Tides of Darkness Excerpt

An Excerpt from my forthcoming novel Tides of Darkness - Dance of the Jaldare Book One

Silverdale


Re`anna flinched. Voices on the wind trailed in hushed and secretive tones. How long had it been since anyone had spoken? Hours? The city's bell had tolled on three separate occasions since the wagon rattled through the gates. The last words spoken were those of the gatehouse guards as they queried the destination of the wagon and its cargo and the rebuttals of the wagon’s driver; every word to pass the fiend’s lips a malicious lie. Lies they may have been, but convincing none the less. The inept fools permitted him passage without so much as lifting a single fur on the back of the wagon.

She strained against her bonds - wrists raw and bloodied from the coarse rope fibres. The bastard was as efficient at knot tying as he was accomplished in the art of deception. The futility of her struggles brought tears to eyes already burning from days of weeping misery. Tiny droplets swept away as quickly as they formed - soaked up by the bibulous sack drawn over her head, ensconcing her in a world of bondage. Oddly though, she was thankful for that small favour. Not revealing the extent of her terror to her captor had been her only strength. The last ounce of dignity she had left; an apparent fortitude which seemed to vex him to no end.

The voices grew distant, any hope of aid fading with them. She strained again, not against the rope, but in an attempt to roll onto her side. Gone was the jostle of the wagon, its splinter riddled tray no longer stabbing and prickling her tender flesh. Likewise, the smothering weight of furs and fabrics that had been piled atop her was lifted. Instead she remained exposed, prone upon a cobbled road lashed with the first of winter frosts and sleet like rain. Cold embraced her, sapping strength and stealing breath – her cries for help gagged before they even reached the cloth stuffed in her mouth. It was a preternatural chill so encompassing that it reached deep inside her womb and, with icy claws, threatened the life of the child cradled within.

Amidst her struggles the sack caught on the edge of a sharp cobble and tore open, leaving enough space for one fearful eye to peer out for the first time in five torturous days. Moon-shadows danced and swayed with wind swept shrubs and trees. Long and dark they cut broad swaths in the amethyst light shed by the blue and red moons overhead. A night much like any she witnessed from the reaches of the palace; only this was not the warm environs of the Grin-tauk. This ruined city reeked of ancient rot and stale evil, the merciless cold their beloved bedfellow. No, this was not the temperate forest of the Grin-tauk. This place was far from home.

She blinked back the tears, the moons reflecting on the surface of her exposed eye in a flutter.

Ulba. The name drifted on her thoughts like a beacon of hope. Only the beacon was fading. Her burley childhood bodyguard hadn’t answered her queries for some time now. His mind wasn’t just locked out to hers, it simply wasn’t there. The only response she received were the frightened thoughts of the girl from the coach they had been travelling on. Bound in a fashion akin to Re`anna, her mind was reeling with illogical compulsions and fears that streamed forth in a wave of unreadable babble. Re`anna pushed the girl’s lack of rationale aside. To acknowledge such terror would be to give in to her own anxieties.

The girl was weak, Re`anna was not.

Ulba.

This time a breeze tickled her ear, one so faint she ordinarily would not have detected it, except for the warmth that cut through the frigid night air. It was not much in the way of an acknowledgement, but that tiny huff of wind filled her with such relief she let out a sigh through blood encrusted nostrils. He was close, just not near enough to make a link.

The wind changed, sweeping away with it any trace of her bodyguard’s mind and smothering her in a cloud of fetid smoke from smouldering pipe-weed. She froze, her wrists caught in mid-pull against the ropes. A boot entered her narrow field of vision. The toe leather, old yet well oiled, glistened in the moonlight as the boot pivoted on a heel, worn heavily to the outside, and tapped out a small trail of pipe-weed embers.

She held her breath as the boot turned to face her, its toe twisting over the pipe ash with stoic resolution. Her captor uttered not a word as he dropped to one knee and draped a rope over her head. The knot was cinched tight at the base of her skull before he turned away and started walking. The rope pulled taut, cutting off already sparse breath. Her neck and shoulders became painfully corded as she was dragged along behind him.

She closed her eyes and concentrated as the old masters had taught her. If archaic geriatrics could use their willpower alone to prevent blades from piercing the hollow of their throats, then she could keep herself from being strangled by a simple rope . . . surely.

Her captor gave the rope a final yank before coming to a halt. Gruff hands took her by the shoulders and propped her against a pile of furs with little decorum.
The furs grunted.

Ulba?

Behind you . . . mi-lady. His thoughts were weak, the result of days of torture at the hands of their captors. Even so, his proximity buoyed her spirits. He was alive.

She dared hope.

