Errabundis [Kindle Edition]

Errabundis [Kindle Edition]

by Carol Budinger


Publisher Carol Budinger

Published in Romance/Fantasy, Science Fiction & Fantasy/Fantasy, Literature & Fiction/Contemporary, Romance, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Literature & Fiction

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Book Description


This epic fantasy of love and transformation tells of The Lorilex, poised to destroy the world. But in the far off, dusty caravan town of Errabundis a powerful force for good is cloaked within an ordinary life. A life that must be awoken to itself if the world is to survive. That impossible task is set before two heroes. One is a lost champion, consumed by a passion he can never acknowledge even as he pursues it. The other hides a broken heart blinded by a great and destructive fury. The minions of the Lorilex bear down on Errabundis. Can one man’s sword and a song of love stand against them?

Sample Chapter

It was there on the wide open plain, along a stretch of road far from the last post station and far to the next, with the setting sun at his back and the last light of day fading from the land, that the Hunters of Derigo ambushed the Captal of Blackwall. They must have arisen out of the earth itself, for the mounted horde was upon him in an instant. He whirled his horse around, but saw no chance of escape as they pressed in to surround him.

Blackwall drew to a halt, his hand on his sword, ready to defend himself if need be. The small, vicious warriors circled him on their stout ponies, shouting and waving their weapons. The Lh’ang, their tough, scarred chieftain, raised his arm and they fell silent.

“O ha lan dhis, desarinsi,” the Lh’ang greeted him in Catadhi.

“Misahn sa-la, Lh’ang,” he replied equitably.

“Rains are coming,” the chieftain commented.

Blackwall gazed to the north. Even in the waning light of day’s end, the gathering clouds could be seen. “Not quite yet,” he replied.

“You will reach Wehrle before the rains, if you satisfy us.”

Blackwall’s post horse stirred restlessly. “What satisfaction do you require?”

“What gold do you have?”

“My purse is slim, but you are welcome to it.”

The Lh’ang waved his offer aside. “What of your gauntlets?”

Puzzled, Blackwall drew off his worn riding gloves. “Surely you have better,” he said as he held them out.

The Derigish became very still. The Lh’ang’s keen, dark eyes moved to Blackwall’s left hand and the ring of gold and tiny jewels that sparkled there. “Ah,” he said and then spoke rapidly in his own language, which Blackwall little understood. The horseman moved closer and a murmur of voices went up among them. “The ring,” the Lh’ang told Blackwall. “We will see that.”

“You may not have my ring.”

“We will see your ring.”

“I will kill you before I let you take it.”

“You are not ready to die.” The chieftain held out his hand, making a quick gesture. “The Burankii-la searches for a ring. Perhaps yours is the one, perhaps it isn’t.”

Blackwall’s blood froze. “The Burankii-la?”

“She sent us a dream and we are here to fulfill it.”

After Blackwall’s own people, the Hunters of Derigo were the most dangerous inhabitants of the Catadhan. They worshipped the Burankii-la, as most of the Catadhi did, but to the Hunters she sent potent dreams, and through their dreams, commanded them. If the Burankii-la wanted a life, they would take it. If the Burankii-la wanted his ring, they would have it. But Blackwall’s people were not Catadhi. The Burankii-la was not their mother and had not granted them life. What could she, or her emissaries, want with him?

He pulled the ring from his finger and set it in the outstretched palm. The Lh’ang regarded it closely, his expression changing slowly to wonder. Two others came up beside him and they spoke in hushed tones, glancing at Blackwall over and over again, so that he became impatient and demanded, “Darkness, what is it?”

“The flaming sword,” the Lh’ang said, referring to the crest incised on the ring’s bezel. “This is what we seek. This is the sign we saw in our dreams.” He slipped the ring into a pouch hanging around his neck.

“You will not take my ring.”

“We have something for you.” He smiled, not a reassuring expression, “In exchange.”

“There is nothing in the world worth the value that ring has to me.” He reached for his sword in earnest. “You are nothing but thieves, for I am nothing to the Burankii-la and she is nothing to me.”

The Lh’ang leaned forward and took his wrist with a powerful grip, staying his hand. “She sees you, desarinsi. She sees you, and thus, so do we. She asks for your ring. Can you refuse her?”

