Today's excerpt is from Sweetwater by Mickey Minner. It is the first story in the Sweetwater Saga. Read it here
"'Bout time for the stage to arrive," Ed broke into Jesse's thoughts as he stepped out onto the boardwalk and stood next to her. Looking across the street, Jesse noticed that people were beginning to gather at the stage station.
"New schoolteacher is supposed to be on the stage," Ed said excitingly.
"Yep," Jesse answered thinking 'that explains the crowd of single men waiting for the stage today.' There seemed to have been little else discussed in town for the past several weeks since Mayor Perkins had announced that a schoolteacher would be arriving from Denver to take on the duties at the schoolhouse.
The town had built the school last summer but it had stood empty because the town lacked a qualified teacher.
Jesse's ears picked up the sounds of beating hoofs and slapping leather. The cries of the stage driver yelling commands to his team of straining horses announced the stage's impending arrival. Moments later, the coach could be seen where the road broke from the forest. The stage thundered into Sweetwater and skidded to a stop in front of the stage station, a choking cloud of dust filled the air and covered everything and everyone it came into contact with.
Jesse looked across the street as the passengers began to step from the stage. A young woman was helped from the coach and the small gathering of single men surged towards her. 'That must be the new schoolteacher', Jesse thought as she reached up and removed her stetson, releasing a shower of shoulder length reddish, brown hair. Using the sleeve of her shirt, Jesse wiped the sweat from her brow and waved the stetson in front of her face to clear the dust kicked up by the stage.
At the same moment, the young woman stepped away from the stage. Getting her first look at the town of Sweetwater, she turned to observe the side of the street where Jesse stood. The motion of Jesse's hat attracted her and her eyes fell upon the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. A pair of sapphire eyes locked onto a pair of auburn eyes and the world seemed to stand still for both women.
"Hey, are you alright?" Ed asked Jesse as she drew in a startled breath and slumped against the boardwalk's post. The sound of Ed's voice allowed Jesse to break her gaze, she jammed the stetson back on her head and stepped down into the street.
"Yeah, I'm fine," she said to Ed as she walked around her buckboard. Climbing up onto the seat, she immediately urged the team forward. Ed shrugged his shoulders at Jesse's rapid departure and then stepped off the boardwalk, crossing the street to join the crowd by the stage.
Jesse concentrated on the dusty road in front of her trying not to think of what had just happened. But, as she looked down at the reins her hands held, she saw that they were shaking. "What the heck?" Jesse muttered to herself as she left the new schoolteacher and her crowd of instant admirers behind.
Jennifer stood in the dusty street surrounded by several young men all speaking at the same time, but she heard nothing but the beating of her own heart. She watched as the buckboard carried the auburn haired woman away from her and wondered why she had an almost uncontrollable urge to run after it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Let me through," a man was elbowing his way through the young men surrounding the new arrival. He finally came to a stop directly in front Jennifer and grabbed her smaller hands in his beefy ones, shaking them heartily.
"Miss Kinsington, it is so nice to finally make your acquaintance," the man said enthusiastically. His actions taking Jennifer's attention away from the retreating buckboard. She turned to find a middle-age, balding man barely as tall as herself but much wider and with a bushy mustache that hung down hiding his mouth, it's hairs blowing out from his face with every word he spoke.
"Please allow me to introduce myself," he continued pumping Jennifer's hands up and down. "My name is Perkins, Miles Perkins. I am Sweetwater's Mayor and it is I who arranged for your position," the mayor continued, always ready to take credit for any project he had any part of, no matter how small his contribution might have been. And, in this case, it had actually been the mayor's wife that had insisted he make arrangements for a schoolteacher so that she could be free of their children for some part of the day. Mayor Perkins had known that if he didn't quickly follow his wife's instructions, he would be spending cold nights in the old shed behind his house. But, regardless of how it had come about, a schoolteacher was now in town and Mayor Perkins was taking the credit.
Jennifer smiled sweetly at the man as she extricating her hands from his, her arms feeling like the bones had come loose after the vigorous shaking. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Perkins."
"You can call me Mayor. Everyone does," the mustache billowed as several not too well hidden groans could be heard from the crowd pressed around them.
"Do you have any luggage?" the mayor asked.
"Just the one," Jennifer indicated the small, canvas travel bag she had removed from under the seat inside the stage. Many of the young men surrounding them offered to carry the bag for Jennifer but she insisted on taking it herself. It wasn't very large and she could easily carry it. Besides, the last thing she wanted was a brawl to break out amongst the young men begging for her attention.
"Go on, now," Mayor Perkins instructed the un-welcomed men. "I'm sure your employers expect you to be earning your pay and not lolli-gagging about. Now scoot, the lot of you." Mayor Perkins took Jennifer's arm and started to walk down the street in the same direction that the buckboard had taken. As they walked, he pointed out the purpose of the scattered buildings they passed.
"That is, as you know, the stage station," the mayor pointed to the small, adobe building that looked to be ready to fall in on itself "and telegraph office. The telegraph hasn't reached Sweetwater yet but you can have a message sent by stage to the nearest telegraph office. You will probably want to send your folks a message letting them know that you have arrived safely in Sweetwater." Jennifer nodded in agreement to the mayor even though she had no intention of sending a message to her family and providing her whereabouts to them.
"That, there, as you can see, is the general store," he pointed across the street where Ed was back standing again in the shade of the boardwalk. Ed waved to the mayor and his charge, "that's Ed Granger, he runs the store for his no good brother-in-law." Jennifer smiled and waved back at Ed.
"Now, that's the town hall and jail," Mayor Perkins indicated the buildings adjoining Ed's store. "And, next to the jail is the town's newspaper, The Gazette. Over here," the mayor was now pointing to the near side of the street again, "that's the Oxbow Saloon and not a decent place for a young lady like yourself" the mayor informed her. "Behind the Oxbow, are the stables and blacksmith. Most of the town folk live up at this end of town, you'll have a chance to meet everyone at the social in your honor tomorrow evening."
Jennifer thought his description of "this end of town" rather an overstatement for a town no bigger than a couple of city blocks back home. But, she kept her thoughts to herself instead asking, "and, where is the schoolhouse?".
"Right over there," the mayor stopped and pointed to a building sitting atop a small knoll on the other side of a creek that ran out of the forest behind the stables and flowed past the Oxbow before paralleling the road out of town. A foot bridge allowed access across the creek and a gravel path lead to the schoolhouse. "We'll be having the social there, so you can get acquainted with it then. It's all ready for you to start your lessons. Books and supplies already purchased and waiting for you."
Jennifer had wanted to see the schoolhouse first but decided that tomorrow would be soon enough. Besides, the sun was reaching its peak in the cloudless sky and she was more than ready to get out of its blazing heat. So, without comment she continued to follow the mayor down the dusty street. Other than what were obviously private homes, there was only one other building in the direction they were walking. A two story structure that looked to be newly painted with new curtains hanging in its many windows. A large painted silver slipper graced the side of the building facing the stage road. And, standing in the shade in front of the building stood the buckboard.
"This is the Silver Slipper," the mayor was telling Jennifer. "The town has arranged for you to have a room here, it's the closest thing Sweetwater has to a rooming house. Jennifer's heart nearly jumped from her chest. Mistaking, Jennifer's reaction for uneasiness, the mayor hastened to add, "no reason to fear, Miss. Kinsington. The Slipper is a very respectable place now that Jesse is running it. Clean rooms and the best food in town. Jesse will take good care of you, you have my personal guarantee on that."
Jennifer followed the mayor up the steps to the Silver Slipper's wide porch. It wrapped entirely around the building provided places to enjoy the coolness of its shade regardless of the time of day or the season. The edge of the porch was protected by crossed rails between the support posts and the rails were topped with a wide flat board providing a sturdy place to sit if one so desired. The shade of the porch felt wonderful after the heat of the street and Jennifer had to stop herself from flopping down in one of the many chairs scattered about the porch.
"Mayor Perkins, it is good to see you again," a stout woman opened the door to the building. "This must be our new schoolteacher." smiling broadly, she held out a hand to Jennifer.
"Yes, this is Miss Kinsington. I believe you are to have a room ready for her," Jennifer noticed that Mayor Perkins addressed the woman arrogantly but she seemed not to take any offense to his manner.
"Of course," the woman gently squeezed the hand Jennifer offered before releasing it. "Welcome to the Silver Slipper, Miss Kinsington. Do come in. I've just finished makin' a fresh batch of lemonade. Perhaps you would like to join me," the woman opened the door wide to allow Jennifer and the mayor to enter.
Jennifer was disappointed that this was not the woman she had seen earlier. This woman appeared to be of the same age as Jennifer's mother but had obviously seen a great deal more of life. She stood of average height and though she looked to be somewhat frail, Jennifer was sure that the woman leading her into the building could easily outwork most men. She seemed genuinely friendly towards Jennifer, unlike Mayor Perkins who accompanied the two women inside, and Jennifer instantly liked the older woman.
"Thank you, Miss Jesse,"
"Oh, dear," the woman chuckled. "I'm not Jesse."
"I'm sorry," said Jennifer confused. "I thought Mayor Perkins said..."
"I said that Jesse owns the Slipper. This is Bette Mae, she helps run the place for Jesse," the mayor quickly filled Jennifer in.
"Oh," said Jennifer, "I apologize."
"There's no need," the woman stopped her. "Now, please sit and have some of this here lemonade. Jesse is workin' in her office but you'll have plenty of time to meet her later." Bette Mae had expected Jesse to meet the schoolteacher and was surprised that she hadn't appeared from her office.
Jennifer dropped down into the closest chair. "I'd love a glass," she said as she placed her bag on the floor next to the chair.
"Good," Bette Mae poured a large glass and handed it to Jennifer. "How about you, Mayor?"
"No, thank you. I must be getting back to my other duties. A moment of your time, please, Bette Mae," the mayor motioned that he wished to speak to the woman privately.
"I'll be right back. You jus' help yourself to refills," Bette Mae told Jennifer before following the mayor back out onto the porch.
Jennifer studied the room in which she sat. Several tables similar to the one she occupied were spaced about the room. Each table was covered with a linen tablecloth and a small arrangement of fresh flowers were placed in the center of each table. Silverware was set out on the tables ready to be used by any diner that might request a meal. This was obviously the dining room of the establishment but it was also so much more. Jennifer was surprised to see against the far wall, bookcases overflowing with books. In front of these, a varied arrangement of overstuffed chairs and settees made an inviting place to spend a few moments or hours enjoying the written word. Curiosity got the better of her and Jennifer rose from the table crossing the room to see what kind of books would be found on the shelves. She was amazed at the wide range of titles and authors.
"You like to read?" Bette Mae's question surprised Jennifer in her search. "Now, that was a silly question to be askin' a schoolteacher, wasn't it?"
Jennifer smiled at the woman, "what is that saying, no question is a silly question as long as you are really interested in the answer." Jennifer returned to the table and her glass of lemonade. "This is wonderful, thank you. And, to answer your question, I love to read. I've spent many an hour in the library back home. Some of the best afternoons of my life."
"Oh," Bette Mae was surprised that a girl as pretty as Jennifer would be forced to spend afternoons within the stuffy walls of a library. "And, where would home be, Miss Kinsington?"
"Please call me Jennifer." Not wanting to discuss the home she had so recently left, Jennifer quickly changed the subject to the mayor's private discussion with Bette Mae, "is everything alright with the arrangements?"
Bette Mae picked up on the subject change but being from the west where you didn't ask too many questions, she let it pass. "Everything is fine. He was just making sure that Jesse understood the importance of looking after you while you're staying here at the Slipper. As if Jesse would take such a thing any way but seriously. Mayor Perkins can surely be a pompous ass given half a chance," Bette Mae laughed. "Oh, excuse my language, child."
Jennifer smiled at the woman, she had heard much worse than that when her father was on one of his numerous rampages. "I imagine he takes some getting used to. He about shook my arms right out of their sockets before I could get my hands out of his," she laughed remembering the mayor's energetic greeting.
"That he most definitely does," Bette Mae joined in her laughter. "Well, I suspect you'd like to see your room and freshen up. Maybe even take a nap. Ridin' that stage can shake the fillin's loose in your teeth. Not to mention the dust them horses kick up."
"It certainly wasn't quite what I had imagined," Jennifer agreed as she rose from the chair.
"Well, let's get you settled then," Bette Mae picked up Jennifer's bag refusing to listen to her protests. She led Jennifer to a staircase midway between the bookcases.
As she climbed the stairs, Jennifer noticed for the first time an alcove tucked behind the staircase with a closed door marked 'private'. She wondered if it led to the office of the mysterious Jesse.
****
Sweetwater by Mickey Minner - 94 pages
Jesse has been forced to find her own way in life when her parents literally sell the family ranch out from under her. Jennifer has followed her dreams and traveled over a thousand miles to avoid living the life her father had planned for her. When their paths cross in the small frontier town of Sweetwater, Jesse is being framed for rustling cattle and soon finds herself facing a lynch mob. Jennifer feels compelled to come to Jesse's assistance, a woman she barely knows. Can they uncover the evidence to clear Jesse's name in time to save not only her life but also the chance to explore the growing feelings they are experiencing for each other?
http://wp.me/P3Qr5Y-ix
Showing posts with label Thursday's Teaser. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Thursday's Teaser. Show all posts
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Thursday's Teaser - Banshee’s Honor by sHaYcH
Today's excerpt is from Banshee’s Honor by sHaYcH. Read it here
Leaning heavily on makeshift crutches, a stooped, rag-covered figure slowly shuffled down the road. Thick, muddy snow hindered the traveler’s progress as she struggled to drag her splinted right leg through the slurry. Sleet fell lightly, mixing with the road dirt, creating a morass of slippery mud that caused the transient to fight for every step. Muffled curses could be heard peppering the air each time she had to stop and pull her useless leg out of a puddle. The warning sound of hoof beats came almost too late.
Azhani Rhu’len cursed the rider’s ancestry and flung herself into a mound of snow that bordered the road. Pushing greasy strands of black hair away from her face, the drifter watched the horse pass. At the sight of the horse’s riders, her dark blue eyes narrowed in surprised anger.
In one hand, a darkly cloaked man clutched the reins of the horse. The other arm was wrapped tightly about the unconscious, scarlet robed body of a woman. The rich crimson color of the velvet robes, coupled with a flash of teardrop shaped tattoos on a pale, bruised face, told Azhani that the man had just broken kingdom law. Frustrated by her injury, the former soldier pushed herself up, considering her options.
Once the warleader of the kingdom of Y’dan, Azhani was now an exile and although she no longer served a king, her oaths of loyalty to the people were still locked deep in her heart. The warrior could not allow the rider to succeed in his crime, not when she still had two functional arms. Sparing a prayer to the goddess, she tossed one of her makeshift crutches aside and stripped the other down, revealing a fine, ash longbow. Layers of rags were hastily shifted aside, uncovering a small quiver of steel-tipped arrows.
Azhani took a deep breath and plunged into the thicket at the side of the road, praying that she remembered the pathways correctly. It had been many years since she had traveled its green depths, but if her memory served, there was a shortcut just behind the stand of trees on her left. Ignoring the pain that ignited as soon as she put pressure on her bad leg, the warrior loped across the snow-covered ground. Within minutes, she broke free of the forest, ahead of the horseman, but not by much.
It took only heartbeats to string her bow and nock an arrow. Quietly, she waited, breathing shallowly to control the agony shooting up her leg in fiery waves. They were close; she could feel the thud of the horse’s hooves in the balls of her feet. One breath, two, and then the stale, acrid stench of sweat tickled her nostrils.
Rounding the bend in the road at a gallop, the horse thundered past the spot where Azhani was hidden. The rider cracked a stick against the animal’s heaving flanks, attempting to inspire even more speed. Sweat mottled the light brown hide and the horse’s eyes were starting to roll in panic. When the rider turned his head, scanning the road behind him, Azhani made her move.
A single arrow hissed through the air, striking the man in the shoulder with enough force to knock him and his hostage off the horse. The animal reared, screaming in fear, and then galloped off down the road. Azhani ignored it, hobbling up to the man with another arrow readied in her bow. Struggling to sit, the man cursed loudly and reached for the arrow that had knocked him from his mount. Not far away from him, his victim lay in the dirt, moaning softly.
“Don’t move, lawbreaker!” Azhani said evenly. The irony of the situation did not escape the exiled soldier as she calmly watched the kidnapper.
Hearing her voice, the man looked up and swore vehemently. Five feet away, the rag-covered, bow wielding figure looked more like a crazed wild woman than a serious warrior. Yet her aim had been perfect, stopping his flight with one shot. Anger twisted his features and he started to reach for his dagger.
As soon as she saw his face, Azhani growled. Branded deeply into his left cheek was the mark of the Cabal. Long nurtured hate for the clan of villains, murderers and thieves bubbled up inside the warrior. When he went for his weapon, she loosed the second arrow, pinning his other shoulder to the ground. With a wild shout, Azhani twisted the bow around, smashing it into the kidnapper’s knees. The sickening crunch of bone, followed by the tortured scream of pain was music to her ears.
Placing the tip of the bow against his temple, she angrily demanded, “Who are you, lawbreaker? Why have you harmed one of Astariu’s chosen?”
Hate-filled brown eyes looked up into hers and he smiled mirthlessly. “Dance in hell, bitch.” Dark red blood bubbled up and spilled over his lips. His eyelids fluttered shut and he went limp.
“Shit!” Azhani cursed, dropping her bow aside and reaching for his hand. She was too late. The thick, golden band of a ring glittered menacingly. Tugging it off with a curse, the warrior was not surprised to see several tiny, poison coated needles lining the inside of the ring.
Anger suffused the warrior and she kicked the body. The pain was like a blast of icy water in the face, and she collapsed, whimpering brokenly. Fresh blood seeped through the rags binding her leg, staining the snow. Black spots obscured her vision as she panted, trying to will the pain away.
“Gods fucking damned mace carrying wet nosed excuses for pathetic soldiers!” she shouted at the uncaring trees. She forced herself to roll over, pounding the ground with a fist as fresh pain brought tears to her eyes. Looking over at the priest, she was heartened to see that the woman was still breathing.
Azhani gritted her teeth and slowly, one inch at a time, crawled over to the body of the kidnapper. Ruthlessly, she searched his body, hoping for anything that would explain why he had broken the kingdom’s oldest laws by harming a woman deemed sacrosanct by noble and peasant alike.
Finding nothing but a bag of mixed coins, a vial of poison and two knives, one of which was the wicked, hook-bladed dagger that was the trademark of a Cabal assassin, the warrior then pulled her arrows free and stowed them back in their quiver. Leaving the poison, she stowed the pouch of gold away under her rags.
Using the body as a lever, Azhani stood up and started to shuffle toward the softly groaning stardancer. Even though the kidnapper’s clothes were cleaner than hers, nothing in creation would convince her to don the garb of a Cabal. She had no desire to come under the scrutiny of the dark gods who favored those who slunk in the shadows and preyed upon society. That baleful gaze had already wreaked too much pain and havoc in her life.
