Blog Note

So, hi!  Welcome to the Moonsword Trilogy Online blog thing.  Especially all you new folks.

We're moving to weeklyish chapter releases here.  Some weeks you might get two chapters, some times it might be ten days between chapters.  Weeklyish.

Now, whereas Moonsword and Empress had seen professional editing, The Silver Light has not.  I'm just cleaning up my rough draft a chapter at a time.  Please note that this work will be professionally edited prior to it's release on Amazon Kindle.  This effort is about fulfilling promises made long ago to my fans and myself.

So, you have to go back to the beginning of the blog to get to the beginning of the first book in the trilogy, Moonsword.  That and the second book, Empress of Clouds are posted in their entirety.  Moonsword has been cleaned up a great deal from the dreadfully edited AmErica House edition, but the best version is the one in the Amazon Kindle edition.

Thanks for reading!

The Silver Light - Part I The Solar Pilgrimage Festival - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

When things went wrong for Trentorius there was usually one of three causes.  Often some minor error in his calculations would slip past his careful scrutiny and upset his experiment.  The smallest mistakes had a way of ballooning into impossible barriers to success.  A glyph etched incorrectly on a talisman or some barbarous words of invocation mispronounced could upset the entire operation.  Precision was the key to magick; he knew this better than anyone.    However, on this occasion, he had used the most elaborate astrological models ever produced.  The King of Lorm had hired ten of the finest astrologers in the kingdom at Trentorius’ behest to assist in the calculations required, and he had, himself, with the utmost scrutiny inspected every line of their work.  For that matter, the spirit Ujoil had assured him that all of the preparations had been completed perfectly.

The second problem that bedeviled him was an often imperfect understanding of his will.  It was absolutely essential that the magician correctly understood his will.  If success was not part of the universal will, no amount of power, precision, or experience would prevail.  In the past such misunderstandings had brought him failures aplenty.  But this time he had undertaken this operation upon the king’s request, to reverse a magical transformation done unjustly, as Trentorius was told, upon the crown prince of Lorm by a group of druids.  And while the old wizard was being paid a considerable sum for his efforts, the very nobility of his task could not be considered a violation of universal law.  He had arrived at his present course of action through countless hours of meditations, divination and conversations with elementals, spirits and lesser demons.  All assured him the reversal of the prince’s transformation was possible and within accordance with his will.

The third, and most recently troublesome, impediment to his success, was an improper magickal link.  The magickal link was the most oft overlooked aspect of magick.  The subject of the experiment was missing, making it impossible to work the spell.  This fact was both frustrating and a relief.  Without the princess, the spells could not be tested, but nor could they fail.  Trentorius was afforded more time since the princess’ disappearance, or abduction.  The King had wanted to present his heir with the present of reversing the druidic spell of transformation, as a Yule gift.  When the faerie warlord Dowbreth kidnapped Tolian in the middle of the Yule Jarrels and disappeared without a trace two weeks ago, Trentorius was almost relieved.  Now, of course, King Tolris not only expected the old sage to transform his son back into his male form, but to find the missing royal issue.  After two weeks none who set off in pursuit of the abducted princess returned.

Simple divinations were not enough.  The stars offered little counsel.  His scrying bowl revealed only the vaguest of impressions.  Nothing concrete.  Nothing useful.  It was almost as if Tolian had vanished off the face of the world.  There was nothing for it.  Trentorius had to consult with Ujoil, his trusted, if taciturn spirit.

It was black in Trentorius’s chamber save for the light of the candles.  One stood in the midst of his altar and the four set in the cardinal points around his magick circle and three marked the points of his triangle of evocation placed a little distance away.  Heavy black curtains covered the windows which kept at bay deep chill from the heavy snow falling outside.  Plumes of heavy incense rose from both the altar and the triangle.

Trentorius began his incantations.  The barbarous words of evocation vibrated through his mouth which he had to contort with some effort to make the proper pronunciations.

“Hecas!  Hecas!  Belboilas! VRAS TELOMD SADWRYN CALDRAS!”

