*Spells of Air* ~ View the Trailer

 

Spells of Air #fantasy

 Now Available! The Spells of Air bundle of three novellas!

Elemental magic. Dangerous Dark Fae. 

Treacherous shape-shifters. A twisty sorceress.

On a mission for the Wizard Enclave, Orielle ventures into the Wilding, a strange frontier filled with magical creatures. There she discovers sprites and wraiths, gobbers and wyre, and the mysterious Dark Fae called the Kyrgy.

All view her as prey.

To Wield the Wind

Never adept with magic, Orielle allies with Grim, a swordsman who wields elemental power. With him as guide and guard, she heads for Iscleft Haven, hoping to renew the alliance between the Enclave and the Haven.

Can Orielle and Grim reach the Haven without falling to the wyre and the gobbers? 

Or must they bind themselves to Lady Bone and ride the Wild Hunt as the newly chosen of a Kyrgy?

To Charm the Air

When Orielle and Grim reach the Haven, the elder arrests him. The Haveners aren’t interested in a renewed alliance with the Wizard Enclave.

Is her mission for the Enclave in vain? Will she ever escape the Wilding?

And what of her vow to the Kyrgy Lady Bone?

To Curse the Wyre

Hunter. Hunted. Who is who?

The sorceress and her servants, the shifter wyre, seek to destroy Orielle’s allies in the Wilding. Orielle has gathered Dark Fae and Rhoghieri to defeat them.

She rides with the Dark Fae Lord Skull and Lady Bone—but can she trust them?

 ~  ~  ~

The fantasy trilogy Spells of Air 

is part of Fae Mark’d World, from Remi Black.

For elemental magic and dangerous Dark Fae allies, 

treacherous shape-shifters, and a twisty sorceress

 that seeks to defeat the wizard Orielle, 

look no further than Spells of Air.

For a great teaser, check out the video trailer: https://youtu.be/PqjouEJtbjY

Purchase here:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08XN4TJBC

Terrifying Wraiths in *Spells of Air*

 What are wraiths?

Read this excerpt from Spells of Air, the #fantasy trilogy that published on April 5.

Orielle rushed to the body, a woman by the head scarf and long skirts. She rolled her to her back.

A knife was embedded to the hilt in her breast. No blood had seeped around it. And a wraith lifted its head out of the hilt.

It poured up, striking at Orielle with hooked claws. She fell back then scrambled away, impeded by her long skirts.

The wraith formed over her, separating from the eldritch knife.

She recognized her dead great-uncle’s face. Raigeis bared his teeth, a grimace that the cold magister had never had in life. This was the wraith that had attacked her off the mountaintop. It heard her speak Raigeis’ name. It suffered Lady Bone’s punishment.

She felt the weight of a corporeal body on her legs as it flowed up. “Wizard,” it hissed.

Then Sangrior’s sword scythed the air.

The wraith darted back with the speed of a gusty wind. A second wraith had followed it out of the knife. Glacial steel snicked through the wispy vapor, dissipating it with the sword’s magic.

A third wraith started through the knife.

Sangrior swung for it, but the first wraith assaulted him. It seized his face and kissed his mouth … and began sucking life from him.

Grim leaped past her, going for the eldritch knife. The third wraith grabbed at him for a life-sucking kiss. Orielle hit it with a gusty burst of energy. It screamed as the wizardry blasted over it.

Grim fell back, eldritch knife in his hand, melting in his grasp.

As Orielle scrambled up, she glanced at the woman. Like Tobit, her body hadn’t vanished, flesh and bones not yet used up before the eldritch knife was removed. She must be the age of Zairantze, of Malva. Fortis’ woman? She had no time for more, for she focused on tracking the third wraith, still intent on Grim.

Enclave tutoring hadn’t prepared her for fighting wraiths or gobbers or wyre or Kyrgy. The ones that had fed from Brok had only drawn from him, not sucked away his life. She had killed the first by sending wizardry into it, a vortex spell that it had sucked down. The other, though, had escaped.

The second wraith reached for Grim. 

Hunter. Hunted. Who is who?

On a mission for the Wizard Enclave, Orielle ventures into the Wilding, 

a strange frontier filled with magical creatures. 

There she discovers sprites and wraiths, gobbers and wyre, 

and the mysterious Dark Fae called the Kyrgy.

All view her as prey.

Fetch it here.

A Dangerous Creature in *Spells of Air*

 The bundled trilogy of Spells of Air published this week! All sorts of strange creatures threaten the wizard Orielle and her mercenary ally Grim.

Read on for an excerpt about the gobbers from Spells of Air ~

`Ware attack!

The words rang her awake. She woke to a horse’s terrified neigh and the warning still rolling through her head.

Throwing back her blanket, she sprang up. “Grim!”

