Rival Gates's Blog, page 33
October 6, 2015
Tuesday Excerpt, "New"
Necromancer’s face changed to a combination of anger and
despair. “Even my best efforts have not been able to rid me of this
curse,” Necromancer continued as he hovered over the floor. “The
sicknesses he has contracted over the years did not prove fatal. The
wars he’s fought have yet to claim his life. Assassins I could have
warned him about always missed their target. Even Linvin
Grithinshield failed me. If I had been able to wait a few more
moments before checking the emperor’s body in the Valley of
Broken Soldiers, it could have been over two years ago.”
“I surely thought I had Mandrean when Grithinshield fought
him. That was my best opportunity yet. I would be free. But
Grithinshield did not finish his work. I was so close, but the child
failed me. It is hopeless, my apprentice. I am doomed to toil here
until old age takes the emperor or I wander into oblivion.”
Mordane moved closer and brought his master a drink.
“Perhaps Grithinshield could fight him again? He seems most able
and could easily defeat the emperor.”
“Do you not think I have considered that?” erupted
Necromancer. “I know how powerful Linvin is. Unfortunately, so
does Mandrean. He won’t lock horns with Grithinshield again in
person. Instead, he will continue to rely on his network of
assassins to try to eliminate the nuisance.
“Still, Grithinshield is the best chance I have. The problem is
finding a way to get him to fight Mandrean. Or perhaps I should
say, getting Mandrean to fight him. Clearly, Mandrean is the one
afraid and with good reason.”
“Well.” said Mordane. “From what you have said in the past,
Grithinshield won’t likely be leaving Sartan any time soon, and the
emperor certainly cannot go there. That would mean that
Grithinshield would have to be forced to come here again, and that
would be quite a challenge.”
There came a knock on the door. It was the imperial page again.
The terrified man was relieved to see Mordane answer the door.
He delivered his message so quickly that it was nearly
indistinguishable. “Please tell Lord Necromancer that General
Gramlick has died, and the emperor wishes to reconvene the
meeting in the throne room at once.” With that, the man turned
with all speed and ran back down the hall.
As the door closed, Necromancer’s sorrowful tone turned to
one of rejoicing. “It took time, but the creeping death enchantment
I placed on Gramlick finally overcame him. Now the emperor has
no one in his ear but me. Finally, something is going my way.”
“He still has Fendri,” Mordane noted.
“Mandrean gives no weight to his opinion. He is no threat to
my plans.”
Necromancer placed his hands behind his back and paced. He
sighed greatly and searched for an answer. Tenuous moments
passed as the two thought through scenario after scenario.
“The first thing I must do is convince Mandrean to fight Linvin
again. The problem therein is that the emperor is a coward at heart.
Mandrean would never be drawn into a battle with him again
because he knows he could not win even when he fought without
honor. His confidence must be raised. The only way to do that is
for him to possess the blue staff for his sapphire. Without it, he
cannot equal Linvin’s magic. That is the mental edge he needs for
a confrontation.”
“Would that make him too powerful?” Mordane inquired.
“Perhaps if he had the staff he would be able to beat Grithinshield.
Then we would be right back here again.”
It was at that moment that Necromancer stopped and said,
“Mandrean is more devious, but Linvin is simply brilliant. With
their magic being equal, the fight would once again come down to
the better warrior winning. If the fight is fair, Linvin will win
easily. If it is not fair, Mandrean has a reasonable chance. That is a
chance I must take. Linvin is still my best opportunity to rid
myself of my master. He could prevail only with suitable
motivation. Mandrean has many flaws, but he is vicious and
single-minded enough to be difficult to defeat. Linvin would need
to be enraged.”
despair. “Even my best efforts have not been able to rid me of this
curse,” Necromancer continued as he hovered over the floor. “The
sicknesses he has contracted over the years did not prove fatal. The
wars he’s fought have yet to claim his life. Assassins I could have
warned him about always missed their target. Even Linvin
Grithinshield failed me. If I had been able to wait a few more
moments before checking the emperor’s body in the Valley of
Broken Soldiers, it could have been over two years ago.”
“I surely thought I had Mandrean when Grithinshield fought
him. That was my best opportunity yet. I would be free. But
Grithinshield did not finish his work. I was so close, but the child
failed me. It is hopeless, my apprentice. I am doomed to toil here
until old age takes the emperor or I wander into oblivion.”
Mordane moved closer and brought his master a drink.
“Perhaps Grithinshield could fight him again? He seems most able
and could easily defeat the emperor.”
“Do you not think I have considered that?” erupted
Necromancer. “I know how powerful Linvin is. Unfortunately, so
does Mandrean. He won’t lock horns with Grithinshield again in
person. Instead, he will continue to rely on his network of
assassins to try to eliminate the nuisance.
