Excerpt from Work-in-Progress

I'm still working on my regular Patreon posts for September, but in the meantime I thought I'd share an excerpt from one of my [many] WIPs.  This one probably falls in line with the sword & sorcery genre.  Truth be told, I'm not sure how much I like it in its current form (I may change some things), so feel free to offer commentary.

As for the regular posts, I should probably say that publishing them towards the end of the month (as I've been doing) was never my intent.  The goal was always to space them out over the course of each month, but time has a way of getting away from me.  That said, I hope to shift gears starting next  month and spread them out more evenly, for lack of a better term.

Anyway, here's the excerpt from my WIP (working title: The Dead Immortal)

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The donkey brayed again, once more disrupting the discussion between Mitzan the Mage and the animal’s master. Mitzan sighed; he could not have picked a worse day to have switched places with his wife and eldest daughter, allowing them to mind their magic shop while he operated the stand in the market. The animal brayed again, and for the hundredth time since they had approached, Mitzan wished the evil beast and his master would be gone, regardless of whether they made a purchase or not.

Of course, those were words that Mitzan would not dare speak out loud. The stranger was big – a huge, muscular brute. He stood at least a head taller than any man in Mitzan’s experience, save perhaps the wicked King Dargon, and of the two Mitzan would be hard-pressed to say which was larger. The stranger was dressed simply: well-knit trousers, a leather jerkin and a cape. On each wrist he wore a band of some metal unknown to the mage, both inscribed with runes which Mitzan found indecipherable. And, despite his handsome face and friendly smile, there was a quiet ferocity about the man which was unsettling.

The stranger toyed with a wristband similar to those he currently wore.

“How much?” he asked.

“Ah, friend,” said Mitzan, smiling despite his nervousness, “you have made a wise choice. That band is inscribed with powerful spells which protect the wearer from harm, provided he is a man of pure heart.”

The stranger chuckled at this. “In other words, it works for no one.”

“That is a harsh judgment to make of all men, but surely this band can do no worse than those you wear. While mine are bear the mark of powerful spells, yours appear to contain runes etched by a chicken.”

At this, the donkey once more brayed loudly, startling even those at nearby stands. At least the man’s horse, which was tied nearby, seemed more docile.

“Quiet, you,” the stranger muttered at the donkey, and it suddenly stood silent.

“Your animal seems to obey you very well,” Mitzan remarked.

“He obeys me not at all. He is an ill-tempered brute, sloven and slothful in every way. I keep him only because food is often scarce on long journeys, and on such a trip he may serve better as a meal than a pack animal.”

The animal raised a foot and attempted to stomp down on the stranger’s foot. Without moving his gaze away from the wristband, the stranger deftly shuffled his feet and avoided the blow.

“How much?” the stranger asked.

“Such protection as offered by this band is not easily come by.” Mitzan paused in contemplation. “It is worth a small fortune to say the least. However, times are hard, and I must make a sale where I can. I will let you have it, friend, for ten pieces of silver.”

“Three”

“Five”

“Done.”

The stranger handed over the five pieces of silver and turned to leave, and Mitzan became somewhat more relaxed. His elation was short-lived, however, for the stranger stopped and stared at a small necklace with a tiny horn dangling as an ornament.

“How much for this trinket?” the man asked. 

Having already made a good sale to the man, Mitzan was less inclined to put forth effort to get a high price. 

“It is, as you said, merely a trinket,” he replied. “A few coppers and it’s yours.”

The donkey brayed again, but this time its master ignored it. Instead, the man tossed a few coins to the mage, and placed his purchases in a pouch which his donkey carried. 

“Tell me,” the stranger asked as loosened the reins of this horse, “is the Temple of Nadog far from here?”

“Not far at all,” replied Mitzan, and he proceeded to give the stranger directions. “Are you a follower of Nadog, going there to make an offering for the festival?”

“No, I serve only one god: Alazar.”

Mitzan was taken aback, puzzled. “Alazar? I’ve never heard of him.”

