Watch Us Sparkle : Series Tour: "The Chronicles of the Troop," by: Colin Darney

Check out Reviews and Recommendations!

“Run, Mikey! Run!”

“I am Donnor, ya’ daft fool! Don’t ya’ be waitin’ on me.”

Mr. Gemhands’ little dwarven legs moved as fast as they could while Donnor yanked on Tommy’s arm to get him to run faster.

“Tommy, don’t look back,” his da’ urged looking behind them. There was a terrible scream. “Keep running! Mikey, run for the boat!”

Tommy’s da’ and Mr. Gemhands had always been friends; the men called him Mikus, but only his da’ called him Mikey. Mikus was the village's woodcutter, and the two families were so close that Mr. Gemhands’ son Dawd and Tommy were basically brothers.

Tommy and Dawd had been delivering wood this morning; going back and forth through the village, taking what Mr. Gemhands had cut from house to house. They’d been having a wonderful day, finally able to do the job on their own as men since Tommy’s eighteenth birthday a few weeks before.

That is, until the fires started.

There’d been a strange whistling sound coming from the path to Torensdell, followed by terrified cries of “FIRE” from around the village. While they had been wondering what was going on, a tremendous noise exploded from countless throats.

The sound started low, then climbed in pitch until it painfully pierced their ears. WhooOOP! Then the first snarling ondilaan warriors came rushing in from the forest around the path, accompanied by their uncanny laughter. HEHEHE! HEHEHE!

The calls of the ondilaan were more frightening than even the tales Tommy had heard. Hairs stood up on the back of his neck as they scrambled away from the terrible creatures. Sprinting for Dawd’s house in utter panic, they were sure they could find safety there. But they only found the ondilaan instead.

A warrior had Dawd’s mum cornered in the kitchen as Tommy rushed through the door. Dawd screamed and attacked it, grabbing his father’s dagger from the stand beside the door. A predatory glance followed by a chuff of contempt encompassed the totality of the ondilaan’s reaction. Then Dawd died, split in two by the casual swing of its huge double-bladed axe.

His falling body sprayed Tommy’s face with thick sticky blood and bits of gore, shocking him into paralysis. He watched in horror as Mrs. Gemhands jumped onto the warrior’s back, wailing with grief and loathing. Grabbing onto its mane in her fury, she uselessly beat her fists on its back.

It threw her off with contemptuous ease. Then lunging down, it tore out her throat with its gaping jaws as she futilely tried to push it away. Bekka gurgled out one final gasp just as Mr. Gemhands and his da’ burst through the door.

Tommy spun towards Mr. Gemhand’s horrified cry. With barely a pause, they fearlessly threw themselves at the creature, their knives already drawn. The warrior whipped its head around, yellow eyes widening in surprise as it tried to meet their charge. Dodging multiple swipes from its axe, they killed it, blood flying from their knives like rain. They stabbed it over and over again until it fell, collapsing on top of Dawd’s mum.

"Tommy! Where's Dawd?" his da' yelled.

Tommy pointed one shaking finger off to the side at the remains of his body.

Donnor took in what was left of Dawd with a single glance. "Mikey, grab the axe! We gotta move! Let's go!" He grabbed Tommy by the shoulder and shoved him towards the door.

Mr. Gemhands heaved the ondilaan’s spotted corpse off his wife. Bending over her, he desperately tried to stop the flow of blood as the last bits of life drained from Bekka’s eyes. He looked up at Donnor’s shout, the shock of the death of his wife and son written clearly across his face in horror and pain.

"Mikus! We are leaving!" Donnor screamed as he grabbed Mikus by the collar and dragged him to his feet. "Get to the boat!"

Mr. Gemhands let out a single, strangled sob as they ran from his home. Tears streamed down his face disappearing into his thick black beard. They made streaks in the spots of blood and soot as they fell, turning his countenance into something primal and grim.

Lakeside was burning. Flames roared to Tommy’s left and right, the sight of them filling him with dread. Clouds of thick black smoke choked the village as screams filled the air. Villagers were running every which way in the ensuing chaos trying to escape. Some ran towards the forest, others towards the shores of the inland sea the village sat on.

As he ran by Mrs. Sweetflour’s house, another warrior burst from her door, tackling his da' to the ground. Donnor managed to shove Tommy out of the way of its grasping claws as he fell, slashing out with his knife and blooding it in the process. Then Mikus struck, severing one of its legs at the knee and spraying the house with blood as it howled in pain.

"Go! I got this ya' fool!" Mikus growled as he furiously buried the axe in the ondilaan’s head. "Ye canna’ fight wi’ only a knife! Go!"

"Mikus, we need to get to the Hold! This isn't the time to do anything stupid!" his da' insisted, grabbing his arm.

"I'll no be makin’ my stand here," Mikus replied with a growl. "Get ta' yer’ boat! I be comin'," he said as he pulled the axe out of the downed warrior. He set himself, turning back to face the way they had come.

“We'll be waiting for you, old man!” Donnor grabbed Tommy, pulling him along behind him as they scrambled away. "Get to the boat!"

The haunting calls of the ondilaan could be heard over the fire and screams as they turned the corner and lost sight of Mikus. WhooOOP! HEHEHE! HEHEHE! sounded over and over again getting louder the further they ran. They scrambled past another house, dodging the flames shooting out of its windows as his da’ sprinted off.

He said we needed to get to Redtail Hold on the other side of the Serensea! That they’ll protect us there … I hope so … I can’t run as fast as he can!

“Da’, wait up!” Tommy yelled as they continued their frantic sprint towards the boat.

A huge crash thundered from behind them as they rounded another corner. Donnor’s head whipped around as Tommy flinched and started to trip, causing his brown hair to fling to the side. He reached out and caught Tommy’s arm, holding him up as he got his feet back under him.

Snarling and crunching came from back around the corner, followed by someone letting out a blood-curdling cry. The horrible sounds of that screaming villager spurred them on even faster.

“Help! Di’ii! My baby!” Ari screamed in terror.

Donnor dove and tackled the elven woman to the ground as her shop collapsed with a tremendous crash. His da’ rolled to shelter Ari with his body as a huge cloud of smoke and embers billowed out behind them. The chasing ondilaani warriors quickly jumped back as burning debris flew everywhere.

"Die, ya' bastards!" Mikus screamed as he came into sight again, charging them.

Mr. Gemhands began chanting something in dwarvish Tommy'd never heard. Mikus's chant could be heard through the smoke, accompanied by the sounds of fighting. The growls and screams of the ondilaan accented the battle taking place.

“Ari! You’ve got to run!” Donnor yelled, trying to get her attention.

His da’ wrestled with her, struggling to keep her from running back into the burning remains of her shop. Ari fought back, almost throwing him off in an amazing display of maternal strength as the screams around them got louder, and the calls of the ondilaan got closer.

“Ari! We’ve got to go!”

Mr. Gemhands emerged from a swirl of smoke without his axe, snarling and speckled with embers. He grabbed Ari by the belt and simply started dragging her away. Donnor caught one flailing arm; the other stretched out desperately behind her, grasping towards the collapsed shop.

“Di’ii!” She screamed, as a burst of flame shot from the structure.

“Mikey! The boat!”

“Aye, I know,” Mr. Gemhands shouted as he continued dragging Ari away.

Tommy grabbed Ari’s other hand as they hauled her forward while the cackling calls of the ondilaan closed in from every direction. She cried, and in between her sobs she babbled in a language he’d never before heard.

Ari had arrived in the village barely a year ago and was the village seamstress. Everyone liked her, even the animals, and she’d just given birth to the elfling she’d named Di’ii. The village women doted on the adorable baby girl, and Ari had even been letting him hold her. But Tommy still remembered Mum and Da’ arguing the day she arrived, and neither of them would tell him why.

Mr. Gemhands started chanting under his breath in time with his running feet as they dashed madly through the streets. Not a spell; no one in the village had magic. It was just the dwarvish chant he always did while working, though this time there were quite a few strange and angry words Tommy didn’t know mixed in.

Another loud crash sounded behind them and they struggled to get Ari up on her feet.

“Tommy, run ahead. Go untie the boat!” His da’ struggled to gather her up in his arms while Tommy sprinted away.

People were just jumping into the Serensea in utter panic as Tommy ran by. Screams from behind him spurred him onward as images of horror invaded his mind. Tommy’s breath came in short quick gasps; his pulse, pounding in his head.

Finally, he thought as their boat came into sight tied up at the end of the plank they used as a pier.

Tommy leapt into the boat as another scream sounded and yanked on the line, causing the bow knot to fall apart. The boat next to theirs was on fire, and he pulled a flaming arrow out of their own as he ran by. He’d just untied the aft line as Da’ and Mr. Gemhands threw Ari into the boat and clambered on board.

“Everyone grab a pole and push!” Donnor yelled.

Tommy grabbed and heaved, the three of them pushing as hard as they could to get their vessel away from shore. Tommy’s hands shook in fear as he leaned his weight into the pole, and they ever so slowly started to move.

Another house collapsed somewhere close by, accompanied by another massive cloud of ash and smoke billowing up into the air. A loud rising whooOOP sounded seemingly in jubilation at its echoing crash. The shadowy figures of the ondilaan could be seen stalking here and there through the smoke, hunting what was left of their people.

They poled faster.

Tommy looked back towards his house and found it completely engulfed in flames. Movement nearby caught his attention, and he noticed Mrs. Sweetflour back at her house doing something strange. She was sprawled halfway out of her window on her stomach, her arms draped limply towards the ground. Her whole body moving up and down almost as if she was trying to lift something up from outside over, and over, again.

What is she doing? Her house is on fire!

Flames shot out of the windows of her house as Tommy looked on. Horrified, he watched as they started billowing out of the one she was hanging out of too.

Her back is on fire! Why didn’t she get out of her house!

They poled even faster.

“Tommy, raise the sail!” Donnor yelled.

He dropped his pole, looking at his da’ in disbelief, then quickly tried to catch it before it fell overboard. Tommy’d never raised the sail alone before. No one did; it was a two-man job! Sure, you could do it, but the mast was almost as tall as five men, and the yard and sail were heavy.

“Don’t worry about the damn pole! Raise the sail!” Donnor barked.

Da’ never swore!

The simple fact that he had broke through Tommy’s shock as he whipped his head around. Donnor and Mr. Gemhands were red in the face, veins sticking out as they continued to push, slowly moving the boat further and further away from shore. They were still only a stone's throw away as the first of the ondilaan started rushing onto the bank.

Tommy’s hands shook as he scrambled aft towards the sail. He ripped loose the ties, freeing the yard from its rest, and started hauling the line. Thick smoke washed over them, and he couldn’t see the sail anymore, but it didn’t matter. He kept desperately hauling the line, the ties falling into the water in his haste as he coughed and hacked from the smoke entering his lungs.

Donnor swore over and over again as they struggled poling the boat. Then Mr. Gemhands grunted, and his voice started to sound strained as his chant dwindled off.

The smoke cleared and Tommy could see they were now about an arrow’s shot from shore. Terrified people were jumping into the lake, water spraying everywhere in their desperation to get away. He caught sight of the other boats, all on fire except for their own.

“Swim! Swim!” Ari yelled to someone in the water as she leaned over the side of the boat. Tears were streaming from her eyes in a river of fear for whoever it was.

Panic pounded on Tommy, but he shoved it down and just kept desperately hauling his line. I have to make Da’ proud, he thought, before catching sight of the newest horror to invade his mind.

