2026 W : Walking Man

 

An excerpt from Book Three of the Tear Stone Collectors, working title Fire any Legacy.

Deneas is a human who through dragon magic can take on dragon form. Trelleir the last of his kind gave Deneas a fragment of his magic so he would have a companion and no longer be alone.

 To set the scene, a massive storm flooded the caves where they were staying. Now there is a different threat from the storm, a creature of fire and lightning.

The deep rumble that rolled across the valley served as the herald for what was to come. Deneas risked a peek and snaked her head of over her shoulder. Instead of the single flashes of lightning they had watched through the cave entrance, winds swirled steel gray clouds into a circle. Ribbons of blue fire raced around within the formation, giving it an eerie glow. Violet spears streaked from one side to the other. An even brighter forked beam flickered into existence. It hovered in the blackness, then in blinding flash struck a tree. Flames burst into life creating a burning skeleton.

In the maelstrom’s heart, streams of fire leaping from cloud to cloud formed the figure of a giant walking man. Lightning bolts dangled from the creature’s arms, fiery ropes flew off with the winds.

Her wingstroke faltered. They were out in the open. A bolt from the storm-being would kill.

"Den, don't look back," Trelleir's stern tone ordered. The tug on the rope emphasized the command. He now flew higher, stroked harder, so that they covered more ground with each hop.

Deneas realized trelleir now stayed slightly out of sync with her movements. He leaped first and used his momentum to pull her so that the distance covered was more than her own actions provided.

Danced towards them. The bolts of lightning seemed to land closer and closer with each heartbeat. A stream of blue flame struck the ground between her and Trelleir. The explosion threw a cloud of dirt in the air in their path.

Deneas saw the explosion but couldn't avoid it.

~till next time Helen 

If you want to see my previous postings for the challenge, go here. If you're following other blogs in the challenge, here's the master list of the participants.

For more on Deneas and Trelleir check out the other books in the series.

Fire and Amulet at Amazon and elsewhere

Fire and Redemption at BooksWeLove (ebook) 

and in paperback and ebook at Amazon and elsewhere 

2026 U: undercover

 

In the world of the dragshi, girls were not as a rule admitted as apprentices to the Ceoltier Hall. Females were educated there on special admissions based on their talents or expected place in life, primarily female dragon lords or the daughters of the leaders of a major village. However Anastasia was none of those. She was the granddaughter of the leader of a trading caravan. Not important enough to justify the formal training, but she possessed a rare skill…She could use mental speech to communicate with the dragon lord and his dragon soul twin. Her tue to the dragon lords made her vulnerable to their enemies so the decision was made for her to go undercover at the hall as a boy. Her hair was cut short, she wore trousers instead of a trader’s skirt. Her name became Stosh. Close enough to her real name to make it easy for her to respond yet different enough for others not to make the connection.

~till next time Helen 

If you want to see my previous postings for the challenge, go here.  

 

If you're following other blogs in the challenge, here's the master list of the participants.

Buy Dragon Destiny at Amazon and these sites

2026 R : Riot

 

2026 marks the year of the fire horse. The element Fire amplifies the Horse’s natural traits of energy and passion. Characteristics of the magical equines of the books I write. From Dragon Destiny an excerpt illustrating energy and passion using " riot" as the "r" in the atoz challenge.

The shouts of frightened men and the high-pitched squeals of terrified animals competed with the thunder. A discordant twang pulled Branin’s gaze upward to the hayloft where a white-faced servant wrung the jarring notes from a bagpipe. The young man tried to play the slow lullaby that usually calmed the horses during the winter storms. However, his hands shook so badly neither chord nor tune emerged true.

A pair of brown horses at the double doors caught Branin’s attention. Neighing wildly, the two young colts reared in unison. Their front hooves smashed down, chipping away the bar that held the doors closed. If they reached the outside, the storm would blind and disorient them until the frightened creatures ran off the cliff.

“Enough of this,” Branin snarled. “Forget the lullaby,” he called to the musician. “Play the Seidheirn Battle Hymn.” Suiting actions to words, he drew his sword, snatched up a metal bucket, and pounded out the beat. His voice, pitched to be heard above the din, rang out with the ancient call to war.

“Shoulder to shoulder, we charge onto the foe.
Fighting we battle on, to the next world we go.
Seidheirn, seidheirn, sound the battle roar,
Honor the fallen, and mourn no more.

Answer the battle cry with honor,
Until victory is born.
Our spirit can never be broken,
Even when the final requiem is spoken.” 

