Arthur

Here's another teaser for you. This one will be published someday in a collection of short stories.

~~~~~~~~~~


The royal healer straightened her back and wiped the sweat from her brow. She knew the king was watching her from the balcony and she hated to be under such pressure, but it went with the job. Today, it was the prince beneath her hands.

The king turned on the intercom and asked, “What do you think, Healer?”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s strong.” But in reality she thought it likely that he would be dead by this time tomorrow. She felt it would be her fate too, but one could never tell when it came to King Uther.

“I need him to live, Elizabeth. You do what ever you need to, to make that happen.”

“As you say, my lord.” But he didn’t want to live, and his injuries were bad enough where that attitude made a difference.”

The king left the viewing deck, and a few minutes later, he came right into the sterile room with them. “You don’t sound too sure. Wake him up and let me speak to him.”

“That isn’t a good idea, my lord; with him awake he could fight this.”

“I said wake him.”

The healer shook her head and did as she was commanded. When the prince opened his eyes and looked around, she could see the heartbreak deep in them.

“Jake,” called Uther. He leaned closer into the range of vision of the man on the table. “Jake, I need you to live. I need you to tell me what went wrong out there.”

“No,” said Jake “No,” he whispered again and closed his eyes. “No,” he breathed again and turned away. He would have rolled onto his side, showing them his back if he’d been stronger, but he lacked the strength to lift his hand and so had to be satisfied with merely turning his head away.

“What are you saying? I need to know, and you are the only one who can tell me.” When he got no other response from Jake, Uther turned to the healer for an answer.

“Perhaps he doesn’t want to be the only one to have survived,” she supplied.

“I don’t care about that. As my son, he doesn’t have the luxury to just die because he wants to. You make him live; do you hear me? Do whatever you have to, but you make him live. That is a command of the highest order.”

“What you ask could destroy him,” she warned.

“Do as I say, Healer,” said the king and left abruptly.

That left her with no choice, so she took Jake’s head in her hands and began a hypnotic mantra. “Jake, hear me. Sleep and heal – sleep and heal. Jake, hear my words – sleep and heal…” She kept repeating the command until his no’s turned into a repetition of her words. Only then did she allow him to drift into the sleep she ordered.



After a week, it was obvious that the healing was indeed taking its toll on the prince. Even with enriched feeding tubes, he was wasting away at an alarming rate. She didn’t dare to continue the therapy any longer so she disconnected him from the life support and began the routine to slowly wake him from his coma. Then she sent a notice to the king, informing him of her actions.

When the king came in to see, he was appalled at the apparition before him on the bed. “What’s the matter with him? What did you do to him?”

Jake’s face was pasty and skeletal, his body, under the blanket, was no better. “I told you that forcing him to live could destroy him. Everything in him went to healing the damage, and he had no will, so other resources were sacrificed.”

“He will survive on his own now, won’t he? Wake him up. I’ll be back here in the morning to speak with him.”

“Yes, your grace,” said the healer to the king’s back as he left the room. She would have protested again about waking Jake, but she knew it would have been just as useless as the last time. Besides, he was already out of hearing.

She watched the king’s retreating back until he was completely out of sight then she turned her attention to Jake. What the king asked was not the best action for her patient, but he was her king; she had no choice. With a sigh, she touched the side of his head and called to him. “Wake up, Jake. Wake up.”

Slowly he opened his eyes and looked around with a bemused expression on his face. By the time he finally found and recognized her, she could tell that he knew things were far from right. “What have you done to me?” he asked in a pain-filled, accusatory whisper and rolled away from her. The move was painful and he curled tighter into a ball with a moan.



Late that night Jake rolled painfully out of the bed, he wrapped the blankets around him and made his way down the hall. He had no destination in mind. He had nothing in mind at all, really. He made it out of the royal hospital without encountering anyone, and then, taking a route known in his bones, he made it past the guard at the gate of the royal compound without being noticed, and due to the late hour, out of the high city unnoticed as well. As he staggered through the empty streets of the lower city on his way to the outer walls, his mind roamed through the haunting memories that plagued his dreams.

An order came down from the king; select a unit to go out and test the numbers and strengths of the rebels outside of the city again. The next unit on the roster happened to be the unit led by the king’s son, Jake. When the battle was engaged, they discovered the rebels had put far more troops into the field than expected, their equipage was in excellent repair and their strategy showed the workings of a new mind. When Uther did not authorize reinforcements, Jake’s unit found itself cut off and abandoned. When it was all over Jake was the only one left standing, though not for long. By the time the cleanup crew came out to reclaim the bodies, Jake was in very bad shape and fervently wishing for an end.

The memories drained at his weakened state as much as walking in the chill streets did. By the time his energy and determination ran out, Jake found himself at the end of a blind alley without the strength to turn around and retrace his steps to continue his journey. He collapsed on a heap of trash bags. Just before he resigned to the beckoning darkness, one last thought rang clear. What better place to die than among the trash like the rest of his unit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

White Star - Book 2 of Making of a Mage-King

Here's a teaser for you. This little sample is very near the beginning of the book. I'm going through this book right now in preparation for sending it off the the editor. It will be ready for you to enjoy early next year, but until then...

