Young Writers Society

Critting the section after the torture section.

She had a delicate nose and a mild, smiling mouth. And her eyes were large and golden, as luminous as her skin.

Yucky. Too many ands.

“The master…” she faltered. “He rescued me. There was a civil war on my world, I would have died. He…saved me.” For a long time, she was silent, perfectly still. As if it wasn’t Danteel she was seeing. “I have…certain duties.”

Too many ellipses in the same paragraph. Personally, I would get rid of all of them.

The first one, you say she faltered after it so you don't need the ellipse. Faltered explains it by itself. The second one could pass, but still, I believe you don't need it. The last one you should get rid of. Maybe have her pause and look away, ashamed - I get the feeling she's Moncreif's personal sex slave.

“Stars no,”

Lol. Saying that sounds funny. Nothing wrong with it since it seems like in this galaxy or whatever 'stars' is almost used as commonly as stuff like 'oh my god' or 'god.' But it just made me laugh.

The captain ignored him. He wiped Mattira’s eyes tenderly with one thin fingertip. “Go back to your rooms,” he said. “I’ll deal with you later.”

I believe you meant 'room' instead of 'rooms.'

“You slave,” Moncreif said calmly.

This line feels out of place. Danteel calls him a bastard, but it feels like Moncreif would totally disregard anything he says and not even give him the time of day, let alone respond to something as trivial as being called a bastard.

Danteel surged forward, his hands going for the captain's throat. Almost casually Moncreif sidestepped the attack, giving his slave the barest of pushes to throw him off-balance and onto the metal floor.

Wouldn't this act dishonor Danteel? I'm guessing he'll feel like he dishonored himself later.

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Another thing I noticed is that the girl seems like more of a shallow character. It didn't feel like their was much depth to her. I'm not sure what I'd recommend to fix it though since I don't know what her part is in the story. Possibly make her more of an introverted character especially with what I believe her 'duties' are.

I have another logical problem as well. Danteel has just been whipped up the ying yang, starved, and humiliated. I think you're giving him too much strength, it appears a lot of the time as if all of this has been disregarded.

Finally one more issue, Moncreif seems to be a shallow villain. I think I've mentioned this before. I believe we need to get to know Moncreif better especially with the major role he plays in this story. I just don't get an original sense of character from Moncreif. He feels like your typical, cliche, generic slave master, evil villain, type of character.

I believe those are the only problems I have. Another good installment, Gyr. Not as good as the last in my opinion, but still good.

-aero

I'm critting the section after Danteel meets Matirra and he's in the shower.

“You said you wanted me clean and not reeking of Nagai, blood, and sweat,” Danteel retorted, lathering on another layer of soap, scraping his white skin with the rough scrubber. “After weeks of nothing but those cold, five-minute stints, what can you expect?” It gave him a glowing sort of pleasure to be able to talk back this way, if only for the moment—the shower door was a more effective barrier between he and his master than a stone wall.

I find it odd that Moncreif would should patience towards this outbreak of insubordination from Danteel. Danteel is a slave. It's commonplace for him to have beating markings, even with the special guest coming - we've learned this based on how Danteel was treated publically previously. Why wouldn't Moncreif just beat the crap out of him naked? Patience for a slave is not in line with Moncreif's character.

She stood next to their master, her head down and her scarred arms wrapped around herself. Instead of the spare costume he had first seen her in, she now wore an outfit much like his—brown slacks and a white linen shirt. Her long black hair hung wet down her back; apparently she had just finished a shower as well.

Danteel’s gaze shifted from her to Moncreif. The Nagai took one, deliberate step towards the human. Moncreif’s thin lips twitched in a brief smile. “She needs a haircut as well.”

The Nagai forced himself into stillness, but his rage sent tremors throughout his entire body. Mattira glanced up at him, giving him a brave little smile that somehow made it worse.

Within these three paragraphs Danteel becomes enraged upon seeing Matirra dripping wet. Why is he angry? Unless him seeing the scars along her arms is what has triggered this reaction, I cannot answer that question. But even that answer seems to be lacking, wouldn't you agree?

Throughout the story, so far as I have read, Danteel has been emotional, mostly exhibiting anger but fear as well. At this point, I really need a good reason for him to get angry otherwise him becoming angered has lost all emotion for the reader. It's almost anticlimatic.

I hope you understand my point. If you would like further clarification, feel free to ask.

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As I read further he is still angry. Gyr, it seems to me that the only emotion Danteel is capable of is anger. I urge you to have him exhibit happiness, humor, excitement. Even if you had him only feel these emotions for a small sequence and then stripped that emotion away, it would bring us further into Danteel's mentality and what drives him as well as renew our feelings for him. His anger is melodramatic.

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Not as thrilling as previous perhaps, but good. I got all excited when Moncreif was in the kitchen and telling the cook to give them a haircut cause I thought it wasn't really a 'haircut', I thought it was going to be some sort of torture or something. Lol, that would be an interesting twist. But anyways, overall it's good. Keep up the good work, Gyr!

