I should be exhorting you all to PUSH PUSH PUSH the Inkshares campaign, but I'd rather just share a poem with you I just wrote. This will appear in a Jonas/Rime chapter of Asteroid Made of Dragons.

“Last light of the sun against gravestone sky, 

dream of the shadows all come to die. 

White sand, gray stone, green field all bear the scar, 

of heroes’ blood and silver star. 

They walk in steel, they die in stone, 

Children of Gilead sing alone. 

Black sea, white sand, the lives they fall, 

from broken horns still sound the call. 

Where Night and Beast dare wear the crown, 

Knights of Gilead will throw them down. 

Last light of the sun shine across the waves, 

bones of valor down in their graves.  

Songs of blood and journey’s end, 

the price of heroes for shadow’s end. 

Sundown comes and Gilead stands, 

sundown comes and Darkness plans.”

Eh, probably needs a revision or two -but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Derek

Good afternoon, everyone!

I've added the first Jonas & Rime chapter to the campaign site officially after some feedback from readers, and it's the featured segment for new readers to check out. I've also sent it to you all again if you want to share it around.

I'm on VACAY [woop woop] this week, but that only means from my actual day job.  I just stumbled up from the beach half-drunk and three-quarters sunburnt to work on AMOD. Next up in the queue is the chapter where Jonas and Rime fight half-ghost pirates, followed shortly by the chapter where Sideways sips daiquiris on an airship in between abductions.

I'm trying to remain calm, cool and collected about the Sword & Laser Contest and not flog you guys about it - we're in a good position going into the last leg of the competition, but be forewarned - if there's a need for some 11th hour campaigning and hustling you will see a new level of shamelessness from me.

Thank you all!

Secret #2

Unearthed from the D&D folder on my bookshelf, the Precursor number system - developed way back by friend and artist Margaret Poplin. [margaretpoplin.com]

A few of the Squires have asked me about the overall continuity of AMOD - where it fits in with my first two books, do they need to read the first two books beforehand, and why are you laughing quietly in the corner? Are you crying?-- they ask.

The short answer is NO! I write episodic fiction - each adventure is designed to be enjoyed on its own merits, the reader is supplied with the information and equipment they need. To me, feeling the strange history of characters extending off into the ether only adds to the enjoyment - and you don't really need to know much about what happened last week, when Rime is frying half-ghost pirates with lightning bolts, now do you?

But - and of course there is a quibble - there is a longer answer. And a longer story, one quietly being told in the shadows of each adventure du jour. I wrote a blog post about it a few months ago - thought I'd share it here for all the new followers who are just now realizing the strange and absurd predicament they have inserted themselves into.

Continuity - spell-sword.com - 11/19/14

I get asked this question a lot: How many books are there in the Spell/Sword series?

Well, not a lot. Eleven times, tops.

People ask because they want to know what they’re getting into, I suppose. Or just figure out how many years they have to deal with me explaining my fiction with wild-eyed elan. On the site so far I have three titles listed: Spell/Sword, The Riddle Box [PREORDER IT OH MY GOD PLEASE IT COMES OUT ON THE 26th], and Asteroid Made of Dragons.  These are reasonably set in stone – first one is out, second one next week, and I reference the title of the third book IN the second book so those are visible within the Narrative Fog of War. But, as I’ve always said – this is not epic fantasy, I’m not writing a trilogy. The story doesn’t end in the next book ( though you can safely consider AMOD as the end of an arc, or more correctly, the end of Disc One).

So, how many books will there be?

I should really only ask rhetorical questions that I know the answer to.

More than three, obviously? Seven seems like too many, but five might not be enough. BUT who writes a six book series?!? Is that a hexology? Wait, that kind of sounds badass, maybe it will be six books.

See, you would think I’m in charge of these things. But I’m kind of not. I know the tale I’m telling, I know the end. But the path to get there — there’s still plenty of shadows and fog, which is the way I like it. I’m a ‘pantser’, a ‘discovery writer’. I ‘don’t know what I’m doing’. I don’t know what I’m doing. Is there anything more wonderful or grand than that statement? I just point my antenna towards Aufero and pick up the broadcast and try to type fast enough to keep up with it — at least for the rough draft. Part of me wants there to be 10 books, because the last one is so sad.

Let’s pretend. Let’s pretend there are going to be ten books. Here’s what they will/could be.

