# Is this an anticlimax?



## HLGStrider (Nov 3, 2002)

This is a scene from the middle of a long story I'm writing... it's supposed to be really dramatic... but I'm worried it came out weak... express your opinion...

Malclay stood almost rigid as Airsara fastened a silver broach onto his shoulder. It was shaped roughly like the Guardian of the Winds and set with blue stones. He relaxed a little when she finished then moved his shoulders so that his cape fell more comfortably. 
"Really, Clay," she laughed. "You're as figity as a nine-year-old boy. Compared to me you are dressed quite simply." Airsara had her hair held up by a net of silver and sapphires. Her gown was pure white and very flattering. Upon her breast rested a pendant shaped like her husband's broach. 
"That's different," he scowled. "I'm a man, not some Kattia-Bay paper doll." She laughed again.
"I never knew you considered me a paper doll," she then mused.
"That's not..."
"I know it's not what you meant," she soothed. "This is an important day, however. On audience day the whole kingdom is before us, and they expect us to be well dressed." 
"Well dressed is one thinkg, but foppish is another."
"You're too manly to be a fop," she hugged him. He laughed quietly.
Perhaps it was only that he was Daypec, but he had never grasped the point of audience day. Getting an appointment to see the ruler of Kattia-Bay was not so hard that an open throne room was a huge occurance. Sometimes Malclay felt he'd interviewed half the island. He'd asked Blen to limit the amount of people gaining audience, but the kind hearted aide approved everyone who applied.
Airsara said it was mainly ceremonial, a chance for people to see them sitting on their thrones like real monarchs. 
"The Kattiat don't have enough ceremonies," she then sighed. "Besides, everyone needs a good excuse to have a holiday." Malclay laughed again.
"What's the worst that could happen?" he then commented. "I guess I'm game."
"You have to be."
The throne room was alive with people. The bustling crowd darted about like a school of fish. The confused murmur of their voices echoed on the marble ceilings. Despite the throng a path was cleared, and Malcaly and Airsara walked quietly to their thrones. Blen stood a little to the side , "looking official" as was his duty.
Only a few of the visitors actually had complaints. Complaints generally went to the senators not the monarchy. A few wanted to know about the Daypec-Bay forces.Would the navy be returning? Would Arzee be leaving? Was there any chance of the number of soldiers lessening? Would Kattiat taxes pay for them? Malclay answered as calmly and concisely as humanly possible. 
Some questions he could not answer satisfactorly, and they were inevitably rephrased and repeated. 
He could not garanty that the fleet would stay away forever, but there were no immediate plans to bring it back. Arzee would leave someday, but someday might be awhile away. Yes, the soldiers were already being shipped home. The amount would be halfed by the end of the year. No, Kattiat have no financial responsibility for the Daypec occupation.
Airsara patted his hand reassuringly. He nodded in acknowledgement. 
Behind the throne Blen yawned. Though no one took any notice of him he felt he needed to remain. His legs were growing tired, but he was used to it. Arzee had taken him to numerous functions whre he had done nothing but stand.
The morning wore on. A few of the people offered him condolences. The story of Steward Maytayn's brothers was all over the island. All remembered Cair as the hero of the Cyeart invasion of Kattia-Bay. No one doubted the tale of his heroism on Daypec, nor did they question Eban's part of the war. 
The references stirred Malclay's emotions like dust rising from a country road. Again he waned to forget, to come to terms with what had happened and put it aside. It took awhile for the memories to setle, allowing him to breathe freely. He concentrated on the warmth of his wife's hand which still rested on top of his. It was soft and real. She was soft and real. He would focus on that love, that life. 
"Shall I see about having lunch brought in?" Blen's voice interupted his thoughts. Malclay looked up. 
"Oh... sure," he nodded. He then turne his head towards Airsara. "Are monarchs allowed to eat on audience day?" She smiled laughingly.
"Yes," she replied. "We are."
"Go ahead, Blen." The aide strode off through the crowd.
He was only gone a few minutes. When he returned he positioned himself before the steward's throne. 
"Will cold beef be all right?" he asked. 