  With each syllable emitted the darkness of the room grew deeper.  The old man increased the volume of his chant with each repetition.  Waves of blackness resonated around him.  The light of the candles fell dimmer and dimmer.  He began his circumambulations of the circle with a steady pace with his arms outstretched and before him, palms open and out.  Just as he brought the volume of his incantation to almost a scream, he immediately gradually lowered his cries in sync with a slowing of his pace around the circle.  His thoughts were wrapped around his words.

“VRAS TELOMD SADWRYN CALDRAS”

Slower and slower became his pace.  Softer and softer were his words.

Visions of graveyeards, and alien fields, and ringed skies.  The blackness of the night’s sky, stars turned cold and dim.

A cold draft blew in from the window past the curtains.  Trentorius gait dropped to a step of careful deliberation.  His words slipped into whispers.  He fell silent and returned to his position at the altar.  He allowed the silence and the darkness to descend heavily upon him.  He lifted the talisman of Sadwryn, Sphere of Silence.  An infinite blackness filled the old sorcerer’s mind.

With a gentle whisper he called, “Ujoil, Spirit of Sadwryn, Come Hence, I command thee!”

Clouds of black light settled slowly from the darkness of the room and condensed in the triangle to the north of the circle.  Now a deep sorrow moved through Trentorius’ thoughts, the vague feeling of dread that inevitably presaged the arrival of the spirit of the dark world of endings.  A figure took shape within the triangle at a painfully languid pace.  The figure appeared first as a small skeleton comprised of shadows and dark clouds of incense that faded in and out of Trentorious’s sight.

The conjurer slowly raised his sword form off the altar and lifted it vertically above his head.  In his other hand he still held the talisman.  With a patience mixed with power and caution he approached the northern curve of the circle, sword still perched high, as if to strike at any time.

He called to the spirit in the triangle, “Ujoil, Spirit of Sadwryn speak thou unto me in truth, being neither recalcitrant nor rebellious, but honest and forthright.  Be thous obedient and wise in my service.”

He raised the talisman over his head as well, “For I hold the sigil of your power and you must obey me.”

The dark apparition eyed him, some alien emotion moved behind his unblinking stare.  His body drifted in and out of perception amidst the clouds of incense billowing form the full brazer inside the triangle.  He considered the sorcerer coldly.  The spirit produced a sickle from the thick smoke abundant about him.  He traced the pattern of his sigil in the air before him with the blade of his reaper.

The room was seized by a silence so overwhelming in its intensity that the magician’s heart quailed before its black and terrible eternity.  Strange images impinged themselves on Trentorius’ consciousness.  Scenes of death.  Plagues.  Famines.  Withered fields of corn.  Skeletal figures crawling as far as the eye could see.  Empires crumbled.  The sun dull and dying.  Whether these were things in his mind or the forms the spirit was taking inside the triangle, he could not be sure. A  stillness reigned.  The jumble of images was replaced by one coherent figure.   A lizard crucified to a large black book hovered inside the triangle, yet seemed to be a lone creature in the vastness of space.  A terrible silence raged.

The lizard spoke, its words echoing thorough the wizard’s mind in a whispered hiss,  “The powers of Sadwryn have attended you.  Speak your will.”

It took Trentorious a few moments to regain his composure after the spirit’s display of power.  The old man drew a deep breath and concentrated on framing his question correctly.  Planetary spirits tended to be very literal creatures with agendas quite their own; and though Ujoil did not appear capricious or mischievious, he would nonetheless be happy to mislead the sorcerer if the opportunity arose.  In this case the question was a direct one, so Trentorius felt secure in asking it.

“I need information,” he answered the lizard.  “Princess Tolian has been missing for over two weeks.  I can not transform that which I cannot find.  Where can we find her?  Answer me truly!  Obey!”

The lizard-like Ujoil cocked his head on an angle and looked at him, “She moves between the Spheres.  She is coming here.  To Lorm.  Soon, she will arrive.”

The information surprised Trentorius but he did not show it.  He held his focus.  “When will she arrive/” he demanded.

The lizard began to writhe as the book it was nailed to began to swirl around.

“When?” again the wizard asked with authority.

