The Siege - Writers Forum

Svalbard · 06-23-2007, 06:55 PM

I hope people enjoy this excerpt.

“Gods help us!” the words echoed around the glade. The gathered men
looked on with disbelief, their weary faces etched with the horror that had befallen them that day. Sir Marcin leaned against a tree and watched those about him. He took in their battered armor, the wounds they bore, but he could not make himself look to the man who lay on the ground, with his head cushioned in the arms of Lord Alvin Tormaster.

It was Alvin who had uttered that pitiful cry to the gods, the anguish in his voice there for all to hear. So few, thought Sir Marcin, there are so few of us left. He, who was the least of their number, had lived whilst so many others had perished. The knight had seen Lord Malcire fall in the first onslaught from the Staters, Sir Borman the Standard Bearer was felled still clasping his charge and the wily old warhorse, Sir Geris the Stout also lay dead, cut down in that final melee as they struggled over the Prince’s body.

Sir Marcin looked across at Lord Bryant meeting the man’s haunted eyes. He had lost more than most. His two sons were unaccounted for and his squire, another prince was missing.

The day had began as any other during the short time that they had lain siege to the city and the army spread for miles around the city had awoken to bright sunshine. The the stink that such a large gathering of men always produced permeated the morning air. The vast majority of them were still breaking their fast when banners were sighted to the west coming out of the Aricsweald. The sounds of the war horns calling the men to arms still resounded in Sir Marcin’s ears, and in his mind’s eye he relived those short moments before the storm broke over them.

Thrand had come running from his tent armed with just his sword, shouting commands to his various lords. Alward Steward had ridden past him in full flight.

“Your Grace! Stand your ground and bring your men up in line!” Thrand had roared at him.

The old duke had glared at the Prince.
“No time,” he said, and spurred his mount away.

At that moment Lord Bryant had come up with some hundreds of mounted men, fully armored.
“Give me time, my lord. Hold those bastards up,” Thrand had ordered the lord.

Lord Bryant tipped the top of his helm with a gauntleted hand in acknowledgement and led his force forward.

“Lord Alvin, draw up the infantry in line at this point and find Greb Jordan. I want his men to outflank what ever is coming at us,” Thrand commanded his retainer from Weshna.

“You must arm, You Highness,” Sir Marcin said at that moment. Thrand’s two guards stood at his side and nodded their assent at the knight’s words.

“Yes,” the Prince replied allowing his squires to place his armor on.

It was then that Ragnar ‘Toothless’ appeared, cursing all about him.
“Jordan is fleeing with all his men,” he said.

Before Thrand could reply another cry went up that the gates of Hredegaard were open and that the garrison were sallying forth. Sounds of battle could be heard ahead of them as Lord Bryant engaged the as yet unknown enemy.
Thrand had grabbed Ragnar about the shoulders.

“Find Marcus and get him from this place,” he said.

The Weapons-Master nodded and headed away in to the press of men that were moving forward. The noise of hundreds of men shouting out orders was deafening as Thrand’s depleted army formed a semblance of a battle line. Marcin could still see the fear in the eyes of the men as they prepared for battle. Then Sir Borman was striding forward with the Standard held high.

“Stand your ground men and do not give an inch. We are Janterians, we do not flee!” he had roared planting the Standard in the centre of the line.

Lord Cully was ordered to take two thousand men to meet the garrison from Hredegaard and the last Sir Marcin saw of him, was as he sat astride his destrier, pulling at his white moustaches and smiling grimly down at Thrand, as he received his orders. And then there was no more time as Lord Bryant with the remnant of his force came galloping over the lee of the small hill, followed by what seemed a horde of heavy cavalry. The banners were now clear and the treachery plain for all to see.

“Ralt has betrayed the truce. Death to the oath breakers!” Sir Geris the Stout had called out loudly. He stood a head over the tallest man and his name spoke of his strength of heart.

Sir Marcin had donned his helm and took a position beside Sir Borman, the Prince and his Vishnan monks.

“Archers!” roared a dozen voices down the line but there was pitiful few of them. The men of Dogemaar had provided the vast bulk of their archers and they had fled with their lord.

The Raltesian charge was true, and the Janterian line broke on the left and the battle ended at that moment. It was a slaughter from there on and no matter how valiantly Thrand tried, he could not rally his men. A horseman had broken through the iron ring that surrounded Thrand and with a deft stroke, he had cleaved through the Prince’s helm, to deliver a mortal blow to his head. It was madness after that. Thrand’s guards were cut down in the savage melee that ensued over the Prince’s body.

Sir Marcin remembered standing shoulder to shoulder with Sir Geris over the Prince’s body and fighting for what seemed an age. When Sir Geris fell, Lord Alvin took his place wielding his great double bladed battle axe with savage deadliness. They somehow managed to pull Thrand clear and Lord Bryant with the last of his cavalry found them.

“The Gods save us,” he exclaimed when he saw Thrand.

Hefting the Prince up on to a horse, Sir Marcin mounted behind him and rode through the wreckage of their camp and routing army.

“Lord Cully is dead,” Bryant had shouted to him as they fled. To that Marcin had no reply. The flower of Prince Thrand’s liege lords lay scattered and dead across the field. The Raltiesians, breaking with all the traditions and rules that governed war were not taking any prisoners to use for ransom at a later date. And so it was not with a look of pain, but more of surprise that many of the noble Janterians met their fate and entered the afterlife.

