In keeping with Cyber Monday, my first 2 books will be available for download at Amazon.com for .99 each.  Here are the links.  "Quest for the Red Sapphire" is http://amzn.to/1npYd0S  "Sapphire Crucible" is http://amzn.to/1lGfOVN .  If you ever wanted to get into this epic story from the start, now is the time to do it.  They are each an exciting story which is hard to put down.  Get your copies Monday!

The folks at Snuggle Books have honored me with a spotlight on their site.  Check it out here http://wp.me/p4tOHs-1nx  It is a really nice piece.

What has happened to the holidays?  Specifically, what has happened to Thanksgiving?  I decided to check the dictionary before I wrote this piece to make sure I actually knew what a holiday was.  Here are my findings.  Webster’s New World College Dictionary says a Holiday is “a day of freedom from labor; day set aside for leisure and recreation.”  The American Heritage Dictionary defines it as, “A day free from work that one may spend at leisure, especially a day on which custom or the law dictates a halting of general business activity to commemorate or celebrate a particular event.”  Ok, I have my facts straight.  Let’s use some logic here.  If Thanksgiving is a holiday, and all business is supposed to be halted on holidays, then why are so many darn businesses open on Thanksgiving?  They can’t give their staff one day off?  I am fortunate enough to work for people who are closed on Thanksgiving but every year I see more and more businesses opening their doors on Thanksgiving.  People tell me they are going to boycott the Thanksgiving Day Sales but that can’t be true of many people because the stores are getting bolder and bolder in their strides into Thanksgiving; opening earlier and earlier.  I believe in their hearts people sympathize with the minimum wage workers having their turkey day ruined but the sales put out there are so compelling that they cannot help but go shopping.  The fact of the matter is retail is in a serious battle for existence with the internet.  Brick and mortar stores are trying anything to survive.  If that means they ruin Thanksgiving for their entire staff, they are willing to live with that in order to compete.  All of those easy one line sales are taking jobs from people in retail stores.  I can see their point of view.  I don’t happen to like or agree with it but I see what their trying to do.  The question I raise is whether the net result of the sales is really that much better when it is spread out that when everything opened early on Friday morning?  Are the same dollars just spread over more days?  I wonder.  Clearly stores think there’s some advantage to it as I don’t see the Thanksgiving Day trend going away any time soon.  Just think, it wasn’t so long ago that I felt for the gas station attendants as the only people working on the holiday.  Times change quickly these days.  What a pity.  So much for sitting down with the family and giving thanks…not when there’s a door crasher at Wal-Mart you have to have.
 
 

 
It was a solid two-day ride to the city of Linvin’s birth. At
sundown on the second day, he led his horse up the red-brick road
on the most affluent hill in the great city of Fraylic. The bricks
ended at the top where Grithinshield Manor resided.
Residents gleefully greeted him. Linvin could not help but
wonder if they respected his power, money, prestige or simply
him. His many attributes made choosing the sincere people from
the insincere ones a challenge. In the end, the answer was of no
consequence. The neighbors were happy to see him return as he
did every month or two, and their happiness was contagious.
Linvin had issues with allowing anyone to become close to him.
He yearned to simply be Linvin and not Linvin of the House of
Grithinshield. Too many fake smiles and hushed tones abounded
his appearances. His loneness made him yearn for a companion
who was oblivious to his position.
At the end of the road, Grithinshield Manor covered the entire
hilltop. The mansion was purchased by his father and expanded by
his mother to become the center for society. Such trappings were
lost on Linvin. Public displays of affluence garnered no love from
him. Parties and receptions were more like political and business
meetings with finer accommodations. Staying in character, Linvin
had turned society on its ear during his last visit by hosting a lavish
feast for the homeless and hungry that were often overlooked by
the vast majority of the affluent city.
The great bronze gate Dirk Grithinshield had acquired long
67
before the manor was built still stood in all its glory where the side
fences connected. A young boy in formal attire rushed to take the
reins of Linvin’s horse.
“Lord Grithinshield,” the boy said with excitement, “it’s
wonderful to have you back.”
