A Taste of “Mirklin Wood” #3   1 comment

Front Cover RedThe book is in final edits. I just finished incorporating one beta reader’s suggestions and am waiting on another. If all goes well, the book will be on pre-order by March 1 and will publish mid-March.

I love this stage of the creative process because I can really see things coming together. The long slog to the finish line that is publishing a 130,000-word epic fantasy is gaining speed now because I can see the finish line.

Of course writers are never done, right? After I take a break to read someone else’s book for a week or so, I’ll resume work on the already-in-progress Objects in View (Book 2 of Transformation Project). I’m going to be talking about that later today.

In the meantime, here are some highlights of Mirklin Wood.

Dun Wmgleadd sat under a dinner plate full moon, the streets bright as noontide. A caravan had arrived earlier in the day, so the night sang with the great merriment accompanying hardworking men with coin in their purses after a long job is accomplished. Every inn of any reputation spilled over with light, laughter and frivolity, harlots plied their trade and ale flowed like water in a stream.

At the Blue Goose just off the market square, the gaiety was shattered by a scream and the dull thud of a body hitting a grassy yard.

Far from the celebrating throng, Padraig slept soundly, luxuriating in a morrow with no commitments. 

He’d been on the move constantly since leaving Clarcom more than two moons hence and a single night without concern for the morrow was a rare luxury that he meant to savor until dawn. When the dream of the eastern mountains began, he though mayhap it was a melting of the blockage he’d labored with for more than a moon, for this had the flavor of vision more than of dream.

The majestic sunlit peaks soared behind Gly as he shouted at Padraig from a great distance. The elven master’s words shredded on an unfelt wind so that Padraig recognized only the word “sword”. Sword? What sword? Gly gestured, directing Padraig to look behind him. He flinched back as lightning rent a storm-black sky. An unnatural raven unfolded enormous wings to launch itself into the storm, somewhat clenched in its talons. Just as it threatened to disappear into the clouds, the raven dropped what it carried and Padraig stared as a sword flashed past his perch to fall broadside upon the grassy yard he suddenly stood upon.

A large fat goose with blue feathers honked at him and waddled off into the darkness. A falcon lifted its beak free of the shelter of its wing in a tree in Mulyn and launched itself into the sky, pushing southward. Ryanna picked up a walking stick of beautiful willow. A Kin woman he knew from the holt told her elfling husband she was with child. Lydia watched Danyl as he slept. A dark and forbidden forest stretched toward unknown mountains. Gly’s voice echoed through his head.

“The broken sword has value. Arise, sleeper, and protect it.”

The dream vision dissolved as loud whispering called his name.

“Padraig of Denygal? Where are you? Padraig?”

Men began to curse the voice that awakened them and Padraig crawled out of the tent in only his small clothes to keep Braeden from being killed … or more like having to kill someone to keep from being killed. Braeden’s reputation was no doubt deserved.

One response to “A Taste of “Mirklin Wood” #3

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  1. Reblogged this on Daermad Cycle.

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