The ondilaani warriors swarming onto the bank were rushing those who weren’t fast enough to escape. There were people on their knees begging for mercy.

And they were slaughtering them.

Why did they kill Mrs. Laften? She was the village baker; made the best cakes and sweets in the village! She’d never hurt a fly!

Now there was a dagger in her eye. Her body strewn on the ground under the paw of one of the ondilaan’s dog-like legs as it looked around with baleful eyes. That terrible warrior lifted its head towards the sky and let out a huge whooOOP! Its call made the long scars on its face stand out, before it was hidden by another cloud of black smoke.

The line abruptly jolted to a stop in Tommy’s hand. “Da’! The sail’s up!” he yelled as he rushed to tie it fast to the rail in the stern.

The triangular sail that had been luffing aimlessly suddenly caught a powerful gust of the morning breeze and snapped taut. Billowing full, the sail heeled the boat over and sent the mast swinging wildly to the side.

“Look out!” Tommy shouted as he struggled to control the line. He tried to tie it to the rail as it was being pulled through his hands, but the rope was moving too fast.

Ari was leaning over the side of the boat holding a pole stretched out into the water. Her head whipped around at Tommy’s cry; her eyes wide as she ducked away from the swinging mast, almost sending her tumbling into the ‘sea.

He forced himself to grab ahold of the line, burning his hands as he finally got control and cinched it to the rail. They started picking up speed as Ari struggled to stay aboard, grasping for the rail with one hand as she fought not to fall overboard.

Tommy threw himself forward, grabbing onto the back of her dress, scrambling to pull her back in. The tiller he’d left unmanned in his haste banged over, the boat turning itself back towards the village, moving closer and running parallel to shore. And as the boat became level again, he pulled Ari back from the brink.

Where’s Mr. Gemhands? Tommy thought as Ari collapsed on the deck. He whipped his head around remembering the grunt, worried he’d gone overboard too. Then after noticing him at the foot of the mast, he was filled with fear.

Mr. Gemhands sat slumped there with an arrow sticking out of his chest. Donnor threw his pole into the bottom of the boat and swiftly knelt by his side. Blood leaked down Mr. Gemhands chest as he mumbled to himself in dwarven; his da’ hurriedly inspecting the wound.

A noise drew Tommy’s attention: Ari was pulling someone through the water by the pole in her hands. Looking past her, he could see even more people in the Serensea, frantically swimming towards their boat. Their boat was just a fishing boat; it normally only held two or three people and their catch. There were dozens swimming towards them!

“Da', where’s Mum?” Tommy yelled, searching the swimmers for her golden hair.

“I don’t know, Tommy. We need to get as many people out of the water as we can!”

“But, Da’!”

“We don’t have time! Man the tiller, I need you to guide us. Keep us running along the shore, but don’t bring us any closer! Then set two points starboard of Rocky Point. That’ll get us to Redtail. And don’t stop for anything!” Donnor shouted as he turned away rushing back to the bow beside Ari.

Arrows were now landing around the people swimming in the ‘sea. Nasty black fletched things that whistled as they flew, shrieking like a hawk, and striking their people indiscriminately as they fell. And their people were screaming for help, their cries echoing sharply over the water, but they were too far away.

Tommy held the tiller in a white-knuckled grip as tears of frustration streamed down his face. He desperately wanted to help them, but his da’ said to hold their course, and not to stop. Donnor and Ari fished Mr. Geller, Mr. Silvertongue, Mrs. Greentree, her son Faltor, and finally Sella the barmaid out of the Serensea. Then Tommy slowly started turning away from sailing along shore and set his course heading north, towards Redtail.

Glancing back, Tommy caught sight of the people they’d left behind. He could hear them pleading for him to stop; but they were too far off course. They were swimming with all they had as arrows rained down, but the breeze was too strong, and their boat was too fast.

Rivers of tears ran down his face as he finished his turn, taking their people from sight. He imagined the horrors they’d left behind. He couldn’t see them anymore, the ones they’d left behind, but he knew their voices.

And those voices haunted him.

A new sound tormented him as they sped further away. Tommy started to hear what sounded like begging followed by crunching. And a strange noise that sounded like when old Mr. Hart gargled his medicine came from time to time.

He didn’t like those sounds. He didn’t want to know what they were; his gut clenching as he listened. The harsh cackling laughter of the ondilaan was sending shivers up and down his spine as the screams and cries of their fellow villagers were slowly being swept away.

Tommy wanted to fight, he wanted to hurt the ondilaan for what they had done. But he was no warrior; he was just a fisherman's son. What can I possibly do? The feelings of sorrow, frustration, and inadequacy that churned inside him were a chaotic whirlwind of emotions. But he forced himself to stand there against the tempest, planted like the mast, and steer them true.

Crying came from all around him in the boat and he wanted to help, but his da’ and Ari were caring for them. His da’ had told Tommy what he needed him to do. He had to guide them. No matter what happened he’d steer them true so his da’ could help the few that survived.

I won’t let him down.

Ari rushed back, hugging Tommy, babbling away in her beautiful tongue. She stared up into his face with those tear-flooded eyes, desperately trying to convey something, some meaning, in her panic.

That made it harder.

But Tommy blinked away his tears, clenched his jaw, and forced his gaze ahead. He refused to look at her while fighting the tightness in his chest and the burning of his injured hands. He forced down the sorrow, locking it away, and concentrated only on their course as they sailed away.

The screams of the villagers and the whistling of the arrows faded away behind them.

I won’t let them down.

Ready to dive deeper into an unforgettable adventure?

Thank you for exploring Resthaven, the thrilling first installment of The Chronicles of the Troop! If you loved this sneak peek, the journey is just getting started, and there is so much more for you to experience. Don’t miss out on the chance to immerse yourself in the entire series!

Follow the link below to let the adventure continue …

BLURB:

A divine war once shattered the world. Now, it begins anew—unnoticed, and bathed in blood.

Tommy is the son of a fisherman in a quiet lakeside village, where nothing truly dangerous has happened in generations. But when monstrous warriors descend from the woods, slaughtering everything he’s ever known, Tommy is thrown into a world of violence, prophecy, and secrets his father spent a lifetime hiding.

Fleeing across the inland sea, the survivors carry more than trauma—some carry buried power. Among them, an elven woman with a hidden past, a dwarf whose grief burns hotter than his forge, and a boy who isn’t just a boy – he’s something more. As rumors of more attacks spread and refugees flock to safe havens, it becomes clear the ondilaan are not just raiding.

They’re hunting.

But why?

As Tommy struggles to survive, love, and grow into the man the world might need, forces far older than any kingdom turn their gaze toward him. And the hidden power is watching.

Resthaven is the first entry in The Chronicles of the Troop, an epic fantasy saga that blends brutal war, divine judgment, and philosophical weight with real human stakes.

A note to readers: Violence through fantasy combat, Minor swearing, Adult themes, No sex.

Purchase your Copy Today!

****

Silverlake

The Chronicles of the Troop Book 2

Add to your TBR List!

Check out Reviews and Recommendations!

The flittershield glided softly upon the morning breeze, flying north above the forest while searching for its meal. Exceedingly rare around the Serensea, the creatures were typically found far to the south in the Wyvern’s Teeth mountains along the Tang’mato, the wide river that drained from the ‘sea. But this one was restless, and if it could, the flittershield would have wondered what was luring it so far out of its range.

Known for their colorful feathers, especially those on the wings, they were seen as a good omen to the southern tribesmen. Their elongated shield-like secondaries streamed from the backs of their wings in flight, shimmering in the wind. And they could be spotted gliding high above on the thermals in the south, watching all around.

Considered highly intelligent for a bird, they were a clever, though cautious, rarity. They sometimes flew right into a house looking for a meal, and boldly dared to take food off of unattended tables. There were even multiple tales of evening roasts flying out of windows accompanied by a colorful puff of feathers to the dismay of many a housewife. The moral being not to let something important to you out of your sight.

Sought after since antiquity, it had been the dream of many to tame the colorful birds, but they died in captivity. And whenever one of them was caught they languished away, seeming to wither before their captors’ eyes. Since the flittershields mostly avoided close contact with people and were impossible to tame, having one near was a notable event. And the portents of their comings and goings were talked about for years after their sightings in the north.

None of this mattered to the flittershield, however, as it was simply hungry and looking for food. Its home range had been disturbed many moons ago and it had been long on the wing, unable to find the tasty insects it normally ate this far to the north. There were no giant leg-hoppers here, and that fact had it considering returning home. But it could not; the furry two-legs were annoying, seemingly everywhere, and they hunted the flittershields for food.

Periodically, it winged itself closer to the trees as something caught its eye, but unused to hunting amongst the branches it couldn’t catch any prey. It was normally an ambush predator, used to gliding silently on the wing until catching sight of something far below, then swooping down to capture it within its claws. Frustrated at being unable to catch a tasty meal it continued its journey north, avoiding the furry two-legs and only getting in a bite in here, and a morsel there. It was annoying that the woods offered its prey so many chances to escape, and it pondered this problem as it glided on the most recent thermal it found.

Around midmorning it came upon a large break in the forest, the first it had come upon in this land of hills and trees. It circled the clearing, eyeing the fields of tufted wheat and corn so similar to the endless grasses of its normal range. It flew closer, warily eyeing the mountainous ground nests made by the hairless two-legs that populated this northern realm. Catching sight of an insect near the biggest nest it flew closer, but the flittershield suddenly winged away when it saw a slew of two-legs gathered in rows before their nest.

Annoyed, it noticed a stream running merrily through the fields off to one side. Knowing running water was full of various delectable treats, the flittershield winged over, keenly interested in what it might find. And find something, it did.

A nice, fat, juicy, sunfly was sitting on a rock, slowly opening and closing its wings while it bathed in the sun. The flittershield circled high above, looking down on its prey as it pondered how to get it. This was the first good meal it had seen in ages, and it wasn’t about to let it go. The sunfly would make a tasty treat.

There was one problem, however, more two-legs.

There were three of them by the rock. Two were resting on a mat of strangely colored grass, while the other one stood close by. The two on the mat had a stack of leaves between them, the larger of the two fiddling with a stick like it was trying to build a nest with its leaves. The sunfly on the rock was next to the smaller of the two, and it looked like it was trying to lure the sunfly into its claw.

That was intolerable.

The flittershield was hungry after being so long on the wing, and a sunfly was a delectable meal, but there was no way to get at it when the two-legs were near. So, it landed within easy distance, settling in to consider the problem. Puffing out its feathers, it shook itself, watching the sunfly while the two-legs continued to make their strange noises at each other.

“Ari? Is there any specific way you’re supposed to start a record?” Tommy asked, turning away from the blank book before him. A strange bird had landed on a tree nearby, hiding its bright, fiery-orange plumage beneath its wings. It cocked its head at him, studying him intently before turning to watch the rock Ari was leaning against.

“No, Tommy … however you like. Just make sure to say who you are and why you are writing. That’s all that is common to do.”

She’d been trying to lure a bug almost as big as her head into her hand for a while now. He’d allow it was pretty, with bright whorls of color on its wings, but it was still a bug. And it didn’t seem to have much interest in Arisaylia, lazily opening and closing its bright yellow wings while it bathed in the sun.

“Huh,” Tommy muttered after watching the bug stretch some kind of tube out towards the flower Ari was holding. She held the flower still, the bug almost seeming to want to walk over to it. But the bird in the tree shifted its weight, causing the bug to settle back onto the rock after sensing the bird move.