“Thank you,” Linvin acknowledged as he stepped down from
his steed. He removed his riding gloves and handed them to the
boy. “See that my bags are taken to my room and the horse is
properly housed.” Then he swung the gate open with the
unmistakable sound of metal on metal. Walking up the stone path,
he reached the double doors which opened just before he could
step up to them.
An elderly gentleman wearing the finest servant’s attire ever
seen was there to greet him. “Master Linvin. I trust your journey
was a safe one?”
Linvin smiled like a little boy as he viewed the master of his
house and the man who practically raised him as a child. He
attempted to shake the man’s hand but found himself changing in
mid-motion into a full-fledged hug. “It is good to see you, Theisen.
There is something about seeing you that makes me think Home.”
Theisen patted Linvin formally on the back and politely moved
him away. “Thank you, Master Linvin. And may I say there is
something about you that makes me think Bath. Shall I have one
drawn for you? The road has left you in need of a good scrubbing.”
“My bones ache from the journey,” Linvin responded. “A warm
bath would be splendid. While I wait, I had hoped to see my uncle.
Has he arrived?”
“Lord Greenlith is on the back porch enjoying the sunset with a
full pipe and pot of tea,” Theisen said as he led his master inside
the marble floored palace.
Linvin removed his cloak and handed it to Theisen. “Fine. Have
my pipe brought to the porch.” Linvin walked through the house
68
and stepped onto the wraparound porch adorned by pairs of
rockers every few paces with serving tables between.
In a rocker near the door sat an old elf of unremarkable size
puffing a long pipe. His hair was that cross of silver and gray,
which proved to be so difficult to determine. A slowly sloping
beard extended from his face past his stomach. His stature was
small even by elf standards. The elf’s grand blue eyes were
captivated by the sunset over the city as seen through the orchards
in the back yard and did not notice Linvin’s entrance.

The sun had scarcely moved in the sky when the party broke camp. As they saddled their horses, loud conversations could be heard above them coming closer. Linvin ordered everyone up against the interior of the bridge. He held his finger to his lips to order the group to remain quiet. Then he crawled up the embankment until he could just barely see the road.
Emerging from the forest on the nearside of the bridge was a band of goblins in uniform. Taking a quick guess of their number, he slid down the slope and joined the others. He whispered. “There is a Goblin Patrol coming this way. We must remain silent until they have passed.” His party nodded in unison and did their best to calm the animals.
The shuffling of goblin boots was unmistakable as it drew near. Soon the incoherent voices became clear as the troop reached the bridgehead. “This is ridiculous,” cried a voice from above. Several others joined in a sentiment of agreement. “What are we doing here?” the voice continued. “We were supposed to be on rest period for nearly half a day. Instead, we are dragged out of our billet and sent to guard an insignificant bridge little more than a stone’s throw away.”
Another voice barked at the first. “You read the orders the rider delivered during the night. They came directly from General Tecious. There are four escaped elves and one female human everyone is hunting. We are to guard this bridge and then send up a signal if we spy them.”
“Why won’t they let us fight?” demanded the first voice. “We have a full platoon here short of our Sergeant who is likely still sleeping.”
“I will tell you why, Private,” the second voice responded forcefully. “Whoever the escaped prisoners are have burned half of Marinhalk and evaded the largest manhunt in history. The General’s orders were specific. We are not to engage them if we see them. As for the Sergeant, someone had to stay at the supply depot in case another messenger arrived while we were away. He delegated guarding the bridge to us and the depot to himself. If you are unhappy with his orders, he is just behind those trees at the base. You can see what he thinks of your opinion.”
For a time there was only the sound of the rushing water to fill the air. The first voice sounded humble as it spoke. “There is no need to bother the Sergeant,” the voice said meekly. “I just don’t understand why we can’t fight prisoners if we find them. We are trained as soldiers, Corporal. Why will they not let us fight?”
The corporal’s voice became ever more firm. “You said it yourself. You are a soldier. It is not your place to question orders. Another word from you and I’ll gladly give you ten lashes by my own hand. As for the prisoners, we’ll never see them. This is a minor bridge in a rural county. The General is being thorough as usual. You just wanted to sleep. Well there will be none of that when we are on guard.”
