They say the first blog post anyone does is the most difficult. This is true. But the second can also present a challenge. So I decided to give a short preview of my novel and let it speak for me, as it were. However, since this will only be a small portion of the entire novel it is important to give you some context.
Lancastrian: The Knight of Colchester is an alternate history story, not to be confused with the popular genre historical/fiction. This is more of a "what if" story. In this case it would be what if the French had won the 100 Years War before the popular historical figure Joan of Arc announced her intent to fight the English and the result of this defeat left England with economic and political strife.
Our story follows William, a young farmhand from a rural town popular for its wool distribution. As you can imagine, all begins well, just as in any novel, but William's life changes soon after we meet him.
Keep in mind that the section I chose to share is toward the end of the first chapter and therefor some context is missing. I hope you enjoy this excerpt from the first entry of the Lancastrian Series.
Several hours had passed when William was suddenly roused by the sounds of breaking glass and angry yelling. Startled, he quickly sat up, sweating and clutching Simon's sword. As his grip weakened he realized that Simon had not yet returned. Slowly standing up he thought he should peek his curiosity by investigating the commotion downstairs. When the door cracked open he could smell smoke. However, this was not from the pipes of bar attendees, for upon pushing the door open the rest of the way William peered over the balcony and saw a fire climbing slowly and steadily up the steps and around the balcony pillars. The place was empty, save a quick glimpse of a dark shape. Its face seemed to look up at the lad then it quickly ran out of the blazing tavern. William ran back to the room and grabbed the bag of gold and the sword then made his way out of the building, dodging the growing flames and crumbling roof.
There was no peace to be found outside as he saw the soldiers of Thurrock were running about fighting off raiders. The people of the town frantically ran about trying to escape death and flames. As William watched bewildered a burly man ran at him and tackled the boy to the ground. The sword was flung out of reach and the young shepherd was pierced in the side by a knife. Thinking it was his end, William closed his eyes and braced for the next blow. It never came, and instead of feeling another sharp pierce from the knife he felt blood dripping down on his face. He looked up and saw that his attacker had been skewered from behind by a great spear. Of course he expected to see Simon but rather there was an English soldier.
“You must leave, lad!” he said helping William to his feet. “This place is doomed! We are being overrun and will not last the night. Get out before it is too late!”
“I cannot! Not without my friend. He would not leave me behind and so I will not leave him!”
“Then you stay at your own risk,” answered the soldier after a short pause. “I cannot help you anymore. My duty is to save as many people as I am able. I have already done what I can for you but now I must move on. Go now!”
They parted; the soldier went and met with several others and a mounted knight who led them into the darkness toward the gate while William traveled down the main street searching for Simon. Although he knew nothing of wielding a blade he brandished the sword close to his wounded body, prepared to defend himself. Then remembering what Simon had gone out to do earlier he set his path toward the stables. When he arrived, however, it was empty and everything had been burnt and the town stores were looted; destroyed with their goods thrown throughout the streets. He began scanning the area and saw at the end of the road at the foot of a lamp post a single body lying on the ground. When William drew near the figure grew more recognizable; it was Simon. William ran to his side to find the man motionless, as if asleep, or dead. But a blade had been driven through Simon's gut. William began to weep. But suddenly, Simon grabbed him firmly.
“Do not feel sorrow!” he said choking on blood. “You must leave and return home while you have the chance!” William attempted to interrupt but was not allowed. “Take my sword as it belonged to your father first. Take the gold also. Do you remember the good knight who helped us yesterday? Go to your mother and take her to London. You must seek out that man and he will help you again. You cannot save me.”
With that Simon breathed his last, leaving William alone in his despair. He sunk his head on his friend's motionless body. For a moment William did not know how to react, but then he realized that he was no longer alone there in the quiet and empty streets. Turning around he saw Donatello; the large horse stood silently looking down as if trying to speak to the lad. This was indeed a blessing and already Sir Fastolf's desire to help William had been fulfilled. Looking back upon Simon's face one last time he gently closed his friend's eyes then climbed upon the black stallion and proceeded toward the nearest gate. No trouble befell him on the way out, for most of the looting and fighting now seemed to be at the other side of town. But hearing the terrible sounds of death and battle, even from a distance, twisted the boy's stomach. He was eager to put all of this behind him. Once out of Thurrock and a seemingly safe distance away William looked back at the town from atop a hill and saw flames shimmering underneath billowing clouds of smoke. The town had been destroyed. Then looking at the fields he saw distant and dark shapes moving quickly toward him. He could not be sure who they were but upon hearing thundering horse hooves and angry calls he was sure that these oncoming shapes brought trouble.
William kicked Donatello with both feet but was hardly prepared for the horse's reaction. Rearing up and darting off quicker than any animal could was enough to force William to grasp tightly on the reins and lean over the horse's neck. He was afraid to let go or even look up to see where he was going. He however had nothing to fear while riding, not even the pursuers, for they were rapidly losing ground on the Spanish horse. Donatello was bred for such a time as this, taking his rider quickly through a battle or toward a destination with great speed. However, this did not deter the pursuers from continuing their chase. Climbing the Langdon Hills William could see them still riding hard toward his direction. Donatello would not stand still for long knowing that danger was closely behind them. He rode on and soon they came back to North Benfleet where William saw many people lying dead on the ground. It seemed the assault on Thurrock had stretched further out into the countryside.
Still the chase went on, further into the night and further north into Essex, until they came to a heavily forested area north of Maldon. Here William hid off the path among the engulfing brush underneath a small outstretched cliff. He managed to get his horse down on the ground and together they sat waiting for several minutes before the patrol caught up. Despite Donatello's speed, William did not wish to be perpetually rushed to ride with haste through the night. They too stopped and began looking around this way and that, all the while speaking French. William peeked around and up through the shrub and saw the Fleur-de-Lis adorn their flags. The leader of this group was harsh toward his men, shouting at them even as they seemed to offer advice or ideas. William waited breathlessly, watching the black-clad knight dismount and walk in his direction. He came and stood not fifteen yards from where William hid, but he stopped and for an unknown reason, turned and went back to his horse. William listened as the galloping hooves became faint in his ear, but was yet too afraid to come out from his concealed area. He did not even shift enough to loosen his tight grip on the sword.
