We’ve all heard the line and one ring to rule them all, and I think one of the greatest challenges of writing is finding your own voice in a sea of themes that have been used before, sometimes with great popularity. When I first saw the ring line, the one you’re about to read, Lord of the Rings did flash through my mind. Breaking away from the underlying assumptions not just of how that story worked but of how that magic worked can be challenging. It can hurt an author.

The Brotherhood was exciting for me, not just because I could easily break away from the ideas I had, but because when I dove into it there was so much new. The feel of the story is a whole new tone, the setting is new. It’s exciting. I want to know more, and I don’t feel like I know this story, even if I know that someone, somewhere, who became very popular, once had this thing about rings. While it’s still in the editing phase, the author, Philip Smith, has given me a bit to share with you today, that I hope with give you a taste of something new and something with potential to captivate you.

Before we get into that, here’s a synopsis:

When a vile prince brings down the might of the Shauden Empire on her village, Paige is thrown head first into a mystery and a quest to rescue her older sister from his clutches. With the help of a band of unlikely allies, the halfling sets out on a quest that will test both her metal and her mental fortitude.

Will she uncover the mystery surrounding her family and the Empire? Will she be able to bust Olivian out of the most impregnable fort on the frontier?

Set in a brilliant world with a crazy cast of characters, Book One in the Eirensgarth series will leave you filled with wonder…..and wondering what happens next!

One last thing, you can follow The Brotherhood on facebook.

And, without further ado…

Prologue, An excerpt:

“Fool,” Feridar muttered, twisting his own signet ring around the smallest finger on his left hand. He pulled it off and glanced at the scarred tissue beneath where the ring sat. Ala’haran had been smart to cut off his brand. Luckily the renegade hadn’t known the ring did more than brand its wearer; it could also recall scenes from where it had been. It was a lucky break for the prince, and he trusted it would be a fatal one for his adversary.

The prince returned his ring to his finger and passed through his room to head downstairs once again. His long strides carried him to the kitchens which led out to the royal stables in the rear palace courtyard. As he exited the kitchen doors he almost ran into a young man only a few years younger than himself who was dragging an even younger male back into the castle by the collar of a beautifully tailored shirt.

“Watch it!” Feridar barked as the first young man’s shoulder bumped into his chest.

“Feridar, where you off to? It’s late!” the offender laughed taking a giant bite out of an apple as he leaned against the doorway, blocking Feridar’s path. He was only a few inches shorter than Feridar, dressed in a simple linen shirt and buff breeches tucked into a pair of immaculate riding boots which were now speckled with dust. His tousled black hair and close cut beard gave an interesting contrast to the youthful nature of his face. His brown eyes searched Feridar’s face.

“Move Tybahaz,” Feridar growled. “Don’t you have better things to do like charming another milkmaid?”

“She was a scullery maid, big brother,” Tybahaz corrected. “And if you had seen the princess father had tried to pass me off on all day with that envoy from the Carellian Islands, you would have run for the scullery as well!”

“Quite,” Feridar muttered. He glanced from Tybahaz to the boy his half-brother was dragging by the collar and his glare deepened.

“What is wrong with Jaiden?”

“Just caught him doodling behind the livery,” Tybahaz laughed, giving the teenager a ruffle of the hair. “Skipped out on his fencing lessons this evening again so Master Alsaibeh sent me looking for him.”

Feridar grabbed the teenager by the scruff of his neck and pushed him back outside and against the palace’s coral-colored granite wall. The lad kept his eyes shut tight, refusing to look at his older half-brother.

“You call yourself the son of the Shahir!?” he snapped, throwing the younger prince to the ground. Jaiden stumbled backwards, a notebook he’d been carrying hit the dusty ground and papers scattered everywhere. Feridar picked up a few of the charcoal sketches depicting horses and soldiers. Though he could not deny the sketches were accomplished, his anger and frustration at his youngest half-brother would not let him consider complementing the seventeen year old.

“You are a Prince of the Shauds!” he spat, crumpling the papers in his fist. “You were born to ride horses into battle, not sit on your shanks and draw them!”

“I was just-”

“You were just ignoring your obligations and playing like a little school girl!” Feridar shouted, throwing the wad of crumpled papers into the dirt. They blew away like tumbleweeds in the desert. The younger prince looked up at his brother with fear in his blue eyes.

“Get up,” Feridar commanded. The boy scrambled to his feet, his gaze downcast and hidden in a shaggy mess of light brown hair.

“Get to the armory and maybe give some heed to the teachings of Master Alsaibeh. How can I trust you to carry a sword for me in battle one day if I can’t even trust that you’ll be where you’re supposed to be.”

He held up the charcoal pencil that had fallen out of the notebook and pushed it against Jaiden’s nose.

“You can’t win a battle with one of these.”

Feridar drew his scimitar and placed it to the boy prince’s throat.

“You have to know how to use one of these.”

The crown prince shoved Jaiden back through the door into Tybahaz’s arms. Tybahaz looked annoyed, glowering at his older brother, but said nothing as he brushed the dirt off Jaiden’s back and pushed him into the kitchens.

“Where is Ghaze?” Feridar demanded. Tybahaz shrugged.

“Probably in the library like he always is.”