Linvin smiled as an idea came to mind. Oh yes you will, he thought as he pulled the staff forth. Placing one hand on either side, he rolled it back and forth between them rapidly. The Red Sapphire began to glow and a magical mist began to be released upward. A red fog moved quickly and with stealth. No sooner had it reached the top of the bridge than the sound of bodies falling to the ground filled the air. It sounded as if twenty suits of armor were dropped on the ground simultaneously.

“It is safe, Anvar.  You can come out of the corner.”  In the far corner of the deck, between a chimney and wall, came the sight of a small orange light.  After having puffed his pipe, Anvar exited the shadows and walked over to his nephew.  He leaned on the rail as Linvin was doing.
“However did you know I was there?” asked Anvar.
“Please Uncle.  I could smell your apple-flavored tobacco the moment I stepped onto this deck.”
Anvar looked at Linvin’s glass of brandy, which lay largely untouched.  “I see you have the same love of fine brandy that I do,” Anvar said with a laugh.  Then he turned to the bartender.  “Do you have that item I gave you to store?”
“Of course,” replied the bartender as he bent behind the bar and produced a small keg of elven ale.
“I think you have earned a reward, my boy.” 
Linvin dumped his brandy over the rail and said, “I could not agree more.”
Anvar had been prepared for this eventuality.  At his command, the bartender produced two massive steins and filled them with ale.  “Will there be anything else, sirs?”
“No, thank you,” Anvar replied as he handed some coins to the man.  “Just leave the keg out for us.”
“Very good, sir,” replied the servant before going downstairs to help with the aftermath of the party.
Anvar and Linvin each took up a rocker and drank their ale.  Before long, Linvin had his pipe out as well.
“Mother was right about the view up here.  You can see the entire city.”
“Speaking of views,” Anvar chided, “You had quite the nice view of young ladies out here.”
“Do not remind me,” Linvin said as he rocked.  “I felt like the prize whore in a brothel.  Could you hear what they were saying from over there?”
“Sadly, no,” replied Anvar.  “The acoustics were not very favorable in the corner.”
“In that case,” Linvin laughed, “I envy you.  They were all like trained pets following their mothers’ orders.  Everything they said sounded like, ‘I love children.  I hope to have several.  In fact, boys run in my family.  It is not my place to question my husband’s authority.  He is lord of the house and his word goes.  The only reward I seek in life is to make my husband happy and did I mention how much I love children?’  And this was not simply one person’s answer.  They all said the exact same thing!  Sometimes they would change the order a bit but they all were the same.  It was all I could take not to scream!”
“Well,” laughed Anvar, “Those all sound like fine qualities in a wife.”
“Oh, puh-lease!” barked Linvin, “Those are fine qualities in a dog!  The answers were as phony as the ones I gave this evening, only less convincing.  If they were really telling the truth, then why would I want a wife like that anyway?  They sounded like servants.  I do not want a wife like that and truthfully, until my mother made it apriority, I had no urgent desire to attain a wife.”