“He is only a minor god, of one of the lower pantheons.”

The donkey brayed again, louder this time.

“Still,” said Mitzan, perplexed, “I should know of him. Though I have little magical ability left after all these years, I have memorized the names of all the gods since the first aeon, and the name Alazar is unknown to me.”

“It is just as well. He is a being of limited power, means, and ability. Before the dawn of time, however, he was foremost among all gods. None could stand before him, for his power was beyond all imagining. But he was betrayed, and his power stripped from him through the combined might of his fellow gods and his name erased from history. Today, I am his entire congregation, but I seldom pray to him, and he answers even less.”

“Then what good is he?”

The stranger swung up into his saddle. “What good is any god?”

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Katan rode slowly, enjoying the spectacles of the marketplace. This was always one of his favorite parts of a long journey: the sights and sounds of a foreign place. He was aware that he was an object of curiosity, even here in a city as large as Tamir. His great size and his giant steed made him stand out. His preference was to be as inconspicuous as possible, but rarely was he able to accomplish this. Nevertheless, he was thoroughly enjoying himself and would have been perfectly at ease were it not for Alazar’s admonitions ringing in his ears.

“Mooncalf! Halfwit!” the donkey screamed as it trotted behind his horse. “Five pieces of silver for a bit of trash.  That merchant could not have fleeced you better were you to help him do it. And what would you have done had someone come along and bought my horn while you haggled over a worthless bracelet?”

Katan ignored the remark, merely thankful that no one but he could hear the creature speak. To everyone else, it was merely the braying of a donkey. The animal’s noise brought Katan even more stares than usual, and he was grateful when they left the market and continued on the road to Nadog’s Temple. The donkey continued to berate him, however, long after they had left the market behind.

“Was the task too complex for you?” the donkey asked. “You merely needed to go to the stand and buy the horn. What could be simpler?”

“It was not so simple,” Katan said at last, unable to bear any more criticism. “Mitzan is a deft haggler. Had he known what we were truly after – and seen how much we wanted it – it would have cost us far more than I paid for the wristband.”

“So your solution is to allow yourself to be robbed blind.”

Tiring of the conversation, Katan raised his hand to strike the donkey on the nose, but thought better of it. The donkey was merely an animal, although one with special properties, but an animal nonetheless. It merely served as the mouthpiece for the god Alazar, not his true physical embodiment. It was not fair to punish it for what Alazar said, although Katan sometimes found himself doing it anyway.

“I think,” Katan said, “that we had best focus of the immediate future rather than the recent past.  Tell me again.”

“It should be easy for one with power such as I have given you. You will scale the outside wall of the Temple and gain entry through one of the upper balconies. Once inside, you will find my orb and bring it to me.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“It is.”

“Then I have a thought. Why don’t we switch roles? I’ll stay at our campsite, stuff myself like a pig and sleep all night with a full belly while you risk life and limb trying to steal the most powerful relic from the largest temple of the mightiest god.”

“I am the mightiest god!” Alazar replied, with such force that Katan was taken aback. “I was foremost among all living things, and I will be again. Once I again possess the ancient relics, I will arise again and visit a swift and final judgment upon those who sought to destroy me.”

At this point, Katan was yawning. This was a speech he had heard a thousand times before during his years of servitude to Alazar. The road on which they traveled was now going through a forest. He looked further down the road and, in the distance, saw the Temple of Nadog. It was a magnificent structure, a fitting home for the King of the Gods, a being with the power to grant the wishes of those who served him well. As he had often in the past, Katan found himself wondering how fate had seen fit to have him serve a god such as Alazar rather than Nadog.

Slowly, almost without notice, an eerie feeling began to rise in Katan. He rested his hand on the handle of his blade.

“Alazar?”

“Yes. We’re being watched.” 

“By whom?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are they friend or foe?”

“I think you’re about to find out. Good luck!” 

The mule suddenly swerved into the brush of the forest as six armored soldiers suddenly appeared and rushed at Katan with swords drawn.