SHARDFALL, The Shardheld Saga #1
Muus is only a thrall, a slave without rights, but he knows the small, blue shard he picked up belongs to him alone. His commonsense saves their lives from cold and starvation.
Kjelle, heir to the Lord of a rich mininghold, is spoiled, and covetous of his thrall's tantalizing find. His greed causes an avalanche that leaves both young men marooned on an icy mountain slope.
Birthe, young wisewoman and huntress, mother of baby boy Búi, is brave and clever. She knows her way through the snowy wilderness of the Norden and her songs are filled with magic.
Now they are bound together on a danger-laden journey to a lost and burning land, where Muus needs to connect the skyshard to the Kalmanir, the standing stone that is the world's fount of all magic.
The Kalmanir's time is almost up and it urgently needs to be replenished before the magic of Gods and men runs out.
The two young men have to learn to trust each other, for all around them, enemies abound. Rebels threaten both the kingdom and Kjelle's holding, and a tribe of mad idolaters is trying to recall the banned primordial Old Gods.
Even more imminent is Muus' danger, for it comes from nearby, from the shard itself.
"The world is vividly evoked and the characters have strong, individual personalities." (Awesome Indies Review)
"This book had very vivid scenes, and I love the storyline." (Kayla West, Book Critic.)
"I especially liked Birthe, a young widow with a baby. She was tough and smart and very strong-willed." (S. Blake, Amazon Reviewer)
Shardfall, The Shardheld Saga, Book 1
Paul E. Horsman
Editor: Debra Doyle, Ph.D., Dr Doyle's Editorial amd Critique Services
Illustrator: Jos Weijmer, JW Artstudio
Publisher: Red Rune Books (2013)
Published as: print book, e-book
Pages: ca. 144
Price: $ 11.99 (print), $ FREE (e-book)
Paul E. Horsman
Editor: Debra Doyle, Ph.D., Dr Doyle's Editorial amd Critique Services
Illustrator: Jos Weijmer, JW Artstudio
Publisher: Red Rune Books (2013)
Published as: print book, e-book
Pages: ca. 144
Price: $ 11.99 (print), $ FREE (e-book)
CHAPTER 1
It had stopped snowing. At the foot of the Silfjall Mountain, Eidungruve Hold lay exposed to the frosty blue of the Long Night.
Elward, the young watchman at the top of the gate tower, leaned on his spear. He stared at the crows, circling over the roofs of the buildings, while he waited for the end of his watch. After four hours on the tower, the cold was getting to him. His breath froze in his hairy face, forming icicles in his mustache. For a moment he thought of his wife below in the warmth of the longhouse. She was pregnant. He knew he shouldn’t worry, but it was their first time, and it made him nervous.
He started pacing again, the snow crunching under his heavy boots. Six feet forward, six back, the length of his little kingdom.
Something flashed on the edge of his vision. Elward looked up and froze. A tiny ball of light hurtled down from the blue bowl of the sky. It hit the top of Silfjall with a flash, brighter than Thor’s bolts. A terrible light engulfed him. He yelled, clutched his eyes, terrified by his sudden blindness. His spear fell to the floor with a thump. He groaned, half bowed, paralyzed with fear. But the sparks before his eyes died and through his fingers the familiar Long Night returned. By Thor, he thought, still shaking. I thought it was coming for me. His fingers clawed the railing as he looked at the Hold. He sighed, the longhouse, the barns and the mine buildings beneath him, all were as before. He turned and his heart missed a beat. High up the slope of the Silfjall burned a blue fire. Oh Gods, what’s that? With trembling hands, he sought the signal horn and blew a single, long note in the silence. The crows fled, cawing in distress, seeking shelter in the woods.
The headman appeared from between the buildings below. He started and stared at the glow on the mountain. Abruptly, he turned around and ran into the longhouse.
Elward shook his spear at the headman’s back. ‘Damn you, I’m up here, nitwit! I’ve got a report.’ No one heard him. He glanced at the light, pulsing on the mountain like something evil.
The headman returned with another man and Elward stiffened. Lord Holder Alman’s wide-legged walk was unmistakable. For a moment, the men on the ground stared at the light and then they came up the ladder, the Holder moved slowly, as if his old wound pained him.
