SNOWBERRY'S VEIL

Well, I wrote a book. No, its not the Nazi/werewolf one I serialized on here, that one is still unfinished; I figure I have about half a book written on that one. I sat down and started typing at the beginning of the month and just kept at it, about a chapter a day. The chapters in this book are longer than the Novel Writing Month story I wrote, mostly because I wasn't on a deadline and could write lying down in bed so I didn't get as tired out.

What I set out to do was a fantasy adventure set in my Jolrhos fantasy universe I use for role playing gaming. Instead of some vast, world-changing epic, I wanted to write a smaller story, one that didn't save the universe, one more like a Louis L'Amour story. To prepare I ripped through most of the Sackett series just to get a feel for L'Amour's storytelling style and the way he structured a story (and although it is not obvious, they all have a very specific structure, with a new challenge every regular interval for the hero, a sweetheart that finally is won, and the way nothing ever works out exactly as planned. I also noticed that however differently L'Amour starts out a book, the voice and tone and pacing always end up the same by the end.

The result is Snowberry's Veil, a 120-page story about Erkenbrand, a King's Ranger trying to escort settlers into the wilderness and the troubles he and the settlers meet along the way. I went onto Lulu and published a hardcover version, and I'll get a softcover up as well but for now that is enough. The only thing I'm not real satisfied with is the title and I don't have original cover art done, but that will have to wait. I think I kind of overextended myself writing this already.

Here's an excerpt of the book for you to get a flavor of what I've written, and I'll have an ad for it on the sidebar of my blog as well.

The leaves were wet and dragged on my skin like cold hands trying to slow me as I ran. The chill was so bad my feet were like blocks of wood, I couldn’t feel them at all which was good because without any covering they were torn and bruised and bloody. The only clothing I had left was a nearly shredded pair of breeches that barely covered me, tattered and bloody from the scratches and bites on my legs. I ran as best I could through the forest, through a land unknown to me at the base of huge mountains.

Behind me I could hear the baying of the beasts, and distant shouts. How much of a lead I had, I could not guess, I only knew I needed speed and to stay away from their tearing jaws and spears. There were at least five different voices, with a number of those great wolves that I could not count. My mind was focused on the pathway ahead of me, trying to follow an animal trail through the woods as the underbrush lashed and pulled and slapped at me. The cold was all through me like I could never again be warm, and I knew each step I took marked my path like a fire for the wolves to follow.

From what I knew of their kind, the Beastmen were able to track by scent nearly as well as the wolves with them, but they preferred to use their companions. There had been no shaman in the tribe that I saw which was at least some small comfort. I had been separated from a caravan headed to the wilderness to settle, drawing off attention so that they could pass unmolested. I could only hope that my efforts had succeeded, that this pain and cold and fear was not a complete waste. In my mind’s eye I could see my bones lying on this forest floor, scattered and gnawed by the jaws of the wolves, but I had to try my best to survive and return to the caravan, to see if they were safe.

I had been scouting ahead of the caravan, a few hundred strides ahead of the main body when I smelled smoke mixed in the usual scents of forest and earth and mountain. Dismounting from my gray mare I slipped through the forest with the skill years of training and experience lent me, and closed on the fire downwind. My senses are not keen as an elf’s nor yet a wolf, but I could smell their dog smell even before I reached the rocky outcropping above the meadow where their fire was lit. Around it sat half a dozen Beastmen: rough tribal creatures, part man, part animal.

These were wolf-like, with a wolf’s head but man’s keen eyes. Their hands were almost like a dog’s paws, but with longer, more agile fingers. Their legs were bent like a hound’s as well, with bare paws, and from under leathern kilts made from multiple layers of uncured hide a tail jutted. They were adorned with feathers and strips of leather, leaves, and white chalk in patterns on the short fur that covered their bodies. Standing upright like men, they held spears and they had fire.

With them were an equal number of huge wolves, bigger than I’d seen before. They were not Wargs, lacking the malevolence and exaggerated features, but they seemed larger and fiercer than ordinary wolves. Feral Wolves, perhaps, enchanted to give strength and cunning beyond their ordinary kin. The Beastmen seemed unaware of the caravan and certainly myself. I saw no ranged weapons unless the spears were thrown: each had three spears with razor sharp stone heads in addition to what looked to be stone daggers. They were roasting some small creature over the fire and speaking in a tongue I did not know when a seventh arrived from the forest, so stealthy I had not seen him until he stepped into the clearing.

