Young Writers Society

Thanks guys for those comments and thanks a lot for picking out typos and stuff!!!!

Unfortunately I'm having Writer's Block at the moment. I feel so guilty I'm letting this go to waste I really need to get it going. Ravin has been lingering in Norforda for too long, he needs to get a move on. But I'm stuck on tha conversation with his father. I think I might just annoy you all and skip it for now, and maybe go back and fill it in.

Kool, you may not like it that he has made mistakes. But it is the idea that came into his head. Its that he had the guts to write in a story which he thought it was good. Keep it up!

YAY! Celebration party at CMI!!!! Fire broke his habit of improperly using 'too' (I think he now does that just to annoy me; an interesting by-product of a typo, I must admit).
hmmmm.....I don't have any contacts in at the moment, and can hardly see what I am typing, so I won't do any quotes. The biggest thing I see to improve on ? Repetativeness. You used 'looking' a bit too much in 1 paragraph(the one where he sees his father)....ummmmm.......yeah. that's all 4 tonite...*head hits computer and C begins to snore*....

*wakes up*

Good job. Maybe post more helpful info when I happen to be more mentally awake, K?

Alright, I finally caught up with this story. This part's pretty good . (Heh, Cacophony is too lazy to comment on all the parts she missed, though she did read them and like them.)

Anyway, I thought Ravin's reaction to seeing his ailing father was well done, and I liked the conversation with with Shamer. I'm looking forward to next part.

I don't have any overall critiscims so onto the pedantic, nit-picky stuff...

been over ten years since h had list glimpsed the place this

Ravin was quick to act, and dodged to the side of the man, before delivering a harsh kick to the side of the man’s left knee, which gave a resonant crack. The man winced, but Ravin then followed up with a hefty kick behind the man’s knee and the guard dropped to the ground.

They all gave shocked glances, especially the man who had pushed him, but they immediately stood to attention, “Sorry, sir. Didn’t know it was you.”

Shamer was leading him through the castle, but only because he liked to show himself as being useful, as Ravin knew the layout of his childhood home still.

It was a far different emotion to the usual adrenaline he had grown to love, and he much preferred the latter.

He looks so ill…

Here ya go. Chapter 9....or most of it anyway....

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Ravin felt like a different man as he strode confidently across to the doors of the Citadel, the castle that stood on the highest hill of Norforda. It had been over ten years since h had list glimpsed the place this close, and he was reminiscing as he approached it’s entrance, two very tall, thick, wooden, doors. Upon the centre was embellished a strange coat of arms, consisting of a lion, hiding in fear of a crowd of snakes. It was all in shining gold. The last descendants of the Royal Family of Norfor.

Several guards unceremoniously stood talking, taking no heed to the arrival of Ravin, and his guard, which consisted of two young recruits. Ravin was sure he’d be given some poor performers from the army, but was in no position to jostle for anything better.

“Excuse me,” Ravin said, aiming it at the group of guards. They took little notice, but one gave him a dark look and then continued their conversation.

Ravin, greatly annoyed, growled, “Are you going to lounge around all day avoiding your duty?”

One of men, a particularly butch one, stopped in mid-conversation and walked over, slowly, before sizing up Ravin, “What are you going to do about it?” and gave Ravin a hefty push.

Ravin was quick to act, and dodged to the side of the man, before delivering a harsh kick to the side of the man’s left knee, which gave a resonant crack. The man winced, but Ravin then followed up with a hefty kick behind the man’s knee and the guard dropped to the ground.

“A nobleman with balls. Very rare,” the man said, whilst on his knees, “Who is it by the way?”

“I’m the Earl’s son, Ravin,” Ravin replied with pride, “Are you going to let me in, now?”

They all gave shocked glances, especially the man who had pushed him, but they immediately stood to attention, “Sorry, sir. Didn’t know it was you.” They rushed about and called to the gatehouse to unlock the gate, and before long the screeching of the doors opening reached Ravin’s ears and he strode forward, to the familiar sight of the courtyard, with it’s fountains and cobbles.

I’m home at last…but to what reception?

The sun blinded his eyes as he took his first steps back into his childhood. It was reflecting off the many windows positioned amongst the stonewalls, and the bubbling water contained in the central fountain. Ravin had played there many a time, and smiled as he walked past, aiming for the reception door at the far side of the courtyard. He knocked loudly and clearly on the twin doors, which showed off the fine image of the castle with exquisite golden embellishing. The sound echoed across the empty courtyard.

There was a shuffling noise as a part of the door was removed and a pair of dark eyes confronted Ravin.

“My master is not taking visitors today. I dunno how you got through the gate, but I hope you’ll be smart enough to get off my master’s property quick before I get the rest of the guards to teach you a lesson,” said the owner of the eerie eyes, in a grumpy tone.

“Lost none of your humour, I see, Shamer. I assume your next joke will involve a sharp object of some kind protruding from my ribs as I refuse your request to leave,” Ravin replied, his insides dying to laugh. The old portly butler was as cantankerous as ever. His best memories of Shamer usually involved beatings of some kind. In all fairness he wasn’t a bad man, because Ravin also reflected on the times he had comforted Ravin form his father’s bad temper.

“How in Shas’er’s ‘oly name did you know I was called Shamer? Where I know you from?” said Shamer.

“My dear old Shamer, have you forgotten me after all these years? And I used to think your memory was impeccable, when you used to tell me those stories accurately every night,” said Ravin with a smile and a shake of his head.

“No…no it can’t be. You died a long time ago,” replied Shamer, sounding, if possible, even more ill tempered.

“Well I can assure you, I feel quite alive,” said Ravin.

“Alright, then, prove it’s you.”

“And how would you expect me to do that?”

“I dunno. Think of something,” said Shamer, his voice regaining some amusement.

“Just let me in, Shamer or I’ll smash this door down,” said Ravin, sarcastically.

“Alright, alright, calm down. Was only playing, young master, I’ll let you in,” and with that he slowly unlocked the several bolts and swung back the door.

The first thing that hit Ravin was how nothing had changed. It was still the same old receiving chamber it had always been, complete with his favourite painting, Fight of the Gods, which displayed the two rivals Shas’er and Nurvu battling it out in the heavens. It stood above the grand doors, dominating the room. Ravin had used to stare into the impressionistic strokes and dream of being a God and forcing his father to do whatever he wanted. Turning to his right he noticed the maroon furniture still stood unused, slightly more decrepit than it was before, against the fireplace wall. On his left were the desks and bookcases and Shamer’s small room he had occupied for the last half a century. Ravin smiled. I feel like I’m ten years old all over again…

“You gonna stand there all day? Either go in or out, don’t stand in the middle. You’re creating a breeze, and I have plenty more work to do,” Shamer said, returning to his usual tone.

