About my co-author

Hi all!
wished to tell you that i am not the only culprit whom you would want to accuse of writing this novel. i have a very able co-author and a dear friend of mine without whose mention the novel is incomplete and posting subsequent pages of my novel is being dishonest on my part.
Meet Mr. Abhishek Gupta, the co-author of the book, THE QUEST FOR THE WHITE SPEAR (tentative). it was our idea to come up with this story. i would like to mention here our roles in the whole process of writing this particular novel. at first, Abhishek and I planned out the story,drafted the plot, and worked on various concepts regarding it. my inclination for giving the credit in the imagination part is toward him, as he is very well with it, and came up with new concepts and breakthroughs in the plot for which I am grateful to him. Imagination from my part was related to assisting him in imagination and giving my inputs when they were needed. after that we started writing. the writing part solely belongs to me. I play the Pen for our imagination, and I am to be punished in case i kill the plot by my writing style.
the written part is checked by abhishek then, and rechecked by me, and editing is done before it os made final (this has made me a large number of extra pages since the start....i still remember he tore off the very first page).
so, this is how we have some up with the novel. and we hope that all those who read this blog are generous in putting up comments so that we, mainly I, make some necesaary changes in the way the styling is done or the story is told.
THANX.....
n now, i continue with further pages of my novel.

CHAPTER 1 PART 2

The Men drew first blood, and with another roar from Benedor, another flock of arrows filled up the empty sky. For the second time, the Earth tasted filthy Slayer – blood. Hundreds of them were killed even before the first clash of swords. This, though, did not stop their rally for their enemy, towards whom they ran, yelling and roaring, ready to strike them with their weapons raised above their heads. Their first clash of swords was, for an aerial on-looker, the confluence of the Gale and the Sorceress-the Sacred in the North-west.

If for the Slayers, it was brute force, for the Men it was their metallurgical development. Their swords were made of the White metal, the new find of humankind. Purifying the raw iron and taking out the coal before solidifying was what had produced it, and what had made it tougher than the black iron still used by the Slayers. For this, Benedor had rewarded Hindora, which meant ‘the great workshop’ in Nebial. However, the use of White metal combined with the excellent display of sword work got lost in the endless sea of Slayers. For Men, it was just kill and kill, without stop.

The first to bear the rally of the Slayers were Zahlur’s spearmen. Having caused the initial onslaught, they were helpless in stopping the Slayers, their weapons being futile weapons for closer warfare.

‘Spearmen retreat!’ Benedor thundered, ‘Knights, take guard!’

The knights were nowhere to be seen, thought most Slayers. Then were heard hoofs of a large number of horses, making a kill for the army of Slayers, coming out of the large forests in the Southeast.

But how could this be? How could Men risk being so close to Maraud’s territory?

From a distance, it was a shocking sight. Slayers on the back of Zahlur’s horses - a large horde of Slayers. To the Slayers on foot fighting for their Lord, this act of betrayal came as a shock. What was seen as they came closer shocked them even more. The Slayers riding the horses were dead. The sight took the Slayers by surprise, weakening their attack.

‘The plan has worked’, muttered Benedor to himself, as his sword tasted another Slayer’s blood.

On the horses were dead Slayers, and Men were sitting behind them on the horsebacks. They had tied the Slayers’ bodies to their waists, to provide for extra protection, their shields protecting their backs. This shield served as a great shield against the Slayer offence. They practically had their faces as the only part of their bodies that could be attacked, thus almost giving them invincibility. The knights had caught the last few rows of Doemen’s army and ad used the bodies of the slain as their shields before entering the war. This, as they call now, was the ultimate plan of Benedor that made this moment the turning point of the war, one that shifted the force towards the Men.

Destruction and havoc caused by the knights made the innumerable numerable, and the numerable countable. The knights tore apart the sea of Slayers, threatening to cut their momentum. But just as they brought Zahlur to the brink of the point of no return, there were sounds of thumps, thumps of heavy footsteps. They were the Trolls, ferocious and tall. Green and slimy, they were easily the most fell of creatures after Slayers. Slayers made the way for them as they shook the earth when they walked through them.

‘Knights, fall back!’, roared Benedor, the decision taken as soon as the line of Trolls was seen. It was wise of him to order his knights back, for there was no reason making them fight the large Trolls.

War, as a whole, came to a stop. The Slayers stopped as they watched the Trolls unleashing their menace. The Men stopped as they were taken aback by the appearance of Trolls.

Within all this, the Trolls used their strength to crush everything they could get. ‘Trolls are there not to be used, but to be unleashed’, as they had ever said, looked a reality. This was what Maraud had done. He had unleashed his Trolls in the war.

Men losing their limbs, men crushed below giant feet, men flying in the air, men thrown to a great distance. There was nowhere Men could escape. They were caught off guard by the onslaught.

It was this time when young Mithrin did what would then be remembered for a long time to come. One of the most powerful swordsmen of the army, he charged towards a troll with a sword and a spear of his dead friend Randir. The troll looked menacingly towards him with a loud grunt. It swirled a hand to sweep away his tiny enemy, but Mithrin was agile enough to feign his movement and head with the spear into the leg of the Troll, the act making it groan in pain, and making him fall to its knees, with an angry grunt so loud that all near shook with fear.