He spoke and pointed out of the clearing, toward where I knew the caravan was passing. The others seemed excited, and the fire was rapidly put out. Weapons were readied, and I knew: the scout had spotted the caravan just as I’d spotted their fire. They would attack soon, and in the caravan there were hardly four men who could fight, the others ill or injured from a previous attack by Goblins. I thought of the women, especially Thealea, and knew what I must do.

There was a stack of rocks, each as big as my head on the edge of the short cliff above the meadow, and I pushed against it, grunting as it rattled and collapsed, raining the stones down in to the clearing in a roar. I stood up as the Beastmen scattered unharmed, and saw the wolves already spreading out like water to find a way up the cliff and to my flesh. I slung my cloak back and tucked it behind my quiver to give easy access and prevent it from snagging and ran. Would the others follow, or would they leave me to the wolves? I heard voices behind me: at least some were following, and some would be enough for the caravan to fight off the ones who stayed behind.

I slipped through the forest with practiced ease. I knew not this exact land, but I knew forests like this and the patterns were burned in my brain like my very name: Erkenbrand, the King’s Ranger Erkenbrand. I served my king scouting and mapping and cataloging. I did it well. I studied the animals, the plants, the races, the monsters, and the natural resources, mapping and keeping notes so that others would know what I’d seen and found. When travelers, huntsmen, woodsmen and others needed aid, I was there to lend what I could. Yet this trip I was merely helping a friend, yes and helping the daughter of one of the carabineers, lovely Thealea with the red hair and smart mouth. She’d had little good to say of me yet with that full lipped mouth, but her bright gray eyes told another story when no one else was looking.

The Feral Wolves and Beastmen followed me and I led them on a merry chase, fast and light on my feet. It would be simple, I thought, to lead them away like a mother quail then lose them – wolves and all – in the forest and rejoin the caravan while they searched hopelessly for me. Such is the arrogance of man.

I was doing well, just slow enough to keep them sighting me on occasion and to keep the wolves on my path, but fast enough to stay away when I ran into a second group of them. They were decorated the same way, wolf-clan Beastmen with the same patterns of chalk and the same kind of equipment. They were ready for me, of course, with all the clamor the hunt was raising, but they were not sure exactly what was being chased. So when I ran between two large rocky sections like a low ridge broken in half, I nearly ran into their spears and both of us were caught by surprise. This group had no wolves, but they were in front of me and their allies behind, and I was caught with the stone gap behind me tall as a castle wall and only one path through that led straight to the rest of their tribe.

I froze, and the Beastmen laughed, their spears pointed at my chest. I was not wearing my armor today, only the outdoor clothing I favored and my fenen cloak. The bow at my back was no use, nor the long knives I wore at either side, for they would run me through with those wicked looking stone spear points if I reached for obvious weapons. Their equipment was crude and simple, but clearly serviceable and one can die from a flint spearpoint just as well as a mithril one.

I raised my hands to shoulder level and behind me I could hear the wolves drawing very close, almost to the gap in the ridge. I took in the surroundings, the ridge dropped off rapidly to the right, into a very deep valley with what looked like a lake at the bottom hundreds of feet beneath us. The Beastmen ahead of me had been following a trail that led between the sections of ridge, a trail that rose almost steep as a cliff on one side and dropped rapidly on the other. I had but one chance or die to these creatures, and likely a hard death as well – I knew many of the Beastmen clans preferred torture before they feasted, and these looked merciless.

Around my neck I wore a little pouch, like some shaman I’d seen among the Beastmen and Goblins. Yet mine was no spirit pouch, it was a strange enchanted item I’d found in my travels. Within it was a magical surprise, once a day. I reached carefully to the pouch and pulled the top open. The Beastmen looked suspicious and pushed their spears against my chest painfully. Make no sudden moves I understood that action to be saying. With two fingers I reached into the pouch, trying to look innocent and harmless and pulled out a little ball of fluff the size of a dandelion’s head. The Beastmen relaxed some, not seeing some terrible spell or weapon. I dropped the ball, as if accidentally, and the magic ran its course.

