Land of Salvania

Suddenly, the fighting died away. From the castle wall, archers and healers were scrambling down ladders and ropes. Both groups found more arrows and bodies than expected. Echoes of horns and drums sounded from various distances, sending commands and queries to those that understood. The field beyond the Duke's castle walls was once a lovely garden. Now it was a ruined expanse of dead and dying horses and fighters. Hooves from enormous cavalry steeds had ravaged the lawn, leaving it as pocked as the Duke's jousting ground. Burning wagons and siege towers left black, smoking scars. Some of the Elvenari Sisterhood were already walking among the twisted shapes of armored combatants, motioning for stretchers when they found someone alive from either side. Torben found himself squishing through mud that oozed with horse blood as he gathered a handful of decent arrows that could fly again. His little Rock Dragon rode on his shoulder and squeaked in dismay at the unpleasant smel...

  "I found my first rock dragon on a sunny day in May just like today," Flint said as a little red dragon, no bigger than a squirrel, scrambled over his hand, arm, and shoulder before hiding in his hair. Other rock dragons were sunning themselves on the warm rock wall or peeking out of crevices. "They say half the Yunni keep them as pets and the other half keep them for breakfast." With a twinkle in his eye, he looked at a Yunni, one of the small forest folk, standing among the children making up Flint's "forest classroom." The children all looked at the Yunni who, even though full grown, was barely as tall as child. "Mister Flint," the Yunni said with great solemnity. "I would never have one of these delightful creatures for breakfast. I might invite one to enjoy my breakfast, though." She tossed a morsel of bread onto a flat rock. Flint's little red peeked out of his curtain of hair, but a bigger blue dragon flashed out ...

  Crow dreamed he was looking in a mirror. An old man looked back. His face was similar to Crow's, but he looked ancient and tired. The old man spoke a strange foreign language, but Crow could still understand scattered bits of it. "...and when the <foreign word> is open upon the midnight, beware the <foreign word> that will spring forth to rend." "I don't understand your words, uncle," Crow said, adding the honorific "uncle" as a courtesy. "Heed me, boy," the old face said. "You will be asked to <foreign word> upon the midnight when the <foreign word> opens. You must act with great courage and remember to <string of foreign words> lest you die without awakening." Crow shook his head, knowing this was crucial information. "I cannot heed you, uncle. I do not understand." The old man looked annoyed. "Ask Ritter. He may know." Then the dream was over. Crow crawled out of hi...

  (From the series "Gerantus and Pall") The Yunni arrow was still quivering between Gerantus' feet. He dared not move or even blink. "I mean no harm," he called into the forest. "I live nearby." A crow somewhere above him called out, less strident than a moment earlier, a cross between a growl and a laugh. Gerantus heard a soft rustle to his left, and a Yunni appeared from behind a shrub that should have never been able to conceal him. Gerantus was shocked how close the Yunni had come even after he was on guard. The Yunni was small, about three feet high. He carried a bow that was at least four feet long. He had a quiver full of arrows, and one was already nocked. "You have disturbed my father's rest," the Yunni said, looking at the clay pots filled with bones. Gerantus looked at the pots and back at the Yunni. "I am sorry. My friend Pall said the owls told him about..." Gerantus nodded at the pots. "This. I came...

Ulrich the Northman mumbled a song, frivolous as a drinking ditty or a child’s nursery rhyme, as he walked through the winter forest, his eyes scanning endlessly for red-berried troll bane to sell in the village. “In the land of fey, No morn is gray. Though rain will come When it may.” Thus said a crow I had come to know. Her silly name Was Icy Snow. Icy Snow never lied. Although once she tried. It made her sick And a bit cockeyed. Now, her sight awry, She grew quite sly. She trained to sharpen Her mind’s third eye. The brooding winter passed. She thrilled to feel, at last, Her vision wake With inner sight so vast. In forest fey our paths did cross. I stumbled through the fog and moss, Mind a-whirl with fairy spells. “I see your feet are at a loss.” So now we never stray. Her mind’s eye guides the way, And in my ear she croaks, “Let’s live our best this day.” /// Copyright