Yup that is what you get here today. See over on my main blog suteko.wordpress.com (Suteko’s Blog) I put in an excerpt from the third novel of Loralil Greyfox’s life. The thing is the whole book was supposed to just be the opening chapters to A Fragile Peace broken (working title) It took off recently and became an entire novel on its own that I will hopefully finish before the end of summer. I am thinking about having it out by Labor day. We will see.

After all the work I did on A Fragile Peace: Found, I realize that I will need to rewrite a lot of this now forth book before I put it out. It is actually a lot of fun to look back at the parts of this character’s life I have written. Being that she is a Grey Elf, she has a long life expectancy. No, she is not an immortal elf, but she could easily expect to life well over a thousand years. With an age range like that I have so much space to play in. So far she is barely 50 years old. While for us humans (like me at 51) that is the beginning of the slippery slope to death, for her she is still considered barely an adult.

If you have read Endings and Revenge (Saga of Loralil Greyfox) You know i have put her through so many horrible things in those few short years. The timeless summer of the Elves is not a good time for her so far. In the third book I am dealing with consequences to the soul of a person. Not as heavy as you could with a human but I am trying to lighten up this very dark fantasy some.

Now this excerpt is set about fifteen years after the excerpt I had included in my other blog. Yes that is a jump, if we were human, but for an elf it is really just a blink of her eyes.


“So,” a soft voice spoke. “They came this way.” Looking up the mountainside a pair of amethyst eyes narrowed. There was a haze growing above and it could be coming only from one place. Swiftly pulling her bow, Loralil ran lightly up the mountain trail.

It had been fifteen years since the death of the last of her family, fourteen years since she had been in this place. She had taken to wandering the wilds. The healers of Tal’sin had brought her back to a semblance of normalcy. She could function within polite society, but she rarely felt comfortable there. She was a killer, she knew that deep inside and nothing the people of the Grey Elven city could tell her would change her view of herself. The long years in the human lands had shaped her.

She paused for a moment as she came close to the city. There was something on the air, a scent her forest trained senses told her was familiar. She shook her body, shaking out the tightness that settled between her shoulder blades. She knew there were intruders on her mountain, another race of beings had come up here and had most likely invaded the last refuge of a people nearly extinct. She wasn’t sure just which race it was as they were mounted, but she had an idea. The lingering scent of the hated foe of her youth filled her nostrils and the small elf woman picked up speed.

She had be to sure. One part of her mind told her she had to try and protect the people who had brought her back and the rest told her it was once more time to destroy. The battle was to be found once more.


Inside the mountain city of Tal’sin there was a battle raging. Orcs had found once more their favorite prey. Though not as peaceful as the village of Loralil’s birth, the people of Tal’sin were far from warriors. They were city dwellers, though of a city small by human standards, Tal’sin held a mind healer college and like all Grey Elf dwelling places there was a large gathering of artisans. That had to be what had brought the bandits in. The creative people had made some wondrous things, rare and fine, and worth a lot of money.


Loralil narrowed her eyes and concentrated. She could see the armed foes through the smoke filling the air. She still did not quite know who it was, but she didn’t care. The people of the city were all small and slender, grey elves. The attackers were broad and tall. She took aim at those figures she could see. It was with an almost animal satisfaction that she watched her intended targets fall.

It wasn’t till the sixth fell, not away, but toward her that she got her first look at the men. She carefully placed her bow down in the tree and growled low in her throat. Orc, the hated foe. A red cloud began to descend over her vision and she moved like a shadow, flowing forward to begin to kill. She held a bit of her sanity back, enough to know friend from enemy, or so she prayed.

The first of the attackers came at her, swaggering and giggling at the tiny figure with the sword in her hands. That giggle died in his throat as the shining silver blade clove it open. Death stalked the streets of Tal’sin, but no longer was it a male force. Now it had taken on the image of woman and revenge was all that mattered.


When the fire had taken hold, it spread through the city on the wings of the wind. The people of the city battled both the invaders and the flames. It was with surprise that they watched the invaders cry out and run off. They cheered, but then they screamed as the flames ate out from the wood to engulf them too. Burning bright and wild, little was left in its path.


The killing continued until a voice cried out in a language clear and loud. Loralil felt the rage drain out of her and she looked about. The ground was littered with the bodies of her foes. Mixed among the bandits were the burned bodies of the people she had come to save.

