LuthielCover02-11

Sat, 23 Feb 2008 00:44:27 -0800

LuthielCover02-32-Small

Thu, 21 Feb 2008 02:08:15 -0800

Cover Art for book 1

A Writer's Prayer

Sat, 01 Mar 2008 15:31:29 -0800

Dearest God Or whatever good spirit Of worlds and blessed nothing Of blackness and stars Lives yet In this strange place I pray for strength To fight the demons of my thought And to hope for a good end To hope well enough to hear Her voice My muse I pray for courage To continue For a scribbler's path is lonely Through a desert place Where food and drink are sparse And a bard must risk livelihood To follow his love I pray for help For I am poor For I am weary And I cannot make the journey alone I pray for comfort That my quest is worthwhile That others may gain from my labor That I will be remembered And not go quietly into the night I pray too for vision That I might see the proper paths Of tales Of heroes For the way is riddled with false roads And traps for the unwary Last of all I pray for voice To sing well this song To send off my love Like a spark to the world May it catch May it catch fire... Dearest God of Poets Of muses Of scribes And singers too This and more I pray For I am only one man And the world is a bitter thing For a dreaming heart to bear alone. (copyright 2007, 2008 Robert Marston Fanney)

War of Mists Prologue

Mon, 25 Feb 2008 02:03:18 -0800

On a bald hill, ringed by trees, strange and macabre creatures gathered. First came spiders, drifting through the wood like ghosts, black bodies whispering through branches. Clusters of green eyes shone from tapered heads. Horns rose up in place of ears. Away and behind them lay a trail of venom drops and dead grass. They stopped just before the woodline and flexed their legs, pulling shadows overhead like a blanket. Not a sound passed between them as they waited for no one knew what -- the owl certainly didn't. Strange happenings in these parts, he thought. He knew well enough the spiders were dangerous and best left alone. But he stayed, for he was curious and confident no one would notice him. Next came a dragon, slithering upon its belly. Smoke covered it, but the owl's keen eyes spied the oily snake-form. It rose and whirled, taking long switchbacks, jigging and jagging up the hill until, at last, it came to a halt across from the spiders. Dragon eyes shone through the murk. Wary, the owl slipped deeper into the leaves. There was a long pause in which both dragon and spiders sat still. Moons and clouds slid by and drowsiness fell over the owl. He was about to drift off when a cold voice sang out. Startled, the owl fluttered awake. The howl rose like a winter wind, beginning as a low moan and then building as it was joined by first one and then another. Soon, a chorus of six voices filled the night. Then came six white wolves, each bearing a dark rider. There was something wrong. As the owl watched, he slowly noticed that the wolves didn't breathe and neither did their riders. Terrified, the owl forced his wings to keep still. Overlapping plates of gray armor covered them head to foot. Only faces were exposed - wan and sickly, like those of drowned men bobbing in a slate sea. In their hands they held dim swords. Can't move now, the owl thought after a moment of panic, that dragon will notice. When they came to the hilltop, they stopped. There they stood, still as statues. The spiders watched them, but made no move; the dragon watched them, but it sat silent in its smog. Moments passed, a breeze rustled the trees, a flutterfler, its slumber disturbed, unfurled its hind wings and let the wind carry it off into the night. Then, for a while, all was still. Finally, a lonely figure approached. Robed in black, it seemed to glide more than walk as it climbed the hill. Wolves lowered bodies to ground and six riders sheathed swords. The dragon nodded and spiders swayed nervously on creaking legs. "Are we alone?" the figure asked. His voice was both fair and commanding. The owl recognized it immediately. And though he had never seen them, he knew the six riders from stories. "There are none here but those we called," the first rider replied. None but one, the owl thought slyly. "Then let us begin," the dark figure said. Slowly, the spiders slipped out of hiding. They were cautious, moving until only their heads and forelimbs were visible. Also, the dragon moved only its head. It rose until it was level with the figure on the hill. The figure turned, taking them all in. Then he approached one of the riders. "Tell them what you told me," he ordered. "Yes, Lord," the rider replied and turned to the monsters. "The Vyrl want peace." The spiders snapped their forelimbs in astonishment and the dragon snorted smoke. "Worse," the rider continued, "There's a woman with them. She seems to have an influence over Vyrl. A sorceress, I'd say, and dangerous. We lost Vaelros to her." The figure motioned with his gloved hand. "Sorceress?" he asked. The rider looked at him with thin eyes. "If I misspoke, Lord --" "You did not, " the figure replied. "But humor me and say witch instead." "By your will," the rider said. His lips drew thin lines around the words as they slipped, hollow, from his mouth. "A witch, then." "Do you know who this witch is?" the dragon hissed. A plume rose from her mouth and her voice sounded like water on hot coals. "She wouldn't give her name," the rider replied. "Instead she left a riddle." The spiders scraped their forelimbs together and a clicking, screechy sound rose in the night. "A riddle?" they asked. "Tell us." "She said she's a web foiler and a Vyrl saver, the singer in dreams and secret daughter of the Moon Queen, among other things I cannot remember." "Perhaps you remember enough," the figure in black replied. "There's only one Moon Queen. We know her well." "Merrin," the dragon hissed. "Yes," the figure answered. "And there was a dream singer." "The one who was so loud?" the rider asked. The dark figure nodded. "Her tracks led toward the Vale," the rider whispered. For a while, there was silence among the macabre ensemble. The owl rustled his feathers. Daughter of Merrin? he thought. It slowly dawned on him what it meant and how much it would change things. What news! What wondrous news! I must get away! I must tell them! Then, he almost leapt off the branch, almost made a desperate rush to escape the hillside. Just at that moment the dragon lunged as its great jaws clamped shut. There was a puff of feathers and a shrill bird call suddenly cut off. A dimril, nighthawk of the mounds, had flown too close. The owl trembled and decided to stay put. "There was one who passed through our webs," a spider screeched. The sound, though hushed, was shrill and carried far into the woods. The figure in black raised a hand. "Quiet!" he snapped. He turned his head slowly as if listening. "Have a care." The spider bobbed and then continued, this time quieter. "She seemed only a girl," it said. "But she slipped past our best watchers and entered the Vale." "Merrin had only one daughter," the rider said. "She's dead." The dark figure was silent for a moment. "What if she's not?" he said. "Merrin is shrewd. There are still things she's kept from us." "I saw to the child myself," a second rider said. "There is no heir to Vlad Valkire left living." Again the dark figure was silent. "Then how have the Vyrl returned to sanity?" he said at last. "How was Vaelros turned? Secret daughter of the moon queen. The answer to her riddle is plain." He turned to the second rider. "You failed." The rider stumbled back as though struck and, for a moment, the owl could see his face. A dark mist rose from a black and blood-red box at his breast. It encircled his body then covered his head like a hood. Its ends seemed ragged and in those ends, the owl saw tiny hands digging into his skin. His face was white -- like a dead man but his eyes seemed very alive. In them, the owl could see terror. The claws drew blood and his mouth opened in a silent scream. He fell to his knees. The claws released. The mist dispersed and he let out a death-rattle cough. He sat so still the owl thought he was petrified. A breeze waved through the grass. Finally, the rider stood. At first he faltered. Slowly his features seemed to change. He grew paler. More terrible. His face -- a little more like the dead. "He has paid," a harsh, almost feminine voice, said. It seemed to come from somewhere behind the rider. The owl looked around, startled, but couldn't see the speaker. "A hundred times over," the figure said dispassionately. "But it doesn't fix our problem." "She restored the Vyrl," the dragon mused. "Yes," the figure replied. "What must we do?" the spiders clicked. "Tonight, strike the elves. Draw the noose tight. No one escapes the Vale." "And what do I do?" the dragon hissed. "Watch the Red Gate," the figure whispered. "If she comes?" "Do what you want, eat her if you like. I don't care, so long as she dies or is turned back." The dragon lifted its head and laughed. It was low and barely audible but the branch beneath the owl's feet trembled. "Could she escape?" the first rider asked. "It is a possibility," the dark figure replied. "What then?" "She's a witch, remember? Her own people will see to it." The spiders clicked their forelimbs in laughter. The figure turned his head and, for a moment, the owl could see his face. It was both beautiful and sad. "Go now." Spiders faded into their shadows and dragon slid down the hill. Wolf and rider filed away and the dark figure glided into the night. When all was quiet, the owl spread his wings and, silent as a feather riding smoke, set out to find the others, to spread word about his new mistress. With each wing flap he could feel his strength returning, his fear falling away. Pride swelled in his feathered breast that she had chosen him to bring the news. As he flew, a dark cloud of mist rose from the land. At first, it only blurred his vision. It gradually grew thicker until he had difficulty finding his way. Disoriented, he settled closer to ground. There was sudden motion, a snap, and then pain. Long teeth tore him. His last sight was of his feathers - white with red flecks - falling to earth. Copyright, 2008, Robert Marston Fanney More at www.luthielssong.com