The morning breeze stirred Tommy’s hair, making it shift from its normal brown to red and back again after the light hit it just so. He was still a little annoyed with his da’ for asking him to do this, but he wouldn’t let it stop him. He thought about everything that had happened over the last month, and everything they’d been through. They weren’t all good memories. Not one bit.

How am I going to write all this down?

He sighed. “Where should I start?” he asked, looking back and forth between the quill and the empty page.

“Wherever you like, Tomilanthus. Your father was asked to keep a record of the troop’s actions, and he asked you to write it for him. You are his aide after all. Where would you start?”

Tommy stared at the blank page, considering. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

He looked at Ari, her scarlet hair blowing in the morning breeze. He still had problems believing she was his mother; not Yella, his mum. But there was no denying they were related to one another after sharing their Tol. Something about the connection they’d formed during the final battle made any doubt of that point moot.

Ari watched him in return, her emerald green eyes considering as she tucked an errant strand of hair back behind one ear. “My people make sure to say who writes: their lineage and history,” she said before turning back to the bug, another flower in her hand.

The Chronicles of the Troop.

Written by Tommy, son of Donnor, of Lakeside.

“Should I put you in here?” Tommy asked bashfully. “Name you too?” he dwindled off, not quite certain how to say it.

Ari looked at him, her eyes soft as the morning breeze lifted her hair away from her delicately pointed ears once more. “I’d like that,” she said, her voice quivering slightly, its sweet tone touching him.

Son of Arisaylia Saliantrea, of the Vale.

“Is this, okay?” I miss you, Mum.

“However you want, is fine,” Ari said softly, smiling and placing a hand on his arm.

A call went out near the inn, and they both looked up. Where they were sitting they couldn’t see, but Tommy knew it was Keris’s voice calling the troop into formation. The troop was getting ready to leave Resthaven, and they were lining up in front of the inn. His da’ had asked them to join him in the inn when the troop was ready to go about an hour ago, and it looked like their time was almost up.

He saw Alarat and Camm leading the correts out of the paddock. The two gnomes only came up to his armpit, but they were in charge of the troop’s animals. One of the correts suddenly danced away from something Tommy couldn’t see, and the end of its lead whacked Camm in his nose accompanied by the startled gnomes “Ow!”.

“You probably shouldn’t forget the date. The elves are long-lived; knowing when something is written is paramount,” Ari said as she smoothed the blanket they were sitting on. She set three more flowers on the rock, the bug slowly walking towards them.

“What’s when? We always told time by the seasons back home … I mean, in Lakeside. Is there another way?”

“Do you not name the ages and the years?”

“No. I mean, there are names for them, but those are in the histories. I don’t think this year is in the histories.”

Ari chuckled. “Tomilanthus, all the years are in the histories.” She grinned, shaking her head. “It always amazes me how the younger races don’t care about the passage of time …”

He watched her as her eyes stared off into space. Keris was yelling at someone, something about the village girl still being there when they got back. There was a lot of laughter and good-natured ribbing going on from what he could hear.

“Ari?”

She shook herself. “Let me see … it is the two hundredth and thirteenth day of the year, Tomilanthus. We are in the eighth turning of Giil’ac Mohr, and the twenty second turning of Giil’ac Haeg, in the year fifty-six ninety-eight of the fourth age. Twenty-three thousand six hundred and ninety-eight years since the gods were lost.”

Tommy blinked at her. “Ummm… Jeel-ack-what?”

“Giil’ac Mohr and Haeg? The twin moons?”

“Uhhh … we always just called them ‘the moons’,” Tommy said, feeling suddenly stupid.

“Your father didn’t …” Ari sighed and shook her head. “Just put the day and the year.”

The Chronicles of the Troop.

Written by Tommy, son of Donnor, of Lakeside.

Son of Arisaylia Saliantrea, of the Vale.

Day 213, 23,698.

“Now what?”

“Write what you have experienced, however you will. You are the chronicler; there is nothing right or proper here. Your father asked you to record what has happened for Lord Maorilan. This is not a ballad you are creating.” Ari smirked. “Speak plainly.”

“Huh,” Tommy breathed as he continued watching the two gnomes getting the correts in line. He remembered Camm lying on the floor on a cot, wounded, waiting to be healed in the inn. He still didn’t have any memory of what happened that night, but he knew his Tol was central in healing Camm and everyone else. They’d healed them all in the end, and he took a lot of pride in that. Camm waved as he struggled with the corret, the immense bird trying to chase a bug instead of lining up with the men.

“Where should I start?”

“At the beginning, Tomilanthus,” Ari said, humor coloring her words.

He followed her gaze as she looked across the stream towards the eastern fields. They’d managed to save most of them; the fires of the final battle not spreading to the crops. The farmers were harvesting what was left of the wheat, loading it into a cart to take to the mill. It reminded him of home.

“Lakeside?”

“As good a point as any,” Ari said, her voice catching as she looked away.

“Ari?” There was a long pause as she stared off to the south, not responding. “Di’ii?”

“Yes, Tomilanthus, Di’ii. It still hurts, even after sending her soul to rest. I loved your sister very much.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, remembering the house collapsing, the fires and smoke, the screams as they escaped. It seemed like ages ago now. “How long ago was it? How long ago did we leave?”

“Too long … and not long enough …” Ari sniffed, looking away.

Their guardian, Saress, obviously hearing everything despite the babbling stream, looked their way. Saress stood apart, providing them the illusion of privacy but was always on guard. She watched over them constantly, even more so since the healing if that was even possible. And she always kept a special eye out for Ari, her concern evident.

“Nisa Saliantrea …?” Saress prompted, allowing her voice to trail off in question.

“I’m fine, Saress. Thank you,” Ari replied, giving her guardian an absent wave.

Tommy studied Ari, her emerald eyes still looking off into the distance, not really seeming to see what was there. He worried about her. It was so unusual to see her like this; distant, quiet, and withdrawn.

Saress was watching her also. Her cat-like, half-elven features she always hid in her hood were focused intently on her charge. That hood was now turned towards them, the light reflecting softly from her slitted eyes, deep within its gloom.

“Are you sure?” Saress asked.

Ari sighed turning towards her, pulling her hair over one shoulder. “I am fine,” she repeated, turning to study the bird in the tree. She slowly stroked her braid, one hand after another as she watched the bird. A single tear made its track down her cheek.

Saress huffed slightly before turning away as well, continuing her watch.

Ari took a deep breath. “It was twenty-five days ago, Tomilanthus. Twenty-five days since your sister’s soul was returned to life from whence it came. Twenty-five days since we left Lakeside ...”

Lakeside was attacked twenty-five days ago by the …

He didn’t want to disturb her, but he knew he was supposed to write. He looked back and forth from the book to her tear. She was watching the bug make its cautious way to the flowers. “Ari, how do you spell ondilaan?”

“O-n-d-i-l-a-a-n.” She sniffed.

… ondilaan. Lakeside was …

Crap.

He looked back and forth again. “How do you spell destroyed?”

“D-e-s-t-r-o-y-e-d.”

… destroyed. Me, and the other survivors sailed to Redtail Hold in my family’s boat. There were other villagers there, lots of people. The ondilaan had destroyed their villages too. My da’ was called by …

“Ari, Lord Maorilan?”

“Didn’t your father teach you your letters?” she asked distractedly, still staring off into the distance.

Saress was back to watching her.

“Yes, but we never had a reason to use them.”

Ari sighed and looked back at him. “L-o-r-d M-a-o-r-i-l-a-n.” She considered him for a moment. “Tommy, we obviously have a long way to go if I’m ever going to teach you elven.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tommy went back to writing, ignoring her recent focus on teaching him her tongue. Why do I have to learn elven? The language I use is just fine.

… Lord Maorilan. The lord told my da’ to take a bunch of men to fight the ondilaan.

“What should I say about the troop?”

“Whatever you want, Tomilanthus. In elven writing, it’s normal to say how many there were, who commanded them, the reason they were formed, and things like that. Have you never written?”

“No, ma’am. There was no need. I mean, we learned our letters using charcoal and board, but everyone knew everyone else in Lakeside. What would we write? Who would we tell? Who would care?”

“Huh,” Ari replied absently. Another call went out from in front of the inn. It sounded like Keris was finishing lining up the troop to leave. The bird in the tree shifted back and forth, eyeing the big bug on the rock that was now sitting amongst the flowers. “It was so simple there …”

We should go soon. “Should we stop?” he asked, looking towards the troop.

“No, Tomilanthus, we still have time. Continue your writing.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He dipped his quill into the ink again.

… My da’ formed the troop two days after we got to Redtail Hold. He made us run, and a bunch of people didn’t finish, but there were a lot who did. Those who made it joined the troop. After the run, Lord Maorilan said the ondilaan were on the other side of the pass and we had to leave. There were …

“Ari, how many people were there before the ambush?”

“Somewhere in the upper thirties, I believe. Let me see if I can remember …”

“Forty-one, Tomilanthus, Nisa Saliantrea,” Saress interjected, one ear cocked towards them while she continued to scan about. Tommy always thought it was strange how her ears moved independently from one another. But it was just who she was, just like the almost imperceptible fine hairs covering her entire body.

“Thank you, Saress,” Ari said.

… forty-one of us when we left Redtail. Every day, we marched and trained, learning to use our equipment. On the third day, we were attacked. Three were killed fighting the ondilaan, fifteen were wounded, some badly. Ari healed everyone and we left quickly. On the fourth day we reached Resthaven …

“Should I talk about what happened to the conscripts?”

“That’s up to you, Tomilanthus. You are the chronicler. What’s important to you?”

Tommy considered this, then thought about coming to Resthaven. What happened to Moran and Oldsby had changed what they did; he made his decision.

“How do you spell sergeant?”

“S-e-r-g-e-a-n-t.”

… Sergeant Moran’s troop fought the ondilaan before we got there and won, but a sprite led a …

“What’s the word for attacking your own?”

“The sprite?” Ari asked. Tommy nodded. “Mutiny. Revolt, depending on how it’s used.”

… mutiny and stabbed Moran. Moran and his men were locked up, but Oldsby rescued him when his troop arrived before we did. The mutiny killed a lot of people; they said half of their people were dead. Ari saved Moran from the poison when we got here. The villagers were unhappy, the mutiny people hurt a lot of them …

Tommy’s thoughts went out to Pari, the young woman who’d been raped by the mutineers. She’d been around the village helping Taylin, and he was pretty sure that was the only reason he ever saw her. She had become very quiet and withdrawn, but always seemed to offer him a wary smile whenever their eyes met.

… but Ari helped by healing the people. This helped a lot because the ondilaan had surrounded the village. The ondilaan attacked two days later. A lot of people were hurt or killed, but Ari and I healed them too before we were done. There were a lot still hurt, and they stayed in the inn because we went to sleep. Mr. Tarr helped us protect the village by getting the people to build ...

“Barricades?”

“B-a-r-r-i-c-a-d-e-s.”

… barricades around the village. The biggest was at the bridge, but there were others too. Some of the villagers even volunteered to fight. Then the ondilaan attacked again three days after that, and a lot more people were killed. Ari and I healed the wounded in the inn, but we couldn’t fight. My da’ protected the village, and the village is still here.

“Should I say how many were lost?”

“Yes.”

