Aldrea Alien's Blog, page 4

Rainbow Snippets: Few options. Lot of questions

Rainbow Snippets is a Facebook group for LGBTQ+ authors, readers, and bloggers to gather once a week and share six sentences from a work of fiction–a WIP or a finished work or even a 6-sentence book recommendation.

Being a sequel, In Love and Death is set directly after In Pain and Blood. Some snippets will contain spoilers of those events.

Following on from last week’s snippet a suspicious Dylan…

There were few options. Given how many dead Talfaltaners had littered the tower grounds, he doubted they had taken the time to drag a few out into the forest. They could’ve been those critically wounded who had then passed away, but the placement seemed odd.

That left them being some poor souls who’d the misfortune of being in the wrong place.

It still left other questions. He might not be as worldly as the others, but he knew anyone claiming to be a merchant also had a wagon or two. And those he had encountered on their journey were always armed, be that themselves or their guards. They would’ve fought. And lost against insurmountable odds. Had they fled into the undergrowth, hoping to evade those who meant mortal harm? It clearly hadn’t worked, but it did suggest an explanation for the placement of the bodies.

I’ll be back with more from In Love and Death next weekend. In the meantime, check out these other snippets.

If you’re looking for more news of my books, be sure to “Like” my Facebook page and/or join me in my Facebook group!

In Love and Death: Chapter One

The hearty scratching at his tent flap jolted Dylan from what his body had begrudgingly begun to accept was sleep. At first, he thought it was his turn to take over the night watch, but the gleam of light creeping through the tent was too much for a mere camp fire.

Morning had come.

He lay still, not sure if he’d the strength to haul himself out from beneath his cocoon of blankets. His gaze traversed the patchwork of leather stretched above him, following the outline of shadows created by the low sunlight shining through the trees.

Even though he had tried to follow Tracker’s instructions, he didn’t recall drifting off. He must have managed at some point in order to be waking up. How? That was a mystery he wished he’d an answer to. Every time he had closed his eyes, images of the dead invaded the darkness. He had jerked out of that state so many times with his magic flickering around him, that he was surprised the tent still stood.

When it wasn’t the horror of the tower, it was the hound. Those visions he hadn’t minded as much, being less ghostly images and more a rehashing of the night they’d spent together. A night that had left him sleeping just as soundly as if he had never left home. Left him longing to have the man back in his arms, to bask in the companionable intimacy he hadn’t really felt with Authril.

Surely, he didn’t need the hound for that. Marin and Katarina were just as warm. They had sat with him easily enough, sympathetic where Authril had been dismissive. There’d been caution in their words, of course, but the softness came from a place of care rather than any fear of what he might do. Katarina had even tried to talk him through his grief as they pitched his tent last night.

None of them had been there to see him at his weakest, though. They hadn’t been the ones to hold him without judgement as he bawled like a child fresh out of the nursery, hadn’t made him feel safe enough to face his grief.

It had to be the unexpected tenderness behind the hound’s touch that he craved so much. With all the conflicting emotions flooding his thoughts—the anger, the grief, the growing numbness—his mind had taken the ache of empathy and mistaken it for his attraction to the man.

Dylan hadn’t realised he’d been missing that closeness until last night, when he’d found himself lying alone, embraced only by his cold blankets.

It didn’t help that the days he had slept alone throughout his life were minimal. In the tower, he had spent a large portion of his childhood sleeping in the dorm with a gaggle of other boys. After that, he’d gone a grand total of a few weeks before meeting the gangly, wary elven boy who had grown into his friend, Sulin.

Gods. He flung an arm over his face, unable to do more as fresh tears flowed. I’m sorry, Su. He should’ve been faster. Should’ve—

Should’ve what? Rushed to prevent a disaster he hadn’t known about? The hound was right, there was no way any of them could’ve predicted what happened. It was a truth he unequivocally agreed with.

Knowing he’d been powerless to stop it did nothing to temper the guilt gnawing at his core.

“You arrogant prick!” Authril bellowed.

Dylan sat upright, his shield flickering for a brief moment. He stared warily at the tent entrance, waiting for the warrior to burst in and complain how his lack of movement was holding them back.

“What if you’d fallen asleep?” she continued to roar. “What if the people who attacked the tower were still near? We could’ve all died because of your arrogance.”

Sluggishly, his mind realised he wasn’t the target of her outrage.

He crept closer to the tent flap as the warrior raved on. Tracker had taken Dylan’s own watch to let him sleep, but he’d no idea the hound would also choose to alleviate Authril of the duty, especially as they didn’t seem to harbour any sort of camaraderie towards each other.

