Monday, August 17, 2026

Master of Gothic House 1

 

Chapter 1

 

“It’s very... Gothic,” said Edwin, uncertainly.

“Yes, my lord; it’s why it is commonly called ‘Gothic House,’ said Hymes, the butler.

“I’m not used to being ‘my lord,’ you know,” admitted Edwin.

“I am sure your lordship will become more nearly acquainted with the felicity of the situation as time passes,” said Hymes.

Edwin thought the butler sounded more like his idea of a viscount than he felt. He had never anticipated inheriting his uncle’s title, since his uncle had two sons, one of them married with a potential heir on the way; but Uncle Miles Annesley’s younger son had fallen at Waterloo, half an hour before the French sued for peace, and his older son had decided to make a trip of collecting his brother’s body, with shopping in Paris for his wife, and their yacht had gone down in a freak storm in the Bay of Biscay. And then, Uncle Miles had had an apoplexy, and managed to name the offspring of his estranged younger brother before he died.

Edwin was not sure for what solecisms his father had been packed off to India; but Giles Annesley had amassed a fortune, married the daughter of a Rajah, and returned home in triumph with Edwin and Sarah, an Indian nanny and manservant, invested wisely, and proceeded to loan money to his older brother, Miles, at need, when his sons proved very expensive. This had not made him any more popular with the older viscount.

Mama had succumbed to some winter ailment engendered by the exigencies of the English weather, and Papa had followed her, in failing to take care of himself properly. Fortunately, by that time, Sarah was already betrothed to Giles’s man of business, and they married quietly, and inherited Devi Lohar as a nanny to any anticipated offspring. Ram Gopal Kumar remained with Edwin, having been something of a tutor in riding and swordplay to Edwin when he was growing up. He ruled the English servants with a rod of iron.

And now, Edwin was Viscount Aldermede, and Aldermede Hall was more commonly called ‘Gothic House,’ having been a medieval hall house which had been added to when the viscountcy did some kind of favour to Henry VIII, and most of the local priory had been added to the original austere timber-framed building with cobblestone lower floor.

“Are there... uh, any other servants?” asked Edwin, looking with some distaste at the cobwebs hanging like banners in the vestibule.

“Only the housekeeper, my lady wife,” said Hymes. “His lordship was not a tolerant man, and took delight in informing the few that were left that they would have to serve a...” he delicately cleared his throat, “A man of colour.”

“I don’t suppose the word he used was complimentary,” said Edwin, dryly.

“If I may say, my lord, though you are a trifle swarthy, few would realise,” said Hymes.

“Oh? Well, I don’t intend to hide it. I loved my mother very much, and I honour her bravery in coming to live in a foreign country where the climate was not at all what she was used to,” said Edwin, staring down his nose at Hymes.

A thin smile touched the austere features of the butler.

“Bravo, my lord; just the right manner, and, if I may say so, a touch of the old lord too. I have no more reservations, if you will stand up for yourself.”

“Dammit! Were you testing me?”

“Yes, my lord,” said Hymes.

“You old rogue,” said Edwin, more in charity with Hymes than he had been. “The place is filthy.”

“Yes, my lord; it breaks Mrs. Hymes’s heart, but she can’t do it all,” said Hymes. “But I don’t suppose you would want servants who would disparage you, anyway.”

“Well, I shall, in that case, bring the servants I have in our house in town to make a start,” said Edwin. “I have no butler as Ram Gopal is my comptroller of the household. I will expect you and him to come to an arrangement. Does your wife oversee the cooking?”

“She cooks for me and for her,” said Hymes.

“Then Ram Gopal Kumar can rule the kitchens, and the kitchen gardens, as well as being my valet,” said Edwin. “That seems an equitable division of labour. And my cook is English and can cook Engish dishes and knows when to let Ram Gopal have his way.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Hymes, who suspected that life was going to be interesting.

“I shall, I suppose, have to marry,” said Edwin. “And now, I suppose, those who did not like my background will ‘overlook it,’ for a viscount.”

