First Page

I have now commenced the revision process, and I have begun to discover just how bad my first draft is. I've spent ages fiddling with the first page and have come up with a semblance of a good opener. First pages are exceedingly difficult, especially in historical fiction, because I need to establish so much setting as well as character, and I must get the plot going and not linger around. I write in a fairly sparse style anyway, so the first pages must establish a template of the world, as it were, for the reader to draw on later. So I will post the first page here and I would love it if you could give me some thoughts on it, pertaining to what I said above. Anywhere that leaves you feeling confused, unsure, rushed, bored, etc. Really I'd like to here any thoughts on it at all.

Chapter One

“May the devil gnaw your bones,” Raban said under his breath. “And dredge out the marrow with his tongue.” The strange knight rode on, unaware of the disgust that he provoked.

Raban watched the haughty figure high upon its lofty warhorse. He did not know the man and yet he loathed him and all those like him. The armor and great helm glinted in the sun, giving a pompous warlike appearance. The shield was emblazoned with a passant bear, sable of color, with a dark green cross splayed on the polished steel. Two Squires rode behind, groomed perfectly as another piece of the man’s affectation.

Raban’s old workhorse strained at the harness, and Raban put all his strength into the plough. The earth crumbled free and they moved again. Raban cast a smoldering glance at the horsed figures. There was no respect in the look, as no doubt the knight assumed, but pure contempt. The three horses bore their riders out of sight and Raban fought the earth alone.

Another figure approached, on foot and whistling.

“What kept you, Orry?” called Raban, stopping his horse and smiling. “A pretty maid catch your eye and draw you off your course?”

Exerpt 3: Action

While searching for an example of action to post, I discovered two things. I don't have as much action in my book as I thought I did, and action out of context is really weird and often lame. Action itself relies on context and the reader caring about what's going on to work. A scene of action isolated from the rest of the book comes across like a fight scene in a movie with no film around it (And seriously, who does that? Oh, wait). And so, after all that, I have actually found a scene that might do. It's not very long and not especially dynamic, but it makes the most sense out of context of any of the scenes I looked at. Oh, and there is a bit violence. Nothing too bad, just thought I should warn, this is the internet for dang's sake.

As they marched out of Nuon Raban’s mind was racing. They strode in single file and he was kept in the middle. All the while time Charlemagne kept pace with them, flitting from branch to branch, and Raban saw the men keeping a wary eye on the rook. The soldier in front of Raban was a gritty and degraded looking fellow, but more importantly, Raban saw he had a dagger at his belt, loose in the sheath. He edged as close as possible but could not reach it with his bound wrists. Every time he got his fingers near, it his feet tangled with the soldiers and there was a bout of curses.

In desperation he reached hastily forward, but just as he touched the handle, the man stopped dead still. Raban crashed into him and they tumbled to the ground in a tangle.

“Get off, maggot,” the soldier yelled, heaving Raban away. After bouncing roughly across the dirt, for his hands could not ease the fall, Raban scrambled to his feet and did his best to appear lowly. With a few more muttered curses, the man-at-arms got back in line and they all proceeded again. Raban glanced at the man behind him and then to the front. As subtle as he could, he began working the dagger into the rope between his wrists. It was difficult and awkward, and he was terrified of dropping the dagger, but he succeeded in cutting through the last thread of the rope. He hid the dagger up his sleeve and continued on. On they walked and he bided his time, waiting the opportune moment.

“What was that?” said Raban, jerking to a stop and peering off into the trees. “There’s a wolf or two in that stand of trees.”

“There never was a wolf around here in the daytime,” the captain said, but they all gazed into the thicket nonetheless. Raban crouched and snatched up a stone, dropped his bonds, and belted the nearest man over the head. Pulling out the dagger, he turned and wedged it into another’s thigh. Before the rest could see what happened or heed their fellow’s scream, he took off at a dead sprint. At a full run Raban ducked and dodged the branches and trunks. Vaguely, he heard the soldiers clamoring along behind. He looked back and saw a black shape streaking low through the branches. Charlemagne was keeping up with of him, executing his own maneuvers to dodge through the thicket trees while flying so fast.

But Raban had no time to think on his rook. One of the men was also keeping pace with him. They tore through the brush at full speed, the man unable to stop and string his bow or he would fall behind. Still they ran, neither gaining nor losing on the other. The rest of the company was left far behind and still they streaked through the wood, jumping logs and ducking branches. Something grabbed at Raban’s foot and he rolled in the moss. He was up again before he even slowed from his fall and bolted on. Then the archer was closer than he had been. After a moment more he was closer still, and Raban’s speed began to flag. Up ahead he saw Ragno’s hill, then Ragno himself sitting before his fire. Gasping for breath, Raban sped toward him and saw Ragno leap up, drawing a short sword. Raban tripped again and tumbled wildly. In the middle of his fall, as he as he stood on his head, he saw the archer leap into the clearing and Ragno strike him through the body. Raban finished his fall and a shriek froze the air as he slid to a halt. He rose to his knees and retched.

“Why so white? Haven’t you ever killed a man before?” Ragno was grinning at the dead man twitching gently at his feet.

Raban opened his mouth but found he could not say no and turned away without speaking. Charlemagne swooped down and landed heavily on Raban’s shoulder.

By the way, I just thought I'd mention that I'm open to any criticism anyone feels like giving. I'm not just here for the praise, you know. But I'm more interested in impressions that people receive when they read my stuff, not so much craft advice or things like, "You used the word 'on' twice in row". Though I wouldn't mind that kind of thing, I'm more interested in impressions right now.