"Fine," Malclay nodded. Airsara smiled gladly. The thin slices of tender meat, cooked and then allowed to cool were her favorite meal. Her almost childlike appitite for them amused her husband.
It ws then that someone in the crowd gasped. The people turned from the throne towards the disturbance. They bunched together for a mometn before someone cried out "Give him some air!" They then dispersed to respectable distance. A young man of small stature was lying on the floor with an older man bending over him. Concerned, Malclay got out of his seat and walked towards the pair. Blen ambled after him, only mildly interested in what was obviously just a case of heat exhaustion, dehydration, or some other common malady.
Malclay stood above the boy. 
"Is he all right?" he asked.
"I think so," the older man nodded. "He just needs some air."
Blen turned to walk away, convinced Clay would follow. He brushed lightly against a Daypec soldier. The man had hair the shade of fresh butter... Blen paused. The uniform was Daypec, but the coloring was Kattia... He turned again, wanting a second look. He saw the man grip something under his shirt, something stuck in his waist band. Blen's eyes darted from the man to Malclay's exposed back less than two feet away. He sprang forward, knocking the man to the side. The man glared at him vehmently. He shoved Blen back, harder. The smaller man fell to the ground. 
Malclay heard the thud and turned. There was the glimmer of metal before him, lunging towards his chest. His breath caught in his throat. His mind went into overload. All the information formed an instant conclusion. He was about to die.
"Watch out!" The voice hit his ears about the same time as the glimmer hit his eyes, but it seemed to come an hour later. He felt a dull impact, not the sharp, stab of a knife but the heavy slam of Blen's body against his. He fell backwards on top of the older man. 
Blen winced as the knife penetrated his body, but he didn't stop. He grabbed the man by the collar, the only place he had time to catch. The knife hit again as Airsara's scream shattered the air, fragmenting it like a crushed mirror. The crowd rushed forward as the man made a vain attempt to push aside Blen and reach the stunned Malclay. They over came him, pulling him down and away. The knife clattered to the ground, blood spattering about it in tiny droplets. It looked like wine spilt upon thE marble floor. Blen's air escaped in a staggering breath, and he crumpled: legs folding at the knees, body at the waist, head at the neck. The image of a sail suddenly deflated after a strong wind his Malclay who just sat there, staring. Blen's eyes met his, conveying an instant understanding. His friend was hurt badly.
The man behind Malclay pushed him up and forward. 
"Are you all right, milord?" he kept repeating. Malclay didn't stop to answer. 
"Blen," he said, his voice weak. The aide tried to sit up, but the effort seemed to pain him. Malclay practically fell next to him. He never knew exactly how he managed to get Blen up without hurting him. He was running off a new instinct, one that understood pain and wounds. Blen unashamedly rested his head upon Malclay's chest, like a frightened child, longing for safety. He was half sitting now, more than he ws capable of on his own. Malclay crammed his hand over the wound trying to stop the spurting blood.
Airsara approached. Blen's shirt was turning a deep read as were portions of Malclay. She hd to be dreaming. Her hand reached up to finger her pendant. 
"God, please let this be my miracle," she heard herself whisper. "Give me this miracle. Let Blen be all right." 
Blen kept his eyes closed. The sight of his own blood had sickened him somehow. Worse was the taste of it, which now filled his mouth. The smell burnt his nostrils. He could vaguely hear Malclay yelling for a physician.
"D... don't bother..." Blen stammered. Malclay stared at him.
"Don't...? Blen, you're going to live. Just keep breathing!" Malclay all but snapped. 
"I'm trying," his friend nodded. 
"You're going to be all right," Malclay assured him. Oh God, don't let this happen, he thought desperately. 
Blen moaned. Airsara kept staring. Her husband and Blen were talking, but the words were too fast for her. They whirled past. The sphere did nothing.
"Please God... now is when I need it," she pled. 
A tear trickled down Blen's cheek.
"I don't want to die just yet," he whimpered. "Zeen and Phil need me." 
"You won't," Clay's voice was about to crack. But what if he does? Malclay tried to push off the thought, but it wouldn't leave him. "If... I'll take good care of them... while you're getting better," he stuttered. Blen wasn't fooled. He drew a jagged breath. It caught on the edges of his throat like a toothed saw on wood.