“We still live, yes?” Tracker said, his voice bordering on inaudible in comparison. “The camp is still in one piece?”

The tent entrance was shadowed by a person hunkered next to it. Definitely not either of the two elves. That left the hunter or the hedgewitch. He could think of no logical reason for either woman to be lingering there.

Dylan twitched a section of the flap to one side, crouching in the gap it gave him.

Marin’s back faced him. The woman squatted with her hand on the hilt of her massive hunting knife as though expecting a fight.

Beyond her, the two elves stood in the centre of the camp. Authril glowered up at the man, her legs planted and her hand firmly grasping her sheathed sword. The hound’s stance was far calmer, although no less ready to retaliate.

“You are not the leader here,” Authril grated. “I am.”

“If I may,” Katarina interjected from her place seated by the fire. She hesitated as both elves turned their attention to her. “There might not be a tower, but that surely can’t be enough to change how a King’s Hound has jurisdiction over any spellster caught outside its walls?”

“That’s only relevant when it involves those not in the army,” Authril replied, once more making Tracker the full focus of her sour expression. “If anything, escorting Dylan makes him a glorified bodyguard.”

“What you say about the army is true,” the hound conceded with the shrug. “Wardens have been ranked above us for many years now. But we are not currently in the army and you, my dear warrior, are no warden.”

Dylan sagged, the tent flap slithering back into place and obscuring the arguing duo. He hadn’t fully accepted what awaited him at Wintervale, but the hound’s words had brought the stark reality of it crashing down. He would be leashed, he knew that.

But to be placed under another warden?

With only one spellster available, whoever became his warden would undoubtedly be granted a lot of prestige. They’d be untouchable. Unaccountable for anything done to him beyond his own death. And if it wasn’t someone he knew, someone he could trust…

The hollowness in his fellow spellster’s eyes. The abuse heaped upon them. No beatings, nothing that would leave a mark and make those higher in command look twice, but forced into sexual acts they’d no say in performing. The utter glee in his warden’s laughter as he bragged about past conquests, promising that Dylan would do his own share of servicing.

Liquid collected in the back of his mouth, burning his throat. He clapped his hands over his lips in an effort to keep himself from spewing the contents across his blankets. His innate healing rushed to mend the affected area, its constant soothing leaving a tingling patch. His breath fought for release, shuddering out his nose in burbling puffs.

The crude, shimmering shape of his shield enclosed him, muffling the arguing voices that continued outside.

He closed his eyes, blocking out the light. He was safe here. He’d a hound to watch over him, a hedgewitch that few people would risk, a concerned friend in Marin and…

Authril.

The warrior wouldn’t allow anyone to use him like that. She had barely tolerated him being in the brothel where he’d done nothing beyond looking. And being almost kissed. She’d spoken at great lengths regarding her opinion on Tracker’s actions there.

If he was to be leashed, to have a warden overseeing his every move, he would vastly prefer it was her.

Certain the threat of vomiting had given up tormenting his gut, he wrapped his arms around his knees and squeezed until his breathing finally calmed. Only then, did he let his shield dissipate.

The arguing had stopped. With the tension lingering in the air like the smoke clinging to his robes, he wasn’t sure the silence was a good thing.

Dylan flung back the tent flap, the act startling Marin and drawing everyone’s attention. He winced, an apology stuttering from his lips. He’d forgotten her closeness to the tent.

She waved off his words with a good-natured smile.

“My dear spellster,” Tracker said. “It is a pleasure to see you up and about. You look…” The man’s piercing gaze ran over him. Could he somehow tell Dylan had used magic within the tent? Even something as simple as a shield? Did he wonder why? Suspect? Know? “…reasonably rested.”

“Reasonably,” he echoed despite feeling nothing of the sort.

Authril remained silent, but her stare remained unforgiving and distant. Her earlier sourness seemed to have etched itself into her face, even as she struggled to smooth her features and make her observation of him less noticeable. He’d seen such looks before, whenever the guardians thought someone was overstepping their freedoms.

Did she actually know what had happened between him and the hound? Had she heard Tracker’s brazen mention of it last night? No, not then. Or at any other time, otherwise she would’ve been ranting about that, demanding she spend every second at Dylan’s side.

Nowhere alone. Constantly watched. His movements scrutinised. Each social interaction judged for the hidden meaning. Every smile. Every look. The punishment of the outed. It taunted him, even out here. He couldn’t run from it. Couldn’t rest for one moment without the threat of its clawed fingers wrapping around his neck.

