My writing is undergoing some serious revisions and drastic changes in style, thanks to Jeff Gerke and the others at the Colorado Christian Writer's Conference. So many thanks to them if anyone of them comes on here.
And so, I have not been working on stories as fast as I used to, and I have paused my work on The Keyschnect in favor of a more focused approach to writing.
Here is the sum of my time since coming back from Colorado, The Sanctity of Death, please read, and answer the questions at the end. And I know that it cuts off abruptly, but that will be amended here in week or two.
The Sanctity of Death
Chapter 1
Alaric hated flying, at least, flying in this manner. His seat felt as if it had been woven of barbed wire, he could never quite allow it his full weight, nor his full trust. His eyes fixed themselves, unceasing and coldly similar to death, out the window at the white flecked and glittering darkness.
He thought it must seem, to the bodyguard beside him at least, that Alaric had died, but he knew that even the bodyguard knew that statuesque pose that Alaric took in uncomfortable situations. Without warning Alaric broke the almost molded feeling of the chamber by rising with a purpose befitting his rank, and striding with a king like air of confidence out of the passenger cabin.
Without breaking his stride for a moment, Alaric threw open the flight deck double doors and continued on to where the captain was standing.
"Yes, my liege," said the captain, without turning "What are you needing?"
Alaric said nothing in reply, opting instead to place his hand on the captain's shoulder with care, and moving him aside with a gentle firmness.
"I will be piloting." He said, taking the controls from the captain.
"But, my lord," the captain protested, "I don't think protocol allows for that."
"Protocol is not important now, captain, I will be flying. I am not used to riding while others fly me around."
The captain bowed out, "Yes of course, I apologize."
Alaric watched as the captain left the deck, and motioned for his bodyguard to do the same. Much better, he thought to himself, moving his scarred right hand to the well worn throttle. Slow, but with deliberate intent he pushed it from cruising speed, until the transport cruiser was hurtling through space at just below hyper drive.
Alaric lost all sense of time, and place, he liked it better that way. Often he described flying in transit between the Juzian outpost on the barren Earth, and the Yichnelevanian empire on Craznia as his escape from the cares of his office.
Alaric was far gone, too far, in fact, to pay any notice to the young man who walked into the flight deck. The young man had an air of foreign upbringing, evidenced by the long flowing robes, adorned with angular lines and many patterns resembling leaves, he wore. His soft pointed shoes made almost no sound on the cold, black metal floor as he advanced, coming to a halt just behind Alaric.
"Sir," said he, "Hawkeye gave me into your keeping to learn, it is rather hard to learn propriety in leadership from you if you do not exercise it yourself."
"In all his years among us I should think that Hawkeye would have learnt by now that Yichnelevanians have never been a people taken to propriety, nor to conformity." Alaric answered.
The young man seemed taken aback at the bluntness of the Yichnelevanian, "Yes, Hawkeye did say that your people are rarely orthodox, but I would expect more than petty regulation violations from the king, especially one of whom Hawkeye speaks so highly."
Alaric turned aside, back to the controls, even he wasn't quite sure why Hawkeye had made Talonbrand his apprentice, aside from the fact it was a tradition.
Alaric's musings cut off, the roar of sublight engines deafened him as he stood at the helm. They weren't his engines, so another ship must have been moving in dangerous proximity to his own ship, and there was only one group of people who would risk something so monumentally dangerous.
"Pirates?" Talonbrand asked.
"Yes." Alaric answered, "But they won't harm us."
"What do you mean?"
"There's a sort of uneasy truce between pirates and Yichnelevanians, they use our ports without fear, and in exchange our ships roam free without fear of them."
A sudden lurch of the floor threw the two to the hard metal floor, the sound of twisting metal was prominent in the steely silence of space. Alaric picked himself up off the floor, blood was running down the side of his face, Talonbrand, however, was already on his feet, almost animal like.
"They fired," Alaric said, "What's going on here?" he roared into the intercom.
"They're boarding, sir," said the voice on the other end, "We've got about twenty of us on board, and their ship looks big enough for at least fifty."
"Thank you, captain." Alaric responded, and turned away from the control panel.
Talonbrand looked ready to go help the fighters below, his sword drawn, But Alaric locked the door with the push of a button before the Juzian could move.
"We need to go help them, sir." Talonbrand stressed.
"We cannot, that is their job, and ours is to remain here."
"Coward." Talonbrand muttered as he sat down.
"You think that I am a coward?" Alaric asked, "You yourself asked for propriety, if we were down there it would be just a distraction to the men, trying to protect us as well as defeat the pirates."
Talonbrand didn't answer, it was obvious he was dissatisfied with Alaric's answer.
Gunfire erupted, Alaric could hear the popping sound of the guns, and much to his discomfort, the muffled roar of grenades, his men didn't have those, he thought.
For seven torturous minutes the fight below continued, anxiety was visibly graven on Talonbrand's face, and Alaric knew his visage was very much similar. All fell to silence, Alaric stood with a silent fleetness and sidled his way to the door, drawing the Sword of Turner as he went.
