The Borg�s Kings, Vol 1

This is a short for a longer story line that I have yet had the time to workout in more detail. I hope you enjoy it. Let's call it the intro to the book.

Merric awoke with a start. His mind instinctively went to his long knife only to find it already in his left hand. Rolling quickly to a sitting position, he scanned the room. It was simply attired, clean, and empty. No one was with him. Hmmph, he thought. Another dream.

"By the Nine, they seemd so real," he found himself saying aloud.

He sat staring at the decorated long knife he still held in his left hand. Ornate but surprisingly effective in a fight. The ghods must have blessed this thing, he thought. He rolled his tongue in his mouth. Last night's food and drink did not do his mouth well this morning. Inhaling deeply, he cleared the remnants of his dreams from his mind. It was a new day.

Sounds from the kitchen below alerted him someone else was awake. The hosteller must be about preparing the morning meal, he thought. Perhaps the he had some khaffe freshly brewed. If not, reheated from yesterday would still suffice.

It took Merric a few minutes to collect his belongings. He looked about the room one last time and headed downstairs to the main room of the inn. The really poor travellers were still asleep on the floor on simple pallets. The room had the look of a hasty barracks. These were not pilgrims, nor peasants. Many had the look of ruffians and down-on-their-luck adventurers... mercenaries. Merric's seasoned hearing could pick out one or two only feigning sleep. Their breathing being too regular and soft. Picking his way through the sleepers, Merric made his way to the hosteller's bar. He was told the khaffe was cooking and his morning meal would be ready soon. He found a table near the bar, sat down, and waited. His mind went back to his dreams.


A high, wind swept plateau overlooked the valley below. Merric could see himself. His long, thin silhouette was standing near the edge; the valley blurring with distance. The air was chill. The wind had proven itself too strong for Merric to easily hold his cloak closed. He stood with the wind to his back letting the wind hold it in place.

His long, fighting knife and sabre were already in his hands. They were made as a matched pair. They were crafted from some magical ore that only a few knew existed and even fewer knew how to craft into anything. The winged helm and hauberk were made of the same black metal that still managed to shine and absorb light. His ice blue eyes scanned the field of view for any movement. He was here to kill. He knew that much for sure. He could sense it.

The air was clean and crisp, nearly too cold. It burned his nostrils as he inhaled. Ahh, he caught the the scent. Spinning to a crouch in the direction of the wind, he began to pick his way toward the source of the scent. Gradually picking up speed as the blood lust began to take hold. A sound from one of them whispered passed his ear. He squinted his eyes ever so slightly. A corner of his mouth turned turned up in a wry smile. He was nearly into a full run when he came across them.

His mind cried, there are too many!

Merric began to sing the songs of slaughter as he charged into their midst. He flew into them swinging at the nearest with his sabre, under cutting with the knife. The female warrior had the look of the Ælfannae about her. She managed to deflect the sabre with her shield and, somehow, meet the knife with her sword. The jar of the impact nearly made Merric drop his knife. She tumbled backwards. Merric went past her to a large man with a two-handed claymore. His eyes locked with Merric's. There was no fear, no malice. He saw only raw force of character. Merric nearly stopped in his tracks. Merric lunged toward the man's throat with his sabre. The man moved in a flash. At first he was standing still, holding his claymore in front as one would hold a staff. The great sword came up vertical, redirecting the force of the lunge. In a blur of motion, Merric found himself in the path of the downward sweeping sword. Using the momentum of his lunge, Merric turned into a ball, rolling under the sword and next to the large man. Merric kicked upward and out as hard as he could. The large man seemed caught off guard by the manuever. The large man exhaled hard as he fell to one side.

Something was said in a language Merric did not recognize. He spun on his haunches and leapt to his feet. He saw something flash and using the wind, he threw up his cloak to help diffuse whatever was coming his way. It only partially worked. Merric was tossed through the air like a rag doll. His cloak smelled burnt and still smoldered. He did not have time to think about it. A duarfini, a short, stocky man-like mass of muscle and hair, was bearing down on him. His white hair and beard were made into braids held together with threads of gold. He was armored in a milky white suit of scale mail. A cloak of cloth-of-gold billowed out behind him. The smile on the duarfini's face and the wild stare in his eyes told Merric this one enjoyed fighting more than most. The hammer the duarfini raised above his head began to glow red, then yellow, then white with heat. Merric rolled, vaulted, spun in the air, and struck downward with his sabre. The impact of the blow struck Merric to his shoulder, causing him to fall off balanced. He fell at the feet of a man wearing the bluest silver armor he had ever seen. He wore a simple surcoat with an emblem of Tyre. The man was singing.