One by one, other voices joined in. Then a second and a third makeshift drum added to the cadence. No longer needed to keep the tune moving, Branin sheathed his sword and tossed the bucket aside. He walked among the grooms, squeezing a shoulder here, a clap on the back there. “Keep singing,” he encouraged. “Louder... louder.” With each verse, the effect of the hymn grew stronger while the infectious rhythm kept even the worst of the singers in a semblance of harmony. Seidheirn began to stomp their hooves, sending up clouds of dust.

Branin’s pulse raced and leapt with the words of the stirring battle cry. Letting his voice die away, he listened with his dragon senses. The singing drowned out the thunder. This isn’t possible. A double handful of men can’t make this much noise. It quickly became obvious the song resounded not just from the grooms in that section of the barn, but also from the other three wings of the x-shaped stable. Liam must have heard what I was doing and had the others try the tactic too. A reinforcing energy flickered at the edge of his mind. He realized Eirwen utilized the song to forward strength from everyone in the main building to support those trying to subdue the crazed animals.

For the first time since he entered the stable, Branin felt the emotional state shift. Several of the horses stopped rearing and allowed the grooms to slip ropes over their lowered heads. Now that the humans had regained control of their fear, Branin put the next part of his plan into action. He watched Marsainn block a dappled mare’s wild dash from a stall. The stallion snapped at the horse, forcing her back. “Mar, get over here,” Branin yelled.

In response, the black seidheirn trumpeted an obvious command. A younger version took a protective stance in front of the mare, who now quivered in the corner. Freed of guard duty, the larger animal wove his way through the press of horses in the aisle.

“You know what to do, Mar,” Branin directed. “The horses are primed. We just need to key them into their training.”

The stallion tossed his head in agreement. He nipped one of the browns attacking the door, then the other. They stopped their frantic rearing at Marsainn’s neigh. One snorted and started to rear again, but dropped back to all fours when Marsainn clamped his teeth around the rebel’s neck. When the smaller horse whinnied in submission, Marsainn released his prisoner and galloped over to Branin.

Branin leaped onto Marsainn’s back. “Column of twos,” he ordered in a voice that cut through the bedlam. With an exuberant bugle, Marsainn spun on his haunches. He pranced in place before heading down the aisle in a high-stepping march. His hooves struck the ground in time with the human chorus.

Instead of resuming their breaching of the doors, the two browns reacted to the repeated command of “form up” and moved into position at Marsainn’s heels. A pair of young black horses joined the ranks. When Marsainn strutted past each stall, except for mares and their foals, the true horses and seidheirn trotted out and added to the line. Any of the horses in the main aisle backed into a stall at the line’s advance or joined the impromptu parade. If they did not move fast enough, they were helped along by a quick nip or a nudge from Marsainn or one of his sons. All the stallions and geldings reacted to Branin’s repeated calls of “column of twos” and “parade march.” Their combat training took over, and the animals, although they bore neither rider nor saddle, turned into the line.

The men’s singing became ragged, yet they forced stressed vocal chords to continue the chant. On the next verse, all the seidheirn trumpeted. Before the line completed another circuit of the barn, every horse and seidheirn either marched in the procession or pranced in place. One by one, the men’s voices fell away when a servant or groom stopped singing to talk quietly to the trembling animals near them. Soon, only the drone of bagpipes from the hayloft could be heard above the thunder and the rain beating on the roof. Branin started to order a change in the music just as the piper turned the final note of the seidheirn challenge into a ballad with a strong beat. The musician slowed the melody with each verse until it became almost like a lullaby.

Marsainn shifted to a walk that kept the earth-pounding rhythm, but covered less ground. 

Now when they passed a stall, Branin called out “rear guard, break.” Marsainn snorted, reinforcing the command. Branin half-turned to see the result of his order. Two horses at the back of the column separated. One trotted left, the other walked to the right. Waiting men stroked the horses’ necks, and slipped ropes over the animals’ heads as they filed into their stalls. Again and again, the scene repeated until only Marsainn, the two brown horses who had tried to destroy the stable door, and two large black seidheirn stallions high-stepped the length of the stable. Foam covered all five animals.

“Column, halt. Dismissed,” Branin called in a final command. He waited while grooms led the now-compliant animals to stalls. “Just a few minutes more,” he told the trembling Marsainn. Sliding down to the floor, he snatched a scrap of rag to rub down the sweat-drenched mount. The familiar action helped Branin release some of the stress of controlling the emotions of so many men and animals. “You did well, Marsainn,” Branin murmured. “You served your kin well this day, old friend.”

The black stallion nickered and tossed his mane as if to say, I know.

 

~till next time Helen 

If you want to see my previous postings for the challenge, go here. 

