Here are two chapters from Brinn and The Dragons of Pallan Cliffs. Chapter one follows here, and the link to chapter two will be at the end of this page. ENJOY!
Brinn plunged her hands deep into the warm belly of the dragon she had just slain, searching for her father's ruby ring. She had to find the ring before the ogress returned and locked her up to be sold to the evil wizard. Even now she could hear the heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. She must not allow the ogress to get hold of her father's ring. If the monster learned how to wield the ring's power, the land would suffer untold torments. She picked up a knife and crouched behind the beast. She would have to dispose of the ogress first, then recover what was rightfully hers. It was her legacy. Her evil stepbrother had no right to remove it from her father's lifeless hand. And now he went and got himself eaten.
The sound of the ogress' bloated feet came ever nearer. The attack came from behind, surprising Brinn. She was grabbed by her tattered collar and pulled mercilessly to face the hideous beast.
"What in the world are you doing down there?!" Brinn looked into to the face of Aunt Nethra. "Put that knife down!" Nethra shook Brinn and pulled her to face the worktable. "Look at the mess you've made of this dough!"
Brinn blinked several times to clear her thoughts. "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention."
"This is no place for your silly fantasies. Now get this bread on the hearth and take up the breakfast trays." The "ogress" Aunt stomped back up the stairs.
Brinn gave the dough an apologetic pat, kneaded it back into a smooth mound and covered it. Cut slices of bacon were set to fry; hot apples were spooned into dishes to cool. Brinn stirred the porridge, wishing it wouldn't take so long to cook. The dough had forgiven Brinn's insulting behavior, and she gently shaped it into loaves. She gazed out the kitchen window while waiting for the kettle to boil. Her imagination began to wander again. A gigantic bird flew into the garden. A man slid from the huge bird's neck (an awfully long neck for a bird). He stood for a moment seeming to speak to the bird before disappearing into the morning mist. The bird pushed with its massive legs (odd shaped legs for a bird), and thrust itself into the air (the wings were the wrong shape). Brinn shook her head; she needed to keep her mind on her work.
The whistling kettle brought Brinn's thoughts back to the kitchen. She dusted off her hands and placed teapots on trays, scooping fragrant leaves into their potbellies. Removing the pot from the fire, Brinn was pleased to see the porridge had hurried along and dished it out into the warmed bowls. Slices of bread joined the meal. Heated cloths were placed over the trays and Brinn carried the armload upstairs.
Once the breakfast trays had been delivered, the bread set to bake, and the kitchen readied for the noon meal, Brinn had a few minutes of her own before the tavern had to be swept out. She went to the courtyard and watched the traffic coming into town. Carriages and wagons, massive stallions and shaggy mares, finely dressed nobles, soldiers in chain mail, ragged beggars, worn down farmers. There seemed no end to the variety traveling on the road. Brinn wished she could join their company. She would sit astride a powerful black stallion, dressed in battle leathers. A jeweled short-sword hung at her side, a bow and quiver full of arrows across her back. If she rode through the night she could join up with the king's army at Precanlin and ride on to Velisia to help send Baron Taldar back to the hole he had crawled out of.
A stable boy brought out a gray mare. Seeing Brinn, he called across the courtyard, "Nethra's looking for you!"
Brinn sighed, her only battle would be against the pots and pans. The tavern sweeping would be delayed, and her father would scold her for daydreaming again. Some days she never caught up with her chores. She slipped into the tavern and grabbed a broom. If she looked as if she was in the middle of sweeping, Nethra might let her finish before giving her more work.
Brinn was pleasantly surprised to find the floor of the tavern did not need sweeping. Her father must have done it the night before. It wasn't like him to help her out with her chores; he must have had a good night. Before she had a chance to find Nethra, a gentleman entering the tavern caught her attention.
The man silhouetted in the tavern's door looked oddly familiar. He pushed his hood back and stepped into the room. "Excuse me, do you work here?"
Brinn couldn't help but smile at the man's polite manner, she also approved of his clothes; from head to toe, he wore black, no adornment. At first she thought him an old man, his long hair was white as new fallen snow, but his face was definitely that of a young man. He must be a nobleman, but not flashy about it. She curtsied. "Yes, sir. This is my father's inn."
"Can you tell me if an elderly gentleman rooming here? I was supposed to meet him a few days ago, and I'm hoping he's still here." The man's voice was pleasantly low in tone.
Brinn couldn't take her eyes from the stranger's face. He had the cautious look she had seen in soldiers who frequented the tavern. There was a faded scar above one eye, partially hidden by his wild white hair. When she looked at his lips, she saw a smile on them. She blushed and looked away. She recalled his question, "There was an elderly gentleman rooming here, but I'm afraid to say that he passed away two days ago." Her memories of the friendly old man brought tears to her eyes.
The stranger stepped close to Brinn and took her shoulders. When she glanced up at him she saw an anxious look in his eyes. "When exactly did he die? Was there anyone with him? Are his belongings still here?" Brinn pulled away at the intensity of the man's questions. He let go of her suddenly, he stepped back, and stared for a moment. "Forgive me."
