For fans of The Night Angel Trilogy and fantasy author Brent Weeks
The Beginning
Ok so this is my first blog, and due to some lovely encouragement from Eli and Archie I have decided to make it part of the first chapter from my novel (which is currently still in the process of being written). It's the first five pages of said chapter though, so I completely understand if people just don't have the time to read it....but anyway, enough of my rambling, here it is - enjoy: (Oh and any comments and/or criticisms are very much welcome :D)
Night is falling slowly onto the city of Marblelight, sprinkling stars in its wake. It whispers half-heard words to the wind as it lowers itself to nestle comfortably into the city’s waiting arms.
The first to embrace the night are the richer parts of the city, with their large peaceful estates, obediently heading off to bed as the gentle fingers of the midnight sky tuck them in like a mother would her child. The darkness softly envelopes their large, square buildings and gleaming polished statues set in beautiful lush green surroundings; saving them from the hot, dry sun and allowing them to heal before the bright morning lifted them again from their refreshing sleep
The last to notice the night’s velvet hands moving down to them are also the ones who refuse to sleep, who fight to stay up and drink the night away. These people are those of the poorer parts of the city; drowning out the horrors they witness every day as people close to them are mutilated or die through disease, famine or simply making enemies of the wrong people. The last is the most common, the rich ale suffocating any dreams that come with the night and threaten to haunt these people to madness.
Somewhere in the middle adding various shades of grey, in an inn with a notably unusual name, Zachariah was listening. He was listening through the loud clashes and yells of the nightlife that surrounded him, through the quieter sounds of dust scuffling across the paved ground and rustling the occasional shrub or mop of grass that grasped for life in the frequent cracks, through to the previously half-heard whispers the wind delivered to his trained ears. He was hearing nothing but the earth around him, nothing but the hushed scratching and sweeping of grit against dirty white-washed walls until…he was abruptly woken from his light trance by particularly loud masculine laughter from the table opposite. He blinked a few times to clear his eyes of the sleepy smears that clouded out his vision and settled for studying the social hierarchy that was so clearly laid out before him.
The Seven Swords was often seen as the foundation of a fair and just society. This was only a hopeful dream of course, but it kept many people clinging to life as they witnessed an Innkeeper who admittedly only punished those who deserved it, and only showed his amiable side to those he respected. Zachariah quickly realised that the Innkeeper was the summit of the hierarchy in the Seven Swords; followed closely by his wife. Without these two the rest of the soldiers, spending every off-duty moment drinking, were second only to their captains (who were not much better). Below the soldiers in the social hierarchy were the chambermaids, waitresses, who were more commonly referred to as wenches for obvious reasons, and lastly the Ghunai. The Ghunai were an interesting race of people, often misunderstood by others as being a particularly aggressive people. This was not always the case; Ghunai were actually one of the most reserved and considerate cultures in existence. The problem is alcohol: a Ghunai can be perfectly calm until the ale sets in - then they turn into the aggressive, savage creatures they are known for. Being exceptionally tall and lean muscled; they become a very real threat to anyone unfortunate enough to be around them.
Zachariah held his tankard with both hands on the table and resigned himself to staring into the dregs of ale, contemplating exactly how to go about what he was trying to achieve. Coming up with only a faint outline of possibilities, he decided perhaps a full night’s sleep might help him sort his thoughts out. Finishing his drink, he strolled in what he hoped was an inconspicuous way from his table in one corner of the half-round inn to the bar, which he soon found was filthy with grime and week-old spilled soup. He was wondering, as he scanned the length of the bar, just how long it had been since it was last cleaned – but was careful not to show it on his face: the Innkeeper didn’t seem in the best of moods.
“What d’you want?” he snorted, his spit narrowly missing Zachariah’s left ear; he took an automatic step back, watching some saliva slowly dribble down the Innkeeper’s grimy double chin. He was a fat, grumpy-looking man with dirty-brown eyes that moved skittishly, taking everything in and always alert; Zachariah supposed this was from his long years running and working at The Seven Swords: no one is ever truly safe there.
“Look, I ‘aven’t got all night.” he grunted, annoyed and made more than a little nervous by Zachariah’s intense stare.
