Legends of Lasniniar Adventure Takes a Holiday coverLegends of Lasniniar: Adventure Takes a Holiday

Series: The World of Lasniniar

Barlo lumbers through the snow along a narrow mountain path. A substantial trail follows in the dwarf’s wake.

Iarion leads the way. His light, elven feet barely make an impression in the snow. Barlo would like to blame his pulled groin for his own awkwardness, but he knows Iarion would never let him get away with it.

As night falls, a storm closes in.

…Definitely not the holiday Barlo hoped for.

A stand-alone misadventure story of the unlikely friends Iarion and Barlo from the World of Lasniniar epic fantasy series by Jacquelyn Smith.

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This title is also available as part of the Kinslayer Lasniniar Collection.

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Adventure Takes a Holiday Excerpt

“This isn’t funny, you know,” Barlo grumbled as he lumbered through the snow along a narrow mountain path, leaving a substantial trail in his wake.

An icy blast of wind smelling of more snow to come whistled past his ears, ruffling his long, brown beard. He clung to the edge of his hooded cloak with one hand as he held the other out for stability. The ground beneath his boots was uneven, and it was a long way down.

“I never said that it was,” Iarion said.

The elf glanced over his shoulder as he spoke, revealing his dusky, angular features. His long, silver braids slithered down his back among his pack, bow, and quiver in a windswept tangle. The edges of his gray cloak flapped in the wind behind him.

He said the words without so much as a twitch of his lips, but his silver-flecked sapphire eyes glimmered with amusement. Barlo scowled. Despite being well over a foot taller, the lean elf’s boots made barely an impression in the deep snow, forcing Barlo to crane his neck up at him even more than usual.

The haft of Barlo’s ax thumped against his leg with each wincing step and his chain mail jingled beneath his cloak in an unsteady rhythm. He stifled an oath. It was bad enough having short, dwarven legs when the snow was knee-deep, but the pulled muscle in his groin had reduced him to a graceless waddle.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to make you a sled?” This time Iarion’s lips did twitch.

Barlo’s brown eyes narrowed. “And have you drag me along like some kind of invalid? Be serious, Iarion. I have some dignity, you know.”

Iarion quirked a slender brow as Barlo continued to wallow through the snow toward him at a snail’s pace, struggling to keep his groin as still as possible in a wide-legged shamble.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“Shut up, elf. I’ll have you know, I blame my injuries on you.”

Iarion gave him a dubious look. “Well, that hardly seems reasonable. I’m not the one whose wife kicked him out of Dwarvenhome.”

[Copyright © Jacquelyn Smith, 2021]

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