1. Spell/Sword
2. The Riddle Box
3. Asteroid Made of Dragons
4. Paper-Thin Harry Potter Parody*
5. Wild Magic and Mild Salsa
6. Suddenly the Robots
7. Ecclesiastical by Jonathan Franzen
8. The Archivarium Saga : Secret of the Wonderblade**
9. Swordroom – Adventures in Financial Diplomacy and Corporate Espionage
10. The Fall

* There will be a year ‘in-world’ gap between the events of AMOD and Paper-Thin Harry Potter Parody

** I think this is the one where they get Bird!

Shit, maybe I will write 10 books. I need to hurry up and become famous so I can write these faster and stop wasting time ‘feeding and clothing’ myself.

[Hope that obfuscated the matter completely! Thanks for the support as always. Squires, you have kitchen duty tonight - Wild Mages please stop making it rain jelly beans inside the men's lavatory, I slipped on a pile of Green Apple and sprained my ankle.]

All I want to tell you is that Xenon now has a bratty younger sister named Mercury and she is awesome.

“Can we go?” a pea-pod green voice slid through the spokes of her brain and flung Xenon away from the scroll to flop in an ungainly heap on the rocky shores of Now.

“No, Mercury, no! No, going is not what we can be doing. We are nowhere in the vicinity of going, ‘Go’ is a subset of values that we have not yet encountered,” the goblin moaned, rubbing both of her eyes. “I told you when we got here that I was staying until the Library closed.”

Mercury blew out her green cheeks in disgust. “But I’m really, really stillwater. The Children’s Section closed hours ago.”

Xenon swiveled her neck to look out one of the stone windows at the angle of the sun. A quick calculation told her that even with the  most generous of head-math, the Children’s Section of the Archivus Eldracon had only closed thirty minutes prior. She snapped her head back to consider her younger sister. Mercury was nine years old, feet swinging and not touching the stone floors of the Library. Her dark hair was twisted into a sensible clump, fiercely warded by her mother’s red bone-clips. The younger goblin kicked back in her chair, freeing her belt-dagger and set to sharpening it on a small whetstone. The rasp made Xenon wince against her will.

“Look,” Xenon pleaded, hands covering her face “I only brought you along because Mom made me bring you along. And because you promised that you would wait patiently for me to finish my work today. I know this room must seem very boring compared to the Children’s Section --”

“Children’s Room’s got tunnels. And a tree that sings songs. And marmalade cookies and fresh milk,” Mercury continued to sharpen her dagger.

Xenon spoke from between her fingers, “Maybe a book or two?”

The younger goblin paused her work to deliver a blistering look of Complete Disdain. Xenon recognized it as being one of her mother’s signature attacks. Her sister had been learning from the master.

Good afternoon you feckless rabble, you hard-hearted convoy of bright-eyed adventurers.

We've picked up quite a few new followers - shamans, bladewalkers, puppeteers, guys named Chuck. My army grows with potency and I sip from a goblet of purest obsidian in vile pleasure.

Because this is the secret - this is the thing that books do, the invisible machinery of Purpose. It brings human minds together - across space and time and race and rhyme. It brings them together like little fireflies - little droplets of human energy floating in the dark. The more we gather the brighter that light becomes - doubling and redoubling like a dynamo, like thunder rumbling its way across the heavens.

The big Books? The ones out there with thousands or millions of readers - they burn like tiny suns, whole skies full of fire. Flame that sings across memory and dreams, powering the machines, turning the drill.

The drill? What drill? The drill that turns, breaking down the wall between our old gray world and the brighter worlds on the Other Side.

That's my job, every author's job, really. To walk along the edge of this world, tapping at the wall. And when you find a crack - when you smell something sweet or dark or evil or bright - some color on the other side you put your hand on it. You put your hand on it and you start to holler. Because you don't want to lose it! Anything but lose the scent, the tiny little weak place in the dimensional barrier. And then you write - you write what's on the other side, and if you're very very lucky - readers come. With the real power, the real human energy -- and if you get enough of them, you can break through.

We can break through. One day... one day. The Other worlds are out there and I can see mine -- one day we'll break on through and slip away. 

Maybe this is a weird goal to post here? Chuck looks like he's having second thoughts.

So thank you - is what I'm kind of saying - thank you for this small bonfire that we've built. May it guide others to our banner.

Have a great El Seis de Mayo! If you were unaware, it is officially the Greatest Day of the Year. 