A soft whicker from behind caused the warrior to slowly turn. The horse had returned and was standing only a few feet away, sides heaving from exertion. Slowly, carefully, Azhani began to cluck her tongue, limping toward him and speaking softly while reaching out for the horse’s bridle.
“That’s a good lad,” she whispered. Her hands came into contact with the slick leather and she reached up, scratching his head. Nodding in pleasure, the horse let out a happy sigh. The tack bore the starburst markings of Astariu’s Healer aspect. Surmising that the animal must belong to the unconscious priest, she gave him one last pat and looked over at the unconscious heap of scarlet velvet and sighed.
“All right lad, let’s see if you were trained properly,” she said warmly. “Support.” The horse immediately lowered his head, making it easy to grasp his mane tightly. “Slow,” she cautioned, and took a step forward, toward the stardancer. In this manner, she crossed the road to the fallen woman. Upon reaching the unconscious priest, the warrior calmly said, “Kneel.” The horse went down on its front legs, waiting for the warrior’s next command. “Steady,” she said, and steeled herself against the torture she knew was coming. As carefully as she was able, the warrior lifted the dead weight of the stardancer’s body to the horse’s back.
Before the pain could overwhelm her, Azhani dragged herself up behind the priest. The horse easily stood as Azhani wrapped her arms around the young woman, holding her close to prevent her from toppling over. The priest’s head lolled to the side, revealing a youthful face. Alabaster pale skin covered an archly angular bone structure. A mottled, dark purple bruise shadowed the edge of her jaw, causing the warrior to wince in sympathy. Thick, wavy amber-colored curls framed the woman’s delicate features and brushed the tops of her shoulders. Tiny, graceful points topped her ears, proclaiming her half-elven heritage. She’s beautiful, the warrior thought as she juggled the priest around until she was safely tucked against her body.
Nearly blacking out from nauseating pain, the warrior fought off a wave of dizziness. When she could finally see, she took the reins tightly and directed the horse onto the road.
****
Banshee’s Honor by sHaYcH – 290 pages
Leaning heavily on makeshift crutches, a stooped, rag-covered figure slowly shuffled down the road. Thick, muddy snow hindered the traveler’s progress as she struggled to drag her splinted right leg through the slurry. Sleet fell lightly, mixing with the road dirt, creating a morass of slippery mud that caused the transient to fight for every step. Muffled curses could be heard peppering the air each time she had to stop and pull her useless leg out of a puddle. The warning sound of hoof beats came almost too late.
Azhani Rhu’len cursed the rider’s ancestry and flung herself into a mound of snow that bordered the road. Pushing greasy strands of black hair away from her face, the drifter watched the horse pass. At the sight of the horse’s riders, her dark blue eyes narrowed in surprised anger.
In one hand, a darkly cloaked man clutched the reins of the horse. The other arm was wrapped tightly about the unconscious, scarlet robed body of a woman. The rich crimson color of the velvet robes, coupled with a flash of teardrop shaped tattoos on a pale, bruised face, told Azhani that the man had just broken kingdom law. Frustrated by her injury, the former soldier pushed herself up, considering her options.
Once the warleader of the kingdom of Y’dan, Azhani was now an exile and although she no longer served a king, her oaths of loyalty to the people were still locked deep in her heart. The warrior could not allow the rider to succeed in his crime, not when she still had two functional arms. Sparing a prayer to the goddess, she tossed one of her makeshift crutches aside and stripped the other down, revealing a fine, ash longbow. Layers of rags were hastily shifted aside, uncovering a small quiver of steel-tipped arrows.
Azhani took a deep breath and plunged into the thicket at the side of the road, praying that she remembered the pathways correctly. It had been many years since she had traveled its green depths, but if her memory served, there was a shortcut just behind the stand of trees on her left. Ignoring the pain that ignited as soon as she put pressure on her bad leg, the warrior loped across the snow-covered ground. Within minutes, she broke free of the forest, ahead of the horseman, but not by much.
It took only heartbeats to string her bow and nock an arrow. Quietly, she waited, breathing shallowly to control the agony shooting up her leg in fiery waves. They were close; she could feel the thud of the horse’s hooves in the balls of her feet. One breath, two, and then the stale, acrid stench of sweat tickled her nostrils.
Rounding the bend in the road at a gallop, the horse thundered past the spot where Azhani was hidden. The rider cracked a stick against the animal’s heaving flanks, attempting to inspire even more speed. Sweat mottled the light brown hide and the horse’s eyes were starting to roll in panic. When the rider turned his head, scanning the road behind him, Azhani made her move.
A single arrow hissed through the air, striking the man in the shoulder with enough force to knock him and his hostage off the horse. The animal reared, screaming in fear, and then galloped off down the road. Azhani ignored it, hobbling up to the man with another arrow readied in her bow. Struggling to sit, the man cursed loudly and reached for the arrow that had knocked him from his mount. Not far away from him, his victim lay in the dirt, moaning softly.
“Don’t move, lawbreaker!” Azhani said evenly. The irony of the situation did not escape the exiled soldier as she calmly watched the kidnapper.
Hearing her voice, the man looked up and swore vehemently. Five feet away, the rag-covered, bow wielding figure looked more like a crazed wild woman than a serious warrior. Yet her aim had been perfect, stopping his flight with one shot. Anger twisted his features and he started to reach for his dagger.
As soon as she saw his face, Azhani growled. Branded deeply into his left cheek was the mark of the Cabal. Long nurtured hate for the clan of villains, murderers and thieves bubbled up inside the warrior. When he went for his weapon, she loosed the second arrow, pinning his other shoulder to the ground. With a wild shout, Azhani twisted the bow around, smashing it into the kidnapper’s knees. The sickening crunch of bone, followed by the tortured scream of pain was music to her ears.
Placing the tip of the bow against his temple, she angrily demanded, “Who are you, lawbreaker? Why have you harmed one of Astariu’s chosen?”
Hate-filled brown eyes looked up into hers and he smiled mirthlessly. “Dance in hell, bitch.” Dark red blood bubbled up and spilled over his lips. His eyelids fluttered shut and he went limp.
“Shit!” Azhani cursed, dropping her bow aside and reaching for his hand. She was too late. The thick, golden band of a ring glittered menacingly. Tugging it off with a curse, the warrior was not surprised to see several tiny, poison coated needles lining the inside of the ring.
Anger suffused the warrior and she kicked the body. The pain was like a blast of icy water in the face, and she collapsed, whimpering brokenly. Fresh blood seeped through the rags binding her leg, staining the snow. Black spots obscured her vision as she panted, trying to will the pain away.
“Gods fucking damned mace carrying wet nosed excuses for pathetic soldiers!” she shouted at the uncaring trees. She forced herself to roll over, pounding the ground with a fist as fresh pain brought tears to her eyes. Looking over at the priest, she was heartened to see that the woman was still breathing.
Azhani gritted her teeth and slowly, one inch at a time, crawled over to the body of the kidnapper. Ruthlessly, she searched his body, hoping for anything that would explain why he had broken the kingdom’s oldest laws by harming a woman deemed sacrosanct by noble and peasant alike.
Finding nothing but a bag of mixed coins, a vial of poison and two knives, one of which was the wicked, hook-bladed dagger that was the trademark of a Cabal assassin, the warrior then pulled her arrows free and stowed them back in their quiver. Leaving the poison, she stowed the pouch of gold away under her rags.
Using the body as a lever, Azhani stood up and started to shuffle toward the softly groaning stardancer. Even though the kidnapper’s clothes were cleaner than hers, nothing in creation would convince her to don the garb of a Cabal. She had no desire to come under the scrutiny of the dark gods who favored those who slunk in the shadows and preyed upon society. That baleful gaze had already wreaked too much pain and havoc in her life.
A soft whicker from behind caused the warrior to slowly turn. The horse had returned and was standing only a few feet away, sides heaving from exertion. Slowly, carefully, Azhani began to cluck her tongue, limping toward him and speaking softly while reaching out for the horse’s bridle.
“That’s a good lad,” she whispered. Her hands came into contact with the slick leather and she reached up, scratching his head. Nodding in pleasure, the horse let out a happy sigh. The tack bore the starburst markings of Astariu’s Healer aspect. Surmising that the animal must belong to the unconscious priest, she gave him one last pat and looked over at the unconscious heap of scarlet velvet and sighed.
“All right lad, let’s see if you were trained properly,” she said warmly. “Support.” The horse immediately lowered his head, making it easy to grasp his mane tightly. “Slow,” she cautioned, and took a step forward, toward the stardancer. In this manner, she crossed the road to the fallen woman. Upon reaching the unconscious priest, the warrior calmly said, “Kneel.” The horse went down on its front legs, waiting for the warrior’s next command. “Steady,” she said, and steeled herself against the torture she knew was coming. As carefully as she was able, the warrior lifted the dead weight of the stardancer’s body to the horse’s back.
Before the pain could overwhelm her, Azhani dragged herself up behind the priest. The horse easily stood as Azhani wrapped her arms around the young woman, holding her close to prevent her from toppling over. The priest’s head lolled to the side, revealing a youthful face. Alabaster pale skin covered an archly angular bone structure. A mottled, dark purple bruise shadowed the edge of her jaw, causing the warrior to wince in sympathy. Thick, wavy amber-colored curls framed the woman’s delicate features and brushed the tops of her shoulders. Tiny, graceful points topped her ears, proclaiming her half-elven heritage. She’s beautiful, the warrior thought as she juggled the priest around until she was safely tucked against her body.
Nearly blacking out from nauseating pain, the warrior fought off a wave of dizziness. When she could finally see, she took the reins tightly and directed the horse onto the road.
****
Banshee’s Honor by sHaYcH – 290 pages
Born a half-elf, Azhani Rhu’len earned the love and trust of the people of Y’Dan, becoming the kingdom’s warleader. Just when all her dreams were about to be fulfilled, treachery stole everything that she loved. Now, landless, loveless and broken near to death, all she clings to is the hope of regaining her honor. Struggling to heal, Azhani discovers that an ancient evil threatens the land she once called home. Will she abandon her quest for honor to save Y’Dan, or will she turn her back on the people who cast her out?
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Thursday's Teaser - Dyki Tantsi by Fiur and Vlamme
Today's excerpt is from:
Dyki Tantsi
by Fiur and Vlamme
http://thestoreelounge.wordpress.com/authors/dyki-tantsi-by-fiur-and-vlamme/
"You want what?!" The furious outcry of her fiancé, combined with the dangerous skidding of the car on the wet lane as Mortimer Hayes lost control of it for a moment, made the blonde woman jerk. For a second, she closed her emerald eyes, rubbed her temples and a sigh escaped her throat. Obviously, it wasn't such a good idea to confront him with her decision now, but Jorane Jawson was fed up with the situation. The constant jealousy and fights and, in her eyes, often absurd discussions leading to nothing but delaying the inevitable. She had to put an end to it and for the young woman, it was important to do it as soon as possible.
"Don't you understand, Mortimer? You are crushing me with your love! You are suffocating me, robbing me of any chance to breathe!"
"But that is no reason to break off our engagement!" the dark haired man argued firmly, while his hands closed tighter around the steering wheel of the dark blue Mercedes he steered across the deserted country road. "Okay, fine, I'll tell you what. You need some distance and some time for yourself, I can see that. We don't have to be together or do something every day. So, I will retreat a bit..."
Jorane shook her head, sadly.
Mortimer saw it from the corner of his eyes and his usually gentle face transformed into an angry mask. "What else do you want me to do for you?" he screamed, outraged. "I sacrifice myself for you! I shower you with gifts to prove my love for you and still it's not enough!"
"I never wanted that," she replied, quietly. Jorane felt fear rise inside her, because she had never seen him angry like that.
"Yeah, but that didn't hold you back from taking it all anyway, did it? You are so ungrateful!" His foot pressed down harder on the gas and the car sped up in the dark of the night.
"Please, just take me home, where we can talk," the young woman begged, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible and suppress the panic, which began to make itself known.
"Why wait so long?" Mortimer asked. "Let's talk right now and get this out of the way!"
"Mortimer, please..."
"SHUT UP!!!" he yelled back, took one hand off the steering wheel and brandished it in front of her face. "Don't you think I know what's going on here? Do you think I'm totally stupid, or what? So, since when?"
Jorane looked at him in disbelief. "I have no idea what you are talking about, Mortimer."
"Yes, I bet you don't!" he spat, acidly. The car's speed accelerated more.
"Please, slow down..."
But the dark haired man didn't seem to hear her. "You are spending so much time with your precious horses... it's the new stable guy, isn't it? Did you think I wouldn't notice the way he looks at you?"
Annoyed, Jorane rolled her eyes.
"So, since when has this been going on?" he demanded.
"I don't know what you are trying to suggest here..."
"SINCE WHEN ARE YOU DATING HIM BEHIND MY BACK?" His eyes flashed at her furiously and Jorane was so shocked, she needed a moment to get her composure back in order to react to the angry question.
"Mortimer, he has nothing to do with the fact that I want to break up ..."
"So, you are admitting that you have an affair with him?" he interrupted her.
"No! Dear god, you don't listen at all!"
"I think I understand just fine," he growled back, annoyed.
Jorane knew he didn't understand anything at all, but after that outburst of rage she didn't want to provoke him further. She just wanted home. "Please, drive me home."
He stared through the windshield absent-mindly, before his brown eyes turned to her, looking at her almost fondly. "Yes, I will do that. To where you belong," he promised so softly that Jorane thought she had just imagined the outburst.
The young woman looked out the window and noticed that the landscape passed her by faster and faster. She gazed at Mortimer, whose hands were wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, so hard that his knuckles turned white and his eyes were locked on the road.
"Mortimer... would you please slow down?" Her voice pierced the uncomfortable silence.
Instead of an answer he sped up even more.
"Mortimer!" Fear and panic made her body tremble.
"It's not your fault," he finally spoke quietly. "You are so beautiful and every man wants you, I know that. But you are MY WOMAN!!!" His eyes turned to her and what Jorane saw there would forever be etched into her memories.
He stepped harder on the gas. "If I can't have you, no one else shall have you! I will make sure of that," he announced, calmly.
While Jorane's brain was trying to process what he just said, Mortimer pulled hard at the wheel and the Mercedes rolled to the other lane, where a car came at them at breakneck speed.
"MORTIMER! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?" she screamed, her heart beating wildly with fear, as she reached over to grab the steering wheel.
"HANDS OFF!!!" he shouted and shoved her away roughly, only thinking about putting his cruel plan into action.
At the last moment the other car managed to avoid them with squealing tires and the driver honked, loudly.
"MORTIMER!" Jorane was beside herself with terror.
"SHUT UP!!!"
"ARE YOU CRAZY? STOP THE CAR!"
"NO! It will end! HERE AND NOW!!!" Once more, Mortimer stepped hard on the gas, pressing it down until it hit the floor. The engine howled its protest, as the car flew through the night.
"Mortimer, whatever you are intending to do, please, don't," Jorane pleaded, tears running down her rosy cheeks.
A last time he looked at her. "I love you, Jorane. Nobody else will ever love you like I did. You leave me no other choice." Then he pulled hard at the steering wheel. The dark blue Mercedes left the wet road and crashed into a tree at the side.
****
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" Soaked with sweat and awakened by her own fearful outcry, Jorane's emerald eyes flew open. Her heart hammered wildly against her rib cage and she panted for breath. Finally she looked around the darkened room and realized where she was. "I'm home... safe... alive... " She ran one hand through her short, damp, blonde hair. Then she grabbed a pillow and rolled on her side, hiding her face in the silky soft fabric as the tears came. "Oh God, will this never stop? It's been over a year now. Why can't I just forget the whole thing?"
After the sobs and tears had subsided, she sat up and glanced at the alarm clock sitting on the night stand, beside her bed. 07:43 a.m. shone in red numbers and Jorane rubbed her face. She pulled at the T-shirt, which stuck sweat-soaked to her body, then pulled back the light blanket and felt a sharp stab in her heart as her eyes fell on the scars of her left leg. It didn't matter how often she had seen them. Everytime it was a shock all over again. Just as it had been then, in the hospital, where the horrible pain had nearly driven her insane and the seemingly endless surgeries and physiotherapies robbed her off her strength. Jorane's bottom lip trembled and she bit down on it to keep from bursting into tears again. With her right hand she reached for the cane that leaned against the bed. Finally, she rose awkwardly and limped supported by her cane to the bathroom to take a shower.
****
Some time later, she sat freshly showered and wrapped in a terrycloth robe at the desk in her study, her head supported on her left arm. Lost in thought, she gazed at the document she held in her right hand. "What am I to do? I'm going to lose my house if I don't find somebody, who rents the apartment upstairs . Why can't there be just one thing without any complications in my life?"
The blonde woman sighed und put the letter aside. She opened the front drawer of her big desk and took out a clean, white sheet of paper and a pen. Carefully she unscrewed the cap of the silvery pen and began to write.
But right after the first word she stopped, starring disbelievingly at the letters in black ink that stood out sharply against the white background; Loneliness.
Jorane frowned and shook her head. "No, that's not a good subject for a poem." She crumpled the paper to a little ball and threw it in direction of the paper-basket, which stood not too far away. The ball missed its target and fell to the floor, a good couple of inches beside the basket.
"Well, today is just not my day," the blonde woman grumbled and got up from her chair. Sharp pain tore through her left leg. Jorane clenched her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. "Oh, oh, that's not good. I need to take my meds."
Carefully and slowly she moved back to the bedroom and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a clean T-shirt. Then she limped to the kitchen, grabbed the pills and a glass of water. After swallowing the strong painkillers, she made breakfast. During that Jorane's eyes fell on the ticking clock, which made the only sound in the otherwise silent apartment. "Mhh, better get some more rolls ready. David should be here in about thirty minutes and he is always hungry. I wonder where the guy puts all that stuff?"
A small smile formed on her lips with the thought of the young man, who always managed to cheer her up, no matter how bad her mood was. Yes, David Turner was her friend. Probably the only true friend she ever had in her life.
Dyki Tantsi by Fiur and Vlamme – 60 pages
Scars on her body, scars on her soul, Jorane Jawson is living her life in depression and loneliness. Horrible nightmares are torturing her every night. But one day, fate brings a beautiful foreigner to her doorstep. Will Ileana Surienka be able to chase away the fear that keeps Jorane from embracing happiness with both arms?
http://thestoreelounge.wordpress.com/authors/dyki-tantsi-by-fiur-and-vlamme/
Dyki Tantsi
by Fiur and Vlamme
http://thestoreelounge.wordpress.com/authors/dyki-tantsi-by-fiur-and-vlamme/
"You want what?!" The furious outcry of her fiancé, combined with the dangerous skidding of the car on the wet lane as Mortimer Hayes lost control of it for a moment, made the blonde woman jerk. For a second, she closed her emerald eyes, rubbed her temples and a sigh escaped her throat. Obviously, it wasn't such a good idea to confront him with her decision now, but Jorane Jawson was fed up with the situation. The constant jealousy and fights and, in her eyes, often absurd discussions leading to nothing but delaying the inevitable. She had to put an end to it and for the young woman, it was important to do it as soon as possible.
