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NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month. One month, 50,000 words, caffeine, smidges of insanity, and absolute fun rolled into one.

2003 - NaNo Excerpts

1 November 2003

"My king, I come bearing tidings from the Queen Ataya."

Taer glanced up from his desk and smiled warmly, gesturing for the man to enter. "Oft, it has been long since you last graced me with your presence. As ever, dispense with the pleasantries and call me Taer. We have been through too much together."

"Ah, I am afraid I cannot comply with your wish, for it would be not appropriate, sire. I am but your humble court wizard," Oft said wryly, in his distinct Southern accent. As he straightened from his bow, his gathered ponytail of graying black hair fell back into place and Oft's blue eyes gleamed as he regarded his old friend.

"Humble!" Taer snorted. "Is this indeed the same Master Oft Vahl who single-handedly defeated an entire army of Rystian soldiers? The same Master Vahl who moved boulders and other earth elements to prevent the River of Nuramar from flooding the city? Nay, you have done too much in service of this city to be considered humble."

"I suggest you check your definition of the word humble, my king, for yours seems to be inaccurate," Oft said. "You use the word as though it meant great, which I am not. It is of happy chance that that definition leads to the next: I recognize that I am not great and so I am humble."

"For that, I deny you permission to sit when you tell me of your news!" Taer said, but an easy smile was on his face.

"Ah, yes, the news from the Queen," said Oft. "She would have informed you of this herself, but I fear she was unable for she currently rests in the Hall of Healers."

"Pray tell! Has something happened to her?" Taer asked worriedly, the quill slipping from his fingers.

"Indeed something has! But you need not turn such an interesting shade of white, my friend, for that something is not ill. Rather, it is quite a fortunate piece of news for this city and for you." He stopped and beamed proudly at the King, as if Taer had just solved a difficult mathematical problem.

Taer stared at Oft, waiting for him to finish, but as the seconds dragged into minutes, it dawned on him that Oft wasn't intending to finish without a prompt. With an exasperated sigh, he surrendered to Oft's unspoken challenge. "And?"

"She is pregnant," said Oft. "And she is slated to give birth in eight moons."

This time, the quill did drop from Taer's hand and ink dripped from the quill onto the document he had been writing. But the king did not notice, did not care. "She is heavy with a child?" said he, in an astonished voice. "With my child?"

"I would hope so, sire," Oft said. He leaned over Taer's desk and adjusted the scrolls and quill, murmuring a quick spell to cleanse the ink.

"I will have an heir."

"If all goes well, that is the norm."

Taer stiffened and he asked sharply, "If all goes well? Why would something go wrong?"

"Nothing shall go wrong, my liege." Oft said hurriedly, immediately sensing the younger man's emotional shift from serenity to anxiety. "That is why the Healers are here, to ensure the Queen and your child remain in excellent health. I offer apologies for I spoke in jest and should not have."

Under normal circumstances, Taer would have been quick with a retort, but instead, a genuine smile graced his handsome features and he stared straight through Oft, as if not quite seeing him. "Ataya will bear me a child and I shall be a father," he said hazily.

"Yes, sire. A man becomes a father when his wife gives him a child. That is a typical example of cause and effect," Oft said. I must remember to use his stupor and slow mind as leverage against the King later. "It is happy news, is it not?"

"You fool, Tasril!" Taer said and he suddenly chuckled as he sank back in his chair, his muscles no longer possessing the strength to hold him. "Obviously you have brought me joyful news, for the first time in many days, I must add."

If he remembers that my nickname amongst the people of Ryt is Tasril, then perhaps he is back in his former state of mind. "That is hardly fair, my king. The content of the news cannot be blamed on the messenger."

"I am the king and if I choose to blame it on my humble court wizard, then he has no choice but to accept my wisdom," said Taer, winking at Oft's stunned expression. "Now I beg you, old friend, to use some wizardly concatenation of yours to lend me needed strength so that I may visit my wife and child without collapsing!"

2 November 2006

"My queen, what brings you to my unpretentious abode?"

