Again, it's Sundering Sunday!
It’s SUNDERING SUNDAY!
That’s because THE REAVER: THE SUNDERING BOOK IV releases on Tuesday, February 4th, and as we count down to that, I’m posting an excerpt from the novel each Sunday.
The publisher has posted the first chapter. You can find that here:
https://www.wizards.com/dnd/Product.aspx?x=dnd/products/frnovel/reaver
You can also find two previous excerpts here on my blog.
In today’s excerpt, Stedd Whitehorn, the young Chosen of Lathander, is back on the streets of Westgate. Unfortunately, he’s traversing them in the company of some unsavory characters.
It was more difficult to catch scents in the rain. But the walleyed man was bleeding despite his efforts to stanch the flow, and if there was anything a vampire could smell even in adverse conditions, it was blood. In fact, even though Kymas wasn’t particularly thirsty, the aroma had been tantalizing him ever since he’d come into contact with the mortal.
When the smell thickened, it told him the man was sneaking up behind him. He whirled to discover a dagger in the wretch’s hand.
The remainder of Kymas’s time in Westgate might run more smoothly if Stedd didn’t realize his true nature until they left port. So he took the trouble to block the thrust. He didn’t do it particularly skillfully. The blade would almost certainly have cut his hand if common steel were capable of doing so. But he hoped Lathander’s Chosen couldn’t tell that.
Kymas looked into his assailant’s eyes and froze him in place. Only for a moment, but that was time enough for a vampire to draw his own dirk and stab the mortal in the heart.
The red, coppery scent in the air intensified from piquant to maddening. For a moment, Kymas positively ached to grab the mortal and at least taste him before the alchemy of death transmuted the precious elixir in his veins to worthless dross. He willed the urge if not the desire away and pivoted toward his remaining companions.
Obviously, Dalabrac had trusted his confederate to dispose of Kymas; he was hovering over Stedd in case the outbreak of violence prompted the lad to bolt. But as the walleyed man collapsed to the cobbles, the halfling snatched one of his blowpipes from its hiding place.
Meanwhile, Stedd looked wildly back and forth. It was entirely possible he hadn’t noticed Dalabrac’s partner creeping up behind Kymas and didn’t know which of them had been the aggressor.
Kymas flicked his tongue over his fangs to make absolutely sure they weren’t extended, then gave the boy a reassuring smile. “It’s all right, son. As I’m sure you suspected, Anton Marivaldi lied to you. He and these other knaves still meant to sell you to the church of Umberlee. But I won’t let them.”
“Don’t believe him,” Dalabrac said. “One of my friends died to rescue you. By now, there’s a fair chance Anton has, too. And if that weren’t sacrifice enough, this pasty squirt of dung just murdered Darstag. You saw it for yourself!”
“I acted in self-defense,” Kymas replied with a twinge of amusement. As things had worked out, that assertion was actually true.
“No. This is self-defense.” Dalabrac blew into the blowpipe.
Kymas expected a poisoned dart or some other mundane weapon to which vampires were impervious. But to preserve his masquerade of mortality, he twisted to the side.
A puff of dust emerged from the end of the pipe. Then, with an earsplitting screech, it instantly congealed into a floating chain. Still shrieking, the links hurtled at Kymas, and he recoiled another step. The chain spun around the space he’d just vacated and yanked itself tight. As it had nothing to bind in its coils, the result was simply to jerk itself straight.
Because he recognized the spell, which some enchanter had seen fit to store in dust-and-blowpipe form, Kymas knew the magic had yet to run its course, and as expected, the screaming chain lashed at his head like a flail. He raised his arm to block.
The impact stung, but it didn’t stagger or stun him as it might have a lesser being. As the chain whirled back for a second stroke, he rattled off the first words of a counterspell to expunge it from existence.
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
Or here:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-reaver-richard-lee-byers/1115479179?ean=9780786964581
That’s because THE REAVER: THE SUNDERING BOOK IV releases on Tuesday, February 4th, and as we count down to that, I’m posting an excerpt from the novel each Sunday.
The publisher has posted the first chapter. You can find that here:
https://www.wizards.com/dnd/Product.aspx?x=dnd/products/frnovel/reaver
You can also find two previous excerpts here on my blog.
In today’s excerpt, Stedd Whitehorn, the young Chosen of Lathander, is back on the streets of Westgate. Unfortunately, he’s traversing them in the company of some unsavory characters.
It was more difficult to catch scents in the rain. But the walleyed man was bleeding despite his efforts to stanch the flow, and if there was anything a vampire could smell even in adverse conditions, it was blood. In fact, even though Kymas wasn’t particularly thirsty, the aroma had been tantalizing him ever since he’d come into contact with the mortal.
When the smell thickened, it told him the man was sneaking up behind him. He whirled to discover a dagger in the wretch’s hand.
The remainder of Kymas’s time in Westgate might run more smoothly if Stedd didn’t realize his true nature until they left port. So he took the trouble to block the thrust. He didn’t do it particularly skillfully. The blade would almost certainly have cut his hand if common steel were capable of doing so. But he hoped Lathander’s Chosen couldn’t tell that.
Kymas looked into his assailant’s eyes and froze him in place. Only for a moment, but that was time enough for a vampire to draw his own dirk and stab the mortal in the heart.
The red, coppery scent in the air intensified from piquant to maddening. For a moment, Kymas positively ached to grab the mortal and at least taste him before the alchemy of death transmuted the precious elixir in his veins to worthless dross. He willed the urge if not the desire away and pivoted toward his remaining companions.
Obviously, Dalabrac had trusted his confederate to dispose of Kymas; he was hovering over Stedd in case the outbreak of violence prompted the lad to bolt. But as the walleyed man collapsed to the cobbles, the halfling snatched one of his blowpipes from its hiding place.
Meanwhile, Stedd looked wildly back and forth. It was entirely possible he hadn’t noticed Dalabrac’s partner creeping up behind Kymas and didn’t know which of them had been the aggressor.
Kymas flicked his tongue over his fangs to make absolutely sure they weren’t extended, then gave the boy a reassuring smile. “It’s all right, son. As I’m sure you suspected, Anton Marivaldi lied to you. He and these other knaves still meant to sell you to the church of Umberlee. But I won’t let them.”
“Don’t believe him,” Dalabrac said. “One of my friends died to rescue you. By now, there’s a fair chance Anton has, too. And if that weren’t sacrifice enough, this pasty squirt of dung just murdered Darstag. You saw it for yourself!”
“I acted in self-defense,” Kymas replied with a twinge of amusement. As things had worked out, that assertion was actually true.
“No. This is self-defense.” Dalabrac blew into the blowpipe.
Kymas expected a poisoned dart or some other mundane weapon to which vampires were impervious. But to preserve his masquerade of mortality, he twisted to the side.
A puff of dust emerged from the end of the pipe. Then, with an earsplitting screech, it instantly congealed into a floating chain. Still shrieking, the links hurtled at Kymas, and he recoiled another step. The chain spun around the space he’d just vacated and yanked itself tight. As it had nothing to bind in its coils, the result was simply to jerk itself straight.
Because he recognized the spell, which some enchanter had seen fit to store in dust-and-blowpipe form, Kymas knew the magic had yet to run its course, and as expected, the screaming chain lashed at his head like a flail. He raised his arm to block.
The impact stung, but it didn’t stagger or stun him as it might have a lesser being. As the chain whirled back for a second stroke, he rattled off the first words of a counterspell to expunge it from existence.
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
Or here:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-reaver-richard-lee-byers/1115479179?ean=9780786964581
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