Ghelfunn Having Fun with Margon, Not. Word count: 15,366

 

"Beat me if you must," said Ghelfunn, "but I have never heard about the book you seek. Perhaps he left it in the palace. He had a very nice library there." Ghelfunn spit blood on the floor, making sure he still had all of his teeth.

"I'm out of time," Margon said. "Either tell me where it is or I'm going to let you taste some of the Nprudi's famous poison." Margon motioned to one of his men, who then promptly brought forward a Nprudi spear, most assuredly one with a poisonous tip.

"Ghelfunn," Margon bent down to speak softly to this captive. "All I must do is scratch you with the tip of this spear and you are gone. Understand? Within a few heartbeats you will cease to exist. All I want is a location. Tell me what I want to know, and I'll leave you here, alive. Once the king is found dead, everything will change. It will be too late for you to do anything about it.

Ghelfunn looked up. He took a moment to consider his options. They were few. He could tell the truth and probably die. He was now certain that Margon was serious, running out of time, and would not hesitate to kill him. It became clear to him in that moment. Facing death strips away all pretense and grips the mind, making survival the only goal. Ghelfunn knew what to do--make up a story, tell a lie, stall for time.

"Okay," Ghelfunn said. "The book you seek is in the Sovereign's private sanctuary, a place no one knows about. He gave me the location after promoting me to lead his private guard. He said it was to remain a secret until he was dead. Then, he said, depending on the situation, I could divulge it's whereabouts." Ghelfunn winced in pain, gasping for air as if he was about to pass out. This was part an act, to make Margon believe his sincerity.

"Well then, out with it," Margon said. "I have wasted enough time dealing with you. Where is it?"

"It's in the Colla-Ti." 

Margon motioned for the two footmen behind Ghelfunn to raise him up. After a brief struggle, Ghelfunn returned to his knees, facing Margon.

"The Colla-Ti?" Margon grinned. "You must be lying. That's a two-day ride from here. It's nothing but ragged cliffs and mountainous trails that only goats can navigate. Why there?"

"The Sovereign discovered a cave there," Ghelfunn said. "He was just a kid, climbing around like a goat, I guess. The cave became his private place, a place he could go and escape the demands of being a kid, and later, a Sovereign."

"Draw me a map," Margon ordered.

Woodrow Orenda Visits Fred's Diner (excerpt from The Second Son, first draft, a fantasy novel I'm writing)

 

Woodrow closed his eyes for just a moment. All was quiet in Fred's Diner and Gas Emporium. Sleep. Just a moment of peace. He could feel the blackness overtake him, and he saw swirls of light, sprinkles of color forming circles. I hope Samantha survives this. She's all I've got. I have nothing else. Why do I even try? His right hand slid off his lap and rested comfortably next to his right leg. His hand still had blood stains on it. So what? He'd wash his hands later. Within a few moments, Woodrow looked up and saw a tree outside the window. 

He stood up and looked around and found himself beneath a huge tree. Where the hell am I? Woodrow looked up and the limbs of an oak tree spread out above him. It's branches crookedly stuck out in all directions, spreading themselves outward from a huge trunk which must have been five feet wide. Green bushy leaves filled the air. Woodrow could smell the wood. The sun was bright, so bright Woodrow had to shield his eyes. It rode high in the sky. The heat. Where did the heat go? Coolness hit Woodrow in the face from a breeze coming from somewhere beyond the trees. He looked at the huge oak tree and couldn't decide what to do. I'm lost, he thought. 

To his right, Woodrow saw a narrow path through the trees. He walked down the path for a while but found the trees obstructed his view. He saw no open space anywhere. Just the path ahead, and the tree limbs climbing upward, causing ripples of shade and lines of light that crisscrossed the trail through the thickly green forest. He walked for hours, or so it seemed. He could find no way out of the trees. Amazingly, fatigue had not set in. He felt great. He had strength in his legs. He could go on for a while without pain. If only he knew where he was going. He thought of his childhood in the deep East Texas piney woods and how he could walk for hours without ever leaving the shade.