 ~~~~~~~~~~ 

That night Sean woke to the sound of Jenny crying. It might have been a dream, but it sounded so real. “Jenny, can you hear me,” he called softly in case she was sleeping.

He felt her startled surprise as soon as he spoke. “Sean, is that you?” she said. He could hear the tears in her voice.

“What’s the matter, Jenny? Why are you crying?”

“How did you know I was crying? I’m not crying.” Then she broke down again. “I’ll never see him again. I just know it. When I kissed him goodbye the other day, I knew it would be the last time I would see him.” 

“That’s nonsense, Jenny. You know I would never let anything happen to Larry.”

“I know that. And I know he won’t let anything happen to you either. I can say the words and I can believe them with the front of my brain, but in the dark, this cold hard dread wells up from the back of my brain and I’m afraid, Sean, I’m terrified.”

“Jenny, I’d let you come along, but this is going to be one long, brutal trip.”

“I did it before, when you took off on your wild ride. We all rode real hard trying to keep up with you. Mattie should come too; she was the one who was able to keep you in our sights.”

“Mattie’s there too, isn’t she,” he said, feeling the rug being pulled out from under him.

After a short hesitation, she said, “Yeah. So isn’t Armelle; she wants to come too.” Did he detect a little humor?

“No.” Sean sat up abruptly and Charles muttered in his sleep. He had taken to sneaking onto the foot of his cot. Fortunately, he hadn’t kicked him. “I need someone there with some authority.” He knew that Elias and Ferris would be running things, but the thought of putting his little Armelle through what he was considering letting Jenny and Mattie do, was just beyond him, but Jenny was giggling now.

“Armelle has absolutely no desire to put that much time in the saddle, besides – you’re going to be a father in nine months. She says that you better be back here by then.” 

Sean flopped back down. He was going to be a father. His Armelle was pregnant. He couldn’t think. His brides were all pregnant too, but this was just – different.

“Aren’t you even going to ask what it’s going to be?” 

“I don’t care,” he said, and meant it. His wife was having his baby; He was ecstatic. Then his euphoria was dampened by the echo of an old woman’s dying words, ‘Keep these two close to you. If you send them away from you…and there will be many reasons, good reasons to send them somewhere safe, somewhere you are not… But you must keep them close to you, for if you are separated, all will be lost. You will be lost. They will be lost. Everything will fail.’ “You’re not pregnant too, are you?” asked Sean, afraid that he already knew the answer.

“What? Do you really think I could keep something like that from you?” she said incredulously.

Yes, he did, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. For all he knew, Larry had been afraid to touch her since her miscarriage. Sean was reminded that there would be a reckoning when they reached Loire. He knew that Larry hadn’t forgotten either; he had seen him gazing off south a couple times when he thought no one was looking.

“All right, I’m going to regret this, but at least you know what you’re in for; pack up and have Mattie get the white stone from Elias; I suppose we should have some kind of healer along.” He broke the connection as he felt Jenny’s excitement. He was sorry for taking Armelle’s only friends, but he figured that he would call her often to make sure that his brides weren’t giving her any more hassles.

Sean’s night was shot, so he gave up and dressed as quietly as he could. Outside, he found Cordan stoking the watch fire; he was watch commander tonight. He waved to him and walked to the edge of camp to water a bush then he checked on the sentry posts. The cloud cover was thin enough for him to pick out the lights that were the moons, but they weren’t bright enough to cast any but the vaguest shadows.

Seth had the horses picketed all around and Cordan had a half dozen men riding casually among them and another dozen walking a foot patrol outside of that. The rest of the men were sleeping under small pup tents big enough for two bodies and little else.

Just as the sun was lighting the eastern horizon, he called Jenny again. By now, he was standing by Larry’s tent. Just as he completed the connection, he felt the turmoil.

“Jenny? What’s the matter? What’s happened?”

“You happened,” she said harshly. “I thought you weren’t going to get us. What took you so long?”

“Nothing, I was just giving you time to pack a bag. Are you ready?”

“Of course we’re ready. We’ve been ready for hours.” 

“It hasn’t been ‘hours’, not very many anyway.”