“Still, Grithinshield is the best chance I have. The problem is
finding a way to get him to fight Mandrean. Or perhaps I should
say, getting Mandrean to fight him. Clearly, Mandrean is the one
afraid and with good reason.”
“Well.” said Mordane. “From what you have said in the past,
Grithinshield won’t likely be leaving Sartan any time soon, and the
emperor certainly cannot go there. That would mean that
Grithinshield would have to be forced to come here again, and that
would be quite a challenge.”
There came a knock on the door. It was the imperial page again.
The terrified man was relieved to see Mordane answer the door.
He delivered his message so quickly that it was nearly
indistinguishable. “Please tell Lord Necromancer that General
Gramlick has died, and the emperor wishes to reconvene the
meeting in the throne room at once.” With that, the man turned
with all speed and ran back down the hall.
As the door closed, Necromancer’s sorrowful tone turned to
one of rejoicing. “It took time, but the creeping death enchantment
I placed on Gramlick finally overcame him. Now the emperor has
no one in his ear but me. Finally, something is going my way.”
“He still has Fendri,” Mordane noted.
“Mandrean gives no weight to his opinion. He is no threat to
my plans.”
Necromancer placed his hands behind his back and paced. He
sighed greatly and searched for an answer. Tenuous moments
passed as the two thought through scenario after scenario.
“The first thing I must do is convince Mandrean to fight Linvin
again. The problem therein is that the emperor is a coward at heart.
Mandrean would never be drawn into a battle with him again
because he knows he could not win even when he fought without
honor. His confidence must be raised. The only way to do that is
for him to possess the blue staff for his sapphire. Without it, he
cannot equal Linvin’s magic. That is the mental edge he needs for
a confrontation.”
“Would that make him too powerful?” Mordane inquired.
“Perhaps if he had the staff he would be able to beat Grithinshield.
Then we would be right back here again.”
It was at that moment that Necromancer stopped and said,
“Mandrean is more devious, but Linvin is simply brilliant. With
their magic being equal, the fight would once again come down to
the better warrior winning. If the fight is fair, Linvin will win
easily. If it is not fair, Mandrean has a reasonable chance. That is a
chance I must take. Linvin is still my best opportunity to rid
myself of my master. He could prevail only with suitable
motivation. Mandrean has many flaws, but he is vicious and
single-minded enough to be difficult to defeat. Linvin would need
to be enraged.”
October 4, 2015
Sunday Excerpt, "Crucible"
At last the exhausted riders fell upon the beach and stretched out to relax near their steeds. Linvin found lying on the shrunken staff and Falconfeather to be uncomfortable and removed both from his back. He laid the staff on the ground along with the scabbard for Falconfeather. Linvin withdrew the blade to clean it against his cloak. No one spoke. They were simply too tired.
Miri was to Linvin’s right and the Greenliths were to his left with Anvar the farthest away. They’d raised their hoods on their cloaks to act as a barrier against the abrasive sand. Other than that, they laid completely flat. They were exhausted and were reluctant to even take nourishment.
After a while, the horses stopped drinking and looked around. They became restless and began to stammer back and forth. “Looks like they have had their fill,” Linvin noted. “I will take them back to the grass while you all rest here.” Stabbing Falconfeather into the sand, he marched to the water where he took the reins of the increasingly spooked animals. The horses bucked wildly as Linvin struggled to control them. One thing they did not fight him about was moving away from the water. Linvin could hardly keep up as the horses led him back inland. So focused was he on the animals he did not notice the water stirring nearby in an unnatural manner.
When they were well off the sand the beasts slowly calmed. Linvin found several bushes near a drumlin and tied the animals but gave them enough of a leash to graze as they wished. Though he expected the horses to begin eating at once, they chose instead to move as far away from the water as they could and stand with their backs to the lake. Well that has to be one of the strangest things I have ever seen, Linvin thought.
Suddenly there was screaming from the beach. Linvin turned to see a ghastly sight. Thousands of small tentacles no wider than a finger had sprung from the water and had entwined the other party members by the legs. They were winding their way up the bodies of their victims.
Linvin did not have the staff but felt instinctively he had his magical reserve on which to draw. He spread his fingers and fired dense bursts of magic at the attackers. To his absolute horror, the magic struck the tentacles and bounced harmlessly out to sea. Then he saw Anvar try his magic on the ever-tightening grip surrounding his body. His magic proved no more effective.
Linvin reached for Falconfeather only to be reminded it was standing in the sand. He raced toward his companions as the tentacles began to draw their bodies to the water. Needing to reach the others rapidly, Linvin was realizing just how deep the beach truly went inland. Running in sand was hard enough, but trying to reach his party before they were submerged was a daunting task.