----------



## HLGStrider (Nov 3, 2002)

"Thank you," he murmured. "Steward Maytayn, it's been an honor working with you... and more of an honor being your friend... I... I'm glad... I met you... You're the best friend I ever had"
"Blen, you're worth more than all three islands with i-Clay thrown in," Malclay forced a smile. Blen smiled back but quickly winced. 
"Eyrie," he moaned. "It hurts."
"The physician will be here in a moment. He'll give you something for the pain." Malclay took a handkerchief from his pocket and held it over the wound. Blen opened his eyes.
"A Daypec does not fear death," he said. "I never understood why we were trained to say that until now... say it and mean it... It's...it's all right, Malclay... I'm... not afraid... I knowmy family wil be safe.. I just... didn't want it to end so soon."
"Blen," Malclay stammered, his eyes starting to water. "I'm sorry." Blen drew a deep breath.
"Tell Zeen I love her... and Phil as well. He'll grow up to be great... better than me." 
"No one could be beter than you," Malclay smiled. Blen smiled back. 
The physician arrived and knelt beside them.He uncorked a tiny, brown bottle and poured it gently into Blen's mouth. The aide swallowed looking relieved. Malclay carefully took the handkerchief out of the wound. As he did Blen sighed, a gentle, surrendering sigh. His body went limp. The doctor ignored the wound and instead felt for Blen's pulse. He shook his head. Malclay stared at him. 
"There was nothing... he's gone," the physician stated. Malclay's heart failed in his chest, stumbling and hesitating before starting again. 
Malclay gently lowered Blen's body to the floor. He then unfastened his cape and covered him with it. He stood. Airsara had collapsed into an acquaintance's arms. She was sobbing. The guilty party glared at Malclay. Malclay gazed coldly upon him. He took a step forward.
"You just murdered my best friend," he said, his calm voice masking a desire to scream.
"It was meant for you, you Daypec usurper," the man sneered. Malclay acted on instinct, his fist hitting the man right below the ribcage. The man doubled over but kept scowling. 
"I'm going to have you torn appart!" Malclay snapped. "You worthless, misbegotten, creature! Get the brute out of my sight!"
Somone in the crowd took control and pulled him away. Malclay stared down at his hands, stained red. He wiped them on his shirt. This only smeered the blood. He mumbled something illegible about washing and left the throne room. 
He mechanically navigated to his quarters. Once there he cast aside his blood stained garments. A basin of water, now only luke warm, remained from his morning shave. He clensed his hands and face. The pink swirls of blood snaked their way through the water, tainting it. He turned away.
He found a simple pair of trousers and a shirt and redressed. He then went to the kitchen and poured himself a glas of wine. Placing it before him he sat at the table, staring at nothing. He didn't feel like drinking any more than he felt like changing or washing his hands. He didn't even feel like breathing. 
There were arrangements to be seen to. Blen couldn't remain lying in the middle of the throne room. He also needed to tell Zeen. How would be break the news? What could he say to cushion the blow? Nothing... nothing could sweeten the bitterness. At least Zeen was strong. Strength was needed at this time. 
He strode down the hall and knocked gently upon the door. There was a quiet scuffling, and she opened it, her finger to her lips. She gazed thoughtfully upon him.
"Malclay? I was expecting Blen... I thought you were busy today? Phil's asleep... Do you wish to come in?"
Malclay's mind laboriously processed these sentences. He got the general gist and managed to nod.
Go slow, he thought. You can't attack her with it. He entereted and sat down when she offered him a chair.
"Is something wrong, Malclay?" she frowned. "You look stressed." She sat a little ways from him, staring inquisitively. He swallowed and lowered his eyes.
"Yes... Zeen, something bad had happened, " he said hoping his voice was gentle. Her face went from warm and alive to cold and rigid in a matter of seconds. 
"Is Blen all right?" she asked.
"No... he... there was an assassination attempt... on me.. Blen was... killed." She kept her mouth closed tight. Malclay fumbled for the right words to follow this statement. "I'm sorry," came to mind, as did "I wish it has been me," but as much as he meant them the words seemed empty. 
The sharp whine of Phil's voice spared him the effort. Zeen scurried from the room. He soon could hear her half choked voice soothing the baby. He looked down at his hands which rested a top his knees. He shuddered when he sighted the red tinge trapped beneath his nails. That this redness had once been a living part of a living man was sickening. He had no where to hid his hands so hesimply took his eyes away. 
Zeen emerged carrying the now pacified Phil. 
"Do you know where they've taken his body?" she asked. 
"I could find out," he stood up, glad to have an excuse for departure.
"Please do... there are arrangements to be made," she whispered.
"I can help. I told Blen I'd look after you," he broke in. She nodded. 
"Thank you, but I want to do what I can on my own... I need to keep occupied." He nodded, understanding perfectly. 
"I'll be here if you change your mind," he said before leaving. He knew she wouldn't. He would have used the work in the same way, to help him forget. 
Blen's body had been taken to a Death Room. Only large houses possessed these chambers, and it was normally empty. When ill fortune struck the body was brought there, cleaned and redressed for the funereal, and if necesary, examined by a physician to determine cause of death. Malclay avoided the area. He had no desire to see his friend's empty shell. He had to remember him alive.
The world was cold and empty.