Brinn smiled weakly. "He told me his name was Thal. He died just as the sun rose, two days ago."
The stranger chuckled, "Just his style." He sat down at a nearby table motioning for her to sit also. "Was there anyone with him when he died?"
"None that I know of, sir," she answered slowly. "He didn't answer when I brought breakfast. When I went in he was still and cold."
The gentleman started to ask more questions when Nethra entered the tavern. "Brinn! I sent for you twenty minutes ago! What are you doing in-" She stopped in mid-sentence, stared blankly, then turned and left the room.
"Now, you were saying?" the gentleman asked casually.
Bewildered by her aunt's behavior, Brinn decided it would be best if her father dealt with this gentleman's questions. She certainly didn't want to anger Nethra. She stood. "I will fetch my father; he will be able to help you." She ran off before the gentleman could stop her. After locating her father, Brinn went to the kitchen and began work on the morning's dishes.
Nethra found enough chores to keep Brinn occupied until supper, and the evening was spent under her father's stern eye, serving and cleaning up after customers. It was only after the last dish was cleared from the tables that Brinn was allowed time to herself.
Not wanting to miss any of the cool evening breeze, Brinn changed quickly out of her work dress and slipped down the back stairs, avoiding the kitchen. She strolled down the dusty street, nibbling on a meat-filled roll she had slipped into her apron. She stopped to talk to the blacksmith, and visited with the daughter of the baker. A few pennies bought some ribbon at the dressmaker's just as they were closing for the night. On her way back, Brinn was startled when someone stepped out from the shadows.
"Hello Brinn, out for your evening walk, I see." Though the light was dim, the smell of fish identified Ruthic, the offensive son of the local fishmonger.
"You're very observant. I'd like to continue it, now." Brinn tried to step around Ruthic. He grabbed her arm and pulled her close.
"There's no rush, the floors can wait to be scrubbed." He laughed cruelly, as if his insult was amusing. "You have time to give me a kiss." He leaned his unwashed face toward Brinn's.
Brinn easily avoided the offensive lips. "You smell as if you could use a good scrubbing." She twisted in Ruthic's grasp.
Ruthic held her tight against his chest. "Think you're too good for me?" He grabbed Brinn's hair and held her twisting head still.
Fear and anger filled Brinn. She pushed against his chest. Her mind screamed out. She found herself suddenly free. Ruthic was slumped against a wall, unconscious. Brinn looked around for her savior, but he was nowhere to be found. "Thank you!" she shouted, hoping that whoever it was had heard her. She ran back to the safety of her father's inn.
Brinn didn't want to answer any questions about her disheveled appearance, so she took the back stairs to her room. With the door shut behind her, Brinn felt safe. She fumbled for the flint, but her shaking hands couldn't make a spark to light her candle. Her anger rose again, "Oh just light!" she said in frustration. She jumped back when the whole candle burst into flame, and quickly burned out. Brinn opened her door, letting the lights from the landing flood into her room. She stared at the smoldering wick in a puddle of congealing wax. "Wow," she laughed nervously, and shut the door. Deciding not to attempt another candle, Brinn dressed for bed by the light of the moon.
Nightmarish figures of huge fish filled Brinn's dreams; hidden heroes rescued her from being drowned by the scaly, rancid creatures. She woke several times to find herself twisted in her sheets. Another figure drifted in and out of her dreams, the black-dressed gentleman who had inquired about the old man. He always seemed to be hiding in the shadows, watching. An icy breeze woke Brinn and she shivered violently. She lay in the darkness, trying to think of anything but Ruthic and his smelly hands on her shoulders. She considered the explosive candle for a moment. There must have been a flaw in the wick, or a bubble in the wax. She would have to clean up the mess before Nethra found it. Another chilling breeze made Brinn clutch the blankets tighter around her chin. Had she left the window open? Brinn reached down to where she had dropped her dressing gown, wanting to add an extra layer to her blankets. She did not touch the warmth of the flannel, however, nor the rough wood floor.
Brinn's fingers touched something cold and smooth. She immediately pulled them back under the covers, being careful not to touch her own warm skin. There must be a layer of ice on the floor, she thought. With this logical explanation, Brinn leaned over and reached for her slippers. The slippers were not there. Brinn reached further out. Her hand made contact with an icy wall, but it couldn't be her wall. Her bed wasn't near the wall; she shouldn't be able to touch it from the bed. A sudden, frightening thought occurred to Brinn and she hesitantly reached out on the other side of her bed. She sighed with relief when she did not touch a wall. Something must have been pushed up against the bed. The relief faded when she dropped her arm and her fingers met the cold hardness of the floor.
"This is ridiculous," she said to herself, "There nothing to be…" She fell silent. Her words had a strange ring to them, as if they were echoing back to her. Her mind raced for some answer, but she could find none.
Once more Brinn reached out. The sheets slid and she found herself falling off the bed, landing on the hard, icy floor. Her elbow banged painfully on the side of the bed. Splinters of pain ran up her arm and she smothered a cry. When her vision cleared, Brinn saw the bright moon shining through her window and found herself not on the frozen floor, but on wood warmed by the downstairs fires. As her breathing returned to normal, Brinn scolded herself for getting carried away in a dream.
