Rory Surtain's Blog, page 2
March 24, 2021
An Excerpt from Demon in Exile Book 5
Black Fortune
Black Fortune, Book 5 of the Demon in Exile Series, is available for pre-Order via Amazon. It will be released in June 2021.
Excerpt: Promise
Still having extra energy to burn and a Kjaira soul to settle, I went out for a walk beneath a cooling autumn rain. The Garden of the King had eased its rapid pace in the final hours before dawn and the few watchers still on duty belonged to us.
I drew my fang-blade as Sorrow arrived at my side. The night-stalker sniffed the weapon and gave a short whine. No, this wasn’t my usual blade. I’d given that back to Cat. My new fang held a different soul, one from a different death-demon brood, and it had toiled for decades on the chain of a Fuga assassin. The weapon still had my blood on it, along with Ayla’s, so I focused on the fang and listened, pushing the dark energy that I carried into the blade.
It came alive in my hand and wailed, “Name your mark, Dark Lord, and I will obey.”
“Name yourself,” I thought, pressing back upon the dark soul with my mind.
I’d never had a mental conversation with a Kjaira soul before. My connection to Sorrow was simply one of images and knowing.
It responded, “I am Tao-Rien.” First Fang.
“You are the first of your brood?”
“Yes, and the first is always the strongest.” It was an alpha, unchained.
“You have been freed. Why do you remain here beyond the Veil?” I asked.
“I am home as promised. I will stay.”
“Who made you this promise?”
“The one that fed me the heart blood of an assassin. The one that feeds me even now.”
“Then you must know of my nature.”
The blade wailed once more, its laughter spoiling the night, “We are kindred souls, gifted with the promise of exile.”
We were of the same brood after all, one of exile, bound by my blood; I held another sister. Raven would be thrilled.
“And so, I name you ‘Promise,’ a gift of your exile,” I placed my stamp on its new reality, not knowing the mark it would leave on mine.
It hissed, “And you are named ‘Firefanged,’ so poetic in your decay.”
March 23, 2021
An Excerpt from Demon in Exile Book 2
The Scarred Man
The Scarred Man, Book 2 of the Demon in Exile Series, is available now via Amazon and BN.COM.
Excerpt: Daggerman
Durk left the docks and the dirty barge behind. Oblivious to his salty scent of fish and sweat, the owned assassin made his way up through the River District and into the capital city of Colivar. The trip upstream from the coastal city of Southport took a torturous fortnight to travel the two hundred miles, and he was sure that he could have walked it in half that time.
From his perch in the barge’s bow, Durk had often imagined shooting the plodding tow team dead, one by one, with his trusted crossbow in hopes that the barge owner would buy a younger, faster set of mules. Fortunately for Durk, his crossbow remained packed away below decks, and knowing the consequences of a failed mission kept him in good graces with the shipping company.
Maidenhall was a city of many faces, the riverfront docks being one with an organic perfume. Stevedores and river crews plied their skills to exchange cargo in all shapes, sizes, and scents: livestock, barrels of grain and fish, casks of ale, oil, and spirits, passengers, wood, textiles, and leather, to name just a few. The workers of this district tended to live south across the Barrens Bridge on the Bull River’s far side, an area famous for its laundries.
Hefting his heavy pack, Durk wended his way through the narrow streets en route to his meeting in one of the more mundane areas of Maidenhall. Entering ahead of the dinner crowd, he found a secluded table at the Loaded Wagon Inn, a local favorite on the edge of the Warehouse district, and ordered an ale or three while he waited. It wasn’t until night had fully descended that a woman in a long, hooded cloak approached his table. She was unremarkable in all ways except for her eyes, which were mismatched in color, one sky blue, one milky white.
“My regards to Boss Sarpa,” she said, taking a seat. “We are eager to conclude our business with the Coven.”
Durk didn’t object to the newcomer’s presence, but he didn’t like it either. She didn’t smell right and her self-assurance, her pretense of complete control, clashed with his present situation.
“Sarpa wasn’t given a choice, from what I hear, and I’m not so eager to please,” he replied.
“Come now; the contract is signed. We’re on the same side here. I’ve even brought you a bonus,” she said, sliding a dark sheath across the table.
Durk eyed the ornate dagger hilt with suspicion. “What’s this? My payment is due in Royal gold marks, not antiques.”
“Coin, of course, I wouldn’t forget.” She handed him a heavy pouch. “I offer the knife as a gift, that it might be sold back to us for an even larger reward, but only if you use it to kill the mark.”
Durk scowled at the woman’s new proposal. “Why don’t you use it? You know my weapon is the crossbow. You should have asked Sarpa for a daggerman to do the job.”
“The last daggerman sent was caught and executed in Stonnberg. Sarpa said you were more than capable,” she goaded him.
“I’m plenty capable but with my weapon. If you had offered me another crossbow, I still wouldn’t use it,” Durk replied, tiring quickly of the woman’s games.
“I’m not so thick as to suggest otherwise,” she said. “Use your crossbow, but if you get the chance, use the dagger before they draw their last breath. Certainly, you can disable as easily as kill, no?”
“Is the mark guarded?” Durk damn well knew the answer to that.
