The Lords of Winter

[svalbard]

This excerpt is from chapter 3 of the second book in the fantasy series I am working. Any comments would be appreciated.


“Well. What are your thoughts?” asked Ragnar. He was standing on a large rock, his massive frame silhouetted against the bright, winter sun.

Caric shook his head in anger. “Does it matter?”

“Yes it does. You are the leader in this mission now that Einvarr is dead. So the men back there will be looking for leadership from you,” Ragnar replied, before jumping down from his perch. They were standing on an outcrop of rocks that gave them a perfect view down into the valley below. The only sign of life in the desolate landscape below them were a few, skinny goats.

“Kalnordia really is a **** hole,” Caric remarked, ignoring Ragnar’s last words. His mind was working furiously on what he needed to do. It had being a nightmare passage from Janter to the north and the only ship to make it was Caric’s. A week before at the height of the tempests, he had witnessed Einvarr’s vessel founder as it was driven onto the rocks of the Heskarian coastline. The ship had come apart as if it was made of paper. All of the other six ships in the small fleet had become scattered, their fate unknown.

Ragnar continued to look intently at the Prince. “Why do you think I left here all those years ago? Nothing but cold days, ugly women and blood feuds up here.” He smiled grimly at Caric.

“Now back to our more pressing concerns. What is our plan?”

Caric leaned back against a large rock and scowled at Ragnar.

“Let us see. I think we shall walk up to Tromsfjord and challenge Helgi to battle. The forty men I have with me should be just enough to put the fear of the gods up his ass. When he decides to flee rather than face the might of my army, I will capture Tromsfjord before pursuing the bastard and killing him. Now what do you think of that?” The speech was delivered with a straight face, yet Caric could not hide the despair in his voice.

“Is that how you survived Catar? Think man, our options are limited, but we do have them,” Ragnar said and he gestured down into the valley.

Caric shook his head in bewilderment. What was Ragnar bleating on about? They were more ****** than a whore in a brothel. At that moment Joachim Foltrim climbed up to join the two.

“Decided yet? It is getting dark and the men are cold,” he said, without preamble. Foltrim, like all of them, was soaked to the bone. The ship had afforded very little protection from the massive waves that had come crashing across the decks. Even when they beached, not an hour past, heavy rains had greeted their landing. The rain had eased off, but a wild, cold wind had replaced it, belying the brightness of the sun. To the ends of the world, thought Caric, thinking back to the words Dal had spoken to him before setting out this venture.

“Ragnar, you said options. What are they?”

The warrior stepped closer to the Prince, his lined face impassive. “You are the grandson of Swegn. The royal blood of the Kalnordians flows in your veins. You can claim the kingdom if you want. Men will flock to you, I swear it. All you have to do is raise the Red Shield of Herlungia and Helgi will **** in his breeches.” A ferocious smile spread across Ragnar’s face as he spoke. Joachim Foltrim looked at the weapons-master as if he had gone mad. He was about to speak and stopped when he saw the expression on Caric’s face.

He was also smiling and his eyes, they shone. All of the doubt and frustration, that had kept Caric low for the last few days was gone from him.

“You are both mad if you think that this will work,” Foltrim remarked.

‘Who is mad?” the question came from Kalter Maye as he clambered up to join the group. Foltrim groaned at the sight of Maye. Sense was finished here and only the will of the unhinged would prevail. The thought was written clearly on Foltrim’s face for all to see.

“We have a plan,” Caric said and gestured for Ragnar to explain it. After listening to the weapons-master, Kalter Maye walked to the edge of the ledge and looked down at the valley. Observing him, Foltrim pictured an image of Death watching it’s prey.

“A village you say at the end of this glen and likely to swear an oath to Caric. Are you sure?” Maye asked, the fog from his breath hung in the air as he spoke. “ Maybe…Yes it might work.” He paused in his speech and swung to face Caric.

“It will work!”

“This is mad…”

“Be quiet, Joachim. It is decided. Kalter, go and rouse the men,” Caric commanded. Now that he an objective to attain, the Prince’s confidence had returned.

[chopper]

i can just see this.....it's kinda the Nordic A-Team!

no, seriously, this is the "million to one shot but it might just work" sequence here, and i think you've just about captured the "what the hell, we've nothing else to lose" feeling.

there's one point where you seem to break from Caric's POV (Foltrim's groan when Kalter Maye appears). the paragraph just slips a little and (personally) i'd frame it through Caric's thoughts and eyes eg: he sees Foltrim's face fall and imagines what the man is thinking.

[svalbard]

The Nordic A-Team, brilliant chopper. Now who is who? I am going to have nightmares about this when editing it. Does Foltrim resemble the Face? Oh my God, I am in trouble already. Good point on the pov. I will change that.

