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a visit from david kummer

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Today I’m delighted to welcome my friend David Kummer to my blog. David and I met a few years ago when we read and critiqued one another’s works. I’ve read and reviewed several of David’s books and consider him to be a young man to watch for the future.

Hi, David. And Welcome to Dragons Rule OK. I’ve read your latest book, Everything Somewhere and consider it your best to date, although in a very different genre from your others.

My first question is, will there be a sequel?

This is a tough question to answer right now. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, as I move into my next book projects, and I do think I want to write a sequel. However, I think that will probably be five or ten years down the road. At that point, I’ll have more life experience and better understanding of what it means to go through your mid-20’s. I’d love to catch up with these characters and find out what they’ve been up to. So, yes, I really do expect there to be a sequel, but you’ll have to wait a while for it. In the meantime, I’ve written and will keep on writing other books, so check them out!

As I said before, this is a very different type of book from you others. What inspired you to write this?

This book is the most personal I’ve ever written, because it draws a lot on my personal experiences and those of people I’ve known. The characters are a mixture of people I’ve known and have heard stories about. I was also inspired to write it because I wanted to tackle the darker side of being a teenager and growing up through high school, things like mental illness, substance abuse, suicide, relating to parents. All subjects that are real and important, and that I think we don’t talk about enough. So this book did a lot of things I think are important, all of which made it very personal for me to write and publish, but people have loved it! That’s made this a very special book already, and I’m so thrilled about what’s happened with it.

There are a number of interesting characters in this book. Who is your favorite?

Willow has grown into my favorite character from the novel, which I didn’t expect when I started writing it. She’s been a source of inspiration for me to push through writing it and is a combination of a lot of people I know. Certain aspects of her strength and tenacity and integrity I drew from my mom, who the book is dedicated to. Willow also has this ability to see the town as it was, as it is, and as it could be in the future, making her an important character for not only the readers but also all the other figures in the book. In short, she makes the novel what it is, and she’s remained my favorite character throughout.

Can you tell us a bit about Willow?

I think WIllow is the best one to tell you about herself. At the end of Everything Somewhere, she finds herself pregnant. She has married Mason, her child’s father, and this is an extract from a bonus chapter I wrote.

Willow

We left shoe prints in the dirt, still damp from recent storms. The three of us, ambling between the trees, our voices free and our laughter wild. Hudson had a cigarette between two fingers and would raise it to his lips absentmindedly, between one-line stories or well-intentioned jabs at Mason. My husband stayed close to me, his hand clutching my own. We’d been married just under a month, and it still felt weird to call him that.

But his fingers were my only warmth against the biting, March wind, and I sank into his touch.

“I’m not smoking ‘til after the baby comes,” Mason replied when Hudson offered him one.

“I told you it’s fine, babe.” I rolled my eyes but squeezed his hand with affection. “Obviously, I can’t, but you can. Who cares.”

Hudson took another breath of his cigarette and exhaled behind us. The smoke drifted back the way we’d come, up toward the leaves, as our trio moved farther along the trail. He eyed me, questioning something, and I understood.

“Maybe I’ll stay off ‘em forever,” I said, granting him a relaxed shrug.

Hudson snorted. “Fat chance of that. I’m not the only addict here.” He grinned at me, and I smiled back.

We were headed to one of my favorite hideaway spots in downtown Little Rush. Perfect for any time of the year, any state of mind. I’d taken long walks there on my own, for years and years, spent countless hours in the shadow of those tall trees. The three of us had been here a few times before, though not often, and I figured today was as good as any. Our work schedules were so full now, it wasn’t easy to find a day where we could be together, doing nothing. But it had, at last, arrived, and so I led them to my once-secret spot.

There weren’t too many places in downtown Little Rush where I could exist for hours without encountering a single human. But this little grove of trees, right alongside the Ohio River, was the perfect spot of solitude. From my dad’s apartment, I walked straight down to the bricks winding beside the river, and turned my back on the bridge. Then, I would follow that sidewalk until it abruptly ended, meshing with the railroad tracks, at the end of the street. There were walking trails leading away, following the tracks, and they could take you all the way up the hillside, if you wanted. But I didn’t want that. I would simply step off the path, through a thick arrangement of bushes, and emerge on the other side into a different world.

The ground dropped a few feet there, as I climbed through the shrubbery, and it felt like I had disappeared into a place nobody even knew of. The trees were tall and thick, but sparse. It didn’t feel as enclosed or dark as a typical forest. And the river swept by on one side, bumping up against some of the trunks, turning the hardened dirt into squelching mud under my feet. From the railroad tracks I’d left behind, no hikers could even hope to see down here, unless they followed. And very few did.

That expanse of dried mud and fallen leaves became a comfortable place for me. I would wander deeper into the trees, which stood around like the crowd at an amusement park when all the rides are closed. Dancing my way through their shadows and touching their rough trunks, I found an area of large stones where I could sit and soak my feet in the water. As the Ohio flowed by, its touch loving and familial, I looked across at the banks of Kentucky or to the right, where the river curled around a jutting hill and disappeared out of sight. There was a large, wooden structure near my spot, sticking out of the water, like it might’ve been support for a dock, long ago. Down that direction, I could make out the power plant, and often a barge in the distance.

A line of trees behind me. The river in front, stretched out, endless. The rolling hills of Kentucky, like staring into a mirror, with beautiful, leaf canopies glowing in the sunlight or waving in the breeze. This place felt like a step back in time, like a setting all its own. Nobody could find me here. Nobody could shatter this mirage.

“How many weeks are you out now?” Hudson asked. He continued to work on the cigarette, nearing the end of it now.

Mason stumbled over a root and we chuckled about that for a moment. Just a few minutes now and we’d reach that sacred spot next to the river, with large rocks meant for seating and small, rippling waves that brought in plastic cans, bits of floating wood, and an assortment of little fish. They would swim right under the surface, as if putting on a show, and I would stare at them more intently than anything else.

“Due in just over two weeks,” I answered Hudson once Mason had regained his balance. “Before you know it…” I placed a hand on my protruding stomach, though he didn’t kick in response.

“What happens if he comes on St. Patrick’s Day?” Hudson asked, a glint in his eye. “You have to dye his hair green. That’s just a rule.”

“Shut up! God, can you imagine?” I covered my hand with a mouth, laughing. The image of a green-haired baby, my baby, was almost too much. “I feel bad for your kids, if you ever have some.”

Hudson chuckled at this and blew one last cloud of smoke into the air. Then he ground out the cigarette butt on a passing tree.

“Speaking of…” Mason jumped into the conversation. “When’s the wedding? For you and Layla?”

Hudson stuffed both hands into the pockets of his jacket, throwing an exasperated look at Mason. “Whatever. It’s only been a few dates.” The corner of his mouth twitched and his eyes gleamed with something like mischief. “But… we are going on a weekend trip this summer, up near Indy. Brown County, you know. It’s kinda crazy. Did you know when I first met her, I gave her a handshake?”

Mason burst out laughing and Hudson smacked himself on the forehead. “I’m such a dumbass.”

