Category Archives: Excerpt

Brechalon: Chapter 2 Excerpt

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Schwarztogrube sat atop the Isle of Winds, situated almost exactly in the center of the channel between Brechalon and Freedonia. Its massive stone walls rising high above jagged cliffs were not broken by a single door. The few windows visible were all far too small for anything approaching the size of a human being to pass through. The only entrance was through a secret passage at the water’s edge: gated, guarded, and locked. The towers rising up into the sky were topped with pointed minarets allowing no entrance from the air. The waters around the tiny island were constantly patrolled by Brech warships. Inside, Schwarztogrube was the harshest, ugliest, and most formidable prison in the world, yet few even knew of its existence.

Nils Chaplin had been a guard at Schwarztogrube for almost a whole week before he saw a prisoner. That wasn’t so surprising, considering the guards outnumbered them at least ten to one. An entire wing was devoted to incarcerating only about two dozen men. The prisoners carried out their lives, such as they were, never leaving their cells, but supplied with food and a few simple comforts such as a pillow, a blanket, or a book. None of them looked particularly dangerous, and they weren’t. At least they weren’t while they were here. Schwarztogrube was a magic prison. A prison set aside for wizards and sorcerers—the only place in the world where magic would not work.

It was his third week and Chapman was looking forward to a week off back in Brechalon, spending his paycheck, eating fish and chips, and enjoying life outside of massive stone bocks, when another guard, Karl Drury, at last led him to the north wing. Chapman didn’t like Drury. He told disgusting jokes to the other guards; viciously beat the prisoners, and when he could get away with it he buggered the boys working in the kitchen or at the dock. He also stank. But as Chapman followed Drury though the deathly cold stone walls, he wasn’t thinking about the other guard’s shortcomings. He was wondering at the empty cells that they passed. Finally they came to the one door that was locked shut.

“Here we be,” said Drury. “That there’s the only one in the entire wing.”

“Special, huh?”

“Take a butchers.”

Chapman pressed his face against the small barred window. Most of the room beyond was dark, illuminated only by a square of light carried in from a four by four inch window high up on the far wall. The room had no pillows or blankets as did the rooms in the south wing. There was no bed. The only thing in the cell approaching furniture was a piss pot. Curled up in a fetal position against the far wall was a human being. The dirty ragged clothing and matted hair of unknown color gave no hint to the identity of the figure.

“Who is he?” wondered Chapman.

“That’s not a he. That’s a she. And that’s the most dangerous creature in the world, that.”

“Really?”

“That’s what they say. So dangerous, we’re not even ‘sposed to be here. Ain’t that right, eighty nine?” he called to the prisoner. She didn’t stir. “Lucky for us the warden’s gone to the mainland, eh?” Drury pulled out a large key and placed it in the massive lock on the door.

“Maybe we shouldn’t ought to do this,” said Chapman.

Drury paid no attention. He opened the door and swaggered into the cell. The woman curled up against the wall didn’t move. When Drury had crossed the room to her, he nudged her with the toe of his boot.

“Get up, eighty nine.” She remained still.

The sadistic guard grabbed a handful of the prisoner’s dirty, matted hair and dragged her to her feet. Chapman could finally make out that she was a woman. She was thin. She looked half starved, but he could still tell that she had once had quite a figure. Drury held her up by her hair, presenting her for view as if she were a freshly caught trout.
Suddenly the woman came to life, kicking the guard in the shins. Drury let go of her hair and knocked her to the ground with a back-hand slap. She looked up at him and even across the poorly-lit cell, Chapman could see the hatred in her cold grey eyes. She pointed her hand and spat words that might have been a curse in some ancient, unknown language.

“Uastium premba uuthanum tachthna paj tortestos—duuth.”

Even here in Schwarztogrube, where no magic in the world would work, Chapman could have sworn that he felt a tingle in the air. Nothing else happened though. Drury kicked her in the face, knocking her onto her back. He kicked her again and again. And again. Finally he grabbed her once more by the hair and lifted her to her feet. With his other hand, he began unfastening his trousers. Chapman turned and left. He didn’t need to see this.

Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Sorceress: Chapter 11 Excerpt

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As the sorceress said, disconsolateberries grow all over the southern coast of Lyrria. As you may know, disconsolate is a word meaning sad. It is a medium powerful word for sad, which is to say that it is more sad than crestfallen, but not so sad as woebegone. A disconsolate person is somewhat worse off than a person who is merely downcast, but not in nearly so bad a shape as a person who is inconsolable. You might suppose that the name of the berry comes from the feeling that one may feel after eating a few disconsolateberries, but you would be mightily mistaken. If anything, disconsolateberries lighten the mood of anyone who eats a few handfuls of them. It is my understanding that their name comes from a young man who lost his love. Wandering the hills along the coast, he was determined to die of starvation, but was unable to because he tasted one of the berries and thereafter kept eating them, despite his sadness and desire to die.

“You just made that up,” said the sorceress.

“Made what up?”

“That bit about the young man who lost his love.”

“Were you reading my thoughts?”

“No, you said that aloud.”

“I did?”

“I heard that the disconsolateberry got its name because being so tasty that one cannot stop eating them when out picking them, one can never gather enough to make a whole pie, leaving the maiden who is trying to do so, disconsolate.”

“I like my story better,” said I. “Although your story does have the benefit of having a pie in it.”

“I see you’ve finished your piece,” said Myolaena. “Would you like more poison pie?”

“Yes please.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“So I can’t have any more?”

“Why would you keep eating the pie, once I told you it was poisoned?”

“For one thing, being evil, you are probably lying about the poison…”

“I’m not evil.”

“Evil people never think they are.”

“What about Shakespeare’s Richard III? He is determined to play the villain.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“Who? Richard III or Shakespeare?”

“Neither one of them.”

“One was a king in a faraway country. The other is the greatest writer of all time.”

“Which is which?” I wondered. “Never mind. I don’t care about a king in a faraway country, and clearly I am the greatest writer of all time.”

Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Sorceress: Chapter 10 Excerpt

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“Good day, lovely piesmith,” said I, bowing at the waist.
“Good day, Sir.”
“Might I inquire whether that pie is bound for an inn or perhaps the market?”
“Indeed it is neither, Sir.”
“Then might I purchase it?” I asked.
“Might I ask first your name, Sir? You seem to be a man of heroic bearing and noble manner.”
“You are very perceptive, my pretty piesmith, for indeed I am Eaglethorpe Buxton, famous storyteller and adventurer. Really of late I have been more of an adventurer than a story-teller, for though my tales of the great heroes and their adventures have been repeated far and wide across the land, I find myself having even more wondrous adventures than any of the characters in my stories. Still, the appellation, which is to say the name of Buxton and of Eaglethorpe, is best known for stories so I still introduce myself as first a storyteller and then an adventurer.”
“It is so very nice to…”
“Now that I think about it, I should introduce myself as Eaglethorpe Buxton, playwright, adventurer, and storyteller, as my play ‘The Ideal Magic’ is such a success that I am sure I will be doing much more of that.”
“I’m very pleased to…”
“On the other hand, it might seem strange to say playwright, adventurer, and storyteller, seeing as how storytelling and play writing are so closely related. Perhaps one ought not to separate them from one another by placing them on either side of adventuring. And it is worth noting that I have been doing quite a bit of adventuring since writing the play.”
“Do you want pie or not?” she asked, one hand on her hip and the other holding up the delectable object in question.
“Oh yes. Pie please.”
“Come inside,” she said, leading me into a simple but clean little cottage, where I sat down at the only chair at the old but serviceable table.
She very fetchingly began to cut a generous piece of the pie. Though it smelled wonderful, I couldn’t quite place the combination of spices.
“What kind of pie is it?” I wondered.

Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Sorceress: Chapter 9 Excerpt

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As Hysteria and Ellwood’s horse drank from the troughs, he and I talked over our options.

“I know you don’t want to leave for any length of time,” said Ellwood, “but you should at least leave for a few days.”

“I don’t see how leaving for a few days will help pie.”

“What?”

“Pie. I smell pie.”

“Oh no,” said he.

“Oh yes,” I replied.

