Evil Insurance Companies

You need it.  I need it.  The law says in many cases we have to have it.  Yet it holds on to us like a leach and bleeds us dry.  I am of course referring to the greatest con in the market place, insurance.  You pay for it on your health, car, house, disability, life and more.  They collect their money every paycheck but when you need help they are less than helpful.  Take health insurance for example.  My policy will pay 80% of expenses once the deductible has been met.  So I must spend thousands of dollars before they will pay a dime.  How is that helping me?  It only helps when I have something large like a surgery and even then I end up paying a large sum of money.  Look at car insurance.  The prices for newer cars especially are through the roof.  Then you take a simple thing like a cracked windshield.  I called the insurance company because the crack from a stone was 2 feet long.  They informed me that per my request, I had glass coverage.  What that meant was if I had a crack smaller than a dollar bill they would fill it.  In my particular case the crack was too big and was therefore subject to the $500 deductible for comprehensive damage.  A new windshield was less than $300 so what was the point in the insurance?  About a year ago we had a flood in our basement where the sump pumps could not keep up with the water coming in.  The carpeting in the finished basement was ruined.  I consoled myself that night knowing I had home insurance.  Well guess what?  It turns out the only way water damage would be covered by my policy is if a pipe burst.  I had to pay to replace all that carpet myself.  Thankfully, I haven’t had to deal with life insurance yet.  I can only imagine the kinds if trouble they would cause.  There are times I was not able to work and the disability insurance people did nothing but give me the run around.  They wanted form after form from my doctor and were never satisfied. I could site many more instances but you get the point.  You see all these commercials promising low rates, better service because they value their customers, quicker claims being paid, and let’s not forget the universal anthem that they are all on your side.  NONE OF THEM ARE ON YOUR SIDE.  They make money by collecting premiums, not paying claims.   

Tuesday Excerpt, "New"

“What is the meaning of this, Tibare?” she screamed at her

brother in the front of their wagon at the tail end of the procession.

“Quiet,” he responded in a low voice. “Men have stopped us.

“They look similar to the men who Argentoe killed last week.”

Argentoe moved like a cat to the flap just behind Tibare. “How

many of them are there, and where are they located?” he asked as

he looked over the weapons at hand.

“There appear to be six men on horseback,” Tibare answered.

“Three are to the left and front of the column talking to Father.

One just passed by and is somewhere behind us, and one is

halfway down the line on each side. They all have swords.”

Argentoe somehow knew how to use all the weapons in the wagon,

but there was one that caught his eye above the others.

“I am Bloxor,” one of the men in the front announced for all to

hear. “I am what you might call the magistrate of the Knife’s

Hand. A dozen of my best men disappeared on this road about a

week ago. Now, I come to find some simple farmers towing my

men’s horses behind their wagons. It would serve you well to tell

me how you came into possession of the beasts.”

Stynard was frightened but managed to speak. “We found the

horses wandering and saw no point in letting them go unattended.”

Bloxor looked unconvinced. “So you mean to tell me that some

group butchered my men and then buried them in such a way that

the grave was hard to discover but left their horses just wandering

the plain? This soil is hard as rock. Swords would be of little use

digging a grave in it. Farmers, however, could use their tools to

make short work of the ground.”

“We did bury the bodies,” Stynard confessed. “It seemed like

the decent thing to do when we came upon them. We only covered

the sight in order to prevent scavengers from digging them up.”

Bloxor smiled knowingly. “I thought you said you found the

horses wandering. Now you say there were bodies and buried

them. What else aren’t you telling me?”

“Forgive me, Mr. Bloxor. I am frightened and left out part of

the story.”

“I examined two of the bodies,” Bloxor noted. “They died from

sword blows. You carry no swords, but I know you killed them. So

how did you manage such a feat?”

“We didn’t kill them,” the mother said as she entered the

conversation.

“Indeed?” Bloxor asked as he reached past Stynard and held his

blade to the wife’s neck. “Then tell me who did do this, and I

might let you live.”

Meanwhile in the rear of the column, the back flap of the last

wagon was disturbed from the inside. The rider covering the zone

noticed the movement and came closer. The animals tied to the

back prevented his horse from reaching the gate of the cart.

Suddenly the flap flew open, and Argentoe fired an arrow into the

throat of the man at close range, killing him silently.

Argentoe scrambled to the front of the wagon and told Tibare

not to move. After gaging the positions of the bandits on the right

and left side, it was time to act. He poked an arrow through the

front cover of the wagon, and with precision dropped the man to

the right with a shot through the neck. It was a masterful shot.

While the man could not cry out, his partner across from him saw

his companion fall and raised the alarm. “We are under attack,” he

cried.

Not having time to line up another neck blow, Argentoe took a

full draw on the bow and felled him with a shot through his

breastplate to the chest.

