magelet

This is currently my biggest project. I'm about 15 pages or so into it, and would really appreciate some feedback. Criticism is even better than praise, so long as its constructive criticism. So, here's my prologue... enjoy!



Spirits were high that day in the royal castle in the beautiful, wild highlands of Alandar. The old king, Aimon, had died, but his death was not mourned, for he had been a cruel and thoughtless leader. And today his eldest son, Iain, was to ascend the throne. The people had great hopes for the young prince. The dark years of his father’s reign had passed, and all who knew Iain believed he was not of his father’s ilk. It was a day of beginnings for all, and most were determined that this beginning would lead to happier, more peaceful days.
And none wished it more so than the newly-crowned king. He sat upon his gilded throne on the dais, acutely aware of the many pairs of eyes that were fixed upon him. He held himself with poise and confidence, as he had been taught since he was old enough to walk, and none of the secret fear in his heart showed in his demeanor. If Iain had learned anything from his father at all, it was that a king could never be frightened of anything. And so Iain hid his apprehension behind a well-schooled mask and smiled at the crowd that had gathered to celebrate his coronation. He saw their expectant faces lifted towards him and rose to his feet. Silence rolled over the people like a wave, as they waited eagerly for him to speak.
Iain managed once again to thrust aside his fear and allowed his training to take over. "My people," he began, in a voice that belied his tender years and naiveté, "today is a day for great rejoicing. The evil days of my father, Aimon, may the gods have mercy upon his soul, are past, and a new era has dawned. My era. And on this day I make a vow, a vow to protect and care for my people to the best of my abilities. A vow to honor and respect those I have sworn to lead. I vow to rule justly and listen to good council, as I may. I will not become the very image of my father. This I swear." Iain paused, and waited the people cheered, as he had expected. "It also gives me great joy to announce on this day my betrothal to the lovely Catriona, who, in one year’s time, will rule at my side as my queen." Iain lifted his hand in a practiced motion, and the young woman seated at his side rose to her feet, graciously acknowledging the crowd’s loud approval with an appreciative nod.
This was another aspect of his life that Iain feared, his arranged marriage. This woman, this girl who stood beside him and was to be his wife was a stranger. Indeed, he had met her but hours before. Iain knew it was his duty to marry appropriately and provide an heir, and he would see his duty through, but his hidden fear only grew when he contemplated the future. He thrust that fear aside, determined to show a strong front, as was befitting a king.

