Excerpt: Horse Catcher

(Preliminary marketing image for 'Horse Catcher,' coming October 1.)

Kjarl and Akim and the others were lined up for inspection. With two men left to help his parents look after the farm, Kjarl had managed to recruit twenty-two men for what the Sheriff had promised would be ‘a week or ten days’ of soldiering. Every year in the late spring or early summer, after the crops were safely planted and coming up strong, the numerous local units of the Kirtele national militia of the county Sulatawia went on maneuvers.

These exercises took place under the watchful and critical eyes of men representing the Eyrie. Unfortunately, this year it seemed they were to be blessed by the presence of The Right Honourable Yphonius Cornelis himself, titular Eagle’s Head of the County, reporting back to the National Council. This year, with all the rumours of war going around, the usual air of levity that attended these martial gatherings was in abeyance. The Honourable Yphonius was reported a deadly serious person, with his piggy little eyes staring coldly into your own, even at the best of times.

Yphonius was a corpulent, sweating man, stiff in his ceremonial robes of office, which apparently he never took off, not even to bathe. A surly and argumentative man, his fat, glowering visage was quick to reflect displeasure at less-than-perfect performance or presentation. Kjarl and some of the others had already felt the bite of his tongue and a rather barbed wit. Kjarl’s stomach grumbled loudly, and he hoped the men next to him wouldn’t giggle. To draw the man’s attention was to draw his ire, they had quickly discovered.

It was a foretaste of the social graces he would no doubt exhibit at the first opportunity, for example lunch. This seemed to be seriously delayed by the lengthy proceedings. The gentle slapping of a cold rain did nothing to raise their spirits or to even drive down the flies who were also in attendance at this review of troops, squadron after squadron and man by man. All with the most horrid noises coming from what he assumed would be a band someday, if only they could learn to play their instruments. Combined with the rawness and inexperience of many of the troops, his own brave-looking little contingent included, it was a morning that could only be described as a comedy of errors, with some of their precision evolutions going horribly wrong. Sheriff Knolos had a lot riding on this inspection, for the concession was up for renewal in the autumn sessions of the National Council.

The stranger on his right was cursing softly, barely audibly, and Kjarl was cold, wet and hungry. An aide-de-camp brought out a dark, flat leather pouch and proffered it up to Yphonius, mounted upon a creamy white charger that Kjarl frankly envied. Taking out a scroll from inside it, the man’s voice called out loud and clear, so that all the men could hear and understand his words.

“By an act of the National Council of the Kirtele Nation, we hereby appoint Yphonius Cornelis District Commander for the County of Sulatawia, and do hereby and forthwith authorize him to raise troops, impress horses and wagons, and to purchase fodder, grain and other foodstuffs at fixed rates as set out in documents attached hereunder.”

As the fat man paused for breath a funny little sigh went through the assembled squadrons of troops. There was a single snort from a horse, perhaps more sensitive than most to the qualms and sudden mood swings of men.

“We hereby authorize The Honourable aforesaid Yphonius to appoint officers, to disburse monies, make payments to contractors, and dispense Military Justice….”

Another deep soughing murmur went through the troops, most of whom were full-time soldiers with the Sheriff’s troop, and who perhaps better understood the significance of the words being spoken.

“These articles of war are sworn this day at this Assembly, and shall be deemed to be in effect for the duration of any subsequent hostilities, which shall arise from definitions and instructions attached hereunder.” On and on it went, with Kjarl, for one, totally mystified.

But then, he’d never been on maneuvers before. With all the others sitting there impassively resigned to whatever happened next, he had no idea what to think.

“Well, that’s fewkin’ torn it.” A trooper behind him spat in disgust.

A long drum roll and a flourish of horns rang out as Yphonius’ personal bodyguard raised their lances in salute, all lined up on the other side of the square. The fat man raised a hand in acknowledgement, as he spurred his horse and trotted smartly out the gate.

Kjarl sat stone-faced in contemplation, with the hot eyes of his men on his neck, looking across to where Sheriff Knolos Ryngger sat watching the Eyrie’s men file past on their way out of the parade-square.

As the last of them rode by, the gathering of men and horses and local dignitaries let out their breath with a collective gasp, and the mutterings of three hundred and fifty men gathered into an ominous-sounding dull roar. Everyone was cursing and complaining at once. Kjarl spurred his horse, off to see Knolos and find out what in the names of the seven hells had just happened. There were a few minutes of waiting for the hubbub to subside, then he sat in the Sheriff’s large back room beside the plotting table, complete with a map of the county painted on the surface of the centre of it.

There were a dozen other sergeants and junior officers seated around the table, listening intently to the Sheriff.