The song was captivating. For a moment, Merric felt all was hopeless. But, just a moment. His grip tightened on his sword. Merric leapt up and slashed down toward the man's uncovered head. There was a flash of light, and the man stumbled backwards. There were three standing guard over the falleen man of Tyre. One dressed in the blackest fully plated armor Merric had ever seen. Another was dressed in chainmail. It was black, but it gave off light. A red surcoat with a symbol Merric did not recognize covered it. The thrid was most distinguished by his eyes. They were wild, and they hated him. He made a motion that appeared to be a wave. Nausea gripped Merric. The one in the black chainmail made a sign with his hand, and a chill hit Merric. It seemed to come up from his bones. The one in the blackest plate armor pulled out a spiked mace from behind its shield. It charged, chanting something unintelligible. Merric could not move...

A loud shout woke Merric immediately. He was sitting upright in a chair. His fighting knife, again, in his left hand. The hosteller was shouting something. Put away your weapons or get out? Merric's mind raced in a cloud of sleepiness. He was downstairs about to have breakfast. He must have fallen asleep. He looked around. Everyone was staring at him. Keeping his face grim, Merric sheathed his weapons. He had somehow managed to pull out his axe as well. He nodded to the hosteller. The food and khaffe were set at his table. Merric felt every eye in the room on him. He left more coins on the table than needed for the food and drink.

"I will need more khaffe."

Merric did not look around but he could feel the stares. Some whispered. Some whispered not softly enough. They all thought he was crazy. Under other circumstances, that would have been good. Farmers, peasants, and pilgrims scare easily. Seasoned veterans do not. If someone is crazy, that is a sign of weakness. Weakness can be killed. He would have to leave soon, before anyone was ready to follow him and relieve him of his life and property. Merric ate as quickly and quietly as he could He strained his ears to pick up any whisper of a conspiracy against him.

Merric nodded once to the hosteller, collected his things, and headed for the door. He paused with the door open. Took another look into the main room of the inn and left. He moved quickly to the stables. The stable boy saw him coming and quickly brought him his horse, fully set as agreed the previous night. Merric paid him well. Checked the rigging quickly. Leading the horse clear of the stables and fencing, he surveyed the path of a street in front of him. He took one more look toward the inn. No one was there. This could be good, he thought. He leapt into the harness and charged toward the nearest open space between the small buildings. He would ride hard as long as his horse would let him, then begin backtracking, doubling, and covering his trail. He would lose a day, but it was needed. He did not need additional eyes trying to find him.

Reviews

[J. Hampton]

Intriguing....

This has a powerful Epic feel to it. The segue....perfection. I am far from a fantasy fan...but prefer something of this sort ...Lord of the Rings variety stuff ...not into the " x-men and all that end of the genre.
Your imagery , setting and mode are wonderful. Love "Merric" ...great name and terms like "hostellar "
and so on add to the feel. A few typos but...very good write!

Blessssss

[Ryan McAuley]

I submitted a review while they were going through the updates, guess it didn't save so I'll try and remember what I wrote...

This is a wonderful read. There are a few things that can be improve upon, such as flow and repetition. Every once in a while there are sudden stops with a short sentence following, you could make it flow better if you simply combined them.
As for repetition there are a couple of places where you can swap in 'he' 'it' 'blah' as you just stated who the focus was, there is really no need to state it again. There is also one spot that has a double 'the'.

I'll say I have to disagree with most of what the person before me said, as what they pointed out was all an opinion thing, except the double 'the'. They edited it trying to "re-write" it, I suppose, in their own style, while your style works perfectly.

Keep up the great work, and I hope to read more of this character and this world.

[Deep in the Woodline...]

I enjoyed the read and the story. It held my interest and flowed well, with a few exceptions in places. It left me wanting to know "what next" so you did your well there. Following are some areas I think you might want to look at. Take what you can use and throw the rest out. lol Good job on the piece.


