Read the first chapters of Primrose Pringle and the Warrior Elf

 A cynical mercenary. An elf warrior with a secret. A bond tested in a savage battle. 

News of the brutal invaders’ march toward the Northlands sends battle-hardened mercenary, Prim the Grim, riding to defend the border. On her journey, she intervenes to warn two travelers of a goblin ambush and meets Thorn, an elven warrior. His combat skills, calm authority and sharp wit spark an attraction Prim thought she had sworn off forever. She is unaware he is Swordmaster Thorson Brightblade, a legendary hero she has long admired.

Drawn together by their shared mission to repel the invaders, their perilous trek through the mountains ignites a bond between Prim and Thorn. But the dangers multiply when they join the allied armies gathered at the border. Treachery stirs within their own ranks and dragons darken the skies. As the enemy army advances, Prim must choose between her love for Thorn and her duty to a commander she no longer trusts. Will their love be a beacon of hope or a casualty of war?

Book 4 in the Oakenwald Chronicles.

Coming in 2025!

Read the beginning here:

Chapter 1

Primrose Pringle and her younger sister, Jessica, rode through the forested wilderness toward the mountain pass and the border of the Northlands. A battle-hardened mercenary, Prim had chosen this disused trail in the foothills of the Gray Mountains to evade the ruthless invaders. She had seen the horrors left by Raglan’s troops on their march from lower Barringsland. Her anger flamed at the memories of burned cottages and putrid corpses in ravaged villages. She swore to fight to her last breath against the evil invaders of her homeland.   

Their hooves crunching on the layer of frozen pine needles, the horses kept to a steady pace along the trail under the gloomy pines. Prim’s chestnut mare, Ginger, trotted a little ahead of Clover, her sister’s bay mare. An icy breeze shivered in the upper branches of the conifers, carrying the threat of snow. Just beyond a curve in the trail, thick boles of oaks and slender birches replaced the pines. Their bare branches arched overhead, revealing a pale wintry sky. Straight ahead, glimpses of cloudy sky between the tree trunks marked a break in the forest.

Leery of riding into the open, Prim reined her chestnut mare to a halt.

Behind her, the rhythmic clomp of Clover’s hooves ceased, and Jess called, “Why have you stopped?”

Swinging around in her saddle, Prim frowned at her younger sister. “Learn to be wary, Jess. We’re traveling into unknown territory. We need to scout ahead rather than gallop blindly into danger.” 

Jess murmured, “Sorry, Prim.”

Her sister’s woeful tone drew a sympathetic grin from Prim. Jess had endured drastic changes in the weeks since she had agreed to escape from their cruel stepfather. They had decided on a simple disguise to confuse pursuers. Prim had shorn Jessica’s beautiful tresses into a boy’s short crop and acquired men’s clothing for her. Her sister, Jessica, became the lad, Jess. Prim hoped that a young man traveling with a seasoned female warrior would attract less attention than two women. At all costs, she and Jess must elude Raglan’s brutal soldiers, at least until they reached the armies gathering to defend the Northlands from the invaders.

Prim herself had dressed like a man for almost a decade ever since she had run away from hone at sixteen. Clad in a padded leather jacket over well-worn leather trousers and a battered leather cap reinforced with steel bands, she carried a sword, bow and quiver of arrows, and a thin dagger. Trained by renowned Swordmaster Corwin Bonder, she had become a formidable warrior, using her height and long reach to advantage. Her prowess on the battlefield had earned her a ugly scar on her face and the name of Prim the Grim.

Dismounting, Prim handed her mare’s reins to Jess. “Hold Ginger while I survey the trail ahead.”

Jess gave a solemn nod and steered her bay mare alongside Ginger.

Trusting her sister would wait quietly, Prim strolled along the trail to the edge of the forest. With each careful step, her boots crushed withered leaves. She slipped behind the massive trunk of an oak tree, brushing her fingers on its rough bark, and dropped onto hands and knees. Crawling under the heavy branches, she gained a vantage point behind a protruding rock and peered across the valley.

Beyond the edge of the forest, meadow grass, scattered with gray rocks and scrawny bushes, covered the downhill slope. The trail ran into the valley, joining a wider track beside the stream at the bottom. Another forest rose on the opposite side of the meandering stream, the lower branches protruding like fingers over the water.

The valley was not empty. Two men on fine white horses trotted along the track by the stream. Sunlight glinted on their helmets, the hilts of their swords, and the bosses of their shields. The lead rider wore chainmail under his cloak and rode a big-boned steed. His slim companion was mounted on a smaller horse.

Prim’s tension eased. The strangers bore none of the insignia of the hateful enemy. Their greenish-brown cloaks and earth-toned trousers had no resemblance to the scarlet kilts and cloaks emblazoned with a black dragon of Raglan’s cavalry. 