Elward slammed his fist to his shoulder in a salute as his lord stepped onto the high platform.
Holder Alman nodded toward the blue glow. ‘Where did that come from? When did it begin?’
‘Only just now, Lord,’ said Elward.
The Holder’s eyes narrowed in their hollow sockets. ‘Be precise, man. How long is just?’
‘About half a watchman’s round of the palisade,’ said Elward, keeping silent about his moment of blindness. Stiffly, he made his report, conscious of his lord’s searching gaze. He let out a sigh of relief when the Holder turned his head back to the light on the mountain.
‘It is in the high pasture,’ said the Holder. ‘Is it a sign? But of what?’
Disaster, thought the watchman. But he didn’t dare voice his thoughts. The Holder would think it a sign of weakness and Alman hated weaklings.
The Holder turned to his headman. ‘Send for my son.’ Without another look at the light, he climbed carefully back down.
It had stopped snowing. At the foot of the Silfjall Mountain, Eidungruve Hold lay exposed to the frosty blue of the Long Night.
Elward, the young watchman at the top of the gate tower, leaned on his spear. He stared at the crows, circling over the roofs of the buildings, while he waited for the end of his watch. After four hours on the tower, the cold was getting to him. His breath froze in his hairy face, forming icicles in his mustache. For a moment he thought of his wife below in the warmth of the longhouse. She was pregnant. He knew he shouldn’t worry, but it was their first time, and it made him nervous.
He started pacing again, the snow crunching under his heavy boots. Six feet forward, six back, the length of his little kingdom.
Something flashed on the edge of his vision. Elward looked up and froze. A tiny ball of light hurtled down from the blue bowl of the sky. It hit the top of Silfjall with a flash, brighter than Thor’s bolts. A terrible light engulfed him. He yelled, clutched his eyes, terrified by his sudden blindness. His spear fell to the floor with a thump. He groaned, half bowed, paralyzed with fear. But the sparks before his eyes died and through his fingers the familiar Long Night returned. By Thor, he thought, still shaking. I thought it was coming for me. His fingers clawed the railing as he looked at the Hold. He sighed, the longhouse, the barns and the mine buildings beneath him, all were as before. He turned and his heart missed a beat. High up the slope of the Silfjall burned a blue fire. Oh Gods, what’s that? With trembling hands, he sought the signal horn and blew a single, long note in the silence. The crows fled, cawing in distress, seeking shelter in the woods.
The headman appeared from between the buildings below. He started and stared at the glow on the mountain. Abruptly, he turned around and ran into the longhouse.
Elward shook his spear at the headman’s back. ‘Damn you, I’m up here, nitwit! I’ve got a report.’ No one heard him. He glanced at the light, pulsing on the mountain like something evil.
The headman returned with another man and Elward stiffened. Lord Holder Alman’s wide-legged walk was unmistakable. For a moment, the men on the ground stared at the light and then they came up the ladder, the Holder moved slowly, as if his old wound pained him.
Elward slammed his fist to his shoulder in a salute as his lord stepped onto the high platform.
Holder Alman nodded toward the blue glow. ‘Where did that come from? When did it begin?’
‘Only just now, Lord,’ said Elward.
The Holder’s eyes narrowed in their hollow sockets. ‘Be precise, man. How long is just?’
‘About half a watchman’s round of the palisade,’ said Elward, keeping silent about his moment of blindness. Stiffly, he made his report, conscious of his lord’s searching gaze. He let out a sigh of relief when the Holder turned his head back to the light on the mountain.
‘It is in the high pasture,’ said the Holder. ‘Is it a sign? But of what?’
Disaster, thought the watchman. But he didn’t dare voice his thoughts. The Holder would think it a sign of weakness and Alman hated weaklings.
The Holder turned to his headman. ‘Send for my son.’ Without another look at the light, he climbed carefully back down.
Judge, 22nd Annual Writer’s Digest Self-Published Book Awards: "The story is full of adventure, intrigue, and excitement from the very beginning. It is a page turner!" |
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