----------



## Dragon (Nov 4, 2002)

Were Maclay and Airsara new monarchs? I also get the impression kattia and daypec are rivaling.... something. Ethnicities, kingdoms? Could I perhaps have a little background information?

It is a wonderful and descriptive piece. I wouldn't say it is anti-climatic, but I do not have the rest of the story to compare it to.


----------



## HLGStrider (Nov 4, 2002)

You understood pretty well, considering you had no back ground.

Daypec-Bay and Kattia-Bay are seperate islands, and so seperate countries.

Airsara is the hereditary ruler of Kattia-Bay. Malclay is the son of the admiral of Daypec, the bigger of the two countries. Malclay got the throne by marrying Airsara.

There are actually three countries:
Daypec-Bay (Bay is a suffix meaning home or country)
Kattia-Bay
and Cyear-Bay.

Kattia, at the begining of the book was ruled by Airsara's father. Airsara was betrothed to the prince of Cyear. However, six months before her wedding Trevar was murdered (they don't know who by). Cyear's ruler, Emperor Lilsar accused several high officials (senators) in the Kattia goverment of orchastrating the death in league with the Daypec and used this as an excuse to take over the island. 

The Daypect were quick to react and took the island from the Cyeart. Instead of leaving once they'd freed the island, however, Admiral Maytayn and the other military leaders put Malclay over Airsara as her steward to make sure she didn't conspire with her betrothed to put the Cyeart back in command. Airsara made eyes at Malclay, never having been too attached to her betrothed (she only met him once when she was 14) and the rest of that you can guess. 

When Malclay wed Airsara the Daypect used him to gain further political control by forcing Airsara to abdicate in favor of her new husband (this was not Malclay's idea. The king of Daypec went over his head). Malclay is therefore the Steward according to Kattia-Bay law (ie basically a superviser due to the fact that Airsara was too young to legally rule when he wed her... 17) and Lord according to Daypect rule (ie the head guy of Kattia). That's why I alternately use both titles. Malclay uses Steward officially, but some Kattiat resent him for obvious reasons. 

Am I getting confusing?

Blen is a Daypec, a former army personel Malclay hired to keep things in order. Zeen is Blen's Kattian wife. 

At this moment in the story the Daypect are starting to withdraw their possesion of Kattia-Bay but Malclay is still in control due to his marriage (and will stay there if Airsara has her way. She didn't want to rule). The murderer is from an extreme Kattian patriot group who will later cause more trouble.

Any other questions?


----------



## Aiwendil2 (Nov 9, 2002)

I'm sorry that I don't have time at the moment to read the whole excerpt and comment more meaningfully. I read the beginning and it sounds intriguing. If I may offer one piece of advice, though (unasked for, as it does not address your original question): you use too many variations on "he said" and "she said". It becomes a bit distracting when every bit of dialogue is tagged with "he soothed" or "she mused", etc. Don't be afraid to simply use "he said", or even no tag at all.

Sorry if I seem a little picky, but I really think this would improve your writing.


