Secrets Of Moldara 
The Fairytale That Kidnaps You
"I literally could not put this book down - I got a sunburn it was so good" 
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Introducing "Secrets Of Moldara" 
What People Are Saying About "Secrets Of Moldara"
Read The Prologue Below! 
Trell paced the floor of his study, cell phone still in hand, his thoughts racing. The doctor had said Mable had only a few months to live; six at most, unless the cancer spread faster. As much as Trell hated the thought of his best friend’s wife dying, he knew at her age, there was nothing they could do except make her comfortable.  After eight years secretly looking for Elion, she deserved to be at peace.

Had it already been that long?

The task of explaining Mable’s condition to her son, Bill, wouldn’t be a pleasant one, but as her caretaker and friend, it was the least he could do. Trell started punching in Bill’s number and stopped, suddenly wanting a few more minutes to collect his thoughts.

He knew Mable’s wishes—that Bill and his family return to the homestead in the event of her death. That meant dealing with a situation he hadn’t had to be responsible for in 

years.

“Damn it,” Trell muttered, rushing over to his writing desk and pulling out parchment. The ink stained his fingers as he uncorked the bottle and took up his quill. He still had the upper hand here, and he wanted to keep it that way.

As the quill scratched out symbols known to only him and the Sages, Trell’s mind raced with possible scenarios, strategies for protecting Elion’s secrets. His secret now, he corrected himself, while he communicated the 

sudden changes in his post and urgently requested orders.

The study door burst open and the quill tip broke.

“Sir,” Chasky panted, his usual indifference disturbingly absent.  “Perimeter alert. Multiple breaches.”

“Do we have a visual?” Trell demanded, pulling out a knife to reshape his quill. Most of the time, the motion sensors were set off by animals and other forest life.

Chasky held up a tablet with a still image of three figures leading horses.

“Those are not Sages,” Trell said, hearing how ludicrous that observation was as it left his lips. It was mid-February, months away from the summer solstice. And no one on a higher learning sabbatical traveled with so many weapons and that much gear. This was no friendly delegation waiting for him to integrate them into this world’s culture.

“Not Sages,” Chasky agreed.

Trell set his quill down, 

covered the half-finished letter, and darted out of the room, Chasky on his heels.

In the surveillance room, Trell found every camera pointed at the gateway paused on a single image. He checked the time stamp and rewound the video several times to be sure of what he was seeing. Any hope that they might be Sages crumbled as he zoomed in on shadows of three large birds that followed the mysterious horsemen.

Trell’s blood boiled and he couldn’t help an absent-minded brush of the iridescent lines that ran up his neck. His shoulder still bore the scars of the first giant eagle he’d destroyed. All the trouble he’d gone to exterminating those cold-blooded killers, and there were three more flying out of the cave in broad daylight.
“They have a five-minute lead on us at most,” Chasky said, tossing him a radio.

“Bring the Defender around front. I’ll get the guns,” Trell ordered, catching the radio midair.

“Yes, sir,” Chasky said, disappearing.

Trell ran to the dusty armory that had once been an extra pantry. He passed the almost forgotten swords and various other weapons in the corner, reaching instead for two shotguns and a smaller handgun to strap to his belt. He hadn’t carried a blade in years, and that was fine by him.

His wife’s voice rang out from down the hall. “Body armor!”

Grateful for 

such a sharp woman, he finished filling a bag with ammo and grabbed the vest hanging behind the door.

High-powered binoculars in hand, he raced out the door and met Chasky around the back of the European-styled manor. The old Land Rover pulled up to the barn, and Trell jumped into the passenger seat.

As Chasky slammed the vehicle into gear, Trell noticed that the other man was also wearing body armor. He nodded in approval, the gray in his bodyguard’s hair 

suddenly more pronounced as the two men barreled into the forest.

“Do you want to try scaring them off with the vehicle?” Chasky asked as he wound through the trees.

“Get close enough that I can make the rest of the trip on foot, but stay nearby. If they want a fight, you’re my backup.” Trell slid shells into the shot gun and chambered the first round.

“Understood.”

They kept the path clear of debris, but years of use didn’t soften the potholes and rocks that emerged with each rainfall. Spring runoff had swelled the few streams they crossed, but it was hardly an obstacle worthy of the Defender’s snorkel. Mud splashed the windshield, and Trell had to brace himself against the seat. Chasky kept both hands on the wheel, making a hard right turn. He stopped just below the ridge line of the next hill.

