Michelle L. Levigne's Blog, page 105

Excerpt: LADY WARHAWK

From Uncial Press
Excerpt:
What do you seek, that you come to the Lake of Ice? she asked, and didn't flinch when her impatience made her voice snap and boom across the ice.

The enchantment brought the image of a man in the Warhawk's brown and gold livery to her mind's eye. He dropped to both knees on the pebbly edge of the Lake of Ice.

"The Warhawk has sent me to ask you to bring his heir to him, Queen of Snows. Treachery rises in the Court. He is ill, and his enemies will trick him into naming one of them heir unless his son comes to him now."

The man, far too handsome to be trusted, in Meghianna's opinion, was an unfamiliar face. She pegged him as a Moertan, or of the new generation of Rey'kil Valors who hadn't trained at the Stronghold. She pushed a little against the enchantment, to test the harmonies of the Threads wrapped around him.

Her impatience turned to anger when she found the Threads too tight, held with an iron fight so they didn't chime at her testing touch. He couldn't tell that she had tested him, and that was a foolish trick she would never have allowed one of her students to use.

Liar. She gripped the arms of her chair to keep from leaping to her feet or reaching out physically to slap him. I am well aware of the health of Efrin Warhawk, who knows his heir is not in the Stronghold.

Her voice crackled and snapped across the ice and made the pebbles of the shore vibrate. The false messenger jumped to his feet, visibly trembling now, and looked around him in all directions. Meghianna's magically produced voice rang off the surrounding high walls of rock, the boulders, and shredded the mist that clung to the shore of the Lake of Ice, so that the bodies of the enemies of the Stronghold were revealed. She thought it particularly gruesome to leave skeletons scattered all around the shore in their rotting shreds of finery and rusting fragments of armor and weapons, but Meghianna had learned never to cast aside any tradition of her predecessors. There were plenty of places along the Lake of Ice where the inhabitants of the Stronghold could walk in undisturbed tranquility and enjoy the landscape. The only places visitors would ever see were filled with the fragments of cruel punishments and death.

Excerpt: LADY WARHAWK

From Uncial Press
Excerpt:
Mrillis...you said they're looking for Thrarin at the castles of minor kings? Are Pirkin and Ynessa and their family all right?

I'm going to Goarlotte now to bolster our protective spells. What more logical place to hide the Warhawk's heir than in the kingdom of his most loyal ally? Especially someone related by blood to the Warhawk's Enchanter? Mrillis' mental voice sounded utterly weary with that last admission.

Meghianna ached for him. If any harm ever came to Pirkin and Ynessa, their three sons and five-year-old Ynfara because of their connection to him, he would never forgive himself.

Mrillis broke the connection through the Threads. Meghianna was still running their conversation over in her mind when her link with the Lake of Ice opened. She nearly snarled her anger aloud. When she chose to abandon the Stronghold for her false identity in Quenlaque, she and Mrillis had woven the enchantment that blocked everyone from entering the Stronghold, and let her speak to all visitors standing at the Lake of Ice. The lack of any visible proof that the Queen of Snows still lived discouraged visitors and requests for aid. Visits to the pebbly shore of the Lake of Ice had gone down to just a trickle, maybe three in a year, by the time Thrarin was ten years old.

Now Meghianna had to think back to the last time someone had come to the Stronghold. Maybe eight moons? Why did they have to seek the help of the Queen of Snows now? Especially when she needed to get downstairs and interrupt what looked like a plotting session between her boys and Captain Ector? Meghianna didn't trust the way they kept looking up at the window into the loft, as if all three had guilty consciences. If she wasn't careful, she would come downstairs and find out that she was not only betrothed to Ector, but the three men had already contacted a Star-Mother to perform the vows at the ceremony. Worse yet, Bethian, the inn's cook and manager, would be involved in the plot, providing the feast for the festivities.

Excerpt: LADY WARHAWK

From Uncial Press
Excerpt:
We might be wise to change our plan, Mrillis said. Our enemies constantly watch all the castles of the highest ranking nobles on Lygroes, and the most loyal of the minor kings here on Moerta. And I fear for you, my dear.