Everybody has them; those old friends that are bad influences.  For some reason they seem to stay around longer than the good friends.  They sometimes get in the way of good times and are always there for the bad times.  These are the hardest friends to sever ties with because they’ve been through so much with you that you feel like you need them around.  Often times you need someone on the outside to tell you to dump that friend and that person is often a doctor.  That’s right, a doctor.  The first of my friends he told me had to go was nicotine.  Ah the great times we had together.  While nicotine was not in my life for a relatively long time, it was sweet while it lasted.  But it came with a price.  I was sick a lot with repertory issues and woke up most mornings feeling like my chest was going to crush itself.  Aside from that, nicotine was really bossy and I didn’t like that.  The doctor and my wife forced me to kick my old friend to the curb.  It was a sad day.  The hurt stayed with me for a long time as one of my hands no longer seemed to have a use.  After a while I forgot about it and moved on.  Then I was blindsided with a new request.  I was put on some permanent medication that didn’t mix well with alcohol.  So the doctor told me to give up alcohol entirely.  Hold the phone!  I’m a mix of Irish and German.  I tell people that means I can hold my beer and I don’t care what you think about it!  Now I have to give it up completely as well as all other spirits?  This was too much.  This friend and I had been through everything together.  I was never a heavy drinker (I know everyone says that) but this was asking too much.  With every visit to the doctor he would ask if I was still drinking and I would tell the truth.  Then came the lecture and the guilt trip.  It explained why the medicine wasn’t helping.  So I bit the bullet and cast alcohol aside.  It’s amazing how people judge you when you go to an event where everyone’s drinking except you.  They get very rude and don’t talk to you.  I now say I’m the designated driver although they still ask me if my license is suspended for DUI.  I miss having a beer with people.  The fake stuff tastes awful.  Now the doctor tells me I have to give up caffeine.  Come on!  You’ve got to be kidding me.  This friend has been with me since childhood.  He’s helped me study for tests in school.  He’s made me alert for the drive to work.  This is practically family.  For this one all I can say is I’m trying.  I still have 2 12-packs of Diet Pepsi in the garage to drink.  I plan to get caffeine free once it is gone.  This will be a tough good-bye.  After this all I have left is red meat and the doctor’s going to have a fight on his hands for that one.  Man, it is hard dumping these old friends.       

He wiped his hands and lit a lamp. With the room illuminated,
he saw what was left of the would-be assassin. Five’s body was
completely smashed. The blood-soaked clothes revealed nothing of
value. In the satchel Linvin found the rope and hook, a money
purse and a leather folder.
He opened the folder first. There were many written pages. He
sat down with his pipe and read. It was a journal. The writings
chronicled his movements since his arrival in Missandor.
Five had been careful not to make any note referring to his
employer in the journal. Indeed, it seemed to Linvin that the
purpose of the notes was to have them read by the employer after
the assassination. It was a briefing on how the plan was carried
out.
According to the entries, Five had come to Missandor the
previous day. He spied on Linvin and recorded his movements.
Five even wore a disguise and shopped the GTC while Linvin was
working. He did not strike there because of the number of
witnesses and what he called a low probability of success.
The assassin did not stay at an inn because he wanted to be sure
he did not leave a trace of his presence. He chose the beggar
disguise because it enabled him to survey Linvin’s tree from close
range and watch his every move.
Linvin sat the journal down and gnawed on his pipe. He puffed
a few times before returning the writings to the bag and retrieving
the money purse. It was full of gold. Upon examining the coins, he
was disappointed to see that they bore no markings of any kind.
Though coinage was minted in universal denominations
throughout the civilized world, each nation branded them with
their own emblem. Even if the markings were foreign, gold was
accepted worldwide as a form of payment.
The coins in that purse were specifically made without any
identification at all. Closer inspection showed that they had been
conditioned to look as though they were old so that no one would
inquire about their lack of marking.
Linvin knew such coins would be expensive to make and would
have to have been custom-crafted for Five. Great pains were taken
to ensure the person seeking Linvin’s head remained anonymous.
That person was obviously more concerned with Linvin’s death
than what it would cost.
Five was a professional assassin. He was not attempting murder
for the first time. It seemed to Linvin that he had killed before for
profit.
Linvin set the purse down and walked over to the body. At his
feet, he saw the crossbow. He retrieved it and examined it like a
merchant inspecting a possible purchase. Once again, he found no
revealing details.

Never had a room containing so many people been so silent. Linvin’s heart raced as he approached the chest. The organ’s beating was so loud he believed everyone in the room could hear the sound. His steps were short but purposeful. At last he was close enough to touch the chest. The unfamiliar carvings on the box were beautiful in their mystery. They had not been chiseled in the stone. What he presumed to be letters or words had been burned into the rock with such precision the stone around them had been unchanged.