As the little ball fell, it began to change. The pouch was unpredictable; I never knew what would come out of it. Once per day I could try to pull something out, and it could be anything from a butterfly to some monstrosity I’d never seen before. The fluff darkened and split and multiplied, shredding into a cloud of small flying objects. It became a swarm of bees. Thanking whoever made the item, I commanded the bees to attack everyone but me, and made a break for it as their spear points tore my shirt and cut my chest. The Beastmen pulled back, dismayed at the sudden appearance of an angry hive. They were brave enough, yet even the bravest can be daunted by thousands of tiny stingers.

The wolves behind me were not so concerned. They leaped at me, slamming into my body and tearing at my legs. They shredded the legs of my breeches, tearing through the soft leather and biting painfully into my flesh. They clawed at me with short, hard nails and I could smell the fetid breath of rotted meat on their jaws.
I fled, diving to the side. I had planned to roll and get cover, commanding the bees for the short time I could and using arrows to cause mayhem, perhaps take a few of the creatures out. Yet the land betrayed me. What looked like solid ground was instead a fallen tree’s ancient roots, rotted and supporting moss, leaves, and shrubs on a thin crust of crumbling earth. It caved away as I landed, and the slope to the lake was much, much steeper than I’d thought. Two wolves went with me, slewing to the sides as I fell.

Down I went, uncontrolled, rolling and crashing through underbrush and against trees, painfully slamming into unyielding wood as I rolled. I lost my quiver, my bow, my knives. I lost my fine fenen cloak, the pouch around my neck. A hard rock gouged into my back, knocking the wind from me and preventing me from grabbing anything to slow the descent. I lost my boots and the dagger tucked into one, I lost my backup knives from behind my neck. I lost the pouch at my side with some food and fire starting equipment. I lost my cap, and my gloves, and my shirt was in tatters when finally I rolled to a stop in a creek. Above me the two wolves who’d joined my fall had stopped halfway down the ravine’s slope, thanks to four legs and a better sense of balance.

I lay stunned a moment, sputtering in the cold water and trying to gather my senses. Above me I could hear the wolves and the Beastmen, crying out and working their way down the steep slope. Stripping off the wet rags that remained of my shirt, I had to flee nearly naked and without weapons. I tied the rags of the shirt around my waist and ran.

Now at the bottom of the valley following the base of it, I’d run around the lake I’d seen and into a fan of smaller valleys, picking one at random and following it. I kept to a small animal trail, knowing that the creatures that made it used it so often that it formed a visible trail did so because it was a good path to follow, leading somewhere useful. Leaving the pathway might be a good way to travel, and it might not: there was usually a reason that animals kept to the trails they did. A likely enough looking way might lead straight to a cliff. And there were worse things than terrain in the wilderness.

It was late afternoon and I knew I needed to find shelter soon. This part of the wood did not look like it was traveled much by anything but smaller game, and I was hoping the Beastmen on my trail would not follow me too deeply into unknown territory. A single target might not be attractive enough to follow, but then I’d made them angry with the bees from my little pouch now lost on the mountainside. I would have cursed but I needed to save my strength and my breath.
I kept a steady pace up, long used to running to travel, trying to ignore the pain in my legs and in my back. I tried to ignore the numbness of my feet and nose and fingers. The little trail led along a ridge and my eyes caught a hint of a path, a ghost of a trail leading up the side of the ridge. What was more important is a plant I saw by that path. It was a small shrub that I’d been looking for, with waxy blue leaves and yellow stems, each stem ending in sets of six willow-long leaves. The plant never flowered, but did produce string-like sticky appendages that attracted bees and other pollen-carrying creatures. But it wasn’t the leaves or the sticky growths I was after. It was the root.

I had bare seconds to spare, yet if I could get at the roots, I could perhaps save my life and shake the Feral Wolves off my trail; and if I was clever, the Beastmen as well. Digging furiously with my hands I revealed a thick, yellowish root and picking up a sharp looking stone I hacked at it viciously. The root finally gave way, and I could hear my pursuers growing closer. They were not cautious, so perhaps this area was known better to them than I’d hoped. With the root in hand, I crushed the end using the stone again and rubbed it on my feet. I shuddered looking at the torn flesh and battered soles of my feet, the root coming away smeared with blood. Through the numbness somewhere deep in my feet I felt stabbing pain as I jammed the root mercilessly against them. The thick, wet sap coated my feet from the root and swiftly dried, leaving a glossy surface.

