Daily Archives: August 21, 2016

Sunday Snippet August 21, 2016

Posting from Book 8 of The Academy of the Accord series this month.  Terhesh is a Wyverian, a race that looks rather like a human/dragon hybrid: they have wings, a tail, scales instead of skin, and talons on their toes.  He is roughly fifteen years old.

Picking up from last week’s snippet.  Terhesh is surrounded by four cadets with drawn swords, and has drawn his own in response.


“What is going on here?”

A new voice cut through the night and all four cadets stepped back and came to attention as a tall bearded blond man approached them.  He wore the robes of a Master, but there was a sword at his hip and he moved with the sure easy grace of a warrior.  At his side was another cadet;  he was smaller than the others but he pushed through their ring to stand at Terhesh’s side, one hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword, his body relaxed and at ease, but poised and alert.

“Master Yhonshel,” one said.  “It was going to attack us.  You saw it, it drew its sword.”

“That’s enough.”

The cadets flinched at the anger in the man’s voice.  “D’temmar, report.”

“Sir.  We were on curfew patrol when we saw… this.”  The cadet gestured toward Terhesh and Radenth.  “They seemed to be struggling and then the warrior went down.  He appears weak, as if injured, but we don’t know what it did to him.”

Terhesh could see the Master’s jaw tighten in anger and he trembled, despair colder than the early spring night clutching him.  The cadet standing beside him touched his arm in gentle reassurance, and Terhesh looked at him, startled as much by the touch as by the feelings of protectiveness that swept through him, but the cadet’s gaze was focused on the Master he had come with, as if waiting for a cue.

“I said that was enough.”  The Master’s voice was sharp, but quiet.  “The four of you will wait here until Commander Marsden comes for you.  You will not move or speak until he does.”  One cadet opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out.  Another tried to back away but found himself rooted to the spot.  “Be aware,” the Master continued, his voice deathly soft, “that your swords will likely be broken and the four of you confined to the stockade.”



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