“I missed you too, Shamer,” Ravin said, and laughed out lot for the first time in many months.

* * * *


As they walked up the grand staircase, occasionally greeting old servants, and new, Ravin was hit by nervousness greater than he had felt before. How would his father react? After faking his death all those years ago he wasn’t sure whether the old man would be angry, sad, annoyed or just his usual bland self. Shamer was leading him through the castle, but only because he liked to show himself as being useful, as Ravin knew the layout of his childhood home still.

It seemed like a life age, but they finally made it to the highest point and looked down that all too memorable corridors that led to his father’s private chamber. Ravin felt his heart almost smash out of his cheat in apprehension. It was a far different emotion to the usual adrenaline he had grown to love, and he much preferred the latter. Shamer left without a word and Ravin felt his hands begin to shake uncontrollably.

Why am I being so weak? It’s just my father…

He grimaced defiantly and began a slow, steady walk towards the door, which seemed miles away. His footsteps sounded to Ravin very loud, and realised his father would probably shout at him for disturbing him as he always used to. Some people never change.

But, before long, he was standing in front of the door, and he raised his hand to knock. Before he did, he hesitated. What? Why don’t I just go in? Stop being stupid…

“Come in, and stop waiting outside my door,” said a croaky voice. Ravin sighed. His father was so predictable. He twisted the handle and pushed it open.

And saw his father looking nothing like he remembered.

He was lying, looking very frail on his bed, an odd expression on his face. The room looked unused, without the mess that Ravin had expected. Papers were tidied neatly and no books were left on the floor. Ravin concluded his father must have been in bed for a very long time. He looks so ill…

“Yes, what is it? I’m not hungry, I already told Shamer,” his father said, straining his eyes as he spoke.

He doesn’t know who I am…

“No, father. It’s me – Ravin,” said Ravin after a short silence, and watched as his father’s expression turned from confusion to shock, “I’m home.”

I liked them. Didn't realize how many words you use s instead of z in.
Interesting how the plot unfolds and deepens....wish I hadn't read iced.cappicino's post:

Made me think nasty thoughts. My dirty dirty mind... ^^;

Haha, I know the guidelines. I just do it for some reason. I like writing "too" it seems better. Sorry

Maybe it's the way I speak....

Anyhoo, what do you think of the chapters you looked through?

*sighs irrately*
FIIIIIRE!
What is it with you and confusing your 'to's? One more time....sigh.
(not really mad. Just starting to wonder why you like so many blasted 'O's.)

“I’m still not convinced a law-breaker who is uncivilised and not trained in Norfordian manner should be able too represent our nation on such a significant matter!” fumed Orden as he ripped apart his chicken breast.

And they would have to move on. To another country, a rich country. For that, they looked north. At the country of Norfor, the beacon of Shas’er, with it’s science and learning. Soon that would too burn.

Wow thanks for that! If I didn't have people like you, my story would have quite humorous typos. I mean, I do later need to check over it all, but I haven't yet! Thanks a lot for all of that

I'll change a lot of the things you have suggested me to.

I started reading at chapter 7, so forgive me if I don't understand a few things. ^^;

[...]leaving the islands bathing in lush sunshine.

To one boy it was his favourite time of the boy.

He stared out across the blue fields into the ever-distant horizon, hoping to spot the familiar small sail he spotted in the harbours.

Feinting disappointment, he attempted a smile in the pleasurable sun, [...]

The boy got up lethargically and made such a small task look like a large effort as he trundled his way up the pier, creating a satisfying thud sound as his feet pounded against the wore down wood.

It wasn’t longer before he had completed his task.

As soon as he saw the man leave he took out a rope from his belt.

It went far up, and clattered to a half over the castle battlements.

[...] he rubbed his hands in a peculiar fashion, and without ado he launched himself onto the wall.

Well, not priceless. A large bag of coins would satisfy him.

I see you’ve regained you’re humour at least

Is it your intention to keep me in tension like this?

It’s just…I find it impossible for he to be alive.

Bingo, the man outside thought. Treason from a Lord? This was worth staying for. Forget drinking at taverns. Soon he’d own a tavern.

Ravin swung round, his face a mess of total fury with absolute loathing, [...]

[...] seeing a man with a nasty scar on his face who’s grin scared him so much [...]

It all went wrong when suddenly the crowd had parted.

Excellent addition, but I have one little point of confusion. You say that Aranion looks as if he knows something no one else does, but never expand on it. I figured it would be Ravin's true identity, but nope. So...what's the secret????

Chapter 8 now, too!

Hopefully, someone will read this topic one day...

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As Ravin walked up the corridor leading to the Council chamber, glancing at the alls adorned with paintings of old Councillors, including the famous Romases VI, and several other grey-haired faces with long moustaches. Up ahead were the daunting black doors, and two guards stood casually outside, chatting. One of them was particularly tall, and an odd thought struck Ravin. Didn’t he recognise that man? But he shook it off quickly, because it couldn’t be.

As he was allowed entrance, he gazed into the taller man’s face and it hit him again. A person from his childhood, or something. The man winked at him. Ravin shook it off. There were more important matters to attend too.

He strode into the chamber and the five councillors were looking at him, waiting. They had obviously been in deep conversation before his arrival, because a sudden silence had gripped the room, and Ravin felt awkward. But he stood there all the same, without moving. He was flanked by the two guards. Strange…they don’t usually come in to the chamber. Wait…

Aranion was reading a note in hand and looking at Ravin in a new light. It was almost looked like respect, “I have a strange note here. It comes from the Earl. He wants you to go to him.”

Ravin nodded, “Then I will go,” turning as he began to leave, but was stopped.

Aranion shook his head, “Sorry, until you accept our demands, you are still a prisoner. You won’t be able to see the Earl, or anyone else.”

“Then I am sure you wish to hear my decision,” Ravin said, quickly after Aranion had finished.

Everyone nodded vigorously.

“Considering your…extreme position on this matter, there is only one answer to your plea,” he said, pausing momentarily. All the Councillors were staring at him, “I accept.”