That surface would protect my feet slightly, but what’s more it would staunch the bleeding and most importantly the mild enchantment of the Eads herb would negate the ability of the wolves to track me. I left no scent, no track at all, for an hour or so until the sap wore off. I threw dirt over the roots and carried the piece with me. It would serve me again for a few days, so I tucked it into my waistband and continued running, this time up the faint trail rising along the ridge. I kept low, moving slower now, trying to make as little noise as possible. Moving carefully, I avoided stepping on anything that would break or rattle, avoided brushing up against any plants now. Speed was less important than being undiscovered at this point.
Below me I could hear the wolves and Beastmen reach the point I left the animal track. The Feral Wolves growled and whined, sounding frustrated, confused, and less confident in a new meal. I heard the Beastmen discussing the matter in their language, and continued moving as swiftly as I could without revealing myself. They could still smell me on the air if the wind shifted; at present it was blowing up the valley toward me, but it might swirl or back and the lack of a trail would become meaningless as they would follow the scent of my body. Despite my care to not exert myself too much I had sweated some and the blood of my feet and body was still on me.

I climbed the ridge, higher and higher, until it became rough and rocky, with few trees. Among the boulders there were shrubs and small plants, but the trees could not find a foothold in this rough terrain. The ground was smoother on the rocks, but between them it was treacherous footing of sharp and broken stones. I tried to move carefully, not letting any rocks move against each other, yet sometimes a few pebbles rattled, sounding like thunder in my ears. I hoped I was high enough now that they would not hear, but was not confident. Those peaked canine ears on both Beastman and Feral Wolf looked to be very keen and sound traveled well in these mountains.

Finally I crouched behind a large boulder and hazarded a look around the stones, covered by a sparse dry shrub with wicked looking spines on it that I’d not seen before. My Ranger’s subconscious cataloged the type of bush, its pattern of growth, where I found it, what kind of leaves it seemed to have in life, and so on. But my conscious mind was hyper aware, staring down the mountainside at the forest, trying to pick out any slightest movement. I heard the sound of the wolves growling and whining, complaining at the loss of a trail, and I heard the Beastmen talking. It sounded like they were arguing, or at least upset. Perhaps some wanted to go back, but by now the caravan would be miles away and we were even further from the roadway, such as it was.

The caravan had set out from Essex along the south road four days, heading to the wilderness to settle in new lands. Originally there were six wagons, each one representing a family and their hopes, containing the goods they thought they’d need and supplies to begin a settlement. There were some small villages started in the south as the King began to grant land to worthy people and sell land cheap to others. Expand into the unsettled areas and you can have your own territory, what riches may you earn? Free from the city life and control of barons and dukes, the frontier would one day be under the same system of hierarchy and government but for now it was free and open.

One of the wagons broke down and the rest kept going, no one knew what happened to that one. One of the wagons was destroyed in a raid by Goblins almost two days ago, killing two men and a child, leaving the grieving widow to return home with a rider who decided he didn’t really want to explore all that much. The last four wagons kept going down the trail and to the east, skirting around Wrenland to the rich frontier lands further inland from the ocean. This area was little known, and all that was there to follow was a pair of ruts that previous wagons and riders had left. No patrols watched this land, no soldiers kept the monsters back. The road had the stink of man on it enough to keep many creatures away, but was so remote it was prey to groups like the Goblins, and these Beastmen, at least to the unwary.
The settlers didn’t know exactly where they wanted to go, only that they were going to the frontier, to the new lands. There was word of a keep that had been built in the frontier, an attempt to provide some security and regular trade as an outpost in the wilderness. Some wanted to find land near there, to cluster near the remnants of civilization. Others, including the wagon with Thealea, wanted to go deeper to untamed lands to test their mettle.

