All Flames Cast – Eritan I

And here, for all to read, is chapter three.

The hallway stretching before Eritan of Near Jinda, Anointed Protector of the Flame, Emperor of Letaal, was a spray of color. Very few men knew that it existed, or rather, knew that it was anything like it truly was. The colors of nearly every flame known to Pirinism were present, in one way or another. The floor tiles twisted in a pattern of blue and white, befitting the hottest part of any flame; reds and yellows and oranges adorned every tapestry and every cornice. There was no black, which would have stunned any commoner.

Eritan smiled to himself, grim, and held that thought. No black. Not even those blasted black-robed priests were allowed in these hallowed halls. Only those he invited personally could tread upon these floors. And the Dragon Guard, of course, but he hardly noticed those stalwarts anymore. Two strode behind him, as usual, but he did not need to look at them to know how they would look. Stoic, to a man, the Dragon Guard held his life close and would die on a whim. They were the best in the Empire.

All Flames Cast – Harael I

The next chapter is here for all to read. This follows the second major character in All Flames Cast, the priest Harael.

The late evening spread out over the city of Letaal, trailing shadows over the streets of the Fourth Tier. Harael stared up at the slim slice of the setting sun, just visible over the wall far overhead outside of the Tenth Tier. Below him, he could just see the last light shining upon the uppermost spires of the Cathedral, three tiers down. It felt odd to be traveling so high in the city, but then, this night was not a normal night.

Harael smiled at the thought. No, the winter solstice was far from a usual night in Letaal. Here, in the seat of Imperial power—and the seat of Pirinism—displays of faith were common; only on this most holy of nights, however, did every citizen show his fidelity.

His blue robes swishing around his legs, arms folded into the sleeves, he nodded at the hawker pushing a cart past. A lantern, flickering fitfully in the balmy winter breeze, hung from an awning over his wares. The man beamed back at Harael, clearly overjoyed by the acknowledgement from such a high-ranking priest.

New Novel Piece! – Onyx

The following is the beginning of a scene I wrote for a new fantasy novel, currently titled “Four Shades of a Twilight Kingdom.” Not a whole lot here yet, but this is just the beginning!

Arden sipped from the mug of lager. The bitterness traced its way from his tongue and down his throat; it was a strong, dark brew from the Morari Hills. His favorite brew, in fact, and the reason why he chose Feor as a place to settle down every winter. Only one place brewed it, only one place bought it from that brewery, and only one inn in that town served it.

The Bent Tree would always be his favorite inn, simply for that reason.

He took another sip and surveyed the crowded common room. It was early in the winter, yet, and there were still plenty of travelers on the roads. The first snows wouldn’t hit for another few weeks, this far south.

Loud laughter erupted from the far corner, and conversation dropped for a moment as people turned to look at the drunkard who’d just fallen from his chair. His drinking companions thought it was hysterical, apparently, and were in turn falling over themselves in their hilarity. The spectacle provided brief moments of entertainment for the rest of the patrons before conversations, gambling, and drinking resumed.

Arden was sitting by himself, of course. No one here knew who he was—but they knew he was a regular, and they knew to leave him alone.

They all knew, except for the man who stumbled by on his way to the bar and knocked over Arden’s beer.

He had the man bent over, face down, and arm twisted behind his back before the pitiful protest emerged from his mouth. Arden leaned in close and informed him that he would be purchasing another beer, to replace the one he so rudely upended.

The man hurried to agree, nodding his head as much as his current position allowed him. Arden let him go, pleased to see that he was, after all, an agreeable man.

His drinking companions were not. Arden felt a tap on his shoulder and turned slowly, his eyes automatically sizing up the three ruffians confronting him. He noticed that conversations seemed to have died throughout the room once again.

“What can I do for you fine gentlemen this evening?” he asked, mentally noting the knives hanging from their belts.

The one on the left answered in a gravelly voice. He did not slur his words, and Arden saw that he, at least, was not drunk. “You can apologize for attacking my brother.”

Arden glanced over his shoulder at the man who’d only moments earlier knocked over the beer. He was just now standing straight up, massaging his wrenched shoulder. “He’s your brother? Perhaps you should tell your brother to be more careful around other people’s drinks in the future.”

The second brother’s face darkened, and his eyebrows drew together over blue eyes. He scowled down at Arden, judging his shorter height and slender build. “I don’t think you should be talkin’ like that to me, buddy.”

Arden smiled up at him, maintaining his pleasant manner. “I actually think I rather should. You see, if I don’t scare you off like that then people might be hurt in unpleasant ways.”

The brother laughed, and his buddies joined in. “People like you, maybe.”

Arden showed a few more teeth as his smile broadened. This was going to be fun; he could do with some activity to shake the rust off. “Not quite. Do you, perhaps, know who I am?”

With a derisive laugh, the man shook his head. “Does it matter?”

Arden caught the eye of the innkeeper before answering. He gave a respectful nod, understanding Master Hoor’s concern. “It does, but I think it would be better if we discuss this outside. We wouldn’t want to disturb the peace for all of these kind people, would we?”

