Bruce Blake's Blog, page 13
October 29, 2012
Halloween Sale!
October 26, 2012
The Bittersweet End
October 24, 2012
Bruce’s Book Report: Blood Skies by Steven Montano
Those of you who have read my blog before know that I am a self-professed poor reader. No, I don’t mean I have trouble with the big words (though there were a number in Michael Chabon‘s The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay that put me over the deep end), I mean I find it hard to fit reading into my schedule, so it generally takes me a while to read a book. When you only read for ten minutes right before going to sleep, your mind gets trained that after ten minutes of reading…well, you get the picture.
Knowing this, I imagine there are not many of my blog readers who were that excited when I announced in my last post that I had decided to start reviewing books.
“Oh great,” my faithful readers said, “a new review once a year.”
Don’t be so harsh. I think I can manage one every three months.
To kick things off, I recently finished reading Blood Skies by Steven Montano, the first book in his Blood Skies series (currently four books, but I know there are more just around the corner). Here’s what you’ll find on Amazon:
In the time after The Black, human survivors of the Southern Claw Alliance clash with vampire legions of the Ebon Cities in a constant war for survival. Earth as we know it has been forever damaged by an arcane storm
that fused our world with distant realms of madness and terror. Things that once existed only in our nightmares stalk the earth.
Now, humanity is threatened by one of its own.
Eric Cross, an enlisted warlock in the Southern Claw military, is part of an elite team of soldiers and mages in pursuit of a woman known as Red — a witch whose stolen knowledge threatens the future of the human race. The members of Viper Squad will traverse haunted forests and blighted tundra in their search for the traitor, a journey that ultimately leads them to the necropolis of Koth.
There, in that haven of renegade undead, Cross will discover the dark origins of magic, and the true meaning of sacrifice…
Experience a dark and deadly new world in the debut novel of the “Blood Skies” series from author Steven Montano.
Sounds good, doesn’t it? It is. And what ‘s even more impressive is that this is a blurb that makes you want to read the book. I’ve got to tell you, as a writer, one of the most difficult things we have to do is distill tens of thousands of words and months (or years) of work down to a few sentences on which we pin our hopes that people will be intrigued, buy the book, and make us fabulously wealthy. Or at least stinking rich. Steven has done a great job with the blurb, giving us enough to want more, but not enough to give away the really good bits. And he’s got a great cover, too, so that’s 2 out of the 3 covered.
The third, of course, is the story itself, and Steven doesn’t disappoint here, either.
There were two major things that jumped out at me about Blood Skies.
1. Steven’s ability to fulfil upon the age-old writers’ adage of making new things familiar and familiar things new. There are vampires in this book, but they are not like vampires you’ve seen before. And there is magic, but it has some quirks to it that make it different from what you’ve seen before. The story takes place on an Earth you wouldn’t recognize with characters with whom you will easily identify.
2. Steven’s writing and his incredible imagery brought to mind two other rather accomplished fantasy authors: Steven Erikson and China Mieville. While I love both of these gentlemen (in fact, I recently met Steven Erikson at my local bookstore…yes, they still have some of those), the one thing that tends to throw me off with any writer is going too far with the description. Mr. Mieville’s detailed descriptions of New Crobuzon are poetic and breathtaking, they can also go on for pages. Mr. Montano, on the other hand, employs more restraint and an economy of words that I think most readers will appreciate, getting detailed and high impact descriptions across more succinctly than some of his contemporaries.
The story is strong, the writing is excellent, and you can’t help but feel for the main character, Cross, who manages to get his ass kicked at every turn and keep on going. And do you know what else is great about this book? It’s only 99 cents.
Would I recommend Steven Montano’s Blood Skies. Hell yeah! I can’t wait to read more.
Steven’s Bio:
Steven Montano fell out of the sky one day and landed behind an accountant’s desk. Rather than write novels about his experiences in an alternate post-apocalyptic world besieged by vampires, he decided to reconcile accounts and calculate journal entries. He still writes in his spare time.
Check out his Blood Skies series at Amazon, or visit his website at http://bloodskies.com/
It’s difficult to find songs about vampires, but here’s one. Enjoy.
October 23, 2012
How Do You Like Me Now?
In keeping with the huge changes in my life (see my last post), I’ve decided to mix things up on then ole blog, too. I’m going to try out a few different themes to see which I like the best, add some pages, etc., etc. The home 
page and the other pages I will be adding (one dedicated to Icarus, one to my Khirro’s Journey epic fantasy, and one on being an independent author) are works in progress, so don’t judge me on them just yet, but let me know what you think about the look of the place. Do you like what I did with it? Should I move the couch? Change the drapes? Put in a window?
And did you notice I changed my tag line, too? Instead of the old ‘thoughts and opinions of a struggling writer’, I’ve decided I’m done with struggling, and it is now ‘The thoughts and opinions of a writer on the rise’.
That’s right, bitches, it’s time to rise!