This news about him and Layla made my heart skip a beat. I smiled at Hudson, imagining him and her, off in a cabin somewhere, a place all to themselves. I wondered if they’d go to college in the fall, if they’d go together, but I didn’t want to pry. Hudson deserved a peaceful, relaxing summer with a girlfriend and a future. I hoped he would really soak it in, before everything started to change at a relentless pace. Then again, maybe we were too late and things already had.

“Oohh.” Mason winked at me. “That’s the first step, right, babe?”

“We’ve got big plans this summer, too,” I said to Hudson, ignoring Mason’s question.

Read the rest at: https://davidkummer.com/2021/07/17/bonus-chapter-everything-somewhere/


Thank you, David. I can thoroughly recommend Everything Somewhere to everyone. I found it an engrossing read.

For everyone, here’s a bit more about it.

The power of memories.

Little Rush is a sleepy town on the Ohio River. Bruce Michaels is a renowned Hollywood actor. The two should never cross paths, yet one summer everything changes. The actor, haunted by demons, chasing a ghost. The town, unaware. Until the two collide.

Hudson, Willow, and Mason are high school seniors with very different upbringings, but all on the verge of adulthood. As the sun sets on their final summer, questions abound. Will they ever leave the town? Is there a future here? As their plans waver, time is running out.

The struggle of mental illness.

As he loses his friends and sinks deeper into depression, Hudson forms an unlikely bond with the actor, Bruce Michaels. But the old man is a ticking time bomb. As Hudson relies on him more, the danger to them both grows.

When dark secrets are revealed, Hudson must confront the truth about his idol and himself. Bruce Michaels isn’t who he seems. Hudson is nearly lost. And in the end, they may be more similar than different.

The search for meaning.

Different paths, converging in a web of alcohol, fights, and romance. Worlds collide one summer in Anywhere, USA. The question is who will make it through.

EVERYTHING, SOMEWHERE is an ambitious, sprawling look at the stories, people, and places forming the nuanced landscape of rural America.

And a review.

Theresajcbs
5.0 out of 5 stars Must read
Reviewed in Canada on 3 June 2021
Verified Purchase
This book takes you deep into the souls of it’s characters. You feel their longing, pain, wonder and joys. Anyone whose lived in a small town will instantly relate to their need for escape. It touches on depression and substance abuse, but also how it feels to grow up and what changes transpire for the adults who also grew up and stayed in the small town.
The prose is stunningly beautiful and nostalgic and worth reading over and over.

You can purchase the book by following this link which will take you to Amazon.com. Amazon.com : everything somewhere by david kummer

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Not one, but 2 books!

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Apologies for being a day late with this information. I’ve just got back from holiday this morning!

From now until 29th July you can get the ebook version of Wolf Moon, Book 3 of The Wolves of Vimar, AND The Stones of Fire and Water, book 2 of Elemental Worlds for a mere 0.99 (£ or $).

Don’t miss this opportunity.

You can get the books by clicking on the title, or the cover in the sidebar.

The Stones of Fire and Water is also available as an audio book, and both are available in multiple formats. Just click the link to go to Amazon where you are.

And here is the blurb:

WOLF MOON

The group called Wolf has been enlisted into the Erian Army against their will, and they soon learn that an invasion is planned into their homeland of Grosmer.

As the heroes make their escape, they accidentally stumble upon an old Dwarven city, and become friends with them.

Facing enemies on all sides, the five must find where their loyalties lie, and save their homeland from certain destruction.

To give you a taste, here’s an extract from Wolf Moon:

On entering this large cavern, they noticed they could see, if only faintly. Looking around, dim lights glowed high on the walls of the cave.

‘They could be phosphorescent fungi,’ mused Basalt, who had experience of living deep underground, ‘or they could be some kind of creature that gives off light, like glow-worms or fireflies.’

‘Look,’ Asphodel said, pointing. ‘Those formations over there look like buildings.’

‘Perhaps they’re natural stone formations,’ Grimmaldo mused.

Basalt shook his head. ‘No, those are not natural. They’ve been built in here.’ He approached one standing closer than most of the others. ‘It looks a bit like dwarven work, but there are aspects of the building work that aren’t dwarven. At least, not modern dwarven workmanship. For a start, they’re round. Dwarves used to build round buildings centuries ago but not any more.’

‘Perhaps they’ve been here for that long. Abandoned by the dwarves who built them,’ Grimmaldo suggested.

As they walked through the buildings, though, Thadora noticed something odd. She pointed at the door of one of the houses.

‘That wood looks fresh. It’s certainly not hundreds of bleedin’ years old, Basalt.’

The dwarf frowned. ‘You’re right, there, Thadda. This wood is no more than ten years old.’

‘Then someone lives here,’ said Asphodel. ‘Perhaps they’ll show us the way out.’

Basalt frowned. ‘Something’s odd,’ he said. ‘I’ve never heard of dwarves living in the Mountains of Doom. All our race for thousands of years have lived in the Western Mountains, with a few groups in the Roof of the World. We all know of each other and are in communication. But none have ever, in all that time, been known in these mountains.’

Fero led the way towards the centre of the cavern. They walked for fifteen minutes but still no one, not even Basalt or Asphodel, could make out the far wall. As for the roof, well, that disappeared high above.

Asphodel could see no sign of life, though. When the travellers got nearer to the centre, they found dim lamps burning around the village on tall posts, giving a shadowy light. Here they noticed a dropped basket, there, a fallen vegetable. They saw dwellings here, in this part of the cavern, all built of stone or carved from the cave walls. The settlement seemed the size of a large village or small town, but where, in a village above ground there would have been a bustling population, here nothing stirred. There remained only the signs they had noticed showing that people lived in the village.

The buildings lay scattered around in seemingly random fashion. A large building with double doors lay on the left of where they entered. Not one of the buildings had any windows. They passed buildings with the appearance of houses. A couple, with open doors, had tables, chairs, and even food left. Some looked like workshops that had been left hurriedly, tools scattered around. Then they found a big open area with a large building at one side, a bit like a square in a town above ground. Even here they saw no sign of life. It looked as if everyone left hurriedly.

‘People live here, still,’ Asphodel said. ‘All these buildings show signs of recent occupation. Very recent. I wonder where they’ve gone, and why?’

‘Perhaps they think something dangerous is about to happen, like an earthquake or a volcanic eruption,’ Thadora said.

‘Or perhaps we are the danger,’ Fero pointed out. ‘After all, these people, assuming they are people, have been cut off from outside for thousands of years, if Bas is anything to go by.’

‘What do you mean “If Bas is anything to go by.” I know my people’s history.’

‘Sorry, Bas. Of course you do. What I meant is, these people might see anyone from outside as a threat. We should just sit down and wait, to show them we’re not going to harm them. A bit like you would with a wild deer. After a while, if you are quiet and still enough, they’ll come closer.’

Thadora drummed her fingers. They entered this cave what seemed to her like hours ago, and Fero told them to sit and do nothing. The seventeen-year old was not good at waiting. In her own words she had said, ‘I don’t do patience.’ when Asphodel admonished her for not sitting still.

The others all sat there with peaceful expressions on their faces, barely moving, and not talking. The girl edged slowly away from the others. No one noticed so she edged some more. Her curiosity burned in her like a flame. She really must take a look around this place.

