I’m delighted to be a guest here on Jamie’s site and hope to
make new acquaintances here. This excerpt is from the third installment in
Judgement’s Tale, epic fantasy set in the Lands of Hope. I realized in
preparing for this blog tour, it’s hard to find passages that stand on their
own! Epic fantasy is set around high stakes and interconnected themes. In the
first two parts of this tale, Games of Chance
and Strength of Conviction, you can
meet the players for the first time, and most introductions make good excerpts.
But now, by the third volume, it’s high time for the things that happen to mean something. It was fun to search the
tale and think about the new reader. I hope you enjoy what I’ve come back with.
This excerpt features a noble knight who so far has been
spoken of, but not seen. His name is Renan, and he’s been searching for the
fabled Castle of the Chosen Wanderers all his life. This legendary order was
supposedly created in ancient times to protect the helpless from danger, but in
the settled city of Conar no one believes it still exists. Renan at last leaves
his home forever to search further into the wild country than ever before for the
secret company of knights he believes must be there.
The knight urged
his mount over the outcrop and onto the small rocky niche, reined in and sat
back straight a moment. He had crouched, chest parallel to his horse’s neck,
scanning the stony mountain path for so long that his spine shouted its
protest, but he was eager to look around. To his left and below, the
mountainside with its nail-thin scratch of a path dropped away; further out,
the eastern ridge of the Marble Swords loomed high beneath his position, and
beyond that the knight could see the westernmost lands of the dread
Percentalion. Cloud-ships moved by at a level with his eyes, and eagles soared
only a little higher on the horizon. To his right, the stony path continued up
and into the vast peak, and a few paces further on it disappeared into a solid
wall of cloud, rising higher than he could see before him. The knight sat his
mount and contemplated the measureless mass of white, looking as solid as down.
He thought of a clean canvas before an artist paints, and mused for a time
whether he was starting a new work, on himself. Or perhaps it would be his
shroud.
The knight had
worked his stallion slowly up this path since finding it four days ago. The
food and any grazing plants had given out yesterday; the temperature steadily
fell with each hour’s progress. More than once, the mounted man passed through
clouds, and couldn’t recall the last time he had felt dry. Now, outside this
looming portal of solid mist, he was soaked through his cape; drops fell from
his helm, onto his breastplate, and seeped between the links of his mail to
drench the tunic beneath. By rights, the man should have been shivering hard
enough to lose his seat, but Renan Altrindur felt only a kind of searing
elation within, a thumping certainty of nearness to his goal that burned from
his center and warmed him. The Castle was said to be far above the earth,
behind a wall of fog that always misled the unworthy, winding them around for
days until they came out elsewhere. He did not know if he would succeed or be
one of those so lost, but he did know that his human strength would not hold
out against the cold, the wet and the hunger for another night. He would come
to the fortress of the Chosen Wanderers today, or give his life in the attempt.
Urging Quester
forward, he steadily and fearlessly entered the wall of cloud. Expecting the
path to be just as thin, twisting and treacherous as before, Renan was
surprised and then thrilled as it began to widen ever so little, and level off
just so much. All around him the world was white, and the air seemed thicker
than water, yet curiously refreshing. He thought that he was drinking and
breathing at once, but could not muster a chuckle. The quiet of the mountain
enfolded him: he heard not even the hoofbeats of his horse. It seemed an hour,
but finally he saw not a thinning of the mist but the emergence of something so
real, so marvelously substantial, that even the mist could not obscure the
sight of it. A massive wall, blocks the size of a man, without mortar but
tighter than would allow a knife’s blade between them. And in the center of the
wall, an enormous portcullis of solid steel bars already rose, a foot-thick
bridge of petrified wood lowering before him. Renan had to remind himself to breathe;
then he urged Quester forward. On the middle of the drawbridge, the knight was
bathed in a pool of radiance and a voice from above arrested his progress.
“Who seeks
entrance?”
“I am Renan
Altrindur, knight of Conar,” replied the rider. “I seek to join the holy order
of the Wanderers.”
“There are no
families, no kingdoms, no allegiances within these walls, young knight. Do you
accept the rule of the Chosen Wanderers, forsaking all other bonds to clan and
country?”
“I do,” the
knight replied, and without a moment’s hesitation he reached to his left breast
and tore loose his family patch. A single green sword on a field of gold fell
to the wood beneath his charger’s feet.
There was a long
pause before the voice resumed.
“Your sincerity
shines clearly, Sir Renan. And yet… you are bound to marry.”
“I reject this
claim!” the knight cried with heat. “I have sought to join this holy order all
my life, it is my destiny as I know in my heart. I shall have no part of the
unworthy pact struck by my family, which was without my will and against
justice.”
“Aye, so we see,
you speak the truth. And yet the view of the Wanderer cannot lie, young knight.
It is troubling… but enter and take the path you have chosen.”
With a thankful
prayer to Conar on his lips, Renan spurred on, and entered the Castle of the
Chosen Wanderers.
BIO
Will Hahn has been in
love with heroic tales since age four when his father read him the Lays of
Ancient Rome and the Tales of King Arthur. He taught Ancient-Medieval History
for years, but the line between this world and others has always been thin; the
far reaches of fantasy, like the distant past, still bring him face to face
with people like us, who have choices to make.
Will didn't always
make the right choices when he was young. Any stick or vaguely-sticklike object
became a sword in his hands to the great dismay of his five sisters. Everyone
survived, in part by virtue of a rule forbidding him from handling umbrellas,
ski poles, curtain rods and more.
Will has written
about the Lands of Hope since his college days (which by now are also part of
ancient history). His current epic is Judgement’s
Tale; parts one and two, Games of
Chance and Strength of Conviction
came out in 2014 and part three, Reunion
of Souls is available starting December 26th.
LINKS
Will’s Weirdly
Whimsical Website is where he posts news about upcoming releases
and blogs about writing, classic fantasy works you’ve never read and the unique
photo-based series “It Figures.”
Will’s Tales of Hope
are available at many online retailers:
The RAFFLECOPTER LINK
