SFF Saturday

 

Another Saturday has arrived! That means it’s time for another SFF Saturday Snippet! What’s SFF Saturday? It’s a group of authors who post snippets of SFF prose and poetry for comment. You can check out other SFF Saturday posts, too.

I had a great time at WisCon. Met some fine folks and saw some great panels. But I seem to have caught a cold. Ooof. Hopefully a weekend of warm weather and some OTC meds will fix that right up.

Here’s another snippet from Old Wounds! This is the Thirteenth part. You can find the other parts here.

When we left Master Sorne, she’d just told Dilan to get out of the shop, but not tell anyone what was going down.

“I’ll go out the back.” A moment later, Dilan was gone.

Sorne ran fingers through her hair, not surprised to find her skull damp with sweat. She leaned against the counter where she’d lain her blades. “Now, tell me your name.”

“Ambrose Terrin.” He brushed his hand over his face. “Is there somewhere we can sit? I—” He swayed.

Figured, now that his excitement and determination had worn off.

So. Ambrose. She has a name now.

Another Saturday has arrived! That means it’s time for another SFF Saturday Snippet! What’s SFF Saturday? It’s a group of authors who post snippets of SFF prose and poetry for comment. You can check out other SFF Saturday posts, too.

I’m at WisCon this weekend, so I’m in beautiful Madison, Wisconson, soaking up the sites, the panels, and the companionship.

So while I’m running to and fro and staying up waaaay too late, here’s another snippet from Old Wounds! This is the twelfth part. You can find the other parts here.

When we left Master Sorne, her mysterious guest has finally lowered his gun.

Sorne moved with care. The gun, while not aimed at Dilan’s head, was still cocked. One slip of his finger and the damn thing would go off. “Please put that down.”

The man looked at the weapon, then placed it on a nearby counter, its muzzle pointing toward the wall. Tension eased between Sorne’s shoulder blades and she lowered her arms. “Dilan, get out of here, but don’t tell anyone what has happened.”

“Master?”

She snorted. “If he’s being watched and you tattle, what do you think happens to the girl?”

Ah, Sorne. She’s clever. Or experienced. Which do you think?

 

Look at that! It Saturday again! That means it’s time for another SFF Saturday Snippet! What’s SFF Saturday? It’s a group of authors who post snippets of SFF prose and poetry for comment. You can check out other SFF Saturday posts, too.

My good news for the week is that the manuscript I submitted to Harper Voyager waaaaay back in October during their unagented digital submissions open window has made it past the first cut! But I’m one of 948 (out of 4,500+ originally) so still very much long odds. But hey, I made it that far! (Yeah, I have an agent now, but back then I didn’t.)

This weekend will be full of writing and housework and packing. I’m heading out to WisCon next weekend! But I’m packing early, as the cats get bent whenever I take the suitcase out. Or clean. So I want to give them a chance to calm down before I leave them.

So while I’m folding laundry, here’s another snippet from Old Wounds! This is the eleventh part. You can find the other parts here.

When we left Master Sorne, her mysterious guest (still holding Dilan at gunpoint) just told her he was doing all this because “they” had his daughter.

“And you have someone’s son.”

There it was, the waver. In his face and in his arm, telling her that he did not want to be here. “She’s three,” he said.

Fire and ash. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do either, then. “Put down the gun and tell me. Perhaps there’s another way out of this.”

The man did not move for several long moments, then he lowered his arm. “I have no other hope.”

 

Holy Cats! It Saturday again! That means it’s time for another SFF Saturday Snippet! What’s SFF Saturday? It’s a group of authors who post snippets of SFF prose and poetry for comment. You can check out other SFF Saturday posts, too.

It’s Mother’s Day in the US and, as it happens, my parents are visiting this weekend, so I’ll be running around with my mom and seeing my grandmom and doing other related family activities.

But while I’m out and about, here’s another snippet from Old Wounds to keep you entertained! This is the tenth part. You can find the other parts here.

When we left Master Sorne, her mysterious guest wanted her to break into the Palace. She said no. Very decisively, despite the gun still pressed to Dilan’s head.

“She won’t betray the King. Not for my life, not for her own.” Dilan opened his eyes and met Sorne’s gaze. “You could bathe the streets red with the blood of the town’s residents, and it wouldn’t sway her.” He’d gained some of his color back.

The kid had a spine after all. If they survived this, she’d work with him on building that up. “Dilan has the right of it.”

The stranger pulled back the pistol slightly. “They have my daughter.”

 

Is it Saturday all ready? That means it’s time for another SFF Saturday Snippet! What’s SFF Saturday? It’s a group of authors who post snippets of SFF prose and poetry for comment. You can check out other SFF Saturday posts, too.

It’s been an eventful week for me. If you didn’t see my Wednesday post, I accepted an offer of representation from Jennifer Udden of the Donald Maass Agency. I’m still kind of in shock. And thrilled! But in shock. She’ll also be representing the other me, who writes steamier books.

We’ll be working on getting a fantasy novel called Duty to the Crown ready for submission. Old Wounds, the short story I’ve been posting snippets from, is set in the same world, with some of the same characters. So I’m not sure what will happen to this piece in the future…only time will tell!

