Welcome to this special holiday edition of the Fantasy Fix Newsletter!
Last week I promised you a rare treat that you wouldn’t want to miss. Renee and I have both written something special just for you, our loyal readers. While you’re spending time relaxing with family and friends this weekend, we hope you’ll be able to take a few minutes to enjoy this bit of fantasy fun.
“The Deadline Before Christmas”
By Renee Scattergood
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when on my laptop
Was an unfinished story, no better than slop;
I let out a groan, threw my hands in the air,
Then stood, and I muttered as I paced ‘round my chair;
The deadline was looming, oh that I did dread,
But worse, was the fact that I had been misled;
A call interrupted, I was needed asap;
I went only to find that it had been a trap;
My friends said, “It’s Christmas, so come celebrate;”
Didn’t they see I was already late?
I tried to escape, but was met with backlash,
So, I finally gave in, and I joined in the bash.
Next thing I knew, the bell had chimed midnight;
I had less than eight hours to sit down and write;
“Letters for the Circle”
by Allison D. Reid
“Get up, now!” Keran woke to find Torren from Tyroc’s castle guard standing over him. A dim glow of flickering torch light spilled in from the open door of his chamber. Despite the fact that Torren’s thick, curly beard masked much of his face, it couldn’t hide the intensity behind his eyes. Something was horribly wrong. His voice carried an urgency that dared not be disobeyed.
“What is going on?” Keran’s voice still croaked with sleep. Surely it was still the middle of the night.
“Treachery,” Torren responded gruffly as though there was nothing more to be said.
“Where are Mother and Father?”
“Just move, and quickly, if you value your life. I told your father I would get you away from here.” He stopped for a moment and took Keran by the shoulders. “I may have to threaten you with my blade if we’re caught, boy. Show your fear on the outside, but know that I would never really hurt you. Do you understand?” Keran nodded with confused alarm. There was nothing about this that he understood.
Torren drug him out of the room and down the corridor at a near run. It echoed with the barks of orders being given, angry shouts, and the clash of steel against steel. They were soon joined by other men being marched forward; some peacefully, others at sword or spear point. Torren gripped Keran roughly by the back of the neck and held his blade at the ready, as though he expected Keran to fight him. And now Keran was beginning to grasp what was happening. But it couldn’t be true—how could it be true? The men of the Circle were being rounded up like prisoners; dragged from their beds, their stations, separated from their families and forced out into the night—to where, and to what end?
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