“Of course, heavily. But the target is young and won’t have the experience needed to avoid someone of your skills.” The woman stood to leave. “The offer is before you. You have been paid. If you ever want to be free of Sarpa, you know what you need to do.”
Durk thought about that for the time it takes to drink yet another ale, and he left in search of a daggerman.
An Excerpt from Book 6
Gray Prince
Book 6 of the Demon in Exile Series is due out in early December, 2021.
Excerpt: Gray Prince
Lady Breen, ever true to form, played the part of a friend perfectly. “Lord Storm, what is your real name? I can’t accept such a precious gift without at least knowing that.”
The precious gift drifted quietly on the couch beside me, resting her head on my shoulder one last time.
“Ara.”
“Annette,” she replied. “And Jillian will remember you, even if you do not.”
A bit of wisdom from Vigil Thorn came to my mind. “The heart carries us through when one’s mind has decided otherwise,” I said, struggling, knowing the truth of it. “Inquisitor Stone is wise beyond her years.” And mine.
“So she is, but what about you, Ara?”
“If I were honest, I might say that I’m more like those Nantine children, a bedeviled refugee of war, sent elsewhere and severed because of it.”
The taste of exile sat bitterly on my tongue, and the Nantine sons and daughters left a familiar ache in my heart, prodding my thoughts toward Raven. There had been a particularly good reason why those children were sent down the coast, as was the case when Rae’s father had sent her away years before, but an exile could only be rescinded if one’s heart survived the round trip.
Sensing my sadness, Lady Chase smiled. “You aren’t honest?”
The scars on my arm were the most honest thing about me as I held Jillian Stone carefully in place. Her hair smelled of cinnamon and sage.
“Annette, I’m a gray prince and as far from being honest as war is from peace. Unlike truth, which might stand on its own, honesty requires a heart, and war, like a demon, lacks any regard.”
March 6, 2021
An Excerpt from Book 4
Wind Catcher
Book 4 of the Demon in Exile Series is coming soon, due out in early April, 2021.
Excerpt: The Wolves of Summer
They’d eaten Becks.
Viren Drake staggered up the steep hill toward his hideaway cabin, Dagr’s bark leading him on. The wolf trap was a bloody mess of torn clothing and shredded boots. Nothing was left of her, nothing he could carry, nothing but her hunting knife, abandoned in some low-growing yellow pines on the edge of the game trail. A black residue covered the handle and the tip of the blade.
Wolves didn’t do that. If they escaped from a trap or snare, they would be halfway across the valley before sunrise. They didn’t wait around for payback, they didn’t take the time to make their prey an unrecognizable scattering of hair and bone fragments, and they didn’t bleed black.
They’d eaten—FETH. Viren vomited bile and reheated coffee as he struggled up the trail toward home. The log house was sturdy, large, and built across the opening of an old smuggler’s cave, giving them plenty of room to work out their differences and sort out a living in between, safely tucked away in the densely wooded borderlands of northern Fugaku. Between Rebekah trapping the active game trails in the valley and Viren following his love of woodworking, the past six years had flown past, coming to a sudden stop with the howls of an unquiet dawn.
Viren stood outside, frozen at the thought of entering the abode, knowing that he’d see her everywhere with a mind that couldn’t unsee the morning’s butchery. He shut his eyes and listened, a hand on Dagr’s head to keep him quiet.
“Becks, you home?” he called out one last time.
Silence answered, further branding him with the new reality.
“She must be fishing the stream for our dinner,” he said to his wolfhound. “I bet her traps came up empty again.”
Viren tried to chuckle at the stale words but coughed up more bile instead. The harsh sound echoed back off the rocky hill above him, mocking his misery.
Dagr barked, getting his own faint echo and pulling Viren’s attention back to the present.
“Sergeant Viren Drake reporting for duty, Sir,” said the man, no longer young but not yet old.
He knew these woods before he knew Becks, having fought through them a decade before in the Short War, as it was known. The Fuga and Nantine forces had long decided that the Akio Cut was a strategic avenue for advance through the Everest Mountains into each other’s backyard, not considering the many pitfalls and ambushes that lay waiting for either side in the dense, shoulder-hugging terrain. Much like the Dungarr Basin on Fugaku’s western border, the valley, with its overwhelming growth, was a naturally deceiving landscape with little easy room to maneuver beyond the single River Road. It offered a constricted arena connecting the grassy plains of both realms.
As part of the Fuga Recon Corps, Viren had discovered the smuggler’s cave in its remote location during the Short War, and he’d returned afterward to build his one and only cabin deep in the woods. The logs were plentiful, and he hauled in tools, as needed, from the mill located in Kyserville on the south side of the valley.
Rebekah Tann had appeared a few years later, finding him at the Twin Fountains Inn in Kyserville, where Drake had been building a new set of beds and dining room tables for the owner, a former squadmate of his. After one look, Viren didn’t need to be convinced, but she’d had her story all laid out and ready for him anyway.
