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The Unkindness of Ravens

17,532 / 17,532 (100.0%)

End of Project Writing Log
Words yesterday: 4,723
Total words: 17,532
Reason for length: The guidelines of the anthology that I hope I'm writing this for specify 7,000-20,000. I had hoped to keep it under 10,000, but it just grew and sprawled and stretched.
Type of story: A high fantasy story about a royal heir, at the mercy of the gods and surrounded by war, who is forced to pretend to be part of the untouchable caste, is owed a favor by his god, and learns a great deal about people and ruling.
Story origin: Battlefield Crows
Challenge(s): Well, I spewed this out in record time, though I later found that I didn't need to.... My main challenge here was working in the very complicated religious and social structure. I'm still not sure that I did a good job on that.
Notes: If this doesn't sell to Blood and Devotion, I'm not sure what I'll do with it. Even with drastic editing measures, this will never be a sleek, sexy 5,000 words. I will get it under 15,000, and I'll sing paeans of joy if I get it under 10,000, but the markets are limited. At this length, I can only think of a few.

The Unkindness of Ravens
The sound of the horses screaming and the jolt of the wagon lurching forward roused Albin from his hidden nest in the supply wagon. He tumbled out of the crate in which his mother's Crow lady-in-waiting had concealed him and miraculously landed on his feet, only to nearly lose his head when a sword flashed by mere inches from his throat.

"Holy Leopard!" the knight who had nearly decapitated him swore. He pulled his sword from the heart of the heathen soldier who had been his target. "Get off the field, boy!"

Albin stared around him. Through the slats of the crate, he had seen the wagon passing by peasants tending their fields, merchants chivvying along their trading caravans, and children playing a game of Eight Houses in the dust of the road. Then he had fallen asleep, and he had awoken in the Hell of the Forsaken.

He stood to one side of a ravaged battlefield. Soldiers fought over the bodies of their fallen brethren. The air was thick with the reek of rotted meat. Crows dared the edges of the battlefield, and ravens circled above the area where the fighting was the thickest.

Albin frowned, trying to predict the flow of the battle. He had been tutored by the best of House Crow, and he had applied himself to his studies, but what he saw did not make sense. The infidels fought with as much desperation as the soldiers of the Holy Eight, and though they were outnumbered, they did not retreat. They were the invaders, but they fought as though it was for their last chance at life. The battle would not end soon, and he was about to be engulfed in the thick of it.

One boy, unarmored and unarmed, would stand little chance of survival.

His mother had made him swear not to reveal his true identity, but without the protection that his status as the Crow royal heir might gain him, he would certainly be killed. His chances at the hands of those who followed other houses were better. He did not think they would kill him out of hand. He turned to beg for the leopard knight's protection, but the knight was no longer there.