Tranquility's Blaze

I've pulled it off the hard drive and I'm ready to do a pass on it and resubmit it out to the scary publishing world.

This book has been the source of heart-pumping excitement and soul-crushing agony. I love the concept of epic fantasy. All that life-or-death, elves, swords, spells. It just tickles a part of me that this world simply can't reach. The problem is that I've been left unsatisfied with the majority of the fantasy books I've read. So, for me, this book is about the kind of fantasy I wish existed when I was 16…and today at 35.

Tranquility has only been submitted to one publisher and made it all the way to the top desk, as it were. Due to circumstances too complicated to explain, I opted to remove the book from consideration. After sixteen months with that publisher, it was the hardest decision I think I've ever made. It was made even more difficult because I like the publisher and the house both professionally and (as we got to know each other) personally. In fact, my interaction with them resulted in life-long friendships and baby holding.

You can imagine what it's been like now, staring at this monolith stack of pages and trying to muster the courage to begin again. I think a rejection would have been so much easier for me. I do well with rejection. It makes me try harder, out of spite. Instead, I got to the top desk on the first submission of my first book. And I'm racked with fear and anxiety over it.

Today, a former co-worker emailed me, saying how he hopes to soon read Tranquility's Blaze and tell everyone that he used to work with the author. I realized how silly I'm being about the entire thing. This book, the entire series, WILL NOT BE PUBLISHED UNLESS I SEND IT OUT. You'd think that I'd have figured that by now. My only defense is that I've had several head injuries in my lifetime.

So, here is the first scene from Tranquility's Blaze, all in it's unedited-by-professionals glory (the first time I've ever posted unaccepted material…I'm always insecure about my drafts). I hope you enjoy Bethany as much as I do.

And I promise that she will be gracing the slush piles of a few publishers of choice soon.

* * * *

Chapter 1

The Diamond is born to a people in chaos. She will bring light to a dismal world. To doubt her is to doubt Our wisdom.

-The Prophecy of the Diamond, Third Tablet

"I am your Goddess now, gutter drudge."

Bethany paused to let her words sink through the stubbornness of the two hundred fresh-eyed recruits in front of her. When the desired uncomfortable silence settled over the large gathering room, she continued. "I don't care who you are or why you're here. Whatever your title or rank was in the world, it means nothing here. You are the lowest now. From this day forward, you will do exactly as you are commanded."

Whispers and a rare pointed finger came from the rows of recruits in front of her. Hers was a well-practiced speech, having been massaged and tested for over forty years. She did wonder why no one heckled her yet. Perhaps the human boys were growing up faster these days.

Doubtful.

"Your fathers paid a high price for you to train with the Silvered Knights. I recommend not squandering that gold by being kicked out your first week. For some of you, the sight of a woman fighting with a sword may come as a shock."

A purple-clad young man, and his flanking scarlet cloaked friends, snickered. Bethany flicked her sight and caught the purple man's eye roll. She hid her inner smile.

"Being commanded by a female may offend you."

Though old enough to be the great-great grandmother of every human in the room, she knew from experience the young human males saw her as little more than a child, as best. Years of the worst always welled up in her mind, making her tone harsh, as it did every year during the special spring training class.

"Either grow used to it or grow accustomed to the embarrassment of having the women around you advance further because they focused on their studies. All I value is discipline and skill, not your gender. Remember that and you may have the honour of one day impressing me."

Stunned silence, broken with only the rare offended snorts, spread across the low-ceilinged, windowless room. She needed these spoiled humans uncomfortable and her speech, as always, succeeded. But, reminding them of their place was her job, after all. Bethany held the third highest position in arguably the most powerful army in the world; a world that generally believed a woman's role was little more than to produce sons at an unhealthy rate.

She sniffed the air. Bodies unaccustomed to both bathing and the elven heat filled the room. Working with humans came with sacrifices; the stench being one of them. How could an entire race of people believe monthly, or even annual, bathes were acceptable?

"I realize that majority of you are human but this is elven territory. I've smelled battlefield rot better than the lot of you." She wondered how the handful of full-blooded elves managed to sit in the smell. Being Elorian meant that she only had half of an elf's sense of smell. On days like these, there were blessings to being mixed blood.

"Lord Kiner," she said, turned behind her enough to incline her head at the Elorian male to her right. He was at least half a hand's width taller than her and only needed two paces to take the center position. His black earth features contrasted against his beige tunic, but in a pleasant manner.

"Thank you," Kiner said in his smooth, baritone voice. "As third in command of the Elven Service, Lady Bethany will oversee all weapons training."

She nodded to the gathering before yielding the position to stand next to the other knight in attendance at the front.

"Also behind me is Lord Jovan, second in command, who will be handling all hand-to-hand combat. None of you are worthy of Lord Allric's attention."

Being third in command was her favourite part of the speech and not because Kiner lost a wager with Jovan to add it. At least, it wasn't the main reason. Kiner had argued that anyone attending Elven military training would already know the command structure. Jovan had insisted the barely-literate aristocrats wouldn't know a knight from a raspberry bush. A quick survey had ended the challenge in Jovan's favour.

Bethany appreciated the recognition, regardless of its origins. She had worked hard to gain her rank. Acceptance had come even harder.