Sic Semper Tyrannosaur,

Derek

Good evening everybody.

Spell/Sword and The Riddle Box free on Kindle!

As promised, as a way of saying thank you, I'm making my first two books free on Kindle all this week [May 4th-8th]. Here's the direct link to where you can download off Amazon. It should go live sometime around midnight, I guess? Not sure when the Amazon robots will flip the switches and drop the cost to zero. Also - apologies to backers who don't like ebooks in general or Kindle in specific - it's the only platform I have them easily available on.

And now - marching orders! Of course I want something from you - don't I always want something?

We're still in a strong second place in the contest, but it's a long way to the end of May - this is when I'm asking you to reach out to your friends and convince them to help support the book. Here's a nice easy link you can share with them that gives them a basic explanation of the site and also some information about me and my nerd-writings. I tried to make it as short and sweet as possible - hopefully giving away the first two books will convince them to take a look at Asteroid Made of Dragons. 

Here's the link:

http://spell-sword.com/2015/05/03/two-free-books-and-one-asteroid-made-of-dragons/

Thank you all so much for your support! Give those books away!  

Morning!

Just a quick note - a little 'inside information' if you will. We're turning a corner this week where I have to start convincing strangers and people I can't directly threaten, cajole, or sob upon to pre-order the book. Scary I know! 

I've been wracking my brain - and I've decided the best way to convince them to take a chance on my new book is to just GIVE them my first two books. SO - next week, May 4th-8th, my first two books are going to be absolutely free on Amazon. This is for the ebook - Kindle version -- sorry I don't have it available in other formats! 

You guys definitely help yourself as well, even those of you that have the paperbacks. I'm hoping this will be the perfect way for you to convince your friends and nerds on the street. Take a chance on Asteroid Made of Dragons - HERE'S TWO FREE BOOKS.

As always - thank you all so much for your support. Please tell me if I have egg on my face - and if you have any ideas or avenues or high-placed Illuminati friends, now is the time to bring them to the attention of the campaign!

Derek

Secrets #1

Those of you that have read the first two books - in paperback - have you ever noticed those weird little symbols on the spine? No?

Well, there they are! Oooh, spooky!

In normal fashion - for me at least - this is me feeling very clever and sneaky. And of course, no one has really noticed. Also normal. This is one of those 'I really want people to ask me about them so I can feel super-smart and authorly but no-one ever does' sort of scenarios.

Well, since you've been so kind as to support the next book, I think it's only fair that I crack the lid on this Dark Secret TM.  

Within the world of the books, I always be talking about some Precursors - the Arkanic race, the Lost. And I also tend to mention a few of their symbols in passing. I've been putting Precursor symbols on the books because the meaning of each both quietly reflects on the themes and plot of each book - but also hint at a larger mystery that only the murky edges of can be seen. The Lost were a brilliant race and each of their sigils hide a deep matrix of meaning depending on context, usage, color.

On the cover of Spell/Sword - the symbol that sort of looks like a bunch of flowers? That is the Arkanic sigil for Valor. It also means the strength that is found when needed, the blood of the hero, the roots of home, and potato. (Or potato salad if inverted.)

The next symbol, the triangle with a dot in the center? A simple definition is Knowledge, but it also stands for zero in their numerical system - it suggest that for them learning was an emptiness, a void to be filled not a quantity to be gained. It can also be expressed as Truth or Trust or the eye that blinks not. It also can be used to mean Dark. Readers of The Riddle Box will know what I mean, I hope.

And what symbol will be hidden on Asteroid Made of Dragons? Ah, what symbol indeed?

I've been waiting to use this one - partly because it LOOKS like an asteroid. [Also circles are very important to AMOD, just look at the Xenon chapter!] But beyond that in the Arkanic language it means Power, and Will, and the binding of forces - a circle that holds even though it wishes to break. And this symbol we even know the actual word in the Common Speech - a word that will mean nothing now, just a whisper. But perhaps one day you will remember that I told you this secret, held only by a few. The word is Izus and the Fall grows ever closer.

Secrets are fun!

Contest Update

We're still going strong in second place for the Sword&Laser Contest - 145 pre-orders! I would like to call all of your attention to how hard you are rocking it. Is your attention called? It is being rocked. By you. At least 7.8 level rocking. I am most proud of the fact that even though we are way out of first place in the number of pre-orders, we are only a handful of backers behind the top slot.  Please continue to be excellent my 108 Stars of Destiny - keep sharing the campaign around, convincing your nerd-minded friends to join the throng.