… Many were killed. In the end, eight of the troop were killed. Nine …

“Conscripts?”

“C-o-n-s-c-r-i-p-t-s.”

… conscripts were killed. Mr. Tarr said nineteen villagers who helped us died, along with four whole families ...

Tommy looked towards the burial ground and the piled stone cairn there that marked the point where the defenders were buried. He remembered Ari sobbing when they woke up after the battle, beside herself with the number of dead.

… Ari and I did our best, but we couldn’t save them all. Me and Ari missed the fires, but Talia said there were around a hundred ondilaan burnt where the barn used to be. The fires burned for three days ...

He looked off towards the remnants of the barn. He’d been told about the fires, but Ari and he had been unconscious for that part. Apparently, he was lucky: burning ondilaan stunk. He shuddered remembering Nalin describing the stench.

… After the battle, my da’ decided to keep the troop in Resthaven. He said he was worried the ondilaan would attack, and had everyone build more barricades. On the third day, my da’ sent the archers out with the Valen family. They returned on the fourth day, and said the ondilaan were gone. Ari and me woke up that day and there was a big party …

“Should I talk about the party?”

“No!” Ari looked at him in alarm. “And if you put any of that ‘lady’ nonsense in that journal, I’ll burn it! Don’t you dare put that in there,” she finished hawkishly.

Saress giggled. The reverence the villagers showed Arisaylia for healing them was profound. Her healing had saved them after all, and the villagers knew it. They called her ‘the Lady’ almost reverently and Ari hated it, utterly embarrassed by the title they’d bestowed on her.

“Don’t you start, J’al’osil.”

“Yes, Nisa Saliantrea,” Saress replied with barely concealed mirth, light shining through the hairs on her arm as she lifted her hand to cover her mouth. It was one of the few things Saress openly teased Ari about, breaking her normally solemn manner.

“Write, Tomilanthus. And no ‘lady’ nonsense either!” Ari finished, looking sternly at their guardian.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Saress quickly looked away, pursing her lips, struggling to hide her grin. Tommy hoped Ari didn’t notice his grin either.

… The next day Mr. Tarr and my da’ spoke for the dead and built a cairn in the southern fields. Then we helped fix the village. Da’ said there weren’t enough of us to make it to Redtail Hold without abandoning Resthaven, so we stayed and made more barricades. He said if a week went by without any attacks, he would send a group back to Redtail. The sergeants agreed ...

“Should I talk about Commander Arnet?”

“Yes. It was Arnet who asked your father to make a record of what we’ve done. Since Lord Maorilan and Sir Laigan will most likely read it, Arnet should be included.”

Ari said the last with a hint of annoyance as a mage globe popped into existence beside her head. She had never forgiven Arnet for his treatment of her and his da’, and she stared off towards the inn where Arnet was with a frown.

Tommy could feel Ari’s Tol, even the miniscule amount required by the globe. Their Tol had been much more in tune with each other’s since the final battle, when he’d agreed to allow himself to be ridden and Ari became Mar’col’i. Ari really hadn’t said anything about it beyond that it worked, but whatever had happened had made his lessons much easier. His Tol came to him almost readily now, seemingly eager to be used. And after feeling Ari use hers to make the mage globe, he felt the urge to join her by making one of his own.

She caught his look and smirked, tossing the mage globe his way with a thought. It was a tiny thing, no bigger than his thumb; an iridescent green flecked in gold, the color of her Tol. He tried to catch it and missed, his Tol clumsily hitting the thread powering the globe and banishing it.

Damn.

“We’ll practice more when you’ve finished your writing, Tomilanthus. Keep going,” she teased, knowing he’d much rather be practicing his Tol. A dozen mage globes popped into existence around her head starting an intricate dance as she smirked.

“That is so not fair,” Tommy complained, turning his own glare on Saress after hearing her chuckle. The bird shifted in the tree, switching its gaze between the tiny globes and the bug. Tommy sighed.

… Four days after the burials …

“How do you spell commander?”

“Really, Tomilanthus? I’m going to speak to your father about this. This is pure laziness on his part. He can read and write like a scribe …” Ari turned her stern gaze towards the inn where his da’ was meeting with Arnet, the mage globes absently rotating around her head. The globes seemed to almost solidify as her Tol surged with annoyance.

“Ummm. Ari? The word? Ma’am?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“C-o-m-m-a-n-d-e-r,” she said in clipped words.

He hunched his shoulders, hoping not to become a target for her ire and turned back to the book.

… Commander Arnet arrived. He had a lot of men with him. Two troops of conscripts and a troop of Redtail Guard. He’s been here for two days, telling everyone what to do. Mr. Tarr looks at my da’ when Commander Arnet says something, and I think it makes Commander Arnet mad ...

“Troop, Rest!” Keris called out from the center of Resthaven.

Tommy heard the remnants of the troop snap smartly into position. After their days of rest, the troop had been practicing with Arnet’s forces who were much better trained than they were. The contingent of Redtail Guard had taken the troop under its wing, impressed with what the troop had accomplished. And the troop was showing off, displaying some of their newfound skill for their teachers who were looking on.

The rest of the village was wandering close as well, ready to see them off. They’d been through a lot together over the past two weeks, and a strong fellowship with the villagers had developed. A few were crying, the tears of the villagers showing their appreciation for what they’d done to save them.

“Nisa Saliantrea, it is time. We must leave,” Saress said.

“Yes, Saress. Tomilanthus, are you ready?”

“Aye, ma’am.”

Ari stood and started gathering her things while Tommy cast sand across his writing. Capping his ink, he placed it and the quill into a specially made box before blowing the sand away and closing his book. The book went into the box as well, before being carefully secured and placed in his pack. Ari was settling the blanket around her like a shawl as he hoisted his pack onto his shoulders.

“Nisa Saliantrea? The globes?”

“The globes? Whatever is wrong with the globes, Saress?” Ari asked, a teasing glimmer in her eye as the globes continued their intricate dance around her.

“Nisa Saliantrea … we are not in the Vale. You know the strictures regarding the other races; open use of your Tol should not be displayed. The recollections of the villagers can be explained away as fantasy. The sergeants and their men are indebted. Arnet and his forces are not.”

“No, they aren’t, are they?” Ari responded, tapping one finger thoughtfully on her lip. “But Arnet’s opinions are a matter of record, and the strictures are flexible …”

“Nisa Saliantrea …”

A smile formed on Ari’s face. “Yes, flexible.” A twinkle of mischief entered her eye. “And the villagers are certainly appreciative. Hmmm …” She turned her full smile on her guardian.

“Saress, I think it’s time to make a statement, a statement that magic is not evil. And I think this village is the place to do it. The villagers have learned this and are used to our practice. And if it makes Arnet uncomfortable … well … that is just a shame. We must not let one man stand in the way of progress, after all,” Ari finished, loftily.

“Nisa Saliantrea …” Saress said, frowning.

“I think we shall continue our practice as we walk. Yes … practice,” she concluded, turning a brilliant smile on Tommy. “No one can possibly find fault in a little harmless practice, can they?” she asked, innocently.

“Come, Tomilanthus, summon a globe. Your father is waiting,” Ari said with a smile.

“A jen’ta a Tol a’sala J’al’osil …” Saress mumbled under her breath in elven. Whatever she said was causing Ari to smile even more.

“Aye, ma’am,” he said as a shaky globe of his own slowly came into being over his shoulder. The tiny thing was a poor imitation of Arisaylia’s, but it was the best he could do. Its dark smoky form was flecked with flashes of gold, slowly strengthening as he concentrated on it.

I won’t let them down, Tommy thought, concentrating on the globe until it finished forming.

“Let’s go,” Ari smiled, reaching out her hand.

They joined hands and walked off towards the village center, Saress trailing along behind them muttering in elvish. None of the three noticed the flittershield silently swooping down to gobble up the sunfly, then return to its perch to preen in utter satisfaction.

Ready to dive deeper into an unforgettable adventure?

Thank you for exploring Silverlake, the thrilling second installment of The Chronicles of the Troop! If you loved this sneak peek, the journey is just getting started, and there is so much more for you to experience. Don’t miss out on the chance to immerse yourself in the entire series!

Follow the link below to let the adventure continue …

BLURB:

The troop survived Resthaven. But survival was just the beginning.

Donnor leads his ragtag force of villagers, conscripts, and outsiders deeper into the southern reaches of the Serensea. Their mission: find and defend the last remaining settlements from the ondilaan. But the enemy has changed—and so has the troop.

As Tommy comes into his own as both a mage and a chronicler, he wrestles with the burden of power, the scars of war, and the discovery of a lineage that shakes his identity. Beside him, Arisaylia’s magic deepens beyond her control, while Donnor is haunted by a loss he cannot afford to repeat.

In the villages, foothills, and the ruined fields of the south, the troop finds not only battles—but betrayals, hard choices, and the truths that threaten everything they thought they understood.

Silverlake is the second book in The Chronicles of the Troop, a philosophical epic fantasy saga blending tactical war, elven lore, deep character bonds, and the high stakes of ancient memory … for readers who crave stories where victory costs something real.

A note to readers: Violence through fantasy combat, minor swearing, adult themes.

Purchase your Copy Today!

****

Windyspring

The Chronicles of the Troop Book 3

Add to your TBR List!

Check out Reviews and Recommendations!

Tommy was struck on the shoulder by a tremendous weight while the flapping wings of the bird thundered in his ear. Something was happening, something was changing as the eagle screamed. But he stood there frozen, struggling to move while chaos and shouting erupted around him.

Fine red filaments of light exploded from S’tol Garesh, the elf’s magic slamming into every member of the troop. Bloody streamers quested through the people present, drifting forth like a mystical spiderweb while touching each and every one. They passed some kind of judgement over the men before moving on, but where they met Ari and Tommy, the crimson filaments stuck fast.

Saress screamed in elvish as she threw herself between Ari and Garesh, her daggers flaring with a reddish light to Tommy’s inner sight. Ari sagged against Donnor’s chest, her eyes gleaming a brilliant greenish gold as a shocked look flew across her face. Tommy’s da’ spun her around, grabbing both of her shoulders, shaking her while demanding what was wrong. But Donnor’s words were drowned out as Garesh shouted a command, and all of the elves except one rushed in ...

… Their callous eyes devoid of a single ounce of pity.

“TO ARMS! PROTECT THE LADY!” Keris screamed. Putting actions to words he valiantly leapt forward, his spear leading the way as the men of the troop shook themselves out of their stunned stupor. Then joining his heroic charge, they rushed to defend their leaders against the surprise attack of the elves.

Men rushed by, Tommy desperately wanting to help, but he found only his eyes could move. Red filaments were penetrating his body, stretching out like millions of writhing fingers to grab ahold of his pathways. The fire accompanying them burned its way in, violating and staining his soul.

S’tol Garesh glanced Keris’s way before returning to Tommy, dismissing Keris’s charge utterly. Seeing sticky web after questing tendril coating Tommy and Ari, Garesh smiled. Then uttering another gloating command, he disregarded the troop entirely while pandemonium reigned.

The elven woman escorting Ari’s maid went down under a pile of ch’ten, the dagger she drew flying off into the dark. The sprites were going absolutely berserk, snarling like a pack of dogs as they pummeled and mauled Falia’s guard. Then Tonat shrieked an order in a high-pitched command, the ch’ten an extension of her will as they piled on another elf after that first was knocked down.