Rousing himself from his reverie, Marcin walked to the centre of the clearing and spoke to Lord Alvin.
“My lord, let us cover the Prince,” he said.

Alvin, one side of his face turning an ugly blue from a blow he had received in the battle, looked at the knight blindly. Running a hand across his face the man gently released Thrand’s body and removed his own cloak to drape it over the stiff body. Standing, Alvin looked across at Bryant for a moment.

“We will have a reckoning for this, I swear before all that I hold sacred. I will not rest until those that have brought us to this pass have answered for their crimes,” he said, his voice low and trembling with emotion.

To all there, the meaning of his words were clear. Alvin did not speak of the Raltiesians; they would be dealt with in due course. He spoke of Alward Steward and Greb Jordan, and their abandonment of the Prince. Sir Marcin nodded, yes there would be a reckoning and not just for those two lords. The King had ordered that the Duke of Keld send ten thousand men to Thrand, but a scant thousand had arrived, with the promise that the remaining force would arrive shortly.

They never materialized and now the men reflected on what a difference that force would have made. Lord Vilaters would have to answer some difficult questions from the King in the coming weeks.

“Prince Marcus, did anyone see him?” asked Lord Bryant.

“I believe he lives,” one of the men said.

“You saw him. Where?” Bryant cried.

“With the Weapons-Master Ragnar, but he was surrounded by the enemy and I could not break through,” the knight replied.

“Surely they would not slay another of the King’s family. He would bring a mighty ransom,” another of the men said.

And maybe he is not a captive, thought Marcin; the Weapons-Master was not an easy man to kill and if he lived, then the Prince would still be at large.
The discussion broke into how they would get home to Janter and their course of action was decided upon quickly.

Richard del Calare with some five thousand men was besieging the town of Defan to the north and they would go to him, as surely most of the refugees from the fight were already going. They would have a need to get there quickly before either Steward or Jordan did. Those men would try to disguise the part they played in the days events and escape any blame for the defeat.

Sir Marcin walked over to Bryant.
“My Lord, I grieve for you loss. I will return to Hredegaard and search for Prince Marcus and if I come across any news of your sons then I will send word to you,” he said.

Lord Bryant looked at the knight, his eyes heavy with pain. He does not dare to hope, the knight thought.

“Thank you and the King will hear of your service today,” he replied.

Lord Alvin overhearing Marcin called out to him.
“Here you will need this,” he said tossing a pouch to him. Catching it deftly the knight nodded its thanks.

“A gold crown will get you more answers than the point of a sword on this quest I believe,” Alvin said. The Weshnian lord then ordered some of the men-at-arms who remained to make a litter for the Prince.

It was not long before Sir Marcin was alone in the glade and he stood there for a while considering Alvin’s words. Yes, the gold would be useful but he much preferred the point of a sword.

ClancyBoy · 06-23-2007, 07:45 PM

I like it! Nice and smooth. (Why am so I obsessed with smoothness lately?)

There are some parts where I would change punctuation and tense, but I'm sure you'll catch those in your second draft.

C.C.Benjamin · 06-24-2007, 02:01 AM

Hello, I have some constructive criticism to offer.

1. It was difficult to properly envisage what happened, because it doesn't seem like a siege at all. It appears to be two armies fighting in woodlands/fields or something akin.

2. "his squire, another prince was missing."

Princes do not become squires.

3. "savage deadliness"

Bit redundant.

4. "Thrand had ordered the lord"

You can't order your Lord when appealing for something (give me time).

5. I can't imagine anyone actually was called Cully (as it was a 17th century thieving term for 'sucker') and if they were, they definately never held the title of Lord. It was a street-slang term.

Generally I found this a fairly bland read - I didn't get a feel for any of the characters. I think they were introduced to quickly and just mentioned by name. No detail was given, and so i felt nothing for them.

I think you need to scrub your writing style up a little bit too, you aren't awful or anything, its just a few logical inconsistencies and cliche's hold you back.

I realise I've been quite negative but I hope you can see how I'm trying to help!

Cheers

Carl

Svalbard · 06-24-2007, 02:53 PM

Thanks for the feedback. I am still working on this piece and how I am goin to fit it into my narrative. Some of the characters are already established at this stage. As for names, well, it is a fantasy story. Prince's were squires in history. Edward the First, was the squire of Simon de Montfort. But again it is a fantasy story so I see no harm in having a prince as a squire.

It is a first draft and the feedback will be taking on board.

C.C.Benjamin · 06-24-2007, 04:16 PM

No probs at all. It's not that you have a bad piece here by any means, it's just I think you see it very clearly in your own head, so that when you have written it down you might have omitted a few key details that the reader needs to know. What you've written connects all the dots perfectly in your head, but the reader doesn't know all you know about it, so it doesn't in theirs.

At least, that normally happens with my writing, and I think that might be the same case here!

I think you need to bring the characters out a little more too, the only one that I found memorable was the guy with the big white moustaches.

I find a really easy way to do this is by either a common physical movement (eg running fingers through hair, thus making the character appear vain), or have them voice opinions ("Gawd, this reminds me of the time we had to eat that stinking elf food. God damned elves. Rhegar, what did they call 'em? Shitberries?").

Actually maybe having the Prince being the squire would be a great idea. The prince could be a fair man, and thinks "how can I be a knight if i have never been a squire? Becoming a knight isn't about being given the title, it's about walking the long road" and so to the surprise of everyone else does just that.

I really like that idea actually...!