Distractions abound, but I am getting along with it. I really wish I had written it in 1st person, as I intended, as I think I write better that way. Perhaps the next story, I will. Oh well. Best laid plans, and all that.

This word count is the count as of right now, not at the end of this chapter, meaning it includes chapter 5.  Cranking it out, as they say.

So, here is Chapter 4, as promised. Chapter 5 is nearly done, but I need to take a break and post later.   I see a lot of editing needed on this one, but I have successfully resisted.

I think I have grown.

Chapter 4:  To the Wood

“A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.”

– King Solomon

Damon ducked low under the swing at his head, and thrust in with his sword at his attacker’s ribs.  The man spun his body just offline of the swing and brought his elbow back into Damon’s head, making his ears ring for a moment.  As he tried to right himself, Damon felt the ground disconnect from his feet, as his shoulder’s rapidly switched places with them. Overhead, he heard a voice through the ringing in his head.

“What is with you, boy?  You haven’t connected a blow in days!”

There was love and concern in the old sword master’s voice, as he extended a hand to help the boy to his feet.  Damon took it, and let himself be pulled upward to his feet.  He staggered a bit from the headshot, but managed to maintain balance.  He stood there, reeling slightly, waiting for his next instruction.

“Did you hear me?  I said, what is with you?  Still whining about Marcos leaving? No future in it, but I guess that is what little boys do, right?”

Damon stood straight up and looked at his master with a look that should not be given to one’s sword master.  Still, it was given, and in return the elder shot him back a smile that said, “Come do something about it.”

Damon picked up his sword and staggered a bit forward when he did.  He caught his balance, and stumbled to a ready stance.  The two stared at each other for a long moment, eyeing the other like two predators that had wandered into each other in disputed territory. Without warning, Damon lunged at the man with a fury unbalanced.

Stepping to the left outside the boy’s blade, the old man came in hard with a kick to the stomach, making Damon crumble to ground once again.  He made a loud “uumph” as it landed, and then again when he hit the ground.  He lie there with a mouth full of dirt, deciding whether to stand again.

Oren walked back over to his student and extended his hand once again, which was accepted.  Damon rose to his feet, readied his practice blade, and waited again for his master to speak.

“Perhaps you just like misery?  Or you want everyone to feel sorry for you?  Poor little Damon.  His mean younger brother finally ran away.  He’s probably out in the woods torturing little bunnies, the evil little bastard.”

“EEEEYYYAAAAA!” came the battle cry from the enraged student, with a powerful overhead swing at Oren’s head. Stepping to the right, Oren dodged the blow, and swung for the back of the boy’s head.  The wooden blade bounced off his skull with a resounding “whack” and sent its receiver straight to the ground again.

Once again, Damon found himself flat on his face with dirt in his mouth.  This time, he ignored the offered hand, and just lie there, blowing dirt out of his nose and mouth.   A few moments went by, when the silence was shattered by Oren’s gravelly voice.

“Ahhh.  Lesson’s over, then.  Come back and see me when you are ready to face me like a man, instead of a boy.”

He heard the last words receding, along with the footsteps of his teacher, and soon the room was in silence.  He rolled over onto his back, eyes closed, feeling the pain in various parts of his body.

For a short while he wept, until he heard a familiar voice drown out his own breathing.

“That was quite a beating you took.  You ok?”

Invictus.  My best friend.  Who talked me into letting my brother leave.  Who is now here, when Marcos is not.  Even Father seems to have given up.

Damon didn’t hate him.  No, he loved his friend Vic.  Like a brother; the brother Marcos should have been.  He only wished it could be three brothers, laughing and pursuing adventures together as brothers should.  But that was not how it was.

“Damon?”

Invictus sounded worried, but Damon still lied there, until he heard Invictus start chanting a spell.  He sat up and thrust his arms in the air, and made a loud “aaaarrrrr” sound at his friend.