She climbed back into bed and tried to stay awake as long as possible. When Aggie, Nethra's youngest daughter, knocked on her door just before sunrise, Brinn was grateful to be leaving the terrible dreams behind.
The halls were cool and comforting, Brinn was glad to be starting her normal routine. She heard the sounds of Aggie starting the fires in the tavern, and knew that the fire in the kitchen would be lit and a kettle of water set. She detoured to the pump and henhouse. The dim kitchen was beginning to warm from the fire. Brinn set down her load of eggs and water on one of the long scrubbed wooden tables and lit the lamp.
The bread was on its first rise, when stirrings from the rooms above began to filter down. Brinn poured a second cup of tea and began to cut the slabs of bacon when she heard the kitchen door open. "Tea's still hot, Aggie," she said without looking up.
"Thanks, I could use a cup." Brinn dropped the knife; it was not Aggie who had answered her. A shaggy-haired man was leaning over the teapot. He was dressed casually, and it took a moment for Brinn to recognize the gentleman from the morning before.
"Beg your pardon, sir; I didn't know it was you. I could have had a maid bring that up for you. Breakfast isn't normally served until seven. If you're hungry I can warm up some of yesterday's bread. I have eggs and bacon that I can make for you if you'll be needing something more." She didn't know why, but she felt nervous.
The gentleman leaned down to the fire and warmed his hands. "Please don't go to any trouble. I didn't come down here to have an early meal. I wanted the chance to talk to you without being disturbed."
Brinn turned quickly back to the bacon. This was not what she wanted to hear this early. "I'm sorry, but I have a lot of work to do this morning. I don't have time to talk." She wished she hadn't been so abrupt. "Please, if you need any more information about your friend…"
"No, thank you, your father was quite helpful. I was hoping for a more personal conversation."
"I'm sorry, but I'm not supposed to speak to the guests." She knew how silly this sounded. "Besides, you don't even know me." She didn't know why this man completely unnerved her.
He came closer. "You're right, let me introduce myself. My name is Talon. I come from high up the mountains. I have a number of very unpleasant friends, and I like my bacon thin."
Brinn noticed then that she was cutting the bacon much too thick, and laughed at herself. She smiled at Talon, he didn't look dangerous, especially with ruffled hair and miss-buttoned shirt, he had the appearance of a young boy. Here in the kitchen, with a knife in her hand, there was no reason to be afraid. "My name is Brinn."
Talon smiled. "I'm sure you're father wouldn't mind your talking to me. He likes his guests happy, and as long as I keep my hands to myself and don't interrupt your work, I don't think he'll complain." He took a hot loaf of bread from the hearth and tore into it.
Brinn had to admit that Talon's assessment was correct. Her father was not as strict as Nethra, and did not ban her from talking to the customers, as long as it did not disturb them.
"I was a friend of Thal's, a very close friend. I talked to your father yesterday; he said you spent a lot of time with him."
Brinn continued cutting. "He was pleasant to me. I liked listening to his stories."
"Did he have any other visitors?" Brinn shook her head. "You said yesterday that he was alone when he died. Had he had any visitors the night before?"
Brinn turned away from the table and occupied herself at the fire. "No. But I think he was expecting someone. When I brought breakfast to him that morning something didn't feel right in his room." Brinn remembered the air in the room had the same feeling of an oncoming storm. "I knew then he was dying, he had that look in his eyes."
"Yesterday you said that he was dead when you took in his breakfast tray."
Brinn blushed at having her lie caught. "I didn't want anyone to think I had…I didn't…it wouldn't have looked right for me to be there, alone." She brought the dough to the table and began to work it into loaves. "There was no one there for him, I felt like I needed to stay with him until the end."
Talon reached out his hand and laid it on hers. "It must have been hard for you. Did he say anything before he died?"
Brinn shook her head. "If you mean something like who was to inherit his belongings, or where his treasure was hidden, or anything like that, no. The last hours he was delirious."
"Delirious? What do you mean?" Talon rose and came around the table; he took Brinn's shoulders and turned her to face him. "What did he say?"
Brinn pulled away. "Nothing, just gibberish. I couldn't understand anything he said."
Talon dropped his hands. He turned away, muttering to himself. When he didn't say anymore, Brinn finished the bread and set it by the fire. "I'm sorry I couldn't be of any help."
Talon helped Brinn lift the iron skillet to its rack above the fire. "Some of the gibberish Thal spoke, did it sound like: grintal slone vanglia mori shanool?"
Brinn stood slowly, her eyes wide. "Yes, that is what it sounded like. Is it a foreign language? I didn't recognize it."
Talon laughed and shook his head. "I don't expect you have. It's a very old language. When you are done here, could you show me Thal's room? I'd like to talk more about his last few hours." He didn't wait for her answer and passed Nethra as he walked out of the kitchen.
Nethra scowled at Brinn, but since the breakfast preparations were finished, she could find no reproach. "Get the trays upstairs before we get complaints."