Concern moulded Tracker’s brow. He took a step closer.

“I’m fine,” he blurted.

The hound halted, albeit with visible reluctance. His lips pursed in disbelief, the usually unflattering expression oddly endearing. “As you say.”

Marin laid a hand on Dylan’s shoulder, squeezing slightly. She looked just as unconvinced as Tracker.

“Let’s break camp and move on,” Authril declared, stomping towards the tent she had shared with the other women.

The remaining trio shared a meaningful look that Dylan didn’t understand. Then, Tracker shrugged and followed the example, prompting the other two women to do the same.

Dylan gathered his things and readied himself for their journey whilst everyone else moved through their tasks shrouded in awkward silence. Not even Authril insisted he do anything whilst the tents were swiftly dismantled and stowed, the fire doused and buried to ensure nothing whipped up an ember. Food was either shoved into packs or people’s mouths.

By the time they were done, their mark on this little section of the forest was barely noticeable. Dylan couldn’t understand why the rest were being so thorough, they hadn’t on their northward journey.

They forged their way back through the undergrowth, reaching the road the same time a deafening rumble rolled across the ground. The source unmistakably coming from the direction of the tower.

The others turned at the sound. Both the hound and the warrior regarded the way with grim faces. Marin looked less stoic, but held her composure. It was the hedgewitch who clapped a hand over her mouth.

Steeling himself, he faced the sight.

He had looked back the once since leaving the tower to burn, just before they left the road yesterday evening. It had sat high above the tree tops, tendrils of smoke drifting alongside the clouds.

Now, that same sky sat empty of its silhouette. Fresh smoke billowed up to fill the space, the unburnt supports from the upper levels having fallen into the fire he started. The shell of what had been all he’d known of the world for almost three decades finally succumbing to its fate as another of Demarn’s ruins.

Dylan turned his back on it. He didn’t need more horror to fuel his nightmares.

The day drifted on much the same as yesterday. Silence lingered over the group, what had been awkward quiet now tensing with each passing hour. Authril led the way, although there wasn’t any chance of anyone getting lost with a solid route stretched before them.

He wished the road carried more than themselves to their destination, but they encountered not a soul. He’d grown used to the bustle of others, the carts that trundled along, others on foot trudging just as earnestly as they, the few on horseback who looked down upon the rest. He supposed there wasn’t much call for farmers or merchants out in the middle of nowhere.

That was where his home had stood. Isolated. He recognised that now. Remote in a way that people could forget the spellsters who had once walked amongst them.

With no nearby civilisation, it could take days, maybe even weeks, for someone to stumble upon the tower ruins. Rumours of how it fell would race across the land, growing wilder with each retelling. How long until speculation turned into fact?

Until everything he’d known became a myth?

They paused at noon only long enough to divide food amongst themselves. The presence of food seemed to mellow the tension, at least as far as everyone but Authril was concerned.

As the afternoon drew closer to the end, they returned to the forest, seeking a place far enough from the road where they’d be hidden from any traveller. The others busied themselves in pitching tents and building a base for their camp fire. It left little for him to do.

Dylan paced between two trees. His whole being vibrated, demanding he help with something. Anything. Yesterday, he had understood the hound’s insistence that he couldn’t have enough left in him to even light the campfire. He could’ve done the task, fire was easy, but had accepted the time to rest.

He felt even better, now. Not as rested as he should’ve been, but definitely strong enough to aid in setting up camp.

Convincing anyone to let him was a different matter. Where could he be of use when everyone else seemed content in winding down for the evening?

Marin was off somewhere out in the forest, having checked the strength of her traps whilst on the road. She wouldn’t return until it was close to dark. Even if he had gone with her, he’d no knowledge of how to set a trap, never mind where.

The hedgewitch was busy leafing through the books he’d given her. Just looking at the tomes had his stomach twisting up on itself, he wasn’t certain if he could face reading the pages. Authril sat next to her, getting the fire going and nodding along to whatever Katarina said, her expression one of resigned boredom.

Whereas Tracker…

The hound sat a short distance from the rest, reclining against a tree trunk. He had out one of his many daggers and was busy running a stone along the blade’s edge.

Dylan watched that rhythmic sweep, a slow-burning thought coming to life. The man had offered to teach him sword fighting. Although he wasn’t certain if it had been a jest or some strange attempt at flirting. It had been some time back, a few days before Oldmarsh and The Gilded Lily. And their almost kiss.

