Flash Fiction, Fantasy, and Poetry
Come out from the briars / Where you hid in pain / Come back to the bowers / Where we danced and sang…
This is Lacillae’s lament for her betrothed. Though he is lost in darkness, she longs for him to return “To Light! To Life! To Love!” (“Spellbound,” line 21).
“An elemental rift tore the valorous offspring of Luendarth and Emythrene apart, and they, in kind, tore the prophecy asunder.”
Here lies the prophecy reforged.
“An elemental rift tore the valorous offspring of Luendarth and Emythrene apart, and they, in kind, tore the prophecy asunder.”
From the Bright Lands, Elvish armies march under these words.
“An elemental rift tore the valorous offspring of Luendarth and Emythrene apart, and they, in kind, tore the prophecy asunder.”
From the Grim Regions, Elvish armies march under these words.
Ears ringing from the screeching of saws and the dinging of hammers, Navigator Tramais steered the Nervidia down the throat of the Laughing Cat. Sculpted into the rockface by warlocks’ chantry, the stone-fanged maw of the conspicuous cove arched about a gallows’ height above the royal yard of the ship’s mainmast. From the crow’s nest, the ship’s Daybreak Lookout forever joked that he narrowly missed the hangman’s noose, whenever the ship passed between the Laughing Cat’s most prominent fangs…
Melihrene galloped eastward, beyond the scanty evergreen wood, into a lush, tropical greenwood. The threshold between these woodlands perpetuated a foreshadowing but invisible fog; felt but unseen. With each eastward hoof stamp, the crisp and cool air of the early morning heated incrementally, like the stagnant water in a soup pot. The environment grew mysteriously hot and humid. The horse’s mane and tail frizzed. Uuinora’s dampened clothes clung to her skin. The leather patches of her armor sweltered. These would have sunburned her bluish skin, if there had not been a cotton suit between her armor and her Elvish hide…
Since it has been far too long since any adventurer has recorded that they dueled in riddles against a dragon, here is a simple riddle about the four seasons that doubles as a sneak peek into my upcoming novel: “The Rise of Magmartan,” where one such duel takes place.
The sun ducked behind the ridge and tossed a wave of shadow over Talsis’s stranded horse. The horse twitched its ears and flicked its tail, as the evening chill bit into its fur and lapped the warmth of daylight from its skin. The horse grunted, craned its neck, and sniffed the groundcover. Its snout rifled through spikey, almond-shaped leaves and lean, bristly stalks for sweet, coastal strawberries, but the bushes were bare. The horse impatiently scraped the soil with its steel-shoed hooves and nervously ground the bit wedged between its flat teeth. Finally, it lifted its head and peered out to sea. Somewhere, either floating atop or sinking beneath billowing rolls of sea foam, its rider tarried…
Fruyr swung his legs over the edge of his bed. His hand glided across the soft blanket beneath him and up the smooth bedpost of the canopy bed. He gripped the post and slid down the blanket, until his feet met the cold floor. When he released the post, he stretched out an arm, until his fingers touched the wall. He ran his fingers along the wall and counted his steps, as he searched for the window. He opened it when the side of his hand bumped the edge of the windowsill. He crossed his arms atop the windowsill and recklessly leaned out the window, into the frigid, unfriendly darkness…
Kimio kicked the carriage door open. Since his stay in Glaiven’s fishbowl prison, he ailed of entrapment as starkly as he ailed of cabin fever. He gripped the doorframe and leaned out the doorway, until only the tips of his toes met the floor. The moist spritz that hitchhiked across Zaliradai, via its chilled winds, pelted Kimio’s uniform in prickly droplets. Delivered at the exhilarating speed of charging horses, the watery acupuncture revitalized him. For the first time since his kidnapping, Kimio felt lively…