Leading the caravan was a man I did not care for, but I could not give a reason other than that he was richer, more handsome and powerful than I, and interested in Thealea. He was a lord, and to me seemed untrustworthy, as if he had some other reason for taking this trip in his fine clothes and on his fine horse, but I could not explain why I thought so.

Long ago the elves had these areas patrolled and well known, there were ruins yet of old roads, markers, towers, strange statues and structures as if in the middle of the forest, they thought even greater beauty was needed. Other, stranger structures were sometimes found. Some were the ruins of a forgotten human kingdom from centuries past, some were the work of other creatures and races. Dwarves had colonies in the mountains no one knew about but their own kind, and they were not keen on visitors. Yet to man, it was wilderness, untracked, unknown.

By now the caravan should be far enough on the road that they would be safe from these creatures, and I would need to rejoin the when I could. They had fighting men, but few, and none with my experience and woodcraft. Yet I could not reach them this day, I had to find shelter, food, and water. Everywhere man goes he is in need of these things. The thin boundaries of civilization are around him like paper walls, keeping these needs at bay with ready homes, food, and drink. It takes only a disaster, a sudden catastrophe to reveal the basic need we all still share. And I’d had my disaster.

The sounds of the wolves became quieter and the men stopped arguing, but I could sense they were not heading up my trail. They had turned back for now at least as I confirmed by a glimpse of them moving away through the trees. I breathed easier now, and closed my eyes a moment to try to calm my nerves. I could not rest, not yet. But at least I could move without open pursuit.

Shelter was the first need; I could go a few days without water and a week or more without food, but shelter… I’d die overnight naked in the mountains. Fire and something to keep the elements off me, that was what I needed most to begin with. The ridge top I was near looked too exposed and the stones too unstable. They were heavy and seemed solid right now, but if one were to start moving no force I could bring to bear would stop one from its course.

I knew a few minor magics, elemental tricks to make life easier, but I was no mage. I’d seen them summon entire keeps out of nothing to stay in comfort. I couldn’t even summon a bedroll. I knew this was going to be one uncomfortable night, but there was no way to avoid it. I tore off part of my tattered tunic and tied the remnants around my poor battered and bloody feet to provide some semblance of covering for them. Somewhere along the way I’d lost my Eads root, but there was more about. In fact, I’d spotted several other useful herbs that I could take advantage of, if I could only find some shelter.

I looked around at the dying afternoon day and saw the mountains about me. Huge snow-capped peaks lay to the west, in the distance: the Dawnspires. To the north the mountains I was in fell to rolling hills repeating into the gray distance. Around me were ridges like roots of a tree, tangled and long with valleys between them. Tall firs, pines, and a few mixed ash and aspen covered these ridges and valleys in a green coat of varied shades. The sound of the wind in the trees filled me with pleasure, again, like it always did. Except for that forest sigh and my own breathing, it was silent now. Overhead the sky was a deep blue with massive clouds drifting in some distant wind. I felt the awesome aloneness of being in the wilds, and reveled in it.

In truth, although Thealea was beautiful and fascinating, and seemed bright and exciting, I knew deep down I could have no woman for the wilderness would not share. The wilds were an exacting wife already, jealous of any other love. I could not leave a beloved behind for weeks, even months at a time as I cataloged and mapped and explored. That she might come with me seemed absurd as well; how could I move and work with someone else, someone I had to care for even if somehow I could find a woman who would do so? I knew a few female Rangers were active, but they were rare and a special, strange breed. Yet I felt attracted and pulled to Thealea at the same time, in an irrational pull that I could not deny.

I moved along the ridge, looking for a useful place. My needs were simple: some coverage with a fairly open front that would allow me to see anything drawing close. Even a few fallen trees or a rock formation would work, although a cave or pocket in the stone would be better. The longer I went, the less picky I became. Night fell fast in the mountains and by sunbloom I’d be chilled to an eternal sleep if I didn’t find shelter soon. I had maybe three hours by this point before it became too dark – and too cold – to properly prepare and bed down. Yet even in this dire predicament I found my self the smell of the forest was rich and comforting, like an old home remembered and loved. Wild scents of pine sap and earth, flowers and leaves, musk from animals and the smell of the clean, crisp air were perfume to me.