“Here.” Facing away from her, he stood with the horses on the fire’s other side. He held Ghost’s reins. Eyes rolling, the dappled grey strained at the reins. He kicked back, throwing dirt into the darkness. The chestnut’s jug head arched forward, big teeth bared, like a snarl at something beyond the ever-shifting light.

She scrambled into her boots then rushed to Grim’s side. “What is it?”

“Don’t know. The horses alerted. That woke me. Then something tested the wards.”

Nothing moved in the smothering dark beyond the sphere of firelight. Ghost made too much noise to hear anything. “Grim, did you use the symbol of chaos that Lady Bone reminded us of?”

“Do you want to be in the Lady’s debt?”

“If I use it, since she gave it to me through her knight, we would risk that. She did not give it to you. Can you not use it?”

“You’ve parsed a fine distinction. She, however, would sense any disturbance in the element and interpret it however she wished. There.”

Twin shards of glowing green gleamed in the darkness. Then they vanished.

“Wyre?” she whispered. “The whole pack of them?”

“Doesn’t smell like that.”

She sniffed. An acrid tang pierced her nostrils. The smell reminded her—no, memory eluded her. “You should have called me earlier.”

“I didn’t call you.”

“You didn’t shout `Ware attack? Look!”  Again she saw the twin gleam, joined by another pair. She flashed light.

In the brief seconds of the bright spell, two stunted creatures stood frozen. Open mouths revealed fangs. One gripped a broken branch like a club. The other twisted a coil of rope. Even in the spell’s warm yellow light, their eyes glowed, like the partially-shifted wyre. Sickly green rimmed their eyes, obvious sorcery in use.

Her spell faded. Leaves rustled as the gobbers shifted position.

“How long can you hold that spell?”

Her power might not be great, her hoard of spells might be few, but what she did have, she knew how to use. “As long as you need it.” And she re-lit the bright spell.

He thrust Ghost’s reins at her and drew his sword. In his left hand, he shaped a sphere, ghostly pale, swirling with the energy of controlled Air. “Be ready.”

She remembered the gobber fleeing her camp. “It’s only two. They won’t attack.”

“More than two. Be ready, Orielle.”  On the word, he whirled and jumped behind her.

She heard a high-pitched squeal, pig-shrill, and saw a trio of the creatures dodging back from the swing of Grim’s sword.

A fourth gobber flung dirt on the fire. The flames sputtered. More dirt landed on the fire.

Ghost tried to rear. She jerked his head down. “Not now.”

A hard thwack hit her leg. The branch-wielding gobber swung again. She arced the bright spell at it. The creature screeched and dropped the branch to cover its round eyes. It stumbled away, into another, the one with the coil of rope.

Orielle shined the spell toward that one. Scrunching its eyes, it swiped a free hand at her. She dodged the short claws and landed against her horse.

Grim fought a trio of gobbers with the sweep of his sword. Another stood at the fire, dropping dirt on the coals to smother any chance of fire. Two crept behind Grim. She cast a hurried glance for her own safety and saw more gobbers lurking at the verge of the mage light, eyes greeny silver, mouths gaping to reveal triangle-sharp teeth.

The big chestnut stomped a gobber trying to grab his reins. He kicked another behind him. She released Ghost. The horse reared back. A gobber slid off his back. Runnels of blood dripped from his back and rump. With an outraged neigh, the grey fled into the night.

Flicking up more power, Orielle swept away the creatures at Grim’s heels. Then she whirled and blasted Air at the waiting gobbers.

Something dragged on her skirt. A gobber, claws dug into the heavy cloth. It reached for her extended hand maintaining the bright spell. She swiped at it. Chittering, it snapped at her hand. A gust of wind only lodged the short claws deeper into her skirt. Remembering scrunched eyes, she directed the mage light at its face.

The silvery glow left the round eyes. It yowled. Then it snatched away, but those claws dug deep into cloth. Jerking around, it flailed and scrabbled. The shifting weight destroyed her balance. She stumbled to her knees.

A silvery coil dropped over her head. Orielle released the wind spell to hook her fingers in the tightening rope. The gobber shrieked in her ear. His strangling grip didn’t ease.

Hunter. Hunted. Who is who?

 On a mission for the Wizard Enclave, Orielle ventures into the Wilding, 

a strange frontier filled with magical creatures.

There she discovers sprites and wraiths, gobbers and wyre, 

and the mysterious Dark Fae called the Kyrgy.

All view her as prey.

Fetch it here.

 

Wyre Shifters Spell Danger in *Spells of Air*

 The newest #fantasy release, published on the 5th.

Spells of Air

Excerpt ~ 

The wyre had brought a friend. “Oh, good. One for each of us.”

At her false brightness, the crease deepened between Grim’s dark brows. Maybe it had never left. “You do remember that your magic is useless against them?”

“I was never a good student.”

“Orielle—.”

Her hand patted his back. “I do know. I won’t forget Saithe. Magic rolls off the wyre. Cut them down with swords or depend upon the Fae. Or use the elements, that’s what you told me.”

