Here’s another section from the Alchemist novel sketch. Chapter One features one of the primary “good” guys, if any character in this world can truly be called “good.”
Enjoy.
One – Jessica
The stables on the Blaisewell estate were situated next to a small, fast-moving river. A pathway, paved with red bricks, wound its way down a verdant hillside from the castle to a smithy, a mill powered by the current in the river, and the livestock pens. A bridge made of fitted masonry spanned the turbulent waters, leading to the city of Broughton. Apple and dogwood trees lined the pathway from the castle, their heavy, white flowers dancing lightly to the caress of the warm, spring wind. A young woman, of the nobility due to the richness of her dress, strolled down the path, stopping occasionally to admire a particular tree or to talk to a person laboring in the orchards.
She entered the stables, pausing for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dim light. The heavy odor of manure and alfalfa tickled her nostrils, forcing her to stifle a sneeze. Though no stranger to horses, she had rarely entered the stables, preferring to have one of the stable boys saddle her horse and bring it to her. The cloying odor annoyed her more than she realized.
What drew her to the stables was rumor of a spectacular horse, recently acquired from one of the minor families in the Blaisewell fief. She crept down the center corridor of the stables, smiling as horses on both sides moved closer to the stall doors in an effort to get her attention. In the last stall of the stable, she saw her goal.
The horse was little short of magnificent. To the uneducated eyes of Jessica Blaisewell, the horse was a black demon of energy, poised to explode like a tightly wound spring. A single, white marking on the nose interrupted the sable coat of the animal, the imperfection making it seem more mortal and less like the rumored capricious being of myth. Corded muscles rippled under the skin as the horse shifted under the attentions of a grimy, young boy standing on a three-legged wooden stool.
Jessica walked around the animal as the stable boy groomed the long, black mane. “What is his name?” she asked, tentatively reaching out to stroke to the sleek nose of the horse.
“Minsala,” the boy replied, not daring to look Jessica in the face. “The Master of Horse told me that it means ‘running darkly’ in an older language.” He shifted his stool and began to brush the horse’s coat with long, even strokes. The horse whickered softly and stomped his front feet against the plank floor of the stable. “He’s a destrier,” the boy said in a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s being trained for war.” The boy flushed. “But he’s quite gentle, milady. I promise.”
“War, my lad?” said an imperious voice behind Jessica. “I should hope not. Minsala, like many of the other horses here, is being trained for defense. Not war.” Jessica saw the stable boy drop his brush and hastily recover it, burying himself in his task.
Jessica turned. “Father!” she said. “What are you doing here?” Alexander Blaisewell was a tall man of late middle years, his lustrous black hair threaded with silver. His face was still without the wrinkles and sagging skin of age, but his features reminded Jessica of nothing so much as a hatchet. His countenance consisted of sharp planes and angles, lending an almost predatory look to him. Dancing green eyes belied his gruff appearance. They twinkled with merriment now.
“I might ask the same of you, Jess. Do you often come to the stables to consort with stable boys and horses?” Alexander reached past his daughter and stroked the side of the horse’s head. Reaching in his pocket, he offered the horse a small radish. The horse hungrily ate the tidbit, tossing its head in appreciation. Alexander hastily wiped his hand against his trousers.
Jessica laughed. “How else will I meet a lusty peasant boy, unless I constantly sneak off to the stables?”
Jessica’s joke gave Alexander a moment of pause. He realized that she was no longer the little girl of his memories. The joke, more than anything, reminded him that he faced a young woman and not a little girl. He sighed inwardly. She looked much like her mother had. She lacked the willowy gracefulness typical of most noble families in the Empire, instead running to voluptuous curves and a slight awkwardness. Her dark hair, a shade somewhere between black and brown, was lustrous and straight, framing an oval face, high cheekbones, and green eyes that were very similar to her father’s. Her lips shaped a frown as he continued to regard her without answering.
“Father?” Jessica asked. “What is it?” She had seen the look on his face.
Alexander sighed. She was not a little girl any longer. “It is nothing, my dear. I promise.” He led her out of the stall, sitting down on a roughly-hewn bench. “Sit with me for a moment. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
Jessica sat next to him, folding her hands in her lap. She looked at him expectantly. Alexander reached over and placed his larger hand over the top of hers. “You know the laws of the Empire, Jess. I must send my heir to Procellum to sit on the small council soon. The rest of the council grows impatient.”
Jessica nodded. “And since you have no sons, I must go as your heir.” She sounded less than eager.
Alexander looked wistful as he considered her resigned tone. “I do not wish for you to go, Jess, but you have been trained for this. It is your duty to your family and your people to represent our interests at the center of the Empire. I can no longer delegate this task to another.”
“I know you wish you had a son, father–”
“Jess, please. I couldn’t wish for more than I have.”
“I know what your heart desires, Father,” Jessica continued, stopping the interruption. “But I will do my best. You’re right. I have been trained. You’ve been grooming me for this for a long time, have you not?”
Alexander could only agree. “So what are you worried about, Father? This is a great opportunity for our House. I’ll be the first female Blaisewell to sit on the council. Besides, there is precedent. The Montagnes never send a male representative.”
“Heaven help us that you don’t learn from them,” Alexander said. He gave her a compulsive hug, crushing her against his chest. “I’m glad you understand, Jess. Perhaps this isn’t something that you would have wished for yourself, but I am comfortable knowing that you will one day succeed me. This is a necessary step in that journey.” He stood. “Now. . .what do you think of Minsala?”
Jessica stood as well and walked to the horse. She wanted to talk more of her new responsibilities, but it was obvious that her father was not willing. “He is beautiful, father.” During their conversation, the stable boy had disappeared.
Alexander smiled. “Then he is yours! Consider it a going-away present. You’ll need a fast horse to bring you home when you have leave from the Emperor to return.”
Jessica stroked the nose of Minsala again. Minsala snuffled her open palm, hoping to find a sugar cube or a vegetable. She laughed and leaned against the horse’s muscular chest. “I’m ready, father,” she said. She stifled all of the questions she wanted to ask and hardened her resolve. “Besides, what have I got to lose?” She hurried out of the stall, shifting in appearance from serious young woman to excited little girl in a flash. “I’m going to go find that stable boy and put Minsala through his paces.”
Alexander watched her leave, noting both her youthful energy and her delight with Minsala. He knew that she would return to the castle and change before riding her new horse. Tonight, she would begin the task of packing and the long process of goodbyes. The thought of sending her to Procellum still filled him with dread, but he had little choice. He leaned against the stall door and regarded the horse carefully. “What has she got to lose?” he asked. The horse stared back impassively. “I hope it’s nothing more than her innocence.”