Sunday Excerpt, "Crucible"

The pale autumn sun meekly peaked across the world of night. Its dim light revealed a realm covered in crisp, frozen dew encasing the land with a silver-white glaze. With the onset of daybreak, the rays danced across the frost-laden landscape setting the fields aglow in a majestic prism of harmony. Half-harvested fields of corn stood as silent sentinels in the windless morning sky.

No birds were singing, as they had long departed to the south. The land was quiet and at peace. A highway between fields was sheathed in a thin layer of ice left as an unwelcome gift from the intemperate evening that had passed.

Such was the world Lord Mandrean observed as he emerged from his tent three-nights-travel from Marinhalk. His Imperial Guard had already begun to break camp and was tending their horses.

Commander Vipis personally delivered a hot tin of food to him and bowed after the exchange. “By the time you have finished eating, we will be ready to get underway again,” the Commander noted.

Mandrean observed his meal of sausage and cornbread with contempt. He knew there was little he could do about the fare and made do as he had since leaving his beloved palace. “Did any news come during the night?” he demanded as he sat on a portable chair and began to eat.

“No messengers arrived during the night,” answered Vipis. “With the conditions on the road it is unlikely any riders would attempt to navigate their way in the dark. It was a moonless night and visibility was nonexistent.”

“I do not care about ice on the roads, or moonless nights,” Mandrean yelled as he threw his plate. “I want news. Grithinshield has been gone for nearly a week and still there is not a single sighting of him or his rabble. If Tecious has men posted at all the crossings someone should have seen them by now. Even if the goblins on guard were killed we would have heard something.”

“We receive news throughout the day and there are simply no sightings,” Vipis confirmed. “Grithinshield is said to be a crafty general. He may have found a place in which to hold-up until the search dies down.”

Mandrean stroked his chin. “That is a possibility but I still think he is trying to escape. The longer he stays in the Empire, the greater his chances of being discovered. By now every town knows of the price on his head. He cannot hide for long without someone taking note.”

“Then what course of action does your Highness suggest?” Vipis asked stoically.

“We will continue to ride south with all haste to the Sorrowful Sea. There are many towns along the route where we can ask about sightings. If he has evaded detection then he must be riding cross-country. That will slow his progress. Sooner or later he will be found and I want to be there for the kill.”

Saturday Excerpt, "Quest"

With all the commotion of daily commerce, the sounds of pounding hooves from a galloping horse entering town went unnoticed.  The steed’s pace had become erratic.  It had a loose shoe and was foaming at the mouth.  The animal was ready to collapse.  Pausing for a moment upon reaching the ~ center of town, the rider produced a scroll.  He did not open it, but merely read what was written on the outside and then tried to find his bearings in the unfamiliar place.

After turning his horse around several times, the rider determined the route he must take and headed down a street.  Soon, he stopped before a great redwood and checked the inscription on the door against the writing on the scroll.  The door read, Linvin Grithinshield -# 7 Spruce Lane.  Convinced he had found his destination, the rider dismounted and tied his horse to a nearby post.  He briskly approached the door and rang the bell.

Sounds of a chair sliding across a floor could be heard from inside.  The echo of footsteps was heard coming ever nearer to the door.  It swung open, to bring the resident and rider face-to-face.

Linvin stood in the doorway, wearing a scarlet robe and a confused expression.  Outside, an exhausted young human boy was bent down with his hands on his knees in an effort to regain his breath.  He lifted only his eyes as the door opened.

“It’s quite early to be running around like this,” Linvin said with a sympathetic smile.  “What brings you to my door in such a state?”

The boy held out the scroll and said between deep breaths, “I come from the town of Fraylic; in the Human County.  An old elf there told me to deliver this to Mr. Linvin Grithinshield of Missandor by this morning at the latest.  Are you he, sir?”

“He and Iare the same,” Linvin laughed.  He took the scroll and noted the seal on the outside.  He was very familiar with the symbol impressed in the wax as it matched his own family ring.  Opening the note he found the following words:

Greetings and Salutations My Dear Nephew,

If all has gone as planned, you should be reading this on the morning of the ninth day of this month.  I shall be arriving in Missandor sometime in the evening of that day.

I need to speak with you in person about some urgent matters which will have a serious bearing on our futures.

I send this message, in advance, in order for you to prepare.  First, tell those in town and at your store that you are going away on a long trading expedition for the company.  Tell them you may be gone for as much as a year.  Pack a mule with equipment and provisions for a long journey.

I know this makes no sense right now, my Boy, but do what I say and trust in me.  The time is at hand for the moon to come out from behind the clouds.

I never have and never would lead you astray.

