ELVEN MAGICK-to be released late October 2012 or early November.
Excerpt.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
––Christina
Rossetti
Chapter One
Clouds fashioned a misty veil
around the branches of the Machoann trees, embracing the Elven village of
Tarlis-Leah. A lone figure, hooded and robed in gray, blending with moonlight
and shadow, stole across the darkened bedchamber.
Guided by a stunted candle, flickering fitfully on a
small bedside table, the thief knelt at the end of the bed, pulled a golden key
from her pocket and fitted it to a lock attached to a carved wooden chest.
The lock clicked ominously in the silence.
The thief tensed and a bead of perspiration trickled down
her back.
The occupant of the bed slept
on. The sleeping draught she had administered earlier had thankfully achieved
its desired result.
She lifted
the trunk’s heavy lid and again the silence broke.
The thief stilled.
Vellandril Ballindoch groaned,
rolled over and mumbled several words, then settled. A sigh slipped between the
thief’s lips and she stroked the handle of the small poniard at her waist. She
would not be thwarted in this plan. Revenge was such a sweet word. She could
taste it on her lips.
Wrapped in a soft red cloth,
buried deep among Vellandril’s clothes, she found that which she sought. Her
hands trembled as she claimed her prize. The Sword of Niraz felt light, not at
all what she expected from such a large weapon.
Now the elf
would pay for all the suffering and lost summers, all the pain and humiliation.
Gently, she closed the trunk and tiptoed quietly toward the window where an
Elven rope, soft, thin and durable, dangled from a nearby branch. Rewrapping
the sword deftly in a dark cloth, she strapped it to her back, stepped into a
loop formed in the rope, and descended into the darkness of the forest.
****
A sense of déjà vu pricked Vellandril Ballindoch’s
scalp as he sat the back of his steel dust charger, staring across the ravine
at the castle barely discernible through white clouds. It was hard to tell
where cloud began and castle joined with the mountain. He closed his eyes,
turning back the clock in his mind.
Twenty-two summers had passed
since last entering Castle de Danann. Twenty-one summers since he had gazed
upon Johden’s face.
He had sworn he would never
return. Funny how time could weaken promises made to one’s self.
Memories long buried flowed to
the fore of a girl with golden hair, eyes as pure blue as a desert sky and a
smile that once melted the cold heart of an Elven Prince. He opened his eyes
and ran a hand through his long hair, pushing it from his face. He was tired –
tired of searching. For three full moons, he and his men had scoured half the kingdom of Tarlis in search of the Sword of Niraz.
He thought to seek assistance
of his kinsmen in Ellenroh, but Dragonbane had ridden to the aid of the
Sorcerer Magus, in a war with the necromancer Sernon, and left only a token
force to guard his castle. His Queen had offered Vellandril soldiers to help in
his search, but he refused, knowing it would leave their kingdom unguarded.
If not for the theft of a sword,
which meant so much to his people, and his own stubbornness in not returning
the fabled sword to its proper holding, he would not now be here, at the place
where he had first met her, and his initial trouble began.
A cry sounded from across the
ravine as he was sighted.
Vellandril raised a hand and watched the
drawbridge drop. For several long heartbeats, he stared at the bridge, knowing
that if he crossed he would have to face his past. He wondered if this time his
past would be too much to bear.
****