Through the occasional door, left open, they glimpsed rooms as though they had been hurriedly left and their owners would soon return. A meal in the process of being prepared, a child’s toys scattered around, tools left where they lay in a workroom, half-finished handiwork on a chair.

The girl decided she must explore this strange place to see if she could answer the many questions running through her head. Who were these people? Why had they left so suddenly? Why did they live completely under the mountains? Why did no one know of their existence?

When they arrived in this square in the centre of the village, Fero had called a halt. He said if their approach had frightened whoever lived here, they must do nothing to antagonise them or give them reason to fear.

‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘If we indicate we are not in anyway dangerous, the people will show themselves and help us find another way out.’

Therefore, they waited. And waited. Then they waited some more. And Thadora got impatient.

Just as she rose to her knees, about to make a dive for the nearest corner, Basalt spotted her. At the same time, a movement came from the northern end of the square.

Basalt reached out and made a grab at the girl, hissing, ‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’

Because of this, they both missed the entrance of three inhabitants of the village.

AND SOMETHING FROM THE STONES OF FIRE AND WATER

After his return from Aeris with the gem of air, Pettic receives a letter from the king. He is to see Torren and rekindle their relationship.

Soon after, Torren and Pettic meet a strange man and their lives change drastically, as they’re dragged into a mystery surrounding the red dragon Monarlisk and his former mate.

But will Pettic’s magic be enough to help them finish their quest in time – and in the end, will the rightful king be crowned?

As before, a mist rose in front of Pettic and he walked into it with a little more confidence than he had the first time. The mist soon gave way to a view halfway up a mountain.

It was night here too. He looked back but could only see the cliff that he had exited. This was more difficult than the previous journey. There, he exited in a cave and there could be no mistake in the place to return through. Here there was the whole side of a cliff. He looked around for some landmarks to indicate where he had come out. He spotted a rock just ahead that looked like a dog’s head. That he committed to memory and began to walk down the mountainside.

This was a range of large mountains from what he could see. The moon was full here, too, and lending a silvery light to the scene. He could see a valley below, but not any details. Whether there was a village or town he could not make out. He tripped on a rock he had not noticed. Perhaps he should stay here on the mountain until daylight when he could see better where he was going.

It was not cold here, but there was an unpleasant smell. It was a bit like rotten eggs, he thought. He sat down and Cledo lay down next to him. The smell was not good, but a broken leg would be worse, so he lay down next to his dog to sleep.

He woke to hear the sound of creaking leather. He sat up rubbing his eyes and coughing against the smell. He thought perhaps some people had come up in leather armour and slowly opened his eyes.

What he saw astounded him. In front of him, black scales gleaming in the sun, was an enormous beast. It had two black horns protruding from its head and a mane of leathery fronds around its long neck. Its eyes were green and slit vertically, and on its back, now neatly folded, was a pair of leathery wings. It had been the sound of these wings that had woken him.
All the way from its head to the tip of its tail was a double row of spines of varying length, longer on its thorax tapering to small ones at the tip of its tail. The sound of the wings folding away had woken him.

Then the beast spoke.

‘What have we here on my mountain? A little human it would seem.’

‘Yes, I’m a human,’ said Pettic, his voice trembling, but he felt he should say something, ‘but not small by human standards.’

The beast looked startled. ‘You speak dragonish? How come you speak dragonish. Humans have never been able to speak our language before.’

‘Actually, I’m speaking my own language and we can understand each other because of this magic amulet I’m wearing.’

‘How intriguing. We dragons have magic, but no magic that can do such a thing. What kind of magician are you that can make such a thing?’

‘I’m not a magician. This was given to me by a magician on my home world.’

‘What do you mean, “your home world”?’

Pettic wondered if he should be talking to this creature. Dragons were mythological creatures on his world, like unicorns and griffins but did not actually exist. There people considered them to be evil beasts. Were these myths based on fact and were dragons evil? If so, perhaps he should not be telling this creature too much.

‘I think I may have fallen and taken a blow to the head. I really don’t know where I am,’ Pettic told the dragon. ‘Please tell me.’

‘You are on the side of my volcano, near the sacrifice stone.’ replied the dragon. ‘This valley and the one beyond are my territory. No one comes here except to sacrifice. Perhaps that’s why you’re here. Are you the sacrifice, or is it this beast with you?’

Pettic gulped. Sacrifice? This creature wanted a sacrifice and thought that he or Cledo were it. How was he going to talk his way out of this one? It would have to be talk because there was no way he and Cledo could fight this creature and win.

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a bit about the vikings

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Image by axe20 from Pixabay

The people we call Vikings didn’t call themselves by that name. The word Viking refers to the act of going on raids by ship. Or piracy, if you wish to call it that. A group of men would ‘Go viking’.

They were not a unified group, either. The people who raided Scotland and to the north of Ireland were mainly from Norway, and were known as the Norse, while those who attacked England were the Danes.

However, they were called different names in different parts of the world. The one who came from what is now Sweden, were known as the Rus. They raided to the east.

The Danes came to England and settled in the 9th century. Of course, they didn’t always come peacefully. You can read about the Great Heathen Army by following these links: https://wordpress.com/post/aspholessaria.wordpress.com/4944
And this one for part 2: https://wordpress.com/post/aspholessaria.wordpress.com/5000

Eventually they conquered nearly all of England, except for Wessex, in the far south. This kingdom was ruled by the only English king to be given the appellation of The Great. He was, of course, Alfred.

Eventually, a treaty was made between King Alfred and the Danes in which they were given all the lands lying to the north and east of what was the Roman road of Watling Street. In this part of what is now England (which did not exist at that time), the Danes practised their own laws, and so it became known as the Danelaw.

Next time, I’ll tell you a little more about the Danes and how they lived; their laws, customs and religion.

If you can’t wait until them, though, you can always get a feel of those times by reading my recently released book, Jealousy of a Viking.

You can get a copy by clicking here or on the book cover in the sidebar.

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my visit to David kummer

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David’s latest book

I’m visiting the blog of a young writer friend of mine today. His name is David Kummer and is a very talented young man.

My latest book

I am talking about my latest book and what inspired this series, so you might want to take a look. You can find the blog by clicking on this link.
http://davidkummer.com/2021/06/18/guest-post-v-m-sang-on-her-latest-book/

While you are there, take a look at David’s books. I can recommend them.

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the never-dying man

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From today, for 5 days only, The Never-Dying Man is for sale at a mere 0.99 (£ or $)

The above picture shows the western entrance gate to Frelli, the capital city of Erian. In the past, many wars had been fought between Erian and Grosmer, and Frelli developed as a fortress city. On this side, the Grosmer side, the gate and walls fill the narrow valley.

Here is a bit about the book.

After finding Sauvern’s Sword, the companions set off to help a friend rescue his child from kidnappers. Instead, they stray into Erian and find preparations for war. They are drafted into the Erian army but are recognised by an old enemy, who arrests some of them and takes them to Frelli, the capital of Erian, where they are put in jail.

The Master of Erian frees them and offers them work. Meanwhile, Carthinal has to face some unpleasant truths about himself. Is his desire to further his magical career more important than his friends and country? After they discover terrible truths about the Master and his magical research, they will need to escape in order to tell the leaders of Grosmer about the plans for war.

