I'm so excited to let you know that Hexborn was chosen as the winner in the Fantasy category in the Breakthrough Novel Award contest. I'm so pleased the judges thought my work the best in its category. I'm really proud of Hexborn, and its nice to see it get some recognition. Be sure to check out the other award winners as they are posted, and continue reading below for an excerpt from my now award-winning work. And remember, right now, you can read Hexborn for only 99 cents, and the sequel, Unclean, comes out in February! You can pre-order your copy here.
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In the deepest basement of Greenhill Palace, far beneath the Great Hall, sat the armory. Racks of weapons greeted their arrival: swords, shields, lances, bows, arrows, axes. Row after row marched alongside them as they walked, until, at last, Shiloh and the headmaster came to the wand shop. They there discovered that Silas Hatch had preceded them. Of course. Shiloh stifled a sigh.
“Shall we?” Hatch asked, bowing and gesturing toward the door.
“Now, remember,” Markas cautioned, “You may not wear nor carry a wand in the presence of the king and queen. Only their personal guard and members of the Order of St. Stex may do so.”
Shiloh nodded. Whatever the Order of St. Stex is . . .
A short, round man stood and greeted them with apparent irritation, his bald head shining in the lamplight.
“Damn it, Silas, I told you I’m working on that project as fast as I can, but these things take time!”
“That’s not why we’re here, Frank. We have a new student to equip, Shiloh Teethborn. Shiloh, this is Brother Frank Fingersborn, Royal Armorer.”
The priest finally noticed Shiloh and fairly leapt in shock. “Elder above, is she—”
“Hexborn, yes,” Silas interrupted, his patience obviously in short supply.
“My, my. Well, has she ever been tested?” Frank demanded, smoothing out his brown robes.
“My brother Edmun did, I’m sure, but he refused to divulge the results to me,” Markas reported, a tinge of hurt in his voice. “Nor to Silas, I understand.”
“Edmun? Edmun taught her?” Frank asked, looking upon Shiloh with a touch more respect. “Well, I assume he told you, at least,” he said to her. “Out with it, now, my child.”
Shiloh took a deep breath. “All four,” she confessed. “I tested equally positive for all four elements.”
“I knew it!” Markas crowed, throwing up his hands. “Edmun always had the best secrets.”
Frank burst out laughing. “Don’t be ridiculous! He must have had a defective set. They do need to be recalibrated regularly. Many people don’t appreciate how delicate—”
“I’m fairly certain that Edmun Courtborn, the greatest wizard in three generations, understood how to calibrate a sodding sorceroscale,” Silas stated flatly. “Test her again, if you insist, but get the hell on with it. And mark my words: you’re going to need to break out the steel.”
“Fine, fine, fine,” Frank acquiesced, hands raised in surrender. He lifted the hinged counter and beckoned them to come back into the workshop proper.
The walls were lined with locked cabinets that reached the high ceilings. There was a section for wands from each element: earth, air, fire, and water. The earthen wands were made of polished stones and minerals in all colors, textures, and strengths. The air wands were hollow tubes made of various materials of every description. The fire wands were made of particularly flammable materials. For this reason, they required frequent replacement as they were consumed, so Frank kept a large stock. The water wands were composed of hygroscopic substances that attracted and held water, either drawing it from the atmosphere or from a good soak. Green wood and sea sponge were popular choices for those who preferred natural materials, while the less particular or more modern enjoyed various hydrated salt crystals and artificial substances concocted by clever potions experts over the centuries.
The testing took but a moment. As before in her early childhood, all the globes responded to Shiloh’s call. Now, of course, she was older and more powerful, and she had much more control. She couldn’t resist showing off a little bit, and the spheres danced gracefully before she guided them back and nestled them gently into their velvet case. It was all she could do to resist the temptation to buzz Master Hatch and muss up his mop of black hair.
“I stand corrected,” Frank admitted into the echoing silence.
“The steel wands, Frank,” Silas prodded.
In the back of the shop, beneath an old rug and an inch of dust, sat a battered black trunk. Frank reverently brushed it off, and he called Silas to help him lift it onto the work table. A shining inlay upon the lid depicted five birds of prey. The armorer removed a ring of keys and found the one he needed.
“How many do you have?” Markas asked.
“Just the one,” Frank replied. “The rest have been parceled out over the years. The only one I have left is an antique. Brother Elton of the Southlands only made five steel wands, or so the story goes. He used one himself. Three went to King Davos the Greater, and their remains lie buried with him these hundred years or more. This is the last. There is a steel-wielding wandmaker down in Dessica who has quite a large stock of them, I hear. We could send for one of theirs if this wand is too powerful for her.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that is going to be a problem,” Silas replied. “You’ve never tried to make one, Frank?”
“I’ve experimented, with the help of a blacksmith. Didn’t go well. How do you think I lost all my hair?”
“What happened to the smith?” Shiloh asked.
“You don’t want to know,” Frank replied with a shudder. “You really have to be a steel caster yourself to make a proper go of it, I think.”
Shiloh bit her lip as Frank fussed with the lock. The suspense was killing her. Silas twitched beside her, seemingly equally impatient.
