The Dreamer Stones is now available in paperback!
The ebook will be live tomorrow :)
Here's an excerpt for you:
Marcus Campian,
Electan of Valaris, sat hunched over his desk, feeling old beyond his years.
First it was the Mayor of Galilan, then Farinwood. A coincidence, but
no longer so. The mayors of Tetwan, Saswan, Two Town, Winnish, Gasmoor,
Barrier, Luan, Actar, Mintor, and Linmoor were all dead. One after the other
and still the reports came. The smaller towns, the northern cities. By morning
Valaris would be leaderless.
By morning he himself could be dead.
Now they railed against the Enchanter for his absence. First he was
blamed for the disasters, and now that it was known he was offworld, he was
blamed for inaction, as a coward, untrustworthy. The man could not win, no
matter what he did, what stance he did or did not take, Marcus thought.
He heard the raised voices of the crowd on the road, come to protest
the murders, demanding justice. Wives and kids were fatherless tonight, they
shouted and he could do nothing. The television was full of sensationalist
reports, creating more havoc, stirring the populace to what amounted to
revolution, and considering they were almost leaderless, who would reason with
them? Himself? Before he too succumbed? He did not know what to think, never
mind do.
His trustworthy companion of many campaigns, Mr Jackson, entered. In
his hands, another report. “Moor,” he said, placing the news face down on
Marcus’s desk.
He moved to the door, but Marcus stopped him.
“Stay, MJ. There’s no need to monitor - we know what’s happening.”
Marcus sighed, rose, and pointed to a chair. “Sit, old friend, and let us pass
this terrible night together.”
He turned to a hidden cabinet in the bookshelves behind his desk, drew
a bottle of expensive brandy from its dark depths, and poured liberal measures.
“You know, I never thought any of this would happen. I heard tell of an
old legend that the Enchanter would return, but it wasn’t to be in my lifetime.
Peace was good, wasn’t it?”
“We only realise what we had when it’s gone. And now no one remembers
peace was due to the one they now blame.” MJ sipped at his drink, savouring it.
Good brandy.
Marcus tossed his back, tasting nothing. “You sound as if you admire
the Enchanter.”
“I do, and he also frightens me. He has an aura of raw power about him,
like he could walk through fire - I suppose he could at that.”
“He’s the reason we’re sitting here like this,” Marcus said, refilling
his glass.
“Maybe, but he’s also the reason there was peace for two thousand
years. Do we take that away from him? It’s unfair.”
“You’re too much the romantic, my friend.”
“Have you seen the Valleur recently? They’re everywhere, doing
everything in their power to help those dispossessed and hurting. Good people,
Mr Campian. I can’t believe they are the lie others believe the Enchanter to
be. How can they think one thing, he another? No, it’s that other who is the
lie and someone should come out and say so. The Enchanter needs us behind him
and we need to know who the true enemy is.”
“For months now there’ve been hints …”
“And hints guised himself as Torrullin and did evil in his name.
That’s wrong. The father should not now be blamed for the son. It needs to be
spelled out, Electan. Someone should go on air and tell our people Tymall is
the enemy and his father seeks a way to end it.”
“They will still blame Torrullin.”
“Will they? Or will they look inside and know how hard it is for a father?
Even if the son is evil? I think we don’t give our people enough credit.”
Marcus smiled. “You have strong views.”
“It needs done.”
“He asked that we say little about his son.”
“That was then.”
Marcus inclined his head. “Maybe you’re right, and maybe we make it
worse. Whatever, proactive is better than waiting. Set it up. Full news
coverage. I’ll speak to the nation.”
MJ nodded, set his glass down, and hastened to his own office.