Backer Loot

I have to do something to thank you all. You're spread all over the globe, so my options are limited - I was thinking maybe buttons, or stickers, or magnets? Something that I can get to you in a standard envelope? What do you think? Would you guys like something like that, or would you prefer something more intangible like me coming up with D&D characters for you on Twitter? Let me know by commenting on this post, hitting me up on Twitter @gderekadams or just dropping me an email.

Thank you all!

As promised - here is the exclusive excerpt from Asteroid Made of Dragons - just for the backers! Normal caveats apply - this is ripped straight from the working draft, so it has not been fully edited, vetted, or house-trained. Feedback and criticism is welcome and appreciated - after you've read it, do you think this is a better sample chapter to put up on the main campaign page - or should we stick with the Zero chapter that's up there currently? This does feature the main characters, Jonas and Rime after all. Let me know what you guys think! And thank you all for your support.

NOTE: If you have not read the previous adventures of Jonas and Rime you will find very minor spoilers herein.

Chapter One

The roof of Waters & Moore Fiduciary Exchange was a small wonder of unnoticed architecture. Each tile was made of thin cut marble, a most flattering shade of faded green. The builder, a famed goblin-crafter whose name is too silly to repeat here, had used an enchanted chaos-saw transforming a massive block of the stone into finger-thick slices. Most importantly each tile was slightly curved with a simple notch on the bottom. The roof was assembled with no mortar at all, only a proprietary binding spell and hundreds of creature-hours to construct the roof piece by piece. It allowed excellent air flow in the summer, but kept the heat inside better than thatch or slate in the winter. Rainwater passed over and off the roof with the gentlest of kisses and a faint apology. It was a marvel of roofs. A competitor, Roofmaster Jeprodain’s slide into alcoholism and financial ruin the winter after the installation was attributed quite correctly to his all-consuming jealousy at the accomplishment. “Damn you, your silly name, and your beautiful, beautiful roof,” he howled outside the goblin-crafter’s home two or three times a week, before sobbing his way into the shadows.

Knowing none of this, Rime exploded through the roof sending a geyser of marble tiles spinning off through the air. The heat from her blue nimbus melted and seared each piece of marble rendering them absolutely useless for any future repair.

Across town, Roofmaster Jeprodain woke from his drunken doze in a pig cart with a start -- but soon fell back to sleep, not knowing of his revenge until some days later.

The blue fire bit into the tiles with ravenous heat. Rime was held aloft by a blooming flower of her magic, already swivelling to look down the gaping hole in the bank’s roof. She had a large sack in her hands and her face was covered with chocolate and a rainbow of tiny candy dots.  Her eyes blazed a pure white, searing the confection around the orbs a crisp black. From between clenched teeth a furious stream of end-to-end curses hissed a litany of hate.

"Not the plan. Not the plan. Not the fucking plan," the wild mage spat.

As if to punctuate her wrath, two massive hands made of lacquered oak appeared at the hole behind her and clamped onto the melting tiles. The first few feet ripped away feebly in the golem's claws, but at last it found enough structure to bear its considerable weight. Rime soared to the western edge of the roof, blue fire keeping her feet inches above the tiles. She flew backwards, keeping her eyes on the golem's bulk.

It was a simple design, bipedal. Green crystal eyes deep set into its wooden face, the symbol of a crashing wave on its forehead in brass, the letters STC just above; Rime had only passing knowledge of these constructs' manufacture and design, but she was quickly learning how devastating a theft deterrent they could be. As the golem at last stood on the bank's roof and clenched its fists in mechanical pride, she gave a faint mental salute to whoever had built this savage block of wood.

The gigantic cannon in its chest was just excessive, however.

Rime ignored the growing exhaustion in her limbs and the vibration in her vision and took stock. She had the gold in hand... It was her gold, deposited some weeks ago. The irony of stealing her own money was irrelevant to her current predicament, so she flicked it aside. Far more germane was the iron cannon ball that the golem pulled from a slot in its hip and began to insert into the barrel protruding from its chest. She made her mind go faster. Her magic was burning, hungry and fast - maybe thirty ticks of the clock before she lost consciousness. The bank sat in the middle of a wide plaza. The closest golem-less roofs were hundreds of feet away - she could fly there before blacking out, but there was no way to guarantee the bank’s defender couldn’t follow - or hit her with a well-placed cannon shot. It had bounded across the vault’s polished metal floor with startling speed, too risky to leave it operable. She would need to destroy it before making her escape. Absently, she jammed the sack of gold into the waistband of her pants.

