NaNo No More

NaNo may be over, but the story goes on, which is why you’re getting another excerpt from Firestorm this week. It’s a long one, so I’ll keep the explanation brief. Brand has decided to become a mercenary, so his foster-father Nairn sent him to his old friend Sanron who runs a mercenary training facility. In this scene, Brand has been told he must wait (with a few others) in a kind of half-way house until there’s enough of them to make a class. This starts with his first dinner there. Oh, and Gowan is kind of like a house mother, only for mercenaries. :-D

Gowan was sitting at one end of a long table; there were three other men sitting with him. One seemed very young, one was about Brand’s age, and one a few years older.

“Welcome,” Gowan said cheerfully. “You’re just on time. Come and take a seat.”

Two men were already seated on Gowan’s left, so Brand took the seat on his right to even things out.

“Allow me to introduce your fellows,” Gowan said. “To my right is Dren. And to my left is Alaric and Brin. Gentlemen, this is Brand, who will also be staying here.”

Dren was close to Brand’s age, with dark blond hair cropped close to his head and pale blue eyes. Alaric was a few years older, a heavy set man with dark hair, also close cropped, and grey eyes that missed nothing. Brin, the youngest, fidgeted in his seat as though unable to stay still. He was a slender youth with dark curly hair and brown eyes.

There were murmurs of greeting which Brand answered with murmurs of his own. He was saved from any further conversation by the appearance of servers who began bringing in platters of food. The dishes were passed around and everyone helped themselves.

“Forgive me,” Brand said to Gowan after everyone had been served, “But did you not say there were six of us here?”

“Veran’s always late,” Dren told him. “And Grent hasn’t come out of his room since he got here.”

This was followed by an interruption as a man hurried into the room. His shaggy brown hair was mussed and there were ink stains on his fingers.

“You’re late Veran,” Gowan said disapprovingly.

“I know, I know. And I’m very sorry. But I was thoroughly engrossed in the history tome I borrowed from the library.”

He hurried took the seat beside Alaric. “Hello, you’re new,” he said to Brand. “I’m Veran. You’re a Witcher, aren’t you? I’ve never met a Witcher before.”

He seemed rather pleased to be meeting one now and Brand couldn’t help taking a liking to him. “I’m Brand,” he said. “And yes, I am a Witcher. Or at least half of me is, at any rate.”

There was little talk while they ate and what little there was consisted mainly of compliments on the food.

Gowan rose from his seat, signifying the end of dinner. “If you’ll all excuse me, I have duties to see to. Feel free to make use of the common room.”

“Good night Gowan,” Brin called after him. “Anyone up for a game of dice?”

The rest of them pushed away from the table and stood as well.

“This way,” Brin said, leading the way.

The others looked at each other and then Alaric shrugged and followed, the others trailing after him.

Someone had started a fire in the fireplace, and on a sideboard just inside the door was a variety of beverages. Alaric poured himself a goblet full of an amber liquid from a crystal decanter, Dren chose a clear liquid from another. Veran held up a pitcher of ale and raised an eyebrow at Brand, who nodded in assent. Brin ignored the refreshments altogether and was busy going through the boxes on a shelf, looking for the dice.

While Alaric and Brin settled at a table for the game, Brand and the others settled into the chairs near the fire.

“How long have you been waiting here,” Brand asked. “Gowan told me we must wait until there are twelve of us.”

“Alaric has been here the longest,” Dren said. “He’s been here close to three weeks. “I arrived more than two weeks ago. Veran arrived the day after I did. Brin and Grent arrived from different directions six days ago.”

“Grent is the one who does not leave his room,” Brand said.

“Brin exaggerates, of course,” Veran said. “Grent breaks his fast in the morning, but he does not linger. He claims he needs to have quiet for his meditation and prayer.”

“I find it odd that someone so religious would seek to become a mercenary,” Dren added.

Personally, Brand felt the same, although he said nothing.

Two days after Brand arrived, a much older man named Sena arrived, followed three days after that by Lucca.

Veran was almost as excited by Lucca joining them as he had been by Brand. Lucca was from the western wastelands, whose inhabitants were almost as insular as the Witchers.

Brand found time weighed heavy on his hands as they waited for the remaining three to make their appearance. He worried about how Raven was faring, but Gowan assured him he was doing well. Veran speculated that the wait was a test of their patience and Brand was forced to agree.

After the first day of inactivity, Brand made it a habit of rising before breakfast to run through the sword dances. The second morning of this, he realized Brin was watching.

“What are you doing?” the boy asked.

“It is the sword dance,” Brand said, without breaking his rhythm.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Few have, outside of the Witch Hills,” Lucca said, coming downstairs early as well. “May I join you?”

“Certainly,” Brand said. “I’m about to start the third movement.”