Strange how it felt like that had happened years ago.

He strode towards the man. His mind hadn’t stopped since last night, flicking through a multitude of other notions, the merits behind each one. Learning to handle a weapon beyond his natural abilities was the only one that made sense to act on. It would take weeks to reach Whitemeadow and several more to Wintervale, plenty of time to familiarise himself with the basics.

He had considered asking Authril, but her stance on him learning had never been positive. Changing her mind would be impossible. He’d likely need to borrow a weapon from the hound anyway as the sword she swung about single-handedly with ease looked less manageable than Tracker’s.

Without looking up, the hound’s actions briefly halted at Dylan’s approach before carrying on.

Dylan cleared his throat. “I want to take you up on your offer to train me. If it’s still on the table,” he quickly amended.

Tracker glanced up from the dagger, his hand unfaltering as he continued to sharpen the blade’s edge. “You already know how to fight. I remember how you handled those bandits.”

Dylan did, too. Even after trying to block out the memories.

The screams as his lightning hit. The death-spasms of their bodies. The charred remains left to rot, reminiscent of the countless dead they hadn’t been able to bury at the army encampment.

“I don’t know how to wield a weapon not of my own making. You recommended a sword.” Or was a dagger was better? He recalled the hound mentioning several methods. Did he have time to learn more than one?

That honey-coloured gaze ran over him. Frowning, the hound sheathed his dagger. “I believe I also suggested you would be suited to unarmed combat.” His eyes narrowed. “Why the sudden interest? Blades are messy. Your magic is more precise than any sword could be.”

Dylan rubbed his neck, focusing everywhere but the man’s puzzled face. This was trickier than his mind had made it seem. “In the tower, you said most spellsters use magic before all else.”

Tracker’s nose wrinkled. “I said a lot of things then. Pay them no mind.”

He sighed. If only it was that easy. “But you’re right. We do. I want to fix that. Learn of a way to defend myself in such a situation where magic won’t work.”

“Like against a hound?” There was a humorous quirk to the man’s lips now.

He shook his head. If the other hounds fought anything like Tracker, he had no chance of matching their skill. “They’ll leash me once we reach Wintervale. I won’t be able to use my magic unless given sanction.” And all the vibrancy in the world would once again be diminished. All he could hope for was to be treated better as the last spellster in the army’s possession. “If whatever destroyed the tower reaches the capital—”

Tracker held up his hand. “I understand. Correct me if I am wrong, but spellsters learning to fight without magic is not something the army allows.”

Not according to Authril. “If you won’t teach me to use a sword, I’ll simply ask Marin how to wield a bow.” He didn’t know how readily available one would be to him compared to a sword, but he had witnessed the damage they did.

The hound tipped his head back and laughed. “If you think there is anything simple about archery, then you underestimate our dear hunter’s prowess.”

***

“What have I done?” Marin’s voice rang out across the clearing.

Tracker twisted on the spot at the sound. He hadn’t expected the hunter to return until the daylight was almost gone.

She stood at the clearing’s edge, not far from them or the trail she’d left their company via earlier. Her face remained oddly grim.

“Nothing wrong, I assure you,” he replied, grinning to round off any edges to his good-natured jab. “Did you find nothing worth trapping?”

Rather than respond with a sarcastic comment of her own, she gestured for him to stand. “I need you to come with me. Now.”

His brows shot up. Not since their first meeting had she been so curt with him. He glanced at Dylan, then the rest of the camp, before getting to his feet. “We will speak of this later, yes?” he asked of the man, a little relieved that he’d a reason not to answer now. Whatever Marin needed him for, it gave him time to mull over the consequences of a spellster knowing how to use a blade without the man standing over him.

Dylan frowned, a flush of disappointment colouring his cheeks like a slap. He nodded all the same and turned back to the others, leaving Tracker to wordlessly follow the hunter into the forest.

She offered no explanation. No warning of what might lie ahead. Her sole gesture was to ensure he stayed close and didn’t dawdle.

Only when their camp was out of sight did she signal for him to halt.

He obeyed. He knew the woman well enough to admire her caution, but he couldn’t tell if she was being overly so. She carried no hint of encountering anything dangerous, but concern vibrated through her every movement.

No sounds out of the ordinary reached him. Birds sang from the branches, unconcerned with their presence. A few fantailed varieties danced around them, peeping for them to keep moving and stir up more tiny morsels from the undergrowth. If he strained his hearing, he fancied there being a low hum in the distance.