[Damiynn]

“Well. What are your thoughts?” asked Ragnar. He was standing on a large rock, his massive frame silhouetted against the bright, winter sun.

Caric shook his head in anger. “Does it matter?”

“Yes it does. You are the leader in this mission now that Einvarr is dead. So the men back there will be looking for leadership from you,” Ragnar replied, before jumping down from his perch.


(They were standing on an outcrop of rocks that gave them a perfect view down into the valley below. The only sign of life in the desolate landscape below them were a few, skinny goats.) I dont think you need below here twice, The only sign of life filling the desolate landscape were a few skinny goats, *kind of sounds familiar lol*


“Kalnordia really is a **** hole,” Caric remarked, ignoring Ragnar’s last words. His mind was working furiously on what he needed to do. It had being a nightmare passage from Janter to the north and the only ship to make it was Caric’s. A week before at the height of the tempests, he had witnessed Einvarr’s vessel founder as it was driven onto the rocks of the Heskarian coastline. The ship had come apart as if *(it was)* omit if you want, it is not needed, made of paper. All of the other six ships in the small fleet had become scattered, their fate unknown. (Maybe, The other six in the small fleet had become scattered, their ...)

Ragnar continued (looking)to look intently) at the Prince. “Why do you think I left here all those years ago? Nothing but cold days, ugly women and blood feuds up here.” He smiled grimly at Caric.

“Now back to our more pressing concerns. What is our plan?”

Caric leaned back against a large rock and scowled at Ragnar.

“Let us see. I think we shall walk up to Tromsfjord and challenge Helgi to battle. The forty men I have with me should be just enough to put the fear of the gods up his ass. When he decides to flee rather than face the might of my army, I will capture Tromsfjord before pursuing the bastard and killing him. Now what do you think of that?” The speech was delivered with a straight face, yet Caric could not hide the despair in his voice.

“Is that how you survived Catar? Think man, our options are limited, but we do have them,” Ragnar said and (he) could leave out? gestured down into the valley.

Caric shook his head in bewilderment. What was Ragnar bleating on about? They were more ****** than a whore in a brothel. At that moment Joachim Foltrim climbed up to join the two.

“Decided yet? It is getting dark and the men are cold,” he said, without preamble. Foltrim, like all of them, was soaked to the bone. The ship had afforded very little protection from the massive waves that had come crashing across the decks. Even when they beached, not an hour past, heavy rains had greeted their landing. The rain had eased off, but a wild, cold wind had replaced it, belying the brightness of the sun. To the ends of the world, thought Caric, thinking back to the words Dal had spoken to him before setting out this venture.

“Ragnar, you said options. What are they?”

The warrior stepped closer to the Prince, his lined face impassive. “You are the grandson of Swegn. The royal blood of the Kalnordians flows in your veins. You can claim the kingdom if you want. Men will flock to you, I swear it. All you have to do is raise the Red Shield of Herlungia and Helgi will **** in his breeches.” A ferocious smile spread across Ragnar’s face as he spoke. Joachim Foltrim looked at the weapons-master as if he had gone mad. He was about to speak and stopped when he saw the expression on Caric’s face.

He was also smiling and his eyes, they shone. All of the doubt and frustration, that had kept Caric low for the last few days was gone from him.

“You are both mad if you think that this will work,” Foltrim remarked.

‘Who is mad?” the question came from Kalter Maye as he clambered up to join the group. Foltrim groaned at the sight of Maye. Sense was finished here and only the will of the unhinged would prevail. The thought was written clearly on Foltrim’s face for all to see.

“We have a plan,” Caric said and gestured for Ragnar to explain it. After listening to the weapons-master, Kalter Maye walked to the edge of the ledge and looked down at the valley. Observing him, Foltrim pictured an image of Death watching it’s prey.

“A village you say at the end of this glen and likely to swear an oath to Caric. Are you sure?” Maye asked, the fog from his breath hung in the air as he spoke. “ Maybe…Yes it might work.” He paused in his speech and swung to face Caric.

“It will work!”

“This is mad…”

“Be quiet, Joachim. It is decided. Kalter, go and rouse the men,” Caric commanded. Now that he an objective to attain, the Prince’s confidence had returned.

ok other than what I wrote I liked it and what I corrected, like you have said before is a matter of style. take what you like and discard the rest, that is my motto lol

[TheEndIsNigh]

Now I'm a new boy on the block so feel free to etc...

One thing that jarred with me was the forty men being described as an army.

Unless there is a pressing reason to mention the number I'd just leave it out.

The men I have with me...

Or use the fact they are so few that even forty men would cause a lack of intestinal fortitude. If that was the intent didn't come across strong enough.

Even the army of forty men I have with me should be enough to...

Or

Even the free loading bunch of reprobates I have with me at the moment...