Tag Archives: writer

Snippet Sunday – November 24, 2013

It won’t be long now. Anwar’s confinement is nearing its end. Why isn’t he happier about this?

A clang echoed in the outer chamber. Heavy footsteps entered the corridor above him. They walked as one, one footfall masking another. In all, Anwar counted five of them, a welcoming committee of Hespa’s design. He trained an eye on the barred window in the cell’s heavy door. The first flickers of a torch’s flame danced on the wall outside his cell, mocking him.

Five he had counted, yet only one had stepped into view – Daemon of Ahmnor. The glee on his face confirmed Anwar’s previous suspicions; Daemon had, indeed, awaited his return at the veil. No doubt he had anticipated the privilege of presenting Hespa with her prize. The fact that Anwar had returned alone must have highly disappointed him.


Snippet Sunday – November 17, 2013

When you find yourself at the mercy of a witch, it’s good to keep your humor in check . . .

It was rumored the witch had cells forged in the lower tunnels, reserved for traitors to the Crown, for those prisoners deserving of Hespa’s special attention. To find not only that those rumors were true, but that she now thought herself a queen? If not for his current predicament, Anwar might have found that amusing. It was almost more than he could bear.

Secured behind iron gates with armed guards – not to mention, a series of Hespa’s own enchantments – the sole viable escape route took the prisoner through the tainted waters of the U’rudhene. Only the most desperate would attempt such an escape.

His brow furrowed. To attempt such a thing would be madness, he thought, though he did enjoy a challenge. Perhaps Hespa had a sense of humor after all.

Snippet Sunday – November 10, 2013

The witch, Hespa, has had Anwar thrown into a dungeon known as the Tombs.  He’s cold. He’s alone. But does he have what it takes to survive?

Did he dare cross the witch with so much at stake? As quickly as the thought materialized, he dismissed it as folly. A man knew his limitations.

An icy chill coursed through his body. Anwar cast off his cloak. His numbed hands trembled as he attempted to warm his arms, his thighs. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, anything to keep his blood flowing.

Then he heard it. The U’rudhene. Its steady dripping into the cells, a constant reminder to the condemned that their fate rested solely in the hands of the witch.

Snippet Sunday – November 3, 2013

When last we saw Anwar, he had awakened in The Tombs, a dungeon the witch Hespa had specially forged for her prisoners.

He winced as his hand snaked toward a throbbing wound on the back of his head. It was wet with blood. Daemon must have awaited his return at the veil. Anwar doubted the oaf had acted on his own accord. His fealty belonged to the witch.

His eyes adjusted easily to the darkness – a necessity in his profession – though, to Anwar, one cell looked much the same as any other, with one exception. Hespa preferred floors of jagged stone to those of packed earth. Unshod feet assured a prisoner’s inability to steal surreptitiously away. Anwar wriggled his toes, tucked safely inside his scuffed boots. That meant only one thing. He still fit in her plans.

Snippet Sunday – October 20, 2013

We join Tori and her mother at the window. Ayn was trying to reassure her that the figure below her window last night was just a trick of the storm.

Ayn reached over and played with a curl that had fallen in Tori’s face. “Even into full-grown men in cloaks.” She pecked Tori on the forehead before rushing to the door. “I’m sure it was nothing.”

But Tori thought she had detected caution in her voice. Like, perhaps, she suspected what her daughter had been saying was true.

Alone once more, Tori turned to the window, but only blue skies and drying puddles greeted her this morning, none of the menace that she had faced only hours before. “He was real,” she repeated, as if to set her mind at rest. “I know he was real.”