“I fear so, my lord,” said Hymes.

“I am tempted to advertise, ‘Indian gentleman of adequate means with English connexions seeks a bride, must be a lady, under five-and-twenty years old, prepared to provide offspring in return for a comfortable lifestyle,’” said Edwin.

Hymes managed an austere smile.

“That, if I may say so, my lord, should get rid of most of the timewasters,” he said. “You would need to reduce the number who still apply to those who sound most suited, discarding those who tell you that they are only a few years over the age you stipulate, and who mean as much as five or six years by ‘a few,’ those who are apparent in fighting a, ah, distaste, over your background, and those who either wish to bring their own child or children to the marriage or who wish to tie up tightly some agreement that once brought to bed, they may be considered free to have discreet lovers.”

“Good G-d!” said Edwin, in shock. “It appears to be almost as much of a minefield as the season.”

“The difference is, my lord, that you have more control over meeting them; first in some neutral venue in London or some other city. And then perhaps hire a chaperone in order to have a house party or some such.”

“I have a better idea,” said Edwin. “Let this house be a test.  I will observe them covertly as they are interviewed by my man of business, and then I will borrow clothes from Ram Gopal and pretend to be the coachman, and take those who are front-runners to a house party, but arrange an accident, and bring them to this mausoleum to see how they handle it, and you and your lady will pretend to be caretakers reluctantly giving succour.”

Hymes gave a slow smile.

“I like the way your lordship thinks,” he said. “But may I suggest you dress as an ordinary coachman; less exotic, and merely weather-beaten.  You might dress like an Indian gentleman to conduct the interviews in case you have a question you wish to interpose. You can let them think you are a representative of yourself.”

“I wasn’t sure when I first met you, Hymes, but I’m beginning to think you are a capital fellow.”

“Thank you, my lord; I might venture to say the same.”

Edwin roared with laughter, and slapped Hymes on the shoulder.

“Let us go and write out an advertisement  and post it in the newspapers of the local large towns,” he said. “Chelmsford and Brentwood, I believe.”

“Yes, my lord. Unless you wish to seek further?”

“Let us start local and then spread wider if I find nobody satisfying. I need to set up a post restante address at some hostelry.”

Hymes cleared his throat.

“If I may suggest, my lord, that patriotic inn, ‘The Black Boy,’ in Chelmsford, named for Prince Charles, who became Charles the Second, and who was swarthy. I fancy you might like the irony?”

“I do,” said Edwin.

 

 

oOoOo

 

 

Ram Gopal regarded his master with disapproval.

“This is not a regular way of finding a young lady to marry, Mister Edwin, most certainly not,” he complained.

“What am I supposed to do, Ram Gopal? Marry someone who pretends not to dislike me so she can be a viscountess? How else do I find out if someone is ready to like me for myself?

“I suppose it has some merit, but this testing with the house... what is it that you hope to achieve?”

“In adversity, people show their best and their worst. So, I will see the real side of the women I take there.”

“They will know that the coachman is the same man who asks them questions; your eyes are olive green and it is a most distinctive colour.”

“They aren’t likely to be staring into the eyes of the coachman,” said Edwin.

Ram Gopal considered.

“If any young lady notices, she will be a lady of singular perspicacity, and worth getting to know better,” he opined. “And am I to be in this Gothic monstrosity with you, as support?”

“Perhaps you had better,” said Edwin. “You may clean the kitchen.”

“Thank you, my lord,” said Ram Gopal, much relieved. “If I may say so, it is an extreme test, and moreover, we are heading for winter, and the thought of smoking chimneys does not fill me with joy.”

“Make sure that there is equipment to sweep the chimneys; there has been an invention of a series of canes to fit together. I am sure we can manage that if one of the ladies is capable of ordering it.”

“You have rats in your attic, Master Edwin,” said Ram Gopal, affectionately.