She gazed enviously at their chainmail and gleaming helmets. Such fine battle gear would have spared her many a wound. But the cost of a chainmail shirt or a steel helmet was beyond her means. And her last engagement, the disastrous defeat of Athelric’s forces by Raglan’s remorseless army, gave her no chance to scavenge from fallen foes. 

At first, she was inclined to hide in the woods until the men had ridden out of the valley. Neither she nor Jess would welcome the scrutiny of strangers. Then, she spied movement in the shadows under the trees on the far side of the stream. Her senses on alert, she discerned dark shapes creeping between the trees at a site ahead of the two riders. An ambush.

A figure peered around a tree trunk. She glimpsed its misshapen head. A goblin.

She caught her breath and froze in alarm. These foul creatures from old folktales had emerged around the same time as Raglan’s invasion of Barringsland. Shades of Hades, she could not let the strangers blunder into this trap.

Wriggling backwards, she retreated to the trail and reclaimed Ginger’s reins from her sister.

“Goblins,” she whispered in an urgent voice. “They’re skulking in the woods near the path of two riders. I have to warn the men.” 

“Of course,” Jess said with touching faith in her sister’s decision.

Prim stabbed her forefinger at Jess. “Wait in the forest. I’ll ride into the valley and alert the strangers.”

Her face pale and scared, Jess nodded.

Prim swung into the saddle and pressed her legs into Ginger’s flanks, urging her forward. The chestnut mare trotted to the verge of the forest and halted at Prim’s touch on the reins.

Shading her eyes with one hand, Prim peered down to the trail by the stream. The scene showed little change. The two riders, heedless of any danger, approached the point on the trail where the goblins lurked in the shadows of the trees.

Freeing her sword, Prim slapped the mare’s neck in the signal to gallop. As Ginger pounded downhill, Prim yelled, “Goblins. An ambush.” Her voice rang clear to the strangers.

The lead rider pulled his sword from the scabbard. His helmet glinted as he glanced at her and raised his shield in acknowledgement. His steed sped into a canter.

His companion mirrored his actions. Both riders raced toward the ambush. 

The goblins, realizing they had lost the advantage of surprise, sprang out of the forest and leaped across the stream.

The leading rider shouted, “Ware Brightblade.” His big horse plunged into the swarm of goblins. His sword flashing in the sunlight, the stranger milled through the goblins. His battle-trained charger twisted and reared, smashing its hooves onto the attackers. The clang of steel on steel and crunch of hooves on bone resounded across the valley.

Prim gripped Ginger’s flanks and charged toward the conflict. Anger mixed with remorse at her recklessness. Why hadn’t she stood at the summit and fired arrows? Why hadn’t she removed the heavy saddlebags? Their weight would hinder her poor mare.

Blood throbbing in her ears, she shifted into icy battle mode and fell upon the goblins. She knocked the sword out of the nearest opponent’s fist. An instant later, a mass of the ugly brutes crowded around Prim and Ginger. Goblins loved horsemeat and they were not adverse to human flesh.

Ginger dodged from side to side, freeing Prim to slash her blade into one ugly fiend after another. Thankfully, the sturdy saddlebags protected the mare’s flanks rather than impeding her progress.

Shrieks, howls, and the rank stench of their foul bodies filled the air.

A few paces away, the stranger’s sword and his white charger’s hooves spread slaughter 

A frightened scream diverted Prim’s attention to the hillside.

Jess was riding downhill toward the battle. Why had her foolish sister left the safety of the trees? Her bay mare had no experience of goblins or of battle.

Clover shied and bucked, jolting Jess off the saddle. Freed of her rider’s weight, the mare spun away from the threat and raced uphill into the woods.

Jess tumbled to the ground. She rolled over and lay motionless. 

Goblins bounded uphill toward her hapless sister.

Terrified they would kill Jess, Prim swung Ginger uphill.

Before Prim could reach her sister, a slim stranger galloped past. He thrust his sword and felled two goblins. The others fled downhill. The man slid to the ground and bent over Jess’ prone body.

As Prim rode near, he looked up, saying in a lilting tenor, “I’ll tend to her. Fend off the goblins.”

Prim swung her mare around and surveyed the remnants of combat on the near bank of the stream.

Sword held upright, the senior warrior rode in a circle through a scene of carnage. His well-trained mount stomped its hooves on their fallen opponents. Clearly he shared her hatred for the vile creatures.

Goblin bodies were strewn across the grass. Some lay in the stream, their blood fouling the water. Other goblins scrambled into the trees. In another moment, their vicious foes had vanished. Even the scuffle of their footsteps in the dry leaves faded into the distance.

Prim exhaled in relief. They had routed the goblins. Swinging off the saddle, she ran to Jess.

Now helmetless. the slim stranger propped her sister’s head on his arm. A blush coloring her pretty face, she gazed up at her young rescuer, groaning, “Oh, my head throbs.”

