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Aubreyan

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Overview

[The Dark Staff Series -- Book 1]Having the attention of the gods is not always a blessing...The long, magical wars ended when the elves left the lands of men, conjuring an impenetrable barrier to keep the humans out of their new realm. They left man only with the sorcery he could create, taking all the creatures of magic to Ishan with them... except for one...

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Author Information

Bio of Lazette Gifford

On the day Lazette was born The Muses wept, mostly because they knew that one of them would have no rest for a long time. The Graces, always anxious to be certain their poor cousins had enough to do, dropped off the notice themselves. When The Muses saw the snippets of the future, they quailed at the work ahead. The Graces smirked, and quickly left before they were coerced into a new little project like that one that had somehow mutated into the Renaissance. The most difficult decision remaining to The Muses turned out to be which of them would take up the challenge of the little insomniac with far too much imagination. When they turned to Aoede, she pointed out that a new age of music had barely begun, and she already had her hands full preparing Elvis and Ringo. Erato, Euterpe, and Terpsichore -- who had all been rather disdainful of Rock and Roll until now -- suddenly found a true and abiding interest in it, and threw themselves into the work with Aoede before someone suggested that one of them take the problem child. They thought Calliope, being the oldest might stand a chance, but she (rather too quickly, the others thought) pointed out that the age of Epic Poetry was in abeyance, and it would hardly be fair to start a baby along that path. They almost argued... but Calliope always had the last word. Epic poets were like that. Clio waved them away and went back to the proliferation of post-war historians, and the others decided maybe she had more than enough already. Melete and Mneme took their cues from Earato, Euepre and Terpischore and decided that history needed all the help it could get. And that left Melpomene, who began to wail as soon as they turned to her -- but then she, being the muse of Tragedy, tended to do that quite often anyway. When the others pressed her anyway, she began to panic until she spotted her sister, Polymnia, busy with quill and paper, and so immersed in her work that she never even noticed the ruckus around her. Melphomene rushed to her side and put a hand on Polymnia ' s shoulder. "What now " Polymnia demanded, looking at Mel with utter exasperation. "I ' m in the middle of a scene! Why is it I can ' t get two pages written without some interruption For the love of the Gods, don ' t you eight have anything better to do than bother me " "We have a problem," Calliope said, barely able to hide a malicious grin. She ' d been waiting for the moment to get even ever since prose replaced poetry as the favored form, and now she knew she had her chance. "We ' ve been handed a child who needs a muse. We ' re all so busy, Poly. Maybe you... " "Yes, yes, fine. Just put the name in with the others." And she went back to writing, and sealed the baby ' s fate, as well as those of several poor, unsuspecting keyboards.

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Additional Info

Imprint

Double Dragon Publishing

Filesize

629.48 KB

Number of Pages

N/A

eBook ISBN

9781894841603

Excerpt from: Aubreyan by Lazette Gifford

Altazar heard the whisper, a voice on the wind that invaded his youthful dreams of plunder. A woman's voice, but he still listened. This one didn't live among the northern tribes, where women whelped children and tended fires, never daring to voice their concerns about the ways of the world. No, this woman knew the ruling of people -- but not him. Altazar listened, but he made it plain that he held the power, not this women-thing that whispered to him.

The voice on the wind brought him luck and guided his plans. At sixteen, he already led a war band stolen from his unlamented late father. He dared not tell the warriors about the voice, of course. He kept her secret, his weapon. He used it well.

She guided him southward, watching battles through his eyes, helping him direct the forces. He reached the ripe age of thirty years, when most of the warriors of his generation were long since dead. And he ruled the northern lands, from the Snow Sea to the impassable Ice Mountains.

Then she led him through the barrier and down into the pretty lands of Eltabar.

The conquest proved too easy to satisfy Altazar's lust for glory. Mages who built glass castles and grew impossible flowers fled before hard iron and angry, insatiable men. Rarely, an army of fighters banded together, but they were not trained, and they were not ruthless -- well, not at first.

Villages that had been prosperous in the afternoon lay burnt and lifeless by moonrise. Altazar passed like a plague of desolation, and people wailed in their holy sanctuaries, asking even the gods to stop him.

He especially enjoyed destroying those temples.

She continued to whisper to him, louder now, as though they were closer.For reasons he couldn't even admit to himself, he shivered in the hot dry sun, so far from the snow.

And he kept heading southward...


* * *

On a moonless night, when the powers of magic ebbed to their weakest, Altazar listened to her call and slipped away from his encamped army and into the hills nearby. He stood looking down at his army and wondering if they would miss him if he never came back.

Come to me!

He didn't like to be ordered. He thought he might still turn back, even now. What more could she give him, after all What use was this woman, now that he ruled the world

I am power you cannot even imagine.