“Better mad than married to a besom,” said Edwin. Ram Gopal considered this, and gave a curt nod.

 

The advertisement went into the local papers, and Ram Gopal and Edwin moved into Gothic House to make sure it was well stocked with provisions, in case of being snowed up; and Ram Gopal declared himself satisfied with the state of the kitchen. Edwin claimed for himself the room above the porch, which was best described as cosy; it was panelled with linenfold panelling, some of which folded back, as Hymes showed Edwin, to provide a stair beside the chimney stack both up to the room above, which had no other means of entrance, and down into the back of a recess for hanging cloaks and coats in the porch, this stair down being hardly more than a ladder and hidden behind the coats.

“I love it,” said Edwin. “So very English that it satisfies the English side of me.”

“I will live in the servants’ quarters for now, sir,” said Ram Gopal. “I do not think I need to hide in a priests’ hole.”

“And when the young ladies are here, they will want proper bedrooms,” said Hymes. “You have a spy hole onto the landing, my lord, but not into the bedrooms.”

“So I should hope,” said Edwin. “But girls like to giggle together and gossip before going down, so, as it is a wide landing, I may hope to get some better idea about them.”

The house was built in an H-shape, the original medieval house being the central bar, more modern than a hall-house, in having a floor made on purpose over the downstairs entrance hall, which had been made into two rooms, a reception room opening off the porch, and a counting-house the other side and a boudoir behind it. To the right  of the reception room, the new section housed a grand dining room at the front of the house, with grand staircase to the landing, running across the back of the house, opening into two bedrooms and between them a linen closet, which was entirely internal, sharing a chimney with Edwin to heat irons. He reflected that it would be a most uncomfortable room to work in but it concealed the door to his own room, which might be assumed to be occupied by a housekeeper or laundry maid; and the vent for steam onto the landing, where there was also a window to the back of the house, his spy hole. Back stairs were off the landing for the servants, and led to the kitchens behind the grand staircase. The master bedroom was over the dining room here, and Edwin thought he would be happy to occupy a light, airy room one day. At the back of the house behind the stair case was a study.

“The other side of the new part... if one might call a mix of Elizabethan and Jacobean ‘new,’ my lord, there is a grand ballroom, which stretches the length of the wing. Above it there are three bedrooms. There are three smaller bedrooms above that for children of the house or a governess.”

Edwin nodded.

As manor houses went it was not large, but he was beginning to love it.

“And all under Holland cloths, of course, to preserve the furnishings?” he asked.

“Of course, my lord,” said Mrs. Hymes. “I cannot clean the whole house on my own, but there is no reason to be profligate.”

“And your own quarters, and those of Hymes, are they adequate?”

“Oh, yes, my lord, we have a room and an office which we share on the ground floor at the back of the main house, and my still room, and there are rooms above that reached by the servant’s stair including a more convenient linen closet, and rooms for such upper servants as a chaplain, or a secretary, which have windows over the back kitchen garden, and the stables at the back, not joined to the wings at all and on the kitchen side, with a wall to close off the kitchen gardens from such things.”

“And what do you want, Mrs. Hymes? Ram Gopal tells me the stove is a closed stove but it can best be described as ‘adequate’ and ‘antique,’ running through ‘barbaric,’ ‘curmudgeonly,’ and I can’t remember the rest.”

“Oh, that man knows a lot of long words, so he does,” said Mrs. Hymes. “Well, I don’t say a new one might not be nice, and maybe if the draining could be put in, one o’ these Bramah closets.”

“I shall see if I cannot arrange to accommodate you  in this,” said Edwin. “There is room under the grand staircase, I should think.”

“It’s a cloakroom with closed stools at the moment, gentlemen one side, ladies the other,” said Mrs. Hymes. 

“Well, that is better than going outside in the bitter cold, and please use it, you and Hymes,” said Edwin. “I think I will not do any updating until I have chosen a wife.”

