It's Sundering Sunday!
This month, every Sunday is SUNDERING SUNDAY!
That’s because THE REAVER: THE SUNDERING BOOK IV releases on Tuesday, February 4th, and as we count down to that day of glorious authorial triumph (I hope), I’ll post an excerpt from the novel every Sunday (including February 2nd.)
The publisher has already posted the first chapter. You can find that here:
https://www.wizards.com/dnd/Product.aspx?x=dnd/products/frnovel/reaver
Here’s the new excerpt, which picks up right where the first one left off:
Anton awoke lying in the dark with no idea where he was or what had happened to him. He only knew his head was throbbing and he urgently needed to throw up.
Instinct warned him he mustn’t stay on his back lest he end up choking. He tried to roll over onto his side, but something prevented it. In his blind confusion, he couldn’t tell whether it was simply that the agony in his head made him spastic or if something external restrained him.
He strained and finally flopped over just in time to retch out the contents of his stomach. Then he passed out.
When he roused again, it was to a telltale rolling beneath him and light shining through his eyelids. Squinting, he discerned that the glow came from a storm lantern in Naraxes’s upraised hand. They were in the cramped hold of the Iron Jest. The lanky first mate stooped to avoid bumping his head.
Anton’s hands and feet were tied, which had likely contributed to the difficulty he’d experienced turning over. Stedd Whitehorn, the boy prophet, was a few steps away and bound in a similar fashion.
Anton wanted to talk sitting up as opposed to lying in a sticky puddle of his own puke, but when he tried to lift himself, the pain in his head, which had subsided to an almost-tolerable ache, exploded back into full-blown pounding torture. “By the Maiden’s kiss,” he gasped, tears blurring the lantern light, “how many times did you bash me?”
“Just three,” Naraxes said. “Just until I was sure you were out. But then the men kicked you around and stamped on you.”
“Why? Why mutiny at all when I’ve led you to dozens of prizes and we’d just seized the biggest one of all?”
Naraxes hesitated as though he might be feeling the slightest twinge of guilt. “I didn’t plan it. I just . . . lost my temper, and it went on from there. But it’s been coming for a while. You throw our lives away and laugh as the corpses pile up.”
“Maybe no one ever told you this, but a pirate’s trade is inherently dangerous. And I never required anybody to run a risk greater than the ones I ran myself.”
“Still, we’ve followed you as far as we care to.”
“So why let me claim a captain’s share of the price on the young preacher’s head? I follow that much of your logic. But why bring me back aboard? If you’re all so disgruntled, why not finish me off? Or leave me to the pig farmers?”
“You’ll remember the gale you insisted on sailing through. There’s a chance it’s still blowing, or that another will rise, and if we give a life to Umberlee, maybe she’ll show mercy to the rest of us.”
Anton snorted. It made his head throb. “A little treachery is one thing, but now I’m truly disappointed in you. You’ve spent too many years at sea to believe you can bribe the weather, by tossing people overboard or otherwise.”
Naraxes frowned. “Maybe I didn’t always believe it, but I’ve changed along with the world. You haven’t, and that’s another reason to get rid of you. Only captains who truly revere Umberlee—and the crews that follow them—will prosper in the days to come.”
“And reverence involves more than hunting someone down and trading him for a heap of Evendur Highcastle’s gold. Fair enough. But maybe it’s not too late for me. Perhaps you, with your deep understanding of spiritual matters, could instruct me in the mysteries of your faith.”
Naraxes smiled a crooked smile. “Why settle for a mortal teacher when you’ll meet the goddess herself soon enough?”
“Are we absolutely set on that? What if we don’t run into a storm?”
“Then a sacrifice will show our gratitude and keep you from reaching Pirate Isle alive to complain you were ill used. The goddess knows, you have no friends there, not as such, but even so, other captains might object to a mutiny.”
“And here I was consoling myself with the expectation that all Immurk’s Hold would mourn my passing.”
“Not likely. But it still seems easier all around if people believe the pig farmers killed you. Make your peace, Captain. We’ll come and fetch you when it’s time.”
Naraxes turned, hung the lantern over his arm, and climbed the ladder that ascended to the main deck. The hatch creaked open, thumped shut, and utter darkness swallowed the hold once more.
“Well,” Anton murmured, “that could have gone better.” He tried to bring his feet and the hands tied behind his back together.
Pain stabbed down the length of his body. Until this moment, the hammering in his head had masked the full extent of his injuries, but now they announced themselves enthusiastically. He had broken ribs and a broken collarbone for certain, perhaps a broken hip and knee as well, and bruises and swelling everywhere.
But he’d always been strong and limber, and he couldn’t afford to let the damage stop him. His breath rasping between his teeth, he strained uselessly until the self-inflicted torture wrung a cry out of him, and he had no choice but to relent.
Panting, he gathered the resolve to try again. Then he heard something sliding and bumping in his direction.
Still addled with pain, he needed a moment to remember his fellow captive and infer that the boy was crawling toward him. “What?” he croaked.
“I can help you,” Stedd answered. “Just stay still.”
