Today for WeWriWa we have another piece from my swords and sorcery romance, Radiq:

The noon sun beat upon Radiq’s shoulders, flattening his resolve like a slug of iron upon an anvil. As much as he wanted to, there was little the warrior turned ambassador could do to delay the inevitable approach to the Guild House—the streets of Thal Qedoq were nearly empty, the city’s inhabitants having escaped indoors away from the broiling heat. His mission was simple: He need only meet with the Red Guild Master and secure his assistance—for surely the greatest mage in the eastern world would readily know the location of a crown lost for three millennia?

Radiq snorted at the ludicrousness of that thought. His real concern should be avoiding an encounter with Marron—his brother would unquestionably want to pick up the fight where Radiq had dropped it ten years ago—and Radiq had no time to spare on Marron’s ambition and self-justification.

Laying further consideration of his brother’s errors aside as unproductive, Radiq turned his horse onto Qed Harraq, the great thoroughfare that ran straight as a lance to the gates of the Guild House. The First Sword of Thessalia reined Jessel to a halt within the deep shadows of the great entrance. His nerves crawled with the sense of being watched; that discomfort angered him, and he called out sharply to the guardhouse, “Make way for the envoy of Crown Prince Vadim, heir to the throne of Thal Thessaly!”

“We know who you are, Radiq, son of Thorrim,” replied a voice from the shadowed gate house, “and we know why you have come.”

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Welcome, all!

Today I’m sharing an excerpt from my sword and sorcery WIP, Radiq.

Radiq reined in Jessel atop the rise. The roan stallion blew and stamped, its breath billowing in the cool morning air. A slight breeze stirred Radiq’s hair and carried the acrid scents of horse and man. Nine days of hard travel had brought them to this hilltop. Their shadows stretched out before them to point the way to Thal Qedoq. The City of the Red Mages lay nestled in the foothills of the Great Western Mountains, its tall gates overlooking the Valley of Sha’Harim; he’d be riding through those gates by mid-day.

Ten years ago he’d ridden out those same gates and sworn never to return. But that oath meant little when weighed against the life of the man he now served, and Radiq refused to look any more closely at what that itself meant. Ironically, saving that life would mean sacrificing the one true desire of his own life, for Prince Vadim could no more be with Radiq than Radiq could fly to one of the pale moons, which even now faded as the sun grew stronger.

“Oh, my prince,” he thought, “why did you have to contract marriage with a sorceress?”

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