I found a huge fallen tree, roots forming a barrier of earth and torn up rocks against a stone formation rising up the side of the ridge. This vee shape gave me shelter from the wind and sight except from directly above or ahead. Some of the branches of the tree were still in place, forming the beginning of a roof, and I worked quickly to clean out beneath them. Breaking branches off nearby firs, I built a rough thatch over the vee in the back, weaving through and using the same foliage of the original tree and nearby bushes. From a distance it would look normal and natural, yet it would keep all but the most driving rain out when combined with the canopy further overhead. I gathered wood, piling dry branches and old sticks near the back of the vee out of sight. When I thought I’d gotten enough, I went and gathered more, then did it again. Wood had a strange way of being used up faster than expected, and there was a plentiful supply.

The light was fading already when I had the shelter in rough form and I went out one more time to gather bark and soft boughs. Once I’d collected a pile of leaves, bark, and boughs, I dug out a trench using stones and branches, then laid a bed of the softest stuff I could manage. With clumsy, numb hands I used boughs to for a blanket of sorts that would lie over me, then set about to make a fire. By now my mind was wandering, I had to force myself by willpower to stay on a task. I was so cold I’d stopped shivering; my whole body felt oddly numb and disconnected, like it wasn’t really me.

Often I did without a fire, my gear was warm and I would have enough shelter in this weather to make due. The fenen cloak I’d left behind on that slope was enchanted, it would ordinarily keep me comfortable down to freezing temperatures if I wrapped in it. Unfortunately it was at least a mile away and I wanted the Beastmen far away before I headed back. I was sure they’d found and kept everything for themselves by this point, but soon as I could I planned to go back and search for myself. I’d lack their keen senses to find man smell and items, but I could at least try. That bow was of elfin make and I was very loath to lose it. Those supplies had gotten me through many years of wilderness travel and Ranger work.

Now, however, I needed a fire. This was not a terrible challenge, as I had learned long ago how to make a fire without any flint or steel. There were several mechanical methods that could be used, each tedious and frustrating. I could use one or another herb to heat and begin a fire. Yet it was one of the little spells I’d learned that was most useful here, and I hoped I wasn’t so far gone that I was unable to work this simple magic. I piled the tinder together in a pit, lined with stones, and set a large slab of bark from the fallen tree propped up with dirt behind it to act as a reflector, pushing more of the heat back to me and again off the stone wall beside my bed. Piling larger sticks over the tinder in a pyramid, I then sat by it carefully. I wasn’t very good at this, and it took concentration to work any magic. Over time, apparently study and technique made it a lot easier, but I didn’t have the time or inclination to learn that well. I concentrated, eyes closed, focusing on the training I had.

Then I jerked myself awake, somehow. It was dark now, pitch black and at some point I had drifted to sleep in the cold without even realizing it. Another little nap and I would not wake up again. I had to make a fire now or die.

Concentrating as hard as I could, talking to myself with each step, I thought of the words and the movements then made them real with voice and hands, the power flowing through me and from me tracing bluish white strips of light in the air from my fingertips that faded rapdily, then I forced the elemental energy to focus on the tinder, and a flame lit up, rapidly growing and finally a fire was started. I took a deep breath and stacked the fire into a larger blaze, big enough to stay warm and burning into the night. The spell was minor, yet after the day’s exertions and pains, it was wearying. Now I must sleep, for sleep would bring healing and it was later than I cared for already. This would be enough heat to bring some warmth back into my poor abused body and with the bark and the stone to reflect the heat I should be able to survive the night. The air was beginning to be quite chilled, but the fire pushed the cold back as it hungrily devoured the wood I fed it, casting light in my rough shelter and heat over my chilled, aching body. Pulling the boughs and leaves over me in a cold, scratchy blanket, I settled in to sleep.

Somewhere, a wolf howled.

That's chapter one. Those of you with sharp eyes or a good memory will notice that Erkenbrand was one of the Rohirrim in The Two Towers by J.R.R. Tolkien. This isn't the same Erkenbrand, but I liked the name quite a bit (I've used it in MMOGs before) and wanted a memorable, interesting name for my main character.

Now all I need is a cold call from an agent, a $40,000 contract, and the ability to change my book in the middle. Then the big bucks and an Oprah Winfrey endorsement is sure to follow.