Peering at the throne he saw both Mandrean and Necromancer leaning forward in their seats, awaiting the outcome of Linvin’s effort. The image angered the great warrior but his temper was held in check as he looked back and saw the dire position of his uncle. Feeling the most helpless he had been in his life, Linvin reluctantly inserted the key into the keyhole of the right side of the chest. It fit perfectly. He turned the key and the lock made a grinding sound as it moved to the open position. Linvin took a deep breath and opened the lid.
The compartment inside held a fine red powder. Linvin’s curiosity outweighed his desire for caution. He placed his finger in the sand-like powder and felt for anything solid. When his skin touched it, the dust began to glow. The crimson light intensified with such speed that Linvin was forced to shield his eyes. Then the aura filled the room and made it impossible for anyone to see. An immeasurable vortex of wind emanated from the chest and blew like a tornado through the room. All the furniture was caught in the wind and the people clung to the ground or anything the air could not lift.
Only Linvin stood unaffected by the storm. He looked at the chaos around him and then back at the chest. The powder in the compartment was gone. Lifting his eyes to the red storm around him, he felt no fear. It was not bravery or ignorance that inspired his calmness. Something about what was happening simply felt right to him. He marveled at the majesty before his eyes and never even stopped to consider why the wind did not so much as ruffle his shirt.
A deep, resonating voice reaching deafening tones echoed through the room. “I am the Red Sapphire, dislodged from the Prism of the Cosmos after the great Diffusion of Magic. My purpose is to prove that one person with great ability can make a great difference. Through the Path of the Red Sapphire I will give fantastic power to this person. It will be his charge to use the power to do the greatest good. My Master and I shall once again prove one can stand against many, that evil is not stronger than righteousness and my power in the right hands can change the course of history.
“My power is meant to fight for those who cannot do so. We shall prove a single person can save many and tyranny and oppression will not be allowed to go unchecked. Through me, one person can create positive change. That person must be true of heart and character. Their own skills must compliment my power. I knew from the day he entered the world my next master would be Linvin Grithinshield. I am to serve him until his death and no other. Together we shall perform works greater than any seen in this age. We will make the difference no one else can make. Linvin, hold out your hands with the palms up and together.”
The vortex centered over his hands and contracted at a rate equal to that at which it had grown. In a matter of moments the spectacle was over and Linvin held the grandest gem he could ever have imagined.

He stood by the window with a snifter of brandy.  Swirling the container of precious liquor in his hand, he called out, “Jelena, could I at least have some ale instead of this lamp oil you’ve served me?”
“Anvar,” bellowed the woman, “This is an important occasion and I will not have it sullied by serving that swill you and Dirk took such delight in drinking. You are holding the finest brandy in the land.  Savor it and let me see to my tasks.”
Anvar inhaled the bouquet and then sipped in a conservative fashion.  His face wrinkled slightly.  “I honestly do not see why you are making such a fuss, Jelena.  After all, it’s just Linvin coming home.”
“Do you see him?” shouted Jelena as she ran to the window.
“No,” laughed Anvar.  “I was merely saying that this gala you have prepared seems rather…extravagant for Linvin’s tastes.  Would you not agree, sister?”
Jelena stormed over to Anvar.  “Having been through this past year with me, I would think you of all people would see a need for celebration.  This house has been like a mausoleum since Dirk left.  I have one good thing left in this world and that is my son.  Is it so wrong to shout to the world that he is home?”
“It could be,” Anvar said before taking a larger drink from his glass.  “You know how I feel about this.  It is an unwise and unneeded risk.  One that may very well get us all killed.”
“The gala will have tight security, I assure you.”
Anvar came face-to-face with her and said with frustration, “You know that I do not speak of the gala.  Has time blinded you so that you do not see the impending danger?  The risks have not gone away, Jelena.  Bringing us together again and announcing it to the world will only compound those risks.”
“Dirk has been gone over a year and there is not the slightest hint of danger.  You are paranoid, dear brother.  Even if there was a danger, it died with Dirk.”
Anvar struck his forehead in disbelief.  “Dirk is not what they wanted!  They have just been biding their time.  How can you be so ignorant of the impending doom?”
“Because all I can see is my son!  He was practically stolen from me as a boy and sent halfway around the world to be raised by strangers.  My boy has lived more years away from me than with me and I want him back!  I want him home!”
