The King of Anavrea (Book Two of the Theodoric Saga) (23 page)

A heavy circlet fitted around her head, the cold
metal settling across her brow. “Rise up so that your people may
see your face, Lirth Yra Parnan Theodoric, Queen of Anavrea and
wife of Ireic Iathan Theodoric, King of Anavrea.” Ireic took her
hands and helped her to her feet. Turning her around so that she
faced the assembly, he proclaimed loudly, “Anavrea, your
queen.”

The response deafened her.

The End
 

Some of the readers of my early drafts asked me
questions regarding my representation of God in my works. Since
this is one of the first of my novels to be published in which the
Kurios plays a very visible role in the storyline, I figured I
should clarify some things for those who wish to know the
intentions of the author.

The world of the five kingdoms (Anavrea,
Larkaria, Braulyn, Sardmara, and Rhynan) is a fantasy. They share a
similar Bible and biblical history to ours. They call their
scriptures the manuscripts. They use kurios, a transliteration of
the Greek word for lord when referring to God.

The historical formation of their religion
diverges from our actual history. However, I have endeavored to
keep the nature of God, his holiness, grace, and those aspects of
his character the same as what he has revealed in the Bible.

My work is meant to point to the real God who
redeemed us from our sin through the life, death, and resurrection
of his Son. Thus, the Gospel remains the same. We are saved by
grace, apart from our works, on the basis of Christ’s death on the
cross (Romans 4, Ephesians 2).

Rachel Rossano is a happily married mother of
three children. She spends her days teaching, mothering, and
keeping the chaos at bay. After the little ones are in bed, she
immerses herself in the fantasy worlds of her books. Tales of
romance, adventure, and virture set in a medieval fantasy world are
her preference, but she also writes speculative fantasy and a bit
of science fiction.

Rachel Rossano loves to interact with readers.

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Also written by Rachel Rossano

Duty (First Novel of Rhynan)

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/281699

Wren: A Romany Epistle Novel

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/322579

The Crown of Anavrea (Book One of the Theodoric
Saga)

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/96223

The Mercenary’s Marriage

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/83328

Word and Deed

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/121981

Exchange

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/92034

Book One of the Theodoric Saga

Eve covered her head and crouched low in the
raspberry patch. She concentrated on not making a sound. The blare
of the horn and the cries of the hunters faded. Lowering her hands,
she strained her ears. Not even the echo of their crashing in the
distance remained. The birds stayed silent, but considering the
recent ruckus, they might have all fled.

A groan broke the unnatural silence.

She froze and listened, heart in her throat. A
pained, male grunt came from about three feet to her left.
Cautiously she turned her head. A stranger stared at her through
the tangle of bushes between them.

A wild mess of brown hair fell over his dark
blue eyes as he regarded her in alarm. Sweat plastered the hair to
his forehead. He observed her with more of a feverish glaze than
true understanding. Pain etched lines about his eyes.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then
shook his head. Falling forward, he then rolled onto his back and
lay still.

Eve hurried to untangle the thorns from her
tunic.

Free at last, she crept out of the patch and
approached him. Fear and instinct screamed she should flee. Instead
she paused. If she stopped to help him, she would be beaten. Her
master warned her to stay away from the king’s men.

Well, the king’s men or not, the pursuers were
gone. As their prey, he could hardly be one of them. Was he
worse?

She inched forward and a twig snapped under her
knee.

“Go away and leave me be,” he ordered.

“What will become of you?”

He stared into the sky above the trees. “My
pursuers return.” His chest still heaved from his recent exertion.
“I die.” Restlessly, his hand clenched and released at his side as
though he was fighting the urge to run.

“I know of a place where you can hide.” She
watched his lean form for a reaction. “It is nearby.”

He stopped moving. Finally, as though sensing
she would not leave, he spoke. “Come over here. I want to see
you.”

She crept to his side. As soon as she drew
close, she could see the source of his pain. A shallow gash ran
across his left arm above the elbow and an even more serious injury
marred his right leg above the knee. The leggings, torn and caked
with a combination of dried and fresh blood, trailed filth in the
wound. She was calculating how she could slow the bleeding when he
commented.

“You are only a child.”

She brought her eyes to his face and bit her
tongue. This was not the time to argue her age. She returned to
assessing his injuries.

“If you are wondering whether or not I am able
to walk, stop.”

“I will help.” She met his eyes with a cool
determination that left no room for doubt.

After a moment, he broke her gaze and returned
to staring at the sky.

 “What if I want to die?”

The Crown of Anavrea

Book One of the Theodoric Saga

Available Now

A Romany Epistle Novel

Tourth Mynth

Snow turned the courtyard into a mess of slosh and muck. The
space didn’t welcome the kind of activity I intended. My hands
itched to grasp a weapon and everything in my being screamed that I
should destroy something. Not a safe state of mind for plotting
logically or sitting still. I strode through the slush to the heavy
keep door. The great hall would work perfectly for my short term
plans, open area and shelter from the elements.