Linvin called out in a firm voice. “Falconfeather. Come.” The great blade was awake even though it was lodged in the sand. It glowed with excitement and rose from the ground. With great speed it flew hilt-first into Linvin’s hand.
Miri was to Linvin’s right and the Greenliths were to his left with Anvar the farthest away. They’d raised their hoods on their cloaks to act as a barrier against the abrasive sand. Other than that, they laid completely flat. They were exhausted and were reluctant to even take nourishment.
After a while, the horses stopped drinking and looked around. They became restless and began to stammer back and forth. “Looks like they have had their fill,” Linvin noted. “I will take them back to the grass while you all rest here.” Stabbing Falconfeather into the sand, he marched to the water where he took the reins of the increasingly spooked animals. The horses bucked wildly as Linvin struggled to control them. One thing they did not fight him about was moving away from the water. Linvin could hardly keep up as the horses led him back inland. So focused was he on the animals he did not notice the water stirring nearby in an unnatural manner.
When they were well off the sand the beasts slowly calmed. Linvin found several bushes near a drumlin and tied the animals but gave them enough of a leash to graze as they wished. Though he expected the horses to begin eating at once, they chose instead to move as far away from the water as they could and stand with their backs to the lake. Well that has to be one of the strangest things I have ever seen, Linvin thought.
Suddenly there was screaming from the beach. Linvin turned to see a ghastly sight. Thousands of small tentacles no wider than a finger had sprung from the water and had entwined the other party members by the legs. They were winding their way up the bodies of their victims.
Linvin did not have the staff but felt instinctively he had his magical reserve on which to draw. He spread his fingers and fired dense bursts of magic at the attackers. To his absolute horror, the magic struck the tentacles and bounced harmlessly out to sea. Then he saw Anvar try his magic on the ever-tightening grip surrounding his body. His magic proved no more effective.
Linvin reached for Falconfeather only to be reminded it was standing in the sand. He raced toward his companions as the tentacles began to draw their bodies to the water. Needing to reach the others rapidly, Linvin was realizing just how deep the beach truly went inland. Running in sand was hard enough, but trying to reach his party before they were submerged was a daunting task.
Linvin called out in a firm voice. “Falconfeather. Come.” The great blade was awake even though it was lodged in the sand. It glowed with excitement and rose from the ground. With great speed it flew hilt-first into Linvin’s hand.
October 3, 2015
Saturday Excerpt, "Quest"
As a young boy, Linvin was a naive, trusting person. That innocence was forever replaced by skepticism by his cousins. During his visits, Linvin would be tricked, laughed at and beaten like a toy for amusement.
Growing up, though, none were as cruel as his twin cousins, Rander and Bander Greenlith. They were slightly younger than Linvin and showed only contempt for him, laced with an equal amount of jealousy.
Though not identical, the twins were of one mind. That mind happened to be Rander’s. He was certainly the more intelligent of the two. Rander was self-serving, conniving and, at times, vicious in his treatment of his older cousin. His meek stature, even among elves, only fed his hatred of Linvin and indeed all those of grand proportion.
Bander was much the same as a book of blank pages. There was no story or option unless someone filled it in for him. The writer of his pages was always Rander. It was widely joked in the family that Bander did not have a thought in his head which did not originate in Rander’s. Bander never understood what the saying meant and therefore paid it no heed. Rander, on the other hand, viewed it as a compliment and helped foster the saying’s proliferation. What Bander lacked in brain, he supplemented with brawn. Though still no match for Linvin, few Elves crossed him or Rander, by extension.
As Linvin grew bigger than they did, he tired of their verbal and physical attacks. He decided to fight back. Every meeting that followed ended with the three of them being pulled apart by relatives. The brawls were rough and nasty. By the time Linvin and his family left, both he and the twins had taken their share of bruises.
Linvin’s father would not stand for the treatment his family was getting and refused to attend any more social gatherings with the Greenliths. The decision only served to alienate the family further.
The thought of seeing the twins again made Linvin’s heart swell with anger. His grudge would not be dispelled quickly.
Growing up, though, none were as cruel as his twin cousins, Rander and Bander Greenlith. They were slightly younger than Linvin and showed only contempt for him, laced with an equal amount of jealousy.
Though not identical, the twins were of one mind. That mind happened to be Rander’s. He was certainly the more intelligent of the two. Rander was self-serving, conniving and, at times, vicious in his treatment of his older cousin. His meek stature, even among elves, only fed his hatred of Linvin and indeed all those of grand proportion.
Bander was much the same as a book of blank pages. There was no story or option unless someone filled it in for him. The writer of his pages was always Rander. It was widely joked in the family that Bander did not have a thought in his head which did not originate in Rander’s. Bander never understood what the saying meant and therefore paid it no heed. Rander, on the other hand, viewed it as a compliment and helped foster the saying’s proliferation. What Bander lacked in brain, he supplemented with brawn. Though still no match for Linvin, few Elves crossed him or Rander, by extension.