Ataya nodded a greeting at Oft and then glanced around the wizard's quarters. The place was small, austere, sparsely decorated. Other than a mat in one corner and a glass of water on the stone tiles, there were no signs of life in the room. "You know you could have better rooms if only you asked."

"But I have not asked. I need not physical comforts."

"Perhaps you need them not, but you can still have them as icing on a cake of internal comfort."

"To what honor do I owe this visit?" Oft asked after a long pause. He was not willing to admit that the queen had bested him at verbal warfare. In his mind, he could already envision Taer's smug look of superiority.

"I was speaking with Nyor earlier."

"Indeed?"

"He told me you shared with him a story. A bedtime story, if I heard correctly. A tale of two brothers and a city named Raenor."

"That is interesting," Oft said blandly.

Ataya's gaze hardened. "I am curious as to why you chose to share such a story, or shall I say, history lesson, with my son?"

"Am I not allowed to repeat to him tales of the old days? It is in our young sire's best interests to know the history of this land."

"But the tale of Raenor and the twin sons?" said Ataya. "I want him to look fondly upon his sibling, not view him or her as a rival!"

"The tale of Raenor and the twin sons was intended as a bedtime story, not an attempt to negatively impact Nyor's thoughts regarding his sibling." Oft steepled his fingers together thoughtfully. "I am a scholar of history, my lady queen. Can the blame be entirely laid upon me whence the prince asks for a bedtime story and refuses to sleep until I deliver?"

"The blame has already been laid upon you," Ataya warned, in a deceptively sweet tone. "Now I beseech you, Master Vahl, to repeat exactly how you told Nyor the story so that I may find ways to rectify any negative impact that may have been dealt."

Oft shrugged. "I doubt it is needed for you must admit the prince sees farther than what his eyes show him and trusts little at face value. However as my queen commands, I shall see it done." He waved his hands, conjuring up a chair. "I suggest you sit down, for you are heavy with the second child and this tale is long."

"For your sake, I hope it is benign as well as lengthy," Ataya said, but she acquiesced and settled into the soft chair, looking at Oft expectantly.

"I began by telling him that Ryst and Ryt were once one kingdom, united under the name of Raenor. The king of Raenor was loved and cherished; they placed on him the name of Raedor, meaning Sun of the Empire. He was a noble man with an aptitude towards military strategy. Under him, the armies of Raenor conquered much of the Northern lands and drove back the barbarians. The king annexed many square miles to the kingdom.

The king had two sons, twin sons. The eldest was born merely minutes before the second and because records were ill kept, it was uncertain which of the two had been born first. Wisely, the king refrained from naming an heir until he could determine which was the more qualified.

As the two grew older, there were obvious distinctions. One loved studies of mathematics and science and spent his days dreaming of military campaigns. The other was a scholar of folklore and history and preferred diplomatic situations. Despite those differences, the two brothers vied for the coved throne and at every opportunity present, flourished their skills before the king."

"Exactly the message I do not want Nyor to be receiving," said Ataya in a dangerously silky voice.

"Peace, my queen, and allow me to finish ere you floor me with accusations," said Oft.

With an exasperated sigh, Ataya consented and her face adopted a strained smile. "Thank you," Oft said. "Now as I was saying ere I was interrupted by my fair queen, the twins participated in every contest, challenge, and tournament. They won an equal number of honors and distinctions. The relationship between the brothers strained over the years, as they sought so oft to prove the other a useless and blundering fool.

After some twenty years had passed and both twins stood on the brink of manhood, the king's health began to fail and his advisors pressed him all the more furiously to name an heir. The king presented a challenge to the boys. 'Go into the city of Eryn and bring me back that which echoes the treasure of the city.'

And so one of the boys spurred his horse and rode out. He went far and wide, seeking for something of great value to present. His search took four moons and when he returned, he bore with him a pearl, as large as his fist, a clouded swirl of creamy shades of pink. 'This is from the River Raen,' said he. 'And the pearl symbolizes the natural beauty that can be found, the many jewels within this land. Raenor is full of promise and if you crown me, Father, I will find all the treasures of Raenor.'

