The Chosen Way

Hey one and all. I've reappeared, and still probably won't be on much, but here is something of mine anyway.

-GJ


A soft breeze played through the leaves like a sleeping breath, wafting the smell of spring into the open window. A man sat staring out of it, his hands clutching the sill desperately, turning knuckles white. His nostrils flared, taking in the pleasant scent, but the beauty did nothing to soften his rutted countenance. They were coming, and they were coming soon.

A man emerged from the forest so suddenly that the watcher jumped, surprised at his appearance. His body seemed shrouded in foliage, so well matched was his cloak, and his face was indiscernible beneath a mask of greens and browns. Such a strange appearance put the man in the cottage off guard. He had not expected anything of this sort.

The strange man approached purposefully, undeterred from his march until he caught sight of the watcher. He came to a stop.

“You do not look your best Martel, but so much is expected.”

The man in the window stiffened, his claw tightening on the grip of his sword.

“Roland, my old friend, I see you come to turn me in,” spat the man, Martel, his eyes narrowing viciously.

“Ah, but do I look like a knight of the realm to you? No…I abandoned that road long ago, just as you have.”

Martel glanced toward the road, but not a single hoof sounded in the still morning air.

“You see,” continued the strange, bush-man, “when I was put in charge of the fourth regiment, I caught a glimpse of the evil heart of the Empire. The former commander had lost many men in an ambush, though he had fought as best he could, and was executed for his failure. After that, it did not take me long to choose my way.”

“What is this way you speak of?” inquired Martel, still wary, but less so.

“I will show you,” said the former knight, Roland, “if you come quickly.”

Martel did not move.

“They will be here soon, and I refuse to run any longer for there is no where else to go. I will face the lance as a knight should,” he said, glancing distastefully at the other man’s camouflage.

“Do not think for a moment that I am a coward, for I am as much of a knight as I was before. You wish to make a stand, as do I, but we cannot do it alone. Come and I will show you the other way of which I spoke.”

Martel left the cottage cautiously, leaving it as he had found it, utterly abandoned. He followed his old friend into the leaves, keeping a steady eye on the figure before least he loose his way. So complete was Roland’s camouflage, that Martel could hardly have discerned him but for his long gait.

Roland stopped so abruptly that he seemed to disappear, and a warbling whistle split through the silence, a sound that could easily be mistaken for the call of some lonesome fowl. Silence followed.

Before his eyes a host of shadows materialized, surrounding Martel with a halo of steel.

“Hello, Roland,” said one of the men, his narrow face barely visible beneath a mask of paint. “Is this the friend of whom you spoke?”

“Yes, Boar, this is Sir Martel.”

“You were a knight of the realm, but they forsook you, did they not?” asked Boar, evidently the leader of the bush-men.

“Yes, they abandoned my trust, so now I have abandoned them.”

“And now they come after you in order to satisfy their perverted ‘justice?’”

“Yes sir,” said Martel, adding the title due to the ring he saw on the man’s finger. It was the signet ring of an Emissary of the Empire, a position that would not have been abandoned lightly, for the emissaries were second only to the Emperor himself. Boar caught his look and smiled.

“I wear it to remind myself of what I do not miss.”

The commander’s head turned as a messenger approached, whispering something in his ear.

“To the Huran ford!” he ordered, and the soldiers disappeared like a vapor on the wind.

“Are you with us?” inquired Roland, and Martel nodded, not at all sure what he was committing to.

“Well then,” began Roland as Boar vanished to follow his men, and the knight began to outline the plan to Martel as they marched through the quiet woods.



Twenty bows were arranged around the bubbling ford as it cascaded through the old, sylvan road. Neither hide nor hair of any of them was visible, and the peacefulness of the bright day seemed impossible to shatter. The sun beamed down from above, warming the wits of everyone within its reach, and laziness draped its blanket over all.

Hooves clicked smartly upon the road, impervious to the peace they were breaking. A horse neighed with rebellion in his voice, and the rider cursed, urging his beast onward. In the forest nothing stirred.

“Over the stream now, knights,” barked a man as he rounded a curve in the road. He wore a full suit of plate armor, his body covered from head to tow, and he carried a long lance and a shield emblazoned with the leering face of the Emperor. The commander stabbed his feet into his horse’s flanks, and the beast pranced smartly through the water, just to be hauled to a stop one it reached the opposite bank. A man had appeared suddenly from the forest, standing a good distance down the road from them.

“Looking for someone?” taunted Martel, and the knight lowered his lance ominously. Before the man’s spurs could bury themselves once more in the poor horse’s sides, a flock of arrows rained down upon him, and he fell from the beast. The knights routed, charging every which way in search of the unseen foe, giving Martel time to mount the deceased’s horse. Seeing him, two of foes charged. None of the arrows that fell upon them found their mark, and Mertel readied himself for what final stand he could make.

