This is the first chapter of my fantasy novel.
So far it is 100,000ish words and it is 50 chapters long.
So far...
THE NECKLACE OF NARRLA
DUTY BOUND
CHAPTER ONE
AND SO IT BEGINS
Tomus warrior in training had made many friends since he had joined the army of the Kingdom of Gallondi. At seventeen summers he was not the youngest in the army but he was the youngest to be accepted into the warrior corps.
He didn’t have the looks of a warrior; his lanky body still that of a boy. He had dark eyes, a cheeky grin and black hair which always stuck up on top, no matter what he did to it.
Today’s instruction had gone well for the young warrior in training. Between classes he met up with friends and some of them stood talking and joking on the edge of the parade ground.
It was meant as bit of fun; the other warriors in training grinned and laughed as Tomus strutted back and forth. He had a good ear and the voice that came from his mouth sounded just like Captain Robbest.
“Dattork, stand to attention… At ease!” Tomus barked as his friend complied.
Unknown to Tomus, the Captain appeared behind him.
“My office now!” Robbest bellowed at Tomus, who froze.
The Captain strutted off towards his office; soldiers stepped out of his way or saluted, he ignored them as he continued across the parade ground.
Tomus slowly turn and watched him go.
“You alright?” Dattork asked as he reached out to his friend.
“No. Better go.” Tomus sighed as he pulled away from Dattork.
Dragging his feet, Tomus walked across the parade ground towards the building the Captain’s office was in.
His friends exchanged looks as they watched him go.
*
The office was small but adequate for the needs of Captain Robbest as second in command of the fort.
The young warrior in training stood in front of the desk, hands behind his back, waiting for his Captain to acknowledge him.
“Tomus, why do you want to be a warrior?” It was a simple question the Captain asked.
“I dreamed of it from being a boy." Tomus was proud and tall as he spoke.
“But why? Answer me.” the Captain demanded.
“I would have become a healer if I’d stayed in my village. I wanted more, Sir.”
“Well, boy, you should have stayed there. You can barely lift a sword, let alone use one. I have reports on you. None of them are good. You lack the discipline needed to be a warrior." Captain Robbest held up a handful of papers.
“Sir?” Tomus was confused and shocked by his Captain’s words. He knew how to handle a sword, these words were lies.
“You will no longer continue with your training. It is night watch for you, boy, dismissed!” Captain Robbest went back to his paperwork.
“Sir?" Tomus pleaded. “I… I am sorry I disrespected you.” He continued to stand in front of the desk, desperate for the Captain to reconsider his order.
The Robbest ignored him and stared at his paperwork without reading it.
The Captain had no idea what it meant to him to be a warrior riding tall and proud into his village and have everyone welcoming him home. Just like their fort Commander, the warrior who had rode into his village of Welbon when he was seven summers old, at the end of the last war with the Kingdom of Seymal. He was going to be that warrior one day.
Tomus stood his ground Captain Robbest looked over the report in his hands. The Captain’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
“I dismissed you, yet you’re still here? You, don’t listen. You continue to step out of line. You’re lucky I don’t send you back to being a foot soldier. I don’t think you’re ready to be a warrior.” Robbest threw his report down on the desk.
“Our fort Commander has other ideas. I don’t know why he has allowed you to train as a warrior. He has given me the order that you have to stay. From now on you will only do night watch and nothing else until I tell you otherwise.” a vein on the Captain’s temple throbbed.
“Sir, how am I going to become a warrior, if all I do is night watch?” Tomus felt his stomach flip.
The Captain pushed back his chair and with his hands firmly planted on the desk leaned over.
“Silence boy, don’t answer back. If you ever disrespect me again, then you will never become a warrior, I will see to it... Now get out." the Captain spat his words at Tomus.
Tomus left the Captain's office; red in the face, his jaw ached from gritting his teeth. He returned to his barracks to get some sleep. It was going to be a long, long night.
*
Dattork was waiting for him.
“What happened?”
“He put me on night watch. No more training.” Tomus flopped down on his bunk.
“Could have been worse.” Dattork grinned.
“He can’t kick me out. Commander Mickon won’t let him.”
“Oh, how so?” Dattork asked.
“My family knows Commander Mickon. He’s from my village.” Tomus said in hushed tones.
“Who knows this?” Dattork leaned closer.
“Just you.”
“Robbest won’t be happy if he finds out.” Dattork said.
“So don’t tell him.” Tomus grinned; he knew Dattork would never tell.
“You better get some sleep.” Dattork said as he left.
Tomus undressed and got into bed. He pulled the covers over his head and tried to sleep.