Aero, you are like my inner concious when it comes to this story--if it ever gets published, you are so very in the acknowledgements page! *lots of cookies* Your insights have prodded me to take a more serious view on In Thrall, rather than treating it (as was it's original purpose) as a way to vent, and for this, I humbly thank you. While I can't manage to integrate your wonderful suggestions for a bit, don't let me forget all the work you've put into this and attempt to be worthy of it.

No problem! I'm glad I can help out.

I didn't know it was a story you were using to vent through. I actually believe it is more intriguing than Gypsie Eyes, but I'm not a big fantasy person.

Keep up the great work, Gyr!

-aero

I should be flogged, I truly should, for not posting this sooner. My appologies!!!

* * * * *

The rapier felt good in his hand, solid and familiar. Even under these circumstances, he enjoyed the chance to use one again. It was a simple weapon, nothing fancy or even especially well-worked. But it was still sharp, still fully capable of killing someone.

He glanced across the large, circular room at his opponent: a youngish human man with unruly blonde hair. He was being dressed in simple padded armor, and as he caught the other’s glance, he attempted a superior smile. Danteel, of course, was wearing no armor. The young man was the captain’s newest lieutenant, a bright boy who had bragged of his skill with a blade. He had seen Danteel when he had met Moncreif and, recognizing a Nagai, had demanded to be allowed to face him in combat. Danteel’s master had agreed. Danteel was not sure which of them the Captain hoped to teach a lesson to. Perhaps both. The rule was no killing blows. The boy probably thought that was only in place to protect his own human life, and didn’t apply to the Nagai. Of course, he didn’t yet know Moncreif’s rule concerning his slaves. And he had not yet learned not to demand things from him.

The lieutenant was armored now. Silently, the two began to circle each other, neither moving in to attack. Danteel knew he could win from the moment the boy began to move; he had received some training, true, but had nothing like the innate talent necessary to compliment that.

Suddenly the lieutenant attacked. Danteel parried his blows easily, barely moving his body. The lieutenant came at him from a different angle, and again Danteel blocked him. The boy sneered and said, “You’re past your time, old man.”

For a moment, Danteel was too shocked to respond and his opponent was able to land a glancing blow on his arm. The Nagai hissed and backed off. “How is it you know my language, dog?”

The other’s rapier slashed out, a flurry of angry movement. He may not have talent, but he did know how to channel his fury. “I have studied the ancient techniques of your race, slave. I was able to master your barbaric language in the process.”

The blades clashed and separated. “Then you know the danger you face in me, boy,” said Danteel haughtily. “Why forfeit your life for this foolish duel?”

The lieutenant roared in rage and slashed out, the tip of his blade cutting across the Nagai’s face and biting deep into his flesh. Danteel stumbled back and grabbed at his mouth to staunch the flow of blood. The lieutenant’s blade caught him again, this time on the back. Danteel gritted his teeth against a scream. The weapon had cut across dozens of existing wounds, opening up already sore and tender flesh. He went down, landing hard on his knees but still holding his weapon. He felt the tip of the lieutenant’s rapier rest gently on the nape of his neck and the young man's vicious voice from above, “Your people killed my parents, you animal! We lived in peace near your homeworld for decades, until you suddenly decided to make our home yet another extension of your ancient battleground.”

The tip rose from Danteel’s neck and he knew that the other man was hefting his blade high to bring it down in a killing blow. Stupid. He should know that a rapier never had nor ever would behead someone. It wasn’t meant for it. The virtue of a rapier was its speed and ability to cause internal bleeding. Time to teach this whelp that.

Letting himself fall to one side, away from the weapon’s trajectory, he sliced out at his opponent’s legs. The lieutenant howled and faltered, his “killing blow” falling harmlessly to one side. Up came Danteel, like an avenging demon, his rapier moving faster than the other’s eye could follow. He pierced his opponent in a hundred different places, always hitting the soft spots of the armor. The officer didn’t stop screaming until Danteel managed to shove his rapier through the padding and into his heart. “You know nothing of pain,” he whispered to the dying man. And then the human fell, a lifeless, bloody heap on the ground.

Danteel turned to his master. “Will someone be killing me, now?”

Moncreif shrugged. “You’ve weeded out a weak link, nothing more. Perhaps I will let you do so again sometime. Go take care of Lataar; she’s had a rough night.” With that the captain stood and left.

The Nagai looked back down at his former opponent. “Neither of us deserved our fate,” he said. “But now you, at least, are free.”

Short.

But sweet. ^_^

The lieutenant roared in rage and slashed out, the tip of his blade cutting across the Nagai’s face and biting deep into his flesh. Danteel cried out in pain and grabbed at his mouth to staunch the flow of blood. The lieutenant’s blade caught him again, this time on the back. Danteel screamed, spattering blood across the floor. The weapon had cut across dozens of existing wounds, opening up already sore and tender flesh. He went down, landing hard on his knees but still holding his weapon.