Marin glanced over his shoulder, not acknowledging him until she was satisfied. Then, her sharp hazel gaze focused on him with the same intensity as a hawk. “How’s he holding up?”

“About as well as can be expected. He wants me to train him in bladed weapons.” He understood where the desire came from, the urge to regain control over something—anything—within his life.

Perhaps it would help.

Nodding almost absently, she scuffed her boot along the ground, leaving a line of dry soil amongst the leaf-litter. “And have you told him? About Authril?”

“You mean what our dear warrior said in the tower? Not as yet.” It was still too early. “But that cannot be why you brought me out here.” Such a question could’ve easily been asked whilst changing their shifts on watch, when both Dylan and Authril were asleep. Insisting in front of the others that he vanish into the forest with her would bring questions upon their return.

Marin shook her head, her lips flattening into a grim line. “It’s not. I need you to see something.” She pushed on through the undergrowth. “This way.”

He trailed behind her, the seriousness in her voice tweaking his curiosity. Clearly, she had found something that was interest to them. That she didn’t immediately inform him what it was suggested she wasn’t entirely certain herself.

“It occurs to me,” he said, aware that if their destination warranted silence, she would’ve told him. Questions about herself would turn her mind from Dylan and what had, or hadn’t, been said to the man. “Whilst we all know a certain warrior’s mind and much of her past.” Some of it too excess as the woman refused to keep quiet. “I have not heard of your opinion on recent matters. You do not appear to have the same reservations about magic as our dear warrior. Why is that?”

She paused for a moment to grin a little too broadly back at him. “Why do you want to know?”

Tracker shrugged. “It is always nice to have more than a passing acquaintance with travelling companions.” If she didn’t wish to speak of the past, he would push only to confirm the details she’d already freely given. “You spoke of your home being burnt to the ground by Udyneans. Your village was on the border, yes?” Or what had once been the border. If the empire had succeeded in their invasion back when she was a child, then the land was well and truly under their control.

Her smile fell and her gaze drifted to the forest ahead. “Damn elven hearing,” she muttered under her breath before speaking louder, “It was. Nothing extravagant or anything, just a hamlet south of Toptower and a little north of the Udynean border.” She kicked a pinecone into the brush. “You won’t find it on most maps nowadays.”

“Lynhold. I remember hearing about it as a boy.” The recollection was faint, mere mentions amongst older hounds whilst they oversaw the training young. Even without the empire trumping them so deftly, Udynea gnawed at Demarn’s border like rats plundering a silo. Settlements too small to defend against magic became little more than rubble and a smudge in history. An isolated place like Lynhold would’ve had no chance.

“My grandfather used to say the place was doomed from the day they let the hounds drag away this pregnant elven woman.”

“She would have carried a spellster child.”

Marin shook her head. “It was years before I was born, but the way they spoke, I think she was the spellster.”

“That is also possible.” Places like Lynhold were rarely visited by the King’s Hounds unless summoned. If the woman’s magic was slight enough to go unnoticed by the average person, or even beneficial to the people, no one would’ve sought to be rid of her. “Still, you witnessed this destruction as a child and permitted a spellster into your home.”

She laughed. “I gave shelter to the three drowned rats I found on my doorstep. Knew he was a spellster, of course, those damn robes the army puts them in marks him from across a field. Looked pathetic enough that didn’t really think about that what he was capable of. Besides, without them, I wouldn’t have known the Udyneans had destroyed the army.” She fell silent for a few steps, likely thinking of just how much death would’ve been wrought for such an occurrence.

“You never saw the aftermath, yes?” It made her the only one of them who hadn’t.

Marin shook her head. “Seeing something like that once in a lifetime is enough.” She jerked a thumb back towards the camp. “They’d likely agree. In fact, if it wasn’t for Authril’s insistence about moving on, I think Kat and Dylan would’ve opted to stay a little longer.”

And if they had, Tracker might have found them long before their encounter at Toptower, with perhaps a far more volatile outcome. “You believe she is the driving force behind their movements?” For all her talk of returning to Dvärghem, the hedgewitch seemed content to take her time. But that could easily be the hedgewitch’s philosophy.

“Authril’s brashness might have something to do with it.”

Tracker grunted. Even though he had suggested the spellster stay close to him, he couldn’t outright object to the current sleeping arrangements without causing some manner of friction.

He needed to separate Dylan from the group for long enough to tell the man of her true intentions behind her sexual advances or wait until she tried again and see if he refused her of his own volition.

Both were a problem for another day.