I scanned the little square until I could see that which I could smell, which is to say a pie. A chubby little red-head with a checkered apron and a brown bonnet stood in an open doorway holding a pie.

“Eaglethorpe.”

“Hmm?”

“Eaglethorpe!”

“What?”

“As I have no desire to interfere with the love of your life…”

“I’ve never even seen her before,” said I.

“I meant the pie,” Ellwood continued. “As I have no desire to interfere, I’ll be leaving you now.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have business in Auksavl, but I’ll be back to Antriador in five days.”

“That will be the twelfth night.”

“Twelfth night of what?”

“It will be the twelfth night of this business with the sorceress.”

“Is that significant?”

“Not really.”

“You are so odd, Eaglethorpe.”

Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Sorceress – Chapter 8 Excerpt

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Though the room was full, it was not difficult to spot Ellwood Cyrene, who had a table to himself right in the center. I had just reached his table, when someone called out “where is Ellwood Cyrene? I want to buy him a drink!” Naturally, I called back “I am right here!” It was then that I spied eight warriors moving through the crowd toward our table. I drew my sword as the first approached. His attention was completely on Ellwood Cyrene and not on me, and he continued to not notice me as I smacked him across the face with the flat of my blade. He went down with blood spewing from his nose.

Two of the other warriors were quickly upon me. Meanwhile, pandemonium broke out in the bar. People ducked under tables and headed for the exits. Both my new opponents swung their swords at me. In an incredible feat of dexterity and agility, I dodged both, while at the same time slicing into the middle of the first and kicking the second. Then whipping around, I ran through the one that I had kicked, all the while tossing a pair of throwing stars from my sleeve, hitting two more across the room. The first warrior, which is to say the one that I had hit in the nose, lunged for me. I grabbed him by his leather jerkin and swung him around to use as a shield as two daggers flew at me from two of his friends. I tossed his body aside as the remaining three warriors all attacked at once, and in what could only be described as the greatest demonstration of swordsmanship that the world has ever seen, I dispatched the three of them without so much as a cut on my finger.

I immediately sat down and began to write some notes, while Ellwood Cyrene climbed out from beneath the table where he had been hiding.

“What are you doing?” said he.

“I’m taking some notes for when I write the story of how Eaglethorpe Buxton defeated ten swordsmen while Ellwood Cyrene hid beneath the table.”

“I counted only six swordsmen.”

“Oh, there were ten.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh yes. Don’t worry. This is going to be a very accurate account.”

“It will be accurate, will it?”

“Oh yes.”

“Then you are going to explain how someone called out “where is Ellwood Cyrene? I want to buy him a drink!” and you called back “I am right here!” causing the warriors to mistake you for me?
Are you then going to describe how the Eaglethorpe Buxton fighting the swordsmen was actually Ellwood Cyrene and the Ellwood Cyrene hiding under the table was actually Eaglethorpe Buxton?”

“I don’t really think that’s important to the story,” I explained. “What is important is that one of us fought twelve warriors and defeated them single-handed, not which of us did it.”

