David McLeod
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Chapter 2: Elvenhold George saw a flash of light. His nose wrinkled at the sharp smell of cinnamon. The arena through which they had been riding and the barn were no longer there. The horse galloped toward a huge tree. George’s throat constructed with fear but Arthur’s arm around his waist held him tightly. The horse swerved at Arthur’s command, and then stopped. “It’s always a good idea to ride at a gate quickly, but to stop as soon as you are through it. Now, where are we?” Arthur said. Then
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Chapter 1: Renaissance Faire Visitors in costume and in mufti wandered the grounds of the Sedona Renaissance Faire, eating turkey legs, hot dogs, and other anachronistic fare. A gaggle of teen-aged boys, identical in black Wellington boots, blue jeans, white T-shirts, and slicked-back hair, pushed their way through the crowd. “Hey, look at the guy in the pantyhose,” one of the boys said, pointing. “His hair’s longer than a girl,” said another. “His sword,” a third said. “It’s not in a sheath
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George of Sedona II: Forging the Sword Sky Stone
David McLeod posted new chapter in Book of Heroes: George of Sedona I
Sky Stone Arthur woke to the soft beat of rain on the roof. That sounds like it will last all day, he thought. Good. We need a break, and I don’t believe anyone is following us. He closed his eyes, and went back to sleep. “Hey, Rip Van Winkle.” George’s voice penetrated Arthur’s dream, blowing it away. “It’s raining.” “I know, George,” Arthur mumbled. “I woke up earlier. Let’s stay here for the day, okay?” George, who had sat up in the bed, dropped back down, and hugged Arthur. “That would b- 3 comments
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In which a teen from California meets a knight and travels with him to a world where love is, indeed, magic. This story was the first to have been translated. It's been reviewed in light of new information, and then significantly edited. If you liked the first version, you should like the second, more. Please check it.
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Sir Aaron and his guests had just finished supper when a page entered. “There’s a cleric at the gate, my Lord, who says he is a friend of Sir James and Sir Kenneth. He says his name is Arne, and his manner is furtive.” At Sir Aaron’s raised eyebrow, James said, “You’ve met Arne, Sir Aaron, but I don’t know why his manner would be so. Perhaps I should go to the door.” “James, I’m so glad you are here…Alten’s dead…and Senshen would kill me, too, if he knew I were here…” Arne’s voic
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Their first stop was Bowling Green. James’ family was happy for his safe return, and that of his companions. As soon as they arrived, James’ father handed the boy a letter. James’ face grew more and more somber as he read. My Dear Young Friend, I was so very happy to hear from you. Your service to the Light and the care you have taken of your ward, Kenneth, do you proud. If only things here were as straightforward. My old nemesis continues to frustrate my every effort. His followers, al
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Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife, Throughout the sensual world proclaim One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name. —Thomas Osbert Mordaunt (written on this Earth-analogue during the Seven Year’s War 1756—1763 C.E.) The old mines and natural caverns had led to the castle. It was Kenneth who saw the hidden door, but it was dwarven magic summoned by Kaam that opened it. The mage-lit metal rings on the companions’ quarterstaffs flickered and died as t
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Francis embraced his father, and then stood in the stirrup and swung onto his horse. The horse had been cooped up in the stable most of the winter, and was skittish. Francis, however, was a good horseman. His firm hands on the reins and his gentle voice stilled the animal. Beside Francis, his companion Ben awkwardly embraced his father, and mounted his own horse. Ben watched as Francis’s father took Ben’s father aside and spoke to him. When Ben’s father turned to look at his son, there was an un
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The companions assembled in the courtyard where a would-be master assassin had been executed. Francis and Ben were there, as well. Abner and his son exchanged a few words privately, and then the man hugged the boy. Ben’s father, not quite sure of himself, awkwardly hugged his son. Abner took Ben’s father aside, companionably. “I’m glad that Ben is going to Arcadia with Francis. He will be a great source of strength for my son.” Ben’s father smiled, pleased that the Commander of the City
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It was noon. The deep winter sun was bright in a pale sky as the companions and the three Boy-Thieves crested a hill overlooking Forrest Green. It appeared to be a prosperous market town. The smoke that trickled from the chimneys was thin and white; they were burning hardwood rather than peat or dung like the slovens in the last village. The fields were bordered by well-defined windbreaks, and all were turned in preparation for spring planting. The stone walls were neatly whitewashed; along the
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The Royal Road wove its way up and down gentle hills and around smooth curves as Patrick and his companions approached Bowling Green. Broad pastures lined the road. There, new colts were being taught to walk and run by their sires and dams. The farmsteads were very much alike: large, strong-looking houses with large, strong-looking barns connected by enclosed walkways. “Look at that horse!” Kenneth exclaimed over and over. “Look at that one! You never told me your home was like this…
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By late afternoon, the trackless forest gave way to a meadow through which a game trail ran. The five boys followed the trail through the meadow and a patch of woods until it opened into another meadow. At the western edge of the meadow, its back to a rocky hill, stood a massive, low, stone building. A tower, emblazoned with a symbol of Light, proclaimed it to be the monastery for which Patrick was looking. Patrick gestured for James and Kenneth to take the lead. “They should grant hospi
