I spent most of yesterday preparing my tax return. And it seems to have killed every creative vibe in my brain. I try to go to sleep with an unfinished scene or an unresolved plot point in my mind, and often wake with something useable that I can take to the laptop, or out on a walk. (Not that this endless heat encourages me to do the latter…) But after wading my way through bank statements and receipts, I woke this morning feeling like sludge.
And so far, even a cup of tea hasn’t kick-started the Muse.
Fortunately, my WiP stack isn’t short of of snippets that can serve as Tuesday Teasers. Last week, I gave you a sneak peek of a short read I’m hoping to publish this month, which is a story of two men who don’t want to accept that death has the power to part them. Sword Oath started life as a flash fic that grew to 7k, and while I’m waiting for the cover design, it just keeps getting longer. 😉
In most of my Dornost Saga stories, Serrai and Madan are legends. But nowhere is it written that legends can’t come to life.
So, for today’s Tuesday easer, have a little more of Madan and Serrai… and I’ll do my best to get the whole thing out by next week. 🙂
Madan rubbed Serrai’s tense shoulders before he slid his broad palm into the golden hair. Serrai, with his pale green eyes and sun-bright hair, had always been the light to Madan’s darkness. He was the one who drew all eyes, with Madan standing like a guardian shadow at his back. “We’ve done all we can to prepare for the fight, Serrai. Relax, or you’ll be useless tomorrow.”
Serrai didn’t bother with an answer. His fingers clenched on Madan’s bicep and Madan remembered the night before their very first pitched battle.
They’d been eighteen and neither was new to bloodshed.
They’d been blooded three years earlier and had become lovers that very day as if they needed something lasting to balance out the lives they’d ended. True to his nature, it had been Serrai who’d made the first move, but his eager kiss had soon faltered, unsure where to go next. In the end, it had been Madan who took charge. Serrai might command troops and servants, but in their bed, Madan took care of Serrai, worshiped him with his body as he’d worshiped him with his heart and mind since they’d been children.
The night before their first battle, while they waited for the death that would come with the dawn, that had changed.
I’ll die for you, or with you.
When Madan swore his sword oath to Serrai he was eight years old. He never changed his mind. Not while they grew to manhood, not when they took their respective positions as king and general. Not even when it seemed that Madan was the only one fated to love, deeply and devotedly.
Serrai might not say the words, but his love for Madan was just as strong. And, without Madan’s knowledge, he’s sworn a sword oath of his own, then and every time since.
Until death in battle leaves both oaths broken, and two men searching to find a way out that doesn’t end with them forever parted.
An m/m fantasy short story proving that love will always find a way.