The book suddenly stopped and Ujoil spoke once again, “Time is a relative thing in the spheres.  It is possible that the princess is yet on the Moon, but her arrival here is certain.  Her movement can be felt.  Powerful is her energy.  It travels before her as a harbinger.  She is coming.  By tomorrow you will meet her in the throne room ... at noon.”

The spirits words made little sense.

“Are you saying that she is not on this world, but on the Moon/” The Moon?”

Slowly Ujoil nodded, “She is on the Moon, but she is coming.  I feel her power directed upon Lorm even as we speak.”

Trentorius was puzzled over the praeternatural being’s words, but the fact that the princess would arrive by the next day was the important part.

With more nervousness than, perhaps, was wise to reveal to the spirit, he asked, “I will be able to transform her back into a man, right?”

Ujoil smiled with his lizard mouth, revealing sharp fangs, before speaking, “Your formula is correct, your power potent.  You have the ability to reverse the prince’s transformation.  Still, there are many factors at work here.  A contest between good and evil.  The Gods of the Spheres against the forces of chaos.  All endings are still possible.  All worlds are on the brink of destruction.  More than this–I can not say.”

Trentorisu sighed.  “Very well, I thank you for attending me and give you license to depart.  Return now to the sphere of your habitation.  Go in peace.  I release you.”

The apparition nodded and slowly faded into the darkness of the room.

Copyright 2015 Diana Hignutt

Empress of Clouds - Last Few Chapters!

                                                                     Chapter 42

           

           

           

           

            Tolian ran now, yet all the while making sure to maintain Kreel’s stable transport via her newfound telekinesis.  The garden was huge, with acres upon acres of corrupted vegetation reaching out for her, trying desperately to capture her in its slimy tendrils and vines.  She moved between terror and rationality.  Of course, she was afraid of Dowbreth, and she did not wish to test her power against him if she did not have to.  Escape still seemed like the best plan.  She stopped for just an instant to listen for him.  Nothing.  She stayed frozen.  No sounds.  He could be anywhere.  She peered around the moonlit garden.  Only the rustle of plants swaying in the breeze, searching for her.  It felt like everything in the garden was trying to find her.  As if everything were an extension of the Demon.  Everything moved with his will.  Wait—there was the sound of a footfall twenty or thirty yards to her right.  She mentally set Kreel down on the ground for a moment and made secure her grip on her sword.  She leaned forward to looked past the hedge hiding her view.  She waited, holding her breath.

            Then she felt his hand take hold of her from behind and in one motion dislodge her grip on her sword and send her crashing across the pavement stones in the opposite direction.  She caught just a glimpse of his fiery red eyes in the moonlight.  Damn, she thought, feeling her wrist break on impact as she tried to slow her tumble.  She hadn’t even heard him sneak up on her. 

            She turned to face Dowbreth who loomed over her with great menace.  She held his gaze.

            “I am not afraid of you,” she declared defiantly.

            She stretched out her hand, palm outward in his direction, and shot a bolt of energy right at him.  He fell roughly backwards into a stone wall.  Tolian could clearly hear the sound of the impact.

            Nevertheless, Dowbreth quickly gained his feet.

            “You forget,” hissed the faerie warlord, “that I have magick of my own.”  He reached down, pulled the Demon’s head out of the sack on his belt, and held it up high.  It cackled insanely as he did so.

            “You think you truly control the substance of Faerie?” the Demon’s head squealed in maniacal fury.  “I am the Power of Faerie.  It is mine.”

            And a shadow passed over the Moon and its light was instantly diminished.  Tolian felt the mystical energies of the silver sphere that had charged her being ebb all at once.  And she knew that her powers were gone.  It was just her against her enemies.  She looked over hastily at Kreel’s sword lying a dozen feet away, barely visible in the darkness.

            “Oh, you wish to battle Dowbreth and destroy me,” croaked the foul, rotting head.  “You are a puny woman, how could you hope to overthrow my power?  Take the sword, if it will make you feel better.  Dowbreth, set me down over there and battle her.  Take your time, cut off her breasts one by one as you do so.”

            “As you command, my Lord,” replied Dowbreth.

