Iron Quill Submission: The Morning's life of Diego Salazar

[Chucklemonkey]

Diego Salazar, last in a long line of Salazar men from the Kings heartland in Compostela, surveyed the scene before him.

To anyone else it would have been a confusing scene, but to Diego, who thrived on danger and mis-adventure, it was a scene to quicken the blood. He had been present at many battles before and to him they held no fear. If anything, they allowed him to demonstrate his martial skills, and as such were the origin of the stories he would tell to his comrades as they surrounded the fireplace in one of the local taverns which surrounded his impressive woodland estate at the edge of the City.

Diego turned his moustachioed head to his right. Next to him, as he had in countless battles before, stood Bastya. Diego knew very little of the Hungarian other than the fact that both he and his twin brother were fearless, brutal warriors. Bastya stood nearly as tall as Diego sat mounted and it was said was as wide as castle walls. The Hungarian behemoth turned and met Diego’s eyes before giving a barely perceptible nod. Diego was aware that despite what was whispered in stone corridors and the castle kitchen, Bastya was no fool. More often than he would care to admit Diego’s life had been spared by the fleet thoughts and actions of the fearless warrior.

These instances were of course reversed when the tales were re-told over a glass of warm milk at Diego’s much celebrated sleepovers.

A large boulder sailed high above, having been launched from the Kings battery of slingshot like Trebuchet’s, it landed with a thud mere metres from the enemy lines, scattering turf and mud in all directions. Diego chuckled to himself momentarily upon seeing the looks of panic among the enemy’s frontline. If they were not to die on the field they would surely be scolded for their tardy appearance when they returned home to their mothers or wives. Spit-laden handkerchiefs were surely waiting for them.

Diego hated spit-laden handkerchiefs.

The immediate advance Diego had expected did not come. He looked over to his King sat mounted barely ten feet to his side. Diego could see that his King was suffering badly from the unknown illness which had gripped him in recent times. His King maintained the strength however to meet Diego’s gaze and, as if in response, raised his arm as the signal for Diego to advance. He dug his spurs into Ambriel’s flanks, forcing her down the meadow-bank and leaping high over the kneeling rank of spearmen.

Diego was determined not to let the King down. He would find the cure to this mystery malady if he had to rip it direct from the hands of his enemies.

The charge began.

..........

John Peters felt repeated tugs at the back of his shirt but was resolved to ignore them. He had been paid the night before, and together with others in his mining crew, had decided to celebrate this fact with their standard monthly ritual of visiting the Lamb’s Head pub. They had enjoyed many hands of poker and had drank for hours, the night culminating when it had been suggested by one of their number, John could not re-call exactly who, that they attend the late night show at the Star Theatre. Their resultant refusal of entry culminated in a brawl in the streets. John could not determine if the feeling of pain he was experiencing were as a result of his fight with the bouncers or with the many pints of Guinness he had enjoyed. John’s head was pounding, but he felt, no, he knew, that the only answer was to remain on his couch, eyes closed, and with as little movement as possible.

Mercifully,the tugs stopped.

.........

Diego could see that this day would go down in history, and given his bravery in the field, rewards would surely befall him; perhaps he would even be given the keys to the castle tower where all of the kingdom’s chocolate was stored. He could but dream. He had personally dispatched many enemy spear-men as well as a shameless heretic holding a cross aloft in the name of the false king. Something had felt wrong today though. The enemy seemed to have moved in ways that he had never come across. Diego struggled with this but briefly.

The true prize though, the false king himself and the magical medicine which he had stolen, was yet to be captured. Diego had spotted him and his personal bodyguard sneaking into the forest due west of the battlefield. This would be his destination and where true glory would finally, and deservedly, befall him. He gripped Ambriel’s reins tightly and drove her towards the trees, mindful to steer clear of the few remaining skirmishes still being fought.

..........

The tugging began again. “God’dammit. Can’t you just leave me be?” Shouted John Peters; or at least he would have shouted it, if his malaise hadn’t have prevented him from doing so. He would not be moved though, not yet anyway. He needed a morning’s peace, just to set himself right again. Then he would do whatever needed doing, although even through his mental haze he knew he had forgotten something. A job or duty he could not recall in detail.