“Use your strongest elements.”

That limited her to Air. Water was good, better with the river close. The others were pretty much useless.

“We need fighting room. Have you fought any battles with elements before?”

“No, I’m a city lass.”  Her flippancy this time quirked his mouth. “I’m not a novice. I’ve taken contracts outside the Enclave. I’ve fought a sorcerer and defeated him. We did,” she admitted.

“This will be first time by yourself, then.”  He jumped down then reached up to catch her. He swung her easily to the ground. “This way.”

He headed toward the wide shore between river and trees. In spring flood, the waters would cover the sandy grit. With the dry of autumn before the winter rains and snows began, the upper shore had lost its softness. The moss had browned and crumbled underfoot.

Grim had pegged her green. Her mother had objected when Orielle volunteered to go to Iscleft Haven in her sister’s stead. She had personally felt only pride when the ArchClan accepted her petition. Her mother’s protest embarrassed her. Not by herself, Maman had remonstrated. Send another wizard with her. At the least, send a guard.

Fool that she was, Orielle had claimed help wasn’t needed. Frost Clime was days upon days north of the road she must travel to the Haven. Enemy sorcerers and wyre fought the wizards and Fae allies at the Iscleft citadel. The battle wouldn’t shift south.

But not all sorcerers and wyre fought at the towers that guarded the Iscleft passage. And Grim had hinted the Haven would be dangerous for wizards.

He stopped and fronted the river. She came to his left side. He hadn’t drawn his sword. He didn’t take a fighting stance. But his fingers flexed then curled into a fist.

“What do you know of fighting wyre?”

“Not much. If nothing else, I can push them with Wind.”

His scowl vanished. He tossed her a grin, and she tumbled past appreciation of a good-looking man straight into attraction. His “clever lass” only deepened toward temptation.

“Clever city lass,” she reminded, fighting that strange lure.

He stared at the darkness within the laurel tangle. “The wyre don’t attack together. They split up. While I fight one, the other will come for you.”

“So, they’re clever, too.”

“Don’t be too—.”

“Don’t be too what?”

But he refused to finish it. Had he meant flippant? Or stupid?

She didn’t want him to think she was totally useless. “Should I stay at your back?”

“Aye.”

“And may I know your name? I think, with two wyre before us, that I should know your name. In my mind I’ve been calling you Grim.”

He didn’t just look at her;  he turned. “Grim?”

“I do apologize. You’re not really such a grim person. But you started off by snapping at me—.”

He interrupted with “Grim will do.”  Then he turned back to face the river.

“But it’s not your name.”

“Stay behind me, Orielle. Be ready.”

Be ready. She supposed that meant keep looking around, especially behind her, and prepare to use Air rather than spells.

She wished she could easily recall the greater spells. The convoluted ones that her tutors claimed reached into the deepness of magic slipped her memory. Her tutors hadn’t understood her fumbling, but then they hadn’t understood the reason she had to read something over and over to retain it but could recall what was said to her in passing with perfect ease. If Grim ever expected her to draw a magic circle and begin chanting, he would be disappointed. Her two contracts, neither lasting longer than a fortnight, had seemed disappointed that the only formal magic she wielded was ward spells. Those she had no difficulty remembering.

She pressed her shoulder to Grim’s back and looked behind them. Nothing but the rocky river and the tree-covered steep slopes and a slaty sky that deepened toward purple. When had clouds moved in?

On the river’s other side, birds burst from the waxy green laurel. They arrowed across the water and rushed past, the woosh of their wings loud over the rush of the river. Then two men emerged from the tangle. They stepped onto the boulder fall that pushed the river away from the mountain. The shirtless one looked like the wyre who had set the trap at the rocky escarp. He stood taller than the other, his golden mane bright in the cloud-covered light. But his eyes had an eerie green glow rather than the brilliant blue eyes of that first wyre.

The second wyre had dark hair swept back from a high forehead. He also looked familiar although he shared only the long claws of his comrade and the same toothy grin. His hair looked burnished in the subdued sunlight. His eyes glistened like the sparkling water, a curious greeny lightness, tinged with—something she couldn’t discern. Claws extended from his long fingers. His shirt hung loose on his torso, the material cut for a bigger man. Both wyre stood barefoot on the boulder, toes curling over the cleft edge.

They jumped. Even fearing them, Orielle admired their grace. They splashed into the water, knees bending to land lightly. Then they began wading across.

Grim thrust out both hands. Air burst out, a visible wave of energy that surged across the water. The wind-backed wave hit the two wyre. The shirted one staggered and fell into the water. The other braced into the wind. It gusted past him, flowed up the boulder and into the laurel, grabbing at the waxy leaves and stripping many away. It continued upslope, to the evergreens, tearing through the heavy branches before dissipating.