“As ordered.” The voice was familiar, it took but a moment for her to place it; the coach driver, Lem, a lecherous creature who turned out to be equally obscene in nature. Ulba hadn’t liked him from the moment they had embarked the coach in Homeport. Re`anna had just thought him creepy.

“What of the old woman?” This newcomer had a baritone voice that smacked of power, yet oozed malicious intent. She could almost hear Lem cringe before his employer. She turned her head casually, bringing the pair into view. Lem stood with slouched shoulders, his head bowed in acquiescence before a shadow within the night. She strained her eye, scrutinising every detail, trying to identify her captor. It was little use, the night simply embraced him.

He sensed her inquisitive stare. Scarlet eyes blazed for an instant as they fell upon her.

Re`anna looked away.

“We had to ditch her,” the coachman replied, unaware of the exchange between his master and prisoner. “Ask your boy, he were the one to say it. Foul old bitch will freeze in the pass if she ain’t ‘et by wolves first.”

Ulba let out another grunt as yet another captive was dumped atop him. It was the girl, Re`anna could smell the fear on her. She did little but lean against her and mewl pathetically.

A hand seized Re`anna’s sack and wrenched it from her head. She started, recoiling from the youthful face that appeared before her. Dark hair flowed over his shoulders and glinted ebony in the purple moonlight, his flawless if somewhat pale skin and full lustful lips pursed as though about to kiss. Was it any wonder the other passengers had been taken with him so? The girl had. Re`anna had watched the spectacle of their rushed courtship over a matter of nights on the road. That was until he had revealed his true nature. That was before the bloodshed and murder.

“Tis true, my lord,” he remarked as he stared into Re`anna’s fearful eyes. “The crone was more trouble than she was worth, besides she wouldn’t have survived the journey, such was our haste to make your deadline.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. His lips were ice, his breath scorching hot. His tongue lingered at her earlobe before he whirled away to join the coachman and his master.

The trio stood amidst shadows and monsters. All about them statues of stone and marble gathered, each a depiction of a creature or beast of myth and legend. Ravenous and leering they leaned forward, claws and maws reaching towards the centre of the courtyard, as though about to step down from their podiums and feast on anyone foolish enough to venture there.

“You may leave,” the master turned his attention back to Lem.

The coachman shuffled nervously under his gaze. “Um . . . your lordship,” he stammered. “My price has doubled.” Sensing his master’s disapproval he hastily added. “On account of the big fella, I had to bring in some more lads. Took six of us to get ‘im down, even though he were asleep when we jumped ‘im.”

The master remained silent; his scarlet eyes rubies in the night, evaluating the coachman. With every passing breath Lem cringe and shrunk before him. He half turned away, payment not received, when a purse was tossed to him, the chink of coins unmistakable.

“Consider that in payment of services yet to be rendered. When next I call upon you, you will answer.” Lem nodded as he backed up several paces and turned on his heels, retreating into the night. “As for you, my young servant, you know the penalty for failure, Adrian.”

“The crone was nothing, my lord,” the youth professed, his voice lilting with panic. “She was not as reported, nothing more than a bothersome old hag. Why, wolves or Hidden scouts will be feasting on her bones as we speak. I brought you this girl instead.” He hurried over and dragged the girl to her feet, her once stylish gown, laced in gold leaf, now a tattered ruin. He thrust her forward, sack still shrouding her face. “She is pure and of nobility. A minor noble I’ll grant you, but surely her youth is much better suited than a withered old woman?”

“My orders are specific for good reason, you cretin.” The master’s voice rumbled through the clearing. Even the statues appeared to quake before his seething wrath. “Be hopeful that your foolish meanderings have not ruined my plans.” His hand shot out whisking the sack away from the girl. Her eyes wide with terror the instant they fell upon the shadows before her. She tried to back away, her head shaking from side to side, but Adrian stepped in close behind grasping a fist full of hair.

“Now, now, my love.” He whispered pleasantly. “Show some of those courtly manners you were so willing to bestow upon me. I know your tongue is as cunning as any a practised whore.” He pulled the rag from her mouth, baying with laughter at her cries for help, her pleas for mercy.

Movement drew Re`anna’s attention behind her. Apprehensively, she slowly craned her neck to find a winged demon looming from the podium. Its harsh, twisted features leered down with a rapacious smile. Her breath caught in her throat as she closed her eyes to the evil smirk. It had moved, the damn statue had moved! She opened her eyes once again and breathed a sigh of relief. The statue once again had its attention fixated on the drama unfolding at the heart of the clearing. However the monster’s clawed hands no longer reached out, but twisted together in a parody of anxiety and excitement, its tongue hanging languid from the side of its horrific maw at the struggling couple.