“Keep this ready.” Trell handed over one of the shotguns. “I’m keeping 

the one-way mic on channel three so you’ll hear my signal. Don’t hold back or hesitate.”

“My favorite part.” Chasky grinned. “Fifty bucks says one of them wets himself.”

“If this is that easy, I’ll double it.” Trell’s stomach tightened as he remembered the videos. Something about this group was different. “Keep your eyes open. I don’t want any other surprises today.”

Chasky saluted and Trell exited the SUV. He clicked 

the safeties off his guns as he ran for the hilltop. At the crest, Trell scanned the area from behind a thick stand of saplings. Sure enough, in front of the opening of the cave were the three men, consulting a parchment. Trell aimed the military grade binoculars at the man holding the map and took in every tiny detail.

The stranger clutched the reins of a roan stallion that danced behind him, its ears swiveling in an effort to pinpoint the location and threat level of the Defender. With a gloved hand, the man passed control of the steed to one of his companions and shielded his eyes to check the position of the sun, raking dark wavy hair in frustration as he directed his attention back to the map.

A fur-lined hooded cloak hung open at his shoulders, revealing two long blades hanging at his waist. The crossbow, slung over the far shoulder, dropped to his boots as he examined the map closely. And those were only the weapons Trell could 

see.

The other two men, each standing to either side of the map holder, were identically clothed and armed, which made it impossible to pinpoint the leader. Their body language was also deceptive. One didn’t yield to the other in any way that gave up clues as to a hierarchy.

Trell noted the high cheekbones and narrow green eyes of the leaner man on the map holder’s right. He held the reins of a black gelding and moved like a coiled spring, his gestures animated. The third man was the tallest and had the bulk of a linebacker. He had amber eyes and warm brown skin and held the reins of a paint mare. He reached back to the roan stallion, and at his touch, the animal stopped snorting and pulling.

The clear, distinct color of their irises, like jewels floating in the milk of their eyes, banished any hope that these were lost backwoods-men from this world. Yet in all his years of watching the entrance, Trell had never seen friend or foe come through the cavern in such gear, and never ones so young. They were nineteen, maybe twenty years old, and were already surveying the clearing like seasoned generals. Taking a calming breath, Trell straightened his shoulders and started down the hill in full view of the trespassers.

The map disappeared as all eyes turned to him. The sound of metal pulled from scabbards rang through the air. Trell counted two daggers and one long sword, but he didn’t stop until he was twenty feet away. With no way of knowing the deadly force he was packing, the men held their ground.

“You’re lost. Turn around, head back through the caves, and no one dies,” Trell ordered calmly.

“That’s a strange request coming from an unarmed man,” the tall one with amber eyes commented. Trell hadn’t heard that thick of an accent in years.

“It’s not a request,” Trell countered. “It’s your only warning.”

“We’re happy to go back, as soon as we get what we came for,” the green-eyed man challenged in the same accent.

“And what would that be?” Trell demanded, hoping Chasky was hearing every word through the radio at his hip. He ignored the sweat soaking his under shirt. His finger found the trigger of the shotgun.

The men hesitated, looking to each other as if unsure of what to say.  The blue-eyed man in the center measured Trell, sizing him up before he finally spoke.

“The blood call has been answered. We come for the last secret.”

Behind him, Trell heard the Defender’s engine rev. The blacked-out, jacked up, monster-vehicle burst over the hill, catching air before crashing down in a cloud of debris and dirt. Skidding to a stop behind Trell, Chasky threw the switch and sent a half dozen flaming exhausts in a final display of intimidation.

Trell hadn’t given him the signal, but Chasky couldn’t be blamed for reacting to those words that way. He’d never known anyone who dared to speak them aloud. Now there was no way they could let them leave the clearing alive...
About The Author
As a home-schooling mom of five kids, I needed a place to find my sanity!  Immersing myself into the world of Moldara became my refuge from the rigors of homework and dishes.

The steamy romance that developed with Lotty and her un-named boyfriend was always a fun place to hide...

As these characters became more and more real to me, I started to hear their stories in my dreams and on walks and between diapers.  Their stories had to be told.

I know they will become as real in your head and heart as they are for me!

Your next step is to click on the link and dive right in.

Enjoy.

Brianne Earhart
This is me when I got my first printed copies!
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A: Book two (titled: Blood of Moldara) will be released July of 2018!
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