Your Loving Uncle,

Anvar

Beta Readers

As a writer I know there are many different parts to bringing a book to published status.  First you must write the book.  If you don’t enjoy this part then stop right here because this is the most fun activity in the process.  Then you read through it looking for errors of any type.  Next you send it to your beta reader to pick apart.  You fix the mistakes.  Then you read it again to satisfy yourself.  Finally you fill out the appropriate forms and submit your book to the publisher.  Assuming they like it or have contracted for it they will assign an editor to the manuscript.  It turns out what you thought was good was actually full of little tiny errors that you will be correcting for some time.  Then the editor always wants to put their spin on the story.  That can be helpful or turn into a fight.  In the end you have your novel; hopefully with minimal compromises.  The part of this process too many writers overlook is the beta reader.  This is a person you trust to always tell you the truth.  They read the story looking for inconsistencies and errors.  For example, “You said he was pacing.  Then on the next page you say he is getting up from his chair.   When did he sit down?”  It seems like a silly mistake but it’s easier to do than you might think when you are writing.  When you read your own work you often miss such obvious mistakes because you wrote it.  A good beta reader won’t be afraid to tell you when something is not right.  They live to find mistakes.  Sometimes they point out things that are not truly errors.  They are just written poorly and hard for the reader to understand.  That’s worth a fix right there.  It takes a certain level of maturity to handle a good beta reader.  After all, they are finding fault with your work.  As a writer you need to take the criticism constructively.  It is better to hear it from a beta reader than an editor.  This way your work looks more professional when it’s submitted.  Remember, you are not looking for a fan who will tell you how great you are.  You are looking for a critic who will tell you when you mess up.  It also tends to be helpful if they know about writing.   So all you aspiring authors out there, line up your beta reader before you start writing and things will go smoothly.   

Tuesday Excerpt, "New"

The morning after Linvin’s uninvited guest was dispatched, he

left for Fraylic as planned. Though he wore his finely tailored

clothing, his most recent brush with death forced him to fortify

himself for the journey. Linvin wore his black, dragon-scale armor

and his remarkable broadsword: Falconfeather.

This living blade housed the soul of Talana, Queen of the

Falcons. The sword was crafted from her strongest bone after her

death and was indestructible. She was light as a feather and

devastating as any blade in the world. Falconfeather was a prideful

weapon with a blood lust. Fiercely loyal, she obeyed only Linvin’s

commands to the point that the sword would permit only her

master to lift her or draw her from her scabbard.

Shrunk for convenience and discretion was the staff housing the

Red Sapphire. It adhered magically to his back but was concealed

by Linvin’s trademark crimson cloak. Linvin kept his prize close at

hand for more than one reason. Not being a magician by birth, as

all others were, Linvin needed to stay in contact with the staff in

order to channel magic with a degree of efficiency. Though

channeling magic was draining on him physically, he needed to

rely on stored reserves of magic when he was not touching the

staff. He charged his body with an increasing amount of red magic

when they were in contact and then could use it, albeit with greater

taxation, in the event that he was separated from the staff. Lord

Mandrean could not charge his body in such a way with his magic

rod.

The other reason Linvin carried it was more complex. Being left

alone offended the Red Sapphire. It was truly a living entity. Both

the Red and Blue Sapphires were created to help prove whether

good or evil was stronger when given the same power. The stone

had feelings and an ego of its own. In many ways, Linvin and the

Red Sapphire had bonded to become one mind and soul. He could

give it away no easier than he could his arm. While the marriage

was harmonious, they each maintained a certain amount of

independence. As such, the gem made it perfectly clear that it had

spent hundreds of years locked in a chest waiting to be joined with

its chosen master. With its liberation, the sapphire refused to be

left alone again.

Sunday Excerpt, "Crucible"

Mandrean led his forces now consisting of his Imperial Guard and an entire Division of goblins. They’d entered the mists and were stumbling along the plain. Though he openly criticized Necromancer’s strategy, it did not stop him from pressing his forces to their limit each day in order to gain ground on his prey. In the distance he spied a signal arrow and then another. They continued to come closer as Mandrean’s smile grew. He could tell the direction from which the signal originated and urged his forces to that course. Then he heard the horns blow.

By late in the day, a messenger arrived with word of Linvin’s sighting. Necromancer reveled in the confirmation of his viewpoint. Mandrean would give him no such praise.

Linvin was perhaps a day’s ride ahead. Mandrean wanted pressure maintained and knew how to accomplish the task. Since the goblins’ bodies ran on a two-day clock as opposed to humans’ single day custom, Mandrean ordered half of the division to continue the advance through the night. He, the other half and his Guard would rest and then overtake the main force on the following day. Mandrean was determined not to let Linvin escape again.

Saturday Excerpt, "Quest"

Linvin’s throat burned as he swallowed the drink.  “That’s quite a tonic you have there.  What is it?”

Newminor replaced the cork in the jug and sipped leisurely.  “It is called Racik.  They make it out of wild grasses and roots.  It is the native brew of my land.”

“Are you referring to the Land of the Gnomes?” Anvar inquired.