“Oh, just hurry up.” 

As soon as they appeared Sean put his finger to his lips and whispered, “This is Larry’s tent. I didn’t want to startle him.”

Jenny snickered quietly behind her fingers and peeked inside then she crawled the rest of the way out of sight while Sean glowered at Hélène who had come with them.

Sean led Mattie and Hélène back to the watch fire at the center of camp. Cordan watched their approach without recognizing them until they were quite close. When he identified Mattie, he did a stunned double take then said, “What are you doing here?”

“I brought them. They had an irrefutable argument for coming,” said Sean.

Cordan looked at Mattie for a moment longer then his eyes bore holes in Sean. “You sure make it hard for a man to have a family.”

Sean turned on Mattie; his frown was in high relief in the light of the campfire. “Are you pregnant too?” he asked.

She smiled sheepishly and nodded.

“Mattie…” Sean started, but she interrupted him. “My lord, riding a horse won’t hurt the baby; it’s not due for a long time. Besides, if I start to have problems, you can always send me back.”

“I’m going to send you back right now. We aren’t on a ‘ride’. What we will be doing can only be called a pounding.”

She stepped up to him and touched his lips with her fingertips. “I’ll be fine. I won’t slow you down.”

Sean looked at Cordan. “Your decision, man,” he said, and waited for the signal for him to send her back.

He just shrugged and shook his head then he pulled her to him and gave her the kind of hug that said he missed her a lot.

Sean stepped away and almost ran into Hélène. “What are you doing here? Who’s taking care of things back at the palace?” he asked. He was more than a little peeved that she was here. Though she didn’t quite fall into his definition of ‘old’, she was no spring chicken.

“Mattie said you thought you should have a healer along.”

“I intended that to be Mattie’s reason for being here, not yours,” said Sean.

“And if you get hurt again?”

“You said yourself that you weren’t strong enough to put me down, so what’s the point? I need you at the palace to help those people get well and go home.”

“Those people are in the hands of some of the finest healers in the land and I’m the only one I know who stands a chance of ‘putting you down’ as you say it.”

“I won’t wait for you; if you can’t keep up, I’ll leave you behind and you better stay out of my way; if you’re going to be the healer here, that’s what you’ll do, nothing else.”

She shrugged then pointed to his forehead. “Where’s your crown?”

“It’s the middle of the night. Everyone’s asleep.”

“Not everyone,” she said.

“Oh give it a rest. Next you’ll be checking to see if I wear it in my bed.”

It was fortunate that the sun was rising because their shouting match was rousing the rest of the camp just in time for a quick breakfast before they hit the trail again.

Sean strode past the fire on his way to his own tent giving Cordan a meaningful look as he passed. The slightest cramp, the smallest problem, and Mattie would go back to the palace. He didn’t have time for old women or pregnant girls. Even if one of the men fell ill, they would be left behind at the closest village or farmhouse, or sent back to the palace.

Teaser - The Speed of Dreams - To be Published Soon

TAKING PICTURES

Kaz took pictures of everything and everyone around him, even total strangers – all laughing, drinking and dancing – celebrating the peace. Strangers introduced themselves, or not, and toasted the talks; the more people they met, the more reasons to have another drink and laugh a bit more. Everyone was giddy with the prospect of peace and freedom so close. Rumor had it that the negotiations were going well. There was going to be peace for the first time. He’d never heard of there being no war. What would they do with themselves if they stopped fighting? But this moment, this possibility – he wanted to record every second.

The long, triangular spaceships were everywhere he looked – the eye of his camera allowing him to see the guns that bristled from every vantage point along their surface. The small, two-man, surface-to-space scouts and fighters were scattered everywhere, either resting on the ground or hovering in the atmosphere at any of a hundred different levels, and the cruisers that shipped thousands were very visible as they hung low above the atmosphere. Everyone waited for the outcome of the peace talks. They all kept an eye on the single earthbound complex in the center of the valley.

A runner came up with a sheaf of flimsies. “Aaitt’Kaz?”

Kaz waved and took pictures of him as he approached, and the runner danced a jig for the camera before handing Kaz one of the sheets from his file. Using a runner was an unusual occurrence, but what with all the ships gathered around, communications and single-man runabouts may have been curtailed.

Kaz glanced at the flimsy he’d been handed; he was being assigned to a new ship. “Where is it?” he called after the man as he danced off to find someone else.

“It just arrived.” The runner pointed to a ship now resting on the hill behind him; it had found one of the few patches of green grass. Each ship was keyed to the pilot’s orders and would have been simple to locate, but following a pointed finger was easier, and it gave Kaz a chance to take another picture of him.