You can preorder THE REAVER: THE SUNDERING BOOK IV here:
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00EGMB6BU/ref=s9_simh_gw_p351_d0_i2?pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_s=center-2&pf_rd_r=1AEKHHJJH4JY5QDXYZ1A&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_p=1630083502&pf_rd_i=507846
That’s because THE REAVER: THE SUNDERING BOOK IV releases on Tuesday, February 4th, and as we count down to that day of glorious authorial triumph (I hope), I’ll post an excerpt from the novel every Sunday (including February 2nd.)
The publisher has already posted the first chapter. You can find that here:
https://www.wizards.com/dnd/Product.aspx?x=dnd/products/frnovel/reaver
Here’s the new excerpt, which picks up right where the first one left off:
Anton awoke lying in the dark with no idea where he was or what had happened to him. He only knew his head was throbbing and he urgently needed to throw up.
Instinct warned him he mustn’t stay on his back lest he end up choking. He tried to roll over onto his side, but something prevented it. In his blind confusion, he couldn’t tell whether it was simply that the agony in his head made him spastic or if something external restrained him.
He strained and finally flopped over just in time to retch out the contents of his stomach. Then he passed out.
When he roused again, it was to a telltale rolling beneath him and light shining through his eyelids. Squinting, he discerned that the glow came from a storm lantern in Naraxes’s upraised hand. They were in the cramped hold of the Iron Jest. The lanky first mate stooped to avoid bumping his head.
Anton’s hands and feet were tied, which had likely contributed to the difficulty he’d experienced turning over. Stedd Whitehorn, the boy prophet, was a few steps away and bound in a similar fashion.
Anton wanted to talk sitting up as opposed to lying in a sticky puddle of his own puke, but when he tried to lift himself, the pain in his head, which had subsided to an almost-tolerable ache, exploded back into full-blown pounding torture. “By the Maiden’s kiss,” he gasped, tears blurring the lantern light, “how many times did you bash me?”
“Just three,” Naraxes said. “Just until I was sure you were out. But then the men kicked you around and stamped on you.”
“Why? Why mutiny at all when I’ve led you to dozens of prizes and we’d just seized the biggest one of all?”
Naraxes hesitated as though he might be feeling the slightest twinge of guilt. “I didn’t plan it. I just . . . lost my temper, and it went on from there. But it’s been coming for a while. You throw our lives away and laugh as the corpses pile up.”
“Maybe no one ever told you this, but a pirate’s trade is inherently dangerous. And I never required anybody to run a risk greater than the ones I ran myself.”
“Still, we’ve followed you as far as we care to.”
“So why let me claim a captain’s share of the price on the young preacher’s head? I follow that much of your logic. But why bring me back aboard? If you’re all so disgruntled, why not finish me off? Or leave me to the pig farmers?”
“You’ll remember the gale you insisted on sailing through. There’s a chance it’s still blowing, or that another will rise, and if we give a life to Umberlee, maybe she’ll show mercy to the rest of us.”
Anton snorted. It made his head throb. “A little treachery is one thing, but now I’m truly disappointed in you. You’ve spent too many years at sea to believe you can bribe the weather, by tossing people overboard or otherwise.”
Naraxes frowned. “Maybe I didn’t always believe it, but I’ve changed along with the world. You haven’t, and that’s another reason to get rid of you. Only captains who truly revere Umberlee—and the crews that follow them—will prosper in the days to come.”
“And reverence involves more than hunting someone down and trading him for a heap of Evendur Highcastle’s gold. Fair enough. But maybe it’s not too late for me. Perhaps you, with your deep understanding of spiritual matters, could instruct me in the mysteries of your faith.”
Naraxes smiled a crooked smile. “Why settle for a mortal teacher when you’ll meet the goddess herself soon enough?”
“Are we absolutely set on that? What if we don’t run into a storm?”
“Then a sacrifice will show our gratitude and keep you from reaching Pirate Isle alive to complain you were ill used. The goddess knows, you have no friends there, not as such, but even so, other captains might object to a mutiny.”
“And here I was consoling myself with the expectation that all Immurk’s Hold would mourn my passing.”
“Not likely. But it still seems easier all around if people believe the pig farmers killed you. Make your peace, Captain. We’ll come and fetch you when it’s time.”
Naraxes turned, hung the lantern over his arm, and climbed the ladder that ascended to the main deck. The hatch creaked open, thumped shut, and utter darkness swallowed the hold once more.
“Well,” Anton murmured, “that could have gone better.” He tried to bring his feet and the hands tied behind his back together.
Pain stabbed down the length of his body. Until this moment, the hammering in his head had masked the full extent of his injuries, but now they announced themselves enthusiastically. He had broken ribs and a broken collarbone for certain, perhaps a broken hip and knee as well, and bruises and swelling everywhere.
But he’d always been strong and limber, and he couldn’t afford to let the damage stop him. His breath rasping between his teeth, he strained uselessly until the self-inflicted torture wrung a cry out of him, and he had no choice but to relent.
Panting, he gathered the resolve to try again. Then he heard something sliding and bumping in his direction.
Still addled with pain, he needed a moment to remember his fellow captive and infer that the boy was crawling toward him. “What?” he croaked.
“I can help you,” Stedd answered. “Just stay still.”
You can preorder THE REAVER: THE SUNDERING BOOK IV here:
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00EGMB6BU/ref=s9_simh_gw_p351_d0_i2?pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_s=center-2&pf_rd_r=1AEKHHJJH4JY5QDXYZ1A&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_p=1630083502&pf_rd_i=507846
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