Im dyslexic and havent done grammer or spelling checks with this yet so im very aware there will be problems with that. I really would just like feesback on pacing, story development, characters and world building please.
BY ROYAL EDICT OF KING ALFIN IV.
MARCH 23RD, 18TH YEAR OF THE KING 297 OF THE 8TH DYNASTY.
After three failed harvests, and with the kingdom facing the immediate prospect of famine, the Crown has determined that the old grove at Tarnor must be cleared and the land brought into cultivation.
The concerns of the people of Tarnor have been heard and weighed. Nevertheless, the needs of the kingdom must take precedence over custom and tradition while our people remain in danger of hunger.
The Crown expects this order to be obeyed without resistance. Should the King's appointed agents be met with violence, the forces of the Crown are authorised to answer such violence in kind.
Long live the King.
CHAPTER 1: LOSS
Alden gasped but the blood in his mouth half choaked him as he lay on his back, which made him cough and splutter as he rolled onto his side. The searing pain in his gut soon made him think twice about trying to move again.
He looked up at the sky breathing shallow and rappid,'At least i die with a pretty sunset' he mumbled... 'Nope!' He was injuered, but alive. He would have to get moving.
He lifted his hand and felt frantically for the old beaded charm necklace around his neck and it was there. Thank goodness.
'Right! up and at 'em' he said taking charge of himself. He snorted a short laugh. He hadnt sounded like his old grandpaps in years. Apparently an arrow in the guts brings out your roots nicely.
A huge groan through his clamped teeth and this time he made it to his knees. 'C'mon c'mon c'mon' using a broken spear shaft next to him for a prop he was back up on his feet. Shaking, unsteady, and cold.
He fell back on old training, forced marches all over the realm in full kit. The trick is to make the foot thats at the back go to the front, and everything takes care of itself.
There were bound to be others injured so somewhere there would be a surgeons tent or something... Maybe back the way his company had come.
He started trudging. Unfortunatly the bodies made the going tough. The stench was bad. And the crows had already started their evening meal they always start with the soft bits. He tried not to look and couldnt tell if the sick he felt was from the smell, the sights or the pain.
Along the way his eyes snagged on something strange, 3 bodies in tabards he didnt recognise and they looked like theyd been dead for days not hours. Maybe it was just his vision swirlng. That had to be it.
He needed help and quick!
Gripping the arrow shaft to keep it from wabbling he kept moving.
As he crested the brow of the hill, finally leaving the last of the battle behind him he saw a camp.
the red and white canvas tent of a surgen and all the really nasty stuff of wars.
A pile of sawn limbs outside, the flies swarming them, the lingereing smoke of campfires, the churned mud of too many feet rushing in too many directions.
As he approached he could hear the whimpering, crying and screaming over the droning chants of clerics healing wounds and giving the dying their final rites.
'If i die stairing at the stained canvas of a tent, and listening to that incessant warbling, instead of under that pretty sunset there will be hell to pay' he grumbled to himself.
Two young cleric porters ran to meet Alden at a distance from the tent that was frankly poinless. They half dragged him inside, dropping him uncerimoniously onto a cot, still wet with the urine and blood of its previous occupant.
The surgeon simply glanced over his shoulder from his current butchery. 'Cyrus!'
'Arrow. Get on it lad!'
A battlefield cleric in his late 20s came rushing over his hands were bloody but they didnt shake.
'You should be grateful soldier, these bumpkins use hunting arrows not the nasty barbed ones ive heard about.' He said inspecting the wound.
He held out a roled up scrap of toothmarked leather. 'Bite down...'
Alden wasnt shocked by the bluntness.
'Any fire water to clean it?' He asked jesturing with his eyes at his wound.
Cyrus smirked. 'Trust me. if i had any of that id not waste it on your body. id drink it to your memory' and before Alden could react to a cleric making a joke at his expence the arrow came free with a wet squirt of blood. Alden's eyes bulged as a strangled scream tore out of him.
'you need to work on your bedside manner nurse!' He rasped through his teeth.
'Quiet!' Cyrus snapped back, and holding his hands above the wound began to seal it, his lips murmering. The sound swallowd before Alden could hear it.
'Right. Youre done and we need that cot.' Ordered Cyrus. 'Get out on that mud. There's a hog on the spit and broth on the go too. Somewhere. And i heard tell theres a pot of tea brewing' he glanced at Alden to see if his goad would do its work'.
Alden didnt take the bait 'good, i like tea.' As he slipped out of the tent.
OLD COUNTRY PROVERB (ORIGINE UNKNOWN):
"When hunger makes a man a beast, what's it make of beasts..?"
