Paksworld

A very productive morning, in which I’ve learned things about Andressat I didn’t know before (can the proud,  stuffy little man really be so sneaky?  Well…there’s a reason Andressat is still independent after all these centuries) and also had the crisis/climax of Arvid’s situation with the rockfolk.   It gets rather Poe-ish.   And Simyits, god of chance and luck, is perhaps not the god you want to call on, when what you need is real help, right here, right now.  The two-faced trickster has a very unhelpful sense of humor.

About 2300 words so far today, which pushes me well over 123,000.   Since I want to know what the kteknik will do next, I intend to push on a bit, sore hands or no.

LATE ADDENDUM:  busy day at the computer, even with nap: the total count is now 125,368.  Couldn’t stop until I found out if Arvid made it out alive or not.

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After a nice canter of 1400+ words this morning,  the total count is now over 120,000.

The Count of Andressat and I have had a big surprise.  It’s harder on him, as it gives him a bad case of familial cognitive dissonance; for me, it opens interesting plot vistas.   I meant to get back to Arvid today, and I may, but what’s happening in Aarenis is driving the situation that Arvid finds himself in, and I needed to figure out exactly who did what when, so the chronology would be straight.

I do hope this won’t prove to be one of those times I followed a false trail and have to undo it, because this trail has complex consequences and undoing *that* is arduous.

Setting: inn just outside Fin Panir’s walls.   A dwarf and a kteknik gnome have been discussing (and mildly quarreling) about the object in question.  They are speaking in their own language (which the rockfolk share)  and do not worry about being overheard because they see no other rockfolk and the locals have already not reacted to test statements, either of warning or insulting.   They have ignored the movement of humans in the room, as none menace them.

…………………………………………….

“You are greedy,” the gnome said.

“I am not,” the dwarf said. “But if gold falls into my hand, I will not let it slide through my fingers.”

“If it is not your gold–“

“All the better.” The dwarf grinned. “Is it not obvious that the Girdish do not need that [object]? It came to them by thievery, after all–(an editorial snip here).”

“We cannot keep it!” the gnome said. “It is not ours; we neither made it nor bought it!”

“Excuse me.” A human hand intruded between them, flat on the table, and as they looked up they saw a tall clean-shaven man all in black. They realized he was speaking in their language only as he introduced himself. “Arvid Semminson, of Tsaia. It would be impolite to conceal from rockbrethren my fluent command of their speech, and perhaps by so doing discover that of their plans they would prefer not to have revealed.” He smiled, showing very human teeth; they noted also the sword and dagger he carried, and smelled the metal of hidden blades he wore here and there about him. Good steel. Excellent steel.

“You are that thief,” the gnome said, recovering first.

“I am no thief,” Arvid said, without heat. “It is true I am in the Thieves’ Guild, but she of whom you speak would agree I am not a thief.”

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One of last night’s discoveries is that some gnomes traveling with a dwarf are kteknik…exiles, usually temporary, who are wearing colors because they’re being punished.   (How to make a gnome unhappy–make him colors.)  If you’re a naughty gnome (could not resist), you may be required to go do something in the outside world that is considered a fair exchange for whatever it was you did.

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Those of you reading my LJ last year (before this blog existed) may remember the series of plot bombs that landed on me in the last third of the book.

Plot bombs are events/characters/situations that I didn’t anticipate and that propagate new plot and lots of words all of a sudden.  They disrupt my train of thought and break things open.   But, being creative and not truly destructive, plot bombs are always–well, almost nearly always completely–right.

The first true plot bomb of the second volume exploded in my head this morning.

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I went back to the scene that was giving me such trouble days ago and saw that what was missing was the other part of what they discussed (besides having the wrong number of dead people–hate it when that happens.   If A says there were six killed, and B says four, and both were there and neither lied…the writer has had a lapse between pages.   Which is better for the plot?  Pick one and stick through it in all subsequent scenes.)

And that was magic stuff.    A doesn’t know that B has magery of the old type.  B doesn’t know that A has some elven abilities and a whopping dose of taig-sense.   B doesn’t know what taig-sense is, and A only knows oldstyle magery by repute.    These are not the same but there are overlaps, and of course similar objectives…people want power so they can accomplish something with it, and those who have power (want it or not) must learn to use it to accomplish things.

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Not on my birthday, thanks to Stuff, but in honor of.

In the far south, beyond the barren hills of sand that edge the coast, in the dry and rocky slopes that once supported three white towers near a great city, the Guardian of Guardians lifts a hand and the prayers cease. No voice disturbs the hiss of wind on rock and sand; even the children playing among the ruins are silent.

All look north, north to the coast few of them have seen, and beyond to the lands no Guardian has visited, across the Immerhoft Sea, beyond the forests and fields now called Aarenis, beyond the high gray mountains beloved of dwarves and the hills of the gnome princedoms to the lands where magelords live, who once lived here.

“Yes,” the Guardian says. “The veil is torn; the life of the land is revealed.”

……

A clue to those who were wondering if this new story would answer any questions left from the old ones…(evil grin)  Depending on editorial whim, this may or may not be part of a prologue to one or another volume.

This one’s from the second book, so heavily edited to avoid spoilers. ..and there’s no guarantee it will make it into the final book.  Arianya ( Marshal-General of Gird) and Paks are riding along together on a hot summer morning.   Arianya’s the POV.

“She may wear Falk’s ruby, but she’s not just a Falkian knight,”  Arianya said.  “You weren’t at court when she killed that man…that wasn’t a prayer to Falk.  That was magery.”

“It could be both,” Paks said.  She bit into another plum and spat the stone into her hand, then tossed it into the base of a hedge.  “Alyanya’s blessing,” she said as it landed.

Arianya glanced back, half-expecting the stone to sprout then and there, bearing flowers and fruit by summer’s end.    No, that was silly.   “I don’t see how it could be both,” she said.

Though the repairs, etc., and some Other Stuff slowed progress, it wasn’t entirely a dud week after hitting the 100K mark last Tuesday at midnight.

The current wordage is 103,260.

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100,127 words by midnight Tuesday night.

Interesting stuff, some of it, too.  Kieri is having to cope with a very difficult situation and he’s settling down and putting his strategic mind on.

Can an ancient elf-queen be wrong?   Can she, in fact, screw up in a major way?

Inquiring minds will find out, once I know all the answers.  I don’t ever know all the answers until later (which means some re-writing, where I’ve gone astray, guessed wrong.

I’d like to stay home and work on this today but it’s not possible.  Plumbers coming to rip out the toilets and put in new ones,  a guest to pick up at the airport 60 miles away, business conferences, Ash Wednesday services, choir practice…