“Lie still,” he murmured. Working one handed, he extracted a small bottle from a pouch on his belt. He flipped up the cap and offered the bottle to Jess. “Take a sip.” His musical voice held a soothing appeal. He tilted the bottle to her sister’s lips.

Wary of the unknown contents of his little bottle, Prim grabbed his wrist and demanded, “What’s that drink?” Gentle Jess had no suspicion of a man offering a strange liquid. Prim’s memories curdled unbidden, smelly taverns, men with fake grins plying her with ale, their grimy hands upon her. She hoped Jess would never experience those ills.

Sincerity written on his handsome face, the stranger said, “It is a healing cordial. ‘Twill lessen her aches.” 

Vexed by his rapid penetration of her sister’s disguise, Prim stiffened. Yet his fair face held no hint of guile. Deciding he was not a threat, she said gruffly, “Give her the cordial.”

He reverted his attention to her naive sister. “What’s your name?”

“Jess,” she murmured. “Jess Pringle.”

“I’m Faran Truesinger.” Glancing back at Prim, he explained, “She was stunned by the fall. She has broken no bones.”

Dropping on one knee beside her sister, Prim asked, “How do you feel?”

Jess wailed, “Oh Prim, I’m so sorry. When I saw the goblins rush out of the trees, I was afraid. I thought they were creeping up behind me.”

Prim gave a wry chuckle. “Next time, listen to me.”

“I will.” Jess scrambled into a sitting position, supported by Faran, and looked around. “Where’s Clover.”

“She bolted,” Prim said bluntly. “Scared of the goblins.”

“Oh no,” Jess cried. “It’s my fault.”

“No.” Prim held up an admonishing finger. “It’s the fault of the goblins’.”

“Fear not,” Faran said. “Despite her terror, I doubt your mare ran far. Let me look for her.”

“Please do,” Jess pleaded.

The slender youth ran up the hill and into the trees.

Jess whined, “How will we manage with only one horse?”

Prim shrugged. “Ginger can carry both of us.” The loss of Clover was a severe setback. The mare had carried not only Jess, but their tent and her sister’s saddlebags with her space clothes and half of their food. Yet, they would survive despite their losses.

“Wait here,” she said. “I’ll get your stuff.” Her sister’s quiver had come loose and arrows were scattered over the grass. Her waterskin lay a little farther away. Prim hastened to gather the arrows as a future defense. Jess was far better as an archer than as a swordswoman.

The other stranger rode up from the stream toward her. Part way up the slope, he dismounted in a lithe motion. Leaving his white charger free to graze, he picked up her sister’s waterskin and a couple of arrows and strode up to Prim. 

Although Prim was taller than most men, her eyes were on level with this stranger’s chin. Every inch of his athletic frame and garb proclaimed the champion warrior from his hard gray eyes under the burnished steel helmet to his chainmail shirt, long sword, and steel-tipped boots.

He handed her the arrows and waterskin. Removing his helmet in a courteous gesture, he revealed a stern visage. Sunlight glinted on long silver-blond hair falling to his shoulders. His cool blue-gray eyes, straight brows and the firm line of his mouth pronounced a resolute authority. She could not guess his age. His smooth chin and cheeks bore no trace of a beard. Only the tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes and lips indicated his mature years.

His expression warmed as he gazed at her. Dipping his head in a slight bow, he said, “Well met, friend. My thanks for your warning and your keen swordsmanship.”

His deep melodic voice sent a warm thrill through her. Unsettled by this compliment from a stranger, she fought to keep her expression neutral. He was gorgeous, totally gorgeous. She had never met a more attractive man.

“I hate goblins,” she said gruffly. Nodding at his steed, she said, “Your horse is magnificent. Truly fit for a battle mount.”

The muscular gray stallion had trotted to Ginger and was sniffing the mare in a proprietary manner.

“Storm has carried me in many a battle.” Following her gaze, the warrior said, “Your stalwart mare is also accustomed to combat.”

Having exchanged compliments on their horses, Prim resolved to learn more about the stranger and asked, “What’s your name, Sir?”

“You may call me Thorn,” he said gravely.

“I’m Prim. Primrose Pringle, or Prim the Grim to my enemies.” She eyed his stern face speculatively. How would he respond?

He smiled and his voice warmed, “A fitting name for a valiant warrior.”

Stilling her racing pulse, she asked, “Where is your homeland, Thorn?”

“When I’m not engaged in battle, I live in Oakenwald.”

“Legendary Oakenwald? Are you an elf?” she demanded.

His smile dimmed a fraction. “My nephew, Faran, and I are both elves. We owe allegiance to Queen Krisolde Whitestar.” He aimed his thumb to the northern end of the valley. “Enough of pleasantries. We must depart from this valley before the goblins recover their courage and attempt another assault.”