"Don't you understand, Mortimer? You are crushing me with your love! You are suffocating me, robbing me of any chance to breathe!"
"But that is no reason to break off our engagement!" the dark haired man argued firmly, while his hands closed tighter around the steering wheel of the dark blue Mercedes he steered across the deserted country road. "Okay, fine, I'll tell you what. You need some distance and some time for yourself, I can see that. We don't have to be together or do something every day. So, I will retreat a bit..."
Jorane shook her head, sadly.
Mortimer saw it from the corner of his eyes and his usually gentle face transformed into an angry mask. "What else do you want me to do for you?" he screamed, outraged. "I sacrifice myself for you! I shower you with gifts to prove my love for you and still it's not enough!"
"I never wanted that," she replied, quietly. Jorane felt fear rise inside her, because she had never seen him angry like that.
"Yeah, but that didn't hold you back from taking it all anyway, did it? You are so ungrateful!" His foot pressed down harder on the gas and the car sped up in the dark of the night.
"Please, just take me home, where we can talk," the young woman begged, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible and suppress the panic, which began to make itself known.
"Why wait so long?" Mortimer asked. "Let's talk right now and get this out of the way!"
"Mortimer, please..."
"SHUT UP!!!" he yelled back, took one hand off the steering wheel and brandished it in front of her face. "Don't you think I know what's going on here? Do you think I'm totally stupid, or what? So, since when?"
Jorane looked at him in disbelief. "I have no idea what you are talking about, Mortimer."
"Yes, I bet you don't!" he spat, acidly. The car's speed accelerated more.
"Please, slow down..."
But the dark haired man didn't seem to hear her. "You are spending so much time with your precious horses... it's the new stable guy, isn't it? Did you think I wouldn't notice the way he looks at you?"
Annoyed, Jorane rolled her eyes.
"So, since when has this been going on?" he demanded.
"I don't know what you are trying to suggest here..."
"SINCE WHEN ARE YOU DATING HIM BEHIND MY BACK?" His eyes flashed at her furiously and Jorane was so shocked, she needed a moment to get her composure back in order to react to the angry question.
"Mortimer, he has nothing to do with the fact that I want to break up ..."
"So, you are admitting that you have an affair with him?" he interrupted her.
"No! Dear god, you don't listen at all!"
"I think I understand just fine," he growled back, annoyed.
Jorane knew he didn't understand anything at all, but after that outburst of rage she didn't want to provoke him further. She just wanted home. "Please, drive me home."
He stared through the windshield absent-mindly, before his brown eyes turned to her, looking at her almost fondly. "Yes, I will do that. To where you belong," he promised so softly that Jorane thought she had just imagined the outburst.
The young woman looked out the window and noticed that the landscape passed her by faster and faster. She gazed at Mortimer, whose hands were wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, so hard that his knuckles turned white and his eyes were locked on the road.
"Mortimer... would you please slow down?" Her voice pierced the uncomfortable silence.
Instead of an answer he sped up even more.
"Mortimer!" Fear and panic made her body tremble.
"It's not your fault," he finally spoke quietly. "You are so beautiful and every man wants you, I know that. But you are MY WOMAN!!!" His eyes turned to her and what Jorane saw there would forever be etched into her memories.
He stepped harder on the gas. "If I can't have you, no one else shall have you! I will make sure of that," he announced, calmly.
While Jorane's brain was trying to process what he just said, Mortimer pulled hard at the wheel and the Mercedes rolled to the other lane, where a car came at them at breakneck speed.
"MORTIMER! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?" she screamed, her heart beating wildly with fear, as she reached over to grab the steering wheel.
"HANDS OFF!!!" he shouted and shoved her away roughly, only thinking about putting his cruel plan into action.
At the last moment the other car managed to avoid them with squealing tires and the driver honked, loudly.
"MORTIMER!" Jorane was beside herself with terror.
"SHUT UP!!!"
"ARE YOU CRAZY? STOP THE CAR!"
"NO! It will end! HERE AND NOW!!!" Once more, Mortimer stepped hard on the gas, pressing it down until it hit the floor. The engine howled its protest, as the car flew through the night.
"Mortimer, whatever you are intending to do, please, don't," Jorane pleaded, tears running down her rosy cheeks.
A last time he looked at her. "I love you, Jorane. Nobody else will ever love you like I did. You leave me no other choice." Then he pulled hard at the steering wheel. The dark blue Mercedes left the wet road and crashed into a tree at the side.
****
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" Soaked with sweat and awakened by her own fearful outcry, Jorane's emerald eyes flew open. Her heart hammered wildly against her rib cage and she panted for breath. Finally she looked around the darkened room and realized where she was. "I'm home... safe... alive... " She ran one hand through her short, damp, blonde hair. Then she grabbed a pillow and rolled on her side, hiding her face in the silky soft fabric as the tears came. "Oh God, will this never stop? It's been over a year now. Why can't I just forget the whole thing?"
After the sobs and tears had subsided, she sat up and glanced at the alarm clock sitting on the night stand, beside her bed. 07:43 a.m. shone in red numbers and Jorane rubbed her face. She pulled at the T-shirt, which stuck sweat-soaked to her body, then pulled back the light blanket and felt a sharp stab in her heart as her eyes fell on the scars of her left leg. It didn't matter how often she had seen them. Everytime it was a shock all over again. Just as it had been then, in the hospital, where the horrible pain had nearly driven her insane and the seemingly endless surgeries and physiotherapies robbed her off her strength. Jorane's bottom lip trembled and she bit down on it to keep from bursting into tears again. With her right hand she reached for the cane that leaned against the bed. Finally, she rose awkwardly and limped supported by her cane to the bathroom to take a shower.
****
Some time later, she sat freshly showered and wrapped in a terrycloth robe at the desk in her study, her head supported on her left arm. Lost in thought, she gazed at the document she held in her right hand. "What am I to do? I'm going to lose my house if I don't find somebody, who rents the apartment upstairs . Why can't there be just one thing without any complications in my life?"
The blonde woman sighed und put the letter aside. She opened the front drawer of her big desk and took out a clean, white sheet of paper and a pen. Carefully she unscrewed the cap of the silvery pen and began to write.
But right after the first word she stopped, starring disbelievingly at the letters in black ink that stood out sharply against the white background; Loneliness.
Jorane frowned and shook her head. "No, that's not a good subject for a poem." She crumpled the paper to a little ball and threw it in direction of the paper-basket, which stood not too far away. The ball missed its target and fell to the floor, a good couple of inches beside the basket.
"Well, today is just not my day," the blonde woman grumbled and got up from her chair. Sharp pain tore through her left leg. Jorane clenched her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. "Oh, oh, that's not good. I need to take my meds."
Carefully and slowly she moved back to the bedroom and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a clean T-shirt. Then she limped to the kitchen, grabbed the pills and a glass of water. After swallowing the strong painkillers, she made breakfast. During that Jorane's eyes fell on the ticking clock, which made the only sound in the otherwise silent apartment. "Mhh, better get some more rolls ready. David should be here in about thirty minutes and he is always hungry. I wonder where the guy puts all that stuff?"
A small smile formed on her lips with the thought of the young man, who always managed to cheer her up, no matter how bad her mood was. Yes, David Turner was her friend. Probably the only true friend she ever had in her life.
****
Dyki Tantsi by Fiur and Vlamme – 60 pages
Scars on her body, scars on her soul, Jorane Jawson is living her life in depression and loneliness. Horrible nightmares are torturing her every night. But one day, fate brings a beautiful foreigner to her doorstep. Will Ileana Surienka be able to chase away the fear that keeps Jorane from embracing happiness with both arms?
http://thestoreelounge.wordpress.com/authors/dyki-tantsi-by-fiur-and-vlamme/
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Thursday's Teaser - Freedom’s Heart by Amber
Today's teaser is from Freedom's Heart by Amber. http://thestoreelounge.wordpress.com/authors/freedoms-heart-by-amber-2/
Jessica Da’Gran cleared the outer wall of the castle, laughing wildly as she urged the grey mare under her to even greater speed. Behind her, frantic shouts echoed from the castle walls, but she didn’t bother looking back. Leaning forward, the young girl whooped joyously and let the bubble of excitement welling deep in her belly grow. Her horse, Andromeda, caught the rebellious mood and galloped harder still away from the stables and the shadow of castle Da’Gran, thrilled at the wild race.
The winter air was bitingly cold despite the midday hour, making every breath the young woman took sharp and painful. Still, Jessica reveled in the chill, knowing today’s work would warm her blood quickly enough. Tendrils of long blonde hair pulled free from their braid and whipped about her face as she galloped down the road, Andromeda’s hooves kicking up mud and snow along their path. Squinting against the tears that were squeezed from her jade-colored eyes by the icy wind, Jessica grinned madly as she made out the line of mounted figures she was swiftly gaining on.
Within moments, the group of riders realized they were being followed and their procession halted. Drawing back on the reins, Jessica slowed Andromeda to a trot before stopping in front of the man at the head of the column, her breath coming in short, hard gasps. The man eyed her speculatively, his features stern and grim. With an effort, Jessica wiped the excited grin off her face and returned her fathers steady appraisal calmly.
Sir Richard Da’Gran - lord knight of the castle that bore his family’s name - was dressed in sturdy, functional plate-armor designed to offer maximum protection while allowing enough mobility to fight. His greying hair was partially hidden by a chain-mail headpiece, but the open face of the coif allowed his thick beard to flow freely over his chest. A beautifully crafted broadsword was sheathed at his side, and a short lance rested in a stirrup cup, its tip aimed proudly at the overcast skies. Though in his late fifties, Sir Richard still cut an imposing figure; strong, intelligent, and bearing his mantle of responsibility with dauntless courage.
Jessica felt the weight of intense grey eyes as they flicked over her. Sir Richard’s weathered features tightened as his mouth drew into a firm line and his thick eyebrows lowered in a scowl.
"Jessica." He nodded a gruff welcome. "I thought your mother was keeping you busy." His voice was deep and rumbling, yet at the same time cultured and carrying a hint of a Scottish accent.
"I guess she got distracted," Jessica said once she’d caught her breath from the wild ride. Her grin somehow escaped and flashed across her face before she subdued it once more. Still, her laughing eyes betrayed her merriment, and together with her flushed features, Jessica’s excitement was obvious over her attempt at somberness.
"Mmhmm." He grunted, turning away and signaling to the others that they were continuing on. "You’ll be wanting to join us I expect. Just be sure to keep your head on your shoulders and your wits about you. I’m not wasting my time protecting your neck if you’ve a mind to be risking it." With a gruff wave, he ordered his daughter to his side.
Now she couldn’t help but grin as she took her place, nodding a greeting to her father’s second in command, Sir Miles Elirist, who returned it with a solemn bow. Her father’s gruff words didn’t bother her — she understood the pride and love that stood behind them.
Jessica had first followed her father into battle when she was twelve years old, and ever since then she rarely missed a chance to join him. Her mother usually tried to keep her busy in the castle, but Jessica always managed to slip away. Sir Richard pretended to be displeased at having to put up with his daughter’s company, but Jess knew his surliness was all an act. This conversation was one they had every time he rode out to deal with the roving bands of thugs and ruffians who plagued his lands. She knew his next words before he spoke them.
"You didn’t hurt her, did you?"
Always the same. Jess shook her head. "Not this time," she grinned.
"Good." He glanced at her and smiled a little, his usually somber eyes twinkling a little in amusement. His expression vanished, however, as he appraised her outfit. "Think maybe next time you can find something more appropriate to wear, girl?" He gestured to the soldiers around them. "This is a battle you know, not a picnic."
"I know that," she said angrily. Her green eyes flared a little, but she flushed as she glanced down. Her short, muscular frame was covered by a simple white shirt and brown trousers more commonly worn by the peasant men. In the fight they would give her no protection at all — especially since she’d torn the sleeves off the shirt, exposing her smooth, tightly muscled arms, covered in a few scars and gooseflesh from the winter chill. "I didn’t have time to get my gear."
This was true. Her mother had been harder than usual to elude, and her armor was still arranged neatly in her room back at the castle. "I got this, though." She patted the slender, elegant rapier sheathed at her side, the scabbard hanging below the flare of her hips from a length of course rope wrapped loosely about her waist. Meeting her fathers steady gaze, she said firmly, "It’s all the protection I’ll need."
Sir Richard grunted. He knew his daughter was a capable fighter. Hell, she’s more than capable, he corrected himself. The darn girl can already outfight almost every soldier in the bloody garrison. And she’s got more than her fair share of battle experience, too. The clothes may not look fancy, but her skill can back her up. Still . . .
Jessica watched her father closely, trying to judge his mood. "I want to fight," she said, a gentle lilt catching in her voice as it slipped into the accented speech she’d adopted from the soldiers, who’d spent many years in Ireland fighting in blood feuds. She only spoke like this when outside the presence of her mother; the older woman would have been shocked to hear her daughter speaking in such uncultured tones. "I can handle myself . . ."
"I know that," he interrupted her gently. "I’m not questioning your ability, girl, but you need to be better prepared next time." He paused, then added, "This fight won’t take much; just a few bandits camped too close to the village for comfort. The men can do most of the work, okay Jess?" His voice was soft with understanding, and he ignored the angry look he was faced with. "If I wanted a baby-sitter, I’d have stayed back at the castle," the young blonde muttered angrily. She glared around her at the other soldiers, none of whom would meet her gaze. She knew that many of the men were uneasy about a woman fighting with them, even after all these years. Her talent and dedication had earned her their respect, though it was often given reluctantly.
She felt her former elation starting to drain away, replaced by a sullen anger she didn’t like. It made her feel she was behaving like a spoilt brat, and she hated that feeling. She was a fighter, and nothing her mother or anyone else could do would ever change that. It was the path she had chosen long ago.
Sir Miles leaned over from his massive and flighty war-horse to squeeze her shoulder with his left hand; his right had been taken from him in a fight during his youth. "We’re not here to baby-sit ye," he growled. "This ain’t no competition. Ye wanna fight . . . fine. We all know ye can." He gestured to the soldiers riding behind them. "Not one among ‘em would dare to question yer courage, Jess. But ye gotta be smart." He patted her arm and drew back. "You’ll be more use if ye stay on the outside ‘a this fight, girl."
Jessica studied the man intently. Sir Miles was a man she respected above all others . . . except her father, of course. He had been her friend and confidant since she’d been a child, and had been responsible for her training in combat and woodcraft. Despite the loss of his right hand, Miles was the best fighter among her fathers men, and his wisdom was extensive.
Her emerald eyed narrowed. "What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously.
"These bandit’s we’re after are hidin’ in the woods," he explained. "No way to move a war-horse through them trees all that fast — that’s why we’re gonna try’n surround ‘em and strike before they kin form a defence. But in the confusion, a few of ‘em’ll surely try to bolt. If ye’re waiting on the outside, ye can chase ‘em down on that quick beast ‘a yours." He pointed to Andromeda. "She’ll move fast through the woods. Ye can stop ‘em from gettin’ away, can’t ye?"
Jessica considered the idea and nodded slowly. "I guess . . ." She knew Andromeda could maneuver through the woods at great speed; the mare was nimble and light, unlike the heavier war-horses the soldiers rode, which were bred for strength and endurance over speed and agility. She frowned and glared at the older man. So . . . they get the fun stuff, and I’m stuck with mopping up the cowards who decide to flee? "You expect me to clean up the stragglers, huh?"
"Gods above, girl . . . you’ll not be happy till we say ye can get in the thick of it, will ya!?"
Jessica shrugged and patted a nervous Andromeda. "All I want is to be allowed to jump in where I feel like it!"
Sir Miles grinned and chuckled. "Aye lass," he agreed. "And nothin’ we kin say’ll stop ye, will it?"
"Nope."
"Fine then," he agreed, his smile vanishing as his tone grew harder. "But remember . . . before ye go in arse first, keep in mind that any a them ruffians get away and harm the common people, it’ll be on yer head, child." He fixed her with his most serious glare. "Ye’ve got yer job to do, same as the rest of us. See that it’s done."
Jessica swallowed and nodded earnestly. "Yes, Miles." Trust the man to say the one thing that’d get me to behave, she scowled.
Miles glanced at Sir Richard, who nodded his thanks for settling his stubborn child. Damn girl just had to have her way, he chuckled silently.
Her mood restored somewhat, Jessica grinned again and faced into the stiff breeze that had picked up. A familiar tingle raced up and down her skin making her shiver a little as her heart beat faster. The thrill of anticipation was high today. It made her blood sing in her veins and made everything in the world seem fresh and new. The daughter of a noble knight, Jessica had lived among steel and sweat all her life. The prospect of battle was nothing new to the young woman . . . yet something about today’s adventure seemed different. More thrilling, somehow.
There was deep portent in the air. She remembered that description from one of the books she’d read. It seemed to fit well the energy she felt crackling about her as they neared the woods. ‘Deep portent in the air’. Like before a thunderstorm. She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder and rested a hand reassuringly on the ornate hilt of her sword, reveling in the strange sensation that made her feel like God himself was watching her with more than passing interest.
She had a feeling this was going to be an interesting fight.
***************************
Kaleah had watched the group of rough men at their camp for over an hour now, her breath fogging in the winter air. Her muscles were growing stiff and cramped from holding the same position so long, and beyond that, she was just plain getting impatient. Still, it was better to take precautions when approaching strangers. She knew from bitter experience what could happen when she didn’t keep a chain on her patience and just charged in without watching first.
There were about thirty-odd men in the camp — a fair number. They were gathered around three small camp-fires set in a triangle, rubbing their hands together and trying to ward off the bitter chill. Even from where she sat hidden, Kaleah could smell the scent of roasting pheasant, and her stomach growled to remind her how unsuccessful her own hunting efforts had been of late. All the men were armed, though she noticed with a professional eye that their weapons were ill-maintained. Much of the metal was rusted, and their blades were of poor craftsmanship. The armor they wore was all leather, though a few had added squares of chain-mail to the hides . . . no doubt scrounged from battlefields. A few lookouts armed with bows were posted in the trees, so she had to be careful. All in all, Kaleah thought the group looked to be made up of thieves and bandits of a very common stock.
Thieves and bandits who’re still able to feed themselves, she reminded herself. That’s more than you can say for yourself.
Scowling, she rose slowly, letting her aching muscles adjust to movement again. Keeping her hands to her sides and away from the Spanish blade hanging prominently at her side, Kaleah started walking slowly towards the camp.