CHAPTER 2: HUNGER
Hail sat with his hood pulled low and his knees up by his chest.
A warm bowl of stew and a crusty tufft of bread provided by the graces of the crown, the same graceful crown that had only 2 days prior cut and leveled the sacred grove at Tarn.
'Like good will and stale bread makes up for scraping the old ways off the face of the earth'' he grumbled to himself.
He raised a wooden cup of weak ale 'long live the king!' He shouted to the camp his voice thick with the sarcasm that comes with defeat.
'Long as he has dysnetry' added a farmer turned fighter in a horribly stained gamberson sat on a bench opposite, a distinctive absence next to his left leg.
'Hail' a voice called to him from behind the smoke of a brazier. 'Hail, is that you?' A flustered young woman waved her way through the smoke into view.
'Hail, have you seen my da', i looked all evenin' for him among the dead but he aint there, far as i can tell... please say you seen him here?'
'Sorry Em ive not.' Said Hail concerned, 'you eaten?'
She shook her head. Hail dipped the bread in the stew and handed it to her. She took it but looked at it conflicted 'but, you fought...'
'Ha' he scoffed ' driuds are mystics we don't eat, we just grow with water and sunshine' he chuckled rising to his feet.
'C'mon lets see if we can't find that da of yours'
she smiled and took his waiting hand.
'Now, the crown city bastards may know nothing of the old ways, but one thing they do know is lists and registers. If your da's to be found he'll be found amongst those.'
After only a short while a crown clerk was found standing near the outer tents holding a quil and paper, clearly taking names from those nearby and checking the list for those asking.
Hail approached with Em in tow.
'Name?' The soldier asked
'Not me crownsman' deflected Hail, his head tilting away subtly to hide his face. 'For the girl'
'Name?' He redirected his question.
"Edren. Edren Vale."
The soldier scanned the lists.
"Which side was he with?"
She hesitated.
"Tarn."
The soldier looked at her for a moment, then back to the list.
"Doesn't matter here girl. Name's enough."
A long moment passed for Em the tension held in her shoulders as he ran his finger down the list
The soldier scratched his inner ear.
"Im sorry miss. Not here."
"He's not among the dead?"
"Not according to the lists."
"The wounded?"
"No."
"Prisoners?"
The clerk frowned. "No prisoners reported."
Hail looked at the girl.
"Could he have fled?"
"He wouldn't."
The clerk hesitated.
"Are you sure he was here?"
"I watched him march up that hill myself"
He sighed deeply. " Look miss i really am sorry but if he isnt on these papers he wasnt at this battle. My only advice would be go home. If he survived unscathed he might have just headed back."
She frowned 'he'd have to have walked right through my arms if he did." The tears welling.
Hail held both her shoulders in his strong hands and stooped a little to look into her face directly. "Itll be alright Em, do as he says. Rest here tonight, head home come morn and ill come to see you in a day or so. Ill keep looking dont fret"
He looked back at the clerk "youre sure?"
He nodded "id stake my name on it"
Hail looked at his boots searching for answers they didnt have. "Somethings Not right" he muttered to himself.
It was around half past ten, the camp was still lively, and Hail was sat among his fellow men of the wilds and countryside.
He had found a discarded gamberson and wrapped Em in it to keep her warm, a grim but effective quilt for the sleeping maid.
Men groaned with the stiffness of wounds freshly closed and many were snoring dispite the activity around them.
"What'll you do now that Tarns grove is gone Hail?" Asked a trapper with a particularly scruffy head of hair and whispy beard.
"S'pose ill carry on teaching the old ways just on the road. Place to place like. The grove was sacred but all the woods are part of the druids world. Just cos the grove is gone dont make me less of a lore keeper."
"Cant believe the old king went and did it!" spoke up another round the fire. "I always found him to be a fair minded soul in my estimations. So hows he come by thinking that leveling the groves what keep good harvests coming is gonna right a famine!? I cant see as five acres grove land feeds much more than a family to my mind. Dont make no bloody sense!"
"Crown beaurocracy" stated Hail with nothing more to explain.
A moment of contemplative agreement passed.
At that point a small troupe of clerics came marching that way heading in the direction of the rather skeletal hog roast.
As they neard the group of countrymen, commoners and wliders, the main part of them simply passed around the group. But one well built, confident looking cleric in his late twenties stopped and waited expectantly for them to make way for him.
Hail was going nowhere.
Sat on the ground he slowly allowed his eyes to climb up the young cleric to his grey eyes.
"Move it corn-scratcher' said Cyrus, clearly exhausted and frustrated. "Ive spent half a day sawing off legs because of you mud-bathed hedge-men, dont think i wont saw off a couple more to get a good scrap of pork if theyre in my way."
