NaNo Day 1: 2113

For this NaNoWriMo, I decided to write that prequel I mentioned in my last Teaser Tuesday post: Rola Noro, and I obviously decided to post it here. I don't really have a plot for this, other than that laid out in the Teaser Tuesday bit (which is vague at best), but that seems to work better for me anyway.

Please keep in mind that this is NaNoWriMo we're talking about here, so there's no editing (or at least very little--I am trying to catch typos, and occasionally I just can't help myself). This is all about speed writing. Also, in case you don't know this about me and my writing, I like dialogue, and I'm not overly fond of description or speech tags. And again, there's no plan. What I'm saying is, don't expect anything spectacular. Let's hope it will be fun anyway.

If you have critique for me, or if something is unclear, please, please, PLEASE let me know. I know that I'm horrible at explaining things, and usually that's because I don't recognize that it's not clear, so if you say, "Hey, what's that all about?" I'll try to work in a bit more info, which, by the by, is also good for the word count. With that said, this is epic fantasy, so there is some stuff that I'm just plain making up (and, you know, it's fiction, so I'm making ALL of it up), but which will hopefully make sense at some point. 

Anyway, I'm cool with feedback, good or bad. Actually, I LOVE feedback, so let me have it.

Rola shivered. It's easy to forget how cold the nights get on Duran, especially if you have never experienced one outside the heat of the mines. Of course, she knew it would be cold. Everyone knew nights on Duran were cold, just like everyone knew days on Duran were hot. The whole continent should have been renamed Harsh. She shivered again and pulled her coat closer around her neck.

There would be no fire. Even if there had been something to burn, a fire would attract attention, and Rola wanted attention even less than she wanted to be cold. She might as well sneak back into the mines long enough to get warm and perhaps have a spot of breakfast before running away again.

No, she'd just have to be cold for now. It was a miracle she'd gotten away the first time; trying it again would be just plain stupid. Rola was not stupid. She was just cold.

She shivered again and looked to the sky for signs of morning. It would be hot soon enough. She could wait.

In fact, she could do better than wait. She could make progress. Rola climbed to her feet, brushed the loose dirt off her clothes—not that it helped much—and pulled her coat tight around her. She could still feel the wind poking at her through the thin fabric, but it was all she had. She made a slow surveillance of the territory around her, checking to see if she'd been followed, for signs of life, someone who might be able to help her, a direction, wild animals, anything. The one direction she couldn't go was back into the low hills behind her, back into the mines, back into hell.

If she were caught, the very least in store for her was a very severe beating, perhaps one so severe she would no longer be able to work, and then she'd be useless and they would remove their burden. More than likely they'd just kill her outright and now even try bringing her back into the fold. Now that she'd escaped, she had to really escape.

Rola picked up her canteen and the small bag containing the few things she'd managed to bring with her; a few scraps of hard, dry food; a small, dented knife; a length of rope she'd brought for who knows what reason; and in the bottom of the bag, her prized possession, and the one that would likely get her killed—a single gold coin.

Oh, the foreman would be after her, all right. He'd probably had to save up for years just to get that one gold piece. It was either that or a family heirloom, and either way he wouldn't be happy about her taking it. No, as soon as he figured out what she'd taken, he'd be after her. Hopefully she'd hear the dogs soon enough to start running.

She slung the bag over the shoulder and turned south. She would have a better chance of staying hidden along the edge of the hills, where the terrain was rougher, but at least there was some cover. There may even be some water or food, if she was lucky.