“Ah!” Frank cried in triumph, and he pulled open the creaking lid.
Nestled in wood shavings sat a single gleaming wand of steel. The handle was intricately cast in the shape of an owl, the wand’s shaft grasped in its talons and ending in a point slightly duller than an ice pick. Shiloh had never seen anything nearly so elaborate among Edmun’s extensive wand collection.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“Elton was the greatest wandmaker that ever lived,” Frank replied. “We’ll not see his like again.”
“Go on, then,” Silas urged, and Shiloh obeyed.
“Oh!” she gasped as she lifted the weapon. The connection was palpable. The metal felt like an extension of herself, warm and alive and powerful. She nearly thought she could feel the ore in the earth, the fire in the forge, the air in the bellows, the water in the quenching barrel. The steel felt right in a way she had never experienced with Edmun’s wands. It was almost enough to make a hexborn girl feel . . . whole.
“I think it likes her,” Silas remarked, deadpan, his unblinking eyes focused upon her glowing face.
Markas laughed with delight. “Amazing! To see a steel-wielding wizard in our own time. And a hexborn bastard at that. Remarkable!”
Silas rolled his eyes. “Let’s not go overboard, Markas. It’s not as though she’s the only one in the world. Vreeland has three of them on the payroll, for heaven’s sake.”
“Only because their court is more inbred than a litter of racing dogs,” Markas retorted. “All of them have the bleeding sickness.”
“The Patriarch’s son tested positive for all four,” Frank pointed out. “He used to brag about it constantly.”
“Yes, but Fenroh wasn’t ever able to control a steel wand, no matter how many of them his holiness ordered from abroad,” Markas countered. “Old Master Bentin refused to let him touch this one. They kept exploding in Fenroh’s hand. He was strong in all the elements, but the poor boy’s fire was out of balance with the others.”
“That’s not the only thing about him that’s unbalanced,” Silas muttered.
Shiloh looked down at her prize, wishing she could show it to Edmun. Hesitantly, she asked, “How much does this cost?” She was possessed of a sudden fear of losing the treasure for lack of ability to pay.
Hatch shook his head. “It’s a gift. From the king. The first one always is. It is yours as long as you are in his service.”
Shiloh nodded, much relieved.
“I ordered her a belt and sheath some weeks ago. Has it arrived?” Silas asked Frank, who quickly fetched a case from a nearby shelf. Fine green leather soon circled Shiloh’s waist, and the sheath fit the wand as though it had been made to order. Shiloh supposed it may well have been. Not much seemed to surprise Silas Hatch.
“Thank you, Master Hatch,” Shiloh said softly, then resumed staring in wonder at her new wand.
“Let’s see if she can do anything with it,” Silas proposed. “To the firing range.”
In the deepest basement of Greenhill Palace, far beneath the Great Hall, sat the armory. Racks of weapons greeted their arrival: swords, shields, lances, bows, arrows, axes. Row after row marched alongside them as they walked, until, at last, Shiloh and the headmaster came to the wand shop. They there discovered that Silas Hatch had preceded them. Of course. Shiloh stifled a sigh.
“Shall we?” Hatch asked, bowing and gesturing toward the door.
“Now, remember,” Markas cautioned, “You may not wear nor carry a wand in the presence of the king and queen. Only their personal guard and members of the Order of St. Stex may do so.”
Shiloh nodded. Whatever the Order of St. Stex is . . .
A short, round man stood and greeted them with apparent irritation, his bald head shining in the lamplight.
“Damn it, Silas, I told you I’m working on that project as fast as I can, but these things take time!”
“That’s not why we’re here, Frank. We have a new student to equip, Shiloh Teethborn. Shiloh, this is Brother Frank Fingersborn, Royal Armorer.”
The priest finally noticed Shiloh and fairly leapt in shock. “Elder above, is she—”
“Hexborn, yes,” Silas interrupted, his patience obviously in short supply.
“My, my. Well, has she ever been tested?” Frank demanded, smoothing out his brown robes.
“My brother Edmun did, I’m sure, but he refused to divulge the results to me,” Markas reported, a tinge of hurt in his voice. “Nor to Silas, I understand.”
“Edmun? Edmun taught her?” Frank asked, looking upon Shiloh with a touch more respect. “Well, I assume he told you, at least,” he said to her. “Out with it, now, my child.”
Shiloh took a deep breath. “All four,” she confessed. “I tested equally positive for all four elements.”
“I knew it!” Markas crowed, throwing up his hands. “Edmun always had the best secrets.”
Frank burst out laughing. “Don’t be ridiculous! He must have had a defective set. They do need to be recalibrated regularly. Many people don’t appreciate how delicate—”
“I’m fairly certain that Edmun Courtborn, the greatest wizard in three generations, understood how to calibrate a sodding sorceroscale,” Silas stated flatly. “Test her again, if you insist, but get the hell on with it. And mark my words: you’re going to need to break out the steel.”
“Fine, fine, fine,” Frank acquiesced, hands raised in surrender. He lifted the hinged counter and beckoned them to come back into the workshop proper.