The years passed. Iain’s fear faded into the background and his confidence became real instead of feigned with each successful venture. Iain’s pride of his esteemed position grew and his regard for the people he had sworn to protect diminished. Iain came to care far more for his own personal happiness than for matters of state.
As the end of the third year of his reign approached, Iain decided he would like to make a display of his wealth and power. He decreed that this year, Midwinter would be celebrated as it had never been celebrated before. He sent out messengers to the chiefs of every clan in Alandar, inviting them to the great festival. It was to last for a fortnight, and a boundless supply of food and strong drink was to be available to all.
The queen, Catriona, who, even after all this time, remained a virtual stranger to Iain, would not be outdone by her consort. She, also, sent out messengers to the chiefs, informing them that she would hold a banquet each evening of the festival for the women of each great household.
The week preceding Midwinter’s day, the first week of the festival, approached with great anticipation on all sides. The servants were busier than ever before: cooking, cleaning, building, and decorating, all in preparation for the Midwinter Festival. The queen had a dozen of the best seamstresses sewing around the clock in order to create a new gown for each day of the festival, each featuring the royal design. Iain himself ordered a new, grander throne built for the occasion.
When the first day of the festival arrived, it was all everyone had expected and more. Each day there were contests. Men competed in archery, fencing, and hand fighting. There were competitions to choose the best quilt and the best pie. Entertainment - musicians, acrobats, mages, gypsies - was displayed without end. And each evening, enough food and drink was provided for everyone to gorge themselves to their hearts’ content.
And thus it went until the last night of the festival, a week after Midwinter’s Day and a fortnight after it had begun. Iain sat upon his newly-crafted throne, surveying the hall, much as he had on that seemingly distant day when they had first placed a crown on his head and he had pledged to honor his people. The revelers on this day, as numerous as they had been at his coronation, were merry, but Iain was not satisfied. He had drunk many more glasses of fine wine and ale than was good for him, and then some. In his stupor, he decided that he wanted to make a grand display, to show the many chiefs his superiority and majesty. And so he called to his side Faolan, his chief advisor, and ordered him to fetch the queen, so that he could show off her beauty.
The queen, however, was not in a very giving mood. The women, like the men, were enjoying themselves, no less loudly or enthusiastically, but Catriona felt her great beauty was not appreciated. Compared to her husband, she felt positively insignificant. And so when Faolan arrived with a summons from the only man who could make her feel inferior, she refused. She would not pander to her selfish husband’s whims.
Faolan returned to his liege with malicious eagerness, for he had always despised the queen, and he knew the king’s temper had been growing short of late, despite the festivities. And indeed, the king’s temper did not fail him; when Iain heard of his wife’s refusal, he came to his feet with a roar.
"How dare she refuse me!" His voice reverberated in the suddenly silent hall, though his words were slurred by his wine-loosened tongue. "She will not get away with this! Guards! Bring Queen Catriona to me. If she resists, bring her by force."
Several guards, cleverly hiding their shock at this order, retreated quickly from the hall.
Iain sat back hard upon his throne, his anger simmering. "Degan," he began, and the advisor was instantly at his side. "Catriona must be punished."
"Of course, your majesty. There are laws decreeing what is to be done to those who dare to disobey the king. Even the queen is not exempt from them."
"I should hope not. And if she was, I would make a new decree." The king paused. "So we are agreed, then. Catriona will be executed without delay."
Degan nodded, his expression revealing none of his triumph at this. "It will show the people you do not suffer disloyalty, your majesty. A wise move, to be sure. If the queen were to be excused her grievous crime, wives everywhere would rebel against their husbands."
"Very well," responded the king, his voice now soft with deadly rage, as Catriona entered, her hands held firmly behind her by two guards. Iain’s anger was sparked to full flame once more at the sight of her, even as he marveled at her beauty. "Bring her forth, guards."
Catriona came forward, unresisting, her chin high and her eyes proud. "I do not fear you, husband. I fear nothing and no one."
"Foolish woman. You would do well to fear me. Did you think I would tolerate your disrespectful behavior?"
"I bow to no one!" cried the queen. "And I especially don’t take orders from pompous, arrogant brats who attempt to pass themselves off as kings!"
Iain’s eyes flashed. "Then your fate is sealed, my prickly rose. Guards! Take her to the dungeon. She will be executed at dawn!"
Catriona spat at his feet. "That is all I think of you, snake! You think you are powerful, but ‘tis I who wields the true power."
Iain would have laughed at her outrageous declaration, except that she was gone. Without a puff of smoke or a trace of any kind, Catriona had disappeared.
"Find her!" barked Iain. "Do not rest until she is safely at the mercy of the executioner’s axe!"
"Your majesty…"
"What?" the king turned his angry eyes upon the man at his side.
"I hate you remind you of this, your majesty," continued Faolan, "but Catriona failed to provide to with an heir. It is your duty to find another wife, one who will bear you a son."
"Yes," the king’s eyes glittered. "And this time I’ll choose carefully. I’ll not be forced into another union with such a woman as Catriona."

What do you think? I tried to write the prologue in the manner of a storyteller rather than a novelist. It is less personal and covers many years quickly. The rest of the story is written in a different style...

__________________

Selorian

Magelet,

I found this type of 'storyteller' story telling works well for the prologue. If the entire book was to be written this way, it would be a different matter. Now if this holds true when read with the actual chapters, even better.

The story seems interesting enough, though it does seem to come across as a tad 'cliche', most likely because of the way it is told. That in itself isn't a bad thing. It brings back childhood memories. I will hold judgement on the actual story, because there are so many things that can happen with your writing that even the most cliche things can be made new again.

I look forward to seeing the first chapter, and discovering the differences in the style used between this and it.