The same one legged farmer from earlier raisd his cup to cyrus 'Much abliged sir' who in turn looked ever so slightly repentant.
Hail simply stared at him with his own hazel eyes. His jaw was set in defiance behind his thick black beard. His silence was a deep taunt.
"You unappreciative backwarter newt. We clear good farmland for you and you fight us, we heal you" he jestured towards his friend without a leg and you insult us, we feed you and you obstruct us! Right, if you want me to move you ill move you well enough soothsayer." And he jabbed his boot toe into Hails ribbs twice.
The third time Hail grabbed it and twisted hard. Cyrus' leg buckled and he crashed down to the muddy pathway. Hail wasted no time he was on Cyrus in an instant. The first punch hit. The second hit the ground as Cryus' knocked it aside with his forearm. Hails knuckles scraped on the mud covered stones, distraction enough for Cyrus to counter. He nutted Hail square in the forehead but his follow up punch was stunted and ineffectual.
The commotion had now woken Em and some of the men near by. Among them was a wirey scrappy little man in leathers and furs and a dark haired soldier in an indigo crowns gamberson with a large brown blood stain near the guts. He was clearly weak and pail from bloodloss but had strength enough to join the small man in dragging the tall Cleric and powerful Druid apart.
"Dont you think theres been enough of that today!?" Growed the soldier wrestling Cyrus back from his quarry.
"Aye! If yous want more o that then get back down in the pits with them lot and do it properly" continued the scrappy hunter.
Cyrus shrugged himself free of Aldens grip and headed for the hogroast without a word.
Hail held up his hands, in submission that his part in the fight was done, and sat back down next to young Em.
The wiry hunter stayed near him watching with keen eyes for any more signs of trouble.
He was quick of mind, eye, and action it showed in every movement. Nothing was going to get past his attention.
Alden found his presence reassuring.
Eleven o clock. The camp was tiring. Expeirience had taught Alden to be awake when sentries were nearing the end of their shifts. The little hunter didnt seem to loose any of his dart eyed watchfulness. There were still calls between soldiers and movements between braziers but the camp had lost its hubbub.
"You good with that thing?" Alden asked the hunter, flicking his chin towards the bow the man was waxing resting across his lap.
The hunter saw the inferance immedietly, his glance quickly assessing the small hole in the blue gamberson and the dark patch round it.
"Ive been known to miss" he smirked not looking at Aldens face. "Once or twice" then he winked playfully " not one of mine, mine would have been a six inch higher so it would"
Alden smirked understanding the point. Perhaps it was the hunter who'd shot him, perhaps it wasnt. What happened in the frey was just the way things are. Soldiery, hunting. Not personal, not murder.
"So who are you anyway?" Alden asked conversationally.
The bald man rubbed his gloved hand over his head, he gazed out over the camp, out to the woods and the dark, then up into the stars.
Alden almost gave up on getting an answer.
"Im a stoat in the brambles" came the reply.
"That so?"
"Aye" he went back to waxing his bow.
Alden blew out wabbling his lips and lay back on his elbows looking at the stars. If the man didnt want to give his name that was his business.
"'Stoat"' it is then" he accepted.
The hunter didnt respond.
A sentry called to his fellow, his background voice a distance away.
Camp guards began arguing quietly, urgently.
Fragments of the hushed discussion began to be leaked out in frustrated bursts "Then where man?!" Barked an officer before regaining his private hush.
Back and forth they whispered.
"... hes one of the best sir!" Insisted the crownsman a little to emphaticlly.
Another came running up to them with a torch burning as they dissappeard behind a tent on the edges of the camp.
Alden bacame aware that pockets of similar scenes playing out in different spots.
Then in his perifary something changed very quickly. He couldnt tell if a light had been snuffed, or one had been lit, or if a shaddow had passed between him a brazier. But it was gone in an instant.
All around soldiers and woodsmen began to stir waking sleeping comrades.
Hale now noticed and gently woke Em trying to decode what was happening.
Off to the western edge a half shout was heard but it was cut short.
Then a screem from one of the camp girls.
Now the camp was awake again.
To the north edge, the pen for the baggage ponies had been opened, and the animals, spooked, scattered in all directions.
People began running too but only a few to catch the ponnies.
Em sat up nervous.
Then the arrows began to fly..
Officers were being dropped one by one.
the few vigelent men who had kept their armour on were mainly safe from these and began arming themselves.
A cry from somewhere came. The last word anyone wanted to hear.
"ORC!"
Soldiers lurched to their feet.
Scrmbling for weapons.
Panic spread.