October 17, 2012
These Are The Days Of Miracle And Wonder
It’s been a while since the last time I posted (over 2 weeks if you don’t count Emily Ward taking things over for a day).
“Why?” you might wonder aloud, and rightfully so. “Why would an independent author who relies so much on interaction with people to sell books neglect his blog for an extended period? It says right in the name of the blog: struggling writer. Perhaps this is why, Bruce.”
Perhaps. But I do have an excuse and, in my world, at least, it’s a doozie.
You see, on the 3rd of October, 2012, I lost my job. Suddenly, inexplicably, with no notice or hint, I found myself unemployed. Not laid off. Not downsized. The business didn’t close. No, the owners decided I no longer fit with their plans anymore and cut me a pretty decent cheque to stop working for them. It didn’t just catch me off-guard, but everyone I worked with, especially the dozen or so people who asked me when I’d be getting the general manager’s position when he quit just a few months before.
See how happy I look?
Now I know conventional wisdom says that I should be all broken up about being “let go”, perhaps take a couple of days off, then beat the pavement to find another job, but I don’t want to live that conventional life. In fact, I haven’t wanted to live it for quite some time. My wife and I (for those of you who don’t know me and haven’t bothered to read the about page, my wife is a bit of a big deal burlesque performer here in Victoria) have been scheming for a while trying to figure out how to get me out of a job and into the things I really want to do. And now it has been thrust upon me. The universe works in mysterious ways.
I’m convinced the owner has had a few moments of ponderment in which he thought to himself “why did I do that again?”. Because the universe made you.
So you’re probably thinking to yourself: “What’s in it for me?” The answer is the same for you as it is for me: more and better. Let me give you some examples:
Over the last 3 days (that’s Fri-Sun as I write this) I wrote over 12500 words on my current work-in-progress. That’s more than I would have written in 3 weeks before the days of miracle and wonder began. That means the first draft of Spirit of the King (Khirro’s Journey Book 2), which I was hoping to finish by mid-November, could be done as early as the end of this week (the end of next at the latest). Finishing that means I can get started on the next Icarus Fell novel (Secrets of the Hanged Man - I’ve been planning), not to mention the YA fantasy I’ve been aching to do, and the fairy story I want to write with my 11-year-old daughter, and the one about the guy with no magic, and…I digress.
Today, I took the day off from writing. I didn’t take the day off, however. Instead, I finished formatting all three of my novels for CreateSpace, so as soon as I can get my cover guy to format the covers for print, they will be available. And I did some research and planning for an erotica website my wife and I want to do. And I researched better ways to promo. And I wrote two blog posts. And I researched how to make my blog and my social media better. I even folded the laundry.
All of this time, all of this focus, means more novels, better posts, higher quality. I can spend time looking for ways to help other people. Things are going to be different around here. It’s good for me and it’s good for you. It all starts with my very next post when I’m going to do something I’ve never done before: review a book. And watch for the name of my blog to change. I’m done with struggling.
So you see, dear friends, the unfortunate incident of me being ‘retired’ is not unfortunate at all. It’s the beginning of something wonderful. Truly, these are the days of miracle and wonder.
October 11, 2012
Spotlight On: Emily Ann Ward
The Protectors Blog Tour: Excerpt from Promising Hope
Hey, everyone! I’m Emily, and my YA Epic Fantasy series The Protectors is “touring” around the web right now. I had an excerpt for Promising Hope planned for this stop, and I struggled to find one that didn’t spoil the ending of the first book, Promising Light! I think I found a pretty good one, though.
* * *
Sierra and Evan walked through the castle to the north wing, where the meetings had been taking place. The castle furnishings were colorful and bright. Though most of the decor was saved for the rooms, the various corridors walls had murals painted on the stone walls. The one they walked through to the meeting was covered in a mural of Jolenian history: battle scenes, kings and queens in throne rooms.
When they entered the meeting room, Sierra saw most of the elders sat at the table, save Nilee and Bea. An assortment of other Avialies were present, as well, including Adrian and Caleb.
“Thank you for joining us, Sierra,” Jeshro said. “I thought you might want to be involved in this. At the very least, you should know about it.”
“About what?” Sierra asked. She took her usual spot, the seat to the right of Jeshro, who was at the head of the table. Evan sat next to her.
Jeshro stood up and placed his hands on the table, looking at the others. “Based on the memories we’ve shared with Sierra, we know who cursed the Avialies.”
Someone gasped; the group leaned forward, instantly more intrigued.
“He’s still alive, and we need to prevent the curse from happening again,” Jeshro said. “If the Protectors find out the curse is broken, they may try to contact this Thieran again.”
“Who is it?” Adrian hissed.
“I’ll only reveal his identity to the men who will join the unit to find him.”
“We all will,” Adrian said. He looked around the table, and the men nodded in agreement.
Sierra noticed Lisbeth was the only woman. These men were going to find the Thieran and then what? She considered it for a moment, but after looking at the determined faces, she didn’t have to ask. Her eyes widening, she looked at Evan, who gazed at Jeshro with a grim look.
