I'll be doing a giveaway of the Elf Mastery ebooks on Amazon for St. Patrick's Day! You should be able to see them at this link:

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B088NCBJ6T?ref_=dbs_p_mng_rwt_ser_shvlr&storeType=ebooks
​

I participated in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) this year. For those who don't know, this is a writing challenge wherein authors (and anyone else who wishes to participate) tries to write a book of at least 50,000 words in a month. I managed to finish mine in about two weeks, and it is up on Amazon!

https://www.amazon.com/Loveless-Amends-Bryant-Reil-ebook/dp/B08NY994DQ/ref=sr_1_2?dchild=1&keywords=loveless+amends&qid=1606166971&sr=8-2

So...you know. I think it turned out pretty well, but it was written in two weeks. Read it and leave a review to let me know how you feel about it!

This was my first year doing it and I'm grateful for the kind community of support that put it together!

Bryant

#givethanks #lovelessamends #nanowrimo2020

Elf Mastery is finally up on Audible!

https://www.audible.com/search?keywords=elf+mastery&ref=a_hp_t1_header_search

Bryant

The Audiobook for Elf Mastery narrated by Merphy Napier is on sale this week (Oct 13 - Oct 17) on Apple!

https://books.apple.com/us/audiobook/id1512945328

​Have a great week!

Elf Mastery, Elf Doubt, and Elf Righteous will be freely available on Amazon on October 12, 2020 for Canadian Thanksgiving, and October 28-31 for the run-up to Halloween.

Click the button below for the link!

Have a great weekend!

Bryant

PS  If you enjoy the books, please leave a review!

I have reconvened my drawing practice, and have been trying different styles. Many failed, but I found a new one that I think looks pretty good. Now bear in mind, I'm not actually an artist and I'm just learning, but I am happy with how these turned out despite some problem areas. First, let me show you the early design for Kyla:

Notice she has no feet and her hands are behind her back. That's because they're hard to draw, so in this draft I didn't do them. Also, I wasn't happy with the shading so I decided to try a single tone shading, like this:

I like this style a lot more, and actually it's fun to do. So I put together a scene from Elf Mastery Chapter One, where Kyla is riding the coach with the goblin Grizzlesnout.

There! Now this is probably small potatoes to you artists out there, but for me, I think it looks pretty sharp. It gives a cute visual, and I'd like to get several pieces together so I can make a nice pitch bible.

Well, here's another one. Still a couple rough patches:

​The Dragon’s Treasure
 
 
The thatched roof was consumed in a loud roar of dragon fire, and the wooden frame of the small home caught aflame and creaked and shuddered. Though the low walls were reinforced with stone, in a burst of heat the wood combusted and filled the small living area with smoke. Ysabeau lunged for the three coins she had hidden under her pillow but fell back as a charred support beam cracked and dropped by her head. The fire roared louder than the screams of the townsfolk outside, and the heat burned through her thick woolen kirtle.
Her life’s savings out of reach, her eyes darted for Onfroi. He had crawled into the doorway, though stopped and began crying before setting upon the hard dirt outside. Ysabeau rushed to pick him up and sped through the doorway as the roof collapsed behind her. Her heart ponded as she caught sight of the burning homes and bodies of her neighbors. The charred body of Vaquelin, the blacksmith, recognizable only by the tools in his belt, lay face-down in the road, trampled by a panicking mob that fled to the outskirts of the village.
Ysabeau looked up as a gust of air gave breath to the fire. The dragon’s great wings beat overhead. There was nowhere to hide. The houses were burning, and some had already collapsed. Gosse, the cooper, shoved a young woman aside and tried to stuff himself down the well, but the opening was too narrow and his horrified face was nearly sufficient revenge for his blocking the one spot in town that might be safe from the dragon’s wrath.
Ysabeau had many friends among the crowd, but her responsibility was to Onfroi. She slung her wailing child over her shoulder.
“We’re going to find papa,” she whispered in his ear. Her husband, Roland, was gathering loose wood from the Lord’s forest. No smoke rose from the trees, and Ysabeau thought of no reason the dragon would burn the forest. It should be a safe place to hide. Her eyes moved to the Lord’s Keep. It too looked untouched. Why would the dragon pick on the poor townsfolk, when the Marquis sat in his stone fortress? Yet the dragon now swerved that way, and she could see the glint of helmets as archers and soldiers lines the battlements.
Time to run. Ysabeau kept to the long grass along the side of the dirt path that led to the forest. It was flammable, but deep enough she could drop on her stomach and hide should the dragon turn around. She patted poor Onfroi on the back and hummed Quand je bois du vin clairet, to which the boy loved to jump in his little dance. Now, it seemed to help little to ease his crying, but it somewhat relieved her mind of worry.
She reached the trees and took a deep breath as the dragon and the keep fell out of sight through the thick trees.
“Roland!” she called as loud as she dared. “Roland! Where are you?”
She walked into the protective cover of the canopy of trees, and felt somewhat braver now that she wasn’t visible from the sky. She trotted as fast as she dared without giving Onfroi too much of a jostle, and soon heard a soft whistle. It wasn’t a signal, but rather a disjointed melody. Roland had never learned to hold a tune.
“Roland!” she called again as she spotted him scraping dry branches from the ground with his crook.
He turned his head, and his face turned to a smile, then a question. “What’s wrong?”
The question fired Onfroi into a wail.
“A dragon attacked the village,” Ysabeau said. “Vaquelin’s dead. Our home is gone.”
Roland looked up, though there was nothing to see through the thick branches above.
“Over here.” He waved her to follow as he rushed along a worn trail through the trees. Branches had been cut away to provide easy passage, and the packed earth along the narrow path prevented any grass or foliage from sprouting.
Ysabeau eased her too-tense clutch on Onfroi as she followed. Roland soon hopped over a smooth log into a shallow trench. Ysabeau stepped over and slid on the slick slope. Roland grabbed her elbow and eased her to the bottom, which was littered with bones and rotting apple cores. Ysabeau knew the place, as the men used the edges of the shallow pit to drink and laugh as they ate their meals while foraging for wood.
A great roar pierced the air, and Roland wrapped Ysabeau in her arms as she knelt in the moist filth at the bottom of the trench. As he held her, she covered Onfroi with her own body. Then the air fell silent, and Ysabeau glanced up.
“Is it over? Did the Marquis kill him?”
Roland shook his head, and then Ysabeau heard the heavy swoosh of great wings flying low over the clearing. Again she curled over Onfroi and held her breath. Her heartbeats, which usually thumped along without her notice, now thundered like war drums. She felt Roland’s arms tighten around her, and his face pressed into the crook of her neck. She prayed as the great wings beat unseen overhead.