As Linvin grew bigger than they did, he tired of their verbal and physical attacks. He decided to fight back. Every meeting that followed ended with the three of them being pulled apart by relatives. The brawls were rough and nasty. By the time Linvin and his family left, both he and the twins had taken their share of bruises.
Linvin’s father would not stand for the treatment his family was getting and refused to attend any more social gatherings with the Greenliths. The decision only served to alienate the family further.
The thought of seeing the twins again made Linvin’s heart swell with anger. His grudge would not be dispelled quickly.
September 30, 2015
Evil Insurance Companies
You need it. I need it. The law says in many cases we have to have it. Yet it holds on to us like a leach and bleeds us dry. I am of course referring to the greatest con in the market place, insurance. You pay for it on your health, car, house, disability, life and more. They collect their money every paycheck but when you need help they are less than helpful. Take health insurance for example. My policy will pay 80% of expenses once the deductible has been met. So I must spend thousands of dollars before they will pay a dime. How is that helping me? It only helps when I have something large like a surgery and even then I end up paying a large sum of money. Look at car insurance. The prices for newer cars especially are through the roof. Then you take a simple thing like a cracked windshield. I called the insurance company because the crack from a stone was 2 feet long. They informed me that per my request, I had glass coverage. What that meant was if I had a crack smaller than a dollar bill they would fill it. In my particular case the crack was too big and was therefore subject to the $500 deductible for comprehensive damage. A new windshield was less than $300 so what was the point in the insurance? About a year ago we had a flood in our basement where the sump pumps could not keep up with the water coming in. The carpeting in the finished basement was ruined. I consoled myself that night knowing I had home insurance. Well guess what? It turns out the only way water damage would be covered by my policy is if a pipe burst. I had to pay to replace all that carpet myself. Thankfully, I haven’t had to deal with life insurance yet. I can only imagine the kinds if trouble they would cause. There are times I was not able to work and the disability insurance people did nothing but give me the run around. They wanted form after form from my doctor and were never satisfied. I could site many more instances but you get the point. You see all these commercials promising low rates, better service because they value their customers, quicker claims being paid, and let’s not forget the universal anthem that they are all on your side. NONE OF THEM ARE ON YOUR SIDE. They make money by collecting premiums, not paying claims.
September 29, 2015
Tuesday Except, "New"
“What is the meaning of this, Tibare?” she screamed at her
brother in the front of their wagon at the tail end of the procession.
“Quiet,” he responded in a low voice. “Men have stopped us.
“They look similar to the men who Argentoe killed last week.”
Argentoe moved like a cat to the flap just behind Tibare. “How
many of them are there, and where are they located?” he asked as
he looked over the weapons at hand.
“There appear to be six men on horseback,” Tibare answered.
“Three are to the left and front of the column talking to Father.
One just passed by and is somewhere behind us, and one is
halfway down the line on each side. They all have swords.”
Argentoe somehow knew how to use all the weapons in the wagon,
but there was one that caught his eye above the others.
“I am Bloxor,” one of the men in the front announced for all to
hear. “I am what you might call the magistrate of the Knife’s
Hand. A dozen of my best men disappeared on this road about a
week ago. Now, I come to find some simple farmers towing my
men’s horses behind their wagons. It would serve you well to tell
me how you came into possession of the beasts.”
Stynard was frightened but managed to speak. “We found the
horses wandering and saw no point in letting them go unattended.”
Bloxor looked unconvinced. “So you mean to tell me that some
group butchered my men and then buried them in such a way that
the grave was hard to discover but left their horses just wandering
the plain? This soil is hard as rock. Swords would be of little use
digging a grave in it. Farmers, however, could use their tools to
make short work of the ground.”
“We did bury the bodies,” Stynard confessed. “It seemed like
the decent thing to do when we came upon them. We only covered
the sight in order to prevent scavengers from digging them up.”
Bloxor smiled knowingly. “I thought you said you found the
horses wandering. Now you say there were bodies and buried
them. What else aren’t you telling me?”
“Forgive me, Mr. Bloxor. I am frightened and left out part of
the story.”
“I examined two of the bodies,” Bloxor noted. “They died from
sword blows. You carry no swords, but I know you killed them. So
how did you manage such a feat?”
“We didn’t kill them,” the mother said as she entered the
conversation.
“Indeed?” Bloxor asked as he reached past Stynard and held his
blade to the wife’s neck. “Then tell me who did do this, and I
might let you live.”
Meanwhile in the rear of the column, the back flap of the last
wagon was disturbed from the inside. The rider covering the zone
noticed the movement and came closer. The animals tied to the
back prevented his horse from reaching the gate of the cart.
