Title: Bloody Daggers
Written: July 2014
Status: First draft completed (51,371 words)
Blurb: A man vows for revenge after losing the love of his life to his cousin.
Setting: A fictional world inspired by Medieval times
This was one of the many evolutions of my fantasy story, so I’m not going to be doing a second draft of this. It was merely a novel that helped me to grow as a writer, but not something I would someday actually publish.
My first novel written in Camp Nano – yay!
“You think Sylvia’s arranging an escape plan of her own?” asked Carlan.
“I’m sure she’s thought of it but if one person can evade one hundred who are expressly guarding her, she wouldn’t have been taken in the first place,” Letatin’s despair and guilt was growing with every minute, especially without their other half with them.
“I must confess, I was naive,” Meron said, “The Prileans would have to be stupid if six people could rescue their prized prisoner.”
“Well, let’s hope they’re stupid,” said Carlan.
“Maybe I should have a drink,” he said aloud, although he spoke mostly to himself.
“Get a glass yourself,” she croaked.
“Never mind,” he didn’t want one. He didn’t know what it would do to him and he didn’t want to be drunk, even if it would make him bolder. He wanted them to take him seriously – he wanted to take himself seriously. He didn’t want it to be a phantom or mad version of himself. It would be him – the true him – naked for all to see, naked of his own free will.
“I’m going,” he rose.
“What?” the lady spluttered out her water, causing heads to turn from the two nearby tables. “I thought it was a joke.”
Letatin glanced at the eyes on him but he ignored them. Don’t let it get to you, he told himself, “Yes, ma’am. And … do you believe in God?”
“What?” more eyes stared at him.
“If you do, pray to him for me. And if you have any special rituals or superstitions, do them for me, please, because I’ll need them.” Then he turned and walked to the front.
“Hi, Miles,” Letatin gave him a brief nod.
“Hi,” the other was melancholy.
“You both know each other,” Meron said, less posing a question as making a statement.
“Same town,” said Letatin.
“That’s a coincidence,” Carlan said.
“Indeed. Life is full of them. And Dilo, good day,” Letatin turned to the dark man, who was staring at his hands. Ten seconds had passed before Dilo finally looked up and replied.
“Good day, good day,” his voice was high and strained. “Nice to meet you all.”
There was an awkward pause, then Dilo burst out, “Oh, let’s be done with this good day nonsense!”
They all looked at him with surprise.
“None of us are having a good day,” he stressed. “Let’s stop playing pretend.”