I’m really excited. Writing has finally happened on both Confession and War for the North (working title). And I am so excited that I am going to share with you the opening to the latter and then go to bed so I wake up for my early seminar. I did just write this in an hour, so any feedback is greatly appreciated.
It had been a full year since Kalder Mallory had last heard from his daughter. He would worry every year, as the summer grew close and the snow began to thin, that this would be the year that no news came. Every year, sure as the Sun rises in east and sets in the west, Kalder worried, and every year a message came and he knew she was well. He would have liked to have seen her, but he was Doga, he could not leave his clan. His daughter would not set foot in the North, stubborn as ever. His men met her on the border just south of the clan camp, and in No Man’s Pass they traded in words.
“She’s well, Doga, her and her man both.”
Dorn Giantsblood was the latest man to meet with the Doga’s fabled daughter. He was a huge man, seven feet tall and built like a stone keep. His muscle was hard as the mountain, but he moved slowly and was particularly dull. Not that that mattered when he swung his axe. The worst of it was he was only seventeen and Kalder had to crane his neck just to look at the boy’s face. He had a heavy brow and small dark eyes that sparkled when he laughed. Dorn liked to laugh.
“That is good, did she say when she might return?” Kalder was not hopeful. He knew his daughter would return when she was ready, he just hoped he’d still be here when that time came. It had been near twenty years and he was no younger for it.
“The Farstrider plans to visit the Blue Citadel,” Dorn said. “Fancies a trip to the King’s court.”
Kalder frowned, his thick white eyebrows knitting together. His daughter had no love for the Southern King, no more than he did. It was likely her mouth would get her imprisoned, or worse, killed. This did not bode well.
“And what of the South?”
“Nothing. There’s nought to suggest an attack, she says.”
Kalder nodded his relief. That was good. No one wanted a war with the South, but no one knew what the South was thinking. What do they want? What are they doing? Will they invade? Only the Farstrider could tell them that. He ran a hand over smooth bald skin and through shaggy white hair. His hairline wasn’t receding quite so fast nowadays. He hoped that was a good sign. He adjusted his belt and cleared his throat.
“She’s got a pig.”
© Jessica Wiles, 2013