Brechalon – Chapter 1 Excerpt

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The interior of the bookseller’s shop was dark and crowded and it smelled of old leather, old paper, and old glue. Terrence took a slow, deep breath, enjoying the fragrance the way some people might enjoy the scent of a rose. An old bespectacled man lifted his head from behind a massive volume of Dodson. He raised his eyebrows when he saw Terrence’s blue and khaki cavalry uniform. Terrence removed his slouch hat and fished his wallet from an interior vest pocket of his tunic.
“What can I do for you, Sir?” asked the bookseller.
“Revenge,” said Terrence without smiling.
A momentary look of panic crossed the older man’s face, but then his eyes widened.
“Garstone?”
Terrence nodded.
“Yes, I have several copies behind the counter. Not the type of thing I’d expect an army officer to be reading.”
“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” said Terrence. “One would think that a bookseller would know that.”
“Indeed.” The man paused and then pulled out several different editions of the infamous work of Kazia Garstone. H looked up to study his customer’s face. “So many people are interested in this one, either for its politics or its, um indecencies.”
“You don’t have a first edition?” asked Terrence, his face giving nothing away.
“Oh, I do. But I’m afraid it’s not inexpensive.” Opening a small cupboard behind him, the bookseller pulled out a book wrapped in linen and placed it on the counter. With great care he unwrapped the cloth exposing a green leather-bound book with gold leaf edging. “Two hundred fifty marks.”
“I wonder what Garstone would say about such profiteering,” said Terrence opening his wallet and pulling out five crisp banknotes that together equaled the stated amount.
“I don’t think she would mind. You know, if you’re interested, I might have a lead on a signed first edition of Steam.”
“Really? How much?”
“Four thousand marks.”
“Kafira’s tit!” said Terrence, chuckling as the other man winced at his blasphemy. “I’m afraid that’s beyond my allowance.”
The man nodded knowingly. “Would you like me to wrap it up for you?”
“Nope.” Terrence took the book and tucked it under his arm. “Is there still a fish and chips cart by the park?”
“Oh yes.”
Terrence exited the store and turned left, heading for Hexagon Park. He had to jog across Prince Tybalt Boulevard, which was at least twice as crowded as Avenue Phoenix. He was almost hit twice, but arrived at the park’s edge unscathed. Hexagon Park, as the name implied, was an expansive park built in the six-sided shape of a hexagon. It was filled with fountains, ponds, walkways, flower gardens, orchards, and at its center, a plaza with a steam-powered calliope. Terrence could hear the music playing even at this distance. Along the sidewalk at the edge of the park, several vendors were selling food from carts. Terrence purchased a newsprint cone filled with fried fish and golden chips and made his way down the cobblestone path to the center of the park, taking a seat about fifty feet from the bright red music machine.

Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Sorceress – Chapter 7 Excerpt

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“How are you feeling?” asked Ellwood.

“Better,” said I. “I am a bit bothered by our conversation of yesterday.”

“You were out of your head yesterday,” said he. “Anything you remember me saying is no doubt a result of your overactive imagination mixed with delirium.”

“You think so?”

“It was probably all a dream.”

“If it was, then it was a manly dream,” said I.

“No doubt.”

“That’s the only type of dream that I have.”

“That’s very strange,” said he. “That’s true of me also. I have nothing but manly dreams—dreams with lots of killing and mayhem. Sometimes there is bloodlust.”

“And beautiful women?” I asked.

“Yes. Oh, yes. Many beautiful woman, um… running around. Sometimes they are nude.”

“Sometimes?”

“Almost all the time… all the time. They are always running around nude… with their navels and what-not showing.”

“Me too,” said I. “I really like women.”

“I do too,” said Ellwood. “Some of my best friends are women.”

“Friends?”

“No, not friends. Acquaintances… um, companions? Conquests! That’s what they are. They are conquests. Dozens of women. Scores! Hundreds! And all of them, running around and all of them beautiful, and not the least bit intelligent or accomplished in any way.”

“That makes me feel better,” said I, stopping to pull out something that was stuck in my teeth and turned out to be the wing of a fly.

“Good,” said he, setting in my lap a tray, which I had here to for not noticed. “I brought you some breakfast.”

Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Sorceress – Chapter 6 Excerpt

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“Oh varlet, villain, and false friend,” I said, and felt my lips crack as my swollen tongue moved around to form the words.

“Do not speak Eaglethorpe,” said Ellwood, pressing the brim of a glass of cold water to my lips.

“You must know that I love you.”

“In a very manly way, no doubt,” I croaked.

“Yes. Very manly indeed.”

He took a clean white cloth and dipped it in the water, using it to bathe my brow.

“I only belittled you because I thought that it might make the sorceress let you go. You know I have the highest respect for you.”

“And my storytelling?”

“And your storytelling.”

“And my heroic adventuring?”

“Heavens above Eaglethorpe. If I did not love you so much, I would hate your guts.”

“What happened anyway?”

“She turned you into a toad, a quite ugly one at that. It took me all of a week to locate you and three bags of silver to get an apothecary who was willing and able turn you back into yourself.”

“What happened to you?”

“Oh I managed to escape her after a few hours.”

“A few hours?”

“Yes.”

“A few hours?”

“Yes, a few hours.”

“A few hours?”