“Sorry,” he said hastily, realising he really had been staring, “Can I get a room?”
“’Ang on,” the Innkeeper said, “Matilda!” he roared up the stairs, “do we ‘ave a grime pot to sleep a young lad?”
“Na. Last one was taken by that skinny what’s-‘is-name.” Matilda bellowed back.
“No rooms left,” the Innkeeper stated, quite unnecessarily: every word Matilda shouted could be heard by the entire inn. Zachariah quickly realised he would have to watch what he said to either of them in case of unwanted attention.
“Well…how about the stables?” he enquired, a little quieter than before. The Innkeeper looked Zachariah over thoughtfully before answering.
“You can stay in the stable ‘ouses fer four coppers, an’ I’ll ‘ave Matilda bring out some blankets, or you can stay in ‘ere fer six, an’ I’ll throw in a bath,” he finally answered, his face set, obviously expecting an argument.
“A bath? Done, then,” Zachariah said, dropping the coins on the bar. The Innkeeper scooped them up and counted them with obvious bewilderment at the submissiveness of the man and then outright surprise at the extra silver coin. He looked up and considered the taller man before him with his shrewd, beady eyes, clearly suspecting bribery.
Zachariah carefully controlled his expression, fighting the smile that threatened to creep up and steal his chance for somewhere half-decent to sleep, a luxury he hadn’t enjoyed in weeks.
“Alright,” he agreed cautiously, “you got yerself the room,” and then, more harshly, “what you still ‘ere for?”
Zachariah gave a nod, realising the conversation was well and truly over; the trace of a smile played across his well-formed lips as he carefully walked back to his chair. He made sure to dodge the huge, rusty tankard that flew inches from his face, falling to the stone floor with a loud clunk and keep his nonchalant stride, both whilst quietly trying to listen in on any conversations that may have been of use or interest to him. No one cared to look up at him nor did anyone have anything even remotely interesting to talk about, except the results of the most recent arena match, so he reached his chair in one piece feeling suddenly very bored and tired. He sat slightly slouched in his chair, pulling one of his legs up in front of him and securing it comfortably by interlacing his fingers and placing them on his shin. He scanned the room once with his large, deep jade eyes, his dark hair fell over his handsome face and his eyes gently flickered to a close as he fell asleep.
But not for long: he was seized by a particularly large, drunk Ghunai and hurled across the room with colossal force. He hit the stone wall of the inn with tremendous speed, sliding down it with his spine searing and his head spinning. He was hearing the faraway sound of the Innkeeper’s voice bellowing at the Wildman, answered with a savage roar. The inn was flushed with a blurry redness from the blow to his head, as if the entire world had been painted with red ink. Through the hazy veil, he could just make out a large, dark figure crashing towards him. He realised what it is just in time to roll out of the way. His head swimming, Zachariah flipped himself up off the floor; his stomach muscles ripping with the force, he unsheathed his sword and whipped round to face the Wildman, disorientating himself in the process. Keeping his guard up he furiously shook his head, trying to clear it of the dizzy, sick feeling he used to feel when Skyrah hit him hard enough in training. Only then did he realise the Ghunai was dead. He had hit the wall with such force he had broken his own neck.
Zachariah took one unstable step forward and collapsed.
*
Copyright © (2009) by Stevie-leigh Harmer. All Rights Reserved.
Thanks for reading! :)
Let me know if you want to read more or not...(its gets more exciting :D)
Night is falling slowly onto the city of Marblelight, sprinkling stars in its wake. It whispers half-heard words to the wind as it lowers itself to nestle comfortably into the city’s waiting arms.
The first to embrace the night are the richer parts of the city, with their large peaceful estates, obediently heading off to bed as the gentle fingers of the midnight sky tuck them in like a mother would her child. The darkness softly envelopes their large, square buildings and gleaming polished statues set in beautiful lush green surroundings; saving them from the hot, dry sun and allowing them to heal before the bright morning lifted them again from their refreshing sleep
The last to notice the night’s velvet hands moving down to them are also the ones who refuse to sleep, who fight to stay up and drink the night away. These people are those of the poorer parts of the city; drowning out the horrors they witness every day as people close to them are mutilated or die through disease, famine or simply making enemies of the wrong people. The last is the most common, the rich ale suffocating any dreams that come with the night and threaten to haunt these people to madness.
