And then there were five

In an attempt at the world's worst salesmanship, I've made nary an attempt to sell the Lords of Winterfell, let alone market my fourth installment to the Outcast Alliance series. It's what I do (or don't do -- depending on your perspective). In case you think I've slacked, you're wrong...ok, you are once again right, but I have written some stuff. Drum roll,  please...

Book Five is at 11k, which only sounds impressive to non-writers. But it's good enough to put me a couple chapters in; I think I'm somewhere into three and four. My wonderful writing software (Scrivener) makes it easier to sort and script simultaneous chapters at once. Will I write faster now? Probably not. But it's a goal.

Now the big question: do I have a title? Not at all. Not even a working one. I have a loose outline to follow and a decent idea where this one ends, and yes, then book six begins. My word, six? How many more can we take? Seven. The loose answer is seven books including the four previous releases...as long as I follow that darn outline. We shall see.

I didn't plan on a snippet, but lessie what I can do:

Jascha heard a low wrap upon his door. He opened his eyes only to realize he was still in bed and cold even beneath his covers. He sat up quickly. Seldom was he ever roused from sleep by another.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Jascha, someone is at the gate.”

Alarmed at the revelation he grabbed his boots and shirt. “I’ll be right there…”

The vividness of his dream swiftly evaporated as once outside he was reminded of winter and its recent onslaught upon tiny Nye. The great storm of the North swept also through the Fallis village leaving piles of snow along with a bitter chill. Jascha ignored the elements and headed at once for the city marker.

A horse and rider waited beneath the banner post and entrance to Nye. This was no Messenger of Fawarra but a venturing soul. He was not lost. Jascha was quick to recall the young man’s face and proud saddleless steed of silver-gray. The visitor reciprocated the bow.

“Do not think I forget names so easily, or so fine a horse,” said Jascha reaching to touch the animal’s muzzle.

“I had no doubt you would recall my face — but welcome to your village I was unsure.”

Jascha lifted a hand to assist the rider down to the snowy earth. “Leonin son of Lenin, I do not forget,” he said. "But what brings you here alone and out of the tempest?”

“It is not the storm I fear, but what lay in the wide world. I am troubled to my soul.”

At Leonin’s words, Jascha was reminded of his dream. “Come with me, friend. We shall see what ails your soul…”