“Gavin, stop!” she cried. “He may have reason to doubt my words. I’ll not have you disprove them.”

The guard, whom I now connected with the threat of death, and the name Gavin, lowered his sword only partially, muttering, “Stand out of my way, Highness. He deserves to die. He killed Rupert, and he spoke against the crown. Now let me do my job in protecting you and the crown you are heir to.”

“Nonsense, Gavin.” Arianne responded. “He may have killed Rupert, but I doubt it was in cold blood, or you would have stopped him yourself, or died trying. He is obviously not a ruffian intent on destroying me. I’ve stood here nearly a minute and he has made no move to harm me.” That was indeed true. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but had it; I doubt I would have been able to act upon it. I was too much in shock at the twin realizations that I had actually killed someone and that I was being protected by a mere wisp of a girl from a man nearly twice as large as her, and larger even than my two plus meter height and fifty stone weight.

I finally spoke. “If you give me your word I’ll be fairly tried, I’ll give over peacefully.” Now I thought about threatening to abduct the Princess if she didn’t give her word, but discovered that several other guards, these in armor, had moved through the door and had me surrounded. “I have no wish to die a dishonorable death.”

She turned and faced me then. It was as if the entire world stopped in that moment. I was so transfixed by her beauty that my mind did not comprehend the words she directed at me. When I realized she was speaking, I had to back up in my mind to catch all she had said.

“You shall stand trial for the unreasonable death of the Princesses personal body guard, Rupert, son of Murdoch. If you are found guilty of his slaying, you will receive the maximum penalty allowed by law. In this instance, the penalty is death by beheading. If, however, you are found to have been unjustly provoked, and that his death was the result of you defending yourself from an unwarranted attack, as is your right, you will be freed. Do you understand these terms?”

In response, I merely nodded. I was amazed that any member of royalty would bother to speak so politely to a commoner, especially one that had only moments earlier called her a liar.

She continued, “I trust then, that you will surrender your weapons to Gavin.” It wasn’t a question, but a royal edict. I obeyed, drawing my dagger from my belt and turning it hilt first towards the man who came around the princess.  

He glowered at me, and spoke in a tone too low for the princess to hear, though she was merely two steps beyond him. “You’re lucky the royal daughter is so forgiving. I would have seen you had a fair trial for killing Rupert, but I’d not have let you survive after calling her Highness a liar.” He took my dagger, glanced at it, and whistled in appreciation before tucking it into his own waistband. “I almost hope they find you guilty. This is a nicer knife than any farm boy deserves.”

“It was my father’s, a spoil of the last war which put her Highnesses father on the throne.  He is dead, so it is rightfully mine. I expect it back.” Inside I was seething, and vowed that once the blade was back in my possession, as I had every reason to believe it would be, no one else would ever have it, even temporarily. I have kept that vow to this day.

Labels, and the impossible writing that accompanies them!

     As I was making changes to the blog this evening, I happened to notice that there are 41 links listed, each of them occurring only once. That is about to change. What follows is the Freestyle writing including 19 of the links that I have previously listed. I'll try to get the other 22 into the next post.


     When Yakob was a little boy, he wanted to be in the Union Air Force. He wanted to fly airplanes and visit far-off places like California. The intervening years had instead immersed him in a world of automated phone calls and book reviews, baby news, frustration and e-mail. Too much of which was currently occupying his phone. He couldn't even load his Bible software without it crashing. 
     "What ever happened," he wondered, "to the good old days when family sent actual letters, and actual comic books like Boy Wonder sat on actual bookcases?" Instead, as a e-news blogger trying to make a living in the brutally competitive news media, Yakob experienced daily frustration as his technology became ever more rapidly obsolete. 
    Yakob's thoughts continued as he hurried across the street, dodging around one of the many barricades erected recently. "Beards were only for old men, gaming had gone from on-line to live. Christians were a persecuted people, and few of his readers could separate fantasy from fiction. God's word was often considered a relic from 3000 years ago."
     Even the food had gone down hill. "When I was young," he remembered, "and Mama went on her diet, she never ate this poorly." Neither had he, not till the war. It was the war that changed it all. The war . . .

And Now, for Your Reading Enjoyment

Back in the day (read before I had a family) I used to spend an inordinate amount of time reading, and almost as much writing. Below is the opening chapter of one of my unpublished masterpieces. Who knows, maybe some editor with a deadline is even now surfing the blogs, desperately hoping to encounter a previously here-to-for unknown writer. If you are such an editor, please drop me a note! ;) For the rest of you, enjoy and feel free to critique . . .