            There was no fear in her now, only rage.  Rage against the evil that she had allowed to go on for too long.  She would end it now, somehow.  Without the Moon’s light, it was difficult to see far in the deepening shadows.  She walked the few steps to fetch Kreel’s weapon from the pavement.  As she reached down to pick it up, she was distracted.  A cloaked figure stepped forward from the darkness; she held something in her hands.

     “Try this sword, my Lady,” said the voice, in a soft whisper.                                                       

            Tolian’s heart leapt.  It was Brythia.  Tolian just captured a glimpse of her smile under the hood of the cloak.  The flash of recognition left her stunned.  How was it possible?

            “Later,” Brythia said in a hushed tone, reading her mind.

            The druidess grabbed her wife’s arm and whispered, “If the Dark Moon Metal is the lock, then the Moonsword is the key.”

            The nature-priestess touched the lunar blade to the bracelet and it popped open and fell from Tolian’s wrist.  Tolian’s head was spinning.  She took the Moonsword from Brythia’s hand, kissed her quickly on the cheek, and turned to face Dowbreth.  The faerie was straining to peer into the darkness.  He was aware something strange and unexpected had happened, but he obviously had no idea what exactly it was.

            As soon the bracelet ceased contact with her skin, Tolian felt all of her power return—not just the telekinesis, but the strength, too.  She felt as though she was filled with the purple flame of the Moon.  Energy surged from deep within her and she felt as if her soul was on fire. 

            “Dowbreth,” she said, “are you ready to die?”

            He snickered.  “Woman, will you never learn your place?”

            “You know what?  I really want to see you die more clearly than this.”  She waved her left arm in the air (her wrist was no longer broken) and the Moon shone forth brightly again.  The silver light cascaded upon her.  She felt herself glowing with a white brilliance.  Pure energy flooded every fiber of her being, moving through her with healing and strength.  She leveled her gaze at the giant.

            He was afraid.  It was that simple.  The snicker faded into a fearful frown.  His icy pale skin paled even further.  Already she felt revenged.  In that moment, she taught the giant fear, though he would have little time to indulge that new sensation.  He was shaking.

            “You have earned the wrath of the Moon Goddess,” she said with much drama.  “You will die now.”

            Her movements were too swift for any eye, faerie, mortal, or demonic to perceive.  She operated outside, even her own awareness, yet some part of her knew exactly what she was doing.  As always, there was a flash of whiteness, of the silver light, and it was done.  Dowbreth’s corpse lay dead and bloodied at her feet.

            Brythia walked slowly up to her and threw herself into Tolian’s arms.  She buried her head in her bosom.  Tolian wrapped her arms around her.  It was almost impossible to believe.  She felt complete once again.  She wanted to hold her beloved in that embrace for all time.  Unfortunately, there was still other business at hand.  Letting go of Brythia was the last thing she wanted to do at that moment.  Tolian did not even know if she would be able to disengage.  She smothered the druidess in kisses, and gently broke away from her.

            “I’ll be right back,” she explained, then turned her attention to the Demon’s head.  She made her way around the giant’s sizable cadaver and stared down at the sinister remains of Hertrid’s head.  The Demon’s head.  It was chuckling softy.  Tolian kicked it over on its side.

            “What do you laugh about, fiend?  It is over, you have lost,” the goddess pointed out to the Demon.

            “Oh no, my adversary, it is far from over.  Yes, of course, you will destroy this vessel.  It is of no consequence; it has served its purpose.  In a few moments, this garden will be flooded with all the evil I have wrought here.  I have called it all here to destroy you.  Then, my plans for your world will be unchallenged.  You do not yet know how to control your powers enough to survive this.  Farewell, Moon Go...”

With a few sword strokes, Tolian rendered the thing an unrecognizable mass of blood.

            Then she had Brythia in her arms, and their lips pressed together.  Their hearts abounded in the joy of love.  They clutched each other tighter and tighter, tears of happiness streaming down their checks.  They were finally together, against all hope, against all adversity.  Holding Brythia erased all the hurt, all the loneliness.  They didn’t need to say anything; words did not matter.  They understood each other perfectly.  Their deepest wishes had come true.  Finally together.  Both of them would have given anything to share this moment.  But it was only a moment.