There was a cracking sound as branched broke from the trees, and a series of thuds. This is it. They were found. Ysabeau kissed Onfroi on the head for what she supposed to be the last time.
Only, after several seconds anticipating the heat of dragon flame to consume her, there was nothing. Roland gently shook her, and she opened her eyes, and peered from the trench.
There was a sliver of blue sky above, where the branches had broken away, but no dragon. Dead wood lay strewn along the forest floor. This would make Roland’s job easier, though it no longer mattered, as they no longer had a home or a hearth in which to kindle a fire.
Roland bent over and picked something shiny off the ground.
“What is it?” Ysabeau asked.
Her husband flipped a gold coin in his fingers, his mouth open. It was an écu d’or, a gold coin. She had only seen a few in her life, but the image was burned in her memory.
“That will feed us for a week,” she said, a glint of hope in her eye. “At least we needn’t worry that we’ve lost our food in the fire.”
Ysabeau set her still-weeping son on the forest floor as she crawled on her hands and knees and felt along the earth with her hands. Roland stooped over the ground, his hand rested on his knees, as he squinted and raked at the soil with is fingers.
Her left middle finger ran over something hard and flat.
“I found one!” she grinned. “This will replace the table.”
“Three here!” Roland shouted from the base of a nearby tree. “New dishes and shoes.”
“I’ve found enough for some clothing and sheets!” Ysabeau laughed. Fear had gone its way.
They continued the search, and coin after coin found that it would be no trouble to replace the possessions they had lost in the fire. And then, the trail of coins led to a small chest, a wooden box with black iron trim, cracked open at the base of an oak tree. Coins spilled forth in a small pile.
“The dragon must have dropped it,” Roland muttered. “Dragons are mad for gold. He’s made off with the Marquis’ riches, and dropped this in his departure.”
“Should we return it?” Ysabeau’s heart beat heavily as she firmly decided they should not. They had, after all, lost everything.
“We can’t go back to the village,” Roland frowned. “If we return the treasure to the Marquis, we still have no home. Will the Marquis reward us with a new one? Who can say?”
“He won’t,” Ysabeau insisted. “Remember when Monsieur Leclerc left that hole in the field after removing the old stump, and one of the Marquis’ men rode his horse into it, and broke its leg? He was beaten, and his wife taken, and his possessions claimed by the Marquis in payment. He is a wicked man.”
“With this money we could find a new home,” Roland said. “An even better one. Larger. Room for more children, and we’ll never worry about food again! But the Marquis may have seen it fall. Men could be on the way to reclaim it.”
“Hurry, then.” Ysabeau slipped out of her apron and spread it flat on the ground, and Roland propped up the lower half to the chest, which was sufficient to hold some of its lost contents.
“We could hire a nurse,” Ysabeau said as they picked up coins by the handful and dropped them in her apron.
“Yes,” Roland nodded. “I reckon we could. I suppose we could buy some land, and a herd of cattle.”
“A few farmhands to help with the work,” she added. “And a cook.” She knew her way around carrots and potatoes but longed for delicious meals like the dinner that the Marquis provided for the townsfolk every May.
Ysabeau’s heart swam with thoughts of what they could buy with all this money. Fine food and clothes, some beautiful art pieces. Perhaps she could become a patron for her own artists. A sculptor, a painter, a topiarist.
Her apron now had a wondrous pile on it, though many coins remained in the broken chest. Ysabeau groaned as she hoisted her apron off the ground. Coins were heavy in this quantity, but she gritted her teeth and folded her apron tightly around the sides. Roland likewise struggled with the cracked chest, though with some fine contortionism worked his arms into a position to carry it.
There was a loud cry from the ground.
“Onfroi,” she said. “I can’t carry him.”
“His crying will give us away,” Roland added.
“He’s better off here,” Ysabeau mused. “The Marquis will find him, and raise him.”
Roland nodded. “Yes. Who knows how far we have to travel before we can settle down? It’s no life for a baby.”
Onfroi, his face red, crawled forward.
“Stay, little one,” she cooed. “Help will be coming for you shortly.”
She tore her eyes away as she stepped back. She did love her son. More than anything. But there was nothing for him in the life of travel and excess she and Roland were soon to enjoy. A world too large and unsuitable for such a young child.
Here, he would be safe. The Marquis would see to it. Hadn’t he, after all, taken Mademoiselle Berger’s bastard son into his care when she died?
And with her thoughts turning back to her newfound riches, she followed her husband into the dark paths of the forest.
 
