Lita Burke

After returning to her castle in the Northern Realms and setting the library to rights, Lita stood before the many bookcases that held the words of others. Tap, tap, and tap went her restless foot against the fresh-swept floorboards. She had planted fists on her hips. A puff of breath cleared a tickling strand off of Lita’s forehead.

Open The Vault? Tap, tap, and tap. Yes.

Lita lifted the key that had taken her back to the castle and fitted it into the keyhole behind a book with a binding the color of old blood. Snick. The bookcase moved aside, and behind it was The Vault where Lita stashed her unpublished stories. These were the abandoned tales set aside over the many years past.

Some stories were little more than piles of miscellaneous bones that still sparkled with the energy of an idea, a scrap of a dream, or the echoes of ill-formed yet charming characters. Other stories waited, full-formed and ready to stomp through the vast grasses of the world outside—but they still waited in The Vault—their time had not yet come. But soon now.

What stories are here in the Enchanters’ alcove? Ah, here waits the full tale of Lanith, the Enchanter Grandmasters, and Church magicians. Sciomancers lure the mundane ghosts who wear carnival masks to hide their deceit. His Divine is ever hungry to enslave the Enchanter’s magic. Tredan’s cursed journal lurks in the shadows and wants to take down everything dear to Lanith.

Beyond the Enchanters’ alcove is a narrow dusty passage to the First Age of the Enchanters’ world of Sye, telling stories long before Lanith’s tale starts. Just look at the many manuscripts and papers that define the spells that Enchanters use to thread their sensual magic. The stacks stretch oh, so high.

Next Time: The Belfry with Outrageous Clockpunk Wizard Yarns