After a while, Woodrow finally saw an open area in front of him. A grassy plateau rolled out before him to the far horizon. As far as he could see, a field of gold, green, yellow and auburn colors saturated his point of view. To the left side of the scene, he saw glimpses of a river. The bluish green river water was flowing in a steady stream from right to left. He took a moment to consider his position. The sun appeared to be setting on the horizon in front of him as he entered the plateau, westward. The river to his left must be to the south, so north would be in the opposite direction of the river. The oak tree, where his journey began, must be eastward. Woodrow stood there for a moment and sighed.  It's confusing as hell. I'm all turned around. Which direction do I go? The river. Get to the river and follow it.

Woodrow walked for a very long time southward and the river continued to flow without noticing him. He should have reached it by now, but distances could be deceiving. He was determined, however, to reach the river before the sun set. He looked westward toward the horizon to his right and the cool blues of the coming darkness were beginning to appear high above. The sun itself glowed bright yellow as it began to sink behind the forested area beyond the golden and green plateau rolling west. If he continued walking southward, he should arrive at the river by sunset. His next move after that remained a question in the back of his mind. He didn't want to think about the future. Just live in the moment. He knew from experience that in times of crisis a person must live in the present, one step at a time. Get to the river. Then I'll decide what to do next.

            Woodrow approached the riverbed and stopped just before entering a group of trees. The grassy plateau stretched behind him leading back to the path which brought him here from the huge oak tree. His memory went as a far as that oak and no further. His life began at that tree. Why am I here? If I could just remember. He heard the river flowing just ahead and found a trail leading to it. The sun lowered its face toward the western horizon, dark shadows taking over the landscape in front of him. Down the trail he walked, one careful step at a time. The ground beneath him began to slope sharply toward the water and he almost slipped as he entered an open area at the riverbank. 

“Dad? Don’t cross the river.” A voice from behind whispered to him. “It’s too deep.”

“What? What was that?” Woodrow asked out loud, startled at the sound coming from the shadows. “Sam? Is that you.”

Woodrow turned his head toward the voice. His neck. Damn, it hurt. He reached up and rubbed his neck with his left hand.

“Dad, wake up,” the voice said quietly. “Your eggs are ready.”

Woodrow opened his eyes and saw Sam staring at him from the other side of the booth. His neck had a pain slicing through the back of his scalp like a sharp knife. His back hurt, too. He slowly sat up, his stiff body not cooperating. 

“Hey, Sam,” Woodrow said. “Guess I dozed off.” 

“I woke up in the van and you were gone,” Sam said. “I came to find you. Staying in that van by myself creeps me out.”

Fred was standing at the end of the table with a plate of food in his hands. He set the plate of eggs in front of Woodrow and walked back to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee.

Ghelfunn Skips School to Visit the Market in Nyssa

 

Ghelfunn did not want to see Stoyvit, not today. He was going to miss school and didn't want to explain why. He never missed school. He'd never been sick. When his mother was sick with the Bideneria Dementia, he still attended to his studies. His father had insisted. 

"Ghelfunn!" Stoyvit yelled. "Wait up!"

"I'm in a hurry," Ghelfunn said. "I can't stop and talk. I'll see you at school, later."

"Later?" Stovit asked. "Why? Are you running an errand for your father? I'll go with you."

"No. I really want to be alone this morning." Ghelfunn was walking faster, hoping to get some distance between him and Stoyvit. "I need to do run an errand but must go alone."

"What do I tell the bookminders? They will ask," Stoyvit said.

Ghelfunn stopped cold, turned to his friend and said, "If you tell anyone you saw me--"

"Okay. I get it," Stoyvit said. "Don't let me stop you. Maybe I'll see you at lunch break." Stoyvit knew his friend was up to no good, but he was not going to push it.