----------



## HLGStrider (Nov 9, 2002)

I hate the word said... but advice noted. I've heard it from my writing teacher actually... grits teeth.


----------



## Dragon (Nov 11, 2002)

thanks for clearing that up, and on the "he said" issue, be careful not to go straight from one extreme to the other. your writing is very descriptive, which I like, but sometimes you linger too long on tiny details and not enough on what's happening. again, be careful about just going to the opposite extreme.


----------



## HLGStrider (Nov 11, 2002)

I get your general meaning, but could you give me a specific example on the small details thing? Just for reference.

I'll try not to make excuses for it.

Don't worry, but writing teacher is trying to cure me of the putting "smiled" as a form of said... etc... and I am recalcintrant.. I think I spelt that wrong.


----------



## Dragon (Nov 12, 2002)

Ok, I phrased that badly. I meant, when more is happening, you use far more describing words, and less verbs than when little is happening. for example: 

"'really, Clay,' she laughed. "you're as figity as a nine year old boy. Compared to me you are dressed quite simply.' Airsara had her hair held up by a net of silver and saphires. Her gown was pure white and very flattering. Upon her breast rested a pendant shaped like her husbands broach."
vs.

"'watch out!' the voice hit his ears about the same time as the glimmer hit his eyes, but it seemed to come an hour later. he felt a dull impact, not the sharp stab of a knife, but the heavy slam of Blen's body against his."

do you see what I mean, or is it just me? What I'm trying to say is that when nothing's happening, you need to throw something in there so that the reader doesn't get bored and stop reading before the good part comes. It's good to use a lot of adjectives during the action, but try to even it out a little. I know it's hard to use adjectives all the time, and there are only so many times you can use something before it gets tiring, so try to take a little away from the action and add to the dialog and histories and other stuff like that.


----------



## HLGStrider (Nov 13, 2002)

Elgee mulls it over... mull mull mull... I sort of see your point... though I like that knife glimmering slow stuff down stuff...


----------



## Dragon (Nov 13, 2002)

I like it too, but it was for the sake of comparison. It's usually easier to add to one thing if you take away from the other, if you can accomplish the feat of adding adjectives to the slower sections of the story without taking away from the action, that's best, but most people can't do that and I think it's because they don't have a very big vocabulary, or they run out of interesting ways to put sentences together.


----------



## HLGStrider (Nov 14, 2002)

I'll stretch myself... strrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeetchhhhhhhhhh... agonizing, isn't it?


----------



## HLGStrider (Dec 29, 2003)

I thought it might be interesting for you to see the new version of this chapter. . .this is close to the final. I've actually sent this book into a publisher (well, I sent the first three chapters, a cover letter, and a synopsis plus a stamped self-addressed envelop. . .they don't accept full books). We shall see. . .anyway, this is it. It's not a whole lot different from the original I put up for editing, but it is a little different.



.XXX.
Closer Than A Brother

Malclay stood almost rigid as Airsara fastened a silver broach onto his shoulder. It was shaped roughly like the Guardian of the Winds and set with blue stones. He relaxed a little when she finished then moved his shoulders so that his cape fell more comfortably. 

"Really, Clay," she laughed. "You're as fidgety as a nine-year-old boy. Compared to me you are dressed quite simply." Airsara had her hair held up by a net of silver and sapphires. Her gown was pure white and very flattering. Upon her breast rested a pendant shaped like her husband's broach. 

"That's different." He scowled. "I'm a man, not some Kattia-Bay paper doll." She laughed again.

"I never knew you considered me a paper doll," she then mused.

"That's not. . ."

"I know it's not what you meant," she soothed. "This is an important day, however. On audience day the whole kingdom is before us, and they expect us to be well dressed." 

"Well dressed is one thing, but foppish is another."

"You're too manly to be a fop." She hugged him. He laughed quietly.

Perhaps it was only that he was Daypec, but he had never grasped the point of audience day. Getting an appointment to see the ruler of Kattia-Bay was not so hard that an open throne room was a huge occurrence. Sometimes Malclay felt he'd interviewed half the island. He'd asked Blen to limit the amount of people gaining audience, but the kind hearted aide approved everyone who applied.

