Tales From a Thousand Worlds

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Monthly Archives: August 2015

The Red Blade – Part Seven

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An intense rumbling peel of thunder rolled across the darkening sky, a cacophonous report that promised much more to come. Across the gloom laden sky, vast banks of clouds piled up, spilling over each other in their haste to sweep down on Ardanium. The smell of approaching rain suffused the warm air. Soon would erupt one of the sudden summer storms that at times would crash across the plains, swelling the river fit to burst.

 

Follow this link for Part Seven of The Red Blade

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The Red Blade – Part Six

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Soft light drifted into Athradies’ study. It came in through the wide open doors that lead out onto a balcony that overlooked the gardens of the villa, light curtains that swayed in a breeze pulled across the opening. Bundles of dusty old scrolls were piled up on a smooth polished wooden desk, with ink pots and quills scattered amongst them. More scrolls lined the room, packed tight in shelves that reached from floor to ceiling. Athradies rolled up one scroll with great care, binding it closed with a red cord before setting it down beside him.

Follow this link for Part Six of The Red Blade

The Red Blade – Part Five

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Carse drew himself up to his full height, his adolescent frame growing tall, though it had not as yet filled out to match, giving him a lanky appearance. He let air fill his lungs, breathing deep, as he prepared to let voice a song. Madame Natazde, of the cold, northern Navodian lands, stood across from him in the large and airy room she used to train him in, tapping a beat with one booted foot. A tall woman, taller even than he, with pale hair and eyes rarely seen among Akuvians, she had drilled Carse relentlessly from the day he had arrived at Athradies’ villa, day in and day out, no matter what other lessons he also had. Reading, writing and languages, swordplay and knife work, disarming traps and locks, the use of crossbows and the art of stealth, all had been imparted upon him, yet always Madame Natazde insisted that he spend each morning with her, moulding and strengthening his singing voice.

Follow this link for Part Five of The Red Blade

The Red Blade – Part Four

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Carse probed carefully at the heavy lock with the thin piece of wire. His eyes had been bound by a thick band of cloth so that he could see nothing at all. Gently he turned the wire, feeling for the minute vibrations that travelled through it into his fingers, building up a picture of the lock’s inner workings in his mind. A twist, a turn, and he heard a faint click as the lock came undone.

Follow this link for Part Four of The Red Blade

The Red Blade – Part Three

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The training sword, made of tightly bundled reeds, slithered through the air like a striking serpent, beating aside Carse’s flailing thrust with ease, before rapping him upon the ribs, adding yet one more blow to the numerous that had already slipped by his defences. Even though it was just a training sword, the arm behind it was like tempered steel and no leniency was given for his age. His weekly training sessions in the noble art of swordplay always ended with his ribs a mass of bruises.

Follow this link for Part Three of The Red Blade

Ray and His Human

Brian was in trouble.

The panel of lights before him that, with depressing regularity, lit up when there was a problem aboard were for the moment dark and silent. Normally that was a cause for celebration given the ramshackle state of his ship.

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The Red Blade – Part Two

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Athradies led the boy Carse though the winding streets of Ardanium, headed for a string of hills scattered like pearls along the banks of the river Shalahir, a surging torrent fed by distant mountains, uncertain and temperamental in nature, quick to rage and prone to floods. Only in the hills could refuge be found from the surging waves when such occurred, and there the villas of the rich and powerful stood, building of marble facing spread out among the immaculately crafted gardens of roses and tall trees, sheltered from the city below.

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The Red Blade – Part One

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The lilting tones of a young boy’s voice drifted high above the murmur of the market forums, above the endless susurration of conversations, and of shopkeepers competing with one another, hawking their wares to potential customers, the raucous bursts of laughter, the barking of dogs and the clinking of money as it changed hands. A clarity of tone as fine as delicate crystal rung in the voice, enough to rend the heart of any who listened, yet it strove to compete with the babble of the market that blended into one solid sound, and with the apathy of those within.

Follow this link for Part One of The Red Blade

Wisdom From The Ashes – Part Twelve

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Zethar hobbled into town, his wounded leg a source of constant pain. It would have been easier to be helped along and he knew that to refuse was just his stubborn pride, but he would not enter by anything other that his own feet, walking alongside Nhaqosa.

Follow this link for Part Twelve of Wisdom From The Ashes

Daughter of the Windswept Hills – Part Twelve

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The remaining Hashalite mercenaries were preparing to depart when Fianna approached them. Their captain wheeled his horse about as she neared, looking down at her with eyes a touch narrowed and thoughtful.

Follow this link for Part Twelve of Daughter of the Windswept Hills