Falia’s other escort had taken a heartbeat to shove the maid behind her before charging towards Donnor, but was stopped as Mikus leapt in her way. Mikus was doing everything he could to defend Donnor and Ari, dueling desperately but getting nowhere fast. The elf was deflecting every one of Mikus’s strikes harmlessly to the side with her bare hands, an incredible feat of martial skill. And while she did so, she was slowly pushing the stalwart dwarf away from Tommy’s mother and da’ while the rest of the elves piled in.

Shocked and afraid, Tommy struggled to help as the rest of the elves pushed the troop back. The burning filaments had attached to his pathways like blood filled leeches, polluting them with a crimson light. A film spread from the developing taint, filling the spaces between as he struggled to do something, anything, even desperately gather his Tol … but despite his best efforts, Tommy couldn’t move.

Part of the troop was running towards the fight while the rest tried to form ranks; the chaos of the night complete. The elves were too close, the action too fast for the leaders to give any direction. Gart was yelling something about piling on as scattered shouts and commands rang through the air, but where the leaders of the troop were clustered, only combat reigned.

Blades flashed in the firelight where Saress struggled to protect Ari and his da’. She was locked in a deadly combat with three other elves, dancing and spinning with her elven partners in desperate feats, and it seemed she might actually hold them back. But as the light of his mother’s Tol, her magic, dimmed in her eyes, another elf joined to push Saress away from her charge. Saress’s cat-like ears were flat against her skull as his da’ shoved Ari behind him to assist her, the elves now only scant steps away.

“DRAW!” sang out into the night, Laren and Immer both shouting the command. Flicking a negligent finger in their direction, S'tol Garesh’s eyes flared a brilliant reddish-orange as a crystalline dome began to form their way. “LOOSE!” followed immediately thereafter, arrows shattering upon a transparent pane now developing between the troop and the elves. Eyes wide, the archers knocked arrows once more as another cry of “DRAW!” sang out, then more arrows flew to fragment upon the magical shield.

S’tol Garesh uttered another condescending command; Tommy’s thoughts becoming sluggish, his Tol growing somewhere within him while being shoved aside by that sanguine haze. The filaments were infecting every place he could see, encrusting his pathways in a scab-like filth while spreading to smother his Tol. It pushed on him, and he saw his mother clumsily trying to stand, struggling as if a great weight was pressing down on her. But there was nothing he could do.

There were now almost two combats, one on either side of the developing shield. The elves were sprinting forward on his side, doing everything they could to reach Arisaylia, his mother, his N’Taii. Mikus, Saress, Keris and his da’ stood defiantly in their way, combining their might and succeeding, but then Keris stumbled, being forced to the other side of the shield by the elves. Keris still managed to hit one across the face as he fell, knocking the elf unconscious when the one in front of him ducked his wild swing.

Karn and Turred were standing side-by-side at another edge of the growing shield, the two dwarves chanting a battle hymn. They valiantly fought, managing to score a shallow slice here, a scratch on an elf there. Yet the elves still pushed the dwarves back no matter what they did, their mastery of arms unable to be denied. Members of the troop rushed to assist, pure numbers allowing them to get hits in despite the elves’ incredible prowess. But the elves were too good, too close, and too much for the troop to deal in that moment. They were like whispers on the wind; a strike seemingly destined to hit being ever so slightly deflected away to accomplish nothing.

The elves relentlessly battered their way through the troop with their fists. People Tommy struggled and fought with every day since he’d left home were falling impotently to the ground, and still, he couldn’t move. The weight of the gory inner blanket was pressing in, doing its best to constrict everything there was inside him. It was shutting his pathways down, increasing its pressure on his ever-growing Tol while it surged impotently behind the ruddy dam. He looked to find somewhere, anywhere, to release the growing tension as he railed against the haze, panic taking him as more and more people were slammed to the ground by the advance of the elves.

But there was nothing he could do.

Some of them were down, the ch’ten using sheer weight of numbers to take the elves off their feet. The sprites fought like animals: biting, scratching, one of them even growling as he held an ear in his teeth while doing his best to gouge out an eye. But the elves were simply bigger than the diminutive sprites; individually more powerful. Fists and elbows flew, over half of the elves moving to engage their tiny opponents, working as one to defeat the family of sprites. And eventually the last of the sprites were knocked out, Tonat screaming as the bloody but victorious elves turned to engage those who remained behind the shield.

The elves formed into almost an arrow pointed directly at Arisaylia; the only thing between her and them being Mikus, Saress and his da’. Donnor had a stick he’d gotten from somewhere he was using like a club; his spear absolutely nowhere to be seen. He was standing defiantly before the elves protecting his lover, his mate. Now a stick in each hand blurring wildly as he struggled to defend her. Fighting desperately and without thought for himself, there was a crazed look in his eye as he accepted a brutal backhanded fist to club one of the elves over the head.

Saress was beside him, daggers blurring, taking and receiving cuts so fast it was dizzying to watch. But no matter what was occurring or how many wounds she took, she stood defiantly in their way. She did not hesitate, she did not falter, as the elven escorts pressed her, doing everything they could to pass her by. Pushing her back step by step, they concentrated their might as she struggled to protect her adoptive family. But still they slowly advanced, the leaders of the troop slowly giving ground before the assault of the elves.

Then the crystalline dome of the shield formed whole with an audible click. A sound that somehow foretold doom, cutting the leaders off from the rest of the troop.

And still, Tommy could not move. He struggled and fought against the sanguine haze, a sea of blood filling him up. It constricted his pathways into the tiniest of tubes, the smallest of spaces. Strangling his Tol with its ever-present gloom, it was crushing him beneath its merciless weight.

Kordin was slamming himself against the transparent dome with his body and shield, screaming something that Tommy could no longer hear. Deya and Feya were further away, stabbing at the crystalline pane, their hapless efforts not making a scratch. Dorn was impotently beating his fist against the shield, not a hint of sound coming through. And there were others, many others, all attacking the magical screen and trying to get through, but not having any effect at all.

His da’ went down, backhanded by a vicious strike that knocked him completely off his feet. But Donnor still managed to twist his body protectively over Arisaylia even as he fell, sheltering her in spite of his collapse.

Mikus took a heavy strike to his shield as he staggered to stand over them, shouting and chanting defiantly in his tongue. His axe swinging over and over, the dwarf as immovable as stone, a mountain taking everything thrown at it while refusing to go down.

The rest of the troop was working as one, battering against the dome, desperate to get through. The S’tol’s eyes flared brighter and brighter as their attacks gained pace, but a smile slowly spread across his face. Garesh turned his back on the troop, ordering something new as he negligently flicked his robes. The liquid grace of his elven words piercing the din, but there was no response beyond the elves redoubling their efforts to separate Mikus and Saress from Donnor and Arisaylia. The elves ignoring anything else that was going on outside the dome.

Falia was screaming something at the robed elf, pelting him with scathing words while grabbing the mage’s sleeve. She raised her fist as if to strike, but with a contemptuous flare of his reddish-orange eyes, Garesh froze her into place. Falia was cut off mid-word, then she furiously looked on. Suspended and impotent, a tear formed in the maid’s eye as she glanced Ari’s way over top of the elves.

Tommy watched Mikus take another hit, and then another, blood flying from Saress like rain. It was happening too fast. Too much, too fast; and all he could move was his eyes. He wanted to help. He needed to help. Gods, he was desperate to help. He was the only one not doing a thing; just standing there, completely unengaged behind the shimmering wall protecting the elves. People were shouting and screaming for him from the other side of the pane, waving to get his attention, but there was nothing he could do.

Ari was struggling to get up, every attempt failing, her arms somehow unable to support her own weight. His da’ was laying on top of her, completely unconscious. Head lolling back and forth on her shoulders, it was all but flopping about as she struggled, the fight around them still going on.

The troop was flailing impotently against the crystalline shield, blood coating their fists as they pounded uselessly on the pane. Tommy saw the utter desperation on Keris’s face, his mouth moving without a sound from the other side of the dome.

Garesh shouted a new command; Saress staggering as her attacker accepted a vicious strike to trap her blade inside his own body. Then another elf surged over his wounded companion while blood sprayed from the hideous wound, the elf latching onto Saress’s arms with both hands. Saress struggled to get away, blood blinding her eyes as she desperately tried to block the elf’s way, but it was to no avail. Then Mikus went down, tripped up by another elf, his axe flying as the attackers sprinted through the hole they’d made.

One of them was reaching for his mother, another his da’, the only family Tommy had that remained. He could see the troop shouting through the pane despite not hearing a word. His friends, his people, everyone he loved was completely out of reach. He was letting them down, every single person he knew.

An elf shoved his da’ off Arisaylia, his da’ flopping over as if he was dead. Another struck out at Mikus, his dwarven uncle still struggling to get to his feet. The force of the blow drove Mikus into the earth, a whimpering groan escaping his lips. Then another fist lashed out, then a vicious kick, moaning and grunting all Tommy could hear.

Tommy struggled against his crimson invader, his heartbeat throbbing in his head. His Tol was desperately growing; he could feel it. Somewhere, maybe over there, but the haze was blocking his way. Any chance he might have had to help his people completely outside his reach.

The elves were rushing around him, his body teetering precariously as they bumped his unmoving form. He stood impotent and immobile as arrows flew, silently shattering against the shield. The troop was still screaming, mouths without sound as they slammed themselves against the dome.

The pressure was rising; he was about to explode. Pain flaring, his heartbeat thudding. His panic was growing. But no matter what he did, he still could not move.

Beyond the elves were the survivors of Silverlake, quietly laid out in neat rows. Those they’d helped, those they’d saved, those that Tommy and the rest had done so much for to provide a glimmer of hope.

Resthaven, Varmen’s Shoal, Brookside, Silverlake ... his mind shying away from memories of Lakeside … of safety, his home. Other villages he’d seen on a map they hadn’t had a chance yet to reach. The pressure was building as he struggled to think.

A spear shattered against the dome. Saress brutally kicked in the jaw, eyes rolling back as her body was slammed into the ground. Blood pouring from her wounds, an attacker ripping his blade out of her chest accompanied by a spray of gore. A desperate look flung his way as her eyes started to glaze over. A look he’d never seen before: a look of defeat. Mikus crying out, a weak dwarven curse before his cries were cut off.

A ruddy light was spreading across his vision like the setting sun, snuffing him out as the gloating S’tol looked on. Tol coloring all he could see, drowning and washing the world away from his vision as he stood there unhurt and unharmed, impotent and unmoving against the assault of the elves.

I’m letting everyone down.

Panic overrode his thoughts as Tommy was roughly jostled. He started to fall, the world tilting wildly around him as an elf passed him by. His vision fading, a ruddy light eclipsing everything he could see. Mikus’s still form slamming into view, a deep cut drenching his face in blood.

I cannot let them down.

He fell upon his mother, Ari, Arisaylia, N’Taii; her green and gold eyes unfocused but desperately searching for something, trying to meet his own. The light within them flaring the instant they touched, her scarlet hair shimmering in the light of the fire, there in the night. Her pupils swelling wildly before constricting down to the tiniest of pinpoints.

I will not let them down.

Then an eagle cried … then an impact … an instant of lucidity … a pause … an explosion of light … power growing … exponentially …

… And then all time ceased.

***

No one would ever quite be able to say exactly what happened in that moment, but everyone remembered one thing. As the crystalline dome cut the troop off from the elven party, and the troop’s leaders were struck down one by one, something happened. Something changed in and around the space where Tommy lay. Something beyond the strange bird that hovered over him before landing upon his shoulder, threatening anyone who came near.

