This is the opening of my first book, published April last (in Dutch, ofc). I translated it myself, so if I made any glaring mistakes, feel free to correct me. Comments would be appreciated.
Four times the bronze voice of the tower bell rang out over the forecourt. At the first note, the boys ducked into the shadows and stared motionlessly at the rain-drenched square. Minutes passed without anyone appeared.
Ghyll Denhalf threw the other two a triumphant grin, everything went as he’d planned. He knew the night watch wouldn't think of manning the walls in this miserable weather. They’d huddle near the fire in the guardhouse, their boots at the door and their weapons neatly in the rack, while they killed the time with mulled wine, dice and the retelling of their war stories. The boys’ way was clear.
The three slipped unseen through the open gate into the darkness beyond. The world outside the walls lay wrapped in rain; nothing moved but the falling water. Four hours past midnight and Castle Tinnurad slept.
Without speaking, they hurried to the stable at the castle farm, where their horses stood. Their trained fingers found saddle straps and buckles by touch, and soon they led the animals away. In the river boathouse at the breakwater, the barge lay waiting and soon they sailed on their adventure.
‘We did it!’ Ghyll took a deep breath, gazing in the direction of the invisible mainland. He felt his foster brother’s stare in his back and he chuckled softly. Olle didn’t approve of their clandestine enterprise, but he followed Ghyll’s lead, as he always did. And Damion? The new boy went along because they’d asked him.
In the distance, Ghyll glimpsed the looming mass of the Dar Traun. It seemed as if the mountain was waiting for them. We’re coming, the boy thought impatiently. Since his uncle’s forester had told him boars had been sighted higher up the slope of the Traun, Ghyll knew that he had to kill one for tomorrow. For that would be his day, his twentieth birthday. He had a vague notion that coming of age and hunting boars belonged together, as if the one would his prove his fitness for the other. He grunted. Uncle Jadron wouldn’t be pleased they’d gone left without permission. But the urge was irresistible.
An hour later they were in the meadow at the foot of the Traun, high above the river. Ghyll looked up at the darkened summit. His chest tightened. Why are we here? he thought. I can’t do this! He was about to turn away, to say they’d go home, when the sound of the gate slamming shut behind him caused all his doubts to flee. He sucked the moist air deep into his lungs, swung his arms a few times to make his blood flow faster and felt the tension drain from his body. Come on, faint heart, he thought; the swine are waiting!
Ulanth, Uncle Jadron’s warhorse, pulled a tuft of grass from the ground and started to chew impassively. Ghyll patted the animal’s neck, before handing his spear to Olle. His eyes scanned the field where they would leave their mounts. The gate was closed; everything seemed safe. ‘Ready, lads?’ he asked.
Olle nodded, but Damion answered in such a timid tone, that Ghyll frowned. Another one suffering from nerves? Suddenly he was eager to leave. ‘Let’s go, then.’
The hunter’s trail that led them upwards through the pinewoods, was muddy but passable. Soon, however, the forest grew closer, the path more slippery and the visibility even worse. Quietly, they walked through the near dark, until a rustling in the blackberry bushes brought them to an abrupt halt. Ghyll’s hand went to his hunting knife, but he relaxed again as a rabbit fled across the path. Behind him, he heard Olle’s chuckle.
Does he think I’m afraid? Ghyll thought. For a moment he stood still, listening to the sounds of the forest. From somewhere in front of them, he heard the snapping of twigs. But that noise was too soft for a boar. From farther away among the trees came the call of a hunting owl, ominous in the lightlessness of the woods. Ghyll felt a shiver run down his spine.
Hurriedly, they went on. The narrow path to the summit was barely visible in the dark. Next to him, Damion muttered something Ghyll couldn’t quite catch, but the younger boy’s whole attitude betrayed his dislike of the forest. Ghyll couldn’t blame him; he didn’t enjoy the dripping pines and the boding silence either. Without thinking, he whistled a few bars of a battle song, but stopped abruptly. Nonsense, they’re just trees on a mountain!
‘Why the hurry?’ Olle asked casually.
‘All right, all right,’ Ghyll grumbled. ‘If you can’t keep up...’
Olle sang softly. ‘Sa, Ballady with mighty sword, hit out at all and sundry,’ the same air Ghyll had whistled. ‘It ìs a bit creepy here,’ he admitted.
