Mage King Teaser

This is it!!! This completes my trilogy. I'm so excited, are you?

~~~~~

Sean leaned back against the mast. He rested his head against the cold wood and his eyes found the moons halfway down from their height. They were so still, so quiet. He reached a hand up as if he could touch them, and the sight of his hand reminded him of other things he could do to burn off his restless energy and still his mind.

The boat was too narrow for him to swing his swords unless he could be sure the deck was empty, so he left them in their sheaths. He was just getting into it, just starting to feel the rhythm, when a fierce fire lit up his back, and a moment later he felt ice cold water hit him in the face with stunning force.

Laon had been watching over Sean from the dark shadows of the stairwell leading to the lower deck. Though alert, he could not react before the sailor had launched Sean over the rail, less one money pouch. He snatched the man by the throat before he had the chance to weigh his treasure, and bent him over the rail dangerously far while at the same time looking for some sign of Sean in the dark waters.

Still clutching the man by the throat, Laon sounded the alarm. “Alert, alert!” he roared. “We have to stop! Get up everyone! Get up!” He turned his attention to the man in his grip. “Stop this thing.”

Under Laon’s grip the sailor was unable to speak, he just shook his head, frantically clawing at his grip.

The barge captain was on the deck in seconds. “What going on here?”

Laon was so furious and anxious that he could scarcely speak. “This…” As Laon shook him, the man in his grip clawed at Laon’s wrist, bringing the filched purse up to everyone’s notice. “He pushed the king over the side. We have to stop. We have to find him.”

Even though the sailor had been unable to speak under Laon’s grip, now his eyes bulged. No one had known that Sean was the king and everyone knew what kind of man the king was. No one took the time to consider that Sean and the king they all knew might be two different men.

All the shouting roused the rest of the barges in turn and lights were lit and held over the side in an effort to see something in the water.

The captain cinched the sailor to the mast and Laon promised him that if they couldn’t find Sean, he would send him into the water after him, and the captain promised to help. The purse was given to Laon.

The captain tried to explain to the frantic Laon their handicaps. They couldn’t just stop; if they threw out their anchor, the rest of the barges would run into them and even if they all were able to stop without mishap, any one of those anchors could hit their target, or the rope could catch him and tangle him. They had to look first before they risked trying to stop.

A shout went up from the second barge. Someone had spotted a red stain on a chunk of ice.

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

The Making of a Mage King

How do the choices in out lives come about? Some children are subtly guided along the way until they start making their own decisions. Some of that guidance is not so subtle, as many choices are blatantly made, setting the child on a course firmly predetermined. In the most drastic cases, there is no subtly, only cold hard law. And sometimes a child is merely housed and clothed until such time as they take up the task on their own and move out.

Sean Moselle was gently guided through childhood in a certain direction by parents who half hoped the guidance would never be necessary, but they could not risk him not developing certain skills. He was encouraged to learn the art of fencing by stories of valiant knights, both read as well as simply recited as he sat on his father's knee. His desire to be just like King Arthur was more than indulged, but he didn't know the difference. His father was also in a position to instil in him the love and care of horses, as well as the skill to ride them.

In the first book, Prince in Hiding, Sean's happy childhood falls completely apart with the deaths of his parents under unusual circumstances. First, his mother seems to simply drop dead; no cause could ever be found. Roughly a year later, his father, a mounted police officer, was killed in the line of duty, Or was he?

Any other kid growing up in New York who lost their parents by the time they turned seventeen, would have been able to carve a place for themselves. It wouldn't be easy, but it would have been possible. 

In Sean's case, things were not so simple. You see, Sean really wasn't a native born New Yorker. Well, he was, but his parents weren't, and his parents also weren't the two people he had always called mom and dad. His real parents were the crown prince Deain Ruhin and his lady wife was Kassandra Barleduc. This left him with the unwieldy name of Seanad Éireann Barleduc-Ruhin, named by the custom of his people. His people, who were not here on this earth, nor were they even in this time. Where they were, no one has ever determined; they were just elsewhere.