Invictus reflexively redirected his energy into a shield and Damon was pushed back to the ground again onto his back.  The shield went down immediately, and Invictus started to curse.

“Damn you!  That wasn’t funny!  I might have hurt you.”

Damon lie on his back again, and burst into laughter at his friend’s words.

“After the beating I just got, I really doubt it,” he choked out between laughs, “as Oren seems to be trying to train me out of my sadness.”

“Damon, I…”

“No need to apologize again, Vic.  It was not your fault.  You are not responsible for the actions of my brother.”

Invictus extended his hand to his fallen friend, and Damon began laughing again, remembering how many times this had happened today.  As he got to his feet, he heard his own words echoing from the mouth of his father some years before.  He looked Invictus in the eye and told him.

“And neither am I.”

 

*****

                They rode hard out across the countryside towards the Great Woods.  Invictus spell was leading them there.  He complained the whole way that they should not be going, but Damon ignored him.  His stubborn tendency to never give up had kicked in and he planned to ride until he got where he was going or the horse had to stop for the day.

It was more likely that Invictus would give out before the horse, truth be told.  He is a powerful wizard for his age, but fast, long distance travel was not his forte.  He would tire soon and they would have to rest.  This was not to Damon’s liking, but he may need Invictus fresh when they arrived.  A tired wizard is as good as a pile of sticks when you peel all it all away.

Still, he would push it until he had to stop.  They would rest before they went into the Wood, as the men would not go there at night.  It was hard enough to get the guard to come with and not just drag him off to father for punishment, so he decided to not anger them as well.  Besides, there were things in the Great Wood that liked a good meal of Half-Elf, and he wasn’t about to get himself eaten.  He would remain long lived only if he didn’t get himself killed.

And, I am sure father would be upset if half a dozen of his royal guard were killed and eaten.  Especially considering he didn’t order them on this little mission; his bull headed son did.

I’d best bring them all back alive, or it’ll be the kitchens until I marry.

He could hear Invictus start to moan again and began looking for a good place to camp for the night.  Someplace with a little cover would be nice, in case the wild things of the area got curious.  The tents they had would keep out the weather, as he had taken the better ones from the war storage.  These survival tents would keep out all but gale force winds with the spells they had on them, but they were still just leather, after all.  A bear or a hungry pack of wolfen could cause us to have a really bad night.

“Damon, when are we stopping?  I am exhausted.”

“Just looking for a place to put the princess to bed now.”

“I can set you on fire, if that would speed things up.  It’s no problem, really.”

“I’m looking, your highness!  I’m looking.  No need to get snippy.”

Invictus looked around as well, as though he could find a camp spot.  He probably could, with a spell or two he knew.  With the exception of fireballs and the like, finding things was his specialty.  I never lost anything for long that Invictus hadn’t located for me.  And we never get lost, as he just seemed to know where we need to go to get anywhere.

“There,” came his voice, “Over there.”

He was pointing at a small outcropping of rocks near the tree line, where we would be shielded from the eyes in the woods and the strong winds that blew across these plains at night.  I signaled the men to head that direction to check it out.  Someone – or something – may already have had this idea.

“Well done, Vic.  You are quite the outdoorsman after all.”

With a laugh, he spurred his horse on to follow the guard, hopefully to be there first if anything hostile popped up.  The guards were capable, of course, but his father had chosen them more for loyalty than for skill.   Damon knew he could take most of them in a duel, but he hadn’t been this far from the castle without Father and his personal guard more than a few times.  These men did it all the time.

He wanted to be there first so he could get a shot at whatever came at them, assuming something did.  If they could, they would get in the way and try to protect their Lord’s son, so Damon wouldn’t get any action.  And he was determined to see some action.

He was really looking to see what would happen in a real fight outside the castle against real opponents that were really trying to do him harm.  It was stupid, really, looking for a fight.  He could really get hurt killed doing this kind of thing.