***
 
Denzig swooped back over the trees. With the rest of his treasure safely buried on the large island in the middle of the river, he was free to scour the area for the chest he had dropped. Smoke still rose from the human keep and village, and the flames would keep them busy enough to leave him alone.
He circled the area where he thought he felt it drop. He hadn’t seen it fall but could pinpoint where he was when he felt his load suddenly lighten. He descended slowly, trying to find a clear path to the ground, but seeing nothing suitable charged through the top of the trees.
It was shady in here, which he enjoyed, but a bit of a tight squeeze between the trees. Forests were no place for fully-grown dragons. He tended to avoid them, as elves got pretty uppity with fire-breathing dragons poking about near their flammable homes, and he didn’t want to antagonize the Elvingaard.
His wings dragged through the branches as he sniffed the air for his lost gold. One of these days he needed to learn to shrink himself. Being large was fine for fighting and pillaging, but too often created challenges as he tried to navigate along the ground or through subterranean caverns, where the best gold was often stored.
He sneezed, singeing a bush with a burst of flame. There was a stench overpowering the smell of gold. A human stench. He peered at the ground and sniffed at the soil as he circled his landing spot. It couldn’t be too far. His head snaked through the undergrowth until he found an area covered in dead branched. There was a long stick with a curved end. Some sort of human tool. Here sat a bound pile of dead wood. The smell of gold poked through, and it seemed to follow the trail of human stink. He crept along the forest floor, snaking through the trees.
Had humans absconded with his treasure? No matter. He would track them easy enough. He sniffed the ground for more detail. Two humans, headed into a deeper part of the woods.
A third human, nearby. Denzig followed this scent first, as it was strongest, and it was accompanied with a horrible but somehow endearing wail. There was a little creature here, on all fours. Was it a human?
No. It was young, and didn’t look terribly human. They walked on two legs, didn’t they? Perhaps it was a shaved fox. But the smell was certain. Perhaps baby humans were like tadpoles to frogs: almost a different creature entirely.
What should he do with it? It wasn’t large enough for a meal, and something stirred inside Denzig’s chest. The little thing was defenseless. A baby. No one to care for it.
“Come, little one,” Denzig said as he scooped the infant in his great claws. “Other humans came by here. Let’s return you to them.”
It wasn’t a long journey, but it was a difficult one as Denzig had to wade through the thick trees on only three legs as he held the crying baby. Soon he came upon a clearing, and a mound of dirt covered in sod, and a pair of filth-stained bodies peering from behind it. Their stink nearly made Denzig vomit, yet as he approached them, the little baby began to reach out.
“Mama!” it cried.
Denzig cleared his throat. “I believe you have found something of mine, and I have found something of yours. Let us make an exchange, and I shall be on my way.”
“We haven’t found anything of yours,” said one.
“That isn’t our baby,” said the other.
Denzig looked down at the infant, who still reached out for them. “It certainly thinks you are. I can smell my gold on you. You can’t hide it. Return it and take your baby.”
“We haven’t stolen anything from you,” the first human said again. Denzig could see now this was likely the mother, as she stood from behind the lump of sod. She bore the telltale protruding chest of a bipedal female mammal. She was trembling, but in an absent-minded show of courage, backed toward a patch of freshly-turned soil.
“You have my gold buried behind you. I can see its resting place, and I can smell it. You cannot lie to me, human. Now take your infant.”
“That is no baby of ours,” said the man, whose voice shook as he too stood. “And even if we did find some gold in the forest, it was the gold of the Marquis, not yours, who stole it from him.”
“And he stole it from you,” Denzig said. “He taxes the labor from your own backs. I steal what he has stolen.”
The woman wagged her finger. “Which you just said he stole from us! This is our gold. You’ve said it yourself.”
Denzig huffed a spark of flame, and both humans let out frightened gasps and backed a half-step.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ve got most of it, anyway. Keep it. Just take your baby.”
The pair looked at each other. “That isn’t ours.”
Denzig could see they were lying, and he was puzzled. Didn’t humans tend to care for their own young? Their babies were otherwise helpless.
“Just take him,” he insisted. “You can care for him. You certainly have the money.”
“Take him to the Marquis,” the man said. “Let the Marquis raise him.”
Denzig shook his head. “I’m not going back there. We didn’t part on great terms, you see. Why don’t you want your baby? It’s very cute.”
It was cute. Babies were designed to be so, he knew.
“You take him, then,” the mother said. “We need to get out of here. Do we have a deal? We take the Marquis’ money – which you’ve admitted belongs to us – and you keep the baby.”
Denzig had often considered getting a pet, but he didn’t know much about how to care for one. One of the lizardfolk might be easier to raise. Those rascals were ready to go as soon as they hatched. Humans looked more like elves, which took years to raise to independence.
“Fine.” He nodded. He supposed it wouldn’t do to leave the poor child with this sort. What kind of parents would abandon a helpless infant?
Well, the expressions on the two human’s faces were sickeningly smug as they began digging up the gold and silver coins with sticks. Denzig took another glance at the child.
“Does he have a name?” he asked as the two madly shoveled their treasure into their spindly arms.
“Onfroi,” the woman shouted without looking back at Denzig.
Well. So this was her baby. Denzig couldn’t bear to let these two run off with his treasure while they abandoned their own child.
And so, with a deep breath, he fried them both and kept the baby and the treasure for himself.