Newminor showed great offence.  “Just because it is not a sovereign nation, does not mean it is without a name,” he scolded.  “My homeland is called Letheria.  It lies deep in the heart of the Endless Mountain Range.  Hidden behind all the rock and snow is a magnificent high alpine meadow.  In its center lies Leaking Lake; a shallow pond which is free of ice only a few months of the year.  There my people have lived a hard life inthe intemperate climate.  The summer is too short and the soil too poor to grow crops.  Every spring, wild herds of all types gather to graze and mate while the water is unfrozen.  My people would have a great annual hunt for bucks.  Their meat would sustain us through the long winter.  The short-lived season would end with a great festival to celebrate the success of the hunt.  Great barrels of Racik would be aged from the previous year and brought to the festival.  When the barrels were dry, the grasses and roots from the meadow would be gathered to brew the spirits for the next year’s festivities.”

“Being so exposed to the elements, how do your people manage to survive the winter?” Linvin asked.

“The problem with a place like Letheria,” Newminor noted, “is that no amount of seclusion can keep you hidden from your neighbors forever.  With the Goblin Nations on one side of the mountains and the Mandrean Empire on the other, it was not uncommon for raiding parties from either side to descend upon the meadow.  Though we are a proud people, our numbers and resources have never been great.  Combine with that the fact that there was little wood to be found, and we chose to build our society completely underground.   Goblins and men would stumble across the land, never knowing that beneath their feet lay our city.  There, the bite of winter’s chill had no teeth.  My people were safe and could surface when the invaders had left.”

“How is it that no one ever found the entrances to the city?” Rander asked.

“Only a gnome can see the doorways,” Newminor explained.  “Living underground for so many generations, we developed much more refined sight than surface-dwellers.  We can see what you cannot.  We even see in total darkness.  Since the first tunnel was dug, only gnomes have entered Letheria.

Tuesday Excerpt, "New"

Far up in Marinhalk, Anvar found himself on a most familiar

floor of the prison roundhouse in the palace wall. He was in a

smaller cell than his previous visit, but the amenities were far

superior. His hands were shackled in order to prevent him using

his magic. All of his clothes had been removed as physicians

bandaged his wounds. Both of his arms had been broken along

with several ribs. The damage to his skull was severe enough to

warrant wrappings from his eyebrows to the back of his neck.

When the doctors were through, they dressed him in a loose fitting,

white robe.

As if on cue, Acreas arrived with spear in hand. “Is the prisoner

ready to be moved yet?” he asked.

“The elf can barely walk, Commander Acreas,” answered the

caregiver. “Now is not the time to move him about.”

“It cannot be helped,” Acreas stated. “Lord Mandrean wishes to

see the prisoner right away. I will take him to the Throne Room

now.” In moments, he sternly pulled Anvar to his feet and marched

him with a spear at his spine out of the cell and down the spiral

staircase.

Anvar was in tremendous pain but still had his wits about him.

“Officer Acreas, you can put the spear away now. I can walk very

little, and I have no use of my arms or my magic. It would be safe

to say that I am not a flight risk at this time.”

“The name is Commander Acreas, if you please,” Acreas

demanded. “I suppose the spear is unnecessary at the moment. It

was more for show and intimidation. I sense no fear from you.”

“Why should I fear at this time?” Anvar asked bluntly. “Even

with my advanced healing abilities, my wounds would have taken

my life if I had not been treated. Not only did I receive care but I

was fed as well. One does not do those things for someone they

plan to run through with a spear. Lord Mandrean has other uses for

me that require me being alive. So let us dispense with the pointy

objects. I will come without trouble.”

Acreas pulled the spear away. “My research said you were the

logical one in the group. Your logic makes sense to me.”

As they emerged from the jail to enter the courtyard of the

palace, Anvar addressed his escort again. “Research? I am

surprised the Commander of the imperial guard would research

someone like me.”

“Knowing your enemy is the best way to defeat him. I have

studied you and your family for that purpose. I have, however,

paid particular attention to your nephew Linvin Grithinshield. His

body of work is immense and required a good deal of analysis. I

have memorized his background, commerce and battlefield tactics.

If I could set my hatred of him aside for a moment, I might

actually respect his abilities. Every battle he has fought has been

against superior forces and every time, he has won. Whether he

was in Valia, the Territory or the Valley of Broken Soldiers where

he last fought, Grithinshield has used everything from the cover of

night to the morning mist and even the geography to his advantage.

He is a worthy opponent.”

Sunday Excerpt, "Crucible"

Miri walked confidently over to him and asked, “Does my appearance please you?”

Linvin looked at his cousins whose gaze was fixed on him and answered, “It is fine. Yes. Fine. Um…here. I have two ointments you may find helpful. The first is here.” He opened a large jar, which concealed a brush in its lid. The smell was horrific.

Miri plugged her nose and asked, “What is that terrible stench?”