The dunked wyre sputtered in the water before losing his footing and slipping into the current.

Orielle remembered the deer. She hadn’t thought the water that deep. But the doe had crossed far from the boulder fall. Perhaps it was deeper where the water spilled over the granite.

The first wyre came on. The water crested at his hips. “That your best?” he taunted.

Grim drew his sword. Even untrained, Orielle knew the blade was shorter than other swords. The chasing, though, looked like Fae steel, like the Kyrgy knight’s blade. “Come taste my best,” the Rho offered.

The wyre grinned. He ran forward. The water churned at his knees, slicking his hide pants to his thin legs. His speed increased at the waterline.

Grim surged forward. Steel clanged against claws.

Orielle backed away. The shorter sword kept the Rho close to the wyre, parrying the swipe of sharp claws. The wyre tried to get past the steel guard, but Grim defended faster. Claws screeched across the keen edge.

With a snick and a slip, the wyre leaped around, testing for a weakness. He landed an arm’s length from Orielle. She cried out and staggered back. He swiped at her. She flung up an arm in defense. His claws snagged her cloak. He jerked. Cloth ripped. She fell away as Grim attacked the wyre with a tossed elemental spell that pushed the shifter away. He followed with a flurry of steel.

Orielle scrambled to her feet.

Movement caught her eye. She whirled to see the dark-haired wyre charging toward her. Sandy grit flew in clods from his feet.

She jerked magic and flung the spell at him. He flung up a hand as the energy flew toward him. It struck, gilded as it flashed, then evaporated into glistening wisps of silver. He didn’t slow down.

Thrusting out her hands, she drew power that limned her fingers—then remembered Saithe. They came over the wall onto us. His power was useless against wyre. The wyre slashed his throat open.

Her power would be useless.

Unless she kept to the element.

Air.

The wyre sprang.

She crouched and dug her fingers into the sand and grit and pebbles. A wave of water-smoothed pebbles roared up and surged toward him, pelting him.

He landed a foot from her. She added the gritty sand, aiming it at his face.

He fell back, sputtering, wiping his eyes.

Behind him, a fallen branch lifted from the ground and speared toward him.

He saw her eyes focused past him and whirled then ducked with a speed she regretted when the branch flew past him. The sharp end buried in the sand.

With a growl, he leaped toward her.

Hunter. Hunted. Who is who?

 On a mission for the Wizard Enclave, Orielle ventures into the Wilding, a strange frontier filled with magical creatures. There she discovers sprites and wraiths, gobbers and wyre, and the mysterious Dark Fae called the Kyrgy.

All view her as prey.

Fetch it here.

Dark Fae, ruled by Lady Bone, in *Spells of Air* ~ Now Available!

 Meet Lady Bone and her knights, the Dark Fae who controls the Wilding.

Excerpt from Spells of Air

Orielle didn’t think she fell asleep. This fraught day wearied her with its pre-dawn beginning with the gobber, leading to her encounter with the wyre, and ending with a wight on her back. How could one sleep standing up? But she must dream, for bone-white horses threaded through the straight trees. Snow-white riders, stiffly erect in their saddles, wore cloaks of ice blue and storm purple. The material flowed around them, drifted by a gentle wind.

Only the metal bits of the night-black bridles jingled as the horses circled the camp. No snorts or huffs of ice-fogged breath broke the silence. The hooves were muted thuds. The saddle leather didn’t creak.

Nor did the riders speak. In their frozen marble faces, their black eyes spoke for them. Who? From where? From when? Why? Deep questions, rolling like distant thunder.

First to cross the camp wards was a woman, her features carved as sharply as ice shards, a smile greeting Orielle while her black eyes lacked any warmth. Silver hair streamed to her waist, like waterfalls over her glacial blue gown. Her arms were long and thin, the joints of wrist and elbow prominent. The gown flowed behind her like wings. She was beautiful and eldritch strange. Orielle knew Fae without their glamour. The Fae had an unfading beauty equal to this woman. They shared the longer limbs, the slow-swift drifting movements, the ever-present golden aura of magic. This woman was not Fae. She was like to them, but stilly silent, frozen life, without the golden warmth of power, as far from Fae as the Fae were from human, even the wizards who wielded the same power.

The woman’s dark eyes flickered. Long icy-white lashes swept down then up. Her close-mouthed smile revealed her satisfaction at Orielle’s awe. She looked pure as ice—the purity that cleaved coldly sharp decisions that lacked the human inclination toward mercy.

A man followed, then a second. Knights, guarding their queen. Carved of the same frozen ice, similar yet different, harder than the hard woman. One had a drawn sword, the flat blade leaned against his shoulder. The metal glowed with the blue of glacial ice.

The other didn’t draw his sword. Icy violet gleamed dully through a scabbard worked from silver and ice filaments. The snow-white fingers of his left hand curved around something. A shadowy tendril left his hand but vanished into the darkness, inches from rider and steed.