“We must be prepared to move out at a half-hour’s notice.” Knolos’ orders seemed terribly optimistic to Kjarl, even with his limited experience. “We’ll leave a security force of experienced troopers here to maintain law and order. When I know more, I’ll tell you.”

He nodded and the others all rose with alacrity to attend to their duties and preparations.

“Stay for a minute, Kjarl.” The Sheriff held up a raised palm as the others shuffled out of the room without so much as a backward glance of curiousity.

“Sheriff.” The other man stepped in quickly with his explanation.

“I’m sorry, Kjarl, I really am. I swear by my mother’s grave that I had no idea. Luckily we don’t have anything on paper. I mean, you could take your boys and just ride off if you wanted to. But I sure hope you don’t.”

“No. I suppose I couldn’t do that.” Kjarl ground his teeth in dismay.

He was strongly tempted, though.

“Look, Kjarl, the whole thing has to do with the Tzclinacoque. They’re coming up the River, and there’s a huge army. Thousands of boats, animals, elephants—”

“So what’s an elephant?” Sherrif Ryngger sighed on hearing that.

His patience was being sorely tested today.

“They’re really big, they put little castles on their backs.” Kjarl just shook his head in disbelief.

“Look, Kjarl. There’s some possibility that we may go to war, if they come this way. But the likelihood is that it will all blow over in a few weeks.” Knolos scratched his belly. “You have to admit, the money’s good.”

“If we get called out, can my men take over patrolling the county?”

“I’m afraid not.” The Sheriff sounded regretful. “It’s a matter of procedures, writs, protocols have to be observed so as not to violate the natural rights of a citizen…”

Kjarl nodded that he understood that his men didn’t have that kind of training, or any training at all, for that matter. But the idea of taking them to war was patently ludicrous. If he walked away and war came, he’d look like a coward and feel like a skunk, and drag his men’s names in the mud. If he stayed, and war came, some of the boys might get killed. The others, feeling as tricked into this situation as he did, would blame him and everyone would treat him like a skunk. He was damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t. They’d hate his guts either way.

“All right.” He looked Knolos squarely in the eye. “But one, you can’t split up my men. Two, we’d better find them some place better than the stable to sleep, and I have a few more items after that.”

The Sheriff nodded with a sense of relief. It would have been bad for the morale of the rest of his troops if a large party were allowed to go home at the first sign of trouble or even mere hardship, which he knew it to be. It seemed they were back to horse-trading again.

“I’ll tell you what, Kjarl. There’s three gold pieces for every man who signs these articles, and an extra one for you as well.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess some of them will sign, but for how long?”

“We always try to give the men time off for the harvest.”

‘Sure you do,’ thought Kjarl.

He kept that thought to himself, along with some others.

END

After reading this, it struck me that it could be improved. Can you spot the changes?

Kjarl and Akim and the others were lined up for inspection. With two men left to help his parents look after the farm, Kjarl had managed to recruit twenty-two men for what the Sheriff had promised would be ‘a week or ten days’ of soldiering. Every year in the late spring or early summer, after the crops were safely planted and coming up strong, the numerous local units of the Kirtele national militia of the County of Sulatawia went on maneuvers.

These exercises took place under the watchful and critical eyes of men representing the Eyrie. Unfortunately, this year it seemed they were to be blessed by the presence of The Right Honourable Yphonius Cornelis himself, titular Eagle’s Head of the County, reporting back to the National Council. This year, with all the rumours of war going around, the usual air of levity that attended these martial gatherings was in abeyance. The Honourable Yphonius was a deadly serious person, with his piggy little eyes staring coldly into your own, even at the best of times.

Yphonius was a corpulent, sweating man, stiff in his ceremonial robes of office, which apparently he never took off, not even to bathe. A surly and argumentative man, his glowering visage was quick to reflect displeasure at less-than-perfect performance or presentation. Kjarl and some of the others had already felt the bite of his tongue and a rather barbed wit. Kjarl’s stomach grumbled loudly, and he hoped the men next to him wouldn’t giggle. To draw the man’s attention was to draw his ire, they had quickly discovered.

It was a foretaste of the social graces he would no doubt exhibit at the first opportunity, for example lunch. This seemed to be seriously delayed by the lengthy proceedings. The gentle slapping of a cold rain did nothing to raise their spirits or to even drive down the flies, who were also in attendance at this review of troops, squadron after squadron and man by man. All with the most horrid noises coming from what he assumed would be a band someday, if only they could learn to play their instruments. Combined with the rawness and inexperience of many of the troops, his own brave-looking little contingent included, it was a morning that could only be described as a comedy of errors, with some of their precision evolutions going horribly wrong. Sheriff Knolos had a lot riding on this inspection, for the concession was up for renewal in the autumn sessions of the National Council.