This bit... Well, it's good, nothing wrong with it, but Danteel cries out in pain a lot. Normally he doesn't yell or scream; in the other "pain scenes" he manages to hide it pretty well and when he screams here, it came as a big surprise. Yes, I know it must have been agonizing to have it on back, but still... *shrugs*

He felt the tip of the lieutenant’s rapier rest gently on the nape of his neck. “Your people killed my parents, you animal! We lived in peace near your homeworld for decades, until you suddenly decided to make our home yet another extension of your ancient battleground.”

It's probably horribly obvious to everyone else, but I'm not sure who's speaking here. Danteel or the lieutenant?

It was a simple fold of metal, nothing fancy or even especially well-worked.

"Fold" is rather an odd word to use... you might consider changing it.

He was being dressed in simple padded armor, and as he caught the other’s glance, he gave a smile he clearly thought was superior.

Rather choppy. Maybe just "a superior smile"?

But he didn’t know Moncreif’s rule concerning his slaves. And he had not yet learned not to demand things from him.

Starting sentences with "and" or "but" is baaad. Sometimes you can't help it, but two so close together could be changed, I'm thinking. Maybe run them together, so they flow better as well?

The virtue of a rapier was its speed and ability to cause internal bleeding.

... *squirms*

Pivoting, he slashed at the other’s nearby legs.

Superflous and redundant. Na, it just seems awkward. And it'd be rather difficult to pivot when he's on his knees.

The Nagai looked back down at his former opponent. “Neither of us deserved our fate,” he said. “But now you, at least, are free.”

*grins* I like, like, like....


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Very good chapter (again), but just a thought: there's one whole lot of shouting and screaming going on. I can't help but think of Mirror Wakes, and Kite's fight with Xavian... Meh, PPP.

Danteel kicks some seriously naive butt here.

Ah! I didn't even think of that. The problem is, my darling twit, that I wrote this scene ages before I wrote the others, before Danteel's no-screaming policy had been established. Your insights and comments have been a huge help, I shall implement them forthwith! *gives hot cocoa and Christmas cookie*


Edit: Integrated!

It had only been six quick lashes. Danteel, on his knees and leaning against the wall, couldn’t even remember what they had been for this time. The pain had subsided to a dull, manageable throb, and he knelt very still, not moving so much as a muscle as the new wounds closed. When he could stir without sending lances of fire across his back, he would clean up first the little room, then himself, then try to salvage what vestiges of sleep this night could afford. Lataar was asleep; Danteel had been very careful to shut her out during his beating, and as she dared not touch Moncreif’s mind she had gone to bed none the wiser. Which was good. If she’d known, she would be up right now and here, worrying and losing sleep in her attempts to heal him, which only ever half-worked under the best of circumstances.

Danteel tried very hard not to flinch when the door slid open behind him. Surely Moncreif had not remembered some other offense that couldn’t wait until morning? But it was a woman’s voice he heard, a sharp intake of breath and the words, “By the homeworld, captain, what is this?”

“Danteel, my Nagai slave,” came the captain’s bored voice. “I should like you to treat him.”

“This is not a part of my job description,” the woman hissed. “And he’s covered in blood and sweat; he smells like a corpse that’s just run a marathon.”

“Your position as my latest ship’s doctor is to care for the medical needs of the Avarice’s crew, yes?”

“You’re telling me this piece of bone-white flesh is a part of your crew?” she demanded.

He laughed, oh so softly. “Only in the broadest possible definition of the word, Lieutenant Kima. Nevertheless, you will treat him.”

The lieutenant snorted. “I begin to see how you’ve had so much trouble keeping a doctor these past few months. Do you subject them all to this unprofessional aftertime?”

Danteel swallowed. This woman was, in fact, the first of her profession Moncreif had ever brought into this little room. The captain’s stream of excuses for dismissing the doctors Realm Command sent him must have started to get thin, if he was using this as a way to drive them out. “I thought we had a deal,” he whispered in Nagian. “Regarding certain things that were to be done in private.”

Lieutenant Kima noise halfway between surprise and disgust. “Is that what passes for a language with it?”

“The flogging is done, Danteel. I merely brought the good doctor around to make sure she knows who she’s dealing with.”

“Does it not even understand Basic?” sneered Kima. “It’s degrading that a decent human being should have to stoop so low as to converse in another tongue with an alien.”

Danteel chuckled, then stopped when it aggravated the pain. “Somehow, I think she missed the point, Moncreif.”

“Please, captain,” said Kima in a ‘let’s be reasonable’ voice. “Tell me this is a joke. You can hardly expect me to work under these conditions. If you insist on having it treated, at least let it be brought to my med bay.”

“He does not bite,” said Moncreif, as if he hadn’t heard her. “And even if he did, he would not be inclined to do so in this situation. I request this as a personal favor, lieutenant, I would prefer not to make it an order.”