He saw the big man’s eyes light up, and his heart beat a little faster. Oh yes, he plans on beating me up.

Arden gestured to him to lead the way, and he obliged, with his cronies taking up the rear. Once outside in the crisp early winter night, he spun on Arden. “Now tell me why I should care who you are. You a Lord or something?”

“Not precisely, though I’ve had my share of dealings with them.”

The man snorted. “That supposed to impress me or something? You’re some big wig?”

“No, not that. You see, my name is Arden. Though you may know me better by a different name.”

“And wha’s that?”

“Onyx.”

The mood of the group changed immediately and palpably. The already-cool air dropped to near- freezing temperatures, by the way two of the men rubbed at their arms. The brothers’ eyes widened, reflecting the light escaping the windows of the inn.

After a moment, the bigger—and sober—brother shook his head and took a step forward. “You ain’t him.”

Arden shrugged. “Believe what you will. Just keep that in mind if you decide you need satisfaction for the way I treated your brother in there.”

He hesitated only a moment before leaping at Arden, knife jumping into his outstretched hand.

—————

Arden stepped back inside The Bent Tree and rubbed his hands together, savoring the relative warmth of the common room. Silence covered the room at his appearance without the brothers and their friends.

Only Master Hoor and a few other regulars acted as if nothing was wrong. Everyone else was clearly wondering how he managed to get out of a lopsided fight.

Arden ignored them, and instead looked to Master Hoor. “Another Morari Dark?”

“Coming right up, Master Arden.”

From Dreamscape: An Introduction

The following is the very beginning of my upcoming novel, titled “Dreamscape.” It follows a technician named Steveson….

Steveson rubbed his temples as he bent over his laptop. The pulsing glow of the screen made his eyes throb in the dim light of the lab room. Schematics flashed up at him, detailing the newest breakthrough from his program.

“The satellite manipulation will make things much easier this time around. No more distance restrictions.”

Steveson spun around on his chair to see the Practitioner smiling down at him. The short man did his best to loom in a crisp white suit and completely black sunglasses. Why does he wear them inside? And with the light this low, too….

He cleared his throat. Steveson jumped a little in his chair. “Yes, sir. I recall you had some problems moving equipment close enough to the subjects on the last trial.”

The Practitioner nodded behind his black lenses. “I did. Are you certain that this advancement will solve the problems?”

Steveson swallowed. The emotionless tone in the Practitioner’s voice made sweat bead on his forehead. “Well, without proper field testing, I can’t guarantee anything. If I had a test group and three months, I could give you a definitive answer. Maybe even only two months.”

The Practitioner opened his mouth, but didn’t speak for a moment.

“How many subjects do you need?”

“Five? Maybe six.”

“I will have them delivered here within the week. Do everything you can to make sure the prototypes of the new device will be ready by then.”

Steveson nodded vigorously and turned back to his screen. He watched the reflection of the short man walk out of the room, and light momentarily flashed as he opened the door.

It slammed shut, and Steveson was alone with his thoughts, his sweat, and the design for his new toy.

From Dreamscape: The Dream

The following is a dream segment from the point of view of Arnold, the main character in Dreamscape….

Arnold stretched as he got out of bed. Sunlight streamed in through the cracked shades. He stood there for a moment, luxuriating in the warmth of the rays.

He gazed out the window, across the street. Rows of pine trees stood in neat lines on the other side of the street. The sun sat just above them, a rusty red instead of the normal happy yellow.

Arnold forced himself to move out of the warm sunlight. He grabbed his glasses from the bedside table and left his room.

The clock in the kitchen told him that it was time to make Sunday breakfast. He opened the drawer under the oven and pulled out a pan. Arnold put it on the front burner, turned it on, and sliced a piece of butter. He dropped the butter into the pan and went to get the paper as it melted.

Arnold opened the front door and closed his eyes against the bright sunlight. He felt around with his foot for the paper, and, failing to find it, cracked an eye open.

The first thing he saw was the swing set across the road.

Arnold frowned, wondering why the pine trees weren’t there. In their place was twenty yards of grass. Then the swing set.

And the little black-haired girl sitting on a swing.

She started to lift her head.

Arnold stared, wondering why a girl would be sitting on a swing with her head down, not bothering to push off and swing.

Just before her eyes met his, he blinked.

He opened them again, and she was looking right at him. Her eyes glinted red in the early morning sunlight.

Arnold felt his mouth go dry, but a burning curiosity overcame him. His feet moved of their own accord, even though his mind screamed at them to stop.

He walked across the road and over to the playground. Sand crunched under his feet and grated on his soles as he approached the swing set. The girl simply looked at him the whole time, her eyes reflecting the weird sun overhead. Her dress was the same dull, dark red as the sun.

“What is this place?” he asked. “It can’t be real.”

The girl smiled up at him, though he felt no emotion coming from her. The smile only touched her lips; her eyes remained the same. Arnold stared down into the deep red, drowning in blood and roses and fire.

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