The tug came again; sharper and more desperate now. If John was to be able to sleep further then something would have to be done. He waved his arm lazily behind him until he felt it connect with something and then he gently pushed backward. “Get away. Just a few more hours is all I need.”

He had definitely shouted that time.

...........

Ambriel had made it as far through the trees as she could. The branches seemed to reach out and grab Diego as he rode past. Upon his cheek being cut for a second time he determined it was time to continue the pursuit on his own two feet. He used the leather reigns to tie his prize mare to a nearby larch as swiftly as he could before before peering deeper into the forest and only just catching sight of his retreating quarry.

Diego strode with purpose, knowing that he was nimble enough to be able to close ground on his prey in mere minutes, he was after all the fastest man in the Kingdom. He leapt over fallen tree trunks as he powered onwards. Moving behind another large trunk he expected to see the false king immediately behind, but they had vanished. Diego became still and tried to slow his heartbeat and quieten his breathing. Where could they be? He stayed rooted to the spot and for a few moments all he could hear were the birds in the trees and the distant clash of steel from the battle he had left behind.

There.

Something more came to him. The voices were muffled but could not be far and those speaking did not seem to be making any effort to conceal themselves from him. He began to stalk his way to towards the sound, careful not to step on a dried twig. The legendary Diego Salazar would never make such an amateur mistake. He realised the sound was emanating from within a small clearing, perhaps thirty feet in diameter and sat in centre on a fallen tree sat the false king, before him stood the Black Knight and it was clear they were waiting for him.

Diego took a tentative first step into the clearing and in doing so the Black Knight turned to face him directly. It took all his resolve not to turn tail and flee, he had heard the stories of the depraved Black Knight and his thirst for blood. His legend had spread far and wide and it was said that no-one could bend the black knight fully to their will. Apparently his quarters were incredibly untidy and he refused to take a bath, even on bath-knight. Diego could barely contemplate such rebellious and rambunctious behaviour. This would truly be a test of Diego’s mettle. He walked onward closing the gap between them and in doing so drew his Toledo from its scabbard and readied himself for battle.

............

John Peters turned and faced into the centre of the room and as he did so slowly lifted his eyelids. At first the light seemed to spear through his eyes like a crossbow bolt but after one or two blinks he was able to clear his vision and get his bearings. It was then that it struck him. What he had promised the most important person in his life; and what he would quite clearly have failed to do.

He closed his eyes again as the guilt enveloped him in uncomfortable warmth.

.............

As Diego sat where not twenty minutes previous the False King had, he allowed a smile to creep across his face. His clash with the Black Knight had been hard fought with each of them having a seemingly telepathic understanding of where the other would strike next. Eventually though, and through a force of will Diego knew very little about, he had overcome his adversary with a well-placed thrust below the neck- plate.

The false king had then been restrained with very little resistance and had sang like a lark regarding the location of the required elixir. He must have known the game was up when witnessing Diego’s inspiring swordplay. The morning had been one of the greatest in Diego’s military career and as he brought both himself and his prisoner to a standing position in order to lead them back to Ambriel, he allowed himself to begin dreaming of what was to follow.

The King would surely be pleased.

..................

Derek Peters stood before the window and stared out towards the park. He could see many of his friends already there enjoying the Saturday morning sun. He turned and took another look at his father sprawled out on the couch. John had promised Derek a day out in that very same park. Derek could see however that his father was mortally ill and after one final attempt to lift his father from his stupor, an attempt Derek had been sure, incorrectly, would be successful, he had come to the conclusion that his day would now not involve an afternoon spent on the swings and roundabouts . He would just have to amuse himself further.

He scanned the room, his eyes passing over his spinning top, his ball and his father’s chess set which he had been playing with mere moments before. There they were. He thought he had lost the play-set given to him by his Aunt for his birthday two weeks earlier, but they must have just fallen under the wooden cabinet by the door. At least now he wouldn’t have to play with those wooden chess pieces. Derek ran across the room, excitement already building as to what adventures he could now have.

…………………….

Devon Colburn, last in a long line of Colburn men from the town of Winchester, stood staring out across the canyon. The Injuns were massing..........

