Reign Queen
Page 23
Shennon’s eyes narrowed. “What else would one call it?”
Before they could answer, another uniformed guard joined the group, but his insignia and attitude made it obvious to the Shennon he had power over the others. They were quick to stand at attention, eyes straight ahead. “Stop this nattering and get yourselves off to your duties. I’ll take the young woman to face the question.” His thin mustache twitched at the three who scurried off.
“I’m Captain Meeps.” He gave her a brief bow and gripped her elbow. “Miss, if you please? You were delayed and the Dragon King is short on patience. Your trunk will be taken to your quarters.” He paused to snap his fingers at the porter who jumped to the task. “But we must head straight to His Majesty’s chambers at once.”
Meeps gave her no opportunity to agree or disagree but strode forward, forcing her to keep up or have her elbow bent double.
“I’m in a rush myself, but we needn’t race along, Captain,” she said, attempting to drag herself back and set a more appropriate speed across the bailey. The myriad of snowdrifts between them and the inner bailey which led to the castle entrance looked like rounded waves frozen across a barren landscape. The few full-grown trees, utterly devoid of leaves, glistened with frost, their branches sculpted prettily by the snow wedged where the trunk and boughs met. As delightful as the great courtyard looked, if one ignored the churned up snow and steaming mounds of horse manure, it was a formidable walk to the inner gate of the castle proper.
“You’re late, and the Dragon King has no patience.” He picked up the pace, unmindful of the snow he was forcing her to struggle through.
His own knee-high boots protected him, but hers, though snug and fur lined, were soon soaked with the melting snow which gathered under her dress. Shennon’s wool stockings sopped up the weeping clumps that clustered close to her calves, and the folds of the double woolen inner dress under her long coat gathered heavy balls of snow with each step until she was carrying as much as she was stepping over.
Shennon struggled to wade through another high drift. Oaf! “Sir, this is most unacceptable. Slow down, at once.”
The man kept his eyes ahead, not deigning to face her as he spoke. “There is no time.” Puffs of vapor spewed from Meeps’ thin lips. “He knows you’re here and will not accept any further delay.”
His grip only tightened when she attempted to jerk her arm away. How is this acceptable treatment for someone working to bring peace to the area? She clenched her teeth together as she put her attention to avoiding the deepest snowdrifts he seemed determined to drag her through. Some minutes later, they entered the castle and stood in the wide foyer. Captain Meeps left her so he could converse with a servant and send a liveried boy at a run out of the grand foyer and down a corridor. She could hear the boy’s footfalls quite a while before they dwindled away.
Interested in more than listening to the boy run in the quiet castle, Shennon used the lack of forward, motion to take stock of her surroundings. She hoped, though she knew it was impossible, that there would be a sign pointing out the direction of the archives. If she must begin at once, then she might as well begin her research there and at her own pace. But as expected, there was no mounted arrow labeled with the designation, “Researchers, this way.” She grimaced and looked back to the captain of the guard. He’d finished his conversation and eyed the snow enhancing her coat and dress. She shivered, suddenly aware again of the wet chill encasing her feet and lower limbs. Her skirt seemed to have grown into a ball gown of white crystals.
The captain of the guard pursed his lips as he wiped a finger over each side of his thin mustache. A servant girl was sweeping the pristine marble floor, and he snatched the broom from her and paced toward Shennon. She gave him a questioning look and backed up a step. His stride brought him close fast, and she feared he intended to run her right over; however, he stopped abruptly a foot away and swished the broom along her dress hem, knocking cascades of snow to the floor.
Incensed, Shennon grabbed the broomstick and stopped him mid-swish. “Captain Meeps, cease this immediately.”
He jerked the broom from her grasp and continued his barrage of her skirts. “Young miss, the snow must be removed while still dry or you’ll be leaving a trail of water throughout the castle, probably all the way to the Dragon King’s chambers which will only make things worse.”