Then again, she'd gotten away from the mines with water, food, a knife, a piece of gold, and her life. Rola didn't think she could get much luckier than that.

~~~~~

“You understand what I'm asking you to do, then?” the man said. His eyes darted around the room, looking for any intruders, eavesdroppers, even though he knew there could be none.

“It ain't complicated, and I ain't stupid. You think you're so fancy, sitting up there in that palace and wearing all them fancy clothes and talking to all them fancy people, but you don't know nothing. You think you're better than me, cause of what I do, but you're not. You're—”

“That will be quite enough,” he said, waving his hands in dismissal. “I'll expect it done within the week.”

“And I'll expect my payment within the day.”

“You'll have it within the hour.” He nodded at the small figure across from him and stood up from his chair. “Oh, and please remember to use discretion. It is your life we're talking about here, not mine.”

“Just don't you worry. I ain't about to go squealing to the Sedien.”

“Best not.” He picked up his coat and swung it over his shoulders. “Belaran, we're done.”

The small figure looked up, the first move he'd made since he first opened the line. He glanced back down at the stone plinth between his hands, which glowed for a brief moment, then he stepped away and looked up once again. “The connection is closed, sir.”

“Good. Let's go.”

Belaran walked to the wall and spread his hands on the solid stone. Like the plinth had, the wall glowed briefly, but then seemed to shimmer. He stepped back, but left one hand on the wall. “You first, sir. It's safe now.”

“You're sure there's no one out there?”

“Yes, sir, positive.”

“Close the door after I'm out. Wait a few minutes before you follow me.” The man stepped through the shimmering wall without another word.

There was always that slightly sick feeling when passing through magic. He wondered briefly if magicians felt that way all the time, and shuddered. He looked back at the wall and placed his hand on it to check that it was solid once again. He sniffed, and walked away down the hall, into the heart of the palace.

When he turned a corner, he spotted a pair of guards in the corridor ahead of him. “You two,” he said, “come here.” He stopped where he was and waited for them to walk over to him. When they had approached, he pointed back down the hallway he had just come from, back toward the room where the magician was still hiding. He dropped his voice to a whisper when he addressed them again. “Guard this hallway. I have a suspicion there may be someone following me. Make sure there's not.” Belaran could find his own way out.

It was an honor to be allowed to use the plinths, to be trusted with such important communications, Magda knew, but all the same, magic made her uneasy. She would have much rather sent a messenger for this. No state secrets were being divulged during this conversation, it was a simple summons, and yet the Koninesa had to use the plinth. Magda thought they were only using the plinth because it was more prestigious, and the Koninesa had no reason for that—after all, she was the Koninesa, the most prestigious of them all. Why bother showing off?

Then again, she was contacting the Corporation, and the Koninesa needed to show her rank, her influence, her power. Would they even respond to a simple messenger? Probably, but it would likely be in their own good time. The Koninesa wanted them to come now, without delay, and that meant demonstrating that they had reason to obey her.

Magda walked briskly down the corridor, Fernan following in her wake. Even the magician himself made the hair on her arms prickle. She had no intention of walking beside him. He had asked her a number of times to slow down, but eventually stopped as they made their way through the long halls of the palace. Now she could hear him huffing along behind her, struggling to keep up with her quick pace.

“Commander,” he said once again.

“Hurry up, Gemmafore, I haven't got all day, and this is an urgent message from the Koninesa herself,” she spit back without so much as slowing her pace.

“Commander General, please.” His footsteps had stopped. Magda stopped also and turned around to look at the magician. He stood very still in the middle of the corridor wit his head cocked to the side and his eyes squinted, like he was listening to something he couldn't quite hear. She took a step back towards him. “There's magic near … someone is using …” He straightened his posture, but scrunched his face. “Someone is using the plinth?”

“Impossible,” she said. “You're the only one who can get in.”

“Not necessarily, Commander. Many magicians can use plinths, and most of them are designed with the same securities, which is by no means complicated. Theoretically, any earth magician could use the plinth, granted they know where it is, and granted there is someone to receive their communication.”

“But you're the only authorized magician in the palace.”

“Well, perhaps it is someone unauthorized.”

“Or perhaps you're just wrong.”

“Commander--” The magician began to protest, but Magda was always striding away from him, still heading toward the plinth. He hurried to follow.

Just as she was about to turn the final corner, she felt her feet attach themselves to the floor and jerked to a stop. She twisted around to yell at the magician and found him close behind her. He pressed one finger to her lips and whispered, “I am very sorry, Commander, but if there is someone unauthorized using the plinth, don't you wish to know who it is?” She sneered at him. Once he realized she wasn't going to give them away, he removed his finger from her lips and moved around in front of her. “There is magic present, and therefore it is one of my order disobeying the laws of the palace. You may arrest him if you wish, but I may be able to tell you his motivations.”

“And if there's no one?”

“If there's no one, you may have me brought up on charges of impeding the Commander General in the duty of the Koninesa.”

“That would be treason, magician.”

“So it would.” She held his stare for a moment. If he was so sure there was some magician acting out of bounds as to face charges of treason, wasn't it her job to investigate? Besides, what would it hurt to wait a moment longer?

She nodded her assent and felt the floor loosen around her feet. “We wait, then?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. He peeked his head around the corridor, then turned back to her. “But not long. The communication has ended. They'll be out shortly.”

“Should we hide, do you think?” she asked, her eyebrows raised.

“Strategy is your area of expertise, Commander,” he replied, bowing his head to her. She rolled her eyes at him, then pressed herself against the wall, and motioned for him to do the same.

A moment later she heard the magician draw a sharp breath, and then there were footsteps. Someone had come out of the plinth room. She heard the steps approach the place they stood, then watched as Magister Baristam strode past.

When she was sure he was past, she turned to the magician. She kept her voice low. “Magister Baristam is perfectly authorized to use the plinths at his own discretion.”

“Yes, but there is still the question of the magician assisting him. Wait just another moment, I beg of you.” They stood in silence for a few minutes longer, and then there were footsteps ringing in the hall: loud, booted footsteps. Guards.

Magda sneered at the magician once again, then took the few steps out into the hallway, turning towards the entrance to the plinth room. The magician had no choice but to follow. The guards yelled out to them, “Stop!”

Magda turned on her heel mid-step. The pair of guards drew up short and snapped to attention. “What business do you have stopping me?”

“None, Commander, apologies,” the shorter of the two stuttered.

“Why are you guarding this hallway? Who set you here? I don't remember placing this area on your patrol.”

“No, sir,” said the other. “Magister Baristam asked us to check. Thought he was being followed, sir.”

“Commander,” interrupted the magician.

Magda ignored him. “Hmm. Well, I've no reason and no desire to follow Baristam anywhere. I do, however, have a reason and a desire to keep this palace safe, as should you.”

“Commander,” said the magician once again.

“Get back to your patrol.”

“Yes, Commander.” Both of the guards turned and went back to their posts.

“Commander,” pressed the magician.

“What is it? What do you want now?” she said.

“He's gone.”