If you're following other blogs in the challenge, here's the master list of the participants.

Buy Dragon Destiny at Amazon and These Sites

2026 P : Performance

The performance is an excerpt from Dragon Destiny. Although she is not far removed from being a young girl, Anastasia shows her inner strength by performing in front of strangers--and her kin. The setting is celebration and she is using the performer as a thank you to the local residents. She is performing a difficult piece of a legend of fated lovers. Keep on mind that at this time she hasn’t had formal training.

With Uaine’s “good luck” still echoing in her ears, Anastasia climbed the two steps and walked to the center of the stage. Nerves she thought long conquered rose once again and grew stronger when she looked out over the sea of faces turned towards her.

She focused to shift the unease. They are just friends and kinsmen. This is no different than teaching the little ones their letters and numbers. Sucking a breath deep into her lungs, she held it for a mere second then released it as a single, clear note

Once she started, her tension dropped away and she slipped into the familiar words. The broad smile on Uaine’s face and the surprised look on those around him removed the last of Anastasia’s uncertainty and she threw herself into the song. All too soon the last chorus filled the hall... and she realized, Nilbar and the other town musicians had been playing along with her. A flick of her fingers silenced the others, leaving only the sound of her voice. When the story told of the heartbroken Mirianth flying to the moon, Anastasia let her voice trail off until a profound silence filled the room.  

A single clap shattered the thrall left by the music. The sound drew Anastasia’s gaze to the front row—Uaine. Trust him to support me and to show approval when no one else does. 

If you want to see my previous postings for the challenge, go here. If you're following other blogs in the challenge, here's the master list of the participants.

Buy Dragon Destiny at Amazon and These Sites

2026 O : Obelisk

 

An excerpt from Windmaster of a traveler's detour to the perfect “O” obelisk.

To someone who until recently had eschewed horses for the rolling deck, riding Kaleigh without benefit of saddle or bridle was a new experience. Both her and Dal’s laughter mingled with the soft swoosh of the grass as the fàlaire loped across the meadow, creating wraith-like swirls in the morning mist. Even at a leisurely pace, they reached the ring of stones while the sky was still turning from silver into the bright pink, which at sea heralded bad weather on the horizon.

The call of ancient magic called out with a force Ellspeth felt in her bones. “What is this place?”

“In the times of many ancestors past, this was a place of fiosachd, of good fortune. Eventually someone set up the circle of stones.”

Dal slid from Taer’s back and walked around the stones. Ellspeth could see the five outer ones were as tall as a man. The center stone, a circular spire, twice as tall as the wizard, held court and loomed over a small stone bench. An outer circle of white pebbles, a handspan wide and three or four fingers high, gleamed as a halo around the rocks.

“It is a tradition for mountain people to leave a pebble at a place like this as an offering or just to acknowledge their presence,” Dal explained. “Those embarking on a long journey often take a stone with them for safe travel. We have time. Come feel the music in the rocks.”

The moment her feet touched the ground Ellspeth felt safe. A spot halfway around the circle seemed the place for the pebble in her hand. When she knelt to place it atop a small cairn of similar ones, she thought she could hear the voices of all those who had stopped there. 

~till next time Helen 

If you're following other blogs in the challenge, here's the master list of the participants.

Buy Windmaster at Amazon and These Sites

2026 M : Mothers

 

After April comes May, and with it Mothers’ Day. In honor of mothers everywhere, introducing a few of the women in my life and those of the dragshi and the world of Windmaster.

 Woman who inspired the character
of Eilidh, chieftain of Clan Daimh
and my best table buddy

Helen Boganski Henderson 

     Betty Jane Miller (mother)

     Jessie Treon (grandmother) name used for Anastasia’s dragon soul twin

     Susan Chippi (grandmother)

Lady Ellspeth of the House of Cszabo

     Mirrim captain of the Northern Pearl (mother)

     Rima captain of the Mountain Mist (grandmother)

Lord Dal

    Eilidh (mother) dowager chieftain of Clan Daimh, inherited rule of the clan after husband’s death

     MarEilidh (great-grandmother) gave Dal the amber stone used to unlock one of the clues to the cave of the hidden tool that could control magic

Lord Branin

     Liath (mother)

Anastasia of clan Weiss

   Voirrey (mother)

   Arianrhod (silver circle)

~till next time Helen 

If you want to see my previous postings for the challenge, go here. If you're following other blogs in the challenge, here's the master list of the participants.

2026 L : Lilac, daffodils, It’s spring. Oh, my.

.