A distant shout came from the streets below. Rime rolled her blazing white eyes. That meant she would need to trust in her guardian. Never a welcome part of any strategy.

“...ime? Rime! What’s going onnnnn?” the voice came from the plaza beneath her.

Four ticks of the clock. The golem was bracing itself to fire, small pitons on its feet digging into the tile roof. Rime sighed. The construct had surprised her and she had pulled far too much magic in alarm, hurling herself through the roof. Stupid. Wasteful. Dangerous. I don’t have time to dance with this thing. She pointed a finger towards the open plaza below and drew a circle on the ground in heatless flame. As a quick afterthought, she put a block letter ‘J’ with a blinking arrow right above it. Even he should figure that out, right? It was easily forty feet to the blackstone streets, a fall would kill her. She would just have to trust her guardian to figure it out.

The golem’s cannon fired.

Rime clenched both hands until her power burned white. The ball of iron and flame seemed to slow. She was the master of the Magic Wild and all she could see was a toy that needed breaking. Her laughter came quick as she flew to meet her foe.

The golem was fuzzy, indistinct, already loading another shot; Rime’s focus was on the cannon ball. It would be easy enough to avoid it entirely. The mage didn’t bother. She punched the ball with all the might her magic could generate. The lump of hot metal reversed course, fast as a flicked peapod. Rime burned her magic to go even faster, a frenetic arc to arrive before the first cannon ball --just as the second cannon ball spewed forth from the golem’s chest. She didn’t know if the golem had been designed to show surprise, but the glint in it’s crystalline green eyes was in the neighborhood of aghast.

Rime laughed and placed herself parallel to the imminent collision of the two cannon balls. A spike of pain circumnavigated her head, but she ignored it. She spread her small hands wide, wrapped in bright power, and smacked the two colliding lumps of iron together. Her magic reached into the kinetic frenzy of colliding metal and bent and twisted it to the image in her mind’s eye. Before the golem’s (perhaps) startled gaze she formed the metal and fire and magic into a grotesque sledgehammer. The weapon seemed to grimace, dark iron burning red in the fires of its birth.

Rime grunted, wrapping her small hands around her creation’s haft. It was a waste of time, the edges of her vision were already getting dim. She should have just dodged the cannon balls and eviscerated the golem with surgical fire. But there was style to be considered. And the way the Magic Wild sang in her veins: werewolf-golden howl of power. Why can’t it be this all the time? Why can’t it be always this?

The hammer came down, crushing the golem’s head. A similar echo of nausea pealed inside her head. Rime ripped the dark sledge free and brought it down again and again, shards of wood and enchanted brass flying. Not much time left. Need to finish. In three heartbeats the hammer came down a dozen times. Rime took a ragged breath, a trickle of blood making its way from her left nostril down across her lips. The mage blazed away towards the edge of the roof, allowing herself one heartbeat to turn back and watch the golem topple and fall. As a parting gesture she squeezed the sledgehammer until it disintegrated into hundreds of burning iron pellets. They fell on the roof like rain, pitting and warping every moss-green tile they touched. The white flame of her magic began to dim, turning light blue and growing ever darker as it faded. She bobbed in place, her magic guttering like a torch in the wind. Wasting no more time, she stepped off the edge of the roof and sailed towards the glowing target she had drawn for her companion.

He was twenty feet from the target. Of course he is. Rime sighed.

Her companion was a square-faced young man, only a couple of years older than she. He was wearing a moth-eaten cloak of mud-brown and a sword strapped to his back. Currently, he was shuffling back and forth in the plaza between the edge of the building and the illuminated target she had drawn for him. Indecision was clear on his face, gone at once when he spotted her sailing towards the target. Jonas immediately backpedalled towards the target, his eyes locked on the falling girl.

Rime summoned forth one more erg of magic to keep herself aloft as the vision in her left eye went completely dark. It changed her smooth arc of a descent into a sudden updraft, raising her fifteen feet above the target. She held consciousness between her teeth and allowed the last bit of power to dribble away and vanish. Her body folded and dropped, dead weight, and she braced for impact with the stone plaza floor.