Around Tommy a darkness grew, swirling up from his feet like a tempest of doom. He struggled to rise, falling before eventually coming to his knees as a moaning wind blew. Fury exploded inside the crystalline dome that separated him from the troop, shattering it and sending everyone around him flying with a sound felt but not heard. And then he knelt there in the eye of a storm as it raged around him, the bird hovering defiantly overhead.

Everyone that had been within the globe was unconscious, those farther away only battered and bruised. And as those who had fallen struggled to rise, that fell wind still blew. A strange red light rose from around Tommy and everyone else, dissipating into the night with an uncanny howl that seemed to come from inside of them all. Then sparkles of green and gold mixed with a honey brown light, appearing here and there inside the mist now covering the ground. The shimmering lights swirled where the dome had been, cleansing the space before settling down, then chimed and tinkled as they disappeared into the ground as if they’d never been.

The troop looked on, stunned, as Tommy gazed calmly about. But they recoiled when they met his gaze, for his eyes were ominous and grim. They were two abyssal orbs, glowing there in the night, not focused on any one thing. A maelstrom of black for all to see, lit from within by blinding strikes of a golden light.

The eagle landed and then perched upon his shoulder, looking balefully on one and all. Its under feathers glowed a fiery orange, shimmering and shining in the night. And silence reigned as it gazed majestically about, the troop freezing as it seemed to judge them, its amber eyes reflecting the fire and its dwindling light. Then the bird regally spread its wings and flew away, dwindling off into the distance accompanied by another haunting yet triumphant cry.

Tommy watched the eagle fly away and mumbled “Huh” to himself, his voice echoing strangely across the lake. Then his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he collapsed on top of his mother and father. The soft thud of his body hitting the ground, the only sound breaking the silence of the night.

Ready to dive deeper into an unforgettable adventure?

Thank you for exploring Windyspring, the thrilling third installment of The Chronicles of the Troop! If you loved this sneak peek, the journey is just getting started, and there is so much more for you to experience. Don’t miss out on the chance to immerse yourself in the entire series!

Follow the link below to let the adventure continue …

BLURB:

The enemy grows bolder. Allies grow silent. And the gods remain lost.

The troop is scattered, wounded, and shaken by betrayal from within and without. What began as a mission to protect the southern villages of the Serensea now threatens to unravel the fragile balance between kingdoms, clans, and divine history.

As Tommy's power blooms into something ancient—and dangerous—Arisaylia confronts truths about the elves that could fracture her people forever. Donnor, haunted by war and his family's fate, must hold together what remains of their fragile alliance before the flames of conflict spread beyond control.

Meanwhile, far from the troop's journey, in the Endless Plains power stirs. Civilizations long dormant move once more, as kingdoms make secret pacts and old races return to claim what was once theirs.

Windyspring is the third volume of The Chronicles of the Troop, a sweeping epic of war, memory, and magic—where loyalty is tested, identities unravel, and the true cost of power begins to reveal itself.

A note to readers: Violence through fantasy combat, minor swearing, adult themes.

Purchase your Copy Today!

****

Harper's Creek

The Chronicles of the Troop Book 4

Add to your TBR List!

Check out Reviews and Recommendations!

“I do not care one whit what you thought you were doing! What I witnessed in the observatory was exactly what you were warned against!” Tessa was furious, pacing her quarters in swift strides that spoke eloquently of both her anger and disappointment, which required not a single word to convey.

Sella had been escorted down here almost the instant she’d seen Tessa appear in the observatory, accompanied by vague memories of Tessa telling Pawdrig she was needed elsewhere in the Hold. And the only thing that allowed Sella to hold onto her sanity while Tessa ranted was Lord Maorilan’s look of disappointment that their moment was over when she was led away.

“I will not have you using your … wiles,” Tessa sneered, “on anyone in the Hold! Especially our lord!”

“I wasn’t–”

“Do not even attempt to tell me that wasn’t what was going on! Curtsying that low to our lord. Knowing full well that that … dress …” Tessa waved her hand up and down Sella’s form. “… allowed him to stare straight down into your tits!” Tessa sputtered. “You were acting like some kind of street walker’s wet dream! Some common wh– … I simply won’t have it!” Tessa stomped her foot.

“The elves–”

“Do not even try to distract me with the elves! I know full well they insisted on that dress – It’s a gown, really,” Tessa muttered. “But why they wanted you of all people to have one, I will never know. But six!” Tessa glared. “The only reason that you have them in the first place is because of our lord!” Tessa’s voice lashed out at her like the crack of a whip.

“And the only reason you haven’t been thrown out on the street is because he needs your help with the elves! And some help it’s been.” Tessa’s sarcasm came across thick, along with entire pile of disdain. “I’ve already heard about you and that elven lord from the rest of the staff. Don’t you have a single bit of shame?”

“He’s not a lord!”

“And apparently you would know!”

“What do you mean by that?” Sella gasped.

Tessa waved the question away, resuming her furious pacing around the room. “I can’t believe you abused my trust in this manner. Or abused it so much. Or this way!” Tessa rounded on her. “He is our Lord!”

“I haven’t abused a thing!”

But Tessa rolled right over her protest. “I have never seen our Lord show interest in any woman before you! Not in the twenty years I’ve been here. But to purposely twist our Lord’s head? Manipulate that poor man’s mind? How dare you abuse his trust this way!”

“I tried to leave!” Sella insisted, all but in tears. “Dammit, Tessa, do you really think I want to screw this all up?”

“Screw all this up?” Tessa laughed. “This?” She negligently waved her hand about. “You have tarnished your reputation here so badly, I don’t even have the first idea where to begin! A guardsman? Another servant? One of the refugees? That is what I figured would take place. That is what I expected from you. But a foreign lord? Lord Maorilan himself? Are you mad?”

“What do you want me to say?” Sella replied, tears streaming down her face.

“Say? Say! There is nothing you can possibly say! But there is one thing that will happen for certain. You will not spread your legs to the top while I am here! I will protect our Lord!”

Sella gasped. “I’ve not spread my legs for a single soul here!”

“Not yet, at least, you haven’t! And it definitely will not be for our Lord!”

“I’m not trying to sleep with him!”

“The hells you aren’t! Do you think I’m blind? I saw exactly the way you looked at him, Sella. I know exactly what was going on in that pretty little head of yours. Don’t you try to deny it! I am a woman, the same as you!”

“What do you want me to say? That I find him attractive? Fine! I do! My heart goes out to the man!” Sella stabbed her hand up towards the ceiling in the direction of Maorilan’s suite. “Gods, Tessa, you were right there every night on that tower the same as I!”

“He is our Lord!”

“Tell me something I don’t know?” Tears of frustration poured out from Sella’s eyes. “Don’t you think I know it’ll never happen?”

Tessa gawked at her, and then resumed her furious pacing. The click-clack of her fancy shoes made a staccato rhythm across the stone floor. She was rubbing her forehead with one hand, fingertips forcefully digging into her temples, but not a single imprint she made there had any impact on Tessa’s elegant demeanor. Not her severely coiffed hair, nor the elegant dress she wore – which was wrapped around her like dignity itself – took the slightest bit away from her elegant appearance.

“You cannot remain,” Tessa pronounced. Then she mumbled to herself, “but you also can’t go. You are still at the elves’ beck and call … Our Lord commanded it so.” Tessa glared at Sella like that was entirely her fault. “And it is my duty to ensure the smooth running of the Hold so he need not worry.”

“Why are you glaring at me? I haven’t done a thing! And why do I have to go?”

“Not yet you haven’t! But, oh, you tried. And why? The entire Hold is in an uproar, you dolt! That’s why!”

“But barely a candle’s gone by since I was escorted down here! How can the entire Hold be in anything? Nobody knows, Tessa! Nobody even cares,” Sella cried out in exasperation while wiping away her tears.

“Do not!” Tessa raised an imperious finger. “Do not even attempt to tell me that you have no idea about the rumors surrounding you. I’ve been doing my best to ignore them; a new girl’s first weeks always throw things on edge in the Hold. But do not even attempt to tell me you are not aware of the rumors going on everywhere right now!”

“I’m aware–”

“Then you know exactly what it is that I’m talking about!” Tessa thundered. “He is our lord! Don’t you think any interaction with him, no matter who it is or how small it might be, makes its way around the Hold in an instant?”

“But he called me there to his side!”

“By choice or design?” Tessa accused.

“You seriously think I would bait him?” Sella was stunned.

“Have you not been paying attention? Were you not listening to me earlier? We all know you could certainly do worse!” Tessa glared. “Telee and Pihn have been very clear about what’s been going on in their tower.”

“Those two bitches hate me!”

“Bitches? Bitches! Those two ‘bitches’ have been loyal servants of the Hold since they were children! They were born in that tower, that they now serve!”

“And they’ve despised me ever since I set foot in it!”

“With good reason! They love our lord like the rest of us! They are doing their best to protect him from harm!”

“What harm? I was trying to get away!”

“Which you were doing so well while smiling and showing him your tits!”

“In a dress you had made!”

“On our lord’s order for the elves!”

“What the hells did you want me to do, Tessa?” Sella shouted back, fire finally taking her. “Refuse?”

Tessa huffed, crossing her arms and turning away before she returned to stalking around the room once more. A heavy, brittle silence descended upon the room, Sella not even bothering to wipe away the tears any longer. Angry or devastated, Sella no longer knew the emotion she felt. All she knew was that no matter what she did in the Hold, it always seemed to be her fault.

“No,” Tessa eventually replied. “You were in no position to refuse.”

“Then what the hells was I supposed to do?” Sella bitterly asked, resigned to the fact that nothing she could say or do would be the right thing.

“Not behave like a whore!” Sella sucked in her breath, too stunned to speak while Tessa thundered on. “You are the elves. Our lord, Pawdrig Maorilan, commanded it so, and so shall it be. But know this, Sella, I no longer want any part of you in the Hold!”

“Dammit, why?” Sella sputtered.

“Because trouble follows you around like a cloud!”

“Which was none of my doing!”

“Crap! Crap and shite both! That Green-woman – whatever the hells her name is – the one from the kitchens, from your village, says you’ve chased everything around that has legs and a cock ever since you had hips! I warned you that behavior like this wouldn’t be tolerated in the Hold! I told you we shared a similar history! I told you I’d be watching for it! I told you exactly what not to do! I warned you! I gave you a chance, hiring you on, and now I’m seeing your background and history come out!”

Tessa looked at her, sadly shaking her head while her lips became furiously compressed. “You really had Daris and I sold on your story. What fools we’ve both been …”

“I wasn’t selling anything!”

Tessa wasn’t even looking at her anymore, nor did she appear to hear what Sella had just said. “I can’t believe it. A guardsman, another servant, I wouldn’t have cared in the least. I would have given you hell, put the fear of the gods in you – absolutely – but an elven lord? Lord Maorilan himself? Gods, Sella. What were you thinking?”

Sella was so close to sobbing, but Tessa muttered on, ignoring Sella completely. “This is an incredible mess. I need to talk to Daris …”

“Please!” Sella shouted. “Please talk to Daris!”

“What?” Tessa spun to face her. “You think Daris will save you? Get you out of all this?” Tessa chuckled ruefully. “Oh, you naive little girl. She’ll come down on you harder than me!” Tessa turned away, rubbing her face once more. “I can’t even reassign you to another tower! There is no way to get you away from the elves or out of his sight!”