Drake was twenty-six at the time, Rebekah twenty-two, and both needed quiet company and a sure retreat after seeing too much of what the world had to offer. For him, it had been the War and the realization that in that darkened environment, war was Hell, and he was the Devil. For Becks, it was life in the Crown’s city of Tannoo on the Fuga east coast and the demanding hunger of its most powerful inhabitants. She had fled, hoping never to be found again. She’d gotten her wish, and in doing so, had ended Viren Drake’s retreat from life.
The sounds of a roaming wolf pack had become a growing concern over the past few weeks, resembling winter hunts in their urgency as the beasts ranged closer and closer up the side of the Akio Valley. Becks had been sure she’d snag a nice pelt or two by trapping the lanes around their cabin.
Drake took a deep breath, entered the cabin, and packed. He left this morning’s stale coffee, his tools, and the sturdy furniture in place for the next occupant, only packing a few changes of clothes. Rebekah’s Hell-stained hunting knife and her one prized possession, an amber necklace that she’d brought from her previous life, sat in the bottom of his pack. Drake wore his own more lethal war-knife, a gift from the Army, and looped a belt over his shoulder for the long-tarnished saber that hung from the wall next to the fire pit. He also packed some dried food and gave plenty to Dagr to eat before they left.
They’d had the hunting hound for four years, a birthday gift from Rebekah at a time when they were both feeling especially distant and needed a bridge. She was insightful that way, always seeming to know the right remedies for their lives before he’d even noticed that there was a problem.
Drake hadn’t needed Dagr’s sensitive hearing this morning; the unearthly howls that broke the dawn’s silence had caused them both to jump while he was working inside the cabin. They’d listened to the beastly sounds with fear until the pack finally faded into the distance to the south. Dagr had caught the kill scent first and led them to the hellish trap site where they’d found Becks’s knife and little else.
With the realization that the Akio Valley and its surrounding hills had become a tragic landscape, leaving was the easiest, if not the saddest, decision that Viren Drake would ever make, not knowing that the nightmare had only just begun.
January 14, 2021
Demon in Exile Series Update #1
Ara Storm, the MC, isn’t a shapeshifter as some might expect from the book’s cover, but rather he harbors some darker paranormal & physical abilities that make him more than effective as a demon-slayer for the Realm and a general menace to himself and those around him. With his flaws, he might be viewed more as an anti-hero than a hero, but I root for him anyway. There is plenty of gray. His schemes don’t always go as planned, but when they do, it can be a real nightmare.
The novels cross-over from high fantasy to urban fantasy, but also throw in paranormal, military, and mystery, a dash of romance, and plenty of psycho-drama. That may seem a bit chaotic, but that's the fun of it, and there are plenty of patterns to be found throughout the series, and plenty of surprises, twists, and underlying themes.
Sure, there are demons, lots of them, in all different flavors and sizes and a cast of characters to thwart them. Even with a first-person narrative, Life isn't a one-man show and neither are the stories found here. Escape with them. You won't be disappointed.
As an indie author, I appreciate your kind participation and positive reviews. Please keep an eye on Goodreads for the ebook Giveaways or read for free via Amazon Unlimited.
December 26, 2020
An Excerpt from Book 3
Sorrow's Twin
Book #3 in the Demon in Exile series, Sorrow's Twin, launches January 18th, 2021, available on Amazon and B&N.
Here's a very small excerpt:
Chapter 7
The Gifts
Palanoag’s face stung, the tattoos of his ascension to tribal bone-man completely livid across his brow. He existed in a perpetual fever. The Emperor was taking his payment, his father told him, for the gift given to Pala on his sixteenth birthday.
Being a bone-man of the Emperor’s Children was Palanoag’s fate, and his young eyes could now see the Twist in things. It was a small skill and of little use in the eyes of a father that could summon the Twist or a brother that could control the Twisted Gifts of the Emperor and drive the demonic Horde to victory. Pala’s father, Skarim, was Chief Tilikum’s Elder and considered wisest among all. Skarim guarded the Emperor’s Gifts more than his own earth-given children.
The Gifts were a fierce, unstoppable force in the vast lands of the Dungarr Basin. They were dark tools to be deployed shrewdly and used to maximum effect, entities bearing a curse that would eventually break their enemies and bring their Emperor to glory in this world. As such, Skarim’s oldest son, Brabin, had been adopted by the Chief as the tribe’s Allelo and might eventually be elevated to Chief if the Emperor willed it.
“You will be tortured, that is for sure,” said Skarim. “What will you tell them?”
“Nothing,” Palanoag answered proudly. He wasn’t afraid of the enemy’s weak methods. His face already burned him day and night.
“Wrong!” Skarim’s fist smashed into Pala’s cheek. “You will thank them for their sacrifice and tell them that you have brought a gift from the Emperor’s Children.”
“Of course, of course. I will thank the heathens and make sure they appreciate the source of the gift.”
“Our Chief wills it,” Skarim softened his tone. “The enemy grows weak in spirit, so we must feed them.”
“Of course, I am ready for the task.”
Skarim’s fist connected once more.
“I will tell you when you are ready, my son. Only I have the wisdom to judge such a thing, and until then, the wagon will not move.”
Palanoag nodded, speechless, having bitten his tongue. The Emperor protects even the feeblest of his Children, or so he thought.