The stranger on his right was cursing softly, barely audibly, and Kjarl was cold, wet and hungry. An aide-de-camp brought out a dark, flat leather pouch and proffered it up to Yphonius, mounted upon a creamy white charger that Kjarl frankly envied. Taking out a scroll from inside it, the man’s voice was loud and clear, so that all the men could hear and understand his words.

“By an act of the National Council of the Kirtele Nation, we hereby appoint Yphonius Cornelis District Commander for the County of Sulatawia, and do hereby and forthwith authorize him to raise troops, impress horses and wagons, and to purchase fodder, grain and other foodstuffs at fixed rates as set out in documents attached hereunder.”

As the gentleman paused for breath a long sigh went through the assembled squadrons of troops. There was a single snort from a horse, perhaps more sensitive than most to the qualms and sudden mood swings of men.

“We hereby authorize The Honourable aforesaid Yphonius to appoint officers, to disburse monies, make payments to contractors, and dispense Military Justice….”

Another deep soughing murmur went through the troops, most of whom were full-time soldiers with the Sheriff’s troop, and who perhaps better understood the significance of the words being spoken.

“These articles of war are sworn this day at this Assembly, and shall be deemed to be in effect for the duration of any subsequent hostilities, which shall arise from definitions and instructions attached hereunder.” On and on it went, with Kjarl, for one, totally mystified.

He’d never been on maneuvers before. With all the others sitting there impassively resigned to whatever happened next, he had no idea of what to think.

“Well, that’s fewkin’ torn it.” A trooper behind him spat in disgust.

A long drum roll and a flourish of horns rang out as Yphonius’ personal bodyguard raised their lances in salute, all lined up on the other side of the square. Yphonius raised a hand in acknowledgement, as he spurred his horse and trotted smartly out the gate.

Kjarl sat stone-faced in contemplation, with the hot eyes of his men on his neck, looking across to where Sheriff Knolos Ryngger sat watching the Eyrie’s men file past on their way out of the parade-square.

As the last of them rode by, the gathering of men and horses and local dignitaries let out their breath with a collective gasp, and the mutterings of three hundred and fifty men gathered into an ominous-sounding dull roar. Everyone was cursing and complaining at once. Kjarl spurred his horse, off to see Knolos and find out what in the names of the seven hells had just happened. There were a few minutes of waiting for the hubbub to subside, then he sat in the Sheriff’s large back room beside the plotting table, complete with a map of the county painted on the surface of the centre of it.

There were a dozen other sergeants and junior officers seated around the table, listening intently to the Sheriff.

“We must be prepared to move out at a half-hour’s notice.” Knolos’ orders seemed terribly optimistic to Kjarl, even with his limited experience. “We’ll leave a security force of experienced troopers here to maintain law and order. When I know more, I’ll tell you.”

He nodded and the others rose with alacrity to attend to their duties and preparations.

“Stay for a minute, Kjarl.” The Sheriff held up a raised palm as the others shuffled out of the room without so much as a backward glance of curiousity.

“Sheriff.” The other man stepped in quickly with his explanation.

“I’m sorry, Kjarl, I really am. I swear by my mother’s grave that I had no idea. Luckily we don’t have anything on paper. I mean, you could take your boys and just ride off if you wanted to. But I sure hope you don’t.”

“No. I suppose I couldn’t do that.” Kjarl ground his teeth in dismay.

He was strongly tempted, though.

“Look, Kjarl, the whole thing has to do with the Tzclinacoque. They’re coming up the River, and there’s a huge army. Thousands of boats, animals, elephants—”

“So what’s an elephant?” Sherrif Ryngger sighed on hearing that.

His patience was being sorely tested.

“They’re really big, they put little castles on their backs.” Kjarl just shook his head in disbelief.

“Look, Kjarl. There’s some possibility that we may go to war, if they come this way. But the likelihood is that it will all blow over in a few weeks.” Knolos scratched his chin. “You have to admit, the money’s good.”

“If we get called out, can my men take over patrolling the county?”

“I’m afraid not.” The Sheriff sounded regretful. “It’s a matter of procedures, writs, protocols have to be observed so as not to violate the natural rights of a citizen…”

Kjarl nodded. His men didn’t have that kind of training, or any training at all, for that matter. But the idea of taking them to war was patently ludicrous. If he walked away and war came, he’d look like a coward and feel like a skunk, and drag his men’s names in the mud. If he stayed, and war came, some of the boys might get killed. The others, feeling as tricked into this situation as he did, would blame him and everyone would treat him like a skunk. He was damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t. They’d hate his guts either way.

“All right.” He looked Knolos squarely in the eye. “But one, you can’t split up my men. Two, we’d better find them some place better than the stable to sleep, and I have a few more items after that.”