Somewhere in the middle adding various shades of grey, in an inn with a notably unusual name, Zachariah was listening. He was listening through the loud clashes and yells of the nightlife that surrounded him, through the quieter sounds of dust scuffling across the paved ground and rustling the occasional shrub or mop of grass that grasped for life in the frequent cracks, through to the previously half-heard whispers the wind delivered to his trained ears. He was hearing nothing but the earth around him, nothing but the hushed scratching and sweeping of grit against dirty white-washed walls until…he was abruptly woken from his light trance by particularly loud masculine laughter from the table opposite. He blinked a few times to clear his eyes of the sleepy smears that clouded out his vision and settled for studying the social hierarchy that was so clearly laid out before him.
The Seven Swords was often seen as the foundation of a fair and just society. This was only a hopeful dream of course, but it kept many people clinging to life as they witnessed an Innkeeper who admittedly only punished those who deserved it, and only showed his amiable side to those he respected. Zachariah quickly realised that the Innkeeper was the summit of the hierarchy in the Seven Swords; followed closely by his wife. Without these two the rest of the soldiers, spending every off-duty moment drinking, were second only to their captains (who were not much better). Below the soldiers in the social hierarchy were the chambermaids, waitresses, who were more commonly referred to as wenches for obvious reasons, and lastly the Ghunai. The Ghunai were an interesting race of people, often misunderstood by others as being a particularly aggressive people. This was not always the case; Ghunai were actually one of the most reserved and considerate cultures in existence. The problem is alcohol: a Ghunai can be perfectly calm until the ale sets in - then they turn into the aggressive, savage creatures they are known for. Being exceptionally tall and lean muscled; they become a very real threat to anyone unfortunate enough to be around them.
Zachariah held his tankard with both hands on the table and resigned himself to staring into the dregs of ale, contemplating exactly how to go about what he was trying to achieve. Coming up with only a faint outline of possibilities, he decided perhaps a full night’s sleep might help him sort his thoughts out. Finishing his drink, he strolled in what he hoped was an inconspicuous way from his table in one corner of the half-round inn to the bar, which he soon found was filthy with grime and week-old spilled soup. He was wondering, as he scanned the length of the bar, just how long it had been since it was last cleaned – but was careful not to show it on his face: the Innkeeper didn’t seem in the best of moods.
“What d’you want?” he snorted, his spit narrowly missing Zachariah’s left ear; he took an automatic step back, watching some saliva slowly dribble down the Innkeeper’s grimy double chin. He was a fat, grumpy-looking man with dirty-brown eyes that moved skittishly, taking everything in and always alert; Zachariah supposed this was from his long years running and working at The Seven Swords: no one is ever truly safe there.
“Look, I ‘aven’t got all night.” he grunted, annoyed and made more than a little nervous by Zachariah’s intense stare.
“Sorry,” he said hastily, realising he really had been staring, “Can I get a room?”
“’Ang on,” the Innkeeper said, “Matilda!” he roared up the stairs, “do we ‘ave a grime pot to sleep a young lad?”
“Na. Last one was taken by that skinny what’s-‘is-name.” Matilda bellowed back.
“No rooms left,” the Innkeeper stated, quite unnecessarily: every word Matilda shouted could be heard by the entire inn. Zachariah quickly realised he would have to watch what he said to either of them in case of unwanted attention.
“Well…how about the stables?” he enquired, a little quieter than before. The Innkeeper looked Zachariah over thoughtfully before answering.
“You can stay in the stable ‘ouses fer four coppers, an’ I’ll ‘ave Matilda bring out some blankets, or you can stay in ‘ere fer six, an’ I’ll throw in a bath,” he finally answered, his face set, obviously expecting an argument.
“A bath? Done, then,” Zachariah said, dropping the coins on the bar. The Innkeeper scooped them up and counted them with obvious bewilderment at the submissiveness of the man and then outright surprise at the extra silver coin. He looked up and considered the taller man before him with his shrewd, beady eyes, clearly suspecting bribery.
