Book Six, Oct. excerpt

I really can’t express my thanks to friends and fans for the positive response to the announcement that there will be two more books in the Norothian Cycle, instead of just one. You, yes you – you know who I am talking to. You humble me.

It was however pointed out that I did not include an excerpt of the ongoing book 6 with said announcement. So… an excerpt…

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Kazandra was asleep in Lena’s lap, and Kepu was engaged in his game. Neither child demanded nor required Tilda’s attention at the moment, and she stood in the doorway not quite sure what to do with herself; hands flashing open before both closed into fists. Her mother gave her a look, excused herself from the others, and stepped out into the hall saying only that more coffee should be brewed.

Tilda thought for a moment that her mother was referring to business and the warehouse, but the woman walked for the rear of the house. Tilda followed her out to the narrow backyard. Her mother stirred the coals in a shallow fire pit into smoldering life, and Tilda filled an empty carafe with water from a waiting bucket. Her mother set the carafe on the coals, and turned to give her eldest daughter a long look. Her eyes were unreadable. They always had been so to Tilda, except when her mother was happy, or angry. Klara Lanai was adroit at keeping any lesser emotions within herself.

“What?” Tilda snapped, unable to conceal her own annoyance.

“I know what you want to do, Matilda.”

“Do you?”

“Of course. You are a Guilder of Miilark, and you are my daughter. Something has been taken from you, and you want to go get it.”

Tilda’s jaw clenched so tightly she had to pry her teeth apart to speak.

“Yes.”

“But you know you cannot.”

“I can,” Tilda growled. “It is what I was trained to do. I have been in the Vod Wilds before, and through worse places than those.”

Klara spoke very quietly. “You do not know that he was taken into the Wilds, daughter. You do not know if he is even alive.”

Tilda’s eyes did not “flare” as some people’s did when they were angry. Instead they only became darker. She was certain they were doing so now.

“The father of my children is not dead,” she said with perfect confidence. “I would know if he was.”

Her mother maintained a steady gaze. “The surviving fishermen who returned to Souterm said many were killed. No one knows how many were bound as prisoners.”

“Mother. Zeb is alive. I know he is alive. I know it as surely as I know that I am alive myself.”