“Even if it costs us all our lives?” Anvar asked as he held his weeping sister.
“I see him!” called a nearby servant.
Anvar and Jelena turned and saw Linvin at the end of the road, talking to Mrs. Harnbottom.
“What idle gossip is she filling my boy’s head with?  My word!  Never have I met a woman who spoke so much with so little to say.  I must press her for details tonight at the party.  Fortunately, I think her knowledge of our affairs is limited.”
“Listen to yourself, Jelena, your fears can be gone if you just tell Linvin the whole story.  The time will come sooner or later when he will need to know, and it would be better to come from you.”
Jelena composed herself and walked toward the foyer.  “I do not believe that day need ever come, Anvar.  The matter is closed.  Do you understand me? Closed!  If ever Linvin needs to know of what we speak, then I shall tell him.  It will come from no one else.  Is that clear, little brother?”
Anvar’s nostrils flared, but he showed no other outward sign of displeasure.  “I will respect your wishes, dear sister.  I only hope your dream of living in peace comes to fruition.”
He stood by the window with a snifter of brandy.  Swirling the container of precious liquor in his hand, he called out, “Jelena, could I at least have some ale instead of this lamp oil you’ve served me?”
“Anvar,” bellowed the woman, “This is an important occasion and I will not have it sullied by serving that swill you and Dirk took such delight in drinking. You are holding the finest brandy in the land.  Savor it and let me see to my tasks.”
Anvar inhaled the bouquet and then sipped in a conservative fashion.  His face wrinkled slightly.  “I honestly do not see why you are making such a fuss, Jelena.  After all, it’s just Linvin coming home.”
“Do you see him?” shouted Jelena as she ran to the window.
“No,” laughed Anvar.  “I was merely saying that this gala you have prepared seems rather…extravagant for Linvin’s tastes.  Would you not agree, sister?”
Jelena stormed over to Anvar.  “Having been through this past year with me, I would think you of all people would see a need for celebration.  This house has been like a mausoleum since Dirk left.  I have one good thing left in this world and that is my son.  Is it so wrong to shout to the world that he is home?”
“It could be,” Anvar said before taking a larger drink from his glass.  “You know how I feel about this.  It is an unwise and unneeded risk.  One that may very well get us all killed.”
“The gala will have tight security, I assure you.”
Anvar came face-to-face with her and said with frustration, “You know that I do not speak of the gala.  Has time blinded you so that you do not see the impending danger?  The risks have not gone away, Jelena.  Bringing us together again and announcing it to the world will only compound those risks.”
“Dirk has been gone over a year and there is not the slightest hint of danger.  You are paranoid, dear brother.  Even if there was a danger, it died with Dirk.”
Anvar struck his forehead in disbelief.  “Dirk is not what they wanted!  They have just been biding their time.  How can you be so ignorant of the impending doom?”
“Because all I can see is my son!  He was practically stolen from me as a boy and sent halfway around the world to be raised by strangers.  My boy has lived more years away from me than with me and I want him back!  I want him home!”
“Even if it costs us all our lives?” Anvar asked as he held his weeping sister.
“I see him!” called a nearby servant.
Anvar and Jelena turned and saw Linvin at the end of the road, talking to Mrs. Harnbottom.
“What idle gossip is she filling my boy’s head with?  My word!  Never have I met a woman who spoke so much with so little to say.  I must press her for details tonight at the party.  Fortunately, I think her knowledge of our affairs is limited.”
“Listen to yourself, Jelena, your fears can be gone if you just tell Linvin the whole story.  The time will come sooner or later when he will need to know, and it would be better to come from you.”
Jelena composed herself and walked toward the foyer.  “I do not believe that day need ever come, Anvar.  The matter is closed.  Do you understand me? Closed!  If ever Linvin needs to know of what we speak, then I shall tell him.  It will come from no one else.  Is that clear, little brother?”
Anvar’s nostrils flared, but he showed no other outward sign of displeasure.  “I will respect your wishes, dear sister.  I only hope your dream of living in peace comes to fruition.”