Those pale fingers tightened.

Orielle’s upward glance snared the knights. She felt the ice of a deep Mont Nourian winter, the frozen wind from the mountain heights whipped to a frenzy by a storm, the shaking chill that only a blazing fire could dispel.

The other riders encircled the camp. Silent, frozen, untouched by drifting wind that lifted the snow-white manes of their horses.

Their camp had no leaping flames to offer warmth, just smoldering coals that held more ash than heat.

She shivered. The second knight smiled. Had he sent the ruthless cold she endured? When his lips parted, she saw his teeth, sharpened to fangs. He stopped his horse beside the woman. He released his reins, the black leather straps sliding against the bone-white horse. He stretched his free hand toward her, and she sensed a cold deeper than winter.

Orielle thought she dreamed until Grim appeared. His hand grazed hers as he bowed deeply. 

The touch broke her sleepy stupefaction. She curtsied as deeply as she would have to the ArchClan of the Enclave or the king of Mont Nouris. She watched the woman, stranger than all the others, for she had led the men across the camp wards. Orielle’s magic hadn’t stopped them nor alerted her.

She feared these creatures more than the gobber, more than the wyre.

“Who comes through my Wilding?”  The woman’s voice had rich tones that rang deep to her bones.

Grim bowed again. “I am Rhoghieri, Lady Bone.”

“Havener.”  The black eyes glittered with a strange inner light. “I know you. We keep the pax. This one, woman who is not-wizard, name her.”

At the command, the second knight’s smile increased.

Orielle had skipped many lessons, but she knew the power of names. Cringing inside, she lifted her chin, striving to balance bravery and respect. Fear and insolence would feed icy cruelty.

Grim had edged closer. She clasped his hand as she sank into another curtsey. Then she tossed back her hood.

The first knight lifted his sword. Extending his arm high, he brandished the steely blue blade. “Aiwaz Solsken,” he shouted.

Orielle fell back from his thunder.

Grim caught her, dragged her against his side. “Steady,” he warned, for the sword knight had dismounted without moving, slipping between one blink of her fluttering lashes and the next.

Sword held in both hands, he approached. The eerie blade lit his snow-white skin, giving it the glacial tones of the Lady’s gown. Sigils writhed the length of the blade, as tall as she was, with a brightly glowing gem pommel. She crowded into Grim as the knight held the sword aloft. She had to tear her gaze from him to focus on the woman.

The sword knight stopped his advance.

Orielle dared not look at him. Despising her cowardly instinct, she straightened away from Grim and managed a step away.

The knight shifted with her, keeping the blade between her and the Lady.

A third curtsey would seem mockery. Orielle bent her head then dared the Lady’s gaze. “I am as you called me, Great One. I am a not-wizard of the Enclave in Mont Nouris.”

“That is not a name.”

“I have learned to be wary of names, Lady.”

“Not so, for this wight knows a name.”

The Lady’s words were a signal, for the leash knight jerked the black rope he held. His right hand snatched the air. When his hand lifted, a ghostly form appeared. Wispy tendrils coalesced into a thick fog—wearing the face of her dead cousin Raigeis.

Orielle winced. Grim, behind her, grunted.

She forced herself to survey the wight’s guise. He had Magister Raigeis’ arrogance, the flared nostrils and lofted chin, the swept-back grey hair, the stiff carriage of a man who understood his importance.

But ghosts didn’t walk the earth, not as tangible beings. The wight had taken her cousin’s form to terrify. Emotional energy, Grim had said.

She looked at the creature masked as Raigeis, once second in command of all the wizards in the Enclave, dead now and another in his place.

“A foolishness that I regret, Lady.”  Once again she dared that cold stare. “I wished to impress the Rhoghieri.”

“The wight did not frighten you when it tried to attach itself to you?”

“No, Lady,” she lied. She looked again at Raigeis. His features were blurring. Did the wight lose energy when it had no emotions to sustain its guise?

“You are arrogant, Lady Aiwaz Solsken.”

“The Rhoghieri says that I am foolish. I have never before ventured into the Wilding. I have much to learn. For example, I cannot discover, Great Lady, how you and your knights cross my wards.”

The Lady’s laugh was a sharp tinkling sound that could have broken glass. The leash knight permitted another smile. Orielle dared not look at the sword knight. He had advanced when their gazes met. Would he advance more if that again happened? She would not peek to see if his grin matched all the others encircling their camp.

Behind her, Grim hissed, displeased with her once again.

“A bargain we will strike, Not-Wizard.”

“No,” Grim whispered.

Not feeling reckless, Orielle wished to offer his word as her own. How did she refuse this magical queen? Should she even attempt to wiggle out of the proposed bargain? “I have nothing to offer,” she tried. Grim’s groan told that she’d said the wrong thing.