 A personal reflection on some of the things that indicate spring. Even before the leaves can be seen, a layer of green powder covers everything outside from car windows to farm equipment. forsythia bushes and clumps of Daffodils add pops of yellow to the world. Beneath the old peach tree on my childhood farm a circle of daffodils disturbed the brown stable of last year's hay field. 

Image by -Rita-👩‍🍳 und 📷 mit ❤ from Pixabay

However the most vivid memory of the shift between winter and summer was the scent of lilac. Large vases of the purple flowers sat in the middle of the kitchen table. The source of this bounty was a ten-foot tall, twenty foot diameter bush that to me seemed ancient. Years of children playing hide and seek branches wore a path through the middle. Even the animals enjoyed the shade of the branches. A bonded pair of a sheep and a Shetland pony evoked laughter as long as you didn't get caught in the stampede when the sheep realized the pony was out of sight and raced around the lilac bush to find him. 

Below are two excepts containing flowers at ceremonies. One from Windmaster and the other from Windmaster Legacy.

A Southern Sea handfasting

“My friends, let us ask the water gods for success for our hunters and blessings for those who journey on the morrow.” 

A young man, a few seasons short of his second decade, led a woman the same age to where Semelen stood. The boy’s face was solemn, the girl’s shy and wistful. The old wizard wrapped a floral vine around the pair’s wrists. His hands upon the pair’s heads, he closed his eyes and spoke a blessing in an ancient tongue. The couple departed hand-in-hand into the jungle. 

A few minutes later another couple approached Semelen, who repeated the short ceremony. This couple ran off toward the beach, sleeping mats tucked under their arms. 

Ellspeth slipped around the dying fire, her light tread silent on the soft carpet of short grass. 

Dal looked up into her eyes, now a light willow green sparkling with emotion. 

“For a safe journey.” She placed a floral wreath around Dal’s neck. 

Dal fought down the feelings that rose with Ellspeth’s touch. Then his eyes hooded with suppressed passion, he stood. A swift motion lifted the wreath from his neck and placed it around Ellspeth’s. Her fingers felt warm in his as he led her over to Semelen. At their approach, the islander’s brown face glowed with a broad smile.

 Flowers at a king’s reception 

Two floral wreaths of purple trumpet flowers interwoven with orange blossoms from the southern isle hung around the bard’s neck. “Those flowers must have been hothouse raised,” Vika whispered as he guided Ellspeth the final few steps to the waiting trio. “The trumpet flowers are only found in the highest mountain meadow and should just now be breaking through the ground. They are almost as difficult to grow as the island blossoms. It is a tribute to you and Dal that Fraunces had them produced for this day.”  

And just because it is spring, one of my favorite pictures, cherry blossoms.

~till next time Helen

If you want to see my previous postings for the challenge, go here. 

If you're following other blogs in the challenge, here's the master list of the participants.

Buy Windmaster at Amazon and These Sites

.

2026 J : Jump

 

Below is a brief except from Windmaster Legacy. Lord Dal is on a rescue mission to save his kidnapped bride. He is trapped on a cliff with open air at his back and an enemy blocking the path to freedom.

An authors note: I foreshadowed the magic used to same the hero without ever knowing it. I just included a tale told to children earlier in the book about horses with wings that flew in the sky with the birds. And a personal thought, I especially liked the stallion's snarky attitude afterwards.

Dust off to the left indicated mounted men galloping toward him in a flanking maneuver. When a third group of men on horseback raced into view, Dal realized he was being herded to the edge of the plateau. Tairneach skidded to a halt, sending rocks flying over the edge. Eagles soared up from below, disturbed from their nests.

With a quick glance, Dal evaluated their odds. Fifty men with drawn swords formed a wide arc, cutting off any escape route.

“Just like old times, huh, Taer?” Dal scanned the stone-faced men, searching for weakness, some misalignment in the formation that would give him an advantage. However, these were not untrained troops. He knew why they did not attack. They awaited their commander.

Dal took a guess. “Come on out, Third. No need to hide. Show your men your great leadership skills.” His voice ringing with sarcasm bounced off the rocks and sang back multiple times. “Or are you afraid? After all, I’m not a helpless mare slowed by a foal.”

Still no answer came from those facing Dal or from behind their lines. “Taer, we need to save Ellspeth. That has to be our only concern. I’ll break their ranks so you can get through. I should catch up in a few days.” At the scornful look, Tairneach cast over his shoulder, Dal added a hasty afterthought. “If they happen to capture me, and that is doubtful, they will take me to Ellspeth. You can track me and we will rescue her that way. What do you think?”