“It is a suave made from the mearock root. Once I apply it to your back, it will cause puss to excrete from the wounds. I will bandage it. After about a day, all the moisture leaves the medicine and the hardened root flakes away. Your back will heal much better and faster. I have seldom had a chance to use it. The root only grows in the northern climates and is nearly impossible for my company to obtain in trade. It is worth more than gold.”

Miri retained her hand on her nose. “Is there perhaps one that is only worth as much as silver that might smell better?” she asked.

Linvin sighed. “Just lift up the back of your shirt and let me put this on you. If it helps, you can take solace in the fact that your hair is beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” Miri asked as she fished for compliments and lifted the back of her shirt. Linvin wiped her wounds with a thick coat of the ointment and answered, “Well, as beautiful as you can get with a horse brush.” He sliced a cotton shirt in half and pressed it against the mixture. It adhered perfectly and required no wraps. Miri lowered her shirt.

“I feel like a slice of bread covered in marmalade,” she said as she turned around. Perhaps tomorrow I will thank you but for the moment sentiments lean toward repulsion.”

Linvin sat the jar down and commented, “I can respect that. You may, however, feel differently about the next jar I have for you.” He held a much smaller vessel in his hand. “I can tell you from past experience that there is little I can do to make your ribs heal more quickly. This medicine, however, will make the situation bearable. It is actually a toxin derived from a spiked fish in the Great Eastern Ocean. If it penetrates the skin in the smallest amount, it is lethal. On the other hand, if it is applied topically it has the effect of deadening the afflicted area starting with the skin and working down to the area beneath. It is scarcely used on the battlefield due to the frequency of open wounds and its cost. In your case, however, it should provide temporary relief of your pain if rubbed over the injured ribs.”

The description Linvin gave did not inspire great confidence but Miri’s pain was substantial. If Linvin recommended the treatment, she was anxious to test it at once. She reached for the jar and Linvin pulled it back.

“Wait,” he said. “You must apply it with a cloth.” He tore as section from his shirt and handed it to her. “Whatever skin it touches will be numb for a good while. Be sure not to touch the medicine with your fingers.”

Miri heeded the warning and took the cloth. Then she went to a corner and opened the jar carefully. She dipped the tip of the rag in the liquid and lifted the front of her shirt with her back to the others. Cautiously she applied the medicine and then lowered her shirt. She closed the lid on the jar and returned to the others. “It just feels cold,” she told Linvin.

“Give it a few moments,” he responded. “Soon you will feel nothing. In the meantime why do you not join my cousins? There should be a good selection of clothing in your size. Drop the rag on the floor for now.”

Saturday Excerpt, "Quest"

“Is something wrong?” he asked.  Linvin’s face was red and his eyes stared fiercely at his uncle.

“Why did you not tell me we were going there?” Linvin demanded.  Anvar sighed.  “Just hear me out,” he pleaded with his palms outstretched.  “I did not originally plan to go there, but when I found out we were headed this way anyway, I realized it was a good opportunity to get some help that we could trust.” 

Linvin fumed, “Help?  Trust them?”

“They are family,” Anvar implored.

“Family does not treat one another as they have treated me!” Linvin snarled.

“Linvin, much time has passed and you are all adults now.  Do you not see that the odds of either one of us returning from this quest are low?  Two extra swords will double our chances.”

“They will double our chances of being stabbed in the back!” corrected Linvin.

Now Linvin could see why Anvar held back the information.  Had he known where they were headed, Linvin would not have come.

“So you just expect me to forget about all the years of fighting with them?” Linvin yelled as he pointed down the road.  “All the comments they have made!  All the vile things they have done to my parents and me!  You are asking me to forgive those who terrorized my childhood.  You are asking me to forgive those who would never forgive me.”

Anvar put his hand on Linvin’s shoulder and replied softly, “Yes I am, Linvin.  I am asking you to be the bigger man.  I am asking you to look at the bigger picture and let go of your hate.  I am asking you to offer them your hand in peace, knowing full well what has transpired between you.  Like it or not, you need them.  The master of the Red Sapphire will need to know how to swallow his pride for the greater good.”

“What you ask is not as simple as blowing out a candle,” Linvin stated as he looked into the distance to disguise a tear.  “They never gave me a chance.  I was never treated fairly.  You were there.  Do you not  understand why I hate them?”

“It is only natural that you hold resentment,” Anvar said while stroking his long, flowing beard.  “I bore witness to the reunions and holidays where you were mistreated.  I heard the horrible things said to your parents.  Your father, as you may recall, viewed them with the same contempt that you do.  Even I have been ashamed to call them family at times.  Still, they are family.  They are our one best hope of aid.  You must put your feelings aside and try to sway them to join us.”

