Gonk the Insane
Well-Known Member
The following is the opening for a Fantasy novel I finished a while back. I'd be grateful for any thoughts you have, especially if there are any glaring errors I've overlooked.
Thank you.
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‘We have been betrayed.’
Tol stumbled into the abbot’s study, nearly losing his footing as his toe caught on the lip of the faded rug in front of the old man’s desk. He recovered his balance over three stuttering steps and glared back over his shoulder at the knight who had shoved him into the room, but the heavy oak door was already closing. It slammed shut, a dampened funeral bell resounding off the study’s stone walls.
We have been betrayed. The words echoed through Tol’s skull with every racing pulse as his feet took the final steps to the worn centre of the rug, a familiar spot where he so often listened to the abbot’s lectures and reprimands, and feigned contrition as best as he could. Tol turned slowly to his left and faced the man who would decide his fate, the man who had trained him and punished him in equal measure. The room was the same as ever: a faded tapestry depicting the Seven’s defence of a wounded angel directly behind him; the abbot’s wide oak desk in front of him, the abbot’s spindly torso almost completely obscured by the weathered wood. Behind his head, on the far wall, two iron hooks were hammered into the stone of the mountain, and although Tol couldn’t see it, he knew a cobwebbed sword dangled point-down, crossguard straddling the nails.
Betrayed.
Silence heavy as a tombstone filled the room as Tol met the abbot’s unflinching gaze. Father Michael looked older than ever, as though the weight of Tol’s transgressions had mounted up and now, finally, had leached a payment in vitality from the old man’s weathered skin. He looked smaller, a child behind an adult’s writing desk. The room was the same, but the abbot’s expression was bleak and humourless, darker than Tol could remember on any other visit for punishment. And there were a lot of those.
Betrayed.
A knight of the Reve stood motionless to Tol’s right, his hulking frame nearly obliterating all the weak winter light seeping through the lead-lined window. Another Reve knight had delivered Tol to the abbot’s study, and he had spied a third in the snow-packed courtyard. Betrayal was not a word spoken lightly by the church, and even less by the Knights Reve, those knights sworn to defend the Church of the Nameless Maker. Tol had seen their muddy white surcoats earlier and hoped, perhaps, that this rare visit heralded the knights choosing boys from the abbey as squires. Now, it seemed, an altogether different reason had brought them to Icepeak Abbey: to deliver the church’s justice.
But for what crime? That was the problem; there were so many to choose from.
Gambling with the abbey’s money? Tol wondered as he felt the abbot’s grey eyes wash over him. I’ve been warned enough, maybe this really was my last chance.
‘What did you do this time?’ Father Michael asked, an ink-stained finger crooked at Tol’s bloody lip.
Tol remained silent.
‘Sir Erik is the most patient of knights,’ the old man continued, ‘so how did you provoke him into giving you that?’
‘Told him I could find my own way here and didn’t need a nursemaid.’
‘That would do it,’ Father Michael chuckled.
Now I know it’s bad, Tol thought sourly, his gaze drifting back to the huge knight at the window and the broadsword at his hip. If he’s not disciplining me for taunting a knight, it must be bad.
There was a sheathed sword lying on top of the abbot’s desk, but Tol knew the old man was no fool. And faster than he looks. He’d learned that the hard way on the practice ground.
The knight’s the danger. A wall of muscle and sinew, still staring at something beyond the abbey’s walls. Tol shuffled to his right, inch by inch. If I can close the distance between us, I’ll be able to reach him before he can draw. But the Knights Reve were the best fighters in the world, and even without a sword the man would be a real threat. I wonder if I could throw him out the window? Tol’s gaze flicked over the knight again. Probably not, he reluctantly admitted; there was a whole lot of knight beneath that surcoat. His eyes flicked back to the sword on Father Michael’s desk. No, he decided, he’s probably put it there in the hope I’ll reach for it. The old man was sneaky like that.
‘We don’t have time for this,’ the knight announced, turning at last from the window, his surly features almost obliterated by a dark, unkempt beard. Behind him, through the fogged glass, Tol could make out a smudge of colour making its way up the snow-covered mountain path.
‘The church has a task for you,’ Tol heard the abbot say. He leaned back to try and get a better view out of the window, but the big oaf had shifted his weight, the window now totally obscured.
Visitors? It was the last day of the year, tomorrow heralding a new year and a new century – an odd time for anyone with sense to visit an abbey, not when there was such a dearth of ale, merriment, and most especially women.
Tol’s attention snapped back to the abbot, a single word piercing his thoughts.