Kaz looked up at the new ship with admiration; it was sleek, made for speed, though not defenseless by any means. He estimated it might hold a crew of ten, or even twenty if they were cozy, but the new design made it hard to tell; he’d have to see once he got inside. After adding its image to his growing collection, he panned his camera around, looking for more. He found a few, maybe twenty or more, but ships littered the horizon. It would be impossible to tell how many new ships there were without careful analysis of the crystal some other time, definitely, some other time. Right now, it was time for a beer, if he could find some still in a bottle.

Just as he turned to begin such a search, his sub-dermal receiver came to life. “Bad news, people; Ssark left the table. The talks have failed. Get to your ships; this is going to be bad.”

Stunned, all thoughts of a beer were wiped from his mind, shattered on a rock along with someone’s dropped bottle. “No!” Many of the gathered ships were beginning to shoot at each other already. People ran. At this range, it would be wholesale slaughter. Had it all been just a trap?

He ran for his new ship. He charged into the open hatch yelling, “Where is everyone?” He hoped the crew was close.

“Everyone is present and accounted for, Pilot Aaitt’Kaz,” replied the calm voice of the ship.

He slapped the panel that closed the hatch. “Ship wide. Everyone, buckle up. Gunners, prepare to return fire. Lift off in five…four,” as he counted, he vaulted into his seat, which automatically enfolded him with its padded arms and slid him to within reach of the controls. “…Three,” he flipped the array of switches; turning on force fields, gun ports, grav-plating. “…Two,” sensors, life-support and a number of other ship systems. “…One.” The controls came into his hands and he boosted hard, dodging lasers and solid rounds. His gunners returned fire smoothly, doing a fair job of keeping anyone off their tail and out of their immediate path. “Ship, enhance inertial dampers; we need to go faster. How are you doing back there, gunners?”

“Inertial dampers, enhanced,” said the ship.

He always found it amazing that the voices of these ships were so calm. None of the gunners answered, but they were all still shooting.

He kicked his thrusters and they leapt into high overdrive, whipping past the last of the cruisers in the upper atmosphere and into clear space. At least his little piece of it was clear enough at the moment. He allowed himself a moment to marvel at the maneuverability and speed of this new design. “Captain, what’re our orders? What’s our heading?” He waited for a response, but none came. “Captain. Captain? Ship, you said everyone was present and accounted for. Why can’t I talk to anyone?”

“I have fed your course into your navigation system, Pilot,” said the ship.

He glanced at the coordinates. It must be some kind of prearranged meeting place – somewhere to regroup. “Where is the rest of the crew, ship?” he asked again as he boosted onto the new course.

That is where his control ended.

“Ship, I’ve lost control.”

The ship began to accelerate beyond his parameters.

“Ship?”

It went faster and faster.

It was running.

“Good night, Pilot Aaitt’Kaz; sweet dreams,” said the ship. Her voice sounding quite condescending just now, though nothing about it had changed, or ever would.

“What are you doing? Ship, explain.”

He didn’t know whether the ship replied or not. He didn’t know anything anymore.

The ship encased him and his seat in a force field, and then all other systems shut down. All that was left was speed.

Kaz dreamed; he dreamed of taking pictures, of people laughing and drinking, toasting the peace. He was taking pictures – lots of pictures.

<<>>

Prince in Hiding - Soon to be Published

Yep, that's true. I sent the final polish off to the publisher this evening. Already I await anxiously for the planned release date, sometime in October.

Here are a few things I learned from my editor, Crystal Clear Proofing.

The biggest thing was that thoughts were italicized rather than set in single quotes. I really didn't know that.

The ellipse is three periods. My writing book specified they be spaced apart but what it didn't clarify was that there is a difference between the use of ellipse in non-fiction and fiction. In fiction the ellipse is three periods only. The only exception is if the phrase would have been an exclamation or a question. At those times an exclamation or question mark are added to the three periods. Now I did find one problem with this little punctuation. Word will nicely convert your three periods into a single punctuation, it also glues the words on either side into a single word as far as Word is concerned. That means that if you are unlucky enough to have two large words welded together by an ellipse near the end of a line, Word will happily place the whole thing on the next line, stretching whatever else was on the original line out to take up the space left behind. In this case, a space is needed after the ellipse. Keep in mind, the ellipse needs to be attached to the first word, not the second one. If this doesn't work, consider rewording your sentence.

Another little punctuation is the dash. A dash is the same as a hyphen only with spaces on either side. Once again, Word will make the conversion for you. It is however, very important that the conversion is made because they have very different meanings. When I first started writing, I didn't know that and my computer didn't convert the little bugger every time so I turned the conversion off. I really do prefer consistency even in such little things.

