Right
of Right
Darkling Plain, fantasy tales about young people in times of conflict.
Right
of RightWhen he spoke, it was with the accent she had heard many times in recent days. "Fair maiden," he said, "you seem somewhat burdened with your labor. Might I assist you in finishing your task, and then, perhaps, escort you to a place of greater leisure, where, if your favor extends so far—"
"You can save the rest of that speech." With an effort, Linnet cast the plank onto the pile before her, then stood breathless for a moment, trying to calculate how many days it would take her to gather the remaining wood.
"Ah." The man, whom she was no longer facing, seemed, if anything, more amused than before. "You have heard this approach on a previous occasion, I believe."
"On more than one occasion. The answer is no."
"Perhaps if I were to approach your father in the proper fashion . . ."
"Go right ahead." Linnet pointed toward a fenced area further down the hill. "You'll find him there."
"Ah," the man repeated. He came over to stand beside her, and she saw that his expression was now properly grave. "A soldier, perhaps?"
"That's the trade that all the men in our barony lay claim to these days – those who are alive."
The man nodded, continuing to stare down the hillside with his sparkling blue eyes. Then he looked her way suddenly, and as though he had indeed received a proper introduction from her father, he said, "My name is Golden."
Linnet was wondering whether, if she wielded a plank against him, this gadfly would leave her alone, but she said with all the politeness her parents had taught her, "I am Linnet."
Golden took the hand she offered him, but his gaze never left her face as he slowly raised her hand and kissed the back of her fingers in a manner that made her body tingle. "Well, fair maiden," he said. "I am deeply sorry to hear of— You are a fair maiden, aren't you? I'm not wasting my time on someone's wife, am I? Not that I'm above that sort of courting if the pickings are lean."
Linnet laughed then, turning her back on the cemetery below. "Fair and sixteen, as the song goes," she replied. "And you?"
"Nineteen and golden, as the same song says." The young man offered her a sweeping bow.
"Is your name really Golden?"
"It's what the girls call me, anyway. I think it's quite apt, don't you?"
"As long as one doesn't look under the surface," Linnet remarked dryly, and she walked past him to the remains of the fallen house.
¶ Coming soon. More information about Right or Right.
Crossing
the CliffI stopped; he had stepped forward, and his lips closed upon my forehead. For a moment he let them rest there; then he raised his head and touched my cheek with his palm.
"Erastus," he said softly, "sometimes a master knows an apprentice better than he knows himself. Believe me when I say that you are a Peacesteward, in all but name. I would give you your robes of mastery tomorrow, if you wished."
I shook my head, blinking away the tears. "You've tried to comfort me with such words before, master, but it's no good. It took me an hour to find the courage to cross the cliff – a full hour! If we'd been in danger, my cowardice would have had us killed."
"A coward would have run," he said softly, his hand still upon my cheek. "You faced your fear and took the time you needed to gather your courage – and if we had been in danger, you would have calmed your fear in a shorter time." The side of his mouth rose in a slight smile. "And believe me, you did better than I on the first occasion I crossed the cliff. Why, if you could have seen—"
I waited for him to finish his sentence; then I realized he would not, and I tensed.
For a full minute, it seemed, we remained as we were, his left hand upon my shoulder, his right upon my face. His eyes did not move from me; I knew they did not need to. I strained to hear what he was hearing.
Finally he let out a shallow sigh and stepped back from me. He picked up the pack quickly.
"Who was it?" I asked in a low voice. "The Xai?"
"I hope so," he said.
"Hope so!" I stared at him, incredulous. The last time we had encountered the Xai, only my master's swift move to stand in front of me had kept me from being pierced by a Xai arrow. There had been a moment when I feared that the Xai warriors would shoot anyway – more than one Peacesteward had died in their territory – but these warriors had shrugged and moved on to easier targets.
"What could be worse than the Xai?" I asked.
"The Juud," my master said softly. He had taken hold of my arm, and we were moving toward the horizon again, swifter than before.
¶ Coming soon. More information about Crossing the Cliff.
The Three Lands, a fantasy series on friendship, romance, and betrayal in times of war and peace.
"This man," said the chieftain, raising his voice to be heard even by the women and younger children listening from a safe distance, "was a play-companion to my father. My father often told me stories of their days together."