    My foes ambushed me on my way to the bathroom, an unglamorous but highly effective time for an ambush. Nearly two months had passed since I was last attacked. I should have been ready, but wasn’t. I felt secure in the knowledge that they believed me dead from our last encounter, as I very nearly had been. That time luck, fate, or Divine Providence had taken care of me. Tonight could be different, and would be if I didn’t move fast enough.
     As I said, I had been on my way to tend to one of nature’s obligatory functions when something caught my eye. I was nearing the latrine, and so expected to see a partygoer or two, but found instead that it was deserted. However, the courtyard behind me seemed to suddenly fill with swirling forms, and as I glanced over my shoulder, I saw swords flashing in the bright moonlight. Having been on the run at various periods in my life, I automatically became defensive, casting about for a weapon and a defensible position. I had my dagger, but it would be little use against a large party of armed men.
     The latrine ran parallel to the back wall of the manse I was in, and then dropped down to run underneath the wall and over the cliff that the manse sat on. A few bushes screened the latrine area from the rest of the courtyard, but none of the branches was large enough to use as a cudgel, had I the luxury of time to cut one and trim it. However, lying near the bushes was a pair of workman’s shears, abandoned by some worker in the past. They were rusty, and one handle was cracked nearly in two, but the rapidly approaching footsteps told me I hadn’t the time to be selective.
     Snatching up the shears, I turned to face my attackers, counting them as I dropped into a fighting stance. Two larger figures held their position some twenty paces from me. Another broke from the group and circled to my right, cutting off any chance of breaking past him back into the crowded rooms I had left moments earlier. My left was blocked by one of the courtyard’s towering stone walls. Three more continued to advance directly at me, spreading out slightly to give themselves room to swing their weapons without injuring each other. They had narrowed the gap to approximately ten paces when they stopped, one of their number stepping forward and speaking in a low voice, “Cedric, you shall not escape this time.”
     “I have in the past. What makes you think this time will be different?” My words betrayed none of the fear coursing through my body.
     “Before we have sent those with little experience to deal with you. Now you are faced with the Fyar J’aroll’s personal guard. You will not survive.” Those words were the last sounds any of them intentionally uttered. I sidestepped the first attacker’s broadsword as it descended and spitted him on the hedge shears. Stepping back, I wrenched the shears from his lifeless body and lifted them in time to knock away a slim cudgel whistling towards my ribs. As I parried the cudgel, my left boot rose and caught the man’s windpipe, crushing it. The block had finished splitting the handle of the shears, leaving a poorer grip on my weapon, but fewer attackers to face.
     By now sweat flowed freely from my body, stinging my eyes when it dropped from my forehead. I tried to ignore it and concentrate on my remaining attackers. The one still standing in front of me hesitated, and I pressed the attack, stepping towards him and swinging my bloody shears. His blade came up to block the shears and I stepped underneath his defenses, plunging my dagger into his heart.
     I heard a whisper of leather on flagstone, and turned in time to have a fist collapse my nose. I staggered back, trying to blink the tears from my eyes, and took a kick to the ribs. Stumbling sideways, I smashed into the wall, numbing my arm so that the shears dropped from my grip. Now my assailant was battering my body with blows, which I could only take, being unable to see or defend myself. Another heavy blow landed, knocking my to my knees. Blows rained down upon my head, and I began to slide down the wall. Spots danced before my eyes while my arm suddenly came to life, tingling and buzzing the way a limb will when blood flow suddenly returns.
     Seizing the opportunity, perhaps my last, I shoved my revitalized arm out in front of me, my hand crushing shut when the fingertips brushed cloth. Fortunately, my hand had found a vital area, as evidenced by the scream that issued from the man’s throat, a high keening cry that quickly climbed into the range beyond human hearing. I clambered up the body in front of me, tightening my grip on both my dagger and my foe’s anatomy. More footsteps sounded in the courtyard, drawn by the man’s earlier scream. I knew I had no time left, so I drove my dagger upward into the man’s groin and twisted, spurting his life’s blood over my hand.
     Standing up, I cast about for a means of escape, and suddenly felt a presence moving towards me. It belonged to one of the two figures that had held off earlier. Both were approaching. I felt my eyes being drawn not to the bejeweled man wearing ceremonial robes, but to the dark, sinister figure that flowed in his wake. Now several other figures crowded into the courtyard. Not wanting to continue this in front of an audience, I sheathed my dagger and made my escape, sliding down the latrine and over the lip of the cliff. My fingers scrabbled at the cliff’s edge, slippery with blood and the latrine’s contents, catching hold just before my arms fully extended. I held that position forever, nearly five minutes, listening to the voices of those in the courtyard, straining to discern individual words over the rush of water and other, less appealing substances that splashed my head and drained down my body.
     Realizing that the voices and torchlight were approaching my hiding place, I began searching for a hand or foothold, hoping to make my escape down the face of the cliff. The toes of my right foot caught the slimmest of outcroppings at full extension, and I slowly eased my weight on to it. It held, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Next, my right hand moved down until it encountered a crack barely wide enough to wedge the tips of my fingers into. I did so, straining to expand their grip on the nearly shear cliff face.