The walls were lined with locked cabinets that reached the high ceilings. There was a section for wands from each element: earth, air, fire, and water. The earthen wands were made of polished stones and minerals in all colors, textures, and strengths. The air wands were hollow tubes made of various materials of every description. The fire wands were made of particularly flammable materials. For this reason, they required frequent replacement as they were consumed, so Frank kept a large stock. The water wands were composed of hygroscopic substances that attracted and held water, either drawing it from the atmosphere or from a good soak. Green wood and sea sponge were popular choices for those who preferred natural materials, while the less particular or more modern enjoyed various hydrated salt crystals and artificial substances concocted by clever potions experts over the centuries.
The testing took but a moment. As before in her early childhood, all the globes responded to Shiloh’s call. Now, of course, she was older and more powerful, and she had much more control. She couldn’t resist showing off a little bit, and the spheres danced gracefully before she guided them back and nestled them gently into their velvet case. It was all she could do to resist the temptation to buzz Master Hatch and muss up his mop of black hair.
“I stand corrected,” Frank admitted into the echoing silence.
“The steel wands, Frank,” Silas prodded.
In the back of the shop, beneath an old rug and an inch of dust, sat a battered black trunk. Frank reverently brushed it off, and he called Silas to help him lift it onto the work table. A shining inlay upon the lid depicted five birds of prey. The armorer removed a ring of keys and found the one he needed.
“How many do you have?” Markas asked.
“Just the one,” Frank replied. “The rest have been parceled out over the years. The only one I have left is an antique. Brother Elton of the Southlands only made five steel wands, or so the story goes. He used one himself. Three went to King Davos the Greater, and their remains lie buried with him these hundred years or more. This is the last. There is a steel-wielding wandmaker down in Dessica who has quite a large stock of them, I hear. We could send for one of theirs if this wand is too powerful for her.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that is going to be a problem,” Silas replied. “You’ve never tried to make one, Frank?”
“I’ve experimented, with the help of a blacksmith. Didn’t go well. How do you think I lost all my hair?”
“What happened to the smith?” Shiloh asked.
“You don’t want to know,” Frank replied with a shudder. “You really have to be a steel caster yourself to make a proper go of it, I think.”
Shiloh bit her lip as Frank fussed with the lock. The suspense was killing her. Silas twitched beside her, seemingly equally impatient.
“Ah!” Frank cried in triumph, and he pulled open the creaking lid.
Nestled in wood shavings sat a single gleaming wand of steel. The handle was intricately cast in the shape of an owl, the wand’s shaft grasped in its talons and ending in a point slightly duller than an ice pick. Shiloh had never seen anything nearly so elaborate among Edmun’s extensive wand collection.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“Elton was the greatest wandmaker that ever lived,” Frank replied. “We’ll not see his like again.”
“Go on, then,” Silas urged, and Shiloh obeyed.
“Oh!” she gasped as she lifted the weapon. The connection was palpable. The metal felt like an extension of herself, warm and alive and powerful. She nearly thought she could feel the ore in the earth, the fire in the forge, the air in the bellows, the water in the quenching barrel. The steel felt right in a way she had never experienced with Edmun’s wands. It was almost enough to make a hexborn girl feel . . . whole.
“I think it likes her,” Silas remarked, deadpan, his unblinking eyes focused upon her glowing face.
Markas laughed with delight. “Amazing! To see a steel-wielding wizard in our own time. And a hexborn bastard at that. Remarkable!”
Silas rolled his eyes. “Let’s not go overboard, Markas. It’s not as though she’s the only one in the world. Vreeland has three of them on the payroll, for heaven’s sake.”
“Only because their court is more inbred than a litter of racing dogs,” Markas retorted. “All of them have the bleeding sickness.”
“The Patriarch’s son tested positive for all four,” Frank pointed out. “He used to brag about it constantly.”
“Yes, but Fenroh wasn’t ever able to control a steel wand, no matter how many of them his holiness ordered from abroad,” Markas countered. “Old Master Bentin refused to let him touch this one. They kept exploding in Fenroh’s hand. He was strong in all the elements, but the poor boy’s fire was out of balance with the others.”
“That’s not the only thing about him that’s unbalanced,” Silas muttered.
Shiloh looked down at her prize, wishing she could show it to Edmun. Hesitantly, she asked, “How much does this cost?” She was possessed of a sudden fear of losing the treasure for lack of ability to pay.
Hatch shook his head. “It’s a gift. From the king. The first one always is. It is yours as long as you are in his service.”
Shiloh nodded, much relieved.
“I ordered her a belt and sheath some weeks ago. Has it arrived?” Silas asked Frank, who quickly fetched a case from a nearby shelf. Fine green leather soon circled Shiloh’s waist, and the sheath fit the wand as though it had been made to order. Shiloh supposed it may well have been. Not much seemed to surprise Silas Hatch.
“Thank you, Master Hatch,” Shiloh said softly, then resumed staring in wonder at her new wand.
“Let’s see if she can do anything with it,” Silas proposed. “To the firing range.”
***
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