Prosper, covered with dust from the travel and sweating under the early spring sun, felt his body sag with relief. He had remembered clearly the previous chieftain, but he had not known whether the chieftain's son, who had never met him, would acknowledge his link to the tribe. Prosper had once been so eager to rid himself of tribal ties that he had left his home without his father's permission. Now those ties seemed all-important; they were the only protection left to him.
Having been recognized by his tribe, Prosper felt a smile begin to form upon his lips. Behind him, he could hear the sound of water slapping against the crude bridge he had crossed a short while before. The water seemed like a protective wall, defending him from the danger that lay outside.
The chieftain glanced down at the scroll again. When he raised his eyes, they were cold. "My father never liked him, and he never trusted him," he said in the same clear voice. "I am not at all surprised that the High Priest has placed him under the God's curse."
Prosper felt the words like a blow. He sensed at once the change in mood in the surrounding men and youths: the shifting of spear from left hand to right, the movement of hand to hilt, the tensing of muscles in preparation.
The rush of swiftly moving water continued. The border was only a few spear throws behind him. On the point of being seized by the demon once more, Prosper reminded himself that fleeing was the worst possible action he could take. He was thirty years older than the chieftain and many of his men; he could not hope to outrace them. Nor did safety lie on the other side of the border. The tribe there had seen his curse-mark as he rode past their camp.
When that had happened, he had been surrounded by soldiers who were under orders to protect him. But those soldiers had departed, ridding themselves of him as quickly as their orders permitted. Now he was amongst different soldiers, who might be given different orders.
¶ Coming soon. More information about Mystery.
Princeling, fantasy wartime novels on friendship, love, and sacrifice.
It was a damp, chillsome night, with frost crackling underfoot. The air was colder than an icicle except where the hissing fire tried to scare away the winter. Selig had placed me next to the fire, both as a way to emphasize my honor – what little honor I had left – and also to keep me from dying of a chill. He had made it more than clear during the past three years that he considered me a frail creature, incapable of enduring the hardened life of a soldier. But, then, his opinion was shared by all in the Tascanian Army.
Our own King was late as well, but for a different reason: he stayed until the last moment in the forest south of the truce ground, giving Eimund his instructions. The rest of us, princes and aldermen alike, stamped our numb feet and blew on our hands, huddling in one unranked mass like apprentices seeking each other's warmth on a cold night.
"Cold I can stand," commented Marlin, "and dark I can tolerate. But a night like this, cold as death and darker than dried blood . . . Why, you can't see so much as a tree outside the firelight."
"I remember a night like this, oh, about forty years ago," said Janarius, a tall, deep-voiced alderman who had reached the age where he was given to reliving battles in his mind. "Cameron had us attack the Fossenvites' winter camp by starlight alone, and we nearly slaughtered their army then. If Cameron had only managed to reach their King . . . Still, we're close to the final victory now. We'll win this year."
"You say that every year." Selig kept his comment under his breath; I was the only one who heard him, for he and I were standing shoulder to shoulder. His arms vibrated as he rubbed them energetically against the icy breath of the wind.
"No starlight tonight to guide us," said Obert, always determined to get the facts right. "Which is just as well; that means the Fossenvites can't attack either. How much longer do you think they'll keep us waiting?"
"Until their King has amused himself by seeing us turn blue," said Marlin grimly. "He's watching us, you can count on that – and probably listening as well, so be careful of what you say."
"This cursed darkness," complained Obert. "If only we could see them!"
I felt the darkness pressing all around me like cold earth flung into a grave. Almost, I could imagine I was atop Wolf Hill, standing in the night-black stillness, hearing the growls around me. . . .
¶ Coming soon. More information about Noble.
The faintness went beyond Elsdon's voice this time and entered his body. He could feel the sweat upon his skin; he wondered whether he had turned white. He blurted out, "What if I'm innocent?"
The Seeker's green gaze did not waver. "If you are innocent, then I trust our time together will be short. I would far rather find a prisoner innocent than guilty; too many prisoners are sent to us, and the quicker that we can release them from here, the better. If your release is to the lighted world rather than to the executioner, it is likely to come more quickly. But we are commissioned by the Queen to ascertain the truth of accusations of death sentence crimes, and we are committed to fulfill that commission. Please don't waste my time with false pleas of innocence, Mr. Taylor. It will only make our time together more difficult."
¶ Coming soon. More information about The Breaking.
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