Me? Now Meghianna could laugh, more in surprise than anything else. Why?

It has been fifteen years since anyone has seen the Queen of Snows. The enchantments we wrapped around the Stronghold, to keep out visitors and permit communication are still strong--but someone must suspect the enchantments, because I have heard a dozen rumors in the last moon that the Queen of Snows is dead.

How many of our enemies spread rumors of my death to force my hand? How many of them have decided I'm not there at all, and are looking for me throughout the World?

Exactly. Someone who remembers you originally had red hair, before power bleached it white, may have an idea of what you should look like, and eventually find you.

Do we leave our life behind, then? Move the boys to the Stronghold for a few years?

Give them a strong foundation in magic. Lycen needs to explore his heritage. And Athrar certainly has more magic in his blood than Efrin, from living with you, Mrillis added.

Meghianna opened her eyes and looked around the tiny loft room, where she kept the account books and tallies of supplies. It let her look out over the main room of the inn and keep watch over all the traffic. Someone was bound to come looking for her soon. It was a law of nature that she couldn't have more than ten minutes of privacy at a time. She got up and leaned against the window in the wall.

There were her boys, two fair heads, Lycen with his curls and Thrarin with his straight, coarse locks, their crossed arms resting on the table, their shoulders hunched as they listened to Captain Ector tell them about his latest adventures while out on patrol. The Encindi rebels were more active and destructive than usual, meaning the winter illnesses and starvation hadn't decimated their numbers. Meghianna welcomed Ector's visits because he made a point of emphasizing the darker aspects of a soldier's life--wounds and long hours in the saddle and danger. If only he wouldn't insist on asking her at least twice a year to marry him.

She admired Ector, and loved him as a good friend, but he always smelled of sweaty metal and sour leather, belched too often, and ate with his fingers. Meghianna knew those were ridiculous reasons to refuse a man, but she couldn't find any reasons to accept him. He didn't make her heart sing. Until her heart sang for a man, she wouldn't give it to anyone.

Excerpt: LADY WARHAWK

From Uncial Press
Excerpt:
Her disguise as an innkeeper and healer brought the world to Athrar/Thrarin. People knew who he was, knew he was there, and yet ignored him when he was underfoot, running errands, listening to stories. From Kaldar and Ector and the soldiers and sailors and tradesmen who frequented the inn, Lycen and Thrarin learned about the world, about warfare and danger, about swordplay and the tricks of the wind and weather, tracking and wounds, treachery and heroism, through the stories the men told on long, cold or rainy evenings. When Lycen wanted to learn to handle sword and bow and to ride something more spirited than the carthorse that hauled the inn's supplies, Ector snuck him into the garrison for lessons on the sly. And of course, where Lycen went, Thrarin was his shadow.

By the time their life of simplicity and safe anonymity ended, Lycen and Thrarin were toughened by short trips along the coast with trustworthy men like Kaldar, and hours of swordplay and helping tend the horses of the garrison. They were restless, eager to spread their wings and explore the world beyond the streets of Quenlaque and the harbor and the garrison.

What am I to do? Meghianna complained to Mrillis that morning when prophecy and destiny caught up with them. She sat in her inn in Quenlaque while he rode through a midnight forest in Moerta. My little boys are growing up. Does every mother feel this way?

Every parent, Mrillis told her. I know we planned to wait until Athrar was seventeen, but the boy is good with weapons, alert, agile--and he has his brother constantly watching over him. The Estall blessed us when he put Lycen into your care. Most older brothers would consider their little brothers a burden and punish them for it daily. He doesn't make Thrarin chafe against his leadership, either.

Hmm, yes, that's true. I keep forgetting my boys are a little unusual, Meghianna responded, earning laughter from the enchanter.

Such talk depressed her. She didn't look forward to the day her boys were too big for snuggling together on the big, broken-legged, lumpy couch in the front room of their quarters, telling stories and laughing together. Truthfully, her boys had outgrown the need to cuddle with their mother, but she hadn't outgrown that need to cuddle them, to smooth their hair out of their faces and tug their clothes straight and hug them, pretending that was all she needed to do to protect them from the bumps and scrapes of life.