“We will find an appropriate offer at the appointed time. Cyning honorel. Wight, na strincte. The name returns to Neothera. Take it. It offends my sight.”

The darkness that had cloaked the wight descended over him. Her last look saw Cousin Raigeis dissipating like vapor. A muffled howl rose. The knight jerked the leash, cutting the howl into a whimper. Another jerk stopped that tiny sound.

“What will happen to this wight?”

“You have care for a creature that would suck away your magic?”

“No,” she hastened to say. “I would not want another traveler to fall into its trap.”

“Have care to yourself, not for the next traveler this wight meets.”

“It returns to its place, on the crest at the cairn?”

The Lady’s smile widened. Sharp fangs glinted, as sharp as the Leash Knight and just as deadly.

And the wight whimpered.

“Eventually. It will pay a tithe for its lie.”  She spoke again, the strange language like Faeron but not, the words harsh yet with an enthralling undertone that could trap the unsuspecting.

The knight shifted the glowing sword to his left hand. Once again he extended it to the sky. The storm-purple cloak fell back. His snow-white forearm had lightning-jagged scars. Muscles bunched at the sword’s heft, but he held it aloft, his strength making the steel weightless. Orielle stared at the glittering tip of the sword. She watched for lightning, but nothing struck. His right hand extended. Elongated fingers cupped her face.

They froze her skin. His gaze seized hers.

“Lady—,” Grim called.

“She is safe, Rho. For now.”  Again her tingling laugh jangled the silence.

The knight loomed before her, inches from her, but that snow-cold frame emitted no heat. Black eyes bored into hers as his cold, bony fingers pressed hard into her flesh. A faint pulse beat in his temple, the only sign that blood pulsed within him, pumped by a heart, making him mortal as the long-lived Fae, mortal as Orielle.

Is the Lady mortal?

His fingers moved, and her thoughts scattered, driven away before the blizzard of icy shards penetrating her mind. His black eyes seized hers as he learned the bone structure of her face, his touch as intimate as a lover’s first exploration yet colder than deep winter, crueler than quick death.

Her breath fogged the chilling air.

“Do you fear me, Aiwaz Solsken?”

“I fear what you do.”

Her breathy words caused a flicker in those black eyes. “It is good that the wight lost its grip before it felt your fear.”

She shuddered.

His hand lifted away only for his index finger to return, to trace a symbol in the center of her forehead. She tried to follow the shape. He obliged by redrawing it, three, four, five times.

His teeth weren’t fanged. They looked slightly pointed with only the eye teeth sharpened. An odd puzzle to snag her mind rather than the eerie tingling of his finger on her brow, writing a symbol over and over. Then he whispered, imparting the secret, “Once for each tenet.”

“Thank you.”

“The Lady gives it. I am hers as you are the Rho’s.”  He stepped back. He slowly lowered the sword, steadily sheathed it until only the blue gem above the cross-guard gave its light to the moon-cold night. Without a flicker of his black eyes, he turned, walked back to his horse, and vaulted into the saddle.

With his leaving, devastation whorled through her, scoured with blizzard-sharp ice.

“Would you steal my knight, Not-Wizard? He seems to court you.”

The words jarred her frozen mind. “Oh, no, Great Lady. He is yours, none of mine.”

That fang-toothed smile returned. “Well answered, though I would send him in your need. Call upon me should you need my aid. I will send one of my knights.”

Orielle bowed her head. “I am humbled by the gift, Lady.”

The smile vanished. “Kyrgy deal in bargains, my offer matched to yours. Remember that, Aiwaz Solsken. You have much to learn of the Wilding. I hope you survive to complete our bargain.”

Obedient to an unseen signal, the horses turned as one. The Lady and her two knights rode into the forest, their horses swishing their tails as they crossed the wards. Then the others followed, knights and dames, as stilly silent as before.

As she had not seen their arrival, Orielle watched their leaving, and Grim at her shoulder watched as well. Tall figures on tall horses, their cloaks blending into the darkness. Between one blink and the next, they vanished.

Fetch it here!

Meet Grim, Orielle's only ally ~ the #fantasy *Spells of Air*

 Publishing this week! Spells of Air, 

a fantasy trilogy of novellas in the Fae Mark'd World.

  Hunter. Hunted. Who is who?

 On a mission for the Wizard Enclave, Orielle ventures into the Wilding, a strange frontier filled with magical creatures. There she discovers sprites and wraiths, gobbers and wyre, and the mysterious Dark Fae called the Kyrgy.

All view her as prey.

In the following excerpt, Orielle meets Grim -- just in time!

from Chapter 1

Ghost chose to rear. Orielle lost her seat and slid back. She landed on her feet, sheer luck. The drop jarred her, scared her. She stumbled sideways.

And into something. Something that loomed higher than her.

A tree? A wyre!  No. Hands had caught her. They shoved her backward. Panic flashed over her then winked out when she realized the man wasn’t a shifted wyre. He wasn’t a wyre at all. And he stood between her and the wyre.