To buy, click on the book cover here, in the sidebar, or the link below.

And an extract.

Carthinal, Randa, Davrael, Kimi and The Cat have been taken to Erian’s capital, Frelli as prisoners. The Master of Erian has freed them and is treating them as valued guests, although they are not allowed to leave the castle.
There is a mysterious tower that all are forbidden to enter, and the Cat decides to climb the walls to find out what is going on.

Carthinal had said there would be traps, probably magical, but the Cat decided that no one would bother to put traps on a window so high above the ground. It had to be fifty feet at least. Glancing down, he saw that there were people beginning to move around in the courtyard below. Should he risk it now, or leave it till nightfall? Both were risky. At night, though, he would not be able to see well, and he judged that it was unlikely that anyone would bother to look up, and if they did, would not believe they saw someone climbing on the walls. People usually saw what they expected to see.

He decided to take the risk and go now. His curiosity as to what was in the tower was burning him up. Tell him not to go somewhere, and that is precisely what he wanted to do above all else.

Scrambling up onto the window ledge, he felt to his left. Yes, there was a secure hold. He gripped it with the fingers of his left hand then felt with his left foot. He quickly found a foothold, and then repeated the movement with his right hand and foot. He was now hanging, face pressed against the rough stone of the wall, next to his window. Moving with great care, he repeated the procedure and moved slowly to his left and the walls of the tower.

Twice he thought he was going to have to retreat as he could find no purchase, but then the smallest ledge made itself felt. Once he almost fell, putting too much weight on a crumbling stone. No one called out from below that someone was climbing on the walls. His luck was holding.

It took him about an hour to reach the tower and manoeuvre himself to below the window. Whenever he thought he heard someone below him, he paused, knowing that movement was what attracted attention. Then he began to climb. This was easier as he could look up and see ledges and crannies, and knowing where they were, could put his feet in them after releasing his hands to find the next cracks. After about a further half-hour he reached the window ledge.

He was sweating profusely by now. The sun was climbing the heavens and it was only about two sixdays until the solstice and the warmth of the sun plus his exertions had made him hot. He paused to get his breath. After a couple of minutes, the burglar hauled himself onto the ledge of the tower window. He peered in. There was no glass here, and the shutters were open, but he could see nothing inside for it was dark after the sunlight outside. He squeezed through and dropped silently to the floor, crouching and listened carefully.

Breathing. Very quiet breathing. Someone in here was trying to breathe so as not to be heard. Of course! Stupid person. He was obviously getting out of practice. His body would have been seen blocking the light from the window. Shit. Suppose this person were to jump him? He remained crouched beneath the window for a second, then slowly and silently crept to one side.

As his eyes became used to the dark he could pick out a shadowy shape sitting on a bench opposite the window. A human shape. It too was sitting absolutely still, as though trying not to be noticed. He moved a few more paces.

The tower room was circular it seemed. It must cover the whole of this floor of the tower. He moved again, felt behind him and touched wood. A door most likely. He was nearing the person on the bench when he heard steps approaching the door. Someone coughed and The Cat froze. Were there enough shadows in this room to hide him when the door was opened? Would the person entering have a lamp? Probably.

More importantly, would the person on the bench give him away? Who was it? Was he (or she, he added to himself) working here or a prisoner? If the latter, why were they being held here and not in the dungeons? So many questions passed through his head in the seconds it took him to leap for the window and pass through to hang, breathing heavily, on the window ledge outside.

Fortunately for him, the man entering took several seconds to unlock the door. When he entered, The Cat heard him speak and recognised the voice of Wolnarb. Gone was the charming man who had wined and dined them and the voice now had a grating quality that made the Cat shudder. He ventured to peek round the edge of the window.

He could see little, but could just make out the shape of a small man standing before the bench on which he had spotted the figure previously. He held his breath, hoping that the person on the bench would not give him away, though he felt that he was fairly safe here, as it appeared the other was a prisoner. He listened to the words being spoken, but could understand little as Wolnarb spoke in Erian.

Wolnarb’s words elicited a slight whimper from the person on the bench and he (for it was indeed a man as The Cat could now ascertain) moved away, shuffling along the bench. Wolnarb laughed an unpleasant laugh, and then he spoke again. The man shook his head and lay down as though in resignation.

Wolnarb laid his hands on the man, his left on the man’s forehead and the right on the man’s chest, where his heart was as much as The Cat could ascertain. Words flowed from the magister that made the hairs on the back of the Cat’s neck stand up. He was aware that magic was being done in that room. He had had sufficient dealings with Carthinal in the past to be aware when magic was being performed. The man in the room screamed once, convulsed, then fell to moaning.

Soon, the murmuring stopped and the man fell back as though he had just performed a great feat. Wolnarb laughed again, not a pleasant sound, then spoke. He indicated a tray he had brought with him, spoke again and left.

‘What is going on here?’ thought The Cat. He considered whether to re-enter the room or go back to his own rooms and tell the others what he had observed. Then he heard the prisoner approach the window and speak. Again he could not understand the words, but decided to re-enter the tower and see if he could make any sense out of what was going on.
After climbing back through the window, he made his way to the bench. On it a young man sat with a tray of food.

The young man spoke as though in great pain.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t speak Erian,’ The Cat told him. ‘Mo hambro Erian.’

‘You from Grosmer?’ a heavily accented voice asked. ‘I speak a little but bad. How you get to window?’

‘Climbed, but why are you here? What was going on?’

‘Climbed? It high. It smooth. Why man from Grosmer here?’

‘Not too high or smooth for a cat burglar. Plenty handholds. As to why I’m here in Erian, I’m not sure, myself, and it’s a rather long story. I’m with some friends though. We’re housed not far from here.’

The young man coughed.

When The Cat looked at him, he saw he looked grey and ill. ‘You’re not well. You need a healer. Tell me, why are you in the tower and not in the dungeon if you’re a prisoner, and what did you do to be held?’

‘I a special prisoner. My crime, being young and strong and believing Wolnarb.’

It took The Cat longer to get back to his room as the day had grown quite warm and the climbing was not so easy in the heat. He was relieved to be back in his rooms, which were cool, facing north as they did. He ran his hands through his hair and hurried off to see Carthinal.

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England. A poem

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I almost entered this into a contest a year or two ago, but in the end chickened out. I thought I’d share it with you. I hope you like it.

England

That misty isle across the sea
Will always be a home to me.
The cliffs of white that guard our shores,
The rolling Downs, the bleak, cold moors,
The skylark with his liquid song
Soaring high above the throng
Of hikers, picnickers and such,
Whose hearts he never fails to touch.

The little streams and brooks do run
Through woodlands, glistening in the sun.
The little fish are swimming here;
A kingfisher is always near.
A flash of blue above the stream,
A dive, then gone, that silver gleam
Of minnows, gone to feed his brood
In holes, all waiting for their food.

In cities where the pigeons fly
The wind-blown litter flutters by.
The cars and buses, cycles too,
Line up at lights, forming a queue.
The city’s clamorous roar assaults
The ears, but never, ever halts.
The busy folk all rushing past.
They never slow, time goes so fast.