Upon which the second son said scornfully, 'What fun is there in unveiling all the treasures of gold and silver so that our posterior shall find naught?' He then bent and scooped a handful of dirt from the ground and tossed it before the king. 'The beauty of Raenor is found in every pebble, every grain of sand. But more importantly, the beauty is not found merely in material objects, but in the hearts of men. Crown me, my lord king, and I shall help others find that beauty within themselves. True external peace cannot be achieved until internal peace is found.'

'Crown him and look at the horrendous job he shall do!' said the first. 'I spent many days searching for my treasure and here he dares to throw dirt at your feet and claim it worthy of Raenor!'

'Who are you to judge what is or not worthy of Raenor? How can you claim the soil that blesses us with wheat and corn is not worthy? If anything, that dirt is more worthy than your sword.'

At that, the first son flared and he settled one hand on the hardy hilt of his prized broadsword. 'This sword has defended many lives of Raenorians.'

'It has done naught more than bloody the lands of Raenor!'

'With the blood of the enemy, not the blood of our people!'

'Blood is blood, whether it be Raenorian or Savroahtian.'

The king stirred then, for he had heard enough. 'My sons,' he said mildly. 'This matter has no one answer for there exists many answers and not even the wisest amongst us can say which is right. Now hear me. Both of you are worthy of ruling Raenor and in my heart I cannot choose one over the other. Instead, I shall divide Raenor into two and offer one half to each.'

His decision was met with a stony silence until the second son sighed and said, 'If that is your will, sire, then I accept it and shall proceed as you command. However I counsel you against splitting the kingdom, for it will make us weaker in the eyes of the barbarians and of our neighbors of the South.'

'I have considered your words and my decision stands,' said the king. He gestured towards his first son and said, 'You shall have the lands east of the Asdan Fortress. And your brother shall take the lands west.'

The decision was just for the eastern side had room to expand whereas the western was snug against the shore for prime dealings with trade. The king knew the geographic locations suited his sons's individual personalities and desires.

The second son, the one who had been granted the western half, stood now and bowed. 'Alas, Father, I am honored with this. I shall name my half Ryt, for many things are right about it.'

'You play on words and think you the better?' the first son jeered. 'Then I shall name my half Ryst, where the 's' is both sword and soldier.'

'I pray that you, my sons, maintain peace between your two lands,' said the king. 'For do not forget that both are still of Raenor.'

Yet peace was not kept between the two lands. The brothers initially attempted, through use of ambassadors and treaties, but after the death of their father, pent-up tensions from childhood emerged and the two lands went to bloody war. Neither won and both lost. Raenor ceased to exist and in the place of a once noble kingdom were two flawed kingdoms, each but a half of what glorifies a land."

Oft concluded his story and tucked his arms into his voluminous robes. "I told not the story with the intention of sharing a friendly tale of siblings," said he. "I told him that tale for amusement mostly, and a bit of historical background of the city he will one day govern. Nyor is clever; he picked up on the concept of siblings and connected it to your words. However I doubt the story negatively influenced him for he has a kind heart and not a jealous mind."

Ataya sighed, the fight draining from her at Oft's reasoning. "Mayhap you are correct and I worry too much for him."

"As you should, my queen!" said Oft. "It is a mother's wont to worry."

The queen's lips twitched. "Then what is a wizard's wont?"

"To encourage such worrying and then charge for a spell to rid of gray hairs and lines."

4 November 2006

The prince knelt on the ground, feeling the dirt between his fingers. The rabbit's presence was so strong . . . was overwhelming . . . he could feel her fear.

"Draw your knife, brother!" Baryn said fervently. "She approaches!"

Uneasily Nyor freed his ebony-handled knife from sheath. Morality conditioned his arm and he almost threw the knife to the ground and stormed back to the cabin, but Baryn's expectant gaze spurred him on and he rose from his crouch, cocking his head to one side to catch the faintest sounds of a rabbit's scuttling feet.

He moved.