Suddenly the flap flew open, and Argentoe fired an arrow into the
throat of the man at close range, killing him silently.
Argentoe scrambled to the front of the wagon and told Tibare
not to move. After gaging the positions of the bandits on the right
and left side, it was time to act. He poked an arrow through the
front cover of the wagon, and with precision dropped the man to
the right with a shot through the neck. It was a masterful shot.
While the man could not cry out, his partner across from him saw
his companion fall and raised the alarm. “We are under attack,” he
cried.
Not having time to line up another neck blow, Argentoe took a
full draw on the bow and felled him with a shot through his
breastplate to the chest.
brother in the front of their wagon at the tail end of the procession.
“Quiet,” he responded in a low voice. “Men have stopped us.
“They look similar to the men who Argentoe killed last week.”
Argentoe moved like a cat to the flap just behind Tibare. “How
many of them are there, and where are they located?” he asked as
he looked over the weapons at hand.
“There appear to be six men on horseback,” Tibare answered.
“Three are to the left and front of the column talking to Father.
One just passed by and is somewhere behind us, and one is
halfway down the line on each side. They all have swords.”
Argentoe somehow knew how to use all the weapons in the wagon,
but there was one that caught his eye above the others.
“I am Bloxor,” one of the men in the front announced for all to
hear. “I am what you might call the magistrate of the Knife’s
Hand. A dozen of my best men disappeared on this road about a
week ago. Now, I come to find some simple farmers towing my
men’s horses behind their wagons. It would serve you well to tell
me how you came into possession of the beasts.”
Stynard was frightened but managed to speak. “We found the
horses wandering and saw no point in letting them go unattended.”
Bloxor looked unconvinced. “So you mean to tell me that some
group butchered my men and then buried them in such a way that
the grave was hard to discover but left their horses just wandering
the plain? This soil is hard as rock. Swords would be of little use
digging a grave in it. Farmers, however, could use their tools to
make short work of the ground.”
“We did bury the bodies,” Stynard confessed. “It seemed like
the decent thing to do when we came upon them. We only covered
the sight in order to prevent scavengers from digging them up.”
Bloxor smiled knowingly. “I thought you said you found the
horses wandering. Now you say there were bodies and buried
them. What else aren’t you telling me?”
“Forgive me, Mr. Bloxor. I am frightened and left out part of
the story.”
“I examined two of the bodies,” Bloxor noted. “They died from
sword blows. You carry no swords, but I know you killed them. So
how did you manage such a feat?”
“We didn’t kill them,” the mother said as she entered the
conversation.
“Indeed?” Bloxor asked as he reached past Stynard and held his
blade to the wife’s neck. “Then tell me who did do this, and I
might let you live.”
Meanwhile in the rear of the column, the back flap of the last
wagon was disturbed from the inside. The rider covering the zone
noticed the movement and came closer. The animals tied to the
back prevented his horse from reaching the gate of the cart.
Suddenly the flap flew open, and Argentoe fired an arrow into the
throat of the man at close range, killing him silently.
Argentoe scrambled to the front of the wagon and told Tibare
not to move. After gaging the positions of the bandits on the right
and left side, it was time to act. He poked an arrow through the
front cover of the wagon, and with precision dropped the man to
the right with a shot through the neck. It was a masterful shot.
While the man could not cry out, his partner across from him saw
his companion fall and raised the alarm. “We are under attack,” he
cried.
Not having time to line up another neck blow, Argentoe took a
full draw on the bow and felled him with a shot through his
breastplate to the chest.
September 27, 2015
Sunday Excerpt, "Crucible"
The pale autumn sun meekly peaked across the world of night. Its dim light revealed a realm covered in crisp, frozen dew encasing the land with a silver-white glaze. With the onset of daybreak, the rays danced across the frost-laden landscape setting the fields aglow in a majestic prism of harmony. Half-harvested fields of corn stood as silent sentinels in the windless morning sky.
No birds were singing, as they had long departed to the south. The land was quiet and at peace. A highway between fields was sheathed in a thin layer of ice left as an unwelcome gift from the intemperate evening that had passed.
Such was the world Lord Mandrean observed as he emerged from his tent three-nights-travel from Marinhalk. His Imperial Guard had already begun to break camp and was tending their horses.
Commander Vipis personally delivered a hot tin of food to him and bowed after the exchange. “By the time you have finished eating, we will be ready to get underway again,” the Commander noted.
Mandrean observed his meal of sausage and cornbread with contempt. He knew there was little he could do about the fare and made do as he had since leaving his beloved palace. “Did any news come during the night?” he demanded as he sat on a portable chair and began to eat.