Ghyll laughed. Even my tough brother feels uneasy, he thought and for a while, his mood lightened.
Four times the bronze voice of the tower bell rang out over the forecourt. At the first note, the boys ducked into the shadows and stared motionlessly at the rain-drenched square. Minutes passed without anyone appeared.
Ghyll Denhalf threw the other two a triumphant grin, everything went as he’d planned. He knew the night watch wouldn't think of manning the walls in this miserable weather. They’d huddle near the fire in the guardhouse, their boots at the door and their weapons neatly in the rack, while they killed the time with mulled wine, dice and the retelling of their war stories. The boys’ way was clear.
The three slipped unseen through the open gate into the darkness beyond. The world outside the walls lay wrapped in rain; nothing moved but the falling water. Four hours past midnight and Castle Tinnurad slept.
Without speaking, they hurried to the stable at the castle farm, where their horses stood. Their trained fingers found saddle straps and buckles by touch, and soon they led the animals away. In the river boathouse at the breakwater, the barge lay waiting and soon they sailed on their adventure.
‘We did it!’ Ghyll took a deep breath, gazing in the direction of the invisible mainland. He felt his foster brother’s stare in his back and he chuckled softly. Olle didn’t approve of their clandestine enterprise, but he followed Ghyll’s lead, as he always did. And Damion? The new boy went along because they’d asked him.
In the distance, Ghyll glimpsed the looming mass of the Dar Traun. It seemed as if the mountain was waiting for them. We’re coming, the boy thought impatiently. Since his uncle’s forester had told him boars had been sighted higher up the slope of the Traun, Ghyll knew that he had to kill one for tomorrow. For that would be his day, his twentieth birthday. He had a vague notion that coming of age and hunting boars belonged together, as if the one would his prove his fitness for the other. He grunted. Uncle Jadron wouldn’t be pleased they’d gone left without permission. But the urge was irresistible.
An hour later they were in the meadow at the foot of the Traun, high above the river. Ghyll looked up at the darkened summit. His chest tightened. Why are we here? he thought. I can’t do this! He was about to turn away, to say they’d go home, when the sound of the gate slamming shut behind him caused all his doubts to flee. He sucked the moist air deep into his lungs, swung his arms a few times to make his blood flow faster and felt the tension drain from his body. Come on, faint heart, he thought; the swine are waiting!
Ulanth, Uncle Jadron’s warhorse, pulled a tuft of grass from the ground and started to chew impassively. Ghyll patted the animal’s neck, before handing his spear to Olle. His eyes scanned the field where they would leave their mounts. The gate was closed; everything seemed safe. ‘Ready, lads?’ he asked.
Olle nodded, but Damion answered in such a timid tone, that Ghyll frowned. Another one suffering from nerves? Suddenly he was eager to leave. ‘Let’s go, then.’
The hunter’s trail that led them upwards through the pinewoods, was muddy but passable. Soon, however, the forest grew closer, the path more slippery and the visibility even worse. Quietly, they walked through the near dark, until a rustling in the blackberry bushes brought them to an abrupt halt. Ghyll’s hand went to his hunting knife, but he relaxed again as a rabbit fled across the path. Behind him, he heard Olle’s chuckle.
Does he think I’m afraid? Ghyll thought. For a moment he stood still, listening to the sounds of the forest. From somewhere in front of them, he heard the snapping of twigs. But that noise was too soft for a boar. From farther away among the trees came the call of a hunting owl, ominous in the lightlessness of the woods. Ghyll felt a shiver run down his spine.
Hurriedly, they went on. The narrow path to the summit was barely visible in the dark. Next to him, Damion muttered something Ghyll couldn’t quite catch, but the younger boy’s whole attitude betrayed his dislike of the forest. Ghyll couldn’t blame him; he didn’t enjoy the dripping pines and the boding silence either. Without thinking, he whistled a few bars of a battle song, but stopped abruptly. Nonsense, they’re just trees on a mountain!
‘Why the hurry?’ Olle asked casually.
‘All right, all right,’ Ghyll grumbled. ‘If you can’t keep up...’
Olle sang softly. ‘Sa, Ballady with mighty sword, hit out at all and sundry,’ the same air Ghyll had whistled. ‘It ìs a bit creepy here,’ he admitted.
Ghyll laughed. Even my tough brother feels uneasy, he thought and for a while, his mood lightened.