Lucca took his place beside him and joined seamlessly into the dance. Brin watched, mesmerized as the two men moved in synchronization, one move flowing into another.

Veran and Dren joined the audience. “What are they doing?” Veran whispered.

“It’s called a sword dance,” Brin whispered back.

Alaric joined them as well, watching silently until they were done.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Brin asked.

“It was part of my training,” Brand told him. “One of the first things I ever learned.”

“As it was with me,” Lucca said. “Our sword master was a Witcher.”

“I’ve seen something similar in the east, but without the swords,” Alaric said. “It was called the warrior’s way.”

“Can you teach it to me?” Brin asked eagerly.

Lucca and Brand looked at each other. Brand shrugged. “Why not?” he said.

When he and Lucca came down to the common room that afternoon, as they’d arranged to with Brin, they found the others gathered as well.

“What’s this?” Lucca asked.

“We figured it couldn’t be much harder to teach all of us than just one,” Dren said.

“What say you?” Lucca asked Brand.

“Why not?” Brand said easily. “If we are to fight together, why not share knowledge that could aid us?”

Gowan, watching from the shadows, smiled.

NaNo Week Three

A lot’s happened to Brand since he escaped from his uncle’s lecherous clutches. He’s turning out to be a much nicer character than I thought he’d be when I first envisioned him, but that might work out in his favour later on.

The story is changing too, and I think it’s for the better. I was going to skip over his training to become a mercenary, but he’s making some important friends and it’s going to help the story later on.

I’m well over halfway done, and there’s a ton more story to tell. My plan is to keep working on it after NaNo is over, but the road to hell is paved by good intentions and life has a habit of interfering when you least expect it.

The scene I have for you today is more about Nairn and Therza, who raised Brand after his mother died, and took him to Witch Hills to be with his mother’s family after his father died.

Nairn and Therza had settled in the town of Boven on the Witch Hill border. Therza plied her trade as herb wife, something she was not able to do when they were living in Alandria, while Nairn became weapons master to the local lord, teaching his young sons the way of the sword.

Their life together was happy enough, though they both worried about Brand. Therza worried about the possibility of him picking up the more undesirable customs of the Witchers, while Nairn worried that he hadn’t been more straight forward in his warnings in regards to Orin.

The letters that passed between Brand and Therza were reassuring, however. Nairn had had half suspected that Brand would be moved to quarters outside of the palace – though his royal status entitled him to Sharina’s quarters, his half-blood status was frowned upon. But thankfully they left him where he was. King Theron himself had taken an interest in Brand’s education, and as long as he kept his interest Brand would be safe from any interest Orin might have in him.

A year after they settled in Bovan they had a son, and two years later a second one. Though comfortable enough, they wanted something better for their sons. They talked often of migrating northward to the farmlands, to try their hand at a more pastoral life.

It was well they started to save as well as talk, for the choice was forced upon them. Nairn had a falling out with the lord – his sons complained of their lessons. They found them too difficult but the truth as Nairn saw it was the boys were lazy and unmotivated. The novelty of having a true Witcher instructing his sons had long since worn off, so the lord dismissed Nairn, evicting him from the house he and his family had been living in all this time. They had two weeks to gather their belongings and be gone.

Brand and Kel arrived three days before the family was to depart. One of the boys had become ill and Therza needed to watch over him so she was unable to help Nairn pack up their things. As a result, they had three days left and half a household to dismantle.

Brand was a little nervous as he stood outside the door he was told belonged to “the Witcher and his wife,” a little unsure of his welcome. It had been six years since he’d seen the man and woman who’d raised him, who were more kin to him than his own blood. The journey here had taken the better part of six months, and it had been two months before that since he’d last written to Therza. He had not thought, nor had he had time, to send a message to them, telling them he was leaving Witch Hills.

“Are we just going to stand here until the sun sets, or are we going in? Or have you changed your mind?” Kel asked.

Shooting him a dark look, Brand squared his shoulders and then rapped sharply on the door. He relaxed somewhat when there was no answer. Perhaps they were not home.

“Try again,” Kel urged.

With a sigh, he rapped again.

This time there was the sound of footsteps and the door opened. A weary looking Therza greeted them.

“Yes?” she asked. Nairn was looking after the boys while she started to dismantle the kitchen.

She had put out the word that her services as an herb wife were no longer available, but there was still the odd customer or two who sought her skills. But usually they ones familiar with her work, the two at her door were strangers.

Brand took in the sight of her. Therza did not look much older than she had when she left, although she was looking tired. He hoped he was not disturbing her.

“You wish something?” she asked, a little impatiently.

Brand reached up and slowly removed his face covering.

“Oh!” she said. “Oh!” Laughing and crying, she enfolded Brand in her arms.

He hugged her back, lifting her off her feet.