Tairneach answered by nodding toward the open sky. When Dal started to climb down from the saddle, the stallion sidestepped. Dal kept hold of his sword, but had to grab the saddle horn. “Taer, what are you doing? No one can survive that fall.”

The fàlaire’s neigh drowned out Dal’s words. Tairneach trotted two steps toward the edge, then spun on his haunches to face the oncoming force. His commands were clear.

“You’re sure about this?”

Taer’s trumpeting drowned out the screeches of the circling birds.

Dal slid his sword back into its scabbard. Lightning bolts flew from his fingers into the mass of men. Commending his fate to his ancestors, he draped himself over Taer’s neck. With a wild neigh, the stallion spun and raced to the cliff’s edge. This time he did not stop, but leaped into space. Wings emerged from Taer’s side. His triumphant bugle resounded to the clouds. After a few heartbeats of free flight, Dal released his death grip. Sitting up, he adjusted his legs so they would not hamper the slight shifts Taer’s wings made during the glide toward the ground.

Dal held his breath as the earth closed to a handspan beneath the fàlaire’s hooves. Instead of the bounce he expected to experience after a hard fall, Taer’s slow trot absorbed the forward motion. His whinny when he came to a stop sounded like the giggle of a mischievous child.

“You didn’t tell me you could fly,” Dal mumbled. “After all these years, you’re still keeping secrets from me?” A smack to Taer’s neck brought forth another whinny from the stallion and a toss of his mane. “All right, you had your fun,” Dal said. “Now let’s go before those archers find our range.” 

Taer pranced a few steps before heading out at a lope.

~till next time Helen 

If you want to see my previous postings for the challenge, go here. If you're following other blogs in the challenge, here's the master list of the participants.

Buy Windmaster Legacy at Amazon and elsewhere.

2026 F : Flight

From a child lying in the grass beneath the spreading Willow tree watching the hawks fly above, I always wanted to fly. The family joke was that I learned my letters and numbers from helping my father sort pages in his flight manuals. And that the first words I could read were not cat or dog. They were "add," "delete," and "replace." followed by “this page intentionally left blank.” I knew the three letter designations for all the airports my father, flew into from EWR (Newark, NJ) to JFK (Kennedy, NYC) to SNN (Shannon) to RJTC (Tachikawa Airport, Japan.)

On high school prep for the pilot’s ground course exam became any extra curricular activity. But we never were able to afford a plane or build a strip in the back 40 acres like was originally intended when the farm was originally purchased. So the dream became filed under not going to happen.

After school reality crept into the dream. Professional opportunities were restricted.

Flight crew wings. J. Boganski collection.

Lockheed Constellation from the
Golden Age of Flying. My favorite bird.

Female fighter pilots had not crept into cockpits so I looked at commercial airlines. Young and pretty got you in the air but not in the cockpit. And there were other obstacles. My father repeatedly told me I was too good to be a stewardess. other flight crew we knew from the time I was three, outright refused to provide a recommendation or assistance in getting a slot in stewardess school. That was both the cockpit crew and the cabin staff.

So I started writing fiction and flying was done in spaceships or with dragons. This snippet about flying is not about winged creatures, but from a short story written as a teen watching fighter jets takeoff in pairs from the runway not far from my house at Clark Air Force Base, Philippines. 

From a world between yesterday any tomorrow, an excerpt from Hearth and Sand: Stories From the Front Lines and the Homefront. 

 "Live or Surrender To Technology"

The crowd on the moving walkway shrank away from the lean figure in the dark blue uniform. Although there were no outward symptoms, it was as if they knew he had within him a contagion from another planet. Staring at the crumpled message flimsy in his hand, John Chippi saw the words without really comprehending them. Riding without conscious thought, automatically switching between speed rails, he found himself on a small transfer platform. He felt alone, despite the press of riders around him. Once again, he straightened out the flimsy. This time the smeared words penetrated his mental fog. A glance skipped over the innocuous opening, “Sorry to inform you,” but his hands shook again as the official red stamp, “Rejuvenation treatments—Denied,” glared off the page. 

The wandering Chippi crammed the note into a pocket already full of medical reports. Each doctor’s face hovered briefly before him, ending with the resigned expression of the last one. The physician’s sad eyes belied the impassive tone with which he pronounced what was in reality a death sentence. After dealing with millions of deaths from Martian Fever over the past two years, where they once used sympathetic words, doctors were now reduced to impersonal facts. They had learned to turn off emotion rather than feel the patient’s pain when announcing the news of a six-week life expectancy. The notification was made more difficult by the knowledge treatment existed which could save the patients' lives.

