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All life has disappeared from a rookery far from Half-Elven shores, south in enemy territory. Voron, a disreputable ship’s captain, asks permission to investigate the mystery, a request that lands on Captain Hattenel’s desk. Her curiosity tweaked, she decides to investigate the conflict between Voron’s dubious reputation and the intelligence displayed in his book about his explorations.
Captain Hattenel discovers Voron not only projects a powerful negative glamour, guaranteed to repulse any Half-Elven warrior, but his shields are stronger than most. When she learns he plans to investigate the mysterious rookery on his own, Hattenel decides to join him – only to discover a secret that can destroy their world ... and their careers.
While exploring the deserted island, the two are catapulted into a world of dog-headed magic workers. Hattenel an Voron must escape before gravity or the dog-heads kill them.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, or institutions either are creations of the author's mind or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are purely coincidental. No parts of this work may be reproduced except for review purposes. For more information about this story, read the notes at the end.
(C) M. K. Theodoratus, 2018. All Rights Reserved.
Smashwords Edition
ISBN: 9780463048764
A sudden melee outside of Central Command shattered Captain Hattenel's concentration. She looked up from the stacks of paper on her desk, wishing that she fought, outside, with the off-duty Rangers. Shouts and laughter echoed off the hillsides as the adult warriors fended off the attacking cadets. With a sigh, she returned to the details for the new upgrades for the commissary stoves. She had promised to clear her desk before she left for her holding.
Sooner finished, the sooner you're gone. Captain Hattenel, of the Far Isles Half-Elven Rangers, breathed deeply with a slight smile tugging her lips. Three whole days to myself!
Thoughts of pleasing only herself teased like a ripe plum hanging just beyond her fingertips. When she signed the last requisition with an illegible scrawl, Hattenel sent her quill floating towards the inkpot, where it dropped with a satisfying plop.
Time for a change of scenery. Free. Free from camp politics for the next three days with only the fish to play with.
Hattenel loved to lose herself in the mountains of the border with the pressure of cold water around her ankles and the fight of a fish on her line. She delighted in outsmarting it without using any elven skills. Thoughts of fish rising to her lure tempted her to smile, stretching the deep scar across her face, a scar given to her when a Suthron border guard caught sight of her pointed, elven canines and tried to kill her. She had killed him with her knife when she slipped under his guard. That victory of a stripling against a grown man still warmed
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