I was born and educated in the north west of England. I trained as a teacher in Manchester and taught in Salford, Lancashire, Hampshire and Croydon. I write fantasy novels currently. I also make cards, knit, crochet, tat, do cross stitch and
paint. I enjoy walking on the Downs, cycling and kayaking. I do not enjoy housework, but like cooking.
I‘ve shared some of my Mum’s poetry with you before, so I thought I’d post this one of hers about the River Dee. The one in Wales, not the Scottish one!
Just imagine you’re with me Along the banks of the River Dee. Such beautiful sights you then will see From Bala Lake to Connah’s Quay.
Gracefully she flows along From her source at Bala Lake On through the beautiful ‘Land of Song’ Her journey she doth make.
On she goes through Corwen Town Her ripples quietly stirring, As slowly, majestically, she moves down To the foaming falls at Berwyn.
A wonderful scene which doth never fail To convey a calm and sweet repose As through the beautiful sunlit vale And under Llangollen’s bridge she flows.
Tirelessly on o’er Cefn’s smooth rock The viaduct and aqueduct are here. On to pretty Erbistock Past its Inn, Church, Mill and Weir.
Overton Bridge, what a lovely sight. Here you hear wonderful tales Of how, for salmon, they had to fight, The fishermen of Wales.
Historic Bangor she now leaves Here the monks fought their foes. Serenely weaving her way she goes Through green Worthenbury meadows.
The place which she now comes upon Was surely made for fairies. Lovely Holt and quaint Farndon Famed for their strawberries.
Leaving the scenery of Wales For the land of the ‘Gentlemen Merry’ To see the launch that daily sails And turns at Eccleston Ferry.
Past the vast estates of Westminster The banks they look so pretty, As busily she enters Chester; The ancient cathedral city.
Twisting around the famous Roodee Back to Wales again she goes. Queensferry Bridge, Shotton, Connah’s Quay And into the estuary she flows.
Where e’er you go in this whole, wide world By car, coach, sea or rails. Like the river, you will return and say, “There’s nowhere quite like Wales”
I hope you enjoyed my Mum’s poem. Although born and bred in England, she always had a love of Wales. She lived many years on the border, on a farm not far from the River Dee. In fact it flowed through the farm lands. We used to take a picnic down to the river in the summer.
For some of the distance the river marks the border between England and Wales, and when we had our picnics, we were in England, but the other side was Wales.
I heard a story that during the ban on travel from England to Wales, a person drove across the bridge in Farndon to pick up a takeaway just on the other side. Sadly that was in Wales and they got fined for crossing the border!
If you enjoyed my Mum’s poem, please leave a comment in the comments box.
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The door opened and Mabryl entered shaking his cloak out as he did so. ‘It’s cold out there and it’s turning to snow if I’m not much mistaken. Unusual this far south.’
He hung his cloak on a stand by the door before turning to his three apprentices. ‘Have you finished the tasks I set you?’
Carthinal walked to the fire and added a fresh log to the flames. ‘Come and get warm, and, no I’ve not finished. I can’t settle down to anything until I hear about whether I can take the tests soon. Emmienne has finished though. I can’t say about Tomac.’
‘Nearly,’ Tomac jumped from his chair and carried his workbook to his master. ‘I was a little stuck on the moon phases though. It’s complicated trying to work out both moons at the same time.’
‘Stick to it, youngster,’ Emmienne said from the window seat. She smiled at the younger boy, the smile lighting up her otherwise plain face. ‘I had problems too, but it comes eventually.’
Tomac groaned and went back to his seat.
Mabryl strode to the fire and held his hands out to the blaze. ‘I’ve made what I think might be a big discovery. Perhaps the most important one for many years. Look.’ He strode over to his cloak and pulled something from a pocket.
It was a book. He carefully paced it on the table.. ‘It could be a spell book from before the Forbidding.’
Emmienne gasped. ‘That is old, and if it is, we’ll be able to find lost spells. You’ll be famous, Sir.’
‘Calm down, Emm. It might not be the spell-book of a magister, or even an arch-mage.’ Carthinal smiled at her. ‘It might have the spells we already know and not any of the lost ones.’
Carthinal picked up the book Mabryl had bought and began to leaf through it. He could not understand what was written there. It was in an archaic script and language and he was, as yet, only an apprentice. He had not the knowledge to understand more than a limited number of spells.
Frowning, he tried to read the words on the page. He lifted the book from the table to take it nearer to the light when a loose page fell to the floor. He stooped to pick it up and realised he could read it, and it was not a page fallen out, but a note that had been inserted. He took it to the window seat and sat down next to Emmienne.