The little market towns do snooze.
The slightest little thing is news.
In pretty villages with greens
Are cottages with oaken beams.
The church bells echo o’er the fields
Calling us with merry peals
As they have done for many a year
Bringing hope and lots of cheer.

This land does not a climate boast.
Just weather blown from coast to coast.
All in one day, this land can get
All four seasons, sun and wet.
Though no extremes do us attack,
Do not go out without a mac
For rain can come at any time,
Though rarely with a gale force nine.

The English folk are stubborn, too,
As we showed in World War 2.
We do not push, but stand in line,
Waiting patiently till it’s time.
We do not wail and wave our arms
We think such behaviour has bo charms,
But when we’re roused, then just watch out
We’ll demonstrate, wave flags and shout.

And so my country is unique;
Its people never really meek.
An upper lip that’s stiff conceals
A wicked humour that reveals
Our lack of deference for power,
Our love for bird and bee and flower.
Abroad may have its charms, it’s true,
But England’s magic’s ever new.

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review of a threat from the past by paul cude

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Overview.

This is an original story. Dragons are the protectors of humanity. They live below ground, in the main, but some live among us in human form.
This is the story of how one young dragon foils a plot which would have devastating effects on humans.

Blurb

Can you be heroic and naive?

For one young man, the answer is yes, despite his magical birthright.

Blissfully unaware of what’s going on around him, for the most part Peter remains fully focused on blending in and keeping a low profile.

But fate and plain bad luck have other designs on him.

Not so bad, you might think. Until you discover the TRUTH!
Just like his friends, he is a… DRAGON!

Thrust into a life away from the underground dragon domain, disguised in a new, awkward human form in an effort to guide and protect humanity just like the rest of his race, all he has to do is uncover the diabolical deeds playing out around him.

With the help of his two young friends, a master mantra maker and a complete dragon stranger with more than a little history attached to him, will Peter manage to thwart the dark, devious scheme long in the planning?

Ever wondered how dragons use their supernatural gift to travel below ground at almost the speed of sound?

Want to know how they use magical mantras to transform their giant bodies into convincing human shapes?

Learn the true story of George and the Dragon, see if a prehistoric grudge turns into murderous revenge, and find out what to do if you meet a giant arachnid grinning at you when you’re wearing nothing but your smile.

Lose yourself in this unputdownable fantasy adventure NOW!

Characters

The main character is Peter, a very young dragon who works at the factory producing a very important element for dragons. He is naïve and somewhat gullible at the beginning, but he learns much and at the end he is a great hero, thwarting a devastating plot with the help of his two friends.

Tank is a large dragon, and in his human form, an equally large rugby-playing human. He is likeable and a gentle giant.

Ritchie, is a female dragon. She is feisty and not averse to breaking the rules. (Like showing off her superhuman strength by arm wrestling two rugby players at once.)

I liked both of them.

Writing

The writing is amateurish, to say the least. I got the impression the author had got to the end of his story, did a spell and Grammar check and left it at that.

There are innumerable (several on each page) uses of ‘just’ and ‘that’. He uses a number of clichés, and repeats descriptions many times. For example, he describes dragons as ‘prehistoric’ on numerous occasions. There are also a number of instances of using words wrongly, and horror of horrors, several strings of multiple exclamation marks (a well-known no-no).

He goes into great detail of a hockey match and of a match of a game played by dragons. There was no need to go into such detail. As, from reading his bio, Mr Cude is a hockey player, I understand why he would want to do this, but I skipped much of these descriptions.

There is also a section where he describes some of the fun ways of getting into the dragon realms below the ground. These added nothing to the story and could be left out with no problem. Some were fun to read, but we did not need so many in one chapter. They could have been spread out.

Finally, on the writing, the paragraphs were far too long, and he did not begin a new one where he should have. The same with sentences.
Long paragraphs of dialogue from one person (or dragon) could have been broken down with a few interjections or action beats.

Especially in the final battle he does quite a bit of head hopping. We are in Peter’s head, then suddenly, without warning, we are in his enemy’s head, then back to Peter.

Finally, when Peter is thinking, he says ‘he thought to himself.’ To himself is redundant. Who else would he think to?

It could certainly use a thorough edit.

Conclusion

If Mr Cude sent it to a reputable editor, or even had it beta-read or used a critique group, I think the book would be a much better read.

I did enjoy the story, but it was spoiled by the poor writing. Too much telling, too many filler words, too many repetitions (both of individual words in close proximity, and ideas).

Also he is unsure about comma usage.

I sometimes felt like saying ‘But you already told us that (several times). Or ‘Yes, I know. I can remember that dragons have eidectic memories’ on the third or fourth time he used it.

The story is worth reading, though, if you can get past the writing. I read a book called Story Trumps Structure, that said, basically, if you have a good story, that’s the most important part.

I will be reading the next part if only to see what happens next.

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a new offer

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The offer of The Wolf Pack finished yesterday, but don’t worry. I’ve ANOTHER offer for you.

From today, July 3rd, the ebook version of Book 1 of my Elemental Worlds duo is FREE on Amazon. It’s called The Stones of Earth and Air.

Click the button to go to Amazon where you are.

click here

After the Crown Prince of Ponderia starts behaving strangely, his best friend, Pettic discovers that the prince has been replaced by a doppelganger, and the real prince kidnapped.

Unable to accept the loss of his friend, Prince Torren, nor the cruel impostor to become the new king, Pettic sets on a quest to rescue his friend. After he sees the fake prince meet a mysterious man, Pettic discovers that the prince has been imprisoned in another plane of existence.

With the help of Blundo, the court magician, Pettic finds out that the only way to enter this another world are four keys, each of them associated with a different element. As Pettic sets on his seemingly impossible quest, he discovers that the four lands that hold the keys are all vastly different… and more dangerous than he could have ever imagined.

Here’s a review.

From United Kingdom
Pamela
5.0 out of 5 stars Travel through worlds of earth, fire, air and water to complete your quest.
Reviewed in the United Kingdom on 24 January 2021
Verified Purchase
I received promotional copies of the audio books of Elemental Worlds by VM Sang. This was my first experience of audio books. I listened to them while doing craftwork and was captivated by the story from the very first minute. I can’t fault any of it from the characters to the different worlds they travelled through. Later I played the first book to my grandchildren who hung on to every word. Keep writing.

The book is available in all formats. Including audio.

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extract from jealousy of a viking

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Here is an extract from the book, Jealousy of a Viking, which has recently been released.

The Danes, as the people who lived in the east of Britain were known, had a strong belief in magic. Magic was used as well as herbs by wandering healers, called Volvir. These women practiced Seidr, or magic, to heal. To avoid confusion I have called healers “Wise Women”.

In my research I learned that the Volvir were respected and sometimes a little feared, but I also discovered that the Vikings believed in Black Magic too, and did not tolerate witches.

Helgha and Erik met when he was lost in the forest. His horse had been injured and Helgha took him to her home. Her father tended the horse and Erik stayed the night as it was getting dark and unsafe for him to leave.
Helgha felt a strong attraction to Erik, a young and handsome man.
In this chapter she dreams of what might happen.

Each night for the next two weeks, Helgha recalled Erik’s features before falling asleep. She could see them as clearly now as she had when she first saw him in the forest. She thought about how he moved his head and how he walked. His laugh sounded in her ears as sleep found her. She dreamed of him walking into her home and asking her father’s permission to court her.

