SFF Saturday

 

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’d taken her sword in her hand.

All of the coin for the shop, the precious metals, the gems, she kept in a safe at the back of her workroom. She only displayed the ironwork in the front and a very few inexpensive jewelry pieces in a case. For the bulk of the wealth the shop held, the robbers would have to enter this room.

They must be incredibly stupid thieves. Everyone knew who she had been. Even with her lame leg, she could still best all but three people in a fight, and those who could defeat her had no need to steal gold.

The floor squeaked in the main part of the shop, but not close enough to have been Dilan. Someone spoke, too low and soft for Sorne to decipher the words.

 

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 second part. You can find the first part here.

When we left Master Sorne, she’d just been interrupted by her apprentice, and there’s too much fear in his voice.

Oh damn. She pulled off her jeweler’s loop and picked up her sword. “Yes?”  She used her best ill-tempered voice.

“There’s a gentleman here to see you.”

Only one? She slipped her sword free from its scabbard. “Send him away. I’m busy.”

 

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 taking a bit of a break from Herald as I think I reached a good end to a chapter. I’m not sure where I’m going next in that book, so I need to let it sit. I’ve put all the previous Herald snippets together here, if you’re interested in reading them all at once.

For the next couple of weeks, I’ll be giving you snippets from a short story I wrote called Old Wounds.

This is the start:

Sorne heard her apprentice’s footsteps creaking the floorboards as he crossed the shop toward her closed door. His pace was halting, as if he weren’t sure he should be intruding. She set down her pliers and rod, least she mar the delicate gold of the coronet before her. Dilan was better than this. Her instructions had been very clear—no interruptions. She had a commission to finish by tomorrow and she was never late. She’d no plans to ruin that part of her reputation now, even if it meant a sleepless night.

Dilan rapped on her door. “Master Sorne?” His voice carried far too much fear in it.

 

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 snippet is another few lines from a work in progress called Herald (at the moment). Eventually, the project be a fantasy loosely based on the Hundred Years War, but it’s in the very early draft stages (as in, you’re pretty much getting the words as I type em).

I’ve put all the previous snippets together here, if you need to catch up.

When we last saw Denis and the enemy King of Angth, night had fallen on the battlefield. Denis’s job is done.

Strong arms lifted him to standing and the Red King’s voice rang in his ear. “Time to return to your people, Denis. Mitchell will see you back. Eat and rest and see to your ablutions, for I will be calling on the Soleil d’Or, ere the night ends.”

“Sire.” Denis’s reply was a brittle thing that broke and shattered in the night air.

The King left him with Mitchell, who helped him back across the a battlefield hushed with the low cries of the dead. Before they reached the Revenan camp, he pulled Mitchell to a stop. “I can walk the rest of the way unaided.”

He’d be damned if he’d let the Prince think him weak.

 

Happy Saturday after Valentine’s day! I’m off to buy inexpensive chocolate! But I leave you with 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 snippet is another few lines from a work in progress called Herald (at the moment). Eventually, the project be a fantasy loosely based on the Hundred Years War, but it’s in the very early draft stages (as in, you’re pretty much getting the words as I type em).

I’ve put all the previous snippets together here, if you need to catch up.

When we last saw Denis and the enemy King of Angth, Denis had just fallen over into the mud in exhaustion. He’s surprised to find the King helping him up.

“Now is not the time for heroic lies,” the King said. “Mitchell, help me.”

Between the King and his guard, Denis managed the walk to the next body. And the next and the one after that. But after he set the soul free, an eerie hush fell over the battlefield–Sunset.

Denis shivered as the wailing started, soft at first, then rising, rising until the sound was a din that bore down on the soul. Then it receded until it was only a whisper of agony that underlaid every other noise on the field.

Now the task would shift to the priests, to exorcise the unnamed dead from the land.

It always hurt, this failure. In war, there were simply too many dead.

 

It’s another SFF Saturday! 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 snippet is another few lines from a work in progress called Herald (at the moment). Eventually, the project be a fantasy loosely based on the Hundred Years War, but it’s in the very early draft stages.

I’ve put all the previous snippets together here, if you need to catch up.

When we last saw Denis and the enemy King of Angth, Denis has just found the first name of a fallen Revenan soldier in a letter on the body. He hopes it’s enough to send the dead man’s spirit to rest.

The body shimmered and the soul rose, sluggishly, in the light of the setting sun.

Gods above, thank you. Denis made to rise, but pitched sideways onto the ground instead. The earth smelled of blood and rain and for a moment, he thought it might be better to remain where he was, but others needed him more than he needed rest. Dennis struggled partway out of the mud and was lifted the rest of the way upright.

He turned to thank the King’s guardsman, only to find it was the King that held him steady.

“Can you continue?”

“Yes.” But when the King released him, Denis’s legs wavered. The King’s grip around his arm tightened.