            “I love you,” Tolian finally declared[KR]If she declared it, it was out loud.       .

            “I love you, too.”

            Presently, they heard the sounds.  Shouts and screams and cries of foul things.  Growing louder.  Getting nearer.  The Demon had unleashed [KR]If he has unleashed it, it’s one its way.      the twisted hell he had fashioned to annihilate them.  And it would be there any moment.  She would probably be able to fight them off for quite a while, but even she could not hope to survive against all of Faerie gone mad.

It was ironic, Tolian thought, her Moonsword humming with glee in her hand.  Here was Brythia finally in her arms, her powers were restored, she once again possessed her trusty Moonsword, and they were going to be killed any minute.

            “Not much time together,” mused Brythia, again reading her mind.

            “Well, at least we’ll die together,” observed Tolian.

            “Sounds like they’ll be here any minute,” Brythia noted.

            “Wait,” said Tolian, “what’s that?”

            “I don’t know,” laughed Brythia, in spite of their situation.  “I can’t see anything.”

            “Oh yes,” recalled Tolian, “I remember that; I had that problem here at first, too.  Well, it’s like the air around us is boiling.  It’s not hot or anything, but that’s what it looks like.”

            That’s exactly what it looked like to Tolian.  Like the air was churning in a raging boil.  Then, suddenly, it became still again, but now an army of Pine Devils appeared, and, unless she was mistaken, Findelbres, wearing his wings, was leading them.

            Tolian kissed Brythia once again.

           

           

                                                                     Chapter 43

           

           

           

           

            They had all settled in well to life on the Moon, Brythia thought.  The tower, their tower, had become so much more vivid and lively a place since she had visited it in her dream.  It wasn’t an insubstantial, vague backdrop any more.  It was real and solid.  It felt like home now, though they couldn’t have been there more than two weeks.  The girls from Tolian’s staff in Faerie were all fitting in nicely, and seemed to have quite the hang of the place.  Tolian had refused to leave the ruined realm without them, and Findelbres and the Pine Devils had to rescue them as well.  Brythia did not allow herself to dwell on the chaotic madness that had all but consumed that enchanted land.  Still, the faeries in their company held out hope that one day it could be restored to its former state.  Brythia sighed.

            She looked out their window.  The winged cat, Pilt, who darted past, playfully chasing a Will-o-the-Wisp, startled her.  In the courtyard below rainbow-colored flowers surrounded gorgeous marble fountains.   A small contingent of Pine Devils meandered there, and over by the pond, Kreel and Findelbres were walking.  Brythia smiled to herself as she noticed that they were holding hands.  She looked up in the sky.  The Sun was low, but high above, the Earth glowed blue.  She turned back to Tolian, who lay naked in their bed.

            “I really like it here,” the Moon Goddess’ wife said.

            “Me, too,” agreed the goddess, “but I’m going to have to go back there sooner or later.”

            “Well, not today,” laughed Brythia and she jumped back in bed and wrapped her arms around Tolian

            .

    

    

                                                                     Chapter 44

           

           

           

           

            The Solar Pilgrims gave Kiliordes Krin-Gul’s old tent.  He had protested, but it was to no avail.  Krin-Gul had wanted Kiliordes to take over the mantle of chief Solar Pilgrim, and that was exactly what the rest of the pilgrims demanded.  They would accept none of Kiliordes’ protestations of unworthiness.  They had placed all his things in the tent and that was that.  He had only gotten there a few hours ago.  His journey went smoothly from Lorm, through the foothills of the Haunted Mountains in the kingdom of Surtiz.  Though it was only the journey of a few weeks on horseback, it seemed warmer in southern Surtiz.  Hints of spring in the breeze whispered soft promises to the winter-weary traveler.  Joy seemed to increase with every minute he spent among the jolly pilgrims.  He had missed this life, though he had never truly been able to enjoy it when was he was here before.  Well, not here, of course, the pilgrimage always traveled, moving their brightly colored tents and carrying their constantly roaming party from the estate of one benefactor to another.  Always they spread the joy of the Sun.  He felt it immediately.  They sang almost constantly hymns and carols to the Daystar.  It was infectious.