She hated doing this, but knew she would starve if she didn’t. A stranger in this land, Kaleah had little experience with weather this cold, having lived most of her life in cities or on the coast. The animals had seemingly vanished, and her efforts at lighting fires gleaned only sporadic success. These men - though doubtless outlaws and misfits - were experienced with the land enough to provide for themselves. If Kaleah wanted to survive this harsh, frozen season, she would have to mingle with other people . . . as hateful as it was to her.
A look-out quickly saw her coming and yelled a warning to the other men. Kaleah continued her approach undaunted, holding out her sturdy bow in a way that made it clear she meant no threat. The sentinels perched high in the trees trained their own bows on her, ready to cut her down if she made any hostile move.
The bandits reacted quickly to the warning of the look-out, scurrying to grab their weapons and form a defense. Seeing that only a single person was approaching, not an army, they relaxed slightly but continued to eye her warily.
"Ho!" Kaleah hailed the man who appeared to be the leader of the group — if they could be said to have a leader. "I come in peace!"
The man — a tall, grizzled individual with a scarred and rough looking face - pointed at her bow with his sword. "Put the bow on the ground," he ordered.
Kaleah did so slowly, laying the length of strung wood on the thin, crisp snow, maintaining eye contact all the time.
"Whadaya want?" the man demanded once she’d stepped away.
Kaleah cast her eyes towards the fire. "I’m cold," she said, "and hungry. I just wanted to share the fire with you, if I could. And maybe some of your food." Her voice carried a distinct accent with it . . . part Spanish, part something more exotic but indefinable. She understood that most people found it quite pleasant, though it marked her as a foreigner in this country.
The grizzled man scowled. "We ain’t no charity, woman! We don’t give handouts."
"I can pay you," Kaleah assured him, moving a hand slowly to reach into a pouch hanging at her side. She pulled out a few coins and held them up, glad to see the man’s scowl disappear, replaced by a quickly muffled look of greed. "I won’t stay long . . . I just want something to eat and a moment to warm myself, that’s all."
The man eyed her a long while, his sharp eyes shrewdly taking in the well-kept leather-and-chain-mail armor she wore, and the fine sword at her side. Kaleah held herself upright under his scrutiny, knowing others were often impressed by her appearance. She was tall for a woman, and from experience she understood that her clear blue eyes contrasted with her dark hair and bronze skin in a way that many found attractive for some reason. She had often cursed her appearance, hating the good looks that drew the attention of the worst kind of men . . .
She shook her head mentally. You don’t have to remember that, she told herself. It’s the past. You’re not a slave anymore . . . you’re a free woman!
But Kaleah knew the marks of her years in servitude were not easily erased. Even as she acknowledged this, she felt the man’s eyes pause on her face and knew he was studying one of those same marks even now. The scar that cut diagonally across both her lips was not long, but it was extremely prominent. It marred her otherwise perfect features and served as a constant reminder of the pain that had been a part of her life since as far back as she could remember.
"Alright then," the man allowed, his inspection complete. "But you’ll have to give up that fancy sword first." He eyed the beautiful weapon hungrily.
Kaleah shook her head. "No deal," she said firmly. She’d die before handing over the weapon. "I promise not to use it, but I won’t come unarmed into a strange camp."
Some of the men laughed and nodded their understanding, knowing she was justified in her desire to keep the blade. Their leader also grinned and nodded agreeably, waving her forward. "Fine then," he allowed, seeing she was as much a veteran as she appeared. "Come on."
She tossed him the coins as she passed and headed straight for the nearest fire, breathing a sigh of relief as the warmth permeated the thick numbness that stiffened her fingers and limbs. The cold tended to settle deepest in the joints of her fingers and along the worst of her scars. She was wet and cold from crouching in the snow all that time. Kneeling down to be closer to the blaze, she rubbed her hands together and groaned with pleasure.
The bandit leader and several of his men gathered near her. She ignored their curious looks. When one handed her a hunk of slightly blackened meat, she bit into it hungrily, not caring what it was. The men noticed and chuckled at her obvious hunger.
"Been by yerself a while, I’d be thinking," said the leader, holding out his hand. "I’m called Pete."
Kaleah hesitated, never liking physical contact, even a simple clasping of hands. Still, she knew what was expected and returned his gesture. "My name’s Kaleah," she said softly. "And yes, it’s been a while since I had company."
Pete grinned, showing slightly yellowed teeth. "New to the area, then?"
Kaleah just nodded as she tore at the meat, her stomach rumbling it’s appreciation and willingly overlooking the fact that the food was burnt.
"Ye running from someone?"
This was one of the reasons she avoided all contact with others — with company came the need for conversation and interaction. Kaleah hated company, and she hated talking. Still, these men were sharing their food and their fire; if the least they asked for was a few words in return, she could indulge them.
"Not running," she said around a full mouth. "Just wandering."
"Aye," he grinned, suspecting otherwise. "Well, we’re not ones to judge." His men nodded and poked at the fire, stirring it to greater heat.
Kaleah could feel her body start to uncoil as it warmed. "Neither am I." True enough. Let them go their way, and I’ll go mine.
Pete laughed and slapped her on the arm. Kaleah tensed, but restrained the impulse to retaliate, knowing the gesture to be one of acceptance and camaraderie. Though somewhat limited in experience dealing with people, she knew enough to get by and was learning more all the time.
"Regardless, ye’ll probably want to be avoiding the local lord of these parts," Pete said. "He does a better job than most with people like us."
"Oh?"
"Aye. His men’re damn good, I’ll tell ya that. Well trained ‘n’ smart to boot." He tore a hunk of meat from the carcass over the fire and bit into it, giving her a thoughtful look. "Doubt they’d bother you much," he added. "Don’t see to many women dressed in that get-up."
Kaleah had observed as much in her travels, which had covered much of the region between here and Spain. It seemed there were few females who took up arms in this land. She just nodded. "If his men are so good, why come here?" she asked. "There must be easier pickings elsewhere."
"Aye," he agreed. "Easier, but not near as ripe."
"Ripe?" She knew the word, but not the context.
"These lands are rich. The people — even the peasants — all have a bit of money put aside. So long as we keep hidden and move about often, the soldiers ain’t too much of a problem." He shrugged. "We do okay, even now it’s winter." He paused, thinking, before adding, "There’s rumors of other reasons to be here, too."
Kaleah heard the conspiratorial hint in his words. She didn’t much care about rumors; curiosity had brought her a lot of pain as a slave. Still, she knew she’d be expected to show interest in his secret, whatever it was, so she politely asked, "What rumors?"
Pete grinned. "I heard talk someone’s getting an army ready hereabouts," he whispered to her. "Work for us if it’s true. Dunno who they’d be attacking, but I don’t really care . . . loot’s loot, ya know."
Kaleah nodded and went back to her meal, eating slower now and relishing the food. She knew it might be a while before she ate meat again. She could sense the steady scrutiny of the bandit leader but ignored it. She didn’t care about joining an army, though the information would be useful if she were forced to turn to mercenary work — this winter would be hard, and she had no idea what might happen.
Pete pointed with the bone of meat he held to her side. "You any good with that there fancy sword?" he asked. "Or is it just for show?"
Kaleah froze in her meal. She turned her pale blue eyes on the bandit and was satisfied to see him shrink back a little, startled by their intensity. "I can use my blade," she assured him, her voice calm and steady.
He nodded and swallowed in reflex. Damn, this woman’s got a glare that’d scare the Devil himself! "Just askin’" he said, glad when she turned back to her meal. She must be some kinda mercenary . . . either that or a criminal on the run, he pondered. The look about her and the way she spoke told him the strange woman was foreign, and the scar on her face and the way she moved suggested she had some talent. But there was something about her . . . something he could feel but not define, that told him not to offer her shelter or alliance as he had been about to do. She positively radiated tension and power, like the taut string of a loaded crossbow.
This woman was dangerous . . . plain and simple.
"Well," he coughed to cover his discomfort. "I’d still avoid the soldiers, if I were you."
Kaleah had every intention of doing just that. "Aren’t you afraid they’ll come get you here," she asked. "These fires are smoking enough that anyone could find your camp."
Pete laughed. "They won’t enter the woods," he said confidently. "And they don’t know where we are."
Suddenly, one of the look-outs gave a piercing cry and fell from his lofty roost. Kaleah and the bandits sprung away from the fire, startled. Even before the man had hit the ground Kaleah saw the wooden shaft firmly embedded in his chest. Her hand went instantly to the hilt of her sword, but she looked around before she drew it, unsure of the direction of the threat. Another look-out fell from his post, similarly slain.
The bandits reacted with the same speed they had displayed earlier, only now Pete was shouting orders, realizing his last words to Kaleah weren’t as true as he might have wished. The men had just managed to form a loose ring facing outwards when the forest erupted with sound and movement. Over a dozen mounted figures charged into the clearing from all directions at once, yelling war-cries and lowering lances as they came.
Still, Kaleah didn’t move. She crouched low, hand ready to draw her weapon. She was in the middle of the bandit ring and not that eager to die for these men. Several of the bandits were struck down by the lances, then chaos broke out as the battle was joined.
Crouched seemingly calmly in the center of the fighting, Kaleah looked around for an escape route. A few of the men chose to flee but were cut down by the mounted cavalry. She saw Pete and another grimy outlaw manage to yank one of the soldiers from his horse, but the armored knight proved just as dangerous on the ground as off it, slicing the chest of one man before clashing blades with the bandit leader.
It was then Kaleah noticed she wasn’t the only one holding back from the fight and simply watching. Just outside the clearing, a young woman with golden-blonde hair mounted on a grey horse surveyed the writhing field of combat with intense interest. The woman wore men’s clothes and carried a sword, but even at a distance Kaleah could make out her curvaceous, muscular figure. She looked like a peasant, but her calm appraisal of the bloody battle made it clear she was something more.
****
Freedom's Heart by Amber - 472 pages
During a routine skirmish against bandits, Jessica DaGran, the daughter of a local lord-knight, meets Kaleah, a recently released slave-turned-warrior. Sparks immediately fly. Jessica is determined to befriend the dark-haired stranger, and while Kaleah at first stubbornly refuses her kind overtures, eventually she cannot fight against her own desire for companionship. Their friendship quickly grows stronger and deepens into love, then desire. But there are problems each will have to overcome in order for their love to grow, and stirrings of war that will threaten the lives of those Jessica has sworn to protect.
http://thestoreelounge.wordpress.com/authors/freedoms-heart-by-amber-2/
Jessica Da’Gran cleared the outer wall of the castle, laughing wildly as she urged the grey mare under her to even greater speed. Behind her, frantic shouts echoed from the castle walls, but she didn’t bother looking back. Leaning forward, the young girl whooped joyously and let the bubble of excitement welling deep in her belly grow. Her horse, Andromeda, caught the rebellious mood and galloped harder still away from the stables and the shadow of castle Da’Gran, thrilled at the wild race.
The winter air was bitingly cold despite the midday hour, making every breath the young woman took sharp and painful. Still, Jessica reveled in the chill, knowing today’s work would warm her blood quickly enough. Tendrils of long blonde hair pulled free from their braid and whipped about her face as she galloped down the road, Andromeda’s hooves kicking up mud and snow along their path. Squinting against the tears that were squeezed from her jade-colored eyes by the icy wind, Jessica grinned madly as she made out the line of mounted figures she was swiftly gaining on.
Within moments, the group of riders realized they were being followed and their procession halted. Drawing back on the reins, Jessica slowed Andromeda to a trot before stopping in front of the man at the head of the column, her breath coming in short, hard gasps. The man eyed her speculatively, his features stern and grim. With an effort, Jessica wiped the excited grin off her face and returned her fathers steady appraisal calmly.
Sir Richard Da’Gran - lord knight of the castle that bore his family’s name - was dressed in sturdy, functional plate-armor designed to offer maximum protection while allowing enough mobility to fight. His greying hair was partially hidden by a chain-mail headpiece, but the open face of the coif allowed his thick beard to flow freely over his chest. A beautifully crafted broadsword was sheathed at his side, and a short lance rested in a stirrup cup, its tip aimed proudly at the overcast skies. Though in his late fifties, Sir Richard still cut an imposing figure; strong, intelligent, and bearing his mantle of responsibility with dauntless courage.
Jessica felt the weight of intense grey eyes as they flicked over her. Sir Richard’s weathered features tightened as his mouth drew into a firm line and his thick eyebrows lowered in a scowl.
"Jessica." He nodded a gruff welcome. "I thought your mother was keeping you busy." His voice was deep and rumbling, yet at the same time cultured and carrying a hint of a Scottish accent.
"I guess she got distracted," Jessica said once she’d caught her breath from the wild ride. Her grin somehow escaped and flashed across her face before she subdued it once more. Still, her laughing eyes betrayed her merriment, and together with her flushed features, Jessica’s excitement was obvious over her attempt at somberness.
"Mmhmm." He grunted, turning away and signaling to the others that they were continuing on. "You’ll be wanting to join us I expect. Just be sure to keep your head on your shoulders and your wits about you. I’m not wasting my time protecting your neck if you’ve a mind to be risking it." With a gruff wave, he ordered his daughter to his side.
Now she couldn’t help but grin as she took her place, nodding a greeting to her father’s second in command, Sir Miles Elirist, who returned it with a solemn bow. Her father’s gruff words didn’t bother her — she understood the pride and love that stood behind them.
Jessica had first followed her father into battle when she was twelve years old, and ever since then she rarely missed a chance to join him. Her mother usually tried to keep her busy in the castle, but Jessica always managed to slip away. Sir Richard pretended to be displeased at having to put up with his daughter’s company, but Jess knew his surliness was all an act. This conversation was one they had every time he rode out to deal with the roving bands of thugs and ruffians who plagued his lands. She knew his next words before he spoke them.
"You didn’t hurt her, did you?"
Always the same. Jess shook her head. "Not this time," she grinned.
"Good." He glanced at her and smiled a little, his usually somber eyes twinkling a little in amusement. His expression vanished, however, as he appraised her outfit. "Think maybe next time you can find something more appropriate to wear, girl?" He gestured to the soldiers around them. "This is a battle you know, not a picnic."
"I know that," she said angrily. Her green eyes flared a little, but she flushed as she glanced down. Her short, muscular frame was covered by a simple white shirt and brown trousers more commonly worn by the peasant men. In the fight they would give her no protection at all — especially since she’d torn the sleeves off the shirt, exposing her smooth, tightly muscled arms, covered in a few scars and gooseflesh from the winter chill. "I didn’t have time to get my gear."
This was true. Her mother had been harder than usual to elude, and her armor was still arranged neatly in her room back at the castle. "I got this, though." She patted the slender, elegant rapier sheathed at her side, the scabbard hanging below the flare of her hips from a length of course rope wrapped loosely about her waist. Meeting her fathers steady gaze, she said firmly, "It’s all the protection I’ll need."
Sir Richard grunted. He knew his daughter was a capable fighter. Hell, she’s more than capable, he corrected himself. The darn girl can already outfight almost every soldier in the bloody garrison. And she’s got more than her fair share of battle experience, too. The clothes may not look fancy, but her skill can back her up. Still . . .
Jessica watched her father closely, trying to judge his mood. "I want to fight," she said, a gentle lilt catching in her voice as it slipped into the accented speech she’d adopted from the soldiers, who’d spent many years in Ireland fighting in blood feuds. She only spoke like this when outside the presence of her mother; the older woman would have been shocked to hear her daughter speaking in such uncultured tones. "I can handle myself . . ."
"I know that," he interrupted her gently. "I’m not questioning your ability, girl, but you need to be better prepared next time." He paused, then added, "This fight won’t take much; just a few bandits camped too close to the village for comfort. The men can do most of the work, okay Jess?" His voice was soft with understanding, and he ignored the angry look he was faced with. "If I wanted a baby-sitter, I’d have stayed back at the castle," the young blonde muttered angrily. She glared around her at the other soldiers, none of whom would meet her gaze. She knew that many of the men were uneasy about a woman fighting with them, even after all these years. Her talent and dedication had earned her their respect, though it was often given reluctantly.
She felt her former elation starting to drain away, replaced by a sullen anger she didn’t like. It made her feel she was behaving like a spoilt brat, and she hated that feeling. She was a fighter, and nothing her mother or anyone else could do would ever change that. It was the path she had chosen long ago.
Sir Miles leaned over from his massive and flighty war-horse to squeeze her shoulder with his left hand; his right had been taken from him in a fight during his youth. "We’re not here to baby-sit ye," he growled. "This ain’t no competition. Ye wanna fight . . . fine. We all know ye can." He gestured to the soldiers riding behind them. "Not one among ‘em would dare to question yer courage, Jess. But ye gotta be smart." He patted her arm and drew back. "You’ll be more use if ye stay on the outside ‘a this fight, girl."
Jessica studied the man intently. Sir Miles was a man she respected above all others . . . except her father, of course. He had been her friend and confidant since she’d been a child, and had been responsible for her training in combat and woodcraft. Despite the loss of his right hand, Miles was the best fighter among her fathers men, and his wisdom was extensive.
Her emerald eyed narrowed. "What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously.
"These bandit’s we’re after are hidin’ in the woods," he explained. "No way to move a war-horse through them trees all that fast — that’s why we’re gonna try’n surround ‘em and strike before they kin form a defence. But in the confusion, a few of ‘em’ll surely try to bolt. If ye’re waiting on the outside, ye can chase ‘em down on that quick beast ‘a yours." He pointed to Andromeda. "She’ll move fast through the woods. Ye can stop ‘em from gettin’ away, can’t ye?"
Jessica considered the idea and nodded slowly. "I guess . . ." She knew Andromeda could maneuver through the woods at great speed; the mare was nimble and light, unlike the heavier war-horses the soldiers rode, which were bred for strength and endurance over speed and agility. She frowned and glared at the older man. So . . . they get the fun stuff, and I’m stuck with mopping up the cowards who decide to flee? "You expect me to clean up the stragglers, huh?"
"Gods above, girl . . . you’ll not be happy till we say ye can get in the thick of it, will ya!?"
Jessica shrugged and patted a nervous Andromeda. "All I want is to be allowed to jump in where I feel like it!"
Sir Miles grinned and chuckled. "Aye lass," he agreed. "And nothin’ we kin say’ll stop ye, will it?"
"Nope."
"Fine then," he agreed, his smile vanishing as his tone grew harder. "But remember . . . before ye go in arse first, keep in mind that any a them ruffians get away and harm the common people, it’ll be on yer head, child." He fixed her with his most serious glare. "Ye’ve got yer job to do, same as the rest of us. See that it’s done."
Jessica swallowed and nodded earnestly. "Yes, Miles." Trust the man to say the one thing that’d get me to behave, she scowled.
Miles glanced at Sir Richard, who nodded his thanks for settling his stubborn child. Damn girl just had to have her way, he chuckled silently.