Suddenly Roland jumped from the trees, landing upon one of the riders and throwing him to the ground. Holding the knight down in his heavy armor was a simple task, and he made short work of the opponent. Hope returned to Martel’s eyes, and he rode to meet the second foe, knocking aside the spearhead with a deft stroke. The knight drew out a long sword, and Martel met him with a strong swing. The clash reverberated through the stillness, and many of the baffled knights turned toward the sound, just to be met with a spray of arrows.

Martel blocked another of the enemy’s blows and promptly lashed out with his foot. The move was so unexpected that the knight fell completely off of his mount, landing with a thud on the ground, stunned and helpless. Martel parried the knight’s desperate stab with ease, so well in fact that the sword flew from his foe’s grasp. He glanced across the stream to see the last of the knights encircled, laying down their weapons in surrender. Martel led the man by the point of his sword and placed him with the other prisoners.

“A good bout was it not?” said Roland, riding up with a grin upon his painted face. Martel could not help but smile with his old friend.

“Yes it was, comrade,” agreed Martel, “and I believe I have too chosen my way.”



The End

I only saw one thing in the whole of your story:

A man sat staring out of it, his hands clutching the sill desperately, turning knuckles white.

You should add the word "his" in this sentence so it reads: A man sat staring out of if, his hands clutching the sill desperately, turning HIS knuckles white. That makes it sound more complete.

Otherwise, I think you are a very nice writer. Your choice of words to describe things were really creative (and large I might add Some of the words you chose I had to look up lol ) I can tell that you write really well and that there is no advise I need to give you about this piece other than that you should Keep Writing.

Agh! My eyes, my eyes! As is, this is all clumped together in one huge lump of text that is quite hard for the poor reader to make out. My advice to you would be for you to put an extra line break between each paragraph and new line of dialogue by each character...

...like this. It just makes it much easier to read.

In any case, this was interesting. Short, but very nice. I would have liked to know a little more about the relationship between the characters and a little bit more about the characters themselves. We are pretty much just given names and a bit of fighting, but not much by way of characterization.

*thumbs up*

Keep writing!

~GryphonFledgling

This was hard to read, and I'll admit that I didn't read it all, but I will respond to what my eyes did manage to catch, and hope it helps you!

A soft breeze played through the leaves like a sleeping breath,

I don't know about you, but when I'm sleeping, I'm not particularly playful. When I think of a sleeping breath I think thick, heavy, and slow. All good imagery when it comes to the wind (and not a breeze, as a breeze implies movement). Playful is good for a breeze. So now, you have to choose between the two; both ideas just don't make sense together.

His nostrils flared, taking in the pleasant scent, but the beauty did nothing to soften his rutted countenance.

This is written in a way that implies that the man thinks the scent is pleasant, because his nostrils are experiencing it. However, you qualify that it did nothing to change his rutted countenance, so he must have not found it that pleasant! In order to fix this, you have to separate the ideas. Either you can say something like

the pleasant scent was lost on him

or

to any other, the scent would have been pleasant, but to the man, so sour in disposition, such delicacy was immediately dismissed as frivolous and unworthy of his attention

Not only that, but rutted countenance means, essentially, an expression full of ruts. 'Rutted' is kind of awkward when used this way. I understand 'grimace' and 'sour expression' might be overused, but consider something like furrowed countenance, as 'furrowed' is something people immediately connect with foreheads wrinkled in concern, as opposed to the trails a 4x4 might leave in the mud.

A man emerged from the forest so suddenly that the watcher jumped, surprised at his appearance. His body seemed shrouded in foliage, so well matched was his cloak, and his face was indiscernible beneath a mask of greens and browns.

I know you mean 'his' as in the man who emerged from the forest, but it could be construed as being the watcher, especially since the previous sentence ends with the watcher's surprise, and therefore he is the last thought in the reader's mind when they approach the next sentence. I would reword this so that it leaves absolutely no doubt as to who you are referring to. It may seem like a small little nitpick, but I'm assuming you want your writing to be flawless and therefore you appreciate these seemingly inconsequential pointers. ;)

“You do not look your best Martel, but so much is expected.”

The syntax isn't quite correct here. Suggestions:

You do not look your best Martel, but so much is to be expected.

You are not looking your best Martel, but so much is expected.

“Roland, my old friend, I see you come to turn me in,” spat the man, Martel, his eyes narrowing viciously.

This is redundant. Either delete 'man' and stick with Martel, or use an adjective that would identify Martel and keep 'man.' For example; spat the larger man, if, say, you had established that Martel was bigger than the bush-man near the beginning of the story.

The sun beamed down from above, warming the wits of everyone within its reach, and laziness draped its blanket over all.

Laziness does not own a blanket. The personification doesn't quite work here. You could say something like and a blanket of laziness was draped over all or laziness draped like a blanket over all. Otherwise you're kind of spilling into the land of allegory, and in order to do so successfully, you'll have to dedicate significantly more text to give 'laziness' the power to perform human action.

That being said, I like your writing, and I like the risks you take. I like how you reach for new, fresh imagery. I've read so much fantasy that I can really appreciate your enthusiasm and efforts. I hope I haven't discouraged you!