“I need a definite answer,” Jeshro said. “This unit will be going back into Haltar, where this man lives. They’ll be up against the Protectors, and if anyone is kidnapped. . .well, we can’t let valuable information reach the Protectors.”
Sierra touched Evan’s hand. “Evan,” she whispered.
He made no motion that he even noticed her hand touching him. She gritted her teeth and looked around the table as the men nodded again.
“We’ll do it,” Adrian said.
“Yes, Adrian, I understand you’re willing, but you’re not the spokesperson for everyone here,” Jeshro said. “I need individual vows.”
“Vows that what?” Sierra asked, taking her hand from Evan’s. “That they’ll kill themselves if they’re kidnapped?”
“If that’s what it has to be, then yes,” Jeshro said.
“That’s the only solution you can think of? What about paired Cosa magic?”
Jeshro gave her a smile like she was a child. “That doesn’t work with any two people, and we’d need a fairly strong Cosa to do that.”
“What about Matilda?” Sierra asked.
Jeshro shook his head. “Even if she were able, I wouldn’t ask it of her.”
“But you’d ask your own blood relatives to go on a suicide mission?”
“There’s every chance at succeeding—”
Sierra scoffed. “You think the Protectors are just going to let a group of assassins take out their most powerful Thieran? He’s probably guarded and kept at the palace; he probably has been for years.”
“We’re going to consider everything, Sierra.”
“If you really are, then there’s no need to ask your men to kill themselves if they get taken hostage.”
“That is the extreme. I need to be sure of the fealty of everyone in this room, even in the most extreme circumstances.” Jeshro splayed his hands out in front of him. “Does that please you?”
Sierra gritted her teeth. “I will be pleased when I’m sure you’ve done all you can to protect my husband and the other men here.”
* * *
If you want to read more, be sure to check out the series at Amazon or any other ebook retailer.
This blog tour is about halfway done and we still have tons of fun stuff in store. Tomorrow, I’ll be with Kristen at Seeing Night Reviews where I’ll have one more excerpt of Promising Hope as well as journal entries from the main character. Come visit me!
Oh, and if you missed the last few posts:
Meet the Author
Genre-Bending: If Promising Light Wasn’t Fantasy
My Characters’ Favorite Books
If Promising Light Were Set In Modern Day
Promising Hope’s Book Soundtrack
Promising Light Excerpt
Giveaway
If you’d like a chance to win the books, enter the giveaway here! Here’s what’s up for grabs:
(1) $15 Amazon Gift Card
(5) Protectors Ebook Packages (Shifting Light, Fire and Light, The End of Light, Promising Light, and Promising Hope)
(1) Protectors Paperback Package (Promising Light and Promising Hope)
Also, you can comment on these posts and other stops on the tour or follow blogs participating in the tour to gain more entries! Hope to see you around 
Bio
Emily Ann Ward is the author of Passages, Beyond Home, Finding Fiona, and The Protectors series. One of her first stories featured a young girl whose doll came to life. The rest is history. When it comes to fiction, she writes mainly young adult, contemporary, and fantasy. She also writes nonfiction, ranging from stories of her travels to thoughts on God and the Bible. Aside from writing, she’s also a content editor for Entranced Publishing. She loves reading, traveling, sociology, religion, and Reese’s sticks. Currently, she lives in Salem, Oregon with her husband Chris and their crazy cats. Visit her website at emilyannward.com.
September 30, 2012
Blood of the King Release Day!!!
The waiting is over, the excerpts are done,
Now hurry and get a copy (but please don’t run,
especially if you’re carrying scissors,
And I can’t think of anything that rhymes with scissors),
So I guess this lame poem is done.
Blood of the King (Khirro’s Journey Book 1) is now available on Kindle.
Grab your copy here
September 29, 2012
Blood of the King Excerpt – Chapter 5. Release Day Tomorrow!
One more day to go, one more excerpt. Get Blood of the King on Kindle tomorrow!
Blood of the King (Khirro’s Journey Book 1)
The king falls and a hero is born, his fate thrust upon him by Shaman’s curse. A journey to save the kingdom begins.
Khirro never wanted to be anything more than the farmer he was born to be, but a Shaman’s curse binds him to the fallen king and his life changes forever.
Driven by the Shaman’s dying words, Khirro’s journey pits him against an army of the dead, sends him through haunted lands, and thrusts him into the jaws of beasts he wouldn’t have believed existed. In one hand he carries the Shaman’s enchanted sword, a weapon he can barely use; in the other he holds a vial of the king’s blood, the hope of the kingdom. His destination: the Necromancer’s keep in the cursed land of Lakesh. Only the mysterious outlaw magician can raise the king from the dead to save them all from the undead invasion, but can Khirro live ling enough to deliver the vial?
Can a coward save a kingdom?