One more story to the list:


​The thatched roof was consumed in a loud roar of dragon fire, and the wooden frame of the small home caught aflame and creaked and shuddered. Though the low walls were reinforced with stone, in a burst of heat the wood combusted and filled the small living area with smoke. Ysabeau ducked aside as a charred support beam cracked and dropped by her head. The fire roared louder than the screams of the townsfolk outside, and the heat burned through her thick woolen kirtle.
Heart pounding, her eyes darted for Onfroi, her one-year-old son. He had crawled into the doorway, though stopped and began crying before setting upon the hard dirt outside. Ysabeau rushed to pick him up and sped through the doorway as the roof collapsed behind her. Her heart ponded as she caught sight of the burning homes and bodies of her neighbors. The charred body of Vaquelin, the blacksmith, recognizable only by the tools in his belt, lay face-down in the road, trampled by a panicking mob that fled to the outskirts of the village.
Ysabeau looked up as a gust of air gave breath to the fire. The dragon’s great wings beat overhead. There was nowhere to hide. The houses were burning, and some had already collapsed. Gosse, the cooper, shoved a young woman aside and tried to stuff himself down the well, but the opening was too narrow and his horrified face was nearly sufficient revenge for his blocking the one spot in town that might be safe from the dragon’s wrath.
Ysabeau had many friends among the crowd, but her responsibility was to Onfroi. She slung her wailing child over her shoulder.
“We’re going to find papa,” she whispered in his ear. Her husband, Roland, was gathering loose wood from the Lord’s forest. No smoke rose from the trees, and Ysabeau thought of no reason the dragon would burn the forest. It should be a safe place to hide. Her eyes moved to the Lord’s Keep. It too looked untouched. Why would the dragon pick on the poor townsfolk, when the Marquis sat in his stone fortress? Yet the dragon now swerved that way, and she could see the glint of helmets as archers and soldiers lines the battlements.
Time to run. Ysabeau kept to the long grass along the side of the dirt path that led to the forest. It was flammable, but deep enough she could drop on her stomach and hide should the dragon turn around. She patted poor Onfroi on the back and hummed Quand je bois du vin clairet, to which the boy loved to jump in his little dance. Now, it seemed to help little to ease his crying, but it somewhat relieved her mind of worry.
She reached the trees and took a deep breath as the dragon and the keep fell out of sight through the thick trees.
“Roland!” she called as loud as she dared. “Roland! Where are you?”
She walked into the protective cover of the canopy of trees, and felt somewhat braver now that she wasn’t visible from the sky. She trotted as fast as she dared without giving Onfroi too much of a jostle, and soon heard a soft whistle. It wasn’t a signal, but rather a disjointed melody. Roland had never learned to hold a tune.
“Roland!” she called again as she spotted him scraping dry branches from the ground with his crook.
He turned his head, and his face turned to a smile, then a question. “What’s wrong?”
The question fired Onfroi into a wail.
“A dragon attacked the village,” Ysabeau said. “Vaquelin’s dead. Our home is gone.”
Roland looked up, though there was nothing to see through the thick branches above.
“Over here.” He waved her to follow as he rushed along a worn trail through the trees. Branches had been cut away to provide easy passage, and the packed earth along the narrow path prevented any grass or foliage from sprouting.
Ysabeau eased her too-tense clutch on Onfroi as she followed. Roland soon hopped over a smooth log into a shallow trench. Ysabeau stepped over and slid on the slick slope. Roland grabbed her elbow and eased her to the bottom, which was littered with bones and rotting apple cores. Ysabeau knew the place, as the men used the edges of the shallow pit to drink and laugh as they ate their meals while foraging for wood.
A great roar pierced the air, and Roland wrapped Ysabeau in her arms as she knelt in the moist filth at the bottom of the trench. As he held her, she covered Onfroi with her own body. Then the air fell silent, and Ysabeau glanced up.
“Is it over? Did the Marquis kill him?”
Roland shook his head, and then Ysabeau heard the heavy swoosh of great wings flying low over the clearing. Again she curled over Onfroi and held her breath. Her heartbeats, which usually thumped along without her notice, now thundered like war drums. She felt Roland’s arms tighten around her, and his face pressed into the crook of her neck. She prayed as the great wings beat unseen overhead.
There was a cracking sound as branched broke from the trees, and a series of thuds. This is it. They were found. Ysabeau kissed Onfroi on the head for what she supposed to be the last time.
Only, after several seconds anticipating the heat of dragon flame to consume her, there was nothing. Roland gently shook her, and she opened her eyes, and peered from the trench.
There was a sliver of blue sky above, where the branches had broken away, but no dragon. Dead wood lay strewn along the forest floor. This would make Roland’s job easier, though it no longer mattered, as they no longer had a home or a hearth in which to kindle a fire.
Roland bent over and picked something shiny off the ground.
“What is it?” Ysabeau asked.
Her husband flipped a gold coin in his fingers, his mouth open. It was an écu d’or, a gold coin. She had only seen a few in her life, but the image was burned in her memory.
“That will feed us for a week,” she said, a glint of hope in her eye. “At least we needn’t worry that we’ve lost our food in the fire.”
Ysabeau set her still-weeping son on the forest floor as she crawled on her hands and knees and felt along the earth with her hands. Roland stooped over the ground, his hand rested on his knees, as he squinted and raked at the soil with is fingers.
Her left middle finger ran over something hard and flat.
“I found one!” she grinned. “This will replace the table.”
“Three here!” Roland shouted from the base of a nearby tree. “New dishes and shoes.”
“I’ve found enough for some clothing and sheets!” Ysabeau laughed. Fear had gone its way.
They continued the search, and coin after coin found that it would be no trouble to replace the possessions they had lost in the fire. And then, the trail of coins led to a small chest, a wooden box with black iron trim, cracked open at the base of an oak tree. Coins spilled forth in a small pile.
“The dragon must have dropped it,” Roland muttered. “Dragons are mad for gold. He’s made off with the Marquis’ riches, and dropped this in his departure.”
“Should we return it?” Ysabeau’s heart beat heavily as she firmly decided they should not. They had, after all, lost everything.
“We can’t go back to the village,” Roland frowned. “If we return the treasure to the Marquis, we still have no home. Will the Marquis reward us with a new one? Who can say?”
“He won’t,” Ysabeau insisted. “Remember when Monsieur Leclerc left that hole in the field after removing the old stump, and one of the Marquis’ men rode his horse into it, and broke its leg? He was beaten, and his wife taken, and his possessions claimed by the Marquis in payment. He is a wicked man.”
“With this money we could find a new home,” Roland said. “An even better one. Larger. Room for more children, and we’ll never worry about food again! But the Marquis may have seen it fall. Men could be on the way to reclaim it.”
“Hurry, then.” Ysabeau slipped out of her apron and spread it flat on the ground, and Roland propped up the lower half to the chest, which was sufficient to hold some of its lost contents.
“We could hire a nurse,” Ysabeau said as they picked up coins by the handful and dropped them in her apron.
“Yes,” Roland nodded. “I reckon we could. I suppose we could buy some land, and a herd of cattle.”
“A few farmhands to help with the work,” she added. “And a cook.” She knew her way around carrots and potatoes but longed for delicious meals like the dinner that the Marquis provided for the townsfolk every May.
Ysabeau’s heart swam with thoughts of what they could buy with all this money. Fine food and clothes, some beautiful art pieces. Perhaps she could become a patron for her own artists. A sculptor, a painter, a topiarist.
Her apron now had a wondrous pile on it, though many coins remained in the broken chest. Ysabeau groaned as she hoisted her apron off the ground. Coins were heavy in this quantity, but she gritted her teeth and folded her apron tightly around the sides. Roland likewise struggled with the cracked chest, though with some fine contortionism worked his arms into a position to carry it.
There was a loud cry from the ground.
“Onfroi,” she said. “I can’t carry him.”
“His crying will give us away,” Roland added.
“He’s better off here,” Ysabeau mused. “The Marquis will find him, and raise him.”
Roland nodded. “Yes. Who knows how far we have to travel before we can settle down? It’s no life for a baby.”
Onfroi, his face red, crawled forward.
“Stay, little one,” she cooed. “Help will be coming for you shortly.”
She tore her eyes away as she stepped back. She did love her son. More than anything. But there was nothing for him in the life of travel and excess she and Roland were soon to enjoy. A world too large and unsuitable for such a young child.
Here, he would be safe. The Marquis would see to it. Hadn’t he, after all, taken Mademoiselle Berger’s bastard son into his care when she died?
And with her thoughts turning back to her newfound riches, she followed her husband into the dark paths of the forest.
 