“Do it anyway!” Sella pleaded. “Please! Tessa, I’m begging you. I’m not the cause of this! I haven’t done a single thing wrong!”

“You haven’t done a single thing wrong? You fool! Everyone here loves our Lord! He’s the best lord commoners in the kingdom ever dreamed of! You think we don’t hear the stories from the other side of the ‘Peaks? No abuses, no burdensome taxes, actual concern for his people … Gods, he wants to protect us! Every girl around the Serensea has a crush on him, Sella. Every one of us dreams!”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“You don’t think I know a crush when I see one?” Tessa demanded.

“It’s not a crush! He can have whoever he wants!”

“As long as it’s you first in line?” Tessa sneered.

“I’m not even trying to be in line!” Sella cried.

“While showing him your tits?”

“I was trying to get away!”

“A lot of good that was doing you!”

“He said he wanted someone to talk to!”

“Sure, he did.” Tessa rolled her eyes.

“Dammit, Tessa! I care about our lord!”

“So what? Every person around the Serensea loves Pawdrig Maorilan!”

“And so do I!”

The stunned silence which suddenly filled the room was shocking. Sella wished she could take those words back, throwing that bleeding admission out to the room like she did, but there was no way. And Tessa just stood there in utter astonishment, eyes widening even further with what had just been revealed.

“Sella,” Tessa began gravely. “You are not in lo–”

Firm pounding on the door cut Tessa off. “Tessa,” someone called from the other side of the door.

Tessa glared at Sella and then at the door, before running a hand over her dress before she moved to answer it. A guardsman saluted then spoke. “The singer Sella and you are summoned to appear before our Lord. He is with the elves in the Child’s Tower. Do you know where she is?”

“I’m here, guardsman,” Sella called out, desperately wiping the tears from her face.

“She is here,” Tessa confirmed, smoothing her dress even more. “It will be just a moment. I will bring her there myself. Where exactly is our Lord?”

“Waiting in the elven apartments.”

“I see. Thank you, guardsman. You may return to your duties.” The guardsman saluted fist to chest while Tessa slowly shut the door.

“Clean yourself up.” Tessa snapped after it closed, then she just stared Sella’s way. “My makeup is there,” Tessa eventually said, imperiously waving her hand towards her desk. “And make it quick. I’ll be waiting for you outside in the hall.”

But Tessa paused before she left, making sure to catch Sella’s eyes in the mirror. “This conversation is not over, Sella …

“… Not over at all.”

And then Tessa slowly shut the door.

***

Tessa and Sella arrived in the elven apartments shortly thereafter, not a word between them being spoken the entire way.

“I am sorry for the delay, Lord Maorilan.”

“No worries, Tessa. I am glad you are both here.”

Lord Pawdrig Maorilan reclined in a lounge on the uppermost floor of the Child’s Tower, casually sipping at a glass of wine. Along with him were Vistarii and Laran’telia An’Toyniell, brother and sister, the commander and chief healer of the elven forces stationed outside the Hold. And sitting a short distance away was Cor’An a’Saliantrea, Priestess of Life, a position and title that had never been fully explained to him.

The mood in the lounge was relaxed, an elegant and welcoming atmosphere that gentled and soothed everyone in it. But Pawdrig picked up on Tessa’s flushed face and Sella’s downcast eyes, and wondered what the tension he noticed there was all about. Yet even with the apparent tension, he couldn’t help but notice Sella looked absolutely divine in the elven-styled dress she wore. A design that suited her, most definitely.

Looking away so he wasn’t caught staring, Pawdrig addressed the chief of the Hold’s staff directly. “An interesting proposal has come my way, Tessa, and I need your thoughts on it.”

“My thoughts, my Lord?”

“Yes, Keeper,” Vistarii interjected, bowing his head in Lord Maorilan’s direction. “Head of Family Maorilan has been a most gracious host, but we do not wish to disturb your house any further without your knowledge.” The other elves indicated their agreement, all three inclining their heads Maorilan’s way, but Tessa cast him a confused glance when she saw it.

“It seems your position is held in extremely high regard among the elves, Tessa,” Pawdrig explained. “I could order you to make this happen, but such a thing is frowned upon in the Vale.”

“There is no doubt you would refuse to do so, Lord Maorilan,” Laran’telia quickly interjected. “You are becoming known as both a fair and honorable lord among our people here. Even in the short time we’ve had the pleasure of interacting with you, you have changed the opinions of many.” She smiled; the emotion warm in her eyes.

Pawdrig waved the healer’s words away, glancing at Sella when she shifted her weight. “Regardless, Tessa, as the Keeper of my household, any disruptions in my house of this nature must be …” Pawdrig glanced the elves’ way “… approved? Before it is allowed to continue?”

Cor’An chuckled. “Not so much as approved as given the Keeper’s blessing, Head of Family. We understand you are human and not of the Vale, but a Keeper’s blessing in regards to this request would ease my people’s minds greatly.”

Tessa looked back and forth between Lord Maorilan and the elves, her confusion evident, and growing, the longer their conversation went on. But Pawdrig noticed Sella still kept her eyes on the floor, something that was highly unusual for her in the elves’ presence. If he didn’t know any better, and he didn’t, he’d say she was close to tears … But there was no possible way she could be, considering the wonderful moment they’d shared just a few hours before.

“My Lord?” Tessa interrupted his thoughts. “I … do not understand?”

“We are talking a bit around the subject, aren’t we?” Pawdrig chuckled, looking back from Sella to her. “What I need is your approval, your leave, for us to proceed.”

“I am happy to serve in whatever manner you choose, my Lord. Whatever the request is, you have only to ask. Tell me what it is you wish to happen, and I will do my best to make it so.” Then Tessa paused before continuing, glancing in Sella’s direction. “Is this something Sella’s presence is required for? She has … other responsibilities and duties that require her attention, my Lord.”

“Which is the heart of the matter, Keeper,” Vistarii chimed in.

“Perhaps you could explain, Tintafel?” Pawdrig glanced over his shoulder towards the Hold’s elven advisor.

Stepping forward from his place on the wall, Tintafel Alarion came into view. The elf had been standing there in plain sight, but utterly unnoticed the entire time. He made a subtle though complicated series of gestures with his fingers to the other elves in the room before speaking.

“Yes, my Lord. Tessa. Sella.” Tintafel nodded his head to acknowledge each of them in turn before he continued. “The issue we are discussing is a simple thing at face value, and yet one of profound importance to my people. In short, the elven army stationed here requests that Sella sing for them.”

Sella’s head came up. Pawdrig noticed she looked tired or exhausted … Maybe frustrated? … since the time they’d met in the observatory. But Tintafel continued to speak before he could think about it much further.

“This seems a simple enough request, as she has been singing for the elves for days now, but the request that the army of the Vale made this time is of a singular importance.”

Tintafel waved his hand towards the Sunset Peaks. “Commander Arnet is recovering the elven dead from the pass with his normal alacrity. The remains are kept outside near where the elves are encamped, so they may be eventually dealt with. But in our system of beliefs, their honored souls remain bound to their bodies until they are formally released.”

Cor’An interrupted him. “And until the Ar B’ten is performed, an elf will not move on to allow their souls to rest. Those who die in the Vale’s service may forgo their family’s vigil, but their souls must be allowed to pass on so they can find peace before they return.”

Both Tessa and Sella seemed confused by this, and obviously so by the looks on their faces.

“Sella, the elves are basically asking you to sing in the honor of their dead during a formal funeral ceremony,” Pawdrig explained, taking pity on her when she glanced his way. Her eyes really are rather pretty …

“Me?” Sella blurted. “I, uhhh, ummm, okay?” she allowed, hurriedly glancing around the room. She met Tessa’s eyes and then immediately looked back down.

Vistarii chuckled, then spoke before Pawdrig could question what she did. “There is a little more to it than that, Lord Maorilan. But in essence, you are correct.”

“The problem with the Vale’s request is the burden it may place on your household, Keeper,” Cor’An said, bringing the conversation back around to Tessa. “And it is our custom to seek a keeper of a household’s blessing before we arrange anything further. A keeper must be consulted for any event that could possibly disrupt a family’s seat.”

“My Lord, if this is something you wish to happen, you only need to order it,” Tessa answered, throwing another glance Sella’s way. “Sella is already at the elves’ disposal. Any request they make of her is easy enough to accommodate.”

“And I told them you would say that, but this is something they insisted on.” Pawdrig was glad to see Sella looking at least a little bit better, and a touch more interested, but he couldn’t help but wonder why she seemed to be refusing to meet his eyes.

Tintafel cleared his throat to capture the room’s attention once more. “The keeper of a head of family’s household is an honored position inside the Vale, Tessa. With it comes much hard work, and many responsibilities, but within a head of family’s home, the keeper’s will is mostly absolute. It is very similar to the way a wife’s will is carried out throughout the kingdom, while in the home of her husband, and there are many parallels to that relationship.” Tintafel nodded to acknowledge of Pawdrig’s grin.

“But whereas in the kingdom a husband may overrule his wife in their home, without suffering public admonishment, in the Vale, overruling a keeper would be an outrageous offense if she was opposed to some issue. It would be an explosive occurrence, bringing shame upon the family in which it occurred. And what the Army of the Vale is proposing will certainly disrupt the workings of Redtail Hold, and therefore your approval – or blessing, if you will – is required.”

Tessa looked utterly nonplussed, glancing Sella’s way once more before returning her eyes to the room. “How may I be of service, my Lord?”

“The … are-buh-ten?” Pawdrig glanced towards the elves.

“Ar B’ten, Head of Family,” Laran’telia corrected him giving him another warm smile. “Your attempts at our tongue are improving.”

Pawdrig noticed Sella ever so slightly frown before he waved her words away. “I try,” he replied wryly, his comment producing a chuckle from the rest of the elves. “In any event, the elven rite – that I shall no longer try to pronounce – is a remembrance for those who passed on, along with their lives. From my understanding, and Cor’An’s gracious explanation, it is normally led by the army’s commander. However, since Alaris is no longer present, this obviously cannot occur.”

Pawdrig ignored the few uncomfortable looks from the elves, not saying a word about the prince’s strained departure from Redtail Hold. He continued on without pausing. “Sella has become quite popular with the elven forces, involved as she is in helping them to recover. And as such, they petitioned Vistarii here if she could sing in tribute to their countrymen’s passing.”

“This is a great honor, and not something usually performed by someone who is not of our people,” Laran’telia interjected, the healer’s compassionate brown eyes capturing everyone else in the room. “But to have a Sii’en A’d–”

“To have a singer of Sella’s caliber,” Cor’An quickly interrupted, “sing to their soul’s passing would be a great honor to everyone present who could hear.” The priestess eyed Laran’telia before continuing, and the healer nodded slowly in reply.

“However, to fully prepare her for the role, we would need to assist her and tutor her privately. Formally so, and much more than we are currently doing. Which is something we can only do here, within Family Maorilan’s official seat, and in the privacy of Redtail Hold,” Cor’An concluded.

She paused to look at everyone in the room. “To do so, it would require Sella to be removed from her duties inside Redtail Hold, in their entirety. The instruction she will be undertaking will be both intensive and time consuming. And to perform in her role, she must be separate and removed from any and all influence. Ultimately, she must be seen as apart from Family Maorilan and Redtail Hold, for the entire time she is needed. To stand alone, as it will, before Life and the Vale for the dead.”