Luthiel's Song Press Release: War of Mists Now Available for Preorder

Fri, 22 Feb 2008 20:24:56 -0800

The War of Mists, the second installment in the Luthiel's Song series, is now in its final round of edits and is slated for publication on June 1, 2008. It is also now officially available for preorder. If you would like to reserve a signed copy, find out more at: http://www.luthielssong.com/blog/2007/12/04/beware-the-war-of-mists-is-coming/. Written by independent novelist Robert Marston Fanney, the award-winning first book in the Luthiel's Song series -- Dreams of the Ringed Vale -- has made its way into the hearts of nearly 10,000 readers worldwide and received widespread critical acclaim. For an independent novel to have touched so many is little short of a miracle. With luck, love, and good fortune, it is entirely possible the second installment in the Luthiel's Song series will be a continuation of this remarkable phenomena. In Dreams of the Ringed Vale, Luthiel, an orphan raised by elfish parents, received a magical gift on her 15th birthday and then some terrible news. Her foster sister, Leowin, was Chosen to be a blood tithe to terrible creatures called Vyrl -- who feed on the blood of elves. Unable to live with the thought of her sister going into danger, Luthiel decided to break the most perilous law of the faelands, take the dangerous journey to the Vale of Mists, and offer herself to the Vyrl instead. Using her wits, wisdom, and the weapons given her by her family, Luthiel managed to survive this dangerous adventure finding that of all her gifts, compassion was the most important. Luthiel's adventures continue in The War of Mists. Finding herself in the company of monsters, Luthiel must escape from the Vale of Mists and return with an unwanted message to the land of the elves. Having learned about her imprisoned mother, her cursed and bodily broken father, and the plans of a dark but fair lord to plunge the Faelands into a terrible war, she must turn enemies into friends in a desperate race against both time and the rising brutality of a storm great enough to devour worlds. To learn more about the War of Mists a short preview is available at http://www.luthielssong.com/blog/2007/12/04/beware-the-war-of-mists-is-coming/. Luthiel's journey both in the World of Dreams and the real world hasn't been an easy one. She has faced many challenges and despite her phenomenal striving and winning the love of many of you, her fate is still uncertain. Lend your hearts and swords to the cause and stand beside Luthiel today. Our adventure has only begun.

Fantasy Scribbler

LuthielCover02-11

LuthielCover02-32-Small

A Writer's Prayer

War of Mists Prologue

Luthiel's Song Press Release: War of Mists Now Available for Preorder