So, what follows is basically the rough cut of my book's first chapter. And if you're wondering, yeah, I ended up with the fairy idea. The warg story's still in the planning stages. Of Iron and Flames Chapter 1 With all things considered, it was a miracle he remembered his own name. It was the first thing that came to him from the fog of his mind. The sun's stabbing rays cut at the corners of his eyes as he opened them. “Richard.” He repeated it like a mantra, straining. “My name is Richard...” He glanced about, sitting up. Nothing else- neither a last name nor where he had come from- came to him. His brow furrowed. Grass was all he could see for miles about. Nothing broke the monotony of the green sea but for a single elm sitting against the horizon. The tree was lithe and stalwart, a lone soldier on patrol. Its silhouette was etched against the garishly blue sky. Richard stood. Brushing a strand of blond hair from his eyes, he blinked. Not a single creature stirred in the surrounding grass. He was alone. He rubbed his palms together. Surely something else had to come back to him. He glanced over his shoulder. Where he had come from; perhaps a last name at the very least. He was dressed in street clothes- red t-shirt, jeans. Worn sneakers, practically falling off his feet, but none of it sparked a single recollection. The best he could do, he figured, was to push on ahead. And so he made his way through the sea of grass, one foot after another, towards the lone elm. As he walked, he searched his pockets. Nothing, but for a single stick of peppermint gum. He unwrapped it and chewed it thoughtfully. Pangs of sharp, chilled mint filled his mouth, tingling on his tongue. Hunger stabbed at his stomach. He paid it no mind. The gum would have to be enough to sate him for the time being. The tree grew larger upon the horizon. Vague thoughts came to him- find a road, town. He'd walk as long as he had to. A road meant a town and a town meant food and a phone. He'd call someone- not that he knew who- but someone with the mind to help him. He came to the elm tree and kneeled down beside the trunk. From here, fields sprawled. A dark collection of trees formed a border between the fields and hills in the distance. No road in sight, nor a town. He sighed. After a moment's rest, he supposed, he'd see what lay over the hills. The distance seemed tolerable. Wasn't as if he had any other plans. At the foot of the trunk lay a trio of toadstools. Their colors were bright and saccharine: one blue, the others gold. But it was not the toadstools that caught his attention. Thick grass carpeted the field's floor and had he not nearly tripped over the trunk of the tree on his way back up, he wouldn't have noticed the metal glinting between the blades. A battered sheet of metal, once silver now gray, lay before the elm's trunk. He picked it up, turning it over. A faded sigil- some small animal leaping- sat in the center of it. It was a breastplate, dotted with holes and dents. Despite its weight and damage, he slipped it over his head and shirt. He imagined he looked- “Perfectly stupid”, he said- but yet for a moment he stood there with it on, almost admiring himself. Richard had moved to slip it off and would have, had the riders not come. Hoof beats pattered against the soft ground. He stood beside the elm. Multiple hooves- had to be more than one horse- and yet all the hoof beats were in perfect sync. Bells rung. A trio of riders came from the west, marching alongside one another. Their mounts were white stallions, yet almost twice the size of any normal horse. Their long, spindly legs pattered against the earth, powerful chests heaving. There was something unearthly about them, yet he couldn't place it. The riders, as they came into view, had the same quality he couldn't place. They were tall, slender, with blond hair plaited back over their shoulders. Iron masks concealed their faces. Upon their mounts they sat stiffly. What movements they did make were in perfect sync with one another, as if one was riding beside mirrors. Richard stepped out, waving a hand out. The stallions braked. Their shadows coated Richard. He had to strain to make out the heads of the riders above. “Hey.” Richard swallowed. “Listen. I was wondering if any of you knew where I could find-” “Young knight.” Their deep voices rumbled together into one. “State your name and purpose.” Knight? Richard cocked his head. He glanced down at the breastplate. “Um...Richard. I'm looking for town?" “Sir Richard,” they said. “You will come with us.” “Look, that's nice of you and all- Really appreciate it,” said Richard. “But look, just point me in the right direction- I'll find it myself.” Dread had come upon him like a leech; nagging at the back of his mind. “You will come with us.” The three riders hoisted swords from the hilts on their back. The blades were long, gleaming and exactly the sort of thing Richard didn't want to see the wrong end of. “Our master will be expecting you.” – And it was with little protest that Richard found himself upon the back of the center rider. Three swords could be quite convincing. Over his shoulder, the tree grew smaller and smaller until it was a single dark line amidst the sea of grass. Ahead, though the back of the rider provided little in the way of scenery, they were bordered on all sides by the field. The mountains lay to his left. The riders' wore silken robes- white and inlaid with gold lining. Richard was pressed right up against the back of his rider, hands curled around the rider's shoulders to secure himself. He'd never ridden a horse before- his thighs were burning. If he'd ridden before in whatever past life he'd come from, he was certain he wouldn't be dreading having to walk again. He bit his lip. “So,” he said, after some time. “Who's this master of yours?” The riders were silent. There was no indication they'd heard him. “Wow. Conversational types.” The riders sat stiff on their horses, running down the field as if being pulled on a track. Beyond, the fields dipped down into a distant knoll, the curve being more obvious as the riders continued on. He made no further attempts at conversation. Entertainment came slim. After twenty minutes, Richard found himself counting the beats of the horse hooves. Their rhythm was steady and not once, as the horses beat down upon the grass, did the beats break. As he rode, he was growing increasingly aware of how hollow his stomach felt and how painfully full his bladder was. Yet the riders gave no indication of stopping and he supposed it'd be some time before he found any means to ease either feeling. “This master better have food,” said Richard. He was silent for the remainder of the ride. Time ambled by in a fog and when they pulled to a stop, Richard could scarcely remember time passing at all. They stood on top of a hill, overlooking a dipping knoll. Below, arranged about in a circular pattern, were a ramshackle collection of tents. Though all were leather brown, each tent differed from the other in size and shape drastically. One tent was narrow and long, snaking between a collection of trees. Another couldn’t have been larger than his head; he had to squint to make it out. “Off,” said the riders. “Our Master waits below.” Richard pushed himself off the horse. If the skin off his thighs had scraped off, he wouldn’t have been surprised. He landed to the ground, wincing. The breastplate smacked awkwardly against his body. The riders nodded, then began to run, leaving Richard at the top of the knoll. They circled around, heading towards a patch of even ground to enter the knoll. Richard stretched and then began to amble down the hill. It was steep. He dug his heels into the ground with each step to steady himself. With each step, his body protested. Halfway down, he raised a foot, sliding it forward. He extended it an inch too far and, crying out, he slid down the hill on his gut. He landed at the bottom, groaning. Swallowing, he began to push himself to a stand. “You have come.” A shadow passed over him. Richard looked up. Standing before him was a woman, garbed in wine red robes. Her eyes were dark, unblinking. She extended a hand. “Come,” she said. “I have been expecting you.”