There was a triumphant look in Mithrin’s eyes. After all, it is not easy for a man to hurt a Troll, and to have that proud human feeling of having avenged his friend’s loss. The Troll was ready for its fall. Mithrin moved backwards, but fate was such that a stone behind him made him trip and fall. Now he was on ground, not having time to retreat and save himself from the Troll’s fall, not having the energy left to stand. Death was now looking into his eyes. However, his act was not over yet.

Mithrin held his sword upright, resting it on his stomach, his eyes closed, and waiting for death to take him. His lips opened up into a mutter of few last words. There was a loud thud then, followed almost instantly by the cry of a Man, and then a painful grunt of a Troll. A stream of two bloods mixed in a stream flowed down the surface. Nothing moved then. Mithrin had fallen, but what a brave death. Slaying a Troll alone was a not a feat oft repeated in the History of Men. Mithrin, before falling, had made sure his name would occupy the air long after he had last tread the sands of this world.

first pages of my novel.....want comments...CHAPTER 1 PART 1

The Great War of the First Age

‘The men are ready to attack, King Benedor.’

The messenger informed King Benedor, the King of the High Valleys of Zahlur. Benedor had an imperial look on his face, one everyone associate with the Kings of Men of the High Valleys. His beard was neat and ended up in an arrow of hair below the chin, and his head held well up, the King’s eyes shone the clouds of despair and fear- fear from Maraud, the Lord of Darkness. Walking in a way that expressed his uncertainty over the world’s future, Benedor moved towards his horse.

The King of Men now rose into vision and faced his men, who were lined up in the fashion smartest possible. The armour, a black one bordered with red, was a heavy one. Spear-holders were at the front followed by swordsmen and archers. The swords and shields of the warriors had the outstanding class of the smithy work of the men in their sharp edges. The eyes though, were conveying something else. For the first time, Benedor could see fear gaping from Men’s eyes.

‘My men, the protectors of Zahlur and the Earth… we are here to fight the mightiest battle of our times’, the King’s voice roared.

‘Maraud thinks he has put his greatest weapon, his fear, in you. I can see that in your eyes. But the strength by which you still hold your weapons tells me that you are ready for anything that comes out of that Black Gate.’

‘Pride and valour is what they have seen in us since ages. I want that pride and that valour in your weaponwork. Let the metal strike metal as hard as it has ever been. Let there always be glory to the kingdom of Zahlur. Let your name be written in the History of Men.’

Benedor’s men beat their weapons against their armour in agreement, which produced an ear-deafening noise.

‘Immortal will be those in the History who pass the Gates and dethrone the Dark Lord. Immortality is yours…Go, have it!’

With cries of courage, filling the nothingness in the air around, the twenty thousand-strong army of men set out towards the ominous Black Gates, those that barred entry to anything that walks the earth, save fell beings that served the Dark Lord.

Everyone halted near the Gate. All was silent again. There was stillness in the air. Silence was ringing in the ears, for even a bird did not fly in such fell places.

‘Maraud, I summon you’, roared Benedor, ‘Give up your throne and your lands and you will have my mercy, or doomed shall be your future when the brave men of Zahlur raid your fell territory.’

As Benedor retreated to join his line in the front of the army, the Black Gates began to open with the hoarse sound of the stone. The men in the front got their first sight of the Land of Darkness. The sight was dark and gloomy. Clouds had veiled the land from the Sun, which looked as though sunlight did not wish to bless those who breathed there. Neither did Mother Nature, for no bird in the dark sky, or a blade of grass in the barren lands, was there that gave the rest of human lands their green colour and an air of freshness.

Cutting through the silence were the distant yells of the armies of Doemen, a horde of fell creatures, the Slayers of Maraud. Grey in their appearance with hideous faces, the innumerable Slayers ran towards the men with what haste their feet gave them. Behind them were a dozen Trolls.

Benedor took out his sword and held it up in the air. Light from the Sun fell on the sword and made it gleam.

‘The Sun God is with us’, said Benedor to himself, ‘The Risen will ensure us our victory.’

Ruthandir came up to his King for further orders.

‘The archers are ready to shoot, King. They wait for your command.’

Benedor took his eye off his sword and looked at Ruthandir, the Commander of his forces, and shook his head as he turned to look towards the direction from which slayers were coming. He used his hand to give shade to his eyes from the sun’s intense rays so that he could clearly see the Slayers coming from a distance.

‘Let them come closer, Ruthandir. Their best warriors are the one who form the line behind those in the front. You take the hold of the spears. I’ll have archers in my command.’

Ruthandir returned to join the line of spearmen.

The thunderous sounds of firm and heavy footsteps were increasing slowly but surely. So did the thumping of the hearts of everyone hearing them, everyone save Benedor, who had a braver soul than any of his fellow Men, for not everyone had fought several battles even before one had got out of the institution, and certainly not against the ferocious Vanadis of the South. He had to be a King then, the first among his men, and now he stood, at the gates of a battle and an army more ferocious than any other was, waiting restlessly to strike hard.

‘Closer, closer…’ muttered Benedor to himself, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

When the line of Slayers was near enough, Benedor cleared his throat, and cried as loud as he could, ‘Archers! For Zahlur, shoot!’

The archers followed their King’s orders by invading the sky with their arrows. One fell, and then another and others followed. Everyone else watched as the Slayers at the back fell to the air-borne weapons.