The girl spun away from the youth, her gown fanning out as though in a dance, but her partner refused to let her slip from his grasp. He lunged forward snapping up a wrist in one hand and tearing open the front of her gown with the other. Adrian laughed uproariously as he swept in on her, groping at her exposed bosom. “The night air bites such supple flesh, does it not my sweetling?” He yanked her head back, the glint of steel flashing at her throat. The girl froze, the blade gently rasping against the tender flesh beneath her jaw line. “Be still, sweetling. You’ll find my master’s touch far warmer than mine.”

He shoved her forward until the shadows engulfed her, the master meeting her with a hand placed between the swell of her breasts. Methodically and effortlessly he began to work his fingers.

The girl’s shrieks filled the night, the snapping of her ribs and breastplate chilling Re`anna to the core. She closed her eyes, but it only intensified the agony within the girl’s wailing. There was no escaping the nightmare, no relief from the anguish eating at her heart. Re`anna sobbed helplessly.

Eventually the girl’s screams faded, reduced to a sickly keening akin to a deranged animal in the final throws of death.

“And now.” The master’s voice was but a whisper of reverence. “I thank you for that which I shall receive.” He reached into her chest and tore out her heart. The girl collapsed back into Adrian’s arms, her eyes wide and vacant - mouth opening and closing, silently keening her lament. “Leave no trace of her.” The master stepped past his servant, the night travelling with him, wrapping its delicate tendrils about the quivering heart as it spilled its contents over his hand. Re`anna saw him coming, the shadows rolling across the ground before him in a broiling wave – dark fingers reaching for her. Eyes wide she tried to stand, tried to break free one last time before his gauntlet clamped about her throat and dragged her to her feet. Chipped rubies glowered from within the darkness as he sneered at her feeble struggles for breath. “Now, your highness, you and I have some business to attend.”

They left the clearing and the sounds of snapping bone and tearing flesh as Adrian began to sate his gluttony upon the poor dead girl.

Re`anna’s heels scraped across the cobbles in a desperate bid to gain purchase, but the master moved with deliberate haste. Darkness swirled about them, shrouding his features completely, except for those gleaming scarlet eyes. He dumped her at the foot of a monolith at the edge of the clearing. The giant warrior stood defiant to the world, his sword raised in righteousness far above their heads.

“So, it begins,” he muttered and placed the quivering heart between the feet of the enormous statue. Blood trickled over carved runes, igniting dormant power. The ancient script flared to life in brilliant green light. He turned on Re`anna, tearing open her filthy blouse to lay her stomach bare. She tried desperately to pull away, her screams muffled through her gag as she tried desperately to save her baby. His grip on her abdomen was cruel, squeezing painfully as he probed her flesh, pressing deeper into her womb. He made no sound as he conducted his grotesque examination until, finally, his hand fell a moment. The pause was mild relief for Re`anna, but short lived for he clamped down with such ferocity it stole her breath away. She gagged and convulsed, gasping for air in a whirl of anguish as her mind-link with her child opened to the terrified cries of her baby.

He released her and turned back to the monolith, leaving Re`anna to writhe at his heels. The shadows closed in about him so tightly even his eyes faded from view. He threw his hands in the air and began to chant in an ancient tongue. The words rolled from his lips like poisonous treacle, every abdominal pronunciation filling Re`anna’s throat with bile - the mere sound of the dialect drowning her with revulsion.

Thunderheads rolled in to spiral into a vortex above the monolith. Sheets of green lightning spread their un-natural radiance across the valley, vanquishing shadows in their wake – all except the swirling mass of darkness embracing her captor. The master continued to chant, his attention focused upon the churning mass of cloud.

Re`anna worked feverously at her bindings as droplets of rain pattered down to blend with the slick blood at her wrists. One rope gave way then pulled tight about her knuckles, so close. She fought the urge to scream her frustration. The time had come and to err now would be folly.

Soft fingers closed about her hands, stilling their desperate plight.

Be still child. A slender blade slipped between Re`anna’s wrists, freeing her bonds. Do not speak, we must make haste.

Lassandra?

Re`anna gave the old woman a look of disbelief as she helped her to her feet. She had been wounded and left for dead halfway across the most inhospitable mountain range in Lorin. However, any forthcoming explanation of how the old seer had managed to survive the trek across the Silver Divide, let alone arrive at the city on the heels of her captors would have to wait.

The crone draped Reanna’s arm over her shoulder and pulled her close as they retreated to the nearby garden where Ulba lay in wait.

I am afraid he will not be much use to us. The urgency of Lassandra’s thoughts compelled her to brush off the old woman’s assistance. I cut his bonds and came straight for you, it’s a wonder he was able to get this far without that boy-creature noticing him.

