Michelle L. Levigne's Blog, page 107

Excerpt: BRAENLICACH

From Uncial PressBook 2 of the Zygradon ChroniclesExcerpt:

How old was the boy now? Fourteen? Mrillis had a fleeting moment of feeling incredibly old. Where had the time gone? He had been younger than Athrar was now, when they first met; although he doubted the boy remembered, being practically a newborn, spending most of his time eating and sleeping.

Mrillis couldn't remember a time when life had been that simple for him. Had it ever, even when he was a newly orphaned boy, watched over by Le'esha and Graddon?

Then all other thoughts fled as he felt a pressure, a presence pushing against him. That particular resonance of a Noveni touched with imbrosegrew stronger...as Athrar rode closer. Mrillis almost reined his horse to a stop, to give him time to comprehend. Instead, he gathered up his sense of self and sent it questing along the Threads, toward that untrained, fledgling imbrose.

Athrar? He nearly burst out laughing when the oncoming rider yanked on the reins, making his horse swerve and half-rear up in reaction. So, you can hear me. That's very good, for someone untrained in imbrose.

Mrillis? The boy's mental voice cracked just like his physical voice did. I'm not insane? I'm not imagining it?

Not at all. When did it start?

Lady Ceera gave me a ring made of star-metal for solstice. It...it sang to me, even before I took it from the pottery box that held it. By this time, the two riders were close enough for Mrillis to see the strained, crooked grin on the boy's square-cut face.

"Better stop that and talk normally," he called. "You're draining yourself." He bit his lip against another grin at the relief clear on the boy's face. "Estall bless us, but you've grown. Ceera won't recognize you." He shook his head in amazement.

Athrar had to be two hands taller than he had been half a year ago. He had lost the childish roundness in his cheeks, and the hands gripping the reins were long and narrow and showed calluses from hours practicing with sword, bow and spear.

Excerpt: BRAENLICACH

From Uncial PressBook 2 of the Zygradon ChroniclesExcerpt:


He sighed, and closed his eyes as an extra-hard gust of icy wind slapped him as if in rebuke. Not too long ago, all Rey'kil had blamed the Noveni, especially their nobles, for the death of Le'esha, Queen of Snows. The rebels among them who had set about to drive all Noveni from Lygroes, even resorting to murder and wholesale destruction of homes and estates, were still unidentified and roaming freely.

At least they no longer think Endor is their leader, Ceera offered.

I thought you were going to sleep, he retorted, and grinned again into the darkness. Just ahead, the woods seemed to split apart, and he could see the towers of the fortress, gleaming with torchlight.

With you thinking so loudly? She laughed. The wind is especially loud off the sea tonight. I keep thinking I hear children crying, through the thickest stone walls. Remember to point out the glories of winter in the Stronghold, if that new Valor insists on being trained by me.

Yes, my Lady. Mrillis laughed quietly, echoing Ceera's laughter. His smile faded when the sound of her voice left his head, and he knew their connection through the Threads had ended. He clucked to his horse, urging a last burst of speed from the tired, cold beast.

Halfway across the open ground between the forest's edge and the fortress, a horseman rode out from the massive gates and raced across the snowy, hard-packed ground to meet him. Mrillis saw the golden hair flying wildly in the wind and the way the rider hung low over the horse's neck, and recognized Athrar racing out to meet him. How long had it been since he saw the boy? He felt a twinge of guilt at neglecting the young prince's lessons, but knew it only made sense for Athrar to spend his time with his uncle now, and learn all the things necessary to be Warhawk someday.

Excerpt: BRAENLICACH

From Uncial Press
Book 2 of the Zygradon Chronicles
Excerpt:

Mrillis felt the Threads hum as he approached the Warhawk's winter fortress. Despite the lateness of the hour and his long ride in icy, dry wind, he felt a new surge of energy. Somewhere ahead of him, someone had picked up one of Ceera's many trinkets of star-metal and had disturbed the Threads. They made a particular resonance that couldn't be mistaken for any other vibration when someone touched the Threads with their imbrose. A Noveni had discovered he had just enough Rey'kil blood to sense the presence of the Threads. That was likely why the Warhawk had requested him to make the journey from the Stronghold at this time of year.

