Okay then, I’ll just write in a brief intro, if I may.
The Story is set in an ‘other world’ existence, and is a simple and easy read. In this other world, there are seven races or species of intelligent life that I conjured up. Some are similar to types quite famous in fantasy fiction, in some way or the other. Here’s the blurb I’m running on the book back over/about section –
He was young, no older than she. And quite handsome. But Iola couldn’t care much about such things. He was looking around nervously, adjusting his flowing red cloak over his broad shoulders from time to time. She could tell he was new at his occupation, and possibly why the only one attending his post. His more senior colleagues were no doubt huddled in some corner playing dice or drinking.
Iola kept her eye on the young guard from her hiding place in the shadowed undergrowth across the imposing stronghold. When Kadar brought her there just a shade after midnight, the young clanswoman was once more awestruck by the immensity of the structure. It was several times wider than the war-chief’s great hall back home and almost thrice that many times taller. The thought of entering such a foreboding place had made her shudder and feel faint.
She closed her eyes. Her mind was set on what she had to do. It would take a great deal of concentration and courage to accomplish what was needed, but Iola was more than ready for it. Her love of her grandfather, for her people and for her ancestral lands gave her the strength she needed.
Iola focused her thoughts on the young guard. She had entered a mind of another earlier that day. And even if it had been brief and she had little control then, something within her told her that if she tried even harder, she could do it again and fare even better. And there was no other time more suitable than at that moment to do so.
The vivid swirls of colour in her mind were becoming more and more easy to push past and focus on her intended target. She sensed the young man’s mind guarding the gates from across her. The colour in her mind was a solid green. It defined the young guardsman. Bold and naive, eager and willing. She took a deep breath and dove right in.
Iola opened her eyes and gasped. She was looking at herself or at least at the shrubbery where she was hiding. She was inside his head, looking at what he was seeing. Instinct told her that if she focused even harder, she could possible control him, or at least nudge him along to an extent.
“Look to the left.” She murmured softly.
Her heart skipped a beat. Images of the roadway appeared in her mind as the guardsman turned his head to the left. Then as he looked down at his hands, she could see his large, calloused palms facing upward. A rush of excitement coursed all through Iola and she calmed herself. This was a very narrow window of opportunity she had. She didn’t know for how long she could sustain this extraordinary ability.
“Get inside. Make haste.” Iola nudged. “To the dungeon.
Darker than a moonless night, the underground tunnel seemed to go on and on, until finally Darric came to an abrupt stop. The small lit wick that he held up was the only source of light, and its dimness showed them a wide opening through which other tunnels connected.
Ethel realised that they were in some kind of underground network of secret passages, built perhaps decades or even centuries ago. She had lived in the kingdom of Granonmark since she was a little child and knew nothing of this. One of the tunnels would lead to the palace, but which one.
“Third one from the left.” Darric told her, smiling in the dim light.
“After you.” She smiled back, keeping a firm grip on the hilt of a foot long dagger sheathed at her hip.
What seemed a thousand or so paces later they came to another wide opening. This one had two tunnels leading upward and one going further down. Darric paused and scratched his clean shaven chin.
“Lost your way?” Ethel stepped under one of the overhead tunnels and looked up.
“Just thinking.” The master thief looked pensive.
“Where do these lead?”
“The left one going up leads to the king’s own bedchamber and to the treasury, the right goes to the throne room.”
“And this one?” Ethel pointed at the one going down with her booted foot.
“To the dungeons.”
“And which of these lead to the bloody harem?” She frowned, tightening her grip in the dagger hilt.
“The one to the king’s bedchamber.” Darric pointed upward.
“Then we take the left tunnel up.” Ethel leapt up and grabbed one of the rusted hand holds.
“Yes, it also leads to the treasury.” Darric joined her as she scurried up.
“But we rescue Genève first and free all the others.” She called down to him.
“I am a man of my word.” He replied, almost plaintively.
“Somehow I am yet to be convinced.” The blacksmith muttered to herself.