*
Darkness descended upon Fort Twenty-one North. With the evening meal over, Tomus was ready to begin his night watch.
There had been heavy rain all afternoon it had now stopped. Tomus as stepped out of the barracks, he passed a pile of sodden hay. It had arrived earlier that day and should have been put undercover.
Someone would be in trouble for that, at least he was in the clear.
He climbed the stone stairs to the walkway that ran around the top of the wall of fort and looked over the ramparts to the sea below.
The moon briefly slipped out from behind a cloud, casting a pale light over the sea. He could just make out the white crests of the waves as they crashed on the rocks below. All was well.
Tomus pulled his heavy grey oilskin cape around himself to keep out the chilly damp air; he began to walk back and forth along his assigned stretch of walkway.
He hated Robbest for giving him this duty. His anger showed in each step along the walkway, as he began to mutter to himself.
In the middle of his watch, he thought he heard voices coming from the rocks below. No one should have been there. Tomus hesitated, were voices real or not?
The chink of metal on stone took Tomus by surprise. He took several steps back. A grappling hook caught tightly against the wall and the rope attached to it disappeared over the edge. Other hooks followed.
As Tomus turned from the wall and called out the alarm, arrows rained down on all of the guards on patrol, an arrow hit him in the shoulder. He screamed as it knocked him off his feet. There was no way to stop himself from falling; he landed in the waterlogged pile of hay left below.
He lay there dazed, the pain shot up and down his left arm. His vision became cloudy and he almost passed out. Tomus lay still until his shoulder just throbbed. The arrow was still there, embedded in his shoulder.
He watched as other soldiers began running around, some half-dressed, others still pulling on their boots.
The attackers swarmed over the wall. They moved like shadows dressed head to toe in black. Tomus could hear them yelling, there was no longer any need for stealth. They were quick, well organized and moved as one, sweeping aside any who got in the way.
Tomus lay watching, he was unable to move.
This was his first battle; nothing could have prepared him for it.
He had been told about it; he had read the accounts of soldiers, nothing came close to what was going on around him. The noise, the smells, the over whelming fear that gripped him. A nightmare he could not wake from.
The attacker’s opened the main gates and let in the rest of their troops.
The slaughter had begun. No mercy shown.
Tomus slowly staggered to his feet. His shoulder still ached and his head spun with the sound of the battle. Someone yelled and pushed him aside. It was Dattork he put himself between Tomus and one of the enemy soldiers. They exchanged several blows; the enemy’s sword struck Dattork, he fell. Tomus picked up his friend's discarded sword and tried to fend off the soldier. He stumbled and fell back onto the hay. He held the sword, one handed, in front of his face. The sword became heavier with each blow. Tomus needed to use both his hands, but his shoulder prevented it.
The attacker hit the sword hard and Tomus almost dropped it.
The attacker made eye contact. He had icy blue eyes, the like of which Tomus had never seen and what exposed skin he could see was pale. It was like looking into the face of a ghost.
The enemy raised his sword above his head and took hold of it with both hands; this would be a death blow. Tomus held his breath, eyes wide as he tried to push away.
The look on the enemy soldier's face was that of surprise. He looked down with wide bulging eyes, to his belly where the tip of a sword poked out. His mouth opened but the scream never came. He crumpled to the ground as the sword was withdrawn. Tomus never saw who it was that saved his life as the throng of fighters ebbed and flowed around him.
Tomus could not think, the noise was deafening; the smell of death and dying was all around. He needed space to think; he edged his way through the fighting, shoving people out of his way. Somehow he made it to the wall. He pushed himself against it and slid down into the hay. Pulling more over himself and then the body of a fallen comrade on top, it sickened Tomus to do that, but he had no choice.
He lay still, listening to the screams of his fellow soldiers. Tomus pulled his neckerchief from around his neck and put it over his nose and mouth to stop the dust and dirt from the hay from getting in. At some point he stuffed a hand in his mouth to quell the sounds he could feel welling up in his throat. Tears fell in silence as he curled up into a tight ball. Fear and panic held him still, waiting for his hiding place to be discovered.
Several times attackers thrust swords or spears into the hay, each time Tomus held his breath. He could see shapes and movement through the gaps in the hay but his view was restricted and he could not move because of the weight of the body on top of him. His hiding place remained undiscovered.
Tomus expected the enemy to burn the hay with him still in it. They tried but it was so wet it only smouldered briefly.
Voices, not of those he served with, but those of the enemy. They talked quicker than the people of Gallondi. Tomus could not bring himself to look out.
The enemy left as quickly as they had arrived.
Silence descended. The time passed slowly for the young warrior in training as he remained in his hiding place.