Everyone breathed a deep sigh of relief, but Ravin wasn’t finished, “On a few conditions. One, you will give me an oath promising not to attack the town, and two, you accept my position as heir to the Earl and an Norfordian nobleman, and so will be treated with the same respect.”

It was Councillor Armen that responded first, “Your first one will be signed by every member of the Councillor, I can vouch for that. Your second can only be done once the Earl confirms it. You will be taken there shortly, but first…we must sort out the details. This may take some time. Sergeant Esben, please bring a chair,” he added signalling to the tall man beside Ravin.

Esben? No…
* * * *


She woke to a clanging noise that reverberated in her ears, not improving on the burning headache that already plagued her swollen head. It sounded like a blacksmith, but she wasn’t sure…too far away, and she had no idea where she was. She looked around at her situation, which was a dusty room. Sunlight filtered through a small barred window, near the ceiling, so she assumed she was underground, although it wasn’t a stone structure. It was made of some form of mud or clay.

Her body lay in the middle, and she realised she was still wearing her original clothes, inelegant garments, but they were dirtier, and in several places, ripped. She felt a few bruises, but nothing serious. At least I’m alive…

Alive, but trapped. How did I get here? She strained herself in an attempt to remember, but only a sharp pain reappeared on her forehead, and she dropped back onto the floor, wincing. The only image that reached her brain was a swift moving object and then the stars twinkling in the night.

Men had chased her, but she doubted it was those pursuers that caught here. She’d be dead by now if that were the case. Unless they were planning a little enjoyment beforehand. In any case, to her knowledge, they didn’t hide out in muddy caves like this. No, they enjoyed the city life.

Too much, in fact. It had been a blissful summer’s eve when she had first met the man who would later kidnap her, at one of her father’s many parties. Back then, he told her his name was Malco. She had to admit he was attractive, his fair hair flowing in the breeze and his ever-mysterious dark eyes entrancing her. It had all started with a smile, and a drink.

A few minutes later she was all over him. The drug left her completely in his control, and while the night was still young, she left literally in his arms. The next time she woke, her mouth was gagged, her hands tied, and all manner of self-respect had left. She wasn’t going to remember the next few days of utter torment at the hands of her kidnappers, but to suffice to say, his real name wasn’t Malco, but the more brutish Crompt. She’d learned that from a particularly slow guard, who didn’t catch on to her question.

They’d bonded though. Without Mattlyn, the slow guard, she’d never have escaped. But he was as empathetic as he was dim, and before long, he felt so sorry for her position, he decided to assist her. He’d loosened the ropes holding her and taken the gag, then smashed the window and let her run, and faked an injury. He might be dead now, knowing Crompt…and it’s my fault. Everything’s my fault. If it weren’t for me, daddy, Aranion would never have hated you. Forgive me…

* * * *


Councillor Armen hadn’t summoned Ravin to his room for small talk. Ravin knew that, as soon as he had asked in a rather suspicious, serious tone. The Councillor’s formal chambers were as adorned with displays of wealth as you could imagine. He hadn’t seen the like since his childhood. His father was a similar hoarder of foreign antiquities.

Armen was sitting at a large armchair, and Ravin sat across from him.

“Very comfortable,” Ravin said, admiring the ease in which he could relax.

“Tentakian cloth. No doubt these items will become remarkably valuable very soon,” Armen replied, with a hint of amusement, “War has its benefits. But that’s not why I asked to talk privately here, as I’m sure you know.” Ravin simply nodded.

Just as Armen began to continue, there was a loud, resounding knock on the door that interrupted, “Yes?” the Councillor asked.

A muffled voice could barely be heard behind the thick wooden doors, but Ravin thought it was, “Some drinks and food, m’lord, if you be wanting them.”

“Come in then,” Armen said, and a short man, looked vaguely embarrassed stumbled in with a tray of steaming tea and biscuits.

“Couldn’t let you starve, m’lord,” and bowed in respect when he turned and saw Ravin, “They be saying that you’re the Earl’s son. My deepest respects.”

Ravin was more than a little startled. It had been many years since he had received such gestures, “It’s not official yet, but thank you nonetheless,” he said, and taking a large sniff of the aroma coming from the servant’s tray, and jumping up in delight, “That wouldn’t be Tea would it?”

“Yes, m’lord, from my personal store!” the short man said with a beaming smile, the last few wisps of hair left on his hair looking like they were dancing,

“Bless the heavens! I haven’t tasted this stuff for years!” said Ravin, taking the mug with enthusiasm, and handing one to Armen, who was puzzled by Ravin’s joy, “I used to drink this all the time when I was a child. Brings back old memories,” he added, to Armen. Old memories…good and bad.

Armen waved the happy servant away, and they both sat down again, this time with a nice cup of tea to add to the soothing atmosphere. Ravin hadn’t noticed till now, but the fire beside them was burning and crackling, allowing him to almost close his eyes. He hadn’t slept properly for days.

“Now we come to the matter at hand. Upon your acceptance of this…job…it may give you an opportunity to help me. I ask a very big favour,” Armen said sombrely.
Ravin nodded, and let Armen continue. He was in no mood for speaking, anyway, “Recently, my…my daughter went missing. At first, I assume a kidnapping. It would be the most likely explanation for a highborn child, but I think I am wrong now. There has been no note. Unless she escaped from their clutches, I assume she has just left me.”

Ravin decided to intervene, “Believe me, I am sorry for your loss, but may I interject? How can I be of assistance in this matter? I leave for Machuli tomorrow morning.”

“Please, allow me to explain…Celareena was always a wild child, she loved the Mountains and rocky terrain. We…that is…my late wife, and I, used to take her down there in the summer. She loved it. I believe…that is may she be. It is very close to Machuli; just near it’s borders. I can give you the details,” Armen said, his voice quivering, past it’s usually calmness.

“Councillor, I feel for you. But what do you want me to do? Instigate a search? She could be anywhere. If you want to go ahead with this, at least hire other people. They will do a better job than I,” Ravin said.

A tear trickled down the old Councillor’s cheek and he looked into Ravin’s eyes, and said, “My dear boy, I don’t trust anyone…please, do this for me. We don’t know each other, I know, but your father and me have at least been at peace. The other Councillors are at knifepoint in contrast. All I ask is you make a few inquiries.”

Ravin sighed heavily and nodded, “Only for you, Armen. Nobody else.”

* * * *

Hundreds of miles away, an army was destroying a nation. Neka Dahara looked pleased as he stared across the raging river as the last remnants of the Tentak people fled into the northern country, his victorious warriors busy pillaging the capital, burning and tearing down buildings they go. Arlarkin (check*) was a forgotten memory.

