Dread Warrior

The Enchanter’s Web, Book II

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What could possibly go wrong when a peaceful land plans a war?

An avenging god with an ancient grudge, Ghyldus, manipulated the Minarians into invading the peaceful land of Shande, forcing its leaders into exile. Arshal, King in Exile, wants his country back. His people are bountied, his land occupied and in ruins. The gods granted him powers that might defeat Ghyldus, if he can learn to control them without killing himself.

With the help of his counselor Nali, a healing warrior Khoti, and his surviving siblings Resala and Peshal, Arshal must recruit ally nations, support a rebellion in Minaria, build an army while suffering a brutal occupation, and draw Ghyldus to face him when and where he’s strongest.

Book II of The Enchanter’s Web is an epic fantasy of intrigue and sorcery. Our heroes must face tribal rivalries and class divisions to somehow unite Shande and her allies to save themselves.

For a larger color map of Ea, click on the map image.  To view the maps as they appeared in the book: Black and white map of The West (of Ea)  and Black and white map of The East (of Ea)

Cover art by Ingrid Kallick

Excerpt from Chapter 1 of Dread Warrior

1: Honor

Khoti paused his pacing to study the pass from the mouth of the little cave where he’d sheltered Asteria but two moons ago. What took Chati so long? This second day of a cold-moon thaw crept into his blood, teasing him with the rushing sound of snowmelt. A south wind wafted into the snug cave, hinting that mountain winter might end early, taunting him with a false hope of sweet fruits and fresh greens.
He poked at the small fire he’d set and smoothed the painted hide holding a picnic feast. He had no time to idle, and since becoming the duke’s aide barely the time to prepare for his next scouting duty.
At last, he heard Chati’s cheery greeting over the sounds of snowmelt as the new Guard apprentice led Asteria’s mount to a picket beside Khoti’s own Fidra.
“I’ll be out here,” Chati said with that same lecherous grin Geleg always sported as Asteria peeked in, giving Khoti a quizzical smile.
“My Lady.” Khoti executed a theatrical bow and gestured for her to enter the cave.
“What are you up to, Khoti?”
She settled on a cushion beside the fire as Khoti pulled a small bundle from his gear and knelt in front of her.
“What is this all about?” She laughed as she examined the picnic of wine, cheese, dried fruits, bread and meats spread out on the hide.
“You really don’t understand our ways, do you?” He chewed his lip a moment. “Among my folk, when you pursue a lifemate you don’t post it and put out a call for all comers like your people do, as if your fa were taking bids.”
She watched him, breathless and smiling. The scent of the thaw clung to her.
“A Taschian man’s first supposed to prove he can provide his share in a household, and the rest is just mutual likes.” How could he explain traditions no one bothered to question? They just were. Heat rose in his face.
She covered her mouth with one hand. Her cheeks flushed as she waited for his explanation, expectant, as if she barely kept herself from speaking or breaking into giddy laughter.
“This feast is a tradition,” Khoti continued. “And a nice one, I think. I had to wait so long because with that crowd in the Val there’s no place for privacy, and your people don’t like us even meeting alone, as is usual. And, well, it takes time to do these things right. See, I shot and cured the meats myself. The fruits came from stores, but the cheese I helped prepare. I ground the wheat for bread from Shiadin grain, and used my mother’s method to bake it. I think there’s something symbolic in that, but I don’t remember the tale now. It’s supposed to show I can bear some responsibility.” He gestured at the cave. “This is all I have. But I should treat you in the home I’d offer as bridegift and we’d have a hearthstone from one of our parents, if there were hearths to pry them from.” He held out the bundle in his hands. “And with shelter and sustenance proven there’s the other needs of life. Clothing for warmth, I already gave you the dagger for protection, and what small things of pleasure I can give.”
With trembling hands he unwrapped the bundle. Certainly this all seemed silly and crude to her, as if anything he made compared to a noble’s gems or fine gowns.
First he held up a necklace of stellan discs strung on fine metal threads wrapped along the length of a hide cord. Pounded leaf thin, he had impressed patterns on each disc: the image of a tawnkat on one, a fair likeness to Sefresal on another, the silhouette of the four mountains surrounding the Val, a pair of hands holding tera sticks, and an imprint of a star set in a stone the shape of the pendant Khoti still kept in his breast pocket. The necklace chimed as he held it up and tied it around her neck.
Her eyes had grown moist. “It is beautiful.”
He held up the remaining bulk of the bundle. “I chose the best hides,” he said as he displayed a hide tunic similar to the outfits worn by many mountain women. The accompanying trousers had room in the knee for riding and tied just above the calf to cover boot tops. He’d woven a fringe along the neckline of the tunic and decorated it with buff-and-pewter-colored beads. The hemline fringe sported green and beige, the colors long associated with Tasch-el.
She examined the seams, the sewing, the beading, the thickness of the hide. “You made this? It is so finely sewn. A little loose in front perhaps.”
He tried to stop a sputter of laughter from escaping. “There must be room in front. I’ve never known a woman to wonder why.” He chuckled as the color deepened in her cheeks.
“Then mountain men make their lifemates’ wardrobes?”
“Only this bridegift,” Khoti admitted. “The aim is to show you cared enough to try to make a gift more beautiful than others’.”
Asteria stroked the soft hide. “I wish I knew such customs better. I steal its magic to expect an explanation.”
Khoti shrugged. “It’s only a tradition, a promise. Like your custom for waiting so long.”
Again he caught the scent of freshness, of thaw, of mountain wildness carried on the wind, clinging to Asteria’s hair and cloak. Around him spread the comforts of the idle. He yearned to escape into the wild again, for the thrill and challenge of the hunt.
“It is a good tradition to wait,” Asteria said. “Others can name reasons why the suit is inappropriate. There might be a better match, or the suitor’s character or debts are in question. Perhaps the man is unaware of some dishonor to the woman. If no one contests the suits, the woman is then at leisure to decide.”
Khoti shrugged. “We’re in my world now, not Sefresal. It should be about love, not rumor. After all, you’re selecting a lifemate, not a brood mare.”
She studied him as if she could read his impatience, sense his desire to again take up the chase and challenge his mettle against their enemies. The headiness of the thaw, the freshness like dawn on the south wind, quickened his breath, awoke the sleeping warrior heart within him.
She touched the scrub of beard he now sported. “I will try to show my father his traditions are impractical, and that your way is the better,” she murmured. “But this,” she tugged at the sandy beard curling about his chin, “This must go.”
He chuckled and pushed a chunk of dry apple into her open mouth. “Already you’re trying to change me!” He tugged the hide table closer to reach for bread and cheese as she stroked the tunic in her lap.
“I would love to see how it fits,” she mused.
He gave her Geleg’s favorite grin. “Let me help you.” He yelped when her hand came up. Scrambling beyond reach, he scampered from the cave to drink in the thaw, gulping deep breaths of the south wind, the wind that stirred in him the call, again, to battle.

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