A Warrior's Sword (not an MR fanfic)

The Fraggler

Hey everyone,
Here's part of a novel I've been working on since last Oct. or so. Anyways, feedback is greatly welcomed. even if you tell me it's so horrible your eyes are starting to burn out of their sockets. Well, hopefully that dosn't happen, but now I'm rambling....
Enjoy!

Introduction

Chuzar, Warrior of King Halakar, held the hands of his beautiful pregnant wife, Keziah. Their young son, Luke, only five summers old, raced around the meadow that surrounded their log-cabin home. Finding a short stick, he brandished it like a sword, killing invisible ‘enemies’, and imagining himself the greatest warrior of all. Keziah chuckled as she watched the young boy trip over his ‘sword’, and get up again as if nothing had happened. “He may yet grow up to be a warrior like his ol’ man yet, ye ken.” Chuzar stated mock-sternly.

Keziah laughed again at her husband’s statement, and then winced slightly as one of the babies inside her gave her a sharp kick in the ribs. A worried look flashing across his face, Chuzar asked, concerned: “Are ye all right, me love?”

Keziah nodded, her laugh twinkling softly through the spring air as if it were crystal. “Aye. The two babes have decided t’have a reg’lar kickin’ match, the two ruffians. Here, put yer hand right here, and ye may feel ‘em.”

Chuzar placed his hands in wonderment over his wife’s swelling abdomen. He felt at least four faint bumps come from within. “Mayhap these two’ll be warrior’s too, aye?”

Chuckling slightly, Keziah switched the conversation to a more pressing matter “Have ye hidden the sword, and finished that confounded riddle ye’ve been working on for days?”

Chuzar’s usually laughing face grew serious as he moved his hand back to his side. “Aye, me love. I’ll tell Luke here when he’s twelve; when ‘e becomes a man. That way it’ll never be found until the right time. I’ll tell ‘im the rest too; family history an’ all that.”

Chuzar sighed as he gazed at his carefree son, his usually happy countenance falling. “The sad thing is, Keziah,” he whispered, “Even if’n ‘e lives t’be twenty, as soon as ‘e does, he’ll likely be fightin’ against the Emp’ror in his mad dash t’rule the world.”

Keziah nodded, tears forming in her eyes. “The Emp’ror’s already swallowed up the rest o’ the world; it’s a big surprise Quinton’s held out fer so long.” She slowly wiped a tanned palm across her eyes, trying to brighten up. “But it’ll be alright,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “You’ll see. It’ll turn out fine, just like it did a thousand years ago.”
This time, both Chuzar and Keziah laughed when Luke, once again, flipped head-over-heals over his sword, killing his imaginary enemies as he fell.

Fifteen years later….

The story begins

Chapter 1

Gwynaldolin (known by all as Gwyn) reached out a bronzed arm—her Quintana heritage—to pick some violennas for her parents’ grave. Thick, black hair the colour of a raven’s wing cascaded down her shoulder as she reached over to pluck another flower that caught her eye. Lost as she was in her own thoughts, a sudden hand on her shoulder made her jump. Gwyn started, but pretended not to notice when she realized that it was her twin brother who had flopped down impulsively beside her. “What are ye doin’ with yonder flowers, Gwyn?”

Gwyn paused for a moment, then continued picking, this time with an unwanted tear escaping down her bronzed cheek, which she scrubbed away as quickly as it came, not wanting her hidden emotions to be seen. When Clayman saw her fiercely scrub at her eyes, it dawned on him. “ Mother’ll love the flowers,” he whispered soothingly. “ Da always said that they were her favorite, you ken. He always said he liked ‘em almost as much as she did.” An unexpected wetness dampened Clayman’s lids as he began to follow what Gwyn had already started. They continued like this for the next few minutes, silently respecting the other’s wish for silence. Neither of them, being so absorbed in memories of days long past, noticed the remote sounds of distant hoof beats.