For a moment Kima was silent. Then, “Fine. But I swear if this gets out I’ll be the laughingstock of the field.”

She approached him slowly, her heeled shoes clicking on the bare floor. Finally she crouched down to his right, and he got his first look at the captain’s newest doctor. She had apparently been working late: her black hair was pulled into a severe bun that she probably wouldn’t have redone if summoned after letting it out, and her almond-shaped eyes had the bloodshot look of one who knew more late nights than early ones. She set her case down between them, as if it were a shield, and opened it while eyeing him warily.

“Hello,” he whispered gently.

She litterally jumped at the word, startling backwards so that she lost her balance and landed rather comically on her backside. Moncreif snorted a laugh, “A fierce one, isn’t he?”

“I’m sorry he’s gotten you involved in this,” said Danteel, ignoring his master.

Kima struggled to her feet, shaking. “What is this, captain, some kind of sick joke?” she demanded. “Did you train him like a parrot, just for a few laughs at my expense?”

Danteel blinked. “I didn’t mean to frighten—”

She kicked him. One black, high-heeled shoe lashed out and caught him on the temple. He fell, more from shock than anything else. Moncreif was laughing now, deep, horrible laughs as Kima screeched and fled the room as if demon-pursued. “When will you learn, Danteel?” he asked once she was gone. “You thought just because she was a woman that she’d treat you like anything other than an animal? You may hate me, Danteel, but at least I can see what you really are. Something even you aren’t all that good at, I might add.”

As Danteel tried to lever himself back to a sitting position, as he felt the blood begin to trickle from the lashes once more and knew the bruise was forming next to his eye, the captain left, still laughing.

Note to the world: I'm back on this story! I've been going through and editing some of my older posts, so if old fans (or new ones) would like to take a look I'd be delighted. Also, I plan on having a new "episode" before long. In Thrall is coming back, ladies and gentlemen!

*blinkblink* I missed this part? I didn't read it?

The pain had subsided to a dull, manageable throb, and he knelt very still, not moving so much as a muscle as the new wounds closed.

Knelt = kept, perhaps?

The other bit is awkward, consider revising.

Surely Moncreif had not remembered some other offense that couldn’t wait until morning?

You could leave this as it is, but for perfection, I'd change it, as it's a touch choppy.

“And he’s covered in blood and sweat; he smells like a corpse that’s just run a marathon.”

“Please, captain,” said Kima in a ‘let’s be reasonable’ voice.

This is probably PP, but you could change that. Anyway, put a comma after "Kima", I think.


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Very good, sorry I missed it, and I really like the ending. Danteel's dialogue and Kima's reactions first had me amused, then frowning at the finis.

Gyr! Yay, something to review by you! And it’s quite the long one, so my critique shall be just as long.

The meeting was already underway, of course, and as he took his seat, the captain regarded him coolly.

If you are to be my new medical officer. [comma instead] I expect you to have better sense than to waste my time.”

“Since you are so fascinated with my slave, perhaps you would like him to help you [s]to[/s] move your luggage into your quarters.”

Repetition of to had to be fixed.

His hard eyes evaluated the human with all the warmth of an [s]artic[/s] arctic winter.

There were sidelocks of silver in the black hair, but beyond that, hardly any signs of age.

I do believe that should be two words.

Only for the insane members of my kind[/] Lark thought. He started to protest, to defend the several decent humans he knew, but stopped. He swallowed. “Why didn’t you kill me? I’m sure you could have.”

Lol, you screwed up the italics here. Just to point that out.

Deep from the infinite depths of Danteel’s eyes blazed [s]a mad[/s], silver light.

A mad light? Mad also means crazy, so I think it’s out of place anyway. Try angry.

With some difficulty, Lark [s]again[/s] found his voice again.

I think, where you had it, it would require commas.

“I do owe you, but--.”

Hah, your dash didn’t work, dear. ^^ I do owe you, but—” And no period at the end of it.

Good.” With that, he turned and left Lark alone in his room.

The light was better here, but just barely. But what Lark saw in the dim light almost made him throw up.

If we could adjust that repetition so it don’t exist, that would be wonderful. ^^

.” The hand holding the whip flexed again, and for a moment--just a moment--Lark allowed himself to imagine the pain of just a single blow from such a weapon in the hand of one who knew how to use it.

I don’t know why the dashes aren’t working. That’s just weird. The hand holding the whip flexed again, and for a moment—just a moment—Lark allowed himself to imagine the pain of just a single blow from such a weapon in the hand of one who knew how to use it.

. “I’m a doctor,” he could have said, “I don’t need an excuse to help people.”

The italics alone will probably work here.

Ooh, this is too exciting! You’re amazing! *continues onward*

His eyes were the stuff of nightmares.

Stuff? For lack of a better word?

as Nagai culture dictates that one [s]who’s[/s] whose life has been saved must serve the one who saved it.”

