Laments, Love and Loneliness #Fantasy

The World In-between

by IE Castellano


Morning broke with a soft cold light inching through Berty’s window. Getting out of bed, Berty paused to look at the gray sky though his window thinking that finally the outside reflected the inside. After he showered and dressed, Berty walked downstairs to sit at his desk.
Opening a book, he began to read. A chapter into the book, Berty realized that it was yet another book that not only described different places within the Empire but also chronicled someone’s journey through it. "You could not travel yourself," muttered Berty aloud, "so you filled your study with books about people who did." Theodore ringing his wind chimes interrupted his pondering about how lonely and confining Silvia’s life must have been.
"Good morning, Emperor," said the young Dwarf.
"You are cheerful today," Berty said.
"Getting ready for Wassail," said Theodore. "This is my first Wassail as Head Tender. I am so excited."
Berty could not help but smile as Theodore placed his breakfast on the table. After Theodore left, Berty ate. His mind wandered more and more with each chew. Taking a sip from his goblet, he lowered it slowly to the table saying, "I did give you my life -- I set you free." He closed his eyes and could feel her limp cold hand beneath his as he wrapped her fingers around the metal of the scepter. Opening his eyes, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

Rise and Fall: Book One of the Blood and Tears Trilogy [Epic Fantasy]

Rise and Fall: Book One of the Blood and Tears Trilogy

by Joshua P. Simon


The Hell Patrol, a mercenary outfit, are sneaking out of their employer’s encampment in the middle of the night…

“Where are Cassus and Krytien? They should be here by now.”

“You got me, Boss,” said Kroke, again cleaning his nails.

“We’ll give them ten more minutes and then we head out. They can catch up later.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“Is what necessary?”

“That,” said Jonrell pointing at the dagger. “How can they be dirty if you’re constantly cleaning them?”

“They aren’t. Just habit I guess. Like the way a blade feels in my hand is all.” Kroke sheathed the knife and looked up. “Don’t sweat it, Boss. They’ll be here.”

Jonrell sighed.

“See, that’s them coming out the camp now,” said Kroke with a nod. He pulled out a different knife, picking at the nails on his other hand.

Jonrell shook his head and turned toward the encampment. He squinted and saw some movement but couldn’t make out more than a few shapes in the night. The distance was too great. “How can you tell it’s them?”

“I can’t.” Kroke shrugged his shoulders. “Just trying to be positive is all.”

“You’re unbelievable, you know that.”

“Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

Kroke sheathed his blade and pulled out another that he started spinning in his hand, a small grin crawled across his face as he watched the blade dance in the moonlight.

“How about you do something useful and grab Yanasi? Something’s up and I need her eyes. That’s definitely Cassus in front but there is no way that many soldiers were worth bringing with us.”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

Do you believe in magic? #YoungAdult #Scifi #Fantasy

Promising Light

by Emily Ann Ward

“Do you believe in magic, m’lady?” the woman asked.

The first page of the book was in a language Grace had never seen before. “I don’t know,” she told the merchant. “I’ve never seen it.”

“Ah, but just because you haven’t seen something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

“True. What kind of magic are you talking about?”

The woman waved her hand. “All kinds. Different families are gifted with different magic.” When Grace raised her eyebrows, the woman said, “There are those who can heal the body or break it. There are shape changers from Shyra. There—”

“Shyra?” Grace repeated.

“Yes. They say the shape changers have the power to look like anybody, dead or alive. Some can change into animals. Some can even change into things that aren’t alive. Trees, rocks, water.” She smiled. Her teeth were dirty and cracked. “Perhaps you knew someone from Shyra? Or perhaps you don’t know that you know someone from Shyra because they pretend to be someone else.”

Grace swore she could feel her heart pounding in her ears. Shape changers? It couldn’t be real. They were legends, tales from storybooks. They couldn’t have anything to do with the man who warned her about Dar or with Dar’s sudden departure. “Perhaps. Why should I believe the magic is real?”

“You don’t have to.” The woman sat down again. “But my books will convince you.”

From "The Winds of Moira" by Lawrence Sylou-Creutz Ojermark

“It’s quiet here.” Allodial said.

Analecta didn’t say anything at first, and in fact seemed to not have heard. She merely continued to write in her journal. It wasn’t long however that she too realized the penetrating silence.

“Yes, strangely quiet. We should hear some noises, but there is not even the rustling of the wind.” She said in mild surprise.

They paused, both looking around and straining to hear the slightest sound, but there was nothing. Allodial looked over toward Analecta, seeing her brow wrinkle as she pushed herself from the rock and moved quietly toward a nearby tree. There she paused and closed her eyes.

“It feels like the forest is dead,” Allodial stated, watching Analecta for a response.

There was none, she simply stood unmoving. Without warning Analecta jogged across the small clearing and again strained her ears, pausing, slowing her heart and listening for the faintest of sounds.

Silence.

From "The Demigod Proving" by S. James Nelson

Wrend hefted a crate of cheese and considered his brother’s suggestion. Accepting it could not only cost him his life, but also his eternal soul.
Yet, it could also be so tasty.