“How far are we going?” Even as he asked the question, the all-too-familiar buzz of flies reached his ears. The stench of decaying flesh assaulted his senses not long after. He covered his nose, his gaze darting Marin’s way to see her grimness had returned. What had she found out here?

His thoughts flashed to the destroyed tower wall. Had some spellsters escaped after all? Only to be hunted and left to rot out in the wilderness?

Marin jerked her head, indicating they climb a ridge just ahead. “We’re almost there. We’re lucky the wind’s changed since I found them. Smelt it long before now.” She lifted a branch out of their path, the leaves creating a screen above her. “Reckon they’ve been there a few days.”

Beyond her sat a natural ditch, the kind caused by a stream that had long since dried up. The remains of people filled the space, dumped with no effort to bury them, not even in a shallow grave.

Something had ravaged the bodies within, but what remained was bloated and discoloured. He’d put them as a few days older than the dead within the tower, although the fact these had succumbed to not only the elements but also wild animals, made judging just how many days before trickier.

“If I’m not mistaken,” Marin said, having gone no further than the branch. “They’re part of your pack.”

“They are.” The wildlife had done a good job of destroying individual features, but a few pieces of clothing were intact enough to be marked as the distinctive attire of the King’s Hounds.

Tracker circled the ditch, looking for any clue as to how this had come to pass. The ground offered little, a few footprints that could’ve easily belonged to the dead and a handful of other markings muddied by hungry animals. No sign that the bodies had been slain here.

“I always thought hounds were impossible to kill.” Marin had come forward a few steps, lingering just within sight.

“We die just as easily as any other being.” Perhaps with even greater ease seeing that the rest of the group had access to Dylan’s healing, whereas a blade in the wrong place could end Tracker’s life. A fact he had come to terms with long ago. Everything died in the end, he could only hope his was swift.

He bent to examine a single mark caused by a boot not too dissimilar to his own. The way it pressed into the ground, deeper nearer the fore, as though hefting something forwards. A deliberate discarding of a body. That put things in line with his first assessment of the site.

Investigating further from the ditch brought scuffs in the dirt, patches of broken foliage with dark smears of dried blood and a handful of other deep footprints. All signs that came from someone carelessly hauling a heavy load.

Returning to the ditch, he dared a fresh count of the bodies. Eight heads. Even accounting for the disarray of limbs caused, there weren’t enough bodies to make that many people. Not anymore.

How had they all wound up dead? That so many had chosen to travel together was strange enough. And so close to the spellster tower. Had the mistress sent several of the pack to collect fresh victims for the army?

What sort of force had managed to overpower and slaughter eight fully-trained hounds? The same one that had attacked the spellster tower? It was possible. Talfaltaners held almost the same distaste for hounds as they did towards spellsters.

But why go to the trouble of dumping the bodies here? He doubted anyone who came upon them on the roadside would’ve been able to warn the tower in time. Who did they hide this slaughter from?

The glint of a jewelled pommel caught his eye. He trod deeper into the ditch, picking his way through offal and dismembered limbs, to pluck the weapon from its sheath. The dagger sported a narrow blade, perfect for slipping between ribs. An intricate rope etching bound the hilt, with a generous dark blue stone gracing the top.

He knew the owner of this blade, had seen the man polishing it numerous times in his youth. Whisper. A gentle soul who had spent much of his life running the hound station in Oldmarsh.

The last he’d heard of the old hound’s whereabouts had been directly from the man’s lover. Left months ago. Answering the call for all of them to head for Wintervale, an order Tracker had directly refused.

How had Whisper ended up here?

“We should return to camp.” Tracker cut the dagger’s sheath free, nestling both it and the weapon beneath his belt. “Find another place whilst it is still light.” He doubted the people responsible for this were close, nor did he think they were likely to put much distance between them and this place.

He was vastly more concerned about the animal tracks. They spoke of a few hefty pigs that were likely behind the missing body parts. He’d rather not wake to find such creatures stumbling through their camp in search of more exotic treats to gorge on. Any distance they gained from here would be an improvement to avoid that situation.

Marin didn’t appear convinced about his choice, but she followed him back towards camp readily enough. “What do we tell the others?”

“That we found a pile of dead bodies. They do not need specifics.” Not when he’d Dylan’s safety to concern himself with. If the Talfaltaners were the ones responsible for those deaths alongside that of the spellsters, their little group would have to be extra vigilant in where they camped from now on.

Especially if they didn’t want to wake up dead.