“Therefore, you do me no service by saving it.”

“’I, who hold your life in hand…

Watch the quotations. The first single quote mark is backwards.

“’You, who hold my life in hand, who still allow my breath to flow, who still allow my heart to beat—‘” [s]he[/s] He clamped his mouth around the words, and would not let them leave his lips.

Your single quote marks are both backwards.

*squeals* Wonderful so far! *scrolls down to next section*

. The soldiers’ gloved hands were tight on his thin arms, and he knew there would be bruises.

I thought they weren’t soldiers. Didn’t you say they were also slaves?

A man looked up as they entered, an old man, [no comma] bent with age, and beset by so many wrinkles that it was hard to determine his species.

The captain [s]seemed to be[/s] was getting impatient. “Yes, yes, bring it out. Now’s as good a time as ever.”

It’s obvious that he’s impatient with his dialogue a word or two later.

And then there was a hot, searing pain at the back of his neck and he screamed as much from surprise as anything.

That’s kind of a lame transition, if you don’t mind my saying. I’d replace it or just delete it.

“Hold him still,” said Moncreif as Danteel began to thrash again, [period instead] “[s]give[/s] Give it a moment to cool.”

To Danteel, that moment took only a few seconds…

His hands wrenched at the collar and he nearly strangled himself, and the heat from the welded place still burned the back of his neck

His hands wrenched at the collar and he nearly strangled himself, the heat from the welded spot burning the back of his neck.

When his wrists slammed, his head slammed, [no comma] too, and it took Danteel a moment to realize that it was Moncreif who was holding him.

There was a horrible, weak instinct to cry, to weep, but he didn’t.

*squeals again* *continues to next part*

The Nagai could still feel the burn from having the ends of the collar welded together, but he ignored it. [comma instead] As he was learning to ignore so many things these days.

And again, everything within him roared at the word, screaming Kill, kill, kill the sheczkall, the enslaver.

Honor-bound, he told them, [period instead] I am honor-bound.

I’m gonna stop here, give you the critique for the first page out of seven. Lol, I gotta get reading/critting on this, but I have to leave for something. I’m in love with this story, though. You’re an amazing writer. I can see this getting published (and me being the first one to buy it ).

Keep writing! More crits coming soon!

Jabber, the One and Only!

“You let him live.”

Danteel hadn’t even heard Moncreif enter the suite, but his master’s voice came from directly behind him. He did not rise from where he was kneeling, painstakingly scrubbing the shower floor and trying not to let the disinfectant solution touch his raw wrists. “I did,” he replied. Moncreif’s crew were loyal and quick, Danteel would give them that. He had only just left the new doctor at his quarters.

Moncreif stepped closer, so near that Danteel wouldn’t be able to rise without pushing him aside. “I told you to take care of him.”

The Nagai clenched his teeth. “Your exact words were ‘The usual arrangement.’ You left the choice to me.”

The whip sliced suddenly across his back, through his shirt, biting deep into his skin. He cried out in shock and fell forward, his flailing hands catching the bucket of cleanser and sending it splashing all over him. He ground his teeth against a scream as the evil liquid woke fire in his back and wrists, drenching his wounds and making their pain fresh once more. He flinched instinctively as he heard the whish of the whip above him. Danteel risked a glance; his master had coiled the weapon in one smooth movement and re-attached it to his belt. Now he crouched, bringing himself down to Danteel’s level as he often did after a flogging, to speak quietly and reasonably and explain things to him. The Nagai bared his teeth in a feral snarl but stayed motionless.

“Haven’t you learned by now,” said Moncreif conversationally, “what we humans are? I would have thought Kima was the last piece of that little puzzle for you; apparently not.” His hand flashed out, long, strong fingers gripping Danteel’s hair and pulling, forcing the Nagai’s head up to look him straight in the eye. Danteel did not cry out. He met the captain’s gaze squarely, ignoring the pain in his scalp, in his back, in his pride.

“Lark Erabon is no threat to you,” Danteel said evenly.

“That doesn’t matter. The Avarice is my ship: I choose who sails aboard her and no one else. I have handpicked every member of this crew, right down to you, Danteel, and now Command thinks they can just lumber me with any half-trained nezlek they like?”

“And so you thought sending them a corpse was the right message?”

Moncreif released him with a snort of disgust. Danteel was ready for it; he braced himself against the tiles and managed to avoid another dunking. The captain paced to the bathroom door and back, and looked down at Danteel with his hands hanging loosely at his sides. The left one right next to his whip. “So you think this one’s different? That you’ve finally found a righteous man?”

Danteel did not reply. Lark Erabon had been the first human in many years who’d looked at him with anything but disgust, fear, or superiority. Oh, he’d been afraid, there in the conference room, but he’d met Danteel’s gaze. And he had asked “why” when his life was spared. As if he knew Danteel had every right to take it if he wished.

“Fine,” Moncreif snarled. “We shall see how righteous he is.”