There was no choice. With the deaths of both of his closest guardians, his other protectors had to take him back and teach him how to be the king he was born and bred to be.

You'd think that defeating his evil uncle and claiming the throne would be the end of the story, but in truth it was only the beginning.

Holding the throne does no good if no one knows. Sean's goal then was to go around and tell everyone. He also needed to set people in place who would be loyal to him and in general clean up his uncle's mess, but there was a deeper reason he needed to make this trek and time was wasting, and he had no idea why. For some reason he felt that he had only six months at best to complete his task. He told himself that it had to be finished by the time the snows came and locked down the mountain districts, but though that was the reason he gave, it wasn't quite right.

Once in motion, even the fastest pace his men could travel wasn't fast enough; he felt positively driven, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't cover the distance fast enough.

He took to expending vast amounts of magic, and striving to keep up the pressure on himself, but even powerful mages aren't indestructible. This is where friends proved to be invaluable. They kept him grounded and sane, and they made sure he didn't kill himself. They couldn't, however, protect him from his own dreams. As sleep turned difficult, dreams filled his nights with puzzles and premonitions, visions of possible futures, and possible pasts. Dreams that were just plain strange, and dreams of his first ancestor leading him to the fate he needed to meet, and yet still not telling him what that fate was.

Now we get to the interesting part. Pieces have been in motion since the first book. Cities have fallen and enemy forces have been helping themselves to the magical populous of Ruhin, seeking to use them for their own ends. Sean, needs to act. He needs to find the stolen and hold accountable those who took them. But that didn't relieve him of his original mission, so he had to act quickly, and brutally. He had no time to be nice, to be diplomatic, to hold court and judge war crimes.

With haste, he rounded up his armies and pointed them at their marks, and then he gathered up the closest of his uncle's nastiest warriors and led them against yet another target. War is never pretty, and Sean made no effort to try. And then he had to protect his borders, and more magic was the only answer.

The magic to protect his borders was a balm to his tortured soul after using so much magic to kill his enemies. But now that the war was over, his original task still loomed. Even though he was nearly finished, snows threatened, time was running out. He pushed on as hard as ever while still trying very hard to remain human, to stay that boy who grew up in New York, raised by a man named Moselle. It was a connection he never wanted to jeopardize, it was a memory that kept the overwhelming power of magic that coursed through his veins from turning him into something akin to his uncle.

Then at one point shortly before being able to make it to all of his districts, time ran out. Snow blanketed the landscape and Sean had to use all of the magic his land had to offer to save the world.

Yeah, I'm going to be mean and make you read the book to find out how he did that, and of course there's the bit after that - something to do with the birth of his son and dealing out a little overdue justice.

Book 3 will be available in June.

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

Warhorses Collide - from THE MAKING OF A MAGE KING - unpublished

The horse screamed out a challenge and Prince reared up to scream an answer. That, as nothing else did, galvanized them into motion. Farris drew his sword and Errol handed the mule’s lead to Mattie. Cisco snagged the reins of Jenny’s horse and herded Mattie and the mule off the road into the trees. Larry strung his bow and he and Errol stepped up beside Farris.

Sean found himself on top of Prince without remembering how he got there, and they were charging down the road directly at the big gray monstrosity with its black-garbed rider. Farris yelled something after him, but Sean couldn’t distinguish what he’d said over the thunder of Prince’s hooves.

The two charging beasts had reduced the distance between them by half before it occurred to Sean that he was riding into battle and he had yet to draw his sword. The distance was suddenly shrinking at light speed, and he had reins in his hand that he didn’t know what to do with. In true John Wayne style, he clamped the reins between his teeth and drew his swords simultaneously in a spectacular cross draw that fortunately missed cutting the reins. He had no plan of action, he was just trying to solve a problem, and he had less than seconds to do it in.

A few lunging strides later, they crashed together. Prince knew his business, but Sean was at a disadvantage; not only did he not know Prince’s business, but he had never fought a true battle with a sword before, let alone from horseback. Prince’s head went down, his teeth reaching for legs or underbelly and the reins were pulled from Sean’s mouth.