His arm was a monster of destruction and hatred, and hundreds had died in its wake. The smoke from villages dominated the sky as houses and farms fell to ashes. Neka Dahara was aware of the hazards of such quick movement, food was relatively scarce in such a harsh area, and soon his men would be without rations. So he had to pause, collect food, rest, and collect his thoughts, before moving on. Tentak was hardly worthy of resistance anymore. He looked north; the mountains shielding his view to the right, the sea to the left, the south his path of destruction. It was to Norfor. The next obstacle on his route to total Shas’eran destruction.

Of course Neka knew, as he sat on his horse, breathing in the cold air of the hills, that he could not commit his whole army to an attack in Norfor. A hardy rearguard would need to be left in Tentak to defend from a southern attack. Neka doubted such an attack would come, but it paid to be cautious. He also needed a base of operations, and Tentak, perfectly positioned in the centre of the continent, and an easy escape path in events went awry, would do nicely.

Neka smiled as he saw his light cavalry burst from the left ridge and charged into the fleeing peasants attempting, and failing, to cross the tall hills that were common in this rugged area. The horsemen struck hundreds down in the original collisions and many more died by the sabre as they continued their unstoppable charge. He began to trot his horse carefully down his own hill as he watched it turn from a swift attack into a massacre. His royal guard followed close behind. They were grinning too. It was infectious.

It was as his forefathers had always prophesised. This continent would one day by under their control once more. Everything was going to plan.

Thanks for that.

Here's some of Chapter 7. I need particular help on the dialogue and relationship between the Earl and Esben.

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The clear water brushed up and down the silky sand, the great leaves of the palm trees swept randomly in the morning breeze, as the sunrise completed, leaving the islands bathing in lush sunshine. To one boy it was his favourite time of the boy. As soon as he had throttled down the little food he was given, he sprinted from his beachside home and onto the long wooden pier, stretching out into the gorgeous ocean, and sat, legs dangling, on the furthest edge out.

And waited patiently. He stared out across the blue fields into the ever-distant horizon, hoping to spot the familiar small sail he spotted in the harbours. Minutes passed slowly. But today, as with the past few days, there was no sign. Feinting disappointment, he attempted a smile in the pleasurable sun, but deep in his heart a heavy weight pulled downwards.

A large woman stepped out of the door and shook her head at the young boy on the pier, as she washed a plate apathetically with an old cloth. She wore long, non-clinging garments, bright in meadow greens and shocking reds. Despite her disapproval, she bore a massive smile and allowed a little chuckle, “Funny little lad,” she murmured to herself.

The boy carried on watching, but a little while later he sighed, defeated.

“Carben, hey! Come in here and help me now lad, lots of washing!” she yelled across the quiet beach. The boy got up lethargically and made such a small task look like a large effort as he trundled his way up the pier, creating a satisfying thud sound as his feet pounded against the wore down wood.

“Auntie Mayra, do you think they’ll come home soon?” he asked with a sweet smile as he ran up to her.

“I’m sure they will young one, don’t worry yourself. Now help me with these plates and you can go play with your friends,” she replied, rubbing his long brown hair as she did and hoping he hadn’t noticed the artificial tone she had put on. It would be a miracle if they got back, so many had died recently it was almost expected. She made a mental note to go by the warehouse later to check the status. She hoped fervently there was enough.

Mayra watched as the little boy scrubbed hard to no avail against a stain on one of the larger plates. However, he didn’t give up, rather he grasped the cloth with both hands and rubbed as hard as he could. Soon after he cried in triumph as the lodged bit of food was extricated from the dish. She smiled, he was a mischievous boy, but he never gave up.

* * * *

A dark figure slipped unnoticed out of the tall doors. He pulled his dark tunic to cover his face, and taking a quick glance down both sides of the path, he darted across to the other side, behind a building. His pace was hurried as he tackled the steep slope around the side of the dominating buildings he had just exited, targeting the large castle on the peak of Norforda’s tallest hill.

It wasn’t longer before he had completed his task. His eyes were busy, watching everywhere, as if he was expecting to be followed. Little did he know that his worries were justified. A small figure was hidden just yards from where he stood.

The man carried on his journey regardless of his follower, making it to the castle walls. He took several quick glances round, before tapping thrice on a part of the wall. The man disappeared inside.

His follower watched with interest. As soon as he saw the man leave he took out a rope from his belt. Attached on the end was a grappling hook. He stroked it with a smile, and swung it back and forth before releasing it. It went far up, and clattered to a half over the castle battlements. He tugged it slowly, and fed it back to himself. Before long it was no longer possible for him to pull. It was well and truly stuck in place.

He dashed to the wall, and when he reached there, he rubbed his hands in a peculiar fashion, and without ado he launched himself onto the wall. The speed with which he managed to clamber up the smooth surface was astounding. His hands did not slip at all, the mixture he had been given was unquestionably competent, and it was worth the money he had paid. Despite his swiftness, the climb still took a while, and by the time he had swept himself over the battlement the first whispers were just about audible.

However, in his haste he had forgotten to check the coast was clear as he positioned himself in a crouch just over the wall. He turned to look down the firestep and cursed silently as he barely made out a figure approaching. In his shadowy location, the man had not seen him yet, but it was only a matter of moments. Grasping something from inside his jacket, he quickly dipped it in a small vial from his belt. As the approaching guard walked on, he threw it cleanly. The man dropped dead, a small dart protruding from his neck. Luckily he had fallen with little noise.

Taking a quick check of the man’s pulse, which was safely gone, he darted across the firestep towards the large conical tower on the corner. A light shone from an arched window close to his own height. Stopping just metres from the opening, he kneeled right down and listened intently.

A door was shut quietly and a shuffle of footsteps indicated to the man that someone had entered.

There was a sharp intake of breath.

“Am I that dreadful, my old friend?” said an aged voice, croaky and sick.

“I am sorry, my lord, it’s just I expected the agile and eager Earl I once grew up with,” a second voice said sadly. His was deeper and more assured.

“I fear that man is gone. I am old, my friend, I feel the weight of my exploits pulling at my life. It will not be long now,” the older voice said.

“Don’t speak like that, Jem. The doctor informed me there was still a chance of recovery,” the confident voice said with hope.