Her mood restored somewhat, Jessica grinned again and faced into the stiff breeze that had picked up. A familiar tingle raced up and down her skin making her shiver a little as her heart beat faster. The thrill of anticipation was high today. It made her blood sing in her veins and made everything in the world seem fresh and new. The daughter of a noble knight, Jessica had lived among steel and sweat all her life. The prospect of battle was nothing new to the young woman . . . yet something about today’s adventure seemed different. More thrilling, somehow.
There was deep portent in the air. She remembered that description from one of the books she’d read. It seemed to fit well the energy she felt crackling about her as they neared the woods. ‘Deep portent in the air’. Like before a thunderstorm. She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder and rested a hand reassuringly on the ornate hilt of her sword, reveling in the strange sensation that made her feel like God himself was watching her with more than passing interest.
She had a feeling this was going to be an interesting fight.
***************************
Kaleah had watched the group of rough men at their camp for over an hour now, her breath fogging in the winter air. Her muscles were growing stiff and cramped from holding the same position so long, and beyond that, she was just plain getting impatient. Still, it was better to take precautions when approaching strangers. She knew from bitter experience what could happen when she didn’t keep a chain on her patience and just charged in without watching first.
There were about thirty-odd men in the camp — a fair number. They were gathered around three small camp-fires set in a triangle, rubbing their hands together and trying to ward off the bitter chill. Even from where she sat hidden, Kaleah could smell the scent of roasting pheasant, and her stomach growled to remind her how unsuccessful her own hunting efforts had been of late. All the men were armed, though she noticed with a professional eye that their weapons were ill-maintained. Much of the metal was rusted, and their blades were of poor craftsmanship. The armor they wore was all leather, though a few had added squares of chain-mail to the hides . . . no doubt scrounged from battlefields. A few lookouts armed with bows were posted in the trees, so she had to be careful. All in all, Kaleah thought the group looked to be made up of thieves and bandits of a very common stock.
Thieves and bandits who’re still able to feed themselves, she reminded herself. That’s more than you can say for yourself.
Scowling, she rose slowly, letting her aching muscles adjust to movement again. Keeping her hands to her sides and away from the Spanish blade hanging prominently at her side, Kaleah started walking slowly towards the camp.
She hated doing this, but knew she would starve if she didn’t. A stranger in this land, Kaleah had little experience with weather this cold, having lived most of her life in cities or on the coast. The animals had seemingly vanished, and her efforts at lighting fires gleaned only sporadic success. These men - though doubtless outlaws and misfits - were experienced with the land enough to provide for themselves. If Kaleah wanted to survive this harsh, frozen season, she would have to mingle with other people . . . as hateful as it was to her.
A look-out quickly saw her coming and yelled a warning to the other men. Kaleah continued her approach undaunted, holding out her sturdy bow in a way that made it clear she meant no threat. The sentinels perched high in the trees trained their own bows on her, ready to cut her down if she made any hostile move.
The bandits reacted quickly to the warning of the look-out, scurrying to grab their weapons and form a defense. Seeing that only a single person was approaching, not an army, they relaxed slightly but continued to eye her warily.
"Ho!" Kaleah hailed the man who appeared to be the leader of the group — if they could be said to have a leader. "I come in peace!"
The man — a tall, grizzled individual with a scarred and rough looking face - pointed at her bow with his sword. "Put the bow on the ground," he ordered.
Kaleah did so slowly, laying the length of strung wood on the thin, crisp snow, maintaining eye contact all the time.
"Whadaya want?" the man demanded once she’d stepped away.
Kaleah cast her eyes towards the fire. "I’m cold," she said, "and hungry. I just wanted to share the fire with you, if I could. And maybe some of your food." Her voice carried a distinct accent with it . . . part Spanish, part something more exotic but indefinable. She understood that most people found it quite pleasant, though it marked her as a foreigner in this country.
The grizzled man scowled. "We ain’t no charity, woman! We don’t give handouts."
"I can pay you," Kaleah assured him, moving a hand slowly to reach into a pouch hanging at her side. She pulled out a few coins and held them up, glad to see the man’s scowl disappear, replaced by a quickly muffled look of greed. "I won’t stay long . . . I just want something to eat and a moment to warm myself, that’s all."
The man eyed her a long while, his sharp eyes shrewdly taking in the well-kept leather-and-chain-mail armor she wore, and the fine sword at her side. Kaleah held herself upright under his scrutiny, knowing others were often impressed by her appearance. She was tall for a woman, and from experience she understood that her clear blue eyes contrasted with her dark hair and bronze skin in a way that many found attractive for some reason. She had often cursed her appearance, hating the good looks that drew the attention of the worst kind of men . . .
She shook her head mentally. You don’t have to remember that, she told herself. It’s the past. You’re not a slave anymore . . . you’re a free woman!
But Kaleah knew the marks of her years in servitude were not easily erased. Even as she acknowledged this, she felt the man’s eyes pause on her face and knew he was studying one of those same marks even now. The scar that cut diagonally across both her lips was not long, but it was extremely prominent. It marred her otherwise perfect features and served as a constant reminder of the pain that had been a part of her life since as far back as she could remember.
"Alright then," the man allowed, his inspection complete. "But you’ll have to give up that fancy sword first." He eyed the beautiful weapon hungrily.
Kaleah shook her head. "No deal," she said firmly. She’d die before handing over the weapon. "I promise not to use it, but I won’t come unarmed into a strange camp."
Some of the men laughed and nodded their understanding, knowing she was justified in her desire to keep the blade. Their leader also grinned and nodded agreeably, waving her forward. "Fine then," he allowed, seeing she was as much a veteran as she appeared. "Come on."
She tossed him the coins as she passed and headed straight for the nearest fire, breathing a sigh of relief as the warmth permeated the thick numbness that stiffened her fingers and limbs. The cold tended to settle deepest in the joints of her fingers and along the worst of her scars. She was wet and cold from crouching in the snow all that time. Kneeling down to be closer to the blaze, she rubbed her hands together and groaned with pleasure.
The bandit leader and several of his men gathered near her. She ignored their curious looks. When one handed her a hunk of slightly blackened meat, she bit into it hungrily, not caring what it was. The men noticed and chuckled at her obvious hunger.
"Been by yerself a while, I’d be thinking," said the leader, holding out his hand. "I’m called Pete."
Kaleah hesitated, never liking physical contact, even a simple clasping of hands. Still, she knew what was expected and returned his gesture. "My name’s Kaleah," she said softly. "And yes, it’s been a while since I had company."
Pete grinned, showing slightly yellowed teeth. "New to the area, then?"
Kaleah just nodded as she tore at the meat, her stomach rumbling it’s appreciation and willingly overlooking the fact that the food was burnt.
"Ye running from someone?"
This was one of the reasons she avoided all contact with others — with company came the need for conversation and interaction. Kaleah hated company, and she hated talking. Still, these men were sharing their food and their fire; if the least they asked for was a few words in return, she could indulge them.
"Not running," she said around a full mouth. "Just wandering."
"Aye," he grinned, suspecting otherwise. "Well, we’re not ones to judge." His men nodded and poked at the fire, stirring it to greater heat.
Kaleah could feel her body start to uncoil as it warmed. "Neither am I." True enough. Let them go their way, and I’ll go mine.
Pete laughed and slapped her on the arm. Kaleah tensed, but restrained the impulse to retaliate, knowing the gesture to be one of acceptance and camaraderie. Though somewhat limited in experience dealing with people, she knew enough to get by and was learning more all the time.
"Regardless, ye’ll probably want to be avoiding the local lord of these parts," Pete said. "He does a better job than most with people like us."
"Oh?"
"Aye. His men’re damn good, I’ll tell ya that. Well trained ‘n’ smart to boot." He tore a hunk of meat from the carcass over the fire and bit into it, giving her a thoughtful look. "Doubt they’d bother you much," he added. "Don’t see to many women dressed in that get-up."
Kaleah had observed as much in her travels, which had covered much of the region between here and Spain. It seemed there were few females who took up arms in this land. She just nodded. "If his men are so good, why come here?" she asked. "There must be easier pickings elsewhere."
"Aye," he agreed. "Easier, but not near as ripe."
"Ripe?" She knew the word, but not the context.
"These lands are rich. The people — even the peasants — all have a bit of money put aside. So long as we keep hidden and move about often, the soldiers ain’t too much of a problem." He shrugged. "We do okay, even now it’s winter." He paused, thinking, before adding, "There’s rumors of other reasons to be here, too."
Kaleah heard the conspiratorial hint in his words. She didn’t much care about rumors; curiosity had brought her a lot of pain as a slave. Still, she knew she’d be expected to show interest in his secret, whatever it was, so she politely asked, "What rumors?"
Pete grinned. "I heard talk someone’s getting an army ready hereabouts," he whispered to her. "Work for us if it’s true. Dunno who they’d be attacking, but I don’t really care . . . loot’s loot, ya know."
Kaleah nodded and went back to her meal, eating slower now and relishing the food. She knew it might be a while before she ate meat again. She could sense the steady scrutiny of the bandit leader but ignored it. She didn’t care about joining an army, though the information would be useful if she were forced to turn to mercenary work — this winter would be hard, and she had no idea what might happen.
Pete pointed with the bone of meat he held to her side. "You any good with that there fancy sword?" he asked. "Or is it just for show?"
Kaleah froze in her meal. She turned her pale blue eyes on the bandit and was satisfied to see him shrink back a little, startled by their intensity. "I can use my blade," she assured him, her voice calm and steady.
He nodded and swallowed in reflex. Damn, this woman’s got a glare that’d scare the Devil himself! "Just askin’" he said, glad when she turned back to her meal. She must be some kinda mercenary . . . either that or a criminal on the run, he pondered. The look about her and the way she spoke told him the strange woman was foreign, and the scar on her face and the way she moved suggested she had some talent. But there was something about her . . . something he could feel but not define, that told him not to offer her shelter or alliance as he had been about to do. She positively radiated tension and power, like the taut string of a loaded crossbow.
This woman was dangerous . . . plain and simple.
"Well," he coughed to cover his discomfort. "I’d still avoid the soldiers, if I were you."
Kaleah had every intention of doing just that. "Aren’t you afraid they’ll come get you here," she asked. "These fires are smoking enough that anyone could find your camp."
Pete laughed. "They won’t enter the woods," he said confidently. "And they don’t know where we are."
Suddenly, one of the look-outs gave a piercing cry and fell from his lofty roost. Kaleah and the bandits sprung away from the fire, startled. Even before the man had hit the ground Kaleah saw the wooden shaft firmly embedded in his chest. Her hand went instantly to the hilt of her sword, but she looked around before she drew it, unsure of the direction of the threat. Another look-out fell from his post, similarly slain.
The bandits reacted with the same speed they had displayed earlier, only now Pete was shouting orders, realizing his last words to Kaleah weren’t as true as he might have wished. The men had just managed to form a loose ring facing outwards when the forest erupted with sound and movement. Over a dozen mounted figures charged into the clearing from all directions at once, yelling war-cries and lowering lances as they came.
Still, Kaleah didn’t move. She crouched low, hand ready to draw her weapon. She was in the middle of the bandit ring and not that eager to die for these men. Several of the bandits were struck down by the lances, then chaos broke out as the battle was joined.
Crouched seemingly calmly in the center of the fighting, Kaleah looked around for an escape route. A few of the men chose to flee but were cut down by the mounted cavalry. She saw Pete and another grimy outlaw manage to yank one of the soldiers from his horse, but the armored knight proved just as dangerous on the ground as off it, slicing the chest of one man before clashing blades with the bandit leader.
It was then Kaleah noticed she wasn’t the only one holding back from the fight and simply watching. Just outside the clearing, a young woman with golden-blonde hair mounted on a grey horse surveyed the writhing field of combat with intense interest. The woman wore men’s clothes and carried a sword, but even at a distance Kaleah could make out her curvaceous, muscular figure. She looked like a peasant, but her calm appraisal of the bloody battle made it clear she was something more.
****
Freedom's Heart by Amber - 472 pages
During a routine skirmish against bandits, Jessica DaGran, the daughter of a local lord-knight, meets Kaleah, a recently released slave-turned-warrior. Sparks immediately fly. Jessica is determined to befriend the dark-haired stranger, and while Kaleah at first stubbornly refuses her kind overtures, eventually she cannot fight against her own desire for companionship. Their friendship quickly grows stronger and deepens into love, then desire. But there are problems each will have to overcome in order for their love to grow, and stirrings of war that will threaten the lives of those Jessica has sworn to protect.
http://thestoreelounge.wordpress.com/authors/freedoms-heart-by-amber-2/
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Thursday's Teaser-Through the Eyes of the Conqueror by Cheeya
Today's excerpt is from Through The Eyes Of The Conqueror by Cheeya. Read it here: http://thestoreelounge.wordpress.com/authors/through-the-eyes-of-the-conqueror-by-cheeya/
"Godsbedamnedpieceofshitbastards!"
The roar echoed around the room, making the windows rattle in their frames and several guards wince.
"Your Majesty, please," the healer soothed. "Just another moment."
The queen nodded and tightened her fingers in the sheets, gritting her teeth against the pain. The healer carefully cleaned the wound and poured some herbs into it before placing layers of bandages over it and tying them down. The queen, propped up on one elbow, pushed her sweat-soaked hair out of her eyes. "Have they found them yet?" she asked, suddenly feeling totally exhausted. She lowered herself carefully onto the black silk sheets and rested her head, blowing out a long breath as the searing pain eased to an excruciating ache.
The captain of the guard stood to attention. "No, Majesty, not yet."
Somehow, the queen found the strength to raise her head again. "I want them found, Palaemon, and brought to me. No one gets away with attempting to assassinate the ruler of this land."
Captain Palaemon raised a fist and tapped his chest in a salute before turning crisply and heading out the door. The queen sighed and rested her head again. "Stupid," she muttered. "Thought I wouldn't be able to get myself out of trouble, didn't you, you sick bastards."
The healer pulled the sheets up over his queen's shoulders and bowed to her. "I'll be back to check on you in a few hours. Until then, try to get some sleep." He reached out boldly then and stroked her hair. "Xena, I've known you a long time and I know what you're like. I don't want to see you sparring or on your horse for a least a sevenday. Do you understand?"
With a quirk of her lips, Xena sighed and closed her eyes. "Alright," she mumbled. "But only because you asked nicely."
Salmonius chuckled and packed up his healer bag. "I'll be back soon. Rest now."
Xena was asleep before he even reached the door. Sparing a fond look for the queen, he left to get some rest himself.
**
As Palaemon strode across the yard to the barracks, a drizzle of rain began to fall and he sighed, wondering if he'd see his bed this night at all. Not that he really cared. Someone had hurt his queen and now that someone would pay. A surge of anger welled up inside him and he gripped the hilt of his sword, squeezing it and stomping the ground with each step. "I shouldn't have let her go out there," he muttered. "I should have stood up to her." He had to pause a moment and chuckle. "Yeah, right. I'd probably be dead now if I had." He waved at the guard in the watchtower and stopped for a moment to make sure everything was quiet before ducking into the barracks. The men who hadn't gone after the queen's would-be-assassin were busy mending armour and cleaning their weapons but they stood to attention when their commander entered the room.
"Evening Cap'n," one man greeted. "We were wondering, Sir, how Her Majesty is doing?"
Palaemon sighed and leaned against the wall, folding his arms and crossing his ankles. "She's alive." A collective sigh of relief whooshed through the room and he smiled a little at his men's loyalty to their queen. Most of them had been part of Xena's army when she was a vagabond warlord and had a healthy respect for her fighting ability and wisdom. Every man in the place would give his life for her... and do it gladly. "I want any public court sessions and functions patrolled until the assassin is brought to justice and I want you all to be extra vigilant. Got me?"
"Yes, Sir!" came the chorused reply and he nodded proudly.
"Good. Now, I'm going out to dig a little. The queen gave me a lead that I need to follow up. As you were."
With that, Palaemon strode out of the barracks and into the waning light of dusk.
**
Groaning softly, Xena eased her head up and propped herself up on her elbows. She'd slept for a few hours and she felt a bit stronger but stiffness had set in and made movement a little difficult. She eyed the chamber pot in the corner and sighed, counting slowly to five to psyche herself up. Rolling her eyes, she moved up onto her hands and knees. "Just do it, Xena," she growled and with a quick flip, got herself into a sitting position. Her back hurt like Hades and she had to take a moment to stop seeing stars while trying to get her laboured breathing under control. "Not good," she murmured as her stomach threatened to rebel.
Steeling herself for the pain, Xena took a few deep breaths and then stood. She caught her balance and then slowly walked to the chamber pot, cursing every god she could think of along the way and some that she probably made up. "Damn arrow." The queen glanced over at the low dresser where the bloody arrow still sat and shook her head. "And you didn’t even see it coming. Some warrior you are."
This, she suddenly realised, was bothering her more than the hole in her back. For the first time in longer than she could remember, the part of her that was a warrior hadn't even sensed the attack. With a mixture of anger and bemusement, Xena wiped her sweaty forehead on her forearm. "You're getting soft, Xena. Lording it over these people has taken up so much of your time and thoughts that you've let yourself get rusty."
Xena was suddenly in a foul mood and she finished up her business quickly before moving back to the bed. The short exertion left her exhausted and she sank into the sheets with a long sigh. A short time later, she was asleep again.
**
Crouching behind a bush, Palaemon signalled for his men to stay back. He parted the foliage carefully and quietly and peered into the clearing. Tents... He smirked... Just as the queen had expected. He sent her a quiet word of thanks and praise. Signalling for his second to come forward, Palaemon replaced the branches. "Surround the clearing," he whispered. "I want total silence. We're going to hit these guys so quickly that they won't know which way to run."
"Yes, Sir," Saterus replied and then crawled back to pass on the orders. Moments later, Palaemon led the first wave of silent attackers into the camp. His men were well trained and efficient and before long, the small band of mercenaries was in custody and tied up.
The captain prowled the camp, looking for the leader's tent. He wanted information but he also needed proof that it was these men who tried to kill the queen. Finding an arrow with the leader's colours would do the trick. Palaemon spotted a larger tent standing a little away from the others and approached it quietly. He ducked inside and paused a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. The tent was in perfect order and a table in the centre was covered in neatly folded maps and scrolls. "A tidy warlord. That's one for the books," he chuckled but a small sound made him spin and draw his sword. "Come out!" he ordered toward a pile of blankets and rags sitting in the corner and very slowly, the blankets parted and a tear streaked face peeked out. "Come out," he said again, this time more softly as he realised that the face belonged to a woman. "It's ok. I won't hurt you."
The blankets parted further and a short, slim, trembling body appeared along with the face, framed by dishevelled blonde hair. "They captured me," she said very softly. "I'm not sure how long I've been here."
Palaemon moved a little closer, squinting in the dim light but he shook his head when he got a closer look. "You're just a kid," he blurted out.
The young woman met his eyes. "I'm not a kid," she replied. "I'm nineteen."