‘—and deliver a message to the sisters there,’ the abbot finished.
‘Sisters?’
‘I have your full attention now, do I?’
Thank you.
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‘We have been betrayed.’
Tol stumbled into the abbot’s study, nearly losing his footing as his toe caught on the lip of the faded rug in front of the old man’s desk. He recovered his balance over three stuttering steps and glared back over his shoulder at the knight who had shoved him into the room, but the heavy oak door was already closing. It slammed shut, a dampened funeral bell resounding off the study’s stone walls.
We have been betrayed. The words echoed through Tol’s skull with every racing pulse as his feet took the final steps to the worn centre of the rug, a familiar spot where he so often listened to the abbot’s lectures and reprimands, and feigned contrition as best as he could. Tol turned slowly to his left and faced the man who would decide his fate, the man who had trained him and punished him in equal measure. The room was the same as ever: a faded tapestry depicting the Seven’s defence of a wounded angel directly behind him; the abbot’s wide oak desk in front of him, the abbot’s spindly torso almost completely obscured by the weathered wood. Behind his head, on the far wall, two iron hooks were hammered into the stone of the mountain, and although Tol couldn’t see it, he knew a cobwebbed sword dangled point-down, crossguard straddling the nails.
Betrayed.
Silence heavy as a tombstone filled the room as Tol met the abbot’s unflinching gaze. Father Michael looked older than ever, as though the weight of Tol’s transgressions had mounted up and now, finally, had leached a payment in vitality from the old man’s weathered skin. He looked smaller, a child behind an adult’s writing desk. The room was the same, but the abbot’s expression was bleak and humourless, darker than Tol could remember on any other visit for punishment. And there were a lot of those.
Betrayed.
A knight of the Reve stood motionless to Tol’s right, his hulking frame nearly obliterating all the weak winter light seeping through the lead-lined window. Another Reve knight had delivered Tol to the abbot’s study, and he had spied a third in the snow-packed courtyard. Betrayal was not a word spoken lightly by the church, and even less by the Knights Reve, those knights sworn to defend the Church of the Nameless Maker. Tol had seen their muddy white surcoats earlier and hoped, perhaps, that this rare visit heralded the knights choosing boys from the abbey as squires. Now, it seemed, an altogether different reason had brought them to Icepeak Abbey: to deliver the church’s justice.
But for what crime? That was the problem; there were so many to choose from.
Gambling with the abbey’s money? Tol wondered as he felt the abbot’s grey eyes wash over him. I’ve been warned enough, maybe this really was my last chance.
‘What did you do this time?’ Father Michael asked, an ink-stained finger crooked at Tol’s bloody lip.
Tol remained silent.
‘Sir Erik is the most patient of knights,’ the old man continued, ‘so how did you provoke him into giving you that?’
‘Told him I could find my own way here and didn’t need a nursemaid.’
‘That would do it,’ Father Michael chuckled.
Now I know it’s bad, Tol thought sourly, his gaze drifting back to the huge knight at the window and the broadsword at his hip. If he’s not disciplining me for taunting a knight, it must be bad.
There was a sheathed sword lying on top of the abbot’s desk, but Tol knew the old man was no fool. And faster than he looks. He’d learned that the hard way on the practice ground.
The knight’s the danger. A wall of muscle and sinew, still staring at something beyond the abbey’s walls. Tol shuffled to his right, inch by inch. If I can close the distance between us, I’ll be able to reach him before he can draw. But the Knights Reve were the best fighters in the world, and even without a sword the man would be a real threat. I wonder if I could throw him out the window? Tol’s gaze flicked over the knight again. Probably not, he reluctantly admitted; there was a whole lot of knight beneath that surcoat. His eyes flicked back to the sword on Father Michael’s desk. No, he decided, he’s probably put it there in the hope I’ll reach for it. The old man was sneaky like that.
‘We don’t have time for this,’ the knight announced, turning at last from the window, his surly features almost obliterated by a dark, unkempt beard. Behind him, through the fogged glass, Tol could make out a smudge of colour making its way up the snow-covered mountain path.
‘The church has a task for you,’ Tol heard the abbot say. He leaned back to try and get a better view out of the window, but the big oaf had shifted his weight, the window now totally obscured.
Visitors? It was the last day of the year, tomorrow heralding a new year and a new century – an odd time for anyone with sense to visit an abbey, not when there was such a dearth of ale, merriment, and most especially women.
Tol’s attention snapped back to the abbot, a single word piercing his thoughts.
‘—and deliver a message to the sisters there,’ the abbot finished.
‘Sisters?’
‘I have your full attention now, do I?’