There was silence. The man listening decided it was worth taking the risk of being seen just to know who was talking to the Earl. He crawled up slowly and leaning against the battlement, managing to peek in. All he could see was small part of the room. But it was a good position. Directly across from his view was a large mirror, giving him the full picture. And he was shielded from their glares and so would avoid being seen, which was definitely not what he wanted. This sort of information would be priceless. Well, not priceless. A large bag of coins would satisfy him.

He watched curiously as a tall, well-built man, with an unshaven face and grim expression knelt down by the bed. The man he had followed without a doubt, from his long black robes. The standard dress of the Council Guard.

“I’ve found something out that will lift your spirits, at least,” the tall man spoke, his voice that of the second man, very deep.

“Pray tell me. As long as it isn’t another of these “miracle cures” this young doctor keeps telling me of. The last took me to toilet far too much, I can tell you” the Earl said, from his comfortable position laid down on the bed.

The tall man’s hardened expression instantly switched to a smile, and a then a small chuckle, “This might be a little hard to believe, though.”

“Spit it out man! I haven’t got all day!” the Earl replied, but taking a quick glance around added, “Alright, I do. There’s not all too much you can do trapped in this room.”

“I see you’ve regained you’re humour at least,” said the tall man.

“Is it your intention to keep me in tension like this? It’s not making me feel any better, surprisingly,” the Earl said.

“My sincere apologies, oh gracious Lord,” he said sarcastically, but his voice changed to a more serious tone, and he carried on, “What I have to say…it…it involves your son.”

The man outside listening to the conversation increased his concentration. When the man at last told the Earl, he could go from this cold place and receive the money. And then get blindingly drunk in some tavern. Far from this dank citadel, he hoped.

He looked into the mirror and saw the Earl’s expression turn dark, “My…My son? You must be mistaken. My son is dead. I thought of all people, you would know not to bring up this subject lightly.”

“I am being serious, my Lord. I have seen your son. I have seen Ravin. And he looked pretty alive to me, although my judgement is clearly flawed,” the visitor replied.

The man outside was ready to leave. The Earl had been told. That was enough for his money. But his inquisitiveness took the better of him, and his legs didn’t move. A little extra money would be on the cards if he held on a little longer.

The Earl fell silent for a while, before speaking again, “You have been my friend for an age, Esben. If anybody else told me this I would not trust him or her. But I know you are sincere. It’s just…I find it impossible for he to be alive.”

“I know, Jem. But it’s true. I hardly could believe my own eyes. It was he, all right, although he’s grown a lot since I last saw him. Looks like a real man, now,” Esben said.

“Tell me, please, where did you see him?” the Earl said hopefully.

Esben looked fearful, “The Council…” he started.

The Earl sat up quickly, and said, “They have him?”

“Yes. I am sorry.”

“But why?” the Earl said, desperate for information.

“Smuggling, I heard. I’m sorry, Jem.”

“I must save him, Es. If he’s alive after all these years, I can’t let him die by the orders of those evil men,” the Earl said defiantly.

Bingo, the man outside thought. Treason from a Lord? This was worth staying for. Forget drinking at taverns. Soon he’d own a tavern.

“I know how it must feel. But even if you were fully fit, this would be impossible.”

“I don’t care, I must save him. Against the Council or not. I must do this before I die, Esben. Will you assist me?”

“I don’t know…I could lose my job, maybe even my life,” Esben sighed and shrugged his shoulders, “One last adventure, eh? I’m not promising much, but I’ll try.”

“It’s all I ask, my old friend,” The Earl smiled.

* * * *

Ravin sat, pensive, in his cell. The conversation that had finished minutes ago was not the subject that controlled most of his thoughts. He’d already made his decision, even before it had been suggested he take some time alone to think it over. No, the think that consumed his mind was something else. His father.

It had been over ten years since he had last seen him. Predictably, it had been an argument. There had been many far worse they had shared, but this was the one the he remembered most vividly, and not just because it was the last one in his memory.

That wasn’t why. He closed his eyes and let the memory flow.

“Don’t turn your back when I’m talking to you boy!” his father had shouted, as Ravin strode angrily away.

Ravin swung round, his face a mess of total fury with absolute loathing, “That’s rich coming from you,” he spat in front of him as he spoke, “You turned your back from that man in the square. Like a coward. That’s what you are. A coward.”

“I’ve tried talking to you boy. I’ve tried shouting at you. But in all my life, I’ve never met anybody who thought stupidity was a virtue. Don’t cross that line, boy. I didn’t walk from that man because I was afraid. I walked away from that man because I wasn’t afraid,” his father had replied. He remembered him being so calm. Strange, Ravin thought, because he had regretted those words as soon as he had spoken them. He had expected his father’s usual response.

“I hate you. I don’t want a coward as a father; I want a real man, a strong man. All the other children tease me. You embarrass me,” Ravin had said.

His father hadn’t replied. He’d simply walked up, looked him in the eyes and struck him across the face, hard. Ravin had collapsed against the ground, the first trickles of tears falling from his eyes as he ran from the room. But as he reached the door, he turned, “I’m going somewhere you’ll never find me, ever.”

The incident in the square he had never forgotten either. His father was to take Ravin to see the new arena that was being built. Ravin had sat in wonder hearing about the tales of its size and had begged his father to go. They went down to the city centre, on an cheap cart with a couple of guards.

“Why don’t we ride in one of the better ones, father? This makes us look like peasants,” the young Ravin had asked.

“One day you’ll learn that advertising your wealth isn’t a good thing,” his father had growled back. Ravin knew now, but back then he remembered his pompous childhood. He had loved being rich.

“I don’t understand, father,” Ravin said.

“You never understand, boy. Watch and learn.” Ravin didn’t understand that either, but didn’t reply as he sensed his father’s aggravation. He had always been irritable back then.

They travelled through the crowds of the weekly market, until they reached a large square. The building site of the arena was just through it. However, it was notoriously full of thieves. On that day it was heaving full of citizens.

“Watch and learn, boy,” his father repeated as they made their way slowly through the large horde of people. Ravin, who was trapped in the castle often, stared in wonder at the many stalls of the market, seeing fruits and exotic food from afar. He remembered seeing a man with a nasty scar on his face who’s grin scared him so much that he turned away and didn’t dare look back.

It all went wrong when suddenly the crowd had parted. Ravin had grasped his father’s arm as it revealed a gang of dirty clothed men, grinning maliciously and holding daggers.

“Give us some of yoo coin and we won’t kill ya,” said one at the front. It was the horribly scarred man Ravin had seen moments before.

