A Glimpse of The Taskmaster
In honour of three weeks to go until the release on Amazon of my final Plot Bandits novel, The Taskmaster, I thought I would offer up a little glimpse of what is to come by presenting an extract from the book itself! I hope it whets the appetite a bit. :)
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Her gaze quickly raked the ranksof the men left behind. Most looked nervous. Some looked angry. Many lookedshocked. But none looked particularly inclined to be the first to step up andlead the charge in Sentinel’s place. Flirt fought not to punch the air. It wasworking! Facing a choice between their orders and the fundamental rules oftheir life—they were hesitating. They were thinking! And once the thinking hadstarted…
“You!” Preen’s harsh exclamationcut into her thoughts—she glanced up to find that he had wheeled dramaticallyon Midlin, marching up to his bland-faced new field captain with fire in his eyes.“You do it then! Get some men and attack them!”
But Midlin was staring at him.Midlin the obedient, Midlin the unimaginative, Midlin who lived and breathedorders from a higher power, was making no move to obey. His chin was tremblingslightly.
“Is it in the instructions?” hesaid desperately.
Preen blinked. “What?”
Midlin’s hands were starting toshake as well. “The instructions…” he managed, his monotone voicesuddenly wavering. “Theinstructions must be obeyed.”
Preen manically rolled his eyes.“I’m giving you instructions, you ridiculous man! Get some men and attackthem!”
“But…”Midlin’s face contortedpainfully. “But you don’t have the book. Instructions comefrom the book. And if you don’t have the book…”His lips quivered. “How do you know what the instructions would say?”
Preen exploded. “I just do!”
“But…but the First Rule!” Midlin’swords stammered out of blood-drained features. Sweat pooled on his brow. “Theinstructions always follow the First Rule and…ack!”
Preen lunged like a cobra. Longfingers clamped around the front of Midlin’s mail shirt and, fuelled by thestrength of frustrated rage, he hauled the Disposable up onto tiptoes and shookhim like a ragdoll.
“Will! You! Just! Do! As! I! Say!!!”he roared into Midlin’s bland face, punctuating each word with a violent shake.Even as the Disposable stared at him in bewildered horror, Preen flexed hiswrists and hurled his victim down into a heap on the grass, stalking forwardwith fists clenched as he towered like a beanpole over the hunched, shadowedfigure before him.
“Enough of this firstrule!” he screeched. “Enough questions! Enough disobedience!”One hand lashed out, grasping the now terrified-looking Midlin and dragginghim onto his knees. “You will get to your feet!” With another yank,Midlin was forced to stagger upright. “You will fetch somemen!” Hauling the Disposable by the armpit, Preen strode across the grass withMidlin stumbling in his wake. Ahead, the massed ranks of the Disposablesrippled backwards like a breath of wind in an effort to subtly retreat from hispath, but Preen was clearly in no mood to be merciful—he tore into the frontrank, snatching and shoving as one after another, bemused armoured figures werethrust tumbling forwards. “And now!” Preen’s voice slashed throughthe air like a saw-edged blade. “You will damned well attack themor you will share their damnable fate!” His manic eyes swung from one startledface to the next, his jaw clenched and his face twisted as his voice rocketedup several octaves. “Now!”
The small, befuddled clutch of adozen or so men exchanged wary looks with each other. Flirt could see themrolling the choices over in their minds—did they attack a band that theyoutnumbered, though not by much, and risk the wrath of the First Rule? Or didthey disobey the incandescently furious form of Preen, who looked about readyto rip them into tiny pieces with his fingernails?
Tough choice, lads …
And it was time to make ittougher. “Stay back, boys,” Flirt called to her Disposable companions, drawing herbeautiful and significantly heroic-looking sword from its sheath. “If theycome, I’ll take them alone.”
Ouch. The stricken looks onthose poor lads’ faces were actually painful to behold. But Donk was right. Oneman—or woman—holding a lone defence with a very shiny sword meant nobody wanted to go first.
But behind them, there wasPreen, panting like a rabid dog and looking fully prepared to rip out theirlivers and eat them. Slowly, and with undisguised reluctance, Midlin and hisunfortunate troop began to edge their way forwards.