Canned Laughs

I think everyone has pet peeves.  I stumbled across one of mine the other day and it has been festering ever since.  In order to spend some quality time with my wife I sat through a cooking show that reminded me of something I despise.  Four “Chefs” or “Cooks” or whatever you want to call them were on this rooftop all alone cooking recipes.  As they added ingredients I heard the audience go “Oooo”, “Ah” and then cheer and applaud when the dish was finished.  THERE WAS NO AUDIENCE!  It was all canned.  Some sound editor took the film of this and added all those noises as cues for the television audience to make similar noises.  You see this all the time on television.  Unless a sitcom says it was filmed before a live studio audience then it has been filled with canned laughs and audience reaction.  Think about it.  Most of the comedies out there have the audience laughing at just the right spots.  Every joke hits home.  Pay attention to someone watching the show sometime.  They will react exactly how the prompts on the show tell them to react.  The canned laughs are cues and it has gone on since before I was born.  On an intellectual level I feel insulted that I have to be told when to laugh or cheer or whatever the scene calls for.  On an emotional level I’m offended that I’m treated like a sheep being herded.  My oldest brother always told me that live performances were always better.  It is true of musicians, actors and comedians.  Let’s face it.  You know the joke was good when the comedian has to wait for the audience to calm down before proceeding.  You know the play was excellent when the cast gets a standing ovation.  And who hasn’t screamed their lungs out at a good concert so the band would return to play an encore?  I’d even settle for the days when Ed McMahan would laugh at whatever Johnny Carson would say on the Tonight Show.  At least it was real.  Maybe that’s why I enjoy books.  Everything is inside your head so there’s no one telling you to laugh or be sad.  I watch television and there’s nothing wrong with it.  However, if I am going to watch a program with the sounds of an audience, I’d just as soon they come from a real one.    

New Excerpt

In a rocker near the door sat an old elf of unremarkable size

puffing a long pipe. His hair was that cross of silver and gray,

which proved to be so difficult to determine. A slowly sloping

beard extended from his face past his stomach. His stature was

small even by elf standards. The elf’s grand blue eyes were

captivated by the sunset over the city as seen through the orchards

in the back yard and did not notice Linvin’s entrance.

Linvin looked at the nearby table and found a tea setting with

one cup poured and another overturned on its saucer, waiting for

use. “No ale, Anvar?”

The elf’s concentration was broken, and he regarded Linvin. He

set his pipe down hastily and leapt to his feet. The two men

embraced for a long, respectful moment. Linvin held his closest

family member and dearest friend.

“My boy,” Anvar said with tears of joy. “It has been far too

long since we saw one another. I would offer you a pint of ale, but

that stubborn butler of yours refuses to tap a keg without your

permission.”

Linvin released his uncle and poured himself a cup of tea. “You

know better than to cross Theisen. This may be my home, but he

runs it his way. For right now, tea will suit me just fine.” Linvin

sat down in the rocker next to Anvar’s. The old elf returned to his

seat and pipe as a servant brought Linvin his own.

Once the servant had left, Linvin chided his uncle. “I say would

you be good enough to light this for me?”

Anvar looked humorously annoyed. “You do not need me to

light that, Boy.”

“Of course not,” Linvin agreed. “But it is more enjoyable to

watch you do it.”

Anvar squinted at his favorite nephew but could not help but

oblige him. He tapped his forefinger in midair and a small ray of

orange magic flew in a line directly to Linvin’s pipe and lit the

tobacco.

Linvin took a long drag and blew a smoke ring. Then he

dropped a lemon slice in his tea and took a sip. “Thank you for

that, Anvar. So tell me, what is new in Fraylic?”

Anvar relaxed and returned to his own pipe. “What can I say,

my boy? The money flows and the population grows. I imagine

business is good?”

“That would seem to be the case from the ledgers I have read. I

am auditing the main store and the company as a whole tomorrow

while meeting with the accountant and banker. After that, I have

an audience with the king and assembly to address some matters.”

Linvin stopped as if there was more to say but instead just drew on

his pipe and watched the sunset.

Anvar scrutinized him carefully. His jovial expression changed

just as his nephew’s had. Then he noticed the armor and sword.

“You have not worn arms since our return from our trek to the

north. What has happened?”

Linvin rubbed his face with his hand as he was prone to do

while searching for the right words. “I had another visitor the night

before leaving Missandor.”

Anvar’s face became solemn as he peered forward and spoke in

a low, monotone voice while rocking. “From your appearance

here, you are no worse for wear. Was it a male or female this

time?”

“Male.”

“Did you get a name?” asked Anvar.

“Five. That was all he would say. He made it all the way to my

bedroom.”

“That is the sixth assassin since our return,” Anvar noted. “Do

you have any idea whom we have to thank for all of the visitors?”

“I have many guesses,” Linvin answered. “Clearly, the same

party is behind them all. That party is well funded and obsessed

with killing me without stirring up trouble with Sartan. I know it

sounds insane, but this is just the line of thinking of Lord

Mandrean.”

“How can you say that?” queried Anvar. “We do not even know

who the new Lord Mandrean is or what he is like.”

“That, good uncle, is the insane part. It feels like the work

of Lord Mandrean the Thirteenth.”