Airsara said it was mainly ceremonial: a chance for people to see them sitting on their thrones like real monarchs. 

"The Kattiat don't have enough ceremonies," she then sighed. "Besides, everyone needs a good excuse to have a holiday." Malclay laughed again.

"What's the worst that could happen?" he then commented. "I guess I'm game."

"You have to be."

The throne room was alive with people. The lively crowd darted about like a school of fish. The confused murmur of their voices echoed on the marble ceilings. Despite the throng, a path was cleared, and Malclay and Airsara walked quietly to their thrones. Blen stood a little to the side, "looking official" as was his duty.

Only a few of the visitors actually had complaints. Complaints generally went to the senators not the monarchy. A few wanted to know about the Daypec-Bay forces. Would the navy be returning? Would Arzee be leaving? Was there any chance of the number of soldiers lessening? Would Kattiat taxes pay for them? Malclay answered as calmly and concisely as humanly possible. 

Some questions he could not answer satisfactorily, and they were inevitably rephrased and repeated. 

He could not guarantee that the fleet would stay away forever, but there were no immediate plans to bring it back. Arzee would leave someday, but someday might be awhile away. Yes, the soldiers were already being shipped home. The amount would be halved by the end of the year. No, Kattiat had no financial responsibility for the Daypec occupation.

Airsara patted his hand reassuringly. He nodded in acknowledgment. 

Behind the throne Blen yawned. Though no one took any notice of him, he felt he needed to remain. His legs were growing tired, but he was used to it. Arzee had taken him to numerous functions where he had done nothing but stand.

The morning wore on. A few of the people offered him condolences. The story of Steward Maytayn's brothers was all over the island. All remembered Cair as the hero of the Cyear invasion of Kattia-Bay. No one doubted the tale of his heroism on Daypec, nor did they question Eban's part of the war. 

The references stirred Malclay's emotions like dust rising from a country road. Again he wanted to forget, to come to terms with what had happened and put it aside. It took awhile for the memories to settle, allowing him to breathe freely. He concentrated on the warmth of his wife's hand which still rested on top of his. It was soft and real. She was soft and real. He would focus on that love, that life. 

"Shall I see about having lunch brought in?" Blen's voice interrupted his thoughts. Malclay looked up. 

"Oh. . .sure." He nodded. He then turned his head towards Airsara. "Are monarchs allowed to eat on audience day?" She smiled laughingly.

"Yes," she replied. "We are."

"Go ahead, Blen." The aide strode off through the crowd.

He was only gone a few minutes. When he returned he positioned himself before the steward's throne. 

"Will cold beef be all right?" he asked. 

"Fine." Malclay nodded. Airsara smiled gladly. The thin slices of tender meat, cooked and then allowed to cool were her favorite meal. Her almost childlike appetite for them amused her husband.

It was then that someone in the crowd gasped. The people turned from the throne towards the disturbance. They bunched together for a moment before someone cried out "Give him some air!" They then dispersed to a respectable distance. A young man of small stature was lying on the floor with an older man bending over him. Concerned, Malclay got out of his seat and walked towards the pair. Blen ambled after him, only mildly interested in what was obviously just a case of heat exhaustion, dehydration, or some other common malady.

Malclay stood above the boy. 

"Is he all right?" he asked.

"I think so." The older man nodded. "He just needs some air."

Blen turned to walk away, convinced Clay would follow. He brushed lightly against a Daypec soldier. The man had hair the shade of fresh butter. . .Blen paused. The uniform was Daypec, but the coloring was Kattian. 

He turned again, wanting a second look. He saw the man grip something under his shirt, something stuck in his waist band. Blen's eyes darted from the man to Malclay's exposed back less than two feet away. He sprang forward, knocking the man to the side. The man glared at him vehemently. He shoved Blen back, harder. The smaller man fell to the ground. 

Malclay heard the thud and turned. There was the glimmer of metal before him, lunging towards his chest. His breath caught in his throat. His mind went into overload. All the information formed an instant conclusion: he was about to die.