Interesting, Ceera agreed, when he touched a Thread and sent the information and his impressions back to her. Whoever it is will want training immediately. I wonder if they'll request that you or I train the new Valor? I've had a long, hard day and I'm going to bed now. Please don't wake me with the news, no matter how important this one thinks he is.

Yes, my Lady. I hear and obey.

A sensation like a light slap on his cheek came through their connection, which broke with an almost audible snap. Mrillis snorted and grinned into the winds that bit at his exposed skin. A new Valor waited for him at the Warhawk's fortress. He didn't know what amused him more; the new name that had formed in less than a moon's time for those Noveni who had discovered their imbroseand were tapped for guardianship of the vales, or the nobles among the Noveni who insisted that only the Queen of Snows or High Scholar Breylon should be their teacher.

How things had changed, in only a few moons. Why was it that the Noveni believed so easily in the existence of the Zygradon, when no one but those who had forged it could see or touch it? Why was it such a high honor to be named a guardian of the Vales, and by extension a guardian of the Zygradon? And why was it such a sought-after situation, to have magic, when only this past spring all Noveni hated and feared Rey'kil and wanted to migrate as one body to Moerta?

Book of the Week: BRAENLICACH

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

BRAENLICACH
A new enemy arises to challenge Mrillis and Ceera as they battle plagues, an unknown enemy and treachery within the Noveni and Rey'kil alliance. Has the Nameless One survived, or has someone else taken his power? Endor's sister, Triska, is Ceera's heir as Queen of Snows, but arrogant and temperamental. Are they what they seem, or something else, something dangerous? 


During a star-shower, Ceera has a vision of the star-metal sword. She brings together the surviving makers of the Zygradon to forge the sword, Braenlicach. The children of the makers of Zygradon and Braenlicach inherit their parents' links with the magical objects. 

Uneasy years of peace pass, as they mature. Plagues return, and the young guardians take Zygradon out to heal their land, but they are betrayed from within. Traitors within the Stronghold attack, wantonly killing those linked to bowl and sword. Mrillis is left to save his world, but in doing so, may lose all that he loves.

Excerpt: ZYGRADON

Book 1 of the Zygradon Chronicles:

When Ceera woke up, Mrillis turned most of his attention to entertaining the little girl and keeping her quiet. Besides, the talk of numbers and provisions and arrangements for sailing from Wynystrys to Moerta bored him. He had one question, and asked it as soon as the visitors left and Le'esha called the children out of their hiding place.

"Why can't they just walk to Moerta?" he asked, on the heels of Le'esha commending the children for being so good.

"Walk?" The Queen of Snows blinked, visibly caught off balance, and sat down in her chair. Then she laughed. "You mean the tunnels that we use to travel between the enclaves? Oh, my dear, do you know how far it is from the shores of Lygroes to the shores of Moerta?"

"Magic makes the distance shorter," Mrillis said. Now he was confused. He knew that if he rode a horse, it would take him one whole moon to travel from Wynystrys, on the western shore of Lygroes, to the Stronghold, on the far northeastern tip of the continent. Walking the tunnel from the Stronghold to the island, however, took less than a day. He had never gone into the tunnel, but he had stood at the barred door of the entrance. He knew the tingling in his fingertips and the whispering in the back of his mind was his imbrose, reacting to magic at work.

"Yes, magic does make the distance shorter. And only those of Rey'kil blood, with strong imbrose, can use the tunnels. There is no tunnel under the sea, reaching to Moerta."

"We could build one."

"Hmm, yes, but how much power do you think it would take to dig a tunnel, much less keep the weight of all that water and stone from crushing it?" Le'esha sighed and smiled and reached out her arms to the children.

Ceera, who was sleepy again, crept up into her lap. Mrillis leaned into the warmth of her arm around him and rested his elbows on the arm of her chair.

"I don't know," he admitted, after thinking a long while.

"That is knowledge you must grow into. Just as you will grow into whatever talent the Estall has given you."