Also, if you’re curious to know more about this project and from whence it came, I posted about it as part of the Next Big Thing blog hop.

 

Happy Groundhog day! Half of my family is from Punxsutawney, PA, so I’m rather fond of the day that puts the little town on the map. Here’s hoping that Phil doesn’t see his shadow, as I am quite done with winter.

Now on to SFF Saturday!

SFF Saturday is a group of authors who post snippets of SFF prose and poetry for comment. You can check out other SFF Saturday posts, too.

My snippet is another few lines from a work in progress called Herald (at the moment). Eventually, the project be a fantasy loosely based on the Hundred Years War, but it’s in the very early draft stages.

I’ve put all the previous snippets together here, if you need to catch up.

When we last saw Denis and the enemy King of Angth, Denis has just encountered a corpse of a fellow countryman, only he doesn’t know the man’s name. The King’s guard manhandles Denis to his feet, but the King tells his guard to let Denis be.

The guard released Denis and he sank back down to the sodden earth, his joints creaking like a bag of bones and his heart lodged at the back of his throat. The sky had taken on the colors of fire. Not much time left until nightfall and so many names he did not know.

Another touch, this one softer and on the crown of his head. “Search the body, Denis,” the king said. “Perhaps there’s a trinket or something that might help name him.”

The dead man was cold and stiff, but his pocket yielded a folded piece of paper–a letter from a sweetheart–and a single name. Gervais. Denis prayed it would be enough to name his soul.

“Gervais of Revena, be remembered.”

Also, if you’re curious to know more about this project and from whence it came, I posted about it as part of the Next Big Thing blog hop.

 

SFF Saturday is a group of authors who post snippets of SFF prose and poetry for comment. You can check out other SFF Saturday posts, too.

My snippet is another few lines from a work in progress called Herald (at the moment). Eventually, the project be a fantasy loosely based on the Hundred Years War, but it’s in the very early draft stages.

I’ve put all the previous snippets together here, if you need to catch up.

When we last saw Denis and the enemy King of Angth, Denis had just encountered a corpse of a fellow countryman, only he doesn’t know the man’s name.

This time, Denis had to place both of his hands on the ground to steady his shaking body. “I don’t know him,” he whispered to the earth.

“Then we move on,” the king said.

Denis shook his head, just enough to indicate his defiance. Rough hands gripped Denis’s arm and yanked him upward.

“On your feet.” A gruff voice, unlike the King’s. One of his guards, then.

“Soft, William. Let him be.”

 

SFF Saturday is a group of authors who post snippets of SFF prose and poetry for comment. You can check out other SFF Saturday posts, too.

My snippet is another few lines from a work in progress called Herald (at the moment). Eventually, the project be a fantasy loosely based on the Hundred Years War, but it’s in the very early draft stages.

I’ve put all the previous snippets together here, if you need to catch up.

When we last saw Denis and the enemy King of Angth, the Red King mentioned that he didn’t want to hear the screams of the dead.

The Red King strode away. “Come, I’ll give you the names of our fallen, for you are half-way across the field.”

A more careful scan of the land confirmed the king’s words. Hope, a slim thread of it, lay at the back of Denis’s throat like the smell of warmth on a winter’s day. Denis followed the proud back of the Red King, knelt by the next body, touched flesh with flesh, spoke the dead’s name, and moved on.

The Revenan dead still outnumbered the others despite their being closer to the Angth side of the field, but the Red King’s people became more frequent. Many of the Angth were common and unknown to Denis, but their king knew every one of them. Denis touched their skin and spoke their names into the Dragon Herald’s book.

All the more deep was Denis’s shame when they reached a Revenan man he couldn’t name.

 

SFF Saturday is a group of authors who post snippets of SFF prose and poetry for comment. You can check out other SFF Saturday posts, too.

My snippet is another few lines from a work in progress called Herald (at the moment). Eventually, the project be a fantasy loosely based on the Hundred Years War, but it’s in the very early draft stages.

Previous Snippets:

• First
• Second
• Third
• Fourth
• Fifth
• Sixth
• Seventh
• Eighth
• Ninth

I can’t believe I’m up to the tenth snippet! We’re also closing in on the end of this scene…

When we last saw Denis and the enemy King of Angth, the Red King had just let slip that he needed Denis alive and unharmed. Hmm…

“Sire, my value to the Prince is slight–”

“If your Prince does not see your worth, then he’s more a fool than I thought.”

The blunt statement silenced Denis and dried his already dusty mouth.

“I have enough of your court for ransom.” He flicked a hand out toward the remainder of the field. “Finish your duty to your King, herald, then bring me the count. I would know both Our pains.”

He could only bow at that. “I thank you, Sire, for your leave.”

“I have no desire to hear the screams of the dead.”