In the ultimate irony, Chippi’s treatment was being withheld due to his artificial heart. Too many years piloting aircraft at high altitudes to protect the planet had damaged the original one.

If you want to learn more about what happens to Chippi, more excerpts are here.

~till next time Helen 

If you want to see my previous postings for the challenge, go here. If you're following other blogs in the challenge, here's the master list of the participants.

Buy Hearth and Sand at Amazon and these sites.

 

2026 D: Dogs

Cats have been covered so I thought I would use "D" to post about a cats enemy, the dog. Introducing Kir from Fire and Amulet and Faoth from MAGIC AND STEEL, a novella in the collection titled, First Change: Legends From The Eyrie.

Kir is massive, black-faced dog. When responding to danger, his hackles stand up in a golden crown around his face. The lead dog of the pack, Kir not only has to obey his master's commands, but to ensure that the other dogs do as well. They 5help herd the sheep from pasture to pasture and stop any sheep from wandering off. Even more important is their job as livestock guardian. Kir and his pack protects the flock of sheep from wolves and other predators.

Idwal is the official master of the flock and Kir's master. However, that is only part of the reality. The flock is the property -- and intended to be the meal -- of a dragon.

Karst opened his eyelids a mere slit. Instead of a night-filled sky or the first silvering of dawn, his gaze met the glowing green eyes of the head sheepdog. The animal clamped its teeth on the blanket and with a tug robbed Karst of the slender protection the fabric offered.

“Now, Kir,” Idwal’s voice came from the darkness on the other side of the ashes. “That’s no way to greet such a distinguished guest as Slayer Karst.” He gave a harsh laugh. “My apologies. Kir doesn’t always have the best of manners. I just told him to wake you, Slayer, ‘cause we be leaving. You can stay as long as you wish. I drew the landmarks and directions to get to the upper trail in the firepit ashes.”

Karst felt more than saw the massive dog pad away in response to Idwal’s whistle. 

 

From my childhood, the inspiration for Kir and Faoth. 
Even without formal training, the collie
became quite adept at herding sheep and children.

Faoth from MAGIC and STEEL is a puppy. Several things make her a useful addition to the pack. Her tawny hide helps her hide from predators until she is ready to attack and she has a special instinct as to what sheep will wander off. More importantly, she is not afraid of dragons. Something the guardians of this particular flock need as they are kept in tribute as the intended meal for the true dragons. 

To set the stage for the excerpt. Faoth is now almost full grown and was as large as her sire. The earlier instinct for safeguarding the sheep had matured along with her body. Her talent not only alerts her master to danger, it made her indispensable as a scout. She also served a more unusual function. Her size enabled her master to use her as a focus for the illusion capability of his enspelled sword, Mt’wan Comraich. Kedar has been summoned to the office of the leader of the dragshi to be given a new assignment and he takes the opportunity to use his sword’s magic.

With a flick of his fingers, Kedar signal ed Faoth to bow to Lilese. A single step shifted him to the side. Pleased that he could maintain two ruses at the same time, he projected his voice to where Faoth stood. “You summoned me, mistress? How may I serve?”

Lilese gestured at the younger woman. “Kedar, I want you to meet Lady Mairin Aledriwyr. And, Mairin, this is Kedar, friend and valuable ally of the dragshi.”

Before Kedar could switch places with Faoth, Mairin stood and offered a hand to where sh-e thought Kedar stood. Keeping her part of the illusion, Faoth balanced on his hind feet and held out a paw.

“What?” Mairin shrieked at the touch of fur rather than skin.

~till next time, Helen

If you want to see my previous postings for the challenge, go here. If you're following other blogs in the challenge, here's the master list of the participants.

Buy First Change: Legends From The Eyrie at Amazon and these sites

Buy Fire and Amulet at Amazon and these sites

2025 E : Event in St. Louis

   

Next in the challenge is E for events. In this case, I am referring to Books by the Arch, a reader event being held October 11, 2025 at the Drury Plaza Hotel, St. Louis, Missouri.

If you are in the area, I hope you will stop by. The authors would love to meet you. And if you would like to pre-order a book, either mine or another authors, their forms can be found here as the authors add their forms. So be sure to check back.

I hope you will check out my books. Reviews, excepts, buy links and a free read of first chapters can be found in the pull-down menus at the top of the page.

 ~till next time, Helen 

If you're following other blogs in the challenge, here's the master list of the other participants.

Follow me on Facebook, BlueSky, and Twitter for event news and activities.