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That's it. my final submission. Thanks to those who suggested changes in the WIP thread. I tried to incorporate them as best I could and made the Diego passages more youthful.

Edited June 9, 2012 by Chucklemonkey

[UberGruber]

I think this integrates his dad a bit better and there are some good little jokes got from making Diego more child-like. I have a question though (it's a minor point of consistency really, I shouldn't fret it too much, I just like exploring these avenues of internal consistency). If Diego is a product of Derek's imagination to the extent we see here (not merely brought to life by imagination and with his fate determined by it, but his very thoughts influenced too, why would he think the enemy manoeuvers strange? Had he independence of thought (but no free will) then it would make sense to me. But as his thoughts are now clearly those of the small boy whose creation he is, and given that boy can't play chess, how is it that Diego perplexed by the enemy? Also, when I was younger playing soldiers, as I recollect I tried so far as possible to think in adult terms, so the (amusing) references to spit-wipes and warm milk, etc rang a bit false to me in that respect. The counter to that though is that they are funny. But I do think they weaken the 'reality' of Diego as a character and too obviously tie him to the boy early on, there being sufficient clues without the need for such blatant indication.

So I'm a bit torn really. I liked the humour here but found the overall story less satisfying.

[ThePandaDirector]

Have to say I mostly agree with UberGruber even though many of the changes were made on my advisement.

The issue is getting a balance right between Derek's aspiration of what a brave and noble knight would act and think like and how much that reflects his own knowledge and limitations. There's some parts I think are still beyond Derrek's imagination and others that are too child like for Derek to attach them to a brave knight.

What you need is more description, but quite basic description, using simple vocabularly to refect Derek's limited cognitive scope. So rather than "schmitar" it's "long curvy sword" with a few choice words reflecting Derek's attitude, such as "soaked to the skin in blood and gloop Diego exclaimed a victorious "eww..."" So there's not many big words (go onomatopoeia crazy), it creates an image yet leads up to a not so knightly exclaimation that isn't completely out of place, but is informal enough to contradict the brash and bravado of the rest of the piece.

Plus you could use thematic descriptive words throughout which don't immediately make the reader aware of what's going on but create an extra layer of depth once the piece is reflected on as a whole. So John hearing screams and laughter outside that he tries to block out, which then linked to the sounds of battle in the story which is then referred to when Derek looks out the window and sees his friends charging each other and play fighting, all linking to battle and the contrast between imaginary conflict (which Derek has to try and accomplish alone) and the adult conflict that John struggles with (battling the hangover and realisation he's lost the fight to take care of his son). It's all about maintaing balance and getting the right amount of contrast and connectedness across the plotline.

Hope that helps, it's really enjoyable to see these stories develop, people get things right or wrong (usually my fault) and immerse oneself in the process, even if you do get all the hard work

[UberGruber]

I would, I think, still have preferred Diego as a 'real' character of independent thought, born, as it were, out of Derek's play but having (though he knows it not) no free will, his actions of course being determined entirely by Derek. Though that said, the spit-wipe bit was so good, I'd be sad to see it go.

But then you could use the story to explore (though I don't think stories need do more than spin a decent yarn myself) the idea that Derek is being unconsciously influenced in his play by his slumbering 'sick' father in a similar way to how Derek control's Diego's fate. Of course when Diego is blotted out of existence in the wink of an eye when the real toys become available could be contrasted with his father waking, seeing his son at play waiting, but succumbing instead to his hangover.

Then again you could leave it as is and hope the gags are enough to carry it. Though in that case, I'd add more humour and have less 'literariness'.

[Chucklemonkey]

I appreciate all of the comments and recognise their accuracy. Unfortunately for me I have stated that this is my final submission and so I feel like I can't touch it anymore for the purposes of the IQ.

I may try to alter it a bit seperately now from the IQ, as part of the learning process.

[UberGruber]

Sure. There also comes a time when something's just best left alone for a bit. I do think it's caught between two stools at the moment and perhaps coming back to it after a break would allow you to decide how you want to slant it more easily.

Then there's the fact that it's going to be hard to please me (who wants an adult-minded Diego, independent of thought but with no free will) and Panda who'd rather Diego's story reflected Derek's situation more directly.

[ThePandaDirector]

Do I need to remind people?