They just looked at each other for a moment but then the captain chuckled. "C'mon, Kid. Let's get you outta here." Nodding gratefully, the young woman followed him out of the tent. She wrapped her arms around her middle, willing her body to stop shaking but to no avail. Tears of relief welled and before long, she was crying. Palaemon blinked and then awkwardly patted her shoulder. "There, there," he soothed. "We'll have you back at the palace in no time. When Queen Xena hears that you were here, she'll definitely want to speak to you. Did you know that these men..." He chucked a thumb over his shoulder at the line of bound and gagged mercenaries. "Tried to assassinate her?"
"I heard some of their plans," the young woman replied quietly. "They didn't think I was paying attention but I was."
"Well then... um... What's your name?"
The young woman smiled shyly. "Gabrielle."
Palaemon returned the smile. "Gabrielle, I know for a fact that the queen is going to want to meet you. You have valuable information."
Putting on a face that was a hundred times braver than she felt, Gabrielle nodded. "I'll do anything I can to help. I owe you my life."
"No," the captain replied. "Your life belongs to you, Gabrielle, not me."
With a heartfelt whisper, the kid squeezed the man's arm. "Thank you."
**
Salmonius tutted as he pressed his hand against the queen's forehead. "You have a fever, Xena."
"Tell me something I don't know," she replied testily. "I know a chill when I feel one."
"Hmm, feverish and bitchy," he teased as he got out his herbs and started to mix them together into a small cup.
Xena tried not to grin. "Just get on with it, you old goat."
"Yes, Majesty." Salmonius chuckled as he poured some hot water in on top of the mixture.
Xena's nose crinkled. "That smells really bad. I'm laying bets that it tastes worse."
"That'd be a safe bet," the healer replied with a sympathetic smile. "You know damn well how this tastes. You've administered it enough times."
"Yeah," Xena sighed, remembering the number of times she'd had to treat her own men for the coughing sickness. The queen was a skilled healer in her own right but, in her position, she could afford to have someone else take care of her. Despite that, Xena pretty much took care of herself. She didn't need people to fawn over her but in this case, she had no choice due to the position of the wound. She couldn’t reach her own back.
With an exasperated sigh, the queen took the cup and swirled the liquid for a moment. "Bottoms up." Then she grimaced, knocked back the entire contents of the cup in one gulp and chased it with a swallow of wine. "Oh gods, that sucks," she muttered as she lay back down on her belly. "Hey, is Palaemon back yet?"
"Not that I know of," Salmonius replied as he pulled back the sheets and carefully lifted the bandages away from the queen's back. She didn’t make a sound but the tension in her body and the way her fingers gripped the sheets told of the agony she was experiencing. "It's looking very..."
"I know. Just do it," Xena ordered. "You have to get the nasty stuff out."
The queen almost bit her lip through in pain as the healer applied pressure to the wound and then cleaned out the yellow pus. Once thoroughly cleaned and bandaged, he sat on the edge of the bed and covered Xena's clenched hand with his own. "It's done."
She nodded, loosened her grip on the sheets and sniffed back any tears that threatened to leak through her stoic exterior. She looked up at him. "Thanks."
"Take care of yourself. I'll be back soon to check on you again."
Xena nodded and then collapsed back onto the bed in utter exhaustion. Her pillow muffled her voice when she groaned. "I really hate being hurt."
**
Gabrielle was almost asleep when she felt the movement under her stopping abruptly. She lifted her head and looked around her, her green eyes trying to make out where she was in the darkness. Palaemon slid down from the horse and offered her a hand. "C'mon, Little One. We've arrived at the palace."
Oh. The palace. "Wow, it's huge," the young woman said softly, her voice full of wonder as the captain set her gently down on her feet.
"Yeah, it is. Xena had it extended when she got rich and powerful."
Gabrielle nodded, suddenly very curious about meeting Xena: Warrior Princess, Conqueror of Nations and Queen of Greece and it's surrounding lands. "Where is she now?"
Palaemon shook his head. "I'd imagine she's in bed, in considerable pain. She took an arrow in the back."
Gabrielle gasped and her green eyes widened. "By the gods."
"Yeah," the captain replied. "She was judging a riding contest and before I know it, she's on her knees with an arrow sticking out of her back. She didn’t even sense the attack coming."
"Sense?" Gabrielle asked confusedly.
"Sure. The queen can catch arrows but she never saw it coming. If she hadn't turned slightly just before the arrow hit, she'd be dead right now."
"Is she going to be ok?" the young woman asked.
"She'll be fine, Kid. The queen is a tough woman. Now come on. Let's find you somewhere to sleep."
Gabrielle followed Palaemon into the palace and waited while he spoke to the head servant. A few moments later, the woman led her to a warm and comfortable bedchamber. "Get settled, Miss and I'll bring you something to eat and drink."
"Thanks," Gabrielle replied with a warm smile. The servant left her and she wandered around the room, studying the tapestries and paintings on the wall. "How beautiful," she whispered as she gazed at a portrait of a tall, muscular woman with long, dark hair and very blue eyes. The painting mesmerized her and she just stood there, soaking in its essence until the servant woman returned with a tray.
"I hope you like chicken and bread," she said. "I'm afraid there isn't much else at this time of the night."
Gabrielle gladly took the tray. "This is wonderful. Thank you."
"Well." The woman smiled and bustled across the room. "You eat up while I turn down your bed." Gabrielle demolished her meal, much to the servant's amusement, and washed it down with a mug of warm milk. "I'll leave you to sleep now." After gathering up the tray, the woman left the room and Gabrielle took off her old dress. She washed quickly at the washstand and then climbed, exhausted, into the high, comfortable bed. On the count of three sheep, she was asleep.
****
Through The Eyes of The Conqueror by Cheeya - 135 pages
This isn't your traditional conqueror story. This is love story that has a bit of violence and other stuff in it but it can get a little mushy and ... Hell! I just like happy endings, ok?!
~Cheeya~
http://thestoreelounge.wordpress.com/authors/through-the-eyes-of-the-conqueror-by-cheeya/
"Godsbedamnedpieceofshitbastards!"
The roar echoed around the room, making the windows rattle in their frames and several guards wince.
"Your Majesty, please," the healer soothed. "Just another moment."
The queen nodded and tightened her fingers in the sheets, gritting her teeth against the pain. The healer carefully cleaned the wound and poured some herbs into it before placing layers of bandages over it and tying them down. The queen, propped up on one elbow, pushed her sweat-soaked hair out of her eyes. "Have they found them yet?" she asked, suddenly feeling totally exhausted. She lowered herself carefully onto the black silk sheets and rested her head, blowing out a long breath as the searing pain eased to an excruciating ache.
The captain of the guard stood to attention. "No, Majesty, not yet."
Somehow, the queen found the strength to raise her head again. "I want them found, Palaemon, and brought to me. No one gets away with attempting to assassinate the ruler of this land."
Captain Palaemon raised a fist and tapped his chest in a salute before turning crisply and heading out the door. The queen sighed and rested her head again. "Stupid," she muttered. "Thought I wouldn't be able to get myself out of trouble, didn't you, you sick bastards."
The healer pulled the sheets up over his queen's shoulders and bowed to her. "I'll be back to check on you in a few hours. Until then, try to get some sleep." He reached out boldly then and stroked her hair. "Xena, I've known you a long time and I know what you're like. I don't want to see you sparring or on your horse for a least a sevenday. Do you understand?"
With a quirk of her lips, Xena sighed and closed her eyes. "Alright," she mumbled. "But only because you asked nicely."
Salmonius chuckled and packed up his healer bag. "I'll be back soon. Rest now."
Xena was asleep before he even reached the door. Sparing a fond look for the queen, he left to get some rest himself.
**
As Palaemon strode across the yard to the barracks, a drizzle of rain began to fall and he sighed, wondering if he'd see his bed this night at all. Not that he really cared. Someone had hurt his queen and now that someone would pay. A surge of anger welled up inside him and he gripped the hilt of his sword, squeezing it and stomping the ground with each step. "I shouldn't have let her go out there," he muttered. "I should have stood up to her." He had to pause a moment and chuckle. "Yeah, right. I'd probably be dead now if I had." He waved at the guard in the watchtower and stopped for a moment to make sure everything was quiet before ducking into the barracks. The men who hadn't gone after the queen's would-be-assassin were busy mending armour and cleaning their weapons but they stood to attention when their commander entered the room.
"Evening Cap'n," one man greeted. "We were wondering, Sir, how Her Majesty is doing?"
Palaemon sighed and leaned against the wall, folding his arms and crossing his ankles. "She's alive." A collective sigh of relief whooshed through the room and he smiled a little at his men's loyalty to their queen. Most of them had been part of Xena's army when she was a vagabond warlord and had a healthy respect for her fighting ability and wisdom. Every man in the place would give his life for her... and do it gladly. "I want any public court sessions and functions patrolled until the assassin is brought to justice and I want you all to be extra vigilant. Got me?"
"Yes, Sir!" came the chorused reply and he nodded proudly.
"Good. Now, I'm going out to dig a little. The queen gave me a lead that I need to follow up. As you were."
With that, Palaemon strode out of the barracks and into the waning light of dusk.
**
Groaning softly, Xena eased her head up and propped herself up on her elbows. She'd slept for a few hours and she felt a bit stronger but stiffness had set in and made movement a little difficult. She eyed the chamber pot in the corner and sighed, counting slowly to five to psyche herself up. Rolling her eyes, she moved up onto her hands and knees. "Just do it, Xena," she growled and with a quick flip, got herself into a sitting position. Her back hurt like Hades and she had to take a moment to stop seeing stars while trying to get her laboured breathing under control. "Not good," she murmured as her stomach threatened to rebel.
Steeling herself for the pain, Xena took a few deep breaths and then stood. She caught her balance and then slowly walked to the chamber pot, cursing every god she could think of along the way and some that she probably made up. "Damn arrow." The queen glanced over at the low dresser where the bloody arrow still sat and shook her head. "And you didn’t even see it coming. Some warrior you are."
This, she suddenly realised, was bothering her more than the hole in her back. For the first time in longer than she could remember, the part of her that was a warrior hadn't even sensed the attack. With a mixture of anger and bemusement, Xena wiped her sweaty forehead on her forearm. "You're getting soft, Xena. Lording it over these people has taken up so much of your time and thoughts that you've let yourself get rusty."
Xena was suddenly in a foul mood and she finished up her business quickly before moving back to the bed. The short exertion left her exhausted and she sank into the sheets with a long sigh. A short time later, she was asleep again.
**
Crouching behind a bush, Palaemon signalled for his men to stay back. He parted the foliage carefully and quietly and peered into the clearing. Tents... He smirked... Just as the queen had expected. He sent her a quiet word of thanks and praise. Signalling for his second to come forward, Palaemon replaced the branches. "Surround the clearing," he whispered. "I want total silence. We're going to hit these guys so quickly that they won't know which way to run."
"Yes, Sir," Saterus replied and then crawled back to pass on the orders. Moments later, Palaemon led the first wave of silent attackers into the camp. His men were well trained and efficient and before long, the small band of mercenaries was in custody and tied up.
The captain prowled the camp, looking for the leader's tent. He wanted information but he also needed proof that it was these men who tried to kill the queen. Finding an arrow with the leader's colours would do the trick. Palaemon spotted a larger tent standing a little away from the others and approached it quietly. He ducked inside and paused a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. The tent was in perfect order and a table in the centre was covered in neatly folded maps and scrolls. "A tidy warlord. That's one for the books," he chuckled but a small sound made him spin and draw his sword. "Come out!" he ordered toward a pile of blankets and rags sitting in the corner and very slowly, the blankets parted and a tear streaked face peeked out. "Come out," he said again, this time more softly as he realised that the face belonged to a woman. "It's ok. I won't hurt you."
The blankets parted further and a short, slim, trembling body appeared along with the face, framed by dishevelled blonde hair. "They captured me," she said very softly. "I'm not sure how long I've been here."
Palaemon moved a little closer, squinting in the dim light but he shook his head when he got a closer look. "You're just a kid," he blurted out.
The young woman met his eyes. "I'm not a kid," she replied. "I'm nineteen."
They just looked at each other for a moment but then the captain chuckled. "C'mon, Kid. Let's get you outta here." Nodding gratefully, the young woman followed him out of the tent. She wrapped her arms around her middle, willing her body to stop shaking but to no avail. Tears of relief welled and before long, she was crying. Palaemon blinked and then awkwardly patted her shoulder. "There, there," he soothed. "We'll have you back at the palace in no time. When Queen Xena hears that you were here, she'll definitely want to speak to you. Did you know that these men..." He chucked a thumb over his shoulder at the line of bound and gagged mercenaries. "Tried to assassinate her?"
"I heard some of their plans," the young woman replied quietly. "They didn't think I was paying attention but I was."
"Well then... um... What's your name?"
The young woman smiled shyly. "Gabrielle."
Palaemon returned the smile. "Gabrielle, I know for a fact that the queen is going to want to meet you. You have valuable information."
Putting on a face that was a hundred times braver than she felt, Gabrielle nodded. "I'll do anything I can to help. I owe you my life."
"No," the captain replied. "Your life belongs to you, Gabrielle, not me."
With a heartfelt whisper, the kid squeezed the man's arm. "Thank you."
**
Salmonius tutted as he pressed his hand against the queen's forehead. "You have a fever, Xena."
"Tell me something I don't know," she replied testily. "I know a chill when I feel one."
"Hmm, feverish and bitchy," he teased as he got out his herbs and started to mix them together into a small cup.
Xena tried not to grin. "Just get on with it, you old goat."
"Yes, Majesty." Salmonius chuckled as he poured some hot water in on top of the mixture.
Xena's nose crinkled. "That smells really bad. I'm laying bets that it tastes worse."
"That'd be a safe bet," the healer replied with a sympathetic smile. "You know damn well how this tastes. You've administered it enough times."
"Yeah," Xena sighed, remembering the number of times she'd had to treat her own men for the coughing sickness. The queen was a skilled healer in her own right but, in her position, she could afford to have someone else take care of her. Despite that, Xena pretty much took care of herself. She didn't need people to fawn over her but in this case, she had no choice due to the position of the wound. She couldn’t reach her own back.
With an exasperated sigh, the queen took the cup and swirled the liquid for a moment. "Bottoms up." Then she grimaced, knocked back the entire contents of the cup in one gulp and chased it with a swallow of wine. "Oh gods, that sucks," she muttered as she lay back down on her belly. "Hey, is Palaemon back yet?"
"Not that I know of," Salmonius replied as he pulled back the sheets and carefully lifted the bandages away from the queen's back. She didn’t make a sound but the tension in her body and the way her fingers gripped the sheets told of the agony she was experiencing. "It's looking very..."
"I know. Just do it," Xena ordered. "You have to get the nasty stuff out."
The queen almost bit her lip through in pain as the healer applied pressure to the wound and then cleaned out the yellow pus. Once thoroughly cleaned and bandaged, he sat on the edge of the bed and covered Xena's clenched hand with his own. "It's done."
She nodded, loosened her grip on the sheets and sniffed back any tears that threatened to leak through her stoic exterior. She looked up at him. "Thanks."
"Take care of yourself. I'll be back soon to check on you again."
Xena nodded and then collapsed back onto the bed in utter exhaustion. Her pillow muffled her voice when she groaned. "I really hate being hurt."
**
Gabrielle was almost asleep when she felt the movement under her stopping abruptly. She lifted her head and looked around her, her green eyes trying to make out where she was in the darkness. Palaemon slid down from the horse and offered her a hand. "C'mon, Little One. We've arrived at the palace."
Oh. The palace. "Wow, it's huge," the young woman said softly, her voice full of wonder as the captain set her gently down on her feet.
"Yeah, it is. Xena had it extended when she got rich and powerful."
Gabrielle nodded, suddenly very curious about meeting Xena: Warrior Princess, Conqueror of Nations and Queen of Greece and it's surrounding lands. "Where is she now?"
Palaemon shook his head. "I'd imagine she's in bed, in considerable pain. She took an arrow in the back."
Gabrielle gasped and her green eyes widened. "By the gods."
"Yeah," the captain replied. "She was judging a riding contest and before I know it, she's on her knees with an arrow sticking out of her back. She didn’t even sense the attack coming."
"Sense?" Gabrielle asked confusedly.
"Sure. The queen can catch arrows but she never saw it coming. If she hadn't turned slightly just before the arrow hit, she'd be dead right now."
"Is she going to be ok?" the young woman asked.
"She'll be fine, Kid. The queen is a tough woman. Now come on. Let's find you somewhere to sleep."
Gabrielle followed Palaemon into the palace and waited while he spoke to the head servant. A few moments later, the woman led her to a warm and comfortable bedchamber. "Get settled, Miss and I'll bring you something to eat and drink."
"Thanks," Gabrielle replied with a warm smile. The servant left her and she wandered around the room, studying the tapestries and paintings on the wall. "How beautiful," she whispered as she gazed at a portrait of a tall, muscular woman with long, dark hair and very blue eyes. The painting mesmerized her and she just stood there, soaking in its essence until the servant woman returned with a tray.
"I hope you like chicken and bread," she said. "I'm afraid there isn't much else at this time of the night."
Gabrielle gladly took the tray. "This is wonderful. Thank you."
"Well." The woman smiled and bustled across the room. "You eat up while I turn down your bed." Gabrielle demolished her meal, much to the servant's amusement, and washed it down with a mug of warm milk. "I'll leave you to sleep now." After gathering up the tray, the woman left the room and Gabrielle took off her old dress. She washed quickly at the washstand and then climbed, exhausted, into the high, comfortable bed. On the count of three sheep, she was asleep.
****
Through The Eyes of The Conqueror by Cheeya - 135 pages
This isn't your traditional conqueror story. This is love story that has a bit of violence and other stuff in it but it can get a little mushy and ... Hell! I just like happy endings, ok?!
~Cheeya~
http://thestoreelounge.wordpress.com/authors/through-the-eyes-of-the-conqueror-by-cheeya/
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Thursday's Teaser - Autumn Winds by Anne Azel
Today’s excerpt is from Autumn Winds #1 in Anne Azel’s Seasons Series. The series can be found here: http://thestoreelounge.wordpress.com/2013/10/01/seasons-series-by-anne-azel/
Janet got out of the limo quickly, anticipating the baby making strange with the stiff, cold woman. Much to both Robbie and Janet’s surprise however, the little child looked into those blue eyes and gave a delighted squeal burying her head in Robbie’s neck and her chubby little arms into her dark, thick hair. When Robbie tried to give her back the two year old crunched up her face and hung on tighter. Janet’s eyes twinkled at the look of bewilderment that came across Roberta’s face. Her hand rose to cover a nervous grin then touched her forehead in thought, “Listen, may be you’d better hold on to her just for a little while. This is not the place for a scene,” she suggested.