For so many years he has stood my guardian, Re`anna chided. As a child he bore me upon his shoulders when I was frightened. This night it shall be I who bears him. She took her bodyguard’s enormous hand in both of hers and struggled to pull him to his feet. Lassandra hesitated only a moment before lending aid.

Labouring for breath the struggling women supported the man twice their size and the trio stumbled into the courtyard to once again be surrounded by sinister statues. The boy-creature, Adrian, was feasting upon the dead girl’s flesh, oblivious to the drama at play before him until a flash of lightning cast the trio’s shadows across his grizzly fare. He dropped the bloodied forearm, which had been clenched between his teeth. As he rose with deliberate menace, sparks of amber ignited in the corners of his eyes as he studied the would-be escapees.

The raging tempest drowned out the fiend’s words as he held his hands out and cast his eyes heavenward. Emerald lightning crackled across the clouds and forked earthward, striking each of the statues in the garden with one tremendous crack.

“And now,” Adrian’s master spoke from behind the escapees; his horrid gauntlet pointing from the swirling darkness to the swell of Re`anna’s belly. “I claim my birthright.” Re`anna watched in horror as the marble and stone epitaphs began to move and climb down from their podiums; their cold hungry eyes leering as they approached. “Thus, my people claim vengeance.”

Child of Fate

The Child of Fate Trilogy is a project I have set out upon with talented writer Deborah Brown, author of "Snow". Originally planned as a magazine serial, the story became so involved that we threw our hands in the air and said, "What the hell, why not turn it into a novel?" Which, when coming from writers of Speculative/Fantasy Fiction, of course means, "Let's write a trilogy!"

It's fair to say that not a great deal of actual writing has taken place as yet, but the world building and plot is so far along that we are finally ready to go.

Now all I have to do is to balance my time between DotJ, CoF, work and my wife and kids. Hmmmm, good thing I only sleep about 4 hours a day.

Go to our group blog WCC to check out an excerpt from Book One of Child of Fate -
Shadow Veil

Tides of Darkness Synopsis

“Child of the Blood, a Doom upon us you shall bring. Burden not your heart, for yours is a destiny far worse than ours.”


It is a time of trepidation in South Lorin. Tradesmen toil to restore Silverdale to its former glory, but something stirs beneath the ancient ruin. A long forgotten presence casts its shadow beyond the great curtain walls to consume the entire South. Neighbouring Lords vie for each other's wealth and power as an old superstition rears its head in the guise of a sinister plague. Followers of the Temple of Life are losing faith, turning to pagan deities as the staunch members of the clergy sense the influence of their Goddess waning.

In these fearful times the lord of Peaksview, Austin Von Blackmere, is murdered, his mantle falling to his eldest son and heir, Kyle. Heirless and with the responsibility of a fiefdom in disarray thrust upon him, Kyle struggles to retain his birthright. A birthright his younger brother, Rodiah, voraciously quests to make his own.

As the brothers contest their station in the ever changing face of the southern court, their sister, Stephanie, turns her back on her heritage for a dream of love and position of honour as a King's agent. The life of a Sovereign Highwayman is more grit than glamour, an adventurer’s life suited to few men and fewer women. Swept up in events beyond her control, she finds herself defending the lives of a foreign princess and unborn heir from a sinister foe, who is both methodical and ruthless in his endeavours.

At every turn the Von Blackmere siblings find themselves at the heart of a conspiracy that, at the very least, could send the South spiralling into the grip of civil war. An arrant act of madness that appears to be their father's only legacy.

This is the age post the Wars of the Bloodlance. A volatile era, with but a few certainties; nothing is what it seems, the dead refuse to sleep and none shall suffer more than the innocent.

The age of Reckoning is upon them and the only means of survival will be to unlock the rhythm conducting the Dance of the Jaldare.

Dance of the Jaldare - Under Construction

The purpose of this blog is to give a little insight into the complex and often tedious journey I have experienced since I set out to write my Fantasy Trilogy entitled, Dance of the Jaldare.

Like all budding writers, my journey has been one of frustration. There have been those dreaded periods of mental blocks, and then times of elated inspiration; intervals of hopeless rejection and those not so often, moments of smug satisfaction. I cannot say it has all been fun, but I can truthfully say, it's all been worth it.

Besides providing chapter samples and progress updates, the blog examines the importance of world building, techniques in how to keep the plot under control and the original idea true, and the reliance on positive and constructive feed-back and criticism. There will be a host of tips gleaned from other authors on how to improve your writing; style, characterising, plot, chronology and geographical layout.

In the process it will also showcase my achievements as an author and touch on other projects currently in development, be it other written pieces or artwork relating to my written works.
So please bear with me while I fumble my way through the process of setting up the page in a format that will hopefully be both entertaining as well as easy to navigate. And check back with me soon.