“Good idea.” Restoring the arrows into the quiver, she turned to look at Jess. She sat in the same position, staring uphill at the woods where the younger elf had stepped into the trees.

Thorn asked, “Can you manage with only one horse?”

“Jess and I can both ride my mare,” she said gruffly.   

“In recompense for the horse you lost while fighting on our behalf, will you permit Faran and me to escort you as far as our roads run together?”

A glance at her sister’s face showed awed fascination. Prim deduced Jess would favor the strangers’ company. The goblins had proved the trail was more hazardous than she had expected. Two extra swordsmen would provide well-needed protection. And surely such valiant elves would not harm two women.

She said, “We’ll be glad to ride with you, Thorn.”

A fluting whistle sounded from inside the forest at the top of the hill. 

“My nephew sings true,” Thorn said. “Wild beasts and tame will heed his call.”

While they waited for Faran, Prim went to check her steed. Unharmed by the goblins, Ginger was grazing peacefully beside the big stallion. The chestnut mare lifted her head and sniffed at her mistress. Prim stroked the mare’s soft nose, patted her sleek neck, and left her to feed on the yellowed grass.

His expression grim, Thorn stared at the forest beyond the stream as if he wished to penetrate the darkness beneath the trees and discern any new threats. After a brief survey, he looked at Prim and asked, “Where are you bound in this wilderness?”

“My brother Jess and I are traveling to the border between Barringsland and the Northlands.”

“Brother?” His voice grew sharp with skepticism.

Rattled by the disbelief in his tone, Prim blurted an explanation, “It’s a disguise. Meant to deter unwanted attention on our journey.”

He looked at Jess and shrugged. “Such a pretty lad would fail to discourage all attentions.”

Prim buried her head in her hands and groaned. He had crushed the entire basis for her deception. He must think her a fool. Desirous of salvaging her dignity, her words gushed out, “I served in King Athelric’s troops before Raglan’s army broke the siege of his stronghold in Castleton. Since our retreat, I learned his Marshall had ridden north to assemble a new army at the border. I decided to join the fight. The call to arms arrived along with news of the invaders’ northward march along the Vale of Taw.” She gestured to the east across the stream. “Hence we chose to travel in the hills above the valley.”

“A good choice,” he remarked, “were it not for goblins and their ilk.”  

She wrinkled her nose. “Why were goblins lurking in these woods? I’ve never seen so many of the evil brutes.”

“Nor have I.” His blond brows compressed in a frown. “I fear they seek the scrounging’s of a fresh battle.” 

She mused, “The goblins first appeared in the wake of Raglan’s invasion. Before that catastrophe, goblins were unknown except for old folktales.”

“Aye. Raglan’s sorcerers summoned vicious creatures to harass the people of this continent. Dragons are reputed to be the worst of the evils. Doubtless in due course, I will have the ill luck to meet one.”

Clenching her fist on her sword hilt, Prim squashed a shudder. “I’ve no wish to fight a fearsome dragon.”

A moment later, their conversation ceased when Faran reappeared. A flock of small birds fluttered around his head as he hurried down the hill.

Rejoining them, he shook his head and sighed. “The mare ran deeper into the forest. I heard her snuffling in the trees beyond the trail. She is afraid to come out and I dared not linger.” He smiled at Jess, saying, “You need not despair. Clover will follow us once she is calmer. She knows your scent and the stallion will tempt her.”  

Poor comfort, Prim thought. What if the goblins find Clover first? As usual, she steeled her expression and refrained from burdening her little sister with this unhappy notion.

“Faran and I will carry your belongings.” Thorn plucked the quiver of arrows off her shoulder and tossed it to his companion, calling, “Strap this quiver on Melody. We’re moving on.” He strode to Ginger, transferred Prim’s pack to his own steed, and held the mare’s reins for Prim to mount.

She hopped into the saddle. Scrunching forward, she tapped the rear of the saddle and reached out to Jess. “Climb up.”

Faran boosted Jess onto the saddle behind Prim.

“Hold tight to me,” Prim said.

As the elves donned their helmets and mounted their horses, Jess hugged Prim’s waist and whispered, “Ooh, elves.”

Prim shared her sister’s curiosity about the handsome elves, although she had misgivings. Men had betrayed her trust before, more than once. But never again. She had renounced men and their faked friendship. All her fumbling attempts to gain a lover had proved painful mistakes. What man could truly love a scarred warrior woman?

Unlike her pathetic prospects, men were often attracted to her pretty sister. Was Jess still a virgin with a naïve view of males? Did she need protection from their vulgar attentions? A contrary thought drifted into her mind. Their new companions were elves not men. Prim felt a strong attraction to Thorn. She admired his warm smile, deep voice, and warrior’s poise. Yet she could ill afford a distraction on this perilous journey. And he must find her scarred face truly repulsive.