"To advance to specialized training, you must complete the basic initiate course required for anyone joining the Elven Service. While most of you are not elves, that matters little. You've paid to be here so I'm confident you'll be able to handle yourselves," Kiner said without any inflection in his voice. "If you fail, it will be another year before we open training again to humans, unless you lower yourselves to apply as common soldiers."

Bethany smirked at the recruits, many looked disgusted by the notion. They would have to train hard to stay. Once a year, humans fought for a seat in the Basic Initiate Training for the Elven Service. A long name to describe something simple: training by the best.  Training at the Temple of Tranquility Mercies was the most prestigious. Even those from non-allied human territories applied…as long as they had enough gold pieces. The annual course had done more for diplomacy and good relations than any government or king.

Kiner recited his usual speech on the training programs; something she knew as much by heart as he did.  She took the opportunity to scan the room, watching the faces around her. The fact that the vast majority were human males came as no surprise. Elories and elves usually came at different times, though a scattered pointed ear poked out in the crowd.

She spotted two human women sitting together, both still wearing their flowing, laced-up dresses. She loved training human women, whose determination and drive often made them stand out more than their arrogant male counterparts. Even though there were only two, she remembered when there used to be none. How things change with time.

She glanced over at Jovan, resisting the strong urge to roll her eyes at his outfit. Vowed Knights living at the temple rarely wore uniforms or armour. Instead, they wore a baldric sash, made from thin strips of metal weaved together that hung from shoulder to hip to display their marks of distinction.

While she was glad of that rule, she also believed in modesty of dress. True, she wore the latest styles of a hip-length tunic and loose trousers, but Jovan insisted on going overboard. He wore a pale, blue cotton tunic that skimmed his hips. Gold thread with small glass beads were embroidered into an intricate, floral design along the sleeve cuffs. His dark brown trousers clung to his legs so tightly that his thigh muscles pressed against the fabric. A gold ring hung from the pointed tip of his left ear.

When they had first walked into the training hall, she had whispered, "You look like a painted peacock." On second glance, she decided that peacocks were more discreet.

Jovan shifted his head enough to look at her. He narrowed his eyes, as if asking what she wanted.

"Peacock," she mouthed and turned back to look ahead. She did not display the smile that shone in her heart for getting the jab in unanswered.

"Lord Jovan, would you like to say a few words?" Kiner asked.

Jovan nodded his head, his blond hair falling into his eyes. Someone needed to take a blade to his skull before his hair grew long enough to begin plaiting again. Bethany decided she should be that person and made a mental note to enlist Kiner later that night.

He stepped forward, his muscular legs pulling his trousers taunt. Bethany winced.

Jovan's speech was about his expectations and the usual platitudes of respect, honour, and all the clichés. Bethany only half-listened. Instead, she stared at the intricate carvings that covered even the simplest of public rooms in the temple. She had helped make nearly eighty years prior. They brought back painful, aching memories. That's why she never came into the main areas except for work.

Her gaze settled near the front of the room, where one pattern in particular caught her eye; the sun rising over the temple. Her sister, Sarissa, had carved it. Sadness passed over her, leaving as fast as it arrived. Even after decades of exile, small things still reminded Bethany of her sister.

It was then she noticed the man leaning against the carving.

She judged him to be around twenty. A good age for any human to join; they still possessed their youthful vigour but had some maturity under their belts. He was dressed plainly in various shades of brown that matched his messy, but short hair. She supposed he was the group's charity case. There was always one that managed to raise the gold from a wealthy patron.  Bethany did not approve of mixing the common folk with the aristocrats but she had been out-voted on the point several times.

Yet, something about him stood out. Something odd. She dismissed the feeling, arguing that it was merely his proximity to the wall art.

Still, she watched him. She watched his reaction as Kiner discussed the training schedule and expectations. He seemed to hang on to every word spoken. They allowed a slight amount of inattention during that first gathering as a courtesy to those who had never taken an order in their lives. But this one was focused.

She liked that.

The man looked at her, straight into her eyes, and offered a slight bow of his head. Snapping her attention back to Kiner, she sucked on the inside of her cheek. She wondered if she was offended that he looked her in the eye or intrigued by his boldness to acknowledge her. Quickly, she decided she was both.

The door behind Bethany creaked. She turned just enough to see a dusty courier standing in the doorway with a leather pouch in his hands. She choked back a cough as the stench of old sweat and horse manure wafted from his clothes.

The courier cleared his throat, eyes skimming the room. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but there is an urgent message for a Lady Champion Bethany."

A loud murmur rumbled through the room. Even Jovan stopped speaking.

"I'm Lady Bethany," she said, stepping closer to the door.

She nodded to Jovan who resumed his speech. Despite the breakfast-churning stench, she leaned close for him to whisper.

"Urgent courier directly from Queen Marcia of Ellentop. She begs you to read it immediately."

Bethany narrowed her eyes, but reached out for the parchment bundle he pulled from his pouch. Strange that Marcia would be sending the urgent message, as opposed to Garran, the king of the Elorian nation. Perhaps he had taken ill.

She stepped back, accepting the letter. The courier bowed and slipped out of the room, the door creaking once more. She popped open the wax seal. Her heart skipped a beat as three words stood out amongst the rest.

Garran is dead.