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The boys were awakened by a commotion in the streets. Alan and James quickly dressed, and left to see what was going on. They returned some twenty minutes later, breathless. “There’s been another raid!” James gasped. “They got into the city last night, and looted a couple of warehouses. Took weapons and food…and then stole carts and horses to carry it all away. The City Guard didn’t find out until this morning, and by then, they’d gone,” Alan added. “People are pissed; this is th
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As soon as the pre-dawn light permitted, the boys continued down the road they believed led to Fortmain. The sun was not yet completely over the horizon when they encountered an old, but hale man, dressed in a non-descript robe. He wore sandals, and carried a staff that was too long and thin to be a quarterstaff, but which nevertheless appeared sturdy. His hair was gray, and he was covered with the dust of the road. As they approached, he extended a hand. “Can you spare a bite of food for a p
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A party of boys and teens; elves and humans; mages, clerics, and warriors, follows a quest to bring the Light into places of Darkness. Along the way, the boys meet people who are both Good and Evil, and find both enemies and allies in their quest. This story is a sequel to “In the Prince’s Secret Service,” and “Knight Templar in Training.” Familiarity with these stories would be beneficial to readers of this story
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Today is the day. They said they would tell us today, Darryn thought. He knew the same thought was running through Greyeyes’ mind, but neither of the elven boys said anything as they went through the morning routine. Patrick, who seemed to be the real leader, even though James gave most of the orders, insisted that they be packed up each morning as if they were to leave on a moment’s notice. Then Alan’s critical eye ran over their weapons, boots, and other equipment. It’s not just us, either, Gr
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The companions sat around their table at the Wooden Troll on a sunny autumn morning. The breeze that wafted through the open door was crisp and redolent of… “What is that smell? Onions?” Alan asked. In the street outside the inn, voices raised in anger were followed by childish laughter. James stepped to the door to see what was happening. “Cart full of onions and another with bags of flour,” he reported. “Apparently couldn’t pass in the narrow street, and tried to, anyway. There’s flour a
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—Ill news comes apace, while good news the morrow waits. Cam and Eric were alone. Not in the boys’ barracks, but in a suite of rooms high in the palace. “Eric, I have to know…” Cam’s protest was smothered by the younger boy’s kiss. Cam returned the kiss, but stopped short of continuing it with the passion that Eric was trying to inflame. Eric broke away. His eyes were hooded. “Do I presume, Cam?” “No, Eric,” Cam answered gently. “You could never presume. However, your Uncle has p
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Eric realized that the only way to escape, as he thought it, was not to be missed for at least one day and night. More would be better, he thought, but I don’t know if I can arrange that. A few casual remarks established the fiction that he would be visiting a cousin whose family lived on an estate just outside Elvenhold. It was a thin story, but Eric remembered something one of his tutors had told him. If it’s necessary to create a fiction, make it as simple as possible. On the appointed day,
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“The boy is to be removed,” the king said. “They are to have no further contact. Send the boy elsewhere for training. Apprentice him to an errant. Return him to his family. Do what you will. But send him away.” The senior bowed in obedience. His arguments and pleas on Cameron’s behalf had been considered, and then rejected. The king would not have a scryer, especially an untrained one, in contact with the heir. The danger to Eric, indeed, the danger to the kingdom, was too great. Cameron
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The Senior Cleric had called Cameron aside after Compline. Now the boy sat stiffly in the senior’s library. An acolyte brought tea and Cameron nervously took a sip. The senior set his mug on the table, and looked at Cameron. “Please tell me the story of The Bully and the Boy.” Cameron was startled at the request, but gathered his thoughts quickly. Easily maintaining the singsong cadence of traditional storytellers, Cameron related the tale. The Bully and the Boy A bully,
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This story is only for those who enjoy medieval, magical fantasy starring boys and teens. It is from The Book of Heroes, the source for “The Translator,” “The Paladin,” and other stories. It is a simple story in which the love between a squire and a young cleric becomes a political liability—because the squire is also a prince.
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Fort Riley, Kansas, United States of America October, 2018 Second Lieutenant Arthur Andrus was understandably nervous. The invitation to the home of his commanding officer was more than a courtesy: it was a command performance. He could no more refuse this social offer than he could refuse a direct order—not if he expected to make a career of the Army. He did hope to do that. He had worked hard in his ROTC classes. He was a member of the first generation of officers commissioned immediatel
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In the year 2018, the War on Terrorism has consumed the American conscience—and the American economy. There are still, however, moments of light and love to be found.
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“You are under arrest.” The centurion’s words still echoed in Phillip’s mind. At least we’ve not been separated, Phillip thought. But, I don’t understand… “Why are we manacled?” Phillip asked. Maranon and Javari shrugged, but Argon answered. “Try to use magic,” he said. “For anything. You can’t. At least, I can’t. The manacles suck away the magic.” The three other boys’ expressions went from alarm to chagrin, before settling on alarm. “Why did they arrest us?” Mar