“You don’t say,” she said and raised her dress until her wet boots came into view along with the puddle she stood in. “I hadn’t noticed how wet and frozen my feet were until you just now mentioned it, and how I could have been unaware of the mounds of snow accumulated between coat, dress, petticoat, and stockings, I’ll never know.” She shook her dress, sending more clumps of snow to the floor. “How I was not impeded in my movement or weighed down by the sheer mass of it is indeed a mystery.”
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Continue reading for an excerpt from The Sharded Boy, first book in the Standing Stone fantasy adventure series.
Excerpt from The Sharded Boy
Jahl Pratter dropped his last coin into the rental box mounted on the pine wall and prepared to pick out a standing stone. The usual stack of flat stones by the mercantile’s door was gone, so the young magic wielder had needed to head in and search the stock at the back. The cramped space where the stones were stored made it hard for the sixteen-year-old to crouch down with his crippled leg stuck out to one side.
Kohen Tommlar, the Warder of Stones and the shop owner, was busy with customers. Jahl peeked around a stack of stones to estimate how much longer he had to get his stone and get out before he fell under the eye of the easily aggravated Tommlar. The shop owner was still distracted.
Jahl twisted about, pressing a lean hip against one of the stacks of expensive stones he always ignored when he had to search the back of the store. He needed a cheap, well-used but still viable standing stone. He ran his fingers down the hard, flinty edges of stones that he could afford to choose from. They looked thinner, too, which he liked to think would make one easier to carry.
The third edge his fingers came in contact with sparked against Jahl’s fingertips and made them tingle. It was the strongest response he’d ever felt from a used stone. Thankful it was near the top of the stack, Jahl took a decisive breath. They were heavy, but moving two out of the way would leave him still strong enough to carry the third out front to one of the complementary booths.
The booths were just four-foot-square spaces of dirt left of the front door, but the booths were the only opportunity Jahl had to meet clients looking for a quick spell. If he could build up a regular set of clients, he would buy a used but magic-rich stone and be able to have his clients come to his home for his services. But until then, renting a standing stone and waiting in the appointed space by the front of the store would have to do. So far, he’d only managed to earn enough each day to rent another stone the next morning.
He ran his fingers over the surface of the top stone, flakes bouncing off as his fingers moved over the chisel marks. A vague vibration trembled against his hand. Assured it was not a good standing stone, Jahl gripped it and lifted with a grunt, turned and heaved it onto a taller stack. His shoulder muscles cramped with the effort, and he marveled at its weight and lack of even a trace of magic. Tommlar must be hoping to take advantage of a poor, low-talent wielder. He pivoted on the one foot supporting his weight and grasped the second stone. At his touch, it gave off a vaporous stink, and he hurried to move it aside so he could remove his hands from the remains of what must have been dark usage. Wielders that practiced curses and poisoning magic tended to rent stones rather than use their own.
Jahl wished yet again for a job worthy enough to earn him the coin needed to buy his own standing stone. Tommlar’s gruff voice reminded him he should not dally at the back long. The shop owner would find some reason to berate him, even if it was just for daydreaming.
Grab the good one and get out befor
e you draw Tommlar’s attention, he told himself. He dug his fingers under the edge of his selected stone. Blood’s Bees! How was he going to pull the stone to his chest and rise up on his good leg in this cramped space? He turned yet again, grating his right shoulder and hip against a tall stack of high-end magic stones. The contact drew arcs of brilliant color and drifting dust particles like tiny stars. Jahl looked toward the owner of the mercantile at the front of the store and was happy to see he was still with a customer. Tommlar would accuse him of testing the merchandise if he caught him drawing arcs and magic debris from the expensive stones. He might even think Jahl had been passing magic into the rental he was touching. That would be a feat for a new wielder!