Ghelfunn walked quickly down the street leading to the market at the center of town. Many villages in Caarynda had a market and Nyssa was no different. The market was the center of all local activity, especially if you had something to sell. Ghelfunn carried in his pouch a precious commodity which was worth a great deal, but his goal was not to sell it. He intended to trade it. 

The sun was up and Ghelfunn began to sweat. His heart beat like a Caarydian tribal drum. He tried to tell his heart to calm down, but his heart was not listening. Thump. Thump. Thump. The blood seeped into his ears and he could hear his heartbeat with each breath he took.  The sound of his anxiety rhythmically attuned itself to his breathing and each step he took added to the steady stream of fear which threatened to overcome him. I've got to control myself, he thought. I can handle it. I must. I have no choice. Father needs my help, and we can't lose our home.

The smells of fresh bread filled the air as Ghelfunn turned right, taking a major corridor leading to the town center. His father baked the best bread in town but never sold it. He wondered why Father considered selling bread a sin, an act unworthy of the Rhann clan. Rhann clan. What a joke. The Rhanns were mostly dead. Just Ghelfunn and his father were the only surviving limbs of what once was a large tribal tree with many branches. Eloy and Ghelfunn, the last two souls on telleran soil with Rhann blood flowing through their veins. Ghelfunn and his father shared something deeper than being a part of a clan. They were survivors. They relied on each other. 

12.28.20 Ghelfunn is Set Free [Novel Word Count Total: 11540]

 

Udan had seconds earlier cut the ropes binding Ghelfunn to the tree near the horses. Now free, Ghelfunn had then retrieved his whip and knives from one of the pack horses, preparing for a fight. Three men now looked at him and Udan in disbelief, frozen for a moment like statues to clear their shocked minds. Silence filled the camp but for a faint whistle in the trees. No one moved for what seemed to be a very long time. Udan sheathed his knife, then withdrew his longblade and was holding it shoulder high with both hands. Ghelfunn held his whip in his right hand. He slowly let the throng slide down his right thigh, allowing the fall and cracker to uncoil at his feet.

"I'll take the one on the right," Udan said. "Think you can handle the other two?"

"Well, I am still a little woozy," Ghelfunn said, smiling. " I was hit in the head, you know. But I'll give it a try. You'll watch my back."

"That's all I live for," Udan replied sarcastically. "I've spent my life watching your back."

The three men standing before Udan and Ghelfunn separated, forming a circle around the two Taalzanni warriors. Ghelfunn was the first to act. He withdrew a knife from his vest and tossed it straight at the guard directly in front of him, just missing his neck but leaving behind a nice gash on the right side of the guard's upper shoulder. Ghelfunn then lifted the whip in his right hand, slashing it forward toward the guard to his immediate right. The cracker snapped at the guard's right cheek, leaving a bloody scar. The guard yelled in pain but stood his ground. 

The guard facing Udan rushed him with his sword punching the air, then swiping from left to right at Udan's waist. Udan blocked the move with his sword and kicked the lunging guard in the chest, knocking him backward. With a quick thrust of his sword, Udan wounded his foe easily. The bleeding guard looked up at Udan and help up both hands, giving the sign he was finished. 

The guard facing Ghelfunn reached up with is left hand and felt the bleeding scar on his cheek, giving Ghelfunn a grin. Ghelfunn retrieved a knife from his vest using his left hand and threw it toward the guard's right arm, slashing it just above the elbow. The guard dropped his sword, and the smile on his face disappeared. His expression now showed rage. The seething guard rushed headfirst into Ghelfunn, trying to tackle him. Ghelfunn stepped to his left and tripped the guard's right foot, making him stumble to the ground. At that point, Udan slammed the butt of his sword onto the top of the guard's head, knocking him unconscious.

"Glad you could help," Ghelfunn said.

"My guy didn't have much fight in him," Udan responded. "These men are not exactly the best we've seen in a fight. I killed the young one."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Udan said. "Old habit, I guess. We are at war, after all."