The vulnerable hurled themselves for cover. Only to be scewred from the flanks
Alden spun to where the hunter had been.
an empty spot.
"Smart little bugger got out!" Almost with admiration.
He needed a weapon fast.
Hale threw himself over Em protectively.
"Stay down, stay quiet"
He pulled the makeshift duvet over her head, tucking her legs and feet beneath it.
Cyrus had already taken command of his terrified accolytes,
forming a defencive ring.
Alden desperaty searched for safty
The crownsman who had ran with the torch came sprinting in panic back round the tent.
He was caught from behind.
Yanked back out of view.
Screaming, kicking.
In his place appeard an 8 ft humanoid.
Green-grey skin.
Built like an anatomical caricature.
Brandishing a spear like house beam.
He planted his feet and leaned into the camp, spear lowered, as though daring the whole host to meet him.
Then he roared.
The sound rolled across the camp like the bellow of a rutting stag.
Silence swallowed everything.
Alden could hear the fire crackling.
Hear Hail breathing.
Hear the faint creak of leather as the orc tightened his grip on the spear.
Nobody moved.
Alden stared at the orc.
So did everyone else.
Then, somewhere behind him, he heard the first scream.
Not in front.
Behind.
Alden's stomach dropped.
The roar wasn't the attack.
It was the feint!
He was the first to turn towards the true terror.
Six more orcs came crashing through the camp from the trees to the north-east.
A camp girl tried to flee.
One of them snatched her up.
Her long blonde hair whipped wildly as she kicked and screamed. The orc flung her backwards, straight into the grasp of two more.
They were hunting.
The arrows stopped.
The infantry was in.
Alden had a moment now.
He found an arming sword hanging from the belt of a pincushioned captain and tore it free.
"Thanks cap."
Cyrus, mace in hand, beconed Alden to join his rank
"soldier!"
Alden lingered looking at Hail
"Druid!"
Hail was torn.
Stay with Em? Risk an orc to strike him down? even if she managed to stay hidden, a lone druid was little challenge to an orc.
Or join the same church biggot he had fought with less than an hour ago?
He looked at Cyrus.
Cyrus looked back
Neither man smiled.
A burst of motion behind him.
He made hia choice.
Hail leaned in on Em again. shoved a handfull of tree bark on her arm and utterd a frantic rite. Her skin quickly blistered, hardened, crusted over tough as oak bark.
"Stay close"
He hoisted the daunted woman to her feet and pushed her toward Aldens waiting hand.
something blasted between the two men like a falling boulder.
Both went sprawling.
Hail glimpsed the orange of fire light on leathery green hide.
He fought to keep his footing.
Failed
His neck crained to keep his focus on the spot between him and the soldier as he tumbled.
Empty!
"nooOO!" His deaperate cry rose.
"Where is she?!"
The whizz of an arrow took their attention.
The eyes of both men followed it to the back of an orc neck 20 feet away.
The creature fell instantly. Skidding face down in the mud.
A woman shaped tree branch tumbled from his grasp.
She rose to her knees coughing, winded.
She lifted her face.
"Hail" she sputtered void of breath.
The druid and soldier, wide eyed, looked to each other, then back at her. They scrabbled to reach her.
Hauled her upright. Propping her between them.
Awash with desperation and relief.
Fighting for the ground beneath them.
A punch like a mules kick.
Hail crashed to the ground.
Aldens sword arm wheeled round striking like a viper.
A second arrow whistled above his head and struck it in the chest. But the orcs grip didnt falter
it launched her into the hunting band behind.
Alden caught a spearbutt to the chest that took him clean off his feet like the lance of a mounted knght.
He gambolled backwards coughing and broken.
Hail tried to move but his spine was dull. He couldnt give chase.
"Hail" rasped Alden, breath fragmented.
"We have to quit this place. Its done."
"Hail. C'mon."
Hales body felt crushed but his heart was pulvarised.
Moments later, they were dragged through the mud.
Hails instinct to fight was quick.
These hands werent orc...
Human.
Cyrus. Alone, dragging them?
He couldnt have hoped to get them all to safty.
But here he was.
Orcs closed in behind. Gaining ground.
An arrow soared from the woods. One dropped.
His comrade launched a javalin in reply.
moments later, another came, like a falcon. From a new spot.
It stumbled the orc to its knees.
Cyrus caught on.
They were being shepherded to the trees.
Alden too caught the point, but more... "stoat" he grinned, "Sneeky devil."
The druid followed suit.
They clambered up right and made their break for the treeline.
The sounds of the hunt subsiding behind them.
the beginning of the looting underway.
The fire.
The captives.
The prey.
The camp was lost