Excerpt: ZYGRADON

 Book 1 of the Zygradon Chronicles:
"They won't find it because the Rey'kil can't be trusted. They pretend to be our friends, but they're killing us off slowly. Star-metal isn'tpoison--until the Rey'kil change it with their magic. They want this entire world to themselves."


"That would be a little hard to manage, with the Encindi chewing on their borders and the Nameless One using his blood magic to counter everything they do," the third man said.

"How do we know there really is a Nameless One? What is the difference between their so-called clean magic and his blood magic?"

"The difference between life and death," Le'esha said.

All three men turned as one, the third leaping to his feet, and they bowed to her. She paused in the doorway, studying the three intruders, before coming into the room. She walked past the shelves and glanced briefly through the gaps between the jars before sitting at her table.

"High Scholar Breylon and I have a proposal for you to take back to the Warhawk and his Council." She tipped her head to one side and waited until, one after another, the three men sat. "We will send scholars and enchanters from the Stronghold and from Wynystrys to settle in Moerta. They will study the places where star-metal lands and discern the difference between the star-metal that falls on Moerta and what falls on Lygroes.

"It could be that the difference is not in the star-metal, but in the land itself. Something in our soil might act as amethyst in a cup of wine, to nullify the poison. When we know what that difference is, we will try to duplicate it in Moerta and give your land back to you."

"That is most generous, Lady," the Warhawk's brother said, standing to give her a deep, respectful bow.

For the next hour, Le'esha conferred with the Warhawk's brother, Lyon, over the details of the plan. Mrillis watched the first man, who stayed silent, and considered his accusations.

Excerpt: ZYGRADON

Book 1 of the Zygradon Chronicles:


Eavesdropping wasn't nice, and Le'esha frowned on it, but he sensed it would be worse to step out now and face these intruders. If they were angry enough, they might thrash him. What would they do to Ceera if she woke up and started crying or attacked them for hitting him?

How much longer would Le'esha be gone from her office? When would she come back, stop their rude talk, and send the strangers on their way again?

"And just why are the Noveni refugees? Because our land is poisoned, a little more every year. What poisons us?" the first man snarled.

"Star-metal," the Warhawk's man said. He sounded bored and made a face at the third man, turning his head so the first couldn't see him. Mrillis liked this man, whoever he was.

"Exactly. Star-metal falls on Lygroes just as much as it does on Moerta, but why aren't Rey'kil crops blighted? Why don't Rey'kil cattle fall sick? Why don't their women miscarry and their children die young? Why aren't their springs poisoned and the wild animals running mad?"

"The Estall loves the Rey'kil better than the Noveni?" the third man said. He slouched in his chair and closed his eyes, to all appearances ready to fall asleep.

Mrillis grinned, admiring his attitude toward the angry man. That still didn't excuse his feet on Le'esha's table.

"The Rey'kil have magic. That's how they keep their land clean and their homes and farms and people healthy. Why don't they use their magic to help Moerta?" He stomped over to the Warhawk's man and glared down at him, hands jammed into his fists. "Why doesn't the Warhawk demand answers? I know he must have the same thoughts, the same questions. Why don't the Rey'kil suffer the poison of the star-metal, when it falls on their land as much as it does on Moerta?"

"My royal brother has asked." The Warhawk's man stood, with his gloved hands clasped behind his back. Mrillis imagined his knuckles turned white from the effort not to strike the other man. "He has asked without anger, with respect for our allies who have made room for us. Our allies who have given up fertile farms and rich mines to our use, who have shared their knowledge, their skills, their magic with us. The wisest minds of my brother's court study with the leaders of the Rey'kil, seeking that very answer, and they have not found it yet."

Off the Bookshelf: RANGER'S APPRENTICE #1: The Ruins of Gorlan, by John Flanagan

This book is proof of the adage that the best book promotion is word of mouth.

I was prepared to like it and be hooked even before I found it at the bookstore. Because a writing friend has talked about it several times. She and her husband listen to the audio books of this series on long drives, and they got started because their grandsons love the books.

So yeah, I'm going to be looking for the rest of the books as soon as I have more room on my to-be-read shelf.

