Sunday 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 goingthere?” 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 ~ 202 ~

 

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?”

Odd Questions

Today is a question day.  I just have some questions swimming around in my head.  My first question is: why do all people look better in sunglasses.  Have you ever noticed that?  I am not photogenic but in the few pictures I feel I look good in I am wearing sunglasses.  You can look at celebrities or normal people.  If there is a picture of them with and without sunglasses, they always, always, always look better in the shades.  Why is that?  It was a point brought up to me by a friend years ago about Billy Joel.  She said she thought he was handsome, but only when he wore his sunglasses on stage.  Therefore I have decided to name this the “Billy Joel Effect.”  Are we intimidated by other people’s eyes?  Back in school I took a Persuasion class.  (Yes, it’s a class.)  One of the things I learned was that humans are subconsciously attracted to wide eyes.  That is the reason turning down the lights in romantic situations is so effective.  If I extrapolate, it could be said that the Billy Joel Effect is caused by what look like big eyes.  I admit it’s a stretch but it’s the best answer I could figure out.  Next.  When you fill out an application for something and it asks what sex you are, it usually says it doesn’t have any bearing on the result.  If that is so then why do they ask the question?  If it doesn’t matter that I’m a man, then why go there?  There must be a quota or government benefit we aren’t told about.  It just seems like an odd question if it has no meaning.  Moving on.  Can anyone describe that new car smell?  Why is it so intoxicating?  Admit it.  When you get in a new car at the dealer the first thing you do is breathe in deeply.  That smell just makes you want to take the car home.  A friend who sold cars told me they actually spray that scent in the cars.  So what is it?  Is it some pheromone attracting us on a subconscious level?  Perhaps it triggers an effect of excitement?  Whatever the smell is, it is there on purpose and I can’t even describe it to you.  Lastly, when you’re out for dinner, why do women go to the bathroom together?  Men NEVER go to the bathroom together.  I wrote a paper in college hypothesizing that there is actually a bar in the lady’s room and tables for massages.  After all, I don’t go in the lady’s room so I don’t know.  There could be a whole different world in there men don’t know about.  Or maybe they just want to talk about us.  I like the bar idea better.    

Tuesday Excerpt, "Revenge"

Linvin placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the view.

Ascending stands rose on the right and left of him holding the

elected assemblymen. King Trigonan sat impatiently on his throne

before Linvin and was the first to speak.

“Good day to you, Lord Grithinshield. Or should I say, ‘good

evening’? I am told you kept me and this entire body waiting while

you counted your money. Is this so?”

Linvin chuckled with no sign of intimidation and responded,

“As with all lies and hearsay, there is a morsel of truth to your

statement. I was managing a conflict within my company, and the

parties took longer to settle their differences than I had expected.

My tardiness in no way reflects my respect for you or this body. If

I have offended anyone in this great room, I am truly sorry. Should

you wish it, I will take leave of you and set another appointment

whenever I happen into town again.”

The king’s expression changed from mild anger to frightened

alarm. “There is no need to reschedule, Lord Grithinshield. We

were merely eager to seek your council on some matters.”

“Then, by all means,” Linvin said as he moved closer to

Trigonan. “Let us talk. I see that you have decided to increase the

size of the army as I had suggested. Have you settled on a troop

level?”

The king looked to his advisors and then answered, “There is

not a set number in mind, but we want to be prepared in case we

need to summon our militia if war arises.”

“Militia,” Linvin repeated with repulsion. “Do you mean to tell

me you have purchased arms for an army you have not and do not

intend to raise?”

An anonymous voice from one of the stands cried out, “Armies

cost money and are of little use unless there is war. They simply

drain the treasury. What is your complaint, Grithinshield? You are

being well paid. Isn’t that what this was all about?”

Linvin glared angrily at the boisterous mob. “Once again it

seems my words are misunderstood. The Mandreans are a

significant threat to our national security. Militias carrying even

the finest weapons are no match for trained legions. Did you not

heed my warning two years ago?”

Trigonan raised his hand to silence the assembly. “Lord

Grithinshield, this room took your words most seriously when you

were last here. In the time since, we have taken measures to assure

our continued safety from the Mandrean threat.”