     In such a fashion, I made my way down the precipice, trusting that no one would think to look for me there. No one did, or else I was concentrating so hard on finding my next grip I never noticed. Sweat poured off me, causing me to slip occasionally, but I clung precariously to the wall, striving to maintain three points of contact at all times, with only one hand or foot moving at a time, and never until I was secure with the position I was currently in. That is a lesson I had learned the hard way, trying to move too quickly on a rock face I thought I knew well. It took months for my ribs to heal, and I never made the mistake of rushing a descent again.
     As I neared the bottom of the cliff I was currently descending, the beating I had suffered began affecting me, causing me to miss a handhold. I bumped and scraped my way down the last twenty feet of the now rough wall, collapsing in a heap in the hard packed sand that the cliff fronted. Rising groggily to my feet, I set off down the beach, stumbling occasionally when my foot encountered a stray stone or stick. I stumbled hard and fell, pitching down the bank of a small stream to land head first in the mud and stones lining the bank. I lay there momentarily, letting my trembling, aching muscles rest. They had been strained far past any term of normal endurance.
     The stones underneath me grew uncomfortable quickly, and I stirred from my position. The blood had crusted around my nose while I rested, but as I moved my head it began to flow again. Probably left a trail any boy could follow, I thought in disgust. I plunged my head under the creek’s surface, knowing the cold would help stanch the flow. The shock brought my senses back fully alert. The loss of blood had dulled them, and dull senses were a luxury I could not afford if I were to survive this night.
    Realizing that to stay where I was could only give my enemies an advantage, I drank from the stream, then began to move into the woods, looking for a hidden place to rest where I would not be exposed. I knew that my night was not over, for there were still two opponents unaccounted for. While I moved, I pondered the significance of those two foes whom I would still have to face this night. Some hundred paces into the woods, I found a deserted thicket and sank to the ground.
     While I rested, I thought bitterly that only hours ago I was partying, enjoying the pleasures my position in this world had brought me. Now I was wounded and hunted, no better off than the deer whose bower I had temporarily claimed. I’ve been in this position before, and if God is with me tonight, I will live through this hunt, as I have the other seven in the past two years. “God be with me,” I prayed, “or at least blind luck.”
     Skill I have, but it alone would not be enough, for they had planned well, and I had been unprepared. Obviously I had been unprepared, or I wouldn’t be shivering in the bushes in the middle of the night. I rubbed myself with bits of grass to warm up, pondering my situation, my liabilities, my resources, and my options. Liabilities were many, resources and options few, so I offered up another quick prayer and began to move, hoping to worm my way through this night without further incident.
     Not to be, for I had no sooner left the bushes concealing me than I tripped, breaking branches, scraping flesh, and alerting my pursuers to my location. I knew they were close because I heard a shout go up as I went down. I thought about praying yet again, but instead saved my breath. I was going to need it. Dropping into a tall crouch, I pulled my dagger and waited. "Let them come to me," I thought. "I am tired of running." I heard the first one approaching from the north. He fell easily when I sliced his throat. His haste, and mine combined for a quiet kill. "Finally," the thought crossed my mind, "something to my advantage." The other pursuer still didn’t know my exact location.
    I checked the body quickly, leaving the large pouch tucked inside his shirt. Another time I would have taken it, but tonight I had neither time nor reason. Instead, I claimed his dark woolen great cloak, as well as the blade his lifeless left hand clutched. His right was empty, but a large signet ring rode his index finger. That I took, for it could serve me well in the future.
    Better armed, and in a slightly better mood, I made my way toward the heart of the woods. I knew now I had only one further foe to face, and then I would be free, at least for this night. The moon had gone down, but my eyes had not seen light in hours now, so I traveled quickly. Too quickly, because I was in the clearing before I perceived it, and the danger it held. The being faced me, its head and form concealed by the thick robe it wore, blacker than anything I had ever seen, so black it seemed to absorb light. Perhaps it did. Those who served the Far J’arol had access to materials not usually found on this plane of existence.
     “human!” The word came out as a sneer, and I could hear the purposeful lack of capitalization.
     I bowed, not deeply. “Yes, I am.”
    “I suspect the archbishop is dead. It is his cloak and sword you carry as your own.” The being stated. “He was a fine soldier. You have once again proven your worth as an opponent.”
     “I have?” My mouth formed the words, but my brain was busily engaged in trying to watch for the attack I knew was coming.
     It nodded, then through back its hood. The face was human, but too perfect. Perfectly symmetrical and flawless, it was obviously the face of a Kompanion or gaur’ Dian sent to dispatch of me, prompting my question, “Have I so garnered the evil one’s attention that he no longer sends mere mortals to apprehend me?”
     It laughed, and I parried the long blade that swept towards me.
     “Not bad.” Then I had no more time for words as the evil creature attacked, two blades at once. I fought defensively, trying the being’s skills. Being under the Far J’arol, who would have adequately programmed this minion to challenge and dispatch me, it eagerly pressed the attack. I fell back under the onslaught of flying steel, towards the edge of the woods. I could sense the darkness behind me, but it was not the darkness I sought. Darkness would be no help in combat with a being of the dark. Rather I sought the trees, like the one I felt behind my back. I slid around it, then another, and had a moment’s respite from my attacker.
     It was enough. I jumped, catching the branch above me and pulling myself up. Quickly I positioned myself, then my newly acquired blade and I dropped as one, spearing the form that sidled around the trunk of the tree. An otherworldly scream parted its lips, and the body parted in twain. I stood between the two halves, covered in unearthly gore, and smiled. I was still alive. I had survived another hunt!