__________________
Utopia can only exist in a violent society.

NaShoStoMo? The Hothouse?

magelet

That was the idea. I was going for (in the prologue) like in the beginning of the old disney movies, how they introduced their stories. But definitely wouldn't write the whole story that way. So here's about 3/4 or so of Chapter One. Let me know what you think:

Chapter One

The winds were howling in through the high mountain trees in the glen of Carragh. It was the warmest day of spring the glen had yet seen, and its people were taking full advantage of it. In the small village surrounding Castle Carragh, the villagers had emerged from their winter haunts to gossip and rejoice in the thaw.

Aislin of Carragh walked slowly through the village, enjoying the relative warmth, though she still hugged her shawl about her shoulders. It would still be several weeks before that particular article of clothing could be shed and lighter dresses could be donned. Aislin lifted her nose to the fresh scent of the spring rains and inhaled deeply. This was the first spring Aislin had spent in the glen, for it had only been the previous autumn that her magical potential had been discovered and she had been sent from her home to live with her mother’s brother, who was a master mage. Previously, Aislin had lived in the lowlands among her own clan of Tabhann, and she missed it sorely. But springs off the mountains had never felt so fresh, nor so appreciated, after the long, cold, and frozen winters that the mountains saw fit to throw at them.

Rather reluctant to leave the beautiful spring day, Aislin pushed aside the door flap of her uncle's small house and entered, squinting her eyes at the dim light inside. Master Kael, her mother's brother, turned and quirked an eyebrow at her.

Aislin smiled ruefully. "I am sorry, uncle, I could not resist. The morning was so fine and warm, and I just had to go out."

Kael's second eyebrow joined the first. "Well, no matter, you are just in time to fix this bowl."

Aislin's eyes moved to the old oak table, upon which sat the shards of an old piece of crockery. "What happened, uncle?"

"An accident." But the twinkle in his eyes belied his words.
"In other words, you 'accidentally' broke it so you can have me fix it. Very well..."

Aislin concentrated hard upon the task before her. It was the most difficult that her uncle had yet set her since she had come under his tutelage the previous autumn. Aislin thrived on the challenges her uncle set for her. She had always loved a challenge, which was perhaps why she enjoyed learning magic so much, for it was never easy. She stared at the pieces, her brow furrowed. As she stared, her gaze shifted, a change so slight that no one but another mage would have noticed it or been able to detect it even when watching for it. The shards quivered for a moment, then flew together and merged seamlessly.

"Oh, bravo!" exclaimed Kael, who had been watching her closely. "Your focus is much improved. That was not an easy task for one who has been studying magic for as short a time as you, Aislin."

Aislin grinned at her uncle and teacher’s praise. She opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment the door burst open, and a burst of cool spring air rushed in. Standing in the doorway was Adara, the sheepherder’s oldest daughter and Aislin’s closest friend, her face a mask of excitement.

"Master Kael! Aislin! There’s a herald, just arrived from Domhan!" announced Adara, her words tumbling over themselves in her enthusiasm. "He has a message from King Iain himself, and he wants to see everyone in the village right away!" Her eyes were wide. "I’ve never seen anyone so finely dressed, nor a horse so sleek!"

"A herald, you say?" repeated Kael. "Bearing what news?"

Adara’s hands fluttered. "He won’t say until all the people of the village are assembled in the square."

Aislin fetched her shawl from its peg next to the door and wrapped it around her shoulders. "I suppose we had better go then, uncle." Aislin’s voice was calm, but she too felt the excitement of the mysterious royal message.

Kael sighed. "I supposed we can finished this later. Very well, let’s go." But the two young women were already out the door, hurrying toward the square. Kael followed with a chuckle for the exuberance of youth.

The small village’s square was the general meeting place, where the large well was situated and where the woman could meet and gossip. A slim young man stood erect next to the well, resplendent in full palace uniform, a somewhat bored expression on his smooth face. Tossing its head next to him was a grand stallion, black as midnight and wearing an intricately imprinted leather saddle.

"He must be at least 16 hands!" whispered Aislin to Adara in awe as they came to the small village square. It seemed that the trio was among the last to arrive, for the square was already crowded with townsfolk, all of whom were talking energetically amongst themselves. The royal herald - for he could be nothing else - stood motionless amid the fray, but his eyes flitted nimbly over the crowd, never lingering for more than a moment on any single face. He must have decided that his audience was sufficiently large enough to begin, for he calmly raised one gloved hand, and the crowd grew quiet, watching him with rapt attention.