“No, sir, you don’t want it to look too good,” said Mrs. Hymes.  “Girls are a bunch of dratted fools, my lord, and their estate don’t make no difference, heads in the air and expecting a load o’ fool nonsense.”

“Your opinion tallies with mine, Mrs. Hymes,” said Edwin.

 

Sunday, August 16, 2026

Lies in Lashbrook is now live

 What can be better than a nice little murder or two for the August bank holiday?
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HFGWVNQM
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0HFGWVNQM

 

All things being equal, I'll begin posting 'Master of Gothic House' tomorrow 

Monday, August 10, 2026

Simon tried his hand at poetry

Our daughter in law shared a book of cold war poetry - mostly blank verse - to us, and Simon reckoned he could do better. I think he did. 

Klaxon, a pantoum 

The howling banshee wail, like living knives 

It stabs the silence, prompting frozen still 

Intruding terror on the peaceful lives 

It is the klaxon, warning of a kill 

 

It stabs the silence, prompting frozen still 

Unnatural calm with panic burning deep 

It is the klaxon, warning of a kill 

The bombs are launched, to bring eternal sleep. 

 

 Unnatural calm, with panic burning deep 

No time for last goodbyes, with minutes four 

The bombs are launched, to bring eternal sleep 

Then stumbling runs for home, for evermore. 

 

No time for last goodbyes, with minutes four: 

The world moves slow, moves fast, comes to a halt; 

The stumbling runs for home, for evermore... .

..Thank God! T’was just a circuit’s fault. 

 

The world moves slow, moves fast, comes to a halt 

One day, we’ll live, and laugh, forget the pain: 

Thank God, t’was just a circuit’s fault... 

But watch the klaxon, lest it goes again. 

 

Ferret driver’s beloved brew [couched as a Sapphic ode] 

On exercise, and battened down 

Where home and family seem so far 

At least we’ve tea to sorrows drown 

In armoured car 

 

 No shower, no shag, no booze, and, too 

Must mind our elbows, room we’ve not: 

But what we have is our great brew

– Tea, piping hot 

 

 We know that it’s another drill, 

Preparedness to act, to fire our shot: 

But still, the frisson of fear’s thrill... 

In case it’s not. 

 

At last, we get the call we want, ‘stand down,’ 

Uncrack the hatch, and suddenly feel free! 

Now, what we need is hot, and wet, and brown

 – A cup of tea! 

 

No Duff Message 

 “This is no duff message,” words that chill 

“This is no duff message – THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”

 Your last meal rises in the throat with bile 

Yet settles heavily, in reaction vile 

 

This is no duff message: frozen shock 

Then moving to our tasks, with feelings blocked: 

Numbly performing in our well-trained tasks 

How do others feel? Nobody ever asks. 

 

I catch the sergeant’s eye; his face is grim 

Two kids, another on the way, for him. 

What kind of world will for them remain? 

If there is a world... he blinks, and frowns again 

 

 This is no duff message. Time seems slow; 

Or, maybe, it speeds up; I do not know. 

And then the message, like a dream so calm: 

“Stand down! Stand down!” it was a false alarm. 

 

The stupid jokes we use to break the jinx; 

“A sparrow farted in Warsaw, near the message links.” 

“Some Russki dropped a fag-end on the ‘all clear,’; 

He shorted it with Vodka, it shorts worse than beer.” 

 

We laugh and horseplay till the sergeant shouts, 

Just a short warning, he knows what’s about. 

To die another day, fates postpone the dread 

And so, we soon forget, go to the mess instead. 