Ghelfunn and Udan gathered the three guards and bound their hands and feet. Udan retrieved a piece of cloth from a pack animal and ripped it into strips. He then tied a strip around each guard's mouth, muzzling him. He used the remaining cloth to dress the wounds he and Ghelfunn had inflicted upon the guards, preventing any of them from bleeding out. 

"We need to get out of here, now." Ghelfunn was worried the other two guards chasing their horses would return soon. "We don't have time to waste."

"Where to do we go?" Udan asked. "Just what are we supposed to do now? I don't even know what in hell's gate we are doing here." 

12.21.20 Udan Hides in the Bushes

Udan hid his horse behind a wall of underbrush near a group of trees and walked a few yards toward the post where Ghelfunn was being held captive. He took a moment to scan the scene, noting where each man was located and to what extent they were armed. Free Ghelfunn first, he planned, then together they would dispatch the six men with haste and make their escape. In order for his plan to work, he would need a distraction to gain the attention of Ghelfunn's guards. Once they were detained, he would then free Ghelfunn. 

Udan worked his way around the perimeter of the camp using the thick bushes and trees as cover. The pickets stood ready to take notice of any unexpected sound or sight, so Udan had to be careful. These men were trained Taalzanni guards, and though now working for Margon and the queen, they were still extremely dangerous. The weakest man among them was the nervous one, the man walking about looking behind bushes, jumpy without the least bit of provocation. Udan recognized this man as the youngest one, less experienced than the other guards but just as disloyal. How could you be such a traitorous bastard, Udan thought. I'm going to make you pay.

Udan worked his way around to the horses, tied up to a fallen and rotten tree lying on its side near Ghelfunn. He positioned himself so that he could only be seen by the nervous youth. Should he make a noise in the bushes, he wanted only the young guard to notice it. The two men watching Ghelfunn were talking to each other and passing a drink between themselves, assured that the pickets on the perimeter would set off an alarm if anything were to disrupt their rest. Hopefully, they would not be a problem. Udan waited for the skittish youth to approach the horses. He then made a slight swishing sound in the bushes just loud enough to get the young guard's attention without disturbing the other men.

Udan grabbed the mouth and throat of the highly strung guard, bringing him to the ground in one effortless motion. He rolled the guard on his stomach, face down in the dirt and broken limbs behind the tree restraining the horses. When he looked up, the two guards near Ghelfunn ceased their talking and looked around briefly. Satisfied they had heard nothing but perhaps the wind in the trees, the two men walked over to a small group of rocks and sat down. As they continued their conversation, Udan slit the throat of the young fidgety guard beneath him. One down, five to go, he noted. 

12.14.20 update.hanging.out.at.studio

The studio is quiet, which is as it should be since the Governor has placed a stay-at-home restriction due to the overcrowding at hospitals. Thank you COVID-19. Will this nightmare ever end?

I'm concentrating on two objectives during this pandemic: painting/drawing and writing my first fantasy novel. Admittedly, I'm spending seventy-percent of my working day on the novel. I'm moving into a larger studio space January 1, therefore I've decided to delay any serious painting until the first of the year. The next few weeks I'll be concentrating more on my writing, though I draw every day. Drawing and painting, like most artisan endeavors, requires constant practice. 

My recent blog entries here are pieces of writing for my fantasy novel. They are first drafts, so keep that in mind. Any feedback you have would be appreciated. Once the novel is complete, I'll ask a group of readers I trust to dive into it and give me feedback. Some of these passages will never make it into the final manuscript. The passages that survive will be revised numerous times as I go along. I'm writing an epic novel, which I consider to be 150,000 to 200,000 words and up. It will take time. 

Supposedly there are two types of novel writers: Architects and Gardners. While many authors are a hybrid of the two, most of them will lean one way or the other. The Architect writes out a full outline of the plot and the novel is basically written in outline form before they begin writing the prose. The Gardner, in contrast, just begins to write. They have a basic idea or character, maybe a cool situation with a weird character, and begin to write without a detailed outline. They allow the story to develop and unfold as they go. Stephen King is a Gardner. He places a character in a situation, provides a setting, and then begins to write. He doesn't want to know how the story ends. 