“A thief and a liar.” Blackwall shook with fury, but what could he do to prevent them from taking his mother’s ring? As much as he wanted to, he knew he should not kill the Burankii-la’s messengers. That would be the ruin of him.

“We will keep it safe for you.”

Blackwall shouted at him, a raw, incoherent sound. The Derigish moved restlessly around him, but were not afraid.

“We give you this in return.” The Lh’ang waved to one of his men, who came forward with a long, thin, leather-wrapped object. Blackwall sneered at the offering of what could only be a sword greatly inferior to his own. “Take it,” the Derigish leader said. “It’s yours.” The rider edged closer and tried to force the bundle into Blackwall’s hands, but the Captal pushed it away.

There was a short, intense conversation among the Derigish in their own language before they reached some agreement. “It is yours,” the Lh’ang said. “We are not thieves. You must take it in trade. As we have dreamed it.”

They tied the slim bundle to the back of Blackwall’s saddle. Satisfied, the Lh’ang bid him farewell. “O ha lan dhis, desarinsi. We shall always see you, even from afar.”

Blackwall tried one last time. “Of what use is my ring, my mother’s ring, to you? I am not Catadhi. You know the Burankii-la does not see me. Why take my ring? What value does it have for anyone but me?”

The Lh’ang drew up, his dark eyes intense, “She sees you, desarinsi. She sees you. Never doubt that.” He gave a shout, which his war band echoed out across the Plain of Ode. Then, as though they were of one mind, their ponies leapt into a gallop and tore away.

He wanted to pursue them, to kill them, but even in his rage he knew he must not. So the Captal of Blackwall sat on his horse, in the middle of the caravan road that ran between Errabundis and Wehrle, on the silent, empty Plain of Ode, in the heart of the Catadhan, and did nothing while his most cherished possession, the last thing his mother had given him, disappeared in a cloud of dust.

A misty rain fell over Wehrle, dimming the lights and putting a hush over the city’s late evening rumble. Blackwall paused a moment at his window, regarding the deepening night, relieved that the day was over. It had been a good day. He had found the wife of a wealthy merchant who had disappeared while shopping. It had required the judicious application of money and fear, reassurance and threat in equal measure. The rescued woman had fallen into her husband’s arms, both crying with joy at the restoration. Blackwall found himself moved to wonder if his mother had cried when she was rescued. Did she fall into her brothers’ arms and weep? It was so easy to get lost in the world where no one would find you.

He closed the shutters so that only the light on the bedside table illuminated the room. He pulled off his boots, blew out the lamp, and dropped to the bed, hoping sleep would come soon. For a few minutes the lump under the mattress annoyed him. He had hidden the sword the Hunters of Derigo had given him there. It was a constant reminder of the loss of his ring, but tonight it did not keep him awake.

He did not know how long he slept before the inkling of danger stirred in him. At first he ignored it because he knew he was asleep in a locked room, but the sense of danger grew stronger until he had to roll over and open his eyes.

He blinked in the bright light, trying to imagine how he had slept so late. He saw a man standing over his bed, his face full of fear, an urgent need clearly upon him. The intruder seemed vaguely familiar, and Blackwall was about to put a name to him when he caught sight of the second, darker figure, moving to harm the first. Then he understood why the man was in his room. Battle-hardened instincts instantly took over. He leapt up, great sword already in hand, and clove the encroaching danger.


Excerpted from "Errabundis [Kindle Edition]" by Carol Budinger. Copyright © 2012 by Carol Budinger. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Author Profile

Carol Budinger

Carol Budinger

The sly wit and attention to detail that distinguishes Carol’s writing reflects her background as a musician, fencer, student of military history and devoted Internet computer gamer. Her novel “Errabundis” is especially enriched by two of her life-long passions – wilderness journeys on horseback and epic cinema. The world of “Errabundis” has immense scope, but also close-up emotional intensity. A world of distant horizons, rugged landscapes, majestic cities and exotic peoples. Her childhood in the orange groves of Southern California, and adulthood in the hubbub of Hollywood and San Francisco, tuned Carol’s eyes to the magic of diversity, and her ear to the delights of overlapping languages. And her own experience of the wonder and power of archetypes is reflected in her characters and plot, which entwine far below the surface, revealing their interlocking mosaic pattern of wholeness and purpose as the story of “Errabundis” unfolds.

View full Profile of Carol Budinger

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