Read Chapter 1 – http://www.tamiparrington.com/2012/09/19/blood-of-the-king-excerpt/
Read Chapter 2 (Part 1) – http://www.writersownwords.com/chantal_boudreau/blog/1783/
Read Chapter 2 (Part 2) – http://bloodskies.com/indie-author-spotlight-bruce-blake-part-2/
Read Chapter 3 – http://gunpowderfantasy.com/2012/09/25/guest-post-blood-of-the-king-excerpt/
Read Chapter 4 – http://www.emilyannward.com/excerpt-blood-of-the-king
Excerpt: Blood of the King
Chapter 5
The soldier sat on the top stair cleaning blood from his sword, listening to the groans of wounded men strewn on the walk around him. He shifted and slid the blade into its scabbard. Men moved along the wall walk making repairs, tending the injured and collecting the dead. Most of them made a wide berth around him, avoiding a man wearing the garb of the king’s guard. A few archers remained at the parapet launching arrows at the retreating Kanosee, but they had pulled back beyond bow range. The fight had been fierce but, despite the wall breach, they’d repelled the invaders.
For now.
Farther down the wall walk, soldiers scavenged the fallen enemy for whatever they might keep or sell. He sneered. How could they act that way? Where was their honor? On the battlefield, in the heat of the fight when life and death were at stake, such things were done for survival, not for personal gain. Bury them or burn them, don’t rob them. He spat in their direction and turned his head away.
When the Kanosee soldiers breached the wall, it had required all his focus to stay alive, and he lost track of the king in the melee. The last time he saw Braymon, he was engaged with one of the monstrosities summoned to swell the Kanosee ranks. The tide of battle engulfed the soldier, distracting him from his assignment until a fresh troop of Erechanians joined the fray, driving the invaders from the wall, setting the ladders alight with urns of burning pitch. The stench of burnt flesh had threatened to empty the soldier’s stomach; he might have known some of those men, as he may have known some he slew himself. When his thoughts had cleared of the fog of battle, the king was gone. The cloaked man wouldn’t be happy he failed, but he’d have other opportunities.
The soldier stood, stretched, and glanced down the stair at the landing below, a glint of sunlight on metal catching his attention. Near the wall, crowded at the corner of the landing, he saw a suit of plate—Erechanian and of high quality, but he couldn’t get a good view. He hurried down the stairs for a closer look.
Puddled blood, dried and brown, stained the landing. He surveyed the scene with a practiced eye and surmised two men had lain here, one gravely injured. His gaze followed the trail of blood descending the stair and the story became clear: one man injured, the other stripped his armor to carry him to safety. The warrior shook his head. How many men died trying to save one fallen soldier when the entire fortress was in peril? He half-smiled at the novice mistake and went to the heap of plate, shifting it with the toe of his boot. Dirty, scuffed, caked with dried blood inside and out. Through the flaking gore and dust of battle, a pattern was evident on the breast plate. He brushed grime away with a gloved hand and revealed a scrollwork of enameled ivy. His eyes widened.
The armor belonged to the king.
It must have been he who was seriously wounded, carried to safety by some faithful soldier. His stomach clenched. How would he find the king and complete his task now? Anger rose in the soldier; he despised failure, had been trained since birth that it meant weakness. A boot scuffed on a stair below and he stood, muscles tensed, hand on sword hilt.
“Ye! What ‘ave we ‘ere?” The man ascending the stairs halted as he saw the soldier standing over the pile of armor. “Anythin’ valuable?”
“Not sure.”
The soldier kept his voice purposely low to draw the man closer. With the king fallen, he had little time. The cloaked man had told him what would happen if the king fell and the Shaman performed his abomination, had explained how they would get out of the fortress. He needed to find a way to intercept them before they got too far. This man might be the way.
“I can’t see, ya damn fool. Move outta me way!”
The soldier shifted, keeping his king’s guard insignia hidden, and made space for the other man to sidle in beside him. The man did as the soldier had moments before, crouching, wiping dirt away for a better look and to gauge the armor’s value. The soldier loosened his dagger in its sheath.
“Gods, look at this. Must be worth a fortune.”
He brushed away more dirt, then stopped, hand hovering above an exposed loop of ivy spilling across the breastplate. The soldier’s dagger slid free.
“What is it?”
“The king,” the man said, a note of shock in his words. He stood, half turning toward the soldier. “It’s the king’s pl–”
The soldier’s blade touched the man’s throat, cutting off his words as the sharp edge pressed flesh hard enough to draw blood.
“Don’t cry out. I’ll open your throat before a sound escapes.”
The man’s eyes widened and his breathing stopped; the soldier knew he’d do whatever he said. This man was no warrior, he clung too tightly to life.
“There are tunnels leading from the fortress. Do you know how to access them?”
The man didn’t respond at first, so the soldier pressed more firmly and a drop of blood rolled down the man’s his neck. He nodded once, a quick, mute movement intended to keep the dagger’s edge from slicing deeper into his throat.