"The ghods must have blessed this thing, he thought." - gods

"A high, wind swept plateau" - not sure, but wind-swept looks better, your call.

"the valley blurring with distance" - blurry or a blur in the distance works better for me.

"The air was chill." - chilled or chilly. Personally I would go with 'held a chill'.

"The wind had proven itself too strong for Merric to easily hold his cloak closed. He stood with the wind to his back letting the wind hold it in place." - a bit clunky, maybe "A strong wind caused Merric to put his back to it and let it hold the cloak in place around him." - more concise (30:21), same information, 'shows not tells' and kills 'easily' and weak 'letting'.

"His long, fighting knife " - lose the comma.

"His ice blue eyes scanned the field of view for any movement. He was here to kill. He knew that much for sure." - 'ice-blue' or 'icy blue' maybe, 'his field of view' or 'the field below for any movement', 'certain' reads better than 'sure' here.

"The air was clean and crisp, nearly too cold. It burned his nostrils as he inhaled." - It was cold. The clean, crisp air burned his nostrils as he inhaled.

"Ahh, he caught the the scent." - the the

"Gradually picking up speed as the blood lust began to take hold." - works better as 'He picked up speed as the blood lust took hold.' - kills gradually and picking, both weak.

"and, somehow, meet " - lose the commas and 'meet' is 'met' here, tense issue.

"The jar of the impact nearly made Merric drop his knife. She tumbled backwards. Merric went past her to a large man with a two-handed claymore. His eyes locked with Merric's. There was no fear, no malice. He saw only raw force of character. Merric nearly stopped in his tracks. Merric lunged toward the man's throat with his sabre. The man moved in a flash. At first he was standing still, holding his claymore in front as one would hold a staff. The great sword came up vertical, redirecting the force of the lunge. In a blur of motion, Merric found himself in the path of the downward sweeping sword. Using the momentum of his lunge, Merric turned into a ball, rolling under the sword and next to the large man. Merric kicked upward and out as hard as he could. The large man seemed caught off guard by the manuever. The large man exhaled hard as he fell to one side." - overall, this is an excellent piece of writing here, but a bit clunky in places.

'nearly' is used within 4 sentences of one another, make one 'almost'.

"In a blur of motion, Merric found himself in the path of the downward sweeping sword." - Sentence starts
with a prepositional phrase, maybe 'A blur of motion found Merric in the downward sweep of the sword.'

"Using the momentum of his lunge, Merric turned into a ball, rolling under the sword and next to the large
man." - 'He used the momentum of his lunge to turn into a ball as he rolled under the sword and next to
the large man.'

"using the wind, he threw up his cloak" - 'used the wind to throw up his cloak'

"mass of muscle and hair, was bearing down on him." - 'mass of muscle and hair bore down on him.'

"Merric to his shoulder, causing him to fall off balanced." - 'Merric to his shoulderand caused him to fall off balanced.

"For a moment, Merric felt all was hopeless." - "Merric felt all was hopeless for a moment.

"man wearing the bluest silver armor he had ever seen." and "blackest fully plated armor Merric had ever seen." - caught me as redundant some how.

"The thrid was most distinguished by his eyes. They were wild, and they hated him." - 'thrid' and lose the comma.

:Quickly" or "quietly" used 4 times in 7 sentences here, a bit much maybe.

[Red Raven]

When you describe about the war scene, it seems so real...and the last para tells a lot about your man. I am always fascinated by the narration of dreams and this seems perfect!

'Some whispered. Some whispered not softly enough. They all thought he was crazy. Under other circumstances, that would have been good. Farmers, peasants, and pilgrims scare easily. Seasoned veterans do not. If someone is crazy, that is a sign of weakness. Weakness can be killed. He would have to leave soon, before anyone was ready to follow him and relieve him of his life and property.'
- This is really a catchy statements for me.Thank you for giving me a chance to read your wonderful work. Looking forwar for more.

[Robert Luna]

Your detail was picture perfect. I could really feel like i was a fly on the wall watching all this take place. I would really like to see the novel that this inspired. You captured my attention and held it all the way through which is not an easy thing to do. I am the A.D.D. boy. But you continued to pull me back in with a little more detail and a desire to find out what was going on.

Great job!!!