Grunting at the weight of the cheese, Wrend carried the crate up the steps and out the doorway. He blinked in the sunlight and stopped on the boardwalk as Teirn emerged with his own crate.

“Just think of it,” Teirn said. “Sardo cheese. Or just-right testouri.”

Wrend shrugged. “I’m not debating the value of cheese. It’s how the Master would react to my stealing it.”

Teirn rolled his eyes. “You only lose your soul if you’re caught. Besides, if you do get caught, at least you’ll know why the Master ends up wringing your neck.”

Wrend shrugged and raised his eyebrows. “Knowing why you’re having your head popped off is a definite plus. Although the dying part kind of spoils it.”

When Wrend was two, the Master—as tall as clouds and as angry as thunder—came into the playroom. The mothers started to sob. The more experienced children began to cry. From the midst of toys and playmates, the Master lifted a four-year-old girl and twisted her head off.

From "Blades Of The Moritati" by Durand J. Compton

She is no aged crone but the days of her youth are long past. Her hair is pale as last summers straw, her face lined with a thousand fine wrinkles. She is draped in a volume of raw silk, girt with a belt of black pearls. She paces the length of a simple chamber and pauses before the organic flue set in the centre of this hallowed space. Pale green fire dances above the vent. She passes a long-fingered hand through the flame.

‘So, My Prince, you grace me one last time. Do you recall our last meeting, Sir?’

‘Aye, My Lady, I do recall, though many long centuries lay between. I had just committed the Thirty-third Sin of Admittance and being elevated to my formal seat, a Prince of the Realm, I left the Bastion of Power and journeyed here, to seek your wisdom ere I took that final step to Witchdom.’

‘And did I give you false counsel?’

‘No, My Lady, you spoke the truth, devious though your words were. I have gained a certain eminence among my peers, my schemes have drawn wealth and power beneath my hands.’ He strides with pensive grace about the oracle. ’And I have come to bear a certain doubt.’

From "The Black God's War" by Moses Siregar III

In the Kingdom of Rezzia, inside the highest chamber of the grand minaret, ten-year-old Lucia looked out to see her father, King Vieri, on the balcony. He lifted her newborn brother high above his head, and the masses, hundreds of feet below, roared with devotion.

Father, what are you doing! she thought. Be more careful with our savior.

Lucia glanced down at her mother resting in the birthing pool. The queen’s black hair clung to her neck, all of it soaked by the holy waters.

“You did it, Mother!”

Kindness brightened her mother’s face. “Thank the gods, dear. You have a brother now. A very special brother. Go, join your father and wave to the crowd.”

“You stay here and rest. I’ll wave to them on your behalf.”

Her mother laughed. “Thank you, Lucia. That sounds perfect.”

Lucia crept toward the archway leading to the balcony, which wrapped around the circular chamber. She squinted, fighting the midday sun. Tears soaked her father’s cheeks as he presented the pink baby to the faithful. Nature had tattooed thorny red and black vines on little Caio’s hands and forearms: the holy markings of the Haizzem.

From "Lodestone Book Two: The World of Ice and Stars" by Mark Whiteway

Patris explains Sakaran economics!

“You stole from them, didn’t you?” Keris interjected.

Patris frowned. “How did you know that?” She looked at him askance.

“All right, yes, I stole from them. I would have thought that any civilized society would appreciate basic economics.”

“Let me guess. They didn’t appreciate your actions.”

Patris huffed. “You’re right there. I tried to explain it to them, but it was hopeless. ‘Look’, I said, ‘I arrived here with nothing but the clothes I’m standing in. I have no money or whatever it is you people use for money. I have the same right to life as you do. So how am I going to live? Theft. Basic wealth redistribution. I told them straight, ‘You should be thanking me,’ I said. But it was like trying to lecture a bunch of ignorant children.” 

“Imagine that,” Keris said dryly.
                                                                                                
“Exactly. They summoned a pair of their watchmen–drach, they called them. Surly fellows. No sense of humour whatsoever. They threw me in some kind of jail. I’m not sure what they intended for me, but I don’t think it was anything good. So I let myself out and escaped.” 

“You stole the key.”

Patris shrugged. “Naturally.”

From "Legend Unborn" by David.G Welsh

As they were just about to pass one another, the human suddenly stopped, turned to Flyfar and in a deep, powerful voice said, “Fly you fool! Fly!”

Flyfar jumped with fright and squawked which to him was, “Arghh!”

Flapping his wings as fast as he could, Flyfar raced down the path, flying over boulders, around trees and in-between the legs of a very surprised cow that gave him an indignant “Moo”. He flew faster, the ground rushing by in a blur as his eyes watered in the wind, not used to being under such conditions.

As he flew, Flyfar started feeling something swell up within him that was a completely new experience. He suddenly realized that he was actually enjoying this, he was starting to feel the thrill of careering through the air, his body built for this very thing as his muscles tensed and relaxed, making him into a bullet-shaped pile of feathers.

He leapt into the air and flew down the path. The old human watched him go and muttered to himself, “Bloody idiot. Wouldn’t have had that problem back in my day. Now, where did I put that damned ring?”