Somehow, Sean managed to keep the sword of his opponent from decapitating him, then they were apart again. Prince whirled on the spot, nearly unseating his rider, and he was in the middle of it again. The big gray, standing almost two feet taller and proportionally heavier than Prince, was a fraction slower. Prince was at them broadside and went directly for the rider; Sean had all he could do to protect his horse and himself from the man’s flashing sword, then they careened apart again, if only by a few inches.

Sean heard the man cry out, but it didn’t stop him from going for any target he could find. His attack was disrupted when the big gray started to pitch and kick. The great gray’s head snaked around and reached for Sean. He had no choice, but to backhand him and knock those really big teeth away. He didn’t think he had ever seen teeth so big. Though he didn’t realize it in that second, he did a second later; those teeth were broken and black. The horse wasn’t dripping blood like Prince had been, but he’d been there. The monster gray horse was another death-horse. He would want to kill anything that moved - anything within reach.

Prince wheeled away and let loose with a double-barreled kick with his back feet that landed solidly on something; it sounded like two pieces of wood slapping together.

The rest of the horsemen had reached the battle by now, but those on Sean’s side were also closing. Larry was shooting his bow with remarkable accuracy. Two of the men were already out of their saddles and quite still, and another one was wounded and out of his saddle as well.

Sean didn’t have much time to look as they were crashing together again. Prince climbed high to attack with his front feet this time, putting Sean at an extreme disadvantage. With Prince standing up between them, Sean couldn’t reach the other rider to protect Prince from most of his attacks, all he could do was keep the gray’s teeth from him and from Prince; it was a full time job.

They broke apart again with another parting back kick from Prince; Sean at least was pleased to see that both the rider and the gray were now bleeding. He wished he could claim credit for some of it.

During a brief interlude, Sean heard Farris yelling at him. “What are you doing, you fool? Kill them!”

What did he think he was trying to do? Then Sean remembered; he didn’t have to use a sword to kill. They crashed into the gray again and he toppled over like a statue knocked on its side. Neither of them were prepared for the sudden lack of resistance. Prince tripped and they tumbled over the body of the big gray. Prince did a horse’s version of a somersault and Sean was thrown away to roll, it must have been a hundred times, before coming to a halt.

He climbed to his feet unsteadily, while Prince scramble to stand between him and the downed horse and rider; he put no weight on one front leg. ‘I hope it’s not broken,’ thought Sean at the sight.

When Love does the Dressing with Magic - from THE MAKING OF A MAGE KING

“You still have to get me something to wear. I’m not wearing that red dress to go visit a bunch of female starved, bush crawlers.”

“Bush crawlers? First they were my troops; now their bush crawlers.”

“They are still female starved, what do you want to bet? Besides, it’s cold.”

Sean made the blankets disappear and Aaunika squeaked again. “What do you want to wear?”

“I’ll be wearing a dress, thank you very much, but it needs to be far more practical than that hussy-dress. I am going to be riding a horse, after all.”

“I like that hussy-dress. I hope you don’t lose it. I hope you wear it for me - often.” He watched, grinning, as she stood up and pulled on her slip. “I don’t know anything about dresses,” he said. “Tell me what you want. Describe it and I’ll make it for you.”

“Well let’s see; it’s cold, but the sun might be bright and I don’t want to get sunburned; I don’t like red very much.” She jumped and squeaked again. Royal blue velvet crept across her shoulders and caressed her neck under his hands. Soft white satin reached up and brushed her cheek. Blue velvet crept down her arms with a wide white streak of white satin down the outside. The blue velvet touched and held together at a point midway between her shoulder and elbow, then again, midway between her elbow and her wrist then the white satin flowed out over the back of her hand, stopping before it could get in the way of her fingers. The bodice flowed down leaving the neckline dangerously low like the red dress, but the delicate skin was protected by more soft white satin. The skirt flowed down in soft folds that weren’t nearly as full as the red dress; instead, they were divided for riding. Underneath, unseen by any eye, white satin touched every inch of her legs and soft leather boots grew up to her knees. He completed her look with a silver necklace that held a gem identical to the one she made for him to put on his armor except that it was the size of his thumb and nestled just under the hollow of her throat, only just visible amongst the satin.