He spurred the horse on again, a smile growing across his face.  In the dim light of early evening, he could still see clearly into the rocky area with his Elf sight, one several birth-gifts from his mother, while the guard would need light soon to see clearly.  They called out to him to slow down, but he kept on riding.

He arrived at the spurs and leapt from his steed into a roll, coming up into a fighting stance with his sword free of the sheath.  He looked about him in the failing light, but nothing was there save some vermin that scuttled off as soon as he emerged in the clearing.  He walked around the clearing, but nothing evil tried to slay him; nothing hostile appeared.  With a short exhale, he began sheathing his blade as the guard caught up to him.

“It truly is a clearing, Bom.  There is nothing here.”

“M’lord,” Bom cleared his throat before continuing, ”If you would please not do that again?  Our job is to protect you, and we cannot do that if you don’t stay with us. “

“Yes, yes, of course.  I will endeavor to do that in the future.”

“Thank you, M’lord.”

Both of them knew, from the frown on the guard and the smile that Damon wore, that the boy would run off again as soon as he could.  They walked back to their horses and began unloading gear to make camp.  Invictus strolled up and dismounted, walking a bit funny after the long ride.

“6 hours on a horse is a bit much for you?  If you would learn that Flash Travel spell the Master used, this wouldn’t be so hard.  We’d have been here forever ago.”

“I don’t see you learning any new spells.  What will you do if I am not there?”

“Dear friend, you will always be there, won’t you?”

“As long as I am able, you know that.  But if you would just study…”

“I hear enough of that from the old man.  I don’t need it from you, as well.  Let’s get camp ready.  Can you see to the meal while I help with the tents?”

“Of course.  I’ll go get my apron.”

Damon chuckled, and slapped the smaller boy on the back.  “That’s the spirit, princess.”

As he walked away, Invictus flicked his wrist in Damon’s direction, and his shirt sleeve caught on fire.  Damon noticed after a few more steps, and dropped to the ground to beat the growing flames out.  As he did, he called out behind him in a mildly annoyed voice, continuing on toward the horses.

“Not funny, Vic. This is my favorite shirt.”

Today is a struggle.  I mean, really a struggle.  I am tired, and I think it shows.  I am not happy with this chapter at all.  It moves the story forward, although it will get rewritten, I expect next month.  The characters fought against what I wanted and I eventually gave in and just let them have their way.

Still, as long as they keep telling me where to go, I will keep telling their story.  Damn kids, anyway.

Here it is, gentle reader, for what it is worth. I am off to keep writing towards Chapter 4, as I am behind a bit on the word count today. What with the Nutcracker, consoling a friend who needs me, and running a game on Sunday, I need to get ahead. This weekend may not let me write as much as I need to. Grrrr. I need to not stress, or the story will not come out.

So, I leave you tonight with this, such as it is.

Chapter 3:  Power uncontained

“Running away will never make you free.”

– Kenny Loggins

The explosion was deafening, making everyone cover their ears.  Annathon ran to Invictus, yelling something that could not be heard over the fires.  People were running everywhere; some throwing water spells on the fire, others trying to make destroy the air that would fuel the flames higher.

Invictus just stood there, arm outstretched, fingered spread out towards the fire.  His face was covered in sweat, his Will bent on the flames, as if he could will them to go out, just as he willed them to explode as they did.

There is no way I did that.

Before the fire could spread, Annathon waved a hand at the blaze and a great wind followed the gesture to the flames.  It was out in a few seconds, and the wind died as it did.  He stood there looking at Invictus, with a look of confusion and pride.

There is no way he did that.

They stared at each other for a moment, as if they were having a conversation without words, when Invictus finally spoke.

“Master, that was not all my doing.  I controlled the blast…”

“I agree, Invictus, I agree.  Let’s go have a look at the target, shall we?  Perhaps we can shed some light on the matter.”