- - - - - - - - - - - - -

I promise a longer one next time!

...um, I realize bumping one's threads is bad form, but is no one going to take a look? I'd feel a total dork posting the next bit before this has accumulated some comment(s).

Hi Gyrfalcon, I too am suffering from a lack of critiques and It demoralises me because I start to doubt my work. Anyway.

Yes, another fine instalment yet so many things happened in one of your shorter sections. But I think the pace of the piece was fine considering you have established more than enough of the Danteel/Moncreif relationship.

The return of Erabon is interesting, I was wondering when he would pop-up again. It will be very good to see how the plot pans out from here.

Moncreif's chuckle - this seemed out of place with his character and borderline "evil villain stereotype" (which thus far you have fruitfully avoided). I think it may be more interesting to simply remove this and leave his actions up to the audience to work out. Or, include a gesture that shows your authorial intent that isn't involving the almost-cliché of laughter.

The last two lines annoy me:

Had every right to take as many human lives as it took before he repaid his debt to that race.

“Fine,” Moncreif bit out. “We shall see how righteous he is.”

The first sentence is messy, you have changed english to suit your dramatic needs, which is fine but it makes the sentence less easy to read (again something you usually have no problem with). I think the confusion could be cleared with placing the pronoun at the start of this sentence: "He had every right to kill as many men it took before he repaid his debt to humanity." (Maybe better - I don't know, experiment).

The last line - "Bit out", a tad iffy, not sure if it works. "We shall..." Why is Moncreif, the captain who has just instated his authority with an iron fist, using the collective pronoun "we"? I'm not sure if this as personal thing a get from the text, it may speak to others differently.

You have something great here, In Thrall is still my favourite piece of work on YWS. Its like Asimov's Foundation with better characters, better plot and personal explorations. Wonderful.

Danteel looked through the shuttle viewport as the mottled blues, greens, and whites of Locus Nova grew steadily closer and clearer. He glanced across the small cabin to Moncreif, who sat ramrod straight, eyes closed, fingers laced loosely together. The Nagai still had no real idea why the captain had chosen to take him down to the surface with him; from past experience he knew he would not be welcome on this human-infested rock. But at least Lataar wasn’t alone. Lark had promised to check up on her as often as he could, and the two seemed to get along well. The Avarice was stationed in orbit over the world; they were here for their twice-yearly maintenance and three-week leave before the next tour. Moncreif always spent those full three weeks away from the great ship, leaving his crew and slaves to their own devices, which made the time Danteel’s vacation as well. Until now.

He sat as the shuttle began to shudder with reentry, and glared across at his master. If Moncreif thought he could have his holiday and Danteel at the same time, he was going to be sorely disappointed. “Where are we going?” he asked for perhaps the twentieth time. And for the twentieth time, as the shuttle bumped gently with the landing impact, Moncreif merely smiled a thin little smile and did not answer.

It was only as Danteel strode down the ramp behind Moncreif that he realized where they were. “Naval Command?” he demanded as Moncreif stepped into the turbolift at the far end of the landing pad. Danteel hurried to catch up. “You have brought me,” he hissed as the doors slid closed and the lift began to move, “to Naval Command. Moncreif, if they see a Nagai walking around here without ten kinds of chains wrapping me up, you’ll be down one slave.”

“Not if you’re with me,” the captain replied calmly.

“What, you’ve invented an energy shield that can stop laser blasts?”

The slap snapped his head around and sent him slamming into the metal wall of the lift. Moncreif’s voice was as level as ever. “When will you learn to stop doubting me, Danteel?”

The door slid open and the captain stepped out. Danteel followed. The corridors might have been the template for Avarice’s own; they were slightly larger, but gleamed with the same polished steel and were every bit as windowless. Busy-looking men in uniforms and work-a-day suits filled every available space, rushing back and forth and, at first, flowing around captain and Nagai like water around two standing stones. But it didn’t take long for people to notice the non-human in their midst, and before Moncreif had taken them five paces a large hand fastened around Danteel’s arm, pulling him to a halt. “What are you doing here?” demanded the muscled officer on the other end of the grip.

Danteel wrenched his arm away in a quick movement that the man clearly had not expected. His whole face frowned and he pulled a small sidearm from its holster. “Is there a problem, ensign?” asked Moncreif, stepping up next to his slave.

The man glanced from the captain’s rank cylinders to the golden collar around Danteel’s neck, and relaxed. “You must be Captain Moncreif,” he said.

Danteel’s master nodded.

Then, to the Nagai’s complete surprise, the ensign stuck out a massive hand and grinned like a schoolboy. “Honor to meet you, sir,” he said. “The others’ll never believe I’ve really done this, but it would be a great privilege if you would shake my hand.”

Smiling thinly, Moncreif did so. “Now, ensign,” he said, “the Command council is expecting me.”