Out of the stillness of the morning came the sound of distant yells and an arrow whizzing in the air just above Gwyn and Claymann. A horse’s scream pierced the country air as the arrow found its mark. The horse lurched to a stop, fell to its side, and was still. The person riding the horse flew from the horse’s back, crashed to the ground, and dashed in the direction of both Gwyn and Clayman. The rider from a distance had appeared to be a full-grown man, tall, and well muscled. As the figure came closer, Gwyn realized that it was not a man, but a female around her own age, travel stained, terrified, and weary. As soon as she realized this, Gwyn immediately darted towards the figure, her bare leathery feet pounding in the clover, with Clayman close behind. Another arrow whizzed past. The figure cried out in pain and fell to the ground, an arrow protruding from her shoulder.

Clayman and Gwyn lifted the figure with little difficulty and headed to their cottage where they resided, trying not to jostle the body too much as they ran as fast as their limbs would take them. Blood flowed around the protruding arrow-shaft, staining the torn and muddied tunic a dull throbbing red. Arrows flew over and around Claymann and Gwyn. Indistinct shouts of men and hounds filled the air as the distance to their home was reduced to 100 meters. Sweat dripped into Claymann’s eyes, and nearly blinded him. Gwyn could feel a stitch beginning in her side. Just as they thought they could not run a moment longer, the cabin loomed directly above them. The door creaked easily open as Claymann gave it a gentle kick. As Gwyn lowered their wounded visitor down to a sleeping mat made of grasses woven together, Claymann bolted the door securely behind them, and then rummaged the cabins’ sparse cupboards for fawnleaf, the herb widely known to heal open wounds from battles. At this point, pain and exhaustion had taken its toll on the unlikely victim, and immediately became senseless. Gwyn, noticing that she was now asleep, she deftly snapped the arrow in half, asked Claymann to hold her down (for safety’s sake) and gently proceeded to extract the arrowhead from her patients’ shoulder.

Claymann gazed down at the woman lying pale on the ‘bed’ they had created for her. An odd feeling he had not felt before washed over him as the scarred, pale and bruised yet still beautiful face lay motionless. Heavily, dark-lashed eyelids fell softly over pallid cheeks. Matted, straw-coloured hair brushed across cherry tinted dew-kiss lips. Uncharacteristically, Claymann almost began to panic as he gazed at the large, soaked, dark-red area were the arrow wound was. “Will she be alright, Gwyn?” he blurted in a muted whisper.
Gwyn gazed at him curiously. He loves her, she realized with a small smile to herself. Quickly forming an answer in her mind that would appease his worry, she whispered back, “She’ll be alright, Claymann, as long as ye leave her be so she can rest. Aye?”

Claymann flushed an unusual deep red, and replied with a crooked smile,
“Aye.”

Gwyn gave her brother a knowing smile, then as a quite different thought came to her, she gritted her teeth furiously. “She’d just better not be a spy o’ the Emp’ror.”

So, what do ya'll think?[/code]
_________________
*sifts through mail* "Aha! Look, it's a Final Notice! I thought the bank would never stop sending 'em!"
~Red Green

Check out my fics Sword of a Warrior, Tunnels of the Mind and my Fanfic Crash: The story of Max's Sister

Grave_Heart · Member of the Flock Joined: 04 Dec 2005 Posts: 109

I the way you have written the story. It's pretty good, you should write more.

hawkeyes1 · Posted: Thu Dec 29, 2005 9:29 am Post subject:

Like it!! Keep writing! Very Happy

_________________
"I'll spread my wings and ill learn how to fly; I'll do what it takes until I touch the sky..."
-kelly clarkson

"Normal" countryangel's, indigo's, winged victory's, and my ff

The Fraggler · Posted: Fri Dec 30, 2005 2:27 am Post subject:

yay! people like it! *claps excitedly* Laughing

I was afraid no one would like it and it would thus be condemned to the 12th page forever more..*wipes brow in relief*

Anyways, since some of you guys like it, I'll post a bit more. Any suggestions on how to make it better??