She landed square in Jonas’ sweaty arms. Her guardian grunted with exertion, dropping to one knee. Rime could still see from her right eye and her fleeing vision was filled with the squire’s mop of brown hair, flushed face, and broad grin.

“A glowing target. Your initial. An arrow,” she complained.

“I couldn’t tell what was happening up there, I wasn’t sure if I should try to climb up the drain spout,” Jonas apologized.

“Just…” Rime’s voice faded as her awareness ebbed. “Just get us out of here.”

The girl let go and sank into her private darkness.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jonas pushed himself up to his feet. Rime’s body was thin and small, light enough to be no trouble. I really need to rig up some sort of sling. This is becoming a habit. He balanced the mage in the crook of his left arm and pushed the hair out of her face with his right. Rime’s hair was brown, but a swath of it had gone bone-white over the past few months. It had begun as a small collection of locks, but now nearly a third of her hair was drained of color. Why is her face covered with chocolate and candy sprinkles?

Okay. Simple job. Get us out of here. Right. Jonas trotted away from the ruined bank, doing his best to look innocuous and not at all like a bank robber.

The city of Carroway was quiet, just a few moments after dawn. Rime had picked this day and time with care. The day prior had been some sort of financial festival, one of the busiest days of the month for the establishment. She had concluded that entering the bank bare seconds after it opened would mean easy access to the hallway near the vault and a minimum of onlookers to cry alarm if a small girl suddenly made the intricate locks and gates fly open with a bolt of lightning. After her experience solving and disassembling the intricate lock in Bellwether’s manor, she had been eager to try her hand at whatever the bank had to offer. Jonas had wanted to accompany her, but she had only instructed him to sit on a marble bench outside and wait for her. ‘You’ll knock over something and track mud on the floor. Just wait here.’

He had a pleasant time on the bench. A couple of sparrows flew by and ate some peanut shells in a nearby gutter. A stitch had started to give way in the hem of his cloak, so he had pulled out a needle and thread and set to mending it. Jonas had just started to whistle an old marching tune when the first muted rumble had come from inside the bank. He had sighed, tucked away his sewing kit, and stood up. The next explosion that has blown the glass out of every window in the bank found him ready with one hand already on the hilt of his good steel. The squire had made it as far as the tall archway that lead to the entrance when he had heard the explosion coming from above. The rain of melting roof tile had made it easy for him to guess where his companion was.

Now, he ran through the streets of Carroway with his armful of unconscious mage with no idea of where to go. This was the Trade District of the town, no residents to be disturbed by the pre-dawn rooftop battle, but more than a few clerks, guild-bonds, and one fat dwarf pushing a bagel cart were coming into the plaza with wide eyes and fearful questions. An attractive goblin with blue hair and a sharp business cloak eyed his flapping brown one with disdain, then turned to a human companion - both faces aflame with questions. Jonas put his head down and ran.

He ran out of the plaza and down mimic streets of blackstone. They all looked the same, so he turned wherever felt right. The squire did his best to keep moving east, towards the port. Rime breathed shallow and thin in his arms. He briefly considered throwing her over his shoulder for convenience, but decided that it would be better to avoid the wrath of an upside-down wild mage. The girl’s blackouts were never of certain length - sometimes a few minutes, a few hours, and once or twice over a day. Jonas was on his own until she woke up.

To his great shock, the squire made it to the docks without incident. The dawn light gleamed on the blackstone of the streets of Carroway, just picking up the barest sparkle of the minerals pulverized within. He had nearly wrenched his neck out of socket, craning at every open alleyway or opening door expecting a horrendous wooden golem to come smoking forth or armed bank-rangers to loose a volley of golden arrows. This is one of those times that Master would talk about. Where you were supposed to run into trouble, but Trouble spilled morning coffee on his tunic and got a late start. Jonas could see his master’s lean face spreading into a low chuckle. ‘But don’t worry, young man. Trouble always keeps his appointments, late or no. Enjoy the days you missed him because he’ll be double furious next time around.’

The docks were busy, even this early in the morning. Four dwarves were tossing sacks of meal from a battered crate up onto the deck of a ship, while singing lustily. A fat wood-elf bellowed over the side of his ship either demanding more cats or less cats, Jonas wasn’t sure. Two minotaur were standing chest deep in the bay applying pitch and resin to a new patch in the side of a low sloop. The squire puffed up the stairs to the warehouse attic he and Rime had rented yesterday. The sun’s gold made a black outline of his form on the cracked stone seabreak running alongside the warehouse. Jonas had to bang his shoulder twice against the door before the salt-crusted door jamb gave way.