“Of course, sir,” said the ensign, all-but-glowing with pride. For a moment his eyes flicked to Danteel in a quick frown, but without another word he turned and began to escort them along.

“What did I tell you,” said Moncreif, obviously pleased with himself.

Danteel said nothing. Moncreif had sworn not to beat him in public, but the Nagai did not wish to test that promise in front of the captain’s fellow officers. And anything he said now would warrant the whip. The Command council must have been located at the farthest side of the building, for it took many long hallways and lift rides before they arrived. The ensign led them through a sliding door identical to every other and into a modest waiting room. He went to the desk, where a dark-skinned young man in plainclothes sat operating a computer. “Captain Moncreif, to see the council,” said the ensign.

The secretary glanced at the captain, then to Danteel, and his eyes narrowed. “What about that thing?”

“He is with me,” replied Moncreif before the ensign could say anything. “My slave, you see?” He gestured to the collar.

“My madman, you see?” echoed Danteel in Nagian, mimicking the captain’s careless gesture.

Moncreif’s smile went abruptly tight, and Danteel could see his hand move to the place where his whip was customarily fastened. But not today. Now it was a distinguished officer’s sabre there, and it was obvious neither man had understood the Nagai. “You will pay for that,” whispered Moncreif as the secretary spoke to someone over a private comm.

“It can’t be much worse than this,” Danteel replied as the secretary looked up.

“You can go in now,” he said, studiously not looking at Danteel.

The captain’s smile returned; he motioned towards the inner sliding door. “After you.
”
“You must be joking; I’ll be dead before I can take a second step.”

“Then at least you’ll be free,” said Moncreif in Basic, and shoved him towards the door which, true to its function, slid open to admit him.

Danteel stumbled into a rather smaller room than he had expected, but the expressions of surprise, fear, disgust, and outrage that filled the seven faces which had watched his ungainly entrance were exactly what he had imagined. He ground his teeth, regained his balance, and straightened, not moving a fraction as Moncreif entered behind him and forcing the captain to navigate around him. “That was a cheap trick,” he said as Moncreif confidently took his seat before the still-stunned council. “The effect won’t last.”

“How many times must I educate you in the failings of humanity? Gentlemen,” this last word was in Basic and to the seven much higher ranking men arrayed before him. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

Uncertainly, they sat, one after the other, each flicking unsure or irate glances at the Nagai. “The Hero of Tildalan is always welcome here, captain,” said one of them, an older man. Five of them wore admiral rank cylinders on their left shoulders, and two were very well-dressed in civilian suits.

One of the non-military men sneered with disgust as he glared at Danteel. “This is highly unusual, Moncreif; why did you bring this curiosity with you?”

Moncreif shrugged fluidly. “You seem to think you can send anyone you like into my domain; I’m simply returning the favor. And,” he added, lapsing into Nagian, “his presence makes you more nervous than if I’d brought a legion of the Avarice’s soldiers.”

It shouldn’t have worked. After the first few times Moncreif used Danteel to throw the council off, they should have gotten used to it and learned to ignore the Nagai altogether. But every time the captain spoke in his language, every time Danteel answered, every single time he moved even a few steps they faltered, lost the initiative. Moncreif commanded the conversation as skillfully as he did his ship, but his simple tactics should not have worked against some of the most powerful men in the Realm.

Finally, as the conversation began to wind down and the council became full of “of course” and “we shall look into it,” Danteel understood. To get where they were now, these seven men had to be not only the most skilled members of their profession, but also those most dedicated to the official Realm worldview. They saw Danteel—as they had been trained to see any alien—as barely sentient, beneath them, a mindless tool fit only for use as a servant of humanity. And here Moncreif—their ‘hero’—was conversing with one in his own language and allowing him, what seemed to them, incredible liberties. “You may hate me, Danteel, but at least I can see what you really are,” Moncreif had said. It both surprised and frightened Danteel exactly how true that was. This man did not keep alien slaves because he thought humans superior. He kept slaves because he knew exactly how intelligent they were, because he was superior, not his race but he alone.

And now he was using Danteel to get rid of Lark. They were just in the middle of the closing pleasantries when the Nagai said, unbidden, “You’ve made your point to them. Now what do I have to do to make sure Lark stays?”

Moncreif smiled and laughed softly as if Danteel had made a joke: obviously what he wanted the council to think. “You’ve already spared his life against my wishes,” he said, standing. “Gentlemen, thank you for your time. I’m sure I can count on you.”

Danteel followed him out of the conference room and back into the turbolift. “What happens to him now?” he demanded as soon as the doors shut.

Moncreif slid two fingers under the Nagai’s collar, effectively denying him all but the smallest quantity of air. Danteel did not struggle; he stood very still, his eyes fixed firmly on his master’s face, and tried to take very, very shallow breaths. “I am wondering what give you the presumption to think you can question my decisions like this,” Moncreif said conversationally, digging his knuckles into Danteel’s throat.