Chenya, Lady and Duchess, slowly opened her eyes, but quickly shut them again as a jolt of pain sent her gasping for air. ‘Ah, I see that our little visitor has awoken.’ chuckled an unfamiliar but friendly male voice coming from right above her. Chenya struggled to open her eyes to see the face of the man speaking to her. Her eyes beheld a young man, no older than fifteen summers, gazing down at her. His piercing blue eyes the color of a Tropical sea were set in a bronzed face, framed with curls as dark as a crows wing—an obvious reminder of the Quintana blood running through his veins—eyes that seemed to study the very depths of her soul, startled her into wakefulness. A female, who wore the faded men’s garments of a peasant, and identical to the male who spoke studied with equally blue eyes studied at their young patient intently, and pressed a warm, clean rag upon the dull red area that was the girl’s wound.
“Where did the men and their hounds go?” Another jolt of pain caused Chenya to wince, and immediately the boy whose name appeared to be Claymann busied himself with the art of healing. Another warm cloth was placed on her shoulder, where the source of the pain seemed to be. Soaked, spotted brown leaves were placed swiftly beneath the cloths. Fawnleaf, Chenya realized. But where did such peasants find such an herb like Fawnleaf?

"The men came an’ went as soon as we got ye int’ the cabin.” Claymann replied, studying her face intently. “Me guess is that they thought ye was dead, by the wound ye received, firing off arrer’s this way an’ that after us. I suspect that pride an’ ignorance held them back from wanting to finish ye off. Typical fer soldiers o’ the Emp’ror.”

Claymann laughed silently at his own joke, continuing to tend his patient. Chenya attempted to crane her neck in order to see the wound, but that only caused more pain. “There, there now lie still. Movin’ it t’will only aggravate it.” soothed the girl who appeared to look identical to the male. “Now, would you mind a-tellin’ us where you came from and why those men killed your horse and tried to kill you?” Her brother reproached the girl, saying that it would be better for the stranger to rest. Chenya was relieved until she heard him say, “But she’ll be havin’ to tell us sometime. Mayhap after the little escapee has rested.” Chenya closed her eyes, and, despite not wishing to trust the people, she decided to follow the young man’s orders.

She awoke groggily when she heard a crude kettle singing and smelled a glorious sizzling something. What appeared to be little cakes, latkes, or potato pancakes, bread native to Quinton was frying in the open fireplace. The girl had fallen asleep beside her, head pillowed in her arms on Chenya’s pallet, and Clayman appeared to be rummaging the mantle of the fireplace for the many cooking supplies he kept there. After he had discovered the necessary item, he placed the thick gray sauce, with bits of brown stuck here and there on the table they had made out of over-turned old crates. The girl beside her woke suddenly, re-adjusted the stool she had been sitting on, and began to set three carved wooden plates onto an old red wood table that appeared to be hand-made many years ago.
Claymann gently placed a single wide, smooth piece of polished wood under each of the Latkes (as they were so named) and placed a single one on each of the plates, as well as some apelsause—the grey sauce. Two of the three carved oaken plates of Latkes and apelsause was almost immediately snatched by Clayman, one of which he handed on to the girl. The girl carried the third plate with a single latke and a heap of apelsause to Chenya, who was now struggling to get up. “Don’t try to get up yet. Use your good hand to eat.” Chenya began to shake her head when the girl stated, “Ye have t’eat, girl. Besides, I’ll go an’ get Clayman, and ye can tell us about yerself while ye eat. I ken it might not be the most wonderful thing in the world to tell us about, but we should be a-knowin who your family is, so we can tell them where ye are.”

Without giving Chenya a chance to open her mouth, the girl walked stealthily over towards an eating and completely oblivious Claymann and started whispering things into the boy’s ear, which made Claymann stand up abruptly. He placed his used dish into a metal dented basket they used as a sink and lumbered towards Chenya, tripping over one of the oaken stools in the process. Claymann grabbed the stool he had tripped on and brought it towards the guest cot. “So, my lovely Gwyn tells me that you’re going to give us a little storytelling session, aye?” Chenya blushed, but Gwyn whispered to her, “Don’t you be a-mindin me brother. He thinks himself a regular jokester.”

