Works in Progress: Table of Stone and Forged in Fire, Week Eight (and a little)

I’m a bit late this week, I know. It’s been busy, and I spent most of last weekend out of the house. No house, no laptop. No laptop, not much writing.

If not much = zero, that is. I got no writing done this past weekend.

Planting, though. That I did get done. We went down to the annual plant sale at the local botanical gardens, and I kinda shopped. A lot. Which meant I did some gardening. There are pictures on my Instagram.

As for writing,  I focused a bit more on Table of Stone this past week. Still not quite where I want it to be, but I’ll get there. It’s not a race, although there is a deadline. It needs to be done before Oasis at the end of May.

Table of Stone
Swords of Charlemagne, Book 4

Forged in Fire
Heir to the Firstborn, Book 2

 I posted part of this on social media this past week, because every so often, I write something that just can’t wait for publication to be read. Here’s the scene, which I don’t think is spoilery. Much.

***

“There’s a king under the mountain myth about Charlemagne,” Margaret repeated. “And there’s only one. All the others, there’s some debate over which mountain. But when it’s the myth about Charlemagne, it’s only ever one place. Untersberg. It’s between Bavaria and Salzburg.”

Mystere frowned. “Tell me this story. I assume you know it?”

“Of course,” Margaret answered. “I’ve no expertise in mythology, but I know the legends and lore about Charlemagne, thanks to my father. Charlemagne sleeps under the mountain, waking every hundred years. If the ravens are still flying over the mountain, then he goes back to sleep.”

“What do the ravens mean?” Mystere asked. “What happens if they’re not flying?”

“According to the legends, if the ravens fly away, it signals the end of the world, and Charlemagne will rise to fight in the final battle.” Margaret looked down at her skirts, pleating them between her fingers. “When I was researching with my father, we looked for other variations on the myth. There are almost always regional variations. Except for this one. This one is the same where ever it’s told.”

Mystere nodded slowly. He cocked his head to one side. “Salzburg, you said. That’s… what? Five, six hundred miles?” He whistled. “Is there a train?”

“It’s a myth!” Margaret protested. “Yael, you’re not suggesting that we go haring off across the continent, are you?”

He looked at her and smiled. “I did promise that if I went haring, I would be taking you with me. And we don’t necessarily have to hare. We could traipse. We might have to traipse, depending on the weather and on if there’s a train.”

***

Now, of course, I need to find out if there is a train!