Summary

Genre: Punk Fantasy
Series: Prequel to A Quest for HavenShade

The country is nearly annihilated and the king is raging that ‘other guy’ has more ‘tokens’ on his side of the map. But Din has a more serious problem, change. It swaggers in with nine elite warriors to offer Din a hypothetical: What if he sneaks over and assassinates the bad guy? If he isn’t interested in hypotheticals, they could always play ‘remove the unnecessary organs’.

Din is not a brave man. His battle ground is fictional heroes. His weapon of choice is Storytelling. His greatest fear? The giant man with the ax and temper.

He’s quick to point out that song and joke aren’t likely to kill anyone, no matter how poorly delivered. But when Din meets Kara, their mysterious guide, he is determined to uncover her story, or maybe just hypnotized by her blue-green eyes. Either way, he agrees to the mission. Of course, nobody mentions until afterwards that there won’t be any coffee…

Progress

Status: Completed
Words: 85,000
Chapters: 39 of 39
Submissions: None
Revisions: 2

Excerpt

“Until next we meet! Keep your daggers sharp and a will lit tavern on the horizon!” Din bowed and set the Lyr’ell at his feet. He listened to the people shuffle out while he wrapped it in cloth, offering all the care he would have afforded an infant. Then he collected the coins scattered across the stage in a bowl.

While he set the bowl and instrument in a chest, a shadow stretched over him.

The shadow had a word for him. One that rattled teeth and coin. “Din.”

Din paused and decided that it hadn’t been a question. He stood, looking up and up at the man while his reply escaped in a huff.

For eight rings of seasons Din told stories in the Palisades. All manner of people came and left again during that span: beautiful women, ones as small as alleychems, and giant warriors from the Barren. He had never seen such a massive collection of hair and muscle. Hands large enough to wrap Din’s skull hung like boulders. An ax, more fantastic than any of Din’s fictions, creaked in a belt. The fragments of a man too large to view in any one glance congealed only with the glue of imagination.

Din stared quite rudely and scrambled to collect some manner of thought and civility. Finally, he squeaked out a single word: “who?” It didn’t do much for the giant’s expression, but he did step back and tilt his head. That didn’t do much for Din’s expression, considering it was the sort of movement birds made studying a snack.

The man said, “I’m Sarid. You’re Din. Behind me my companions: Kara, Turler Boh, Haith.” That likely covered all the derivations of his question, though Sarid didn’t move aside so Din could see the others.

Din swallowed solid air, and croaked, “I’m finished next light – of – for – uh – till now.” There were enough words, but they were landing piecemeal, like fairies shot from a cannon. What he needed was something simple to get his confidence up. “Go away.”

Sarid didn’t look nearly disappointed enough. Din scrambled for more words, eying the others as they circumnavigated Sarid to have at him. There was an older man with white hair, a sneering fellow that left a sour taste in Din’s stomach, and Kara…

She was a strike of lightning and Din knew he would never be the same having seen her. Within flowing threads of hair, subtle skin, and a feminine shape that could not be hidden by leather armor and studded lashings was the most beautiful person Din had ever seen. The color of her eyes seemed at once emerald and equally blue, like the depths of the sea. Din forced his gaze down, knowing he would blush. He felt a surge of embarrassment which flamed into anger at this bunch of characters who so easily twisted his emotions.

He also knew this tale. It was about a beautiful Elle princess, accompanied by White Hair, Sneer Face, and his sidekick Little Sarid. One night they were kicked out of Din’s story room. The end.

Sarid, observing Din’s complete mental shutdown, had probably mistook it for a normal state of affairs as he turned his back. “This cannot be him.” The others took appraisal of Din.

“I am Din, the man you are looking for.”

Sarid snorted. It was an ironic sound that unsettled Din as much as his expression. You should be so unfortunate; I hate you already, it said.

“We are closed for now,” Din said, with more authority. Sarid swung around again and towered overhead, but Din went on. “If you came back tomorrow, I’d be happy to share another telling.”

Sarid placed a hand on Din’s shoulder, which blanketed his chest, back, and arm. His other hand settled on the great ax looped through his belt. He looked Din over from teeth to ankles. For a moment, Din thought he might draw the ax, but Kara came forward and touched Sarid lightly on the arm, smiling up at him. It was a smile that filled Din with equal parts jealousy and embarrassment.

She lowered her smile at Din and arched a brow. A single, thin, perfect eyebrow. “Maybe we could tell you a story instead?”

Her voice was summer rain, tinkling over bells of silver. Din didn’t notice when she leaned on Sarid’s arm and pushed it off his shoulder. He couldn’t remember their names. He couldn’t remember what he was doing before they walked in.

Somewhere in the depths of his mind a warning echoed, drowned out by the blood pumping through his ears. Had he any words, he might have named it the voice of reason, screaming frantically about danger and escape.

But he breathed in the musical voice and plunged into her blue-green eyes.