“Yes, a few hours. Did you damage your brain while you were a toad?”

“So you were with her for a few hours?”

“I believe we have established that.”

“So… she made you do things.”

“What?”

“You spent time with her?”

“A few hours!” Ellwood rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“She… you know.”

“Know what?”

“She quenched your fire?”

“Campfire?”

“The fire of passion.”

“What? No!” He stood up and began pacing back and forth across the room. “Well, I’m sure she would have liked to, but I got away long before that could happen.”

“Why?” I asked.

“What do you mean why?”

“Why didn’t you wait till after the quenching before you escaped?”

“Because she’s a sorceress.”

“So?”

“And she’s evil.”

“So?”

“Well, she’s a… She’s just not my type.”

“Why not,” I wondered.

“She’s… too pale… and too blond… and too short.”

“What complexion do you prefer for your woman?”

“A complexion about like yours.”

“That’s too dark. What hair color do you like?”

“About like yours, with little streaks of grey.”

“Then she would be too old for you,” said I. “A young man like you should have a beautiful young woman. How tall do you prefer?”

“About your height.”

“That is way too tall for a woman.”

“I know,” said Ellwood, and then turned and rushed out of the room.

Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Sorceress – Chapter 4 Excertp

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“And now the moment you’ve been awaitin’” said an unseen announcer. “Fairy mud-wrestling!”
A great cheer filled the room, but then all grew quiet as the audience watched the pair of fairies on each table disrobe.

“I’m Taffy,” said the six inch tall red-head, as she carefully pulled the robe over her gossamer wings.

“I’m Mustard Seed,” said the other fairy.

“I’m enchanted,” said I.

“I’m going to vomit,” said Myolaena.

The two fairies waded out into the mud, which to them was about knee-high, where they wasted no time. Mustard Seed jumped on Taffy, knocking her down and coating them both in the ooze. Taffy grabbed Mustard Seed’s hair and they both rolled across the bowl, squealing in their tiny little voices.

“Come along. We’re leaving,” said the sorceress.

“You don’t like the show?” I was frankly incredulous.

“You hussy!” shouted Mustard Seed, though I don’t know if she was speaking to Myolaena or to Taffy.

“Come.”

“But they’re so cute and wee.”

Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Sorceress – Chapter 4 Excerpt

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“This is most odd,” said the sorceress. “They have their drinks. What else do they want?”
“Entertainment,” said I.
“We are not going to have to sit through another play, are we?” She rolled her eyes.
As if in answer, directly above our heads and directly above each of the tables in The Fairy Font, which is to say all over the taproom, small doors opened in the ceiling and little platforms were lowered on chains. When the platforms had reached the tabletops, knocking over quite a few tankards of ale is they did, we could see that upon each was a small basin filled with dark, rich, mud. Sitting on either side of the basin of mud was the tiny form of a fairy, wearing a teeny little robe cut open in the back to allow her wings to stick out.
The round basin of mud reminded me of the mud pies that we used to make as children. My sister Celia and my cousins Gervil, Tuki, and Geneva used to play on the front step of our house, which is to say Cor Cottage just outside Dewberry Hills. Celia was a master piesmith, at least of the mud variety. Interestingly enough, when she grew up, her pies at best could be considered mediocre. Tuki could make quite a fine pie as an adult—all the more strange as her childhood mud pies were the antithesis of Celias, which is to say that they were no good at all. Geneva’s mud pies were better than Tuki’s but not as good as Celia’s, and since she died as a child, no one can tell if she would have grown to be a decent piesmith or not. Gervil didn’t make pies, though he did force me to eat more than a few.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Myolaena Maetar.
“Pies.”
“Well stop it. We’re here to find Buxton.”
“And now the moment you’ve been awaitin’” said an unseen announcer. “Fairy mud-wrestling!”
A great cheer filled the room, but then all grew quiet as the audience watched the pair of fairies on each table disrobe.
“I’m Taffy,” said the six inch tall red-head, as she carefully pulled the robe over her gossamer wings.
“I’m Mustard Seed,” said the other fairy.
“I’m enchanted,” said I.
“I’m going to vomit,” said Myolaena.