***
 
Denzig swooped back over the trees. With the rest of his treasure safely buried on the large island in the middle of the river, he was free to scour the area for the chest he had dropped. Smoke still rose from the human keep and village, and the flames would keep them busy enough to leave him alone.
He circled the area where he thought he felt it drop. He hadn’t seen it fall but could pinpoint where he was when he felt his load suddenly lighten. He descended slowly, trying to find a clear path to the ground, but seeing nothing suitable charged through the top of the trees.
It was shady in here, which he enjoyed, but a bit of a tight squeeze between the trees. Forests were no place for fully-grown dragons. He tended to avoid them, as elves got pretty uppity with fire-breathing dragons poking about near their flammable homes, and he didn’t want to antagonize the Elvingaard.
His wings dragged through the branches as he sniffed the air for his lost gold. One of these days he needed to learn to shrink himself. Being large was fine for fighting and pillaging, but too often created challenges as he tried to navigate along the ground or through subterranean caverns, where the best gold was often stored.
He sneezed, singeing a bush with a burst of flame. There was a stench overpowering the smell of gold. A human stench. He peered at the ground and sniffed at the soil as he circled his landing spot. It couldn’t be too far. His head snaked through the undergrowth until he found an area covered in dead branched. There was a long stick with a curved end. Some sort of human tool. Here sat a bound pile of dead wood. The smell of gold poked through, and it seemed to follow the trail of human stink. He crept along the forest floor, snaking through the trees.
Had humans absconded with his treasure? No matter. He would track them easy enough. He sniffed the ground for more detail. Two humans, headed into a deeper part of the woods.
A third human, nearby. Denzig followed this scent first, as it was strongest, and it was accompanied with a horrible but somehow endearing wail. There was a little creature here, on all fours. Was it a human?
No. It was young, and didn’t look terribly human. They walked on two legs, didn’t they? Perhaps it was a shaved fox. But the smell was certain. Perhaps baby humans were like tadpoles to frogs: almost a different creature entirely.
What should he do with it? It wasn’t large enough for a meal, and something stirred inside Denzig’s chest. The little thing was defenseless. A baby. No one to care for it.
“Come, little one,” Denzig said as he scooped the infant in his great claws. “Other humans came by here. Let’s return you to them.”
It wasn’t a long journey, but it was a difficult one as Denzig had to wade through the thick trees on only three legs as he held the crying baby. Soon he came upon a clearing, and a mound of dirt covered in sod, and a pair of filth-stained bodies peering from behind it. Their stink nearly made Denzig vomit, yet as he approached them, the little baby began to reach out.
“Mama!” it cried.
Denzig cleared his throat. “I believe you have found something of mine, and I have found something of yours. Let us make an exchange, and I shall be on my way.”
“We haven’t found anything of yours,” said one.
“That isn’t our baby,” said the other.
Denzig looked down at the infant, who still reached out for them. “It certainly thinks you are. I can smell my gold on you. You can’t hide it. Return it and take your baby.”
“We haven’t stolen anything from you,” the first human said again. Denzig could see now this was likely the mother, as she stood from behind the lump of sod. She bore the telltale protruding chest of a bipedal female mammal. She was trembling, but in an absent-minded show of courage, backed toward a patch of freshly-turned soil.
“You have my gold buried behind you. I can see its resting place, and I can smell it. You cannot lie to me, human. Now take your infant.”
“That is no baby of ours,” said the man, whose voice shook as he too stood. “And even if we did find some gold in the forest, it was the gold of the Marquis, not yours, who stole it from him.”
“And he stole it from you,” Denzig said. “He taxes the labor from your own backs. I steal what he has stolen.”
The woman wagged her finger. “Which you just said he stole from us! This is our gold. You’ve said it yourself.”
Denzig huffed a spark of flame, and both humans let out frightened gasps and backed a half-step.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ve got most of it, anyway. Keep it. Just take your baby.”
The pair looked at each other. “That isn’t ours.”
Denzig could see they were lying, and he was puzzled. Didn’t humans tend to care for their own young? Their babies were otherwise helpless.
“Just take him,” he insisted. “You can care for him. You certainly have the money.”
“Take him to the Marquis,” the man said. “Let the Marquis raise him.”
Denzig shook his head. “I’m not going back there. We didn’t part on great terms, you see. Why don’t you want your baby? It’s very cute.”
It was cute. Babies were designed to be so, he knew.
“You take him, then,” the mother said. “We need to get out of here. Do we have a deal? We take the Marquis’ money – which you’ve admitted belongs to us – and you keep the baby.”
Denzig had often considered getting a pet, but he didn’t know much about how to care for one. One of the lizardfolk might be easier to raise. Those rascals were ready to go as soon as they hatched. Humans looked more like elves, which took years to raise to independence.
“Fine.” He nodded. He supposed it wouldn’t do to leave the poor child with this sort. What kind of parents would abandon a helpless infant?
Well, the expressions on the two human’s faces were sickeningly smug as they began digging up the gold and silver coins with sticks. Denzig took another glance at the child.
“Does he have a name?” he asked as the two madly shoveled their treasure into their spindly arms.
“Onfroi,” the woman shouted without looking back at Denzig.
Well. So this was her baby. Denzig couldn’t bear to let these two run off with his treasure while they abandoned their own child.
And so, with a deep breath, he fried them both and took the baby and the treasure for himself.