Tomus could smell smoke. The stench of burnt and decaying flesh of his fellow soldiers hung in the air.
There had been no real sound for most of the morning. Slowly he parted the hay and pushed the body away.
The only things that moved were the flies. Not one animal or person was left alive. The fort was now guarded by the dead.
He leaned against the wall for support as his legs shook. His eyes darted around taking in the carnage. Bodies lay everywhere. Some intact many with limbs or heads missing, they lay in dark congealed blood. A few had been partly burned.
He began to recognize the bodies as some of his friends. He retched.
How had he, Tomus from the small village of Welbon, survived this? Why had not one of the others?
The goddess Narrla was looking after him. Why? What plans did she have for
him? His thoughts spilled over, both lucid and muddled, until only one remained… He must somehow warn the next fort.
Still shaking he pushed himself off the wall and took a few steps forward. He slipped on some blood and fell on top of another body. He pushed himself up onto his feet and wiped the blood off his hands on the legs of his pants. His breathing was laboured, he gulped the air.
He threw back his head and screamed. The scream echoed around the walls of the fort. He felt his blood surging through his body. He felt alive.
He fell to his knees and cried, he cried for his fallen friends, he cried for himself.
When he was all cried out, he knelt catching his breath.
He looked around again. It struck Tomus as strange that he had not come across any bodies of the enemy soldiers, only those of the fort. Either none had been killed or they took their dead with them.
His shoulder was throbbing. Tomus needed to remove the arrow and patch-up the wound as best he could. Carefully he got back on his feet. Shakily he picked his way to the healer’s rooms.
Glancing into his captain’s office, he saw Captain Robbest sitting on the floor. He had been gutted; the wound ran from his sternum to his groin. Captain Robbest’s insides lay on the floor between his legs.
Tomus stopped for a moment in the doorway. Captain Robbest’s hands had been pinned against his desk with knives, exposing his upper body. He could not have defended himself. His face had been beaten and then carved with a knife. One of his eyes had been gouged out and his tongue hung outside his mouth with only a thin strand of flesh still attaching it.
He shivered and swallowed hard, Tomus retched again. He may not have liked Captain Robbest but this was no way to die. It was not an honourable death.
The enemy had no honour to do this to another.
*
The healer had always kept his rooms organised; now they had been ransacked. Tomus found a knife and cut his cape off as the arrow had gone through that as well as his shoulder. Then he used a small saw and slowly began to cut through the arrow’s wooden shaft. He gritted his teeth against the pain. When he finished removing the feathered end, he got some bandages ready to put on the wound.
Unbuckling his unused sword, Tomus knelt down in front of a wall; he rested his forehead against it for a moment and then took a deep breath.
Closing his eyes he rammed his shoulder hard against the wall, the arrow pushed through his shoulder and out of his back. It was the only way to remove the barbed arrowhead cleanly, without having to cut into his own flesh or ripping his shoulder further. He fell to the floor unconscious.
The throbbing in his shoulder woke him. Slowly he sat up and looked at it. He eased his blood soaked shirt from the wound. The skin around it was red and swollen.
Pulling himself to his feet using a heavy wooden cabinet for support, he stood shaking, still holding onto the cabinet with his good arm, while he surveyed the room. Seeing what he needed nearby he let go of the cabinet, staggering over to the green and brown plant material that had been scattered around the healer’s room. He found the herbs he needed to pack out the wound, these would fight the infection. He knew if the wound remained untreated, the infection would spread and he could die. He had seen it happen to those who had left their wounds to fester for too long, before seeking out help.
He gathered as many of the herbs and salves as he could find, they would help speed the healing of his wound in the coming days. He was glad that his mother was the healer of his village; she had shown him how to heal wounds such as his. He missed her.
Salvaging what little supplies he could from the fort, Tomus stuffed them into a canvas bag and slung it over his head; he used the bag as a sling to rest his injured arm. Gathering several weapons remaining after the enemy had taken all they needed, he set out on the long walk to the next fort. He wished he had a horse but they were all gone, taken by the attackers. It would take him four or five days on foot to reach his destination.
Tomus had no idea who the attackers were or where they had come from. All he knew was he had to report what had happened to this small outpost stuck out on a cliff above the rocky shoreline, many leagues from anywhere of importance.
It struck him as strange that this fort had been attacked. His people were not at war with anyone.
He took one last look around as he walked to the main gate. Tears filled his eyes again. He felt guilty that he had survived, but he alone had to tell of the outrage that had befallen his fellow soldiers. Quickly he turned and left. Nature would have to take care of those that had fallen, for now, until he could get help.
***