“No messengers arrived during the night,” answered Vipis. “With the conditions on the road it is unlikely any riders would attempt to navigate their way in the dark. It was a moonless night and visibility was nonexistent.”
“I do not care about ice on the roads, or moonless nights,” Mandrean yelled as he threw his plate. “I want news. Grithinshield has been gone for nearly a week and still there is not a single sighting of him or his rabble. If Tecious has men posted at all the crossings someone should have seen them by now. Even if the goblins on guard were killed we would have heard something.”
“We receive news throughout the day and there are simply no sightings,” Vipis confirmed. “Grithinshield is said to be a crafty general. He may have found a place in which to hold-up until the search dies down.”
Mandrean stroked his chin. “That is a possibility but I still think he is trying to escape. The longer he stays in the Empire, the greater his chances of being discovered. By now every town knows of the price on his head. He cannot hide for long without someone taking note.”
“Then what course of action does your Highness suggest?” Vipis asked stoically.
“We will continue to ride south with all haste to the Sorrowful Sea. There are many towns along the route where we can ask about sightings. If he has evaded detection then he must be riding cross-country. That will slow his progress. Sooner or later he will be found and I want to be there for the kill.”
No birds were singing, as they had long departed to the south. The land was quiet and at peace. A highway between fields was sheathed in a thin layer of ice left as an unwelcome gift from the intemperate evening that had passed.
Such was the world Lord Mandrean observed as he emerged from his tent three-nights-travel from Marinhalk. His Imperial Guard had already begun to break camp and was tending their horses.
Commander Vipis personally delivered a hot tin of food to him and bowed after the exchange. “By the time you have finished eating, we will be ready to get underway again,” the Commander noted.
Mandrean observed his meal of sausage and cornbread with contempt. He knew there was little he could do about the fare and made do as he had since leaving his beloved palace. “Did any news come during the night?” he demanded as he sat on a portable chair and began to eat.
“No messengers arrived during the night,” answered Vipis. “With the conditions on the road it is unlikely any riders would attempt to navigate their way in the dark. It was a moonless night and visibility was nonexistent.”
“I do not care about ice on the roads, or moonless nights,” Mandrean yelled as he threw his plate. “I want news. Grithinshield has been gone for nearly a week and still there is not a single sighting of him or his rabble. If Tecious has men posted at all the crossings someone should have seen them by now. Even if the goblins on guard were killed we would have heard something.”
“We receive news throughout the day and there are simply no sightings,” Vipis confirmed. “Grithinshield is said to be a crafty general. He may have found a place in which to hold-up until the search dies down.”
Mandrean stroked his chin. “That is a possibility but I still think he is trying to escape. The longer he stays in the Empire, the greater his chances of being discovered. By now every town knows of the price on his head. He cannot hide for long without someone taking note.”
“Then what course of action does your Highness suggest?” Vipis asked stoically.
“We will continue to ride south with all haste to the Sorrowful Sea. There are many towns along the route where we can ask about sightings. If he has evaded detection then he must be riding cross-country. That will slow his progress. Sooner or later he will be found and I want to be there for the kill.”
September 26, 2015
Saturday Excerpt, "Quest"
With all the commotion of daily commerce, the sounds of pounding hooves from a galloping horse entering town went unnoticed. The steed’s pace had become erratic. It had a loose shoe and was foaming at the mouth. The animal was ready to collapse. Pausing for a moment upon reaching the ~ center of town, the rider produced a scroll. He did not open it, but merely read what was written on the outside and then tried to find his bearings in the unfamiliar place.
After turning his horse around several times, the rider determined the route he must take and headed down a street. Soon, he stopped before a great redwood and checked the inscription on the door against the writing on the scroll. The door read, Linvin Grithinshield -# 7 Spruce Lane. Convinced he had found his destination, the rider dismounted and tied his horse to a nearby post. He briskly approached the door and rang the bell.
Sounds of a chair sliding across a floor could be heard from inside. The echo of footsteps was heard coming ever nearer to the door. It swung open, to bring the resident and rider face-to-face.
Linvin stood in the doorway, wearing a scarlet robe and a confused expression. Outside, an exhausted young human boy was bent down with his hands on his knees in an effort to regain his breath. He lifted only his eyes as the door opened.
“It’s quite early to be running around like this,” Linvin said with a sympathetic smile. “What brings you to my door in such a state?”
The boy held out the scroll and said between deep breaths, “I come from the town of Fraylic; in the Human County. An old elf there told me to deliver this to Mr. Linvin Grithinshield of Missandor by this morning at the latest. Are you he, sir?”
“He and Iare the same,” Linvin laughed. He took the scroll and noted the seal on the outside. He was very familiar with the symbol impressed in the wax as it matched his own family ring. Opening the note he found the following words:
Greetings and Salutations My Dear Nephew,
If all has gone as planned, you should be reading this on the morning of the ninth day of this month. I shall be arriving in Missandor sometime in the evening of that day.