It has occurred to me I won't be able to post all my short stories, as some of them will reveal spoilers for the books. They will, however, eventually be included in a book. For now, I am just going to post stories that occur before the time of Elf Mastery.

This is just a little creation story. Not sure how strong it is, but let me know what you think.


​Terra drew her stone hand through the clear liquid that flowed over the barren ground. Water, Nun called it. Unlike Terra’s motionless and reliable Earth, the Water flowed as Nun directed it. Sometimes the playful Aether scooped it into the invisible essence he called Air, and then the Water fell in droplets that made Terra’s Earth soft and pliable. She called this Mud, for it was worthless until Mariel’s Fire chased the Water out and it again became rigid.
Frustrated she often was with Aether, she did enjoy the coolness of his moving Air. This new sense, Touch, invented by Terra herself, had been meant to help her analyze and adjust the sediments in the rocks and soil; but it had its side effects, often leaving her lethargic in the sweltering heat. Mariel, always working in the domain of Fire deep below the Earth’s surface, often cast up molten rock as she experimented with smelting the stone into various forms. Her work made Nun’s water heat and bubble.
Even now, the Water roiled near the shore, catching up sediments of Earth in its disruptive currents. Terra cupped her hands and scooped some of the liquid for a closer look. What was this, among the swells of liquid and silt? Something swam here. It was not intelligent, nor even could be called life, but had ordered itself beyond anything she or the others had created. <<>>
What are you doing?
Nun’s thoughts bubbled from the depths as his head breached the waves. He had created for himself a monstrous body, which waved and swelled and flowed like his Water. He towered above Terra, yet he had no true size or form, and had not bothered with the appendages Terra had given herself to work the stones and sands.
She held up her cupped hands. Something uncreated forms itself in the water.
Waves crashed against Terra’s legs as Nun moved toward her. The top of his crest lowered for a closer look, and a great maw opened as he pondered the sediment.
Impossible, he decided. Order does not create itself. Cease what you are doing. We already risk drawing Chaos’ attention.
Terra set the remaining water into the shallow waves lapping at her feet. I have done nothing. And do not worry about Chaos. Momus protects us from his sight.
Nun grunted. Momus was quick to take our side. He may be just as quick to betray us.
Pessimist.
There was a laugh from the darkness overhead, and Momus’ jovial voice echoed through both their minds. His words dominated most others, and though his words were often sharp, they were usually honest.
Like you, I am no slave to Chaos. While your desires for Order are childish, it is no right of Chaos to deny you the cheap pleasures of your physical forms.
If you tried you would understand, Terra insisted. These bodies allow us sight, and sound, and touch. Our connection to the universe is amplified a thousand times.
Nun’s maw opened wide and a torrent of water rushed inside, only to shoot out the back of his cresting wave. Do not forget taste. It provides an intimacy with matter unknown to the other senses.
Terra had not yet experienced taste. Nun had told her of it, but she was hesitant to go about shoving things inside her body.
Momus radiated disapproval. This work has overtaken your thoughts. You have separated yourselves from the rest of us. Your minds twist only toward these new pleasures, and you neglect the pursuits of Pure Thought.
Nun’s great body shook the seas around him. There is no end in Pure Thought. No goal. We produce change while the rest of you stagnate in perpetual monotony.
Which is fine, Terra interrupted firmly. She didn’t want to antagonize their only ally. What can we do for you, Momus?
The great Momus descended over the water where Terra had released the strange essence.
I detected a new creation. A disruption in the fabric. You have gone beyond the four elements in our agreement. I come to negotiate new terms.
We have created nothing, Nun snapped.
Terra cast him a warning glare but was careful to soften her tone before addressing Momus. Nun speaks true. Matter organizes itself into more complex forms, but it is not our doing.
Momus’ laugh echoed again. Mariel carries out her experiments deep below. Her fires alter the earth and stir the waters. Perhaps the results are accidental and unintended, but they are a result of her ceaseless tampering. I can only hide so much from Chaos’ notice.
I will summon to her. Terra stood tall. We shall learn together of her mischief.
Terra focused the weight of her feet into the ground. She could feel the vibrations of Mariel working below, and a light tremor stirred Nun’s waters as she sent ripples of stone deep below the surface into the fiery depths. Unlike Water, which flowed and rippled freely under Nun’s command, Earth grumbled and complained as she forced its obedience. It was stubborn stuff, though it was that same stubbornness that also provided its strength and reliability.
