Book Excerpts

From the short story collection Inside Realms:

Song Rise
The air turned cold and a swirl of mist appeared with a flare of ethereal luminosity. A roar of impelling sound, a shiver in the surrounding elements and Diarmid opened his eyes. He was no longer at the inn, but on a trail in the Kinsharra Mountains.
He looked upward to the all-embracing expanse and regretted sincerely the restraints of magic that had been placed on this region of the Kinsharra Mountains. Diarmid tucked his harp carefully back into its case slung across his shoulder, and with a regretful sigh started the long climb to Kinsharra Point.
The mountain track was snow packed, still locked in a northern winter chill, although it was the beginning of spring. He left his footsteps behind him like tiny echoes as he marched through the frozen vista scrambling to be reborn. The wind around him blew bitter, a hungry lament keening down from the caves.
"To freeze my bones," he growled through the gale. "No doubt I’ll lay dead somewhere before this day is through."

Advent
"You are upsetting the Wizard Council with these ideas of yours, Aristan. The Nine are not happy."
"I cannot understand that, Reni, I would have presumed they would wish me to research the source of our magic."
Aristan and his friend Reni were seated in the Great Hall of the Ankeu wizards, watching a fire crackle in the stone hearth. They were again debating Aristan’s widely scoffed at theories of magic.

Kinsharra
Rury stared out over the expanse, at the remnants of the Ankeu wizards and his father’s army. His army. They were the vanguard of the Paria faction, and now they were as dead as the Ankeu. He stood silent as he watched the gentle chill of death float across the aftermath of war.
Smoke rose off the battleground, wisps expanding to the mountain peaks and the sky. Carried within its haze were the ambitions and beliefs of two orders. The mortal remnants of those societies were strewn dead, across earth red from their blood.
The air was sour with the stink of warfare. Ravens and buzzards plucked from the carcasses, making meals of the lifeless.

Legendary Debts
I used to be mortal.
In years past, I was just an ordinary person, an attractive slip of a girl who craved some adventure. I worked in my father’s inn, serving drinks and food to the trade. I had dreams of warriors and escapades.
Then I met Merlin, the great wizard, and thought my dreams had arrived. He was handsome, fun, and I found a whole new reality in the realm of magic. I loved consorting with wizards and heroes, and I had a hell of a good time. Until I found out the cost, that small detail that Merlin had forgotten to mention.
I couldn’t die.

Nimue
I came to Afallon in my first year. My mother sought sanctuary there after the death of my father, Merlin. I never knew him, my father; he died just before I was born.
I was raised among the women, the Lady of the Lake and her retinue. It was a fine childhood, in many ways carefree and untamed. I played among the wilderness and wildlife of Afallon, with the hermits, or with the children of the lake village.

The Elite of the Blood
It was night, and I was standing in the rain, the cold wet seeping into my skin and hair. I had closed my eyes, and I could hear the thrumming of the raindrops as they hit the ground. But it was a heartbeat I was trying to hear.
Ah, there it was, the faint thumping sound. I licked my lips; I had found my quarry. She had already been pursued for three city blocks, but now the search was nearing an end.
"She is close."
I let the words carry over my shoulder to the rest of my team.
I signaled, and we moved left and down the dark street. I had brought my five best men, all well trained. With practiced ease we assembled formation, and advanced on the hunted. I was on point, tracking, all my senses open.

Copyright 2007 A. F. Stewart