Ghost tore the reins free of clawed hands. He bounded away. His white tail flashed as he thundered through the trees.

The wyre didn’t look at the lost horse. He ignored Orielle. His narrowed eyes rimmed gold as he scanned the man, brown hair, brown leathers, brown boots, shining sword. Then the wyre grinned. “Rho.”

“Wyre,” the man retorted. With the steely blade between them, he lifted one hand.

The wyre flew back. He thudded into a tree trunk. Red leaves scattered over him. Claws scratched the ground, then he scrambled up. Those gold-rimmed eyes flickered to Orielle. He grinned, sick anticipation stretching his lips. “Don’t leave, pretty wizard.”

The Rhoghieri’s hand came up again.

The wyre laughed then dove behind a tree.

And disappeared.

While she gawked, the Rhoghieri grabbed her hand. “This way.”  He headed back, towing her along.

“But—my horse—.”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t acknowledge her protest. They passed the sunny spot where Ghost had stopped before.

On the switchback to the lower trail, Orielle lost her footing and began sliding. The Rho’s strong grip kept her upright. Her free hand scraped over rock and sedgy grass. The stiff riding boots kept her ankles from rolling off roots and rocks that skittered under her. When she stumbled again, he kept her from tumbling downslope, but he used her momentum to leave the well-worn trail. They rushed downward several feet, then he tugged her along as he climbed higher and higher.

When he stopped, she fetched into him. “Oof.”  She grabbed his arm to steady herself.

Sun dazzled her eyes, so she looked down and away.

They stood on a thready trail, ribbony compared to the path she had followed. The trail coursed the mountain’s flank. Behind him, grass gave way to boulders. Below them, far below them—the wyre stood on the wider path. Clawed hands rested on his hips. The sun gleamed on his sweat-slick skin.

He grinned. “Come out and play,” he shouted her words.

Wind whooshed down the slope. It blasted over the wyre. He tumbled backward, down the slope.

She nearly came off her feet when the Rhoghieri jerked her forward. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t, so she couldn’t.

Fetch it here!

Meet Orielle ~ *Spells of Air*

 Hunter. Hunted. Who is who?

 On a mission for the Wizard Enclave, Orielle ventures into the Wilding, a strange frontier filled with magical creatures. There she discovers sprites and wraiths, gobbers and wyre, and the mysterious Dark Fae called the Kyrgy.

All view her as prey.

Excerpt from Chapter 1 ~

Orielle guided the dapple-grey gelding along the narrow trail traversing the steep slope of the mountain.

Lights winked in the trees ahead, like the spectrum glints in her mother’s diamond pendant, a gift for the spell she’d worked for the king.

She reined in the horse to watch the dancing lights. On the trek to this height, she’d seen the rainbow-colored lights a few times. The old man who had warned her of the Wilding said that she would see strange things, but this strangeness was beautiful. The lights flitted among the autumn-changed leaves. A cluster darted in and out, winking in unison. Light reflected from sun-glinted water moved randomly. These lights had a fascinating pattern.

Ghost snorted. Orielle patted his neck. 

At the light tap of palm to horsehide, the lights flashed then blinked away. She sighed and hoped the glints would return.

“Sprites,” she told Ghost. “Flower-lights.”  She remembered reading the description while she studied in the archivist’s tower. Old Rombrey wouldn’t let students carry the thick tome out of his tower, and her tutors required that she con information from its multiple pages. For hours she’d perched on a stool and shivered in the stony room, far removed from the brazier that the old man kept near his table. Before today’s flower-lights, she’d thought that old book contained nothing more than myths. Before she ventured into the Wilding, she should have had another dip into the Creatures of the Hinterlands. She hadn’t bothered to read the chapter about dragons.

She hoped she didn’t encounter dragons.

The sprites were not the first odd things she’d encountered since entering the Wilding that verged the Shifting Lands. She wanted to see them again.

She hoped she did not see another stunted creature like the one that had invaded her campsite last night.

Enclave-raised, with never a toe ventured beyond the settled lands, Orielle had compassed her world with mundane and powered, wizard against sorcerer, Rhoghieri against wyre. Wizard-trained, she came into the border lands to renew the Enclave pact with the Rhoghieri. She expected mountain cats and vipers, bears and hornets, not the stunted creature that tried to drag away her food bag while she slept. Ghost had woken her. When she sprang up, the thing abandoned its prize and scuttled into the darkness.

When her heart stopped racing, she paced her wards, designed to keep her safe from mundane and the evils of Frost Clime.

Her wards weren’t damaged.

Where the creature had crossed, the ward spells remained linked, limning golden when she checked their strength.

Orielle spent the rest of the night watching for more trouble.