“Hey, I heard that you, you, little devil you!” Claymann complained with a twinkle in his eye as he playfully punched Gwyn. Chenya could sense the closeness between the two siblings, and felt a deep longing in her heart for her brother to love her like that. But what about Shawn? her reasonable self asked. He never came back for me, her stubborn self replied. An d if he had, her stubborn self continued, then I wouldn’t be in this mess with leaders and world domination and all. Sighing, she gazed over at Gwyn and her brother. After Gwyn had recovered from laughing from the ‘attack’ her brother had brought upon her, she encouraged, “Come on then. It cannae be too hard now can it?”

*sigh* this part is rather boorish, but i'll let you guys be the judge of that...

_________________
*sifts through mail* "Aha! Look, it's a Final Notice! I thought the bank would never stop sending 'em!"
~Red Green

Check out my fics Sword of a Warrior, Tunnels of the Mind and my Fanfic Crash: The story of Max's Sister

countryangel · Posted: Fri Dec 30, 2005 12:40 pm Post subject:

you have lots of stories, but they are all good, so you must keep going!!!!!
_________________
everybody read fangfans ff called "turning away"

The Lord is my rock and my fortress, and my deliverer;my God, my strength, in whom i will trust -Psalms 18:2

"its better to be hated for who you are, than be loved for who your not"-Van Zant

Broken Angel · Posted: Fri Dec 30, 2005 1:11 pm Post subject:

*screams excitedly* i really really like it!!! Just a guess, gut are Gwyn and Claymann the twins of the two people from the bigginning? Or maybe i shouldn't ask because i don't want to ruin it for people. KEEP WRITING IT!!!!!!!!!!11
_________________

Fate of the Inhuman *points* have you read it? Yes I'm talking to you! (thanx hawkeyes!)

The Fraggler · Posted: Fri Dec 30, 2005 2:11 pm Post subject:

Countryangel: Thankees thankees!! I shall keep goin! No worries, mate! Laughing

Broken Angel: Ack!! You like it!!! YAY!! I love your stuff...it just honors me that you like my stuff too *wipes tear* And yes, Gwen and Claymann are the twins from the beginning. I'm glad you picked up on that! Very Happy

I suppose I should post some more, eh? *sigh*
Alrighty, here's the next bit...sorry, it starts off kinda slow...but i think it picks up pretty quick

Chapter 2

“It all started like this,” Chenya began with teeth clenched against a throbbing pain. She now noticed that the cloth on her shoulder was now a dull red. She shivered, and then continued. “ My mother became ill when I was very young, as did my Father. They died in the end, after countless amounts of doctors, herbs, potions, and witch doctors. I have no memory of either. My brother and I were sent off to my Uncle who was very wealthy and could afford to keep us all. My brother was very close in age—my mother gave birth to us scarcely a year apart. We were the best of friends, and since I despised the embroidery, knitting, and all other manner of ‘useless’ crafts expected of women of my status, we had no trouble climbing trees, running through the cornfields, riding the wildest of stallions, all the sorts of things that boys my brother’s age would do.
We trained those stallions horses to respond to the most delicate of touches. After a time, when we had trained the horses satisfactorily, my brother and I (who were but thirteen and twelve summers at the time) begged and implored our uncle to let us go for a days ride out in the countryside—oh!”

Chenya stopped abruptly when a fresh poultice of fawnleaf was placed on her shoulder, causing a single spike of pain to drive through her shoulder. Slowly, she glanced up to see Clayman holding a carved wooden mug in which was wenlow bark tea, a pain reliever. Wincing, she drank it; slowly, then in more hesitant gulps as it spread its warmth into her belly. She handed the now empty mug to Clayman, and continued.

“My dear Uncle, an whom the Great one may rest his peace, let us go. We insisted that my uncle come along too, to try out one of stallions we had completed training. Just as we arrived at the spot where we would dine, the stallion that my uncle was riding was spooked by the cry of a jay and bolted. It was almost as if time slowed down as he was thrown from the saddle, his scream echoing through the forest as he fell. It stopped abruptly when he fell; he had broken his neck in the fall. He never regained consciousness. My aunt blamed my brother and I for the whole incident (as she had not approved of us since the moment we entered her home), and has hated us ever since, even though we could not have done anything to prevent it.