One day Helgha sat with a spindle in hand. She ought to be spinning wool but instead gazed into the fire where her mother stirred broth in a cauldron hanging over the flames. In the smoke, she imagined herself and Erik in a marriage ceremony.

Ædelflaed noticed her idleness and interrupted her dreams. “It’ll be your job to tend to the sickness and injuries of your people when you marry. You’ll need to know what herbs to use for each job.”

Helgha’s heart sank as reality reared its head She dragged her gaze away from the firepit. “Mother! I’ve been watching and learning all my life. I know almost as much as you about tending the sick and injured.”

“I know, Helgha, but your father’s going to talk to Gunnar Janson about you marrying his son. You might think you know everything, but there are still many things you need to understand and not only about healing.”
Ædelflaed stretched, put down her spoon and stood. “Come with me, girl.” She left the longhouse and walked toward the storeroom where she kept her dried and fresh herbs.

Helgha followed.

She took a deep breath as they entered the storeroom and a smile lit up her face. The scents of the herbs perfumed the air. She picked out lavender and meadowsweet. There was the clean-smell of mint. And under it all the earthy perfume of fungi. Some herbs hung in bunches from the ceiling, drying. Others, already dry, Ædelflaed had put into pots and stored on shelves around the room.

Ædelflaed reached up, lifted a pot from a high shelf, and turned to Helgha. “Sometimes, Helgha, no matter how much you care for each other, a man will hanker after other women. You need to understand how to prevent him from straying. Now, I will teach you how to stop that. It involves herbs added to his drink, but also words said over it.” She paused, glancing around. “Magic words.”

Helgha’s eyes opened wide and she gasped. “Magic? You know magic? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Not if you know what you’re doing, and do it right.”

“But if someone found out, they could accuse you of witchcraft.”

Ædelflaed smiled at her daughter. “That’s why I’ve told no one except you, and you must never tell anyone, either, or we’ll both be in a lot of trouble. This knowledge has been handed down from mother to daughter for many generations. My grandmother taught my mother and she taught me. Now I’m teaching you and I expect you’ll teach your daughter when you have one.”

She told Helgha which herbs to use and in what proportions. “It’s important you get this right. If you use the wrong amounts it won’t work.”
She heated some water, poured it onto the herbal mixture and began chanting mysterious words over it.

“You learn these words, Helgha. You’ll need this someday when your husband casts glances at some pretty slave girl.”

Each day for the next week, Helgha practised the words until her mother declared herself satisfied. “Good. Now your husband won’t stray.”


One morning, about ten days after Erik’s final departure, her father came to her. “I’ve chosen a husband for you. I’ve decided on Gunnar Janson’s son. I spoke with Gunnar yesterday and he’s in agreement.”

Helgha hung her head. She must obey her father, but her dream of becoming Erik’s wife dissolved as she foresaw a life lived with a man she did not like.

Gunner Janson’s son won’t make any woman a good husband.

On the few occasions they met, he had treated her with disdain. He barely spoke to any woman unless it was to give her an order and he had told Helgha he thought them weak. They did not know how to fight, and fighting was life.

But she must do as her father said, and so she whispered, “Yes, Father,” hoping she sounded acquiescent, but a feeling of tightness encompassed her chest, and her hands clenched involuntarily.

Helgha took a deep breath and carried on with her tasks with a heavy heart. She would obey her father, but all her dreams of a life with Erik came crashing down around her ears. Thoughts of rebellion flashed through her mind but immediately disappeared. She did not know if Erik felt the same way. Most probably, he did not. They had been beautiful dreams though.

Crushing her thoughts if Erik, she left the longhouse and walked to the well where two serving women were drawing water. Hearing the drumming of hooves on the road, she looked up. Her stomach turned over and her heart beat faster as Erik rode through the gate. He slid from Stjarna’s back and jogged over to where she stood. Taking the buckets from her, he looked into her eyes. Helgha thought there was something there. Some warmth that made her think her dreams were not in vain.

“Hello, Helgha,” Erik said, then looked away.

Had she imagined what she saw in his eyes?

“Hello, Erik.” Redness crept up her neck and infused her face.

Leaving the other women staring after them, the pair walked to the house in silence.

Why had he come? Surely her dream had not come true and he intended to ask for her hand in marriage. He must have some other reason to come here. Yes, that was it. He was on his way somewhere else and stopped at Thoringsby because it was convenient.

They entered the house, Erik following Helgha. He put the buckets down and spoke to Ædelflaed. “Thank you for your hospitality the other week. I wouldn’t be alive now if it weren’t for your kindness.”

Ædelflaed smiled at the young man. “No thanks are necessary. We did what anyone would do. You could have been killed by wolves or bears out there in the dark.”

“I have something for you. To thank you. Wait a moment and I’ll go and get it.” Erik ducked through the door, and a moment later returned with his saddlebags over his arm.

“First, for you, Ædelflaed, I have this.” He handed over a necklace of glass beads.

Ædelflaed gasped. “This is beautiful, Erik.”

“It was made in Jorvik. We don’t make much glass there, but what we do is usually made into beads or rings, and is of fine quality. Now, for Biorn I have some wine. I’m sure he’ll enjoy it when he comes in. It’ll make a change from ale.”

Helgha smiled at the thought. Biorn drank more ale or mead than wine, but he would enjoy the change.

Erik pulled something else from his saddlebags. “For Hartvigg I have this wooden sword. He needs to learn how to fight like a true Dane. I have a Kubb set for Laeff and for Sigmund this toy longboat. After all, we Danes are seamen.” He turned and smiled at Helgha.

Her stomach turned somersaults.

“And for you, this amber necklace. The amber comes all the way from the Baltic Sea.”

Helgha blushed as Erik fastened it around her neck, and she looked at her mother.

Ædelflaed frowned. Helgha knew what thoughts passed through her mother’s mind. Like the ones passing through her own head.

Why has Erik brought me such a valuable gift? Does he want to court me?

Neither she nor her parents knew anything about the young man. He appeared to be well off if his clothing were anything to go by. But would Erik’s father want his son to marry someone from a family who could not bring an advantage? Helgha’s father was a free man, a ceorl, but what Erik’s status was Helgha did not know. She realised he must be richer than her own family and would demand a high bride price.

Helgha sighed, pushing those thoughts away. If it were the case that Erik wanted to marry her, then his father would speak to hers. She would be the last to know.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this short extract. If you would like to know more about Helgha and Erik, you can find out by reading the book. Click here, or on the book cover in the sidebar, to go to Amazon where you are.
The book is currently available as a paperback and ebook. Eventually it will be released in other formats.

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The Wolf pack OFFER

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Image by Ylanite Koppens from Pixabay

From today, The Wolf Pack, Book 1 of The Wolves of Vimar Series, is only 0.99 (£ or $).

This offer is for a limited time only, so be sure to pop over to Amazon and get your copy before it’s too late. The offer ends on Friday, 2nd July.

Here is the blurb

To end his apprenticeship and be admitted to the ranks of the mages is all that Carthinal wants and so he is excited to travel from Bluehaven to Hambara, where the tests will take place. He did not expect to end up travelling far beyond Hambara on a quest to find the long lost sword of the legendary King Sauvern.