From "A Dream of Storms" by William Kenney

t smiled and the air crackled about their heads. Its sorcery grew as the minutes passed. Tongues of black flame showed in its eyes but they were cold. A long dead cold.

No.

He noticed movement over the thing's shoulder. A flicker of light. It was one of the little girls. She ran toward them, torch in hand. Hagan tried to call out to her, to stop her. He could not get the words out. She touched the flame to the Inquitis' back and it went up like kindling. It released Hagan from its grip and howled in pain. The sound was unbearable to their mortal ears and all within earshot cupped their hands to their heads.

Hagan wrenched his blade free as the Inquitis staggered, enveloped by violent dancing fire. It was consumed by a flame with no light as if its very essence changed the laws of nature. It collapsed to its knees, its head still on level with Hagan's. Within the dark inferno, its eyes still held him as if it knew him. It showed its teeth once more and then its skull melted, joining the blackened remains that were its body.

From "The Vanishing" a prequel to "The Raie'Chaelia" by Melissa Douthit

He suddenly remembered Canton and the games she and he played when they were young.  It seemed as if it were almost yesterday.  “Ghost-in-the-Graveyard,” he continued, “in the wine cellar of the Inn?  You cheated all the time.”  He laughed.  “You really don’t remember?”  Sighing, he finally said: “Ah well, you were pretty young then.”

    She studied him for a moment and then, suddenly, her face lit up in recognition.  “Oh my gosh, no, I do remember!” she exclaimed. 

“Jeremiah?!” she asked and he nodded.  “Jeremiah Maehbeck!  How could I have forgotten?!?”

    He smiled as she said the words and caught a twinkle of joy in her eye at seeing him again.  Then he suddenly realized what had been missing in his life this whole time.  After all these years, he finally understood the emptiness inside of him and realized what could fill it – the only thing that could fill it.  It was her.

From "Demon Gates" by Robert Day

Drav was the last warrior to fall, pierced through the chest by the Demon’s blade as he swung in a vain attempt to wound the fiend. In a rage, Faradhar threw the last vestiges of his energy into another bolt of lightning. It struck the Demon as it turned towards him. Sparks showered the corpses at its feet and the Demon howled in pain.

To Faradhar’s horror, the howls turned to laughter as the demons infernal gaze descended upon him. With a whimper, he crumpled to his knees. His staff clattered to the stone as it slipped from powerless fingers.

“You have no power to fight me,” mocked the Demon in a voice both powerful and compelling. “Your powers and those of your people are weak, unchanged from an age long past.”

The Demon looked around the chamber with what could only be described as rapture. Mocking laughter echoed through the cavern, assailing Faradhar. His reeling mind could not concentrate, could not focus enough to piece together what was happening and what it meant.

His thoughts turned to agony as the Demon loomed over him. Its intense heat crushed his waning magical defences and engulfed him. He neither saw nor heard the blade’s descent, but his last thought before oblivion was a silent prayer for the people of Kil’Tar.

From "The Pennants of Larkhall" by Tim Craire

They looked at the tunnel wall in the torchlight.  Five lines of words were written in some sort of black paint.  The letters were unsteady and suggested someone without much schooling:


HERE SIX DAYS LEFT BACK BY PARTY
OSVALD TANNER LEAVES HIS POST AS REAR GUARD
TO LOOK FOR QUEEN ORLANTHA WHO LED THE
EXP.N INTO THE VAULTS HE RETURNS WITH THE
QUEEN OR NOT AT ALL GOD SAVE LARKHALL


“He didn’t want to tackle the word ‘expedition,’ ” Harlan said.

“He wanted to leave behind an explanation for deserting his post,” Orovein observed. “He must have had orders to stay there for – for more than six days, apparently.”

“I wonder if he found her.”

“I don’t know of any record of anyone with that name, Osvald Tanner, coming back out during the time of her descent,” Orovein said.

“Of course she never came back either – maybe he found her.”

From "Blood of Requiem" by Daniel Arenson

War.

War rolled over the world with fire and wings.

The Vir Requis marched. Men. Women. Children. Their clothes were tattered, their faces ashy, their bellies tight. As their cities burned behind them, they marched with cold eyes. All had come to fight this day: the young and the old, the strong and the wounded, the brave and the frightened. They were five thousand. They had no more places to hide.

The dying sun blazed red against them. The wind keened. Five thousand. The last of their race.

We will stand, we will fly, we will perish with fire and tooth, Benedictus thought, jaw clenched. Men will say: Requiem did not fade with a whimper, but fell with a thunder that shook the mountains.

And so he marched, and behind him his people followed, banners red and gold, thudding in the wind. Last stand of Requiem.

It was strange, he thought, that five thousand should move together so silently. Benedictus heard only thumping boots. No whispers. No sobs. No whimpers even from the children who marched, their eyes too large in their gaunt faces. The Vir Requis were silent today, silent for the million of their kin already dead, for this day when their race would perish, enter the realm of memory, then legend, then myth. Nothing but thudding boots, a keening wind, and a grumbling sky. Silence before the roar of fire.

Then Benedictus saw the enemy ahead.