Ravin’s father had motioned to his guards to stop, as they began to step down, “I’ll deal with this.” The two guards looked at each other, but one said, “Yes, sir.”

There was rapturous laughter from the gang of men, of about four or five. Ravin couldn’t even remember what had happened to the rest of the crowd, but that was probably because his attention at the time was fixed completely on the soon-to-be violent situation.

“This old men thinks ‘ee can deal with us, lads. Shall we show ‘im what we do to people ‘oo don’t do what they told?” they all nodded, and the scarred man stepped forward, bringing his knife upwards and grinning menacingly. He had brought it down fast, and for a moment Ravin thought his father had been hit and had gasped, but he was mistaken. Instead, his father had calmly knocked the knife out of the man’s hand. How the man then happened to be on the floor, he never knew.

“I’ll give you two options, thief. One, you run. This choice allows you to live. Or you could take number two, which is where I hand you over to my guards, who will happily show you to the Watch.”

He had still laughed, his ugly face screwing up even more, “My four lads ‘ere will sort you out. Won’t ya?” he glimpsed round, but only saw dust rising.

Ravin then had the courage to shout, “Kill him, father! He doesn’t deserve to live!”

Ravin remembered his father’s look to this day. It was a face of utter disappointment, like everything he had ever told Ravin had come to nothing. His father dropped the knife and walked away. The scarred man ran after his friends.

Ravin was thrown back into the present as a clang hit his bars.

“They want yoo back up there…” the guard said, motioning with his hand the Council chambers far above. Time to give his decision…

. To a casual observer from afar, it would look like a shadowy dark construction on one side, but on the other a bright swelling market of colour and waking citizens.

A sole trumpet

"Enough! This girly bickering is getting us nowhere!”

“You’ll ‘af to get up if you want some, lazy guts,”

We have a preposition for you,”

So much is true for me also, please get to the point,”

Thanks for that. I'll be writing the next chapter after Christmas, too busy with presents and everything!

I finally caught up on reading this. It's pretty good I don't usually like omniscient povs, but I think it works well in the first scene. I like your descriptions.

Oh and the only slight pov error I noticed was in the last scene.

The sky above Norforda was watercolour painting of swirling blue tones mixed exquisitely with soft pink clouds.

In contrast to the bright morning, the tired council raged on in their dark environment, each member looking weary and expressions hoping for it to end soon. But the debate had been incessant throughout of the night and there was little hope for an end in sight.

“I’m still not convinced a law-breaker who is uncivilised and not trained in Norfordian manner should be able too represent our nation on such a significant matter!” fumed Orden as he ripped apart his chicken breast.

“I do not think it is within Councillor Orden’s power to prophesise a man’s manner and personality before he has even met the individual. Perhaps he should not be so hasty to stereotype,” replied Revolion, his usual calmness replaced by a sneer of dislike.

“Enough! This girly bickering is getting us nowhere!” Aranion’s booming voice silenced the room.

“What do you mean?” asked Ravin, eyeing the man suspiciously.

Ravin didn’t flinch.

Ravin turned to the left and looked at Armen with that same unwavering face, and felt as if the man was giving him some sort of appraisal to see whether he should reply.

In that moment where both pairs of eyes bore into each other, the room went oddly quiet, and Armen noticed the curious yellow ring that outlined the otherwise dark eyes of the man. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“It cannot be…The Earl’s son died long ago,” he with a quiet whimper.

Armen was curious, “Why should we believe your story? You have no proof of any sort.”

“Then it will ail you to hear the old Earl is greatly ill. He has been in a dire state for some months, balancing between the two worlds of life and death. We cannot move him from his bed, and equally, we cannot take you to him.” Armen said, with a hint of sympathy.

“This bickering is pointless. This is clearly not the reason you have brought me up, unless you enjoy the sight and sound of me so greatly,” Ravin replied sharply.

“Sorry, sir,” Corda said and stood up straighter, “This smuggler had several archers in his group which took down some of men before we were able to close them down. He then counter-attacked just before we came into contact, which because of the speed of our assault, meant most of the front line of men died before they had raised their swords. Also, he took full advantage of the cave’s narrowness, deploying his men in a single line, enabling him to use all his men at one time. Our larger force was only able to use the same amount, so our advantage in numbers never helped.”

“I’d love to say you’d do it because you loved your country, although in your case it is obviously not applicable. I’ll tell you why. We found a map on one of your men. I have a thousand men waiting for my call to go and attack your smuggling town. Once we confiscate all that stolen food, I doubt the people of the Thousand Isles will survive much longer. Do this for us, or everyone you’ve ever known or loved will die.”

Chapter 6. Usual job, just spot some typos and grammar mistakes for me, bad sentences, etc etc. And POV, which I think I screwed in this chapter too. Thanks for any help!


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The sky above Norforda was watercolour painting of swirling blue tones mixed exquisitely with soft pink clouds. It was early morning, and the rising was still partially concealed behind the distant mountains, but its powerful rays betrayed its presence. They flashed across the valley and illuminated the stone buildings that made up the City of Stars. To a casual observer from afar, it would look like a shadowy dark construction on one side, but on the other a bright swelling market of colour and waking citizens.

A sole trumpet rang out in the city. It was soon followed by the knocking and clanging from the ancient bell towers, as the historic objects swung to and fro to signal the beginning of a fresh day. Wildlife stirred across the plains, birds tweeting and celebrating, and cockerels announcing dawn’s arrival loudly. The first movement emerged within the city walls as the inhabitants went about their business, oblivious to the furious argument proceeding above them.

In contrast to the bright morning, the tired council raged on in their dark environment, each member looking weary and expressions hoping for it to end soon. But the debate had been incessant throughout of the night and there was little hope for an end in sight.

“I’m still not convinced a law-breaker who is uncivilised and not trained in Norfordian manner should be able too represent our nation on such a significant matter!” fumed Orden as he ripped apart his chicken breast. He had been in most conflict with Revolion, who was stubborn in his attempts to use a different ambassador to meet with the Machuli.

“I do not think it is within Councillor Orden’s power to prophesise a man’s manner and personality before he has even met the individual. Perhaps he should not be so hasty to stereotype,” replied Revolion, his usual calmness replaced by a sneer of dislike.

“I was unaware that Councillor Revolion was in possession of the ability to conjure up criminals with noble blood and etiquette to suit the training of a Norfordian ambassador with experience in his field,” said Orden, talking with his mouth full, almost spraying the nearby servant with gnawed parts of bread.

