Sneak Peak #2

Happy to report that I have secured the services of another editor. She has been incredibly responsive and has already started her review of The Dungeons of Cetahl.  If all goes well, the book should be published by the end of this month!

In the meantime, here is another sneak peak of the not-yet-edited book. I must confess I struggled greatly with this particular scene. It has morphed so many times I have lost count...and yet, it is still not quite right. But, then again, I don't think I'll ever be completely satisfied :/

CHAPTER ONE

Ill Tidings

Though the throne room was quite large, it was a cold and barren chamber with few decorations save some red and black tapestries that hung from the walls. Loud voices tended to echo through the emptiness, compelling its occupants to use quieter tongues. This was just as well, as soft words do not lend themselves so readily to eavesdropping.

The Emperor sat upon his chair of stone, staring intently at the young man speaking before him – his son, Lord Cephas.

“It was a starcrest stone – in a wind chime, no less – tucked away in the corner of an obscure alleyway in Bartow. I had been admiring it when I felt his presence behind me.” A broad smile appeared on the young man’s face. “The old wizard was dust before he could utter a word.”

The arrogant boasts of his son were met with a scowl. “We did not send you on your quest so that you might start a war,” Lord Etan replied, his voice strained. Not yet, anyway. “You did not just kill any old wizard. You killed Lord Milton.”

It was clear from his son’s expression that Lord Cephas had not expected the rebuke. “I would have thought such news would have pleased you, Father,” he replied in a cool, measured tone. “The hero of the First War felled by your only son.”

Lord Etan said nothing.

“Would you rather I had been the one to die?” Lord Cephas pressed. “Do you not think Lord Milton would have done the same once he realized who stood before him?”

He has no idea how much I have suffered, Lord Etan thought bitterly. Eight years had passed since he initially sent Lord Cephas off on his quest. And while eight years is not necessarily a long time to a wizard – it is to a father who had expected his son to return within a year of his departure.

The Emperor had sent countless search parties into the West in an effort to find his son, but they always returned empty-handed. It was just in the past week that a messenger arrived with news that Lord Cephas had finally returned to the East. And now – at long last – his son stood before him. But his son came bearing ill tidings, and the Emperor remained troubled.

An awkward silence ensued until the young man took a deep breath and began speaking once more. “Lord Milton had a proper burial, and I took care to make certain no trace of him remained,” Lord Cephas explained. “Besides, the wizard was quite old. Sometimes old wizards just die.”

Sometimes old wizards just die. It was the way his son said it that unnerved the Emperor. He was of similar age to Lord Milton, perhaps even older.

“Regardless, I do not believe they shall suspect an Easterner was behind his disappearance.”

“Only a fool would be so naïve!” the Emperor growled, pounding his fist into the arm of the stone chair. “Wizards do not just disappear without a trace, my son.” Except perhaps you. The Emperor quickly dismissed the unexpected thought. “The Western Wizards most certainly shall suspect an Easterner is responsible. It is only a matter of time before we shall suffer the consequences of your stupidity.”

“If the West wages war upon us it shall be of your doing, not mine,” snapped Lord Cephas. “You have lost control of your domain, Emperor. Your people are fleeing over the mountains in droves. I have seen as much with my own eyes.”

The room fell silent, but the icy stares between father and son spoke volumes.

Eventually the Emperor let out a sigh and rubbed his aching head. “Did any good come of your journey? What of the other wizard? What of your servant?”

Selma had been standing quietly in the far corner of the throne room – staring at the floor – but she raised her head at the mention of her brother.

Lord Cephas frowned. “I am afraid Lady Blythe proved stronger than we had been led to believe. There was…an incident.”

“An incident?”

“Aye. I cannot say for certain if the wizard still lives, but alas, my servant is dead.”

Selma’s gasp was audible, as were the mumbled apologies that quickly followed. Unless specifically called upon, a servant must never utter a sound within the Emperor’s throne room. Never.

“Selma, leave us,” The Emperor commanded.

“As you wish, Emperor.”