‘What’s that?’ She strained to read it upside down.
‘I’m not sure.’ Carthinal wrinkled his brow. ‘It fell out of the book Mabryl bought but it’s not the same writing, nor is it in the same archaic script. It’s a note of some kind.’ He paused to read it.
Mabryl noticed the paper Carthinal held. ‘What have you got there?’
‘It fell out of the book you bought. It doesn’t seem to be by the author of the book. It’s in a more modern script that I can read. It doesn’t make much sense though.’ He handed it to his Master, who read it, then read it again, this time out loud.
‘“When Kalhera descends from the mountains, and orcs once more roam the land, When impossible beasts occur and the Never-Dying man is once more at hand, Then the Sword that was lost must once more be found; only it can destroy the threat And kill the immortal mortal to balance out his debt.”
Mabryl frowned. ‘How can Kalhera descend from the mountains? She’s a god and the gods don’t come to Vimar.’
He turned the page in his hand and saw some more writing on the back. ‘This says it’s a quotation from something the writer heard. The author says he visited the Oracle on Holy Island and was told that the Oracle had said this earlier, but to no one in particular. Only the attendants were present.’ He replaced the paper in the book on the table.
Emmienne picked the paper up and examined it. ‘Not only the stuff about Kalhera, but none of it makes sense, Sir. Orcs haven’t been seen in Grosmer for hundreds of years. And what are impossible beasts?’’
‘What is the Sword that was lost, and how can a man never die?’ Tomac took the paper from Emmienne.
Mabryl answered his question. ‘I can tell you about the Sword. I think that refers to Sauvern’s Sword. King Sauvern lived centuries ago and united the six warring kingdoms of Grosmer. He was supposed to have a magical sword, but the whereabouts of both sword and Sauvern’s tomb have been lost to history.’
‘I must take the book to a colleague of mine in the Mage Tower. She’s working on finding the old spells and this might be of use to her. The loose note might be a prophecy if it came from the Oracle, but who knows when it was made? It could be it was centuries ago—or yesterday. And it could refer to a time well in the future or even in the past. We should ignore it for now. Lillora says our lunch is ready, so I suggest we go to the table before she gets mad.’
Tomac muttered to Carthinal. ‘It still doesn’t make sense. Immortal mortal? That’s a contradiction. And if he’s immortal, how can he be killed?’
Need something to read over the Easter holidays? You can find out more about the Sword and where it is by reading The Wolf Pack, which is FREE for today and tomorrow. (ebook version only) Get your copy before it’s too late. Just click on the title or the cover in the side bar.
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It was with great sadness that I learned of the passing of Sue. Although this had been expected, it is nonetheless a most sorrowful day.
I did not know Sue personally, but her writing and her philosophy of life struck a chord in me, and in many others. The Blogosphere is a darker place now her light has gone.
I wrote this poem as a tribute to her. I was a bit reluctant to post it, knowing how wonderful Sue’s writing was, but then I thought, “It’s the least I can do for her.”
So here it is.
Sue Vincent
14th September 1958 – 29th March 2021
R.I.P
A TRIBUTE TO SUE VINCENT
Her light has gone; Gone from the world. So brightly it shone Now darkness unfurls.
The stars in the heavens Are happy tonight, For she dances for aeons In their beautiful light.
She was sent to us all To teach us to see The wonders abounding On Earth, Air and Sea.
Her wonderful writing Prose and Poetry Made us look around At the flower and tree.
Of the hidden world, too, She gave us to see Of what lies in secret In church, hill and lea.
But she has not left us. There are books we can read. We can still learn much from her If her wisdom we heed.
Perhaps in the future One day she’ll return And carry on teaching Those who will learn.
Today I thought I’d give you a look at one of the countries of the UK. Scotland is beautiful, and the people friendly. I hope you enjoy these pictures.
These photos were all taken on a visit in 1980
We have booked to go in May, fingers crossed for Covid-19!
The only trouble with Scotland is the weather, It’s unreliable, to say the least. You can have glorious weather with high temperatures, or it can be wet and cold. And on alternate days, too!
On this holiday we intend to spend a couple of days in Orkney. I’m quite excited about that.
Have you been to Scotland? Many Americans have Scottish roots, I know, so if you are one of them (or even a Scot in the rest of the UK) have you visited the land of your ancestors?
Please let me know in the comments box.