Along with three strangers that he met on his journey, the beautiful but headstrong elven cleric, Asphodel, Fero, a dark foreigner from lands far to the south, known as the Black Ranger and a fearless dwarf, Basalt, Carthinal reluctantly sets out on this seemingly impossible quest.

Followed by Randa, the snooty aristocratic daughter of the Duke of Hambara and a very young runaway thief, known as Thad, Carthinal has to decide whether to send them back or allow them to continue on this dangerous quest. There will certainly be fireworks as Randa will try to take over the leadership of the group.

Faced with floods, wolf attacks and near death in the mountains, Carthinal and his friends will have to accept help from the least likely sources and face their innermost fears.

But this is more than a simple adventure. The fate of a nation hangs in the balance.

And a short extract.

Carthinal, a half-elf mage, and Basalt, a dwarf, have been trying to find out where the lost Sword of the legendary king, Sauvern, might lie. They are searching in the library of the Duke of Hambara, helped by his rather snooty daughter, Randa.

The next day, Carthinal and Basalt returned to the Palace to try to find anything about the whereabouts of the tomb. Lady Randa arrived again, saying that she had risen early in order to exercise her stallion, Storm, and she did not have any weapons practice that day. She should have gone to practice her music, but her music master had reported that he felt ill and so they had all day. Her expression said that she was glad of this excuse to get away from her music, even if it meant spending the day with “riffraff”. Truth to tell, she found the work interesting. She had never taken much interest in history before and it surprised her how fascinating she found it.

Carthinal and Bas exchanged a glance at this dire prospect, but both wisely refrained from making comment.

Lady Randa did not make it any easier, however. She did most of the time remember to call them by their names, but made it abundantly clear that she considered herself above them in all ways and that only her father’s request made her come to work with them.

Shortly after lunch, just after Lady Randa had returned from lunching with her father as usual and as Carthinal searched for a specific scroll, he noticed an unusual crack around a particular bookshelf. He called Lady Randa over and asked her if she knew of any secret passages in the house.

‘There are tales and rumours of course,’ she replied, ‘as there always are in old houses and this house is very old. It has been rebuilt, modernised and extended many times over the years. Why do you ask?’

‘Because,’ responded Carthinal, ‘unless I am very much mistaken, there is a hidden door here which may lead to a secret room.’

‘This is part of the old house,’ Lady Randa told him, ‘but I hardly think that a secret passage would have gone unnoticed by my father, or myself—or my grandfather come to think of it. Why would a half-elf find something in a few minutes that the family hasn’t found in generations?’

‘Elvenkind have very good eyes, and we are good at spotting such things,’ retorted Carthinal, keeping his temper with difficulty.

Basalt spotted the warning tone in Carthinal’s voice and glared at him. It would not do for him to lose his temper and anger the daughter of the second most powerful man in all of Grosmer. However, Carthinal managed to hold onto his temper and suggested that he try to open the disputed door.

‘If it will satisfy you,’ replied Lady Randa imperiously, and turned away.
A few moments later, a grinding and rumbling came from behind. She turned and her eyes popped. Where there had been a bookcase hole had appeared with steps leading downwards.

The three stood looking at each other in amazement. Carthinal had been sure that the bookcase concealed a hidden door, but not that it would open so easily, nor that it would reveal a secret passage. He had thought at the most that it would reveal a hidden room.

The stairs looked dark and cobwebby. Carthinal shuddered to think of the spiders running around. They had had generations to breed down there. However, he would not reveal his feelings of revulsion to Lady Randa.

Instead, he said, ‘Lady Randa, do you think it pertinent to explore this passage at this point. We are not sure that it will aid us in our quest.’
He secretly hoped not to have to go down the stairs with their cobwebs and spiders, and that she would say that others could explore. However, Lady Randa decided that since they had found the passage, they should be the ones to explore it.

‘Why give the pleasure of discovering something new to people who did not find the passage?’ she said.

Carthinal had to admire her guts. She reached for a torch on one of the walls and lit it, then made her way to the entrance.

‘My Lady,’ murmured Bas, ‘we don’t know what’s down there. Maybe we shouldn’t go down without some weapons.’

‘Are you afraid, Dwarf?’ retorted her ladyship. ‘If you are, then stay here. I’m going down.’ She started to move towards the open door.

‘Basalt is right, Your Ladyship,’ Carthinal backed up his friend. ‘At least get a sword or a dagger.’

‘Hmm… I suppose that makes some sense,’ Lady Randa eventually agreed. ‘You two stay there and I’ll get some weapons. What’s your preferred weapon, Dwa…er… Basalt?’

‘A battle axe, if you have one, your ladyship,’ replied the dwarf.

‘Typical. A rather messy weapon, but I understand the dwarves prefer it to a sword. A sword takes so much more skill to use.’

With that she disappeared through one of the library doors to go in search of weapons. It was just as well that she did, for she would have had Basalt taken to the nearest prison and the key thrown away if she could have heard him cursing at her condescension.

‘A battle-axe takes as much bloody skill in wielding as a bleeding sword,’ he spluttered. ‘Dwarves begin to learn at a very young age to become proficient. To become a master of the weapon takes years. That little minx knows nothing. How old is she? Seventeen? Eighteen?’

Fortunately, Carthinal had managed to calm him down by the time Lady Randa re-appeared with the weapons. She had a rather fine long sword, which she claimed as her own, and a rather less than fine battle axe, which she gave to Basalt, for once having the grace to apologise for it.

‘It’s the only one I could find,’ she explained. ‘My father captured it in some war or other, I believe. We don’t have anyone here that uses a battle-axe now. Carthinal, just in case, I’ve brought a dagger. I understand that mages often use one, as they do not have the time to learn more subtle weapons.’

This she handed to the mage, hilt first as was polite. It appeared she did know some of the niceties of life.

‘Diplomacy is not her second name, is it?’ hissed Basalt to Carthinal.

The mage grinned at his friend in reply.

After they were armed, and Bas had hefted his battle axe a few times and proclaimed it ‘Not too bad, considering’, they made their way to the hidden entrance to the staircase. Basalt insisted on going first, much to Lady Randa’s annoyance. She told him that she had trained in weapons with her father’s master at arms and could use the sword, and since it her father owned house, and she outranked the others in the group, she should lead the way.

Basalt pointed out be that as it may, but her father would have their heads if anything happened to her, and he was not going to allow her to go first.

Carthinal held his breath, waiting for the explosion from Lady Randa. She did not disappoint him.

She rounded on Bas like a whirlwind. ‘You…you…Dwarf!’ She said the word as though it were the worst insult in the world, (which to her it may have been.) ‘You DARE to speak to me like that! Me! The Honourable Lady Randa! I am my father’s only heir and will inherit this Dukedom. Yet you tell me you will not allow me! How dare you?’

However, she had not met with the stubbornness of the mountain dwarves. Carthinal thought they would remain there for the rest of their lives with the two arguing, and finally with Basalt standing, arms folded in front of the doorway so that no one could pass. Lady Randa tried to push him out of the way at first, but Bas stood his ground. A dwarf standing his ground is very hard to move, even for a grown man, and Lady Randa was no grown man.