He walked towards the target, with Invictus close behind, and reached it in in short order.  Damon and the other students were there as well, having stopped their efforts at putting out the now extinguished flames.

Slapping Invictus on the back, Damon yelled, “That was a hell of a blast, Vic!  You are becoming quite the wizard!”

Falling slightly forward from the force, Invictus righted himself before he replied.

“Thanks, friend, but that was not all me.  Something was wrong in the spell, I would guess, as the power was far too high.  I cannot guess what happened.”

“I can, my apprentice, I can.  The target was coated with firemoss.  Who put this here?”

The old man was holding aloft the charred plant in his hands, with a look of concern on his face.  He turned around in circles, showing the moss to the gathered student body, staring at each face, into each young mind.  They could feel his Will boring into them, coaxing their fear, making them cower before their teacher.  He rarely was angry, unless someone did something stupid.

This clearly qualified.

“Not only has someone stolen firemoss from our locked storage area, they have placed enough of it here to set the whole castle on fire.  Had we been standing closer to the target, we could have all been killed. So, I ask again.

WHO DID THIS?”

His voice carried power with it, across the courtyard and into each student.   They felt the voice as a physical thing, as if someone was in their face, grabbing their collar and demanding that they speak.  No one moved a muscle and no one owned up to planning such a dangerous act.

The Wizard turned in one slow circle, evaluating each student as he did.  When he had completed his rotation, he stopped in front of Damon.

“Where is Marcos?”

“I do not know, Master.  He was here before the test.  Shall I go find him?”

“Thank will not be necessary.  I will do it.”

With that, he lowered his head and chanted in a low, guttural voice, as if he had a mouthful of water and was trying to talk through it.  It went on for a few minutes, and while it did, the students just stared at him and waited.  He very abruptly stopped chanting, lifted his head, and pointed toward the second story window of the dorms.

“There.  Bring him to me.”

Damon looked down the wizard’s arm to the window, and saw Marcos face drop out of view.  He broke into run, that carried him like a gazelle across the grounds, his boots clacking on the hard stone as he ran.  Up the stairs he went, and spotted Marcos running out the other side toward the back stairs.  He chased after him, through the hall and around the corner to the stairs.  As he leapt down then, he could hear the door shutting ahead of him, and Marcos’ footsteps receding outside.

“Stop, brother!  The Master wants you!  Stop!” he yelled as he ran after him, opening the door and heading off in the direction of the footsteps.   He began to slow down, as he saw his brother had ended the chase, frozen in mid step, with his head looking back over his shoulder.

“What is this?” he demanded, as he walked up to his statue-like brother.

“I have him, Damon.  Go get Master Annathon.”

Damon looked to the voice, and saw Invictus, once again with his arm out in front of him, pointing at Marcos and staring at him intensely as he slowly walked closer.

“Dammit, Vic, when did you learn that?  Show me later?”

They smiled at each other for a moment, like two kids that had just caught a bug that they thought was cool.  After a second, Damon shook his head, and started off to find the old wizard.  Vic waited for him to leave and then closed the gap on Marcos, his smile fading.  He leaned in to Marcos ear, laying his hand on the frozen boy’s shoulder.

“I am done being your servant, Marcos.  I can stop any thing you do to me now.  My Will is stronger than your malice, and I will suffer no more of your bullying.  Not on me, or anyone.  You will need to go back to torturing rats for your pleasure, like you did before I came around.

I will do far worse to you if I hear of you harming anyone else.”

Invictus leaned back as he heard footsteps coming closer.

“I dare you to test me, Marcos.”

Annathon, Damon and then the rest of the students came around the corner to see Invictus standing quietly before the immobile figure of Marcos.  He stood with his hands behind his back, turning as the class approached to face his Master.  He bowed his head slightly, and gestured to his trophy.

“Release him, Invictus.  Now.”