“Enough! This girly bickering is getting us nowhere!” Aranion’s booming voice silenced the room. He got out of his high chair and began pacing the room, in his usual manner, “It makes no difference what either of you believes,” and pointing at the aide stood by the door, he commanded, “You! When is the prisoner to be executed?”

“Today, m’lord. Later in the afternoon,” the man said nervously, hoping to satisfy his master.

“Go down and bring him up here. Let’s meet this man at last,” his words were said with such authority that every Councillor kept mouths shut. Armen had sat through most of the night like this, but he was very curious about this smuggler and waited expectantly.

* * * *

Ravin was awoken by a sharp bang to his cell bars. Grudgingly opening his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of an armoured guard waving food around his head. The man smiled, looking pleased with himself.

“You’ll ‘af to get up if you want some, lazy guts,” he said, while running the plate of bread and cheese along the bars, creating a noise that ringed in Ravin’s ears. With a heave he threw himself out and stood in front of the guard. The man quickly stepped back and chuckled, “I don’t fall for dat one anymore.”

And putting the food on the floor, he gave it a hefty kick and laughed as Ravin picked up the remains of the food splattered across the stones, “’Af a good breakfast.” His laughter echoed as he walked away. Ravin chewed the bread and cheese quickly, which pained his stomach, which had been starved for the last few days. He shrugged off the indigestion as he realised he’d be dead this time tomorrow; his carcass would be swinging from the rope, slowly.

The inevitable haunted him. For all his life, he had run from death, his worst enemy. Forever it trailed in his path, always coming close, but not close enough. Now it had grabbed him by the wrist and was swiftly pulling him to its shadowy domain where his soul would be tortured for eternity.

Now he couldn’t escape. He’d been caught and he’d have to pay the due punishment. Sometimes he had asked himself, why do a job where the risks are so high? And the same answer was always there. Maria was a town with vibrant people and atmosphere, and he loved the children too much. He couldn’t let them starve. He chuckled to himself. Little Carben will probably be in trouble again with Aunty Mayra. Mischievous little kid, he thought, he’d miss him when he was gone.

“Oi, you, down dere!” shouted the guard.

Ravin turned to look and stood up again, “What?”

The guard began a slow walk down the corridor, swinging his keys as he did and whistling a joyful tune, before reaching Ravin’s cell, “You must ‘af a guardian angel or somefin matey, otherwise your jus a lucky bugger,” he said with a toothless grin, as he turned the lock to Ravin’s cell.

“What do you mean?” asked Ravin, eyeing the man suspiciously.

He gave a hearty laugh, and finally opened the door and let it swing, with a noisy creak, as far as it would go, “Orders from upstairs, top floor. Dey wants speak to you.”

Ravin was stunned, but his heart leapt at the chance of freedom. It was swiftly put down though, by the sudden realisation that whatever these people wanted to speak to him for, it was probably nothing good. Maybe even an interrogation of some sort. He swore silently to tell them nothing.
As the guard led him up the winding stairs from behind, he said, “Who’s top floor?”

“The Council. No more questions now,” the guard said finally, and give him a prod with his finger to get a move on.

* * * *

Armen sat patiently with his arms folded. The subject intrigued him; Aranion’s decision to bring the man up here was a little strange. He knew something was afoot, and was sure Aranion knew something the rest of them didn’t. Typical, he thought. Aranion will want to show it off in front of us, make himself look superior, as always. Some people never change.

Distant footsteps padded against the outside corridor, and Armen sat up instantly, his expression changing from boredom to interest in one swift movement. His eyes locked onto the two doors marking the entrance to the council chamber, as they swung rapidly outwards, revealing four men standing there. Two were the Council guards in black dress, but a third, wielding a lengthy sword, was of the dungeons. In front of him stood a dark man with an air of confidence that unnerved Armen. In such a situation, Armen doubted he could stand so straight or look so unworried.

“Bring him before the Council,” said Aranion calmly. The two Council guards impeccably grasped the man’s arms and moved him hastily to their master’s command. He was let go in the middle of the men, but Armen noticed his eyes had never moved from Aranion’s.

“What is your name, criminal?” Aranion said with a hard tone.

Ravin didn’t flinch. Armen smiled.

Aranion stood up, raging, “I asked you your name, you will answer me, or I will have you cut down!”

“Tell me this, why should I bother whether you cut me down here or string me up on a rope? I’m going to lose my life either way. I’d rather you told me why I was here and we could get this matter over with instead of you starting to throw a tantrum all over the place, like a small child who doesn’t receive what he wants. Have some dignity, my lord,” Ravin said. Armen attempted to change his laugh into a spluttering cough but it wasn’t well disguised and Aranion shot him a harsh look.

“Can we have some order in this room, please!” High Councillor Aranion raised his voice a lot, and the Councillors all gave him affronted expressions.

Armen regained his composure and spoke. “What is your name?”

Ravin turned to the left and looked at Armen with that same unwavering face, and felt as if the man was giving him some sort of appraisal to see whether he should reply. In that moment where both pairs of eyes bore into each other, the room went oddly quiet, and Armen noticed the curious yellow ring that outlined the otherwise dark eyes of the man. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

The man, still not looking away, said, “My name is Ravin Machak.” There was sharp intake of breath from everyone in the room, especially from High Councillor Aranion who now looked at Ravin with a new face.

“It cannot be…The Earl’s son died long ago,” he with a quiet whimper.

“I assure you, I am the son of the Earl of Machak and his rightful heir.” Aranion face turned to one of horror and he turned away.

Armen was curious, “Why should we believe your story? You have no proof of any sort.” Armen, although not one to believe such a lawbreaker, wondered why the man spoke with such eloquence. Only a person brought up in the highest of society would speak so assured.

“You are right. I have no evidence to back up my claims. If you were to bring the old man to see me, though, he would undoubtedly cement my story.” Ravin spoke with a new voice, one echoing of pride.

“Then it will ail you to hear the old Earl is greatly ill. He has been in a dire state for some months, balancing between the two worlds of life and death. We cannot move him from his bed, and equally, we cannot take you to him.” Armen said, with a hint of sympathy.

“Then you will have to take me on my word,” Ravin responded.

A laugh bellowed across from Armen. It was Councillor Orden, who stopped quickly, “You expect us to believe the word of a man who has broken the laws of this country, punishable by death? What kind of fools do you take us for?”