Linvin produced the staff holding the Red Sapphire and stood at

attention. “Exactly what steps have you taken?”

The king looked nervously at his cabinet and then spoke.

“Aside from the afore-mentioned arms buildup, we have begun

paring down Thornhaven Forest.”

Linvin’s eyes widened at the utterance. “Exactly how much

have you ‘paired down’ the forest?”

King Trigonan stood tall with his hands behind his back and

spoke as he paced before his throne. “We have created a highway

wide enough to march two-hundred men abreast straight into the

Unclaimed Territory. The forest is no longer a barrier for us.”

“Or them,” fumed Linvin. “The very fact that Thornhaven was

virtually impenetrable to an army was what saved our nation the

last time we tangled with the Mandreans. Now you clear a road

they could easily use to invade Sartan. And rather than train an

army of sufficient size to protect us, you plan to rely on militia?”

Sunday Excerpt, "Crucible"

Necromancer once again hovered down the makeshift hallway toward his seat. “I only did so at the request of his Eminence. As you know, I cannot refuse his commands. Still, you are right. I did destroy the doors to free our beloved Emperor after that scoundrel Grithinshield imprisoned him in his own throne room. After that I had nothing to do with Linvin grating the Imperial Standard in the hall, destroying that beautiful staircase, killing all those soldiers, skewering the Head Jailor, freeing the Princess of Romadon, demolishing the top of the tower and torching our Capital. No General, I cannot take credit for those acts. Oh, by the way. If you intend to send any messages, I would wait. It would seem our former guest ran off the horses at the message depot and killed the guards.” The smug sorcerer quietly sat on his small, backless chair.

Necromancer’s comments refueled the fire burning inside Mandrean who stormed over to address his servant. “You have questions to answer here as well.”

In his usual sarcastic tone Necromancer answered. “As always, I am at your disposal.”

“Why did you not tell me the Red Sapphire would not serve me, but it would kill me if I touched it with so much as a finger?” Mandrean demanded. “Perhaps you wanted me dead? Maybe that was your plan all along? That would suit your purposes well, would it not?”

Necromancer casually raised a hand and waived it in his master’s face as if the notion was laughable. “Come now Most Magnificent One. You know I cannot do you harm in any way. I also cannot lie to you.”

“You did lie to me.”

“I did no such thing,” Necromancer corrected. “I read on the chest the Red Sapphire resided within its right side and its master would have incredible power. You insinuated from those statements you could be its master. Nowhere in the writings did it say only Linvin could wield the gem. There was no lie in my statements.”

“Perhaps not,” Mandrean retorted. “I sense an omission of the full story in your details.”

Necromancer changed the subject as he looked at the pawns. “Just how do you plan your revenge against Linvin for his crimes against you, My Emperor?”

Saturday Excerpt, "Quest"

Linvin was astounded at Anvar’s condition.  “You are unaffected by the Racik?”

“On the contrary,” Anvar explained, “I could tell from the first sip that the drink was more than I could handle.”

“But I saw you drinking all night,” Linvin protested.

“Indeed you did,” Anvar answered.  “You saw me drinking water.  Newminor was so preoccupied with you that he took no notice of me dumping his liquor and refilling my cup with water.  I see that you took a similar approach to the evening’s festivities.”

Linvin nodded.  “He was far too sharp of an individual to match wits with in an altered state.”

“He was sharp,” Anvar agreed, “but I did not trust him.  His blatant attempt to intoxicate the group made me suspect that he had an unseen motive.  That motive had become quite clear with the sunrise.”

“He was clearly a thief,” Linvin recounted, “but I cannot help but wonder if there was more to his charge than he told.  What if he was sent to get the key?”

Anvar stretched and then searched the saddlebags for some pork.  “As odd as it sounds,” he began, “I believed him. The key was the only item of value he could find to take.  He admitted to being a thief, and I think there is little more to his story.  Besides that, with our sentry performing a lackluster job, he could have easily returned in the night and stolen it again or even killed us all.  He did neither.  By the moonlight, your heart told you to set him free.  Why would the sunlight tell you differently?”