Flirt didn’t edge. Flirtstrutted. Flirt sauntered. Flirt worked her wrist so that her sword arched incasual circles in front of her as she closed towards them, playing every inchthe Narrative threat.
Fight or flight, boys, fight or flight …
She knew she should want them toflee. Running would mean a snap of Preen’s control, a break from hisever-tenuous command and her chance to step in. But at the same time…she hadn’t had a decent scrap in a littlewhile, and with her shocking lapse and head wound from last night, she wantedto be sure she was back up to speed.
But which way would they jump?Which way would it…
“Will you get on with it?”
And as though the screech ofPreen’s voice had galvanised his very blood, one of the reluctant Disposableshefted his short sword above his head and, with a desperate, high-pitched,almost plaintive screech, he charged.
With a simple flourish, Flirtdeflected his down-swinging blade, ducking aside as she pushed the blow aside.She caught a glimpse of his pale, wretched face, sweat-stained and miserable ashe brought his sword back up for a fresh assault, but Flirt had alreadyanticipated the move, slashing the blade away as her foot rose with awell-aimed, upwards knee strike. As her opponent whimpered, she shoved him intoa heap on the ground and turned.
And her next attacker was there.Spurred on by the brave stupidity of his comrade, the bulky figure of aGarrison soldier had lowered his halberd and stormed at her like a charging bull.Flirt sidestepped the move, knocking the blade down as she extended her footand sent the soldier tumbling head over heels. Ignoring the jarring pain in herknee that resulted, she brought up her sword quickly to catch the descendingaxe of a tatty City Watchman, a sweaty, unshaven figure who pressed down hardas he fought to use his strength to buckle her. A frantic, half-toothed,halitosis-riddled grin flashed across his face.
“You know!” he gasped outloudly. “I like a girl with—”
Flirt’s teeth gritted. “You eventhink about saying spirit, arse-wipe, and I’ll rip off your ears andmake you swallow them!”
She thrust upwards, slammingboth axe and sword blade into the Watchman’s chin. He staggered, reelingbackwards, and slumped to the ground. Several more of his teeth lay scatteredin the grass beside him.
Sword clenched in her fist andtrying to ignore the painful throb of her healing head, Flirt turned as amail-clad Buccaneer stumbled forwards uncomfortably, his moustached faceriddled with disconcertion as he struggled to work with a sword so unlike hisfamiliar cutlass. He started to charge and…
“Wait, wait! Stop! Stop it!”
The Buccaneer staggered to ahalt. And Flirt stared.
What the …?
For Preen it was who had shouted—Preen,who had harangued and bullied them into making this attack, who had suddenlyscreamed it to a halt. He was staring at the cluster of eight or nine remainingDisposables with an incredulous look on his face.
“What are you doing?” he exclaimed,his voice rich in disbelief.
Midlin and his remaining menexchanged a series of uncertain glances.
“Ummm…”one of the remaining Garrison soldiers ventured. “Attacking her? Like you told us to?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Preen wavedaway this statement of the obvious with one dismissive hand. “But I meant youshould rush her together and butcher her as one! Why, why, for pity’ssake, do you insist on running in to get slaughtered one at a time?”
“Well.” The Garrison man glancedaround at his companions for support but all of them, including Midlin, hadsuddenly discovered an intense fascination with their shoes. “Because of the SecondRule?”
Preen’s expression, such as itwas possible to interpret the range of twisting emotions that arched across hisfeatures, could best be described as dangerous.
“Second Rule?” he drawled darkly.
“Yeah.” The unfortunate Garrisonman swallowed hard at the black menace in the Courtier’s eyes. “You know? Whena superior force attacks a lesser band, they…” His voice faltered under the onslaughtof Preen’s glare but bravely,or perhaps foolishly, he ploughed on through his sentence. “They…theymust…always attack…one…one at…oneat a time?”
Preen stared at him. His eyesflicked around the range of nodding heads and thoughtful expressions andslowly, but very noticeably, they bulged in their sockets.
“What…” he said, his voice a very distinct and verydesperate whisper, “…is the matter withyou people?”