Eventually her curiosity over the passageway overcame her anger and she said, rather reluctantly, ‘Go in front if you wish then—and hope that whatever’s down there kills you before I do.’

So the three crept stealthily down the stairs, Basalt in the lead, Lady Randa next, and Carthinal in the rear. Carthinal was grateful for that as most of the cobwebs had been swept away by the others, but he still had to steel himself not to cry out as a stray one swept his face. It would not do for them to think him such a coward as to be afraid of spiders, even if it were the truth. He kept a look out both to the side and behind, trusting to Bas to watch for anything in front, but they had an uneventful descent of the stairs, although the stairs were old. No one had passed that way in many, many years and their feet sent up clouds of dust, which made them sneeze. The stairs were not worn away either, in spite of their age. Another indication that they had not been much used.

To his consternation, Carthinal saw many small glowing creatures with his infra-vision. Spiders he assumed, that had lived and bred there for aeons. He shuddered, then suddenly, after what seemed like a very long descent, they found themselves in a passage leading straight ahead.
He called to Basalt and the dwarf looked round. ‘We seem to have come down a long way. You dwarves are used to being underground. How far down do you think we’ve come?’

Basalt frowned, did some calculations in his head and replied, ‘We’re very deep, Carthinal. Well below the foundations of the present Palace. If you ask me, we are at least two hundred feet down. This looks like old stone. About a thousand years, maybe a bit more, maybe a bit less.’

The three looked around in awe. The dry air in the room had preserved the stonework well. The fact that no more cobwebs hung from this ceiling pleased Carthinal too. The walls were well built, and strong. They walked slowly and quietly down the corridor. They passed doors on either side, but none of them could manage to open them, no matter how hard they tried. They walked until they came to the end of the corridor, where another door stood in the end wall.

‘Should I try?’ whispered Basalt. (It did not seem right to speak normally in this ancient place.)

‘Go on then.’ said Lady Randa and Carthinal together, and Carthinal added, ‘Although why this one should be any different Majora alone knows.’

He had hardly got the words out of his mouth when he saw that the door swinging open with a loud creak. Bas had hardly had to try. It had not been either locked or stuck. As they entered the chamber in front of them, each drew a breath of amazement.

Fabulous carvings decorated the room. Unicorns and satyrs played in woods where dryads peeped shyly from behind their trees. A Centaur appeared to be discussing something with a nymph, half in and half out of her pool. Dragons basked in the sunlight and elves and humans were gathering flowers and making garlands to adorn each other. Here a group of dwarves, hard at work, dug minerals from their mines, there some merfolk sat on rocks in a cove while the waves broke around them. The surf looked so realistic that they almost thought they could actually hear its booming as the waves crashed to the shore.

The room was circular in shape and in the centre stood a large round table. On the table lay a number of books, a quill pen in its stand, rather tattered after all the years that had passed, a knife for sharpening the quill and an ink well, which had dried up.

The books were stacked neatly, all except for one, which lay in front of a chair drawn up to the table as though the room’s occupant had been working there and just slipped out for a moment. A piece of paper in the book seemed to mark a place.

The three walked slowly around the room, gazing at the superb workmanship of the carvings. Basalt declared that it must have been dwarves who carved the stone, and no one, not even Lady Randa, disputed this statement.

Eventually, Carthinal left Lady Randa and Basalt admiring the room, as he felt drawn to the books. He picked up one at random. It was a spell book. He carefully opened it, and it crackled with age. It seemed to be the spell book of a powerful mage.

There were many very complex spells in it, which Carthinal could not begin to comprehend. He put it down in its place, and picked up another. This one he recognised. These were the simpler spells that he himself had in his own spell book, but it had been written in an archaic style and he had some difficulty recognising some of the words. Then he noticed that Bas had gone to the desk, and had picked up the book with the “bookmark” in it.

Basalt thought he would look at the book although he could not read. Maybe he would be able to recognise the word shape that Carthinal had taught him stood for ‘Sauvern’. To his surprise, part way through the text, he thought he recognised the word. He was not certain. These letters were formed in a slightly different way from the way Carthinal had taught him, but it was enough for him to call Carthinal over.

Carthinal looked over Bas’s shoulder, and Lady Randa came to see what Bas had found.

‘It certainly seems to say “Sauvern”,’ Carthinal confirmed.

‘But the rest?’ queried Lady Randa. ‘What about the rest? It looks like no language I’ve ever seen.’

‘No. You won’t have, and probably won’t again,’ Carthinal told her. ‘If I am not much mistaken, this is an archaic form of Elvish.’

‘Can you read it?’ asked Randa.

‘Unfortunately, no,’ Carthinal replied, ‘but I know someone in the Mage Tower who may, or at least, she may know someone who can translate it for us.’

‘There’s some writing on the paper that kept the place too,’ observed Bas. ‘It looks different.’

True enough, the writing was in Grosmerian. Again, it was an old form of Grosmerian, but Lady Randa had learned something of this during her extensive education as the heir to a Dukedom.

‘It’s a poem,’ she said. ‘Should I read it?’

‘We’d better not ignore anything. Especially in view of the fact that the book seems to mention Sauvern,’ Carthinal said. ‘Go ahead.’

‘It’s called “The Wolf Pack.”’, she went on.

“The wolves will fight ’gainst every foe
The balance to maintain.
Though far and wide the pack must go
All borders they disdain.

“The pack contains the strangest group
One whose pride comes with her,
And one who slips through every loop,
The wilful one, the tracker.

“The leader with his anger held,
The ones who hunt the horse.
The rock that’s strong completes the meld
And makes the pack a force.

“The wolf pack’s members are filled with zest
And all do have their place.
They hunt their foes with ruthlessness
Then vanish without trace.

“In times of danger, all must know
The wolf pack will be there.
They work as one; they keep their vow.
For each other they will care.”

‘Doesn’t seem to make a lot of sense. I think it’s just something the writer of this book used as a book mark.’

‘I think you’re right there, Your Ladyship.’ Basalt always seemed to make his use of the honorific sound like an insult, and Lady Randa bristled. ‘No reference to Sauvern or his Sword.’

Carthinal replaced the “bookmark” in the place in the book where it came from, remarking that they may as well use it for the job the original writer did.

He went on to remark that the books were all very old, and moving them may damage them, so, with the Lady’s permission, he would bring his friend to the Palace so she could translate it in situ as it were. Randa agreed, and with that, they left the hidden room, almost having to drag Bas out from his examination of the carvings.

When they came up the stairs to the library they found that darkness had fallen. The candles had been lit in the chandeliers and the light bounced around the room, split into colours by the glass, and making rainbows everywhere. The slight draughts moving around the room caused the candles to flicker and the light looked like thousands of fireflies dancing around.

‘This never fails to impress me,’ said Lady Randa, momentarily forgetting to be the Duke’s Daughter. ‘My grandfather had it done. Look at the way the windows reflect the light back into the room. Isn’t it beautiful?’

The others agreed, and reluctantly tore themselves away from the beautiful library to make their way back to the inn and dinner.

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There are dragons and magic in the world if only you look for them… V.M. Sang