I need to speak with you in person about some urgent matters which will have a serious bearing on our futures.
I send this message, in advance, in order for you to prepare. First, tell those in town and at your store that you are going away on a long trading expedition for the company. Tell them you may be gone for as much as a year. Pack a mule with equipment and provisions for a long journey.
I know this makes no sense right now, my Boy, but do what I say and trust in me. The time is at hand for the moon to come out from behind the clouds.
I never have and never would lead you astray.
Your Loving Uncle,
Anvar
After turning his horse around several times, the rider determined the route he must take and headed down a street. Soon, he stopped before a great redwood and checked the inscription on the door against the writing on the scroll. The door read, Linvin Grithinshield -# 7 Spruce Lane. Convinced he had found his destination, the rider dismounted and tied his horse to a nearby post. He briskly approached the door and rang the bell.
Sounds of a chair sliding across a floor could be heard from inside. The echo of footsteps was heard coming ever nearer to the door. It swung open, to bring the resident and rider face-to-face.
Linvin stood in the doorway, wearing a scarlet robe and a confused expression. Outside, an exhausted young human boy was bent down with his hands on his knees in an effort to regain his breath. He lifted only his eyes as the door opened.
“It’s quite early to be running around like this,” Linvin said with a sympathetic smile. “What brings you to my door in such a state?”
The boy held out the scroll and said between deep breaths, “I come from the town of Fraylic; in the Human County. An old elf there told me to deliver this to Mr. Linvin Grithinshield of Missandor by this morning at the latest. Are you he, sir?”
“He and Iare the same,” Linvin laughed. He took the scroll and noted the seal on the outside. He was very familiar with the symbol impressed in the wax as it matched his own family ring. Opening the note he found the following words:
Greetings and Salutations My Dear Nephew,
If all has gone as planned, you should be reading this on the morning of the ninth day of this month. I shall be arriving in Missandor sometime in the evening of that day.
I need to speak with you in person about some urgent matters which will have a serious bearing on our futures.
I send this message, in advance, in order for you to prepare. First, tell those in town and at your store that you are going away on a long trading expedition for the company. Tell them you may be gone for as much as a year. Pack a mule with equipment and provisions for a long journey.
I know this makes no sense right now, my Boy, but do what I say and trust in me. The time is at hand for the moon to come out from behind the clouds.
I never have and never would lead you astray.
Your Loving Uncle,
Anvar
September 23, 2015
Beta Readers
As a writer I know there are many different parts to bringing a book to published status. First you must write the book. If you don’t enjoy this part then stop right here because this is the most fun activity in the process. Then you read through it looking for errors of any type. Next you send it to your beta reader to pick apart. You fix the mistakes. Then you read it again to satisfy yourself. Finally you fill out the appropriate forms and submit your book to the publisher. Assuming they like it or have contracted for it they will assign an editor to the manuscript. It turns out what you thought was good was actually full of little tiny errors that you will be correcting for some time. Then the editor always wants to put their spin on the story. That can be helpful or turn into a fight. In the end you have your novel; hopefully with minimal compromises. The part of this process too many writers overlook is the beta reader. This is a person you trust to always tell you the truth. They read the story looking for inconsistencies and errors. For example, “You said he was pacing. Then on the next page you say he is getting up from his chair. When did he sit down?” It seems like a silly mistake but it’s easier to do than you might think when you are writing. When you read your own work you often miss such obvious mistakes because you wrote it. A good beta reader won’t be afraid to tell you when something is not right. They live to find mistakes. Sometimes they point out things that are not truly errors. They are just written poorly and hard for the reader to understand. That’s worth a fix right there. It takes a certain level of maturity to handle a good beta reader. After all, they are finding fault with your work. As a writer you need to take the criticism constructively. It is better to hear it from a beta reader than an editor. This way your work looks more professional when it’s submitted. Remember, you are not looking for a fan who will tell you how great you are. You are looking for a critic who will tell you when you mess up. It also tends to be helpful if they know about writing. So all you aspiring authors out there, line up your beta reader before you start writing and things will go smoothly.
September 22, 2015
Tuesday Excerpt, "New"
The morning after Linvin’s uninvited guest was dispatched, he
left for Fraylic as planned. Though he wore his finely tailored
clothing, his most recent brush with death forced him to fortify
himself for the journey. Linvin wore his black, dragon-scale armor
and his remarkable broadsword: Falconfeather.
This living blade housed the soul of Talana, Queen of the
Falcons. The sword was crafted from her strongest bone after her
death and was indestructible. She was light as a feather and
devastating as any blade in the world. Falconfeather was a prideful
weapon with a blood lust. Fiercely loyal, she obeyed only Linvin’s
commands to the point that the sword would permit only her
master to lift her or draw her from her scabbard.