Invictus lowered his hand, looked at Marcos for a second, and then walked to stand beside Damon.  Marcos began to move suddenly and fell to the ground in a heap.  He started to get up and continue his run, when the Wizard spoke again in a softer voice.

“Marcos.  Come with me.”

Marcos looked at him, looked at Damon and Invictus, then stood and brushed himself off.  He walked straight to Invictus with a murderous look in his eyes.  Damon stepped in front of him, holding up a hand to stop Marcos advance.   Marcos stopped before his brother and stared.

“Marcos!  Come. With. Me.”

The master’s voice was strong but soft, compelling Marcos to follow.  He started to walk with Annathon, and suddenly turned back towards Invictus and hurled a small object at him.  Damon moved to catch it, but Invictus yelled, “NO!”

Just in front of Damon’s hand, it froze in midair.  Moving quickly up past him, Invictus enclosed it with both hands.  Chanting under his breath, he moved his hands outward as the imprisoned rock exploded into flames.   The flames licked around the young wizard’s hands, but none of it escaped far.  Sweat poured down his face as the fire went out.  He came to a proud stance, letting his arms fall to his sides, and faced Marcos.

“Never again, Marcos. I am no longer weak.  Your torment has made me strong.

I suppose, I should thank you.”

Invictus mouth pulled up into a smirk.  Damon stared at Marcos with the frown his father wore, and began to advance on him.

“You could have killed us both. That was too far, brother. ”

“Brother?  You call me brother? You never treat me like a brother; only use the word to make me another pet of our father like you.  ”

“Our father loves us both.  Only you want his love all to yourself!”

“How can he love me, when he gives it all to you?  And, as for brother, this brat can take my place.  I have had enough of this pathetic family.”

With that, he turned and strode out past the class into the courtyard.  Damon ran after him, but when he closed in, his brother turned with a knife drawn.

“Leave me alone.  Brother.”

He nearly spit out the last word, with a contempt that was unmistakable.

“Father will hear of this.  You will not be allowed to leave.”

“Try and stop me.”

As Marcos backed away, and Damon begins to follow him, he hears Invictus’ clear voice.

“Let him go.  If you make him stay, someone will die by his hand.”

“But, he is my brother,” Damon interjected, turned to his friend, “and I cannot just let him leave.”

“Would you chain him up?  Put him in the dungeons?  If he chooses to leave, he will leave and nothing you can do will stop him.  Let him go, Damon.  Let him go.”

With that, Marcos put the knife away and turned to walk away.  Over his shoulder, he cast back the words, “Good bye,” as though they were so much trash to be tossed away.

Damon stared at Marcos’ back, as he disappeared through the gates, the Invictus slowly moving up behind.  He placed his hand on Damon’s shoulder and stood silently next to his friend.  Damon turned to him, and spoke, in a voice barely loud enough to hear.

“But, he is my brother.”

His friend just nodded, with a face that expressed “I know,” and “I’m sorry,” all at once.  They stood there together, staring at the open gate, quiet and unmoving for a time.

Marcos was gone.

Good day and welcome to Day two. I will keep writing tonight, but I wanted to post this now, as it is an end of A chapter. I have gone back and posted the entire chapter one — still unedited — so that this part of the story will make sense. Go finish that, before reading this.

No, really. Go.

Chapter 2: The spell and the sword

“Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.”
– Mahatma Gandhi

Invictus hit the ground hard, all the air coming out in a loud, “UMPH” as he did.  He could feel the skin on his wrists and knees breaking open on the stone floor and the blood begin to flow from his wounds.  And to make matters worse, his head bounced off the rock with a resounding “thud” that made it ring loud enough that he couldn’t hear the voices around him.  This was actually a blessing, as he didn’t want to hear the jibes of the other schoolboys again, anyway.

This is getting old.  And painful.

His thoughts were almost drowned out by the bell ringing in his skull, but were loud enough to make him attempt to stand, one more time.