Talonbrand let out a sigh of awe at the sight of the sword, but gathered himself and crouched behind the control panel. Voices were speaking on the other side of the door, in a foreign tongue.
He thought it must seem, to the bodyguard beside him at least, that Alaric had died, but he knew that even the bodyguard knew that statuesque pose that Alaric took in uncomfortable situations. Without warning Alaric broke the almost molded feeling of the chamber by rising with a purpose befitting his rank, and striding with a king like air of confidence out of the passenger cabin.
Without breaking his stride for a moment, Alaric threw open the flight deck double doors and continued on to where the captain was standing.
"Yes, my liege," said the captain, without turning "What are you needing?"
Alaric said nothing in reply, opting instead to place his hand on the captain's shoulder with care, and moving him aside with a gentle firmness.
"I will be piloting." He said, taking the controls from the captain.
"But, my lord," the captain protested, "I don't think protocol allows for that."
"Protocol is not important now, captain, I will be flying. I am not used to riding while others fly me around."
The captain bowed out, "Yes of course, I apologize."
Alaric watched as the captain left the deck, and motioned for his bodyguard to do the same. Much better, he thought to himself, moving his scarred right hand to the well worn throttle. Slow, but with deliberate intent he pushed it from cruising speed, until the transport cruiser was hurtling through space at just below hyper drive.
Alaric lost all sense of time, and place, he liked it better that way. Often he described flying in transit between the Juzian outpost on the barren Earth, and the Yichnelevanian empire on Craznia as his escape from the cares of his office.
Alaric was far gone, too far, in fact, to pay any notice to the young man who walked into the flight deck. The young man had an air of foreign upbringing, evidenced by the long flowing robes, adorned with angular lines and many patterns resembling leaves, he wore. His soft pointed shoes made almost no sound on the cold, black metal floor as he advanced, coming to a halt just behind Alaric.
"Sir," said he, "Hawkeye gave me into your keeping to learn, it is rather hard to learn propriety in leadership from you if you do not exercise it yourself."
"In all his years among us I should think that Hawkeye would have learnt by now that Yichnelevanians have never been a people taken to propriety, nor to conformity." Alaric answered.
The young man seemed taken aback at the bluntness of the Yichnelevanian, "Yes, Hawkeye did say that your people are rarely orthodox, but I would expect more than petty regulation violations from the king, especially one of whom Hawkeye speaks so highly."
Alaric turned aside, back to the controls, even he wasn't quite sure why Hawkeye had made Talonbrand his apprentice, aside from the fact it was a tradition.
Alaric's musings cut off, the roar of sublight engines deafened him as he stood at the helm. They weren't his engines, so another ship must have been moving in dangerous proximity to his own ship, and there was only one group of people who would risk something so monumentally dangerous.
"Pirates?" Talonbrand asked.
"Yes." Alaric answered, "But they won't harm us."
"What do you mean?"
"There's a sort of uneasy truce between pirates and Yichnelevanians, they use our ports without fear, and in exchange our ships roam free without fear of them."
A sudden lurch of the floor threw the two to the hard metal floor, the sound of twisting metal was prominent in the steely silence of space. Alaric picked himself up off the floor, blood was running down the side of his face, Talonbrand, however, was already on his feet, almost animal like.
"They fired," Alaric said, "What's going on here?" he roared into the intercom.
"They're boarding, sir," said the voice on the other end, "We've got about twenty of us on board, and their ship looks big enough for at least fifty."
"Thank you, captain." Alaric responded, and turned away from the control panel.
Talonbrand looked ready to go help the fighters below, his sword drawn, But Alaric locked the door with the push of a button before the Juzian could move.
"We need to go help them, sir." Talonbrand stressed.
"We cannot, that is their job, and ours is to remain here."
"Coward." Talonbrand muttered as he sat down.
"You think that I am a coward?" Alaric asked, "You yourself asked for propriety, if we were down there it would be just a distraction to the men, trying to protect us as well as defeat the pirates."
Talonbrand didn't answer, it was obvious he was dissatisfied with Alaric's answer.
Gunfire erupted, Alaric could hear the popping sound of the guns, and much to his discomfort, the muffled roar of grenades, his men didn't have those, he thought.
For seven torturous minutes the fight below continued, anxiety was visibly graven on Talonbrand's face, and Alaric knew his visage was very much similar. All fell to silence, Alaric stood with a silent fleetness and sidled his way to the door, drawing the Sword of Turner as he went.
Talonbrand let out a sigh of awe at the sight of the sword, but gathered himself and crouched behind the control panel. Voices were speaking on the other side of the door, in a foreign tongue.
.
Copyright © 2008-2009 Robert W. A. Nance
All rights reserved
.
Questions:
1. What can you tell about the setting?
2. What can you tell about Alaric?
3. Would you read on?
Thank you.