Shuddering, she knelt and cleaned her blade on the grass at her feet. She then slid it back into the sheath that rode her shoulders. Skirting around the dead Orcs, she moved from elf to elf. Gently moving those who were beyond the need of the healers. She held no healing in her hands, only death, but she could give dignity to those who had died.

She no longer sung the dead upon their path to the west. That part of her died with the last of her family, but her physical strength had grown. Whether it was that she now spent her time in constant practice or a gift from the gods who she was no longer sure existed, she didn’t care. It helped her to protect those who would not protect themselves.

Once the bodies of those she had lived among for a time had been moved a respectable distance from the hated ones Loralil started in on the rest. The average Orc was easily over a foot taller than she and outweighed her by over a hundred pounds, but it didn’t matter. She would stoop, grab a body by the arm and leg and sling it on her shoulders, then head out of the clearing. There was a nearby gorge that was used by scavengers. She tossed them all down the cliff. In all there were thirty of the hated Orcs. More in one place than she had ever heard of.

She paused and wiped her brow after the last of them and looked up the mountain. The city was covered in smoke and ash. She knew that one pair of hands would be unable to do much to stop the progress of the fire, but she ran up the mountain any way.

The gates were wide open and people were running out, carrying what belongings they could. One of the Masters spotted her and gestured madly. Gently pushing her way through the panicked crowd she went to meet him.

“Master Talron, have the others made it out?”

The stately grey haired elf shook his head. “Mistress Pheadra and Master Forlin were in the chapel and your friend Jason Halfelf was with them.”

Cursing softly Loralil nodded and started off. “I will get them. Get these people away from the fires. The caves off the north path have plenty of wood and supplies.”

The elderly Master nodded and started shouting orders to the beings about him; the voice of authority bringing some sense of order to the chaos. Loralil passed the gates quickly and pulling a scarf from her hip pouch, wrapped it about her nose and mouth.

The smoke and soot was thick and she could hear little beyond the crackling of the flames. It was only good fortune and planning that the city had been laid out around an artificial pond. The series of pools and waterfalls had managed to keep most of the fire contained to the outer ring of the city. As she ran through the streets, she spotted people carrying younglings.

She grabbed the nearest and started herding them back the way she came. She recognized the crèche mother and her assistants. They had gotten the children out of the nursery where the parents usually kept them while they were working. “Head directly to the gates. The fire has burned through there already and while the cobbles are hot you can get them out of the gates. Find Master Talron. He is taking everyone to the caves.”

The woman nodded and led the children and her assistants toward the outer gates. Loralil watched them till she was sure they were heading the right way and then turned and ran. The flames were burning out in most places, but she could still see the roof of the chapel burning.

As she neared it she heard a chant and then a whoosh. The skies above her opened up and rain came pelting heavily down. With a laughing curse, Loralil moved into the doorway of the chapel. Eyes searching, she breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted the two elder Grey elves and the taller form of Jason. “Took you long enough.” She joked, and then coughed as the smoke filled her lungs.

Moving forward she quickly looked over the elders. Mistress Phaedra was wrapping something around Jason’s head and Master Fortin slumped against the altar. The old woman looked up crossly. “He did what he could, Greyfox. Where were you?”

Chastised, Loralil sighed. “Dealing with the invaders, My Lady.” She knelt down and looked in Master Fortin’s eyes.

They were a bit dazed and the old elf nodded. “Your old training came in handy I am sure, little one.” He coughed, a harsh sounding noise and held out a hand. Loralil stood and gently helped him to stand. Looping his arm over her shoulder, she helped him out of the chapel.


Yes this is a long excerpt. I will be changing a lot of this for sure. In some ways Loralil has not grown like she should in this bit. The troubles she has is that many of her people just don’t understand her reactions to things. Having spent most of her life among humans she just doesn’t have the beliefs about the other races that they expect. Also spending such a long time as a warrior, having to fight for every breath, she has a temper that they only believe the dark cousins have. She is far from a Drow but she is not a gentle artisan like the Grey Elves. Once more i will be dealing with the differences between the three races of elves, their expectations of Loralil and her growth toward the adventurer that she will be for many years. Learning to deal with deeply internalized anger is something that I think will hit a cord with many women. We are taught to sublimate our anger as women. It is even more so for a race that puts a premium on grace and beauty. Loralil has a great well of talent inside that she can not touch till she learns to control her anger, her fears and herself.