fantasy excerpt – Page 9

This Textured Darkness, #39

The boy’s name was Jessum and it gave him deep joy to see Elymas unsettled.

“My critical powers,” said the King, “though still intact, are limited by endurance. My councilor will read for me.”

‘Hand the parchment over,” said Ranald. “I’ve struggled with thoughts of my own death long enough.”

The King reached for the blue feather like a dying man reaches for hope.

The eyes of the King see you, the ears of the King hear you, the words of the King, bless you.

Oren Hunter. Mothers used his name to frighten wayward children.

A giant of a man stood in the doorway, hair white as snow, loosed from a leather band.

He’d felt well enough to plough his wife’s belly with a son.

The fever passed, only to leave him chilled and dreaming he was fighting on bloody snow.

Until three days ago,” Milo pointed to the skull, “This was a man we called the Poet.”