But for the time being, here’s another snippet from Old Wounds. This is the ninth part. You can find the other parts here.

When we left Master Sorne, her mysterious guest complained that he didn’t have time for an appointment. She noted that she didn’t either.

Silence, but for Dilan’s gasps for air. She sighed. “What do you want, then?”

“I need to break into the Palace—”

“No.”

The stranger parted his lips in shock, then pressed the gun harder into Dilan’s skull. “I don’t think you understand what I’m willing to do…”

Dilan closed his eyes. He knew, of course.

…and that’s it until next week!

 

Well, look at that! It’s time for another SFF Saturday Snippet! What’s SFF Saturday? It’s a group of authors who post snippets of SFF prose and poetry for comment. You can check out other SFF Saturday posts, too.

I’ll be in the garden today, pulling weeds out of beds and cutting the grass and generally getting my hands covered in dirt. But before I venture out, I want to give you another snippet from a short story I wrote called Old Wounds. This is the eighth part. You can find the other parts here.

When we left Master Sorne, her mysterious guest looked insulted at her insinuation that he was there to rob her.

“I’m not here for your money. I want to speak to you.”

She pushed down her growing anger, but not before some of it slipped out. “Courtesy calls for making an appointment, sirrah. Not placing a gun to the head of my apprentice.”

Dilan turned paler, quite a feat, given the deep bronze of his complexion. The young man would faint or pass out soon, she expected.

The man’s face hardened. “I don’t have time for appointments.”

“Neither do I,” she said.

Aaaand, yes, that’s really ten sentences.

 

It’s time for another SFF Saturday Snippet! What’s SFF Saturday? It’s a group of authors who post snippets of SFF prose and poetry for comment. You can check out other SFF Saturday posts, too.

For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been giving you snippets from a short story I wrote called Old Wounds. This is the seventh part. You can find the other parts here.

When we left Master Sorne, her mysterious guest asked for the rest of Sorne’s blades.

Damn. Sorne added the knife from her belt and boot to the counter. “That’s all,” she said.

“His life depends on your honesty, Mistress.”

“Master,” she said. “And I’m lame, not blind.” She kept her hands where the man could see them. “How much do you want?”

He jerked his head up and had the gall to look insulted.

Well, then.

 

It’s almost tax day in the US. Guess who still hasn’t done hers? Yup. Every year, I say I’m going to do them as soon as I get all the paperwork, and every year, I do them the day before.

But today, it’s time for another SFF Saturday Snippet! What’s SFF Saturday? It’s a group of authors who post snippets of SFF prose and poetry for comment. You can check out other SFF Saturday posts, too.

For the next couple of weeks, I’ll be giving you snippets from a short story I wrote called Old Wounds. This is the sixth part. You can find the other parts here.

When we left Master Sorne, her mysterious guest was holding a gun to Sorne’s apprentice’s head.

“Don’t move,” he said.

She did not know the dark-haired man. His voice held traces of a coastal accent, his bearing sure, and the hand holding the pistol fine and steady. He had money; his fingers were not those of a laborer. She held her place—and her tongue.

“Now move to your right and place the knife on the counter.”

He also had a brain.  Careful to keep her movements slow and her hands visible, she laid the palmed blade on the table. At the end of the stranger’s pistol Dilan stood silently, but his whole body shook like a new leaf in a spring breeze.

“And any other blades you have on you, if you’d please.”

Any guess as to what Sorne’s very next thought is?

 

It’s time for another SFF Saturday Snippet! What’s SFF Saturday? It’s a group of authors who post snippets of SFF prose and poetry for comment. You can check out other SFF Saturday posts, too.

For the next couple of weeks, I’ll be giving you snippets from a short story I wrote called Old Wounds. This is the fifth part. You can find the other parts here.

When we left Master Sorne, her mysterious guest had just called her Mistress Sorne.

Her non-sword hand curled into a fist. “Master Sorne.”

Dilan spoke. “Master, he’s got one of those flint things.”

Flintlock. Damn the humans for inventing them and damn her fellow Elasi for perfecting them. It could be a pistol or a long gun—either way, her sword would be useless. She set it down and palmed a throwing knife before unbolting and opening the workshop door.

The firearm, it turned out, was a pistol and a stranger had it pressed up against the back of Dilan’s head. Her apprentice’s eyes were wide and his face ashen and he trembled as the man holding the gun backed him away from the door—away from her.

 

It’s time for another SFF Saturday Snippet! What’s SFF Saturday? It’s a group of authors who post snippets of SFF prose and poetry for comment. You can check out other SFF Saturday posts, too.

For the next couple of weeks, I’ll be giving you snippets from a short story I wrote called Old Wounds. This is the third part. You can find the other parts here.

When we left Master Sorne, she had been pondering why thieves would be so stupid to rob her.

Dilan cleared his throat. “He says its urgent.”

“Is it the King?”

“No.”

“The Rivvis?”

“No.”

“Then tell him to go take a piss.”

There was a pause, then a new voice sounded in the shop. “I don’t think that would be wise, Mistress Sorne.”