“How could that be? You killed him in the valley. Maybe his

successor was like his father?”

“Perhaps,” Linvin said as he sipped his tea. “Something just

feels familiar about all this. I cannot shake this feeling that my old

nemesis haunts me still.” Both men were quiet for some time

before Theisen appeared in the doorway to announce that dinner

was served.

Sunday Excerpt, "Crucible"

Mandrean gave a nod to Fendri. Then the House Master stood and proclaimed. “The court is dismissed.” There was a good deal of mumbling as the courtiers exited the hall. Soon only Mandrean, Fendri, Gramlick and a hand full of guards remained. Mandrean snapped his fingers and the guards left.

With only the three individuals left, Mandrean approached Gramlick. “I have a special task for you, my Teacher. Maxion is as crooked as a tree-branch in the wind. You will stay here and see to it no coup is attempted in my absence. Furthermore, there are many displaced citizens who are likely hungry and cold. See the issue is handled.”

“How will I enforce your authority when Maxion has a Legion at his command?” Gramlick asked.

Mandrean held out his open palm and had it immediately filled by an envelope bearing his seal. “These orders give you the right to act in my stead. I have personally sent for a Legion of your men to camp just outside of town. They will be here tomorrow. Your soldiers will beat Maxion’s any day.”

“Then why leave Maxion here at all?” Gramlick asked. “I could have handled this alone.”

“I am testing him,” Mandrean explained. “He will not know of your forces and his allegiance will be proven in the coming days. He also has recent experience with handling rebellious people. You, on the other hand, will see to it the people are here when I return. Now go to your quarters and take some rest.”

Mandrean could see his former tutor playing through scenarios in his head as he limped from the room. Only Fendri and Mandrean remained. The emperor turned to the Master of his House and handed him six envelopes.

“What are these,” Fendri asked as he looked at the seals.

“These are orders I want you to personally deliver to Numbers One through Six,” Mandrean said slyly.

“To the concubines?” Fendri asked.

“No,” answered Mandrean grimly. “You know of whom I speak.”

Fendri paused a moment as he realized to whom his master was referring. “If I may be so bold, My Master, what do these orders say?”

Mandrean smiled and answered, “They are insurance. If I wanted you to read them, they would not have been sealed. Take heart in the fact I would not have given them to you if I thought you would open them. The less you know the better you will be, Fendri.”

“Now, I must vanquish a rat my forces are in the process of trapping. With his death dawns the birth of a Mandrean Empire that shall rule the world. I bid you goodbye, Dear Fendri.”

Mandrean strode toward the door. Fendri looked at the sealed orders and then at his master. “Manenvious,” he called out. Mandrean stopped mid-stride and turned angrily to view his friend. “Remember the first thing Gramlick taught you,” Fendri reminded. “’Never underestimate your opponent.’” Mandrean snorted in disgust and left the room.

Saturday Excerpt

“Let me tell you the details,” Anvar told him.  “The Red Sapphire has been around since before time began.  Whenever evil gained supremacy in the world, the stone would find a new champion to wield its power.  He would use its might to take up the fight for those who could not defend themselves.

“Such vast amounts of magic could that person dispense that he could ravage lands, lay waste to armies and strike down those who would oppress.  It was just as the staff told you, ‘One can save many; one can make all the difference.”

“The last time the gem was seen was at the end of the last dark age.  As you know, there were no written records at the time, but the last story I heard told was that the bearer was so powerful that he could even fly!  In the final climactic battle, he used the magic at his command to drop a mountain on an opposing army, utterly destroying it.”

“A mountain?” Linvin said in disbelief.  “That sounds quite ridiculous.”

“Well,” Anvar said, “if you consider that the stories were told for hundreds of years, from one fireside to another, there was undoubtedly some exaggeration.  Consider that if only the smallest measure of the stories were true, the power you seek could affect the course of world events.  However, it may be that the power you seek could be used to serve a darker purpose, with a different master.  Should a person of a diabolical nature gain such power, it could prove to be the end of our world as we know it.”

“The staff and stone know who they want to use them.  They know that to effectively use that power, the bearer would have to be brave, powerful, intelligent, pure of heart and well-schooled in military and world affairs.  Such a man would even need to be wise in the ways of commerce.  Through such a man, the power of the Red Sapphire would be most utilized for the greater good.  How many men can you think of that match all of those criteria?  I can only think of you, my boy.

“So I ask you, after all that I have said, do you still doubt that this destiny has been laid before you?”

Linvin rubbed his chin and paused, “But it was ultimately my choice to go on this quest.”

“Indeed it was,” agreed Anvar.  “There will always be a choice.  The doorway may be placed before you, but only you can step inside.  It is what you do with this opportunity that falls into the realm ~ of choice.  You could have chosen to conceal yourself from your would-be assailants, but you chose to embrace your destiny.”