The attic was a drafty loft with one wide window facing the ocean, snaggle-toothed with broken glass. Rime had pressed her last three copper coins into the hawk’s talon yesterday in return for two nights lodging. The fat bird had squawked a warning about gem-crabs in the loft and defecated all over it’s perch as way of punctuation. “It’s a roof, that’s all we need. We’ll be gone tomorrow,” his companion had said, plopping her bedroll down in the center of the attic.

Gone tomorrow. Jonas shook the words off. They fell down in the folds of his cloak and set to smoldering. He knew where they were going, though Rime had never named their destination. A witch of his acquaintance had left little doubt in his mind where the wild mage was taking them both. Home.

He placed Rime’s sleeping body carefully on her bedroll and propped her head up with his satchel. The squire splashed the edge of his cloak with water from his canteen and did his best to wipe the scorched confection off of the mage’s face. He noticed the jingling sack of gold in the girl’s pants making an uncomfortable bulge in the thin fabric. Jonas was already reaching to remove it when he abruptly realized what he was doing and hastily pulled his hands back, cheeks growing warm. It’s safer there anyway.

A few steps to the broken window and Jonas looked out over the bustling dock. He gave the crowd a slow scan: no followers or hard-eyes, no one paying he and Rime’s attic the least bit of attention. Certainly the morning’s bank robbery turned bank demolition would be attracting heavily-armed notice from the 3rd Regiment of Carroway, but for the moment they appeared to be safe. He squinted at the sun. One, no two hours. I’ll let her sleep for two hours. If she isn’t up by then, I guess I’ll move us somewhere else. Maybe hire a ship?

A ship was a decision. It sounded like one of his master’s lessons, even though Sir Pocket had never said those words. Jonas had made that sort of decision before, when he begged his way onto a ship heading north, away from Gilead. Now he was about to get on a ship going south, back to Gilead. ’Gilly-son, gilly-son, come ‘round the bend.’ The old doggerel came to his mind unbidden. ‘Stones in the river and your own grave to tend.’ It was a march, most of the songs he knew were marches of one sort or other.  In the Academy that was what they sang, excepting a rare ballad or two on feast days, hymns at the turn of night.

I have to tell her. I have to tell it all. Jonas looked down at Rime. If she’s going to Gilead, I’m going too. But I don’t know how far she’ll get with me at her side. He pulled the red cord of his sword-strap, wrapping both hands around it.

“I’m a murderer,” Jonas said to the sleeping girl. “The last person I was supposed to protect, I cut his throat. I killed my master.”

Rime began to snore muzzily into the leather satchel.

“Hey. That went pretty well,” the squire sat down and pulled his sewing kit back out. His cloak was not going to mend itself.

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Rime’s Dream #1

bricks bricks bricks

fingertips on bricks

counting the bricks

counting the bricks

there are many bricks

climbing the bricks or crawling the bricks?

another brick another brick

brick brick cold brick colder brick

ice on the bricks

ice brick ice brick ice brick brick brick

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Rime woke up. A small puddle of drool had formed on the leather satchel under her face, but the smelly bag had gotten revenge by imprinting the thick outline of the buckle on her left cheek. She growled and pushed herself up, rubbing the buckle’s indention in irritation. Jonas was across the room with needle and thread and the hem of his brown cloak supported on his knees. They were in the stinking loft next to the docks.

She opened her mouth to berate her guardian, but checked herself. Jonas was sitting in the perfect position to look out the broken bay window and keep an eye on the street below. A quick glance at the position of the sun told her only one-hundred-and-thirteen minutes had elapsed since her blackout. A skilled, swift, savvy citizen of Carroway could run from the bank plaza to the docks in thirty-five minutes at a dead run. Jonas was none of the above, so probably between forty-five minutes and a flat hour for him to find his way back here. That meant that they had been resting here for a reasonable amount of time. This was their only base of operations in the city and it showed sound judgement on the squire’s part to retreat here when left without other instructions. The squire had performed his duties well. Rime snorted and concentrated harder. There must be something she could find fault with. She shifted on her bedroll and felt the bank pouch dig into her hip.