            He found himself humming a catchy little carol under his breath as he put his things away.  Wait, this stuff belonged to Pagyrus.  They’ve got our stuff all mixed together, he thought.

            “Huh,” he said out loud.  “I wonder what’s in this bag.”  He carefully opened the sack, and rolled the contents on to the table.

            It was a head.  It was Perelisk’s head.  The eyes opened, and their black orbs fixed upon him.

            “Hello, Kiliordes, remember me?” it hissed.

           

           

            Concluded in THE SILVER LIGHT

Copyright 2004, 2015 Diana Hignutt

Empress of Clouds - Chapter 41

                                                                     Chapter 41

           

           

             

           

            The spirit of the flying smoke was clearly not happy with Brythia’s defiance.  Though none of her senses provided her with input in the normal manner, she became aware that the spirit was wrapping around her, engulfing her essence.  It was attempting to consume her.  She felt her consciousness receding as the life force was drained from her.  Psychic suffocation.

            “No,” she shouted mentally.  “Tolian needs me.  I can’t die now.  I can’t.”

            A splash of purple light shot out of the Moonsword and flashed throughout Brythia’s perceptions.  As if in response, six rays of light, each coming from a different direction and each a different color, converged upon her and the spirit.  The rays were charged with tremendous power and each seemed to possess a unique energy.  Red.  Orange.  Yellow.  Green.  Blue.  And indigo.  Combined with the purple light the Moonsword was generating, the colors formed a complete spectrum.  Raw energy flooded the realm of the flying smoke, and the rainbow of power poured like a waterfall upon the druidess and the spirit.

            The spirit of the flying smoke screamed in pain as the lights pierced his being.

            The rainbow beam spoke, each light with its own voice, but in unison.  Divine voices, thought Brythia.  Only the violet-purple ray was silent.

            “She is not for you.  You cannot have her.  She is on an errand of the gods.  None may interfere.  Let her pass, for if she fails, all is lost.”

            The voices passed right through her, charging her with a sense of calmness.

            Brythia felt the spirit release her immediately.  Divine love surrounded her.  She knew what the rays were.  The energy of the gods of the spheres.  The Moonsword had sent a distress signal and the gods themselves had answered.

            Now the voices addressed her.  “Go, child of the Earth.  Go, and seek your lady.  Only you can help her; we cannot directly interfere in the workings of your realm or in Faerie.  The future of the created universe rests now with you, and then with her.  Travel forth, with the blessing of the gods and of the highest.”

            Then the lights and the Spirit of the Flying Smoke were gone and Brythia once again became aware of movement.  She felt hard stone beneath her feet.  A cool evening breeze caressed her cheek (though it was much warmer than the winter’s bite she had just left).  Strange, indescribable scents accosted her.  The rustle of vegetation in the light wind caught her ears.  Though her senses were encountering unknown stimuli, they were all working, save one.  Her eyes were open, but the images she saw made no sense.  There was darkness and shadow, but also strange colors that had no correspondence in the mortal world.  A jumble of images, shadowy but bright.  Out of focus.  She rubbed her eyes, but to no avail.  She could make no clear sense of the world around her.  She must be in Faerie then, though she had not expected to be without her vision there.  Wonderful, she thought.

            She gripped the Moonsword in both hands before her.  She closed her eyes to shut out the distracting and useless visual input, and stepped forward moving the lunar blade before her.

            “Take me to Tolian,” she whispered.  “Guide me truly and carefully, my friend, for I can’t see here.”

            In response, the Moonsword pulled her gently forward.  She followed with slow cautious steps.  She had been trained to travel without her sight, as the druidic discipline had required a series of exercises that tested neophytes’ abilities without each of their senses.  Of course, the sensory input she was experiencing now from her other faculties was nearly overwhelming. 

            She had only traveled a short distance when she heard a voice with savage inflection cry out in the darkness, “You cannot hide from me.  I shall find you.”

            She had only heard the voice once before, but she knew who it belonged to.  Dowbreth.  And she knew at once he was looking for Tolian too.

Copyright 2004, 2015 Diana Hignutt