“Send him to the livery,” Feridar demanded. Tybahaz rolled his eyes at being ordered about like a house slave, but nodded as he stepped back inside the palace kitchens. Feridar sniffed indignantly and made his way to the far side of the courtyard to the livery. He dismissed the two stable boys with a gruff wave of his hand as he entered the columned archway that led into the stables built into the courtyard wall.

The livery had over fifty large stalls and three separate tack rooms for use by the royal family. In his youth this was one of the few places Feridar genuinely loved to be in Telesan. The smell of the beasts mingled with the scent of sweet, freshly cut hay the slaves hauled in daily. The leather in the tack rooms reminded him of the countless tournaments he’d fought in his brief twenty-eight years. With each victory, his glory and ego grew, yet for all his trophies and victory banners, his father still looked at him like a second choice son and heir.

Feridar walked over to the stall of his favorite war horse. The beast stood eighteen hands high with a silky charcoal-grey coat fading into black feathering on his large, heavy hooves. His mane was the same dark ebony color as his feathering, braided the full length of his hefty neck. He was a barbarian breed. The southern horses were one of the few things the prince did not despise about the lesser peasant kingdoms they had conquered over the last decade.

“What say you, Calif?” the prince said softly, offering the great war horse a sack of oats. The horses in the next two stalls whinnied in jealousy, but Calif paid them no mind as he buried his bulbous muzzle into the treat. The prince smiled for a moment. He began brushing his steed with deft strokes along the back of his high withers and down past the creature’s loin. The minutes rolled by, and Feridar lost himself in the smooth, uncomplicated motions of the task at hand as the flickering lantern light teased the shadows in the marble stall.

The sound of a throat being cleared pulled Feridar from his meditation. He looked up to see another young man closer to his age standing in the doorway of the stables. He had a shaved head tattooed with snakes and dragons intertwining in knotted patterns, his dark eyebrows hiding deep set brown eyes. The man was wearing the loose-fitting robes of a cleric with a pair of expensive magnified reading spectacles perched atop his thin nose. He was shorter than Feridar by almost a full hand’s width, but he had a sharp, keen look about him that was enough to intimidate the brawniest of officers in the army, regular and irregular alike.

“You asked to see me?” the young man queried in a higher pitched voice than one might expect. Yet every word was measured and precise.

“Yes, Ghaze. I need to ask you something about the Branding Spells,” Feridar grunted, pulling the loose hair from Calif’s brush and tossing it on the floor.

“A favor for information.” Ghaze demanded. Feridar almost smiled as he tossed a thick wool blanket on Calif’s back. Out of all four of his brothers, Ghaze was his only full brother and the only one he did not loathe. As the second eldest of the Shahir’s palace born princes, Ghaze was as intellectual as Feridar was militant. He had studied the dark arts and barbarian’s magic almost as well as his father, and had read almost every book in the vast library of the palace.

“Name it,” Feridar said, pulling his travel saddle out of the tack room and setting it atop the saddle blanket.

“To be determined. But don’t worry, it won’t be above your mental faculties, Feridar.”

The crowned prince snorted in disgust.

“Fine. A favor. When I get back.”

“Back?”

“We’re leaving tomorrow for the Wild.”

“So soon? I hadn’t heard of any impending campaigns at court.”

“It just came up,” Feridar muttered.

“Has our father calculated the cost of a second campaign in the season? Fall is already underway, the troops will be needing to settle into winter quarters and the treasury can only handle-”

“We’ve got Ala’haran,” blurted out Feridar, cinching the saddle belt tight. Calif stomped, irritated, and Ghaze’s jaw dropped.

“Ala’haran is alive?”

“For the moment.”

“I see. And your question about Branding Spells?”

“Yes. I need to know if it’s possible to rid yourself of one.”

Ghaze leaned against the stable wall and folded his arms, rubbing his stubbled chin thoughtfully.

“In theory. It would take some strong concealment magic most likely.”

“What about removing the actual physical brand?”

“You mean like a surgery?”

“I mean, if I cut off this finger,” Feridar snapped, pulling the signet ring off his little finger and showing the scarred tissue. “Will father still be able to see visions of me?”

“Probably not,” Ghaze speculated. “Why?”

“I think Ala’haran cut off his finger to avoid being tracked,” Feridar muttered.

“That would definitely help. Too bad father didn’t brand him somewhere he couldn’t cut it out.”

“Is there any other way of tracking him through the ring now that it is in our possession? Father was able to get vague placement with some sort of ‘Last Sight’ spell, but I need to be more precise than that.”

“Not that I know of. Without the brand he’s still a ghost in the Wild,” Ghaze said, face contorted in concentration.

“No. Not a ghost,” Feridar said, mounting Calif and wheeling the war horse around in the stable’s hallway twice. It felt good to be back in the saddle. “Ghost’s can’t bleed. And I fully intend to make that a priority.”

“Well then, best of luck to you my Prince,” the younger prince said, nodding courteously to Feridar. “Try not to make too much of a mess?”

Fereidar laughed cruelly and spurred Calif into a full gallop out of the livery. He charged through the courtyard on his way to meet with his generals, the two moons lighting his pathway from their perch the night sky.  He had a hunt to conduct, and the sly fox would not slip past him. Not this time.

It would be a long night, but for Feridar, the fun had just begun.

 

I hope you’ve enjoyed this, and I hope you’ll support this upcoming book. You can follow The Brotherhood on facebook.