“You’ve grown so tall!” she exclaimed. “Oh, it is so good to see you,” she said when he set her down again. “Come in, come in. No sense giving the neighbours something to gossip about.”

“What is all this commotion? I just got the boys to sleep,” Nairn said, entering the main room of their small house. “Brand!” he exclaimed. In two strides they met in the middle of the room where Brand was once again pulled into a bone jarring hug.

NaNo Week Two

Can you believe it? We’re at the end of week two and I’m still on track. At least I will be if I get a few more words in tonight after I schedule this post.

I was actually about a day ahead, but I’ve been having to use up those words to make up for my lack of words over the last few days. We’re deep into a kitchen renovation, and reno is not conducive to writing. It’s noisy and it’s messy and it’s really, really annoying.

Anyway, more about that on Sunday. This is Friday which means it’s time for another excerpt from my NaNo novel Firestorm.

So . . . Rankin and Sharina got married and lived happily in his castle in Varellia until Sharina died giving birth to their son Brand. When he was 11, Brand lost his father too, and Rankin’s man at arms, Nairn, and his mother’s former maid/lady in waiting, Therza, decided to take him back to his relatives in Witch Hills because his half brothers didn’t like him. They hung around until he was settled, then left to get married and live their own life.

Everything went fine until Brand’s lecherous Uncle Orin started showing an unhealthy interest in him and Brand’s squire, a slave named Kel, overheard his plans to drug Brand during a private dinner. At this point Brand decided discretion was the better point of valour and came up with a plan to escape Witch Hills (and his uncle).

One last thing. Please bear in mind these excerpts are unedited, so bad grammar, typos, and just plain bad writing are to be expected. :-D

It was a plan he did not even share with Kel, for fear something would go wrong at the last minute and the boy would be the one to pay the price. While Brand had no friends, Orin had many. And many of those still grumbled about the Witcher half blood living like a lord. They would like nothing better than to see Brand brought down.

Deciding the sooner his plan was begun the better he left the palace and went to the market square where he sought out the horse trader. Even the ordinary livestock of the Witchers was better than most and he walked the picket lines slowly, stopping occasionally for a better look.

“Why nephew, whatever are you doing here?”

Brand was not surprised to hear Orin behind him. He’d long suspected he was being watched and this only confirmed it.

“Hello, Uncle. Fancy running into you here.”

“Looking to replace your mount are you?”

“Never! Raven is the finest mount in the land, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for him.” The horse had been a gift for his eighteenth birthday. “No, I am looking for a mount for my squire.”

“Your squire!” Orin said in astonishment. “Whatever for?”

“I have it in my mind to try out that new bow from the north,” Brand said easily. “I plan on hunting the wild cat that’s been after the sheep.”

“By yourself?” Orin’s brows drew together in a frown.

“I’m told it is the best way to catch the cat.”

“But why take your squire then?”

“Surely you do not expect me to dress the kill myself?” he asked, with just the right amount of Witcher arrogance. “And he can hardly ride pillion behind me.”

“No, I suppose not,” Orin said, satisfied in his nephew’s reasoning.

“I wish to leave at first light tomorrow, hence the need for a mount for the boy today.”

“Why not just borrow one from the stable?”

“A squire upon a Witcher horse? I would not have thought it of you Uncle.”

“Well then, I wish you luck, little wolf. It will give us something to celebrate at dinner.”

“I am looking forward most eagerly to it,” Brand told him.

“As am I, nephew. As am I.”

Orin wandered off again and Brand looked after him thoughtfully. Nairn had tried to persuade him to leave with him and Therza but to Brand there had been no reason to at the time. He was among family, and he was honing the fighting skills Nairn had started teaching him. Now he knew why Nairn had tried to be so persuasive but he did not know why he couldn’t have just come out and told him of his suspicions. Perhaps he had been afraid Brand wouldn’t believe him. Or worse, would have gone to Orin with the tale, although Brand never would have betrayed him like that.

He continued his perusal of the horses being offered up for sale. Deciding he was putting far too much thought into it, He chose a three-year-old bay mare. She was sound and even tempered. and he persuaded the seller to throw in a saddle.

Pleased with his purchase, he led her back to the palace stable himself. There he had her ensconced in the stall next to Raven’s, with instructions that both horses were to be saddled and waiting for him at daybreak.

Hunting was actually a common pastime amongst the guardsmen and soldiers of Alandria. And while the more noble warriors often hunted in groups, the less titled were known to make forays on their own. No one would think it unusual for Brand, being a prince but a half-breed one, to hunt solo. The presence of his squire was no more remarkable than if he was taking a favourite hound with him.

Wearing a pleased expression, he returned to his quarters. Kel appeared to be out running errands, which was just as well. He did not care to have to answer too many questions as he went through his things, deciding what to take with him and what to leave behind.