an excerpt
This is the excerpt that has gone up on my Nanowrimo profile for this year's project. It feels good to get back to Taerwyn for writing the sequel. Now if I could just keep Jane Austen out of my voice... Drat that whole author focus class.
“You neglected to mention just how well-guarded the cultist camp is.” Lord Thorven’s voice was not without amusement as he glared at Harris, and then looked back at the guards surrounding the compound of tents and crudely-built wooden structures.
Taerwyn watched the patterns of the guards’ movements as she laid there on the ground, looking down at the camp from the ridge they occupied. If there was any discipline in the cultists, they would be on at least a rudimentary schedule. From what they had studied of the history of opposition in her training, she had been led to believe that groups such as this one often had extreme discipline.
Harris’ voice filtered in through her intense concentration, and she had to smile. “Are you telling me,” the skinny man began, “that you, Thorven, can’t handle a bunch of rowdy cultists?”
“Are you telling me that you can?” Lord Thorven’s whispered return, accompanied by a grin, caused Taerwyn to chuckle softly and shake her head.
“It doesn’t look too hard,” she told them, although she was afraid she was probably wrong. She did not have nearly as much experience as Lord Thorven, and she was getting the feeling that Harris, whoever he was, had just as much as the cleric. She felt almost like a baby here, untested and maybe even useless. “We just need to get one person out of that tent there, right?” She pointed, and as she did so, the tent burst into flames, causing her to look at her own finger in shock.
Lord Thorven could not help the laugh that erupted. “Or she could get herself out,” he laughed, and then rose to his feet. “Come on. She’s created the chaos; now let’s take advantage of it.” As one, the cleric and Harris rose to their feet and made their way along the side of the ridge, leaving Taerwyn to gather her wits and follow after a moment.
“You neglected to mention just how well-guarded the cultist camp is.” Lord Thorven’s voice was not without amusement as he glared at Harris, and then looked back at the guards surrounding the compound of tents and crudely-built wooden structures.
Taerwyn watched the patterns of the guards’ movements as she laid there on the ground, looking down at the camp from the ridge they occupied. If there was any discipline in the cultists, they would be on at least a rudimentary schedule. From what they had studied of the history of opposition in her training, she had been led to believe that groups such as this one often had extreme discipline.
Harris’ voice filtered in through her intense concentration, and she had to smile. “Are you telling me,” the skinny man began, “that you, Thorven, can’t handle a bunch of rowdy cultists?”
“Are you telling me that you can?” Lord Thorven’s whispered return, accompanied by a grin, caused Taerwyn to chuckle softly and shake her head.
“It doesn’t look too hard,” she told them, although she was afraid she was probably wrong. She did not have nearly as much experience as Lord Thorven, and she was getting the feeling that Harris, whoever he was, had just as much as the cleric. She felt almost like a baby here, untested and maybe even useless. “We just need to get one person out of that tent there, right?” She pointed, and as she did so, the tent burst into flames, causing her to look at her own finger in shock.
Lord Thorven could not help the laugh that erupted. “Or she could get herself out,” he laughed, and then rose to his feet. “Come on. She’s created the chaos; now let’s take advantage of it.” As one, the cleric and Harris rose to their feet and made their way along the side of the ridge, leaving Taerwyn to gather her wits and follow after a moment.