“Take me.” The soldier spun the man around, facing him down the stairs, deftly moving the blade from his throat and inserting the tip through the seam in his leather armor. “Don’t betray me or I’ll gut you like the pig you are.”
They descended to the courtyard five flights below, beads of sweat running down the man’s neck, mixing with the blood. They were nearly at the bottom when the man next spoke.
“Why? Why do you betray your king?”
“Not my king,” the soldier growled and jabbed the knife further into the man’s ribs. “Looks can be deceiving.”
They crossed the courtyard, bodies pressed close hiding the dagger between them. Soldiers and workers passed by, too distracted with their own business of repairs and clean-up to notice anything awry. The soldier breathed deep, inhaling familiar fumes of battle, and raised his eyes to the sun. Many hours yet remained in the day, encouraging him. He’d find the king.
His mission would yet be completed.
September 27, 2012
Excerpt: Blood of the King (Khirro’s Journey Book 1) Chapter 4
The time is almost here. Just a few more days until Blood of the King hits Kindle’s virtual shelves. Sunday is the day!
Blood of the King (Khirro’s Journey Book 1)
Some heroes are born; some are created in the most dire of circumstances, forged in fire or carved of stone. Some don’t want to be heroes.
Khirro never wanted to be anything more than the farmer he was born to be, but a Shaman’s curse binds him to the fallen king and his life changes forever.
Driven by the Shaman’s dying words, Khirro’s journey pits him against an army of the dead, sends him through haunted lands, and thrusts him into the jaws of beasts he wouldn’t have believed existed. In one hand he carries the Shaman’s enchanted sword, a weapon he can barely use; in the other he holds a vial of the king’s blood, the hope of the kingdom. His destination: the Necromancer’s keep in the cursed land of Lakesh. Only the mysterious outlaw magician can raise the king from the dead to save them all from the undead invasion, but can Khirro live ling enough to deliver the vial? Can a coward save a kingdom?
Read Chapter 1 – http://www.tamiparrington.com/2012/09/19/blood-of-the-king-excerpt/
Read Chapter 2 (Part 1) – http://www.writersownwords.com/chantal_boudreau/blog/1783/
Read Chapter 2 (Part 2) – http://bloodskies.com/indie-author-spotlight-bruce-blake-part-2/
Read Chapter 3 – http://gunpowderfantasy.com/2012/09/25/guest-post-blood-of-the-king-excerpt/
Excerpt: Blood of the King
Chapter 4
The healer dabbed a poultice on the short gash above Khirro’s right eye. Whatever he applied to the wounds felt like nothing Khirro had experienced before—the cuts and bruises tingled with an unsettling but not unpleasant warmth; his flesh convulsed and quivered each time the poultice touched him. In his head, he heard his mother telling his four-year-old-self the story of a wizard who befriended a boy so he could cook him in a pie to feed his pet troll for dessert. In the story, the boy found himself in that predicament because he hadn’t listened to his mother, of course.
At that moment, Khirro could identify with the boy in the story.
“Relax,” the healer said noticing the tension in his limbs. “I will not hurt you.”
Khirro let out a shuddering breath, forcing his muscles to unknot. Despite being only inches away, the darkness shrouding the healer’s face revealed nothing. Occasionally, Khirro thought he saw a glint as torchlight caught the healer’s eye, but it was gone so quickly, he couldn’t be sure he saw even that.
“You needn’t take me with you, Master Sha– Master Healer,” Khirro said. “The king saved my life. I wouldn’t betray him.”
With Rudric and Gendred gone bearing the king’s body away in a canvas sack, the room gathered his words and cast them into the space above to reverberate in the ceiling. The Shaman finished up with the gash on his forehead and moved to an abrasion on his cheek.
“None can know of our journey.” He leaned close and Khirro smelled the scent of his breath: sweet and musty, acrid and mild—mint, cinnamon, and mold. It changed with each word so Khirro couldn’t identify any one odor. “It may not seem it, given our destination, but I take you with us to protect you.”
“But I’d never tell.”
“If you are with us, there is no chance a pint of ale or a pretty girl loosens your tongue. There are those who would do anything to find out what you know.”
Khirro shifted uncomfortably at the healer’s words. “I have a lady who’s with child. Can’t I return to her, leave this all behind.?”
The healer paused as though considering his request. The thought of returning home bolstered Khirro only slightly. There would be struggles there, too, but of a vastly different nature.
“Our enemies are resourceful. It will not be long before they discover the king has fallen. If your involvement is discovered, neither you nor your family is safe. It is better for all if you are with us.”
“But what if they find out anyway? They could still go after my family.”
“For what, Khirro? You would never know they threatened those you love, so they would gain nothing from it.”
Khirro noticed tension crawling back into his muscles at the Shaman’s words: for his family to be safe, he must allow them to drag him to the cursed earth of Lakesh. The healer returned to his ministrations while Khirro’s thoughts strayed to Emeline. The thought of her made his heart ache. He wondered if he’d see her again, if they would ever live their lives together—a question in need of answer whether the haunted land lurked in his future or not.