Robbie’s eyes narrowed. Janet stared back innocently. “Stay right beside me!” Robbie ordered and Janet nodded, obligingly placing her hand around the tall woman’s elbow. They looked at each other at the touch. The wind blew their hair gently about their coat collars. Leaves rustled over head. Then they walked over to join Alexandria and Elizabeth by the grave.
The reporter captured the knot of Williams. Roberta, now holding the third generation, was clearly the head of the family. Alexandria and Elizabeth played their roles and the little wife held onto Roberta’s strong arm for support as she watched the coffin of her husband being placed on the grave supports. The picture appeared on page two.
At the end of the internment service, each of the family members stepped forward and dropped a red rose tied with a black ribbon on the checker flag that covered the coffin. Robbie gave her rose to the baby first then took it and dropped it by the red helmet. The child’s serious blue eyes followed it with intense interest. The last to place her rose was Janet. She leaned down and placed her rose on the coffin. “Thanks,” she whispered and then straightened, tears welling in her eyes as she made her way back to Roberta’s side.
Robbie instinctively wrapped her long arm around the grieving woman and wondered what her self-centered brother had ever done in his life for which he should be thanked. The family moved off. Robbie with her one arm supported the beautiful child: the other wrapped around the upset mother. Alexandria and Elizabeth followed, Alexandria a little surprised at being up-staged by her powerful daughter taking the lead.
At the limo, Robbie turned to meet her sister’s eye. Elizabeth gave the smallest of nods, following her mother into the vehicle, this time sitting beside her. Janet got in next and waited to take her child. To her surprise, Roberta held on to the little girl and easily slipped in beside her.
The conversation on the way to the hotel consisted of Janet telling bedtime stories to Rebecca who sat comfortably in Robbie’s lap and played sleepily with her gold chain. The little girl watched her mother’s face intently as the woman wove simple but beautiful fairy tales. The three Williams sat in wonder, watching the gold headed woman radiating love for her child as she told her stories.
When the child had fallen asleep in Robbie’s arms, she whispered to Janet, “Are you staying at the same hotel?”
“No, no, I plan to drive back home tonight,” explained the widow.
“Where is your car?” Robbie demanded.
“Back at the funeral home,” responded Janet as the limo pulled up to the hotel, “I can get a taxi from here.”
Alexandria made a noise somewhere between a squeal and a snort. “My dear, there is the reception. We have four hundred guests waiting to pay their respects. Do behave! Roberta!?”
Robbie trained her eyes on Janet who looked like she was about to rebel. “You will come with me and trust me to see that things are done right. Don’t worry, I will not expose you to any of Alexandria’s friends.” Janet’s face dropped the scowl and almost smiled.
“Roberta!” protested her mother.
Robbie ignored Alexandria and turned to her sister. “Sorry Sis, you will have to run shotgun while I babysit.”
Elizabeth nodded but said nothing. It was obvious that as far as Beth was concerned Roberta’s word was law.
They all trooped out, Roberta keeping the heir apparent in her arms. It was important that the press see a united Williams’ front. They walked a gauntlet of reporters in the lobby. Robbie wrapped a protective arm around Janet and covered the baby’s face by folding up her collar as they bee-lined for the waiting elevator.
On the top floor, they were ushered by the manager into a private suite where they took off their coats and straightened their make-up. Janet used the time to play with Rebecca on the floor after she had washed and changed her. Then they went to greet their guests in an adjoining hall.
The evening was a blur to Janet who was emotionally drained. Robbie steered her around and when she saw that her eyes were no longer focused she ushered her back into the bedroom and left her to sleep with Rebecca.
Several hours later, Robbie returned to find mother and daughter asleep still, Rebecca safely under the covers with her mom’s protective arm over her and Janet on top of the covers wearing only her slip. Her strawberry blond hair washed across the pillow.
For a minute, Robbie leaned against the door jamb and enjoyed the view. She was a beautiful woman, Robbie concluded – photogenic features; wonder if she can act? She pushed herself off and walked over to the bed. “Janet. Janet. Hey!” Robbie called resorting to giving the petite woman’s bare shoulder a shake. The skin was warm and silky soft under Robbie’s hand. Robbie pulled her hand away.
“Huh? Oh! What time is it?” the blond asked, clearly not fully awake.
“Time to go,” responded Robbie. “I’ll get you a coffee while you are dressing.” She turned and left. Janet got up and busied herself getting washed and dressed and seeing to Rebecca.
Robbie returned some time later with a coffee, a glass of milk and some cookies on a tray. “Here, the limo is downstairs. It will take us over to where your car is parked. Then I’ll drive home with you,” organized Robbie.
Really, I’m okay,” stated Janet hurriedly, “I can manage from here.”
“Feed the kid,” was Robbie’s only response as she again left the room.
When she returned, she had changed to jeans and a suede jacket over a brushed cotton shirt and was carrying an overnight bag. Janet was just getting Rebecca into her coat. “This isn’t necessary,” Janet complained.
“Yes, it is. You are tired and emotional and you plan to drive some five hundred miles through the night with the only Williams’ heir,” Robbie stated bluntly.
“Damn the Williams!” snapped Janet her temper rising at this woman’s clear intention to meddle in her life.
“Too late, they already are,” responded Robbie calmly. “I will drive and you can take care of…”
“Rebecca,” supplied Janet sharply.
“Rebecca,” repeated Robbie looking at the child as she registered her name. Then she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her cellular phone. “Rowe, we are leaving the hotel now. I’ll be gone two days maybe more.” The phone clicked off.
Janet got out of the limo quickly, anticipating the baby making strange with the stiff, cold woman. Much to both Robbie and Janet’s surprise however, the little child looked into those blue eyes and gave a delighted squeal burying her head in Robbie’s neck and her chubby little arms into her dark, thick hair. When Robbie tried to give her back the two year old crunched up her face and hung on tighter. Janet’s eyes twinkled at the look of bewilderment that came across Roberta’s face. Her hand rose to cover a nervous grin then touched her forehead in thought, “Listen, may be you’d better hold on to her just for a little while. This is not the place for a scene,” she suggested.
Robbie’s eyes narrowed. Janet stared back innocently. “Stay right beside me!” Robbie ordered and Janet nodded, obligingly placing her hand around the tall woman’s elbow. They looked at each other at the touch. The wind blew their hair gently about their coat collars. Leaves rustled over head. Then they walked over to join Alexandria and Elizabeth by the grave.
The reporter captured the knot of Williams. Roberta, now holding the third generation, was clearly the head of the family. Alexandria and Elizabeth played their roles and the little wife held onto Roberta’s strong arm for support as she watched the coffin of her husband being placed on the grave supports. The picture appeared on page two.
At the end of the internment service, each of the family members stepped forward and dropped a red rose tied with a black ribbon on the checker flag that covered the coffin. Robbie gave her rose to the baby first then took it and dropped it by the red helmet. The child’s serious blue eyes followed it with intense interest. The last to place her rose was Janet. She leaned down and placed her rose on the coffin. “Thanks,” she whispered and then straightened, tears welling in her eyes as she made her way back to Roberta’s side.
Robbie instinctively wrapped her long arm around the grieving woman and wondered what her self-centered brother had ever done in his life for which he should be thanked. The family moved off. Robbie with her one arm supported the beautiful child: the other wrapped around the upset mother. Alexandria and Elizabeth followed, Alexandria a little surprised at being up-staged by her powerful daughter taking the lead.
At the limo, Robbie turned to meet her sister’s eye. Elizabeth gave the smallest of nods, following her mother into the vehicle, this time sitting beside her. Janet got in next and waited to take her child. To her surprise, Roberta held on to the little girl and easily slipped in beside her.
The conversation on the way to the hotel consisted of Janet telling bedtime stories to Rebecca who sat comfortably in Robbie’s lap and played sleepily with her gold chain. The little girl watched her mother’s face intently as the woman wove simple but beautiful fairy tales. The three Williams sat in wonder, watching the gold headed woman radiating love for her child as she told her stories.
When the child had fallen asleep in Robbie’s arms, she whispered to Janet, “Are you staying at the same hotel?”
“No, no, I plan to drive back home tonight,” explained the widow.
“Where is your car?” Robbie demanded.
“Back at the funeral home,” responded Janet as the limo pulled up to the hotel, “I can get a taxi from here.”
Alexandria made a noise somewhere between a squeal and a snort. “My dear, there is the reception. We have four hundred guests waiting to pay their respects. Do behave! Roberta!?”
Robbie trained her eyes on Janet who looked like she was about to rebel. “You will come with me and trust me to see that things are done right. Don’t worry, I will not expose you to any of Alexandria’s friends.” Janet’s face dropped the scowl and almost smiled.
“Roberta!” protested her mother.
Robbie ignored Alexandria and turned to her sister. “Sorry Sis, you will have to run shotgun while I babysit.”
Elizabeth nodded but said nothing. It was obvious that as far as Beth was concerned Roberta’s word was law.
They all trooped out, Roberta keeping the heir apparent in her arms. It was important that the press see a united Williams’ front. They walked a gauntlet of reporters in the lobby. Robbie wrapped a protective arm around Janet and covered the baby’s face by folding up her collar as they bee-lined for the waiting elevator.
On the top floor, they were ushered by the manager into a private suite where they took off their coats and straightened their make-up. Janet used the time to play with Rebecca on the floor after she had washed and changed her. Then they went to greet their guests in an adjoining hall.
The evening was a blur to Janet who was emotionally drained. Robbie steered her around and when she saw that her eyes were no longer focused she ushered her back into the bedroom and left her to sleep with Rebecca.
Several hours later, Robbie returned to find mother and daughter asleep still, Rebecca safely under the covers with her mom’s protective arm over her and Janet on top of the covers wearing only her slip. Her strawberry blond hair washed across the pillow.
For a minute, Robbie leaned against the door jamb and enjoyed the view. She was a beautiful woman, Robbie concluded – photogenic features; wonder if she can act? She pushed herself off and walked over to the bed. “Janet. Janet. Hey!” Robbie called resorting to giving the petite woman’s bare shoulder a shake. The skin was warm and silky soft under Robbie’s hand. Robbie pulled her hand away.
“Huh? Oh! What time is it?” the blond asked, clearly not fully awake.
“Time to go,” responded Robbie. “I’ll get you a coffee while you are dressing.” She turned and left. Janet got up and busied herself getting washed and dressed and seeing to Rebecca.
Robbie returned some time later with a coffee, a glass of milk and some cookies on a tray. “Here, the limo is downstairs. It will take us over to where your car is parked. Then I’ll drive home with you,” organized Robbie.
Really, I’m okay,” stated Janet hurriedly, “I can manage from here.”
“Feed the kid,” was Robbie’s only response as she again left the room.
When she returned, she had changed to jeans and a suede jacket over a brushed cotton shirt and was carrying an overnight bag. Janet was just getting Rebecca into her coat. “This isn’t necessary,” Janet complained.
“Yes, it is. You are tired and emotional and you plan to drive some five hundred miles through the night with the only Williams’ heir,” Robbie stated bluntly.
“Damn the Williams!” snapped Janet her temper rising at this woman’s clear intention to meddle in her life.
“Too late, they already are,” responded Robbie calmly. “I will drive and you can take care of…”
“Rebecca,” supplied Janet sharply.
“Rebecca,” repeated Robbie looking at the child as she registered her name. Then she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her cellular phone. “Rowe, we are leaving the hotel now. I’ll be gone two days maybe more.” The phone clicked off.
Autumn Winds by Anne Azel - 103 pages
Robbie Williams was rich, famous, and powerful. She thought she was in complete control until she met Janet and her daughter Reb. Suddenly, Robbie's world was way out of control.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Thursday's Teaser - The Reawkening by J.A. Zollicoffer
Today's teaser is from The Reawakening by J. A. Zollicoffer
"It all began when my father caught me making pictures…"
"What in the name of the Deus are you doing, girl?!" Warren Morgan yelled when he found his only daughter with a piece of coal in her hand.
Keller dropped the sooty brick, frightened of what her father might do. It wasn't the first time he had caught her indulging in this forbidden temptation, but he decided that it would be the last. Drastic measures had to be taken.
Walking past her, he grabbed an empty shoulder sack. "Daddy wha…why are you putting my clothes in the sack?"
Without looking up from his task, Warren shoved every piece of feminine lookin clothing his hand fell on, into the bag. "Since you can't seem to follow the rules, I'm sending you to a place where they guarantee your compliance."
Realizing that she was going to be sent away, Keller started to cry. When Ellen Morgan heard her daughter's sobs, she rushed into the girl's room, where she saw her husband packing their daughter's travel sack. "By the Deus, Warren, what are you doing?"
"Look at the wall, Ellie. Look at what she's done."
Ellen's eyes started to tear up when she saw the drawing. "Why, Keller? Why must you continue to tempt the Deus?"
"I'm sorry, momma. I can't help it. The pictures just want to come out. Please understand," The blonde pleaded.
Ellen reached out and gently laid her hand on her husband's thick forearm. Ranching had built up his body, as well as their three sons. Now their hard work was garnering them praise. Their ranch was one of only three that raised enough beef to feed the entire Province throughout the seasons.
"Can't we give her another chance, Warren?"
The tall blonde looked down into his wife's pleading green eyes and almost…almost gave in, but he knew, deep down in his gut…he knew that if he allowed his daughter to continue her drawing unchecked, she would bring the wrath of The Order down on their heads. And if he had learned nothing else from The Edicts, it was Curtis Poole's first rule: Never is the need of the one, greater than the survival of the whole.
He quickly turned away from his wife's gaze. "No, Ellen, you know the first rule as well as I do." He shoved the full sack into his frightened daughter's arms. "So does Keller. I am not better than the man that led us out of turmoil. If Curtis Poole could send his kin away to keep the Province strong, then so can I."
He grabbed Keller by the elbow and started pulling her towards the front door. "Wait!" Ellen yelled.
Both blondes turned as one.
"Where are you taking her?"
Warren opened the front door. "I'm taking her to the center. They say the new program they started can heal the affliction that causes the difference, without having to send them out into the wilderness."
Ellen was relieved to hear that. At least her child wouldn't be left to fend for herself like so many others before her. As the wagon pulled away from the house, Keller yelled over her shoulder.
"Tell Sherman, Thomas and Walter that I'll be okay!"
The older woman waved and wiped her eyes. Even as she was being taken away Keller's thoughts were of her brothers. Ellen couldn't contain her sobs any longer and let the dam break free. Fear for her only daughter's safety consumed her emotions and she became weak with it, falling to the floor in a heap.
****
The wagon pulled up in front of a tall, brick building, it was the only structure built by the ancients that was still standing in the Province. The fading blue and white sign out front read _ _THE_DA RES_ A _C_ CENTER.
It had been one-hundred years since the current leader, Myron Scott's great-grandfather, James took over control of The Order from the Poole line and almost immediately he started to make changes in the day-to-day handling of the Province.
When James died his son, Oliver walked into the position. The changes he made were not as obvious, but just as memorable as his father's. His most popular proclamation being the well digging incentive. Under his rule, instead of the citizens using communal wells, a personal one for family use was dung on every owner's property.
When Oliver's oldest son, Garland took over leadership he made his contribution to change by decreeing that a celebration could be held twice a year during harvest time. The joy that it brought the people endeared the man to his flock. But after only ten years as the leader, Garland fell ill and one year ago, at the age of fifty, died, leaving his oldest son, twenty-five-year-old Myron, as The Order's new leader.
Wanting to mark his ascent to power in a most memorable way, and also to prove the naysayer's wrong that were of the mind that he wasn't ready to lead, Myron conceived of a project that would distinguish his reign from that of his ancestors.
He decided to make a permanent change to a practice that had been in place since the time of Curtis Poole. No longer would the intuitives be sent out across the Badlands. Instead, with the help of experts, he devised a program where through physical and psychological manipulation he could control their creativity and mold their abilities in a way that would best serve the Province.
It didn't take long for him to open and staff the old Bethesda Research Center, and with the help of people he trusted to get the job done, the last nine months had been productive. After the citizens got word that their loved ones would no longer be sent out into the wilderness, they brought them in themselves, hoping that the center would change them. Now the rooms were almost filled to capacity.
So, when Warren Morgan walked his daughter up to the admissions desk, it was with a sense of hopefulness that he gave the woman all the information that she requested. And when he was asked to make an X beside what he was told was his name, giving permission for Keller's treatment, he did so with the utmost trust in the leader of the Province's ability to know what was best.
Before they led his daughter away, he gave her a stiff hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. "You do everything they tell ya, Keller, and before you know it you'll be back home, as good as new."
*******
"This is your room, and that's where you'll sleep" the not overly friendly attendant said as she pointed to a cot that was pushed into a dark corner of the large room.
Before any questions could be asked, the woman was gone, leaving Keller alone to get familiar with her surroundings. She dropped her sack on the narrow bed and checked out her new home.
There were three other beds in the room, each occupying one of the shadowed corners. Looking at them filled Keller with a profound sadness. How long would she have to live away from her friends and family, and when she returned to them…who would she be?
Before her thoughts could become any darker, the door opened and in walked three women. The youngest looked to be no older than sixteen, the oldest about twenty. All three shuffled in and sat on their assigned beds without saying a word to their new roommate.
Keller stood up and walked to the center of the room. Deciding that humor was always a good way to make new friends, she quipped, "So what are you guys in for?"
This got a slight up turn of the three girl's lips, but no sound was made as each one rose from her cot to introduce herself to the blonde.
"I tell stories," the tall redhead, who also appeared to be the oldest whispered.
"I hum melodies," said the short brunette.
"I make pictures," said the youngest, and most timid of the three.
This last confession caught Keller's interest. "So do I!" she said with enthusiasm.
The women shushed her and looked towards the door. "Be quiet," the older one said. "If you make any noises that sound like you're having fun they'll come in, and…" here she faltered.
The youngest girl filled in the rest. "They'll take away any joy you have left inside."
Feeling extremely confused, and a little frightened, Keller resisted the urge to ask the girl to elaborate, instinct telling her she really didn't want to know, so she chose instead to ask their names. "My name is Keller, what's yours?"
The young artist extended a shaky hand. "I'm, Jesse Lynn."
The short brunette smiled with warm eyes. "My name is, Paige."
The oldest and tallest of the three gave a small smile that crinkled the corners of her green eyes as she held out her hand. "I'm, Patsy Thirwell. Glad to meet you."
Before the introductions could go any further, a call was heard going out, up and down the hallway. All of the newcomers were being told to line up outside of their rooms.
Keller felt her heart start to beat a little faster. She felt like it was too soon to be pulled away from the comfort she was beginning to feel with her new roommates, but she did as instructed and headed towards the door. As she left the room Keller received three sad smiles, but she didn't see them, as her back was already turned.
The newcomers were lined up and as the director, Steve Hamilton went down the line he asked each person. "What is your affliction?" When he reached Keller her head was bowed, so he placed the tip of his finger under her chin and forced eye contact. "And what is your affliction, my pretty one?" he asked in a purr that sent shivers down Keller's spine.