What's the story? Young Will is our hero, an orphan, growing up as a Ward of Baron Arald. The Wards don't have parents to guide them into crafts or guilds or apprentice them, so choosing day is their chance to grab onto the future they want. The other 4 Wards his age know what they want, and have proven their abilities, so being accepted into their chosen fields of study is easy. Not so for Will. He's too small and thin to enter battle school -- but that's what he wants because he believes his father was a warrior who died a hero in a massive battle just before Will was born. His only real option is to go into farm work.

At least, until Halt the Ranger says he thinks Will has what it takes to be a Ranger. The problem is that Will doesn't really know what Rangers do, other than a lot of somewhat frightening rumors. But what choice does he have? It's an adventure, learning what Rangers do, learning the truth behind the rumors.

As Will and the rest of the fief learn, he made the right choice. Even someone young and small and afraid can do important things, even if they seem small. It's the impact of your choices that matter.

I'm gonna love this series.

Excerpt: ZYGRADON

Book 1 of the Zygradon Chronicles:

The one with the crest of a leaping, blue battlecat on his overtunic gestured at the shelving. "She has enough medicine in this room alone to tend half the villages on Moerta for a year. It just isn't right."


"What isn't right?" The man who had stood with his back to Mrillis, studying a tapestry on the far wall, turned around.

He wore a closely trimmed beard in dark gold and his skin was the color of freshly forged bronze. He wore the wings-spread crest of the Warhawk across the chest of his overtunic. He couldn't be the Warhawk, high king of the Noveni; Mrillis knew Afron Warhawk was a man in his late thirties, and this man was perhaps in his early twenties.

"The Queen of Snows willingly shares all the Rey'kil healing powers and knowledge with our people. All we have to do is ask. How many healers has she sent to the sufferers on Moerta this year alone?" he continued. He walked across the room and settled down in one of the low-backed chairs hung with thick woolen blankets, which sat in front of Le'esha's worktable.

"We shouldn't have to ask," the first growled. "The Rey'kil owethe Noveni. We shed our blood daily to fight off the warriors of the Nameless One--a rebel Rey'kil. He's their problem, not ours. Why should we fight for Lygroes?"

"Perhaps because the Noveni are refugees in Lygroes, and defending Rey'kil land keeps us safe as well?" the third man asked in a lazy drawl. He sat down and put his still-wet boots up on the edge of Le'esha's table.

Mrillis nearly darted out from behind the shelves, to knock the intruder's feet back to the floor. The prickle of discomfort up his spine, which warned him when Le'esha's visitors were dangerous, warned him now to keep silent. He glanced at Ceera, asleep with her thumb in her mouth. He knew his first duty was to protect the little girl.

Excerpt: ZYGRADON

Book 1 of the Zygradon Chronicles:

One fall day when Mrillis was six, some Noveni visitors and their careless words opened to him a wider view of the World. He and Ceera had spent the morning in their sheltered corner of Le'esha's office. Though the sky was black and churned with clouds and lightning and the sea heaved like a mad beast, sunshine and sweet air reigned indoors. It was washing day, and those children who didn't work were expected to stay out of trouble and amuse themselves quietly.

The two children retreated to their corner of Le'esha's office with scrolls for him to read, beads and a tiny loom for her to play with, and enough provisions to last them through the day. Biscuits and jam, dried apple slices and a pitcher of cider. Le'esha had shared their cider late in the morning and then had left them alone while she tended to an emergency in the public healing rooms. The children fell asleep, lulled by warmth and quiet and full bellies.

Mrillis woke to the sound of unfamiliar voices. He got up on his knees and peered out between the sealed jars and boxes of powders, salves and dried herbs sitting on the shelves.

Three men stood by the open door of Le'esha's office. She was nowhere in sight. The strangers were Noveni, with their tangled, golden-brown curls and brown eyes. They didn't wear cloaks, so someone at the gates had taken their wet clothes. No one could enter the Stronghold without passing the gatekeeper's tests, so Mrillis wasn't worried. Someone had brought the three men to Le'esha's office, rather than making them wait in the welcoming hall. Either that, or the three had chosen to be rude and wander around, going where they hadn't been invited. Mrillis didn't like the way the men scowled and looked around the room.