Today I’m letting the sci-fi/fantasy side of the blog loose by taking part in the blog tour for this book. Commitments mean I’ve not got a review this time, but I do have an extract from early in the book so read on and see what you think.
Blurb: In a land where magic’s feared,a magical kind exists: the Blest, products of
the Goblets Immortal and Aidan’s one of them and on the run. Whispers of a new fear take shape in Meraude, a mage who hates all magic-kind. When she appears in Aidan’s dreams offering a bargain for the return of his family, he needs to make the most difficult decision.
…Aidan awoke with a start. He felt…not himself, but like a great bat hanging upside down from some great height, the blood rushing to his head. When he finally opened his eyes, the sun was up and he was lying in the dirt. “Oh.” He looked around for the source of the strange music, but was not enlightened and was now all the crosser for it. Aidan blinked. “Who was singing?”
“Ah, the dead man rises…and hallucinates,” said Isaac with a laugh as he stooped into the enclosure. “No worse for the wear, I trust?”
With a grunt, Aidan sat up and tested his arms by shaking the stiffness out. The dream for it must have been a dream – was now receding into the dark corners of his mind. “All seems to be in working order.”
No thanks to your people.
“You’re a good man, milord. A good man.” Isaac pulled a bag off his back and tossed it onto the ground near Aidan. “Here.”
Aidan eyed it, feeling for the contents. He sensed no real Pull, but it was definitely full of something heavy. Iron. “What is this?”
“An apology.” A moment passed, and Aidan did not move. Could this be yet another trap? Isaac seemed to have read his thoughts, as he said, “Go on, open it up. It ain’t gonna bite you.”
With trepidation, Aidan reached inside the large mouldy pouch and produced an iron goblet. “Thank you….”
“But you’ve no use for it?” Isaac chuckled. “You don’t understand. That is a magic goblet.”
Aidan eyed him askance. “What?”
“Aye. I—I don’t rightly know how to say this but I pinched it from your uncle.”
Aidan smirked, and turned the vessel around in his fingers, eyeing the design to see if it was familiar. “I doubt he missed it. We had numerous…. What?”
It was Isaac who was now laughing. “You still don’t understand. This was his to guard. I took it after – well, after your folks disappeared. I figured it would be safer in my care than his.”
The pulse in Aidan’s eye began to tic, and he shuddered involuntarily. “Why?” Perhaps if he had not been poisoned by this man’s ‘family’, he wouldn’t feel so cross. As it was, a headache was forming. “You said it was magic?”
“Just a hunch.”
Aidan quirked a smile. He tried to ignore the repulsion he felt to the metal
and the urge to fling it aside; what would Isaac think of him? What would he suspect? “Magic,” he repeated. “So, are you going to tell me that you’re my fairy godfather or some other nonsense?”
The man grinned at that. “Nah. Me? I’ve not got a drop of magic in my blood. I am not Blest.” Ah, there it was. Before Aidan could open his mouth to protest, Isaac broke in. “You survived that poisoning when no man thrice your size should have.” His breath reeked of breakfast – sardines and burnt toast, it would seem – as he leaned in and whispered,
“You’re Blest, aren’t you?”
Aidan set the goblet down and rubbed the remainder of sleep from his eyes. “I’ve heard that word applied to me before. I don’t know what it means.”
“Blest,” Isaac said again. “You’re an invincible, aren’t you? Like in the days of old? Legend says….” He looked around before continuing in a lower voice. “Legend says that you can do things that no ordinary man ought to be able to.”
As if to answer Isaac’s question, Aidan lost control of himself for a moment and Summoned his saddlebag, which thudded between them. He closed his eyes. This was not his day. “Oh.”
“Wowee.” Isaac whistled. “You are one of the Blest.”
“You mean there are others?” Aidan asked, knowing he was good and outed. The headache was not abating, and he had to make water rather urgently. He stumbled to his feet, Dismissed his bag again, and made his way away from the camp.
Isaac followed closely on his heels. “I always wondered how you survived. Why Dewhurst is really after you.”
Aidan found some brush and relieved himself there. To his surprise, Isaac continued to chatter from behind his back.
Aidan interrupted. “And there are others? Others like me? And what of the goblet? You said it was magical.”…
About the author:
Beth Overmyer has authored several books—In a Pickle,a
middle grade novella,and Circus in a Shot Glass,a women’s fiction novel, being among them. She’s in love with the fantasy genre, mysteries—especially when there’s tea and/or a quirky sleuth involved—,and wouldn’t say no to reading and writing in every genre but hardcore horror and erotica. Influencers to her
writing include J.R.R. Tolkien and Brandon Sanderson, though Douglas Adams may be lurking in there somewhere.
Love of writing and reading has led to her leading a creative writing group at her local public library, where she once was a pupil. But she doesn’t see herself as a teacher: she’s more of a facilitator and encourager when needed. Every other week during the school year, they meet and perform various writing exercises, which each individual’s encouraged to then share.
When she’s not writing, reading, editing, drinking tea, or facilitating creative writing meetings, Beth enjoys hanging out with her writing pals for fellowship, brainstorming,and great company. You can visit Beth’s website at http://bethovermyer.com.