“After that painful event (“No pun was intended Claymann,” she rebuked Claymann, who was clutching his sides in gasps of laughter despite the seriousness of the story) my Aunt and her biological children treated us no better then peasants (Gwyn and Clayman stopped their chuckling spurts abruptly and stiffened quite noticeably).

“My brother ran off to the same academy that my father and his before had done. After he was gone, there was no one else to stop the horrid plans my aunt had conjured up for me. For the first year my brother was gone, I was treated as a common slave, with heavy labor from morning until night, and the usual amount of beatings.

“After that torture, she managed to engage me to one of the richest men in Quinton, George Stuart of Scinta. Not only is this man so advanced in years that his white beard flows to a portly chest, he had a dreadful case of smallpox when he was a young man, leaving a great many pockmarks. His crooked nose and obvious limp tells of his victories of long ago that had since made him rich. I have also heard rumors that he managed to beat his previous wife every night until the day she died, 10 years ago.
“This, among other things, caused me to devise a way of escape. First, I collected all the moneys and choice jewels that I had hidden from my aunt in a band around my thigh, along with a sharp dagger that I hid in the belt around my waist. Then, towards the first light of dawn, an hour before I had to wake, I gently cut both of my wrists, leaving a small trail of blood behind that mixed with the luke-warm water in the tub turning it a ghastly shade of red. As I positioned myself in the bath used by the servants, I took a potion, which I had caused an elderly woman—as a matter of fact, she lives quite close—to prepare, one that causes unconsciousness for up to 14 hours, rare breathing and pulse, and paleness of the skin.

“As soon as I gulped down the potion and stowed away the beaker, I was unconscious, and can only guess what happened next. But I believe that either one of the servants or aunt found my body, proclaimed me dead, and buried me the following evening in a shallow grave, as one would for a slave. As soon as I woke, I sliced myself out of the canvas bag they had buried me inside in place of a coffin, dug myself out and left as quickly as possible, being careful to leave as little as possible for a trail. Finally, I bridled my stallion, one of the ones I had helped train, and departed with all speed, hoping to move faster with my horse as a steed.

“My aunt somehow caught wind of the scheme, and sent her bravest knights, hounds and horsemen to search for me. Unfortunately one of the hounds caught my scent, and, well, I believe you know the rest of the story.”

Chenya heaved a great sigh, and looked down at the scabs on her lower arm. Clayman and Gwyn looked at Chenya pitifully. “Tis a very sad story. But what is your name? That is the one point you missed out in your storytellin’.” Chenya erected her head, so that the poor family could immediately tell that she had noble blood in her. “My name is Chenya, Lady of Laznea and Duchess of Freiserlund. My Father was a lord, as was his father, and his father before him.” Chenya said with a hint of pride.
“What is your family’s lineage? Was one of your grandsires a Lord in days long past?”

Although this was meant as an innocent question, really an-almost compliment, Gwyn took offense, and launched a stream of fiery words.
“No, our father wasn’t a Lord or a Duke,” blurted Gwyn, her voice shaking in rage. “He was a simple peasant who worked for a living. An’ I know that we haven’t been trained up proper, like you so obviously have. We’re just simple peasants who don’t have a drop of noble blood, an’ I’m sure you’re glad of it! I--”

“Hush, Gwyn, you’re upsetin’ Chenya. You know that we mustn’t upset her now that she’s hurt somthin’ awful. Since she’s gonna be here a while, we might as well make it nice for her. You, of all people should ken—” Claymann tried to soothe Gwyn, but the girl seemed to have sprouted a deaf ear.

“ Oh just leave me alone, Claymann!” Gwyn shouted. “You --”

“Gwyn, go outside, an’ pace around the house a couple o’ times.”

“Claymann,”

“Go, Gwyn.” Claymann commanded in a stern voice, one that he rarely used.