 

there's a few more, I think these represent the spirit of carrying on carrying on, moments of terror, and the slightly forced humour to offset it

Monday, July 27, 2026

trying for some more exposure on Madhouse Bride

 I've been approached by a lovely lady named Claire, and she has been doing some promotion work for me, and we'll see how it goes; she's done some stuff for Madhouse Bride, including some work which will be going up on my Amazon Author Page. Here's her speculative artwork to put there; these are drafts and we've spoken back and forth about some things which don't fit or are inaccurate, like the enemies to lovers which is now strangers to lovers. I hope this will interest you! 

also, can I ask anyone who has read and enjoyed it to review it? if I can raise the profile of one book, and this is the one I chose, and sell more, I can maybe afford to do more. UPDATE! the work is now live on some Amazon pages, here's a link https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GPRSJBCP?lv=shuf&channelId=500&plpRedirect=mhFallback  

I liked this one best, with the review quote from no. 3 

What this one had wrong was suggesting Julian rescued Anne from a fire. 

I like the quote being on this, but felt the rest less strong

I found this one a little busy. 

 I am looking forward to Wednesday when the new author page will be launched! 

Sunday, July 26, 2026

Destiny's Queen 25 final chapter

 done!  I am glad to have finished, I'll probably go back through and tweak, improve and so on when I feel better.  I've had a suggestion for the name of the trilogy 'war of the blood moon'

 

Chapter 25

 

Selen charged across the bridge with her minions, and pulled up short. She was beautiful, with deep red hair, and pale skin, and eyes normally as beautiful and as dark as the night sky... until the red light shone in them, as it did now.

“What?” she said, shocked. “Who... why? Where is Rogaz?”

“Rogaz is about to be healed, you nasty bitch,” said Rynn. “That’s why we’re here.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Selen.

“You’re a bit ahead of yourself, you know,” said Rynn. “But I’m sure we can live with it. Now, are you going to come forward so your playmates get to join in, or shall we collectively kill you and go after them?”

Selen was horrified.

“Withdraw!” she shouted. She did not fear this trógling, but she did fear Thyella; and Thyella aided by Errilaz and Sjurgi... “And Errilaz!  My sweet sister, what are you doing with these ruffians? And Thea Drex, surely they have nothing with which to tempt you that I cannot fulfil?”

“You disrespected my kin, you red bitch,” said Errilaz.

“And mine; and made my life a lie,” said Sjurgi.

“And you had my brother killed,” said Thyella.

“You maimed all my kin,” said Hraazaz.

“You wronged my kin above all,” said Rynn. “We are for the blue moon, for the fair, cold starlight. You are an abomination.”

“I just don’t like you,” said Mykota. “I stand for my mother.”

“We do not withdraw; we will destroy you!” cried Hippona, pushing forward past Selen.

“Yes, attack them!” said Selen, waving on her minions. She stayed on the bridge herself.

Rynn stepped forward as the largely reluctant lunar pantheon squared off against their chosen foes and Mykota guarded the egg in which Rogaz lay.

Selen’s face suddenly became one savage smirk.

“Brave little trógling,” she sneered. “You really think you can stand against a greater goddess? Your fellows have abandoned you for their own petty rivalries; and I shall defeat you.”

“My fellows trust me to be able to hold you until our leader gets here,” said Rynn. “I will die, but I will do so in a good cause. My life is unimportant, and if you kill me, I am assured immortality in song as a righteous Alethosi. You have no power over me. Now, are you going to fight, or do we just continue to throw sharpened insults and epigrams at each other?”

It was bravado, but Rynn was sure she would die here, and was not going to let Selen know how she grieved to be torn from Phaedros.

Selen was already armed for combat, and swung her scimitar at Rynn, whose parry succeeded, but jarred the valiant trógling’s arms for the force of the blow. Selen sneered.

“Submit and I will be merciful... DAZE!”  she reeled back, feeling the death of her twin. She screamed in primal grief, and then in anger. “My brother! You have been distracting me to kill my brother! You will all die!” And she turned her anger on Rynn.

Endure, little sister, Kaz is coming,” assured Alethos. Rynn could barely acknowledge, but she set her stubborn jaw, and held, too preoccupied to see how her fellows were doing. Selen might be out of date with her fighting style, but her strength as a goddess made up for it.