“Why Lakesh, Master Healer?”
“You watched as I drew the last living blood from the king.” He moved his attention to a cut on Khirro’s forearm. “With this, the king may be raised from the fields of the dead, but I have not the skills to perform such acts. Only the Necromancer possesses such ability.”
“But…Lakesh. Is there no one else?”
Khirro shuddered. Lakesh—the haunted land, the cursed earth, country of magic and shadows and evil. The name alone instilled fear. People said no man who crossed the Little Sea into Lakesh ever returned.
“There is only one Necromancer, can only ever be one, and he is the only one who can do what needs be done. You will be safe with me, for I have safe passage through the dark land. Darestat was once my master, you see.”
Khirro’s eyes widened although this revelation no longer surprised him. “So it’s true. You’re more than a Master Healer.”
“Yes. I am Bale, the king’s Shaman.”
“Did the king know?”
“Of course. It was the king’s plan to be raised if he fell. The drawing of lifeblood is something no mere healer can do.”
The Shaman rolled Khirro on his side facing the wall to work on his back, applying the poultice and murmuring the occasional unrecognizable word under his breath. His cold, strong hands made Khirro tense as they fell silent again. The dark magic made his hurts feel better, but what would it mean in the future? Could it taint him? If he could walk away from this evil, he would, but doing so would mean his life, maybe others.
When he completed his work, the Shaman stood and gestured for Khirro to do the same. With teeth gritted against the expected pain, Khirro pushed himself first to a sitting position, then rose to his feet. His tendons creaked, joints popped, but his injuries felt like they had occurred a week or more before and were in the final stages of healing.
“How…?” he began but stopped. This is magic. He didn’t want to know any more about it.
“The entire kingdom is in your debt, though they may never know it.”
Khirro’s lips twitched into a self-conscious smile. Despite the fear and shame, confusion and embarrassment, pride dwelled within him. He had done something heroic, hadn’t he? Someone else might have left the king there, but he’d done the right thing.
The door swung open, startling Khirro out of his self-congratulation, and Rudric and Gendred entered, their faces damp with sweat.
“The deed is done,” Rudric said in a reverent tone. Gendred said nothing, his face frozen in the same stern expression that never seemed to leave it.
“And none saw you? The body will not be discovered?”
“There is naught to find but ashes and bone,” Gendred snapped and cast a seething glance at Khirro. “You needn’t question me, Shaman.”
The air in the room became heavy and thick. To avoid confrontation, Khirro went to where his clothes and armor lay in a heap. He dressed hurriedly, promising himself to wash the acidic smell of urine from his breeches the first time they were near water. He pulled his leather cuirass on, cinching the straps when a thought came to him.
“Armor.”
The three men looked at him; Khirro raised his eyes from his buckles as they regarded him.
“The king’s armor lays abandoned on the stairs to the North tower.”
Gendred spat a curse into the cloying air. The Shaman moved toward the door, robe swaying with the movement. He waved his hand, rippling the air, and stood rigid, staring at the door.
“It is too late. We must go.”
Gendred glowered at Khirro, plainly blaming him for the oversight. Khirro averted his eyes from the grim-faced warrior, directing his attention instead to fumbling with the straps of his cuirass. He nearly jumped when a hand touched his shoulder. He looked up nervously, fearing retribution, but it was Rudric standing before him, not Gendred.
“It’s all right. You did what needed to be done. No man could expect more.” He stepped back to survey Khirro. “You lost your helm and sword in the fight.”
“What good is a sword to a farmer?” Gendred snorted.
Rudric ignored him. “I’ll get you replacements.”
Khirro nodded, thanking him with a barely perceptible smile. The officer of the Kingsblade stole from the room, returning moments later with a short sword and an open-faced helm. Rudric handed them to him with a shrug.
“Closest I could find. The previous owner won’t miss them.”
“Thank you.” Khirro wondered who the previous owner had been and what happened to him. “You needn’t have troubled yourself.”
“You’re a hero of the kingdom.” Rudric put his hand on Khirro’s shoulder again. “It’s no trouble.”
Gendred interrupted their exchange with a disgusted grunt. “How do you propose to leave this place, Shaman? Shall we march out the door to the rear gate? Two officers, a magic man and a farmer shouldn’t attract much attention.”
The Shaman ignored Gendred’s baiting and moved to the wall at the back of the room.
“The king’s armor has been discovered,” Gendred continued. “Perhaps they’ll return it to us, then hang us as traitors to the crown.”
“Hold your tongue for once, Gendred,” Rudric said, his tone calm but icy, the voice of command. Gendred sneered but fell silent. Watching their exchange, even Khirro saw the hostility between them seething beneath the surface. Perhaps only duty kept them from each others’ throats.