Shrunk for convenience and discretion was the staff housing the
Red Sapphire. It adhered magically to his back but was concealed
by Linvin’s trademark crimson cloak. Linvin kept his prize close at
hand for more than one reason. Not being a magician by birth, as
all others were, Linvin needed to stay in contact with the staff in
order to channel magic with a degree of efficiency. Though
channeling magic was draining on him physically, he needed to
rely on stored reserves of magic when he was not touching the
staff. He charged his body with an increasing amount of red magic
when they were in contact and then could use it, albeit with greater
taxation, in the event that he was separated from the staff. Lord
Mandrean could not charge his body in such a way with his magic
rod.
The other reason Linvin carried it was more complex. Being left
alone offended the Red Sapphire. It was truly a living entity. Both
the Red and Blue Sapphires were created to help prove whether
good or evil was stronger when given the same power. The stone
had feelings and an ego of its own. In many ways, Linvin and the
Red Sapphire had bonded to become one mind and soul. He could
give it away no easier than he could his arm. While the marriage
was harmonious, they each maintained a certain amount of
independence. As such, the gem made it perfectly clear that it had
spent hundreds of years locked in a chest waiting to be joined with
its chosen master. With its liberation, the sapphire refused to be
left alone again.
left for Fraylic as planned. Though he wore his finely tailored
clothing, his most recent brush with death forced him to fortify
himself for the journey. Linvin wore his black, dragon-scale armor
and his remarkable broadsword: Falconfeather.
This living blade housed the soul of Talana, Queen of the
Falcons. The sword was crafted from her strongest bone after her
death and was indestructible. She was light as a feather and
devastating as any blade in the world. Falconfeather was a prideful
weapon with a blood lust. Fiercely loyal, she obeyed only Linvin’s
commands to the point that the sword would permit only her
master to lift her or draw her from her scabbard.
Shrunk for convenience and discretion was the staff housing the
Red Sapphire. It adhered magically to his back but was concealed
by Linvin’s trademark crimson cloak. Linvin kept his prize close at
hand for more than one reason. Not being a magician by birth, as
all others were, Linvin needed to stay in contact with the staff in
order to channel magic with a degree of efficiency. Though
channeling magic was draining on him physically, he needed to
rely on stored reserves of magic when he was not touching the
staff. He charged his body with an increasing amount of red magic
when they were in contact and then could use it, albeit with greater
taxation, in the event that he was separated from the staff. Lord
Mandrean could not charge his body in such a way with his magic
rod.
The other reason Linvin carried it was more complex. Being left
alone offended the Red Sapphire. It was truly a living entity. Both
the Red and Blue Sapphires were created to help prove whether
good or evil was stronger when given the same power. The stone
had feelings and an ego of its own. In many ways, Linvin and the
Red Sapphire had bonded to become one mind and soul. He could
give it away no easier than he could his arm. While the marriage
was harmonious, they each maintained a certain amount of
independence. As such, the gem made it perfectly clear that it had
spent hundreds of years locked in a chest waiting to be joined with
its chosen master. With its liberation, the sapphire refused to be
left alone again.
September 20, 2015
Sunday Excerpt, "Crucible"
Mandrean led his forces now consisting of his Imperial Guard and an entire Division of goblins. They’d entered the mists and were stumbling along the plain. Though he openly criticized Necromancer’s strategy, it did not stop him from pressing his forces to their limit each day in order to gain ground on his prey. In the distance he spied a signal arrow and then another. They continued to come closer as Mandrean’s smile grew. He could tell the direction from which the signal originated and urged his forces to that course. Then he heard the horns blow.
By late in the day, a messenger arrived with word of Linvin’s sighting. Necromancer reveled in the confirmation of his viewpoint. Mandrean would give him no such praise.
Linvin was perhaps a day’s ride ahead. Mandrean wanted pressure maintained and knew how to accomplish the task. Since the goblins’ bodies ran on a two-day clock as opposed to humans’ single day custom, Mandrean ordered half of the division to continue the advance through the night. He, the other half and his Guard would rest and then overtake the main force on the following day. Mandrean was determined not to let Linvin escape again.
By late in the day, a messenger arrived with word of Linvin’s sighting. Necromancer reveled in the confirmation of his viewpoint. Mandrean would give him no such praise.
Linvin was perhaps a day’s ride ahead. Mandrean wanted pressure maintained and knew how to accomplish the task. Since the goblins’ bodies ran on a two-day clock as opposed to humans’ single day custom, Mandrean ordered half of the division to continue the advance through the night. He, the other half and his Guard would rest and then overtake the main force on the following day. Mandrean was determined not to let Linvin escape again.