These glinting lights were the second oddity. They looked too pretty to be dangerous. The claws that had punctured the thick hide of her food bag would be lethal.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have volunteered when Adorée backed out,” she told the horse. His ears flicked forward. Safe in Mont Nouris, her wizard trials appointed a year away, Orielle had itched for adventure. Her sister hadn’t given a reason for changing her mind about the ArchClans’ request to go to Iscleft Haven. Orielle snatched at the opportunity before someone else did.

“Too late to back out now, Ghost. Come on.”

When the grey horse refused to move forward, she dug in her heels. Iron-shod hooves remained firmly planted. His ears flicked forward.

Orielle sat back and stared at the trees with their riot of changing leaves, red and orange and bronzy, colors so rich she wished she knew the name of the trees. She hadn’t excelled at flora and fauna.

The leaves shivered at a vagrant wind’s touch. The sprites had vanished. Nothing moved under the trees’ canopy. The well-traveled path she followed, pointed out by the Lowland farmer who had warned of the Wilding’s dangers, maintained its easy route along the slope and into the trees. The path worked up and down until it reached the rocky escarp that towered above the trees.

There, at the rocks, the path switched back and forth to climb the slope, just as it had cut on itself as it began the climb from the valley.

If a mundane creature menaced, Ghost would snort a warning. He had neighed last night. Whatever lurked was neither mundane nor stunted creature with stubby talons.

No birds chirped or flitted about. No little mammals scurried along the limbs or scratched at the roots.

She wished she had Fire or Water, to spook whatever lurked. She wielded Air, and that not as well as she wished.

The bulk of the mountain loomed above the rocky escarp. Once she achieved the crest, she would overlook the Wilding, land untrammeled by civilization, inhabited only by magic users. Far east glimmered the Shifting Lands. Far north was an off-shoot of Faeron, and farther north the forests and tundra of Ultima Thule.

Orielle wanted to achieve the crest by sunset. Did a creature lurked on the escarp? Did it wait to leap upon her and Ghost? Or did it plan to rush them when they started the upward trail? Spook the horse, and she and Ghost would fall hundreds of feet to the valley.

For a solid week she had listened to one Lowland farmer after another tell of ogres lurking in the boulders, hiding in caves, and creeping through trees. Orielle shivered with the children while the wives bustled about and old folk smoked the ubiquitous puff pipe, saying “aye” at dark times in the stories.

Now that she’d seen sprites and that creature, she couldn’t dismiss those warnings as stories to keep the little ones from wandering off.

Ogres. Trolls. Wyre? Shape-shifting wyre, sent by the sorcerers of Frost Clime to block the way to Iscleft Haven. Wyre and sorcerers, waiting for Orielle to ride into their trap.

Imagination would doom her one day.

Trained to alert to sorcery, Ghost had warned her of last night’s unnatural creature. The mundane didn’t affect him. Loud noises would, like the soldiers who had drilled in the well square of the last town of the Lowlands.

Outcasts lurked on the fringes. She hadn’t kept her mission to the Haven secret. She was a young woman traveling alone;  easy prey, the lawless would think. She had more than enough power for them.

Orielle put her heels into Ghost as she clucked. He snorted but started obediently.

A dark shape slunk from one tree trunk to the next.

She reined in Ghost. Once again she peered at the shadow-draped trail. Once again she spotted nothing and no one.

Stripping off her riding gloves, she tucked them into her saddle bags. Then she started the horse forward.

When they passed close to the first tree, his ears flicked. He snorted at the third tree. He balked when the trees surrounded him.

She could still see nothing and no one. After peering around, Orielle lifted her hand. Golden magic limned her fingers, both warning and threat. “Come out and play,” she offered. She tried to breathe slowly, deeply. A vagrant wind cooled her cheeks.

For several breaths nothing moved. Then a tall figure separated from the tree that had hidden his wide shoulders. Even in the shadows, his blond hair glistened as it fell over his bare shoulders. Slanted eyebrows slashed together over eyes as blue as the sky. His features were sharply boned in a narrow face. A golden pelt covered his broad chest. He wore only leather breeches, with no shirt and no boots on his bare feet.

And he stood on his toes. Yellowed claws dripped from his fingers.

Wyre. Partially shifted. Real trouble, for wizardry had little defense against a shifted wyre.

“Good morrow,” she told him.

He grinned, a flash of white fangs that were sharp and scary. “Playtime.”  And he leaped for her.

Ghost chose to rear. Orielle lost her seat and slid back. She landed on her feet, sheer luck. The drop jarred her, scared her. She stumbled sideways.

And into something. Something that loomed higher than her.

Fetch it here.

Coming Soon! #fantasy

 

Hunter. Hunted. 

Who is who?

 On a mission for the Wizard Enclave, Orielle ventures into the Wilding, a strange frontier filled with magical creatures. 

There she discovers sprites and wraiths, gobbers and wyre, and the mysterious Dark Fae called the Kyrgy.

All view her as prey.

Fetch it here.