As opinionated as ever, Anvar restored Linvin’s faith in his decision to spare the gnome.  Deep in the recesses of Linvin’s mind, he held an unwilling admiration for Newminor.  The gnome was a person who said what many others may have thought but would not dare to speak.  Instead of following the herd, he struck out on his own without a heading.  Rather than fret about the future, he viewed it with anticipation.  Such a carefree existence pushed Linvin beyond admiration into the realm of envy.

Who Gets Credit

Something I have never understood are credits for creating the arts.  Books are nice and simple.  X person wrote the book and Y did the illustrations.  Then Z came along and published it.  Nice, clean and simple.  Everyone knows where they stand and what piece of the pie they get at the end of the day.  Movies are all together another thing.  They often say “Based on the novel by X.”  I think they do that to remind people how simple the process was before they started.  I always watch Marvel movies to the end of the credits for the secret extra scene.  When you sit there and watch how many people are involved in making the movie it makes your head spin.  By the way, what is a ‘Best Boy’ anyway?  It sounds like a good job.  But why aren’t there ‘Best Girls’?  I’m sure there’s a story behind it that’s not nearly as entertaining as the ones I can think of for the title.  Getting back to point, it is amazing how many people get credit on a movie.  If someone ate a bagel in the corner on the set, he’s probably listed under ‘Bagel Eater’.  Music is still another animal.  They give less credit than is deserved.  You will like a song and it will give credit to one person for writing it.  So they’re saying that one person wrote the words, the drum piece, the guitar, the bass and the keyboards for that song?  Who is this guy?  He’d have to be a musical genius.  There are a few people who can actually do all that but I emphasize the word FEW.  Most of the time someone wrote the words and maybe a bit of the music.  Then a band filled in the rest of the song.  Why don’t they get any credit?  Think of all the songs with guitar solos and the guitarist is not listed in the credits.  Surely he wrote at least that piece.  Why does he not get credit for his labors?  Take the song, “November Rain” by Guns N Roses.  Axl Rose is given full credit for writing the song.  There are, however, 2 guitar solos within that were clearly written by their lead guitarist, Slash (I didn’t make up the names).  Even with a ‘thank you’ in the credits, his name is not listed as a writer and so his royalties will not be forthcoming.  Does that sound wrong to anyone else?  Music has different rules.  I’m glad I write books.  Everything else is too complicated.    

Tuesday Excerpt, "Revenge"

Necromancer had seen the room many times before and was not

impressed. “First you disturb my work with that imbecile you sent

to fetch me,” he called out. “Then I come all the way over here to

find out just what insignificant thing has you disturbed, and you

are hiding in steam you created yourself. Waste no more of my

time, Master.” He turned to leave.

“I don’t believe I like that tone of voice,” said a man through

the mist. The sounds of water sloshing back and forth in a bath

echoed through the room.

“What difference does my tone make?” Necromancer barked.

“No one said I am required to be polite to you. Now get on with

your reason for bringing me here.”

“Come closer.”

Necromancer drew nearer to the voice until its origin came into

view. In the largest bath of all sat a man of great size being washed

by several female servants in the water and out. In all, there were

six of them cleansing the man.

Though a broad man, he did not appear extraordinarily

muscular. He had perhaps 10 years, several inches and many

pounds on Linvin. The weight was not well distributed. It

concentrated in his belly, which was decorated with stretch marks.

A large and hideous scar highlighted the region. It was indeed

Lord Mandrean the 13th.

“Are you sure you have enough women to bathe you?”

Necromancer asked sarcastically.

“Actually, one of my servants is not here. She is with child. But

the baby will be here soon. It will not be long before she returns to

my service.”

“I’m sure she would be moved by your excitement at becoming

a father…again. Your concern for her is indeed moving. And your

Grace continues to demonstrate his concern by bouncing back

quickly from such a troubled heart.”

Mandrean was visibly angered by Necromancer’s attitude

toward the transgression. He gestured for his bathers to leave and

spoke once they were gone. “You are a fine one to lecture me on

such things. My concubines mean as little to me as all of humanity

does to you. I will forgive your insolent tone for I have business to

discuss,” Mandrean sneered.

Necromancer found the statement to be humorous in the way

one would when being scolded by a witless child. He did not point

that out, however, as he chose his battles wisely and saw nothing

to gain from an exchange of barbs.

“What can I do to be of service, Sire?”