"Good people of Carragh, I come from the great city of Domhan, bearing a proclamation from King Iain the Mighty." His cultured voice rang in the silent square, each syllable pronounced deliberately and with great precision. "Due to an unfortunate occurrence, the nature of which shall remain unsaid, his majesty is left without a queen and, as such, without an heir. The king commands that the most beautiful and most well-mannered young women between the ages of sixteen and twenty from every village in his great kingdom be taken to his royal palace in Domhan, where he will choose the best to stand at his side as queen." At his words, low excited murmurs and wondering glances swept rapidly through his audience. The herald ignored them as he continued. "Each young woman of the required age will report to my tent outside the village before sundown to be interviewed. Those who I deem worthy to appear in the king’s presence will leave for Domhan two days hence." With that, the herald swung nimbly into the saddle of his magnificent horse in one smooth, practiced movement. People moved quickly out of his way as he rode from the square and out of sight.

As soon as he was gone, the crowd erupted with talk. Adara gripped Aislin’s arm in her glee.

"Oh, Aislin! Imagine! How wonderful it would be to be queen! Servants to wait on you hand and foot, meat and sweets to eat every day! It sounds like a dream!"

"It sounds like a nightmare," retorted Aislin, prying her friend’s fingers loose. "But I’m sure I would have to worry over it. The herald would never deem me beautiful enough."

"What say you? You are far prettier than I. Speaking of which, how do I look?" Adara spun around for Aislin’s inspection.

"You look lovely, Adara."

"Are you sure?" asked Adara, her uncertainty suddenly apparent upon her face.

Aislin repressed a little laugh at her friend’s doubt of her gentle beauty, knowing it would only worsen the matter. She also refrained from pointing out the infinitesimal chance that Adara - or her, for that matter - would be chosen as queen.

"You look radiant, Adara, as always."

Adara looked unconvinced, and attempted to smooth the wrinkles and wipe the dirt from her dress. "I do wish we had time to put something nice on."

This time Aislin let a little chuckle loose. "Adara, it’s barely noon. We have hours to report to the herald. Wouldn’t you rather look your best?"

Adara’s eyes glittered. "Aye. I’ll meet you here in an hour, and we’ll go together."

Aislin would have responded, but Adara was already hurrying away, her skirts clenched tightly in her hands so she could run all that much faster.

Aislin smiled to herself. While Adara might dream of a life of luxury, Aislin preferred the simple life. The idea of having servants and slaves to wait upon her appealed to her not in the least.

"And likely," murmured Aislin to herself, "King Iain is arrogant and self-centered, so servants and slaves will be all there will be."

"What was that?"

Aislin turned; she had forgotten her uncle’s presence. "Nothing, uncle. Just thinking of how the queenship is likely not so pleasant as Adara imagines."

"Are you not going to rush home and change your dress as well?"

"You know me better than that, Uncle Kael. I have no wish to be the pretty face behind the crown."

"But haven’t you been saying lately that you wish to use your powers for the good of others?"

Aislin frowned. "You know I wish to become a healer. What has that to do with this?"

"Think, Aislin. As queen you could do so much good."

"And what chance would there be of me even being chosen, Uncle Kael. Answer me that?"

Kael’s eyes grew warm. "Lass, you underestimate yourself. Any sane man would love to take you to wife. You’re beautiful, intelligent, well-mannered, and gentle."

"Now ‘tis you who flatter me, uncle."

"Nonsense, child. Have I ever been known to praise where no praise is due?"

Aislin was quiet. Her uncles words had struck true in her heart. She would have far more power to help others if she were in such a position...

"But this is foolish talk. Of all the beautiful maidens in the kingdom, the king would never choose me."

"Even if he doesn’t, but the herald does, you’ll get to travel to Domhan. Think of it as a learning experience, hmm?"

Aislin smiled. "All right, uncle, you win. I’ll go put on my feast-day dress and assume a serene, angelic look to impress."

__________________