The Shaman raised his arms, the wide sleeves of his robe falling back from long fingers, veins showing blue beneath translucent flesh. He muttered indistinguishable words, then placed his hand on first one stone, then another, then a third. A section of wall before him swung inward revealing a passage leading into darkness. Khirro squinted but inky blackness devoured the light only a few feet beyond the opening. The Shaman didn’t say anything, didn’t tell them to follow, he simply stepped across the threshold into the passage. The dark engulfed him as completely as it did the light from the torches, making it seem like the black-clad healer vanished.
Gendred took a torch from its wall sconce and plunged into the passage after the Shaman, the flame barely holding the darkness at bay. Rudric plucked another torch from the wall and ushered Khirro into the passage before him.
Damp, cool air touched Khirro’s face. It smelled of earth and mold, of ancient times and long gone people. The passageway must have lain unused for many years, maybe centuries, forgotten.
What other secrets does the Shaman keep?
Khirro put one tentative foot in front of the other, eyes on Gendred’s torch bobbing ahead of him, Rudric’s torch close behind lighting his way. He looked over his shoulder, past the officer, and saw the dull gray square of doorway disappear as the wall swung closed with the sound of rock grinding on rock, shutting out the room, closing on his life and everything he knew.
September 25, 2012
Excerpt: Blood of the King Chapter 3
Less than a week and you can read the whole thing instead of just one chapter at a time.
Blood of the King (Khirro’s Journey Book 1)
A vial of blood, a Shaman’s curse. A haunted land, monstrous beasts. A journey to save a kingdom.
Khirro never wanted to be anything more than the farmer he was born to be, but a Shaman’s curse binds him to the fallen king and his life changes forever.
Driven by the Shaman’s dying words, Khirro’s journey pits him against an army of the dead, sends him through haunted lands, and thrusts him into the jaws of beasts he wouldn’t have believed existed. In one hand he carries the Shaman’s enchanted sword, a weapon he can barely use; in the other he holds a vial of the king’s blood, the hope of the kingdom. His destination: the Necromancer’s keep in the cursed land of Lakesh. Only the mysterious outlaw magician can raise the king from the dead to save them all from the undead invasion, but can Khirro live long enough to deliver the vial?
Can a coward save a kingdom?
Read Chapter 1 – http://www.tamiparrington.com/2012/09/19/blood-of-the-king-excerpt/
Read Chapter 2 (Part 1) – http://www.writersownwords.com/chantal_boudreau/blog/1783/
Read Chapter 2 (Part 2) – http://bloodskies.com/indie-author-spotlight-bruce-blake-part-2/
Excerpt: Blood of the King
Chapter 3
The face of the dead warrior floated before Khirro’s eyes, lipless mouth pulled into a sneer, yellow teeth sharp and dangerous. Blood and pus seeped from its eyes and nostrils forming drops at the tip of its putrid nose. One drop lengthened into a string, separated, and landed square in the middle of Khirro’s forehead.
Khirro woke with a start, eye lids snapping open, breath short. There was no dead man threatening him, no rotted face, no blood-splashed mail. Instead, guttering torches threw dancing shadows against the walls of a windowless room. Khirro struggled to control his breathing and kept his head down as he lay on the dirt floor. From behind hooded eyes he observed figures moving, but who or how many, he didn’t know. His first memory was of the monstrous Kanosee soldier, then he recalled the black-robed man. And there had been others.
Khirro inched his hand toward the dirk hidden in his boot-top but pain in his shoulder kept him from drawing it—dislocated, perhaps broken. With no other choice, Khirro lay at the mercy of whoever dragged him here. After all that had happened, it didn’t surprise him he felt more relief than fear.
One figure he saw and recognized—the body of the king prone in the middle of the floor. Minutes passed and he came to realize there were three other men in the room. The black-robed figure bent over the king, whispering and gesturing. The king’s healer, he guessed. A shiver ran the length of Khirro’s spine. Rumor said this man was more than just a healer, something darker and deadlier who dabbled in arts outlawed in Erechania. Khirro hadn’t believed the stories until the flash of light felled his undead pursuer.
The other two men wore heavy armor. The taller of the two wore silver and gold plate embossed with the crossed sword and lightning insignia of the Kingsblade—the King’s personal guard—the other’s armor was plain black plate marked and dented with use.
“Little life remains in the king,” the healer said without looking up. “Give me the vial, Gendred.”
The man in black plate pulled a glass vial from his belt and passed it to the healer. Gendred. Khirro had heard the name but never seen the man—few had, fewer had and lived. He was a Shadowman, one of an elite group of fighter-assassins Khirro had thought more fable than reality. On quiet watches, fantastic tales of the Shadowmen passed from soldier to soldier, building their legend. It became the goal of any good warrior to be drafted into their brotherhood. The thought never crossed Khirro’s mind.
“The boy lives,” Gendred growled looking sideways at Khirro, his pock-marked face turned down in a sour look. Nothing about him looked friendly.
“Leave him,” the healer said. “I’ll deal with him later.”