 

2025 D : Disguise

 Next in the challenge is "D" for disguise. Disguises can be achieved in various ways. Trellier used magic in the Tear Stone Collectors to hide his dragon form. Unless he chose to reveal his true self, all anyone saw was tall, thin man, a scholar who was totally unskilled in the handling of weapons. In reality, his abilities wish a sword were impressive, more so when supplemented by dragon strength.

In Dragon Destiny, Anastasia donned the physical disguise of a teen-age boy so that she could attend the Ceoltier Guild. The disguise was necessary because only men could study there. Both masters and students knew Anastasia's true gender, but didn't care. Anastasia, or Stosh, her cover identity, was one of them.

From Windmaster,another type of disguise, misdirection both physical and mental.

Captain Ellspeth and Lord Dal are out of supplies. The storekeep couldn't get their order ready until morning and a decision had to be made whether to spend the night or continue on. The inn meant shelter for the night, a hot meal, and respite from the frantic run across the countryside. As part of their disguise, Dal dressed in the armor of his mercenary days, while Ellspeth wore the clothes and slave chain of his captured concubine. Dal's physical presence precluded any of the tavern's patrons from asking too many questions. Until the fanatic cleric who wanted to kill them strode into the room and arrogantly demanded to hire Dal. And have the services of his woman for the night.

In between sips of caffa, Ellspeth continued her inspection of the tavern’s other patrons. The sense of being stared at was overwhelming. Eyes seemed to claw at her clothes. She steeled herself to endure it. Despite the fact the low-cut blue dress she had changed into at their last meal break did not reveal much more than her usual garb of breeches and vest, she could not fight the feeling of being exposed. Her skin crawled at a sudden realization. As Dal’s slave, she could not refuse any man’s advances.

I hope Dal’s right, that no sane person would test the mercenary he appears to be.

But an armed drunk might, came the insidious answer from her fear.

Her eyes still downcast as appropriate to her station, Ellspeth opened her eyelids just enough to scrutinize the other occupants. The hair on the back of her neck rose. Danger! Instinct drew her eyes to the staircase on the far wall. There! He is the source. A cleric in the long brown robes of the Oracle of Givneh plodded down the steps into her line of vision. Ellspeth’s breath caught in her throat. He was the same man who had tried to take Sea Falcon—to kill her crew.

“Dal,” she hissed, “he’s the one from the dock.”

Ellspeth’s thoughts raced. If she stayed, the cleric would recognize her. If she tried to leave, it would bring his attention to her even faster.

Dal’s strong arms wrapped around her waist. Ellspeth’s squeal as he pulled her onto his lap pierced the buzz of conversation and bounced off the rafters. His strength rendered her struggles useless. One of the men with his arms around a disheveled woman called out encouragement. Before she could object, Dal’s mouth covered hers. His right hand held the back of her head in a steel grip. Before her lungs were depleted of air, he released her just enough to catch a breath. The whiff of oxygen helped clear Ellspeth’s mind—and focus her thoughts. The cleric couldn’t recognize her if he couldn’t see her face.

Ellspeth tightened her leg muscles so her weight was supported by the edge of the bench rather than Dal’s knees. His exhalation was warm on her neck when he whispered, “Good girl,” into her hair.

She entwined her fingers into his thick curls. A pull signaled her cooperation, and she threw herself into the deception. Three quick tugs loosened the laces of his shirt exposing his chest. With a shrug, she inched her gown further down her shoulders. The iron links of Dal’s vest were cold on her skin as her caresses moved down his back.

But Ellspeth's disguise was more than pretending to be a concubine. There was a persona, a projection of what the world expected to see. She didn't rely on her own skills, or those she learned from her mother. Dal's mother helped with the outfit and physical appearance.

Ellspeth calculated how fast she could draw her weapon. Eilidh had showed her how to pull the narrow dagger from its leg sheath. Ellspeth prayed the hilt of the blade would not catch on the seam since she had never actually used the slit hidden in a fold of the gown’s full skirt.

“Go way,” Dal growled, “off duty.”

“Do you know who you’re talking to? I am Gille Erim, Third Bishop of the Oracle.

“Don’ care. My orders are to disappear for a month. This woman is mine! Bought and paid for. And I plan on gittin’ what I paid for.”

The bishop’s indignant stutter broke off when the heavy trestle top clunked to the floor mere inches from his toes.

Ellspeth found herself hefted into the air in the same lithe movement Dal used to kick over the table. He rose and stepped around the obstruction. Fists pounded on tables and laughter resounded from the low ceiling as he draped her over his shoulder, her hair hanging down almost to the floor. Swift strides took him to the stairs. “Fearguis,” he yelled in a voice guaranteed to be heard above the clamor of a battlefield, “send our food upstairs.”