Not even her power and authority as Queen of Snows would be enough to protect her boys when they took their destined places in front of the world and prophecy swept them up in its current.

Excerpt: LADY WARHAWK

From Uncial Press

Excerpt:

Time ran out for them, the summer that Meghianna's sons turned fourteen and fifteen.

To the rest of the world, she was the Widow Ianni, who ran a small, clean inn in a quiet, respectable quarter of the growing port city of Quenlaque. Her dark-dyed hair had a strong reddish cast, which neatly explained her healing talents to her neighbors and friends, and her two suitors, Kaldar, a merchant sailor captain, and Ector, head of the garrison in Quenlaque.

Technically, only one of her sons was her son--Lycen, the elder. The younger boy, Thrarin, was Ianni's little brother, orphaned when he was three years old--at least, that was the story Meghianna told her friends when Mrillis, disguised as a horse trader, brought the little boy to live with her one blustery winter night.

In truth, Thrarin was Athrar, Warhawk's heir. The attempts on the boy's life had grown severe enough to prompt Efrin Warhawk and his queen, Glyssani, to send the boy away into hiding, just as Meghianna had predicted nearly four years before.

She had prepared for that need, establishing herself as a healer and innkeeper and widow with a son. Enemies would expect the Warhawk's heir to be hidden at the Stronghold. They would waste resources, magic, and years trying to break through the protective spells enfolding the Rey'kil fortress. Meanwhile, Athrar would grow up believing himself the orphaned brother of an innkeeper, safely hidden in Quenlaque.

Meghianna had adopted Lycen, the orphaned infant son of Lysette, one of her ladies who had left the Stronghold to set up a school in the foothills of the Wayhauk Mountains. She and her Valor husband, Syndal, had died defending their Encindi and Rey'kil students from pureblood fanatics who preferred murder to cleanse the land, rather than allowing Encindi and Noveni 'invaders' to pack up their possessions and leave. They justified the murder of the Rey'kil students by calling them traitors to Rey'kil purity. Meghianna planned to tell Lycen the truth of his parents' identities and lives and deaths someday. She wasn't sure when. It was the sweetest joy in her life to have the fair-haired toddler follow her about the inn, determined to help with little chores, asking for stories and calling her Mama.

When Thrarin joined their household, Lycen was duly impressed with the responsibilities of being an older brother. He made Meghianna want to laugh and cry at the same time when he immediately took Thrarin under his wing and insisted she was to be called Mother, not Sister.

Realm Award Finalist!

I'm delighted to announce that MUSIC IN THE NIGHT, part of the Guardians of the Time Stream series (steampunk) published by Desert Breeze Publishing, has been named a FINALIST in the Realm Awards competition.

Winners will be announced at the end of July at the Realm Makers convention in St. Louis.

I'm so excited!!!

Ess and Carmen are childhood friends who only met in dreams. Orphaned and destitute, Carmen flees enemies she doesn't understand. Ess desperately seeks for her friend, knowing their enemies all too well.Brogan is a creature of the darkness, his music stolen and his face scarred by tragedy. He leads an underground community of people left destitute by injustice and tragedy. Crystal in his flesh and bone allows him to hear Carmen sing in the night. When she takes refuge in his world of tunnels and shadows, she brings him hope that he isn't going mad after all.Ess and Carmen finally meet, resolving puzzles more than twenty years old. A future of possibilities open before them, but only if they can defeat the Revisionists who will destroy them all to control crystal's power, the future, and rewrite the past.

Book of the Week: LADY WARHAWK

Today we move on to the next book in my Arthurian fantasy series, The Zygradon Chronicles. All published by Uncial Press.
There are 5 books in the series:ZYGRADONBRAENLICACHTHREE DROPS OF BLOODLADY WARHAWKTHE RIFT WAR

LADY WARHAWK
Raised in hiding, Athrar Warhawk emerges to claim his place and destiny as Warhawk's Heir. Guided by Mrillis and Meghianna, supported by his foster-brother, Lycen, Meghianna's adopted son, he tries to hold the alliance together as rebels and traitors fight for dominance. Young love turns to betrayal and loss, made worse by the political games of court and a growing schism between Noveni and Rey'kil. 