A bright flash of white exploded hardly five inches from a bush before him. Acting purely on instinct, Nyor flung himself forward and his knife scraped the rabbit's fur-covered back. Baryn was there, stabbing in feral motions at the air. The rabbit squealed in terror and attempted to continue running, but Baryn's stubby knife hampered her and she scuttled frantically.

"Nyor, help me!" shouted Baryn, his face covered with sweat.

His brother's plea broke through his confusion and Nyor advanced, his blood-tipped knife held loosely in his right hand. He raised his arm and brought it down with deadly precision. He knew the blade would land and cut through the rabbit's back, would pierce the pumping muscle that was the heart, would end her life . . .

At the last second, Nyor twisted his wrist and the blade glided over the rabbit's fur. So sharp was the knife that fragile translucent pieces of fur clung to the blade as he missed. The rabbit wasted no time and nimbly sprang away. With a cry, Baryn leapt after her, his eyes flashing with anger, but Nyor stepped directly in his path and the two brothers collided.

Baryn spat on the ground. "You missed, Nyor!"

"I did not miss," Nyor said quietly, his sharp eyes tracking the rabbit's bloody retreat through the forest. His first inflicted wound would heal soon. He was suddenly very glad he had not followed through with the unbearable killing strike.

Baryn's blue eyes were stony. "You let her go, then."

"Yes."

The tone was cool and measured and Baryn felt his hands tremble with frustration. Why? Why did his brother constantly have to ruin a good kill with his ethics and philosophies? Why couldn't he just accept that everything died, one way or another? "Kun, mi sihne [why, my brother]?" he asked plaintively.

"We did not need her meat," said Nyor. He wiped his knife clean on his tunic and tucked it back into the sheath. As he turned to meet Baryn's confused gaze, he could feel the guard's eyes burning on his back, could hear the unspoken questions.

"We hunt for fun," said Baryn. "It is a sport. Even Father engages in it."

"But it is not right and he should not," said Nyor. "Lower your knife, Baryn. I am no longer in the mood for hunting."

"Nay," said Baryn, and his brow was furrowed. "But you never are."

6 November 2006
(First words spell out 'silhouette of a king.' Passage was a dare.)

"Sire, have I ever given you reason to doubt my purposes for holding a conversation?"

"I – "

"Let me caution you about your words, for although royalty and my future liege lord you may be, I shall not be doubted!" said Oft.

"How then can I speak of the truth when under such duress?"

Oft smiled and then gestured for Nyor to sit on the chair next to him. "Under duress? Even the boldest of knights would not dare place the future king under duress so I cannot be accused of doing so for I am but a feeble old man."

"The boldest of knights have not the furtive tongue of a wizard." The prince seated himself and then he looked at Oft challengingly, letting the wizard know that he had no intentions of surrendering this round as quickly.

"Enough of this banter, though, for I have words of great importance to speak," said Oft, sensing Nyor's adamancy and knowing that he had not the luxury of time for a drawn out argument. Oft leaned back in his chair, mulling over the speech he had rehearsed. "Foul has been the relationship between your brother and you," said he. "A blind old woman would have noticed it and I certainly am not one!"

Keen grey eyes raked across Oft's face; Nyor's face was utterly unreadable, an icy mask that for all his magical prowess with fire elementals, Oft could not melt.

"I know what you speak of and where this conversation shall lead," Nyor said at last, giving the wizard a short nod, a dismissal.

"Nyor, wait," said Oft, reaching out a hand for the young man, as if the physical contact could breech the wall that had built up between them at the mention of Baryn.

Great was the surprise on Nyor's face at the sound of his name, for despite their long years of camaraderie and Nyor's pleading to drop the formalities, the wizard had never addressed him as anything less than 'my prince.'

17 November 2006

The sound of a fist connecting with flesh echoed through the basement and shadowy corridors of the castle. Taer stood over the bedraggled man, shaking his fist to regain feeling. "Murderer!" he hissed fiercely.

The man spat out a mouthful of blood as he nursed his injuries. His face was covered with bruises and his hair matted with blood. The guards who had captured him had not been gentle. He spoke slowly through clenched teeth, as if breathing hurt. "I thought naught could unnerve you so, Lord King!"

