I have elected the way of pain;  I am writing a novel in the month of November.

Having never done it, I expect the resulting novel to be shit, not worthy of giving away.  Still, I will have a novel.  I will then edit it and offer it up for people to read.  FYI, this is unedited text. If you must comment, make them about content not grammar and spelling.  I know I missed things there.

As of right now, I am at about 1965 words, and I will be adding a few hundred more before I stop tonight with Chapter 2 written.  With that said, I will give you a taste, and go back to writing.

Synopsis

Damon and Invictus, childhood friends, are forced to face evil in the shape of Damon’s brother. In this story, we find that sometimes the bond of the family we bleed with is stronger than the family we share blood with.

Chapter 1:  A turning point

“The voice of parents is the voice of gods, for to their children they are heaven’s lieutenants.”

– Shakespeare

A low fire rumbled in the hearth of the great room, felt rather than heard over the din of the room.  The boys were playing together; the loud clack of wood on wood filled the room as great battles were acted out with toy swords across the great bear skin rug.  They had been going like this for hours, while their father, Ambrosias, looked on.  He rarely said a word, interjecting only when one of the boys did something that needed a correction.  This was one of those moments.

“Your guard is low, Marcos.”

“But, I am winning Father!” cried out Marcos, just as Damon swung his sword above the others and connected with his chin.  He fell to the ground, crying aloud, as the welt began to appear on his face.  Damon backed up, as Ambrosias came forward to inspect the wound.

“As I said; too low.”  Father’s voice was clearly littered with disappointment as he continued, “although I am not sure your brother saw it, or just took advantage if my pointing it out.”
Damon’s face went from a beaming smile to the panicked look of the guilty as his father’s words struck home.

“I’ll go get the surgeon, Father,” and he began to speed out of the room.

“No need.  It will serve to remind him of the mistake he made.   You will get to look upon it and ponder whether you were fighting with honor.“

Ambrosias went back to his chair and sat down, staring at the dumbfounded boys.  Marcos was holding his sword in one hand and his chin with the other, alternating glares between his brother and his father.  It was hard to tell which he hated more at this time, but if looks could kill, he’d be alone soon.

Damon, had his sword at his side and was staring at his father with a look of near despair.  He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it, as if he knew the answer he would receive.  He lowered his head slightly, and began to think about his father’s words.

Like a predator waiting on his prey, Marcos chose this time to strike again, swinging his sword down upon his brother’s head.  Damon moved to parry, but clearly was not fast enough.  It would not knock him out, but he was clearly about to hear the ringing of the time bells, if you know what I mean.

Just before the blow struck home, the blade went wide as if struck by something.  Marcos’ head looked in the direction of the sword, to see what had happened and missed his father’s hand close upon the back of his neck, seizing his shirt in his powerful grip.  He caught a glimpse of his father’s turkey leg that was now hitting the floor, as he felt his feet leave the ground.

“That is enough!” the voice echoed through the chamber, and froze everyone within earshot in their tracks.  The servants, the boys, even the dogs who were about to burst for the meat on the floor came to rest their eyes upon Ambrosias as he held Marcos’ aloft, poised so he could speak eye to eye with the boy.

“This is a profession of Honor.  You will not strike from surprise in a duel.  In War, these tactics must sometimes be used, but in a duel of brothers, especially in play, we do not.

For years I have counseled you both on what it means to be a swordsman.   Damon has learned, and has become a fine swordsman.  His is in need of refinement, and subtle hints about proper conduct, but he does not seek revenge when he injured in training.  That is the coward’s way. “

His eyes burned into Marcos’ as the words sunk deep into his psyche, never to leave. He heard them as clear as if they had been spoken aloud.

Damon is the better son.  You are a coward.

“You punishment will be to prepare our meals with the servants until you can show me you have learned.   Jaron, take this whelp to the kitchen.”

The Captain, who had run in when he hear his Lord bellow, released his hand from his sword and crossed room to Marcos.   The warrior’s gait was impatient, as if this was clearly something he didn’t want to deal with.

“Come on, boy.  Another month with the help for you!” his voice filled with contempt for the boy that made him a babysitter, even if it was just for a moment.  Marcos strode off with his head low, looking back with a sorrowful gaze at his father, who was watching him leave.

As he passed Damon, he gave him a look that would have started him ablaze if it could.  Fortunately for Damon, their wizardly studies were a year off, and he remained safely unscorched for the moment.  Still, he could clearly see the hatred in his brother’s eyes, and was clearly upset for his plight.  The welt on his chin seemed to leap out at Damon, and he mouthed the words, “I’m sorry” as they passed.  Marcos’ expression never changed, however, and he marched out of the hall like a prisoner in irons determined to escape.

Damon watched the door until he could no longer hear the footsteps, and then just stared into space, as if the whole thing might just change back to the way it was.  A moment or two later, he was startled by a large hand on his shoulder.

“You are not to blame for your brother’s behavior.   He makes his own choices.”

“I understand, father.  I still feel to blame.  If only I was a better example…”

“You are the better example.  He does not see it, as his eyes only gaze at himself.   You, however, see others before you and attempt to serve.“

Damon looked up at his father, who was smiling down on him.  His voice had softened, as it only does when they are alone.  In the pause it took him to answer, the dogs could be heard, finally devouring the remains of the castaway bird leg.

“Give him time.   He will see.  He will see.

Now, off to your practice. Tell the master at arms I said to work your thrusts.  They were slow today. “

Damon, knowing the hard work ahead of him for his transgression against his brother, groaned as he began walking away.  He would be thrusting at the practice dummies for an hour at least, before he got to ride his stallion again as he had planned.

And what is worse, he had to go ask for the work himself!  His father was showing his trust by not telling the old Sword Master himself, as he knew Damon would carry out the intent of the command.  Virtue is its own punishment, it seems.

He stopped to bowed to his father, and then ran to hug him quickly before the big man could stop him.  Ambrosias smiled and held his son, glancing around at the servants.  They were pretending to ignore his affection for his son, allowing him this moment of enjoyment that he so rarely was afforded.

Damon released his hug, and ran off to train, scooping up the toy swords with practiced rolls as he did.

Ambrosias watched him leave, the smile still upon his face.  After a moment, he spoke to the room.

“Enough play for today.”

Then slowly, he walked away, leaving the room to the servants.  They relaxed into their duties, and pretended not to be relieved.

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Back to it.  Updates may not happen everyday, but I will keep posting my progress on my NaNoWriMo site here.