“You are weak.  Stay down,” Marcos voice was cruel, and was followed by a hard thump on Invictus’ back.   Back down he went, sliding across the uneven floor with his chin and chest, leaving more small cuts.

He lay there for a moment, pondering what to do.  He only knew a few spells, and not of them were combat magic.  The damn teacher wouldn’t show him the good stuff until he had mastered his concentration.  If he knew how to throw a stun ball, this would be a non-issue.  All he could do was basic light and heat, enough to start a small fire if he concentrated enough.  There is no way he could make these little spells into bully repellant.  Unless…

He started chanting under his breath, drawing magic energy to him in a slow and study rush that made his head throb.  Between the crack on the skull and the gathering of power, this headache was the mother lode.  But he was determined to make that son of a bitch pay for all this bullying.  He just needed an edge so he could stand and fight.   Just a few seconds more.

The kick in the ribs that came next was almost enough to break his concentration and make him lose the power he had gathered.  As he had been taught, a wizard’s greatest strength is in his will; Will to draw mana, Will to focus power into an imagined probability,  and Will to keep it together when outside stresses made these first two difficult.  For if a wizard released power without will, the effects could be deadly to the wizardly and those around him.

Not that this little spell from this little boy could cause the world to end or anything, but it would definitely not feel good if the power backlashed.  Invictus kept it together, and focused the power, imagining a bright white light in a brilliant cone.  He captured that image in him mind’s eye and rolled over onto his back, thrusting his hand towards Marcos.  Through outstretched fingers, bright white light filled the immediate area in front of him, blinding his oppressors.

As they all reached for their eyes, Invictus struggled to his feet and charged towards Marcos.  He threw his most powerful punch as the bully’s face, screaming in a berserk, high-pitched voice and…met air.

Marcos had moved.  Somehow, he had managed to get out of the way or was able to counteract the blindness.  Either way, he now stood next to Invictus with a wicked smile on his face.

“Missed me,” with a slow vicious tone that made Invictus cringe in fear.  In a step and a lunge, Marcos hit the young wizard square in the chest with the open palm of his hand, sending him off the ground and into the air.  He hit the stone again with a resounding thud, and remained motionless on the slab staring up at the sky.  He was not sure if he could move again.  Between the spell and the beating, he was spent.  Not sure what else to do, so he just laid there and bled on the cold rock.

Marcos’ face appeared over him eclipsing the sun with his head, that smile ever present and ever mocking Invictus weak body.  He pulled from behind him a small stick and swung it back out of view.  Invictus didn’t move, ready to accept the blows that would surely come soon.  At least this time he had earned them.  He had fought back and didn’t just…

Pain flooded through Invictus as the stick connected with his ribcage, making one of them crack.  He screamed so loud his own ears hurt, but the next blow connected before he could finish and the wind came out him choking off the sound.

Just kill me and get it over with.  I’ve had enough.

“No you haven’t, boy.  No you haven’t,” came the voice above him, as the next blow hit and broke the left arm, that had reflexively come up to block a blow to the head.

Invictus had been talking about loud and didn’t realize it, screaming for Marcos to kill him, to end this torment of years.  It was too much.  Too much.

“I am still enjoying this, Vic. There is no way I am ready to stop.”

As Invictus once again saw the stick coming down, he braced for impact, in the sense that he just lay there waiting for the pain.  There was no movement left in him.  He closed his eyes as he expected the blow and…it never came.  Another voice rang out, familiar and strong.

“Leave him alone, Marcos.  He’s had enough.  Why don’t you try someone more your size?”

Marcos spun in place, with a look of shock and horror as he faced this new adversary.  His expression changed to hatred as he stared into the eyes of his brother.

“Coming to the aid of the defenseless, again, Damon?  I would think you would be kissing butt with Father, or that old fool of a magic teacher.  It seems to be your best skill.”