When Gwyn had disappeared sullenly out of the door of the cozy cottage, Clayman apologized. “Me sister has a temper sometimes. She has no right to talk to you like this, ’specially because you’re noble and heaven knows that we dinnae have a drop of nobility in our veins. I’m really—”

Chenya gently rebuked him by shaking her head, playing the sorry guilty person. “It’s not thy fault. I should have respected thy sister’s feelings more. However, thee and thine family are still quite mysterious to me. Where art thy parents? What of the extra chair by the table? What of-”

Chenya paused when she saw Clayman’s eyes glistening. He blinked rapidly, attempting to stop the sudden wave of sadness that engulfed him. “I’m so sorry,” Chenya whispered “I didn’t know.”

alrighty, now three people need to post before I put up the next little bit Twisted Evil

_________________
*sifts through mail* "Aha! Look, it's a Final Notice! I thought the bank would never stop sending 'em!"
~Red Green

Check out my fics Sword of a Warrior, Tunnels of the Mind and my Fanfic Crash: The story of Max's Sister

countryangel · Posted: Fri Dec 30, 2005 2:26 pm Post subject:

*post* i posted
_________________
everybody read fangfans ff called "turning away"

The Lord is my rock and my fortress, and my deliverer;my God, my strength, in whom i will trust -Psalms 18:2

"its better to be hated for who you are, than be loved for who your not"-Van Zant

The Fraggler · Posted: Sat Dec 31, 2005 2:27 am Post subject:

One down, two to go Laughing

_________________
*sifts through mail* "Aha! Look, it's a Final Notice! I thought the bank would never stop sending 'em!"
~Red Green

Check out my fics Sword of a Warrior, Tunnels of the Mind and my Fanfic Crash: The story of Max's Sister

Broken Angel · Posted: Sat Dec 31, 2005 12:39 pm Post subject:

post post post post!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Please write more. lol I feal so honored that you feel honored that i like your work hahaha! I ove it Fraggy please write more!!!...............or else *shakes fist at Fraggy* just kidding......or am I..................................
_________________

Fate of the Inhuman *points* have you read it? Yes I'm talking to you! (thanx hawkeyes!)

The Fraggler · Posted: Mon Jan 02, 2006 12:55 am Post subject:

Don't worry, I have more...
I just need 1 more person to post Twisted Evil

_________________
*sifts through mail* "Aha! Look, it's a Final Notice! I thought the bank would never stop sending 'em!"
~Red Green

Check out my fics Sword of a Warrior, Tunnels of the Mind and my Fanfic Crash: The story of Max's Sister

The Fraggler · Posted: Mon Jan 02, 2006 12:56 am Post subject:

Don't worry, I have more...
I just need 1 more person to post Twisted Evil

_________________
*sifts through mail* "Aha! Look, it's a Final Notice! I thought the bank would never stop sending 'em!"
~Red Green

Check out my fics Sword of a Warrior, Tunnels of the Mind and my Fanfic Crash: The story of Max's Sister

The Fraggler · Posted: Mon Jan 02, 2006 1:03 am Post subject:

argh....ignore my first post....i'm overly posty happy.... Evil or Very Mad

_________________
*sifts through mail* "Aha! Look, it's a Final Notice! I thought the bank would never stop sending 'em!"
~Red Green

Check out my fics Sword of a Warrior, Tunnels of the Mind and my Fanfic Crash: The story of Max's Sister

hawkeyes1 · Posted: Thu Jan 05, 2006 3:44 pm Post subject:

lol...Love it!!! More! Very Happy

_________________
"I'll spread my wings and ill learn how to fly; I'll do what it takes until I touch the sky..."
-kelly clarkson

"Normal" countryangel's, indigo's, winged victory's, and my ff

Broken Angel · Posted: Thu Jan 05, 2006 5:00 pm Post subject:

that makes three now POOOOOSSTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1 Very Happy

_________________

Fate of the Inhuman *points* have you read it? Yes I'm talking to you! (thanx hawkeyes!)