 

Thanus was giving Sjurgi more of a fight than she might have expected, on what was essentially home territory. But he had learned no more craft, and Sjurgi was patiently battering him down. Thyella and Hippona were exchanging filthy insults as well as blows. Errilaz had given up any pretence at style and had wrestled Librax to the ground where she was strangling and pummelling him by turns whilst he insulted her and her father.

Hraazaz was the one who finished her opponent first, Klerus trying desperately to avoid a fight, but being held relentlessly by the high toróg heroine.

Klerus really had very little chance and Hraazaz wrenched his knowledge from him; and having reduced him in power, bound him forcibly to her as a spirit, to aid her. Kaz would likely disapprove, but  Hraazaz did not care. She came quickly to aid Rynn.

“You have no idea how much I despise you toróg,” sneered Selen.

“It certainly isn’t as much as we despise you,” said Hraazaz, cheerfully. “Kaz, my sister!” she added, as Kaz arrived.

“Nice job, Rynn, now shift,” said Kaz.  Rynn retreated, thankfully. “Hraazaz, set up the ceremony.”

“On it, Daykaz,” said Haazaz.

You are the Daykaz? How amusing,” said Selen.

“Daze died of laughing,” said Kaz. “Stand by to cocoon us both and make the power transfer, Hraazaz.”

“Make it so,” said Hraazaz. “Mycota, your aid.”

“What is this?” asked Selen, startled, as a cocoon of crystal formed around her and Daykaz. It glowed red, where the one about Rogaz glowed blue.

“This is what I was born for,” said Kaz. “Your life is almost incidental, save that you are an inconvenience. One of us will emerge from this crystal egg alive, and the smart money is on it being me. It’s just you and me, Selen.”

Selen was not happy; but she had been battering down the other trógling.

How hard could it be?

 

Outside the cocoon, Hraazaz spun lines of power between the red egg and the blue, and stood between them, ready to channel power. Rynn stood, equally determined, knife ready to take her own blood to place on the cocoon to add to Kaz if things looked bad, or to absorb Kaz’s powers into herself to be a mother for the trógling in the last resort. Something Rynn hoped would not happen, but she had promised Kaz.

 

The almost feral grin on the face of the trógling in front of her alerted Selen to the idea that this might not be the pushover she was anticipating. 

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I want to complete my bargain with Rogaz, to heal the blue moon and break the trógling curse, and lead my people in freedom,” said Kaz. “Then I want a cool glass of lemon and honey cake.”

She stood her ground; and Selen prepared to fight for her life, the sudden imperturbability of this being more frightening than any boast of prowess, or taunts. Kaz fought like a machine, as her drill had taught her, countering the slow, formal strokes of the goddess. Kaz did not gloat; it was not in her nature. Selen must be killed, and her spirit absorbed, and that is what Kaz did. She drove Selen back to the wall of the crystal sphere in which they found themselves, waited for the opening, and took the goddess on the upstroke of her sword, bifurcating Selen’s body.

The spirit could not escape the crystal, and Kaz leaped on it, confining it, peeling it away to channel out the greater part to Rogaz.

Hraazaz gave a yell of triumph as the tenuous line between the crystal spheres suddenly glowed, and pulses of power emerged from the red cocoon to travel along it, to pass into the blue sphere, which started glowing brighter.  Hraazaz resumed chanting, and watched. It seemed to take an age, but in reality took just minutes, the glow of the husk of the red crystal dimming as that of the blue crystal brightened. At last, grey and spent, the once-red crystal orb cracked open, and Kaz stumbled out, the corpse of the once beautiful Selen a dried out husk.

Kaz’s friends embraced her, as did Mykota, who had never met her.

“The idiot has used too much moonstone in throwing it at people,” said Kaz. “We need to bring it all around the blue moon, but there will only be one fair face, and the blue moon must have phases like the red. And human women will still be tied to it, and on the thirtieth day of the month must have courses still, whilst the dark side of the moon shows a dim, blood-red disk in the sky. I’m sorry; I was more interested in breaking the birth curse on the toróg, and separating my people. But the power of the shed blood from women will help maintain the moon, despite how much has been reft from it.”