Excerpt 2: Dialogue

Okay, because I had just an enthusiastic response to my last excerpt I have decided to post another one. Oh, wait. Actually only one person besides me even visited the blog since the last post. It doesn't matter, I'm doing it anyway. You think this blog is for you, the reader? It's a creative outlet for me, the writer, who is too high brow to care if anyone reads or likes what I write. Oh, and please leave some feedback this time, sheesh.

Anyway, I have decided I will post three excerpts. An example of my description (already posted), an example of my dialogue (this post), and an example of action (yet to come). The following scene may come across as strange out of context and is still the unedited first draft, but take my word for it, it's one of my better scenes. It is the first two pages of chapter 31.

“We must capture some knights,” said Raban.

The bandits stared at him. “Pardon my hearing, but could you repeat that please?” Falk was wide eyed, something Raban had never seen before.

“We must capture some…”

“I heard you the first time,” Falk roared. “Have you gone mad? Did your stint in the dungeon loosen your brain?”

“We just rescued you at the expense of two of our friends,” said Cyr. “And the first thing you want us to do is go prancing back into Saint Bellamy and politely ask some knights to join us for a walk in the country.”

Raban absorbed the bitterness. Something inside him knew that he was to blame and he deserved whatever his men were bold enough to say.

“Since when is it well that we slur our leader?” said Odger.

“Since he proved unfit,” Emmeran mumbled, just loud enough to be heard.

“Fool,” Odger growled. “Raban has always led us well, to be sure. And to betray him is to betray Bero, for he is the chosen replacement.”

“Bero did not act foolishly and get his men killed,” Martin said, then silenced himself and glanced at Raban, a soundless apology.

“Neither has Raban,” Turpin said quietly. “Even if we were all here we cannot know that we would have escaped. Perhaps the man on watch would have been killed by stealth. We know they had large numbers. They may have taken us in a charge. We will not know what would have happened, so it is fruitless to lay blame. Raban acted foolishly, no doubt. But perchance he acted foolishly and saved eleven of his men, rather than killed two.”

They were silent, thinking on what Turpin had said. Raban loathed being talked about as though he was not there, but he knew he must let his men speak their minds.

“May I ask a query?” said Walaric, clearly uncomfortable joining in the dispute.

Raban nodded.

“Why are we to capture a number of knights?”

“I’m pleased you have asked,” Raban smiled. “To judge them.”

“You’re not serious,” Emmeran sulked. “You still think you are God’s own sheriff?”

Raban thought a moment. “You know, I believe you’ve put words to it nicely.”

All were silent for a moment, then Falk let out a bitter chuckle. “It’s only fair for God to have a finger in the world. The devil’s got enough.”

“When I was in The Court,” said Allowin, “we played a game with little figures on a board to imitate battle. Now, the lucifer may have more pieces left, but our father in heaven has the better strategy, that’s sure.”

“So…we are the pieces,” Walaric was puzzled.

Raban smiled. He had seen the game that Allowin spoke of. Though most the others did not follow their friend, Raban understood.

“How are you planning on capturing these blessed knights?” asked Cyr, returning to the matter.

“On a hunt,” said Raban. Charlemagne beat his wings and screamed. The sound echoed through the forest, glancing off trunks and darting through the laden limbs. A bough released its load nearby and the cascade of snow struck the ground with a muffled thud. The high wavering cry ebbed away slowly.

“That bird is going be our deaths,” growled Falk. “If not from giving us away, then giving us fits.”

Raban exhaled, realizing that he had been holding his breath.

“Do you really think that they will continue the hunts in this bitter cold?” Turpin asked.

“Yes,” Allowin interrupted. “In a castle full of knights someone will always find sometime to hunt something, even if it is only the serfs’ livestock or the street curs.”

This is bordering on giving too much away, and it pains me to post it. But knowing the traffic on this blog, I'm not too worried. If three people in the world have a little spoiler I can live with that.

Excerpt

I have decided, rather than post the entire first chapter, to put up an excerpt or two in order to best portray the essence of Rooks of Burgundy without giving too much. Now I have to go find an excerpt.

Okay, I'm back. I chose the following excerpt mainly just for the heck of it. I have a very strong aversion to giving anything away and so couldn't bring myself to post anything with plot in it. It's a little early for teasers anyway. This is from the very end of chapter 2.

Dusk approached and the light splashed longways through the trees, igniting the leaves and turning the forest to flame. Raban watched as the light changed in hue and angle. He felt as though he was walking amid the sunset. A lone needle tree caught his eye, for it remained dark and solemn even in the blaze around it. It looked as though it might provide some shelter and he approached to see better in the strange light. A slight color variation in the tree’s branches caught his eye and he halted. Grass and rope had been weaved into the branches of the huge pine tree, binding them together tightly. Pitch had then been slathered over all to seal out the weather. The lower branches brushed the forest floor, forming what looked like an upside down basket.

Raban backed quickly away into the woods and he circled the strange tree, looking for an entrance. A brown cloth hung from inside the basket, covering a small gap in the limbs. Raban settled where he could keep watch on it. It would be foolish to approach this tree, he knew. Any kind of man could live out here, a kindly hermit as easily as a blood mongering bandit. Raban was almost sure no one was inside, but he would wait first to find out.

Darkness fell completely and ears were more use than eyes on moonless nights such as this. Raban lay down and wrapped himself in his blanket. Nothing stirred for hours and he felt the weight of fatigue press down upon him. His eyelids closed even as he tried to hold them open. The thick moss, despite its dampness, provided none too uncomfortable a bed and Raban fell asleep on his vigil.

Well, there it is. Not the best snippet, I realize, but hey, it's something. I'll post another soon. Maybe something a bit more...exciting.