When Athrar finds his soul-mate, traitors and politics try to tear them apart, and magic tries to force her to betray him with Lycen. A new prophecy emerges, speaking of the Lady Warhawk, promising sorrow and hope for the future–even as the Nameless One emerges from hiding and begins his final campaign of destruction. Mrillis and Meghianna risk all to protect the defenseless thousands who have fled to Moerta, and in so doing lock the defenders in with their enemy, for all time. Only the Lady Warhawk will hold the key to the future, and to freedom. 

Off the Bookshelf: A YEAR WITH ASLAN, C.S. Lewis

Start off every day with a short visit to Narnia.

Oh, if only ........

This book of daily readings from the Chronicles of Narnia is best when shared -- each selection ends with a question to ponder or discuss.

Instead of devouring each book of the Chronicles in one lump -- what Free Narnian can resist? -- the nibbles of different scenes offer a chance to consider aspects of Narnia and the adventures of the children who visited there from different angles. Pieces instead of the whole.

Of course, you can do like I did, and read five or six or ten selections at a sitting. Who can resist? This will have to hold us until we can step through the Wardrobe for ourselves. This is a great way to have daily devotions or just family time with children, and explore Narnia all over again.

Excerpt: THREE DROPS OF BLOOD

From UncialPressBook 3 of the Zygradon ChroniclesExcerpt:

"You've had your lessons about the Nameless One." Nalla waited until Meghianna nodded. "He was your great-grandfather. His evil came down through two of his three children, Endor and Triska. Nainan, your grandmother, broke free of the magic he used to control her. Triska's daughter is Trevissa, and she used magic to trick your father, to think she was Belissa. And so Megassa was born."

"Oh. Papa must be very uncomfortable when he sees Megassa." She frowned and chewed on her next thought a moment. "Or doesn't he see her ever?"

"I'm not sure. She's been living somewhere else, and only came to the fortress last fall. Most of what I know about your sister, I have only heard from others. But show your father some mercy, and don't ask him. Let him tell you what he thinks of your sister when he chooses, all right?"

Meghianna nodded, and slipped her hand back into Nalla's as they continued down the long, shadowy hallway of smooth, golden stone.

She had heard enough people say Efrin Warhawk was far too young to carry the burden of the throne. It prompted her to step back and look at her father as if she had never seen him. That was easiest to do when she came to the Warhawk's fortress in the spring, after being separated from her father all fall and winter. When she walked into the council room that afternoon and saw him sitting at the far end of the long council table, she noted the touch of silver in his oak-colored hair and short beard, and new lines around his mouth and eyes. She hoped those lines would go away when he stopped frowning. Efrin was only twenty-eight. She supposed older people would think that was very young to be the High King, charged with keeping the entire World safe. From her very young age of six, twenty-eight seemed enormously ancient.

Excerpt: THREE DROPS OF BLOOD

From UncialPressBook 3 of the Zygradon ChroniclesExcerpt:


"Where is Megassa's mother?" she asked, when she and Nalla had reached the bottom of the staircase and she could see no one else in the hallway either behind or ahead of them. Meghianna had learned long ago the necessity for speaking with caution.

"No one knows for sure."

"Is she my aunt, or my cousin?"

"She's no one and nothing to you, my dear. And you'd be wise not to ask your father about her, either. It's hard enough for him to admit Megassa exists. Other men would think themselves justified in having such painful reminders removed from sight. Permanently."

"But Megassa didn't do anything wrong." Meghianna stumbled as the implications of Nalla's words sank in. The woman meant other people would think it justified if Megassa died. What evil had her mother done, that someone would want a little girl dead to pay for it?

"Exactly. But there are those who think a child's innocence is no justification for mercy." Nalla sighed and stopped and went down on one knee in front of the girl, so they were nearly eye-to-eye. She rested both hands on Meghianna's shoulders. "Sweetling, you're far too young to hear such cruel things, but considering who you are to be someday, I wouldn't doubt you're wise enough already to understand. It's said Lady Ceera was wise ahead of her time, as well."

"Lord Mrillis' dead wife."