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Rainbow Snippets: Almost idyllic

Rainbow Snippets is a Facebook group for LGBTQ+ authors, readers, and bloggers to gather once a week and share six sentences from a work of fiction–a WIP or a finished work or even a 6-sentence book recommendation.

Being a sequel, In Love and Death is set directly after In Pain and Blood. Some snippets will contain spoilers of those events.

With last week’s snippet being the final of chapter one, and me trying to finish In Love and Death before the end of the month, we’re moving on to chapter two…

Two days. That was how long they’d travelled with no further signs anyone else had recently trod the same road. Everything was quiet. Idyllic. Dylan could almost forget the destruction they’d left behind.

Yet, he couldn’t shake the sight of Marin and Tracker emerging from the forest. The grim lines etching their faces. The talk of dead bodies. Their insistence of breaking camp and setting up elsewhere, never mind that it would leave half of them fumbling about in twilight.

They hadn’t spoken much about the incident since. When Dylan pressed the hound, the man confessed the bodies weren’t from the tower. Whilst the knowledge crushed the dim hope Dylan had of people escaping the slaughter—for even if these people hadn’t made it, knowing some had breached the outer wall meant others might’ve been more successful—it didn’t answer where they’d come from.

I’ll be back with more from In Love and Death next weekend. In the meantime, check out these other snippets.

If you’re looking for more news of my books, be sure to “Like” my Facebook page and/or join me in my Facebook group!

Rainbow Snippets: No specifics…

Rainbow Snippets is a Facebook group for LGBTQ+ authors, readers, and bloggers to gather once a week and share six sentences from a work of fiction–a WIP or a finished work or even a 6-sentence book recommendation.

Being a sequel, In Love and Death is set directly after In Pain and Blood. Some snippets will contain spoilers of those events.

Following on from last week’s snippet…

Marin didn’t appear convinced about his choice, but she followed him back towards camp readily enough. “What do we tell the others?”

“That we found a pile of dead bodies. They do not need specifics.” Not when he’d Dylan’s safety to concern himself with. If the Talfaltaners were the ones responsible for those deaths alongside that of the spellsters, their little group would have to be extra vigilant in where they camped from now on.

Especially if they didn’t want to wake up dead.

And this brings us to the end of chapter one! But don’t worry, I’ll be continuing with more from In Love and Death next weekend. In the meantime, check out these other snippets.

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Rainbow Snippets: No exotic treats for the wildlife…

Rainbow Snippets is a Facebook group for LGBTQ+ authors, readers, and bloggers to gather once a week and share six sentences from a work of fiction–a WIP or a finished work or even a 6-sentence book recommendation.

Being a sequel, In Love and Death is set directly after In Pain and Blood. Some snippets will contain spoilers of those events.

Following on from last week’s snippet…

“We should return to camp.” Tracker cut the dagger’s sheath free, nestling both it and the weapon beneath his belt. “Find another place whilst it is still light.” He doubted the people responsible for this were close, nor did he think they were likely to put much distance between them and this place.

He was vastly more concerned about the animal tracks. They spoke of a few hefty pigs that were likely behind the missing body parts. He’d rather not wake to find such creatures stumbling through their camp in search of more exotic treats to gorge on. Any distance they gained from here would be an improvement to avoid that situation.

I’ll be back with more from In Love and Death next weekend. In the meantime, check out these other snippets.

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Rainbow Snippets: Whisper…

Rainbow Snippets is a Facebook group for LGBTQ+ authors, readers, and bloggers to gather once a week and share six sentences from a work of fiction–a WIP or a finished work or even a 6-sentence book recommendation.

Being a sequel, In Love and Death is set directly after In Pain and Blood. Some snippets will contain spoilers of those events.

Following on from last week’s snippet…

The glint of a jewelled pommel caught his eye. He trod deeper into the ditch, picking his way through offal and dismembered limbs, to pluck the weapon from its sheath. The dagger sported a narrow blade, perfect for slipping between ribs. An intricate rope etching bound the hilt, with a generous dark blue stone gracing the top.

He knew the owner of this blade, had seen the man polishing it numerous times in his youth. Whisper. A gentle soul who had spent much of his life running the hound station in Oldmarsh.

The last he’d heard of the old hound’s whereabouts had been directly from the man’s lover. Left months ago. Answering the call for all of them to head for Wintervale, an order Tracker had directly refused.

How had Whisper ended up here?

I’ll be back with more from In Love and Death next weekend. In the meantime, check out these other snippets.