“This bickering is pointless. This is clearly not the reason you have brought me up, unless you enjoy the sight and sound of me so greatly,” Ravin replied sharply.

Aranion, who had been absent from the discussion for a little while, did not restraint the man. Armen looked enquiringly over at him, but all he found was a man who’s ferocity seemed to have been quelled. No longer did he look like ripping the man’s head off but instead stared meekly at Ravin, and said, “You are right. There is a much more important reason you were brought up here, and that was not to establish your background. We have a preposition for you,” he paused, and looked up at the ceiling in though, before continuing, “Guard, bring in Captain Corda. He should be waiting outside by now.”

One of the men draped in long black uniforms moved quickly across the dark floor to the entrance doors, and looked round into the corridor. He moved back to allow the man in. Ravin half turned and saw the man that had beaten him soundly in their fight. As his eyes watched the short, aged Captain, a sharp pain in his leg reminded him of the hefty kick the man could give.

Captain Corda stopped only a small distance into the room, “You called, sir?”

“We need you to inform us personally of the performance of this man…” Aranion began.

Corda interrupted, “Did you not receive my written report?”

“Do not be insolent. Of course I did, don’t interrupt me again,” Armen noticed Aranion had regained his usual pleasant manner, “Do as you are told. How did this man manage to kill so many of our men?”

“Well, they were well situated in a defensive position, sir, which meant it was hard for our soldiers to attack…” Corda started, but was stopped by Aranion’s booming voice.

“Goddamnit it man, answer the question! Don’t try and explain the weaknesses of your men by blaming terrain! I want to know how this smuggler managed to defeat most of your men in combat with half a dozen men.”

“Sorry, sir,” Corda said and stood up straighter, “This smuggler had several archers in his group which took down some of men before we were able to close them down. He then counter-attacked just before we came into contact, which because of the speed of our assault, meant most of the front line of men died before they had raised their swords. Also, he took full advantage of the cave’s narrowness, deploying his men in a single line, enabling him to use all his men at one time. Our larger force was only able to use the same amount, so our advantage in numbers never helped.”

“That is a good appraisal of the event. Exactly what I was able to understand by reading between the lines in your report. You are dismissed,” Aranion said, waving his head to signal his departure. As Corda walked off, Ravin and him glared at each other. Corda smiled.

“You have tactical knowledge?” Aranion addressed Ravin, with a less harsh tone, as if he wanted to avoid offence. Armen was totally confused, Aranion usually bullied everyone. Why should he be scared of a simple criminal, despite his claims to be an Earl’s son? Armen doubted it was that Aranion was shocked a noble could be against the law, after all, Aranion had been a commoner once.

“Taught to me by my father.”

Aranion didn’t seem bothered by this comment and carried on undeterred, “I am going to be frank,” he continued, not bothered by Ravin’s muttering of “At last.”
“A Barbarian army has invaded Tentak. According to their reports, it’s massive. The Tentak army has no chance against it. We assume the Barbarians want total destruction of the continent, so we need to take the necessary precautions to defend our country.”

“You refer to the fact under the order of this Council the army has been shrunk to under half its original size,” Ravin inquired knowingly.

Aranion seemed mildly surprised that Ravin came by this information, “Yes, exactly. We need some allies. It is doubtful the peasants will volunteer by there thousands.”

“Perhaps if you tried feeding them correctly they may be more likely to accept your ideas,” Ravin said solemnly.

“This is not the time nor the place to discuss the problems of the famine. I’m going to be honest. We need your help. You’re resourceful. You’re a true fighter. You’re exactly the right type of scum we need.”

“They say flattery gets you nowhere. So much is true for me also, please get to the point,” Ravin said.

“We want you to be a negotiator for us and propose an alliance with the Machuli people. All our former highborn ambassadors have been killed, or are just missing,” Aranion replied.

“Machuli? The jungle state? And what would be my incentive to do such a task in your name?” Ravin said.

“I’d love to say you’d do it because you loved your country, although in your case it is obviously not applicable. I’ll tell you why. We found a map on one of your men. I have a thousand men waiting for my call to go and attack your smuggling town. Once we confiscate all that stolen food, I doubt the people of the Thousand Isles will survive much longer. Do this for us, or everyone you’ve ever known or loved will die.”

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Thanks for reading, Fire.

Thanks guys. I'll be sure to look over these typos and stuff over the weekend. Like I say, I was in a rush, and didn't check it at all.

Yeh the viewpoint of the Council kinda got mixed up. I'll try and re-write some parts more into Armen's eyes to prevent less confusion. Change some names too, I do seem to like 'A' beginning names.

Nooo...not the "too" again. I have some obsession with this word. I really should read an english text book and check up on my "to" and "too".

Thanks, anyway.

Hey, finally got time to read. Ok, here's what I found that AOA hasn't pointed out:

Putting distance between her ex-captors was the only thing on her kind

Did you mean 'Kind' or 'Mind'? Typo.
Last time I stated that you liked 'too'. This one you seem to like 'obvious'. Only counted two, but would help to replace one.

You still do like the word 'too'. I found an instance:

To be perfectly honest, he had never got to know his daughter, and didn’t have a chance of knowing where she could have gone too.

I believe that should be 'to'.

You have a good point-of-view at the beginning and end, but it seemed to me you kind of lost the POV in the council-scene.

Well, I think that's all I found. Got kinda confused at the meeting, but that's probably just me. Nothing confusing about it upon close inspection, but at a glance-through...

Here's my rating:

Loved it. Once it gets spit-n-polished, it should get 'jaw-dropping'.

Well, that's why you have all your wonderful, proof-reading friends at YWS.
_________ _____________ ______________
Picky stuff first:

Councillor Armen was worried, for several, differing reasons.

Aranion had subtly meant, choose to support me, or die.

He had always looked in jealousy at those men who could always stop their daughter’s tears, hold them close and slowly rock them to sleep. He was never a man for sympathy or understanding, it was how he had ruthlessly made his way to the top

“In my opinion we have only option. Send for aid to Sepra, Ontria and Creva. They must surely send help in our hour of need,” Orden finally said with confidence.

There was burst of outrage from the table, the man across from Orden, a tall beady eyed fellow, threw up his hands and cried, “There will be public riots! No-one will accept such an old law!”

his head feeling incredibly dizzy

A better and more accurate description

Ravin thought they were underground anyway, from

He was cold too, the flimsy garments he had been issued little protection

Someone was running from someone.

and with the pace that her legs were running; she