Ellspeth peered through tresses, now black at Eilidh’s suggestion, as they swung in time to Dal’s steps. What kind of woman is Dal’s mother? Not even my mother is as skilled in the arts of concealment and disguise.

I hope you enjoyed this visit to the world of Windmaster.

~till next time, Helen 

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2025 C : Caves and Caverns

   

Next in the challenge is "C" for Caves. One of the results of planning for this challenge, and from introspection with the new year, a realization crawled its way out of obscurity. Writers are often told to write what they know. Until I started looking for topics to match the A to Z, I had not realized how much of my personal experience had crept into the worlds of imagination I share with readers. An example is "Caves and Caverns." I had not realized how many caves and caverns I have toured over the years.

Image by Hans from Pixabay.

When dating my future husband, local spots such as the Lost River Caverns (Hellerstown, Pennsylvania) and Crystal Caves (Kutztown, Pennsylvania) provided a date destination. Later, we walked Howe Caverns (Howes Cave, New York) and rode a boat deep in the cave. Among our vacation destinations over the years was Lurray Caverns (Lurray, Virginia.) Although I did not know it at the time, these experiences leaked into the later written tale.

To set the stage of the excerpt, Lord Dal has ridden off to to divert an attacking force, leaving Ellspeth to find the magical talisman on her own. After fighting a carpet of living grass and the mental attacks of a rogue mage, she enters a hidden entrance in an ancient rock plateau.

From Windmaster:

The shadow of the talisman’s spirit separated from the wall. Without a break in her playing, Ellspeth bowed to the animated creature. It knelt on one knee in response, then with a kick of its heels, leaped back into the wall.

Ellspeth almost missed a note at the amazing sight, but managed to keep the song true. When she finished, she tucked the flute behind her belt. It only took four steps to reach the spot where the spirit disappeared. This time instead of hard rock, Ellspeth found the wall was not solid. A thin veneer curved from the middle of one wall to the opposite corner. Trusting the spirit to lead her, she circled behind the slab. The light from her torch cast an eerie reflection in the narrow space, but it showed her something more—a way deeper into the cave.

The floor’s slight downward slant provided a natural direction to follow. After a series of twisting turns, the last remnants of daylight trickling from the entrance disappeared. Soon the faint glow of torchlight became her sole illumination.

Deeper and deeper she walked, through chamber after chamber. In some, miniature versions of the spire rose from the floor, a trap to the unwary. A sense of unease aided by the weight of tons of earth on top of her grew stronger the further Ellspeth traveled. Each time a drop of cold water fell down from the ceiling onto her neck or some other spot of bare skin, she jumped. Her head ached from several whacks on low overhangs or one of the many plinths that hung down from the ceiling.

Time lost all meaning in the eternal shadows within the monolith.

~I hope you enjoyed this journey into my writing life (and the excerpt). till next time, Helen 

 

Buy Windmaster at Amazon and These sites.

If you're following other blogs in the challenge, here's the master list of the other participants.

 

2025 B : Blue Sky

   

"B” in the AtoZ Challenge is Blue Sky. Not the social media site, but my preferred writing locale…outdoors on a lakeside deck or a serene wooded glen. But not all outdoors time has blue skies as seen in the following excerpt from Windmaster.

“Something’s not right,” Ellspeth said. “The color of the sky is wrong. The masters on both barges agree.” Dal nodded to the bargemaster and his mate as he joined the group on the deck of the barge. Dal’s gaze scanned the horizon. The sky had leached all life from the river. Behind the barge, ranks of ever-darker clouds marched over the colorless waters.

Gusty winds picked up, driving not only their barge toward the shore, but also the boat carrying Barris, Murdo, and the fàlaire. Even without sails, the speed of the two barges increased. They rushed over rocks and bulled through eddies as the raging current overrode the crews’ efforts to steer their normally placid vessels. A sharp jolt beneath their feet threw Ellspeth into Dal. Only his quick grab of the rail prevented them from flying into the benches that filled the center of the barge.

Murdo’s bellow roared above the waves as light glinted off the drawn swords held by the dozen men who now lined the river’s bank. “Ambush!”

Check out Windmaster Legacy to see the result of the ambush.

In recognition of these precious places, a photo array of skies and sunsets.

Early morning, Blue Ridge Mountains

Sunset over Cliffwood Beach, New Jersey

Red sky at night, sailor's delight.
Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning.

Buy the Windmaster Novels at Amazon and These Sites

~till next time, Helen

P.S. My blueSky handle is @history2write.bsky.social. Follow me there if you wish.

If you're following other blogs in the challenge, here's the master list of the other participants.