Saturday, December 13, 2008

Teaser - Men of Twelve Chapt 3, Scene 1

From the draft of my novel in progress Excerpt from The Men of Twelve Chapter 3, scene 1 By L. V. Gaudet © January 2007 Started writing Jan 16/07 “These are no ordinary woods gents!” cried Lord Aelric as his horse surged towards the trees. “Hold tight to your saddles and your swords and don’t believe everything you see!” As the men drew closer, the trees waved and thrashed their branches more wildly, leaves hissing louder, like thousands of angry snakes. A couple of horses faltered, dancing sideways, their riders having to kick them hard to keep them going, eyes rolling wildly as the animals tossed their heads and reared at the woods that seemed alive and menacing. The men were as afraid as their mounts, and it showed on their faces in that brief hesitation before their features set with determination and they kicked their horses forward. King Ranald, with Lord Aelric at his side, didn’t pause for even a heartbeat in his charge. Little whirlwinds of dust appeared and vanished, rising up from the ground in mini storms, abrading and attacking the surging horses and their riders before dissipating as suddenly as they appeared, confusing and startling men and beasts. Sometimes they seemed to just begin to form, only to be swept away and evaporated by the winds making the wildflowers dance. It was impossible to tell if the winds were intent on creating the dust whirlwinds, or obliterating them. The waving flowers themselves pulverized forming whirlwinds of dust as they collided with them in their wild swinging at the end of their stalks. It seemed impossible for any to enter those wildly thrashing branches without injury. Yngling, a young black haired and bearded dwarf riding a smaller grey pony, closed his eyes tightly as he urged his frightened horse towards the woods. Duberrol pulled his horse up short and watched in amazement and fear as the rest of the riders, well ahead of him, rode strait for the thrashing woods, whirlwinds of dust attacking and in close pursuit, vanishing before his very eyes as they galloped across the border that is the edge where the woods abruptly meet fields.

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