Snippet #1 - The Duke of Brun and the Golden Bands.   (unedited)

Count Stavix stood and quietly watched his double shadow stretch over the broken ground around him.  It was night, but well lit by the two moons Hagri and Tulugri.  Despite the late hour, the two moons lit surrounding area well and coupled with the many guards he’d brought with him to these cold ruins; he was not concerned about anything actually hiding in the shadows themselves.   It would be a desperate fool who tried to attack him here.  

Still, he had been summoned here at this hour for a reason.  The message delivered to him by a source he respected, but the request was so unusual that he would normally have ignored it.  Meeting out the middle of nowhere was folly for any great lord such as himself, especially in these dire times.  The Duke was supposedly dead, and Terek Naval ships were off of their coast.  

No, it had to be an ambush by a rival.  Maybe even that lout General Paven had finally worked up the nerve to challenge him directly.   The message hadn’t said anything about not bringing troops, so he’d brought plenty of them.  Several companies of his best men surrounded him along with outriders for several miles so he would be aware of any threats.  If anyone could muster a force large enough to attack him here, he also had several escape routes planned.  

No, he was not worried, and the pale sheet-white face of Lord Manten who had delivered the message had intrigued him.  Lord Manten’s interests were deeply entwined with his own, but the man was almost foolishly brave.   He’d been known to dive into a dune grabber’s lair just in a dare which was stupid beyond belief, but no one could question the man’s bravery.

Still, his minion had ridden for a full day to deliver the message and was still shaking when he’d arrived.  Yes, Count Stavix thought to himself, very intriguing. Despite himself, the intriguing element was waning as the cold and boredom elements began to mount.  He turned, lifting his hand for one of his men to approach. 

“Bring the dancers around,” Count Stavix said, sneering out at the darkness.   For whatever reason, the promised person had not appeared.  Most likely they were apprehended out in the desert sands by one of his patrols.  There were enough of his men combing the dunes around the small ruin that it was far more likely they would capture someone trying to get to him so most likely would have the pleasure of interrogating whomever it was in the morning.

Instead of nodding and retreating, however, the guard continued to stand by his side.  When Count Stavix turned, he realized he wasn’t looking at one of his men but at a robe wrapped figure with a steel band where his eyes should be.  There was a dark slit horizontally cut into the metal, but it was dark, and he couldn’t see the man’s eyes.  

Stepping back, he looked and saw that all of the other men that had been standing with him, a good dozen of his chosen guard, were gone.  All of them replaced with replicas of this dark, faceless figure standing next to him.  Stavix froze, his mind reeling.   Were they assassins?  Could he scream out in time for this guard to hear?  He could see some of his men moving around further back and around the ruins, but none were close.   Had these strange figures been with him as he walked in and he just hadn’t noticed or somehow replaced them as he stood contemplating the foreign, dark landscape?

Did it matter?  No.  No, it didn’t.  If these men were here to kill him, he was already dead.   There were twelve of them and even the clumsiest hand holding a knife would find him many times before his men could save him and these men hardly looked like clumsy amateurs.  There were only two choices, and he decided to go with the one that let him live. 

“So, you are the ones I am supposed to meet, then?” Count Stavix said calmly.  He knew his eyes had widened when he’d turned, but it was impossible to erase that fact, so he gathered the robes of both confidence and power he was used to and wrapped them around himself tightly.  “I am here, so speak.  I do not have all evening to dawdle on fool’s errands.”

The figure closest to him shifted slightly.  He could not see any features on the face, but he imagined the same amused smile that would have graced his own face if he were in the other’s position.   The voice, however, was anything but amused.  Cold would be a better word to describe it.  Cold and rasping. 

“Fœri,” the figure said.