Welcome to your next stop on the blog tour for The Warlock by Deborah J. Lightfoot, hosted by Reading Addiction Blog Tours. Today I'm bringing you an excerpt and a giveaway.
About the Author:
Castles in the cornfield provided the setting for Deborah J. Lightfoot’s earliest flights of fancy. On her father’s farm in West Texas, she grew up reading extraordinary tales of adventure and reenacting them behind tall ramparts of sun-drenched corn. She left the farm to earn a bachelor of science degree in journalism and write award-winning books of history and biography, including The LH7 Ranch (University of North Texas Press) and Trail Fever (William Morrow, New York). High on her Bucket List was the desire to try her hand at the genre she most admired. The result is WATERSPELL, a complex, intricately detailed fantasy that begins with Book 1: The Warlock and Book 2: The Wysard, and concludes (for the present) with Book 3: The Wisewoman. But a legal pad filled with notes and tucked away in a desk drawer suggests a possible Book 4 before the saga may fairly be said to be finished.
Deborah is a professional
member of The Authors Guild. She and her husband live in the country
south of Fort Worth, Texas. Find her online at www.waterspell.net.
Date Published: November 2011
Synopsis:
Drawn into the schemes of an angry wizard, Carin glimpses the place she once called home. It lies upon a shore that seems unreachable. To learn where she belongs and how to get there, the teenage traveler must decipher the words of an alien book, follow the clues in a bewitched poem, conjure a dragon from a pool of magic -- and tread carefully around a seductive but volatile, emotionally scarred sorcerer who can't seem to decide whether to love her or kill her.
Links to buy:
Excerpt from
WATERSPELL
Book 1: The Warlock
by Deborah J.
Lightfoot
From
Chapter 1.
The Swordsman
It happened too fast to hurt at first.
But, oh! the blood—lots of it, streaming from a gouge that crosscut
her knee.
She hunched over the wound, her masses
of unkempt hair tumbling around her face, strands of it trailing in
the gore. Blindly Carin fumbled in her belt-pouch for something to
stanch the bleeding. Her fingers met only flint and steel for
fire-making, pebbles for arming her sling, and a length of twine that
was useful for everything from tying back her shaggy auburn mane to
rigging a brush shelter.
Abruptly a hand grasped the shank of
her leg, and another shoved at her shoulder. “Straighten up,” her
captor snarled.
Carin threw back her head and flung the
hair out of her eyes. “You!” she gasped. “But—” She hadn’t
heard the swordsman’s approaching footsteps—a seeming
impossibility through the crunchy carpet of autumn leaves. Yet here
the man was, crouched beside her and brandishing a dagger. Carin’s
hand flew to shield her throat, but it was her knee he put the blade
to.
Stay away from me! she wanted to
shout at him. She couldn’t get the words out—not in a way that
made sense. As sometimes happened when she came unglued, Carin lapsed
into a language of her own. The sounds that passed her lips weren’t
gibberish, but no one ever understood a word she said when she got
like this. Carin yelled at the man, in her own private language, and
tried to wrench free of his grasp.
“Stop your noise,” he barked. He
held her leg tighter and waved his dagger in her face. “If you
can’t be quiet, I’ll cut out your tongue.”
Copyright © 2011–2012
by Deborah J. Lightfoot. All Rights Reserved.
Sample
Chapter 1 in full at www.amazon.com/dp/B00686UIFW