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Way back at the start of winter, I engaged in an old Slavic tradition and collected materials from around my neighborhood to construct an effigy of Morana, Goddess of Winter. I used natural materials gathered from the forest and a couple of rubber bands to hold it together. Morana has sat in the room close to my desk since then.
Then yesterday, on the Spring Equinox, I continued that tradition. After meditating and invoking Morana over the three winter moons, it was time to say goodbye.
This is the last of the Echo books and it is a mind-bending experience reading it. It takes Atriya to the final showdown, but along the way he must face up to who he is and what life is all about.
Blurb
The final volume in the Echo series chronicles Crusader Atriya’s time in Mandala City. As Atriya crafts his mind into a psionic arsenal, he realises that no weapon—no matter how fantastic—will be enough to defeat the Regent. The only way he stands a chance is by vanquishing the ignorance within himself.
Story
Atriya has finally found his way to the city of Mandala. Here he meets with Lazarus and Dake who take over from Verus in educating Atriya. Dake is brutal in his teaching. If you think there is no action in this book, you are mistaken. Yes, it explores many aspects of life and religion, but without action it is not. There are some difficult concepts laid out for Atriya (and the reader) to deal with.
Characters
Atriya’s development continues, and he is a well-drawn character. The others are also believable. If Dake is a bit violent, then he does what he does for the good of everyone. There is also someone who has got the wrong end of the stick, so to speak.
Writing
The writing is good and keeps the reader gripped. Mr Wayne still has problems with lay and lie, though, but that was not enough to send me screaming up the wall because the rest of the book was so rivetting.
Conclusion
I would recommend this book, but you must read the others first or you won’t understand it.
I give it 5*
Have you read this book? If so, what did you think?Let me know in the comments box.
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This novella is a prequel to my Wolves of Vimar series. It tells how Carthinal, the protagonist in that series, rose from being an orphaned street kid to a mage.
Here’s some blurb.
Carthinal is alone in the world. His parents and grandparents have died. Without money and a place to live, he faces an uncertain future.
After joining a street gang, Carthinal begins a life of crime. Soon after, he sees a performing magician, and decides he wants to learn the art of magic.
But can he break away from his past and find the path to his true destiny?
And a short excerpt to tempt you.
Carthinal, accompanied by his nanny, Blendin, dragged his feet as he entered the house.
They were on their way home from his grandfather’s funeral. The old man had passed away from a heart attack the previous week, yet he had seemed full of life up until then. Carthinal could not understand what had happened. His grandfather was the only relative he had in Bluehaven, his parents and his grandmother having died. Now he was all alone in the world.
His father had been an elf, and although sixteen and nominally of age, Carthinal’s progress was slower than true humans. He appeared—in both physical and mental development—to be a young boy of eleven. He wandered around the house, his steps echoing in empty rooms. His grandfather’s study looked, to the young boy, to be darker than usual, in spite of the sun streaming in through the windows. Silence filled rooms where he had enjoyed conversations with his grandparents. All life had gone from the house with the death of his grandfather. Now it was just a building where it had once been a home.
Carthinal went into the garden. He sat on his swing and swung idly backward and forward. What would happen to him now? Would they send him to his father’s people in Rindisillaron? It was a long way away, and he had no recollection of his paternal grandparents, although they had been in Bluehaven when he had been born.
He looked at the house. He heard the laughter of his grandmother and his grandfather’s deep voice. He even thought he heard his mother calling to him, although both his parents had been dead for the past eight years. He jumped off the swing and picked up a stick.
Clenching his jaw so tightly that it hurt, he slashed at the plants as he spat words out through his gritted teeth. “Why did they all die and leave me?” But ruining the garden gave him little satisfaction.
Blendin came out and found him still destroying the plants. “Come, Master Carthinal. This won’t help. You need to come in and have something to eat.”
“Shan’t! I’m not hungry.” He slashed at a tulip.
“What have those poor flowers done to you? You know you’ll be sorry once you’ve calmed down.”
“I don’t want to go back into the house.” He stamped his foot. “There’s no one there. It’s dead. Just like Mother and Father, Grandmother and Grandfather.”
Blendin sat down on a bench and pulled the boy towards her, holding him tight.
He kicked out at her and tried to bite, but she held him close. “This is now your house, Carthinal.” She ignored his struggles. “Your grandfather left it to you in his will. You’re a rich young man. If you no longer want to live here, you can sell it and buy somewhere else.”
Looking into the boy’s deep blue, almost indigo eyes, Blendin saw the hurt he felt. She brushed his auburn hair from his face and led him back inside.