"I…I make pictures," she said as she tried to stop her knees from trembling. There was something about this tall man that frightened her. Aside from his yellowing teeth and cadaverously thin body, he emitted a kind of hiss when he spoke that made her flesh creep.
"Ah, lovely," he said before finally removing his bony finger from her chin. "After your healing, your pictures will serve the Province well in the new direction we are headed."
Moving down the line he finished his inspection and stood in front of the nervous group of newcomers. "I want you all to relax. There is nothing to fear."
Keller didn't want to, but she couldn't help herself. As he spoke, all she could concentrate on was the extended ssss sound that was made at the end of each word ending in an S sound. The word relax echoed in her ear long after the sentence was finished.
"We are here to help you become productive members of society, nothing more. And I have no doubt that by the time we are finished, each and every one of you will be just as you were intended to be."
His short speech could have been interpreted as a man speaking with compassion about the help he thought the treatments would provide, but to Keller there was something decidedly carnivorous about the delivery, and she got a very bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.
*******
That night while lying in her bed, Keller overheard a conversation that was going on between two men that were walking the hallways.
"We've learned that humiliation helps when adjusting the patients. They either do as they're told, or disappear inside themselves, either way we succeed in our efforts to control their urges."
He flipped his thumb in the direction of Keller's door. "As a matter of fact Mr. Hamilton has decided to break in the new one, says he sees a real defiant spirit lurking in her eyes that only he can cast out."
The other voice laughed a little. "It doesn't hurt that she's very beautiful either…does it?"
A more lecherous chuckle was heard. "Well there's that too. To be honest I wouldn't mind being the one to help here let her demons loose, but it is not to be."
The voices lowered abruptly and the muffled sounds became contrite just before two sets of footsteps could be heard moving down the hall.
When the door to Keller's room slowly opened, she could just make out a man's form in the light of the candle he was holding. As the door closed the candle slowly made its way over to her corner of the shadowed room. The man sat down, and she felt the thin mattress sink down from the extra weight. Just as she was about to ask what the intruder wanted a skeletal hand covered her mouth and the face of the director was lit by the tiny flame.
"It's time for your first lesson, Keller Morgan," he whispered with his rancid breath.
When he sat the candle on the floor she felt his hands start to make a trail down the center of her chest, it was then that the struggle began.
Keller kicked and scratch and pushed with all her might, but the man's size was deceiving. He was much stronger than he looked. Calling for help from her roommates was only met with silence.
She had no way of knowing it, but the three women were laying in their beds with their eyes tightly closed, trying to push out the sounds and memories of their own tortuous first night in the center.
When Keller realized that there was no way she could fight this man off she went completely still, appearing to her attacker as if she were accepting her fate. But that wasn't the case. She was invoking the fifth rule: When faced with a stronger opponent, make his weakness your strength.
When the man had his britches around his bony hips and his manhood was exposed, Keller saw her opportunity, and with lightening speed reached out with all her might and squeezed the fleshy sacks that would bring him to his knees.
His assault on her stopped immediately, but Keller continued to hold on as she slid from the bed, knowing that if she let go, the fight would be on again. She had helped turn enough bulls into steers to know how to handle a pair of scrotums fresh for neutering. She only hoped that wouldn't become necessary…the job could be quite messy without the proper tools.
She whispered in a harsh voice for help. "Patsy." When there was no response she called out again, a little louder. "PATSY!"
To avoid having someone hear, Patsy answered. "What?!"
"Come over here and pick up the candle."
Keller heard the woman making her way over. When she got close enough to see what was happening she pulled in a sharp breath. "By, the Deus. Keller, what have you done?"
"I've just stopped myself from being raped by a beast no better than a bull in heat."
The quiet, but intense conversation caught the other occupant's attention, and Jesse Lynn and Paige made their way over to Keller's side of the room. When they saw what was going on they spoke in unison.
"Oh, no."
"That's right," Steve Hamilton gritted out. "Let go of me or I'll make your punishment last for days instead of hours."
Keller hadn't realize it, but the sound of the hard S's Steve made caused her to reflexively squeeze the man's scrotum. It wasn't until he moaned in agony that she realized she had tightened her hold to the point where she could feel his testicles shifting around inside. She almost apologized until she remembered why she held them in the first place.
Looking at the three women that had formed a circle around her Keller made a plea to the roommates she had just met that day.
"I need one of you to do me a huge favor. I'm not staying here. After this there is no way that I can, but I can't leave unless someone takes a hold and keeps this animal in place long enough for me to escape."
When no one moved, she begged. "Please."
Feeling charged by Keller's bold move, Patsy maneuvered herself beside the brave little blonde and squared her shoulders. She had been at the center for three months, and during that time she had been molested at least three nights a week, under the guise that she still harbored her desire to tell stories.
'Well, of course I do,' she thought. 'Just because I don't share them doesn't mean they no longer come to me.'
She hated this place. With every fiber of her being, she hated this place. A fury welled up in her like she had never known, and before she could talk herself out of it, she snatched the director's tender parts from Keller's grip and was now in possession of them.
Keller didn't waste any time. She gathered her sack, waved a thank you to her roommates of less than a day, and quietly slipped into the night.
When Patsy was sure that Keller was gone, she looked down at a squirming Steve Hamilton. "Now, what do I do with you?" she asked, and just for fun gave his testicles a little shake, rattling them around.
"Oh, my Deus. Patsy, what's gonna happen to us now?" Paige asked.
Patsy hesitated for only a second. Jesse Lynn, rip the bed covers into strips."
When the girl didn't move immediately Patsy put a little more authority in her voice. "DO IT, JESS. We don't have much time."
After the director had been trussed up like a festival pig, the women gathered their few personal items and left the center for good.
*******
"It all began when my father caught me making pictures…"
"What in the name of the Deus are you doing, girl?!" Warren Morgan yelled when he found his only daughter with a piece of coal in her hand.
Keller dropped the sooty brick, frightened of what her father might do. It wasn't the first time he had caught her indulging in this forbidden temptation, but he decided that it would be the last. Drastic measures had to be taken.
Walking past her, he grabbed an empty shoulder sack. "Daddy wha…why are you putting my clothes in the sack?"
Without looking up from his task, Warren shoved every piece of feminine lookin clothing his hand fell on, into the bag. "Since you can't seem to follow the rules, I'm sending you to a place where they guarantee your compliance."
Realizing that she was going to be sent away, Keller started to cry. When Ellen Morgan heard her daughter's sobs, she rushed into the girl's room, where she saw her husband packing their daughter's travel sack. "By the Deus, Warren, what are you doing?"
"Look at the wall, Ellie. Look at what she's done."
Ellen's eyes started to tear up when she saw the drawing. "Why, Keller? Why must you continue to tempt the Deus?"
"I'm sorry, momma. I can't help it. The pictures just want to come out. Please understand," The blonde pleaded.
Ellen reached out and gently laid her hand on her husband's thick forearm. Ranching had built up his body, as well as their three sons. Now their hard work was garnering them praise. Their ranch was one of only three that raised enough beef to feed the entire Province throughout the seasons.
"Can't we give her another chance, Warren?"
The tall blonde looked down into his wife's pleading green eyes and almost…almost gave in, but he knew, deep down in his gut…he knew that if he allowed his daughter to continue her drawing unchecked, she would bring the wrath of The Order down on their heads. And if he had learned nothing else from The Edicts, it was Curtis Poole's first rule: Never is the need of the one, greater than the survival of the whole.
He quickly turned away from his wife's gaze. "No, Ellen, you know the first rule as well as I do." He shoved the full sack into his frightened daughter's arms. "So does Keller. I am not better than the man that led us out of turmoil. If Curtis Poole could send his kin away to keep the Province strong, then so can I."
He grabbed Keller by the elbow and started pulling her towards the front door. "Wait!" Ellen yelled.
Both blondes turned as one.
"Where are you taking her?"
Warren opened the front door. "I'm taking her to the center. They say the new program they started can heal the affliction that causes the difference, without having to send them out into the wilderness."
Ellen was relieved to hear that. At least her child wouldn't be left to fend for herself like so many others before her. As the wagon pulled away from the house, Keller yelled over her shoulder.
"Tell Sherman, Thomas and Walter that I'll be okay!"
The older woman waved and wiped her eyes. Even as she was being taken away Keller's thoughts were of her brothers. Ellen couldn't contain her sobs any longer and let the dam break free. Fear for her only daughter's safety consumed her emotions and she became weak with it, falling to the floor in a heap.
****
The wagon pulled up in front of a tall, brick building, it was the only structure built by the ancients that was still standing in the Province. The fading blue and white sign out front read _ _THE_DA RES_ A _C_ CENTER.
It had been one-hundred years since the current leader, Myron Scott's great-grandfather, James took over control of The Order from the Poole line and almost immediately he started to make changes in the day-to-day handling of the Province.
When James died his son, Oliver walked into the position. The changes he made were not as obvious, but just as memorable as his father's. His most popular proclamation being the well digging incentive. Under his rule, instead of the citizens using communal wells, a personal one for family use was dung on every owner's property.
When Oliver's oldest son, Garland took over leadership he made his contribution to change by decreeing that a celebration could be held twice a year during harvest time. The joy that it brought the people endeared the man to his flock. But after only ten years as the leader, Garland fell ill and one year ago, at the age of fifty, died, leaving his oldest son, twenty-five-year-old Myron, as The Order's new leader.
Wanting to mark his ascent to power in a most memorable way, and also to prove the naysayer's wrong that were of the mind that he wasn't ready to lead, Myron conceived of a project that would distinguish his reign from that of his ancestors.
He decided to make a permanent change to a practice that had been in place since the time of Curtis Poole. No longer would the intuitives be sent out across the Badlands. Instead, with the help of experts, he devised a program where through physical and psychological manipulation he could control their creativity and mold their abilities in a way that would best serve the Province.
It didn't take long for him to open and staff the old Bethesda Research Center, and with the help of people he trusted to get the job done, the last nine months had been productive. After the citizens got word that their loved ones would no longer be sent out into the wilderness, they brought them in themselves, hoping that the center would change them. Now the rooms were almost filled to capacity.
So, when Warren Morgan walked his daughter up to the admissions desk, it was with a sense of hopefulness that he gave the woman all the information that she requested. And when he was asked to make an X beside what he was told was his name, giving permission for Keller's treatment, he did so with the utmost trust in the leader of the Province's ability to know what was best.
Before they led his daughter away, he gave her a stiff hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. "You do everything they tell ya, Keller, and before you know it you'll be back home, as good as new."
*******
"This is your room, and that's where you'll sleep" the not overly friendly attendant said as she pointed to a cot that was pushed into a dark corner of the large room.
Before any questions could be asked, the woman was gone, leaving Keller alone to get familiar with her surroundings. She dropped her sack on the narrow bed and checked out her new home.
There were three other beds in the room, each occupying one of the shadowed corners. Looking at them filled Keller with a profound sadness. How long would she have to live away from her friends and family, and when she returned to them…who would she be?
Before her thoughts could become any darker, the door opened and in walked three women. The youngest looked to be no older than sixteen, the oldest about twenty. All three shuffled in and sat on their assigned beds without saying a word to their new roommate.
Keller stood up and walked to the center of the room. Deciding that humor was always a good way to make new friends, she quipped, "So what are you guys in for?"
This got a slight up turn of the three girl's lips, but no sound was made as each one rose from her cot to introduce herself to the blonde.
"I tell stories," the tall redhead, who also appeared to be the oldest whispered.
"I hum melodies," said the short brunette.
"I make pictures," said the youngest, and most timid of the three.
This last confession caught Keller's interest. "So do I!" she said with enthusiasm.
The women shushed her and looked towards the door. "Be quiet," the older one said. "If you make any noises that sound like you're having fun they'll come in, and…" here she faltered.
The youngest girl filled in the rest. "They'll take away any joy you have left inside."
Feeling extremely confused, and a little frightened, Keller resisted the urge to ask the girl to elaborate, instinct telling her she really didn't want to know, so she chose instead to ask their names. "My name is Keller, what's yours?"
The young artist extended a shaky hand. "I'm, Jesse Lynn."
The short brunette smiled with warm eyes. "My name is, Paige."
The oldest and tallest of the three gave a small smile that crinkled the corners of her green eyes as she held out her hand. "I'm, Patsy Thirwell. Glad to meet you."
Before the introductions could go any further, a call was heard going out, up and down the hallway. All of the newcomers were being told to line up outside of their rooms.
Keller felt her heart start to beat a little faster. She felt like it was too soon to be pulled away from the comfort she was beginning to feel with her new roommates, but she did as instructed and headed towards the door. As she left the room Keller received three sad smiles, but she didn't see them, as her back was already turned.
The newcomers were lined up and as the director, Steve Hamilton went down the line he asked each person. "What is your affliction?" When he reached Keller her head was bowed, so he placed the tip of his finger under her chin and forced eye contact. "And what is your affliction, my pretty one?" he asked in a purr that sent shivers down Keller's spine.
"I…I make pictures," she said as she tried to stop her knees from trembling. There was something about this tall man that frightened her. Aside from his yellowing teeth and cadaverously thin body, he emitted a kind of hiss when he spoke that made her flesh creep.
"Ah, lovely," he said before finally removing his bony finger from her chin. "After your healing, your pictures will serve the Province well in the new direction we are headed."
Moving down the line he finished his inspection and stood in front of the nervous group of newcomers. "I want you all to relax. There is nothing to fear."
Keller didn't want to, but she couldn't help herself. As he spoke, all she could concentrate on was the extended ssss sound that was made at the end of each word ending in an S sound. The word relax echoed in her ear long after the sentence was finished.
"We are here to help you become productive members of society, nothing more. And I have no doubt that by the time we are finished, each and every one of you will be just as you were intended to be."
His short speech could have been interpreted as a man speaking with compassion about the help he thought the treatments would provide, but to Keller there was something decidedly carnivorous about the delivery, and she got a very bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.
*******
That night while lying in her bed, Keller overheard a conversation that was going on between two men that were walking the hallways.
"We've learned that humiliation helps when adjusting the patients. They either do as they're told, or disappear inside themselves, either way we succeed in our efforts to control their urges."
He flipped his thumb in the direction of Keller's door. "As a matter of fact Mr. Hamilton has decided to break in the new one, says he sees a real defiant spirit lurking in her eyes that only he can cast out."
The other voice laughed a little. "It doesn't hurt that she's very beautiful either…does it?"
A more lecherous chuckle was heard. "Well there's that too. To be honest I wouldn't mind being the one to help here let her demons loose, but it is not to be."
The voices lowered abruptly and the muffled sounds became contrite just before two sets of footsteps could be heard moving down the hall.
When the door to Keller's room slowly opened, she could just make out a man's form in the light of the candle he was holding. As the door closed the candle slowly made its way over to her corner of the shadowed room. The man sat down, and she felt the thin mattress sink down from the extra weight. Just as she was about to ask what the intruder wanted a skeletal hand covered her mouth and the face of the director was lit by the tiny flame.
"It's time for your first lesson, Keller Morgan," he whispered with his rancid breath.
When he sat the candle on the floor she felt his hands start to make a trail down the center of her chest, it was then that the struggle began.
Keller kicked and scratch and pushed with all her might, but the man's size was deceiving. He was much stronger than he looked. Calling for help from her roommates was only met with silence.
She had no way of knowing it, but the three women were laying in their beds with their eyes tightly closed, trying to push out the sounds and memories of their own tortuous first night in the center.
When Keller realized that there was no way she could fight this man off she went completely still, appearing to her attacker as if she were accepting her fate. But that wasn't the case. She was invoking the fifth rule: When faced with a stronger opponent, make his weakness your strength.
When the man had his britches around his bony hips and his manhood was exposed, Keller saw her opportunity, and with lightening speed reached out with all her might and squeezed the fleshy sacks that would bring him to his knees.
His assault on her stopped immediately, but Keller continued to hold on as she slid from the bed, knowing that if she let go, the fight would be on again. She had helped turn enough bulls into steers to know how to handle a pair of scrotums fresh for neutering. She only hoped that wouldn't become necessary…the job could be quite messy without the proper tools.
She whispered in a harsh voice for help. "Patsy." When there was no response she called out again, a little louder. "PATSY!"
To avoid having someone hear, Patsy answered. "What?!"
"Come over here and pick up the candle."
Keller heard the woman making her way over. When she got close enough to see what was happening she pulled in a sharp breath. "By, the Deus. Keller, what have you done?"
"I've just stopped myself from being raped by a beast no better than a bull in heat."
The quiet, but intense conversation caught the other occupant's attention, and Jesse Lynn and Paige made their way over to Keller's side of the room. When they saw what was going on they spoke in unison.
"Oh, no."
"That's right," Steve Hamilton gritted out. "Let go of me or I'll make your punishment last for days instead of hours."
Keller hadn't realize it, but the sound of the hard S's Steve made caused her to reflexively squeeze the man's scrotum. It wasn't until he moaned in agony that she realized she had tightened her hold to the point where she could feel his testicles shifting around inside. She almost apologized until she remembered why she held them in the first place.
Looking at the three women that had formed a circle around her Keller made a plea to the roommates she had just met that day.
"I need one of you to do me a huge favor. I'm not staying here. After this there is no way that I can, but I can't leave unless someone takes a hold and keeps this animal in place long enough for me to escape."
When no one moved, she begged. "Please."
Feeling charged by Keller's bold move, Patsy maneuvered herself beside the brave little blonde and squared her shoulders. She had been at the center for three months, and during that time she had been molested at least three nights a week, under the guise that she still harbored her desire to tell stories.
'Well, of course I do,' she thought. 'Just because I don't share them doesn't mean they no longer come to me.'
She hated this place. With every fiber of her being, she hated this place. A fury welled up in her like she had never known, and before she could talk herself out of it, she snatched the director's tender parts from Keller's grip and was now in possession of them.
Keller didn't waste any time. She gathered her sack, waved a thank you to her roommates of less than a day, and quietly slipped into the night.
When Patsy was sure that Keller was gone, she looked down at a squirming Steve Hamilton. "Now, what do I do with you?" she asked, and just for fun gave his testicles a little shake, rattling them around.
"Oh, my Deus. Patsy, what's gonna happen to us now?" Paige asked.
Patsy hesitated for only a second. Jesse Lynn, rip the bed covers into strips."
When the girl didn't move immediately Patsy put a little more authority in her voice. "DO IT, JESS. We don't have much time."
After the director had been trussed up like a festival pig, the women gathered their few personal items and left the center for good.
*******
The Reawakening by J. A. Zollicoffer - 269 pages
The world has changed, and new ways of living had to be found. This story takes place in a post apocalyptic world where the citizens had to start over and carve out a fresh existence, much like the pioneers had to do. Troi Donner is a sentry for her village, and Keller Morgan is a recent escapee from hers. When their paths cross it is the catalyst that is necessary to reveal long hidden truths.
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