Stirring Sagas

by Dennis K. Hausker

Princess of Varik
Is an epic fantasy in which Evan Storic, fifth and lesser son of King Grieg, much beloved by the common soldiers, is sent on a quest to a neighboring realm to woo a princess. The hero must cope with the unacceptable or lose what he cherishes. Misdirected blame can be a terrible and unfair scourge.

Orbis Veritas
Dillon Craig is part of a team exploring a newly discovered planet. He is brilliant and he is competent, but when it comes to the area of love, he suffers galling setbacks and he reacts poorly. It sends him on a quest to escape his shame, but it leads him into discovery of an ancient city and the hazards located there. This story involves character angst filled with romantic distress.

Battle Master
This is the story of a consummate warrior who crashes on a primitive planet and suffers temporary amnesia. During this phase, a beautiful village woman decides she wants him and it starts a sequence of events that starts out comically, but ends with deadly dangers. It incorporates the issues of prejudice, romantic fancy, cultural intolerance, and culture shock, leading the reader on an active path toward an unlikely ending.

Family Lost
Crown prince Falen has led a terrifying life of severe training and deprivation. He believes his father wishes him dead, but developing events show him a different view of his life. He discovers he has half siblings as his mother is the queen in a competing realm. He faces his life as a supreme warrior, but his challenges are in areas he is not prepared for. Women are humbling he finds to his great chagrin.



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Dennis K. Hausker - "Stirring Sagas"



Princess of Varik 

After splashing cold water on his face to fully awaken from a late night out with friends, Evan Storic, fifth son of King Grieg, the Hammer, shook his head in the chilly morning air of the drafty castle. Evan didn’t drink often, but when he did, he could drink more than his share of ale.

He heard a rap on his door. It was too early to be one of his friends. He went to the door and opened it and saw Borca, one of the Red Guard standing, arrayed in a formal dress uniform. The Red Guard was the elite corps, the personal protectors of the Kings of the Fragia, the northern kingdom, and a corps which he dealt with very little.

Borca spoke, “The King commands that you appear before him for a formal audience.”

“When?” asked Evan.



“The King does not share his thoughts with me,” said Borca, smiling wryly.

Evan chuckled. “Does he not? That is his loss. I’m sure your counsel would be a marvel for his majesty.”

“Indeed. You are to present yourself in formal attire,” Borca continued, “though I suspect his majesty does not need the smell of the ale hall to disturb his tranquility.”

“Perhaps I should bathe,” said Evan, laughing heartily.

Borca stayed at the door after delivering the King’s order.

“Do you fear that I will escape from my father’s command, Borca?”

“I am charged to escort you directly to the throne room. The King did not mention that you should return to your slumber while he awaits you. I know you very well my Prince. I have suffered punishment enough for your pranks over the years to know to keep my eye on you.”

Evan laughed and smacked Borca on the shoulder. He quickly cleansed himself and put on his dark green woolen dress uniform with gold piping and epaulets, and gold pants with a green stripe down the legs, along with shiny black boots. His uniform was like new because Evan did not like pretense and formality, so he never wore the ceremonial garb. The jacket was tight over his powerful chest. His sword needed to be cleaned and polished, but there was no time. He picked up his burnished gold colored ceremonial helmet and followed Borca.

“This clown suit itches,” he complained.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” said Borca, unsympathetically. “We all have our burdens to bear.”

Evan smiled. This particular guard, Borca, a grizzled veteran and a giant bear of a man, had sparred with him in the training pits from the time that Evan could stand up and toddle about. Though much older than Evan, he was his closest and most trusted friend.

“Will my brothers be in attendance?”

“I do not know that, my prince,” said Borca, as they walked down the ancient hallways of the palace. Great torches, hanging from sconces mounted on thick wood wall pillars, lit the way.

As they approached the vast ornate rune carved doors into the throne room the huge guards bowed to the Prince and opened them with muscles bulging against the weight of the heavy doors. A herald stepped forward preceding them into the chamber and announced in a loud voice: “Evan Storic, youngest son of our liege, a Prince of the Realm...”

Evan glanced into the huge ceremonial hall. There were no courtiers or counselors present. His father was seated on the throne speaking to an emissary from another land. The emissary had sun baked darker skin and was dressed in flowing robes inadequate for the harsh climate of Fragia. The emissary was accompanied by five fierce looking warriors. The King’s Red Guards were stationed very near to the alien warriors eyeing them closely for any threatening moves.

Evan glanced at the foreign warriors briefly. They looked to be competent, seasoned fighters and stood by confidently, eyeing him and the King’s guards dismissively.

A great fire roared in the massive stone fireplace, but the pyre was inadequate to remove the perpetual chill from the air. The bright multi-colored decorative banners hanging in the throne room rippled with air currents moving in the room. Evan glanced up at the massive tapestry rendering of the great ice bear, the totem for his family. It was portrayed in a fight taking down a feral giant snow cat.

Evan and Borca approached the throne and stopped. They both went to a knee bowing their heads.

“Sire, I have brought your son, as you have commanded of me.”

The King nodded. Borca arose, bowed to the King, and left the throne room.

“Come forward, my son. This is Hasham, ambassador from Varik. They have come to us at my request.”

Evan eyed the ambassador warily. Although their empire did not directly adjoin the Fragian realm, their forces had met many times on the battlefield. Varik was as warlike as were the Fragians. Both societies lived for battle, attacking their neighbors supply lines and raiding their villages and cities. Only geography had kept them from all out war with each other.

The ambassador scrutinized Evan closely seemingly measuring him as a man, a warrior, and a potential adversary.

“Ambassador,” said Evan, with a brief nod.

The ambassador smiled. He got up and walked over to Evan. He surprised him by pulling out Evan’s sword and examining it expertly, judging the balance and the type of steel, and the craftsmanship.

Evan eyed his father.

“I’m sorry, Father. Your summons was immediate so I did not have an opportunity to clean my sword.”

The ambassador chuckled. He looked directly into Evan’s eyes as if he was reading his mind.

“This is the sword of a fighter,” he said. “This is not some ceremonial useless toy used to decorate a fop. This sword tells me all I need to know about the bearer. You have known battle.”

“I have Excellency,” said Evan.

The ambassador turned to the King who smiled proudly.

“Though he is the youngest of my boys, I am most pleased and proud of him,” said the King. “He has no secret ambitions against me and is content with his life, although I often must counsel him about taking too much risk. He is a beast in a fight.”

“I can believe that,” said the ambassador eyeing Evan again. “I am pleased. It was my charge to judge your offer and on behalf of the Emperor, we accept.”

Evan looked at his father in confusion.

“May I know what we are talking about?”

“My son, you will accompany the ambassador and his party back to their realm where you will live among them to learn what they can teach you. You will be more than my emissary. It is my hope that the Emperor will find you acceptable as a potential mate for his daughter, the Princess Siria, and thereby bind our realms in friendship and trust.”

Evan saw the five guards tense in shock at the revelation. The ambassador eyed Evan coolly.

“I am yours to command, sire,” said Evan, bowing to his father, but his shock was clear to everyone.