#SampleSunday Twofer

First, here’s a sample from The Fall of Onagros, Book 1 of Sage, which will be FREE July 16-17, 2013 for Kindle. This is pretty much what passes for “romance” in my writing.

Salali Meets Kinnan

The Fall of Onagros, Book 1 of Sage – excerpt

by Marian Allen

One evening in the southern land of Sule, she walked into a brightly-painted canvas pavilion, greeted the lady who reclined in the place of Ownership, and unwrapped her wares. The lady and her maids, perhaps mistakenly supposing she didn’t understand their language, fingered the trinkets, exclaiming at the cleverness of their make and laughing at the cheapness of their makings. Meanwhile, she looked around at the other recipients of the lady’s desert hospitality.

Her heart lurched and thudded at the sight of one group, even before her ear separated the sense of their speech from the tangle of accents and tongues around her.

One man, a Sulian, was the focus of the others. He was tall, a little plump, rather pale, with yellow hair and beard, sparkling blue eyes, and a small pointed nose. He was leaning forward, elbows on knees, his regard fixed on a man with his back to her.

“Kinnan!” the plump man said, and laughed. His voice carried the name into her soul and fitted it into the void there.

“Farukh!” replied the man he had addressed. “Now, how do you like your name shouted aloud in the Tents of the Open Plain?”

“I like my name shouted anywhere, Master, except by the bailiffs. What storyteller doesn’t?”

“And what rebel does?”

The other men laughed.

Salali caught her breath as the storyteller saw her interest and pointed her out to the rebel, Kinnan. Her mouth went dry. Kinnan seemed to turn slowly, slender form pivoting on his cushion, gold-brown curls revealing a profile, then a face. Not a beautiful face, but a striking one, with clear gray eyes, a large nose, and a cynical quirk to his mouth.

Just before his gaze met Salali’s, the pavilion’s lady tapped her on the hand to bargain for a selection of ear-baubs and hair-bangles.

She did not dare look toward him again, but she was aware of him and of the storyteller, knew where they were without looking, and knew they had left the Tents when she woke the next morning.

~ * ~

Ain’t that sad?

Yesterday, I was at Jo Robinson’s blog with a different excerpt and a post about the divinity of birds.