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For the benefit of interested readers and reviewers, below is a quick-look excerpt of book two in the Beyond Barlow series, The Rue of Hope:

In a city divided by more than the river running through it, the Harbormaster of Port Morton cast his weary gaze over the scant shipping in the sluggish water and sighed. The day had been typically long and trying for this uniquely important man entrusted with much of the city’s prosperity. His ingenious ability to turn a profit was greatly valued by his lord, Faella Middlefield the Iarl of Port Morton, but maneuvering deep-draft ships and organizing a fleet of barges had not been easy during this years-long crippling drought.

As evening fell, the lighthouse beacon on the far point down in the bay flared up and warming fires showed as auburn squares in the open windows of riverside taverns. The harbormaster’s comfortable abode across the Aed River in Brynseht, the hilly western side of town still clinging to its wealth, might as well have been on the far side of the world for all the time he spent there. He wished he didn’t have to leave his home and family to cross the river every day for his work in Eastfeld, where slums were overtaking this lowland east of the river. However, Eastfeld had the warehouses and docks to accommodate shipping, so it had become his home away from home.

A quick and diligent, but distressingly pimpled assistant brought a lantern and hurried off to complete the last of his duties before going home. With his quill tucked behind an ear, the harbormaster held the light close to a cargo list and went over quantities with the captain of the eminently seaworthy Swiftwind.

“And finally the rice,” he said a quarter of an hour later. “By your count, you unloaded how many sacks?”

“Twenty and five in all, and all of equal weight and dry,” said the proud grizzle-bearded captain.

“Such a paltry shipment hardly seems worth the bother,” sighed the harbormaster. “But our figures agree. Very well. That’s all present and accounted for, Pool. And yes, quite bone dry as always.” He smiled and patted the captain’s back. The stoic Captain Pool nodded, allowed himself the slightest of smiles in appreciation of the compliment and took his leave, climbing aboard once more and disappearing into the depths of the hold with his first mate and a harbor carpenter to inspect his ship’s seams.

The harbormaster rolled up his list, stowed it in an inner pocket of his fur-lined long-coat, and drew in a deep breath. The salty air coming off the brackish water might have been an unpleasant scent to most, but to him it signified another day on the job, and while there were certain aspects of it he could do without, he did love his work. Attending to the minutiae of the shipping trade could be a bore and an assistant could manage it for him, but he would have it no other way. With his day done, he cast one last look over the moored ships a mile off in the bay, cleared his mind and turned on his heel for home.

Hovering by a towering stack of empty crates not far along the wharf was a slender woman in a dark cloak that subtly changed color with the slightest movements to blend in with the browns and grays of the drab, decrepit waterfront buildings. Her hood remained up as she advanced upon the man with the sort of lively skip in her step of one who has spotted the person they had been searching for all along. The tread of her boots caught the harbormaster’s attention and after a quick glance, a moment’s confusion gave way to elation.

“Sister!” he cried. “I was thinking of you not but this very day! What brings you to Port Morton?”

As they came together, a slaughterhouse odor and some exotic scent sourly unpleasant but too elusive to pinpoint, radiated from her, yet he joyously threw open his arms and wrapped her in a loving embrace. She did not return his affection in the least, but rather stabbed him just below the heart and jerked the blade up. A perplexed shock and horror contorted his face as he sought for the source of the pain and then the reason for the betrayal in her eyes just inches from his own. Inhuman eyes, he thought as the lantern dropped from his hand with a clatter. With him still impaled upon the blade and blood and entrails sloshing down between them, she walked him toward the water and let him drop lifeless into the river, where he disappeared between the wharf and the hull of the Swiftwind. Above the lap of water and creaking wood, footsteps thumped down the wharf from behind her. In an instant, she turned upon her heel and faded into a dark corner.

* * *

Below is an excerpt from book one, Beyond Barlow. It comes from an early draft in which Ford's name was Nate at the time. Many of my old notes on these books still include Ford's old name. I still catch myself calling him Nate from time to time, and I probably will for years to come...

     “What’s going on?”
     “Who’s there?”
     The whole village lit up with the light of lamps, lanterns and torches. The boys ran at random between the houses. Nate saw a small figure he was sure was Ham darting into view, ducking under the railing of an animal pen, knocking his head against the bottom rung and dropping flat upon the ground. Nate forced himself through the posts and bolted across the yard, bending low to make himself smaller so he might not be seen rushing straight through the middle of a village filling with light and curious onlookers.
     “A bear!” a villager shouted from the crack of her barely open doorway. Nate found Ham lying face down in muck. He plucked him up, threw the boy’s limp body over his shoulder and ran back.
     “It’s grabbed a piglet!” cried the woman with a quiver of hysteria. Nate dashed for the wall and collided with Duff between two houses.
     “Two bears!” hollered a terror-stricken man from across the village.
     “Grab his legs,” Nate ordered Duff as they got to their feet.
     “They’re ripping that pig apart!” wailed the woman, flinging a kitchen knife out the door at them. With Nate going one way and Duff the other, they did stretch Ham out to his full length before grunting angrily at one another and settling on the same direction. Catching sight of Chandler stuck midway through the gap in the wall, Duff dropped Ham and at a full charge, rammed into Chandler and sent him with a rip and a scream through the wall. Nate shoved Ham through the gap and was halfway through himself when the dog got hold of him by the ankle and yanked him back. The loose post clamped down on his chest and held him from going forward or being drawn back. Jakes jumped in beside him and dragged the post away enough to set him free, but as Nate lunged forward the dog fought back and his pants slipped from his waist.
     “Go on, dog!” pleaded Jakes. Too busy trying to kick his leg free, Nate never saw the joiner sprinting towards him with his knife drawn, his cudgel brandished over his head and a concentrated grimace.
     “Help!” yelled Nate at Duff lumbering off up the hill. A few feet away, Ham fell about on all fours, trying and failing to put one foot steadily under him. The joiner bore down on Nate, his eyes gleaming with such malicious intent that he was blind to Kellyn diving for his legs. The joiner went down hard. Kellyn drove his foot into his ribs and brought a tin pot down with a clang on his head. After a yelp from the dog, Nate felt his foot finally stop thrashing back and forth. With a shove and a pull, he tumbled through the gap with Kellyn following fast after. Another clang behind him spun Nate around in time to see Kellyn fighting to pull the wide pot through the wall. He gave up, leaned back in, and hurled it up over the wall and out.
     Firelight grew and clustered within the village.
     “Thieves! It was thieves!” some were beginning to shout.
     “They killed Mervyn!” cried the joiner’s wife. Fear abated and anger rose until a ball of fire and fury moved as one toward the wall.
     “Ready the horses! Arm yourselves! We’ll have them and hang them by morning!”