"Watch out!" The voice hit his ears about the same time as the glimmer hit his eyes, but it seemed to come an hour later. He felt a dull impact, not the sharp stab of a knife but the heavy slam of Blen's body against his. He fell backwards on top of the older man. 

Blen winced as the knife penetrated his body, but he didn't stop. He grabbed the man by the collar, the only place he had time to catch. The knife hit again as Airsara's scream shattered the air, fragmenting it like a crushed mirror. The crowd rushed forward as the man made a vain attempt to push aside Blen and reach the stunned Malclay. They overcame him, pulling him down and away. The knife clattered to the ground, blood spattering about it in tiny droplets. It looked like wine spilt upon the marble floor. Blen's air escaped in a staggering breath, and he crumpled: legs folding at the knees, body at the waist, head at the neck. The image of a sail suddenly deflated after a strong wind hit Malclay who just sat there, staring. Blen's eyes met his, conveying an instant understanding. His friend was hurt badly.

The man behind Malclay pushed him up and forward. 

"Are you all right, milord?" he kept repeating. Malclay didn't stop to answer. 

"Blen," he said, his voice weak. The aide tried to sit up, but the effort seemed to pain him. Malclay practically fell next to him. He never knew exactly how he managed to get Blen up without hurting him. He was running off a new instinct, one that understood pain and wounds. Blen unashamedly rested his head upon Malclay's chest like a frightened child longing for safety. He was half sitting now, more than he was capable of on his own. Malclay crammed his hand over the wound trying to stop the spurting blood.

Airsara approached. Blen's shirt was turning a deep red as were portions of Malclay. She had to be dreaming. Her hand reached up to finger her pendant. 

"God, please let this be my miracle," she heard herself whisper. "Give me this miracle. Let Blen be all right."


----------



## HLGStrider (Dec 29, 2003)

Blen kept his eyes closed. The sight of his own blood had sickened him somehow. Worse was the taste of it, which now filled his mouth. The smell burnt his nostrils. He could vaguely hear Malclay yelling for a physician.

"D. . .don't bother. . ." Blen stammered. Malclay stared at him.

"Don't. . .? Blen, you're going to live. Just keep breathing!" Malclay all but snapped. 

"I'm trying." His friend nodded. 

"You're going to be all right," Malclay assured him. Oh God, don't let this happen, he thought desperately. 

Blen moaned. Airsara kept staring. Her husband and Blen were talking, but the words were too fast for her. They whirled past. The sphere did nothing.

"Please God. . .now is when I need it," she pleaded. 

A tear trickled down Blen's cheek.

"I don't want to die just yet," he whimpered. "Zeen and Phil need me." 

"You won't," Clay's voice was about to crack. But what if he does? Malclay tried to push off the thought, but it wouldn't leave him. "If. . .I'll take good care of them. . .while you're getting better," he stuttered. Blen wasn't fooled. He drew a jagged breath. It caught on the edges of his throat like a toothed saw on wood. 

"Thank you," he murmured. "Steward Maytayn, it's been an honor working with you. . .and more of an honor being your friend. . .I. . .I'm glad. . .I met you. . .You're the best friend I ever had"

"Blen, you're worth more than all three islands with i-Clay thrown in." Malclay forced a smile. Blen smiled back but quickly winced. 

"Eyrie," he moaned. "It hurts."

"The physician will be here in a moment. He'll give you something for the pain." Malclay took a handkerchief from his pocket and held it over the wound. Blen opened his eyes.

"A Daypec does not fear death," he said. "I never understood why we were trained to say that until now. . .say it and mean it. . .It's. . .it's all right, Malclay. . .I'm. . .not afraid. . .I know my family will be safe. . .I just. . .didn't want it to end so soon."

"Blen," Malclay stammered, his eyes starting to water. "I'm sorry." Blen drew a deep breath.

"Tell Zeen I love her. . .and Phil as well. He'll grow up to be great. . .better than me." 

"No one could be better than you." Malclay smiled. Blen smiled back. 

The physician arrived and knelt beside them. He uncorked a tiny, brown bottle and poured it gently into Blen's mouth. The aide swallowed looking relieved. Malclay carefully took the handkerchief out of the wound. As he did Blen sighed a gentle, surrendering sigh. His body went limp. The doctor ignored the wound and instead felt for Blen's pulse. He shook his head. Malclay stared at him. 