There were any number of things the Nagai wanted to say in reply, but his breaths were audibly raspy now, and little black dots began to dance at the edge of his vision. Moncreif’s harsh eyes bore into him as Danteel kept his body motionless and fought not to black out. “You don’t struggle,” the captain said as the lift came to a smooth halt, the doors sliding open to reveal yet another throng of hurrying men. Moncreif seemed not to notice. “A few years ago you would be trying to claw my eyes out by now.”

Perhaps it’s the imminent unconsciousness, Danteel wanted to say. There was practically no air getting through now, and the black dots had become thick black clouds welling up in the corners of his eyes and flitting across his sight.

Abruptly the pressure on his throat was gone. He prided himself that he neither fell nor stumbled back against the wall, but only took a few steadying steps to regain his balance. This done, he realized that Moncreif was already out of the turbolift and striding down the corridor towards the…door they’d come in by.

Danteel caught up as gracefully as he could. “What’s this!” he said, choosing for the moment to not bring up the near-strangulation. “It took forever for that ensign to take us this far.”

“He wanted to show me off,” said Moncreif as they stepped out onto the landing pad. “So he took the long way around.”

Danteel thought for a moment. “So I take it his military career is effectively over?”

“No, I think it’s just going to freeze. I have a delightful vision of promotion boards laughing at him.”

“Uhuh.” They were in the shuttle by now, the pilot beginning the preflight sequence. “So,” he asked while they strapped themselves in, “what is going to happen to Lark now?”

Moncreif did not answer at first, but gazed out of the viewport above Danteel’s head as the shuttle lifted off. “You practically left Lataar with him,” he said at last.

Danteel nodded silently.

“We’ll have to see how that turns out when we return,” the captain said after another long pause.

It was only then that Danteel realized they weren’t heading for space and the Avarice. “We’re not going back now?”

“No, of course not. I’m not wasting any more of my leave than I already have.”

Danteel glanced out the viewport. They were gliding along well above the clouds, and he could see the gentle curve of Locus Nova if not its continents. “Where are we going, then?”

Moncreif leaned back and closed his eyes, a look of beatific anticipation smoothing the lines around his eyes and mouth. “Home.”

* * *

Danteel never told me how I gained his trust. Not that I didn’t ask him and often, but he would only ever give that enigmatic smile of his and say, if he said anything, “Because you were different.” It was different with Lataar. I’m sure that without Danteel’s vote of confidence, my attempts would have been useless from the start, but for the first several hours of our acquaintance she wouldn’t even look at me. Of course, that didn’t stop me from talking her ears off. Mostly—for I am a man—I spoke of myself.

“Of course, it was mostly my father’s name that got me into the university—he’d practically saved the admiral’s life after all—but I don’t think it would be bragging to say I acquitted myself rather well.” Lark made tea as he spoke, finding everything exactly where Danteel had told him. He still wasn’t entirely sure that the captain was all right with the doctor’s presence here in his private quarters, but Danteel had assured him that Moncreif wouldn’t mind. And then he had said something under his breath in Nagian, in such a way that Lark was sure Moncreif’s ignorance of the fact was the only thing keeping it ‘all right.’

As the doctor turned around, a standard-issue teacup in each hand, he found Lataar looking at him. Lark froze, uncertain how to respond to this new development. She blinked once, very slowly. Her wings were still wrapped around her where she sat on the floor, shrouding everything beneath her neck in soft white. She had been in that position when Danteel had left, and had not, as far as Lark knew, moved from it since.

“Hello,” he said. Abruptly, he remembered the tea in his hands, and wondered if he should risk trying to give her one of the cups. The one thing guaranteed to elicit a reaction from her was to step within a meter and a half of her position. He still wasn’t entirely sure how she reacted, but when she did he would find himself on the other side of the room with a deep desire to go away.

She did not reply, but neither did she break eye contact. He took a single cautious step forward, holding the steaming cup before him as both peace offering and shield. There was a sound like the fluttering of moth wings next to his ear, or at least…the idea of such a sound. Tea. The single word whispered through his mind, and though faint it was more command than request. He proffered the cup, still very gingerly. One wing rustled aside and a slim, pale green arm emerged, reaching out towards him. An arm patterned with long scars that stretched from her wrist back into the wing-covered darkness. Her fingers slid under the bottom of the cup, being careful not to touch his, and he released his grip with equal care.

In the same instant that she took it from him, she saw him looking at her scars.

He abruptly discovered that he was facing the far wall and devoid of tea. “Um,” he said. The burning desire to leave suddenly subsided, and he slowly turned. Lataar was curled up on one of the chairs, her wings resting loosely on her back, sipping the tea. It wasn’t so much that she was small as that she seemed built to a different scale. Her limbs were thin and looked very frail, especially in contrasted to the size of her white wings. She glanced up at him, and Lark would have sworn he heard the word hello in his mind.


. . .


I did promise something longer. And Phorcys, you are wonderful--your crit is already integrated!