The Sheriff nodded with a sense of relief. It would have been bad for the morale of the rest of his troops if a large party were allowed to go home at the first sign of trouble or even mere hardship, which he knew it to be. They were back to horse-trading again.

“I’ll tell you what, Kjarl. There’s three gold pieces for every man who signs these articles, and an extra one for you as well.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess some of them will sign, but for how long?”

“We always try to give the men time off for the harvest.”

‘Sure you do,’ thought Kjarl.

He kept that thought to himself, along with some others.

END

Note: After reading the second version again, I made more changes.

Confidence is Everything.

(Morguefile.)

Confidence is everything.

It’s true, isn’t it? Confidence is everything. For without confidence, at least some positive belief that we might succeed, we would never really try, would we? There’s no incentive without at least the possibility of success.

It’s a lot of work, after all.

The notion that we might try and subsequently fail is enough to put some of us off. What would our friends think? Why do we care? Their needs are different, and each must act according to their needs. That’s why we figure a family of five should live in a house, and a single male can get along fine in a one-bedroom apartment. We try new things, and maybe someone else carps about it. Let them. It helps them in some way, which is to the common good of all. Right?

But when we aren’t really trying anything new, we have little chance of failure. We don’t learn much from success. We learn a great deal from failure, not the least of which is that we can go on. Our lives are not over.

“We have just begun to start,” to badly misquote a famous American naval hero.

It is in fact failure that instills confidence. Because we did what we had to do, and we took it on the chin, and paid our dues. We put in our time in the trenches. At last, we have earned the right to succeed, or even just to be here.

As things stand, I am confident that I can finish any writing project that I choose to start. I am confident that I can edit it. I am confident that I can format it, and publish it, and market it, et cetera. This is a lot better than where I was three or four years ago, when I was scared shitless about self-publishing my first two e-books.

Yes, I am confident that I can create paperbacks, and one would suppose hard-covers if it comes right down to it. I didn’t know any of this stuff before I tried and failed…to hear them tell it.

You know I’ve made every mistake in the book. We’re only up to about Chapter Three on that one by the way, but the mistakes showed where the problem areas were. I didn’t know before that. I had to put it to the test and find out where the weaknesses in the plan, the skills, and the knowledge were.

We still have weaknesses. Should I write another novel and submit it around to major publishers again? Should I try to get an agent? But how long would that take? And what if it never happens? I should have more confidence, but of course I’ve been reading all the wrong stuff about this industry. I think I will check out a few other sources. Anyhow, I can’t rule it out. I have full confidence in making a proper submission, and full confidence in writing a book that could be published. As for whether it ever really would be published, the word is that it’s very hard to justify taking on new authors right now, at least for the publishers that I’m actually interested in. It would have to knock their socks off, not just be a good, clean, workmanlike novel. And I don’t have nearly so much confidence in that regard. It would have to have a brilliant premise, wouldn't it?

So there is this question of attitude. One of the things that strikes me is that pretty much every blogger or online columnist has an interest and a premise. When I re-post someone’s opinion, it very often mirrors my own opinion, which is natural, but doesn’t it also support my own premise? Don’t I post it to support my brand, and aren’t I posting it for the benefit of my readers, whether on a blog, or somewhere like Kindle Boards?

I throw in the odd link of an opposing viewpoint, but it’s hardly balanced fifty-fifty. Nowhere near it, in fact.

Do I actually have an opinion on where this industry is headed, and if so, how did I arrive at that viewpoint? Seriously, why would I have an opinion? It’s just a bunch of stuff that I read. I am what I read, and lately I seem to read a whole lot of opinions. I read some non-fiction, and I read very little fiction these days.

But I would carefully label some writer’s work as opinions, and not ‘non-fiction.’ Even though it’s not presented as fiction, I think it really is in some cases. Some things I read lately clearly aren’t geared to my needs, and I suppose that should be taken into account. The writer was writing for a very specific group, and I wasn’t actually in that group. I should bear that in mind. They were clearly expressing opinions, and fairly strong ones.

It’s meant to persuade, and that means someone has an interest, if only a very basic one like getting as many hits as possible on their blog or website, or who knows, it might be genuine altruism.

I’m always on the lookout for good blog posts and websites relating to books, stories, writing, editing and publishing. If they seem relevant to others, like my tweeps and feebs and fellow collaborators in this great conspiracy of life, I will re-post them when I see them.

Other than that, I try to be objective, but there are times when I wonder if I really am.

It’s easy enough to persuade ourselves, especially when we’re the ones doing all the talking.

Attitude is everything, and I have to admit, I’m not exactly brimming over with enthusiasm lately. It’s probably just a little phase I’m going through, and it will all clear up in about a week.

Comments are always welcome.