“You did what you came to do, and did it well,” said Hraazaz. “I think we need to open the blue crystal...”

“Tonight is the bleeding moon,” said Kaz, “When both moons are dark.  The crystal will open at moonrise tomorrow, a sliver as it normally is, but as Rogaz assimilates her power it will increase over the month so that it will shine bright and fair and full for three days ere it must wane,”

 

oOoOo

 

Rogaz’s rebirth from her crystal egg was triumphant. She was healed, but still weak.

“It is done!” she cried. “I may not be as whole as I was before, but I am not maimed, and my people will no longer be cursed! All my people who conceive on the coming full moon will conceive high toróg, and twins too! Daykaz, I am in your debt.”

“It was a joint effort of many of us,” said Kaz. “I look forward to a close friendship between gods who previously were rivals.”

 

oOoOo

 

“We’ve come a long way,” said Harkon. The original group of friends and their families and partners gathered in the temple to Alethos in Mesolimnos after a month had passed.

“And we will meet less often, now, for we all have our own jobs,” said Kaz. “But I want to make a pledge that our children will grow up spending time together, so there will be no rivalries forming in the future, and so any quarrels are caught early, and sorted out.”

“Hear hear,” said Tor. “We can take turns to host them meeting. They will be familiar with every realm.”

“And to conclude,” said Harkon, “Remember the Knights of the Clear Starlight, or whatever the anti-Selenite sunlings and windlings called themselves?”

“Technically, you’re a windling,” said Thyella.

“Temporarily,” said Harkon, bouncing his son on his knee. “And I did stop them spouting awful poetry. But I wanted to share what that fatuous idiot Erripion Windblown, Thundermaster of Ombros – er, of me, for now, I suppose, said?”

“I hope it wasn’t a privileged discussion like prayer,” said Kaz, disapprovingly.

“Eh? No, he was talking to me as me, Harkon, in the market; had no idea of my identity as Ombros,” said Harkon. “He said that if he had had any idea how bright the full blue moon would be, they would never have called themselves ‘Knights of the Clear Starlight,’ because it was as bright as a slightly cloudy day.  I said, ‘Yes, isn’t it wonderful?’ and he gave me a sour look. I think some of them half wish we hadn’t worked so hard towards it – but I toast the ladies of the moon-healing.”

“I am pleased that the stars may be bright when the moon is not,” said Thyella. “One of my lesser titles is Lady of the Stars.  I think it was a compromise which works for everyone.”

“And now, we just get on with life,” said Protasion. “No more danger, discomfort, sitting up all night poring over obscure documents, just an ordinary life.”

“And here’s to that,” said Kaz, kissing Iphianira on the top of her head.

“One thing I wanted to ask,” said Hraazaz, “Your spell, oathzone, the one you invented after convincing me it already existed; are we close enough for me to give to my priests as a glyph-spell,  to use to settle mercantile disputes? My people are rather more likely to come to fights than human merchants.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” said Kaz.  “The more misunderstandings that can be settled without coming to blows, or under oath of a limited combat, the better. But I’ll wait for Merkedes to ask for it, before I offer it to the human god of traders; after all, he never offered aid to us.”

“To peace; but never at any price,” said Lelyn.

 

The subduing of pockets of devout Selenites busy searching for their goddess would take many years, but the former Selenite Empire broke up into city states, and negotiated treaties with each other. Many accepted the idea of outlawing slavery, and keeping the games for professional gladiators, testing themselves, and for the execution of criminals. The world had changed; but the everyday lives of ordinary people went on in much the same way. Save for trógling, who formed free communities, and who were more likely to be born as single or twin births, not litters, and be healthier than before. Many had joint communities with wolfingas, and the intelligent wolves, and trógling wolf-cavalry were sought after. Because while there are people, there will be wars; and while there are wars, Alethos collects souls.  

 

The End