Tessa blinked, glancing at Sella before helplessly looking back to Lord Maorilan. But Pawdrig was watching Sella, waiting for her reaction, but noticed she looked a bit shocked, then paled ever so slightly as the silence set it. Then he berated himself, realizing he had never actually asked Sella if she wanted to sing for the elves in the first place.

“But before we get to your thoughts on the matter, Tessa, we have forgotten the most important thing. Sella?” Pawdrig waited until she finally met his eyes. Her two brown orbs were giving away none of her feelings. “Would you do me the honor of singing for the elves for the Hold?”

He smiled, quirking a single brow her way as he anticipated a warm smile in reply. But she quickly looked away from him, then frustratingly fixed her gaze on the ground once more.

“Yes, my Lord,” Sella mumbled, and then said not a single word further.

His smile faltered after that subdued reply. He waited to see if she would say anything more, but not a single sound was uttered. I wish there was some way I could ask her what’s wrong, what’s bothering her, or whatever has happened … But in front of the elves, there was just no way. He quickly moved his attention to Tessa, seeing her frown in response to Sella’s awkward reply.

“Tessa?” He called the room’s attention to her and away from his beautiful singer. “For Sella to perform for the elves, she must be removed from her duties entirely, and be considered outside of the influence of the Hold. Do you have any issue with that?”

“Again, what you wish, will be done.” Tessa flicked her eyes towards Sella, before meeting his own once more. “She is already assigned to the elves, my Lord, and she is theirs to call whenever they need.”

“I understand that. But to soothe the elves’ concerns, they need your blessing that for the entire time she is prepared for the rite, she is considered completely removed from both the Hold’s rank and structure, as well as any of our influence. In essence, she will no longer be considered a part of Redtail while all of this is going on.”

Tessa smiled upon hearing his explanation, but Pawdrig noticed Sella’s pallor suddenly worsened. Did Sella just flinch? I need to figure out what’s going on. But Tessa drew his attention away, squaring her shoulders before she replied. “This will not be an issue, my Lord. No problem at all.”

“We require your verbal blessing, Keeper,” Vistarii said.

“It is important to us,” Laran’telia added, “for the effect on the household.”

“Then you have it, lord and lady,” Tessa confidently replied, nodding to everyone in the room. “That you wish to make Sella separate from the Hold entirely, not to be considered a part of the staff for the time being, you have my blessing. Anything I can do to facilitate this transition, you have only to ask.” Tessa smiled, sounding satisfied that she’d met his needs so easily.

“Thank you, Tessa,” Pawdrig said, smiling as well. “I told you this wouldn’t be an issue.”

“You did, Lord Maorilan,” Cor’An smiled. “The arnhysh of your family is strong. You should be proud. Life’s blessing be upon you and your family.”

“Thank you. When would you like Sella to begin? There is some moving around to be done, I’m sure.”

Tessa looked at him quizzically while Cor’An answered.

“Tomorrow would be fine, Head of Family. It is late, and even though we have your and the keeper’s blessing, we truly do not wish to disrupt your household any further.”

“Nonsense. It is no issue at all. Tessa, are my mother’s rooms currently occupied?”

“Your mother’s rooms?” Tessa looked entirely thrown off guard by the question. “They’re currently being used for storage for your suite, my Lord.”

“Well, that’s out for the night …” Pawdrig trailed off, obviously thinking.

“There’s an empty room here, Head of Family,” Laran’telia’s exquisite voice cut in. “We would happily host the singer during her transition.”

Tessa curiously looked back and forth to everyone around the room.

“If you’re certain,” Pawdrig answered her. “And I thought I told you to stop being so formal in private,” he teased.

Laran’telia smiled warmly, but it was Vistarii who answered. “It is no burden, Head of Family. And for this, you are Head of Family. You honor us with the ready separation of such a valuable member of Family Maorilan, as well as the use of your family’s seat. I will return to my men for the night while we host her, so as not to give the appearance of dishonoring your household.”

“Bah. She can protect her own honor, Vistarii,” Pawdrig said. “Which is completely secure, I’m sure.” Vistarii glanced to both Tessa and Sella while Pawdrig continued. “But you may, of course, do as you see fit.”

“My Lord,” Tessa politely interrupted, “I am confused. What are we discussing?”

“I’m sorry, Tessa. I keep forgetting you were not here for the beginning of our conversation. Simply put, since Sella has agreed, and we have your blessing, the elves need a place to prepare Sella for her role in their rite. Sella will need to move into quarters more suitable for the new role, so she is seen as separate from my family, and for the privacy required. I was thinking of putting her in my mother’s suite, but since it’s full, Laran’telia volunteered their apartment for the night.”

The elves nodded, Vistarii not taking his eyes from the look of astonishment that crossed Sella’s face.

Pawdrig noticed Tessa seemed unusually taken aback. Oh well. It’s only for a short time, and there’s probably not much junk in those rooms as it is. Tessa will just have to get used to it. “How soon do you think my mother’s quarters can be readied?” Lord Maorilan asked.

Tessa visibly shook herself. “A day …” She looked completely nonplussed, almost thunderstruck, while a flurry of emotions flew across her face.

“Tessa? Are you well?”

“My Lord? … Yes, my Lord. You are installing … Sella … into your mother’s quarters?”

“Yes. There won’t be any issue with that, will there?”

“… No, my Lord. I’ll have the staff ready it quickly.”

“Good.”

Pawdrig was pleased with how the whole affair was going. Tessa was looking at Sella, unconsciously frowning, deep in thought from what he could see, probably already planning the move. He still didn’t understand the tension he picked up on, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be too serious. The two of them had gotten along famously from what little he’d heard. Though it did irk him that Sella was looking down at the floor once more … almost forcefully so.

I swear she’s even paler now than she was before. “You should be happy there, Sella. My mother’s rooms are right beneath my own,” Pawdrig told her, trying to offer a little comfort. But Sella just gaped at him, then color quickly flooding her cheeks.

Maybe I shouldn’t have led with that. “But you’re welcome to continue to use the observatory however you wish. It was my mother’s favorite, you know. And while you are preparing for the rite, you should consider yourself a guest of the Hold … my Lady,” he added that last with a grin.

Tessa’s head shot up.

“M-m-m-my Lord?” Sella replied.

“Oh, none of that.” Pawdrig waved Sella’s shock and surprise away. He was so glad he could do this for her, happy to have an excuse to get her out of the room she shared down in the subbasement. “Tessa, do you think Whinna would mind seeing to Lady Sella’s needs?”

“W-Whinna, my Lord?”

Pawdrig was certain Tessa’s head was going to pop off, looking around the room as fast as she was. It wasn’t like her to be so taken off guard. Then again, it was late, and she had seemed a bit stressed out with the staff recently. “Whinna. One of my mother’s old maids?”

“… Whinna is currently down in the warehouse assisting with the children of the refugees,” Tessa explained.

“With her back? At her age? See if she would be interested in returning, and then seeing to Sella’s needs while the elves tutor her.” Pawdrig turned back to the elves. “The preparations should take some time, correct?”

“A few weeks at least, Head of Family,” Vistarii answered.

“Then for a minimum that long, Tessa. Whinna used to watch over me when I was a child, Sella.” Pawdrig grinned at her, still trying to draw the beautiful singer out. “And you’re not allowed to pester her for any stories about me when I was younger. But knowing Whinna, she’ll tell you a bunch of them anyway.”

The elves chuckled, a warm feeling that spread its way over the room as everyone turned their heads towards Sella. But Pawdrig noted the shapely singer, who was standing there in that beautiful elven gown she wore, looked much more worried than pleased. Her pallor grew even further after Tessa opened her mouth to voice another concern.

“And Whinna’s duties, my Lord?” He noticed Tessa’s brow was now furrowed, almost pinched as she spoke.

Maybe her head is bothering her. She has been complaining of headaches lately.

“A lady’s maid, Tessa. As Sella is now considered to be outside of everyone’s influence for the time being, I would like to treat her to something special, since her singing has played such an integral role to everyone in the Hold. Have my mother’s quarters emptied and cleaned, then Sella’s things moved there as soon as possible. She is to have the full run of Redtail, and will dine with the elves during meals at my table in the great hall. If Whinna cannot, and I won’t bother her further if she says it is too much, then someone else will need to be assigned to Sella to see to her needs. Because my understanding of the situation is this: Sella will be experiencing an intensive period of study with the elves to succeed in her role, and as a result, she will need to have her needs seen to, so that she has the time necessary to complete this challenge.”

Cor’An emphatically nodded in agreement, then Laran’telia did as well, both of the elves smiling the entire time.

“Oh, and that reminds me. Sella? Have you eaten?” Pawdrig asked.

“Eaten?” she answered softly. Her voice was pitched extremely high as she asked the question, though she didn’t look up. “No, I have not eaten, my Lord.”

“None of that, now. We went over you calling me Pawdrig a few candles ago. I’m going to insist on it, now that you’ve accepted your new role,” he teased, utterly nonplussed when she ducked her head away from him.

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat, “Tessa? Have Telee or Pihn go down to the kitchens and bring something up. Have you dined?” he turned towards the elves.

“Yes, Head of Family. Though a snack would be welcome.”

“Then, Tessa, have Telee or Pihn bring Sella a meal, along with some snacks for the suite. We have a lot of things to discuss with our new honorary lady here,” he waved his hand over towards Sella. “And though I’m certain it came as a shock, I’m sure she’ll adjust to her new role just fine.

And with that, Tessa curtsied then nodded, before she threw Sella a significant look. Probably worried Sella will say or do something wrong. As if that would ever happen … Pawdrig knew Tessa had been coaching Sella in proper decorum for days now, and he also knew her efforts had paid off. Sella’s improving grace was noticeable to everyone who encountered her, no matter how new she was to such things.

He saw Sella swallow when Tessa turned to thank the elves. Then Tessa paused to study Sella again for a time. Tessa’s face was completely neutral before she turned to gracefully exit the room, and Pawdrig didn’t understand for the life of him why Sella suddenly looked down at the floor.

Ready to dive deeper into an unforgettable adventure?

Thank you for exploring Harper’s Creek, the thrilling fourth installment of The Chronicles of the Troop! If you loved this sneak peek, the journey is just getting started, and there is so much more for you to experience. Don’t miss out on the chance to immerse yourself in the entire series!

Follow the link below to let the adventure continue …

BLURB:

The dead have been buried. Silence is broken. And secrets refuse to stay where they lay.

As the troop pushes east toward Harper’s Creek, the weight of their survival in Windyspring lingers—along with a growing fear of what lies ahead. Tommy’s power evolves beyond even the elves’ understanding, and Arisaylia begins to question whether the path she and her son will walk was ever theirs to choose.

Back in Redtail Hold, Sella finds herself drawn into a role far greater—and more dangerous—than her songs alone. Her rising influence in the eyes of the elves threatens the balance of the Hold, and the line between duty and desire grows thinner and thinner.

But war isn’t fought only with weapons. As old alliances fray and ancient eyes turn towards the Serensea, both soldier and singer must decide who and what they are—before the tide of history swallows them before their new fate is born.

Harper’s Creek is Book Four of The Chronicles of the Troop, where fantasy meets philosophy, and where battles of the heart are as perilous to everyone involved as those of sword and hidden sorcery.

A note to readers: Fantasy combat, minor swearing, adult themes.

Purchase your Copy Today!