Summary

Genre: Punk Fantasy
Series: Book One of A Quest for HavenShade

The whole world is on fire and Kara is the center of it. At least it seems like that as she tries to win a war she’s entangled in for a foreign land she doesn’t understand, escape a man whose determined to own her, and unlock her fear of her own mind, before it gets her killed.

Progress

Status: Work in Progress
Words: 65,250 of 70k
Chapters: 28 of 32
Submissions: n/a
Revisions: 2nb Draft

Excerpt

She took a deep breath and sang. It was a lament, without words. It rose, longing and pulling at the heart, then faded slowly. When she had finished, the sailors were silent for a long span, then they stomped their boots on the deck and cheered wildly. Many yelled out for the name of the melody.

“It’s the Lament of the Lost Warrior.” It had no name before that moment. It was a melody that Din sang over Turler Boh’s grave, and she later sang over Din’s. It was forever burned in her memory. She sat next to Pol and ignored his studious gaze. He knew the song too, of course.

The sailors were satisfied. One jumped up and offered a rebuttal: The Last Drink of the Drunken Sailor, a romp of a tale about a sailor who drinks too much and falls over the rail. During the refrains, several sailors shouted out modifications pontificating about the cause of his drunkenness or postulating about the unnamed sailor that pushed him over.

“That one was rather dull,” Haith said, after a sailor shouted a rather elaborate scheme of revenge. Kara smiled despite herself. Haith would like that.

The song finally degenerated into laughter and the drinking and boasting continued as the next sailor stood. Several shouted for Pol to regale a tale, but he remained silent, polishing his blade. Other than the battles Kara had fought beside Pol, or the ones she learned of from Turler Boh or bard’s tales, she knew nothing of Pol’s past. He never spoke of it.

Pol, who was known by name and face and sword in every land had no voice of his own. Pol the Great who slew a hundred soldiers in the gap of Rhevis, Pol the Strong who once routed an army by only drawing his sword. Pol Sword Breaker who left no shield unshattered. Kara had stopped asking long ago if the stories were true. She had seen him fight in battle. If they weren’t true, they were close enough.

“Land ho!” a shout came from the king’s basket, in the rigging above. The songs ended and sailors raced to the east rail. An angry red glow pulsed through the night. There were murmurs and curses spat into the sea. Damus was burning.

The sailors drifted off to their cots. First light would bring hard work and preparation as they looked for harbor or port. And if Damus warred, it was likely supplies and trade would be sparse or none at all.

When most of the sailors had faded, Pol said, to nobody in particular, “The Armada?”

Winnel and Haith were silent.

“I should think the Armada a small token in this game,” Kara said

All three looked at her. “Have you discovered something?” Pol asked.

He said discovered, but they had been at sea together for five eris. There was nothing she could have discovered. Yet there was no doubt in his voice, only anticipation. Where Kara’s discoveries were concerned, there were no questions from any of them.

It drove her mad, how they could trust her instincts so blindly. What if she was wrong? They’d all die following one of her intuitions. But then, the most irritating part, was that they were never wrong.

“I feel a storm building. A black storm.” She stopped there. There was no need to tell them it was one that was going to break over Damus and spread across RHUNE like wildfire. There was no need to tell them the sense of dread that she felt when she thought of it. And, most of all, there was no need to tell them how much it terrified her. Not now, while they stared at the burning coast of Damus, their only hope for port.

Then words poured out of her without permission. Words that made her blood run cold: “It’s like all of RHUNE has been shrouded in night and layed up for burial.”

Pol and Winnel were silent, brooding at the night.