Damon moved to a defensive posture, hands out in front of him slightly apart with the left slightly closer to Marcos.  He made a “come and get it” gesture with the front hand and smiled as he spoke.

“And yours is being an overbearing ass, it seems.  Care to test your stick skills against my fists, brother?  I was looking for a little exercise after all morning with books.”

At this, all but a few of the bigger boys moved away from Marcos, their cheers for the bully subsiding at Damon’s challenge.  Marcos’ lackeys moved to the side, as if they were moving out of the fight, but Damon knew better.  They were positioning themselves to come to the aid of Marcos when he started losing in a minute.  Damon had come to Invictus’ aid many times, and Marcos’ thugs always intervened.  Damon just saw this as extra practice, so he kept up the smile and focused on his brother, ready to act.

It grew quiet and tense for a few moments, as the three bullies slowly made a half circle around Damon.   He watched them, with the practiced ease of a warrior.  He watched them, letting them get into position, eyeing each of them in a way that made them uneasy.  As they finally stopped, presumably at the proper position for an ambush, Damon smiled wide, his thoughts thoroughly on the game he was about to play.

Here comes the fun part.

The larger of the two boys lunged at him from his left flank in a powerful charge intended to knock Damon down.  Damon stood still, watching the other boy maneuver toward Damon’s back, looking to get behind him also.  As the charge had almost reached him, Damon saw Marcos start his step and swing with the stick.  Damon waited.

Just as first thug’s arms started around Damon, he dropped into a crouch and launched an elbow into the big boy’s groin, using his other hand to focus his forward momentum overhead towards the second boy.   Surprised, he didn’t quite move as fast as he needed to avoid being slammed by the behemoth Damon hurled at him.  Down they both went, as Damon stepped forward toward Marcos with his right arm straight and out to the side.

Marcos moved the stick back, in an attempt to block Damon’s arm, but was just below the mark as Damon’s forearm caught him in the throat.  Marcos’ legs went out from under him and he fell abruptly to his back, the stick flying out of his arms towards the crowd.  They jumped out of the way, and the stick twirled out of sight.

As the clanged against the ground, Damon turned to a relaxed stance, facing the 3 fallen boys.  As they began moaning, he looked down at Marcos with an oversized grin and laughed loudly.  He leaned over him, as Marcos coughed and choked, holding his throat.

“Your guard is still too low, Marcos.”

Laughing again, he walked over to where Invictus lie, and helped him up.   Still laughing, he put the smaller boy’s arm over his shoulder and helped him away.

“How are you feeling, Vic?”

Invictus only groaned, nearly passing out from the pain of walking.  When they had cleared the scene of the fight, Damon’s laughter turned somber.

“You really need to stay away from Marcos.  One of these days, he may kill you if you aren’t careful.”

The other just nodded his head, unable to speak with several broken bones.  Through his mind, he knew the only thing keeping him conscious was his will; his Wizard’s Will that made him not quit.  He would never quit, even beaten bloody senseless, as that would make him truly weak.  And he was not weak, just unskilled.  Someday, he would be skilled, and Marcos’ torment only drove him to study harder, to become mighty.  Someday, Damon and his father would be proud.

All that came out of his mouth, however, was a whimper and a cough, as he was led once again to his Master Annathon to be healed.  More humiliation and talk.  More punishment for fighting, even though Damon would surely tell what had happened.  That it wasn’t his fault.

And Damon would insist on sharing the punishment, and Annathon would agree, so that Damon would watch over me, as he always did.

Someday, I will be mighty.  Someday, I will be saving them with my power. 

Damon put Invictus on the bed in the Master’s office, and Annathon went to work, the predictable argument already underway.  Once he was lying on the bed, however, Invictus could feel his will fail.  In his Master’s house, there was nothing to fear, no one to hurt him.  He could relax now, and he did.  He saw the room start to blacken, and he knew what was happening.   The noises became distant, and he was left with one…last…thought.

Someday.

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.