Jahl shifted his weight to the side and into the cloud of drifting essence. He felt the tingle against his skin as he soaked it up. With that simple gesture, the response faded, and Tommlar was still too busy to notice. Jahl adjusted his position again and rested a moment while he judged the space between stacks that might offer a better stance for him. He stuck his right leg into the space between the two standing stone columns and settled his weight on the ball of his left foot. Jahl pulled his shoulders in and yanked the stone’s far edge up, and then he yanked again and pulled it to his chest. Leaning forward and using his crippled leg as a lever, he stood up, holding his breath as he strained.
Jahl rocked with the effort to remain upright against the tug of the stone in his arms and only one strong leg to stand on. To counterbalance, he leaned back farther than he should and tapped a stack behind him. Jahl felt it shift. Tommlar was still busy, thankfully, and Jahl closed his eyes and pulled at the stack behind him until he felt it find its balance. His fingers tingled with the strain of drawing the majority of the magic into his shoulders rather than through his whole body when he stood on a stone and felt the power rise up.
He shuffled right, limping in his practiced, graceful-yet-awkward manner out from the stacks. Every step caused him pain that ran from his twisted heel up through his stiff knee to a hip that almost creaked with the cramps running up his thigh and buttocks. Little puffs of air rushed past his lips, and he held back his moaning response to the pain. Allowing his body to lean to the side and resting his shoulder against the store wall, Jahl paused, hidden between two display racks, to wait out the discomfort. He stepped out and sighed as he peered ahead to the sun-drenched, open double doors of the mercantile.
The morning sun glaring through the door was eclipsed, and everyone in the store glanced at the entrance. Bragg Moln stood in the doorway squinting into the shadows. Jahl stood still and felt the blood rising to his cheeks in anticipation of what the man would do. It was hard to accept help at the same time he was trying to earn the respect a magic wielder needed for customers to have confidence. As much as it was a strain to carry the stone, it forced people to recognize him for what he was. But he knew Moln saw the situation differently.
The big man scanned the store before lighting his gaze on Jahl. “Young Pratter, no helpful clerk about to carry that for you? I’ll give you a hand.” A couple of customers deliberately leaned closer to the stock in front of them, suddenly intensely interested in flatware and curtain material. They snuck glimpses first at Pratter then at Tommlar, anticipating a snide remark that would entertain them.
Jahl clutched tighter at the stone. “No, I got it. No need to trouble yourself, Master Moln.”
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Continue to learn a little about me and see a list of my other books.
About the Author
L. Darby (Elldee) Gibbs, a long-time fan of science fiction and fantasy, has focused her writing on romantic fantasy in most recent years. She has three fantasy series, the first is a coming of age adventure, currently a four-book series titled Standing Stone.
Gibbs has written a stand-alone series of romantic dragon fantasy titled Solstice Dragon World. The books can be read out of order, though they do on occasion reference events that occurred the other books. There are four books in the growing series.
The most recent romantic fantasy series is the Kavin Cut Chronicles trilogy which follows the trials of one woman and her growth from reticent scribe to reigning queen.
As a full-time high school English teacher and part-time English professor, she teaches, perfects her craft, reads, writes and takes family adventures with her husband and their Labrador, Cagney. The recent purchase of a sailboat has introduce a whole new dynamic to her spare time.
To learn more about Gibbs and her books, visit her author page at Smashwords.com
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Other Books by L. Darby Gibbs
Fantasy
STANDING STONE SERIES
The Sharded Boy, Book 1
The Shifter Shard, Book 2
The Heart of Lal, Book 3
The Sand Wielders, Book 4
The Wielder’s Grimoire, Book 5 (2021)
SOLSTICE DRAGON WORLD (standalone novels)
The Dragon Question, Book 1
Dragon Bone Ridge, Book 2
Dira’s Dragon, Book 3
To Harbor a Dragon, Book 4
THE KAVIN CUT CHRONICLES (Trilogy)
Ring True, Book 1
Nock Arrow, Book 2
Reign Queen, Book 3
Science Fiction
Scrapper (novella)
Non-fiction: a writer’s resource book of plots
The Little Handbook of Narrative Frameworks