“Why is there money still in my pants?” Rime groaned and pulled the sack free with a sigh.

“It didn’t seem, uh, proper?” Jonas said primly, tucking his needle and thread away into its tiny leather clutch.

“Proper.” She let it drop and pulled the bank sack open. It was an unfamiliar fabric, durable and tough purple weave, laced with gold thread. A question for another time. I’ll make a note of it...later. Rime made a quick count of the steel coins within, letting them trickle through her fingers. Like all currency minted in Valeria, the coins emitted a dim blue radiance to prove their authenticity. In a city populated by dozens of wizard colleges the opportunity for illusory or ensorceled coinage was a legitimate concern, the proper coins were embedded with a cunning enchantment. Local vendors were taught a simple cantrip that could identify them. And here in the wide world they were considered of almost inarguable value, one of the most stable currencies in Aufero. Perfect for traveling.

Traveling. Rime looked at Jonas’ waiting face as she considered. The coins here were a pittance compared to her family’s total wealth, but a small fortune for her needs on the road. With the first half of this she had paid a group of caravan guards to escort her, bought rations for two weeks, paid for lodging at a few fine inns. What would she do with the other half of it? I will do what I must. The sun’s clock moved forward and not even her power could confound time. She needed to book passage on a ship, she needed to be gone. The hounds of this city would be at their door before noon at her estimation. She needed to go now.

Which meant that The Conversation could no longer be avoided. She had been formulating it for days, even before their night in the House of the Heart-Broken Lion. Jonas stood up, his square face patient. The Conversation had been much shorter in her head before her battle with the Option. Rime shivered. Am I buying one ticket or two?

“Time is short, so I’ll speak swiftly. You’ve known that I have a goal. I appreciate your courtesy in not demanding to know our final destination all these long days and miles,” she began.

Jonas blinked.

Rime gritted her teeth and plowed ahead. “Much to my surprise you have been an admirable companion…” she had finally arrived on that epithet after much deliberation as it meant that Jonas was capable of being admired without explicitly saying that she did in fact admire him “...and have proven worthy of my trust.”

“Rime, you don’t, uh…”her companion raised a faltering hand.

“I have to go to Gilead. I didn’t tell you before because I know you ran away from there. So, I will understand if you will not or cannot return.” This was where her construction of The Conversation got rocky. She was surprised at how much she wanted the stupid squire at her side and completely lost at how to convince him to do so.

“I’ll go,” Jonas grimaced. “Though, you may not want me to.”

Rime felt a burst of relief followed hard by disgust with herself. She pushed it aside and latched onto the thread spinning off the squire’s words that lead into the past. “Trouble in Gilead.  You ran away from it. How bad?”

“Bad.”

“How long to explain?” the mage felt the sun’s time press against her.

“Uhhhh….well…”Jonas’ eyes searched the ceiling for inspiration.

“Too long. You want to go. I want you to go. You can tell me on the boat.” Rime reached down to roll up her bedding, then tossed their battered satchel to the squire. She wished she had thrown it harder when she saw his creased smile beaming across the salt-air loft.

“It’s really bad, Rime,” Jonas face sobered. “You may not want me along when you know. Even with the whole story.”

“Tell me on the boat.” Rime slung the bedroll over her shoulder and pulled her wide-brimmed hat from the rust-green nail where it waited. She was still wearing the borrowed finery from Lady Bellwether, a fine blue dress surmounted with a white half-cape and hood. It was more than a little spattered with travel and chocolate, but could still help her pass as a noble’s daughter. She thought about what she had done in those halls, thought about the bard’s blood she could still feel wet on her left hand. Whatever Jonas has done. It can’t be worse than what I’ve done. Or what I will do when the magic escapes my grasp. She knew what was inside her head. Madness. Death. A ticking clock. My tiny library surrounded by oceans of dark. Got to get moving.

Jonas swung the satchel over his head and tucked it in beside his sword’s scabbard. He followed the mage back down the clapboard steps. As they reached the ground he very gently pinched the fabric at her elbow. Rime rolled her eyes, stopped, and turned around. Her guardian’s face was uncertain, as if struggling to find the right words to say. Impatient, she poked his sternum with two fingers.

“Okay, okay,” Jonas rubbed his chest in chagrin. “I just wanted to say that a ship is a decision. I’m glad we’re taking this one together.”

Rime spun to hide her smile and advanced toward the waiting docks. Me too.