I turned back before opening the door. Wren was close on my
heels.

“Care for a round of sparring?”

Her strange eyes cleared from worried brown to an amused amber.
“Do you have an extra sword?”

I shook my head as I shoved the door. “I was thinking along the
lines of staffs or cudgels, something that won’t kill you if I
miscalculate.”

“Miscalculate? You should be a bit more concerned about me
hurting you.” The wooden door closed behind her with a muffled
thump. “Do you want to be disturbed?” She indicated the repaired
bolting system.

“Lock it. Let them wonder if we are killing each other.”

The worn stone floor, spread with rushes, lay empty. An old
trestle table dug out of storage rested against the far wall, and
the newly-beaten tapestries adorned the walls. I ignored them. Now
was not the time to dwell on the past. I needed to drive history
from my mind, far from my mind. Exercising until I was too
exhausted to think would numb the pain. It would distance the ache
enough so I might progress beyond the inclination to kill the
enforcer slowly with my bare hands. He killed my parents!

“Weapons?” Wren’s voice cut through my thoughts at just the
right moment.

“Take your choice.” I indicated the rack of various implements
next to the trestle table. Walking to the far end, I shed layers of
clothing down to tunic and britches. “Are you sure you are up for
this?” Discarding the last overtunic on the heap, I shivered in the
frigid air. I welcomed the discomfort.

“Of course,” she said from right behind me. “On guard.”

A wooden club whizzed past my head. Striking the wall inches
past my shoulder, it clattered to the floor. I stared for a second.
Gone was the quiet, withdrawn woman I thought I knew. Hair wrapped
around her head, stripped to her leather jerkin, shirtsleeves, and
leggings, she moved like a sleek cat, feminine, yet deadly.
Confidence radiated from her as she whipped another cudgel into her
dominant hand.

“Remember what I do for a living.”

She advanced and I retreated to the fallen weapon. Scooping it
into my hand, I swung it up into a defensive stance seconds before
she struck at my shoulder.

I retaliated with a series of strokes that should have reduced
her to begging for leniency. Instead, she met me hit for hit,
backing away into the center of the room. Although she gave ground,
I grew wary. She was holding back. Fury boiled in my belly.

I changed my attack. After feinting to the left, I jabbed at her
right. She took advantage of a small defensive weakness and landed
the first blow, a hard jar to the ribs. I renewed my onslaught,
taking a risk. She saw the move and sidestepped at the last moment,
dancing out of my reach. Breathing hard, we faced each other.

“The point of this was for me to work out some frustration.”

“I know.”

“This is hardly satisfying.”

She laughed, a clear sound that echoed in the rafters. “I am not
about to submit to a beating just to help your frustration level. I
will help you wear yourself out, though.” She leapt forward and
attacked again.

A Romany Epistle Novel

Available Now

First Novel of Rhynan

"The red one is mine," he said.

I didn’t raise my head although instinct urged me to. Father had
called me Red. He said I was born screaming, skin deep red like the
beets in the garden and hair fiery like the setting sun. The man
who spoke was not my father.

I glanced at him from beneath my cloak’s hood. Arrogant in his
size and superior mass, his eyes picked me out of the writhing mass
of captives. Early morning sunlight glinted off plain armor and an
unadorned helm, yet the unwashed barbarians treated him with the
respect due a commander.

The crowd of women around me parted for the soldier fulfilling
his order. Mothers moved back with babes in their arms, toddlers
clinging to their skirts. Their fingers clutched older children’s
hands or shoulders. A living mass, their voices silenced by the
army surrounding them. Their faces spoke eloquently of their
fear.

The soldier, smelling of sweat and sour wine, grabbed my left
arm and dragged me out from among them. I didn’t want to bring harm
to the women around me. The soldier would injure many before
subduing me. I allowed him to pull me toward the commander with
only minimal resistance.

Once free of the captives, however, I yanked from the man’s grip
in an attempt to run. Three pairs of rough hands caught hold of my
arms before I managed more than a few steps. The stench of their
unclean bodies turned my stomach. I gagged as I fought them. They
dragged me through the dust and dumped me at his feet.

I struggled up only to be brought down again. Pressure behind my
knees forced me to kneel.

I lifted my face to glare at the commander.

“Remove her hood.”

Someone pulled my cloak half off my shoulders in his enthusiasm.
Red curls fell free in a wild mass about my shoulders.

Silently I cursed the color. If only I had been blessed with
plain brown or even blond tresses, I could have hidden in plain
sight.

“My Lady Brielle Solarius, I presume.”

He had the audacity to meet my glare. His eyes were only
glimmers beneath the beaten metal and leather of his helmet. He
made no bow or any show of the honor due me. I was a noblewoman. I
didn’t claim the right of deference often, but still the fact
remained.

“Might I know your name, barbarian?”

Duty
First Novel of
Rhynan

Now Available