DISTANT FAMILIARITY Continues

I felt I needed to revisit this subject to clear things up. I simply wanted everyone to know (especially new readers to the Realm of Ashenclaw series) that all of the Wothlondia Rising 99 cent short stories are prequels to my novel, Covenant of the Faceless Knights (which is getting a makeover shortly--in progress--will keep you posted).




The short stories take one of the main characters and describes life-altering events approximately twelve years prior to the novel which helps place the characters on their chosen paths. I've had a few readers ask me questions regarding my Wothlondia Rising series, so I wanted to reiterate their purpose.






The events that take place specifically in DISTANT FAMILIARITY detail happenings that continue right here! Enjoy this free excerpt from my novel and I hope you come back for more!







                                                          

                                                




(If you've read Distant Familiarity, please read this!)

PROLOGUE

to Covenant of the Faceless Knights

                                                                                                 



 

            The
heavy oak door to the council chamber creaked open, swinging wide as
three battered and bruised forms entered the room. They each sat heavily
in one of the many plush chairs surrounding a conference table at the
center of the room.

"Me
thinks that could have gone better," Rolin Hardbeard sighed, wiping a
contrasting bit of dried blood from his full and white beard. Even for a
dwarf who was obviously past his prime adventuring years, Rolin was a
ruggedly built warrior, but this hour had him looking haggard and tired.
His age was evident, as was his broken spirit.

"You
have a talent for stating the obvious my dwarven friend," slurred a
beautiful half-elven woman with hair the color of polished silver
through what was quite possibly a broken jaw. Rolin managed a brief
laugh as he removed his heavy, steel helmet and ran his fingers through
his blood specked and thinning hair. His hard, gray eyes lightened
somewhat to regard his emotionally distraught friend.

"Me
dear Nimaira Silvershade, after all the years we spent takin’ down
giants and ogres, countless trolls and undead, and ye are only now
realizin’ I be a dwarf of many talents?" Rolin asked sardonically.

Nimaira
began to laugh, but the pain in her jaw immediately distorted that
laugh, twisting it instead into a grimace as tears slowly welled in her
sapphire eyes. Rolin's light hearted visage turned down sympathetically
at his friend’s obvious pain.

The
human priest, Tiyarnon, directed a weak smile at his two closest
friend’s familiar banter as he tugged thoughtfully at his ever-graying
beard. It was comforting for him to have his friends nearby at a time
like this, having dealt with the pain and guilt for so many years
himself. It also brought a bittersweet twinge of nostalgia.

How long had it been since the three of them had time to spend together outside of official duties? Tiyarnon thought. By The Shimmering One, it had been too long!  If
they survive this nightmare he silently pledged to ensure that they
would make more time for camaraderie and reminiscing in the days to
come. Tiyarnon's musings were interrupted by the arrival of a servant,
standing within the shadows of the doorway.

"My
Lords, My Lady,” he began with a reverent bow and then continued. “We
did not know you had returned; forgive us for our incompetence," spoke
the servant humbly, keeping his eyes down and bowing repeatedly from
beneath a hooded, brown robe.

Rolin
Hardbeard, never comfortable with being doted on, waved the groveling
attendant's concerns away and directed a comment toward him. “Stand up
straight ye durned fool! How many time must we be tellin’ ye that we are
folk just as yerself? Just bring Nimaira some medicinal balms, for my
beard’s sake!” Rolin barked after a short pause, then continued,
“Tiyarnon here has exhausted himself and we got nothin much left.” The
servant retreated backwards through the door, still insisting on bowing
the entire time. "And bring me some durned ale while yer at it!" The
dwarf shouted after him as the man disappeared into the hallway and out
of sight.

"Now
what do we do?" Nimaira said, addressing the topic at hand. Rolin
simply shrugged, resigned to the fact that they had given a superb
effort in their task.

"Get
some rest, and try again on the morrow. What else can we be doin?"
Rolin responded confidently, his pride obviously still at the forefront
of his façade. The dwarf, despite his age and markedly weakened frame,
was not one to give up. Stubbornness was evident in all dwarves and this
one doubly so, thought Nimaira as she shook her head in clear respect
for the brave warrior. She had witnessed that bravery firsthand hundreds
of times throughout their careers.

"I'm
afraid it won't matter,” Nimaira admitted as she shook her head
gingerly. “You were there Rolin! You know as well as I do that we do not
have the resources or the raw ability to succeed," Nimaira continued
and winced at both that realization and her smarting jaw.



 The
thought of failure sat heavily in the dwarf's heart. Never being
comfortable with losing a battle or even an argument and always willing
to fight to the very end for his beliefs, Rolin started to protest. All
of his objections died before passing his lips as he recalled the scene
in his head and recognized that any further attempts would ultimately
end in failure. Rolin knew Nimaira was right. Neither of them knew the
answer, and both of them looked just then to Tiyarnon.

Tiyarnon
was wise and calculating beyond his years despite his shorter lifespan
compared to the others in the room. While not nearly as old as the dwarf
or the half-elf in years, they always thought of Tiyarnon as their
patriarch, as did many others in Oakhaven.  He had an
intuitive way of looking at a situation from multiple points of view,
and making the proper decision based on what was best for everyone, even
in times of personal grief. Because of that, his two closest friends
were looking to him for a solution now, during what certainly was their
darkest hour.

Tiyarnon
sighed as he ran his hands across the gray stubble atop his head, the
remains of a thick head of hair, further reminding him of his age. As he
spun his chair away from them for a moment, he caught his reflection in
the glass of the conference room window and saw the leathery skin and
prominent gray beard encompassing his face. After a moment of silence,
he sighed deeply and turned back to face his friends. 

Looking
his companions in the eyes Tiyarnon said in a steady and serious tone,
“We must appeal for help to the Inquisition,” he began.  “And not only the Inquisition, but the chapter of holy warriors that exists within the walls of Safehold.”

The half-elf woman’s eyes widened as a look of realization crept across her face, and then asked “Does that mean…?“

“Yes,” Tiyarnon said, picking up where the half-elf left off. “We must call upon The Order of The Faceless Knights."

(Special thanks to Nicholas Titano for helping me with this!) 






















 See you in Wothlondia! Cheers!



Please visit MY HOME PAGE
to enjoy an extended reading experience, see direct links to purchase
my full length novel, Covenant of the Faceless Knights, the short
stories: Wothlondia Rising, and to see what else Ashenclaw Studios, LLC
has in store in the future!



Cover art on Distant Familiarity provided by William Kenney !



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