On the other hand, writing an epic novel with a multitude of characters, an outline would be a great way to approach it and seem indispensable. I suspect Stephen King has an outline at some point, probably in his head. However, I find myself doing both. I have a written outline of my story, and know how it will end. I have the last two or three chapters in my head. Having said that, though, I enjoy writing "from the hip" with no idea of how things will develop. I like having the freedom to discover new things each day as I write. I have found that as I write various scenes, my outline begins to take shape. I make changes to my written outline when appropriate. I 'm not going to be a slave to an outline. I begin with a character, in a setting, with an idea, and begin to write. Then as I think about the story while away from the desk, an outline begins to emerge. Therefore, I feel like I lean toward being a Gardner, and will don the Architect's "hat" when necessary.

Stay tuned for more updates. I'll continue to post sample writings from the novel. Let me know what you think.

M

Ghelfunn is in Big Trouble!

 

Ghelfunn opened his eyes but could see nothing. Everything within sight was a blur. He wanted to rub his eyes, but his hands were bound behind his back. He was lying on his left side. The dizziness was beginning to clear, but the back of his head painfully ached as if he had been kicked by a horse. Then suddenly, two men, one on each arm, raised him up on his knees. A moment passed before he steadied himself enough to discover where he was--the Sovereign's war room tent. 

The two men released their grip on his arms, then stood behind him. He looked to the left. Standing near the perimeter of the tent, Ghelfunn saw a few men from the Sovereign's rear guard, one leaning on a support pole picking his teeth. Two others were talking to each other, laughing, pointing at him. Numerous maps of the battlefield hung on the walls, some with red color markings. He faintly smelled food. Lunch, he thought. To his right, he was surprised to see a group of Nprudi horsemen huddled together, talking about something that interested them deeply. Ghelfunn lowered his head and spit out a stream of blood. He felt nauseated, the ringing in his ears making him feel off balance. The light shining through the entrance to the tent was painful, so he closed his eyes. The darkness returned. A moment later he fainted, falling on his right side. The two men behind him quickly grabbed his arms again, raising him  once more to his knees. His thighs began to burn with pain, he groaned as a cramp worked its way from his left foot upward to the calf muscle. He tried to straighten his leg out but the man on his right slammed a fist into his ribs. 

"That's enough," a voice calmly said. "Let's not kill him. Not yet anyway."

Margon walked into the tent and stood in front of Ghelfunn, leaning down to look directly into his prisoner's eyes. He smiled. Margon then walked over to a table containing a platter of food and cups full of water. He took a piece of meat, rolled it between his fingers, and took a bite. 

Turning to Ghelfunn, he said, "You hungry? Looks like you missed lunch."

Ghelfunn looked up and said nothing.

"That's okay. Your head will clear. I imagine you are still somewhat dizzy. That blow to the head was more severe than I would have liked--I apologize. My men are loyal but tend to be a bit too aggressive."

"What's going on," Ghelfunn asked, blood dripping down from his head wound. He spit again, this time toward Margon. "You are Margon, right? The queen's safeguard?"

"I am," Margon responded. "You might say I'm her right and left hands--and both feet. I command her personal guard." Margon took another bite of meat, then picked up a glass of water, taking a drink. "We have met, you know. You are just a little confused right now. Is your head feeling any better?"

"I am more than a little confused," Ghelfunn said. "Why are you dressed like a Nprudi horseman?"

"So many questions. I know you are curious about what you have seen. And we will get to that. But for now, I have a question."

Ghelfunn's headache was beginning to ease, but the cramp in his left leg was still bothering him. His knees were digging into the tent's floor causing him to shift weight from his right to the left. If I could just stand up, maybe I'd feel more like talking, he thought. 

"What's your question," Ghelfunn asked.