The servants worked as usual. Carthinal’s grandfather had arranged that money should be sent to Promin, the butler, who then paid the other servants. Carthinal had his meals in the nursery with Blendin, although Promin had said that, as the master of the house, he should eat in the dining room. Carthinal could not bring himself to eat alone in that large room.
The days passed. Gromblo Grimnor, the lawyer who dealt with his grandfather’s affairs, often appeared at the house. Carthinal found him in his grandfather’s study one day.
“What are you doing?” the boy asked, frowning. “Why are you here? You’ve been coming a lot recently.”
Gromblo Grimnor smiled with his mouth, but it did not reach his eyes. He looked Carthinal up and down. “There are a lot of loose ends to tidy up, child. I need to come here to find things out.”
“What sort of things?”
“Things you wouldn’t understand, boy. Lawyer things.”
Although sixteen, Carthinal had always been treated as a child, and so he turned and left the lawyer to do what he needed to do. The law did not know what to do about a boy whose chronological age said he was an adult, but whose development said he was a child.
Every day he walked around the town. Being in the house had become too painful. Sometimes he stayed out all day. There was no one at the house for him to talk to now. He considered going back to the school where his grandfather had sent him, but they, like everyone else, did not want a sixteen-year-old who looked and behaved as if he were eleven. His grandfather’s money and influence had kept him there, but now, they didn’t want him.
Visits by Gromblo Grimnor increased. Carthinal asked Promin why the lawyer was there so often. The butler shrugged and shook his head. Blendin had no idea either. “I don’t know the workings of the law. Perhaps it’s because your grandfather died so suddenly, or because he was well off. Or it might even be because of you. You are an adult in Grosmer law, but still a child, in reality. That’s a bit confusing for the lawyers.”
One day, when Carthinal had been out for hours, he returned to find the door locked against him. Gromblo Grimnor appeared when he knocked.
“Go away,” the lawyer said. “There’s nothing for you here. We don’t want beggars at the door.”
The boy crossed the road and stood looking at the house he had once called home. Some men came and erected a sign saying it was for sale. How could they sell his house without his permission? His grandfather left it to him in his will.
Carthinal sat on a wall. As he watched, the staff, who had served his grandparents, left one by one. Some carried bags, others nothing. All turned to look back at the house as they trudged away. None saw the small auburn-haired lad sitting on the wall.
When he had seen everyone leave except the lawyer, Carthinal turned away. Where should he go? He had no living relatives. Not here in Bluehaven, anyway. He had relatives in the elven homeland of Rindisillaron, but he had no idea how to get there, nor how to find his paternal grandparents if he did manage it.
He ambled away, constantly turning to look toward the house. He had no idea where he was going, but staying there was pointless. His stomach rumbled. By now, the cook would have given him some honey cakes to assuage his hunger until it was time for the evening meal. His mouth felt dry, too.
He had a little money in his pocket and he wended his way toward the market place where there would be stalls selling food. He did not know what his small amount would buy him.
Sixteen was the legal age of majority in Grosmer, but Carthinal did not feel grown-up. No one knew when he would be able to take on the responsibilities of an adult. Elves were twenty-five before they became officially adults, but a half-elf—well, no one knew. Many people found his slow development odd and thought he was mentally deficient. A sixteen-year-old should not look and behave as if he were only eleven.
Carthinal arrived at the market. Taking a few coins from his pocket, he wandered past the stalls looking for something he could afford.
He stopped by a stall. “How much are your small pies?”
“The very small ones are one royal,” the stallholder replied, citing one of the copper coins.
“Please may I have one?”
The man smiled and passed a pie to the child. “Don’t spoil your evening meal with it, though, or your parents will be annoyed with me.”
Carthinal’s indigo blue eyes filled with tears, and he turned away so the man would not see. He strolled to the park gates, munching on the pie. Where would he sleep tonight? Would it be safe to sleep outdoors? All these questions passed through his mind as he finished the pie and brushed the crumbs off his tunic.
As the grandson of a prominent guild member in the town of Bluehaven, Carthinal had always been well dressed. Today was no exception. He wore a dark green tunic over a lighter green shirt and brown trousers. The cut and the cloth marked him out as the child of a wealthy family. He had never known hardship in his entire life.
As he passed a fountain, he cupped his hands and picked up some of the water. After slaking his thirst, he entered the park gates. Fortunately, it was summer, and so the night would not be cold. Carthinal sat down on the grass.
What would happen to him now? He had no home. How would he survive?
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Dragons Rule OK. V.M.Sang (author) 