He held his hand above the king’s head, a whispered chant of rhythmic cadence coming from beneath the darkened hood. Khirro shifted to watch, his movement drawing a glare from the Shadowman. The third man stood against the far wall, arms folded across his chest, concern showing in the blue eyes peering from beneath bushy red brows.
The healer’s chant increased in volume, his pale hand shook. He spoke dusty, archaic words foreign to Khirro, unsettling, and he squirmed on the dirt floor in spite of himself. The king’s eyes stared wide and glassy at the high ceiling as it collected oily smoke twisting up from the torches. To Khirro, it looked as though Braymon had already passed to the fields of the dead, but the healer’s incantation continued.
The king gasped, his body jerked.
Startled, Khirro jumped, a bolt of pain lancing through his arm. The healer held the vial between thumb and index finger over Braymon’s torso, open end toward the king. Braymon’s back arched as though drawn toward the vial and Khirro held his breath. Gendred and the man of the Kingsblade watched silently. Above the king’s head, the healer’s hand quaked; the hand holding the vial remained steady.
It was just a single drop first, so small Khirro barely noticed. Another drop followed, then another. Khirro drew a sharp breath as the droplets expanded to a thin stream flowing from the king upward to the vial. Somehow, the blood from the king’s wounds collected at his midsection, concentrating in one place to defy the Gods’ laws. The fine stream of blood filled the vial as the healer continued chanting.
The container approached fullness and the stream waned, became droplets again, then stopped. The healer kept chanting as he turned the vial right side up, then his words ceased. The king’s body spasmed then moved no more, the end of the healer’s words releasing him to the fields of the dead. The officer of the Kingsblade and Gendred bowed their heads and kept their silence. Sadness gripped Khirro’s chest, surprising him.
“Weep not for your king,” the healer said as he stood. He drew a cork from somewhere in his sleeve and capped the vial then waved his fingers around it and spoke more foreign words. Then he said, “All I need to retrieve the king from the fields of the dead is here in my hand.”
The warriors raised their eyes. Khirro wiped a tear from his face, hoping the men hadn’t seen, and looked at the vial, too. The flickering torchlight lent it a dull crimson glow.
“We must dispose of the king’s flesh,” the healer said. “No one can know the king has fallen.”
“What of this one, then, Shaman?”
Gendred gestured toward Khirro, speaking of him as though he wasn’t in the room, but Khirro barely noticed.
The rumors about the healer are true.
The healer turned his gaze toward Khirro. Something flickered beneath the cowl, impossibly far away. A shiver galloped up Khirro’s spine.
“What is your name, soldier?”
“Kh-Khirro.”
“Khirro has done the kingdom a great service.” He paused as the torches flickered and spat in their sconces, then continued, his voice quiet, serious. “You have seen much.”
Khirro shook his head.
They mean to kill me.
But he’d risked his life to bring the king to them, surely that meant something. He fought the urge to crawl away from their gazes, to seek refuge in a shadowy corner of the room.
“I won’t tell anyone,” he squeaked.
The healer chuckled, a sound like stone rubbed against stone.
“Of course you won’t,” he said still looking at Khirro. Then, over his shoulder to the other men: “Bring him with us.”
Khirro’s chest felt as though it dropped into his stomach.
Bring him with us? Bring me where?
He stared into the blackness beneath the hood, searching for answers, but it revealed nothing. A horrible feeling flooded his aching body, one he’d never have expected: he found himself thinking he’d have been better off at the end of the monster’s axe.
“That wouldn’t be wise,” the Shadowman said without looking at Khirro. His voice held the taut tone of a man containing his anger. It wouldn’t be long before Khirro realized it sounded thus because it was the truth of it. “He looks more farmer than fighter.”
“But he’s a trained soldier of the king’s army,” the other man said and Khirro realized he knew him. They called him Rudric. He’d been one of the men leading Khirro’s training.
“Hmph. He’ll slow us down at best, more likely get us killed. I have no desire to waste my time saving his skin at every turn.”
Blood rushed to Khirro’s face. He’d managed to get the king here with a monstrous creature at his heels. Didn’t that prove he was no longer a novice? He opened his mouth to protest the Shadowman’s words but snapped it shut remembering his blunders on the wall walk which had led to Braymon’s death. His ego shrank like a snail pulling its head into its shell.
“He has seen too much for us to leave him,” Rudric said.
Does he mean they should spare me or kill me?
“And he’ll be a burden if we take him,” Gendred added.
He means to kill me.
The healer looked at them. “Would you kill the man who has kept hope alive? Would you kill the man who has given us the opportunity to bring back our king?”
Gendred opened his mouth to protest, but the healer raised a hand, stopping him. The vial was gone from his grasp, disappeared somewhere into his robe.
“Bring him with us.”
Rudric nodded, accepting the healer’s command, but Gendred remained motionless, the muscles of his jaw flexing as he ground his teeth.
“Bring me where?” Khirro fought hard to keep his voice from trembling.
“We are bound for Lakesh,” the healer answered.
Khirro’s breath caught in his throat.
Lakesh. The haunted land.