Done, Terra said as she relaxed her physical form.
Momus, having no physical form, was invisible to Terra’s eyes, yet her own life-essence felt his as it hovered over the edge of Nun’s water. He said nothing, but his thoughts focused on the miniscule creations inside until a spray of hot ash burst through the stone crust and a jet of flame shot into the sky. Mariel, her form towering over Terra, though not so high as Nun, drifted toward them and shrunk herself sufficiently to hide her body from the spray of splashing Water, which she hated.
What news? Mariel asked. I greet you, Momus.
Momus’ attention was finally drawn away from the shallow water. You stir the elements into life, he accused. If you continue, I fear I will not be able to hide you from Chaos.
Mariel was not chastened, but rather became excited. Matter has so much potential! My fires have stirred the earths below and created Minerals of shining beauty. There is great potential in Order! Enough potential, I think, to rival Chaos in strength.
There was a still silence. Terra didn’t dare admit her mind leaped at the prospect of deflecting Chaos’ strength, and she didn’t doubt Nun felt the same; but Momus, while an ally, was still on the side of Chaos in his opinion of Order.
You are a fool if you think to challenge Chaos, and I will not keep your secrets should you not cease. There was no more laughter in Momus’ thoughts. Your experiments will draw Chaos’ eye and condemn us all.
Terra wished to be able to communicate her thoughts to Mariel without Momus receiving them. There must be a way to communicate through these physical forms. But, for now, she couldn’t speak freely.
Listen to Momus, she pleaded. We need his protection. Enjoy your Fire in quiet.
Mariel grinned as she peered into the water. Don’t you see? Momus, look. Order increases itself. Molecules are forming and becoming more complex without my interference. Chaos is undone. It is only a matter of time before Order overruns the universe. I shall set a great fire in the sky, that shall warm the whole of your Earth and Nun’s Waters and create such Order that Chaos can never challenge it.
Shut up! Terra’s thoughts were urgent. She looked up at Nun, who was peering into the shallows where the Ordering swirled at his base.
Mariel is correct. Nun’s crest lowered until it just peaked over the Water. With sufficient support we might undo Chaos. We need only convince the others to join us. Iapetus will surely join us, and Atum. Perhaps Mnemosyne can be persuaded.
Erebus will never betray Chaos, Momus protested. Nor his siblings. The others tremble in fear. You speak of treason. I must associate with you no longer, nor will I hide you from Chaos’ eyes.
Terra felt Momus withdraw. She looked at Mariel. Fool! Your curiosity and careless speech have both condemned us.
No! Nun said. There is power in Order. I feel it moving and working in my Waters. Vast tools are at our disposal.
We are meant to rule here, Mariel said. Chaos has long ignored the power at his feet. He has failed to learn, to grow, to strengthen himself. His power and knowledge stagnate as ours grow. I shall find Aether, and command him to seek those who might support us. A trial of body will convince any of them.
Terra had to admit that experiencing a physical form was a powerful tool to convert the others. They only needed to convince them to try it.
What other choice did she have, anyway? Nun had already sided with Mariel, and Aether would do anything she asked of him. Terra agreed, as well, but feared the consequences. Yet, now, she would be found guilty by association.
Very well, she agreed. Send your agents. I shall shape the earth into mountains and valleys, should we require places to hide.
Nun again rose into a massive cresting wave. I shall spread the Ordering throughout the Waters, so all Matter may witness what is do be done.
Mariel rose into the Air as her flames burst broad and bright. I shall increase my activity below the surface and seek assistance in creating the great fire in the sky. We must work quickly, but I assure you, Terra, Chaos will not destroy what we have created here.
Terra stood motionless as Nun disappeared into the vast Waters, and Mariel dove into a fissure in the Earth’s crust. Well. It was done now. Terra looked at the vast barren Earth in front of her, and with a new sense of focus and urgency, and no small amount of trembling, she cleaved a long and narrow valley that stretched into the horizon.

Findaway has just started offering storefronts for the sale of audiobooks. It has an upfront fee ($99, though I got it for $75) but it also offers 70% royalties. So a fee with the hope of good return with sufficient sales. Won't take too many sales to recover that cost, though marketing is still up to me so we'll see how it goes. On the positive side I'm one of the first adopters, so often a good sign if the new program takes off.

The link to my storefront is: https://shop.authors-direct.com/collections/bryant-reil

Bryant