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Rainbow Snippets: Hiding a slaughter…

Rainbow Snippets is a Facebook group for LGBTQ+ authors, readers, and bloggers to gather once a week and share six sentences from a work of fiction–a WIP or a finished work or even a 6-sentence book recommendation.

Being a sequel, In Love and Death is set directly after In Pain and Blood. Some snippets will contain spoilers of those events.

Following on from last week’s snippet…

How had they all wound up dead? That so many had chosen to travel together was strange enough. And so close to the spellster tower. Had the mistress sent several of the pack to collect fresh victims for the army?

What sort of force had managed to overpower and slaughter eight fully-trained hounds? The same one that had attacked the spellster tower? It was possible. Talfaltaners held almost the same distaste for hounds as they did towards spellsters.

But why go to the trouble of dumping the bodies here? He doubted anyone who came upon them on the roadside would’ve been able to warn the tower in time. Who did they hide this slaughter from?

I’ll be back with more from In Love and Death next weekend. In the meantime, check out these other snippets.

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Rainbow Snippets: Deliberately discarding bodies…

Rainbow Snippets is a Facebook group for LGBTQ+ authors, readers, and bloggers to gather once a week and share six sentences from a work of fiction–a WIP or a finished work or even a 6-sentence book recommendation.

Being a sequel, In Love and Death is set directly after In Pain and Blood. Some snippets will contain spoilers of those events.

Following on from last week’s snippet…

He bent to examine a single mark caused by a boot not too dissimilar to his own. The way it pressed into the ground, deeper nearer the fore, as though hefting something forwards. A deliberate discarding of a body. That put things in line with his first assessment of the site.

Investigating further from the ditch brought scuffs in the dirt, patches of broken foliage with dark smears of dried blood and a handful of other deep footprints. All signs that came from someone carelessly hauling a heavy load.

Returning to the ditch, he dared a fresh count of the bodies. Eight heads. Even accounting for the disarray of limbs caused, there weren’t enough bodies to make that many people. Not anymore.

I’ll be back with more from In Love and Death next weekend. In the meantime, check out these other snippets.

If you’re looking for more news of my books, be sure to “Like” my Facebook page and/or join me in my Facebook group!

Rainbow Snippets: Hoping for a swift end…

Rainbow Snippets is a Facebook group for LGBTQ+ authors, readers, and bloggers to gather once a week and share six sentences from a work of fiction–a WIP or a finished work or even a 6-sentence book recommendation.

Being a sequel, In Love and Death is set directly after In Pain and Blood. Some snippets will contain spoilers of those events.

Following on from last week’s snippet…

Tracker circled the ditch, looking for any clue as to how this had come to pass. The ground offered little, a few footprints that could’ve easily belonged to the dead and a handful of other markings muddied by hungry animals. No sign that the bodies had been slain here.

“I always thought hounds were impossible to kill.” Marin had come forward a few steps, lingering just within sight.

“We die just as easily as any other being.” Perhaps with even greater ease seeing that the rest of the group had access to Dylan’s healing, whereas a blade in the wrong place could end Tracker’s life. A fact he had come to terms with long ago. Everything died in the end, he could only hope his was swift.

I’ll be back with more from In Love and Death next weekend. In the meantime, check out these other snippets.

If you’re looking for more news of my books, be sure to “Like” my Facebook page and/or join me in my Facebook group!

Rainbow Snippets: Part of his pack…

Rainbow Snippets is a Facebook group for LGBTQ+ authors, readers, and bloggers to gather once a week and share six sentences from a work of fiction–a WIP or a finished work or even a 6-sentence book recommendation.

Being a sequel, In Love and Death is set directly after In Pain and Blood. Some snippets will contain spoilers of those events.

Following on from last week’s snippet…

Beyond her sat a natural ditch, the kind caused by a stream that had long since dried up. The remains of people filled the space, dumped with no effort to bury them, not even in a shallow grave.

Something had ravaged the bodies within, but what remained was bloated and discoloured. He’d put them as a few days older than the dead within the tower, although the fact these had succumbed to not only the elements but also wild animals, made judging just how many days before trickier.

“If I’m not mistaken,” Marin said, having gone no further than the branch. “They’re part of your pack.”

“They are.” The wildlife had done a good job of destroying individual features, but a few pieces of clothing were intact enough to be marked as the distinctive attire of the King’s Hounds.

I’ll be back with more from In Love and Death next weekend. In the meantime, check out these other snippets.

If you’re looking for more news of my books, be sure to “Like” my Facebook page and/or join me in my Facebook group!