The publisher has delayed release, but I can’t wait for you to get a taste of the new book in The Dragons' War series. It’s about Katheryn Corvus, the mother of the star of The Book of Chaos: Diana. They don’t have a cover yet, but I can tease you with the start.
Description: Katheryn - Angel of Death
A war fought for one purpose:
the love of her sister.
When slavers murder her
parents and capture her sister, Katheryn Corvus, a fisher girl from a small
village, is left homeless, betrayed by the family she trusted.
In a nation that kills its
kings, Katheryn is fifth in-line for the Mave, a powerful station she doesn’t
care about. But the neighboring empire, driven by an arcane book of magic, does
care and embroils Katheryn and her sister in a contest between nations: an
empire built on slavery, and hers built on freedom.
It is up to Katheryn alone to
unite her country with the spirits of the land to defeat the empire and free
her sister.
But even her own countrymen,
those she would free from tyranny, want her dead.
“Katheryn is Queen Boudica
and Joan of Arc embodied in the same person!” Beta reader.
Prologue and Chapter 1:
Katheryn – Angel of Death
In
the Holy City of Mokdar, the End of Times began with a scream.
Empress
Ah-Al gazed upon the scores of ornately dressed opportunists and connivers who
filled the audience chamber at the court of Emperor Quesh Mamout in the
Imperial Palace, listening for advantage that her station could not provide.
Quesh
waved his hand. “Denied,” he said to dismiss the petitioner before he finished.
Sulerian Elites in golden armor escorted him across the white marble floor and
back into the crowd.
The
emperor turned to his pregnant concubine who sat just behind him to his right.
“Set lunch, dear. This is too boring to continue.”
The
concubine rose, and Quesh prepared to rise when his wife spoke.
“Next,”
Ah-Al said, and a stout man in opulent robes approached. “And what do you bring
the emperor, Governor Vorless?”
Vorless
bowed deeply with a flourish of his cape. “Divine Emperor, I most humbly
beseech you to accept my petition to—”
Quesh
stomped his foot. “Get on with it, Governor. Lunch awaits.”
“I
offer a mission of immense wealth and possibility, a mission that will make Suleria the most powerful
empire on Juro. Your rule will extend through the South and the North and—”
The
emperor leaned forward. “And how will you accomplish this?”
“I
propose the conquest of Nordes using the slave trade to corrupt the Lords.”
“The
North has proven a formidable bulwark against smuggling and invasion. And what
will this cost us?”
“Nothing,
Your Highness,” Vorless said. “Only an Imperial Charter to protect Kabuna while
I am on this mission. I will pay for any Sulerian troops.”
“So
you ask that I protect the lands you cannot protect yourself while you go on
this adventure.”
“The
gain will be yours, Your Highness,” Vorless pleaded. “Nordes will give us
access to Xorellian steel we can use to conquer the world. I have already
allied with lords who will give us the capital at Wikkert, and—”
Quesh
waved his hand. “No,” he said and stood.
“But
Your Majesty,” Vorless continued, “the gain—”
“Say
another word, and you will feed the grax in the Garden.” As he turned away, the
audience chamber bowed, while Ah-Al gave him a side-eye.
#
In
their private dining room, a servant closed the drapes to lessen the midday
glare from ice covering the peaks of the Pamir Kush Mountains against which the
palace was built.
At
the table, Quesh gulped down a half-goblet of wine before dipping a spoon into
his soup. By his side, his concubine sat silent while Ah-Al sat at the opposite
end, sipping her wine.
“The
Chaos comes while you play bones with the governors,” Ah-Al said.
Quesh
took a bite of the roast cut for him by a servant. “Which keeps them busy and
away from our throats.” He took another bite and spoke with his mouth full.
“You should keep your beautiful head out of politics, dear.”
“Vorless’s
offer could give us the North.”
“Vorless
is beset by his enemies who are my friends,” Quest said. “I won’t intervene or
risk them turning on us.”
Ah-Al
shook her head. “You don’t know what’s coming, Quesh. Your friends will need
more slaves, or their harvests will collapse—”
“Not
in our lifetime, and that’s what I care about.”
“And
access to weapons with which to conquer the world and shelter for the coming
Chaos.”
Quesh
took another sip of soup. “You think you can see the future with that stupid
book of yours.”
Quesh
took another sip of soup. “You should spend more time with the scripture in the
Chiniferra than with that book of yours. You can’t really believe your book
allows you to see the future.”
She
nodded. “One of many futures. One future lies in Derryh and the South. And for
that we need Xorellian steel.”
“The
North and the Spine are in the way. Both have stopped us before. I will not
squander our resources on a futile effort.”
“The
slave trade will finance Vorless’s mission and refresh the slaves in SeAu and
Alvez.”
“No,”
Quesh said
“Quesh,
please. I can manage Vorless and need not trouble—”
Quesh
slammed an open palm onto the table. “No. I rule here.”
Ah-Al
tipped her head to a servant who refilled the emperor’s cup. After a deep
drought, Quesh slumped in his chair, but his eyes followed her. A guard came
over and opened his mouth to call the alarm, but a servant stabbed the guard in
the chest again and again.
Ah-Al
stood with a dagger in her hand as other servants slaughtered the remaining
guards and shed their togas to expose uniforms of the Sulerian Elites.
The
concubine screamed and stood, but Ah-Al put a hand on her shoulder and sat her
back down.
“Time
to end this farce, husband,” Ah-Al said with contempt. “We’ll all die if you
remain in charge. I’m the one who brought you Karmulk and Xhosen. I’m the one
who keeps the priests from burning you at the stake. And I’m the one who will
decide who holds the crown when we die . . .”
With
her dagger, Ah-Al slit the throat of the concubine, spraying blood on her gown.
“. .
. not some broodmare from Sinefora.”
When
the concubine collapsed onto the table, Ah-Al kicked her lifeless body onto the
floor. “Clean up this mess and take his majesty to bed. I need him alive.”
Covered
in blood, Ah-Al walked around the bodies, sat at the table, and ate like a
starving wolf. When sated, she leaned back in her chair and snapped her fingers
for an Elite.
“Bring
Vorless here to me,” the empress said.
Chapter
1: Slavers Harvest
As
the three moons set and Helios broke the dawn, the fog parted for slavers in
hoods and leather armor who beached three longships near the village of
Cherwytch.
Three
columns of thirty men marched double time up the muddy road, past single-masted
skiffs, and fishing nets hung for repair. Armed with sword and trident, each
slaver wore leather armor that extended to the shoulders and knees. One tall
man wearing elegant robes, with his hair in a topknot followed with uniformed
guards.
At
the first of the thatched-roofed homes, the outer columns split off to form a
cordon around the tiny village. The central column broke into each cottage,
threw the villagers into the street in their bedclothes, and drove them to
their knees. Those who resisted were clubbed; those who raised weapons were
killed.
Women
and men between twelve and sixty summers and up were bound and joined at the
neck by a bronze chain. Those younger were corralled in a shed. Only the old
and crippled were spared unless they complained, whereupon they were silenced.
When
the slavers broke down the door of the last and largest home at the end of the
road, they drove the couple to their knees. Between beatings of the residents,
the tall man asked only one question:
“Where
is she?”
. . .
More to come soon!
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