Zachariah carefully controlled his expression, fighting the smile that threatened to creep up and steal his chance for somewhere half-decent to sleep, a luxury he hadn’t enjoyed in weeks.
“Alright,” he agreed cautiously, “you got yerself the room,” and then, more harshly, “what you still ‘ere for?”
Zachariah gave a nod, realising the conversation was well and truly over; the trace of a smile played across his well-formed lips as he carefully walked back to his chair. He made sure to dodge the huge, rusty tankard that flew inches from his face, falling to the stone floor with a loud clunk and keep his nonchalant stride, both whilst quietly trying to listen in on any conversations that may have been of use or interest to him. No one cared to look up at him nor did anyone have anything even remotely interesting to talk about, except the results of the most recent arena match, so he reached his chair in one piece feeling suddenly very bored and tired. He sat slightly slouched in his chair, pulling one of his legs up in front of him and securing it comfortably by interlacing his fingers and placing them on his shin. He scanned the room once with his large, deep jade eyes, his dark hair fell over his handsome face and his eyes gently flickered to a close as he fell asleep.
But not for long: he was seized by a particularly large, drunk Ghunai and hurled across the room with colossal force. He hit the stone wall of the inn with tremendous speed, sliding down it with his spine searing and his head spinning. He was hearing the faraway sound of the Innkeeper’s voice bellowing at the Wildman, answered with a savage roar. The inn was flushed with a blurry redness from the blow to his head, as if the entire world had been painted with red ink. Through the hazy veil, he could just make out a large, dark figure crashing towards him. He realised what it is just in time to roll out of the way. His head swimming, Zachariah flipped himself up off the floor; his stomach muscles ripping with the force, he unsheathed his sword and whipped round to face the Wildman, disorientating himself in the process. Keeping his guard up he furiously shook his head, trying to clear it of the dizzy, sick feeling he used to feel when Skyrah hit him hard enough in training. Only then did he realise the Ghunai was dead. He had hit the wall with such force he had broken his own neck.
Zachariah took one unstable step forward and collapsed.
*
Copyright © (2009) by Stevie-leigh Harmer. All Rights Reserved.
Thanks for reading! :)
Let me know if you want to read more or not...(its gets more exciting :D)
Comment
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Comment by Heaven-leigh on June 5, 2009 at 2:46am - Thanks :D Aha but I've read (one of) your chapters and it's brilliant - don't give in! Lol :)
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Comment by Homer on June 5, 2009 at 1:26am -
Good work. I've had a few attempts at this sort of writing myself but always end up giving in, good on ya! lol
To the next part, and beyond!
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Comment by Heaven-leigh on May 19, 2009 at 7:38am
- Haha! Thanks very much :D Glad you liked it :P
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Comment by Taylor on May 18, 2009 at 2:09am - that was...wow, just wow. love the names :D *goes and reads next chapter*
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Comment by Heaven-leigh on May 10, 2009 at 12:49pm
- LOL! Wow, thanks :D I'm glad you enjoyed it!
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![[e]LiFaN[t]™©](http://api.ning.com/files/iIp--UyNHl9P-hiFESEIHoM5KHPepjgaPsO5nPTE2BWBSrOB7r6Gfo83j5z8ubziaVA*IyRbe8sKPA69hsa*3J86gEqWsNEm/tattoo.jpg?width=48&height=48&crop=1%3A1)
Comment by [e]LiFaN[t]™© on May 7, 2009 at 6:12pm -
OMG.... this... is... SO.... COOL!!!!!!!!!
WOW!! gosh i was expecting talent, but this?? this is amazing!! you truely are gifted... on to the next part!! :D
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Comment by Heaven-leigh on May 6, 2009 at 9:35am
- :/ What? Who's blaming who? Confused! .com (sorry couldn't resist) :P
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Comment by Heaven-leigh on May 5, 2009 at 8:43am
- Lol, no rush :) Thanks! And thanks for commenting :D
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Comment by Malus DarkBlade on May 4, 2009 at 10:05pm -
Right............Now I DEFINATELY ave 2 speed up wit dat pic....
Nice man. :P
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Comment by Heaven-leigh on May 3, 2009 at 10:34am
- Thank you :) I shall post some more soon. Thanks for commenting :D
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