Sean pulled his hands away reluctantly. Every inch of satin rested against skin he longed to touch. “What do you think?” he asked, huskily. “I’ll take it all off again if you don’t like it.” If he took it off, he’d take her right back to bed in a heartbeat and to hell with riding the patrol.

“You said you didn’t know anything about dresses,” she said, grinning. “This is wonderful. What kind of cloth is it? I’ve never seen anything like it before. I like it.” She did a graceful turn to show it off for him. “It’s beautiful.” She swept up to him and pulled him down to kiss him. “Thank you,” she said. “Now you.”

From THE MAKING OF A MAGE KING - unpublished

Sean drew his uncle's curved knife from his belt. He had never drawn it before other than to polish it or ensure that it had an edge. It wasn't a throwing knife: its long curbed blade was made for hand-to-hand fighting and no one had ever gotten that close.

He turned and strode to where the thickest part of the battle had been. Only the bloodstained sand remained to show that hundreds had died there. If they had known what they were doing, earth magic could have done so much more damage, instead they had concentrated on the foundation of the walls, leaving the concept of hand-to-hand fighting to fighters. If they had turned their magic toward Sean's knights and their horses, he could have lost all of them. As he walked, he shed armor, gloves and swords, then he shed his shirt. By the time he reached his goal, he was dressed in only his pants and boots.

Facing the setting sun - looking at it as directly as he could - Sean drew three long cuts across his chest, then he drew three more across the back of each of his arms. He heard a brief commotion on the wall and guessed that Larry or Jenny had recognized what he was doing and wished he'd ordered everyone to clear the walls too.

He lifted his arms into a wide pose and bowed his head. He stepped - one foot close in front of the other - then he turned a full circle, drawing a tight circle with a toe in the process. There were no names this time, no pictures of torture and murder flashing through his mind. War was war and combatants had been killed, but they had been his people once, so they deserved his grief.

As he turned and stepped, there were no tears. The curved knife, already bloodied, switched from hand to hand and back again as he stepped and turned, then stepped again. The profound sorrow that bled from his wounds stained his chest, slicked his hands and dripped from the tip of his knife, held point down. He continued to turn and step, drawing circles in the sand with one toe or the other.

With the setting sun on one hand and the rising moons on the other, he stepped and turned again, the pounding surf once again clocking his steps along the otherwise silent beach.

It wasn't Larry who stopped Sean's dance. Garonne halted as he met the curved edge of Sean's knife and behind it his intense black eyes. "Do you grieve too?" asked Sean. The hand with the knife was held straight forward, his other straight behind him. Once again, his feet were close, one in front of the other; he balanced, poised high on his toes, frozen in mid-move.

Garonne hadn't seen what had happened to the prisoners, but he knew that they were now gone and he had heard the screams - everyone had heard those horrible screams - then the abrupt silence that followed. He wasn't sure who Sean was grieving for, so he picked a neutral answer. "War and grief cannot but follow the same path."

Sean heaved a deep sigh and dropped his arms. He nodded as his heels met the sand. "Yes, they do." He suddenly didn't know what to do with his hands. He wanted to clean the blood from his knife, but he wasn't even wearing a shirt. He looked down at his bloody chest. "I should let it scar," he muttered to himself, but then he felt what Aaunika would say. "Pointless gesture, really." He wiped the cuts away. Then, still wanting to clean his knife, he made the blood vanish too. He turned to retrieve his things and saw someone else picking them up; they met over his shirt. "Captain General Garrone, I would like to introduce you to Ruihano Pyrene," said Sean, as he looked into the brown eyes of Genevieve's brother.

The eldest Pyrene started at the address and Garonne's reaction wasn't much different. "Ruihano, but . . . ," said Garrone.

Sean pulled his shirt on. "He's your lawful lord and commander under me. You will take his orders. You will take my orders and see to it that he is properly reinstated here."