“So you are saying that everything happens for a reason, but I am the one who must figure that reason out and choose to act on it?” Linvin asked.

Anvar sifted the summation through his mind and said, “That is correct.  Destiny and choice mean nothing without one another.  If an opportunity is there, but you choose not to take advantage, then where are you?  Likewise, if you are prepared and willing to do something, but the opportunity never appears, then once again you are nowhere. Aren’t preparation and opportunity coming together the real meaning of luck?  So as a comment about your first statement, it was indeed luck that we have the staff.”

Time To Read

I blinked and now it’s September.  You wouldn’t know it from the scene outside.  The temperature is in the 90s.  The trees and grass are green.  And the cars are still being parked outside their garages.  But there are subtle reminders of what is to come.  The kids are back in school.  I saw my first Halloween ad.  All the stores are running big patio furniture clearance sales.  Football is back.  Labor Day is just around the corner which always feels like the official end of summer.  While summer is nice and all, we must not fear the approach of fall.  It brings its own rewards.  There is the first frost when my allergies suddenly get better.  We can rake leaves and let the kids jump in the pile. (Watch for sticks)  There is Halloween to look forward to with all the fun.  And most importantly, it’s a great time to curl up with a good book.  Everyone’s tastes are different but I’m sure you can find something to your liking.  I humbly suggest my first book, “Quest for the Red Sapphire.” http://amzn.to/1npYd0S   It takes you away to another world where swordplay and sorcery abound.  If you have read some of my work then try the newest novel, “Mandrean Revenge.” http://amzn.to/1L9c76S  This is a shorter book with all of the above and some romance thrown in for good measure.  Whatever you choose, just take the time to enjoy the book and if there’s time, read another.  Just remember if you’re downloading to do so legally from a site like Amazon.  Stay away from all those nasty viruses and spyware.

New Excerpt

Necromancer first tested the theory that the best hiding place

was in plain sight. He examined a bin of staffs by the door. There

was nothing out of the ordinary about any of them. Angered, he

used his magic to toss furniture around and search the kitchen,

bedrooms, attic and cellar. With the interior of the house

destroyed, Necromancer returned to the living room and cast an

exasperated glare at his prisoner.

“No luck yet?” Anvar asked. “What a pity! I am sure you would

tear this entire house apart were it not for the fact that it would

draw too much attention from the neighbors. What a mess you

have created for yourself!”

Necromancer hovered quickly to Anvar’s side. “Do you think I

fear them or anyone? I will do what I must, and I will complete my

mission. You act so smug knowing full well that I will find it.”

Anvar managed a smile. “At least I am a free man. How has life

as a slave treated you? Confined to this wretched existence you are

but a shadow of your former self. And a small shadow at that.”

Necromancer became infuriated and crashed Anvar through the

ceiling of his house and then smashed him back through another

place, stopping just above the floor. “I may not be allowed to kill

you, but I can still make you suffer.”

Anvar’s wounds were mounting to lethal levels, but he would

not give up the information or the verbal assault. “You might as

well give up,” he said painfully. “All your years in slavery have

dulled your wit. Perhaps now I have regained that respect I lost

earlier.”

Necromancer responded by diving his prisoner through the

floor. The floorboards shattered and revealed a space between the

floor and the ground. The mighty wizard gestured Anvar out of the

way and examined the area. With haste, he began ripping out the

boards with his magic until he found what he sought. There had

been a hidden compartment in the floor. Just under the wood was a

staff looking exactly like Linvin’s and a stash of gold.

Necromancer levitated the staff to his hand.

He examined the piece as Anvar spoke in a somber voice. “You

have won. For what do you need me alive?”

Necromancer paid him no attention. “This is masterful

workmanship,” he said as he examined the staff. “It must have

taken quite a skilled artisan to create such a compelling fabrication

of the real artifact.”

Anvar looked distressed. “That cannot be. Dirk assured me that

he had given me the blue staff for safe keeping. It must be real or

else I have endured all of this for nothing.”

Necromancer cast the staff aside. “Brilliant acting job,” he told

Anvar during a slow, insincere clap. “Most people would have

believed you, but I know that the staff is a living entity. It should

have been angered by my contact with it, but I felt no such being

present.

“You planted this here in case someone was looking for it.

When they found this, they should have left your home. You even

surrounded the forgery with gold to reinforce the fact that the

searcher had indeed found the hiding place. It was a well-conceived

plan but not sufficient to fool me. If I were to guess, the

last place an intruder would look for the real prize is underneath

the fake.”

With of a wave of his hand, Necromancer made the wood under

the gold disappear. The coins fell, and the wizard moved to see

what he had found. A long object the same length of the staff laid

at the bottom of the hole, wrapped completely in cloth.

Necromancer summoned the item to him. Reaching beneath the

fabric, he contacted the staff. Moments later he smiled his fiendish

grin that Anvar despised so intently. “Your failure to outwit me is

complete. You have lost.”