"You thought wrong," Taer snarled.

The man's face split into a smile, his dry lips cracking at the movement. "I have waited years for this moment, to see the great king of the blasted Rytians grieving!" His voice rose in excitement. "To see the precious Queen, traitor of Ryst, dead at my feet!"

Taer's jaw set as he struggled to contain his anger.

The man grinned widely now, blood running down his lips. He knew his words had struck home. "What is the matter? I know you want nothing more than to hurt me. Go ahead. I care not. I have done what I have spent a lifetime training for."

Taer's response sounded calm, but his fingers were twitching with rage, itching as if they desired to wrap around the man's throat and squeeze, simply squeeze the life from him. "Then you have wasted a lifetime."

Oft shifted slightly, hoping the rustle of his clothes would remind the king of his senses. His subtle movement seemed to have little effect and Taer continued to look murderous.

The man snickered. He too knew the depth of the king's anger. "You only say those words, but I see the anger in your eyes. You hate me, do you not? Do not try to deny it, Taer, King of the Rytians," he rasped, spreading his hands out mockingly. "Kill me then. I see how much you want to."

"Tempt me not too much," Taer said, his voice strained but calm.

"Then you are a coward!" the man screamed at him. He sprang forward, swinging wildly. Taer was unprepared for the attack and took the first punch in the stomach. He doubled over, shocked rather than hurt. The man nearly fell, limbs too weakened and injured to hold him. But the fight was not out of him and fresh hatred blazed in his eyes. "How does that feel?" He attempted to hit Taer again.

Oft started forward now, but Taer reacted with honed reflexes and intercepted, roughly twisting the man's arm behind his back. The man let out a low hiss of pain as strained muscles were forced to grate against bone. Taer withdrew a thin knife from his belt and pressed it to the man's neck. "I weary of you!" hissed he.

Uncertainly, Oft moved towards the bars of the cage, but did not speak.

The knife lightly traced a line in the soft flesh in the under curve of the neck. Red blood seeped at the edge. The man had gone deathly still, leaning on the king for support despite himself.

Taer brought the cool metal to rest against the man's jugular. "What do you say now, murderer of my wife?" he said quietly, his words soft and lethal.

The man tensed against him and attempted to break out of the hold, but the king's hands were like iron and his body was too battered for much of a fight.

"Answer me!" Taer snapped, shaking him.

But it was not the man who spoke first. Oft said quietly, "My king...what you do is no better than what he did to Ataya."

Taer flinched violently. He looked down at the knife, at the blood staining the sides, at the man's bruised but defiant face – "Oft, call a healer."

Oft hesitated for he clearly did not want to leave Taer alone with the man.

"Go," said Taer. Still the same flat tone.

With a reluctant nod, Oft bowed and left for the Hall of Healers.

"Why do you stay your hand?" the man snarled through a mouthful of blood.

Taer's blue eyes were dull. "My reasons are my own, man of Ryst."

"So I am no longer 'assassin', am I?" the man coughed.

Taer looked at him. His hand twitched again, just ever so slightly. His heart still raged, still cried for Ataya...but the price of satisfying his darkest desires was not a price he could afford to pay. It was too expensive.

For you, Ataya, I walk away. Taer let his hand fall to his side, stepped outside the door, and locked it. The man spat at him. Ignoring the bloody spittle dribbling from his robes, Taer made his way to the door and opened it. Oft stood there uncertainly, a healer behind him.

"My king," Oft began, but lapsed into silence at the look on Taer's face.

Taer gave him a short nod and began to walk away.

"My king," Oft said again. He couldn't just let Taer walk away. Not while he was in such a turbulent emotional state.

"What is it?" There was an unusual fatigue in Taer's tone.

"How do you fare?"

"Fine," said Taer tonelessly. His eyes flickered back to the cell. "He requires care. Have you aught else to inquire about?"

Reluctantly, Oft tore his eyes away from Taer's haggard face and shook his head. "Nay, sire. I bid you rest." For you look in desperate need of it, my friend!