I’m quite used to strange things happening when I write. Characters take off in directions I’d not planned on, or plots go off the rails at ridiculous speeds. Not to mention the plot bunny farm someone in the village is keeping, and their ludicrous security. Bunnies are forever escaping and ending up in my study.
And then there are the things that are really weird. Like meeting a friend I’ve not seen in ages for lunch and suddenly a question that goes like: “There’s this one story you had where one guy is killed and the other is trying to bring him back? I remember a plain and monks and singing… Did you ever finish that?”
And I sit there with my mouth open, because what did I just spent the last three days doing?
Yes, you’ve guessed it. And while I can’t explain how she could be thinking of a story at the same time I picked it out of a box of unfinished things and set to work on it… Sword Oath is now done and ended up as a sexy short read. And while I tidy it up and get a cover made for it, I’ll happily share a sneak peek.
So what’s it all about?
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 the same sword oath, then and every time since.
Until death in battle leaves the oath 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.
If you’d like to know a little more, there’s a sneak peek of Sword Oath under the image. 🙂
“I challenge!” Madan spoke the ritual formula, agreed the ultimate price.
He stood on the empty plain, the border fortress at his back and the high mountains a mere memory in the dusk while before him a nightmare came alive.
The seer’s flame-coloured robes gathered the evening twilight. Six acolytes knelt to either side of him, their hooded robes scarlet like freshly spilled blood. At the heart of the circle they formed lay Serrai’s shrouded body and Madan’s great sword.
Madan halted on the very periphery of the circle. He dared not step closer, already feeling like an obstruction to the forces the seer called up around him. And he wished with all his might that he would not impede what Leonidas wrought.
The air turned colder as the sun began to set. A gusty wind sprang up. It tore inadequate habits and razed tonsured heads, but the acolytes in the circle did not move. At a sign from Leonidas they began to chant; a low, monotonous hum that filled the air with tension and incomprehensible longing.
Madan pulled his fur-lined cloak closer around himself. The keening of the wind raised the hair on his neck and sent shivers down his back. The hum of the chant echoed in his soul until his skin crawled and his body sang with tension.
He wanted to run, but he didn’t move an inch.
He wanted to shout, but not a sound escaped him.
He stood motionless and kept his eyes firmly on the blanket-wrapped bundle at the heart of the circle. The fading light of the sunset caught in delicate gold stitching, illuminating Serrai’s body with an eerie red and auburn shimmer.
The last of the daylight died away and left the plain in darkness, but for the steadily deepening, reddish glow emanating from Serrai’s shrouded form, and the blue-white glimmer that enveloped Madan’s sword.
And throughout the darkness, the chant continued.