"There was nothing. . .he's gone," the physician stated. Malclay's heart failed in his chest, stumbling and hesitating before starting again. 

Malclay gently lowered Blen's body to the floor. He then unfastened his cape and covered him with it. He stood. Airsara had collapsed into an acquaintance's arms. She was sobbing. The guilty party glared at Malclay. Malclay gazed coldly upon him. He took a step forward.

"You just murdered my best friend," he said, his calm voice masking a desire to scream.

"It was meant for you, you Daypec usurper." The man sneered. Malclay acted on instinct, his fist hitting the man right below the ribcage. The man doubled over but kept scowling. 

"I'm going to have you torn apart!" Malclay snapped. "You worthless, misbegotten, creature! Get the brute out of my sight!"

Someone in the crowd took control and pulled him away. Malclay stared down at his hands, stained red. He wiped them on his shirt. This only smeared the blood. He mumbled something illegible about washing and left the throne room. 

He mechanically navigated to his quarters. Once there he cast aside his blood stained garments. A basin of water, now only luke warm, remained from his morning shave. He cleansed his hands and face. The pink swirls of blood snaked their way through the water, tainting it. He turned away.

He found a simple pair of trousers and a shirt and redressed. He then went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine. Placing it before him, he sat at the table, staring at nothing. He didn't feel like drinking any more than he felt like changing or washing his hands. He didn't even feel like breathing. 

There were arrangements to be seen to. Blen couldn't remain lying in the middle of the throne room. He also needed to tell Zeen. How would he break the news? What could he say to cushion the blow? Nothing. . .nothing could sweeten the bitterness. At least Zeen was strong. Strength was needed at this time. 

He strode down the hall and knocked gently upon the door. There was a quiet scuffling, and she opened it, her finger to her lips. She gazed thoughtfully upon him.

"Malclay? I was expecting Blen. . .I thought you were busy today? Phil's asleep. . .Do you wish to come in?"

Malclay's mind laboriously processed these sentences. He got the general gist and managed to nod.

Go slow, he thought. You can't attack her with it. He entered and sat down when she offered him a chair.

"Is something wrong, Malclay?" She frowned. "You look stressed." She sat a little ways from him, staring inquisitively. He swallowed and lowered his eyes.

"Yes. . .Zeen, something bad has happened, " he said hoping his voice was gentle. Her face went from warm and alive to cold and rigid in a matter of seconds. 

"Is Blen all right?" she asked.

"No. . .he. . .there was an assassination attempt. . .on me. . Blen was. . .killed." She kept her mouth closed tight. Malclay fumbled for the right words to follow this statement. "I'm sorry," came to mind, as did "I wish it has been me," but as much as he meant them the words seemed empty. 

The sharp whine of Phil's voice spared him the effort. Zeen scurried from the room. He soon could hear her half choked voice soothing the baby. He looked down at his hands which rested a top his knees. He shuddered when he sighted the red tinge trapped beneath his nails. That this redness had once been a living part of a living man was sickening. He had nowhere to hid his hands so he simply took his eyes away. 

Zeen emerged carrying the now pacified Phil. 

"Do you know where they've taken his body?" she asked. 

"I could find out." He stood up, glad to have an excuse for departure.

"Please do. . .there are arrangements to be made," she whispered.

"I can help. I told Blen I'd look after you," he broke in. She nodded. 

"Thank you, but I want to do what I can on my own. . .I need to keep occupied." He nodded, understanding perfectly. 

"I'll be here if you change your mind," he said before leaving. He knew she wouldn't. He would have used the work in the same way, to help him forget. 

Blen's body had been taken to a Death Room. Only large houses possessed these chambers, and they were normally empty. When ill fortune struck the body was brought there, cleaned and redressed for the funeral, and if necessary, examined by a physician to determine cause of death. Malclay avoided the area. He had no desire to see his friend's empty shell. He had to remember him alive.

The world was cold and empty.




There you go. . .I made some changes, but not a whole lot. I generally like the way I wrote this scene and I don't make changes often. I'm unteachable, or so I've been told.


----------