As I went through all the rest of the edits, these are some of the other things I discovered.

Swordbelt is in fact two words

Lord is not capitalized unless it is attached to a name. In such phrases as, "Yes, my lord." 'lord' is not capitalized.

The 'T' in T-shirt is capitalized - I suppose I should have looked it up, but in truth I didn't think of it.

I also confused 'farther' with 'further' - farther is a term indicating distance. Further is an abstract term --> "The king couldn't bring himself to punish his son any further for his crimes." is an example.

I also used 'aught' instead of 'ought' - though the two words are interchangeable, aught is an archaic version.

I was just a mite inconsistent with whether 'packsaddle' was one word or two - it is one word.

'Guild master' is two words.

Many of you have already read about my views on names. "Don't confuse your reader with names that are too similar." I had one character named Soran and another named Searron. It reminded me of JRR Tolkein's two main antagonists Sauron and Saruman. Confusing. Soran is my main character's first ancestor and haunts the book off an on throughout. Searron is my main character's grandfather and is only mentioned a few times, but it was still confusing, therefore I changed Searron's name to Lardeain, giving him some connection to the names of his two eldest sons, and allowing Soran to take center stage of the ghostly variety.

I also caught that Aunt Marinda had two names, something I fixed. Whew - that was a close one since the misname was Miranda.

In case you didn't guess, I took notes. I have two more books in this series to make sure of such little details.

Here is the first couple pages of my book - I hope you like a teaser.

First Magics

Sixteen-year-old Sean stood in the queue, waiting his turn to compete with the saber. He looked up at the bleachers. He had no problem locating his dad; his parents sat in the same place every time. His dad was talking to their flat mate, Gordon. His mom couldn’t make it this time – she had to work. Every year since Sean’s first tournament, his parents gave him a choice. Since the tournament and his birthday were generally only a few days apart, Sean got to pick which event his parents would attend, since it was impossible for them to get both days off from work. Sean thought of a compromise. He really wanted them to watch him compete, so, as a birthday present of sorts, they could take him out for a special dinner afterward.

When Sean, Gordon, and his father returned home that evening, they were greeted by a squad car waiting in front of their apartment building.

“Sorry sir,” the officer said as he met them at their taxi. Sean’s father was a sergeant with the mounted police. The officer looked uncomfortable talking in front of Sean and Gordon.

“Go ahead, officer. We’re family,” said Elias.

“Sorry sir,” the man repeated. He hastily took off his hat and gripped it in his fists. “Sir, you need to come down to the station. It’s your wife, sir. She…she’s dead. You need…”

Sean didn’t hear anything else. The monotone voices of his father and the officer no longer translated into words. He found the hood of the police car and leaned on it, his sword case hitting the pavement with an audible thump.

Gordon wrapped an arms around his shoulders. “Come on, I’ll get you inside.”

When school started two weeks later, Sean didn’t go; he still wallowed in a fog, aimless and lost. Elias was no better, though perhaps more animated. He went from brooding in his chair for hours, to pacing the floor furiously. If he spoke, it was generally one version or another of the same thing. “Analeace was found dead at the door to the tower where she worked, and no cause could be found. They say it was as if she had simply stopped living. People here don’t simply stop living. They’re not looking hard enough.”

After Elias was allowed to go back to work, Gordon took Sean to school and then spent hours helping him catch up on what he’d missed. He was also there to keep him going – quite a difficult task at first.

Between relentless lessons with Gordon and those with the sword, Sean slowly started functioning again. When Master Mushovic decided to include the claymore in his sword lessons, he discovered it to have a very satisfying weight with which to work out his emotions.

For an entire year, Sean struggled at every turn. The vacancy left by his mother’s death haunted him. His grades slipped, but Gordon made sure they didn’t slip too far. He wanted to quit his lessons with the sword, but his father wouldn’t hear of it. It helped that every class left him feeling like he’d won something, though he couldn’t identify what.

On the anniversary of his mother’s death, Sean and his father visited her grave. They stood there, not speaking, with their hands in their pockets, wishing it wasn’t raining.

Ten days later, Sean found himself back at the cemetery, this time standing over his father’s grave. Killed in the line of duty was all he knew. The particulars of the incident had not been released, nor had the results of the investigation – Sean was still a minor and Gordon wasn’t family.

With the first anniversary of his mother’s death only a few days old, Sean felt so lost; he just wanted to stay in his room. He stopped going to school and even skipped his sword lessons. Not even the Sword Master’s heavy claymore could ease this pain. The fact that he suddenly didn’t have time was the only thing that kept him from falling apart completely.